Under the Lilacs (27 page)

“No fear,” and Thorny calmly departed to set his targets for Ben’s practice.

“We shall see,” and from that moment Miss Celia made Bab her especial pupil, feeling that a little lesson would be good for
Mr. Thorny, who rather lorded it over the other young people. There was a spice of mischief in it, for Miss Celia was very
young at heart, in spite of her twenty-four years, and she was bound to see that her side had a fair chance, believing that
girls can do whatever they are willing to strive patiently and wisely for.

So she kept Bab at work early and late, giving her all the hints and help she could with only one efficient hand, and Bab
was delighted to think she did well enough to shoot with the club. Her arms ached and her fingers grew hard with twanging
the bow, but she was indefatigable, and being a strong, tall child of her age, with a great love of all athletic sports, she
got on fast and well, soon learning to send arrow after arrow with ever increasing accuracy nearer and nearer to the bull’s-eye.

The boys took very little notice of her, being much absorbed in their own affairs, but Betty did for Bab what Sancho did for
Ben, and trotted after arrows till her short legs were sadly tired, though her patience never gave out. She was so sure Bab
would win that she cared nothing about her own success, practicing little and seldom hitting anything when she tried.

C
HAPTER
20

A
superb display of flags flapped gaily in the breeze on the September morning when Ben proudly entered his teens. An irruption
of bunting seemed to have broken out all over the old house, for banners of every shape and size, color and design, flew from
chimney top to gable, porch and gateway, making the quiet place look as lively as a circus tent, which was just what Ben most
desired and delighted in.

The boys had been up very early to prepare the show, and when it was ready enjoyed it hugely, for the fresh wind made the
pennons cut strange capers. The winged lion of Venice looked as if trying to fly away home; the Chinese dragon appeared to
brandish his forked tail as he clawed at the Burmese peacock; the double-headed eagle of Russia pecked at the Turkish crescent
with one beak, while the other seemed to be screaming to the English royal beast, “Come on and lend a paw.” In the hurry of
hoisting, the Siamese elephant got turned upside down, and now danced gaily on his head, with the stars and stripes waving
proudly over him. A green flag with a yellow harp and sprig of shamrock hung in sight of the kitchen window, and Katy,
the cook, got breakfast to the tune of “St. Patrick’s day in the morning.” Sancho’s kennel was half hidden under a rustling
paper imitation of the gorgeous Spanish banner, and the scarlet sun-and-moon flag of Arabia snapped and flaunted from the
pole over the coach house, as a delicate compliment to Lita, Arabian horses being considered the finest in the world.

The little girls came out to see, and declared it was the loveliest sight they ever beheld, while Thorny played “Hail Columbia”
on his fife, and Ben, mounting the gatepost, crowed long and loud like a happy cockerel who had just reached his majority.
He had been surprised and delighted with the gifts he found in his room on awaking, and guessed why Miss Celia and Thorny
gave him such pretty things, for among them was a matchbox made like a mousetrap. The doggy buttons and the horsey whip were
treasures indeed, for Miss Celia had not given them when they first planned to do so, because Sancho’s return seemed to be
joy and reward enough for that occasion. But he did not forget to thank Mrs. Moss for the cake she sent him, nor the girls
for the red mittens which they had secretly and painfully knit. Bab’s was long and thin, with a very pointed thumb, Betty’s
short and wide, with a stubby thumb, and all their mother’s pulling and pressing could not make them look alike, to the great
affliction of the little knitters. Ben, however, assured them that he rather preferred odd ones, as then he could always tell
which was right and which left. He put them on immediately and went about cracking the new whip with an expression of content
which was droll to see, while the children followed after, full of admiration for the hero of the day.

They were very busy all the morning preparing for the festivities to come, and as soon as dinner was over everyone
scrambled into his or her best clothes as fast as possible, because, although invited to come at two, impatient boys and girls
were seen hovering about the avenue as early as one.

The first to arrive, however, was an uninvited guest, for just as Bab and Betty sat down on the porch steps, in their stiff
pink calico frocks and white ruffled aprons, to repose a moment before the party came in, a rustling was heard among the lilacs,
and out stepped Alfred Tennyson Barlow, looking like a small Robin Hood, in a green blouse with a silver buckle on his broad
belt, a feather in his little cap and a bow in his hand.

“I have come to shoot. I heard about it. My papa told me what arching meant. Will there be any little cakes? I like them.”

With these opening remarks the poet took a seat and calmly awaited a response. The young ladies, I regret to say, giggled,
then remembering their manners, hastened to inform him that there
would
be heaps of cakes, also that Miss Celia would not mind his coming without an invitation, they were quite sure.

“She asked me to come that day. I have been very busy. I had measles. Do you have them here?” asked the guest, as if anxious
to compare notes on the sad subject.

“We had ours ever so long ago. What have you been doing besides having measles?” said Betty, showing a polite interest.

“I had a fight with a bumblebee.”

“Who beat?” demanded Bab.

“I did. I ran away and he couldn’t catch me.”

“Can you shoot nicely?”

“I hit a cow. She did not mind at all. I guess she thought it was a fly.”

“Did your mother know you were coming?” asked Bab, feeling an interest in runaways.

“No; she is gone to drive, so I could not ask her.”

“It is very wrong to disobey. My Sunday-school book says that children who are naughty that way never go to heaven,” observed
virtuous Betty, in a warning tone.

“I do not wish to go,” was the startling reply.

“Why not?” asked Betty, severely.

“They don’t have any dirt there. My mamma says so. I am fond of dirt. I shall stay here where there is plenty of it,” and
the candid youth began to grub in the mould with the satisfaction of a genuine boy.

