Little Lucy's Wonderful Globe Read online

  "Mrs. Bunker, Mrs. Bunker," she cried, "what's this? who are these ugly figures?"

  [Illustration: "I am so glad to see you. Hush, Don! don't bark so!"

  Page 27.]

  "Ugly!" said the foremost; and though it must have been some strange language, it sounded like English to Lucy. "Is that the way little white girl speaks to boy and girl that have come all the way from Ysabel to see her?"

  "Oh, indeed! little Ysabel boy, I beg your pardon. I didn't know you were real, nor that you could understand me! I am so glad to see you. Hush, Don! don't bark so!"

  "Pig, pig, I never heard a pig squeak like that," said the black stranger.

  "Pig! It is a little dog. Have you no dogs in your country?"

  "Pigs go on four legs. That must be pig."

  "What, you have nothing that goes on four legs but a pig! What do you eat, then, besides pig?"

  "Yams, cocoa-nut, fish-oh, so good, and put pig into hole among hot stones, make a fire over, bake so nice!"

  "You shall have some of my tea and see if that is as nice," said Lucy. "What a funny dress you have; what is it made of?"

  "Tapa cloth," said the little girl. "We get the bark off the tree, and then we go hammer, hammer, thump, thump, till all the hard thick stuff comes off;" and Lucy, looking near, saw that the substance was really all a lacework of fibre, about as close as the net of Nurse's caps.

  "Is that all your clothes?" she asked.

  "Yes, till I am a warrior," said the boy; "then they will tattoo my forehead, and arms, and breast, and legs."

  "Tattoo! what's that?"

  "Make little holes, and lines all over the skin with a sharp shell, and rub in juice that turns it all to blue and purple lines."

  "But doesn't it hurt dreadfully?" asked Lucy.

  "Hurt! to be sure it does, but that will show that I am brave. When Father comes home from the war, he paints himself white."

  "White!"

  "With lime made by burning coral, and he jumps and dances and shouts: I shall go to the war one of these days."

  "Oh no, don't!" said Lucy, "it is horrid."

  The boy laughed, but the little girl whispered, "Good white men say so. Some day Lavo will go and learn, and leave off fighting."

  Lavo shook his head. "No, not yet; I will be brave chief and warrior first,-bring home many heads of enemies."

  "I-I think it nice to be quiet," said Lucy; "and-and-won't you have some dinner?"

  "Have you baked a pig?" asked Lavo.

  "I think this is mutton," said Lucy, when the dish came up,-"it is sheep's flesh."

  Lavo and his sister had no notion what sheep were. They wanted to sit cross-legged on the floor, but Lucy made each of them sit in a chair properly; but then they shocked her by picking up the mutton-chops and stuffing them into their mouths with their fingers.

  "Look here!" and she showed the knives and forks.

  "Oh!" cried Lavo, "what good spikes to catch fish with! and knife-knife-I'll kill foes! much better than shell knife."

  [Illustration: "I can eat much better without," said Lavo.

  Page 30.]

  "And I'll dig yams," said the sister.

  "Oh no!" entreated Lucy, "we have spades to dig with, soldiers have swords to fight with, these are to eat with."

  "I can eat much better without," said Lavo, but to please Lucy his sister did try; slashing hard away with her knife, and digging her fork straight into a bit of meat. Then she very nearly ran it into her eye, and Lucy, who knew it was not good manners to laugh, was very near choking herself. And at last, saying the knife and fork were "great good-great good; but none for eating," they stuck them through the great tortoiseshell rings they had in their ears and noses. Lucy was distressed about Uncle Joseph's knives and forks, which she knew she ought not to give away; but while she was looking about for Mrs. Bunker to interfere, Don seemed to think it his business, and began to growl and fly at the little black legs.

  [Illustration: Lavo had climbed up the side of the door, and was sitting astride on the top of it.

  Page 35.]

  "A tree, a tree!" cried the Ysabelites, "where's a tree?" and while they spoke, Lavo had climbed up the side of the door, and was sitting astride on the top of it, grinning down at the dog, and his sister had her feet on the lock, going up after him.

