Part 1 (1/2)
Neighbor Nelly Socks.
by Sarah L. Barrow.
NEIGHBOR NELLY.
IN THREE STORIES.
THE OLD BACHELOR'S STORY.
IN the city block where I live, there are just twenty-four houses on the other side of the street, and twenty-four on this side, six lamp posts, and eight ailanthus trees in green boxes. Oh, dear me, what a tiresome row! That's what I thought when I first came to lodge here; for, as I am an old bachelor, I don't want a whole house to myself; but now, when I sit at my window and look out at the street, I find no end of things to amuse and interest me; particularly when the gas is lighted of an evening, and I can see a little way into the parlors of the opposite neighbors. I suppose they know that an old bachelor like Josiah Oldbird can do no harm by looking on at their evening amus.e.m.e.nts; so they do not pull the blinds down if they chance to see me, sitting lonely at my window, and willing to accept such crumbs of their society and happiness as I can glean over the way.
First, then, is the family at No. 7, three maiden sisters and a bachelor brother. As I don't in the least know their names, I have dubbed them the Bluejays, because the three maiden sisters always wear blue merino gowns in winter, and blue muslin ones in summer; and because they are all so fond of singing that no family of birds could be more musical.
They have a pet poodle and a pet squirrel, too. The poodle is very fat, and his hair sticks out so much all over him, that he looks perpetually astonished, as if he had just seen a spook. He always stands on the window sill, when the sash is raised of an afternoon, and glares into the street until he sees the bachelor brother coming. Then he achieves a series of frantic yells and bounces, until somebody comes to open the door and lets him out, when he waddles to the front steps to meet his master, wagging his tail to that tremendous extent, that it looks like the shuttle of a steam power loom.
The squirrel is slim and sleek, and seems to enjoy life amazingly, he hops about so. When one of the Miss Bluejays takes him in her arms, he won't stay there, but gets away, and walks all over her head and shoulders; and at last runs down her back and disappears.
Then, at No. 11, a very fat gentleman lives with his fat and pretty wife, and round dumpling of a baby. As I don't know him either, I call him Mr. Fatty, and he seems to be a ”good-natured giant.” I saw a little boy actually stop short to stare at him the other day, when he was sitting out at his front door--he is such a regular roly-poly of a gentleman--but he only laughed good-temperedly, and never got vexed in the least. I don't advise you to try this with all fat gentlemen though; they might accidentally sit down on a chair--where you were--afterward, and that would be the last of you. This piece of advice, however, is a great secret between you and me!
[Ill.u.s.tration]
He is so glad to meet the fat baby when he comes home at night, that I can see him in the parlor first kissing it almost black and blue, and then tossing it up in the air until I feel as though its head must come b.u.mp against the ceiling, but it doesn't--and at last, carrying it off perched on his shoulder, and looking very much perturbed in its spirits.
But the pleasantest neighbors of all live exactly opposite, at No. 9.
They take tea every evening in the back parlor; and as the front window shades are up, and only the back room lighted, I can always see them at their cheerful meal. The rooms are furnished in winter with dark red velvet carpets and furniture; with red damask curtains and red velvet paper hangings. In summer they put up white curtains, and carpets and furniture have cool, cream-colored linen coverings, so that the parlors look cozy and charming at all seasons.
As for the family there is a papa and mamma, of course, and a dear little girl and boy. The little girl is about ten years old, I should think, with great, dark-blue eyes, and curling auburn hair. Her cheeks are as rosy as ripe peaches, and her teeth as white as so many pearls.
Her nose does turn up at the end a little, to be sure; but that is rather saucy and becoming than otherwise; and she always looks so sweet tempered, and full of fun, too, when I see her of an evening, that I am sure she is as good as pie, and as merry as a cricket! Her little brother, who is a year or two younger, looks very much like her, and their obedient and pretty behavior at table is something really beautiful to observe.
It is nearly a year now, since I moved into my lodging at ”No. 10,” and began to wonder what No. 9's name was; and now I must make haste and tell you how, only last June, I became acquainted with these dear little neighbors of mine.
One pleasant Friday morning, after breakfast, I put on my old-fas.h.i.+oned beaver hat, and taking my gold-headed cane in one hand and my market basket in the other, I trotted out to buy something nice for dinner; for, you see, I am a particular old bachelor, and like to market for myself.
Just as I was coming down the steps, the door of No. 9 opened, and the little girl ran down _her_ steps. She looked so bright and pretty in her cunning round straw hat with the blue ribbons, and white Ma.r.s.eilles cloak, carrying her satchel of books and lunch basket in her hand, that I could not help nodding to her. So she nodded to me, and then _I_ nodded again and smiled, and we each walked along on our own side of the way. When we came to the corner I thought I would cross over and sc.r.a.pe some more acquaintance with my little neighbor. Now on the side of her satchel, I saw, when I came near her, was printed in gold letters, ”Nelly Lawson;” so I said, as cheerily as I could, in my old, quavering voice:
”Good morning, Neighbor Nelly!”
The little maiden looked up in my face in a shy fas.h.i.+on at first; but when she saw what a mild, gray-headed old bachelor had bade her good morning, she took courage, and answered, ”Good morning, sir.”
”So you are going to school this fine day?”
”Yes; I go to school, but brother Jimmy doesn't; he learns at home. I think he is going next year. Have you got a baby at your house? We have.”
”No,” said I, sighing; ”I haven't got any baby; I am an old bachelor.
Will you marry me?”
”Oh, I am too little,” she replied quite seriously. ”You will have to wait until I grow up to you.”
I laughed, and asked her, ”Don't you want to go to market with me before you go to school? There is plenty of time.”
”No,” replied my little neighbor, firmly; ”I can't go anywheres that mamma does not know of.”