It was at the end of that very same day, the longest, dreariest day of early winter, when the little Prouts had agreed that the Father had forgotten the island, that the magazines began to come. Tim Parks drove four miles from the village to bring them, he was so curious to know who could have been sending things to “The Masters Prout” and “The Misses Prout.” For no one had ever before sent any mail to the Prout family. These were postmarked from the city, too!
“Something for the Masters Prout, and something for the Misses Prout!” he called out as he pushed open the door. “I thought I’d jest bring ’em over for ye.” And he handed the packages to Tommy and Mary.
What an excitement there was then! They tore open the wrappers, and behold! A boy’s[140] magazine and a girl’s magazine, full of pictures and stories. The children danced around, shouting and laughing. Somebody had sent them papers from the city! They were not quite forgotten!
“Who sent ’em? That is what I want to know,” said Tim Parks.
But there was no word or scrap of writing to tell, and Tim could not find out what he longed to know.
“Wall, I guess they jest came from the magazine shop,” said Tim at last, as he went out of the door. But the children looked at one another. They knew better.
“You said He had forgotten, and He sent these to show He hasn’t,” whispered Mary to Tom. And the children looked at the papers with a feeling of awe and pride.
What continued joy there was for the little Prouts in those generous pages! Mary and Tom read every word aloud to the others, and to the whole family; for the father and mother were as much interested as the children.[141] There was a continued story, and that was the most exciting of all. For it was one of the best stories that Aunt Claire had ever written. But, alas! it stopped short at the most thrilling part.
“Oh, dear!” cried Mary, when she had read the last word aloud to her big-eyed audience. “Why does it stop? Now we shall never know how the Princess got out of the Giant’s castle!”
Those papers lasted the little Prouts for a whole week. And they had not begun to tire of them when—another set of magazines came! Captain Prout happened to go to the village that day, and Tim Parks came running out to him from the post-office.
“More mail for the Misses and the Masters Prout, Cap’n!” he called. “I guess your children are goin’ to have ’em come reg’lar. Ain’t it wonderful who sends ’em?”
What a shriek of joy went up from the little Prouts when they saw what Father brought them that night! “Now we shall[142] know about the Princess!” cried Mary, and they could hardly wait for supper to be over before they continued the wonderful tale. This part was to be continued also; but there was no such wail of anguish when the last word was read.
“Oh, I’s sorry it’s done,” sighed little Polly; “but I guess the rest will come next week. Don’t you?”
And somehow, even Tommy was hopeful this time. “Yes, I guess He hasn’t forgotten us, quite,” he confessed to Mary before they went to bed.
If only Kenneth and Rose could have seen what joy their story papers gave to the little Prouts! Every week through all that bitter winter, in sun or in shine, through snow and sleet, as regularly as a Saturday came, one of the Prouts tramped four miles to the village for the precious magazines. And always the other little Prouts were waiting breathlessly for him to return, fearful lest this time the papers might not have come. They were always looking out of the window, a row of little heads, one above another.
“Did it come?” they would cry, making signs of eager question as soon as the messenger appeared in sight, and he would shout and wave the two wrappers over his head, whereat all the children would begin to jump up and down with joy.
It would have been a dreadful thing if Kenneth or Rose had once forgotten to send the papers. But they never did, though they could not guess how much depended upon their remembering that simple little promise which they had made.
No, Kenneth and Rose could not possibly know what the sharing of that single one of their pleasures meant to the little Prouts, and to all the other island children besides,—for in the end the whole island saw the magazines. They were passed on from family to family all that winter, and were literally worn to rags by the thumbing of many little fingers, and big ones, too.
[144]The Prouts were learning a great deal about many things, nowadays. It was almost as good as going to school. All that winter they lived in a new world of constant change. The little cottage was no longer dreary or lonely. Their stupid tasks were no longer tiresome, for they had the beloved magazines to read when all was done. They had the children of those stories for their companions and friends, and they began to understand, ever so dimly, that all the children of the world are little brothers and sisters to one another.
CHAPTER XIV TOMMY’S LETTER
ONE day they were talking about it, all together.
“God is our Father, as the preacher said,” declared Mary. “I read it to-day in the magazine, don’t you remember?”
“Yes,” agreed Tommy, “it must be He who sends the papers to us, for nobody else knows about us. But He knows everything,—the preacher said so.”
“I wish we could thank Him,” said little Polly. “He has been so good not to forget us.”
“I am going to write to Him,” said Tommy suddenly; “there is a Letter-Box in the paper, and boys and girls write to it every week. I am going to write and tell the Lord how we thank Him.”