  "Tree houses," they cried; "there we are safe from our enemies."

  And Lucy found rising before her, instead of her own nursery, a huge tree, on the top of a mound.[1] Basket-work had been woven between the branches to make floors, and on these were huts of bamboo cane; there were ladders hanging down made of strong creepers twisted together, and above and around the cries of cockatoos and parrots and the chirp of grasshoppers rang in her ears. She laid hold of the ladder of creeping plants and began to climb, but soon her head swam, she grew giddy, and called out to Lavo to help her. Then suddenly she found herself curled up in Mrs. Bunker's big beehive chair, and she wondered whether she had been asleep.

  FOOTNOTE:

  [1] See the Net, June 1, 1867.

  CHAPTER III. ITALY.

  "SUPPOSE and suppose I could have such another funny dream," said Lucy. "Mother Bunch, have you ever been to Italy?" and she put her finger on the long leg and foot, kicking at three-cornered Sicily.

  "Yes, Missie, that I have; come out of this cold room and I'll tell you."

  Lucy was soon curled in her chair; but no, she wasn't! she was under such a blue, blue sky, as she had never dreamt of: clear sharp purple hills rose up against it. There was a clear rippling little fountain, bursting out of a rock, carved with old, old carvings, broken now and defaced, but shadowed over by lovely maidenhair fern and trailing bindweed; and in a niche above a little roof, sheltering a figure of the Blessed Virgin. Some way off stood a long low house propped up against the rich yellow stone walls and pillars of another old, old building, and with a great chestnut-tree shadowing over it. It had a balcony, and the gable end was open, and full of big yellow pumpkins and clusters of grapes hung up to dry, and some goats were feeding round.

  Then came a merry, merry voice singing something about la vendemmia; and though Lucy had never learnt Italian, her wonderful dream knowledge made her sure that this meant the vintage, the grape-gathering; and presently there came along a little girl dancing and beating a tambourine, with a basket fastened to her back, filled to overflowing with big, beautiful bunches of grapes: and a whole party of other children, all loaded with as many grapes as they could carry, came leaping and singing after her; their black hair loose, or sometimes twisted with vine-leaves; their big black eyes dancing with merriment, and their bare brown legs with glee.

  [Illustration: "Ah! Cecco, Cecco!" cried the little girl, pausing as she beat her tambourine.

  Page 38.]

  "Ah! Cecco, Cecco!" cried the little girl, pausing as she beat her tambourine, "here's a stranger who has no grapes; give them here!"

  "But," said Lucy, "aren't they your Mamma's grapes; may you give them away?"

  "Ah, ah! 'tis the vendemmia! all may eat grapes; as much as they will. See, there's the vineyard."

  Lucy saw on the slope of the hill above the cottage long poles such as hops grow upon, and vines trained about hither and thither in long festoons, with leaves growing purple with autumn, and clusters hanging down. Men in shady battered hats, bright sashes and braces, and white shirt sleeves, and women with handkerchiefs folded square over their heads, were cutting the grapes down, and piling them up in baskets; and a low cart drawn by two mouse-coloured oxen, with enormous wide horns and gentle-looking eyes, was waiting to be loaded with the baskets.

  "To the wine-press! to the press!" shouted the children, who were politeness itself and wanted to show her everything.

  The wine-press was a great marble trough with pipes leading off into other vessels around. Into it went the grapes, and in the midst were men and boys and little children, all with bare feet and legs up to the knees, dancing and leaping, and bounding and skipping upon t
he grapes, while the red juice covered their brown skins.

  "Come in, come in; you don't know how charming it is!" cried Cecco. "It is the best time of all the year, the dear vintage; come and tread the grapes."

  "But you must take off your shoes and stockings," said his sister, Nunziata; "we never wear them but on Sundays and holidays."

  Lucy was not sure that she might, but the children looked so joyous, and it seemed to be such fun, that she began fumbling with the buttons of her boots, and while she was doing it she opened her eyes, and found that her beautiful bunch of grapes was only the cushion in the bottom of Mother Bunch's chair.

  CHAPTER IV. GREENLAND.

  "SUPPOSE and suppose I tried what the very cold countries are like!"

