Remember, Elizabeth wrote this story...for history or creative writing or something :).
Covered Wagons and Steam Trains
“Peter! You’re as bad as the rest, keeping poor Charlotte from her story, and Nellie too!” cried his wife.
“Oh, Hettie, they can afford to wait a trifling moment, we’re hardly started on our long journey,” he contended.
“Well, well, well,” cut in Grandfather, “I’ll start again, and this time, no interrupting.” He gave Robert and his son a knowing look.
“When I was a little boy,” and he paused to make sure everyone was listening, “there were no trains to ride to and from all the states in our great country. There were no steamboats passing down rivers and canals.”
Robert groaned. He was remembering the time he got sick on a steamboat. Trains are much, much better, he thought.
Then he realized everyone was looking at him, and he straightened up in his seat.
Grandfather went on, “When I was your age Nellie, a young lad of eleven, my father decided to move out west, down to the wilderness of Kentucky. We packed up our belongings, well some of them, and drove out in a covered wagon. My brother James and I were sad to have to leave some of our things behind, and our little sister Edith cried her eyes out because she had to leave her doll's cradle, but Papa promised to make her a new one and she soon was happy again.”
“I have a cradle for my dollth!” Charlotte exclaimed.
“So you do, my little Lottie, so you do...and Papa sold our beloved ponies to buy some oxen to haul the wagon.”
“How awful!” cried Nellie, “What were their names, Grandfather?”
“Pet and Spot, the sweetest ponies in the world. But don’t feel bad, they went to a little girl in the town about your age, who took care of them well.”
“How do you know, Grandfather?” Robert asked.
“When I came back to visit when I was older, I found them in perfect condition, perhaps better treated than we had treated them, and they had had a colt named Sugar.”
“Sugar, oh Sugar! She was a sweet pony, aptly named, I daresay.” Mother interposed.
“How do you know, Mother?” queried Nellie.
“Why, I used to ride Sugar all the time.”
“The same one? Why, were you the little girl who kept them?” asked Robert.
“No, No!” Mother smiled, “I wasn’t alive back then.”
“Who was it, Grandfather? I can tell you wish us to know, the way you’re smiling.” Nellie declared.
“That little girl was your grandmother, your father’s mother.”
“You married the little girl with the horses!” Robert cried.
“Yes, I married her, and she came back to live with me in the Kentucky wilderness.”
“You took the hortheth with you, didn’t you, Grandfather?” Charlotte asked with pleading eyes.
"Oh, yes, Charlotte...As I was saying we traveled to Kentucky in our covered wagon with some of our belongings and settled down near where we all live now. There's a big difference between now and then. I had to travel on a horse many miles for many days to go see my old home and my dear Agnes, for that was her name. But...your brother Percy only has to travel a couple days on some new-fangled train to visit his family and someday soon, his ladylove."
Grandfather's eyes twinkled, Father winked at Charlotte, Mother sighed, and Nellie giggled while Robert slouched in his seat, his arms folded, and rolled his eyes. Grandfather grabbed Robert's ear and pulled him up straight, all the while grinning from ear to ear and teased, "Someday you too, Robert."
"Ha!" cried Robert, his face red with embarrassment.
Several days later, the Weston family, including Percy, were all dressed up and riding in a carriage to a Christmas party. There was a glorious spread of food: turkey, ham, potatoes, green beans, corncakes, cranberry sauce, jellies and preserves of every kind of fruit, and delicious pies and cakes. Robert stuffed himself and then he and Nellie retreated to a corner when the music began and partners shuffled onto the dance floor.
Out of the corner of her eye, Nellie saw Percy approach a young lady, the same Percy who a year ago would have shuddered to even think of such a thing, and after a moment, they were seen gliding together toward the dance. She nudged Robert towards their direction and whispered, "See! Grandfather's right! He always is, isn't he?"
Robert made a face, strode over to the table, and popped a pickle in his mouth.
The End
Saturday, December 1, 2012
Thursday, November 29, 2012
Guest Story
Since I haven't started writing a new story yet about the Parker family, I decided to post a new story I'd written to keep people entertained. Perhaps you can pretend that Elizabeth wrote it, and then it will be associated with the Parker family.
