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+Project Gutenberg's A Little Book of Profitable Tales, by Eugene Field
+
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+Title: A Little Book of Profitable Tales
+
+Author: Eugene Field
+
+Release Date: December, 2005 [EBook #9485]
+[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule]
+[This file was first posted on October 5, 2003]
+
+Edition: 10
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A LITTLE BOOK OF PROFITABLE TALES ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Sheila Vogtmann and PG Distributed Proofreaders
+
+
+
+
+[Transcriber's notes: _ before and after a word or phrase indicate
+italics, + indicate bolded text]
+
+THE WRITINGS IN PROSE AND VERSE OF EUGENE FIELD
+
+
+A LITTLE BOOK OF PROFITABLE TALES
+
+NEW YORK 1901
+
+By EUGENE FIELD.
+
+
+
+TO MY SEVEREST CRITIC, MY MOST LOYAL ADMIRER, AND MY ONLY DAUGHTER, MARY
+FRENCH FIELD, THIS LITTLE BOOK OF PROFITABLE TALES IS AFFECTIONATELY
+DEDICATED. E.F.
+
+
+
+
+INTRODUCTION
+
+
+I have never read a poem by Mr. Field without feeling personally drawn to
+the author. Long after I had known him as a poet, I found that he had
+written in prose little scraps or long essays, which had attracted me in
+just the same way, when I had met with them in the newspapers, although I
+had not known who the author was.
+
+All that he writes indeed is quite free from the conventionalisms to which
+authorship as a profession is sadly liable. Because he is free from them,
+you read his poems or you read his prose, and are affected as if you met
+him. If you were riding in a Pullman car with him, or if you were talking
+with him at breakfast over your coffee, he would say just such things in
+just this way. If he had any art, it was the art of concealing art. But I
+do not think that he thought much of art. I do not think that he cared
+much for what people say about criticism or style. He wrote as he felt, or
+as he thought, without troubling himself much about method. It is this
+simplicity, or what it is the fashion of the day to call frankness, which
+gives a singular charm to his writing.
+
+EDWARD E. HALE.
+
+The Tales in this Little Book
+
+
+THE FIRST CHRISTMAS TREE
+
+THE SYMBOL AND THE SAINT
+
+THE COMING OF THE PRINCE
+
+THE MOUSE AND THE MOONBEAM
+
+THE DIVELL'S CHRYSTMASS
+
+THE MOUNTAIN AND THE SEA
+
+THE ROBIN AND THE VIOLET
+
+THE OAK-TREE AND THE IVY
+
+MARGARET: A PEARL
+
+THE SPRINGTIME
+
+RODOLPH AND HIS KING
+
+THE HAMPSHIRE HILLS
+
+EZRA'S THANKSGIVIN' OUT WEST
+
+LUDWIG AND ELOISE
+
+FIDO'S LITTLE FRIEND
+
+THE OLD MAN
+
+BILL, THE LOKIL EDITOR
+
+THE LITTLE YALLER BABY
+
+THE CYCLOPEEDY
+
+DOCK STEBBINS
+
+THE FAIRIES OF PESTH
+
+
+
+
++THE FIRST CHRISTMAS TREE+
+
+
+
+
+THE FIRST CHRISTMAS TREE
+
+
+Once upon a time the forest was in a great commotion. Early in the evening
+the wise old cedars had shaken their heads ominously and predicted strange
+things. They had lived in the forest many, many years; but never had they
+seen such marvellous sights as were to be seen now in the sky, and upon
+the hills, and in the distant village.
+
+"Pray tell us what you see," pleaded a little vine; "we who are not as
+tall as you can behold none of these wonderful things. Describe them to
+us, that we may enjoy them with you."
+
+"I am filled with such amazement," said one of the cedars, "that I can
+hardly speak. The whole sky seems to be aflame, and the stars appear to be
+dancing among the clouds; angels walk down from heaven to the earth, and
+enter the village or talk with the shepherds upon the hills."
+
+The vine listened in mute astonishment. Such things never before had
+happened. The vine trembled with excitement. Its nearest neighbor was a
+tiny tree, so small it scarcely ever was noticed; yet it was a very
+beautiful little tree, and the vines and ferns and mosses and other humble
+residents of the forest loved it dearly.
+
+"How I should like to see the angels!" sighed the little tree, "and how I
+should like to see the stars dancing among the clouds! It must be very
+beautiful."
+
+As the vine and the little tree talked of these things, the cedars watched
+with increasing interest the wonderful scenes over and beyond the confines
+of the forest. Presently they thought they heard music, and they were not
+mistaken, for soon the whole air was full of the sweetest harmonies ever
+heard upon earth.
+
+"What beautiful music!" cried the little tree. "I wonder whence it comes."
+
+"The angels are singing," said a cedar; "for none but angels could make
+such sweet music."
+
+"But the stars are singing, too," said another cedar; "yes, and the
+shepherds on the hills join in the song, and what a strangely glorious
+song it is!"
+
+The trees listened to the singing, but they did not understand its
+meaning: it seemed to be an anthem, and it was of a Child that had been
+born; but further than this they did not understand. The strange and
+glorious song continued all the night; and all that night the angels
+walked to and fro, and the shepherd-folk talked with the angels, and the
+stars danced and carolled in high heaven. And it was nearly morning when
+the cedars cried out, "They are coming to the forest! the angels are
+coming to the forest!" And, surely enough, this was true. The vine and the
+little tree were very terrified, and they begged their older and stronger
+neighbors to protect them from harm. But the cedars were too busy with
+their own fears to pay any heed to the faint pleadings of the humble vine
+and the little tree. The angels came into the forest, singing the same
+glorious anthem about the Child, and the stars sang in chorus with them,
+until every part of the woods rang with echoes of that wondrous song.
+There was nothing in the appearance of this angel host to inspire fear;
+they were clad all in white, and there were crowns upon their fair heads,
+and golden harps in their hands; love, hope, charity, compassion, and joy
+beamed from their beautiful faces, and their presence seemed to fill the
+forest with a divine peace. The angels came through the forest to where
+the little tree stood, and gathering around it, they touched it with their
+hands, and kissed its little branches, and sang even more sweetly than
+before. And their song was about the Child, the Child, the Child that had
+been born. Then the stars came down from the skies and danced and hung
+upon the branches of the tree, and they, too, sang that song,--the song of
+the Child. And all the other trees and the vines and the ferns and the
+mosses beheld in wonder; nor could they understand why all these things
+were being done, and why this exceeding honor should be shown the little
+tree.
+
+When the morning came the angels left the forest,--all but one angel, who
+remained behind and lingered near the little tree. Then a cedar asked:
+"Why do you tarry with us, holy angel?" And the angel answered: "I stay to
+guard this little tree, for it is sacred, and no harm shall come to it."
+
+The little tree felt quite relieved by this assurance, and it held up its
+head more confidently than ever before. And how it thrived and grew, and
+waxed in strength and beauty! The cedars said they never had seen the
+like. The sun seemed to lavish its choicest rays upon the little tree,
+heaven dropped its sweetest dew upon it, and the winds never came to the
+forest that they did not forget their rude manners and linger to kiss the
+little tree and sing it their prettiest songs. No danger ever menaced it,
+no harm threatened; for the angel never slept,--through the day and
+through the night the angel watched the little tree and protected it from
+all evil. Oftentimes the trees talked with the angel; but of course they
+understood little of what he said, for he spoke always of the Child who
+was to become the Master; and always when thus he talked, he caressed the
+little tree, and stroked its branches and leaves, and moistened them with
+his tears. It all was so very strange that none in the forest could
+understand.
+
+So the years passed, the angel watching his blooming charge. Sometimes the
+beasts strayed toward the little tree and threatened to devour its tender
+foliage; sometimes the woodman came with his axe, intent upon hewing down
+the straight and comely thing; sometimes the hot, consuming breath of
+drought swept from the south, and sought to blight the forest and all its
+verdure: the angel kept them from the little tree. Serene and beautiful it
+grew, until now it was no longer a little tree, but the pride and glory of
+the forest.
+
+One day the tree heard some one coming through the forest. Hitherto the
+angel had hastened to its side when men approached; but now the angel
+strode away and stood under the cedars yonder.
+
+"Dear angel," cried the tree, "can you not hear the footsteps of some one
+approaching? Why do you leave me?"
+
+"Have no fear," said the angel; "for He who comes is the Master."
+
+The Master came to the tree and beheld it. He placed His hands upon its
+smooth trunk and branches, and the tree was thrilled with a strange and
+glorious delight. Then He stooped and kissed the tree, and then He turned
+and went away.
+
+Many times after that the Master came to the forest, and when He came it
+always was to where the tree stood. Many times He rested beneath the tree
+and enjoyed the shade of its foliage, and listened to the music of the
+wind as it swept through the rustling leaves. Many times He slept there,
+and the tree watched over Him, and the forest was still, and all its
+voices were hushed. And the angel hovered near like a faithful sentinel.
+
+Ever and anon men came with the Master to the forest, and sat with Him in
+the shade of the tree, and talked with Him of matters which the tree never
+could understand; only it heard that the talk was of love and charity and
+gentleness, and it saw that the Master was beloved and venerated by the
+others. It heard them tell of the Master's goodness and humility,--how He
+had healed the sick and raised the dead and bestowed inestimable blessings
+wherever He walked. And the tree loved the Master for His beauty and His
+goodness; and when He came to the forest it was full of joy, but when He
+came not it was sad. And the other trees of the forest joined in its
+happiness and its sorrow, for they, too, loved the Master. And the angel
+always hovered near.
+
+The Master came one night alone into the forest, and His face was pale
+with anguish and wet with tears, and He fell upon His knees and prayed.
+The tree heard Him, and all the forest was still, as if it were standing
+in the presence of death. And when the morning came, lo! the angel had
+gone.
+
+Then there was a great confusion in the forest. There was a sound of rude
+voices, and a clashing of swords and staves. Strange men appeared,
+uttering loud oaths and cruel threats, and the tree was filled with
+terror. It called aloud for the angel, but the angel came not.
+
+"Alas," cried the vine, "they have come to destroy the tree, the pride and
+glory of the forest!"
+
+The forest was sorely agitated, but it was in vain. The strange men plied
+their axes with cruel vigor, and the tree was hewn to the ground. Its
+beautiful branches were cut away and cast aside, and its soft, thick
+foliage was strewn to the tenderer mercies of the winds.
+
+"They are killing me!" cried the tree; "why is not the angel here to
+protect me?"
+
+But no one heard the piteous cry,--none but the other trees of the forest;
+and they wept, and the little vine wept too.
+
+Then the cruel men dragged the despoiled and hewn tree from the forest,
+and the forest saw that beauteous thing no more.
+
+But the night wind that swept down from the City of the Great King that
+night to ruffle the bosom of distant Galilee, tarried in the forest awhile
+to say that it had seen that day a cross upraised on Calvary,--the tree on
+which was stretched the body of the dying Master.
+
+1884.
+
+
+
+
++THE SYMBOL AND THE SAINT+
+
+
+
+
+THE SYMBOL AND THE SAINT
+
+
+Once upon a time a young man made ready for a voyage. His name was Norss;
+broad were his shoulders, his cheeks were ruddy, his hair was fair and
+long, his body betokened strength, and good-nature shone from his blue
+eyes and lurked about the corners of his mouth.
+
+"Where are you going?" asked his neighbor Jans, the forge-master.
+
+"I am going sailing for a wife," said Norss.
+
+"For a wife, indeed!" cried Jans. "And why go you to seek her in foreign
+lands? Are not our maidens good enough and fair enough, that you must need
+search for a wife elsewhere? For shame, Norss! for shame!"
+
+But Norss said, "A spirit came to me in my dreams last night and said,
+'Launch the boat and set sail to-morrow. Have no fear; for I will guide
+you to the bride that awaits you.' Then, standing there, all white and
+beautiful, the spirit held forth a symbol--such as I had never before
+seen--in the figure of a cross, and the spirit said: 'By this symbol shall
+she be known to you.'"
+
+"If this be so, you must need go," said Jans. "But are you well
+victualled? Come to my cabin, and let me give you venison and bear's
+meat."
+
+Norss shook his head. "The spirit will provide," said he. "I have no fear,
+and I shall take no care, trusting in the spirit."
+
+So Norss pushed his boat down the beach into the sea, and leaped into the
+boat, and unfurled the sail to the wind. Jan stood wondering on the beach,
+and watched the boat speed out of sight.
+
+On, on, many days on sailed Norss,--so many leagues that he thought he
+must have compassed the earth. In all this time he knew no hunger nor
+thirst; it was as the spirit had told him in his dream,--no cares nor
+dangers beset him. By day the dolphins and the other creatures of the sea
+gambolled about his boat; by night a beauteous Star seemed to direct his
+course; and when he slept and dreamed, he saw ever the spirit clad in
+white, and holding forth to him the symbol in the similitude of a cross.
+
+At last he came to a strange country,--a country so very different from
+his own that he could scarcely trust his senses. Instead of the rugged
+mountains of the North, he saw a gentle landscape of velvety green; the
+trees were not pines and firs, but cypresses, cedars, and palms; instead
+of the cold, crisp air of his native land, he scented the perfumed zephyrs
+of the Orient; and the wind that filled the sail of his boat and smote his
+tanned cheeks was heavy and hot with the odor of cinnamon and spices. The
+waters were calm and blue,--very different from the white and angry waves
+of Norss's native fiord.
+
+As if guided by an unseen hand, the boat pointed straight for the beach of
+this strangely beautiful land; and ere its prow cleaved the shallower
+waters, Norss saw a maiden standing on the shore, shading her eyes with
+her right hand, and gazing intently at him. She was the most beautiful
+maiden he had ever looked upon. As Norss was fair, so was this maiden
+dark; her black hair fell loosely about her shoulders in charming contrast
+with the white raiment in which her slender, graceful form was clad.
+Around her neck she wore a golden chain, and therefrom was suspended a
+small symbol, which Norss did not immediately recognize.
+
+"Hast thou come sailing out of the North into the East?" asked the maiden.
+
+"Yes," said Norss.
+
+"And thou art Norss?" she asked.
+
+"I am Norss; and I come seeking my bride," he answered.
+
+"I am she," said the maiden. "My name is Faia. An angel came to me in my
+dreams last night, and the angel said: 'Stand upon the beach to-day, and
+Norss shall come out of the North to bear thee home a bride.' So, coming
+here, I found thee sailing to our shore."
+
+Remembering then the spirit's words, Norss said: "What symbol have you,
+Faia, that I may know how truly you have spoken?"
+
+"No symbol have I but this," said Faia, holding out the symbol that was
+attached to the golden chain about her neck. Norss looked upon it, and lo!
+it was the symbol of his dreams,--a tiny wooden cross.
+
+Then Norss clasped Faia in his arms and kissed her, and entering into the
+boat they sailed away into the North. In all their voyage neither care nor
+danger beset them; for as it had been told to them in their dreams, so it
+came to pass. By day the dolphins and the other creatures of the sea
+gambolled about them; by night the winds and the waves sang them to sleep;
+and, strangely enough, the Star which before had led Norss into the East,
+now shone bright and beautiful in the Northern sky!
+
+When Norss and his bride reached their home, Jans, the forge-master, and
+the other neighbors made great joy, and all said that Faia was more
+beautiful than any other maiden in the land. So merry was Jans that he
+built a huge fire in his forge, and the flames thereof filled the whole
+Northern sky with rays of light that danced up, up, up to the Star,
+singing glad songs the while. So Norss and Faia were wed, and they went to
+live in the cabin in the fir-grove.
+
+To these two was born in good time a son, whom they named Claus. On the
+night that he was born wondrous things came to pass. To the cabin in the
+fir-grove came all the quaint, weird spirits,--the fairies, the elves, the
+trolls, the pixies, the fadas, the crions, the goblins, the kobolds, the
+moss-people, the gnomes, the dwarfs, the water-sprites, the courils, the
+bogles, the brownies, the nixies, the trows, the stille-volk,--all came to
+the cabin in the fir-grove, and capered about and sang the strange,
+beautiful songs of the Mist-Land. And the flames of old Jans's forge
+leaped up higher than ever into the Northern sky, carrying the joyous
+tidings to the Star, and full of music was that happy night.
+
+Even in infancy Claus did marvellous things. With his baby hands he
+wrought into pretty figures the willows that were given him to play with.
+As he grew older, he fashioned, with the knife old Jans had made for him,
+many curious toys,--carts, horses, dogs, lambs, houses, trees, cats, and
+birds, all of wood and very like to nature. His mother taught him how to
+make dolls too,--dolls of every kind, condition, temper, and color; proud
+dolls, homely dolls, boy dolls, lady dolls, wax dolls, rubber dolls, paper
+dolls, worsted dolls, rag dolls,--dolls of every description and without
+end. So Claus became at once quite as popular with the little girls as
+with the little boys of his native village; for he was so generous that he
+gave away all these pretty things as fast as he made them.
+
+Claus seemed to know by instinct every language. As he grew older he would
+ramble off into the woods and talk with the trees, the rocks, and the
+beasts of the greenwood; or he would sit on the cliffs overlooking the
+fiord, and listen to the stories that the waves of the sea loved to tell
+him; then, too, he knew the haunts of the elves and the stille-volk, and
+many a pretty tale he learned from these little people. When night came,
+old Jans told him the quaint legends of the North, and his mother sang to
+him the lullabies she had heard when a little child herself in the
+far-distant East. And every night his mother held out to him the symbol in
+the similitude of the cross, and bade him kiss it ere he went to sleep.
+
+So Claus grew to manhood, increasing each day in knowledge and in wisdom.
+His works increased too; and his liberality dispensed everywhere the
+beauteous things which his fancy conceived and his skill executed. Jans,
+being now a very old man, and having no son of his own, gave to Claus his
+forge and workshop, and taught him those secret arts which he in youth had
+learned from cunning masters. Right joyous now was Claus; and many, many
+times the Northern sky glowed with the flames that danced singing from the
+forge while Claus moulded his pretty toys. Every color of the rainbow were
+these flames; for they reflected the bright colors of the beauteous things
+strewn round that wonderful workshop. Just as of old he had dispensed to
+all children alike the homelier toys of his youth, so now he gave to all
+children alike these more beautiful and more curious gifts. So little
+children everywhere loved Claus, because he gave them pretty toys, and
+their parents loved him because he made their little ones so happy.
+
+But now Norss and Faia were come to old age. After long years of love and
+happiness, they knew that death could not be far distant. And one day Faia
+said to Norss: "Neither you nor I, dear love, fear death; but if we could
+choose, would we not choose to live always in this our son Claus, who has
+been so sweet a joy to us?"
+
+"Ay, ay," said Norss; "but how is that possible?"
+
+"We shall see," said Faia.
+
+That night Norss dreamed that a spirit came to him, and that the spirit
+said to him: "Norss, thou shalt surely live forever in thy son Claus, if
+thou wilt but acknowledge the symbol."
+
+Then when the morning was come Norss told his dream to Faia, his wife; and
+Faia said,--
+
+"The same dream had I,--an angel appearing to me and speaking these very
+words."
+
+"But what of the symbol?" cried Norss.
+
+"I have it here, about my neck," said Faia.
+
+So saying, Faia drew from her bosom the symbol of wood,--a tiny cross
+suspended about her neck by the golden chain. And as she stood there
+holding the symbol out to Norss, he--he thought of the time when first he
+saw her on the far-distant Orient shore, standing beneath the Star in all
+her maidenly glory, shading her beauteous eyes with one hand, and with the
+other clasping the cross,--the holy talisman of her faith.
+
+"Faia, Faia!" cried Norss, "it is the same,--the same you wore when I
+fetched you a bride from the East!"
+
+"It is the same." said Faia, "yet see how my kisses and my prayers have
+worn it away; for many, many times in these years, dear Norss, have I
+pressed it to my lips and breathed your name upon it. See now--see what a
+beauteous light its shadow makes upon your aged face!"
+
+The sunbeams, indeed, streaming through the window at that moment, cast
+the shadow of the symbol on old Norss's brow. Norss felt a glorious warmth
+suffuse him, his heart leaped with joy, and he stretched out his arms and
+fell about Faia's neck, and kissed the symbol and acknowledged it. Then
+likewise did Faia; and suddenly the place was filled with a wondrous
+brightness and with strange music, and never thereafter were Norss and
+Faia beholden of men.
+
+Until late that night Claus toiled at his forge; for it was a busy season
+with him, and he had many, many curious and beauteous things to make for
+the little children in the country round about. The colored flames leaped
+singing from his forge, so that the Northern sky seemed to be lighted by a
+thousand rainbows; but above all this voiceful glory beamed the Star,
+bright, beautiful, serene.
+
+Coming late to the cabin in the fir-grove, Claus wondered that no sign of
+his father or of his mother was to be seen. "Father--mother!" he cried,
+but he received no answer. Just then the Star cast its golden gleam
+through the latticed window, and this strange, holy light fell and rested
+upon the symbol of the cross that lay upon the floor. Seeing it, Claus
+stooped and picked it up, and kissing it reverently, he cried: "Dear
+talisman, be thou my inspiration evermore; and wheresoever thy blessed
+influence is felt, there also let my works be known henceforth forever!"
+
+No sooner had he said these words than Claus felt the gift of immortality
+bestowed upon him; and in that moment, too, there came to him a knowledge
+that his parents' prayer had been answered, and that Norss and Faia would
+live in him through all time.
+
+And lo! to that place and in that hour came all the people of Mist-Land
+and of Dream-Land to declare allegiance to him: yes, the elves, the
+fairies, the pixies,--all came to Claus, prepared to do his bidding.
+Joyously they capered about him, and merrily they sang.
+
+"Now haste ye all," cried Claus,--"haste ye all to your homes and bring to
+my workshop the best ye have. Search, little hill-people, deep in the
+bowels of the earth for finest gold and choicest jewels; fetch me, O
+mermaids, from the bottom of the sea the treasures hidden there,--the
+shells of rainbow tints, the smooth, bright pebbles, and the strange ocean
+flowers; go, pixies, and other water-sprites, to your secret lakes, and
+bring me pearls! Speed! speed you all! for many pretty things have we to
+make for the little ones of earth we love!"
+
+But to the kobolds and the brownies Claus said: "Fly to every house on
+earth where the cross is known; loiter unseen in the corners, and watch
+and hear the children through the day. Keep a strict account of good and
+bad, and every night bring back to me the names of good and bad, that I
+may know them."
+
+The kobolds and the brownies laughed gleefully, and sped away on noiseless
+wings; and so, too, did the other fairies and elves.
+
+There came also to Claus the beasts of the forest and the birds of the
+air, and bade him be their master. And up danced the Four Winds, and they
+said: "May we not serve you, too?"
+
+The snow-king came stealing along in his feathery chariot. "Oho!" he
+cried, "I shall speed over all the world and tell them you are coming. In
+town and country, on the mountain-tops and in the valleys,--wheresoever
+the cross is raised,--there will I herald your approach, and thither will
+I strew you a pathway of feathery white. Oho! oho!" So, singing softly,
+the snow-king stole upon his way.
+
+But of all the beasts that begged to do him service, Claus liked the
+reindeer best. "You shall go with me in my travels; for henceforth I shall
+bear my treasures not only to the children of the North, but to the
+children in every land whither the Star points me and where the cross is
+lifted up!" So said Claus to the reindeer, and the reindeer neighed
+joyously and stamped their hoofs impatiently, as though they longed to
+start immediately.
+
+Oh, many, many times has Claus whirled away from his far Northern home in
+his sledge drawn by the reindeer, and thousands upon thousands of
+beautiful gifts--all of his own making--has he borne to the children of
+every land; for he loves them all alike, and they all alike love him, I
+trow. So truly do they love him that they call him Santa Claus, and I am
+sure that he must be a saint; for he has lived these many hundred years,
+and we, who know that he was born of Faith and Love, believe that he will
+live forever.
+
+1886.
+
+
+
+
++THE COMING OF THE PRINCE+
+
+
+
+
+THE COMING OF THE PRINCE
+
+
+I
+
+"Whirr-r-r! whirr-r-r! whirr-r-r!" said the wind, and it tore through the
+streets of the city that Christmas eve, turning umbrellas inside out,
+driving the snow in fitful gusts before it, creaking the rusty signs and
+shutters, and playing every kind of rude prank it could think of.
+
+"How cold your breath is to-night!" said Barbara, with a shiver, as she
+drew her tattered little shawl the closer around her benumbed body.
+
+"Whirr-r-r! whirr-r-r! whirr-r-r!" answered the wind; "but why are you out
+in this storm? You should be at home by the warm fire."
+
+"I have no home," said Barbara; and then she sighed bitterly, and
+something like a tiny pearl came in the corner of one of her sad blue
+eyes.
+
+But the wind did not hear her answer, for it had hurried up the street to
+throw a handful of snow in the face of an old man who was struggling along
+with a huge basket of good things on each arm.
+
+"Why are you not at the cathedral?" asked a snowflake, as it alighted on
+Barbara's shoulder. "I heard grand music, and saw beautiful lights there
+as I floated down from the sky a moment ago."
+
+"What are they doing at the cathedral?" inquired Barbara.
+
+"Why, haven't you heard?" exclaimed the snowflake. "I supposed everybody
+knew that the prince was coming to-morrow."
+
+"Surely enough; this is Christmas eve," said Barbara, "and the prince will
+come tomorrow."
+
+Barbara remembered that her mother had told her about the prince, how
+beautiful and good and kind and gentle he was, and how he loved the little
+children; but her mother was dead now, and there was none to tell Barbara
+of the prince and his coming,--none but the little snowflake.
+
+"I should like to see the prince," said Barbara, "for I have heard he was
+very beautiful and good."
+
+"That he is," said the snowflake. "I have never seen him, but I heard the
+pines and the firs singing about him as I floated over the forest
+to-night."
+
+"Whirr-r-r! whirr-r-r!" cried the wind, returning boisterously to where
+Barbara stood. "I've been looking for you everywhere, little snowflake! So
+come with me."
+
+And without any further ado, the wind seized upon the snowflake and
+hurried it along the street and led it a merry dance through the icy air
+of the winter night.
+
+Barbara trudged on through the snow and looked in at the bright things in
+the shop windows. The glitter of the lights and the sparkle of the vast
+array of beautiful Christmas toys quite dazzled her. A strange mingling of
+admiration, regret, and envy filled the poor little creature's heart.
+
+"Much as I may yearn to have them, it cannot be," she said to herself,
+"yet I may feast my eyes upon them."
+
+"Go away from here!" said a harsh voice. "How can the rich people see all
+my fine things if you stand before the window? Be off with you, you
+miserable little beggar!"
+
+It was the shopkeeper, and he gave Barbara a savage box on the ear that
+sent her reeling into the deeper snowdrifts of the gutter.
+
+Presently she came to a large house where there seemed to be much mirth
+and festivity. The shutters were thrown open, and through the windows
+Barbara could see a beautiful Christmas tree in the centre of a spacious
+room,--a beautiful Christmas tree ablaze with red and green lights, and
+heavy with toys and stars and glass balls, and other beautiful things that
+children love. There was a merry throng around the tree, and the children
+were smiling and gleeful, and all in that house seemed content and happy.
+Barbara heard them singing, and their song was about the prince who was to
+come on the morrow.
+
+"This must be the house where the prince will stop," thought Barbara. "How
+I would like to see his face and hear his voice!--yet what would he care
+for _me_, a 'miserable little beggar'?"
+
+So Barbara crept on through the storm, shivering and disconsolate, yet
+thinking of the prince.
+
+"Where are you going?" she asked of the wind as it overtook her.
+
+"To the cathedral," laughed the wind. "The great people are flocking
+there, and I will have a merry time amongst them, ha, ha, ha!"
+
+And with laughter the wind whirled away and chased the snow toward the
+cathedral.
+
+"It is there, then, that the prince will come," thought Barbara. "It is a
+beautiful place, and the people will pay him homage there. Perhaps I shall
+see him if I go there."
+
+So she went to the cathedral. Many folk were there in their richest
+apparel, and the organ rolled out its grand music, and the people sang
+wondrous songs, and the priests made eloquent prayers; and the music, and
+the songs, and the prayers were all about the prince and his expected
+coming. The throng that swept in and out of the great edifice talked
+always of the prince, the prince, the prince, until Barbara really loved
+him very much, for all the gentle words she heard the people say of him.
+
+"Please, can I go and sit inside?" inquired Barbara of the sexton.
+
+"No!" said the sexton, gruffly, for this was an important occasion with
+the sexton, and he had no idea of wasting words on a beggar child.
+
+"But I will be very good and quiet," pleaded Barbara. "Please, may I not
+see the prince?"
+
+"I have said no, and I mean it," retorted the sexton. "What have you for
+the prince, or what cares the prince for you? Out with you, and don't be
+blocking up the doorway!" So the sexton gave Barbara an angry push, and
+the child fell half-way down the icy steps of the cathedral. She began to
+cry. Some great people were entering the cathedral at the time, and they
+laughed to see her falling.
+
+"Have you seen the prince?" inquired a snowflake, alighting on Barbara's
+cheek. It was the same little snowflake that had clung to her shawl an
+hour ago, when the wind came galloping along on his boisterous search.
+
+"Ah, no!" sighed Barbara, in tears; "but what cares the prince for _me_?"
+
+"Do not speak so bitterly," said the little snowflake. "Go to the forest
+and you shall see him, for the prince always comes through the forest to
+the city."
+
+Despite the cold, and her bruises, and her tears, Barbara smiled. In the
+forest she could behold the prince coming on his way; and he would not see
+her, for she would hide among the trees and vines.
+
+"Whirr-r-r, whirr-r-r!" It was the mischievous, romping wind once more;
+and it fluttered Barbara's tattered shawl, and set her hair to streaming
+in every direction, and swept the snowflake from her cheek and sent it
+spinning through the air.
+
+Barbara trudged toward the forest. When she came to the city gate the
+watchman stopped her, and held his big lantern in her face, and asked her
+who she was and where she was going.
+
+"I am Barbara, and I am going into the forest," said she, boldly.
+
+"Into the forest?" cried the watchman, "and in this storm? No, child; you
+will perish!"
+
+"But I am going to see the prince," said Barbara. "They will not let me
+watch for him in the church, nor in any of their pleasant homes, so I am
+going into the forest."
+
+The watchman smiled sadly. He was a kindly man; he thought of his own
+little girl at home.
+
+"No, you must not go to the forest," said he, "for you would perish with
+the cold."
+
+But Barbara would not stay. She avoided the watchman's grasp and ran as
+fast as ever she could through the city gate.
+
+"Come back, come back!" cried the watchman; "you will perish in the
+forest!"
+
+But Barbara would not heed his cry. The falling snow did not stay her, nor
+did the cutting blast. She thought only of the prince, and she ran
+straightway to the forest.
+
+
+II
+
+"What do you see up there, O pine-tree?" asked a little vine in the
+forest.
+
+"You lift your head among the clouds tonight, and you tremble strangely as
+if you saw wondrous sights."
+
+"I see only the distant hill-tops and the dark clouds," answered the
+pine-tree. "And the wind sings of the snow-king to-night; to all my
+questionings he says, 'Snow, snow, snow,' till I am weary with his
+refrain."
+
+"But the prince will surely come to-morrow?" inquired the tiny snowdrop
+that nestled close to the vine.
+
+"Oh, yes," said the vine. "I heard the country folks talking about it as
+they went through the forest to-day, and they said that the prince would
+surely come on the morrow."
+
+"What are you little folks down there talking about?" asked the pine-tree.
+
+"We are talking about the prince," said the vine.
+
+"Yes, he is to come on the morrow," said the pine-tree, "but not until the
+day dawns, and it is still all dark in the east."
+
+"Yes," said the fir-tree, "the east is black, and only the wind and the
+snow issue from it."
+
+"Keep your head out of my way!" cried the pine-tree to the fir; "with your
+constant bobbing around I can hardly see at all."
+
+"Take _that_ for your bad manners," retorted the fir, slapping the
+pine-tree savagely with one of her longest branches.
+
+The pine-tree would put up with no such treatment, so he hurled his
+largest cone at the fir; and for a moment or two it looked as if there
+were going to be a serious commotion in the forest.
+
+"Hush!" cried the vine in a startled tone; "there is some one coming
+through the forest."
+
+The pine-tree and the fir stopped quarrelling, and the snowdrop nestled
+closer to the vine, while the vine hugged the pine-tree very tightly. All
+were greatly alarmed.
+
+"Nonsense!" said the pine-tree, in a tone of assumed bravery. "No one
+would venture into the forest at such an hour."
+
+"Indeed! and why not?" cried a child's voice. "Will you not let me watch
+with you for the coming of the prince?"
+
+"Will you not chop me down?" inquired the pine-tree, gruffly.
+
+"Will you not tear me from my tree?" asked the vine.
+
+"Will you not pluck my blossoms?" plaintively piped the snowdrop.
+
+"No, of course not," said Barbara; "I have come only to watch with you for
+the prince."
+
+Then Barbara told them who she was, and how cruelly she had been treated
+in the city, and how she longed to see the prince, who was to come on the
+morrow. And as she talked, the forest and all therein felt a great
+compassion for her.
+
+"Lie at my feet," said the pine-tree, "and I will protect you."
+
+"Nestle close to me, and I will chafe your temples and body and limbs till
+they are warm," said the vine.
+
+"Let me rest upon your cheek, and I will sing you my little songs," said
+the snowdrop.
+
+And Barbara felt very grateful for all these homely kindnesses. She rested
+in the velvety snow at the foot of the pine-tree, and the vine chafed her
+body and limbs, and the little flower sang sweet songs to her.
+
+"Whirr-r-r, whirr-r-r!" There was that noisy wind again, but this time it
+was gentler than it had been in the city.
+
+"Here you are, my little Barbara," said the wind, in kindly tones. "I have
+brought you the little snowflake. I am glad you came away from the city,
+for the people are proud and haughty there; oh, but I will have my fun
+with them!"
+
+Then, having dropped the little snowflake on Barbara's cheek, the wind
+whisked off to the city again. And we can imagine that it played rare
+pranks with the proud, haughty folk on its return; for the wind, as you
+know, is no respecter of persons.
+
+"Dear Barbara," said the snowflake, "I will watch with thee for the coming
+of the prince."
+
+And Barbara was glad, for she loved the little snowflake, that was so pure
+and innocent and gentle.
+
+"Tell us, O pine-tree," cried the vine, "what do you see in the east? Has
+the prince yet entered the forest?"
+
+"The east is full of black clouds," said the pine-tree, "and the winds
+that hurry to the hill-tops sing of the snow."
+
+"But the city is full of brightness," said the fir. "I can see the lights
+in the cathedral, and I can hear wondrous music about the prince and his
+coming."
+
+"Yes, they are singing of the prince in the cathedral," said Barbara,
+sadly.
+
+"But we shall see him first," whispered the vine, reassuringly.
+
+"Yes, the prince will come through the forest," said the little snowdrop,
+gleefully.
+
+"Fear not, dear Barbara, we shall behold the prince in all his glory,"
+cried the snowflake.
+
+Then all at once there was a strange hubbub in the forest; for it was
+midnight, and the spirits came from their hiding-places to prowl about and
+to disport themselves. Barbara beheld them all in great wonder and
+trepidation, for she had never before seen the spirits of the forest,
+although she had often heard of them. It was a marvellous sight.
+
+"Fear nothing," whispered the vine to Barbara,--"fear nothing, for they
+dare not touch you."
+
+The antics of the wood-spirits continued but an hour; for then a cock
+crowed, and immediately thereat, with a wondrous scurrying, the elves and
+the gnomes and the other grotesque spirits sought their abiding-places in
+the caves and in the hollow trunks and under the loose bark of the trees.
+And then it was very quiet once more in the forest.
+
+"It is very cold," said Barbara. "My hands and feet are like ice."
+
+Then the pine-tree and the fir shook down the snow from their broad
+boughs, and the snow fell upon Barbara and covered her like a white
+mantle.
+
+"You will be warm now," said the vine, kissing Barbara's forehead. And
+Barbara smiled.
+
+Then the snowdrop sang a lullaby about the moss that loved the violet. And
+Barbara said, "I am going to sleep; will you wake me when the prince comes
+through the forest?"
+
+And they said they would. So Barbara fell asleep.
+
+
+III
+
+"The bells in the city are ringing merrily," said the fir, "and the music
+in the cathedral is louder and more beautiful than before. Can it be that
+the prince has already come into the city?"
+
+"No," cried the pine-tree, "look to the east and see the Christmas day
+a-dawning! The prince is coming, and his pathway is through the forest!"
+
+The storm had ceased. Snow lay upon all the earth. The hills, the forest,
+the city, and the meadows were white with the robe the storm-king had
+thrown over them. Content with his wondrous work, the storm-king himself
+had fled to his far Northern home before the dawn of the Christmas day.
+Everything was bright and sparkling and beautiful. And most beautiful was
+the great hymn of praise the forest sang that Christmas morning,--the
+pine-trees and the firs and the vines and the snow-flowers that sang of
+the prince and of his promised coming.
+
+"Wake up, little one," cried the vine, "for the prince is coming!"
+
+But Barbara slept; she did not hear the vine's soft calling, nor the lofty
+music of the forest.
+
+A little snow-bird flew down from the fir-tree's bough and perched upon
+the vine, and carolled in Barbara's ear of the Christmas morning and of
+the coming of the prince. But Barbara slept; she did not hear the carol of
+the bird.
+
+"Alas!" sighed the vine, "Barbara will not awaken, and the prince is
+coming."
+
+Then the vine and the snowdrop wept, and the pine-tree and the fir were
+very sad.
+
+The prince came through the forest clad in royal raiment and wearing a
+golden crown. Angels came with him, and the forest sang a great hymn unto
+the prince, such a hymn as had never before been heard on earth. The
+prince came to the sleeping child and smiled upon her and called her by
+name.
+
+"Barbara, my little one," said the prince, "awaken, and come with me."
+
+Then Barbara opened her eyes and beheld the prince. And it seemed as if a
+new life had come to her, for there was warmth in her body, and a flush
+upon her cheeks and a light in her eyes that were divine. And she was
+clothed no longer in rags, but in white flowing raiment; and upon the soft
+brown hair there was a crown like those which angels wear. And as Barbara
+arose and went to the prince, the little snowflake fell from her cheek
+upon her bosom, and forthwith became a pearl more precious than all other
+jewels upon earth.
+
+And the prince took Barbara in his arms and blessed her, and turning round
+about, returned with the little child unto his home, while the forest and
+the sky and the angels sang a wondrous song.
+
+The city waited for the prince, but he did not come. None knew of the
+glory of the forest that Christmas morning, nor of the new life that came
+to little Barbara.
+
+_Come thou, dear Prince, oh, come to us this holy Christmas time! Come
+to the busy marts of earth, the quiet homes, the noisy streets, the humble
+lanes; come to us all, and with thy love touch every human heart, that we
+may know that love, and in its blessed peace bear charity to all
+mankind_!
+
+1886.
+
+
+
+
++THE MOUSE AND THE MOONBEAM+
+
+
+
+
+THE MOUSE AND THE MOONBEAM
+
+
+Whilst you were sleeping, little Dear-my-Soul, strange things happened;
+but that I saw and heard them, I should never have believed them. The
+clock stood, of course, in the corner, a moonbeam floated idly on the
+floor, and a little mauve mouse came from the hole in the chimney corner
+and frisked and scampered in the light of the moonbeam upon the floor. The
+little mauve mouse was particularly merry; sometimes she danced upon two
+legs and sometimes upon four legs, but always very daintily and always
+very merrily.
+
+"Ah, me!" sighed the old clock, "how different mice are nowadays from the
+mice we used to have in the good old times! Now there was your grandma,
+Mistress Velvetpaw, and there was your grandpa, Master Sniffwhisker,--how
+grave and dignified they were! Many a night have I seen them dancing upon
+the carpet below me, but always the stately minuet and never that crazy
+frisking which you are executing now, to my surprise--yes, and to my
+horror, too."
+
+"But why shouldn't I be merry?" asked the little mauve mouse. "To-morrow
+is Christmas, and this is Christmas eve."
+
+"So it is," said the old clock. "I had really forgotten all about it. But,
+tell me, what is Christmas to you, little Miss Mauve Mouse?"
+
+"A great deal to me!" cried the little mauve mouse. "I have been very good
+a very long time: I have not used any bad words, nor have I gnawed any
+holes, nor have I stolen any canary seed, nor have I worried my mother by
+running behind the flour-barrel where that horrid trap is set. In fact, I
+have been so good that I'm very sure Santa Claus will bring me something
+very pretty."
+
+This seemed to amuse the old clock mightily; in fact, the old clock fell
+to laughing so heartily that in an unguarded moment she struck twelve
+instead of ten, which was exceedingly careless and therefore to be
+reprehended.
+
+"Why, you silly little mauve mouse," said the old clock, "you don't
+believe in Santa Claus, do you?"
+
+"Of course I do," answered the little mauve mouse. "Believe in Santa
+Claus? Why shouldn't I? Didn't Santa Claus bring me a beautiful
+butter-cracker last Christmas, and a lovely gingersnap, and a delicious
+rind of cheese, and--and--lots of things? I should be very ungrateful if I
+did _not_ believe in Santa Claus, and I certainly shall not
+disbelieve in him at the very moment when I am expecting him to arrive
+with a bundle of goodies for me.
+
+"I once had a little sister," continued the little mauve mouse, "who did
+not believe in Santa Claus, and the very thought of the fate that befell
+her makes my blood run cold and my whiskers stand on end. She died before
+I was born, but my mother has told me all about her. Perhaps you never saw
+her; her name was Squeaknibble, and she was in stature one of those long,
+low, rangy mice that are seldom found in well-stocked pantries. Mother
+says that Squeaknibble took after our ancestors who came from New England,
+where the malignant ingenuity of the people and the ferocity of the cats
+rendered life precarious indeed. Squeaknibble seemed to inherit many
+ancestral traits, the most conspicuous of which was a disposition to sneer
+at some of the most respected dogmas in mousedom. From her very infancy
+she doubted, for example, the widely accepted theory that the moon was
+composed of green cheese; and this heresy was the first intimation her
+parents had of the sceptical turn of her mind. Of course, her parents were
+vastly annoyed, for their maturer natures saw that this youthful
+scepticism portended serious, if not fatal, consequences. Yet all in vain
+did the sagacious couple reason and plead with their headstrong and
+heretical child.
+
+"For a long time Squeaknibble would not believe that there was any such
+archfiend as a cat; but she came to be convinced to the contrary one
+memorable night, on which occasion she lost two inches of her beautiful
+tail, and received so terrible a fright that for fully an hour afterward
+her little heart beat so violently as to lift her off her feet and bump
+her head against the top of our domestic hole. The cat that deprived my
+sister of so large a percentage of her vertebral colophon was the same
+brindled ogress that nowadays steals ever and anon into this room,
+crouches treacherously behind the sofa, and feigns to be asleep, hoping,
+forsooth, that some of us, heedless of her hated presence, will venture
+within reach of her diabolical claws. So enraged was this ferocious
+monster at the escape of my sister that she ground her fangs viciously
+together, and vowed to take no pleasure in life until she held in her
+devouring jaws the innocent little mouse which belonged to the mangled bit
+of tail she even then clutched in her remorseless claws."
+
+"Yes," said the old clock, "now that you recall the incident, I recollect
+it well. I was here then, in this very corner, and I remember that I
+laughed at the cat and chided her for her awkwardness. My reproaches
+irritated her; she told me that a clock's duty was to run itself down,
+_not_ to be depreciating the merits of others! Yes, I recall the
+time; that cat's tongue is fully as sharp as her claws."
+
+"Be that as it may," said the little mauve mouse, "it is a matter of
+history, and therefore beyond dispute, that from that very moment the cat
+pined for Squeaknibble's life; it seemed as if that one little two-inch
+taste of Squeaknibble's tail had filled the cat with a consuming passion,
+or appetite, for the rest of Squeaknibble. So the cat waited and watched
+and hunted and schemed and devised and did everything possible for a
+cat--a cruel cat--to do in order to gain her murderous ends. One
+night--one fatal Christmas eve--our mother had undressed the children for
+bed, and was urging upon them to go to sleep earlier than usual, since she
+fully expected that Santa Claus would bring each of them something very
+palatable and nice before morning. Thereupon the little dears whisked
+their cunning tails, pricked up their beautiful ears, and began telling
+one another what they hoped Santa Claus would bring. One asked for a slice
+of Roquefort, another for Neufchatel, another for Sap Sago, and a fourth
+for Edam; one expressed a preference for de Brie, while another hoped to
+get Parmesan; one clamored for imperial blue Stilton, and another craved
+the fragrant boon of Caprera. There were fourteen little ones then, and
+consequently there were diverse opinions as to the kind of gift which
+Santa Claus should best bring; still, there was, as you can readily
+understand, an enthusiastic unanimity upon this point, namely, that the
+gift should be cheese of some brand or other.
+
+"'My dears,' said our mother, 'what matters it whether the boon which
+Santa Claus brings be royal English cheddar or fromage de Bricquebec,
+Vermont sage, or Herkimer County skim-milk? We should be content with
+whatsoever Santa Glaus bestows, so long as it be cheese, disjoined from
+all traps whatsoever, unmixed with Paris green, and free from glass,
+strychnine, and other harmful ingredients. As for myself, I shall be
+satisfied with a cut of nice, fresh Western reserve; for truly I recognize
+in no other viand or edible half the fragrance or half the gustfulness to
+be met with in one of these pale but aromatic domestic products. So run
+away to your dreams now, that Santa Claus may find you sleeping.'
+
+"The children obeyed,--all but Squeaknibble. 'Let the others think what
+they please,' said she, 'but _I_ don't believe in Santa Claus. I'm
+not going to bed, either. I'm going to creep out of this dark hole and
+have a quiet romp, all by myself, in the moonlight.' Oh, what a vain,
+foolish, wicked little mouse was Squeaknibble! But I will not reproach the
+dead; her punishment came all too swiftly. Now listen: who do you suppose
+overheard her talking so disrespectfully of Santa Claus?"
+
+"Why, Santa Claus himself," said the old clock.
+
+"Oh, no," answered the little mauve mouse. "It was that wicked, murderous
+cat! Just as Satan lurks and lies in wait for bad children, so does the
+cruel cat lurk and lie in wait for naughty little mice. And you can depend
+upon it, that when that awful cat heard Squeaknibble speak so
+disrespectfully of Santa Claus, her wicked eyes glowed with joy, her sharp
+teeth watered, and her bristling fur emitted electric sparks as big as
+marrowfat peas. Then what did that bloodthirsty monster do but scuttle as
+fast as she could into Dear-my-Soul's room, leap up into Dear-my-Soul's
+crib, and walk off with the pretty little white muff which Dear-my-Soul
+used to wear when she went for a visit to the little girl in the next
+block! What upon earth did the horrid old cat want with Dear-my-Soul's
+pretty little white muff? Ah, the duplicity, the diabolical ingenuity of
+that cat! Listen.
+
+"In the first place," resumed the little mauve mouse, after a pause that
+testified eloquently to the depth of her emotion,--"in the first place,
+that wretched cat dressed herself up in that pretty little white muff, by
+which you are to understand that she crawled through the muff just so far
+as to leave her four cruel legs at liberty."
+
+"Yes, I understand," said the old clock.
+
+"Then she put on the boy doll's fur cap," said the little mauve mouse,
+"and when she was arrayed in the boy doll's fur cap and Dear-my-Soul's
+pretty little white muff, of course she didn't look like a cruel cat at
+all. But whom did she look like?"
+
+"Like the boy doll," suggested the old clock.
+
+"No, no!" cried the little mauve mouse.
+
+"Like Dear-my-Soul?" asked the old clock.
+
+"How stupid you are!" exclaimed the little mauve mouse. "Why, she looked
+like Santa Claus, of course!"
+
+"Oh, yes; I see," said the old clock. "Now I begin to be interested; go
+on."
+
+"Alas!" sighed the little mauve mouse, "not much remains to be told; but
+there is more of my story left than there was of Squeaknibble when that
+horrid cat crawled out of that miserable disguise. You are to understand
+that, contrary to her sagacious mother's injunction, and in notorious
+derision of the mooted coming of Santa Claus, Squeaknibble issued from the
+friendly hole in the chimney corner, and gambolled about over this very
+carpet, and, I dare say, in this very moonlight."
+
+"I do not know," said the moonbeam, faintly. "I am so very old, and I have
+seen so many things--I do not know."
+
+"Right merrily was Squeaknibble gambolling," continued the little mauve
+mouse, "and she had just turned a double back somersault without the use
+of what remained of her tail, when, all of a sudden, she beheld, looming
+up like a monster ghost, a figure all in white fur! Oh, how frightened she
+was, and how her little heart did beat! 'Purr, purr-r-r,' said the ghost
+in white fur. 'Oh, please don't hurt me!' pleaded Squeaknibble. 'No; I'll
+not hurt you,' said the ghost in white fur; 'I'm Santa Claus, and I've
+brought you a beautiful piece of savory old cheese, you dear little
+mousie, you.' Poor Squeaknibble was deceived; a sceptic all her life, she
+was at last befooled by the most palpable and most fatal of frauds. 'How
+good of you!' said Squeaknibble. 'I didn't believe there was a Santa
+Claus, and--' but before she could say more she was seized by two sharp,
+cruel claws that conveyed her crushed body to the murderous mouth of
+mousedom's most malignant foe. I can dwell no longer upon this harrowing
+scene. Suffice it to say that ere the morrow's sun rose like a big yellow
+Herkimer County cheese upon the spot where that tragedy had been enacted,
+poor Squeaknibble passed to that bourn whence two inches of her beautiful
+tail had preceded her by the space of three weeks to a day. As for Santa
+Claus, when he came that Christmas eve, bringing morceaux de Brie and of
+Stilton for the other little mice, he heard with sorrow of Squeaknibble's
+fate; and ere he departed he said that in all his experience he had never
+known of a mouse or of a child that had prospered after once saying that
+he didn't believe in Santa Claus."
+
+"Well, that is a remarkable story," said the old clock. "But if you
+believe in Santa Glaus, why aren't you in bed?"
+
+"That's where I shall be presently," answered the little mauve mouse, "but
+I must have my scamper, you know. It is very pleasant, I assure you, to
+frolic in the light of the moon; only I cannot understand why you are
+always so cold and so solemn and so still, you pale, pretty little
+moonbeam."
+
+"Indeed, I do not know that I am so," said the moonbeam. "But I am very
+old, and I have travelled many, many leagues, and I have seen wondrous
+things. Sometimes I toss upon the ocean, sometimes I fall upon a
+slumbering flower, sometimes I rest upon a dead child's face. I see the
+fairies at their play, and I hear mothers singing lullabies. Last night I
+swept across the frozen bosom of a river. A woman's face looked up at me;
+it was the picture of eternal rest. 'She is sleeping,' said the frozen
+river. 'I rock her to and fro, and sing to her. Pass gently by, O
+moonbeam; pass gently by, lest you awaken her.'"
+
+"How strangely you talk," said the old clock. "Now, I'll warrant me that,
+if you wanted to, you could tell many a pretty and wonderful story. You
+must know many a Christmas tale; pray tell us one to wear away this night
+of Christmas watching."
+
+"I know but one," said the moonbeam. "I have told it over and over again,
+in every land and in every home; yet I do not weary of it. It is very
+simple. Should you like to hear it?"
+
+"Indeed we should," said the old clock; "but before you begin, let me
+strike twelve; for I shouldn't want to interrupt you."
+
+When the old clock had performed this duty with somewhat more than usual
+alacrity, the moonbeam began its story:--
+
+"Upon a time--so long ago that I can't tell how long ago it was--I fell
+upon a hillside. It was in a far distant country; this I know, because,
+although it was the Christmas time, it was not in that country as it is
+wont to be in countries to the north. Hither the snow-king never came;
+flowers bloomed all the year, and at all times the lambs found pleasant
+pasturage on the hillsides. The night wind was balmy, and there was a
+fragrance of cedar in its breath. There were violets on the hillside, and
+I fell amongst them and lay there. I kissed them, and they awakened. 'Ah,
+is it you, little moonbeam?' they said, and they nestled in the grass
+which the lambs had left uncropped.
+
+"A shepherd lay upon a broad stone on the hillside; above him spread an
+olive-tree, old, ragged, and gloomy; but now it swayed its rusty branches
+majestically in the shifting air of night. The shepherd's name was Benoni.
+Wearied with long watching, he had fallen asleep; his crook had slipped
+from his hand. Upon the hillside, too, slept the shepherd's flock. I had
+counted them again and again; I had stolen across their gentle faces and
+brought them pleasant dreams of green pastures and of cool water-brooks. I
+had kissed old Benoni, too, as he lay slumbering there; and in his dreams
+he seemed to see Israel's King come upon earth, and in his dreams he
+murmured the promised Messiah's name.
+
+"'Ah, is it you, little moonbeam?' quoth the violets. 'You have come in
+good time. Nestle here with us, and see wonderful things come to pass.'
+
+"'What are these wonderful things of which you speak?' I asked.
+
+"'We heard the old olive-tree telling of them to-night,' said the violets.
+'"Do not go to sleep, little violets," said the old olive-tree, "for this
+is Christmas night, and the Master shall walk upon the hillside in the
+glory of the midnight hour." So we waited and watched; one by one the
+lambs fell asleep; one by one the stars peeped out; the shepherd nodded
+and crooned and crooned and nodded, and at last he, too, went fast asleep,
+and his crook slipped from his keeping. Then we called to the old
+olive-tree yonder, asking how soon the midnight hour would come; but all
+the old olive-tree answered was "Presently, presently," and finally we,
+too, fell asleep, wearied by our long watching, and lulled by the rocking
+and swaying of the old olive-tree in the breezes of the night.'
+
+"'But who is this Master?' I asked.
+
+"'A child, a little child,' they answered. 'He is called the little Master
+by the others. He comes here often, and plays among the flowers of the
+hillside. Sometimes the lambs, gambolling too carelessly, have crushed and
+bruised us so that we lie bleeding and are like to die; but the little
+Master heals our wounds and refreshes us once again.'
+
+"I marvelled much to hear these things. 'The midnight hour is at hand,'
+said I, 'and I will abide with you to see this little Master of whom you
+speak.' So we nestled among the verdure of the hillside, and sang songs
+one to another.
+
+"'Come away!' called the night wind; 'I know a beauteous sea not far
+hence, upon whose bosom you shall float, float, float away out into the
+mists and clouds, if you will come with me.'
+
+"But I hid under the violets and amid the tall grass, that the night wind
+might not woo me with its pleading. 'Ho, there, old olive-tree!' cried the
+violets; 'do you see the little Master coming? Is not the midnight hour at
+hand?'
+
+"'I can see the town yonder,' said the old olive-tree. 'A star beams
+bright over Bethlehem, the iron gates swing open, and the little Master
+comes.'