  And Lucy bent over the globe till she was nearly ready to cut her head off with the brass meridian, as she looked at the long jagged tongue, with no particular top to it, hanging down on the east side of America. Perhaps it was the making herself so cold that did it, but she found herself in the midst of snow, snow, snow. All was snow except the sea, and that was a deep green, and in it were monstrous floating white things, pinnacled all over like the Cathedral, and as big, and with hollows in them of glorious deep blue and green, like jewels; Lucy knew they were icebergs. A sort of fringe of these cliffs of ice hemmed in the shore. And on one of them stood what she thought at first was a little brown bear, for the light was odd, the sun was so very low down, and there was so much glare from the snow that it seemed unnatural. However, before she had time to be afraid of the bear, she saw that it was really a little boy, with a hood and coat and leggings all of thick, thick fur, and a spear in his hand, with which he every now and then made a dash at a fish,-great cod fish, such as Mamma had, with oysters, when there was a dinner-party.

  Into them went his spear, up came the poor fish, and was strung with some others on a string the boy carried. Lucy crept up as well as she could on the slippery ice, and the little Esquimaux stared at her with a kind of stupid surprise.

  [Illustration: "Is that the way you get fish?" she asked.

  Page 47.]

  "Is that the way you get fish?" she asked.

  "Yes, and seals; Father gets them," he said.

  "Oh, what's that, swimming out there?"

  "That's a white bear," he said, coolly; "we had better get home."

  Lucy thought so indeed; only where was home? that puzzled her. However, she trotted along by the side of her companion, and presently came to what might have been an enormous snowball, but there was a hole in it. Yes, it was hollow; and as her companion made for the opening, she saw more little stout figures rolled up in furs inside. Then she perceived that it was a house built up of blocks of snow, arranged so as to make the shape of a beehive, all frozen together, and with a window of ice. It made her shiver to think of going in, but she thought the white bear might come after her, and in she went. Even her little head had to bend under the low doorway, and behold it was the very closest, stuffiest, if not the hottest place she had ever been in! There was a kind of lamp burning in the hut; that is, a wick was floating in some oil, but there was no glass, such as Lucy had been apt to think the chief part of a lamp, and all round it squatted upon skins these queer little stumpy figures, dressed so much alike that there was no knowing the men from the women, except that the women had much the biggest boots, and used them instead of pockets, and they had their babies in bags of skin upon their backs.

  They seemed to be kind people, for they made room by their lamp for the little girl, and asked her where she had been wrecked, and then one of the women cut off a great lump of raw something-was it a walrus, with that round head and big tusks?-and held it up to her; and when Lucy shook her head and said, "No, thank you," as civilly as she could, the woman tore it in two, and handed a lump over her shoulder to her baby, who began to gnaw it. Then her first friend, the little boy, hoping to please her better, offered her some drink. Ah! it was oil, just like the oil that was burning in the lamp!-horrid train-oil from the whales! She could not help shaking her head, so much that she woke herself up!

  CHAPTER V. TYROL.

  "SUPPOSE and suppose I could see where that dear little black chamois horn came from! But Mother Bunch can't tell me about that I'm afraid, for she always went by sea, and here's the Tyrol without one bit of sea near it. It's just one of the strings to the great knot of mountains that tie Europe up in the middle. Oh! what is a mountain like?"

  Then suddenly came on Lucy's ears a loud blast like a trumpet; another answered it farther off, another fainter still, and as she started up she found she was standing on a little shelf of green grass with steep slopes of stones and rock above, below, and around her; and rising up all round huge, tall hills, their smooth slopes green and grassy, but in the steep places, all steep, stern cliff and precipice, and as they were seen further away they were of a beautiful purple, like a thunder-cloud. Close to Lucy grew blue gentians like those in Mamma's garden, and Alpine roses, and black orchises; but she did not know how to come down, and was getting rather frightened when a clear little voice said, "Little lady, have you lost your way? Wait till the evening hymn is over, and I'll come and help you;" and then Lucy stood and listened, while from all the peaks whence the horns had been blown there came the strong sweet sound of an evening hymn, all joining together, while there arose distant echoes of others farther away. When it was over, one shout of "Jodel" echoed from each point, and then all was still except for the tinkling of a little cow-bell. "That's the way we wish each other good night," said the little girl, as the shadows mounted high on the tops of the mountains, leaving them only peaks of rosy light. "Now come to the châlet, and sister Rose will give you some milk."

