Chapter 6 No.6

House Building

The Gordons had several cords of square cut wood in their back yard, and this inspired Julia and Beth to a great undertaking. They built a house, piling two sticks lengthways and two crossways, one above the other, and so on until they had laid the walls for three rooms. They worked like beavers, and Mrs. Gordon, amused by this new scheme of the two indefatigables, and thinking to herself that the children would probably be tired of the house by the time the wood was needed, allowed one of the servants to help. He used the top of the box in which the piano came for a roof, boarded the floors, and, in the middle room, helped to make an alcove. In this Julia and Beth piled up wood for a bed, saying that they did not mind if it was hard.

When completed, the girls took out to their new paradise everything they dared lay hands on, and asked Mrs. Gordon to inspect their work.

"'Walk into my house,' said the spider to the fly. 'It's the beautifulest house you ever did spy,'" quoted Julia, purposely changing parlor to house. "Just walk in. You can stand up-well, almost-if you stoop a little bit. This is the kitchen," she continued, for she had taken her mother in the back way with a purpose in view. "Oh, mamma, we do so want a stove. No family can keep house without one. We don't know what to do. Please, please help us."

"How would a Dutch oven do?" suggested Mrs. Gordon.

"What's that? How's it made?"

Mrs. Gordon explained: "It's made of brick, and--"

"How good you are. Who'll make it?"

Mrs. Gordon could not find it in her heart to disappoint the girls, so she furnished the materials, and had a darky make the oven. When done, it was somewhat clumsy, but it looked serviceable.

"Beth," said Julia, "we can't be just you and me. We must be man and wife. Our names will be Mr. and Mrs. Newbeginner. I'm John Newbeginner, and--"

"I'd rather be the man, because he's the head of the family and he doesn't work so hard. Besides, I don't want a little bit of a man like you. I'm the taller."

"Well, but I'm the elder, and the elder is always the man."

"All right, but you have to help about the house. You can't go away to business."

"Let's stay here all night, to-night."

Away they ran to beg permission.

The two mothers, however, seriously objected. Finally the young couple were pacified by Mrs. Newbeginner being allowed to spend the night with her spouse at the Gordon homestead which adjoined the Newbeginner mansion.

The next morning, Mrs. Newbeginner awakened at peep of day. She gave Mr. Newbeginner a poke and then jumped out of bed.

"Jul-John, I mean, it's time to get up and build the fire."

"Leave me alone," snapped Mr. Newbeginner in a truly masculine style.

"But Jul-John, you know we are going to get our own breakfast, and I can't build the fire all by myself. Please get up."

Thus entreated, Mr. Newbeginner condescended to arise. His wife was already dressing.

Together they descended to the kitchen, and Jemima, the cook, furnished them with some uncooked steak, some potatoes, butter, material to make cakes, and other necessaries.

The fire was soon built. Then such a hustling as ensued. Mr. and Mrs. Newbeginner had many a dispute before breakfast was ready. Mrs. Newbeginner might have foreseen the result of allowing a man in her kitchen.

Such a running back and forth as there was between their house and the Gordons'; for the Newbeginners began housekeeping by borrowing almost everything.

Mr. Newbeginner insisted that he knew how to make pancakes better than his wife. She therefore allowed him to try his hand at them while she cooked the meat and potatoes. Her part of the breakfast was ready before his. Thereupon, she set the pans containing the viands on a ledge of the oven above the live coals to keep them warm.

Mr. Newbeginner, as soon as he had cooked one batch of cakes, placed them beside the meat and potatoes. Then he baked another and another.

Alas, just as the last cake was baked, Mrs. Newbeginner bustled in from the bedroom where they had set the table. Now there was a long pole that ran out from the oven as its main support. Poor Mrs. Newbeginner in her excitement over their first breakfast somehow stumbled over the pole. Down she fell. But worse, down fell the stove also, and the breakfast which had caused them so much trouble tumbled into the red hot coals.

Up jumped Mrs. Newbeginner, and threw some water that happened to be handy on the fire. Her quickness saved their home from being burned, but not their breakfast. Tears rose and welled over the face of Mr. Newbeginner in a very unmanly fashion as he gave vent to his anger.

"Well, I declare, you are the clumsiest person I ever saw. I am sorry I ever invited you to this house."

Mrs. Newbeginner looked grieved and angry. "It's as much mine as yours."

"No, it isn't. The wood belongs to me, and it is built on my place. My beautiful pancakes are gone." He did not seem to mind so much about the food that Mrs. Newbeginner had cooked, and on which she had prided herself. "You are the most careless girl I ever saw."

"I couldn't help it. It hurt my legs awfully. See how they are skinned, but I didn't cry, did I?"

Even the sight of a pair of poor, bruised shins did not soften Mr. Newbeginner.

