BY
 
 u
 
 The Autobiography 
 of a Tomboy.
 
 THE TOMBOY.
 
 THE 
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHY 
 OF A TOMBOY 
 
 BY 
 
 JEANNKTTE 1... GILDER 
 
 PICTURES BY FLORENCE SCOl EL SHINN 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & CO. 
 
 1 901
 
 Copyright, 1900, by 
 DOUBLED AY, PAGE & Co.
 
 STACK 
 ANNEX 
 
 TO 
 
 MY NIECE 
 
 JEANNETTE CHOLMELEY-JONES 
 
 TO WHOM 1 HAVE OFTEN TOLD 
 
 THE CONTENTS OF THIS BOOK 
 
 NOT AS AN EXAMPLE 
 
 BUT AS 
 A WARNING
 
 List of Illustrations. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 TlTE TOMBOY Frontispiece 
 
 I WAS THE ONLY (!IRL ALLOWED TO 
 
 RIDE THIS WONDERFUL WHEEL . 5 
 STOPPING.; AT A PUMP THAT STOOD 
 
 THERE 13 
 
 LIZZIE ("MRS. SINCLAIR") .... 25 
 SOUIJED UPON His SHOULDER . . . 37 
 THERE WAS MUCH BLUSIIINO AND 
 
 MUCH GK;C,LTN<; 43 
 
 I MADE A DASH FOR MY MOTHER S 
 
 ROOM 59 
 
 MOXKEY, MONKEY, BARREL OF 
 
 BEER, How MANY MONKEYS 
 
 HAVE WE HERE?" 69 
 
 SAT ON A FOOT-STOOL, QUITE OUT OF 
 
 SlCHT OF THE CONGREGATION . S3 
 
 MY COUSIN FANNY 103 
 
 I ASKED MARY JANE IF SHE WAS 
 
 A COLORED BYRON 125 
 
 SHE WANTED TO PLAY "Puss IN THE 
 
 CORNER" 141 
 
 "LITTLE PITCHERS HAVE Bio EARS" 155
 
 List of Illustrations. 
 
 I AGE 
 
 SAT ON A STONE FENCE AND BEAT 
 RUSSET APPLES SOFT ON ITS HARD 
 
 TOP 175 
 
 I DRESSED MYSELF IN SOME VERY 
 
 SHABBY OLD CLOTHES . . . .191 
 I WOULD STAND BEFORE HIM IN 
 
 OPEN-MOUTHED ADMIRATION . 203 
 THIS WAS TO KEEP OUT THE CHIL 
 DREN 221 
 
 COUSIN FRANCES LEFT THE TABLE 
 
 IN DISGUST 235 
 
 "HELLO, FRECKLES!" 249 
 
 "Miss KATE" 255 
 
 A LITTLE PUSH-CART MADE BY THE 
 
 YOUNG MEN 203 
 
 "CHECKMATE!" SAID 1 273 
 
 DANCING IN THE BIG ROOM .... 277 
 "Snoo! SHOO!" SHE SHOUTED . . 291 
 I LOOKED BACK AND SAW THE TICKET 
 
 AGENT RUNNING I T p THE TRACK 327 
 " DICKSEY, I HAVE MADE UP MY MIND 
 TO WORK" , . 347
 
 The Autobiography 
 of a Tomboy.
 
 The Autobiography 
 of a Tomboy. 
 
 i. 
 
 Every one said that I was a tomboy; 
 and, being a good American, I bowed to 
 the verdict of the majority and was happy. 
 I never quite understood why a girl who 
 climbed trees, clung to the tail-end of 
 carts, and otherwise deported herself as a 
 well-conditioned girl should not, was 
 called a tomboy. It always seemed to me 
 that, if she was anything she should not 
 be, it was a tomgirl. However, tomboy 
 was the accepted name for such girls as I 
 was, and there was no use in arguing the 
 case. After all, it made little difference. 
 I did not care what they called me, so 
 long as they let me alone; but that they 
 3
 
 4 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 were loath to do. My relations and friends 
 of the family predicted all sorts of dread 
 ful ends for me, and talked in my pres 
 ence ahout the awful fate awaiting 
 whistling girls and crowing liens. I 
 never had the pleasure of meeting a crow 
 ing hen; but I have known a great many 
 whistling girls, and I cannot recall an in 
 stance where their ends were any worse 
 than those of other girls. 
 
 In the days of my youth the sports of 
 girls in America were limited. There were 
 no such games as lawn-tennis, nor golf, 
 nor basket-ball. As for bicycles, there 
 were none anywhere. A boy who lived in 
 a street behind ours had an awkward 
 three-wheeled machine that he called a 
 "verlosophy." As he was known as 
 "Bub," his machine was always spoken of 
 as "Bub s verlosophy." I was the only 
 girl allowed to ride this wonderful wheel; 
 perhaps because I was the only girl who 
 openly expressed a desire to do so bold a 
 thing. The games of those of us who
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 7 
 
 loved to be out of doors were limited to 
 "tag" and tree-climbing; the latter a 
 stolen pleasure, but all tbe more delight 
 ful for that reason. Dolls were supposed 
 to be the beginning and the end of a 
 little girl s amusement. I liked dolls well 
 enough, though my assortment was not a 
 choice one. I had three that I remember 
 well. One was a joint doll a wretched 
 little manikin of a thing,, always lacking 
 an arm or a leg; an old black shawl well 
 rolled up, with my nurse s apron tied 
 around it for a dress; and my "best doll" 
 a china head on a cloth body. I think 
 that the shawl doll was my favorite, be 
 cause it was more nearly the size of a real 
 baby than the others; but I admired the 
 blue eyes of the "best" one, and especially 
 her china hair, painted black, parted in 
 the middle, drawn well down over the 
 ears, and done up in a painted knot. I 
 think that it must have been the grown 
 up effect of the knot that impressed me. 
 The few toys that I had were soon broken,
 
 8 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 and my "best doll" shared their fate before 
 I had had her long. I see her now, with 
 the top of her china head scalped as by 
 a tomahawk, and the sawdust oozing from 
 her cloth sides. 
 
 My birthplace was in a Long Island 
 town not many miles from K"ew York. 
 "The Hall" had been built and occupied 
 as a boys school, but my father converted 
 it into a "female seminary." It was a 
 two story building in Gothic style, and 
 as pretty as any American house I know. 
 It inclosed a court in which there was a 
 beautiful lawn with a fountain playing in 
 the center, over which hung two enor 
 mous weeping-willows, looking at their re 
 flections in its clear waters. Cloisters ran 
 around the four sides of the court, which 
 was entered from the front through an 
 arch, while at the rear a square opening 
 led into a garden behind the house. There 
 were towers at two of the corners, and to 
 the left of the entrance a chapel with a 
 high, pointed roof, and an altar with an
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 9 
 
 organ-loft, in which there was no organ. 
 Several acres of lawn, with big trees and 
 shady walks, surrounded the house. I re 
 member a hemlock, not far from the 
 chapel-door, which was grown from a slip 
 cut from a tree that overshadowed Napo 
 leon s grave at St. Helena. This was al 
 ways an object of special interest to visit 
 ors, and many were the twigs they carried 
 away in their hands. There were two 
 summer-houses at one end of what we 
 called the park; and deep in among the 
 trees, a mysterious one-story building with 
 the door nailed up, and narrow slits of 
 windows from which the sashes had been 
 broken. AVc children always spoke of this 
 as the "haunted room, and only the bold 
 est of us ever penetrated its mysteries. I 
 may say, without boasting, that I was one 
 of these. It took courage, I admit, and it 
 was considered rather mean to "dare" any 
 one to enter its gloom. The only entrance 
 was by way of one of the narrow windows, 
 and it was a tight squeeze for even the
 
 10 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 smallest of us. My heart beat like a trip 
 hammer as I blinked to get accustomed to 
 the darkness, and listened with frightened 
 ears to the scampering of the rats that 
 my coming disturbed. There was nothing 
 in this room by way of furniture except 
 an old piano, broken-legged and covered 
 with cobwebs. To strike the keys of this 
 piano, while the children on the outside 
 listened with beating hearts, established 
 one s claim to courage in its highest 
 form. 
 
 On these outer grounds were the ruins 
 of a brick building called, from its shape, 
 the rotunda. Only a semi-circle of brick 
 remained. This stood two stories high, 
 and was embellished on the inside with 
 iron galleries. To climb to these galleries 
 and jump off took some courage, but not 
 so much as to strike the keys of the old 
 piano. Not far from the rotunda was a 
 sand-pit, where we dug catacombs and 
 built castles such as were never seen in. 
 or out of, Spain.
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. Ir 
 
 It will he seen by this that we were not 
 so badly oft for outdoor amusements as we 
 might have been. 
 
 We were a large family three girls, 
 very near of an age, and an assorted lot 
 of boys. I was the eldest of the girls; 
 Marty was the next, and Miney was 
 the youngest. Then we had some 
 girl cousins with us. They were nearer 
 my age, but they were so much, more what 
 girls should he than 1 was, that we had 
 little in common. They never broke their 
 toys; they never climbed trees; and they 
 always looked neat and clean. 1 regret to 
 say that 1 never looked either, though I 
 had my daily bath and a generous allow 
 ance of clothes. I was the despair of my 
 mother and my nurse; but, though I gave 
 them no end of trouble, my madcap ways 
 seemed rather to endear me to them. 1 
 was also a great favorite with my father, 
 who, when my relations predicted a ter 
 rible future for me, used to say, "Don t 
 worry about that child; she ll come out all
 
 12 Autobiography of a Tomboy, 
 
 right." They only shrugged their shoul 
 ders and smiled at the fatuity of parents. 
 I was naturally of an adventurous dis 
 position, and made a small attempt to run 
 away from home when I was only four 
 years old. I did not get far away, but it 
 was far enough to make me tremble at 
 my temerity before I had gone many 
 blocks from the garden-gate. We were 
 never allowed to play in the streets, hav 
 ing ample grounds of our own to play in; 
 but, being direct descendants of Adam 
 and Eve, we had much of their inquiring 
 turn of mind. The day I chose for my 
 adventure was Sunday and the hour an 
 early one, when my nurse was at church. 
 My own hat and coat had been laid away, 
 probably to be out of my reach, but I was 
 of too determined a disposition to be de 
 terred by so trifling an obstacle as that. 
 The hat and coat of an elder brother were 
 near at hand, and I was not many minutes 
 in getting myself into them. The hat 
 came rather too far down on my head, and
 
 STOPPING AT A PUMP THAT kTool) TMKKK
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. T 5 
 
 I had to hold the coat off the ground by 
 tying a woolen scarf around my waist and 
 making a sort of pouch of the front of the 
 coat. Thus arrayed, T slipped quietly out 
 by the back-gate, stopping at a pump that 
 stood there to drink from the tin dipper 
 a tiling my nurse had never permitted me 
 to do. That, of course, was why J did it. 
 
 A few steps and F was at the corner of 
 the street, a few more and I had lost my 
 bearings; ljut, undaunted, I pressed on. 
 One or two children laughed at my strange 
 garb as I passed by, and I am afraid that I 
 told them to "shut up/ A coachman who 
 knew my nurse looked at me curiously. 
 but did not recognize me. The sight of 
 him gave me courage, for I knew that if L 
 were attacked by wolves or giants, he 
 would help me. I kept close behind him. 
 After going a short distance, he turned 
 into a big brick church on the corner. 
 
 To my delight I remembered that that 
 was my nurse s church; she had pointed 
 it out to me one dav, when we were walk-
 
 16 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 ing by. I would go in, too, and surprise 
 her! In this I succeeded better than I 
 had anticipated. I saw the coachman stop 
 at the door, dip his fingers into a brass 
 font, cross himself, bend his knee, and 
 enter the big door that led into the 
 church. I tried to dip my fingers into 
 the font, but could not reach it. I bent my 
 knee, however, and followed him through 
 the door. lie disappeared at once, going 
 into the first pew. Then I seemed to be 
 alone in the vast building. The deep 
 tones of the organ filled me with awe; my 
 heart rose in my throat, and I came very 
 near crying. Instead of giving away to 
 any such weakness, I toddled up the aisle, 
 calling out in my most penetrating voice: 
 "I want my Annie, I want my Annie!" 
 "My Annie" also wanted me, and she 
 got me. Before I knew what had hap 
 pened, she leaned far out of a pew, and 
 grasping me by the scarf around my waist 
 lifted me well over the door and tucked 
 me under the seat.
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 1 7 
 
 "Slay then. , you naughty girl!" 
 1 sa\v tin- Hush of shame spread over 
 her cheeks. but I failed to rind the twinkle 
 that 1 always looked for in her blue Irish 
 eyes. 1 knew, then, that 1 had over 
 stepped the hounds, and I prayed that the 
 service would he a long one; for it was, 
 rather cozy quarters under the seat, and I. 
 solaced myself with a twig of sassafras 
 that one of Annie s friends in the pew 
 passed down to me. I tried to bribe 
 Annie with some of it, but she only shook 
 her head and looked stern. 
 
 At last the service was over, and grasp 
 ing me by the arm, Annie hurried me out 
 of church. I would fain have loitered by 
 the way, for I recognized some of the ser 
 vants from our house, and I wanted them 
 to l<m>\v what a big thing I had done. 
 l>ut Annie did not regard my escapade in 
 that light. She felt disgraced that I 
 should have appeared before her friends 
 in such a garb. The fact that the coach 
 man, who now recognized me, chaffed her
 
 18 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 a bit did not tend to restore her peace of 
 mind. I was hustled over the ground in 
 very short order. Xo sooner had we 
 turned into our street than I saw my 
 mother approaching. All the fright that 
 she had suffered in not finding me at 
 home vanished as I appeared, clinging to 
 my nurse s skirts. She took in the situa 
 tion at a glance and so did I! Deeming 
 valor the better part of discretion, I ad 
 vanced boldly. 
 
 "I ve brought you some saxafrax," said 
 I, holding out the gnawed twig; but 1113 
 mother pushed it aside. 
 
 "You naughty girl, to run away and 
 frighten your mother so! I don t want 
 your sassafras." 
 
 "I was that ashamed, mum, she in such 
 clothes, with all the nice things she s got!" 
 said Annie. 
 
 "Come with me," said my mother, tak 
 ing my hand. I held back, and Annie 
 spread her skirts about me a way she 
 had when she had reason to think that I
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. *9 
 
 \vas to get my deserts. "Come," said my 
 mother, drawing rny to her. I looked in 
 Tier face to see what my chances were, and 
 decided that I had Letter go. She led me 
 to her room and closed the door!
 
 II. 
 
 One might suppose that, after what had 
 happened behind that closed door, my ar 
 dor for running away would have been 
 dampened. It was only whetted. I had 
 seen something of the outside world, and 
 I wanted to see more. I came very near 
 seeing more than I had bargained for 
 somewhere in my sixth year. This time 
 I was sitting on the top rail of the front 
 fence, when a party of gypsies went by on 
 their way to a camp some distance up the 
 road. A girl sitting astride of the top 
 rail of a high fence was enough of a 
 novelty to attract their attention. They 
 stopped, looked approvingly at my black 
 eyes and the ringlets hanging down my 
 back, and spoke to each other in low 
 voices; then, so plainly that I could hear, 
 but still to themselves, they said: 
 
 What a. pretty little girl! ITow well 
 she would ride one of our ponies! 
 
 30
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 2I 
 
 J had never been called pretty before, 
 so I was flattered; and then the pony! I 
 slid gently over the top of the fence to 
 t he ground. 
 
 "Have you got a pony?" I asked. 
 
 "Yes," said the older woman; "would 
 you like to ride it? 
 
 Would ]? I said "yes;" with enthu 
 siasm. 
 
 "Then if you will come with us, you 
 may have a pony of your own to ride 
 every day." 
 
 She pul out her hand, and I took it 
 with confidence and started up the street 
 in the direction of the encampment. I 
 was so afraid that someone would come 
 and take me away before J got that pony 
 that I almost dragged the tmisv along. 
 
 C? ~ i J . O 
 
 Someone did come, and quickly. It was 
 my little sister Marty, who had a whole 
 some dread of gypsies. She had seen me 
 going away with them, and she came 
 shrieking after me. 
 
 "Where are you going?" she panted.
 
 22 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 "She s a nice little girl, and she s going 
 with us/ said the old woman. 
 
 Let go of my sister!" screamed Marty, 
 and with that she flew at the old gypsy, 
 and bit and scratched her till the woman 
 was glad to loosen her hold. The street 
 was too public a one for an out-and-out 
 kidnaping case, and the gypsies did not 
 want to attract the attention of passers-by. 
 So I was released, but not till the old hag s 
 hands and face were dripping with blood 
 from my sister s sharp nails. T apologized 
 to the gypsies for the onslaiight; for I was 
 really quite mortified that my good friends 
 should be treated so badly; but they went 
 off muttering threats of vengeance, which, 
 I am happy to say, were never carried out. 
 If it had not been for Marly, I might 
 to-day be traveling around the country in 
 a van, telling the fortunes of the credu 
 lous, instead of playing off this story on a 
 typewriter as a warning to all children 
 with wayward tendencies. 
 
 While Marty s nails did me a good turn
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 2 3 
 
 this time, there were times that she used 
 them with too much freedom and effect. 
 For some childish reason there was a hitter 
 feud between my sister and our cousin 
 Susie. Susie was a well-behaved child, 
 who took care of her clothes and played 
 quiet games. She could sew like a woman, 
 and her patchwork quilts were master 
 pieces of their kind. Neither mine nor 
 Marty s were well made. The patches 
 were not even, and the colors did not 
 harmonize. We both felt Susie s superi 
 ority, but I rather admired it than other 
 wise. Marty seemed to regard it in the 
 light of a reproach, and whenever she met 
 Susie in the halls or on the stairs there 
 was sure to be a light. Susie was never 
 the aggressor, but she stood by her guns 
 and defended herself in the face of many 
 disadvantages, the principal one being 
 Marty s nails. Xow, Susie was a victim 
 of the dreadful habit of nail-biting, and 
 the ends of her fingers were as good as 
 useless when it came to a hand-to-hand
 
 2 4 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 encounter. Marty not only did not bite 
 her nails, but she let them grow to an un 
 seemly length and trimmed them to a 
 point. 
 
 I have spoken of the archway that 
 served as an entrance to our house and 
 court. Over this arch was a large bed 
 room. The approach to the room over 
 the arch was up a flight of ten or twelve 
 steps; then came a landing-place and as 
 many more steps leading down. This 
 landing was Susie s Waterloo. Marty 
 would hear her coming on the other side 
 of the landing, for she was of a happy 
 disposition and sang as she came. This 
 was my little sister s cue. She would 
 crouch at the foot of the steps on her side 
 of the hall and crawl quietly up, and just 
 as Susie reached the top, pounce upon 
 her, digging her sharp nails into the 
 round, red cheeks of her surprised cousin. 
 There would be a scream and the sound 
 of a scuffle. Then Susie s mother would 
 appear from her side of the steps, and my
 
 LT771K ("MKS. SI.N CLAIR ).
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 27 
 
 mother would appear from our side, and 
 the belligerents would be carried off in 
 disgrace and put to bed. 
 
 Of Susie s elder sister, Liz/ie, who was 
 about my age, we were somewhat in awe. 
 She was very old for her years, and she 
 spoke of us as "the children." We used 
 the two summer-houses already spoken of 
 as playhouses. On the outside of the one 
 used by my sisters and myself I had nailed 
 a sign 
 
 DAVID .MORTOX, 
 COAL AM) WOOD. 
 
 On the other summer-house was pinned 
 a card, with 
 
 MRS. SINCLAIR 
 
 written on it. I called myself "David 
 Morton after a relative-in-law, of whom 
 I was fond, and I sold (for pins) coal and 
 wood to " Mrs. Sinclair," my cousin Lizzie, 
 who would not answer us unless we ad-
 
 28 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 dressed her by that melodramatic name. 
 Now, while I liked the idea of keeping a 
 coal-yard, I was not a particularly practi 
 cal child; not as practical as my cousin 
 Susie, for instance, who, going one day to 
 the grocers to get her sister some starch, 
 found three cents on the sidewalk. I 
 happened to be with her at the time and 
 immediately saw visions of three sticks of 
 molasses candy. Xot so the thrifty Susie. 
 What do you suppose she did with that 
 new-found wealth? She added it to her 
 sister s money and got a pound and three 
 cents worth of starch! And my mouth 
 fixed for candy! But then she came of a 
 practical family on her mother s side. 
 When her grandfather was dying, he 
 turned to his wife and said: 
 
 ".My dear, 1 am hardly likely to live 
 through the night. When I am dead 
 there will, of course, be a great many of 
 our relations and friends here; so I think 
 it would be well for you to lay in a stock 
 of food, for you know that people come 
 hungry to funerals."
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 2 9 
 
 a Yes." said his wife; " I know, and I 
 have provided." 
 
 Grandfather Hoi-ton looked at her with 
 a gratified smile on his drawn lips. 
 "Thank yon, my dear," he said; "yon 
 always were thoughtful." And he turned 
 his face to the wall. That night he died, 
 nnd the funeral-baked meats were served 
 to his sorrowing relatives on the morrow. 
 
 My cousins inherited many of the prac 
 tical characteristics of their grandparents. 
 They kept their toys in perfect condi 
 tion. Some of their dolls were heirlooms, 
 and yet they looked as good as new. They 
 realized my cousins, I mean that their 
 mission in life was to build up rather than 
 to destroy; while only destruction fol 
 lowed in my wake. I was rather a good- 
 natured child, but report has it that my 
 temper was of the sort supposed to go 
 with red hair, ^ly hair was not red it 
 v.as auburn; hut there was enough of the 
 willful tint in it to affect my temper. I 
 realized this, possibly, because I was so 
 ol len reminded of it.
 
 3 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 One afternoon I was drinking at the 
 street-pump with Susie, who had on her 
 best white pinafore, when a ragged, dirty 
 little girl from a neighboring tenament- 
 house descended upon us and wiped her 
 black and grimy hands upon Susie s im 
 maculate pinafore. Susie burst into tears 
 at the indignity; while I, when I had 
 recovered from my surprise, flew at the 
 offending ragamuffin, and beat her witli 
 my fists until she fled, screaming, from tho 
 fray. I was about to give chase, but at 
 this moment "Mary Cap-border," our 
 other nurse, appeared upon the scene, and, 
 calling me the worst child she ever saw, 
 filliped my ears with her he-thimbled fin 
 ger until they ached with pain. 
 
 We children did not like this nurse at 
 all. She was called Mary Cap-border to 
 distinguish her from another Mary, who 
 truly served, for she helped wait at a table 
 of forty covers. The nurse Mary was an 
 old Irish woman, who always wore a white 
 cap with a deep border, hence the name
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 3 1 
 
 she was known by. Annie was the head- 
 nurse, though she was the younger woman 
 by many years. Mary acted as her shep 
 herd s dog and rounded us children up 
 when we were lost, which was not infre 
 quently. It was no difficult matter to get 
 lost, or to hide from the sight of our 
 nurses, in that old house or about the 
 grounds. I remember once stealing 
 Miney, my youngest sister, out of 
 the nursery when she was little more 
 than a baby. Annie, the nurse, was 
 in her room darning stockings, and 
 Mary Cap-border had stepped into her 
 closet to tell her beads, for she was quite 
 old and had much to tell them, when L 
 slipped in and kidnaped Miney. I had 
 not gone far when 1 heard Mary s pious 
 footsteps on our trail. Dragging Miney 
 along so that her toes barely touched the 
 ground, I bounded into a convenient tool- 
 house and bolted the door, (ireat was 
 my triumph, but not for long. 
 
 "Ila! ha!" 1 laughed; "you can t catch 
 us now!"
 
 3 2 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 How little I appreciated the ingenuity 
 of that old woman! The tool-house had 
 a window, and that window stood wide 
 open. In a moment the flapping cap-hor- 
 der of Mary appeared in it. 
 
 "Ha! ha! is it, indade?" said she, thrust 
 ing her hand with a switch in it through 
 the opening. Alas and alack! That tool- 
 house was small, airl her arm, augmented 
 hy the switch, reached to its furthermost 
 corners. 
 
 One. two! one two! and through and through 
 The vorpal sword went snicker-snack. 
 
 In vain I fled to the other side, or 
 crouched flat upon the floor. T could not 
 escape the sharp cuttings of that switch. 
 They rained upon my head and shoulders 
 until T was fain to cry, "Hold, enough!" 
 and open the door. 
 
 "I ll teach ye to stale that child from 
 under me nose, and me saying me 
 prayers," and she made another cut at 
 me with the switch. I was in the open
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 33 
 
 now. No pent-up tool-house confined my 
 powers. I dodged the switch, and, run 
 ning to a safe distance, told that old wo 
 man what I thought of her in language 
 that made her cap-border tremble with 
 righteous indignation. 1 am not bound 
 to repeat here what I said.
 
 III. 
 
 As I have intimated, my father was 
 inclined to indulge me, and I was allowed 
 the privileges of his study; to me even 
 then, as it would he now, the most at 
 tractive room in the house. Bookshelves 
 ran from the floor to the ceiling, with 
 husts of the great poets in imitation 
 bronze resting in niches on their tops. 
 One window opened out upon the front 
 lawn, and there was a door with a vine- 
 covered porch to the right of it. Opening 
 out upon the park was a deep how-win 
 dow, hung with turkey-red curtains and 
 a window-seat with cushions covered with 
 the same material. There was a tall red 
 desk near this window, at which my 
 father used to stand to write when he got 
 tired of sitting. In the middle of the 
 room was a table littered with papers, 
 books, pipes and tobacco. A chess-board 
 34
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 35 
 
 with black and yellow "men" carved from 
 wood was a. conspicuous feature of this 
 table, about which, in the evenings, the 
 clergymen and professors of the village 
 gathered to smoke their pipes and plav 
 their favorite game. Sometimes T was 
 allowed to sit on the table it was large 
 and I was small and watch them. 
 
 I remember once a particularly exciting 
 game was being played, and one of the 
 players, a clergyman, I believe, after a 
 hard fight, won the victory. Fxelama- 
 tioiis of pleased surprise broke from the 
 company. Xot to be outdone in interest, 
 1 raised mv childish voice and exclaimed: 
 "( i ood I m- you. Fitch!" 
 
 There was a shout of laughter at this 
 spontaneous outburst. 1 regret to say 
 that there was nothing spontaneous about 
 it. It was entirely premeditated. I had 
 been waiting mv opportunity, for 1 knew 
 
 <.ll . ^ 
 
 just how it would be received: but no one 
 suspected my duplicity. "Not even 
 Fitch," for thirty years later 1 met him, 
 and he reminded me of my spontaneity.
 
 3 6 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 To the pupils at the school the study 
 was rather a dreadful place. They never 
 entered it except upon the most formal 
 occasions. To be called to the study filled 
 the stoutest heart with alarm. My father s, 
 like every other young ladies school near 
 a village, was very much disturbed by the 
 attentions of the village young men. 
 Some of the pupils rather enjoyed these 
 attentions; others, the majority, resented 
 them. Respectable young men, known 
 to my father, were allowed to visit the 
 school at stated times; but there were cer 
 tain yonng men in the village who were 
 never allowed within its gates. These 
 took their revenge by annoying my father 
 in many ways. They would come around 
 in the evening and pass notes over the 
 fence, or even climb that barrier and 
 walk with the girls in the shrubbery. My 
 father set to work to find out which of 
 the girls were disgracing themselves by 
 accepting these clandestine attentions, 
 and was surprised to hear the name of
 
 SOBBKJ) Vl OX JITS
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 39 
 
 Carrie Parker, whom he had always con 
 sidered a mode] of propriety, among the 
 guilty ones. Jle sent for her to eome to 
 the study, and there told her what he 
 had heard. She turned pale and trem 
 bled; then, bursting into tears, threw her 
 arms about my father s neck and sobbed 
 n pon his shoulder. 
 
 "O, Mr. (Jilbert! how can you suspect 
 me: " she cried. 
 
 The situation was embarrassing, and 
 my father tried hard to disengage her 
 arms from his neck. .It was useless. She 
 only clung the tighter. Footsteps were 
 heard approaching the study. If they 
 were only my mother s it would he all 
 right, for she knew her husband thor 
 oughly and she had a keen sense of hu 
 mor. Some one knocked. Should he say 
 "Come in," and risk the consequences, or 
 should he say nothing and let the person, 
 whoever it might be, think that he was 
 out? But suppose that he or worse, she 
 should be of an inquiring turn of
 
 4 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 and open the door! "Come in," he said 
 boldly, and in walked Miss Ilartsford, 
 the head-teacher. She paused for a mo 
 ment; and then, recognizing the young 
 lady still sobbing on my father s shoul 
 der, said: 
 
 "I came to tell you, Mr. Gilbert, that 
 Carrie Parker was wrongly suspected; she 
 is perfectly innocent." 
 
 "With a wild sob of joy, the girl re 
 leased my father from her embrace, and 
 threw herself upon the teacher. 
 
 "I couldn t have stood it another min 
 ute;" she cried. 
 
 My father was about to say that he 
 couldn t either, but he straightened his 
 rumpled collar and hastened up to my 
 mother s room to tell her the story. 
 
 "Carrie Parker is a fool," said my 
 mother, and not without provocation; 
 "fortunately, Miss Ilartsford is not. Sup 
 pose that it had been one of those gos 
 siping men teachers, or," trying to look 
 severe, "what if I had opened the 
 door?"
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 41 
 
 "I should have been sorry for Carrie 
 Parker," said my father with a twinkle 
 in his eye. 
 
 At another time my father was in 
 formed that there was a young man in the 
 drawing-room who wanted to see one of 
 the pupils. He sent for the girl, and 
 asked her if she knew the young man and 
 if she wanted to see him. 
 
 "I know him slightly, she answered, 
 "hut I don t want to see him, and I am 
 very much annoyed that he should call 
 here. 
 
 "Very well, then," said my father. "T 
 will tell him, and ask him not to call 
 again." 
 
 The girl went to her room and, no 
 doubt, told the other girls, for very soon 
 a dozen or more appeared in a far corner 
 of the court where they could command 
 the front door. 
 
 My father went to the drawing-room 
 and told the young man that he could 
 not see Miss - - on that or any other
 
 4 2 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 day. Being a persistent youth, he was in 
 clined to argue the point, and hesitated so 
 long about going that my father was 
 obliged to assist his exit. This he didj, 
 and closing the door quickly turned the 
 key in the lock. Xo sooner had he done 
 this than he heard a gentle knocking at 
 the door. He paid no attention. 
 
 "Eat-tat-tat-tat!" 
 
 "That young man is impertinent," 
 thought my father, and turned to walk 
 away. 
 
 "Rat-tat-tat-tat!" much louder than at, 
 first. 
 
 My father lost all patience by this time, 
 and returning to the door opened it 
 quickly, whereon the young man, who 
 had been caught by his coat-tails, and was 
 pulling hard to get loose, pitched head 
 foremost on the path. Suppressed titters 
 came from the corner of the court where 
 the girls were grouped. The young man 
 picked himself up quickly and with 
 flushed cheeks and flashing eyes hurried 
 to the gate.
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 45 
 
 On certain Saturday afternoons the 
 young men from the boarding-school up 
 the street were invited to The Hall. They 
 formed an archery company and wore 
 green uniforms. After showing their 
 skill with the how and arrow they were 
 allowed to talk and walk with the girls 
 who served them with lemonade and cake. 
 Those were rare afternoons, and there was 
 much hlushing and much giggling. I 
 was not arrived at the dignity of young 
 ladyhood, hut I was treated to the refresh 
 ments and made myself generally officious 
 hy putting the archers green caps on the 
 heads of the girls, for which, they, the 
 girls, boxed my ears, and the boys gave me 
 more cake and lemonade. 
 
 At other times, the Tompkins T>lues, a 
 crack militia company from Xew York, 
 came up and drilled in the courtyard. 
 They brought theirband with them, which 
 played the popular music of the day 
 When the Springtime (Vines, fientle 
 Annie," "Willie, We Have Missed You/
 
 4 6 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 and other innocuous tunes. There was a 
 great and glorious drum-major with this 
 band. iSTever did drum-major wear so 
 big a "bear-skin" or toss his staff so high 
 into the air. It was wonderful to see him. 
 I believe he could have written his name 
 with the twirling of his baton, if lie had 
 tried. And then his mustaches only 
 military men wore mustaches in those 
 days he could have tied his at the back 
 of his head had he wished to do anything 
 so foolish. 
 
 On the first day of the militia men s 
 visit the girls prepared a gorgeous bou 
 quet which one of them, acting as spokes 
 man, was to present to the captain. Alas! 
 overwhelmed by his gorgeousness she pre 
 sented it to the drum-major, who accepted 
 it as his due, while the modest captain 
 was passed by. The embarrassment of 
 the girls when they discovered their mis 
 take was painful indeed, and hastily gath 
 ering another bouquet, they chased the 
 retiring company across the lawn, and
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. ^ 
 
 pressed it into the captain s hand. Ho 
 saw the joke and enjoyed it, hut the drum- 
 major took his accidental honors in all 
 seriousness. The only thing that dis 
 turbed his serenity that day was when I 
 seized his staff of office and rode a-cock- 
 horse witli it around the courtyard. It 
 was a great occasion altogether, its inter 
 est heing only heightened hy Tommy 
 Ilirch, tiie clergyman s son, falling into 
 the fountain and spoiling his hest suit of 
 clothes. How well I recall the scene: The 
 courtyard full of pretty girls, the gay uni 
 forms of the soldiers, the screams of the 
 frightened Tommy, and then the strains 
 of the hand a> it played "Wait for the 
 Wagon" on its way to the train that the 
 amiable conductor had held twenty min 
 utes for their tardy coining.
 
 IV. 
 
 "MOTHER, MOTHER come, quick! 
 Nell s fallen down the tower stairs, and 
 says she s killed!" 
 
 My mother, used as she was to such 
 alarms, rose to her feet, pale and trem 
 bling. 
 
 " Twould he God s mercy if twere 
 true!" exclaimed a much-harassed aunt, 
 from the foot of the breakfast-table. My 
 mother shot an indignant glance from her 
 black eyes, as she hastily followed my sis 
 ter from the room, and she did not speak 
 to that aunt for many months. 
 
