Under the Lilacs (28 page)

Her shot struck almost as near the center on the right as her last one had hit on the left; and there was a shout of delight
from the girls as Thorny announced it before he hurried back to Ben, whispering anxiously —

“Steady, old man, steady; you
must
beat that, or we shall never hear the last of it.”

Ben did not say, “She won’t get ahead of me,” as he had said at the first; he set his teeth, threw off his hat, and, knitting
his brows with a resolute expression, prepared to take steady aim, though his heart beat fast and his thumb trembled as he
pressed it on the bowstring.

“I hope you’ll beat, I truly do,” said Bab, at his elbow; and, as if the breath that framed the generous wish helped it on
its way, the arrow flew straight to the bull’s-eye, hitting, apparently, the very spot where Bab’s best shot had left a hole.

“A tie! a tie!” cried the girls, as a general rush took place toward the target.

“No, Ben’s is nearest. Ben’s beat! Hooray!” shouted the boys, throwing up their hats.

There was only a hairbreadth difference, and Bab could honestly have disputed the decision; but she did not, though for an
instant she could not help wishing that the cry had been “Bab’s beat! Hurrah!” it sounded so pleasant. Then she saw Ben’s
beaming face, Thorny’s intense relief, and caught the look Miss Celia sent her over the heads of the boys, and decided, with
a sudden warm glow all over
her little face, that losing a prize
did
sometimes make one happier than winning it. Up went her best hat, and she burst out in a shrill, “Rah, rah, rah!” that sounded
very funny coming all alone after the general clamor had subsided.

“Good for you, Bab! you are an honor to the club, and I’m proud of you,” said Prince Thorny, with a hearty handshake; for,
as his man had won, he could afford to praise the rival who had put him on his mettle, though she
was
a girl.

Bab was much uplifted by the royal commendation, but a few minutes later felt pleased as well as proud when Ben, having received
the prize, came to her, as she stood behind a tree sucking her blistered thumb, while Betty braided up her disheveled locks.

“I think it would be fairer to call it a tie, Bab, for it really was, and I want you to wear this. I wanted the fun of beating,
but I don’t care a bit for this girl’s thing, and I’d rather see it on you.”

As he spoke, Ben offered the rosette of green ribbon which held the silver arrow, and Bab’s eyes brightened as they fell upon
the pretty ornament, for to her “the girl’s thing” was almost as good as the victory.

“Oh, no; you must wear it to show who won. Miss Celia wouldn’t like it. I don’t mind not getting it; I did better than all
the rest, and I guess I shouldn’t like to beat
you
,” answered Bab, unconsciously putting into childish words the sweet generosity which makes so many sisters glad to see their
brothers carry off the prizes of life, while they are content to know that they have earned them and can do without the praise.

But if Bab was generous, Ben was just; and though he could not explain the feeling, would not consent to take all the glory
without giving his little friend a share.

“You
must
wear it; I shall feel real mean if you don’t. You worked harder than I did, and it was only luck my getting this. Do, Bab,
to please me,” he persisted, awkwardly trying to fasten the ornament in the middle of Bab’s white apron.

“Then I will. Now do you forgive me for losing Sancho?” asked Bab, with a wistful look which made Ben say, heartily —

“I did that when he came home.”

“And you don’t think I’m horrid?”

“Not a bit of it; you are first-rate, and I’ll stand by you like a man, for you are ‘most as good as a boy!” cried Ben, anxious
to deal handsomely with his feminine rival, whose skill had raised her immensely in his opinion.

Feeling that he could not improve that last compliment, Bab was fully satisfied, and let him leave the prize upon her breast,
conscious that she had some claim to it.

“That is where it should be, and Ben is a true knight, winning the prize that he may give it to his lady, while he is content
with the victory,” said Miss Celia, laughingly, to Teacher, as the children ran off to join in the riotous games which soon
made the orchard ring.

“He learned that at the circus ‘tunnyments,’ as he calls them. He is a nice boy, and I am much interested in him; for he has
the two things that do most toward making a man, patience and courage,” answered Teacher, smiling also as she watched the
young knight play leapfrog, and the honored lady tearing about in a game of tag.

“Bab is a nice child, too,” said Miss Celia; “she is as quick as a flash to catch an idea and carry it out, though very often
the ideas are wild ones. She could have won just now, I fancy, if she had tried, but took the notion into her head that it
was nobler to let Ben win, and so atone for the trouble she gave him in losing the dog. I saw a very sweet
look on her face just now, and am sure that Ben will never know why he beat.”

“She does such things at school sometimes, and I can’t bear to spoil her little atonements, though they are not always needed
or very wise,” answered Teacher. “Not long ago I found that she had been giving her lunch day after day to a poor child who
seldom had any, and when I asked her why, she said, with tears, ‘I used to laugh at Abby, because she had only crusty, dry
bread, and so she wouldn’t bring any. I
ought
to give her mine and be hungry, it was so mean to make fun of her poorness.”

“Did you stop the sacrifice?”

“No; I let Bab ‘go halves,’ and added an extra bit to my own lunch, so I could make my contribution likewise.”

“Come and tell me about Abby. I want to make friends with our poor people, for soon I shall have a right to help them”; and,
putting her arm in Teacher’s, Miss Celia led her away for a quiet chat in the porch, making her guest’s visit a happy holiday
by confiding several plans and asking advice in the friendliest way.

C
HAPTER
21

A
picnic supper on the grass followed the games, and then, as twilight began to fall, the young people were marshaled to the
coach house, now transformed into a rustic theater. One big door was open, and seats, arranged lengthwise, faced the red tablecloths
which formed the curtain. A row of lamps made very good footlights, and an invisible band performed a Wagner-like overture
on combs,
tin trumpets, drums, and pipes, with an accompaniment of suppressed laughter.