+
+"Two children came to the hillside. The one, older than his comrade, was
+Dimas, the son of Benoni. He was rugged and sinewy, and over his brown
+shoulders was flung a goat-skin; a leathern cap did not confine his long,
+dark curly hair. The other child was he whom they called the little
+Master; about his slender form clung raiment white as snow, and around his
+face of heavenly innocence fell curls of golden yellow. So beautiful a
+child I had not seen before, nor have I ever since seen such as he. And as
+they came together to the hillside, there seemed to glow about the little
+Master's head a soft white light, as if the moon had sent its tenderest,
+fairest beams to kiss those golden curls.
+
+"'What sound was that?' cried Dimas, for he was exceeding fearful.
+
+"'Have no fear, Dimas,' said the little Master. 'Give me thy hand, and I
+will lead thee.'
+
+"Presently they came to the rock whereon Benoni, the shepherd, lay; and
+they stood under the old olive-tree, and the old olive-tree swayed no
+longer in the night wind, but bent its branches reverently in the presence
+of the little Master. It seemed as if the wind, too, stayed in its
+shifting course just then; for suddenly there was a solemn hush, and you
+could hear no noise, except that in his dreams Benoni spoke the Messiah's
+name.
+
+"'Thy father sleeps,' said the little Master, 'and it is well that it is
+so; for that I love thee, Dimas, and that thou shalt walk with me in my
+Father's kingdom, I would show thee the glories of my birthright.'
+
+"Then all at once sweet music filled the air, and light, greater than the
+light of day, illumined the sky and fell upon all that hillside. The
+heavens opened, and angels, singing joyous songs, walked to the earth.
+More wondrous still, the stars, falling from their places in the sky,
+clustered upon the old olive-tree, and swung hither and thither like
+colored lanterns. The flowers of the hillside all awakened, and they, too,
+danced and sang. The angels, coming hither, hung gold and silver and
+jewels and precious stones upon the old olive, where swung the stars; so
+that the glory of that sight, though I might live forever, I shall never
+see again. When Dimas heard and saw these things he fell upon his knees,
+and catching the hem of the little Master's garment, he kissed it.
+
+"'Greater joy than this shall be thine, Dimas,' said the little Master;
+'but first must all things be fulfilled.'
+
+"All through that Christmas night did the angels come and go with their
+sweet anthems; all through that Christmas night did the stars dance and
+sing; and when it came my time to steal away, the hillside was still
+beautiful with the glory and the music of heaven."
+
+"Well, is that all?" asked the old clock.
+
+"No," said the moonbeam; "but I am nearly done. The years went on.
+Sometimes I tossed upon the ocean's bosom, sometimes I scampered o'er a
+battle-field, sometimes I lay upon a dead child's face. I heard the voices
+of Darkness and mothers' lullabies and sick men's prayers,--and so the
+years went on.
+
+"I fell one night upon a hard and furrowed face. It was of ghostly pallor.
+A thief was dying on the cross, and this was his wretched face. About the
+cross stood men with staves and swords and spears, but none paid heed unto
+the thief. Somewhat beyond this cross another was lifted up, and upon it
+was stretched a human body my light fell not upon. But I heard a voice
+that somewhere I had heard before,--though where I did not know,--and this
+voice blessed those that railed and jeered and shamefully entreated. And
+suddenly the voice called 'Dimas, Dimas!' and the thief upon whose
+hardened face I rested made answer.
+
+"Then I saw that it was Dimas; yet to this wicked criminal there remained
+but little of the shepherd child whom I had seen in all his innocence upon
+the hillside. Long years of sinful life had seared their marks into his
+face; yet now, at the sound of that familiar voice, somewhat of the
+old-time boyish look came back, and in the yearning of the anguished eyes
+I seemed to see the shepherd's son again.
+
+"'The Master!' cried Dimas, and he stretched forth his neck that he might
+see him that spake.
+
+"'O Dimas, how art thou changed!' cried the Master, yet there was in his
+voice no tone of rebuke save that which cometh of love.
+
+"Then Dimas wept, and in that hour he forgot his pain. And the Master's
+consoling voice and the Master's presence there wrought in the dying
+criminal such a new spirit, that when at last his head fell upon his
+bosom, and the men about the cross said that he was dead, it seemed as if
+I shined not upon a felon's face, but upon the face of the gentle shepherd
+lad, the son of Benoni.
+
+"And shining on that dead and peaceful face, I bethought me of the little
+Master's words that he had spoken under the old olive-tree upon the
+hillside: 'Your eyes behold the promised glory now, O Dimas,' I whispered,
+'for with the Master you walk in Paradise.'"
+
+Ah, little Dear-my-Soul, you know--you know whereof the moonbeam spake.
+The shepherd's bones are dust, the flocks are scattered, the old
+olive-tree is gone, the flowers of the hillside are withered, and none
+knoweth where the grave of Dimas is made. But last night, again, there
+shined a star over Bethlehem, and the angels descended from the sky to
+earth, and the stars sang together in glory. And the bells,--hear them,
+little Dear-my-Soul, how sweetly they are ringing,--the bells bear us the
+good tidings of great joy this Christmas morning, that our Christ is born,
+and that with him he bringeth peace on earth and good-will toward men.
+
+1888.
+
+
+
+
++THE DIVELL'S CHRISTMASS+
+
+
+
+
+THE DIVELL'S CHRYSTMASS.
+
+
+It befell that on a time ye Divell did walk to and fro upon ye earth,
+having in his mind full evill cogitations how that he might do despight;
+for of soche nature is ye Divell, and ever hath been, that continually
+doth he go about among men, being so dispositioned that it sufficeth him
+not that men sholde of their own frowardness, and by cause of the guile
+born in them, turn unto his wickedness, but rather that he sholde by his
+crewel artifices and diabolical machinations tempt them at all times and
+upon every hand to do his fiendly plaisaunce.
+
+But it so fortuned that this time wherein ye Divell so walked upon ye
+earth was ye Chrystmass time; and wit ye well that how evill soever ye
+harte of man ben at other seasons, it is tofilled at ye Chrystmass time
+with charity and love, like as if it ben sanctified by ye exceeding
+holiness of that feast. Leastwise, this moche we know, that, whereas at
+other times envy and worldliness do prevail, for a verity our natures are
+toched at ye Chrystmass time as by ye hand of divinity, and conditioned
+for merciful deeds unto our fellow kind. Right wroth was ye Divell,
+therefore, when that he knew this ben ye Chrystmass time. And as rage doth
+often confirm in ye human harte an evill purpose, so was ye Divell now
+more diabolically minded to work his unclean will, and full hejeously fell
+he to roar and lash his ribald legs with his poyson taile. But ye Divell
+did presently conceive that naught might he accomplish by this means,
+since that men, affrighted by his roaring and astonied by ye fumes of
+brimstone and ye sulphur flames issuing from his mouth, wolde flee
+therefrom; whereas by subtile craft and by words of specious guile it more
+frequently befalls that ye Divell seduceth men and lureth them into his
+toils. So then ye Divell did in a little season feign to be in a full
+plaisaunt mind and of sweet purpose; and when that he had girt him about
+with an hermit's cloak, so that none might see his cloven feet and his
+poyson taile, right briskly did he fare him on his journey, and he did
+sing ye while a plaisaunt tune, like he had ben full of joyous
+contentation.
+
+Now it befell that presently in his journey he did meet with a frere, Dan
+Dennyss, an holy man that fared him to a neighboring town for deeds of
+charity and godliness. Unto him spake ye Divell full courteysely, and
+required of him that he might bear him company; to which ye frere gave
+answer in seemly wise, that, if so be that he ben of friendly disposition,
+he wolde make him joy of his companionship and conversation. Then, whiles
+that they journeyed together, began ye Divell to discourse of theologies
+and hidden mysteries, and of conjurations, and of negromancy and of
+magick, and of Chaldee, and of astrology, and of chymistry, and of other
+occult and forbidden sciences, wherein ye Divell and all that ply his
+damnable arts are mightily learned and practised. Now wit ye well that
+this frere, being an holy man and a simple, and having an eye single to ye
+blessed works of his calling, was presently mightily troubled in his mind
+by ye artifices of ye Divell, and his harte began to waver and to be
+filled with miserable doubtings; for knowing nothing of ye things whereof
+ye Divell spake, he colde not make answer thereto, nor, being of godly
+cogitation and practice, had he ye confutations wherewith to meet ye
+abhominable argumentations of ye fiend.
+
+Yet (and now shall I tell you of a special Providence) it did fortune,
+whiles yet ye Divell discoursed in this profane wise, there was vouchsafed
+unto ye frere a certain power to resist ye evill that environed him; for
+of a sodaine he did cast his doubtings and his misgivings to ye winds, and
+did fall upon ye Divell and did buffet him full sore, crying, "Thou art ye
+Divell! Get thee gone!" And ye frere plucked ye cloake from ye Divell and
+saw ye cloven feet and ye poyson taile, and straightway ye Divell ran
+roaring away. But ye frere fared upon his journey, for that he had had a
+successful issue from this grevious temptation, with thanksgiving and
+prayse.
+
+Next came ye Divell into a town wherein were many people going to and fro
+upon works of charity, and doing righteous practices; and sorely did it
+repent ye Divell when that he saw ye people bent upon ye giving of alms
+and ye doing of charitable deeds. Therefore with mighty diligence did ye
+Divell apply himself to poyson ye minds of ye people, shewing unto them in
+artful wise how that by idleness or by righteous dispensation had ye poore
+become poore, and that, soche being ye will of God, it was an evill and
+rebellious thing against God to seeke to minister consolation unto these
+poore peoples. Soche like specious argumentations did ye Divell use to
+gain his diabolical ends; but by means of a grace whereof none then knew
+ye source, these men and these women unto whom ye Divell spake his hejeous
+heresies presently discovered force to withstand these fiendly
+temptations, and to continue in their Chrystianly practices, to ye glory
+of their faith and to ye benefite of ye needy, but to ye exceeding
+discomfiture of ye Divell; for ye which discomfiture I do give hearty
+thanks, and so also shall all of you, if so be that your hartes within you
+be of rightful disposition.
+
+All that day long fared ye Divell to and fro among ye people of ye town,
+but none colde he bring into his hellish way of cogitation. Nor do I count
+this to be a marvellous thing; for, as I myself have herein shewn and as
+eche of us doth truly know, how can there be a place for ye Divell upon
+earth during this Chrystmass time when in ye very air that we breathe
+abideth a certain love and concord sent of heaven for the controul and
+edification of mankind, filling human hartes with peace and inclining
+human hands to ye delectable and blessed employments of charity? Nay, but
+you shall know that all this very season whereof I speak ye holy
+Chrystchilde himself did follow ye Divell upon earth, forefending the
+crewel evills which ye Divell fain wolde do and girding with confidence
+and love ye else frail natures of men. Soothly it is known of common
+report among you that when ye Chrystmass season comes upon ye earth there
+cometh with it also the spirit of our Chryst himself, that in ye
+similitude of a little childe descendeth from heaven and walketh among
+men. And if so be that by any chance ye Divell is minded to issue from his
+foul pit at soche a time, wit ye well that wheresoever ye fiend fareth to
+do his diabolical plaisaunce there also close at hand followeth ye gentle
+Chrystchilde; so that ye Divell, try how hard soever he may, hath no power
+at soche a time over the hartes of men.
+
+Nay, but you shall know furthermore that of soche sweete quality and of so
+great efficacy is this heavenly spirit of charity at ye Chrystmass season,
+that oftentimes is ye Divell himself made to do a kindly deed. So at this
+time of ye which I you tell, ye Divell, walking upon ye earth with evill
+purpose, became finally overcome by ye gracious desire to give an alms;
+but nony alms had ye Divell to give, sith it is wisely ordained that ye
+Divell's offices shall be confined to his domain. Right grievously
+tormented therefore was ye Divell, in that he had nought of alms to
+bestow; but when presently he did meet with a beggar childe that besought
+him charity, ye Divell whipped out a knife and cut off his own taile,
+which taile ye Divell gave to ye beggar childe, for he had not else to
+give for a lyttle trinket toy to make merry with. Now wit ye well that
+this poyson instrument brought no evill to ye beggar childe, for by a
+sodaine miracle it ben changed into a flowre of gold, ye which gave great
+joy unto ye beggar childe and unto all them that saw this miracle how that
+it had ben wrought, but not by ye Divell. Then returned ye Divell unto his
+pit of fire; and since that day, whereupon befell this thing of which I
+speak, ye Divell hath had nony taile at all, as you that hath seene ye
+same shall truly testify.
+
+But all that day long walked ye Chrystchilde upon ye earth, unseen to ye
+people but toching their hartes with his swete love and turning their
+hands to charity; and all felt that ye Chrystchilde was with them. So it
+was plaisaunt to do ye Chrystchilde's will, to succor ye needy, to comfort
+ye afflicted, and to lift up ye oppressed. Most plaisauntest of all was it
+to make merry with ye lyttle children, sithence of soche is ye kingdom
+whence ye Chrystchilde cometh.
+
+Behold, ye season is again at hand; once more ye snows of winter lie upon
+all ye earth, and all Chrystantie is arrayed to the holy feast.
+
+Presently shall ye star burn with exceeding brightness in ye east, ye sky
+shall be full of swete music, ye angels shall descend to earth with
+singing, and ye bells--ye joyous Chrystmass bells--shall tell us of ye
+babe that was born in Bethlehem.
+
+Come to us now, O gentle Chrystchilde, and walke among us peoples of ye
+earth; enwheel us round about with thy protecting care; forefend all
+envious thoughts and evil deeds; toche thou our hearts with the glory of
+thy love, and quicken us to practices of peace, good-will, and charity
+meet for thy approval and acceptation.
+
+1888.
+
+
+
+
++THE MOUNTAIN AND THE SEA+
+
+
+
+
+THE MOUNTAIN AND THE SEA
+
+
+Once upon a time the air, the mountain, and the sea lived undisturbed upon
+all the earth. The mountain alone was immovable; he stood always here upon
+his rocky foundation, and the sea rippled and foamed at his feet, while
+the air danced freely over his head and about his grim face. It came to
+pass that both the sea and the air loved the mountain, but the mountain
+loved the sea.
+
+"Dance on forever, O air," said the mountain; "dance on and sing your
+merry songs. But I love the gentle sea, who in sweet humility crouches at
+my feet or playfully dashes her white spray against my brown bosom."
+
+Now the sea was full of joy when she heard these words, and her thousand
+voices sang softly with delight. But the air was filled with rage and
+jealousy, and she swore a terrible revenge.
+
+"The mountain shall not wed the sea," muttered the envious air. "Enjoy
+your triumph while you may, O slumberous sister; I will steal you from
+your haughty lover!"
+
+And it came to pass that ever after that the air each day caught up huge
+parts of the sea and sent them floating forever through the air in the
+shape of clouds. So each day the sea receded from the feet of the
+mountain, and her tuneful waves played no more around his majestic base.
+
+"Whither art thou going, my love?" cried the mountain in dismay.
+
+"She is false to thee," laughed the air, mockingly. "She is going to
+another love far away."
+
+But the mountain would not believe it. He towered his head aloft and cried
+more beseechingly than before: "Oh, whither art thou going, my beloved? I
+do not hear thy sweet voice, nor do thy soft white arms compass me about."
+
+Then the sea cried out in an agony of helpless love. But the mountain
+heard her not, for the air refused to bring the words she said.
+
+"She is false!" whispered the air. "I alone am true to thee."
+
+But the mountain believed her not. Day after day he reared his massive
+head aloft and turned his honest face to the receding sea and begged her
+to return; day after day the sea threw up her snowy arms and uttered the
+wildest lamentations, but the mountain heard her not; and day by day the
+sea receded farther and farther from the mountain's base. Where she once
+had spread her fair surface appeared fertile plains and verdant groves all
+peopled with living things, whose voices the air brought to the mountain's
+ears in the hope that they might distract the mountain from his mourning.
+
+But the mountain would not be comforted; he lifted his sturdy head aloft,
+and his sorrowing face was turned ever toward the fleeting object of his
+love. Hills, valleys, forests, plains, and other mountains separated them
+now, but over and beyond them all he could see was her fair face lifted
+pleadingly toward him, while her white arms tossed wildly to and fro. But
+he did not know what words she said, for the envious air would not bear
+her messages to him.
+
+Then many ages came and went, until now the sea was far distant, so very
+distant that the mountain could not behold her,--nay, had he been ten
+thousand times as lofty he could not have seen her, she was so far away.
+But still, as of old, the mountain stood with his majestic head high in
+the sky, and his face turned whither he had seen her fading like a dream
+away.
+
+"Comeback, comeback, O my beloved!" he cried and cried.
+
+And the sea, a thousand miles or more away, still thought forever of the
+mountain. Vainly she peered over the western horizon for a glimpse of his
+proud head and honest face. The horizon was dark. Her lover was far
+beyond, forests, plains, hills, valleys, rivers, and other mountains
+intervened. Her watching was as hopeless as her love.
+
+"She is false!" whispered the air to the mountain. "She is false, and she
+has gone to another lover. I alone am true!"
+
+But the mountain believed her not. And one day clouds came floating
+through the sky and hovered around the mountain's crest.
+
+"Who art thou," cried the mountain,--"who art thou that thou fill'st me
+with such a subtile consolation? Thy breath is like my beloved's, and thy
+kisses are like her kisses."
+
+"We come from the sea," answered the clouds. "She loves thee, and she has
+sent us to bid thee be courageous, for she will come back to thee."
+
+Then the clouds covered the mountain and bathed him with the glory of the
+sea's true love. The air raged furiously, but all in vain. Ever after that
+the clouds came each day with love-messages from the sea, and oftentimes
+the clouds bore back to the distant sea the tender words the mountain
+spoke.
+
+And so the ages come and go, the mountain rearing his giant head aloft,
+and his brown, honest face turned whither the sea departed; the sea
+stretching forth her arms to the distant mountain and repeating his dear
+name with her thousand voices.
+
+Stand on the beach and look upon the sea's majestic calm and hear her
+murmurings; or see her when, in the frenzy of her hopeless love, she
+surges wildly and tosses her white arms and shrieks,--then you shall know
+how the sea loves the distant mountain.
+
+The mountain is old and sear; the storms have beaten upon his breast, and
+great scars and seams and wrinkles are on his sturdy head and honest face
+But he towers majestically aloft, and he looks always toward the distant
+sea and waits for her promised coming.
+
+And so the ages come and go, but love is eternal.
+
+1886.
+
+
+
+
++THE ROBIN AND THE VIOLET+
+
+
+
+
+THE ROBIN AND THE VIOLET
+
+
+Once upon a time a robin lived in the greenwood. Of all the birds his
+breast was the brightest, his music was the sweetest, and his life was the
+merriest. Every morning and evening he perched himself among the berries
+of the linden-tree, and carolled a song that made the whole forest joyous;
+and all day long he fluttered among the flowers and shrubbery of the
+wild-wood, and twittered gayly to the brooks, the ferns, and the lichens.
+
+A violet grew among the mosses at the foot of the linden-tree where lived
+the robin. She was so very tiny and so very modest that few knew there was
+such a pretty little creature in the world. Withal she was so beautiful
+and so gentle that those who knew the violet loved her very dearly.
+
+The south wind came wooing the violet. He danced through the shrubbery and
+ferns, and lingered on the velvet moss where the little flower grew. But
+when he kissed her pretty face and whispered to her, she hung her head and
+said, "No, no; it cannot be."
+
+"Nay, little violet, do not be so cruel," pleaded the south wind; "let me
+bear you as my bride away to my splendid home in the south, where all is
+warmth and sunshine always."
+
+But the violet kept repeating, "No, it cannot be; no, it cannot be," till
+at last the south wind stole away with a very heavy heart.
+
+And the rose exclaimed, in an outburst of disgustful indignation: "What a
+foolish violet! How silly of her to refuse such a wooer as the south wind,
+who has a beautiful home and a patrimony of eternal warmth and sunshine!"
+
+But the violet, as soon as the south wind had gone, looked up at the robin
+perched in the linden-tree and singing his clear song; and it seemed as if
+she blushed and as if she were thrilled with a great emotion as she beheld
+him. But the robin did not see the violet. His eyes were turned the other
+way, and he sang to the clouds in the sky.
+
+The brook o'erleaped its banks one day, and straying toward the
+linden-tree, it was amazed at the loveliness of the violet. Never had it
+seen any flower half so beautiful.
+
+"Oh, come and be my bride," cried the brook. "I am young and small now,
+but presently you shall see me grow to a mighty river whose course no
+human power can direct, and whose force nothing can resist. Cast thyself
+upon my bosom, sweet violet, and let us float together to that great
+destiny which awaits me."
+
+But the violet shuddered and recoiled and said: "Nay, nay, impetuous
+brook, I will not be your bride." So, with many murmurs and complaints,
+the brook crept back to its jealous banks and resumed its devious and
+prattling way to the sea.
+
+"Bless me!" cried the daisy, "only to think of that silly violet's
+refusing the brook! Was there ever another such piece of folly! Where else
+is there a flower that would not have been glad to go upon such a
+wonderful career? Oh, how short-sighted some folks are!"
+
+But the violet paid no heed to these words; she looked steadfastly up into
+the foliage of the linden-tree where the robin was carolling. The robin
+did not see the violet; he was singing to the tops of the fir-trees over
+yonder.
+
+The days came and went. The robin sang and fluttered in the greenwood, and
+the violet bided among the mosses at the foot of the linden; and although
+the violet's face was turned always upward to where the robin perched and
+sang, the robin never saw the tender little flower.
+
+One day a huntsman came through the greenwood, and an arrow from his cruel
+bow struck the robin and pierced his heart. The robin was carolling in the
+linden, but his song was ended suddenly, and the innocent bird fell dying
+from the tree. "Oh, it is only a robin," said the huntsman, and with a
+careless laugh he went on his way.
+
+The robin lay upon the mosses at the foot of the linden, close beside the
+violet. But he neither saw nor heard anything, for his life was nearly
+gone. The violet tried to bind his wound and stay the flow of his heart's
+blood, but her tender services were vain. The robin died without having
+seen her sweet face or heard her gentle voice.
+
+Then the other birds of the greenwood came to mourn over their dead
+friend. The moles and the mice dug a little grave and laid the robin in
+it, after which the birds brought lichens and leaves, and covered the dead
+body, and heaped earth over all, and made a great lamentation. But when
+they went away, the violet remained; and after the sun had set, and the
+greenwood all was dark, the violet bent over the robin's grave and kissed
+it, and sang to the dead robin. And the violet watched by the robin's
+grave for weeks and months, her face pressed forward toward that tiny
+mound, and her gentle voice always singing softly and sweetly about the
+love she never had dared to tell.
+
+Often after that the south wind and the brook came wooing her, but she
+never heard them, or, if she heard them, she did not answer. The vine that
+lived near the chestnut yonder said the violet was greatly changed; that
+from being a merry, happy thing, she had grown sad and reticent; she used
+to hold up her head as proudly as the others, but now she seemed broken
+and weary. The shrubs and flowers talked it all over many and many a time,
+but none of them could explain the violet's strange conduct.
+
+It was autumn now, and the greenwood was not what it had been. The birds
+had flown elsewhere to be the guests of the storks during the winter
+months, the rose had run away to be the bride of the south wind, and the
+daisy had wedded the brook and was taking a bridal tour to the seaside
+watering-places. But the violet still lingered in the greenwood, and kept
+her vigil at the grave of the robin. She was pale and drooping, but still
+she watched and sang over the spot where her love lay buried. Each day she
+grew weaker and paler. The oak begged her to come and live among the warm
+lichens that protected him from the icy breath of the storm-king, but the
+violet chose to watch and sing over the robin's grave.
+
+One morning, after a night of exceeding darkness and frost, the boisterous
+north wind came trampling through the greenwood.
+
+"I have come for the violet," he cried; "she would not have my fair
+brother, but she must go with _me_, whether it pleases her or not!"
+
+But when he came to the foot of the linden-tree his anger was changed to
+compassion. The violet was dead, and she lay upon the robin's grave. Her
+gentle face rested close to the little mound, as if, in her last moment,
+the faithful flower had stretched forth her lips to kiss the dust that
+covered her beloved.
+
+1884.
+
+
+
+
++THE OAK-TREE AND THE IVY+
+
+
+
+
+THE OAK-TREE AND THE IVY
+
+
+In the greenwood stood a mighty oak. So majestic was he that all who came
+that way paused to admire his strength and beauty, and all the other trees
+of the greenwood acknowledged him to be their monarch.
+
+Now it came to pass that the ivy loved the oak-tree, and inclining her
+graceful tendrils where he stood, she crept about his feet and twined
+herself around his sturdy and knotted trunk. And the oak-tree pitied the
+ivy.
+
+"Oho!" he cried, laughing boisterously, but good-naturedly,--"oho! so you
+love me, do you, little vine? Very well, then; play about my feet, and I
+will keep the storms from you and will tell you pretty stories about the
+clouds, the birds, and the stars."
+
+The ivy marvelled greatly at the strange stories the oak-tree told; they
+were stories the oak-tree heard from the wind that loitered about his
+lofty head and whispered to the leaves of his topmost branches. Sometimes
+the story was about the great ocean in the East, sometimes of the broad
+prairies in the West, sometimes of the ice-king who lived in the North,
+and sometimes of the flower-queen who dwelt in the South. Then, too, the
+moon told a story to the oak-tree every night,--or at least every night
+that she came to the greenwood, which was very often, for the greenwood is
+a very charming spot, as we all know. And the oak-tree repeated to the ivy
+every story the moon told and every song the stars sang.
+
+"Pray, what are the winds saying now?" or "What song is that I hear?" the
+ivy would ask; and then the oak-tree would repeat the story or the song,
+and the ivy would listen in great wonderment.
+
+Whenever the storms came, the oak-tree cried to the little ivy: "Cling
+close to me, and no harm shall befall you! See how strong I am; the
+tempest does not so much as stir me--I mock its fury!"
+
+Then, seeing how strong and brave he was, the ivy hugged him closely; his
+brown, rugged breast protected her from every harm, and she was secure.
+
+The years went by; how quickly they flew,--spring, summer, winter, and
+then again spring, summer, winter,--ah, life is short in the greenwood as
+elsewhere! And now the ivy was no longer a weakly little vine to excite
+the pity of the passer-by. Her thousand beautiful arms had twined hither
+and thither about the oak-tree, covering his brown and knotted trunk,
+shooting forth a bright, delicious foliage and stretching far up among his
+lower branches. Then the oak-tree's pity grew into a love for the ivy, and
+the ivy was filled with a great joy. And the oak-tree and the ivy were wed
+one June night, and there was a wonderful celebration in the greenwood;
+and there was most beautiful music, in which the pine-trees, the crickets,
+the katydids, the frogs, and the nightingales joined with pleasing
+harmony.
+
+The oak-tree was always good and gentle to the ivy. "There is a storm
+coming over the hills," he would say. "The east wind tells me so; the
+swallows fly low in the air, and the sky is dark. Cling close to me, my
+beloved, and no harm shall befall you."
+
+Then, confidently and with an always-growing love, the ivy would cling
+more closely to the oak-tree, and no harm came to her.
+
+"How good the oak-tree is to the ivy!" said the other trees of the
+greenwood. The ivy heard them, and she loved the oak-tree more and more.
+And, although the ivy was now the most umbrageous and luxuriant vine in
+all the greenwood, the oak-tree regarded her still as the tender little
+thing he had laughingly called to his feet that spring day, many years
+before,--the same little ivy he had told about the stars, the clouds, and
+the birds. And, just as patiently as in those days he had told her of
+these things, he now repeated other tales the winds whispered to his
+topmost boughs,--tales of the ocean in the East, the prairies in the West,
+the ice-king in the North, and the flower-queen in the South. Nestling
+upon his brave breast and in his stout arms, the ivy heard him tell these
+wondrous things, and she never wearied with the listening.
+
+"How the oak-tree loves her!" said the ash. "The lazy vine has naught to
+do but to twine herself about the arrogant oak-tree and hear him tell his
+wondrous stories!"
+
+The ivy heard these envious words, and they made her very sad; but she
+said nothing of them to the oak-tree, and that night the oak-tree rocked
+her to sleep as he repeated the lullaby a zephyr was singing to him.
+
+"There is a storm coming over the hills," said the oak-tree one day. "The
+east wind tells me so; the swallows fly low in the air, and the sky is
+dark. Clasp me round about with thy dear arms, my beloved, and nestle
+close unto my bosom, and no harm shall befall thee."
+
+"I have no fear," murmured the ivy; and she clasped her arms most closely
+about him and nestled unto his bosom.
+
+The storm came over the hills and swept down upon the greenwood with
+deafening thunder and vivid lightning. The storm-king himself rode upon
+the blast; his horses breathed flames, and his chariot trailed through the
+air like a serpent of fire. The ash fell before the violence of the
+storm-king's fury, and the cedars groaning fell, and the hemlocks and the
+pines; but the oak-tree alone quailed not.
+
+"Oho!" cried the storm-king, angrily, "the oak-tree does not bow to me, he
+does not tremble in my presence. Well, we shall see."
+
+With that the storm-king hurled a mighty thunderbolt at the oak-tree, and
+the brave, strong monarch of the greenwood was riven. Then, with a shout
+of triumph, the storm-king rode away.
+
+"Dear oak-tree, you are riven by the storm-king's thunderbolt!" cried the
+ivy, in anguish.
+
+"Ay," said the oak-tree, feebly, "my end has come; see, I am shattered and
+helpless."
+
+"But _I_ am unhurt," remonstrated the ivy, "and I will bind up your
+wounds and nurse you back to health and vigor."
+
+And so it was that, although the oak-tree was ever afterward a riven and
+broken thing, the ivy concealed the scars upon his shattered form and
+covered his wounds all over with her soft foliage.
+
+"I had hoped, dear one," she said, "to grow up to thy height, to live with
+thee among the clouds, and to hear the solemn voices thou didst hear. Thou
+wouldst have loved me better then?"
+
+But the old oak-tree said: "Nay, nay, my beloved; I love thee better as
+thou art, for with thy beauty and thy love thou comfortest mine age."
+
+Then would the ivy tell quaint stories to the old and broken
+oak-tree,--stories she had learned from the crickets, the bees, the
+butterflies, and the mice when she was an humble little vine and played at
+the foot of the majestic oak-tree towering in the green-wood with no
+thought of the tiny shoot that crept toward him with her love. And these
+simple tales pleased the old and riven oak-tree; they were not as heroic
+as the tales the winds, the clouds, and the stars told, but they were far
+sweeter, for they were tales of contentment, of humility, of love.
+
+So the old age of the oak-tree was grander than his youth.
+
+And all who went through the greenwood paused to behold and admire the
+beauty of the oak-tree then; for about his seared and broken trunk the
+gentle vine had so entwined her graceful tendrils and spread her fair
+foliage, that one saw not the havoc of the years nor the ruin of the
+tempest, but only the glory of the oak-tree's age, which was the ivy's
+love and ministering.
+
+1886
+
+
+
+
++MARGARET: A PEARL+
+
+
+
+
+MARGARET: A PEARL
+
+
+In a certain part of the sea, very many leagues from here, there once
+lived a large family of oysters noted for their beauty and size. But among
+them was one so small, so feeble, and so ill-looking as to excite the
+pity, if not the contempt, of all the others. The father, a venerable,
+bearded oyster, of august appearance and solemn deportment, was much
+mortified that one of his family should happen to be so sickly; and he
+sent for all the doctors in the sea to come and treat her; from which
+circumstance you are to note that doctors are an evil to be met with not
+alone upon _terra firma_. The first to come was Dr. Porpoise, a
+gentleman of the old school, who floundered around in a very important
+manner and was full of imposing ceremonies.
+
+"Let me look at your tongue," said Dr. Porpoise, stroking his beard with
+one fin, impressively. "Ahem! somewhat coated, I see. And your pulse is
+far from normal; no appetite, I presume? Yes, my dear, your system is
+sadly out of order. You need medicine."
+
+The little oyster hated medicine; so she cried,--yes, she actually shed
+cold, briny tears at the very thought of taking old Dr. Porpoise's
+prescriptions. But the father-oyster and the mother-oyster chided her
+sternly; they said that the medicine would be nice and sweet, and that the
+little oyster would like it. But the little oyster knew better than all
+that; yes, she knew a thing or two, even though she _was_ only a
+little oyster.
+
+Now Dr. Porpoise put a plaster on the little oyster's chest and a blister
+at her feet. He bade her eat nothing but a tiny bit of sea-foam on toast
+twice a day. Every two hours she was to take a spoonful of cod-liver oil,
+and before each meal a wineglassful of the essence of distilled
+cuttlefish. The plaster she didn't mind, but the blister and the cod-liver
+oil were terrible; and when it came to the essence of distilled cuttlefish
+--well, she just couldn't stand it! In vain her mother reasoned with her,
+and promised her a new doll and a skipping-rope and a lot of other nice
+things: the little oyster would have none of the horrid drug; until at
+last her father, abandoning his dignity in order to maintain his
+authority, had to hold her down by main strength and pour the medicine
+into her mouth. This was, as you will allow, quite dreadful.
+
+But this treatment did the little oyster no good; and her parents made up
+their minds that they would send for another doctor, and one of a
+different school. Fortunately they were in a position to indulge in almost
+any expense, since the father-oyster himself was president of one of the
+largest banks of Newfoundland. So Dr. Sculpin came with his neat little
+medicine-box under his arm. And when he had looked at the sick little
+oyster's tongue, and had taken her temperature, and had felt her pulse, he
+said he knew what ailed her; but he did not tell anybody what it was. He
+threw away the plasters, the blisters, the cod-liver oil, and the essence
+of distilled cuttlefish, and said it was a wonder that the poor child had
+lived through it all!
+
+"Will you please bring me two tumblerfuls of water?" he remarked to the
+mother-oyster.
+
+The mother-oyster scuttled away, and soon returned with two conch-shells
+filled to the brim with pure, clear sea-water. Dr. Sculpin counted three
+grains of white sand into one shell, and three grains of yellow sand into
+the other shell, with great care.
+
+"Now," said he to the mother-oyster, "I have numbered these 1 and 2.
+First, you are to give the patient ten drops out of No. 2, and in an hour
+after that, eight drops out of No. 1; the next hour, eight drops out of
+No. 2; and the next, or fourth, hour, ten drops out of No. 1. And so you
+are to continue hour by hour, until either the medicine or the child gives
+out."
+
+"Tell me, doctor," asked the mother, "shall she continue the food
+suggested by Dr. Porpoise?"
+
+"What food did he recommend?" inquired Dr. Sculpin.
+
+"Sea-foam on toast," answered the mother.
+
+Dr. Sculpin smiled a smile which seemed to suggest that Dr. Porpoise's
+ignorance was really quite annoying.
+
+"My dear madam," said Dr. Sculpin, "the diet suggested by that quack,
+Porpoise, passed out of the books years ago. Give the child toast on
+sea-foam, if you wish to build up her debilitated forces."
+
+Now, the sick little oyster did not object to this treatment; on the
+contrary, she liked it. But it did her no good. And one day, when she was
+feeling very dry, she drank both tumblerfuls of medicine, and it did not
+do her any harm; neither did it cure her: she remained the same sick
+little oyster,--oh, so sick! This pained her parents very much. They did
+not know what to do. They took her travelling; they gave her into the care
+of the eel for electric treatment; they sent her to the Gulf Stream for
+warm baths,--they tried everything, but to no avail. The sick little
+oyster remained a sick little oyster, and there was an end of it.
+
+At last one day,--one cruel, fatal day,--a horrid, fierce-looking machine
+was poked down from the surface of the water far above, and with slow but
+intrepid movement began exploring every nook and crevice of the oyster
+village. There was not a family into which it did not intrude, nor a home
+circle whose sanctity it did not ruthlessly invade. It scraped along the
+great mossy rock; and lo! with a monstrous scratchy-te-scratch, the
+mother-oyster and the father-oyster and hundreds of other oysters were
+torn from their resting-places and borne aloft in a very jumbled and very
+frightened condition by the impertinent machine. Then down it came again,
+and the sick little oyster was among the number of those who were seized
+by the horrid monster this time. She found herself raised to the top of
+the sea; and all at once she was bumped in a boat, where she lay, puny and
+helpless, on a huge pile of other oysters. Two men were handling the
+fierce-looking machine. A little boy sat in the stern of the boat watching
+the huge pile of oysters. He was a pretty little boy, with bright eyes and
+long tangled hair. He wore no hat, and his feet were bare and brown.
+
+"What a funny little oyster!" said the boy, picking up the sick little
+oyster; "it is no bigger than my thumb, and it is very pale."
+
+"Throw it away," said one of the men. "Like as not it is bad and not fit
+to eat."
+
+"No, keep it and send it out West for a Blue Point," said the other
+man,--what a heartless wretch he was!
+
+But the little boy had already thrown the sick little oyster overboard.
+She fell in shallow water, and the rising tide carried her still farther
+toward shore, until she lodged against an old gum boot that lay half
+buried in the sand. There were no other oysters in sight; her head ached
+and she was very weak; how lonesome, too, she was!--yet anything was
+better than being eaten,--at least so thought the little oyster, and so, I
+presume, think you.
+
+For many weeks and many months the sick little oyster lay hard by the old
+gum boot; and in that time she made many acquaintances and friends among
+the crabs, the lobsters, the fiddlers, the star-fish, the waves, the
+shells, and the gay little fishes of the ocean. They did not harm her, for
+they saw that she was sick; they pitied her--some loved her. The one that
+loved her most was the perch with green fins that attended school every
+day in the academic shade of the big rocks in the quiet cove about a mile
+away. He was very gentle and attentive, and every afternoon he brought
+fresh, cool sea-foam for the sick oyster to eat; he told her pretty
+stories, too,--stories which his grandmother, the venerable codfish, had
+told him of the sea-king, the mermaids, the pixies, the water-sprites, and
+the other fantastically beautiful dwellers in ocean depths. Now while all
+this was very pleasant, the sick little oyster knew that the perch's
+wooing was hopeless, for she was very ill and helpless, and could never
+think of becoming a burden upon one so young and so promising as the
+gallant perch with green fins. But when she spoke to him in this strain,
+he would not listen; he kept right on bringing her more and more cool
+sea-foam every day.
+
+The old gum boot was quite a motherly creature, and anon the sick little
+oyster became very much attached to her. Many times as the little invalid
+rested her aching head affectionately on the instep of the old gum boot,
+the old gum boot told her stories of the world beyond the sea: how she had
+been born in a mighty forest, and how proud her folks were of their family
+tree; how she had been taken from that forest and moulded into the shape
+she now bore; how she had graced and served a foot in amphibious
+capacities, until, at last, having seen many things and having travelled
+much, she had been cast off and hurled into the sea to be the scorn of
+every crab and the derision of every fish. These stories were all new to
+the little oyster, and amazing, too; she knew only of the sea, having
+lived therein all her life. She in turn told the old gum boot quaint
+legends of the ocean,--the simple tales she had heard in her early home;
+and there was a sweetness and a simplicity in these stories of the deep
+that charmed the old gum boot, shrivelled and hardened and pessimistic
+though she was.
+
+Yet, in spite of it all,--the kindness, the care, the amusements, and the
+devotion of her friends,--the little oyster remained always a sick and
+fragile thing. But no one heard her complain, for she bore her suffering
+patiently.
+
+Not far from this beach where the ocean ended its long travels there was a
+city, and in this city there dwelt with her parents a maiden of the name
+of Margaret. From infancy she had been sickly, and although she had now
+reached the years of early womanhood, she could not run or walk about as
+others did, but she had to be wheeled hither and thither in a chair. This
+was very sad; yet Margaret was so gentle and uncomplaining that from aught
+she said you never would have thought her life was full of suffering.
+Seeing her helplessness, the sympathetic things of Nature had compassion
+and were very good to Margaret. The sunbeams stole across her pathway
+everywhere, the grass clustered thickest and greenest where she went, the
+winds caressed her gently as they passed, and the birds loved to perch
+near her window and sing their prettiest songs. Margaret loved them
+all,--the sunlight, the singing winds, the grass, the carolling birds. She
+communed with them; their wisdom inspired her life, and this wisdom gave
+her nature a rare beauty.
+
+Every pleasant day Margaret was wheeled from her home in the city down to
+the beach, and there for hours she would sit, looking out, far out upon
+the ocean, as if she were communing with the ocean spirits that lifted up
+their white arms from the restless waters and beckoned her to come.
+Oftentimes the children playing on the beach came where Margaret sat, and
+heard her tell little stories of the pebbles and the shells, of the ships
+away out at sea, of the ever-speeding gulls, of the grass, of the flowers,
+and of the other beautiful things of life; and so in time the children
+came to love Margaret. Among those who so often gathered to hear the
+gentle sick girl tell her pretty stories was a youth of Margaret's
+age,--older than the others, a youth with sturdy frame and a face full of
+candor and earnestness. His name was Edward, and he was a student in the
+city; he hoped to become a great scholar sometime, and he toiled very
+zealously to that end. The patience, the gentleness, the sweet simplicity,
+the fortitude of the sick girl charmed him. He found in her little stories
+a quaint and beautiful philosophy he never yet had found in books; there
+was a valor in her life he never yet had read of in the histories. So,
+every day she came and sat upon the beach, Edward came too; and with the
+children he heard Margaret's stories of the sea, the air, the grass, the
+birds, and the flowers.
+
+From her moist eyry in the surf the old gum boot descried the group upon
+the beach each pleasant day. Now the old gum boot had seen enough of the
+world to know a thing or two, as we presently shall see.
+
+"That tall young man is not a child," quoth the old gum boot, "yet he
+comes every day with the children to hear the sick girl tell her stories!
+Ah, ha!"
+
+"Perhaps he is the doctor," suggested the little oyster; and then she
+added with a sigh, "but, oh! I hope not."
+
+This suggestion seemed to amuse the old gum boot highly; at least she fell
+into such hysterical laughter that she sprung a leak near her little toe,
+which, considering her environments, was a serious mishap.
+
+"Unless I am greatly mistaken, my child," said the old gum boot to the
+little oyster, "that young man is in love with the sick girl!"
+
+"Oh, how terrible!" said the little oyster; and she meant it too, for she
+was thinking of the gallant young perch with green fins.
+
+"Well, I've said it, and I mean it!" continued the old gum boot; "now just
+wait and see."
+
+The old gum boot had guessed aright--so much for the value of worldly
+experience! Edward loved Margaret; to him she was the most beautiful, the
+most perfect being in the world; her very words seemed to exalt his
+nature. Yet he never spoke to her of love. He was content to come with the
+children to hear her stories, to look upon her sweet face, and to worship
+her in silence. Was not that a very wondrous love?
+
+In course of time the sick girl Margaret became more interested in the
+little ones that thronged daily to hear her pretty stories, and she put
+her beautiful fancies into the little songs and quaint poems and tender
+legends,--songs and poems and legends about the sea, the flowers, the
+birds, and the other beautiful creations of Nature; and in all there was a
+sweet simplicity, a delicacy, a reverence, that bespoke Margaret's
+spiritual purity and wisdom. In this teaching, and marvelling ever at its
+beauty, Edward grew to manhood. She was his inspiration, yet he never
+spoke of love to Margaret. And so the years went by.
+
+Beginning with the children, the world came to know the sick girl's power.
+Her songs were sung in every home, and in every home her verses and her
+little stories were repeated. And so it was that Margaret came to be
+beloved of all, but he who loved her best spoke never of his love to her.
+
+And as these years went by, the sick little oyster lay in the sea cuddled
+close to the old gum boot. She was wearier now than ever before, for there
+was no cure for her malady. The gallant perch with green fins was very
+sad, for his wooing had been hopeless. Still he was devoted, and still he
+came each day to the little oyster, bringing her cool sea-foam and other
+delicacies of the ocean. Oh, how sick the little oyster was! But the end
+came at last.
+
+The children were on the beach one day, waiting for Margaret, and they
+wondered that she did not come. Presently, grown restless, many of the
+boys scampered into the water and stood there, with their trousers rolled
+up, boldly daring the little waves that rippled up from the overflow of
+the surf. And one little boy happened upon the old gum boot. It was a
+great discovery.
+
+"See the old gum boot," cried the boy, fishing it out of the water and
+holding it on high. "And here is a little oyster fastened to it! How
+funny!"
+
+The children gathered round the curious object on the beach. None of them
+had ever seen such a funny old gum boot, and surely none of them had ever
+seen such a funny little oyster. They tore the pale, knotted little thing
+from her foster-mother, and handled her with such rough curiosity that
+even had she been a robust oyster she must certainly have died. At any
+rate, the little oyster was dead now; and the bereaved perch with green
+fins must have known it, for he swam up and down his native cove
+disconsolately.
+
+It befell in that same hour that Margaret lay upon her death-bed, and
+knowing that she had not long to live, she sent for Edward. And Edward,
+when he came to her, was filled with anguish, and clasping her hands in
+his, he told her of his love.
+
+Then Margaret answered him: "I knew it, dear one; and all the songs I have
+sung and all the words I have spoken and all the prayers I have made have
+been with you, dear one,--all with _you_, in my heart of hearts."
+
+"You have purified and exalted my life," cried Edward; "you have been my
+best and sweetest inspiration; you have taught me the eternal truth,--you
+are my beloved!"
+
+And Margaret said: "Then in my weakness hath there been a wondrous
+strength, and from my sufferings cometh the glory I have sought!"
+
+So Margaret died, and like a broken lily she lay upon her couch; and all
+the sweetness of her pure and gentle life seemed to come back and rest
+upon her face; and the songs she had sung and the beautiful stories she
+had told came back, too, on angel wings, and made sweet music in that
+chamber.
+
+The children were lingering on the beach when Edward came that day. He
+could hear them singing the songs Margaret had taught them. They wondered
+that he came alone.
+
+"See," cried one of the boys, running to meet him and holding a tiny shell
+in his hand,--"see what we have found in this strange little shell. Is it
+not beautiful!"
+
+Edward took the dwarfed, misshapen thing, and lo! it held a beauteous
+pearl.
+
+
+_O little sister mine, let me look into your eyes and read an
+inspiration there; let me hold your thin white hand and know the strength
+of a philosophy more beautiful than human knowledge teaches; let me see in
+your dear, patient little face and hear in your gentle voice the untold
+valor of your suffering life. Come, little sister, let me fold you in my
+arms and have you ever with me, that in the glory of your faith and love I
+may walk the paths of wisdom and of peace_.
+
+1887.
+
+
+
+
++THE SPRINGTIME+
+
+
+
+
+THE SPRINGTIME
+
+
+A child once said to his grandsire: "Gran'pa, what do the flowers mean
+when they talk to the old oak-tree about death? I hear them talking every
+day, but I cannot understand; it is all very strange."
+
+The grandsire bade the child think no more of these things; the flowers
+were foolish prattlers,--what right had they to put such notions into a
+child's head? But the child did not do his grandsire's bidding; he loved
+the flowers and the trees, and he went each day to hear them talk.
+
+It seems that the little vine down by the stone wall had overheard the
+south wind say to the rose-bush: "You are a proud, imperious beauty now,
+and will not listen to my suit; but wait till my boisterous brother comes
+from the North,--then you will droop and wither and die, all because you
+would not listen to me and fly with me to my home by the Southern sea."
+
+These words set the little vine to thinking; and when she had thought for
+a long time she spoke to the daisy about it, and the daisy called in the
+violet, and the three little ones had a very serious conference; but,
+having talked it all over, they came to the conclusion that it was as much
+of a mystery as ever. The old oak-tree saw them.
+
+"You little folks seem very much puzzled about something," said the old
+oak-tree.
+
+"I heard the south wind tell the rose-bush that she would die," exclaimed
+the vine, "and we do not understand what it is. Can you tell us what it is
+to die?"
+
+The old oak-tree smiled sadly.
+
+"I do not call it death," said the old oak-tree; "I call it sleep,--a
+long, restful, refreshing sleep."
+
+"How does it feel?" inquired the daisy, looking very full of astonishment
+and anxiety.
+
+"You must know," said the old oak-tree, "that after many, many days we all
+have had such merry times and have bloomed so long and drunk so heartily
+of the dew and sunshine and eaten so much of the goodness of the earth
+that we feel very weary and we long for repose. Then a great wind comes
+out of the north, and we shiver in its icy blast. The sunshine goes away,
+and there is no dew for us nor any nourishment in the earth, and we are
+glad to go to sleep."
+
+"Mercy on me!" cried the vine, "I shall not like that at all! What, leave
+this smiling meadow and all the pleasant grass and singing bees and
+frolicsome butterflies? No, old oak-tree, I would never go to sleep; I
+much prefer sporting with the winds and playing with my little friends,
+the daisy and the violet."
+
+"And I," said the violet, "I think it would be dreadful to go to sleep.
+What if we never should wake up again!"
+
+The suggestion struck the others dumb with terror,--all but the old
+oak-tree.
+
+"Have no fear of that," said the old oak-tree, "for you are sure to awaken
+again, and when you have awakened the new life will be sweeter and happier
+than the old."
+
+"What nonsense!" cried the thistle.
+
+"You children shouldn't believe a word of it. When you go to sleep you
+die, and when you die there's the last of you!"
+
+The old oak-tree reproved the thistle; but the thistle maintained his
+abominable heresy so stoutly that the little vine and the daisy and the
+violet were quite at a loss to know which of the two to believe,--the old
+oak-tree or the thistle.
+
+The child heard it all and was sorely puzzled. What was this death, this
+mysterious sleep? Would it come upon him, the child? And after he had
+slept awhile would he awaken? His grandsire would not tell him of these
+things; perhaps his grandsire did not know.
+
+It was a long, long summer, full of sunshine and bird-music, and the
+meadow was like a garden, and the old oak-tree looked down upon the grass
+and flowers and saw that no evil befell them. A long, long play-day it was
+to the little vine, the daisy, and the violet. The crickets and the
+grasshoppers and the bumblebees joined in the sport, and romped and made
+music till it seemed like an endless carnival. Only every now and then the
+vine and her little flower friends talked with the old oak-tree about that
+strange sleep and the promised awakening, and the thistle scoffed at the
+old oak-tree's cheering words. The child was there and heard it all.
+
+One day the great wind came out of the north. Hurry-scurry! back to their
+warm homes in the earth and under the old stone wall scampered the
+crickets and bumblebees to go to sleep. Whirr, whirr! Oh, but how piercing
+the great wind was; how different from his amiable brother who had
+travelled all the way from the Southern sea to kiss the flowers and woo
+the rose!
+
+"Well, this is the last of us!" exclaimed the thistle; "we're going to
+die, and that's the end of it all!"
+
+"No, no," cried the old oak-tree; "we shall not die; we are going to
+sleep. Here, take my leaves, little flowers, and you shall sleep warm
+under them. Then, when you awaken, you shall see how much sweeter and
+happier the new life is."
+
+The little ones were very weary indeed. The promised sleep came very
+gratefully.
+
+"We would not be so willing to go to sleep if we thought we should not
+awaken," said the violet.
+
+So the little ones went to sleep. The little vine was the last of all to
+sink to her slumbers; she nodded in the wind and tried to keep awake till
+she saw the old oak-tree close his eyes, but her efforts were vain; she
+nodded and nodded, and bowed her slender form against the old stone wall,
+till finally she, too, had sunk into repose. And then the old oak-tree
+stretched his weary limbs and gave a last look at the sullen sky and at
+the slumbering little ones at his feet; and with that, the old oak-tree
+fell asleep too.
+
+The child saw all these things, and he wanted to ask his grandsire about
+them, but his grandsire would not tell him of them; perhaps his grandsire
+did not know.
+
+The child saw the storm-king come down from the hills and ride furiously
+over the meadows and over the forest and over the town. The snow fell
+everywhere, and the north wind played solemn music in the chimneys. The
+storm-king put the brook to bed, and threw a great mantle of snow over
+him; and the brook that had romped and prattled all the summer and told
+pretty tales to the grass and flowers,--the brook went to sleep too. With
+all his fierceness and bluster, the storm-king was very kind; he did not
+awaken the old oak-tree and the slumbering flowers. The little vine lay
+under the fleecy snow against the old stone wall and slept peacefully, and
+so did the violet and the daisy. Only the wicked old thistle thrashed
+about in his sleep as if he dreamed bad dreams, which, all will allow, was
+no more than he deserved.
+
+All through that winter--and it seemed very long--the child thought of the
+flowers and the vine and the old oak-tree, and wondered whether in the
+springtime they would awaken from their sleep; and he wished for the
+springtime to come. And at last the springtime came. One day the sunbeams
+fluttered down from the sky and danced all over the meadow.
+
+"Wake up, little friends!" cried the sunbeams,--"wake up, for it is the
+springtime!"
+
+The brook was the first to respond. So eager, so fresh, so exuberant was
+he after his long winter sleep, that he leaped from his bed and frolicked
+all over the meadow and played all sorts of curious antics. Then a little
+bluebird was seen in the hedge one morning. He was calling to the violet.
+
+"Wake up, little violet," called the bluebird. "Have I come all this
+distance to find you sleeping? Wake up; it is the springtime!"
+
+That pretty little voice awakened the violet, of course.
+
+"Oh, how sweetly I have slept!" cried the violet; "how happy this new life
+is! Welcome, dear friends!"
+
+And presently the daisy awakened, fresh and beautiful, and then the little
+vine, and, last of all, the old oak-tree. The meadow was green, and all
+around there were the music, the fragrance, the new, sweet life of the
+springtime.
+
+"I slept horribly," growled the thistle. "I had bad dreams. It was sleep,
+after all, but it ought to have been death."
+
+The thistle never complained again; for just then a four-footed monster
+stalked through the meadow and plucked and ate the thistle and then
+stalked gloomily away; which was the last of the sceptical thistle,--truly
+a most miserable end!
+
+"You said the truth, dear old oak-tree!" cried the little vine. "It was
+not death,--it was only a sleep, a sweet, refreshing sleep, and this
+awakening is very beautiful."
+
+They all said so,--the daisy, the violet, the oak-tree, the crickets, the
+bees, and all the things and creatures of the field and forest that had
+awakened from their long sleep to swell the beauty and the glory of the
+springtime. And they talked with the child, and the child heard them. And
+although the grandsire never spoke to the child about these things, the
+child learned from the flowers and trees a lesson of the springtime which
+perhaps the grandsire never knew.
+
+1885
+
+
+
+
++RODOLPH AND HIS KING+
+
+
+
+
+RODOLPH AND HIS KING
+
+
+"Tell me, Father," said the child at Rodolph's knee,--"tell me of the
+king."
+
+"There is no king, my child," said Rodolph. "What you have heard are old
+women's tales. Do not believe them, for there is no king."
+
+"But why, then," queried the child, "do all the people praise and call on
+him; why do the birds sing of the king; and why do the brooks always
+prattle his name, as they dance from the hills to the sea?"
+
+"Nay," answered Rodolph, "you imagine these things; there is no king.
+Believe me, child, there is no king."
+
+So spake Rodolph; but scarcely had he uttered the words when the cricket
+in the chimney corner chirped loudly, and his shrill notes seemed to say:
+"The king--the king." Rodolph could hardly believe his ears. How had the
+cricket learned to chirp these words? It was beyond all understanding. But
+still the cricket chirped, and still his musical monotone seemed to say,
+"The king--the king," until, with an angry frown, Rodolph strode from his
+house, leaving the child to hear the cricket's song alone.