 Marty and I were up in the "Salon," 
 as we called the big room where the Sat 
 urday evening "reunions" were held, and I 
 suggested a race to the stairs. Xo sooner 
 said than done, and off we started. These 
 stairs, for some strange reason, were 
 covered with zinc instead of with carpet,
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 4 9 
 
 and this zinc was worn in many places. 
 We ran furiously, as children do, and I 
 tripped and fell, cutting my upper lip on 
 the ragged metal. The blow almost 
 stunned me, and hlood gushed from the 
 wound. Xo wonder T thought my end 
 had come! I was picked np and carried to 
 my room, and the doctor was sent for. 
 
 Dear old Dr. Rloodgood! I see him 
 still, will) his sandy hair and pink skin 
 and the merry twinkle in his hlne eyes, 
 lie was used to my accidents; hut this was 
 the worst that had yet befallen me. There 
 1 lay, covered with blood, and with two 
 upper lips instead of one; for the ugly 
 v.\\\c had made a neat job of it and cut 
 right, down the middle and all the way 
 through. The doctor was obliged to sew 
 up the wound, and it was many days be 
 fore 1 was presentable. At one stage in 
 the healing the lip was swollen out beyond 
 my nose, and was black and blue and alto 
 gether terrible to look at; that is to say, 
 terrible to every one but me. I would
 
 5 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 look at myself in the glass, whenever I got 
 a chance, and was rather proud of 
 my extraordinary appearance. I en 
 joyed nothing better than escaping from 
 my nursery and going into the dormitories 
 to show myself to the girls. When they 
 ran shrieking away from the horrible 
 sight, I always gave chase. The more 
 they shrieked the more I enjoyed it. 
 
 Hardly had I, recovered from the acci 
 dent of the zinc than another tragedy be 
 fell me. It was my lot to sleep in a 
 "trundle-bed" - a relic of barbarism 
 which, I hope, no longer exists. A 
 "trundle-bed," as you may not know, is a 
 low bed, lying close to the floor, which is 
 slipped under an ordinary bed during the 
 day, and pulled out at night. I was the 
 sole occupant of the "trundle-bed," and 
 rejoiced in my isolation until the night of 
 the tragedy. 
 
 I had gone to bed and was sleeping 
 peacefully, when, some time after mid 
 night, I felt something stinging me, as I
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 5 1 
 
 supposed. I screamed, but Annie in tbe 
 big bed slept on. The stinging continued, 
 and my screams became louder. Horror 
 seized me now, and I gave one piercing 
 shriek, which aroused my mother in the 
 next room. She appeared at the door with 
 a candle in her hand, to see me sitting up 
 in bed covered with blood, and three huge 
 rats running across the floor. My face, 
 hands, and cars were terribly bitten, and 
 I was frightened beyond words. Again 
 the doctor was sent for, and again my 
 wounds were dressed. As I recovered 
 from the fright of that awful night, I 
 enjoyed the distinction that came of it. 
 I was petted and made much of as the 
 story grew. And it did grow. The three 
 rats were increased to fifty, the size of 
 large cats; and my wounds, bad enough as 
 they were, were greatly exaggerated. To 
 this day, 1 have the, greatest horror of rats 
 a horror that extends to mice; and who 
 can blame me? As for "trundle-beds," I 
 would make kindling wood of every one 
 extant.
 
 5 2 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 One of the most painful accidents from 
 which I suffered was caused by my own 
 foolishness. Any child should know that 
 a hot stove is a thing to be avoided, but I 
 did not seem to realize the fact. I was 
 undressed and was frisking about my 
 mother s room in my night gown, when 
 it occurred to me to warm myself at the 
 fire. The stove was of the species known 
 as "air-tight," in which wood is burned 
 and which makes a hotter fire while it 
 lasts than any other stove ever invented. 
 It was at its hottest when I was cavorting 
 around it, and the first thing I knew 1 
 fell full length upon it. I didn t stay 
 long, but it was quite long enough to 
 leave on my tender skin the impression of 
 a lady holding a sheaf of wheat that orna 
 mented its side. 
 
 My mother was going to a party across 
 the street, and was giving the last touches 
 to her toilet before the mirror when my 
 shriek and the smell of burning flesh 
 brought her to my side. There was no
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 53 
 
 party for her that night. Tlio silk dress 
 came of] and the wrapper was donned, 
 while plasters of molasses and flour were 
 applied to the lady and the sheaf of wheat 
 with which 1 was decorated. 1 was laid 
 up, or rather down, for a long time, and 
 required so much attention at night as 
 well as hy day that my mother was rohhed 
 of her sleep, and was apt to doze off in the 
 evening under the very nose of callers. 
 
 There was one lady in particular whose 
 conversation, at the best of times, made 
 my mother sleepy; and at this time she 
 could not resist its soporific influence. 
 One evening, while this good woman was 
 prosing along about her husband and chil 
 dren, my mother s head dropped and she 
 was lost in dreams. 
 
 "I think that we will educate John for 
 the church. .Don t you think he will 
 make a lovely clergyman?" said the vis 
 itor. 
 
 "lie ought to be a printer," said my 
 mother, possibly thinking of the leanings 
 of her own children.
 
 54 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 "A printer!" exclaimed the indignant 
 woman. 
 
 The exclamation of surprise aroused my 
 mother with a start. There was no ex 
 planation possible. She couldn t say that 
 she had been asleep; so she had to stand 
 by her guns, to the undisguised disgust 
 and annoyance of her visitor, who never 
 quite forgave her estimation of John s 
 talents. 
 
 When I was able to get my clothes on 
 again, I resumed my wild ways, to every 
 one s surprise, it having been supposed 
 that I would be sweetened by adversity. 
 On the contrary, I had been shelved for 
 PO long that I was eager for the fray. The 
 first thing I did was to take my cousin s 
 saddle-horse out of the stable, and ride 
 him bareback through the village street. 
 I sat with my face towards his tail; and, 
 when asked why I adopted this singular 
 fashion, I replied that if he ran away with 
 me, it would be easier to slip off than if I 
 had to turn around.
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 55 
 
 When T couldn t get a horse to ride, I 
 rode a cow; not a bad substitute, either, 
 for the unusual use to which she was put 
 set her off at a smart gallop, which I en 
 joyed to the full, if she did not. 
 
 One of my favorite "stunts" was jump 
 ing from the stable-window into the yard 
 below. I had done this so often that if 
 bad ceased to be a novelty. One day, to 
 vary the amusement, I called out to the 
 other children: 
 
 "See me! I m going to jump with my 
 arms folded." Then, assuming the atti 
 tude supposed to have been habitual with 
 Napoleon Bonaparte, I jumped. Oh, the 
 agony! My folded arms Hew up as I 
 struck the ground, and dealt me such a 
 blow under the chin that I wonder my 
 head was not knocked oil . I almost 
 wished that it had been, for then it would 
 not have ached as it did from that cruel 
 concussion. I need scarcely say that I 
 was " stumpmaster" for that day.
 
 V. 
 
 As a general thing I was a favorite with 
 the cooks who ruled in our kitchen, and 
 they would allow me privileges that they 
 denied my cousins. I might almost write 
 a book on "Cooks Who Have Helped Me," 
 for I learned so much from them of the 
 art of shelling peas, stoning raisins, and 
 baking cake in egg-shells. There was one 
 cook, however, with whom I did not get 
 along. Her name was Bridget Ryan, I 
 believe it usually was. She was a hot- 
 tempered, heavily-built Irishwoman, with 
 damp red hair and a nose that looked as 
 if it had been broken in a tight. She said 
 that she had inherited it from her father, 
 and I dare say she had in a way. When 
 she came to engage herself to my mother,, 
 she was all sweetness and light. I hap 
 pened to be in the room and she promised 
 me no end of goodies, she was so fond of 
 55
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. ? 
 
 children, she said. She \vns a good cook, 
 one of the best \ve ever had; but it she was 
 fond of children, she had a sure way of 
 hiding her affections. Our kitchen was 
 very large, even for a large house. It had 
 a big range with copious ovens in one cor 
 ner, and the stone hearth was at least 
 twelve feet square and raised about six 
 inches from the main floor. On Saturday 
 .Bridge! baked her pies for Sunday s din 
 ner, and as she took them from the oven 
 she set them on the hearth to cool before 
 she put them in the pantrv. On one par 
 ticular Saturday, there were some twenty 
 custard-pies in battle array on the hearth 
 when I peered in at the kitchen-door. 
 
 Bridget was not in sight, but a big bowl 
 filled with cake-batter was. l>y its side 
 was a pile of egg-shells. The batter, the 
 egg-shells, the oven-door wide open, and 
 the cook nowhere to be seen! What an 
 opportunity! I flew to embrace it. Tip 
 toeing into the deserted room in a trice, I 
 had filled half a dozen of the empty shells
 
 5 8 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 with the rich yellow batter; then tip-toe 
 ing across to the hearth, I carefully 
 picked my way between the pies, and was 
 just laying the last shell inside the oven, 
 when Bridget appeared upon the scene. 
 
 "Get out of this, you young limb of the 
 owld hi!" she screamed, and, seizing a wet 
 dish-cloth from the sink, aimed at my 
 head. I dodged it, but it is not an easy 
 matter to dodge dish-cloths on a stone 
 hearth covered with pies. My foot 
 slipped, I stepped into the nearest pie, and 
 fell down upon a dozen others while the 
 rest of the twenty slid before me out upon 
 the kitchen floor. Bridget, armed with a 
 poker, was on the war-path; but, spring 
 ing to my feet, I made a dash for my 
 mother s room, leaving a trail of custard 
 behind me. Bridget, still pursuing, ran 
 into the near-sighted professor of German 
 at a turn in the hall, but was off again 
 before he had recovered his spectacles. 
 This slight interruption was to my ad 
 vantage, and I was in my mother s room
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 6l 
 
 \vith the door locked before the infuriated 
 woman caught up with me. She didn t 
 quite like to hurst the door open, though 
 she might easily have done so with her 
 powerful fists; so she retreated to the 
 kitchen to make more pies, and tell the 
 other servants what an outrageous child I 
 was. I don t wonder that she was indig 
 nant. It was hard on her, hut then she 
 should not have flung the dish-cloth at 
 me. It was too sudden an onslaught upon 
 a child standing on the brink of twenty 
 pies all custard. 
 
 My strained relations with the cook 
 made it advisahle for me to avoid the 
 kitchen in my daily prowlings ahout the 
 house. Notwithstanding her severity to 
 ward me, and the iron hand with which 
 she ruled the servants, she was fond of a 
 good time, and F used to hear from the 
 waitresses and chambermaids of Saturday- 
 night festivities in the kitchen which 
 sounded much more attractive to me than 
 the "reunions" of my own people in the
 
 62 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 xalon. My curiosity concerning these 
 kitchen revelries at last became irresist- 
 ihle. I could stand it no longer, and one 
 Saturday night I determined to play the 
 role of Peeping Tom, and see for myself 
 what happened on these festive occasions. 
 \Ve children were put to bed earlier than 
 usual that night; but I lay low and said 
 nothing till about half-past nine, when, 
 finding my sisters asleep and the nurse s 
 bed empty, I got up stealthily and, don 
 ning my flannel wrapper, started off bare 
 footed down the long halls. Everything 
 was quiet in the dormitories, for teachers 
 and pupils were in the salon, so I got 
 through to the dining-room without de 
 tection. There was a large butlers pantry 
 between the dining-room and the kitchen, 
 and oil this a smaller pantry or store 
 room, in which groceries and other provi 
 sions were kept. There were shelves all 
 around the walls, and a high, small win 
 dow looking into the kitchen. My aim 
 was to reach this window. As I ap-
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 6 3 
 
 proached the kite-lien I could hear my 
 heart heat with excitement, for there was 
 a sound of revelry hy night music and 
 the patter and scraping of feet on the 
 sanded floor. Kagerly T opened the store 
 room door, and, standing on the edge of 
 a barrel of eggs, mounted noiselessly to 
 the top shelf and peered through the win 
 dow. What to my wondering eyes should 
 appear but the floor cleared for dancing, 
 the big table pushed back, and standing 
 on it our inan-of-all-Avork, sawing out an 
 Irish jig on his fiddle, with nil the flour 
 ishes of a Paganini. In the center of the 
 floor, with her petticoats tucked up and 
 her arms akimbo, was the cook, and "fer- 
 iienst." her, as she would have put it, was 
 "Paddy" (Jrogan, who kept a corner gro 
 cery in a back street. He had on an old 
 high hat, and with a stick under his arm 
 was doing a jig as only one to the manner 
 born can do it. 
 
 Jiridget was getting blown, her fact 1 was 
 red to the verge of purple, and her hair
 
 6 4 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 hanging in damp locks over her shoulders. 
 Puffing and blowing, she threw herself 
 upon a chair, and another couple came to 
 the front. I came near rolling off the 
 shelf in my surprise, for who should the 
 man be but my big brother Sandy, with 
 a rosy-cheeked chambermaid as his vis-a 
 vis. He flung off his coat and went at that 
 jig as though he had lived his life at 
 Donnybrook. Every one applauded, and 
 I clapped my hands with the rest. In my 
 enthusiasm I shouted, "Good for you. 
 Sandy! Then there was a pause, while 
 every ear was attention. 
 
 Sandy stood, pale and perspiring, for 
 he knew what would happen if he were 
 caught dancing with the servants in the 
 kitchen. "Who was that? he exclaimed, 
 looking eagerly about the room. Then 
 his eyes met mine looking down from the 
 window. He made a bolt for the door, 
 and so did I. Of course the inevitable hap 
 pened. I lost my balance and came down 
 with a scream, both feet crashing through 
 the barrel of eggs.
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 6 5 
 
 When Sandy pulled me out I looked 
 like an underdone omelette. Never before 
 had I reali/ed, as I did then, the folly of 
 putting all one s e<r^s in the same basket. 
 
 1 1 \\as a case of if you tell on me I ll 
 tell on you, so Sandy and I swore to keep 
 each other s secret. It was the e*r<rs that 
 betravcd me.
 
 VI. 
 
 As Anna Dickinson said of herself, "I 
 never was a raving beauty." I had, how 
 ever, very pretty hair auburn, my friends 
 called it; my enemies described it as red. 
 It fell naturally in loose curls, which 
 reached nearly to my waist. "\Vhen I ran 
 and I seldom walked it flew out be 
 hind me like a banner. Whenever I sat 
 quietly, which was only on rare occasions, 
 it hung down the sides of my face like a 
 veil. Xot having much vanity in my com 
 position, I didn t like it, though it was 
 almost the only part of my personal ap 
 pearance that ever received a compliment. 
 I longed for the freedom of short hair, 
 like a boy s, that wouldn t catch, as Ab 
 salom s, in the trees I climbed; but any 
 suggestion of barber s shears was received 
 with horror on the part of my family. On 
 the day of a certain commencement," as 
 66
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 6 ~ 
 
 the dosing exercises of tlic school-veai" 
 were called, 1 hung on behind the grocer s 
 wagon, and rode into the village. ]\Iy 
 mind was made up. J intended to he 
 bothered with curls no longer; so, dashing 
 into a barber s shop, 1 climbed up on a 
 (hair. 
 
 "Well, little girl," said the harbor, 
 "what can J do for your" 
 
 "1 want my hair cut short like a hoy s," 
 said I, with determination. The barber 
 stared in amazement, and shook his head 
 doubt fully. 
 
 "I m afraid I ll get myself into trouble 
 if I cut them curls," and he lifted them 
 admiringly and let. them drop gently from 
 his fingers. 
 
 "You ll get yourself into trouble if von 
 don t," said I, angrily. 
 
 lie took" up the shears and snapped 
 them hesitatingly. 
 
 "I kinder hate ter," said he, medita 
 tively. 
 
 Quick as a flash I grabbed the shears
 
 68 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 from his hands, and, before he could re 
 cover from his astonishment, two of the 
 biggest curls lay writhing at his feet. 
 
 "There, now, you ll have to do it," said 
 I, triumphantly. 
 
 "Well, of all the wild colts I ever seen, 
 you take the cake," exclaimed the man, 
 taking the shears from my hand. "Here 
 goes, then," and snip-snap, snip-snap sang 
 the sharp steel about my head. 
 
 "Shorter!" I commanded, looking in 
 the glass; "give me a shingle cut." lie 
 sighed and did as he was bid. I have said 
 that I was without vanity, but when I 
 saw myself with "shingled" hair, I was 
 pleased with my looks. The barber was 
 not. 
 
 "You re a holy show, if there ever was 
 one," said he, with a look of disgust, "and 
 I guess you ll catch it when yer mar sees 
 yer. I know people who d give a pile of 
 good money fer them curls," looking 
 sadly at the tangled ringlets lying at his 
 feet.
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. / 
 
 "They can have them for nothing," I 
 retorted, regarding the pile contemptu 
 ously, and paying the unhappy barber ten 
 cents for his work, I marched proudly out 
 of the shop. On my way home I made 
 excuses to take my hat off, so that people 
 could see and admire. They saw, but I 
 could not detect a note of admiration in 
 their glance. Some of those who knew 
 me made pertinent remark?, 
 
 "Hello! Tomboy," said one. I didn t 
 mind thai. 
 
 "When did you get out of jail?" asked 
 another, which rather hurt me. While 
 "Hub," he of the "verlosophy," greeted 
 me with a peal of laughter. 
 
 "Well, you do look like a monkey! 7 
 
 "Monkey, monkey, barrel of beer, 
 How many monkeys have we here ?" 
 
 shouted a chorus of vulgar little boys. 
 
 My blood was up. 1 stopped short in 
 front of them and counted: 
 
 "One two three just I It in- moil-
 
 7 2 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 keys," said I, sarcastically, and passed 
 on down the street before they had time- 
 to recover from their surprise. 
 
 As I approached my home, I began to 
 feel a little less confident. I wished that 
 it was not quite so near. My courage was 
 beginning to ooze out, and I decided to 
 postpone the meeting with my parents. 
 To that end I climbed over the back-fence 
 and hugged the shrubbery till I got 
 around to my play bouse. I went in and 
 hung up my hat, and looking at myself in 
 a bit of broken looking-glass tacked to the 
 wall, was just beginning to take heart 
 again, when my cousin Will,, an awful 
 tease, appeared at the door. His eyes 
 nearly popped out of his head. 
 
 "Great Scott! he exclaimed. 
 
 "What s the matter?" 
 
 "Who cut your hair?" 
 
 "The barber." 
 
 "Who told him to?" 
 
 "I did." 
 
 "I wouldn t like to he in your shoes
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 73 
 
 when your mother sees you. You re a 
 perfect fright. Your hair was the only 
 decent thing about you; and now, you ve 
 gone and cut it all oil ! But you ll catch 
 it, though! My eye but I wouldn t like 
 to be in your shoes! 
 
 The nearest weapon was a pail of coal. 
 (You may remember that 1 kept a coal 
 and wood yard.) 1 seized it quickly and 
 hurled it at him. 
 
 "Take that, you hateful thing!" lie 
 dodged it, and ran laughing up the path. 
 I was feeling far from happy by this time, 
 and if 1 eould ha\e restored my shorn 
 locks then and there, I would have done 
 so; but alas! as I stood with burning 
 checks, and Hashing eyes, Annie, who had 
 been scouring the neighborhood for me 
 for the past hour, appeared upon the 
 scene. The sense of relief which she felt 
 upon finding me was drowned in her hor 
 ror at my appearance. She was proud of 
 mv curls, for she had tended them with 
 loving care since the davs when thev were
 
 74 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 only little ringlets clinging to my head. 
 At first she could not believe her eyes; 
 but, when she realized what I had done, 
 she burst into tears. 
 
 "Oh, what have you done oh dear, oh 
 dear!" she sobbed. 
 
 "What s the matter, Annie?" said T, 
 putting on a bold front. "What s the use 
 of crying about a lot of old hair? You 
 know I look a great deal nicer." 
 
 "Oh, no you don t! You look horrid! 
 You ain t my little girl any more. You re 
 an ugly little boy. What will your poor 
 mother say!" and, taking me firmly by the 
 arm, she marched me off to my mother s 
 room. I could have broken away, but it 
 would only have put off the evil moment 
 for a short time; so I decided to have it 
 over without more ado. 
 
 As we approached my mother s room, 
 Annie s sobs began again. This brought 
 my mother in terror to the door. She 
 knew that when Annie wept something 
 was wrong with me or one of my sisters; 
 usually with me.
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. "5 
 
 "What is the matter?" she exclaimed. 
 
 I was hiding 1 hohind Annie. 
 
 "0 Mrs. (iilbert! Miss Nell " and 
 her sohs prevented her finishing the sen 
 tence. Of course, my mother imagined 
 that something more than usually awful 
 had happened. 
 
 "\Yherc is Miss Xcll?" she asked, ex 
 citedly. 
 
 "Here I am, mother," and I came bold- 
 ly into view. Xever shall I forget the ex 
 pression of my mother s face when she 
 saw my head. 
 
 "I ve had my hair cut," I continued 
 gayly. 
 
 "O Nell! how could you?" she pleaded, 
 scarcely ahlo to keep hack her tears. I 
 was beginning to realize that, like Sam 
 son, I didn t amount to much when shorn 
 of my locks. 
 
 Luckily for me, my father was too busy 
 getting ready for the "commencement" 
 to give any thought to my whereabouts. 
 F was put ignominiously to bed; but,
 
 7 6 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 when the time for the evening s perform 
 ances drew near, my mother relented and 
 said that I might go into the chapel, but 
 that I must sit away Lack in a dark cor 
 ner, where no one could see me. I agreed 
 to this and regretted that the corner was 
 so remote and dark that there was no 
 chance of being seen. I soon found an 
 opportunity for showing myself; for 1 felt 
 sure that, no matter what people might 
 say, in their hearts they could not but ad 
 mire my "l?iley cut." 
 
 At either end of the platform on which 
 the graduating class was to sit was a 
 door; and these two doors, I discovered, 
 were standing open, no doubt for some 
 good reason. I did not stop to think of 
 that I only saw a chance to show myself; 
 so I slipped out of my scat, ran up the 
 chapel aisle, and walked boldly across the 
 platform and closed the doors. Xearly 
 every one in the audience knew me, and 
 a despairing groan went up to the top of 
 that chapel s Gothic roof, and a buzz of
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 indignant com incut passed over the audi 
 torium. I marched boldly down the aisle 
 to in v dark corner again: bul I was greeted 
 on all sides witli unpleasant comment. 
 One old gentleman who had particularly 
 admired my curls covered his face with 
 his hands as I passed, that lie might not 
 see me, though I distinctly saw him peep 
 ing ihrough his fingers, while a lady in the 
 audience made believe that she was going 
 to faint at the sight of me. 
 
 It was not long before the programme 
 was opened by my brother Haydn at the 
 piano. lie plaved ^Mason s Silver 
 Spring," which was then a new com 
 position; and when about in the middle of 
 the most limpid passages, a katydid Hew 
 in from the garden outside and landed 
 upon his head. With a wild scream In- 
 bounded from the piano-stool and dashed 
 oil the platform. Kverybodv roared with 
 laughter, and he returned amid great ap 
 plause, when the "Silver Spring" flowed 
 on as though nothing had happened to 
 interrupt its melodious course.
 
 7 s Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 This evening was made memorable by 
 the first and only appearance of my cousin 
 Emeline on the stage. Emeline had a 
 mezzo-soprano voice of rare quality, but 
 she was timidity itself. By dint of great 
 coaxing she had been prevailed upon to 
 sing on this occasion. After giving her 
 word, she was determined to do it though 
 she should die from stage-fright. Pale 
 and trembling, she stood before the foot 
 lights with eyes cast down, too frightened 
 io acknowledge the applause that greeted 
 her appearance. Then she raised her 
 voice to the music of a song very popular 
 in those days, called "Bird of Beauty." 
 The color returned to her cheeks as she 
 sang; I quote from memory: 
 
 "Bird of beauty, whose bright plumage 
 
 Sparkles with a thousand dyes, 
 Soft thy notes and gay thy carol, 
 Though stern winter rules the skies." 
 
 Voice and music were perfectly suited, 
 and the effect upon the audience, when
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 7 9 
 
 she finished the soup, was electrical. Tears 
 and cheers were mingled. I have seldom 
 heard a more sympathetic voice, and the 
 fright she was in only emphasized this 
 (jiiality. The wild applause called for an 
 curare, hnt Kmelino only hurried from the 
 sta<:e to throw herself sohlin<r info her 
 father s arms. Xothin<r could induce her 
 to <ro through the ordeal a ain. She had 
 kept her word, and then collapsed. 
 
 After the exercises, almost the entire 
 audience crowded into the waiting-room 
 hchiiid the sla^e to congratulate the 
 si Hirer. She had made a genuine sensa 
 tion, and every one helieved that she 
 would have a <rrcat career on the operatic 
 sta<re: hut that was the he<rinnin<j; and the 
 <nd. I have often wondered why so heau- 
 til ul a voice was iriven to a person who did 
 not care for it, and upon whom it was 
 ahsolntelv thrown away. Had she chosen, 
 it would have hrou<_rht her fame and for 
 tune. 
 
 Yon niav he sure that T was ainon<j the
 
 80 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 congratulating crowd. And yet, though 
 I enjoyed the excitement, I was almost 
 sorry to be there; for every one who came 
 near me rubbed my hair the wrong way, 
 adding insult to injury by making remarks 
 upon my appearance which, to say the 
 least, were not flattering, though probably 
 true. 
 
 Exciting as was my cousin Emeline s 
 debut, it was as nothing, so far as my feel 
 ings went, compared to the first appear 
 ance of my brother Dixey on the stage. A 
 recitation by him was sandwiched in some 
 where between the "compositions" and the 
 music. He looked very smart in his black 
 velvet suit, with a big white collar and a 
 Scotch plaid sash tied across his breast. 
 He was a little nervous, but he came man 
 fully to the front of the platform and 
 made his bow to the applauding audience. 
 Then he raised his childish voice, and re 
 cited with inappropriate gesture these 
 familiar lines:
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 8l 
 
 "Oh, ever thus from childhood s hour, 
 I ve seen my fondest hopes decay ; 
 I never loved a tree or flower 
 
 But twas the first to fade away. 
 I never nursed 
 
 Then he paused and looked appealingly 
 around, and l>euan a^ain with a trembling 
 voice: 
 
 "I never nursed 1 never nursed -"
 
 VII. 
 
 SOME of the happiest days of my life 
 were spent with my aunt in the village of 
 Birdlington, New Jersey. Xext to my 
 parents, I was more fond of my Aunt Maria 
 than of any one in the world. She was 
 my mother s only sister, a maiden lady, 
 and lived alone with an old colored ser 
 vant, who had heen a slave in the family 
 in the days when slavery flourished in Xew 
 Jersey. Aunt Maria had many of the 
 traits that are popularly supposed to he 
 peculiar to maiden ladies. She was very 
 methodical and very conservative. She 
 did not like to have the even tenor of her 
 life disturbed, and I regret to say that I 
 frequently disturbed it. She was a devout 
 Episcopalian, and the Thirty-nine Articles 
 were her law and gospel. She shared the 
 front corner square pew of the village 
 church with a younger maiden lady, and, 
 82
 
 SAT OX A F(>(>T-STOOI., (JFTTF OCT OF STCIFT OP TTFK 
 COX<!RK(iATTOX.
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. S 5 
 
 dii the occasions v,l my visits to Birdling- 
 ton, I wont to churcli with hor every Sun 
 day morning, and sat on a footstool quite 
 out of sight of the congregation, and only 
 whon the clergyman mounted his pulpit 
 could he see me. Aunt Maria gave me this 
 seat because of its seclusion, and for its 
 seclusion I loved it. I could usually keep 
 awake during the service, hut the sermon 
 invariably lulled me to sleep. I tried, 
 however, to keep awake by reading a tablet 
 inserted in the wall near tin 1 pulpit: 
 
 SACRED 
 
 To TIM; MK.MOKY OK 
 
 Tin; KKV. JOHN I IKIJCI; LATH nor, 
 
 LATI; KKCTOR or Tins I AKISII. 
 
 1 read with diiliculty, and the first time 
 J mistook the word "sacred" and whis 
 pered up to Aunt Maria: 
 
 Aunty, what does "xrv/m/ to the mem 
 ory of mean ?"
 
 86 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 Though the corners of her mouth 
 twitched, she frowned and shook her fin 
 ger at me, while I went on wondering till 
 1 fell asleep with my head against her 
 knee. The misreading of simple words 
 was a habit of mine. I remember once 
 looking up from a Bible to ask with as 
 tonishment: 
 
 "Why did the Lord ({od cause a dead 
 sJiccp to fall upon Adam?" 
 
 My father told me to read the passage 
 again, and after much studying I found 
 that it was a "dead sleep" that had fallen 
 on our first parent. 
 
 The rector of the parish of Birdlingtou, 
 at the time of which I am writing, was 
 a young Englishman with a deep, rich 
 voice, and a most agreeable and priestly 
 face, lie was a frequent visitor at my 
 aunt s house, and no one enjoyed her cozy 
 teas more than he did; such dainty teas 
 they were, too, with the lightest biscuits 
 and the most savory "frizzled beef and 
 "sapsago" cheese a delicacy 1 have never
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 8 ? 
 
 seen outside of Birdlington. You buy it 
 in hard cakes, and j^rate it fresh for each 
 mral. Aunt .Maria s tea-set was of dark- 
 red [lottery I don t know its teelmieal 
 name with little squirrels sitting on 
 their hind-le^s on the covers cf the su^ar- 
 howl and tea-pot, Only the supir-bowl 
 of this set is left to-day; the little squir 
 rel has i^one all hut his feet and the hit 
 of (ail that he squatted on. I came across 
 it in the depths of a cupboard at Birdling- 
 ton. a short time a,u o. and il bronchi the 
 picture of that tea-tahle so vividly hefore 
 me that I could have kissed it in memorv 
 of t hose happy days. 
 
 IHana I iro was the name of . \unt 
 .Maria s Military servitor; a name thai su^ 1 - 
 Lrested a (Jrcek goddess, hut there was 
 no .-litest ion of the (I reek goddess ahout 
 our hiana. No one seemed to know how 
 old she was. She looked any a<_; e over a 
 hundred. Her face was seamed with 
 wrinkles and the corners of her mouth 
 were decorated with sun IV, which she was
 
 88 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 constantly "dipping." On her head she 
 wore a gay bandanna, and on her feet, in 
 stead of shoes, equally gay bits of carpet 
 tied about with pieces of twine. She said 
 that her feet were not hard like white 
 folks , but tender as a colored lady s feet 
 should be, and she couldn t bear the 
 weight of shoes. She was dried up and 
 stooped with the burden of years, and her 
 fingers were bent like claws. Monday 
 evenings she devoted to trimming her 
 nails, which were so hard that they would 
 only yield to the scissors after a day s 
 soaking in hot soap-suds. Though Diana 
 looked very old, and no doubt was, she 
 looked exactly the same during all the 
 years that I knew her; and Aunt Maria, 
 who had known her all her life, said that 
 she had never looked any younger. 
 
 The kitchen was Diana s realm, and she 
 ruled there with a scepter of iron. Every 
 one was afraid of her, I among the rest. 
 At the same time I worshipped her, for I 
 took her at her own valuation. She al-
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. <c; 9 
 
 lowed UK the freedom of the kitchen; but 
 I had to behave myself while I was there, 
 or else 1 would be cbased out with tin; 
 nearest weapon a poker, a hot Hat-iron, 
 it made little difference which. I was, 
 however, so proud to be permitted to en 
 joy Diana s society that I usually behaved 
 better when 1 was with her than at anv 
 other time. She always did the talking, 
 and it was tales to her own glorification 
 that got me into the way of thinking that 
 she was a princess in disguise. I admit 
 that the disguise was complete; hut il 
 Mould not ha\e surprised me if at anv 
 time ,1 fairy had touched her with a wand 
 and restored her to her roval surround 
 ings. 
 
 I remember, one day in particular, 1 
 was so thrilled with the tales she told 
 to prove her superiority to common white 
 mortals, that I kissed the back of her hand 
 as she was peeling potatoes: and then, 
 frightened at my temerity, da-bed out of 
 the room. As I iled 1 saw her rubbing
 
 9 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 the back of the hand 1 had profaned, with 
 the tragic intensity of Lady Macbeth; and 
 I am sure, if I had stopped to listen, I 
 should have heard her muttering, "Out 
 dam ned spot!" 
 
 According to Diana s own stories, she 
 had had many adventures by land and by 
 sea; but, as a matter of fact, she had lived 
 a very quiet life, the greater part of it in 
 Birdlington. She used to thrill me with 
 accounts of wild Western adventure. Her 
 imaginary experiences in the West had 
 taught her a life-long dread of "painters," 
 so she said, which dread she communi 
 cated to me. 
 
 "Why are you so afraid of painters, Di 
 ana?" I asked, thinking only of those who 
 are also paper-hangers and decorators. 
 
 "Because they re man-eaters,* she re 
 plied, in hushed and awestruck voice. 
 
 Even when I learned that "painter" 
 was her way of pronouncing panther, I 
 could not shake oil the horror I had of 
 those who followed the gentle art of
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 9 1 
 
 house-painting. When I met one with his 
 ladder and paint-pots, I invariably crossed 
 to the other side of the street, and con 
 gratulated myself upon my lucky escape. 
 
 Diana was not of a hospitable dispo 
 sition, and she growled to me every time 
 that Aunt ]\Iaria had guests to a meal. 
 One day 1 was lying on the floor of the 
 drawing-room, with my heels hanging 
 over the arm of a chair, when the rector 
 came to call. I was sure thai he was going 
 to stay to tea, so I thought that I would 
 give him a few words of friendly warning. 
 
 "Do you know what Diana says of you, 
 Mr. Fowler?" I asked. 
 
 "Xo, Nell," 1 said he, standing with his 
 hack to the open-grate lire, and evidently 
 thinking how much pleasanter it was to 
 sup with "Miss Maria" than to eat at his 
 boarding-house. "What does Diana say 
 of me?" and he looked as though he ex 
 pected something complimentary. 
 
