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Peterkin Papers, The

<h2> THE PETERKINS DECIDE TO KEEP A COW. </h2> NOT that they were fond of drinking milk, nor that they drank very much. But for that reason Mr. Peterkin thought it would be well to have a cow, to encourage the family to drink more, as he felt it would be so healthy. Mrs. Peterkin recalled the troubles of the last cold winter, and how near they came to starving, when they were shut up in a severe snow-storm, and the water-pipes burst, and the milk was frozen. If the cow-shed could open out of the wood-shed, such trouble might be prevented. Tony Larkin was to come over and milk the cow every morning, and Agamemnon and Solomon John agreed to learn how to milk, in case Tony should be "snowed up," or have the whooping-cough in the course of the winter. The little boys thought they knew how already. But if they were to have three or four pailfuls of milk every day, it was important to know where to keep it. "One way will be," said Mrs. Peterkin, "to use a great deal every day. We will make butter." "That will be admirable," thought Mr. Peterkin. "And custards," suggested Solomon John. "And syllabub," said Elizabeth Eliza. "And cocoa-nut cakes," exclaimed the little boys. "We don't need the milk for cocoa-nut cakes," said Mrs. Peterkin. The little boys thought they might have a cocoa-nut tree instead of a cow. You could have the milk from the cocoa-nuts, and it would be pleasant climbing the tree, and you would not have to feed it. "Yes," said Mr. Peterkin, "we shall have to feed the cow." "Where shall we pasture her?" asked Agamemnon. "Up on the hills, up on the hills," exclaimed the little boys, "where there are a great many bars to take down, and huckleberry-bushes!" Mr. Peterkin had been thinking of their own little lot behind the house. "But I don't know," he said, "but the cow might eat off all the grass in one day, and there would not be any left for to-morrow, unless the grass grew fast enough every night." Agamemnon said it would depend upon the season. In a rainy season the grass would come up very fast, in a drought it might not grow at all. "I suppose," said Mrs. Peterkin, "that is the worst of having a cow,—there might be a drought." Mr. Peterkin thought they might make some calculation from the quantity of grass in the lot. Solomon John suggested that measurements might be made by seeing how much grass the Bromwicks' cow, opposite them, eat up in a day. The little boys agreed to go over and spend the day on the Bromwicks' fence, and take an observation. "The trouble would be," said Elizabeth Eliza, "that cows walk about so, and the Bromwicks' yard is very large. Now she would be eating in one place, and then she would walk to another. She would not be eating all the time, a part of the time she would be chewing." The little boys thought they should like nothing better than to have some sticks, and keep the cow in one corner of the yard till the calculations were made. But Elizabeth Eliza was afraid the Bromwicks would not like it. "Of course, it would bring all the boys in the school about the place, and very likely they would make the cow angry." Agamemnon recalled that Mr. Bromwick once wanted to hire Mr. Peterkin's lot for his cow. Mr. Peterkin started up. "That is true; and of course Mr. Bromwick must have known there was feed enough for one cow." "And the reason you didn't let him have it," said Solomon John, "was that Elizabeth Eliza was afraid of cows." "I did not like the idea," said Elizabeth Eliza, "of their cow's looking at me over the top of the fence, perhaps, when I should be planting the sweet peas in the garden. I hope our cow would be a quiet one. I should not like her jumping over the fence into the flower-beds." Mr. Peterkin declared that he should buy a cow of the quietest kind. "I should think something might be done about covering her horns," said Mrs. Peterkin; "that seems the most dangerous part. Perhaps they might be padded with cotton." Elizabeth Eliza said cows were built so large and clumsy, that if they came at you they could not help knocking you over. The little boys would prefer having the pasture a great way off. Half the fun of having a cow would be going up on the hills after her. Agamemnon thought the feed was not so good on the hills. "The cow would like it ever so much better," the little boys declared, "on account of the variety. If she did not like the rocks and the bushes, she could walk round and find the grassy places." "I am not sure," said Elizabeth Eliza, "but