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diff --git a/old/67560-0.txt b/old/67560-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 3f97813..0000000 --- a/old/67560-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,19814 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of All the World Over, by Ella Farman - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: All the World Over - Interesting Stories of Travel, Thrilling Adventure and Home Life - -Authors: Ella Farman - Lucia Chase Bell - Frank H. Converse - Louise Stockton - Other Popular Authors - -Release Date: March 4, 2022 [eBook #67560] - -Language: English - -Produced by: Alan, Juliet Sutherland and the Online Distributed - Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ALL THE WORLD OVER *** - - - - - -[Illustration: IN THE BULL-CIRCUS, MADRID.] - - - - - ALL THE WORLD OVER - - _INTERESTING STORIES OF TRAVEL, THRILLING - ADVENTURE AND HOME LIFE_ - - BY - - ELLA FARMAN, MRS. LUCIA CHASE BELL, FRANK H. CONVERSE, - LOUISE STOCKTON, AND OTHER POPULAR AUTHORS - - - [Illustration: ON A WILD GOOSE CHASE] - - _FULLY ILLUSTRATED_ - - BOSTON - - D. LOTHROP COMPANY - - 1893. - - - - - COPYRIGHT, 1892, - BY - D. LOTHROP COMPANY. - - - _All rights reserved._ - - -[Illustration] - - - - - CONTENTS - (Created by transcriber. Not present in original.) - - All the World Over Unknown - - Queen Louisa and the Children Mary Stuart Smith - - The Plaything of an Empress M. S. P. - - Charlie’s Week in Boston Charles E. Hurd - - A Wonderful Trio Jane Howard - - Two Fortune-seekers Rossiter Johnson - - The Little Christmas Pies E. F. - - The Strangers from the South Ella Farman - - Wi’ Wee Winkers Blinkin’ J. E. Rankin, D. D. - - The Childrens’ Shoes Blanche B. Baker - - Ethel’s Experiment B. E. E. - - Cinders Madge Elliot - - Tom’s Centennial Margaret Eytinge - - Little Chub and the Sky Window Mary D. Brine - - Little Boy Blue C. A. Goodenow - - Ghosts and Water-melons J. H. Woodbury - - Funny Little Alice Mrs. Fanny Barrow - - “Pretty,” and Her Violin Holme Maxwell - - Dolly’s Last Night Emily Huntington Miller - - Nib and Meg Ella Farman - - The Little Parsnip-man E. F. - - How Dorr Fought Salome - - Tim’s Partner Amanda M. Douglas - - Unto Babes Helen Kendrick Johnson - - What Happened to the Baby Magaret Eytinge - - Mrs. White’s Party Mrs. H. G. Rowe - - Queer Church Rev. S. W. Duffield - - The Fun-and-frolic Art School Stanley Wood - - Some Quaker Boys of 1776 C. H. Woodman - - What I Heard on the Street Clara F. Guernsey - - Kip’s Minister Kate W. Hamilton - - Jim’s Troubles Grandmere Julie - - The Christmas Thorn Louise Stockton - - Midget’s Baby Mary D. Brine - - A Nocturnal Lunch, and Its Consequences Lily J. Chute - - Lulu’s Pets Mary Standish Robinson - - What Janet Did With Her Christmas Present L. J. L. - - Christmas Roast Beef A. W. Lyman - - Granny Luke’s Courage M. E. W. S. - - Billy’s Hound (PI) Sara E. Chester - - Billy’s Hound (PII) Sara E. Chester - - Pussy Willow and the South Wind A Poem - - Little Sister and Her Puppets Rev. W. W. Newton - - Spring Fun A Poem - - The Lost Dimple Mary D. Brine - - The Other Side of the Story Kate Lawrence - - Jack Horner A Poem’s Meaning - - Double Dinks Elizabeth Stoddard - - Learning to Swim Edgar Fawcett - - Sweetheart’s Surprise Mary E. C. Wyeth - - The Cross-patch Mrs. Emily Shaw Farman - - The Proud Bantam Clara Louise Burnham - - The True Story of Simple Simon Harriette R. Shattuck - - In the Tunnel of Mount Cenis Mrs. Alfred Macy - - A Ride on a Centaur Hamilton W. Mabie - - Lill’s Travels in Santa Claus Land Ellis Towne - - Bob’s “Breaking in” Eleanor Putnam - - The First Hunt J. H. Woodbury - - Chinese Decoration For Easter Eggs S. K. B. - - Il Santissimo Bambino Phebe F. MᶜKeen - - My Mother Put It on Mrs. A. D. T. Whitney - - A Child in Florence (PI) K. R. L. - - A Child in Florence (PII) K. R. L. - - A Child in Florence (PIII) K. R. L. - - Seeing the Pope Mrs. Alfred Macy - - Fayette’s Ride Clara F. Guernsey - - Fanny Clara Doty Bates - - Little Mary’s Secret Mrs. L. C. Whiton - - How Patty Curtis Learned to Sweep Mrs. M. L. Evans - - A Bird Story M. E. B. - - A New Lawn Game G. B. Bartlett - - How Philip Sullivan Did an Errand Mary Densel - - Winter With the Poets The Editor - - Bessie’s Story Frank H. Converse - - A Difference of Opinion The Editor - - The Grass, the Brook, and the Dandelions Margaret Eytinge - - The Birds’ Harvest Mrs. J. D. Chaplin - - Birds’-nest Soup Ella Rodman Church - - The Story of Two Forgotten Kisses Kitty Clover - - - - -ALL THE WORLD OVER - - -Perhaps one of the most vivid impressions which the tourist receives -upon his entrance into any Spanish city whatsoever, is of its muscular -beggars--men of enormous size, with their ruffianly swaggering strength -exaggerated by the national cloak. This garment is of heavy, tufted -woollens, long and fringed, almost indestructable, and is frequently -worn to muffle half the face; and the broad slouch hat, usually with a -couple of rough feathers stuck in its band, does not tend to soften the -general brigandish effect. - -These beggars are licensed by the government, which must reap a -goodly revenue from the disgraceful crowd, as they are numerous, and -therefore they pursue their avocation in the most open manner. They -will frequently follow the traveller a half-mile, especially should -they find him to be ignorant of that magic formula of dismissal which -is known to all Spaniards: - -_Pardon, for God’s sake, Brother!_ - -This appeal is constantly on the lip of every Spanish lady. She utters -it swiftly, without so much as a glance, a dozen times of a morning on -her way to church, as a dozen gaunt, dirty hands are thrust in her face -as she passes; and hearing it, the most persistent fellow of them all -is at once silenced, and falls back. - -Coming in from their kennel-homes among the ruins and the holes in the -hills outside, it is the custom to make an early morning tour of the -city before they take up their stations for the day at the various -church and hotel doors. Each seems to be provided with “green pudding,” -in his garlic pot, and he eats as he goes along, and prays as he eats, -stopping in front of the great oval patio or court gates of iron -lattice, which guard the mansions of the rich. - -At these patio doors he makes a prodigious racket, shaking the iron -rods furiously, and all the while muttering his prayers, until some one -of the family appears at a gallery window. Then instantly the mutter -becomes a whine, a pitiful tale is wailed forth, and alms are dolefully -implored “for the love of God.” But although such mottoes as “Poverty -is no Crime” are very often painted on the walls of their fine houses, -the probability is that the unmoved Señorita will murmur a swift -“Pardon, for God’s sake, Brother!” and retire, to soon appear again to -silence another of the fraternity with the same potent formula. - -However, each of the countless horde is sure to gather in centimes -sufficient for the day’s cigarettes and garlic, and, in the long run, -to support life to a good old age. - - -The Spaniards are a nation of dancers and singers. Every Spanish child -seems born with the steps, gestures, snappings and clappings of the -national _fandango_ dance, at the ends of his fingers and toes. A -guitar is the universal possession, and every owner is a fine player. -The solitary horseman, the traveller by rail, takes along his guitar; -and in car, or at cross-roads, he is sure of dancers at the first -thrilling twang. There is always a merry youth and maiden aboard ready -to make acquaintance in a dance, and anywhere the whole household will -troop from the cottage, the plowman will leave his team in the furrow, -and the laborer drop his hoe, for a half-hour’s joyous “footing o’t.” - -One of the interesting sights of Toledo is the great city fountain on -Street St. Isabel, near the cathedral. It is a good place to study -donkeys and their drivers, and the lower classes of the populace. The -water, deliciously sweet and cool, is brought from the mountains by the -old Moorish-built water-ways, and flows by faucet. There is no public -system of delivery, consequently a good business falls into the hands -of private water-carriers. These supply families at a franc a month. -The poorer households go to and fro with their own water-jars as need -calls, carrying them on their heads. They often wear a cushioned ring, -fitting the head, to render the carrying of the jar an easier matter. - -A picturesque article of dress among Spanish men, is the national sash, -a broad woollen some four yards in length, of gay colorings. This is -wound three or four times around the waist, its fringed end tucked in -to hang floating, and the inevitable broad knife thrust within its -folds, which also hold the daily supply of tobacco. A common sight -is the sudden stop on the street, a lighting of a fresh cigarette, a -loosening of the loosened sash, a twitch of the short breeches, and -then a tight, snug wind-up, when the lounger moves on again. - -Another amusing sight is the picturesque beggar who seems at first -glance to be hanging in effigy against the cathedral walls, so -motionless will some of these fellows stand, hat slouched over the -face, the brass government “license” labelling the breast, a hand -extended, and, in many cases, a crest worn prominently on the ragged -garments, to show that the wearer is a proud descendant of some old -grandee family. To address this crested beggar by any other title than -_Caballero_ (gentleman) is a deadly insult. - -[Illustration] - - -Among the many small sights of the Plaza about Christmas time, are the -sellers of zambombas, or Devil’s Fiddles. This toy, which the stranger -sometime takes for a receptacle of sweet drinks to be imbibed through -a hollow cane, is a favorite plaything with Spanish children. A skin -is stretched over a bottomless jar; into this is fastened a stout -length of sugar-cane, and lo! a zambomba. Its urchin-owner spits on his -palms, rubs them smartly up and down the ridgy cane, when the skin-drum -reverberates delightfully. - -The fruit markets are of a primitive sort. The peasant fills -his donkey-panniers with grapes, garlic, melons straw-cased and -straw-handled, whatever he has ripe, and starts for town. Reaching the -Plaza, in the shade of the cathedral, he spreads his cloak, rolling a -rim. On this huge woollen plate he arranges his fruit, weighing it out -as customers demand. - -From the old Moorish casements, the traveller looks down on the most -rudimentary sort of life. He sees no labor-saving machinery. Instead -of huge vans loaded with compact hay bales, he beholds the donkey -hay-train. The farmer binds a mountain of loose hay on each of his -donkeys, lashes them together, and with a neighbor to help beat the -train along, starts for market. These trains may be seen any day -crooking about among the steep mountain-ways. - -The student of folk-life notes the shoemakers on the Plaza at work in -the open air. Formerly the sandal was universally worn, with its sole -of knotted hemp, and its canvas brought up over the toe, at which point -was fastened a pair of ribbons about four feet long, and these ribbons -each province had its own fashion of lacing and tying. But now the -conventional footgear of Paris is common, and one buys boots of the -fine glossy Cordovan leather for a trifle. - -The proprietors of the neighboring vineyards visit the wine shops -weekly to bring full wine-skins, and take such as are emptied. These -skins, often with their wool unsheared, are cured by remaining several -weeks filled with wine-oil, and all seams are coated with pitch to -prevent leakage. The wholesale skins hold about eight gallons, being -usually those of well-grown animals. They are stoutly sewn, tied at -each knee, and also at the neck, whence the wine is decanted into -smaller skins by means of a tunnel. - -[Illustration] - - -The beggars of Spain are a most devout class. Piety is, with them, the -form under which they conduct business; a shield, and a certificate of -character. They walk the streets under the protection of the patron -saint of the principal church in town, and they formally demand alms of -you in the name of that saint. It is Religion that solicits you--the -beggar’s own personality is not at all involved; and it is thus that -the proud Spanish self-respect is saved from hurt. - -The tourist who has not tarried in French towns, is, at first, -astonished to behold women passing to and fro upon the streets with no -head covering whatever. Hats and bonnets are rarely seen upon Spanish -women of the lower and middle classes. Those who are street-venders -sit bareheaded all day long in their chairs on the Plaza, wholly -indifferent to the great heat and blinding dazzle of the Spanish sun. -About Christmas, dozens of a “stands” spring up along the Plaza. It is -at that season that the gypsy girls come in with their roasters and -their bags of big foreign chestnuts; and they do a thriving business, -for every good Spanish child expects roast chestnuts and salt at -Christmas. - -Many of the mountain families about Toledo keep small flocks of -sheep--flocks that, instead of dotting a green landscape with peaceful -white, as in America and Northern Europe, only darken the reddish-brown -soil of Spain with a restless shading of a redder and a deeper hue. -These brown sheep are herded daily down on the fenceless wastes. The -shepherd-boys are usually attended by shepherd-dogs so enormous in size -that the traveller often mistakes them for donkeys. They are sagacious, -and do most of the herding, their masters devoting themselves to the -guitar, the siesta, the cigarette, and the garlic pudding. - -Toledo, more than any other Spanish city, abounds with interesting bits -and noble examples of the old Moorish architecture, for the reason -that it has not been rebuilt at all, and that few of its ruins have -been restored, or even retouched. Color alone has changed. The city -now is of the soft hue of a withered pomegranate. Turn where you will, -your eye is delighted by an ornate façade, a carved gateway with its -small reticent entrance door, a window with balcony and cross-bars, and -everywhere there is the horseshoe arch with its beautiful curve. The -old Alcazar is standing, though occupied as a Spanish arsenal, and on -the height opposite is the ruin of a fine Moorish castle. - -[Illustration] - - -One of the best “small businesses” in a Spanish city, is that of the -domestic water-supply. Those dealers who have no donkeys, convey it -to their customers in long wheelbarrows constructed with a frame to -receive and hold several jars securely. Stone jars, with wood stopples -attached with a cord, are used, the carrying-jars, being emptied -into larger jars in the water-cellars. The peasants have a poetic -appellation for the soft, constant drip of the water from the old -aqueducts: _The sigh of the Moor_. - -With the Spaniard, as with the American, the turkey is a special -Christmas luxury. But the tempting rows of dressed fowls common to our -markets and groceries, are never to be seen. As the holiday season -draws very close at hand, the mountain men come down into the city, -driving before them their cackling, gobbling, lustrous-feathered -flocks, bestowing upon them, of course, the usual daily allowance of -blows which is meted out to the patient family donkey. These poultry -dealers congregate upon the Plaza, where they smoke, and chaff, and -dicker, keeping their droves in place with the whip; and the buyer -shares in the capture of his flying, screaming, flapping purchase, in -company with all the children on the street, for the turkey market is -usually great fun for the Spanish youngster. - -In the cold season, one of the morning sights of a Spanish town is the -preparation of the big charcoal braziers outside the gates of the fine -dwelling-houses. The coals are laid and lighted, and then the servant -blows them with a large grass fan until the ashes are white, when he -may consider that all deadly fumes are dissipated, and that it is safe -to carry it within to the room it is to warm. - -Nearly all the peasants in the near vicinity of cities are market -gardeners on a small scale. They cultivate small plots, and whenever -any crop is ripe, they load their donkey-panniers and go into the -cities, where they sell from house to house. These vegetable-panniers -have enormous pockets, and are woven of coarse, dyed grasses, in -stripes and patterns of gaudy blue and red. When filled, they often -cover and broaden the donkey’s back to such an extent that the lazy -owner, determined to ride, must sit on the very last section of -backbone. Some of the streets in Toledo are so narrow that the brick -or stone walls of the buildings have been hewn and hollowed out at -donkey-height, to allow the loaded panniers to pass. The buyers make -their bargains from the windows, a sample vegetable being handed up for -inspection. - -[Illustration] - - -Travellers should deny themselves Spain during December, January and -February. The heating apparatus of the American and the English house -is unknown in Spanish dwellings--fireplace, stove, nor furnace. The -peasant draws his cloak up to his nose and shivers and cowers, while -the middle-class family lights a single brazier, and the household, -gathering in one room, hovers over the charcoal smouldering away in -its brass cage, and the cats sit and purr on the broad wooden rim. -These braziers are expensive--constructed of brass and copper--and -few families afford more than one, making winter comfort out of the -question, as the floors, of marble or stone, never get well warmed. - -With the coming of pleasant weather Spanish families usually forsake -the blinded, draperied, balconied rooms of the gallery for the secluded -and garden-like patio. This court is often fifty feet square, and -in its enclosure there is generally a fountain; the floor is tiled -with marble, there are stately tropic plants in tubs, and orange and -palm-trees are growing. Should the sunshine become too fierce there -are smoothly-running screens and awnings to roof the whole court in an -instant. Some of the old Moorish patios contain quaint wells, dry at -some seasons, but often affording water sufficient for housekeeping -needs. - -The water-jars come from the famous potteries of Seville, and, made of -a rude red clay, are similar in hue to our plant pots. They are brought -in high loads by oxen--and these pottery carts are often an enlivening -feature of the dull country roads. - -The water cellar is not a cellar at all, but a stone-paved room off -the patio, delightfully cool and sloppy of a fiery July day, with the -water-carriers unloading, and filling the array of dripping red jars -with the day’s supply from the public fountain. - -Every Spanish peasant wears a knife in his sash. These knives are -usually about eighteen inches long, with a broad, sharp, murderous -blade. The handles are of tortoise or ivory, often carved richly, -or inlaid with figures of the Virgin, the Saviour, or the crucifix. -The knife is kept open by a curious little wheel, between blade and -handle, and is used indiscriminately, to slice a melon or lay bare a -quarrelsome neighbor’s heart. - -[Illustration] - - -Seville is celebrated for its oranges and its pottery. Nearly the -whole Spanish supply of water-jars comes from this city; and the -outlying country is agreeably dotted with orange orchards, as olive -oases enliven the vicinity of Cordova. The export of the fruit is a -considerable business. The most delicious orange in the world may be -bought in the streets of Seville for a cent, and the ordinary rate for -the ordinary fruit is four for a cent. In the Christmas season large -and selected oranges are sold in the outdoor booths. They are carefully -brought, and temptingly hung in nets, along with melons cased in straw, -fine bunches of garlic, chestnuts, assorted lengths of sugar-cane, -tambourines, zambombas, and such other sweet and noisy objects as -delight the Spanish youngster. - -The decorative plant of Spain is the aloe--truly decorative, with its -base of long, dark, clear-cut, sword-like leaves, its tall slender -trunk often rising twenty feet high, and its broad candelabras of -crimson blooms. - -A picturesque industry of Seville is the spinning of the green rope so -much used by Spanish farmers. It is manufactured from the coarse pampas -grass of the plains, and the operation is a very leisurely and social -one, requiring three persons: one to feed the wheel, one to turn it, -and a third to receive the twisted rope. - -Plowing, in Spain, is still a very rude performance. The primitive plow -of the Garden of Eden era is yet in use--a sharp crotch of a tree, -crudely shod, however, with iron. - -An indispensable article of peasants’ costume for both men and women, -should an absence of even two hours be contemplated, is the _alforja_, -or peasant’s bag. This, in idea, is similar to the donkey-pannier--a -long, stout, woollen strip thickly tufted with bunches of red and blue -wool, with a bag at either end, and is worn slung over the shoulder. -The pockets of the _alforja_ invariably contain, one a pot of garlic, -or green pudding, the other a wine skin. - -The mouths of some wine-skins are fitted with a bottomless wooden -saucer, and are lifted to the lips for drinking; but the preferable and -national style is to catch the stream with the skin held aloft and away -at arm’s-length. - -[Illustration] - - -A central point of interest for visitors to Seville is the Cathedral. -Its tower, known as the Giralda, is one of the most celebrated -examples of sacred Moorish architecture. It was erected in an early -century, and was considered very ancient when the Spaniards, in the -reign of Ferdinand and Isabella, built upon it the fine Cathedral. In -the interior, the Tribuna de la Puorta Mayor is much visited for its -lofty and beautiful sunlight effects, and there are several precious -Murillos. The ascent of the Giralda is usually made by tourists--an -agreeable variety in European climbing, as there are no stairs, the -whole progress being by an easy series of inclined planes of brick -masonry. Queen Isabella, not long ago, made the entire ascent and -return upon horseback. From the summit, one views the whole of Seville, -with its dark-green rim of orange gardens, set in the great flat -barrens that stretch out towards Cadiz. A comic sight usual at the foot -of the tower, significant as a sign of the complete contempt in which -the Catholic Spaniard holds all things Moslem and Moorish, is that of -a goat belonging to one of the custodians, tethered from morning till -night to a fine old Muezzin bell. - -Another noted building is the Tower of Gold, on the banks of the -Guadalquiver, opposite the Gypsy quarter. Tourists visit it to get the -fine architectural effect of the Cathedral, also for its view of the -Bull Ring. It stands on the site of the old Inquisition, where hosts of -Moorish captives were tortured. - -The Alcazar, always visited, is an ancient Moorish palace, and is -considered, in point of elegance, second to only the Alhambra. It is -now set aside by the government as the residence of the Queen-mother -Isabella. - -San Telmo is also much visited. It is the palace of the Duc de -Montpensier, known throughout Spain as “the orange man.” He owns -numerous orange orchards, and lavishes much time and money on his -plantations and hothouses. - -Another point of curiosity is known as the House of Pilate. It is -said to be an exact reproduction of the celebrated House of Pilate in -Jerusalem. It is remarkable for some exquisite tiles, and it bears many -interesting inscriptions. - -Seville presents an odd aspect to the stranger between the hours of -three and six P. M. During this hot interval the streets and shops are -deserted, everybody, even to the beggars, being under cover and asleep. - -[Illustration] - - -Most of the peasant girls in the vicinity of Spanish cities contrive -to keep a bit of flower-garden for their own personal purposes. -She is a thriftless lass indeed, who has not at least one fragrant -double red rose in tending, or some other red-flowered shrub. From -Christmas on through the spring fête-days of the Church, they reap -their tiny harvests. During this season every Spanish man and woman -who can, wears a red flower in button-hole or over the ear, and the -streets are thronged with bareheaded, black-tressed peasant and gypsy -flower-venders. Flowers are a part of the daily marketing, and two or -three centimos--a centimo is one fifth of a cent--suffice to buy a -fresh nosegay. New Year’s is a marked fête in Seville, as then “The Old -Queen” in the Alcazar rides out in state, the Alameda is thronged with -carriages, and the whole populace is a-blossom with red. - -A custom noticed by the tourist who lingers about cathedral doors, -is one most observed, perhaps, by the poorer and more superstitious -classes. Men and women dip the fingers, on entrance and departure, in -holy water, and wet some one of the countless crosses which are set in -the wall just above the cash-boxes--the cash-box in Spain being the -inevitable accompaniment of the cross. - -As in other Spanish cities, the noble Profession of Beggary considers -itself under the protection of the Church, and the entrance to the -cathedral is down a long vista of outstretched hands, the fortunate one -at the far end, who holds aside the matting portiere for you to enter, -feeling sure of a fee, however the others fare. The whole vicinity -abounds with loathsome spectacles of disease and distress, those -entirely helpless managing to be conveyed daily into holy precincts. -It is often amusing to witness an adult beggar “giving points” to some -young amateur in the art, the dignity of the national calling evidently -being insisted upon. - -An agreeable sight in this city of churches and beggars, is the -afternoon stroll of companies of young priests and students from the -convents. They are very noticeable, as part of the panorama, with -their broad, silky shovel hats and black flowing gowns. Some are -scholastic and intent upon their studies even in the streets, while -others evidently take a most young man-of-the-world enjoyment in their -cigarettes and the street-sights. - -[Illustration] - - -Revenues are collected in most primitive ways by the Spanish City -Fathers. As there are no important sources of public income, there are -few transactions, however trifling, that do not pay tax and toll. Every -man is suspected of smuggling and “false returns,” and it is a small -bunch of garlic that escapes. Burly officials, often in shirt-sleeves -and with club, lounge at all the entrances to the town, to levy duty -upon any chance donkey-pannier or cart bringing in fruit and vegetables -for sale. Frequently there are scenes of confusion, sometimes of -violence. The government is determined that not a turnip, not a carrot, -not a cabbage shall escape the yield of its due; and it is not to be -denied that the poor farmer hopes fervently to smuggle in a wine-skin -or two--a dozen of eggs, or some other article of price, among his -cheaper commodities. As a rule, he fails; for, suspicious of over-much -gesticulation and protestation, the official is quite likely to tumble -out sacks, baskets, bundles and bales, and empty every one upon the -ground, leaving the angry farmer to pick up and load again at his -leisure. - -Andalusia is a brown region stretching gravely between Cadiz and -Granada. The effect of this landscape, all in low tones, upon natives -of the green lands of America and England, is most depressing. The soil -itself is red, and the grass grows so sparsely that the color of the -ground crops up, giving impression of general sun-blight, broken here -and there by the glimmering moonlight gray of an olive orchard, or -the dark-green of an orange garden. The huts of the farmers are built -of the red clay; the clothing of the population appears to be of the -undyed wool of the brown sheep, while to add to the prevailing russet -hue, the general occupation seems to be that of herding pigs on the -plains--and the pigs are hideously brown also. It is said that they -derive their color from feeding on the great brown bug, or beetle, -which abounds in the soil. The traveller counts these feeding droves by -the dozen, each with two lazy, smoking swineherds. - -Travelling by rail over the Andalusian levels, one passes a succession -of petty stations, villages of half a dozen houses each, where the only -visible business appears to be in the hands of women, in the shape of -one or two open-air tables, with pitchers and glasses, and a cow or -goat tethered near in order to supply travellers, as the trains stop, -with drinks of fresh milk. - -[Illustration] - - -Many of the public buildings of Spanish cities stand as they were -captured from the Moors. Sometimes, as in Cadiz, the town has received -a coat of whitewash; but more frequently the only Spanish additions and -improvements are a few crosses inlaid in the old cement, or a plaster -Virgin niched, in rude contrast, beside some richly wrought Moorish -door of horseshoe form. The town hall of Seville remains to-day as ten -centuries ago. - -The Spanish towns lie, for the most part, in the valley. The Moors -usually chose the site for their cities with a view to the natural -defences of mountain and river. The hills of course, remain, but the -rivers, once full rushing tides, are now dried into stagnant shallow -waters, a natural result in a country long uncultivated. - -A favorite business with the young men among the mountain peasants is -the breeding of poultry; not alone of fat pullets for the Christmas -markets--that is a minor interest so far as enjoyment goes--but of -choice young game cocks--cock-fighting being the staple, everyday -national amusement, while the bullfight is to be regarded as fête and -festival--“the taste of blood” is a welcome ingredient in any Spanish -pleasure. All poultry is taken to market alive; the pullets, hanging -head downwards, are slung in a bunch at the saddle bow, and the cocks -are carried carefully in cages. Fowls are not a common article of food, -as in France, but are, instead, a holiday luxury, and the costliest -meat in the market. - -Looking idly abroad as he crosses the Andalusian plains, the tourist -on donkey-back notices the queer carts that take passengers from -one station to another. These odd omnibuses are but rude carts, -two-wheeled, and covered with coarse mats of pampas grass, and they -are drawn by two, three, four or five donkeys harnessed tandem. On -the rough, movable seats, gentlemen in broadcloth, and common folk -with laced canvas shoes and peasant-bags, huddle together, all eating -from the garlic-pots as they are passed, and drinking from the same -wine-skin; this good fellowship of travellers is one of the unwritten -laws of Spain. Meantime the sauntering boys of the roadside hop up -on the cart behind with the identical vagrant joy experienced by the -American urchin after a like achievement. - -[Illustration] - - -You never can be sure when a Spaniard will arrive. Due at noon, -should he meet a guitar, he comes at nightfall; and as it is certain -that every second Spaniard, walking or riding, will have his guitar -along, it is best not to look for the return of any messenger before -evening. He may have chosen to alight from his donkey and dance an -hour, or he may have elected to sit still and clap and snap a dance in -pantomime--either is exciting and deeply satisfactory--and a fulfilment -of one of the obligations of daily life which no true Spaniard can -be expected to neglect for any such simple considerations as promise -given, command laid, or bargain made. - -A peculiarly gloomy look is lent to the Spanish landscape by the -cypress, sometimes growing in groups, sometimes towering singly in -solitude. This tree, funereal in its best aspect, has a dead, dry, -white trunk, and the branches begin at a height of twenty, thirty, or -forty feet, and then drape themselves in a cone-like monumental mass -of purplish green. These gloomy evergreens are common, and the tourist -feels, even if he does not note, the absence of the lively sunny -greens of American and French landscapes, with the bowery shadows that -everywhere invite the wayfarer to stop and rest. - -The Bergh Societies would find ample range for work in Spain, for the -beating and prodding of the donkey is one of the national occupations. -As a rule, poor Burro is overloaded. A whole family will frequently -come down into the city on his back, and tired though he be with -plodding and stumbling and holding back, the officer at the gate is -sure to give him a blow and a bruise with his bludgeon of authority as -he passes in; and the poor creature sometimes very justly lies down -in the street and dies without warning, allowing his owners to climb -homeward on foot. - -Now and then one comes unexpectedly on an example of ancient enterprise -put to use. There are spots in the brown waste which are green and -fertile, because the old irrigating wells have been cleaned out and set -in motion--a pair of wheels studded with great cups operated by means -of a pair of poles, and a pair of donkeys, and a pair of drivers. The -land is cut in ditches, and often the farmer can be seen hoeing his -garlic and his cabbages while he stands in water ankle-deep. - -[Illustration] - - -Greatly dreaded by the unmarried young Spanish woman is the Beggars’ -Curse; and a goodly portion of the beggars’ revenue is ensured by -this superstitious national fear. The more vicious of the fraternity -keep good watch upon the wealthy young señoritas and their cavaliers -when they go out for pleasure. They do not follow them, perhaps; -instead they take up their stations around the doors of those -restaurants--whence they never are driven--where ladies and their -escorts are wont to stop for chocolate, or coffee, or _aguardente_, -on their return from calls or the theatre, or the Bull Ring. As the -pair are departing, the burly beggar approaches, half barring the -way perhaps, and asks for alms. It is usually bestowed; but he begs -insolently for more; and if it be not forthcoming, a bony and rosaried -arm is raised, “the evil eye” is fastened upon the doomed ones, and -the Beggars’ Curse--the Curse of the Unfortunate--which all Spaniards -dread, is threatened; and if it be evening, it is quite probable that -the group stand near some crucifix of the suffering Saviour, with the -red light of the street lantern shining down upon its ghastliness, so -that the feeling of pious dread is greatly heightened, and a frightened -pressure on the cavalier’s arm carries the doubled alms into the -outstretched hand. - -The dress of Spanish people of fashion is singularly artistic and -pleasing. Although Paris styles are now followed by the señoritas, they -still cling to the national black satin with its lustrous foldings and -flouncings, to the effective ball fringes, and to the mantilla, draping -face and shoulder with its heavy black or white laces, the national red -rose set just above the ear. Nor is this too remarkable under the high -broad lights of the Spanish sky, though it might seen theatrical in our -cold, harsh, Northern atmosphere. The dress of the Spanish gentlemen -is as picturesque. The hat is usually a curious, double-brimmed silky -beaver, while the cloak is most artistic in color and in drapery. This -cloak, lasting a life-time, is of fine broadcloth, lined with heavy -blue or crimson velvet; and it is so disposed that the folding brings -this gorgeous lining in a round collar about the neck, while another -broad fold is turned over upon the whole long left side of the garment. -The peasant’s cloak, of the same cut, is lined with red flannel, but it -is often worn as gracefully. Long trousers are becoming general, but -in some districts the tight pantaloon, slashed at the knee, is still -seen, with its gay garter embroidered with some fanciful motto. One -just brought from Spain bears this legend: _There is a girl in this -town--with her love she kills me._ - -[Illustration: WHAT THEY ALL FEAR--THE BEGGAR’S CURSE. -MORE! SEÑORITA. MORE!] - - -Southern Spain is so mountainous that herding naturally becomes the -occupation of the peasantry, rather than tillage. Great flocks of goats -browse and frolic among the rocky heights and along the steep ravines -where it seems hardly possible for the tiny hoofs to keep foothold; -and the traveller often beholds far above him dozens of these bounding -creatures, leaping down the cliffs to drink at the valley streams. They -are generally followed, at the same fearless pace, by a short-frocked -shepherdess as sure-footed as they. Her rough, hempen-soled shoe, -however, yields her excellent support, being flexible and not slippery, -like boot-leather. - -Along the narrow mountain highways, the traveller frequently comes upon -little booths built in among the cliffy recesses, like quaint pantries -hewn in the rock. Melons, and grapes, and garlic, and oranges in nets, -hang against the wall, and the heavy red wine of the country is for -sale by the glass, also goat’s milk. - -Farming processes go on at all times of year in Spain. Subsistence is -a matter comparatively independent of care and calculation. Crops may -be sown at any time. The whole year round the peasant lights no fire in -his earthen, bowl-like hut of one room. He cooks outside his door, in -gypsy fashion. His furniture consists of some rude wool mattresses, a -table, and some stools with low backs. A few bowls, plates, and knives -and forks suffice to set his table. A kettle and a garlic pot comprise -his cooking utensils. Frequently he and his family are to be seen at -meals, leaning their elbows on the table in company, and sipping like -so many cats, from the huge platter of hot garlic soup, crumbling their -slices of coarse black bread, as they need. In contrast with this crude -bread of the common people, are the long, fine, sweet white loaves to -be had at the Seville bakeries--a bread so cake-like, so delicious, -as to require no butter, even with Americans accustomed to the use of -butter with every meal. The salted butter of American creameries, made -to keep for months, is wholly unknown in Spain, Spanish butter being a -soft mass, and always eaten unsalted. But with his strong garlic and -his fine fragrant tobacco, the Spaniard hardly demands or appreciates -the refinements of food, and his tobacco is of the best, coming from -the Spanish plantations in Cuba, and is very cheap, as it enters the -country free of duties. - -[Illustration: SUNNY SPAIN: Sewing and Reaping in Winter] - - -Housework, among the sun-basking, siesta-loving Spaniards, seems to -be not the formidable, systematic matter that it is made in America. -Washing, as well as cookery, is of simplest form. “Blue Monday” does -not follow Sunday in Spain. A necessary garment is washed when needed; -superfluous ones are allowed to accumulate until it is worth while to -give a day to the task. Then, among the peasants, “the washing” is -carried to a mountain torrent, and the garments are rubbed and rinsed -in the swift waters, while picnic fun makes the labor agreeable, as -often several families wash in company. Among townspeople, the work -is done in great stone tubs in the patio, or in the water-cellar. -There the goods, repeatedly wetted, are laid upon a big stone table -and beaten with flat wooden paddles. The snowy array of the American -clothes-line is seldom seen. The washed garments are hung upon the table -edges, and held fast by stones or other weights until dried. - -A frequent incident in mountain travel is the sight of some stout lazy -peasant away up the heights, holding fast by his donkey’s tail to help -himself along as the poor creature scrambles up the zigzag steeps. At -the base and along the face of these rocks cacti grow abundantly, often -presenting a beautiful cliff-side of cacti fifty feet high. - -Another sight, not so agreeable, along many a Spanish roadside, is that -of the ancient wooden crosses, erected on the sites where travellers -have been murdered by banditti. These roads are often desolate and -dreary beyond description, unfenced, seldom travelled, and set with the -constantly recurring stones of the Moorish road-makers. Leading across -brown, treeless wastes, with habitations far apart, both peasant and -tourist would easily wander from these roads, were it not for those -rude mile-stones, which are often the only guide-posts and land-marks. -When a fence is required, a hedge of aloe is usually started. - -Spanish children chew sugar-cane as American children munch candy. The -cane is brought from Cuba and is sold everywhere; carried about by -venders in big bundles of handy lengths, to capture all stray centimos. - -Not so well patronized is the street dealer in soap--“old Castile” -soap--for this business is recognized to be a form of beggary, and -though bargains are made and money paid, the soap is seldom carried -away by the purchaser. - -[Illustration] - - -Every male Spaniard is obliged to render three years of military -service; but usually this is no severe hardship, and loving his ease, -he leaves home cheerily enough. The government is rather embarrassed -than served, in the matter of stationing this soldiery, especially -since the close of the Carlist War. The conscripts are set to guard -the palaces, the parks, the national buildings; they are sent to Cuba -and elsewhere, whenever it is possible, in fact all opportunities and -pretexts are seized to set up a soldier on duty, or rather a pair of -them, as two are usually to be seen together. Leave of absence is -easily obtained, and but few days of actual presence and service are -required during the third year. However, the military requirements by -the government never relax, as “insurrections” are indigenous to the -country and climate. - -As the ancient Moorish doors are still frequent, so is the old form of -knock and admission. The arrival raps smartly at the small door set -within the great nail-studded gate. Presently an eye, a face, appears -at the little wicket window to reconnoitre, to question. Should the -examination reveal nothing dangerous or disagreeable, the latch-string -is pulled, and entrance is permitted. - -“Burro” must needs appear in all Spanish picture and story, for he -is prominent in all Spanish folk-life. He is to be seen everywhere, -with his rude harness tufted with gay woollens, and big brass nails, -moving over the landscape in town or country--the helpless slave and -abused burden-bearer, seldom petted, even by the children of the -family. There are very handsome mules in Madrid and a few elsewhere; -but the donkey is the national carrier. He is small, brown, brave, -and always bruised. The Spaniards’ “Get up!” is a brutal blow between -the eyes. He is seldom stabled, seldom decently fed. He is tethered -anywhere--under the grapevine, by the door, among the rocks, but always -at his master’s convenience; and his food is in matter and manner best -known to himself. His harness is heavy and uncomfortable, and his hair -is clipped close on his back where he needs protection most from the -burning sun. This clipping is usually done at the blacksmith’s, by a -professional clipper, and is a sight of interest to the lazy populace. -Under the great shears Burro’s body is often decorated with half -moons, eyes, monograms, garlands--whatever the fancy of his master, or -the clipper, or the bystander may direct. Poor Burro! from first to -last--poor Burro! - -[Illustration: A DECORATIVE ARTIST.] - - -In Cordova, a sudden stir in the street often betokens “The Return from -the Chase”--not, however, the picturesque scattering of the “meet” -after an English fox-hunt, but the arrival home of some solitary mule -and rider, with a pack of harriers. The huntsman has been riding across -country all by himself, his cigarette, and his dogs, to ferret out -some luckless colony of hares in a distant olive orchard. The rabbits -are very mischievous in the young olive plantations, and the huntsman -and his pack are warmly welcomed by the olive-growers. These Spanish -harriers are a keen-nosed race of dogs; quite as good hunters as the -English fox-hounds. Nearly every breed of dog is found in Spain, -except, perhaps, the Newfoundland. In most Spanish cities the dogs are -one of the early morning sights as they gather in snarling, quarrelsome -packs of from fifteen to twenty, before the doors of the hotels and -restaurants, to devour the daily kitchen refuse--a very disagreeable -spectacle; but there seems to be no other street-cleaning machinery. - -The chief streets of a Spanish town are usually thronged with -fruit-sellers, especially the Plaza, where the great portion of the -population seems to congregate to lounge and sleep in the sun all day -long, naturally waking now and then to crave an orange, a palmete, or -a pomegranate--“regular meals” appearing to be a regulation of daily -life quite unknown. These fruit sellers are girls, for the most part, -though sometimes there may be seen some old man who has not been able -to procure a beggar’s license. Oranges are always plenty. Palmetes, a -tender, bulbous growth, half vegetable, half fruit, are brought into -the city in January, and are consumed largely by the peasants and -beggars, who strip them into sections, chewing them for their rather -insipid sweetish juices. - -The Spanish peasant cooks out-of-doors, like a gypsy. Often his kettle -is his only “stove furniture;” in it he stews, boils, fries and bakes. -Even in January, the cold month in Spain, he makes no change in his -housekeeping. The peasants’ daily bread is hardly bread at all, but -rather a pudding, a batter of coarse flour, water and garlic, stirred, -and boiled, and half baked in his kettle, and then pressed into a jar. -This “garlic pot” he always carries about with him in his shoulder bag. -In the patio apartments of some of the ancient, Moorish-built houses -there are quaint arches with stone ovens, which are sometimes utilized -for cookery. - -[Illustration] - - -A drunken Spaniard is rarely seen, although the “wine-skin” keeps -constant company with the “garlic pot” in the peasant’s bag. The heavy -red wine of the country is used as freely as water, being sold for -four cents a wine-skin; this wine-skin holds a quart or more. Not -to drink with the skin held at arms-length, is to be not Spanish, -but French--their generic name for a foreigner or stranger. Fine and -delicate wines are made in the neighborhood of some of the great -vineyards, but they are chiefly for exportation. - -There is a popular saying, that Spanish ladies dress their hair but -once a week. This is on Sunday, when they meet on one another’s -balconies to chat and gossip while their maids arrange their coiffures, -each maid taking care that she pat, and pull, and puff until her -mistress be taller than her friends, for height is a Spanish requisite -for beauty and style. Certain it is that the tourist sometimes looks -up and beholds this leisurely out-of-doors toilet-making. The glossy -black hair is universal, a fair-haired woman becoming an occasion for -persistent stares, although Murillo, in his time, seems to have found -plenty of red-haired Spanish blondes to paint. Happy is the gazing -traveller if he also may listen; for the music of a high-bred Spanish -woman’s voice is remarkable, holding in its flow, sometimes, the tones -of a guitar, and the liquid sounds of dropping water. - -Spanish urchins are as noted for never combing their hair as Italian -boys are for never washing their faces. The change of the yellow -handkerchief dotted with big white eyes, which they knot about their -heads and wear day and night, seems to be the only attention they think -needful ever to bestow upon their raven locks. - -That Spanish peasant is very poor and unthrifty indeed, who does not -contrive to own a foot or two of land upon which to grow a choice -Malaga grapevine. Owning the vines, he erects an out-of-door cellar to -preserve his crop--a simple arbor, upon the slats of which he suspends -his clusters for winter use. Hanging all winter in the current of wind, -the bunches of pale-green grapes may be taken down as late as February, -and still be found as plump and delicious and as full of flavor as -when hung. It is in this simple manner that they are preserved for the -holiday markets. - -[Illustration] - - -One of the most picturesque features of natural scenery which the -traveller comes upon in Southern Spain, is that of the olive orchards, -especially those which cluster about Cordova. As the time of harvest -draws near, the coloring of these orchards is particularly pleasing. -The ripening fruit varies in tint, from vivid greens to gay reds and -lovely purples, while the foliage, of willow-leaf shape, restless and -quivering, is of a tender, shimmering, greenish gray, and the trunks -often have a solemn and aged aspect. Many of these plantations are -very ancient indeed, planted perhaps by the grandsires of the present -owners. They are usually a source of much profit, as the best eating -olives are those grown in Spain, and though the trees come into bearing -late, there are orchards which have been known to yield fruit for -centuries. - -Each orchard has a guard, or watchman, who tends it the year round, for -the pruning, the tillage, and the watch upon the ripening fruit, demand -constant care. In the harvest season the watch is by night as well as -by day, for a vigorous shake of the branches will dislodge almost every -berry, and a thief, with his donkeys and his panniers, might easily and -almost noiselessly strip an entire orchard in a few hours. The olive -guard lives in a hut of thatch or grass in summer, and in a sort of -cave, or burrow, in winter. - -The crop is mainly harvested by girls and women, and the scene is like -a picnic all day long, for Spanish girls turn all their labors into -merry-making whenever it is possible to do so. The gray orchards are -lighted up with the rainbowy colors of the peasant costumes, and the -air is musical with the donkey bells, while the overseer, prone on the -ground with his cigarette, “loafs and invites his soul,” evidently -finding great delight in the double drudgery he controls--that of the -donkeys and the damsels. - -In regard to the great age of olive-trees, a recent writer says: -“When raised from seed it rarely bears fruit under fifty years, and -when propagated in other ways it requires at least from twenty to -twenty-five years. But, on the other hand, it lives for centuries. -The monster olive at Beaulieu, near Nice, is supposed by Risso to be -a thousand years old. Its trunk at four feet from the ground has a -circumference of twenty-three feet, and it is said to have yielded, -five hundred pounds of oil in a single year.” - -[Illustration] - - -Cordova, lying in the beautiful valley of the Guadalquiver, surrounded -with gardens and villas, is well named the city of Age, Mellowness, and -Tranquility. It abounds with antiquities, and at every turn memories -are awakened of old Roman emperors, and the Arabian caliphs; the gates, -the sculptures, the towers, the mullioned windows and nail-studded -doors, the galleried houses and their beautiful patios fitted for idle -life in the soft Andalusian weather, the mosques and the great bridges -are all of those times. Even the streets are named after the old Roman -and Spanish scholars and poets. - -The large bridge over the Guadalquiver was originally built by the -Roman Emperor, Octavius Augustus; it was afterwards remodelled by the -Arabs. The gate is very fine which leads into the gypsy quarter. The -Moors had three thousand baths on the banks of the river, but in their -day it was a full shining tide; now it is a muddy current, hardly in -need of bridging at all. - -The mosques of Cordova are fine, and among them is the greatest Moslem -temple in the world, with its beautiful chapels, its Court of Oranges, -and its wondrous grove of marbles. This mosque, now used for Christian -worship, was erected on the ruins of an old cathedral, which it is said -had been built upon the site of a Roman temple. The Moslem structure -was erected by the Caliph Abdurrahman, in the seventh century, and was -a hundred years in building. The principal entrance is through the -Court of Oranges, where beautiful palms also grow, and other tropical -trees. Thence one emerges among a very forest of marble pillars, where -countless magnificent naves stretch away and intersect, and the shining -columns and pilasters spring upward into delicate double horseshoe -arches. One marble is shown where a Christian captive, chained at -its base, scratched a cross upon the stone with his nails. In some -sections the ceiling is dazzling with arabesques and crystals. Within -the mosque, in its very centre, rises a fine Catholic church, built in -the time of Charles the Fifth. It contains many illuminated missals and -rare old choir books. - -The Cordovans, like the people of other Spanish cities, are indebted -to the Moors for the fine aqueducts which bring the cold mountain -water across the valley into the public watering places. These great -reservoirs are good points for observing some phases of folk-life. - -[Illustration] - - -Granada, the beautiful city, with beautiful rivers, is named for a -“grenade” or pomegranate. At the time of the Conquest, King Ferdinand -on being assured how valiantly the Moors would defend their last -stronghold, replied, “I will pick out the seeds of this grenade one by -one.” - -There is a tradition among the Moors that when the hand carved over the -principal entrance of the Alhambra shall reach down and grasp the key, -also carved there, they shall regain their city, the ancient home of -their caliphs. - -The Generalife lies across the valley from the Alhambra. It was the -summer palace of the Moorish sovereigns, and is built on a mountain -slope by the Darro River, and its white walls gleam out from lovely -terraced gardens, and groves of laurel. The grounds abound with -fountains and summer houses. - -The Alhambra--the great royal castle--a town in itself--is built on a -lovely tree-embowered height, its many towers rising high above the -mass of foliage. From these towers one looks across the vale of the -Vega to the spot where Columbus is said to have turned back, recalled -by Isabella, on his way to seek English aid in his discovery of a New -World. From these towers, too, can be seen the valley in the distance, -where Boabdil, last of the Moorish Kings, looked back on Granada for -the last time; and across the river, one gazes upon the sombre region -of the gypsy quarter, a swarming town of caves in the hillside. - -Two relics of Alhambra housekeeping still remain; a great oven, and a -fine well. Both are utilized by the custodian of the palace. The palace -itself has many beautiful patios. The finest is known as the Court of -Lions, named from the sculptured figures which support the fountain in -the centre. Another is known sometimes as the Court of the Lake, and -sometimes as the Court of the Myrtles; and still another, entered by -subterranean ways, is the Hall of Divans, the special retreat of the -Favorites. There are many others, and all these patios and halls are -bewilderingly beautiful with arabesques, mosaics, inscriptions and -wondrous arches and columns, porticos, vistas, alcoves and temples--and -everywhere elegance of effect indescribable. - -[Illustration] - - -At Granada, whenever it is desired, the proprietor of the Washington -Irving Hotel will engage the Gypsy King to come with his daughters and -dance the national dance at the house of one of the guides. This dance -is a most wild and weird performance. There is an incessant clapping of -hands and clatter of castañets, a sharp stamping of heels, an agonized -swaying of the body and the arms; and often the castañets and guitar -are accompanied by a wild and mournful wail from the dancers. The king -of the Granada gypsies is said to be the best guitar player in Spain. - -The climb from the city up to the vast Gypsy Quarter, known as the -suburb of the Albaycin, is an adventure of a nightmare sort. The -squalor and horror of the life to be witnessed on the way up along -narrow streets swarming with the weirdest and dirtiest of brown -beggars, may not be painted, may not be written; yet now and then one -goes under a superb Arab arch, passes a door rich with arabesques, or -comes upon a group of elegant columns supporting a roof of mud and -rock. The long hillside seems honeycombed with the denlike habitations -of the gitanos, many of whom, among the men, are blacksmiths, while -others work at pottery, turning out very handsome plates and water -jars, while the women weave cloth, and do a rude kind of embroidery, -all selling their wares in the streets--in fact the spinning and -weaving and sewing is often carried on in the street itself. - -But the little ones too (_las niñas_) add largely to the family income, -as they dance for the visitor; the traveller and his guide being -always invited to enter the caves. These gypsy children dance with -much spirit, and they also sing many beautiful old ballads of Spanish -prowess. The most beautiful ones among the girls are early trained to -practice fortune-telling. - -With their dances, their songs, their fortune-telling, their -importunate, imperious begging, and their rude industries, these -Granada gypsies live here from century to century, in swarms of -thousands, never attempting to improve their condition, but boasting, -instead, of the comfort of their dismal caves as being cool in summer -and warm in winter. It is plain that they consider themselves and their -Quarter “a part of the show,” and hardly second in interest to the -Alhambra itself. - -[Illustration] - - -Hardly is there a Spanish town of note, that does not possess its great -Bull Ring; and there are scores of inferior Bull Circuses throughout -Spain. There is but a slight public sentiment against the brutal sport -which is the favorite Sunday recreation of the whole nation. Spanish -kings and queens for many centuries have sat in the royal boxes to -applaud, and many of the Spanish noblemen of the present time breed -choice fighting bulls on their farms, and there is the same mad -admiration of the agile, skilful _espado_ or bull slayer, as a hundred -years ago. To be a fine _picador_ or _banderillo_, is to be sure of the -praise and the presents of the entire populace. Men, women and children -go; the amphitheatre is always crowded and always the crowd will sit -breathless and happy to see six or eight bulls killed, and three times -that count of horses--the rich and the nobles on the shady side under -the awnings, the peasants sweltering and burning in the sun. It is the -_picador_ who rides on horseback to invite with his lance the attacks -of the bull as he enters the arena; it is the _capeador_ who springs -into the arena with his cloak of maddening red or yellow, to distract -the bull’s attention from the fallen horseman; it is the _banderillo_ -who taunts the wounded creature with metal-tipped arrows, the barbs -of which cannot be extracted, or with his long pole leaps tauntingly -over the back of the confused creature; but it is the gorgeous _espado_ -with his sword, entering the arena, at last, who draws all eyes. With -his red flag he plays with the bull as a cat with the mouse, until the -amphitheatre is mad for life blood; then with a swift, graceful stroke -he ends all, his superb foe lies dead, and he turns from him to meet -the wild shower of hats, cigars, flowers, fans, purses that beats upon -him from all sides--it is a scene of unimaginable exultation, for there -are glad cries and plaudits, and royalty itself throws the bull-slayer -a golden purse and a pleased smile, and the beautiful Spanish señoritas -lavish upon him the most bewildering attentions. - -The Spanish boy is born with a thirst for this sport. Their favorite -game is _Toro_. One lad mounts on his fellow’s back to take the part of -the _picador_ and his horse; another, with horns of sticks, represents -the bull; and the rest are _capeadors_, _banderillos_, and _escodas_, -while the audience of adult loungers look on with fierce excitement. It -is in this fierce, popular street sport that the future champions of -the Bull Ring are trained and developed--to be an _escoda_ is usually -the height of a Spanish boy’s ambition. - -[Illustration] - - -Nowhere in Spain are you refreshed with the restful sound of water, -sometimes soft, sometimes gay, as in Granada. You hear the flow of the -Darro over its stones and rocks, you hear the splash of fountains, the -gay hurry of mountain brooks, the soft sound of springs--everywhere -flow, or gurgle, or drip. You hear it on the tree-bordered and bowered -Alameda in your moonlit walks, and you hear it through the windows -of your _fonda_, or hotel, when you wake. It is everywhere about the -Alhambra heights, and the Generalife terraces. The Spaniards call this -continuous water-sound, “The Sigh of the Moor.” - -Most of the young Spanish women as well as the men, are accomplished -guitar-players. The guitar belongs in story to the Señorita, along -with her mantilla and her fan. It usually hangs on her casement, brave -with ribbons and gay wool tufts and all manner of decorations, and by -moonlight she will come out upon the balcony to answer her cavelier’s -serenade with a song as sweet as his own. You feel the atmosphere of -the Spanish night vibrating all about you, as you stroll along the -moonlit street, with the low, soft, delicate twinkle of a hundred -guitars, the players half-hidden in the dim patio balconies. - -It is often the custom to drive the goats from door to door to be -milked, and often an accustomed goat, tinkling its bells, will go -along the street, stopping of its own will and knowledge at the doors -of its customers, and knocking smartly with its horns should no one -appear. The servant of the house comes out into the street and milks -the desired quantity, while the “milkman” lounges near by with his -cigarette. - -Often it is as amusing to watch the dogs of the beggars by the churches -as the men themselves. While the noble _Caballeros_, Don Miguel and -Don Pedro, exhausted with the saying of prayers and the much asking of -centimos, have fallen asleep in the shade, their respective dogs remain -awake to glare at each other with true professional jealousy, and to -growl and snap, should a chance stranger drop a coin in one hat and not -in the other. The beggar is the last sight, as well as the first, which -greets the traveler in Spain. - -[Illustration] - -[Illustration] - - - - -QUEEN LOUISA AND THE CHILDREN. - -BY MARY STUART SMITH. - - -Queen Louisa of Prussia was the mother of William I., Emperor of -Germany, and although she has been dead over sixty years her one -hundredth birthday was celebrated elaborately throughout her son’s -dominions, with almost as many rejoicings as we made here over the one -hundredth birthday of these United States. - -[Illustration: QUEEN LOUISA.] - -When a child Louisa was very beautiful, and as she grew up did not -disappoint the promise of those early days. - -She was married to Frederick William, Crown Prince of Prussia, when -only seventeen years of age, and brought down upon herself a sharp -rebuke from the proud mistress of ceremonies for the love she showed -to a little child as she was making her public entry into Berlin, -preparatory to the solmnization of her marriage. It happened thus: - -The streets were thronged with people who had come to catch a glimpse -of the fair young bride, while every now and then select persons would -step forward and present complimentary poems of welcome, or some -pretty gift. A sweet little girl advanced to give the queen a bunch of -flowers, and Louisa was so struck with the child’s loveliness that she -stooped down and kissed her on the forehead. “Mein Gott!” exclaimed the -horrified mistress of ceremonies. “What has your majesty done?” Louisa -was as artless and simple as a child herself. “What?” said she, “is -that wrong? Must I never do so again?” - -But the prince, her husband, was no fonder of show and ceremony than -herself, and asserted manfully the right of his wife and himself to act -like other affectionate people, in spite of being king and queen. - -This royal pair had eight children, and upon these children was -lavished every care and attention. It is said that every night the king -and queen went together to visit their sleeping children after they had -been put into their little beds, and many a time were they surprised -by a bright pair of wide-awake eyes smiling back upon them a look of -love in return. Queen Louisa used to say, “The children’s world is my -world,” nor were the little creatures slow to reciprocate the love she -gave. - -You know Christmas is observed in Germany with peculiar reverence, -and is a season set apart for mirthful recreation among all classes, -but more especially for the enjoyment of children. Berlin is gay with -Christmas trees and a brilliant array of toys etc., for at least a week -beforehand. - -Like other parents the king and queen found delight in preparing -pleasant surprises for their little ones. While engaged in choosing -presents for them, on one occasion they entered a top-shop where -a citizen’s wife was busy making purchases, but recognizing the -new-comers she bowed respectfully and retired. The queen addressed -her in her peculiarly winning way and sweet voice. “Stop, dear lady, -what will the stall-keeper say if we drive away his customers?” She -then inquired if the lady had come to buy toys for her children, and -asked how many little ones she had. Hearing there was a son about the -age of the Crown Prince, the queen bought some toys and gave them to -the mother, saying, “Take them, dear lady, and give them to your crown -prince in the name of mine.” - -But I must tell you a yet prettier story, showing the queen’s fondness -for making children happy. - -There lived in Berlin a father and mother, who from some cause were so -poor, and low-spirited besides, that when the holiday came which all -children love best, they quietly resigned themselves to having nothing -to give their little ones. What can be more sad than a house which -no Kriss Kringle visits? Just think of it! They told their children -that there was to be no Christmas tree for them this year. The little -boy and his sister had been led to believe that the _Christ-kind_ or -Christ-child provides the tree and the gifts which are placed on tables -round it; only ornaments, sweets and tapers are hung upon the branches. -Under this disappointment the children, in the innocent simplicity of -their faith, sought the aid of the good _Christ-kind_ in their own way. - -Christmas Eve came, and the poor troubled parents looked on with wonder -as they beheld their children hopping and skipping about with joy, -although they were to be the only children for whom no Christmas tree -would be lighted, nor pretty gifts provided. Still in high spirits they -watched at the window, and clapped their hands when the door-bell rang, -exclaiming: “Here it comes!” The door was opened and a man-servant -appeared, laden with a gay tree and several packets, each addressed to -some member of the family. - -“There must be some mistake!” said the mother. - -“No, no!” cried the boy, “it is all right. I wrote to the good -_Christ-kind_, and told him what we wanted, and that you could not buy -anything this year.” - -The parents enjoyed the evening with their children and afterwards -unravelled the mystery. The postmaster, astonished by a letter -evidently written by a very young scribe and addressed to the -_Christ-kind_, had sent it to the palace with a respectful inquiry -as to what should be done with a letter so strangely directed. Queen -Louisa read it and, as a handmaid of the _Christ-kind_, she answered -his little children.[1] - -[1] Mrs. Hudson’s Life of Queen Louisa. - -Louisa’s sympathies were ever ready to flow for the sorrows of -childhood, which so many grown people will not stoop to even notice. - -One day as the king and queen were entering a town, a band of young -girls came forward to strew flowers and to present a nosegay. Her -majesty inquired how many little girls there were. “Nineteen,” replied -the artless child; “there would have been twenty of us but one was sent -back home because she was too ugly.” - -The kind queen feeling for the child’s mortification sent for her -and requested that she might by all means be allowed to join in the -festivities of the day. - -Nor did Louisa slight the boys. - -She was one day walking in the streets of Charlottenburg, attended -by a lady-in-waiting; a number of boys were running and tumbling and -playing somewhat rudely, and one of them ran up against the queen. Her -lady reproved him sharply, and the little fellow looked frightened -and abashed. The queen patted his rosy cheek, saying: “Boys will be a -little wild; never mind, my dear boy, I am not angry.” She then asked -his name and bade him give her compliments to his mother. The child -knew who the lady was, and besides having the pleasant memory of her -gracious speech and looks received a lesson in politeness which he -never forgot. - -Sometimes the royal children were allowed to have a party, and this -indulgence young princes and princesses enjoy just as much as other -juveniles. A queer anecdote is told of the only daughter of the famous -Madame de Stael, in relation to one of these entertainments. - -The little lady was about ten years of age, but had already imbibed -many opinions and prejudices. At all events she had a high idea of her -own importance, and was totally wanting in respect for her superiors in -rank. She was apt to be very rude in her manners and in her remarks. -On this occasion she took offence at something which the little Crown -Prince said or did to her, and very coolly gave him a sharp box on the -ear, upon which he ran crying to his mother and hid his face in the -folds of her dress. As mademoiselle, when remonstrated with, showed -not a particle of concern, and refused to say she was sorry, she was -not invited again, and her learned mamma found that she must keep her -daughter at home until she taught her better manners.[2] - -[2] Sir George Jackson. - -The annual fair at Paretz, the king’s beloved country home, took place -during the merry harvest-time. A number of booths were then put up near -the village, and besides buying and selling there was a great deal or -dancing and singing going on, and all sorts of games and sports. It was -then that the wheel of fortune was turned for the children’s lottery. -Lots of cakes and fruit were set round in order, which were given away -according to the movements of a pointer, turned by the wheel. - -Queen Louisa encouraged the children to crowd around her on these -occasions; she could not bear to see them afraid of her, and placed -herself beside the wheel, in order to secure fair play and to watch -carefully that she might make some amends for the unkindness of -fortune. She had her own ample store of good things which she dispensed -among the unlucky children, many of whom thought more of the sweet -words and looks of the queen than of anything else she could give -them. Moreover she was glad to have a chance of leading even one of -her little subjects to be generous and self-denying. For, while she -liked to see them all happy, she at the same time interested herself in -giving pleasantly little hints as to conduct that might be of lasting -benefit. - -All her life Queen Louisa watched beside the wheel in a higher sense. -She overlooked the whole circle of which she was the centre, anxiously -seeking to hold out a helping hand to any whom she saw likely to be -ruined by losses in the great lottery of real life. - -Is it matter for wonder then that German children still cherish her -memory, and delight to place flowers upon vase or tomb that bears her -name? - -[Illustration] - - - - -THE PLAYTHING OF AN EMPRESS. - -BY M. S. P. - - -Doubtless the readers of GRAMMAR SCHOOL have heard it said that “Men -and Women are only children of a larger growth.” No matter how stately -the grand ladies that we often meet with may appear, you may be very -sure that they sometimes envy the pleasures of children, who have no -thoughts about fine houses and servants, and a hundred other cares. -Even wearing a crown does not bring happiness; the dignity it entails -often becomes burdensome. - -Once a young prince, who had everything that he could possibly want -given him,--books, jewels, playthings of inconceivable variety, horses -and dogs, in fact all the nice things that you can imagine to bring -him pleasure,--was observed by his attendants to be standing by the -window, crying. When asked the cause of his tears he replied that he -was unhappy because he could not join the boys in the street who were -making mud pies! - -The Indians who use the bow and arrow say that the proper way to keep -the strength of their bows is to unstring them after use and let them -relax. So it is with those whose minds or bodies are engaged in one -long strain of work; they must be relaxed or they become useless. The -late Pope of Rome was a very dignified old man, and was also surrounded -by learned and great men. He rode in a gilded coach drawn by four -horses, and was in public a very grand and stately person. But I read -the other day that the old gentleman and some of his cardinals were -once seen playing ball in his garden, for the purpose of amusing a -little boy. - -More than a hundred years ago the great country east of Germany, known -as Russia, was ruled by the Empress Anne. It is a very cold country and -the winter is very long. The capital is St. Petersburg, and through -it the river Neva runs. This river freezes in winter, and the ice is -frequently so solid that it will bear up an army of several thousand -men with all their heavy guns and mortars, and these be discharged -without so much as cracking the ice. - -At the close of the year 1739, during an extremely cold winter, the -empress ordered one of her architects to build an _Ice Palace_. The -great square in front of the royal palace was chosen for its site. -Blocks of the clearest ice were selected, carefully measured and even -ornamented with architectural designs. They were raised with cranes and -carefully placed in position, and were cemented together by the pouring -of water over them. The water soon froze and made the blocks one solid -wall of ice. The palace was fifty-six feet long, seventeen and one half -feet wide, and twenty-one feet high. Can you imagine anything more -beautiful than such a building made of transparent ice and sparkling in -the sun? - -It was surrounded by a balustrade, behind which were placed six ice -cannon on carriages. These cannon were exactly like real metal ones, -and were so hard and solid that powder could be fired in them. The -charge used was a quarter of a pound of powder and a ball of oakum. At -the first trial of the cannon an iron ball was used. The empress with -all her court was present, and the ball was fired. It pierced a plank -two inches thick at a distance of sixty feet. - -Besides these six cannon in front of the palace there were two ice -mortars which carried iron balls weighing eighty pounds with a charge -of one quarter of a pound of powder. Then, too, there were two ice -dolphins, from whose mouths a flame of burning naptha was thrown at -night with most wonderful effect. Between the cannon and dolphins, in -front of the palace, there was a balustrade of ice ornamented with -square pillars. Along the top of the palace there was a gallery and a -balustrade which was ornamented with round balls. In the centre of this -stood four beautiful ice statues. - -The frames of the doors and windows were painted green to imitate -marble. There were two entrances to the palace, on opposite sides, -leading into a square vestibule which had four windows. All the -windows were made of perfectly transparent ice, and at night they were -hung with linen shades on which grotesque figures were painted, and -illuminated by a great number of candles. - -Before entering the palace one naturally stopped to admire the pots of -flowers on the balustrade, and the orange trees on whose branches birds -were perching. Think of the labor and patience required to make such -perfect imitations of nature _in ice_! - -Standing in the vestibule, facing one entrance and having another -behind, one could see a door on either hand. Let us imagine ourselves -in the room on the left. It is a sleeping-room apparently, but if you -stop to think that every article in it is made of ice you will hardly -care to spend a night there; and yet it is said that two persons -actually slept on the bed there for an entire night. On one side is -a toilet-table. Over it hangs a mirror, on each side of which are -candelabra with ice candles. Sometimes at night these candles were -lit by being dipped in naptha. On the table is a watch-pocket, and a -variety of vases, boxes, and ornaments of curious and beautiful design. -At the other side of the room we see the bed hung with curtains, -furnished with sheets and a coverlid and two pillows, on which are -placed two night-caps. By the side of the bed on a foot-stool are -two pairs of slippers. Opposite the bed is the fireplace which is -beautifully carved and ornamented. In the grate lie sticks of wood also -made of ice, which are sometimes lighted like the candles by having -naptha poured over them. - -The opposite room is a dining-room. In the centre stands a table on -which is a clock of most wonderful workmanship. The ice used is so -transparent that all the wheels and works are visible. On each side -of this table two beautifully carved sofas are placed, and in the -corners of the room there are statues. On one side we see a sideboard -covered with a variety of ornaments. We open the doors and find inside -a tea-set, glasses and plates which contain a variety of fruits and -vegetables, all made of ice but painted in imitation of nature. - -Let us now go through the opposite door and notice the other curious -things outside the palace. At each end of the balustrade we see a -pyramid with an opening in each side like the dial of a clock. These -pyramids are hollow, and at night a man stands inside of them and -exhibits illuminated pictures at the grand openings. - -Perhaps the greatest curiosity of all is the life-like elephant at the -right of the palace. On his back sits a Persian holding a battle-axe, -and by his side stand two men as large as life. The elephant, too, is -hollow, and is so constructed that in the daytime a stream of water is -thrown from his trunk to a height of twenty-four feet, and at night a -flame of burning naptha. In addition to this, the wonderful animal is -so arranged that from time to time he utters the most natural cries. -This is done by means of pipes into which air is forced. - -On the left of the palace stands a small house, built of round blocks -of ice resembling logs, interlaced one with another. This is the -bath-house, without which no Russian establishment is complete. This -bath-house was actually heated and used on several occasions. - -When this wonderful ice-palace was completed it was thrown open to the -public, and such crowds came to see it that sentinels were stationed in -the house to prevent disorder. - -This beautiful palace stood from the beginning of January until the end -of March. Then, as the weather became warmer, it began to melt on the -south side; but even after it lost its beauty and symmetry as a palace -it did not become entirely useless, for the largest blocks of ice were -transferred to the ice-houses of the imperial palace, and thus afforded -grateful refreshment during the summer, as well as a pleasant reminder -of “_The Plaything of an Empress_.” - - - - -CHARLIE’S WEEK IN BOSTON. - -BY CHARLES E. HURD. - - -Charlie was going to Boston. - -The ceaseless clatter of his little copper-toed boots over all the bare -places in the house, and the pertinacious hammering he kept up upon -everything capable of emitting sound, rendered it impossible for his -mamma or the new baby to get any rest, and so it was that the decision -came about. Aunt Mary, who had lent her presence to the household for -the preceding fortnight, was to return home the following day, and with -her, after infinite discussion, it was decided that he was to go for a -week. - -The momentous news was withheld from Charlie until the next morning, -for fear of the result upon his night’s sleep, but it was injudiciously -let out by Aunt Mary before breakfast, the effect being to at once -plunge the young gentleman into the highest state of excitement. He -had played “go to Boston” a thousand times with his little cart and -wheelbarrow, but to take such a journey in reality was something he -could hardly imagine possible. - -“Am I going to Boston, real ’live?” he wildly inquired. “Where’s my -rubber boots, and my little chair, and my cart, and I want my piece of -gum mamma tooked away, and where’s my sled?” - -“But, Charlie,” said Aunt Mary, persuasively, “you are not going now, -and you don’t want to take all those things. There isn’t any snow -in Boston, and good little boys don’t chew gum. You must have some -breakfast.” - -“I don’t want any breakfast. I want to go to Boston. I got to go, now -you said so.” - -“Yes, but you must have something to eat first. It would make you sick -to ride so far without eating. And then you must have a nice bath, and -put on your new suit that papa bought last week. You’ve plenty of time.” - -But Charlie, generally good to mind, was thoroughly demoralized by the -new turn in affairs, and had to be brought to the table by main force. - -“It’s like taking a horse to water,” said Aunt Mary. “You can get him -to the trough, but you can’t make him drink without he likes. Charlie, -have a nice large griddle-cake?” - -Griddle-cakes were Charlie’s weak point, but in a time like this he -rose superior to the temptation. - -“Don’t want griddle-cakes; don’t want bread; don’t want toast; don’t -want anything. I want to get right down out of my little chair, and go -to Boston, awful quick!” - -“The child will be down sick if he goes away on an empty stomach,” said -grandma from her bedroom, where she could see all that transpired at -the table. “Can’t you make him eat?” - -“It’s all very well to say ‘Make him eat,’ but he won’t,” said Aunt -Mary. “You might just as well make a squirrel sit down and eat in a -respectable manner.” - -“Let him go till he gets hungry, then,” said his father. “He’ll come to -it soon enough. There’s no danger of his starving.” - -If Charlie had been a grown man, with whiskers, and going to some -European Court as Minister Extraordinary, he couldn’t have felt the -importance of his prospective journey more, or been more weighed down -by the preparations for it. The train which was to carry him did not -start until two o’clock, and in the six hours which intervened his -little tongue was in constant motion, and his little feet tramping up -and down stairs, “getting ready.” - -“But you’re only going to stay for a week, you know, Charlie,” said -Aunt Mary, dismayed at the heap of toys he had industriously gathered -in a corner of the sitting-room for transportation, “and you’ll see so -many pretty things that you won’t care for any of these.” - -“I want to carry my wheelbarrow. I will be cross if I don’t carry my -wheelbarrow. And my cunnin’ little cunnin’ watlin’ pot, and my high -chair, and some more.” - -But Aunt Mary couldn’t get them into her trunk, and the railroad -man wouldn’t let Charlie take them into the cars. “Put them all away -nicely, and then Charlie will have them when he comes home.” - -It required a great deal of judicious argument, intermingled with -promises, to gain the point, and final success was only achieved by a -formal agreement, to which grandma was made a witness, by virtue of -which Charlie was to become the possessor of “a speckled rocking-horse, -just like Johnny Baker’s, with real hair ears, and a tight tail, -that boys couldn’t pull out.” This compact having been made, Charlie -submitted to the washing and dressing process with comparative good -grace. - -An exceedingly light dinner preceded the start, varied by excursions to -the front door to see if the depot stage was coming. It came at last, -and, after the leave-taking, Charlie and Aunt Mary were packed in among -half a dozen others. The whip cracked, the coach gave a sudden lurch, -and then dashed down the street at the heels of the horses, who seemed -anxious to get to the station at the earliest possible moment. There -was just time to get tickets and seats before the train started. - -If Charlie was unmanageable before, he was doubly so now. At every -stopping-place he made desperate efforts to get out of the car, and -once or twice, in spite of Aunt Mary’s efforts, very nearly succeeded. -He dropped his hat out of the window; he dirtied his face beyond -redemption with dust and cinders; he put cake crumbs down the neck -of an old lady who had fallen asleep on the seat just in front, and -horrified the more staid portion of the passengers in the car by a -series of acts highly inconsistent with the rules of good breeding, and -the character of a nice boy. - -Boston was reached at last, and the perils of procuring a hack and -getting safely home in it were surmounted. So thankful was Aunt Mary -that she could have dropped upon her knees on the sidewalk in front of -the door; but she managed to control her feelings, paid the hackman -his dollar, still keeping a tight grip upon Charlie, and, despite his -struggles to join the distant audience of a hand-organ, managed to get -him safely into the house, where he was at once delivered over to the -other members of the household. - -“I never, never, _never_ will go out of the house with that child -again!” she declared, half crying, and sinking into a chair without -taking her bonnet off. “He’s enough to kill anyone outright. No wonder -they wanted to get rid of him at home! It’ll be a mercy if he don’t -drive us all crazy before the week is out. One thing is certain, -they’ll have to send for him. _I’ll_ never take him home again.” - -“Why didn’t you drug him, Aunt Mary,” asked Tom, with a great show of -sympathy. “_I_ would.” - -“I declare I would have done anything, if I had only known how he was -going to act! You may laugh and think it’s all very funny, but I just -wish you’d some of you try it yourselves. Where is he now? If he’s out -of sight a single minute he’ll be in some mischief. There he goes now!” - -The last declaration of Aunt Mary was preceded by a series of violent -bumps, followed by a loud scream from the bottom of the basement -stairs. A grand rush to the spot revealed Charlie lying at the foot, -beating the air with his legs, with a vigor that at once dispelled all -fears as to his serious injury. He was picked up and borne into the -kitchen by the cook, where the gift of a doughnut soon dried his tears, -and he was returned to the sitting-room to await the ringing of the -bell for tea. - -“Has he had a nap to-day?” asked grandmother. - -“Nap! I should think the child would be dead for want of sleep. I don’t -believe he’s winked to-day!” - -“He looks like it now, anyway,” said Tom, who was holding him in his -arms. - -Sure enough, his eyelids were beginning to droop, and a moment after -the half-eaten doughnut dropped from his loosened fingers upon the -carpet. - -“Carry him up to my room, Tom, and lay him upon my bed. Don’t for -mercy’s sake hit his head against anything. We shan’t have any peace if -he gets awake again.” - -Slowly and carefully Tom staggered under his little burden up-stairs, -and laid it upon the clean white coverlet of Aunt Mary’s bed. - -“That will do,” said Aunt Mary, who had followed close behind. “He’s -thoroughly tired out, and no wonder. You may go down now and I will -take care of him, dear little fellow.” - -With careful fingers she untied the laces of his little boots, and -pulled them off. The stockings came next, and the hot little feet -were released from confinement. The tiny jacket was then removed, the -tangled hair put back, and then, with a sponge wet in cool water, -the dirty, sweaty little face was softly bathed until it became quite -presentable again. - -“There!” she said at last, surveying him with a feeling of -satisfaction, “he will sleep at least a couple of hours. By that time -I shall get rested, and can manage him better. I suppose it’s because -he’s so tired, and everything is new.” - -With this apology for Charlie in her heart, and a half remorseful -feeling for her lately displayed impatience, she descended the stairs -to the dining-room, where the rest of the family were already seated at -the table. - -A few minutes later, and while she was deep in an account of matters -and things at Charlie’s home, the cook came up-stairs in something of a -fluster. - -“Plaze, ma’am, there’s something on the house.” - -“Something on the house?” - -“Yes. McKillop’s boarders across the way are all at the windows, an’ -the men is laughin’ and the women frightened.” - -With one accord a sudden and informal adjournment to the parlor window -was made, the result being a verification of the cook’s statement. - -“What on earth can be the matter?” said grandmother. - -At this moment Mrs. McKillop, after a series of incomprehensible -gestures, which nobody could translate with any clearness, dispatched -her girl across the street. - -“There’s a child, ma’am,” she exclaimed, in breathless excitement, “a -baby, walking about on the outside of your house like a fly! he’s-- -Howly Father!” - -This sudden exclamation was caused by the descent of a flower pot, -which, coming with the swiftness of a meteor, missed the head of the -speaker by less than a hand’s-breadth, and crashed into a thousand -pieces on the front steps. - -The situation was taken in at once. With a succession of screams Aunt -Mary flew up the stairs two at a time. By this a crowd was rapidly -gathering. - -“Bring out something to catch him in if he falls,” shouted a fat old -gentleman, pushing his way to the front. - -Grandmother caught a tidy from the arm of the sofa, and, snatching a -volume of Tennyson from the centre-table, rushed frantically into the -street, closely followed by Tom with a feather duster. - -A single glance told the whole story. There sat Charlie, utterly -innocent of clothing save a shirt of exceeding scantness, on the very -edge of the broad projection below the third-story window, his legs -dangling in space, watching with delighted interest the proceedings of -the excited crowd in the street below. No one knows what might have -happened, for, at that moment, while a hot discussion was being carried -on among the gathered spectators, as to the propriety of sounding -a fire alarm for a hook and ladder company, the arms of Aunt Mary -came through the window, and closed upon him like a pair of animated -pincers. There was a brief struggle, productive of a perfect shower -of flower-pots, and then, amid a hurricane of shouts and cheers, the -little white body and kicking legs disappeared within the room. When, -two minutes later, the entire household, with a fair sprinkling of the -McKillop boarders, had reached the scene, they found Charlie shut up -in the wardrobe, and Aunt Mary in hysterics, with her back against the -door. - -“If he stays here a week we shall have to board up the windows, and -keep a policeman,” said grandmother, that night, after Charlie had been -guarded to sleep on the sitting-room lounge, with the door locked. “We -shall have to have watchers for him, for I would no more dare to go -to sleep without some one awake with him than I would trust him with -a card of matches and a keg of gunpowder. And that makes me think: -we musn’t leave matches where he can get them; and, father, you’ll -have to go down town the first thing in the morning, and see about an -insurance.” - -Notwithstanding the universally expressed fears, Charlie slept like a -top all night, and really behaved so well the next morning that it was -deemed safe to give him an airing, and introduce him to the sights of -Boston. Right after dinner he was taken in hand, and dressed and curled -and frilled as he never had been before, creating serious doubts in his -own mind as to whether he was really himself, or another boy of about -the same size and general make. - -At half-past two o’clock the party set out, Aunt Mary on one side, -tightly grasping Charlie’s hand, and on the other a female friend, -especially engaged for the occasion. Tom followed on behind as a sort -of rear guard, ready to be called upon in case of emergency. - -First the Public Garden was visited. Hardly had half the circuit of the -lake been made, when Charlie, attracted by one of the gayly painted -boats which was moored a few feet from the shore, broke loose and made -a sudden dash to reach it, to the utter ruin of his stockings and -gaiters. In vain Aunt Mary coaxed and remonstrated and threatened; in -vain she attempted to hook him out with the handle of her parasol; he -was just out of reach and he kept there. He was brought out by one -of the gardeners at last, who seemed to look upon it as an excellent -joke. Tom, who had lagged behind, was sent back after dry stockings -and Charlie’s second-best shoes, which, when brought, were changed -in the vestibule of the Public Library, and the line of march again -taken up. The deer on the Common were fed, Punch and Judy viewed and -criticized, and the thousand and one various objects in the vicinity -visited. Charlie was delighted with everything, but through and above -all one grand desire and determination rode rampant--the desire and -determination to enter into possession of the promised, but as yet -unrealized, “wocking-horse.” - -[Illustration: “MOUNTED UPON THE BACK OF THE LARGEST AND REALEST -LOOKING HORSE.”] - -Down Winter Street to Washington, in the great, sweeping crowd of men, -women and children; past the gorgeous dry goods stores; past candy -and apple stands; past all sorts of strange and funny and bewildering -things, Charlie was slowly dragged, a helpless and unwilling prisoner. -He only broke silence once. Passing a window filled with braids and -chignons, and doubtless taking them for scalps, he inquired with -considerable interest if “Indians kept store there.” - -“Oh! what a lovely silk!” ejaculated Aunt Mary’s friend, coming to a -sudden stop before one of the great dry goods emporiums on Washington -Street. - -Aunt Mary stopped, too. The pattern was too gorgeous to be lightly -passed. She raised her hand to remove her vail, forgot her charge for a -moment, and when she looked again Charlie had disappeared. - -“Charlie! Charlie! Why, where is he?” she exclaimed, pale with fright. -“I thought you had hold of him!” - -“I dropped his hand not a minute ago, to be sure my pocket hadn’t been -picked. I thought you would look out for him.” - -In vain they searched; in vain they questioned clerks and policemen and -apple-women. Nobody had seen such a boy, and yet everybody seemed to -think that they certainly should remember if they had. It was now half -past four. And Tom, who might have helped them so much, was gone! - -“Perhaps,” suggested a pitying apothecary’s clerk, with a very small -moustache and very smooth hair, “perhaps the young man Tom has taken -him home.” - -There was a small spark of comfort in this suggestion and, though -unbelieving, the two hurried homewards, only to find Tom sitting on the -doorstep, lazily fanning himself, and hear his surprised ejaculation: - -“Why! what have you done with Charlie?” - -“He’s lost!” said Aunt Mary, bursting into tears. “He’ll get run over, -or carried away, or something terrible will happen to him. I shall -never have another minute’s peace while I live!” - -Tom listened impatiently to the details of the story, told by both -together, and, tossing his fan into the hall, started down the steps. - -“Don’t fret till I come back. He’s all right somewhere, and I’ll bring -him home with me.” - -“I’m going back. I can’t stay here. I can help search,” said Aunt Mary, -still in tears, and her loyal companion avowed her determination to -stand by her. - -Tom had hurried away without stopping to listen, and was now out of -sight; but the two wretched women, heated, footsore and wearied, -followed resolutely after. The scene of the mysterious disappearance -was at last reached, and again the oft repeated inquiries were made, -but with the same result. - -“Here is where I was intending to bring him,” said Aunt Mary, pausing -mournfully before the window of a toy-bazar crowded with drums, -guns, trumpets and wooden monkeys. “He had talked so much about his -rocking-horse, the poor lost lamb! And now--” - -The sentence was never finished, for, with a half hysterical shriek, -she dropped her parasol upon the sidewalk and rushed into the store, -where the apparition of a curly head of flaxen hair, slowly oscillating -back and forth, had that instant caught her eye. It was Charlie, sure -enough, in the highest feather, mounted upon the back of the largest -and realest-looking horse in the entire stock of the establishment, -whose speed he was endeavoring to accelerate by the aid of divers -kicks and cluckings, while the proprietor and unemployed clerks looked -admiringly on. - -Aunt Mary, despite her regard for appearances, hugged him and cried -over him without stint, and finally made a brave attempt to scold him, -but her heart failed her, at the very outset. - -“He’s been here nigh upon two hours,” said the proprietor, as he made -change for the coveted horse. “He came in alone and went right to -that horse, and there he’s stuck ever since. I don’t let boys handle -’em much without I know they’re going to buy, but he made me think so -much of a little fellow I lost a year ago that I let him do just as he -liked.” - -No mishap occurred in getting Charlie home this time. The toyman’s boy -was sent for a hack, and, with the rocking-horse perched up by the -side of the driver, and the doors tightly closed, nothing happened -beyond what happens to ordinary boys who are carried about in hacks. -Some little difficulty was experienced in getting him out on arrival -home, for it appeared that he had formed the plan on the way of -taking his horse into the coach and making a tour of the city by -himself. He could not in any manner be satisfied of the impossibility -of such an arrangement, and was at last taken out in a high state of -indignation by the driver, who expressed a vehement wish to himself -that “_he_ had such a young one!” Nothing took place worthy of mention -before bed-time, with the exception, perhaps, of the breaking of the -carving-knife, and the ruin of Aunt Mary’s gold pen in an attempt to -vaccinate his new acquisition. - -For three days peace--comparative peace--reigned in the household. -From morning till night, in season and out of season, Charlie was busy -with his horse, astride of it, or feeding it, or leading it to water, -or punishing it for imaginary kicks and bites, and so keeping out of -mischief; but with the dawn of the fourth he awoke, apparently for the -first time, to a realization of the fact that he was not lying in his -own little bed, and a sudden flood of homesickness rolled over his -soul, drowning out rocking-horse, hand-organs, Tom’s music-box, and -each and every Bostonian delight which, until that moment, had led him -captive. - -From that moment his mourning was as incessant and obstinate as that of -Rachael. He sat on the top stair, and filled the house with wailings. -Cakes, candy and coaxings were alike in vain, and even a desperate -promise of Tom’s--to show him a whole drove of elephants, had no more -effect upon him, to use the cook’s simile, “than the wind that blows.” - -“No human being can endure it any longer,” declared grandma, and in -that statement every member of the household cordially agreed. - -That fact having been established without discussion, but one thing -remained to do; to get him home in as good condition as when he left -there. - -“One can hardly do that,” said Tom. “He’s got a rag on every finger but -one, and I don’t know how much court-plaster about him.” - -Notwithstanding, the afternoon train saw Charlie on board, under the -double guardianship of Aunt Mary and Tom, and at five o’clock he was in -his mother’s arms. - -“The silence in the house was a thousand times worse than the sound of -his little feet,” she said, with her eyes full of tears, “and made me -think of that possible time when I should never hear them any more.” - -[Illustration: Johnny’s a drummer and drums for thᵉ King. -_MDC. VII._] - - - - -A WONDERFUL TRIO. - -BY JANE HOWARD. - - -In a little stone hut among the mountains lived Gredel and her son -Peterkin, and this is how they lived: They kept about a dozen goats; -and all they had to do was to watch them browse, milk them, and make -the butter and cheese, which they partly ate and partly sold down in -the village, or, rather, exchanged for bread. They were content with -bread, butter, and cheese; and all they thought about was the goats. -As for their clothes, it would be impossible to speak of them with -patience. They had no ambition, no hope, no thought beyond the day, and -no sense of gratitude towards yesterday. So they lived, doing no harm, -and effecting little good; careless of the future, and not honestly -proud of anything they had done in the past. - -But one day Gredel (who was the widow of a shepherd that had dropped -over the edge of a cliff) sat slowly churning the previous day’s milk, -while Peterkin sat near her, doing nothing at all, thinking nothing at -all, because he had nothing to ponder over, and looking at nothing at -all, for the goats were an everyday sight, and they took such capital -care of themselves that Peterkin always stared away over their heads. - -“Heigho!” suddenly exclaimed Gredel, stopping in her churning; and -Peterkin dropped his stick, looked at his mother slowly, and obediently -repeated, “Heigho!” - -“The sun rises,” said Gredel, “and the sun sets; the day comes, and the -day goes; and we were yesterday, and we are to-day, and we shall be for -some tomorrows; and that is all, all, all.” - -Said Peterkin, “Mother, what is there in the world?” - -“Men and women,” repeated the wise parent; “goats, and many other -things.” - -“But is it the end of life to get up, watch goats, eat and drink, and -fall asleep again? Sometimes I wonder what is on the other side of the -hill.” - -“Who can say what is the end of life?” asked slow-thoughted Gredel. -“Are you not happy?” - -“Yes. But there is something more.” - -“Do you not love me--your mother?” - -“Yes. But still I think--think--think.” - -“Love is enough,” said Gredel, who had passed more than half way -through life, and was content to rest. - -“Then it must be,” said Peterkin, “that I want more than enough.” - -“If so, you must be wicked,” remarked Gredel; “for I am at peace in -loving you, and you should be content in loving me. What more do you -want? You have enough to eat--a warm bed in winter--and your mother who -loves you.” - -Peterkin shook his head. - -“It will rain to-night,” said Gredel; “and you will be warm while many -will be shivering in the wet.” - -Gredel was quite right; for when the sun had set, and the heavens were -all of one dead, sad color, down came the rain, and the inside of the -hut looked very warm and comfortable. - -Nevertheless, Peterkin still thought of the something beyond the -mountain, and wondered what it might be. Had some wise one whispered in -his ear, he must have learnt that it was healthy ambition, which helped -the world and the worker at the same time. - -Soon it began to thunder, and Peterkin lazily opened the wooden -shutters to look at the lightning. - -By this time Gredel, having thanked Providence for a large bowl of -black bread steeped in hot goat’s milk, was nodding and bobbing towards -the flaming wood fire. - -“Mother mother! here comes something from this world!” - -“And what comes from the world?” - -“Something like three aged women, older than you are a very great deal. -Let me wait for another flash of lightening. Ha! The first has a big -stick; the second has a great pair of round things on her eyes; and -the third has a sack on her back, but it is as flat as the palm of my -hand, and can have nothing in it.” - -“Is there enough bread, and cheese, and milk, and salt in the -house?--We must consider.” - -“Aye,” answered Peterkin; “there is plenty of each and all.” - -“Then let them come in, if they will,” said Gredel. “But they shall -knock at the door first, for we go not out on the highways and in the -byways to help others. Let them come to us--good. But let us not go to -them, for they have their business, and we have ours; and so the world -goes round!” - -“They are near the door,” whispered Peterkin, “and very good old women -they look.” - -The next moment there was a very soft and civil tapping at the door. - -“Who goes there?” asked Peterkin. - -“Three honest old women,” cried a voice. - -“And what do three honest old women want?” called Gredel. - -“A bit of bread each,” replied the voice, “a mug of milk each, and one -corner for all three to sleep in until in the morning up comes the -sweet yellow sun.” - -“Lift up the latch,” said Gredel. “Come in. There is bread, there is -milk, and a corner laid with three sacks of thistle down. Come in, and -welcome.” - -Then up went the latch, and in stepped the three travellers. Gredel -looked at them without moving; but when she saw they were pleasant in -appearance--that their eyes were keen in spite of their many wrinkles, -and that their smiles were very fresh and pleasant notwithstanding the -lines about their mouth, lazy but good-hearted Gredel got up and made a -neat little bow of welcome. - -“Are you sisters?” she asked. - -“We are three sisters,” answered the leader, she who carried the -stick. “I am commonly called Sister Trot.” - -[Illustration: IN STEPPED THE THREE.] - -“And I,” said the second, who wore the spectacles, “am commonly called -Sister Pansy.” - -“And I,” added the third, who carried the bag, “am styled Sister -Satchel.” - -“Your mother and father must have been a good-looking couple,” said -Gredel, smiling. - -“They were born handsome,” quoth Trot, rearing her head proudly, “and -they grew handsomer.” - -“How came they to grow handsomer?” asked Peterkin, who had been -standing in a corner. - -“Because they were brisk and hurried about,” replied Pansy, “and never -found the day too long. But pray, sir, who are you?” - -“I am Peterkin, son of Gredel.” - -“And may I ask what you do?” inquired Trot. - -“Watch the goats.” - -“And what do you do when you watch the goats?” - -“Look about.” - -“What do you see when you look about?” asked Sister Pansy. - -“The sky, and the earth, and the goats.” - -“Ah!” said Pansy, “it is very good to look at the sky, and truly wise -to look at the earth, while it is clever to keep an eye on the goats; -but Peterkin--Peterkin--you do not look far enough!” - -“And when you look about,” queried Sister Satchel, “what do you pick -up?” - -“Nothing,” said Peterkin. - -“Nothing!” echoed the visitor. “What! not even an idea?” - -“What is an idea?” asked Peterkin. - -“Oh, oh, oh!” said the three sisters. “Here is Peterkin, who not only -never picks up an idea, but actually does not know what one is!” - -“This comes of not moving about,” said Trot. - -“Of not looking about,” said Pansy. - -“And of not picking up something every day,” said Satchel. “And a worse -example I, for one, never came across.” - -“Nor I!” “Nor I!” echoed the other sisters. - -Whereupon they all looked at Peterkin, and seemed dreadfully serious. - -“Why, whatever have I done?” he demanded. - -“That’s just it!” said the sisters. “_What_ have you done?” - -“Nothing!” exclaimed Peterkin, quite with the intention of justifying -himself. “Nothing at all!” - -“Ah!” said Trot, “_that_ is the truth, indeed; whatever else may be -wrong--done nothing at all!” - -“Nothing!” “Nothing!” repeated Satchel and Pansy, in a breath. - -“Dear me!” said Peterkin. - -Whereupon Gredel, half-frightened herself, and partly indignant that -her boy should be lamented over in this uncalled-for manner, said, -“Would you be pleased to take a seat?” - -“Certainly!” said Trot. “Still I, for one, would not think of such a -thing until your stools were dusted.” - -Gredel could _not_ believe her eyes, for actually Trot raised one end -of her stick and it became a brush, with which she dusted three stools. - -“I think, too,” said Sister Pansy, looking out sharp through her -spectacles, “that if we were to stop up that hole in the corner we -should have less draught. As a rule, holes are bad things in a house.” - -So off she went, and stopped up the hole with a handful of dried grass -she took from a corner. - -“Bless me!” said Satchel; “here are four pins on the floor!” - -Whereupon she picked up the pins and popped them into her wallet. -Meanwhile Gredel looked on, much astonished at these preceedings. - -“I may as well have a rout while I am about it,” said Trot, beginning -at once to sweep up. - -“Cobwebs in every corner!” cried Pansy; and away she went, looking -after the walls. - -“No wonder you could not find your wooden spoon,” remarked Satchel; -“why, here it is, most mysteriously up the chimney!” - -There was such a dusting, sweeping, and general cleaning as the place -had never seen before. - -“This is great fun!” said Peterkin; “but how it makes you sneeze!” - -“Here, dame Gredel,” cried Satchel; “I have picked up all the things -you must have lost for the last three years. Here is your thimble; and -now you can take the bit of leather off your finger. Here are your -scissors, which will cut cloth better than that knife; and here is the -lost leg of the third stool--so that I can now sit down in safety.” - -“Why,” exclaimed Peterkin, “the place looks twice as large as it did, -and ten times brighter. Mother, I am glad the ladies have come.” - -“I am sure, ladies,” said the good woman, “I shall never forget your -visit.” - -To tell the truth, however, there was something very ambiguous in -Gredel’s words. - -“There!” said Trot; “and now I can sit down in comfort to my bread and -milk.” - -“And very good bread and milk, too,” said Satchel. “I think, sisters, -we are quite fortunate to fall upon this goodly cot.” - -“Yes,” remarked Trot, “they are not bad souls, this Gredel and -Peterkin; but, they sadly want mending. However, they have good hearts, -and you know that those who love much are forgiven much; and indeed -I would sooner eat my supper here than in some palaces you and I, -sisters, know something about.” - -“Quite true!” assented the others, “quite true!” And so they went on -talking as though they had been in their own house and no one but -themselves in the room. Gredel listened with astonishment, and Peterkin -with all his ears, too delighted even to be astonished. - -“Now this,” thought he, “comes of their knowing something of what goes -on beyond the Great Hill as far away as I can see.” - -“Time for bed,” suddenly said Dame Trot, who evidently was the leader, -“if we are to see the sun rise.” - -The sisters then made themselves quite comfortable, and tucked up their -thistle-down beds and home-spun sheets with perfect good humor. - - * * * * * - -Peterkin awoke cheerily, and he was dressed even before the sun -appeared. He made the fire, set the table, gave the place a cheerful -air, and then opened the door to look after the goats, wondering why he -felt so light and happy. He was soon joined by the three sisters, who -made a great to-do with some cold water and their washing. - -“Is it good to put your head souse in a pail?” asked Peterkin. - -“Try it,” replied Dame Trot. - -So by this time, quite trusting the old women, he did so, and found -his breath gone in a moment. However, he enjoyed breathing all the -more when he found his head once more out of the pail, and after Pansy -had rubbed him dry with a rough towel, which she took out of Satchel’s -wallet, he thought he had never experienced such a delightful feeling -as then took possession of him. Even since the previous night he felt -quite a new being, and alas! he found himself forgetting Gredel--his -mother Gredel, who loved him and taught him only to live for to-day. - -“And shall I show you down the hill-side?” asked Peterkin, when the -three sisters had taken their porridge and were sprucing themselves for -departure. - -“Yes,” said dame Trot, “and glad am I thou hast saved us the trouble of -asking thee.” - -“A good lad,” remarked Pansy to Gredel, “but he must look about him.” - -“Truly,” said Satchel. “And, above all, he must pick up everything he -comes across, when he can do so without robbing a neighbor, and he may -steal all his neighbor _knows_, without depriving the gentleman of -anything.” - -Then Peterkin, feeling as light as a feather, started off down the -hillside, the three old sisters chatting, whispering, and chuckling -in a very wonderful manner. So, when they were quite in the valley, -Peterkin said, “Please you, I will leave you now, ladies; and many -thanks for your coming.” Then he very civilly touched his tattered cap, -and was turning on his battered heels, when Sister Trot said, “Stop!” -and he turned. - -“Peterkin,” she said, “thou art worth loving and thinking about, and -for your kindness to us wanderers we must ask you to keep something in -remembrance of our visit. Here, take my wonderful stick and believe -in it. You know me as Trot, but grown-up men call me the Fairy -Work-o’-Day.” Peterkin made his obeisance, and took the stick. - -“I will never lose it!” said he. - -“You never will,” said Trot, “after once you know how to use it.” - -“Well,” said sister Pansy, “I am not to be beaten by my sister, and so -here are my spectacles.” - -“I shall look very funny in them,” said Peterkin, eyeing them -doubtfully. - -“Nay; nobody will see them on your nose as you mark them on mine. The -world will observe their wisdom in your eyes, but the wires will be -invisible. By-the-by, sister Pansy is only my home-name; men call me -Fairy See-far; and so be good.” - -“As for me,” said the third sister, “I am but the younger of the -family. I could not be in existence had not my sisters been born into -the world. I am going to give you my sack; but take heed, it were -better that you had no sack at all than that you should fill it too -full; than that you should fling into it all that you see; than that -you should pass by on the other side when, your sack being full, -another human being, fallen amongst thieves, lies bleeding and wanting -help! And now know that, though I am sometimes called Satchel, my name -amongst the good people is the Fairy Save-some.” - -“Good by,” suddenly said the three sisters. They smiled, and instantly -they were gone--just like _Three Thoughts_. - -So he turned his face towards home, with sorrow in his heart as he -thought of the three sisters, while hope was mixed with the sadness as -he glanced towards the far-off mountain which was called Mons Futura. - -Now, Peterkin had never cared to climb hillsides, and, therefore he -rarely went down them if he could help it, always lazily stopping at -the top. But now the wonderful stick, as he pressed it upon the ground, -seemed to give him a light heart, and a lighter pair of heels, and he -danced up the hillside just as though he were holiday-making, soon -reaching home. - -“See, mother,” said Peterkin, “the good women have given me each a -present--the one her stick, the second her glasses, and the third her -wallet.” - -“Ho!” said Gredel. “Well, I am not sorry they are gone, for I am afraid -they would soon have made you despise your mother. They are very -pleasant old people no doubt, but rude and certainly ill-bred, or they -would not have put my house to rights.” - -“But it looked all the better for it.” - -“It looked very well as it was.” - -“But the world goes on and on,” said Peterkin. - -Gredel shook her head. “Humph!” she said, “a stick, an old pair of -spectacles, and a sack not worth a dime! When people give gifts, let -them be gifts and not cast-offs.” - -“Anyhow,” said Peterkin, “I can tell you that the stick is a good -stick, and helps you over the hill famously. I will keep it, and you -may have the sack and the spectacles.” - -“Let us try your spectacles,” cried Gredel. “_Oh!