And forthwith Tommy sat down and wrote[146] to the magazine a letter something like those which he read every week in the Letter-Box,—yet different. An island letter would have to be different. This is what Tommy wrote:
Lucky Island, Maine.
Dear Magazine,—You kum evry weak, an i dono ow we got long witout You. The aint nobody in the Sity to tel You how to get to This jumpin-of plais, so we no that Our Father must send You evry weak. An we wanter Thanx him but we dono ow. Plees put this Leter in the Leterbox sos he wil see. He dont kum here in Wintr its so lonsum I gess he wood be glad if he knu ow hapy he made 6 litl chilren way down in Maine. I hop he will send it evr an evr we havnt nothin els to red.
Yours truly,
Tommy Prout.
The editor of the magazine did not often print a letter spelled as badly as this one of poor Tommy Prout, who was eight years old,[147] but who only went to school in the spring and fall. But when the editor read that letter he blew his nose and wiped his glasses and said:—
“Yes, I’ll print your letter just as it is, Tommy Prout, and I think it will please Him whom you wish to thank, even if some one else mails the paper for Him every week.”
So that is why, some days later, when Kenneth Thornton was carelessly cutting the leaves of his new magazine, he suddenly gave a surprised whistle. The name of his beloved summer island had caught his eye, at the head of a letter in the Letter-Box.
“Oh, Mamma,” he cried, “see, here is a letter from our island. And it is signed, ‘Tommy Prout.’ But I can’t make out the funny spelling.”
Then Kenneth’s mamma read the letter aloud, and it did not sound so queer as it looked. When she had finished there were tears in her eyes and in Rose’s, too. And Kenneth was winking queerly.
[148]“The dear little fellow!” said Mamma. “Just think what it means to them to have those papers that you don’t care for. O children, our Father surely did put it into your heads to send the magazines; so Tommy is right.”
“And we will send them ‘ever and ever,’ as Tommy hopes, won’t we, Kenneth?” cried Rose eagerly.
“Course we will,” said Kenneth promptly.
“I’d like to write a letter to the little girl Prouts,” mused Rose. “It must be awfully lonesome on the island in winter.”
“We must wait till next summer, Rose dear,” said her mamma. “We have been bad neighbors to those little children, and we must get acquainted with them first. The little Prouts do not know us, and it is our fault. But another summer we will know them. And then we will plan what we can do to make their winters less lonely. Poor babies!”
“I’d like to send them a Christmas box,”[149] said Kenneth, who had been thinking all this time. “I’ll send the boys a lot of books and candy and things.”
“And I’ll send some to the girls,” cried Rose, clapping her hands. “Oh! That will be fine,—and a doll for each one.”
“That is a good plan,” said Mrs. Thornton. “We will certainly do it. How selfish we have been to care for our beautiful island only while we were there, and to forget our neighbors who live there all the year through! Just think, Kenneth and Rose, those children believe that our Father doesn’t come there in winter. We must change that, and show them that He is watching all His children all the time.”
Kenneth and Rose had a beautiful time making ready that Christmas box. Into it they put all the things that they had first thought of, and a great many beside. And they sent it so that it reached the island on Christmas eve. Tim Parks brought it over to the Prouts the next morning.
[150]“I guess your friend who sends you the magazines has sent you something fine for Christmas,” he grinned, as he carried the heavy box into the room where the six little Prouts stood gaping with wonder. “‘The Misses and the Masters Prout!’” he cried, reading the label.
Mary squeezed Tommy’s hand and whispered something as they all crowded around while the box was being opened. And Tommy nodded wisely.
On the top of the box, inside, was a card which read: “Merry Christmas to the little Prouts, from a brother and a sister who read Tommy’s letter in the Letter-Box. The kind Father watches over us all alike, on islands and in the big cities, and He bids us love one another, especially on His birthday.”
A brother and a sister in the city! That news was almost more welcome than the box itself. If Kenneth and Rose could have seen those six little Prouts and have heard their squeals of joy when the box was unpacked,[151] they would have been glad indeed that they had remembered to be brotherly and sisterly.
The magazines which kept coming “ever and ever” and the books that were in that Christmas box were the beginning of the Island Public Library, of which every one is now so proud, and of many other good things which happened to the island and especially to the little Prouts.
For in summers after that they grew to know and to love their neighbors, the city children. Kenneth and Rose have been a good brother and sister to the little Prouts ever since; and it is as good a fortune for Kenneth and Rose as it is for the little Prouts.
