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Peterkin Papers, The

<h2> MRS. PETERKIN WISHES TO GO TO DRIVE. </h2> ONE morning Mrs. Peterkin was feeling very tired, as she had been having a great many things to think of, and she said to Mr. Peterkin, "I believe I shall take a ride this morning!" And the little boys cried out, "Oh, may we go too?" Mrs. Peterkin said that Elizabeth Eliza and the little boys might go. So Mr. Peterkin had the horse put into the carryall, and he and Agamemnon went off to their business, and Solomon John to school; and Mrs. Peterkin began to get ready for her ride. She had some currants she wanted to carry to old Mrs. Twomly, and some gooseberries for somebody else, and Elizabeth Eliza wanted to pick some flowers to take to the minister's wife, so it took them a long time to prepare. The little boys went out to pick the currants and the gooseberries, and Elizabeth Eliza went out for her flowers, and Mrs. Peterkin put on her cape-bonnet, and in time they were all ready. The little boys were in their india-rubber boots, and they got into the carriage. Elizabeth Eliza was to drive; so she sat on the front seat, and took up the reins, and the horse started off merrily, and then suddenly stopped, and would not go any farther. Elizabeth Eliza shook the reins, and pulled them, and then she clucked to the horse; and Mrs. Peterkin clucked; and the little boys whistled and shouted; but still the horse would not go. "We shall have to whip him," said Elizabeth Eliza. Now Mrs. Peterkin never liked to use the whip; but, as the horse would not go, she said she would get out and turn her head the other way, while Elizabeth Eliza whipped the horse, and when he began to go she would hurry and get in. So they tried this, but the horse would not stir. "Perhaps we have too heavy a load," said Mrs. Peterkin, as she got in. So they took out the currants and the gooseberries and the flowers, but still the horse would not go. One of the neighbors, from the opposite house, looking out just then, called out to them to try the whip. There was a high wind, and they could not hear exactly what she said. "I have tried the whip," said Elizabeth Eliza. "She says 'whips,' such as you eat," said one of the little boys. "We might make those," said Mrs. Peterkin, thoughtfully. "We have got plenty of cream," said Elizabeth Eliza. "Yes, let us have some whips," cried the little boys, getting out. And the opposite neighbor cried out something about whips; and the wind was very high. So they went into the kitchen, and whipped up the cream, and made some very delicious whips; and the little boys tasted all round, and they all thought they were very nice. They carried some out to the horse, who swallowed it down very quickly. "That is just what he wanted," said Mrs. Peterkin; "now he will certainly go!" So they all got into the carriage again, and put in the currants and the gooseberries and the flowers; and Elizabeth Eliza shook the reins, and they all clucked; but still the horse would not go! "We must either give up our ride," said Mrs. Peterkin, mournfully, "or else send over to the lady from Philadelphia, and see what she will say." The little boys jumped out as quickly as they could; they were eager to go and ask the lady from Philadelphia. Elizabeth Eliza went with them, while her mother took the reins. They found that the lady from Philadelphia was very ill that day, and was in her bed. But when she was told what the trouble was, she very kindly said they might draw up the curtain from the window at the foot of the bed, and open the blinds, and she would see. Then she asked for her opera-glass, and looked through it, across the way, up the street, to Mrs. Peterkin's door. After she had looked through the glass, she laid it down, leaned her head back against the pillow, for she was very tired, and then said, "Why don't you unchain the horse from the horse-post?" Elizabeth Eliza and the little boys looked at one another, and then hurried back to the house and told their mother. The horse was untied, and they all went to ride. <h2> THE PETERKINS AT HOME. AT DINNER. </h2> ANOTHER little incident occurred in the Peterkin family. This was at dinner-time. They sat down to a dish of boiled ham. Now it was a peculiarity of the children of the family, that half of them liked fat, and half liked lean. Mr. Peterkin sat down to cut the ham. But the ham turned out to be a very remarkable one. The fat and the lean came in separate slices,—first one of lean, than one of fat, then two slices of lean, and so on. Mr. Peterkin began as usual by helping the children first, according to their age. Now Agamemnon, who liked lean, got a fat slice; and Elizabeth Eliza, who preferred fat, had a lean slice. Solomon John, who could eat nothing but lean, was helped to fat, and so on. Nobody had what he could eat. It was a rule of the Peterkin family, that no one should eat any of the vegetables without some of the meat; so now, although the children saw upon their plates apple-sauce and squash and tomato and sweet potato and sour potato, not one of them could eat a mouthful, because not one was satisfied with the meat. Mr. and Mrs. Peterkin, however, liked both fat and lean, and were making a very good meal, when they looked up and saw the children all sitting eating nothing, and looking dissatisfied into their plates. "What is the matter now?" said Mr. Peterkin. But the children were taught not to speak at table. Agamemnon, however, made a sign of disgust at his fat, and Elizabeth Eliza at her lean, and so on, and they presently discovered what was the difficulty. "What shall be done now?" said Mrs. Peterkin. They all sat and thought for a little while. At last said Mrs. Peterkin, rather