A RAINY SATURDAY.: AND A LITTLE GIRL'S COMPOSITION. Published in The Independent, September 12, 1861, page 6.
Breakfast was over. The morning was merging into forenoon. I looked up from my sewing-machine, and saw with relief that rain was falling. For six weeks the landscape had been thirsting under a frightful drought.
Presently a child (not very distantly related to me) came in. She stood twirling her sun-bonnet, the picture of disappointment.
"What is the matter, Jessie?"
"It's Saturday, and it rains."
"Are you sorry for that?"
"I do when I've been shut up in school all the week. This week I had to be ready for the stage every morning at eight o'clock, and it brought me home at half-past four in the afternoon ; then I had to eat my dinner and practice an hour ; by that time the day was used up. This morning I counted on a long happy day to play, and I fixed myself on it."
I felt her disappointment, but I could not repress a smile at the funny figure she had "fixed" herself for happy Saturday. A pair of strong calf-skin shoes were tied close at her ankles ; a faded gingham dress hung limpsy around her limbs, (crinoline was discarded ;) a long-sleeved apron fastened close about her white throat. There was a remarkable absence of starch in all her habiliments, yet the green gingham apron was n ot unbecoming the yellow-haired complexion, and those eager gray eyes would have attracted attention in any dress. She stood the personation of an active mind in an active body.
"Did you expect some of your companions to play with you?"
"Yes, Robinson Sherman, and he promised to come early. I was at the gate waiting for him when it began to rain."
"How did you and Robinson expect to spend the day?"
"We have ever so many things to do. Out in the orchard I have a splendid umbrella-fish in a tub of salt water. Patrick brought him to me from Rockaway, and he had almost as much trouble to get him here alive, as there was to get Barnum's whales from Labrador. We are going to watch him and find out how he eats if we can. He does not seem to have any mouth, and when not swimming looks like a beautiful glass paper weight, with the richest colors deep in the inside. Just over in the buckwheat field is a snake's nest with five eggs in it. They are the size of pigeon's eggs, only a little longer. They are white, but, instead of a brittle shell, they are covered with a tough skin. We are going to dig a hole half-way down to China, and plant them so deep that if they ever come to life it will be the other side of the world. Then we are going to finish Mr. Skeezuck's house."
"And pray who is Mr. Skeezuck?"
"He is a kind of an imaginary man that we have been building a house for at odd times all summer. We have filled the cellar with green apples, and to-day we are going to have a flag-raising and sing the Star-Spangled Banner like everything."
"Is Mr. Skeezuck's house that mud-cabin under the walnut tree?"
"Yes. Sometimes we play he is a Hottentot, but t-day we meant to have him a Union man."
"This is certainly not a favorable time for flag-raising, so you had best employ yourself in the house."
"What can I do?"
"Shall I read to you?"
"Not unless Capt. Kittridge has come again in The Independent."
"He has not come."
"Well -- I guess I'll write a composition."
"Why ! you do not belong to the composition class, and, besides, you can't write."
"I can write a little, and I can think a good deal. Miss Jones said because everyone was complaining of the dry weather, she would give the class a subject to write upon -- Rain. I asked her if I might write too. She said I was under ten years, but I told her not much."
"You are only nine."
"I am nine and a half, and that is almost ten."
"Very well ; suppose you write your composition."
She sat down close by the window and looked out. She looked up at the sky, over the fields, into the trees, down at the grass. Once a smile rippled her cheek, and then her face was as serious as if she was preparing a pulpit discourse. She sat without speaking as much as fifteen minutes, (a long time for her,) then drawing a long breath she rose and said
"I am ready to write."
Her dissertation was not very profound nor very long, but it may interest some other beginner to read Jessie's first effort.
Rain.
Now is the time to write about rain, for it is pouring very hard. And the leaves and the flowers seem to laugh with delight. I even fancy they squeal a little as the drops touch them
The tops of the cherry-trees keep nodding and bowing as if they said, Welcome, little drops of water ; you have been a long time coming, and now the more you do, the better. From the window I can see a field of poor dying potatoes that I think are saying, Alas! the rain has come too late for us. I am glad for the farms and the gardens to see the rain, but for myself I would rather the sun would shine on Saturday.
Jessie.
She handed it in on Monday, and the teacher said it would do for a beginning.
That Saturday afternoon the rain ceased -- Robinson came -- they found the umbrella fish dead -- they planted the adder's eggs beyond the power of mischief -- and before the Sun went down the Stars and Stripes made proclamation that Mr. Skeezuck's house belonged to the Great Republic.
RODENSE.