_” she said, trying -them on carelessly. “These are the most wonderful spectacles in the -world,” she went on; “but no more civil than those three old women.” - -“What do you mean, mother?” - -“I see you, Peterkin--and a very sad sight, too. Why, you are lazy, -careless, unwashed, and stupid; and a more deplorable object was never -seen by honest woman.” - -Poor Peterkin blushed very much; but at this point, his mother taking -off the glasses, he seized and placed them before his own eyes. “_Oh!_” -he exclaimed. - -“What now?” asked Gredel in some alarm. - -“Now I see you as you are--and a very bad example are you to set before -your own son! Why, you are careless, and love me not for myself but -yourself, or you would do your best for me, and send me out in the -world.” - -“What? And dare you talk to your mother in such fashion? Give me the -spectacles once more!” and she clapped them on again. “Bless me!” she -continued, “the boy is quite right, and I see I am selfish, and that I -am making him selfish--a very pretty business, indeed! This is to be -thought over,” she said, laying aside the spectacles. - -By this time Peterkin had possessed himself of the stick, and then, to -his amazement, he found it had taken the shape of a spade. - -“Well,” said he, “as here is a spade I think I will turn over the -potato-patch.” This he did; and coming in to breakfast he was -admonished to find how fine the milk tasted. “Mother,” said he, “here -is a penny I have found in the field.” - -“Put it in the bag,” said Gredel. - -He did so, and immediately there was a chink. - -Over he turned the sack, and lo! there were ten pennies sprinkled on -the table. - -“Ho, ho,” said Peterkin, “if, now, the bag increases money after such a -pleasant manner, I have but to take out one coin and cast it in again, -and soon I shall have a fortune.” He did so; but he heard no chinking. -He inverted the bag again, and out fell the one coin he had picked up -while digging the potato-patch. - -“This, now, is very singular,” he said; “let me put on the spectacles.” -This done, “Ha!” he cried, “I see now how it is. The money will never -grow in the sack, unless one works hard; and then it increases whether -one will or not.” - -Meanwhile Gredel, taking up the stick, it took the shape of a broom, -and upon the hint she swept the floor. Next, sitting down before -Peterkin’s clothes, the stick became a needle, and she stitched away -with a will. - -So time rolled on. The cottage flourished, and the garden was -beautiful. Then a cow was brought home, and it was wonderful how often -fresh money changed in the wallet. Gredel had grown handsomer, and so -also had Peterkin. But one day it came to pass that Peterkin said: -“Mother, it is time I went over the great hill.” - -“What! canst thou leave me?” - -“Thou didst leave thy father and mother.” - -Gredel was wiser than she had been, and so she quietly said: “Let us -put on the spectacles. Ah! I see,” she then said, “a mother may love -her son, but she must not stand in his way as he goes on in the world, -or she becomes his enemy.” - -Then Peterkin put on the spectacles. “Ah! I see,” said he, “a son may -love his mother, but his love must not interfere with his duty to -other men. The glasses say that every man should try and leave the -world something the better for his coming; that many fail and but few -succeed, yet that all must strive.” - -“So be it,” said Gredel. “Go forth into the world, my son, and leave me -hopeful here alone.” - -“The glasses say that the sense of duty done is the greatest happiness -in the world,” said Peterkin. - -Then Gredel looked again through the glasses. - -“I see,” said she; “the glasses say it is better to have loved and lost -than never to have loved at all. Go forth into the world, my son: we -shall both be the happier for having done our duty.” - -So out into the world went Peterkin. - -What else is there to tell? Why, who can write of to-morrow? - -By the way, you should know that amongst the very wise folk sister -Trot is known as “Industry,” sister Pansy as “Foresight,” while honest -Satchel is generally called “Economy.” - -[Illustration: Out For the Afternoon] - - - - -[Illustration] - -TWO FORTUNE-SEEKERS. - -BY ROSSITER JOHNSON. - - -One afternoon I went over to see Fred Barnard, and found him sitting on -the back steps, apparently meditating. - -“What are you doing?” said I. - -“Waiting for that handkerchief to dry,” said he, pointing to a red one -with round white spots, which hung on the clothes-line. - -“And what are you going to do when it’s dry?” said I. - -“Tie up my things in it,” said he. - -“Things! What things?” - -“O, such things as a fellow needs when he’s traveling. I’m going to -seek my fortune.” - -“Where are you going to seek it?” said I. - -“I can’t tell exactly--anywhere and everywhere. I’m going till I find -it.” - -“But,” said I, “do you really expect to turn over a stone, or pull -up a bush, or get to the end of a rainbow, and find a crock full of -five-dollar gold pieces?” - -“O, no!” said Fred. “Such things are gone by long ago. You can’t do -that nowadays, if you ever could. But people do get rich nowadays, and -there must be some way to do it.” - -“Don’t they get rich mostly by staying at home, and minding their -business,” said I, “instead of going off tramping about the world?” - -“Maybe some of them do,” said Fred; “but my father has always staid at -home, and minded his business, and _he_ hasn’t got rich; and I don’t -believe he ever will. But there’s uncle Silas, he’s always on the go, -so you never know where to direct a letter to him; and he has lots -of money. Sometimes mother tells him he ought to settle down; but he -always says, if he did he’s afraid he wouldn’t be able to settle up by -and by.” - -I thought of my own father, and my mother’s brother. They both staid at -home and minded their own business, yet neither of them was rich. This -seemed to confirm Fred’s theory, and I was inclined to think he was -more than half right. - -“I don’t know but I’d like to go with you,” said I. - -“I don’t want you to,” said Fred. - -“Why,” said I, in astonishment; “are we not good friends?” - -“O, yes, good friends as ever,” said Fred; “but you’re not very likely -to find two fortunes close together; and I think it’s better for every -one to go alone.” - -“Then why couldn’t I start at the same time you do, and go a different -way?” - -“That would do,” said Fred. “I’m going to start to-morrow morning.” And -he walked to the line, and felt of the handkerchief. - -[Illustration] - -“I can take mother’s traveling-bag,” said I. “That will be handier to -carry than a bundle tied up.” - -“Take it if you like,” said Fred; “but _I_ believe there’s luck in an -old-fashioned handkerchief. In all the pictures of boys going to seek -their fortunes, they have their things tied up in a handkerchief, and a -stick put through it and over their shoulder.” - -I did not sympathize much with Fred’s belief in luck, though I thought -it was possible there might be something in it; but the bundle in the -handkerchief seemed to savor a little more of romance, and I determined -that I would conform to the ancient style. - -“Does your father know about it?” said I. - -“Yes; and he says I may go.” - -Just then Fred’s father drove around from the barn. - -“I’m going away,” said he to Fred, “to be gone several days. So, if you -go in the morning, I shall not see you again until you return from your -travels.” And he laughed a little. - -“Well, I’m certainly going to-morrow morning,” said Fred, in answer to -the “if.” - -“You ought to have a little money with you,” said Mr. Barnard, taking -out his wallet. - -“No, sir, I thank you,” said Fred; “but I’d rather not have it.” - -His father looked surprised. - -“I think it’s luckier to start without it,” said Fred, in explanation. - -“Very well! Luck go with you!” said Mr. Barnard, as he drove off. - -“Do you think it best to go without any money at all?” said I. “It -seems to me it would be better to have a little.” - -“No,” said Fred; “a fellow ought to depend on himself, and trust to -luck. It wouldn’t be any fun at all to stop at taverns and pay for -meals and lodging, just like ordinary travelers. And then, if people -saw I had money to pay for things, they wouldn’t believe I was going to -seek my fortune.” - -“Why, do we want them to know that?” said I. - -“_I_ do,” said he. - -“That isn’t the way the boys in the stories do,” said I. - -“And that’s just where they missed it,” said Fred; “or would, if they -lived nowadays. Don’t you see that everybody that wants anything lets -everybody know it? When I’m on my travels, I’m going to tell every one -what I’m after. That’s the way to find out where to go and what to do.” - -“Won’t some of them fool you,” said I, “and tell you lies, and send you -on the wrong road?” - -“A fellow’s got to look out for that,” said Fred, knowingly. “We -needn’t believe all they say.” - -“What must we take in our bundles?” said I. - -“I’m going to take some cookies, and a Bible, and a tin cup, and a ball -of string, and a pint of salt,” said Fred. - -“What’s the salt for?” said I. - -“We may have to camp out some nights,” said Fred, “and live on what we -can find. There are lots of things you can find in the woods and fields -to live on; but some of them ain’t good without salt--mushrooms, for -instance.” Fred was very fond of mushrooms. - -“And is the string to tie up the bags of money?” said I--not meaning to -be at all sarcastic. - -“O, no!” said Fred; “but string’s always handy to have. We may want to -set snares for game, or tie up things that break, or catch fish. And -then if you have to stay all night in a house where the people look -suspicious, you can fix a string so that if any one opens the door of -your room, it’ll wake you up.” - -“If that happened, you’d want a pistol--wouldn’t you?” said I. “Or else -it wouldn’t do much good to be waked up.” - -“I’d take a pistol, if I had one,” said Fred; “but I can get along -without it. You can always hit ’em over the head with a chair, or a -pitcher, or something. You know you can swing a pitcher full of water -around quick, and not spill a drop; and if you should hit a man a fair -blow with it, ’twould knock him senseless. Besides, it’s dangerous -using a pistol in a house. Sometimes the bullets go through the wall, -and kill innocent persons.” - -“We don’t want to do that,” said I. - -“No,” said Fred; “that would be awful unlucky.” - -Then he felt of the handkerchief again, said he guessed it was dry -enough, and took it off from the line. - -“Fred,” said I, “how much _is_ a fortune?” - -“That depends on your ideas,” said Fred, as he smoothed the -handkerchief over his knee. “I should not be satisfied with less than a -hundred thousand dollars.” - -“I ought to be going home to get ready,” said I. “What time do we -start?” - -“Five o’clock exactly,” said Fred. - -So we agreed to meet at the horse-block, in front of the house, a -minute or two before five the next morning, and start simultaneously on -the search for fortune. - -I went home, and asked mother if there was a red handkerchief, with -round white spots on it, in the house. - -“I think there is,” said she. “What do you want with it?” - -I told her all about our plan, just as Fred and I had arranged it. She -smiled, said she hoped we would be successful, and went to get the -handkerchief. - -It proved to be just like Fred’s, except that the spots were yellow, -and had little red dots in the middle. I thought that would do, and -then asked her for the salt, the cup, and the cookies. She gave me her -pint measure full of salt, and as she had no cookies in the house, she -substituted four sandwiches. - -“But,” said I, “won’t you want to use this cup before I get back?” - -“I think not,” said she, with a twinkle in her eye, which puzzled me -then, but which afterward I understood. - -I got my little Bible, and some twine, and then went into the yard to -hunt up a stick to carry the bundle on. I found a slender spoke from an -old carriage-wheel, and adopted it at once. “That,” said I to myself, -as I handled and “hefted” it, “would be just the thing to hit a burglar -over the head with.” - -I fixed the bundle all ready for a start, and went to bed in good -season. Mother rose early, got me a nice breakfast, and called me at -half past four. - -“Mother,” said I, as feelings of gratitude rose within me at the -excellence of the meal, “how does a camel’s-hair shawl look?” - -“I don’t know, my son,” said she. “I never saw one.” - -“Never saw one!” said I. “Well, you _shall_ see one, a big one, if I -find my fortune.” - -“Thank you,” said mother, and smiled again that peculiar smile. - -Fred and I met promptly at the horse-block. He greatly admired my -stick; his was an old hoe-handle, sawed short. I gave him two of my -sandwiches for half of his cookies, and we tied up the bundles snugly, -and slung them over our shoulders. - -“How long do you think it will take us?” said I. - -“Maybe three or four years--maybe more,” said he. - -“Let us agree to meet again on this spot five years, from to-day,” said -I. - -“All right!” said Fred; and he took out a bit of lead pencil, and wrote -the date on the side of the block. - -“The rains and snows will wash that off before the five years are up,” -said I. - -“Never mind! we can remember,” said Fred. “And now,” he continued, as -he shook hands with me, “don’t look back. _I’m_ not going to; it isn’t -lucky, and it’ll make us want to be home again. Good-bye!” - -“Good-bye! Remember, five years,” said I. - -He took the east road, I the west, and neither looked back. - -I think I must have walked about four miles without seeing any human -being. Then I fell in with a boy, who was driving three cows to -pasture, and we scraped acquaintance. - -“Where y’ goin’?” said he, eyeing my bundle. - -“A long journey,” said I. - -“Chiny?” said he. - -“Maybe so--maybe not,” said I. - -“What y’ got t’ sell?” said he. - -“Nothing,” said I; “I’m only a traveler not a peddler. Can you tell me -whose house that is?” - -“That big white one?” said he; “that’s Hathaway’s.” - -“It looks new,” said I. - -“Yes, ’tis, spick an’ span,” said he. “Hathaway’s jest moved into it; -used to live in that little brown one over there.” - -“Mr. Hathaway must be rich,” said I. - -“Jolly! I guess he is!--wish I was half as rich,” said the boy. “Made -’s money on the rise of prop’ty. Used to own all this land round here, -when ’twas a howlin’ wilderness. I’ve heard dad say so lots o’ times. -There he is now.” - -“Who?--your father?” said I. - -“No; Hathaway.” And the boy pointed to a very old, white-headed man, -who was leaning on a cane, and looking up at the cornice of the house. - -“He looks old,” said I. - -“He is, awful old,” said the boy. “Can’t live much longer. His -daughter Nancy’ll take the hull. Ain’t no other relations.” - -“How old is Nancy?” said I; and if I had been a few years older myself, -the question might have been significant; but among all the methods I -had thought over of acquiring a fortune, that of marrying one was not -included. - -“O, she’s gray-headed too,” said the boy, “’n a post, ’nd blind ’s a -bat. I wish the old man couldn’t swaller a mouthful o’ breakfast till -he’d give me half what he’s got.” And with this charitable expression -he turned with the cows into the lane, and I saw him no more. - -While I was meditating on the venerable but not venerated Mr. Hathaway -and his property, a wagon came rumbling along behind me. - -“Don’t you want to ride?” said the driver, as I stepped aside to let it -pass. - -I thanked him, and climbed to a place beside him on the rough seat. He -was in his shirt-sleeves, and wore a torn straw hat. He had reddish -side-whiskers, and his chin needed shaving, badly. - -“Got far to go?” said he, as the team started up again. - -“I expect to walk all day,” said I. - -“Then you must get a lift when you can,” said he. “Don’t be afraid to -ask. A good many that wouldn’t invite you, as I did, would let you ride -if you asked them.” - -I promised to remember his advice. - -“Ever drive a team?” said he. - -“Not much,” said I. - -“I want a good boy to drive team,” said he. “Suppose you could learn.” -And then he began to talk to the horses, and to whistle. - -“How much would you pay?” said I. - -“I’d give a good smart boy ten dollars a month and board,” said he. -“Git ap, Doc!” - -“How much of that could he save?” said I. - -“Save eight dollars a month easy enough, if he’s careful of his -clothes, and don’t want to go to every circus that comes along,” said -he. - -I made a mental calculation: “Eight times twelve are ninety-six--into -a hundred thousand--one thousand and forty-one years, and some months. -O, yes! interest--well, nearly a thousand years.” Then I said aloud, “I -guess I won’t hire; don’t believe I’d make a very good teamster.” - -“I think you would; and it’s good wages,” said he. - -“Nobody but Methuselah could get rich at it,” said I. - -“Rich?” said he. “Of course you couldn’t get rich teaming. If that’s -what you’re after, I’ll tell you what you do: plant a forest. Timber’s -good property. The price of it’s more than doubled in ten years past, -and it’ll be higher yet. You plant a tree, and it’ll grow while you -sleep. Chess won’t choke it, and the weevil can’t eat it. You don’t -have to hoe it, nor mow it, nor pick it, nor rotate it, nor feed it, -nor churn it, nor nothing. That’s the beauty of it. And you plant a -forest of trees, and in time it’ll make you a rich man.” - -“How much time?” said I. - -“Well, that piece of timber you see over there,--that’s Eph Martin’s; -he’s going to cut it next season. The biggest trees must be--well, -perhaps eighty years old. You reckon up the interest on the cost of the -land, and you’ll see it’s a good investment. I wish I had such a piece.” - -“Why don’t you plant one?” said I. - -“O, I’m too old! My grandfather ought to have done it for me. Whoa! -Doc. Whoa! Tim.” - -He drew up at a large, red barn, where a man and a boy were grinding a -scythe. I jumped down, and trudged on. - -After I had gone a mile or two, I began to feel hungry, and sat done -on a stone, under a great oak tree, to eat a sandwich. Before I knew -it I had eaten two, and then I was thirsty. There was a well in a -door-yard close by, and I went to it. The bucket was too heavy for me -to lift, and so I turned the salt out of my cup in a little pile on a -clean-looking corner of the well-curb, and drank. - -The woman of the house came to the door, and took a good look at me; -then she asked if I would not rather have a drink of milk. I said -I would, and she brought a large bowlful, which I sat down on the -door-step to enjoy. - -Presently a sun-browned, barefooted boy, wearing a new chip hat, and -having his trousers slung by a single suspender, came around the corner -of the house, and stopped before me. - -“Got any Shanghais at your house?” said he. - -“No!” - -“Any Cochins?” - -“No!” - -“Any Malays?” - -“No!” - -“What _have_ you got?” - -“About twenty common hens,” said I, perceiving that his thoughts were -running on fancy breeds of fowls. - -“Don’t want to buy a nice pair of Shanghais--do you?” said he. - -“I couldn’t take them to-day,” said I. - -“Let’s go look at them,” said he; and I followed him toward the barn. - -“This is _my_ hennery,” said he, with evident pride, as we came to a -small yard which was inclosed with a fence made of long, narrow strips -of board, set up endwise, and nailed to a slight railing. Inside was a -low shed, with half a dozen small entrances near the ground. - -“Me and Jake built this,” said he. “Jake’s my brother.” - -He unbuckled a strap that fastened the gate, and we went inside. A few -fowls, of breeds unfamiliar to me, were scratching about the yard. - -“Don’t you call them nice hens?” said he. - -“I guess they are,” said I; “but I don’t know much about hens.” - -“Don’t you?” said he. “Then I’ll tell you something about them. There’s -money in hens. Father says so, and I know it’s so. I made fifty-one -dollars and thirteen cents on these last year. I wish I had a million.” - -“A million dollars,” said I, “is a good deal of money. I should be -satisfied with one tenth of that.” - -“I meant a million hens,” said he. “I’d rather have a million hens than -a million dollars.” - -I went through a mental calculation similar to the one I had indulged -in while riding with the teamster: “Fifty-one, thirteen--almost two -thousand years. Great Cæsar! Yes, Great Cæsar sure enough! I ought -to have begun keeping hens about the time Cassius was egging on the -conspirators to lay out that gentleman. But I forgot the interest -again. Call it fifteen hundred.” - -“Let’s go in and look at the nests,” said the boy, opening the door of -the shed. - -The nests were in a row of boxes nailed to the wall. He took out some -of the eggs, and showed them to me. Several had pencil-writing on the -shell, intended to denote the breed. I remember _Gaim_, _Schanghy_, and -_Cotching_. - -“There’s a pair of Shanghais,” said he as he went out, pointing with -one hand while he tightened the gate-strap with the other, “that I’ll -sell you for five dollars. Or I’ll sell you half a dozen eggs for six -dollars.” - -I told him I couldn’t trade that day, but would certainly come and see -him when I wanted to buy any fancy hens. - -“If you see anybody,” said he, as we parted, “that wants a nice pair of -Shanghais reasonable, you tell ’em where I live.” - -“I will,” said I, and pushed on. - -“Money in hens, eh?” said I to myself. “Then if they belonged to me, -I’d kill them, and get it out of them at once, notwithstanding the -proverb about the goose.” - -After some further journeying I came to a roadside tavern. A large, -square sign, with a faded picture of a horse, and the words SCHUYLER’S -HOTEL, faintly legible, hung from an arm that extended over the road -from a high post by the pump. - -I sat down on the steps, below a group of men who were tilted back in -chairs on the piazza. One, who wore a red shirt, and chewed a very -large quid of tobacco, was just saying,-- - -“Take it by and through, a man can make wages at the mines, and that’s -all he can make.” - -“Unless he strikes a big nugget,” said a little man with one eye. - -“He might be there a hundred years, and not do that,” said Red Shirt. -“I never struck one.” - -“And again he might strike it the very first day,” said One Eye. - -“Again he might,” said Red Shirt; “but I’d rather take my chances -keeping tavern. Look at Schuyler, now. He’ll die a rich man.” - -The one who seemed to be Schuyler was well worth looking at. I had -never seen so much man packed into so much chair; and it was an exact -fit--just enough chair for the man, just enough man for the chair. -Schuyler’s boundary from his chin to his toe was nearly, if not -exactly, a straight line. - -“Die rich?” said One Eye. “He’s a livin’ rich; he’s rich to-day.” - -“If any of you gentlemen want to make your fortune keeping a hotel,” -said Schuyler, “I’ll sell on easy terms.” - -“How much, ’squire?” said Red Shirt. - -[Illustration: “HE TOOK THE EAST ROAD, I THE WEST, AND NEITHER LOOKED -BACK.”--See page 61.] - -“Fifteen,” answered Schuyler. - -“Fifteen thousand--furniture and all?” said One Eye. - -“Everything,” said Schuyler. - -“Your gran’f’ther bought the place for fifteen hundred,” said One Eye. -“But money was wuth more then.” - -While listening to this conversation, I had taken out my cookies, and I -was eating the last of them, when One Eye made his last recorded remark. - -“Won’t you come in, sonny, and stay over night?” said Schuyler. - -“Thank you, sir,” said I; “but I can’t stop.” - -“Then don’t be mussing up my clean steps,” said he. - -I looked at him to see if he was in earnest; for I was too hungry to -let a single crum fall, and could not conceive what should make a muss. -The whole company were staring at me most uncomfortably. Without saying -another word, I picked up my stick and bundle, and walked off. - -“Thirteen thousand five hundred,” said I to myself, slowly,--“in three -generations--four thousand five hundred to a generation. I ought to -have come over with Christopher Columbus, and set up a tavern for the -red-skins to lounge around. Then maybe if I never let any little Indian -boys eat their lunches on the steps, I’d be a rich man now. Fifteen -thousand dollars--and so mean, so abominably mean--and such a crowd of -loafers for company. No, I wouldn’t keep tavern if I could get rich in -one generation.” - -At the close of this soliloquy, I found I had instinctively turned -towards home when I left Schuyler’s Hotel. “It’s just as well,” said -I, “just as well! I’d rather stay at home and mind my business, like -father, and not have any fortune, if that’s the way people get them -nowadays.” - -I had the good luck to fall in with my friend the teamster, who gave me -a longer lift than before, and sounded me once more on the subject of -hiring out to drive team for him. - -As I passed over the crest of the last hill in the road, I saw -something in the distance that looked very much like another boy with a -bundle over his shoulder. I waved my hat. It waved its hat. We met at -the horse-block, each carrying a broad grin the last few rods of the -way. - -“Let’s see your fortune,” said I, as I laid my bundle on the block. - -“Let’s see yours,” said he, as he laid his beside it. - -“You started the plan,” said I; “so you tell your adventures first.” - -Thereupon Fred told his story, which I give nearly in his own words. - -He traveled a long distance before he met with any incident. Then he -came to a house that had several windows boarded up, and looked as -if it might not be inhabited. While Fred stood looking at it, and -wondering about it, he saw a shovelful of earth come out of one of -the cellar windows. It was followed in a few seconds by another, and -another, at regular intervals. - -“I know how it is,” said Fred. “Some old miser has lived and died in -that house. He used to bury his money in the cellar; and now somebody’s -digging for it. I mean to see if I can’t help him.” - -Going to the window, he stooped down and looked in. At first he saw -nothing but the gleam of a new shovel. But when he had looked longer he -discerned the form of the man who wielded it. - -“Hello!” said Fred, as the digger approached the window to throw out a -shovelful. - -“Hello! Who are you?” said the man. - -“I’m a boy going to seek my fortune,” said Fred. “What are you digging -for?” - -“Digging for a fortune,” said the man, taking up another shovelful. - -“May I help you?” said Fred. - -“Yes, if you like.” - -“And have half?” - -“Have all you find,” said the man, forcing down his shovel with his -foot. - -Fred ran around to the cellar door, laid down his bundle on the grass -beside it, and entered. The man pointed to an old shovel with a large -corner broken off, and Fred picked it up and went to work. - -Nearly half of the cellar bottom had been lowered about a foot by -digging, and the man was lowering the remainder. With Fred’s help, -after about two hours of hard work, it was all cut down to the lower -level. - -Fred had kept his eyes open, and scrutinized every shovelful; but -nothing like a coin had gladdened his sight. Once he thought he had -one, and ran to the light with it. But it proved to be only the iron -ear broken off from some old bucket. - -“I guess that’ll do,” said the man, wiping his brow, when the leveling -was completed. - -“Do?” said Fred, in astonishment. “Why, we haven’t found any of the -money yet.” - -“What money?” - -“The money the old miser buried, of course.” - -The man laughed heartily. “I wasn’t digging for any miser’s money,” -said he. - -“You said so,” said Fred. - -“O, no!” said the man. “I said I was digging for a fortune. Come and -sit down, and I’ll tell you all about it.” - -They took seats on the highest of the cellar steps that led out of -doors. - -“You see,” continued the man, “my wife went down cellar one day, and -struck her forehead against one of those beams; and she died of it. -If she had lived a week longer, she’d have inherited a very pretty -property. So I’ve lowered the cellar floor; and if I should have -another wife, her head couldn’t reach the beams, unless she was very -tall--taller than I am. So if _she_ inherits a fortune, the cellar -won’t prevent us getting it. That’s the fortune I was digging for.” - -“It’s a mean trick to play on a boy; and if I was a man, I’d lick you,” -said Fred, as he shouldered his bundle and walked away. - -Two or three miles farther down the road he came to a small blacksmith -shop. The smith, a stout, middle-aged man, was sitting astride of a -small bench with long legs, making horseshoe nails on a little anvil -that rose from one end of it. - -Fred went in, and asked if he might sit there a while to rest. - -“Certainly,” said the blacksmith, as he threw a finished nail into an -open drawer under the bench. “How far have you come?” - -“I can’t tell,” said Fred; “it must be as much as ten miles.” - -“Got far to go?” - -“I don’t know how far. I’m going to seek my fortune.” - -The smith let his hammer rest on the anvil, and took a good look at -Fred. “You seem to be in earnest,” said he. - -“I am,” said Fred. - -“Don’t you know that gold dollars don’t go rolling up hill in these -days, for boys to chase them, and we haven’t any fairies in this -country, dancing by moonlight over buried treasure?” said the smith. - -“O, yes, I know that,” said Fred. “But people get rich in these days as -much as ever they did. And I want to find out the best way to do it.” - -“What is that nail made of?” said the smith, holding out one. - -“Iron,” said Fred, wondering what that had to do with a boy seeking his -fortune. - -“And that hammer?” - -“Iron.” - -“And that anvil?” - -“Iron.” - -“Well, don’t you see,” said the smith, resting his hammer on the anvil, -and leaning over it toward Fred,--“don’t you see that everything -depends on iron? A farmer can’t cultivate the ground until he has a -plow; and that plow is made of iron. A butcher can’t cut up a critter -until he has a knife; and that knife is made of iron. A tailor can’t -make a garment without a needle; and that needle is made of iron. You -can’t build a ship without iron, nor start a mill, nor arm a regiment. -The stone age, and the brass age, and the golden age are all gone by. -This is the iron age; and iron is the basis of all wealth. The richest -man is the man that has the most iron. Railroads are made of iron, and -the richest men are those that own railroads.” - -“How can one man own a railroad?” said Fred, amazed at the vastness of -such wealth. - -“Well, he can’t exactly, unless he steals it,” said the smith. - -“I should like to own a railroad,” said Fred; and he thought what fun -he might have, as well as profit, being conductor on his own train; -“but I didn’t come to steal; I want to find a fortune honestly.” - -“Then look for it in iron,” said the smith. “Iron in some form always -paves the road to prosperity.” - -“Would blacksmithing be a good way?” said Fred. - -“Now you’ve hit it,” said the smith. “I haven’t got rich myself, and -probably never shall. But I didn’t take the right course. I was a -sailor when I was young, and spent half my life wandering around the -world, before I settled down and turned blacksmith. I dare say if I had -learned the trade early enough, and had gone and set up a shop in some -large place, or some rising place, and hadn’t always been so low in my -charges, I might be a rich man.” - -Fred thought the blacksmith must be a very entertaining and learned -man, whom it would be pleasant as well as profitable to work with. So, -after thinking it over a few minutes, he said,-- - -“Do you want to hire a boy to learn the business?” - -“I’ll give you a chance,” said the smith, “and see what you can do.” -Then he went outside and drew in a wagon, which was complete except -part of the iron-work, and started up his fire, and thrust in some -small bars of iron. - -Fred laid aside his bundle, threw off his jacket, and announced that -he was ready for work. The smith set him to blowing the bellows, and -afterward gave him a light sledge, and showed him how to strike the -red-hot bar on the anvil, alternating with the blows of the smith’s own -hammer. - -At first it was very interesting to feel the soft iron give at every -blow, and see the sparks fly, and the bars, and rods taking the -well-known shapes of carriage-irons. But either the smith had reached -the end of his political economy, or else he was too much in earnest -about his work to deliver orations; his talk now was of “swagging,” and -“upsetting,” and “countersinking,” and “taps,” and “dies”--all of which -terms he taught Fred the use of. - -Fred was quick enough to learn, but had never been fond of work; and -this was work that made the sweat roll down his whole body. After an -hour or two, he gave it up. - -“I think I’ll look further for my fortune,” said he; “this is too hard -work.” - -“All right,” said the smith; “but maybe you’ll fare worse. You’ve -earned a little something, anyway;” and he drew aside his leather -apron, thrust his hand into his pocket, and brought out seven cents; -which Fred accepted with thanks, and resumed his journey. - -His next encounter was with a farmer, who sat in the grassy corner -of a field, under the shade of a maple tree, eating his dinner. This -reminded Fred that it was noon, and that he was hungry. - -“How d’e do, mister?” said Fred, looking through the rail-fence. “I -should like to come over and take dinner with you.” - -“You’ll have to furnish your own victuals,” said the farmer. - -“That I can do,” said Fred, and climbed over the fence, and sat down by -his new acquaintance. - -“Where you bound for?” said the farmer, as Fred opened his bundle, and -took out a sandwich. - -“Going to seek my fortune,” said Fred. - -“You don’t look like a runaway ’prentice,” said the farmer; “but that’s -a curious answer to a civil question.” - -“It’s true,” said Fred. “I _am_ going to seek my fortune.” - -“Where do you expect to find it?” - -“I can’t tell--I suppose I must hunt for it.” - -“Well, I can tell you where to look for it, if you’re in earnest; and -’tain’t so very far off, either,” said the farmer, as he raised the jug -of milk to his mouth. - -Fred indicated by his attitude that he was all attention, while the -farmer took a long drink. - -“In the ground,” said he, as he sat down the jug with one hand, and -brushed the other across his mouth. “There’s no wealth but what comes -out of the ground in some way. All the trees and plants, all the -grains, and grasses, and garden-sass, all the brick and stone, all -the metals--iron, gold, silver, copper--everything comes out of the -ground. That’s where man himself came from, according to the Bible: -‘Dust thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return.’ And the first primary -foundation of it all is agriculture. Hewson, the blacksmith, pretends -to say it’s iron; and he maintained that side in the debating club at -the last meeting. But I maintained it was agriculture, and I maintain -so still. Says I, ‘Mr. President, what’s your tailor, and your sailor, -and your ship-builder, and your soldier, and your blacksmith going to -do without something to eat? [Here the farmer made a vigorous gesture -by bringing down his fist upon his knee.] They can’t eat needles, nor -spikes, nor guns, nor anvils. The farmer’s got to feed ’em, every one -on ’em. And they’ve got to have a good breakfast before they can do -a good day’s work, and a dinner in the middle of it, and a supper at -the end of it. Can’t plow without iron?’ says I. ‘Why, Mr. President, -in Syria and thereabouts they plow with a crooked limb of a tree to -this day. The gentleman can see a picture of it in Barnes’s Notes, if -he has access to that valuable work.’ And says I, ‘Mr. President, who -was first in the order of time--Adam the farmer, or Tubal Cain the -blacksmith? No, sir; Adam was the precursor of Tubal Cain; Adam had to -be created before Tubal Cain could exist. First the farmer, and then -the blacksmith;--that, Mr. President, is the divine order in the great -procession of creation.’” - -Here the farmer stopped, and cut a piece of meat with his pocket-knife. - -“Boy,” he continued, “if you want a fortune, you must dig it out of the -ground. You won’t find one anywhere else.” - -Fred thought of his recent unpleasant experience in digging for a -fortune, and asked, “Isn’t digging generally pretty hard work.” - -“Yes,” said the farmer, as he took up his hoe, and rose to his feet; -“it _is_ hard work; but it’s a great deal more respectable than -wandering around like a vagrant, picking up old horse-shoes, and -hollering ‘Money!’ at falling stars.” - -Fred thought the man was somehow getting personal. So he took his -bundle, climbed the fence, and said good-bye to him. - -He walked on until he came to a fork of the road, and there he stopped, -considering which road he would take. He could find no sign-board of -any sort, and was about to toss one of his pennies to determine the -question, when he saw a white steeple at some distance down the right -hand road. “It’s always good luck to pass a church,” said he, and took -that road. - -When he reached the church, he sat down on the steps to rest. While -he sat there, thinking over all he had seen and heard that day, a -gentleman wearing a black coat, a high hat, and a white cravat, came -through the gate of a little house almost buried in vines and bushes, -that stood next to the church. He saw Fred, and approached him, -saying,-- - -“Whither away, my little pilgrim?” - -“I am going to seek my fortune,” said Fred. - -“Haven’t you a home?” - -“Yes, sir.” - -“Parents?” - -“Yes, sir.” - -“Are they good to you?” - -“O, yes, sir.” - -“Then you are fortunate already,” said the gentleman. “When I was at -your age, I had neither home nor parents, and the people where I lived -were very unkind.” - -“But my father isn’t rich,” said Fred; “and he never will be.” - -“And you want to be rich?” said the gentleman. - -“Yes, sir. I thought I’d try to be,” said Fred. - -“What for?” - -“What for? Why--why--so as to have the money.” - -“And what would you do with the money, if you had it?” - -“I’d--I’d use it,” said Fred, beginning to feel that he had come to -debating school without sufficiently understanding the question. - -“Do you see that pile of large stones near my barn?” said the -gentleman. “I’ll give you those, and lend you a wheelbarrow to get them -home.” - -“I thank you,” said Fred; “but I don’t want them. They’re of no use.” - -“O, yes, they are! You can build a house with them,” said the gentleman. - -“But I’m not ready to build a house,” said Fred. “I haven’t any land to -build it on, nor any other materials, nor anything to put into it; and -I’m not old enough to be married and keep house.” - -“Very true, my son! and if you had a cart-load of money now, it -wouldn’t be of any more value to you than a cart-load of those building -stones. But, after you have been to school a few years longer, and -trained yourself to some business, and made a man of yourself, and -developed your character, then you will have tastes, and capacities, -and duties that require money; and if you get it as you go along, and -always have enough to satisfy them, and none in excess to encumber you, -that will be the happiest fortune you can find.” - -Fred took a few minutes to think of it. Then he said,-- - -“I believe you have told me the truth, and set me on the right track. I -will go home again, and try to make a man of myself first, and a rich -man afterward.” - -“Before you start, perhaps you would like to come into my house and get -rested, and look at some pictures.” - -Fred accepted the invitation. The lady of the house gave him a -delicious lunch, and he spent an hour in the clergyman’s study, looking -over two or three portfolios of prints and drawings, which they -explained to him. Then he bade them good-bye, shouldered his bundle, -and started for home, having the good fortune to catch a long ride, and -arriving just as I did. - -“What I’ve learned,” said he, as he finished his story, “is, that you -can get rich if you don’t care for anything else; but you’ve either -got to work yourself to death for it, or else cheat somebody. You can -get it out of the ground by working, or you can get it out of men by -cheating. But who wants to do either? I don’t. And I believe it isn’t -much use being rich, any way.” - -Then I told Fred my adventures. “And what I’ve learned,” said I, “is, -that you can get rich without much trouble, if you’re willing to wait -all your life for forests to grow and property to rise. But what’s the -use of money to an old man or an old woman that’s blind and deaf, and -just ready to die? Or what good does it do a mean man, with a lot of -loafers round him? It can’t make him a gentleman.” - -And meditating upon this newly-acquired philosophy, Fred and I went to -our homes. - -“Mother,” said I, “I’ve got back.” - -“Yes, my son, I expected you about this time.” - -“But I haven’t found a fortune, nor brought your camel’s-hair shawl.” - -“It’s just as well,” said she; “for I haven’t anything else that would -be suitable to wear with it.” - -[Illustration] - - - - -THE LITTLE CHRISTMAS PIES. - -BY E. F. - - -Floris shut up her book, and looked at mamma. “Mamma, I wish we could -be s’prised Christmas!” - -“Surprised.” It was a moment before mamma understood. “It is somewhat -difficult,” she said then, “to surprise little girls who feel at -liberty to go to mamma’s drawers at any time, and to untie all the -packages when the delivery-man comes. In a small house like this people -have to help surprise themselves.” - -“Who wants to help surprise theirselves!” exclaimed little Katy. “You -ought to be cunning, mamma, and hide things; a ‘truly’ hide--you -know--and not just in bureau drawers.” - -“_That’s_ not what I mean at all, Katy,” said Floris. “Mamma, I mean -a _surprise_, and not our Christmas presents. Of course, Katy and I -know what them’ll be, or _most_ know. It’ll be our new hats, or some -aprons, or something we’d had to have any way, and just one of the -every-day Christmas presents besides; a book, or a horn of candy. I -most know mine’ll be a silver thimble this year, ’cause I lost my old -one, and I heard you tell papa that Katy’d better have a workbox, so’s -to s’courage her to learn sewing more. Now, see ’f ’tain’t so.” - -Mamma sat before her little daughters, her guilt confessed in her looks. - -“Not that we blame you, mamma,” added Floris, kindly. “I’m old ’nough -now to know that if Santa Klaus brings us anything, he comes round -beforehand, and gets every cent they cost out of papa--great Santa -Klaus, that is!” - -“But what did you mean by a surprise, Floris?” - -“O, I d’no, quite,” answered Floris. “But I thought I sh’d like to have -something happen that never had before; something planned for me ’n’ -Katy that we didn’t know a breath about, and there was no chance of -prying into, so that ’twould honestly s’prise us. I never was s’prised -in my life yet, mamma. I always found out some way.” - -Mrs. Dewey smiled. She went out to prepare dinner, and nothing more -was said; and Miss Floris took up her book with a sigh. - -But at night, while she was buttoning the two white night-dresses, -Mrs. Dewey returned to the subject. “My little daughters, if you will -keep out of the kitchen to-morrow, all day, I think I can promise that -something very strange and delightful shall happen on Christmas.” - -Four little feet jumped right up and down, two little faces flew up -in her own, four little hands caught hold of her, four bright eyes -transfixed her--indeed, they came pretty near having the secret right -out of her on the spot. - -“O, mamma! What _is_ it?” - -“You must be very anxious to be ‘truly s’prised,’” remarked mamma. - -Floris saw the point. She subsided at once. She smiled at mamma with -the first elder-daughter smile that had ever crossed the bright -child-face. - -“I guess I _shall_ be ‘truly s’prised’ if we _are_ s’prised,” she said, -with a funny little grimace, as she laid her head on the pillow. - -“Now, remember, it is to be a ‘truly keep-out,’” warned Mrs. Dewey. -“You are not to enter the kitchen at all--not once all day to-morrow.” - -“Why, surely, mamma Dewey, you are not to do anything towa’ds it before -breakfast,” reasoned little Katy. - -“I shall at least notice whether I am obeyed.” - -“What’ll happen if we don’t?” inquired Katy. - -“Nothing’ll happen then,” said mamma, quietly. - -The little voices said no more, and mamma went down stairs. They said -not a single word more, because the little Deweys were so constructed -that had there not been a standing command that they should not speak -after mamma closed the door, their little pink tongues would have run -all night; but they squeezed each other’s hands very tightly, and also -remained awake somewhat longer than usual. - -Mrs. Dewey smiled next morning to see her daughters seated at their -lessons in that part of the sitting-room furthest from the door -that opened into the hall and thus into the kitchen. They never -once directly referred to last night’s conversation; but they were -extremely civil to her personally, most charmingly civil, obedient, and -thoughtful. Indeed, Katy’s little round shingled head would bob out -into the hall almost every time mamma’s step was heard. “You must let -me bring you anything I can, mamma--anything I can, ’thout going into -the kitchen, I mean.” - -But, to Katy’s disappointment, mamma wished no assistance. Floris -offered to go down town, if mamma needed. But mamma wished nothing that -Floris could do. However, to their delight, they saw the delivery-man, -when he came, taking down lots of orders in his book. “Would it be -w’ong to listen in the hall?” Katy whispered. “’Cause I could hear -everything she told him, ’f I was a-mind to.” - -Floris told her it would be very wrong. - -The elder little girl studied, and played, and sang, and amused her -doll all the morning, and refused to listen to any pleasant sound she -heard from the kitchen. She shut her little nose, also, against a -sudden whiff of deliciousness as some door opened. She even went to the -well, and brought hard water for her room, because the rain water would -have taken her near the forbidden regions. - -But little Katy was as restless as a bee. She had a thousand errands -through the hall. When Floris reprimanded her, she said she didn’t -’tend to go a-near the kitchen door. Floris looked out often; but, at -last, the little one settled on the hall stairs with her paint-box, and -the elder sister felt at rest. - -But even to her it finally grew a long forenoon. Before ten o’clock she -found herself infected with the same restlessness. Then the various -sounds which she heard distracted her, such busy sounds--she would, at -last, have given almost anything to know what was going on out there. - -The mantel clock was just striking eleven when the hall door unclosed, -and Katy’s plump little person partially appeared. - -“Come here, quick, quick! or she’ll be back. _I’ve found out, Flory!_” - -“O, _have_ you--Why, Katy Dewey!” Floris over-turned the music-stool -as she ran. Katy, her head turned listeningly toward the kitchen door, -blindly crowded a spoonful of something into her mouth. - -“There! isn’t that ’licious good? O, Floris, such things as I have -seen out there!--the box of raisins is down on the table, and all her -extrach Lubin bottles. I couldn’t stay to look much; but, Floris, -there’s twelve of the most beautiful mince patties--O, the most -beautiful! all iced, and ‘Merry Christmas,’ in pink sand, on every one, -and there’s twelve more in the iron ready to fill--_wasn’t_ that I gave -you _crammed_ with raisins!” - -Floris’s eyes danced. “Kit Dewey, I’ll bet we’re going to have a -Christmas party--a party of little boys and girls! What else was there, -do tell me!” - -“O, I d’no; there was heaps of raisins--and, _mebbe_, there was ice -cream;” suddenly remembering Floris’s fondness for that delectable. - -Floris knew better than that; but still her eyes danced. Suddenly they -heard the back kitchen door, and, as suddenly, Floris turned white. -“The mince-spoon, Katy! You’ve brought the mince-spoon! Mamma’ll know!” - -Katy’s little mouth dropped open. - -“Quick! She’s coming this way!” - -Floris softly got into the sitting-room, so did Katy. - -“Where is the spoon?” hurriedly whispered the elder girl. - -“I stuffed it under the stair carpet, where that rod was up.” - -They could hear mamma coming through the hall. But she came only part -way. After a pause, she returned to the kitchen. - -“Katy, what if she’s found it?” - -“She couldn’t.” - -They stole out into the hall. The spoon was gone! - -“O, Katy! I’ll bet you left it sticking out!” said Floris, and burst -into tears. Katy did the same. With one accord they ascended the stairs -to their room. - -When, with red eyes, they came down to dinner, they found mamma in -the dining-room as placid as usual. The kitchen door was wide open. -After dinner Floris was requested to wipe the dishes. Her work took -her into every part of the kitchen domains, and her red eyes peered -about sharply; but nothing unusual was to be seen--not one trace of the -beautiful patties, not a raisin-stem, even! - -Christmas day came and went. Floris had her silver thimble, and Katy -her work-box. The dinner table was in the usual holiday trim. But -the little frosted pies, with the pink greetings, were not brought -forward--no, and not one word was said concerning them, not even by -mamma’s eyes. - -[Illustration] - -At night they cried softly in their little white bed, after mamma had -gone down. “And, Floris, I ’member now, there was something else, under -a white cloth, like a plate of kisses, I thought,” sobbed Katy, her wet -little face pressed into the pillows; “and I shall always think she was -going to make fruitcake, for there was citron all cut up, and there was -almonds--” - -“Don’t, Katy! I don’t want to hear it! I _can’t_ hear it!” said -Floris, in a thick voice; “and don’t let us disobey mamma more by -talking.” - -But what did become of the beautiful, frosted, pink-lettered little -pies--would you like to know? - -Floris and Katy cannot tell you; for never yet have mamma and her -little daughters exchanged a word upon the subject--but I think _I_ -can. At least I was told that a factory-weaver’s family, where there -were several little girls, had the most lovely of patties, and kisses, -and sugar-plums sent them for their Christmas dinner last year. - - - - -THE STRANGERS FROM THE SOUTH. - -BY ELLA FARMAN. - - -Unless I take a long half mile circle, my daily walk to the post-office -leads me down through an unsavory, wooden-built portion of town. I -am obliged to pass several cheap groceries, which smell horribly of -_sauer-kraut_ and Limburg cheese, a restaurant steamy with Frenchy -soups, a livery stable, besides two or three barns, and some gloomy, -windowless, shut-up buildings, of whose use I haven’t the slightest -idea. - -Of course, when I go out in grand toilet, I take the half mile circle. -But, being a business woman, and generally in a hurry, I usually -go this short way in my short walking-dress and big parasol; and, -probably, there is an indescribable expression to my nose, just as Mrs. -Jack Graham says. - -Well, one morning I was going down town in the greatest hurry. I was -trying to walk so fast that I needn’t breathe once going by the Dutch -groceries; and I was almost to the open space which looks away off to -the sparkling river, and the distant park, and the forenoon sun,--I -always take a good, long, sweet breath there, coming and going,--when -my eye was caught by a remarkable group across the street. - -Yes, during the night, evidently, while the town was asleep, there had -been an arrival--strangers direct from the Sunny South. - -And there the remarkable-looking strangers sat, in a row, along the -narrow step of one of the mysterious buildings I have alluded to. They -were sunning themselves with all the delightful carelessness of the -experienced traveler. Though, evidently, they had been presented with -the liberty of the city, it was just as evident that they didn’t care a -fig for sightseeing--not a fig, either, for the inhabitants. All they -asked of our town was its sunshine. They had selected the spot where -they could get the most of it. Through the open space opposite the sun -streamed broadly; and the side of a weather-colored building is _so_ -warm! - -What a picture of _dolce far niente_, of “sweet-do-nothing,” it was! I -stopped, hung my parasol over my shoulder,--there was a little too much -sunshine for me,--and gazed at it. - -“O, how you do love it! You bask like animals! That fullness of -enjoyment is denied to us white-skins. What a visible absorption of -luster and heat! You are the true lotus-eaters!” - -The umber-colored creatures--I suppose they are as much warmer for -being brown, as any brown surface is warmer than a white one. I never -did see sunshine drank, and absorbed, and enjoyed as that was. It was a -bit of Egypt and the Nile life. I could not bear to go on. - -[Illustration] - -Finally, I crossed the street to them. Not one of them stirred. The -eldest brother was standing, leaning against the building. He turned -one eye on me, and kept it there. At his feet lay a bulging, ragged -satchel. Evidently he was the protector. - -The elder sister, with hands tucked snugly under her folded arms, -winked and blinked at me dozily. The little boy with the Nubian lips -was sound asleep,--a baby Osiris,--his chubby hands hiding together -between his knees for greater warmth. The youngest sister, wrapped in -an old woolen shawl, was the only uncomfortable one of the lot. There -was no doze nor dream in her eyes yet--poor thing, _she_ was cold! - -I didn’t believe they had had anywhere to lay their heads during the -night. Liberty of a city, to one kind of new arrivals, means just -that, you know. Sundry crumbs indicated an absence of the conventional -breakfast table. Poor little darkies! - -“Children,” I said, like a benevolently-disposed city marshal, “you -mustn’t sit here in the street.” - -“We’s gwine on soon, mistis,” said the protector, meekly. - -“I ’low we ain’t, Jim!” The big sister said this without any diminution -of the utter happiness of her look. - -“It’s powerful cold comin’ up fru the norf, mistis. I _mus’_ let ’em -warm up once a day,” said Jim. - -“Up through the north! Pray, where are you going?” - -Jim twisted about. He looked down at the toe of his boot, reflectively. - -“I ex-pect, I ex-pect--” - -“You _spec_, Jim! You allers spectin’! Mistis, we’s _free_--we kin go -anywhars!” - -I suspect there had been a great deal of long-suffering on the part of -Jim. He burst out like flame from a smoldering fire,-- - -“_Anywhars!_ That’s what ails niggas! Freedom means _anywhars_ to ’em, -and so they’re nuffin’ nor nobody. You vagabon’, Rose Moncton, you -_kin’t_ go anywhars much longer--not ’long o’ me!” - -“O, you white folksy Jim! I ’low this trompin’ was yer own plan. When -you finds a town whar it’s any show of warm, I’ll hang up my things -and stay, and not afore--ye hyar that! I ’low I won’t see Peyty and Kit -a-freezin’!” - -She scowled at me, she actually did, as if I froze her with my pale -face and cool leaf-green dress, and kept the sun off her, talking with -that “white folksy Jim.” - -I fancied Jim was hoping I would say something more to them. I fancied -he, at least, was in great need of a friend’s advice. - -“Where did you come from?” I asked him. But the other head of the -family answered,-- - -“Come from nuff sight warmer place than we’s goin’ anywhars.” - -“Rose is allers techy when she’s cold, mistis,” Jim apologized. “Ole -Maum Phillis used fer to say as Rose’s temper goose-pimpled when the -cold air struck it. We kim from Charleston, mistis. We’s speckin’ to -work out some land for ourselves, and hev a home. We kim up norf to git -wages, so as we kin all help at it. I’d like to stop hyar, mistis.” - -“Hyar! I ’low we’s goin’ soufard when we gits from dis yer, you Jim,” -sniffed “Rose Moncton,” her face up to the sunshine. - -Poor Jim looked care-worn. I dare say my face was tolerably -sympathetic. It felt so, at least. - -“Mistis,” the fellow said, “she’s kep us tackin’ souf an’ norf, souf -an’ norf, all dis yer week, or we’d been somewhars. She don’t like de -looks of no town _yet_. We’s slep’ roun’ in sheds six weeks now. I gits -sawin’ an’ choppin’, an’ sich, to do once a day, while dey warms up in -de sun, an’ eats a bite. Den up we gits, an’ tromps on. We’s got on so -fur, but Rose ain’t clar at all yit whar we’ll stop. Mistis, whar is de -warmest place _you_ knows on?” - -I thought better and better of myself as the heavy-faced fellow thus -appealed to me. I felt flattered by his confidence in me. I always feel -flattered when a strange kitty follows me, or the birdies hop near for -my crumbs. But I will confess that no human vagabond had ever before so -skillfully touched the soft place in my heart. Poor, dusky wanderer! -he looked so hungry, he looked so worn-out, too, as a head of a family -will when the other head pulls the other way. - -“Well, Jim, the warmest place I know of is in my kitchen. I left a -rousing fire there ten minutes ago. You all stay here until I come -back, which will be in about seven minutes; then you shall go home -with me, and I will give you a good hot dinner. You may stay all -night, if you like, and perhaps I can advise you. You will be rested, -at the least, for a fresh start.” - -Rose Moncton lifted her listless head, and looked in my face. “Laws!” -said she. “Laws!” said she again. - -Jim pulled his forelock to me, vailed the flash in his warm umbery eyes -with a timely wink of the heavy lids. He composed himself at once into -a waiting attitude. - -I heard another “Laws!” as I hastened away. “That young mistis is done -crazy. She’ll nebber kim back hyar, ’pend on dat!” Such was Rose’s -opinion of me. - -I opened my ears for Jim’s. But Jim made no reply. - -Father and mother had gone out of town for two days. Our hired girl had -left. I really was “mistis” of the premises. If I chose to gather in a -circle of shivering little “niggas” around my kitchen stove, and heat -that stove red-hot, there was nobody to say I better not. - -I was back in five minutes, instead of seven. Jim stood straight up on -his feet the moment he discovered me coming. Rose showed some faint -signs of life and interest. “’Clar, now, mistis! Kim along, den, Jim, -and see ye look to that there verlise. Hyar, you Kit!” She managed to -rouse her sister with her foot, still keeping her hands warmly hidden, -and her face to the sun. - -But the other head took the little ones actively in charge. “Come, -Peyty, boy! come, Kit! we’s gwine now!” - -Peyty opened his eyes--how starry they were! “O, we goin’, mo’? Jim, I -don’t want to go no mo’!” - -“Ain’t gwine clar thar no, Peyty, boy; come, Kit--only to a house to -warm the Peyty boy--come Kit!” - -Kit was coming fast enough. But Peyty had to be taken by the arm and -pulled up. Then he stepped slowly, the tears coming. The movement -revealed great swollen welts, where his stiff, tattered, leathern shoes -had chafed and worn into the fat, black little legs. “Is dat ar Mistis -Nelly?” he asked, opening his eyes, wonderingly, at the white lady. - -Rose had got up now. A sudden quiver ran over her face. “No, Peyty. -Mist’ Nelly’s dead, you know. Wish we’s back to Mas’r Moncton’s, and -Mist’ Nelly libbin’, an’ Linkum sojers dead afore dey cum!” - -There was a long sigh from everybody, even from Jim. But he drew in his -lips tightly the next moment. “Some niggas nebber was worf freein’. -Come along, Peyty, boy--ready, mistis.” - -I walked slowly along at the head of the strangers from the south. -Little feet were so sore, Peyty couldn’t walk fast. Kit’s big woman’s -size shoes were so stiff she could only shuffle along. Jim’s toes were -protruding, and I fancied he and Rose were as foot-sore as the little -ones. I dare say people looked and wondered; but I am not ashamed to be -seen with any kind of children. - -I took them around to the back door, into the kitchen, which I had -found unendurable while baking my bread and pies. The heated air rushed -out against my face as I opened the door. It was a delicious May-day; -but the procession behind me, entering, proceeded direct to the stove, -and surrounded it in winter fashion, holding their hands out to the -heat. Even from Jim I heard a soft sigh of satisfaction. - -Poor, shivering children of the tropics! I drew up the shades. There -were no outer blinds, and the sun streamed in freely. - -“There, now. Warm yourselves, and take your own time for it. Put in -wood, Jim, and keep as much fire as you like. I am going to my room to -rest for an hour. Be sure that you don’t go off, for I wish you to stay -here until you are thoroughly rested. I have plenty of wood for you to -saw, Jim.” - -I brought out a pan of cookies. I set them on the table. “Here, Rose, -see that Peyty and Kit have all they want. When I come down, I’ll get -you some dinner.” - -The poor children in stories, and in real life, too, for that matter, -always get only bread and butter--dear me, poor dears! When I undertake -a romance for these waifs in real life, or story, I always give them -cookies--cookies, sweet, golden, and crusty, with sifted sugar. - -I left them all, even to Jim, looking over into the pan. My! rich, -sugary jumbles, and plummy queen’s cakes? When I saw their eyes -dance--no sleep in those eyes now--I was glad it wasn’t simply -wholesome sandwiches and plain fried cakes, as somebody at my elbow -says now it ought to have been. I would have set out a picnic table, -with ice-cream and candies, for those wretched little “niggas,” if I -could! I nodded to them, and went away. It is so nice, after you have -made a child happy, to add some unmistakable sign that it is quite -welcome to the happiness! - -I knew there was nothing which they could steal. I expected they -would explore the pantry. I judged them by some of my little white -friends. But the silver was locked up. China and glass would hardly be -available. If, after they had stuffed themselves with those cookies, -they could want cold meat, and bread and butter, I surely shouldn’t -begrudge it. Then I thought of my own especial lemon tart, which stood -cooling on the shelf before the window; but I was not going back to -insult that manly Jim Moncton by removing it. - -Just as I was slipping on my dressing-gown up in my own cool, quiet -chamber, I caught a faint sound of the outside door of the kitchen. -Something like a shriek, or a scream, followed. Then there was an -unmistakable and mighty overturning of chairs. I rushed down. At the -very least I expected to see my romantic “Rose Moncton” with her hands -clenched in brother Jim’s kinky hair. With loosened tresses, without -belt or collar, I appeared on the scene. - -What did I see? Why, I saw Phillis, Mrs. Jack Graham’s black cook, with -every one of my little “niggas” in her arms--heads of the family and -all! There they were, sobbing and laughing together, the portly Phillis -the loudest of the whole. One of Mrs. Jack’s favorite china bowls lay -in fragments on the floor. - -Phillis called out hysterically as she saw me. Jim discovered me the -same moment. He detached himself, went up to the window, and bowed his -head down upon the sash. I saw the tears roll down his cheek and drop. - -“Laws, Miss Carry! dese my ole mas’r’s niggers! dey’s Mas’r Moncton’s -little nigs, ebery one! dey’s runned roun’ under my feet in Mas’r -Moncton’s kitchen many a day down in ole Carline--bress em souls!” She -hugged them again, and sobbed afresh, The children clung to the old -cook’s neck, and waist, and arms like so many helpless, frightened -black kittens. - -Phillis at last recovered her dignity. She pointed them to their -chairs. She picked up the pieces of china in her apron. “Done gone, -anyhow--dese pickaninnies gib ole Phillis sich a turn! It mose like -seein’ Mas’r Moncton an’ Miss Nelly demselves. Whar you git ’em, Miss -Carry?” - -I told her. - -“Bress your heart, Miss Carry! Len’ me a cup, and git me some yeast, -and I’ll bring Mistis Graham ober, an’ I’ll be boun’, when she sees dat -ar lubly little Peyty, she’ll hire him to--to--to--lor! she’ll hire him -to look into his diamint eyes.” - -I know she herself kissed tears out of more than one pair of “diamint -eyes” while I was getting the yeast. I heard her. - -“O, Maum Phillis!” I heard Jim say. “You think we’ll hire out roun’ -hyar?” - -“_Could_ we, Maum Phillis?” pleaded Rose, her voice soft and warm now. -“We’s done tired out. I’m clean ready to drop down in my tracks long -this yer blessed stove, and nebber stir anywhars!” - -“Bress you, chilluns! You _hev_ tromped like sojers, clar from -ole Carline! Spec it seems like home, findin’ one of de old place -hands--Phillis knows. Dar, dar! don’t take on so. Miss Carry, she’ll -bunk you down somewhar it’s warm, and thar you stay an’ rest dem feet. -I’ll send my mistis ober, and dey two’ll pervide fer ye on dis yer -street; dis yer one ob de Lord’s own streets.” - -Well, do you think Mistis Graham and Mistis Carry dishonored Maum -Phillis’s faith in them? - -No, indeed! The family found homes on “de Lord’s own street.” Jam is -coachman at Squire Lee’s. Peyty is at the same place, taken in at first -for his sweet disposition, and “diamint eyes,” I suspect. He is now a -favorite table-waiter. - -Kit is Maum Phillis’s right-hand woman. Rose is our own hired girl. She -is somewhat given to sleepiness, and to idling in sunny windows, and to -scorching her shoes and aprons against the stove of a winter’s evening. -But, on the whole, she is a good servant; and we have built her a -bedroom out of the kitchen. - -I have never regretted crossing the street to speak to the strangers -from the south. - - - - -WI’ WEE WINKERS BLINKIN’. - -BY J. E. RANKIN, D. D. - - - Wi’ wee winkers blinkin’, - Blinkin’ like the starn, - What’s wee tottie thinkin’? - Tell her mither, bairn. - On night’s downy dream-wings, - Where’s the bairnie been, - That she has sic seemings - In her blinkin’ een? - - Let her mither brood her, - Like the mither-doe; - When enough she’s woo’d her, - She maun prie her mou’: - Let her mither shake her, - Like an apple bough, - Frae her dreams to wake her:-- - That’s our bairnie now! - - There! I’ve got her crowin’ - Like the cock at dawn; - Mou’ wi’ fistie stowin’, - When she tries to yawn: - She’ll na play the stranger - Drappit frae the blue, - Lest there might be danger - Back she sud gae through! - - She’s our little mousie, - In this housie born, - That I tumble tousie, - Ilka, ilka morn: - She’s her mither’s bairnie, - Only flesh an’ blood; - Blinkin’ like the starnie - Through a neebor cloud. - -[Illustration: LUCY’S PET.] - - - - -[Illustration] - -THE CHILDRENS’ SHOES. - -BY BLANCHE B. BAKER (_nine years’ old_). - - - Four pairs of little shoes. - All in a row; - Four pairs of little shoes - For to-morrow. - - Four pairs of little shoes - Worn every day; - Four pairs of little shoes - Ready for play. - - Four pairs of little shoes - By the fire’s glow; - Four pairs of little shoes - White at the toe. - - Four pairs of little shoes - Travelling all day; - Four pairs of little shoes - Resting from play. - - Four pairs of little shoes - Waiting for day; - Four pairs of little shoes - Never go astray! - - - - -ETHEL’S EXPERIMENT. - -BY B. E. E. - - - White flakes on the upland, white flakes on the plain, - Frost bon-bons in meadow, in garden, in lane; - And wise little Ethel--the strangest of girls-- - Puts on her grave thinking-cap, shakes her brown curls, - And talks to herself, in a curious way, - Of “snow” and a “ball” and a “hot summer’s day!” - Then, down to the brook, where the gnarled willows grow, - And the ice-covered reeds stand like soldiers in row, - Our brave little girl trudges off all alone, - And rolls a large snow-ball just under the stone - That lies on the brink of the streamlet, and then - In this wise begins her soliloquy: “When - The Fourth of July comes, what fun it will be - To have all this snow tucked away, for you see - Nobody will guess how it came there,--but me!” - Green leaves on the upland, green leaves on the plain, - And bluebirds and robins and south winds again. - The brook in the meadow is wide awake now, - And fragrant bloom drops from the old willows bough, - When Ethel remembers her treasure, her prize, - That under the edge of the great boulder lies; - And stealthily creeping close down to the brink, - Where the slender reeds quiver--now what do you think - Our little girl found? Why, never a trace - Of the snow-ball--O no! but just in its place - A tiny white violet, sweetest of sweet, - Because of the coverlid over its feet - Through all the long winter! And Ethel’s mamma, - When she heard the whole story said, “Truly we are - No wiser than children. We bury our grief, - And find in its hiding-place Hope’s tender leaf!” - - - - -CINDERS: - -THE FORTUNE CARL FOUND IN THE ASHES. - -BY MADGE ELLIOT. - - -How artful the wind was that cold March morning, hiding away every now -and then, pretending to be quite gone, only to rush out with a fearful -howl at such unexpected moments that Carl was nearly blown off his feet -each time. - -But he struggled bravely forward, bending his head to the blast, -and holding his brimless hat on with one hand, while he carried his -battered tin pail in the other. - -There was not a gleam of fire in the wretched room he had just left; -and Tony and Lena, his little sisters, wrapped in the old piece of -carpet that served them for a blanket, were _almost_ crying with hunger -and with cold. - -They would have cried outright if Carl had not kissed them, and said, -“Never mind, young uns--wait till I can give you each a reg’lar bang-up -lace hankercher to cry on,--_then_ you may cry as much as you please.” - -Father and mother had died within a week of each other, when February’s -snows were upon the ground, leaving these three poor children without -money and without friends--a bad way for even grown-ups to be left. - -So Carl, poor boy, found himself, at ten years of age, the head of a -family. - -Of course he became a newsboy. - -Almost all heads of families ten years and under, become newsboys. - -Twenty-five cents given him by an old woman who sold apples and -peanuts, and who, by the way, was not much better off than he was -himself, started him in business. - -But the business, I am sorry to say, scarcely paid the rent, leaving -nothing for clothing, food and fire, three very necessary things,--be a -home ever so humble. - -So every morning, almost as soon as the day dawned--and I can tell -you day dawns very quickly in a room where the window hasn’t a scrap -of shade or curtain--before he went down town for his stock of morning -papers, Carl started out to bring home the family fuel. - -This consisted of whatever sticks and bits of wood he could find lying -about the streets, and whatever cinders and pieces of coal he could -pick from the ash-barrels and boxes. - -If the weather was at all mild, Tony, the eldest sister, and the -housekeeper, went with him, and helped him fill the old pail. - -She carried a forlorn-looking basket, that seemed ashamed of the old -piece of rope that served for its handle, and stopped on her way home -at several houses, where the servant girls had taken a fancy to the -gray-eyed, shy little thing, to get the family marketing. - -But alas! very _very_ often the supply fell far short of the demand, -for the winter had been a very severe one, and everybody had such a -number of calls from all sorts of needy people, that they could afford -to give but little to each one. - -This particular March morning Carl went out alone, wondering as he went -when “the fortune” was going to “turn up.” - -For these poor children, shut out from dolls, fairy-books, and all -things that make childhood merry and bright, used to while away many an -hour, talking of “a fortune” which the brother had prophesied would one -day be found in the ashes. - -At different times this dream took different shapes. - -Sometimes it was a pocket-book, oh! so fat with greenbacks, sometimes -a purse of gold, sometimes “a diamint ring:” but, whatever it should -prove to be, Carl was convinced, “felt it in his bones,” he said, it -_would_ be found, and found hidden among the cinders. - -Once he had brought home a silver fork, “scooped,” as he called it in -newsboy’s slang, from an ash-heap in an open lot. - -On this fork the family had lived for three days. - -Once he rescued a doll, which _would_ have been _lovely_ if it had -had a head; and at various times there were scraps of ribbon, lace -and silk, all of which served to strengthen the belief that something -wonderful must “turn up” at last. - -“Cricky! how that old wind does holler,” said Carl to himself, as he -toiled along, “an’ it cuts right through me, my jacket’s so thin an’ -torn--I’d mend it myself if I only knew how, and somebody’d lend me a -needle and thread. - -“Don’t I wish I’d find the fortune this morning! - -“I dreamt of it last night--dreamt it was a bar of gold, long as my -arm, and precious thick, too. - -“Guess I’ll go to that big bar’l afore them orful high flat -houses--that’s _allus_ full of cinders. - -“It’s lucky for us them big bugs don’t sift their ashes! _We_ wouldn’t -have no fire if they did,--that’s what’s the matter.” - -So he made his way to the “big bar’l,” hoping no one had been there -before him, and, leaning over without looking, put his cold, red hand -into the ashes, but he drew it out again in a hurry, for, cold as _it_ -was, it had touched something colder. - -“Hello!” cried Carl, “what’s that? It don’t feel ’zactly like the bar -of gold,” and, dropping on his knees, he peeped in. - -A dirty little, shaggy, once-white dog raised a pair of soft, dark, -wistful eyes to his face. - -“Why! I’m blessed,” said Carl, in great surprise, “if it ain’t a dog. -Poor little beggar! that was his nose I felt, an’ wasn’t it cold?” - -“I s’pose he’s got in among the ashes to keep warm; wot pooty eyes -he’s got, just like that woman’s wot give me a ten cent stamp for the -_Tribune_ the other day, and wouldn’t take no change. Poor old feller! -Are you lost?” - -The dog had risen to its feet, and still looking pleadingly at Carl, -commenced wagging its tail in a friendly manner. - -“Oh! you want me to take you home,” continued Carl. “I can’t ’cause -I dunno where you live, and _my_ family eats all they can git -theirselves--they’re awful pigs, they are,” and he laughed softly, “an’ -couldn’t board a dog nohow.” - -But the dog kept on wagging his tail, and as soon as Carl ceased -speaking, as though grateful for even a few kind words, it licked the -cold hand that rested on the side of the barrel. - -That dog--kiss won the poor boy’s heart completely. “You _shall_ -go with me,” he cried impulsively. “Jest come out of that barrel -till I fill this pail with cinders, and then we’ll be off. He kin -have the bones _we_ can’t crack with our teeth ennyhow,” he said to -himself,--not a very cheerful prospect, it must be confessed, for the -boarder. - -The dog, as though he understood every word, jumped from the box, and -seated himself on the icy pavement to wait for his new landlord and -master. - -In a few moments the pail was full, and the boy turned toward his home, -running as fast as he could, with the dog trotting along by his side. - -“See wot I foun’ in the ashes,” he cried, bounding into the room. -“Here’s the fortune alive an’ kickin’. Wot you think of it?” - -“Oh, wot a funny fortune!” said Tony, and “Wot a funny fortune!” -repeated little Lena. - -“It’s kinder queer,--the pocket-book an’ the dimint ring a-turnin’ into -a dog!” Tony continued. “But no matter, if we can’t buy nothin’ with -him, we can love him, poor little feller!” - -“Poor ’ittle feller!” repeated Lina. “He nicer than dollie ’ithout a -head, ennyhow. _We_ can lub him.” - -“An’ now, Carl,” said the housekeeper, “you make the fire, an’ I’ll run -to market, for it’s most time you went after your papers.” - -And away she sped, to return in a few minutes with five or six cold -potatoes, a few crusts of bread, and one bone, with very little -meat--and that gristle--clinging to it. - -And this bone--think if you can of a greater act of self-denial and -charity--the children decided with one accord should be given to -“Cinders,” as they had named the dog on the spot. - -That night, after Carl had sold his papers, and come home tired but -hopeful, for he had made thirty cents clear profit to save toward the -rent, they all huddled together, with doggie in the midst of them, -around the old iron furnace that held their tiny fire. - -Presently the Head of the Family began whistling a merry tune, which -was a great favorite with the newsboys. - -Imagine the astonishment of the children when Cinders pricked up his -ears, rose on his hind legs, and, after gravely walking across the room -once, began to walk round and round, keeping perfect time to the music! - -“Hurrah! hurrah!” shouted Carl, his eyes sparkling. “Look at that! look -at that! Tony, it _’tis_ the fortune after all! an’ I _did_ find it in -the ash-box!” - -“Why, wot do you mean, Bub?” cried Tony, almost as excited as her -brother. “Wot do you mean, an’ ware’s ‘the fortune?’” - -“Why there, right afore your eyes. I mean Cinders is one o’ them orful -smart hundred-dollar dogs wot does tricks. He’s bin lost by that circus -wot went away night afore last, an’ he’s bin lost a-purpose to make my -dreams come true! I’ll take him out the fust fine day, an’ we’ll bring -home lots of stamps. You see if we don’t!” - -“_I’ll_ sell the papers,” said Tony, by this time _quite_ as excited as -her brother; “I kin do it, Carl. ‘’Ere’s the mornin’ Herald, Sun, Times -an’ _Tri_-bune!’” imitating the shrill cry of the newsboy, and doing -it very well, too, “an’ the fellers’ll be good to me, ’cos I’m your -sister, an’ they like you.” - -“You’re a brick, Tony!” said Carl, “an’ for sich a small brick the -brickiest brick I ever knowed; but I kin sell ’em myself in the -mornin’, an’ you kin take ’em in the afternoon, for that’s the -time Cinders an’ me must perform. ‘Monseer Carlosky an’ his werry -talented dog Cinders, son of the well-known French performing poodle -Cinderella.’ How’s that, Tony? O I’ve read all about ’em on the circus -bills, and that’s the way they do it. Yes, you’ll have to take the -papers in the afternoon, cos then’s when the swell boys an’ gals is -home from school,--’cept Saturdays, then we’ll be out most all day.” - -“Dance more, Tinders, dance more!” here broke in little Lena; but -Cinders stood looking at his master, evidently waiting for the music. - -So Carl commenced whistling--did I tell you he whistled like a -bird?--and Cinders once more marched gravely across the room, and then -began waltzing again in the most comical manner. - -He had evidently been trained to perform his tricks just twice; for -when the music ceased _this_ time he proceeded to stand on his head, -and then sitting up on his hind legs, he nodded politely to the -audience, and held out one of his paws, as much as to say, “Now pay if -you please.” - -The poor children forgot hunger and cold in their delight, and that -miserable room resounded to more innocent, merry laughter that night -than it had heard for many long years, perhaps ever before. - -Cinders got another bone for his supper--the others had nothing--and -then they all went to bed, if lying on the bare floor, with nothing for -a pillow can be called going to bed, and dreamed of “the fortune” found -at last in the ashes. - -The next afternoon, which fortunately was a fine one, for March having -“come in like a lion was preparing to go out like a lamb,” Carl came -racing up the crazy stairs, taking two steps at a time, and, tossing a -bundle of evening papers to Tony, he whistled to Cinders, and away they -went. - -Poor Carl looked shabby enough, with his toes sticking out of a pair of -old shoes--a part of the treasures “scooped” from the ash-heap--and not -mates at that, one being as much too large as the other was too small, -his tattered jacket and his brimless hat. - -But Cinders followed him as faithfully as though he had been clad in a -costly suit of the very latest style. - -Turning into a handsome, quiet street, Carl stopped at last before -a house where three or four rosy-cheeked children were flattening -their noses against the panes of the parlor windows, trying to see a -doll which another rosy-cheeked child was holding up at a window just -opposite. - -“Now Cinders, ole feller!” said Carl, while his heart beat fast, “do -your best. BONES!” and he began to whistle. - -At the first note Cinders stood up on his hind legs, at the second he -took his first step forward. - -At the beginning of the fourth bar the waltz began; and by this time -the rosy-cheeked children had lost all interest in the doll over the -way, and were all shouting and calling “Mamma!” and the cook and -chambermaid had made their appearance at the area gate. - -The march and waltz having been gone through with twice, Cinders -stood on his head--“shure,” said the cook, “I couldn’t do it betther -myself”--tumbled quickly to his feet again, nodded affably once to the -right, once to the left, and once to the front of him, and held out his -right paw. - -“He’s the cliverest baste ever _I_ seen,” said the chambermaid, “so -he is!” and she threw a five cent piece in Carl’s old hat; and, at -the same moment the window was opened, and out flew a perfect shower -of pennies, while the little girl across the way kept shouting, “Come -here, ragged little boy! Come here, funny doggie! Oh, _why_ don’t you -come here?” - -And, making his best bow to his first audience, Carl went over to the -doll’s house, and was received by the whole family, including grandpa -and grandma, with great delight and laughter, and was rewarded at the -end of his entertainment with much applause, three oranges, and a new -ten cent stamp. - -That afternoon Cinders earned one dollar and three cents for his -little master; and I can’t describe to you the joy that reigned in -that small bare room when Carl, in honor of his debut as “Monseer -Carlosky” brought in, and spread out on a newspaper on the floor, a -wonderful feast! Real loaf of bread, bought at the baker’s, bottle -of sarsaparilla at the grocer’s, and peanuts, apples, and a hunk of -some extraordinary candy from the old woman who kept a stand at the -corner, and who had started Carl as a newsboy. She also received her -twenty-five cents again, with five cents added by way of interest. - -“Why! didn’t they look when they see me a-orderin’ things, and payin’ -for ’em on the spot!” said “Monseer,” with honest pride, as he carved -the loaf with an old jackknife. - -As for Cinders, no meatless bone, but half a pound of delicious liver, -did that remarkable dog receive, and more kisses on his cold, black -nose than he knew what to do with. - -After that, as the weather grew finer and finer, and the days longer, -Carl and his dog wandered farther and farther, and earned more and -more money every day, until the little sisters rejoiced in new shoes, -hats and dresses, and the housekeeper had a splendid basket--not very -large, of course--with a handle that any basket could be proud of, and -actually _did_ go to market, fair and square, and no make believe about -it. - -And Carl presented himself with a brand-new suit of clothes, from the -second-hand shop next door, including shoes that were made for each -other, and a hat with a brim. - -By-and-by the cheerless room was exchanged for a pleasanter one; and -the story of the fair-haired Head of the Family, and the fortune -he found in the ashes, took wings, and returned to him laden with -blessings. - -And five years from that bleak March morning, when Cinder looked up -so pleadingly in the boy’s, face, Carl found himself a clerk in the -counting-room of a generous, kind-hearted merchant. - -“A boy who worked so hard and so patiently to take care of his little -sisters,” this gentleman said to his wife, “and who was ready to share -his scanty meals with a vagrant dog, _must_ be a good boy, and good -boys make good men.” - -And Tony and Lena, both grown to be bright, healthy, merry girls, -befriended by many good women, were going to school, taking care of the -house, earning a little in odd moments by helping the seamstress who -lived on the floor below, and still looking up with love and respect to -the Head of the Family. - -Cinders, petted and beloved by all, performed in public no more, -but spent most of his time lying by the fire in winter, and on the -door-step in summer, waiting and listening for the step of his master. - -So you see Carl was right. - -He _did_ find his fortune among the ashes. - -But would it have proved a fortune had he been a cruel, selfish, -hard-hearted boy? - -Ah! that’s the question. - -[Illustration] - - - - -TOM’S CENTENNIAL. - -_A FOURTH OF JULY STORY._ - -BY MARGARET EYTINGE. - - -[Illustration] - -“Hurrah! To-morrow’s the Fourth of July--the glorious Fourth!” shouted -Tom Wallace, careering wildly around the flower garden, as a Roman -candle he held in his hand, evidently unable to contain itself until -the proper time, went off with a fizz and a pop and flashed against the -evening sky, “and it’s going to be the greatest Fourth that ever was -known, because it’s the Centennial!” - -“A _cent_-tennial!” said his little sister Caddy, “that won’t be -anything great.” - -“Pooh! you don’t understand--girls never do--Centennial don’t mean -anything about money. Centennial means ’pertaining to, or happening -every hundred years’--if you don’t believe me ask Noah Webster--and -just a hundred years ago this magnificent Republic of America, -gentlemen of the jury,” he continued, mounting a garden-chair, and -making the most absurd gestures, “was declared free and independent, -and its brave citizens determined not to drink tea unless they chose -to, and our cousins from the other side of the Atlantic went marching -home to the tune the old cow died on.” - -“What tune was that?” asked Caddy. - -“Gentlemen of the jury,” said Tom, “I’m astonished to find such -ignorance in this great and enlightened country. The name of that -memorable tune was and still is, as _Your Honor_ well knows, Yankee -Doodle;” and the orator, descending from the chair, commenced whistling -that famous melody. - -“Well, then,” said Caddy, after a moment’s thought, “if a Centinal is -something about a hundred years old, Aunt Patience is one, for she’s a -hundred years old to-morrow--she told me so--and she feels real bad -’cause she can’t go to the green to see the fire-works, on ’count of -the pain in her back, and Faith ain’t got any shoes or hat, and the -flour’s ’most gone, and so’s the tea, and she says ‘the poor-house -looms.’” - -“‘The poor-house looms,’ does it?” said Tom laughing; and then he stuck -his hands in his pockets, and hummed “Hail Columbia” in a thoughtful -manner. - -“I say, Frank,” he called out at last, going up on the porch, and -poking his head in at a window, “what are you doing?” - - “‘The king was in the parlor, counting out his money,’” - -answered Frank. - -“How much, king?” - -“Twenty--thirty--thirty-five,” said Frank, “one dollar and thirty-five -cents. How do you figure?” - -“Two, fifteen. Come out here, I want to tell you something.” - -Frank, who was two years younger than Tom appeared. - -“What’s up?” he asked, throwing himself into the hammock which hung -from the roof of the porch, and swinging lazily. - -“Would it break your heart, and smash the fellows generally, if we -didn’t go to the meeting on the green to-morrow evening, after all the -fuss we’ve made about it?” - -“_What?_” asked Frank, in a tone of surprise, assuming a sitting -position so suddenly that the hammock--hammocks are treacherous -things--gave a sudden lurch, and landed him on the floor. - -Tom’s laughter woke all the echoes around. - -“Forgive these tears,” he said, as he wiped his eyes, “and now to -business. You know not, perhaps, my gentle brother, that we have a -centenarian, or as Caddy says, a centinal among us?” - -“A centinal?” said Frank, stretching himself out on the floor where he -had fallen. - -“A centenarian, or centinal, whichever you choose, most noble kinsman, -and she lives on the outskirts of this town. Her name--a most admirable -one--is Patience. Her granddaughter’s--another admirable one--Faith. - -“Patience has the rheumatism. Faith has no shoes. They want to see -some fire-works, and hear some Fourth of July--being centinals they -naturally would. - -“What say you? Shall we and our faithful clan, instead of swelling the -ranks of the militia on the green, march to the humble cottage behind -the hill, and gladden the hearts of old Patience and young Faith with a -pyr-o-tech-nic display?” - -“Good!” said Frank, who always followed the lead of his elder brother. - -And “Good!” echoed Caddy; “but don’t spend all your money for -fire-works. Give some to Aunt Patience, ’cause she’s the only centinal -we’ve got.” - -“And she’ll never be another,” said Tom, - - “‘While the star-spangled banner in triumph doth wave, - O’er the land of the free and the home of the brave.’” - -So on the evening of the Fourth the people of Tomstown were somewhat -astonished to see the young Centennial Guards march down the principal -street, pass the green, where extensive preparations for festivities -had been made, and keep on up the hill until, beginning to descend on -the other side, they were lost to sight. - -At the head marched Frank with his drum. Caddy came directly behind him -with a bunch of brilliant flowers. The others carried flags, Chinese -lanterns, and boxes of fire-works, while Captain Tom flew here and -there and everywhere, trying to keep--an almost hopeless task--the -mischievous company in something like order. - -“Where away?” shouted Uncle Al--an old sailor home for the holiday--as -the guards passed his door. - -“To Aunt Patience--our own special Centennial,” Frank shouted back with -a tremendous roll of the drum. - -Uncle Al, always ready for fun, pipe in mouth, fell in line, waving his -tarpaulin on the end of a stick, and Ex, his yellow dog, and Ander, his -black one, followed after, grinning and wagging their tails. - -Then the butcher’s boy, and his chum the baker’s boy, who were -going by, turned and joined the procession, and away they all went, -hurrahing, laughing and drumming, to the door of the very small cottage. - -“Bless my heart!” said Aunt Patience, who was sitting in a wooden -arm-chair on the stoop, and who, hearing faintly, poor, dear, deaf old -soul, the noise of the approaching “guards,” had been thinking the -frogs croaked much louder than usual, “what’s this?” - -And bare-footed, brown-eyed Faith came out with wonder written all over -her pretty face. - -“Three cheers for our special Centennial!” shouted the boys; and they -gave three with a will, as Caddy placed her flowers in the old woman’s -hand. - -“Now for the pyr-o-tech-nic display!” commanded Captain Tom; and for -nearly an hour Roman candles fizzed, blue-lights popped, torpedoes -cracked, pin-wheels whizzed, and fire-crackers banged. - -Old Patience said it was worth living a hundred years to see. - -And as the last fire-work went up a rocket and came down a stick, -the gallant company formed in single file, and, marching past Aunt -Patience, each member bade her “good-night,” and dropped some money in -her lap. - -As for Uncle Al--that generous, jolly, warm-hearted old sailor, his -gift was three old-fashioned silver dollars; one for himself, one for -Ex, and one for Ander. - -“No one should think,” he said, “that _his_ dogs were mean dogs.” - -Then away they all went again, hurrahing, shouting, and drumming like -mad! - -[Illustration] - - - - -LITTLE CHUB AND THE SKY WINDOW. - -BY MARY D. BRINE. - - -Little Chub sat on the curb-stone, dipping small brown toes into the -not very pure water which flowed along the gutter, and watching with -his large, blue eyes the fleecy clouds which far up above the narrow -court in which he dwelt with granny sailed lazily across the patch of -blue sky just visible between two tall buildings opposite. - -Chub’s real name was Tommy Brown, but, on account of his roly-poly -figure and little round face, he was nick-named “Chub,” and even granny -called him so, till the boy forgot he had another name. - -There had been a funeral that morning near Chub’s house, and all the -boys gathered about the spot, listening open-eared and open-eyed to the -service which told the mourners of that “happy land, far, far away,” -and was intended to comfort them. - -But Chub was too little to understand much of all he heard, and could -only feel very sorry for the poor little girl who cried for her dear -mamma, and clung to her father’s hand terrified because that mamma -would not even open her eyes nor look at her. Then the carriages moved -slowly down the street, and Chub went home to granny and teased her -with questions. - -“Granny, what’s up there?” - -Mrs. Brown, at her wash-tub, half-enveloped in steam, scrubbed away and -answered: - -“The other wurrld, honey dear,” reverentially raising her eyes to the -blue patch of sky to which Chub’s fat finger pointed. - -“_What_ other world, granny?” - -“The good place where yer mammy and daddy have gone, to be sure.” - -“How did they get there?” from Chub, his little brow full of puzzled -knots. - -“Arrah thin, ye ax too many questions, honey. Some good angel flew down -and lifted them up, of course, and--and--flew away wid ’em agin. Run -now to the corner and fetch me a bar of soap, there’s a dear.” - -Chub went for the soap, and, returning, seated himself on the -curb-stone as we first found him, and calculating the length of -time it might possibly take an angel to fly heavenward with little -Jennie’s mother, watched the blue patch and fleecy clouds to see the -final entrance of the two into that other world granny talked about. -Presently two bootblacks strolled along, jingling pennies in their -pockets, and swinging their blacking-boxes independently. - -“Hi, Chub,” they shouted, “want a penny?” - -Chub held out his hand nothing loth. - -“Who giv it ter yer?” he asked, delightedly, for so much wealth had not -been his since he could remember. - -“Earned it shinin’ boots, ov course. _We’re_ rich men, Chub, don’t ye -know that?” passing on with a chuckle. - -An idea seized our small boy. He withdrew his toes from the gutter, -forgot all about the flying angel and patch of sky, and startled -granny, who was bending over her wash-tub, with: - -“Granny, I’m goin’ inter business, like other men.” - -“Bless the boy! what does he mean?” - -“Two fellers giv me a cent just now, and they earned it a-shinin’ -boots, and I’m goin’ to ’sist you and grow rich, granny.” - -Granny stopped punching her clothes, came out of the steam, and sat -down to laugh at the new man of business. - -Chub’s round face glowed with honest determination, and his roly-poly -figure straighted as well as it could. - -“Yes, _ma’am_! I’m a-goin fur a bootblack, and I’m goin’ to buy an -orange as soon as I earn a cent.” - -“Where you goin’ ter git yer box and brushes, hey, Chub?” asked Granny, -renewing her attack upon the wash-boiler and its contents. - -The boy’s countenance fell, and visions of oranges faded slowly and -reluctantly from his eyes. Suddenly, however, he remembered his friend -Sim Hardy, who frequently gave him the uneaten end of a banana, and -now and then part of a stick of licorice, for which favors Chub had -yielded in return a large share of his warm little heart. - -“Sim’ll get me a box, ’thout it’s costin’ anythin’. Maybe he’ll hook -one fur a little chap like me.” - -Granny rested from her labors and turned a stern face upon the boy. - -“Thomas Brown, never dare you lift a finger of yourn to touch what’s -been stole. Remember who’s watchin’ ye all the time, and don’t go fur -to sile the family name of Brown. If yer do, I’ll trounce yer well for -it, there, now!” - -[Illustration: “GRANNY, I’AM GOIN’ INTER BUSINESS, LIKE OTHER MEN.”] - -It was probably the last awful threat that awed Chub into obedience, -for he gave no more thought to Sim’s way of getting a machine for -him, but tried to think of another plan. - -It wasn’t long, however, before his friends among the bootblacks raised -a sum between them and presented Chub with the necessary capital with -which to begin business in earnest. And to granny’s delight her boy -started off one fine morning regularly equipped for his first battle -for daily bread--and an orange. - -For a long time the little, six-years-old bootblack sat on the Astor -House steps awaiting custom. But big boys somehow grabbed all the jobs, -and nobody noticed little Chub, nor heard his weak cry, “Shine yer up -fur ten cents! Want a shine, sir?” - -So when night came, the little fellow shouldered his box and went home, -minus his orange, and with pockets as empty as when he started from -home. He cried a little, to be sure, and granny comforted him with -kisses, and put him to bed tenderly. For nearly a week things worked -very badly for Chub. Business didn’t prosper, and sitting all day in -the hot sun made the little fellow sick of trying to be a man and do -business. He couldn’t somehow make the thing work, and Sim Hardy, the -friend who would have taught him, was busy on another route, and so -Chub sat swinging his little bare feet all day, with nothing to do but -watch the sky and wish he could fly up to “that other world” where he -didn’t believe the “angels would let him go so long without a job.” - -One night he went home with two ten cent stamps in his pocket, and a -prouder boy never lived. But granny’s anxious eyes saw an unusual flush -on the boy’s cheeks, and the little hands felt dry and hot. And that -night the boy was restless and talked in his sleep. - -It had been a fearfully hot day, and granny feared the child was -suffering from sunstroke. So she kept ice on his head, and with part of -the newly-earned money bought some medicine which quieted Chub and gave -him an hour’s sweet sleep just before sunrise. - -Then he opened his blue eyes and told granny about a dream in which he -had seen a beautiful angel peep out of a little window in the sky and -look all about as if searching for something. And presently Chub heard -a voice say, “Oh, there’s little Chub! I’ve found him.” Then, as he -looked up to see who had called his name from the clouds, the window -opened wide, and the angel spread beautiful white wings, as white as -snow, and fluttered gently down with arms opened lovingly towards -Chub, who dreamed he was sitting with his box all that time on the -Astor House steps. But just before she reached him he woke up, and, -lo and behold, all the angel his waking eyes saw was dear old granny, -who stood with a cooling drink beside the bed, and fanned away the -tormenting flies. - -So Chub told his dream. Granny wiped her eyes with the corner of her -apron, and hugged her boy closer. - -[Illustration: “WANT A SHINE, SIR?”] - -“The angels can’t have ye yet, Tommy,” she said. “Yer granny’s boy, and -this wurrld is good enuff fur ye this long while yet.” - -Chub felt better the next day, and went out to his day’s business with -a stout little heart, and eyes full of sunbeams. Some of the sunshine -of the day crept out of the little room with him when he left granny -alone over her wash-tubs, but she knew when he returned at night he -would bring it all back again. So she scrubbed and rubbed and boiled -and punched her clothes, until the room resembled cloud-land, and the -white clothes hanging on lines shone out of the mist like the white -wings Chub had talked about. - - * * * * * - -“Oh, dear! Them big fellers don’t give a little chap a chance at all, -at all.” - -A big sigh shook Chub’s breast as he muttered this, wiping the -perspiration from his face, and settling the torn hat more comfortably -on his curly head. He slid down from his seat, and stood on the edge of -the sidewalk a minute, waiting a chance to cross. - -Hark! what a swift galloping of hoofs on the cobble-stones! Down the -street, the closely-crowded street, dashed a runaway horse, dragging -the light buggy, whose owner had just vacated it. Everybody scampered -right and left in the first moment of terror, but a wee child, -frightened from its nurse’s hand, stands directly in the path of the -swift-coming animal. - -Impulsively Chub, the boy of six years, the brave little business man, -flings his blacking-box directly at the head of the runaway horse, and -as fast as his short legs can carry him he rushes for the child whose -life is in peril. In one instant the horse, startled by the well-aimed -blow, turns aside, and then plunges on despite the efforts of strong -arms to stop him. - -That instant spared the little girl, but Chub’s box had opened the -sky-window for him--poor little fellow--for over his brave little -figure, crushing the life from his braver heart, passed the animal -which had jumped on one side when the box struck him, and directly in -Chub’s line. - -They lifted him tenderly, and laid him on the broad step which had -been the only business office Chub had owned. But only once the blue -eyes opened, and then they sought the blue sky above, and even strong -men felt tears in their eyes when faintly and gaspingly the dying boy -cried, “Oh, angel! angel! here’s little Chub a-waitin’ fur yer; don’t -ye see him?” - -Then upward reached the small, brown arms, and downward fluttered the -white lids, which were raised never on earth again, not even when -granny’s tears covered the round, white face, and her arms clasped -close the little roly-poly figure which had suddenly grown so stiff and -helpless. - -Up to “that other world,” through the “sky-window,” the white-winged -angel had borne little Chub; and all that had puzzled him on earth was, -maybe, in his angel-mother’s arms, made clear to him at last. - -[Illustration] - - - - -LITTLE BOY BLUE - -BY C. A. GOODENOW. - - -Not the identical one that slept under the haystack, while the cows -trampled the corn; no, indeed, he was quite too wide awake for that! -Our little Boy Blue had another name; but he was seldom called by it, -and did not much like it when he was. For when he heard people say -“John Allison Ware!” he knew that he was in mischief, and justice was -about to be meted unto him. - -Why was he called little Boy Blue? Because, when he was a tiny baby, -his eyes were so very blue--“real ultramarine,” Aunt Sue said; but baby -only wrinkled his nose at the long word, and mamma smiled. - -However, the eyes kept their wonderful color as the baby grew up, so -the name was kept, too. - -Boy Blue had four sisters: three older, one younger, than himself. He -used, sometimes, to wish for a brother, but mostly he was too busy to -worry over trifles. He had so much to do the days were not long enough. - -He had to work in his garden; it was about as large as a -pocket-handkerchief, but it required a great deal of care. He had -to feed the kitty, help shell the peas for dinner, ride on the -saw-horse, and be an ice-man, a strawberry-seller, a coal-heaver and a -fish-monger, all with only the aid of his wheelbarrow. - -Above all, he had to help Jotham. - -What Jotham would have done without his help I cannot tell. With it, he -kept the garden in order, mended the broken tools, made sleds, swings, -skipping-ropes, carts and baby-houses for the five little Wares. - -If Jotham could not have got along without Boy Blue, I am sure the -little Wares would have sadly missed Jotham. - -One day Jotham was making a sled for Elsie. It was June, and people do -not usually wish to slide on the daisies and clover; but Jotham liked -to get things finished early. I suppose he knew, too, that when Elsie’s -sled was done he would have to make one a-piece for Lill, for Dora, for -Boy Blue, and for little Tot; so, perhaps, he thought from June to -December was not too long time for so much work. - -The sled was ready to be painted; and blue paint, in a nice little -bucket, with a small brush in it, was waiting for the sled. Boy Blue -stood by helping. - -Just then somebody called Jotham into the house. - -“I might paint a little until he comes back,” thought Boy Blue. “Don’t -fink I’d better, maybe. Elsie said blue stripes; ’haps I shouldn’t get -them even. H’m!” - -The blue eyes twinkled, and the funny little mouth was puckered in a -round, rosy button as their owner considered the matter. - -“I might practice, first,” said Boy Blue. - -So he tugged the paint-bucket down from the bench; he slopped a little -over, too. It did not fall on his trowsers; they were short, and -fastened at the knee with three buttons; the blue splashes were on the -white stockings below the trowsers, and Boy Blue saw them. - -“But _they_ will wash,” said he to himself. - -Then Boy Blue and the paint-bucket walked off behind the tool-house; -that was a good place to practice, because the clapboards were so -smooth, and of a nice gray color, on which the blue paint showed -beautifully. - -“I’ll make five stripes, ’cause I’m most five years old,” thought Boy -Blue. - -The first were crooked, and he had to make five more; they-were -too long, so he made some shorter ones. Soon all the side of the -tool-house, as high as his short arm could reach, was painted in blue -stripes. - -“If I only had a ladder!” mused Boy Blue. “Fink I’d better get one.” - -He trudged into the shed, still carrying the paint-bucket; it was not -so full now as when Jotham left it, and did not slop much. - -There was no ladder in the shed, so he went on into the barn. - -[Illustration] - -“Ouf! ouf!” grunted Piggy White, hearing steps, and expecting dinner. - -“I’m busy now, Piggy White,” said Boy Blue, looking over the side of -the pen. “I’m painting. Oh my! Piggy White, you’d look just beautiful -if you only had some blue stripes!” - -Piggy White was a young pig, quite clean and pretty; the little Wares -made a pet of him. He had a fresh straw bed every night, and Jotham -took a deal of care to keep his house tidy. He was so accustomed to -visits from the children he only gently grunted in reply to Boy Blue’s -remark. - -The next thing seen of that small lad he had climbed over and was as -busy over Piggy White as he had been on the tool-house. Piggy liked to -have his back rubbed, and was very quiet while Boy Blue painted a long -stripe down his spine and shorter ones across his sides. - -“Piggy White, _if_ you wig your tail so I fink I’ll scold. I want to -paint the end of it.” - -By this time there was not much paint in the bucket, but there was -a great deal on Boy Blue’s hands, on his stockings, on the short -trowsers, and on the front of his little blouse. - -“H’m!” said Boy Blue, suddenly looking up. “I fink--Jotham--I fink I’ve -got frough.” - -“The land of liberty!” said Jotham, looking down. “You’re _blue_, sure -enough.” - -Then he picked up the little workman and carried him into the house. - -When mamma had been out and looked at the tool-house and Piggy White, -and had come in and looked at Boy Blue, she said what she had said -about five hundred times: - -“I don’t know what I _shall_ do with you!” - -But she did. For she told Nurse Norah to give him a bath. - -When he had been scrubbed and rubbed and dried, and stood very red and -warm to have his hair brushed, he sobbed: - -“Somebody didn’t ought to look after me better!” - -“Sure, ’twould take a paycock’s eyes, and more, to look after sich a -stirabout! Now run, see the organ-man with your sisters, and be good,” -said Norah. - -The organ-man carried a monkey, and the monkey carried a tambourine, -with which he played such pranks the little Wares fell off the steps -one after another in fits of laughter, and Boy Blue decided at once to -buy that monkey if he could. So when the organ-man went away Boy Blue -followed. Only Tot saw him go, for the others were running back to the -nursery to see if the dolls were awake. And Tot could not make people -understand what her little, lisping tongue meant to say. - -It grew late and later; it was almost dark. Boy Blue did not come home. -They began to wonder; they began to be anxious; they began to look for -him. They called his name everywhere. They shouted, “Little Boy Blue! -Boy Blu-u-u-e! Blu-u-u-ue!” - -He did not come. They thought what if he should never come back! - -Mamma cried. - -“Somebody has stolen him!” said Norah. - -“He is drowned!” - -“He is run over!” - -“He is--” - -“_Here_ he is!” - -So he was! They had looked everywhere and inquired of everybody, and -given up in despair. Papa and Jotham had gone to get help in searching -for him. Mamma was in distress. And there little Boy Blue came walking -into the house himself! - -“Where have you been?” cried the sisters. - -He had followed the monkey until he was tired, had come back unseen, -had climbed into the hammock in the orchard, and had been asleep there -ever since. - -“And we just crazed about ye, ye bad boy!” said Norah, while mamma -hugged him. - -“You needn’t fink _I’d_ get lost,” said Boy Blue, proudly. “_I_ don’t -do such fings. I want my supper!” - -He had it. But at our house we still keep asking this question: - - “What _shall_ we do - With little Boy Blue?” - - - - -GHOSTS AND WATER-MELONS. - -BY J. H. WOODBURY. - - -Bobby Tatman was a little Yankee fellow, but he looked like an Italian -boy, with his tangly brown hair, and his soft, simple dark eyes. He -was very fond of water-melons; but he was very much afraid of ghosts; -and in his simple heart he believed everything that was told him, and -thereby hangs a tale. - -There was a man, whom all the neighbors knew as Uncle Ben, who had some -very fine water-melons--which Bobby knew all about--for they were only -about a mile from Bobby’s father’s house. - -These were the nearest water-melons that Bobby knew of, and he used to -go over occasionally, with his friend James Scott, to look at them, -and see how they were coming on. Both Bobby and his friend grew much -interested in the melons, as they were ripening, and Bobby wondered why -his father did not raise water-melons, too. This was not a large patch, -and it was in a sunny nook of Uncle Ben’s farm, out of sight from his -house. - -“It wouldn’t be stealing to take water-melons,” remarked Bobby’s friend -one day, as the two were sitting on the fence alongside the little -patch. “It wouldn’t be any more stealing than picking off corn to -roast, when we go a-fishing, would be stealing, as I can see.” - -“I don’t know as it would be,” Bobby admitted, musingly. “I _should_ -like that old big fellow! Uncle Ben says that’s a _mountain-sweet_. But -it would _almost_ be stealing to take that one, sure! and Uncle Ben -would miss it the first thing, too.” - -“I s’pose he would,” said James, “and then there’d be a row. It won’t -do to take that one. I tell you what, Bobby, we won’t take any of ’em -now, but we’ll come to-night, after dark, and then there won’t be any -danger of anybody’s seeing us. Of course it won’t be stealing; but -Uncle Ben’s just mean enough to make a row about it, I s’pose, if he -should happen to find it out.” - -“I guess he would,” said Bobby. “I shouldn’t want to have him see us, -anyhow.” - -And so, not to run any risk, they concluded to wait. - -When it was night they came again, and sat together upon the same -fence, listening for a time for sounds of any others who might be -approaching, before they got down to select their melons. All was -still, and, feeling secure from detection, they got down and began to -search among the vines. They could tell by rapping upon the melons -which the ripe ones were, and it was not long till they had made their -selection, and were scudding away, each with a melon almost as large as -he could carry, along the fence towards Uncle Ben’s corn-field, which -was still farther from his house. - -When they got to the corn-field they felt safe, and, as the melons -were heavy, they concluded to eat one before going further. So they -sat down in a nook of the fence--a Virginia rail-fence, as we used to -call that kind--and Bobby took out a knife that he thought a great deal -of--because his Aunt Hannah had given it him, and it had his initials -on a little silver plate set in the handle--and in a moment more they -were eating and praising the delicious melon. - -“Of course ’tain’t stealing,” said James Scott, as Bobby again brought -up that question. “Uncle Ben always does have better water-melons than -anybody else, and he can’t expect to have ’em _all_ to himself. What’s -the use of living in a free country, if you can’t have a water-melon -once in a while? Help yourself. Bobby--but don’t eat too near the rind.” - -Bobby helped himself,--though he could not help thinking all the time -that it was to Uncle Ben’s water-melon,--and the boys filled up, -gradually, till they could hold no more. Then each had a great shell -that would have almost floated him, had he felt like going to sea in -it, and the question was, what to do with them. - -“Let’s tuck ’em under the bottom rail,” said James; “they won’t be -noticed there.” - -So they tucked them under the lower rail--a broad, flat rail that -seemed to have been made on purpose to cover them--and then they both -got straight up on their feet to stretch themselves. In the same -instant they both started suddenly, and took to their heels. - -They ran till they were out of breath; and James Scott got a long way -ahead of his friend Bobby. But Bobby came up with James before he -started again, and asked, as soon as he could get breath enough, “_Was -it Uncle Ben?