uncertainly, "Suppose we ask the lady from Philadelphia what is best to be done." But Mr. Peterkin said he didn't like to go to her for everything; let the children try and eat their dinner as it was. And they all tried, but they couldn't. "Very well, then." said Mr. Peterkin, "let them go and ask the lady from Philadelphia." "All of us?" cried one of the little boys, in the excitement of the moment. "Yes," said Mrs. Peterkin, "only put on your india-rubber boots." And they hurried out of the house. The lady from Philadelphia was just going in to her dinner; but she kindly stopped in the entry to hear what the trouble was. Agamemnon and Elizabeth Eliza told her all the difficulty, and the lady from Philadelphia said, "But why don't you give the slices of fat to those who like the fat, and the slices of lean to those who like the lean?" They looked at one another. Agamemnon looked at Elizabeth Eliza, and Solomon John looked at the little boys. "Why didn't we think of that?" said they, and ran home to tell their mother. <h2> WHY THE PETERKINS HAD A LATE DINNER. </h2> THE trouble was in the dumb-waiter. All had seated themselves at the dinner-table, and Amanda had gone to take out the dinner she had sent up from the kitchen on the dumb-waiter. But something was the matter; she could not pull it up. There was the dinner, but she could not reach it. All the family, in turn, went and tried; all pulled together, in vain; the dinner could not be stirred. "No dinner!" exclaimed Agamemnon. "I am quite hungry," said Solomon John. At last Mr. Peterkin said, "I am not proud. I am willing to dine in the kitchen." This room was below the dining-room. All consented to this. Each one went down, taking a napkin. The cook laid the kitchen table, put on it her best table-cloth, and the family sat down. Amanda went to the dumb-waiter for the dinner, but she could not move it down. The family were all in dismay. There was the dinner, half-way between the kitchen and dining-room, and there were they all hungry to eat it! "What is there for dinner?" asked Mr. Peterkin. "Roast turkey," said Mrs. Peterkin. Mr. Peterkin lifted his eyes to the ceiling. "Squash, tomato, potato, and sweet potato," Mrs. Peterkin continued. "Sweet potato!" exclaimed both the little boys. "I am very glad now that I did not have cranberry," said Mrs. Peterkin, anxious to find a bright point. "Let us sit down and think about it," said Mr. Peterkin. "I have an idea," said Agamemnon, after a while. "Let us hear it," said Mr. Peterkin. "Let each one speak his mind." "The turkey," said Agamemnon, "must be just above the kitchen door. If I had a ladder and an axe, I could cut away the plastering and reach it." "That is a great idea," said Mrs. Peterkin. "If you think you could do it," said Mr. Peterkin. "Would it not be better to have a carpenter?" asked Elizabeth Eliza. "A carpenter might have a ladder and an axe, and I think we have neither," said Mrs. Peterkin. "A carpenter! A carpenter!" exclaimed the rest. It was decided that Mr. Peterkin, Solomon John, and the little boys should go in search of a carpenter. Agamemnon proposed that, meanwhile, he should go and borrow a book; for he had another idea. "This affair of the turkey," he said, "reminds me of those buried cities that have been dug out,—Herculaneum, for instance." "Oh, yes," interrupted Elizabeth Eliza, "and Pompeii." "Yes," said Agamemnon, "they found there pots and kettles. Now, I should like to know how they did it; and I mean to borrow a book and read. I think it was done with a pickaxe." So the party set out. But when Mr. Peterkin reached the carpenter's shop, there was no carpenter to be found there. "He must be at his house, eating his dinner," suggested Solomon John. "Happy man," exclaimed Mr. Peterkin, "he has a dinner to eat!" They went to the carpenter's house, but found he had gone out of town for a day's job. But his wife told them that he always came back at night to ring the nine-o'clock bell. "We must wait till then," said Mr. Peterkin, with an effort at cheerfulness. At home he found Agamemnon reading his book, and all sat down to hear of Herculaneum and Pompeii. Time passed on, and the question arose about tea. Would it do to have tea when they had had no dinner? A part of the family thought it would not do; the rest wanted tea. "I suppose you remember the wise lady of Philadelphia, who was here not long ago," said Mr. Peterkin. "Oh, yes," said Mrs. Peterkin. "Let us try to think what she would advise us," said Mr. Peterkin. "I wish she were here," said Elizabeth Eliza. "I think," said Mr. Peterkin, "she would say, let them that want tea have it; the rest can go without." So they had tea, and, as it proved, all sat down to it. But not much was eaten, as there had been no dinner. When the nine-o'clock bell was heard, Agamemnon, Solomon John, and the little boys rushed to the church, and found the carpenter. They asked him to bring a ladder, axes and pickaxe. As he felt it might be a case of fire, he brought also his fire-buckets. When the matter was explained to him, he went into the dining-room, looked into the dumb-waiter, untwisted a cord, and arranged the weight, and pulled up the dinner. There was a family shout. "The trouble was in the weight," said the carpenter. "That is why it is called a dumb-waiter," Solomon John explained to the little boys. The dinner was put upon the table. Mrs. Peterkin frugally suggested that they might now keep it for the next day, as to-day was almost gone, and they had had tea. But nobody listened. All sat down to the roast turkey; and Amanda warmed over the vegetables. "Patient waiters are no losers," said Agamemnon. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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