"I suppose we'll have to go into the house, after all, for our breakfast. It'll be dreadfully hu-mil-ia-ting."

"Can't we go to work and cook another?" proposed tired, redfaced little Mrs. Newbeginner.

"No, we can't. The stove would have to be fixed, and we haven't time. Even if we had, though, I wouldn't trust you to help with another meal."

Now this was too much for Mrs. Newbeginner's overtaxed nerves. "You're just horrid to say that and I'll never play with you again as long as I live. I'm going home to my mamma."

Whereupon she stalked out through the door. The sight of her retreating figure brought Mr. Newbeginner to his senses. He ran to the door after her.

"Please come back. I'm sorry."

His repentance came too late, however. His wife pretended not to hear. He grew desperate.

"If you don't come back, I'll never make up with you, either. Please, please, come back."

Either she did not hear, or else she was too grieved to be moved by his entreaties. She did not return, but wended her way back to her mother's home.

Now this unfortunate matrimonial experience made Beth reckless. Unluckily, upon reaching home, she discovered that both her mother and Marian had gone into town to spend the day with the Corners. Still worse, temptation assailed her in the form of an invitation from Harvey Baker.

Beth had not seen him for several days. She had been so absorbed in her new love that she had scarcely even thought of him. Harvey, on his part, had thought of her very often. He had haunted the Davenport wharf, but no Beth appeared. At first, pride had held him back from seeking her out, but her very indifference finally proved an irresistible attraction. Such is the masculine nature.

He came on this morning of all others to invite her out for a row. She, at first, resisted the temptation.

"Oh, Harvey, what a shame. Mamma is not here, so I cannot go."

"Do you think she would let you go if she were here?"

"Yes, I think so."

"Then what harm would there be in your going? We would be back before she returned."

Now, as stated before, Beth was reckless. She Just felt like doing something a little wrong.

"I believe I'll go, Harvey."

"Bully for you, Beth. What time did you say your mother would return?"

"Not before five or six this afternoon."

"What do you say then to taking our lunch with us, and having a picnic?"

"I'll ask Maggie."

Beth knew by this time that there was little danger of Maggie refusing her anything. If the child had asked her for the moon she would probably have said, "Shure, honey, I'll try to git it for yo'."

So now Beth hunted up Maggie, who hustled around and soon had a tempting feast ready for them.

"Does yo' maw know yo's gwine?" asked Maggie, as she handed the lunch to Beth.

"No, but she would not mind, I know."

Away ran Harvey and Beth to the boat. The river was as smooth as glass. Beth, at first, sat in the back seat, and Harvey rowed.

"I guess we'll go directly across the river. I wish it wasn't so far to Mrs. Harriet Beecher Stowe's," said Harvey.

"Who is she?"

"Don't you know? I thought everybody knew about her. She wrote 'Uncle Tom's Cabin.'"

"Oh, I saw that acted at the theatre once. Does she live here?"

"She has a place up the river aways, but it is deserted now. She used to come down here quite often. We'll row straight across the river. Did you ever row, Beth?"

"No, but you can teach me, can't you?"

"All right. Now move very carefully. I wouldn't have you fall overboard for the world."

Harvey suspended the oars in the air while Beth took the seat beside him. Then he showed her how to hold the oar.

"Now begin so-carefully and with me."

"That's easy. Is that all there is to rowing?"

"It won't be so easy presently."

Beth pulled away with ail her might, and in silence. Suddenly, there was a splash of water on her side, and she almost tumbled into the bottom of the boat. Harvey laughed.

"I thought you'd be catching a crab before long."

Beth's eyes opened wide. "I didn't see any crab, Harvey. My oar just balked."

"That's what is called catching a crab, you know, when your oar doesn't go far enough into the water. Say, Beth, you had better not try to row any more. It'll tire you. Don't you want to stop?"

"No indeed. I like to row."

Again Beth pulled away with all her might. Very soon, she began to feel uncomfortably warm. Her hands burned terribly, and presently she rested a moment on her oar and pointed to the land, now within easy rowing distance.

"Wouldn't that be a good spot for our picnic?"

Harvey saw how tired she was and answered:

"It's just the place, and say, Beth, we'll catch some fish, first. Here are lines and bait."

They thereupon went to fishing, and both caught a number of fish.

"Now," said Harvey, "it's time to go ashore and cook them."

"Oh, I'm so terribly hungry I can't wait. I didn't have any breakfast."

"Why, you poor child. Why didn't you say so before?"

"I didn't think of it. I was having such a good time."

"I couldn't forget that I hadn't had breakfast. How did it happen?"

Beth hung her head. She was thinking of her choleric spouse, and she had hard work forcing the tears back.

"How did it happen, Beth?"

"Why-it just happened. That's all. I'm dreadfully hungry, Harvey."