+
+But there were other voices to remind Rodolph of the king. The sparrows
+were fluttering under the eaves, and they twittered noisily as Rodolph
+strode along, "The king, king, king!" "The king, king, king," twittered
+the sparrows, and their little tones were full of gladness and praise.
+
+A thrush sat in the hedge, and she was singing her morning song. It was a
+hymn of praise,--how beautiful it was! "The king--the king--the king,"
+sang the thrush, and she sang, too, of his goodness,--it was a wondrous
+song, and it was all about the king.
+
+The doves cooed in the elm-trees. "Sing to us!" cried their little ones,
+stretching out their pretty heads from the nests. Then the doves nestled
+hard by and murmured lullabies, and the lullabies were of the king who
+watched over and protected even the little birds in their nests.
+
+Rodolph heard these things, and they filled him with anger.
+
+"It is a lie!" muttered Rodolph; and in great petulance he came to the
+brook.
+
+How noisy and romping the brook was; how capricious, how playful, how
+furtive! And how he called to the willows and prattled to the listening
+grass as he scampered on his way. But Rodolph turned aside and his face
+grew darker. He did not like the voice of the brook; for, lo! just as the
+cricket had chirped and the birds had sung, so did this brook murmur and
+prattle and sing ever of the king, the king, the king.
+
+So, always after that, wherever Rodolph went, he heard voices that told
+him of the king; yes, even in their quiet, humble way, the flowers seemed
+to whisper the king's name, and every breeze that fanned his brow had a
+tale to tell of the king and his goodness.
+
+"But there is no king!" cried Rodolph. "They all conspire to plague me!
+There is no king--there is no king!"
+
+Once he stood by the sea and saw a mighty ship go sailing by. The waves
+plashed on the shore and told stories to the pebbles and the sands.
+Rodolph heard their thousand voices, and he heard them telling of the
+king.
+
+Then a great storm came upon the sea, a tempest such as never before had
+been seen. The waves dashed mountain-high and overwhelmed the ship, and
+the giant voices of the winds and waves cried of the king, the king! The
+sailors strove in agony till all seemed lost. Then, when they could do no
+more, they stretched out their hands and called upon the king to save
+them,--the king, the king, the king!
+
+Rodolph saw the tempest subside. The angry winds were lulled, and the
+mountain waves sank into sleep, and the ship came safely into port. Then
+the sailors sang a hymn of praise, and the hymn was of the king and to the
+king.
+
+"But there is no king!" cried Rodolph. "It is a lie; there is no king!"
+
+Yet everywhere he went he heard always of the king; the king's name and
+the king's praises were on every tongue; ay, and the things that had no
+voices seemed to wear the king's name written upon them, until Rodolph
+neither saw nor heard anything that did not mind him of the king.
+
+Then, in great anger, Rodolph said: "I will go to the mountain-tops; there
+I shall find no birds, nor trees, nor brooks, nor flowers to prate of a
+monarch no one has ever seen. There shall there be no sea to vex me with
+its murmurings, nor any human voice to displease me with its
+superstitions."
+
+So Rodolph went to the mountains, and he scaled the loftiest pinnacle,
+hoping that there at last he might hear no more of that king whom none had
+ever seen. And as he stood upon the pinnacle, what a mighty panorama was
+spread before him, and what a mighty anthem swelled upon his ears! The
+peopled plains, with their songs and murmurings, lay far below; on every
+side the mountain peaks loomed up in snowy grandeur; and overhead he saw
+the sky, blue, cold, and cloudless, from horizon to horizon.
+
+What voice was that which spoke in Rodolph's bosom then as Rodolph's eyes
+beheld this revelation?
+
+"There is a king!" said the voice. "The king lives, and this is his
+abiding-place!"
+
+And how did Rodolph's heart stand still when he felt Silence proclaim the
+king,--not in tones of thunder, as the tempest had proclaimed him, nor in
+the singing voices of the birds and brooks, but so swiftly, so surely, so
+grandly, that Rodolph's soul was filled with awe ineffable.
+
+Then Rodolph cried: "There is a king, and I acknowledge him! Henceforth my
+voice shall swell the songs of all in earth and air and sea that know and
+praise his name!"
+
+So Rodolph went to his home. He heard the cricket singing of the king;
+yes, and the sparrows under the eaves, the thrush in the hedge, the doves
+in the elms, and the brook, too, all singing of the king; and Rodolph's
+heart was gladdened by their music. And all the earth and the things of
+the earth seemed more beautiful to Rodolph now that he believed in the
+king; and to the song all Nature sang Rodolph's voice and Rodolph's heart
+made harmonious response.
+
+"There _is_ a king, my child," said Rodolph to his little one.
+"Together let us sing to him, for he is _our_ king, and his goodness
+abideth forever and forever."
+
+1885.
+
+
+
+
++THE HAMPSHIRE HILLS+
+
+
+
+
+THE HAMPSHIRE HILLS
+
+
+One afternoon many years ago two little brothers named Seth and Abner were
+playing in the orchard. They were not troubled with the heat of the August
+day, for a soft, cool wind came up from the river in the valley over
+yonder and fanned their red cheeks and played all kinds of pranks with
+their tangled curls. All about them was the hum of bees, the song of
+birds, the smell of clover, and the merry music of the crickets. Their
+little dog Fido chased them through the high, waving grass, and rolled
+with them under the trees, and barked himself hoarse in his attempt to
+keep pace with their laughter. Wearied at length, they lay beneath the
+bellflower-tree and looked off at the Hampshire hills, and wondered if the
+time ever would come when they should go out into the world beyond those
+hills and be great, noisy men. Fido did not understand it at all. He
+lolled in the grass, cooling his tongue on the clover bloom, and puzzling
+his brain to know why his little masters were so quiet all at once.
+
+"I wish I were a man," said Abner, ruefully. "I want to be somebody and do
+something. It is very hard to be a little boy so long and to have no
+companions but little boys and girls, to see nothing but these same old
+trees and this same high grass, and to hear nothing but the same
+bird-songs from one day to another."
+
+"That is true," said Seth. "I, too, am very tired of being a little boy,
+and I long to go out into the world and be a man like my gran'pa or my
+father or my uncles. With nothing to look at but those distant hills and
+the river in the valley, my eyes are wearied; and I shall be very happy
+when I am big enough to leave this stupid place."
+
+Had Fido understood their words he would have chided them, for the little
+dog loved his home and had no thought of any other pleasure than romping
+through the orchard and playing with his little masters all the day. But
+Fido did not understand them.
+
+The clover bloom heard them with sadness. Had they but listened in turn
+they would have heard the clover saying softly: "Stay with me while you
+may, little boys; trample me with your merry feet; let me feel the imprint
+of your curly heads and kiss the sunburn on your little cheeks. Love me
+while you may, for when you go away you never will come back."
+
+The bellflower-tree heard them, too, and she waved her great, strong
+branches as if she would caress the impatient little lads, and she
+whispered: "Do not think of leaving me: you are children, and you know
+nothing of the world beyond those distant hills. It is full of trouble and
+care and sorrow; abide here in this quiet spot till you are prepared to
+meet the vexations of that outer world. We are for _you_,--we trees
+and grass and birds and bees and flowers. Abide with us, and learn the
+wisdom we teach."
+
+The cricket in the raspberry-hedge heard them, and she chirped, oh! so
+sadly: "You will go out into the world and leave us and never think of us
+again till it is too late to return. Open your ears, little boys, and hear
+my song of contentment."
+
+So spake the clover bloom and the bellflower-tree and the cricket; and in
+like manner the robin that nested in the linden over yonder, and the big
+bumblebee that lived in the hole under the pasture gate, and the butterfly
+and the wild rose pleaded with them, each in his own way; but the little
+boys did not heed them, so eager were their desires to go into and mingle
+with the great world beyond those distant hills.
+
+Many years went by; and at last Seth and Abner grew to manhood, and the
+time was come when they were to go into the world and be brave, strong
+men. Fido had been dead a long time. They had made him a grave under the
+bellflower-tree,--yes, just where he had romped with the two little boys
+that August afternoon Fido lay sleeping amid the humming of the bees and
+the perfume of the clover. But Seth and Abner did not think of Fido now,
+nor did they give even a passing thought to any of their old friends,--the
+bellflower-tree, the clover, the cricket, and the robin. Their hearts beat
+with exultation. They were men, and they were going beyond the hills to
+know and try the world.
+
+They were equipped for that struggle, not in a vain, frivolous way, but as
+good and brave young men should be. A gentle mother had counselled them, a
+prudent father had advised them, and they had gathered from the sweet
+things of Nature much of that wisdom before which all knowledge is as
+nothing. So they were fortified. They went beyond the hills and came into
+the West. How great and busy was the world,--how great and busy it was
+here in the West! What a rush and noise and turmoil and seething and
+surging, and how keenly did the brothers have to watch and struggle for
+vantage ground. Withal, they prospered; the counsel of the mother, the
+advice of the father, the wisdom of the grass and flowers and trees, were
+much to them, and they prospered. Honor and riches came to them, and they
+were happy. But amid it all, how seldom they thought of the little home
+among the circling hills where they had learned the first sweet lessons of
+life!
+
+And now they were old and gray. They lived in splendid mansions, and all
+people paid them honor.
+
+One August day a grim messenger stood in Seth's presence and beckoned to
+him.
+
+"Who are you?" cried Seth. "What strange power have you over me that the
+very sight of you chills my blood and stays the beating of my heart?"
+
+Then the messenger threw aside his mask, and Seth saw that he was Death.
+Seth made no outcry; he knew what the summons meant, and he was content.
+But he sent for Abner.
+
+And when Abner came, Seth was stretched upon his bed, and there was a
+strange look in his eyes and a flush upon his cheeks, as though a fatal
+fever had laid hold on him.
+
+"You shall not die!" cried Abner, and he threw himself about his brother's
+neck and wept.
+
+But Seth bade Abner cease his outcry. "Sit here by my bedside and talk
+with me," said he, "and let us speak of the Hampshire hills."
+
+A great wonder overcame Abner. With reverence he listened, and as he
+listened a sweet peace seemed to steal into his soul.
+
+"I am prepared for Death," said Seth, "and I will go with Death this day.
+Let us talk of our childhood now, for, after all the battle with this
+great world, it is pleasant to think and speak of our boyhood among the
+Hampshire hills."
+
+"Say on, dear brother," said Abner.
+
+"I am thinking of an August day long ago," said Seth, solemnly and softly.
+"It was _so very_ long ago, and yet it seems only yesterday. We were
+in the orchard together, under the bellflower-tree, and our little dog--"
+
+"Fido," said Abner, remembering it all, as the years came back.
+
+"Fido and you and I, under the bellflower-tree," said Seth. "How we had
+played, and how weary we were, and how cool the grass was, and how sweet
+was the fragrance of the flowers! Can you remember it, brother?"
+
+"Oh, yes," replied Abner, "and I remember how we lay among the clover and
+looked off at the distant hills and wondered of the world beyond."
+
+"And amid our wonderings and longings," said Seth, "how the old
+bellflower-tree seemed to stretch her kind arms down to us as if she would
+hold us away from that world beyond the hills."
+
+"And now I can remember that the clover whispered to us, and the cricket
+in the raspberry-hedge sang to us of contentment," said Abner.
+
+"The robin, too, carolled in the linden."
+
+"It is very sweet to remember it now," said Seth. "How blue and hazy the
+hills looked; how cool the breeze blew up from the river; how like a
+silver lake the old pickerel pond sweltered under the summer sun over
+beyond the pasture and broomcorn, and how merry was the music of the birds
+and bees!"
+
+So these old men, who had been little boys together, talked of the August
+afternoon when with Fido they had romped in the orchard and rested beneath
+the bell-flower-tree. And Seth's voice grew fainter, and his eyes were,
+oh! so dim; but to the very last he spoke of the dear old days and the
+orchard and the clover and the Hampshire hills. And when Seth fell asleep
+forever, Abner kissed his brother's lips and knelt at the bedside and said
+the prayer his mother had taught him.
+
+In the street without there was the noise of passing carts, the cries of
+tradespeople, and all the bustle of a great and busy city; but, looking
+upon Seth's dear, dead face, Abner could hear only the music voices of
+birds and crickets and summer winds as he had heard them with Seth when
+they were little boys together, back among the Hampshire hills.
+
+1885.
+
+
+
+
++EZRA'S THANKSGIVIN' OUT WEST+
+
+
+
+
+EZRA'S THANKSGIVIN' OUT WEST
+
+
+Ezra had written a letter to the home folks, and in it he had complained
+that never before had he spent such a weary, lonesome day as this
+Thanksgiving day had been. Having finished this letter, he sat for a long
+time gazing idly into the open fire that snapped cinders all over the
+hearthstone and sent its red forks dancing up the chimney to join the
+winds that frolicked and gambolled across the Kansas prairies that raw
+November night. It had rained hard all day, and was cold; and although the
+open fire made every honest effort to be cheerful, Ezra, as he sat in
+front of it in the wooden rocker and looked down into the glowing embers,
+experienced a dreadful feeling of loneliness and homesickness.
+
+"I'm sick o' Kansas," said Ezra to himself. "Here I 've been in this
+plaguy country for goin' on a year, and--yes, I'm sick of it, powerful
+sick of it. What a miser'ble Thanksgivin' this has been! They don't know
+what Thanksgivin' is out this way. I wish I was back in ol'
+Mass'chusetts--that's the country for _me_, and they hev the kind o'
+Thanksgivin' I like!"
+
+Musing in this strain, while the rain went patter-patter on the
+window-panes, Ezra saw a strange sight in the fireplace,--yes, right among
+the embers and the crackling flames Ezra saw a strange, beautiful picture
+unfold and spread itself out like a panorama.
+
+"How very wonderful!" murmured the young man. Yet he did not take his eyes
+away, for the picture soothed him and he loved to look upon it.
+
+"It is a pictur' of long ago," said Ezra, softly. "I had like to forgot
+it, but now it comes back to me as nat'ral-like as an ol' friend. An' I
+seem to be a part of it, an' the feelin' of that time comes back with the
+pictur', too."
+
+Ezra did not stir. His head rested upon his hand, and his eyes were fixed
+upon the shadows in the firelight.
+
+"It is a pictur' of the ol' home," said Ezra to himself. "I am back there
+in Belchertown, with the Holyoke hills up north an' the Berkshire
+mountains a-loomin' up gray an' misty-like in the western horizon. Seems
+as if it wuz early mornin'; everything is still, and it is so cold when we
+boys crawl out o' bed that, if it wuzn't Thanksgivin' mornin', we'd crawl
+back again an' wait for Mother to call us. But it _is_ Thanksgivin'
+mornin', an' we're goin' skatin' down on the pond. The squealin' o' the
+pigs has told us it is five o'clock, and we must hurry; we're goin' to
+call by for the Dickerson boys an' Hiram Peabody, an' we've got to hyper!
+Brother Amos gets on 'bout half o' my clo'es, an' I get on 'bout half o'
+his, but it's all the same; they are stout, warm clo'es, and they're big
+enough to fit any of us boys,--Mother looked out for that when she made
+'em. When we go down-stairs we find the girls there, all bundled up nice
+an' warm,--Mary an' Helen an' Cousin Irene. They're goin' with us, an' we
+all start out tiptoe and quiet-like so's not to wake up the ol' folks. The
+ground is frozen hard; we stub our toes on the frozen ruts in the road.
+When we come to the minister's house, Laura is standin' on the front
+stoop, a-waitin' for us. Laura is the minister's daughter. She's a friend
+o' Sister Helen's--pretty as a dag'err'otype, an' gentle-like and tender.
+Laura lets me carry her skates, an' I'm glad of it, although I have my
+hands full already with the lantern, the hockies, and the rest. Hiram
+Peabody keeps us waitin', for he has overslept himself, an' when he comes
+trottin' out at last the girls make fun of him,--all except Sister Mary,
+an' she sort o' sticks up for Hiram, an' we're all so 'cute we kind o'
+calc'late we know the reason why.
+
+"And now," said Ezra, softly, "the pictur' changes; seems as if I could
+see the pond. The ice is like a black lookin'-glass, and Hiram Peabody
+slips up the first thing, an' down he comes lickety-split, an' we all
+laugh,--except Sister Mary, an' _she_ says it is very imp'lite to
+laugh at other folks' misfortunes. Ough! how cold it is, and how my
+fingers ache with the frost when I take off my mittens to strap on Laura's
+skates! But, oh, how my cheeks burn! And how careful I am not to hurt
+Laura, an' how I ask her if that's 'tight enough,' an' how she tells me
+'jist a little tighter,' and how we two keep foolin' along till the others
+hev gone an' we are left alone! An' how quick I get my _own_ skates
+strapped on,--none o' your new-fangled skates with springs an' plates an'
+clamps an' such, but honest, ol'-fashioned wooden ones with steel runners
+that curl up over my toes an' have a bright brass button on the end! How I
+strap 'em and lash 'em and buckle 'em on! An' Laura waits for me an' tells
+me to be sure to get 'em on tight enough,--why, bless me! after I once got
+'em strapped on, if them skates hed come off, the feet w'u'd ha' come with
+'em! An' now away we go,--Laura an' me. Around the bend--near the medder
+where Si Barker's dog killed a woodchuck last summer--we meet the rest. We
+forget all about the cold. We run races an' play snap the whip, an' cut
+all sorts o' didoes, an' we never mind the pick'rel weed that is froze in
+on the ice an' trips us up every time we cut the outside edge; an' then we
+boys jump over the airholes, an' the girls stan' by an' scream an' tell us
+they know we're agoin' to drownd ourselves. So the hours go, an' it is
+sun-up at last, an' Sister Helen says we must be gettin' home. When we
+take our skates off, our feet feel as if they were wood. Laura has lost
+her tippet; I lend her mine, an' she kind o' blushes. The old pond seems
+glad to have us go, and the fire-hangbird's nest in the willer-tree waves
+us good-by. Laura promises to come over to our house in the evenin', and
+so we break up.
+
+"Seems now," continued Ezra, musingly,--"seems now as if I could see us
+all at breakfast. The race on the pond has made us hungry, and Mother says
+she never knew anybody else's boys that had such capac'ties as hers. It is
+the Yankee Thanksgivin' breakfast,--sausages an' fried potatoes, an'
+buckwheat cakes an' syrup,--maple syrup, mind ye, for Father has his own
+sugar-bush, and there was a big run o' sap last season. Mother says, 'Ezry
+an' Amos, won't you never get through eatin'? We want to clear off the
+table, for there's pies to make, an' nuts to crack, and laws sakes alive!
+the turkey's got to be stuffed yit!' Then how we all fly round! Mother
+sends Helen up into the attic to get a squash while Mary's makin' the
+pie-crust. Amos an' I crack the walnuts,--they call 'em hickory nuts out
+in this pesky country of sage-brush and pasture land. The walnuts are
+hard, and it's all we can do to crack 'em. Ev'ry once 'n a while one on
+'em slips outer our fingers an' goes dancin' over the floor or flies into
+the pan Helen is squeezin' pumpkin into through the col'nder. Helen says
+we're shif'less an' good for nothin' but frivollin'; but Mother tells us
+how to crack the walnuts so's not to let 'em fly all over the room, an'
+so's not to be all jammed to pieces like the walnuts was down at the party
+at the Peasleys' last winter. An' now here comes Tryphena Foster, with her
+gingham gown an' muslin apron on; her folks have gone up to Amherst for
+Thanksgivin', an' Tryphena has come over to help our folks get dinner. She
+thinks a great deal o' Mother, 'cause Mother teaches her Sunday-school
+class an' says Tryphena oughter marry a missionary. There is bustle
+everywhere, the rattle of pans an' the clatter of dishes; an' the new
+kitch'n stove begins to warm up an' git red, till Helen loses her wits an'
+is flustered, an' sez she never could git the hang o' that stove's
+dampers.
+
+"An' now," murmured Ezra, gently, as a tone of deeper reverence crept into
+his voice, "I can see Father sittin' all by himself in the parlor.
+Father's hair is very gray, and there are wrinkles on his honest old face.
+He is lookin' through the winder at the Holyoke hills over yonder, and I
+can guess he's thinkin' of the time when he wuz a boy like me an' Amos,
+an' useter climb over them hills an' kill rattlesnakes an' hunt
+partridges. Or doesn't his eyes quite reach the Holyoke hills? Do they
+fall kind o' lovingly but sadly on the little buryin'-ground jest beyond
+the village? Ah, Father knows that spot, an' he loves it, too, for there
+are treasures there whose memory he wouldn't swap for all the world could
+give. So, while there is a kind o' mist in Father's eyes, I can see he is
+dreamin'-like of sweet an' tender things, and a-com-munin' with
+memory,--hearin' voices I never heard an' feelin' the tech of hands I
+never pressed; an' seein' Father's peaceful face I find it hard to think
+of a Thanksgivin' sweeter than Father's is.
+
+"The pictur' in the firelight changes now," said Ezra, "an' seems as if I
+wuz in the old frame meetin'-house. The meetin'-house is on the hill, and
+meetin' begins at half-pas' ten. Our pew is well up in front,--seems as if
+I could see it now. It has a long red cushion on the seat, and in the
+hymn-book rack there is a Bible an' a couple of Psalmodies. We walk up the
+aisle slow, and Mother goes in first; then comes Mary, then me, then
+Helen, then Amos, and then Father. Father thinks it is jest as well to
+have one o' the girls set in between me an' Amos. The meetin'-house is
+full, for everybody goes to meetin' Thanksgivin' day. The minister reads
+the proclamation an' makes a prayer, an' then he gives out a psalm, an' we
+all stan' up an' turn round an' join the choir. Sam Merritt has come up
+from Palmer to spend Thanksgivin' with the ol' folks, an' he is singin'
+tenor to-day in his ol' place in the choir. Some folks say he sings
+wonderful well, but _I_ don't like Sam's voice. Laura sings soprano
+in the choir, and Sam stands next to her an' holds the book.
+
+"Seems as if I could hear the minister's voice, full of earnestness an'
+melody, comin' from 'way up in his little round pulpit. He is tellin' us
+why we should be thankful, an', as he quotes Scriptur' an' Dr. Watts, we
+boys wonder how anybody can remember so much of the Bible. Then I get
+nervous and worried. Seems to me the minister was never comin' to lastly,
+and I find myself wonderin' whether Laura is listenin' to what the
+preachin' is about, or is writin' notes to Sam Merritt in the back of the
+tune-book. I get thirsty, too, and I fidget about till Father looks at me,
+and Mother nudges Helen, and Helen passes it along to me with interest.
+
+"An' then," continues Ezra in his revery, "when the last hymn is given out
+an' we stan' up ag'in an' join the choir, I am glad to see that Laura is
+singin' outer the book with Miss Hubbard, the alto. An' goin' out o'
+meetin' I kind of edge up to Laura and ask her if I kin have the pleasure
+of seen' her home.
+
+"An' now we boys all go out on the Common to play ball. The Enfield boys
+have come over, and, as all the Hampshire county folks know, they are
+tough fellers to beat. Gorham Polly keeps tally, because he has got the
+newest jack-knife,--oh, how slick it whittles the old broom-handle Gorham
+picked up in Packard's store an' brought along jest to keep tally on! It
+is a great game of ball; the bats are broad and light, and the ball is
+small and soft. But the Enfield boys beat us at last; leastwise they make
+70 tallies to our 58, when Heman Fitts knocks the ball over into Aunt
+Dorcas Eastman's yard, and Aunt Dorcas comes out an' picks up the ball an'
+takes it into the house, an' we have to stop playin'. Then Phineas Owens
+allows he can flop any boy in Belchertown, an' Moses Baker takes him up,
+an' they wrassle like two tartars, till at last Moses tuckers Phineas out
+an' downs him as slick as a whistle.
+
+"Then we all go home, for Thanksgivin' dinner is ready. Two long tables
+have been made into one, and one of the big tablecloths Gran'ma had when
+she set up housekeepin' is spread over 'em both. We all set round, Father,
+Mother, Aunt Lydia Holbrook, Uncle Jason, Mary, Helen, Tryphena Foster,
+Amos, and me. How big an' brown the turkey is, and how good it smells!
+There are bounteous dishes of mashed potato, turnip, an' squash, and the
+celery is very white and cold, the biscuits are light an' hot, and the
+stewed cranberries are red as Laura's cheeks. Amos and I get the
+drumsticks; Mary wants the wish-bone to put overthe door for Hiram, but
+Helen gets it. Poor Mary, she always _did_ have to give up to
+'rushin' Helen,' as we call her. The pies,--oh, what pies Mother makes; no
+dyspepsia in 'em, but good-nature an' good health an' hospitality! Pumpkin
+pies, mince an' apple too, and then a big dish of pippins an' russets an'
+bellflowers, an', last of all, walnuts with cider from the Zebrina
+Dickerson farm! I tell ye, there's a Thanksgivin' dinner for ye! that's
+what we get in old Belchertown; an' that's the kind of livin' that makes
+the Yankees so all-fired good an' smart.
+
+"But the best of all," said Ezra, very softly to himself,--"oh, yes, the
+best scene in all the pictur' is when evenin' comes, when the lamps are
+lit in the parlor, when the neighbors come in, and when there is music
+an' singin' an' games. An' it's this part o' the pictur' that makes me
+homesick now and fills my heart with a longin' I never had before; an'
+yet it sort o' mellows an' comforts me, too. Miss Serena Cadwell, whose
+beau was killed in the war, plays on the melodeon, and we all sing,--all
+on us, men, womenfolks, an' children. Sam Merritt is there, an' he sings
+a tenor song about love. The women sort of whisper round that he's goin'
+to be married to a Palmer lady nex' spring, an' I think to myself I
+never heard better singin' than Sam's. Then we play games, proverbs,
+buzz, clap-in-clap-out, copenhagen, fox-an'-geese, button-button-who's-
+got-the-button, spin-the-platter, go-to-Jerusalem, my-ship's-come-in,
+and all the rest. The ol' folks play with the young folks just as
+nat'ral as can be; and we all laugh when Deacon Hosea Cowles hez to
+measure six yards of love ribbon with Miss Hepsy Newton, and cut each
+yard with a kiss; for the deacon hez been sort o' purrin' round Miss
+Hepsy for goin' on two years. Then, aft'r a while, when Mary an' Helen
+bring in the cookies, nut-cakes, cider, an' apples, Mother says: 'I
+don't b'lieve we're goin' to hev enough apples to go round; Ezry, I
+guess I'll have to get you to go down-cellar for some more.' Then I
+says: 'All right, Mother, I'll go, providin' some one'll go along an'
+hold the candle.' An' when I say this I look right at Laura and she
+blushes. Then Helen, jest for meanness, says: 'Ezry, I s'pose you ain't
+willin' to have your fav'rite sister go down-cellar with you an' catch
+her death o' cold?' But Mary, who hez been showin' Hiram Peabody the
+phot'graph album for more 'n an hour, comes to the rescue an' makes
+Laura take the candle, and she shows Laura how to hold it so it won't go
+out.
+
+"The cellar is warm an' dark. There are cobwebs all between the rafters
+an' everywhere else except on the shelves where Mother keeps the butter
+an' eggs an' other things that would freeze in the butt'ry upstairs. The
+apples are in bar'ls up against the wall, near the potater-bin. How fresh
+an' sweet they smell! Laura thinks she sees a mouse, an' she trembles an'
+wants to jump up on the pork-bar'l, but I tell her that there sha'n't no
+mouse hurt her while I'm round; and I mean it, too, for the sight of Laura
+a-tremblin' makes me as strong as one of Father's steers. 'What kind of
+apples do you like best, Ezry?' asks Laura,--'russets or greenin's or
+crow-eggs or bell-flowers or Baldwins or pippins?' 'I like the Baldwins
+best,' says I, ''coz they've got red cheeks jest like yours.' 'Why, Ezry
+Thompson! how you talk!' says Laura. 'You oughter be ashamed of yourself!'
+But when I get the dish filled up with apples there ain't a Baldwin in all
+the lot that can compare with the bright red of Laura's cheeks. An' Laura
+knows it, too, an' she sees the mouse ag'in, an' screams, and then the
+candle goes out, and we are in a dreadful stew. But I, bein' almost a man,
+contrive to bear up under it, and knowin' she is an orph'n, I comfort an'
+encourage Laura the best I know how, and we are almost up-stairs when
+Mother comes to the door and wants to know what has kep' us so long. Jest
+as if Mother doesn't know! Of course she does; an' when Mother kisses
+Laura good-by that night there is in the act a tenderness that speaks more
+sweetly than even Mother's words.
+
+"It is so like Mother," mused Ezra; "so like her with her gentleness an'
+clingin' love. Hers is the sweetest picture of all, and hers the best
+love."
+
+Dream on, Ezra; dream of the old home with its dear ones, its holy
+influences, and its precious inspiration,--mother. Dream on in the
+far-away firelight; and as the angel hand of memory unfolds these sacred
+visions, with thee and them shall abide, like a Divine comforter, the
+spirit of thanksgiving.
+
+1885.
+
+
+
+
++LUDWIG AND ELOISE+
+
+
+
+
+LUDWIG AND ELOISE
+
+
+Once upon a time there were two youths named Herman and Ludwig; and they
+both loved Eloise, the daughter of the old burgomaster. Now, the old
+burgomaster was very rich, and having no child but Eloise, he was anxious
+that she should be well married and settled in life. "For," said he,
+"death is likely to come to me at any time: I am old and feeble, and I
+want to see my child sheltered by another's love before I am done with
+earth forever."
+
+Eloise was much beloved by all the youth in the village, and there was not
+one who would not gladly have taken her to wife; but none loved her so
+much as did Herman and Ludwig. Nor did Eloise care for any but Herman and
+Ludwig, and she loved Herman. The burgomaster said: "Choose whom you
+will--I care not! So long as he be honest I will have him for a son and
+thank Heaven for him."
+
+So Eloise chose Herman, and all said she chose wisely; for Herman was
+young and handsome, and by his valor had won distinction in the army, and
+had thrice been complimented by the general. So when the brave young
+captain led Eloise to the altar there was great rejoicing in the village.
+The beaux, forgetting their disappointments, and the maidens, seeing the
+cause of all their jealousy removed, made merry together; and it was said
+that never had there been in the history of the province an event so
+joyous as was the wedding of Herman and Eloise.
+
+But in all the village there was one aching heart. Ludwig, the young
+musician, saw with quiet despair the maiden he loved go to the altar with
+another. He had known Eloise from childhood, and he could not say when his
+love of her began, it was so very long ago; but now he knew his heart was
+consumed by a hopeless passion. Once, at a village festival, he had begun
+to speak to her of his love; but Eloise had placed her hand kindly upon
+his lips and told him to say no further, for they had always been and
+always would be brother and sister. So Ludwig never spoke his love after
+that, and Eloise and he were as brother and sister; but the love of her
+grew always within him, and he had no thought but of her.
+
+And now, when Eloise and Herman were wed, Ludwig feigned that he had
+received a message from a rich relative in a distant part of the kingdom
+bidding him come thither, and Ludwig went from the village and was seen
+there no more.
+
+When the burgomaster died all his possessions went to Herman and Eloise;
+and they were accounted the richest folk in the province, and so good and
+charitable were they that they were beloved by all. Meanwhile Herman had
+risen to greatness in the army, for by his valorous exploits he had become
+a general, and he was much endeared to the king. And Eloise and Herman
+lived in a great castle in the midst of a beautiful park, and the people
+came and paid them reverence there.
+
+And no one in all these years spoke of Ludwig. No one thought of him.
+Ludwig was forgotten. And so the years went by.
+
+It came to pass, however, that from a far-distant province there spread
+the fame of a musician so great that the king sent for him to visit the
+court. No one knew the musician's name nor whence he came, for he lived
+alone and would never speak of himself; but his music was so tender and
+beautiful that it was called heart-music, and he himself was called the
+Master. He was old and bowed with infirmities, but his music was always of
+youth and love; it touched every heart with its simplicity and pathos, and
+all wondered how this old and broken man could create so much of
+tenderness and sweetness on these themes.
+
+But when the king sent for the Master to come to court the Master returned
+him answer: "No, I am old and feeble. To leave my home would weary me unto
+death. Let me die here as I have lived these long years, weaving my music
+for hearts that need my solace."
+
+Then the people wondered. But the king was not angry; in pity he sent the
+Master a purse of gold, and bade him come or not come, as he willed. Such
+honor had never before been shown any subject in the kingdom, and all the
+people were dumb with amazement. But the Master gave the purse of gold to
+the poor of the village wherein he lived.
+
+In those days Herman died, full of honors and years, and there was a great
+lamentation in the land, for Herman was beloved by all. And Eloise wept
+unceasingly and would not be comforted.
+
+On the seventh day after Herman had been buried there came to the castle
+in the park an aged and bowed man who carried in his white and trembling
+hands a violin. His kindly face was deeply wrinkled, and a venerable beard
+swept down upon his breast. He was weary and foot-sore, but he heeded not
+the words of pity bestowed on him by all who beheld him tottering on his
+way. He knocked boldly at the castle gate, and demanded to be brought into
+the presence of Eloise.
+
+And Eloise said: "Bid him enter; perchance his music will comfort my
+breaking heart."
+
+Then, when the old man had come into her presence, behold! he was the
+Master,--ay, the Master whose fame was in every land, whose heart-music
+was on every tongue.
+
+"If thou art indeed the Master," said Eloise, "let thy music be balm to my
+chastened spirit."
+
+The Master said: "Ay, Eloise, I will comfort thee in thy sorrow, and thy
+heart shall be stayed, and a great joy will come to thee."
+
+Then the Master drew his bow across the strings, and lo! forthwith there
+arose such harmonies as Eloise had never heard before. Gently,
+persuasively, they stole upon her senses and filled her soul with an
+ecstasy of peace.
+
+"Is it Herman that speaks to me?" cried Eloise. "It is his voice I hear,
+and it speaks to me of love. With thy heart-music, O Master, all the
+sweetness of his life comes back to comfort me!"
+
+The Master did not pause; as he played, it seemed as if each tender word
+and caress of Herman's life was stealing back on music's pinions to soothe
+the wounds that death had made.
+
+"It is the song of our love-life," murmured Eloise. "How full of memories
+it is--what tenderness and harmony--and oh! what peace it brings! But tell
+me, Master, what means this minor chord,--this undertone of sadness and of
+pathos that flows like a deep, unfathomable current throughout it all, and
+wailing, weaves itself about thy theme of love and happiness with its
+weird and subtile influences?"
+
+Then the Master said: "It is that shade of sorrow and sacrifice, O Eloise,
+that ever makes the picture of love more glorious. An undertone of pathos
+has been _my_ part in all these years to symmetrize the love of
+Herman and Eloise. The song of thy love is beautiful, and who shall say it
+is not beautified by the sad undertone of Ludwig's broken heart?"
+
+"Thou art Ludwig!" cried Eloise. "Thou art Ludwig, who didst love me, and
+hast come to comfort me who loved thee not!"
+
+The Master indeed was Ludwig; but when they hastened to do him homage he
+heard them not, for with that last and sweetest heart-song his head sank
+upon his breast, and he was dead.
+
+1885.
+
+
+
+
++FIDO'S LITTLE FRIEND+
+
+
+
+
+FIDO'S LITTLE FRIEND
+
+
+One morning in May Fido sat on the front porch, and he was deep in
+thought. He was wondering whether the people who were moving into the next
+house were as cross and unfeeling as the people who had just moved out. He
+hoped they were not, for the people who had just moved out had never
+treated Fido with that respect and kindness which Fido believed he was on
+all occasions entitled to.
+
+"The new-comers must be nice folks," said Fido to himself, "for their
+feather-beds look big and comfortable, and their baskets are all ample and
+generous,--and see, there goes a bright gilt cage, and there is a plump
+yellow canary bird in it! Oh, how glad Mrs. Tabby will be to see it,--she
+so dotes on dear little canary birds!"
+
+Mrs. Tabby was the old brindled cat, who was the mother of the four
+cunning little kittens in the hay-mow. Fido had heard her remark very
+purringly only a few days ago that she longed for a canary bird, just to
+amuse her little ones and give them correct musical ears. Honest old Fido!
+There was no guile in his heart, and he never dreamed there was in all the
+wide world such a sin as hypocrisy. So when Fido saw the little canary
+bird in the cage he was glad for Mrs. Tabby's sake.
+
+While Fido sat on the front porch and watched the people moving into the
+next house another pair of eyes peeped out of the old hollow maple over
+the way. This was the red-headed woodpecker, who had a warm, cosey nest
+far down in the old hollow maple, and in the nest there were four
+beautiful eggs, of which the red-headed woodpecker was very proud.
+
+"Good-morning, Mr. Fido," called the red-headed woodpecker from her high
+perch. "You are out bright and early to-day. And what do you think of our
+new neighbors?"
+
+"Upon my word, I cannot tell," replied Fido, wagging his tail cheerily,
+"for I am not acquainted with them. But I have been watching them closely,
+and by to-day noon I think I shall be on speaking terms with
+them,--provided, of course, they are not the cross, unkind people our old
+neighbors were."
+
+"Oh, I do so hope there are no little boys in the family," sighed the
+red-headed woodpecker; and then she added, with much determination and a
+defiant toss of her beautiful head: "I hate little boys!"
+
+"Why so?" inquired Fido. "As for myself, I love little boys. I have always
+found them the pleasantest of companions. Why do _you_ dislike them?"
+
+"Because they are wicked," said the redheaded woodpecker. "They climb
+trees and break up the nests we have worked so hard to build, and they
+steal away our lovely eggs--oh, I hate little boys!"
+
+"Good little boys don't steal birds' eggs," said Fido, "and I'm sure I
+never would play with a bad boy."
+
+But the red-headed woodpecker insisted that all little boys were wicked;
+and, firm in this faith, she flew away to the linden over yonder, where,
+she had heard the thrush say, there lived a family of fat white grubs. The
+red-headed woodpecker wanted her breakfast, and it would have been hard to
+find a more palatable morsel for her than a white fat grub.
+
+As for Fido, he sat on the front porch and watched the people moving in.
+And as he watched them he thought of what the redheaded woodpecker had
+said, and he wondered whether it could be possible for little boys to be
+so cruel as to rob birds' nests. As he brooded over this sad possibility,
+his train of thought was interrupted by the sound of a voice that fell
+pleasantly on his ears.
+
+"Goggie, goggie, goggie!" said the voice. "Tum here, 'ittle goggie--tum
+here, goggie, goggie, goggie!"
+
+Fido looked whence the voice seemed to come, and he saw a tiny figure on
+the other side of the fence,--a cunning baby-figure in the yard that
+belonged to the house where the new neighbors were moving in. A second
+glance assured Fido that the calling stranger was a little boy not more
+than three years old, wearing a pretty dress, and a broad hat that crowned
+his yellow hair and shaded his big blue eyes and dimpled face. The sight
+was a pleasing one, and Fido vibrated his tail,--very cautiously, however,
+for Fido was not quite certain that the little boy meant his greeting for
+him, and Fido's sad experiences with the old neighbors had made him wary
+about scraping acquaintances too hastily.
+
+"Turn, 'ittle goggie!" persisted the prattling stranger, and, as if to
+encourage Fido, the little boy stretched his chubby arms through the fence
+and waved them entreatingly.
+
+Fido was convinced now, so he got up, and with many cordial gestures of
+his hospitable tail, trotted down the steps and over the lawn to the
+corner of the fence where the little stranger was.
+
+"Me love oo," said the little stranger, patting Fido's honest brown back;
+"me love oo, 'ittle goggie!"
+
+Fido knew that, for there were caresses in every stroke of the dimpled
+hands. Fido loved the little boy, too,--yes, all at once he loved the
+little boy; and he licked the dimpled hands, and gave three short, quick
+barks, and wagged his tail hysterically. So then and there began the
+friendship of Fido and the little boy.
+
+Presently Fido crawled under the fence into the next yard, and then the
+little boy sat down on the grass, and Fido put his fore-paws in the little
+boy's lap and cocked up his ears and looked up into the little boy's face,
+as much as to say, "We shall be great friends, shall we not, little boy?"
+
+"Me love oo," said the little boy; "me wan' to tiss oo, 'ittle goggie!"
+
+And the little boy did kiss Fido,--yes, right on Fido's cold nose; and
+Fido liked to have the little boy kiss him, for it reminded him of another
+little boy who used to kiss him, but who was now so big that he was almost
+ashamed to play with Fido any more.
+
+"Is oo sit, 'ittle goggie?" asked the little boy, opening his blue eyes to
+their utmost capacity and looking very piteous. "Oo nose be so told, oo
+mus' be sit, 'ittle goggie!"
+
+But no, Fido was not sick, even though his nose _was_ cold. Oh, no;
+he romped and played all that morning in the cool, green grass with the
+little boy; and the red-headed woodpecker, clinging to the bark on the
+hickory-tree, laughed at their merry antics till her sides ached and her
+beautiful head turned fairly livid. Then, at last, the little boy's mamma
+came out of the house and told him he had played long enough; and neither
+the red-headed woodpecker nor Fido saw him again that day.
+
+But the next morning the little boy toddled down to the fence-corner,
+bright and early, and called, "Goggie! goggie! goggie!" so loudly, that
+Fido heard him in the wood-shed, where he was holding a morning chat with
+Mrs. Tabby. Fido hastened to answer the call; the way he spun out of the
+wood-shed and down the gravel walk and around the corner of the house was
+a marvel.
+
+"Mamma says oo dot f'eas, 'ittle goggie," said the little boy. "_Has_
+oo dot f'eas?"
+
+Fido looked crestfallen, for could Fido have spoken he would have
+confessed that he indeed _was_ afflicted with fleas,--not with very
+many fleas, but just enough to interrupt his slumbers and his meditations
+at the most inopportune moments. And the little boy's guileless
+impeachment set Fido to feeling creepy-crawly all of a sudden, and without
+any further ado Fido turned deftly in his tracks, twisted his head back
+toward his tail, and by means of several well-directed bites and plunges
+gave the malicious Bedouins thereabouts located timely warning to behave
+themselves. The little boy thought this performance very funny, and he
+laughed heartily. But Fido looked crestfallen.
+
+Oh, what play and happiness they had that day; how the green grass kissed
+their feet, and how the smell of clover came with the springtime breezes
+from the meadow yonder! The red-headed woodpecker heard them at play, and
+she clambered out of the hollow maple and dodged hither and thither as if
+she, too, shared their merriment. Yes, and the yellow thistle-bird, whose
+nest was in the blooming lilac-bush, came and perched in the pear-tree and
+sang a little song about the dear little eggs in her cunning home. And
+there was a flower in the fence-corner,--a sweet, modest flower that no
+human eyes but the little boy's had ever seen,--and she sang a little
+song, too, a song about the kind old Mother Earth and the pretty sunbeams,
+the gentle rain and the droning bees. Why, the little boy had never known
+anything half so beautiful, and Fido,--he, too, was delighted beyond all
+telling. If the whole truth must be told, Fido had such an exciting and
+bewildering romp that day that when night came, and he lay asleep on the
+kitchen floor, he dreamed he was tumbling in the green grass with the
+little boy, and he tossed and barked and whined so in his sleep that the
+hired man had to get up in the night and put him out of doors.
+
+Down in the pasture at the end of the lane lived an old woodchuck. Last
+year the freshet had driven him from his childhood's home in the
+corn-field by the brook, and now he resided in a snug hole in the pasture.
+During their rambles one day, Fido and his little boy friend had come to
+the pasture, and found the old woodchuck sitting upright at the entrance
+to his hole.
+
+"Oh, I'm not going to hurt you, old Mr. Woodchuck," said Fido. "I have too
+much respect for your gray hairs."
+
+"Thank you," replied the woodchuck, sarcastically, "but I'm not afraid of
+any bench-legged fyste that ever walked. It was only last week that I
+whipped Deacon Skinner's yellow mastiff, and I calc'late I can trounce
+you, you ridiculous little brown cur!"
+
+The little boy did not hear this badinage. When he saw the woodchuck
+solemnly perched at the entrance to his hole he was simply delighted.
+
+"Oh, see!" cried the little boy, stretching out his fat arms and running
+toward the woodchuck,--"oh, see,--'nuzzer 'ittle goggie! Turn here, 'ittle
+goggie,--me love oo!"
+
+But the old woodchuck was a shy creature, and not knowing what guile the
+little boy's cordial greeting might mask, the old woodchuck discreetly
+disappeared in his hole, much to the little boy's amazement.
+
+Nevertheless, the old woodchuck, the little boy, and Fido became fast
+friends in time, and almost every day they visited together in the
+pasture. The old woodchuck--hoary and scarred veteran that he was--had
+wonderful stories to tell,--stories of marvellous adventures, of narrow
+escapes, of battles with cruel dogs, and of thrilling experiences that
+were altogether new to his wondering listeners. Meanwhile the red-headed
+woodpecker's eggs in the hollow maple had hatched, and the proud mother
+had great tales to tell of her baby birds,--of how beautiful and knowing
+they were, and of what good, noble birds they were going to be when they
+grew up. The yellow-bird, too, had four fuzzy little babies in her nest in
+the lilac-bush, and every now and then she came to sing to the little boy
+and Fido of her darlings. Then, when the little boy and Fido were tired
+with play, they would sit in the rowen near the fence-corner and hear the
+flower tell a story the dew had brought fresh from the stars the night
+before. They all loved each other,--the little boy, Fido, the old
+woodchuck, the redheaded woodpecker, the yellow-bird, and the
+flower,--yes, all through the days of spring and all through the summer
+time they loved each other in their own honest, sweet, simple way.
+
+But one morning Fido sat on the front porch and wondered why the little
+boy had not come to the fence-corner and called to him. The sun was high,
+the men had been long gone to the harvest fields, and the heat of the
+early autumn day had driven the birds to the thickest foliage of the
+trees. Fido could not understand why the little boy did not come; he felt,
+oh' so lonesome, and he yearned for the sound of a little voice calling
+"Goggie, goggie, goggie."
+
+The red-headed woodpecker could not explain it, nor could the yellow-bird.
+Fido trotted leisurely down to the fence-corner and asked the flower if
+she had seen the little boy that morning. But no, the flower had not laid
+eyes on the little boy, and she could only shake her head doubtfully when
+Fido asked her what it all meant. At last in desperation Fido braced
+himself for an heroic solution of the mystery, and as loudly as ever he
+could, he barked three times,--in the hope, you know, that the little boy
+would hear his call and come. But the little boy did not come.
+
+Then Fido trotted sadly down the lane to the pasture to talk with the old
+woodchuck about this strange thing. The old woodchuck saw him coming and
+ambled out to meet him.
+
+"But where is our little boy?" asked the old woodchuck.
+
+"I do not know," said Fido. "I waited for him and called to him again and
+again, but he never came."
+
+Ah, those were sorry days for the little boy's friends, and sorriest for
+Fido. Poor, honest Fido, how lonesome he was and how he moped about! How
+each sudden sound, how each footfall, startled him! How he sat all those
+days upon the front door-stoop, with his eyes fixed on the fence-corner
+and his rough brown ears cocked up as if he expected each moment to see
+two chubby arms stretched out toward him and to hear a baby voice calling
+"Goggie, goggie, goggie."
+
+Once only they saw him,--Fido, the flower, and the others. It was one day
+when Fido had called louder than usual. They saw a little figure in a
+night-dress come to an upper window and lean his arms out. They saw it was
+the little boy, and, oh! how pale and ill he looked. But his yellow hair
+was as glorious as ever, and the dimples came back with the smile that
+lighted his thin little face when he saw Fido; and he leaned on the window
+casement and waved his baby hands feebly, and cried: "Goggie! goggie!"
+till Fido saw the little boy's mother come and take him from the window.
+
+One morning Fido came to the fence-corner--how very lonely that spot
+seemed now--and he talked with the flower and the woodpecker; and the
+yellow-bird came, too, and they all talked of the little boy. And at that
+very moment the old woodchuck reared his hoary head by the hole in the
+pasture, and he looked this way and that and wondered why the little boy
+never came any more.
+
+"Suppose," said Fido to the yellow-bird,--"suppose you fly to the window
+'way up there and see what the little boy is doing. Sing him one of your
+pretty songs, and tell him we are lonesome without him; that we are
+waiting for him in the old fence-corner."
+
+Then the yellow-bird did as Fido asked,--she flew to the window where they
+had once seen the little boy, and alighting upon the sill, she peered into
+the room. In another moment she was back on the bush at Fido's side.
+
+"He is asleep," said the yellow-bird.
+
+"Asleep!" cried Fido.
+
+"Yes," said the yellow-bird, "he is fast asleep. I think he must be
+dreaming a beautiful dream, for I could see a smile on his face, and his
+little hands were folded on his bosom. There were flowers all about him,
+and but for their sweet voices the chamber would have been very still."
+
+"Come, let us wake him," said Fido; "let us all call to him at once. Then
+perhaps he will hear us and awaken and answer; perhaps he will come."
+
+So they all called in chorus,--Fido and the other honest friends. They
+called so loudly that the still air of that autumn morning was strangely
+startled, and the old woodchuck in the pasture 'way off yonder heard the
+echoes and wondered.
+
+"Little boy! little boy!" they called, "why are you sleeping? Why are you
+sleeping, little boy?"
+
+Call on, dear voices! but the little boy will never hear. The dimpled
+hands that caressed you are indeed folded upon his breast; the lips that
+kissed your honest faces are sealed; the baby voice that sang your
+playtime songs with you is hushed, and all about him are the fragrance and
+the beauty of flowers. Call on, O honest friends! but he shall never hear
+your calling; for, as if he were aweary of the love and play and sunshine
+that were all he knew of earth, our darling is asleep forever.
+
+1885.
+
+
+
+
++THE OLD MAN+
+
+
+
+
+THE OLD MAN
+
+
+I called him the Old Man, but he wuzn't an old man; he wuz a little
+boy--our fust one; 'nd his gran'ma, who'd had a heap of experience in sich
+matters, allowed that he wuz for looks as likely a child as she'd ever
+clapped eyes on. Bein' our fust, we sot our hearts on him, and Lizzie
+named him Willie, for that wuz the name she liked best, havin' had a
+brother Willyum killed in the war. But I never called him anything but the
+Old Man, and that name seemed to fit him, for he wuz one of your sollum
+babies,--alwuz thinkin' 'nd thinkin' 'nd thinkin', like he wuz a jedge,
+and when he laffed it wuzn't like other children's laffs, it wuz so
+sad-like.
+
+Lizzie 'nd I made it up between us that when the Old Man growed up we'd
+send him to collige 'nd give him a lib'ril edication, no matter though we
+had to sell the farm to do it. But we never c'u'd exactly agree as to what
+we was goin' to make of him; Lizzie havin' her heart sot on his bein' a
+preacher like his gran'pa Baker, and I wantin' him to be a lawyer 'nd git
+rich out'n the corporations, like his uncle Wilson Barlow. So we never
+come to no definite conclusion as to what the Old Man wuz goin' to be bime
+by; but while we wuz thinkin' 'nd debatin' the Old Man kep' growin' 'nd
+growin', and all the time he wuz as serious 'nd sollum as a jedge.
+
+Lizzie got jest wrapped up in that boy; toted him round ever'where 'nd
+never let on like it made her tired,--powerful big 'nd hearty child too,
+but heft warn't nothin' 'longside of Lizzie's love for the Old Man. When
+he caught the measles from Sairy Baxter's baby Lizzie sot up day 'nd night
+till he wuz well, holdin' his hands 'nd singin' songs to him, 'nd cryin'
+herse'f almost to death because she dassent give him cold water to drink
+when he called f'r it. As for me, _my_ heart wuz wrapped up in the
+Old Man, _too_, but, bein' a man, it wuzn't for me to show it like
+Lizzie, bein' a woman; and now that the Old Man is--wall, now that he has
+gone, it wouldn't do to let on how much I sot by him, for that would make
+Lizzie feel all the wuss.
+
+Sometimes, when I think of it, it makes me sorry that I didn't show the
+Old Man some way how much I wuz wrapped up in him. Used to hold him in my
+lap 'nd make faces for him 'nd alder whistles 'nd things; sometimes I'd
+kiss him on his rosy cheek, when nobody wuz lookin'; oncet I tried to sing
+him a song, but it made him cry, 'nd I never tried my hand at singin'
+again. But, somehow, the Old Man didn't take to me like he took to his
+mother: would climb down outern my lap to git where Lizzie wuz; would hang
+on to her gownd, no matter what she wuz doin',--whether she wuz makin'
+bread, or sewin', or puttin' up pickles, it wuz alwuz the same to the Old
+Man; he wuzn't happy unless he wuz right there, clost beside his mother.
+
+'Most all boys, as I've heern tell, is proud to be round with their
+father, doin' what _he_ does 'nd wearin' the kind of clothes
+_he_ wears. But the Old Man wuz different; he allowed that his mother
+was his best friend, 'nd the way he stuck to her--wall, it has alwuz been
+a great comfort to Lizzie to recollect it.
+
+The Old Man had a kind of confidin' way with his mother. Every oncet in a
+while, when he'd be playin' by hisself in the front room, he'd call out,
+"Mudder, mudder;" and no matter where Lizzie wuz,--in the kitchen, or in
+the wood-shed, or in the yard, she'd answer: "What is it, darlin'?" Then
+the Old Man 'u'd say: "Turn here, mudder, I wanter tell you sumfin'."
+Never could find out what the Old Man wanted to tell Lizzie; like 's not
+he didn't wanter tell her nothin'; maybe he wuz lonesome 'nd jest wanted
+to feel that Lizzie wuz round. But that didn't make no diff'rence; it wuz
+all the same to Lizzie. No matter where she wuz or what she wuz a-doin',
+jest as soon as the Old Man told her he wanted to tell her somethin' she
+dropped ever'thing else 'nd went straight to him. Then the Old Man would
+laff one of his sollum, sad-like laffs, 'nd put his arms round Lizzie's
+neck 'nd whisper--or pertend to whisper--somethin' in her ear, 'nd Lizzie
+would laff 'nd say, "Oh, what a nice secret we have atween us!" and then
+she would kiss the Old Man 'nd go back to her work.
+
+Time changes all things,--all things but memory, nothin' can change
+_that_. Seems like it was only yesterday or the day before that I
+heern the Old Man callin', "Mudder, mudder, I wanter tell you sumfin',"
+and that I seen him put his arms around her neck 'nd whisper softly to
+her.
+
+It had been an open winter, 'nd there wuz fever all around us. The Baxters
+lost their little girl, and Homer Thompson's children had all been taken
+down. Ev'ry night 'nd mornin' we prayed God to save our darlin'; but one
+evenin' when I come up from the wood-lot, the Old Man wuz restless 'nd his
+face wuz hot 'nd he talked in his sleep. Maybe you've been through it
+yourself,--maybe you've tended a child that's down with the fever; if so,
+maybe you know what we went through, Lizzie 'nd me. The doctor shook his
+head one night when he come to see the Old Man; we knew what that meant. I
+went out-doors,--I couldn't stand it in the room there, with the Old Man
+seein' 'nd talkin' about things that the fever made him see. I wuz too big
+a coward to stay 'nd help his mother to bear up; so I went out-doors 'nd
+brung in wood,--brung in wood enough to last all spring,--and then I sat
+down alone by the kitchen fire 'nd heard the clock tick 'nd watched the
+shadders flicker through the room.