_” - -“It must have been him, or his ghost,” was the reply. “Did you see his -legs, Bobby?” - -“No. Did you?” - -“It didn’t look as if he had any. He was a queer-looking chap, anyhow.” - -“I wonder if he’s coming?” And Bobby seemed almost ready to start -again. “Do you s’pose he knew us?” - -“Shouldn’t wonder if he did. But, if ’twas Uncle Ben, he’d know he -couldn’t catch us. He must have been there all the time. I say, Bobby, -I’m afraid we’ll hear about this.” - -“I don’t see how he happened to be right there! Oh, dear! I left my -knife, too!” - -“I guess if t’was Uncle Ben he’ll take care of that. Of course he’ll -know who it belongs to. If he gets that knife, he hadn’t oughter say -anything about the water-melon. It’s worth more’n both on ’em.” - -“I know it. Don’t you suppose it _was_ Uncle Ben’s _ghost_, after all? -I wish it was!” - -“It couldn’t have been, unless he’s died since noon, you know. He -looked well enough then. Do you s’pose it would be of any use to go -back, Bobby?” - -“No, indeed! I’d rather go home. I wish I had my knife, though. I -wonder why he didn’t speak?” - -“That’s what _I_ don’t understand. I should have thought he would just -said something, before we got out of hearing.” - -“Like as not it wasn’t him, after all.” - -“Like as not it wasn’t, Bobby. S’posing we go back.” - -“I’m going home,” was Bobby’s reply. “I don’t believe it pays to steal -water-melons, anyway.” - -“’Twasn’t stealing, Bobby!--no such thing! Of course anybody’s a right -to take a water-melon. Uncle Ben had no business to raise ’em, if folks -had got to steal ’em before they could eat ’em!” - -“That’s so,” groaned Bobby. “I shouldn’t have thought he’d have planted -them.” - -And so, groaning in spirit, Bobby went home. He had lost his knife, and -everybody would know next day that he had been stealing water-melons. -He couldn’t help thinking that the folks would call it _stealing_, -after all. - -What to do he didn’t know; but he must go home at all events. He was -never out very late, and when he went in his mother asked him where he -had been. He said he had been over to James Scott’s. - -“I don’t like to have you over there so much, Bobby,” said his mother. -“I am afraid James Scott is not a very good boy.” - -Bobby’s face was flushed, and he seemed very tired, so his mother told -him he had better go to bed. He was glad enough to go, but he lay a -long time thinking of his knife and the water-melons, and of Uncle Ben -standing there by the fence, before he went to sleep. - -Bobby slept in the attic, up under the roof. There was another bed in -the same attic for the hired man. There were also a great many things -for which there was no room anywhere else,--large chests, piles of -bedding, and things that had got past use. - -Bobby got to sleep at last; but he awoke in the night--something -unusual for him--after the moon had risen, and was giving just light -enough to show things in the room very dimly. He opened his eyes, and -almost the first object he saw caused his heart to beat very quickly. -Somebody was sitting upon one of those large chests. It was a dim and -indistinct form, but it looked ghostly white in the moonlight, and -Bobby could not help feeling afraid. He had never seen a ghost, fairly, -but he began to think now that he had one in his room. - -Bobby lay and watched that ghost, feeling warm and cold by turns, till -at last he was sure it was beginning to look like Uncle Ben. The wind -had begun to blow, and to move the branches of the old elm outside, -thus causing the moonlight to flicker fitfully in the room. It seemed -as if it must be Uncle Ben! Bobby could see him laugh, though he could -not hear a sound except the sighing wind and the swaying branches of -the old elm, mingling dolefully with the snoring of the hired man. - -The ghost laughed and shook his head by turns, and pointed his finger -at Bobby, as if to say, “_I’ve marked you!_” - -Bobby began to imagine that Uncle Ben had been run over by a cart, or -killed in some way that very afternoon, and that his ghost was really -there. He was almost glad it was so, for he could endure the ghost, -disagreeable as he felt his presence to be, much better than meet Uncle -Ben alive, with that knife in his possession. - -So he shivered, and sweat, and reasoned himself more firmly into the -belief that it was Uncle Ben’s ghost that was sitting on the chest. He -was glad of it, for now he could go in the morning and find his knife, -and hide that other water-melon before anyone else should pass that -way. Still the presence of the ghost was very disagreeable to him; and -at last he ventured to go and get into the other bed with the hired -man, rather than lie longer alone. - -The hired man stopped snoring, turned over, woke up, and asked Bobby -what was the matter. - -“There’s somebody up here,” said Bobby, ashamed to own that it was a -ghost. - -“Who? where?” and the hired man sat up and looked around. - -“On that chest,” said Bobby. “Don’t you see him?” - -“Ye--yes; I see him.” And, as if afraid to speak again, the hired man -watched the blinking countenance of the stranger closely. - -After a moment he got out of bed carefully, saying in a whisper as he -did so: - -“How long has he been there, Bobby?” - -“Ever so long,” was Bobby’s reply. “Ain’t it a ghost?” - -“I guess so. I’ll find out, at all events,” and the bold fellow moved -carefully towards it. - -He approached on tiptoe till he could almost touch it, and then he -stopped. - -“It’s a ghost, Bobby,” said he, “sure enough; but I’ll fix him!” - -He just drew back one arm, and planted a prodigious blow right in the -ghost’s stomach; and you ought to have seen that ghost jump! - -It went almost out of the window at one leap; but fell short, on the -floor, and lay as if dead. The hired man went boldly back and got into -bed, remarking: - -“That’s one of the ghosts we read about, Bobby; I guess he won’t -trouble _us_ any more!” - -Bobby did not quite understand it. He began to think that Uncle Ben -might be still living; but he went to sleep again, at last, and the -next time he awoke it was morning. It was daylight, and the hired, -man had gone down-stairs. He looked for the ghost. There he lay, sure -enough, very quiet on the floor, but, after all, it was only a bag of -feathers! - -So Bobby felt sure he would have to meet Uncle Ben, and that everybody -would know all about it; and he felt very miserable all day, waiting -for him to come. He did not go near James Scott, for he felt that it -was largely owing to him that he had got into trouble. It wasn’t at all -likely that he could or would help him out of it. He wanted dreadfully -to go and look for his knife, but would no more have done that than -he would have gone and drowned himself. Indeed, he did think rather -seriously of doing the last; but, being a good swimmer, he supposed the -probabilities would be against his sinking; and besides, he still had a -regard for the feelings of his mother. - -It was a miserably long day, but after all Uncle Ben did not come. What -could it mean? Bobby did not know, but he went to bed and slept better -the next night. And the next day his fears began to wear away. It was -night again, and still Uncle Ben had not come. - -The third morning Bobby was almost himself again. He was resolved, now, -to go and look for his knife. It must be that Uncle Ben had not found -it. If he had, he would certainly have made it known before this. He -was quite sure, too, that Uncle Ben could not have known who those two -boys were. So he went, with a lightened heart, early in the day, to -look for his knife. - -Of course he took a roundabout way, that he might keep as far from -Uncle Ben’s house as possible. Judge of his surprise and relief when he -saw, on coming in sight of the spot, not Uncle Ben, but a dilapidated -_scarecrow_. It stood leaning against the fence, where, having served -its time, Uncle Ben had probably left it, neglected and forgotten. -Being arrayed in one of Uncle Ben’s old coats, it did have a strange -resemblance to the old man himself. - -“It’s all right, after all,” thought Bobby, and he hurried confidently -forward to pick up his knife. But imagine now the surprise and fright -that came into Bobby’s soft eyes when he found that his knife was not -there! Neither the knife, the water-melon, _nor the water-melon rinds_! -All were gone. - -Without stopping long, Bobby turned to retrace his steps. But as he -did so some one called to him. It was Uncle Ben; and he stopped again -and stood mute. - -“I’ve been waiting to see ye, Bobby,” said the old man, coming up. “I -reckoned you’d come for your knife, and I thought you’d rather see me -here than have me bring it home to ye. Of course I knew you’d been -here, when I found this, but it wasn’t likely you’d come alone. I’m -sorry you’ve been in bad company, Bobby. Your father and mother think -you’re a good boy, and I don’t want them to think any other way. Of -course _you_ don’t want them to think any other way, either, do you, -Bobby?” And the old man looked kindly down into the soft eyes. - -Bobby made out to say that he did not. - -“That’s the reason, Bobby, why I didn’t bring the knife home. I thought -I’d better give it to ye here. Now take it, and don’t for the world -ever say a word to anybody how you lost it. And I want ye to come down -to the melon-patch with me, for I’m going to send a nice mountain-sweet -over to your mother.” - -Bobby took his knife, and followed Uncle Ben, unable to utter a word. -As they went along, the old man talked to him of his corn and his -pumpkins, just as if there was no reason in the world why he and Bobby -should not be on the best of terms. He seemed to have quite forgotten -that Bobby had ever stolen anything from him. Arrived at the patch he -picked off one of the finest melons, as large as the boy could carry, -and, after a little more talk, sent him with it to his mother. - -And so, after all, Bobby’s heart never felt lighter than it did that -morning, after he had left Uncle Ben. He had at last found words to -thank him, and to say that he was very sorry for what he had done, but -scarce more. But that was all Uncle Ben wanted; and, so long as he -lived, after that, he had no truer friend among the neighbor’s boys -than Bobby Tatman. - - - - -FUNNY LITTLE ALICE. - -BY MRS. FANNY BARROW (“AUNT FANNY”). - - -Once on a time, not long ago, four little girls lived together in a -large farm-house. It was quite by itself--on the top of a hill with -thick woods all around it--but as it was full of people from the -city, thirty miles away, and as these people were always polite to -each other, and it was warm, sweet summer-time, they were very happy -together. - -Daisy and May were sisters; Katie had another father and mother, and -funny little Alice was the only child of a lady whose husband was dead, -so Alice had no father. Poor little thing! - -But as she was only two and a half years old, she was too young to feel -very sorry for herself, especially as all the ladies in the house loved -and petted her; every gentleman rode her to “Banbury Cross” on his -foot, and “jumped her” almost as high as the ceiling; and Daisy, May -and Kate, who were each seven years old, let her come in to all their -plays--which I hope _you_ also do, my little reader, with your baby -sisters and brothers. - -One day Alice was walking in the road with her nurse. She had seen one -of the ladies pick a checkerberry leaf out of the grass and eat it, so -she pulled up a handful of leaves and crammed them into her mouth. - -“Oh, take them out, take them out! Do, Alice!” cried the nurse. “They -may be poison! If you swallow them you will die, and have to lie in the -cold grave, and the worms will eat you up!” - -But the nurse had to pull her mouth open, and dig out the leaves, for -Alice had never before heard of the cold grave, and she did not care a -button about it. - -That night her mamma, with whom the little girl slept, was awakened by -a feeling as if some one were choking her, and found Alice sleeping -with her curly head buried in her mother’s neck, and the rest of her -little fat body spread across her breast. She lifted the child gently, -and put her back on her own pillow. But the next instant Alice flung -herself again on her mother. - -“Don’t, dear,” she said; “you _must_ lie on your own side. It hurts me -to have your head on my throat.” - -“Well,” said the sleepy little thing, “if you don’t let me I shall die, -and have to lie in the _told drave_, and the _wullims_ will eat me up.” - -Her mother was perfectly astonished at this speech. She could not -imagine where Alice had heard it; but _we_ know, don’t we? - -The farmer had a poor old fiddle-headed white horse, whose stiff old -legs couldn’t run away if the rest of him wanted to, and the young -ladies used to drive him by themselves in a buggy. The morning after -Alice’s speech two young ladies took her driving with them. She sat on -a little bench at their feet, and went off in high glee. - -It was cloudy, and, for fear it might rain, they took a big waterproof -cloak. Before they got back it was pouring down, so all were buttoned -up in the cloak, with Alice’s little round rosy face just peeping out -in front. The old white horse jogged on not a bit faster than usual, -though Miss Lizzie, who was driving, slapped his back with the reins -the whole time. At last he whisked up his tail, and twisted it in the -reins. - -“Oh, now, just look at that horrid old tail!” said Miss Lizzie. “How am -I ever to get rid of it?” - -“It is not a horrid old tail!” cried Alice, her sweet hazel eyes -flashing. “It’s a nice white tail! He’s a booful horse, with a nice -white tail.” - -“Well, so he is,” said Miss Lizzie, laughing. “So hurra for the booful -horse!” - -This reminded the funny little thing of one of her songs, which she -immediately set up at the top of her voice, and as they reached the -house in the pouring rain, the ladies inside heard Alice singing with -all her little might: - - “Woar, boys, fevver! - Woar, boys, woar! - Down with the tritty! - Up with the ’tar! - We’ll rally round the f’ag, boys, - Rally round ’gain, - Shoutin’ the batter crider _fee_-dom!”[3] - -[3] These are the words little Alice meant, as I suppose you all know: - - “Hurra, boys, forever! - Hurra, boys, hurra! - Down with the traitor! - Up with the star! - We’ll rally round the flag, boys, - Rally round again, - Shouting the battle cry of freedom!” - -That afternoon, when it had cleared up, Daisy said: - -“Come, May, come, Katie, let’s take our dolls and have a picnic.” - -“I want to picnic, too,” cried Alice. - -“So you shall, you little darling,” said all the girls, running to her -and kissing her, “and you can bring Nancy with you.” - -Nancy was a knit worsted doll, with two jet beads for eyes. She slept -with Alice, who loved her dearly, and who now ran off to get her, in a -great state of delight. - -The children took a lunch, of course; for who ever heard of a picnic -without it? A stick of peppermint candy was broken in four pieces, -which, with four ginger-cakes and four huge apples, begged from the -farmer’s wife, were packed in a little basket, and then they set off, -all running, for no girl or boy can walk when they are so happy; at -least, I never knew of any--have you? - -The warm, bright sun had dried up all the drops on the grass long -before. They ran merrily through the meadow at the back of the house, -and soon got to the entrance to the wood. There they found a nice, -mossy place, and, sitting down on the old roots of the trees, they -spread their lunch on a large, flat stone that was near, and commenced -to “tell stories.” - -“Last night,” began Daisy, “I woke up, and I thought I would get out of -bed, and look out of the window; and what _do_ you think I saw?” - -“Oh! what?” cried the rest, with their mouths wide open. - -“Why, I saw ten thousand diamonds dancing and sparkling in the dark.” - -“Oh, oh! I wish I had seen them!” cried May and Katie. - -This was the first time that Daisy had seen the fire-flies flashing -their soft, bright lights. She did not mean to tell a falsehood; she -really thought that they were diamonds. - -“My mamma went to a party last winter, and what _do_ you think she -ate?” asked Katie. - -“What?” inquired May and Daisy. - -“Frogs!” said Katie. - -“Oh! oh! how awful!” cried May and Daisy--but all this time little -Alice had said nothing. - -“Once I saw an elephant,” said May in her turn. “It was in the -menagerie. A little boy stuck a pin in his trunk, and he caught the -boy up by his jacket, and shook him right out of it, and hurt him so! -and he screamed like everything!” - -“Oh, oh! how dreadful!” exclaimed Katie and Daisy, but little Alice -said nothing--because _she was not there_! While the others had been -lost in wonder over the stories, she had trotted off farther into the -woods, clasping her dear Nancy in her arms, and softly singing this -queer little song: - - “By-lo-by, my darlin’ baby, - Baby, - Taby, - Faby, - Maby, - Darlin’ baby.” - -“There, now, she’s fas’ as’eep,” said Alice. “Sh! sh!” She laid Nancy -softly down among the mossy roots of a hollow tree, and, sitting close -beside her, she heaved a funny little sigh, and said: “Oh, my! that -child will wear me out!” which was a speech her nurse had very often -made to her. - -Soon there was a rustling sound. The hollow tree was full of dry, dead -leaves, and out of these a huge black snake came crawling. It slowly -curled itself round Nancy, and then lay quite still. - -Alice looked curiously at a creature she had never before seen, or even -heard of. Then she put out one little fat hand, and gently patted the -snake on its head. - -“Did you want to see my Nancy?” she asked. “Well, so you s’all, poor -sing!” Then she smoothed the snake’s head, who appeared to like it very -much, for it shut its eyes and seemed to sleep. - -And the sweet little tender-hearted child, never dreaming of any -danger from the loathsome reptile, looked up and smiled at the birds -piping over her head, and kept on softly smoothing the head of her -plaything. - -And this was how “Mitter ’Trong,” as she called the gentleman who rode -her oftenest to “Banbury Cross,” found Alice, as he was walking through -the wood that summer afternoon. No wonder that he screamed, and rushed -to her, and caught her up and kissed her, and almost cried, and then -went at the snake with his stick. - -But it was as frightened as he was, and May, Daisy and Kate came -running up, just as it was squirming back into the hollow tree. Then -there were three more screams, and their six bright eyes grew perfectly -wild with terror--while little Alice looked on very much surprised, but -not a bit frightened. - -The children had missed their dear little playmate at last, and, very -much alarmed and ashamed of their carelessness, were searching for her. - -Mr. Strong carried little Alice home in triumph on his shoulder, where -she was kissed and cried over again, and Mr. Strong was thanked for -saving her. - -The black snake might not have bitten her, but it might have squeezed -such a little thing to death, so Mr. Strong and another gentleman went -back, and poked the snake out of the hollow tree, and killed it; and, -finding Nancy patiently waiting for some one to come for her, they -brought her back to the arms of her cunning little mother. And after -this, funny little Alice never went out without her nurse. - -We must bid her good-bye now, because this story is long enough; but -some day I will tell you more about her. - -[Illustration] - - - - -“PRETTY,” AND HER VIOLIN. - -BY HOLME MAXWELL. - -Felice was a servant. She was just twenty years old, but she was like a -child in our land. She talked a little, soft, broken English; our words -were very, very hard for her fine, pretty Italian lips to manage. She -was tall, and extremely refined and delicate; every one admits this -now, but her little girl-mistress saw it at a glance, as Felice came in -behind papa, pausing, tall and slender, with her exquisite brown hair -and brown eyes, to be addressed. - -“Here is your mistress,” said the papa to Felice, indicating the young -girl dressed in white. “She is the little woman of the house, and will -tell you about your duties.” - -Felice bowed like a tall lily, as the “mistress,” so much younger and -so much smaller than herself, came forward, slowly and with irregular -steps, leaning upon a fairy sort of cane. “You are pretty, pretty, -pretty--pretty as I could ask for,” said the young girl. - -Felice was not accustomed to be taken by her mistresses with two -tender, white hands, and called “Pretty, pretty, pretty.” A soft color -came into her pale, clear cheeks, and her eyes grew liquid as she bent -over the little girl without speaking. But when the little girl turned -away, looking so quaint in her stylish white dress, as she leaned upon -her little cane, Felice instinctively followed her. She placed the -velvet hassock under her feet as she sat down, and slipped the cane -into the “rest” attached to the small lounging-chair. - -“Can you make a bed nicely, Pretty?” said the little girl. - -“Yes, mees,” answered Felice. - -“Can you put the room nicely, Pretty?” - -“Yes, mees.” - -“And do birds and flowers and gold-fish prosper with you, Pretty?” - -“I cannot tell you, mees.” - -“Can you sew nicely?” - -“Mees say _nicely_--no, alas! I work not with the needle, none, in four -year.” - -“Well, then, can you read,--our English books? you know,--and a long -while at a time? Pray, don’t say no.” - -“Alas, mees, I know not to read the Ingleese, none. Ah, mees, I think -now to my heart this is one meestake. You wish not me. You wish not one -chambermaid.” - -“You cannot know what I wish, my Pretty.” But the little mistress’s -face was downcast and clouded. From under her sunny eyelashes she -studied the long, slender, folded hands of poor “Pretty.” They were -browned and hardened with rougher labors than hair-dressing, and -embroidering, the mending of laces, or the tending of flowers. - -She pointed at last to a door across the hall. “Your room, Pretty. Have -your things brought up.” - -“_Felice_,” corrected the soft Italian lips. - -“No, _Pretty_,” persisted the little mistress, with a lovely smile. - -This little girl of fourteen--Lulu Redfern--was mistress of many -things: of a brown-stone mansion, of her papa, and of his immense -wealth. She was almost like a fairy in her willfulness and in her -power. Why might she not change her servant’s name if she chose? - -While “Pretty” was gone, Mr. Redfern came back. “Papa,” said the -mistress, “of what were you thinking? Pretty does not sew, does not -understand flowers and pets, does not read, does not even dress hair!” - -“Don’t she?” said papa, crestfallen. “Why, she looks as if she did.” - -“Papa, did you ask at all?” - -“No,” confessed papa, “I did not. I supposed, of course, she could; -else why did she apply. Can’t she be of any use, my birdie?” - -“I don’t see how, papa.” - -“Well, then, we shall have to send her away, I suppose. I fancied she -would be quite the person you would like to have about you--she is so -different from that fluttering, nervous French Adele. But you certainly -do not need another mere chambermaid.” - -“Yet, papa, I cannot have her go, now that she has come. Can’t I keep -her, papa, to look at? She won’t cost so much as a Sevres vase.” - -Felice, with her droopy face and soft steps, was passing. She had a -small satchel in one hand, and in the other--what do you suppose? - -A violin-case, little, black, old. - -“Whew!” said papa to himself. “That’s queer luggage.” But Miss Redfern -did not see the queer luggage. - -So “Pretty” staid, on the footing of a Sevres vase; and drooped over -and about her little mistress like a beautiful lily wherever she went, -and that was nearly all she could do for many days. - -Now, this little girl, who could have everything almost, could not -have everything quite. She loved music beyond all things else; but on -account of her little lame feet she could not play. The grand piano was -for the guests. Rare players used to come and play for her; and none of -the music ever seemed to depart from the house, so that all the rooms -were haunted by divine harmonies. When Lulu lay awake at night, kept -awake by pain, the wondrous strains played themselves again at her ear, -and the sweet, pure young soul took wings to itself, and swept away and -away among lovely scenes, until lameness and pain and a thwarted life -were quite forgotten. - -It was one night, about a week after Felice came. She had lifted her -mistress into bed, and had said, “I wish you a most lofely good night, -Mees Looloo,” and had gone. It was not a “most lofely” night. “Mees -Looloo’s” little feet were throbbing with pain worse than ever before; -but about midnight she was growing hushed and serene. There were wafts -and breathings of Mendelssohn, and Wagner, and Mozart, and Beethoven -all about her; and she was falling asleep, when, suddenly, a fine, -sweet, joyous, living strain pierced through the dreamy songs and -harmonies. - -Lulu lifted her head. She knew in a moment that _this_ was real -music. Enchanting as were her dreams by both night and day, no one -so clear-headed as the little mistress. She had sat and listened too -often for coming and going feet, for closing doors, to be mistaken as -to the source of any sound. This midnight music came from “Pretty’s” -room; and she who loved reed, and pipe, and horn, and string so well, -knew that it was the rarest violin-music. - -It was entrancingly sweet. Air after air entirely unknown to the -little music lover floated out on the still midnight. Poor little Miss -Redfern! She buried her face in her pillows and sobbed in an ecstasy of -happiness. “Now I know what it is so pure, so high, that I see in my -Pretty’s face. It is that which is in the faces of all the artists that -come here. My Pretty is no servant. Papa said that she looked as if she -could do all these things--papa felt she was an artist. Papa could not -help bring her, I could not help keep her,--O, my own Pretty!” - -By and by the music ceased; and, listening, Lulu heard the violin -deposited in the box. - -She looked bright as a bird when her maid came to lift her to the bath, -next morning. “Ah, Mees Looloo, I wish you a lofely good morning.” - -“It is both lovely and good, dear Pretty,” said the child-mistress, -stooping to kiss the long artist fingers busy with her sleeve-buttons. -“I understand these fingers now.” - -“Haf you not always understood their mooch slow ways, Mees Looloo?” - -“Mees Looloo” clasped the two strong, nervous hands close to her -breast. “Pretty! I know what they were made for; they are the -musician’s hands. I heard you last night. I heard a violin in your -room. How could you have it here, Pretty, and not bring it out when I -am often so tired and need to be soothed?” - -“O, Mees Looloo, I haf not thought. I haf played when I could not haf -sleep to mine eyes, and haf thought of Etalee.” - -Then Lulu heard the simple story. It was the violin belonging to -Felice’s father, and Felice had handled it from her babyhood. She had -brought it to America and had carried it from place to place with her. -Nobody had cared; nobody had questioned the poor young chambermaid. - -But “Mees Looloo” cared. “Pretty” brought the violin as simply as if -bidden to bring a flower or a book. It was old, dark, rich--mellow in -its hues as in its tones. - -“May papa come up?” - -[Illustration] - -“I haf always lofed to please you, mees,” said “Pretty.” “But I haf -nevaire learn moosic. I haf none other but vary old moosic.” - -There were, indeed, some old, yellow sheets of foreign music lying in -the bottom of the case; but Felice did not take them out. “I know in my -heart this moosic--father’s lofely moosic.” - -She lifted the instrument to her bosom. She laid her clear, dark cheek -against it lovingly, in the unconscious fashion of the true lovers of -the violin; her fingers, long, supple, dark, sounded the chords; the -bow gleamed and glanced as it sought the strings; and, bending over it, -“Pretty’s” young face paled and flushed gloriously, as the father’s -“lofely moosic” stirred her two listeners to tears. - -The child mistress talked to papa in a very excited manner as he bore -her away on his shoulder to the breakfast-room. Papa listened, papa -thought, and, finally, papa assented. - -“I think so, dear. She is worth it! There are only you and I to spend -the money, and why shall we not do as we like, birdie?” - -So little lame Miss Redfern was to be a Patron of Music. That was -almost as good as to be a musician. - -“Pretty” could refuse nothing to her dear little mistress. In her -loving simplicity she did as she was bidden, even to the trying on of -one handsome dress after another when she was taken to the fine shops. -And at night, after the hair-dresser was done with the soft curls of -her brown hair, and she stood before the mirror in her lace frills and -silk dress, she simply said in her soft, limited English, “You have -made me mose lofely, Mees Looloo.” - -In the evening, when the invited guests--bearded and spectacled men, -and fine and gracious women--were gathered down in the gardens below, -among the lighted trees and the fountains and the arbors, the tall, -simple “Pretty” obeyed her mistress again without a question. Lifting -her violin to her bosom, she came out upon the balcony, and played -once more the old Italian music. With bared heads and silent lips the -company of musicians stood to listen. - -Soft bravos, fluttering handkerchiefs, showers of fresh flowers, -greeted simple “Pretty.” They thought her some new star, and this her -private _début_. - -What was their surprise to hear it was the little Miss Redfern’s maid -whom they had thus quietly been brought to see and pass judgment upon! -But, gracefully, nay generously, they acknowledged her as thoroughly -worth the musical education Mr. Redfern and his daughter were planning -to bestow. - -To simple “Pretty” herself, simple with all the honesty and -unconsciousness of true genius, the great plan was not at all too -strange, nor too great. If one had offered her beauty or pleasure in -another shape, she might have drawn back from the gift--but not from -music. It did not seem to surprise her that she was going back to the -Old World, and not as a steerage passenger, but dressed in costly -robes, and under the care of friends, to study with the great masters -of music. - -“I will come back, dear Mees Looloo, and sing to you and the kind papa -lofelier than you can think, when I sall haf staid long. Some other day -you sall haf to be proud of your ‘Pretty.’” - -Yes, some day “Pretty” will come back to her little mistress, and to -us, with the sweet old Italian violin. - -[Illustration] - - - - -[Illustration] - -DOLLY’S LAST NIGHT. - -BY EMILY HUNTINGTON MILLER. - -The clock in the warm, bright kitchen was striking nine; not nine -in the morning, but nine in the evening, which is a very different -thing, as the old clock seemed to know, for it counted off the chime -with a soft, sleepy roll, as if bent upon making the least possible -disturbance. - -Dolly put the cookies into the deep tin box that had held thousands -of such dainties in its day, set the lid a-tilt upon the edge, gave a -glance of satisfaction at the great loaves peeping out from the white -cloth that covered them, the row of pies on the shelf below, and the -plump chickens trussed up sociably on the platter, and then came out -from the pantry, and shut the door upon the savory smells. Dolly was -not a beauty, but she had a clear, fresh face, and was full of health -and vigor and content. She was a model housekeeper, too, as the old -clock could have testified, and this was the first time it had been -called upon to countenance such irregular doings as the turning of -night into day. But this was the night before Thanksgiving, and when -one is cook, chambermaid, housekeeper, and mistress of the manse, -she certainly has a right to regulate her own days in spite of the -almanac-man. - -Yes, and nurse besides; for on the lounge lay Dolly’s mother, not -exactly sick, but weak from a long fever that had left her ankles so -swollen and painful that she could not walk a step without assistance. -Bess and Johnny had been away through it all, but now their father had -gone for them, and early in the morning they would reach home,--the -pleasant prairie home, with its broad, boundless fields, from which -they expected some day to reap a fortune. - -The lounge was in the kitchen, for the Marshalls cared a great deal -more for comfort than ceremony, and Dolly’s kitchen, with its clean -yellow floor, bright rugs, white table, and window full of growing -plants, was a famous place for comfort. - -“I hope you are through at last,” said Mrs. Marshall, looking up -sleepily at Dolly. - -“All but the candy, and that’ll not take long,” said Dolly cheerily. - -“For pity’s sake, do let the candy go; the children are just as well -off without it.” - -“Oh, but I promised Johnny I’d have some for him, and it wouldn’t seem -like Thanksgiving without it. The nuts are all cracked, and I’ll sit -here and pick out the goodies while the molasses boils,” and Dolly -whisked out the clean iron skillet, and poured the molasses in so -quickly her mother could only say: “You’ll kill yourself working so -hard, and what good do you think that will do the children?” - -“Choog! choog!” said the molasses in its hurry to get out of the jug, -and Dolly smiled as she coaxed it to make less haste and more speed. - -“I’m tough as a pine knot,” she said, merrily; “but if I were really -going to die I should like to have the children say, ‘She always tried -to help us have good times, and the very last night she was here she -made us some candy.’” - -There was a foolish little moisture in Dolly’s eyes as she dropped into -the low-cushioned chair, the same old creaky chair in which her mother -had rocked her when she was a baby, and in which she herself had rocked -Bess and Johnny scores of times. She was very tired, now that she came -to sit down and think about it, and her little speech wakened a sort of -pathetic pity for herself. She even began to fancy what they would all -do without her, but just at that point the molasses made a sudden rush -for the top of the skillet, and put an end to her musing. - -Mrs. Marshall roused up a little also. - -“It seems so strange to have Thanksgiving come without a flake of snow! -Joel says it is as dry as midsummer, too. I never feel easy about the -stacks until there’s a good fall of snow.” - -“Joel is very careful,” suggested Dolly, “and father plowed a good -strip around the stacks before he went away.” - -“Yes, I know. But what good would a few furrows do against a prairie -fire such a time as this?” - -“Then we’ll hope the Lord’ll not let a fire start in such a time as -this,” and Dolly seized her boiling syrup at the precise moment of -crispiness, poured it over the plump white kernels spread thickly in -the shallow pans, and set the whole to cool in the back kitchen. - -When everything was tidy, and Dolly was ready to help her mother to -bed, the old clock ventured to remark, in the same soft purr as before, -that it only lacked two hours to midnight; to which Dolly smilingly -answered that Thanksgiving only came once a year. - -“How the colts stamp,” said Dolly. “I wonder if Joel could have -forgotten to water them before he went home.” - -“Joel ought not to have gone home,” said her mother. “It isn’t right -for two lone women to be left with no neighbors within a mile. Are you -sure the fire is all right, Dolly? seems to me there’s a smoky smell in -here.” - -“It’s the molasses, I dropped a little on the stove; but I’ll go out -and see that all is right after you are in bed, and then we shall both -feel better.” - -Dolly went without her lamp, and as she passed the hall window she -caught sight of a dull red glow, down against the dark horizon. In -another instant she stood outside, her rosy color all blanched at sight -of the fire sweeping down the prairie on those swift, terrible wings of -the west wind. For an instant she was dizzy and confused with terror at -the thought of her utter helplessness, then, as if a voice had repeated -it to her, she recalled the verse she had read that morning, “_What -time I am afraid, I will trust in Thee_,” and, with a silent prayer for -help, she went back to her mother. - -“The prairie is on fire,” she said, trying to speak quietly. - -Her mother sprang from the bed, and sank down, almost fainting, from -pain. - -“O Dolly!” she gasped, “we shall die here all alone.” - -“I’ll make a good fight, first,” said Dolly, bravely. “I must go and -do what I can, and you must wait here and _pray_. Only perhaps you had -better get your clothes on again, in case of the worst.” - -Dolly threw some heavy shawls upon the bed, placed her mother’s clothes -within reach, hugged her once, and rushed away. In two minutes more she -had put on Joel’s boots, tied up her curly head in an old comforter, -and buttoned herself into her father’s coat. She was ready to fight -fire, and she knew just how to do it. But first the colts must be -taken from the low thatched stable that would be sure to blaze at the -first spark. Already they were growing restless with the strong smell -of smoke, and that strange intuition of danger which horses seem to -possess. Dolly had some difficulty in leading them out, and then she -hardly knew what to do with them, for she knew well enough they would -go scouring off when the fire came near. She was a quick-witted little -woman, however, and she soon had the colts in the back kitchen, tied -fast to the old carpet loom. Then she filled the tubs and pails with -water, and set them along the line of the buildings, cut some heavy -branches of hemlock, and brought out the horse-blankets and dipped them -in water. - -The house, behind its clump of evergreens, might possibly escape, but -there seemed little chance for the low barn, the granary, and the -immense stacks of hay, yet in them lay their hopes for a year, and -Dolly determined not to give them up without a desperate struggle. -She scarcely dared look at the fire, but she saw once how a brighter -light leaped up as the flames caught a barn or a stack of hay in the -distance. As rapidly as possible she broadened the circle about the -line of buildings, lighting the thick grass with one hand, and dashing -out the flame with the other, when it threatened to go beyond her -control. She felt almost guilty as she saw the blaze she had kindled -go sweeping away towards the east, carrying the same terror to others -which was rapidly coming down upon her, but it was her only chance of -escape, and there was not another house between them and the river. She -worked on in desperation as the air grew thick with smoke, and at last -she could hear the roar and crackle when the flames swept the great -corn-field, fairly leaping along the rows of dry stalks. It was almost -upon her, and she ran back within her burned circle, and waited for -doom. - -Her hands were blistered, her eye-lashes were burned off, but she did -not know it. She only watched, with every nerve tense and throbbing, to -see if the fire would leap the line. It died down a little in spots, -crept sullenly along the edge, as if loth to go by, flamed up here and -there at a bunch of tall weeds, then, with a sudden puff, the wind -lodged a whirling handful of cinders at the foot of the great straw -stack! - -Dolly sprang at it like a tiger, tearing away the burning straw, and -striking right and left with the wet blanket. Then a little blaze crept -under the fence, and she beat the life out of it in a breath. Another -whirl of cinders upon the roof of the stable, but they fell black and -harmless. Then another blaze running along the edge of the shed, but -the water was ready for it; and Dolly, with eyes everywhere, ran, and -beat, and trampled, until at last the fire veered away to the south, -and left the little homestead safe in the midst of a blackened waste. - -Dolly walked back and forth, around the stacks and the buildings, -whipping out the smallest sparks, and then turned towards the house in -a stupor of exhaustion. She wanted to lie right down on the warm ground -by the side of the straw pile, and go to sleep, but she had enough -sense left to reach the house, and make her way to her mother’s room. - -“We’re all right, mother,” she said in a husky voice, “the fire has -gone by;” and dropping upon the bed, smoke, dirt, boots, and all, she -sank into a heavy sleep. Her mother tried in vain to rouse her, so she -dragged the shawls over her, and watched anxiously for morning. But as -the gray light began to reveal Dolly’s face, she was terrified at its -ghastly whiteness, intensified by the soot and smoke which begrimed it. -She tried again to rouse her, but Dolly lay in a stupor, and she could -only clasp her hands and pray for help. She crept painfully from the -bed, and was trying to drag herself to the door, when Joel rode up on -horseback, with his wife behind him. She was a stout, red-cheeked young -woman, and, springing off without waiting for help, ran to the back -kitchen, where there were sounds of some one stirring. - -“Miss Dolly splittin’ kindlin’s, I’ll be bound! Joel’s jest that -shiftless not to think on’t. My gracious Peter!” she exclaimed, as she -suddenly opened the door, and found herself confronted by one of the -colts. - -She left Joel to settle matters with the colts, and made her way to -Mrs. Marshall and Dolly, carrying the poor lady back to bed in her -strong arms, as if she had been a baby. - -“Don’t you worry about Dolly, ma’am,” she said, confidently, “she’ll -sleep it off, and come out all right, and I’ll just take off my things -and do for you. I can stop as well as not; our house was burned up, and -we just managed to save ourselves, so you see I ain’t got a smitch o’ -work to do for myself.” - -“Your house burned! Oh, Sarah, how hard that is for you and Joel,” said -Mrs. Marshall. - -“Yes’m, it’s a kind of a pity, and I’d got the nicest kind of a chicken -pie ready for Thanksgivin’. We never see the fire till it was jest -ketchin’ holt of us, and then we got on the colt and raced it down the -gully to Dickerman’s pond ahead of the fire. We just made a go of it, -and set there till mornin’. Says I, ‘Joel, it’s Thanksgivin’ day; be ye -right down thankful?’ And Joel he looked at me and says, kind o’ solemn -like, ‘_Yes, I be!_’ And so be I, ’cause we might ’a been burned in our -bed, leastways I might, if Dolly hadn’t been so considerin’ as to let -Joel come home.” - -Sarah had been all the time tugging at Dolly, pulling off boots and -coat, and undoing her scorched hair. She bathed her face and hands, and -lifted her upon the pillow, but Mrs. Marshall’s terror only increased -at seeing Dolly remain perfectly passive, never opening her eyes, -and allowing Sarah to lift her as if she were dead. Hour after hour -she slept on, only when Sarah raised her on her vigorous arm, and fed -her with chicken broth, forcing it patiently into the closed mouth, -until at last a little color crept into the pallid face, and the sleep -was not so death-like. But even at nine o’clock, when the travelers -arrived, Dolly gave them a doubtful recognition. She smiled faintly at -the children’s kisses, stared for an instant at her father’s anxious -face, and then went on dozing and muttering. Bess stole in and out on -tiptoe, the tears dropping down on her pet kitten, and Johnny blundered -about with his mouth full of delicious candy his very heart dissolving -with grief and gratitude. - -Dolly talked about the candy, and Johnny was impressed with the idea -that she wanted some, and actually made an attempt to administer -a small chunk, but he was not very successful, and Dolly kept on -muttering: “The very last night she was here she made them some candy; -the very last night; the very last night; but they couldn’t find it; -they never could find it; the fire came and burnt them all up; the very -last night; the--very--last--night.” - -If there had been a doctor at hand, Sarah would have given up her -patient to a course of brain fever, with proper deference; but as -there was none within twenty miles she was compelled to persevere with -her sensible applications of water, friction, and chicken broth, and -in a couple of days she had the satisfaction of seeing Dolly laugh in -quite a natural fashion at Joel’s story of the gray colt, which was -taken from the kitchen with one foot firmly bedded in a pan of molasses -candy. - -“’Twasn’t all stepped on,” said Johnny, “and I saved you a chunk. I’m -awful glad you made it, ’cause nobody ’tended to Thanksgiving very -much.” - -“I’m glad I made it,” said Dolly, “for I should not have seen the fire -in time if I had gone to bed earlier. I remember something foolish -about its being my last night,” and Dolly smiled doubtfully at her -mother, not feeling quite sure what she had said, and what she had only -thought. - -“It was not foolish at all, dear,” said her mother, kissing the -scorched fingers. “Nothing better could be said of any life, than that -it was a sacrifice for others.” - -“Shet yer eyes, Dolly, and never mind about yer last days,” said Sarah, -decidedly; “you won’t see ’em this fifty year, if things is managed -anyway reasonable.” - -[Illustration] - - - - -[Illustration] - -NIB AND MEG. - -BY ELLA FARMAN. - -And who do you suppose rang at the Doll Doctor’s door one Saturday. - -Two noticeable personages, I assure you. - -Three or four lovely phaetons were drawn up before the house; the -drawing-room was open; and pretty faces, set in brown, and black, and -yellow hair, and crowned with flowery hats, were looking out until -every one of Miss Chatty’s windows seemed like a painting thronged with -cherubs; small ladies, gloved and parasolled, and draped _à la mode_, -were coming and going up and down the front steps; and Miss Teresa Drew -was just stepping from the beautiful family carriage, that had its -coachman, and its footmen, and its crested panels, and her tall French -maid was behind her with a doll and a doll’s maid in her arms--but all -the gay show didn’t begin to attract the attention that was universally -bestowed, the moment they appeared in sight, upon the two queer little -beings who came across the street, unattended and on foot, right up to -Miss Chatty’s gate. - -But, you see, _they_ were gotten up in their very, very best. I am not -a fashion writer, my dears, and I couldn’t begin to tell you, so that -you would have a clear idea, how Miss Teresa Drew was dressed; but I -must try to give you the _tout ensemble_ of these two new children. -“_Tout ensemble_,” my Wide Awakes, is one of those French phrases that -mean so much, and are so handy, but which take so many of our English -words in the translation; a little miss of my acquaintance renders it -as “the _all-over-ness_ of a person.” The costume of these children had -a peculiar _all-over-ness_. Their shawls, a pair of ragged and worn -broches, enveloped them to the throat and dragged after them; and the -effect over short dresses and bare legs was striking; and the shawls, -in both cases, were surmounted by old straw hats which looked, for all -the world, like two much-battered toadstools. - -Miss Chatty happened to see them coming up to the door, all her -richly-dressed little people drawing aside to let them pass; and -she dropped her order-book and made her way through her _à-la-mode_ -cherubs, and answered the door-bell herself. - -“Be you the Doll Doctor, mem?” asked the elder of the children. - -Miss Chatty intimated that she was. - -“They told us as wot you lived here, mem, and as how you could put -the wust cases together.” Opening her shawl, she drew forth a bundle, -and, dropping upon one knee, undid it deftly. She was self-possessed -in spite of her bare feet; but Miss Chatty was much embarrassed. The -children, evidently, were street Arabs, and she hesitated, from various -reasons, to ask them in among her little girls; but neither had she the -heart to dismiss them; besides, she was, withal, considerably curious -and amused. The hands busy with the bundle were very hard, and very -tanned; the face, all intent upon the knot of the string, was strangely -quaint and mature,--indeed, the utter absence of childish timidity and -embarrassment was perhaps the chief reason why Miss Chatty hesitated, -with such a dear, funny, soft-hearted manner, in her treatment of these -new patrons. - -Finally the knot was untied. A couple of dolls’ heads were displayed, -very much curtailed as to nose, badly rubbed as to their black china -curls, and sadly crackled as to their cheeks, as cheeks will after long -painting. - -“There, mem, Nib and me, us found these in an ash bar’l one day,” said -the girl. “But jest heads hain’t much to hug; and Nib and me’s got -nither time nor patterns for bodies; and wen us heard as wot there -was a Doll Doctor, us done ’thout a breckfus mornin’s, and saved up -fer ter buy ther cloth an’ ther waddink. Ther cloth is ter cut out -ther bodies, and ther waddink is ter stuff ’em--Nib an’ me don’t like -sawdust--waddink won’t go ter run out ’f ther’s a rip. An’, mem, Nib -an’ me, us hopes as they’ll be done a-Saturdy. An’ here, mem, is wot -us hopes’ll make a dress for ’em both. An’ here, mem, is ther thread -ter sew it. An’ this here, mem, in this little paper, is some adgink -for ter trim ther things. An’ us is werry pertic’ler ’bout its bein’ -a-Saturdy, mem, as Sundy gits ter be a-lonesum with nothink ter do. -Hain’t Sundy a-lonesum, Nib?” - -“You bet!” affirmed Nib. - -All the cherubs, haloed with the pretty hair and crowned with the -flowery hats, and Miss Chatty, too, would, doubtless, have been very -much shocked had Nib’s voice not been like a little flute, and the -eyes she lifted, like two great big violets, and the teeth she showed, -beautifully white. But when lips and lids closed again, she was as -homely as the other; and then everybody _was_ shocked at what they had -heard, the cherubs looking at each other, and the Doll Doctor’s face -becoming much suffused as she received the young rag-pickers’ spoils. -But she could not send them away. She shuddered at the old calico. -Still she respectfully took it. - -“Us want’s ’em as tall as this, jest about,” continued Meg, showing -Miss Chatty a strip of paper. “Us thinks that’s the purtiest size for a -doll.” - -Miss Chatty was scarce able to speak even now; for the audacity, the -simplicity, and the perfect good faith of the rag-baby “order” was -as paralyzing as it was funny. She was a dear, honest Christian, but -she couldn’t think quite what to do with her new customers much more -readily than would Sexton Brown had Nib and Meg gone into Grace Church -on Sunday. It was well for Sexton Brown that Nib and Meg had never -heard that God the Father was preached at Grace Church, or they might -have gone in. - -Meg, at last, seemed struck by the silence of the Doll Doctor. “Mem,” -said she, hastily, “don’t you go fer ter be afeard us won’t pay. Us has -got ther money saved up--hain’t us, Nib?” - -“I’m not afraid, not at all,” said Miss Chatty. “And they will be done -on Friday. Come for them on that day. I am always extremely busy on -Saturday.” - -At that Meg looked much pleased. “Mem, ’f you do do us a nice job, an’ -so prompt-like, ther’s lots of girls us knows as’ll get you ter fix -ther dolls. Us girls thet sells things hain’t got no time fer nothink, -and us couldn’t go fer ter sew and cut out if us had!” - -Evidently not. Nib and Meg, under the shawls, were picturesque with -tatters. - -“Us wants our dolls tidy and lovesome, mem,” she added, caressingly -touching the white cotton in Miss Chatty’s hand, and feasting her -eyes upon its whiteness perceptibly. Miss Chatty saw it; and she saw -something else at the same moment,--direful gaps and rents about the -childish waist betraying that there was sad lack of “whiteness” for -little Meg’s own wear,--poor Meg! that wanted her dolly “tidy and -lovesome,” feasting upon the one shred of wholesome white cloth,--Miss -Chatty knew the little girl’s soul to be clean by that token; and if -she had halted in her treatment before, she took the little ones right -into her heart now, which was a much lovelier place than her parlor. - -“Don’t you think, mem, as ther’s likely to be adgink for all ther -underclothes, cos us’d get more ef ther wasn’t.” - -[Illustration] - -Miss Chatty was sure there would be plenty; and Nib and Meg went down -the steps and away, at their leisure. “My! wasn’t them thar swell -girls!” said little Nib, all aloud. “But I didn’t care; did you, Meg? -An’ I seed derlicious dolls in ther,--I’ll bet ourn’ll have flouncers, -or sumthink.” - -Miss Chatty, hearing, resolved there should, at least, be “sumthink.” - -Her little ladies all were looking at her as she re-entered the -drawing-room. They were ready to burst forth into a breeze of fun -and ridicule, or to be very sorry,--just which way their dear Doll -Doctor gave the cue. She laid the bundle on the shelf, the pink calico -by itself in a bit of paper, and wrote down the order. “Poor little -waifs,” she sighed. “Think of it, children, how hard they try to be -like other folks, and how much they seem to wish for something to love!” - -There was a little hush, until Teresa Drew spoke. “I never thought of -it, but I wonder what street-children do do for dolls!” - -“Madame ought not to have to touch objects from the barrel of the -ashes; it is very mooch disgoosted,” said Teresa’s French maid. She -stooped and whispered to her little mistress. The child directly took -out her purse, and laid a shining half eagle on the table by Miss -Chatty’s hand. - -“Please buy them both a nice, well-dressed doll, with plenty of -’adgink’ on the clothes. Who would think they could care for lace! We -must tell mamma that, Hortense.” - -Miss Chatty kissed her kind little customer. All her little ladies were -pleased if she shook hands when they came, and very happy indeed if -she twined a curl over her finger, or re-tied a sash,--for she had the -dearest and daintiest of mother-ways. “My dear,” she said, “I think -the little girls would feel tenderest toward the very dollies they -have worked so hard to get. But I should like to buy clothing for the -children themselves with your gold piece.” - -The idea roused a creditable little _furore_ of benevolence among the -children. Every tiny pocket-book came open, and although there was no -more gold, Miss Chatty soon became the treasurer of a respectable fund -for the benefit of Meg and Nib, whom several now remembered to have -seen as rag-pickers and match-girls. - -Indeed, there was so much generous talk about Meg and Nib that when -Miss Chatty went to bed she dreamed a very long and very nice dream. - -In this dream all the pavements in the city were fringed with -toadstools, and the stems were little girls, each with a doll in her -arms, and they were all on their way to her house to be mended. When -all had arrived, a tall, white angel came, and stood in the door and -looked in. And she said, “Behold, I am she that weepeth over the woes -of children. I sit upon a cloud over this city. To-night, on the -evening air, I listened for the noise of crying and quarreling, and, -instead, I heard laughter, and playing, and lullabies. The thanks of -one that weeps are sweeter than all others. Take my blessing, O giver -of dolls, because you have learned that a little girl, to be good, must -have something to love.” - -Then the children sang “bye-low-baby-bye” in soft tones; and after -they were through singing, they sat and nodded deliciously,--children, -dolls, and she, too; and all this while the Angel of the Children’s -Woes sat in their midst on a canopied coach that had a coachman, and a -footman, and a French maid, and rested from her tearful labors--indeed -her eyes grew every moment of a most bright and smiling azure; and -while she was resting, on a loom of silver she wove edging until there -was a great plenty to have trimmed all the dolls in the world. - -It was quite a pleasant dream, in fact; and Miss Chatty woke with her -heart all soft, and young, and warm, and it staid so all day Sunday. - -After breakfast, Monday morning, she put on her holland gloves and went -out to dig around her roses. She desired the circle of dark loam about -her trees to be exactly and truly round. So she found it necessary to -do her own digging. - -As she set her foot on the spade, a little voice she knew called from -the bottom of the garden. “Please, Miss Chatty, were there a great many -nice dolls brought Saturday?” - -And another little voice continued, “May we go and see them?” - -It was Sylvey Morgan and Teddy. They were looking over the broken -paling of the garden fence, their little faces twinkling with smiles -and sunshine. - -“Yes, birdies. You may go up through the basement, and I will step over -and see Mintie.” - -The children flew to the gate and up to the house, for you must know -that it was very nice, indeed, to go up to Miss Chatty’s parlors and -look at the beautiful dolls all by themselves. They well knew they -“mustn’t touch;” and Miss Chatty was well assured they wouldn’t. - -She picked some clove pinks and went over to the house of the children. -It was a small cottage in vines fronting a back street. She went around -to the sitting-room, where, by the window, sat a young girl with a -poor little pinched-up face. A cane, gayly painted, and adorned with -a flowing ribbon bow, leaned against the window, and told the girl’s -story. - -The room was very plain only about this corner. This nook had a bird -cage and a hanging basket of ivy in the window; Mintie’s chair, with -its gay cushion, stood on a Persian mat; there was a little window -garden growing on the ledge; and on the elbow stand was a globe with -gold fish, while opposite hung some pretty water colors. Mintie’s hair -was tied back with a rose-pink bow, and her wrapper was a marvelous web -of roses and posies. Altogether the endeavor to surround poor Mintie -Morgan with brightness and beauty was very evident. - -But Mintie herself looked peevish, and as if never anything in the -world had been done for her. It was plain she was no nice, ideal -invalid, but a girl whom to take care of would be a great trial. - -She did smile, however, as she took Miss Chatty’s clove pinks. “You -always bring enough, and plenty of grass and leaves, so that there is a -chance to try a bouquet. I believe you do it that I may fuss with them -half the forenoon if I like.” - -Miss Chatty colored a trifle at being detected. “Well, that is nothing -against me, I hope, Mintie. How do you feel to-day?” - -“O, good-for-nothing, and all tired out just to think it is Monday -morning instead of Saturday night.” - -“I do wish you had something pleasant to occupy yourself with,” said -Miss Chatty, sympathetically, instead of whipping out the little sermon -on contentment. She had always thought she wouldn’t thank anybody to -preach contentment to her, had she been broken-backed and with no feet -to speak of, like Mintie. - -“Isn’t there anything you can do?” - -“Of course there isn’t,” said Mintie. “I want something pretty if I -have anything, work which will make me forget I am in this chair. I -won’t sew the children’s clothes. Father and mother should contrive -that I was amused. And if you felt so very bad for me, Miss Chatty, I -guess you would have offered to let me dress some of them dolls before -now!” - -“So I might, I should think myself,” said Miss Chatty, startled into -saying a very unwise thing; for, of course, a ten-dollar doll wasn’t to -be put in careless fingers. - -“But, of course,” continued Mintie, fretfully, “you don’t have more -than you can do yourself.” - -“No,” said Miss Chatty, much relieved, “I don’t. But, poor little -Mintie, you ought to have something nice to do!” - -“Well, you need all the money, and I shouldn’t like to work, even at -anything pretty, unless I was paid. I don’t wish to talk about work at -all unless that is understood. You needn’t ever bring anything here to -do just to amuse me.” And Mintie looked,--only think of a young girl -looking as ugly as pictures of misers that you have seen! - -As for Miss Chatty, she blushed clear up to her eyes. “My dear child!” -she exclaimed. “How could you think I should be unjust!” - -And then she went and stood in the door. The dear little old maid was -dreadfully ashamed, and a trifle indignant, too, over Mintie’s bad -manners and selfishness. But after a moment she reflected that probably -the poor girl had no pocket-money at all, and couldn’t get any either; -and she recollected also that it had been said that physical deformity -often produced spiritual crookedness and halting. She tried to think of -some way to help her. She thought of offering Nib’s and Meg’s dolls to -make and clothe; but no, Mintie wished to handle only beautiful things. - -All at once her dream came up before her, as pleasant as in her sleep, -and it seemed to turn inside out and reveal its meaning. - -She went back and kissed Mintie. Then she went home and kissed Sylvey -and Teddy and sent them away. After that she made herself ready, and -went upon another eccentric little journey among her wealthy friends. - -It is said that Miss Chatty talked a deal of beautiful and flowery -nonsense at every house where she called, all about the influence upon -poor children of a flower to watch, or a bird to tend, or a lovely doll -to love. She told everybody that she was going to send a missionary in -the shape of a pretty doll to every ragged and dirty child in the city. - -They laughed at the idea of the doll-mission; but as she begged at -most places for nothing more than “pieces,”--bits of silk and bright -woolens, remnants of ribbons and laces, the natural leavings of -dressmaking, of which there is always plenty at every house,--Miss -Chatty did not render herself very obnoxious. - -But at three or four houses there was far more weighty talk; and from -them Miss Chatty took away considerable money. Then she went down upon -Vesey Street, and one of her friends among the merchants gave her a -roll of bleached muslin, and the same good man also gave her a card of -edging in the name of his little daughter. She then went down farther -still, to Bleecker Street, where a jolly young importer of cheap toys -sold her a gross of china dolls at cost. - -Tuesday, all day, she cut patterns of skirts, and polonaises, and -basques, and fichus, and walking jackets, all as fanciful as possible, -bearing in mind the temper of her seamstress. - -On Wednesday she went over to Mintie, carrying the bundles and her own -walnut cutting board. - -And when Mintie had looked at the great army of curly-pated dolls, -with their naked little kid bodies, every one of them wearing the same -rosy smile, and had laid all the lustrous silky velvets to her cheek, -and had sheened the silks over her knee, and had delighted with the -laces and the iris ribbons, she did smile, the first sunny smile of -her blighted life, I do believe; and she said she should be very, very -happy, and that she should dress no two dolls alike; and she never -mentioned her wages at all. - -But after Miss Chatty had unfolded her plan, and told her how well -she was to be paid, Mintie became cross again. She said after the -dolls were done it was a shame for ragged children to have them, and -they would have to be taken from her house to be distributed, for she -couldn’t, and wouldn’t, bear the sight of such creatures! - -But in what manner the Doll Mission was organized, and how the lovely -missionaries did their work, and whether the Angel really stopped -weeping, will make another long story; and it will be still more -beautiful than this and the other. - -[Illustration] - - - - -THE LITTLE PARSNIP-MAN. - -BY E. F. - - -[Illustration] - -One year Mrs. Dumpling was ill all the summer, and there was nobody -much to tend the kitchen garden, except Dimple. - -Dimple was extremely sturdy, but being shorter than the spade, he could -not use the spade at all; and he was so very much shorter than a hoe, -that the hoe kicked, and generally hit Dimple on the nose; and before -summer was out he was so much shorter than the weeds, that when he -went to pull them, the weeds felt quite at liberty to turn about and -pull him; they’d hang back and pull, and pull, until they got Dimple -all excited and puffing, and then they’d suddenly let go his little -hands, and down would go Dimple on the ground, over on his back, pulled -right off his little roots,--his little feet, I mean,--while the weeds -would just swing, and nod, and shake with laughter, and then they would -grow--oh, _how_ they would grow! A little rough pulling at one, if you -don’t get pulled clear off your feet and out of your place, is so very -good for anybody. - -Dimple finally gave up the weeds, and tended the vegetables only. He -cultivated them with a stick, scratching along the roots, and making -the soil black and loose. One day he sat under a shady row of tall -mustard-weeds, and scratched along a line of some feathery green stuff -his mamma had sowed. He sat poking the dirt, and thinking what a pretty -green plants turned as the dirt was stirred, when suddenly, poking away -a big stone, he saw something white, and round, and wrinkled, just like -a head,--an old man’s bald head! - -“Why,” said Dimple, “who’s here?” - -He dug a little, and he came to some sleepy old eyes, all shut, and -wrinkled, and peevish. - -“Why-ee!” said Dimple. “It _is_ somebody!” - -He dug and dug, and he came to a nose,--an awful big nose. - -“Why-ee!” said Dimple. “It’s a Roman nose. I fink it is a grandpa.” - -He dug a little mite more, and there were some moustaches growing right -out of the big nose. He pulled and pulled with his two forefingers, and -loosened them up, and all at once they flopped out of the dirt; and -they were two long waxed moustaches. - -Dimple was so surprised he said nothing this time, but dug away, almost -scared. Pretty soon he found a mouth, a large funny mouth, close up -under the nose, and the mouth was dreadful live and quirky. - -“Why-ee-ee!” said Dimple. “I fink it _is_ somebody, and he’s waking up!” - -For now the eyes did seem to twinkle, and the little bare skull to wink -and move its wrinkles up and down. - -Dimple dug away again, and found a chin and some straggling beard. - -“I fink what it is now,” said Dimple. “Mamma readed about him yes’day. -He lives down in the mines. He’s a Kobold, and he wants to get out.” - -It was so bad to be stuck fast in the dirt, Dimple dug now just as hard -as he could. The little old man himself didn’t help at all to loosen up -his two long, slim legs. Finally Dimple, with a mighty effort, and by -shutting both eyes hard, pulled them out, and he tumbled over on his -back, and the little old man tumbled over on _his_ back, and lay like -one dead. - -Then Dimple saw he had no arms. “Dee-me!” said he. “I be’eve he started -to bring up some gold, and the other Kobolds ran after him and cut off -his arms. Dee-me! I fink what if he has got up so far and beed-ed to -deff!” - -Dimple scampered in, and his face was so white, and his story so wild, -that Mrs. Dumpling managed to walk up into the garden. - -Dimple took her to the place; the little old man was there, sure -enough. Mrs. Dumpling saw him herself, in a glimmering dazed kind of -way, for just one moment,--his twinkling eyes, his bald skull, his -Roman nose, his long moustaches, and his straggling beard. - -Then she sat down on the grass and laughed. - -She picked him up; and the moment she touched him there was an awful -transformation. Even Dimple saw it was only a parsnip,--a pronged, -ill-shaped, tough old parsnip. - -But that night something happened which Dimple never forgot. The old -Parsnip-Man came to his bed and spoke to him. But I regret to say that -he used many large words which Dimple could not understand. - -“Kind sir,” said he, “naturally we are a fine and shapely race,--we, -and our cousins the Beets and the Carrots and the Salsify. If we -are brought up, as every new generation ought to be, with tender -surroundings, and kept out of the company of stones and clods and -weeds, we have a dear promise that many of us shall be placed on the -dinner-table when children eat, and be changed into rosy cheeks, and -white arms, and handsome young bodies, and live a long, merry life -above ground in the sunshine. But if we are neglected by those upon -whom we are dependent, we are changed underground, and become horrid -old fellows, with ugly faces; and when we are pulled up, we are carted -away and fed to cattle. - -“_Do you know what it must be to be fed to cattle?_” he roared. - -And then, after a moment, he smiled mournfully. “A word to the wise,” -he said. The low, pleading tone floated all about Dimple like a -cool, green leaf. When he looked up to ask what the “Word” was, the -Parsnip-Man had disappeared. - -Dimple told his mamma in the morning. Mamma knew the “Word” very well. -She said it was too bad, and she would have the parsnip-bed hoed that -very day. - - - - -HOW DORR FOUGHT. - -BY SALOME. - - -Little Dorr Eastman always wore his sword--in the daytime, I mean. He -would have liked to wear it at night--indeed, he tried it once; but -as the belt was indispensable, and that was exceedingly rasping and -uncomfortable with a night-gown, and as he often rolled upon the sword -itself, and the sword, being hard, hurt his soft, plump side, and his -soft, plump limbs, he gave it up, regretfully, since it was Dorr’s -belief that “real truly” soldiers always slept with their “arms” on. -And Dorr “knew”--for was not his brother Dick a colonel, and his father -a general, and his grandfather a general? - -But, then, they had been at West Point, and got toughened. After he -grew up and had been at West Point, and had undergone discipline, -doubtless a belt would not be uncomfortable in bed, and a sword could -be worn with a night-gown! - -The fancy-store in the village where Dorr’s papa owned a summer -mansion, drove a flourishing trade during the season in gilt papers, -and mill-boards, and tinsels; for, once a week, at least, the young -soldier fashioned new stripes and epaulets; one day being a sergeant, -on the next a major; and then, for days together, commander-in-chief -U. S. A., during which space mamma, and Trudie, and Soph addressed him -as His Excellency. Every stick which he could hew into the shape of -a horse’s head, became a gallant charger, until mamma’s hall was one -long, vast stable; mamma blew a whistle for _reveillé_; and the embryo -cadet thought nothing of turning out at five in the morning, and -splashing into a cold tub, especially on picnic mornings. But Dorr said -he was hardening for West Point and glorious campaigns. - -[Illustration: “HOLD YOUR HAND, NOW.”] - -His greatest anxiety was concerning these campaigns. “Mamma,” he said -to her one day, “I fears there’s no use in me growing up!” - -“Why, Your Excellency? It grieves me to hear that,” said mamma. - -“’Cause everybody will be fighted out before that, mamma. Colonel Dick -says they settle things now, and not fight.” - -“Well, my little son, there will always be men who must wear swords, -to make people afraid, so that they will think it is the safer way to -settle without a war. My little Dorr shall be one of those men, and -a great share of the time he will be home on furlough and stay with -mamma. Won’t he like that?” - -“No, he wouldn’t!” cried Dorr, stoutly, swelling up after the manner of -colonels and generals. After a turn or two across the room, he came -back to his mamma’s knee. “It’s likely, though, there’ll be Injuns. -There always was Injuns in this land, Trudie says, and if they’s lasted -s’long, it’s likely they’ll last s’long as I live; and Dick says -there’ll be always war s’long as there’s Injuns!” - -“O! my little blue-eyed Dorr,” said mamma, “wouldn’t you care to be -scalped?” - -“Why’d I care?” answered Dorr. “Wouldn’t my ‘feet be to the foe’?” - -Mamma could not but laugh at her stern little man; and then she thought -he had better go with the girls in the garden. - -And there he was not a moment too soon. The sacred inclosure was -already invaded by a ruthless hand--a fat, yellowish-black little hand, -which was thrust through the paling, evidently after one of Soph’s -treasures--the beautiful rose-pink dwarf dahlia. - -Dorr saw it. “Soph! Soph! he’s breaking off your new Mex’can Lilliput -dahlia!” and headlong went Sergeant Dorr toward the fence; but, half -way there, he tripped in the tall asters, and crushed dozens of mamma’s -choice autumn blooms as he fell. - -Soph and Trudie both came running down the gravel. The boy behind the -paling also ran, or would, had not the fat arm been thrust in too far; -for, turning it in haste, it stuck fast, and now held him Sergeant -Dorr’s prisoner. - -His fall had made Sergeant Dorr very mad; and, picking himself up, he -drove toward the paling in hot haste. “You flower-thief! them’s Soph’s -flowers! You clear out of this, or I’ll shoot you with my sword!” - -And the sword was brandished; and as Roly-poly couldn’t “clear out,” -much as he wished, he staid, his hand still clasping the stalk of the -“Mex’can Lilliput,” which he seemed unable to let go. Seeing that, down -came Dorr’s wooden sword upon the arm! It was a sturdy stroke, too, so -sturdy that the sword bounded and flew over on the other side, where an -angry little bare black foot kicked it far out into the road, while the -owner of the foot howled with pain. - -“Dorr Eastman!” cried Trudie. - -“You cruel, cruel boy!” cried Soph. - -“He no bus’ness with your flowers, then!” said Dorr, crowding back an -angry whimper. - -“I’ve a mind to shake you!” said Trudie. But, instead, she went to the -fence where the little bow-legged mulatto, still howling, was trying to -get free. - -“Little boy,” said she, “I’m sorry; but it is wrong to steal!” - -“But we done got no flowers of our own,” said he; “and besides, I -hain’t broke it. O, dear, where’s mammy? I hain’t gooine to stay -hyer--don’t! don’t!” He howled louder than ever as Trudie took his arm. - -“Hush up, simpleton! I’m only going to get you out.” With a firm grasp -she turned his arm where he might draw it back. “There, I’ll let you -out now, if you will stand still a moment after I let go.” - -The boy sobbed mightily, but stood still. “Stand there till I tell you -to go,” commanded Trudie. Then she broke one of her own flowers for -him, and also went into her pocket. “Hold your hand, now,” said she. - -Sobbing, and with hidden face, the small ragamuffin held up his hand, -and Trudie poured into it a stream of pennies and candies. “The -flower,” said she, “is because you like pretty things. The rest is to -pay you for being struck.” - -The tawny little hand dashed the “pay” to the ground. “I can’t be paid -for being struck!” he cried, baring his tearful eyes, and gleaming with -them at the “sergeant.” - -“What’s all this?” asked mamma, coming down the walk. - -Hearing the story, she went outside, and bared the beaten arm. There -was a frightful lump on the soft, black baby flesh. She looked up at -her little soldier ruefully, and he ran off. - -She took the child in, and bathed the bruise with camphor, picked him -a gorgeous bouquet, and sent him home with various admonitions and -tendernesses. Then she waited for Dorr to come. - -By and by he came. He was still without his sword. He rushed to her, as -she turned at the sound of the little footstep, and tumbled into her -arms head first. - -“Mamma,” he said, “I have martial-courted myself! I runned after him, -but he wouldn’t strike me. Then I thought what you said ’bout ‘kisses -for blows,’ but he wouldn’t kiss me; but I know’d there should be a -kiss somewheres, ’cause ’twas your kind of a battle, not papa’s; so I -gave him my sword, and asked him to come to play--and--well, mamma, I -haven’t got any sword no more!” - -The little heart heaved; but mamma hugged him close, and shed a glad -tear to think her teaching had had its effect as well as papa’s. - -[Illustration: HE TUMBLED INTO HER ARMS HEAD FIRST.] - -“My kind of battles are very hard, much harder to be fought than -papa’s,” she said, “and Dorr is braver than if he had killed a hundred -men.” - -[Illustration: ALL THE WAY TO CANADA.] - - - - -[Illustration] - -TIM’S PARTNER. - -BY AMANDA M. DOUGLAS. - - -“Ain’t got nothin’, Miss May, to set up a chap in housekeepin’--have -you?” - -“Housekeeping!” the young lady cried in surprise. “Why, surely, Tim, -you are not thinking of--” and she paused, suddenly eying the figure -before her from head to foot. - -A strange, misshapen creature it was. He was barely eighteen, but -he might have been twice that from the looks of his face, which was -thin and sharp, and wrinkled about the eyes and forehead, surmounted -by a shock of sandy brown hair, and thatched with an old gray felt -hat going to tatters. A short, humpbacked figure, with a body out of -all proportion to the pinched, slender legs. The arms were long, and -finished by hands twice too large. A poor, pitiful object; yet there -was something wistful and touching in the great brown eyes. - -“Of gettin’ married? Was you goin’ to say that, Miss May? He! he! A -gal would want a husband mighty bad, wouldn’t she, when she picked up -such a crooked stick? The good Lord knows why he made me this way, I -s’pose,” falling for a moment into a reflective mood. “But ’tain’t -that, Miss May. I’ve got a room of old Mother Budd, and a stove, and -a mattress, and now I’ve taken a pardner--Jerry; but you don’t know -nothin’ ’bout him. He’s a little chap what’s had a drunken father all -his life, and has to get about on two crutches--worse’n me, a good -sight,” looking down with pride on his thin legs and substantial feet. -“And now his father’s sent up to the Island, ’nd he had no place to go -to. So we’ve set up together. He’s smart in some ways, is Jerry--kin -sew like a gal, and cook, and we’ll get along just jolly. Only if we -had some dishes and things. You see we have to pay a dollar a week in -advance, for old Mother Budd’s sharp at a bargain, lookin’ out for -tricks. Then I bought some coal an’ wood, an’ that took about all my -spare capital.” He gave a sort of humorous grin, as he said “capital.” - -He had shoveled off the snow and cleaned out the gutter to perfection. -Miss May had paid him thirty cents. After a moment she said,-- - -“Come down in the basement, Tim. I should not wonder if we could find -you an outfit. Two boys housekeeping! It’s rather funny!” - -Tim scraped and wiped his feet, stood his shovel in the corner of the -area, and followed the young lady within. All winter he had been on -hand to clean the sidewalk and put in coal. Besides his wages she had -given him a few old garments, and his gratitude had touched her. Now -she felt rather amused. - -Bridget gave him a somewhat unfriendly stare as he entered the -kitchen. She never could understand why a lady like Miss May should -take fancies “to beggars and that sort of trash.” Dr. May looked rather -serious about it, and wished her mother had lived, or that aunt Helen -knew how to interest her in other people. He saw quite enough of the -misery and wretchedness of the world without having his pretty young -daughter breaking her heart over it. - -“Come and warm yourself, Tim. Bridget, where are those cracked and -checked dishes and old tins I picked out the other day? And there are -some chairs down cellar. O, and those old comfortables I laid away.” - -“Sure, miss, I was goin’ to ask you if I mightn’t give the dishes to my -cousin, Ann Flynn, who is to be married on Sunday night. They’d be a -godsend to her.” - -“We’ll divide them;” and Miss May smiled. - -Bridget very unwillingly opened the closet door. The idea of giving -china dishes to a beggar! She grudged everything that could go to a -“cousin.” - -Miss May picked out two cups and saucers, four plates, two bowls, and -several miscellaneous articles, including a block-tin tea-pot and two -or three dilapidated tin pails. - -“O, Miss May! Why, we’ll feel as grand as kings!” and the eyes were -lustrous with gratitude. - -“Here’s a basket to pack them in. Bridget, give him a little tea and -sugar, and some of the cold meat left yesterday. I’ll run up stairs and -find some bed-clothes.” - -She came back laden. Tim’s face glowed to its utmost capacity, which -was large, seeing that he had been out in the cold all the morning. - -“There, I haven’t any table, but all these will help. You are sure your -partner, as you call him, is a trusty fellow?” - -“He’s good as gold, though he hain’t no legs worth speakin’ of. He used -to sell papers on the cars, but he stumbled one day, ’nd had one cut -off, and t’other hurt. His father used to keep him round beggin’, but -he’s bound to have nice times now along o’ me. If you could hear him -sing, Miss May--it’s like a bird hangin’ out a winder. When the weather -comes warm he kin sell apples and flowers, and sich. I’ll have a little -spare capital bimeby to start him with. An’ it’ll be next to havin’ -folks of one’s very own. I never had any, you see. Not that I’d want a -father like Jerry’s. Poor little chap, he’s had rough times, what with -the beatin’ and the starvin’.” - -Miss May winked a tear out of her blue eyes. How ready these street -Arabs were to stand by one another! Would anybody in her “set” take in -a poor brother unhesitatingly? - -Tim was grateful from the very depths of his soul, and it was no mean -one. He bundled the articles in a great pack, and shouldered them, -chairs and all, and drew his rough sleeve across his eyes, while his -good-bye had a very husky sound. - -If Miss May could have heard the rejoicing! - -And yet it was a miserable little room, up three flights of stairs, -with only one window looking into a rear house. Their bedstead had been -made of dry goods boxes, and when they covered it with her clean chintz -comfortable, and arrayed their closet shelves with the dishes, leaving -the door open so they could feast their eyes on their new possessions, -they could not resist giving three cheers; and Tim was actually coaxed -into dancing a breakdown, while Jerry clapped “Finnegan’s Wake” with -his thin hands on the one good knee he had left. It was a blustering -March day, but they two had a delightfully warm room and a feast. What -amused them most of all was beautiful Miss May’s idea that Tim was -going to be married. - -“Tim,” said Jerry solemnly, when their laugh had ended, “I don’t know -how girls feel about such poor cripples as you and me, but my opinion -is that my mammy would have been glad enough to had a husband with the -great, tender heart you’ve got. Poor mammy! I’m glad she’s in heaven -along of the angels, and I’m glad she don’t know about my legs. God -wouldn’t tell her when she was so happy--would He, Tim?” - -“No, He wouldn’t,” said Tim over a great lump in his throat. - -There never were such happy days in the life of either as those that -followed. Jerry cooked, kept accounts, washed, ironed, and mended, -and as the days grew warmer began to do quite a thriving business in -button-hole bouquets, standing on the corner as the men went up town. -Now and then he sold popular photographs on commission, or a lot of -choice bananas. - -Tim was brisk and active, and caught up all manner of odd jobs. Now and -then he saw Miss May. Once he sent Jerry with a bouquet of flowers. - -“I wanted you to see him, Miss May,” he said afterward, hanging around -until he caught sight of her. “He don’t look pale and peaked, as he did -when we first set up. It’s good livin’, you see, and no beatin’s. And -we have just the jolliest times you ever heard of. He don’t want me to -call him anything but pardner. I do believe that ere little chap would -give his life for me.” - -“O, Tim, how good you are!” she cried. “You shame richer and wiser -people. It is very noble to take that poor little boy by the hand and -love and protect him.” - -“Noble!” echoed Tim, pulling his forelock and coloring through the tan -and grime. “Why, Miss May, he’s a sight of help and comfort to me; -better’n any wife would be, ’cause, you see, no woman who’d take me -ever’d be half so good.” - -“Tim,” she said, opening her dainty Russia leather pocket-book, “I want -to add a little mite to your happiness. I am going to the country soon, -for the whole summer. I want you to take this, and spend it just as I -tell you. You and Jerry must go on some nice excursion; there will be -plenty of them presently. Get a good dinner, and take all the delight -you can, and remember to tell me all about it afterward.” - -“O, Miss May, you are too good for anybody’s folks! Indeed, I’ll tell -you every word. And can I come again next winter to shovel snow and do -chores?” - -“Yes, indeed. I shall be glad to have you. God bless you and your -partner, poor, brave little soul. I shall think of you often.” - -“I never see an angel ’xcept the ones in the picters with wings, but I -know Miss May is one,” said Tim to himself. - -Tim and his partner counted their money that night. Business had been -flourishing of late. - -“There’s twenty-one dollars that we’ve saved up free and clear, and the -lady’s five. Tim, you had better put it in the bank;” and Jerry’s eyes -sparkled feverishly. - -“I’d have to hide the bank book then;” and Tim chuckled. “Think of -havin’ a bank account! Why, we’d feel a’most like Astor, or the old -Commodore.” - -“But I wish you would, Tim. I’m afraid to have so much in the house. -It will be something against winter when business is dull. Now we’re -making plenty to live on. Won’t you, Tim?” - -“To be sure I will--to-morrow. And we’ll hide the book in that same -chink in the floor. No one would think of looking there. And we’ll have -a rousin’ time on some ’xcursion. We’ll choose one with a brass band, -and have a little dance in one corner by ourselves. There isn’t the -beat of Miss May in this whole world.” - -“She’s good, but then she’s rich, you know. Five dollars doesn’t look -so large to her as it does to you and me. But, Tim, I love you better -than a hundred Miss Mays.” - -Tim chuckled and winked hard, but said never a word. - -He was off early in the morning, as he had an important job on hand. -Jerry would have dinner all ready at noon, and he would put on his -“store clothes” and go down to the bank like any other swell. My eyes! -Weren’t they in clover? - -Tim could not get home until three; but he had earned two dollars since -morning. They each had a key to the door, and finding it locked, Tim -drew out his. Jerry had gone to business; afternoons were his time. -There was no dinner set out on the table and covered with a napkin. A -curious chill of something like neglect went to Tim’s warm heart; but -he whistled it away, found a bite of cold meat and some oatmeal. Then -he decided he would run over on Broadway and tell Jerry of his good -luck. It was too late to think of going to the bank. - -No little chap sat on the well-known corner. Tim walked up a block, -down again, and studied the cross street sharply. Had he sold out and -gone home? Or may be he had taken the money to the bank! Tim ran home -again. Yes, that was it. The money was gone. - -He waited and waited. Somehow he did not feel a bit jolly; but he -boiled the kettle and laid the supper. No Jerry yet. What had become of -him? Had he put on his best suit? - -They had made a clothes-press out of a dry goods box, and Tim went to -inspect it. Why--Jerry’s shelf was entirely empty. Shirts, stockings, -yes, everything, even to his old every-day suit, gone. Tim dropped on -the floor, and hid his face in his hands. Had Jerry-- - -It was funny, but Tim squared off and gave the box a thump that bruised -his knuckles. It seemed to him that the box had breathed a suspicion -that Jerry had stolen the money and run away. Then he kicked it, and -sat down and cried as if his heart would break. His pardner, little -Jerry, a thief! No, he would never, never believe it. - -He sat up till midnight, and it seemed to him there had never been such -loneliness since the world began. Then the next morning he made some -inquiries. Their two nearest neighbors were washerwomen. Both had been -out all day. No one had seen Jerry. - -If Jerry’s father were not in prison--but he had been sent up in -February for a year, and here it was only the last of June. Or if there -had been any evil companions hanging around; but Jerry and every scrap -of his belongings, as well as the money, had surely disappeared. - -There was no gay excursion for Tim. He brooded over his desertion, and -grew morose, began to save his money again, and shut himself up like -a hermit. The poor, crippled boy that he had taken to his heart, that -he had warmed and fed! Ah! it was very bitter. Perhaps not even his -beautiful Miss May would care to remember him. - -So he did not go near her. Autumn came on apace. One dreary November -day, when he could find nothing to do, he turned homeward, weary and -heart-sick. Ah, if there was only a cheery voice to welcome him! - -Some one stood by his door, a lady in dainty attire. Some one caught -his arm, and cried,-- - -“O, Tim, I’m so glad you have come! I have been waiting almost an hour. -Tim, I’ve found little Jerry, and he is dying; but he asks for you -constantly. Come right away. Don’t lose a moment.” - -“Jerry!” in a sort of dazed way, as if he but half understood. “Little -Jerry--my pardner? O, Miss May--no, you can’t mean it--dying?” - -“Yes. Hurry, Tim. I’ve waited so long already!” - -They walked down the stairs, scudded through the streets to a horse -car. It seemed to Tim as if they rode an hour. Then they alighted, and -a short walk brought them to a decent looking tenement house. Up one -flight of stairs, and the door opened. - -“Is it Tim?” asked a weak voice. - -Tim threw himself on his knees by the bedside, and kissed the sweet, -wan face with the tenderness of a mother. For some minutes only sobs -were heard. - -“You told him, Miss May?” - -“No, Jerry. We hurried so there was no chance. But I will tell him -every word.” - -“O, Tim, you didn’t think I was a thief? It broke my heart to go. It -was father. He got out some way, and had been watching us. He came that -night when we were so happy counting our money, but he didn’t dare -offer to take me away then. The next morning he walked in with a paper, -which he said was a warrant for me, and that if I dared to say a word -he’d send me to the Refuge. I picked up my things--I was so afraid of -him--and then he wanted the money, and swore if I didn’t get it he’d -murder me. I told him I wouldn’t; so he tied my hands and bound my -mouth, lest I should scream, and then he hunted everywhere; and O, Tim, -he found it! He took me right out of the city with him to a vile den, -where they wanted to make a thief of me.” - -“O, Jerry, dear, don’t talk; it takes away all your strength. God knows -I never could have a hard thought of you now;” and Tim broke down. - -“Just a little. I couldn’t get back to you. They watched me, and beat -me until I was sore and stiff; and there I staid until only a fortnight -ago, when one night I gave them the slip. I wanted to come back and -tell you how it was, but the way was so far, and I was so tired, so -tired! Then I fell down in the street, and a good woman picked me up -and brought me in here, where it’s so nice and clean, Tim, and such a -quiet place to die in! And then I don’t seem to remember much until -yesterday, when Miss May came in, and this morning, when she brought -her father. And then I wanted to see you, to tell you--Tim, if I could -live and earn the money--you were so good to me--so good. Tim, if you -could hold me in your arms again! Miss May said I would find mammy in -heaven; that God cared for poor little boys. Does He, Tim? I like you -to tell me. And will you come and let me be your pardner again? Is it -very far? Kiss me, Tim. You know now I wasn’t a thief. Miss May sang -something yesterday about opening the starry gates--” - - “At the portals Jesus waits; - All the heavenly host, begin; - Open wide the starry gates, - Let the little traveller in,” - -sang the sweet voice over a tremulous sob. - -Closer clung the thin arms, and the cool cheek was pressed against -Tim’s, hot with burning tears. The little hands that had kept their -house tidy, and prepared the simple meals, lay limp and useless. The -eyes could not see any more, but the lips smiled and murmured a few -incoherent words, soft, sweet, and then an awesome silence. The little -waif Jerry had gone over the river. - -“O, Miss May,” cried Tim, “they _will_ take him in--won’t they? For, -you see, the poor little chap didn’t have a square chance in this -world! He’s been kicked and cuffed about, and had to go on crutches, -an’ been half starved many a time, but he wouldn’t lie nor steal for -all that. He ought to be happy somewheres. O, Jerry! Jerry! I loved you -so! And you was true to the last!” - -“They will take him in,” Miss May says, with solemn tenderness. And -presently she unclasps the arms that are wound around Jerry’s neck, -lays the poor hands straight, and leads Tim over by the window. He -looks at her with dumb, questioning eyes, as if he would fain have her -fathom the mystery that he knows so little about. She brushes away some -tears; but O, what can she say to comfort him? For Jerry was all he had. - -Presently Tim comes back and kisses the cold lips and stares at the -strange beauty overspreading the wan face. - -“O, Miss May,” he cries, “do you suppose I could ever earn enough to -pay for his being buried in some country place, where there’d be a few -flowers and a tree growing over him? I’d work all my life long. For -he’d like it so. I can’t bear to think of having him carried away--” - -“No,” she says, with a shiver. “I will see about it, Tim.” Then she -gives a few orders to the woman, and goes away, leaving Tim with his -“pardner.” - -Dr. May shook his head at his daughter at first, and said it was folly; -but two days after he had him buried in a pretty rural cemetery, with a -white marble slab above his head containing two words--“Tim’s Partner.” -And Tim, who takes care of the doctor’s horse now, and does odd chores, -pauses occasionally and says to Miss May, “There never can be anybody -quite like Jerry to me again. Over in the other country we’ll be -pardners forever.” - -[Illustration] - - - - -“UNTO BABES.” - -BY HELEN KENDRICK JOHNSON. - - -“’Et, ittie oottie, I dettie ut ’en it det e ittie iter;” which, being -interpreted, means, “Yes, little rooster, I’ll get up when it gets a -little lighter.” - -The same was uttered by a pair of cherry lips, opening below a pair of -laughing eyes, which were parted from the cherry lips by a cherry nose. -The nose was cherry because it stuck out from the face so round and -plump that the sun, which had been around painting cherries just this -time of the year, threw a glance at it and said, “There’s another!” and -gave it a good strong stroke with his brush. This little accident made -the whole face look funny; for, like most people who do their work in a -hurry, the sun had dipped up so much paint, and dashed it at the nose -so carelessly, that it had hit ever so many other places--a spot on the -chin, a daub on the cheeks, and a streak on the forehead. - -Now there is some excuse for the sun; for while everybody knows that -boys never will stand still long enough to have their faces properly -attended to, everybody, little and big, and not only that, but every -tree and flower and blade of grass, keeps dancing and whirling about, -while the sun is trying to fix it. - -The result is just what you would expect--apples with one red cheek and -one white one, blackberries with three colors on the same stem, so that -the boys can always quote the old riddle, “blackberries are red when -they’re green,” and cherries that make half your pail-full, “not fit to -eat,” according to your mother, and speckled little fellows, just like -this one. - -On this particular morning there was great excitement in the towzley -head that popped up to make the lucid remark above quoted. His big -sister did not dream that little Wide Awake took it all literally when -she said, “Don’t get up the first time the rooster crows.” - -She forgot that childhood’s sweetest trait is trust, and she was -startled to remember it when she heard the precious little fellow’s -sweet voice twitter out in the faint dawn: - -“Et, ittie ootie, I dettie ut ’en it det e ittie iter.” - -Long before the sun had fairly got his paints mixed for another dash at -the fruit and the children, Strut crowed again. - -Was Wide Awake asleep? Asleep, indeed! Up went the head again, and this -time two flying heels followed, and the bright voice sang again: - -“’E ootie c’ows, an’ _a’aw_ ’e do’s.” - -He meant to say: - -“The rooster crows, and away he goes,” meaning his little self. - -“Little brother, it isn’t time to get up for an hour. Hop into bed -again,” called out Sister Laura. - -“’Ou ed e _’econ’_ tine,” said a sorrowful, drooping little voice. - -“Go to sleep--that’s a good boy!” was the answer, and Laura set the -copy for him by going off instantly herself. - -But Wide Awake had not won his name without deserving it, and he passed -a long and lonesome hour trying to amuse himself with nothing. - -Finally, dressing-time came. When he reached the kitchen, all was as -busy as a coming picnic could make it. Dinah was flying from cellar to -pantry, and from pantry to oven. As soon as he got to the back stairs -door-way, Wide Awake spied something wrong high up on Dinah’s back. - -“Attieilly on ou olly,” he cried out. - -“Keep still, Allie; don’t boffer me screaming,” said Dinah. - -“_Attieilly on ou olly_,” said he, coming close to her, and pointing, -and pulling her dress. - -“Go ’long, I tell you!” said she. “I’ll tell your sister, and you won’t -get no cake.” - -Allie reluctantly stepped back a little; but he spoke volumes of -anxiety, had any one been looking. - -No one was. - -“Oh! what’s dat on my neck?” screamed out Dinah, in a minute. “Oh-h-h!” - -“Allie _tole_ Dine attieilly on ou olly,” said Allie, as Dinah’s cries -brought Laura, who picked off from Dinah’s neck an immense caterpillar, -which the patient little fellow had been compelled to watch in its -upward journey from the shoulder where he first espied it. - -At length the preparations were fairly finished, the horses were at -the door, Allie’s eyes were dancing almost out of his head with joy, -the refreshments were all packed in, and, almost in the midst of the -baskets a stool was set for Allie, and his happy little self deposited -upon it. The rest were finally seated, and the picnickers move off for -Dudley’s woods. - -Everybody talked and laughed together; and Allie sang to himself, with -no fear of being heard. Presently he seized an end of his sister’s -shawl, and shouted with all his might: - -“Doos, Laula, doos!” - -“Yes, dear, Laula knows.” - -“_My_ doos, Laula! my _doos_ ober dare.” - -“Yes, dear, never mind,” was the answer. - -“Ve’er min’ _doos_, Laula?” said the voice, anxiously. - -“No, never mind, we’ll see another.” - -“Where is the feather on your hat, child?” asked Laura, when they had -ridden two miles farther. - -“Doos _dawn_, Laula; ’ou ed no min’ my doos.” - -“Dear me! that was what he called his feather,--his goose,” said she. -“I might have remembered.” - -“Laula, Allie’s feets feel ’et.” - -“Wet, child? I guess not,” said Laura, and chatted on. - -They were nearing the woods as she spoke, and soon the loaded carriages -turned into a wood so uninviting and full of underbrush that you looked -again all over the party to see if they appeared crazy from anything -but gay spirits. - -No, they were sane, no doubt; and there must be an explanation for such -a choice. The explanation was, that it was not choice at all, it was -circumstance which guided them. Twenty-five years ago that very day, -a party of four young married people, with their older children, had -come to this wood to pick blackberries, which grew in great abundance -upon its borders. It was half a frolic; but still it was no accident -that sent them home with forty shining black quarts to enjoy by their -firesides. The next year they went again, and the next, and the next; -and every year the company grew larger. But, strange to say, as it grew -larger the quarts grew smaller, and finally, somehow or other, “the -blackberries are not worth picking this year;” or “the blackberries -are all dried up this year,” became the continual complaint when the -excursionists returned home with emptier and emptier baskets. - -But the “Blackberry Party” grew as thick as its namesake fruit had been -of old, and now, for twenty-five years, fathers and mothers, sons and -daughters, grandchildren and neighbors, gathered to the time-honored -festival. To be sure, every year more of the elders stayed behind, -because they missed one and another who were there “last year,” and -life’s merriment was checked for them forever until they should follow. - -But new ones had come to take the lead, and the merry scenes went on in -the gnarled old forest. It was a strange fact that in all these years -the day on which the picnic occurred had never been stormy. A glorious -succession of bright days had spanned the quarter of a century, and it -was taken as a sign that heaven smiled peculiarly upon the innocent joy -which the day was sure to bring. - -This was the quarter centennial, and the procession had picked up -little Allie, as “big enough to go this year.” And so little Allie was -very happy, although, in spite of Sister Laura’s assurance, he _did_ -think that his feet were “’et.” - -Laura thought so too, in a minute; for she lifted a can that had once -held six quarts from the “morning’s milking,” and found “only a stingy -little pint or so,” left. - -“Allie’s feet _us_ ’et, Laula,” said the voice, which did not dream -that it sounded like the silver trumpet of an unheeded angel. - -“Fisk an’ Tarlo ginkin auty, Laula,” said Allie once more. - -“Carlo naughty! drive him away. But he won’t bite Allie.” - -“No, _’e bite auty_, ’pring auty.” - -“Never mind,--he won’t hurt you. Carlo is a good doggie.” - -“Go ’way, there! What are you doing, you scamps! I declare! Frisk and -Carlo have been drinking half that spring water!” - -“Allie tole Laula.” - -But Laula was bemoaning the loss; for the spring was almost a mile -away, and this wood was provided with no modern conveniences. - -The cask of ice-water was too precious to be used for cooking purposes, -and away trudged the youths for another bucket-full. - -This weakened the effective force of the dinner getters materially; -for, under the pretense of picking the traditional blackberries, nearly -all the party, in couples or in groups, had strayed off to parts -unseen. The remaining ones were lighting a lively fire, and going -through various manœuvres before it, and a certain odor therefrom said -plainly, “You don’t often get better coffee than I come from.” - -Allie, meantime, was roaming about unnoticed. He gained an immense -amount of information in this leisure hour. - -Presently Laura called out, “I have got the lemons ready; bring me that -box of sugar.” - -The box was brought, a ten-pound one, and full to the brim. - -“Laula, don’ pu’ dat! Dat au ’alt, Laula!” - -“Allie doesn’t like to see his pet sugar thrown away in such a big -hole,” said she, gayly, as she emptied the box into the oaken cask. -“Run for the ice-water, I hear them coming from all directions.” - -Great white lumps of ice, pure cold water,--in they went, and Laura -stirred violently with her monstrous ladle. - -“Allie shall have the first taste,” said she, “to show him that his -dear sugar is not wasted.” - -“Allie don’ wan’! Allie know e au ’alt.” - -“All spoilt? No, dear, just see how nice it is!” - -“Laula pu’ in ’_alt_,” said he, again. “Laula ta’!” - -Laula did “ta’,” then; and she dropped the cup with a scream of horror. -For, besides the fact that ten pounds of salt in any combination do not -help to make either a refreshing or a thirst-allaying drink, here were -five dozen fine lemons, and many quarts of ice-water, a hopeless loss. - -“How could that stupid Dinah bring the salt instead of the sugar?” she -muttered, as soon as vexation would allow her to speak at all. - -One by one the party dropped in, and the first cry was for lemonade, -“Laura’s famous manufacture.” More famous than it ever had been it -became immediately, and, amid the general din of exclamations no one -heard Allie say: - -“Allie knew. Allie _tole_ Laula ’bout _’alt_!” - -Then was felt, with greater cruelty, the absence of milk for the -fragrant coffee; and the delicious cake, and sandwiches, and ham, and -turkey, and tarts, and pastry, were but half enjoyed. - -It was with a heavy heart that poor Laura packed up the dishes, and -laid away more untouched food, than usual. - -A row of lemon and berry pies had been set upon one of the benches; and -somebody, to keep the insects out, had thrown a table-cloth upon them. -Along came two lovers, whose visions were only fairy-like, and who were -in that state of mind when it made no difference where they rested or -went, so that they rested or went together. With their eyes entirely -occupied in gazing at one another, they wandered up to the temporary -cupboard. - -A little voice close by fairly screamed out: - -“Don’ ’it on ’e bys! Don’t ’it on ’e bys!” - -A vague smile into his earnest face was all the reply he received, and -down sat the pair, too full of a fond trust in themselves to remember -to doubt anything created. - -“Oh! oh! oh! oh!” resounded all about them, and an instant later their -own “oh” mingled in the chorus, as the groan of broken crockery rose on -the air, and table-cloth and drapery were pronounced a ruin. - -“’Ou ’at wite on ’e bys,” said a voice which was not needed to confirm -the fact. - -At length the light of the twenty-fifth glorious day began to steal in -long darting lines among the foliage that had been a shelter from its -rays all day. As the company assembled, it was found to have been an -unusually bad year for blackberries, though why it should have been the -most imaginative did not venture to suggest. - -As they started homeward Laura said: - -“Now sit right still, Allie, for fear you should fall out, for we shall -go very fast indeed.” - -There was little need for the warning, as Allie was well wedged down in -front, and well wrapped up in an extra shawl of Laura’s, because she -forgot to bring his little overcoat. - -But by-and-by the whip worked quietly out of its broken holder, and no -eyes but the two bright, observant eyes in the littlest head saw that -in a minute it must fall. - -The little fellow tried to dart forward, but the great shawl held him -too securely. - -“Sit still, Allie,” said Laura. - -Poor Allie seemed to think he might as well, too. His warnings had -saved nothing, yet; but still from his huge roll of woolen he said: - -“’E ’ip dop, Laula.” - -Presently the horses lagged a little, and the driver, leaning forward -for his whip, discovered its loss. - -The long procession halted, wondering what had happened to the first -carriage. The whip was found, “’way back,” and, as two carriages had -passed over it, it was a handsome whip no more. - -“What a shame!” said the driver, as he tried to crack the broken lash. - -“Allie tole ’ou. Allie’s patint am keen wown ou’!” fell from the cherry -lips. - -Now came home and bed for the little child who had begun to be joyous -in anticipation at four o’clock in the morning. No wonder that in such -a long series of discouragements his “patience was clear wore out.” - -His sleep that night was broken by a kind of baby-boy, Cassandra-like -murmur, which would have touched to its depths the heart of any tender -soul that heard it. - -“Laula,” it said, plaintively, “Allie tole ’ou!” - -But Laula was fast asleep. - -[Illustration: A PRIZE FOR A SQUIRREL.] - - - - -[Illustration] - -WHAT HAPPENED TO THE BABY. - -BY MAGARET EYTINGE. - - -The Tutchy children were all mad. - -I don’t mean they had