Covered Wagons and Steam Trains
Nellie gazed out the window, watching trees and buildings fly by. What fun it is to ride on a train! she thought. Nellie and her family: her father, mother, younger brother Robert, and younger sister Charlotte, along with her grandfather, were traveling on rails to bring her older brother Percy home for the Christmas holidays. Percy was away at boarding school in New York, far from their home in Kentucky, and Nellie was very excited to see him.
“How long it has been since we've seen Percy!” she cried aloud to no one in particular.
“Indeed!” replied her grandfather, “but, we are quite blessed to be able to see him at all during his time in school.”
“How come, Grandfather?” inquired Robert.
“Why?” corrected his mother, straightening her bonnet.
“Yeth, why Grandfather?” lisped Charlotte, “Grandfather will tell me, won’t he?”
“Yes, I will,” assured Grandfather, pulling the little girl on his lap. “You see, when I was your age...” and he paused while Nellie and Robert scurried over to his seat on the train and snuggled close to him, their eyes bright with anticipation.
“Go on, Grandfather,” Nellie exclaimed. “I love to hear your stories of when you were little like us.”
“Of course, I was just waiting for you to get ready,” he replied, adjusting his cap on his head. “Ahem,” he cleared his throat.
“Oh, get on with it, Grandfather!” demanded Robert.
“Robert Cole Weston!” Father scolded, “Respect your elders!”
“Beg pardon, Grandfather,” Robert uttered ashamedly.
“You are entirely forgiven,” Grandfather responded, “I was impatient when I was a little boy like you too.”
“But I’m almost nine! I’m not so little!”
“True, True! I was impatient to grow up too.”
“Grandfather, pleathe tell uth the thtory, pleathe,” begged the little one on his lap, patting his leathery cheek.
“Oh, dear, I’m sorry, quite forgot, quite forgot,” muttered Grandfather, “Well, let’s see, where was I? Ah! Yes! When I was a little boy...”
At this, his son let out a little chuckle.
“Peter! You’re as bad as the rest, keeping poor Charlotte from her story, and Nellie too!” cried his wife.
“Oh, Hettie, they can afford to wait a trifling moment, we’re hardly started on our long journey,” he contended.
Covered Wagons and Steam Trains
Nellie gazed out the window, watching trees and buildings fly by. What fun it is to ride on a train! she thought. Nellie and her family: her father, mother, younger brother Robert, and younger sister Charlotte, along with her grandfather, were traveling on rails to bring her older brother Percy home for the Christmas holidays. Percy was away at boarding school in New York, far from their home in Kentucky, and Nellie was very excited to see him.
“How long it has been since we've seen Percy!” she cried aloud to no one in particular.
“Indeed!” replied her grandfather, “but, we are quite blessed to be able to see him at all during his time in school.”
“How come, Grandfather?” inquired Robert.
“Why?” corrected his mother, straightening her bonnet.
“Yeth, why Grandfather?” lisped Charlotte, “Grandfather will tell me, won’t he?”
“Yes, I will,” assured Grandfather, pulling the little girl on his lap. “You see, when I was your age...” and he paused while Nellie and Robert scurried over to his seat on the train and snuggled close to him, their eyes bright with anticipation.
“Go on, Grandfather,” Nellie exclaimed. “I love to hear your stories of when you were little like us.”
“Of course, I was just waiting for you to get ready,” he replied, adjusting his cap on his head. “Ahem,” he cleared his throat.
“Oh, get on with it, Grandfather!” demanded Robert.
“Robert Cole Weston!” Father scolded, “Respect your elders!”
“Beg pardon, Grandfather,” Robert uttered ashamedly.
“You are entirely forgiven,” Grandfather responded, “I was impatient when I was a little boy like you too.”
“But I’m almost nine! I’m not so little!”
“True, True! I was impatient to grow up too.”
“Grandfather, pleathe tell uth the thtory, pleathe,” begged the little one on his lap, patting his leathery cheek.
“Oh, dear, I’m sorry, quite forgot, quite forgot,” muttered Grandfather, “Well, let’s see, where was I? Ah! Yes! When I was a little boy...”
At this, his son let out a little chuckle.
“Peter! You’re as bad as the rest, keeping poor Charlotte from her story, and Nellie too!” cried his wife.
“Oh, Hettie, they can afford to wait a trifling moment, we’re hardly started on our long journey,” he contended.
