PIECES OF LAUGHTER AND FUN (2 page)

"The magazine didn't say that. It would probably dry faster outside in the sun. But someone is sure to see us out there. We'd better stay here.... I wish we had brought the magazine to look at."

"We can look at the Sears catalog," I suggested. "Let's play like we're ordering things for our own house."

We sat down on the floor and spread the catalog out in front of us. After several minutes, Sarah Jane felt her face.

"I think it's dry, Mabel," she announced, hardly moving her lips. "It doesn't bend or anything."

I touched mine and discovered the same thing. The mask was solid and hard. It was impossible to move my mouth to speak, so my voice had a funny sound when I answered her. "So's mine. Maybe we'd better start taking it off now."

We ran to the mirror to look at ourselves.

"We sure look funny." Sarah Jane laughed the best she could without moving her face. "How did the magazine say to get it off?"

Suddenly we looked at each other in dismay. The magazine hadn't said anything about removing the mixture, only how to fix and spread it on.

"Well, we've done it again," I said. "How come everything we try works until we're ready to undo it? We'll just have to figure some way to get rid of it."

We certainly did try. We pushed the heavy masks that covered our faces. We pulled them, knocked on them, and tried to soak them off. They would not budge.

I think we used too much wax and not enough honey," Sarah Jane puffed as she flopped back down on the bed.

"That's certainly a great thing to think of now," I answered crossly. "The only way to move wax is to melt it. And we certainly can't stick our faces in the fire!"

"Mine feels like it's already on fire. I don't think this stuff is good for your skin."

"You're going to have to think about more than that," I told her. "Or this stuff will be your skin. There has to be some way to get it off."

"We've tried everything we can think of. We'll just have to go down and let your ma help us."

That was the last thing in the world I wanted to do. But I could see no other alternative. Slowly we trudged down to the kitchen.

Ma was working at the stove, and she said cheerfully, "Are you girls hungry again? It won't be long until suppertime, so you'd better not eat . . ."

She turned around as she spoke. When she spotted us standing in the doorway, her eyes widened in disbelief.

"What on earth ... ? What have you done to yourselves?"

I burst into tears. The sight of drops of tears running down that ridiculous mask must have been more than ma could stand. Suddenly she began to laugh. She laughed until she had to sit down.

"It's not funny, ma. We can't get it off! We'll have to wear it the rest of our lives!"

Ma controlled herself long enough to come over and feel my face. "What did you put in it?" she asked. "That will help me know how to take it off."

We told her.

"If you two ever live to grow up, it will only be the Lord's good mercy. The only thing we can do is apply something hot enough to melt the wax," ma told us quickly.

"But we boiled the wax, ma," I cried. "You can't boil our faces!"

"No, I won't try anything as drastic as that. I'll just use hot towels until it gets soft enough to pull away."

After several applications, we were finally able to start peeling the mixture off. As it came loose, our skin came with it.

"Ouch! That hurts," I cried.

But ma could not stop. By the time the last bit of wax and honey were removed, our faces were fiery red and raw.

"What did we do wrong?" Sarah Jane wailed. "We made it just like the magazine said."

"You may have used the wrong quantities, or left it on too long," ma said. "At any rate, I don't think you'll try it again."

"I know I won't," Sarah Jane moaned. "I'm going to tell Laura she should ignore that page in her magazine." She looked at me. "The stuff did one thing they said it would, Mabel. I don't see any freckles."

"There's no skin left, either," I retorted. "I'd

rather have freckles than a face like this." "Never mind." Ma tried to soothe us. "Your

faces will be all right in a couple of days." "A couple of days!" I howled. "We can't go to

school looking like this!"

We did, though." Grandma laughed as she finished the story. "After a while we were able to laugh with the others over our foolishness."

I looked at the little jar of cream that had come in the mail.

"I don't think I'll use this, grandma. I guess I'll just let my face get wrinkled if it wants to!"

It Rhymes with Mop

ONE DAY WHEN grandma and I were eating lunch, my milk glass happened to tip over.