"Suppose then, you eat a sandwich or so, now, and then we'll cook the fish and have lunch later."

Harvey thought he could also eat a sandwich. It ended by their eating three apiece. Then he assisted her out of the boat, which he moored fast on shore.

"Now for the fish, Beth."

"How are we going to cook them? Have you any matches?"

"Yes, and there's a frying-pan in my boat. I always carry one, as I cook fish quite often. Didn't I see some butter and salt in the lunch basket?"

"Yes, and, Harvey, here's just the spot to build our fire. This straight bank back of the beach will make a good chimney for the smoke to go up."

Harvey looked at the spot a little critically. Scrub palmettoes and grass overhung the bank above, which made him wonder if there was any danger of their catching fire. A little breeze was springing up, but he decided that it was not strong enough to carry the sparks to the undergrowth above.

So Beth gathered dry leaves and sticks of wood while Harvey cleaned the fish. Then he applied a match to the bonfire, and it blazed up and crackled noisily. He next placed the butter and fish in the frying-pan and set it on the fire.

At that moment, a little rabbit darted past the children, running up the bank towards the woods.

Harvey started after it calling:

"Come on, Beth. Maybe it will lead us to some young rabbits."

"But the fish."

"They don't need watching for awhile. Hurry on."

It was quite a climb up the bank for Beth, but she succeeded in following close after Harvey.

The rabbit, however, had quite a start of the children, and soon they acknowledged the uselessness of pursuit, and sat down on a log under a tree to rest.

Harvey started to tell Beth of his experience in trying to tame rabbits.

"Yes," he said, "I've had all kinds, from young ones that had to be fed milk out of a spoon to old ones that were so wild that they never could be tamed. I never could raise the young ones. If they didn't die a natural death, a cat or a dog or something would eat them up. For a long time, I never wakened up mornings without finding a dead rabbit. I have rows and rows of rabbit graves over on our place. You must come over and see--"

He was interrupted by a bird that flew screeching from the tree under which they sat. At the same instant a crackling sound caused them to spring to their feet in terror. The woods around them were on fire. The breeze had grown stronger, and had carried the sparks upward to the palmettoes and pines, so full of oil. Then it was but a question of seconds before the awful fire sped with lightning speed over the dry undergrowth. Again, it swelled upwards on the scrub palmettoes, and with a flash leaped skywards to the taller trees as if demons were lifting the flames to the very heavens. It was at this point that the children discovered their danger.

Only a person who has seen a fire in the open among shrubs and trees already parched for lack of water, and fanned by a wind each moment growing stronger, can realize with what rapidity the fire spread. To Harvey and Beth, it seemed as if from the moment of discovery, the fire hemmed them in.

The air was sultry, notwithstanding the wind, and with the spread of the fire it grew more so. The sky was marked with fantastic clouds which turned from gray to flaming red.

Beth gazed around her helplessly. She felt as if there was no escape for them from a fiery death, which made her heartily repentant that she had come. She silently prayed to God to deliver them, and vowed if she lived, never, never to do anything again without her mother's knowledge.

The awfulness of their surroundings and the enormity of his responsibility, came upon Harvey with overwhelming force. He was too horrified for speech, and, for a few seconds, too stunned for action.

On rushed the triumphant flames, blasting everything within range. The hot breath from the fire recalled Harvey to the need of action.

"Oh, Beth, how can I get you out of this horrible place? We are surrounded by fire." Then, in a moment, he added, "I see a way out, if we run."

He caught her hand and half-dragged her through scorching shrubs, circling to the left. Fortunately, they managed to reach a road skirting the woods without serious injury.

Here they saw excited men running towards the woods. "It will burn our homes, our all," they heard one cry. "Our one hope is to start counter fires," another cried.

At the word, to the horror of Beth who did not understand, the men set fire to the low palmettoes a short distance away where there was an open space.

It seemed wicked to her to set more trees on fire, especially when the men seemed so anxious about their homes burning.

"Let's go," she sobbed.

Harvey held his head high. "No, indeed, I won't go. If their houses burn, it's my fault. I have some money in the bank and I'll give them every cent of it. They look like poor fishermen. Oh, Beth, it's too terrible. See how high the flames go."

Up, up, they leaped, growing higher and more fierce every moment. The sparks flew inland. If some change did not occur, no power under the sun could save the poor fishermen's homes.

The two poor, forlorn little culprits waited in the roadway and watched the progress of the awful flames.

The two fires looked like immense dragons that were rushing at each other in uncontrolled fury. The sparks flew right and left, but the counter fire served its purpose somewhat in that part of the flames' force was spent upon the other.

