XXXI.
EASTER MONDAY IN WASHINGTON.
The approach of Easter arouses delightful expectations in the hearts of the little children in the great city of Washington, the nation’s capital. On Easter Monday there is an event which places the day among the great holidays of the year. The United States government is drawn into the observance of the day because it furnishes the country’s greatest band to play the music and the government pays the bills. The president of the United States, whoever he may happen to be when the day rolls around, wins the gratitude of the children, for he lets them play in his back yard. The president’s back yard is called the White Lot; it covers many acres, and stretches from the back porch of the White House way out to the great white Washington monument, which towers for more than five hundred feet in the air a half mile away. The lawns of the White Lot are always green and inviting, and are covered with the prettiest flowers and trees that you ever saw. The ground is not low and level, except in spots. There are many little hills which serve to make it a beautiful place. Really the president’s back yard is a great big park.
Bright and early Easter Monday morning happy little groups of children may be seen proudly marching toward the White House. Their mothers and nurses or some grown-up sisters are with them. All the trolley cars are filled with them, coming from every section of the city. Their little tongues are very busy chattering about the pleasures that are in store for them. Some, whose memories stretch back over a long, long expanse of time, are relating some glowing incident of the year before, for those who are yet unacquainted with the joys that are to come. The little ones listen with open mouths and wide-open eyes, and hurry along all the faster.
I have been in Washington on two occasions at these great celebrations—once while the sturdy Grover Cleveland was president and once while the great and good William McKinley occupied the White House. In all my experience I have never seen anything that has made me feel prouder of my country than these feast days for the children; for, in the president’s back yard, all the children meet on a common level—children of all races and of all classes. Neither their father’s position nor their mother’s social standing concerns them. Two little strangers will meet and play and romp together as if they had been companions all their days.
All the little children carry with them little baskets and in the baskets are the prettiest Easter eggs that can be made. Some are painted and striped and spotted with bright colors; others are covered with silver and gilt paper. When the merry-makers get to the great big gates, where the policemen always stand, they march right through, because they know the policemen won’t stop them this time. The little fellows hold their heads high and feel very important, and the policemen smile as they pass by. The children keep coming and coming until by-and-by the lot is almost filled, all the way from the White House to the tall white monument, with laughing children—and with eggs! It would seem that there were no children left anywhere in Washington. The children are allowed to run on the grass just as much as they please for this one day.
If you go near one of the little hills or long banks you may hear one small girl say to another, “My egg’ll ’oll furver ’an your egg.” And the other small girl will answer, “No; mine’ll ’oll furvest.” And then they will start their eggs rolling down the hills and go racing after them to see whose egg goes the farthest.
Many of the boys throw their eggs along the ground like ninepin balls, and see whose will go the farthest. When they get tired of this they stand a little distance apart and roll their eggs against each other’s to see whose will break. There is another way that they try to break each other’s eggs. One holds an egg in his hand so that the top is uncovered, and another takes his egg and taps it gently against the first one. He keeps hitting a little harder and harder until one of them breaks, and the one whose egg doesn’t break is the winner.
Most of the eggs are boiled hard first, so that the children are not very sorry, after all, if their eggs do break, because they can eat them. And their mothers or nurses will give them crackers and salt to go with them.
In such a great crowd, where the children are allowed to run where they please, there are sure to be some little ones who will wander away from their guardians. All the little “lost” children, as fast as the officers find them, are taken to a small house in the center of the lot, and the mothers know just where to look for them. Often there are twenty or thirty little tots, all tired out, waiting to be claimed by their guardians.
On the highest mound of all there is a band—the United States Marine Band—and they play some of their nicest music on this day. So when the little ones get weary from running after their eggs they can go and watch the man pound the big bass drum, and listen to the music. Sometimes, while the music is playing, the president will come out on the back porch, high over all, and watch the festivities. A mighty shout, from old and young alike, always greets the appearance of the president. No wonder this is one of the big days for the little folks.
By-and-by all the eggs are broken or eaten, and then it is time for the tired and happy little fairies to go home.