 "Well," said I, kicking my heels against 
 the chair by way of emphasis, "she says.
 
 S 2 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 it you come here to meals much oftener, 
 you ll eat Aunt Maria out of house and 
 home." 
 
 I had barely finished speaking when 1 
 saw Aunt Maria standing in the doorway. 
 Xo sooner had I observed the flush of 
 pain and embarrassment that covered the 
 rectors face than I felt my aunt s firm 
 grip upon my ankle, it was nearer her 
 than my arm, and I was jerked into an 
 upright position. Without a word, she 
 marched me upstairs and put me to bed. 
 There were no hot biscuits nor "frizzled" 
 beef for me that night. What explanation 
 she gave the rector, I do not know, but 
 it was evidently satisfactory, for he con 
 tinued his visits, even at the risk of the 
 awful possibility that Diana had sug 
 gested. 
 
 The only street costume of my own that 
 I can remember was the one I wore on 
 this visit to Birdlington. It consisted of 
 a red-and-black plaid coat, tight-fitting as 
 to the bodice, and with skirts that nearly
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. ( ^3 
 
 touched the ground. Mv bonnet was of 
 black velvet with a white ruche around 
 the face, picked out with tufts of narrow 
 red ribbon. Kvery one admired this cos 
 tume, but I thought it altogether too 
 "dressy." The long skirts were in my 
 way, and the bonnet irritated me. I usu 
 ally wore it pushed well hack on my head, 
 so that it rested on my shoulders. Dressed 
 in niv besl clot lies, I used to out calling 
 and shopping with my aunt. I much pre 
 ferred the latter errand to the former. It 
 was very tiresome, to a child of my tem 
 perament. to have to sil still while people 
 talked about the weather, or even about 
 Shakespeare and the musical glasses. I 
 would he sure to disgrace myself before 
 the visit was over: which was not so much 
 because I was vicious as because i was 
 
 Shopping I did not mind. There was va 
 riety in that and a change of scene. Then 
 the shop keepers were kind to me. There 
 was Mrs. Strickle]-, who made the most
 
 94 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 delicious pies and buns. "Rusk/" we 
 called the latter. Ah! how good they 
 were; and she would gild refined gold by 
 shaking powdered sugar over their sticky 
 crust just before tying them up in a neat 
 white paper parcel, always giving an extra 
 one to inc. Then there was Mrs. Archi 
 bald, who, anxious to get my aunt s trade, 
 would give me something eatable by way 
 of a bribe; "just to munch on the way 
 home," she said. Sometimes it was a stick 
 of candy, sometimes a dried herring 
 whichever came handiest. 
 
 I had noticed that at certain stores 
 when my aunt ordered a number of things 
 she would say "charge it," as she passed 
 out. The clerk always replied, "Very 
 good. Miss Maria," and seemed pleased at 
 the opportunity. 
 
 What was good for one was good for 
 another, I thought; so, slipping away 
 from the house one day, I called at the 
 principal store in the village, and ordered 
 a bat and ball, a large jack-knife and a
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. ( ->5 
 
 round-comb." When 1 took up the 
 things preparatory io leaving the store, 
 the clerk said : 
 
 "\\ here s your monev, little girl?" 
 
 "Oh." said I, Marling towards the door, 
 "charge it ." 
 
 "( harge it!" said he, with surprise. 
 "Who to?" 
 
 "1 don t care who vou charge it to," 
 said I, with a shrug of indifference; to 
 the saiiH 1 person vou chai ge other people s 
 thi ligs, I sil ppose. 
 
 "Well, that s a good one!" replied the 
 hoy with a grin. "You jest lay them 
 things hack. We don t chai ge goods to 
 the town-pnmp. You pavs voiir money 
 or vi .i! don t get the pi under." 
 
 "You ll he sorrv for this," i said, with 
 indignation. "1 have just as much right 
 to say charge it as any one has." 
 
 "if vou lake em I ll charge Vm to your 
 Aunt M urrier, and I ll bet she ll he mad." 
 
 I marched indignant Iv awav with my 
 purchases, and told Aunt Maria how badly
 
 9 6 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 I had been treated. Then and there she 
 explained to me the mysteries of "charge 
 it." 
 
 I had a playroom in Aunt Maria s 
 house. It was a corner of the garret, and 
 there on rainy days I amused myself with 
 a few odds and ends of toys. They seemed 
 to me very fine, hut as toys go nowadays 
 they did not amount to much. There was 
 a little bureau and a broken cooking-stove 
 and a one-legged doll, and one or two 
 odd bits of tea-sets, not to mention a 
 tiny wash-tub and wash-board. These 
 latter were my greatest treasures, because 
 I could really use them. In the letters 
 home that Aunt Maria wrote at my dicta 
 tion, I descanted enthusiastically on the 
 attractions of the garret; so much so that, 
 when my sister Marty came to see me 
 once, she forgot everything else in 
 glorious anticipation. When E opened 
 the front door to admit her, she threw 
 her arms around my neck, and with her 
 eyes on the staircase shouted:
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 97 
 
 "The garret! the garret you dove, you 
 dove!" and oil to the garret we flew as 
 doves should, without more ado. 
 
 From the garret to the basement was 
 the next move, for J wanted to introduce 
 my sister to Diana. The latter s greeting 
 was not encouraging: 
 
 "More eomp ny, eh? Fm getting tired 
 of the sight of comp ny. Anybody might 
 think Miss Mari was a bankrup the way 
 she lias comp ny!" 
 
 What Diana meant was a hanker a 
 man. according to her idea, who dealt in 
 money as one might deal in groceries; 
 who, when he wanted a few hundred dol 
 lars, ladled them out as the grocer ladled 
 (ut sugar or tea. 
 
 Diana rather objected to my sister s 
 presence in the house, not because of any 
 extra work that it might entail, but be 
 cause she thought two children were more 
 mischievous than one, and in our garret 
 frolics might overstep the bounds and get 
 into her room. Diana s mum, in a far
 
 9 8 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 corner of the garret, was a holy of holies. 
 There she kept her precious hair trunk/ 
 the contents of which no mortal eye hut 
 her own was ever permitted to see. I had 
 the wildest ideas ahout that trunk, and 
 imagined it filled with gold or jewels; or, 
 perhaps, the princess s crown, which I be 
 lieved by rights Diana should be wearing, 
 was hidden within its hairy sides! I 
 should not have dared to enter the room 
 where it stood, much less to 
 
 "tilt the lid 
 To peep at what was in it," 
 
 though I was of quite as inquiring a turn 
 of mind as "Meddlesome Matty." Of 
 that trunk, more anon.
 
 VIII. 
 
 Tm-: first tragedy that I remember 
 occurred soon after my return from 
 Birdlington. Of my many cousins 
 tliere was one that 1 particularly liked. 
 Tfe was a lad of sixteen or seventeen at 
 this time. "John Henry" we always 
 (ailed him. because tliere were two other 
 Johns in the family. He was a gentle, 
 studious boy, with curly brown hair and 
 large, brown eves. lie never teased us 
 girls, as his brother Will did. but gave us 
 occasional pennies, which we immediately 
 converted into sticks of molasses candy. 
 He would help us mend our toys when 
 Ihev \\ere broken, and sharpen our lead- 
 pencils foi 1 us; indeed, lie seemed to take 
 pleasure ill helping others. His parents 
 adored him. because he was so good and 
 so studious. Thev were sure lie would 
 make his mark in the world, and I believe 
 that he would have done so had he lived. 
 99
 
 100 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 One day his brother Will was trying to 
 fly a kite from the flat roof over the salon, 
 when, seeing that he could make no head 
 way, John Henry said, "Let me try, Will; 
 1 think I can get it up for you." 
 
 So Will handed him the string and held 
 the kite, while his brother walked hack- 
 ward paying out the line; his face flushed 
 with pleasure as the kite rose higher and 
 higher. 
 
 "There she goes!" he cried, triumphant 
 ly; hut, as he stepped hack to give the 
 string another pull, he lost his balance 
 and fell backward over the low coping 
 around the roof. 
 
 As he fell he struck the bow-window of 
 the salon below, where his mother was 
 sitting with her sewing, and bounced off, 
 striking the stones of the court full 
 on his head. His terrified brother ran 
 screaming from the roof to alarm the 
 house, and the mother sitting at the win 
 dow heard him shout, " John Henry has 
 fallen from the roof!" Then she knew
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. I01 
 
 what it was that struck tlu 1 sill as it 
 passed, and she fell fainting to the 1 floor. 
 lie was alive 1 , though unconscious, when 
 they picked him up and carried him to his 
 room. Just before 1 evening he opened his 
 eyes and recognized his brother, who stood 
 by his bedside feeling like a very mur 
 derer. "Xever mind. Will," he said faint 
 ly; "it was all my fault." Then he closed 
 his eyes, and holding his mother s hand, 
 died (juieily and apparently without suf- 
 
 Xot only did .lohn I lenry s death make 
 us all very unhappy, hut it cast a ^looin 
 over the entire village. All his school- 
 friends, with crape 1 sewed around their 
 coal-sleeves, came to the funeral. The 
 clergyman made every one cry hv talking 
 about the bright yoiin^ life thus suddenlv 
 ended, adding that the boy had died, as 
 he had lived, trying to <^ive pleasure to 
 others. At this poor Will wept aloud, 
 for lie thought thai if it hadn t been for
 
 102 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 him, John Henry might still be alive and 
 well, instead of lying there still and dead. 
 
 It was not long after the death of John 
 Henry that my favorite girl-cousin died. 
 She was a young lady, to he sure, while I 
 was only a child; hut I worshipped her 
 because she was so beautiful and so amia 
 ble. She was white as an Easter lily, with 
 dark-blue eyes and dark-brown hair. So 
 beautiful and attractive a girl could not 
 fail to have many admirers, and Cousin 
 Fanny counted hers by the score. There 
 was no one in the neighborhood who could 
 compare with her as a horse-womau. She 
 could ride horses that men were afraid of. 
 I think she must have been very much 
 like the late Empress of Austria in her 
 influence over them. She was absolutely 
 without fear. 
 
 As I first remember her, she was very 
 pale, but after awhile I noticed that a 
 bright color burned in her cheeks, and I 
 heard it whispered that she had heart- 
 disease. I did not know what heart-dis-
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. T0 5 
 
 ease was; but knew it must be something 
 very bad, for when it was mentioned peo 
 ple shook their heads and looked sad. 
 One day, as I was racing across the lawn 
 to my uncle s house, which was next door 
 to ours, 1 met old Dan, the colored coach 
 man. "Fears were running down his black 
 (hecks. 
 
 "What s the matter, Dan?" 1 asked. 
 
 "Miss Fanny won t ride the bay mare 
 no more," said he, in a broken voice. 
 
 "Why not, I )an?" said I. 
 
 "Because she gone died this mornin ." 
 
 "Oh, Dan!" 
 
 "Yes, she jest folded her wings, an 
 went up to heaven like the angel she wuz. 
 Miss Faiinv was too good for this world. 
 The Lord was honn to git her, an now 
 he s took her," and Dan wiped his eyes 
 nil the cufT of his coat. 
 
 I felt a hard lump in mv throat, and 
 wondered if I was going to die too. I 
 did not cry. but I felt very sad and awed. 
 There was no girl in the school or the vil-
 
 106 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 lage more loved than Fanny, and her 
 death was deeply and widely mourned. 1 
 remember being particularly struck by 
 the number of young men at her funeral, 
 six of whom acted as pall-bearers, while 
 all looked pale and sad; for Cousin 
 Fanny was a great favorite with young 
 men, not only because she was beautiful, 
 but because she was a girl of great amia 
 bility and wonderfully attractive man 
 ners. 
 
 There was one young man at her funer 
 al who held my attention. I don t recol 
 lect that I had ever seen him before; but, 
 he sat with the family, as though he were 
 one of them. He was dressed in deep 
 mourning, and his face was very pale, and 
 I noticed dark circles under his eyes. 
 Whenever I looked at him I wanted to 
 cry, he looked so sad and hopeless. I was 
 told afterwards that he and Fanny were 
 engaged to be married, and that he had 
 just established himself in business in the 
 West, and was coming on to have her
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 7 
 
 name the \vedding-day when he received 
 a telegram saying she was dead. 
 
 The twirls in the school were particu 
 larly impressed by the romance 1 they wove 
 from the appearance of the unhappy 
 lover. From the way they talked about, 
 the whole subject of Fanny s engagement 
 and death, I thought it must be the loveli 
 est tiling in the world to be engaged; and 
 the most romantic to die before being 
 married. 
 
 I think that the bay mare. Fanny s 
 favorite saddle-horse, must have- known 
 that she would never be ridden by her 
 gentle mistress again: for she refused food 
 till Dan thought she too would die, and 
 she never again allowed a woman to ride 
 her. Xo other woman had ever ridden 
 her, but she was supposed to have been 
 cured of her dislike of skirts. Far from 
 it. She 1 io\ved to the authority () f the 
 mistress she loved; she would eat from 
 her hand and follow her around like a 
 dog; hut woe betide anv other woman who
 
 108 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 came near her! Only the most expert 
 horsemen could ride her, so she was given 
 up as a riding-horse after Fanny s death. 
 
 Xo one would have dreamed of putting 
 this beautiful animal to ordinary carriage- 
 work. Dan was the only person, after 
 Fanny, who had any influence over her; 
 and he, discovering speed in her, put her 
 up for trotting matches, and she did her 
 "two-forty on the plank-road," which was 
 fast, for those days, with the hest of them. 
 
 Years later, walking down Broadway 
 one day, I noticed the stuffed figure of a 
 horse in a carriage-maker s show-room. 
 Something about the color and huild of 
 the horse attracted my attention. I stepped 
 inside the door, and said to the salesman : 
 
 "Is that any horse in particular? It has 
 a very familiar look to me." 
 
 "Well, I should smile," said he. "That s 
 Lady Blessington, one of the most famous 
 trotters of her day. She used to be a per 
 fect saddle-horse, but after her mistress 
 died she d never let any one ride her."
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. Ic>9 
 
 Then I know why she had looked so 
 familial 1 to me, for she was my Cousin 
 Fanny s hay mare. 
 
 "I know her well," said I, patting the 
 slull ed skin. "She was my cousin s sad 
 dle-horse, dear old Lady Blessington! 
 
 "Well, I never!" exclaimed the man. 
 "Mow things do come round! There was 
 a gentleman in here only yesterday, who, 
 like you, said there was something famil 
 iar aliont that horse. When I told him 
 just what I told you, he went u]> close to 
 her and lient his head down on her neck 
 and patted her, and ] saw that his eyes 
 were full of tears, lie didn t say anything 
 to me, Imt I thought thai he called her 
 Fanny, as he stroked her mane. lie 
 seemed very much cut up, so I didn t say 
 anything. Perhaps you can guess who 
 In 1 vras. 
 
 "Did he have gray eyes and light hair, 
 a ml was he quite tall ?" 
 
 "^ ou yo guessed him. 
 
 "That was the yoiiiitr man my Cousin
 
 110 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 Fanny was engaged to when she died, 
 fifteen years ago." 
 
 "Fifteen years ago and feels like that 
 yet! Well, I never!" and he drew a long, 
 low whistle through his puckered lips.
 
 IX. 
 
 Tin-: dentil <>! my two cousins had so 
 depressing nn elTect upon 1110, tlinl my 
 mother decided to send me hnck to Aunt 
 ^Inrin at Hirdlington. There \vns nothing 
 that cnidd make me happier thnn the 
 prospect of such n visit except the visit 
 itself. Mv brother Sandy took me to the 
 train in \e\v .lei sey, where I was to he 
 put in chnrire of the conductor, nnd Aunt 
 Maria \vas to meet me on my arrival nt 
 Ilird Huston. The trnin did not ii o till 
 nfternooii. so I wns obliged to spend sev 
 eral hours in niv brother s ollice in New 
 York. It was down town, in I ine Street; 
 and I shall never forget the wnve of pride 
 that pnssed over me when 1 snw Sandy s 
 name in <j:\\\ letters on his otlice-window. 
 I \\as aniioved to think thai I could not 
 rend it as ivndilv from the inside ns from 
 the outside, nnd wondered why the let 
 ters should look so nhsurd from the back. 
 1 1 1
 
 112 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 The hours of waiting passed pleasantly 
 enough, for there was the busy street to 
 look out upon; and when I got tired of 
 that, I had a new toy to play with, which 
 afforded me much entertainment. It was 
 a rubber Scotchman, in Highland dress. 
 Apparently, he had no legs. These you 
 supplied. Rubber leggings, with shoes 
 neatly fitted on, were separate from the 
 torso of this Highlander. In his back 
 were two holes. You put your first and 
 second finger through these holes and put 
 the ends of these two fingers into the leg 
 gings; and there you had your Highland 
 laddie in his kilt, with his bare legs, the 
 latter made by your fingers. Of course he 
 would dance, or walk, or kick, at your 
 bidding. It was a most amusing toy, and 
 I often wonder why it is no longer made. 
 Luncheon my first meal at a restaurant 
 helped pass the time. I enjoyed the 
 noise and confusion, and admired the dex 
 terity of the waiters. Sandy handed me the 
 bill of fare; and, not knowing the modus
 
 Autobiography ot a Tomboy. "3 
 
 i, I picked out a list of tilings long 
 enough to stock a boarding-house. 1 
 may not want them all," I said thought 
 fully, "hut \ve might as well order them." 
 
 Sandy was young and easily embar 
 rassed; hut 1 fancy that, when he reckoned 
 ii}) the cost and thought of the amount of 
 money in Ins pocket-book,, he decided that 
 it was better to explain to me than to the 
 \\aitcr. I accepted his explanation, but 
 wondered what was the use of putting so 
 many things on the bill of fare when one 
 ate so few. 
 
 It was ipiite late in the afternoon when 
 1 arrived at P>irdlington, but Aunt Maria 
 met me at the station, and I had no ad 
 ventures by the way. How glad I was to 
 be again at the old, familiar place! Tea 
 was ready for us when we arriyed at the 
 hon<e. hut I was surprised not to see Di 
 ana s turhaned head and carpeted feet.. 
 Diana, Aunt Maria explained, had gone to 
 Philadelphia to nurse a sister who was ill, 
 and had left her friend, Mary Jane Ever-
 
 "4 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 man, to fill the void caused by her ab 
 sence. Mary Jane was also a colored 
 \voman, the only one of her race with 
 whom Diana ever associated, and the only 
 person upon whom she looked with awe. 
 Mary Jane could read and write, and Di 
 ana could do neither: and the former was 
 so "proud of herself," as her enemies ex 
 pressed it, that Diana felt it an honor to 
 be numbered among her friends. 
 
 Mary Jane was, in manner and appear 
 ance, much superior to the average colored 
 woman of the village. She belonged to 
 the "iris," an abbreviation of "iristoc- 
 racy, " 1 Diana explained to my aunt. She 
 was a good cook, too, which was rather to 
 be wondered at, for she was a bit of a 
 blue-stocking. 
 
 After Mary Jane had left the room, and 
 T had begun my onslaught upon the 
 "frizzled" beef, Aunt Maria explained that 
 there had been some changes at the old 
 place since my last visit. She had rented 
 the house to a gentleman who was living
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. IJ 5 
 
 there with his wife and two suns. Neither 
 the gentleman nor the t\vo sons were therr 
 at present. The gentleman, ^\Ir. Monroe, 
 had asked her to stay at the house while, 
 lie \vas away, as he did not wish to leave 
 his wife alone. "Where is the lady?" I 
 asked; "why didn t she come in to sup 
 per?" 
 
 "She has her rooms in the hack wing, 
 said my aunt, "and her nurse takes her 
 meals in to her." 
 
 " Is she sick?" I continued. 
 
 "She is not very well," replied Aunt 
 .Maria, after a moment s hesitation, add 
 ing, apropos of nothing, "Mr. Fowler 
 asked after you to-day, Nell." 
 
 "hid he?" said I: hut I was not inter 
 ested, as I wanted to know more ahout 
 the lady in the hack wing. The hack wing 
 was always a mysterious sort of place to 
 me; it was so hig and gloomy. It had 
 hem luiilt Cora school, and was connected 
 with the main house hy a passage: a sort 
 of Sia uiese-t win arrangement, so that it
 
 Il6 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 was really quite a thing apart. That the 
 stranger should have her rooms in the 
 hack wing aroused my curiosity. 
 
 "Does the sick lady sleep alone in the 
 hack wing?" 
 
 "Xo," replied Aunt Maria; "she has 
 
 her attend , I mean her nurse, with 
 
 her." 
 
 "Well, I think it s very funny for her 
 to live alone in there, with her nurse, 
 when you are here to keep her company." 
 
 "You will find a good many tilings that 
 are funny/ as you call it, before you art- 
 done," said my aunt, helping me bounti 
 fully to sap sago cheese. "And now, we ll 
 talk about something else. How are your 
 little sisters?" 
 
 "They re well, thank you. Can I see 
 
 
 
 the sick lady, ever?" 
 
 "Yes, you can see her to-morrow. She 
 is very fond of children. She s little more 
 
 than a chi . Have some more cheese; 
 
 it won t hurt you." 
 
 J tried hard to get Aunt Maria to tell
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. M 7 
 
 me more about the lady in the hack wing, 
 luit she put me off, and finally took me up 
 to bed. If was a long time before 1 I got 
 to sleep. 1 could not get my mind off the 
 lady in the back wing. She was sick; 
 that much I knew, hut no more. I imag 
 ined her a fair, fragile thing, and I felt 
 very sorry for her, off in that big, gloomy 
 wing, with no one but a nurse. When I 
 went to sleep I dreamed about her. I 
 thought she was so fragile that von could 
 almost see through her, and that she was 
 very pretty and very sad. 
 
 The next morning, after breakfast, I 
 was eager to make the promised vi>it to 
 the invalid: but had to possess mv soul 
 in patience until I had dried the glass and 
 silver that Aunt Maria had washed. This 
 was a regular part of the day s work, and 
 never omitted. When the breakfast was 
 over and the dishes cleared awav, Marv 
 rlane brought in two little wooden tubs 
 bound with brass and filled with hoiling 
 water. These she set on a tray before
 
 Il8 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 Aunt Maria, who washed the glass and 
 silver in one and rinsed them in the other. 
 It was my duty to dry them, and I cannot 
 say that I disliked it. On this particular 
 morning, however, I was so anxious to see 
 the mysterious lady that any task would 
 have been irksome that postponed the 
 gratification of my curiosity. As soon as 
 the last spoon was wiped, I said: Now, 
 Aunty, can t we go and see the sick lady?" 
 
 "Yes," said Aunt Maria, taking off the 
 apron that she wore when performing her 
 household tasks, "1 suppose we may go 
 now as well as any time." 
 
 Then rising and looking seriously at 
 me, she gave me this warning: "You know 
 sick people are not always like other peo 
 ple, and you are not to make remarks." 
 
 She led the way and I followed. When 
 we reached the door of the room that had 
 been the school-room, she knocked. A 
 quick, sharp voice said, Come in," and 
 we entered. 
 
 The room was large and sparsely fur-
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. "9 
 
 nished. There was a hi^ stove in the 
 middle, screened oil by a hi ( u h heavy wire 
 fence, that ran entirely around it. l>e- 
 liind this was a massive bedstead with a 
 cot beside it. A few lieavy chairs, placed 
 at intervals about the room, completed 
 the furniture. As we entered, a little 
 woman came forward to meet us. She was 
 short and thin, with a sharp nose and 
 keen, irray eyes. Suddenly, from a bi^ 
 armchair behind her. rose another woman. 
 I shuddered when I saw her. and cliin^ to 
 Aunt Maria s dress. She was tall and 
 Moiit. and must have weighed two hun 
 dred and liflv pound.-. I thought that 1 
 
 had lleVer before -eel) ailVolle (|Ulte so ]>!;_: . 
 
 It was her face, however, rather than her 
 -i/.e that frightened me. Her features 
 were larire and her complexion red lo 
 purplenes.-, and there was little or no ex 
 pression in her blue eye-. I pitied the 
 pooi little sick woman with such a nurse, 
 for that is \\hat I imagined the bi^ woman 
 
 to be.
 
 120 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 "Good morning, Aunt Lushington/ 
 said the big woman. 
 
 "Good morning, dear," replied my 
 aunt, whose name was not Lushington. 
 "I ve brought my little niece to play with 
 you/ and she drew me towards the big 
 woman. Astonishment and fear held me 
 back. 
 
 "It s little Cousin ]>ctty," said the lat 
 ter, grinning at me. " Come over here and 
 see my doll," and she beckoned me to a 
 far corner of the room. I hesitated. 
 
 "Go, Xell; Mrs. Monroe wants you to 
 see her doll." 
 
 I \\ent reluctantly. Aunt Maria and 
 the little woman conversed in undertones, 
 but I heard the latter say: 
 
 "The poor baby had a bad night. I 
 was up with her three or four times." 
 
 I looked around for a baby, but saw. by 
 the way they nodded their heads towards 
 the big woman, that it was she they called 
 by that name. In the meantime she had 
 taken a doll from a chair, and was holding 
 it up for my inspection.
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. I2F 
 
 "Her name s ( ecilia," said the hi^ 
 unman. "Have you ^ot a doll?" 
 
 "Yes," said I, wishing I were where 
 that same doll was. 
 
 "(Jet it," said she, peremptorily. 
 
 "I can t," said I, "it s af inv home." 
 
 "(Jet it when you ^o there, and hrin^ it 
 to me. I love dolls. Can you play the 
 piano?" 
 
 "No," said 1 . "( an yon ?" 
 
 "I ll show you if she ll lei me," and 
 -he rolled her eyes toward the little 
 woman. 
 
 The latter approached us, and, patting 
 the lii _r woman <>n the arm, .-aid: "What 
 is it, llahy?" 
 
 "I want to plav the piano for this little 
 
 <rirl." 
 
 "Some dav," said the other, shaking 
 her head : "not to-day." 
 
 "I will," said r>aby, with a determined 
 look in her eyes. 
 
 "Xoi to-dav, dearie," said the other, 
 (irmly. "You know it excites you too
 
 122 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 The hig woman looked into the steady, 
 sharp eyes of the little woman; then she 
 shifted her own and whimpered a little. 
 I was staring with a frightened stare, 
 wondering what it all meant, when the 
 big woman burst into a discordant laugh. 
 "What s the matter with Cousin Betty? 
 said she, looking at me. 
 
 "Xothing," I replied; "only 1 want to 
 go when you go, Aunt Maria." My aunt 
 took me by the hand. 
 
 "I think we had better go now, Mar 
 tin," she said, addressing the little woman. 
 "We ll come in again soon. Say good 
 bye to Mrs. Monroe, Xell." And never 
 did I say "good-bye" with more genuine 
 pleasure. 
 
 Back again in Aunt Maria s cozy draw 
 ing-room, I said to her: "I never, in all 
 my born-days, saw such a funny lady." 
 
 "Didn t you: asked Aunt Maria. Then 
 she explained that Mrs. Monroe was not 
 well, and that often, when people were 
 not well, they did not act the same as 
 when they were.
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. I2 3 
 
 "I hope that Mrs. Monroe will get well 
 soon," said I, "because I don t like ladies 
 who are sick that way." 
 
 Aunt Maria told me not to be unchari 
 table, and soon 1 went out to see the 
 cows and pigs, and for the time being for 
 got the strange lady of the back wing. 
 
 I had not been long with Aunt Maria 
 before I got on very good terms with Mrs. 
 Monroe, and we played with dolls and 
 other toys with much pleasure to both of 
 us. One day, after having attended a 
 child s party, I went into Mrs. Monroe s 
 room to tell her about it, and to sho\v her 
 the pastry-angel from the top of the birth 
 day cake that had been given to me. She 
 was delighted with it. "(Jive it to me, 
 she demanded. 
 
 "No, I want it, said I, and drew it back 
 from her. Quicker than a flash she sprang 
 toward me with angry eyes and uplifted 
 fist. The expression of her face terrified 
 me; but, before I could speak or act, Mar 
 tin drew something from her pocket, and
 
 I2 4 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 in a second she had that something clasped 
 on the big woman s wrists. I did not 
 wait for an explanation, but flew, as fast 
 as my legs would carry me, to Aunt Maria 
 to tell her what had happened. 
 
 Then my aunt, with serious and sym 
 pathetic words, told me that Mrs. Mon 
 roe was mad; that I need not he afraid of 
 her, because Martin that scrap of a 
 woman had perfect control of her, hut T 
 had better not go to the back wing for a 
 few days, as the sight of me might excite 
 the unfortunate lady. For a few days! 
 Xever again would I he caught there; wild 
 horses could not drag me to that side of 
 the house, and for the first time in my 
 life, I wanted to go home hefore my visit 
 to Aunt Maria was over.
 
 X. 
 
 NOT having Mrs. Monroe 1 to play witli, 
 I sought the society of Mary Jane in the 
 kitchen. She was more amiable than Di 
 ana, and was fond of discussing abstruse 
 subjects with me. such, for instance, as 
 the vanity of all earthly things, except, 
 perhaps, the higher education. For that 
 she had a profound veneration. And why 
 not? For, did she not possess it? .lane 
 did not "dip" snulT like Diana. The ink- 
 bottle was the only thing that she dipped 
 into, and she confessed to me one day 
 that she was a poet. I did not know just 
 what a poet was; but 1 kne\v that Byron, 
 with whose portrait 1 was familiar, was 
 one. And I wondered if Mary .lane was 
 a colored Bvron. I asked, one day, to 
 make sure. 
 
 "Ivruni! I m not Byrum, Honey," said 
 she. "I vrtim was a great poet, but he 
 127
 
 128 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 wasn t a nice man. They say awful tilings 
 about him. He was a terrible flirt. That 
 maid of Athens was only one; and you 
 may be sure he wanted his heart back from 
 her, just so he could give it some one else." 
 
 "What s a flirt?" I asked, wondering if 
 it was anything like Mrs. Monroe. 
 
 "A flirt!" and she laughed as only a 
 darkey, even an educated one, can laugh. 
 "I can t explain to you, Honey, but you ll 
 know, all in good time." 
 
 Are yon like Byron, Mary Jane?" 
 
 "What yon mean, me like Byruin? I m 
 a respectable woman, I ll have you know. 
 Cause I told you I wrote poetry, you 
 think I m like Byrum, do you? Well, I 
 ain t that kind of a poet." And Mary 
 Jane looked so angry that I wondered if 
 she was afflicted like Mrs. Monroe, and 
 whether there was any one near who 
 would put handcuffs on her wrists. I sup 
 pose that I must have looked frightened, 
 for she broke out into a laugh again. 
 
 "You look like you was skeered to
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. I2 9 
 
 death, chile," said she. "There ain t 
 nothin to be skeered about, only I did 
 feel highly insulted when you asked me 
 it I was like I>yrum." 
 
 "Kxeuse me, Mary Jane. I didn t mean 
 to insult you," I replied, meekly; "I only 
 wanted to know, for you said you were a 
 poet, too." 
 
 So 1 am, but 1 ain t that kind. I ain t 
 no 11 ill. J write different poetry from 
 Byruiu. -lust you wait until I get this 
 bread in the pans, an I ll show you what 
 I write. You mus n t say anything about 
 it to .Miss Mari, do you hear?" 
 
 "Yes, I hear; but why mustn t 1 tell 
 Aunt Maria? Is it wrong to be a poet?" 
 
 "Xo it ain t," fiercely; "but some folks 
 has an idea that if yon read books an write 
 poetry, you ain t no good for work." 
 
 "But you are good for both, aren t 
 you ?" 
 
 ".lest you wait," putting the last bit of 
 dough in the pan; "I ll show you." 
 
 With that she scraped the dough from
 
 I 2 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 her hands with a knife, and crossed over 
 to an unused brick oven built in one side 
 of the kitchen-wall. Opening the iron 
 door, she reached back into the darkness 
 and pulled out a copy-book that had seen 
 better days. "There," said she, adjusting 
 her spectacles, taking her seat on the "set 
 tle" under the window, and carefully 
 opening the copy-book. "Do you know 
 what a Acrostic is?" 
 
 "No," I admitted, guiltily; "what is a 
 cross-stick?" 
 
 "This is a Acrostic, " and she pointed 
 at the writing. "It s a Acrostic on my own 
 name, Mary Jane Everman. Jest look 
 over my shoulder as I read, an you ll see 
 that the fust letter of each line spells my 
 name." 
 
 "Oh, Mary Jane, how wonderful!" 
 
 "Wonderful, I believe you! Now lis 
 ten." 
 
 Then slowly, because she was not yet 
 .quite familiar with her own hand, writing
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. ! 3 r 
 
 being a newly acquired accomplishment, 
 she read: 
 
 "Many is the trials of the lonely maid, 
 And many is the snares in her pathway 
 
 laid, 
 
 Kiches is no temptation for her to stray ; 
 Yet while she s in this world she may. 
 
 "Joyous is her anticipations, 
 E en though the world may scorn 
 And laugh at her with joyous mirth, 
 Nearer the verge of eternity she ll merge." 
 
 "That spells Jean, " I interrupted 
 rudely. 
 
 "Yes, I know it does; I always call my 
 middle name Jean in poetry; it sounds 
 better than .lane, but don t interrupt me. 
 It ain t polite." 
 
 "E en with a heart sincere, e en with a mind 
 
 serene, 
 
 Vaves of Jordan round her play, 
 E en fearlessly she ll lance away. 
 Relations thought her not sincere ; 
 Many hard things did say, 
 And oft her shield she d cast away ; 
 Now she will bid the world farewell, and in 
 
 His bosom stay."
 
 *3 2 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 When she had finished, she laid down 
 the book and looked at me over her spec 
 tacles. 
 
 "It s lovely, Mary Jane!" I exclaimed, 
 with genuine admiration. "You use such 
 big words! 
 
 "Do I?" with complacency. "What 
 were they?" 
 
 I took up the copy-book and pointed. 
 
 "There s one, Vaves ; what s that?" 
 
 "It means waves; I had to say that to 
 get the V, don t you see? You have to 
 do that in Acrostics ." 
 