+
+I remember Lizzie's comin' to me and sayin': "He's breathin' strange-like,
+'nd his little feet is cold as ice." Then I went into the front chamber
+where he lay. The day wuz breakin'; the cattle wuz lowin' outside; a beam
+of light come through the winder and fell on the Old Man's face,--perhaps
+it wuz the summons for which he waited and which shall some time come to
+me 'nd you. Leastwise the Old Man roused from his sleep 'nd opened up his
+big blue eyes. It wuzn't me he wanted to see.
+
+"Mudder! mudder!" cried the Old Man, but his voice warn't strong 'nd clear
+like it used to be. "Mudder, where _be_ you, mudder?"
+
+Then, breshin' by me, Lizzie caught the Old Man up 'nd held him in her
+arms, like she had done a thousand times before.
+
+"What is it, darlin'? _Here_ I be," says Lizzie.
+
+"Tum here," says the Old Man,--"tum here; I wanter tell you sumfin'."
+
+The Old Man went to reach his arms around her neck 'nd whisper in her ear.
+But his arms fell limp and helpless-like, 'nd the Old Man's curly head
+drooped on his mother's breast.
+
+1889.
+
+
+
+
++BILL, THE LOKIL EDITOR+
+
+
+
+
+BILL, THE LOKIL EDITOR
+
+
+Bill wuz alluz fond uv children 'nd birds 'nd flowers. Ain't it kind o'
+curious how sometimes we find a great, big, awkward man who loves sech
+things? Bill had the biggest feet in the township, but I'll bet my wallet
+that he never trod on a violet in all his life. Bill never took no slack
+from enny man that wuz sober, but the children made him play with 'em, and
+he'd set for hours a-watchin' the yaller-hammer buildin' her nest in the
+old cottonwood.
+
+Now I ain't defendin' Bill; I'm jest tellin' the truth about him. Nothink
+I kin say one way or t'other is goin' to make enny difference now; Bill's
+dead 'nd buried, 'nd the folks is discussin' him 'nd wond'rin' whether his
+immortal soul is all right. Sometimes I _hev_ worried 'bout Bill, but
+I don't worry 'bout him no more. Uv course Bill had his faults,--I never
+liked that drinkin' business uv his'n, yet I allow that Bill got more good
+out'n likker, and likker got more good out'n Bill, than I ever see before
+or sence. It warn't when the likker wuz in Bill that Bill wuz at his best,
+but when he hed been on to one uv his bats 'nd had drunk himself sick 'nd
+wuz comin' out uv the other end of the bat, then Bill wuz one uv the
+meekest 'nd properest critters you ever seen. An' po'try? Some uv the most
+beautiful po'try I ever read wuz writ by Bill when he wuz recoverin'
+himself out'n one uv them bats. Seemed like it kind uv exalted an'
+purified Bill's nachur to git drunk an' git over it. Bill c'u'd drink more
+likker 'nd be sorrier for it than any other man in seven States. There
+never wuz a more penitent feller than he wuz when he wuz soberin'. The
+trubble with Bill seemed to be that his conscience didn't come on watch
+quite of'n enuff.
+
+It'll be ten years come nex' spring sence Bill showed up here. I don't
+know whar he come from; seemed like he didn't want to talk about his past.
+I allers suspicioned that he had seen trubble--maybe, sorrer. I reecollect
+that one time he got a telegraph,--Mr. Ivins told me 'bout it
+afterwards,--and when he read it he put his hands up to his face 'nd
+groaned, like. That day he got full uv likker 'nd he kep' full uv likker
+for a week; but when he come round all right he wrote a pome for the
+paper, 'nd the name uv the pome wuz "Mary," but whether Mary wuz his
+sister or his wife or an old sweetheart uv his'n I never knew. But it
+looked from the pome like she wuz dead 'nd that he loved her.
+
+Bill wuz the best lokil the paper ever had. He didn't hustle around much,
+but he had a kind er pleasin' way uv dishin' things up. He c'u'd be mighty
+comical when he sot out to be, but his best holt was serious pieces.
+Nobody could beat Bill writing obituaries. When old Mose Holbrook wuz
+dyin' the minister sez to him: "Mr. Holbrook, you seem to be sorry that
+you're passin' away to a better land?"
+
+"Wall, no; not exactly _that_," sez Mose, "but to be frank with you,
+I _hev_ jest one regret in connection with this affair."
+
+"What's that?" asked the minister.
+
+"I can't help feelin' sorry," sez Mose, "that I ain't goin' to hev the
+pleasure uv readin' what Bill Newton sez about me in the paper. I know
+it'll be sumthin' uncommon fine; I loant him two dollars a year ago last
+fall."
+
+The Higginses lost a darned good friend when Bill died. Bill wrote a pome
+'bout their old dog Towze when he wuz run over by Watkins's hay-wagon
+seven years ago. I'll bet that pome is in every scrap-book in the county.
+You couldn't read that pome without cryin',--why, that pome w'u'd hev
+brought a dew out on the desert uv Sary. Old Tim Hubbard, the meanest man
+in the State, borrered a paper to read the pome, and he wuz so 'fected by
+it that he never borrered anuther paper as long as he lived. I don't
+more'n half reckon, though, that the Higginses appreciated what Bill had
+done for 'em. I never heerd uv their givin' him anythink more'n a basket
+uv greenin' apples, and Bill wrote a piece 'bout the apples nex' day.
+
+But Bill wuz at his best when he wrote things about the children,--about
+the little ones that died, I mean. Seemed like Bill had a way of his own
+of sayin' things that wuz beautiful 'nd tender; he said he loved the
+children because they wuz innocent, and I reckon--yes, I know he did, for
+the pomes he writ about 'em showed he did.
+
+When our little Alice died I started out for Mr. Miller's; he wuz the
+undertaker. The night wuz powerful dark, 'nd it wuz all the darker to me,
+because seemed like all the light hed gone out in my life. Down near the
+bridge I met Bill; he weaved round in the road, for he wuz in likker.
+
+"Hello, Mr. Baker," sez he, "whar be you goin' this time o' night?"
+
+"Bill," sez I, "I'm goin' on the saddest errand uv my life."
+
+"What d' ye mean?" sez he, comin' up to me as straight as he c'u'd.
+
+"Why, Bill," sez I, "our little girl--my little girl--Allie, you
+know--she's dead."
+
+I hoarsed up so I couldn't say much more. And Bill didn't say nothink at
+all; he jest reached me his hand, and he took my hand and seemed like in
+that grasp his heart spoke many words of comfort to mine. And nex' day he
+had a piece in the paper about our little girl; we cut it out and put it
+in the big Bible in the front room. Sometimes when we get to fussin',
+Martha goes 'nd gets that bit of paper 'nd reads it to me; then us two
+kind uv cry to ourselves, 'nd we make it up between us for the dead
+child's sake.
+
+Well, you kin see how it wuz that so many uv us liked Bill; he had soothed
+our hearts,--there's nothin' like sympathy after all. Bill's po'try hed
+heart in it; it didn't surprise you or scare you; it jest got down in
+under your vest, 'nd before you knew it you wuz all choked up. I know all
+about your fashionable po'try and your famous potes,--Martha took Godey's
+for a year. Folks that live in the city can't write po'try,--not the real,
+genuine article. To write po'try, as I figure it, the heart must have
+somethin' to feed on; you can't get that somethin' whar there ain't trees
+'nd grass 'nd birds 'nd flowers. Bill loved these things, and he fed his
+heart on 'em, and that's why his po'try wuz so much better than anybody
+else's.
+
+I ain't worryin' much about Bill now; I take it that everythink is for the
+best. When they told me that Bill died in a drunken fit I felt that his
+end oughter have come some other way,--he wuz too good a man for that. But
+maybe, after all, it was ordered for the best. Jist imagine Bill
+a-standin' up for jedgment; jist imagine that poor, sorrowful, shiverin'
+critter waitin' for his turn to come. Pictur', if you can, how full of
+penitence he is, 'nd how full uv po'try 'nd gentleness 'nd misery. The
+Lord ain't a-goin' to be too hard on that poor wretch. Of course we can't
+comprehend Divine mercy; we only know that it is full of compassion,--a
+compassion infinitely tenderer and sweeter than ours. And the more I think
+on 't, the more I reckon that Bill will plead to win that mercy, for, like
+as not, the little ones--my Allie with the rest--will run to him when they
+see him in his trubble and will hold his tremblin' hands 'nd twine their
+arms about him, and plead, with him, for compassion.
+
+You've seen an old sycamore that the lightnin' has struck; the ivy has
+reached up its vines 'nd spread 'em all around it 'nd over it, coverin'
+its scars 'nd splintered branches with a velvet green 'nd fillin' the air
+with fragrance. You've seen this thing and you know that it is beautiful.
+
+That's Bill, perhaps, as he stands up f'r jedgment,--a miserable,
+tremblin', 'nd unworthy thing, perhaps, but twined about, all over, with
+singin' and pleadin' little children--and that is pleasin' in God's sight,
+I know.
+
+What would you--what would _I_--say, if we wuz settin' in jedgment
+then?
+
+Why, we'd jest kind uv bresh the moisture from our eyes 'nd say: "Mister
+recordin' angel, you may nolly pros this case 'nd perseed with the
+docket."
+
+1888.
+
+
+
+
++THE LITTLE YALLER BABY+
+
+
+
+
+THE LITTLE YALLER BABY
+
+
+I hev allus hed a good opinion uv the wimmin folks. I don't look at 'em as
+some people do; uv course they're a necessity--just as men are. Uv course
+if there warn't no wimmin folks there wouldn't be no men folks--leastwise
+that's what the medikil books say. But I never wuz much on discussin'
+humin economy; what I hev allus thought 'nd said wuz that wimmin folks wuz
+a kind uv luxury, 'nd the best kind, too. Maybe it's because I hain't hed
+much to do with 'em that I'm sot on 'em. Never did get real well
+acquainted with more'n three or four uv 'em in all my life; seemed like it
+wuz meant that I shouldn't hev 'em round me as most men hev. Mother died
+when I wuz a little tyke, an' Aunt Mary raised me till I wuz big enuff to
+make my own livin'. Down here in the Southwest, you see, most uv the girls
+is boys; there ain't none uv them civilizin' influences folks talk
+uv,--nothin' but flowers 'nd birds 'nd such things as poetry tells about.
+So I kind uv growed up with the curi's notion that wimmin folks wuz too
+good for our part uv the country, 'nd I hevn't quite got that notion out'n
+my head yet.
+
+One time--wall, I reckon 't wuz about four years ago--I got a letter frum
+ol' Col. Sibley to come up to Saint Louey 'nd consult with him 'bout some
+stock int'rests we hed together. Railroad travellin' wuz no new thing to
+me. I hed been prutty prosperous,--hed got past hevin' to ride in a
+caboose 'nd git out at every stop to punch up the steers. Hed money in the
+Hoost'n bank 'nd used to go to Tchicargo oncet a year; hed met Fill Armer
+'nd shook hands with him, 'nd oncet the city papers hed a colume article
+about my bein' a millionnaire; uv course 't warn't so, but a feller kind
+uv likes that sort uv thing, you know.
+
+The mornin' after I got that letter from Col. Sibley I started for Saint
+Louey. I took a bunk in the Pullman car, like I hed been doin' for six
+years past; 'nd I reckon the other folks must hev thought I wuz a heap uv
+a man, for every haff-hour I give the nigger ha'f a dollar to bresh me
+off. The car wuz full uv people,--rich people, too, I reckon, for they
+wore good clo'es 'nd criticized the scenery. Jest across frum me there wuz
+a lady with a big, fat baby,--the pruttiest woman I hed seen in a month uv
+Sundays; and the baby! why, doggone my skin, when I wuzn't payin' money to
+the nigger, darned if I didn't set there watchin' the big, fat little
+cuss, like he wuz the only baby I ever seen. I ain't much of a hand at
+babies, 'cause I hain't seen many uv 'em, 'nd when it comes to handlin'
+'em--why, that would break me all up, 'nd like 's not 't would break the
+baby all up too. But it has allus been my notion that nex' to the wimmin
+folks babies wuz jest about the nicest things on earth. So the more I
+looked at that big, fat little baby settin' in its mother's lap 'cross the
+way, the more I wanted to look; seemed like I wuz hoodooed by the little
+tyke; 'nd the first thing I knew there wuz water in my eyes; don't know
+why it is, but it allus makes me kind ur slop over to set 'nd watch a baby
+cooin' 'nd playin' in its mother's lap.
+
+"Look a' hyar, Sam," says I to the nigger, "come hyar 'nd bresh me off
+ag'in! Why ain't you 'tendin' to bizness?"
+
+But it didn't do no good 't all; pertendin' to be cross with the nigger
+might fool the other folks in the car, but it didn't fool me. I wuz dead
+stuck on that baby--gol durn his pictur'! And there the little tyke set in
+its mother's lap, doublin' up its fists 'nd tryin' to swaller 'em, 'nd
+talkin' like to its mother in a lingo I couldn't understan', but which the
+mother could, for she talked back to the baby in a soothin' lingo which I
+couldn't understand, but which I liked to hear, 'nd she kissed the baby
+'nd stroked its hair 'nd petted it like wimmin do.
+
+It made me mad to hear them other folks in the car criticizin' the scenery
+'nd things. A man's in mighty poor bizness, anyhow, to be lookin' at
+scenery when there's a woman in sight,--a woman _and_ a baby!
+
+Prutty soon--oh, maybe in a hour or two--the baby began to fret 'nd
+worrit. Seemed to me like the little critter wuz hungry. Knowin' that
+there wuz no eatin'-house this side of Bowieville, I jest called the
+train-boy, 'nd says I to him: "Hev you got any victuals that will do for a
+baby?"
+
+"How is oranges 'nd bananas?" says he.
+
+"That ought to do," says I. "Jist do up a dozen uv your best oranges 'nd a
+dozen uv your best bananas 'nd take 'em over to that baby with my
+complerments."
+
+But before he could do it, the lady hed laid the baby on one uv her arms
+'nd hed spread a shawl over its head 'nd over her shoulder, 'nd all uv a
+suddint the baby quit worritin' and seemed like he hed gone to sleep.
+
+When we got to York Crossin' I looked out'n the winder 'nd seen some men
+carryin' a long pine box up towards the baggage-car. Seein' their hats
+off, I knew there wuz a dead body in the box, 'nd I couldn't help feelin'
+sorry for the poor creetur that hed died in that lonely place uv York
+Crossin'; but I mought hev felt a heap sorrier for the creeters that hed
+to live there, for I'll allow that York Crossin' is a _leetle_ the
+durnedest lonesomest place I ever seen.
+
+Well, just afore the train started ag'in, who should come into the car but
+Bill Woodson, and he wuz lookin' powerful tough. Bill herded cattle for me
+three winters, but hed moved away when he married one uv the waiter-girls
+at Spooner's Hotel at Hoost'n.
+
+"Hello, Bill," says I; "what air you totin' so kind uv keerful-like in
+your arms there?"
+
+"Why, I've got the baby," says he; 'nd as he said it the tears come up
+into his eyes.
+
+"Your own baby, Bill?" says I.
+
+"Yes," says he. "Nellie took sick uv the janders a fortnight ago, 'nd--'nd
+she died, 'nd I'm takin' her body up to Texarkany to bury. She lived
+there, you know, 'nd I'm goin' to leave the baby there with its gran'ma."
+
+Poor Bill! it wuz his wife that the men were carryin' in that pine box to
+the baggage-car.
+
+"Likely-lookin'baby, Bill," says I, cheerful like. "Perfect pictur' uv its
+mother; kind uv favors you round the lower part uv the face, tho'."
+
+I said this to make Bill feel happier. If I'd told the truth, I'd 've said
+the baby wuz a sickly, yaller-lookin' little thing, for so it wuz; looked
+haff-starved, too. Couldn't help comparin' it with that big, fat baby in
+its mother's arms over the way.
+
+"Bill," says I, "here's a ten-dollar note for the baby, 'nd God bless
+you!"
+
+"Thank ye, Mr. Goodhue," says he, 'nd he choked all up as he moved off
+with that yaller little baby in his arms. It warn't very fur up the road
+he wuz goin', 'nd he found a seat in one uv the front cars.
+
+But along about an hour after that back come Bill, moseyin' through the
+car like he wuz huntin' for somebody. Seemed like he wuz in trubble and
+wuz huntin' for a friend.
+
+"Anything I kin do for you, Bill?" says I, but he didn't make no answer.
+All uv a suddint he sot his eyes on the prutty lady that had the fat baby
+sleepin' in her arms, 'nd he made a break for her like he wuz crazy. He
+took off his hat 'nd bent down over her 'nd said somethin' none uv the
+rest uv us could hear. The lady kind uv started like she wuz frightened,
+'nd then she looked up at Bill 'nd looked him right square in the
+countenance. She saw a tall, ganglin', awkward man, with long yaller hair
+'nd frowzy beard, 'nd she saw that he wuz tremblin' 'nd hed tears in his
+eyes. She looked down at the fat baby in her arms, 'nd then she looked
+out'n the winder at the great stretch uv prairie land, 'nd seemed like she
+wuz lookin' off further 'n the rest uv us could see. Then at last she
+turnt around 'nd said, "Yes," to Bill, 'nd Bill went off into the front
+car ag'in.
+
+None uv the rest uv us knew what all this meant, but in a minnit Bill come
+back with his little yaller baby in his arms, 'nd you never heerd a baby
+squall 'nd carry on like that baby wuz squallin' 'nd carryin' on. Fact is,
+the little yaller baby wuz hungry, hungrier 'n a wolf, 'nd there wuz its
+mother dead in the car up ahead 'nd its gran'ma a good piece up the road.
+What did the lady over the way do but lay her own sleepin' baby down on
+the seat beside her 'nd take Bill's little yaller baby 'nd hold it on one
+arm 'nd cover up its head 'nd her shoulder with a shawl, jist like she had
+done with the fat baby not long afore. Bill never looked at her; he took
+off his hat and held it in his hand, 'nd turnt around 'nd stood guard over
+that mother, 'nd I reckon that ef any man bed darst to look that way jist
+then Bill would 've cut his heart out.
+
+The little yaller baby didn't cry very long. Seemed like it knowed there
+wuz a mother holdin' it,--not its own mother, but a woman whose life hed
+been hallowed by God's blessin' with the love 'nd the purity 'nd the
+sanctity uv motherhood.
+
+Why, I wouldn't hev swapped that sight uv Bill an' them two babies 'nd
+that sweet woman for all the cattle in Texas! It jest made me know that
+what I'd allus thought uv wimmin was gospel truth. God bless that lady! I
+say, wherever she is to-day, 'nd God bless all wimmin folks, for they're
+all alike in their unselfishness 'nd gentleness 'nd love!
+
+Bill said, "God bless ye!" too, when she handed him back his poor little
+yaller baby. The little creeter wuz fast asleep, 'nd Bill darsent speak
+very loud for fear he'd wake it up. But his heart wuz 'way up in his mouth
+when he says "God bless ye!" to that dear lady; 'nd then he added, like he
+wanted to let her know that he meant to pay her back when he could: "I'll
+do the same for you some time, marm, if I kin."
+
+1888.
+
+
+
+
++THE CYCLOPEEDY+
+
+
+
+
+THE CYCLOPEEDY
+
+
+Havin' lived next door to the Hobart place f'r goin' on thirty years, I
+calc'late that I know jest about ez much about the case ez anybody else
+now on airth, exceptin' perhaps it's ol' Jedge Baker, and he's so plaguy
+old 'nd so powerful feeble that _he_ don't know nothin'.
+
+It seems that in the spring uv '47--the year that Cy Watson's oldest boy
+wuz drownded in West River--there come along a book-agent sellin' volyumes
+'nd tracks f'r the diffusion uv knowledge, 'nd havin' got the recommend of
+the minister 'nd uv the selectmen, he done an all-fired big business in
+our part uv the county. His name wuz Lemuel Higgins, 'nd he wuz ez likely
+a talker ez I ever heerd, barrin' Lawyer Conkey, 'nd everybody allowed
+that when Conkey wuz round he talked so fast that the town pump 'u'd have
+to be greased every twenty minutes.
+
+One of the first uv our folks that this Lemuel Higgins struck wuz Leander
+Hobart. Leander had jest marr'd one uv the Peasley girls, 'nd had moved
+into the old homestead on the Plainville road,--old Deacon Hobart havin'
+give up the place to him, the other boys havin' moved out West (like a lot
+o' darned fools that they wuz!). Leander wuz feelin' his oats jest about
+this time, 'nd nuthin' wuz too good f'r him.
+
+"Hattie," sez he, "I guess I'll have to lay in a few books f'r readin' in
+the winter time, 'nd I've half a notion to subscribe f'r a cyclopeedy. Mr.
+Higgins here says they're invalerable in a family, and that we orter have
+'em, bein' as how we're likely to have the fam'ly bime by."
+
+"Lor's sakes, Leander, how you talk!" sez Hattie, blushin' all over, ez
+brides allers does to heern tell uv sich things.
+
+Waal, to make a long story short, Leander bargained with Mr. Higgins for a
+set uv them cyclopeedies, 'nd he signed his name to a long printed paper
+that showed how he agreed to take a cyclopeedy oncet in so often, which
+wuz to be ez often ez a new one uv the volyumes wuz printed. A cyclopeedy
+isn't printed all at oncet, because that would make it cost too much;
+consekently the man that gets it up has it strung along fur apart, so as
+to hit folks oncet every year or two, and gin'rally about harvest time. So
+Leander kind uv liked the idee, and he signed the printed paper 'nd made
+his affidavit to it afore Jedge Warner.
+
+The fust volyume of the cyclopeedy stood on a shelf in the old seckertary
+in the settin'-room about four months before they had any use f'r it. One
+night Squire Turner's son come over to visit Leander 'nd Hattie, and they
+got to talkin' about apples, 'nd the sort uv apples that wuz the best.
+Leander allowed that the Rhode Island greenin' wuz the best, but Hattie
+and the Turner boy stuck up f'r the Roxbury russet, until at last a happy
+idee struck Leander, and sez he: "We'll leave it to the cyclopeedy,
+b'gosh! Whichever one the cyclopeedy sez is the best will settle it."
+
+"But you can't find out nothin' 'bout Roxbury russets nor Rhode Island
+greenin's in _our_ cyclopeedy," sez Hattie.
+
+"Why not, I'd like to know?" sez Leander, kind uv indignant like.
+
+"'Cause ours hain't got down to the R yet," sez Hattie. "All ours tells
+about is things beginnin' with A."
+
+"Well, ain't we talkin' about Apples?" sez Leander. "You aggervate me
+terrible, Hattie, by insistin' on knowin' what you don't know nothin'
+'bout."
+
+Leander went to the seckertary 'nd took down the cyclopeedy 'nd hunted all
+through it f'r Apples, but all he could find wuz "Apple--See Pomology."
+
+"How in thunder kin I see Pomology," sez Leander, "when there ain't no
+Pomology to see? Gol durn a cyclopeedy, anyhow!"
+
+And he put the volyume back onto the shelf 'nd never sot eyes into it
+ag'in.
+
+That's the way the thing run f'r years 'nd years. Leander would 've gin up
+the plaguy bargain, but he couldn't; he had signed a printed paper 'nd had
+swore to it afore a justice of the peace. Higgins would have had the law
+on him if he had throwed up the trade.
+
+The most aggervatin' feature uv it all wuz that a new one uv them cussid
+cyclopeedies wuz allus sure to show up at the wrong time,--when Leander
+wuz hard up or had jest been afflicted some way or other. His barn burnt
+down two nights afore the volyume containin' the letter B arrived, and
+Leander needed all his chink to pay f'r lumber, but Higgins sot back on
+that affidavit and defied the life out uv him.
+
+"Never mind, Leander," sez his wife, soothin' like, "it's a good book to
+have in the house, anyhow, now that we've got a baby."
+
+"That's so," sez Leander, "babies does begin with B, don't it?"
+
+You see their fust baby had been born; they named him Peasley,--Peasley
+Hobart,--after Hattie's folks. So, seein' as how it wuz payin' f'r a book
+that told about babies, Leander didn't begredge that five dollars so very
+much after all.
+
+"Leander," sez Hattie one forenoon, "that B cyclopeedy ain't no account.
+There ain't nothin' in it about babies except 'See Maternity'!"
+
+"Waal, I'll be gosh durned!" sez Leander. That wuz all he said, and he
+couldn't do nothin' at all, f'r that book-agent, Lemuel Higgins, had the
+dead wood on him,--the mean, sneakin' critter!
+
+So the years passed on, one of them cyclopeedies showin' up now 'nd
+then,--sometimes every two years 'nd sometimes every four, but allus at a
+time when Leander found it pesky hard to give up a fiver. It warn't no use
+cussin' Higgins; Higgins just laffed when Leander allowed that the
+cyclopeedy was no good 'nd that he wuz bein' robbed. Meantime Leander's
+family wuz increasin' and growin'. Little Sarey had the hoopin' cough
+dreadful one winter, but the cyclopeedy didn't help out at all, 'cause all
+it said wuz: "Hoopin' Cough--See Whoopin' Cough"--and uv course there
+warn't no Whoopin' Cough to see, bein' as how the W hadn't come yet!
+
+Oncet when Hiram wanted to dreen the home pasture, he went to the
+cyclopeedy to find out about it, but all he diskivered wuz:
+
+"Drain--See Tile." This wuz in 1859, and the cyclopeedy had only got down
+to G.
+
+The cow wuz sick with lung fever one spell, and Leander laid her dyin' to
+that cussid cyclopeedy, 'cause when he went to readin' 'bout cows it told
+him to "See Zoology."
+
+But what's the use uv harrowin' up one's feelin's talkin' 'nd thinkin'
+about these things? Leander got so after a while that the cyclopeedy
+didn't worry him at all: he grew to look at it ez one uv the crosses that
+human critters has to bear without complainin' through this vale uv tears.
+The only thing that bothered him wuz the fear that mebbe he wouldn't live
+to see the last volyume,--to tell the truth, this kind uv got to be his
+hobby, and I've heern him talk 'bout it many a time settin' round the
+stove at the tarvern 'nd squirtin' tobacco juice at the sawdust box. His
+wife, Hattie, passed away with the yaller janders the winter W come, and
+all that seemed to reconcile Leander to survivin' her wuz the prospect uv
+seein' the last volyume of that cyclopeedy. Lemuel Higgins, the
+book-agent, had gone to his everlastin' punishment; but his son, Hiram,
+had succeeded to his father's business 'nd continued to visit the folks
+his old man had roped in. By this time Leander's children had growed up;
+all on 'em wuz marr'd, and there wuz numeris grandchildren to amuse the
+ol' gentleman. But Leander wuzn't to be satisfied with the common things
+uv airth; he didn't seem to take no pleasure in his grandchildren like
+most men do; his mind wuz allers sot on somethin' else,--for hours 'nd
+hours, yes, all day long, he'd set out on the front stoop lookin'
+wistfully up the road for that book-agent to come along with a cyclopeedy.
+He didn't want to die till he'd got all the cyclopeedies his contract
+called for; he wanted to have everything straightened out before he passed
+away. When--oh, how well I recollect it--when Y come along he wuz so
+overcome that he fell over in a fit uv paralysis, 'nd the old gentleman
+never got over it. For the next three years he drooped 'nd pined, and
+seemed like he couldn't hold out much longer. Finally he had to take to
+his bed,--he was so old 'nd feeble,--but he made 'em move the bed up
+ag'inst the winder so he could watch for that last volyume of the
+cyclopeedy.
+
+The end come one balmy day in the spring uv '87. His life wuz a-ebbin'
+powerful fast; the minister wuz there, 'nd me, 'nd Dock Wilson, 'nd Jedge
+Baker, 'nd most uv the fam'ly. Lovin' hands smoothed the wrinkled forehead
+'nd breshed back the long, scant, white hair, but the eyes of the dyin'
+man wuz sot upon that piece uv road down which the cyclopeedy man allus
+come.
+
+All to oncet a bright 'nd joyful look come into them eyes, 'nd ol' Leander
+riz up in bed 'nd sez, "It's come!"
+
+"What is it, Father?" asked his daughter Sarey, sobbin' like.
+
+"Hush," says the minister, solemnly; "he sees the shinin' gates uv the Noo
+Jerusalum."
+
+"No, no," cried the aged man; "it is the cyclopeedy--the letter Z--it's
+comin'!"
+
+And, sure enough! the door opened, and in walked Higgins. He tottered
+rather than walked, f'r he had growed old 'nd feeble in his wicked
+perfession.
+
+"Here's the Z cyclopeedy, Mr. Hobart," sez Higgins.
+
+Leander clutched it; he hugged it to his pantin' bosom; then stealin' one
+pale hand under the piller he drew out a faded banknote 'nd gave it to
+Higgins.
+
+"I thank Thee for this boon," sez Leander, rollin' his eyes up devoutly;
+then he gave a deep sigh.
+
+"Hold on," cried Higgins, excitedly, "you've made a mistake--it isn't the
+last--"
+
+But Leander didn't hear him--his soul hed fled from its mortal tenement
+'nd hed soared rejoicin' to realms uv everlastin' bliss.
+
+"He is no more," sez Dock Wilson, metaphorically.
+
+"Then who are his heirs?" asked that mean critter Higgins.
+
+"We be," sez the family.
+
+"Do you conjointly and severally acknowledge and assume the obligation of
+deceased to me?" he asked 'em.
+
+"What obligation?" asked Peasley Hobart, stern like.
+
+"Deceased died owin' me f'r a cyclopeedy!" sez Higgins.
+
+"That's a lie!" sez Peasley. "We all seen him pay you for the Z!"
+
+"But there's another one to come," sez Higgins.
+
+"Another?" they all asked.
+
+"Yes, the index!" sez he.
+
+So there wuz, and I'll be eternally gol durned if he ain't a-suin' the
+estate in the probate court now f'r the price uv it!
+
+1889
+
+
+
+
++DOCK STEBBINS+
+
+
+
+
+DOCK STEBBINS
+
+
+Most everybody liked Dock Stebbins, fur all he wuz the durnedest critter
+that ever lived to play jokes on folks! Seems like he wuz born jokin' 'nd
+kep' it up all his life. Ol' Mrs. Stebbins used to tell how when the Dock
+wuz a baby he used to wake her up haff a dozen times uv a night cryin'
+like he wuz hungry, 'nd when she turnt over in bed to him he w'u'd laff
+'nd coo like he wuz sayin', "No, thank ye--I wuz only foolin'!"
+
+His mother allus thought a heap uv the Dock, 'nd she allus put up with his
+jokes 'nd things without grumblin'; said it warn't his fault that he wuz
+so full uv tricks 'nd funny business; kind uv took the responsibility uv
+it onto herself, because, as she allowed, she'd been to a circus jest
+afore he wuz born.
+
+Nothin' tickled the Dock more 'n to worry folks,--not in a mean way, but
+jest to sort uv bother 'em. Used to hang round the post-office 'nd pertend
+to have fits,--sakes alive! but how that scared the wimmin folks. One day
+who should come along but ol' Sue Perkins; Sue wuz suspicioned uv takin' a
+nip uv likker on the quiet now 'nd then, but nobody had ever ketched her
+at it. Wall, the Dock he had one uv his fits jest as Sue hove in sight,
+'nd Lem Thompson (who stood in with Dock in all his deviltry) leant over
+Dock while he wuz wallerin' 'nd pertendin' to foam at the mouth, and Lem
+cried out: "Nothink will fetch him out'n this turn but a drink uv brandy."
+Sue, who wuz as kind-hearted a' old maid as ever super'ntended a
+strawbeiry festival, whipped a bottle out'n her bag 'nd says: "Here you
+be, Lem, but don't let him swaller the bottle." Folks bothered Sue a heap
+'bout this joke till she moved down into Texas to teach school.
+
+Dock had a piece uv wood 'bout two inches long,--maybe three: it wuz black
+'nd stubby 'nd looked jest like the butt uv a cigar. Nobody but Dock w'u'd
+ever hev thought uv sech a fool thing, but Dock used to go round with that
+thing in his mouth like it wuz a cigar, and when he 'd meet a man who wuz
+smokin' he'd say: "Excuse me, but will you please to gimme a light?" Then
+the man w'u'd hand over his cigar, and Dock w'u'd plough that wood stub uv
+his'n around in the lighted cigar and would pertend to puff away till he
+had put the real cigar out, 'nd then Dock w'u'd hand the cigar back,
+sayin', kind uv regretful like: "You don't seem to have much uv a light
+there; I reckon I'll wait till I kin git a match." You kin imagine how
+that other feller's cigar tasted when he lighted it ag'in. Dock tried it
+on me oncet, 'nd when I lighted up ag'in seemed like I wuz smokin' a piece
+uv rope or a liver-pad.
+
+One time Dock 'nd Lem Thompson went over to Peory on the railroad, 'nd
+while they wuz settm' in the car in come two wimmin 'nd set in the seat
+ahead uv 'em. All uv a suddint Dock nudged Lem 'nd says, jest loud enuff
+fur the wimmin to hear: "I didn't git round till after it wuz over, but I
+never see sech a sight as that baby's ear wuz."
+
+Lem wuz onto Dock's methods, 'nd he knew there wuz sumthin' ahead. So he
+says: "Tough-lookin' ear, wuz it?"
+
+"Wall, I should remark," says Dock. "You see it wuz like this: the mother
+had gone out into the back yard to hang some clo'es onto the line, 'nd she
+laid the baby down in the crib. Baby wa'n't more 'n six weeks
+old,--helpless little critter as ever you seen. Wall, all to oncet the
+mother heerd the baby cryin', but bein' busy with them clo'es she didn't
+mind much. The baby kep' cryin' 'nd cryin', 'nd at last the mother come
+back into the house, 'nd there she found a big rat gnawin' at one uv the
+baby's ears,--had e't it nearly off! There lay that helpless little
+innocent, cryin' 'nd writhin', 'nd there sat that rat with his long tail,
+nippin' 'nd chewin' at one uv them tiny coral ears--oh, it wuz offul!"
+
+"Jest imagine the feelinks uv the mother!" says Lem, sad like.
+
+"Jest imagine the feelinks uv the _baby_," says Dock. "How'd you like
+to be lyin' helpless in a crib with a big rat gnawin' your ear?"
+
+Wall, all this conversation wuz fur from pleasant to those two wimmin in
+the front seat, fur wimmin love babies 'nd hate rats, you know. It wuz
+nuts fur Dock 'nd Lem to see the two wimmin squirm, 'nd all the way to
+Peory they didn't talk about nuthink but snakes 'nd spiders 'nd mice 'nd
+caterpillers. When the train got to Peory a gentleman met the two wimmin
+'nd says to one uv 'em: "I'm 'feered the trip hain't done you much good,
+Lizzie," says he. "Sakes alive, John," says she, "it's a wonder we hain't
+dead, for we've been travellin' forty miles with a real live Beadle dime
+novvell!"
+
+'Nuther trick Dock had wuz to walk 'long the street behind wimmin 'nd tell
+about how his sister had jest lost one uv her diamond earrings while out
+walkin'. Jest as soon as the wimmin heerd this they'd clap their han's up
+to their ears to see if their earrings wuz all right. Dock never laffed
+nor let on like he wuz jokin', but jest the same this sort uv thing
+tickled him nearly to de'th.
+
+Dock went up to Chicago with Jedge Craig oncet, 'nd when they come back
+the jedge said he'd never had such an offul time in all his born days.
+Said that Dock bought a fool Mother Goose book to read in the hoss-cars
+jest to queer folks; would set in a hoss-car lookin' at the pictur's 'nd
+readin' the verses 'nd laffin' like it wuz all new to him 'nd like he wuz
+a child. Everybody sized him up for a' eject, 'nd the wimmin folks shook
+their heads 'nd said it was orful fur so fine a lookin' feller to be such
+a torn fool. 'Nuther thing Dock did wuz to git hold uv a bad quarter 'nd
+give it to a beggar, 'nd then foller the beggar into a saloon 'nd git him
+arrested for tryin' to pass counterf'it money. I reckon that if Dock had
+stayed in Chicago a week he'd have had everybody crazy.
+
+No, I don't know how he come to be a medikil man. He told me oncet that
+when he found out that he wuzn't good for anythink he concluded he'd be a
+doctor; but I reckon that wuz one uv his jokes. He didn't have much uv a
+practice: he wuz too yumorous to suit most invalids 'nd sick folks. We had
+him tend our boy Sam jest oncet when Sam wuz comin' down with the measles.
+He looked at Sam's tongue 'nd felt his pulse 'nd said he'd leave a pill
+for Sam to take afore goin' to bed.
+
+"How shell we administer the pill?" asked my wife.
+
+"Wall," says Dock, "the best way to do is to git the boy down on the floor
+'nd hold his mouth open 'nd gag him till he swallers the pill. After the
+pill gits into his system it will explode in about ten minnits, 'nd then
+the boy will feel better."
+
+This wuz cheerful news for the boy. No human power c'u'd ha' got that pill
+into Sam. We never solicited Dock's perfeshional services ag'in.
+
+One time Dock 'nd Lem Thompson drove over to Knoxville to help Dock
+Parsons cut a man's leg off. About four miles out uv town 'nd right in the
+middle uv the hot peraroor they met Moses Baker's oldest boy trudgin'
+along with a basket uv eggs. The Dock whoaed his hoss 'nd called to the
+boy,--
+
+"Where be you goin' with them eggs?" says he.
+
+"Goin' to town to sell 'em," says the boy.
+
+"How much a dozen?" asked the Dock.
+
+"'Bout ten cents, I reckon," says the boy.
+
+"Putty likely-lookin' eggs," says the Dock; 'nd he handed the lines over
+to Lem, 'nd got out'n the buggy.
+
+"How many hev you got?" he asked.
+
+"Ten dozen," says the boy.
+
+"Git out!" says Dock. "There hain't no ten dozen eggs in that basket!"
+
+"Yes, there is," says the boy, "fur I counted 'em myself."
+
+The Dock allowed that he wuzn't goin' to take nobody's count on eggs; so
+he got that fool boy to stan' there in the middle uv that hot peraroor,
+claspin' his two hands together, while he, the Dock, counted them eggs
+out'n the basket one by one into the boy's arms. Ten dozen eggs is a heap;
+you kin imagine, maybe, how that boy looked with his arms full uv eggs!
+When the Dock had got about nine dozen counted out he stopped all uv a
+suddint 'nd said, "Wall, come to think on 't, I reckon I don't want no
+eggs to-day, but I'm jest as much obleeged to you fur yer trubble." And so
+he jumped back into the buggy 'nd drove off.
+
+Now, maybe that fool boy wuzn't in a peck uv trubble! There he stood in
+the middle uv that hot--that all-fired hot--peraroor with his arms full uv
+eggs. What wuz there fur him to do? He wuz afraid to move, lest he should
+break them eggs; yet the longer he stood there the less chance there wuz
+uv the warm weather improvin' the eggs.
+
+Along in the summer of '78 the fever broke out down South, 'nd one day
+Dock made up his mind that as bizness wuzn't none too good at home he'd go
+down South 'nd see what he could do there. That wuz jest like one of
+Dock's fool notions, we all said. But he went. In about six weeks along
+come a telegraph sayin' that Dock wuz dead,--he'd died uv the fever. The
+minister went up to the homestead 'nd broke the news gentle like to Dock's
+mother; but, bless you! she didn't believe it--she wouldn't believe it.
+She said it wuz one uv Dock's jokes; she didn't blame him, nuther--it wuz
+_her_ fault, she allowed, that Dock wuz allus that way about makin'
+fun uv life 'nd death. No, sir; she never believed that Dock wuz dead, but
+she allus talked like he might come in any minnit; and there wuz allus his
+old place set fur him at the table 'nd nuthin' wuz disturbed in his little
+room up-stairs. And so five years slipped by 'nd no Dock come back, 'nd
+there wuz no tidin's uv him. Uv course, the rest uv us knew; but his
+mother--oh, no, _she_ never would believe it.
+
+At last the old lady fell sick, and the doctor said she couldn't hold out
+long, she wuz so old 'nd feeble. The minister who wuz there said that she
+seemed to sleep from the evenin' uv this life into the mornin' uv the
+next. Jest afore the last she kind uv raised up in bed and cried out like
+she saw sumthin' that she loved, and she held out her arms like there wuz
+some one standin' in the doorway. Then they asked her what the matter wuz,
+and she says, joyful like: "He's come back, and there he stan's jest as he
+used ter: I knew he wuz only jokin'!"
+
+They looked, but they saw nuthin'; 'nd when they went to her she wuz dead.
+
+1888.
+
+
+
+
++THE FAIRIES OF PESTH+
+
+
+
+
+THE FAIRIES OF PESTH [1]
+
+
+An old poet walked alone in a quiet valley. His heart was heavy, and the
+voices of Nature consoled him. His life had been a lonely and sad one.
+Many years ago a great grief fell upon him, and it took away all his joy
+and all his ambition. It was because he brooded over his sorrow, and
+because he was always faithful to a memory, that the townspeople deemed
+him a strange old poet; but they loved him and they loved his songs,--in
+his life and in his songs there was a gentleness, a sweetness, a pathos
+that touched every heart. "The strange, the dear old poet," they called
+him.
+
+Evening was coming on. The birds made no noise; only the whip-poor-will
+repeated over and over again its melancholy refrain in the marsh beyond
+the meadow. The brook ran slowly, and its voice was so hushed and tiny
+that you might have thought that it was saying its prayers before going to
+bed.
+
+The old poet came to the three lindens. This was a spot he loved, it was
+so far from the noise of the town. The grass under the lindens was fresh
+and velvety. The air was full of fragrance, for here amid the grass grew
+violets and daisies and buttercups and other modest wild-flowers. Under
+the lindens stood old Leeza, the witchwife.
+
+"Take this," said the poet to old Leeza, the witchwife; and he gave her a
+silver piece.
+
+"You are good to me, master poet," said the witchwife. "You have always
+been good to me. I do not forget, master poet, I do not forget."
+
+"Why do you speak so strangely?" asked the old poet. "You mean more than
+you say. Do not jest with me; my heart is heavy with sorrow."
+
+"I do not jest," answered the witchwife. "I will show you a strange thing.
+Do as I bid you; tarry here under the lindens, and when the moon rises,
+the Seven Crickets will chirp thrice; then the Raven will fly into the
+west, and you will see wonderful things, and beautiful things you will
+hear."
+
+Saying this much, old Leeza, the witch-wife, stole away, and the poet
+marvelled at her words. He had heard the townspeople say that old Leeza
+was full of dark thoughts and of evil deeds, but he did not heed these
+stories.
+
+"They say the same of me, perhaps," he thought. "I will tarry here beneath
+the three lindens and see what may come of this whereof the witch wife
+spake."
+
+The old poet sat amid the grass at the foot of the three lindens, and
+darkness fell around him. He could see the lights in the town away off;
+they twinkled like the stars that studded the sky. The whip-poor-will told
+his story over and over again in the marsh beyond the meadow, and the
+brook tossed and talked in its sleep, for it had played too hard that day.
+
+"The moon is rising," said the old poet. "Now we shall see."
+
+The moon peeped over the tops of the far-off hills. She wondered whether
+the world was fast asleep. She peeped again. There could be no doubt; the
+world was fast asleep,--at least so thought the dear old moon. So she
+stepped boldly up from behind the distant hills. The stars were glad that
+she came, for she was indeed a merry old moon.
+
+The Seven Crickets lived in the hedge. They were brothers, and they made
+famous music. When they saw the moon in the sky they sang "chirp-chirp,
+chirp-chirp, chirp-chirp," three times, just as old Leeza, the witchwife,
+said they would.
+
+"Whir-r-r!" It was the Raven flying out of the oak-tree into the west.
+This, too, was what the old witchwife had foretold. "Whir-r-r" went the
+two black wings, and then it seemed as if the Raven melted into the night.
+Now, this was strange enough, but what followed was stranger still.
+
+Hardly had the Raven flown away, when out from their habitations in the
+moss, the flowers, and the grass trooped a legion of fairies,--yes, right
+there before the old poet's eyes appeared, as if by magic, a mighty troop
+of the dearest little fays in all the world.
+
+Each of these fairies was about the height of a cambric needle. The lady
+fairies were, of course, not so tall as the gentleman fairies, but all
+were of quite as comely figure as you could expect to find even among real
+folk. They were quaintly dressed; the ladies wearing quilted silk gowns
+and broadbrim hats with tiny feathers in them, and the gentlemen wearing
+curious little knickerbockers, with silk coats, white hose, ruffled
+shirts, and dainty cocked hats.
+
+"If the witchwife had not foretold it I should say that I dreamed,"
+thought the old poet. But he was not frightened. He had never harmed the
+fairies, therefore he feared no evil from them.
+
+One of the fairies was taller than the rest, and she was much more richly
+attired. It was not her crown alone that showed her to be the queen. The
+others made obeisance to her as she passed through the midst of them from
+her home in the bunch of red clover. Four dainty pages preceded her,
+carrying a silver web which had been spun by a black-and-yellow garden
+spider of great renown. This silver web the four pages spread carefully
+over a violet leaf, and thereupon the queen sat down. And when she was
+seated the queen sang this little song:
+
+                 "From the land of murk and mist
+                  Fairy folk are coming
+                To the mead the dew has kissed,
+                  And they dance where'er they list
+                To the cricket's thrumming.
+
+               "Circling here and circling there,
+                Light as thought and free as air,
+                Hear them ciy, 'Oho, oho,'
+                As they round the rosey go.
+
+                 "Appleblossom, Summerdew,
+                  Thistleblow, and Ganderfeather!
+                Join the airy fairy crew
+                  Dancing on the swaid together!
+                Till the cock on yonder steeple
+                  Gives all faery lusty warning,
+                Sing and dance, my little people,--
+                  Dance and sing 'Oho' till morning!"
+
+The four little fairies the queen called to must have been loitering. But
+now they came scampering up,--Ganderfeather behind the others, for he was
+a very fat and presumably a very lazy little fairy.
+
+"The elves will be here presently," said the queen, "and then, little
+folk, you shall dance to your heart's content. Dance your prettiest
+to-night, for the good old poet is watching you."
+
+"Ah, little queen," cried the old poet, "you see me, then? I thought to
+watch your revels unbeknown to you. But I meant you no disrespect,--
+indeed, I meant you none, for surely no one ever loved the little folk
+more than I."
+
+"We know you love us, good old poet," said the little fairy queen, "and
+this night shall give you great joy and bring you into wondrous fame."
+
+These were words of which the old poet knew not the meaning; but we, who
+live these many years after he has fallen asleep,--we know the meaning of
+them.
+
+Then, surely enough, the elves came trooping along. They lived in the
+further meadow, else they had come sooner. They were somewhat larger than
+the fairies, yet they were very tiny and very delicate creatures. The elf
+prince had long flaxen curls, and he was arrayed in a wonderful suit of
+damask web, at the manufacture of which seventy-seven silkworms had
+labored for seventy-seven days, receiving in payment therefor as many
+mulberry leaves as seven blue beetles could carry and stow in seven times
+seven sunny days. At his side the elf prince wore a sword made of the
+sting of a yellow-jacket, and the hilt of this sword was studded with the
+eyes of unhatched dragon-flies, these brighter and more precious than the
+most costly diamonds.
+
+The elf prince sat beside the fairy queen. The other elves capered around
+among the fairies. The dancing sward was very light, for a thousand and
+ten glowworms came from the marsh and hung their beautiful lamps over the
+spot where the little folk were assembled. If the moon and the stars were
+jealous of that soft, mellow light, they had good reason to be.
+
+The fairies and elves circled around in lively fashion. Their favorite
+dance was the ring-round-a-rosey which many children nowadays dance. But
+they had other measures, too, and they danced them very prettily.
+
+"I wish," said the old poet, "I wish that I had my violin here, for then I
+would make merry music for you."
+
+The fairy queen laughed. "We have music of our own," she said, "and it is
+much more beautiful than even you, dear old poet, could make."
+
+Then, at the queen's command, each gentleman elf offered his arm to a lady
+fairy, and each gentleman fairy offered his arm to a lady elf, and so, all
+being provided with partners, these little people took their places for a
+waltz. The fairy queen and the elf prince were the only ones that did not
+dance; they sat side by side on the violet leaf and watched the others.
+The hoptoad was floor manager; the green burdock badge on his breast
+showed that.
+
+"Mind where you go--don't jostle each other," cried the hoptoad, for he
+was an exceedingly methodical fellow, despite his habit of jumping at
+conclusions.
+
+Then, when all was ready, the Seven Crickets went "chirp-chirp,
+chirp-chirp, chirp-chirp," three times, and away flew that host of little
+fairies and little elves in the daintiest waltz imaginable:--
+
+[Illustration: Musical notation]
+
+The old poet was delighted. Never before had he seen such a sight; never
+before had he heard so sweet music. Round and round whirled the sprite
+dancers; the thousand and ten glowworms caught the rhythm of the music
+that floated up to them, and they swung their lamps to and fro in time
+with the fairy waltz. The plumes in the hats of the cunning little ladies
+nodded hither and thither, and the tiny swords of the cunning little
+gentlemen bobbed this way and that as the throng of dancers swept now
+here, now there. With one tiny foot, upon which she wore a lovely shoe
+made of a tanned flea's hide, the fairy queen beat time, yet she heard
+every word which the gallant elf prince said. So, with the fairy queen
+blushing, the mellow lamps swaying, the elf prince wooing, and the throng
+of little folk dancing hither and thither, the fairy music went on and
+on:--
+
+[Illustration: Musical notation]
+
+"Tell me, my fairy queen," cried the old poet, "whence comes this fairy
+music which I hear? The Seven Crickets in the hedge are still, the birds
+sleep in their nests, the brook dreams of the mountain home it stole away
+from yester morning. Tell me, therefore, whence comes this wondrous fairy
+music, and show me the strange musicians that make it."
+
+[Illustration: Musical notation]
+
+"Look to the grass and the flowers," said the fairy queen. "In every blade
+and in every bud lie hidden notes of fairy music. Each violet and daisy
+and buttercup,--every modest wild-flower (no matter how hidden) gives glad
+response to the tinkle of fairy feet. Dancing daintily over this quiet
+sward where flowers dot the green, my little people strike here and there
+and everywhere the keys which give forth the harmonies you hear."
+
+Long marvelled the old poet. He forgot his sorrow, for the fairy music
+stole into his heart and soothed the wound there. The fairy host swept
+round and round, and the fairy music went on and on.
+
+[Illustration: Musical Notation]
+
+"Why may I not dance?" asked a piping voice. "Please, dear queen, may I
+not dance, too?"
+
+It was the little hunchback that spake,--the little hunchback fairy who,
+with wistful eyes, had been watching the merry throng whirl round and
+round.
+
+"Dear child, thou canst not dance," said the fairy queen, tenderly; "thy
+little limbs are weak. Come, sit thou at my feet, and let me smooth thy
+fair curls and stroke thy pale cheeks."
+
+"Believe me, dear queen," persisted the little hunchback, "I can dance,
+and quite prettily, too. Many a time while the others made merry here I
+have stolen away by myself to the brookside and danced alone in the
+moonlight,--alone with my shadow. The violets are thickest there. 'Let thy
+halting feet fall upon us, Little Sorrowful,' they whispered, 'and we
+shall make music for thee.' So there I danced, and the violets sang their
+songs for me. I could hear the others making merry far away, but I was
+merry, too; for I, too, danced, and there was none to laugh."
+
+"If you would like it, Little Sorrowful," said the elf prince, "I will
+dance with you."
+
+"No, brave prince," answered the little hunchback, "for that would weary
+you. My crutch is stout, and it has danced with me before. You will say
+that we dance very prettily,--my crutch and I,--and you will not laugh, I
+know."
+
+Then the queen smiled sadly; she loved the little hunchback and she pitied
+her.
+
+"It shall be as you wish," said the queen. The little hunchback was
+overjoyed.
+
+"I have to catch the time, you see," said she, and she tapped her crutch
+and swung one little shrunken foot till her body fell into the rhythm of
+the waltz.
+
+Far daintier than the others did the little hunchback dance; now one tiny
+foot and now the other tinkled on the flowers, and the point of the little
+crutch fell here and there like a tear. And as she danced, there crept
+into the fairy music a tenderer cadence, for (I know not why) the little
+hunchback danced ever on the violets, and their responses were full of the
+music of tears. There was a strange pathos in the little creature's grace;
+she did not weary of the dance: her cheeks flushed, and her eyes grew
+fuller, and there was a wondrous light in them. And as the little
+hunchback danced, the others forgot her limp and felt only the heart-cry
+in the little hunchback's merriment and in the music of the voiceful
+violets.
+
+[Illustration: Musical notation]
+
+Now all this saw the old poet, and all this wondrously beautiful music he
+heard. And as he heard and saw these things, he thought of the pale face,
+the weary eyes, and the tired little body that slept forever now. He
+thought of the voice that had tried to be cheerful for his sake, of the
+thin, patient little hands that had loved to do his bidding, of the
+halting little feet that had hastened to his calling.
+
+"Is it thy spirit, O my love?" he wailed, "Is it thy spirit, O dear, dead
+love?"
+
+A mist came before his eyes, and his heart gave a great cry.
+
+But the fairy dance went on and on. The others swept to and fro and round
+and round, but the little hunchback danced always on the violets, and
+through the other music there could be plainly heard, as it crept in and
+out, the mournful cadence of those tenderer flowers.
+
+And, with the music and the dancing, the night faded into morning. And all
+at once the music ceased and the little folk could be seen no more. The
+birds came from their nests, the brook began to bestir himself, and the
+breath of the new-born day called upon all in that quiet valley to awaken.
+
+So many years have passed since the old poet, sitting under the three
+lindens half a league the other side of Pesth, saw the fairies dance and
+heard the fairy music,--so many years have passed since then, that had the
+old poet not left us an echo of that fairy waltz there would be none now
+to believe the story I tell.
+
+[Illustration: Musical notation]
+
+Who knows but that this very night the elves and the fairies will dance in
+the quiet valley; that Little Sorrowful will tinkle her maimed feet upon
+the singing violets, and that the little folk will illustrate in their
+revels, through which a tone of sadness steals, the comedy and pathos of
+our lives? Perhaps no one shall see, perhaps no one else ever did see,
+these fairy people dance their pretty dances; but we who have heard old
+Robert Volkmann's waltz know full well that he at least saw that strange
+sight and heard that wondrous music.
+
+And you will know so, too, when you have read this true story and heard
+old Volkmann's claim to immortality.
+
+1887.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's A Little Book of Profitable Tales, by Eugene Field
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A LITTLE BOOK OF PROFITABLE TALES ***
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+This file should be named 7abpt10.txt or 7abpt10.zip
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+Project Gutenberg's A Little Book of Profitable Tales, by Eugene Field
+
+Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the
+copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing
+this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook.
