Pride and the Swing

And the sensation is unusually thrilling when the swing consists of a long rope with one end tied to a stout limb high up in a tree and the other attached to a burlap sack stuffed with grass or hay. When I was a little girl such a contraption was called a bag swing; and how proud were we girls when the boys in the crowd considered us big enough and brave enough to ride upon it.

One blustery Saturday in Spring, when the wind proved too strong for our kites, we had tired of walking about on stilts, and had ‘pegged tops’ so assiduously at school all week that the boys could no longer laugh at the girls’ missed throws, our gang decided to put up a bag swing.

On a grassy slope near our place was found a majestic sycamore with large, strong limbs quite a distance from the ground. Not very far away stood a smaller tree which would do splendidly for a ‘take-off,’ and the surrounding space was sufficiently clear to allow plenty of swinging room.

When this much had been decided, my brother happened to espy our cow over yonder placidly observing us.

“That cow don’t need any more green grass to-day,” he said. “She can stand in the lot and ‘chew her cud.’ That rope is plenty long, and I know it is stout, too, ‘cause dad bought it last week.” So saying, he pulled up the picket pin, led the cow to the lot, and returned in a few moments dragging the long rope from which the pin still dangled.

“I can’t take this thing off,” he complained, “it is wired on.”

“Let me have it,” cried Willie, “I can cut off a piece of the rope with my new knife.”

“What a beautiful knife,” I exclaimed. “What a pretty shade of black the handle is. I’d just love to cut with that beautiful knife. Please let me try it, Willie.”

After casting a scornful glance in my direction, Willie replied, “Aw shucks, you would only cut your finger.”

As soon as the pin was detached, my brother, with the rope coiled about one arm, was ‘skinning’ up the sycamore.

Looking from one to the other, Mary asked, “Who has a gunny sack without any holes in it?” “There is one in our wood-shed, replied Claudie, “but I do not believe mamma would want us to take it. Anyway it’s had lime in it.”

“Well, there is one over home I guess we can have,” said Mary. “I was waiting to see if anyone else had one first.”

“I’ll go help fetch it, and we can fill it with the grass I mowed last night in our front yard,” Kelly spoke up.

“I believe I am able to carry an empty sack by myself,” retorted Mary, as she darted homeward. Soon she was back however, and she and Kelly very busily engaged, cramming grass into the bag.

In the meantime, Buddy, securely perched high in the tree, had thrown the rope over the limb and tied a double slip-knot, Willie swinging on the rope to pull the knot up tight.

When Mary and Kelly brought the large sack bulging with the new-mown grass, and the end of the rope had been securely tied about its middle, our swing hung complete.

“First ride,” shouted Buddy. “I fastened the rope.”

“No sir, I brought the sack, I’m first,” Mary cried.

“You went and got the grass from our yard.” said Claudie, “One of us ought to be first.”

“Oh, shucks, what’s the use of all that?” asked Willie. “Let’s let the tallest one go first, then if he falls, it will not take him so long to reach the ground.”

“Guess Kelly gets first,” Willie continued. “He is taller than anyone else. Go on Kelly, let’s see you try it. Skin up the tree to the second limb on this side and catch the bag when I toss it up there.”

“What? Start from that place? cried Kelly. “It will swing clear across to the top of that scrub oak. What if the rope comes loose ? Some one else can go first for all I care.”

“Well, then, Bud’s next,” Willie said.

“All right, I’ll take a chance,” replied my brother, and in the twinkling of an eye was seated in the crotch of the tree. Catching the bag as Willie swung it to him, he took a tight hold of the rope and jumped on. Farther and farther he swung, over and beyond the little scrub oak, then back almost to the starting point. Back and forth he went, like the pendulum of a clock. Breathlessly we waited ‘until the old cat died,’ each one eager for his own turn.

“Who’s next? Who’s next?” we all cried at once.

“Stand in a row and I can tell better,” replied Willie. “Here, Mary is just a little taller than Elsie. She goes next.”

“How am I going to start?” Mary asked, “I can not climb up there.”

“We have to find something step on,” Willie said. “There is an old barrel over by the barn. Let’s get it, Bud.”

By stepping in a stirrup composed of Willie’s and Buddy’s hands, Mary sprang upon the barrel and scrambled into the tree. Nimbly seated on the ‘take-off,’ with feet swinging free and hands ready to grasp the rope, Mary winked saucily at the rest of us, so far beneath her.

“Go on, Mary, go on. Swing high. Show ‘em you’re not afraid,” we of the fairer sex called to her. Willie tossed the bag, Mary grabbed and jumped, but alas, she did not catch the rope. Before our startled eyes, she hurtled to the ground, which she hit with a loud thump, stretched at full length on her right side. For a moment she lay there motionless while we all rushed toward her.

Seating myself on the ground, I lifted her head into my lap and began stroking her temple. Claudie fanned her with one of the boys’ straw hats. Slowly opening her eyes and glancing about, Mary’s sense of humor overcame her pain as she saw us all looking at her with such anxiety and alarm.

She chuckled softly and said, “I sure hit the ground that time.”

“You certainly did,” replied Willie.

“What were you so proud of, Mary?” I asked.

“What was I proud of?” she inquired.

“Yes,” I answered, “You know they say ‘pride goes before a fall,’ and that was some fall you took.”

“Oh, I do not know, unless I was too proud of the way I was going to jump out of that tree. Thought sure I would not fall. Thought I could do as good as Buddy did. But it looks as if I failed to get a good hold.”

“It sure does,” we all agreed.

“Perhaps all of us were too proud of our swing,” ventured Claudie “And we never asked your mother or dad if we could take that rope, either.” Turning to Mary, she asked, “Where do you hurt the most honey?”

So busy were we deciding whether or not Mary’s right shoulder was very badly injured that we did not notice the approach of a tall and broad shouldered, angry man. Not until he strode right into our midst, black eyes snapping with indignation did we become aware of his presence. Removing his hat, and taking a large black silk handkerchief from his pocket, he began to mop from his forehead, the perspiration caused by his intense haste and the heat of the noon-day sun. Looking first at Mary who still leaned against me, then at the rest of us, with tell-tale expressions of surprise and fear upon our faces, he quickly grasped the situation.

As the glittering anger left his eyes and friendly sparkle took its place, he said: “Are you ready now, Buddy, to take down that rope and put it back on the cow where it belongs, or do you want some more of these girls to take a bad tumble?”

The gentle tone of his voice broke the tension, and the whole gang was ready to do his bidding, thanking their lucky stars that the “scolding’ had been no worse. While Buddy climbed the tree to untie the rope, Willie unfastened the bag which he emptied and handed to Mary.

“Where is the stake which was on here?” asked dad.

“Here by the tree,” answered Willie as he scampered to pick it up.

“I will put it back on, Sir, I took it off,” Willie volunteered.

“Never mind, son, I can find some more wire at home and fasten it on again. But I hope you boys and girls will never do such a thing as this again,” dad said. “Come on, Elsie. Your mother needs you, it is dinner time.”

As we scattered toward our different homes, we all agreed that the next time we took pride in any achievement, we wouldn’t obtain our materials by borrowing them without permission, for Mary might have been hurt much more than she was.