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Show NAOMI AND THE BOG. Many years ago, in a far-away village, there stood the strangest-looking house you ever saw-a one-story house, rather small, very broad on the ground, and sloping up to no breadth at all at the top. And besides sloping up toward the top, it curved toward each end. And somehow the chimney looked as if it had been built outside and the pushed down through the roof, instead of growing up from within in the orthodox way. The upper part of the house had once been green, and the lower part had once been white. If you had seen it, you would certainly have cried out "Why, it looks just like a boat turned upside down." And in fact, that was just what it was-a real boat that had been tossed about on the waves all through its youth; had carried out the fishermen full of hope to their work on the dim horizon, and had borne them back merrily singing in the late evening. And here it was in its old age, clear up on dry land, with its chimney and windows and doors, trying to get off its sea-legs-so to speak-and look like a real, genuine house. But it had not settled very far from the shore. All around it were wide sandy plains, with here and there a growth of oak and pine, and on a windy day you could hear the beating of the waves mingled with the sighing of the pines. One afternoon in the early springtime, the little door stood open wide. What a pleasant little room to enter! though, to be sure, it gives you a sort of "capsized" feeling to look up at the keel overhead, and see the ribs curving up to it from either side. A pretty, quaint, cheerful, homelike room, for all its rough table and chairs and lack of ornament. On this particular day, then, little Naomi-lame Naomi-and her father, were having a very earnest conversation. "Father," cried she, "you will surely be back before to-morrow night. You know the moths might settle any night now." You don't know what that means, do you? Well, Naomi's father-her mother had been dead more than a year-was poor, very poor, but by great care and hard work he had saved enough to lay out a little cranberry-bog, about a mile from their house, right by the running brook. It costs a good deal to lay out a bog-to haul on the clean sand, to set the straight rows of vines. To watch their growth, too, is a matter of no small moment, for in the spring, just when the vines are in flower, there come swarms of little flies or moths, settling all over the bog, and laying their tiny eggs in the heart of every blossom, these eggs change to worms later on, and spoil the berries. There is one way to cheat the little creatures, for all the bogs are made beside running brooks, and as soon as the moths appear the man who is watching turns the course of the stream right into the bog, which is thus soon flooded, and the little moths are drowned. Then the brook is allowed to run on its old channel, for the berries are saved. Now you know what Naomi meant when she said the moths might come. "Yes, child," her father said, "we could ill afford that loss. I shall only be away during the day, never fear." Early the next morning the father plodded down the footpath toward the river, little Naomi hobbling along beside him with the aid of her crutch. In a moment he was in the boat, paddling slowly, first on one side, then on the other. "Be sure to come home early, father," cried Naomi, and he had just time to nod and smile, when a bend in the river shut him out of sight. All day long Naomi sat by the doorway in her little rocking-chair-one her father had made for her-sewing away and singing away just as happy as if she had been a Princess. To be sure she was very lame-always had been; so lame that she was obliged to sit still most of the time, "but then," said she, "no one has everything, and I am so much better off than most folks." At last it began to grow dark-just a little-so that Naomi could not see to sew very well, and she laid her work by to watch the red clouds sailing by, and see the young leaves just rustling in the faint puffs of air. Then it became darker and darker, and a little chilly, too; so she shut the door, and stirred up the embers on the hearth, and threw on more wood, so that the little room fairly glowed with light, and all the pans on the wall flashed like diamonds. Then she drew out the table, and put on the pretty red cover and the heavy crockery, and hung the kettle on the crane and the heart of the old boat must have rejoiced at the warmth and light, when it remembered that it would never again face the stormy sea. "Why doesn't father come?" thought Naomi, as the hands of the clock moved slowly round. "How late he is!" and she pressed her face against the window to try to get a glimpse of out-doors, but it was as dark as pitch outside. "Hark!" she said, suddenly, "there he comes!" and wide open she threw the door. The steps drew nearer and nearer, and in a moment two men burst into the light streaming out from the doorway. She had been so much alone that she was not afraid. So she called out: "Where are you going?" "We're bound for the West Bog, to let on the water." "Have you seen my father?" "No. He ought to be up to flood his bog ‘fore long." Then they passed into the darkness again, and their steps died away. They were going to flood their bog, then, they knew there was danger, Naomi thought. Oh, why didn't her father come? What should she do? For a moment-only a moment-she hesitated. Then she hurried to the closet and lighted the lantern, put on her cloak, took her crutch, and only waiting an instant to listen once more for her father's steps, she hobbled and ran down the path as best she might. On she hurried, the crutch stumping, stumping over the ground. Oh, how dark it was! How small and alone she felt in this great black night! Once a rabbit burst from the bushes and scuttled across her way, time and again she thought she saw men crouching right in her path; and once she almost fell to the ground when close to her ear a loud voice cried out: "Tu whit, tu whit, tu whoo!" But she was a brave little girl, and she kept right on. But she had never walked so fast or so far, and soon her foot began to pain her at every step; but she dreaded to stop in all that darkness, so on she went. Then all at once she came upon a little cottage with a dim light burning in a front window. She knocked. "What is it?" said a woman's voice. "Go away, or I'll set the big dog on ye, and git out the gun, and call my husband, and have you arrested! Ye'd better leave." Naomi laughed. "I'm only a little girl," she said. "Is there a man here that could go up to the bogs?" "Be you alone, young woman?" asked the voice, and Naomi thought she saw the curtain drawn aside a little. "All alone." "Sure? ‘Cos. if you haven't come to rob the house, I won't take the trouble to wake up the three men and the dog that's sleepin' in the next room, and git down the gun." And the door was opened a trifle. "Why, you poor child!" cried the woman. "Well, well, how you did frighten me! I thought some robbers had come. I'm all alone. Come in." So Naomi went in and sat down a moment by the fire, saw the cat dozing on the hearth, and laughed to see the old woman jump every time a leaf rustled outside. At last she left her alone again, and hurried along the lonesome road. But suddenly she stops; here right before her is a deep, broad brook, and in the faint light of the lantern she seen one narrow, slippery plank to lead across. Must she go back? In a moment her plan was laid. She raised her crutch and threw it clear over the brook, and then, the lantern hanging on one finger, she knelt down on the narrow plank, and grasping it with both hands, began to crawl along. Every instant she expected to fall into the dark water which she could just see slipping slowly along below. But at length the stream was crossed, and on she hobbled again. She is almost there now. She knows just where stands the gate across the brook, for her father has often brought her here. She sees it there in the darkness, where the brook boils and foams and rushes through. Here it is at last. While she unfastens the gate she sees a fish or two dart into the light of the lantern for an instant-and then, thud, splash fall the gate and the water rose. And then she fell over on the cold, hard ground, and fainted away from fright and pain. Well, she awoke in the little room in the boat, and saw her father looking into the flames [missing] she felt so warm [missing] she did not speak for a moment; and then she said: "Did it save the berries, father?" And how her father came and talked to her, how he praised her and blamed her, and what they did with the money they received for the cranberries, would take too long to tell. But of all the stories that Naomi tells her grandchildren, the one they like best is that which tells how the owl hooted, and how she crossed the bridge and saved the bog.-Wide Awake |