Thursday, December 22, 2011
Susan's Art Project, Part 5
When we last left Helen and Harry they had just heard their Mother coming up the stairs while they were painting each other...
What Now?, they both thought.
Guess we just have to take our punishment, no backing out, Helen decided.
Mother reached the door and tried the handle.
Oh no, thought Harry, now we'll be in trouble for locking the door.
"Open this door at once," Mother commanded firmly.
Harry and Helen looked at each other, then Helen ran to the door, unlocked it, and ran back next to Harry. She wasn't taking her punishment without Harry at her side.
Mother came in and shut the door behind her.
Then she saw the painting. The twins' faces. Their clothes.
"Helen, Harry. Go to the bathroom at once and wash the paint off your faces," Mother demanded, "then change your clothes and put those ones in the bathtub. After that I want you to lay down in your beds and think about what you've done. Eventually, I will come and tell you what your punishment is."
Helen and Harry started to run to the bathroom.
"And no locking doors, except the bathroom," Mother added, "do you understand?"
They both nodded and ran.
Helen and Harry lay down on their beds, waiting for Mother's punishment.
Finally, Mother came in.
"I am very disappointed in you," Mother began, "not only was the painting not yours, it was a school project," Mother paused to let her words sink in. The twins hung their heads.
"I have decided that you won't be allowed to do crafts for two weeks," she went on.
Helen and Harry groaned.
"But what about school?" Harry piped up.
"Do what your teacher asks, but at here at our house, no crafts. Understand?"
The twins nodded solemnly.
Helen and Harry looked up as Mother added, "The other thing is that you two are becoming too old and mischievous to share a room. Helen, you will stay in this room, but Harry, you will now be sharing John's room. I have already asked him about it."
The twins were shocked. It had never occurred to them that they might not share a room.
Suddenly, a great cry arose. All three rushed out of the twins' room, but Helen and Harry backed away when they realized where it was coming from: Susan's room.
"My beautiful painting is all ruined!" Susan cried.
"No, you don't," Mother spoke firmly, as the twins backed into their room, "You come and apologize."
"I don't have time to get more supplies and paint another before Wednesday," they heard Susan sob.
"It's not your fault, Susan," Mother soothed, "we'll work something out," then turning to Helen and Harry she motioned them forward.
"We're sorry," Harry began, "for painting your painting."
"Yes," nodded Helen, "we shouldn't have done it."
"Right," Harry agreed.
"Do-you--forgive-us?" They both asked slowly.
Susan knelt down on the floor, and hugged Helen and Harry tightly, "Of course, I do," she replied. "I love you, you two mischievous darlings."
The End
What Now?, they both thought.
Guess we just have to take our punishment, no backing out, Helen decided.
Mother reached the door and tried the handle.
Oh no, thought Harry, now we'll be in trouble for locking the door.
"Open this door at once," Mother commanded firmly.
Harry and Helen looked at each other, then Helen ran to the door, unlocked it, and ran back next to Harry. She wasn't taking her punishment without Harry at her side.
Mother came in and shut the door behind her.
Then she saw the painting. The twins' faces. Their clothes.
"Helen, Harry. Go to the bathroom at once and wash the paint off your faces," Mother demanded, "then change your clothes and put those ones in the bathtub. After that I want you to lay down in your beds and think about what you've done. Eventually, I will come and tell you what your punishment is."
Helen and Harry started to run to the bathroom.
"And no locking doors, except the bathroom," Mother added, "do you understand?"
They both nodded and ran.
Helen and Harry lay down on their beds, waiting for Mother's punishment.
Finally, Mother came in.
"I am very disappointed in you," Mother began, "not only was the painting not yours, it was a school project," Mother paused to let her words sink in. The twins hung their heads.
"I have decided that you won't be allowed to do crafts for two weeks," she went on.
Helen and Harry groaned.
"But what about school?" Harry piped up.
"Do what your teacher asks, but at here at our house, no crafts. Understand?"
The twins nodded solemnly.
Helen and Harry looked up as Mother added, "The other thing is that you two are becoming too old and mischievous to share a room. Helen, you will stay in this room, but Harry, you will now be sharing John's room. I have already asked him about it."
The twins were shocked. It had never occurred to them that they might not share a room.
Suddenly, a great cry arose. All three rushed out of the twins' room, but Helen and Harry backed away when they realized where it was coming from: Susan's room.