it would be less dangerous to keep the cow in the lot behind the house, because she would not be coming and going, morning and night, in that jerky way the Larkins' cows come home. They don't mind which gate they rush in at. I should hate to have our cow dash into our front yard just as I was coming home of an afternoon." "That is true," said Mr. Peterkin; "we can have the door of the cow-house open directly into the pasture, and save the coming and going." The little boys were quite disappointed. The cow would miss the exercise, and they would lose a great pleasure. Solomon John suggested that they might sit on the fence and watch the cow. It was decided to keep the cow in their own pasture; and as they were to put on an end kitchen, it would be perfectly easy to build a dairy. The cow proved a quiet one. She was a little excited when all the family stood round at the first milking, and watched her slowly walking into the shed. Elizabeth Eliza had her scarlet sack dyed brown a fortnight before. It was the one she did her gardening in, and it might have infuriated the cow. And she kept out of the garden the first day or two. Mrs. Peterkin and Elizabeth Eliza bought the best kind of milk-pans, of every size. But there was a little disappointment about the taste of the milk. The little boys liked it, and drank large mugs of it. Elizabeth Eliza said she could never learn to love milk warm from the cow, though she would like to do her best to patronize the cow. Mrs. Peterkin was afraid Amanda did not under stand about taking care of the milk; yet she had been down to overlook her, and she was sure the pans and the closet were all clean. "Suppose we send a pitcher of cream over to the lady from Philadelphia to try," said Elizabeth Eliza; "it will be a pretty attention before she goes." "It might be awkward if she didn't like it," said Solomon John. "Perhaps something is the matter with the grass." "I gave the cow an apple to eat yesterday," said one of the little boys, remorsefully. Elizabeth Eliza went over, and Mrs. Peterkin too, and explained all to the lady from Philadelphia, asking her to taste the milk. The lady from Philadelphia tasted, and said the truth was that the milk was sour! "I was afraid it was so," said Mrs. Peterkin; "but I didn't know what to expect from these new kinds of cows." The lady from Philadelphia asked where the milk was kept. "In the new dairy," answered Elizabeth Eliza. "Is that in a cool place?" asked the lady from Philadelphia. Elizabeth Eliza explained it was close by the new kitchen. "Is it near the chimney?" inquired the lady from Philadelphia. "It is directly back of the chimney and the new kitchen-range," replied Elizabeth Eliza. "I suppose it is too hot!" "Well, well!" said Mrs. Peterkin, "that is it! Last winter the milk froze, and now we have gone to the other extreme! Where shall we put our dairy?" <h2> THE PETERKINS' CHRISTMAS-TREE. </h2> EARLY in the autumn the Peterkins began to prepare for their Christmas-tree. Everything was done in great privacy, as it was to be a surprise to the neighbors, as well as to the rest of the family. Mr. Peterkin had been up to Mr. Bromwick's wood-lot, and, with his consent, selected the tree. Agamemnon went to look at it occasionally after dark, and Solomon John made frequent visits to it mornings, just after sunrise. Mr. Peterkin drove Elizabeth Eliza and her mother that way, and pointed furtively to it with his whip; but none of them ever spoke of it aloud to each other. It was suspected that the little boys had been to see it Wednesday and Saturday afternoons. But they came home with their pockets full of chestnuts, and said nothing about it. At length Mr. Peterkin had it cut down and brought secretly into the Larkin's barn. A week or two before Christmas a measurement was made of it with Elizabeth Eliza's yard-measure. To Mr. Peterkin's great dismay it was discovered that it was too high to stand in the back parlor. This fact was brought out at a secret council of Mr. and Mrs. Peterkin, Elizabeth Eliza, and Agamemnon. Agamemnon suggested that it might be set up slanting; but Mrs. Peterkin was very sure it would make her dizzy, and the candles would drip. But a brilliant idea came to Mr. Peterkin. He proposed that the ceiling of the parlor should be raised to make room for the top of the tree. Elizabeth Eliza thought the space would need to be quite large. It must not be like a small box, or you could not see the tree. "Yes," said Mr. Peterkin, "I should have the ceiling lifted all across the room; the effect