I have a scribbler that belonged to my mother in 1928 in which she wrote stories for English Composition. She would have been eleven years old. They are done with a fountain pen, or with a pencil, or sometimes with a combination of both. The pencil lead broke, the inkwell went dry – who knows. The penmanship is sometimes exquisite, and sometimes a hurriedly scrawled mess with a careless spelling mistake or two. I think these must have been assigned subjects, because some of them are less enthusiastically done than others. No matter. I’m just thrilled to be able to get a small glimpse of the child my mother used to be.
A Tramp In The Woods
“This is a very good year for nuts, isn’t it Marguerite?” I asked one fine October morning. “Let’s go to the bush after Saturday’s work is done.” This was agreed to at once.
The Saturday’s work was done in a few hours. And away we went after making up a small lunch.
The leaves were very pretty. “If we would stand still or even sit here for awhile we would be covered in leaves,” I happened to say. “Indeed we would”, said Marguerite.
We saw very many small animals and at last caught a small white rabiit that was lame. It was a very nice pet. After lunch we visited the Maple Syrup Camp, an old cave, and an owl’s home.
At last we were on our way home with the rabbit. We were all as hungry as bears. But as happy as larks.
A Tramp Coming To Our Home
One fine summer afternoon mother asked me to stay at home while she went to town. I said I would. As my favourite pastime was reading, I sat behind the table and read a very interesting book called “Edna’s Escape”. In a little while I heard a rap at the door. It made me shiver for I had been reading about the awful time Edna had been having. All I could do was to go to the door and this I dreaded. But at last I gained courage and went.
There in front of me was an ugly tramp. Mother often said that tramps are dangerous. I made up my mind to take no chances. “Well my girl, you are a regular housekeeper. What are you going to do when you are big?” the tramp began.
“Well I don’t think that’s for me to tell” I said. The tramp frowned at me. “But what do you want?” I said.
“A match, a piece of bread, and any other things you have”, said the tramp. “What do you want with all these things?” said I. “I want the match to light my pipe, and the bread to eat, of course” “But where is your pipe?” I said. The tramp turned and walked to the other side of the door and then he said “Get me the bread. Then I will tell.” I went and got a loaf of bread. He smacked his lips and said “Give it to me.” I gave it to him. He turned around very quickly and said as he went away “I’ve got the bread now. I’ll come back for the matches another day.” He then disappeared down the lane.
I thought he had played a good trick on me. I never saw him again, nor he never came back for his matches.
Margaret Elaine Scott, 1928.