"My beautiful painting is all ruined!" Susan cried.
"No, you don't," Mother spoke firmly, as the twins backed into their room, "You come and apologize."
"I don't have time to get more supplies and paint another before Wednesday," they heard Susan sob.
"It's not your fault, Susan," Mother soothed, "we'll work something out," then turning to Helen and Harry she motioned them forward.
"We're sorry," Harry began, "for painting your painting."
"Yes," nodded Helen, "we shouldn't have done it."
"Right," Harry agreed.
"Do-you--forgive-us?" They both asked slowly.
Susan knelt down on the floor, and hugged Helen and Harry tightly, "Of course, I do," she replied. "I love you, you two mischievous darlings."
The End
Wednesday, December 21, 2011
Susan's Art Project, Part 4
When we last left Helen and Harry, they were in the attempts of sabotaging Susan's painting...
"No way! I thought I made this clear. I am NOT standing on top of those rickety containers." And Helen stamped her foot.
"Then how are we going to get them down?"
"You are going to. I am going to lift you up there."
Harry groaned, but relented. With a mighty heave, Helen pushed Harry on the top container. He grabbed the paints and Susan's beautiful picture, handed them to Helen and jumped to the ground with a great thud. Fortunately for them, no one seemed to notice.
Harry set the poster on the easel, while Helen opened the paints and located the brushes Susan had conveniently left in the mug of water.
After they had been painting for a while, and the beautiful picture Susan had made was only somewhat visible, Harry turned to look at Helen's work.
"My strokes are better than yours," he bragged.
"You shouldn't use such a big word that you don't know the meaning of, and besides, mine are prettier," Helen corrected.
"No they're not!"
"Yes they are!"
"Nuh-uh!"
"Yeah-huh!"
Then they began shouting at each other, and Harry started to paint Helen's face, then Helen painted his.
Mother heard them shouting, and sighed, "I better go see what the twins are up to."
But when she reached the stairs, to her chagrin, she realized the screams were coming from Susan's room.
When Harry and Helen heard Mother's gentle, firm footsteps coming up the stairs, they froze.
Will Helen and Harry be caught? What will Mother say? Will the twins get their just deserts?
To be continued...
"No way! I thought I made this clear. I am NOT standing on top of those rickety containers." And Helen stamped her foot.
"Then how are we going to get them down?"
"You are going to. I am going to lift you up there."
Harry groaned, but relented. With a mighty heave, Helen pushed Harry on the top container. He grabbed the paints and Susan's beautiful picture, handed them to Helen and jumped to the ground with a great thud. Fortunately for them, no one seemed to notice.
Harry set the poster on the easel, while Helen opened the paints and located the brushes Susan had conveniently left in the mug of water.
After they had been painting for a while, and the beautiful picture Susan had made was only somewhat visible, Harry turned to look at Helen's work.
"My strokes are better than yours," he bragged.
"You shouldn't use such a big word that you don't know the meaning of, and besides, mine are prettier," Helen corrected.
"No they're not!"
"Yes they are!"
"Nuh-uh!"
"Yeah-huh!"
Then they began shouting at each other, and Harry started to paint Helen's face, then Helen painted his.
Mother heard them shouting, and sighed, "I better go see what the twins are up to."
But when she reached the stairs, to her chagrin, she realized the screams were coming from Susan's room.
When Harry and Helen heard Mother's gentle, firm footsteps coming up the stairs, they froze.
Will Helen and Harry be caught? What will Mother say? Will the twins get their just deserts?
To be continued...
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
Susan's Art Project, Part 3
Sorry to keep everyone hanging! ;)
Susan's Art Project
After finishing her chores the next day, which was Friday, Susan pulled a picture out of her drawer and set her easel up, poster and paints ready. She knew exactly what she was going to paint. Susan looked at the picture, which Dad had brought back for her, when he had gone to Colorado. It was of majestic mountains and tall trees with a shining lake nearby reflecting the light of a beautiful full moon. This was what Susan was going to paint.
She got out her paintbrushes and opened the paints. Then she began her first strokes.
"When are we going to do it?" Helen asked Harry later that day.
"I don't know," he replied, "sometime when Susan's gone."
"Oh, I know! She has volleyball practice tomorrow afternoon. We could do it then."
"Great idea, Helen!"