would be finer." Elizabeth Eliza objected to having the whole ceiling raised, because her room was over the back parlor, and she would have no floor while the alteration was going on, which would be very awkward. Besides, her room was not very high now, and, if the floor were raised, perhaps she could not walk in it upright. Mr. Peterkin explained that he didn't propose altering the whole ceiling, but to life up a ridge across the room at the back part where the tree was to stand. This would make a hump, to be sure, in Elizabeth Eliza's room; but it would go across the whole room. Elizabeth Eliza said she would not mind that. It would be like the cuddy thing that comes up on the deck of a ship, that you sit against, only here you would not have the sea-sickness. She thought she should like it, for a rarity. She might use it for a divan. Mrs. Peterkin thought it would come in the worn place of the carpet, and might be a convenience in making the carpet over. Agamemnon was afraid there would be trouble in keeping the matter secret, for it would be a long piece of work for a carpenter; but Mr. Peterkin proposed having the carpenter for a day or two, for a number of other jobs. One of them was to make all the chairs in the house of the same height, for Mrs. Peterkin had nearly broken her spine by sitting down in a chair that she had supposed was her own rocking-chair, and it had proved to be two inches lower. The little boys were now large enough to sit in any chair; so a medium was fixed upon to satisfy all the family, and the chairs were made uniformly of the same height. On consulting the carpenter, however, he insisted that the tree could be cut off at the lower end to suit the height of the parlor, and demurred at so great a change as altering the ceiling. But Mr. Peterkin had set his mind upon the improvement, and Elizabeth Eliza had cut her carpet in preparation for it. So the folding-doors into the back parlor were closed, and for nearly a fortnight before Christmas there was great litter of fallen plastering, and laths, and chips, and shavings; and Elizabeth Eliza's carpet was taken up, and the furniture had to be changed, and one night she had to sleep at the Bromwicks', for there was a long hole in her floor that might be dangerous. All this delighted the little boys. They could not understand what was going on. Perhaps they suspected a Christmas-tree, but they did not know why a Christmas-tree should have so many chips, and were still more astonished at the hump that appeared in Elizabeth Eliza's room. It must be a Christmas present, or else the tree in a box. Some aunts and uncles, too, arrived a day or two before Christmas, with some small cousins. These cousins occupied the attention of the little boys, and there was a great deal of whispering and mystery, behind doors, and under the stairs, and in the corners of the entry. Solomon John was busy, privately making some candles for the tree. He had been collecting some bayberries, as he understood they made very nice candles, so that it would not be necessary to buy any. The elders of the family never all went into the back parlor together, and all tried not to see what was going on. Mrs. Peterkin would go in with Solomon John, or Mr. Peterkin with Elizabeth Eliza, or Elizabeth Eliza and Agamemnon and Solomon John. The little boys and the small cousins were never allowed even to look inside the room. Elizabeth Eliza meanwhile went into town a number of times. She wanted to consult Amanda as to how much ice-cream they should need, and whether they could make it at home, as they had cream and ice. She was pretty busy in her own room; the furniture had to be changed, and the carpet altered. The "hump" was higher than she expected. There was danger of bumping her own head whenever she crossed it. She had to nail some padding on the ceiling for fear of accidents. The afternoon before Christmas, Elizabeth Eliza, Solomon John, and their father collected in the back parlor for a council. The carpenters had done their work, and the tree stood at its full height at the back of the room, the top stretching up into the space arranged for it. All the chips and shavings were cleared away, and it stood on a neat box. But what were they to put upon the tree? Solomon John had brought in his supply of candles; but they proved to be very "stringy" and very few of them. It was strange how many bayberries it took to make a few candles! The little boys had helped him, and he had gathered as much as a bushel of bayberries. He had put them in water, and