 "Then there was another. Oh! here it 
 is," laying my finger on it. " Lance 
 away. What s lance ?" 
 
 " Lance, that ain t a big word. I m 
 s prised you don t know what that is. It s 
 what boats do. Didn t you ever hear of a 
 boat being lanced into the water?" 
 
 "I didn t know you meant that," said I, 
 trying not to laugh. "That isn t what I 
 call it." 
 
 "Then you don t call it right. It s
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 33 
 
 lance, and that s all there is about it;" and 
 she rose indignantly and put the precious 
 manuscript back in the oven. I tried to 
 soothe her wounded feelings by saying 
 that I did not believe Byron could have 
 done better; but, as she was quite, con 
 fident he could not have done so well, 
 that did not mollify her, so 1 thought 
 it best to leave the kitchen for awhile. 
 
 I wandered aimlessly around the 
 grounds, and seeing the barnyard gate 
 open, walked boldly in. What fiend 
 prompted me to strav beyond that portal, 
 I wonder? In a moment \ was greeted 
 with a chorus of hisses such as only the 
 villain in a P>o\very melodrama could ex 
 cite. I had come suddenly upon a flock 
 of geese, headed by an old gander, who 
 flew at me, and seizing my skirts in his 
 bill beat me with his wings, while the 
 geese crowded around and peeked at my 
 legs. T screamed with all my might. The 
 situation was becoming dangerous, when 
 lohn, the Monroe s coachman, appeared
 
 J 34 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 with a pitchfork and drove my assailants 
 away. I was really hurt, for the old 
 gander s wings were strong and the bills 
 of the geese were hard. To this day, I 
 would rather walk a mile than pass a flock 
 of geese; and the sound of a hiss in the 
 theatre is as unpleasantly suggestive to 
 me as to the actor who calls it forth. 
 
 John came to my rescue and gave me 
 a friendly warning to let geese alone. 
 
 "But I was letting them alone," I 
 whimpered; "I wasn t doing a thing to 
 them when they flew at me." 
 
 "Tell that to the marines! I know 
 children, especially tomboys," said the 
 skeptical John. 
 
 Mary Jane saw that something was, 
 wrong as I hurried through the kitchen. 
 
 "What s the matter, chile?" she said, in 
 a kindly voice. Apparently she had for 
 gotten my criticism of her pronouncia- 
 tion. I stopped and told her about the 
 geese. 
 
 "Well, I never!" she exclaimed. "You
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 35 
 
 ought to be called Scape-Many- Dan 
 gers. I never knew a chile to scape as 
 much as you do. 1 wonder what you re 
 being kep for?" And she looked as though 
 she would really like to know. She was 
 not Ihe only person who wondered. 
 
 Aunt Maria was very sympathetic when 
 I told her of my adventure, but she ad 
 monished me that the barnyard was not a 
 place for a young lady, even one so young 
 as I, to play in. I noticed that she was 
 arraying herself in her best gown, so I 
 asked her where she was going; and, when 
 I found that it was to a wedding, I wanted 
 to go too. Aunt Maria hesitated, but I 
 promised to behave, so I was arrayed in 
 my best bib and tucker and taken along. 
 
 The wedding was at the church, and 
 the whole town was there to see; and well 
 it might be! The bride was a venerable 
 widow, and the bridegroom, though 
 younger, was blind. Tin; wedding guests 
 said freely, among themselves, that had 
 lie not been blind, there would have been
 
 *3 6 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 no wedding forgetting that love is al 
 ways hlind. 
 
 I had been used to young and pretty 
 brides, and when I saw this plain and 
 ancient dame coming np the aisle, I 
 thought there must be some mistake. 
 
 "I never, in all my born-days, saw such 
 a funny bride," I said to Aunt Maria in 
 a penetrating whisper. A smile passed 
 over the faces of those nearest to us, and 
 my aunt put her hand gently over my 
 mouth. 
 
 No wonder I was surprised at the bride s 
 appearance; for she was not only old 
 enough to know Letter, but was deeply 
 pitted by small-pox. The bridegroom was 
 led up the aisle on the arm of his best 
 man, and the ceremony proceeded. She 
 swore to love, honor and obey, and lie 
 promised with all his worldly goods to 
 her endow, though the little money there 
 was belonged to the woman. Other im 
 pecunious men, however, have made the 
 same promise before and since; and with
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 37 
 
 no more. 1 thought of its absurdity. The 
 happy couple walked gayly down the aisle 
 to the music of the hymn, "This is the 
 Way I Long Have Sought," plaved in 
 march time by the mischievous organist. 
 As we moved along I saw ^lary Jane 
 standing on a seat near the door, taking 
 it all in. 
 
 After supper that evening, when Aunt 
 Maria left me to go into the back wing 
 to inquire after Mrs. Monroe, I slipped 
 into the kitchen to exchange views on the 
 wedding wit h Marv .lane. 
 
 "Well, 1 never!" said she, at her time 
 of life and a widder, too! They say that 
 blind folks pass their hands over your 
 face to find out who you are. I guess he 
 won t make any mistake about her with 
 them pitfalls all over her face." After 
 looking at me with a somewhat hesitating 
 expression, Mary .lane said: "I ve writ 
 ten some poetry about the weddin since 
 
 It < 
 
 ca me home. 
 
 "Oh, do let me see it !"
 
 ! 3 8 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 "I don t know about that, after the way 
 you talked about my words this mo nin ." 
 
 "Oh, please, Mary Jane; I won t say 
 anything more," I pleaded eagerly. 
 
 If I had been older, I should have 
 known that her coyness was assumed. 
 Crossing to the old oven, she again took 
 out the dilapidated copy-book. 
 
 "Tain t very long," she said, settling 
 herself to read. I stood at her knee while 
 the self-constituted village laureate read 
 these lines: 
 
 "With one triumphant bound 
 
 From Hymen s happy altar 
 She said, Dear Sir, I ve got 
 
 Your head into a halter. 
 But could he by one glance discern 
 
 Those very ugly features 
 He d say, Alas ! I ve got 
 
 The ugliest of creatures." 
 
 "Oh, Mary Jane!" I exclaimed, "did 
 you really write that all yourself?" 
 
 "Every line of it," said she, with con 
 scious pride. "Who else do you suppose
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 39 
 
 did it? I don t believe there s another 
 person in this town could have written 
 that. All in a moment, too." And Mary 
 Jane rolled her eyes, as who should say, 
 "If this is not inspiration, it is something 
 akin to it." 
 
 Poor Mary Jane! The fate of the poet 
 is apt to he tragic, and hers was like many 
 another. After Diana s return she left 
 Aunt Maria s service, and some time later 
 was married. Her husband was a one- 
 legged white man, who beat her with his 
 crutch. Perhaps he beat her once too 
 often, for she died suddenly and mysteri 
 ously, bequeathing the old copy-book to 
 a former employer.
 
 XI. 
 
 WHILE the friendly relations I had at 
 one time held with Mrs. Monroe were 
 never resumed, I yet plucked up courage 
 to visit her once in a while, but always 
 under my aunt s protecting wing. The 
 poor woman seemed to have quite forgot 
 ten the late unpleasantness, and was dis 
 posed to he very friendly. On the last of 
 my visits she wanted to play "puss-in-the- 
 corner with me, hut I was afraid. There 
 was no corner, even of that big room, far 
 enough away from so terrible a puss. She 
 was put out when I declined, and pouted 
 and sulked, so that Aunt Maria insisted 
 that I should play with her while she 
 waited for me. It was not a very joyous 
 game so far as I was concerned. AYe did 
 not stay long, and I was glad to get back 
 to the front part of the house, where, 
 fortunately for me, Mrs. Monroe never 
 thought of coming. 
 
 140
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. T 43 
 
 Aunt Maria had little more than seated 
 herself with her work-basket on the tahle 
 beside her, when John, the coachman,, ap 
 peared at the door with a large envelope 
 in his hand, addressed in bold, black let 
 ters, which lie handed to my aunt. 
 
 "It s from Mr. Monroe, Miss Ma ri; per 
 haps I d better wait and see if there s any 
 orders." 
 
 Aunt Maria read the letter while he 
 waited. 
 
 "You re quite 1 right, John. said she; 
 "it is from Mr. Monroe, and he will be at 
 home to-day in time for dinner, bringing 
 C olonel Harton with him. lie wants you 
 to meet the live-o clock train." 
 
 "Yes, miss," said John, and touching 
 his forelock he retired. 
 
 Aunt Maria then put aside her sewing, 
 and went over the house to see that every 
 thing was in order for her tenant s return. 
 I was very much interested and trotted hy 
 her side, asking innumerable questions, as 
 was my tiresome habit.
 
 J 44 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 "Will Mrs. Monroe be glad to see her 
 husband?" I inquired. 
 
 "Aren t wives usually glad to see their 
 husbands when they ve been away?" re 
 plied my aunt. 
 
 "Yes, I suppose they are; but then, 
 she s such a funny wife! Will he be glad 
 to see her?" 
 
 "Yes, he will be very glad to see her. 
 lie is very fond of her, even though she 
 be funny , as you say." 
 
 "Perhaps he s funny, too," said I, won 
 dering if they were two of a kind, and 
 whether the Colonel Barton who was coin 
 ing with him was his attendant. On this 
 point, however, Aunt Maria gave me no 
 satisfaction, possibly because I did not 
 press her. I decided that, if it were true 
 that Mr. Monroe was afflicted like his 
 wife, I would rather not know it till I 
 was obliged to. The thought of two mad 
 people in the house, however, did not tend 
 to cheer me. 
 
 By ihe time everything was in readi-
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. I4 ^ 
 
 ness I o] 1 his nulling, Mr. Monroe and his 
 friend, ( oloiicl llarton, arrived. We 
 greeted them in the 1 big hall, and any 
 doubts J had had as to the sanitv of the 
 former vanished the moment 1 heard him 
 >peak. He was a big, gentle man, with a 
 big. gentle voice and most engaging man 
 ners. He jiatted me on the head and 
 asked me what I would take for my eyes; 
 and while I was wondering what would be 
 a fair price, he turned to Ann! Maria, 
 with whom lie talked in low, earnest tones. 
 I could hear him say "liabv" once in a 
 while, so I knew that they were talking 
 about the liig woman in the hack win^;. 
 
 About the sanity of the friend Mr. 
 Monroe brought with him I was not so 
 sure. He was a strange-looking man, tall 
 and thin, witli a long, inkv-black beard 
 and a pasiy. white complexion. lie was 
 dressed in black broadcloth, and carried a 
 black-beaver hat in his hand. While 
 Aunt Maria and Mr. Monroe were talking, 
 he not iced me for 1 he first I ime.
 
 ! 4 6 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 "Well, little girl," he said, in a deep, 
 gloomy voice, "and who are you?" 
 
 I explained as well as I could, and he 
 seemed to be satisfied. 
 
 "I hope that you are a good little girl," 
 he remarked, fixing his large, black eyes 
 firmly upon me. 
 
 I said that I hoped that I was, and was 
 about to add that I was afraid that I 
 wasn t, when Mr. Monroe said to my aunt, 
 as he passed up the stairs, Colonel Barton 
 following: 
 
 "Tell Martin, please, Miss Maria, that 
 I should like to see Baby in the drawing- 
 room before dinner, and that I wish her 
 to dine with us this evening. She hasn t 
 seen Colonel Barton for a long time, and 
 she will be glad to see him." 
 
 Aunt Maria looked troubled as Mr. 
 Monroe gave this message, but she only 
 said: "As you wish," and passed down the 
 hall to the wing, I at her heels. When 
 she delivered the message to Martin, the 
 latter shook her head and said that it was
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. J 47 
 
 a great mistake, as it always excited Mrs. 
 Monroe to see new faces. She was obliged 
 to obey orders, however., and shortly be 
 fore dinner we all met in the drawing- 
 room. I noticed that Mr. Monroe treated 
 his wife exactly as though she were a 
 child. lie was very kind and gentle with 
 her, and gave her bonbons, with which she 
 filled her mouth and ate them with much 
 enjoyment. She called her husband 
 "Brother Thomas," and seemed very glad 
 to see him; but she paid little attention to 
 the guest. While she was chewing the 
 bonbons, I heard .Mr. Monroe telling Colo 
 nel Barton that she played the piano as 
 well ;is ever. "My dear," he said, turning 
 to " Baby" and tnking one of her big fat 
 bands in his, "T want you to play us 
 something," and he led her towards the 
 piano. She simpered, but hesitated as 
 her eye ( aught Mart iifs. 
 
 "She d better not, sir," said Martin; 
 "it excites her too much." 
 
 "That s all right, Martin; I m sure that
 
 J 4 8 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 it will only give her pleasure to play, as it 
 will us to hear her." 
 
 Martin shook her head ruefully, and 
 Mrs. Monroe sat down at the piano. At 
 first she played quietly enough, hut with 
 out any expression; then she raised her 
 fists and hanged up and down the keys 
 so that we all jumped from our chairs. 
 Martin flew to the side of the poor woman 
 and spoke a few decided words in her 
 ear, which had the effect of stopping her; 
 then, turning to Mr. Monroe, she said: 
 
 "I heg that you will let me take Mrs. 
 Monroe to her room, sir; she is very much 
 excited." 
 
 "Xot at all," said her hushaml. "She ll 
 he perfectly quiet in a moment, and will 
 enjoy coming to the dinner-tahle; won t 
 you, my dear?" turning to his wife, who 
 only smiled amusedly at him. "I told 
 you so. It will he a great pleasure to her 
 and to us also." 
 
 Dinner was just then announced, and 
 Colonel Barton stepped politely forward
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy, -^ 
 
 and oil ered his arm to Mrs. Monroe. Evi 
 dently he did not please her, for she raised 
 her hand and pushed him aside with such 
 force that he almost fell into the lire. He 
 was a dignified man, and did not enjoy 
 this treatment at all. Then Martin took 
 her hy the hand and led her in, while Mr. 
 Monroe held open the door through which 
 we passed in single file. 
 
 At this dinner-party I snatched a fear 
 ful jov. Mrs. Monroe sat at the right 
 hand of her husband, and almost directly 
 opposite me, and Martin sat next to her. 
 At the foot of the table sat Aunt Maria. 
 1 tried to get the seat next to her, and al 
 most upset ( olonel Barton in doing so: 
 he said that two ladies should not 
 sit together, and got in ahead of 
 me. Mr. Monroe helped his wife 
 bountifully to everything, and she ate as 
 heartilv as though she had not just eaten 
 a pound or so of bonbons. 
 
 All went quietly for a time, and we were 
 ell on with the roast, when Mrs. Monroe 

 
 ! 5 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 glared angrily at the waitress. "Take 
 your eyes off me," she shouted, shying a 
 plate at her head. 
 
 The frightened girl dodged the missile 
 and dropped the tray of dishes with a 
 crash. This added to Mrs. Monroe s ex 
 citement. In a moment she was on her 
 feet, and the room was filled with flying 
 crockery. The rib-roast took Colonel Bar 
 ton on his ample shirt-front; the Leans 
 were emptied in Aunt Maria s lap, while 
 I only escaped the mashed potatoes by 
 dodging under the table. The row upon 
 the Stanislaus was nothing in comparison. 
 As a finale, the excited woman pulled the 
 cloth from the table. Every dish went 
 clattering upon the floor; and then, with a 
 heavy mahogany chair raised over her 
 head, she defied any one to touch her. 
 
 I crouched trembling under the table, 
 but managed to peep out upon the scene 
 of battle through a small rent in the cloth. 
 Mr. Monroe stood pale and very much 
 agitated; Colonel Barton was concealed
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 5 1 
 
 behind the door, and the waitress had 
 escaped to the pantry, while Aunt Maria 
 sat calmly with her napkin over her 
 head. Pale, with face set, Martin ap 
 proached the infuriated giantess, and 
 jerking the chair from her hands, snapped 
 the awful bracelets on her wrists in the 
 twinkling of an eye. The unhappy 
 woman, thoroughly cowed, permitted Mar 
 tin to lead her from the room. As the 
 door closed behind them, I crawled out 
 from my hiding place, while Colonel Bar 
 ton came cautiously out from behind the 
 door. Aunt .Maria took the napkin from 
 her head and spread it over her lap. Mr. 
 Monroe said that lie did not care for any 
 more dinner, but would go to the library 
 if we would excuse him. 1 noticed that 
 his voice shook slightly, and that there 
 were tears in his eyes as he left the room. 
 Colonel Barton said that lie had only 
 eaten enough to give him an appetite, and 
 that he would like to finish his dinner, if 
 there was no objection; but possibly there
 
 J 5 2 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 was no dinner either, after what had hap 
 pened. The waitress was called, and came 
 tremhling and holding her arm to her 
 head as though to ward off a "blow. After 
 seeing that Colonel Barton was provided 
 for, Aunt Maria, who was more agitated 
 than she admitted, took me hy the hand 
 and excused herself. I saw the forerun 
 ners of a lovely dessert on the sideboard 
 and sighed; as we passed it, I managed 
 to snatch a handful of cakes. 
 
 "Is Mrs. Monroe coming to dinner every 
 day?" I asked, safe inside of Aunt Maria s 
 room. 
 
 "Xo; poor woman, it will be a long time 
 before she comes in this part of the house 
 again." 
 
 Well, I m very glad," said I, "for I 
 never, in all my horn-days, saw a lady 
 with such table manners."
 
 XII. 
 
 TIIK day afUT this memorable dinner 
 party, I was sent for to come home, and 
 1 was ^lad to go. I loved to be with my 
 aunt, but the old place with its new ten 
 ants was not what it had been. It was 
 exciting, I admit, but it was altogether 
 too exciting for my taste. I was not asked 
 to say good-bye to Mrs. Monroe, as it was 
 not considered wise for any one but Mar- 
 lin tn set 1 her for a while yet. I was taken 
 to the library to say good-bye to Mr. Mon- 
 i He and to Colonel Barton, who spent. 
 most of the morning playing backgammon 
 with him. Mr. Monroe had been quite 
 restored to his usual calm by a night s 
 rest, and he patted me on the cheek and 
 filled mv pockets with the bonbons he 
 always kept on hand for "the baby." 
 Colonel Hart on took my warm hand in his 
 cold, thin fingers, and looking intenfly at 
 me, said: 
 
 53
 
 54 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 "Little pitchers have big ears, and they 
 also have big eyes and big mouths; but 
 they had better not let their big mouths 
 tell all that their big ears hear or their big 
 eyes see." 
 
 "Big jugs have big ears and big eyes 
 and big mouths, too," said I, with mean 
 ing as I pulled my hand away, for his 
 fingers gave me a chill. I didn t like 
 Colonel Barton, and I objected to his de 
 scription of my features. lie scowled, but 
 Mr. Monroe laughed and gave me more 
 bonbons. 
 
 As soon as we were outside the house 
 I said to my aunt: "Well, Aunt Maria, I 
 think Colonel Barton is just as funny as 
 Mrs. Monroe." 
 
 " Tunny is hardly the word I should 
 use to describe Colonel Barton; uncanny 
 would be better," she answered. 
 
 "What s uncanny?" I asked, prancing 
 all over the sidewalk, for I never walked 
 decently and in order. 
 
 "It s what Colonel Barton is," she re 
 plied.
 
 I.TTTI.K PITCHERS JIAVK BIG EARS.
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 57 
 
 I soon forgot about Colonel Barton, 
 and even .Mrs. Monroe, in my excitement 
 about the train and traveling back to Xew 
 York alone. Tin.- conductor was the same 
 one I had gone to Birdlington with, and 
 I greeted him with an eil usive "Hello!" 
 Aunt Maria frowned upon my boisterous, 
 ness, but the conductor laughed and said: 
 "She s all right ; I like girls to have spirit." 
 
 "Then yon should like her extra well," 
 -aid Aunt Maria, aside; "for she has 
 spirit enough for two." 
 
 Sandv met me when the train arrived in 
 New York , and, as it was late in the 
 afternoon, we went straight to our Long 
 Island home. 
 
 Kvery one seemed glad to see me; 
 though now, when I look back, I wonder 
 that thev did not all desert the house on 
 mv return. I was allowed to have supper 
 in the big dining-room with the family, 
 which was a new honor; but then I was 
 now nearly ten years old. 
 
 "Well, Nell," said mv father from the
 
 J 5 8 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 head of the table, "what have you learned 
 while you ve been gone?" 
 
 "I ve learned to be an Episcopalian, a 
 Democrat, and to drink strong coffee/ I 
 replied, in my shrillest voice, while every 
 one stared amazed. 
 
 "Then you had better go back to your 
 Aunt Maria, said my father, who was 
 neither an Episcopalian nor a Democrat, 
 and* preferred tea with his morning toast. 
 
 "I don t want to go back. I want to 
 stay with you, I cried; and, jumping 
 from my chair and upsetting my glass of 
 milk, I rushed to my father and threw un 
 arms around his neck. I didn t mean to 
 hurt his feelings, but he had asked me a 
 question, and I had replied according to 
 my lights. I am sure now that there was 
 a twinkle in his gray eyes when I sprang 
 my unexpected answer upon him; only I 
 wasn t looking for it. 
 
 On the day after my arrival home, my 
 father called me into his study and told 
 me that we were going to move; the cares
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. J 59 
 
 of a large school were more than his 
 health could hear, and he was going to 
 live in a little Connecticut village with 
 no one Itut his o\vn family in the lionse. 
 I little realized what this meant to him. 
 For years he had heen carrying a harden 
 heavier than he could bear, for he was no 
 business man, and what he loved most in 
 the world after his wife and children was 
 his books and writing. He had decided 
 to sell the school, "good-will and fixtures," 
 and return to the ministry. The outlook 
 was not big with riches, and we were a 
 large family; but it meant freedom from a 
 thousand cares and more leisure for read 
 ing. Though fond of The Hall, still, like 
 most children, I was eager for a change. 
 The mere fact of moving meant nothing 
 to me beyond a railway journey, and T was 
 anxious to see the new place. I parted 
 with some of the pupils of the school sor 
 rowfully, and most of them were not 
 ashamed to shed tears when their turn 
 came to sav good-bye to the teachers and
 
 160 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 fellow-pupils they had learned to love. 
 At last they were all gone, and the place 
 was lonely enough. 
 
 After they had left there was an auc 
 tion-sale a "vendue," the auctioneer 
 called it; and this I thought a very thrill 
 ing incident. A red flag was fastened at 
 the big gate, and the goods to be sold were 
 piled up in the courtyard. A crowd 
 of villagers drifted in, some to buy, but 
 more out of curiosity. There were dealers 
 in second-hand furniture, and old Irish 
 women in plaid shawls with children at 
 their heels. My mother kept out of the 
 way, but my father was obliged to be on 
 hand more or less to look after his inter 
 ests. Annie, the nurse, kept my small 
 brothers and sisters in the nursery, and 
 would have kept me a prisoner also; but I 
 gave her the slip, and stood conspicuously 
 in the crowd to see all that was to be seen 
 and hear all that was to be heard. 
 
 The auctioneer was a thick-set, little 
 man, with a wisp of hair on his chin. He
 
 Autobiography ot a Tomboy. I(jl 
 
 O I i 
 
 had sharp eyes and a snub-nose. "When 
 he mounted his stand and began to auc 
 tion oil the goods, I thought he was the 
 \vittiest man I had ever heard speak. All 
 his time-honored jokes were new to me, 
 and I laughed witli a heartiness that must 
 have llattered him. I remember his hold 
 ing up a lantern, and saying: "This, ladies 
 and gentlemen, is the lantern that was 
 carried by Diogenes when he went in 
 seaivli of an honest man. ]t would take 
 a bigger lantern than the one I have in 
 mv hand to find an honest man in this 
 crowd." Then everybody roared with 
 laughter, and I clapped my hands with 
 glee. "Who says ten dollars for Diog- 
 enes s lantern ?" he added. 
 
 \o one said it. Then there was a 
 pause. 
 
 "Who says live dollars? no price at
 
 162 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 "Well, this is the meanest crowd I ever 
 struck. Perhaps you think there ain t no 
 honest man to find in this town. "Well, I 
 guess you re ahout right. I s pose you 
 don t want no lantern; you d rather pur 
 sue your evil ways in darkness. Will you 
 give fifty cents?" They wouldn t. Ten 
 cents?" Xo bidders. "Take it for five, 
 if yer mean enough." 
 
 An old Irishman stepped up and 
 counted out five coppers. 
 
 "I thought there d he some of you 
 who d take it fer a gift." 
 
 The Irishman grinned and fell back to 
 his place, and the crowd laughed. 
 
 Then an old desk was held up. After 
 much coaxing, ten dollars was bid. 
 
 Going at ten this beautiful desk; the 
 identical one on which Washington wrote 
 the Declaration of Independence; going 
 at ten dollars." 
 
 "Twenty!" I shouted, and hid behind 
 one of the plaid shawls. The auctioneer s 
 face brightened.
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. l6 3 
 
 "Xow, we have some one who knows a 
 good thing. Am 1 bid any more? Only 
 twenty dollars for this beautiful historical 
 piece of furniture." 
 
 "Thirty." I squeaked from my hiding- 
 place. 
 
 Going at thirty make it forty! Going 
 at thirty! Any more bids? Going 
 going gone!" and down came his ham 
 mer. Then to his clerk: "Get the name 
 of the purchaser, and ask for a deposit. 
 The clerk came towards the direction of 
 the voice. I had not been seen by the 
 auctioneer, only heard. When I saw the 
 man approaching with card and pencil in 
 his hand I was frightened enough. Some 
 people standing near me knew that I was 
 the culprit, and when the clerk couldn t 
 find the person who had bid, they chaffed 
 him unmercifully. The auctioneer was 
 furious, and threatened to stop the sale. 
 I broke loose from the protection of the 
 plaid shawl, and ran full tilt across the 
 court. The auctioneer saw me, and at 
 once suspected the truth.
 
 l6 4 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 "It was that tomboy, was it? and he 
 regarded my flying figure with stern con 
 tempt. 1 did not venture into the court 
 yard again while the sale was on; nor did 
 I care to, as I wouldn t have had another 
 chance for fun, now that I was discovered. 
 
 In a few days after the sale we were 
 packed and ready for our new home. 
 Cousin Frances had gone on ahead with a 
 Levy of the children, while I was left to 
 go with my father and mother and the 
 baby. Cousin Frances was not willing to 
 take the responsibility of my care. Annie 
 was the only one of the servants who went 
 with us. She had not intended to go, 
 and she had promised a neighbor s gar 
 dener that she would marry him as soon 
 as we were gone. When she realized how 
 much my mother and the baby needed her, 
 she told the gardener that he would have 
 to wait for a year. lie protested, but she 
 was firm and he waited. Dear, good 
 Annie! For fourteen years, all told, she 
 had "minded" us children. The patient
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. l() 5 
 
 gardener, 1 am happy to say, waited as he 
 was bid, ami lie has made her a good hus 
 band and given her a comfortable home. 
 She has no children of her own, but she 
 served a long apprenticeship with the 
 children of others whom she loved as well 
 as though they had been ilesh of her flesh 
 and bone of her hone. 
 
 Aunt Maria sent Diana to (Hen Centre, 
 our new home, as she had no use for her 
 while -Mi . Monroe occupied her house, as 
 he insisted upon her staying there most of 
 the time. We clung to Diana, for ser 
 vants were hard to get in that fanning 
 country; but she made our lives miserable 
 by her cantankerous ways. 
 
 (lien Centre was not much of a village, 
 but it was a very pretty part of the coun 
 try, all hill and dale, and meadow and 
 wood. The village 1 consisted of one store, 
 which was also the post-ollice; the church, 
 who-H pulpit niv father was to (ill, and 
 three or four houses at the cross-roads. 
 "The Centre" it was called, and a few
 
 166 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 houses straggling down the one long 
 street. The church was a typical New 
 England "meeting-house/ built of wood 
 painted white, with a graceful spire that 
 could be seen for miles around. 
 
 The parsonage, when we took posses 
 sion, was not very attractive. It had been 
 lived in by too many people, and had not 
 been a home to any of them. The house 
 was staring white and shutterless; but 
 after my father had lived in it a short 
 time, he induced the people to put up neat 
 green shutters, which added very much to 
 its appearance and to our comfort. The 
 furniture was very plain. There were only 
 two pictures on the prim parlor-walls 
 one, "Little Samuel," with lovely curls 
 down his back, kneeling with his hands 
 clasped in prayer; the other, "The Death 
 bed of Wesley," an ambitious mezzotint 
 in a heavy mahogany frame. I used to 
 regard the latter with much curiosity. I 
 wondered why so many people happened 
 to be around when the good man died,
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. l6 7 
 
 and whether he would not have preferred 
 a less crowded room (o breathe his last in. 
 [ also wondered whether, like Captain 
 K idd, he had sung: 
 
 Come, all ye young and old, see me die, see 
 
 ins 1 die ! 
 Come, all ye young and old, see me die !" 
 
 But then I argued that such a man as 
 AYesley would hardly have quoted the 
 words of a famous pirate chief. 
 
 I loved the good people of (lieu Cen 
 tre; and. though the tuemhers of the 
 ehureh, as a whole, could hardly have 
 been called broad-minded, their intentions 
 were of the best. My father, who loved 
 music and considered it an important part 
 of the church service, had a terrible strug 
 gle to get a melodeon into the church. T T p 
 to his time the only musical instrument 
 allowed within its doors was a tuning- 
 fork. All the young people in the con 
 gregation were on my father s side in the 
 struggle, but their elders fought and
 
 168 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 prayed against the "big fiddle," as they 
 called it. The melodeon, however, won 
 the day, and some of the worthy deacons 
 did not hesitate to say that the devil had 
 taken possession of the church. A young 
 lady was found to play the new instru 
 ment, and my father trained the choir. 
 The consequence was that the services 
 were much more interesting than they had 
 ever been before, and the young people, 
 for the first time in their lives, enjoyed 
 going to church. 
 
 IVIy father s study was in the basement 
 of the church. It was a big room, but the 
 books that he-brought with him from The 
 Hall nearly filled its walls. The thing 
 that I best remember about this room 
 was a mouse, which was so tame that it 
 ran over my father s table as he Avrote, 
 and would even run along his sleeve and 
 cat out of his hand. A church-mouse is 
 proverbially poor; but this one was an ex 
 ception, for it was as fat as a seal. 
 
 There was a young lady in the congre-
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. l6( ) 
 
 ration who took a great fancy to my 
 mother, and was often at the parsonage. 
 She never came too often to please me, 
 for she usually rode over on horseback, 
 and after she was well in the house I 
 would untie the horse and climb on his 
 back for a canter up the road. One day 
 I was jogging along, suspecting no harm, 
 when a horrid little boy came up behind 
 and struck the horse across his legs with 
 the paling of a fence. You know how 
 John (Jilpin rode through merry Isling 
 ton well, that is the way I rode through 
 the single street of that quiet village. If 
 I had worn a hat and wig, they would 
 have met the fate of Gil pin s. Fortunate 
 ly for me, I had left my hat at home, and 
 mv hair lay close to my head. At the first 
 blow of the stick the horse sprang for 
 ward with a bound that set me somewhere 
 mi his neck, and this I embraced with 
 both mv arms. l"p and down, over hill 
 and dale, we went. People (lew to their 
 windows and doors, thinking either that
 
 7 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 it was a runaway or that some one was 
 going for the doctor at a pace that even 
 such urgency could not legalize. After a 
 mile or so, the horse, which was really 
 "gentle in all harness and fit for a lady to 
 drive/ slackened his pace, and witli the 
 air of one who rode as I had been riding 
 entirely from choice, I cantered hack to 
 the parsonage. Every one was in a state 
 of excitement, and though my knees shook 
 and I felt a little sore, I put on a hold 
 front, and exclaimed: "What s the mat 
 ter? Can t a person take a little canter 
 without every one getting scared to 
 death?" 
 
 But I was very glad when I was safely 
 off the horse s hack again, and vowed to 
 get even with that hoy. And I kept my 
 vow. The next time I saw him, I " sicked" 
 our old dog on him, and he was obliged to 
 seek refuge in a tree. "Watch him, Bruce!" 
 said L, and the dog did his duty while I 
 went off to play in the woods with my sis 
 ters. When we returned some hours later,
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. ? 
 
 Bruce was still on guard, and the hoy still 
 at the top of the tree. He said that he 
 liked it ii}> there. If you had seen the 
 way he clambered down when I called the 
 dog o!T, you would have known, as I did, 
 that he was just Mulling, lie had learned 
 a good lesson, though to beware of tom 
 boys.
 
 XIII. 
 
 WE were very poor, but very happy, in 
 those Glen Kidge clays. At least, we chil 
 dren were happy; but I dare say that our 
 parents had many moments of unhappi- 
 ness. While the family was comparatively 
 small, my father s income was less than 
 comparatively small. Five hundred dol 
 lars a year, with a parsonage thrown in, 
 was all that he had; and, in the language 
 of the poet, "we were seven," not count 
 ing our parents a)id a middle-aged rela 
 tive whom we called "Cousin Frances." 
 
 To eke out the salary and the rent, 
 there were "donation parties," occasions 
 upon which the parishioners brought the 
 produce of their farms and laid them, as 
 it were, at our feet. I remember old Dea 
 con Halsey getting up in church the Sun 
 day before one of these parties, and telling 
 the people to give liberally. "Anything 
 172
 
 Autobiography of" a Tomboy. T ^3 
 
 \vill be welcome," lie added, with the best 
 intentions; but 1 noticed the Mush of mor 
 tification that spread over my father s 
 cheeks at this tactless way of putting it. 
 I hope that better salaries have taken the 
 place of "donation parties" by this time; 
 for they were a tax upon the giver and a 
 humiliation to the receiver. We chil 
 dren enjoyed them almost as much as we 
 did Christmas, and shouted with joy every 
 time a farmer brought in a big fat turkey, 
 or a barrel of apples, or his wife laid a 
 basket of doughnuts or a jar of preserves 
 on the dining-room table. Sometimes 
 there were donations of money, which 
 would have been better added to the 
 clergyman s salarv than handed in as a 
 graluitv. As little as our parents liked 
 (his way of eking out their income, they 
 could hardly have made ends meet with 
 out it. We children had healthy appetites 
 and a genius for wearing out our clothes. 
 Fortunately, we were not disturbed by the 
 demands of fashion. We wore what we
 
 J 74 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 had till it could be worn no longer. The 
 clothes of one were handed down to the 
 next younger, who was rather proud to 
 inherit the garments of an elder, regard 
 less of their age, color, or previous con 
 dition of servitude. 
 