Susan was putting the finishing touches on her painting when Mother called to her from downstairs, "Susan! Janet's mother is going to pick you up for volleyball practice in about five minutes."
"Alright, Mother!" She shouted. Susan shut the paints and placed the brushes in a mug of water so the paint wouldn't dry on them while she was gone. Then she placed the poster and paints on the bookshelf.
Helen and Harry will never get into them when they're all the way up there, she thought.
"Susan!" Mother called.
"Coming!" She replied, laying down her smock and grabbing her volleyball bag. In two minutes, she was out the door and on her way.
Once Helen and Harry heard the front door slam, they tip-toed down the hallway to Susan's room, shut the door and locked it.
That's what Susan should've done, if she were smart, Harry thought with a smirk on his face.
"Alright!" said Helen, "Come help me stack the containers."
When they had two containers stacked up Harry said, "Okay, now I'm going to pick you up so you can get the paints. They're still there aren't they? Yes. Okay, ready?"
"No way! I thought I made this clear. I am NOT standing on top of those rickety containers." And Helen stamped her foot.
Will Harry and Helen agree in their attempts to ruin Susan's painting?
To be continued...
Susan's Art Project
After finishing her chores the next day, which was Friday, Susan pulled a picture out of her drawer and set her easel up, poster and paints ready. She knew exactly what she was going to paint. Susan looked at the picture, which Dad had brought back for her, when he had gone to Colorado. It was of majestic mountains and tall trees with a shining lake nearby reflecting the light of a beautiful full moon. This was what Susan was going to paint.
She got out her paintbrushes and opened the paints. Then she began her first strokes.
"When are we going to do it?" Helen asked Harry later that day.
"I don't know," he replied, "sometime when Susan's gone."
"Oh, I know! She has volleyball practice tomorrow afternoon. We could do it then."
"Great idea, Helen!"
Susan was putting the finishing touches on her painting when Mother called to her from downstairs, "Susan! Janet's mother is going to pick you up for volleyball practice in about five minutes."
"Alright, Mother!" She shouted. Susan shut the paints and placed the brushes in a mug of water so the paint wouldn't dry on them while she was gone. Then she placed the poster and paints on the bookshelf.
Helen and Harry will never get into them when they're all the way up there, she thought.
"Susan!" Mother called.
"Coming!" She replied, laying down her smock and grabbing her volleyball bag. In two minutes, she was out the door and on her way.
Once Helen and Harry heard the front door slam, they tip-toed down the hallway to Susan's room, shut the door and locked it.
That's what Susan should've done, if she were smart, Harry thought with a smirk on his face.
"Alright!" said Helen, "Come help me stack the containers."
When they had two containers stacked up Harry said, "Okay, now I'm going to pick you up so you can get the paints. They're still there aren't they? Yes. Okay, ready?"
"No way! I thought I made this clear. I am NOT standing on top of those rickety containers." And Helen stamped her foot.
Will Harry and Helen agree in their attempts to ruin Susan's painting?
To be continued...
Saturday, August 27, 2011
Susan's Art Project, Part 2
When Susan came home from the store, she showed her new art supplies to Mother.
"Now Susan," recommended Mother, "why don't you put your paints up away where Helen and Harry can't get them-you know how they are-and come down and help me finish supper."
"Good idea!" Susan replied cheerfully and tripped upstairs into her room. She carefully placed her poster and paints on the top of her tall bookshelf, which was only a couple of feet from the high ceiling.
"Now Helen and Harry can't get it," Susan said satisfactorily. Then she ran downstairs to help Mother.
Helen and Harry heard her leave and raced into her room, looking around for the paints.
"Aw, Man!" cried Harry.
"What?" asked Helen.
"Look where she put them!"
"We'll never be able to get them down," added Helen.
Suddenly, they heard John's footsteps on the stairs and they raced back into their room.
"We've got to think of how we're gonna' get them down," sighed Harry. They sat down for a while thinking.
"I know," Helen replied, a little reluctantly, "we could get the hay ladder, and use it to reach them."
"Silly!" Harry scoffed, "We'd get caught before we got out of the barn. Besides, we couldn't carry it between us."
"But it's the best idea we've had!"
"It's the only idea we've had," Harry pointed out.
They sat for a while, still thinking.
