CHAPTER IX A HAPPY TEA

ishisname?" "Mr.Barlow.WeliveinSpringfield,"volunteeredthenewguest,unbendingatrifle,thankstothecharmsofthecake. "Haveyouamamma,dear?" "Shetakesnaps.Igotowalkthen." "Withoutleave,Isuspect.Haveyounobrothersorsisterstogowithyou?"askedMissCelia,wonderingwherethelittlerunawaybelonged. "Ihavetwobrothers,ThomasMertonBarlowandHarrySanfordBarlow.IamAlfredTennysonBarlow.Wedon'thaveanygirlsinourhouse,onlyBridget." "Don'tyougotoschool?" "Theboysdo.Idon'tlearnanyGreeksandLatinsyet.Idig,andreadtomamma,andmakepoetrysforher." "Couldn'tyoumakesomeforme?I'mveryfondofpoetrys,"proposedMissCelia,seeingthatthisprattleamusedthechildren. "IguessIcouldn'tmakeanynowImadesomecomingalong.Iwillsayittoyou."And,crossinghisshortlegs,theinspiredbabehalfsaid,halfsungthefollowingpoem: "Sweetaretheflowersoflife, Swepto'ermyhappydaysathome Sweetaretheflowersoflife WhenIwasalittlechild. "Sweetaretheflowersoflife ThatIspentwithmyfatherathome Sweetaretheflowersoflife Whenchildrenplayedaboutthehouse. "Sweetaretheflowersoflife Whenthelampsarelightedatnight Sweetaretheflowersoflife Whentheflowersofsummerbloomed. "Sweetaretheflowersoflife Deadwiththesnowsofwinter Sweetaretheflowersoflife Whenthedaysofspringcomeon. "That'sallofthatone.ImadeanotheronewhenIdiggedaftertheturtle.Iwillsaythat.Itisaveryprettyone,"observedthepoetwithcharmingcandorand,takingalongbreath,hetunedhislittlelyreafresh: Sweet,sweetdaysarepassing O'ermyhappyhome. Passingonswiftwingsthroughthevalleyoflife. Coldarethedayswhenwintercomesagain. Whenmysweetdayswerepassingatmyhappyhome, Sweetwerethedaysontherivulet'sgreenbrink SweetwerethedayswhenIreadmyfather'sbooks Sweetwerethewinterdayswhenbrightfiresareblazing." "Blessthebaby!wheredidhegetallthat?"exclaimedMissCelia,amazedwhilethechildrengiggledasTennyson,Jr.,tookabiteattheturtleinsteadofthehalf-eatencake,andthen,topreventfurthermistakes,crammedtheunhappycreatureintoadiminutivepocketinthemostbusiness-likewayimaginable. "Itcomesoutofmyhead.Imakelotsofthem,"begantheimperturbableone,yieldingmoreandmoretothesocialinfluencesofthehour. "Herearethepeacockscomingtobefed,"interruptedBab,asthehandsomebirdsappearedwiththeirsplendidplumageglitteringinthesun. YoungBarlowrosetoadmirebuthisthirstforknowledgewasnotyetquenched,andhewasabouttorequestasongfromJunoandJupiter,whenoldJack,piningforsociety,puthisheadoverthegardenwallwithatremendousbray. Thisunexpectedsoundstartledtheinquiringstrangerhalfoutofhiswitsforamomentthestoutlegsstaggeredandthesolemncountenancelostitscomposure,ashewhispered,withanastonishedair, "Isthatthewaypeacocksscream?" Thechildrenwereinfitsoflaughter,andMissCeliacouldhardlymakeherselfheardassheansweredmerrily,— "No,dearthatisthedonkeyaskingyoutocomeandseehim:willyougo? "IguessIcouldn'tstopnow.Mammamightwantme." And,withoutanotherword,thediscomfitedpoetprecipitately