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+*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!*****
+
+
+Title: A Little Book of Profitable Tales
+
+Author: Eugene Field
+
+Release Date: December, 2005 [EBook #9485]
+[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule]
+[This file was first posted on October 5, 2003]
+
+Edition: 10
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A LITTLE BOOK OF PROFITABLE TALES ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Sheila Vogtmann and PG Distributed Proofreaders
+
+
+
+
+[Transcriber's notes: _ before and after a word or phrase indicate
+italics, + indicate bolded text]
+
+THE WRITINGS IN PROSE AND VERSE OF EUGENE FIELD
+
+
+A LITTLE BOOK OF PROFITABLE TALES
+
+NEW YORK 1901
+
+By EUGENE FIELD.
+
+
+
+TO MY SEVEREST CRITIC, MY MOST LOYAL ADMIRER, AND MY ONLY DAUGHTER, MARY
+FRENCH FIELD, THIS LITTLE BOOK OF PROFITABLE TALES IS AFFECTIONATELY
+DEDICATED. E.F.
+
+
+
+
+INTRODUCTION
+
+
+I have never read a poem by Mr. Field without feeling personally drawn to
+the author. Long after I had known him as a poet, I found that he had
+written in prose little scraps or long essays, which had attracted me in
+just the same way, when I had met with them in the newspapers, although I
+had not known who the author was.
+
+All that he writes indeed is quite free from the conventionalisms to which
+authorship as a profession is sadly liable. Because he is free from them,
+you read his poems or you read his prose, and are affected as if you met
+him. If you were riding in a Pullman car with him, or if you were talking
+with him at breakfast over your coffee, he would say just such things in
+just this way. If he had any art, it was the art of concealing art. But I
+do not think that he thought much of art. I do not think that he cared
+much for what people say about criticism or style. He wrote as he felt, or
+as he thought, without troubling himself much about method. It is this
+simplicity, or what it is the fashion of the day to call frankness, which
+gives a singular charm to his writing.
+
+EDWARD E. HALE.
+
+The Tales in this Little Book
+
+
+THE FIRST CHRISTMAS TREE
+
+THE SYMBOL AND THE SAINT
+
+THE COMING OF THE PRINCE
+
+THE MOUSE AND THE MOONBEAM
+
+THE DIVELL'S CHRYSTMASS
+
+THE MOUNTAIN AND THE SEA
+
+THE ROBIN AND THE VIOLET
+
+THE OAK-TREE AND THE IVY
+
+MARGARET: A PEARL
+
+THE SPRINGTIME
+
+RODOLPH AND HIS KING
+
+THE HAMPSHIRE HILLS
+
+EZRA'S THANKSGIVIN' OUT WEST
+
+LUDWIG AND ELOISE
+
+FIDO'S LITTLE FRIEND
+
+THE OLD MAN
+
+BILL, THE LOKIL EDITOR
+
+THE LITTLE YALLER BABY
+
+THE CYCLOPEEDY
+
+DOCK STEBBINS
+
+THE FAIRIES OF PESTH
+
+
+
+
++THE FIRST CHRISTMAS TREE+
+
+
+
+
+THE FIRST CHRISTMAS TREE
+
+
+Once upon a time the forest was in a great commotion. Early in the evening
+the wise old cedars had shaken their heads ominously and predicted strange
+things. They had lived in the forest many, many years; but never had they
+seen such marvellous sights as were to be seen now in the sky, and upon
+the hills, and in the distant village.
+
+"Pray tell us what you see," pleaded a little vine; "we who are not as
+tall as you can behold none of these wonderful things. Describe them to
+us, that we may enjoy them with you."
+
+"I am filled with such amazement," said one of the cedars, "that I can
+hardly speak. The whole sky seems to be aflame, and the stars appear to be
+dancing among the clouds; angels walk down from heaven to the earth, and
+enter the village or talk with the shepherds upon the hills."
+
+The vine listened in mute astonishment. Such things never before had
+happened. The vine trembled with excitement. Its nearest neighbor was a
+tiny tree, so small it scarcely ever was noticed; yet it was a very
+beautiful little tree, and the vines and ferns and mosses and other humble
+residents of the forest loved it dearly.
+
+"How I should like to see the angels!" sighed the little tree, "and how I
+should like to see the stars dancing among the clouds! It must be very
+beautiful."
+
+As the vine and the little tree talked of these things, the cedars watched
+with increasing interest the wonderful scenes over and beyond the confines
+of the forest. Presently they thought they heard music, and they were not
+mistaken, for soon the whole air was full of the sweetest harmonies ever
+heard upon earth.
+
+"What beautiful music!" cried the little tree. "I wonder whence it comes."
+
+"The angels are singing," said a cedar; "for none but angels could make
+such sweet music."
+
+"But the stars are singing, too," said another cedar; "yes, and the
+shepherds on the hills join in the song, and what a strangely glorious
+song it is!"
+
+The trees listened to the singing, but they did not understand its
+meaning: it seemed to be an anthem, and it was of a Child that had been
+born; but further than this they did not understand. The strange and
+glorious song continued all the night; and all that night the angels
+walked to and fro, and the shepherd-folk talked with the angels, and the
+stars danced and carolled in high heaven. And it was nearly morning when
+the cedars cried out, "They are coming to the forest! the angels are
+coming to the forest!" And, surely enough, this was true. The vine and the
+little tree were very terrified, and they begged their older and stronger
+neighbors to protect them from harm. But the cedars were too busy with
+their own fears to pay any heed to the faint pleadings of the humble vine
+and the little tree. The angels came into the forest, singing the same
+glorious anthem about the Child, and the stars sang in chorus with them,
+until every part of the woods rang with echoes of that wondrous song.
+There was nothing in the appearance of this angel host to inspire fear;
+they were clad all in white, and there were crowns upon their fair heads,
+and golden harps in their hands; love, hope, charity, compassion, and joy
+beamed from their beautiful faces, and their presence seemed to fill the
+forest with a divine peace. The angels came through the forest to where
+the little tree stood, and gathering around it, they touched it with their
+hands, and kissed its little branches, and sang even more sweetly than
+before. And their song was about the Child, the Child, the Child that had
+been born. Then the stars came down from the skies and danced and hung
+upon the branches of the tree, and they, too, sang that song,--the song of
+the Child. And all the other trees and the vines and the ferns and the
+mosses beheld in wonder; nor could they understand why all these things
+were being done, and why this exceeding honor should be shown the little
+tree.
+
+When the morning came the angels left the forest,--all but one angel, who
+remained behind and lingered near the little tree. Then a cedar asked:
+"Why do you tarry with us, holy angel?" And the angel answered: "I stay to
+guard this little tree, for it is sacred, and no harm shall come to it."
+
+The little tree felt quite relieved by this assurance, and it held up its
+head more confidently than ever before. And how it thrived and grew, and
+waxed in strength and beauty! The cedars said they never had seen the
+like. The sun seemed to lavish its choicest rays upon the little tree,
+heaven dropped its sweetest dew upon it, and the winds never came to the
+forest that they did not forget their rude manners and linger to kiss the
+little tree and sing it their prettiest songs. No danger ever menaced it,
+no harm threatened; for the angel never slept,--through the day and
+through the night the angel watched the little tree and protected it from
+all evil. Oftentimes the trees talked with the angel; but of course they
+understood little of what he said, for he spoke always of the Child who
+was to become the Master; and always when thus he talked, he caressed the
+little tree, and stroked its branches and leaves, and moistened them with
+his tears. It all was so very strange that none in the forest could
+understand.
+
+So the years passed, the angel watching his blooming charge. Sometimes the
+beasts strayed toward the little tree and threatened to devour its tender
+foliage; sometimes the woodman came with his axe, intent upon hewing down
+the straight and comely thing; sometimes the hot, consuming breath of
+drought swept from the south, and sought to blight the forest and all its
+verdure: the angel kept them from the little tree. Serene and beautiful it
+grew, until now it was no longer a little tree, but the pride and glory of
+the forest.
+
+One day the tree heard some one coming through the forest. Hitherto the
+angel had hastened to its side when men approached; but now the angel
+strode away and stood under the cedars yonder.
+
+"Dear angel," cried the tree, "can you not hear the footsteps of some one
+approaching? Why do you leave me?"
+
+"Have no fear," said the angel; "for He who comes is the Master."
+
+The Master came to the tree and beheld it. He placed His hands upon its
+smooth trunk and branches, and the tree was thrilled with a strange and
+glorious delight. Then He stooped and kissed the tree, and then He turned
+and went away.
+
+Many times after that the Master came to the forest, and when He came it
+always was to where the tree stood. Many times He rested beneath the tree
+and enjoyed the shade of its foliage, and listened to the music of the
+wind as it swept through the rustling leaves. Many times He slept there,
+and the tree watched over Him, and the forest was still, and all its
+voices were hushed. And the angel hovered near like a faithful sentinel.
+
+Ever and anon men came with the Master to the forest, and sat with Him in
+the shade of the tree, and talked with Him of matters which the tree never
+could understand; only it heard that the talk was of love and charity and
+gentleness, and it saw that the Master was beloved and venerated by the
+others. It heard them tell of the Master's goodness and humility,--how He
+had healed the sick and raised the dead and bestowed inestimable blessings
+wherever He walked. And the tree loved the Master for His beauty and His
+goodness; and when He came to the forest it was full of joy, but when He
+came not it was sad. And the other trees of the forest joined in its
+happiness and its sorrow, for they, too, loved the Master. And the angel
+always hovered near.
+
+The Master came one night alone into the forest, and His face was pale
+with anguish and wet with tears, and He fell upon His knees and prayed.
+The tree heard Him, and all the forest was still, as if it were standing
+in the presence of death. And when the morning came, lo! the angel had
+gone.
+
+Then there was a great confusion in the forest. There was a sound of rude
+voices, and a clashing of swords and staves. Strange men appeared,
+uttering loud oaths and cruel threats, and the tree was filled with
+terror. It called aloud for the angel, but the angel came not.
+
+"Alas," cried the vine, "they have come to destroy the tree, the pride and
+glory of the forest!"
+
+The forest was sorely agitated, but it was in vain. The strange men plied
+their axes with cruel vigor, and the tree was hewn to the ground. Its
+beautiful branches were cut away and cast aside, and its soft, thick
+foliage was strewn to the tenderer mercies of the winds.
+
+"They are killing me!" cried the tree; "why is not the angel here to
+protect me?"
+
+But no one heard the piteous cry,--none but the other trees of the forest;
+and they wept, and the little vine wept too.
+
+Then the cruel men dragged the despoiled and hewn tree from the forest,
+and the forest saw that beauteous thing no more.
+
+But the night wind that swept down from the City of the Great King that
+night to ruffle the bosom of distant Galilee, tarried in the forest awhile
+to say that it had seen that day a cross upraised on Calvary,--the tree on
+which was stretched the body of the dying Master.
+
+1884.
+
+
+
+
++THE SYMBOL AND THE SAINT+
+
+
+
+
+THE SYMBOL AND THE SAINT
+
+
+Once upon a time a young man made ready for a voyage. His name was Norss;
+broad were his shoulders, his cheeks were ruddy, his hair was fair and
+long, his body betokened strength, and good-nature shone from his blue
+eyes and lurked about the corners of his mouth.
+
+"Where are you going?" asked his neighbor Jans, the forge-master.
+
+"I am going sailing for a wife," said Norss.
+
+"For a wife, indeed!" cried Jans. "And why go you to seek her in foreign
+lands? Are not our maidens good enough and fair enough, that you must need
+search for a wife elsewhere? For shame, Norss! for shame!"
+
+But Norss said, "A spirit came to me in my dreams last night and said,
+'Launch the boat and set sail to-morrow. Have no fear; for I will guide
+you to the bride that awaits you.' Then, standing there, all white and
+beautiful, the spirit held forth a symbol--such as I had never before
+seen--in the figure of a cross, and the spirit said: 'By this symbol shall
+she be known to you.'"
+
+"If this be so, you must need go," said Jans. "But are you well
+victualled? Come to my cabin, and let me give you venison and bear's
+meat."
+
+Norss shook his head. "The spirit will provide," said he. "I have no fear,
+and I shall take no care, trusting in the spirit."
+
+So Norss pushed his boat down the beach into the sea, and leaped into the
+boat, and unfurled the sail to the wind. Jan stood wondering on the beach,
+and watched the boat speed out of sight.
+
+On, on, many days on sailed Norss,--so many leagues that he thought he
+must have compassed the earth. In all this time he knew no hunger nor
+thirst; it was as the spirit had told him in his dream,--no cares nor
+dangers beset him. By day the dolphins and the other creatures of the sea
+gambolled about his boat; by night a beauteous Star seemed to direct his
+course; and when he slept and dreamed, he saw ever the spirit clad in
+white, and holding forth to him the symbol in the similitude of a cross.
+
+At last he came to a strange country,--a country so very different from
+his own that he could scarcely trust his senses. Instead of the rugged
+mountains of the North, he saw a gentle landscape of velvety green; the
+trees were not pines and firs, but cypresses, cedars, and palms; instead
+of the cold, crisp air of his native land, he scented the perfumed zephyrs
+of the Orient; and the wind that filled the sail of his boat and smote his
+tanned cheeks was heavy and hot with the odor of cinnamon and spices. The
+waters were calm and blue,--very different from the white and angry waves
+of Norss's native fiord.
+
+As if guided by an unseen hand, the boat pointed straight for the beach of
+this strangely beautiful land; and ere its prow cleaved the shallower
+waters, Norss saw a maiden standing on the shore, shading her eyes with
+her right hand, and gazing intently at him. She was the most beautiful
+maiden he had ever looked upon. As Norss was fair, so was this maiden
+dark; her black hair fell loosely about her shoulders in charming contrast
+with the white raiment in which her slender, graceful form was clad.
+Around her neck she wore a golden chain, and therefrom was suspended a
+small symbol, which Norss did not immediately recognize.
+
+"Hast thou come sailing out of the North into the East?" asked the maiden.
+
+"Yes," said Norss.
+
+"And thou art Norss?" she asked.
+
+"I am Norss; and I come seeking my bride," he answered.
+
+"I am she," said the maiden. "My name is Faia. An angel came to me in my
+dreams last night, and the angel said: 'Stand upon the beach to-day, and
+Norss shall come out of the North to bear thee home a bride.' So, coming
+here, I found thee sailing to our shore."
+
+Remembering then the spirit's words, Norss said: "What symbol have you,
+Faia, that I may know how truly you have spoken?"
+
+"No symbol have I but this," said Faia, holding out the symbol that was
+attached to the golden chain about her neck. Norss looked upon it, and lo!
+it was the symbol of his dreams,--a tiny wooden cross.
+
+Then Norss clasped Faia in his arms and kissed her, and entering into the
+boat they sailed away into the North. In all their voyage neither care nor
+danger beset them; for as it had been told to them in their dreams, so it
+came to pass. By day the dolphins and the other creatures of the sea
+gambolled about them; by night the winds and the waves sang them to sleep;
+and, strangely enough, the Star which before had led Norss into the East,
+now shone bright and beautiful in the Northern sky!
+
+When Norss and his bride reached their home, Jans, the forge-master, and
+the other neighbors made great joy, and all said that Faia was more
+beautiful than any other maiden in the land. So merry was Jans that he
+built a huge fire in his forge, and the flames thereof filled the whole
+Northern sky with rays of light that danced up, up, up to the Star,
+singing glad songs the while. So Norss and Faia were wed, and they went to
+live in the cabin in the fir-grove.
+
+To these two was born in good time a son, whom they named Claus. On the
+night that he was born wondrous things came to pass. To the cabin in the
+fir-grove came all the quaint, weird spirits,--the fairies, the elves, the
+trolls, the pixies, the fadas, the crions, the goblins, the kobolds, the
+moss-people, the gnomes, the dwarfs, the water-sprites, the courils, the
+bogles, the brownies, the nixies, the trows, the stille-volk,--all came to
+the cabin in the fir-grove, and capered about and sang the strange,
+beautiful songs of the Mist-Land. And the flames of old Jans's forge
+leaped up higher than ever into the Northern sky, carrying the joyous
+tidings to the Star, and full of music was that happy night.
+
+Even in infancy Claus did marvellous things. With his baby hands he
+wrought into pretty figures the willows that were given him to play with.
+As he grew older, he fashioned, with the knife old Jans had made for him,
+many curious toys,--carts, horses, dogs, lambs, houses, trees, cats, and
+birds, all of wood and very like to nature. His mother taught him how to
+make dolls too,--dolls of every kind, condition, temper, and color; proud
+dolls, homely dolls, boy dolls, lady dolls, wax dolls, rubber dolls, paper
+dolls, worsted dolls, rag dolls,--dolls of every description and without
+end. So Claus became at once quite as popular with the little girls as
+with the little boys of his native village; for he was so generous that he
+gave away all these pretty things as fast as he made them.
+
+Claus seemed to know by instinct every language. As he grew older he would
+ramble off into the woods and talk with the trees, the rocks, and the
+beasts of the greenwood; or he would sit on the cliffs overlooking the
+fiord, and listen to the stories that the waves of the sea loved to tell
+him; then, too, he knew the haunts of the elves and the stille-volk, and
+many a pretty tale he learned from these little people. When night came,
+old Jans told him the quaint legends of the North, and his mother sang to
+him the lullabies she had heard when a little child herself in the
+far-distant East. And every night his mother held out to him the symbol in
+the similitude of the cross, and bade him kiss it ere he went to sleep.
+
+So Claus grew to manhood, increasing each day in knowledge and in wisdom.
+His works increased too; and his liberality dispensed everywhere the
+beauteous things which his fancy conceived and his skill executed. Jans,
+being now a very old man, and having no son of his own, gave to Claus his
+forge and workshop, and taught him those secret arts which he in youth had
+learned from cunning masters. Right joyous now was Claus; and many, many
+times the Northern sky glowed with the flames that danced singing from the
+forge while Claus moulded his pretty toys. Every color of the rainbow were
+these flames; for they reflected the bright colors of the beauteous things
+strewn round that wonderful workshop. Just as of old he had dispensed to
+all children alike the homelier toys of his youth, so now he gave to all
+children alike these more beautiful and more curious gifts. So little
+children everywhere loved Claus, because he gave them pretty toys, and
+their parents loved him because he made their little ones so happy.
+
+But now Norss and Faia were come to old age. After long years of love and
+happiness, they knew that death could not be far distant. And one day Faia
+said to Norss: "Neither you nor I, dear love, fear death; but if we could
+choose, would we not choose to live always in this our son Claus, who has
+been so sweet a joy to us?"
+
+"Ay, ay," said Norss; "but how is that possible?"
+
+"We shall see," said Faia.
+
+That night Norss dreamed that a spirit came to him, and that the spirit
+said to him: "Norss, thou shalt surely live forever in thy son Claus, if
+thou wilt but acknowledge the symbol."
+
+Then when the morning was come Norss told his dream to Faia, his wife; and
+Faia said,--
+
+"The same dream had I,--an angel appearing to me and speaking these very
+words."
+
+"But what of the symbol?" cried Norss.
+
+"I have it here, about my neck," said Faia.
+
+So saying, Faia drew from her bosom the symbol of wood,--a tiny cross
+suspended about her neck by the golden chain. And as she stood there
+holding the symbol out to Norss, he--he thought of the time when first he
+saw her on the far-distant Orient shore, standing beneath the Star in all
+her maidenly glory, shading her beauteous eyes with one hand, and with the
+other clasping the cross,--the holy talisman of her faith.
+
+"Faia, Faia!" cried Norss, "it is the same,--the same you wore when I
+fetched you a bride from the East!"
+
+"It is the same." said Faia, "yet see how my kisses and my prayers have
+worn it away; for many, many times in these years, dear Norss, have I
+pressed it to my lips and breathed your name upon it. See now--see what a
+beauteous light its shadow makes upon your aged face!"
+
+The sunbeams, indeed, streaming through the window at that moment, cast
+the shadow of the symbol on old Norss's brow. Norss felt a glorious warmth
+suffuse him, his heart leaped with joy, and he stretched out his arms and
+fell about Faia's neck, and kissed the symbol and acknowledged it. Then
+likewise did Faia; and suddenly the place was filled with a wondrous
+brightness and with strange music, and never thereafter were Norss and
+Faia beholden of men.
+
+Until late that night Claus toiled at his forge; for it was a busy season
+with him, and he had many, many curious and beauteous things to make for
+the little children in the country round about. The colored flames leaped
+singing from his forge, so that the Northern sky seemed to be lighted by a
+thousand rainbows; but above all this voiceful glory beamed the Star,
+bright, beautiful, serene.
+
+Coming late to the cabin in the fir-grove, Claus wondered that no sign of
+his father or of his mother was to be seen. "Father--mother!" he cried,
+but he received no answer. Just then the Star cast its golden gleam
+through the latticed window, and this strange, holy light fell and rested
+upon the symbol of the cross that lay upon the floor. Seeing it, Claus
+stooped and picked it up, and kissing it reverently, he cried: "Dear
+talisman, be thou my inspiration evermore; and wheresoever thy blessed
+influence is felt, there also let my works be known henceforth forever!"
+
+No sooner had he said these words than Claus felt the gift of immortality
+bestowed upon him; and in that moment, too, there came to him a knowledge
+that his parents' prayer had been answered, and that Norss and Faia would
+live in him through all time.
+
+And lo! to that place and in that hour came all the people of Mist-Land
+and of Dream-Land to declare allegiance to him: yes, the elves, the
+fairies, the pixies,--all came to Claus, prepared to do his bidding.
+Joyously they capered about him, and merrily they sang.
+
+"Now haste ye all," cried Claus,--"haste ye all to your homes and bring to
+my workshop the best ye have. Search, little hill-people, deep in the
+bowels of the earth for finest gold and choicest jewels; fetch me, O
+mermaids, from the bottom of the sea the treasures hidden there,--the
+shells of rainbow tints, the smooth, bright pebbles, and the strange ocean
+flowers; go, pixies, and other water-sprites, to your secret lakes, and
+bring me pearls! Speed! speed you all! for many pretty things have we to
+make for the little ones of earth we love!"
+
+But to the kobolds and the brownies Claus said: "Fly to every house on
+earth where the cross is known; loiter unseen in the corners, and watch
+and hear the children through the day. Keep a strict account of good and
+bad, and every night bring back to me the names of good and bad, that I
+may know them."
+
+The kobolds and the brownies laughed gleefully, and sped away on noiseless
+wings; and so, too, did the other fairies and elves.
+
+There came also to Claus the beasts of the forest and the birds of the
+air, and bade him be their master. And up danced the Four Winds, and they
+said: "May we not serve you, too?"
+
+The snow-king came stealing along in his feathery chariot. "Oho!" he
+cried, "I shall speed over all the world and tell them you are coming. In
+town and country, on the mountain-tops and in the valleys,--wheresoever
+the cross is raised,--there will I herald your approach, and thither will
+I strew you a pathway of feathery white. Oho! oho!" So, singing softly,
+the snow-king stole upon his way.
+
+But of all the beasts that begged to do him service, Claus liked the
+reindeer best. "You shall go with me in my travels; for henceforth I shall
+bear my treasures not only to the children of the North, but to the
+children in every land whither the Star points me and where the cross is
+lifted up!" So said Claus to the reindeer, and the reindeer neighed
+joyously and stamped their hoofs impatiently, as though they longed to
+start immediately.
+
+Oh, many, many times has Claus whirled away from his far Northern home in
+his sledge drawn by the reindeer, and thousands upon thousands of
+beautiful gifts--all of his own making--has he borne to the children of
+every land; for he loves them all alike, and they all alike love him, I
+trow. So truly do they love him that they call him Santa Claus, and I am
+sure that he must be a saint; for he has lived these many hundred years,
+and we, who know that he was born of Faith and Love, believe that he will
+live forever.
+
+1886.
+
+
+
+
++THE COMING OF THE PRINCE+
+
+
+
+
+THE COMING OF THE PRINCE
+
+
+I
+
+"Whirr-r-r! whirr-r-r! whirr-r-r!" said the wind, and it tore through the
+streets of the city that Christmas eve, turning umbrellas inside out,
+driving the snow in fitful gusts before it, creaking the rusty signs and
+shutters, and playing every kind of rude prank it could think of.
+
+"How cold your breath is to-night!" said Barbara, with a shiver, as she
+drew her tattered little shawl the closer around her benumbed body.
+
+"Whirr-r-r! whirr-r-r! whirr-r-r!" answered the wind; "but why are you out
+in this storm? You should be at home by the warm fire."
+
+"I have no home," said Barbara; and then she sighed bitterly, and
+something like a tiny pearl came in the corner of one of her sad blue
+eyes.
+
+But the wind did not hear her answer, for it had hurried up the street to
+throw a handful of snow in the face of an old man who was struggling along
+with a huge basket of good things on each arm.
+
+"Why are you not at the cathedral?" asked a snowflake, as it alighted on
+Barbara's shoulder. "I heard grand music, and saw beautiful lights there
+as I floated down from the sky a moment ago."
+
+"What are they doing at the cathedral?" inquired Barbara.
+
+"Why, haven't you heard?" exclaimed the snowflake. "I supposed everybody
+knew that the prince was coming to-morrow."
+
+"Surely enough; this is Christmas eve," said Barbara, "and the prince will
+come tomorrow."
+
+Barbara remembered that her mother had told her about the prince, how
+beautiful and good and kind and gentle he was, and how he loved the little
+children; but her mother was dead now, and there was none to tell Barbara
+of the prince and his coming,--none but the little snowflake.
+
+"I should like to see the prince," said Barbara, "for I have heard he was
+very beautiful and good."
+
+"That he is," said the snowflake. "I have never seen him, but I heard the
+pines and the firs singing about him as I floated over the forest
+to-night."
+
+"Whirr-r-r! whirr-r-r!" cried the wind, returning boisterously to where
+Barbara stood. "I've been looking for you everywhere, little snowflake! So
+come with me."
+
+And without any further ado, the wind seized upon the snowflake and
+hurried it along the street and led it a merry dance through the icy air
+of the winter night.
+
+Barbara trudged on through the snow and looked in at the bright things in
+the shop windows. The glitter of the lights and the sparkle of the vast
+array of beautiful Christmas toys quite dazzled her. A strange mingling of
+admiration, regret, and envy filled the poor little creature's heart.
+
+"Much as I may yearn to have them, it cannot be," she said to herself,
+"yet I may feast my eyes upon them."
+
+"Go away from here!" said a harsh voice. "How can the rich people see all
+my fine things if you stand before the window? Be off with you, you
+miserable little beggar!"
+
+It was the shopkeeper, and he gave Barbara a savage box on the ear that
+sent her reeling into the deeper snowdrifts of the gutter.
+
+Presently she came to a large house where there seemed to be much mirth
+and festivity. The shutters were thrown open, and through the windows
+Barbara could see a beautiful Christmas tree in the centre of a spacious
+room,--a beautiful Christmas tree ablaze with red and green lights, and
+heavy with toys and stars and glass balls, and other beautiful things that
+children love. There was a merry throng around the tree, and the children
+were smiling and gleeful, and all in that house seemed content and happy.
+Barbara heard them singing, and their song was about the prince who was to
+come on the morrow.
+
+"This must be the house where the prince will stop," thought Barbara. "How
+I would like to see his face and hear his voice!--yet what would he care
+for _me_, a 'miserable little beggar'?"
+
+So Barbara crept on through the storm, shivering and disconsolate, yet
+thinking of the prince.
+
+"Where are you going?" she asked of the wind as it overtook her.
+
+"To the cathedral," laughed the wind. "The great people are flocking
+there, and I will have a merry time amongst them, ha, ha, ha!"
+
+And with laughter the wind whirled away and chased the snow toward the
+cathedral.
+
+"It is there, then, that the prince will come," thought Barbara. "It is a
+beautiful place, and the people will pay him homage there. Perhaps I shall
+see him if I go there."
+
+So she went to the cathedral. Many folk were there in their richest
+apparel, and the organ rolled out its grand music, and the people sang
+wondrous songs, and the priests made eloquent prayers; and the music, and
+the songs, and the prayers were all about the prince and his expected
+coming. The throng that swept in and out of the great edifice talked
+always of the prince, the prince, the prince, until Barbara really loved
+him very much, for all the gentle words she heard the people say of him.
+
+"Please, can I go and sit inside?" inquired Barbara of the sexton.
+
+"No!" said the sexton, gruffly, for this was an important occasion with
+the sexton, and he had no idea of wasting words on a beggar child.
+
+"But I will be very good and quiet," pleaded Barbara. "Please, may I not
+see the prince?"
+
+"I have said no, and I mean it," retorted the sexton. "What have you for
+the prince, or what cares the prince for you? Out with you, and don't be
+blocking up the doorway!" So the sexton gave Barbara an angry push, and
+the child fell half-way down the icy steps of the cathedral. She began to
+cry. Some great people were entering the cathedral at the time, and they
+laughed to see her falling.
+
+"Have you seen the prince?" inquired a snowflake, alighting on Barbara's
+cheek. It was the same little snowflake that had clung to her shawl an
+hour ago, when the wind came galloping along on his boisterous search.
+
+"Ah, no!" sighed Barbara, in tears; "but what cares the prince for _me_?"
+
+"Do not speak so bitterly," said the little snowflake. "Go to the forest
+and you shall see him, for the prince always comes through the forest to
+the city."
+
+Despite the cold, and her bruises, and her tears, Barbara smiled. In the
+forest she could behold the prince coming on his way; and he would not see
+her, for she would hide among the trees and vines.
+
+"Whirr-r-r, whirr-r-r!" It was the mischievous, romping wind once more;
+and it fluttered Barbara's tattered shawl, and set her hair to streaming
+in every direction, and swept the snowflake from her cheek and sent it
+spinning through the air.
+
+Barbara trudged toward the forest. When she came to the city gate the
+watchman stopped her, and held his big lantern in her face, and asked her
+who she was and where she was going.
+
+"I am Barbara, and I am going into the forest," said she, boldly.
+
+"Into the forest?" cried the watchman, "and in this storm? No, child; you
+will perish!"
+
+"But I am going to see the prince," said Barbara. "They will not let me
+watch for him in the church, nor in any of their pleasant homes, so I am
+going into the forest."
+
+The watchman smiled sadly. He was a kindly man; he thought of his own
+little girl at home.
+
+"No, you must not go to the forest," said he, "for you would perish with
+the cold."
+
+But Barbara would not stay. She avoided the watchman's grasp and ran as
+fast as ever she could through the city gate.
+
+"Come back, come back!" cried the watchman; "you will perish in the
+forest!"
+
+But Barbara would not heed his cry. The falling snow did not stay her, nor
+did the cutting blast. She thought only of the prince, and she ran
+straightway to the forest.
+
+
+II
+
+"What do you see up there, O pine-tree?" asked a little vine in the
+forest.
+
+"You lift your head among the clouds tonight, and you tremble strangely as
+if you saw wondrous sights."
+
+"I see only the distant hill-tops and the dark clouds," answered the
+pine-tree. "And the wind sings of the snow-king to-night; to all my
+questionings he says, 'Snow, snow, snow,' till I am weary with his
+refrain."
+
+"But the prince will surely come to-morrow?" inquired the tiny snowdrop
+that nestled close to the vine.
+
+"Oh, yes," said the vine. "I heard the country folks talking about it as
+they went through the forest to-day, and they said that the prince would
+surely come on the morrow."
+
+"What are you little folks down there talking about?" asked the pine-tree.
+
+"We are talking about the prince," said the vine.
+
+"Yes, he is to come on the morrow," said the pine-tree, "but not until the
+day dawns, and it is still all dark in the east."
+
+"Yes," said the fir-tree, "the east is black, and only the wind and the
+snow issue from it."
+
+"Keep your head out of my way!" cried the pine-tree to the fir; "with your
+constant bobbing around I can hardly see at all."
+
+"Take _that_ for your bad manners," retorted the fir, slapping the
+pine-tree savagely with one of her longest branches.
+
+The pine-tree would put up with no such treatment, so he hurled his
+largest cone at the fir; and for a moment or two it looked as if there
+were going to be a serious commotion in the forest.
+
+"Hush!" cried the vine in a startled tone; "there is some one coming
+through the forest."
+
+The pine-tree and the fir stopped quarrelling, and the snowdrop nestled
+closer to the vine, while the vine hugged the pine-tree very tightly. All
+were greatly alarmed.
+
+"Nonsense!" said the pine-tree, in a tone of assumed bravery. "No one
+would venture into the forest at such an hour."
+
+"Indeed! and why not?" cried a child's voice. "Will you not let me watch
+with you for the coming of the prince?"
+
+"Will you not chop me down?" inquired the pine-tree, gruffly.
+
+"Will you not tear me from my tree?" asked the vine.
+
+"Will you not pluck my blossoms?" plaintively piped the snowdrop.
+
+"No, of course not," said Barbara; "I have come only to watch with you for
+the prince."
+
+Then Barbara told them who she was, and how cruelly she had been treated
+in the city, and how she longed to see the prince, who was to come on the
+morrow. And as she talked, the forest and all therein felt a great
+compassion for her.
+
+"Lie at my feet," said the pine-tree, "and I will protect you."
+
+"Nestle close to me, and I will chafe your temples and body and limbs till
+they are warm," said the vine.
+
+"Let me rest upon your cheek, and I will sing you my little songs," said
+the snowdrop.
+
+And Barbara felt very grateful for all these homely kindnesses. She rested
+in the velvety snow at the foot of the pine-tree, and the vine chafed her
+body and limbs, and the little flower sang sweet songs to her.
+
+"Whirr-r-r, whirr-r-r!" There was that noisy wind again, but this time it
+was gentler than it had been in the city.
+
+"Here you are, my little Barbara," said the wind, in kindly tones. "I have
+brought you the little snowflake. I am glad you came away from the city,
+for the people are proud and haughty there; oh, but I will have my fun
+with them!"
+
+Then, having dropped the little snowflake on Barbara's cheek, the wind
+whisked off to the city again. And we can imagine that it played rare
+pranks with the proud, haughty folk on its return; for the wind, as you
+know, is no respecter of persons.
+
+"Dear Barbara," said the snowflake, "I will watch with thee for the coming
+of the prince."
+
+And Barbara was glad, for she loved the little snowflake, that was so pure
+and innocent and gentle.
+
+"Tell us, O pine-tree," cried the vine, "what do you see in the east? Has
+the prince yet entered the forest?"
+
+"The east is full of black clouds," said the pine-tree, "and the winds
+that hurry to the hill-tops sing of the snow."
+
+"But the city is full of brightness," said the fir. "I can see the lights
+in the cathedral, and I can hear wondrous music about the prince and his
+coming."
+
+"Yes, they are singing of the prince in the cathedral," said Barbara,
+sadly.
+
+"But we shall see him first," whispered the vine, reassuringly.
+
+"Yes, the prince will come through the forest," said the little snowdrop,
+gleefully.
+
+"Fear not, dear Barbara, we shall behold the prince in all his glory,"
+cried the snowflake.
+
+Then all at once there was a strange hubbub in the forest; for it was
+midnight, and the spirits came from their hiding-places to prowl about and
+to disport themselves. Barbara beheld them all in great wonder and
+trepidation, for she had never before seen the spirits of the forest,
+although she had often heard of them. It was a marvellous sight.
+
+"Fear nothing," whispered the vine to Barbara,--"fear nothing, for they
+dare not touch you."
+
+The antics of the wood-spirits continued but an hour; for then a cock
+crowed, and immediately thereat, with a wondrous scurrying, the elves and
+the gnomes and the other grotesque spirits sought their abiding-places in
+the caves and in the hollow trunks and under the loose bark of the trees.
+And then it was very quiet once more in the forest.
+
+"It is very cold," said Barbara. "My hands and feet are like ice."
+
+Then the pine-tree and the fir shook down the snow from their broad
+boughs, and the snow fell upon Barbara and covered her like a white
+mantle.
+
+"You will be warm now," said the vine, kissing Barbara's forehead. And
+Barbara smiled.
+
+Then the snowdrop sang a lullaby about the moss that loved the violet. And
+Barbara said, "I am going to sleep; will you wake me when the prince comes
+through the forest?"
+
+And they said they would. So Barbara fell asleep.
+
+
+III
+
+"The bells in the city are ringing merrily," said the fir, "and the music
+in the cathedral is louder and more beautiful than before. Can it be that
+the prince has already come into the city?"
+
+"No," cried the pine-tree, "look to the east and see the Christmas day
+a-dawning! The prince is coming, and his pathway is through the forest!"
+
+The storm had ceased. Snow lay upon all the earth. The hills, the forest,
+the city, and the meadows were white with the robe the storm-king had
+thrown over them. Content with his wondrous work, the storm-king himself
+had fled to his far Northern home before the dawn of the Christmas day.
+Everything was bright and sparkling and beautiful. And most beautiful was
+the great hymn of praise the forest sang that Christmas morning,--the
+pine-trees and the firs and the vines and the snow-flowers that sang of
+the prince and of his promised coming.
+
+"Wake up, little one," cried the vine, "for the prince is coming!"
+
+But Barbara slept; she did not hear the vine's soft calling, nor the lofty
+music of the forest.
+
+A little snow-bird flew down from the fir-tree's bough and perched upon
+the vine, and carolled in Barbara's ear of the Christmas morning and of
+the coming of the prince. But Barbara slept; she did not hear the carol of
+the bird.
+
+"Alas!" sighed the vine, "Barbara will not awaken, and the prince is
+coming."
+
+Then the vine and the snowdrop wept, and the pine-tree and the fir were
+very sad.
+
+The prince came through the forest clad in royal raiment and wearing a
+golden crown. Angels came with him, and the forest sang a great hymn unto
+the prince, such a hymn as had never before been heard on earth. The
+prince came to the sleeping child and smiled upon her and called her by
+name.
+
+"Barbara, my little one," said the prince, "awaken, and come with me."
+
+Then Barbara opened her eyes and beheld the prince. And it seemed as if a
+new life had come to her, for there was warmth in her body, and a flush
+upon her cheeks and a light in her eyes that were divine. And she was
+clothed no longer in rags, but in white flowing raiment; and upon the soft
+brown hair there was a crown like those which angels wear. And as Barbara
+arose and went to the prince, the little snowflake fell from her cheek
+upon her bosom, and forthwith became a pearl more precious than all other
+jewels upon earth.
+
+And the prince took Barbara in his arms and blessed her, and turning round
+about, returned with the little child unto his home, while the forest and
+the sky and the angels sang a wondrous song.
+
+The city waited for the prince, but he did not come. None knew of the
+glory of the forest that Christmas morning, nor of the new life that came
+to little Barbara.
+
+_Come thou, dear Prince, oh, come to us this holy Christmas time! Come
+to the busy marts of earth, the quiet homes, the noisy streets, the humble
+lanes; come to us all, and with thy love touch every human heart, that we
+may know that love, and in its blessed peace bear charity to all
+mankind_!
+
+1886.
+
+
+
+
++THE MOUSE AND THE MOONBEAM+
+
+
+
+
+THE MOUSE AND THE MOONBEAM
+
+
+Whilst you were sleeping, little Dear-my-Soul, strange things happened;
+but that I saw and heard them, I should never have believed them. The
+clock stood, of course, in the corner, a moonbeam floated idly on the
+floor, and a little mauve mouse came from the hole in the chimney corner
+and frisked and scampered in the light of the moonbeam upon the floor. The
+little mauve mouse was particularly merry; sometimes she danced upon two
+legs and sometimes upon four legs, but always very daintily and always
+very merrily.
+
+"Ah, me!" sighed the old clock, "how different mice are nowadays from the
+mice we used to have in the good old times! Now there was your grandma,
+Mistress Velvetpaw, and there was your grandpa, Master Sniffwhisker,--how
+grave and dignified they were! Many a night have I seen them dancing upon
+the carpet below me, but always the stately minuet and never that crazy
+frisking which you are executing now, to my surprise--yes, and to my
+horror, too."
+
+"But why shouldn't I be merry?" asked the little mauve mouse. "To-morrow
+is Christmas, and this is Christmas eve."
+
+"So it is," said the old clock. "I had really forgotten all about it. But,
+tell me, what is Christmas to you, little Miss Mauve Mouse?"
+
+"A great deal to me!" cried the little mauve mouse. "I have been very good
+a very long time: I have not used any bad words, nor have I gnawed any
+holes, nor have I stolen any canary seed, nor have I worried my mother by
+running behind the flour-barrel where that horrid trap is set. In fact, I
+have been so good that I'm very sure Santa Claus will bring me something
+very pretty."
+
+This seemed to amuse the old clock mightily; in fact, the old clock fell
+to laughing so heartily that in an unguarded moment she struck twelve
+instead of ten, which was exceedingly careless and therefore to be
+reprehended.
+
+"Why, you silly little mauve mouse," said the old clock, "you don't
+believe in Santa Claus, do you?"
+
+"Of course I do," answered the little mauve mouse. "Believe in Santa
+Claus? Why shouldn't I? Didn't Santa Claus bring me a beautiful
+butter-cracker last Christmas, and a lovely gingersnap, and a delicious
+rind of cheese, and--and--lots of things? I should be very ungrateful if I
+did _not_ believe in Santa Claus, and I certainly shall not
+disbelieve in him at the very moment when I am expecting him to arrive
+with a bundle of goodies for me.
+
+"I once had a little sister," continued the little mauve mouse, "who did
+not believe in Santa Claus, and the very thought of the fate that befell
+her makes my blood run cold and my whiskers stand on end. She died before
+I was born, but my mother has told me all about her. Perhaps you never saw
+her; her name was Squeaknibble, and she was in stature one of those long,
+low, rangy mice that are seldom found in well-stocked pantries. Mother
+says that Squeaknibble took after our ancestors who came from New England,
+where the malignant ingenuity of the people and the ferocity of the cats
+rendered life precarious indeed. Squeaknibble seemed to inherit many
+ancestral traits, the most conspicuous of which was a disposition to sneer
+at some of the most respected dogmas in mousedom. From her very infancy
+she doubted, for example, the widely accepted theory that the moon was
+composed of green cheese; and this heresy was the first intimation her
+parents had of the sceptical turn of her mind. Of course, her parents were
+vastly annoyed, for their maturer natures saw that this youthful
+scepticism portended serious, if not fatal, consequences. Yet all in vain
+did the sagacious couple reason and plead with their headstrong and
+heretical child.
+
+"For a long time Squeaknibble would not believe that there was any such
+archfiend as a cat; but she came to be convinced to the contrary one
+memorable night, on which occasion she lost two inches of her beautiful
+tail, and received so terrible a fright that for fully an hour afterward
+her little heart beat so violently as to lift her off her feet and bump
+her head against the top of our domestic hole. The cat that deprived my
+sister of so large a percentage of her vertebral colophon was the same
+brindled ogress that nowadays steals ever and anon into this room,
+crouches treacherously behind the sofa, and feigns to be asleep, hoping,
+forsooth, that some of us, heedless of her hated presence, will venture
+within reach of her diabolical claws. So enraged was this ferocious
+monster at the escape of my sister that she ground her fangs viciously
+together, and vowed to take no pleasure in life until she held in her
+devouring jaws the innocent little mouse which belonged to the mangled bit
+of tail she even then clutched in her remorseless claws."
+
+"Yes," said the old clock, "now that you recall the incident, I recollect
+it well. I was here then, in this very corner, and I remember that I
+laughed at the cat and chided her for her awkwardness. My reproaches
+irritated her; she told me that a clock's duty was to run itself down,
+_not_ to be depreciating the merits of others! Yes, I recall the
+time; that cat's tongue is fully as sharp as her claws."
+
+"Be that as it may," said the little mauve mouse, "it is a matter of
+history, and therefore beyond dispute, that from that very moment the cat
+pined for Squeaknibble's life; it seemed as if that one little two-inch
+taste of Squeaknibble's tail had filled the cat with a consuming passion,
+or appetite, for the rest of Squeaknibble. So the cat waited and watched
+and hunted and schemed and devised and did everything possible for a
+cat--a cruel cat--to do in order to gain her murderous ends. One
+night--one fatal Christmas eve--our mother had undressed the children for
+bed, and was urging upon them to go to sleep earlier than usual, since she
+fully expected that Santa Claus would bring each of them something very
+palatable and nice before morning. Thereupon the little dears whisked
+their cunning tails, pricked up their beautiful ears, and began telling
+one another what they hoped Santa Claus would bring. One asked for a slice
+of Roquefort, another for Neufchâtel, another for Sap Sago, and a fourth
+for Edam; one expressed a preference for de Brie, while another hoped to
+get Parmesan; one clamored for imperial blue Stilton, and another craved
+the fragrant boon of Caprera. There were fourteen little ones then, and
+consequently there were diverse opinions as to the kind of gift which
+Santa Claus should best bring; still, there was, as you can readily
+understand, an enthusiastic unanimity upon this point, namely, that the
+gift should be cheese of some brand or other.
+
+"'My dears,' said our mother, 'what matters it whether the boon which
+Santa Claus brings be royal English cheddar or fromage de Bricquebec,
+Vermont sage, or Herkimer County skim-milk? We should be content with
+whatsoever Santa Glaus bestows, so long as it be cheese, disjoined from
+all traps whatsoever, unmixed with Paris green, and free from glass,
+strychnine, and other harmful ingredients. As for myself, I shall be
+satisfied with a cut of nice, fresh Western reserve; for truly I recognize
+in no other viand or edible half the fragrance or half the gustfulness to
+be met with in one of these pale but aromatic domestic products. So run
+away to your dreams now, that Santa Claus may find you sleeping.'
+
+"The children obeyed,--all but Squeaknibble. 'Let the others think what
+they please,' said she, 'but _I_ don't believe in Santa Claus. I'm
+not going to bed, either. I'm going to creep out of this dark hole and
+have a quiet romp, all by myself, in the moonlight.' Oh, what a vain,
+foolish, wicked little mouse was Squeaknibble! But I will not reproach the
+dead; her punishment came all too swiftly. Now listen: who do you suppose
+overheard her talking so disrespectfully of Santa Claus?"
+
+"Why, Santa Claus himself," said the old clock.
+
+"Oh, no," answered the little mauve mouse. "It was that wicked, murderous
+cat! Just as Satan lurks and lies in wait for bad children, so does the
+cruel cat lurk and lie in wait for naughty little mice. And you can depend
+upon it, that when that awful cat heard Squeaknibble speak so
+disrespectfully of Santa Claus, her wicked eyes glowed with joy, her sharp
+teeth watered, and her bristling fur emitted electric sparks as big as
+marrowfat peas. Then what did that bloodthirsty monster do but scuttle as
+fast as she could into Dear-my-Soul's room, leap up into Dear-my-Soul's
+crib, and walk off with the pretty little white muff which Dear-my-Soul
+used to wear when she went for a visit to the little girl in the next
+block! What upon earth did the horrid old cat want with Dear-my-Soul's
+pretty little white muff? Ah, the duplicity, the diabolical ingenuity of
+that cat! Listen.
+
+"In the first place," resumed the little mauve mouse, after a pause that
+testified eloquently to the depth of her emotion,--"in the first place,
+that wretched cat dressed herself up in that pretty little white muff, by
+which you are to understand that she crawled through the muff just so far
+as to leave her four cruel legs at liberty."
+
+"Yes, I understand," said the old clock.
+
+"Then she put on the boy doll's fur cap," said the little mauve mouse,
+"and when she was arrayed in the boy doll's fur cap and Dear-my-Soul's
+pretty little white muff, of course she didn't look like a cruel cat at
+all. But whom did she look like?"
+
+"Like the boy doll," suggested the old clock.
+
+"No, no!" cried the little mauve mouse.
+
+"Like Dear-my-Soul?" asked the old clock.
+
+"How stupid you are!" exclaimed the little mauve mouse. "Why, she looked
+like Santa Claus, of course!"
+
+"Oh, yes; I see," said the old clock. "Now I begin to be interested; go
+on."
+
+"Alas!" sighed the little mauve mouse, "not much remains to be told; but
+there is more of my story left than there was of Squeaknibble when that
+horrid cat crawled out of that miserable disguise. You are to understand
+that, contrary to her sagacious mother's injunction, and in notorious
+derision of the mooted coming of Santa Claus, Squeaknibble issued from the
+friendly hole in the chimney corner, and gambolled about over this very
+carpet, and, I dare say, in this very moonlight."
+
+"I do not know," said the moonbeam, faintly. "I am so very old, and I have
+seen so many things--I do not know."
+
+"Right merrily was Squeaknibble gambolling," continued the little mauve
+mouse, "and she had just turned a double back somersault without the use
+of what remained of her tail, when, all of a sudden, she beheld, looming
+up like a monster ghost, a figure all in white fur! Oh, how frightened she
+was, and how her little heart did beat! 'Purr, purr-r-r,' said the ghost
+in white fur. 'Oh, please don't hurt me!' pleaded Squeaknibble. 'No; I'll
+not hurt you,' said the ghost in white fur; 'I'm Santa Claus, and I've
+brought you a beautiful piece of savory old cheese, you dear little
+mousie, you.' Poor Squeaknibble was deceived; a sceptic all her life, she
+was at last befooled by the most palpable and most fatal of frauds. 'How
+good of you!' said Squeaknibble. 'I didn't believe there was a Santa
+Claus, and--' but before she could say more she was seized by two sharp,
+cruel claws that conveyed her crushed body to the murderous mouth of
+mousedom's most malignant foe. I can dwell no longer upon this harrowing
+scene. Suffice it to say that ere the morrow's sun rose like a big yellow
+Herkimer County cheese upon the spot where that tragedy had been enacted,
+poor Squeaknibble passed to that bourn whence two inches of her beautiful
+tail had preceded her by the space of three weeks to a day. As for Santa
+Claus, when he came that Christmas eve, bringing morceaux de Brie and of
+Stilton for the other little mice, he heard with sorrow of Squeaknibble's
+fate; and ere he departed he said that in all his experience he had never
+known of a mouse or of a child that had prospered after once saying that
+he didn't believe in Santa Claus."
+
+"Well, that is a remarkable story," said the old clock. "But if you
+believe in Santa Glaus, why aren't you in bed?"
+
+"That's where I shall be presently," answered the little mauve mouse, "but
+I must have my scamper, you know. It is very pleasant, I assure you, to
+frolic in the light of the moon; only I cannot understand why you are
+always so cold and so solemn and so still, you pale, pretty little
+moonbeam."
+
+"Indeed, I do not know that I am so," said the moonbeam. "But I am very
+old, and I have travelled many, many leagues, and I have seen wondrous
+things. Sometimes I toss upon the ocean, sometimes I fall upon a
+slumbering flower, sometimes I rest upon a dead child's face. I see the
+fairies at their play, and I hear mothers singing lullabies. Last night I
+swept across the frozen bosom of a river. A woman's face looked up at me;
+it was the picture of eternal rest. 'She is sleeping,' said the frozen
+river. 'I rock her to and fro, and sing to her. Pass gently by, O
+moonbeam; pass gently by, lest you awaken her.'"
+
+"How strangely you talk," said the old clock. "Now, I'll warrant me that,
+if you wanted to, you could tell many a pretty and wonderful story. You
+must know many a Christmas tale; pray tell us one to wear away this night
+of Christmas watching."
+
+"I know but one," said the moonbeam. "I have told it over and over again,
+in every land and in every home; yet I do not weary of it. It is very
+simple. Should you like to hear it?"
+
+"Indeed we should," said the old clock; "but before you begin, let me
+strike twelve; for I shouldn't want to interrupt you."
+
+When the old clock had performed this duty with somewhat more than usual
+alacrity, the moonbeam began its story:--
+
+"Upon a time--so long ago that I can't tell how long ago it was--I fell
+upon a hillside. It was in a far distant country; this I know, because,
+although it was the Christmas time, it was not in that country as it is
+wont to be in countries to the north. Hither the snow-king never came;
+flowers bloomed all the year, and at all times the lambs found pleasant
+pasturage on the hillsides. The night wind was balmy, and there was a
+fragrance of cedar in its breath. There were violets on the hillside, and
+I fell amongst them and lay there. I kissed them, and they awakened. 'Ah,
+is it you, little moonbeam?' they said, and they nestled in the grass
+which the lambs had left uncropped.
+
+"A shepherd lay upon a broad stone on the hillside; above him spread an
+olive-tree, old, ragged, and gloomy; but now it swayed its rusty branches
+majestically in the shifting air of night. The shepherd's name was Benoni.
+Wearied with long watching, he had fallen asleep; his crook had slipped
+from his hand. Upon the hillside, too, slept the shepherd's flock. I had
+counted them again and again; I had stolen across their gentle faces and
+brought them pleasant dreams of green pastures and of cool water-brooks. I
+had kissed old Benoni, too, as he lay slumbering there; and in his dreams
+he seemed to see Israel's King come upon earth, and in his dreams he
+murmured the promised Messiah's name.
+
+"'Ah, is it you, little moonbeam?' quoth the violets. 'You have come in
+good time. Nestle here with us, and see wonderful things come to pass.'
+
+"'What are these wonderful things of which you speak?' I asked.
+
+"'We heard the old olive-tree telling of them to-night,' said the violets.
+'"Do not go to sleep, little violets," said the old olive-tree, "for this
+is Christmas night, and the Master shall walk upon the hillside in the
+glory of the midnight hour." So we waited and watched; one by one the
+lambs fell asleep; one by one the stars peeped out; the shepherd nodded
+and crooned and crooned and nodded, and at last he, too, went fast asleep,
+and his crook slipped from his keeping. Then we called to the old
+olive-tree yonder, asking how soon the midnight hour would come; but all
+the old olive-tree answered was "Presently, presently," and finally we,
+too, fell asleep, wearied by our long watching, and lulled by the rocking
+and swaying of the old olive-tree in the breezes of the night.'
+
+"'But who is this Master?' I asked.
+
+"'A child, a little child,' they answered. 'He is called the little Master
+by the others. He comes here often, and plays among the flowers of the
+hillside. Sometimes the lambs, gambolling too carelessly, have crushed and
+bruised us so that we lie bleeding and are like to die; but the little
+Master heals our wounds and refreshes us once again.'
+
+"I marvelled much to hear these things. 'The midnight hour is at hand,'
+said I, 'and I will abide with you to see this little Master of whom you
+speak.' So we nestled among the verdure of the hillside, and sang songs
+one to another.
+
+"'Come away!' called the night wind; 'I know a beauteous sea not far
+hence, upon whose bosom you shall float, float, float away out into the
+mists and clouds, if you will come with me.'
+
+"But I hid under the violets and amid the tall grass, that the night wind
+might not woo me with its pleading. 'Ho, there, old olive-tree!' cried the
+violets; 'do you see the little Master coming? Is not the midnight hour at
+hand?'
+
+"'I can see the town yonder,' said the old olive-tree. 'A star beams
+bright over Bethlehem, the iron gates swing open, and the little Master
+comes.'