"I know!" Harry exclaimed, "We'll stack up those storage containers Susan keeps in her room, and I'll lift you up on them so you can reach the paints."
"Are you crazy??!" Helen shouted, "I'm afraid of heights! I'll pick you up and you can get them."
"No way!" Harry replied, "You're not strong enough to pick me up!"
"Am too!"
"Are not!"
"Am too!"
"Are not!"
Helen and Harry continued arguing, completely forgetting about Susan's paints.
To be continued...
"Now Susan," recommended Mother, "why don't you put your paints up away where Helen and Harry can't get them-you know how they are-and come down and help me finish supper."
"Good idea!" Susan replied cheerfully and tripped upstairs into her room. She carefully placed her poster and paints on the top of her tall bookshelf, which was only a couple of feet from the high ceiling.
"Now Helen and Harry can't get it," Susan said satisfactorily. Then she ran downstairs to help Mother.
Helen and Harry heard her leave and raced into her room, looking around for the paints.
"Aw, Man!" cried Harry.
"What?" asked Helen.
"Look where she put them!"
"We'll never be able to get them down," added Helen.
Suddenly, they heard John's footsteps on the stairs and they raced back into their room.
"We've got to think of how we're gonna' get them down," sighed Harry. They sat down for a while thinking.
"I know," Helen replied, a little reluctantly, "we could get the hay ladder, and use it to reach them."
"Silly!" Harry scoffed, "We'd get caught before we got out of the barn. Besides, we couldn't carry it between us."
"But it's the best idea we've had!"
"It's the only idea we've had," Harry pointed out.
They sat for a while, still thinking.
"I know!" Harry exclaimed, "We'll stack up those storage containers Susan keeps in her room, and I'll lift you up on them so you can reach the paints."
"Are you crazy??!" Helen shouted, "I'm afraid of heights! I'll pick you up and you can get them."
"No way!" Harry replied, "You're not strong enough to pick me up!"
"Am too!"
"Are not!"
"Am too!"
"Are not!"
Helen and Harry continued arguing, completely forgetting about Susan's paints.
To be continued...
Friday, August 26, 2011
Susan's Art Project, Part 1
Well, I didn't keep my word. I had the story finished before July, but I didn't put it on here until now. Without further adieu...
Susan's Art Project
Susan's Art Project
Susan ran off the bus, waving goodbye to her good friend, Janet. When she reached the Mudroom, she plopped her backpack on the bench and scurried into the kitchen where Mother was at the sink, washing dishes.
"Oh Mother!" She cried, "I've had the most wonderful day at school, but the best part is that Mr. Johnson assigned us the project I've always been waiting for!" She paused to breathe.
"Do settle down, Susan dear," Mother encouraged, "and try to be a little quieter. John has a headache."
"Yes, Mother," She answered, but nothing was going to keep Susan down, she was too excited. She went on, "We're supposed to paint a big poster of a picture of creation."
Mother took her chance while Susan stopped, "How wonderful!" Then Mother paused slightly,"But Susan, don't let it distract you from your other studies." She reminded.
"Oh yes," Susan sighed, "I better finish my homework as soon as possible so I can start working on it."
Susan took the floor at the dinner table that night and no one seemed to mind. She talked endlessly of the project. John and Elizabeth were very excited for Susan, too.
"I know how long you've been waiting for something like this," replied John, "and I'm sure yours will be more beautiful than anyone else's."
"Of course," Elizabeth chimed in. She had often been jealous of Susan's creative ability, but she had begun to see past that to notice Susan's natural talent.
"So Dad," Susan asked, "may I go to the store tomorrow to buy a poster and some paint?"
"Don't you already have paint?" questioned Mother.
"Well, I need a special kind of paint for this," Susan replied.
Harry and Helen looked at each other from across the table. So, they thought, Susan's getting some paint and something to paint on. That sounds like fun!
Harry and Helen loved to paint or do things with crafts, but more than that, they loved trouble. And paints-new special paints-definitely sounded like trouble...
...To be continued...
Friday, June 10, 2011
Lockets and Baseball Gloves, Part 2
When we last left our heroine, Elizabeth, her brother was asking if she knew why his glove was out in the rain.
"Do you know why it was out in the rain?"
Elizabeth turned red, "Wh-Why, do you think I did it?" She hid her face in her book.