"Oh, dear," grandma sighed. "There goes the tablecloth again. When are you going to learn to keep your mind on what you're doing?"

I pushed my chair away from the table as she came running with the dishcloth to mop up the milk.

"I'm sorry. I guess I wasn't looking."

"No, I guess you weren't," grandma agreed. "You're just like I used to be. You enjoy talking so much that you pay no attention to what you're doing. Someday you're going to do this in someone else's home, and you'll really be embarrassed."

"I'm always careful when I eat out," I assured her. "I never spill things when I'm visiting."

"I wouldn't be too sure about that," grandma warned. "Habits are not easy to break. Looking around the room while you wave a glass in the air is one of your bad habits. It used to be one of mine, too," she chuckled. "It earned me a name I had a hard time living down."

Grandma poured me another glass of milk, and while we finished lunch, she told me the story....

I think I might have been about six years old. I know I had started school, and felt quite important about the extent of my knowledge. I was reciting some information I had learned as I helped ma get breakfast. Actually, my "helping" consisted of standing first on one side of her and then on the other as she worked at the stove. Finally, she interrupted my story.

"Excuse me, Mabel, but I can't turn around without stepping on you. Would you please go and get the bowl of eggs from the pantry?"

I skipped off to get them, and ma called after me. "Watch where you're going. The milk pail is right there by . . ."

A loud splash assured her that I had found the milk pail. Ma sighed. "Did you just kick it this time, or put your foot in it?"

"I just kicked it," I replied in a small voice. "But I kicked it all the way over."

Ma pushed the ham to the back of the stove and came to the pantry door to survey the mess.

"Go get the mop," she directed. "And try not to poke a hole in the window with the handle."

Reuben had come into the kitchen just then, and he couldn't resist a comment.

"Mop rhymes with slop," he noted. "Mabel is a slop-tot if I ever saw one!"

"I'm not!" I retorted angrily, and swung the mop around with the intent of connecting it with Reuben's head. Unfortunately, it hit the pitcher of syrup that sat on the table, ready for breakfast.

Crash! Syrup spattered all over the kitchen floor as the metal pitcher clattered around on the wooden boards.

"It isn't even six o'clock in the morning yet, and I have to mop the kitchen and the pantry!" Ma's voice was both angry and sorrowful. "I've had days that began better than this."

"Well, they say 'if you cry before breakfast, you'll laugh before supper,' " Reuben offered.

Ma gave him a disgusted look. "I can do nicely without your words of wisdom," she snapped. "Take the pail out to the barn and get more milk, please. And Mabel, you go and sit on the porch until breakfast is on the table."

"But I haven't finished the story I was telling you," I protested. A look from ma convinced me that the story could wait. I went out and sat on the steps.

Soon Roy came from the barn with a huge grin on his face that I knew meant trouble for me.

"Hi, slop-tot!" he called cheerfully.

"I'm not!" I cried, and prepared to kick Roy as he came up the steps. He dodged my foot and ran into the kitchen, slamming the screen door behind him. Of course I took off after him, howling at the top of my lungs.

Ma stepped in between us. "I declare, I'm ready to put everyone back to bed and start the day over! What is the matter now?"

"I am not a tot-slop!" I wailed. "Make them stop calling me that!"

"Slop-tot," ma corrected me. "That means a child who's sloppy. You certainly have a tendency to be that."

"I'm trying to be better," I assured her.

"I'm glad you told me. I hadn't noticed....

And you," ma said to Roy, "find something else to do besides tease your sister. I'd just as soon not hear any more fussing this morning."

The boys did let me alone for the rest of that day. But they seldom missed a chance to use my new name when it fitted the occasion. I tried to be careful, but things dropped or tipped or got in my way without my quite knowing how it happened.

One day at the table I reached for something without looking, and dumped a cup of coffee into pa's plate. He looked at the soggy results with distaste and got up to get a clean plate.

"I'm not sure the pigs will even want this," he commented. "Why don't you look in the direction you're moving, Mabel? I hope you never do this when we have company for a meal."