+
+"Two children came to the hillside. The one, older than his comrade, was
+Dimas, the son of Benoni. He was rugged and sinewy, and over his brown
+shoulders was flung a goat-skin; a leathern cap did not confine his long,
+dark curly hair. The other child was he whom they called the little
+Master; about his slender form clung raiment white as snow, and around his
+face of heavenly innocence fell curls of golden yellow. So beautiful a
+child I had not seen before, nor have I ever since seen such as he. And as
+they came together to the hillside, there seemed to glow about the little
+Master's head a soft white light, as if the moon had sent its tenderest,
+fairest beams to kiss those golden curls.
+
+"'What sound was that?' cried Dimas, for he was exceeding fearful.
+
+"'Have no fear, Dimas,' said the little Master. 'Give me thy hand, and I
+will lead thee.'
+
+"Presently they came to the rock whereon Benoni, the shepherd, lay; and
+they stood under the old olive-tree, and the old olive-tree swayed no
+longer in the night wind, but bent its branches reverently in the presence
+of the little Master. It seemed as if the wind, too, stayed in its
+shifting course just then; for suddenly there was a solemn hush, and you
+could hear no noise, except that in his dreams Benoni spoke the Messiah's
+name.
+
+"'Thy father sleeps,' said the little Master, 'and it is well that it is
+so; for that I love thee, Dimas, and that thou shalt walk with me in my
+Father's kingdom, I would show thee the glories of my birthright.'
+
+"Then all at once sweet music filled the air, and light, greater than the
+light of day, illumined the sky and fell upon all that hillside. The
+heavens opened, and angels, singing joyous songs, walked to the earth.
+More wondrous still, the stars, falling from their places in the sky,
+clustered upon the old olive-tree, and swung hither and thither like
+colored lanterns. The flowers of the hillside all awakened, and they, too,
+danced and sang. The angels, coming hither, hung gold and silver and
+jewels and precious stones upon the old olive, where swung the stars; so
+that the glory of that sight, though I might live forever, I shall never
+see again. When Dimas heard and saw these things he fell upon his knees,
+and catching the hem of the little Master's garment, he kissed it.
+
+"'Greater joy than this shall be thine, Dimas,' said the little Master;
+'but first must all things be fulfilled.'
+
+"All through that Christmas night did the angels come and go with their
+sweet anthems; all through that Christmas night did the stars dance and
+sing; and when it came my time to steal away, the hillside was still
+beautiful with the glory and the music of heaven."
+
+"Well, is that all?" asked the old clock.
+
+"No," said the moonbeam; "but I am nearly done. The years went on.
+Sometimes I tossed upon the ocean's bosom, sometimes I scampered o'er a
+battle-field, sometimes I lay upon a dead child's face. I heard the voices
+of Darkness and mothers' lullabies and sick men's prayers,--and so the
+years went on.
+
+"I fell one night upon a hard and furrowed face. It was of ghostly pallor.
+A thief was dying on the cross, and this was his wretched face. About the
+cross stood men with staves and swords and spears, but none paid heed unto
+the thief. Somewhat beyond this cross another was lifted up, and upon it
+was stretched a human body my light fell not upon. But I heard a voice
+that somewhere I had heard before,--though where I did not know,--and this
+voice blessed those that railed and jeered and shamefully entreated. And
+suddenly the voice called 'Dimas, Dimas!' and the thief upon whose
+hardened face I rested made answer.
+
+"Then I saw that it was Dimas; yet to this wicked criminal there remained
+but little of the shepherd child whom I had seen in all his innocence upon
+the hillside. Long years of sinful life had seared their marks into his
+face; yet now, at the sound of that familiar voice, somewhat of the
+old-time boyish look came back, and in the yearning of the anguished eyes
+I seemed to see the shepherd's son again.
+
+"'The Master!' cried Dimas, and he stretched forth his neck that he might
+see him that spake.
+
+"'O Dimas, how art thou changed!' cried the Master, yet there was in his
+voice no tone of rebuke save that which cometh of love.
+
+"Then Dimas wept, and in that hour he forgot his pain. And the Master's
+consoling voice and the Master's presence there wrought in the dying
+criminal such a new spirit, that when at last his head fell upon his
+bosom, and the men about the cross said that he was dead, it seemed as if
+I shined not upon a felon's face, but upon the face of the gentle shepherd
+lad, the son of Benoni.
+
+"And shining on that dead and peaceful face, I bethought me of the little
+Master's words that he had spoken under the old olive-tree upon the
+hillside: 'Your eyes behold the promised glory now, O Dimas,' I whispered,
+'for with the Master you walk in Paradise.'"
+
+Ah, little Dear-my-Soul, you know--you know whereof the moonbeam spake.
+The shepherd's bones are dust, the flocks are scattered, the old
+olive-tree is gone, the flowers of the hillside are withered, and none
+knoweth where the grave of Dimas is made. But last night, again, there
+shined a star over Bethlehem, and the angels descended from the sky to
+earth, and the stars sang together in glory. And the bells,--hear them,
+little Dear-my-Soul, how sweetly they are ringing,--the bells bear us the
+good tidings of great joy this Christmas morning, that our Christ is born,
+and that with him he bringeth peace on earth and good-will toward men.
+
+1888.
+
+
+
+
++THE DIVELL'S CHRISTMASS+
+
+
+
+
+THE DIVELL'S CHRYSTMASS.
+
+
+It befell that on a time ye Divell did walk to and fro upon ye earth,
+having in his mind full evill cogitations how that he might do despight;
+for of soche nature is ye Divell, and ever hath been, that continually
+doth he go about among men, being so dispositioned that it sufficeth him
+not that men sholde of their own frowardness, and by cause of the guile
+born in them, turn unto his wickedness, but rather that he sholde by his
+crewel artifices and diabolical machinations tempt them at all times and
+upon every hand to do his fiendly plaisaunce.
+
+But it so fortuned that this time wherein ye Divell so walked upon ye
+earth was ye Chrystmass time; and wit ye well that how evill soever ye
+harte of man ben at other seasons, it is tofilled at ye Chrystmass time
+with charity and love, like as if it ben sanctified by ye exceeding
+holiness of that feast. Leastwise, this moche we know, that, whereas at
+other times envy and worldliness do prevail, for a verity our natures are
+toched at ye Chrystmass time as by ye hand of divinity, and conditioned
+for merciful deeds unto our fellow kind. Right wroth was ye Divell,
+therefore, when that he knew this ben ye Chrystmass time. And as rage doth
+often confirm in ye human harte an evill purpose, so was ye Divell now
+more diabolically minded to work his unclean will, and full hejeously fell
+he to roar and lash his ribald legs with his poyson taile. But ye Divell
+did presently conceive that naught might he accomplish by this means,
+since that men, affrighted by his roaring and astonied by ye fumes of
+brimstone and ye sulphur flames issuing from his mouth, wolde flee
+therefrom; whereas by subtile craft and by words of specious guile it more
+frequently befalls that ye Divell seduceth men and lureth them into his
+toils. So then ye Divell did in a little season feign to be in a full
+plaisaunt mind and of sweet purpose; and when that he had girt him about
+with an hermit's cloak, so that none might see his cloven feet and his
+poyson taile, right briskly did he fare him on his journey, and he did
+sing ye while a plaisaunt tune, like he had ben full of joyous
+contentation.
+
+Now it befell that presently in his journey he did meet with a frere, Dan
+Dennyss, an holy man that fared him to a neighboring town for deeds of
+charity and godliness. Unto him spake ye Divell full courteysely, and
+required of him that he might bear him company; to which ye frere gave
+answer in seemly wise, that, if so be that he ben of friendly disposition,
+he wolde make him joy of his companionship and conversation. Then, whiles
+that they journeyed together, began ye Divell to discourse of theologies
+and hidden mysteries, and of conjurations, and of negromancy and of
+magick, and of Chaldee, and of astrology, and of chymistry, and of other
+occult and forbidden sciences, wherein ye Divell and all that ply his
+damnable arts are mightily learned and practised. Now wit ye well that
+this frere, being an holy man and a simple, and having an eye single to ye
+blessed works of his calling, was presently mightily troubled in his mind
+by ye artifices of ye Divell, and his harte began to waver and to be
+filled with miserable doubtings; for knowing nothing of ye things whereof
+ye Divell spake, he colde not make answer thereto, nor, being of godly
+cogitation and practice, had he ye confutations wherewith to meet ye
+abhominable argumentations of ye fiend.
+
+Yet (and now shall I tell you of a special Providence) it did fortune,
+whiles yet ye Divell discoursed in this profane wise, there was vouchsafed
+unto ye frere a certain power to resist ye evill that environed him; for
+of a sodaine he did cast his doubtings and his misgivings to ye winds, and
+did fall upon ye Divell and did buffet him full sore, crying, "Thou art ye
+Divell! Get thee gone!" And ye frere plucked ye cloake from ye Divell and
+saw ye cloven feet and ye poyson taile, and straightway ye Divell ran
+roaring away. But ye frere fared upon his journey, for that he had had a
+successful issue from this grevious temptation, with thanksgiving and
+prayse.
+
+Next came ye Divell into a town wherein were many people going to and fro
+upon works of charity, and doing righteous practices; and sorely did it
+repent ye Divell when that he saw ye people bent upon ye giving of alms
+and ye doing of charitable deeds. Therefore with mighty diligence did ye
+Divell apply himself to poyson ye minds of ye people, shewing unto them in
+artful wise how that by idleness or by righteous dispensation had ye poore
+become poore, and that, soche being ye will of God, it was an evill and
+rebellious thing against God to seeke to minister consolation unto these
+poore peoples. Soche like specious argumentations did ye Divell use to
+gain his diabolical ends; but by means of a grace whereof none then knew
+ye source, these men and these women unto whom ye Divell spake his hejeous
+heresies presently discovered force to withstand these fiendly
+temptations, and to continue in their Chrystianly practices, to ye glory
+of their faith and to ye benefite of ye needy, but to ye exceeding
+discomfiture of ye Divell; for ye which discomfiture I do give hearty
+thanks, and so also shall all of you, if so be that your hartes within you
+be of rightful disposition.
+
+All that day long fared ye Divell to and fro among ye people of ye town,
+but none colde he bring into his hellish way of cogitation. Nor do I count
+this to be a marvellous thing; for, as I myself have herein shewn and as
+eche of us doth truly know, how can there be a place for ye Divell upon
+earth during this Chrystmass time when in ye very air that we breathe
+abideth a certain love and concord sent of heaven for the controul and
+edification of mankind, filling human hartes with peace and inclining
+human hands to ye delectable and blessed employments of charity? Nay, but
+you shall know that all this very season whereof I speak ye holy
+Chrystchilde himself did follow ye Divell upon earth, forefending the
+crewel evills which ye Divell fain wolde do and girding with confidence
+and love ye else frail natures of men. Soothly it is known of common
+report among you that when ye Chrystmass season comes upon ye earth there
+cometh with it also the spirit of our Chryst himself, that in ye
+similitude of a little childe descendeth from heaven and walketh among
+men. And if so be that by any chance ye Divell is minded to issue from his
+foul pit at soche a time, wit ye well that wheresoever ye fiend fareth to
+do his diabolical plaisaunce there also close at hand followeth ye gentle
+Chrystchilde; so that ye Divell, try how hard soever he may, hath no power
+at soche a time over the hartes of men.
+
+Nay, but you shall know furthermore that of soche sweete quality and of so
+great efficacy is this heavenly spirit of charity at ye Chrystmass season,
+that oftentimes is ye Divell himself made to do a kindly deed. So at this
+time of ye which I you tell, ye Divell, walking upon ye earth with evill
+purpose, became finally overcome by ye gracious desire to give an alms;
+but nony alms had ye Divell to give, sith it is wisely ordained that ye
+Divell's offices shall be confined to his domain. Right grievously
+tormented therefore was ye Divell, in that he had nought of alms to
+bestow; but when presently he did meet with a beggar childe that besought
+him charity, ye Divell whipped out a knife and cut off his own taile,
+which taile ye Divell gave to ye beggar childe, for he had not else to
+give for a lyttle trinket toy to make merry with. Now wit ye well that
+this poyson instrument brought no evill to ye beggar childe, for by a
+sodaine miracle it ben changed into a flowre of gold, ye which gave great
+joy unto ye beggar childe and unto all them that saw this miracle how that
+it had ben wrought, but not by ye Divell. Then returned ye Divell unto his
+pit of fire; and since that day, whereupon befell this thing of which I
+speak, ye Divell hath had nony taile at all, as you that hath seene ye
+same shall truly testify.
+
+But all that day long walked ye Chrystchilde upon ye earth, unseen to ye
+people but toching their hartes with his swete love and turning their
+hands to charity; and all felt that ye Chrystchilde was with them. So it
+was plaisaunt to do ye Chrystchilde's will, to succor ye needy, to comfort
+ye afflicted, and to lift up ye oppressed. Most plaisauntest of all was it
+to make merry with ye lyttle children, sithence of soche is ye kingdom
+whence ye Chrystchilde cometh.
+
+Behold, ye season is again at hand; once more ye snows of winter lie upon
+all ye earth, and all Chrystantie is arrayed to the holy feast.
+
+Presently shall ye star burn with exceeding brightness in ye east, ye sky
+shall be full of swete music, ye angels shall descend to earth with
+singing, and ye bells--ye joyous Chrystmass bells--shall tell us of ye
+babe that was born in Bethlehem.
+
+Come to us now, O gentle Chrystchilde, and walke among us peoples of ye
+earth; enwheel us round about with thy protecting care; forefend all
+envious thoughts and evil deeds; toche thou our hearts with the glory of
+thy love, and quicken us to practices of peace, good-will, and charity
+meet for thy approval and acceptation.
+
+1888.
+
+
+
+
++THE MOUNTAIN AND THE SEA+
+
+
+
+
+THE MOUNTAIN AND THE SEA
+
+
+Once upon a time the air, the mountain, and the sea lived undisturbed upon
+all the earth. The mountain alone was immovable; he stood always here upon
+his rocky foundation, and the sea rippled and foamed at his feet, while
+the air danced freely over his head and about his grim face. It came to
+pass that both the sea and the air loved the mountain, but the mountain
+loved the sea.
+
+"Dance on forever, O air," said the mountain; "dance on and sing your
+merry songs. But I love the gentle sea, who in sweet humility crouches at
+my feet or playfully dashes her white spray against my brown bosom."
+
+Now the sea was full of joy when she heard these words, and her thousand
+voices sang softly with delight. But the air was filled with rage and
+jealousy, and she swore a terrible revenge.
+
+"The mountain shall not wed the sea," muttered the envious air. "Enjoy
+your triumph while you may, O slumberous sister; I will steal you from
+your haughty lover!"
+
+And it came to pass that ever after that the air each day caught up huge
+parts of the sea and sent them floating forever through the air in the
+shape of clouds. So each day the sea receded from the feet of the
+mountain, and her tuneful waves played no more around his majestic base.
+
+"Whither art thou going, my love?" cried the mountain in dismay.
+
+"She is false to thee," laughed the air, mockingly. "She is going to
+another love far away."
+
+But the mountain would not believe it. He towered his head aloft and cried
+more beseechingly than before: "Oh, whither art thou going, my beloved? I
+do not hear thy sweet voice, nor do thy soft white arms compass me about."
+
+Then the sea cried out in an agony of helpless love. But the mountain
+heard her not, for the air refused to bring the words she said.
+
+"She is false!" whispered the air. "I alone am true to thee."
+
+But the mountain believed her not. Day after day he reared his massive
+head aloft and turned his honest face to the receding sea and begged her
+to return; day after day the sea threw up her snowy arms and uttered the
+wildest lamentations, but the mountain heard her not; and day by day the
+sea receded farther and farther from the mountain's base. Where she once
+had spread her fair surface appeared fertile plains and verdant groves all
+peopled with living things, whose voices the air brought to the mountain's
+ears in the hope that they might distract the mountain from his mourning.
+
+But the mountain would not be comforted; he lifted his sturdy head aloft,
+and his sorrowing face was turned ever toward the fleeting object of his
+love. Hills, valleys, forests, plains, and other mountains separated them
+now, but over and beyond them all he could see was her fair face lifted
+pleadingly toward him, while her white arms tossed wildly to and fro. But
+he did not know what words she said, for the envious air would not bear
+her messages to him.
+
+Then many ages came and went, until now the sea was far distant, so very
+distant that the mountain could not behold her,--nay, had he been ten
+thousand times as lofty he could not have seen her, she was so far away.
+But still, as of old, the mountain stood with his majestic head high in
+the sky, and his face turned whither he had seen her fading like a dream
+away.
+
+"Comeback, comeback, O my beloved!" he cried and cried.
+
+And the sea, a thousand miles or more away, still thought forever of the
+mountain. Vainly she peered over the western horizon for a glimpse of his
+proud head and honest face. The horizon was dark. Her lover was far
+beyond, forests, plains, hills, valleys, rivers, and other mountains
+intervened. Her watching was as hopeless as her love.
+
+"She is false!" whispered the air to the mountain. "She is false, and she
+has gone to another lover. I alone am true!"
+
+But the mountain believed her not. And one day clouds came floating
+through the sky and hovered around the mountain's crest.
+
+"Who art thou," cried the mountain,--"who art thou that thou fill'st me
+with such a subtile consolation? Thy breath is like my beloved's, and thy
+kisses are like her kisses."
+
+"We come from the sea," answered the clouds. "She loves thee, and she has
+sent us to bid thee be courageous, for she will come back to thee."
+
+Then the clouds covered the mountain and bathed him with the glory of the
+sea's true love. The air raged furiously, but all in vain. Ever after that
+the clouds came each day with love-messages from the sea, and oftentimes
+the clouds bore back to the distant sea the tender words the mountain
+spoke.
+
+And so the ages come and go, the mountain rearing his giant head aloft,
+and his brown, honest face turned whither the sea departed; the sea
+stretching forth her arms to the distant mountain and repeating his dear
+name with her thousand voices.
+
+Stand on the beach and look upon the sea's majestic calm and hear her
+murmurings; or see her when, in the frenzy of her hopeless love, she
+surges wildly and tosses her white arms and shrieks,--then you shall know
+how the sea loves the distant mountain.
+
+The mountain is old and sear; the storms have beaten upon his breast, and
+great scars and seams and wrinkles are on his sturdy head and honest face
+But he towers majestically aloft, and he looks always toward the distant
+sea and waits for her promised coming.
+
+And so the ages come and go, but love is eternal.
+
+1886.
+
+
+
+
++THE ROBIN AND THE VIOLET+
+
+
+
+
+THE ROBIN AND THE VIOLET
+
+
+Once upon a time a robin lived in the greenwood. Of all the birds his
+breast was the brightest, his music was the sweetest, and his life was the
+merriest. Every morning and evening he perched himself among the berries
+of the linden-tree, and carolled a song that made the whole forest joyous;
+and all day long he fluttered among the flowers and shrubbery of the
+wild-wood, and twittered gayly to the brooks, the ferns, and the lichens.
+
+A violet grew among the mosses at the foot of the linden-tree where lived
+the robin. She was so very tiny and so very modest that few knew there was
+such a pretty little creature in the world. Withal she was so beautiful
+and so gentle that those who knew the violet loved her very dearly.
+
+The south wind came wooing the violet. He danced through the shrubbery and
+ferns, and lingered on the velvet moss where the little flower grew. But
+when he kissed her pretty face and whispered to her, she hung her head and
+said, "No, no; it cannot be."
+
+"Nay, little violet, do not be so cruel," pleaded the south wind; "let me
+bear you as my bride away to my splendid home in the south, where all is
+warmth and sunshine always."
+
+But the violet kept repeating, "No, it cannot be; no, it cannot be," till
+at last the south wind stole away with a very heavy heart.
+
+And the rose exclaimed, in an outburst of disgustful indignation: "What a
+foolish violet! How silly of her to refuse such a wooer as the south wind,
+who has a beautiful home and a patrimony of eternal warmth and sunshine!"
+
+But the violet, as soon as the south wind had gone, looked up at the robin
+perched in the linden-tree and singing his clear song; and it seemed as if
+she blushed and as if she were thrilled with a great emotion as she beheld
+him. But the robin did not see the violet. His eyes were turned the other
+way, and he sang to the clouds in the sky.
+
+The brook o'erleaped its banks one day, and straying toward the
+linden-tree, it was amazed at the loveliness of the violet. Never had it
+seen any flower half so beautiful.
+
+"Oh, come and be my bride," cried the brook. "I am young and small now,
+but presently you shall see me grow to a mighty river whose course no
+human power can direct, and whose force nothing can resist. Cast thyself
+upon my bosom, sweet violet, and let us float together to that great
+destiny which awaits me."
+
+But the violet shuddered and recoiled and said: "Nay, nay, impetuous
+brook, I will not be your bride." So, with many murmurs and complaints,
+the brook crept back to its jealous banks and resumed its devious and
+prattling way to the sea.
+
+"Bless me!" cried the daisy, "only to think of that silly violet's
+refusing the brook! Was there ever another such piece of folly! Where else
+is there a flower that would not have been glad to go upon such a
+wonderful career? Oh, how short-sighted some folks are!"
+
+But the violet paid no heed to these words; she looked steadfastly up into
+the foliage of the linden-tree where the robin was carolling. The robin
+did not see the violet; he was singing to the tops of the fir-trees over
+yonder.
+
+The days came and went. The robin sang and fluttered in the greenwood, and
+the violet bided among the mosses at the foot of the linden; and although
+the violet's face was turned always upward to where the robin perched and
+sang, the robin never saw the tender little flower.
+
+One day a huntsman came through the greenwood, and an arrow from his cruel
+bow struck the robin and pierced his heart. The robin was carolling in the
+linden, but his song was ended suddenly, and the innocent bird fell dying
+from the tree. "Oh, it is only a robin," said the huntsman, and with a
+careless laugh he went on his way.
+
+The robin lay upon the mosses at the foot of the linden, close beside the
+violet. But he neither saw nor heard anything, for his life was nearly
+gone. The violet tried to bind his wound and stay the flow of his heart's
+blood, but her tender services were vain. The robin died without having
+seen her sweet face or heard her gentle voice.
+
+Then the other birds of the greenwood came to mourn over their dead
+friend. The moles and the mice dug a little grave and laid the robin in
+it, after which the birds brought lichens and leaves, and covered the dead
+body, and heaped earth over all, and made a great lamentation. But when
+they went away, the violet remained; and after the sun had set, and the
+greenwood all was dark, the violet bent over the robin's grave and kissed
+it, and sang to the dead robin. And the violet watched by the robin's
+grave for weeks and months, her face pressed forward toward that tiny
+mound, and her gentle voice always singing softly and sweetly about the
+love she never had dared to tell.
+
+Often after that the south wind and the brook came wooing her, but she
+never heard them, or, if she heard them, she did not answer. The vine that
+lived near the chestnut yonder said the violet was greatly changed; that
+from being a merry, happy thing, she had grown sad and reticent; she used
+to hold up her head as proudly as the others, but now she seemed broken
+and weary. The shrubs and flowers talked it all over many and many a time,
+but none of them could explain the violet's strange conduct.
+
+It was autumn now, and the greenwood was not what it had been. The birds
+had flown elsewhere to be the guests of the storks during the winter
+months, the rose had run away to be the bride of the south wind, and the
+daisy had wedded the brook and was taking a bridal tour to the seaside
+watering-places. But the violet still lingered in the greenwood, and kept
+her vigil at the grave of the robin. She was pale and drooping, but still
+she watched and sang over the spot where her love lay buried. Each day she
+grew weaker and paler. The oak begged her to come and live among the warm
+lichens that protected him from the icy breath of the storm-king, but the
+violet chose to watch and sing over the robin's grave.
+
+One morning, after a night of exceeding darkness and frost, the boisterous
+north wind came trampling through the greenwood.
+
+"I have come for the violet," he cried; "she would not have my fair
+brother, but she must go with _me_, whether it pleases her or not!"
+
+But when he came to the foot of the linden-tree his anger was changed to
+compassion. The violet was dead, and she lay upon the robin's grave. Her
+gentle face rested close to the little mound, as if, in her last moment,
+the faithful flower had stretched forth her lips to kiss the dust that
+covered her beloved.
+
+1884.
+
+
+
+
++THE OAK-TREE AND THE IVY+
+
+
+
+
+THE OAK-TREE AND THE IVY
+
+
+In the greenwood stood a mighty oak. So majestic was he that all who came
+that way paused to admire his strength and beauty, and all the other trees
+of the greenwood acknowledged him to be their monarch.
+
+Now it came to pass that the ivy loved the oak-tree, and inclining her
+graceful tendrils where he stood, she crept about his feet and twined
+herself around his sturdy and knotted trunk. And the oak-tree pitied the
+ivy.
+
+"Oho!" he cried, laughing boisterously, but good-naturedly,--"oho! so you
+love me, do you, little vine? Very well, then; play about my feet, and I
+will keep the storms from you and will tell you pretty stories about the
+clouds, the birds, and the stars."
+
+The ivy marvelled greatly at the strange stories the oak-tree told; they
+were stories the oak-tree heard from the wind that loitered about his
+lofty head and whispered to the leaves of his topmost branches. Sometimes
+the story was about the great ocean in the East, sometimes of the broad
+prairies in the West, sometimes of the ice-king who lived in the North,
+and sometimes of the flower-queen who dwelt in the South. Then, too, the
+moon told a story to the oak-tree every night,--or at least every night
+that she came to the greenwood, which was very often, for the greenwood is
+a very charming spot, as we all know. And the oak-tree repeated to the ivy
+every story the moon told and every song the stars sang.
+
+"Pray, what are the winds saying now?" or "What song is that I hear?" the
+ivy would ask; and then the oak-tree would repeat the story or the song,
+and the ivy would listen in great wonderment.
+
+Whenever the storms came, the oak-tree cried to the little ivy: "Cling
+close to me, and no harm shall befall you! See how strong I am; the
+tempest does not so much as stir me--I mock its fury!"
+
+Then, seeing how strong and brave he was, the ivy hugged him closely; his
+brown, rugged breast protected her from every harm, and she was secure.
+
+The years went by; how quickly they flew,--spring, summer, winter, and
+then again spring, summer, winter,--ah, life is short in the greenwood as
+elsewhere! And now the ivy was no longer a weakly little vine to excite
+the pity of the passer-by. Her thousand beautiful arms had twined hither
+and thither about the oak-tree, covering his brown and knotted trunk,
+shooting forth a bright, delicious foliage and stretching far up among his
+lower branches. Then the oak-tree's pity grew into a love for the ivy, and
+the ivy was filled with a great joy. And the oak-tree and the ivy were wed
+one June night, and there was a wonderful celebration in the greenwood;
+and there was most beautiful music, in which the pine-trees, the crickets,
+the katydids, the frogs, and the nightingales joined with pleasing
+harmony.
+
+The oak-tree was always good and gentle to the ivy. "There is a storm
+coming over the hills," he would say. "The east wind tells me so; the
+swallows fly low in the air, and the sky is dark. Cling close to me, my
+beloved, and no harm shall befall you."
+
+Then, confidently and with an always-growing love, the ivy would cling
+more closely to the oak-tree, and no harm came to her.
+
+"How good the oak-tree is to the ivy!" said the other trees of the
+greenwood. The ivy heard them, and she loved the oak-tree more and more.
+And, although the ivy was now the most umbrageous and luxuriant vine in
+all the greenwood, the oak-tree regarded her still as the tender little
+thing he had laughingly called to his feet that spring day, many years
+before,--the same little ivy he had told about the stars, the clouds, and
+the birds. And, just as patiently as in those days he had told her of
+these things, he now repeated other tales the winds whispered to his
+topmost boughs,--tales of the ocean in the East, the prairies in the West,
+the ice-king in the North, and the flower-queen in the South. Nestling
+upon his brave breast and in his stout arms, the ivy heard him tell these
+wondrous things, and she never wearied with the listening.
+
+"How the oak-tree loves her!" said the ash. "The lazy vine has naught to
+do but to twine herself about the arrogant oak-tree and hear him tell his
+wondrous stories!"
+
+The ivy heard these envious words, and they made her very sad; but she
+said nothing of them to the oak-tree, and that night the oak-tree rocked
+her to sleep as he repeated the lullaby a zephyr was singing to him.
+
+"There is a storm coming over the hills," said the oak-tree one day. "The
+east wind tells me so; the swallows fly low in the air, and the sky is
+dark. Clasp me round about with thy dear arms, my beloved, and nestle
+close unto my bosom, and no harm shall befall thee."
+
+"I have no fear," murmured the ivy; and she clasped her arms most closely
+about him and nestled unto his bosom.
+
+The storm came over the hills and swept down upon the greenwood with
+deafening thunder and vivid lightning. The storm-king himself rode upon
+the blast; his horses breathed flames, and his chariot trailed through the
+air like a serpent of fire. The ash fell before the violence of the
+storm-king's fury, and the cedars groaning fell, and the hemlocks and the
+pines; but the oak-tree alone quailed not.
+
+"Oho!" cried the storm-king, angrily, "the oak-tree does not bow to me, he
+does not tremble in my presence. Well, we shall see."
+
+With that the storm-king hurled a mighty thunderbolt at the oak-tree, and
+the brave, strong monarch of the greenwood was riven. Then, with a shout
+of triumph, the storm-king rode away.
+
+"Dear oak-tree, you are riven by the storm-king's thunderbolt!" cried the
+ivy, in anguish.
+
+"Ay," said the oak-tree, feebly, "my end has come; see, I am shattered and
+helpless."
+
+"But _I_ am unhurt," remonstrated the ivy, "and I will bind up your
+wounds and nurse you back to health and vigor."
+
+And so it was that, although the oak-tree was ever afterward a riven and
+broken thing, the ivy concealed the scars upon his shattered form and
+covered his wounds all over with her soft foliage.
+
+"I had hoped, dear one," she said, "to grow up to thy height, to live with
+thee among the clouds, and to hear the solemn voices thou didst hear. Thou
+wouldst have loved me better then?"
+
+But the old oak-tree said: "Nay, nay, my beloved; I love thee better as
+thou art, for with thy beauty and thy love thou comfortest mine age."
+
+Then would the ivy tell quaint stories to the old and broken
+oak-tree,--stories she had learned from the crickets, the bees, the
+butterflies, and the mice when she was an humble little vine and played at
+the foot of the majestic oak-tree towering in the green-wood with no
+thought of the tiny shoot that crept toward him with her love. And these
+simple tales pleased the old and riven oak-tree; they were not as heroic
+as the tales the winds, the clouds, and the stars told, but they were far
+sweeter, for they were tales of contentment, of humility, of love.
+
+So the old age of the oak-tree was grander than his youth.
+
+And all who went through the greenwood paused to behold and admire the
+beauty of the oak-tree then; for about his seared and broken trunk the
+gentle vine had so entwined her graceful tendrils and spread her fair
+foliage, that one saw not the havoc of the years nor the ruin of the
+tempest, but only the glory of the oak-tree's age, which was the ivy's
+love and ministering.
+
+1886
+
+
+
+
++MARGARET: A PEARL+
+
+
+
+
+MARGARET: A PEARL
+
+
+In a certain part of the sea, very many leagues from here, there once
+lived a large family of oysters noted for their beauty and size. But among
+them was one so small, so feeble, and so ill-looking as to excite the
+pity, if not the contempt, of all the others. The father, a venerable,
+bearded oyster, of august appearance and solemn deportment, was much
+mortified that one of his family should happen to be so sickly; and he
+sent for all the doctors in the sea to come and treat her; from which
+circumstance you are to note that doctors are an evil to be met with not
+alone upon _terra firma_. The first to come was Dr. Porpoise, a
+gentleman of the old school, who floundered around in a very important
+manner and was full of imposing ceremonies.
+
+"Let me look at your tongue," said Dr. Porpoise, stroking his beard with
+one fin, impressively. "Ahem! somewhat coated, I see. And your pulse is
+far from normal; no appetite, I presume? Yes, my dear, your system is
+sadly out of order. You need medicine."
+
+The little oyster hated medicine; so she cried,--yes, she actually shed
+cold, briny tears at the very thought of taking old Dr. Porpoise's
+prescriptions. But the father-oyster and the mother-oyster chided her
+sternly; they said that the medicine would be nice and sweet, and that the
+little oyster would like it. But the little oyster knew better than all
+that; yes, she knew a thing or two, even though she _was_ only a
+little oyster.
+
+Now Dr. Porpoise put a plaster on the little oyster's chest and a blister
+at her feet. He bade her eat nothing but a tiny bit of sea-foam on toast
+twice a day. Every two hours she was to take a spoonful of cod-liver oil,
+and before each meal a wineglassful of the essence of distilled
+cuttlefish. The plaster she didn't mind, but the blister and the cod-liver
+oil were terrible; and when it came to the essence of distilled cuttlefish
+--well, she just couldn't stand it! In vain her mother reasoned with her,
+and promised her a new doll and a skipping-rope and a lot of other nice
+things: the little oyster would have none of the horrid drug; until at
+last her father, abandoning his dignity in order to maintain his
+authority, had to hold her down by main strength and pour the medicine
+into her mouth. This was, as you will allow, quite dreadful.
+
+But this treatment did the little oyster no good; and her parents made up
+their minds that they would send for another doctor, and one of a
+different school. Fortunately they were in a position to indulge in almost
+any expense, since the father-oyster himself was president of one of the
+largest banks of Newfoundland. So Dr. Sculpin came with his neat little
+medicine-box under his arm. And when he had looked at the sick little
+oyster's tongue, and had taken her temperature, and had felt her pulse, he
+said he knew what ailed her; but he did not tell anybody what it was. He
+threw away the plasters, the blisters, the cod-liver oil, and the essence
+of distilled cuttlefish, and said it was a wonder that the poor child had
+lived through it all!
+
+"Will you please bring me two tumblerfuls of water?" he remarked to the
+mother-oyster.
+
+The mother-oyster scuttled away, and soon returned with two conch-shells
+filled to the brim with pure, clear sea-water. Dr. Sculpin counted three
+grains of white sand into one shell, and three grains of yellow sand into
+the other shell, with great care.
+
+"Now," said he to the mother-oyster, "I have numbered these 1 and 2.
+First, you are to give the patient ten drops out of No. 2, and in an hour
+after that, eight drops out of No. 1; the next hour, eight drops out of
+No. 2; and the next, or fourth, hour, ten drops out of No. 1. And so you
+are to continue hour by hour, until either the medicine or the child gives
+out."
+
+"Tell me, doctor," asked the mother, "shall she continue the food
+suggested by Dr. Porpoise?"
+
+"What food did he recommend?" inquired Dr. Sculpin.
+
+"Sea-foam on toast," answered the mother.
+
+Dr. Sculpin smiled a smile which seemed to suggest that Dr. Porpoise's
+ignorance was really quite annoying.
+
+"My dear madam," said Dr. Sculpin, "the diet suggested by that quack,
+Porpoise, passed out of the books years ago. Give the child toast on
+sea-foam, if you wish to build up her debilitated forces."
+
+Now, the sick little oyster did not object to this treatment; on the
+contrary, she liked it. But it did her no good. And one day, when she was
+feeling very dry, she drank both tumblerfuls of medicine, and it did not
+do her any harm; neither did it cure her: she remained the same sick
+little oyster,--oh, so sick! This pained her parents very much. They did
+not know what to do. They took her travelling; they gave her into the care
+of the eel for electric treatment; they sent her to the Gulf Stream for
+warm baths,--they tried everything, but to no avail. The sick little
+oyster remained a sick little oyster, and there was an end of it.
+
+At last one day,--one cruel, fatal day,--a horrid, fierce-looking machine
+was poked down from the surface of the water far above, and with slow but
+intrepid movement began exploring every nook and crevice of the oyster
+village. There was not a family into which it did not intrude, nor a home
+circle whose sanctity it did not ruthlessly invade. It scraped along the
+great mossy rock; and lo! with a monstrous scratchy-te-scratch, the
+mother-oyster and the father-oyster and hundreds of other oysters were
+torn from their resting-places and borne aloft in a very jumbled and very
+frightened condition by the impertinent machine. Then down it came again,
+and the sick little oyster was among the number of those who were seized
+by the horrid monster this time. She found herself raised to the top of
+the sea; and all at once she was bumped in a boat, where she lay, puny and
+helpless, on a huge pile of other oysters. Two men were handling the
+fierce-looking machine. A little boy sat in the stern of the boat watching
+the huge pile of oysters. He was a pretty little boy, with bright eyes and
+long tangled hair. He wore no hat, and his feet were bare and brown.
+
+"What a funny little oyster!" said the boy, picking up the sick little
+oyster; "it is no bigger than my thumb, and it is very pale."
+
+"Throw it away," said one of the men. "Like as not it is bad and not fit
+to eat."
+
+"No, keep it and send it out West for a Blue Point," said the other
+man,--what a heartless wretch he was!
+
+But the little boy had already thrown the sick little oyster overboard.
+She fell in shallow water, and the rising tide carried her still farther
+toward shore, until she lodged against an old gum boot that lay half
+buried in the sand. There were no other oysters in sight; her head ached
+and she was very weak; how lonesome, too, she was!--yet anything was
+better than being eaten,--at least so thought the little oyster, and so, I
+presume, think you.
+
+For many weeks and many months the sick little oyster lay hard by the old
+gum boot; and in that time she made many acquaintances and friends among
+the crabs, the lobsters, the fiddlers, the star-fish, the waves, the
+shells, and the gay little fishes of the ocean. They did not harm her, for
+they saw that she was sick; they pitied her--some loved her. The one that
+loved her most was the perch with green fins that attended school every
+day in the academic shade of the big rocks in the quiet cove about a mile
+away. He was very gentle and attentive, and every afternoon he brought
+fresh, cool sea-foam for the sick oyster to eat; he told her pretty
+stories, too,--stories which his grandmother, the venerable codfish, had
+told him of the sea-king, the mermaids, the pixies, the water-sprites, and
+the other fantastically beautiful dwellers in ocean depths. Now while all
+this was very pleasant, the sick little oyster knew that the perch's
+wooing was hopeless, for she was very ill and helpless, and could never
+think of becoming a burden upon one so young and so promising as the
+gallant perch with green fins. But when she spoke to him in this strain,
+he would not listen; he kept right on bringing her more and more cool
+sea-foam every day.
+
+The old gum boot was quite a motherly creature, and anon the sick little
+oyster became very much attached to her. Many times as the little invalid
+rested her aching head affectionately on the instep of the old gum boot,
+the old gum boot told her stories of the world beyond the sea: how she had
+been born in a mighty forest, and how proud her folks were of their family
+tree; how she had been taken from that forest and moulded into the shape
+she now bore; how she had graced and served a foot in amphibious
+capacities, until, at last, having seen many things and having travelled
+much, she had been cast off and hurled into the sea to be the scorn of
+every crab and the derision of every fish. These stories were all new to
+the little oyster, and amazing, too; she knew only of the sea, having
+lived therein all her life. She in turn told the old gum boot quaint
+legends of the ocean,--the simple tales she had heard in her early home;
+and there was a sweetness and a simplicity in these stories of the deep
+that charmed the old gum boot, shrivelled and hardened and pessimistic
+though she was.
+
+Yet, in spite of it all,--the kindness, the care, the amusements, and the
+devotion of her friends,--the little oyster remained always a sick and
+fragile thing. But no one heard her complain, for she bore her suffering
+patiently.
+
+Not far from this beach where the ocean ended its long travels there was a
+city, and in this city there dwelt with her parents a maiden of the name
+of Margaret. From infancy she had been sickly, and although she had now
+reached the years of early womanhood, she could not run or walk about as
+others did, but she had to be wheeled hither and thither in a chair. This
+was very sad; yet Margaret was so gentle and uncomplaining that from aught
+she said you never would have thought her life was full of suffering.
+Seeing her helplessness, the sympathetic things of Nature had compassion
+and were very good to Margaret. The sunbeams stole across her pathway
+everywhere, the grass clustered thickest and greenest where she went, the
+winds caressed her gently as they passed, and the birds loved to perch
+near her window and sing their prettiest songs. Margaret loved them
+all,--the sunlight, the singing winds, the grass, the carolling birds. She
+communed with them; their wisdom inspired her life, and this wisdom gave
+her nature a rare beauty.
+
+Every pleasant day Margaret was wheeled from her home in the city down to
+the beach, and there for hours she would sit, looking out, far out upon
+the ocean, as if she were communing with the ocean spirits that lifted up
+their white arms from the restless waters and beckoned her to come.
+Oftentimes the children playing on the beach came where Margaret sat, and
+heard her tell little stories of the pebbles and the shells, of the ships
+away out at sea, of the ever-speeding gulls, of the grass, of the flowers,
+and of the other beautiful things of life; and so in time the children
+came to love Margaret. Among those who so often gathered to hear the
+gentle sick girl tell her pretty stories was a youth of Margaret's
+age,--older than the others, a youth with sturdy frame and a face full of
+candor and earnestness. His name was Edward, and he was a student in the
+city; he hoped to become a great scholar sometime, and he toiled very
+zealously to that end. The patience, the gentleness, the sweet simplicity,
+the fortitude of the sick girl charmed him. He found in her little stories
+a quaint and beautiful philosophy he never yet had found in books; there
+was a valor in her life he never yet had read of in the histories. So,
+every day she came and sat upon the beach, Edward came too; and with the
+children he heard Margaret's stories of the sea, the air, the grass, the
+birds, and the flowers.
+
+From her moist eyry in the surf the old gum boot descried the group upon
+the beach each pleasant day. Now the old gum boot had seen enough of the
+world to know a thing or two, as we presently shall see.
+
+"That tall young man is not a child," quoth the old gum boot, "yet he
+comes every day with the children to hear the sick girl tell her stories!
+Ah, ha!"
+
+"Perhaps he is the doctor," suggested the little oyster; and then she
+added with a sigh, "but, oh! I hope not."
+
+This suggestion seemed to amuse the old gum boot highly; at least she fell
+into such hysterical laughter that she sprung a leak near her little toe,
+which, considering her environments, was a serious mishap.
+
+"Unless I am greatly mistaken, my child," said the old gum boot to the
+little oyster, "that young man is in love with the sick girl!"
+
+"Oh, how terrible!" said the little oyster; and she meant it too, for she
+was thinking of the gallant young perch with green fins.
+
+"Well, I've said it, and I mean it!" continued the old gum boot; "now just
+wait and see."
+
+The old gum boot had guessed aright--so much for the value of worldly
+experience! Edward loved Margaret; to him she was the most beautiful, the
+most perfect being in the world; her very words seemed to exalt his
+nature. Yet he never spoke to her of love. He was content to come with the
+children to hear her stories, to look upon her sweet face, and to worship
+her in silence. Was not that a very wondrous love?
+
+In course of time the sick girl Margaret became more interested in the
+little ones that thronged daily to hear her pretty stories, and she put
+her beautiful fancies into the little songs and quaint poems and tender
+legends,--songs and poems and legends about the sea, the flowers, the
+birds, and the other beautiful creations of Nature; and in all there was a
+sweet simplicity, a delicacy, a reverence, that bespoke Margaret's
+spiritual purity and wisdom. In this teaching, and marvelling ever at its
+beauty, Edward grew to manhood. She was his inspiration, yet he never
+spoke of love to Margaret. And so the years went by.
+
+Beginning with the children, the world came to know the sick girl's power.
+Her songs were sung in every home, and in every home her verses and her
+little stories were repeated. And so it was that Margaret came to be
+beloved of all, but he who loved her best spoke never of his love to her.
+
+And as these years went by, the sick little oyster lay in the sea cuddled
+close to the old gum boot. She was wearier now than ever before, for there
+was no cure for her malady. The gallant perch with green fins was very
+sad, for his wooing had been hopeless. Still he was devoted, and still he
+came each day to the little oyster, bringing her cool sea-foam and other
+delicacies of the ocean. Oh, how sick the little oyster was! But the end
+came at last.
+
+The children were on the beach one day, waiting for Margaret, and they
+wondered that she did not come. Presently, grown restless, many of the
+boys scampered into the water and stood there, with their trousers rolled
+up, boldly daring the little waves that rippled up from the overflow of
+the surf. And one little boy happened upon the old gum boot. It was a
+great discovery.
+
+"See the old gum boot," cried the boy, fishing it out of the water and
+holding it on high. "And here is a little oyster fastened to it! How
+funny!"
+
+The children gathered round the curious object on the beach. None of them
+had ever seen such a funny old gum boot, and surely none of them had ever
+seen such a funny little oyster. They tore the pale, knotted little thing
+from her foster-mother, and handled her with such rough curiosity that
+even had she been a robust oyster she must certainly have died. At any
+rate, the little oyster was dead now; and the bereaved perch with green
+fins must have known it, for he swam up and down his native cove
+disconsolately.
+
+It befell in that same hour that Margaret lay upon her death-bed, and
+knowing that she had not long to live, she sent for Edward. And Edward,
+when he came to her, was filled with anguish, and clasping her hands in
+his, he told her of his love.
+
+Then Margaret answered him: "I knew it, dear one; and all the songs I have
+sung and all the words I have spoken and all the prayers I have made have
+been with you, dear one,--all with _you_, in my heart of hearts."
+
+"You have purified and exalted my life," cried Edward; "you have been my
+best and sweetest inspiration; you have taught me the eternal truth,--you
+are my beloved!"
+
+And Margaret said: "Then in my weakness hath there been a wondrous
+strength, and from my sufferings cometh the glory I have sought!"
+
+So Margaret died, and like a broken lily she lay upon her couch; and all
+the sweetness of her pure and gentle life seemed to come back and rest
+upon her face; and the songs she had sung and the beautiful stories she
+had told came back, too, on angel wings, and made sweet music in that
+chamber.
+
+The children were lingering on the beach when Edward came that day. He
+could hear them singing the songs Margaret had taught them. They wondered
+that he came alone.
+
+"See," cried one of the boys, running to meet him and holding a tiny shell
+in his hand,--"see what we have found in this strange little shell. Is it
+not beautiful!"
+
+Edward took the dwarfed, misshapen thing, and lo! it held a beauteous
+pearl.
+
+
+_O little sister mine, let me look into your eyes and read an
+inspiration there; let me hold your thin white hand and know the strength
+of a philosophy more beautiful than human knowledge teaches; let me see in
+your dear, patient little face and hear in your gentle voice the untold
+valor of your suffering life. Come, little sister, let me fold you in my
+arms and have you ever with me, that in the glory of your faith and love I
+may walk the paths of wisdom and of peace_.
+
+1887.
+
+
+
+
++THE SPRINGTIME+
+
+
+
+
+THE SPRINGTIME
+
+
+A child once said to his grandsire: "Gran'pa, what do the flowers mean
+when they talk to the old oak-tree about death? I hear them talking every
+day, but I cannot understand; it is all very strange."
+
+The grandsire bade the child think no more of these things; the flowers
+were foolish prattlers,--what right had they to put such notions into a
+child's head? But the child did not do his grandsire's bidding; he loved
+the flowers and the trees, and he went each day to hear them talk.
+
+It seems that the little vine down by the stone wall had overheard the
+south wind say to the rose-bush: "You are a proud, imperious beauty now,
+and will not listen to my suit; but wait till my boisterous brother comes
+from the North,--then you will droop and wither and die, all because you
+would not listen to me and fly with me to my home by the Southern sea."
+
+These words set the little vine to thinking; and when she had thought for
+a long time she spoke to the daisy about it, and the daisy called in the
+violet, and the three little ones had a very serious conference; but,
+having talked it all over, they came to the conclusion that it was as much
+of a mystery as ever. The old oak-tree saw them.
+
+"You little folks seem very much puzzled about something," said the old
+oak-tree.
+
+"I heard the south wind tell the rose-bush that she would die," exclaimed
+the vine, "and we do not understand what it is. Can you tell us what it is
+to die?"
+
+The old oak-tree smiled sadly.
+
+"I do not call it death," said the old oak-tree; "I call it sleep,--a
+long, restful, refreshing sleep."
+
+"How does it feel?" inquired the daisy, looking very full of astonishment
+and anxiety.
+
+"You must know," said the old oak-tree, "that after many, many days we all
+have had such merry times and have bloomed so long and drunk so heartily
+of the dew and sunshine and eaten so much of the goodness of the earth
+that we feel very weary and we long for repose. Then a great wind comes
+out of the north, and we shiver in its icy blast. The sunshine goes away,
+and there is no dew for us nor any nourishment in the earth, and we are
+glad to go to sleep."
+
+"Mercy on me!" cried the vine, "I shall not like that at all! What, leave
+this smiling meadow and all the pleasant grass and singing bees and
+frolicsome butterflies? No, old oak-tree, I would never go to sleep; I
+much prefer sporting with the winds and playing with my little friends,
+the daisy and the violet."
+
+"And I," said the violet, "I think it would be dreadful to go to sleep.
+What if we never should wake up again!"
+
+The suggestion struck the others dumb with terror,--all but the old
+oak-tree.
+
+"Have no fear of that," said the old oak-tree, "for you are sure to awaken
+again, and when you have awakened the new life will be sweeter and happier
+than the old."
+
+"What nonsense!" cried the thistle.
+
+"You children shouldn't believe a word of it. When you go to sleep you
+die, and when you die there's the last of you!"
+
+The old oak-tree reproved the thistle; but the thistle maintained his
+abominable heresy so stoutly that the little vine and the daisy and the
+violet were quite at a loss to know which of the two to believe,--the old
+oak-tree or the thistle.
+
+The child heard it all and was sorely puzzled. What was this death, this
+mysterious sleep? Would it come upon him, the child? And after he had
+slept awhile would he awaken? His grandsire would not tell him of these
+things; perhaps his grandsire did not know.
+
+It was a long, long summer, full of sunshine and bird-music, and the
+meadow was like a garden, and the old oak-tree looked down upon the grass
+and flowers and saw that no evil befell them. A long, long play-day it was
+to the little vine, the daisy, and the violet. The crickets and the
+grasshoppers and the bumblebees joined in the sport, and romped and made
+music till it seemed like an endless carnival. Only every now and then the
+vine and her little flower friends talked with the old oak-tree about that
+strange sleep and the promised awakening, and the thistle scoffed at the
+old oak-tree's cheering words. The child was there and heard it all.
+
+One day the great wind came out of the north. Hurry-scurry! back to their
+warm homes in the earth and under the old stone wall scampered the
+crickets and bumblebees to go to sleep. Whirr, whirr! Oh, but how piercing
+the great wind was; how different from his amiable brother who had
+travelled all the way from the Southern sea to kiss the flowers and woo
+the rose!
+
+"Well, this is the last of us!" exclaimed the thistle; "we're going to
+die, and that's the end of it all!"
+
+"No, no," cried the old oak-tree; "we shall not die; we are going to
+sleep. Here, take my leaves, little flowers, and you shall sleep warm
+under them. Then, when you awaken, you shall see how much sweeter and
+happier the new life is."
+
+The little ones were very weary indeed. The promised sleep came very
+gratefully.
+
+"We would not be so willing to go to sleep if we thought we should not
+awaken," said the violet.
+
+So the little ones went to sleep. The little vine was the last of all to
+sink to her slumbers; she nodded in the wind and tried to keep awake till
+she saw the old oak-tree close his eyes, but her efforts were vain; she
+nodded and nodded, and bowed her slender form against the old stone wall,
+till finally she, too, had sunk into repose. And then the old oak-tree
+stretched his weary limbs and gave a last look at the sullen sky and at
+the slumbering little ones at his feet; and with that, the old oak-tree
+fell asleep too.
+
+The child saw all these things, and he wanted to ask his grandsire about
+them, but his grandsire would not tell him of them; perhaps his grandsire
+did not know.
+
+The child saw the storm-king come down from the hills and ride furiously
+over the meadows and over the forest and over the town. The snow fell
+everywhere, and the north wind played solemn music in the chimneys. The
+storm-king put the brook to bed, and threw a great mantle of snow over
+him; and the brook that had romped and prattled all the summer and told
+pretty tales to the grass and flowers,--the brook went to sleep too. With
+all his fierceness and bluster, the storm-king was very kind; he did not
+awaken the old oak-tree and the slumbering flowers. The little vine lay
+under the fleecy snow against the old stone wall and slept peacefully, and
+so did the violet and the daisy. Only the wicked old thistle thrashed
+about in his sleep as if he dreamed bad dreams, which, all will allow, was
+no more than he deserved.
+
+All through that winter--and it seemed very long--the child thought of the
+flowers and the vine and the old oak-tree, and wondered whether in the
+springtime they would awaken from their sleep; and he wished for the
+springtime to come. And at last the springtime came. One day the sunbeams
+fluttered down from the sky and danced all over the meadow.
+
+"Wake up, little friends!" cried the sunbeams,--"wake up, for it is the
+springtime!"
+
+The brook was the first to respond. So eager, so fresh, so exuberant was
+he after his long winter sleep, that he leaped from his bed and frolicked
+all over the meadow and played all sorts of curious antics. Then a little
+bluebird was seen in the hedge one morning. He was calling to the violet.
+
+"Wake up, little violet," called the bluebird. "Have I come all this
+distance to find you sleeping? Wake up; it is the springtime!"
+
+That pretty little voice awakened the violet, of course.
+
+"Oh, how sweetly I have slept!" cried the violet; "how happy this new life
+is! Welcome, dear friends!"
+
+And presently the daisy awakened, fresh and beautiful, and then the little
+vine, and, last of all, the old oak-tree. The meadow was green, and all
+around there were the music, the fragrance, the new, sweet life of the
+springtime.
+
+"I slept horribly," growled the thistle. "I had bad dreams. It was sleep,
+after all, but it ought to have been death."
+
+The thistle never complained again; for just then a four-footed monster
+stalked through the meadow and plucked and ate the thistle and then
+stalked gloomily away; which was the last of the sceptical thistle,--truly
+a most miserable end!
+
+"You said the truth, dear old oak-tree!" cried the little vine. "It was
+not death,--it was only a sleep, a sweet, refreshing sleep, and this
+awakening is very beautiful."
+
+They all said so,--the daisy, the violet, the oak-tree, the crickets, the
+bees, and all the things and creatures of the field and forest that had
+awakened from their long sleep to swell the beauty and the glory of the
+springtime. And they talked with the child, and the child heard them. And
+although the grandsire never spoke to the child about these things, the
+child learned from the flowers and trees a lesson of the springtime which
+perhaps the grandsire never knew.
+
+1885
+
+
+
+
++RODOLPH AND HIS KING+
+
+
+
+
+RODOLPH AND HIS KING
+
+
+"Tell me, Father," said the child at Rodolph's knee,--"tell me of the
+king."
+
+"There is no king, my child," said Rodolph. "What you have heard are old
+women's tales. Do not believe them, for there is no king."
+
+"But why, then," queried the child, "do all the people praise and call on
+him; why do the birds sing of the king; and why do the brooks always
+prattle his name, as they dance from the hills to the sea?"
+
+"Nay," answered Rodolph, "you imagine these things; there is no king.
+Believe me, child, there is no king."
+
+So spake Rodolph; but scarcely had he uttered the words when the cricket
+in the chimney corner chirped loudly, and his shrill notes seemed to say:
+"The king--the king." Rodolph could hardly believe his ears. How had the
+cricket learned to chirp these words? It was beyond all understanding. But
+still the cricket chirped, and still his musical monotone seemed to say,
+"The king--the king," until, with an angry frown, Rodolph strode from his
+house, leaving the child to hear the cricket's song alone.