"Well, I was just asking," he replied. "I didn't think you would leave it out." He turned to his younger brother, "Harry, do you know?"
"No, but I'm terribly sorry it's ruined."
"I don't know," called Susan from the kitchen, "Maybe you should ask Helen."
"Helen didn't do it," replied Harry, her twin.
"Well," John sighed, "maybe it was just an accident."
You need to tell him, the quiet voice commanded, You've felt miserable all day.
If you tell him, whispered the tempter, He'll be really mad at you, and you'll have to pay for it.
You'll feel much better if you do, replied her conscience.
Thus the battle went inside of Elizabeth. She knew her conscience was right; she felt terrible.
That night, Elizabeth was in her room reading-or trying to read-her book. All of a sudden she thought, Where's my locket? It's always around my neck. Maybe the clasp broke on the chain, and it fell off?
She ran out of the room, "Has anyone seen my locket?" she called. She asked Harry and Helen, Susan, and Mother and Dad.
Then she went into John's room. He was looking at his glove when something fell out of it.
John picked it up.
"My locket!" Elizabeth gasped. "It must've fallen in the glove when..." she stopped short.
"Here," said John, handing it to her, "I wonder how it got there?"
Elizabeth burst into tears, "It-It's my fault. I was upset that you ripped my special apron, so I-I-I tore your new glove and left it out in the rain. My locket must've fallen off my neck when I was messing with it," Elizabeth sobbed, "I-I'm sorry, do you forgive me?"
"Yes," replied John, "I'm sorry I ripped your apron, I didn't mean to."
Elizabeth felt like an enormous load was lifted off her shoulders. She felt free!!!!!
"I forgive you," she replied.
The End
I should be back later this month or the next to tell you another story. I'll give you a teaser...
Susan's Art Project
Susan has been assigned an art project for school and she is terribly excited about it. But is anything safe from the ever-prying hands of Helen and Harry??
"Do you know why it was out in the rain?"
Elizabeth turned red, "Wh-Why, do you think I did it?" She hid her face in her book.
"Well, I was just asking," he replied. "I didn't think you would leave it out." He turned to his younger brother, "Harry, do you know?"
"No, but I'm terribly sorry it's ruined."
"I don't know," called Susan from the kitchen, "Maybe you should ask Helen."
"Helen didn't do it," replied Harry, her twin.
"Well," John sighed, "maybe it was just an accident."
You need to tell him, the quiet voice commanded, You've felt miserable all day.
If you tell him, whispered the tempter, He'll be really mad at you, and you'll have to pay for it.
You'll feel much better if you do, replied her conscience.
Thus the battle went inside of Elizabeth. She knew her conscience was right; she felt terrible.
That night, Elizabeth was in her room reading-or trying to read-her book. All of a sudden she thought, Where's my locket? It's always around my neck. Maybe the clasp broke on the chain, and it fell off?
She ran out of the room, "Has anyone seen my locket?" she called. She asked Harry and Helen, Susan, and Mother and Dad.
Then she went into John's room. He was looking at his glove when something fell out of it.
John picked it up.
"My locket!" Elizabeth gasped. "It must've fallen in the glove when..." she stopped short.
"Here," said John, handing it to her, "I wonder how it got there?"
Elizabeth burst into tears, "It-It's my fault. I was upset that you ripped my special apron, so I-I-I tore your new glove and left it out in the rain. My locket must've fallen off my neck when I was messing with it," Elizabeth sobbed, "I-I'm sorry, do you forgive me?"
"Yes," replied John, "I'm sorry I ripped your apron, I didn't mean to."
Elizabeth felt like an enormous load was lifted off her shoulders. She felt free!!!!!
"I forgive you," she replied.
The End
I should be back later this month or the next to tell you another story. I'll give you a teaser...
Susan's Art Project
Susan has been assigned an art project for school and she is terribly excited about it. But is anything safe from the ever-prying hands of Helen and Harry??
Thursday, June 9, 2011
Welcome! Lockets and Baseball Gloves, Part 1
I am here to say, Welcome to My Third Blog! I was originally going to have a page on my main blog that told stories of the Parker Family, but I decided that it would be better as a blog. So here it is! And here is the first part of the first story in the Parker Family Chronicle, Lockets and Baseball Gloves:
Lockets and Baseball Gloves
Elizabeth pulled the dishes out of the cupboard. It was her turn to set the table for supper. She usually didn't mind; it gave her time to think about different things.
