The Haven Children

The Haven Children;

OR,

FROLICS AT THE FUNNY OLD HOUSE ON

FUNNY STREET.

“A dreary place would be this earth,

Were there no little people in it;

The song of life would lose its mirth,

Were there no children to begin it.”

Daisy Havens was awakened from a sound sleep, one bright June morning, by a fearful banging on her bedroom door, and as she rubbed her sleepy eyes, and curled herself up for another nap, there came a shrill volley of boy’s talk through the key-hole.

“I say, Daisy Havens, I’d be ashamed to


 be such a sleepy-head. There’s no end of fun going on in the nursery. The Menagerie are all up and dressed, and Mamma has invited them to feed in the dining-room. I say, sleeping beauty, open your ears, if your eyes are shut. Mamma has a letter from Papa, with a surprise for us. So there—sleep on now, as much as you can. I’m off, for one.”

The last shot through the key-hole has taken effect, and Daisy’s bare feet patter quickly across the hall, where, leaning over the bannisters, she catches a glimpse of Artie’s blue sailor-suit, disappearing through the nursery door, from whence proceeds a merry clangor of high-pitched young sopranos and the deeper tones of desperate nurses.

Daisy hastens back, almost forgetting the surprise in store, for very vexation that “Artie couldn’t just wait a minute.”


What trials await her now! Those little elves from the “city of mischief,” so prone to visit children all agog with excitement about some expected pleasure, are all about and around her; now tangling her crimped locks, and cruelly waylaying her comb in its way through them, now whisking off a button or the tin of a boot-lace, now shaking her arm and tumbling her tooth-brush into the slop-jar. Poor Daisy! tears are in her eyes, as she bends over to fish for the troublesome little brush. Alas! her trials are not over, for turning hastily around, she forgets the full pitcher, which, in her bewilderment, she placed on the floor, and now a cool douche reminds her of its presence.

“There’s water, water all around,

But not a drop to drink.”

The pretty rose-buds and fern-leaves on


 the new carpet are completely drowned. Daisy’s neat boots are weighed down with their additional weight of water, and Daisy herself stands upon a chair, “sending coals to Newcastle,” as the torrent pours from her blue eyes. Just then the door bursts open, and Jacko, the little monkey, escaped from the family menagerie keeper, shouts out, “Oh, Daisy, ain’t you coming to the exprise?” then lowering his tones as he catches sight of the catastrophe and tearful Daisy on her high perch, cries—

“Was you shipwrecked, Daisy dear, and was you throwed on the rocks? Oh, isn’t it fun to paddle? I think water is the best fun of anything.”

“Dais-y! where is the child?” sounds out a loud, ringing voice, as Rosie, the companion monkey of the family collection, appears on the


 threshold. “Doesn’t she know what’s going on? Oh, dear, dear, what a awful splash! What ever’ll happen to you, Miss Daisy?”

With this crumb of doubtful comfort dropped, Rosie runs off panting to the nursery, to tell how “Miss Daisy, that’s always preaching to us children, is behaving a purpose.”

Now Daisy, be it known, is the family owl, and has the habit of looking very grave and wise, and using those aggravating words, “I told you so,” to the younger members of the family, so Daisy’s misfortune, this morning, is rather “nuts” for the companion monkeys to crack.

The news of the “shipwreck” reaches the nursery, and Charlotte, who has a very soft spot in her heart for little folks in distress, and whose office it is to mend the family jars and straighten out the family tangles, hastens to the floating island, rescues the family owl,


 dries the dripping feathers, and then marshals the chattering group to the dining-room for the rare pleasure of a “high breakfast” with Mamma and Aunt Lellie.

A smiling greeting there awaits them, and then Mamma bids Artie take Papa’s place at the head of the table, and after a simple grace, enters into the general fun.

“Mamma,” pleads one, “need nobody count our cakes this morning, and may we make our own spread of marmalade?”

“Mamma, dear, can’t we have two helps of strawberries. They are so very delicious, and Charlotte will give us peppermint and sugar if they hurt.”

Aunt Lellie’s suggestion that, by way of preventive, the strawberries should be seasoned with peppermint and sugar, was received with merry laughter, and then the clamor went on.


“Oh, Mamma, just look at Rosie!”

“Bee’s in the honey-pot

Up to its eyes,”

quoted Artie.

“Oh, I ain’t either, I was just peering to see if the honey would last for another ‘go-round,’” indignantly replied Rosie, whilst the delicate touches of sweets on the end of her “tip-tilted” little nose, and on her round forehead, produced a merry laugh from all, and proved nearly fatal to Jacko, with his mouth full of buttered cakes.

The din of mingled voices, with their interrogations and exclamations, re-echoed by Baby Mocking-Bird’s accompaniment of Pap-spoon Tatto on her plate, began to grow terrific, so Mamma, by a single word, summoned the little ones to perfect quiet, whilst she unfolded “the surprise” in Papa’s letter.


Let us pass over the pleas used to convince Mamma, to the single sentence—

“I want you to send on the whole Menagerie (little Birdie excepted) with one of the nurses, by the Shore-line train, to Providence, Saturday, to accept Aunt Emma’s kind invitation to visit her. Hugh and I will meet them at the station.”