+
+But there were other voices to remind Rodolph of the king. The sparrows
+were fluttering under the eaves, and they twittered noisily as Rodolph
+strode along, "The king, king, king!" "The king, king, king," twittered
+the sparrows, and their little tones were full of gladness and praise.
+
+A thrush sat in the hedge, and she was singing her morning song. It was a
+hymn of praise,--how beautiful it was! "The king--the king--the king,"
+sang the thrush, and she sang, too, of his goodness,--it was a wondrous
+song, and it was all about the king.
+
+The doves cooed in the elm-trees. "Sing to us!" cried their little ones,
+stretching out their pretty heads from the nests. Then the doves nestled
+hard by and murmured lullabies, and the lullabies were of the king who
+watched over and protected even the little birds in their nests.
+
+Rodolph heard these things, and they filled him with anger.
+
+"It is a lie!" muttered Rodolph; and in great petulance he came to the
+brook.
+
+How noisy and romping the brook was; how capricious, how playful, how
+furtive! And how he called to the willows and prattled to the listening
+grass as he scampered on his way. But Rodolph turned aside and his face
+grew darker. He did not like the voice of the brook; for, lo! just as the
+cricket had chirped and the birds had sung, so did this brook murmur and
+prattle and sing ever of the king, the king, the king.
+
+So, always after that, wherever Rodolph went, he heard voices that told
+him of the king; yes, even in their quiet, humble way, the flowers seemed
+to whisper the king's name, and every breeze that fanned his brow had a
+tale to tell of the king and his goodness.
+
+"But there is no king!" cried Rodolph. "They all conspire to plague me!
+There is no king--there is no king!"
+
+Once he stood by the sea and saw a mighty ship go sailing by. The waves
+plashed on the shore and told stories to the pebbles and the sands.
+Rodolph heard their thousand voices, and he heard them telling of the
+king.
+
+Then a great storm came upon the sea, a tempest such as never before had
+been seen. The waves dashed mountain-high and overwhelmed the ship, and
+the giant voices of the winds and waves cried of the king, the king! The
+sailors strove in agony till all seemed lost. Then, when they could do no
+more, they stretched out their hands and called upon the king to save
+them,--the king, the king, the king!
+
+Rodolph saw the tempest subside. The angry winds were lulled, and the
+mountain waves sank into sleep, and the ship came safely into port. Then
+the sailors sang a hymn of praise, and the hymn was of the king and to the
+king.
+
+"But there is no king!" cried Rodolph. "It is a lie; there is no king!"
+
+Yet everywhere he went he heard always of the king; the king's name and
+the king's praises were on every tongue; ay, and the things that had no
+voices seemed to wear the king's name written upon them, until Rodolph
+neither saw nor heard anything that did not mind him of the king.
+
+Then, in great anger, Rodolph said: "I will go to the mountain-tops; there
+I shall find no birds, nor trees, nor brooks, nor flowers to prate of a
+monarch no one has ever seen. There shall there be no sea to vex me with
+its murmurings, nor any human voice to displease me with its
+superstitions."
+
+So Rodolph went to the mountains, and he scaled the loftiest pinnacle,
+hoping that there at last he might hear no more of that king whom none had
+ever seen. And as he stood upon the pinnacle, what a mighty panorama was
+spread before him, and what a mighty anthem swelled upon his ears! The
+peopled plains, with their songs and murmurings, lay far below; on every
+side the mountain peaks loomed up in snowy grandeur; and overhead he saw
+the sky, blue, cold, and cloudless, from horizon to horizon.
+
+What voice was that which spoke in Rodolph's bosom then as Rodolph's eyes
+beheld this revelation?
+
+"There is a king!" said the voice. "The king lives, and this is his
+abiding-place!"
+
+And how did Rodolph's heart stand still when he felt Silence proclaim the
+king,--not in tones of thunder, as the tempest had proclaimed him, nor in
+the singing voices of the birds and brooks, but so swiftly, so surely, so
+grandly, that Rodolph's soul was filled with awe ineffable.
+
+Then Rodolph cried: "There is a king, and I acknowledge him! Henceforth my
+voice shall swell the songs of all in earth and air and sea that know and
+praise his name!"
+
+So Rodolph went to his home. He heard the cricket singing of the king;
+yes, and the sparrows under the eaves, the thrush in the hedge, the doves
+in the elms, and the brook, too, all singing of the king; and Rodolph's
+heart was gladdened by their music. And all the earth and the things of
+the earth seemed more beautiful to Rodolph now that he believed in the
+king; and to the song all Nature sang Rodolph's voice and Rodolph's heart
+made harmonious response.
+
+"There _is_ a king, my child," said Rodolph to his little one.
+"Together let us sing to him, for he is _our_ king, and his goodness
+abideth forever and forever."
+
+1885.
+
+
+
+
++THE HAMPSHIRE HILLS+
+
+
+
+
+THE HAMPSHIRE HILLS
+
+
+One afternoon many years ago two little brothers named Seth and Abner were
+playing in the orchard. They were not troubled with the heat of the August
+day, for a soft, cool wind came up from the river in the valley over
+yonder and fanned their red cheeks and played all kinds of pranks with
+their tangled curls. All about them was the hum of bees, the song of
+birds, the smell of clover, and the merry music of the crickets. Their
+little dog Fido chased them through the high, waving grass, and rolled
+with them under the trees, and barked himself hoarse in his attempt to
+keep pace with their laughter. Wearied at length, they lay beneath the
+bellflower-tree and looked off at the Hampshire hills, and wondered if the
+time ever would come when they should go out into the world beyond those
+hills and be great, noisy men. Fido did not understand it at all. He
+lolled in the grass, cooling his tongue on the clover bloom, and puzzling
+his brain to know why his little masters were so quiet all at once.
+
+"I wish I were a man," said Abner, ruefully. "I want to be somebody and do
+something. It is very hard to be a little boy so long and to have no
+companions but little boys and girls, to see nothing but these same old
+trees and this same high grass, and to hear nothing but the same
+bird-songs from one day to another."
+
+"That is true," said Seth. "I, too, am very tired of being a little boy,
+and I long to go out into the world and be a man like my gran'pa or my
+father or my uncles. With nothing to look at but those distant hills and
+the river in the valley, my eyes are wearied; and I shall be very happy
+when I am big enough to leave this stupid place."
+
+Had Fido understood their words he would have chided them, for the little
+dog loved his home and had no thought of any other pleasure than romping
+through the orchard and playing with his little masters all the day. But
+Fido did not understand them.
+
+The clover bloom heard them with sadness. Had they but listened in turn
+they would have heard the clover saying softly: "Stay with me while you
+may, little boys; trample me with your merry feet; let me feel the imprint
+of your curly heads and kiss the sunburn on your little cheeks. Love me
+while you may, for when you go away you never will come back."
+
+The bellflower-tree heard them, too, and she waved her great, strong
+branches as if she would caress the impatient little lads, and she
+whispered: "Do not think of leaving me: you are children, and you know
+nothing of the world beyond those distant hills. It is full of trouble and
+care and sorrow; abide here in this quiet spot till you are prepared to
+meet the vexations of that outer world. We are for _you_,--we trees
+and grass and birds and bees and flowers. Abide with us, and learn the
+wisdom we teach."
+
+The cricket in the raspberry-hedge heard them, and she chirped, oh! so
+sadly: "You will go out into the world and leave us and never think of us
+again till it is too late to return. Open your ears, little boys, and hear
+my song of contentment."
+
+So spake the clover bloom and the bellflower-tree and the cricket; and in
+like manner the robin that nested in the linden over yonder, and the big
+bumblebee that lived in the hole under the pasture gate, and the butterfly
+and the wild rose pleaded with them, each in his own way; but the little
+boys did not heed them, so eager were their desires to go into and mingle
+with the great world beyond those distant hills.
+
+Many years went by; and at last Seth and Abner grew to manhood, and the
+time was come when they were to go into the world and be brave, strong
+men. Fido had been dead a long time. They had made him a grave under the
+bellflower-tree,--yes, just where he had romped with the two little boys
+that August afternoon Fido lay sleeping amid the humming of the bees and
+the perfume of the clover. But Seth and Abner did not think of Fido now,
+nor did they give even a passing thought to any of their old friends,--the
+bellflower-tree, the clover, the cricket, and the robin. Their hearts beat
+with exultation. They were men, and they were going beyond the hills to
+know and try the world.
+
+They were equipped for that struggle, not in a vain, frivolous way, but as
+good and brave young men should be. A gentle mother had counselled them, a
+prudent father had advised them, and they had gathered from the sweet
+things of Nature much of that wisdom before which all knowledge is as
+nothing. So they were fortified. They went beyond the hills and came into
+the West. How great and busy was the world,--how great and busy it was
+here in the West! What a rush and noise and turmoil and seething and
+surging, and how keenly did the brothers have to watch and struggle for
+vantage ground. Withal, they prospered; the counsel of the mother, the
+advice of the father, the wisdom of the grass and flowers and trees, were
+much to them, and they prospered. Honor and riches came to them, and they
+were happy. But amid it all, how seldom they thought of the little home
+among the circling hills where they had learned the first sweet lessons of
+life!
+
+And now they were old and gray. They lived in splendid mansions, and all
+people paid them honor.
+
+One August day a grim messenger stood in Seth's presence and beckoned to
+him.
+
+"Who are you?" cried Seth. "What strange power have you over me that the
+very sight of you chills my blood and stays the beating of my heart?"
+
+Then the messenger threw aside his mask, and Seth saw that he was Death.
+Seth made no outcry; he knew what the summons meant, and he was content.
+But he sent for Abner.
+
+And when Abner came, Seth was stretched upon his bed, and there was a
+strange look in his eyes and a flush upon his cheeks, as though a fatal
+fever had laid hold on him.
+
+"You shall not die!" cried Abner, and he threw himself about his brother's
+neck and wept.
+
+But Seth bade Abner cease his outcry. "Sit here by my bedside and talk
+with me," said he, "and let us speak of the Hampshire hills."
+
+A great wonder overcame Abner. With reverence he listened, and as he
+listened a sweet peace seemed to steal into his soul.
+
+"I am prepared for Death," said Seth, "and I will go with Death this day.
+Let us talk of our childhood now, for, after all the battle with this
+great world, it is pleasant to think and speak of our boyhood among the
+Hampshire hills."
+
+"Say on, dear brother," said Abner.
+
+"I am thinking of an August day long ago," said Seth, solemnly and softly.
+"It was _so very_ long ago, and yet it seems only yesterday. We were
+in the orchard together, under the bellflower-tree, and our little dog--"
+
+"Fido," said Abner, remembering it all, as the years came back.
+
+"Fido and you and I, under the bellflower-tree," said Seth. "How we had
+played, and how weary we were, and how cool the grass was, and how sweet
+was the fragrance of the flowers! Can you remember it, brother?"
+
+"Oh, yes," replied Abner, "and I remember how we lay among the clover and
+looked off at the distant hills and wondered of the world beyond."
+
+"And amid our wonderings and longings," said Seth, "how the old
+bellflower-tree seemed to stretch her kind arms down to us as if she would
+hold us away from that world beyond the hills."
+
+"And now I can remember that the clover whispered to us, and the cricket
+in the raspberry-hedge sang to us of contentment," said Abner.
+
+"The robin, too, carolled in the linden."
+
+"It is very sweet to remember it now," said Seth. "How blue and hazy the
+hills looked; how cool the breeze blew up from the river; how like a
+silver lake the old pickerel pond sweltered under the summer sun over
+beyond the pasture and broomcorn, and how merry was the music of the birds
+and bees!"
+
+So these old men, who had been little boys together, talked of the August
+afternoon when with Fido they had romped in the orchard and rested beneath
+the bell-flower-tree. And Seth's voice grew fainter, and his eyes were,
+oh! so dim; but to the very last he spoke of the dear old days and the
+orchard and the clover and the Hampshire hills. And when Seth fell asleep
+forever, Abner kissed his brother's lips and knelt at the bedside and said
+the prayer his mother had taught him.
+
+In the street without there was the noise of passing carts, the cries of
+tradespeople, and all the bustle of a great and busy city; but, looking
+upon Seth's dear, dead face, Abner could hear only the music voices of
+birds and crickets and summer winds as he had heard them with Seth when
+they were little boys together, back among the Hampshire hills.
+
+1885.
+
+
+
+
++EZRA'S THANKSGIVIN' OUT WEST+
+
+
+
+
+EZRA'S THANKSGIVIN' OUT WEST
+
+
+Ezra had written a letter to the home folks, and in it he had complained
+that never before had he spent such a weary, lonesome day as this
+Thanksgiving day had been. Having finished this letter, he sat for a long
+time gazing idly into the open fire that snapped cinders all over the
+hearthstone and sent its red forks dancing up the chimney to join the
+winds that frolicked and gambolled across the Kansas prairies that raw
+November night. It had rained hard all day, and was cold; and although the
+open fire made every honest effort to be cheerful, Ezra, as he sat in
+front of it in the wooden rocker and looked down into the glowing embers,
+experienced a dreadful feeling of loneliness and homesickness.
+
+"I'm sick o' Kansas," said Ezra to himself. "Here I 've been in this
+plaguy country for goin' on a year, and--yes, I'm sick of it, powerful
+sick of it. What a miser'ble Thanksgivin' this has been! They don't know
+what Thanksgivin' is out this way. I wish I was back in ol'
+Mass'chusetts--that's the country for _me_, and they hev the kind o'
+Thanksgivin' I like!"
+
+Musing in this strain, while the rain went patter-patter on the
+window-panes, Ezra saw a strange sight in the fireplace,--yes, right among
+the embers and the crackling flames Ezra saw a strange, beautiful picture
+unfold and spread itself out like a panorama.
+
+"How very wonderful!" murmured the young man. Yet he did not take his eyes
+away, for the picture soothed him and he loved to look upon it.
+
+"It is a pictur' of long ago," said Ezra, softly. "I had like to forgot
+it, but now it comes back to me as nat'ral-like as an ol' friend. An' I
+seem to be a part of it, an' the feelin' of that time comes back with the
+pictur', too."
+
+Ezra did not stir. His head rested upon his hand, and his eyes were fixed
+upon the shadows in the firelight.
+
+"It is a pictur' of the ol' home," said Ezra to himself. "I am back there
+in Belchertown, with the Holyoke hills up north an' the Berkshire
+mountains a-loomin' up gray an' misty-like in the western horizon. Seems
+as if it wuz early mornin'; everything is still, and it is so cold when we
+boys crawl out o' bed that, if it wuzn't Thanksgivin' mornin', we'd crawl
+back again an' wait for Mother to call us. But it _is_ Thanksgivin'
+mornin', an' we're goin' skatin' down on the pond. The squealin' o' the
+pigs has told us it is five o'clock, and we must hurry; we're goin' to
+call by for the Dickerson boys an' Hiram Peabody, an' we've got to hyper!
+Brother Amos gets on 'bout half o' my clo'es, an' I get on 'bout half o'
+his, but it's all the same; they are stout, warm clo'es, and they're big
+enough to fit any of us boys,--Mother looked out for that when she made
+'em. When we go down-stairs we find the girls there, all bundled up nice
+an' warm,--Mary an' Helen an' Cousin Irene. They're goin' with us, an' we
+all start out tiptoe and quiet-like so's not to wake up the ol' folks. The
+ground is frozen hard; we stub our toes on the frozen ruts in the road.
+When we come to the minister's house, Laura is standin' on the front
+stoop, a-waitin' for us. Laura is the minister's daughter. She's a friend
+o' Sister Helen's--pretty as a dag'err'otype, an' gentle-like and tender.
+Laura lets me carry her skates, an' I'm glad of it, although I have my
+hands full already with the lantern, the hockies, and the rest. Hiram
+Peabody keeps us waitin', for he has overslept himself, an' when he comes
+trottin' out at last the girls make fun of him,--all except Sister Mary,
+an' she sort o' sticks up for Hiram, an' we're all so 'cute we kind o'
+calc'late we know the reason why.
+
+"And now," said Ezra, softly, "the pictur' changes; seems as if I could
+see the pond. The ice is like a black lookin'-glass, and Hiram Peabody
+slips up the first thing, an' down he comes lickety-split, an' we all
+laugh,--except Sister Mary, an' _she_ says it is very imp'lite to
+laugh at other folks' misfortunes. Ough! how cold it is, and how my
+fingers ache with the frost when I take off my mittens to strap on Laura's
+skates! But, oh, how my cheeks burn! And how careful I am not to hurt
+Laura, an' how I ask her if that's 'tight enough,' an' how she tells me
+'jist a little tighter,' and how we two keep foolin' along till the others
+hev gone an' we are left alone! An' how quick I get my _own_ skates
+strapped on,--none o' your new-fangled skates with springs an' plates an'
+clamps an' such, but honest, ol'-fashioned wooden ones with steel runners
+that curl up over my toes an' have a bright brass button on the end! How I
+strap 'em and lash 'em and buckle 'em on! An' Laura waits for me an' tells
+me to be sure to get 'em on tight enough,--why, bless me! after I once got
+'em strapped on, if them skates hed come off, the feet w'u'd ha' come with
+'em! An' now away we go,--Laura an' me. Around the bend--near the medder
+where Si Barker's dog killed a woodchuck last summer--we meet the rest. We
+forget all about the cold. We run races an' play snap the whip, an' cut
+all sorts o' didoes, an' we never mind the pick'rel weed that is froze in
+on the ice an' trips us up every time we cut the outside edge; an' then we
+boys jump over the airholes, an' the girls stan' by an' scream an' tell us
+they know we're agoin' to drownd ourselves. So the hours go, an' it is
+sun-up at last, an' Sister Helen says we must be gettin' home. When we
+take our skates off, our feet feel as if they were wood. Laura has lost
+her tippet; I lend her mine, an' she kind o' blushes. The old pond seems
+glad to have us go, and the fire-hangbird's nest in the willer-tree waves
+us good-by. Laura promises to come over to our house in the evenin', and
+so we break up.
+
+"Seems now," continued Ezra, musingly,--"seems now as if I could see us
+all at breakfast. The race on the pond has made us hungry, and Mother says
+she never knew anybody else's boys that had such capac'ties as hers. It is
+the Yankee Thanksgivin' breakfast,--sausages an' fried potatoes, an'
+buckwheat cakes an' syrup,--maple syrup, mind ye, for Father has his own
+sugar-bush, and there was a big run o' sap last season. Mother says, 'Ezry
+an' Amos, won't you never get through eatin'? We want to clear off the
+table, for there's pies to make, an' nuts to crack, and laws sakes alive!
+the turkey's got to be stuffed yit!' Then how we all fly round! Mother
+sends Helen up into the attic to get a squash while Mary's makin' the
+pie-crust. Amos an' I crack the walnuts,--they call 'em hickory nuts out
+in this pesky country of sage-brush and pasture land. The walnuts are
+hard, and it's all we can do to crack 'em. Ev'ry once 'n a while one on
+'em slips outer our fingers an' goes dancin' over the floor or flies into
+the pan Helen is squeezin' pumpkin into through the col'nder. Helen says
+we're shif'less an' good for nothin' but frivollin'; but Mother tells us
+how to crack the walnuts so's not to let 'em fly all over the room, an'
+so's not to be all jammed to pieces like the walnuts was down at the party
+at the Peasleys' last winter. An' now here comes Tryphena Foster, with her
+gingham gown an' muslin apron on; her folks have gone up to Amherst for
+Thanksgivin', an' Tryphena has come over to help our folks get dinner. She
+thinks a great deal o' Mother, 'cause Mother teaches her Sunday-school
+class an' says Tryphena oughter marry a missionary. There is bustle
+everywhere, the rattle of pans an' the clatter of dishes; an' the new
+kitch'n stove begins to warm up an' git red, till Helen loses her wits an'
+is flustered, an' sez she never could git the hang o' that stove's
+dampers.
+
+"An' now," murmured Ezra, gently, as a tone of deeper reverence crept into
+his voice, "I can see Father sittin' all by himself in the parlor.
+Father's hair is very gray, and there are wrinkles on his honest old face.
+He is lookin' through the winder at the Holyoke hills over yonder, and I
+can guess he's thinkin' of the time when he wuz a boy like me an' Amos,
+an' useter climb over them hills an' kill rattlesnakes an' hunt
+partridges. Or doesn't his eyes quite reach the Holyoke hills? Do they
+fall kind o' lovingly but sadly on the little buryin'-ground jest beyond
+the village? Ah, Father knows that spot, an' he loves it, too, for there
+are treasures there whose memory he wouldn't swap for all the world could
+give. So, while there is a kind o' mist in Father's eyes, I can see he is
+dreamin'-like of sweet an' tender things, and a-com-munin' with
+memory,--hearin' voices I never heard an' feelin' the tech of hands I
+never pressed; an' seein' Father's peaceful face I find it hard to think
+of a Thanksgivin' sweeter than Father's is.
+
+"The pictur' in the firelight changes now," said Ezra, "an' seems as if I
+wuz in the old frame meetin'-house. The meetin'-house is on the hill, and
+meetin' begins at half-pas' ten. Our pew is well up in front,--seems as if
+I could see it now. It has a long red cushion on the seat, and in the
+hymn-book rack there is a Bible an' a couple of Psalmodies. We walk up the
+aisle slow, and Mother goes in first; then comes Mary, then me, then
+Helen, then Amos, and then Father. Father thinks it is jest as well to
+have one o' the girls set in between me an' Amos. The meetin'-house is
+full, for everybody goes to meetin' Thanksgivin' day. The minister reads
+the proclamation an' makes a prayer, an' then he gives out a psalm, an' we
+all stan' up an' turn round an' join the choir. Sam Merritt has come up
+from Palmer to spend Thanksgivin' with the ol' folks, an' he is singin'
+tenor to-day in his ol' place in the choir. Some folks say he sings
+wonderful well, but _I_ don't like Sam's voice. Laura sings soprano
+in the choir, and Sam stands next to her an' holds the book.
+
+"Seems as if I could hear the minister's voice, full of earnestness an'
+melody, comin' from 'way up in his little round pulpit. He is tellin' us
+why we should be thankful, an', as he quotes Scriptur' an' Dr. Watts, we
+boys wonder how anybody can remember so much of the Bible. Then I get
+nervous and worried. Seems to me the minister was never comin' to lastly,
+and I find myself wonderin' whether Laura is listenin' to what the
+preachin' is about, or is writin' notes to Sam Merritt in the back of the
+tune-book. I get thirsty, too, and I fidget about till Father looks at me,
+and Mother nudges Helen, and Helen passes it along to me with interest.
+
+"An' then," continues Ezra in his revery, "when the last hymn is given out
+an' we stan' up ag'in an' join the choir, I am glad to see that Laura is
+singin' outer the book with Miss Hubbard, the alto. An' goin' out o'
+meetin' I kind of edge up to Laura and ask her if I kin have the pleasure
+of seen' her home.
+
+"An' now we boys all go out on the Common to play ball. The Enfield boys
+have come over, and, as all the Hampshire county folks know, they are
+tough fellers to beat. Gorham Polly keeps tally, because he has got the
+newest jack-knife,--oh, how slick it whittles the old broom-handle Gorham
+picked up in Packard's store an' brought along jest to keep tally on! It
+is a great game of ball; the bats are broad and light, and the ball is
+small and soft. But the Enfield boys beat us at last; leastwise they make
+70 tallies to our 58, when Heman Fitts knocks the ball over into Aunt
+Dorcas Eastman's yard, and Aunt Dorcas comes out an' picks up the ball an'
+takes it into the house, an' we have to stop playin'. Then Phineas Owens
+allows he can flop any boy in Belchertown, an' Moses Baker takes him up,
+an' they wrassle like two tartars, till at last Moses tuckers Phineas out
+an' downs him as slick as a whistle.
+
+"Then we all go home, for Thanksgivin' dinner is ready. Two long tables
+have been made into one, and one of the big tablecloths Gran'ma had when
+she set up housekeepin' is spread over 'em both. We all set round, Father,
+Mother, Aunt Lydia Holbrook, Uncle Jason, Mary, Helen, Tryphena Foster,
+Amos, and me. How big an' brown the turkey is, and how good it smells!
+There are bounteous dishes of mashed potato, turnip, an' squash, and the
+celery is very white and cold, the biscuits are light an' hot, and the
+stewed cranberries are red as Laura's cheeks. Amos and I get the
+drumsticks; Mary wants the wish-bone to put overthe door for Hiram, but
+Helen gets it. Poor Mary, she always _did_ have to give up to
+'rushin' Helen,' as we call her. The pies,--oh, what pies Mother makes; no
+dyspepsia in 'em, but good-nature an' good health an' hospitality! Pumpkin
+pies, mince an' apple too, and then a big dish of pippins an' russets an'
+bellflowers, an', last of all, walnuts with cider from the Zebrina
+Dickerson farm! I tell ye, there's a Thanksgivin' dinner for ye! that's
+what we get in old Belchertown; an' that's the kind of livin' that makes
+the Yankees so all-fired good an' smart.
+
+"But the best of all," said Ezra, very softly to himself,--"oh, yes, the
+best scene in all the pictur' is when evenin' comes, when the lamps are
+lit in the parlor, when the neighbors come in, and when there is music
+an' singin' an' games. An' it's this part o' the pictur' that makes me
+homesick now and fills my heart with a longin' I never had before; an'
+yet it sort o' mellows an' comforts me, too. Miss Serena Cadwell, whose
+beau was killed in the war, plays on the melodeon, and we all sing,--all
+on us, men, womenfolks, an' children. Sam Merritt is there, an' he sings
+a tenor song about love. The women sort of whisper round that he's goin'
+to be married to a Palmer lady nex' spring, an' I think to myself I
+never heard better singin' than Sam's. Then we play games, proverbs,
+buzz, clap-in-clap-out, copenhagen, fox-an'-geese, button-button-who's-
+got-the-button, spin-the-platter, go-to-Jerusalem, my-ship's-come-in,
+and all the rest. The ol' folks play with the young folks just as
+nat'ral as can be; and we all laugh when Deacon Hosea Cowles hez to
+measure six yards of love ribbon with Miss Hepsy Newton, and cut each
+yard with a kiss; for the deacon hez been sort o' purrin' round Miss
+Hepsy for goin' on two years. Then, aft'r a while, when Mary an' Helen
+bring in the cookies, nut-cakes, cider, an' apples, Mother says: 'I
+don't b'lieve we're goin' to hev enough apples to go round; Ezry, I
+guess I'll have to get you to go down-cellar for some more.' Then I
+says: 'All right, Mother, I'll go, providin' some one'll go along an'
+hold the candle.' An' when I say this I look right at Laura and she
+blushes. Then Helen, jest for meanness, says: 'Ezry, I s'pose you ain't
+willin' to have your fav'rite sister go down-cellar with you an' catch
+her death o' cold?' But Mary, who hez been showin' Hiram Peabody the
+phot'graph album for more 'n an hour, comes to the rescue an' makes
+Laura take the candle, and she shows Laura how to hold it so it won't go
+out.
+
+"The cellar is warm an' dark. There are cobwebs all between the rafters
+an' everywhere else except on the shelves where Mother keeps the butter
+an' eggs an' other things that would freeze in the butt'ry upstairs. The
+apples are in bar'ls up against the wall, near the potater-bin. How fresh
+an' sweet they smell! Laura thinks she sees a mouse, an' she trembles an'
+wants to jump up on the pork-bar'l, but I tell her that there sha'n't no
+mouse hurt her while I'm round; and I mean it, too, for the sight of Laura
+a-tremblin' makes me as strong as one of Father's steers. 'What kind of
+apples do you like best, Ezry?' asks Laura,--'russets or greenin's or
+crow-eggs or bell-flowers or Baldwins or pippins?' 'I like the Baldwins
+best,' says I, ''coz they've got red cheeks jest like yours.' 'Why, Ezry
+Thompson! how you talk!' says Laura. 'You oughter be ashamed of yourself!'
+But when I get the dish filled up with apples there ain't a Baldwin in all
+the lot that can compare with the bright red of Laura's cheeks. An' Laura
+knows it, too, an' she sees the mouse ag'in, an' screams, and then the
+candle goes out, and we are in a dreadful stew. But I, bein' almost a man,
+contrive to bear up under it, and knowin' she is an orph'n, I comfort an'
+encourage Laura the best I know how, and we are almost up-stairs when
+Mother comes to the door and wants to know what has kep' us so long. Jest
+as if Mother doesn't know! Of course she does; an' when Mother kisses
+Laura good-by that night there is in the act a tenderness that speaks more
+sweetly than even Mother's words.
+
+"It is so like Mother," mused Ezra; "so like her with her gentleness an'
+clingin' love. Hers is the sweetest picture of all, and hers the best
+love."
+
+Dream on, Ezra; dream of the old home with its dear ones, its holy
+influences, and its precious inspiration,--mother. Dream on in the
+far-away firelight; and as the angel hand of memory unfolds these sacred
+visions, with thee and them shall abide, like a Divine comforter, the
+spirit of thanksgiving.
+
+1885.
+
+
+
+
++LUDWIG AND ELOISE+
+
+
+
+
+LUDWIG AND ELOISE
+
+
+Once upon a time there were two youths named Herman and Ludwig; and they
+both loved Eloise, the daughter of the old burgomaster. Now, the old
+burgomaster was very rich, and having no child but Eloise, he was anxious
+that she should be well married and settled in life. "For," said he,
+"death is likely to come to me at any time: I am old and feeble, and I
+want to see my child sheltered by another's love before I am done with
+earth forever."
+
+Eloise was much beloved by all the youth in the village, and there was not
+one who would not gladly have taken her to wife; but none loved her so
+much as did Herman and Ludwig. Nor did Eloise care for any but Herman and
+Ludwig, and she loved Herman. The burgomaster said: "Choose whom you
+will--I care not! So long as he be honest I will have him for a son and
+thank Heaven for him."
+
+So Eloise chose Herman, and all said she chose wisely; for Herman was
+young and handsome, and by his valor had won distinction in the army, and
+had thrice been complimented by the general. So when the brave young
+captain led Eloise to the altar there was great rejoicing in the village.
+The beaux, forgetting their disappointments, and the maidens, seeing the
+cause of all their jealousy removed, made merry together; and it was said
+that never had there been in the history of the province an event so
+joyous as was the wedding of Herman and Eloise.
+
+But in all the village there was one aching heart. Ludwig, the young
+musician, saw with quiet despair the maiden he loved go to the altar with
+another. He had known Eloise from childhood, and he could not say when his
+love of her began, it was so very long ago; but now he knew his heart was
+consumed by a hopeless passion. Once, at a village festival, he had begun
+to speak to her of his love; but Eloise had placed her hand kindly upon
+his lips and told him to say no further, for they had always been and
+always would be brother and sister. So Ludwig never spoke his love after
+that, and Eloise and he were as brother and sister; but the love of her
+grew always within him, and he had no thought but of her.
+
+And now, when Eloise and Herman were wed, Ludwig feigned that he had
+received a message from a rich relative in a distant part of the kingdom
+bidding him come thither, and Ludwig went from the village and was seen
+there no more.
+
+When the burgomaster died all his possessions went to Herman and Eloise;
+and they were accounted the richest folk in the province, and so good and
+charitable were they that they were beloved by all. Meanwhile Herman had
+risen to greatness in the army, for by his valorous exploits he had become
+a general, and he was much endeared to the king. And Eloise and Herman
+lived in a great castle in the midst of a beautiful park, and the people
+came and paid them reverence there.
+
+And no one in all these years spoke of Ludwig. No one thought of him.
+Ludwig was forgotten. And so the years went by.
+
+It came to pass, however, that from a far-distant province there spread
+the fame of a musician so great that the king sent for him to visit the
+court. No one knew the musician's name nor whence he came, for he lived
+alone and would never speak of himself; but his music was so tender and
+beautiful that it was called heart-music, and he himself was called the
+Master. He was old and bowed with infirmities, but his music was always of
+youth and love; it touched every heart with its simplicity and pathos, and
+all wondered how this old and broken man could create so much of
+tenderness and sweetness on these themes.
+
+But when the king sent for the Master to come to court the Master returned
+him answer: "No, I am old and feeble. To leave my home would weary me unto
+death. Let me die here as I have lived these long years, weaving my music
+for hearts that need my solace."
+
+Then the people wondered. But the king was not angry; in pity he sent the
+Master a purse of gold, and bade him come or not come, as he willed. Such
+honor had never before been shown any subject in the kingdom, and all the
+people were dumb with amazement. But the Master gave the purse of gold to
+the poor of the village wherein he lived.
+
+In those days Herman died, full of honors and years, and there was a great
+lamentation in the land, for Herman was beloved by all. And Eloise wept
+unceasingly and would not be comforted.
+
+On the seventh day after Herman had been buried there came to the castle
+in the park an aged and bowed man who carried in his white and trembling
+hands a violin. His kindly face was deeply wrinkled, and a venerable beard
+swept down upon his breast. He was weary and foot-sore, but he heeded not
+the words of pity bestowed on him by all who beheld him tottering on his
+way. He knocked boldly at the castle gate, and demanded to be brought into
+the presence of Eloise.
+
+And Eloise said: "Bid him enter; perchance his music will comfort my
+breaking heart."
+
+Then, when the old man had come into her presence, behold! he was the
+Master,--ay, the Master whose fame was in every land, whose heart-music
+was on every tongue.
+
+"If thou art indeed the Master," said Eloise, "let thy music be balm to my
+chastened spirit."
+
+The Master said: "Ay, Eloise, I will comfort thee in thy sorrow, and thy
+heart shall be stayed, and a great joy will come to thee."
+
+Then the Master drew his bow across the strings, and lo! forthwith there
+arose such harmonies as Eloise had never heard before. Gently,
+persuasively, they stole upon her senses and filled her soul with an
+ecstasy of peace.
+
+"Is it Herman that speaks to me?" cried Eloise. "It is his voice I hear,
+and it speaks to me of love. With thy heart-music, O Master, all the
+sweetness of his life comes back to comfort me!"
+
+The Master did not pause; as he played, it seemed as if each tender word
+and caress of Herman's life was stealing back on music's pinions to soothe
+the wounds that death had made.
+
+"It is the song of our love-life," murmured Eloise. "How full of memories
+it is--what tenderness and harmony--and oh! what peace it brings! But tell
+me, Master, what means this minor chord,--this undertone of sadness and of
+pathos that flows like a deep, unfathomable current throughout it all, and
+wailing, weaves itself about thy theme of love and happiness with its
+weird and subtile influences?"
+
+Then the Master said: "It is that shade of sorrow and sacrifice, O Eloise,
+that ever makes the picture of love more glorious. An undertone of pathos
+has been _my_ part in all these years to symmetrize the love of
+Herman and Eloise. The song of thy love is beautiful, and who shall say it
+is not beautified by the sad undertone of Ludwig's broken heart?"
+
+"Thou art Ludwig!" cried Eloise. "Thou art Ludwig, who didst love me, and
+hast come to comfort me who loved thee not!"
+
+The Master indeed was Ludwig; but when they hastened to do him homage he
+heard them not, for with that last and sweetest heart-song his head sank
+upon his breast, and he was dead.
+
+1885.
+
+
+
+
++FIDO'S LITTLE FRIEND+
+
+
+
+
+FIDO'S LITTLE FRIEND
+
+
+One morning in May Fido sat on the front porch, and he was deep in
+thought. He was wondering whether the people who were moving into the next
+house were as cross and unfeeling as the people who had just moved out. He
+hoped they were not, for the people who had just moved out had never
+treated Fido with that respect and kindness which Fido believed he was on
+all occasions entitled to.
+
+"The new-comers must be nice folks," said Fido to himself, "for their
+feather-beds look big and comfortable, and their baskets are all ample and
+generous,--and see, there goes a bright gilt cage, and there is a plump
+yellow canary bird in it! Oh, how glad Mrs. Tabby will be to see it,--she
+so dotes on dear little canary birds!"
+
+Mrs. Tabby was the old brindled cat, who was the mother of the four
+cunning little kittens in the hay-mow. Fido had heard her remark very
+purringly only a few days ago that she longed for a canary bird, just to
+amuse her little ones and give them correct musical ears. Honest old Fido!
+There was no guile in his heart, and he never dreamed there was in all the
+wide world such a sin as hypocrisy. So when Fido saw the little canary
+bird in the cage he was glad for Mrs. Tabby's sake.
+
+While Fido sat on the front porch and watched the people moving into the
+next house another pair of eyes peeped out of the old hollow maple over
+the way. This was the red-headed woodpecker, who had a warm, cosey nest
+far down in the old hollow maple, and in the nest there were four
+beautiful eggs, of which the red-headed woodpecker was very proud.
+
+"Good-morning, Mr. Fido," called the red-headed woodpecker from her high
+perch. "You are out bright and early to-day. And what do you think of our
+new neighbors?"
+
+"Upon my word, I cannot tell," replied Fido, wagging his tail cheerily,
+"for I am not acquainted with them. But I have been watching them closely,
+and by to-day noon I think I shall be on speaking terms with
+them,--provided, of course, they are not the cross, unkind people our old
+neighbors were."
+
+"Oh, I do so hope there are no little boys in the family," sighed the
+red-headed woodpecker; and then she added, with much determination and a
+defiant toss of her beautiful head: "I hate little boys!"
+
+"Why so?" inquired Fido. "As for myself, I love little boys. I have always
+found them the pleasantest of companions. Why do _you_ dislike them?"
+
+"Because they are wicked," said the redheaded woodpecker. "They climb
+trees and break up the nests we have worked so hard to build, and they
+steal away our lovely eggs--oh, I hate little boys!"
+
+"Good little boys don't steal birds' eggs," said Fido, "and I'm sure I
+never would play with a bad boy."
+
+But the red-headed woodpecker insisted that all little boys were wicked;
+and, firm in this faith, she flew away to the linden over yonder, where,
+she had heard the thrush say, there lived a family of fat white grubs. The
+red-headed woodpecker wanted her breakfast, and it would have been hard to
+find a more palatable morsel for her than a white fat grub.
+
+As for Fido, he sat on the front porch and watched the people moving in.
+And as he watched them he thought of what the redheaded woodpecker had
+said, and he wondered whether it could be possible for little boys to be
+so cruel as to rob birds' nests. As he brooded over this sad possibility,
+his train of thought was interrupted by the sound of a voice that fell
+pleasantly on his ears.
+
+"Goggie, goggie, goggie!" said the voice. "Tum here, 'ittle goggie--tum
+here, goggie, goggie, goggie!"
+
+Fido looked whence the voice seemed to come, and he saw a tiny figure on
+the other side of the fence,--a cunning baby-figure in the yard that
+belonged to the house where the new neighbors were moving in. A second
+glance assured Fido that the calling stranger was a little boy not more
+than three years old, wearing a pretty dress, and a broad hat that crowned
+his yellow hair and shaded his big blue eyes and dimpled face. The sight
+was a pleasing one, and Fido vibrated his tail,--very cautiously, however,
+for Fido was not quite certain that the little boy meant his greeting for
+him, and Fido's sad experiences with the old neighbors had made him wary
+about scraping acquaintances too hastily.
+
+"Turn, 'ittle goggie!" persisted the prattling stranger, and, as if to
+encourage Fido, the little boy stretched his chubby arms through the fence
+and waved them entreatingly.
+
+Fido was convinced now, so he got up, and with many cordial gestures of
+his hospitable tail, trotted down the steps and over the lawn to the
+corner of the fence where the little stranger was.
+
+"Me love oo," said the little stranger, patting Fido's honest brown back;
+"me love oo, 'ittle goggie!"
+
+Fido knew that, for there were caresses in every stroke of the dimpled
+hands. Fido loved the little boy, too,--yes, all at once he loved the
+little boy; and he licked the dimpled hands, and gave three short, quick
+barks, and wagged his tail hysterically. So then and there began the
+friendship of Fido and the little boy.
+
+Presently Fido crawled under the fence into the next yard, and then the
+little boy sat down on the grass, and Fido put his fore-paws in the little
+boy's lap and cocked up his ears and looked up into the little boy's face,
+as much as to say, "We shall be great friends, shall we not, little boy?"
+
+"Me love oo," said the little boy; "me wan' to tiss oo, 'ittle goggie!"
+
+And the little boy did kiss Fido,--yes, right on Fido's cold nose; and
+Fido liked to have the little boy kiss him, for it reminded him of another
+little boy who used to kiss him, but who was now so big that he was almost
+ashamed to play with Fido any more.
+
+"Is oo sit, 'ittle goggie?" asked the little boy, opening his blue eyes to
+their utmost capacity and looking very piteous. "Oo nose be so told, oo
+mus' be sit, 'ittle goggie!"
+
+But no, Fido was not sick, even though his nose _was_ cold. Oh, no;
+he romped and played all that morning in the cool, green grass with the
+little boy; and the red-headed woodpecker, clinging to the bark on the
+hickory-tree, laughed at their merry antics till her sides ached and her
+beautiful head turned fairly livid. Then, at last, the little boy's mamma
+came out of the house and told him he had played long enough; and neither
+the red-headed woodpecker nor Fido saw him again that day.
+
+But the next morning the little boy toddled down to the fence-corner,
+bright and early, and called, "Goggie! goggie! goggie!" so loudly, that
+Fido heard him in the wood-shed, where he was holding a morning chat with
+Mrs. Tabby. Fido hastened to answer the call; the way he spun out of the
+wood-shed and down the gravel walk and around the corner of the house was
+a marvel.
+
+"Mamma says oo dot f'eas, 'ittle goggie," said the little boy. "_Has_
+oo dot f'eas?"
+
+Fido looked crestfallen, for could Fido have spoken he would have
+confessed that he indeed _was_ afflicted with fleas,--not with very
+many fleas, but just enough to interrupt his slumbers and his meditations
+at the most inopportune moments. And the little boy's guileless
+impeachment set Fido to feeling creepy-crawly all of a sudden, and without
+any further ado Fido turned deftly in his tracks, twisted his head back
+toward his tail, and by means of several well-directed bites and plunges
+gave the malicious Bedouins thereabouts located timely warning to behave
+themselves. The little boy thought this performance very funny, and he
+laughed heartily. But Fido looked crestfallen.
+
+Oh, what play and happiness they had that day; how the green grass kissed
+their feet, and how the smell of clover came with the springtime breezes
+from the meadow yonder! The red-headed woodpecker heard them at play, and
+she clambered out of the hollow maple and dodged hither and thither as if
+she, too, shared their merriment. Yes, and the yellow thistle-bird, whose
+nest was in the blooming lilac-bush, came and perched in the pear-tree and
+sang a little song about the dear little eggs in her cunning home. And
+there was a flower in the fence-corner,--a sweet, modest flower that no
+human eyes but the little boy's had ever seen,--and she sang a little
+song, too, a song about the kind old Mother Earth and the pretty sunbeams,
+the gentle rain and the droning bees. Why, the little boy had never known
+anything half so beautiful, and Fido,--he, too, was delighted beyond all
+telling. If the whole truth must be told, Fido had such an exciting and
+bewildering romp that day that when night came, and he lay asleep on the
+kitchen floor, he dreamed he was tumbling in the green grass with the
+little boy, and he tossed and barked and whined so in his sleep that the
+hired man had to get up in the night and put him out of doors.
+
+Down in the pasture at the end of the lane lived an old woodchuck. Last
+year the freshet had driven him from his childhood's home in the
+corn-field by the brook, and now he resided in a snug hole in the pasture.
+During their rambles one day, Fido and his little boy friend had come to
+the pasture, and found the old woodchuck sitting upright at the entrance
+to his hole.
+
+"Oh, I'm not going to hurt you, old Mr. Woodchuck," said Fido. "I have too
+much respect for your gray hairs."
+
+"Thank you," replied the woodchuck, sarcastically, "but I'm not afraid of
+any bench-legged fyste that ever walked. It was only last week that I
+whipped Deacon Skinner's yellow mastiff, and I calc'late I can trounce
+you, you ridiculous little brown cur!"
+
+The little boy did not hear this badinage. When he saw the woodchuck
+solemnly perched at the entrance to his hole he was simply delighted.
+
+"Oh, see!" cried the little boy, stretching out his fat arms and running
+toward the woodchuck,--"oh, see,--'nuzzer 'ittle goggie! Turn here, 'ittle
+goggie,--me love oo!"
+
+But the old woodchuck was a shy creature, and not knowing what guile the
+little boy's cordial greeting might mask, the old woodchuck discreetly
+disappeared in his hole, much to the little boy's amazement.
+
+Nevertheless, the old woodchuck, the little boy, and Fido became fast
+friends in time, and almost every day they visited together in the
+pasture. The old woodchuck--hoary and scarred veteran that he was--had
+wonderful stories to tell,--stories of marvellous adventures, of narrow
+escapes, of battles with cruel dogs, and of thrilling experiences that
+were altogether new to his wondering listeners. Meanwhile the red-headed
+woodpecker's eggs in the hollow maple had hatched, and the proud mother
+had great tales to tell of her baby birds,--of how beautiful and knowing
+they were, and of what good, noble birds they were going to be when they
+grew up. The yellow-bird, too, had four fuzzy little babies in her nest in
+the lilac-bush, and every now and then she came to sing to the little boy
+and Fido of her darlings. Then, when the little boy and Fido were tired
+with play, they would sit in the rowen near the fence-corner and hear the
+flower tell a story the dew had brought fresh from the stars the night
+before. They all loved each other,--the little boy, Fido, the old
+woodchuck, the redheaded woodpecker, the yellow-bird, and the
+flower,--yes, all through the days of spring and all through the summer
+time they loved each other in their own honest, sweet, simple way.
+
+But one morning Fido sat on the front porch and wondered why the little
+boy had not come to the fence-corner and called to him. The sun was high,
+the men had been long gone to the harvest fields, and the heat of the
+early autumn day had driven the birds to the thickest foliage of the
+trees. Fido could not understand why the little boy did not come; he felt,
+oh' so lonesome, and he yearned for the sound of a little voice calling
+"Goggie, goggie, goggie."
+
+The red-headed woodpecker could not explain it, nor could the yellow-bird.
+Fido trotted leisurely down to the fence-corner and asked the flower if
+she had seen the little boy that morning. But no, the flower had not laid
+eyes on the little boy, and she could only shake her head doubtfully when
+Fido asked her what it all meant. At last in desperation Fido braced
+himself for an heroic solution of the mystery, and as loudly as ever he
+could, he barked three times,--in the hope, you know, that the little boy
+would hear his call and come. But the little boy did not come.
+
+Then Fido trotted sadly down the lane to the pasture to talk with the old
+woodchuck about this strange thing. The old woodchuck saw him coming and
+ambled out to meet him.
+
+"But where is our little boy?" asked the old woodchuck.
+
+"I do not know," said Fido. "I waited for him and called to him again and
+again, but he never came."
+
+Ah, those were sorry days for the little boy's friends, and sorriest for
+Fido. Poor, honest Fido, how lonesome he was and how he moped about! How
+each sudden sound, how each footfall, startled him! How he sat all those
+days upon the front door-stoop, with his eyes fixed on the fence-corner
+and his rough brown ears cocked up as if he expected each moment to see
+two chubby arms stretched out toward him and to hear a baby voice calling
+"Goggie, goggie, goggie."
+
+Once only they saw him,--Fido, the flower, and the others. It was one day
+when Fido had called louder than usual. They saw a little figure in a
+night-dress come to an upper window and lean his arms out. They saw it was
+the little boy, and, oh! how pale and ill he looked. But his yellow hair
+was as glorious as ever, and the dimples came back with the smile that
+lighted his thin little face when he saw Fido; and he leaned on the window
+casement and waved his baby hands feebly, and cried: "Goggie! goggie!"
+till Fido saw the little boy's mother come and take him from the window.
+
+One morning Fido came to the fence-corner--how very lonely that spot
+seemed now--and he talked with the flower and the woodpecker; and the
+yellow-bird came, too, and they all talked of the little boy. And at that
+very moment the old woodchuck reared his hoary head by the hole in the
+pasture, and he looked this way and that and wondered why the little boy
+never came any more.
+
+"Suppose," said Fido to the yellow-bird,--"suppose you fly to the window
+'way up there and see what the little boy is doing. Sing him one of your
+pretty songs, and tell him we are lonesome without him; that we are
+waiting for him in the old fence-corner."
+
+Then the yellow-bird did as Fido asked,--she flew to the window where they
+had once seen the little boy, and alighting upon the sill, she peered into
+the room. In another moment she was back on the bush at Fido's side.
+
+"He is asleep," said the yellow-bird.
+
+"Asleep!" cried Fido.
+
+"Yes," said the yellow-bird, "he is fast asleep. I think he must be
+dreaming a beautiful dream, for I could see a smile on his face, and his
+little hands were folded on his bosom. There were flowers all about him,
+and but for their sweet voices the chamber would have been very still."
+
+"Come, let us wake him," said Fido; "let us all call to him at once. Then
+perhaps he will hear us and awaken and answer; perhaps he will come."
+
+So they all called in chorus,--Fido and the other honest friends. They
+called so loudly that the still air of that autumn morning was strangely
+startled, and the old woodchuck in the pasture 'way off yonder heard the
+echoes and wondered.
+
+"Little boy! little boy!" they called, "why are you sleeping? Why are you
+sleeping, little boy?"
+
+Call on, dear voices! but the little boy will never hear. The dimpled
+hands that caressed you are indeed folded upon his breast; the lips that
+kissed your honest faces are sealed; the baby voice that sang your
+playtime songs with you is hushed, and all about him are the fragrance and
+the beauty of flowers. Call on, O honest friends! but he shall never hear
+your calling; for, as if he were aweary of the love and play and sunshine
+that were all he knew of earth, our darling is asleep forever.
+
+1885.
+
+
+
+
++THE OLD MAN+
+
+
+
+
+THE OLD MAN
+
+
+I called him the Old Man, but he wuzn't an old man; he wuz a little
+boy--our fust one; 'nd his gran'ma, who'd had a heap of experience in sich
+matters, allowed that he wuz for looks as likely a child as she'd ever
+clapped eyes on. Bein' our fust, we sot our hearts on him, and Lizzie
+named him Willie, for that wuz the name she liked best, havin' had a
+brother Willyum killed in the war. But I never called him anything but the
+Old Man, and that name seemed to fit him, for he wuz one of your sollum
+babies,--alwuz thinkin' 'nd thinkin' 'nd thinkin', like he wuz a jedge,
+and when he laffed it wuzn't like other children's laffs, it wuz so
+sad-like.
+
+Lizzie 'nd I made it up between us that when the Old Man growed up we'd
+send him to collige 'nd give him a lib'ril edication, no matter though we
+had to sell the farm to do it. But we never c'u'd exactly agree as to what
+we was goin' to make of him; Lizzie havin' her heart sot on his bein' a
+preacher like his gran'pa Baker, and I wantin' him to be a lawyer 'nd git
+rich out'n the corporations, like his uncle Wilson Barlow. So we never
+come to no definite conclusion as to what the Old Man wuz goin' to be bime
+by; but while we wuz thinkin' 'nd debatin' the Old Man kep' growin' 'nd
+growin', and all the time he wuz as serious 'nd sollum as a jedge.
+
+Lizzie got jest wrapped up in that boy; toted him round ever'where 'nd
+never let on like it made her tired,--powerful big 'nd hearty child too,
+but heft warn't nothin' 'longside of Lizzie's love for the Old Man. When
+he caught the measles from Sairy Baxter's baby Lizzie sot up day 'nd night
+till he wuz well, holdin' his hands 'nd singin' songs to him, 'nd cryin'
+herse'f almost to death because she dassent give him cold water to drink
+when he called f'r it. As for me, _my_ heart wuz wrapped up in the
+Old Man, _too_, but, bein' a man, it wuzn't for me to show it like
+Lizzie, bein' a woman; and now that the Old Man is--wall, now that he has
+gone, it wouldn't do to let on how much I sot by him, for that would make
+Lizzie feel all the wuss.
+
+Sometimes, when I think of it, it makes me sorry that I didn't show the
+Old Man some way how much I wuz wrapped up in him. Used to hold him in my
+lap 'nd make faces for him 'nd alder whistles 'nd things; sometimes I'd
+kiss him on his rosy cheek, when nobody wuz lookin'; oncet I tried to sing
+him a song, but it made him cry, 'nd I never tried my hand at singin'
+again. But, somehow, the Old Man didn't take to me like he took to his
+mother: would climb down outern my lap to git where Lizzie wuz; would hang
+on to her gownd, no matter what she wuz doin',--whether she wuz makin'
+bread, or sewin', or puttin' up pickles, it wuz alwuz the same to the Old
+Man; he wuzn't happy unless he wuz right there, clost beside his mother.
+
+'Most all boys, as I've heern tell, is proud to be round with their
+father, doin' what _he_ does 'nd wearin' the kind of clothes
+_he_ wears. But the Old Man wuz different; he allowed that his mother
+was his best friend, 'nd the way he stuck to her--wall, it has alwuz been
+a great comfort to Lizzie to recollect it.
+
+The Old Man had a kind of confidin' way with his mother. Every oncet in a
+while, when he'd be playin' by hisself in the front room, he'd call out,
+"Mudder, mudder;" and no matter where Lizzie wuz,--in the kitchen, or in
+the wood-shed, or in the yard, she'd answer: "What is it, darlin'?" Then
+the Old Man 'u'd say: "Turn here, mudder, I wanter tell you sumfin'."
+Never could find out what the Old Man wanted to tell Lizzie; like 's not
+he didn't wanter tell her nothin'; maybe he wuz lonesome 'nd jest wanted
+to feel that Lizzie wuz round. But that didn't make no diff'rence; it wuz
+all the same to Lizzie. No matter where she wuz or what she wuz a-doin',
+jest as soon as the Old Man told her he wanted to tell her somethin' she
+dropped ever'thing else 'nd went straight to him. Then the Old Man would
+laff one of his sollum, sad-like laffs, 'nd put his arms round Lizzie's
+neck 'nd whisper--or pertend to whisper--somethin' in her ear, 'nd Lizzie
+would laff 'nd say, "Oh, what a nice secret we have atween us!" and then
+she would kiss the Old Man 'nd go back to her work.
+
+Time changes all things,--all things but memory, nothin' can change
+_that_. Seems like it was only yesterday or the day before that I
+heern the Old Man callin', "Mudder, mudder, I wanter tell you sumfin',"
+and that I seen him put his arms around her neck 'nd whisper softly to
+her.
+
+It had been an open winter, 'nd there wuz fever all around us. The Baxters
+lost their little girl, and Homer Thompson's children had all been taken
+down. Ev'ry night 'nd mornin' we prayed God to save our darlin'; but one
+evenin' when I come up from the wood-lot, the Old Man wuz restless 'nd his
+face wuz hot 'nd he talked in his sleep. Maybe you've been through it
+yourself,--maybe you've tended a child that's down with the fever; if so,
+maybe you know what we went through, Lizzie 'nd me. The doctor shook his
+head one night when he come to see the Old Man; we knew what that meant. I
+went out-doors,--I couldn't stand it in the room there, with the Old Man
+seein' 'nd talkin' about things that the fever made him see. I wuz too big
+a coward to stay 'nd help his mother to bear up; so I went out-doors 'nd
+brung in wood,--brung in wood enough to last all spring,--and then I sat
+down alone by the kitchen fire 'nd heard the clock tick 'nd watched the
+shadders flicker through the room.