But today she wanted anything but time to think. Her thoughts kept drifting back to the baseball glove out in the rain with the beautiful leather all torn up.
John started it, Elizabeth thought. No, you know he didn't rip your special apron on purpose, said her conscience.
Sure he did, whispered the tempter, John deserves to have a ruined baseball glove.
You need to tell him, the quiet little voice encouraged.
"Elizabeth! Why are you standing there?" Mother asked, "It's almost time for supper. Set the table!"
Just then, John walked in the door.
"Dad," he said, "that baseball glove I got for my birthday is great! It fits almost perfectly!"
Elizabeth almost dropped the cups she was holding. If he knew...she thought.
"Well, son," replied Dad, "I'm glad you like it. Make sure you take good care of it."
This is too much, thought Elizabeth. Suddenly, she heard a clatter. She looked down; she had dropped all the forks she was carrying.
"Rinse them off with hot water," Mother commanded, "And please," in a kind tone, "watch what you're doing."
"Yes, Mother," she replied, sullenly.
"And the leather is so nice and soft," continued John. "All the boys at church say it's the nicest glove they've seen."
"Yes," Dad agreed, "it should last a long time."
Elizabeth knew that if she had been holding anything that time, it, too, would have gone clattering on the floor. She knew her stomach had almost hit the floor.
When they all sat down for supper, Elizabeth asked, "May I be excused? I feel sick. Can I lay down?"
Mother looked with concern at Elizabeth, "This is your favorite meal. Are you sure?"
"Oh, yes," Elizabeth nodded, "If I didn't feel so bad, I'd gladly eat my favorite meal."
"I guess so," replied Mother, "I hope you feel better."
Elizabeth turned and ran upstairs.
The next afternoon, Elizabeth didn't feel much better. She sat on the couch reading when John came running in from outside.
"I finally found it," he said, a little tremulously.
"Found what?" asked Elizabeth.
"My glove, but it-it's ruined."
"I-I'm sorry," stammered Elizabeth.
"Do you know why it was out in the rain?"
To be continued...
Lockets and Baseball Gloves
Elizabeth pulled the dishes out of the cupboard. It was her turn to set the table for supper. She usually didn't mind; it gave her time to think about different things.
But today she wanted anything but time to think. Her thoughts kept drifting back to the baseball glove out in the rain with the beautiful leather all torn up.
John started it, Elizabeth thought. No, you know he didn't rip your special apron on purpose, said her conscience.
Sure he did, whispered the tempter, John deserves to have a ruined baseball glove.
You need to tell him, the quiet little voice encouraged.
"Elizabeth! Why are you standing there?" Mother asked, "It's almost time for supper. Set the table!"
Just then, John walked in the door.
"Dad," he said, "that baseball glove I got for my birthday is great! It fits almost perfectly!"
Elizabeth almost dropped the cups she was holding. If he knew...she thought.
"Well, son," replied Dad, "I'm glad you like it. Make sure you take good care of it."
This is too much, thought Elizabeth. Suddenly, she heard a clatter. She looked down; she had dropped all the forks she was carrying.
"Rinse them off with hot water," Mother commanded, "And please," in a kind tone, "watch what you're doing."
"Yes, Mother," she replied, sullenly.
"And the leather is so nice and soft," continued John. "All the boys at church say it's the nicest glove they've seen."
"Yes," Dad agreed, "it should last a long time."
Elizabeth knew that if she had been holding anything that time, it, too, would have gone clattering on the floor. She knew her stomach had almost hit the floor.
When they all sat down for supper, Elizabeth asked, "May I be excused? I feel sick. Can I lay down?"
Mother looked with concern at Elizabeth, "This is your favorite meal. Are you sure?"
"Oh, yes," Elizabeth nodded, "If I didn't feel so bad, I'd gladly eat my favorite meal."
"I guess so," replied Mother, "I hope you feel better."
Elizabeth turned and ran upstairs.
The next afternoon, Elizabeth didn't feel much better. She sat on the couch reading when John came running in from outside.
"I finally found it," he said, a little tremulously.
"Found what?" asked Elizabeth.
"My glove, but it-it's ruined."
"I-I'm sorry," stammered Elizabeth.
"Do you know why it was out in the rain?"
To be continued...