 Apples, bread, and molasses entered 
 largely into our bill of fare, and we never 
 tired of either. Unless you have sat on a 
 stone fence and beaten russet-apples soft 
 on its hard top, you have missed one of the 
 greatest delicacies that the orchard gives. 
 The epicure who goes from Delmonico s to 
 Sherry s, or from the Waldorf-Astoria to 
 the Martin, seeking novelties for the grat 
 ification of his palate, can never know the 
 delight that we children experienced as 
 we tramped through the orchard sampling 
 the apples of every tree. Not only did we 
 revel in the fruit in its natural state, but 
 we reveled in it when roasted and eaten 
 with cream the latter a luxury that we 
 had in abundance. Our method of roast 
 ing was primitive but effectual. It was to
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. l ~ 1 
 
 the apple what the ])lank is to the shad. 
 We tied a half do/en apples by their steins 
 and fastened the strings to the mantel 
 shelf, so that they hung within a few 
 inches of a roaring wood-fire; then we 
 twisted the strings, which wound and un 
 wound, baking the apple? evenly on all 
 sides. How they sputted and spurted! and 
 how excited we were as we held our plates 
 under them to catch the juice that hurst 
 from their sides! Sandy was the champion 
 (ater of baked apples. He had them at 
 every meal, and we were obliged to hurry 
 to !_ r et our --hare. I remember his telling 
 mv father, with great earnestness, that he 
 believed that F.ve tempted Adam with a 
 baked apple "which," he added, "was 
 Inking a mean advantage, for no man 
 could re.-ist such a temptation." 
 
 In the simplicity of our food lav one of 
 the sources of our splendid health. We 
 never had to call in a doctor. There was 
 a young doctor in the place, but his calls 
 were entirely social. I liked him very
 
 T 7 8 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 much,, for he would let me drive around 
 with him and hold his horse while he 
 made his professional calls upon the farm 
 ers wives and children. Once he staid so 
 long at a house that I took advantage of 
 the opportunity to take a little drive on 
 my own account. I went gayly up the 
 road, and when I thought that I had gone 
 far enough, I attempted to turn around 
 and go back. I took the very narrowest 
 place in the road to turn around in. The 
 doctor s gig was not a cut-under, and I 
 was not an expert at turning. The ex 
 pected happened. At first the gig-body 
 caught on the wheels, and I couldn t get 
 it down. The horse stood still, so I seized 
 the whip and gave him a gentle cut across 
 the withers. I had not told him that I 
 was going to do this, so he was taken by 
 surprise and started forward. As he was 
 turning, according to previous instruc 
 tions, this brought his head almost into 
 my lap. To get him out I pulled violently 
 upon the other rein. Having a tender
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. "9 
 
 nioutli he came around as far the other 
 way, and with such force that the gig 
 pitched over on its side, with me under it. 
 Fortunately, the horse was gentle, and in 
 stead of running away hegan to nibble at 
 the grass along the road. I scrambled out, 
 and was glad to see that nothing was 
 broken. 
 
 I was not, however, glad to see the doc 
 tor, who at this critical moment came 
 panting up the bill. When be saw that 
 I was not hurt, be hegan to scold. I ex 
 plained that it was not my fault; indeed, 
 if there was any one to blame it was he 
 for not having a cut-under gig. "You re 
 a daughter of Kve, sure enough," said he; 
 "always ready to throw the blame on the 
 man." I .y this time a farmer had crossed 
 From a neighboring field, and the gig was 
 righted. It had been a very neat accident; 
 for nothing was hurt, except mv feelings 
 at having the blame thrown on me, when 
 it was all the fault of the gig s not being 
 a cut-under.
 
 l8 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 There was a man living near Glen- 
 Ridgc, known to his neighbors as Long 
 Tom, who was something of a wag. His 
 sayings and doings were freely discussed 
 among the people, and I had a great curi 
 osity to see him. I heard one day that he 
 was at the village store, so I boldly 
 walked up there for the pleasure of seeing 
 and hearing him. When I entered the 
 store there were a lot of men sitting 
 around the stove "swapping stories," and 
 among them I noticed a new comer; thai 
 is, one new to me. He was tall and lank, 
 and looked to me rather a solemn person 
 age, and not at all my idea of a wag. 
 Being in doubt, I walked up to him, and 
 in a loud voice said: "Are you Long 
 Tom?" He looked down upon me, and 
 rubbing his bristling chin with his long 
 fingers, replied witli a question: " Are you 
 the parson s little girl?" Upon my 
 acknowledging the charge, he said: " Well, 
 then go home and get your pa to help 
 you look for your manners; for I guess
 
 Autobiography of a Tomjpoy, lSl 
 
 they re lust." At this all the men aruimd 
 the stove hurst into shouts of laughter, 
 and I jx tiiv.l in cont iision. I learned after 
 wards thai the name Long Tom was one 
 that was applied to him behind his hack, 
 and never to his face, as he objected to it; 
 For, like most jokers, he resented heing 
 joked with. 
 
 We heeame good friends after this, and 
 many were the balls of pop-corn that he 
 treated me to. ll was Loin; Tom who 
 taught me to shoot at a mark with a re 
 volver an accomplishment that I was 
 very proud of. lie would take me to the 
 oivhard Farthest from the house, and ?et 
 up a row i)F apples on the fence for me to 
 lire at. I hit the fence quite often, but 
 I never hit one of the apples. Then, to 
 -how me how to do it. Tmu would take 
 the "gun," as lie called it, and bring down 
 an apple at every slmt. One day, t excited 
 by his brilliant marksmanship. 1 took 
 careful aim and fired. I was sure that I 
 would bring down an apple, but I didn t.
 
 182 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 I brought down Squire Kobbins brown 
 pig instead. I don t know which screamed 
 the loudest, the wounded pig or I. I think 
 I must have, as I had more to scream for. 
 The pig had only itself to think of, but I 
 had Squire Eobbins to reckon with. I 
 never hesitated in such circumstances. I 
 was brought up on that old song, "Speak, 
 and let the worst be known; speaking may 
 relieve you/ so I went straight to Squire 
 Eobbins-and told him what I had done. 
 
 "You shot the old sow, did yer?" said 
 he, severely. "Is she dead ?" 
 
 "Xo, sir; you wouldn t think she was 
 dead, if you could hear her squeal/ I 
 answered. 
 
 "Wall, if she ain t dead, taint no killin 
 matter," said he, with a laugh; and so 
 pleased was he with his witticism that I 
 was let off without even a scolding. I had 
 learned a good lesson, however; which 
 was, that when I wanted to hit a mark, 
 the way to do it was to aim at something 
 else.
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. lS .> 
 
 Although I was little more than ten 
 years old. 1 appreciated the fact that my 
 father was carrying a pretty heavy load, 
 and I determined to help him at the first 
 opportunity. I told him one day that I 
 had a scheme to that end, and that I 
 thought I would be a doctor. My father 
 being a numane man discouraged this 
 idea, so I cast about me for another pro 
 fession. At about this time a copy of a pe 
 riodical, popular in those day-, Tin I^nHc** 
 licposilury, fell into my hands. Its very 
 lir.-t page contained a steel portrait of Miss 
 Harriet llosmer, and was followed by a 
 -Letch of the career of that sculptor. I 
 u as enchanted, both by the portrait and 
 the biography. The former represented 
 her with short, cnrlv hair, parted on tlm 
 side, a turn-down collar, and floating tie. 
 MY mind was made up instantly. I too 
 would be a sculptor, and wear short hair, 
 turn-down collar and floating tie. T 
 had never shown auv talent for sculpture, 
 as the voting Harriet had done; but then
 
 l8 4 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 that was no obstacle. Given an oppor 
 tunity., why should I not develop the tal 
 ent? 
 
 The first step was to get a studio, the 
 next to get something to "sculp." At the 
 back of our house was a flight of eight or 
 ten steps, under which was a very good- 
 sized cubby-hole lighted by a small win 
 dow. What more did 1 want by way of 
 a studio? And as for the tools and the 
 marble to work on, 1 found an old chisel, 
 and, there being no marble at hand, I se 
 cured half a dozen bricks. I took no one 
 into my confidence, for 1 wanted to make 
 my statue first, and then unveil it in the 
 presence of my admiring family. I deter 
 mined to make a portrait-bust of my 
 father as a beginning; but, alas! with every 
 blow of the chisel the brick crumbled at 
 my feet, and my efforts to become a sculp 
 tor ended in dust. Who knows what might 
 have happened, if I had been able to find a 
 block of marble? I might have been re 
 sponsible for one of the many monstrosi-
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. l8 5 
 
 ties that adorn tin 1 parks of Xe\v York: 
 for, though I liad no tak iit foi 1 llie art, 
 I believe I had as nuieli as many of (hose 
 whoso work has been exchanged .( or good 
 money. 
 
 It was just about ihis time that the 
 civil war broke out. 
 
 "Sumter has been fired upon," said my 
 father in an excited voice, looking up from 
 his morning paper. 
 
 "Sumter fired upon?" echoed my moth 
 er, turning pale. 
 
 "\\hos Sumter; 1 asked from the end 
 of l he table, "and why did they fire upon 
 him! " .M v elders were too husv discussing 
 the situation lo answer; but 1 gleaned 
 from their conversation that there was 
 going to be a war. 
 
 "I ll be a soldier!" I shouted and 
 dashed out of the room to inform my sis 
 ters of my new-born resolution.
 
 I XEVEK became a soldier, but I saw a 
 good deal of the effects of the war during 
 the next four years. 
 
 As I have intimated,, my father s in 
 come was not equal to the demands upon 
 it. He had reentered the ministry com 
 paratively late in life, and there was not 
 much chance of his getting a prize ap 
 pointment. Hearing that there was a 
 good opening for a select school in Yon- 
 kers, he decided to return to his old pro 
 fession of teaching; not a boarding-school 
 again, but a small day-school. The friend 
 who told him of the opening must have 
 been a poet, as there was much more of 
 imagination than of fact in his statements. 
 My father, however, was a man of works 
 as well as of faith, and he brought his 
 large family from Glen Ridge and set up 
 his school in Yonkers. He was not known 
 1 86
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. |S 7 
 
 iii UK- place, but unite a number of bovs 
 and girls \vere entered for the first term, 
 though not enough to make it a paying 
 venture. I think that most of the pupils 
 were recruited from his own family. 
 
 We children did not care much for 
 Yonkers after the delights of (ili-n Hidge. 
 There we had the open country to roam 
 over, while in Yonkers we wen. restricted 
 to a fair-sixcd garden, or yard, as it was 
 called, which was augmented by a strip 
 of reservoir-ground passing through it. 
 There were no trees for us to climb or to 
 rest under out of the rays of the summer 
 sun. Xor was the house very attractive. 
 It stood close to the sidewalk, and had 
 one narrow pia/xa, uhicli gave us a little 
 shade on hot davs. The only days that I 
 can remember in Yonkers were hot. \\ e 
 lived there for at least a yenr: but I do 
 not remember our having passed a winter 
 there, though we must have done so. 
 
 Diana came from (Jlen Ridge with us. 
 While we were ill ad to have her as
 
 5 ^ 8 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 a general houseworker, her presence in 
 the family was not an unmitigated joy. 
 She could cook as well as any one when 
 she wanted to, hut you could never count 
 upon her distinguishing herself in that 
 line. I can see her now, as she looked 
 when she arrived from (lien Kidge, we 
 having come on a few days hefore. We 
 all gathered in the kitchen io welcome 
 her. There she sat in solemn state. Tied 
 over her bandanna was a poke-bonnet, 
 with t\vo straight black feathers, looking 
 as though they had been plucked from the 
 tail of a feather-duster. Her carpeted 
 feet were spread out well in front of her, 
 and her precious hair-trunk reposed be 
 side her chair. 
 
 "Hello, Diana, we re glad to see you!" 
 said I, speaking for the assembled chil 
 dren. 
 
 "Well, I ain t glad to be here," she re 
 plied, looking around the kitchen with a 
 dance of scorn. "A basemc t-kitchen for
 
 Autobiography ot a Tomboy. lSl > 
 
 tin- to get the roomatiz in, an" a coal-range, 
 ;:n" nil 1 Yustoined to wood." 
 
 "You ve got a nice, high and dry bed 
 room, up under the eaves," said 1, en 
 couragingly. 
 
 "I d like to know how I m goin to gel 
 Ihis here trunk up to the top of this here 
 house," she grunted, stroking the hair of 
 the 1 riink the wrong way. 
 
 "\\VI1 earrv it up for you, Diana," I 
 -aid. eagerlv grabbing tlie tiling bv one of 
 its iron handles. 
 
 "Mere, von; let go of that," she shouted, 
 jerking it away from me. "I ain t agoin" 
 to let anv one teeh that ti iink but me:" 
 and down she sal upon it. Finallv, we 
 made a compromise, she consenting to mv 
 taking one end, while she held the other. 
 In this wav, after much stumbling, to the 
 great ami^emeiit of my sisters and broih- 
 ers who followed us, we landed ihe trunk 
 safelv in Diana s attic bedroom. After 
 hanging up her hound and shawl, she 
 locked the door i if her room, and di -
 
 J 9 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 sccnded to the kingdom where she reigned 
 during the whole time of our residence in 
 Yonkers. We often went into this kitchen, 
 for we got a great deal of fun out of Di 
 ana; hut it was, after all, snatching a 
 fearful joy, for we never knew when we 
 should he chased out at the point of the 
 poker. \Ve could not, however, resist 
 playing jokes on the poor soul. One day 
 I dressed myself in some very shahhy old 
 clothes, pulling my hair down over my 
 ears, pasted court-plaster over my teeth to 
 look as though I had lost some of them, 
 tied on an old bonnet that I found in the 
 rag-hag, smeared some black on my face, 
 and, followed, as usual, by all the children, 
 descended from the garden to the kitchen 
 to have some fun with Diana. 
 
 Please, ma am, " said I, in as deep a 
 voice as I could command^ "will you 
 give a poor woman a bit of bread? Diana 
 looked at me rather suspiciously, and 
 walked over to the bread-box, muttering 
 as she went.
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 93 
 
 "Thankee, lady," when she handed me 
 a slice of bread and hutter; "couldn t ye 
 nive me some broken pieces to take home 
 In me sick hnshand and fatherless chil 
 dren ?" 
 
 This slip was too much for my sisters, 
 as it was for me. I could hear them tit- 
 ici iuu as I myself shook with suppressed 
 laughter. I liana, who had regarded me 
 with suspicion from the first, now broke 
 into fierce denunciation. 
 
 "You re intopsicated," said she, with in 
 dignation, "coiiiin round here disgracin 
 verself hefo" these innercent chilliin. (Jo 
 loii"; with you!" and, seizing the kettle of 
 boiling water from the ran^e, she made 
 after me. I turned iiniominiously and (letl 
 up the stone steps, but, alas! I had not 
 counted on niv loiia skills. Head first I 
 tripped over them, and fell Hat upon the 
 path, Ihaua on top of me. fortunately 
 she let LI O of the kettle as she fell, or we 
 should lioth h;i\r been liadlv scalded. As 
 it was. I was prettv well scratched by the
 
 J 94 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 gravel, but was soon on my feet again. In 
 the excitement my bonnet had come off, 
 and my hair resumed its natural condi 
 tion. Then Diana recognized me. Con 
 tradicting expressions passed across her 
 brown face; but, deciding bluff to be the 
 better part, she said: 
 
 "I knowed yer all the time. ISTo mount 
 of black ain t goin to hide them freckles." 
 And she walked off to her kitchen with 
 the air of Becky Sharp, after triumphing 
 over Lady Bareacres. 
 
 1 thought of a dozen replies to this 
 sally, but not until it was too late. 
 
 One of my most vivid recollections of 
 our life at Yonkers is a stroke of lightning. 
 My mother, Cousin Frances, and we chil 
 dren were sitting peacefully at the break 
 fast table, to which my father had not yet 
 descended, when such a deafening noise as 
 I hope never to hear again burst upon our 
 cars, and at the same moment the dining- 
 room was filled with a smoke so dense that 
 we could not see each other. Being of a
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. J 95 
 
 highly imaginative disposition, I thought 
 that the end of the world had come, and 
 immediately threw my arms around my 
 little brother, who sat next to me, and 
 prayed to have my sins forgiven, and 
 qiiiekly, as there \vas apparently no time 
 to lose . As the smoke cleared away, I 
 sa\v my father, whom 1 at first took to he 
 St. Peter, standing at the door looking 
 anxiously around the room. After assur 
 ing himself that none of us was killed, lie 
 explained to the frightened family that 
 the house had lieen struck by lightning, 
 but had not been set on tire. The smoke 
 came from the chimney, which had been 
 struck, the deadly fluid having passed 
 down the outside of (he house and into the 
 ground. 
 
 After the first excitement was over, 1 
 ran down to the kitchen to see if Diana 
 was safe, only to come hounding hack the 
 stairs with the news that I could not find 
 her. 
 
 "Let s look in the garret," shouted
 
 J 9 6 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 Marty, jumping from her chair; and to 
 the garret we flew. There sat Diana on 
 the floor trying to gather together the con 
 tents of her hair-trunk, which had heen 
 scattered to the four corners of the attic. 
 That trunk was the only tiling inside the 
 house that had been struck. We started 
 to help Diana pick up her treasures, hut 
 she would not let us. With tears running 
 down her cheeks, she gathered them to 
 gether herself those precious hits of rib- 
 bon, feathers, artificial flowers, colored 
 beads, scraps of lace, gayly painted 
 cards, a bottle of musk, and a Bible that 
 she could not read. We children stood by 
 awed into silence, and looking in vain for 
 the crown that I, at least, believed to be 
 somewhere in that old trunk. Poor Di 
 ana! This exposure of her treasures was 
 a terrible humiliation. I think she felt 
 that she had lost much of her mysterious 
 hold upon us by the demolition of that 
 hair-covered box. To be sure, she had it 
 mended and the treasures restored; but
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. T ^7 
 
 ihcv had been seen by profane eyes, and 
 the spell was broken. 
 
 I have ;-aid before, in the course of this 
 narrative, that I had a very quick and, at 
 times, violent temper. Usually I could 
 control it, but now and then it got the 
 better of me. One of these times was in 
 Yonkers. "We children were sitting on our 
 piazza one Mimmer evening, when a very 
 nice-looking boy and girl came along, car- 
 rying a pretty little dog between them. 
 They stopped at our gate, and after a few 
 whispered words came up to the piazza- 
 steps. We noticed that their faces were 
 tear-stained, and wondered what was the 
 matter. The bov acted as spokesman, the 
 girl being too full for utterance. lie cx- 
 I laini d that some one had j_nven them 
 the little do,ir, but that his mothei- would 
 not let them keep it. We were greatly 
 interested, and when the boy turned to 
 me, as the oldest of the j^roup, I suppose, 
 and said, holding the dog towards me, 
 "Will vou take it?" I put oul my bauds to
 
 19% Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 do so. But Marty was ahead of me. 
 Brushing me aside, and with the sweetest 
 smile in the world, she said, "Give me the 
 little pet," and took the clog in her arms. 
 
 "They gave that dog to me," I pleaded, 
 trying to get it from her. 
 
 "How can you say such a thing? The 
 hoy put it in my arms; didn t he, Cousin 
 Frances?" 
 
 Now Cousin Frances, who had just ap 
 peared in the doorway, always sided 
 against me, so she said:-"0f course lie did. 
 Xo one would give a pet dog to such a torn- 
 hoy as Xell." 
 
 "I told you so," said Marty, going to 
 wards the door with her treasure. Tears 
 of rage filled my eyes. "You re a - 
 fool!" I screamed, with choking voice. 
 
 "Oh, I m going to tell mother what you 
 called me!" retorted Marty, hurrying into 
 the house. The other children looked 
 scared, and Cousin Frances turned pale. 
 "That Lnii should be sent to a reforma-
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. ! 99 
 
 tory," was her comment,, as she followed 
 Marty into the house. 
 
 In a few moments I heard my sister s 
 voice over the balustrade: ^Mother says 
 for you to come right up to her room." 
 Then, as I passed her in the hall: "You re 
 going to catch it." 
 
 a l don t care if I am," I answered 
 fiercely. I went slowly into my mother s 
 room, for I realized the gravity of my of 
 fense, and was not at all anxious to force 
 a climax. "I am shocked beyond measure 
 that a daughter of mine should have 
 called her little sister such a name." 
 
 "She took my dog," -- lid I , sullenly. 
 
 "It makes no difference what she did," 
 said my mother. "You have no excuse for 
 using such language; I am grieved beyond 
 expression. (Jo to vonr bed at once, and 
 think over your conduct. 
 
 I went to mv room without a word, but 
 my heart was filled with bitterness. After 
 I got to bed and fell to thinking over the 
 matter in the dark, I felt that I had com-
 
 200 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 mitted the unpardonable sin. Didn t the 
 Bible say that whosoever called his brother 
 a fool was in danger of hell-fire? And I 
 had called my sister a fool, which was 
 much worse, and a - - fool, too. I saw 
 nothing but the hottest fire before me, 
 and began to fear that I would feel its 
 heat that very night. I broke into a cold 
 perspiration, and my heart beat so loud 
 that I could hear it. Surely my end was 
 near. It was quite late now, and the 
 house was dark and silent. I got trembling 
 out of bed, and felt my way down the hall 
 to my mother s door, at which I knocked 
 with nervous fingers. 
 
 Who s there?" said my mother. 
 
 "I am Xell." 
 
 "What do you want?" 
 
 "I feel very queer. I I think that I m 
 going to die." Then I heard my mother 
 say something to my father, and there 
 seemed to be a little shake in her voice. 
 She got out of bed and opened the door. 
 
 "Kun right back to your bed. You re
 
 Autobiography of a Tom hoy. 20 
 
 not going to die to-night," said she, put 
 ting her hand gently on my shoulder. 
 
 "I m afraid I am," said I, with <|iiiver- 
 ing voice, "and I m in d danger of hell- 
 fire. " 
 
 My mother took me l>v the hand and 
 led me hack to mv room, and sat on the 
 side of my bed, and talked to me as only 
 a mother can, till I fell asleep and 
 dreamed that the little dog was in my 
 arms.
 
 XV. 
 
 ALTHOUGH we lived in Yonkers but a 
 year, the place is burned into my memory; 
 for it was while living there that I learned 
 the meaning of war. Sandy was the first 
 of our family to enlist, and that seemed 
 to be as much as my mother could stand; 
 for women little know the amount of suf 
 fering they can bear without breaking. 
 Sandy enlisted as a private in a regiment 
 of Zouaves, and his school-chum, John 
 Pelham, enlisted with him, and was his 
 tent-mate. Pelham was a man of fashion 
 and had been a man of fortune. When 
 he came of age he fell heir to a hundred 
 thousand or so a goodly sum in those 
 days and spent it all in Paris within 
 twelve months of the time it was paid 
 over to him. He did not seem to care, for 
 he had his mother s home to live in, and 
 he counted on her indulgence. "When the
 
 -_j> Cp <O 
 
 T \Vori.l) STAND MKPORK HT.M TV OI EN-Mi H TIIKO A DMTK ATTOX.
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 20 5 
 
 war broke out he left this luxurious home 
 without a si<:h of regret, and roughed it 
 with the hardiest . 
 
 My excitement over Sandy s enlistment 
 was <_!Teat. I longed to enlist with him; 
 but when I asked if I could be the daugh 
 ter of the reo-jinent, and ^o to the war with 
 him, he only told me not to be silly. I 
 do not believe that oven he was prouder 
 than I was of his ba.iriry rod trousers, or 
 the white turban ho wore around his fox. 
 When he came homo on leave, I would 
 stand before him in open-mouthed admi 
 ration. Although he snubbed mv mili 
 tary aspirations, I was not discouraged, 
 and made up my mind to see what I could 
 do towards realizing mv dream. I decided 
 that the first tiling to do was to <:et a 
 drum and learn to beat it. It took all of 
 mv saunas to buv the drum upon which 
 I tauirht myself to beat the rataplan. I 
 managed to <^e< a soldier s cap and a can 
 teen, and with the latter liun^ over my 
 shoulder and the former perched rakish-
 
 206 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 ]y on the side of my head, I marched up 
 and down the path in front of our house, 
 beating my drum until every head in the 
 street must have ached. 
 
 When I considered that I could drum 
 well enough, I decided upon a course of 
 action. The regiment to which my hrother 
 belonged was camped in City Hall Park, 
 Xew York. There was no post-office or 
 court-house there then. I made up my 
 mind to call upon the colonel and offer 
 my services. Without saying a word to 
 any one, I took the boat from Yonkers to 
 Xew York. I had never been in Xew York 
 alone before and did not know my way 
 about the city. By inquiring of every one 
 I met, however, I found my way at last 
 to City Hall Park. My heart beat high 
 at the sight of the tents, and of the red- 
 legged soldiers moving about. I won 
 dered whether Sandy would see me and 
 send me flying back home before my 
 object was accomplished. Once enlisted, 
 I could snap my fingers at him; but, be-
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 20 ~ 
 
 j oiv coming under CJovcrnmenl control, 
 lie. 1 miii lit have the upper hand. 
 
 Broadway was not so hard to cross in 
 those days as it is now. There were no 
 cable-cars or automobiles to be dodged. 
 Only stages carried passengers on that, 
 thoroughfare, and they jogged along so 
 slowly that one might readily have played 
 "puss-in-the-corner" from curb to curb 
 without danger to life or limb. I dashed 
 easily across the street,, and was stopped 
 hv a sent ry. 
 
 Malt!" cried he, with all the formality 
 of a volunteer. 
 
 1 halted and saluted at which he 
 
 "Who do you want to see?" be asked. 
 
 "I ve come down from Vonkers espe 
 cially to see the colonel: and I m going to 
 see him." I answered, trying to push by. 
 
 "Yon can t come in without a pass/ 
 replied the sentry lirmlv, and I hesitated 
 when I looked at his gleaming bayonet, 
 .lust then an ollieer in gold epaulets came
 
 208 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 along, and the sentry raised his musket to 
 salute. The officer looked at me inquir 
 ingly, and I raised my hand to the side 
 of my head and saluted also. This evi 
 dently amused him, for he smiled amiahly 
 and asked what I wanted. 
 
 I want to see the colonel, I answered. 
 
 "I am the colonel," he replied; "what 
 can I do for you? 
 
 "If you will take me into your tent I 
 will tell you; hut I don t want to talk out 
 here," as who should say, "We can t take 
 common soldiers into our confidence." 
 
 "Come with me then," he said, and I 
 took his hand and trotted along hy his 
 side, casting a haughty glance at the sen 
 try. Heated on a camp-stool in the col 
 onel s tent, I told him that I wanted to 
 he the daughter of his regiment and fol 
 low it into hattle. My cheeks hurned and 
 my eyes flashed as I told him of my aspi 
 rations. He smiled, hut shook his head, 
 and explained that there were no daugh 
 ters of regiments in our army; and so,
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 20i -> 
 
 though he \vas pleased with my patriotism, 
 lie could not grant uiy request. Then he 
 asked me some questions about myself, 
 and when I explained that I had come 
 do\vn from Yonkers without asking leave 
 D| my parents, lie said that lie was sorry 
 that such a nice little girl should do so 
 naughtv a tiling, and that T must go hack 
 home before my parents hecanie alarmed 
 about me. Calling an orderly, he told 
 him to take me up to Thirtieth street and 
 put me on the train, as it would make it 
 too late- for me to wait for the boat; and 
 so hack I went, feeling very much like the 
 king of France who, with a hundred thou 
 sand men, marched up the hill and then 
 marched down again. 
 
 There was great consternation at home 
 when I explained where T had heen. 
 
 "What next?" exclaimed Cousin Fran 
 ces, and she looked as if she knew, hut 
 that it was too had to tell. T was marched 
 promptly off to bed; hut 1 made a tent of 
 my sheets, and with a hroom for a musket,
 
 210 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 drilled myself till I was so tired that I 
 fell asleep. 
 
 ]t was not long after my visit to the 
 camp that Sandy s regiment was ordered 
 to the front. My father and mother went 
 down to Xew York to say good-hyc to 
 their soldier son; hut, much to my dis 
 gust, would not take me with them. It 
 was a trying ordeal for them and for thou 
 sands of others, for the Zouaves were not 
 the only regiment that marched to the 
 front that day. 
 
 To my great delight, a regiment of Xew 
 York volunteers went into camp at Yonk- 
 ers. The camp was only a short distance 
 up the road from where we lived, and the 
 soldiers had to pass our house every time 
 they went into the village. We got to 
 know some of them quite well hy talking 
 over the fence. I rememher one, a cor 
 poral named Lang, a farmer from the 
 western part of the State. He had chil 
 dren of his own: so he liked to talk with 
 us, and would often come inside the gate
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 2 " 
 
 and sit with us on the piazza slops. Tie 
 told us about his wife and little children, 
 and wo confided all of OUT family alTairs 
 t<> him. 1 recollect telling him one day 
 that Cousin Frances hud a very affected 
 way of pronouncing. 
 
 She says ke-ind for kind / wiid 
 Marty, and go-yard for guard ." 
 
 Yes/ said I, imital ing her speech, "a 
 ke-ind gnrl fell from the ske-yi on To- 
 use-day \vilh her ge-ide, and her go-yard." 
 
 Wo all roared with laughter, hut he- 
 camo suddenly solemn when wo saw 
 ( onsin Frances looking sternly at us from 
 the parlor-window. 
 
 What are yon laughing at?" said she, 
 in. assumed ignorance. "Is Xell making 
 a monkey of herself, as usual? 
 
 I was well aware, however, that she 
 know, and I kept out of her way for the 
 rest of that dav. 
 
 Wo wore allowed, on occasions, to visit 
 the camp in company with mv father. The 
 colonel of the regiment was not a gradu-
 
 212 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 ate of West Point. Indeed, I doubt that 
 he was a graduate of any school or col 
 lege; but he was one of the bravest sol 
 diers in the army. My father preached at 
 the cam]) on two or three Sundays, and 
 the colonel and his men liked him and his 
 way of preaching so well that he was in 
 vited to be the chaplain of the regiment. 
 Ue accepted the ofl er, so now two of the 
 family were in the army. 
 
 At last the day came for the regiment 
 to go to the front. It was a sad day in 
 our household, though we children did not 
 realize all that it meant. With flags flying 
 and bayonets glistening in the sun, the 
 soldiers inarched past our house on the 
 way to the train. We children hung over 
 the fence and waved good-bye, shouting 
 to those we knew as they passed us. The 
 men we knew and called by name turned 
 and smiled at us as they "marched down 
 the street with their banners so gay." 
 Then we saw our father, and were greatly 
 excited. We waved and shouted to him,
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 2] 3 
 
 but he looked straight aliead and made n<> 
 sign, which surprised us very much. Soon 
 thev all had passed; but we could see the 
 flairs gayly floating as they turned the cor 
 ner, and could hear the hand playing "The 
 (iirl L Left Behind "Me," while the people 
 along the streets cheered to keep up the 
 soldiers spirits and their own. 
 
 When we could see no more we dashed, 
 upstairs to mv mother s room. We wanted 
 to tell her that father never looked at us 
 as he marched by. The shutters were 
 clo.-ed and the windows shut tight that 
 she might not hear "the tread of armed 
 hosts." Our mother was lyinu on the bed. 
 She was not crying. Her eyes were dry 
 and wide open, but they looked at us with 
 out seeing us. The words that were on 
 our Jips were unspoken. We turned and 
 \\ent silently down stall s, leaving her 
 alone with her u rief.
 
 XVI. 
 
 THERE must be gypsy blood somewhere 
 in our veins, for we seemed to be forever 
 moving. There were always the best of 
 reasons for these movings; but then there 
 are plenty of people who do not move 
 even when there are good reasons for 
 doing so. After my father joined the 
 army and left Yonkers for the seat of war, 
 there was nothing to keep us in that town; 
 and, much to my delight, it was decided 
 that we would move back to Birdlington 
 and take possession of Fair View, the old 
 homestead. Mr. Munroe had been obliged 
 to put his wife in an asylum, and he 
 had gone South to look after his estates. 
 Colonel Barton was dead, the victim of a 
 practical joke, and nothing was the same 
 at Fair View as it had been at the time of 
 my last visit. 
 
 Poor Colonel Barton! His solemnity 
 214
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. - 5 
 
 and his belief in ghosts had been too much 
 for the boys in Mr. Munroe s family, and 
 they could never resist the temptation to 
 torment him. They \vould wrap them 
 selves in sheets at night and walk slowly 
 about under the trees, and he would fol 
 low them with bated breath, to learn the 
 news from the other world. They gave 
 him plenty of it, too, which lie received as 
 gospel-truth, and retailed (he next morn 
 ing at the breakfast-table, to the no small 
 delight of the boys. 
 