skimmed off the wax, according to the directions; but there was so little wax! Solomon John had given the little boys some of the bits sawed off from the legs of the chairs. He had suggested that they should cover them with gilt paper, to answer for gilt apples, without telling them what they were for. These apples, a little blunt at the end, and the candles were all they had for the tree! After all her trips into town Elizabeth Eliza had forgotten to bring anything for it. "I thought of candies and sugar-plums," she said; "but I concluded if we made caramels ourselves we should not need them. But, then, we have not made caramels. The fact is, that day my head was full of my carpet. I had bumped it pretty badly, too." Mr. Peterkin wished he had taken, instead of a fir-tree, an apple-tree he had seen in October, full of red fruit. "But the leaves would have fallen off by this time," said Elizabeth Eliza. "And the apples, too," said Solomon John. "It is odd I should have forgotten, that day I went in on purpose to get the things," said Elizabeth Eliza, musingly. "But I went from shop to shop, and didn't know exactly what to get. I saw a great many gilt things for Christmas-trees; but I knew the little boys were making the gilt apples; there were plenty of candles in the shops, but I knew Solomon John was making the candles." Mr. Peterkin thought it was quite natural. Solomon John wondered if it were too late for them to go into town now. Elizabeth Eliza could not go in the next morning, for there was to be a grand Christmas dinner, and Mr. Peterkin could not be spared, and Solomon John was sure he and Agamemnon would not know what to buy. Besides, they would want to try the candles to-night. Mr. Peterkin asked if the presents everybody had been preparing would not answer. But Elizabeth Eliza knew they would be too heavy. A gloom came over the room. There was only a flickering gleam from one of Solomon John's candles that he had lighted by way of trial. Solomon John again proposed going into town. He lighted a match to examine the newspaper about the trains. There were plenty of trains coming out at that hour, but none going in except a very late one. That would not leave time to do anything and come back. "We could go in, Elizabeth Eliza and I," said Solomon John, "but we should not have time to buy anything." Agamemnon was summoned in. Mrs. Peterkin was entertaining the uncles and aunts in the front parlor. Agamemnon wished there was time to study up something about electric lights. If they could only have a calcium light! Solomon John's candle sputtered and went out. At this moment there was a loud knocking at the front door. The little boys, and the small cousins, and the uncles and aunts, and Mrs. Peterkin, hastened to see what was the matter. The uncles and aunts thought somebody's house must be on fire. The door was opened, and there was a man, white with flakes, for it was beginning to snow, and he was pulling in a large box. Mrs. Peterkin supposed it contained some of Elizabeth Eliza's purchases, so she ordered it to be pushed into the back parlor, and hastily called back her guests and the little boys into the other room. The little boys and the small cousins were sure they had seen Santa Claus himself. Mr. Peterkin lighted the gas. The box was addressed to Elizabeth Eliza. It was from the lady from Philadelphia! She had gathered a hint from Elizabeth Eliza's letters that there was to be a Christmas-tree, and had filled this box with all that would be needed. It was opened directly. There was every kind of gilt hanging-thing, from gilt pea-pods to butterflies on springs. There were shining flags and lanterns, and birdcages, and nests with birds sitting on them, baskets of fruit, gilt apples and bunches of grapes, and, at the bottom of the whole, a large box of candles and a box of Philadelphia bonbons! Elizabeth Eliza and Solomon John could scarcely keep from screaming. The little boys and the small cousins knocked on the folding-doors to ask what was the matter. Hastily Mr. Peterkin and the rest took out the things and hung them on the tree, and put on the candles. When all was done, it looked so well that Mr. Peterkin exclaimed:—"Let us light the candles now, and send to invite all the neighbors to-night, and have the tree on Christmas Eve!" And so it was that the Peterkins had their Christmas-tree the day before, and on Christmas night could go and visit their neighbors. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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