Judge — May 11, 1912 — page 5: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

The HERE’S a big stone jar in the cor- ner of the pantry, and whenever mother has any berries or pineapple or oranges or bananas left over, she dumps them into the jar with some sugar, and puts a plate over the top. There's something else in the jar, too —it smells like the sauce big people get on their plum pudding. Once Uncle Tom picked up the children’s pitcher when he wanted some more, and mother said, “Oh, Tom, you don’t want that! Have some of the good sauce."" Well, the tutti frutti smells like the good sauce—sort of queer and interest- ing; it stings your throat and makes your tummy feel warm. After school—you're always so hun- gry then!—Bud and I'd go into the pan- try and skim out the strawberries and pineapple. If Bridget came, we were only getting cookies, We called the tutti frutti our cache, and, of course, a cache is a secret. Another cache was on the little shelf under the dining table—you know, on those boards that hold the legs together. Well, whenever mother made us take anything that was ‘‘good for’’ us, we'd slip it under the table and keep it for between meals—you can like even things that are good for you be- tween meals. Or when we'd eaten until our clothes hurt us, save the rest in the cache for another time. Besides, Bud always saved me his cur- ranty things, and he’d get all my bana- nas. He hated currants because once, when Bridget washed a lot and. put them in the sun to dry, he ate all he could—-and that’s quite considerable. And I didn’t care for bananas because, when Bud bet the price of them that I couldn't eat a dozen, I did, and more—I ate fifteen. Bud was sore to have to pay for them; it took the allowance he had had to live seven days to get—five school days, one Sunday-school day and we'd one Saturday—only he didn’t mind liv- ing Saturday. So, you see, when we wanted some- thing to eat after school, we'd go to the cache and not bother mother. She doesn’t believe in eating between meals, anyway. For us children, I mean; of course she does it all the time Fruit of By ETHEL CHAPMAN HARING. herself. That’s why Bud says it's harder to be a good boy than a good man. A good boy mustn’t swear, like his mother doesn’t; and he mustn’t be afraid, like his father isn’t. He has to be as good as them both together, see? Well, dad doesn’t eat between meals. But how can you play house without eat- ing, when eating is the principal thing about a house? Idon'tsee. Bud didn’t, either. So when we'd finished the cubby at the end of the golden-rod lot and in- vited all our most special friends—but not Stuffie—to the house-warming, we got the refreshments out of the caches. We saved up things for a week, and they were fine and crunchy; and Bud snitched a pail of tutti frutti. The cubby was a dry-goods box, big enough to hold two chairs--real fash- the Vine. how mother feels when she says she's “‘just mortified.’’ For there lay Stuffie all over the lawn, and dirty!—she was one smear. Imagine having company see her! “Get up, you lummox!’? ordered Bud, real bossy. She never stirred. He poked her with his foot—and then I happened to notice the table. “‘Bud!’’ I shrieked. ‘*She’s eaten the ‘The thief’! he said. ‘‘After all my trouble to get it, too! Get right away from our party!’’ and he shook her real hard. ‘*Seems to me she is the party—half of it, anyw said Ned Goakes, look- ing cross and staring at the empty clam shells, But for all our scolding and poking— everybody helped — Stuffie didn’t “DAD LEANED OVER HER AND PUT HIS HAND ON HER HEAD, AND THEN OP COUKSE, MOTHER CAME IN.” ionable ones, just like what mother calls Mission—made out of old boxes and bed slats. And the dishes were dandy, with only nicks out of them; and there were circus posters for wall paper. Of course only two people could sit inside at once, but Uncle Tom says that’s about all the biggest house holds com- fortably. Bud helped me set the table for the party. Beside every dish we laid a piece of rusk or cake, and on top a clam shell full of tutti frutti. Yum! It looked perfectly beautiful! Then we dropped white stones along the path through the tall weeds, and, just as we finished, Ned Goakes whis- tled, and we both ran to meet him. After he got in, we saw Lou and Carl on the way, and we waited to hold the barbed wire up for them, too, and then the others came poking along. We all raced back to the cubby—and now I know * 5) {| | move; so we jerked her up on her | feet and told her to go home. | But she just flopped over again like a bag of meal. “‘Aw, she’s playing "possum said Harold, disgusted. “*No, she isn’t, Harold Pierce!'" I said. ‘Nobody could walk that way on purpose.”” She was all wabbly and staggered something awful. She'd put her feet in the queerest places and expect them to hold her; and when she opened her eyes, they didn't ldok at you straight, but kind of crossed or waul, you couldn't tell which, and they were all hazy. She seemed to want to go to sleep again, so Bud said, “Plague take it, I suppose we've got to haul her home! Ned, you be head of the house till we get back. Come on, Sis.’” So we made a chair by holding wrists, and the boys set Stuffie on it and we lugged her home. We just got her safe on the lounge in the sitting-room when dad came in--worse luck, it was Satur- day afternoon! “Hello! Baby sick?” “I'm afraid so, dad. Better not get too near her,’’ said Bud, backing towarp the door. But dad leaned over her and put his hand on her head, and then, of course, mother came in. “‘Why, what is it?’ she asked, look- ing round at each one. Dad was sniffing Stuffie’s breath. vw comicbooks.com