 The ghost-joke having palled at last, 
 these thoughtless youngsters conceived the 
 idea of writing love-letters to Colonel 
 Barton, and giving him to understand that 
 they were written by one of the young 
 ladies at the boarding-school in the vil 
 lage. The unfortunate man became madly 
 infatuated with his unseen inamorata, and 
 wrote her the most impassioned replies. 
 These the boys abstracted from the hol 
 low of a tree, which served as a post- 
 office. At one lime the colonel was in-
 
 216 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 structed by his Delia to dress up in 
 woman s clothes and scale the ramparts 
 of the boarding-school to see her. lie 
 acted upon the hint, and the hoys hid in 
 the shrubbery to see the fun. The thick 
 veil that he wore did not conceal the 
 colonel s inky whiskers, and the principal 
 of the school saw through the disguise in 
 a moment, and ejected the eager lover, 
 bonnet, hoop-skirt and all, into the street. 
 The next move of the boys was to write 
 to tbe colonel and name a wedding-day. 
 This made the poor dupe supremely 
 happy, and he went to New York to get 
 an outfit suitable to the occasion, lie 
 looked such a dandy when he returned 
 that no one knew him. He had evidently 
 spent a good deal of money; and the 
 boys, now thoroughly frightened, con 
 fessed to Mr. Munroe, who was outraged 
 at the tricks that had been played on his 
 friend. There was nothing to do but to 
 tell the colonel. He heard the story in 
 silence. "Boys will be boys," he said,
 
 Autobiography ot a Tomboy. 2| 7 
 
 with a ghastly attempt at a sniih 1 , and left 
 the room. The next morning his dead 
 li.xly \\as fdimd washed up by the tide, 
 lie had gone from his audience with Mi . 
 Munroc straight to the river and thrown 
 himself in. Whether lie took his life he- 
 cause of his chagrin at heing made the 
 \ictiiii of a joke, or because of his disap 
 pointment on finding that (lie woman he 
 loved had no existence, no one knows. 
 
 AVe children were very happy when we 
 arrived safe and sound at Fair View. The 
 place was rather dilapidated, hut it was 
 the country and it was the old home. We 
 were to live in the hack wing, which was 
 reallv larger than the main house, and 
 Aunt .Maria was to keep possession of the 
 front. 
 
 The hig room that had heen Mrs. Mun- 
 roe s hedroojn was to he our parlor, din 
 ing-room and sitting-room combined. It 
 T *vns quite large enough for this combina 
 tion of uses, but it was so out of the usual
 
 218 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 way of Birdlington arrangements that it 
 was one of the sights of the village. 
 
 My mother s room was a large one over 
 the combination. The two girls had a 
 small room on the left and the hoys an 
 equally small one on the right. Yon had 
 to go through one or the other of these 
 small rooms to get to my mother s, which 
 might have been emharrassing if the chil 
 dren had been older., but in the circum 
 stances mattered little. Mother s room 
 was heated by a "drum" from the room 
 below, while that of the girls was heated 
 by a stovepipe passing through it. 
 
 My room was in the attic and not heated 
 at all. But I much preferred an unheated 
 room all my own to one heated to the 
 boiling point, if it had to be shared with 
 another. There were three windows in 
 my room. The largest faced the north; 
 the other two facing the east and the 
 west, were in the slope of the ceiling and 
 were therefore lon and low. In the sum-
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 2l( ) 
 
 iner the loaves of the big maples on the 
 east and west, made a pleasant shade for 
 these windows. The north window had 
 no shade, but it commanded a pleasant 
 prospect. 1 could sit in a chair at this 
 window and look out over the orchard, 
 with the meadow in the distance and the 
 rolling country beyond. 1 loved that view, 
 winter or summer. When the grass and 
 trees were green and the apples were 
 ripening in the orchard, it was fair to look 
 upon. It was quite as attractive in the 
 winter when the ground was covered with 
 snow and the branches of the apple trees 
 were borne to the ground bv the weight 
 of glistening icicles. 
 
 ^}\ room was at the end of the attic. 
 so that I had two straight walls and two 
 that sloped so far down that 1 had to 
 kneel when I wanted to look out of their 
 windows. On the outside of the door of 
 my room I screwed a huge brass plate, that 
 had come from my grandfather s front-
 
 220 Autobiography of a Tombov. 
 
 O 1 J 
 
 door in Philadelphia. Over this plate I 
 painted, in straggling characters: 
 
 THE DEVIL S DEN : 
 No AHMITTUNSE EXCEPT ON BISINESS. 
 
 This was to keep out the children, and 
 it succeeded very well for a time. The 
 walls of the room were not papered, but 
 that was just as well, for I had them cov 
 ered with everything in the shape of a pic 
 ture that I could lay my hands on. My 
 taste in art was as catholic as my taste in 
 literature. We did not have Braun photo 
 graphs in those days, and I would not 
 have had any even had they existed; for 
 they cost money, and money was an un 
 known quantity in our house. The stock 
 on hand of literature, art, or clothes had 
 to do, and it did. War pictures from odd 
 copies of Harper s \Ycek1y took the place 
 of Braun s reproductions of the old mas 
 ters. I had two or three large photographs 
 of rebel generals that Mr. Munroe had left 
 behind him., and these I hung up with
 
 <>( Vi-rtiv ! -," K>- ;,-st J<
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 22 3 
 
 holes in their uniforms made by my jack- 
 knife. 1 wanted visitors to my room to 
 know thai, although I might hang the 
 portraits of rebel generals on my walls, 
 1 was not in sympathy with their cause. 
 Tacked around the room were any odds or 
 ends branches of trees with bird s nests 
 in them, bits of Florida moss that had 
 been given me, an old Hint-lock pistol, a 
 bayonet and a cavalry sword that T had 
 found about the house. Arrow-heads and 
 pieces of curious stones were arranged on 
 a shelf, and on another shelf my books. 
 Then- were Franklin s "Autobiography" 
 and the "Pilgrim s Progress," Plutarch s 
 " Lives" and "hanlioe," Miss Fdgeworth s 
 "Moral Tales" and (ioldsmith s Ani 
 mated Nature," the Swiss "Family Uobin- 
 >on" and "Peter Simple." a volume of In 
 fantry Tactics, and mv Jiible. I read them 
 all, and others too; for, though \ seemed 
 to be always racing and tearing. I read 
 a great deal. My only light ai night was 
 a caudle, but 1 rigged up a piece of tin
 
 4 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 behind it and made a serviceable reading- 
 lamp. In winter 1 read in bed because it 
 was too cold to sit up, but under the bed 
 clothes it was as warm as toast. When 
 I got too sleepy to read any more, I 
 turned the candle upside down and it ex 
 pired in its own grease. 
 
 In the winter my room was icy cold; in 
 summer it was hot as the tropic zone. Hut 
 I did not mind. I liked extremes \vhen 
 I was young. It took a lot of courage to 
 get up at dark on a winter s morning, for 
 I slept witli my windows wide open. I 
 wanted to harden myself, I said, by way 
 of explanation, and as I scorned anything 
 so coddling as hot water, I often broke the 
 ice in the pitcher and sponged myself 
 with the freezing water. This treatment 
 might not do for all girls, or even 
 for all boys; but it seemed to agree 
 with me, for I never had colds, 
 and have never had a serious illness in my 
 life. Once in a while, when the water in 
 my pitcher was frozen solid, I was obliged
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 22 5 
 
 to take 1 it downstairs to melt; but I 
 spurned the hospitality of my sisters room 
 for anything but thawing-ont purposes. 
 
 Our _part of ihe house was entirely dis 
 tinct from Aunt Maria s. We children 
 were only allowed to visit hers when in 
 vited: Itiil that does not mean that we 
 always waited for an invitation. Diana 
 had now returned to her service, while we 
 kept a middle-aged white woman with lit 
 erary yearning s. I don t know why it: was 
 that so inanv of our servants were poets 
 or novelists. This particular blue-stock 
 ing had a passion, I cannot call it a gift, 
 for writing romantic novels: or, perhaps, 
 I should sav, a romantic novel, for 1 do 
 no! think that she wrote more than one. 
 Her name was Kuphcinia; at least, she 
 said il was, though the village people who 
 had known her from voiith to middle-age 
 said that it was Martha. II would have 
 been a bolder child than I, and 1 was no 
 coward, who would have called her Martha 
 at close ran ire; for she had a terrible tern-
 
 226 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 per, and was tall and wiry. I preferred 
 wearing the white badge of peace in Eu- 
 phemia s presence rather than the red 
 badge of courage. She loved a fight, and 
 seized any excuse for one. Though her 
 skin looked as if it were tough, she \vas 
 the most sensitive of women. I never saw 
 one who took offense so suddenly. If you 
 said, "It s a pleasant day, Euphemia," she 
 was offended, because by mentioning that 
 fact you assumed that she was not aware 
 of it: and that assumed, again, that you 
 took her for an unobserving fool. If, on 
 the other hand, you failed to make some 
 such pleasant remark when you met her, 
 that, alas! was cause for offense; for it 
 proved that you were too proud to speak 
 to her. You can readily see that one 
 walked on eggs, as it were, with a woman 
 like Euphemia in the kitchen. 
 
 Her room was in the open attic next to 
 mine. She saw that I had books in my 
 room; so she jumped at the hasty conclu 
 sion that I, like herself, was of a literary
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. - 
 
 turn. This made a bond of sympathy be 
 tween us a one-sided bond, I admit; but 
 it served to keep me in Kuphemia s good 
 graces. She showed me her manuscript, 
 one day, as a supreme mark of confidence. 
 It was wrapped in an old ilannel petti 
 coat and tucked away between the mat 
 tresses of her bod. The leaves were faded 
 and worn, and the pages smudged and 
 greasy from much handling. The title 
 v, us: 
 
 CLKMKXTINK S CHILD : 
 A STORY OF MISPLACKII LOVE. 
 
 BY 
 
 ECl lIKMIA \>F. VKKNKV. 
 
 I was allowed to read while she watched 
 me. Kvidently Kuphemia (ni t Johnson, 
 pen-name do Yerney) had fed on the 
 most sentimental novels that she could 
 lay her hands on: "Clementine s Child 
 was a sort of composite novel. It had 
 recollections of everything that its author 
 had read, and she had never read anything 
 worth reading. I remember one passage:
 
 228 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 " Why, said Lord Havering, with a scorn 
 ful sneer, do you disdain my suit? 
 
 "Clementine s child trembled. She felt 
 herself grow faint as this silver-tongued vil 
 lain tried to wind his way into her innocent 
 heart. 
 
 " (io, sir, she said, pointing to the door; 
 but he stood firm he would not went." 
 
 Like Clementine s child, I felt myself 
 tremble, but it was with suppressed laugh 
 ter. Well that it was suppressed, too, for 
 Euphemia s eyes were upon me. 
 
 "It s wonderful, Kuphemia," I said. 
 
 "Of- course., it s wonderful," she an 
 swered, taking the precious manuscript 
 from me, and wrapping it up in the petti 
 coat. "Jhit I can t get it published. The 
 ignorance of publishers is beyond belief. 
 They re fools," said she, angrily "fools, 
 that s what they are; I d show em, if I 
 was a publisher." 
 
 "Perhaps you d be a fool like the rest," 
 1 ventured. 
 
 "Not much," she replied, with a scorn-
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 22 9 
 
 f ul smile; "for they re fools to begin 
 with." 
 
 Euphemia was not the only woman who 
 found it hard to combine the art of cook 
 ing with the art of writing. While hatch 
 ing out plots she spoiled the omelette; 
 with her brain on tire the range grew cold, 
 and so it came about that we parted com 
 pany. My mother then engaged a young 
 Irish girl, who could neither read nor 
 write. This change was distinctly for the 
 better.
 
 XVII. 
 
 COUSES T FEAXCES came with us to Bird- 
 Hngton, and while she was there she oc 
 cupied the little room that was intended 
 for the baby boys, who were taken into 
 mothers room for the time being. Cous 
 in Frances was the most uncompromis 
 ingly modest woman I ever knew. Sandy 
 used to say that he never dared tell her 
 the naked truth, for fear that she would 
 faint. However that may be, she was 
 certainly modest to a painful degree. 
 When she took the boys room she kept 
 the door locked, for fear that some of us 
 children might bolt into it while she was 
 combing her hair. Just to tease her, we 
 would climb the tree nearest her window, 
 and try to look in. AVe did not succeed, 
 but she feared that we might, so she kept 
 the curtain drawn. 
 
 I remember, one morning, hearing her 
 230
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 2 3> 
 
 tell my mother that she was very much 
 embarrassed at having the canary in the 
 room \vlien she bathed! 
 
 "The little tiling looked at nie so sharp 
 ly, with its bright eyes, that I was really 
 obliged to throw a towel over the cage/ 
 she said with a simper. 
 
 "I should think yon would drive the. 
 ilies out, for the same reason," answered 
 my mother. 
 
 .Modesty was not the only weakness of 
 Cousin Frances. She was something of 
 a hypochondriac, and not only nursed 
 imaginary ills, but wanted to be stunip- 
 master in the matter of ailments. You 
 could not describe an ache or a pain that 
 you bad without her matching it with a 
 similar or worse one. I was often wicked 
 enough to invent ailments, just for the 
 fun of hearing Cousin Frances sav that 
 she bad suffered from them. 
 
 1 would come down to the breakfast 
 table and sav: 
 
 "Oh, dear me what a night I have
 
 2 3 2 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 had! Such a singular pain!" Cousin 
 Frances would be all attention. "It ran 
 down my arm, then criss-crossed over my 
 ear and stayed there a while; then it 
 seemed to go to my foot, and out at my 
 elbow." 
 
 Cousin Frances could hardly wait for 
 me to finish before she would begin: "I 
 know all about it. I have had just the 
 same only worse; down my arm, over 
 my car, in my foot, and out at the elbow," 
 suiting the action to the word. It is 
 terrible; you had better take care or you 
 will suffer as I did," and she would put 
 her hands to the afflicted parts and really 
 seem to suffer in the recollection. 
 
 Cousin Frances was also a stump-master 
 in dreams. K"o one ever had such dreams 
 as she. The only trouble was that we 
 could not make much out of them. The 
 breakfast-table was her favorite place for 
 recounting them. 
 
 "I dreamed last night that I was here, 
 yet I wasn t here; and you" turning to
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 2 ^ 
 
 my mother "were in the room, only it 
 wasn t yon. Then some one said some 
 thing, though no one spoke, and Sandy 
 came in with his uniform on, only it 
 wasn t his uniform." 
 
 "Was it Sandy?" I piped up. 
 
 "It was and it wasn t," Cousin Frances 
 would continue, until we were all so con 
 fused that we had no more idea what .- he 
 had dreamed ahout than she had herself. 
 
 Poor Cousin Frances! She was really 
 verv kind, and her weaknesses were harm 
 less. One of them was to he thought "re 
 fined." She wouldn t eat food that she 
 considered "coarse." If we had mackerel 
 for hreakfast, she made a point of saying 
 that she never ale mackerel, she consid 
 ered it coarse food. Then we would all 
 sav how we Inrrd mackerel. 
 
 " Love! What a won! to use about 
 salt mackerel. You shouldn t sav such
 
 2 34 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 "You should," joined in Marty, "1 do. 
 I d love to kiss one." This was too much 
 for Cousin Frances, and she left the table 
 in disgust. 
 
 She thought a good deal of her family, 
 which, when all was said and done, was 
 a good enough family, but of no special 
 distinction. Our wild ways distracted her, 
 because she thought them unaristocratic. 
 She believed that children should be kept 
 in the house and taught to do fancy- 
 work. Such tomboy tricks as we were 
 addicted to distracted her, and when we 
 came home with grimy hands and our 
 frocks torn in ribbons, she shuddered with 
 an unconcealed disgust. She thought that 
 our hands should be soft and white; that 
 her own were neither was her misfortune, 
 not her fault. To make her rather broad 
 hands seem narrow, she tucked her 
 thumbs under her palms, the ends of the 
 fingers she piled one upon another, as one 
 imagines that a Chinese lady wears her 
 unfortunate toes.
 
 COfSTX FBANCE8 LKFT THE TAJJI.E TX DISGI ST.
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 2 3~ 
 
 There was one interest that Cousin 
 Frances and I had in common: \ve wore 
 both fond of reading. I read everything 
 tliat came my wav. and she was equally 
 insatiable. I think, however, that I had 
 a bHter idea of what I read than she had 
 of her own reading. She sewed a ^reat 
 deal, too, and usually had a hook on her 
 lap while she was sewing so that she could 
 read, as it wen 1 , hetween the stitches. The 
 fiinnv part was and here is when 1 we 
 were 1 not alike that she never remem 
 bered what she 1 had heen reading five 
 minutes after she had laid down her book. 
 
 I would see her close her hook and take 
 up her sewing and would say: "What 
 have von been reading, ( ousin Frances: " 
 
 She would look rather confused and 
 replv: "1 didn t look at the name of the 
 1 M K ik. 
 
 "Who was it by?" 
 
 "I don t recollect the author s name," 
 with a furtive glance at the cover. 
 
 "What was it all ahout?"
 
 2 3 8 Autobiography of a Tomboy, 
 
 "Let me see." The back of her hand 
 would o up to her mouth while she 
 thought. It was about some people and 
 there was a man and a woman yes, I m 
 quite sure of that a man and a woman, 
 and he wanted her to marry him, but 
 there seemed to be some trouble I was 
 just getting to that when I laid the book 
 down." 
 
 "You must love to read," with a touch 
 of sarcasm. 
 
 "It s the greatest pleasure I have in life. 
 I get completely absorbed in a book. I 
 forget everything in the plot." 
 
 "So it seems! ; 
 
 I m afraid that we teased poor Cousin 
 Frances too much, though she never 
 seemed to notice it. She was a great talker, 
 and yet she never said anything worth re 
 membering. Her conversation had so 
 many ramifications that it was hard to fol 
 low her. She would begin to tell you an 
 insignificant story about a man, and drag 
 in all his family history as she went along,
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 2 39 
 
 though it li.ul no hearings upon tlu 1 story. 
 You would try to l>reak away, hut it was 
 of no use; she would not be downed. Our 
 mother used to characterize her way of 
 taking part in a conversation as partici- 
 pat ing and watering." 
 
 Cousin Frances did not live with us all 
 the time that we were at Birdlington. She 
 had relations in difTerent States, to whom 
 she paid periodical visits, and when she 
 returned to our house she made compari 
 sons that were sometimes odious. 
 
 We were poorer than ever in those war- 
 days, and many were the expedients that 
 we were put to, to get substitutes for the 
 luxuries that we used to consider neces 
 saries. War-prices prevailed in the mar 
 kets as well as in the dry-goods stores. 
 Cotton goods were scarce at a dollar a 
 yard, and even count rv products were 
 dcai 1 , owing to the demand from the army. 
 Coffee in those days \vas entirelv beyond 
 us, and yet \ve wanted something warm 
 and brown," as Marly expressed it, to
 
 2 4 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 drink with our breakfast. An ingenious 
 neighbor suggested sweet potatoes as a 
 substitute; not boiled or fried and eaten as 
 a vegetable, but peeled and cut into small 
 cubes, roasted and ground, and made just 
 as you would real coffee. It had no stimu 
 lating effect; but we did not think it halt 
 bad with cream, though without sugar, 
 which was too dear for us to buy. To-day, 
 T suppose, some inventive genius would 
 put those ground sweet potatoes up in 
 packages, and label them "Coffeene," or 
 
 "XEARCOFFEE." 
 LOOKS LIKE COFFEE, DRINKS BETTER. 
 
 Gloves, such as were sold at the shops, 
 were another luxury that did not enter 
 into our calculations. I made them for mv 
 mother and myself, and the youngsters 
 went without; or wore mittens. I got to 
 be quite expert at making gloves. I would 
 get a good-sized piece of chamois at the 
 drug store, and dye it a modest gray. This 
 dyed skin I would stretch on a board and
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 2 4 J 
 
 fasten tight. Then I would take an old 
 pair of kid gloves, rip them all apart, pin 
 the parts down on the skin, and cut out 
 the pattern with a sharp knife. When 
 the .seams were all sewed up, I would 
 take the gloves to the undertaker s to he 
 pinked around the edge. This .finishing 
 touch gave them a style, without which 
 [ would have thought them incomplete. 
 I never made a pair of shoes, hut ] dare 
 say that I could have managed to if I had 
 heeii put to it. 
 
 Don t think that I spent all my time 
 working. On the contrary, 1 seemed to 
 some of my relatives, among them Cousin 
 Frances, to do nothing hut play. In the 
 winter I studied under the rector of the 
 parish (when I was not skating), and in 
 the summer I loafed and invited my soul. 
 I loved skating, hut I was never a graceful 
 skater. I could cut figures on the ice, but 
 it would have taken a trained geometri 
 cian to tell what they were. When it 
 came to speed, i distanced all pursuers.
 
 2 4 2 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 We had a lake, a canal, and a river to 
 skate on. The river gave us twenty miles 
 of clear course,, when we could skate on it 
 at all; and such races as we used to have! 
 The wind itself didn t go faster. I thought 
 nothing of skating from hreakfast till bed 
 time, with a light lunch of bread and mo 
 lasses between. Such clumsy skates as we 
 had in those days, too! The first pair I 
 had, I think must have belonged to Xoah s 
 sons. The runners came out inches be 
 yond the sole, and ended in a curlicue 
 with a brass acorn on the end of it. There 
 was nothing at the edges to keep the feet 
 in place, only a strap to hold them down. 
 Dangerous things they were, with that 
 curled, acorn-tipped steel projecting in 
 front. These were the skates that I 
 learned on. Later I had a better pair, but 
 never any to compare with those that are 
 worn to-day. 
 
 I was a venturesome child, and the 
 warning sign, "Thin Ice," did not daunt 
 me, if I wanted to skate around it. One
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 24 -3 
 
 day, when that si^n was displayed, 1 said, 
 "Who s afraid? Xot I," and struck out 
 boldly from the shore. In less lime than 
 it takes to mention it, 1 was in the water; 
 and if the undertaker s son had not 
 jumped in and pulled me out a most 
 altruistic impulse for a man in his line of 
 business to act upon I should not be 
 here to tell the tale. I shall never forget 
 how my teeth chattered. No castanets 
 ever heat quicker time. Hot-water bot 
 tles and hot blankets restored me; bid 
 to this day I never hear it said thai any 
 one is "skating over thin ice" that I do 
 not feel a cold shiver run down mv back.
 
 XVIII. 
 
 THOUGH we were not allowed to visit 
 Aunt Maria s part of the house except on 
 invitation., I often went unbidden, for the 
 blood of Eve was bounding through my 
 veins. The cellar of that part of the. 
 house had a singular fascination for me, 
 for in the spring it was a foot deep in 
 water and I could navigate it in a wash- 
 tub propelled by a broom. At other times 
 I was tempted by the eatables to be found 
 on the "swing-shelf." There were always 
 pans of milk topped with thick yellow 
 cream to be found there, and as often, a 
 dish of cold boiled potatoes. As I raced 
 and tore from morn till night I was usu 
 ally hungry. To take a cold potato and 
 skin the cream with it was too great a 
 temptation for me to resist. If you have 
 never tasted a cold potato topped with 
 cream you have lived in vain. Talk about 
 244
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 24 5 
 
 "angel s food!" it is wormwood and gall 
 by comparison. The next best thing to cold 
 potato and cream is cold roast chicken. 
 Not one untouched bv the carver s knife, 
 but one that has done such good service 
 at table that it looks as though its days of 
 usefulness were over. Looks, however, are 
 often deceiving. Never more so than 
 where a chicken carcass is concerned. The 
 amount of solid white meat that can hide 
 itself under bare bones passes belief. Oc 
 casionally there would be a good fat 
 drumstick, or a curling neck from whose 
 corrugated bones I nibbled the most 
 savory morsels. 
 
 To top oil this feast with a slice or two 
 of dried peach, touched very lightly in 
 the cream (there would be a tell-tale trail 
 of brown juice behind), gave a finish that 
 Lucullus might have envied. I used to 
 hear Diana grumble to herself that it 
 wasn t safe to leave food in the cellar, for 
 the boldness of them rals beat all nater. 
 I was sorrv io have the rats maligned, but
 
 2 4 6 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 then, it must be remembered, I owed no 
 loyalty to rats. 
 
 1 did finally eonfess my raids on the 
 larder to Aunt Maria, who seemed to he 
 more surprised that I enjoyed eating cold 
 potatoes than annoyed at my thieving pro 
 pensities: hut then Aunt Maria was no 
 longer young and she had not the keen, 
 appetite of youth. 
 
 We children were of a sociable nature 
 and made friends with our neighbors with 
 out much delay. The village rector lived 
 opposite with his wife and two sons, while 
 a widow with three sons occupied the 
 nearest house on our left. Our playmates 
 were of necessity boys, which suited me 
 very well, for we had many tastes in com 
 mon. One of our most popular games, was 
 Indian, which we played in the meadow. 
 This game consisted almost exclusively of 
 fighting. AYe were divided into two 
 tribes; of one of these I was the chief, of 
 the other the biggest boy neighbor. It 
 was very exciting. The members of each
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 247 
 
 tribe would hide behind trees and bushes, 
 then one would spy another, give a war- 
 whoop and the fight would begin. Brand 
 ishing sticks and staves, we would spring 
 out into the open with fearful yells and 
 beat at each other until peaee was declared 
 or we were carried oil prisoners and tied 
 to trees. If it was peace we squatted 
 around a big fire, while the boys smoked 
 long-stemmed pipes (illed with dried corn- 
 silk and we all looked solemn and said 
 "Cgl.!" 
 
 .My reputation for wildness filled the 
 neighborhood, and >ayings and doings of 
 which 1 was entirely innocent were laid 
 at niv door. So far-reaching was this rep 
 utation, that a man from a neighboring 
 city drove up to our house one day and 
 told Aunt Maria that he bad come to see 
 -Wild Xell." of whom he had heard so 
 much. Aunt Maria was indignant and 
 declared that there was no such person. 
 Whereat he expressed his disappointment 
 and drove auav. However, this unprofit-
 
 2 4 8 Autobiography of a Tomboy, 
 
 able reputation of mine set her to think 
 ing, so she and my mother talked me over 
 one night, and the result of this talk was 
 that I was sent to school. 
 
 I was rather pleased with the idea. It 
 meant less play, but it also meant a change 
 and seeing a lot of girls of my own age. I 
 was not used to the restraints of a school, 
 nor to coming into such close contact with 
 strangers; but I felt that I could hold my 
 own if it came to a fight, and so I marched 
 boldly into the schoolroom and sat down 
 at the desk assigned me. There must 
 have been some fifty girls in the room, all 
 of whom stared at me. Some with mild 
 curiosity in their gaze, others with ill-sup 
 pressed smiles at my awkward appearance. 
 I wore a figured calico dress, the skirt of 
 which came just below my knees, and my 
 legs were long. I noticed the smiles, and 
 my eyes shot back defiance. At the desk 
 next to mine sat the best-dressed girl in 
 the room. She was pretty, too, though 
 her nose was rather too aquiline to be al-
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 2 5 I 
 
 t no-other in keeping with her small inuuth. 
 Her hair was parted, in the middle, 
 brushed smoothly down hehind her ears 
 and thrust into an elaborate ehenille net. 
 She stared at me, and then raising the lid 
 of lie] 1 desk said in a low voice hehind it 
 so the teacher could not hear: 
 
 Hello, freckles! 
 
 "Hello, long nose!" said I from 
 behind the lid of mv desk. The girl 
 laughed an amused laugh. 
 
 "You re a onener," said she. 
 
 "You re another!" said I. 
 
 Rat-tat sounded the teacher s ruler on 
 his desk. 
 
 "Miss Kate!" said he. "what are you 
 doing hell ind vour desk lid ?" 
 
 "Nothing. Mr. Kusk." she replied, clos 
 ing the lid. I followed suit. 
 
 "Very well then," said he sternly. 
 "Don t do it any more 1 ." So she resumed 
 her studies with an occasional wink at me, 
 as who should say: "We ll have it out at 
 recess."
 
 2 5 2 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 When that glad hour came my desk 
 mate turned to me and said: "What s your 
 name ?" 
 
 "What s yours?" I asked. 
 
 "Miss Kate; didn t you hear Mr. Rusk?" 
 
 "Then mine s Miss Xell, but you can 
 drop the Miss as soon as you like. I don t 
 care for handles." 
 
 "Very well, then. Call me Kate and 
 I ll call you Xell. Will you go home with 
 me to dinner?" 
 
 "Yes," I answered promptly, "if you ll 
 go home with me to supper." To which 
 she agreed, and so began the friendship 
 of a lifetime. 
 
 There was not a day for many years 
 and scarcely an hour of the day that Kate 
 Redmond and I were not together. I never 
 knew a girl with such high spirits or a 
 readier wit. She would play the most 
 outrageous pranks in school, and get the 
 teachers into fits of laughter while they 
 were trying to scold her. She usually knew 
 her lessons, but never seemed to study.
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 2 53 
 
 She was proficient in French and played 
 the piano with a swing that set every 
 body s feet a-dancing. 
 
 She was very fond of a practical joke, 
 and nothing pleased her more than to 
 jump in a farmer s "hnggy" left unat 
 tended in front of a village store and drive 
 off with a lot of girls. The farmer would 
 he indignant until Kate drove hack and 
 apologized with so much grace and hvmior 
 thai he laughed and said it was "all right, 
 only he was kinder skeert when he found 
 the old nag gone." Another trick of hers 
 was to snatch a sign, "Take One," from a 
 hunch of handhills and stick it over a 
 hasket of peaches in front of a grocer s 
 door. You can imagine how quickly that 
 haskel emptied, and yon can also imagine 
 the wrath of the grocer! 
 
 Kate liedmond found in me a kindred 
 spirit, and we soon had the town hy 
 tin ears. There were more stories, true 
 and false, told ahout us than would fill a 
 hook. The Redmonds were well off and
 
 2 54 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 Kate had a pony carriage and pair. In 
 tli is we used to scour the country. Such 
 raids as we made on distant orchards! and 
 such scrapes as we got into! I remember 
 one occasion, when T went over the fence 
 to get the apples, while Kate sat in the 
 wagon to hold the ponies. I had just 
 filled the skirt of my dress with the red- 
 cheeked beauties and was making my way 
 across an orchard, when a man with a 
 pitchfork in his hand and a dog at his 
 heels appeared upon ihe scene. What did 
 the wicked Kate do at sight of him but. 
 whip up the ponies and speed oft down 
 the road. Dropping my apples I ran 
 screaming after the wagon. I could hear 
 Kate s shouts of laughter in the distance. 
 Finally she looked back and realizing that 
 the joke was a pretty poor one, brought 
 the ponies to a stop while T scrambled in 
 at the back of the wagon just as the dog 
 snapped a piece out of my dress. Then 
 with a crack of the whip the ponies dashed 
 off again, while the farmer and the dog
 
 " MISS KATE."
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 2 57 
 
 bit the dust kicked up by their hoofs. I 
 told Kate plainly that I thought the joke 
 a poor one, but she made it all right by 
 letting me drive home, and \ve entered the 
 village at a rattling pace, Kate sitting a la 
 on the back of one of the ponies.
 
 XIX. 
 
 I DID not like study any too well, Init 
 I liked school, because out of school 
 hours I had such good times with the 
 other girls. I was pretty well liked, as a 
 girl will he who is good-natured and fond 
 of fun. Even the teachers, to whom I 
 must have been a great trial, seemed to 
 like me and only punished me when 
 there was no way out of it. I liked my 
 teachers, too, and outside of the school 
 room we had many good laughs together. 
 Arithmetic was my bete noire, and is to this 
 day. I can add up a column of figures 
 like a lightning calculator, but the re 
 sult is never correct. Common "cipher 
 ing" was bad enough, but when it came 
 to mental arithmetic, with its idiotic ques 
 tions, I succumbed. ITow could I ever 
 answer offhand such a question as: If 
 a man raised one hundred bushels of 
 258
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 2 59 
 
 wheat on an acre lot, and sold it for o^ 
 cents per peck, how many quarter pecks 
 would he have to sell to make $500?" 
 When such conundrums were propounded 
 to me I gave them up on the >pot, for the 
 minute 1 tried to work them out my mind 
 became a blank and the world seemed to 
 he slipping from under my feet. The 
 simple sum, "If a herring and a half cost 
 a penny and a half, how much would six 
 herrings cost?" made my brain reel. Those; 
 eternal fractions! Why should people 
 bother with them anyway? Why was it 
 not much more sensible to deal in round 
 numbers? 
 
 The two studies 1 liked the most were 1 
 history and Knglish Literature, the lat- 
 ler meaning Cleveland s Compendium." 
 That was my favorite because it told in 
 concise form about the writers whom I 
 loved and gave extracts from their writ 
 ings. The girls who could rattle oil their 
 mental arithmetic sums as glibly as you
 
 260 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 like would fall to earth before English 
 Literature. I looked at them with open- 
 mouthed admiration when they added 
 quarters,, eighths and sixteenths, while 
 they gazed upon me with awe because I 
 remembered when Milton was born and 
 could dash off a page of "Paradise Lost" 
 without prompting. 
 
 School seemed to have a good effect 
 upon me. At least it kept me out of mis 
 chief for a certain length of time every 
 da} , so it was decided to try t4ie experi 
 ment with Marty and Miney. They were 
 not to go to the same school with me, but 
 to a "dame s school" kept by an old lady 
 named Arnold, to whom my mother and 
 Aunt Maria had gone when they were 
 children. Mrs. Arnold s house was on 
 the main street and the schoolhouse was 
 in the back yard. There was a gate at the 
 side of the house, so arranged with a bit 
 of rope and an old axehead that it banged 
 to as you entered suddenly sometimes
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. - 6l 
 
 catching your skirls if they \vere long 
 enough, and bringing you back with a 
 jerk. 
 
 Mrs. Arnold was an old lady, with a 
 thin, anxious face. 81 le wore gold spec 
 tacles and sat at a raised desk and was 
 never without a rattan switch in her hand. 
 This switch was for two purposes to rap 
 for order and to touch up refractory 
 pupils. The dear old lady used to drop of? 
 to sleep frequently and always woke up 
 with a start. "There, you John, gad s life, 
 what mischief are you in now?" and rap- 
 rap-rap would go the switch on the desk, 
 and on the mischievous John, too, if he 
 didn t jump out of the way in time. 
 
 Mrs. Arnold didn t teach all the classes. 
 Some of the older pupils were sent into 
 the house to her daughter, Miss Caroline, 
 who was an invalid, suffering from spine 
 disease. She 1 taught my two sisters up in 
 her bedroom, for she only came down 
 stairs laic in the afternoon, when her 
 brother carried her to her place in a
 
 262 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 big armchair by the window. There she 
 sat till bedtime, only leaving the front 
 room when she was wheeled into the din 
 ing-room for supper. 
 
