Patty Fairfield/Chapter 13
CHAPTER XIII
HOME-MADE MUSIC
"Why do you call this the music-room?" asked Patty; "there's no piano in it, nor any musical instrument that I can see."
"That's just the reason why," replied Nan. "I christened the room myself, and I called it the music-room because it hasn't anything musical in it. I get so tired of seeing music-rooms filled with pianos and banjos and mandolins and guitars. This is a refreshing change. And besides, when we want music we can sing."
"Then won't you sing now?" said Patty. "I'd like to hear you."
"Why, of course we will; would you like to hear some of our original songs?"
"Yes, indeed! Do you make songs yourself?"
"Oh, we always make our own songs. Home-made songs are ever so much better than boughten ones. They fit better and wear longer. We don't make the tunes, though; we just appropriate those. First we'll sing you 'The Song of the House.'"
This was sung to the air of "The Kerry Dance," and the whole family joined their voices with Nan's, and all sang with great spirit.
Come, oh, come to the Hurly-Burly,
Come and join in the jolly fun
That begins in the morning early,
And continues till day is done.
Sailing, swimming, walking, riding,—
On the land or on the sea;
At the Hurly-Burly biding,
We're as happy as we can be.
Oh, the jollity, oh, the gayety,
Just come down and see;
Chorus:—Come, oh, come, etc.
Sometimes we take sandwiches of chick,
And go off on a merry pick-a-nick;
Sometimes we in hammocks idly swing,
At other times we only sit and si-i-ng—
Chorus:—Come, oh, come, etc.
"That's beautiful," said Patty when they had finished the song. "I'll learn the words, and then I can sing it with you."
"Indeed you must," said Nan, "and now I'll sing you the song of the Barlow family; they won't sing it themselves, but when you learn it, you and I can warble it together."
"Sing a song of Barlows,
A family full of fun;
A father and a mother,
A daughter and a son.
"When the door is open
Hear the family sing!
All the people passing by
Run like anything."
"It's a base libel," said Uncle Ted; "we sing beautifully, and except that Bumble flats, and Bob has no ear, there isn't a flaw in our singing."
The evening passed merrily by, and when it was bedtime, Bumble showed Patty to her room.
When Patty found that a large front room on the second floor had been allotted to her, she expressed a fear lest she might be inconveniencing some one else by taking one of the choice rooms of the house.
"Not a bit," said Bumble. "Nan has the tower-room, because she likes it better, and the house is so big, there are plenty of rooms, anyway. Of course, if a lot of company comes, we may ask you to give up this, and take a smaller room, but you wouldn't mind that, would you?"
"No, indeed," said Patty. "I'll move out at any time." Then Bumble kissed her cousin good-night and went away.
Patty's trunk had been placed in her room, and she found that some one had kindly unfastened its straps and clasps, so she had only to unlock it. She unpacked her clothes, and hung up her dresses in the wardrobe and cupboard, and put things neatly away in the bureau-drawers.
She placed her mother's picture on a small table, and looking at it critically, she concluded that it was like Aunt Grace, but much prettier.
After this, Patty looked round the great room with much interest. It seemed to contain a perfect hodge-podge of furniture. There were three dressing-bureaus, and a huge wash-stand with two bowls and pitchers on it. There were several large easy-chairs, and an old haircloth sofa there were small tables, and bookcases, and a cabinet filled with bric-a-brac, but,—and Patty could scarcely believe her eyes,—there was no bed!
When this fact dawned upon her, she concluded that one of the bookcases or bureaus must be a folding-bed.
She tried to open them, but the bureau-drawers and the bookcase-shelves proved themselves to be really what they seemed; then she looked for a bed concealed in an alcove or an ante-room, but the curtains hid only windows and the doors opened into ordinary closets.
Patty even looked in the fireplace and up the chimney, but she was gradually forced to the conclusion that there was no bed at her disposal, and that she must either report this fact to some member of the family or sit up all night.