+
+I remember Lizzie's comin' to me and sayin': "He's breathin' strange-like,
+'nd his little feet is cold as ice." Then I went into the front chamber
+where he lay. The day wuz breakin'; the cattle wuz lowin' outside; a beam
+of light come through the winder and fell on the Old Man's face,--perhaps
+it wuz the summons for which he waited and which shall some time come to
+me 'nd you. Leastwise the Old Man roused from his sleep 'nd opened up his
+big blue eyes. It wuzn't me he wanted to see.
+
+"Mudder! mudder!" cried the Old Man, but his voice warn't strong 'nd clear
+like it used to be. "Mudder, where _be_ you, mudder?"
+
+Then, breshin' by me, Lizzie caught the Old Man up 'nd held him in her
+arms, like she had done a thousand times before.
+
+"What is it, darlin'? _Here_ I be," says Lizzie.
+
+"Tum here," says the Old Man,--"tum here; I wanter tell you sumfin'."
+
+The Old Man went to reach his arms around her neck 'nd whisper in her ear.
+But his arms fell limp and helpless-like, 'nd the Old Man's curly head
+drooped on his mother's breast.
+
+1889.
+
+
+
+
++BILL, THE LOKIL EDITOR+
+
+
+
+
+BILL, THE LOKIL EDITOR
+
+
+Bill wuz alluz fond uv children 'nd birds 'nd flowers. Ain't it kind o'
+curious how sometimes we find a great, big, awkward man who loves sech
+things? Bill had the biggest feet in the township, but I'll bet my wallet
+that he never trod on a violet in all his life. Bill never took no slack
+from enny man that wuz sober, but the children made him play with 'em, and
+he'd set for hours a-watchin' the yaller-hammer buildin' her nest in the
+old cottonwood.
+
+Now I ain't defendin' Bill; I'm jest tellin' the truth about him. Nothink
+I kin say one way or t'other is goin' to make enny difference now; Bill's
+dead 'nd buried, 'nd the folks is discussin' him 'nd wond'rin' whether his
+immortal soul is all right. Sometimes I _hev_ worried 'bout Bill, but
+I don't worry 'bout him no more. Uv course Bill had his faults,--I never
+liked that drinkin' business uv his'n, yet I allow that Bill got more good
+out'n likker, and likker got more good out'n Bill, than I ever see before
+or sence. It warn't when the likker wuz in Bill that Bill wuz at his best,
+but when he hed been on to one uv his bats 'nd had drunk himself sick 'nd
+wuz comin' out uv the other end of the bat, then Bill wuz one uv the
+meekest 'nd properest critters you ever seen. An' po'try? Some uv the most
+beautiful po'try I ever read wuz writ by Bill when he wuz recoverin'
+himself out'n one uv them bats. Seemed like it kind uv exalted an'
+purified Bill's nachur to git drunk an' git over it. Bill c'u'd drink more
+likker 'nd be sorrier for it than any other man in seven States. There
+never wuz a more penitent feller than he wuz when he wuz soberin'. The
+trubble with Bill seemed to be that his conscience didn't come on watch
+quite of'n enuff.
+
+It'll be ten years come nex' spring sence Bill showed up here. I don't
+know whar he come from; seemed like he didn't want to talk about his past.
+I allers suspicioned that he had seen trubble--maybe, sorrer. I reecollect
+that one time he got a telegraph,--Mr. Ivins told me 'bout it
+afterwards,--and when he read it he put his hands up to his face 'nd
+groaned, like. That day he got full uv likker 'nd he kep' full uv likker
+for a week; but when he come round all right he wrote a pome for the
+paper, 'nd the name uv the pome wuz "Mary," but whether Mary wuz his
+sister or his wife or an old sweetheart uv his'n I never knew. But it
+looked from the pome like she wuz dead 'nd that he loved her.
+
+Bill wuz the best lokil the paper ever had. He didn't hustle around much,
+but he had a kind er pleasin' way uv dishin' things up. He c'u'd be mighty
+comical when he sot out to be, but his best holt was serious pieces.
+Nobody could beat Bill writing obituaries. When old Mose Holbrook wuz
+dyin' the minister sez to him: "Mr. Holbrook, you seem to be sorry that
+you're passin' away to a better land?"
+
+"Wall, no; not exactly _that_," sez Mose, "but to be frank with you,
+I _hev_ jest one regret in connection with this affair."
+
+"What's that?" asked the minister.
+
+"I can't help feelin' sorry," sez Mose, "that I ain't goin' to hev the
+pleasure uv readin' what Bill Newton sez about me in the paper. I know
+it'll be sumthin' uncommon fine; I loant him two dollars a year ago last
+fall."
+
+The Higginses lost a darned good friend when Bill died. Bill wrote a pome
+'bout their old dog Towze when he wuz run over by Watkins's hay-wagon
+seven years ago. I'll bet that pome is in every scrap-book in the county.
+You couldn't read that pome without cryin',--why, that pome w'u'd hev
+brought a dew out on the desert uv Sary. Old Tim Hubbard, the meanest man
+in the State, borrered a paper to read the pome, and he wuz so 'fected by
+it that he never borrered anuther paper as long as he lived. I don't
+more'n half reckon, though, that the Higginses appreciated what Bill had
+done for 'em. I never heerd uv their givin' him anythink more'n a basket
+uv greenin' apples, and Bill wrote a piece 'bout the apples nex' day.
+
+But Bill wuz at his best when he wrote things about the children,--about
+the little ones that died, I mean. Seemed like Bill had a way of his own
+of sayin' things that wuz beautiful 'nd tender; he said he loved the
+children because they wuz innocent, and I reckon--yes, I know he did, for
+the pomes he writ about 'em showed he did.
+
+When our little Alice died I started out for Mr. Miller's; he wuz the
+undertaker. The night wuz powerful dark, 'nd it wuz all the darker to me,
+because seemed like all the light hed gone out in my life. Down near the
+bridge I met Bill; he weaved round in the road, for he wuz in likker.
+
+"Hello, Mr. Baker," sez he, "whar be you goin' this time o' night?"
+
+"Bill," sez I, "I'm goin' on the saddest errand uv my life."
+
+"What d' ye mean?" sez he, comin' up to me as straight as he c'u'd.
+
+"Why, Bill," sez I, "our little girl--my little girl--Allie, you
+know--she's dead."
+
+I hoarsed up so I couldn't say much more. And Bill didn't say nothink at
+all; he jest reached me his hand, and he took my hand and seemed like in
+that grasp his heart spoke many words of comfort to mine. And nex' day he
+had a piece in the paper about our little girl; we cut it out and put it
+in the big Bible in the front room. Sometimes when we get to fussin',
+Martha goes 'nd gets that bit of paper 'nd reads it to me; then us two
+kind uv cry to ourselves, 'nd we make it up between us for the dead
+child's sake.
+
+Well, you kin see how it wuz that so many uv us liked Bill; he had soothed
+our hearts,--there's nothin' like sympathy after all. Bill's po'try hed
+heart in it; it didn't surprise you or scare you; it jest got down in
+under your vest, 'nd before you knew it you wuz all choked up. I know all
+about your fashionable po'try and your famous potes,--Martha took Godey's
+for a year. Folks that live in the city can't write po'try,--not the real,
+genuine article. To write po'try, as I figure it, the heart must have
+somethin' to feed on; you can't get that somethin' whar there ain't trees
+'nd grass 'nd birds 'nd flowers. Bill loved these things, and he fed his
+heart on 'em, and that's why his po'try wuz so much better than anybody
+else's.
+
+I ain't worryin' much about Bill now; I take it that everythink is for the
+best. When they told me that Bill died in a drunken fit I felt that his
+end oughter have come some other way,--he wuz too good a man for that. But
+maybe, after all, it was ordered for the best. Jist imagine Bill
+a-standin' up for jedgment; jist imagine that poor, sorrowful, shiverin'
+critter waitin' for his turn to come. Pictur', if you can, how full of
+penitence he is, 'nd how full uv po'try 'nd gentleness 'nd misery. The
+Lord ain't a-goin' to be too hard on that poor wretch. Of course we can't
+comprehend Divine mercy; we only know that it is full of compassion,--a
+compassion infinitely tenderer and sweeter than ours. And the more I think
+on 't, the more I reckon that Bill will plead to win that mercy, for, like
+as not, the little ones--my Allie with the rest--will run to him when they
+see him in his trubble and will hold his tremblin' hands 'nd twine their
+arms about him, and plead, with him, for compassion.
+
+You've seen an old sycamore that the lightnin' has struck; the ivy has
+reached up its vines 'nd spread 'em all around it 'nd over it, coverin'
+its scars 'nd splintered branches with a velvet green 'nd fillin' the air
+with fragrance. You've seen this thing and you know that it is beautiful.
+
+That's Bill, perhaps, as he stands up f'r jedgment,--a miserable,
+tremblin', 'nd unworthy thing, perhaps, but twined about, all over, with
+singin' and pleadin' little children--and that is pleasin' in God's sight,
+I know.
+
+What would you--what would _I_--say, if we wuz settin' in jedgment
+then?
+
+Why, we'd jest kind uv bresh the moisture from our eyes 'nd say: "Mister
+recordin' angel, you may nolly pros this case 'nd perseed with the
+docket."
+
+1888.
+
+
+
+
++THE LITTLE YALLER BABY+
+
+
+
+
+THE LITTLE YALLER BABY
+
+
+I hev allus hed a good opinion uv the wimmin folks. I don't look at 'em as
+some people do; uv course they're a necessity--just as men are. Uv course
+if there warn't no wimmin folks there wouldn't be no men folks--leastwise
+that's what the medikil books say. But I never wuz much on discussin'
+humin economy; what I hev allus thought 'nd said wuz that wimmin folks wuz
+a kind uv luxury, 'nd the best kind, too. Maybe it's because I hain't hed
+much to do with 'em that I'm sot on 'em. Never did get real well
+acquainted with more'n three or four uv 'em in all my life; seemed like it
+wuz meant that I shouldn't hev 'em round me as most men hev. Mother died
+when I wuz a little tyke, an' Aunt Mary raised me till I wuz big enuff to
+make my own livin'. Down here in the Southwest, you see, most uv the girls
+is boys; there ain't none uv them civilizin' influences folks talk
+uv,--nothin' but flowers 'nd birds 'nd such things as poetry tells about.
+So I kind uv growed up with the curi's notion that wimmin folks wuz too
+good for our part uv the country, 'nd I hevn't quite got that notion out'n
+my head yet.
+
+One time--wall, I reckon 't wuz about four years ago--I got a letter frum
+ol' Col. Sibley to come up to Saint Louey 'nd consult with him 'bout some
+stock int'rests we hed together. Railroad travellin' wuz no new thing to
+me. I hed been prutty prosperous,--hed got past hevin' to ride in a
+caboose 'nd git out at every stop to punch up the steers. Hed money in the
+Hoost'n bank 'nd used to go to Tchicargo oncet a year; hed met Fill Armer
+'nd shook hands with him, 'nd oncet the city papers hed a colume article
+about my bein' a millionnaire; uv course 't warn't so, but a feller kind
+uv likes that sort uv thing, you know.
+
+The mornin' after I got that letter from Col. Sibley I started for Saint
+Louey. I took a bunk in the Pullman car, like I hed been doin' for six
+years past; 'nd I reckon the other folks must hev thought I wuz a heap uv
+a man, for every haff-hour I give the nigger ha'f a dollar to bresh me
+off. The car wuz full uv people,--rich people, too, I reckon, for they
+wore good clo'es 'nd criticized the scenery. Jest across frum me there wuz
+a lady with a big, fat baby,--the pruttiest woman I hed seen in a month uv
+Sundays; and the baby! why, doggone my skin, when I wuzn't payin' money to
+the nigger, darned if I didn't set there watchin' the big, fat little
+cuss, like he wuz the only baby I ever seen. I ain't much of a hand at
+babies, 'cause I hain't seen many uv 'em, 'nd when it comes to handlin'
+'em--why, that would break me all up, 'nd like 's not 't would break the
+baby all up too. But it has allus been my notion that nex' to the wimmin
+folks babies wuz jest about the nicest things on earth. So the more I
+looked at that big, fat little baby settin' in its mother's lap 'cross the
+way, the more I wanted to look; seemed like I wuz hoodooed by the little
+tyke; 'nd the first thing I knew there wuz water in my eyes; don't know
+why it is, but it allus makes me kind ur slop over to set 'nd watch a baby
+cooin' 'nd playin' in its mother's lap.
+
+"Look a' hyar, Sam," says I to the nigger, "come hyar 'nd bresh me off
+ag'in! Why ain't you 'tendin' to bizness?"
+
+But it didn't do no good 't all; pertendin' to be cross with the nigger
+might fool the other folks in the car, but it didn't fool me. I wuz dead
+stuck on that baby--gol durn his pictur'! And there the little tyke set in
+its mother's lap, doublin' up its fists 'nd tryin' to swaller 'em, 'nd
+talkin' like to its mother in a lingo I couldn't understan', but which the
+mother could, for she talked back to the baby in a soothin' lingo which I
+couldn't understand, but which I liked to hear, 'nd she kissed the baby
+'nd stroked its hair 'nd petted it like wimmin do.
+
+It made me mad to hear them other folks in the car criticizin' the scenery
+'nd things. A man's in mighty poor bizness, anyhow, to be lookin' at
+scenery when there's a woman in sight,--a woman _and_ a baby!
+
+Prutty soon--oh, maybe in a hour or two--the baby began to fret 'nd
+worrit. Seemed to me like the little critter wuz hungry. Knowin' that
+there wuz no eatin'-house this side of Bowieville, I jest called the
+train-boy, 'nd says I to him: "Hev you got any victuals that will do for a
+baby?"
+
+"How is oranges 'nd bananas?" says he.
+
+"That ought to do," says I. "Jist do up a dozen uv your best oranges 'nd a
+dozen uv your best bananas 'nd take 'em over to that baby with my
+complerments."
+
+But before he could do it, the lady hed laid the baby on one uv her arms
+'nd hed spread a shawl over its head 'nd over her shoulder, 'nd all uv a
+suddint the baby quit worritin' and seemed like he hed gone to sleep.
+
+When we got to York Crossin' I looked out'n the winder 'nd seen some men
+carryin' a long pine box up towards the baggage-car. Seein' their hats
+off, I knew there wuz a dead body in the box, 'nd I couldn't help feelin'
+sorry for the poor creetur that hed died in that lonely place uv York
+Crossin'; but I mought hev felt a heap sorrier for the creeters that hed
+to live there, for I'll allow that York Crossin' is a _leetle_ the
+durnedest lonesomest place I ever seen.
+
+Well, just afore the train started ag'in, who should come into the car but
+Bill Woodson, and he wuz lookin' powerful tough. Bill herded cattle for me
+three winters, but hed moved away when he married one uv the waiter-girls
+at Spooner's Hotel at Hoost'n.
+
+"Hello, Bill," says I; "what air you totin' so kind uv keerful-like in
+your arms there?"
+
+"Why, I've got the baby," says he; 'nd as he said it the tears come up
+into his eyes.
+
+"Your own baby, Bill?" says I.
+
+"Yes," says he. "Nellie took sick uv the janders a fortnight ago, 'nd--'nd
+she died, 'nd I'm takin' her body up to Texarkany to bury. She lived
+there, you know, 'nd I'm goin' to leave the baby there with its gran'ma."
+
+Poor Bill! it wuz his wife that the men were carryin' in that pine box to
+the baggage-car.
+
+"Likely-lookin'baby, Bill," says I, cheerful like. "Perfect pictur' uv its
+mother; kind uv favors you round the lower part uv the face, tho'."
+
+I said this to make Bill feel happier. If I'd told the truth, I'd 've said
+the baby wuz a sickly, yaller-lookin' little thing, for so it wuz; looked
+haff-starved, too. Couldn't help comparin' it with that big, fat baby in
+its mother's arms over the way.
+
+"Bill," says I, "here's a ten-dollar note for the baby, 'nd God bless
+you!"
+
+"Thank ye, Mr. Goodhue," says he, 'nd he choked all up as he moved off
+with that yaller little baby in his arms. It warn't very fur up the road
+he wuz goin', 'nd he found a seat in one uv the front cars.
+
+But along about an hour after that back come Bill, moseyin' through the
+car like he wuz huntin' for somebody. Seemed like he wuz in trubble and
+wuz huntin' for a friend.
+
+"Anything I kin do for you, Bill?" says I, but he didn't make no answer.
+All uv a suddint he sot his eyes on the prutty lady that had the fat baby
+sleepin' in her arms, 'nd he made a break for her like he wuz crazy. He
+took off his hat 'nd bent down over her 'nd said somethin' none uv the
+rest uv us could hear. The lady kind uv started like she wuz frightened,
+'nd then she looked up at Bill 'nd looked him right square in the
+countenance. She saw a tall, ganglin', awkward man, with long yaller hair
+'nd frowzy beard, 'nd she saw that he wuz tremblin' 'nd hed tears in his
+eyes. She looked down at the fat baby in her arms, 'nd then she looked
+out'n the winder at the great stretch uv prairie land, 'nd seemed like she
+wuz lookin' off further 'n the rest uv us could see. Then at last she
+turnt around 'nd said, "Yes," to Bill, 'nd Bill went off into the front
+car ag'in.
+
+None uv the rest uv us knew what all this meant, but in a minnit Bill come
+back with his little yaller baby in his arms, 'nd you never heerd a baby
+squall 'nd carry on like that baby wuz squallin' 'nd carryin' on. Fact is,
+the little yaller baby wuz hungry, hungrier 'n a wolf, 'nd there wuz its
+mother dead in the car up ahead 'nd its gran'ma a good piece up the road.
+What did the lady over the way do but lay her own sleepin' baby down on
+the seat beside her 'nd take Bill's little yaller baby 'nd hold it on one
+arm 'nd cover up its head 'nd her shoulder with a shawl, jist like she had
+done with the fat baby not long afore. Bill never looked at her; he took
+off his hat and held it in his hand, 'nd turnt around 'nd stood guard over
+that mother, 'nd I reckon that ef any man bed darst to look that way jist
+then Bill would 've cut his heart out.
+
+The little yaller baby didn't cry very long. Seemed like it knowed there
+wuz a mother holdin' it,--not its own mother, but a woman whose life hed
+been hallowed by God's blessin' with the love 'nd the purity 'nd the
+sanctity uv motherhood.
+
+Why, I wouldn't hev swapped that sight uv Bill an' them two babies 'nd
+that sweet woman for all the cattle in Texas! It jest made me know that
+what I'd allus thought uv wimmin was gospel truth. God bless that lady! I
+say, wherever she is to-day, 'nd God bless all wimmin folks, for they're
+all alike in their unselfishness 'nd gentleness 'nd love!
+
+Bill said, "God bless ye!" too, when she handed him back his poor little
+yaller baby. The little creeter wuz fast asleep, 'nd Bill darsent speak
+very loud for fear he'd wake it up. But his heart wuz 'way up in his mouth
+when he says "God bless ye!" to that dear lady; 'nd then he added, like he
+wanted to let her know that he meant to pay her back when he could: "I'll
+do the same for you some time, marm, if I kin."
+
+1888.
+
+
+
+
++THE CYCLOPEEDY+
+
+
+
+
+THE CYCLOPEEDY
+
+
+Havin' lived next door to the Hobart place f'r goin' on thirty years, I
+calc'late that I know jest about ez much about the case ez anybody else
+now on airth, exceptin' perhaps it's ol' Jedge Baker, and he's so plaguy
+old 'nd so powerful feeble that _he_ don't know nothin'.
+
+It seems that in the spring uv '47--the year that Cy Watson's oldest boy
+wuz drownded in West River--there come along a book-agent sellin' volyumes
+'nd tracks f'r the diffusion uv knowledge, 'nd havin' got the recommend of
+the minister 'nd uv the selectmen, he done an all-fired big business in
+our part uv the county. His name wuz Lemuel Higgins, 'nd he wuz ez likely
+a talker ez I ever heerd, barrin' Lawyer Conkey, 'nd everybody allowed
+that when Conkey wuz round he talked so fast that the town pump 'u'd have
+to be greased every twenty minutes.
+
+One of the first uv our folks that this Lemuel Higgins struck wuz Leander
+Hobart. Leander had jest marr'd one uv the Peasley girls, 'nd had moved
+into the old homestead on the Plainville road,--old Deacon Hobart havin'
+give up the place to him, the other boys havin' moved out West (like a lot
+o' darned fools that they wuz!). Leander wuz feelin' his oats jest about
+this time, 'nd nuthin' wuz too good f'r him.
+
+"Hattie," sez he, "I guess I'll have to lay in a few books f'r readin' in
+the winter time, 'nd I've half a notion to subscribe f'r a cyclopeedy. Mr.
+Higgins here says they're invalerable in a family, and that we orter have
+'em, bein' as how we're likely to have the fam'ly bime by."
+
+"Lor's sakes, Leander, how you talk!" sez Hattie, blushin' all over, ez
+brides allers does to heern tell uv sich things.
+
+Waal, to make a long story short, Leander bargained with Mr. Higgins for a
+set uv them cyclopeedies, 'nd he signed his name to a long printed paper
+that showed how he agreed to take a cyclopeedy oncet in so often, which
+wuz to be ez often ez a new one uv the volyumes wuz printed. A cyclopeedy
+isn't printed all at oncet, because that would make it cost too much;
+consekently the man that gets it up has it strung along fur apart, so as
+to hit folks oncet every year or two, and gin'rally about harvest time. So
+Leander kind uv liked the idee, and he signed the printed paper 'nd made
+his affidavit to it afore Jedge Warner.
+
+The fust volyume of the cyclopeedy stood on a shelf in the old seckertary
+in the settin'-room about four months before they had any use f'r it. One
+night Squire Turner's son come over to visit Leander 'nd Hattie, and they
+got to talkin' about apples, 'nd the sort uv apples that wuz the best.
+Leander allowed that the Rhode Island greenin' wuz the best, but Hattie
+and the Turner boy stuck up f'r the Roxbury russet, until at last a happy
+idee struck Leander, and sez he: "We'll leave it to the cyclopeedy,
+b'gosh! Whichever one the cyclopeedy sez is the best will settle it."
+
+"But you can't find out nothin' 'bout Roxbury russets nor Rhode Island
+greenin's in _our_ cyclopeedy," sez Hattie.
+
+"Why not, I'd like to know?" sez Leander, kind uv indignant like.
+
+"'Cause ours hain't got down to the R yet," sez Hattie. "All ours tells
+about is things beginnin' with A."
+
+"Well, ain't we talkin' about Apples?" sez Leander. "You aggervate me
+terrible, Hattie, by insistin' on knowin' what you don't know nothin'
+'bout."
+
+Leander went to the seckertary 'nd took down the cyclopeedy 'nd hunted all
+through it f'r Apples, but all he could find wuz "Apple--See Pomology."
+
+"How in thunder kin I see Pomology," sez Leander, "when there ain't no
+Pomology to see? Gol durn a cyclopeedy, anyhow!"
+
+And he put the volyume back onto the shelf 'nd never sot eyes into it
+ag'in.
+
+That's the way the thing run f'r years 'nd years. Leander would 've gin up
+the plaguy bargain, but he couldn't; he had signed a printed paper 'nd had
+swore to it afore a justice of the peace. Higgins would have had the law
+on him if he had throwed up the trade.
+
+The most aggervatin' feature uv it all wuz that a new one uv them cussid
+cyclopeedies wuz allus sure to show up at the wrong time,--when Leander
+wuz hard up or had jest been afflicted some way or other. His barn burnt
+down two nights afore the volyume containin' the letter B arrived, and
+Leander needed all his chink to pay f'r lumber, but Higgins sot back on
+that affidavit and defied the life out uv him.
+
+"Never mind, Leander," sez his wife, soothin' like, "it's a good book to
+have in the house, anyhow, now that we've got a baby."
+
+"That's so," sez Leander, "babies does begin with B, don't it?"
+
+You see their fust baby had been born; they named him Peasley,--Peasley
+Hobart,--after Hattie's folks. So, seein' as how it wuz payin' f'r a book
+that told about babies, Leander didn't begredge that five dollars so very
+much after all.
+
+"Leander," sez Hattie one forenoon, "that B cyclopeedy ain't no account.
+There ain't nothin' in it about babies except 'See Maternity'!"
+
+"Waal, I'll be gosh durned!" sez Leander. That wuz all he said, and he
+couldn't do nothin' at all, f'r that book-agent, Lemuel Higgins, had the
+dead wood on him,--the mean, sneakin' critter!
+
+So the years passed on, one of them cyclopeedies showin' up now 'nd
+then,--sometimes every two years 'nd sometimes every four, but allus at a
+time when Leander found it pesky hard to give up a fiver. It warn't no use
+cussin' Higgins; Higgins just laffed when Leander allowed that the
+cyclopeedy was no good 'nd that he wuz bein' robbed. Meantime Leander's
+family wuz increasin' and growin'. Little Sarey had the hoopin' cough
+dreadful one winter, but the cyclopeedy didn't help out at all, 'cause all
+it said wuz: "Hoopin' Cough--See Whoopin' Cough"--and uv course there
+warn't no Whoopin' Cough to see, bein' as how the W hadn't come yet!
+
+Oncet when Hiram wanted to dreen the home pasture, he went to the
+cyclopeedy to find out about it, but all he diskivered wuz:
+
+"Drain--See Tile." This wuz in 1859, and the cyclopeedy had only got down
+to G.
+
+The cow wuz sick with lung fever one spell, and Leander laid her dyin' to
+that cussid cyclopeedy, 'cause when he went to readin' 'bout cows it told
+him to "See Zoology."
+
+But what's the use uv harrowin' up one's feelin's talkin' 'nd thinkin'
+about these things? Leander got so after a while that the cyclopeedy
+didn't worry him at all: he grew to look at it ez one uv the crosses that
+human critters has to bear without complainin' through this vale uv tears.
+The only thing that bothered him wuz the fear that mebbe he wouldn't live
+to see the last volyume,--to tell the truth, this kind uv got to be his
+hobby, and I've heern him talk 'bout it many a time settin' round the
+stove at the tarvern 'nd squirtin' tobacco juice at the sawdust box. His
+wife, Hattie, passed away with the yaller janders the winter W come, and
+all that seemed to reconcile Leander to survivin' her wuz the prospect uv
+seein' the last volyume of that cyclopeedy. Lemuel Higgins, the
+book-agent, had gone to his everlastin' punishment; but his son, Hiram,
+had succeeded to his father's business 'nd continued to visit the folks
+his old man had roped in. By this time Leander's children had growed up;
+all on 'em wuz marr'd, and there wuz numeris grandchildren to amuse the
+ol' gentleman. But Leander wuzn't to be satisfied with the common things
+uv airth; he didn't seem to take no pleasure in his grandchildren like
+most men do; his mind wuz allers sot on somethin' else,--for hours 'nd
+hours, yes, all day long, he'd set out on the front stoop lookin'
+wistfully up the road for that book-agent to come along with a cyclopeedy.
+He didn't want to die till he'd got all the cyclopeedies his contract
+called for; he wanted to have everything straightened out before he passed
+away. When--oh, how well I recollect it--when Y come along he wuz so
+overcome that he fell over in a fit uv paralysis, 'nd the old gentleman
+never got over it. For the next three years he drooped 'nd pined, and
+seemed like he couldn't hold out much longer. Finally he had to take to
+his bed,--he was so old 'nd feeble,--but he made 'em move the bed up
+ag'inst the winder so he could watch for that last volyume of the
+cyclopeedy.
+
+The end come one balmy day in the spring uv '87. His life wuz a-ebbin'
+powerful fast; the minister wuz there, 'nd me, 'nd Dock Wilson, 'nd Jedge
+Baker, 'nd most uv the fam'ly. Lovin' hands smoothed the wrinkled forehead
+'nd breshed back the long, scant, white hair, but the eyes of the dyin'
+man wuz sot upon that piece uv road down which the cyclopeedy man allus
+come.
+
+All to oncet a bright 'nd joyful look come into them eyes, 'nd ol' Leander
+riz up in bed 'nd sez, "It's come!"
+
+"What is it, Father?" asked his daughter Sarey, sobbin' like.
+
+"Hush," says the minister, solemnly; "he sees the shinin' gates uv the Noo
+Jerusalum."
+
+"No, no," cried the aged man; "it is the cyclopeedy--the letter Z--it's
+comin'!"
+
+And, sure enough! the door opened, and in walked Higgins. He tottered
+rather than walked, f'r he had growed old 'nd feeble in his wicked
+perfession.
+
+"Here's the Z cyclopeedy, Mr. Hobart," sez Higgins.
+
+Leander clutched it; he hugged it to his pantin' bosom; then stealin' one
+pale hand under the piller he drew out a faded banknote 'nd gave it to
+Higgins.
+
+"I thank Thee for this boon," sez Leander, rollin' his eyes up devoutly;
+then he gave a deep sigh.
+
+"Hold on," cried Higgins, excitedly, "you've made a mistake--it isn't the
+last--"
+
+But Leander didn't hear him--his soul hed fled from its mortal tenement
+'nd hed soared rejoicin' to realms uv everlastin' bliss.
+
+"He is no more," sez Dock Wilson, metaphorically.
+
+"Then who are his heirs?" asked that mean critter Higgins.
+
+"We be," sez the family.
+
+"Do you conjointly and severally acknowledge and assume the obligation of
+deceased to me?" he asked 'em.
+
+"What obligation?" asked Peasley Hobart, stern like.
+
+"Deceased died owin' me f'r a cyclopeedy!" sez Higgins.
+
+"That's a lie!" sez Peasley. "We all seen him pay you for the Z!"
+
+"But there's another one to come," sez Higgins.
+
+"Another?" they all asked.
+
+"Yes, the index!" sez he.
+
+So there wuz, and I'll be eternally gol durned if he ain't a-suin' the
+estate in the probate court now f'r the price uv it!
+
+1889
+
+
+
+
++DOCK STEBBINS+
+
+
+
+
+DOCK STEBBINS
+
+
+Most everybody liked Dock Stebbins, fur all he wuz the durnedest critter
+that ever lived to play jokes on folks! Seems like he wuz born jokin' 'nd
+kep' it up all his life. Ol' Mrs. Stebbins used to tell how when the Dock
+wuz a baby he used to wake her up haff a dozen times uv a night cryin'
+like he wuz hungry, 'nd when she turnt over in bed to him he w'u'd laff
+'nd coo like he wuz sayin', "No, thank ye--I wuz only foolin'!"
+
+His mother allus thought a heap uv the Dock, 'nd she allus put up with his
+jokes 'nd things without grumblin'; said it warn't his fault that he wuz
+so full uv tricks 'nd funny business; kind uv took the responsibility uv
+it onto herself, because, as she allowed, she'd been to a circus jest
+afore he wuz born.
+
+Nothin' tickled the Dock more 'n to worry folks,--not in a mean way, but
+jest to sort uv bother 'em. Used to hang round the post-office 'nd pertend
+to have fits,--sakes alive! but how that scared the wimmin folks. One day
+who should come along but ol' Sue Perkins; Sue wuz suspicioned uv takin' a
+nip uv likker on the quiet now 'nd then, but nobody had ever ketched her
+at it. Wall, the Dock he had one uv his fits jest as Sue hove in sight,
+'nd Lem Thompson (who stood in with Dock in all his deviltry) leant over
+Dock while he wuz wallerin' 'nd pertendin' to foam at the mouth, and Lem
+cried out: "Nothink will fetch him out'n this turn but a drink uv brandy."
+Sue, who wuz as kind-hearted a' old maid as ever super'ntended a
+strawbeiry festival, whipped a bottle out'n her bag 'nd says: "Here you
+be, Lem, but don't let him swaller the bottle." Folks bothered Sue a heap
+'bout this joke till she moved down into Texas to teach school.
+
+Dock had a piece uv wood 'bout two inches long,--maybe three: it wuz black
+'nd stubby 'nd looked jest like the butt uv a cigar. Nobody but Dock w'u'd
+ever hev thought uv sech a fool thing, but Dock used to go round with that
+thing in his mouth like it wuz a cigar, and when he 'd meet a man who wuz
+smokin' he'd say: "Excuse me, but will you please to gimme a light?" Then
+the man w'u'd hand over his cigar, and Dock w'u'd plough that wood stub uv
+his'n around in the lighted cigar and would pertend to puff away till he
+had put the real cigar out, 'nd then Dock w'u'd hand the cigar back,
+sayin', kind uv regretful like: "You don't seem to have much uv a light
+there; I reckon I'll wait till I kin git a match." You kin imagine how
+that other feller's cigar tasted when he lighted it ag'in. Dock tried it
+on me oncet, 'nd when I lighted up ag'in seemed like I wuz smokin' a piece
+uv rope or a liver-pad.
+
+One time Dock 'nd Lem Thompson went over to Peory on the railroad, 'nd
+while they wuz settm' in the car in come two wimmin 'nd set in the seat
+ahead uv 'em. All uv a suddint Dock nudged Lem 'nd says, jest loud enuff
+fur the wimmin to hear: "I didn't git round till after it wuz over, but I
+never see sech a sight as that baby's ear wuz."
+
+Lem wuz onto Dock's methods, 'nd he knew there wuz sumthin' ahead. So he
+says: "Tough-lookin' ear, wuz it?"
+
+"Wall, I should remark," says Dock. "You see it wuz like this: the mother
+had gone out into the back yard to hang some clo'es onto the line, 'nd she
+laid the baby down in the crib. Baby wa'n't more 'n six weeks
+old,--helpless little critter as ever you seen. Wall, all to oncet the
+mother heerd the baby cryin', but bein' busy with them clo'es she didn't
+mind much. The baby kep' cryin' 'nd cryin', 'nd at last the mother come
+back into the house, 'nd there she found a big rat gnawin' at one uv the
+baby's ears,--had e't it nearly off! There lay that helpless little
+innocent, cryin' 'nd writhin', 'nd there sat that rat with his long tail,
+nippin' 'nd chewin' at one uv them tiny coral ears--oh, it wuz offul!"
+
+"Jest imagine the feelinks uv the mother!" says Lem, sad like.
+
+"Jest imagine the feelinks uv the _baby_," says Dock. "How'd you like
+to be lyin' helpless in a crib with a big rat gnawin' your ear?"
+
+Wall, all this conversation wuz fur from pleasant to those two wimmin in
+the front seat, fur wimmin love babies 'nd hate rats, you know. It wuz
+nuts fur Dock 'nd Lem to see the two wimmin squirm, 'nd all the way to
+Peory they didn't talk about nuthink but snakes 'nd spiders 'nd mice 'nd
+caterpillers. When the train got to Peory a gentleman met the two wimmin
+'nd says to one uv 'em: "I'm 'feered the trip hain't done you much good,
+Lizzie," says he. "Sakes alive, John," says she, "it's a wonder we hain't
+dead, for we've been travellin' forty miles with a real live Beadle dime
+novvell!"
+
+'Nuther trick Dock had wuz to walk 'long the street behind wimmin 'nd tell
+about how his sister had jest lost one uv her diamond earrings while out
+walkin'. Jest as soon as the wimmin heerd this they'd clap their han's up
+to their ears to see if their earrings wuz all right. Dock never laffed
+nor let on like he wuz jokin', but jest the same this sort uv thing
+tickled him nearly to de'th.
+
+Dock went up to Chicago with Jedge Craig oncet, 'nd when they come back
+the jedge said he'd never had such an offul time in all his born days.
+Said that Dock bought a fool Mother Goose book to read in the hoss-cars
+jest to queer folks; would set in a hoss-car lookin' at the pictur's 'nd
+readin' the verses 'nd laffin' like it wuz all new to him 'nd like he wuz
+a child. Everybody sized him up for a' eject, 'nd the wimmin folks shook
+their heads 'nd said it was orful fur so fine a lookin' feller to be such
+a torn fool. 'Nuther thing Dock did wuz to git hold uv a bad quarter 'nd
+give it to a beggar, 'nd then foller the beggar into a saloon 'nd git him
+arrested for tryin' to pass counterf'it money. I reckon that if Dock had
+stayed in Chicago a week he'd have had everybody crazy.
+
+No, I don't know how he come to be a medikil man. He told me oncet that
+when he found out that he wuzn't good for anythink he concluded he'd be a
+doctor; but I reckon that wuz one uv his jokes. He didn't have much uv a
+practice: he wuz too yumorous to suit most invalids 'nd sick folks. We had
+him tend our boy Sam jest oncet when Sam wuz comin' down with the measles.
+He looked at Sam's tongue 'nd felt his pulse 'nd said he'd leave a pill
+for Sam to take afore goin' to bed.
+
+"How shell we administer the pill?" asked my wife.
+
+"Wall," says Dock, "the best way to do is to git the boy down on the floor
+'nd hold his mouth open 'nd gag him till he swallers the pill. After the
+pill gits into his system it will explode in about ten minnits, 'nd then
+the boy will feel better."
+
+This wuz cheerful news for the boy. No human power c'u'd ha' got that pill
+into Sam. We never solicited Dock's perfeshional services ag'in.
+
+One time Dock 'nd Lem Thompson drove over to Knoxville to help Dock
+Parsons cut a man's leg off. About four miles out uv town 'nd right in the
+middle uv the hot peraroor they met Moses Baker's oldest boy trudgin'
+along with a basket uv eggs. The Dock whoaed his hoss 'nd called to the
+boy,--
+
+"Where be you goin' with them eggs?" says he.
+
+"Goin' to town to sell 'em," says the boy.
+
+"How much a dozen?" asked the Dock.
+
+"'Bout ten cents, I reckon," says the boy.
+
+"Putty likely-lookin' eggs," says the Dock; 'nd he handed the lines over
+to Lem, 'nd got out'n the buggy.
+
+"How many hev you got?" he asked.
+
+"Ten dozen," says the boy.
+
+"Git out!" says Dock. "There hain't no ten dozen eggs in that basket!"
+
+"Yes, there is," says the boy, "fur I counted 'em myself."
+
+The Dock allowed that he wuzn't goin' to take nobody's count on eggs; so
+he got that fool boy to stan' there in the middle uv that hot peraroor,
+claspin' his two hands together, while he, the Dock, counted them eggs
+out'n the basket one by one into the boy's arms. Ten dozen eggs is a heap;
+you kin imagine, maybe, how that boy looked with his arms full uv eggs!
+When the Dock had got about nine dozen counted out he stopped all uv a
+suddint 'nd said, "Wall, come to think on 't, I reckon I don't want no
+eggs to-day, but I'm jest as much obleeged to you fur yer trubble." And so
+he jumped back into the buggy 'nd drove off.
+
+Now, maybe that fool boy wuzn't in a peck uv trubble! There he stood in
+the middle uv that hot--that all-fired hot--peraroor with his arms full uv
+eggs. What wuz there fur him to do? He wuz afraid to move, lest he should
+break them eggs; yet the longer he stood there the less chance there wuz
+uv the warm weather improvin' the eggs.
+
+Along in the summer of '78 the fever broke out down South, 'nd one day
+Dock made up his mind that as bizness wuzn't none too good at home he'd go
+down South 'nd see what he could do there. That wuz jest like one of
+Dock's fool notions, we all said. But he went. In about six weeks along
+come a telegraph sayin' that Dock wuz dead,--he'd died uv the fever. The
+minister went up to the homestead 'nd broke the news gentle like to Dock's
+mother; but, bless you! she didn't believe it--she wouldn't believe it.
+She said it wuz one uv Dock's jokes; she didn't blame him, nuther--it wuz
+_her_ fault, she allowed, that Dock wuz allus that way about makin'
+fun uv life 'nd death. No, sir; she never believed that Dock wuz dead, but
+she allus talked like he might come in any minnit; and there wuz allus his
+old place set fur him at the table 'nd nuthin' wuz disturbed in his little
+room up-stairs. And so five years slipped by 'nd no Dock come back, 'nd
+there wuz no tidin's uv him. Uv course, the rest uv us knew; but his
+mother--oh, no, _she_ never would believe it.
+
+At last the old lady fell sick, and the doctor said she couldn't hold out
+long, she wuz so old 'nd feeble. The minister who wuz there said that she
+seemed to sleep from the evenin' uv this life into the mornin' uv the
+next. Jest afore the last she kind uv raised up in bed and cried out like
+she saw sumthin' that she loved, and she held out her arms like there wuz
+some one standin' in the doorway. Then they asked her what the matter wuz,
+and she says, joyful like: "He's come back, and there he stan's jest as he
+used ter: I knew he wuz only jokin'!"
+
+They looked, but they saw nuthin'; 'nd when they went to her she wuz dead.
+
+1888.
+
+
+
+
++THE FAIRIES OF PESTH+
+
+
+
+
+THE FAIRIES OF PESTH [1]
+
+
+An old poet walked alone in a quiet valley. His heart was heavy, and the
+voices of Nature consoled him. His life had been a lonely and sad one.
+Many years ago a great grief fell upon him, and it took away all his joy
+and all his ambition. It was because he brooded over his sorrow, and
+because he was always faithful to a memory, that the townspeople deemed
+him a strange old poet; but they loved him and they loved his songs,--in
+his life and in his songs there was a gentleness, a sweetness, a pathos
+that touched every heart. "The strange, the dear old poet," they called
+him.
+
+Evening was coming on. The birds made no noise; only the whip-poor-will
+repeated over and over again its melancholy refrain in the marsh beyond
+the meadow. The brook ran slowly, and its voice was so hushed and tiny
+that you might have thought that it was saying its prayers before going to
+bed.
+
+The old poet came to the three lindens. This was a spot he loved, it was
+so far from the noise of the town. The grass under the lindens was fresh
+and velvety. The air was full of fragrance, for here amid the grass grew
+violets and daisies and buttercups and other modest wild-flowers. Under
+the lindens stood old Leeza, the witchwife.
+
+"Take this," said the poet to old Leeza, the witchwife; and he gave her a
+silver piece.
+
+"You are good to me, master poet," said the witchwife. "You have always
+been good to me. I do not forget, master poet, I do not forget."
+
+"Why do you speak so strangely?" asked the old poet. "You mean more than
+you say. Do not jest with me; my heart is heavy with sorrow."
+
+"I do not jest," answered the witchwife. "I will show you a strange thing.
+Do as I bid you; tarry here under the lindens, and when the moon rises,
+the Seven Crickets will chirp thrice; then the Raven will fly into the
+west, and you will see wonderful things, and beautiful things you will
+hear."
+
+Saying this much, old Leeza, the witch-wife, stole away, and the poet
+marvelled at her words. He had heard the townspeople say that old Leeza
+was full of dark thoughts and of evil deeds, but he did not heed these
+stories.
+
+"They say the same of me, perhaps," he thought. "I will tarry here beneath
+the three lindens and see what may come of this whereof the witch wife
+spake."
+
+The old poet sat amid the grass at the foot of the three lindens, and
+darkness fell around him. He could see the lights in the town away off;
+they twinkled like the stars that studded the sky. The whip-poor-will told
+his story over and over again in the marsh beyond the meadow, and the
+brook tossed and talked in its sleep, for it had played too hard that day.
+
+"The moon is rising," said the old poet. "Now we shall see."
+
+The moon peeped over the tops of the far-off hills. She wondered whether
+the world was fast asleep. She peeped again. There could be no doubt; the
+world was fast asleep,--at least so thought the dear old moon. So she
+stepped boldly up from behind the distant hills. The stars were glad that
+she came, for she was indeed a merry old moon.
+
+The Seven Crickets lived in the hedge. They were brothers, and they made
+famous music. When they saw the moon in the sky they sang "chirp-chirp,
+chirp-chirp, chirp-chirp," three times, just as old Leeza, the witchwife,
+said they would.
+
+"Whir-r-r!" It was the Raven flying out of the oak-tree into the west.
+This, too, was what the old witchwife had foretold. "Whir-r-r" went the
+two black wings, and then it seemed as if the Raven melted into the night.
+Now, this was strange enough, but what followed was stranger still.
+
+Hardly had the Raven flown away, when out from their habitations in the
+moss, the flowers, and the grass trooped a legion of fairies,--yes, right
+there before the old poet's eyes appeared, as if by magic, a mighty troop
+of the dearest little fays in all the world.
+
+Each of these fairies was about the height of a cambric needle. The lady
+fairies were, of course, not so tall as the gentleman fairies, but all
+were of quite as comely figure as you could expect to find even among real
+folk. They were quaintly dressed; the ladies wearing quilted silk gowns
+and broadbrim hats with tiny feathers in them, and the gentlemen wearing
+curious little knickerbockers, with silk coats, white hose, ruffled
+shirts, and dainty cocked hats.
+
+"If the witchwife had not foretold it I should say that I dreamed,"
+thought the old poet. But he was not frightened. He had never harmed the
+fairies, therefore he feared no evil from them.
+
+One of the fairies was taller than the rest, and she was much more richly
+attired. It was not her crown alone that showed her to be the queen. The
+others made obeisance to her as she passed through the midst of them from
+her home in the bunch of red clover. Four dainty pages preceded her,
+carrying a silver web which had been spun by a black-and-yellow garden
+spider of great renown. This silver web the four pages spread carefully
+over a violet leaf, and thereupon the queen sat down. And when she was
+seated the queen sang this little song:
+
+                 "From the land of murk and mist
+                  Fairy folk are coming
+                To the mead the dew has kissed,
+                  And they dance where'er they list
+                To the cricket's thrumming.
+
+               "Circling here and circling there,
+                Light as thought and free as air,
+                Hear them ciy, 'Oho, oho,'
+                As they round the rosey go.
+
+                 "Appleblossom, Summerdew,
+                  Thistleblow, and Ganderfeather!
+                Join the airy fairy crew
+                  Dancing on the swaid together!
+                Till the cock on yonder steeple
+                  Gives all faery lusty warning,
+                Sing and dance, my little people,--
+                  Dance and sing 'Oho' till morning!"
+
+The four little fairies the queen called to must have been loitering. But
+now they came scampering up,--Ganderfeather behind the others, for he was
+a very fat and presumably a very lazy little fairy.
+
+"The elves will be here presently," said the queen, "and then, little
+folk, you shall dance to your heart's content. Dance your prettiest
+to-night, for the good old poet is watching you."
+
+"Ah, little queen," cried the old poet, "you see me, then? I thought to
+watch your revels unbeknown to you. But I meant you no disrespect,--
+indeed, I meant you none, for surely no one ever loved the little folk
+more than I."
+
+"We know you love us, good old poet," said the little fairy queen, "and
+this night shall give you great joy and bring you into wondrous fame."
+
+These were words of which the old poet knew not the meaning; but we, who
+live these many years after he has fallen asleep,--we know the meaning of
+them.
+
+Then, surely enough, the elves came trooping along. They lived in the
+further meadow, else they had come sooner. They were somewhat larger than
+the fairies, yet they were very tiny and very delicate creatures. The elf
+prince had long flaxen curls, and he was arrayed in a wonderful suit of
+damask web, at the manufacture of which seventy-seven silkworms had
+labored for seventy-seven days, receiving in payment therefor as many
+mulberry leaves as seven blue beetles could carry and stow in seven times
+seven sunny days. At his side the elf prince wore a sword made of the
+sting of a yellow-jacket, and the hilt of this sword was studded with the
+eyes of unhatched dragon-flies, these brighter and more precious than the
+most costly diamonds.
+
+The elf prince sat beside the fairy queen. The other elves capered around
+among the fairies. The dancing sward was very light, for a thousand and
+ten glowworms came from the marsh and hung their beautiful lamps over the
+spot where the little folk were assembled. If the moon and the stars were
+jealous of that soft, mellow light, they had good reason to be.
+
+The fairies and elves circled around in lively fashion. Their favorite
+dance was the ring-round-a-rosey which many children nowadays dance. But
+they had other measures, too, and they danced them very prettily.
+
+"I wish," said the old poet, "I wish that I had my violin here, for then I
+would make merry music for you."
+
+The fairy queen laughed. "We have music of our own," she said, "and it is
+much more beautiful than even you, dear old poet, could make."
+
+Then, at the queen's command, each gentleman elf offered his arm to a lady
+fairy, and each gentleman fairy offered his arm to a lady elf, and so, all
+being provided with partners, these little people took their places for a
+waltz. The fairy queen and the elf prince were the only ones that did not
+dance; they sat side by side on the violet leaf and watched the others.
+The hoptoad was floor manager; the green burdock badge on his breast
+showed that.
+
+"Mind where you go--don't jostle each other," cried the hoptoad, for he
+was an exceedingly methodical fellow, despite his habit of jumping at
+conclusions.
+
+Then, when all was ready, the Seven Crickets went "chirp-chirp,
+chirp-chirp, chirp-chirp," three times, and away flew that host of little
+fairies and little elves in the daintiest waltz imaginable:--
+
+[Illustration: Musical notation]
+
+The old poet was delighted. Never before had he seen such a sight; never
+before had he heard so sweet music. Round and round whirled the sprite
+dancers; the thousand and ten glowworms caught the rhythm of the music
+that floated up to them, and they swung their lamps to and fro in time
+with the fairy waltz. The plumes in the hats of the cunning little ladies
+nodded hither and thither, and the tiny swords of the cunning little
+gentlemen bobbed this way and that as the throng of dancers swept now
+here, now there. With one tiny foot, upon which she wore a lovely shoe
+made of a tanned flea's hide, the fairy queen beat time, yet she heard
+every word which the gallant elf prince said. So, with the fairy queen
+blushing, the mellow lamps swaying, the elf prince wooing, and the throng
+of little folk dancing hither and thither, the fairy music went on and
+on:--
+
+[Illustration: Musical notation]
+
+"Tell me, my fairy queen," cried the old poet, "whence comes this fairy
+music which I hear? The Seven Crickets in the hedge are still, the birds
+sleep in their nests, the brook dreams of the mountain home it stole away
+from yester morning. Tell me, therefore, whence comes this wondrous fairy
+music, and show me the strange musicians that make it."
+
+[Illustration: Musical notation]
+
+"Look to the grass and the flowers," said the fairy queen. "In every blade
+and in every bud lie hidden notes of fairy music. Each violet and daisy
+and buttercup,--every modest wild-flower (no matter how hidden) gives glad
+response to the tinkle of fairy feet. Dancing daintily over this quiet
+sward where flowers dot the green, my little people strike here and there
+and everywhere the keys which give forth the harmonies you hear."
+
+Long marvelled the old poet. He forgot his sorrow, for the fairy music
+stole into his heart and soothed the wound there. The fairy host swept
+round and round, and the fairy music went on and on.
+
+[Illustration: Musical Notation]
+
+"Why may I not dance?" asked a piping voice. "Please, dear queen, may I
+not dance, too?"
+
+It was the little hunchback that spake,--the little hunchback fairy who,
+with wistful eyes, had been watching the merry throng whirl round and
+round.
+
+"Dear child, thou canst not dance," said the fairy queen, tenderly; "thy
+little limbs are weak. Come, sit thou at my feet, and let me smooth thy
+fair curls and stroke thy pale cheeks."
+
+"Believe me, dear queen," persisted the little hunchback, "I can dance,
+and quite prettily, too. Many a time while the others made merry here I
+have stolen away by myself to the brookside and danced alone in the
+moonlight,--alone with my shadow. The violets are thickest there. 'Let thy
+halting feet fall upon us, Little Sorrowful,' they whispered, 'and we
+shall make music for thee.' So there I danced, and the violets sang their
+songs for me. I could hear the others making merry far away, but I was
+merry, too; for I, too, danced, and there was none to laugh."
+
+"If you would like it, Little Sorrowful," said the elf prince, "I will
+dance with you."
+
+"No, brave prince," answered the little hunchback, "for that would weary
+you. My crutch is stout, and it has danced with me before. You will say
+that we dance very prettily,--my crutch and I,--and you will not laugh, I
+know."
+
+Then the queen smiled sadly; she loved the little hunchback and she pitied
+her.
+
+"It shall be as you wish," said the queen. The little hunchback was
+overjoyed.
+
+"I have to catch the time, you see," said she, and she tapped her crutch
+and swung one little shrunken foot till her body fell into the rhythm of
+the waltz.
+
+Far daintier than the others did the little hunchback dance; now one tiny
+foot and now the other tinkled on the flowers, and the point of the little
+crutch fell here and there like a tear. And as she danced, there crept
+into the fairy music a tenderer cadence, for (I know not why) the little
+hunchback danced ever on the violets, and their responses were full of the
+music of tears. There was a strange pathos in the little creature's grace;
+she did not weary of the dance: her cheeks flushed, and her eyes grew
+fuller, and there was a wondrous light in them. And as the little
+hunchback danced, the others forgot her limp and felt only the heart-cry
+in the little hunchback's merriment and in the music of the voiceful
+violets.
+
+[Illustration: Musical notation]
+
+Now all this saw the old poet, and all this wondrously beautiful music he
+heard. And as he heard and saw these things, he thought of the pale face,
+the weary eyes, and the tired little body that slept forever now. He
+thought of the voice that had tried to be cheerful for his sake, of the
+thin, patient little hands that had loved to do his bidding, of the
+halting little feet that had hastened to his calling.
+
+"Is it thy spirit, O my love?" he wailed, "Is it thy spirit, O dear, dead
+love?"
+
+A mist came before his eyes, and his heart gave a great cry.
+
+But the fairy dance went on and on. The others swept to and fro and round
+and round, but the little hunchback danced always on the violets, and
+through the other music there could be plainly heard, as it crept in and
+out, the mournful cadence of those tenderer flowers.
+
+And, with the music and the dancing, the night faded into morning. And all
+at once the music ceased and the little folk could be seen no more. The
+birds came from their nests, the brook began to bestir himself, and the
+breath of the new-born day called upon all in that quiet valley to awaken.
+
+So many years have passed since the old poet, sitting under the three
+lindens half a league the other side of Pesth, saw the fairies dance and
+heard the fairy music,--so many years have passed since then, that had the
+old poet not left us an echo of that fairy waltz there would be none now
+to believe the story I tell.
+
+[Illustration: Musical notation]
+
+Who knows but that this very night the elves and the fairies will dance in
+the quiet valley; that Little Sorrowful will tinkle her maimed feet upon
+the singing violets, and that the little folk will illustrate in their
+revels, through which a tone of sadness steals, the comedy and pathos of
+our lives? Perhaps no one shall see, perhaps no one else ever did see,
+these fairy people dance their pretty dances; but we who have heard old
+Robert Volkmann's waltz know full well that he at least saw that strange
+sight and heard that wondrous music.
+
+And you will know so, too, when you have read this true story and heard
+old Volkmann's claim to immortality.
+
+1887.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's A Little Book of Profitable Tales, by Eugene Field
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A LITTLE BOOK OF PROFITABLE TALES ***
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