lost their senses and required strait-jackets, -but they certainly did need something to smooth the frowns from their -brows and the pouts from their lips. - -The Tutchy children were pretty children--when they weren’t mad--with -bright blue eyes, much the color of some of their grandmother’s -centennial dinner-plates, and auburn hair that looked as though it -would, on the slightest provocation, turn red. - -There were nine of them, Susie, Willie, Robbie, Lizzie, Nellie, Annie, -Sallie, Maud and Baby. - -Quite enough for such a little woman as Mrs. Tutchy to look after. - -Captain Tutchy was away--he was away about half the time with his ship -“The Treasure”--named, he said, after his wife--and Mrs. Tutchy had -just received a letter from him saying he could not be home for the -Christmas holidays, and so the children must wait for their presents -and their party until he came, “and you may expect me, my dear,” the -letter ended, “the second day of the New Year.” - -And this is why the Tutchy children were mad. - -They said nothing until mamma, hearing baby cry, went out of the room. -Then they began: - -“What will Christmas be without papa?” said Lizzie. “Who’s to laugh, -I’d like to know? Papa does most of the laughing.” - -“I shan’t, for one!” said Willie. - -“Nor I,” said Robbie. - -“There won’t be a bit of fun getting up early on Christmas morning,” -said Nellie. “No boxes to open, and no stockings to empty!” - -“_I’ll_ not hang up my stocking, and I’ll not get up early, either--so -there now!” said Annie. - -“Why? won’t Santa Claus come at all?” asked Sallie and Maud, in one -breath. - -“Yes, I s’pose he’ll come,” answered Annie, “but he won’t bring such -nice things as he does when papa’s home. He’s a very, very old friend -of papa’s.” - -“No party! Just think of it!” said Susie. “’Twon’t seem like Christmas.” - -“And the captain,” said Robbie, who was fond of giving the captain his -title, “isn’t coming back till the day school begins. He never did such -a thing before, and _I_ think it’s real mean!” - -“Great old holidays!” said Lizzie. - -“_I’m_ mad!” said Susie, who, by-the-by, was the eldest of them all. - -“So are we all of us!” said the others in chorus. - -Just then Mrs. Tutchy came into the room with Baby in her arms, and in -Baby’s arms was a funny, broken-nosed doll. - -Baby was the sweetest, dearest little thing that ever played -“patty-cake” or said “goo.” - -Her eyes were so blue that you thought of violets, blue-bells, and -summer skies, the moment you saw them, and then gave it up, for there -was nothing quite as blue as they were, and her silken hair lay all -over her pretty, round head in tiny rings just the size and color of -mamma’s wedding-ring. - -Mrs. Tutchy looked both surprised and sad when she saw eight frowns and -pouts--perhaps I should say seven, as wee Maud’s almost disappeared -when she looked up at her mother--instead of eight smiles. - -But she pretended not to notice the sixteen unlovely things, and said, -in a pleasant voice, “Baby is ready for a ride. I have wrapped her up -warmly. Get her hood, Susie, and, Willie and Robbie, fasten her little -wagon on your new sled. You may all go for a walk--I don’t remember -such a fine 24th of December for years--but I shall expect you home in -an hour, and whatever you do, take good care of Baby.” - -Now if the Tutchy children had not been mad they would have jumped up -and down and shouted and half-smothered Baby with hugs and kisses; but -being mad, they went silently about--their silence, to tell the truth, -would have been considered noise by a small, quiet family--preparing -for their walk. - -And when they were ready, if Maud had not set them the example, they -would have actually forgotten to kiss mamma “good-by.” Dear me! how mad -they were! - -Off they started in a funereal manner, Susie and Maud ahead, the other -girls following two by two, and the boys dragging Baby, still holding -the broken-nosed doll, in her little wagon on the sled, bringing up the -rear. - -Baby crowed and cooed and prattled to her dollie--there never was a -jollier baby in the whole world--but still Will and Bobbie frowned and -pouted. - -“I wish we didn’t have to lug Baby everywhere,” at last said Willie. - -“So do I,” said Robbie. - -They had never thought, much less said such a thing before, but then -they had never been quite as mad before. - -Suddenly the sound of a drum was heard, then the shrill blasts of horns -and the ear-piercing strains of a fife, and they could see a crowd -gathering in the distance. - -“Hurry up!” called Susie, who had remarkably sharp eyes, “there’s some -men on horseback dressed awful funny!” and away she ran, dragging Maud -by the hand, and away went Nellie, Lizzie, Annie and Sallie after her -as fast as they could go. - -“We can’t run with Baby,” said Willie, “and we’ll miss all the fun!” - -“Too bad!” said Robbie, with two frowns rolled into one. “But I say, -Will, let’s go anyhow.” - -“Pshaw! there won’t be anything to see by the time _we_ get there,” -said Will. - -“I don’t mean to take Baby,” said Robbie. “We’ll leave her by the door -of this empty house. Nothing can happen to her before we come back.” - -“That’s so,” said Will, “we won’t be gone a minute;” and they lifted -the sled, wagon and all, up the two steps that led to the door, and, -before Baby knew what they were about, they were off. - -The other children were already two blocks away, but the boys soon -overtook them, and another block brought them to the spot where the -crowd was gathered. - -The frowns and pouts, for the time being, disappeared, and the Tutchys -laughed long and loud at the antics of the queer-looking figures who -were parading about with a patch-work banner inscribed, “Old Original -Santa Claus Guards,” when suddenly Susie turned around, and with -frightened eyes cried out: - -“Why Will,--Robbie, where’s Baby?” - -Will hung his head, but Robbie, assuming a careless air, replied: - -“The captain’s youngest daughter? O! she’s safe. We couldn’t bring her -and run after you too, and so we left her.” - -But Susie waited to hear no more. “Show me where!” she said, and they -all started back again on a much faster run than that with which they -had followed “The Old Original Santa Claus Guards.” - -The “house to let” was quickly reached. - -No sled--no wagon--no broken-nosed doll--no BABY was there! - -And now indeed the frowns and pouts took flight, and tears and sobs -came in their stead. - -“O dear! O dear!” cried the Tutchy children, “what shall we do?” - -Then they ran hither and thither, asking every one they met: - -“Have you seen a baby in a little wagon on a sled?” - -“A beautiful baby, with blue eyes?” - -“A broken-nosed baby--O, no, no, no! a _lovely_ baby with a -broken-nosed doll?” - -“A sweet baby, with golden curls?” - -“A baby named ‘Snow-drop’ and ‘Diamond’ and ‘Bird’ and ‘Plum’?” - -No one had seen her, and sadly the procession took up the line of march -for home. - -How they told their mamma they never knew, but when the tale was done -she gave one great gasp, and tore out of the house like a wild woman, -with no hat on her head, and nothing but a small shawl about her. - -“I must go too,” said Susie, and she flew after the poor distracted -mother, while the seven other children sat down on the floor and cried. - -“O! how wicked we have been,” said Lizzie, “to say that to-morrow -wouldn’t be a merry Christmas, when we had such a darling, beautiful -baby!” - -“And dear papa coming home in a few days!” sobbed Nellie. - -“And mamma so good and sweet!” said Sallie. - -“And all of us such very nice chilluns!” said Maud. - -Willie and Robbie said nothing, but buried their faces in their hands, -and wept softly. - -[Illustration: “I SEE DIS YERE BABY A-SETTIN’ ON A SLED.”] - -The sun went down, and back came mamma and Susie, hollow-eyed and pale, -but no Baby. - -Not one of the children thought of stockings, or presents, or parties, -or Christmas itself, that wretched Christmas Eve, but they clustered in -silence, real silence this time, about their mother, until one by one -they fell asleep. - -But Mrs. Tutchy sat with dry, wide-opened eyes, listening--listening -all night long, until the joyous morning chimes rang out upon the -clear, frosty air. - -As they ceased, the sharp ringing of the street door-bell echoed -through the quiet house. - -Dropping wee Maud from her lap, where she had slept for several hours, -the poor little woman, her heart beating loud and fast, hastened with -trembling steps to the door and flung it open. - -There stood a tall, straight negro woman, with a gaudy turban on her -head, a small boy, much darker than herself, clinging to her skirts -with one hand, and yes--O, thanks to the good God--holding the rope of -the boys’ sled with the other, baby in her arms! - -Almost as wild with joy as she had been with sorrow, the mother -snatched her darling, and covered her with kisses. - -“Come in, come in,” she cried, in her old, pleasant voice, the tired -gone out of her face, and her eyes shining bright with happiness. - -Up jumped the Tutchy children from all corners of the room, and such a -hurrahing and shouting of “Merry Christmas,” and kissing of Baby never -was known, even in _that_ house before. - -“An’ now, yo’ Abraham Ulysses, yo’ jess tell the lady yo’ information,” -said the woman to the grinning boy, pulling her dress out of his hand, -and pushing him forward. - -“Needn’t push so,” said Abraham Ulysses, rolling his eyes about in the -most wonderful manner for a moment, and then fixing them solemnly on -Mrs. Tutchy’s face. - -“I war a-goin’ along, an’ da’ war a drum down da’--I’s goin’ to have a -drum--” - -“I’ll _drum_ ye,” interrupted his mother, giving him a smart slap on -the cheek. “Perceed on yo’ story widout no prelimnaries.” - -“Yo’ jess stop dat now, Mary Ann Johnson. I ain’t tellin’ no story. I’s -tellin’ the truff, ebery word of it, an’ yo’d better mine yo’ brack -bisness, Mary Ann Johnson, and dat’s de fac’!” - -“Lissen at dat ar sassy young nigger!” said Mary Ann Johnson, raising -her hands and eyes. “Go on, I tell yo.” - -Abraham Ulysses went on. - -“Da war a drum an’ sojers--I’s goin’ to be a sojer, a sword sojer--and -all de wite folks dey runned to see ’em, an’ I runned, too, but ’pears, -tho’, I couldn’t git da’, an’ I see dis yere baby a-settin’ on a sled, -an’ I sez to myself, ‘Bressed nippers! Abra’m ’Lysses, dat ar’s one of -dem angel babies dat done come done from hebben Chrismasses, an’ dat -ar’ sled she’s a-settin on, Santy Close’s goin’ to giv’ to yo’ sho’s -yo’ bohn!’ an’ I took hole dat ar rope, an’ drug dat ar’ sled--” - -“To our premises,” interrupted his mother, “an’ he cum a-runnin’ in, -an’ a-shoutin’ ‘Hi! mam, here’s a little angel fer yo’! take her out de -waggin quick, an’ giv’ de sled to me.’” - -“But bress yo’ heart, honey, I knowed dat ar’ baby was mislaid de -minute dese eyes beheld her, an’ I took de sweet thing in my arms an’ -mollified her tears, an’ giv’ her some milk an’ soon she fell asleep. - -“An’ I set up dis yere bressed night wid dat ar’ bressed chile, -’spectin’ ebery minute somebody’d come and require for her, an’ sho’ -’nuff, a perliceman makes his appearment early dis yere bressed mornin’ -an’ tole me--how he foun’ out war de chile was de Lord ony knows--to -fetch de pooty lammie here, an’ I done come tho’ Mr. Johnson is -a-waitin fer his breakfis’, an’ de pork a-sizzlin’ in de pan dis yere -bressed minute.” - -“Thank you a million times!” said Mrs. Tutchy; and in the twinkling -of an eye Mary Ann Johnson was several dollars richer than when she -entered the room. - -“Thank you a million of times!” repeated the children; and Will, after -whispering a moment with Robbie, went up to Abraham Ulysses, and placed -the rope of the sled, which he had dropped while telling his story, in -his funny little black hand. “The ‘Two-Forty’ is yours,” he said. - -“Hi, mam! look a-yere, yo’ Mary Ann Johnson, wot I done tole yo’? Santy -Close _did_ send it to me,” screamed Abraham Ulysses, cutting a queer -caper, “an’ sho’s yo’s bohn dat ar’ baby _is_ an angel, too, ain’t -she?” turning to Mrs. Tutchy. - -“Yes, my boy,” said the happy little woman, “the angel of _this_ -house.” - -[Illustration] - -[Illustration: A TURKISH CARRIAGE.] - - - - -[Illustration] - -MRS. WHITE’S PARTY. - -BY MRS. H. G. ROWE. - - -“Now, Ef May, you go right straight back home! Lotty an’ I want a -little time to ourselves without a little snip like you taggin’ after, -an’ listenin’ to every word we say; so you go right straight back this -minute!” - -Little Effie Maylie Marsh (called “Ef May” for short) turned her round -blue eyes for a moment full upon her sister, and then, without word -or sign, trotted composedly along in that sister’s wake, serenely -oblivious of the fact that she was the one too many in the little -party that had started, joyful at the prospect of a whole afternoon’s -confidential chat, for the blackberry patch over the hill, when poor Ef -May as usual intruded her roly-poly presence just when she was least -wanted. - -“Did Mother know that you came?” - -Sister Anne looked and spoke with all the dignity that her twelve years -was capable of, but the intruder never flinched. - -“Yes, she did. _I_ said lemme go pick blackberry with the other girls, -an’ _she_ said”-- - -“What?” - -“Yes, if they don’t pro_ject_.” - -Both girls laughed, for Ef May was famous for her conversational -blunders, and good-natured Lotty whispered under the shelter of her -sunbonnet: - -“Let her go, she won’t do any harm.” - -“Yes she will. She’ll hear every single word we say and tell Gus of it -just as quick as she gets home. _I_ know her, of old.” - -Poor Anne had had bitter experiences of her little sister’s quickness -of hearing and equal quickness in repeating whatever she had heard, and -she was far too shrewd to trust her on this occasion. But how to get -rid of the dear little nuisance--ah, that was the rub! - -“May,” she whispered mysteriously, and Ef May pricked up her ears and -looked curious. “If you’ll go home now, like a good girl, you shall -(put your ear closer, so Lotty won’t hear) go to _Mrs. White’s party_, -to-night.” - -Ef May had often heard older people talk about parties, and in her -inquisitive little soul she had longed many a time, to know more about -them, and especially to see with her own eyes what they were like; and -now she stood with her great blue eyes wide open like a pair of very -early morning glories, and a little flush of excitement deepened the -roses on her plump cheeks, as Anne continued in her most seductive -tones: - -“Now, run right along, there’s a darling! and I’ll get you ready, my -own self, and see that you have a”-- - -“Rockaway?” suggested Lotty, in a voice that sounded suspiciously -hoarse, to which Anne replied, with an air of lofty disdain that,-- - -“Ef May had outgrown such babyish ways long ago, and would go to the -party as other folks did.” - -Ef May was a very old bird for one of her age, and this “chaff” between -the two girls did strike her as a little suspicious. Perhaps there was -some hidden flaw in this magnificent offer, and jerking her little -yellow curly head one side like a shrewd canary, she fixed one round, -bright eye full upon her sister’s face as she asked solemnly: - -“Now, Anne Marsh,--‘honest an’ true, black an’ blue,’ can I go to Mrs. -White’s party, this very night?” - -“Yes, you shall, if I have to go with you myself.” - -Ef May was satisfied; even Lotty’s half suppressed giggle passed -unobserved, and her face shone with happy anticipation as turning her -chubby feet homeward she smiled her parting salutation: - -“Good-by,--I’ll go home an’ _’repair_ myself for the party.” - -The girls laughed, but Lotty said rather regretfully: - -“It was kinder too bad to _fool_ the little thing so. What will you say -to her when night comes?” - -“Oh, I’ll coax her up, somehow--make her doll a new hat, maybe.” - -And thus dismissing poor Ef May and her forthcoming disappointment from -their minds the two girls walked gaily on, laughing and chatting in -their pleasant school-girl fashion, as they gathered the rich purple -berries, heedless of scratched hands and stained finger tips, while -they listened to the partridge drumming in the cedars overhead, or -the social chatter of that provident little householder the squirrel, -who, perched upon some convenient bough out of possible reach of their -longing fingers, discoursed in the choicest squirrel language of his -way of preserving acorns and beechnuts by a receipt handed down from -squirrel forefathers as far back as the days of Noah--a receipt that -never had failed and never would. - -It was after sunset when, with full baskets and tired steps, they -walked up the lane that led to Anne’s home, both starting guiltily as -they caught sight of Ef May’s little figure seated in the doorway with -her bowl of bread and milk and her blue eyes turned wistfully upon them -as they came slowly up the clover-bordered path. - -“I was in hopes she’d be asleep,” muttered Anne with an uncomfortable -feeling at the heart as she saw the joyfully significant nod with which -her little sister greeted her, and hastily bestowing a generous handful -of the delicious fruit upon her, she said, with an effort to appear -natural and at ease: - -“See what a lot of nice, ripe blackberries I brought you!” - -The little girl smiled, but she shook her head with an air of happy -importance. - -“I’ll put ’em away for my breakfast,” she whispered. “I must save my -appetite for _to-night_, you know.” - -Anne could have cried with a relish. - -“Oh, Ef May,” she began penitently, “I’m afraid I’ve done wrong in -telling you--” - -“Come, Anne! Come right in! Supper is waiting for you,” called their -mother, and the confession was postponed until they should be alone -again; but when that time came, and, after her usual custom Anne took -the little one to her room to undress and put her to bed, the sight -of the child’s happy expectant face forced back the words that she -would have spoken and made her feel that she could not yet confess the -deception. - -“You must curl my hair real pretty, now. I _do_ wish,” with a sigh, -“that mamma would let me wear her _waterwig_.” - -And the bright eyes shone like stars, as she thus gave the signal for -the preparations to commence; and Anne obeyed, patiently brushing out -the tangled locks and curling them one by one over her fingers, while -she listened to the excited chatter of her little charge and vaguely -wondered how long it would be possible for those dreadfully wide awake -eyes to keep open. She was as long about her task as possible, but the -the last curl was finished at last, and Effie asked eagerly: - -“What dress are you going to put on me?” - -By this time poor Anne was fairly desperate. - -“I forgot to tell you,” she said with a sudden determination to carry -out the joke to the end, “that this is a queer party, something like -the ‘sheet and pillow case balls,’ that you’ve heard of,--and everybody -goes to this in----in their nightgowns.” - -Ef May looked up sharply. - -“What’s that for?” she asked with a suspicious look at her sister’s -guilty face. - -“Because--well, I guess its because its the fashion.” - -Ef May pondered the subject for a moment, and then her brow cleared: - -“I’ll wear my very bestest one, then, with the _tuckered out_ yoke an’ -_Humbug_ trimming,” she said, complacently, “an’ my corals outside.” - -Anne obeyed without a word, and the little lady surveyed herself in the -glass with a smile of intense satisfaction. - -“Ain’t it most time to go?” she asked, and Anne detecting, as she -thought, just the ghost of a yawn in the tone, replied briskly: - -“Oh no, not for some time yet. Come and sit in my lap,--there lay your -head on my shoulder, ea-sy, so as not to tumble the curls, and I’ll -sing, ‘Tap, tap, tapping at the garden gate,’ so you won’t get tired of -waiting you know.” - -[Illustration: MRS. WHITE’S PARTY.] - -The little girl was nothing loth to accept her sister’s offer, for in -spite of her exertions to keep herself awake the heavy eyelids would -droop, the curly head press more heavily, and the lively, chattering -little tongue grow slower and more indistinct in its utterances until -at last it was silent altogether; not even the tiniest line of blue -parted the golden lashes, the dimples settled undisturbed into their -old places about the rosy mouth while only the faintest breath of a -sigh answered to Anne’s good-night kiss as she softly laid her precious -burden down among the snowy pillows of her own little bed, and stole -away, with the secret resolve in her heart that never again, by word -or act, would she deceive the innocent little sister who trusted so -implicitly in her truth and honor. - - * * * * * - -It _was_ a funny party, and Ef May looked about her in astonishment -as a servant in dressing gown and night-cap, announced in a sleepy -sing-song tone: - -“Miss Ef May Marsh?” - -Mrs. White, a heavy-eyed lady in an elaborately embroidered and ruffled -night-dress, gave her hand a little languid shake, and asked, in a -faint, die-away voice: - -“How do you rest, my dear?” - -“Very well, ma’am, generally, ’cept when I eat too much cake for my -supper.” - -At this Mrs. White nodded intelligently. - -“’S that you, Ef May?” murmured a voice at her elbow, and there was -Tommy Bliss, his brown curls all in a tangle, and--oh, horrible! in a -yellow flannel night-gown with _legs_. Such a figure as he was with his -short body all the way of a bigness, and his little yellow straddling -legs like an old-fashioned brass andiron. - -Ef May turned away and pretended not to see him, while she remarked -with an air of kindly condescension to a little girl near her: - -“It’s _impressively_ warm here.” - -“Kick the clo’es off, then.” - -There was a refreshing briskness in the tones that went straight to Ef -May’s heart and she “took to” the stranger on the spot. - -“Who is that old gentleman with such a big tassel in his night-cap?” - -The little girl rubbed her eyes and looked in the direction indicated. - -“Oh, that’s old Dr. Opiamus. He gives all the babies paragoric, and the -old folks laudanum, so that they can die and not know it.” - -Ef May shuddered. There was something in the idea that even to her -childish fancy was horrible. - -“Don’t you want another blanket?” asked her new friend; but Ef May -shook her head. - -“I hear some music?” she exclaimed, and just then began the funniest -medley of sound that was ever heard: - -First, a low, soft, half-frightened strain as of some wandering -night-bird calling to his mate to set her glow-worm lamp in the window -to light him home; then the quick, cheery note of the cricket chimed -in; the owl’s solemn “too-whit! too-whit! too-whoo!” broke in at -stately intervals; and the “rain-call” of the loon burst forth like a -wild, weird laugh in the midst of the softer sounds, until the dancers, -who had tried in vain to keep time with the strange music, faltered, -hesitated, and at last stopped entirely, and dropped off to sleep upon -the couches and easy chairs with which the rooms were filled, to a low, -monotonous march that sounded exactly like the patter of raindrops upon -the roof. - -The costumes were a study, and Ef May who strange to say didn’t feel at -all sleepy herself, found it rare fun to watch them. - -There were old ladies, who minus their false fronts, teeth, and -spectacles, would never have been recognized by their most intimate -friends, in “calf’s-head” night-caps tied tightly under their chins, -short night-gowns with wide, crimped ruffles at neck and wrists, and -blue flannel petticoats just short enough to show the felt slippers -beneath; young ladies, whose wealth of curls, braids and puffs had many -a time excited the admiration and envy of their less fortunate sisters, -appeared here, looking like picked chickens, their luxuriant tresses -packed away in a drawer, their flounces, and ruffles, and panniers, and -overskirts, all safe in the closet, their jewelry and their smiles laid -aside together, and they nodded indifferently to stately gentlemen in -tasselled night-caps and gorgeous dressing gowns, or frowned aside upon -the boys, who, in all sorts of night gear, bobbed about in the most -desirable nooks and corners, disturbing everybody with their clumsy -ways and sleepy drollery. - -In short, taken as a whole, a comical looking set they were,--and -_so_ stupid! Ef May felt somewhat hurt and a good deal offended when -even her new friend dropped off into a doze instead of listening to -her questions, and she was only too glad when a good looking young -gentleman with a pen behind his ear and a roll of manuscript sticking -out of the pocket of his dressing gown, walked leisurely up to her and -began talking in a queer rambling fashion about the people around them. - -“What makes some of the sleepiest folks groan and grumble so, all the -time?” asked the little girl curiously, and her companion laughed, a -queer, dreamy sort of a laugh, as he replied: - -“Oh, those are the ones that came here on nightmares,--that sort of -riding always makes people restless, it’s worse than a hobby for that!” - -He spoke the last words with a sudden fierceness that startled her, but -he didn’t seem to notice her frightened face for he kept on talking, in -that steady but far off tone: - -“Do you see that man there with his face all twisted up into a knot? -That’s the head master of the Boys’ Grammar School,--he ate toasted -cheese for his supper and he’s having a hard night of it,--no doubt the -_boys_ will have _a hard time of it_, to-morrow.” - -Ef May thought of brother Gus’ careless scholarship, and trembled. - -“There’s a little girl that told a lie to her mother,--hear her moan -and sob! She will confess her fault and ask to be forgiven, in the -morning, I think.” - -Ef May silently took the lesson to heart. - -“Do you see that old fellow in the corner? How he grasps with his hands -and mutters, and now he is trying to call ‘murder!’ He has spent all -his life hoarding up riches, and now, sleeping or waking, he lives -in constant terror of losing his gold that he will neither spend for -himself or others.” - -“But here,” and the speaker pointed to a corner near at hand, where -rolled up into a round yellow ball, was the figure of Johnny Staples, -sound asleep in the velvety depths of an easy chair, his good-natured, -honest little face, calm and peaceful, with not a cloud of suffering, -remorse or fear to mar its innocent beauty. - -“But here,” he repeated, “is one who will find in our friend’s party -the refreshment and rest that only health and innocence can reasonably -expect.” - -Just then the company showed signs of a general breaking up, and the -assembled guests gave such a loud, unanimous _snore_ that Ef May -started up, terrified half out of her senses; and pulling vigorously at -her sleeping sister’s sleeve, she cried out with a burst of angry tears: - -“It’s a nasty, mean old party, any how! They snore, an’ talk in their -sleep, an’ make up faces, an’--I won’t go again, _so_, there!” - -But she _did_ for all that. - -[Illustration] - - - - -[Illustration] - -QUEER CHURCH. - -BY REV. S. W. DUFFIELD. - - -Of course Queer Church is on Queer Street, in the town of Manoa. And -all good boys and girls who study geography know just where Manoa ought -to be. - -The Rev. Mr. Thingumbob is the minister, and among the principal -attendants are Mr. So-and-So, Mr. What’s-his-Name, Mr. Jigmaree, Mr. -You-Know-Who, Mrs. Grundy, Mr. Tom Collins, the Misses Glubberson, Mr. -What-d’ye-Callum, that distinguished foreign family the Van Danks, -Mr. William Patterson, Mrs. Partington, and Mr. Gradgrind. You have -possibly heard of some of these persons before. Besides, there is quite -a congregation, and there is also a very big number of little people, -aged all the way from five to fifteen. - -Where there are so many of them it naturally follows that they have a -large number of things their own way. But probably my story would not -have been written if a little girl called True Gravelines hadn’t come -to town. “True” is short for Gertrude, which was her name. - -True had been taken from the Orphan Asylum by Mrs. Potiphar. And -because she loved the little lady, Mrs. Potiphar had her taught and -trained as her own daughter, and even Mrs. Grundy said that she -was charming, and the Glubberson girls--who were old maids and not -handsome--allowed that she would make a fine woman. - -Finally True came across the story of “Goody-Two-Shoes,” which that -great big child of an Oliver Goldsmith told so sweetly, and she had -some new ideas. One of them was that she would like to make some -changes in Queer Church. - -So she got all the boys and girls together after school and proposed -her plan. Now True was tall for her age, with dark eyes, and beautiful -rich brown hair. And she wore lovely dresses, and _such_ kid slippers, -and _such_ a splendid real gold chain with a true and genuine watch -that ticked and kept time. So of course she had matters a good deal in -her own hands. - -The “chatter meeting” (as she called it) was held in the summer-house -that cost ten thousand dollars, and that stood among Mrs. Potiphar’s -roses in the side garden back of the lawn. And it resolved to send a -committee to wait on Mr. Thingumbob--for Queer Church was the only -church in Manoa, and they all went there on Sundays. - -They weren’t a bit afraid of him--not they! He had lots of boys and -girls of his own, and one of them had such rosy cheeks that he looked -as though the angel had forgotten to bring him to the front door and -had stuck him in the apple-tree, whence, when he was ready to be -picked, his father had taken him down. - -To be sure True was the head of the delegation, and it started off, -twenty strong, on Saturday morning. How the people at the Manse opened -their eyes as the troop came in, just as grave as you please, and -asking to be shown up to the study. Well, so did the minister when he -saw them. He laid down his pen and he said: “How do you do, gentlemen -and ladies! Pray be seated!” So they all sat down wherever they could, -and waited for True to begin. - -“Mr. Thingumbob,” she said, “why can’t we be somebodies in church, too?” - -“I don’t know, my dear. Aren’t you somebodies now?” - -“O-dear-bless-me-no,” says True, all in a breath. - -“Well, what would you like to do?” asked Mr. Thingumbob. - -“Why, we’d just like to have one week all to ourselves in the church, -and one Sunday all to ourselves, to have sermons, and sing hymns, and -all such things.” - -The pastor looked very queer--just like his church. Now _that_ had in -it everything to make a church pleasant--but it was all for big people. -Said he “True, I guess I’ll try it. You stay here with me and let the -rest of these youngsters go.” - -So the black-eyed ten-year-older stayed and talked and planned, and -then how they laughed, and then they talked some more and laughed some -more, and then it was dinner-time. And away went True. - -On Sunday morning in that beautiful autumn weather, Mr. -Thingumbob--who did pretty much as _he_ pleased too told the church -about it. All that week the children were to have it their own way. -Nobody was to do anything but the children. As a special favor to -himself he wanted to have _them_ do just as they pleased all that week -and next Sunday, and he’d be responsible. - -When I first heard the story I thought the children and he must have -loved each a great deal, for him to make such an offer. And I guess -they did. - -Let’s see. Monday was his reception evening and he wanted nobody to -come but the children. So they all came, and played big people, and -asked about his health and how he enjoyed his summer vacation, and -talked of business, and said their children (doll-children you know) -had the measles and the whooping-cough, and what luck they had in -shooting (with a bow-gun) and how they hoped he’d call soon and all -that. Such a time! How funny it did seem, too. - -And then there was Tuesday evening, and Mr. Thingumbob had a literary -circle who met in the church parlor. So all the children went, and -all the big people were to have stayed away--but _I_ know some who -_peeked_. And Mr. Thingumbob told them about the little boy, Tom -Chatterton, up in St. Mary Radcliffe church, and the boxes with the old -papers, and how this small chap wrote poetry and how he pretended to -copy it from the old papers, and how great learned men went to words -over it and some said ‘He did’ and some said ‘He didn’t’ and some -called him a ‘forger’ and some called him a ‘genius,’ and how he got -tired of it all, and how he took a drink of arsenic and water and died -when he was hardly grown to be a man.--For that was just what the big -folks expected to talk about. - -And then there was Wednesday evening, and that was Prayer-meeting. -And the big grown-up people all stayed away and the little folks all -came. How they did sing! And what a pleasant talk they had _that_ -night too--about the little Boy that heard the doctors and asked them -questions until his mother thought he had run away and got lost. And -Mr. Thingumbob sat right down in the middle of them and they got all -around him and he was the only big man there was there. - -And then there was Thursday night--when the church people used to go -to their Mission Chapel and help the poor people to sing and pray -and find out how they did and what they wanted. So they all went -together--all the larger children of Queer church, that is--and saw the -mission people. And True Gravelines felt so badly for a poor little -girl that she gave her her warm gloves. And Tommy What’s-his-name let -another fellow have his brand-new jack-knife because he hadn’t got any -at all of his own. And there wasn’t one of them that didn’t give the -Mission people pennies, or promise things to them, like the big folks. - -And on Friday afternoon they had a sewing-society and the girls came -and sewed--dear, dear, what sewing it was!--and they brought lunch -along and the boys came to tea, and it was just like a pic-nic. And Mr. -Thingumbob was there too. And afterwards they played “Hy-Spy” in the -church up-stairs, down the aisles and in the galleries and back of the -organ--and True Gravelines, for real and certain, hid under the pulpit! -And then they set back all the chairs in the Sunday-school room and -played “Fox and Geese” and “Thread the Needle” and ever so many other -things that I don’t know the names of--only I _do_ know that they were -bound to act all the while like gentlemen and ladies, and they surely -did. - -And then came Saturday and they forgot all about being big men and -women, and went off to play and let Mr. Thingumbob alone so he could -_write_ his sermon. But he said he didn’t want to write his sermon, -he wanted to _talk_ it, and he asked True what he should talk about. -And she told him she wanted to hear about the little girl that was -sick and died and that Some One took by the hand and made her well. -So he said he would, and he promised to use real short weenty-teenty -words--“Because” said True, “there’s some that’s only little bits of -things and _they_ won’t understand.” - -And then Sunday came. And all the big people took back seats. And all -the little people went in to play big people, and opened their bibles -and their hymn-books, and stood up, and sat down, and sang, and leaned -their heads forward in prayer-time, and did just what they saw their -papas and mammas do. And one boy, Peter Gradgrind, he went to sleep, -because he said that was the way his father did. And Mr. Thingumbob -laughed when he heard that. - -And that was a real short service. It was all there, every bit of it. -But the sermon was only a quarter of an hour long and all the rest was -in the same proportion. - -When it came time for Sunday school they all went. And the biggest one -in each class taught the others. And by this time they had all got to -be so good that they were trying to be big folks in earnest. And there -was Tom Collins Jr. for Superintendent and _he_ tried his best. And -True played the tunes on the cabinet organ. And you never did see how -well it all went! - -Weren’t they tired when night came! But out they came again--that is -the bigger ones did--and then Mr. Thingumbob talked to them about -growing to be men and women. It was a little sermon in short words, -but I don’t think they will forget it--for it was about a Boy who did -what his father and mother wanted him to do, who learned his father’s -business and worked to help the family along, who always did good to -others, who tried to be a boy and yet to do like grown-up folks all the -while. And by this time all the boys and girls knew how it seemed to -play at big people, and make calls, and hear sermons, and do good. - -Then, they all went to bed and slept like tops. - -And they talk there to this day about it. And isn’t it funny?--the -Queer Church people actually have fixed some of the seats in front -low enough for the little folks, and they are very proud to see them -sitting there like small men and women. And every now and then Queer -Church has a sermon in short words, and a prayer-meeting where the -children swarm on Mr. Thingumbob’s chair, and a sewing-club of little -girls--O, and ever so many strange nice things for children, that came -of that week of playing at big people. - -And when you ask the folks there “What does Mrs. Grundy say?” and “How -does Mr. Gradgrind take it?” what do you think they answer? - -Why, they just say “We don’t care. We want the children to grow up to -love the church and to love things that are good.” - -Wouldn’t you like to go to Queer Church and make a week of it? - - - - -THE FUN-AND-FROLIC ART SCHOOL. - -BY STANLEY WOOD. - - -Cousin Joe had been sitting half asleep over a book in the library, -when all at once the door opened just a little and a row of eyes peeped -in at him, the eyes beginning somewhere near the top of the door and -ending pretty close to the bottom. There were just five of these eyes; -the one nearest the top being large and of a lovely soft brown color, -the next one gray, the next one brown, the next blue, and the last one -away down towards the bottom, a mischievous brown. - -“Peep!” said a voice, which matched the mischievous brown eye, and a -fat little hand was thrust in through the crack. - -“May we come in?” asked a soft voice, which sounded near the top of the -door. - -“Certainly,” said Joe, shutting his book and trying to look as though -he had not been half asleep over it. The door opened, and the cousins -marched in. First came Bryant, a chubby five-year-old, with sturdy -legs, a large head, yellow hair and brown eyes full of mischief, next -to him Leefee, seven years old, slight of figure, a little lady with -light hair and sky-blue eyes; then Adale, ten years old, her brown hair -flying and her brown eyes dancing; after her Maud, only fourteen, but -quite a young lady for all that, with serious gray eyes, and last of -all, Cora, a slender young woman of seventeen with soft brown hair and -eyes. - -“Ladies and gentleman,” said cousin Joe, when they all stood before -him, “to what do I owe the honor of this visit?” - -“Your Royal Highness,” replied Maud, who had read one of Sir Walter -Scott’s novels, “we have a humble petition to present, in which--” - -“My top’s broked,” interrupted Bryant, suddenly. - -“And we want you to tell us a story,” said Adale with eagerness. - -“Have you learned your lessons, Adale?” asked cousin Joe, very solemnly. - -“Oh yes, indeed.” - -“Where is Terra del Fuego?” - -“But cousin, I study geography only five days in the week; you can’t -expect me to know where Terra del Fuego is on Saturday.” - -“Really, I hadn’t thought of that.” - -“And you’ll tell us a story?” said Leefee. - -“One we haven’t heard before,” suggested Adale. - -“My top’s broked,” said Bryant with much emphasis. - -“Friends,” said cousin Joe, “the demand for new stories is in great -excess of the supply. When I finished telling you my last story, -Adale there remarked that she had read that story in WIDE AWAKE. Now -there’s a moral in that remark of Adale’s, for when my friends and -fellow-citizens have grown old enough to read stories they are too old -for me to tell them to.” - -“Oh, cousin!” - -“But, I’ll compromise with you; instead of a story I’ll give you a -drawing-lesson.” - -“I get drawing-lessons enough at school,” said Adale. - -“I didn’t know you could draw, cousin Joe,” said Clara. - -“I can’t; and that’s the beauty of my system. The teacher doesn’t need -to know anything about drawing, and the students never learn anything.” - -“How absurd!” said Cora. - -“How curious!” said Maud. - -“How pleasant!” said Adale. - -“How funny!” said Leefee. - -“My top’s broked,” said Bryant. - -“The class will come to order,” said cousin Joe. - -Then they all gathered around the library-table, and each one was -provided with a pencil and a bit of paper. - -“Students of the Fun-and-Frolic Art School,” said Joe, “we have met for -mutual deterioration in art. As you all ought to know, but no doubt -many of you do not, Sir Edward Landseer was a great artist in dogs, -Rosa Bonheur is a great artist in horses and kine, but we unitedly -will be great artists in--pigs.” - -“Pigs?” - -“Yes, ladies and gentleman, I repeat it--PIGS! Is there anyone in the -class who can draw a pig?” - -“I can draw one, such as the boys draw on their slates at school,” said -Adale. - -“Please draw one then,” said cousin Joe. In a moment Adale had -accomplished the task and handed him the result. - -“This,” said Joe, as he held it up in view of the class, “this is - -[Illustration: THE CONVENTIONAL PIG.] - -“You see it doesn’t look like a pig, but every boy knows it is intended -to represent a pig. If it looked a good deal more like a pig he might -not recognize it. Thus conventional politeness does not resemble real -politeness, yet everybody knows what it is intended to represent. There -is a moral in that remark somewhere--if you can find it--and now we’ll -go on with the lesson. The first thing you must do in order to become -an artist in my school is to _shut your eyes_.” - -“Shut our eyes!” - -“Why, cousin,” said Cora, “I thought all artists had to keep their eyes -especially wide open.” - -“There are some who do not,” said cousin Joe, sententiously. - -“I’ve seen people shut _one_ eye and look at pictures through their -hand with the other--so,” said Adale, making a fist of her little hand -and peeping through it. - -“Those people were _connoisseurs_,” said Joe; “we are artists and must -shut _both_ eyes, Cora; will you begin? Shut your eyes, place your -pencil on the paper, and draw the outlines of a pig as nearly as you -can.” - -“But, cousin Joe, isn’t this a play for little girls, not -for--well--proper young ladies?” - -“Very well, Miss Cora; we’ll begin with Leefee then.” - -Little Miss Leefee seized her pencil eagerly, and shutting her eyes -uncommonly close, drew this: - -[Illustration: THIS IS A PIG.] - -How the rest did laugh at poor Leefee! - -“You’ll have to write under it, ‘This is a pig,’” said Adale. - -“And I will do it too,” said Leefee, and she did so, as you can see by -the picture. - -“It’s your turn now, Adale,” said Joe. - -“This will be a conventional pig, like my other one,” said Adale, -laughing as she shut her eyes. When she had finished her drawing, -all confessed, amidst great laughter, that it was not at all a -“conventional pig;” so Adale wrote under her production: - -[Illustration: “THIS IS AN UNCONVENTIONAL PIG.”] - -“It looks more like a tapir than a pig,” said Leefee, mindful of -Adale’s criticism on her effort. - -“Well, isn’t a tapir a kind of unconventional pig?” replied the artist. - -“Your pigs are all too long,” said Maud; “you don’t make them fat -enough.” - -“You can be guided by your own criticism, for you come next after -Adale,” said cousin Joe, merrily. - -Maud drew her pig with great care. “There!” said she, as she displayed -the result of her labors, “what do you think of that?” - -[Illustration: MAUD’S FAT PIG.] - -“Oh what a funny rabbit!” exclaimed Adale. - -“It’s more like a rat,” said Leefee. - -“It _must_ be a pig,” said Maud firmly, “I’m drawing pigs.” - -In the mean time Miss Cora, who had declined to enter into such -childish sport, had been closely observed by Adale. Suddenly that -versatile young lady seized Cora’s paper before she could prevent it, -and exclaiming with a triumphant flourish, “Cora’s pig! Oh, _do_ look -at Cora’s pig!” she displayed this: - -[Illustration: CORA’S FEROCIOUS PIG.] - -Cora blushingly acknowledged that she had been induced by the -enthusiasm of the others to try and improve on their efforts. - -“What a fierce-looking quadruped,” said Maud. - -“Yes; I have called it my ferocious pig,” replied Cora, evidently -greatly enjoying her production. - -“Ladies and gentleman of the Fun-and-frolic Art School,” said -cousin Joe, oratorically, “your incapacity has exceeded my highest -expectations. Your efforts to draw the lineaments of the domestic -animal known as the pig having exceeded in grotesqueness and falseness -to nature the efforts of many more experienced artists, I am naturally -very much gratified. I now have the honor to announce to you that -‘school’s out.’” - -“Oh not yet, cousin.” - -“Not yet?” - -“No; _you_ must draw a pig,” said Maud. - -“You must draw a pig,” said Adale. - -“You must draw a pig,” said Leefee. - -“My top’s broked,” said Bryant. - -“Necessity knows no law,” said cousin Joe. - -“Bring me my pencil now, my hand feels skilful, and the shadows lift -from my waked spirit airily and swift,” and with an air of vast -importance he began to execute his task. The little cousins were -so fearful that he would take a sly peep at his work, that they -blindfolded him, and his production was received with shouts of -laughter. When they took off his muffler he saw this: - -[Illustration: THE ACEPHALOUS OR ONE-EYED PIG.] - -“_Oh_ what a bad pig,” said Cora. - -“Oh _what_ a bad pig,” said Maud. - -“Oh what a _bad_ pig,” said Adale. - -“Oh what a bad _pig_,” said Leefee. - -“My top--” - -“Shall be mended,” said cousin Joe, taking little Bryant upon his knee. - - - - -SOME QUAKER BOYS OF 1776. - -BY C. H. WOODMAN. - - -In 1776, the eastern end of Long Island was over-run with the English -troops and mercenaries. There was no security to life or property: -everything was at the mercy of the wicked Hessians. - -At this time there was living on the island, and not far from New York, -a Quaker by the name of Pattison. Henry Pattison, the father, was one -of the strictest of the sect; of a noble, generous nature, a kind -neighbor, and a wise councilor. He was universally loved and revered. -He won the name of the Peace-Maker. - -He owned a fine farm, and was growing wealthy, when the war came and -sad days settled down upon the community. - -Mother Pattison was the true type of the Quaker wife and mother. -Under her tidy white cap beamed the placid, tender face which is so -common among these pure-hearted people, and her skillful advice and -winning words of consolation were often heard in the house of the sick -and afflicted. Eight sturdy boys, and one little sweet, timid flower -of a daughter, blessed this good couple, and made their home one of -happiness and love. - -Edmund, the oldest son, was a handsome, manly lad of eighteen. Beneath -his broad-brimmed hat, his quiet “thee” and “thou,” beat a fiery and -fearless heart that often broke through the mild Quaker training and -made him, notwithstanding his peace principles, a leader among his -fellows. - -One day, as he sat in the barn, quietly enjoying his noonday rest, a -British trooper rode up to the door. Seeing Edmund he shouted: - -“Come, youngster, make haste and stir yourself. Go and help my driver -there unload that cart of timber into the road!” - -Now Edmund had just been hard at work loading that wood, to carry it to -a neighbor to whom it was sold. - -Both wagon and oxen belonged to his father. - -“Come, hurry!” said the horseman. - -“I shall not do it!” said Edmund. - -“What--sirrah!” cried the ruffian, “we shall see who will do it!” and -he flourished his sword over the boy’s head, swearing and threatening -to cut him down unless he instantly obeyed. - -[Illustration: “SEEKING FOR SOME FIRM SPOT OF ENTRANCE”--PAGE 82.] - -Edmund stood unflinchingly, fiercely eyeing the enraged soldier. - -Just then a little boy, Charles, the son of a neighbor, ran into the -house and told Mrs. Pattison that “a Britisher was going to kill her -Edmund.” She rushed to the barn, begged the soldier to stop, pleaded -with her son to unload the wood and so save his life. - -“No fear of death, mother; he dare not touch a hair of my head.” - -“Dare not!” The horseman flourished his sword before the lad’s face and -swore he would kill him instantly. - -“You dare not!” said Edmund firmly; “and I will report you to your -master for this.” - -The fierce and defiant look really awed the trooper, and he mounted -his horse, although he still told the boy he would “cut him into inch -pieces.” - -Edmund knew that such things were actually done by the soldiers, and -he appreciated the man’s terrible rage. He coolly walked across the -barn-floor, and armed himself with a huge pitchfork. - -“You cowardly rascal!”--the boy’s words came fierce and sharp. “Now -take one step towards this floor, and I stab you with my pitchfork.” - -The gentle Mrs. Pattison expected to see her boy at once shot down like -a dog. She ran to the house, and, meeting her husband, sent him to the -rescue. - -Friend Pattison rode hastily up, and said calmly to the trooper: - -“You have no right to lay a finger upon that boy, who is a -non-combatant.” - -The man did not move. - -Then Farmer Pattison turned toward the road, saying he would ride and -call Col. Wurms, who commanded the troops. - -Upon this the horseman, thinking it best for him to see his master -first, drove the spurs into his horse and galloped away, uttering vows -of vengeance. - -The little boy who had alarmed Mrs. Pattison was a lad of -fourteen,--the son of a neighbor who was in Washington’s army. - -Sitting one day under the trees, with the little Pattisons, talking -indignantly of the “British thieves,” he saw a light-horseman ride up -toward a farm-house just across the pond. He guessed at once what the -man was after. He tried to signal the farmer, but in vain. - -“They are pressing horses,” cried Charlie; “they always ride that way -when stealing horses.” - -He thought of his father’s beautiful colt, his own pet. - -“Fleetwood shall not go!” said he. - -Running as fast as he could to the barn, he leaped on to his back, and -started for the woods. - -The red-coat saw him, and, putting his spurs into his horse, rising in -the saddle and shouting, he tore down the road at headlong speed. - -Charlie’s mother rushed to the door. She saw her little son galloping -towards the woods with his murderous enemy close upon his heels. Her -heart beat fearfully, and she gave one great cry of prayer as her brave -little boy dashed into the thick woods, and out of sight, still hotly -pursued by the soldier. - -The trees were close-set and the branches low. Charlie laid down along -the horse’s neck to escape being swept off. He cheered on, with low -cries, the wild colt, who stretched himself full length at every leap. - -With streaming mane, glaring eyes, distended nostrils, he plunged -onward. Charlie heard the dead dry boughs crackling behind, and the -snorting of the soldier’s horse, so near was his fierce pursuer. On, on -Fleetwood dashed, bearing his little master from one piece of woods to -another, till the forest became dense and dark. He had now gained some -on the soldier; and, seeing ahead a tangled, marshy thicket, Charlie -rode right into its midst. - -Here he stood five hours without moving. - -The soldier, so much heavier with his horse, dared not venture into the -swamp. He rode round and round, seeking for some firm spot of entrance. -Sometimes he did come very near; but every time sinking into the wet, -springy bog he was obliged to give it up; he could not even get a shot -at the boy, the brush was so thick, Fleetwood instinctively still as a -mouse, and finally, with loud oaths, he rode off. - -But the lad and the colt still stood there hour after hour, not knowing -whether they might venture out; but at nightfall his mother, who had -been watching all the while, with tears and prayers, saw her dear boy -cautiously peeping through the edge of the woods. By signs she let -him know that the danger was past, and, riding up to the house, he -dismounted. Then, leaning against his beautiful colt, his own bright, -golden curls mingling with Fleetwood’s ebon mane, the plucky little -fellow told his adventures to the eager group. - -The Quaker neighbors in this vicinity had at last been driven, by the -outrages of the hostile troops, to use some means of defense. They -agreed that, whenever a house should be attacked, the family would fire -a gun, which would be answered by firing from other houses, and so the -neighborhood become aroused. - -But Farmer Pattison so abhorred the use of a gun that he would have -none in his house. He procured a conch-shell which, when well blown, -could be heard a great way. - -One night, while Charlie’s family were all soundly sleeping, and, -without, the clear November air was unstirred by a breath of wind, -suddenly the grum report of the conch boomed in at the windows and -alarmed the whole house. - -[Illustration] - -Wakened so unceremoniously, all thought it was a gun; but no one could -tell whence it came. The venerable grandfather knelt in prayer; the -sick English officer, staring at the house, ordered his two guards to -prepare for defence; the mother sat trembling, while the two little -girls, Grace and Marcia, hid their faces in their mother’s night-dress. - -But our Charlie was brave. He loaded the old firearm, and, going -down to the piazza blazed away, loading and firing, to frighten away -the unseen foe. Through the still air could be heard the guns of the -neighbors, all aroused to defend their homes. - -But no burning building could be seen, nor were there any shouts or -noises of conflict. - -The alarm subsided, but for the rest of the night the little family sat -anxious and waited for the dawn. In the morning they learned the cause -of the alarm. It seems that at noon, the day before, the Pattison boys -were trying their lungs on the conch, calling the hired men to dinner. - -Little Joseph stood by, waiting his turn, but it didn’t come. Dinner -was ready, and the shell was put away on the shelf over the kitchen -door. The little fellow’s disappointment was great, and that night he -dreamed of robbers, of English soldiers and burning houses. He dreamed -that he must blow the shell. - -Up he jumped, ran down stairs, and through two rooms, still asleep, -and, standing in a chair, got the conch from the shelf. Going to the -back door he blew it lustily, and aroused the whole family. They rushed -down-stairs in great alarm, and there stood the little boy, bareheaded -and in his nightgown, while great drops of perspiration stood on his -face, from the exertions he had made! - - - - -WHAT I HEARD ON THE STREET. - -BY CLARA F. GUERNSEY. - - -Not long ago, while I was waiting for the cars at a street corner, I -heard two men talking together. The one was a young fellow of nineteen -or so, a big, tall youth, whose appearance would have been pleasing had -he not worn, in addition to a general air of discouragement, that look -of being on the down-hill road, which, once seen, is unmistakable. - -His clothes were sufficiently good in quality, but they seemed never -to have known the clothes-brush, his coat lacked four or five buttons, -for which three pins were a very inadequate substitute, and he had an -aspect generally of having forgotten the use of soap and water. - -Perhaps all this might not have been his fault. It is possible he had -no womankind belonging to him, though I don’t hold that an excuse for -missing buttons, and his work might have been such as bred fluffiness -and griminess, but no man’s work obliges him to slouch when off duty, -to keep his hands in his pockets, or tilt his hat on one side. - -The other man was a brisk, middle-aged person, whom I take to have been -a worker in iron in one way or another. He had on his working-dress, -and his hands were black, but the blackness in his case was a mere -outside necessity, and went no farther than the surface. He looked -bright and sensible, and it was in a pleasant voice that he asked the -younger man: - -“Well, Jim, got a place?” - -Jim gave a weary, discouraged sigh, and shifted from one foot to the -other. - -“Yes, I’m in Blank’s, but I might as well not be.” - -“Why?” - -“Oh,” returned Jim, in a forlorn manner, “what’s the use? I work all -the week, and when Saturday night comes, there’s just five dollars. -What’s that? Why, it’s _just nothing_.” - -“No, it ain’t,” replied the senior, laying a kindly hand on the other’s -shoulder. “It’s _just five dollars better than nothing_. Put it that -way, Jim.” - -“Well, now, that’s so,” said Jim, brightening up wonderfully after a -minute’s thought. “It does make it seem different, don’t it?” And he -walked off, apparently much comforted. - -If you think of it, Reader, you will see that the difference between -five dollars and nothing is infinitely greater than that between five -and five thousand. - - - - -[Illustration] - -KIP’S MINISTER. - -BY KATE W. HAMILTON. - - -“‘_Jack and Jill went up the hill_,’” piped Bud’s shrill voice from the -hayloft in the barn where she was hunting eggs. “‘_To fetch a pail of -water. Jack fell down and broke his crown, And Jill_----’” - -If Bud’s own name had been Jill she could not have come “tumbling -after,” any more speedily than she did. A board tilted, her foot -slipped, and in a moment she was sitting on the floor below. -Fortunately a quantity of hay had fallen with her, so there was no -broken crown or other crushed bones; but her dignity was considerably -jarred, and glancing around to see whether any one had witnessed the -mishap, she discovered Kip looking out toward the road from a door at -the farther end of the building. - -“Kip Crail! what makes you stand there for?” she demanded, severely. - -“I’m a-watching my minister,” answered Kip slowly. - -It is not every boy who owns a minister all by himself, but Kip spoke -as if nobody else had any claim upon this one; and as he seemed to -have noticed neither her tone nor her downfall, Bud regained her -chubby feet, shook the hay from her yellow curls, and going to Kip’s -side looked curiously after the slightly grey-haired man, in clothing -somewhat worn, who was quietly picking his way along the road. -Her blue eyes discerned nothing remarkable, and she turned away -disappointed. - -“Ho! Why he’s everybody’s minister; he a’n’t yours.” - -Kip knew better than that. Did not he remember who always knew him, -and stopped to shake hands and say “How do you do, Christopher?”--a -name that made him feel nearly as big as anybody. And who always asked -after his mother? And did not forget when he told him little Bob was -sick? The people in the house hitched up their sleek horses and nice -carriage, and drove two miles to the city church every Sunday; but Kip, -with freckled face shining from soap, head wet and combed till not a -hair could stir from its place, and red hands thrust into his pockets, -trudged whistling over the hill to the little frame church where most -of the people from the straggling villages and the neighboring farms -gathered. - -“So he is my minister,” said Kip stoutly as he considered the matter. - -He would have liked to share the honor that day, however, with the -inmates of the large comfortable farm-house; for they were really -the most prosperous family in the village, while he, only a distant -relative, was “chore boy and gener’ly useful” as he phrased it. And -there was to be a “donation party” at his minister’s home that very -evening. - -“If they’d just give something handsome!” he said to Nancy the “hired -girl,” who was busy in the kitchen. - -“They won’t never think of it no more’n they will of flyin’,” replied -Nancy, dextrously turning a flapjack, and the subject also, by -requesting Kip to “run for an armful of wood.” - -Somebody always wanted wood or water, or something from the cellar, or -something from the attic, whenever Kip was in sight. But he scarcely -thought of the constant calls that morning, so full was he of other -thoughts. Nancy might dispose of the question carelessly, but he could -not. He was connected with the house, and he felt that the honor of the -house was involved. Beside, he wanted his minister well treated and he -knew--few knew better than Kip--how sorely the “something handsome” -was needed in the shabby little parsonage. He did not mean they should -“never think of it” as Nancy had said! he would remind them by bringing -up the subject naturally and innocently in some way. - -So he lingered in the room a few minutes after breakfast, while Mrs. -Mitchel was gathering up the dishes, and Mr. Mitchel consulting the -almanac. He coughed once or twice, and then, staring straight out of -the window, observed as follows: - -“There goes our big rooster! He’s most as big as a turkey, a’n’t he, -Aunt Ann? Turkeys always make me think of Thanksgivings, Christmases, -Donations and such things--oh yes! there _is_ going to be a donation -down to the minister’s to-night!” - -Kip considered that very delicately and neatly done! - -“Eh? what?” said Mrs. Mitchel, paying no attention except to the last -sentence. - -“Who’s going to have a donation?” - -“Down to the minister’s,” repeated Kip. “Everybody’ll take ’em things, -you know--flour and potatoes and wood--something handsome, I hope--the -folks that can ’ford to.” - -That was another masterly hint. Kip chuckled to himself at his success -in managing his self-appointed task but his spirits sank with Mr. -Mitchel’s first words. - -“Well, now, I don’t know as I approve of that way. The folks here can -do as they please--it’s no affair of mine--but seems to me it’s better -to pay a man a decent salary, and let him buy his own things.” - -“Don’t know as _I_ ’prove of that way either,” soliloquized Kip -indignantly when he found himself alone behind the wood-pile. “Don’t -know as I ’prove of folks giving me their old clothes,” looking down -at his patched knees. “Seems to me ’twould be better to pay me decent -wages and let me buy my own clothes. But seein’ they don’t, these -trousers are better’n none; and I guess if Uncle Ralph had a sick wife -and three or four children he’d think a donation party was a good deal -better’n nothing.” - -Ideas that found their way into the brain under Kip’s thatch of light -hair were sure to stay, and the cows, the chickens, and the wood-pile -heard numerous orations that morning--all upon one subject. - -“Now if I owned all these things, do you s’pose I’d go off to the big -city church every Sunday, and wouldn’t go down now and then to see what -was a-doin’ for the poor folks round here? And when I went, don’t you -s’pose I’d see how his coat was gettin’ shinier and shinier, and her -cloak fadeder, and all the new clothes they have is their old ones made -over? A boy don’t like that kind of dressin’-up partic’lar well, and -how do you s’pose my minister feels? Don’t you b’lieve I’d know when -she got sick, how the bundles from the grocery-store was smaller and -fewer ’count of the bottles that had to be paid for and the doctor’s -bill? And wouldn’t I hear the tremble in his voice when he prays for -them that has ‘heavy burdens to carry?’ Just wait till I’m a man and -see!” - -Old Brindle looked at him meditatively, and one pert little bantam -mounted the fence and crowed with enthusiasm, but no member of -the barn-yard offered any suggestions; and going to a little nook -behind the manger, Kip drew forth his own offering for the important -evening--a little bracket-shelf, clumsily designed and roughly whittled -out, but nevertheless the work of many a precious half-hour. He looked -at it rather doubtfully. It did not altogether satisfy even his limited -conceptions of beauty. - -“But then if you keep it kind of in the shade, and look at it sort -o’sideways--so--it does pretty well,” he said, scrutinizing it with one -eye closed. “I guess Mis’ Clay will, seein’ she’s had to look sharp for -the best side o’things so long.” - -But how he did wish the others would send something--“something that -would count,” as he said. He was down on the ground gathering up a -basketful of chips when one of the well-kept horses and the light -wagon passed out of the yard and down the lane bearing Mr. Mitchel away -to the town. A host of brilliant possibilities suddenly trooped through -Kip’s thoughts as he watched the vehicle out of sight. His wish grew -into something deeper and stronger. - -“Oh please _do_ make him think and bring back something nice for them!” -he murmured. - -Bud, who had a fashion of appearing in the most unexpected times and -places, looked at him wonderingly from around a corner of the wood-pile. - -“What makes you do that for?” she asked solemnly. - -“’Cause,” answered Kip briefly, with a flush rising to his freckled -cheeks. “I don’t care,” he whispered to himself. “The minister’s folks -are good and care for other folks, and it’s ’bout time somebody was -takin’ care of them.” - -Bud did not quite accept the lucid explanation given her. She seated -herself on a log and pondered the subject until she reached a -conclusion that she considered satisfactory; and after that, though -she said nothing about it, she watched quite as eagerly and much more -expectantly for her father’s return than did Kip. - -There certainly was something new and unusual in the light wagon when -at last it drove up to the door again. Both children discovered that -at once--Bud from the window, Kip from the piazza--a great, easy, -luxurious arm-chair. Mr. Mitchel lifted it out and carried it into the -house. - -“See here! What do you think of that?” he said to his wife -triumphantly. “I happened into a furniture store where they were -auctioning everything off and I got this at such a bargain that I took -it in a hurry. Isn’t that as comfortable a chair as you ever saw? Just -try it.” - -Mrs. Mitchel examined and admired; Nancy who came to the kitchen door -exclaimed and interjected; and the household generally bestowed such -unqualified commendation that Mr. Mitchel’s gratification increased. - -“I think I know a good thing when I see it,” he declared, “and this -couldn’t be bought anywhere else for that money. Nothing in the world -the matter with it either, not a flaw about it except”--showing where -the back could be lowered to make it more of a reclining chair--“this -spring works a little hard. But a cabinet-maker could fix that in a few -moments, and we’ll have it done right away. Kip!” as the boy passed the -door--“Kip, could you take this down to the parson’s this afternoon? I -want it to go at once.” - -Kip could scarcely believe his ears. “Yes _sir_!” he said with his eyes -fairly dancing. “You mean to send it to him, uncle Ralph? guess I can -take it!” - -He never called his minister “the parson”--it scarcely sounded -respectful enough--but of course he knew who was meant and he was -far too happy for any criticising thought. That handsome easy chair! -Wouldn’t the very sight of it rest poor tired Mrs. Clay? Kip could see -just how her pale face would look leaned back against the cushions. - -[Illustration: “AND JILL CAME TUMBLING AFTER.”] - -“It’s pretty heavy for you to carry so far though,” Mr. Mitchel was -saying when Kip recalled his wandering wits far enough to understand. -“’Jim could take it in the wagon perhaps”-- - -“I might put it in the hand-cart and wheel it over,” interposed Kip -with a sudden inspiration. He could bear no delay, and he wanted to -take it himself. - -Mr. Mitchel commended that suggestion as “not a bad notion on Kip’s -part.” - -“And what shall I tell him, uncle Ralph?” - -“Tell him--why, he’ll understand; he can see for himself. Tell him I -sent it, and he’ll know what to do with it, I suppose.” - -Kip supposed so too. He waited for no further directions, but made -a partial toilet very expeditiously, and was soon safely out on the -road with his treasure. To say that he was pleased and proud is a -very faint description of his feelings. He trundled that hand-cart by -no out-of-the-way route, and he was not long alone; the village boys -hailed him: - -“Hello, Kip! What you got there?” - -“It’s our folks’ present to the minister,” answered Kip grandly, and -one after another the admiring boys fell into line until the chair -formed the center of a triumphal procession. The village soon knew of -the gift, as the village always did know of everything that happened -within its limits, and Kip had the satisfaction of being stopped -several times, and of hearing that Mr. Mitchel had done “the handsome -thing,” and that the chair was “out-and-out nice.” - -So, in a beatific state, he reached the gate of the little parsonage. -There was no lack of assistance. Every urchin was anxious to share at -least the reflected glory of helping to carry it, and it was borne to -the house very much as a party of ants bear off a lump of sugar--by -swarming all over it. The minister came to the door, the body-guard -fell back, and Kip presented his prize. - -“Here’s something that Uncle Ralph sent you, sir; he bought it in town -to-day. He said tell you he sent it, and he guessed you’d know what to -do with it,” he said with shining eyes. - -The minister’s eyes shone too, and then grew dim. This was so -unexpected, and it meant so much to him! It had sometimes seemed hard -to that kindly, tender heart that the one of all the village who could -have done most, had never manifested any interest in his work for those -poor people--had not lifted with even a finger the burden of care and -sacrifice, or shown any disposition to aid or encourage. But there -must have been sympathy after all. This was a generous gift in its -luxuriousness--a thoughtful one, for it was for the dear invalid. He -opened a door near him and said softly: - -“Rachel, look here!” - -How he had wanted just such an easy, restful cushioned niche for the -worn slight form! The boys could not understand what it was to him in -itself and in what it represented--“Only his voice had a tremble in it -like when he prays,” Kip said to himself on his homeward way. - -However he hated “fixed up company” in general he would not for -anything miss the gathering at the parsonage that evening, and wood and -water, cows and kindlings must be looked after early. So it happened -he did not speak with Mr. Mitchel again until nightfall. Then that -gentleman bethought him of his commission. - -“Ah, Kip, carried the chair safely, did you?” - -“Yes sir.” - -“Well, what did he say to it?” - -“I wish you’d seen him, uncle Ralph!” said Kip radiantly. “Not, as he -said much either, only something ’bout he didn’t know how to thank -you--” - -“How to thank me?” repeated Mr. Mitchel in amazement. “Why should he? -He isn’t so short of work as all that, is he?” - -“Short of work, uncle Ralph!” It was Kip’s turn to open wide eyes -of astonishment. “I should think not, with all his preachin’ and -Sunday-school and poor folks! I don’t s’pose he thought he’d have time -to sit in it much himself; but Mrs. Clay, she’s sick--” - -“What have the Clays to do with it?” demanded Mr. Mitchel with clouding -brow and a dawning suspicion of something wrong. “I told you to take it -to Mr. Parsons--the cabinet-maker’s--to have that spring fixed.” - -Kip saw it all then, but he wished the floor would quietly open and -drop him into the cellar, or that he could fly through the roof. He -thrust his hands deep into his pockets, and his face flushed and paled. - -“I--thought--you said the parson’s,” he stammered. “I s’posed ’twas for -the minister’s donation, and so--” - -“You took it there?” Mr. Mitchel completed the sentence. “Now how in -the world--” - -But it was too much to be borne. Kip waited for nothing more, but -rushed from the house, and if in the shadow of the friendly wood-pile -he leaned his head against the rough sticks and cried, there was no one -to see. - -“They may fix it up any way they please,” he said. “I can’t do it! I -can’t and I wont!” - -A little later he stood by the old gate watching the great yellow moon -come up, and digging his red fists into his eyes now and then to wipe -away some stray tears of shame, indignation and grief that still -gathered there. This was not a very nice world anyhow, he decided with -a queer aching spot at his heart. Almost it seemed as if he had asked -for bread and received a stone--a sharp heavy stone at that. - -Indoors Mr. Mitchel had expressed very distinctly his opinion of the -carelessness and obtuseness that could have caused such a blunder, and -the “awkwardness of the whole thing,” and in no little vexation was -trying to find some means of remedy. - -“I might write a note and explain, but then--I declare it’s the most -awkward disagreeable thing I ever knew! Such a stupid blunder.” - -“Papa,” interposed the slow, wondering voice of Bud, “I didn’t know -there could be any mistakes up there.” - -“Up where, child?” - -“In heaven. Kip prayed you’d bring something for his minister--’cause -I heard him--behind the wood-pile,” said Bud with slow emphasis. “I -thought that made the chair come. I’m most sure ’twasn’t any mistake, -papa.” - -Mr. Mitchel pushed aside pen and paper, put on his hat and walked out. -He really did not know the best way out of the difficulty. It was very -vexatious, and in his perplexity he journeyed towards the parsonage. -When he came in sight of the house he paused. What did he intend to do? -Go there when others were making their offerings, and explain that he -had not wished to show any friendship or appreciation, and wanted to -take back what had been proffered through mistake? Certainly not! He -turned, but at that moment some one joined him. - -“Ah, Mr. Mitchel! Just going in? That was a generous gift of -yours--exactly the thing for poor Mrs. Clay.” - -Others came with similar comment. There was no chance to say anything, -and scarcely knowing why or how, Mr. Mitchel found himself in the -well-filled room, saw the sweet, pale face, with its smile of welcome -for all, looking out from the cushions of the new chair, and felt the -quick warm grateful clasp of the minister’s hand. Something in look and -clasp and murmured words brought a sudden throb to Mr. Mitchel’s heart, -a moisture to his eye. - -Then, before he had time to recover from his bewilderment, some one -had called on him to “make a few remarks,” and others echoed the -request, and he found himself pushed forward to the front and heard -his own voice saying, “How much cause all had to value Mr. Clay’s work -in the village,” and expressing the hope that he might “enjoy these -simple offerings as tokens of esteem and friendship.” Aye, and he -meant it too, for catching the spirit of those around him, and swiftly -comprehending more of the good man’s life and work than he had ever -done before, he only regretted that he had not sent the offering of his -own free will and pleasure. - -He found an opportunity, however, to whisper to Kip who had slipped in -later with very sober face--a face that brightened at sight of him. - -“It’s all right. Don’t say a word to anybody about it.” - -He had a pleasant evening despite a feeling of strangeness about it, -and on his homeward way muttered something to himself about “a blessed -blunder.” What he told at home Kip did not know, but when the boy -arrived, a little later, Bud, wide-awake and listening for his step, -raised her yellow head from its pillow and called: - -“Ke--ip! it all comed out right, didn’t it?” - -Kip thought it had. He was sure of it afterward when he saw the -friendship that from that night began between the Mitchels and “his -minister.” - -[Illustration] - - - - -JIM’S TROUBLES. - -BY GRANDMERE JULIE. - - -[Illustration: Spot.] - -“I know he didn’t do it,” said good Mrs. Martin; “he says he didn’t do -it, and I believe him.” - -“Then you don’t believe _me_?” asked Mrs. Turner rather severely. “I -wish I had never seen that boy! I’m sure I have done my best by him, -and been a mother to him. And now he’s turned out bad, everybody blames -me for it. Father says, if he has done it, it is my fault for tempting -him; Nelly has nearly cried her eyes out about it; and everybody seems -to think it is more wicked to lose a spoon than to steal it--I declare -they do.” - -“Well, he’s been a good, honest boy ever since he came here--a real -nice, obliging, pleasant spoken little fellow; and it stands to reason -a good boy don’t turn bad all in a jerk like that,” said Mrs. Martin, -shaking her head. - -“I don’t know about jerks,” answered Mrs. Turner, “but I do know that, -as soon as I had done cleaning that spoon, I put it back in the case, -and as I was a-going to put it away, Jim comes in to get a pail, and -says he, ‘ain’t it a pretty little box!’ and says I: ‘yes, but what’s -in it is prettier.’ Then I smelt my bread a-burning, and I put down the -case right here,” said Mrs. Turner striking the corner of her kitchen -table, “and I ran to see to my bread, and when I came back Jim was -gone, and my spoon was gone too. And I don’t suppose it walked off -itself--do you?” - -“Of course it didn’t,” said Mrs. Martin; “but some one else might have -come in, or it may be somewhere”-- - -“I’d like to know where that somewhere is, then,” said Mrs. Turner; “I -have looked high and low and turned the house upside-down for a week, -and I haven’t seen any spoon yet. And nobody could come in without my -seeing them because the front door was locked and so was the kitchen -door, and anybody who came in or went out had to go through the back -kitchen where I was. I saw Jim go out with his pail, but I didn’t -suspect anything then--why should I? And it isn’t the spoon I mind so -much, it’s the trouble, and the idea of that boy that had been treated -like one of the family--but I won’t say anymore about it. I’ll send him -back to New York, and”-- - -“No, don’t do that! I guess I’ll take him,” said Mrs. Martin. “He -hasn’t any home to go to, and if you send him back, there’s no telling -what will become of him. Where is he?” - -“I guess he is sulking about the place somewhere,” said Mrs. Turner. -“He said he hadn’t done it, and now he won’t say another word. I’ll -call him if you really want him.” - -Mrs. Martin said she really wanted him, and Mrs. Turner, stepping out -on the kitchen porch, called out, “Jim, Jim!” - -There was no answer, but pretty soon a boy walked across the yard -toward the house, and stopped near the porch. - -He was a boy about twelve years old, tall of his age and rather thin, -and with a round, honest face, which looked very pleasant when he was -happy, but which was at that moment very much clouded. - -“I’ll speak to him by myself, if you don’t mind,” said Mrs. Martin, -shutting the door and seating herself on the porch step. - -“Come here, my boy,” said she kindly, while her homely face looked -almost beautiful with goodness. “I don’t believe you are a bad boy; I -think it’s all a mistake, and it will come out all right some day. I am -going to take you home with me, if you will come.” - -Jim’s brown eyes brightened, but he answered, not very gratefully, -“Thank you, but I’d better go away from here--they all believe I took -it.” - -“No, they don’t; I don’t for one. You had better stay and behave like a -good, honest lad, and I’ll be a true friend to you. Besides, we mustn’t -run away from our troubles! you know they are sent to make us good and -strong, don’t you see, my boy?” - -Having finished her little sermon, Mrs. Martin got up and gave Jim a -motherly hug and a kiss. And poor Jim “broke down” as he would have -called it. But it was a breaking down that did him a world of good, and -made a new boy of him. - -“There, there,” said Mrs. Martin, “now go and get your things, and we -will go home.” - -Jim went up-stairs quietly to the little attic room that had been -his own for two years. He made a small bundle of his old clothes. He -wouldn’t take the new ones. “They was my friends when they got them for -me,” he said to himself, “but now they ain’t my friends any more, and -them clothes don’t belong to me now.” - -Jim’s grammar was not perfect, but he meant well, and in his heart he -was very sorry to leave the friends who had been so kind to him during -two happy years. - -As he turned to go down-stairs, he heard a noise in the hall, not far -from him, and he saw Nellie Turner who seemed to be waiting for him. -“Oh! Jim,” she said, and could not say more, because she began to cry. - -Poor little Nelly had been breaking her heart about Jim’s trouble. She -was a nice little girl ten years old, with bright yellow curls, pink -cheeks, and blue eyes; but now the pink of her cheeks had run into her -eyes, and she did not look as pretty as usual. But Jim thought she was -beautiful, and her red eyes were a great comfort to him. - -At last he spoke, “Good-by, Nelly; I am going away.” - -“I know it,” said Nelly, “but, Jim, I don’t believe you are bad, and -you will be good, won’t you?” - -“Yes, I will,” said Jim. Then he left Nelly crying on the stairs, and -went quickly to the porch where Mrs. Martin was waiting for him. - -“Well, good-by, Jim,” said Mrs. Turner. “I hope you’ll be a good boy. -Remember I have been kind to you.” - -“Yes’m, thank you,” said Jim, rather coldly. He wanted to see “Father,” -but Mr. Turner had taken himself out of the way. - -While Mrs. Martin was walking home with her little friend, and talking -to him to cheer him up, they heard something running after them, and -Jim said, “Here is Spot, what shall I do? I am afraid I can’t make him -go back.” - -“Well, we’ll take him home, too,” said Mrs. Martin. “I like dogs, -they are such faithful friends; they don’t care if people are pretty -or ugly, rich or poor, good or bad, they just love them, and stick to -them. Yes, we will take Spot, and make him happy.” - -This remark made two people very happy. Jim brightened up, and laughed; -and Spot, who had kept his tail between his legs in a most respectful -and entreating manner, now began to wag it joyfully, and showed his -love by nearly knocking down Mrs. Martin, to let her know that he -understood what she had said, and approved of it. - -Spot had been given to Jim by one of his school-mates, and Jim was very -proud of his only piece of personal property. Spot was a white dog with -a great many black spots all over him, and he was not exactly a beauty, -but he was the best, lovingest, naughtiest, and most ridiculous young -dog that ever adorned this world. He was always stealing bones, and -old boots and shoes, and burying them in secret places as if they had -been treasures, and no one had the heart to scold him much, because he -looked so repentant and as if he would never, no never, do it again as -long as he lived. - -Since the silver spoon had disappeared, Spot had been very unhappy; -people seemed to give him all the benefit of their disturbed tempers. -Mrs. Turner spoke crossly to him, and would not let him stay in the -kitchen; Mr. Turner had slyly kicked him several times; Nelly cried -over him when he wanted to play, and Jim only patted his head, and -said, “poor Spot, poor Spot!” by which he meant, “poor Jim, poor -Jim!” But now Spot felt that a good time was coming, and he rejoiced -beforehand, like a sensible dog. - -And, in truth, a pretty good time did come. Jim was not entirely happy, -because he could not prove his innocence, but he found that no one had -been told of his supposed guilt. - -Mrs. Turner had not said a word about her missing spoon to any one. -“I will give him another chance to begin right,” she had said to her -husband. And Mr. Turner had replied, “I don’t believe he took it any -more than I did; so what’s the good of making a fuss about nothing?” - -No fuss had been made; but Mrs. Turner had said to her little daughter, -when she started for school the morning after Jim’s departure, “Nelly, -you must be careful not to say a single word to anybody about Jim. But -I don’t want you to ask him to come here, and it’s just as well for you -not to play with him much.” - -“It is too bad,” said Nelly. But she was an obedient little girl, and -the first time Jim came to school, when she saw that he hardly dared to -look at her she thought that it would be better to tell him the truth. - -[Illustration: OPINIONS DIFFER RESPECTING JIM.] - -So at recess she called him, and asked him to go with her on the road, -where no one would hear them; then she said: - -“Jim, I want to tell you something. Mamma told me I must not ask you to -come to the farm any more, and that I must not play with you much, and -so I won’t do it. But I like you just the same, and I will give you an -apple every day to say we are friends.” - -Nelly was as good as her word. Every morning, at recess, she gave Jim a -small red and yellow “lady-apple,” which she had rubbed hard to make it -shine, and which was one of the two apples her father gave her when she -went to school; and the “lady-apples” were all kept for her, because -she said they were so good and so pretty--“just like my little girl,” -Mr. Turner said. - -And what do you suppose Jim did with his apples? - -Eat them. No, not he! - -Every time Nelly gave him an apple, he put it in his pocket and took -it home. Then in the evening before going to bed, he made a hole in -it--the apple, not in the bed--and strung it on a piece of twine which -hung from a nail in the window-sash in his little room. - -The poor apples got brown, and wrinkled, and dry, but they were very -precious to Jim, but every one of them said to him, as plain as an -apple can speak: “I like you just the same.” - -And so the winter passed away quietly. Mrs. Martin became very fond of -Jim; she said he was so smart and so handy about the house she didn’t -know what she would do without him, and she didn’t think boys were any -trouble at all. - -But, alas, how little we know what may happen! - -Spring had come, and house-cleaning had come with it. Mrs. Martin had a -nice “best-room” which she never used except for half an hour on Sunday -afternoons during the summer, and which was always as clean as clean -can be. But in Spring, it had to be made cleaner, if possible; summer -could not come till that was done. - -So the carpet was taken up, shaken, and put down again, and as Jim had -helped in the shaking, Mrs. Martin kindly invited him to come in, and -admire the room. - -“What a pretty room it is!” said Jim; “why don’t you live in it?” - -“Because it would wear out the carpet, and it is more comfortable in -the sitting-room;” answered Mrs. Martin. Then she showed him a few -books, boxes, and other works of art which were spread out on the big -round table, and Jim admired everything. - -Among Mrs. Martin’s treasures, there was a brown morocco “Keepsake,” -containing a pair of scissors, a silver thimble, and a needle-case. -It had belonged to Mrs. Martin’s little daughter who had died several -years before, and when Mrs. Martin went into the best-room on Sunday -afternoons she always opened the “Keepsake,” and thought of the little -hands that had played with it, long ago. And now as a reward of merit, -she showed it to Jim. - -“It is the prettiest thing I ever saw!” said Jim; “when I am rich I -will give Nellie Turner one just like it.” - -“She will have to wait some time, I guess,” said Mrs. Martin, laughing. - -Then they looked at the pictures of George Washington shaking hands -with nobody, and of his wife, looking very sweet and handsome. - -“You are so great at stringing up things, Jimmy,” said Mrs. Martin -with a funny look, “I want you to hang up these pictures for me, will -you?” - -“I will,” said Jim, blushing a little as he thought of his string of -apples; “I will do it next Saturday.” - -Jim kept his promise. The pictures were hung in the best light and made -the room look so much prettier, that even Spot, who had been a silent -observer, could keep still no longer, and barked his approbation. Then -the blinds and windows were closed, the door locked, and the best-room -was left to quiet and darkness. - -The next day being Sunday, Mrs. Martin paid her usual afternoon visit -to the best-room. She admired the pictures a little while, then she -went to the round table to take up the Keepsake; but the Keepsake was -not there. - -She looked all over the table and under it, behind every chair and -in every corner, but she did not find it. “I wonder where it can be? -Perhaps I took it to the sitting-room without thinking,” said Mrs. -Martin to herself. - -She went back to the sitting-room and looked everywhere, but found no -Keepsake. Then she sat down in her rocking-chair and tried to think -about something else, but could only say to herself: “I wonder where it -is!” - -Jim came into the room with a new Sunday-school book, which he began to -read. Mrs. Martin looked at him while he read, but for some reason she -did not say anything to him about the Keepsake. - -The next morning she put off her washing, and as soon as Jim had gone -to school she began to search the whole house; but no Keepsake did she -find. - -“It can’t be, it can’t be,” she said with tears in her eyes; “but I -_must_ look in his room--perhaps he took it up to look at--he said it -was so pretty.” - -Mrs. Martin went up to Jim’s room, but found nothing there except his -clothes, the apples, and a few little treasures such as boys have. - -Then she fell on her knees by Jim’s bed, and cried with all her heart. -“No, I won’t believe it till I have to,” she said at last. “Poor boy; -it’s hard on him and he has been so good, too! But I must speak to him -about it, and if he has done wrong I must try to be patient with him.” - -When Jim came home from school in the afternoon, Mrs. Martin called him -into the sitting-room. “Come here, Jim,” she said; “I want to speak to -you.” - -She had said it very kindly, but there was something in her voice that -made Jim feel a little queer. - -He came in and stood before her, and she said to him: “Jim do you know -what has become of that pretty Keepsake I showed you the other day? I -can’t find it anywhere, and I have looked and looked.” - -[Illustration: “I LIKE YOU JUST THE SAME! I LIKE YOU JUST THE SAME!”] - -“No,” said Jim boldly, “I havn’t seen it since. I hope it isn’t lost.” -Then he stopped, and his face blushed crimson. There was something in -Mrs. Martin’s eyes, as well as in her voice, that reminded him of his -trouble about the silver-spoon. - -“Oh! you don’t think”--he cried out. - -But he could say no more--Mrs. Martin had him in her arms the next -moment. - -“No, I _don’t_ think,” she said, “I don’t, my boy! not for the world I -wouldn’t! only I can’t find it, and--and--” - -“Let me look for it,” said Jim. - -They looked again together, but with no success. That night there were -two heavy hearts in the quiet little house, and the next morning there -were two pair of red eyes at the breakfast table. - -“You must not grieve so, Jim,” said Mrs. Martin. “I hope it will all -come out right; we must try to bear it well, and go to work as if -nothing had happened.” - -But she could not follow her own advice, and the washing remained -undone. - -Jim did not go to school, and spent his time looking everywhere in the -orchard and in the garden, while Spot followed him, wondering what was -the matter. - -No one had any appetite for dinner, and after trying in vain to eat a -potato, Jim went up to his room. - -Mrs. Martin tried to sit still, and sew, but she could not bear it -long; and when she heard the children coming from school, she went to -the gate to look at them; they were so happy that it seemed to do her -good. - -“Is Jimmy sick?” asked little Nelly, stopping on her way. - -“No,” said Mrs. Martin; “but he’s been busy, and couldn’t go to school.” - -Nelly wanted to send him a nice russet apple she had kept for him, but -she did not quite dare to do it because Mrs. Martin looked so sober. - -Jim heard her voice from his room, but he did not dare to show himself. -“She won’t like me just the same when she hears of this,” he thought; -and he felt as if he had not a friend in the world. “I would give my -head to find that thing,” he said; “she don’t believe I took it, but -she believes it too; I shall have to go away from here, and I don’t -care what becomes of me, anyway.” - -Mrs. Martin stood at the gate a little while watching the children, -then she went to the garden to look at her hot-beds--two large pine -boxes in which lettuce, radishes, and tomatoes were doing their best to -grow fast and green. - -When she came near the beds, she saw Spot stretched on the ground, -enjoying an old bone, as she thought. - -“This won’t do, Spot,” she said; “I don’t want you to bring your bones -here. Go away!” - -Spot did not seem to mind her at all, so she came a little nearer to -make a personal impression upon him with the toe of her shoe. - -Spot growled, and turned away his head a little, and as he did so, a -little silver thimble fell out of the old bone and rolled upon the -ground. - -“My Keepsake!” exclaimed Mrs. Martin. And, as she said afterward, she -was so taken by surprise you could have knocked her down with a feather. - -She waited half a minute to get her breath when she picked up the -thimble and ran toward the house, calling with all her might: “Jim, -Jim, here it is! here, come!” - -Jim never remembered how he got down stairs, but there he was staring -at the thimble, and so happy that he couldn’t even begin to say a word. - -Mrs. Martin was just explaining to him: “you see it was Spot, and the -bone, and the hot-bed fell out of it, and I knew it was not you”--when, -they heard a big voice calling from the road: “Jim, Jim, come out here -quick!” - -They looked round, and saw farmer Turner running as fast as such a fat -man could run, and waving something shiny over his head. - -“Here it is!” he said, “here is that blessed spoon! I was a-plowing -in a corner of the orchard, when I turned up a soft stone made of red -morocco, with a silver spoon in it. Didn’t I tell you so? I never -believed it. Hallo! what’s the matter?” - -The matter was a most wonderful scramble. Mrs. Turner and little Nelly -had run across lots, and here they were, talking, and laughing, and -crying. Everybody hugged everybody else, and everybody was so glad -she was so sorry, or so sorry she was so glad--farmer Turner vowed he -couldn’t tell which it was most. - -At last they made out that they were all very glad, and Mrs. Martin -invited them all to stay to tea. They accepted the invitation, and such -a tea-party never took place anywhere--not even in Boston--for the -company had joy as well as hot biscuits, and happiness as well as cake. - -Spot was scolded and forgiven, and wagged his tail so hard that it is a -wonder it didn’t come off. - -As for Jim, he got kisses enough that evening to last him for a -lifetime. - -This is the true end to a true story, but not the last end by any means. - -For Jim is now a “boy” twenty-one years old, and Nelly “likes him just -the same,” only a great deal more. - -[Illustration: “THEY’LL THINK I’M PAPA!”] - - - - -[Illustration: ON THE WAY TO THE BLOOMING.] - -THE CHRISTMAS THORN. - -BY LOUISE STOCKTON. - - -In the December of 1752, Roger Lippett was a boy of ten years, and -“Dan,” his dog, was six months old and had to be taught to swim. To -this pleasing duty Roger addressed himself whenever he had a chance, -and the only draw-back was that his mother would allow no wet dog upon -her sanded floor, and as Roger had to be wherever Dan was, he had often -a tedious time in waiting for such a very curly dog to get dry. - -But this Sunday afternoon the two had taken a long walk after the swim, -and when they came back Dan was dry and uncommonly clean and white. - -In the little parlor Roger found the usual Sunday company. In an -arm-chair on one side of the fireplace sat Simon Mitchels, the -school-master; opposite to him, on a three-legged stool, was Caleb -Dawe, the parish clerk, and on the settle, in front of the fire, was -Roger’s cousin, old Forbes the miller, and short Daniel Green, the -sexton. His mother sat in her high-backed chair by the window, and -Phœbe Rogers’ younger sister was near her playing gleefully with a -kitten. - -“Christmas!” said Caleb; “there’ll be no Christmas! What between the -New Way and the Old Way, we’ll all go astray. It is a popish innovation -at the best, and if King George knew his duty, he’d put his foot on it.” - -“Nonsense!” said Simon, testily; “when a thing is wrong, ’tis wrong, -and if you mean to make it right, you must not mind a little temporary -trouble. King George knows that just as well as any one, and so do you! -If you wanted a new roof on your house you would first have to take the -old one off.” - -“Not Caleb,” said old Forbes. “Caleb ’d patch the old one until it was -new-made over.” - -“Yes,” replied Simon, “that is just what we have been doing with the -year--patching and patching. Now here comes King George, and says, -‘Look here, this is 1752, and if we are ever going to have a decent -regular year with the proper number of days in it, ’tis time we were -about it.’ But you people who patch roofs object because it alters the -dates for one year a day or two. Thanks be to the King, however, he has -the power.” - -“Alters the dates a day or two!” repeated Caleb. “You yourself said the -New Way would take eleven days out of the year.” - -“Only this year,” Simon replied; “afterward it will be all right. It is -but to bring the first of January in the right place.” - -“It was right enough,” persisted Caleb. “And I say no one, king or no -king, has any right to take eleven days away from the English people.” - -Then Mistress Margery Lippett spoke: - -“For my part,” she said, “I think the New Way unchristian. Mistress -Duncan, you know, has a fine crowing little boy, and when the squire -asked how old he was, she told him--’twas but a day so ago--three -months and two weeks; and he laughed, and told her she would have to -take the two weeks off. Now _that_ I call unchristian, and not dealing -justly with the child.” - -At this the school-master laughed, and taking his pipe out of his -mouth, and pushing his velvet skull-cap a little farther back, he -replied: - -“They were both right, Mistress Margery. Both of them. The mother -counts by weeks--very good--the squire by the proper calendar. One -makes the child three months and two weeks, and she is right; the other -deducts eleven days to fit the calendar, and he, too, is right.” - -“Out with it,” cried Caleb; “out with such a calendar! Why, the whole -realm will be in confusion. None of us will ever know how old we are, -or when the church-days are due; but I doubt if, in spite of it all, -the Pope’s new calendar doesn’t keep the squire’s rent-day straight. -They’ll look out for that.” - -“I suppose,” said Simon, “you all think the year was created when the -world was?” - -“Of course it was,” said Mistress Margery; “didn’t He make the day and -the night, and do you suppose He would have passed the year over?” - -“You are about right,” said Simon; “but the trouble is we are just -finding out what His year is? See here, Roger,” and he turned his head -to the boy, “do you know how many different kinds of years we can -reckon?” - -“Not I, master,” said Roger. - -“Well, I’ll tell you. Suppose you wanted a measure of time answering -to a year, you might reckon from the time the apples blow to when they -blow again, but if a frost or a blight seize them, you’d be out with -your count, wouldn’t you?” - -“Truly,” said Mistress Margery, who delighted to see how well Roger -understood his learned master. - -“Well, then,” resumed the teacher, “you would soon find that if you -wanted a regular, unchangeable guide, one unaffected by seasons, by -droughts, heats, or hostile winds, you would look to the skies. You -would, perhaps, if you were wise enough, and had observed--you would -single out some special star; you would take close notice of its -position, note its changes, then you would say, ‘When that comes back -to the very spot where it was when I began to watch it, that time I -shall count as my year.’ Do you follow me?” - -“That I do,” said Roger. - -“That, then, is one way in which a year was once calculated, and the -star chosen gave three hundred and sixty-five days for a year.” - -“Now that is a calendar, true and unchangeable, and correct beyond what -a Pope can make,” said Caleb. - -“That, Roger,” said Simon, taking no notice of Caleb, “is called a -Sidereal year. Now, come you here, Phœbe, and tell me what is a Lunar -year?” - -“A year of moons,” said Phœbe, her bright eyes dancing. - -“You have the making of a scholar in you,” said Simon; “’tis a pity you -are a girl. A Lunar year _is_ a year of twelve moons. This Lunar year -has but three hundred and fifty-four days, still it served the purposes -of the Chaldeans, the Persians, and Jews. - -“Then there was the Solar year, calculated by the sun; and it and -the Lunar year agreed so badly that every three years another lunar -month had to be counted in to keep the one from running away from the -other. Now, I suppose you all think,” looking at the group around the -fireside, “that all these years began the first of January and ended -the thirty-first of December?” - -“It is but just that they should,” said old Forbes, Caleb disdaining to -speak. - -“But _they didn’t_,” said Simon. “The Jews began their year in March; -in Greece it began in June, and certain Eastern Christians began theirs -in August.” - -“That isn’t England,” said Caleb, in a tone of contempt. - -“Truly not,” said Simon; “but the English year used to begin the -twenty-fifth of December, until the coronation of William the -Conqueror--when was that, Phœbe?” - -“In 1066,” said Phœbe, smoothing her teacher’s ruffles with the air of -a petted and privileged child. - -“It was January the first, 1066,” resumed Simon; “and it was judged so -important an event that it was ordered that ever after _the year should -begin on that day_. But I can tell you worse than that of England. -There are places in England to-day, where they reckon their year from -the twenty-fifth of March! - -“But long before William’s time,” he continued, “the Romans had ideas, -and they thought it wise to straighten up the year for their own use. -So Julius Cæsar--when did he begin to reign, Phœbe?” - -“I don’t know,” said she. - -“In 63, B. C.” said Roger, eagerly. - -“No, that was Cæsar Augustus, and we are coming to him. Julius Cæsar -lived before that, and he arranged the years so that all the even -numbers among the months, except February, had thirty days, and all the -odd ones thirty-one. Do you understand that?” - -“Not I,” said Phœbe, frankly. - -“January is the first month; it is not an even number?” - -“No,” said Phœbe. - -“March is the third month, and so is not an even number?” - -“No,” said Phœbe again. - -“They each then, being odd, had thirty-one days, while May and July, -and the other even months, except February, had thirty days. That was -all very easy, and the length of the year seemed settled; but when -Cæsar Augustus came on the throne he was not satisfied. ‘What,’ said -he, ‘shall Julius Cæsar in his month of July have thirty-one days, and -I, in my month of August, have but thirty!’ And so he at once made -August longer.” - -“He was very foolish,” said Phœbe. “I was born in February, wasn’t I, -mother? and _I_ don’t care because Roger was born in December, when -there are more days.” - -“But you are not a Cæsar,” replied her teacher. “At any rate this Cæsar -made the year all wrong again; and in 1582 Gregory, who was Pope, set -to work to help matters. He had to drop some days, I believe, in the -first year just as we are going to now. The French and Italian people, -and some others, were wise enough to see this improvement at once, and -they adopted Pope Gregory’s year; but we, for nearly two hundred years -more, have been getting along with the old way, and our new year comes -ahead of almost everybody else’s, and those who travel get their dates -badly mixed.” - -“Surely,” said Roger, “it _would_ be best to have the same year the -world over.” - -“So King George thinks,” said Simon; “but Caleb here says not, and -quarrels because eleven days have to be dropped out of this one year, -so that for all aftertime the years, months, and days, will go on in an -even, regular and seemly manner.” - -“And I rightly object,” replied Caleb; “and when the proper -Christmas-day comes I shall keep it, and no king, no pope, and no -Julius Cæsar, _nobody_, shall ever make me change the blessed day for -any other falsely called by its name.” And Caleb put his hands to his -three-legged stool, and lifting it and himself at the same moment, -brought it down with a bang. - -“Well, we can’t go wrong about Christmas-day,” said Mistress Margery, -“if we but follow the blooming of the Glastonbury Thorn.” - -“That we cannot,” answered old Forbes. “For hundreds and hundreds of -years, long before popes or calendars were thought of, that Thorn has -bloomed every Christmas Eve, and not only the one at Glastonbury, but -every sacred slip cut from it and planted has remembered the birthday -of The Child _and never failed to blossom_!” - -“That is all superstition,” said Simon; “the plant naturally blossoms -twice a year--that is all.” - -“Indeed that is not all,” cried Mistress Margery. “I was born and -raised at Quainton, but seven miles from here, and there, as you all -know, is a fine tree grown from a Glastonbury slip, and many’s the time -when, with the whole village, have I gone out to see the blooming.” - -“And when did it bloom, mother?” asked Phœbe. - -“Always on Christmas Eve. The blossoms were snow white, and by -Christmas night they were gone.” - -“But, mother,” said Roger, “why is the Glastonbury tree the best, if -this at Quainton blooms as well?” - -“Because it was the first one planted, of course,” said Mistress -Margery; “I know no other reason.” - -Phœbe saw the little smile upon Simon’s face, and taking his coat -lappets in both hands, she bent her pretty little head in front of his, -and said: - -“Tell us, master.” - -“You think,” he answered, “that I must know all the old wives’ stories? -Well, I will tell you this one. Joseph of Arimathea, you know, gave his -sepulchre to receive the body of the Lord. Into it the blessed angels -went, and out from it, upon the third day, came the Risen Saviour. -From that hour, until the one in which he saw the Lord return unto -the skies, Joseph followed Him, and then all Palestine became to him -empty and weary. There were people who doubted the resurrection; people -who said that Joseph himself was one who aided in a deception; and -so, tired of it all, he took his staff in hand and wandered until he -came to England, and to Glastonbury. On Christmas-day he climbed the -hill where the old, old church now stands, and here, in sign that his -wanderings were over, he planted his staff. At once it rooted, it shot -forth leaves, it blossomed, and the scent of the milk-white flowers -filled the air. From that time to the days when Charles and Cromwell -fought, it has blossomed on Christmas Eve; but then it was cut down by -some impious hand, yet still all the slips, the twigs, which had been -cut off by pilgrims, have kept the sacred birthday; and as your mother -says, the one in Quainton can as well as the other decide between the -Old calendar and the New.” - -“I am glad to hear thee say so,” exclaimed Mistress Margery, with -brightening eyes, “and if you choose to journey with us when next we go -to Quainton, you are heartily welcome to our company, and I’ll bespeak -thee a honest welcome from my sister who, like my Phœbe here, has a -strong leaning toward learning.” - -“Nay,” said the school-master, looking a little ashamed of himself; “I -but told the story to amuse the child. The plant is merely a sort of -hawthorn from Aleppo, and regularly blooms twice in the year, if the -weather be but mild.” - -But although Mistress Margery was much disappointed that he had no -desire to go to Quainton, she found both Roger and Phœbe bent upon -witnessing the Christmas blooming. - -“I don’t know,” said she, lightly, “but that between the Old Way, and -the New, the Thorn will be confused, and not know when it should bloom.” - -“It will not bloom on your new Christmas, take my word for that,” said -Forbes; “and if the children will wait until the true day comes, I -myself will take them along, for I have a mind to see it myself.” - -“But, cousin Forbes,” said Phœbe, “it _may_ bloom on the new day.” - -The little people had their way. On the morning of the twenty-fourth -of December, by the New Style, but the thirteenth by Caleb’s count, -Roger and Phœbe started off, mounted on their mother’s own steady -white horse, Phœbe behind her brother, with the bag containing their -holiday clothes, while to Roger was given their lunch, and a bottle -of blackberry wine for their aunt, with whom they were to lodge in -Quainton. - -The morning was cold and bleak, but the children rode merrily on. It -was the first time they had been trusted alone on such an expedition, -and Phœbe at once proposed that they should play that Roger was a -wandering knight, and she one of the fair, distressed damsels who were -always met by knights when on their travels. - -“I would,” said Roger, “if you could find another knight to whom I -could give battle, but it is rather tame to be pacing along here with -you behind me, and no danger ahead.” - -“I wish then,” said Phœbe, “that mother had not wanted cousin Forbes’ -horse, for, perhaps, he would have lent it to us, and then, with such a -horse, we could have been a knight and a lady out hawking, and I would -have given you a race.” - -“That would have been a rarely good plan,” said Roger, looking up the -level road, “and I do not like to lose it. Ho, lady,” he cried, looking -behind him, “thy father is in pursuit!” And clapping both feet to the -sides of the horse, he put him to his speed. - -“Oh, Roger! oh, sir Knight!” exclaimed Phœbe, “my hood--if I could but -tie it!” - -“I cannot wait for hoods,” said the knight, in a stern voice; “when we -reach my castle thou shalt have twenty-two, and a crown beside.” - -The lady would not have doubted this for the world, but she -nevertheless loosened one hand, clinging desperately to her protector -with the other, and pulled off the hood, held it, and clutched her -knight who, with cries of “on Selim, on!” urged poor old Dobbin to his -best. - -There was, indeed, a clatter of horses’ hoofs behind, and with it a -loud cry, Phœbe turned her head. - -“Oh, sir Knight!” she cried with very short breath; “my father _is_ -near at hand! Hasten, oh, hasten!” - -And sure enough, some one was! He was short and stout, and looked -much more like a butcher’s boy than a gentle lady’s father; and he -was certainly in pursuit, and he called again and again, but the only -effect was to make the flying knight more vigorously kick the sides of -his horse, and more vehemently push on. But as fortune would have it -the father’s horse was the swiftest, and in spite of the knight’s best -efforts he was down along-side. - -“What do you mean?” he exclaimed, “by racing off in this way! If I -didn’t know that was Mistress Margery Lippett’s horse I would have let -you go on, seeing that you haven’t sense enough to know he has lost a -shoe.” - -At this Roger quickly stopped his steed. - -“Which one?” he exclaimed--“Here Phœbe, I must get down--the hind foot -shoe is gone.” - -[Illustration: ON THE ROAD ONCE MORE.] - -“Oh, Roger,” cried Phœbe, “what would mother say! She is so careful of -Dobbin, and she charged us to take heed of him; and Roger, _must_ we go -home, do you think?” - -“Of course not,” replied Roger, “and see here Dick,” for he now -recognized his pursuer, “cannot you tell me where to find a blacksmith?” - -“There is one at Torrey,” said Dick, “a mile down that road. It is the -nearest place, but it will take you out of your way, if you are going -to the Blooming as am I, who must be off, or my master will take my -ears in pay for my tarrying.” - -It was easy enough to find the blacksmith’s shop, but the blacksmith -was not there, although he would soon be back, his wife said. Roger -tied his horse, and then he and Phœbe wandered about until he declared -it was lunch time; so they came back, and were about to eat their lunch -by the stile, when the smith’s wife saw them, and calling them into her -kitchen, spread a table for them, and added a cold pie and some milk to -their repast. - -But still the man did not come, and Roger waited in great impatience. -He was almost ready to start off again for Quainton, but Phœbe was so -sure that the penalty of injuring Dobbin would be the never trusting -of them alone again, that he was afraid to risk it. Then there came a -man with two horses to be shod, and he waited and scolded and stamped -his feet, and then the blacksmith came, but he at once attended to the -man, and so Dobbin had to wait. But at last Dobbin was shod, and Roger -mounted, and then the blacksmith lifted Phœbe up. - -“Where are you going?” said the smith. - -“To Quainton,” replied Roger; “we are going to see the Blooming.” - -“Why, so are we,” said the man. “It is late for you children to be on -the road. If I had known all this I would have shod your horse first. -You had better wait for us.” - -“Oh, no,” replied Phœbe, “we have first to go to our aunt’s. It would -frighten her greatly to have us come so late.” - -Roger looked down the road. It was certainly late in the afternoon, but -the road was direct, and so he said good-by, and off old Dobbin trotted. - -It now seemed as if the mile out of the way had stretched itself to -two, and it was fast growing dark when they reached a mile-stone three -miles from Quainton. Little Phœbe was certain they should be lost -riding on in the dark; but not so Roger. - -“There is no fear of that,” said he stoutly, “we will meet others -going.” - -And Roger was right. The nearer they got to Quainton the greater became -the throng of people, and they were one and all going to the Blooming. - -They came from the lanes, from over the fields, out of every hamlet, -from every road. They were in wagons; they were on foot and on -horse-back; two old ladies were in a sedan-chair, and at last they -overtook an old man carried like “a lady to London,” by two great sons. -As it grew dark and darker, and no stars came out to brighten the sky, -wandering lights began to shine forth and torches, candles, lanterns, -gleamed out on the roadside and flickered in the bushes and among the -trees. There was in every group much talking and discussion; and it was -easy to be seen that most of the people were of Caleb’s opinion, and -doubted the new way of arranging the year; but it was equally clear -that they meant the slip from the Glastonbury thorn to decide the -matter for them. - -Roger kept close behind a travelling-carriage which was attended by two -horsemen carrying torches, and greatly to his joy it went into Quainton -and passed directly by his aunt’s home. - -“There is no use in stopping,” cried Phœbe, as the house came in sight, -“it is all shut up and dark, and aunt Katherine has surely gone with -the others.” - -This was so likely to be the case that Roger urged on his horse, and -again overtook the carriage. When they reached the field in which the -Thorn-tree stood it was already filled with flickering, moving lights, -and was all astir with people and voices. - -Roger jumped down, lifted Phœbe, and then tying Dobbin to an oak -sapling which still rustled with dried and brown leaves, he turned to -his sister and, hand in hand, they hastened to where the Thorn was -growing, and around which stood a large group. - -The tree was bare, leafless, and looked as if dead. - -“If that blooms to-night,” said a woman, “’twill be a miracle.” - -“It is always a miracle,” said a grave and sober-looking man by her -side. - -Phœbe held closely to her brother’s hand; but the scene was too -wonderful to promise much talking on her part. The darkness, the dim -and shadowy trees and bushes, the tramping of unseen horses, the -confusion of voices, the laughing and complaining of children, the -moving lights, the thronging people, and in the centre of it all a ring -of light and a dense group around the tree, made a wonderful picture. - -Nearer and nearer the people pressed, the parish beadle in advance, -with his watch in his hand, a man by his side swinging his lantern so -that the light would fall directly upon it. Many eyes were bent on it. - -It grew late, and the crowd became silent, gathering closer around the -tree. - -“Twenty minutes of twelve--a quarter of twelve--five minutes of -twelve!” proclaimed the beadle. - -The tree was still bare, and gave no signs of bloom. - -“_Twelve o’clock!