As it was now late she hesitated to trouble anybody about the matter, and thought she would rather manage without a bed.
She did think of asking Bumble to let her share her room, but she didn't know where her cousin's room was, and too, there might be only a single bed in it. So Patty decided to try the old sofa.
As she had no pillow or bed-clothing, she rolled up a dress to put under her head and pinned two skirts together for a coverlet.
But the old haircloth scratched her bare feet, and poor Patty soon jumped up and sought another resting-place.
She cuddled up in a big armchair which was soft and warm, and there she soon fell asleep. But later, she awoke, so stiff from her cramped position, that she could scarcely move. So then she lay down on the floor and slept there the rest of the night.
Next morning she dressed herself and went down-stairs at about eight o'clock, but nobody was in sight, so Patty went out on the veranda and watched the waves as they came rolling and tumbling up on the beach.
Then, with a view to exploring her new home, she walked round the house.
This brought her to the kitchen, and through the window she saw a fat old black woman raking vigorously at the range.
"Dis yer stove 'll make me lose my 'ligion," Patty heard her murmur, and she felt sure she was listening to old Hopalong. "Good-morning, Hopalong," she cried.
"'Mawnin', missy; an' who be you?"
"'I'm Patty Fairfield, and I'm Mrs. Barlow's niece, and I've come to stay all summer."
"Dat's good. I see you'se a nice, pretty-behaved little lady. Any ob de fam'ly 'round yit?"
"No, I haven't seen anybody."
"Well, yere comes Massa Ted; now I mus' jes' be spry 'bout gettin' my co'n brade done."
Hopalong shuffled away, and Patty turned to see Uncle Ted coming towards her.
"Hello, Patty-girl," he cried, "you're up be times."
"Yes," said Patty, "and so are you. Oh, Uncle Teddy, isn't the sea gorgeous? I do love it so, and I'm so glad I'm here!"
"That's good, little one; I'm glad you're glad. And now come to breakfast."
Aunt Grace had been carried down-stairs by her husband and son, and was already in her place at the table.
She called Patty to her and kissed her affectionately, and asked her if she slept well. Patty hesitated a moment, then breaking into a merry laugh, she said:
"Why, Auntie Grace, I didn't sleep very well, for I hadn't any bed."
"What?" exclaimed her aunt, in horror, "why, Patty, I ordered a little brass bed sent from Philadelphia purposely for you, and it arrived yesterday morning. I told Dil to put it up in your room, and I told Eunice to see that it was properly made. But I confess I did forget to ask if my orders had been carried out, and,—I suppose they weren't. You poor child! How did you manage? Why didn't you tell us?"
"Well, I didn't notice it until quite late," said Patty. "I was so busy putting my clothes and things away, that I never thought of anything else at the time. And, anyway, I didn't mind for one night."
Just then Bumble came in, and when she heard about Patty's experience she looked astounded. "Why," said she, "I took Patty to her room myself, and I never noticed that there was no bed there!"
"You're a rattle-pated goosey," said her father: "but never mind, Patty, you shall have two beds to-night to make up for it,—I'll promise you that."
"Don't believe him," cried Nan, gayly, as she ran into the dining-room. "I don't know what Uncle Ted is saying to you,—but he won't do it. He never kept a promise in his life!"
"'Oh, promise me,'" began Uncle Ted, and then they all joined in and sang:
"Oh, promise me that some day you and I
Will take a piece of huckleberry pie,
Some deviled eggs and strawberry ice cream,
And have a picnic down by yonder stream.
And then we'll wander through the fields afar.
And take a ride upon a trolley car;
But we'll come home again in time for tea,—
Oh, promise me—oh, promise me-e-e—"
The last refrain rang out with a prolonged wail that seemed to Patty the funniest thing she had ever heard, and she fairly shouted with laughter.
"Oh, dear, you are the funniest family," she exclaimed; "I think I shall stay here six months instead of three."