The fires crackled and hissed, and to Harvey these were the voices of the dragons defying and mocking him. To him they said:

"What can you do to stop us? Nothing. Yes, you may well tremble. It was you, you alone, that set us monsters free and we will not be chained now that we are loose." Upward the fire dragons flew, and even as they sank down somewhat, their mocking did not cease.

"Counter fires may check us momentarily, but presently we will sweep upwards and devour the fishermen's huts in our fiery grasp. It is awful to you, but to us it is fun, fun, fun, and we will not be stopped. Look at us. Look at us."

Again the flames leaped higher and higher. Harvey covered his face with his hands. He could not bear the sight another instant.

Beth would have comforted him if she had known how, but what could she say? She, too, felt that nothing could stop the onward rush of the dragons.

But the one opponent that had power over them suddenly descended to take part in the fray.

Beth clapped her hands in glee. "It's raining, Harvey; it's raining."

The sun was still shining brightly, but, sure enough, one of those showers peculiar to tropical lands was descending, and the wind, too, abated somewhat.

"Thank God," murmured Harvey. "Beth, I'm going to speak to the men."

She grasped him by the arm. "Oh, Harvey, they might arrest you."

"Nonsense, Beth; they don't know how the fire started, and if their houses don't burn, there's no use in telling. You wait here for me."

He was gone only a few minutes, and, when Beth caught sight of his radiant face, she knew the good news before he said a word.

"Beth, they say the houses won't burn. We can go now."

They circled around the woods by the road, and, when they came to the river, walked down the beach to their boat which they found unharmed.

The fish were burned to cinders.

"We don't care, do we, Beth? I couldn't eat them, anyway, after all the trouble they have caused us. It was all their fault. If they hadn't been so foolish as to be caught, there wouldn't have been any fire. But I've built fires a hundred times before and never had anything like this to happen."

Trouble, it is said, never comes singly. When they were once more back in the boat, Harvey found that he had both tide and wind against him, and the river had become very squally. The St. Johns is one of the most treacherous rivers in the world. It takes only a very short time for her waters to become white-capped.

Harvey pulled manfully on the oars, but it was very hard for him to make any headway. Beth finally asked if she could not help to row.

"No, keep perfectly still where you are," he answered in such a short manner that his little companion felt grieved. She tried to let him know that she was hurt, by not saying another word, but he was too busy to mind. By this time, he was worried.

"Supposing anything happened to us," he thought to himself, "Beth's mother would never forgive me. It was my fault that Beth came."

He never knew exactly how it happened. Either the oar was defective, or else he pulled too hard on it as it struck a large wave; whichever it was, one of the oars snapped suddenly. For a moment or so the boat rocked helplessly on the waves, and it was driven backwards towards the shore from which they had just come.

"Harvey," asked Beth almost in a whisper, "are we going to be drowned? Can't I ever tell mamma how sorry, how very sorry, I am?"

"I won't let you drown, Beth."

He spoke with more assurance than he really felt, but his manner comforted her. He also proved that he was a born sailor. First, he skilfully steered the boat with the remaining oar. Next, he picked up from under one of the seats an old umbrella which chanced to be in the boat, and used it for a sail. Thus they were quickly carried back to shore not far from the scene of the fire.

Harvey once more helped Beth out, and made the boat fast. His plans were already made.

"Beth, wait here for me. I'm going to hire one of the men to take us back."

Beth had time, while he was gone, to consider all that had happened. More than ever, she felt that it had been very wrong for her to come without permission.

Harvey presently returned with a man who carried a pair of oars.

"He's going to row us across, Beth."

"Is it safe?"

The man smiled. "You needn't fear. I'm strong, and the squall has about blown over."

He helped the children in, and jumped into the boat himself as he pushed it from shore.

"How are you ever going to get back yourself?" asked Beth, as the man took his place at the oars. She was fearful that Harvey would have to row him back. Otherwise, his return trip appeared to her as intricate as some of the puzzles she had heard about crossing streams.

"I'm going to walk into town from your place. I have some errands there, and will take the ferry back."

Beth quieted down and watched the man. His rowing aroused her admiration. She wished that some time she could prove as great an expert as he, and resolved to do her very best to imitate him. She noted especially, the long swinging strokes that he took. Crossing the river was little work for him, and the other side was reached in safety. They drew up alongside the Davenport wharf.

Harvey offered to go up to the house with Beth, and take the blame upon himself, but she thought that her mother would rather hear of the adventure from her. So the three occupants of the boat parted company.

Mrs. Davenport had not yet returned when Beth reached the house, but came soon afterwards. Beth immediately confessed to her every incident of the day.

"This has taught you a lesson, Beth, without mamma's saying anything," Mrs. Davenport said, when the little penitent had finished. "You know yourself it was very wrong to go without permission, and I do not think you will ever do such a thing again, will you?"

"Never," answered Beth so earnestly that Mrs. Davenport had full faith in her promise.