_” - -And off in the distance pealed the bells, ushering in King George’s -Christmas. - -The torches flared upon the tree; the people in the rear of the crowd -stood on tiptoe and craned their necks to see the milk-white bloom. - -But the tree was silent and bare! - -King George could not be right. - -The next day aunt Katherine came out of the room where she was putting -her bed linen away in the lavender-scented press. - -“The church-bells have done ringing,” she said. “Run, children, and see -if any one has gone.” - -Off flew Phœbe with Roger after her, and when she reached the -church-yard, the only person she saw was Marian Leesh, a neighbor’s -child, looking over the wall at the minister and the clerk who were -standing by the door. When the clergyman saw Phœbe he came toward her. - -“Child,” he said, “what is the meaning of this? Is it possible that the -people refuse to keep the Christmas-day? Where is your family?” - -“We do not belong here,” said Phœbe; “we came to see the Blooming. We -are at aunt Katherine’s, and she is looking over her linen press.” - -The minister frowned. - -“And the rest of the people?” - -“They are all at work,” cried Roger, coming up; “the cooper has his -shop open, and the mercer is selling, and they have all put away the -cakes and the mistletoe, and there is to be no Christmas until the true -day comes.” - -“Nonsense!” cried the minister. “Jacob, bring me my hat!” and without -taking off his gown he strode down into the village. - -But it was all in vain; the minister talked and scolded, but the people -went on with their work. They would not go to church; they would not -sing their carols nor hang holly and mistletoe boughs. - -“This New Way might do for lords and ladies,” they said, “but as for -them the Christmas kept by their fathers, and marked by the blooming of -the Thorn, was their Christmas,” and so the sexton closed the church, -and the discomfited minister went home; and he was the only person in -Quainton who that day ate a Christmas dinner. - -When the news came to London and to the court of how these people, -and others in different villages, refused to adopt the New Style, the -little fat king and his lords and ladies laughed; but they soon found -it was a serious matter, and so it was ordered that the churches should -be opened also on “old Christmas” and sermons preached on that day -wherever the people wished them. And thus it was that our sixth of -January, known as “Twelfth Night,” “little,” or “old Christmas,” came -to be a holiday. - -But Roger and Phœbe spent one year of their lives without a Christmas. -They returned home upon the twenty-sixth, and found that there the New -Christmas had been kept; and as they could not go back to Quainton when -the Old Christmas came, they missed it altogether. - -As for the Thorn-tree! Who can tell whether it still blooms? In the -chronicles which tell of the Glastonbury bush, and of the Quainton -excitement, there is no mention made of its after blooming; and the -chances are Phœbe’s mother was a true prophet when she said it was -possible that between the Old Style and the New Style the Thorn would -become confused and bloom no more for any Christmas-day. - -[Illustration] - - - - -MIDGET’S BABY. - -BY MARY D. BRINE. - - -“O my sakes!” It was early in the morning when Midget stood on tiptoe, -peeping behind a large ash-barrel, and, with wide-open eyes, uttered -this exclamation. So early that only a few enterprising milkmen and -extra smart market-men were about the street, and nobody but Midget had -heard the feeble cry which startled her and led to an inquisitive peep -behind the barrel. - -It was in an alley-way where piles of rubbish, all sorts of odds and -ends, and much that was impure and disagreeable, had it all their own -way from dawn till night, that Midget was standing this chilly morning. -And “O my sakes!” escaped her lips once again before she ventured to -stop staring and begin work. No wonder she stared, for on the ground, -surrounded by bits of broken crockery and discarded ale-bottles, -half-choked with the dust of ashes, and carelessly wrapped in a -dilapidated old shawl, a baby was lying, stretching little thin arms -helplessly into the narrow space between the high brick wall and the -barrel, and testifying by feeble wails its need of timely assistance. -Midget was so shocked and surprised at first that she could only give -vent to her favorite exclamation as above, but presently her small -shoulder was pressed against the barrel, and after much tugging and -some hard breathing it was shoved aside, and Midget had her arms around -the forlorn and neglected baby in a moment. - -It was just at that part of the fall season when early mornings and -evenings are chilly and suggestive of shivers, and baby, who might have -been all night on the ground, was blue with cold and quite savage with -hunger. Midget’s shawl, ragged almost as that which was wrapped about -the baby, was made to do double duty, as she folded the little waif in -her arms, and realized the important fact that she was holding a real, -live baby. - -It was not possible to carry a bundle of wood and baby at the same -time, so the bundle which was to help grandma get her cup of tea was -unceremoniously dropped, and the little girl hurried home with her -new-found treasure. - -While she is hastening over the pavements, her blue eyes dancing with -joy and excitement, we may learn something concerning her and her -rather uncomfortable home. - -Midget lived with her grandmother, who was both father and mother to -the little thing who had never known the care or love of either parent. -Her father had never, in his best days, been much of a man, and when, -soon after his wife’s death, _he_ was accidentally killed in the -factory where he worked, poor little Midget was left totally unprovided -for, and quite dependent, in her babyhood, upon grandma, who at least -was able to pay the small monthly rent of the cellar home to which -Midget was taken. The child, because of her small size, had earned -from neighbors the nickname “Midget,” and had reached the age of eight -years, still answering to the title, and almost forgetting her real -name was Maggie. A wild, wilful, and not far from naughty little girl -she was, but her heart was kindly disposed, and held a world of good -intentions and affectionate thoughts, that somehow nobody, not even -grandma, could often get a sight of. She didn’t understand why there -was not a little sister with whom she might play all day, instead of -having to go out early in the morning to pick up sticks and chips for -the fire which cooked their scanty meals. - -Midget much preferred a game of “ring around a rosy” with the other -children, properly called “Les Miserables,” who swarmed about the side -street where she had lived so long, than to work for her daily bread -and blue milk, according to granny’s directions. And poor old granny -herself, possessing not much of the virtue called patience, was called -upon by her idea of training a child the way she should go, to give -little Midget many a “cuff on the ear,” and a shaking which roused all -that was naughty in the lassie’s heart, and made the blue eyes snap -very angrily. As for school, Midget had no time for education, but in -some way, she, with several other children, had learned their letters, -and could spell cat and dog as well as any school girl. During the day -she earned a little by selling papers on the street, and yet I’m sorry -to say most of her pennies went in sticks of candy down her little -throat, unknown to granny. “If I only had a little sister,” she would -think, excusing herself, “if granny would only buy babies, as other -women do, why I’d be as good as anything, and help her take care of it! -I would!” - -[Illustration: “EH! WHAT’S THAT?”] - -But granny _didn’t_ buy babies, and Midget still hated work, and -sometimes there were clouds and sometimes sunshine, and on this very -morning when Midget found the baby she had been saucy to grandma, and -grandma had boxed the little ears, and so it had begun a _very_ cloudy -day indeed. - -But we must return to Midget, who, ere this, has reached home. - -How glad she was, and at the same time how frightened, poor little -Midget! What should she do with the baby, that was the question; and -when at last the cellar was reached, and Midget laid her burden in -grandma’s lap, she asked the question over again. - -“Eh! what’s this?” asked the old woman, lifting her hands and brows -together, while baby, who, in all its life of eighteen months had never -beheld such a queer thing as granny’s broad-frilled cap, opened its -mouth and screamed a terrified answer. - -“’Tain’t only a baby, granny,” exclaimed Midget, patting the wee -stranger’s hands, and trembling lest her grandmother should rise and -drop it. “Only nothin’ but just a baby, and I’m so glad I found it, -ain’t you, granny? ’Cause you see it’s a kind of sister, you know, and -you won’t have to buy one.” - -“Glad?” repeated the old woman, “that I ain’t!” But the rather snappish -answer was quite out of keeping with the impulsive kiss laid on the -little one’s velvety cheek. Midget brightened when she saw granny do -that. - -“I say, do you think it’s got any mamma, granny?” she asked. - -“_Did_ have, most likely, but reckon her ma wa’n’t good for much,” was -the reply, while the baby, amused by Midget, began to laugh. - -“I shouldn’t have thought any mother would chuck her baby behind a -barrel,” said Midget, thoughtfully. Then she began to plead with her -grandmother that it might be allowed to stay with them, promising such -wonderful things, and such care of it, that granny, who loved babies, -and didn’t really know but what a reward might be offered for the -child, at last yielded, and promised to keep it at least a few days. -And Midget, delighted beyond measure, seemed to feel two years older as -she rocked the little stranger to sleep, and laid it in her own little -straw bed. “I was a stranger and ye took me in,” kept somehow repeating -itself in granny’s mind all that day. She had read it in her Bible long -ago, and had heard it from the pulpit once, but never before had it -come back so forcibly as to-day. “Well! well! The Lord will provide, I -dare say. And goodness knows, if he don’t, the child will starve along -with Midget and her old granny.” - -No advertisement appeared in reference to the lost baby, and at the end -of a week the little one had grown so dear to the two who had taken her -in, that granny decided to keep her “a _little_ longer.” - -But what had come over Midget? The frowsy head began to look smooth -as the clustering curls would permit, the little, active body, always -bent upon mischief, had busied itself in new ways, and began to look -tidy and neat as the unavoidable rags would allow. Hands and face were -clean as soap and water could make them, and Midget actually kept her -boots laced since baby’s advent into the family. Granny also noticed -that Midget grumbled less at having to go out in the early dawn for -sticks,--in fact, the grumbling in course of time ceased altogether; -for Midget was bent upon fattening the baby and making it grow. And how -could a baby grow fat unless she kept it nice and warm, and gave it -plenty of food? Granny’s cup of tea would not do for baby, but Midget -drank cold water most of the time, and baby had the blue milk all to -her hungry, healthy little self. - -By-and-by, after the little one had been in her new home about three -weeks, and all the children had kissed it and admired it to their -hearts’ content, and all the old crones of the neighborhood had -speculated as to how granny would be able to provide for it, Midget -found pleasant work to do in selling cut flowers on the street for a -florist near by. Such an important little Midget had never before been -heard of in that neighborhood, and it was wonderful how long it had -been since granny had found it necessary to punish her. No more saucy -words, or frowns on the child-face, because there was baby always -watching her little Midget-mamma with wide eyes, and once, just once, -Midget saw the baby kick out its tiny foot just as she had naughtily -kicked a little playmate who ventured to provoke her anger. And as -Midget was determined _her_ baby should excel all others, of course -she was careful of her influence. Then, too, she continued to be neat -and tidy, lest the baby might turn her sweet face away when a kiss was -wanted, and that would almost have broken Midget’s heart. - -The mornings were daily growing colder, and our little girl’s shawl -grew no thicker or warmer, sad to say, as she started early each day -for the flower-stand on Broadway. But Midget kept up a brave heart, -and was glad for the little custom she found. How closely she stuck -to business, and how patiently she looked forward to the hour when, -released from duty, she would scamper home for a frolic with baby, we -have neither time nor space to describe minutely, but we may say that -with this new happiness in her heart, and with the importance of taking -good care of her baby constantly in her mind, no wonder our little -Midget grew gentle and good, and found the sunshine oftener than she -used to. - -[Illustration: “MIDGET AND HER BABY.”] - -And all this time the wee stranger grew pretty and strong, and granny -began to fear lest somebody should claim this bright treasure, which -made the old cellar so happy a place, despite its scanty furniture and -lack of home comfort. But nobody came for it, and finally the winter -had slipped by and spring made its appearance. - -Midget had laid up a few dollars--think of it, children who read this, -a few dollars! probably the sum that some of you spend in candy and -toys during one day and think nothing of--for a new dress for baby -and some trifles for granny and herself. She was eight years old, old -enough to feel very grand and important when planning her shopping -expedition; and indeed, the little girl sadly needed something to wear, -if she would still make herself bright and attractive to baby. - -When the days grew warm she used to take her baby to the flower-stand, -and people passing paused often, as well to admire this bright little -nurse and her charge as to purchase the dainty blossoms offered for -sale. Then in an hour or so granny would come for the baby, and, taking -her home, leave the small flower vender free to attend to business. - -Didn’t Midget get tired of selling her flowers all day on the street? -O yes, very tired; but the day’s hard work only made her evenings -merrier; and the bed-time frolics with baby made Midget grow fat from -laughing, if the old adage is true, “Laugh and grow fat.” There had -been so many bright days, in Midget’s opinion, since baby came; that -the little girl quite forgot that there were such thing as clouds. -And so one day, when she went home, it gave her a dreadful shock to -find poor old granny faint and ill upon the low bed, and two of the -neighbors watching beside her. - -Midget looked around. Where was her baby? There was granny, so white, -and grown so suddenly older than Midget had ever noticed before, but -baby was crying in the arms of a girl-neighbor, who had volunteered to -“kape the spalpeen quiet” till Midget’s return. - -It didn’t take our little mother a minute to secure within her own -tender arms the frightened baby, and then Midget sat patiently down -beside granny, who neither stirred nor opened her dim eyes until -midnight. If I had time I could tell you how, after days of watching -and sadness, grandma made Midget understand that her sickness could not -be cured on earth. But the end came, after all, too suddenly for little -Midget’s comprehension, and when the kind neighbors had laid the old -woman away, to rest forever from labor, our little heroine had only her -laughing, crowing baby to comfort and cheer her. - -She went to live with a kind woman who had known granny for years, and -was but little better off in worldly goods than the old grandmother had -been. Still, Midget could not starve; and she and her baby were made -welcome in the new home. And after that she took the little one with -her to the flower-stand, and brought her home at noon herself each day -for two weeks. - -And then another thing happened, which, for a brief time, almost broke -the child’s heart. - -It was a beautiful day late in the summer, and baby, a big, fat girl, -was crowing and laughing in Midget’s lap, when a gentleman paused to -buy flowers. While Midget was giving him change baby reached out her -hand to touch the gentleman’s cane, and he looked at the baby face -first with indifference, then more earnestly, and finally with a -startled look on his own face which puzzled Midget. - -Then he questioned her about the child, and asked if it had, under the -soft golden curls, on the back of the neck, a small red mark. - -Midget innocently replied: “O, I’ve seen it whenever I’ve dressed my -baby; why, sir?” - -Poor little Midget! Little she knew that with her own lips she was -giving away her baby, for the gentleman, raising the curls that fell -about the fat little neck, saw himself the mark which gave him back his -own lost child. - -It would be too long a story to relate how, just as he and his wife, -so long ago, were going on board a European steamer, followed by nurse -and baby, the nurse, carrying out a well-laid plot, slipped behind and -sold for a large sum (promised) her little charge to an accomplice, who -hoped to claim the reward which he thought would be offered, when, too -late, the child’s loss was discovered; and, from that day until now, -both parents had mourned for their baby. The nurse, failing to receive -her promised share of money, worried and frightened the accomplice -until he deserted the baby, and when the nurse would have sought it, -Midget had taken her treasure home. The reward was offered, but, as it -happened, granny had not seen it, and thus the child of aristocratic -birth became indebted for life to Midget’s care. - -All this the gentleman explained afterwards to Midget, after he had -bidden her return to the florist her flowers and come with him. And -then, in the presence of baby May’s mother Midget told her story, with -many sobs and tears. - -But the sunshine was coming to our heroine again,--the clouds were only -for a little while. And when Mr. and Mrs. ---- engaged at a good price -the services of faithful Midget, as nurse for the baby she loved, and -took both baby and Midget away to the beautiful country-house, where -were birds and flowers and hanging leaves and grasses, which made the -fall so cheery a season as it never had been for Midget before--why, -then, the little girl wondered if it were not all a dream, and if the -beautiful house and charming meadows would not suddenly change into -dismal streets and old cellars and she a poor little flower-merchant -again. - -Little Midget is still nurse to baby May, still a bright, tidy, -well-shod little girl, and best of all, baby still calls her “sissy -Mid’it” and loves her as dearly as when, in the old times, Midget fed -her on blue milk and crackers. - - - - -A NOCTURNAL LUNCH, AND ITS CONSEQUENCES. - -BY LILY J. CHUTE. - - -There was one pet, secret fault which was the delight of Tot Sheldon’s -heart, and that was the eating, at night, after going to bed of such -goodies as she could previously lay her mischievous little hands on. - -Anything whatever to eat between the five o’clock P. M. supper and -the seven o’clock A. M. breakfast was a forbidden luxury to the -Sheldon children, for their good parents considered it altogether an -unwholesome habit for little ones to give their stomachs work for -the night. It was only adults, in their opinion, who might indulge -themselves in rosy-cheeked apples, tempting nuts, or other dainties, -in the long winter evenings, with impunity. To be sure, these little -treats, seeming doubly delicious to the watering mouths of the children -because forbidden them, were only brought forth after the clock had -struck eight--the bed-hour of the youthful Sheldons, but, by some -mysterious instinct which children often possess, they knew well enough -the night custom of their elders, and were ambitious to grow up, that -they, too, might not go to bed hungry. - -For it was not seldom the case that they were, notwithstanding their -hearty suppers of bread and milk, and such other food as was supposed -to be harmless to the youthful digestion, really hungry before they -fell to sleep. - -Little Tot, however, had a special antipathy to hunger, either real or -imaginary, and a similar love, as has been said, for secret nocturnal -feasts. The other children being boys, Tot had a cunning little -bed-room all to herself, and so could indulge her eccentric appetite -without much fear of disturbance. To be sure, she often felt certain -guilty qualms of conscience, when her mother would look into her room -to kiss her good-night, and she feigned sleep, while clutching tightly -her prize beneath her pillow. Crumbs of gingerbread or cracker would -have betrayed her the next day, but Tot had been brought up to take -care of her own mite of a room. - -She wasn’t afraid of nightmares. Not Tot! She had eaten too many -stolen suppers, and passed through the ordeal unharmed, to be afraid -of any such bugbears, as she termed them. Neither of illness, for -she considered her little stomach to be quite equal to that of any -feather-bearing ostrich that ever stalked. - -Sometimes it was a rosy baldwin or a brown russet apple, a juicy pear, -or bit of cake, or even a “cent’s worth” of candy, that found its -way to Tot’s chamber. But one night it was a whole pint of roasted -chestnuts which her uncle Harry had given her as he met her coming from -school, and which she had hoarded away, beneath the snowy sheets of her -bed, till night. - -For once Tot Sheldon was not unwilling to go to bed, a most remarkable -occurrence. She said her good-nights with such cheerfulness, and -started off with such alacrity that, unmindful of the many bed-times -when the contrary had been true of her behavior, Mr. Sheldon said -something, in a satisfied tone, about “the good effect of early -training,” etc. - -Chestnuts were Tot’s special delight,--and _roasted_ chestnuts! - -How she longed to get at them, that she might release the mealy meat, -white and fine almost as flour, from the bursting brown shells, and -revel in the peculiar, delicious flavor which she knew and loved so -well! - -Having undressed and ensconced herself in her cosey little bed, she -waited with impatience for her mother’s nightly visit. She daren’t eat -any of the nuts before, for fear something of the nutty aroma might be -in her breath. - -But she forgot that roasted chestnuts have a fragrance of their own, -even while yet in their shells, and she trembled with fear least she -should lose her treasures, when her mother, after kissing her, said -kindly: - -“You haven’t been eating chestnuts, have you, Tot? It seems as though I -smelled them.” - -“No, marm,” replied naughty, trembling Tot. - -“That’s right, for you’d be sure to have dreadful nightmares,” said -Mrs. Sheldon, as she bade her child good-night, and closed the door, -distrusting the evidence of her own keen sense of smell. - -“Well, anyway,” said Tot to herself, as her mother’s footsteps died -away, “I hadn’t eaten any, so I didn’t tell a lie.” - -She thought the matter over a moment, thinking of the nightmares of -which she had been so often told, and half resolving to be so good a -girl as not to eat any of the nuts; but in the midst of her resolution -her hand strayed beneath her pillow, and into a paper-bag, and came out -with a splendid great chestnut, which she had no sooner tasted than she -sat up in bed, and with the bag in her lap began a feast. - -The room was not very dark, for the light from the hall burner streamed -through the transom over her door; and, if it had been pitch dark, Tot -had no fear of it, for she had never been frightened with any of the -silly, wicked stories often told to children. - -So she crunched away on the delicious nuts until they were about half -gone, and then stopped suddenly with a sense of fear lest she had eaten -too many, rolled the bag carefully about the rest, put them under her -pillow, and soon dozed off to sleep. - -But she didn’t sleep as soundly as usual, and woke up sometime in the -night, when the hall-light had been put out, and it was perfectly dark. -Her hand was tightly grasping the bag of nuts, and as she didn’t go at -once to sleep, she thought she would try just one more,--which resulted -in her again sitting up in bed, and finishing the pint of roasted -chestnuts in the dark. - -[Illustration: “SHE SAT UP IN BED, AND BEGAN A FEAST.”] - -That was a fearful infliction for Tot’s little stomach, strong as it -was naturally, and although she didn’t have any nightmares--that she -could remember, at least--she woke reluctantly in the morning, to a -sense that Bridget was knocking loudly on her door, and telling her -that breakfast was over, and it was very late. - -At first she felt obstinate, and declared that she wouldn’t get up, -but would go to sleep again; then a sudden guilty consciousness of the -paper-bag full of the husks of a pint of chestnuts came to her mind; -and the fear least somebody should come into the room and discover them -made her turn hastily out of bed and begin to dress. - -But, as the old saying goes, she got out “the wrong side of the bed” -that morning, and everything was troublesome. Never had Tot experienced -so much trouble with every article of clothing, with her ablutions, -with her hair; and at last she nearly left the room without her bag of -shells, which she had laid on a chair while making the bed, which she -dared not leave unmade, although there was no time, this morning, for -it to air first. - -But cramming the shells into her pocket, together with her -pocket-handkerchief, Tot started down-stairs, regardless of such faults -in her toilet, as that her petticoat was wrong side out, her dress -buttoned “up garret and down cellar,” her hair parted almost as much -on the side as a boy’s, while her curls, usually so pretty, were mere -stringlets. - -When she reached the sitting-room, the clock pointed to quarter before -nine, and as there was no time for her to eat the breakfast which had -been saved for her, she threw on her sack and hat, seized her books, -and started for school. - -The rule of the school was that each pupil must be in his or her seat -at five minutes before nine, and as Tot was one of the best scholars, -and very ambitious, she was disgusted to find that all kinds of street -obstructions concurred to belate her. - -She came within a hair’s breadth of being run over by one desperate -driver, and was only rescued by a brave policeman who pulled her from -the tangle of horses and teams, but he hurt her arm severely by his -grasp. Indeed, poor Tot afterward found it was black and blue. - -Then she fell down in the mud and made a sorry looking spectacle of -both herself and her books. - -So that when she arrived at school, only to find the doors closed for -the morning prayer, she was about as thoroughly cross as could well be -imagined. - -A reproof from her teacher, who was vexed that his best pupil should -set such an example of tardiness, exasperated Tot into an ugly -obstinate resolve to say nothing of the accidents by which she was -belated. So she took her seat without a word, and looked for her French -grammar, to study the lesson which was soon to be called for. - -But she couldn’t find it, and then she remembered laying it apart from -the other books, the previous evening, and that it was thus left at -home. - -Too angry still with the teacher, whom she had always before liked, to -tell him of the blunder, Tot turned to her desk-mate and broke another -rule, by asking the loan of the French grammar which the latter was not -using. - -But the master’s eye was on her. - -“Miss Sheldon, you were whispering! Take a misdemeanor!” - -Tot did not answer, and choked down the rising sobs. A “misdemeanor” -was the blackest of black marks, and never before had she received one. - -Some of her friends among the pupils looked at her sympathizingly, but -there were those who, always envious of the more studious and obedient -of their number, showed their spiteful delight at her fall. - -Of course she failed in her French, and lost her high place in the -class, and finally, when a stinging and almost unjust rebuke came from -the teacher, poor Tot could stand it no longer, and bursting into tears -she hastily pulled her handkerchief from her pocket, when, with it, out -flew the forgotten chestnut-shells all over the room! - -Into the master’s very face and eyes they went, and he, half blinded, -and not fully realizing how it happened, told Tot that she needn’t stay -at school any longer unless she could behave better. - -Out of temper from the beginning, angered beyond measure at what she -considered injustice, and maddened still more by the shout of laughter -that went up from the school at the episode of the nut-shells, Tot -defiantly replied: - -“Then I’ll go home, and never enter this hateful old place again as -long as I live--_never_!” - -“Miss Sheldon, you will repent this. Miss Mayfair will accompany you -to your mother at once, and will take with her your discharge from -this school. Go to the dressing-room. Your books will be sent to you -to-night.” - -With flushed face and quickly beating heart, Tot left the school-room, -put on her things, and started for home. - -Had not her companion been with her, it is possible that she would have -made some truant attempt to avoid meeting her parents’ eyes. - -It was a little strange that Nettie Mayfair, her own particular friend, -should have been selected as her companion. But so it was, and, as soon -as they were out of the building, Nettie exclaimed in friendly but -annoyed tones: - -“Why, Tot Sheldon, how _could_ you!” - -“_I!_” repeated Tot, her anger rising toward the very one to whom she -had meant to pour out all her griefs, “how could _I_? Why, I didn’t do -anything--it was all that mean old Mr. Stimpson! I never saw such an -abominable man in my life!” - -“Oh, Tot!” began Nettie indignantly, “you know he has always been as -good as--” - -“No, he hasn’t either, Net Mayfair--and if you stand up for him, you’re -just as bad as he, a mean hateful girl--_so_!” - -“I should think you’d be ashamed of yourself, you spiteful girl,” cried -Nettie, “I don’t see how I ever came to like you.” - -“And _I_ never did like _you_” retorted Tot, “though I was fool enough -to think I did! I’ll never speak to you again!” - -“Nor I to you, so long as I live!” was Nettie’s reply. - -Arrived at home at last, the message and accompanying discharge from -Mr. Stimpson was read by Mrs. Sheldon, who, full of sorrow and almost -in tears, told her daughter to go to her chamber and remain till her -father should come home, and they could decide what should be done with -her. - -The key was turned that made Tot a prisoner in her own little bed-room, -and here she remained through the long hours of the day without hearing -a word or a step near her door. No voice came to her longing ears from -parent or brother; no food to eat, and no books to read,--nothing to do -but to think. - -What a condition was she in indeed! Discharged in disgrace from the -school she loved; under the lasting ban of the displeasure of the -master she had always so much respected; the friendship with her own -Nettie utterly broken; and a prisoner in her room, utterly uncertain -what the future might be to which her parents would consign her. - -The twilight darkened, and night came on. The hall gas was not lit, and -still no sound came to her. All was silent as the grave. - -At last, fearing and trembling, poor little Tot undressed and crept -into bed, where she lay for a long time unable to go to sleep, the bed -seeming as if lined with thorns. - -But at last she slept so soundly, that she was only awakened by her -mother’s voice, close to her face, saying in its kindest and sweetest -tones: - -“Why, Tot, my darling, what is the matter? Why are you so flushed and -restless?” - -In utter delight at the dear sound of her mother’s voice so gentle and -kind, Tot sprang out of bed when her mother exclaimed, half laughing -and halt in amazement: - -“Bless the child! I don’t wonder you were restless! Why, you’ve been -sleeping on a bed of chestnut-shells! But, oh! you naughty girl, you -told me last night you hadn’t been eating chestnuts!” - -The laugh had left her mother’s voice, and it was sad but yet tender, -when Tot exclaimed in surprise: - -“Last night! wasn’t it night before last? What day is this, mamma?” - -“Tuesday, of course,--what do you mean?” - -“I thought it was Wednesday, and oh! such dreadful things happened -yesterday!” and Tot threw herself on her mother’s bosom, and burst into -sobs. - -“Oh--I see, my dear,” said Mrs. Sheldon, tenderly stroking her child’s -tumbled curls, “_you’ve had your nightmare!_ But don’t cry, for nothing -really dreadful has happened, except that I’m afraid my little girl -told her mother a wrong story last night.” - -“Oh, no, I didn’t, mamma--or, at least I thought I didn’t; for I hadn’t -eaten a single nut when you asked me, but ate them afterwards;--but, -oh! I’ll never do it again in the world, if you’ll forgive me.” - -The forgiveness was freely granted, when the story of a day’s troubles -which had been crowded into an hour’s disturbed slumber, had been -related, and Tot in the neatest of toilets and with the freshest curls, -ate her breakfast, and, without forgetting to take her French grammar, -went off to school. She could hardly get it out of her head all day -long, that she was in disgrace, but her lessons went off well, Mr. -Stimpson was as kind as ever, and Nettie Mayfair was as loving as a -bosom-friend could possibly be. - -Tot’s strong digestive organs had done the heavy work assigned them by -their reckless little mistress, but they had given her a foretaste of -what might happen in reality, were she to grow dyspeptic and miserable, -through abusing them. In her unrest, she had turned over her pillow to -find a cool spot for her head, and spilt the shells from their bag into -the bed. - -One good lesson was taught by the nightmare, however, to the mother as -well as the child, for thereafter, some light refreshment, as a slice -of light plain cake and a glass of milk, was allowed each child of the -Sheldon family, an hour before he or she went to bed, and thus the -temptation to recur to her old habit never overcame Tot’s resolution to -eat no more private lunches. - -[Illustration: DAISY’S SURPRISE.] - - - - -LULU’S PETS. - -BY MARY STANDISH ROBINSON. - - -First, there was Tom Doddles; and he was a bother. Grandma said so, -when she found him snugly curled up in her favorite arm-chair, grandpa -stumbled over him in the doorway, and sister Caroline declared that -“the little plague _shouldn’t_ go with her when she went to take her -music lessons.” Don’t imagine that Tom Doddles cared for music; O, not -at all; he plainly said so when he heard any, by a series of howls, and -little, jerky barks. - -But he liked to drive out in the phaeton, and stand up with his -fore-paws on the dash-board, and look at the horse, with the most -solemn air imaginable. - -That is, he would do so for a short distance, until thinking, -doubtless, that the wise traveler should improve all opportunities, he -would dash down and away for a nearer inspection of bird or butterfly. -And once he had too much curiosity about a bee; after that, he thought -bees were rather disagreeable, and quite ignored their society. - -And you see, scrambling through sand-heaps, and splashing through -mud-puddles, was apt to disarrange his toilet. And he didn’t care in -the least, but would jump back again in a social manner, that was very -distressing to Caroline. - -She did not like to have her clean frocks “mussed” and disfigured by -mud, and ever so many little black and white hairs. - -But what could she do? What would you do, if you lived in the country, -and your little sister had a little pet dog that wanted to go to town -whenever you did? Would you let him go? And if he stood up on his hind -legs, as straight as a soldier, and begged, “jess as hard,” as his -little mistress said, while she kissed and coaxed for him, could you -refuse? - -Caroline could not, for a long time; but one day she drove off, leaving -Lulu and Tom Doddles wailing together, while she flourished the whip to -keep him at a distance. - -His non-attendance was such a relief and comfort generally, that she -decided to leave him at home in future; and for several weeks poor -Tommy supplicated in vain. - -At last, when the phaeton and little gray pony came around to the door, -Tom was invisible. - -Cad laughed as she took the reins. - -“Why, Tom has given it up,” she said, “poor little fellow! How he -did enjoy going; but he was a nuisance, and I’m glad if he’s learned -better.” - -“Come, Fannie,” to the friend who was going with her, and away they -went, as gayly as if there were no little dogs breaking their hearts at -home. - -However, that day, _the_ little dog was otherwise engaged. You’ll -laugh to hear that when they were about two miles from home, the merry -chatter of the girls was broken by a tiny, smothered bow-wow, very much -like a suppressed sneeze in church. - -“O!” - -“What is that?” chorused the girls. - -Then Cad jumped, and almost let the gray pony have his own way. - -For something under the seat was tickling her; and before she could -look for the cause, out popped the head of Thomas Doddles, Esq., who -proceeded to look serenely about him, as if conscious of a success that -no one could dispute. - -“The cunning darling!” said Fannie, laughing so that she could not sit -up straight. - -“O you scamp!” cried Cad. “I’d throw him away if ’twere not for Luly.” - -“Now sir!” said she, addressing him with great severity, “_don’t you -dare_ to jump out of this carriage to-day.” - -But you’ll not be surprised to learn that he did so the very next -moment. How could he help it, when a chipmunk chattered a challenge for -a race to the nearest tree? - -Tom lost, and nearly dislocated his neck by looking up so much, and -barking at the same time. - -As for the chipmunk, not a walnut cared he; and what he chippered back -might mean: - -“You’re smart, Mr. Dog, but, smart as you are you can’t catch me!” - -Well, Tom Doddles was a bother! But he was a cunning one, and between -the scoldings and the pettings that he received he was as spoiled as a -doggie could be. - -But we all felt bad when a careless man shot him by mistake. - -And Lulu mourned so much that Aunt Sarah, after talking with mamma and -grandma, went away one afternoon, and returned at night with a large -box, about which she was as mysterious as a fairy godmother. - -Lulu knew from experience that Aunt Sarah’s mysteries always meant -something delightful; and after a little teasing about what _was_ in -the big wooden box, she put two kisses on auntie’s cheek, and said she -would go to bed, and “find it all out in a dream.” - -But she didn’t, after all. She was awakened the next morning by a smart -little tap that was _not_ a kiss, on her own round, pinkie-pearly cheek. - -And there was such a queer little munchy noise going on! - -The blue eyes opened; languidly at first, but they were wide and bright -in an instant, for there was something curious for them to see. First, -a heap of walnuts lying on her bed. Where did _they_ come from? Then, -sitting up in the midst of them, and working away like a complete -little nut-cracker, was the most charming gray squirrel that anybody -ever saw. - -“O!” exclaimed Lulu. “Why!! Where _did_ you come from, Beauty?” - -For all answer, Gray-Coat tossed her an empty walnut-shell, and cracked -an uncommonly large one on the spot, just to show her how well he could -do it. - -Lulu picked up a piece of shell from the pillow. “That’s what struck me -on the cheek,” she said, jumping up. “I know now! he was in Aunt Saty’s -box, and I guess he’s all mine. Where’s auntie? Where _is_ mamma? - -“O! O! O! What is this here? A little silver house, true’s I live.” - -By this time the little girl was dancing around the room, as if she -were practising for a ballet performance. Grandma, mamma and Aunt Sarah -appeared in the door-way, and grandpa peeped in, too. - -“What’s going on here?” asked he. - -“O, I never!” said Lulu, hugging first one and then the other. “I know -all ’bout it, auntie. _You_ did it, an’ I think he’s lovely, an’ what’s -his name, an’ he’s mine for always, ain’t he?” - -“His name is Dick,” said auntie. - -“Dickon Gray,” suggested mamma, “and I hope that Pussy will not eat -him.” - -“We must watch him,” said grandma. - -And they did, very carefully at first. But surely, that squirrel and -cat were predestined friends; for they would frolic and play together -like two kittens. - -And when puss was in extra good humor she would treat Dickon to a ride -on her back. - -“Arrah,” said Robert, the hired man, “an’ did ye iver say the loike o’ -that, now? It bates the li-in an’ the lamb, I’m thinkin’.” - -Yes, and puss evidently had much respect for Dick’s judgment; because, -upon her return from market she often brought a tender mouse-steak for -his inspection. - -I suppose you would like to know if Dickon lived in his little house? -It was of tin, and so new and bright that it did look like silver. He -had a nice bed made of cotton wool, in the upper story. But did he -sleep in it? Well--sometimes. One morning he was not there; and after -much vain searching Lulu was sure that he was dead--had run away--been -stolen--the cat had eaten him. - -And she was dolefully sobbing for each separate fate, when Robert -opened the kitchen door and said, “Ah, come ’ere now, Miss Luly! an’ -ye’ll laugh a laugh as big as Tim Toole’s.” - -Robert was a favorite with Lulu, and she followed him up-stairs into -the grain-chamber, sobbing and sighing as she went. - -He swung her up in his strong arms, over the great oat-bin, with, “An’ -only say there, now, Miss Luly!” - -And then, how she _did_ laugh! for there was the darling, eating his -way out of the oats, as if his very life depended upon it. - -Didn’t she hug him, though! He was so tame that she could handle and -fondle him without fear of being bitten; but this time her joy made her -squeeze him _so_ close that he suddenly darted up, and sliced a tiny -bit of skin from the tip of her saucy little nose. - -“Euh!” cried Lulu, “mamma! Dick’s bit my nose! I ’fraid he’s all -spoiled it! What _shall_ I do?” - -Mamma was frightened, I assure you, and ran to examine her little girl. - -Dick repented the moment he did this naughty thing; and tucked his head -under Lulu’s arm while he trembled violently. - -“It’s nothing serious, but he must be whipped,” said mamma. - -“O no! please don’t whip him,” said Lulu. “His little heart beats so -fas’ now I’m ’fraid ’twill break.” - -“’Twas only a love-pat,” said grandpa, “I guess he didn’t mean to.” - -“He’ll bite harder next time if he is not properly punished,” said -mamma, firmly, and she shut him in his cage, and gave him three or four -strokes with a small switch. Then he was left alone in disgrace. - -But it was not long before Lulu stole in, and gave him a lump of sugar -that she had coaxed from grandma. - -“Don’t you mind it, Dicky,” said she, kissing him through the -prison-bars. “I love you just as much’s ever, and to-morrow you shall -come out again.” - -Dick nibbled part of the sugar, and slyly tucked away the rest in a -corner. I dare say he was thinking of next winter; just as housekeepers -are when they put up the sweetmeats that we all like so well. - -Then he remembered that he had a carriage at command, and bowled away -in his wheel at a rapid pace; only he never arrived anywhere, you know, -and that must have puzzled him sorely. - -So Lulu went on loving him more and more every day, until Tom Doddles -was almost forgotten. - -Dolls were neglected, and sometimes abused; for was not Miss Patty -Primrose (who only a year ago had been “the beautifulest darling”), -found lying on the hard, cold floor, with her clothing in wild disorder? - -Lulu well knew that Miss Patty had been snugly tucked up in a -cradle-bed, and put by on a high shelf. How came she down there in this -plight? - -Lulu looked up at the cradle, and saw a pair of very bright, sprite-y -eyes peering out of it. Behold! Master Dick had turned out poor dolly, -and was lying flat on his stomach in the little bed, using his own -silver-gray tail for a blanket. - -It grieves me; but as a faithful historian I must relate that a sad day -finally came, when dear Dickon was missing; and alas! this time, he -could not be found. - -There was no clue to his fate. - -Perhaps the voices of the woods had called him back to his early home. -Perhaps he had been enticed away. - -No one knew, but in a few days they realized that he had gone “for -always,” as Lulu said, and they spoke of getting another one for her. - -But she did not want it. - -“I would rather ’member my own p’ecious Dicky,” she said, “than to have -fifty ‘other ones,’ They could never be the same, and would only make -me think that p’r’aps he was mis’able somewhere while they was havin’ a -good time.” - - - - -DAYS OF THE WEEK. - - -SUNDAY.--Day of the Sun. - -MONDAY.--Day of the Moon. - -TUESDAY.--Day of Tuisco, the Scandinavian god of war. - -WEDNESDAY.--Day of the Scandinavian god Wodin, or Odin. - -THURSDAY.--Day of the Scandinavian god Thor, the god of thunder. - -FRIDAY.--Day of the Anglo-Saxon goddess Freya. - -SATURDAY.--Day of the Norse god Sæter. - - - - -[Illustration] - -WHAT JANET DID WITH HER CHRISTMAS PRESENT. - -BY L. J. L. - - -When Janet awoke on Christmas morning and saw her stocking, which -had been placed most invitingly beside the chimney the night before, -hanging as limp and apparently as empty as at the moment of leaving -it there, she was not a little astonished as well as grieved at the -thought that Santa Claus had passed her by. - -This was not strange, for such a thing had never happened before; but -after rubbing her eyes to make sure of being awake, she looked again -and was so positive it had occurred now, notwithstanding there was no -reason to expect it, that when she arose to prepare for breakfast she -did not take the pains to so much as peep into her stocking to verify -her surmises. - -And there is no telling when she would have done so had not her pride -whispered, as she was about to leave the room, that it would be well -to put the empty stocking out of sight, and thus hide from others the -evidence of her disappointment. - -But the moment she laid her hand upon it for this purpose she -discovered that she had been laboring under a great mistake. It was -not empty. Concealed in a fold of the upper part was a sealed envelope -directed to Miss Janet Dunstan, and beside it a neat package wrapped in -tissue-paper which, when unrolled, she found to contain five ten-dollar -bills! - -What could it mean? Could so much money be really hers? - -For a little while Janet was too much bewildered to think of the note -in her hand as a probable explanation, but presently she caught sight -of it, and with a little laugh at her own stupidity she opened it and -found in Grandpa’s hand-writing the quaintest, queerest epistle it had -ever been hers to receive. - -It began with “Respected Granddaughter,” and then with a profusion of -big words and complimentary phrases, went on to relate how a number -of her worshipful friends, consisting of father, mother, uncle Tim, -grandma and himself had gathered themselves together at an appointed -place to deliberate upon the matter of Christmas gifts; and being thus -in “solemn conclave assembled” that which should be done for her had -received due attention, and it had been the unanimous decision in view -of the fact of her having attained the dignity of fifteen years, that -it was time to cease filling her stockings with toys and confections; -and, as it proved somewhat difficult to decide what other offerings -might be most acceptable, they had finally come to the conclusion to -act upon a suggestion made by uncle Tim, which was to give nothing but -money, with which she could procure such things as would best suit -her taste: therefore, in the accompanying package she would please -find fifty dollars--ten dollars from each; and hoping this would prove -entirely satisfactory, he had the honor to subscribe himself her humble -servant, etc., etc., etc. - -Janet laughed. Knowing well grandpa’s propensity for joking she saw the -sly fun with which all these stilted phrases had been indited; but when -she again looked upon the money in her hand, her eyes filled with tears -at the thought of the confidence in her, on the part of her relatives, -which so generous a gift signified. - -For none of them were wealthy, although in fairly comfortable -circumstances, and she knew so large an amount of money would never -have been placed at her disposal had they not been tolerably sure that -it would not be foolishly expended. And, then and there, she resolved -they should see that their confidence had not been misplaced. Not one -dollar would she use until there had been discovered some good purpose -to which the whole could be devoted. - -But the discovering of such a purpose proved more difficult than -was anticipated; partly, because she knew without being told, that -it was not expected the money would be used for clothing or for any -of those necessary things such as her parents had been in the habit -of providing; and she labored under a great disinclination to ask -advice in the matter, having an instinctive feeling that the money was -given her as a sort of test, which stimulated her to be equal to the -emergency alone. - -A week elapsed, and the opening day of the winter term of school -arrived with the question no nearer a settlement than on Christmas -morning, except that she had come to the determination to find, if -possible, some method of investing her money, by which, while serving -some useful purpose to others as well as herself, it should be made to -yield something of interest in return. - -This denoted both a benevolent and practical turn of mind; and as if -only waiting such a conclusion, a plan whereby this possibly might all -be accomplished was that day suggested to her in a remark made by one -of her school-mates which she chanced to overhear. - -“Oh, how I wish,” said one little girl to another, “some one here would -keep books to lend as they do in cities. My auntie writes she has the -reading of all the books she desires by simply paying two cents a day -for their use.” - -Janet started as the thought flashed across her mind that, perhaps, -here was something she could do; and she wondered how many books -fifty dollars would buy, and if she would be capable of managing a -circulating library of this kind. - -The more she thought about it the more pleasing seemed the idea; and -when Saturday came, bringing a respite from school duties, as was her -wont with all matters of importance, she went to talk it over with -grandpa and get his opinion. - -Without preamble or delay, waiting only to exchange greetings, she -plunged directly into her subject by saying: - -“Grandpa, I have decided that I would like to open a circulating -library with my money. Do you think I have enough?” - -Evidently grandpa was not a little surprised, as well as amused, for he -seemed for a moment to be struggling between a desire to both whistle -and laugh, although he actually did neither; but, giving Janet a -quizzical look over his spectacles he said: - -“Oho! and so you propose to devote your means to charitable purposes, -do you?” - -“No, I don’t mean to do anything of the kind,” answered Janet; “I -propose to have pay for lending my books.” - -Then grandpa did laugh and whistle too. But Janet did not allow herself -to be disturbed, well knowing that she was sure of his sympathy and -attention when he should have his laugh out; and directly, as she -expected, he became quite grave, and asked her what had put such an -idea into her head. - -Then, as she was confident he would, he listened most kindly while she -told him all that had been in her mind from the moment of receiving her -gift, and of how the little girl’s remark had seemed to indicate a way -by which she could do not only that which she so much desired, but also -to gratify a wish she had herself often felt--a wish for more fresh -reading matter than it had been at all times convenient to procure. For -she thought, could she purchase a small number of volumes and lend them -in the manner suggested, that perhaps these might yield a sufficient -return to enable her to get such others as might from time to time be -desired. - -A look of pleased interest gradually stole over grandpa’s face as Janet -told her plan, and when she had finished he took his spectacles in his -hand, and while balancing them on his forefinger, remarked: - -“Why, Janet, you bid fair to become a capital business woman! This is -not a bad project for a fifteen-year-old head!” - -“But what do you think, grandpa?--can I make it work?” queried Janet -impatiently, too intent upon her purpose to care for compliments. - -Grandpa deliberated a few moments and then replied: - -“Yes, Janet, I believe your idea is a practicable one, providing you -are willing to begin in a small way.” - -[Illustration: GRANDPA HIGHLY APPROVES OF JANET.] - -This Janet expected, as a matter of course, for she well knew fifty -dollars could not be made to buy a great number of books; but -thinking there might be more in grandpa’s remark than appeared, she -asked him to explain. - -“Why,” said he, “inasmuch as your means will not admit of many books, -it seems to me that it would be advisable to restrict the variety to -only such as may be suited to a single class of readers; for instance, -to young people like yourself.” - -Janet’s eyes sparkled as she clapped her hands and said: - -“I like that. So it shall be; and we will call it the Boys’ and Girls’ -Library.” - -The project approved and a name chosen, what further remained to be -done seemed comparatively easy. At least so Janet thought; for grandpa, -thoroughly pleased with the idea, very cheerfully offered to assume -the entire care of bringing the library into working order, after which -it was understood the whole management would rest upon Janet. - -It would occupy too much space to enter into all the details of how -this was finally brought about--of the letters written to distant -booksellers and the answers received; of the catalogues he and Janet -looked over together and their discussions in regard to the merits of -different authors--therefore we will omit all this and come at once -to the completed work as it stood when ready to hand over to Janet’s -charge. - -At first father and mother had been somewhat doubtful of her scheme; -but upon learning that it met with grandpa’s approval they concluded -to allow it a fair trial. They saw that to insure the harmonious -working of the library, there were two important things to be secured -at the outset: That patrons should have perfect freedom to come and go, -and still not be allowed to intrude upon the quiet or privacy of the -household; and with this end in view they caused a tiny room at the end -of the hall, which had an outside door of its own, to be fitted up and -set apart for the exclusive use of the library. - -Across one side of the room was placed a row of low shelves where, -after being carefully numbered, the books were neatly arranged, but -leaving when all was done considerable unoccupied space which, grandpa -said, was for growth should the venture prove a success. - -Before the window stood a small table holding pens, ink, and -record-book, with which, and two chairs, the furniture of the room was -complete. - -The main feature of the room, of course, was the books; and, -considering that these had all come before the public long after -grandpa had ceased to be personally interested in youthful literature, -it seemed almost a mystery how he had been able to make his selections -with such admirable taste and judgment. But this was soon accounted for -by the fact that he had been governed in his choice by the standing of -publishing houses and the approval of critics of established taste and -ability. Only such as were thus vouched for were allowed a place in -the collection. When all were shelved there were thirty-five volumes -in strong cloth covers, including stories for both boys and girls, -biographies, travels, etc., and one which would be classed under no -general head, bearing the funny title “Behaving.” - -These cost on an average $1.20 each, and were all the works of standard -authors, such as Mrs. Whitney, Miss Muloch, Miss Alcott, Miss Yonge, -Miss Jewett, T. B. Aldrich, J. T. Trowbridge, with others of equal -merit. One novel feature of this library must not be omitted, which was -a tiny microscope intended to accompany a book entitled, “Evenings with -the Microscope,” indicating that grandpa meant this library to be a -means of profit as well as pleasure to the young people of the village. - -The cost of the books and microscope amounted to forty-four dollars, -leaving six dollars, which were invested in a subscription to two -monthly magazines, one a four-dollar monthly, suited to mature minds, -and one copy of WIDE AWAKE, which took the remaining two. The magazines -were Janet’s own suggestions, in order that every young person should -be sure to find in the library something to please the individual taste. - -Grandpa thought it advisable to burden the working of the library with -as few rules as possible, and after careful deliberation he decided -upon three which, if strictly adhered to, he thought would be quite -sufficient. - -_First_, The library was to be open to the public on three days of each -week between the hours of four and six, P.M., _and at no other time_. -Not even for the accommodation of some special friend were books to be -either taken from or returned to the library at irregular hours. - -_Second_, Borrowers of books were to pay for their use at the rate of -two cents per day; and were to make good any damage received at their -hands; and last but by no means least, no running accounts were to be -allowed. Every book was to be paid for when returned, otherwise the -delinquent person was to be denied another until the indebtedness was -cancelled. - -Grandpa’s idea in this was not so much to prevent loss, as to instil -into the minds of Janet and her friends correct business habits. - -He reasoned, very correctly, that if a person contracted the habit of -incurring debt in youth it would be very likely to follow him through -life; therefore, even in so small a matter as this he thought it wisest -and best to be careful and exact. - -Everything being in readiness, Janet announced her project by -distributing among her schoolmates a few neatly written notices, -containing a statement of her plan of lending books, and the rules to -be observed, and then in a few courteous words invited patronage. - -Such a commotion as this simple announcement created! The questions -and explanations which arose from all sides were something to be -remembered: “Whatever had made her think of such a thing? Could any one -have a book that wished? and must every one pay? Surely she would make -exceptions in favor of her dearest, dearest friends?” until poor Janet -was fairly bewildered. - -But she finally succeeded in making them understand all about it, -and why it would be necessary to conduct the library with strict -impartiality by showing them how unjust it would be to favor one above -another. - -Two or three of her most intimate friends were at first a little -inclined to feel themselves personally aggrieved at this; but their -better judgment soon convinced them of their error, and on the day of -opening these were the very first to present themselves. - -The eagerness with which others followed, and the number of books taken -on this day proved that Janet’s venture had met with sufficient favor -to warrant its success. - -And Janet proved a good manager, too. When the hour for opening the -library arrived, she took her place by the table before the open -record-book, and as fast as each one made a choice of a book she wrote -under the proper date its number and the name of the taker, leaving -on the same line a blank space where the date of return, and amount -received for use, was to be daily recorded. - -Both magazines and fully two-thirds of the books were taken on this -first day; but, as was to be expected, this was rather above the -average on succeeding days. Still the demand for books continued fair -throughout the winter, and also through the spring and summer months, -one set of readers succeeding another until there was scarcely a house -in the village where one or more books from Janet’s little library had -not found its way. - -And wherever they went they carried a good influence with them, -one which tarried and before long became manifest in several -different ways. For, besides being bright and interesting, affording -entertainment of a high order, there was not one which did not teach -some useful lesson, inculcate some pure and noble sentiment, or show -the beauty and desirability of brave and unselfish purposes. - -And so these few good books became a refining and inspiring element in -the young society of this retired, humdrum little village, such as had -never been felt there before, and from which the young people profited -to a surprising degree. - -Throughout the entire school this good influence was especially felt, -helping the boys to grow more manly and courteous, the girls to become -gentle and more attentive to their studies, while yet sacrificing -nothing of their accustomed jollity but its rudeness and carelessness. - -The boys and girls were not, to all appearances, conscious of the -change in themselves, nor had they been would many have recognized its -source; but their elders were not slow to discover the little leaven at -work in their midst, nor to benefit by the suggestion of a duty owed to -themselves and families which this contained, as the unusual number -of subscribers to some of our best periodical literature the following -year amply testified. - -As the year was about drawing to a close, grandpa looked over Janet’s -record-book to ascertain what had been the measure of the pecuniary -reward of the enterprise; and this is what he learned: The different -patrons of the library numbered nearly one hundred, a few having read -every one of the books, while others had taken not more than one or -two. But of the thirty-five books each and every one had been out -several times, and as some had proved greater favorites than others, -grandpa made a general average of time upon the whole of _one hundred -days each_--equal to thirty-five hundred days--which, at two cents per -day, had brought a return of seventy dollars. The magazines, evidently, -had been the greatest favorites of all, as the record showed that they -had been out fully three-fourths of the time, and had earned a trifle -over ten dollars. - -This, added to the earnings of the bound books, made the nice sum of -eighty dollars in something less than one year--thirty dollars over and -above the original investment--while not one book was lost, nor one so -badly worn that it would not do good service some time longer. - -To say that grandpa was delighted at this showing would be but a feeble -expression of his feelings; and when the facts in regard to the success -of her undertaking were laid before Janet’s friends, they were so well -pleased that their united judgment was in favor of a continuance of the -work, advising that she withdraw the thirty dollars profit and put this -amount out on interest, while the original sum should be reinvested in -new books. - -This was quite in accordance with her own wishes; and as the year had -been prolific of cheap editions of old and standard works, as well as -of many new ones, she was enabled to increase her stock to over one -hundred choice volumes suited to both old and young readers, naturally -increasing the number of her patrons and adding greatly to the -popularity of the little library. And although only about one-fourth -of the second year has elapsed, the people of the village are already -beginning to look upon Janet’s library as one of the permanent and -praiseworthy institutions of the town, many talking confidently of -a time in the near future when it shall comprise many hundreds of -volumes, and be no longer “the Little Library.” - - - - -CHRISTMAS ROAST BEEF. - -BY A. W. LYMAN. - - -I had just sat down to my dinner, Christmas Day, when there was a -distant shout down the street; then another still nearer. The policeman -on the corner sounded his rattle for reinforcements; there was the -sharp clatter of hoofs on the paving stones; two pistol shots in quick -succession, and the confused murmur of many voices. I rushed to the -window in time to see an excited crowd gathered about a prostrate and -wounded steer, a fugitive from a passing drove of Texas cattle. There -was little damage done by his mad flight; the old newsman on the corner -was knocked down and sustained trifling injuries, and the excitement -was soon over. The wounded animal was taken away in a wagon, and I -resumed my dinner, with my mind on the Texas steer. “Poor fellow!” I -mused, “you have a long, hard journey of it from Texas to roast beef!” -and I began mentally to follow him in his successive steps. - -From the peculiar figure which I saw on his flank as he lay in -the street, I could trace him back through two thousand miles of -wanderings, down to the ranche of Col. Mifflin Kennedy, where he was -born. - -There are three or four larger ranches in Texas, but Kennedy’s is a -model in its way, and a brief description of it will give an idea -of the manner in which stock-growing is carried on here. Kennedy’s -ranche is a peninsula, comprising more than one hundred thousand acres -of land, projecting into the gulf between the Neuces and Rio Grande -rivers. On three sides of this tract are the waters of the gulf, so -that all the owner had to do was to build a fence on the land side, and -his farm was enclosed. But this was not so easy a task as one might -think, for this fence of stout planks is thirty-one miles long. At -intervals of three miles along the fence are little villages, groups -of houses for the herders, stables for their horses, and pens for the -stock. Within the enclosure roam about forty thousand cattle, ranging -in size from young calves to three-year-olds, and perhaps as many more -horses, sheep and goats. - -I should guess that our steer began his first experience with life -at Kennedy’s, on an early spring day. A spring day in March, the -very thought of which makes you shiver, is in Texas a season of bud -and blossom and singing birds. The new grass is thrusting its bright -green blades up through the brown and faded tufts of last year’s dead -verdure, the trees are unfolding their leaves and the broad prairies -are white and blue and purple by turns, with the early wild flowers -which grow in beds miles in extent. - -[Illustration: “THE BRANDING PROCESS.”] - -The little calf has enjoyed a happy existence of a few days amid scenes -like this, when his first sorrow comes--an experience much like that -of the baby with vaccination. This is the branding process which he -must undergo, a hot iron being placed against his flank, which burns -off the hair, and imprints upon the tender hide a mark--a sort of -monogram--which he never outgrows--and which serves to distinguish him -forever from the cattle of other ranches. In Texas every stock-grower -has his own peculiar brand, which is registered with the proper -official, and no person is permitted to use that mark besides himself. -By this means cattle that wander away or are stolen can be singled out -wherever found, as you see I recognized our wanderer in New York. - -After the branding the calf is turned loose to make his living on the -plains, and for two or three years he leads a life of absolute freedom. -He rapidly grows tall, gaunt, uncouth and belligerent, and by the time -he is a full-fledged steer, what with his immensely long horns, shaggy -hair, and wild-rolling eyes, he is a fierce-looking fellow. I have a -pair of horns taken from a steer in Western Texas, which measure more -than five feet across from tip to tip, and this is not a remarkably -large measurement. - -When our steer is not more than three years old, he enters upon another -stage of his existence, which for him ends ingloriously, in a few -months, in a Northern slaughter-house. Some spring day, such as I have -described, the cattle-buyer appears, and the steer changes owners. - -The collecting and assorting of the herds for the drive Northward, on -the fenced ranches in the settled portions of the State, are easily -accomplished; but in the grazing regions further west, where the cattle -roam without limit, this work is both difficult and perilous. The -cattle in these remote regions are mostly bought by a class of bold, -daring men, of long experience on the frontier, known as “out-riders,” -who buy and collect the cattle from the stock-raiser, and sell them to -the speculators from the north. - -The outrider fills his saddle-bags, and most likely a belt which -he wears around his waist, with gold coin to the amount of tens of -thousands of dollars, for in the section of country he visits there -are no banks; and, taking a few trusty companions, all well mounted -and armed, sets out on his long journey, beset by constant danger from -lurking Indians and white outlaws who infest this wild country. - -The stock-grower who has lived remote from the settlements, perhaps -seeing no human being except the owner of a neighboring ranche for a -year, looks upon the “outrider’s” visit as an event in his existence. - -He is a most hospitable host, and for several days after his guest’s -arrival no business is thought of, and a season of feasting, riding and -hunting is observed. When this is over they begin their negotiations. - -The herds are scanned over to get some idea of their condition, but -the cattle are not carefully counted and weighed as stock is in the -North. The herds are simply sold “as they run.” That is, the owner -looks through his book to see how many cattle he has branded, and the -“outrider” pays him so much for his brand, which entitles the buyer to -all the cattle that he can find in scouring the prairies, which bear -the purchased mark. - -There is considerable sport and a great deal of hard, rough riding in -getting the wild herds together and assorting them. It is in this work -that the splendid horsemanship and wonderful skill with the lasso or -lariat, of which so much has been written, are displayed by the Texas -herder. - -In a few days everything is in readiness, and the herds are started on -their long Northern march. - -[Illustration: ‘THE OUTRIDER.’] - -A route is selected which affords the best pasturage, and is most -convenient to the streams, as it is essential that the cattle should -reach the end of the drive in prime condition for the market. - -There are few incidents to enliven the wearisome weeks that follow. The -herds browze leisurely along from six to ten miles a day, following the -winding courses of the creeks and rivers, the herders following lazily -after to keep them in the general direction northward. - -For days and days human habitations are lost sight of, and the droves -and riders are alone in the midst of the great, grassy ocean. Not -quite alone, either--I came near forgetting that bright and cheerful -companion of the drove, the cow-bird, a brown little fellow about the -size of the well-known chipping-sparrow, or “chippy,” as the boys call -him. Flitting along on the outskirts of the drove, one moment tilting -gleefully on a tall, swaying weed, the next perching saucily on the -tip of a steer’s horns, perhaps at night roosting complacently on his -back, the cow-bird goes through the long journey from the Texas plains -to the stock-pens at the Kansas railroad station, whence the cattle -are shipped to the east. Whether the little fellows return to Texas -to accompany the next herd, or die of grief at separation from their -long-horned friends, I cannot say; but I think they must go back, for -their cheerful presence is never missed, and their number never grows -less. - -[Illustration: “THE LASSO.”] - -Although, as I have said, there are few incidents to interrupt the -monotony of the drive, the cattle-men sometimes meet with thrilling -experiences. In former years Indian attacks were not infrequent, and -many a brave band of herders has been surrounded and killed by the -savages whose hunting-grounds were encroached upon by the droves. There -is always danger, too, of stampedes in the herds, caused either by the -terrific thunder-storms and tornadoes which burst upon the great plains -without warning, or by the “cattle thieves,”--bands of white, Indian, -or half-breed outlaws, who live by stealing stray cattle from the -herds, and sell them or kill them for their hides. Having in his early -life encountered one or more of the devastating prairie fires which -sweep over the great, dry pastures almost every fall, the slightest -smell of smoke or sight of flame will plunge the steer into a panic of -fright, and this well-known circumstance is turned to advantage by the -cattle thieves in securing their plunder. - -Getting some distance to windward of a herd on a dark night, the rogues -set fire to a buffalo robe, and the pungent smoke of the burning hair -is borne down upon the reposing cattle by the wind. The first whiff -gives the alarm, ten thousand pairs of horns are reared aloft in air, -and one united snort of terror is heard. Before the herders can mount -their horses and check the panic the herd is past control, and the -maddened and terrified animals, trampling one another and whatever -comes in their way under foot, dash frantically off in the darkness -with a noise like the roll of distant thunder. They scatter beyond hope -of recovery. In the confusion following upon the heels of the stampede -the thieves succeed in driving off scores and sometimes hundreds of the -stragglers. - -[Illustration: “THE COW-BIRD.”] - -There are other incidents that I could narrate of amusing and exciting -adventures during the drive. One episode I now recall of my first trip -over the great cattle trail, was the encountering of a large herd of -buffaloes which became intermingled with our cattle just after we -crossed the Arkansas River in Southern Kansas. The buffaloes became -so bewildered that they marched along with the cattle, and the young -Texans enjoyed rare sport for two days in lassoing them. We had a -welcome variety in our scanty bill of fare by the addition of tongue -and other choice tid-bits to our larder. - -As the railroads are neared the drive becomes more and more tiresome, -and the Texas herders, longing for the wider freedom of the plains, -are not sorry to have it end. But the steer, if he could peep into the -future, would be sorry to have the journey brought to a close, for with -the railroad the romance of his career is over, and the last two weeks -of his life are full of hunger, thirst and suffering. The great droves -are divided into small herds, and distributed among the hundreds of -stock pens. After a rest of a few days the last journey is begun. With -eighteen or twenty of his companions the steer is taken from the pens -and stowed away in the cattle-car--a sort of gigantic coop on wheels. -There is neither room to turn around nor to lie down, so closely are -the poor fellows wedged in. Now and then a steer contrives to get -down on his knees at the risk of being trampled under the feet of his -neighbors, but he gains little rest in this way. - -The cattle trains run slowly, and from ten or twelve days are occupied -in the journey from Central Kansas to New York. At intervals of three -hundred miles the trains are stopped and the cattle are taken off, -placed in pens and fed and watered. After a rest of twenty-four hours -the journey is again resumed. During the continuous runs of three -hundred miles--about thirty hours in time--the poor creatures are -without food or drink, and their suffering, especially in warm weather, -is intense. Is it a wonder that they lose on an average two hundred -pounds in weight each between the Texas prairies and New York? - -[Illustration: “A LARGE HERD OF BUFFALOES BECAME INTERMINGLED WITH OUR -CATTLE.”] - -The cattle dealers are not, as might at first appear, regardless of -the sufferings of their stock. To them the loss in weight is a loss -in money, and for selfish reasons, if for no other, they would be -interested in any plan for keeping the animals in good condition. -Many devices and inventions have been tried to lessen suffering and -save flesh, all of which have been found objectionable. One of these -inventions was a “palace cattle car,” which was introduced a few years -ago. It was a car divided into stalls, so as to allow each animal a -separate apartment. There was room to lie down, and food and drink were -supplied to every stall, so that there was no need to take the cattle -from the cars during the entire journey. But for some reason the cars -did not work well. The speculators and butchers objected on the ground -that with so few cattle in a car the cost of getting them to market -was too great; and those who had welcomed them because they promised -to relieve suffering, acknowledged that the steer, placed singly in a -stall, was bruised more by being thrown against the partition walls -than when he was jammed in between two of his fellow prisoners in the -old cars. So the “palace cars” were withdrawn, and the old system of -slow torture--twenty-four to thirty-six hours of fasting and jolting -followed by a day of feasting and rest--went on. But thoughtful and -humane men have for years been studying the question of live stock -transportation, and some day not long distant means will be found to -lessen the sufferings of the steer in his railroad trip to New York. -Even no less a personage than a United States Senator has devoted many -years to this subject, and I am not sure but more real fame will attach -to the name of the Hon. John B. McPherson of New Jersey for a recent -invention to relieve suffering cattle than he will earn in the Senate -Chamber; at any rate he is entitled to everlasting gratitude from all -the sons and daughters of Bos. - -The invention to which I refer is a simple arrangement for feeding and -watering stock on the cars, and consists of a trough for water which -revolves on a pivot so as to be readily cleaned and inverted when not -in use; and a folding rack for hay, which can be shut up out of the way -when empty. Experiments with Mr. McPherson’s invention have proved its -usefulness, and the Pennsylvania Railroad Company will soon have two -hundred cars built with his improvement. With a well-filled rack before -him, and fresh water always within reach, the steer will be able to get -through the journey with a tolerable degree of comfort, even though he -is without a bed to lie upon. - -The cattle-yards in our large cities, acres of small, square pens, -ranged in long rows, with narrow lanes between, are familiar and not -particularly inviting places, and, luckily for the steer, his life -there is short. Landed from the cars he is driven into one of the small -pens with about thirty others, where he stays for a day or two without -experiencing any new incident in his life, except that he is poked and -yelled at by any number of beef-buyers who want to learn his condition. -Poor fellow! It makes little difference what condition he may be -in, for there are a million mouths to feed in the city over there, -and three thousand miles across the blue ocean yonder, those pursy -Englishmen are calling for “American beef!” - -About the second morning after his railroad journey is finished, and -our steer is in the Jersey stock pens, a dirty-looking old ferry-boat -runs up alongside the wharf. The gates are opened and the cattle go -rushing pell-mell on deck, where they find themselves in pens similar -to those they have just left. Twenty minutes steaming up and across the -Hudson River, and the steamer ties up at the Thirty-fourth Street dock -in New York. - -Manhattan Market, where the cattle are going, is that large brick -building nearly two blocks away from the river. The river-front and the -broad avenue between the landing and the market are crowded with piles -of freight, and heavily-loaded trucks, and we instinctively wonder how -the timid and frightened cattle can ever be driven through such jam and -confusion. At many of the landings this work has been attended with the -greatest difficulty; accidents have been of frequent occurrence, and -many cattle have escaped and rushed madly through the crowded streets, -like the hero of our story. - -[Illustration: CATTLE-YARD.] - -But the cattle dealers have overcome this obstacle just as the -railroads conquer the mountains and rocks--by tunneling. As the cattle -come from the boat they pass under an archway, and find themselves -in an underground passage, a long tunnel dug many feet underneath -buildings and streets. The further end of the tunnel opens in the -abattoir, or slaughter-house, and the cattle come out face to face -with fate in the shape of a hundred butchers, who stand with gleaming -knives awaiting their victims. The cattle are driven forward. Overhead, -fastened to strong cross-beams, is a windlass, around which a rope is -coiled. A stout iron hook hanging from the end of the rope is seized -by one of the butchers, who deftly catches it around the hind leg of -a steer. The windlass is turned, and in a trice the poor fellow is -swinging in mid-air, head downward. A huge tin pan is slipped under -his head, and a long knife, keen-edged as a razor, is drawn across his -throat. The life-blood gushes out in a dark stream, and in less time -than it takes to tell it our steer ceases to exist, and becomes beef. - -We shall not have time to watch the process of cutting up and the -disposition of all the parts in detail. From the time the steer passes -into the hands of the man with the hook until he is hung up two halves -of beef occupies eleven minutes, and on a trial of skill between the -butchers the work has been done in eight minutes. But this is a small -part of the work. The pan of blood has to be taken to the tanks in -the adjoining room, where it is dried and made into a fertilizer to -enrich the earth; the horns are saved for the comb manufacturer; the -large bones in the head are sent to the button factory; the hide to a -tannery; the hoofs to the glue and gelatine makers. The tripe man comes -around for the stomach; one man buys all the tongues, and another has a -contract for all the tails; and so on, until every scrap is disposed of. - -If we visit the abattoir on a cold day we shall see perhaps three -thousand beeves hanging up in the cool and airy room, but in warm -weather we shall have to take a peep into one of those gigantic -refrigerators yonder, each of which holds three hundred cattle. The -meat is suspended from hooks over a vast bed of ice which keeps the air -at a temperature of thirty-eight degrees. Similar refrigerators have -been built recently in the holds of vessels, and with forty tons of ice -three hundred beeves have been safely transported to Liverpool and sold -in the British markets. - -Around the door, as we pass out, is a group of pale, hollow-faced men, -delicate women, and sickly children, with hacking coughs. These are the -blood-drinkers--people in all stages of consumption, who come hither to -catch the warm blood of the cattle, which they drink with the eagerness -of hope. Some of them have been coming for many months, and have been -benefited by the medicine, but in the case of others it is plainly to -be seen that they are making a hopeless struggle against death. - -[Illustration: “ALL IS OVER.”] - -As soon as the meat has cooled sufficiently it is delivered to the -retail butchers of the city and its suburbs, who haul it to their shops -or to the markets. All night long, while the great city is asleep, the -market wagons creak and rumble through the almost deserted streets, and -by four o’clock in the morning the beefsteaks for a million breakfasts, -and the roasts and other choice cuts for a million dinners, are -temptingly displayed on the white wooden blocks or marble slabs, behind -which stand the fat, ruddy-faced, good-natured butchers in white aprons -ready to serve all comers. The days before Thanksgiving and Christmas -are the occasions when the butchers make their greatest displays, and -the markets are then well worth a visit. Beef in halves and quarters, -fancifully decked with wreaths and streamers, fat haunches, juicy -sirloins with just the right proportion of fat to lean, “porterhouse” -steaks garnished with sprigs of parsley, and other tender bits, are -set off with as much art and made as attractive as a Broadway shop -window in the holiday season. - -But we have finished our slice of Christmas roast beef and thus ends -our story. We may wonder whether there will always be meat enough -to supply all the world; but a moment’s reflection will satisfy us -that we need not worry about that. There are in Texas alone nearly -five millions of cattle and there are nearly half a million driven to -market every year. Only think of it! supposing this number all in one -drove marching in single file at the rate of ten miles a day, it would -be nearly two months from the time the first steer entered New York -until the last one came in sight. They would make a line reaching from -Columbus, Ohio, to New York--550 miles long. - - - - -GRANNY LUKE’S COURAGE. - -BY M. E. W. S. - - -“Come, Tim, hurry up and be courageous.” - -Tim didn’t hurry up, nor was he in a hurry to be courageous. - -“Can’t you shoot the creature?” - -“No, grandma, I’m afraid.” - -“Afraid of what?” - -“Well, grandma, I’m afraid of hurting it,” said Tim. - -“But that’s what shooting was meant for!” said Granny Luke, indignant -at the weak-minded grandson. - -“You shoot it, grandma!” - -“I don’t know how to shoot--and, well--I am afraid of a gun, because I -am a woman!” said Mrs. Luke, who was known in all the mining region as -“Granny Luke”--more because she called herself so, than because anybody -else gave her that title. - -She was an “old country” woman who, having lost her children, was left -with a number of young grandchildren to bring up. Fate had wafted her -to the lead mines in Iowa, down by one of which she had settled in a -log cabin, and had picked up a living by boarding the miners, attending -to them in sickness, and by sending her eldest, Tim, down the shaft -with the miners’ dinners. A lead mine is worked far under ground, from -a shaft which is sunk like a bucket in a well. Tim was not afraid to -go down this bucket, nor to crawl on his hands and knees far into -Yorkshire Tom’s lead, with a tallow candle in his cap, to carry the -miner his dinner; nor did he dread an occasional rattlesnake, who, -coiled at the mouth of the cave, would often ring his deadly rattle -at the boy. No, Tim was inured to danger, and he knew how to give the -rattlesnake a good tap over his ugly head with a stick, and silence his -hiss forever; and he knew how to measure and guard against the equally -poisonous air, in some parts of the mine, by the uncertain flame of his -candle. - -But he could not “_shoot the creature_.” Love made him a coward. - -For the “creature” was a beautiful fawn, the loveliest, soft eyed, -tender pet that ever lived, whom Tim had trained and fed and educated, -and brought in from the prairie when the fawn was a baby. Some hunters -had shot the pretty doe, the fawn’s mother, and Tim had educated the -orphan. - -Granny Luke had a little garden where she raised with her own hands a -few vegetables, highly prized by the miners. The fawn had shown a great -appreciation of early cabbage sprouts, green peas, beet tops and other -succulent green things. No bars could keep him out, and no ropes could -tie this gentle robber. He would jump over everything, and he nibbled -so neatly and judiciously that Granny Luke’s garden had been ruined -several times, and now her really long-suffering patience was at an -end. - -“No early peas and no late peas, no corn, no squash, no lettuce, no -anything,” said Granny, in despair. “The creature shall be shot.” - -[Illustration: TIM’S COURAGE FAILS.] - -She loved Primrose, too--as Tim had named the pretty fawn, whom he -found deserted, lying on a bed of those yellow flowers which grow in -tufts on the prairie. Primrose had tears in his big eyes, and was -crying for his mother just like a human baby, when Tim found him and -brought him home in his arms. Granny Luke had fed him with warm milk -then, and had tended him as carefully as she did Tim, at a similar -tender age; but those days were past, and Primrose was growing every -day to be a buck of promise; and although he was tame enough to them, -his moral nature could not be cultivated to know that while it was -proper to eat green boughs and the coarse grass of the prairie, it was -a sin to eat the fine things behind the fence. - -Granny Luke gardened like a German woman, and sowed her water-cresses -and spinach every day, hoping for continuous crops. But Primrose -allowed them to nearly reach perfection, and then down they went, under -his even, strong, white teeth. - -If Granny Luke threw a stone at him he would give her one tender, -loving look out of his beautiful eyes, and run away over the prairie -for fifty miles, perhaps, glad of the exercise; always back, however, -to greet Tim, when he crawled up out of the well-like bucket and from -the cold, dark mine into the sun, and ready to offer him the warm -friendship of his own well-furred neck, as the poor boy threw an arm -around his four-footed friend, and the twain sat down, to an out door -supper. - -And now his grandma wished him to shoot this intimate, dear, beautiful -friend! - -No wonder that Tim’s courage failed. - -“I have invited the General to a venison dinner day after to-morrow,” -said Granny Luke; “and Primrose must be shot. I shall roast his saddle.” - -Poor Tim shuddered. Granny Luke’s sensibilities had been blunted by -time, and hard work and poverty. She had been doing very well in her -affairs--thanks to the friendship of the General Superintendent of -the mines, an old-country friend of her’s; and as he appreciated her -excellent cooking, and fresh vegetables, she occasionally gave him and -his fellow officers a good dinner. Primrose was to be offered up to -two passions--revenge and avarice--for as he ate her spinach, he must -therefore be eaten. - -The group was standing outside the cabin door, Tim leaning irresolutely -on his gun; Granny Luke, her arms akimbo, looking at him; and Primrose, -as beautiful as only a fawn can be, was calmly nibbling the lower -branches of a tree. Animals are better off than we are; they never -suffer from anxiety. So Primrose had no possible idea that those -branches might be the last which he would ever munch. He looked up at -Mrs. Luke and her grandson and gave a friendly “_neigh!_” - -This upset Tim, and he burst out a-crying: “I can’t shoot him! -Granny--and I won’t!” - -There came round the corner of the house a slow, massive tread. It was -Yorkshire Tom, with his pick-axe on his shoulder. - -“What’s all this! what’s all this!” said the man, catching Mrs. Luke’s -arm as it was descending on Tim’s back. - -“The boy is disobedient, and refuses to shoot Primrose,” said the stern -old woman. - -Yorkshire Tom was a patient man, and he staid a half hour to listen to -the ins and outs of this curious case. He liked Tim and had felt his -heart warm many a time as the little pale fellow, with the candle in -his cap, came creeping through the dark alleys bringing him a dinner, -and staying to chat awhile of the bright upper earth. - -“Now, Dame, thee’s a little hard on the young un! ain’t thee!” said -Tom, in broad Yorkshire brogue. “Come lad, take the beast, and come -along o’ me. I’ll shoot him for thee.” - -So Tim, with his arm around the neck of dear Primrose, walked off to -Yorkshire Tom’s, far out of sight and hearing of Granny Luke. - -It was ten o’clock, of a moonlight night, when Tim came wearily home, -with a saddle of venison on his back. Although he was weary, he looked -bright, and his cheeks very red--perhaps from the exercise. - -“A large, plump saddle!” said his grandmother, “I had no idea Primrose -was so fat--that comes from eating my spinach! A nice roast this -for the General--why, boy, you look feverish. I must give you some -peppermint tea! So Yorkshire Tom did it, did he? Well, Tim, you tell -him to keep the rest of the meat to pay himself for the trouble--all -but two steaks from the hind leg, remember.” - -“Yes, Granny; I’ll remember,” said Tim, whose eyes were sparkling. - -That was a good dinner that Granny Luke cooked for the General. The -saddle was done to a turn, and she had some wild currant jelly, some -fried potatoes, and a few vegetables which Primrose had not eaten. -As she waited on the gentlemen, she enjoyed hearing them commend her -cooking, and did not hesitate to utter a few words of praise over her -departed Primrose! We often think of virtues in our friends after they -have gone, which did not occur to us while they were living. - -Alas, for human constancy! Tim ate a large plateful of roast Primrose; -and what was more, he liked him. - -“Well! I was right,” said his grandma; “he has forgotten all about his -lost pet, and I am glad I have had Primrose shot!” - -But Granny Luke missed the fawn more and more, and she saw her spinach -and water-cresses and lettuces grow unmolested without that supreme -pleasure which she had thought would be hers! Her days were lonely, as -her grandchildren left her for their tasks, and no Primrose came to -give her trouble. - -She awoke one day feeling rather unwell, and as she was tying her cap -over her gray hairs, which were her crown of glory, she saw a little -black snake wiggling its way through the logs of her cabin. - -It frightened her; not because she cared for the little snake, but -because the miners believe it an evil omen if a snake crawls into a -house. She was superstitious, the poor old ignorant woman; and although -she had plenty of courage in every other way, she was afraid of a “bad -sign.” - -However, she drove the snake away, and went about her household tasks. -Tim was sent off with the miners’ breakfast--her other grandchildren -were fed and sent out to pick out the shining bits of metal from a heap -of stones, and the strong old woman bent over a wash-tub to do her -week’s washing. She had got about half through when she, fairly tired, -let the soap fall, rubbed her arms dry, and thought she would look at -her spinach and see how it was growing. - -“Oh! gracious goodness!” what did she see? - -Who was there nibbling the spinach, eating off the young water cresses, -and taking an occasional shy glance at the beet tops, and shaking his -pretty furry ears? Who but Primrose! - -“I knew it! I knew it!” said Granny Luke. “I knew when I saw that -black snake that I was going to have bad luck! That is an evil -spirit--and he has come after me! Oh, hou! ough! hou! Tim!” - -Granny Luke’s courage was all gone. Primrose was dead--and she had -eaten him; yes, two steaks out of his hind legs. But there he was, with -little horns growing out of his forehead! - -But Primrose--_for it was he_, and no other--hearing her familiar -voice, had leaped the paling and ran to lick the kind hand that had fed -his infant deership. - -[Illustration: GRANNY LUKE LOSES HER COURAGE.] - -This was too much, and Granny Luke fainted dead away; and when Tim came -home he found her on the ground in front of the cabin, and Primrose was -licking her forehead with his cool, rough tongue. - -“You see, grandma,” said he, in explanation, “Yorkshire Tom goes -a-hunting sometimes, and he had just shot a fine buck when you wanted -me to shoot Primrose. So he took us both over to his cabin and we tied -Primrose up, and he sent you some venison from his buck, and he kept -Primrose at his house. I went over to see him every day; and Yorkshire -Tom said it was not wicked, so that I didn’t have to tell a lie; and -you never asked me anything about Primrose, and so I didn’t have to say -anything. And we meant to keep him always tied up, and he has got away -to-day and I’m sorry, grandma; but I hope you won’t make me shoot him -now, because he’s so big; and all I’m afraid of is that somebody else -will shoot him--” - -And Tim skipped off as lightly as Primrose himself to caress and fondle -the creature who was now no longer a fawn. - -It took Granny Luke some time to believe that Primrose was not a -spirit! He had to eat a whole crop of lettuces before she believed in -him, but she was secretly so glad to see him that she forgave Tim, -and only asked of Yorkshire Tom that he would build a more secure -paling for Mr. Primrose, and also to make her a higher fence for her -vegetables; all of which he did, and she forgave him, particularly as -he sent her another saddle of venison, and “two steaks from the hind -leg,” of another deer which he had shot, assuring her that Primrose was -still too young to make good venison. - - - - -BILLY’S HOUND. - -(_A Two-Part Story._) - -BY SARA E. CHESTER. - - -PART I. - -Billy used to read Sir Walter Scott’s poems when he was not much larger -than the book, his sisters say. From Sir Walter he received the idea -that there is no such thing as a hero without his steed and hounds. -Although Billy did not aim at being a hero exactly, he by no means -called himself a coward; and he considered a horse and dog as necessary -to a daring, manly fellow as to a regular hero. - -The horse Billy confidently expected to own when he should come into -long-tailed coats and moustaches. He knew the high price of a good -article, and was willing to wait; but a “trusty hound,” which he could -have for the asking, he wanted at once. All the boys belonging to his -little clan either owned, or had some time owned, a dog; and when the -huntsmen set out for the chase (in pursuit of such noble game as nuts -or apples, birds’ eggs or nests) the dogs followed their masters. -Those who were not followed had tales to tell--either of mysterious -strangers who had lurked about the premises and enticed their dogs away -on account of their immense market value, or of bloody street fights in -which their brave ones had perished. Each boy except Billy had had his -experience, and if not the present possessor of a hound, could boast -the noble pedigree or gallant death of one departed. - -But it was not altogether Sir Walter, nor an ambition to be the owner -of a high-born warrior, which made Billy long for a dog; he was born -with a love for them as certain people are born with a love for babies, -and he had many fancies about his hound which were not of a bold and -bloody nature. He pictured him affectionate and gentle. He pictured him -comfortably dozing by the fire on winter evenings; sharing a corner of -his room at night; sharing his last crust should changing fortunes make -them paupers--always faithful, tender and true, a friend to be relied -upon though other friends might fail. - -[Illustration] - -Unfortunately he did not inherit his tastes from his father. That -gentleman disliked the canine race in proportion as Billy liked it, and -although an indulgent parent generally, would not listen to Billy’s -petitions for a dog. Occasionally, however, Billy received such a -tempting offer that he was emboldened to renew his pleas, and one day, -unable to resist the fascination of a fierce little black-and-tan, -began: - -“Father, there’s a dog----” - -“Once for all,” interrupted his father, rather noisily, “I say, -no! Don’t mention that subject to me again, sir! Anything that is -reasonable, from a parrot to a monkey, I’ll consider. But you are not -to mention dogs to me again, sir!” - -“You know papa was bitten once, dear,” said his sister, as the door -closed after their angry sire. “You really ought not to tease him. Why -won’t you try and be contented with a dear little kitten, or a canary?” - -“I’d as soon pet a rattlesnake as a kitten,” said Billy; “one is as -mean and sly as the other. And that canary of yours--it’s got just -about as much soul as a lump of sugar.” - -“How would you like a goat? Goats are big and fierce----” - -“A goat is a brute,” said Billy. “As for the dog that bit father, you -know it was a bull--the only variety of dog that has any treachery in -its blood. I don’t ask to own a bull-dog. But a goat! Do you s’pose -Byron could ever have said this about a goat?” (Billy had spoken the -poem at school, and proceeded to declaim): - - “In life the firmest friend, - The first to welcome, foremost to defend; - Whose honest heart is still his master’s own; - Who labors, fights, lives, breathes for him alone!” - -“I’ll have a dog, or nothing,” he concluded. - -“He has his father’s will,” sighed his mother, as he left the room. - -A few weeks later Billy was rambling home. He had been sent with a -dish to an invalid; and between the fear of spilling its contents and -the attention he must pay to his steps had had a wretched time; so on -the way home he was thoroughly enjoying liberty. Hands were free to -shy stones at balky and rickety horses, and feet were free to roam and -linger where they listed. He was a long time on that homeward journey, -and only reached the graveyard at half-past four. - -Billy had been known to quicken his footsteps when passing the -graveyard by moonlight; and it is said that once when the sky was dark -above and the night dark beneath, he ran quite around the corner, where -he sauntered and whistled indifferently. But there was no occasion for -running to-day. Neither moonlight nor darkness brooded over the graves; -the white stones were dazzling in the sunshine, and the blades of grass -twinkled like so many little stars; birds hopped fearlessly over the -graves, not changing their gay tunes nor lowering their loud voices out -of respect to the place; and altogether the graveyard looked so cheery -and tempting in the afternoon sunshine that Billy stepped over the -stile. - -There was a general scattering of birds, butterflies, chipmunks and -squirrels, each of these inferior creatures being warned by a voice -in its little breast to flee. A noble dog would have needed no such -warning, but would have approached Billy as an equal, assured of the -reception to which his rank entitled him. - -Having sole possession of the premises, Billy strolled about with a -sovereign air. He pulled off his cap and turned up his face, letting -the sunshine warm his cheeks to red and his yellow hair to gold. He -surveyed the sky with some interest, as there was quite a variety of -colors to-day, which pleased him better than the ordinary white and -blue that in his opinion too much resembled milk and water. He cut a -willow stick for a whistle, and examined names and dates as he passed -the tombstones. Arriving at the grave of a boy who had died at his age, -he sat down, took out his knife, and as he worked whistled cheerily -above the little fellow whose whistling days were over. By and by an -occasional chipmunk or squirrel ventured out in search of nuts; and at -last a reckless kitten came within throwing distance. It would have -been sad for the kitten had the soil been sterile and stony; but in -that grassy region there was nothing to throw except the knife and the -stick in the boy’s hands. The knife could by no means be spared, so -away went the whistle with the coward cat before it. As the whistle -was not to be found after a hunt in the thick grass, Billy resumed his -rambles. - -This brought him back to the stile in course of time; and he lifted -a foot to go over when he was stopped by a faint cry. He paused just -as he stood, one foot on the stile and one on the ground, listening -breathlessly; for his educated ear knew the animal by its voice. Faint -as the tones were they were unmistakable puppy tones. No kitten’s -fretty “me-ouw,” no squirrel’s soulless “chir-chir,” was there; it was -the noble voice of a puppy, though so faint and far that Billy could -not at once detect its source. He listened until the cry came again, -prolonged and piteous. It was a puppy in distress, a little baby dog in -need of championship! who so ready in the wide world as he to espouse -its cause! His knightly soul thrilled with pity as he ran eagerly -about, led hither and thither by the repeated cries. He grew wild as -he could not find the puppy behind a tree or tombstone or anywhere in -the grass; and it was not until a second voice came to his aid that -he ran in the right direction. The second voice was loud and angry, -and provoked the first to shriller efforts. Puppies at war! Now Billy -was doubly anxious to find them, for he could see the fun as well as -support the under dog. He had decided by this time that they were near -the fence which separated the graveyard from the barley field; and -as he ran thither a third cry broke upon his ears, then a fourth, a -fifth--till voices innumerable seemed to join the chorus. - -“A dozen, as I’m alive!” said Billy; and by this time he had an -opportunity to count them, though it was by no means easy to count all -the big heads and little feet which he found struggling, pushing and -climbing in the old tin pan between the fence and a walnut tree. He -bent above the moving mass, and after various attempts learned that -their number was seven. In regard to eyes, total blindness indicated -extreme youth. And as to the cause of their complaint, it was evident -that they had been abandoned in their ignorance and helplessness, and -were in need of food. - -Billy gazed into the pan with emotions of pride and compassion; the -pride of a discoverer and possessor; the compassion of a heart always -sensitive to canine grief, but moved to its depths by this spectacle of -blind and orphaned infant woe. Seven little wails proceeding from seven -hungry mouths, fourteen little paws groping and struggling towards -escape from suffering whose cause was hardly comprehended--the sight -might rouse a stouter heart than Billy’s. - -“They’re a prize,” thought he, viewing the enormous heads and wee paws, -critically. “They look like rare ones--Irish setters, perhaps. Bob -would know. He’s up on those things.” - -Bob might also make some helpful suggestions in regard to the puppies’ -future; for Billy could not take them home; he could not leave them to -starve, and he was far from willing to distribute among his friends -the orphans whom he had rescued from untimely graves, and towards whom -his heart was beating with such tender interest. - -In his dilemma he left the puppies, to consult with Bob; and as he ran -away, looked in vain for the mother dog. - -“It would never do to let them starve,” said Bob; “but we must give -the mother a fair chance. If she isn’t back by seven we can conclude -they’re abandoned, and they shall have a home in my barn, for the -present.” - -Having met at seven, Bob and Billy hastened to the graveyard. No mother -dog could be seen as they approached the stile, and a chorus of loud -wails informed them that she had not returned. They were soon kneeling -by the pan, criticising forms and faces; at the same time observing -with deepest pity how the little mouths told their misery and the weary -paws strove to escape from it. - -[Illustration: BILLY EXPERIENCES UNSPEAKABLE HAPPINESS.] - -“I should judge you were a pointer by your nose,” said Bob, addressing -the only puppy who could be said to have an attempt at the feature. -“This may be a Newfoundland,” referring to one whose nose they would -not have discovered but for the end of a wee pair of nostrils. “They’re -a splendid lot, poor babies! It’s a clear case of desertion, Billy. We -mustn’t leave them here without food another moment.” - -Billy lifted the rusty old pan and clasped it tenderly against his -jacket. Then they stepped briskly towards the stile, for the graveyard -was by no means the tempting place it had been two hours ago. - -“Keep an eye out for my father,” said Billy. “They make such a noise -they may get us into trouble.” - -But by sometimes crossing streets and turning corners suddenly, -sometimes running and sometimes dodging, they succeeded in reaching the -barn without encountering friend or acquaintance who would betray them. - -“Take them in and make them at home on the hay while I go for their -supper,” said Bob. - -At the barn door Billy and the puppies were received by no less a -person than Timothy, the coachman, who had consented to give the -orphans a temporary asylum. He also bent gravely and critically over -the pan; but his verdict did not agree with Bob’s. - -“Mongrel, very mongrel,” said Timothy, shaking his head. - -The fact that they belonged to his own humble rank in life may possibly -have increased his sympathy; but it is certain that no orphaned -kittens could have roused such emotions of pity in his manly breast. -He had a corner ready, cushioned with hay; and they were soon rubbing -against something better adapted to their tender sides than cold tin. -But though they nestled in the hay as if they liked it, their wails -continued, and they soon began to toddle about in search of food. When -Bob came bringing it, however, Timothy shook his head and said: - -“Ten chances to one against touching a drop, Billy. I’ve known ’em to -die rather than drink it out of a saucer at that age.” - -A vision of seven little puppies wailing and toddling to their doom, -of seven cold, stiff forms, seven green graves in a row, clouded -Billy’s fancy for a moment. But no, he would not accept such dark -possibilities. The puppies must be tenderly persuaded what was for -their good; and canine reason must triumph over mere brute prejudice. - -But, alas, for Billy’s faith in canine intelligence--no sooner were -the little noses introduced to the saucer than wails broke forth with -tenfold energy. One after another they struggled from his hands and -toddled away, until the seventh sat afar in the hay, with milky nose -and empty stomach protesting against the insult it had received. - -Billy was sorely tried and disappointed; but he considered their youth -and blindness; he reflected that even human intelligence fears what it -cannot see, and that it becomes one to have much patience with blind -puppy babies. So he captured them again, individually, and repeated the -process several times, until each, in spite of kicks and screams, had -been compelled to sniff or lap up a few drops. He did not rest till the -saucer was emptied; and by that time Timothy thought they had probably -taken enough to preserve life through the night, though not enough to -make them comfortable and hush their wails. - -Billy went home with the wails still in his ears. You may be sure, -however, that it was not of seven weak, blind, crying infants that he -dreamed; but of seven gallant hounds full-statured, noses cold and keen -of scent, heads erect and proud--for faith and hope are brave at the -age of twelve. - -But like other dreams which faith and hope have dreamed at night, -Billy’s fled at dawn. One-seventh of it at least could never come -true. One-seventh of it was found stiff and still in the hay; and was -speedily borne to a lonely little grave beneath the apple tree. - -“What did I tell you?” said Timothy. “They’ll all be dead afore night, -sooner’n drink from a saucer. You’d best drown ’em, Billy, and put ’em -out o’ misery.” - -But Billy vowed he would never drown them; that he wouldn’t hesitate -if they were kittens; but he’d as soon drown a baby as a puppy. He -was going to raise the six! No pains should be spared to rear a round -half-dozen. Number Seven was the obstinate member of the family anyway. -Billy knew him by the spot on his right ear; and didn’t he remember how -much harder he kicked than the other six last night? Drown them! Never! - -An expression, not of disappointment, might have been observed on -Timothy’s face; although he shook his head, saying: - -“Mongrel, very mongrel, Billy. It’s my advice to drown ’em.” - -That head shook frequently during the day; indeed, whenever Timothy -appeared in the barn door to see how Bob and Billy were succeeding. -They were not to be discouraged by head-shakings; but were rather -provoked to greater efforts, as perhaps, Timothy intended. Hopes -prevailed over fears until evening, when it became only too evident -that a pair of the puppies toddled more and more feebly as the shadows -fell. Applications of milk to their nostrils, force, and even mild -persuasion, so annoyed them that it seemed true kindness to let them -depart in peace. They were allowed therefore to toddle into a secluded -corner, where they lay down together, and from which they toddled out -no more. - -“It’s better so,” said Timothy. “They ain’t got nothing to go a-huntin’ -and cryin’ for now. If they ain’t found what they wanted by this time, -they don’t know the difference.” - -It was said with quite a softening of Timothy’s big voice, as he gently -lifted them for the burial. Billy and Bob sat apart, silent and abject, -their hands in their pockets and scowls upon their brows. But they rose -and followed Timothy as he advanced to the cemetery, bearing a puppy in -each hand. Few remarks were made until they were returning to the barn, -when Bob said: - -“Brace up, Billy. Four’s a better number than seven. You would -have found seven a big family on your hands. I’ve always noticed a -difference in their constitutions. Those two never had as much strength -as the others.” - -“Do you think the others will come on?” Billy asked, timidly. - -“I do,” said Bob. “They’re robust compared to the others; and they’ve -eaten quite a lot to-day. I shouldn’t wonder if their eyes would be -open by morning.” - -Billy was only too glad to hope again, and went home to dream of a -gallant quartette, in spite of Timothy’s parting words: - -“Very mongrel, Billy, and no constitution. The sooner you put an end to -’em, the better for all parties.” - -Timothy having spoken, went immediately to the kitchen, where he -confided to cook the whole tragic tale, and said he had heard how -oatmeal porridge was nourishing for young puppies; “and suppose you -make us a little, Eliza, with not too much oatmeal and a plenty of -milk, so ’s ’t’ll go down easy.” - -Later, Timothy might have been seen, by the light of a lantern, -kneeling upon the hay, feeding the puppies porridge, which he promised -would give them “sound sleep with something on their stomachs,” and -save them perhaps from being dead puppies in the morning. - -Although Billy dreamed his brave dreams of an unbroken quartette, still -he stepped into the barn with some anxiety the next morning. But the -oatmeal porridge had proved popular; the puppies took it with little -urging, and even learned to smell their way into its neighborhood. It -did not make them strong and sprightly; it did not open their eyes; -but it kept them from dying, and surely this was not a small thing to -accomplish. The very fact that three days went by and no death occurred -in the family, encouraged them all to hope that a stronger tide of life -would soon set in, forcing eyes open and making legs frisky. But when -three other days had dragged along, Timothy, in a moment of impatience -declared that their eyes would never open. - -“A blind dog is sure no good,” said he; “and mongrel as they are, -you’ll drop ’em in the river, if you take my advice, Billy.” - -[Illustration: NOTWITHSTANDING THEY ARE MONGREL.] - -Nevertheless he went to Eliza and said: “Why not try a little juice of -the beef? Meat, as all know, is the food for grown dogs. Why not the -juice of the meat for young dogs without teeth to chew the solid? I’ll -step around to the butcher’s, Eliza.” - -He returned from the butcher’s with a pound of chopped beef. Eliza put -the water to it; and early the next morning Timothy might again have -been seen kneeling on the hay. He endeavored to persuade the puppies -that his cup had invigorating properties and a cure for blindness; and -urged them as they loved life and desired to view the face of nature, -to partake. But, alas, once more for canine reason! One after another -they sniffed, spit, sputtered, wailed and retreated. - -“You’re a mongrel, brutish set,” said Timothy, in righteous -indignation; “and I’ll be blowed if you’re worth saving!” - -But before he could leave them to their fate, either his words, or a -sudden instinct of self-preservation, turned one of the retreating -puppies straight about. Timothy was not inclined to offer any -assistance and run the risk of another disappointment. But when it -became evident that the puppy was trying to smell his way to the -beef-tea, he put the cup under his nose, and was rewarded by seeing a -small pink tongue come out for a taste. One taste led to another and -another, until the little fellow had breakfasted bravely, and Timothy -was so rejoiced that he tried the obstinate three again. But his -efforts were vain; and he fastened all his hopes on the good puppy, -whose conduct he hastened to report to Bob and Billy. - -[Illustration: THE BEEF-TEA PREVAILS.] - -Now whether medical science will allow any direct connection between -beef-tea and the eyes, we do not know, but it is certain that when -Billy entered the barn two hours later he was startled by a bright -gaze. If a pair of stars had fallen from the sky to gaze at him out -of that corner, he could hardly have been more amazed than to discover -that the bright objects were the eyes of a dog--of his little dog. - -“Bob! Timothy!” he screamed. But before they could arrive he had -bounded towards the puppy and lifted him up. Seated upon Billy’s hands -he held his head erect and looked at his master with (the foolish -master fancied) affectionate recognition. - -“It’s the beef-tea!” said Timothy, who had by this time arrived. - -“And thanks to you, old friend,” said Billy. “He’ll live now, Tim. Do -you s’pose he’d change the world that’s to be taken a good look at for -a hole in the ground? Not he!” - -“You’re right!” said Timothy. “We must make these blind fellows take -some of the eye-opener and get a look at the world before it’s too -late.” - -They were all so encouraged by that pair of bright eyes that they -labored patiently with the three blind brothers; but though they still -partook of oatmeal porridge freely, they could never be induced to -imbibe more than an occasional drop of beef-tea; and instead of waxing -fat and active on oatmeal, they waned daily. - -All the love which Billy had divided among seven was given to the -quartette; and so a greater portion was blighted when the next puppy -died. - -“It makes me think of the ‘ten little Injuns,’ the way they drop off -one after another,” said Billy, as they laid him away from the sunshine -which he had never seen. - -So the love of four fell to three; and though Billy was very proud -of the puppy who ate beef-tea, who was learning to walk firmly and -briskly, he was equally as tender of the less fortunate brothers. It is -true that on entering the barn one morning he forgot them for a moment -as the other trotted towards him and laid--yes, actually rubbed!