Lillian Roy - The Little Washington's Relatives

“I heard the automobile horn, Martha!” shouted George Parke, jumping from the newel post of the front veranda steps, where he had perched himself to await the Philadelphia cousins who were expected that morning.

“I didn’t hear anything but Jim squealing ’cause his mammy won’t let him peek around the corner of the house,” scorned Martha Parke, his sister, a year and a half younger than George.

“Well, it’s time for them to be here, anyway,” argued George, with the usual finality of a boy past ten years of age.

“I wonder what they look like. Can you remember either one when we visited Philadelphia five years ago?” ventured Martha.

“All I can remember is Anne having yellow hair and her pinafore always twisted in her hands, and Jack going around with that little paper mat that he wove in kindergarten school his first day. Don’t you remember how he took it to bed with him, and all the red paper came off on his pillow during the night when he breathed on it, and his mother thought he was bleeding at the nose and mouth?” and George laughed at the dim recollections of five years ago.

“Oh, yes, I remember that! Wasn’t it funny when his nurse scrubbed and scrubbed to get the red dye from his face, and all the soap-suds got in his mouth so’s he yelled and fought!” laughed Martha also.

“And don’t you remember the day we were left alone to play while aunty took mother to the opera – we couldn’t go out ’cause it rained so hard, and we began sliding down the marble end of the bath tub? That was fun – just like winter when the snow is on the ground,” reminded Martha.

“Yes, and then two of us tried to slide down at the same time and got stuck in the bottom of the tub. Jack was bigger, so he pulled himself out, and in doing so managed to turn on the faucet. My, but wasn’t I wet that day!” roared George, slapping his knee.

“Oo-oh, but do you remember how Uncle Fred scolded when he saw the scratches our shoes had made in the porcelain tub?” breathed Martha, still fearful of that escapade.

“Ha, ha! Martha, do you remember the day we went to the zoo and fed peanuts to the monkeys? Wasn’t that funny when the chimpanzee caught Anne’s little straw hat and carried it to the top of the cage and put it on his own head? I’ll never forget how we all screamed to him to bring it back – as if the monkey understood us.”

“Even the animal trainer couldn’t make him give it back, and Aunt Ally begged him to leave it, as she would not take it again, anyway,” chuckled Martha, picturing the scene again.

“That was a fine visit, Martha – eh?” said George, looking at his sister for smiling approval.

“Yes, and I’ve been thinking, George, we ought to give our cousins just as good a time while they visit us here,” said the little girl.

“Oh, I’ve got it all planned out – you wait and see!” declared George.

“You have? Oh, you never said a word to me about it! Do tell me what it is.”

“Well, in the first place, we have to take them all over and introduce them to John Graham and his place,” said George, counting off the plan on his fingers.

“Uh-huh – and don’t forget Jim. We must introduce Jim, you know,” reminded Martha.

“Da’s right! Yo’ all jus’ cough when yo’ want’s me an’ Ah’ll pop right out. I’se hidin’ heah now whar mammy cain’t see me,” came a hoarse whisper from the Virginia creeper vine at the side of the porch.

“Oo-oh, you there, Jim – come out and let’s plan things,” called George, running over to drag out a seven-year-old pickaninny who was their constant shadow and general factotum, – especially so when there was mischief brewing, for Jim always was the scapegoat.

Jim resisted for a few moments, as he feared his mammy’s large, flat hand; but George assured him that as he was invited to be present at the reception of the city cousins it was all right with mammy.

“As I was telling Martha – we must plan some great fun for our cousins’ visit here, ’cause they gave us such a good time when we were little children,” explained George, now an old man past the age of ten.

“First we’re going to show them all over the place – take them over to John’s and everywhere,” added Martha, explaining.

“An’ show dem whar we-all had th’ homestead fire at th’ back uv th’ lot,” reminded Jim, feeling tenderly of his now fuzzy new crop of hair grown since his other locks had been sizzled off.

“And don’t forget to tell them all about the battle we had with John and his cousins at Fort Duquesne that day. Of course they will see the broken-down hedge and wonder at it – then we can tell them all about the fun without bragging,” giggled Martha.

“We’re not through with that affair yet, either,” added George. “I read in our history this morning that Braddock was not killed that same day, but Washington pulled him out of the fight and tried to save his life, and for that great deed, General Braddock bequeathed his wonderful charger and also his body-servant, Bishop, to Washington. After that Washington always rode that favorite horse and Bishop went everywhere the general went.”

“I’se kin be Bishop, Marser Garge! Cain’t we borrer John’s pony for th’ charger some day when we-all play tha’ battle agin?” asked Jim eagerly.

“Sure! That’s what I planned,” quickly added George, to cover any delighted surprise he felt at Jim’s novel idea.

“Then, when we get all through with showing our cousins how we fought that ambush of Indians, when Jim hit John on the stiff beaver with the hatchet, we can finish the play. There’s lots to be played out in that battle. For instance, we buried Braddock right off, you see, and we ought to have dragged him away while the Indians tried to scalp him. We can let him die after we get him to a settlement, and bury him decently with a fine funeral. Think of all the fun we can have putting John down in a real hole and throwing flowers on top of him!” planned George zealously.

“No, George, that won’t be nice! We mustn’t play things like that at all! I hate to see funerals and hear people cry, and I never want to make-believe any such thing!” objected Martha.

“‘Sides, Garge, yo’ mommer’ll punish yo’ agin ef we put John in the groun’ and play he’s daid!” warned Jim ominously.

“And we can kill John by just pretending we did and jump that grave scene,” quickly suggested Martha.

“We-el, you two are too young for such play, I s’pose, but it would have been great to creep out to the back hedge some dark night and do that Braddock death-bed scene with John! I’d be reading the service from a book, and the rest of you could be weeping and wringing your hands while Jim dropped John in the grave. Then we’d cover him with bushes and things so’s the Indians couldn’t find him – they wanted his scalp, you know,” sighed George, as he reluctantly sacrificed the impressive scene at the urgent request of his two companions.

“Then what? When we finish Braddock what shall we play?” asked Martha.

“Then it will be time for us to use those old-fashioned costumes we found in the attic the day Jim came down the rope and thought he was killed. We must have George getting married now – ’cause he must begin the American Revolution and do lots of things that he did after he was married. Of course, I could play all he did without getting married, but as long as you’re here and will want to play with us, I’ll marry you, and then leave you at Mount Vernon while I go and have a good time fighting with the boys,” generously said George to Martha.