“I am afraid you’re a very bad child.”

“Oh, yes, I am. My papa often says so and he knows all about it,” replied Alfred with an involuntary wriggle suggestive of
painful memories. Then, as if anxious to change the conversation from its somewhat personal channel, he asked, pointing to
a row of grinning heads above the wall, “Do you shoot at those?”

Bab and Betty looked up quickly and recognized the familiar faces of their friends peering down at them, like a choice collection
of trophies or targets.

“I should think you’d be ashamed to peek before the party was ready!” cried Bab, frowning darkly upon the merry young ladies.

“Miss Celia told
us
to come before two, and be ready to receive folks, if she wasn’t down,” added Betty, importantly.

“It is striking two now. Come along, girls”; and over scrambled Sally Folsom, followed by three or four kindred spirits, just
as their hostess appeared.

“You look like Amazons storming a fort,” she said, as the girls came up, each carrying her bow and arrows, while
green ribbons flew in every direction. “How do you do, sir? I have been hoping you would call again,” added Miss Celia, shaking
hands with the pretty boy, who regarded with benign interest the giver of little cakes.

Here a rush of boys took place, and further remarks were cut short, for everyone was in a hurry to begin. So the procession
was formed at once, Miss Celia taking the lead, escorted by Ben in the post of honor, while the boys and girls paired off
behind, arm in arm, bow on shoulder, in martial array. Thorny and Billy were the band, and marched before, fifing and drumming
“Yankee Doodle” with a vigor which kept feet moving briskly, made eyes sparkle, and young hearts dance under the gay gowns
and summer jackets. The interesting stranger was elected to bear the prize, laid out on a red pincushion; and did so with
great dignity, as he went beside the standard-bearer, Cy Fay, who bore Ben’s choicest flag, snow white, with a green wreath
surrounding a painted bow and arrow, and with the letters W.T. C. done in red below.

Such a merry march all about the place, out at the Lodge gate, up and down the avenue, along the winding paths, till they
halted in the orchard, where the target stood, and seats were placed for the archers while they waited for their turns. Various
rules and regulations were discussed, and then the fun began. Miss Celia had insisted that the girls should be invited to
shoot with the boys; and the lads consented without much concern, whispering to one another with condescending shrugs, “Let
’em try, if they like; they can’t do anything.”

There were various trials of skill before the great match came off, and in these trials the young gentlemen discovered that
two at least of the girls
could
do something; for
Bab and Sally shot better than many of the boys, and were well rewarded for their exertions by the change which took place
in the faces and conversation of their mates.

“Why, Bab, you do as well as if I’d taught you myself,” said Thorny, much surprised and not altogether pleased at the little
girl’s skill.

“A lady taught me; and I mean to beat every one of you,” answered Bab, saucily, while her sparkling eyes turned to Miss Celia
with a mischievous twinkle in them.

“Not a bit of it,” declared Thorny, stoutly; but he went to Ben and whispered, “Do your best, old fellow, for sister has taught
Bab all the scientific points, and the little rascal is ahead of Billy.”

“She won’t get ahead of
me
,” said Ben, picking out his best arrow, and trying the string of his bow with a confident air, which reassured Thorny, who
found it impossible to believe that a girl ever could, would, or should excel a boy in anything he cared to try.

It really did look as if Bab would beat when the match for the prize came off; and the children got more and more excited
as the six who were to try for it took turns at the bull’s-eye. Thorny was umpire, and kept account of each shot, for the
arrow which went nearest the middle would win. Each had three shots; and very soon the lookers-on saw that Ben and Bab were
the best marksmen, and one of them would surely get the silver arrow.

Sam, who was too lazy to practice, soon gave up the contest, saying, as Thorny did, “It wouldn’t be fair for such a big fellow
to try with the little chaps,” which made a laugh, as his want of skill was painfully evident. But Mose went at it gallantly;
and, if his eye had been as true as his arms were strong, the “little chaps” would have trembled. But his shots
were none of them as near as Billy’s; and he retired after the third failure, declaring that it was impossible to shoot against
the wind, though scarcely a breath was stirring.

Sally Folsom was bound to beat Bab, and twanged away in great style; all in vain, however, as with tall Maria New-comb, the
third girl who attempted the trial. Being a little nearsighted, she had borrowed her sister’s eyeglasses, and thereby lessened
her chance of success; for the pinch on her nose distracted her attention, and not one of her arrows went beyond the second
ring, to her great disappointment. Billy did very well, but got nervous when his last shot came, and just missed the bull’s-eye
by being in a hurry.

Bab and Ben each had one turn more; and, as they were about even, that last arrow would decide the victory. Both had sent
a shot into the bull’s-eye, but neither was exactly in the middle; so there was room to do better, even, and the children
crowded round, crying eagerly, “Now, Ben!” “Now, Bab!” “Hit her up, Ben!” “Beat him, Bab!” while Thorny looked as anxious
as if the fate of the country depended on the success of his man. Bab’s turn came first; and, as Miss Celia examined her bow
to see that all was right, the little girl said, with her eyes on her rival’s excited face —

“I want to beat, but Ben will feel
so
bad, I ‘most hope I sha’n’t.”

“Losing a prize sometimes makes one happier than gaining it. You have proved that you could do better than most of them; so,
if you do not beat, you may still feel proud,” answered Miss Celia, giving back the bow with a smile that said more than her
words.

It seemed to give Bab a new idea, for in a minute all sorts of recollections, wishes, and plans rushed through her
lively little mind, and she followed a sudden generous impulse as blindly as she often did a willful one.

“I guess he’ll beat,” she said, softly, with a quick sparkle of the eyes, as she stepped to her place and fired without taking
her usual careful aim.