Mary Erskine | Page 3

towards the house. He
was coming for the whip.
"Beechnut," said Malleville, "I wish that you would speak to Phonny."
"Is it foolish for me to learn to climb?" asked Phonny. In order to see
Beechnut while he asked this question, Phonny had to twist his head
round in a very unusual position, and look out under his arm. It was
obvious that in doing this he was in imminent danger of falling, so
unstable was the equilibrium in which he was poised upon the rail.
"Is not he foolish?" asked Malleville.
Beechnut looked at him a moment, and then said, as he resumed his
walk through the entry,

"Not very;--that is for a boy. I have known boys sometimes to do
foolisher things than that."
"What did they do?" asked Phonny.
"Why once," said Beechnut, "I knew a boy who put his nose into the
crack of the door, and then took hold of the latch and pulled the door to,
and pinched his nose to death. That was a little more foolish, though
not much."
So saying Beechnut passed through the door and disappeared.
Phonny was seized with so violent a convulsion of laughter at the idea
of such absurd folly as Beechnut had described, that he tumbled off the
bannisters, but fortunately he fell in, towards the stairs, and was very
little hurt. He came down the stairs to Malleville, and as Beechnut
returned in a few minutes with the whip, they all went out towards the
barn together.
Beechnut had already put the bags of grain into the wagon behind, and
now he assisted Phonny and Malleville to get in. He gave them the
whole of the seat, in order that they might have plenty of room, and
also that they might be high up, where they could see. He had a small
bench which was made to fit in, in front, and which he was accustomed
to use for himself, as a sort of driver's seat, whenever the wagon was
full. He placed this bench in its place in front, and taking his seat upon
it, he drove away.
When the party had thus fairly set out, and Phonny and Malleville had
in some measure finished uttering the multitude of exclamations of
delight with which they usually commenced a ride, they began to wish
that Beechnut would tell them a story. Now Beechnut was a boy of
boundless fertility of imagination, and he was almost always ready to
tell a story. His stories were usually invented on the spot, and were
often extremely wild and extravagant, both in the incidents involved in
them, and in the personages whom he introduced as actors. The
extravagance of these tales was however usually no objection to them
in Phonny's and Malleville's estimation. In fact Beechnut observed that

the more extravagant his stories were, the better pleased his auditors
generally appeared to be in listening to them. He therefore did not spare
invention, or restrict himself by any rules either of truth or probability
in his narratives. Nor did he usually require any time for preparation,
but commenced at once with whatever came into his head, pronouncing
the first sentence of his story, very often without any idea of what he
was to say next.
On this occasion Beechnut began as follows:
"Once there was a girl about three years old, and she had a large black
cat. The cat was of a jet black color, and her fur was very soft and
glossy. It was as soft as silk.
"This cat was very mischievous and very sly. She was very sly: very
indeed. In fact she used to go about the house so very slyly, getting into
all sorts of mischief which the people could never find out till
afterwards, that they gave her the name of Sligo. Some people said that
the reason why she had that name was because she came from a place
called Sligo, in Ireland. But that was not the reason. It was veritably
and truly because she was so sly."
Beechnut pronounced this decision in respect to the etymological
import of the pussy's name in the most grave and serious manner, and
Malleville and Phonny listened with profound attention.
"What was the girl's name?" asked Malleville.
"The girl's?" repeated Beechnut. "Oh, her name was--Arabella."
"Well, go on," said Malleville.
"One day," continued Beechnut, "Sligo was walking about the house,
trying to find something to do. She came into the parlor. There was
nobody there. She looked about a little, and presently she saw a
work-basket upon the corner of a table, where Arabella's mother had
been at work. Sligo began to look at the basket, thinking that it would
make a good nest for her to sleep in, if she could only get it