Many of the children had never seen anything like it, and sat staring about them in mute admiration and expectancy; but the
older ones criticized freely, and indulged in wild speculations as to the meaning of various convulsions of nature going on
behind the curtain.

While Teacher was dressing the actresses for the tragedy, Miss Celia and Thorny, who were old hands at this sort of amusement,
gave a “potato” pantomime as a sideshow.

Across an empty stall a green cloth was fastened, so high that the heads of the operators were not seen. A little curtain
flew up, disclosing the front of a Chinese pagoda painted on pasteboard, with a door and window which opened quite naturally.
This stood on one side, several green trees with paper lanterns hanging from the boughs were on the other side, and the words
“Tea Garden,” printed over the top, showed the nature of this charming spot.

Few of the children had ever seen the immortal Punch and Judy, so this was a most agreeable novelty, and before they could
make out what it meant, a voice began to sing, so distinctly that every word was heard —

“In China there lived a little man,

His name was Chingery Wangery Chan.”

Here the hero “took the stage” with great dignity, clad in a loose yellow jacket over a blue skirt, which concealed the hand
that made his body. A pointed hat adorned his head, and on removing this to bow he disclosed a bald pate with a black queue
in the middle, and a Chinese face nicely painted on the potato, the lower part of which was hollowed
out to fit Thorny’s first finger, while his thumb and second finger were in the sleeves of the yellow jacket, making a lively
pair of arms. While he saluted, the song went on —

“His legs were short, his feet were small,

And this little man could not walk at all.”

Which assertion was proved to be false by the agility with which the “little man” danced a jig in time to the rollicking chorus
—

“Chingery changery ri co day,

Ekel tekel happy man;

Uron odesko canty oh, oh,

Gallopy wallopy China go.”

At the close of the dance and chorus, Chan retired into the tea garden, and drank so many cups of the national beverage, with
such comic gestures, that the spectators were almost sorry when the opening of the opposite window drew all eyes in that direction.
At the lattice appeared a lovely being; for this potato had been pared, and on the white surface were painted pretty pink
cheeks, red lips, black eyes, and oblique brows; through the tuft of dark silk on the head were stuck several glittering pins,
and a pink jacket shrouded the plump figure of this capital little Chinese lady. After peeping coyly out, so that all could
see and admire, she fell to counting the money from a purse, so large her small hands could hardly hold it on the window seat.
While she did this, the song went on to explain —

“Miss Ki Hi was short and squat,

She had money and he had not;

So off to her he resolved to go,

And play her a tune on his little banjo.”

During the chorus to this verse Chan was seen tuning his instrument in the garden, and at the end sallied gallantly forth
to sing the following tender strain —

“Whang fun li,

Tang hua ki,

Hong Kong do ra me!

Ah sin lo,

Pan to fo,

Tsing up chin leute!”

Carried away by his passion, Chan dropped his banjo, fell upon his knees, and, clasping his hands, bowed his forehead in the
dust before his idol. But, alas! —

“Miss Ki Hi heard his notes of love,

And held her washbowl up above;

It fell upon the little man,

And this was the end of Chingery Chan.”

Indeed it was; for, as the doll’s basin of real water was cast forth by the cruel charmer, poor Chan expired in such strong
convulsions that his head rolled down among the audience. Miss Ki Hi peeped to see what had become of her victim, and the
shutter decapitated her likewise, to the great delight of the children, who passed around the heads, pronouncing a “potato”
pantomime “first-rate fun.”

Then they settled themselves for the show, having been assured by Manager Thorny that they were about to behold the most elegant
and varied combination ever produced on any stage. And when one reads the following very inadequate description of the somewhat
mixed entertainment, it is impossible to deny that the promise made was nobly kept.

After some delay and several crashes behind the curtain,
which mightily amused the audience, the performance began with the well-known tragedy of “Bluebeard”; for Bab had set her
heart upon it, and the young folks had acted it so often in their plays that it was very easy to get up, with a few extra
touches to scenery and costumes. Thorny was superb as the tyrant with a beard of bright blue worsted, a slouched hat and long
feather, fur cloak, red hose, rubber boots, and a real sword which clanked tragically as he walked. He spoke in such a deep
voice, knit his corked eyebrows and glared so frightfully, that it was no wonder poor Fatima quaked before him as he gave
into her keeping an immense bunch of keys with one particularly big bright one among them.

Bab was fine to see, with Miss Celia’s blue dress sweeping behind her, a white plume in her flowing hair, and a real necklace
with a pearl locket about her neck. She did her part capitally, especially the shriek she gave when she looked into the fatal
closet, the energy with which she scrubbed the telltale key, and her distracted tone when she called out: “Sister Anne, O
sister Anne,
do
you see anybody coming?” while her enraged husband was roaring: “Will you come down, madam, or shall I come and fetch you?”

Betty made a captivating Anne — all in white muslin, and a hat full of such lovely pink roses that she could not help putting
up one hand to feel them as she stood on the steps looking out at the little window for the approaching brothers, who made
such a din that it sounded like a dozen horsemen instead of two.

Ben and Billy were got up regardless of expense in the way of arms; for their belts were perfect arsenals, and their wooden
swords were big enough to strike terror into any soul, though they struck no sparks out of Bluebeard’s blade
in the awful combat which preceded the villain’s downfall and death.

The boys enjoyed this part intensely, and cries of “Go it, Ben!” “Hit him again, Billy!” “Two against one isn’t fair!” “Thorny’s
a match for ’em.” “Now he’s down, hurray!” cheered on the combatants, till, after a terrific struggle, the tyrant fell, and
with convulsive twitchings of the scarlet legs, slowly expired; while the ladies sociably fainted in each other’s arms, and
the brothers waved their swords and shook hands over the corpse of their enemy.