  [Illustration: "Help me, I'm afraid," said Lucy.

  Page 52.]

  "Help me. I'm afraid," said Lucy.

  "That is nothing," said the mountain maiden springing up to her like a kid, in spite of her great heavy shoes; "you should see the places Father and Seppel climb when they hunt the chamois."

  "What is your name?" asked Lucy, who much liked the looks of her little companion in her broad straw hat, with a bunch of Alpine roses in it, her thick striped frock, and white body and sleeves, braced with black ribbon; it was such a pleasant, fresh, open face, with such rosy cheeks and kindly blue eyes, that Lucy felt quite at home.

  "I am little Katherl. This is the first time I have come up with Rose to the châlet, for I am big enough to milk the cows now. Ah! do you see Ilse, the black one with a white tuft? She is our leading cow, and she knows it, the darling. She never lets the others get into dangerous places they cannot come off; she leads them home, at a sound of the horn; and when we go back to the village, she will lead the herd with a nosegay on the point of each horn, and a wreath round her neck. The men will come up and fetch us, Seppel and all; and may be Seppel will bring the medal for shooting with the rifle."

  "But what do you do up here?"

  "We girls go up for the summer with the cows to the pastures, the grass is so rich and good on the mountains, and we make butter and cheese. Wait, and you shall taste. Sit down on that stone."

  Lucy was glad to hear this promise, for the fresh mountain air had made her hungry. Katherl skipped away towards a house with a projecting wooden balcony, and deep eaves, beautifully carved, and came back with a slice of bread and delicious butter, and a good piece of cheese, all on a wooden platter, and a little bowl of new milk. Lucy thought she had never tasted anything so nice.

  "And now the gracious little lady will rest a little while," said Katherl, "whilst I go and help Rosel to strain the milk."

  So Lucy waited, but she felt so tired with her scramble that she could not help nodding off to sleep, though she would have liked very much to have stayed longer with the dear little Tyrolese. But we know by this time where she always found herself when she awoke.

  CHAPTER VI. AFRICA.

  OH! oh! here is the little dried crocodile come alive, and opening a horrible great mouth l
ined with terrible teeth at her.

  No, he is no longer in the museum; he is in a broad river, yellow, heavy, and thick with mud; the borders are crowded with enormous reeds and rushes; there is no getting through; no breaking away from him; here he comes; horrid, horrid beast! Oh, how could Lucy have been so foolish as to want to travel in Africa up to the higher parts of the Nile? How will she ever get back again? He will gobble her up, her and Clare, who was trusted to her, and whatever will Mamma and sister do?

  [Illustration: Hark! There's a cry, and out jumps a little black figure, with a stout club in his hand.

  Page 58.]

  Hark! There's a cry, a great shout, and out jumps a little black figure, with a stout club in his hand: smash it goes down on the head of master crocodile; the ugly beast is turning over on its back and dying. Then Lucy has time to look at the little Negro, and he has time to look at her. What a droll figure he is, with his woolly head and thick lips, the whites of his eyes and his teeth gleaming so brightly, and his fat little black person shining all over, as well it may, for he is rubbed from head to foot with castor-oil. There it grows on that bush, with broad, beautiful, folded leaves and red stems and the pretty grey and black nuts. Lucy only wishes the negroes would keep it all to polish themselves with, and not send any home.

  She wants to give the little black fellow some reward for saving her from the crocodile, and luckily Clare has on her long necklace of blue glass beads. She puts it into his hand, and he twists it round his black wool, and cuts such dances and capers for joy that Lucy can hardly stand for laughing; but the sun shines scorching hot upon her, and she gets under the shade of a tall date palm, with big leaves all shooting out together at the top, and fine bunches of dates below, all fresh and green, not dried like those Papa sometimes gives her at dessert.