--his -nose in his hand. But he recovered from the glad surprise directly, and -looked over at the bed in the corner. Still asleep, the lazy fellows! -He tossed some hay at them, which caused a languid paw to appear; then -a head stirred, and another until the little soft heap had shaken -itself apart and separated into two puppies, who faced about and looked -at each other. Yes, for the first and last time, they celebrated their -awakening after the usual fashion of opening the eyes. - -“Hurrah!” shouted Billy. - -(END OF PART I.) - -[Illustration: IN YE OLDEN TIME.--“BEWITCHED!”] - - - - -[Illustration] - -BILLY’S HOUND. - -(_A Two-Part Story._) - -BY SARA E. CHESTER. - - -PART II. - -But it was his last hurrah; for puppies, like people, view the world -through their own eyes, and where their brother had seen, approved, and -desired, they gazed quite indifferently. Bob and Billy carried them -out-doors for a broader view of life; but could not persuade them that -sunshine and verdure were more to be desired than two snug little beds -underground. Better death, with no good Puppy-land to go to; better -an end of all things, than life with its ups and downs, its roses and -thorns, the uncertain joys and certain ills that puppy flesh is heir -to--such seemed their reflections as they gazed upon the world with -languid, melancholy eyes. They shunned their brother’s gay society; -they refused food and wailed with hunger; they partook of a little and -wailed with pain; one died in the evening, yawning and stretching; the -other in the morning, kicking and squealing; two new graves were dug -under the apple-tree: and one puppy fell heir to the love of six. - -“I wouldn’t care so much if they hadn’t opened their eyes,” said Billy; -“but I thought they were sure to live then. It’s discouraging, I -declare; I’m afraid it’s going to end like the ten little Injuns, ‘And -then there were none.’” - -“No, it won’t,” said Bob. “We’ll raise this fellow.” - -“Yes,” said Timothy, “he’s going to live.” When Timothy spoke so -positively one could afford to hope. - -“Do you hear?” said Billy, capturing the lively puppy, who was behaving -like anything but a mourner after the funeral. “We have hopes of you, -sir; and beware how you disappoint us. See what obstinacy has done, and -take warning by your brothers. I advise you to make the most of all the -life you’ll ever get, for it isn’t soul that gives you such a knowing -look. There is nothing behind those eyes but brains; and brains die out -as much as bodies, sir. Bob,” he exclaimed, “see him look at me. Don’t -tell me he doesn’t understand!” - -“I wouldn’t risk such an opinion,” said Bob. “They say that eyes -are the windows of the mind. Now that he’s got his windows open why -shouldn’t you take looks back and forth.” - -“Pretty good,” said Billy. “Duke has spied out the fact, somewhere, -that I’m his master.” - -They had named him, in contempt of Timothy, and in anticipation of the -rank which was expected to assert itself with his growth. - -“He certainly makes a difference between you and the rest of us,” said -Bob. - -The difference became more marked each day. In no one’s hand did Duke -rub his little nose so often as in his master’s; no one else’s cheeks -were licked so affectionately. It was Billy that he trotted after, and -squealed for, when the big gate separated them and his master’s face -was set towards home. These signs of preference were very flattering -to Billy, but also caused him pangs, for the fonder he became of the -dog, the more he feared to lose him. Although he increased rapidly in -bulk, strength, vivacity and intelligence, it was a long time before -Billy could cease to be alarmed if he appeared languid, over-slept, -or ate lightly. However, he developed at last into such a sturdy -fellow that anxiety on his account was absurd. All lingering doubts as -to his loyalty, also, came to an end, for Billy had feared that his -best affections might be won over to the master who fed him. But Duke -knew his own master, and did not seem disposed to inquire why he was -banished from his table. - -[Illustration: AFTER HIS MASTER.] - -The devotion of “Bob’s dog” to Billy was a constant source of surprise -to the boys who had not heard the secret of the mastership. Wherever -Billy went, the dog was sure to go--unless ordered to the contrary, for -whatever Billy ordered, the dog was sure to do. His absolute obedience, -rather than natural talent, made him the accomplished fellow which he -became. Billy’s will was his dog’s will, and so great was the patience -of both teacher and scholar that in course of time there was hardly -a dog in town so skilled as Duke in leaping, vaulting, fetching and -carrying, so at home on land and water--whether summoned to scour a -field, explore a bush, stem a tide, or save a boy from drowning. - -Assured, then, of his life and loyalty, proud of his character and his -accomplishments, Billy had but two things to regret: that Duke was a -plebeian and an exile. - -He had grown to full size, and neither developed into pointer, spaniel -nor mastiff; into setter, Irish or English; into hound, fox, blood or -grey. Indeed, he had not the positive traits which would admit him into -any family, however humble. Duke was hopelessly “mongrel.” - -Considering his stubby paws, blunt nose, ungainly shape and indefinite -color on the one hand, and on the other his intelligence, good-humor, -honor and fidelity, Billy could not but learn a gradual lesson on the -folly of judging from appearances. Never, he reflected, was canine -exterior more plebeian, canine character more noble. So, though -something of an aristocrat by nature, radical principles slowly worked -in Billy’s mind, until one day, at Timothy’s suggestion that he should -change Duke’s name, he was prepared to answer: - -[Illustration: HE WAS A FAMOUS VAULTER.] - -“No, sir! I believe people ought to rank according to their actions. -What difference does it make how you happen to look, or what family -you happen to be born into, if you’re a good fellow? My dog and I are -Americans, and we’ll stand by our principles, and take rank according -to the way we behave; won’t we, old fellow? I claim that he’s a duke in -character, Tim; and he’s handsome enough to suit me. I wouldn’t have a -spot on him changed now.” - -To which plebeian Timothy, with an approving smile, replied: - -“There’s no danger of his getting stolen, neither, Billy, for the price -he’d fetch in market; no more’n he’ll get shot or poisoned for his bad -temper.” - -“No great loss without some small gain,” said Billy. “I’m satisfied, -except for one thing, Tim.” - -That one remaining cause of dissatisfaction Timothy appreciated. He -knew that Billy would never be contented to have the dog which he had -saved from death, reared and educated an exile from his home; and, -though he and Bob would have missed Duke from their table, they made -various plans for getting him admitted to Billy’s. - -“I was screwing up my courage to lay the case before father,” said -Billy, “when out he came with something about that ugly little dog of -Bob’s that he’d seen around our house. He warned me not to encourage -him--but I can tell you it’s hard work to keep Duke away, though he’s -such an obedient fellow, and the cook never feeds him.” - -“Billy,” said Bob, “he’ll have to save your father’s life. That’s the -way the enemies in books always get into favor. Can’t you have him pull -him out of the water one of these windy days?” - -“That’s not such a bad suggestion,” said Billy; “the best you’ve made -yet. What do you think, Duke? Could you swim a mile and pull him -ashore? I believe he’s equal to it, Bob; and you know father’s always -tipping over. He generally rights himself, to be sure; but he may -be glad of a little assistance some time. I’ll keep Duke trained on -bringing logs ashore, and we’ll be on the lookout windy mornings; for -father never misses a breeze.” - -But many a windy morning a dog and his master saw a stout gentleman set -sail in a frail bark on a crafty sea; many a morning they roamed the -beach, practicing on drowning logs, as they watched the wind sport with -a distant sail; and however the sail might swell and veer, and lie over -toward the waves, it always came erect and stately into port, while a -stout gentleman stepped safely ashore. - -“The winds are against us, Duke,” said Billy. “There’s no use in -fooling around the shore any longer. I’m going to make a bold strike -to-day; and if father won’t listen to reason, we’ll just have to give -it up--unless we run away and live together. What do you say to that?” - -Duke replied by a series of barks which Billy understood to signify -assent. - -“We’ll try father first,” said Billy. - -He waited till his father was in his after-dinner mood. He followed him -from the dining-room to the piazza, watched his chair go back on two -legs, his feet go up on the railing, his cigar take its place in his -teeth, the smoke curl and climb, the newspaper turn and turn, and still -the courage of the boy on the steps did not rise to the occasion. It -was not until the chair came down on four feet, and the stump of cigar -dropped over the railing, that Billy ventured to speak: - -“Father!” - -He looked so well pleased with life as he walked, portly and smiling, -towards his hat, that Billy thought now, if ever, he would be willing -to please his son. - -Hats of various shapes and degrees hung upon the rack. There was the -broad-brimmed straw in which Judge Jenks appeared the country squire; -there was the little cloth cap in which he rode the waves a gallant -mariner; there was the soft felt which suited rough-and-ready moods; -there was the second-best beaver; and there was the best beaver, known -to Billy and his sisters as the “Pet and Pride.” - -The choice to-day fell on the “Pet and Pride.” - -“Good luck!” thought Billy. “I can get anything out of him when he’s -petting that hat.” - -“Well, my son,” said papa, holding the hat in one hand and passing the -other caressingly around and around the crown, until the fur lay in -silkiest smoothness. - -But Billy waited until the hat was on, and papa surveyed the result -in the mirror. It gave him an elegant judicial aspect, and was vastly -becoming beyond a doubt. - -“Now’s my time,” thought Billy. - -“Father,” said he, “I’d like to have a little talk with you--a little -discussion on a certain subject.” - -“What is it?” said papa. “The Greenback movement? Or have you been -catching Communism from Pat? What is it, Billy? Have you got the -questions of the day settled for us? Which shall it be: hard or soft -money, free-trade or the tariff?” - -“I’m not just up on those matters, sir,” said Billy. “It’s a different -subject.” - -“Well,” said papa, giving the “Pet and Pride” a parting glance, ere he -walked to the door, “well, Billy, what is it?” - -“It’s--it’s--dogs, sir,” said Billy, meekly. - -Stern and cold grew the beaming face beneath the “Pet and Pride.” -Aversion was in the tones which repeated Billy’s word “_Dogs!_” - -“And what have you to say on this subject?” inquired his father; “that -they are faithful, trusty beasts? I tell you they are treacherous and -villainous; that you wish to own one for no reason but that they are -odious to your father and you are determined to have your own way! I -reply better than you deserve, and offer you once more a goat, or a -pair of them.” - -“Thanks. It’s a dog or nothing, sir,” said Billy. - -“As you please,” said his father. “But understand that this subject -is not to come up again. Nothing could induce me to have a snarling, -snapping, vicious, treacherous cur on the premises; and you are never -to mention dogs to me again, sir.” - -Billy stalked out of one gate and his father out of another. - -“He has the Jenks will,” reflected his father, not without an emotion -of pride. “A dog or nothing, indeed!” - -But the Jenks will did not support Billy very bravely as he walked on -towards Bob’s; and by the time he reached the gate, anger, pride and -all harsh, inspiring feelings had given place to sadness. Bob told -Timothy afterwards that he had never seen Billy so nearly “floored.” He -did not need to ask the result of his interview; but proposed that he -should accompany him to the post-office, whither he was hastening with -a letter. - -The wind which had lured Billy to the shore in the morning still rose -in fitful gusts, playing tricks with all detached objects, greatly to -the delight of Duke who ran in pursuit of every flying thing. - -Billy’s eyes followed the dog gloomily. - -“If it wasn’t for that leg of father’s that got bitten thirty years -ago!” he said. “Speaking of angels, there goes father now. Hold on to -your hat, Bob.” - -Each boy seized his hat as a sudden gust came sweeping down the street. -But papa, who had appeared in view a block ahead of them, walked calmly -on, as if assured that no impertinent breeze would dare molest the “Pet -and Pride.” He was so confident and careless that the wind could not -resist taking him down a little, and lifting the hat whirled it about -his head. - -The uncovered judge put forth his hand, but the movement was too grave -and deliberate; the wind wished to play tag, and it takes two to play -at that game, so the judge must be taught how. As the deliberate hand -almost reached the hat, off skipped the wind with it, compelling the -judge with a stately skip to follow. But he could be taught even -swifter motions than those; a second time he almost reached the hat, -and it moved on with a hop and a whirl; while he, with something like -a hop and a whirl, moved after. But still the hat, so near his hand, -was not in it. His indignation rose. He could not allow matters to -proceed after this unruly fashion. With a plunge he pounced on his -property--when, lo! it lay across the ditch in the dust of the road, -while his tormentor laughed at him! - -But no, it was not the wind that laughed after all, though it seemed -quite human enough to do so--the shrill tones proceeded from three -open mouths on the corner. How dare those ragged urchins lift up their -voices in derision of a Judge of the Supreme Court! Better, perhaps, -to lose the hat than gratify them by pursuing it. But it was his “Pet -and Pride”--by no means an inexpensive affair; a city hat, only to be -replaced by a day’s journey; and then he might never find such an easy -fit again. - -After two or three somersets the hat stood still, unhurt, except for a -little dust. The wind fell as suddenly as it had risen, and the judge -was enabled to recover his property without sacrificing his dignity. At -least so he flattered himself as he walked at his usual gait over the -ditch, into the road. He had not calculated on another gust; and when -the hat was actually snatched almost out of his grasp again, rather -than become the sport of those rascals on the corner he decided to let -it go, and run the risk of getting it at the next ebb of the wind. - -He was turning away when he happened to see near the corner a big, -black mud-puddle, lying in wait for unwary victims of the wind. If the -wind and water had conspired to tease him they could not have succeeded -better. While the hat was blown directly towards the puddle, the water -was at the same time lashed upward to show him how black and muddy it -was, how totally destructive to hats. - -He felt tempted to pursue the “Pet and Pride” at a flying gait; but as -he paused to consider the boys on the corner, the mud-puddle lost its -terrors in a new object which appeared upon the scene. This was nothing -less than a dog that came galloping after the hat with almost the speed -of the wind. Better that the “Pet and Pride” should be drowned in the -muddiest depths than become a puppy’s plaything, thought the judge. It -was too late for him to rescue it by this time. The hat was doomed to -the dog or the water--the water he sincerely hoped, as he prepared to -seek the nearest store where a covering for his head could be found. - -But as he was turning away he observed that the chances were in the -dog’s favor. It was wonderful to see those four little paws fly over -the ground. They were gaining on the wind, no doubt about it. Gaining, -gaining--till the race was so close that one must wait a moment and see -it out. “Ah, the rascal has it! No, you little scamp, you’re beaten! -You didn’t count on that gust, sir!” - -But as the judge so soliloquized, a familiar voice behind him shouted, -“Fly, Duke, fly!” With a leap those four winged feet overtook the -gust; and there stood the dog at the edge of the mud-puddle, carefully -holding the “Pet and Pride” in his teeth. - -The judge recognized that “ugly little dog of Bob’s” at the same time -that he recognized his son’s voice; and presently he discovered that -the race had been run not for his torment, nor for mere amusement, but -for the purpose of rescuing and restoring his property. - -“Well, well,” said the judge, as Duke trotted up and presented the hat -to him; “well, well, Bob, you’ve a fine dog, sir; a gentlemanly fellow, -upon my word. You’ve trained him well, Bob. He does you credit, he does -indeed.” - -Bob rapped Billy with his elbow, as much as to say, “Here’s your golden -opportunity; speak up!” - -“He’s mine, sir,” Billy blurted out. - -“_Yours!_” said the judge, removing his hand from the canine head he -was actually condescending to pat; “_yours!_” - -Encouraged by another rap Billy continued: - -“You can’t say that he’s ever given you any trouble, father. He’s never -eaten a mouthful at home.” - -“What do you think of such deception, sir?” said his father. “Do you -mean to tell me that you have been boarding him out?” - -“No, sir; he lives on charity. Bob supports him.” - -“Charity!” said his father. “What do you mean, sir?” - -But as he dusted the “Pet and Pride,” caressing it as of old, he took -a kindly peep at the little head by his knee, and gave it one more pat -before moving away. - -“You’re all right, old boy,” said Bob. “You’ve had your chance; that -wind did you a good turn, after all. It doesn’t sound quite so fine to -say Duke saved his hat as his life, but it amounts to the same in the -end. Just keep cool, Billy, and you’re all right.” - -It was not very easy to keep cool, however. Billy hoped and watched and -waited a whole day before the subject of dogs was mentioned again. - -“Where did you get him?” asked his father, as the smoke began to curl -from his after-dinner cigar. - -“Him?” said Billy, confusedly. “Oh, Duke? I found him in the graveyard, -with six more. The mother had left them, and I couldn’t let them -die--though the rest did, after all. But we succeeded in raising Duke; -and I couldn’t part with him after all that, sir.” - -“Don’t attempt to excuse your obstinacy,” said his father, inwardly -commenting on “that Jenks will.” “He’s a trained animal, I see. That is -where the time has gone which should have been devoted to Latin. A very -bad report that last, sir. Is he anything of a mouser?” - -“Splendid!” said Billy. - -Nothing more was said until the “Pet and Pride,” after the usual amount -of caressing, was surveyed in the mirror--then tender memories prompted -papa to say, gruffly: - -“He is not to live on charity like a beggar. Shut him up in the -store-room, if he’s good for anything, and let him have it out with the -rats. But keep him away from me, sir. Let him be fed in the basement, -but let him understand that he is not to come above ground where I can -see him; and remember that he is on trial--distinctly on trial.” - -[Illustration: WITH DUKE’S COMPLIMENTS.] - -The glad news was at once conveyed to Duke, Bob and Timothy; and Billy -was a happy boy--for a few days. Like other mortals of whom we hear, -having gained much he wished to gain more. He was not satisfied that -Duke had conquered the rats and won the servants’ affections. He wished -his higher accomplishments to shine in higher circles. He wanted his -dog admitted to the full privileges of citizenship. He longed to -introduce him to his own room on the second floor, and he found stern -discipline necessary to keep him from the first floor. - -Having investigated the kitchen, Duke felt a natural curiosity as to -the parlor, and he was often caught on the top stair, peeping into the -hall. Billy’s sisters called him up, but could not make him disobey his -master. However he might stretch his neck, wag, cry and peer wistfully, -he could not be tempted to put a paw on the hall floor. - -“Where did he learn obedience?” said the judge one day, after observing -his daughters’ vain attempts. “Certainly not of his master. But perhaps -you know the secret, Billy, and can give it to me to try on my son. I -should like to see if there’s anything to be done with that will of -his.” - -“Duke has never had any teacher but me, sir,” said Billy. “Shall I -forbid his coming on the stairs?” - -“Come up here,” said the judge, snapping his fingers towards Duke. -“Let’s see what you think of this hall before we send you down.” - -But to his surprise the dog did not obey. - -“Come!” said Billy; and at the word he leaped toward his master, -then looked about for some means of expressing gratitude. Spying a -newspaper, and newspapers and elderly gentlemen being associated in his -mind, he fetched it and presented it to the judge. The next noon he was -summoned again. By that time he had discovered that the newspaper was -taken with the cigar, and no sooner saw the one produced than he ran -in search of the other. After a few days it happened that the judge -dropped all responsibility in regard to his paper. He took his cigar -and sat down, assured that wherever the paper might be, to what remote -corner of the house any careless member of the family might have taken -it, that knowing little dog would find it for him. - -[Illustration: THE CIRCUS.] - -Having proved that he was a useful member of society, Billy wished Duke -to display his higher accomplishments, and one day introduced to the -dining-room what was known down-stairs as the Circus. Judge Jenks was -greatly entertained, and the next day undertook to be circus-manager -himself. He succeeded so well that it became an after-dinner custom for -Duke to speak, leap and dance at his bidding. It was funny to see the -portly gentleman whistling sprightly airs, with the greatest gravity -of countenance, while the little dog, with countenance as grave, spun -around on two feet, wholly intent upon keeping time to the tune. He -would become a lion, monkey, or squirrel at command, but the last was -his favorite character, as it involved nuts, which he must sit upright -and nibble. After his fondness for almonds was discovered Billy noticed -that they were seldom missing from dessert without being called for. -By many little indications he was persuaded that Duke’s merits had -overcome his father’s prejudices. But after all Duke was only a dog, -with faults as well as virtues; and while he was still on trial Billy -could not help fearing that some mischievous prank might end the trial -unfavorably. He waited many days, hoping that his father would declare -the probation ended; but at last there came a day when Duke gave a -table-cloth a shaking which brought the judge’s favorite meerschaum -pipe to ruin. Billy considered the misfortune fatal. - -[Illustration: NOTHING COULD BE WORSE THAN THIS.] - -“It’s come at last. All’s up with us,” he thought, as he administered -the punishment customary for such offences. But what was his surprise -to hear his father say, sternly: - -“That will do; that will do, sir! Who left the pipe on the table? You -had better find out and save some of your blows for the chief offender. -How would you fare if I should deal out justice to you at that rate? -Dogs will be dogs, sir; and Duke’s none the worse for an occasional -overflow of spirits.” - -“Thank you, father, for defending my dog,” said Billy, warmly. “I was -afraid it might end in my having to part with him.” - -“Part with him?” said his father. “A very good suggestion. The best -thing you can do. I advise you to part with him by all means. I should -recommend an elderly gentleman who has learned to temper justice with -mercy; one who needs a cheerful, young companion, competent and -willing either to wait upon him or amuse him; one who will promise -the dog a permanent home, and agree not to be too hard upon him for -trifling offences. Allow me to recommend Judge Jenks, sir.” - -“With Judge Jenks’ permission, I’ll take the home and keep the dog,” -said Billy. - -“We will call it a bargain,” said his father, his eyes twinkling as he -added, “remarkable what a difference there is in dogs; eh, Billy?” - -“Yes, sir!” said Billy. - - - - -PUSSY WILLOW AND THE SOUTH WIND. - - - Fie! moping still by the sleepy brook? - Little Miss Pussy, how dull you look! - - Prithee, throw off that cloak of brown, - And give me a glimpse of your gray silken gown! - - My gray silken gown, Sir Wind, is done, - Put its golden fringes are not quite spun. - - What a slow little spinner! pray, pardon me, - But I have had time to cross the sea. - - Haste forth, dear Miss Pussy! the sky is blue, - And I’ve a secret to whisper to you. - - Nay, nay, they say Winds are changeful things, - I’ll wait, if you please, till the Bluebird sings. - - - - -LITTLE SISTER AND HER PUPPETS. - -BY REV. W. W. NEWTON. - - -[Illustration: GOOD NIGHT, LOVELY STAR.] - -There was a dear little girl once whose name was Emily, but everybody -called her “Little Sister,” because she was so sweet, and loved -everyone. - -She couldn’t pronounce some words plainly, and people used to get her -to talk, on purpose to hear the cunning words used. - -She used to sing a little song before she went to bed, and this was the -way she sang it: - - “Good night nitten tar (little star) - I mun (must) go to my bed - And neave (leave) you to burn - While I nay (lay) down my head, - - On my pinnow (pillow) to neep (sleep) - Till the morning light, - When you mill (will) be fading - And I mill (will) be bight (bright).” - -As she sang this little song, she would lean her face up against the -window pane and throw a sweet kiss to the star and say, “Dud night, you -nubny (lovely) nitten (little) tar!” (star.) - -“Little Sister” used to make everybody love her who came near her. The -grown-up people would always want to take her right up in their laps, -and the little children loved to have her come up with her flowing -silken hair and put her arms around them and kiss them. - -When she went out with her sled in winter time, the gentlemen used to -want to pull her, and the little boys would always drag her sled up -hill again after a slide. - -This was because she was so kind and sweet, and had such polite ways. - -Little Sister used to love to go and see some puppets which were -exhibited at a Punch-and-Judy show near where she lived. - -The men used to stand under a great overspreading elm tree and work -their puppets there, but there were so many people around the show that -she could not see it plainly. Betsey, her nurse, used to hold her up, -but still Little Sister couldn’t see it all. - -On Little Sister’s fourth birthday, when she came down into the -dining-room at breakfast time, what should she see over in one corner -of the room but a puppet stand, with six puppets. First of all there -was Punch, and then there was Judy; then there was the Doctor and the -Judge, and the Policeman and Sheriff. - -She was delighted. “Where did this come from?” she asked. - -Then her papa told her that he had had the stand made for her, and had -bought the puppets as a birthday present. - -These puppets he worked with his thumb and fingers. - -“Oh! what nubney nitten puppets!” said Little Sister, and off she ran -to show them to her mamma. - -Then in the afternoon of her birthday, her mother invited some little -friends to come in and see the first exhibition of Little’s Sister’s -puppets. - -Nobody could see how her papa worked them from behind the stand. - -They were ever so funny. One puppet was named Tommy, and he sat down to -eat a piece of meat. Then the pussy-cat came on the boards, and walked -right up to Tommy to take away the meat he had in his hands. Tommy gave -the cat a hit on the head with his funny arm, and then pussy stood up -on her hind legs and hit Tommy back. Finally pussy got hold of the -piece of meat and jumped down, while poor little Tommy was left alone -crying. Pussy was beautifully dressed up with a white paper ruffle -around her neck, and pink ribbons tied on her feet and tail. - -[Illustration: LITTLE SISTER’S BIRTHDAY PRESENT.] - -Then Tommy brought his naughty cat who had stolen the meat, before -the Judge, an old wise-looking man, with a grey wig on, and the Judge -sentenced pussy to be put in prison. - -There was a prison all ready, which Little Sister’s papa had made out -of a paper box. There were slats in it, and it was painted black, and -had the word “Prison” printed at the top of it in large black letters. - -Poor pussy, the thief, looked very sadly when the puppet policeman -marched her off to prison. - -Then there was old Punch, who threw the baby out of the window, and was -also taken before the Judge and was hanged. - -Then Tommy got sick from eating too much meat, and the Doctor had to -come and bleed him. This made all the little folks laugh ever so much. - -After this, Judy went to a store to buy some sausage, and when she got -it home it turned into a snake and ran away. - -[Illustration: THE POLICEMAN PUTS PUSSY IN A SAFE PLACE.] - -Then Tommy took up his father’s musket to fire it off and the gun went -to pieces, and poor little Tommy was blown up in the air; his head and -hands and feet were all blown away from his body and there was nothing -left of him. - -Then there was a paper doll named Polly Flinders, who set herself on -fire. - -This was the song Little Sister’s papa sang in a piping, squeaky -voice, when he made little Polly dance: - - “Little Polly Flinders - Sat among the cinders - A-warming her pretty little toes; - Her mother came and caught her - And spanked her little daughter - For burning her nice new clothes.” - -When he got through singing this funny little song, he would set -Polly on fire and then put her in a toy wash-tub, and all of a sudden -a little fire-engine would appear and squirt water on her in the -wash-tub. Then the curtain would drop down, and Punch would put his -head out and say in a squealing little voice, “Children, don’t you ever -play with fire.” - -These were some of the ways in which Little Sister and her papa amused -their friends on Saturday afternoons. - -Sometimes Little Sister and her brother invited poor children to come -in and see the funny puppets work. Sometimes these little children went -with their papa while he showed the puppets to poor little children in -some of the houses and asylums in the city where they lived. - -One time they all went to the Children’s Hospital, where the sick -children were, and made the poor little things laugh over the funny -doings of Tommy and Jerry, and Pussy and Polly Flinders. - -And in this way dear Little Sister and her little playthings did good -to others; for we can serve God and be doing good by making others -happy even in our plays, and with the toys which are given to us, -instead of keeping them selfishly for ourselves. - -[Illustration] - -[Illustration: FIRST SPRING FLOWERS.] - - - - -SPRING FUN. - - - The best of fun, I tell you, boys-- - I wonder if you know?-- - Is to get a dozen polywogs - And find out how frogs grow. - - You go and catch them in the pond, - Along in early spring; - And when you stir them up--O, my! - They squirm like anything! - - They are just like a little spot - Of jelly, with two eyes; - And such a funny little tail, - Of quite astounding size. - - You put them in a great big dish-- - A large bowl is the best. - They swim and squirm, and squirm and swim, - And never seem to rest. - - Put in some dirt and water plants-- - I’ve known them to eat meat. - They’ll grow and grow so beautiful - The girls would call them _sweet_. - - And bunches by and by appear-- - On each side there are two. - And little legs, like sprouting plants, - Will pretty soon peep through. - - The legs grow long, the tail grows short; - And by and by you’ll see - There isn’t any tail at all - Where a tail used to be. - - And froggy now can jump on land, - Or in the water swim. - And scientific men will now - “Amphibious” call him. - - - - -THE LOST DIMPLE. - -BY MARY D. BRINE. - - - My little boy lies in his trundle bed, - With chubby arms above his head, - And a rosy flush on his cheek so fair, - And a gleam of gold in his tangled hair; - His beautiful eyes, so soft and blue, - ’Neath rose leaf lids are hidden from view; - For sound asleep is my little boy, - My troublesome comfort, baby Roy! - - But ah! there’s something upon his cheek - Of which I do not like to speak; - So I kneel beside my baby dear, - And softly _kiss away the tear_. - And I kiss from his rosy mouth a _pout_, - Which even slumber has not smoothed out. - And I have another kiss to spare, - To smooth the frown from his forehead fair. - - How came the tear and the pout and frown - On this dear little face to settle down? - Ah well! I’m sorry to have to say - That Roy was a naughty boy to-day. - It wasn’t pleasant to play, you see, - When Roy and mamma couldn’t agree; - So he went to Dreamland to find a smile, - And the dimples will come in a little while. - - There’s one should be in his cheek, right there, - And one belongs in his chin. ’Tis rare - That I look in vain for the merry trace - Of the winsome dimples in baby’s face! - But, by and by, he will open his eyes, - All soft and blue as the summer skies: - And when he laughs at my merry call, - I shall find the dimples, the smiles, and all. - - - - -[Illustration] - -THE OTHER SIDE OF THE STORY. - -BY KATE LAWRENCE. - - -[Illustration: WATCHING FOR PAPA.] - -There were once two little bears who lived in a cave in the woods. - -Papa Bear had been killed by a hunter, and his skin made into a coat, -which the hunter wore while killing other bears. - -Mamma Bear accepted this hard fact, but the little bears never gave up -hoping that he would come, and they used to watch for him at the window -every day. - -One day when they were watching, they saw two little boys who had come -into the woods for berries. Their baskets were about half full, but -some dispute had arisen, and the luscious fruit hung ungathered while -the two boys fought--boxing and scratching one another in a manner too -shocking to be described. - -“O, Mamma Bear!” they cried together, “do come and see; here are two -of those dreadful creatures whom you call boys--they are fighting -terribly.” - -“Don’t stand and look at them, my darlings,” said Mamma B.; (the -children sometimes called her Mamma B.) “‘evil communications corrupt -good manners.’” - -“What does that mean Mamma B.,” asked the little bears. - -Now Mamma Bear did not like this question, for she did not know exactly -what it meant herself. But she managed to say, “It means, my dears, -that if you like to stand and watch boys and girls when they are -quarrelling and fighting, you will soon get to be as bad as they are -yourselves.” - -At this both the little bears put their paws up over their faces, and -cried, “O, Mamma B.!” for their feelings were dreadfully hurt by this -comparison. “O, Mamma B., we _couldn’t_ be so bad! never, never!” - -“I hope not,” said Mamma B., kindly; “but when I was a little bear, my -mother used to say, sometimes, that her children were as cross as boys -and girls.” - -“O, Mamma B.!” cried the little bears again. “Boys and girls are -dreadful creatures, aren’t they?” - -[Illustration: THE SLEEP OF THE INNOCENT.] - -“Men and women are dreadful creatures,” said Mamma B.; “and though -their babies are very gentle and playful at first, it will not do to -trust them. Human nature soon begins to show itself. Men often kill, -not to get their food, or defend themselves against their natural -enemies, as bears do, but for the _pleasure_ of killing. Besides they -kill each other; and that, you know, bears very seldom do.” - -“But we kill lambs and calves, mamma dear,” said one little bear, -proudly; “I have killed a chicken myself!” - -“That was for your natural food,” said Mamma Bear, beaming upon him -fondly. “The most intelligent animals are those which, like bears, eat -both meat and vegetables. Men are _almost_ as intelligent as we are; -but they never will be truly wise, until they learn to live in peace -with each other, as bears do.” - -Before the little bears went to bed that night, their mamma taught them -this pretty little hymn: - - “Let boys delight to scold and fight, - For ’tis their nature to; - Let naughty children scratch and bite-- - All human beings do. - - “But little bearies, never let - Your angry passions rise; - Your little paws were never made - To tear each other’s eyes.” - -When the little bears could recite this perfectly, they went to sleep -with their paws around each other’s necks, resolving that they would -never, never quarrel, for fear that they might sometime get to be as -bad as boys and girls; and their mamma could not but feel grateful that -they were so docile. - - - - -JACK HORNER. - - -Almost every child has been early taught to repeat the lines: - - “Little Jack Horner - Sat in the corner, - Eating a Christmas pie; - He put in his thumb, - And pulled out a plum, - And said, ‘What a brave boy am I!’” - -And Jack has generally been regarded as a nice, fat little boy, who, -having pleased his mother by his good conduct, has been rewarded by a -pie of his own. And we have thought of him as sitting quietly in the -chimney-corner, enjoying his pie; and when he pulled out that plum, -wondering if it were full of plums. - -But among the many “investigations” of the present day, it appears that -Jack Horner, though a boy, was a “defaulter” to a serious amount, and -the plum which he pulled out of his pie cost the life of another. - -A tradition which had its rise in the county of Somersetshire, England, -has at last found a place in history, and seems to be looked upon as -reliable. - -During the imperious reign of Henry VIII., he procured by an act of -Parliament the abolishment of several hundred monasteries, and a court -was established for the management of their revenues and their silver, -all of which he ordered granted for his benefit. - -When this act came in force, at the monastery at Wells it was -determined by the abbot that the title-deeds of the abbey estates, and -the valuable grange attached, should not be confiscated by the king, -but sent to the commissioners at London. - -The abbot, wishing for some safe method of conveying them, finally hit -upon this curious device. To avoid their being taken, he thought the -safest method would be to put them in a pie, which should be sent as a -present to one of the commissioners. The trustiest messenger, and one -little likely to excite suspicion, was a boy named Jack Horner, the son -of poor parents, living in the neighborhood of the monastery. He set -out on foot carrying the pie. - -It was a tiresome journey, and the road probably had few attractions, -so, selecting a comfortable corner on the wayside, Jack sat down to -rest. Like most boys on such occasions, he began to think of something -to eat; and, having no well-filled bag to go to, he thought he might -take a little from the inside of the pie, and it would never be missed. - -So, “he put in his thumb,” when to his astonishment he found only -papers. This was poor satisfaction to the hungry lad, but he had wit -enough to conclude that papers sent in such a manner must be valuable, -so he determined to pocket one, which he did, and pursued his journey. - -Upon delivering the pie, it was at once discovered that the chief deed -was missing, and, as it was thought the abbot had withheld it, an order -was at once sent for his execution, for not the slightest suspicion -seems to have fallen upon Jack. - -Years after, the paper was found in the possession of Jack’s family, -which, being the deed to abbey estates, was a “plum” of some value. - - 1. Tell in your own words the meaning of the rhyme of “Little Jack - Horner.” - - 2. Do you know any other Mother Goose rhyme that has a hidden meaning? - - - - -DOUBLE DINKS. - -BY ELIZABETH STODDARD. - - -[Illustration] - -Wide awakes, you have not heard of the boy Lolly Dinks that was, -and is--a boy mitey in body and mighty in mind. He knows himself as -the son and ruler of Mr. Dinks, a mild, pleasant man, who tears his -shirt collar in two of mornings when his slippers are in the very -place he put them, and he can’t find them, and who sits up of nights -making books out of other people’s thoughts, and calls it a Literary -Avocation! _I_ call it st--al--ng. What _I_ write comes from my own -mind and Lolly’s. - -Now, as always, the business of my life is to amuse Lolly. Lots of -oat-meal, beef-tea, little pills, have I taken to keep me up so that -I might make a successful business. For a time I supposed that I was -teaching him; but I wasn’t, he was teaching me, and from that he went -on till I found he governed me. _Did_ you ever hear anything like -this--me, Mrs. Dinks, his mother, minding Lolly Dinks? Somebody has to -mind me, and as Mr. Dinks will not read this, I confess I make _him_ -mind. - -And I thought myself so clever,--that I was packing, cramming the cells -of Lolly’s brain with useful in-for-ma-tion, as full as the cells of -a bee-hive with honey. I did it at all hours, and made a nuisance of -myself under all circumstances. I’d go on this way: Suppose it a winter -morning, and breakfast-time. Lolly and I are waiting for the bell to -ring. - -“Lolly,” say I, “little Jack Frost came in last night by the window -panes; don’t you long to hear about little Jack?” and my voice is sweet -as a sugar lump. - -“No, marmy, I want some beefsteak. I smell it;” and Lolly gives so loud -a sniff that I have to raise my voice, and thereby lose some of its -sweetness. - -“It is strange so many things should have Jack tied to them,” I -continued. “There’s Jack-at-a-pinch, Jack-at-all-trades,--” - -“Tom Bower,” breaks in Lolly, “has a toy he calls Jack-in-a-box; nasty -thing, it jumps. I want my egg boiled so hard that this poker couldn’t -smash it,” and he gives the fender such a bang that my nerves go -ting-a-ling like a cracked bell,--not like poor Ophelia’s sweet bells, -jangled, out of tune. But duty requires me to go on, for must not my -Lolly understand something of great Nature’s laws? With sternness I -proceed. - -“There is, also, Jack-a-dandy, Jack-ass, Jack-a-napes, Jack Ketch, the -hangman, Jack-pudding--” - -“And Jack-straw,” cries Lolly; “and somebody’s lost my set of ivory -Jack-straws.” - -“My son, the substance, or appearance, which we call Jack Frost, is -rigidly and beautifully regulated by laws, crystals--” - -“Where is that boy?” asked papa Dinks, coming from behind his newspaper. - -A moment afterward we heard him singing in the breakfast-room, “Spring, -spring, gentle spring,” and presently found him near a beefsteak -tranquilly munching a biscuit. - -“The childhood,” says Milton, “shows the man, as morning shows the -day;” but Milton was always saying one thing or another. If this is -true, what will Lolly’s bump of reverence be when he has grown to be a -man? Where shall a bank be found rich enough for him to draw the money -he must have? And how many persons will be hired to find his garters, -his hat, his knife, his book? I never could abear Paradise Lost, and -I don’t wonder that the angel with the flaming sword kept Adam and -Eve out of the garden, for Adam and Eve were a poky pair, after all, -and could never have raised vegetables; that is, according to Milton. -As a man, will this said Lolly domineer over his kind, and exact his -rights? He thinks it hard that children should not have the privilege -of scolding parents, when the parents are so old and the children so -young; and why shouldn’t he contradict, when he is contradicted; he -knows just as well as any old Dinks knows? - -Lolly is not a nice hero for a story, but what can I do? He is all the -Lolly Dinks I have,--a “poor thing, but mine own.” And if I can’t make -the best of him, I must make the worst; it is “live and Dinks live” -with me. All is, Wide Awakes, try to help him with his poor traits; -that is, not make use of them on your own account. - -Outside his family circle, which is compact though narrow, my Lolly -has the reputation of a “perfect gentleman.” Our friends and neighbors -invite him to dinner and to lunch. Then they tell how good, how -refined, how sweet his manners, how gentle! And this young Dinks hears -it all; does he believe so? Why not? He is to these people as he -appears; but when I try to present to their view an interior picture, -one I am somewhat familiar with, they return a pitying smile, and -believe in their hearts that I am describing _myself_, or, at any -rate, that I am solely to blame for all his shortcomings. I even bring -up absolute facts. I say, “This morning, when I offered Lolly five -cents, he tossed away, because I would not give him ten cents.” Or, -“Yesterday, because I refused to go on the beach in a gale of wind to -sail his boat, Lolly said, ‘You never do anything for me; you sit in -your chair and read and read, and I think you are real mean.’” This, -too, when I had trudged a mile into the woods with him, and lugged home -a pile of bushes, flowers, and grasses. It is of no use; I am in the -minority; they sympathize with him, not with me. I must hold my peace, -but I will ask myself the question, so long as I have the spirit of -a woman,--not Pilate’s,--whether old people or young people tell the -truth; but, is it the young people or the old people who lie? - -Whatever Lolly’s aspects are, life is a constant surprise and delight -to him. He walks daily among wonders, as Emerson says. Well, as I have -said before, this Master Dinks got into the habit of instructing me. -His style was more imperative and curt than mine. Here is a sample:-- - - “Do you wish to know? - Listen, Marmy. - Shall I tell you?” - -Of course I have got to know. His lesson begins: “Suppose, Mrs. Marmy, -that the moon, being tired of her white color, should wish to borrow a -few yellow rays from the sun,--where would she find postage stamps to -get it at the sun post office?” - -This terrible conundrum floors me, and I sit dismayed. - -“Get ’em from the next rainbow!” he shrieks. - -“My Lolly,” I reply, solemnly, “I see you understand the eternal -fitness of things.” - -And then in his turn he is posed, and falls back into his simple child -ways. He twists himself up into my lap, and rubs his head against my -shoulder, and says, for the hundredth time,-- - -“Tell me what you used to do, mother, dear.” - -He kisses me; but I must own there is an “ancient and fish-like smell” -about him, which comes from his fondness for catching minnows, and -other small deer of the sea. Still it goes for a kiss. - -A short tale follows. - -Cola Meggs and Sailor Studd were two dogs, whose acquaintance I made -in my childhood. One was mouse-colored, and the other was white, with -large black patches; both were large. They hated cats, they hunted -cats. In the underpinning of our house was a hole where the broken -crockery was thrown. I used to crawl through this hole to get dishes -for my family’s table; very odd-shaped dishes, kind of three-cornered -things they were. The cats hid in this dark place when Cola and Sailor -were on the war-path, and made themselves very unpleasant. So much so -that I was often obliged to sit on the doorstep while the battle raged -between cats and dogs. Then I knew what it meant by reigning cats and -dogs. One day I sat on the cold, cold doorstep till I grew numb, but my -brain was on fire. I composed a poem. - - “So Cola Meggs and Sailor Studd - Had a fight and fell in mud. - Won’t I hang them onto pegs, - Even though they have 8 legs.” - (The cat was killed.) - -“Marmy,” said Lolly, with dignity, “will you please read me Jules -Verne’s story ‘Round the World.’” - -Ah me, the mitey part of my Lolly Dinks had flown into the past, where -so many little children lie in the amber of a mother’s memory. - -He reminds me of the apple blossom and the apple; both are perfect in -their way, and in the latter the nub of the blossom, from which the -fruit comes, remains. But this does not make me opposed to apple trees; -I am not like the man who said he was fond of apples, but he did not -approve of the cultivation of the apple tree. I am willing that they -should grow as crooked as they like, and lay their dark arms about -Tennyson’s fields, and his white kine glimmer as they please. - -I also made it one branch of my Dinks amusing business to print some -of my talks with Lolly. Mr. Gill made a book for me; not the Mr. Gill -whose teeth Wordsworth has given an immortal chatter to, but a Boston -Gill. I thought some mothers might find a soothing syrup in the book -for their Dinks boys. I know one little girl liked it so much that in -reading it she fell out of bed and bumped her head dreadfully. A boy -found it in a circulating library, but his mother carried it back the -next day. She could see neither rhyme nor reason in it, and the boy -cried, because he said he was afraid there was only one Lolly Dinks -mother in the world; if there was, he was sure he could be as bad as -Lolly Dinks, too. - -What to do next about Lolly? Some wise person talks to me about the -transition periods; meantime am I to submit to having all my moral -corns trod upon, and to watch the growth of his incipient corns? So far -he has had everything, from Noah’s ark to a schooner-rigged boat, from -a paint box to a set of croquet. He has had all that money can buy; but -I have a curious feeling that now he needs something that money cannot -buy. I hope this confession will not bring down upon my weak head any -dogmatic, cut-and-dried mamma. I am not at home to her. I have gone -out: business calls me yonder. Perhaps my own Lolly will tell me what -to do next. With all his restlessness and perversity, I see how the -sense of beauty develops in his mind, and that somehow he begins to -perceive the harmony of goodness; that to be selfish gives him a kind -of creepy shame. - -“Our Father in heaven,” he said, one day. “Where is the Mother?” - -Will he see our life better, more clearly, than Mrs. Dinks, his mother, -or Mr. Dinks, his father? We are waiting to learn. - -[Illustration] - - - - -LEARNING TO SWIM. - -BY EDGAR FAWCETT. - - - Here I am, papa, - In my new tights dressed, - Crazy for a bath, - It must be confessed. - - Shall we go straight in? - Oo! the water’s cold! - Let me take your hand, - Nice and large to hold. - - I’m a big boy, now, - Tall and strong of limb. - Eight years old to-day, - Yet I cannot swim! - - Teach me, please, papa; - Keep my chin up ... so! - Not a bit of use-- - Down I’m sure to go! - - Don’t I kick out right - While my arms are spread? - O, I really think - That I’m made of lead! - - Floundering here, I feel - Like so sad a dunce! - It’s as though you tried - Twenty things at once! - - While you make your strokes - Regular and neat, - You must also tend - To your legs and feet! - - I don’t even float - As well as some old log! - O, how _can_ you swim - Unless you’re born a frog! - - - - -SWEETHEART’S SURPRISE. - -BY MARY E. C. WYETH. - - -I. - - Rosebud! Goldilocks! Busy Bee! - Sweetest of all sweethearts to me! - Where art thou hiding? “_Tum an’ see!_” - Ah, those rippling child-tones, - Sweet with baby glee, - Lure my feet to lightness - When they summon me. - - -II. - - Where away, darling? Where hast thou fled? - Shine out and show me thy sunny-ringed head. - Ho! hiding there in my white lily bed! - “Ha, ha! pitty mamma! - Finks you’se foun’ me out? - Dess you tant imazhin - What dis dirl’s about.” - - -III. - - “Huwwy up--fas’ you tan--shut ’oo eyes, - Sweetheart’s dot such a lovely s’prise! - _Peep now_, twick, mamma, _’fore he flies!_” - Ope her waxen fingers - On a jewel rare: - Lo! a gleaming humming-bird, - Darting through the air! - - -IV. - - “Flied yite into my hands--dess so. - Wasn’t it tunnin’ to see him go? - Wasn’t it _lovely_ to _s’prise_ you, though?” - Oh, thou wee, wise baby, - Early to divine, - ’Tis the _sweet surprise_ that makes - Simplest joys to shine. - - - - -THE CROSS-PATCH. - -BY MRS. EMILY SHAW FARMAN. - - -I know a little black-eyed boy, with tight curls all over his head. He -is very sweet and pleasant when things go right; but he has days when -everything seems to go wrong, and then he is called Cross-Patch. His -other name is Frank. When these days come round, everybody wishes it -was night. - -Cross-Patch comes down to breakfast with a red nose and a snuffle, and -drags his feet along as if they were flat-irons. - -Papa hears him coming, and says, “Falling barometer, heavy showers, -and, possibly, storms.” Papa says this as if he were reading the -newspaper, but he is really reading Frank. - -As Cross-Patch comes into the room and bangs the door, Tom, his big -brother, exclaims, “Indicative mood!” and Susie, who goes to the -High School, laughs and says, “Objective case, and _dis_-agrees with -everybody in the first person singular!” - -“I don’t care! I ain’t! and you shan’t laugh at me!” roars Frank. - -“Croth-pash!” lisps little Lucy. - -“Come here, Frank,” says mamma, very gently, “and tell mamma what is -the matter.” - -“Phebe got soap in my eyes, and she washed my face hard in the middle, -just as if I didn’t have any nose at all, and the comb stuck in my hair -every time, and hurt, and--” - -“And you got out at the foot of the bed!” says provoking Tom. - -“No, I didn’t. I got out at the side; and ’tisn’t fair!” cries Frank. - -“No,” says papa, with a sigh, “I see it isn’t; it is very cloudy and -threatening.” - -Then they all laugh, and Cross-Patch gets worse and worse. He sits -down at the table, and takes a baked potato; it is hot, and burns his -fingers; so he pushes his plate away very hard, and upsets a glass of -milk, and has to be sent up stairs. He puts an apple in his pocket, and -goes off to school without any breakfast. On the way a big bad boy -takes the apple away from him, just as he is going to take his first -bite. - -At school things are no better. The hardest word in the spelling lesson -is t-h-r-o-u-g-h, _through_, and of course the teacher gives him -that word to spell, and he sticks in the middle of it, and can’t get -_through_. - -Then comes the multiplication table, and the teacher asks him “nine -times four,” and he answers, “sixty-three.” The crosswise has got into -his brain, and he keeps on saying “sixty-three” till he thinks it is -right; and then he is very cross when he is told to learn his lesson, -and stay after school to recite it. - -As he goes home he wishes he could meet the man that made the spelling -book, and the other man that made the multiplication table, so that he -might knock them both down, and jump on them with all his might a long -time; but, as he doesn’t see them anywhere, he thinks he will play ball. - -He plays that the front gate is the spelling-book man, and that the -lantern post is the man that made the multiplication table, and he -sends the ball, first at one, and then at the other, with great fury. -At last, in a very wild throw, Cross-Patch hits the multiplication -man--I mean the lantern post--on the head. The pieces come rattling -down on the sidewalk, and this dreadful noise frightens away all the -crossness. Frank runs into the house to his mamma, and tells her how -sorry he is, and begs her to tell papa all about it, and gives her all -the money in his little savings bank to pay for the broken lantern. -Then mamma asks him if he is sure that Cross-Patch has gone away -entirely, and he cries a great shower of tears, and says, “Yes, mamma, -every inch of him!” and mamma gives Frank some supper, and puts him to -bed, and tells him to pray to the good angels to drive Cross-Patch very -far off, in the night, so that he can’t get back for a great many days. - -[Illustration] - - - - -THE PROUD BANTAM. - -BY CLARA LOUISE BURNHAM. - - - There lived a Bantam rooster on a farm not far away, - So haughty and puffed up, as I have heard the neighbors say, - That from morning until evening he would strut the country round, - And crow aloud self-praises as he stepped along the ground: - “I’m Chanticleer Grandissimo, my pedigree is fine, - Oh, who can show as yellow claws or such a comb as mine? - Where some have one tail feather, I am proudly waving two, - And I have an extra doodle to my Cock-a-doodle-doo!” - - The other roosters in the barn-yard talked the matter o’er, - The little upstart really was becoming quite a bore. - At last a handsome game-cock volunteered to take the case; - “It’s time,” he said, “the creature should be taught to know his - place; - It goes against the grain, my friends, to whip a thing so small, - But since it’s for our peace of mind, why--duty first of all!” - And hardly had these sentiments escaped the noble bird - Than up came little Bantie with his haughty, scornful word. - - The handsome game-cock’s feathers glistened golden in the light; - Loud cried the tiny rooster in his coat of snowy white, - “Just step aside and let your betters pass, I’ll thank you, sirs!” - “We’ve all a right here,” mild replied the owner of the spurs. - Oh, then the Bantam tiptoed round: “What’s that I heard you say? - I’m Chanticleer Grandissimo!”--ah! in the dust he lay. - Above him stood the game-cock like a giant in his might, - And round him all the other fowls rejoicing in his fright. - - And while he still lay, giddy, with his dainty claws in air, - He was forced to hear a lecture from the other, then and there; - And, greatly to the credit of the silly little bird, - He changed his manner afterward and heeded every word. - “My name is Cock-a-doodle Small,” he meekly learned to say, - He minded his own business, nor got in others’ way. - So in our world we sometimes find Grandissimos, and all - Would do well to recall the fate of Cock-a-doodle Small. - - -[Illustration] - - There is a young man with a cane, - Whose thoughts are not fixed upon gain; - For he says, “Don’t you see, - It’s enough, just to be - _Such_ a young man with a cane!” - - - - -THE TRUE STORY OF SIMPLE SIMON. - -BY HARRIETTE R. SHATTUCK. - - -Once there was a boy named “Simple Simon.” - -He wasn’t a pretty boy, for his nose turned up at every thing, and -the corners of his mouth turned down, and he was always crying for -something he didn’t possess. He had a tooth come once, but instead of -being glad that he had something to eat with, he cried all the time -till he got two more teeth; and even then he wasn’t satisfied and he -had to have twenty more; such a simple boy as he was! - -He had nice little white dresses, but he didn’t like them and cried -for pants and a jacket; and when he got those he wasn’t contented, but -wanted some pockets! Just think what an unreasonable boy! They used to -put him to bed at six o’clock, but a boy down town didn’t go to bed -till eight, so he cried to sit up till eight; and when they had let him -do so, was he content? Oh, no! he fussed until they had to allow him to -go to bed only when the rest of the folks went. Only see what a silly -boy! - -They always gave him bread and milk for his supper, and sometimes -strawberries and jelly; but he saw that his aunt had sponge cake and -his uncle warmed-up potatoes, and he thought he must have them too, so -he cried into his mug and daubed his chin with jelly until they had to -give _him_ cake and potatoes too. What a greedy boy! - -His father gave him a pretty boat with white sails, and a flag on top, -and he used to pump the sink full of water and sail the boat in it, but -once he saw a pond, and then he cried to go and sail his boat on that, -and when they took him there the pond wasn’t big enough! What could -they do with that boy? He had a rocking-horse at Christmas and he rode -on it as much as a week without complaining, but one day he discovered -that his horse wouldn’t go ahead any--only up and down--and he got mad -at it and pulled out its tail, and then cried for a real horse that -would kick and go. But they couldn’t keep on giving him all he wanted, -this funny boy! - -He used to read out of a picture-book about “Jane and John,” and “the -five pond lilies,” until he found a big book in the library that had -long words in it which he couldn’t understand, and he teased and teased -until he got somebody to tell him all about it. What an absurd boy he -was getting to be! - -Once a little lady gave him a daisy to wear in his button-hole, but he -pulled it in pieces instead, and they had to tell him what every part -was named. His father took him to an Art Exhibition, and he saw a big -picture of horses and men, but he couldn’t admire it quietly, but had -to feel of it and find out how it was done; and before he would consent -to go home his father was obliged to buy him a paint pot and a brush; -and he spent a whole week trying to paint a horse on one of the barn -doors--and what a horse! and what a boy! Well, finally he was too big -to learn at home, (as he already knew more than anyone else in the -house) and they sent him away to the academy where he studied, like -the rest of the boys--but when he found out that there were some books -that the other boys didn’t study, then he insisted on learning _those_ -lessons, and he studied Turkish and Chinese and the Wealth of Nations, -this wise boy who was no longer contented with doing only what others -could do! - -He never played base ball or cricket, or rowed on the river; these -things were too common for him--other boys might do so, but he -preferred to walk in the woods and pull bugs to pieces, write letters -for the newspapers and talk in debating societies. Thus he was -different from other boys, and that suited him--but still he didn’t -feel satisfied yet, this restless boy! and he never did get satisfied -in all his life, because it was impossible for him to be, though he -became rich and was sent to Congress and even ran for the Presidency, -with six or eight other boys. And I suppose if he had been chosen -Emperor of Russia, he would still have wanted something better, he was -such an ambitious boy! - -So you can see why he was called “Simple Simon.” They might have called -him a more disagreeable name still if he had been a girl, and acted so. - - - - -IN THE TUNNEL OF MOUNT CENIS. - -BY MRS. ALFRED MACY. - - -[Illustration: GRANDMOTHER’S CLOCK.] - -Leaving Turin, the whole country is mountainous, the tributaries of -the Po frequently relieving the sameness. The engine now shoots into -this tunnel, now into that, either of which, from its length, the -inexperienced traveller might mistake for “the grand.” When, however, -the approach of the latter was near, there was no misjudging the signs. -The lights overhead were newly arranged; there was a general quick-step -on the top of the car; and, too late to draw back, we were, willing or -unwilling, propelled into “chaos.” - -Entering these depths a seriousness takes possession of one similar -to that which affects a passenger for the first time crossing the -Suspension Bridge at Niagara Falls. The air seems stupefying, and were -it not “that the lamp holds out to burn,” you would not believe there -were any oxygen in the atmosphere. - -Subterranean apartments were occasionally seen at the right and left. -In one instance several persons, perhaps the mountain kings, though by -no means, in royal robes, appeared to be lunching. The glare of their -lights was dismal. These rooms, or dens, were invariably near the -lamp-posts, as though between these points life could not be endurable. - -Pastime is out of the question in this Great Tunnel. - -As everything seems to be rushing to destruction, reflections are -a natural consequence during this ride of nearly a half hour. It -takes but very few minutes to “retrospect” (any word is right in a -tunnel) one’s whole life. It is surprising too, how thick and fast the -short-comings present themselves, especially those of childhood. Indeed -I did not get beyond the first dozen years of my youth, yet they were -countless. One of these transgressions out of which in later years I -had had much enjoyment on the review, came to me very significantly -in the tunnel and I grew very sober over it. Now that I am safely at -Modane and know that I will _never_ take the route through the “Alpine -Bore” again, I transcribe a confession of the above in the form of the - - -STORY OF THE CLOCK. - -My real name was so short that I was called Nancy, “for long.” I -was the fourth child in a very large family. The three elder were a -brother and two sisters. The first, very quick at books and figures, -finished his education at an early age, and seemed to me about as old -and dignified as my father. My sisters, Sarah and Mary, were exemplary -in school and out. The former, at eight, read Virgil; painted “Our -Mother’s Grave” at eleven--’twas an imaginary grave judging from the -happy children standing by; wrote rhymes for all the albums, printed -verses on card-board and kept on living. Mary read every book she -could find; had a prize at six years of age for digesting “Rollins’ -Ancient History;” had great mathematical talent, and though she sighed -in her fourteenth year that she had grown old, yet continues to add to -her age, being one of the oldest professors in a flourishing college. - -With such precedences, it is not strange that my parents were -astonished when their fourth child developed other and less exaggerated -traits, with no inclination to be moulded. Within ten months of my -eighth year, my teacher, who had previously dealt with Sarah and -Mary with great success, made the following remark to me: “If thou -wilt learn to answer all those questions in astronomy,” passing her -pencil lightly over two pages in _Wilkin’s Elements_, “before next -seventh day, I’ll give thee two cents and a nice note to thy parents” -(my father was a scientific man, and my mother a prime mover in our -education). - -“Two cents” did seem quite a temptation, but the lesson I concluded -not to get. “I worked wiser than I knew.” I may have wanted a “two -cents” many a time since, but I never was sorry about that. Spelling, -arithmetic, grammar, geography, history and reading, though they were -the Peter-Parley edition, seemed about enough food for a child that -was hungering and thirsting for a doll like Judith Collin’s, and for -capacity to outrun the neighboring boys. To be sure the recitation in -concert, where the names of the asteroids, only four in number (instead -of a million and four) were brought out by some of us, as “vesper,” -“pallid,” “you know,” and “serious” showed that we did not confine -ourselves too closely to the book. - -Seventh-day afternoon was a holiday, and on one of these occasions -I was sent to stay with my grandmother, as my mother and my maiden -aunt (the latter lived with my grandmother) were going to Polpis -to a corn-pudding party. I was too troublesome to be left at home, -therefore, two birds were to be killed with one stone. - -Now I had for a long time desired to be left alone with my lame and -deaf grandmother and the Tall Clock, especially the Tall Clock. I went, -therefore, to her old house on Plover street in a calm and lovely frame -of mind and helped get my aunt ready for the ride. - -’Twas a cold day though September; and after she took her seat in -the flag-chair tied into the cart, I conceived the notion to add my -grandmother’s best “heppy” to the wraps which they had already put -into the calash. I always had wanted a chance at that camphor-trunk; -and the above cloak, too nice to be worn, lay in the bottom underneath -a mighty weight of neatly-folded articles of winter raiment. It came -out with a “long pull” and many a “strong pull” and I got to the door -with the head of it, while the whole length of this precious bright -coating was dragging on the floor. But the cart had started, and when -my aunt looked back, I was flourishing this “heppy” to see the wind -fill it. - -I returned to the room, restored the article to the chest quite snugly, -leaving one corner hanging out and that I stuffed in afterwards and -jumped upon the cover of the trunk so that it shut. Very demurely I -sat down before the open fire by my grandmother’s easy chair, rocking -furiously, watching my own face in the bright andirons, whose convex -surfaces reflected first a “small Nancy” far off, then as I rocked -forward, a large and distorted figure. My rapid motions made such rapid -caricatures that I remained absorbed and attentive. My grandmother, -not seeing the cause of my content, decided (as she told my mother -afterwards), “that the child was sick, or becoming regenerated.” Happy -illusion! - -At last, my grandmother got to nodding and I sprang to my -long-contemplated work. - -Putting a cricket into one of the best rush-bottom chairs, I climbed to -the Clock; took off the frame, glass and all, from its head, placing -it noiselessly on the floor; opened the tall door in the body of the -clock; drew out and unhung the pendulum--the striking weight, whose -string was broken, was made all right and put for the time being on the -table. Then the “moon and stars” which had been fixed for a quarter of -a century, were made to spin; the “days of the month” refused to pass -in review without a squeak that must be remedied, so I flew into the -closet to get some sweet oil which was goose-grease; but shutting the -closet-door I roused my grandmother. - -I quietly went at the old rocking again, the bottle of goose-grease -in my pocket, which I feared might melt and I should lose the -material--the bottle was already low. - -Fortunately my grandmother began napping again, and I resumed my task. -Applying the oil with a bird’s wing was lavish process--the wheels -moved easily; the hands became quite slippy; the moon “rose and set” to -order; the days of the month glided thirty times a minute, and I was -just using a pin to prove the material of the dial when my grandmother -turned her head, at the same time reaching for her cane (the emergency -had been foreseen and special care had I taken that the cane should not -be forthcoming). “Nancy! Nancy! is thee crazy?” - -Thinking to strengthen this idea, I jumped into the clock and held the -door fast; but finally thinking ’twas cowardly not to face it I jumped -out again, up into the chair, saying, “I am mending this old clock;” -and notwithstanding her remonstrances, continued my work putting back -the various pieces. When I was afraid of “giving out and giving up,” -I decided I would just answer her back once and say “I wont.” The -wickedness would certainly discourage her beyond a hope, and then I -could finish. - -So I put the moon on, staring full; in putting on the hands I got, I -thought, sufficiently worked up to venture my prepared reply to her -repeated “get down!” - -I accordingly approached my grandmother, stopping some feet from her; -bent my body half-over, my long red hair covering my eyes, and my head -suiting its action to my earnestness, and in a decided rebellious tone, -I spelled, “I W-O-N-T;” but accidently giving myself a turn on my heel -I fell to the floor, with the pronunciation still unexpressed. - -I quickly rose, though I saw stars without any “two cents,” and -returned to, and finished my work. I had just put the last touch on -when I heard the wheels. How I dreaded my aunt’s appearance! As she -entered the door I was found “demurely rocking” to the pictures in the -andirons. - -My aunt thought I did not seem natural, and kissed me as being “too -good, perhaps, to be well.” My grandmother tried to speak, but I -interrupted: - -“I must go home without my tea. I am not afraid of the dark, and I -better go.” - -This was another proof of indisposition to the aunt. I left the house, -kissing as I thought, my grandmother into silence; but as I looked -back I saw she could not utter a word without laughing at the aunt’s -anxiety, and so had to put off the narration till after my departure. - -I went home about as fast as possible; desired to go to bed -immediately--never went before without being sent, and then not in a -very good mood. My mother followed me with a talk of “herb tea,” and as -I thought I must have some “end to the farce,” I agreed that a little -might do me good. My mother consequently brought me, I do believe, a -“Scripture measure” pint of bitter tea, which I hurriedly drank, as I -knew my sisters had already started for my grandmother’s, to see how I -had been through the afternoon. When they returned, though I heard the -laughing and talking in the sitting-room below, I was, to all intents -and purposes, sound asleep and snoring. - -No allusion was ever made to my demeanor. I went to school as usual, -and told the school-girls that I had had such a good time at my aunt’s -the day before that I would never go there again “as long as I lived.” - -My grandmother and aunt died long ago. For years I had no reason to -believe that my afternoon’s tragedy was known to any one. But once, -not long since, speaking of that clock, I said, “I’m glad it did not -descend to me;” when a friend replied, with a very knowing look, “So is -your grandmother!” - -[Illustration: “THREE MICE SAT IN THE BARN TO SPIN.”] - -[Illustration] - - - - -[Illustration: NURSERY TILES. --APRIL SHOWERS AND APRIL SUNSHINE.] - -A RIDE ON A CENTAUR. - -BY HAMILTON W. MABIE. - - -Sid’s mother had a way of telling him stories just before he went to -bed, and Sid loved bed-time more than any other hour in the day. I -couldn’t begin to tell you all he had learned in this way nor all the -places he had been to. When people travel in strange countries they -have to have a guide who knows the fine roads and wonderful places to -be seen in that part of the world. Now Sid was a little traveller just -setting out on a very long journey and it was a very fortunate thing -for him that he had his mother as a guide. - -When night was coming on and it was getting dark out of doors, the open -wood fire was lighted in the back parlor; and then in the glow which -made everything in the room look so queer, with his hand in hers, Sid’s -mother took him off to other lands and even to the Moon. - -One night, not long ago, as Sid sat looking into the fire with his head -against his mother’s knee, she said: - -“Come, Sid, let’s go to Greece and take a ride on a Centaur.” - -Nothing could have pleased Sid more. He hadn’t the slightest idea what -a Centaur was, but he loved to ride, and it made very little difference -to him what he rode on. - -Besides he was tired to-night and didn’t feel like walking; so, with -his eyes half shut, and feeling very, very comfortable, Sid waited for -the Centaur to take him off. - -“Well,” said his mother, in a voice that was always very sweet to him; -“there’s a little country in Greece called Thessaly, and it’s full -of caves, and beautiful valleys as well. In one of the caves lived a -Centaur named Chiron. He had the body of a horse, but instead of a -horse’s neck and head he had the head and shoulders and body of a man -down to the waist. He was a very old and wise Centaur and although he -lived in a cave he loved the open air on the high mountains.” - -How much longer Sid’s mother talked I don’t know. Although she did not -notice it, Sid was gone. He had been carried off by a Centaur. While he -was looking into the fire and wondering what made the coals take such -queer shapes he heard a strange noise outside. It wasn’t exactly the -neighing of a horse and it was not exactly the voice of a man, but it -was something between the two. - -“That’s very funny,” said Sid to himself; “wonder what it is!” - -In a moment or two he heard it again and it sounded a great deal -nearer than before. Then there was a sharp canter down the road and the -clatter of hoofs past the windows. Sid’s mother did not seem to pay -any attention to the noise, but she had stopped talking--at least Sid -thought she had, and he got up very quietly, stepped out into the hall -and went to the side door. There wasn’t any moon but the stars were -shining brightly and there, going round and round the circle of grass -under the apple trees, Sid saw a splendid black horse. As it came round -again to the place where he stood Sid saw that it was not a horse after -all, for above its forelegs it had the head and body of a man. - -It was a Centaur. Sid had never seen one before and he was sure nobody -in that neighborhood owned one. Where it had come from he hadn’t the -slightest idea, and if it hadn’t been for the apple trees and the -great, dark church beyond he would have believed he was dreaming. - -The Centaur cantered around two or three trees more and then, without -saying a word, as he passed Sid, stretched out his arms, caught the -boy, put him on his back and was off like a racer. No boy ever had such -a ride before and I don’t know that any one ever will again. - -No sooner had the Centaur struck the road than he broke into a gallop -and went thundering along through the night as if a thousand witches -or some other horrible creatures were chasing him. His hoofs rang on -the hard ground and struck sparks of fire out of the stones along the -way. On and on they flew, past houses and orchards and ponds over -which a white mist lay like a soft night dress. They leaped the tall -gates without so much as dropping a penny for the keeper who was fast -asleep in the little house, and they rushed over bridges as if there -were no notices about fast driving posted up at either end. Faster and -faster they flew along until fences and trees and barns were all mixed -up together and Sid couldn’t tell one from the other. He thought the -Centaur couldn’t go any faster, but he was mistaken, for he broke into -a dead run and then such going! It took Sid’s breath away. Every thing -vanished and there wasn’t any thing left in the world but himself and -the Centaur and the wind that was trying its best to blow him off. -There wasn’t any noise either. It was just one tremendous rush. It was -like the flight of an arrow that goes straight through the air from -the moment it leaves the bow till the moment it strikes the mark and -there’s hardly a breath between. - -How long the ride was I don’t know for Sid never could tell, but after -a time the Centaur began to slacken speed, broke into a gallop, then -into a gentle trot and finally stopped short. His broad flanks were -steaming and he was wet from hoof to hoof, but he did not seem to mind -it. - -Sid had been a little frightened at first, and you must admit that it -was rather alarming to be picked up and carried off like the wind by -a Centaur--but he was a brave boy and soon forgot every thing but the -splendid ride he was taking. As soon as the Centaur stopped he slipped -down and stood on the ground. - -Although it was night the air was so soft and pure and the stars shone -so brightly through it that he could see it was a strange country. -There were hills every where but they were green and although it was -wild it looked beautiful as far as he could see. - -The Centaur stretched himself on the ground and Sid saw that although -his face was very queer it was quite intelligent. He seemed to be -waiting to rest himself. Sid wanted very much to talk with him but he -wasn’t sure that he ought to and he didn’t know exactly what to say. -There was so much of the horse about the Centaur that Sid couldn’t make -up his mind whether he really was a horse or a man. - -The Centaur paid no attention to the boy for a long time but finally he -turned to him and said: - -“Well, how did you like it?” - -The voice was queer, there was no doubt about that. It made him think -of a horse, but the words were human. The Centaur could speak good -English, there was no doubt about that either. - -“It was just splendid,” Sid answered. “What made you come for me?” - -“Why,” replied the Centaur, speaking slowly as if it were not easy for -him to talk; “I knew you could ride and I was sent for you.” - -Sid couldn’t understand why he could ride easier than any other boy. -“Can’t everybody ride?” he asked in a quick way he has when he is -interested in anything. - -“Oh, bless you, no,” said the Centaur; “very few indeed; it all depends -on your mind. Most boys wouldn’t have seen me, much less kept on my -back.” - -Sid thought that was very queer, but he asked no more questions about -it. He didn’t feel very well acquainted yet. - -“Who sent you for me?” he continued at last. - -“Chiron sent me,” answered the Centaur getting on his legs, “and we -must be off.” - -He put Sid on his back as before and started on a gentle canter. They -were on the side of a mountain with here and there olive trees and -pines. - -“Where are we?” asked Sid after a moment. - -“Is this Thes--Thes--?” - -“Yes,” said the Centaur; “it’s Thessaly.” - -“Where am I going?” - -“You are going to school,” replied the Centaur. - -That rather surprised Sid and didn’t entirely please him. He thought -he had enough of school by daylight without going at night too, but he -said nothing, thinking it certainly must be a new kind of school if -they had to send so far for scholars, and wondering whether his father, -who was a minister, would be able to pay the bills. - -The road which the Centaur took led them around the mountain and -presently they came out into a little level space in the side of the -mountain and in front of a cave. In the middle of this grassy place a -Centaur was lying on his side, and around him were ten or more young -men stretched full length on the ground and leaning on their elbows, in -a half circle. - -Sid slid down to the ground and slipped into the little group without -being noticed. The Centaur in the middle was very old, so old that he -looked as if he had been alive for centuries; and he had a very wise -and beautiful face. - -The young men were the most splendid fellows Sid had ever seen. They -had beautiful forms and noble heads and fine, bright faces, and they -had magnificent arms and chests. They looked like heroes, and I think -most of them were. - -This was the school and a very queer school it certainly was. Sid was -eight years old and went to a Kindergarten where he had books and -blocks and all kinds of things and here they hadn’t so much as a scrap -of paper. He was inclined to think it must be a poor affair, but he -thought he would wait until he had heard some of the recitations before -he made up his mind. That was the queerest thing of all--there weren’t -any recitations. No books, no desks, no black-boards, no recitations! -well, it certainly was a funny school. There wasn’t even a roll called. -If there had been Sid would have heard some strange names. That great -splendid fellow at the end of the line, with his curly hair all in -confusion about his noble head, was called Hercules, and the next -was Achilles and the next Theseus and then came Castor and Pollux, -and Ulysses and Meleager and Æsculapius and others whose names I have -forgotten. - -While Sid was thinking about these things the old Centaur began to -talk. His voice was very low and very sweet and somehow it made Sid -feel that the teacher had seen everything there was to be seen in the -world and knew everything there was to be known. School was evidently -going to begin. - -“I have told you,” said the Centaur, very slowly, “about the Gods and -the old times when the world was young. I have told of heroes and of -the great things they did. I have taught you music which the Gods love, -and medicine which is useful for men. I have told you how to be strong -and high-minded and noble. I have taught you to be brave and true that -you may do great things for yourself and the world. By day I have made -your bodies firm and sinewy, and at night I made you think of the Gods -who live beyond the stars. What shall I tell you now?” - -Nobody spoke for a minute and then Ulysses, who had a very wise face -for one so young, said: “Tell us of yourself, oh, Chiron.” - -This seemed to please everybody and all the scholars repeated the words: - -“Tell us of yourself, oh, Chiron.” - -“The Centaurs,” began Chiron after a little while, “were born long -before men came into the world. It was a rough place then and needed -somebody stronger than men to live in it. So the Gods made us with the -strength and swiftness of the animals and yet with some of the thoughts -and feelings of men. And we lived in caves and ran through the valleys, -and leaped across the rushing streams and climbed the mountains. And -we learned many things about the world and made it easier for men when -they came. I think we were sent to do what animals couldn’t do and that -now you are come and grown strong to conquer even the animals, our work -is done and we must soon die.” - -Just then a little bell rang. At first Sid thought school must be out, -but the bell sounded very familiar to him. In fact it was the cuckoo -clock in the front parlor striking nine. - -“Bless me, Sid,” said his mother; “you ought to have been in bed an -hour ago.” - - - - -[Illustration: LILL’S TRAVELS IN SANTA CLAUS LAND. -BY ELLIS TOWNE.] - - -Effie had been playing with her dolls one cold December morning, and -Lill had been reading, until both were tired. But it stormed too hard -to go out, and, as Mrs. Pelerine had said they need not do anything -for two hours, their little jaws might have been dislocated by yawning -before they would as much as pick up a pin. Presently Lill said, -“Effie, shall I tell you a story.” - -“O yes! do!” said Effie, and she climbed up by Lill in the large -rocking-chair in front of the grate. She kept very still, for she knew -Lill’s stories were not to be interrupted by a sound, or even a motion. -The first thing Lill did was to fix her eyes on the fire, and rock -backward and forward quite hard for a little while, and then she said, -“Now I am going to tell you about my _thought travels_, and they are -apt to be a little queerer, but O! ever so much nicer, than the other -kind!” - -[Illustration] - -As Lill’s stories usually had a formal introduction she began: “Once -upon a time, when I was taking a walk through the great field beyond -the orchard, I went way on, ’round where the path turns behind the -hill. And after I had walked a little way, I came to a high wall--built -right up into the sky. At first I thought I had discovered the ‘ends of -the earth,’ or perhaps I had somehow come to the great wall of China. -But after walking a long way I came to a large gate, and over it was -printed in beautiful gold letters, ‘SANTA CLAUS LAND,’ and the letters -were large enough for a baby to read!” - -How large that might be Lill did not stop to explain. - -“But the gate was shut tight,” she continued, “and though I knocked and -knocked and knocked, as hard as I could, nobody came to open it. I was -dreadfully disappointed, because I felt as if Santa Claus must live -here all of the year except when he went out to pay Christmas visits, -and it would be so lovely to see him in his own home, you know. But -what was I to do? The gate was entirely too high to climb over, and -there wasn’t even a crack to peek through!” - -[Illustration: “LITTLE BAREFOOT CHILDREN RAN OFF WITH THEM.”] - -Here Lill paused, and Effie drew a long breath, and looked greatly -disappointed. Then Lill went on: - -“But you see, as I was poking about, I pressed a bell-spring, and -in a moment--jingle, jingle, jingle, the bells went ringing far and -near, with such a merry sound as was never heard before. While they -were still ringing the gate slowly opened and I walked in. I didn’t -even stop to inquire if Santa Claus was at home, for I forgot all about -myself and my manners, it was so lovely. First there was a small paved -square like a court; it was surrounded by rows and rows of dark green -trees, with several avenues opening between them. - -“In the centre of the court was a beautiful marble fountain, with -streams of sugar plums and bon-bons tumbling out of it. Funny-looking -little men were filling cornucopias at the fountain, and pretty little -barefoot children, with chubby hands and dimpled shoulders, took them -as soon as they were filled, and ran off with them. They were all too -much occupied to speak to me, but as I came up to the fountain one of -the funny little fellows gave me a cornucopia, and I marched on with -the babies. - -“We went down one of the avenues, which would have been very dark -only it was splendidly lighted up with Christmas candles. I saw the -babies were slyly eating a candy or two, so I tasted mine, and they -were delicious--the real Christmas kind. After we had gone a little -way, the trees were smaller and not so close together, and here -there were other funny little fellows who were climbing up on ladders -and tying toys and bon-bons to the trees. The children stopped and -delivered their packages, but I walked on, for there was something -in the distance that I was curious to see. I could see that it was a -large garden, that looked as if it might be well cared for, and had -many things growing in it. But even in the distance it didn’t look -natural, and when I reached it I found it was a very uncommon kind -of a garden indeed. I could scarcely believe my eyes, but there were -dolls and donkeys and drays and cars and croquet coming up in long, -straight rows, and ever so many other things beside. In one place the -wooden dolls had only just started; their funny little heads were just -above ground, and I thought they looked very much surprised at their -surroundings. Farther on were china dolls, that looked quite grown up, -and I suppose were ready to pull; and a gardener was hoeing a row of -soldiers that didn’t look in a very healthy condition, or as if they -had done very well. - -“The gardener looked familiar, I thought, and as I approached him he -stopped work and, leaning on his hoe he said, ‘How do you do, Lilian? I -am very glad to see you.’ - -“The moment he raised his face I knew it was Santa Claus, for he looked -exactly like the portrait we have of him. You can easily believe I was -glad then! I ran and put both of my hands in his, fairly shouting that -I was so glad to find him. - -“He laughed and said: - -“‘Why, I am generally to be found here or hereabouts, for I work in the -grounds every day.’ - -“And I laughed too, because his laugh sounded so funny; like the brook -going over stones, and the wind up in the trees. Two or three times, -when I thought he had done he would burst out again, laughing the -vowels in this way: ‘Ha, ha, ha, ha! He, he, he, he, he! Hi, hi, hi, -hi, hi! Ho, ho, ho, h-o-oo!’” - -Lill did it very well, and Effie laughed till the tears came to her -eyes; and she could quite believe Lill when she said, “It grew to be -so funny that I couldn’t stand, but fell over into one of the little -chairs that were growing in a bed just beyond the soldiers. - -“When Santa Claus saw that he stopped suddenly, saying: - -“‘There, that will do. I take a hearty laugh every day, for the sake of -digestion.’ - -“Then he added, in a whisper, ‘That is the reason I live so long and -don’t grow old. I’ve been the same age ever since the chroniclers began -to take notes, and those who are best able to judge think I’ll continue -to be this way for about one thousand eight hundred and seventy-six -years longer,--they probably took a new observation at the Centennial, -and they know exactly.’ - -“I was greatly delighted to hear this, and I told him so. He nodded -and winked and said it was ‘all right,’ and then asked if I’d like to -see the place. I said I would, so he threw down the hoe with a sigh, -saying, ‘I don’t believe I shall have more than half a crop of soldiers -this season. They came up well, but the arms and legs seem to be weak. -When I get to town I’ll have to send out some girls with glue pots, to -stick them fast.’ - -“The town was at some distance, and our path took us by flower-beds -where some exquisite little toys were growing, and a hot-bed where -new varieties were being prop--_propagated_. Pretty soon we came to a -plantation of young trees, with rattles, and rubber balls, and ivory -rings growing on the branches, and as we went past they rang and -bounded about in the merriest sort of a way. - -“‘There’s a nice growth,’ said Santa Claus, and it _was_ a nice growth -for babies; but just beyond I saw something so perfectly splendid that -I didn’t care about the plantation.” - -“Well,” said Lill impressively, seeing that Effie was sufficiently -expectant, “it was a lovely grove. The trees were large, with long -drooping branches, and the branches were just loaded with dolls’ -clothes. There were elegant silk dresses, with lovely sashes of every -color--” - -Just here Effie couldn’t help saying “O!” for she had a weakness for -sashes. Lill looked stern, and put a warning hand over her mouth, and -went on. - -“There was everything that the most fashionable doll could want, -growing in the greatest profusion. Some of the clothes had fallen, -and there were funny-looking girls picking them up, and packing them -in trunks and boxes. ‘These are all ripe,’ said Santa Claus, stopping -to shake a tree, and the clothes came tumbling down so fast that the -workers were busier than ever. The grove was on a hill, so that we -had a beautiful view of the country. First there was a park filled -with reindeer, and beyond that was the town, and at one side a large -farm-yard filled with animals of all sorts.” - -[Illustration: “SANTA CLAUS FED THEM WITH LUMPS OF SUGAR.”] - -“But as Santa Claus seemed in a hurry I did not stop long to look. -Our path led through the park, and we stopped to call ‘Prancer’ and -‘Dancer’ and ‘Donder’ and ‘Blitzen,’ and Santa Claus fed them with -lumps of sugar from his pocket. He pointed out ‘Comet’ and ‘Cupid’ in a -distant part of the park; ‘Dasher’ and ‘Vixen’ were nowhere to be seen. - -“Here I found most of the houses were Swiss cottages, but there were -some fine churches and public buildings, all of beautifully illustrated -building blocks, and we stopped for a moment at a long depot, in which -a locomotive was just _smashing up_. - -“Santa Claus’ house stood in the middle of the town. It was an -old-fashioned looking house, very broad and low, with an enormous -chimney. There was a wide step in front of the door, shaded by a -fig-tree and grape-vine, and morning-glories and scarlet beans -clambered by the side of the latticed windows; and there were great -round rose-bushes, with great, round roses, on either side of the walk -leading to the door.” - -“O! it must have smelled like a party,” said Effie, and then subsided, -as she remembered that she was interrupting. - -“Inside, the house was just cozy and comfortable, a real grandfatherly -sort of a place. A big chair was drawn up in front of the window, and a -big book was open on a table in front of the chair. A great pack half -made up was on the floor, and Santa Claus stopped to add a few things -from his pocket. Then he went to the kitchen, and brought me a lunch of -milk and strawberries and cookies, for he said I must be tired after my -long walk. - -“After I had rested a little while, he said if I liked I might go with -him to the observatory. But just as we were starting a funny little -fellow stopped at the door with a wheelbarrow full of boxes of dishes. -After Santa Claus had taken the boxes out and put them in the pack he -said slowly,-- - -“‘Let me see!’ - -“He laid his finger beside his nose as he said it, and looked at me -attentively, as if I were a sum in addition, and he was adding me up. -I guess I must have come out right, for he looked satisfied, and said -I’d better go to the mine first, and then join him in the observatory. -Now I am afraid he was not exactly polite not to go with me himself,” -added Lill, gravely, “but then he apologized by saying he had some work -to do. So I followed the little fellow with the wheelbarrow, and we -soon came to what looked like the entrance of a cave, but I suppose it -was the mine. I followed my guide to the interior without stopping to -look at the boxes and piles of dishes outside. Here I found other funny -little people, busily at work with picks and shovels, taking out wooden -dishes from the bottom of the cave, and china and glass from the top -and sides, for the dishes hung down just like stalactites in Mammoth -Cave.” - -Here Lill opened the book she had been reading, and showed Effie a -picture of the stalactites. - -“It was so curious and so pretty that I should have remained longer,” -said Lill, “only I remembered the observatory and Santa Claus. - -“When I went outside I heard his voice calling out, ‘Lilian! Lilian!’ -It sounded a great way off, and yet somehow it seemed to fill the air -just as the wind does. I only had to look for a moment, for very near -by was a high tower. I wonder I did not see it before; but in these -queer countries you are sure to see something new every time you look -about. Santa Claus was standing up at a window near the top, and I -ran to the entrance and commenced climbing the stairs. It was a long -journey, and I was quite out of breath when I came to the end of it. -But here there was such a cozy, luxurious little room, full of stuffed -chairs and lounges, bird cages and flowers in the windows, and pictures -on the wall, that it was delightful to rest. There was a lady sitting -by a golden desk, writing in a large book, and Santa Claus was looking -through a great telescope, and every once in a while he stopped and put -his ear to a large speaking-tube. While I was resting he went on with -his observations.” - -[Illustration] - -“Presently he said to the lady, ‘Put down a good mark for Sarah -Buttermilk. I see she is trying to conquer her quick temper.’ - -“‘Two bad ones for Isaac Clappertongue; he’ll drive his mother to the -insane asylum yet.’ - -“‘Bad ones all around for the Crossley children,--they quarrel too -much.’ - -“‘A good one for Harry and Alice Pleasure, they are quick to mind.’ - -“‘And give Ruth Olive ten, for she is a peace-maker’” - -Just then he happened to look at me and saw I was rested, so -he politely asked what I thought of the country. I said it was -magnificent. He said he was sorry I didn’t stop in the green-house, -where he had wax dolls and other delicate things growing. I was very -sorry about that, and then I said I thought he must be very happy to -own so many delightful things. - -“‘Of course I’m happy,’ said Santa Claus, and then he sighed. ‘But it -is an awful responsibility to reward so many children according to -their deserts. For I take these observations every day, and I know who -is good and who is bad.’ - -“I was glad he told me about this, and now, if he would only tell me -what time of day he took the observations, I would have obtained really -valuable information. So I stood up and made my best courtesy and -said,-- - -“‘Please, sir, would you tell me what time of day you usually look?’ - -“‘O,’ he answered, carelessly, ‘any time from seven in the morning till -ten at night. I am not a bit particular about time. I often go without -my own meals in order to make a record of table manners. For instance: -last evening I saw you turn your spoon over in your mouth, and that’s -very unmannerly for a girl nearly fourteen.’ - -“‘O, I didn’t know _you_ were looking,’ said I, very much ashamed; -‘and I’ll never do it again,’ I promised. - -“Then he said I might look through the telescope, and I looked right -down into our house. There was mother very busy and very tired, and all -of the children teasing. It was queer, for I was there, too, and the -_bad-est_ of any. Pretty soon I ran to a quiet corner with a book, and -in a few minutes mamma had to leave her work and call, ‘Lilian, Lilian, -it’s time for you to practise.’ - -“‘Yes, mamma,’ I answered, ‘I’ll come right away.’ - -“As soon as I said this Santa Claus whistled for ‘Comet’ and ‘Cupid,’ -and they came tearing up the tower. He put me in a tiny sleigh, and -away we went, over great snow-banks of clouds, and before I had time -to think I was landed in the big chair, and mamma was calling ‘Lilian, -Lilian, it’s time for you to practise,’ just as she is doing now, and I -must go.” - -So Lill answered, “Yes, mamma,” and ran to the piano. - -Effie sank back in the chair to think. She wished Lill had found out -how many black marks she had, and whether that lady was Mrs. Santa -Claus--and had, in fact, obtained more accurate information about many -things. - -But when she asked about some of them afterwards, Lill said she didn’t -know, for the next time she had traveled in that direction she found -SANTA CLAUS LAND had moved. - -[Illustration] - -[Illustration: GRANDMA AND TODDLEKINS.] - - - - -BOB’S “BREAKING IN.” - -BY ELEANOR PUTNAM. - - -“Why don’t you write a story, Tom?” said Jim. - -“Can’t,” said I; “never did such a thing in my life.” - -You see the beginning of it all was Jim’s coming home for a three -months’ leave. Jim’s in the navy and just home from Japan. So he came -to see us, and so I broke my leg. When we came home from school we had -planned no end of larks for the vacation, what with the Christmas tree -and sleighing and skating and coasting, and making candy over to Aunt -Lewes’, and going into Boston to Pinafore and having Charlotte-russe at -Parker’s, and all the rest. - -So the first thing I did the very night after we got home, was to fall -through a bad place in the stable floor and break my leg, and Will said -it was lucky it wasn’t one of the horses. Of course that finished my -fun, for I could not go anywhere with the rest, but just had to lie -there with my leg in splints; and though of course I had my presents -just the same, I was mad all the vacation. - -It wasn’t any great fun, you’d better believe, to lie on a lounge and -stick in the house and see Will going everywhere and having no end of -jolly times every day. - -Then when the Saturday came for him to go back to Dr. Thomas’s and -leave me behind, and I thought of seeing all the fellows and hearing -what they had for presents and all that, I concluded that if I’d been -well I’d have been glad for once in my life even to go back to school. -It wasn’t that I didn’t have enough done for me either, for mother and -Jennie, the cook, almost cured me of ever liking cream cakes and jam -again, by the heaps of it they gave me. Nell made me more neckties than -I can wear in ten years, and played backgammon by the hour. Father -brought me a new book from the city nearly every night, and Jim told -me more stories--“yarns” he called them--and he and I made the most -complete man-of-war that ever was seen in these parts. So you can see -that I was not neglected, but I tell you there’s nothing like being -well and having two whole legs to stand on. I’d got pretty tired of -reading and jig-sawing and painting, and one afternoon I’d been -telling them about the time we broke Bob Richards in at school, and -says Jim: - -“Tom, old fellow,” says he, “why don’t you write a story. Write it all -out, and send it to WIDE AWAKE; you never know what you can do till you -try,” says he. - -I thought I couldn’t at first, but the next day Jim had to drive over -to Medford, and Nell had to go too to match mother’s gray dress and -get some red ribbons for the dog. They both went off, and mother had a -caller down stairs, so I was left all alone, and that’s how I came to -write about it anyway. - -You see our fellows have always had a fashion of giving the new boys a -“breaking in.” The thing began by just doubling up the bed clothes, or -sewing up the fellow’s sleeves, and then they got to ducking them and -scaring them with ghosts, and when at last they pumped on little Fred -Harris and frightened him into brain fever, Dr. Thomas forbade anything -more of the sort. - -Now when Dr. Thomas says anything he has a way of meaning it, so we -fellows were surprised enough when one day Jeff Ryder came into the gym -where we were having a circus, and said: “I tell you what let’s do! -Let’s give Bob Richards a regular breaking in!” - -“Yes I would, Jeff,” said Harry Thorndike, in the odd, quiet way he had -with him. Harry Thorndike was our head boy, and entered Harvard last -summer. “Yes, I would,” says he, “and get sent home for a month; it -would be no end of fun. I would.” - -Of course we boys all looked at Jeff when Harry spoke in that way, to -see if he didn’t feel cheap, but he didn’t, a bit. - -“I’ll take all the blame,” says he, “and I’ll risk being sent home.” - -So then he told us all about his plan, and we thought it was a jolly -good one too. - -Bob Richards was a new fellow; only been there four weeks; and when he -first came we thought he was a regular moon-calf. He was rather small -of his age and had a kind of pinched, half-starved look, as if he’d -never had a good square meal from soup clear through to pudding in -his life. He was homesick and lonesome too, and we got into the way -of calling him “baby” and “sissy,” but he never seemed to mind a bit, -but would always help a fellow with his lessons just the same, and was -first-class in any game. - -One day Ralph Bixby, the bully of the school, said something about -Richard’s mother, and I just wish you could have seen that little -fellow fire up. - -“You say what you like about me,” says he, “but don’t you say anything -about my mother; it won’t be best for you, Bixby.” - -“Do you want to fight?” says Bixby, bristling up like a turkey cock. - -“It is not fighting I am after,” says Richards, very quietly, “but I -can fight if there is need of it.” - -But Bixby said he wouldn’t fight with an underclass man, and then -went off and told Dr. Thomas that little Richards had been offering -to fight. We all liked little Richards, for he was clear grit right -through and no mistake. So when Jeff told us his plan we all agreed to -it and there weren’t more than half a dozen of us fellows that knew -about it, and we didn’t have to go and tell everyone about it either, -as girls would. - -[Illustration: BOB IS CALLED UPON TO MEET HIS DOOM.] - -At last the term was ended, and we were going home next day; that is, -all we fellows who had any homes to go to, or any invitations to -visit. But Bob Richards, he didn’t have any place to go because his -mother was poor and lived way down in Machias, and it was too far away. -So most boys would have been ugly about it and envious of the other -boys, but Richards wasn’t a bit. Will and I were though, one winter -when all our people were away in Germany, and we had to stay at the -school or else go to Aunt Jocelyn’s. We don’t like very well to go to -Aunt Jocelyn’s, for she always has cold meat and rice pudding without -any plums, and says that she likes to see boys sober and useful. She -gave Will and me dictionaries for Christmas presents. So we’d rather -go most anywhere than to Aunt Jocelyn’s. But we were mad though to -think we had to stay at the school, and Will told one of the fellows -that he’d punch him if he didn’t stop looking so glad. - -Little Richards you would have thought was going himself, he looked so -glad and happy, and rushed about up and down stairs into all the rooms, -helping the fellows pack and cord their trunks, strap up their valises, -and directing cards for their boxes, and you’d have thought he was -going himself sure enough. - -“Don’t you wish you were going home, Richards?” said Ned Smith. He is -one of those fellows who are always saying things they ought not to, -though not meaning to be hateful. He’d do no end of things for a fellow -who was sick, and then like as not tell him something that would make -him sicker than ever. So he couldn’t think of anything better to say -than to ask little Richards if he didn’t wish he was going home. - -“Why, yes,” said Bob, in the bright, quick way he had with him; “why, -yes, of course I wish I was going home, but if I can’t I can’t, so -there’s an end to it. Besides I’m going home next summer; it’ll only be -twenty-five weeks.” - -Just to think of his speaking of it in that chipper way, as if he’d -said twenty-five minutes instead of weeks. - -The packing was all done after a while, and we were ready for an early -start next morning. We had eaten our last supper, beef-steak and fried -potatoes--we always have a sort of extra good supper the last night -of the term. Then after supper we had a good time in Mrs. Thomas’ own -room, with her two babies and her cousin who played the piano for us, -and by ten o’clock we were all in our rooms and the house got still. - -It was eleven o’clock when we heard three mews and a scratch like a -cat, which was Jeff Ryder’s signal; he could have opened the door and -come in just as well, but he was always very fond of giving all kinds -of signs. - -We opened the door and there were Hal Thorndike and the two Everett -boys and Jeff. Will and I had a room alone. We came out and joined them -and went up stairs trying to keep still, though Will would giggle, and -he and Jeff had a scuffle on the landing about which should go in and -get Bob out of bed. - -At last Harry Thorndike settled it by telling them both to go. They had -masks that Jeff and I made of black cloth with holes cut through for -the eyes and mouth. - -So they went in and waked up Bob, and said in a horrid, scarey sort of -way, “Unhappy mortal! prepare to suffer your doom! Arise and proceed to -the hall of judgment!” - -He wasn’t more than half awake, but he was clear pluck, and he came out -shivering with cold and with a blanket round his shoulders. - -The boys had blindfolded him, and they led him round and round till -he was pretty well mixed up, and then they took him to the Hall of -Judgment, which was Harry Thorndike’s room. - -The two younger boys staid with him while we older ones fell to work -like beavers in Bob’s room. - -We had a hard time though you’d better believe, trying to keep quiet, -for the fellows would forget every now and then and speak or laugh out -loud. We had Archibald, the school janitor, up to help us, and we made -quick work of what we had to do I can tell you. - -To begin with, his room was just the forlornest place that ever you -saw, and no mistake! We furnish our own rooms at Dr. Thomas’, and we -always try to fix them up rather gorgeous. Our mothers and sisters -are always sending us gimcracks to make our dens kind of gay. Then -if fellows happen to have any girl friends you know, they are always -sending them tidies and such trash for philopene presents, and though -we don’t much care to have the things round under feet, somehow if one -fellow has them, all the rest wants them too. - -But I just wish you could have seen little Richards’ room! the barest, -coldest place! There was no carpet, only a common sort of rug before -the little old stove, that was so wheezy and full of cracks that it -would not do much but smoke anyway. There was a bedstead, and his study -table with his books on it. There was a picture of his mother, and -one of his sister--rather pretty she was too, with smiling eyes like -Richards’, and soft hair in little rings about her forehead and face. -Thorndike said that she would be very pretty when she was older--say -seventeen. Mrs. Thomas’ cousin is sixteen and a half. Bob had put a -little wreath of some kind round the two pictures. There was a plant -too on the table. He brought it in his hand all the way from Machias, -with a brown paper bag over the top of it, and now it was just ready to -bloom. - -The first thing we did was to bring in a big warm carpet all made and -fitted to the room, and we spread it down, but didn’t nail it because -of the noise and because we thought he’d like to do it himself. Then -we covered the old table and mantle with jolly, bright cloths. We -never could have picked them out in the world if it hadn’t been for -Mrs. Thomas’ cousin, the one who played on the piano for us. She is -rather nice for a girl, and sometimes wears little gold horse-shoes in -her ears. Jeff Ryder is going to marry her when he is twenty-one, but -nobody knows it yet, not even she. Jeff only told me one night when I -had a sore throat and he slept with me. So she helped us pick out the -things, and gave us a tidy, and a pin-cushion the size of a bean bag. -Then we moved in a first-class stove, and Archibald set her up and -built a rouser of a fire in her. We put a pair of new blankets on the -bed, and Jeff Ryder brought out a student’s lamp--one of the double -headers; the two Belknap boys--that means Will and me--gave a big easy -chair to go beside the table; then the Everett boys gave a set of -book shelves; and Dr. Thomas gave a box of books, as many as a dozen -I should think. We left these in the box, for Will and I always think -that half the fun of having presents is opening the bundles ourselves. -Harry Thorndike gave the stove and a little clock from his own room. -We put the pin-cushion on the bureau, and the tidy on the chair, and -while we were standing there looking at it all, there came the very -softest kind of a step outside and there was the Doctor’s wife. She had -a picture in her arms, one that I had seen a good many times in her own -sitting-room. It was quite a large picture of a woman with a sort of -hood on her hair and a baby in her arms; both the woman and the baby -had a kind of shiny hoop just above their heads in the air, looking as -if in a minute they’d drop down and make crowns. Will told me once that -he thought it was a picture of Mrs. Thomas and the baby, but I think -not, though there was the same kind of look too on both their faces. - -“Hang this up, boys,” she said; “he is very fond of it, and I have had -it for a good many years. I’ve babies of my own now to look at, so we -will give this to Bob. Let us hang it over the mantle-piece.” - -There is something rather queer about the Doctor’s wife. It isn’t that -she isn’t pretty, for she is; and it isn’t that she is odd or old, for -she is younger a good deal than the Doctor, and as kind and jolly as a -girl; but there is something queer about her, for I don’t know how many -fellows have said she seemed just like their mothers; and what I want -to know is how in creation can she look and seem like the mothers of so -many boys--dark and light, and homely and handsome, English, German, -American, and even one colored fellow said she made him think of his -“mammy.” I think it must be a kind of motherish way which she has, that -makes us all feel so about her. - -She gave the picture to Hal Thorndike and he hung it up, and I tell you -the room did look just immense. - -Then we went down stairs and brought Bob up again, and sat him down -in his new chair, and told him not to take off his blinder till he’d -counted three hundred, and then we all ran down into Will’s and my -room to wait and see what he would do. We rather expected to hear him -shout, or tear round, or do something or other; but we counted three -hundred two or three times over, and not a sound came from his room. - -By and by Jeff said he was going up to see what the row was--which was -only his way of speaking; for you couldn’t call it a row, could you, -when there wasn’t a sound to be heard! - -Jeff didn’t come back, and then Will said he’d go and see where Jeff -was, so Hal said it was like Clever Alice and her cheeses that she sent -rolling down hill after each other; but at last the two boys came back, -not grinning at all, but solemn and long-faced enough. - -“I guess he’s mad,” said Jeff; “anyhow he can’t be glad, for he’s -howling!” which was another of Jeff’s ways of speaking; for Bob -certainly was not howling. - -“I don’t see what he wants to act that way for,” said Will. “I bet I -wouldn’t if I had so many things given to me at once!” - -“You can’t always tell,” said Hal. “It isn’t always a sign a fellow is -mad if he howls. I howled like a good one when my father came home from -sea, when I was a little fellow, a good many years ago.” - -“Let’s go up and see what’s the matter with him,” said I. - -“Let’s go to bed!” said Harry. “Don’t one of you young rats go near his -room to-night, or I’ll report you to the Doctor!” - -We all laughed, for of course we knew he’d never report us; he isn’t -that kind; but we minded what Hal said all the same, as everybody has -a way of doing, and we didn’t hear a sound more till morning, and the -gong waked us up. - -And then there was Archibald at the door to help with the trunks -and boxes, and the lamps were lighted in the dining-room, and there -were fritters and syrup for breakfast, but they were too hot to eat. -Then there was Jeff Ryder with a present for the Doctor’s wife’s -cousin--some candy in a jolly, silver box, lined with blue silk (Jeff -will spend all his quarter’s money on one thing), and there in a dark -corner of the stairs was the cousin herself, with a little pink sack -on, crying about something, and Harry Thorndike was leaning on the -balusters saying, as I came along, “Why Anette, child, it’s only for -two weeks anyhow! Come, don’t send me off this way; can’t you wish me a -merry Christmas?” - -Then they shouted that the big sleigh was ready, and I thought we were -going to get off without having to see Bob at all. - -So I rushed out through the hall and down the slippery steps, but there -was Bob before me, very white in the face, and with his eyes looking -more than ever like his sister’s. - -I tell you we fellows felt awful cheap; a sight cheaper than Bob did -himself. Jeff Ryder whispered to me that he was going to bolt, but it -was no go. Bob stepped right in front of us. - -“Boys,” said he; “boys, you must let me--if I only could tell you--if -you only knew--” and just then Hal Thorndike came along (the cousin had -run away up-stairs) and set things right as he has a way of doing. - -“All right, youngster,” he said; “we know just what you want to say--no -one who looked at you could accuse you of being ungrateful. Let up now, -old fellow, don’t say a word more, but go up to my room and see if I -left my watch-key on the bureau.” - -Bob ran off, and Harry said, “now cut for it, fellows!” says he; “hip, -vamoose, get, pile into the sleigh, or he’ll be back again, thanking -you worse than ever!” - -So in we jumped, the whip cracked, the bells jingled, and we gave three -cheers for the Doctor, and three more for his wife, and then we dashed -away. - -Of course, little Richards wrote to us, but a letter isn’t half so bad -as to have a fellow brace right up and thank you before your face and -eyes. So we got out of it pretty well after all, didn’t we? - -And this is all there is about “Bob’s ‘Breaking In,’” and not much of -a story either to write all out and send to a magazine. But you see Jim -told me to, and it was lonesome with Jim and Nell and mother gone, and -only the cat for company the whole afternoon. - -[Illustration: HURRAH FOR HOME AND CHRISTMAS!] - - - Little John Locke - Says kittie can talk; - And this, my dears, is exactly how: - - John said, “Kittie mine, - Say, when will you dine?” - And kittie looked up and said, “_Neow-w_.” - - - - -[Illustration] - -THE FIRST HUNT - -BY J. H. WOODBURY. - - -Ephraim Bartlett’s first hunting adventure was of such a serio-comic -nature that it seems really worth relating. - -Ephraim’s father was a “selectman.” He had also been a captain of -militia in his younger days, and therefore it happened that in speaking -of him everybody called him “The Captain.” He bore his honors meekly, -was a well-to-do farmer, and very much respected. - -It was town-meeting day--early in November,--when, of course the -captain had to go to the polls to look after the voting, and help count -the votes. It was delightful Indian-summer weather, too; one of the -last of those soft hazy days in the late autumn, when there is such a -quiet beauty over the earth that it seems of heaven itself. When even -the winds forget to blow; and it seems, at times, as if all nature -were asleep. Then can be heard, in the edge of the distant forest, the -tapping of woodpeckers, the barking of squirrels, and the hoarse cries -of blue-jays, so distinctly does every slight sound reach you through -the still atmosphere. It was on such a day that the captain and his -hired man went to town-meeting, leaving Ephraim “the only man on the -farm.” - -Now Ephraim had been all the fall longing for a hunt; but his father -had not time to go hunting with him, and he thought Ephraim too -young to go alone. His father had no objection to his going alone, -if he would only go without a gun; but Ephraim could not see the -use of hunting without a gun. He longed to get into the woods with -his father’s old training gun, all alone. This old piece was rather -heavy for sporting purposes; but it was always kept in perfect order, -standing in a corner of the captain’s bed-room, behind his desk. - -So, after his father was gone, and while his mother was busied about -the house, the temptation to take that gun was more than Ephraim could -withstand. Watching his opportunity, he first secured the powder-horn -and shot-pouch out of the drawer where they were kept, and then he -took the musket, and bore it stealthily away behind the barn. He felt -in a hurry, and as if he were not doing quite right, and was not quite -easy in his mind, even after he had got the gun out of sight. He half -resolved to carry it back at once, but finally concluded that he could -return it just as well after he had had his hunt, and went to work to -load it. - -Ephraim was not quite sure how the gun should be loaded; but the powder -seemed the most essential thing, so he put a handful of that in first. -Then, without any wad between, as there should have been, he put in a -handful of shot; and they were large enough, he thought, to kill almost -anything. He put a very big wad on top of these, and rammed it hard -down with the iron ramrod. It was a flint-lock piece, and he knew that -powder would be needed in the pan; so he opened it to put some in. But -the pan was already filled; for in ramming down the charge the piece -had primed itself. - -It was all right, Ephraim felt sure, and, keeping the barn between him -and the house, he went towards the wood. - -It was a lonely old wood. I often went through it myself when I was a -boy, and I know all about it. In the brightest day it would be dark -and gloomy under some of those great, wide-spreading, low-branched -hemlocks. There were all kinds of wood there that are found in a New -England forest; beech, birch, maple, oak, pine, hemlock and chestnut; -and partridges, squirrels, rabbits, owls,--in fact, all sorts of small -game made it their home. - -With the gun on his shoulder Ephraim entered the woods and went -trudging straight into it, as if all the game worth shooting were in -the middle of it. He could hear the squirrels and blue-jays in the high -branches overhead; but it was his first hunt, and he was resolved to -have something bigger. - -His progress was suddenly arrested, however, by the appearance of a -very sedate-looking bird, as large as a good-sized fowl, with a thick -muffler of feathers around its throat and shoulders, that sat perched -on a dead limb before him. The bird was facing him, and when he stopped -it stretched its neck downward, and turned its head to one side as if -to listen or observe his movements. Ephraim wondered why it did not fly -away, but presently it occurred to him that it was an owl, and could -not see him. - -“Ah!” thought he, “you are just the fellow I’m looking for! Now just -stay where you are a minute, and I’ll fix you!” - -He had to find a rest before he could hold his gun steady, and then he -was sure to take good aim. But he had to draw so hard on the trigger -that he closed his eyes, just as the gun went off; and when he opened -them again he was looking another way. - -The action of his piece seemed unaccountable. It had started backward -so suddenly as to throw him over, and there was a pain in his shoulder -as if it had been hit. But he was sure he had killed the owl, and, -looking for it, he was again surprised to see it sailing noiselessly -away. It seemed in no great haste, and evidently had not started -without due reflection. It stopped, before going out of sight, and -remained perched on another dry limb, as if waiting for Ephraim to come -and shoot it again. - -Without reflecting at all as to whether he would be any better off -after shooting that owl, or whether it had not just as good a right -to live as he, Ephraim sprang up, seeing that there was a chance for -another shot, and made all haste to reload his piece. - -He put the powder and shot in without any wad between, as -before--though not quite so much as at first,--for he thought he had -loaded a little too heavy. There was a pain in his shoulder yet, and he -did not care to be hit that way again. He rammed the charge down in a -great hurry, looked in the pan to see if the priming was all right, and -then went softly towards the owl. - -When Ephraim got near the owl turned his head first to one side and -then to the other, as if he suspected there was a boy in the woods, -somewhere; but he did not fly, and, nervous with haste, Ephraim found -another rest, and again took good aim. - -Strange to say that gun hit him again. He even rolled upon the ground, -feeling as if he had got a double allowance of pain. Just as soon -as he could think at all, he decided that he wouldn’t fire that gun -again. Of course he had killed the owl (a very reasonable supposition, -considering how hard the gun had hit him), and he guessed he wouldn’t -hunt any more that time. - -But when he looked for the owl he didn’t see him anywhere. Could it be -that there hadn’t been any owl there? An optical illusion, he might -have thought, had he ever heard of such a thing. At any rate there was -no owl there. But he noticed something sticking in the limb where he -thought the owl had been--and he kept his eyes on it for some time. It -looked like the ramrod that belonged to his gun; but how in the world -could that be? - -He looked at his gun, which was lying on the soft bed of leaves -where it had fallen, and then he felt sure it was the ramrod, for it -was gone. But how in the world?--He couldn’t understand it--till he -happened to think that perhaps he didn’t take the ramrod out after -loading. - -“Ah! that’s it!” thought he. “But what am I going to do? It’s away up -there and I can’t get it!” and then Ephraim began to wish he had left -the gun at home. The pain in his shoulder didn’t trouble him much -then; his trouble was mostly in his mind, concerning his father and -that ramrod. How he could reconcile one to the loss of the other was -more than he could tell. - -It was a very large tree, without a foot-hold or a finger-hold for a -long way up, and the ramrod was stuck in a large dead limb, ten feet -out. Ephraim saw at once that he never could get it; and he wished he -hadn’t fired that last shot. Possibly he thought the owl was to blame; -but whether he did or not there was no help for it. So after awhile he -got up, and picked up his gun, and went slowly and sadly towards home. - -He had not decided upon any course in particular when he entered the -house. It was one of those cases the explanation of which must be left -largely to the circumstances of the moment. - -His mother met him with the gun in his hand. - -“Ephraim!” said she astonished, and too frightened to say more. - -“I’ve been hunting, mother,” said Ephraim, very demurely. - -“Hunting, my child? Merciful Father!” - -“Father didn’t know, it, mother; and I don’t want you to tell him.” - -“My son! my son! is the gun loaded?” - -“Not now, mother. I fired it off.” - -“For pity’s sake, Ephraim! don’t ever take it out again.” - -“You won’t tell father, if I won’t take it again, will you, mother?” - -“You’ll promise me, Ephraim, that you will never take it again?” - -“Yes, mother, if you won’t tell him.” - -“Then put it where it belongs,--just as you found it. It’s a wonder you -didn’t get hurt.” - -Ephraim might have said that he was a little hurt; for he had a sore -and swollen shoulder; but he said nothing of that, nor of the ramrod; -but he tried to be as good a boy as he could all the rest of the day. - -The captain was late home that night, and did not notice anything -wrong; but the next day, while at his desk, his eyes fell upon his old -training-gun, and he saw that the ramrod was missing. He mused upon -it. Where could it be? He never lent that gun; nobody had had it out of -the house that he knew of. He went and asked his wife. - -Ephraim happened to be with his mother; and when his father asked about -the ramrod he looked at her and she looked at him. One or the other of -them must let the cat out, but which should it be? - -“Do you know anything about the ramrod, Ephraim?” she asked. - -“I went a-hunting, father,” said Ephraim, looking down. - -“A-hunting? Who--what--when? You have not been shooting that gun, have -you?” - -“Yes, sir.” - -“Goodness! Who loaded it?” - -“I--did--sir.” - -“And fired it off?” - -“Yes, sir.” - -“Did you kill anything?” - -“I--don’t know,--sir.” - -After all, the captain couldn’t help laughing at this point, and as -soon as he did Ephraim felt better. He brightened up in a moment, and -made the best of his father’s good-nature by telling the whole story at -once. He had forgotten to take the ramrod out, he said, and fired it at -the owl. He guessed the owl went off to die somewhere, for he didn’t -see him again; but the ramrod was up so high he couldn’t get it. - -The captain laughed; still, the view he took of the matter was an -unpleasantly serious one for Ephraim; who understood that if he should -ever take that gun again in his father’s absence the consequences -would be direful. The gun was no gun without a ramrod, in his father’s -trained eyes, so he at once set out, with Ephraim as guide, and the -hired man carrying a ladder, to recover it. - -Ephraim led them straight to the tree, and there the ramrod was, still -sticking in the limb. But the ladder proved too short, and they had -to go back without it. The next day they went again, with the longest -ladder on the farm, and got the ramrod and carried it home. - -But Ephraim never fired it off again. - - - - -[Illustration] - -CHINESE DECORATION FOR EASTER EGGS. - -BY S. K. B. - - -[Illustration: DIAGRAMS OF DECORATIONS FOR EASTER EGGS.] - -You should select a good-sized egg, and of a rich dark color. I have -found that eggs laid by the Brahma hens are just about the right shade -for pleasing effect. - -First make an opening in the large end and drop out the contents of the -shell. Then with your pencil trace lightly on the shell some features -as in fig. 1. Next paint the whites of the eyes with solid white, and -the lips a bright vermilion. Then go over your outlines with black -paint or India ink, filling the eyeball with black. Use water-color -paints. - -Now we have a showy-looking Chinaman, but he has no cap on; neither -does he wear the national pigtail. To supply the first of these -necessary articles, you will cut a piece of bright-colored paper after -the fashion of fig. 2. If you please, you can decorate it with a heavy -line of black paint. Its pieces 1, 2, 3 and 4, are to be bent tightly -up at the dotted line, so as to receive a decided crease. Then each one -may be touched with stiff paste, slipped within the shell and fastened. -Then the strip must be pasted together at A and B, drawing one end over -the other far enough to make the cap fit well. - -To make the pigtail, take some black silk twist and make a braid about -four inches long, and about as thick as single zephyr worsted. Tie one -end with a bit of thread, and paste the other end on the top of the -back part of the head. This you will do before you fasten the cap on. -Now our Chinaman is finished--and when you have hung him up by a silken -ribbon pasted inside of his cap, he will look very much like fig. 3, -and he can be made to hold popcorn or any light candy. - -[Illustration] - - - - -IL SANTISSIMO BAMBINO. - -BY PHEBE F. MᶜKEEN. - - -On the Capitoline Hill, in Rome, stands a church, twelve hundred years -old, called Ara Cœli. It is unpromising in its outward appearance, but -is rich in marbles and mosaics within. - -[Illustration: THE BAMBINO.] - -The most precious possession of this ancient church, however, is a -wooden doll called Il Santissimo Bambino--The Most Holy Infant. It is -dressed like an Italian baby, and an Italian baby is dressed like a -mummy. We often see them in their mothers’ arms, so swathed that they -can no more move than a bundle without any baby inside of it. Their -little legs must ache for the freedom of kicking. The dress of _the_ -Bambino is very different from that of _a_ bambino after all, for it is -cloth of silver, and it sparkles all over with jewels which have been -presented to it, and it wears a golden crown upon its head. - -This is the history of this remarkable doll, as devout Roman Catholics -believe. You must judge for yourselves how much of it is truth and how -much fable. - -They say this image of the infant Saviour was carved from olive-wood -which grew upon the Mount of Olives, by a monk who lived in Palestine; -and, as he had no means of painting it with sufficient beauty, his -prayers prevailed upon St. Luke to come down from Heaven and color -it for him. Then he sent it to Rome to be present at the Christmas -festival. It was shipwrecked on the way, but finally came safely to -land, and was received with great reverence by the Franciscan monks, -who placed it in a shrine at Ara Cœli. It was soon found to have -miraculous power to heal the sick, and was so often sent for to visit -them, that, at one time, it received more fees than any physician in -Rome. It has its own carriage in which it rides abroad, and its own -attendants who guard it with the utmost care. - -One woman was so selfish as to think it would be a capital thing if she -could get possession of this wonder-working image for herself and her -friends. - -“She had another doll prepared of the same size and appearance as the -‘Santissimo,’ and having feigned sickness and obtained permission to -have it left with her, she dressed the false image in its clothes, and -sent it back to Ara Cœli. The fraud was not discovered till night, -when the Franciscan monks were awakened by the most furious ringing -of bells and by thundering knocks at the west door of the church, -and, hastening thither, could see nothing but a wee, naked, pink -foot peeping in from under the door; but when they opened the door, -without stood the little naked figure of the true Bambino of Ara Cœli, -shivering in the wind and rain. So the false baby was sent back in -disgrace, and the real baby restored to its home, never to be trusted -away alone any more.” - -This marvelous escape is duly recorded in the Sacristy of the church -where the Bambino safely dwells under lock and key all the year, except -the time from Christmas to Epiphany, when it comes out to receive the -homage of the people. - -We went to see it last Christmas. - -As I told you, the church stands on one of the Seven Hills of the -Eternal City; it is approached by a flight of stone steps as wide as -the building itself and as high as the hill. There were many beggars on -these steps; some old and blind, others young and bright-eyed. Beside -the beggars, there were people with tiny images of the Baby in the -Manger, toy sheep, and pictures of the Bambino for sale. - -When we went into the church, we found one of the chapels fitted up -like a tableau. The chapels are something like large alcoves along -the sides of a church. Each is consecrated to some saint, and often -belongs to some particular family who have their weddings and funerals -there. - -[Illustration: FAMILY OF ROMAN BEGGARS.] - -It was in the second chapel on the left that we found the scene -represented. The Virgin Mary was dressed in a bright blue silk, adorned -with various jewels. In her lap lay the Bambino, about the size of a -baby six weeks old. I do not believe St. Luke painted its face, for -it was not half so well done as most of the wooden dolls we see. An -artificial mule had his nose close to the baby’s head. Joseph sat near, -and in front the shepherds were kneeling. All these people were of -life-size, made of wood, and dressed in real clothes. Beyond them was -to be seen a pretty landscape--sheep, covered with real wool, a girl -with a pitcher on her head coming down a path to a sparkling fountain -of _glass_. In the distance was the town of Bethlehem. In mid-air -hovered an angel, hung by a wire in his back from the ceiling. On -pasteboard screens, above the Virgin and Child were painted a crowd of -cherubs looking down, and in their midst God the Father--whom no one -hath seen nor can see--was represented in the likeness of a venerable -man, spreading his hands in blessing over the group below. - -A great many little children were coming with the older people to look -at all this, and talking, in their pretty Italian tongue, about the -“Bambino.” - -Epiphany, as perhaps you know, is the day kept in memory of the visit -of the Wise Men whom the Star in the East guided to our Saviour’s -cradle. On that day, Il Santissimo Bambino was to be carried with all -ceremony back to the Sacristy; so we went to see that. - -We were glad to find the Blessed Virgin had two nice silk dresses; she -had changed from blue to red, and the Bambino was standing on her knee. -The Shepherds had gone, and the Wise Men had come, all very gorgeous -in flowered brocade and cloth of gold, with crowns on their heads, and -pages to hold their trains. - -It was yet an hour or two before the “Procession of the Holy Cradle” -would proceed; so we went out of the side door of the church to stray -about the Capitoline Hill in the meanwhile. - -We went down the steps where Tiberias Gracchus, the friend of the -people, was killed, some two thousand years ago. That brought us into -a small square called Piazza di Campidoglio. It is surrounded on three -sides by public buildings, and in front has a grand stairway leading -down to the street. It was in this very spot that Brutus made his -famous speech after the assassination of Julius Cæsar. We crossed the -square, went up some steps and through an archway. - -A company of little Romans were playing soldier there, and the small -drum-major made the walls of the capitol resound with his rattling -music. That reminds me to tell you that Santa Claus does not visit -Italy; but an old woman, named Navona, comes instead. She may be his -wife, for aught I know; in fact, it seems quite likely, for she has a -way, just like his, of coming down the chimney, bringing gifts for the -good children and switches for the naughty. These must have been very -good little boys, for every one of them seemed to have a new sword or -gun. Probably Navona has to keep the house while Santa Claus is away -about his Christmas business, and that is the reason she does not reach -her small people here until the night before Epiphany, the 6th of -January. - -We went down a lane of poor houses, dodging the clothes which hung -drying over our heads, and came to a large green gate in the high -stone wall of a garden. We knocked, but no one answered. Presently a -black-eyed little boy came running to us, glad to earn two or three -sous by going to call the _custode_. While we wait for him to do so, -I must tell you why we wished to go through this green door. You have -read, either in Latin or English, the story of Tarpæia, the Roman -maiden, who consented to show the Latin soldiers the way into the -citadel if they would give her what they wore on their left arms, -meaning their bracelets, and then the grim joke they played after she -had done her part, by throwing upon her their shields, which were also -“what they wore on their left arms.” - -It was to see the Tarpæian rock, where she led her country’s enemies -up, and where, later, traitors were hurled down, that we wished to -go through the gate. Presently the keeper came, a rosy young woman, -leading a little girl, who was feeling very rich over a new dolly she -was dangling by its arm. - -We were admitted to a small garden, where pretty pink roses were in -blossom, and the oranges were hanging on the trees, though the icicles -were fringing the fountain not far away. On the edge of the garden, -along the brow of the cliff, runs a thick wall of brown stone; we -leaned over it and looked down the steep rock which one assaulting -party after another tried, in old times, to scale. - -It was on this side that the Gauls were trying to reach the citadel at -the time the geese saved the city. Do you know that for a long time, -annually, a dog was crucified on the capitol, and a goose carried in -triumph, because, on that occasion, the dogs failed to give the alarm -and the geese did it! - -We looked down on the roofs and into the courts of poor houses which -have huddled close about the foot of the hill, but beyond them we -could look down into the Forum, where Virginia was stabbed, where -Horatius hung up the spoil of the Curiatii, where the body of Julius -Cæsar was burned, where the head of Cicero was cruelly exposed on the -very rostrum where had often been seen the triumph of his eloquence. -Opposite to us stood the Palatine Hill, a mass of crumbling palaces; -a little farther off rose the mighty wall of the Coliseum, where the -gladiators used to fight, and where so many Christian martyrs were -thrown to the wild beasts while tens of thousands of their fellow-men, -more cruel than lions, looked on, for sport. - -Just at the roots of the Capitoline, close by, though out of sight, was -the Mamertine Prison, where St. Paul, of whom the world was not worthy, -was once shut up in the dismal darkness of the dungeon. - -As we went from the garden back to the Piazza di Campidoglio, we -saw something unusual was going on in the palace on the left of the -capital. In the door stood a guard in resplendent array of crimson -and gold lace. Looking through the arched entrance, we could see in -the inner court an open carriage with driver and footman in livery of -bright scarlet. Something of a crowd was gathering in the corridors. -We stopped to learn what it was all about. An Italian woman answered, -“La Principessa Margarita!” and an English lady close by explained that -the Princess Margaret, wife of the crown prince, had come to distribute -prizes to the children of the public schools. Only invited guests could -be present, but the people were waiting to see her come down. So we -joined the people and waited also. - -It was a long time and a pretty cold one. A brass band in the court -cheered our spirits now and then. The fine span of the princess looked -rather excited, at first, by the trumpets so close to their ears, -but they stood their ground bravely. If one of the scarlet footmen -tightened a buckle, it raised our hopes that his mistress was coming; -the other put a fresh cigar in his mouth, and they sank. - -[Illustration: THE EQUIPAGE OF THE BAMBINO.--Page 76.] - -Meantime the guard in the gold-laced crimson coat and yellow silk -stockings paced up and down. At length there was a messenger from -above; the royal carriage drove under the arch close to us. There was -a rustle, and down came the princely lady, dressed in purple velvet, -with mauve feathers in her hat, a white veil drawn over her face, and -a large bouquet in her white-gloved hand--rather pretty, and very -graceful. Before entering her carriage, she turned to shake hands -with the ladies and gentlemen who had accompanied her. She was very -complaisant, bowing low to them, and they still lower to her. Then -she bowed graciously to the crowd right and left, and they responded -gratefully. She smiled upon them, high and low, but there was a look in -her face, as it passed close to me, as if she was tired of smiling for -the public. She seated herself in the carriage; the lady-in-waiting -took her place beside her, the gentleman-in-waiting threw over them the -carriage-robe of white ermine lined with light blue velvet and stepped -in himself. - -Then the equipage rolled off, the scarlet footmen getting up behind as -it started. This princess is very good and kind, greatly beloved by -the people, and, as there is no queen, she is the first lady in the -kingdom. Her husband first and her little son next are heirs to the -crown. - -This show being over, we hastened back to the church, fearing we had -missed the Bambino in our pursuit of the princess. But we were in good -time. On the side of the church opposite the tableau was a small, -temporary platform. Little boys and girls were placed upon this, one -after the other, to speak short pieces or recite verses about the -Infant Christ. It was a kind of Sunday-school concert in Italian. The -language is very sweet in a child’s mouth. There were a great many -bright, black-eyed children in the church, and most of them seemed to -have brought their Christmas presents along with them, as if to show -them to the Bambino. - -There were ragged men in the crowd, and monks, and country-women with -handkerchiefs tied over their heads for bonnets. One of them who stood -near me had her first finger covered with rings up to the last joint. -That is their great ambition in the way of dress. - -At length the organ ceased playing, and the notes of a military band -were heard. Then we saw a banner moving slowly down one of the aisles, -followed by a train of lighted tapers. Over the heads of the people -we could only see the banner and the lights; they passed down and -paused to take the Bambino. Then they marched slowly all around the -church--people falling on their knees as they passed by. - -Out at the front door they went, and that sacred image was held high -aloft, so that all the people on the great stairway and in the square -below might get a sight of it, and be blessed. Then up the middle of -the church they came, to the high altar. This was our chance to see -them perfectly. - -First the banner, with an image of the Virgin on it, was borne by -a young priest dressed in a long black robe and a white short gown -trimmed with lace; next came a long procession of men in ordinary -dress, carrying long and large wax candles, which they had a -disagreeable habit or dripping as they went along. - -“Servants of great houses,” remarked a lady behind me. - -“They used to come themselves,” answered another. - -Then followed Franciscan monks in their brown copes, each with a -knotted rope for a girdle, and sandals only on his bare feet. After -these came the band of musicians, all little boys; and now approached, -with measured tread, three priests in rich robes of white brocade, -enriched with silver. The middle one, a tall, venerable-looking man, -with hoary hair and solemn countenance, held erect in his hands the -sacred dolly. As it passed, believers dropped upon their knees. When he -reached the high altar, he reverently kissed its feet, and delivered it -to its custodian to be carried to the Sacristy! - -[Illustration] - - - - -[Illustration] - -MY MOTHER PUT IT ON. - -BY MRS. A. D. T. WHITNEY. - - -It was old Boston--Boston forty years and more ago,--and it was New -Year’s morning. - -We had lived in our new house in one of the lately laid-out, airy -neighborhoods over on the West Hill since June. Before that, we lived -in Pearl street, where all the great warehouses are now, and where the -other great warehouses were burned down,--melted into strange, stone -monuments of ruin,--in the terrible fire, six years ago from now. Down -in Pearl street, in a large house with a garden to it, and a wonderful -staircase inside that had landings with balustraded arches through to -other landings, and which was a sublimity and delight to me that the -splendid stairways in Roman palaces can scarcely equal now,--still -lived my best and beautiful friend, Elizabeth Hunter. I thought in -those days all Elizabeths were beautiful, because I knew two who had -fair, delicious complexions, sweet, deep-cornered mouths, and brown -hair. My hair was light and straight and fine; it looked thin and cold -to me by side of theirs. - -On this New Year, I was to go and spend the day with Elizabeth. My -father and my brother Andrew were to come to dinner. My mother was -an invalid, and could not bear the cold and the fatigue. But she had -my pretty dress all ready for me, a soft, blue merino--real deep-sky -blue,--with trimming to the tucks and hem and low neck-band and -sleeve-bindings of dark carbuncle-colored velvet ribbon in a raised -Greek pattern. You may think it looked queer; but it didn’t; it was -very pretty and becoming. - -Before I was to go, however, there was ever so much other New Year -delight to keep the time from seeming long. Father and Andrew were -going down to the whip-factory in Dock square, to choose for Andrew the -longest-lashed toy-whip, with the gayest snapper and the handsomest -handle, that he could pick out there. And afterward they were going to -a great toy-shop, to buy me the wax doll I had been promised. - -I did not care to choose my doll, as Andrew would choose his whip. I -had a kind of real little-mother feeling about that. I would rather -have what came to me, what my father brought me. I wanted it to be mine -from the first minute I saw it, without any doubt, or any chance to -choose otherwise. If I had looked and hesitated among dozens of them, -and picked out one, I should always have felt as if I had left some -child behind that maybe ought to have been mine, and that I had not -quite _whole_ chosen any one. So I was content to stay with my mother, -and run down from her with the quarter and half dollars to the watchman -and the carrier and the scavenger and the milkman, when they came with -their expectation of a little present. What dear old simple days those -were, when we had a family regard for our milkman, our watchman, our -scavenger! - -Meanwhile, I was to be dressed. - -I had just got on my blue morocco slippers, that looked so funny with -my striped dark calico morning-frock, when the bell, that I thought I -had done answering with the silver fees, rang loudly again. Marcella, -our housemaid, called me from the foot of the nursery stairs. - -“It’s somebody for you, Miss Emmeline,” she said, and I thought she -meant another man for money. I took the last quarter from the little -wallet father had filled for me, and ran down. But it was the tall -black servant from the Hunters. And he had in his hand a pretty paper -box tied with a silk cord. - -“Mrs. Hunter’s compliments and love, miss, to you and to your ma; and -she hopes you’ll wear something she has made for you just like Miss -Elizabeth’s, to-day.” - -I took the box, made a little courtesy to him, and said, “Please thank -Mrs. Hunter, and say I wish her a happy New Year, and here’s a happy -New Year for you.” For I thought he couldn’t help seeing the silver -quarter, and thinking it was for him; and father had told me to “use my -judgment,” and I certainly wanted to give it to him the minute I saw -he had come all the way with a present for me. Elizabeth and I liked -Jefferson very much; he gave us macaroons and prunes and almonds from -the pantry, and he swung us in the swing in the great drying-room. He -made me a fine bow, and thanked me, and said he should keep my quarter -for luck. - -So I ran up to my mother, and kissed her--for somehow whenever anything -pleasant came to me I always kissed my mother--and we opened the box. -It was a beautiful blue silk braid net, with a long blue ribbon run -through to tie it round the head with. - -“O, mother!” I cried, “it’s a _long_ ribbon, for flying ends!” I was so -glad; for I had no curls like Elizabeth’s and I thought flying ribbons -would seem like them a little, and I had never worn any. - -“It is very pretty,” said my mother; “but I think, dear, with your -short hair, a short bow would look better.” - -She did not tell me that my face was narrow and my nose was long, and -that I couldn’t possibly look like Elizabeth Hunter, even with flying -ends. I know it now, as I have found out a good many things that I -didn’t understand at the time. - -I was disappointed; too disappointed to say anything; and before I -spoke, mother, who had put the net over my hair, and drawn the ribbon, -tied a butterfly bow with it over my left ear, and snipped the ends -into short dovetails with her small bright toilet scissors. - -I choked a little in my throat, and the tears came into my eyes. - -“Did you care so much?” asked mother tenderly, and kissed me again. -“But it is a _great deal_ prettier for you so; trust me, dear.” - -I did not speak then, for I couldn’t; but I tried to swallow the choke -and the tears; mother who was always kind, had been so dearly kind -to me that day. And Andrew came running up the stairs just then, and -bounced in at the door; and there was my dear wax-baby in his arms, and -I was a happy little mother; and what happy little mother, with her -baby born on New Year’s morning cares how her cap is tied? - -The baby was dressed in a pretty white slip and a bib; and there was a -blanket with pink scalloped edges, to wrap it in. - -“There were dollies a good deal older, and some all grown up,” said -Andrew; “but father thought you’d want to have it a real baby, and let -it grow. And it opens and shuts its eyes. See here! There! it’s gone to -sleep; and now look at my whip!” He pulled it out from under his arm, -whence it trailed behind him, and cracked it gloriously with its yellow -snappers, right over my baby’s head. - -“O, And! Be careful! Give her right to me. Boys don’t know how to tend -babies, you know. But you’re _real_ good; and your whip is splendid!” - -“Guess I am! Brought her right straight along, and didn’t care a mite, -and three boys hollered after me, ‘’Fore I’d be a girl, and carry a -rag-baby!’ I just kept her with one hand and cracked my whip with the -other, and looked right ahead, as if they wasn’t anywhere!” - -I put my arms round his neck, and hugged him and the baby and the whip -all together; for my Andie always was a hero, and loved me. He brought -me my greatest gift pleasures, and my happiest surprises. Father -always took him into the plan, if Andie hadn’t already begged it for -me,--whenever there was one. I think our parents had that notion about -son and daughter, and what the little man and woman should be to each -other. Mother used to set me to do all the little cheery, comfortable -home-things for Andie. Andie brought me my wax doll when I was seven -years old; he walked down to Jones’s, with father, the day he was -seventeen, and brought me home my real, gold watch. I always mended -Andie’s stockings after I was old enough,--and quite little girls were -old enough in those days; and I made pan ginger-bread for his supper -when he was coming home cold from coasting on the Common; and I read -to him when he was sick with sore throat and saved money to fill his -bag with white alleys when marble-time came round. Andie and I used to -promise never to get married, but to keep house with each other when we -were grown up. I have never got married; but Andie has been lying in -the gray stone tomb at Mount Auburn for thirty years. - -My mother hurried me a little now; for Marcella was ready. - -We walked down across the Common, Marcella and I; she was to leave me -at the door. There was a biting wind, with snow-needles in it; and -the path was deep with half-trodden snow; but I was warm in my cloth -pelisse with gray fur cape and border,--my quilted bonnet edged with -fur, and my thick little mocasins with gray fur round the ankles. - -I was perfectly happy till Mrs. Hunter unfastened my things by the -large parlor fire, and lifted off my bonnet carefully. - -Elizabeth, with her dimpled face, her sweet-set mouth, her brown curls -among which the long blue ribbon floated,--for the net was a mere -matter of ornament, and lay light and loose over the hair, held only -by the ribbon band simply tied at the left temple,--was standing by, -impatient to get me out and begin our day. - -“Why, where are the long ends?” she said. And then I immediately felt -as if all there was of me was that one little, short-chopped, butterfly -bow. - -“Mother thought--” I began, and there stopped. My lips trembled a -little, and I blushed hot. - -Mrs. Hunter looked sorry. “Was she _quite_ particular?” she asked, -after an instant. “Because I have another ribbon. Just for _to-day_, -perhaps, because you like to be like Lizzie? It would be a pity not -to please the child,” she said to Mrs. Marchand, her sister, who was -there. She was drawing the blue ribbon from her pretty round, carved -worktable, and she put out her hand to untie my little bow. - -Then it came over me. I started back. “Please! No! Please not, Mrs. -Hunter. Thank you--a great deal--” I stammered, in a hurry, and afraid -I was dreadfully impolite,--“but _mother put it on_!” - -I wouldn’t have had that bow with the dovetailed ends untied, that -minute, for all the world. - -A singular expression, I thought, passed between the faces of the two -ladies. Mrs. Hunter leaned down from her chair, reached my hand, drew -me to her again, and kissed me. “You are a dear little thing,” she said -to me. “The little souls know best,” she said to her sister. - -“When the little souls are--” but Mrs. Marchand did not say what. - -I wondered why Mrs. Hunter, while she praised me,--but it was not -praise either; it was better than that,--should have looked as if she -pitied me so. I couldn’t think it was for the sake of the ribbon. No, -indeed: I know now what it was. - -We had a beautiful time. Of course I had brought my baby, and I -secretly thought it was a great deal cunninger and prettier than -Elizabeth’s, that she had had ever since her last birthday, and that -really looked quite old and common to me now, though she had kept it so -nice, and I had admired it so. - -Father and Andrew came to dinner; and after dinner we had forfeits, -and Hunt the Ring, and Magical Music, and Still Palm. There were three -other children who came to spend the afternoon. - -I was very happy. There was a hidden corner in my heart that kept -warming up every now and then, as if mother and I had a secret -together, and we were whispering it to each other across the wide, cold -city. Elizabeth’s pretty hair and long blue ribbons flew this way and -that in the merry play and running; and I noticed them just as I always -had, and I knew that there was nothing pretty about my short, plain, -light-colored hair, and I _did_ think that flying ends would have been -a comfort if I could have had them in the first place; but there was -something beyond comfort in the loyalty of wearing that butterfly bow -which nobody need touch or try to change for me, since--because she -thought it best for me to wear it so--my mother had put it on! - -[Illustration: I HAD BROUGHT MY BABY.] - -I ran straight up to her dressing-room the minute we got home. She sat -there in her white flannel wrapper before the fire. I threw my arms -around her and laid my head down on her lap. - -“Now untie the little bow,” I said: and she asked: “Did my little girl -wear it all the day for my sake?” - -She understood. We _had_ been whispering to each other’s thought across -all the cold, wide city. - -“Mother,” I asked her, after I said my prayers, and before I said -goodnight, “why did I have such a Rocky-Mountain kind of a face? Why -couldn’t God have given me a pretty, _flat_ face? Can you tell?” - -“God didn’t see best to make you handsome, dear; but He will make you -beautiful, if you will let Him, his own way. And I don’t think,” she -added, more lightly, and laughing a sweet laugh, “that my Emmie’s face -_could_ be a _flat_ one! It wouldn’t suit her at all; and I love this a -great deal better!” - - * * * * * - -When I was seventeen years old, my mother had been dead eight years. I -had a stepmother. - -That was horrible, you think? Wait till you hear. - -When my father--a graver, silenter, but not less kind and gentle -man--brought home at last this lady, as truly, I think, for our sakes -as his own,--he called us to them both as they sat together on the long -velvet sofa in the library. I remember the moment, and the look of -everything as if it were just now. It was a September midday; they had -been married in church, and we had all come straight home; there was no -company,--“this day was for themselves and the children,”--and dinner -was going on, almost just as usual, in the dining room beyond. - -The lady, whom we had seen but few times,--her home had been at a -distance in the country,--was dressed in a plain violet silk; and now -her bonnet was off, her dark hair looked homelike and simple, just -parted away over her low, pleasant forehead and twisted richly behind; -and her face,--I never forget that about it,--was watching the door -when we came in. - -My father said to me, being the girl and the oldest,--“Emmeline, I -hope you will be the happier for this day, and I believe you will, -from this day forward as long as you and my wife shall live.” He -fell, unpremeditatedly, into the words of the Solemn Service that had -been spoken over them; it was as if he had married us two, in our new -relation, to each other. - -He said to Andrew--“My boy knows what men owe to women; he and I must -do our best and manliest for these two. We four are a family now.” - -The new wife stretched out a hand to each of us. She slipped her arm -round me, and drew me to her side, while she held Andrew’s hand upon -her knee. The face that looked into mine was very wistful and kind; it -almost seemed to beseech something of me. It asked leave to be loving. - -We children did not know what to say. I felt uneasy not to speak at -all. I believe I smiled a little, shyly. Then I asked-- - -“What shall I call you, please?” - -“What shall they call you, Lucy?” asked my father. - -“Call me ‘step-mamma,’” was the answer; and I think he was utterly -surprised. - -“I will not take their mother’s name away,” she said. “I will not be -_instead_ of her. I will be called just what I want to be; a step, a -link, between her and them. I will try and do _for_ her what she would -have done if she had stayed.” - -“Then I think I’ll call you ‘For-mamma,’” said straight-spoken Andrew. -“I think that will do very well.” - -We all laughed; and it relieved the feeling. “Thank you, Andrew,” said -our step-mamma. “That is a great help at the very beginning. I believe -we shall understand each other.” - -For my part I only kissed her. By the way she kissed me back, I knew it -was her first act “for” my mother. - -So we began to love her, and we called her “step-mamma.” People thought -it very odd, and we never explained it to them. We let our relation -explain itself. But _among_ ourselves, the familiar, privileged, -lovely name was “For-mamma.” That we kept this sign through so many -years,--the years of our troublesome, probative childhood,--tells more -than any story of the years could tell. - -I only wanted to say a little bit of what she was to me at seventeen; -and how my mother’s very words came again to me through her, as by an -accepted mediation. - -I went with her to a large party; my very first large grown-up party. - -My old friend, Elizabeth Hunter, was a bride this winter. I had been -bridesmaid at her wedding; that was the beginning of my coming out, -earlier than I should otherwise have done. - -What a plain little bridesmaid I had been, to what an exquisite vision -of a bride! I remember thinking as we, the bridal party, walked through -the long rooms, when all was gay, and ceremony was broken through at -supper-time--when the rooms rustled with the turning of the groups -to look after her and the murmur went along about her beauty--“What -difference ought it to make, that _she_ is the beauty, and that I can -never be,--so long as the beauty _is_ and we all feel it?” Yet the -strange difference was there, and the cross of my beauty-loving nature -was that I in my own being and movement, could never hold and represent -it. - -I looked at myself when I had dressed for this large party. The lovely -blue silk--the delicate lace--the white roses--they almost achieved -prettiness enough of themselves; and I suppose I looked as nice as I -could; but there were still the too prominent brows, the nose too big -for the eyes, the lips too easily parted over the teeth fine and white, -but contributing to the excess of profile, or middle-face, that had -made me call it Rocky-Mountain outline when I was a child. - -I went down to my step-mamma’s room. She, in her ruby-colored satin, -was fairer at thirty-eight than I at seventeen. I sat watching her as -she put pearl earrings into her ears. - -“For-mamma,” I said, “I don’t believe I shall ever care much for -parties. And it will be for a very mean and selfish reason, too.--I -think it is only pretty people who can enjoy them much.” - -She laid down the second pearl hoop on the table, and came to me. - -“Emmie,” she said, “I know it is a hard thing for a woman who loves all -lovely things, not to be very beautiful herself. The dear Lord has not -made you very beautiful, in mere features. But can’t you wear a plain -face awhile, because He has given it to you to wear, and trust to Him -to make it lovely in his way and season?” - -My step-mamma hardly ever said anything so direct as this to me, about -religion. She only lived her religion in a pleasant, comfortable, -unassuming way, and kept a light shining by which I saw--without her -flashing it upon me like a dark-lantern--into any little selfish -or God-forgetful course of my own life. Now, these words came to -me--across ten years--the very words said to me in that same room, at -that same hour of night.... Why--it was the very night! We were going -to a New Year’s party. - -A great heart-beat came up in my throat, and the tears pressed up -together into face and eyes, while I felt the kindling of my own look, -and saw what it must be by the answering color and the light in hers. - -I put my hands out and reached them round her waist as she stood close -to me in her beautiful glowing dress, under which a more beautiful -heart was glowing brighter. “I cannot tell you two apart, Mamma and -For-mamma!” I said. - -We went together to the party. For-mamma had to put her one pearl hoop -in her pocket after she got there, for she had forgotten the other -on her dressing table. And what that party was to me I wonder if any -grand, lovely, tender church-service ever was to anybody, more or -better! - -I had a quiet time, compared to some girls who were always rushed -after, and rushing through the gay dances. I was politely asked, and I -did dance; but not every time; that was as it always was with me. But -all the beauty and all the gladness in the whole room was mine; for it -was all “the dear Lord’s,” and He was giving it as He would. “Passing -it round,” I couldn’t help thinking--was it irreverent, I wonder--as -the sweet, rich confections were passed round, that were meant, a -share in turn, for all. My turn would come. And for my plain, still, -Rocky-Mountain face that I was wearing now,--there was a secret between -me and some Heart that thought of me across whatever cold and emptiness -of wintry way might seem to lie between, like that which had been when -in my childish disappointment I wore the simple bit of ribbon that “my -mother had put on.” - - * * * * * - -There came a time when I had to give up other beauty. To recognise that -it was not for me,--yet. Not in all this long, waiting world, as other -people have it. That was harder; yet it was all one. It seemed to me -that some people were given at their birth a kind of ticket that opened -to them all paradises; and that others were thrust forth, unaccredited, -into a life whose most beautiful doors would be shut, one after -another, in their faces. - -[Illustration: THE GROWN-UP EMMELINE.] - -I had to content myself with a fate like my face; a plain pleasantness -without great, wonderful delight. A Rocky-Mountain aspect of living, -that seemed hard and rough until I got into the heart of it, and let it -shut out the fair champaigns, and then it showed me its own depth, and -height, and glory. - -There was one long, heavy time when For-mamma and I were separated -for years. For-mamma was a widow, now; we four that had been a family -together were we two here and they two there; they _three_, in the -other home. And my grandmother, in her feeble, querulous, uncomfortable -old age, had nobody to come and live with her and “see her through,” as -she said. At nearly the same time, For-mamma’s sister died, and there -were five little children to be cared for. I thought she would never -get away from that duty, though mine might see an end. But a new wife -came there after a good while, as For-mamma--I _hope_ it was as she -came--had come to us; and then grandmother died, and nobody could say -otherwise than that it was a release. I did not say so; I hate to hear -people say that; it is so apt to mean a release for those who outlive. -There are long dyings, and brief ones; when it is over, we go back to -the well time to measure our loss. Grandmother’s dying began almost -twenty years before, when her nerves gave out, and her comfort in -living was over, and people began to lose patience with her. I looked -back to that time, and thought what a bright handsome woman, fond of -her own way but with such a fine capable way, I could recollect her. - -I had tried to do my duty; it was a piece of life that the same -Love had put on me that I had learned--a little--to believe in as a -mother’s; and now it was over--“through,” and For-mamma and I came -together again, so gladly! - -I suppose everybody thinks we are very fortunate people, and perfectly -happy; for we have plenty of money, and can do all the pleasant things -that can be done with money, for ourselves and for others. I suppose -many persons think that my five years with Grandmother Cumberland were -paid for in the fifty thousand dollars that she left me. I know that -they were paid for as they went along, and as I found myself able and -cheerful to live them. - -For-mamma and I _are_ happy; I do not think we shall ever leave each -other now so long as we both may live. I often think how my father -joined us together with those words. - -We have a lovely and dear home, and friends to fill it when we want -them; we have happy errands to many who get some happiness through our -hands; we have travelled together, and seen glorious and wonderful -things; we read and think, we sing and sew, we laugh and talk and are -silent together; we do not let each other miss or want. But, for all -this we have each--and both together--our troubles to bear, that would -not have been worthy to be called troubles if they had stirred in us so -slightly as to have been forgotten long ago. - -We only bear them as things grown tender to us by their very pain and -pressure, because of Some One who will say to us when we go home to Him: - -“_Did my dear child wear it all the day for My Sake?_” - - -AFTERWARDS. - -[Illustration:] - - Once, down in the night, but a blinded thing:-- - Now, the great gold light and the beautiful wing! - - - - -[Illustration] - -A CHILD IN FLORENCE. - -BY K. R. L. - -PART I. - - -We lived in that same Casa Guidi from whose windows Elizabeth Barrett -Browning’s poet-eyes saw what she afterward put into glowing verse. -Casa Guidi is a great pile of graystone, a pile of many windows which -give upon the Via Maggio and a little piazza, as the squares in -Florence are called. Consequently it is lighter and brighter than are -many of the houses in Florence, where the streets are narrow and the -houses lofty. - -According to almost universal custom, Casa Guidi was divided into half -a dozen different apartments, occupied by as many families. Ours was -on the second floor, on the side of the house overlooking the piazza -on which stood the church of San Felice. The pleasantest room in our -apartment, as I thought, was a room in which I passed many hours of -an ailing childhood; a room which I christened “The Gallery,” because -it was long and narrow, and was hung with many cheerful pictures. -It opened into a little boudoir at one end, and into the _salon_ at -the other. The walls of gallery and boudoir were frescoed gayly with -fruits, and flowers, and birds. - -Here the sun streamed in all through the long, mild, Florentine -winters; here I would lie on my couch, and count the roses on the -walls, and the birds, and the apricots, and listen to the cries in -the streets; and, if a procession went by, hurry to the window and -watch it pass, and stay at the window until I was tired, when I would -totter back to my couch, and my day-dreams, and my drawing, and my -verse-making, and my attempts at studying. - -I was fired with artist-ambitions at the age of ten; and what wonder, -surrounded as I was by artists living and dead, and by their immortal -works. It seemed to me then that one _must_ put all one’s impressions -of sight and form into shape. But I did not develop well. Noses proved -a stumbling-block, which I never overcame, to my attaining to eminence -in figure-sketching. - -The picture that I admired most in those days was one of Judith holding -up the gory head of Holofernes, in the Pitti Gallery of Paintings. -I was seized with a longing to copy it, on my return from my first -visit to the Gallery. I seated myself, one evening, before a sheet -of drawing-paper, and I tried and tried; but the nose of Holofernes -was too much for me. All that I could accomplish was something that -resembled an enlarged interrogation mark, and recalled Chinese Art, as -illustrated on fans. I was disappointed, disgusted--but, above all, -surprised: it was my first intimation that “to do” is not “as easy as -’tis to know what ’twere good to do.” - -In the midst of my futile efforts, a broad-shouldered, bearded man -was announced, who, having shaken hands with the grown-ups, came and -seated himself beside the little girl, and her paint-box and pencils -and care-worn face. - -“O, Mr. Hart,” I cried, “do make this nose for me!” - -Whereupon he made it, giving me many valuable suggestions, meanwhile, -as to the effect produced by judicious shading. Still, I was -discouraged. It was borne in upon me that this was not _my_ branch of -art. - -[Illustration: “POSING.”] - -“Mr. Hart,” I said, “I think I would like to make noses _your_ way.” - -“Would you? Then you shall. Come to my studio to-morrow, and you shall -have some clay and a board, and try what you can do.” - -So the next day I insisted upon availing myself of this invitation. Mr. -Hart was then elaborating his machine for taking portraits in marble, -in his studio in the upper part of the city. He had always several -busts on hand, excellent likenesses. His workmen would be employed in -cutting out the marble, while he molded his original thought out of the -plastic clay. There has always been a fascination to me in statuary. -Mr. Ruskin tells us that form appealed to the old Greeks more forcibly -than color. That was in the youth of the race; possibly, the first -stage of art-development is an appreciation of form; in my case, I have -not passed into the maturer stage yet. The rounded proportions, curves, -and reality of a statue appeal to me as no painting ever did. - -Nevertheless, I made no greater progress in molding than in sketching. -I made my hands very sticky; I used up several pounds of clay; then I -relinquished my hopes of becoming a sculptor. I found it more to my -taste to follow Mr. Hart around the rooms, to chatter with the workmen, -to ask innumerable questions about the “Invention.” - -It has been suggested that it was to this Invention of Mr. Hart’s that -Mrs. Browning referred when she wrote of-- - - “Just a shadow on a wall,” - -from which could be taken-- - - “The measure of a man, - Which is the measure of an angel, saith - The apostle.” - -Mr. Hart wore the apron and the cap that sculptors affect, as a -protection from the fine, white dust that the marble sheds; generally, -too, an ancient dressing-gown. Costumes in Bohemia, the native land of -artists, are apt to be unconventional. - -It was a most wondrous thing to me to watch the brown clay take shapes -and beauty under the sculptor’s touch. I can still see him fashioning -a wreath of grape-leaves around a Bacchante’s head; the leaves would -grow beneath his hand, in all the details of tendrils, stems, veinings. -It seemed to me he must be so happy, to live in this world of his -own creating. I hope that he was happy, the kindly man; he had the -patience and the enthusiasm of the genuine artist,--a patience that had -enabled him to surmount serious obstacles before he reached his present -position. Like Powers and Rheinhart, he began life as a stone-cutter. -I wonder what dreams of beauty those three men saw imprisoned in the -unhewn stone, to which they longed to give shape, before Fate smiled on -them, and put them in the way of doing the best that in them lay! - -[Illustration: AN ITALIAN GARDEN.] - -In spite of the fact that neither Painting nor Sculpture proved -propitious, a great reverence and love of Art was born in me at this -time. Possibly a love and reverence all the more intense, because Art -became to me, individually, an unattainable thing. I remember passing -many hours, at this period, in what would certainly have been durance -vile, had I not been fired with a lofty ambition. Mr. Edwin White was -sketching in a picture which called for two figures--an old man and -a child. The old man was easily obtained, a beautiful professional -model of advanced years; but the child was not so readily found. I was -filled with secret joy when it was suggested to me that I should be -the required model. I was enchanted when the permission was given me -to perform this important service. This was before the time of the -long illness to which I referred in the beginning of this paper. The -spending every morning for a week or so in Mr. White’s studio implied -the being excused from French verbs and Italian translations. What -a happy life, I thought, to be a model! I envied the beautiful old -patriarch with whom I was associated in this picture. Kneeling beside -him, as I was instructed to do, I thought what bliss it would be to be -associated with him always, and to go about with him from studio to -studio, posing for pictures. - -There must be an inspiration for artists in the very air of Florence. -The beautiful city is filled with memorials of the past, painted -and carved by the masters passed away. I suppose that artists are -constantly aroused to the wish to do great things by the sight of what -these others have accomplished. Then, too, the history of the past, -the religion of the past, are such realities in Florence. The artist -feels called upon to interpret them, not as dead fancies, but as facts. -The mythology of the Greeks and Romans meets one at every turn. I, for -one, was as intimately acquainted with the family history of Venus, of -Ceres, of Pallas, of Persephone, as with that of Queen Elizabeth, of -Catherine de’ Medici, of Henrietta Maria. Nay, I was more intimate with -the delightful elder set. - -The heathen gods reigned sylvanly in the Boboli Gardens, and it was -there that I formed a most intimate personal acquaintance with them. -The Boboli Gardens are the gardens of the Pitti Palace, an immense, -unlovely pile, the memorial of the ambition of the Marquis Pitti, who -reared it. He had vowed that he would build a palace large enough to -hold in its court-yard the palace of his hated rival, the Marquis -Strozzi. He was as good as his word; but in carrying out his designs he -ruined his fortune. The vast palace, when completed, passed out of his -hands into those of the Medici, then the Dukes of Florence. Afterwards, -it became the residence of the foreign rulers of Florence. When I -remember the city, Austrian soldiers guarded the great gateway of the -Pitti, and marched up and down the court-yards; and the showy white -uniforms of Austrian officers were conspicuous in the antechambers and -guard-rooms. - -But behind the great palace, the fair Boboli Gardens spread away. There -was a statue of Ceres crowning a terrace, up to which climbed other -terraces--an amphitheatre of terraces, in truth, from a fish-pond in -the centre--which commanded the city through which the Arno flowed. -Many a sunny day have we children--my sisters and I--sat at the base -of this statue and gossiped about Ceres,--beautiful Mother Nature, and -her daughter, who was stolen from her by the Dark King. Further down, -on a lower slope, was a statue of Pallas, with her calm, resolute -face, her helmet, her spear, her owl. I remember that Millie, and Eva, -and I, were especially fond of this Pallas. I used to wonder why it -was that men should ever have been votaries of Venus rather than of -her. I have ceased to wonder at this, since then; but in those days I -especially criticised a statue of Venus, after the well-known Venus of -Canova, which impressed me as insipid. This statue stood hard by the -severe majesty of Pallas, white against a background of oleanders and -laurestines. - -Then there was a second fish-pond, in the center of which was an -orange-island, about which tritons and mermen and mermaids were -disposed. I can see their good-humored, gay--nay, some of them -were even _leering_--faces still. Soulless creatures these, we -were well aware, and so were sorry for them. The immortal gods, of -course, we credited with souls; but these--with the wood-nymphs, and -bacchantes, and satyrs, that we were apt to come upon all through the -garden,--these we classed as only on a level a trifle higher than that -of the trees, and brooks, into which some of them had been transformed -in the course of the vicissitudes of their careers. - -Perhaps it is because the spirit of the old religion so took possession -of me in that Italian garden, that to this day the woods, and the -dells, and the rocks, seem to me to be the embodied forms of living -creatures. A Daphne waves her arms from the laurel tree; a Clytie -forever turns to her sun-lover, in the sunflower. - -[Illustration] - - - - -A CHILD IN FLORENCE - -BY K. R. L. - -PART II. - - -The two public picture galleries of Florence--the Pitti and the -Uffizi--are on either side of the Arno. They are connected by a -covered way, which runs along over the roofs of houses, and crosses -the jewelers’ bridge, so called because upon it are built the shops of -all the jewelers in town,--or so it would seem at first sight. At all -events, here are nothing but jewelers’ shops; small shops, such as I -imagine the shops of the middle ages to have been. But in the narrow -windows, and in the unostentatious show-cases, are displayed most -exquisite workmanship in Florentine mosaic, in turquoise, in malakite, -exquisite as to the quality of the mosaic and the character of the -designs in which the earrings, brooches, bracelets, were made up. As a -rule, however, the gold-work was inferior, and the settings were very -apt to come apart, and the pins to break and bend, after a very short -wear. - -Sauntering across this bridge, one passes, on his way to the Uffizi, -various shops in narrow streets, where the silks of Florentine -manufacture are displayed. Such pretty silks, dear girls, and so cheap! -For a mere song you may go dressed like the butterflies, in Florence, -clad in bright, sheeny raiment, spun by native worms out of native -mulberry leaves. Equally cheap are the cameos, and the coral, that are -brought here from neighboring Naples, and the turquoises, imported -directly from the Eastern market, and the mosaics, inlaid of precious -stones in Florence herself. - -So we come out upon the Piazza, or Square, of the Uffizi. The Uffizi -Palace itself is of irregular form, and inclosed by _loggiae_, or -covered colonnades. In front of the palace stands the David of Michael -Angelo, in its strong beauty. Michael Angelo said of this that “the -only test for a statue is the light of a public square.” To this test -the David has been subjected for over three hundred years, and still, -in the searching light of day, stand revealed the courage and the -faith and the strength of the young man who went forth to do battle -with the giant, “In the name of the Lord of Hosts, the God of the -armies of Israel.” And who shall say to how many of us Michael Angelo -does not preach, across the centuries, a sermon in stone, as we stand -before his David?--as we recall what Giants of Doubt, of Passion, of -Pride, we, too, are called upon to battle with in our day? - -In a square portico, or _loggia_, giving upon the Piazza, is a statue -of Perseus, another slayer of monsters, or, rather, a slayer of -monsters in another realm. It was this Perseus to whom Pallas gave a -mirror-shield of burnished brass, whom Mercury armed with an adamantine -scythe, giving him also wings on his feet. It was this Perseus who slew -the Gorgon Princess Medusa. In the statue, the fatal head of Medusa, -with its stony stare, is held aloft by the warrior, who is trampling -upon the headless trunk. This head had, in death as in life, the power -of turning many men to stone, and was thus made use of by Perseus -against other enemies of his. The subject of the stony-eyed Gorgon -possessed, apparently, a curious fascination for artists. There is a -famous head painted on wood by Leonardo da Vinci, besides this statue -by Benvenuto Cellini, in the Uffizi. - -How, as a child, I used to puzzle over the strange fable in both statue -and picture! But, since then, I have had experience of Gorgon natures -in real life; natures that chilled and repressed, stupefied all with -whom they came in contact; and I wonder less at the fable, and I pass -the word on to you, that you may know, when unsympathetic surroundings -chill your heart and blunt your feelings, and subdue your better self, -that you are being haunted by Da Vinci’s very Medusa, by Gellini’s very -Medusa, snaky locks, fixed eyes, impassive deadness. - -[Illustration: MICHAEL ANGELO IN HIS STUDIO.] - -Into the great Uffizi Palace: up the wide marble stairway, into the -long gallery that opens into the immense suite of rooms hung with -pictures; the gallery hung with pictures, too, and set with statues. - -How I wish I could make you see with my eyes! How I wish I could be -to you something more than a mere traveler, telling what _I_ have -seen! That long corridor, windows on one side, statues and pictures -on the other, always seems to me like a nursery for love of art. At -the far end are the quaint pictures of Giotto and Cimabue. Then the -reverent, religious paintings of Fra Angelico. Oh, those sweet-faced, -golden-haired angels! Oh, the glimpse into the land seen by faith, -inhabited by shining ones! Oh, the radiance of those pictures! The gold -back-grounds, the bright faces, the happy effect of them! The artists -_believed_ them with all their souls, as Ruskin has said; so they -painted pictures which recall the refrain of Bernard de Cluny’s Rhyme -of the Celestial Country. Presently pictures by Perugino, Raphael’s -master, and--quite at the other end of the gallery--the portrait of -Raphael, painted by himself. This picture is on an easel, and stands -apart. Are you familiar with Raphael’s beautiful, calm, _young_ face? -It is a face which has passed into a proverb for beauty and serenity. -A velvet cap is pushed off the pure brow; the hair is long and waving; -the eyes are large and dark and abstracted. I always stood before this -picture as before a shrine. - -All the way down the gallery are statues and busts. There are the -Roman emperors, far more familiar to me through their counterfeit -presentments than through the pages of history. Augustus, Diocletian, -Trajan: to us girls they were studies in hair-dressing, if in nothing -else. Some of them with flowing locks, some with close, short curls, -some with hair parted in the middle and laid in long, smooth curls, -like a woman. Of such was Heliogabulus, and of such was Vitellius. - -One morning--soon after we came to Florence--we started off up on a -quest--through the Uffizi--Millie, Eva and I, and our elders. The -object of our quest was no less a goddess than she called of the Medici. - -I remember that we wandered down the long gallery I have described, and -through room after room. It was the fancy of our mamma, and the uncle -who was taking care of us all, to find their way about for themselves. -For instance: if we had been told that a certain picture, by a certain -master, was to be found in a certain palace, we roamed in and out -around the other pictures until _the_ picture _revealed itself_ to -us. It was surprising how seldom we were deceived in this method -of ours. We would pass by dozens of pictures by inferior artists, -completely unmoved; then, suddenly, a thrilling vision of beauty would -glow upon us, and we would acknowledge ourselves to be in a royal -presence-chamber. - -[Illustration] - -Such a presence-chamber is the Tribune in the Uffizi palace. We came -upon many marble Venuses before we arrived in this Tribune, a large, -octagon room, with a domed ceiling, blue, flecked with gold stars; but -we passed them all by--until finally we entered the reverent stillness -which is kept about the Venus of Venuses. We recognized her at once. -There she stood, in that silent room, the light subdued to a judicious -mellowness--beautiful with the fresh, smiling beauty of perpetual -youth; beautiful with the same beauty that gladdened the heart of the -Greek artist who carved her, hundreds of years ago; so many hundreds of -years that the marble has, in consequence, the rich cream-color of old -ivory. - -In this same Tribune hangs the portrait of a beautiful young woman, -called the Fornarina. Of her only this is known, that she was the -beloved of Raphael, and that she was the daughter of a baker in -Rome. Fornarina means little bakeress, or, perhaps _we_ should say, -baker-girl. But _this_ Fornarina might be a princess. An “ox-eyed Juno” -princess, dark and glowing, with a serene composure about her that one -remembers as her most striking characteristic. - -Raphael’s lady-love. Millie and I knew more about her than was ever -written in books. Not reliable gossip--gossip of our own invention, but -gossip that delighted our hearts. - -Other pictures by Raphael hang here, too. How distinctly I recall them. -How vivid are all the works of this great painter! The critics say that -one who excelled in so many things, excelled also in _expression_. Yes. -It is this which gives to his pictures the distinctness of photographs -from life. They are dramatic. They take you at once into the spirit -of the scene represented. They are full of soul, and herein lies the -great difference between Raphael’s works and those of other schools, -the Venetian, for instance. The painters of Venice aimed at effects of -color; Raphael used color only in order to express a loftier thought. - -Are you tired of the Uffizi? Come with me, for a few minutes, before we -go, into the Hall of Niobe. Words fail me to relate with what mingled -emotions of sympathy, distress and delight we children used to haunt -this hall, and examine each sculptured form in turn. The story goes -that Niobe incurred the displeasure of Diana and Apollo, who wreaked -their vengeance upon the mother by killing her fourteen children. -At the head of the hall stands Niobe, convulsed with grief, vainly -imploring the angry brother and sister to show compassion, and at the -same time protecting the youngest child, who is clinging to her. But -we feel that both intercession and protection will be in vain. On -the other side of the hall are her sons and daughters. Some already -pierced with arrows, stiff in death; some in the attitude of flight, -some staggering to the ground. It is an easy matter for the imagination -to picture the supreme moment when, bereft of all her children, the -mother’s heart breaks, and she is turned to stone. The legend relates -that that stone wept tears. Nor was it a difficult matter for me to -take this on faith. What is more, many is the time I have planted -myself before the very marble Niobe in the Uffizi, firmly expecting to -see the tears flow down her cheeks. - -So we come out upon the streets of Florence again. Fair Florence, the -narrow Arno dividing her, the purple Appennines shutting her in the -Arno’s fertile valley. Flower-women stop us on the streets, and offer -us flowers. Flower-women who are not as pretty as they are wont to be -at fancy-dress parties; they are apt to be heavy and middle-aged, in -fact, one of them, the handsomest of the band, has a scar on her face, -and a tinge of romance attached to her name. It is whispered about -that her lover’s dagger inflicted the scar, in a fit of jealousy. Once -I myself saw a look flash into her eyes, when something was said to -offend her by a passer-by on the street, which suggested the idea that -she might have used her dagger in return. It was the look of a tiger -aroused. And after that I never quite lost sight of the smothered fire -in those black eyes of hers. - -[Illustration: LA FORNARINA OF THE UFFIZI, AT FLORENCE.] - -I used to wonder why I saw so few pretty faces in Florence. Moreover, -how lovely the American ladies always looked in contrast with the -swarthy, heavy Tuscan women. As a rule, that is. Of course, there were -plain Americans and handsome Tuscans; but our countrywomen certainly -bear off the palm for delicacy of feature and coloring. Still, the -Tuscan peasant-girls make a fine show, with their broad flats of -Leghorn straw; and when they are married they are invariably adorned -with strings of Roman pearls about their necks. So many rows of pearls -counts for so much worldly wealth. - -I stroll on, stopping to look in at the picture stores, or coming to an -enraptured pause before a cellar-way piled up with rare and fragrant -flowers, such as one sees seldom out of Florence--the City of Flowers. - - - - -A CHILD IN FLORENCE. - -BY K. R. L. - -PART III. - - -One summer we lived in a villa a short distance outside the gates -of Florence. For Florence had gates in those days, and was a walled -city, kept by Austrian sentinels. That was the time of the Austrian -occupation. Since then, Solferino and Magenta have been fought, and -the treaty of Villafranca has been signed, and now, “Italy’s one, from -mountain to sea!”-- - - “King Victor has Italy’s crown on his head, - And his flag takes all heaven with its white, green and red.” - -But then the Florentines bowed their necks under a hated foreign yoke, -scowling when they dared at a retreating “maledetto Tedesco” (cursed -German). - -The phrase “white, green and red” recalls to me the fire-balloons we -used to send up from our villa garden, on the summer nights of long -ago. We had, for our Italian tutor, an enthusiastic patriot, who had -fought in the Italian ranks in ’48, and who was looking forward to -shouldering a musket soon again. It afforded him intense gratification -to send the national colors floating out over Florence. Our villa was -built on a hill-side, commanding a fine view of the Val d’Arno, and -of the City of Flowers herself, domed, campaniled, spired. The longer -the voyages made by our balloons, the higher rose the spirits of our -Signor Vicenzo. He regarded these airy nothings, made by his own hands, -of tissue paper and alcohol, as omens of good or ill to his beloved -country. - -I suppose he was a fair type of his countrymen intensely dramatic, -with a native facility of expression. One notices this facility -of expression among all classes. The Italians have an eloquent -sign-language of their own, in which they are as proficient as in -the language of spoken words. It is charming to see two neighbors -communicating with each other across the street, without uttering -a syllable, by the means of animated gestures. It seems a natural -sequence that they should be a people of artists. - -Such long rambles as my sisters and I and our maid Assunta took, -starting from the villa! Assunta was the daughter of a neighboring -countryman of the better sort, who cultivated a grape vineyard and an -olive field, besides keeping a dairy. We had a way of happening by in -the evening in time for a glass of warm milk. Assunta’s mother supplied -our table with milk and butter daily, moreover; butter made into tiny -pats and done up daintily in grape leaves, never salted, by the way; -milk put up in flasks cased in straw, such as are also used for the -native wine. Was it the unfailing appetite of childhood, or was that -milk and butter really superior to any I have ever tasted since? What -charming breakfasts recur to me! _Semele_, as we called our baker’s -rolls; a golden circle of butter on its own leaf; great figs bursting -with juicy sweetness; milk. - -How good those figs used to taste for lunch, too, when we would pay a -few _crazis_ for the privilege of helping ourselves to them off the -fig-trees in some _podere_ (orchard, vineyard), inclosed in its own -stone wall, on which scarlet poppies waved in the golden sunlight, -beneath the blue, blue skies. Am I waxing descriptive and dull? -Well, dear girls, I wish you could have shared those days with me. -Roaming about those hill-sides, my sisters and I peopled them with the -creatures of our own imaginations, as well as those of other people’s -imaginations, to say nothing of veritable historical characters. We -read and re-read Roger’s _Italy_. Do you know that enchanting book? Can -you say by heart, as Millie, Eva and I could, “Ginevra,” and “Luigi,” -and “The Brides of Venice”? I wonder if I should like that poetry now? -I _loved_ it then. Also, I date my knowledge of Byron to that same -epoch. We children devoured the descriptions in “Childe Harold,” and -absorbed “The Two Foscari,” which otherwise we would perhaps have never -read. Byron was the poet of our fathers and mothers; but in these early -days dramatic and narrative poetry was more intelligible than the -mysticism of Tennyson and the Brownings, so enchanting to me now. - -[Illustration: A CHRISTMAS TREE FESTIVAL.