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Bronson Tweed Publishing
The Believing Years
The Believing Years
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CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. Mr. Colburn 1
II. The Old Town 12
III. Magic 26
IV. Napoleon Jones 40
V. A Run on the Bank 57
VI. Horace 71
VII. The Great Day 82
VIII. The Green Chest 98
IX. White Peacocks 113
X. The Flight 130
XI. Up Like a Rocket 147
XII. Susy 160
XIII. Arma Puerumque Cano 177
XIV. When My Ship Comes In 195
XV. The Lucky-Bug 209
XVI. West Injy Lane 223
XVII. Their Unaccountable Behavior 240
XVIII. The Siege of Auntie Merrill 256
XIX. Entertaining Alice 269
XX. While the Evil Days Come Not 282
The clock pointed to the hour of three. Exactly sixty minutes separated us from vacation. It was the day of our dreams,—the last day of school.
We had thought of it, thought of it far back when snow still covered the ground; planned for it, lived in hope of it. To-morrow the tyrannical bell should be[2] silent, and no one could say: "Time to start for school!"
Many forces had been at work hurrying this day forward: the first blades of grass, the first leaves on the horse-chestnut trees, the first robin who ran across the grass-plots overlooking the frog pond, the first dandelion that gleamed in the grass. All were signs and symbols of it.
But in spite of so many omens, the day itself had been outrageously slow to arrive. The robins had abated the enthusiasm of the first few weeks, and become quieter. They were sober householders and family men, now. The golden blossoms of the dandelions were transformed into that shape in which they are useful chiefly to blow upon three times to see at what o'clock your mother wants you. The season had arrived for swimming,—indeed, it had been here for weeks,—Ed Mason and Rob Currier claimed to[3] have gone in swimming at Four Rocks as early as the last day of April. The fish in Little River needed our careful attention. And in front of Austin's shop had long stood a sign displaying a pink pyramid with a spoon stuck therein, and the seductive words "Ice Cream," a spectacle that made our Fourth of July money stir uneasily in our pockets.
In short, all the elements of vacation were here,—all but the thing itself. Each morning the summons came at twenty minutes of nine, and each morning we trod the dismal path. Pencils squeaked, and slaty smells arose as the slates were covered with figures and then cleaned with damp sponges. The pungent odor of cedar, from newly sharpened lead-pencils, mingled with the fragrance of pickled limes,—smuggled into school and eaten contrary to the orders of Miss Temple, the teacher. Outside, summer[4] called us in a dozen different ways. And, uneasy prisoners, we chafed and wriggled in our seats.
But, somehow, the days had dragged by, and even this final one had nearly gone. At the last moment, when our release was so near at hand, a dismal spectre arose before us to block the way. It was the forbidding form of Mr. Colburn.
CHAPTER PAGE
I. Mr. Colburn 1
II. The Old Town 12
III. Magic 26
IV. Napoleon Jones 40
V. A Run on the Bank 57
VI. Horace 71
VII. The Great Day 82
VIII. The Green Chest 98
IX. White Peacocks 113
X. The Flight 130
XI. Up Like a Rocket 147
XII. Susy 160
XIII. Arma Puerumque Cano 177
XIV. When My Ship Comes In 195
XV. The Lucky-Bug 209
XVI. West Injy Lane 223
XVII. Their Unaccountable Behavior 240
XVIII. The Siege of Auntie Merrill 256
XIX. Entertaining Alice 269
XX. While the Evil Days Come Not 282
The clock pointed to the hour of three. Exactly sixty minutes separated us from vacation. It was the day of our dreams,—the last day of school.
We had thought of it, thought of it far back when snow still covered the ground; planned for it, lived in hope of it. To-morrow the tyrannical bell should be[2] silent, and no one could say: "Time to start for school!"
Many forces had been at work hurrying this day forward: the first blades of grass, the first leaves on the horse-chestnut trees, the first robin who ran across the grass-plots overlooking the frog pond, the first dandelion that gleamed in the grass. All were signs and symbols of it.
But in spite of so many omens, the day itself had been outrageously slow to arrive. The robins had abated the enthusiasm of the first few weeks, and become quieter. They were sober householders and family men, now. The golden blossoms of the dandelions were transformed into that shape in which they are useful chiefly to blow upon three times to see at what o'clock your mother wants you. The season had arrived for swimming,—indeed, it had been here for weeks,—Ed Mason and Rob Currier claimed to[3] have gone in swimming at Four Rocks as early as the last day of April. The fish in Little River needed our careful attention. And in front of Austin's shop had long stood a sign displaying a pink pyramid with a spoon stuck therein, and the seductive words "Ice Cream," a spectacle that made our Fourth of July money stir uneasily in our pockets.
In short, all the elements of vacation were here,—all but the thing itself. Each morning the summons came at twenty minutes of nine, and each morning we trod the dismal path. Pencils squeaked, and slaty smells arose as the slates were covered with figures and then cleaned with damp sponges. The pungent odor of cedar, from newly sharpened lead-pencils, mingled with the fragrance of pickled limes,—smuggled into school and eaten contrary to the orders of Miss Temple, the teacher. Outside, summer[4] called us in a dozen different ways. And, uneasy prisoners, we chafed and wriggled in our seats.
But, somehow, the days had dragged by, and even this final one had nearly gone. At the last moment, when our release was so near at hand, a dismal spectre arose before us to block the way. It was the forbidding form of Mr. Colburn.
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