"I'm sorry, pa. I didn't mean to."

"You have to mean not to," ma scolded. "When you're eating, pay attention to what you're doing and leave the daydreaming and chatter until later. Someday you're going to embarrass yourself with someone besides your family."

It was not long before that happened.

We were invited to the minister's house for dinner. As we prepared to go ma folded a dish towel and tucked it into her handbag.

"What's that for, ma?" I asked suspiciously.

"It's to tie under your chin."

"Ma! You wouldn't make me wear a dish towel at the minister's house!"

"I would," she replied. "In fact, I'm almost of a mind to take another one to put under your

plate."

"Oh, ma!" I moaned. "I'd rather be left at home!"

"I've thought of that, too." Ma eyed me sternly. "But you have to learn how to conduct yourself in public someday."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean sit up like a lady and pay attention to what you're doing. Until you do, we have to take precautions of some kind."

"Only a baby wears a bib!"

"Or little girls who can't keep their food off their front. It's a protection."

As it turned out, ma protected the wrong person. When we arrived for dinner we learned that the minister's mother was visiting him. For some reason, she took an instant liking to me.

As we were sitting down to eat, this kind lady insisted that I sit beside her. Ma was reluctant.

"Mabel sometimes needs help cutting her food, perhaps she'd better. . ." ma began.

"Oh, that's no bother. I'll be glad to help her."

Ma gave me a look that said I'd better keep my mind on my business, and I determined to do so. All seemed to be going well when the worst happened.

I was attempting to enter the conversation. In trying to explain the width of something, I flung my arms wide to measure the distance.

As usual, I did not remember that I had something in my hand. A spoon of mashed potatoes and gravy.

A glop of mashed potatoes dripping with gravy landed just under the nice lady's chin. With horror I watched it dribble down into her lap.

Poor ma was ready to slide under the table to get out of sight. The boys choked in an attempt to keep from laughing. As soon as she could speak the minister's mother assured us that no permanent harm had been done. But I was in disgrace.

The journey home was a difficult one. Pa remarked that he hoped I had learned my lesson. Ma replied that she doubted it. The boys declared that they might have expected something like that from a slop-tot like me. I slouched down between ma and pa and pretended not to be there....

"I think it was a long time before they took me anywhere to eat again." Grandma laughed. "I was certainly a trial to my family growing up."

I ALWAYS THOUGHT of grandma's folks as country people warm and cheerful. The old home the family lived in for years was large. But I never thought of grandma's family as rich.

Not until one day at school when I was describing the old farm home to my class.

"You must have had some pretty rich ancestors," my teacher commented.

As soon as I got home that day, I asked grandma. "Were your folks wealthy?"

"Come to think of it, they were in some ways," grandma answered. "But probably not the way your teacher meant."

"What other way is there? Rich means a lot of money, doesn't it?"

"Not always," grandma replied. "Sometimes it means other things we hardly ever think of. I learned about some of them when I was your age."

I settled down at the table to hear grandma's story as she sat crocheting....

Ma was busy making bread when I came home from school one day. I could smell baked beans in the oven, and I knew we were having a favorite supper this evening.

"Mmm, that smells good, ma. How long before we eat?"

"Oh, the usual time, I expect," ma replied. "Sometime between the hour you're so hungry you can't stand it and the hour you starve to death."

I laughed at that, because it seemed as though we were always between those two hours. I watched ma knead the bread. Her sleeves were rolled up above her elbows, and little wisps of hair were coming out around her face.

"We have a pretty hard life, don't we, ma?"

She straightened up and looked at me with amazement. "Now why would you say a thing like that?"

"Well, Sarah Jane's cousin Laura is visiting from the city, and she says we do. Not just us O'Dells," I hastened to add. "But everyone who lives out here in the country. She says she doesn't know how we live without servants to do the work."

Ma went back to her kneading. "I can tell her if she's really interested."

"That's what Sarah Jane's ma told her, too. But Laura says she thinks we must be terribly unhappy. Do you suppose we should be feeling bad, and we just don't know it?"