 There was no more popular young 
 woman in the village than Miss Caroline, 
 nor one who received more attention. 
 When any one got anything new it was 
 carried at once to Miss Caroline for ap 
 proval. She was kept supplied with flow 
 ers, hooks, the latest magazines, the latest 
 patterns for embroidery; indeed, every 
 thing was done to make her happy. Xo 
 one passed her window without a smile 
 and a nod, and many a friend dropped in 
 to "pass the time of day." In the evening 
 the little front room was filled with the 
 young people of the village and there were 
 not many places where they enjoyed them 
 selves more. 
 
 Whenever there was a lecture or a con 
 cert at the town hall Miss Caroline was 
 there, too. The young men had made a 
 low cart, into which they lifted her chair
 
 

 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 26 5 
 
 with her in it, and while one pulled an 
 other pushed, and when they arrived at 
 the hall they carried the ehair up the aisle, 
 and Miss Caroline, attended by her escort 
 and a jolly party of young people, had the 
 best seat in the house. In this way she 
 was taken to supper parties, too, for such 
 entertainments were never considered 
 complete without her presence. Every 
 thing that her friends could do to make 
 up for her great allliction was done, and I 
 dare say that she was much happier than 
 most of her able-bodied companions, for 
 after all happiness is where you find it, 
 and some people go through life looking 
 for it and never finding it, though it may 
 lie just in front of them. 
 
 Marty and Miney didn t learn much at 
 Mrs. Arnold s, but that, I am sure, was 
 quite as much their fault as hers. They 
 did while there, however, acquire a taste 
 for "dime novels," I regret to say, and 
 came home with their school bags tilled 
 with the publications of P>eadle, lent to
 
 266 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 them by a fellow student. As I read 
 everything that came my way, I skimmed 
 
 */ O / */ 7 
 
 through these dime novels, and if the 
 truth were known, was thrilled hy the 
 adventures of Three-Fingered Mike," 
 Dare-Devil Dick and the rest of the im 
 possible crew. It was with even greater 
 avidity, however, that I read stories about 
 seeking fortunes, and it was no doubt 
 these books that sowed the poisonous seed 
 in my mind but that is another chapter. 
 
 During the winter months I became a 
 boarder at the Birdlington Female Semi 
 nary, as the walking was too bad for me 
 to go into the village every day; and then, 
 too, I have a "sneaking notion," as the 
 saying is, that the life of those at home 
 ran more peacefully when I was away. 
 
 As I found amusement in everything, I 
 thought it great fun to be a boarder, for 
 there was so much mischief that could be 
 done at night that could not be done by 
 day. The first thing I did was to get 
 up a midnight wedding. One of the girls
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. - () 7 
 
 was to l)e dressed as a man, the other as 
 a bride. I was to wear a gown and per 
 form the wremony, and there were to he 
 refreshments after the deed was done. To 
 get the man s clothes was no easy matter, 
 hut 1 managed to purloin a suit from the 
 room of a young son of the principal. The 
 bride s dress was easily managed simple 
 white, with a veil of mosquito netting and 
 a wreath of artificial tlowers. ~M\ gown 
 was equally simple a strip of black over 
 my robe <le unit, which 1 put on over my 
 dress, and there yon were. The young 
 man, whose clothes I had borrowed with 
 out his permission, was tall and slim; the 
 young woman who was to be the bride 
 groom was short and fat. After much 
 difficulty we stuffed her into the trousers, 
 she looking for all the world like an ill- 
 made pin cushion at a county fair. Then 
 we put fierce mustaches on her lip with 
 burnt cork. After the house was quiet we 
 came out of our several rooms in a big 
 hall at the to]) of the house, till we inns-
 
 268 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 tered twenty strong. Xot all the girls 
 came, for there were some that we didn t 
 let into our secret. The wedding was go 
 ing merrily along, the bridegroom had 
 just left the imprint of his mustache on 
 the cheek of the bride, and I had barely 
 got the words, "We will now adjourn to 
 the banquet hall," out of my mouth, when 
 the lady principal appeared at the head 
 of the stairs. 
 
 "You will now adjourn to the study," 
 said she sternly. 
 
 You can imagine our consternation. 
 There was nothing for it but to obey. I 
 thought of the banquet awaiting us 
 chocolate creams, crackers and pickles 
 and heaved a sigh; but I joined the pro 
 cession headed by the bride and bride 
 groom and tailed by the lady principal. 
 With beating hearts we marched noise 
 lessly down the stairs, not daring to speak 
 to each other, but exchanging eloquent 
 glances. 
 
 Dr. Wakeley, the gentleman principal,
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 2() 9 
 
 was something of a night owl, and lie was 
 reading quietly in his study, absorbed in 
 his book, when the door opened and the 
 singular procession filed in. "God bless 
 my soul!" he exclaimed, starting io his 
 feet, frightened into an unusual exclama 
 tion for one so calm. I think that he took 
 us for the Ku-Klux-Klan, then at the 
 height of its notorious existence; but the 
 appearance of his wife at the end of the 
 line reassured him. 
 
 In a few words she explained the enor 
 mity of our crime. The bride stood pale 
 and trembling; tears were rapidly destroy 
 ing the bridegroom s mustache. 
 
 "I need not say who I believe to be at 
 the bottom of this outrageous conduct, " 
 said the lady principal, regarding me 
 sternly. 
 
 "If you mean me/ said T, stepping for 
 ward, "you are right. 1 got the whole 
 thing up, from bridegroom to pickles. 
 There s no one else to blame. You can 
 sentence me without trial I plead guilty.
 
 2 7 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 What s the verdict?" I inquired, turning 
 to Dr. Wakeley. 
 
 "Young ladies," said he, looking at the 
 others over the top of his spectacles, "you 
 may retire to your beds." Then, fixing 
 his eyes upon me, "this young lady may 
 remain. I will speak to her alone." Mar 
 shalled by Mrs. Wakeley, the procession 
 filed out as noiselessly as it had filed in, 
 and I was left alone with the Reverend 
 Principal. 
 
 "Well, sir," said I, "what is the pun 
 ishment for my crime?" 
 
 "I don t know just what to do with you, 
 Xell," said he, regarding me with a 
 puzzled expression. "You are not a bad 
 girl, and yet you do give me a good deal 
 of trouble." 
 
 "Where s the harm in a little fun?" I 
 asked. 
 
 "There is no harm in a little fun at the 
 right time, but midnight is not the time 
 for pranks." 
 
 "That s just why it is more fun to play
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 2 / r 
 
 pranks then. If it was all right, there d 
 be no excitement. When you have things 
 at the right time there s no fun. We don t 
 care so much for pickles at dinner, but 
 pickles in our bedrooms taste better than 
 
 You re a strange child, Xell," said Dr. 
 Wakeley, regarding me as he might re 
 gard a iK \v specimen" in the natural his 
 tory class. If you ll promise me to keep 
 out of mischief in the future you may go 
 to your room." 
 
 I can t make such a promise, Dr. 
 Wakclry," 1 replied more in sorrow than 
 with intention to be rude; "for 1 couldn t 
 keep it." 
 
 Seeing that 1 was quite in earnest, he 
 reasoned with me until I got tired of 
 listening, and spying the chess-board and 
 men on a convenient table I proposed a 
 game. Chess was Dr. YTakeley s weak 
 ness. In a moment we had the board be 
 tween us. .1 played a pretty good game, 
 having had much practice with my father,
 
 2 7 2 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 and the Doctor found me no unworthy 
 foe. He was delighted. When Mrs. 
 Wakeley returned from the dormitory, 
 what was her surprise to see the Doctor 
 and me with heads together over the 
 board. 
 
 "Check!" said the Doctor. 
 
 "Check-mate!" I exclaimed,, making a 
 sudden move, and ran laughing from the 
 room, followed by the indignant gaze of 
 the lady principal.
 
 The "big room" at Fair View was the 
 most popular place in the village among 
 the young people. I suppose it was be 
 cause there was no parlor restraint about 
 it. It was very plainly furnished, so that 
 we did not have to consider the furniture, 
 and then my mother was very indulgent 
 and believed in young people enjoying 
 themselves to the full. So long as we did 
 not tear down the house we could have all 
 the fun we liked. When our noise became 
 unbearable she would retreat into Aunt 
 Maria s part of the house, where all was 
 peace and quiet. 
 
 One of our favorite amusements was 
 
 dancing. "We had no piano, nor even a 
 
 fiddle, so 1 supplied the music by playing 
 
 (>n a comb. I need hardly explain this 
 
 -75
 
 2 / 6 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 shrill,, lip-tickling process which is mere 
 ly blowing through a piece of thin paper 
 folded over a comb. As my hair was kept 
 in place with a "round comb/ and tissue 
 paper was plentiful, we were never at 
 a loss for music. I could play waltzes, the 
 deux icmps, and the ever-popular "Lan 
 cers" on the comb, and I doubt if Strauss s 
 orchestra ever played to merrier parties 
 than those that danced to my music. 
 Cake and lemonade were the refreshments 
 on rare occasions. Once, when Sandy 
 was home from the war, we had Eoman 
 punch. The presence of the new rector 
 and his bride accounted for this extrava 
 gance. l)0th the rector and Sandy were 
 fond of making things; indeed, Sandy 
 could cook pretty well when he tned, so 
 they said they would make the punch 
 together. There was much tasting, mix 
 ing and freezing, and when the punch was 
 made and we had eaten it, we began to feel 
 rather queer.
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 2 79 
 
 "I didn t know that Human punch was 
 so strong," said my mother, setting her 
 plate aside. 
 
 "It s very good," said Aunt ]\Iaria, 
 helping herself to more., "hut it certainly 
 is very strong. 
 
 Sandy and the rector exchanged 
 glances. Then they confessed. 
 
 "Mr. Dean heing a clergyman," said 
 Sandy, "1 thought he wouldn t put in 
 much rum, so I gave an extra touch. 
 
 "And I." slid the rector, "argued that 
 Sandy wouldn t put in enough hecause 1 
 \vas a clergyman, so I added an extra 
 <|ua ut it v." 
 
 Thus it was explained why the punch 
 was so stnmg, and "so good," said Sandy; 
 hut mother shook her head at him and he 
 said no more. 
 
 Then we had a little more dancing, and 
 while we were resting we coaxed Aunt 
 "Maria to sing "fiaffer Toe," a song that 
 was popular when she was young, and
 
 280 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 which she sang with much spirit and to 
 our great delight : 
 
 Mr. Poe was a man of great riches and fame, 
 And I loved him, I m sure, though I liked 
 
 not his name. 
 
 He asked me to wed. In a rage I said, No, 
 I ll never marry you and be called Mrs. Poe. 
 
 (Spoken) I think I can hear the little chil 
 dren in the village singing, 
 
 "That s Mistress Poe, Goody Poe, Gammer 
 
 Poe," 
 Oh, I ll never marry you and be called Mrs. 
 
 Poe. 
 
 Then Kate Kedmond (lanced a jig and 
 I whistled Listen to the Mocking Bird," 
 doing the listening and the mocking my 
 self. It was a gay evening, this, and much 
 of the gayety.may be attributed to the 
 punch. 
 
 Sandy had been wounded in the leg and 
 was obliged to go about on crutches. lie 
 was a lieutenant now, and brought a body- 
 servant home with him, as he required a
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 2>Sl 
 
 good deal of attention. Tliis servant \vas 
 a young Frenchman, who spoke no Fng- 
 lisli. Miehaud was his name, and lie was 
 most amusing. He had a beautiful so 
 prano voice, and sang like an angel, 
 though 1 doubt it the songs he sang were 
 such as angels sing. French angels, per 
 haps, but not American. 
 
 Sandy spoiled him because lie \vas so 
 amusing, and treated him more as a com 
 panion than as a servant, and we children 
 made much of him entirely too much. 
 Aunt .Maria said. 
 
 Sandy, being on crutches, could not get 
 about very well, M> Miehaud ran his er 
 rands. He scandalized the village by go 
 ing about without a hat. The weather 
 was warm, and he thought it cooler to go 
 bareheaded, a common thing in France, 
 but not tolerated in the male citi/ens of 
 Birdlington, though the women seldom 
 covered their heads with anything more 
 than a parasol during the summer months. 
 
 That he did not wear a hat, and that
 
 282 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 he not only did not speak English, but 
 didn t try to, was an offence to the good 
 villagers, and they made his daily trip to 
 the post-office a trying one. The vulgar 
 little boys along his route made remarks 
 that he did not understand, but which he 
 could tell by the gestures that accom 
 panied them were not complimentary. 
 One day as he passed through the street 
 whistling the "Marseillaise," his tormen 
 tors began throwing stones at him and call 
 ing him Johnny Frog. Delighted at the 
 wit of their children the mothers looked 
 smilingly on. Michaud did not retort with 
 stones, as most boys would have done, but 
 crossed the street and explained to the 
 women in his best French and with elo 
 quent gestures, that he had done nothing 
 to cause their children to attack him with 
 stones. The women s eyes flashed at his 
 insolence, as they termed it, and one of 
 them vowed that she would go then and 
 there to the Gilberts, and tell them how 
 "thet theer frog-eatin dago o theers had
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. - s .> 
 
 sassed her. She was as good as her word. 
 Midland followed in her wake, glad of an 
 opportunity to explain the situation. 
 
 Sandy \vas sitting in a big chair under 
 the "button-wood" trees, shouldering his 
 crutch to show how fields were won, while 
 we children listened with eager ears, when 
 the gate opened and the woman and Mi- 
 chaud came up the path. The former 
 opened iire at once. 
 
 "I ve lived in this town girl and woman 
 fur forty year," said she, "and never in 
 all my life was I called sicli names as I ve 
 been called to-day by that French dago o 
 your n." 
 
 Here Michaud turned to Sandy and ex 
 plained that he had done nothing, and 
 that he was passing quietly through the 
 street when the boys began to throw stones 
 at him. 
 
 There he goes agin," cried the infuri 
 ated woman, the very sass he give me 
 before, and me standin at my own door. 
 Mis Pettibone was standin there, too, and
 
 2 4 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 ken prove that he called me them very 
 names." 
 
 "My good woman/ said Sandy, " the 
 boy doesn t speak a word of English 
 
 "He don t try ter," interrupted the 
 woman. 
 
 "He couldn t if he tried," continued 
 Sandy, "and he has just been telling me 
 that he was passing quietly through the 
 streets when your boys called him names 
 and threw stones at him." 
 
 "I don t keer ef they did, lie s a imper- 
 tunt, sassy thing, and ef he calls me any 
 more of them ornery French names I ll 
 sick the dawg on him, and see how he 
 likes that. I m a decent woman, and I 
 ain t goin to be called none of them uu- 
 decent French names by him, nor no one 
 else. He knows I m a lone widdcr and 
 ain t got no husban to stan up fer me, or 
 he wouldn t dare call me outer my name! 
 Here she began to weep, more with rage 
 than from a realization of her bereave 
 ment.
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. ~ S 5 
 
 Sandy, whose sense of humor was very 
 keen, had much difficulty in controlling 
 his laughter, hut lie was amiable, and he 
 also wanted to make Midland s path to the 
 village a peaceful one. He invited the 
 woman to he seated, and, sending Midland 
 away, patiently explained that the hoy was 
 saving nothing that he should not say; 
 that heing nnahle to speak Fnglish he was 
 Irving to tell her in French that he was 
 not to Maine. The woman listened, but 
 was skeptical. " I Ie couldn t speak Fng- 
 lisli any more than you could speak 
 French," explained Sandy. 
 
 "Me speak French!" she exclaimed, 
 with indignation, "not if it was the only 
 langwidge in the world. I ain t got no use 
 fer French langwidge, ner French people. 
 They re an iindecent lot, with no moral 
 principles, and their langwidge is no het- 
 ter I han t hey are." 
 
 However, she ended by saving that she 
 felt HUTV for a younu feller" who hadn t
 
 286 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 got no better "langwidge to speak in," and 
 that if he d keep to this side of the street 
 and give her "no more of his sass" she 
 would stop the boys from "hollerin " at 
 him. So peace was declared, and there 
 after Michaud went his way unmolested.
 
 XXT. 
 
 BASEBALL was the great game in the 
 early sixties, and it was no more than 
 natural that a tomboy, such as I was, 
 should ho the captain of a nine. There 
 were t\vo cluhs in Birdlington, composed 
 entirely of girls, and we ]>layed a lively 
 game. 
 
 Though not the oldest, I was the tallest 
 girl on either side, and had a great ad 
 vantage in making bases. It was nothing 
 for me to score a "home-run" every time 
 I was at ibe bat, and when I jumped for a 
 ball I usually got it. Kate Redmond, who 
 was captain of the opposing nine, was 
 short: but she was so light and agik that 
 she could do a "home-run" almost as easily 
 as I could. The ball field was within our 
 own gates, so our games were private. 
 When I t hints of how we stood out under 
 the burning sun and played by the hour, I 
 287
 
 288 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 wonder that I am alive to tell the tale! 
 My hands were as hard a any hoy s, of 
 which I was very proud; but the fly in my 
 ointment was that I hadn t a broken little 
 finger. That would have been the finish 
 ing touch. There wasn t a boy in the vil 
 lage who hadn t a crooked finger, and I 
 felt rather humiliated that all mine should 
 be straight. I feared that people would 
 think that we didn t play a real game, but 
 I can assure you that we played with the 
 hardest balls and seldom "muil ed. " 
 
 To the great annoyance of our family, 
 some reporter on a paper in a neighboring 
 town got wind of our games, and, though 
 he never saw one, he wrote them up. And 
 such a writing up! He didn t dare give 
 our names; "personal journalism" hadn t 
 the tolerance in that day that it has in 
 this; but he spelled them out this way: 
 X-el G-l-e-t, captain of the Fair Views, 
 and K-te E-d-o-d, captain of the Galaxys. 
 He did not describe a game as it was reallv
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 2lSt -> 
 
 played, but drew entirely upon his imag 
 ination, and a strange imagination lie 
 had. He ^,\\(l that we knocked the hall 
 into each other s eyes, punched one an 
 other s heads, and behaved in a generally 
 outrageous manner. "File editor of our 
 local paper was disgusted, and published, 
 the next week, a scathing attack upon his 
 out-of-town rival, which I dare say the 
 latter thoroughly enjoyed and set down to 
 advertising. This publicity broke up our 
 nines, and we amused ourselves for the 
 rest of the summer more as well-regulated 
 girls are su pposed to do. 
 
 Xext to our place, toward the village, 
 was a six-acre lot where circus companies 
 pitched their tents, to our great delight. 
 AYlien I hadn t money enough to pay at 
 the gate, I crawled in under the flaps of 
 the tent, for never was FAC so sorely 
 tempted bv the serpent as 1 when I heard 
 the braving of the circus band and the 
 snapping of the ring-master s whip. A
 
 2 9 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 hint from the manager, and I would have 
 rim off with one of these companies at any 
 moment, hut I dare say I would have run 
 as quickly Lack. I was fascinated hy the 
 entire show, from the spangled acrobats 
 to the living skeleton, or "skelikon," as 
 Miney called him. 
 
 These circuses were a great trial to my 
 mother and Aunt Maria, for they brought 
 a very rough class of people about our 
 place. They came to our pump for water 
 and they helped themselves to the fruit 
 from our trees. I was rather proud of 
 their condescension in this respect, and 
 could not quite understand why my 
 mother and Aunt Maria objected to their 
 patronage. 
 
 One of the greatest expenses of our 
 home were the fences. They were never 
 very good, and consequently were always 
 breaking down and in constant need of re 
 pair. Aunt Maria s life was made a bur 
 den by the depredations of neighbors 
 cows and pigs, and they kept her busy
 
 .-te.V:- .i^^s^SSK* 1 - &* -- : .--- -
 
 Autobiography ot a Tomboy. 2< A3 
 
 driving them out. Whatever else she did 
 through the day (she was ahvavs busy), 
 s!ie kept an eye out of the window in the 
 direction of the weakest fence. One 
 morning she was sitting !>v Tier bedroom 
 window darning stockings, when gazing 
 out over the oat iield she saw an elephant 
 and two giraffes trampling down the rip 
 ening grain.. Without stopping 1o count 
 the consequences, and with but one 
 thought in her mind the routing of the 
 enemy she started alone across the field. 
 
 "Shoo! shoo!" she shouted, shaking her 
 apron at the beasts. They regarded her 
 in mild-eyed wonder, and went on calmlv 
 trampling down the oats that they did not 
 cat. 
 
 "(Jo "wav witli you, scat !" she cried, and 
 threw stones at them which, I need hardly 
 sav. fell far short of the mark, .lust as 
 she was about to rush violently upon them 
 two men stopped through the opening in 
 t he fence. 
 
 "Keep cool, old girl," said one of them,
 
 2 94 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 "you ll get inter trouble if you go near 
 that elephant." 
 
 Aunt Maria hesitated to give up the 
 fight, hut deciding that the men could do 
 hetter without her she retired to a safe 
 point of observation, and watched them 
 drive the beasts out. It seems that they 
 had escaped from the circus menagerie 
 in the next lot and, sniffing the ripening 
 oats, had easily pushed down the old fence 
 and walked in. It is just as well that the 
 keepers arrived when they did, otherwise 
 it might have gone badly with Aunt Maria, 
 for the elephant was the famous Kin- 
 press" that finally had to be shot, as she 
 killed four of her keepers shortly after 
 the raid upon our oat field. 
 
 The story of Aunt Maria s adventure 
 was not long in reaching the village, and 
 it gathered picturesqueness as it sped. At 
 last accounts it was to the effect that a 
 royal Bengal tiger and an African lioness 
 had attacked her while she was at break 
 fast, and that she, seizing a bread-knife,
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. -95 
 
 had charged upon the angry beasts and 
 slain them. 
 
 At any rate, the village was very much 
 excited over the matter. It was a great 
 relief to the mothers of young children 
 when a convent was built on the ground 
 formerly used for circuses, and that waste 
 place soon blossomed as the rose. 
 
 Instead of the howling of wild beasts 
 and the blare of a blatant hand, we heard 
 the soft notes of the organ and the low 
 chanting of the nuns. Instead of painted 
 equestriennes in pink tights, we saw black- 
 gowned, white-capped sisters gliding over 
 the grass on their way to chapel. 
 
 There was not the same excitement 
 about the convent, but it made my mother 
 and aunt supremely happy, and for that 1 
 was glad, though I could not but regret 
 t he circuses. 
 
 I should like to see an old-time country 
 circus again, for then everything took 
 place in one ring, and you did not run the 
 risk of becoming cross-eved or a victim of
 
 2 9 6 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 nervous prostration trying to watch four 
 rings at the same time. But, then., one 
 must be young to thoroughly enjoy a cir 
 cus,, and alas! 
 
 Not having a circus to distract me, I 
 thought that I should like to learn a pro 
 fession, or trade, I didn t much care 
 which. There were not so many avenue? 
 open to women in those days as there 
 are to-day. I didn t want to he a dress 
 maker, though I would not have minded 
 being a cabinet-maker. I decided, how 
 ever, to be a doctor and to begin practis 
 ing at once. Why waste time in study? I 
 immediately took down the sign "Devil s 
 Den" from the door of my room and sub 
 stituted: 
 
 DR. N. GILBEKT. 
 Office Hours from A. M. to P. M. 
 If you haven t got the dis 
 ease you want, ask for it. Bills 
 collected in advance. 
 
 The sign being up, 1 looked about me 
 for a victim. Going down to the pump
 
 e 
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 2< 
 
 for a drink of spring water, I saw t 
 farmer who worked our farm on shares 
 ("sheers" he called ii) leaning up against 
 the door of the harn. He looked pale and 
 hollow-eyed. 
 
 "What s the matter. ( I rancor?" said I; 
 "you don t look well." 
 
 "1 ain t well, nut her," he answered; "I 
 was took last night with me stmmnick, 
 and the pains ain t gone yet. They re: jest 
 tearin me to pieces. 
 
 "I m something of a doctor, (Iran- 
 
 ger - 
 
 "lie you, ^liss? Well, now!" interrupt 
 ing. 
 
 "Yes, and I ll fix YOU up in a minute. 
 I know just what ll cure you." 
 
 "Well, I never." 
 
 ".lust YOU wait here and I ll run fetch 
 it," and oil I ran to t he house. 
 
 I remembered a certain mixture that 
 mv mother gave us when we had colics 
 and such things, and dashing into the 
 closet where the medicines were kept, I
 
 2 9 8 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 seized the bottle, and then darting into 
 the kitchen grabbed a large kitchen spoon 
 and ran back to the suffering Granger. I 
 always moved quickly, and this time, be 
 ing a doctor with a patient on my hands, 
 I fairly flew over the ground. I found 
 my victim waiting for inc. 
 
 "Here you are, Granger," said I, pour 
 ing out a heaping spoonful. 
 
 "Ain t that a good deal?" said he, 
 doubtfully. 
 
 "Xot a bit too much for a man in such 
 pain as you re in. Take it all and lick the 
 spoon." 
 
 lie took the spoon from my hand and 
 swallowed its contents at a gulp, making 
 horrible grimaces as it went down. 
 
 "It tastes awful/ said Granger, with a 
 look of agony; "my stummick s a-fire." 
 
 "Xonsense, Granger, mother gives it to 
 us children all the time, and we think it s 
 lovely." 
 
 "What s one man s meat s another 
 man s pizen," he replied, the tears starting
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 2 W 
 
 to his eyes; "I guess I ll hurry home; I m 
 feeliif wus instedcr better," and oil he 
 \\ cut. 
 
 1 was rather disgusted and walked liack 
 to tlie house with my medicine, thinking 
 that as men were such poor patients I had 
 better conline my practice to women. 
 Later in the day Mrs. (Jranger sent over 
 from the farmhouse to know if my mother, 
 who was considered a medical aulhor- 
 itv in the neighborhood, would not 
 come over and see her husband. She went 
 at once, I t rot ting by her side. 
 
 .Mrs. (Irauger met us at the door. 
 
 "Oh, .Mis (iilbert," said she, wringing 
 her hands. "Mv ole man s took awful 
 Hiice ^liss Nell gave him that stulT. lie s 
 jest rollin" with pain and hollerin like a 
 pig at kil tin" 1 line." 
 
 ".Nell," said my mother, "what did you 
 give M r. ( J ranker; " 
 
 "The mixture that vou alwavs give us 
 when we have stumuiv cakes." 
 
 "It s verv st raiiLi r," .-aid mv mother.
 
 3 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 musingly; "that is an excellent medicine. 
 I never knew it to affect any one as it has 
 Mr. Granger. Let me see him." So she 
 and Mrs. Granger retired to the farmer s 
 bedroom, and did all that was possible to 
 alleviate his sufferings, while I sat outside 
 and waited. After a while my mother 
 came out looking anxious, and we walked 
 home without much conversation. When 
 we reached the house she said: 
 
 "Nell, are you quite sure that you gave 
 Mr. Granger the cholera mixture? 
 
 "I m positive," said I. "It was the 
 same bottle, exactly. I got it from the 
 right-hand corner of the second shelf 3" 
 
 "What!" exclaimed my mother, run 
 ning into the house and to the medicine 
 closet, I at her heels. 
 
 "There it is," said I, pointing with pride 
 to the bottle. My mother took it in her 
 hand and shook her head solemnly. 
 
 "It is as I feared," said she. "Xell, 
 you have given poor Granger the furni 
 ture polish!"
 
 XXTT. 
 
 J AM happy to say that CJ ranger got 
 well: lint I had my lesson, and took down 
 the doctor s sign from my door and re 
 turned the original one. The story got 
 out and L was unmercifully ehafl ed, ly no 
 one more than our family physician, who 
 called out from his gig as I passed him on 
 Main street: 
 
 "I say. Xell, do yon polish furniture 
 with cholera mixture up at your house?" 
 and brf nre I could reply he would he gone, 
 leaving a trail of laughter behind him. 
 
 (i ranger was very nice about it. and said 
 that after all lie wouldn t wonder if fur 
 niture polish, taken internally, wasn t a 
 bad thing. It made him pretty sick, to 
 be sure: but that s just what he needed, 
 lie was a strong man, but he didn t look 
 it. "Tougher iicr a pine-knot, he said of 
 himself, and I m inclined to think that he
 
 3 02 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 was, after the test that I put his strength 
 to. He had a sallow complexion, with 
 hair of the same neutral tint, and a largo, 
 thin nose, with a division that came well 
 down like the centerhoard of a yacht. 
 Strange to say, his nose was usually pale, 
 and stood out in marked contrast to the 
 rest of his face. It always reminded me 
 of a cuttlefish hone, and I wondered 
 whether, if he should go too near a hird 
 cage, the birds would peck at it. I used to 
 make great fun of Granger s nose, but 
 after the way he behaved about the dose I 
 gave him, I never spoke of him but with 
 great respect. He certainly was of a most 
 forgiving disposition. 
 
 Granger was something of a humorist, 
 too. I was talking to him one day about 
 a man who lived half a mile up the road 
 who used to pray so loud that we could 
 hear him at our house. 
 
 "I don t see why he can t say his 
 prayers to himself and not shout so loud," 
 I remarked.
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 33 
 
 "He has tor holler!" 
 
 Has to?" 
 
 Yes. lie has tor, and I rruess of you 
 lived as i er from (lawd as ho does, you d 
 hev to holler, too, if you wanted him to 
 hear yer." 
 
 I hadn t looked at it in that li ht be 
 fore, hut I dare say (i ranker was riidit. 
 
 After the furniture polish episode, I dc- 
 eided that I was not horn to he a doctor, 
 so I decided that I would he an editor. 
 Xo sooner thought of than done. I in 
 vited contributions from Marty and others 
 and hei/an printing at once, which, as I 
 printed witli a pen. was easy enough. Tin 1 
 paper was called 
 
 TIIK I- A IR YIKYV KMI OinrM, 
 
 and there was only one copy. of each issue. 
 T contributed the editorials, which were 
 verv much in the vein of our local weekly, 
 and I also supplied the news columns. To 
 be timelv. I was obliged to anticipate local 
 happenings, and take my chances on their 
 oil.
 
 34 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 Marty contributed a story about a girl 
 named Louise Livingstone, who was so 
 overcome by something I forget what 
 that she lay in a swoon for twenty-four 
 hours. She also contributed a poem in 
 blank verse, of which I can only remem 
 ber these lines: 
 
 "Pierced by the murderer s glittering steel, 
 
 she fell ; 
 Her blood a crimson stream did flow." 
 
 Marty always had a taste for the melo 
 dramatic. 
 
 The one copy of the Emporium was 
 passed around for different people to read, 
 even going down to the Army of the Po 
 tomac for my father to see, and I doubt 
 if any one enjoyed it more. He must have 
 smiled to see his own tastes cropping out 
 in his daughter. 
 
 The success of the Emporium (every 
 one wanted to borrow it) encouraged me 
 to write something for a real paper. After 
 much difficulty I wrote a story which I
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 35 
 
 sent to a Xe\v York weekly. It was an 
 impossible, sentimental thing-, Imt it got 
 published, though not paid for. The 
 paper that published it died not long ago. 
 If it had died sooner I should have known 
 what killed it. 
 
 Printing the Emporium kept me pretty 
 busy, but like a wise editor I took an oc 
 casional vacation. These vacation days 
 were usually spent at Spring Hill farm, 
 win-re a distant relation of mv mother s 
 lived. This farm was about ill roe miles 
 from on i 1 bouse by the road, but not more 
 than two "as the crow Hies." It was the 
 track of the crow that we children took, 
 for it brought us through orchards and 
 over brooks, and was in every way much 
 plrasantrr than the sandy highway. 
 
 There was no place that we loved to 
 visit more than Spring llill farm, for 
 Cousin Mary (I really never discovered 
 the exact relationship) was the sort of 
 hostess that children love. She let us do 
 exactly as we pleased. \\ e could mount
 
 3 6 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 the colts bareback, ride in the hay carts 
 and have good things to eat whenever we 
 wanted to. Cousin Mary was bound 
 down by no rules. She farmed her 
 own place after her own ideas, 
 which I regret to say were not very prac 
 tical; but she was satisfied because she 
 was doing what she wanted to do. She 
 would call a man from the plough to post 
 a letter in town, and she would make the 
 cook leave the kitchen at the busiest time 
 to wait upon her. "Kules were made for 
 slaves," she would say, and we children 
 applauded her sentiments to the echo. 
 
 I remember once asking her what had 
 become of a very excellent cook whom she 
 had had the last time I was at the farm. 
 
 "Oil, that woman/ she replied. "She 
 was a most impossible person. I was ob 
 liged to get rid of her. She insisted upon 
 having meals on time. I couldn t stand it. 
 Fancy thinking that because you had 
 dinner yesterday at one, you wanted it 
 to-day at the same hour ! I want my
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 37 
 
 meals when I am ready for them; it may 
 he a (lill erent hour every day, hut that is 
 my affair." 
 
 We children knew this to our sorrow. 
 \Ye wei e used to a one o clock dinner at 
 home, and would be ravenous at that hour; 
 but, as likely as not, would have to wait 
 I ill three or four when we were at Cousin 
 Mary s. However, we tilled up on water 
 melon, which was better than nothing, 
 lint when the dinner did come it was as 
 good as it was welcome, particularly when 
 it was topped oil with apple dumplings. 
 Apple dumplings, well sugared and cov 
 ered with thick sour cream, were the 
 greatest delicacy you can imagine. It was 
 the sour cream that made them delectable. 
 
 ( oiisin Mary s house was furnished en 
 tirely with antique furniture beautiful 
 pieces that had been in the family for gen 
 erations. Hut they were very much out 
 of repair. She had any quantity of old 
 silver, too, which the farm hands carried 
 in a clothes basket to her bedroom every
 
 3 8 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 night. She hired any men who came along 
 to work, and she was alone in the house, 
 with only women servants and these 
 strange men. That she was never robbed 
 has always been a mystery to me. I 
 think that a good deal of her silver was 
 stolen, a piece at a time, but she did not 
 seem to miss it. 
 
 One of the great sights of Spring Hill 
 was the beehives under Cousin Mary s 
 bedroom floor. . When it was time to 
 gather the honey she would raise the 
 boards in the floor, under the east window, 
 and there, lying thick in the comb, would 
 be the golden honey. What fun it was to 
 get it out and pile it high on the old India 
 dish! 
 
