FullReads

“Now that’s where you’re mistaken!” she laughed. “When the Fair’s what you call ‘over,’–that’s the time it’s really just begun!–Books get lost–or puppies chew them! Garden tools rust! Even the best rubber boots in the world get the most awful holes poked through their toes!–But a Happy Memory?–A Happy Memory–?” She jumped up suddenly and crept into my Father’s arms.

My Father stroked her hair. And stroked it.

Carol kicked me in the shins.

“There’s only one more question!” I cried out pretty loud.

“What is it?” said my Mother. It sounded pretty mumbly through my Father’s shoulder.

“Oh this one is very important,” I said. “It’s about colors.”

“Colors?” said my Father. He didn’t seem to care nearly as much as you’d have thought he would.

“C–Colors,” mumbled my Mother.

“Somewhere in a book,” I explained, “we read about a man who wanted his memory ‘kept green?’–Why green? Why not pink?–Why not blue?–Or even red with a cunning little white line in it?”

“Eh?” said my Father.

“If you were going away,” I explained.

My Mother’s hands clutched at his coat. She gave a queer little shiver. “Oh not–‘away’!” she protested.

“For ever and ever,” I explained.

My Mother’s face came peering out from the shadow of my Father’s shoulder. She started to laugh. And made a little sob instead. “Oh not for—-ever—-and ever?” she said.

We all sat and looked at each other. I felt awful queer in my stomach.

Carol kicked me in the shins. He wrote something quick on a piece of paper and shoved it across the table at me.

“China was the place that Carol meant!” I explained. “Oh he didn’t mean–at all–what you thought he meant!–If you were going away to–to China–for ever and ever–and ever–and gave your Best Friend a whole lot of money like twenty-five dollars to remember you by–what color do you hope he’d keep your memory?”

“Oh–yes–why of course!” said my Father quite quickly. “It’s a jolly one after all, isn’t it!–Color–Color?–Let me see!–For twenty-five dollars you say? Yes Yes!–The very thing! Yellow of course! I hope my Best Friend would have wit enough to buy a Lamp!–Nothing fancy you know but something absolutely reliable.–Daytimes to be sure your memory wouldn’t be much use to him. But nights–the time everybody needs everybody the most,–Nights I say,–looking back from–from China, was it that you designated?–Nights it would be rather pleasant I think to feel that one lived on and on–as a yellow glow in his friend’s life.”

My Father reached out and pinched my ear.

“How about it, Ruthy?” he asked.

“Oh that’s all right,” I admitted. “But if I gave my Best Friend twenty-five dollars to remember me by–I hope he’d buy a Blueberry Bush!–Just think of all the colors it would keep your memory!–White in blossom-time! And blue in fruit-season! And red as blood all the Autumn! With brown rabbits hopping through you!–And speckled birds laying–goodness knows what colored eggs! And–“

Somebody banged the front door. Somebody scuffled on the threshold. Somebody shouted “Hello–Hello–Hello–!” It was the Old Doctor.

We ran to see if he had peppermints in his pocket.

He had!

After the Old Doctor had given us all the peppermints he thought we ought to have–and seven more besides, he sat down in the big cretonne chair by the window, and fanned his neck with a newspaper. He seemed to be pretty mad at the people who had made his collars.

“W-hew!” he said. “The man who invented a 21-inch collar ought to be forced to suck boiling starch through the neck of a Blueing Bottle!”

We didn’t see just why.

The Old Doctor said he didn’t care to discuss it.

“Any news to-day?” asked my Father.

“News enough!” said the Old Doctor. He seemed pretty mad about that too!

“Such as what?” asked my Father.

“There’s a Prince and Princess in town!” said the Old Doctor. “Or a Duch and Duchess!–Or a Fool and Fooless!–I don’t care what you call ’em!–They’ve got some sort of a claim on the old Dun Voolees estate. Brook,–meadow,–blueberry—-hillside,–popple grove,–everything! They’ve come way from Austria to prove it! Going to build a Tannery! Or a Fertilizer Factory! Or some other equally odoriferous industry! Fill the town with foreign laborers!–String a line of lowsy shacks clear from the Blacksmith Shop to the river!–Hope they choke!”