--] - -One evening, some friends who occupied a neighboring villa invited -mamma to be present at the reading of a manuscript poem by an American -poet, Buchanan Read. I was permitted to go, too, and was fully alive to -the dignity of the occasion. Mr. Read was making a reputation rapidly; -there was no telling what might be in store for him. The generous -hand of brother artists in Florence all cheered him on his way, and -accorded to him precisely that kind of sympathetic encouragement which -his peculiar nature required. The group of interested, friendly faces -in the _salon_ at Villa Allori rises up before me as I write, on the -evening when Mr. Read, occupying a central position, read aloud, in his -charming, trained voice. - -I remember that, in the pauses of the reading, Mr. Powers, who was -present, amused one or two children about him by drawing odd little -caricatures on a stray bit of note paper, which is, by the way, still -in my possession. Doubtless Mr. Powers’ reputation rests upon his -statues, not his caricatures; yet these particular ones have an immense -value for me, dashed off with a twinkle in the artist’s beautiful dark -eyes. - -There was also present on this occasion a beautiful young lady, for -whom Mr. Read had just written some birthday verses, which he read to -us, after having completed the reading of the larger manuscript. Those -birthday verses have haunted me ever since, and this, although I cannot -recall a word of the more ambitious poem. - -Mr. Powers had lived for so many years in Florence that he was by -right of that, if by no other right, the patriarch of the American -colony there. He and his large family were most intensely American, -in spite of their long expatriation. His was emphatically an American -_home_, as completely so as though the Arno and the Appenines had been, -instead, the Mississippi and the Alleghanies. This was no doubt due -to the fact that Mrs. Powers was preëminently an American wife and -mother, large-hearted and warm-hearted. She never forgot the household -traditions of her youth. She baked mince-pies and pumpkin-pies at -Christmas and Thanksgiving, and dispensed these bounties to her -countrymen with a lavish hand. Then, too, the Powers lived in a -_house_, and not in an _apartment_, or, as we say, on a flat. The -children ran up and down-stairs, and in and out their own yard, which -lay between the dwelling-house and the studio, just as American -children do. And in this genial, wholesome home an artist grew up in -the second generation. A son of Mr. Powers is now making name and fame -for himself in his father’s profession. - -It has been said that the beautiful face of the eldest daughter of this -family is suggested in her father’s “Greek Slave.” I looked up to her -then with the respect which a child feels for an elder girl, “a young -lady in society.” I can appreciate now and admire, even more than I did -then, the extreme simplicity and unconsciousness which so well accorded -with her grand, classic beauty. She was the good fairy at a Christmas -Tree Festival, to which all the American girls and boys in Florence -were bidden, on the twenty-fifth of December. We were all presented -with most exquisitely made _bonbonnieres_, chiefly of home manufacture. -We were feasted on doughnuts which brought tears to some of our eyes; -dear American doughnuts, that _might_ have been fried in the land -of the free. We had French candy _ad libitum_; but there was also on -exhibition a pound or so of genuine American stick candy, such as we -see by the bushel in this country, and which had been brought over from -the United States by a friend recently arrived, at Mrs. Powers’ special -request We examined this stick candy with patriotic enthusiasm. We ate -little bits of it, and thought it infinitely better than our candied -fruits and chocolate creams. Doubtless this little incident here -recalled will account for the fact that I always associate peppermint -stick candy with the flag of the Union. It is an unfortunate caprice -of mind; but, nevertheless, the national stripes always rise before me -when I see these red and white sticks. - -I am inclined to the belief that exiles make the best patriots. We -American children stood up fiercely for our own native land, whenever -the question as to national superiority arose between ourselves and -English, French, or Italian children,--especially the English. With -these we fought the Revolutionary war all over again, hotly, if -injudiciously. And I am confident that we had a personal and individual -sense of superiority over them. No doubt we were endowed, even at that -early age, with the proverbial national conceit. Some one had told me -that every American was a sovereign, and that I was consequently a -princess in my own right. This became a conviction with me, and greatly -increased my self-importance. How glorious to be the citizen of a -country of such magnificent gifts of citizenship! - -But to return to Mr. Powers. His statue of California was on exhibition -at this time. This is, to my mind, the most noble and impressive of -his works. The strong, resolute face, of classic outlines, and of the -sterner type of beauty, bears a distinct resemblance to the sculptor’s -second daughter, although by no means a portrait. It has been told me -that one of the fathers of our American church, traveling in Italy, -suggested an important alteration in this statue. California originally -carried in her hand a bar, supposed to represent a bar of solid gold. -The idea occurred to the bishop that were this smooth bar--which might -mean anything--made to represent a nugget of gold in the rough, the -point of the story would be far more effectively told; and on this idea -the bishop spoke. The sculptor was impressed directly, and with all the -unaffected simplicity of real genius he thanked his critic for the -hint. California now displays her symbolic nugget; and, moreover, about -her head is designed a fillet of bits of ore in the rough. - -The America of Powers is another impressive and beautiful female form. -A vision of the sculptor comes before my eyes, standing in front of -this statue, and talking it over with a party of visitors. Such a -beautiful, simple-mannered man--with his mild dark eyes and serene -face! He wore the usual blouse and linen apron, and the cap of the -sculptor. He held his chisel in his hand as he conversed. Some of -his audience did not agree with him in the peculiar political views -he held. But Mr. Powers would not argue, and what need? Had he not -preached his sermon in stone and eloquently! - - -[Illustration:] - - The wisest Child in the village in school - Was walking out in the evening cool - When she spied an Owl in a tulip-tree, - So a civil “Good evening, sir” said she, - Bu it gave her a shock (as it might give you) - When he solemnly answered “To wit:--to who?” - - “Why, to you, to be sure!” said the little maid: - “But you’ve made a mistake, sir, I am afraid. - I don’t know what you mean by ‘to wit’ - But objective is ‘whom’, I am sure of it. - The story-books say you’re a very wise fowl, - But that was a blunder, Mr Owl!” - - - - -[Illustration] - -SEEING THE POPE. - -BY MRS. ALFRED MACY. - - -It is only the young people of America who, in this age of the world, -have not been to Europe; therefore to them and for them I have written -down, in journal form, a few incidents of travel; among them, a -brief account of an evening spent with La Baronessa Von Stein, and a -presentation to the Pope. - -_Wednesday._ This evening we have spent, by invitation, with the -Baroness Von Stein, widow of Baron Von Stein of Germany. The Baroness, -a German by birth, passed much of her youth in Poland. Skilled as a -horsewoman, she often joined her father in rural pastimes, shooting, -hunting etc. Being perfectly well, and of great mind, she acquired, as -do all the noble women of Europe, a thorough knowledge of the ancient -classics in their originals; also a familiarity with nearly every -spoken language of the Old and New World. Well comparing with Margaret, -Queen of Navarre in fluency of tongue, she readily changes from Italian -to French, from French to Spanish, quotes from Buckle, Draper, etc., -in English, is quite at home on German philosophy, notwithstanding her -devotion to the Catholic Church. A singularly attractive old lady is -she now; rather masculine in manner, exceedingly so, in mind; a fine -painter in oil to whom the Pope has sat, in person, for his portrait. -We have seen the likeness. It is pronounced perfect. She is very -anxious for us to see his Holiness, and we certainly shall not leave -Rome without so doing. The Baroness has an autograph note from Pio -Nono, which is a rare possession. This she displayed with far more -pride than was apparent upon showing her own handiwork. When the Holy -Father sat to her, in order to get the true expression, conversation -was necessary and she repeated, with much satisfaction, snatches -therefrom, which were of the brightest nature. However learned _he_ may -be, in the Baroness Von Stein he meets no inferior. - -As we entered her room, she was smoking: she begged pardon, but -continued the performance. - -The cigar was a cigar, no cigarette, no white-coated article, but a -long, large, brown Havana, such as gentlemen in our own country use. - -“You will find no difficulty,” said she, between her whiffs, “in seeing -‘Il Papa,’ and then you will say how good is his picture.” - -During a part of our interview, there was present a sister of a -“Secretario Generalissimo to the Pope,” who told us the manner in which -the Popeship will be filled--she talked only in Italian, but I give a -literal translation. “The new Pope is approved by the present Pio Nono. -His name is written upon paper by the present Pope and sealed. The -document is seen by no one, till after the death of ‘Il Papa,’ when it -is opened, as a will, by the proper power. Unlike a will, it can not be -disputed.” - -Pio Nono certainly had his election in a far different way, according -to the statements of the Roman Exiles of that day. - -As the life of his Majesty hangs upon eternity, the matter of a -successor will soon be decided. “Antonelli gone, where will it fall!” -said I, but at once perceived that I was trespassing and the subject -was speedily changed. - -We left the Baronessa, intent upon one thing, viz., a presentation to -the Pope, as soon as practical. Our Consul being no longer accredited -to this power, but to Victor Emanuel, we must apply elsewhere. - -_Thursday._ Started early this morning, from my residence corner -of Bacca di Leone and Via di Lapa (doubtful protectors), for the -American College and Father Chatard, in order to get a “permit” to -the Monday Reception at the Vatican. On my way (and those who know -Rome as well as we do will know how much on the way) I took, as I do -upon all occasions, the Roman and Trajan forums, always walking when -practicable; by the above means, I am likely to become very familiar -with these beautiful views. They are so fascinating that I can not -begin any day’s work without taking these first. The Trajan is my -favorite. It may not be uninteresting to mention here that, on my -circuitous stroll to the said College, I saw, and halted the better to -see, one of those picturesque groups of Contadini and Contadine who -frequent the towns of Italy. There were, first the parents, dressed in -the fantastic garb of their class of peasantry, i.e., the mother with -the long double pads, one scarlet and one white, hanging over her head -and neck, while the father wore a gay slouched hat; then three girls, -severally garbed in short pink dress, blue apron embroidered with every -conceivable color simple and combined, yellow handkerchief thrown over -the chest, long earrings, heavy braids, bare-footed or in fancifully -knit shoes. - -[Illustration: ROMAN CONTADINO.] - -Two boys in equally remarkable attire, and a baby that looked like a -butterfly, completed the domestic circle. They did not seem to mind my -gaze. The father continued his smoking, the mother her knitting, the -girls their hooking, the boys their listless lounging, and the baby its -play in the dust. There was a charm in the scene. One sight however -(to be sure mine was an extended opportunity) is sufficient. A few -steps beyond this gathering, I found photographs colored to represent -these vagrants, and at one store pictures of the very individuals--I -purchased specimens to take to America, a novelty the other side of the -Atlantic. - -After an hour or two, I reached the American College, was met by the -students who very politely directed me to the Concièrge, and my name -was taken to the learned Father. The students all wore the long robe, -though speaking English. - -Being a Quaker by birth, therefore educated to respect every man’s -religion, and to believe that every man respects mine, nevertheless I -felt misgivings incumbent upon the meeting of extremes. I was ushered -into a large drawing-room and was examining the pictures, which -generally tell the character of the owner, when Mr. Chatard entered. -As he asked me to be seated, I thought, as some one has expressed -it before me, “the whole world over, there are but two kinds of -people,--‘man and woman.’” - -The youth of this college may thank their stars that America has given -them one of her most learned and worthy sons, though the sect to which -his mother once belonged must deplore his loss. - -In conversation with this Reverend gentleman, I obtained the -requirements necessary to an introduction to the Pope, and was a -little surprised that he should question my willingness to conform to -the same. It was however, explained. He had been much embarrassed by -the demeanor of some of the American women. Seeking the privilege of -meeting the Pope in his own palace, where common courtesy and etiquette -naturally demand a deference to the Lord of the Manor, yet these -ladies, having previously guaranteed a compliance with the laws of -ceremony, after gaining admission refused to obey them. - -Seeing the Pope was not, to me, a religious service and is not -generally so considered. - -My only fear was that my plain manners in their brusqueness, would have -the appearance of “omission.” - -But the requirements are simple. Bending the knee, as a physical -performance, was a source of anxiety. I at once called to mind the -great difficulty which, as a young girl, I had in the play: - - “If I _had_ as many wives - As the stars in the skies,” etc. - -Notwithstanding the person who had to kneel in the game had a large -cushion to throw before her to receive the fall, I always shook the -house from the foundations when I went down. I can hear the pendants -now, of a chandelier in a certain frame house in my native town ring -out my weight, as I flung the cushion in front of a boy that knew -“he was not the one,” and took to my knees. True, the Vatican is not -shaky in its underpinnnings, and faithful practice upon the floor of -my apartment in Bocca di Leone, I thought, would be productive of some -good. Quickly running through this train of reflection, and finally -trusting that the gathering would not be disturbed by any marked -awkwardness, I returned home to await the tidings. - -_Monday Evening._ Have seen Pio Nono--have committed no enormity. - -According to directions, in black dress, black veil, _à la_ Spanish -lady, ungloved hands (what an appearance at a Presidential reception!) -we were attired. Took a carriage for the Vatican. Before we left home -the padrona viewed us, pronounced us all right, and earnestly sought -the privilege of selecting a coach for us. She had an eye to style. Is -it possible that she did not give us credit for the same “strength,” -and we traveling Americans? It is to be confessed that the horses were -less like donkeys than otherwise might have been. Trying the knee the -last thing before leaving the house, there was certainly reason for -encouragement, though still a lingering humility. - -Our ride was subdued, but we reached St. Peter’s, passed through the -elegant halls of the Pope’s Palace, surpassed only by those of the -Pitti at Florence in their gold and fresco, and were ushered into the -reception room of Pio Nono. - -This apartment, long and narrow, seemed more like a corridor than a -hall. Its beauties are described in various guide books, so that “they -who read can see.” - -We were the only Protestants. The other ladies were laden with -magnificent rosaries, pictures, toys, ribbons, etc., for the Holy -Father’s blessing. Even I purchased one of the first, viz., a rosary, -to undergo the same ceremony, as a gift to a much-loved servant girl at -home. - -We sat here many minutes in quiet (inwardly longing to try the fall.) -At length the Pope was led in. We forgot our trials. A countenance so -benign, beaming with goodness, spread a cheer throughout the assembly. -We took the floor naturally and involuntarily. Except in dress, he -might have been any old patriarch. The white robe, long and plain, gave -him rather the appearance of a matriarch. - -It chanced that his Holiness passed first up the right side of the -hall. We sat _vis à vis_, so that we had the benefit of all that he -said before we came in turn. While addressing the right, who continue -on their knees, the left rise. As he turns to the latter they again -kneel, whereas those opposite change from this posture to the standing. - -The Pope talked now in French, now in Italian mostly in the former. As -he approached our party, we were introduced merely as Americans, but -our religion was stamped upon our brows. Turning kindly to my young -daughter, who wore, as an ornament, a chain and cross, he said, as -if quite sure of the fact, “_You_ can wear your cross outside, as an -ornament; I am obliged to wear mine inside as a cross;” whereupon, with -a smile, he drew this emblem from his wide ribbon sash, showing her a -most elegant massive cross of gold and diamonds, probably the most -valuable one in the world. As he replaced this mark of devotion, his -countenance expressing a recognition of our Protestantism, perhaps a -pity for our future, placing his hand upon our heads, he passed on. The -blessing of a good old man, whatever his faith, can injure no one, and -may not be without its efficacy, even though it rest upon a disciple of -George Fox. - -I shall never cease to be glad that I have seen Pio Nono. - -[Illustration] - - - - -FAYETTE’S RIDE. - -BY CLARA F. GUERNSEY. - - -“Hello, girls! I say, hello!” - -This polite salutation was addressed to two young girls who were -standing at the parsonage gate in the little village of Valery’s -Corners. The taller of the two colored with vexation, and looked back -to the house as though she hoped no one had seen or heard. - -The second answered in a clear, rather peculiar voice, “How do you do, -Carlos?” - -“I say,” returned Carlos, “I was up to your place, and seen your folks -to-day.” - -“I hope they were all well,” said the girl who had spoken before, while -the other took no notice of Carlos whatever. - -“Well, no, they wasn’t, jest. I thought I’d tell you--” - -“O, what is it?” cried Fayette Locey, running out to the wagon, while -her companion followed more slowly, looking rather annoyed than anxious. - -“O, it ain’t nothing to be scared at, only Mr. Ford and Dick ain’t to -home. They’ve gone over to the cattle sale at Elmira, and young Mis’ -Ford she’s there alone, with only your aunt, and the hired man, and the -baby.” - -“Is the baby sick?” asked Fayette, troubled. - -“No, not the baby.” - -“Will you be good enough to tell us at once what _is_ the matter?” said -Helen Ford, speaking for the first time with a sort of cold irritation -and a certain dignity which Carlos, though it rather awed him, resented -as “stuck up.” - -“Ye see,” said Carlos, letting the reins hang loose over the backs of -the two old farm horses, “I was a-going past your house this morning, -and I knew you was down here, and I thought your folks might have -something to send.” - -“You were very kind,” said Fayette; but Helen made no sign. - -“I see young Mis’ Ford, and she said the old lady was kind of ailin’, -and the men folks being away, and no one but Hiram, she felt kind of -lonesome.” - -“Did she send you for us?” asked Helen. - -“No, not jest. She said the old lady might be going to have one of her -bad spells, and as I was coming down to the corners I might tell you, -and you could act your judgment, though she didn’t want to disappoint -you of your visit. I could see she was consid’rable anxious.” - -“Are you going back soon?” asked Fayette. - -“’Bout half an hour or so. Tell ye what. I’ll call when I’ve done my -arrands, and then you’ll have your minds made up.” - -“O, thank you, Carlos,” said Fayette, gratefully. “I wish you would.” - -Helen said nothing; but as they walked back to the house, she looked -perplexed and annoyed. “So provoking of Sue,” she broke out at last. -“If there was anything really the matter, why couldn’t she send a note? -But she is so nervous and fanciful.” - -“Sue’s not very strong, and you know Hiram is no one to depend upon. I -hope Mrs. Allison and Eleanor will be back before we go.” - -“So you are going?” said Helen, as if the idea vexed her. - -“Why, Helen, I think one of us should go. If aunt had such an attack as -she had in the winter, what could Sue do?” - -“I dare say it is only her fancy,” said Helen. “But you are as ready to -fancy things as she is, Fayette. If there were any reason for anxiety,” -she continued in the even tones which had contributed to establish -Helen Ford’s character as a “superior girl,”--“If there were any reason -for anxiety, don’t you suppose I should be as anxious about my mother -as you can be, who never saw her till you came to live with us three -months ago?” - -There was a covert sting in these words which Fayette felt and -resented, but she held her tongue. - -“Then I don’t want to miss this lecture,” Helen resumed. “It is the -last of the set, and I feel it my duty to improve every opportunity -that is offered me.” - -Fayette slightly raised her black eyebrows. She knew her cousin’s way -of squaring her duty with her inclination. - -“I presume, too, that the boy has quite exaggerated the case. Persons -of that class always like to make a sensation, and I dare say Sue only -meant that mother had a little cold. She has such a habit of talking to -all sorts of people as if they were her equals.” - -“Yes, I think Sue does rather look upon human beings as if they were -her fellow-creatures,” said Fayette. - -“I don’t profess to understand sarcasm,” said Helen, setting her rather -thin lips very straight. “Papa and Dick will be at home to-morrow, -and one night can make no very great difference to Sue. It would be a -serious disadvantage to me to lose this lecture. I have the notes of -the whole set, and this is the last, and I should never be satisfied to -leave them in that unfinished state.” - -“And suppose you were not satisfied? What then?” said Fayette. - -For a moment Helen had an odd sensation, as though some one had -suddenly lifted a curtain and given her a glimpse of an unsuspected -near and unpleasing region; but the feeling passed, and left behind it -a sense of vexation with her cousin. - -“Persons who do not care for intellectual pleasures can never -understand what they are to others,” said Helen, with a superior and -pitying smile, which provoked Fayette. “As the professor said last -night, it is the first duty of every one to develop his or her nature -to its highest capacities, and to seize every opportunity for mental -enlargement.” - -“Fiddlesticks!” thought the irreverent Fayette; but she did not say it, -and that at least was something. - -“Then it would not be polite to the Allisons to go off in this way, and -when company is coming to tea, too. Mr. Allison is gone, and the ladies -won’t be home till nearly tea time. How it would look to go off!” - -“We could leave a message; and, Helen, if Sue were nervous and -fanciful,--and I don’t think she is,--it would only be one more reason -for not leaving her alone. I shall go,” concluded Fayette, with sudden -decision. - -“You will do as you please, of course,” said Helen, coldly, but -secretly not ill pleased. “But it will look very strange.” - -“I can’t help it. You can tell them all how it was;” and Fayette ran up -stairs to pack up her things. - -She had hardly done so when Carlos came back. “I wish you joy of your -companion,” said Helen to her cousin, with something very like a sneer. - -“I might easily have a worse one,” said Fayette, who liked the big, -simple young fellow. “One of us is enough to go, and it may as well be -I as you. I hope you’ll enjoy the evening. Remember me to Miss Fenton -and the others.” - -It was with a little pang that Fayette spoke. She had been quite as -much interested in the lectures as her cousin, and she had found -herself very much at home with the Misses Fenton, the granddaughters of -Mrs. Lyndon, at the Hickories. - -“Well, of course one is enough, and more than enough,” said Helen; “but -I suppose now you have alarmed yourself so, you will not be satisfied -to stay here. I shall come home with Mr. Allison Sunday. Good-bye.” - -Helen went back to the house, and laid out her dress for the evening. - -The party from the Hickories, and the stray professor, who had given -four lectures on geology in Valery’s Corners, were coming to tea at the -Parsonage. - -Helen had met the professor before, and had been complimented on the -interest she displayed in science, and she felt, as she said, that -she could not be satisfied without putting down the notes of the last -lecture. - -Helen was an intellectual girl--so said her teachers, and so she -believed. She liked to acquire facts, and rules, and classifications, -and dates, and range them all nicely away in her mind, as she put her -cuffs, and collars, and laces, and ribbons in her boxes; as she saved -odds and ends of silk and linen, and put them into labeled bags. - -As it pleased her to look over her drawers, and count up her -possessions, so she liked to review her stock of knowledge gained from -text-books, and say, “All this is _mine_.” - -She told Mrs. Allison that her sister-in-law had sent a message by -Carlos, and that Fayette had gone home. - -“Sue is a little nervous sometimes,” said Helen, in her most superior -manner. - -Helen’s evening was very successful. She was invited to the Hickories -by Mrs. Lyndon. She talked to the professor. She took her notes, but -some way, even when she had neatly copied out the names of all the -saurians, she did not feel as well “satisfied” as she had expected. - -It was not till between seven and eight that evening that Carlos set -Fayette down at her uncle’s gate. - -The roads were rough, and they had been a long time coming the nine -miles. Carlos lived at Scrub Hollow, a very forlorn hamlet, three miles -further away. - -It was a wild March night, with a loud-sounding wind rushing through -the upper air. Fayette, as she stood at the gate a moment, and looked -out over the confused mass of rounded, rolling hills that formed the -dim landscape, felt lonely and half frightened. - -Everything was so dim and gray, and seemed so full of mysterious sound! -The low roar of increasing streams, the multiplied whisper and rustle -of the woods, made the world seem something different from the ordinary -daylight earth. - -She shook off the fancies that crowded upon her, and walked quickly up -to the house, which stood at some distance from the road--a pile of -gray buildings, with sharp, many-angled roofs rising against the sky. - -A light shone from the “living-room” window. - -Fayette opened the door, and was greeted by a cry of joy from young -Mrs. Ford. - -“O, Fayette! I’m so glad it’s you!” and there was an emphasis as, if -the speaker were rather glad it was not some one else. - -“I thought I’d come,” said Fayette, kissing her. “How’s aunt?” - -“I think she is pretty sick,” said Sue, lowering her voice. “She’s gone -to bed.” - -“Have you sent Hiram for the doctor?” - -“Hiram has gone. I’m all alone. Word came over from Springville, just -after Carlos was here, that his father had broken his leg, and he had -to go, of course.” - -“But why didn’t you tell him to send Dr. Ward over?” - -“Mother wouldn’t let me. You know how she hates to send for a doctor, -and she thought she’d be better.” - -A voice from the next room called to know who was there, and Fayette -went in. - -Mrs. Ford was in bed, her face drawn and pinched. A look of pain -crossed her features as her niece entered. There was disappointment in -her voice as she said,-- - -“Is that you, Fayette?” - -“Yes, aunt. I thought I’d come.” - -There are women who, in Mrs. Ford’s place, would have been angry with -the girl for doing what one dearer had left undone; but Mrs. Ford, if -she had such a feeling, was too just to visit it upon Fayette. - -“You are a good child,” she said, with uncommon softness, but with a -sigh. “Don’t be troubled. I shall get over it by and by.” - -But Mrs. Ford did not get over it. The trouble was furious and intense -neuralgia; not such as young ladies have when they suffer “awfully” in -the morning, and go to a party at night, but blinding, burning pain, -reducing the life power every minute, and threatening the heart. - -Sue and Fayette tried in vain every remedy in their power. Even Mrs. -Ford’s favorite panacea of seven different herbs, steeped in spirits -with pepper and spice, utterly failed. - -The patient grew worse and worse, and at midnight it was evident that, -unless help came speedily, her hours were numbered. - -The farm was not on the high road, and their nearest neighbors were two -old maiden ladies, a mile away, neither of whom could have been of the -least use. - -Scrub Hollow lay three miles to the south. A nurse might have been -found there, but no physician. Springville, where Dr. Ward lived, was a -little further off in the opposite direction. - -The road to Springville was rough and lonely, and lay over wind-swept -hill and through dark valley, by woods and swamps; for this portion of -the southern frontier is even now but thinly settled. - -“What shall we do?” said poor Sue, wringing her hands. “What shall we -do?” - -“There’s only one thing to do,” said Fayette, desperately. “I shall go -for the doctor.” - -“O, Fayette! Walk all that way alone!” - -“I shall ride Phœbe. I can saddle her myself. Father taught me how. I -must go, Sue. I can’t let aunt lie here and die, and never try to save -her. It’s hard to leave you alone, but it won’t take long. Baby hasn’t -waked up once. What a mercy! Don’t say a word, Sue: I must go.” - -“O, Fayette!” cried Sue, helplessly; but she made no further objection, -and Mrs. Ford had not heard the hurried consultation. - -Fayette would give herself no time to think. She was a nervous little -thing, and she dreaded the long ride through the windy night more than -she had ever feared anything in her life. - -She was not a very daring rider, though at the little frontier post -where she had passed two years with her parents, her father had taught -her to manage a horse with reasonable skill, and she had ridden many a -mile with him over the prairie. - -“O, if father were here now!” she said, a sob suddenly rising. - -Then she was doubtful about her own power to manage Phœbe, the great -chestnut mare, the pride of her uncle’s heart, strong, swift, spirited -creature that she was. - -For two years Phœbe had borne away the prize at state and county fairs, -and the horse-racing world had tempted her owner in vain. Fayette had -mounted her more than once, and ridden around the yard, and up and down -the road, but always with some secret fears. She had never dared even -to try a canter; and now to mount at “mirk midnight,” and go, as fast -as might be, off into the darkness alone on Phœbe’s back, seemed an -awful thing to poor Fayette. - -She knew that the mare was gentle, and she had often petted her, and -fed her, and led her to water. She did not much doubt but that Phœbe -would submit to be saddled and bridled by her hand, but still it was -with many a misgiving that she put on her hat and jacket. She did not -take time to find her habit, and, lighting the lantern, went out to the -barn. - -Phœbe was not lying down. Disturbed, perhaps, by the loud-blowing wind, -she was wide awake; and as Fayette entered with the light, she turned -her head with a low whinny, as though glad to see a friend. - -Fayette went into the stall in fear and trembling; but she loosened -the halter, and led Phœbe out unresisting. - -The mare was so tall, and Fayette was so short, that she was obliged -to stand up on a box to slip on the bridle; to which Phœbe submitted, -turning her soft, intelligent eyes on the girl with mild, wondering -inquiry. The saddle was harder to manage, but Fayette strained at the -girth till her wrists ached, and hoped all was right. - -Some faint encouragement came to her, as she saw how gently the mare -behaved. “O, Phœbe, darling,” said Fayette, “you will be good--I know -you will. You are the only one that can help us now.” - -Petted Phœbe, used to caresses as a house cat, rubbed her dainty head -on Fayette’s shoulder, as if to reassure her. - -Poor Fayette put up one brief wordless prayer for help and courage, and -then she led Phœbe out of the stable, mounted her by the aid of the -horse-block, and rode away into the night. - -Sue, watching forlorn, heard the mare’s hoofs beating fainter down the -road; and relieved that at least Fayette had got off without accident, -listened till the last sound died away on the wind. - - -CHAPTER II. - -It was a wild March night. The wind blew loud and cold, though there -was in the air a faint breath of spring, and the brooks were coming -down with fuller currents every hour to swell the Susquehanna. There -had been heavy rains for the last few days, and the roads were deeply -gullied, and somewhat dangerous by night. - -The wild, white moon, nearly at the full, was plunging swiftly through -heavy masses of gray cloud, that at times quite obscured her light, and -the solid shapes of hill and wood, and the sweeping, changing shadows -were so mingled that it was hard to distinguish what was real earth -and what was but the effect of cloud and wind-blown moonshine. All the -twilight world seemed sound and motion. - -Phœbe, as well as her rider, perhaps, felt some of the influences of -the time; for she snorted and turned her head homeward, as if minded -to return to her warm stable; but she gave way to Fayette’s voice and -hand, and, striking into a steady pace, picked her way down the steep -and deeply-furrowed road as soberly as an old cart-horse. - -The Ford farm-house lay half way up the side of a high hill, and the -farm extended into the valley below in pasture and meadow land. Here, -for a space, was a hard gravel road; and Fayette, yielding to the spur -of the moment, let Phœbe canter, which she was only too willing to do, -and was relieved to find how easily she kept her seat, and how gentle -was the motion. - -In a few minutes the bounds of the farm were passed, and Fayette’s -heart sank low as they drew near the roaring, sounding woods through -which the road lay. The trees stood up like a black wall, with one -blacker archway, into which the path ran, and was lost in the darkness -beyond. - -People who have never been allowed to hear the word “ghost,” who know -nothing of popular superstitions, who are strangers to ballad lore -and to Walter Scott, will, nevertheless, be often awed and sometimes -panic-struck by night, and darkness, and wind, and that power of the -unseen which laughs Mr. Gradgrind himself to scorn. - -Fayette, however, had not been properly brought up, according to Mr. -Gradgrind’s system. She had read all sorts of wild tales, and listened -to them from the lips of a Scotch nurse. She knew many a ballad, and -many a bit of folk lore, and old paganism,--pleasant enough puppets for -imagination to play with under the sunshine, but which now rose up in a -grim life-likeness quite too real. - -The owls began to call from the shadows, and once and again came a -long, wild scream, which, in the darkness and wind, had an awful sound. - -Fayette knew perfectly well that it was only a coon calling, but for -all that it frightened her. There came over her that horrible feeling -which most people have experienced once in their lives at least--the -sense that some unseen pursuer is coming up behind. In a sudden spasm -of terror, she very nearly gave way to the impulse that urged her to -rush blindly on anywhere to escape the dread follower. Nerves and -imagination were running wild; but Fayette, from her earliest years, -had been trained to self-control and duty. She checked the panic that -urged her to cry and scream for help. She used her reason, and forced -herself to look back and assure her senses that, so far as she could -see the dim track, she and Phœbe were the only living creatures there. - -“I am doing what is right,” she said to herself. “God is here as much -as in my room at home. It is folly to fear things that are not real, -and as for living beings, not even a wolf could catch me on Phœbe.” - -Resolutely rousing her will, she grew more used to her situation, and, -more able to control her terrors, she sternly refused to give rein to -her frightened fancy. She drew a long breath, however, when once the -wood was passed and the road began to climb the opposing hill, behind -which, and across the creek, lay Springville. She thought of William -of Deloraine and his ride to Melrose, and smiled at the remembrance of -that matter-of-fact hero. - -“It’s a good thing, Phœbe, dear, that you and I have no deadly feud -with any one,” she said; and then she patted the mare and praised her, -and Phœbe, quickening her pace, broke into a gallop, and took the hill -road with long, sweeping strides that soon brought them to the summit. - -Fayette began to enjoy the swift motion and a sense of independence and -safety in Phœbe’s gentle compliance with her will; but at the hill-top -she checked the pace, fearing a stumble down the deeply gullied hill, -which was still sending rivulets to the creek. The amiable Phœbe chose -to obey, and picked her way, careful both for herself and her rider. - -Now rose a new voice on the wind. It was the sound of angry waters, a -long roar rising louder from time to time. - -“How high the creek must be!” thought Fayette; and as the roar -increased, she began to have a sort of fear of the bridge, which she -knew must be crossed; but she classed the feeling with her ghostly -terrors, and soon found herself drawing near the bridge, the noise of -the water almost drowning that of the wind. - -As she came to the bank, a heavy cloud came over the moon, involving -the whole landscape in sudden and dense blackness; and at that instant -Phœbe planted her feet like a rock, and refused to stir an inch. - -In vain Fayette coaxed and urged, for she dared not strike, even if she -had had a whip. Phœbe was immovable as a horse of bronze; but at last -she began to pull at the bridle, as though she meant to turn homeward. - -Just then the moon came out, and Fayette, looking eagerly forward, saw, -to her horror, that the bridge was gone. A post and rail only remained, -and beyond was a chasm where the furious waters had not even left a -wreck behind. - -Had Phœbe’s senses not been more acute than her own, two steps more -would have plunged horse and rider into the flood. - -Fayette turned sick, and felt as if she should fall from the saddle. -She rallied, however, for she knew she must. Her senses came back in -thankfulness to God, and she confessed humbly enough to Phœbe that she -had known best; and Phœbe, looking over her shoulder, said, “I told you -so,” as plainly as a horse could. - -Fayette was at a loss. A mile further up the stream was another and -much better bridge than the rickety old plank structure that was -missing; but to reach it she must turn back and make a long detour, -that would nearly double her journey, while every minute lessened the -chances of the sufferer at home. - -[Illustration] - -She knew that just below the bridge was a ford easily passable in -summer, and she remembered hearing her uncle say that once, when the -bridge was down, he had crossed this ford on horseback. It might be -that even now she and Phœbe could make their way across. - -A wagon track led down to the water’s edge, and Phœbe did not refuse -to follow this path to the stream’s edge, where Fayette checked her, -afraid to face the passage. - -The creek was coming down ruffled before the wind into waves “crested -with tawny foam,” and the “wan water” looked eerie and threatening. - -Fayette refused to think of the water kelpie, who just then obtruded -himself on her mind. She bent from the saddle and scanned the road. - -Judging from the traces on the gravel, she thought that a wagon must -have passed not many hours before. Her courage rose, and she set her -will to the task before her. - -“If Phœbe thinks it safe, I’ll try it,” she said; and as the rein hung -loose, Phœbe stepped cautiously in. She seemed doubtful at first, but -she went on, and the water rose and rose. - -The moon cast an uncertain, wavering light on the dancing stream; the -roar filled Fayette’s ears like a threatening voice; the waves, as -they plunged toward her, seemed hands raised to pull her down; and -still Phœbe stepped steadily on, and the stream came higher and higher. -Fayette drew up her feet as far as she could, and glanced back to the -shore, half minded to turn; but it was now as far to one bank as to the -other. The water touched her feet; it flowed over them. - -The next instant she scarcely checked the shriek that rose to her lips, -for she felt that the mare no longer touched bottom, but was swimming -for her life and her rider’s. - -At the real danger her ghostly terrors fled. With a sense of wonder she -felt her mind grow calm, her courage rise, her senses wake to their -work. - -To her relief she saw that Phœbe had not lost her wits, but was keeping -straight across the creek. She let the mare take her own way, only -helping her as far as she could by keeping her head in the way she -wished to go. She thought of nothing but the minute’s need; and of all -the possibilities before her, the only fear that shaped itself in her -mind was one for her horse. - -The current was strong, but so was Phœbe, and her blood was up. She -snorted fiercely, as if angry with the force that crossed her will, and -putting out her strength, she breasted the storm gallantly. - -It was but a minute, though it seemed an hour to Fayette, before she -touched bottom. - -The water sank rapidly, and she reached the shore but a little below -the usual landing. The bank came down to the stream with a somewhat -steep incline; but mountain-bred Phœbe planted her fore feet firmly, -scrambled cat-like up the incline, shook the clinging water from hide -and mane, and with a joyous whinny, rushed like an arrow on the track. - -The way was plain before her, and in a minute or two more Fayette, with -some trouble, checked Phœbe’s gallop at Dr. Ward’s gate. A light was -burning over the office door. - -Fayette slipped from the saddle, but before she turned to the house, -she put her arms round Phœbe’s neck, and kissed the white star on her -forehead. As she ran up the walk, she felt, for the first time, that -she was wet nearly to her knees, and the wind made her shiver. - -She rang the bell sharply, and to her relief the door was opened -directly by Dr. Ward himself, who had just come in. - -Hurriedly, but clearly, Fayette told her story. - -“Yes, I understand,” said Dr. Ward. “But, dear me,” he added, as the -light fell on her more clearly, “where have you been to get so wet?” - -“In the water,” said Fayette. “The creek is so high, and the bridge is -down.” - -“Child! You did not ride that ford to-night?” - -“Not all the way, sir. Phœbe swam.” - -“Phœbe, indeed! A pretty pair are you and Phœbe to race round the -country at midnight. Go to Mrs. Ward and get some dry clothes, while my -man gets out the gig.” - -“O, sir, please be quick.” - -“Yes, yes; only get off those wet things. Let Phœbe stay here till -to-morrow, for my old gig can’t swim the creek, whatever you and the -mare can do. We must go by the upper bridge.” - -Mrs. Ward, called out of bed, supplied Fayette with dry things, and -Phœbe was consigned to the doctor’s admiring colored man, to be well -cared for before she took possession of her bed in the warm stable. - -The doctor kept a trotter for emergencies, and in an hour and a half -from the time she had left home Fayette came back. - -Sue came to meet them, white and scared; and, as she came, Fayette -heard a cry of anguish, which she knew that nothing but the direst -extremity could have wrung from her strong, self-controlled aunt. - -The doctor took out his ether flask and sponge, and hurried to the -bedside. - -Before long the ministering spirit did its good office. The tortured -nerves relaxed, and the patient slept. - -Fayette put on her wrapper, and curled herself up on the sofa, leaving -Sue and the doctor watching by the fire. - -When she woke it was broad daylight. All seemed quiet about the house. -She stole across the floor, and looked into her aunt’s room. Mrs. Ford -was awake, and held out her hand. - -“Is the pain gone, aunt?” asked Fayette, kissing her, and feeling a new -love rising in her heart. - -“Yes, child; but I am very weak.” - -“It was the ether saved your life, I really think,” said Fayette, to -whom the past night seemed like a dream. - -“No, my dear,” said Mrs. Ford. “It was you.” - -[Illustration: “BOW-WOW.”] - - - - -FANNY. - -BY CLARA DOTY BATES. - - -[Illustration] - - What do the wistful eyes discover, - Full of their baby dignity? - Lips, I know, are as red as clover, - Cheeks like the bloom that flushes over - Peaches, sun-ripe on the tree. - - Let but a merry play-thought brighten - Over the little pensive face, - Then how the sober shades will lighten, - Then how the dimples deep will frighten - Every grave line from its place. - - Well, I know there is mischief sleeping, - Plenty of it, behind this guise; - Little brain has a way of keeping - Back the smiles; but still they are peeping - Out from the brow, the mouth, and eyes. - - - - -LITTLE MARY’S SECRET. - -BY MRS. L. C. WHITON. - - O larks! sing out to the thrushes, - And thrushes, sing to the sky; - Sing from your nests in the bushes, - And sing wherever you fly; - For I’m sure that never another - Such secret was told unto you-- - I’ve just got a baby brother! - And I wish that the whole world knew. - - I have told the buttercups, truly, - And the clover that grows by the way; - And it pleases me each time, newly, - When I think of it during the day. - And I say to myself: “Little Mary, - You ought to be good as you can, - For the sake of the beautiful fairy - That brought you the wee little man.” - - I’m five years old in the summer, - And I’m getting quite large and tall; - But I thought, till I saw the new-comer, - When I looked in the glass, I was small; - - And I rise in the morning quite early, - To be sure that the baby is here, - For his hair is _so_ soft and curly, - And his hands _so_ tiny and dear! - - I stop in the midst of my pleasure-- - I’m so happy I cannot play-- - And keep peeping in at my treasure, - To see how much he gains in a day. - But he doesn’t look _much_ like growing, - Yet I think that he _will_ in a year, - And I wish that the days would be going, - And the time when he walks would be here! - - O larks! sing out to the thrushes, - And thrushes, sing as you soar; - For I think, when another spring blushes, - I can tell you a great deal more: - I shall look from one to the other, - And say: “Guess, who I’m bringing to you?” - And you’ll look--and see--he’s my brother! - And you’ll sing, “Little Mary was true.” - - - - -[Illustration: NURSERY TILES. --THE SHEPHERD BOY.] - -HOW PATTY CURTIS LEARNED TO SWEEP. - -BY MRS. M. L. EVANS. - - -Nowadays nearly every school-room is furnished with a waste-paper -basket, dust-pan and brush, with which the pupils are expected to keep -the room tidy. But in the days when Patty Curtis went to school in the -old brick school-house in Sagetown, such luxuries were unheard of, and -the school-room during the greater part of the day was a haven for -dirt--rather clean dirt it was, but it answered the definition which -says, “Dirt is matter out of place.” - -Certainly the school-room floor was no place for the scraps of paper -over which Patty industriously scribbled with her stubby lead-pencil, -but it was there she dropped them without thought of wrong-doing or -idea of further responsibility for her manuscript fragments. Cores of -haws and crab-apples, and shells of “pig-nuts” found the same resting -place, and soiled slate-rags were in such abundance as would have -delighted the heart of any “old rag man;” during flower season, too, a -desk proudly adorned with fresh flowers in the morning meant a floor -sadly strewed with wilted, trodden fragments in the afternoon, and over -all this litter was plentifully sprinkled the dust of the earth. Of -this we are all supposed to be made, and it needs but little faith to -believe that children are made of it, when one sees, in a school-room, -the quantity of it they can kick off their feet, and shake out of -their jackets and skirts. - -The services of a janitor were as unknown to the old school-house -as were the basket, dust-pan and brush; the teacher was expected to -do the sweeping herself. This, Miss Kelsey, Patty’s new teacher one -spring term, found no pleasant ending to a hard day’s work. The desks -and seats were awkwardly constructed, and placed very close together; -if Miss Kelsey tried to sweep without looking under them, she found -she left more dirt than she swept out, and if she thrust both head -and broom under the seat, in order to see what she was doing, she was -sure to bump her head, and “jab” herself with the broom-handle, and in -either case she came out of the school-room tired and hot, and choked -with dust. - -It is not strange, then, that she had not done the sweeping many days -before she came to the conclusion: - -“It is the children who make all this labor necessary, and it is but -right that they should do it themselves; they are little and active -and could sweep under these troublesome seats more easily than I can; -besides the girls will soon have such work to do at home, and their -mothers will be glad to have them learn to do it here.” - -So one evening when both hands on the little round clock pointed to -IV., and thirty-six boys and girls were waiting the tap at the bell -that should dismiss them, Miss Kelsey spoke: - -“I have decided to ask you children to do the sweeping for me -hereafter, and I will choose two each evening from your names, as they -stand on my register, to do the work. To-night Sarah Adams and Aggie -Bentley may sweep. There are two brooms, one girl can take the boys’ -side and the other the girls’ side of the room, and you will soon -finish the sweeping.” - -For a moment each pupil eyed the dirty floor, and tried to decide -whether or not sweeping was a desirable piece of work. Sarah Adams very -soon decided to her satisfaction that it was not, and she raised her -hand. - -“Well, Sarah?” said Miss Kelsey. - -“Please, Miss Kelsey, mother’s at a quiltin’ at Deacon Smith’s, and -she told me to come home as soon as school was out, and help Nancy get -supper for the men.” - -Sarah was the oldest girl in school, and Miss Kelsey knew that in -whatever she led the other children were sure to follow, but she did -not want to offend Mrs. Adams by refusing to allow Sarah to go home -when school was dismissed, so she reluctantly said: - -“Well, then, I suppose I will have to excuse you. Hattie Bitner may -take your place to-night, and you can sweep to-morrow night.” - -Up went Hattie’s hand as if worked by a spring. “Miss Kelsey, mother’s -making soap, and she told me to come home right away as soon as school -was out to tend the baby.” - -It was natural, though perhaps not wise, for Miss Kelsey to lose -patience at this point. - -“Then,” said she, “you may go immediately, and mind you run every step -of the way. Well, Patty Curtis, what is your mother doing that you -cannot stay to sweep?” - -Now, Patty had been trying during all of the previous dialogue to think -if there was not something that her mother might possibly want her to -do after school, by which she might escape the sweeping, but all in -vain, for Patty’s mother was one of the women who “never want children -bothering around about the work,” and as Patty was too conscientious to -invent an excuse, as some children would have done, she had no answer -for Miss Kelsey’s question except a rather sulky, “Nothing that I know -of, ma’am.” - -“Then you and Aggie Bentley take the brooms when the others are gone,” -said Miss Kelsey, as she tapped the bell. - -Aggie Bentley was one of the pleasantest little girls in the world; -when appointed to sweep she did not think of trying to evade the duty, -it was enough for her that her teacher had asked her to do it, and -she took the broom so cheerfully and went to work with such a vim -that Patty was shamed out of her unwillingness, and soon was swinging -the broom as briskly and as awkwardly as was Aggie. Still it was not -a pleasant task, and when she came out of the school-room, coughing, -sneezing, and wiping the dust out of her eyes, she found words for her -disgust: - -“Ugh! Nasty work! I’m glad there’s thirty-four more to sweep before it -comes our turn again. Let’s see, thirty-four, two at a time, that’s -seventeen days. Nearly a month before we’ll have to sweep again, Aggie!” - -But Patty was doomed to disappointment, for at the moment she was -making this clearly expressed calculation, Miss Kelsey was also giving -the sweeping question serious thought. - -“It is going to be a hard matter to persuade these children to do -the sweeping,” thought she. “I suppose most of the mothers can find -something for them to do, and the little rogues who have always -loitered and played half an hour or more on their way home, will come -to-morrow with a fine assortment of excuses, all to the effect that -they must be at home immediately after school. I think I had better -change the plan and make the sweeping a punishment for whispering. -They will not care to tell their parents that they are detained for -misdemeanors, and it will put a check on the whispering too.” - -So the next morning as soon as school opened she told the pupils she -should appoint to the sweeping, that night, the first two that she -should see whispering. - -“O, my goodness gracious!” said thoughtless Flindy Jenkins to herself -in a loud whisper, “I’ll get caught sure.” And sure enough she did, for -down went her name in Miss Kelsey’s “black book.” - -Whispering was Patty’s besetting sin, and on hearing Miss Kelsey’s -decision she buttoned up her mouth very tightly indeed, and resolved -not to open it again until some one else was caught, and she would no -doubt have kept this politic resolution had she not soon after spied -little Biddy Maginnis in the act of whisking out of a knot-hole in the -desk a bunch of violets that Patty had, a short time before, fastened -there. They were the first violets of the season and Biddy wanted to -smell of them, but Patty did not like to have her treasures so roughly -handled and in the excitement of a moment forgot everything else. - -“Give those back here,” she said, fiercely, and almost aloud. - -“Patty Curtis,” said Miss Kelsey, as she wrote her name under that of -Flindy Jenkins, “I am sorry to say that you will have to sweep again -to-night.” And Patty with a gasp of shame and surprise, sank back into -her seat with her rescued flowers. - -“It’s too bad,” she said to herself as she heard the children around -her giggle, and in spite of her efforts the tears chased each other -down her cheeks, giving the pretty violets a salt bath. The tears -stopped after a while, but Patty did not recover from her vexation: she -sulked all day, and was sulky still when she took the broom in hand -after school. She would show Miss Kelsey, she thought in her naughty -little heart, that the school-room would look but precious little -better for her being kept to sweep it. - -Flindy Jenkins was a poor companion for a little girl in such a frame -of mind, and she really fell in with Patty’s suggestion that they sweep -so the school-room should “look like Biddy Maginnises’ house in the -Hollow;” and when Miss Kelsey came to school early the next morning -she found the room looking worse, if possible, than if it had not been -swept at all. - -That afternoon Miss Kelsey sat at her desk thinking so intently about -the sweeping, that she did not see Aggie Bentley standing beside her -until the little girl spoke timidly: - -“Please, Miss Kelsey, may Patty Curtis and I go out and play a little -while? we have got all our lessons.” - -Miss Kelsey glanced over to Patty and saw an eager face shadowed by -a very doubting expression, for the little girl knew she deserved no -play-time after her conduct of the night before. So she was surprised -to see Miss Kelsey’s face brighten, and to hear her give a cordial -consent. The truth was that Miss Kelsey had suddenly solved the -problem that had been troubling her for several days. Offer as reward -to the two that would sweep, a half hour’s extra recess when lessons -were learned! Why had she not thought of it before? for if there was -anything more coveted than “reward cards,” it was these “half hours.” -Before school closed she made a simple statement of her new plan, and -was amused to see what an electrifying effect it had upon the children; -and when they were dismissed what a scramble there was for the brooms! -if there had been thirty-six of these, thirty-six children would soon -have been sweeping away at the floor of the little school-room; as -there were but two, great was the pulling and twisting they received, -and loud the uproar among those who wanted to use them. The trouble was -soon settled by Miss Kelsey, who took possession of the brooms and said -the two should sweep who came first in the morning. - -Patty Curtis was now in luck, for the fact that her mother had nothing -for her to do at home, which had been such a draw-back to her before, -would be the greatest help now; she could come to the school-house as -early as she liked while other little girls had to wash dishes, or rock -cradles, and the boys had wood to split and cows to drive to pasture. - -The next morning Patty was the first one at the school-house, and she -had nearly finished half the sweeping when Sarah Adams came, so she -and Sarah had the half hour play together. Sarah was two years older -than Patty, and a very quarrelsome girl, and she and Patty succeeded -in quarelling so over the play-house they were building that neither -little girl got much enjoyment from the reward of her labor. - -As Patty intended to sweep the next morning, and did not want Sarah -for a playmate, she lingered after school was dismissed to make -arrangements with Aggie Bentley to assist her. They agreed that Aggie -was to prevail upon her indulgent mother to allow her to start for -school as soon as she ate her breakfast. Patty was to go at the same -time, and they would have the sweeping done before Sarah, or any one -else, should arrive. - -But when the two little girls went into the entry to get their -sunbonnets they noticed that the brooms were gone from the corner where -they always stood. - -“Perhaps they have been carried out of doors,” said Patty, and she -looked out on the steps and in various possible and impossible places, -but in vain; then she went into the house and told Miss Kelsey that the -brooms were gone, and Miss Kelsey helped the little girls search. At -last they all gave up. Then the teacher spoke: - -“I suspect, Patty, some of the pupils think you have done enough -sweeping for a while, and want to give you a rest, so have hidden the -brooms. Never mind, you will have many more chances to do the sweeping, -and besides you ought not to want all the half hours for yourself.” - -But this did not comfort Patty very much; you will see she was rather -a selfish little girl, and she did want all the half hours, as well as -all other obtainable good things, for herself. - -“It is that Sarah Adams who has hid them brooms,” she said to Aggie as -they walked home together, “and she has just done it for spite. I wish -I could think of some way to get ahead of her, but I can’t.” - -“Well, we won’t have to go to school so early,” said Aggie; “you come -over to my house and we will have a nice play before the bell rings.” - -Before dark, however, Patty had thought of a way to “get ahead” of -Sarah Adams. This was simply, to take a broom with her when she went to -school the next morning. But a lion in the form of Patty’s mother stood -in the way of her getting a broom; Patty knew she would never allow one -to be taken away from home; if Patty took one she must take it without -permission. Now there were but two brooms in the house; one stood in -the kitchen and was in such constant use that Patty knew it would be -missed long before she could return it; the other was kept in the hall -closet and was used once a week, in sweeping the parlor and “spare -room,” and the day before had been the regular sweeping day. This she -must take if she took either, altho’ she knew she should not, but she -did not allow herself time enough to think about it to be persuaded -out of the notion; she took the broom from the closet, and in the -gathering darkness carried it to a hiding place between the wood shed -and the pig-pen, and then went to bed to be tormented all night with -visions of her mother’s best broom:--an old beggar woman stole it away; -a black witch mounted it, and rode to the moon, never to return; and -lastly, Sarah Adams found it, and knowing Patty intended sweeping with -it burned it up before her very eyes. Patty was glad when morning came, -and she hurried out to assure herself of the safety of the broom, as -soon as she was dressed. When she had eaten her breakfast she started -to school with the broom, and stopped for Aggie Bentley. Aggie found an -old broom which her mother said she might take. They swept and dusted -the room in high glee, and Patty had perched herself upon one of the -front desks, and sat kicking her heels in triumph, when Sarah Adams and -Hattie Bitner entered with the hidden brooms. - -“Needn’t mind sweeping this morning, girls,” said Patty; “and the next -time you hide brooms you’d better hide all in Sagetown.” - -“I’ll pay you up, miss,” said Sarah, when she had recovered from her -astonishment, and she and Hattie threw down their brooms and left the -room in high wrath. - -Some way Patty did not enjoy her half hour play that morning; she was -fearful that she might not be able to get her mother’s broom back into -the house without being discovered, and Sarah’s threat troubled her; -what means Sarah would take to get her into trouble she could not -imagine. - -That evening as Patty sat at home, swinging back and forth in her -little rocking-chair, who should come to make her a visit but Sarah; -that hypocritical young woman was as smiling and as amiable as -possible, but she declined all of Patty’s invitations to “go out and -play;” this made Patty uneasy, she wished Sarah would go home. Pretty -soon Patty’s mother came in and sat down, and Sarah immediately began -talking about school and Miss Kelsey’s plans for the sweeping. Patty -grew still more uneasy and made another effort to get Sarah out of -doors, but when Sarah said-- - -“My mother said she thought it was so queer that Mrs. Curtis should -let Patty take a new broom from home to sweep that dirty school-house -with,”--then Patty resigned herself to her fate. - -“Patty Curtis! you don’t mean to say that you took my best broom to -the school-house,” said Mrs. Curtis, dropping her knitting in her -astonishment. - -“Yes I did,” said Patty; “but I wouldn’t, if that mean thing there -hadn’t hid the brooms.” - -“And I,” said Sarah, “wouldn’t have hid ’em, if you hadn’t been so -stingy as to want all the play-times yourself.” - -“There, that will do for you both,” said Mrs. Curtis. “Patty, you may -get yourself a bowl of bread and milk for your supper, and go to bed -immediately.” - -This, Mrs. Curtis considered a very light punishment; it would have -been much heavier if her motherly indignation had not been a little -stirred against Sarah for playing informer; but to Patty it was hard -enough, for she had intended going out on the common with the girls, -late in the evening, for a game of “black man” by the light of the -rising moon; and as she eat her bread and milk, crying quietly to -herself, she heard Sarah’s taunting voice under the window: - -“Don’t you wish you’d let me sweep, so you could play ‘black man’ -to-night?” - -“Don’t care,” answered Patty; “I had a play when you didn’t, and I’ll -have another to-morrow.” - -So she did, and though Miss Kelsey interfered to prevent Patty from -having a monopoly of the sweeping, still she did it so often that -before the term closed she became a famous sweeper, and her mother -actually allowed her to take charge of the sweeping of the sitting-room -at home, and was not at all sorry that Miss Kelsey had proved such a -skillful tactician. - - - - -A BIRD STORY. - -BY M. E. B. - - - It’s strange how little boys’ mothers - Can find it all out as they do, - If a fellow does anything naughty, - Or says anything that’s not true! - They’ll look at you just a moment - Till your heart in your bosom swells, - And then they know all about it-- - For a little bird tells! - - Now where the little bird comes from, - Or where the little bird goes, - If he’s covered with beautiful plumage, - Or black as the king of the crows, - If his voice is as hoarse as a raven - Or clear as the ringing of bells, - I know not--but this I am sure of-- - A little bird tells! - - The moment you think a thing wicked, - The moment you do a thing bad, - Are angry or sullen or hateful, - Get ugly or stupid or mad, - Or tease a dear brother or sister-- - That instant your sentence he knells - And the whole to mamma in a minute - That little bird tells. - - You may be in the depths of a closet - Where nobody sees but a mouse, - You may be all alone in the cellar, - You may be on the top of the house, - You may be in the dark and the silence, - Or out in the woods and the dells-- - No matter! Wherever it happens - The little bird tells! - - And the only contrivance to stop him, - Is just to be sure what you say-- - Sure of your facts and your fancies, - Sure of your work and your play; - Be honest, be brave, and be kindly, - Be gentle and loving as well, - And then--you can laugh at the stories - The little bird tells! - - - - -A NEW LAWN GAME. - -BY G. B. BARTLETT. - - -A completely new lawn game has just been imported from Germany, which -must soon become a very popular and amusing pastime for old and young, -for the appliances are very simple and any one can play it, while with -practice great skill will be developed. At present there is only one -set of this game in America; but the readers of the WIDE AWAKE will -need to try it but once to appreciate and enjoy it. - - -BOGGIA. - -The game of Boggia requires one black ball, nine white balls, and nine -colored balls. Croquet balls will answer; but those of hard wood are -better, since they are heavier; still if made of light wood, melted -lead can be poured into holes made with a gimlet until they weigh about -one-half pound each. - -Any even number can play, from two to eighteen persons. - -The players are divided into two equal sides. The colored balls are -divided among the players of one side, and the white balls among the -players of the other side. - -At first the players choose by lot which shall have the first roll; -but in all future games the side that wins has the first roll. To make -this choice, the leader of one side holds behind him a colored in one -hand, and a white ball in the other; and the leader of the other side -guesses, right or left. If he guesses the hand which holds the color of -his own side he gains the right to begin the game; if not, the other -side begins. The leader first rolls the black ball on the lawn to such -a distance as he chooses, from a starting-line. Upon this starting-line -every player must place his right foot when he rolls; this line extends -across the lawn at least twenty feet, and the player can roll from any -part of it, as it is often desirable to roll from different angles. - -The leader then rolls a white ball, trying to have it stop as close as -possible to the black ball. - -The leader of the other side then rolls a colored ball; his object -being to come in closer, or to knock away either the black ball or the -white ball. - -The players of each side play alternately--a white and a color--and the -luck constantly changes; for as, at the close of the game, all balls of -one side count which are nearer to the black than any ball of the other -side, a lucky roll may change the whole result by coming in closer, or -by knocking away either black, white, or colored balls. - -Great skill can be used, as, if the ball is too swift, it goes beyond -all the balls unless it hits and scatters them; if too light, it fails -to come in near the black. Great excitement always attends the last -roll, as a good player who knows the ground can often change the whole -aspect of the game for the advantage of his own side, and a careless -one often throws the game into the hands of the opposite by knocking -away the balls belonging to his own side. - -The side which first scores ten wins the game. - - - The pussy cat’s licking her paws: - I wonder what can be the cause! - Naughty cat, have you eaten a dear little bird? - But the big maltese beauty says never a word. - Now Kit, tell the truth while you live in this house-- - What have you been eating? And Pussy says, “_Maowse!_” - -[Illustration: MOTHER PUSSY’S PET.] - - - - -HOW PHILIP SULLIVAN DID AN ERRAND. - -BY MARY DENSEL. - - -Bang, _bang_, _bang!_ went Philip Sullivan’s hammer, as he pounded on -his sled “Chain Lightning.” “Chain Lightning” had needed mending ever -since last winter, but Phil had concluded not to touch it till “just -before the snow came.” - -“Never do to-day what you can put off until to-morrow.” - -The consequence was that the north wind suddenly puffed up a midnight -storm, and Master Phil was awakened one morning by the shouts of the -six Dyke boys, who were coasting merrily down “Sullivan Hill.” - -Phil was out of bed in a twinkling. Ten o’clock found him still working -fiercely on “Chain Lightning,” his glue-pot simmering before the fire -in company with his father’s best chisel and his mother’s machine -oil-can. - -The shouts of the Dyke boys still resounded; and not only their -jubilation but that of forty more coasters drove Phil nearly frantic. - -With all his might Phil worked on, and “Chain Lightning” was beginning -to look as if it might hold its own even among newer sleds, when the -door leading into the library opened softly, and fair-haired Rosabel, -Phil’s sister, appeared on the threshold. At the same moment an -opposite door flew open with a jerk, and there stood Rosabel “done in -sepia,” as it were; little brown Kate, Rosabel’s twin-sister. - -Phil glanced up, and then became more than ever absorbed in his work. -There was a peculiar expression on the twins’ faces. Phil instantly -recognized it. “The _errand_ cast of features,” he grimly called it. - -“Phil, dear,” began Rosabel. - -“Phil, dear,” echoed Kate. - -Phil handled a screw-driver dextrously. - -“Phil, dear, will you please run over to the station and see if my new -skates have come by the twelve-o’clock train? Go when the cars are due, -won’t you?” - -“And Phil, dear,” chimed in Kate, “can’t you manage to go into the city -to-day and call for a roll of music which is to be left for me at Hale -and McPherson’s?” - -Now could anything be more trying to the temper of the average youth -than requests like these, made under the existing circumstances? -Perhaps some of us may find it in our hearts to forgive Phil for -answering with a certain touch of asperity: - -“Don’t ‘Phil dear’ me! I’m not going to the station, and I’m not going -to the city, and--” - -_Bang, bang, bang!_ the hammer expressed the rest of his sentiments. - -Rosabel arched her eyebrows, and mildly withdrew. - -Kate tarried to wheedle the enemy a bit, and, that failing, gave it as -her opinion that boys ought never to have been created. Departing she -closed the door with more force than was strictly needful, and left -Phil alone. - -That individual worked on in an injured and gloomy frame of mind. - -“Mean enough in them to be forever nagging me. Mean enough in me not to -get their skates and music.” - -It was hard for Phil to decide which was the greater wretch, himself -or Kate. Rosabel, he concluded, could never be a “blot on the earth,” -whatever she did. It was Rosabel who had helped him write his -composition on “Spring;” it was Rosabel who knit his mittens; it was -Rosabel who never shirked her share of the stirring when they made -molasses candy. - -The remembrance of Rosabel’s virtues haunted Phil even after “Chain -Lightning” was in order, and he was shooting down “Sullivan Hill,” -lying prone on his sled, with his legs waving in the air. - -Perhaps that was the reason that when his elder brother Will came -hastily up the hill and offered him five cents if he would carry a -bundle to a store next the railway station (you see that Phil was -regarded as the family errand boy), he condescended to saunter in that -direction. Not that he cared for the pennies, although he accepted them -as a token of brotherly esteem. - -He even quickened his pace as a shrill whistle sounded in the distance, -and ended by racing up to the depot just as the twelve-o’clock train -stopped. - -No one seemed to know about Rosabel’s skates. - -“Ask the man in the express office--perhaps they came on an earlier -train,” suggested Fred Rodman, who was standing on the platform. “I’ll -keep your sled for you. Or, see here, just slip the rope through this -iron ring on the rear car.” - -Phil did as he was bidden, and leaving his sharp-shooter tied with a -slip-knot, went into the express office. - -The man in the express office had never heard the proverb concerning -“a place for everything;” or, if he had, knowing it was not among the -Ten Commandments, felt under no obligation to heed it. He remarked that -“somebody had said something about some skates being somewhere,” and -went fumbling among boxes and bundles, exclaiming alternately, “Hi! -here they be,” and “Ho! no they ain’t.” - -[Illustration: NOT GOING TO LOSE “CHAIN LIGHTENING” AT ANY RATE!] - -At last, just as he laid his hand on a queer-looking package, and was -next to sure that here were the skates, the engine bell rang, there was -a slight scurry outside, and the train began to move. - -Phil was out of the depot in a flash. - -“Stop!” he cried; but the locomotive paid no heed. - -Slowly past the platform glided the cars, pulling “Chain Lightning” -behind. - -Almost before he knew what he was doing, Phil had thrown himself on -the sled and grasped its rope. To his horror the slip-knot suddenly -tightened, and “Chain Lightning” was firmly fastened. Every moment the -train quickened its speed. - -I should not dare to tell the rest of this story, were it not true. I -am not “making it up.” It really happened. - -The sled hung on the car. Phil Sullivan clung to the sled. Do you -suppose he would lose “Chain Lightning?” Not he. - -Faster and faster--faster and faster still--dashed on the train. Over -the sleepers bounded “Chain Lightning.” To this side, to that, it -swayed madly. Phil’s grasp never slackened. On they rushed. Phil dared -not roll off the sled now lest he should be killed. It seemed no less -certain death to stay on. - -The engine gave short panting breaths, as if it were frightened, -itself, at the trick it was playing the boy. - -A kindly tree stretched out a limb, but tried in vain to rescue Phil. -The sled bounded far less now as the train whizzed along. The runners -were half an inch from the ground. Held by its strong rope, the -sharp-shooter was like a small tail to a big kite. Cinders flew--the -cars flew--“Chain Lightning” flew--Phil flew. (I am telling you the -truth.) - -It seemed to our friend as if he had been rushing through space ever -since he was born. It seemed as if he had come millions of miles. Would -this awful ride never end? Phil’s fingers were numb, so tightly did -they clasp “Chain Lightning’s” edge. He saw stars before him. - -And now _thump! bump! bump! thump!_ “Chain Lightning” was knocking the -sleepers once more. It might have occurred to Phil that he could hardly -bear this sort of travelling much longer had not his brain been too -dizzy to do much thinking. - -Presently, after another small eternity, with a final shriek the -locomotive drew up in the city depot. - - * * * * * - -An hour later Philip Sullivan entered the paternal mansion. Never a -word did he say in regard to the black-and-blue spots which dotted him -from head to foot, not yet did he feel it necessary to mention that -every bone in his body had an especial and separate ache. - -“I thought I might as well go into town,” he remarked carelessly. -“Here’s your music, Kate. Your skates will probably come to-morrow, -Rosabel.” - -“Well, you are a dear,” began Kate, looking up from her crocheting. But -before she could finish there came a loud ring at the door-bell, and -in rushed Fred Rodman. As he caught sight of Phil, his eyes and mouth -opened wide, and he stared for a full minute. - -At last, “Aren’t you dead?” he gasped. - -“Pho!” said Phil loftily. “I’ve as much right to be living as you, sir.” - -“Well, I never!” said Fred. “I was over to the post-office when the -whistle blew, and came out just in time to see you off, and I raced -most of the way to the city after you, and then I turned round and -raced back to tell your folks!” - -“Pho!” said Phil again. - -We will pass over any family discussion of the incident; but within -an hour one half of the boys in town were relating to the other half -the story of Phil Sullivan’s ride. To be sure the versions differed, -and to this day some of the lads a little out of Phil’s own circle are -convinced he went to town on the cow-catcher, and other some believe -that he rode all the way under a car, sitting on a brace between the -wheels. - -But that evening, Phil much bruised and battered, yet whole in every -limb, told to a select few the full particulars of his journey; and the -facts of the case are as I have here narrated them. - - - - -WINTER WITH THE POETS. - -BY THE EDITOR. - - -Our prose writers have many winter scenes worthy of reading and -remembrance (notably such as are found in the writings of Charles -Dickens and Nathaniel Hawthorne) which might almost be called prose -poems; but to-day we will wander together through the flower gardens of -the real poets, whose eyes were made clearer to see the beauties of the -world around them, by the loving attention they gave to common things. - -There is a rabbinical fable to the effect that Jesus was once passing -along a crowded city street, and that he came to a place where lay, -unsightly, ragged and bruised, a dead dog. The disciples said, “What -does this carrion here? throw it out of the Master’s way.” But the -Master said, “Look what beautiful teeth--they are white as pearls!” - -So the poet finds “nothing common or unclean” in anything that God has -made, and man has not marred; and even, as in the case of the poor, -ill-used animal, finds something left to admire in the wreck and ruin -of former beauty. And though winter wrecks the beauty of the summer, it -has a beauty of its own. - -For a country winter in New England there is no better description than -Whittier’s “Snow-Bound” and for the same season in Old England parts -of Cowper’s “Winter Evening,” “Winter Morning Walk” and “Winter Walk -at Noon.” Longfellow has a description of winter in “Hiawatha” and a -winter storm at sea in the “Wreck of the Hesperus.” - -Shakespeare has scattered references to winter throughout his plays; -but he is rather the poet of human life and society than of inanimate -nature. - -James Thomson, who wrote “The Seasons,” has a fine description of -Winter; and every one should know by heart the first twenty lines of -his “Hymn on the Seasons.” - -Percy Bysshe Shelley has some beautiful lines on a winter’s night; and -Tennyson has many fine lines, “The Death of the Old Year,” and parts of -“In Memoriam” being the finest. - -Would it not be interesting to each one of the readers of the GRAMMAR -SCHOOL to gather together all the references to winter thoughts and -scenery to be found in the writings of their favorite poet? Try and -see! - - - - -BESSIE’S STORY. - -BY FRANK H. CONVERSE. - - -What my own--my true own name may be or may have been, I do not know. -I have a fancy like a dream, that perhaps it has been Adélê. And yet -I cannot say why. My father, the captain, whose daughter I am by -adoption, gave to me the name of Bessie, for his wife, and Luna, for -the moon. Thus within the log-book it is written Bessie Luna Wray. - -Girls that have upon the shore their home can tell to an exactness -what age they have and when their birthdays shall be. But for myself -who have only a home upon the sea, I may know but this--that I have -nearly fifteen years of age, “or thereabouts,” as the captain says. I -have never known of the birthday--only an anniversary. And when I have -forgotten myself of the day of the month on which _that_ happens, I -obtain the “Petrel’s” log-book for the year of eighteen hundred and -sixty-four, where I find this of record: - - “Journal of hemaphrodite brig ‘Petrel,’ Wray, master, from San - Francisco to Honolulu, Dec. 25, 1864. - - “This day begins with clearing weather and light airs from S. E. - Middle part of day wind light and baffling. At 3 P. M. passed a - quantity of floating wreck stuff. Moon fulls at 11. P. M. At 11.30 - P. M., Lat. by obs. 30° 15´, hove to, and picked up a boat of French - build with ‘Toulon’ written in pencil on the seat, and a female child - about one year old wrapped in a capote such as is worn by the pilots - of Dieppe. Got under way at 12 M., course W. b. N. Call the child - Bessie Luna Wray. So ends this twenty-four hours.” - -Such is all I know of my beginning of life. Excepting that only for -the uncommon brightness of the moon, the lookout had not seen the -drifting boat. It is said in all the books I have read, of the babe who -is discovered, that it smiles sweetly in the face of its benefactor. -But the captain tells me often that I rent the air with crying till I -was black in the face, until, arriving on the deck of the “Petrel,” -old Candace, the negress, took me in her embrace. She it was who was -stewardess, with her husband Jim (also of color) as cook. - -The captain would at once have had me fed with Port wines, condensed -milk, canned soups, and like nourishment. But Candace said “no,” and -gave me of food in small quantities. “Dat ’ar little stummick mus’n be -filled to depletion,” is that which the captain repeats as her words to -him. - -Remaining on board, she had a care of me for four years. I would not be -on the shore for even an hour. I cried bitterly when out of sight of my -captain. Again we had a stewardess who was English, with her husband -to cook. She taught me my sewing, and a prayer to say to the good God. -But as I became more old in years the captain gave to me my instruction -in books. He learned me of many things useful, and it is said of me -that I have a marvellous power to attain in study. At my present age -I am thin--_svelte_, as old M. Jacques, the former mate, says--with a -complexion of brunette, and eyes and hair which are black. This it is, -with the readiness which I had in learning the French language of M. -Jacques, which gives me to think that my mother at least was French. -The accent and words seemed to always be known to me as of a dream. - -But the captain will have it to say that I am a gift of Christmas from -his wife who is with the good God. Be that as it may, I am to him as -his very, very own, and he to me as father and mother in one, “the -child of his old age,” he insists; for though straight and erect as the -mast of the “Petrel,” he is in age sixty years. - -He has provided for me everything of comfort and elegance that a young -girl could wish. For the “Petrel” is a small brig which goes over all -the world where a keel may float, in order to trade. It may be to -purchase shells in the Indian ocean, furs in St. Petersburg, fruits -at Havana, spices in Ceylon, silks at Nankin, diamonds or ostrich -feathers at Cape Town, knick-knacks in London, or _bijouterie_ at -Havre--anywhere and everywhere that a bargain may be made, we go. And -in every port the ladies of the consignee, or the American consul, will -have me at their homes, and are _so_ good to me. They take me to the -galleries of art and places of interest. I attend the service of the -church with them, and at their homes I meet people who are delightful. -Thus I have learned to love things which are beautiful, and the captain -is only too willing to get for me what I desire. He has had built for -me into the cabin a little cabinet organ. We took as passengers to -the Sandwich Islands last year, a good missionary, and his wife, who -accompanied him, taught me the music, and to sing and play, so that I -am never ennuyéed at sea. I have a great abundance of books; I have -my music, my studies (navigation is among them), my sewing, a canary -bird, and a pot of ivy--beside my journal from which these pages -are recorded--what would you more? It does not matter that we meet -storms--sometimes terrible ones. I do not say it to boast, but I have -not anything of fear within. I love to be on deck; I have the long oil -coat which buttons close about me like that of the captain, and boots -of rubber. Oftentimes the captain permits that I give the orders for -taking in the light sails, or tacking the brig. And I can steer with -the wheel as well as old Dan himself, or trace the vessel’s course upon -the chart when I have figured the reckoning. - -You of the young ladies who murmur because of the space of closets, -should visit _my_ room. It has a length of ten feet, a breadth of six. -My berth, with three drawers beneath it, takes much of the room. But I -have a tiny wash-stand, a small chair, and a trunk also. - -Pictures too. The one, “Christ Stilling the Tempest,” is a small -painting in oil, which was a present to myself from a lady in Rome -whose husband is a great artist. - -Opposite hangs a photograph of the “Immaculate Conception,” also a -present from a lady in Liverpool, Mrs. Fancher. There is fastened to -the wall a swinging lamp of solid silver. A diver of the submarine -brought it up from the wreck of a steam yacht which, belonging to Omar -Pacha, was lost with all those on board in the Persian Gulf. The man -gave it as pay for his passage to Foochow. But imagine to yourself the -curtains of my berth being of silk damask worked with gold thread! They -are of much value, yet when one asks of their price, the captain says, -with his laugh, that he bought them for a song. It was while we were -loading with a few teas at Foochow. A man habited as a sailor came on -board at the evening, and offered this for fifty dollars. He had been -a runaway from a ship, and seeking the country, was impressed into the -army of Chinese insurgents. They had sacked the emperor’s country seat -at Ningpo, and this was torn from the hangings of the couch of the -princess--or he thus said. The captain told him he could not give but -twenty dollars, though it was of more worth. But the man said “no,” and -went out. It was then, thinking that he had gone, I began to sing and -play the song of Adelaide Proctor, “The Lost Chord,” which I so love. -And the strange man came back and began to cry! He said to the captain -if I would sing it once more, he should have the stuff at his own -price, which I did willingly, and thus it was purchased. - -My book-shelves are of sandal-wood inlaid with ebony. They were given -me in Madras by the merchant with whom the captain has done business -these many years. The ewer and jug in my wash-stand are of bronze. They -were discovered from a tomb in the Island of Cyprus. - -But it is in especial of one voyage--the last--of which I have to tell, -for it came near to become an adventure. We were bound to Lisbon, -seeking a cargo of the light wines for the market of New York, and -the captain had with him for the purchase three thousand dollars in -gold. He had shipped for the voyage a different chief mate, and also -two men of the crew who came on board with him. It happens to me to -notice small things, and I remember that I looked with surprise at the -familiarity which these common sailors had secretly with the first -mate. Old Jacques would hardly have spoken to a sailor even upon the -land, except in the way of duty. I had for this Mr. Atkin, as he called -himself, a strong dislike. His face had a smooth badness, but he was -fluent of tongue with an appearance of education, and the captain -smiled at what he said was my childish prejudice. Yet the good God has -given me to read the human face, and I often have chosen out those from -the crew who I felt would make trouble to the officers, and was seldom -with mistake. - -The second officer was Waters, a man very young but brave and active. -He too regarded this Atkin with suspicion. “Tell your father, Miss,” he -said to me in private, “to keep his weather eye open, and look out for -Atkin.” - -The captain did but laugh when I told him, and bade me not trouble my -little head with fears. But I found him watchful in a quiet way after -that, though there happened nothing for some time of suspicion. - -I find as I copy from my journal that I do not sometimes frame these -sentences in the exact order that I read them in books. I cannot seem -to readily correct myself, so I have made a point to put down all the -conversation which I remember, exactly as it was spoken by those of -whom I shall write. It will be a good practice for me. I began to keep -my journal three years since, with view of having a better command of -language. - -We finally made sight of the Teneriffe peak among the Canary Islands. -It rises many thousand feet above the sea, and for miles is visible in -the clear weather. - -That night the winds died away, and we were becalmed, and _so_ warm -as it was! I could not sleep, and in the first watch--that of the -captain--I went upon deck. Old Dan is a sailor who has been at sea with -us a great many years, and the only one that the captain wishes me to -speak with when he is not present. - -So after I had chatted with the captain a little, he went forward a -moment with a command for the second mate. - -“How do you head, Dan?” I asked of him idly. - -“Mostly all round the compass, there being no steerage way to speak of, -Miss,” he made answer. - -I yawned, for I had a strong desire to sleep, yet cared not to go to -the close air of below. - -All at once, I thought of the life-boat which swings at the “Petrel’s” -stern, covered with canvas, and how delightful to be in it were it -possible. If there came a breath of wind I should feel it there; and -remembering that I had seen a torn fore-royal put into the boat a few -days previous, I made up my mind what to do. “Look you, Dan,” I said, -“I am going to sleep in the life-boat till you shall come to the wheel -again in the morning watch from twelve till four, and then you can call -me.” - -“Very well, Miss,” he made reply, though he regarded me with a little -doubt, “only maybe Cap’n Wray wouldn’t think--” - -“He need know nothing of it,” I said with impatience, for I have a will -headstrong, which often causes me after-sorrow. And without other words -I slipped myself within the boat, pulling the cover in place with care. - -“Where is Miss Wray?” I heard the captain to ask as he came aft a -moment after. - -“She’s turned in, sir,” was the answer of Dan. - -Then the captain began his walk of the quarter-deck with vain -whistlings for the breeze. - -But it was charming laying upon the old sail listening to the twitter -of Mother Cary’s chickens, and the cool swash of the sea about the -rudder. - -It is not a wonder, then, that I fell into fast sleep, only to awaken -by the bell striking “one, two, three, four,” which I knew had the -meaning of two o’clock of the morning, and I had some regret at my -foolish whim, for it had become quite cool and damp. Yet I knew I might -not release myself until four o’clock, when old Dan again had the wheel. - -I raised a corner of the cover and peeped out. Spanish Joe stood with -one hand upon the wheel, looking sideways in the half darkness of the -night. The light from the binnacle was upon his swarthy face with -strength, and I told myself, with a little shiver, that it was the face -of a brigand such as I had gazed upon in some gallery of pictures. But -figure to yourself my feelings as Mr. Atkin, after listening a moment -at the open window of the state-room of the captain, came directly -behind the wheel, and seating himself upon the taffrail so near that I -could touch him, began with an absent drumming of his fingers upon the -cover of the boat itself! - -“Everybody is sound asleep but you and I, Joe,” he said in half a -whisper. - -“_Bueno_,” was the reply of Joe; “an’ now, s’pose you say what you have -think ’bout us try to get dis money you tell us of, eh?” - -“Well, Joe,” he answers, and you cannot imagine to yourself how like -oil was his voice, “I’ve laid the thing out about this way. To-morrow -night when Dan is steering and the Swede on the lookout, we’ll give -young Waters a little pleasant surprise, and when he comes to himself, -he’ll find that his hands are lashed and something over his mouth to -keep him from making a noise--savey, Joe?” - -I trembled in every limb, and was with a cold perspiration on my face. -Had I been one who swoons readily I should have fainted. But at once I -recovered myself. “Be brave, Bessie,” I repeated to my heart: “it is -for the dear captain’s sake.” - -“Then we’ll get the captain out,” the wretch continued, as Spanish Joe -made a small nod of the head, “and serve him so, and if the cook, or -Dan, or the Swede make a fuss (which they won’t dare do) they’ll see -that the balance of power is with us, for we’ve got pistols, and they -haven’t. Eh, Joe?” - -“Then w’at?” asked Joe with much of eagerness. - -“Why, then,” Mr. Atkin goes on with the ease that he would remark upon -the weather, “we’ll put the long boat over the side, and politely -invite Captain Wray, Miss Wray, Mr. Waters and the cook or one of the -men to step in. They can shape their course for the Azores, only thirty -miles away, Joe, and we’ll shape ours for Europe.” - -“But will you?” I thought within myself with my teeth clenched. - -“I’ll take command, of course,” thus the bad man continued; “and when -we are near the land we’ll rig up the life-boat here”--and he thumped -it with his hand--“take some provisions, water _and_ the money--” - -“One tousan’ apiece,” breaks in the sailor. - -“Take the money,” Mr. Atkin went on as if Joe had not interrupted; “and -when we get ashore, every man will take his share, Joe--and _scatter!_” -he said with a flourish of his fingers. - -“But the brig shall find harbor too--they gives alarm and sends after -us,” said Joe. - -“Not after I have fixed the rudder and taken away the compass, my good -Joe,” said the smooth Mr. Atkin; “so now you can let Jerry know what is -expected of him, and to-morrow night--” - -He made no finish of his words, though, but rising, walked slow away. - -Ah, how slowly passed the time! but finally, Joe, with yawns, struck -the eight bells, and the wheel was relieved by old Dan. - -Surely I lost no time in coming from my hiding-place, and I sought the -captain, who, without removing his clothing, had reclined himself upon -a lounge in the cabin. I revealed to him in whispers that which I had -heard. - -“My brave little girl!” he said, as I had made an end of my story; but -I could not think what there was of bravery in laying _perdu_, and -listening to conspirators. Had I not given him counsel, though, I think -he would have been for dashing upon the three who thus conspired, and -smiting them hip and thigh. But I told him to communicate in secret -with Mr. Waters, and they two together might make plans of strategy -which would avail without bloodshed; and he did so. - -It was unfortunate that the captain was entirely without firearms of -any kind. I think I myself would have dared to use one in such an -emergency. But he whispered to me in the morning that he had that which -should serve the same end; and with a beating heart I awaited the -result. - -The calm remained into the forenoon of the next day. The sea was like -oily glass, without a ripple as far as one could view, and the sun -made itself hardly to be endured, so fierce did it beat down upon the -scorched deck, in the seams of which the pitch fairly melted. The sails -hung without motion against the mast, and the wheel was idle. - -With a heart fast beating I followed the captain, who had told me to be -without fear, upon the deck. - -“I wish we had a couple of the turtle that are laying round so plenty, -asleep on the water, this morning,” said the captain, as if to myself, -who, stood by him, though in a careless way. - -I had no meaning of his words, but Atkin, who was near, looked at the -black specks upon the water some distance away, with interest. - -“Yes, sir,” he made reply, “there’s always lots of them about the -Azores in calm weather--nice soup they make, too.” - -“You might take the longboat, if you like, Mr. Atkin,” said the captain -with a yawn, as if it had but then occurred to him, “and with your -watch take two or three--it would be a change from salt beef.” - -“Very well, sir,” Atkin replies; for this man was a lover of nice -food--a _gourmand_. “Here, you Joe and Jerry, get the boat over the -side.” - -[Illustration: THE TABLES ARE SUDDENLY TURNED ON THE CONSPIRATORS.] - -I began to guess that there was a purpose in this. I saw that the -captain had, under a mask of carelessness, a face of anxiety, and -that the hand that held his glasses with which he viewed the horizon, -trembled never so little as he paced backward and forward while the two -men were putting over the boat. When all was ready, Mr. Atkin in the -stern-sheets pushed off from the vessel’s side. - -“Stop a bit!” now called the captain, as I watched with strong anxiety -his face. There was a stern ring in his voice which I had seldom heard. -And at the same time I saw Mr. Waters, Dan and the Swede come from the -cook’s galley with buckets of hot water which they brought to the rail. - -“Well?” asked Atkin with inquiry. And he motioned the two men to cease -from rowing. - -“You see Teneriffe peak, do you?” again spoke the captain. - -“Why, yes, sir,” was the answer of Atkin: “what then?” - -“Just this,” said the captain; “my advice to you, you scoundrels, is -that you pull your prettiest for the Azore Islands; for while my name -is Wray not one of you ever shall set foot again of this brig’s deck!” - -Ah, then what oaths! what cries of rage! And so desperate was this -villain Atkin that he drew a pistol and commanded his men to pull back, -which they did with hesitation. But they were scarce within reach when -old Dan discharged the contents of his hot-water bucket full at them. -I clapped my hands. I could not resist. For Atkin caught enough of it -on his neck and shoulder to cause him to fall backward over the thwart -with a roar, and by accident, discharge his pistol in the air. - -Then it was they saw they were entrapped, and pulled hastily away to a -distance, where they laid upon their oars with angry words each to the -other. - -And oh, how with eagerness we watched for a breeze, which came not -until in the late afternoon. But when once more the ripple of the water -made around the bows, and the sails swelled out with a wind from the -southwest, I breathed with freeness, and we all thanked the good God as -we watched the boat of the conspirators to disappear in the distance. - -There were left on board the captain, second mate, two men, the cook -and stewardess. And Captain Wray said I should be his second mate, Mr. -Waters acting as chief officer. - -Many times I stood at the wheel for three and four hours before we -reached Lisbon. But the “Petrel,” which has but a tonnage of one -hundred and sixty, was easily handled, and the good God gave us -favoring winds, as also fair weather; so with much fatigue, but -otherwise well, we finally reached our port in safety. - -The captain sometimes speaks as one who is getting too old for the life -of the ocean--in particular of late does he say this. And he has made -hints at a home upon the land, with a house which shall look far out -over the sea, and be ever within the sound of its voice. It may be that -after a time, and with him, I should be content thus to live. But as -now, I regard it with dread. I had somehow dreamed of a continuation -of this life which so delights me, and some day to be buried under the -blue waves. But we shall see. - - - The foregoing story is entirely true in all its essential features. I - was somewhat acquainted with Miss Wray, and it was with sorrow that in - the list of disasters two winters ago, I read that the brig “Petrel” - was lost in the English Channel, with all on board, in a December gale. - - F. H. C. - - - - -A DIFFERENCE OF OPINION - -BY THE EDITOR. - - -WINTER TO SUMMER. - - “_I_ would not be so friendly with the sun;-- - Hot-headed fellow, prying everywhere! - _My_ flowers brightly bloom when he is gone, - And sparkle in the clear and frosty air.” - - -SUMMER TO WINTER. - - “Winter, I own your icy blossoms fair, - But cold and white, unlike the rainbow hues - That paint _my_ flowers--and who would ever care - For flowers less lasting than my morning dews?” - - - - -THE GRASS, THE BROOK, AND THE DANDELIONS. - -BY MARGARET EYTINGE. - - -The sparkling, babbling, baby-brook that ran gayly through the meadow -whispered to the sleeping grass, one lovely spring morning, just as -dawn was breaking, “Wake up, wake up, and see what May has scattered -over you.” And the grass, awaking from a pleasant dream of summer, -beheld a number of bright, yellow, star-shaped dandelions, smiling in -the early sunshine. - -“Welcome a thousand times,” said its many blades in a chorus of -delight. “How sweet and fresh you look, with the dew-drops clinging to -your dainty petals of shining gold. But you may well look bright and -happy,” they continued in less cheerful tones, “for you are flowers, -and flowers so beloved by the sun that he paints you his own beautiful -color.” - -“And are _you_ not happy, too?” asked the dandelions, in innocent -surprise. - -“Yes, we are happy,” answered the grass, with a little sigh; “but we -would be _so_ much happier if we were flowers!” - -“_We_ are nothing, you know, but common grass, with no hope of being -anything better.” - -“No change for us. No budding and turning into sweet, blue, white, -pink, or golden blossoms.” - -“Grass we are, and grass we must remain until the end of our days.” - -“For shame!” cried the dandelions, their honest faces all aglow. -“‘Common grass,’ indeed! Dear May told us all about you, and the -blissful mission that is yours, only yours, before she dropped us -here.” - -“_You_ have been chosen to clothe the whole earth, while the flowers -you envy are only the ornaments that cling to the lovely robes you -weave.” - -“Surely you would not have been so chosen if you were not beautiful, -and _most_ beautiful.” - -“Why are we never called so, then?” asked the grass. “Even the children -never notice us; but mark our words, the moment they see _you_, they’ll -shout, ‘O, the pretty, pretty dandelions!’” - -“They don’t call us ‘pretty’--O, no, indeed!” - -“Nothing is ever said about _us_.” - -“We’re _grass_, that’s all. No one ever gathers us.” - -“We are never made into posies or worn in waving ringlets.” - -“Nobody admires us and nobody praises us.” - -“Not so, not so,” murmured the brooklet, soft and low, and its words -all flowed in tune and rhyme. “_I’ve_ sung your praises many a time. -And bird and bee oft tell to me, as through the meadow and field I -pass, how much they love the beautiful grass. So don’t get blue, -whatever you do, for green’s the color, dear grass, for you. And, -believe me, everywhere you grow, a joy you bring, I _know_ ’tis so. And -now, I pray, bend over this way, and take the kiss I have for you.” - -The grass bent gracefully toward the brook, and took not one, but three -kisses, and then the chattering little thing went dancing on its way. - -Early that evening, as the setting sun was sinking slowly in the -west, a strong, sunburnt young fellow, with a merry twinkle in his -bright brown eyes, came into the meadow, and began cutting some -sods,--whistling as he worked,--and packing them away in a wheelbarrow -he had brought with him. - -The grass that had talked with the dandelions, and been kissed by the -brook in the morning, was the last to be cut, and so was placed upon -the top of the load. - -“O, what can this mean?” asked its many tiny blades, _this_ time in a -chorus of sorrow. “Why are we taken from our home? Alas! we never knew -how much we loved our beautiful meadow until now, when we are leaving -it forever. Where can we be going?” - -But just then the man took up the handles of the wheelbarrow, and the -grass only had time to wave a last farewell as he trundled it away. - -“Farewell,” called the dandelions; “farewell,” murmured the brook; and -“farewell,” sighed the grass that was left behind. - -The young man wheeled the barrow into the front yard of a newly-built -little cottage on the other side of the road. - -There was here no sign of anything green, but the brown earth had been -dug and nicely raked, and the grass heard it saying softly to itself -in joyful tones, “O, now I shall be dressed at last--here comes the -beautiful, friendly grass to cover me.” - -Then the grass thought of what the dandelions had said. - -Down went the sods on the ground, and away went the barrow for some -more; and again and again it went, until at least a dozen loads had -been brought; and then, taking off his coat, the very brown young man, -whistling merrily all the time, began to make a grass plot. - -Soon all the sods were put down; and the tiny garden commenced already -to look bright and cheerful. - -“Jenny!” called the brown-faced, brown-eyed, brown-haired (_wasn’t_ he -brown?) gardener, as he took off his hat to wipe his brow. - -A rosy-cheeked, blue-eyed young woman came to the cottage door in -answer to his call, with a rosy-cheeked, blue-eyed baby girl in her -arms. “O, the beautiful grass!” cried she, when she saw what had been -done; and, “Pretty, pretty!” said the baby girl, clapping her fat, -dimpled hands. - -Then the grass thought of what the brook had sung. - -“It makes the place look pleasant at once,” said the man, leaning -on his spade and looking smilingly at his work. “But just wait till -we have a good shower, and then it will be as green as--as--green -as--well, as green as grass, for I don’t know anything greener,” he -added, laughing. “And I say, Jenny, what a splendid place it’ll be for -baby to tumble about on! You can latch the gate, and then she can roll -about here as much as she pleases--bless her little heart!” - -“Bess ’er ittie heart!” echoed baby, with funny gravity. - -“Yes, indeed,” answered the happy mother, kissing the soft, sweet red -mouth of her darling. “She’ll have many a merry hour here, with the -daisies and dandelions. How thankful we ought to be,” she went on a -moment after, her face growing serious with a feeling of gratitude, -“to Our Father in Heaven for covering the earth with such a lovely -garment--so soft for the weary feet, so refreshing to the tired eyes! -And do you know, Ralph, I never feel so sorry for the poor in great -cities as I do in summer, when I think of them shut in tall, dreary -brick houses, from the windows of which they can see nothing but -paving-stones, no beautiful grass, or else such little struggling -patches that the sight makes them sadder than ever.” - -“There, what did we tell you?” asked a voice so tiny that only the -grass heard--and lo! a dandelion that had clung to its friends, and so -been carried along to share their new abode. - -“Yes--yes, you were right,” answered the grass. “We see how blessed we -are, and _now_ we wouldn’t change places with the sweetest flowers that -ever bloomed.” - -[Illustration] - - - - -THE BIRDS’ HARVEST. - -BY MRS. J. D. CHAPLIN. - - -If “Restwood,” the little country-house to which we fly from the heat, -and dust, and toil of the great city, were only large enough, we would -invite all the young “Wide Awakes” to gather there. We would show them -such scenery; we would wander with them through the deep pine-forest, -whose whisperings are mingled with the wild roar of the dashing sea, -and take them to sail in our fairy-like boat, over a bay that cannot be -outshone by even the lovely Italian waters. - -Near us are rich country squires, in great, square, white houses, where -their fathers lived and died; farmers, who fight manfully against what -inlanders call sterility, making fruitful the very sands by their -energy; and a few retired city gentlemen, who fish, and sail, and hunt, -and read, and ride, and eat, and sleep. - -But the greatest among all these, a few years ago,--he may prove in the -coming day one of the greatest in the kingdom of heaven,--was a tall, -frail young man, whom his neighbors regarded as deficient in intellect. -Everybody is weak in some direction. A wise man has remarked, that -no one since the fall, when all humanity lost its balance, has been -perfectly sane. It is sometimes very hard to tell who, taking all -things into account, are the “weaker;” but there is little doubt that a -jury of wise men would have counted our friend Jotham Belden among them. - -What little balance-wheel was missing in that mind, He who made it -only knows; but we rejoice that, while He withheld some powers common -to most men, He also bestowed on him what He withholds from many--a -powerful memory, and a delicately refined taste, and a strong sense of -right. - -Jotham was no pauper weakling. He was the cherished son of an honorable -widow, who had ample means to gratify all his innocent desires; who -speaks of him now with a sigh as well as a smile, and tells how he was -the fairest and brightest of her fold, till the blight fell on him, -and he rose from his sick bed shattered in body, and with a cloud over -his mind. “He was never again the same Joe, whose bright speeches and -merry pranks had been the pride of the farm-house, and the amusement of -the village,” she tells you. - -The Scotch have this beautiful saying: “The feckless (witless) are -God’s peculiar care.” And it seemed as if this blighted one, Joe -Belden, were, indeed, His peculiar favorite; as if, in the furnace of -pain, with his worldly wisdom had also been consumed all of meanness, -and selfishness, and hardness. - -Jotham grew up very watchful of the interests of all about him. No -fellow-being was too low or too sinful to claim his pity; no creature -of God too mean to share his love and protection. Being weak in body, -he had never toiled for his bread. When in the house, he read, in -stammering accents, to his mother, held the yarn while she wound it, -and performed any little task she required. This all done, he would -stroll out, as he said, to see that all was right in town. He would go -to a house where there was sickness, look anxiously up at the windows, -and hang patiently round the gate till spoken to. Then he would ask, -“Want anybody to go for the doctor? Want any jelly? Want burdocks, or -horseradish, or anything?” - -If sent for the doctor, or allowed to dig herbs for the sufferer, he -was the happiest man in town; if nothing was wanted there, he would -wander off to the lonely poor-house--a long, red building, in a barren -waste, looking as if erected to teach men and women that they had no -business to be old and poor, and that they must be punished for it. -Here his were like angels’ visits in the joy they brought. His pockets -were an unfathomable depth; heavy with jack-knives, gimlets, screws, -nails, buttons, keys, chalk, cinnamon, cloves, and lozenges, and the -thousand innumerable trifles which become treasures in such a blank as -this poor-house was. - -Jotham’s coming made more commotion than a peddler’s; for although he -brought far less stores, either in quantity or quality, they could get -his as they could not the other’s, for want of money. Newspapers, -tracts, and, occasionally, a book, were among his gifts; and perhaps He -who seeth not as man seeth, regarded and blessed these weak efforts as -He does not always the gold and the silver which rich men cast into the -treasury. - -One spring day, after an unusually severe winter, Jotham presented -himself before his mother in a blue farm-frock, with his pants tucked -into a pair of two capacious cowhide boots. - -“Why, my son, are you going to work?” the old lady asked, in surprise. - -“Yes, Hans has plowed the three-cornered field for me, and I’m going to -sow grain myself,” he cried, triumphantly. - -“But that’s poor soil, dear boy, and it’s far from the house. There are -stones there, and you cannot gather your crop if any grows,” said his -mother. - -“They’ll gather the crops themselves, mother; they don’t need any -sickle, nor any one to teach them. God teaches them how to get in their -harvest,” was Jotham’s reply. - -“Whom are you talking about, Jotham,” asked his mother, in surprise. - -“Of God’s birds, mother. The men said at the store last night, that -lots of birds died round there in the fall and spring--starved to -death, and all the grain is God’s. I’m going to sow a field on purpose -for them, and nobody shall reap it but them. I love them because God -loves them. I’ll feed them as he feeds me.” - -Tears filled her eyes as she laid her hand tenderly on the brown head -of her smitten son. Was she not happier than many a mother whose bright -boy has wandered far from innocence and truthfulness? - -One day, not long after this, Jotham’s minister saw him walking over -the fields in a strange, circuitous manner, describing curves and -angles like a drunken man. Waiting till he came up to the road, the -gentleman asked, “What makes you walk in that way, Jotham?” - -“For fear I’ll step on the ant-hills, sir. There never were so many -ants before, sir; the fields and the roads are full of their little -houses. They built them grain by grain; and what would God think of me -if I trod on them just for carelessness,--as if a giant should tear our -house down to amuse himself, or because he didn’t care! You know, sir,” -he added, in a whisper, looking reverently up to the skies, “He hadn’t -any home down here, though the foxes and the birds had; and He’s very -careful of all homes now,--homes are such beautiful things, sir.” - -“God bless you, dear boy,” said the minister. “It was for Christ’s sake -you cast seed broadcast over that rocky field, for His sake that you -turned your foot away from the home of the poor ant; and for this love -He will never leave you hungry or homeless.” - -“Thank you, sir,” was the innocent reply of poor Jotham. - -“God’s birds” gathered one harvest under the eye of their grateful -patron, and then he was called away from his simple work. - -His step had long been growing weaker, and the hectic burning more -brightly in his cheek, when, one evening, as he lay on the lounge -beside his mother, in light slumber, he called her, and said, “Did you -hear that, mother?” - -“No, Jotham. What do you hear?” - -“The fluttering of a great many wings--birds of every color; and all -the other creatures I have loved, are enjoying themselves in the -sunshine. The black ants have all turned to gold, and all the other -creatures that men hate. I hear a voice, mother--hark! ‘Ye are of more -value than many sparrows. Go to the ant; consider her ways.’ I never -hurt anything God made--did I, mother?” - -“No, my child.” - -“Well, I told Him so, and He smiled on me.” - -“You’ve been dreaming, Jotham,” said his mother, tenderly. - -“Have I?” he asked; and it is no matter whether his vision was what we -call “dreaming,” or not; he had dealt lovingly with the weak things -of God, and was now receiving His approval, as “faithful over a few -things.” - -Before day dawned Jotham’s weak powers were expanding in the warmth of -God’s love, and he is now, for aught we know, one of the greatest in -the kingdom of heaven. - -Many summers have brought birds and flowers since then; but if you -should pass Willow Brook Farm to-day, you would see a wild-looking crop -of grain growing rank and free in a three-cornered field, off to the -east of the house. Perhaps you would also see an aged woman standing in -the door-way, shading her eyes with her hand, as she looks off on this -little memorial crop which she has caused to be planted every year, for -the sake of him who planted it once “for Christ’s sake.” - - - - -BIRDS’-NEST SOUP. - -BY ELLA RODMAN CHURCH. - - -Every one thinks of China when birds’-nest soup is mentioned--it seems -so naturally to belong with stewed snails, fricasseed rats, and other -delicacies of that sort; and the Chinese are very large consumers of -this strange dish, but they are not the only ones. - -The nests from which the soup is made are found in Borneo, Java, and -other warm regions, and are the dwelling-houses of the edible or -esculent swallow. They are not made, like other nests, of moss, leaves, -and twigs, as not much soup could be extracted from such things, but -the substance is like gelatine, and is thought to proceed from the -body of the bird--just as the web does from that of the spider, or the -cocoon from the silk-worm. - -When the swallows’ houses are new and fresh they are snowy white, and -so delicate and pretty, that they look quite good enough to eat. This -is the kind that the Chinese are extravagantly fond of, and they pay -enormous prices for them. But the sun and wind soon darken them, and a -family of swallows at housekeeping do not keep them in very nice order; -so that, before they are fit for soup, they have to be cleaned and -bleached. - -The airy swallows, who do not think anything of precipices, and never -trouble their heads about the soup business, build their nests in -such dangerous caves, often hanging directly over the sea, that the -people who gather them do it at the risk of their lives; and this makes -birds’-nest soup a very expensive dish. The nests are very clear and -beautiful, and so transparent that, when held to the light, pictures -placed on the other side can be seen through them. Some of them are -shaped like clam and oyster shells, and much thicker at the end that is -fastened to the rock. - -The outside is in layers; but the inside shows the glutinous threads of -which they are made, and which exposure to the air has made as hard as -isinglass. These nests are so shallow, that they do not seem capable of -holding either birds or eggs, one of them measuring only two inches in -length, one and three quarters in breadth, and half an inch in depth. -It is said, however, that the building of one nest will keep a pair of -swallows hard at work for two months; it is well, therefore, that the -little laborers do not know that they are not building houses but soup. - -There are four different kinds of swallows that make these gelatinous -nests; and the opening to the cave where they are built is always taken -possession of by a swallow that mixes moss with the gelatine, and tries -to drive the soup swallow away. But they fight sturdily for their -beloved caves, and even attempt to knock down the mixed nests with -stones. - -The people of Borneo, where these nests are found in the greatest -quantities, have many singular stories about their origin; and perhaps -the most interesting of these is the account of the hungry little boy -to whom no one would give anything to eat. - -This little boy was taken by his father from one Dyak village to -another, called Si-Lébor; and as the journey was long, they arrived -tired and hungry. It was a large village, with plenty of Dyaks in it; -and the chief of the tribe brought refreshments for the father, but -gave the poor child nothing. The dishes must have been served in hotel -fashion, just enough for one; for it did not take the poor little -traveler long to see that he was to go hungry. The narrative says that -“he felt much hurt;” which he undoubtedly did, and began to cry. - -Instead, however, of appealing to his selfish father for a share of the -viands, he made quite a little speech to the chief and his followers:-- - -“To my father,” said he, “you have given food, the _prīok_ of rice is -before him, the fatted pig has been killed--everything you have given -him. Why do you give me nothing?” - -But people who keep their enemies’ heads in their houses, in ornamental -rows, as these Dyaks did, cannot be very tender-hearted; and the -moanings of a hungry little boy were nothing more to _them_ than the -buzzing of a fly. The child cried and cried; but his father placidly -pursued his way through the rice and the pig; while the others probably -continued their conversation, or stared stolidly at nothing in -particular. - -After a while the poor little neglected boy became quiet, and seemed to -have forgotten about being hungry. He even amused himself with a dog -and a cat, which he placed together on a mat round which all the people -were seated in Dyak fashion. The cat and the dog, guided by the boy, -cut up such queer antics, that every one burst out laughing. - -But a spell was working against them for their cruelty. The boy was -protected by the evil spirits; and soon the sky grew black, and fearful -gusts of wind rushed over the place. Then came such awful peals of -thunder and lurid flashes of lightning, while the ground beneath them -shook and rumbled, that the whole universe seemed breaking up. - -The darkness was frightful; and the dazzling flashes of lightning only -showed the fearful changes that were taking place. The village, with -its houses, melted away; and, with the inhabitants, were changed into -masses of stone. Not one was left alive, except the boy; and it must -have been a long time before he got anything to eat. - -He went back to his native village, and lived to be respected as the -chief of his tribe; it is not probable that any one ever neglected him -again in the matter of rice and fatted pigs. Indeed, one would suppose, -after that lesson, a constant guard of watchers would be kept on a -sharp lookout for hungry little boys. - -But to come to the birds’ nests. Many years after this particular -little boy had died an old and honored chief, a young chief, who was -his lineal descendant, had a remarkable dream. In this dream, he -was told that he and his tribe would find great riches if they went -to Si-Lébor, the petrified village. They started the next day; and, -searching carefully about among the rocks, they came to an extensive -cave. They entered it with lighted torches, and found it full of the -famous edible birds’ nests. - -“Ah!” said they, delighted, “this is our portion, instead of that which -was denied to our ancestor; his due was refused then, it has now been -given to us his descendants; this is our ‘_balas_’ (revenge).” - -The birds’ nests were brought out of the cave by thousands; and thus -they found their treasure. These Si-Lébor caves are still considered -the richest; and the tribes who own them, the descendants of the hungry -little boy, are the most prosperous and respected in all the region -round. - -[Illustration: “THEY SAY YOU ARE THE FELLOW THAT MADE SO MUCH TROUBLE -IN KANSAS.”] - - - - -THE STORY OF TWO FORGOTTEN KISSES. - -BY KITTY CLOVER. - - -[Illustration] - - When little Dimple Dumpling, one chill fall evening, - Was tucked up, all in white, within his downy bed, - His mamma quite forgot to come and kiss him, - And in the morning, too, forgot to come, ’tis said:-- - Of course ’tis strange that two forgotten kisses - Should make such mischief in the house in just one night; - But when Boy Dumpling woke up in the morning, - His lips, they say, had lost their sweet, his eyes their bright, - And he, who’d always been a darling, - He fell at once with nurse to quarreling. - - [Illustration] - - He would not wear his scarlet frock, - Although the morn was chill and frosty; - And off he kicked his sky-blue sock, - Till nurse called him “Mister Crosstie,” - And, all at once, giving a dreadful groan, - She left cross Dimple Dumpling all alone. - - But when the sounds of silver spoons and bowls - Came up and jingled round in Dimple’s chamber, - And in stole savory sniffs of steaks and rolls, - Quick from his chair did Dimple clamber; - And as he knew that little leggies bare - Were not received at mamma’s breakfast table, - He thought he’d better oil and ’fume his hair - And button on his frock himself if able,-- - The scarlet frock,-- - The sky-blue sock,-- - He was in it - In a minute! - - [Illustration] - - But down stairs Dimple hourly grew more cross, - And o’er the house with awful noise went rushing, - Till all his folks stood up, quite at a loss - To hit upon some brand-new means of hushing. - But on his friends the ogre frowned, - And in the desks and drawers went prowling, - Until a fierce jack-knife was found - That just exactly matched his scowling.-- - Then Dimple opened every blade, - And went right at his dearest treasures, - And hacked, till every toy was made - The victim of his savage measures. - - Next Dimple growled aloud he’d “keep a school;” - So up hopped Minnie, merry as a linnet, - And offered picture-book and painted rule-- - But “no,” he shrieked, “he wouldn’t have her in it!” - He seized her wooden dolls that couldn’t smile.--for O, - O, _how_ he hated smiles, grim Dimple Dumpling! - And all the time they sat there in that wooden row - His yellow head against the wall was crumpling,-- - It must have been so sore,--but there he sat, like stone, - And kicked the floor till mamma cried, “O, this is - _Very_ bad!”--but, ah, if mamma’d only known - Her little boy was bad for lack of kisses! - - [Illustration] - - Well, all at once, the silver sun shone out, - And Minnie played she’d never heard those speeches, - But led cross Dimple out, with skip and shout, - Down where the wind had blown the rareripe peaches. - Just one single Red-Cheek lay on the grass, - And O, how Dimple pushed and rushed to get it, - Though Minnie stepped aside to let him pass; - And, then, away he ran to stand and eat it.-- - O, Dimple Dumpling! O, such a bad little man, - All for two kisses! I wonder if this can - The reason be that so many a little brother - Goes wrong his life long,--for lack of kisses and mother! - - [Illustration] - - How do I know but a terrible hunger - Gnaws at the hearts of motherless boys? - How do I know but ’tis that that destroys - All that is good, until boys that are younger - Than you, Boy Dumpling, make the streets sorrowful places, - And the angels weep at the look on the wee, wee faces? - - But off ran selfish Dimple through the pink peach trees,-- - “I’s goin’ by myse’f into the meadow,” - He screamed,--instead, he fell upon his chubby knees - And tumbled over in the brambly shadow. - Then loud did Dimple shriek, “Minnie! hornets and bees!” - He rolled, he struck before, and struck behind him, - While little Minnie flew along the pink peach trees,-- - “O, dear Dimple! Dimple darling!”--to find him. - - [Illustration] - - Ah, well, perhaps the hornets like a naughty fellow! - For there they rested on his round and rosy cheeks, - And there they clung upon his hair so soft and yellow,-- - No wonder that the tender little sister shrieks! - And when they heard her not a hornet missed her; - They stung her blind just ’cause she was his sister!-- - Poor little sister, poor little brother, - One ran one way, and one the other! - - All day long was dear little Dimple lost, - And all the house was out and calling, “Dimple! Dimple!” - Till just at dark a dingle dim was crossed, - And there, asleep, down in the grass, all sweet and simple, - And like a lily, Dimple was; and mamma, in her joy, - Kissed and kissed him, and he woke up Her Own Good Boy. - - - - - Transcriber’s Notes: - - Italics are shown thus: _sloping_. - - Small capitals have been capitalised. - - Variations in spelling and hyphenation are retained. - - Perceived typographical errors have been changed. - - - - - - - - - - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ALL THE WORLD OVER *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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