 One could write an entire book about 
 Spring Hill and Cousin Mary, for the sub 
 ject overflows with romantic interest. It 
 really needs the pen of a Hawthorne, but 1 
 may be tempted some day to see what I 
 can do with it. 
 
 The house stood on a level with the
 
 Autobiography ot a Tomboy. 39 
 
 road, but the land dropped abruptly at 
 the back". A marshy meadow, Hanked by 
 hills, lay like a great amphitheatre at tin- 
 foot, and through this meadow, half a 
 mile auav, ran a creek that poured into 
 the river at Birdlington. \Ve children 
 were never allowed to explore this marsh, 
 but I thought it would be a good idea, and 
 not unattended by adventure, to row up 
 the creek and go over to Cousin Mary s by 
 wav of the meadow, doing on a picnic 
 party up the creek one summer day 
 brought the idea again forcibly to my 
 mind. After we had eaten a round of 
 hard-boiled eggs, sandwiches and dough 
 nuts, wa>hed down with birch IMHT, 1 sug 
 gested going over to Cousin Mary s " "cross 
 lots." Those who knew the neighborhood 
 best said that it was impossible, that the 
 meadow was too marshy, and that I would 
 get stuck in a bog. 
 
 "Fiddlesticks," said F, "you re all afraid 
 of getting your feet wet. If no one will 
 go wit h me. Fll go alone. "
 
 3 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 Then up and spoke a gallant youth, one 
 Williams hy name. 
 
 "I m not afraid of getting my feet wet," 
 said lie; "I ll go with you." 
 
 So off we started. It was easy enough 
 at first. We jumped gayly from one little 
 mound of grass to another, until Cousin 
 Mary s was in sight. 
 
 "There s the house, now," I said, point 
 ing it out to my companion, "and here we 
 are. How silly of the others. I knew it 
 was easy enough. Some people are so 
 easily scared. I m not that kind. Excel 
 sior !* I exclaimed, jumping for another 
 hit of firm ground. But 1 was too con 
 fident. Instead of landing on the mound, 
 I went into the hog. The sensation was 
 not pleasant. I struggled to get out, hut 
 there was apparently no hottom. I seemed 
 to he sinking into the earth. Young Wil 
 liams was about to jump in to my rescue, 
 but I warned him off. 
 
 "Stay where you are, and give me the 
 end of your stick." Fortunately, he had
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 3" 
 
 cut a stout staiT when we set out. If you 
 jump in we may hoth sink through to 
 China; but if you are on solid ground you 
 may lie able to pull me out." l- videni ly, 
 he thought my advice good. I clutched the 
 en d of the stick. He pulled ;iud I pulled, 
 but I did not budge. Then we halloed, 
 but no one heard us. We could hear the 
 bells on the cows grazing in an upper 
 meadow, and once we saw one of the farm 
 hands getting a drink at the pump be 
 hind the house. We called again. Our 
 voices echoed against the hillside. I 
 was pretty well frightened by this time. 
 I wanted Williams to go to the farm for 
 help, but he wouldn t leave me. 
 
 "You might be sunk out of sight by the 
 time I got back, and we d never find your 
 body." 
 
 My body! A cheerful suggestion to one 
 in my sad plight. 
 
 You d better stay, then, I decided. 
 Lot s call again." So we called loud and 
 loniT. I saw Cousin Marv come to the
 
 3 12 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 door and look out over the meadow. We 
 called louder than ever, only to see her 
 walk back into the house. 
 
 I was now up to my waist in the bog, 
 and, though it was summer, I was shiver 
 ing with the cold. Soon I should sink 
 deeper and deeper. Williams could point 
 out the place where I sank, and perhaps 
 they could recover my body. Perhaps 
 they couldn t. It was a good many 
 thousand miles to China, and I was only 
 a little over five feet high. I thought of 
 my mother sitting calmly at homo, little 
 suspecting my horrible fate. What an ex 
 citement there would be in the village 
 when the news of my more or less untime 
 ly taking-off was known! There would bo 
 a funeral but no corpse. How strange 
 that would be! 
 
 "I m sinking all the time," I said dole 
 fully. 
 
 "You can t sink out of sight while yon 
 hold on to the stick," Williams replied en 
 couragingly. "I m firm-footed here; you 
 can t drag me in."
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 3 .3 
 
 "That s all right," I argued: "hut I can 
 sink in up to my head, and then it won t 
 take much to make me go under." 
 
 "You won t die till your time comes," 
 said he, trying to cheer me. 
 
 "I m afraid it s come, I answered, 
 struggling in the hog. "1 wisli I could 
 see my mother." 
 
 I fell a lump in my throat, hut 1 didn t 
 want to cry yet, though I thought my 
 position a very sad one. Tragic as the 
 :-it nation was. my sense of humor could 
 not he do\\ lied. 
 
 "If I m drowned in this mud, Williams, 
 tell them to write on niv tombstone, 
 Though lo>t to sight, to memory dear. " 
 
 "Don t." said Williams: "it s no joking 
 matter." 
 
 "I know it isn t," I replied with a laugh 
 that was half a soh. "Kven if I don t sink 
 over mv head, we mav he here all night." 
 
 As I spoke. I heard the voice of a man 
 calling to a cow. 
 
 "Oh, Williams, that s Khene/er calling
 
 3 4 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 the cows home. Let us shout at the top 
 of our lungs." 
 
 "Eben-e-zcr-r-r-r!* rang out over the 
 meadow once and again. 
 
 Then to our great joy we saw Cousin 
 Mary s burly farmer coming out from he- 
 hind a clump of trees at the foot of the 
 hill. He stood looking over the meadow. 
 
 "Eben-e-zer-r-r-r!" We waved our hats 
 frantically, and he saw us. 
 
 "By crackie! he exclaimed, running 
 up to us, and picking his way as lie ran. 
 "I thought it couldn t be the ole cow call- 
 in my name. What s the matter? 7 
 
 "Xell Gilbert s stuck in the bog!" 
 
 Then Ebenezcr saw me. By crackie! I 
 should say she was. Well, the next thing 
 to do is to git her out. You wait here an 
 we ll soon do that." 
 
 Then he disappeared up the hill, and 
 soon appeared again, with one of the farm 
 hands, dragging a stone boat a broad, 
 flat-bottomed sled, used for hauling stone. 
 Ebenezer and Jake got the sled up to
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. -> 5 
 
 \vhorc 1 was planted. All my courage was 
 with me again, for I knew now that I was 
 safe. Kbenezer put his arms tight around 
 me, and pulled. I gave way a little, hut 
 didn t clear the mud. 
 
 "Ketch me tight roiin the neck, 1 lie 
 instructed, and I obeyed. He gripped me 
 around the waist. "Altogether, pull!" 
 There was the noise of mighty suction, 
 and I was landed safe and sound on the 
 sled: bill 1 could scarcely move. Tor the 
 weight of black mud thrt clung to me. 
 Kbenezer made me sit on the sled, which 
 he and .lake and Williams drew over the 
 marsh and up the hill. 
 
 Such an excitement as mv appearance 
 made when Cousin Mary and her house 
 hold saw me! The colored cook said that 
 I looked for all the world like a tar baby. 
 Cousin Mary was alarmed lest I had 
 caught mv death of cold. She wanted me 
 to go immediately to her room and be put 
 to bed, but I insisted upon having a tut) 
 of hot water brought into the woodshed,
 
 3 l6 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 and there I dropped my muddy garments 
 and after a plunge in the tub, donned 
 some of Cousin Mary s clothes and went 
 into the house. I was at once plied with 
 food and drink, and made much of. Wil 
 liams, too, had his share of attention, for 
 he had played a heroic part in stand 
 ing by me. Cousin Mary wanted him to 
 spend the night at Spring Hill, but he 
 thought that he had better go back to the 
 village so that he could inform my family 
 of my whereabouts, which was certainly 
 thoughtful of him. When Cousin Mary 
 tucked me in bed that night she regarded 
 me with a puzzled expression. 
 
 "What will people say of you, now, 
 Nell?" she queried. 
 
 " They ll say I m an old stick-in-the- 
 mud/ I replied, laughing, sleepily.
 
 XXIII. 
 
 I HAD no\v reached the advanced a^e of 
 twelve and a halt years, and it seemed to 
 me time that I should take a hand in the 
 world s \vork. 1 spoke to my mother on 
 the subject, and she said to wait till I had 
 a little more education before I talked 
 about leaving school. This I considered 
 to be bei^inif the question. I did not 
 want to wait. What should I wait for? 
 Certainly not till we were any poorer, for 
 that would be impossible. Younger 
 children than I had earned monev. It was 
 tune for me to seek mv fortune. The 
 phrase pleased me. I had culled it from 
 fairv stories and the dime muds before 
 alluded to. Marty was a <i ood one to con 
 sult in such matters, so I decided to take 
 her into mv confidence, even though she 
 was my jn nior \>\ t wo years. 
 
 "(lood idea." said she. "It s hiidi lime
 
 3 l8 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 that we were seeking our fortunes; we ll 
 face the world together. Let us be a so 
 ciety. The Fortune Seekers - - that 
 sounds well: or The Argonauters you 
 know they went in search of the golden 
 fleece." 
 
 "Golden fleas! No, I thank you," said 
 Marty with an expression of disgust; "no 
 fleas for me of any kind." 
 
 I explained, but she would have none of 
 it. "It may be a different word, but it 
 sounds the same. I prefer The Fortune 
 Seekers. " 
 
 As Marty was a determined young per 
 son, we became "The Fortune Seekers," a 
 secret society of two. Being the oldest, I 
 was president, and Marty was general 
 manager, with the privilege of casting the 
 deciding vote if it came to a tie. This 
 was her suggestion, and I yielded without 
 quite understanding the situation, for she 
 said that if I did not agree she would im 
 mediately resign. That would have left 
 me in a hole. A society of two was select
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 3 9 
 
 enough, but a society of one was alto 
 gether too exclusive. We thought some 
 thing of taking Miney in, but decided that 
 she was too young, being only eight years 
 old, so we made her an honorary mem 
 ber instead. This meant that she was to 
 do Avhat she was told, and ask no ques 
 tions. 
 
 The society now being formed, the next 
 thing was to decide upon a plan of action. 
 
 "We must live up to our name," said 
 Marty, "and seek our fortunes." 
 
 "Fortunes must be sought if they are 
 to be found," said I, sentent iously, as be 
 came a president. 
 
 I move," continued Marty, that we 
 start at once to-morrow morning. Let 
 the society meet in Thompson s woods at 
 six o clock." 
 
 We talked over our plans without 
 Minev: she was so voting we were afraid 
 that she might tell, and so spoil every 
 thing. The next morning we got up with 
 the sun and coaxed the cook to give us an
 
 3 20 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 early breakfast. Before our mother was 
 out of her bed we were in Thompson s 
 woods, Miney at our heels. Marty and I 
 cut stout staffs and tied in our handker 
 chiefs the few things that we brought 
 away. I insisted upon this, for in every 
 book that I had read, every lad who 
 started out into the world to seek his 
 fortune had all his worldly goods tied up 
 in a cotton pocket-handkerchief. It was 
 the correct thing for such occasions. We 
 did not take much with us. The contents 
 of my handkerchief consisted of a tooth 
 brush and the photographs of my father 
 and mother. Marty had some ribbons and 
 a toothbrush in hers. 
 
 "It s time to start," said Marty, the 
 managing director of the expedition. 
 
 "I don t want to go," whimpered Miney, 
 who was frightened by the solemnity of 
 our proceedings. 
 
 "We ll have to take her," I whispered 
 to Marty, "or she ll run back home and 
 give the whole thing away."
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 3 21 
 
 "Stop crying, and prepare to march," 
 said Marty, severely, to Miney. Then 
 Marty and I raised our staffs to heaven 
 and vowed that we would not return un 
 til our fortunes were found. 
 
 Forward, march!" commanded Marty, 
 and off we started, little Miney clinging to 
 my hand. AYhcn we reached the fence 
 that cut off the woods from the highway 
 I paused on the top rail. 
 
 "Don t you think that mother will be 
 awfully worried when she finds that we 
 have gone?" I queried, beginning to feel 
 a little prick of conscience. 
 
 "At iirst she will," answered Marty, 
 "hut when we come home with chests of 
 gold to lay at her feet she will be very glad 
 that we went. It won t be long; not more 
 than a few years." 
 
 "Are years as long as days?" asked 
 Miney in a trembling voice. 
 
 \Ye climbed the fence and started 
 boldly up the turnpike. Marty and F wore 
 big straw hats, while Miney wore a blue
 
 3 22 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 snnbonnet. A mile up the road we 
 readied the toll-gate. The gate-keeper 
 regarded us curiously. 
 
 "Where are you kids goin ?" he asked. 
 
 "To seek our fortunes," I replied, 
 proudly. The man laughed as he swung 
 the gate open for us to pass through. 
 
 "You won t find it round these parts." 
 
 "We don t expect to," I replied. 
 
 We had never been so far as the toll- 
 gate alone, and felt quite like explorers 
 as we passed it, and pressed on along the 
 dusty road in the direction of a little vil 
 lage three miles away. Before we reached 
 it we came up with a man driving a cov 
 ered wagon. 
 
 "I m awful tired," said little Miney, 
 looking wistfully at the wagon, with its 
 one occupant. 
 
 I ran up alongside of it. 
 
 "Hello!" I called, for the man seemed 
 to be asleep. " Will you give us a lift?" 
 
 He opened his eyes, looked sleepily at 
 us for a moment, and then said, "Jump
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 3 2 3 
 
 in." We accepted his invitation without 
 more pressing. I sat in front with the 
 man, while Marty and Miney occupied 
 I lie hack seat. The man stayed awake 
 long enough to tell us that lie was "dead 
 sleepy," having "druv" all the way from 
 "The P>raneh" since the evening hefore. 
 lie had heen driving all night to take a 
 lady from The l>ranch" to see her 
 lirother, who was dying at Birdlington, 
 and he was "jest pegged out." 
 
 "Where are you going now?" I asked. 
 
 "To Freehold, Imut thirty mile from 
 Ilirdlington," he replied. 
 
 "We ll go with you," I said, promptly. 
 "I know a girl at Freehold. She went to 
 our school last winter. We ll go and see 
 her." 
 
 Hy this time the man was asleep again, 
 so 1 assumed the reins. I didn t know the 
 way, hut the horses did, so that answered 
 thi same purpose. It was a hot and dustv 
 ride, and we were verv liungrv, hut we 
 didn t mind. \\ e slaked our thirst at
 
 3 2 4 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 wayside springs, and relieved the gnaw- 
 ings of hunger by eating the apples that 
 grew along the road. Poor little Miney 
 was soon as sound asleep as the man., and 
 while she slept, with her head on Marty s 
 knee, her sunhonnet was lost from the 
 wagon. 
 
 Just about dusk we arrived at the out 
 skirts of Freehold. 
 
 "I don t go no further," said the man, 
 "my place is up there," pointing with his 
 whip, adding to me, "Jest foller yer nose a 
 mile up the road, and you ll be in Free 
 hold." 
 
 We thanked him and dismounted. 
 After walking a mile we came to the rail 
 way station. We were not feeling quite 
 so joyous as when we set out in the morn 
 ing. 
 
 "I ll ask the ticket man if he knows 
 where Mr. John Hunter, the father of the 
 girl I know, lives," and, storing Marty and 
 Miney on a bench in the waiting room, I 
 walked boldly into the ticket office. The
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 3 2 5 
 
 ticket agent was counting his day s re 
 ceipts, and turned suddenly as I entered. 
 
 "Can YOU tell me where Mr. John Hun 
 ter lives?" I asked, anxiously. 
 
 That s easy enough. He lives five 
 miles from here, on the Red Hank road." 
 
 "Five miles from here! Is there any 
 train going that way?" I asked, in a shak 
 ing voice. 
 
 "Xo, not to-night." 
 
 "Is there any train to Birdlington?" 
 
 "Not before to-morrow." 
 
 1 saw visions of a night in the streets 
 of Freehold, and I felt the responsibility 
 of my two little sisters. I would have 
 given all my prospects of fortune for a 
 glimpse of my mother at that moment. I 
 was tired, worried and nervous, and I be 
 gan to cry. 
 
 "What s the matter, little girl?" said 
 the ticket man in a kindly voice. 
 
 "Nothing," I answered, wiping my eyes. 
 
 "Come, now, something is the matter. 
 Tell me, and perhaps I can help you.
 
 3 26 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 What s your name, and where do you 
 live? I told him. "Why, I know your 
 father well. Don t you worry any more. 
 Tell me what you re doing here alouc this 
 time o day. (Jive me the true story." 
 
 In a broken voice I told the sorrowful 
 talc of how I had set out with my sisters 
 to seek our fortunes, and this was what 
 had come of it. 
 
 "Don t cry any more, little girl; just 
 you stay here till I run home and tell my 
 wife. She ll keep you all night, and I ll 
 send you home to your ma in the morn 
 ing. Cheer up, you re all right now," and 
 as he said this he patted me on the cheek 
 and kissed my forehead. Then he left me 
 to join my sisters, while he went home. I 
 was indignant. What right had he to kiss 
 me? No, indeed, I would not stay a night 
 in that man s house had he a hundred 
 
 wives ! 
 
 cen 
 
 Girls," I said, my voice trembling with 
 righteous rage, "I have been insulted. 
 That man kissed me. lie wants us to cro
 
 ^
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 3 2 9 
 
 home with him, but we ll not do it. Come, 
 hurry, let s run down the track to Bird- 
 lington, it s only thirty miles." I seized 
 Miney s hand and off we started. 
 
 We had not gone more than a quarter 
 of a mile when I looked back and saw 
 the ticket agent running up the track 
 toward us. I was desperate, but deter 
 mined. Just in front of us were two 
 colored women walking leisurely along 
 the track. I rushed up to the elder one 
 and said hurriedly: 
 
 "I will explain all later, but when that 
 man catches up to us tell him that we are 
 friends of yours, and that you are going to 
 keep us at your house over night." 
 
 By this time the man had caught up 
 with us. 
 
 "You re a nice lot of runaway colts," 
 said he, breathlessly. 
 
 "Whatcher want o them chillun?" 
 asked the colored women, severely. 
 
 "Only to take them back to my house." 
 
 "You jest let em alone. They re frcns
 
 33 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 o mine, and I m gwinc to keep them over 
 night/ 
 
 "All right, then, if yon know them, and 
 are going to keep them. My wife has a 
 room ready for them, and I was going to 
 keep them over night, and send them 
 back home in the morning." 
 
 "Yon talk slick enough. "Who be you, 
 anyway?" asked the woman. 
 
 "I am the ticket agent here, and my 
 name is Ilolden." 
 
 "Be yon Charles Ilolden?" 
 
 "That is my name." 
 
 "All right, chillun," said the woman, 
 turning to us with a chuckle; "Charles 
 Ilolden won t do you no harm. lie s an 
 honest man. I done his wash afore he 
 was married, and he never owed me a 
 cent." With such testimony to his integ 
 rity we returned up the track with Mr. 
 Ilolden. 
 
 "What was the trouble, child?" he said 
 quietly to me. "Was it that little em 
 brace?" I said that it was.
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 3.1 
 
 "I was afraid il was that; hut you 
 looked so kind o ])itifnl tliat I felt sorry 
 For you, and treated you just as I would 
 liaye treated one of my own children." 
 
 So we made peace, for lie was a good, 
 kind man, and J was only a child. 
 
 \\ e found Mrs. Ilnldeii prepared for us. 
 Although she had finished her own sup 
 per. >he had one ready for us. We did il 
 ample justice, for we were nearly starved, 
 having eaten nothing hut apples since he- 
 fore six o clock in the morning. After 
 supper we .-at on the front porch with the 
 family, and. our story haying heen noised 
 ahout. all the yillage came up to have a 
 look at us. I>eing young, and knowing 
 that we were safe now, we enjoyed our 
 notoriety. 
 
 In the meantime, kind .Mr. [[olden had 
 telegraphed to my mother that W" were 
 safe and would he sent home early the 
 next morning. This was no doiiht reas 
 suring, hut what must have heen her feel 
 ings on learning thai we were among 
 > tranters thirty miles from home!
 
 33 2 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 The Holden home was small, and hed- 
 rooms scarce, so we were tucked into a 
 narrow bed in a hall room for the night. 
 How well I see that room! Over the bed 
 hung a colored lithograph of the seven 
 ages of man. It was represented hy steps 
 going up and down thus: 
 
 At the foot on the left was the "puling 
 infant," and the ages increased till we 
 had the old dotard at the foot of the steps 
 on the right. In a corner of the room was 
 a gun, which Miney was afraid would go 
 off in the night, so Mr. Holden had to 
 take it away while we modestly hid under 
 the bedclothes. We slept soundly and 
 were aroused betimes to catch the early 
 train for Birdlington. By an oversight 
 we were not supplied with towels, but we 
 were equal to the emergency and dried
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 333 
 
 ourselves on our white petticoats. Mrs. 
 Ilolden gave ns a good breakfast and pro 
 vided Miney (who had made her entrance 
 into Freehold bare-headed) with a Shaker 
 bonnet. It was much too large, and the 
 little face, with its big gray eyes, was quite 
 lost in its depths. Half the village fol 
 lowed us to the train. We took our honors 
 as though they were well won. Mr. ITol- 
 den passed us over the railroad to Bird- 
 lington, and he must have passed our story 
 on as well, for there were people, to meet 
 us at every station, at whom we grinned 
 and waved our handkerchiefs. 
 
 As we neared Birdlington T began to 
 experience mingled emotions. I wondered 
 how our mother had taken our flighi, and 
 1 wondered how Aunt Maria was going to 
 take our return! 
 
 As the train slowed into the station I 
 si nek my head out of the window to see 
 how the land lay, and caught the eye of 
 Aunt Maria. 1 did not like its expression. 
 It made me feel as though I would rather
 
 334 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 return to Freehold than to land at Bird- 
 lington, hut there was no escape. I had 
 barely stepped out upon the platform, 
 Marty and Miney close behind me, when 
 Aunt Maria seized me by the arm. 
 
 "Hello, aunty," said I, jauntily. 
 
 "You dreadful girl! Your poor mother!" 
 was all the remark she vouchsafed. 
 
 I turned to go up Main street, but she 
 jerked me in an opposite direction. She 
 did not propose being disgraced by walk 
 ing through the principal street of the 
 town with such a cavalcade, so we were 
 marched up a back street, much to our 
 disgust. Our fame, however, had preceded 
 us, even to the back streets, for windows 
 were thrown up and grinning faces thrust 
 out all along the line of march. 
 
 "How s mother, aunty?" I asked. 
 
 "You may well ask your poor 
 mother!" was all the reply she made, and 
 we proceeded in grim silence, Aunt 
 Maria holding me tight by the arm, as 
 though she feared I would run away again.
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 335 
 
 \Ve Found our mother pros! rated from 
 the fright slie had liad on our account. 
 \\ e \vere missed soon after our departure, 
 hut much time \vas lost in looking for us, 
 as it was supposed that \ve had ^ one to 
 Spring Hill. Search was made in every 
 direction. The town crier was out with 
 his hell, and every one \vas on the look 
 out. As night approached my mother 
 was almost frantic, and while Mr. IIol- 
 deii s telegram was a pvat relief, it was 
 not altogether reassuring, for what were 
 we doiii!_r thii tv miles from home! 
 
 It was decided that as I was the oldest 
 I must he the ringleader, and therefore 
 the severest punishment was dealt out to 
 me. I was sentenced to keep my room for 
 a week, than which no prater punish 
 ment could have been inflicted upon me. 
 Martv was kept in her room for two days. 
 MiiK V, hcini; so VOIIIILT, was not punished 
 :il all.
 
 33 6 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 girls used to take pity on me and come 
 under my window to talk. 
 
 Michaud found this out to my sorrow, 
 and he used to come under my window 
 also. He had heard the story of the run 
 away, and he would call up at me, "Tirty 
 mile! Tirty mile!" until I was fain to 
 empty my water pitcher on his head.
 
 XXIV. 
 
 MY escapade was regarded much more 
 seriously by my family than it was by me. 
 My father wrote me a long letter from the 
 army, which made me feel very unhappy 
 for the grief I had caused him, and when 
 my mother regarded me with sad, anxious 
 eyes, 1 felt very repentant. As for the 
 village people they had their opinion of 
 me, and it was not a flattering one. The 
 gallows or the jail seemed to them to lie 
 at the end of the course I was pursuing. 
 
 A family council resulted in a decision 
 to send me to boarding school. Xot to 
 the one in Birdlington, but to one in the 
 southern part of the State, presided over 
 by a woman of rare force of character, 
 who was conspicuous as a disciplina 
 rian. I expressed a willingness to go, but 
 I insisted that I should have a room to 
 myself. I had always had one, and the 
 337
 
 33 8 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 idea of a room shared by others was very 
 repugnant to me. I did not care how 
 small it was so long as it was my own. My 
 simple request gave rise to all sorts of 
 stories of my eccentricities, hut I did not 
 care so that I got the room. 
 
 Ivy Lodge was a comparatively small 
 school, of about thirty hoarders, and I 
 was very happy there. My room was tiny, 
 but it served. ] brought with me some 
 books, a student s lamp (not that I was a 
 student), and a tin tub, popularly known 
 as a "hat," for I could not be content with 
 out my daily cold bath. This was regarded 
 as my most striking eccentricity. Bath 
 ing was not the daily habit in those days 
 that it is to-day, probably for the reason 
 that there were not then the same con 
 veniences that we now regard as necessary 
 to our health and comfort. Just outside 
 of my window was a shed, and on the roof 
 of that shed I spread my bedding, mat 
 tress included, every morning for an air 
 ing. This was regarded with much
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 339 
 
 over the foot of their beds when they left 
 their rooms. I was laughed at and teased 
 a good deal, but T did not care, I had my 
 \vay. 
 
 The shed under mv window was a great 
 convenience, for it enabled me to climb 
 <nt after we were supposed to be in bed 
 and asleep, and visit the other girls in 
 their moms. I was an expert (-limber, and 
 did deeds that make me shiver to look 
 back upon. 1 remember one eventful 
 night climbing by the waterspout up to 
 the window of a girl s room where we 
 were going to have a pickle party. The 
 pipe broke under the unwonted strain, 
 just as I was about to pull myself into the 
 mom. and fell with a sharp crash on the 
 tin roof which was just above the head 
 teacher s room. Before the irirls could 
 pull me iii. we heard the sharp scratching 
 of a match and the soft Hip-Hap of bed 
 room sii ppers on the stairs.
 
 34 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 "Jump into bed for your lives, girls, 
 Miss Chamberlain s coming," I whispered. 
 
 "What about you? they asked, anx 
 iously. 
 
 "I m all right. I ll hang here till she s 
 gone." So they jumped quickly into their 
 beds, and when Miss Chamberlain opened 
 the door and peered about by the light of 
 a flickering candle in her hand, the room 
 was as quiet as the grave, the girls ap 
 parently sleeping the sleep of youth and 
 innocence. Miss Chamberlain was a kind, 
 unsuspicious soul, and judged things by 
 the way they looked. Seeing nothing out 
 of the ordinary, she was about to close the 
 door and take ber departure, when my 
 strength gave out. I could no longer keep 
 my hold on the window sill, and down I 
 went, crash, bang, on the tin roof below. 
 It was a slanting roof two stories from the 
 ground. I thought that my hour had 
 come, and lived a lifetime as I rolled over 
 and over. Luckily, I dropped on the side 
 nearest my own room, and when I came
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 3-1 
 
 to the edge, by a dexterous turn, landed 
 on my feet on the roof of the shed only a 
 few feet below. In the twinkling of an 
 eye I was in my room, but 1 was not alone, 
 The noise of my descent upon the roof 
 had awaked the household, and a dozen 
 night-robed figures greeted me. 
 
 "What does this mean?" asked the bead 
 t earlier, severely. 
 
 I think that 1 must have been walking 
 in my sleep," I replied, yawning and rub 
 bing my eyes. 
 
 "Do you usually sleep in your clothes: " 
 asked the teacher, sarcastically, referring 
 to the fact that I was fully dressed. 
 
 "Not always," I replied, unabashed; 
 "but it s convenient in case of lire." 
 
 "You may report to the principal in the 
 morning. Come, young ladies!" and the 
 night-robed squadron, preceded by the 
 bead teacher in her flapping slippers, dis 
 appeared down the dark hall. 
 
 T did some little studying while at this 
 school, and made a reputation with my
 
 34 2 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 "compositions." I remember two in par 
 ticular that were considered quite aston 
 ishing in one of my years and tastes. One 
 was on the development of genius in 
 Benjamin West, a subject upon which I 
 was sublimely ignorant; the other was 
 called "A Voyage to the Moon," and here 
 again my ignorance came to my rescue. 
 This latter "composition " could not have 
 been more praised had it been written by 
 Jules Verne. It was thought so very im 
 aginative. How could it well have been 
 otherwise? 
 
 I was kept at this school for a year, and 
 I have no doubt but that the training was 
 very good for me. When the day of my 
 departure came, at the end of the school 
 year, I was very sad. Xot only because I 
 was going to say good-bye to companions 
 and teachers of whom I had grown very 
 fond, but because of a debt I saw no 
 means of paying. "Charge it" was always 
 so easy to say that I had said it too fre 
 quently for my happiness. 
 
 The woman who kept a confectionery
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 343 
 
 shop un<K r the very shadow of Ivy Lodge 
 was of a trusting nature, and the conse 
 quence was that I had run up an account 
 with her that far exceeded my allowance. 
 The day before the school closed L re 
 ceived her hill: 
 
 Miss X. (ilLHKRT, Dr. 
 
 To KMKLIXK HANDOVKi;. 
 Fur candy, ice-cream and pickles 
 
 as per hill rendered $5 
 
 Please remit. 
 
 Five dollars! Where was such a fortune 
 as that coining from? I m sure that I 
 did not know. I had just money enough 
 for mv railway ticket home, and that was 
 all. I wondered if Fmeline would have 
 me arrested. \Vould I he in the village 
 lock-up, playing chequers with my nose, 
 as it was lightly called, when all the other 
 girls were going gayly to their several 
 homes? It was horrible to think of, and L 
 shuddered as J thought. 
 
 It was tht: very last day of school, and 
 my heart lay heavy within me. Our priii-
 
 344 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 cipal, who was a very religious woman, 
 had often talked to us about the efficacy 
 of prayer. "Ask, and it shall be given 
 unto you," she had frequently quoted to 
 us, and cited instances to prove the truth 
 of the statement. Now was an opportun 
 ity for me to find out just how much truth 
 was in it. I went up to my room, locked 
 the door, got down on my knees and asked 
 heaven to help me pay Emeline Hand 
 over s bill. Then I rose from my knees 
 and went down stairs, and in the hall met 
 one of the seniors, who had just returned 
 from the post-office. 
 
 "Here s a letter for you, Xell, the only 
 one that came by this mail," she said, giv 
 ing it to me. 
 
 I examined the post-mark and the 
 handwriting, and failed to recognize 
 either. Then I opened the letter and out 
 dropped a five-dollar bill! It was from a 
 relative who had never written me a letter 
 or sent me a dollar before. The letter was 
 short, but to the point. "Girls always 
 need a little money when they are leaving
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 345 
 
 school," it ran; "perhaps this five dollars 
 will help you pay oil some little bill." If 
 this was not a direct answer to prayer, 
 1 should like to know what it was? I 
 wouldn t, however, care to encourage any 
 one to rely too firmly on this means of 
 paying hills. Subsequent trials were not 
 so successful, and I have found by experi 
 ence that the best way to pay bills is not 
 to owe them. 
 
 Shortly after my re! urn home my father 
 died. He contracted a fatal disease while 
 nursing some of his men in the hospital. 
 His time was up, and he was about to re 
 turn to his family, but a high sense of 
 duty called him to the side of the sick and 
 suffering, and he obeyed. 
 
 Celestial balm, the Spirit s holy ministry, 
 
 Tie brought, and only he ; 
 
 AVhere men who blanched not at the battle s 
 
 shell and shot 
 Trembled, and entered not. 
 
 I will not dwell upon this tragedy. Tt 
 nearly killed my mother, but she aroused
 
 346 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 
 
 herself for the sake of her children, who 
 were more dear to her now than ever. 
 
 Sandy was still in the army and an older 
 brother was following an ill-paid profes 
 sion in Xcw York. Dicksey, who was 
 scarcely twenty, had been out with the 
 emergency men, and was now at home, 
 having just been mustered out of the ser 
 vice, the war being nearly over. A position 
 was made for him in a railroad office, 
 and his small earnings, with my mother s 
 pension as an officer s widow, were all that 
 we had to live on. 
 
 Xow was the time for me to realize my 
 ambition to work for my living. I re 
 member well the evening that T an 
 nounced my decision to Dicksey, who had 
 assumed a fatherly position in the family. 
 lie was digging in the garden, and I was 
 hoeing by his side. 
 
 "Dicksey," said I, leaning on my hoe, 
 "I want to speak to you on a matter of 
 great importance." He stopped to listen, 
 with one foot resting on his spade. 
 
 " Speak, and let the worst be known,
 
 KY. T HAVE MAI)!: VI MY MIND TO WORK.
 
 Autobiography of a Tomboy. 349 
 
 speaking may relieve you! " he quoted jo 
 cosely. 
 
 "Dieksey, I have made up my mind to 
 work to help support the family." 
 
 Oil, no," lie answered, while an expres 
 sion of pain crossed his brow. I can do 
 it all well enough. I couldn t hear the 
 thought of my sister going out into the 
 world to work/ 
 
 "Kven if you could do it all, I should 
 want to do something; hut that is im 
 possible, we are too large a family. I m 
 going to do my share." 
 
 "J wish you wouldn t talk that way." 
 "I am determined to hoe my o\vn row." 
 "You are doing that now," said he, 
 smiling, and pointing to the implement 
 upon which I was leaning. 
 "I am serious; don t joke." 
 "What do you propose doing?" 
 "The first tiling that I can get to do." 
 
 ] got a position in an office a few weeks 
 later and hegan work. The Tomboy s 
 play days were over.
 
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