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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/9485-8.txt b/9485-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a413dff --- /dev/null +++ b/9485-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,5068 @@ +Project Gutenberg's A Little Book of Profitable Tales, by Eugene Field + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: A Little Book of Profitable Tales + +Author: Eugene Field + +Posting Date: March 31, 2014 [EBook #9485] +Release Date: December, 2005 +First Posted: October 5, 2003 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS 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 cry, '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 THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A LITTLE BOOK OF PROFITABLE TALES *** + +***** This file should be named 9485-8.txt or 9485-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/9/4/8/9485/ + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Sheila Vogtmann and PG +Distributed Proofreaders. + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For forty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/9485-8.zip b/9485-8.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..83f045b --- /dev/null +++ b/9485-8.zip diff --git a/9485-h.zip b/9485-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..030c4de --- /dev/null +++ b/9485-h.zip diff --git a/9485-h/9485-h.htm b/9485-h/9485-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a4591de --- /dev/null +++ b/9485-h/9485-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,5732 @@ +<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.01 Transitional//EN"> +<html> +<head> +<title>A Little Book of Profitable Tales</title> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content= +"text/html; charset=iso-8859-1"> +<style type="text/css"> +<!-- +body {margin:10%; text-align:justify} +img {border: 0;} +blockquote {font-size:14pt} +P {font-size:14pt} +--> +</style> +</head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +Project Gutenberg's A Little Book of Profitable Tales, by Eugene Field + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: A Little Book of Profitable Tales + +Author: Eugene Field + +Posting Date: March 31, 2014 [EBook #9485] +Release Date: December, 2005 +First Posted: October 5, 2003 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A LITTLE BOOK OF PROFITABLE TALES *** + + + + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Sheila Vogtmann and PG +Distributed Proofreaders. + + + + + + +</pre> + + + +<center> +<h1>THE WRITINGS IN PROSE AND VERSE OF EUGENE FIELD </h1> +<br> +<h2>A LITTLE BOOK OF PROFITABLE TALES</h2> +<br><br><br> +<h3>NEW YORK 1901</h3> +<br><br><br> +<h2>by EUGENE FIELD.</h2> +</center> + +<br><br> +<p><br> +</p> +<blockquote><blockquote> +<p>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.</p> +</blockquote></blockquote> +<p><br> +</p> + +<p><br> +</p> + +<p>INTRODUCTION</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>EDWARD E. HALE.</p> + +<p>The Tales in this Little Book</p> + +<p>THE FIRST CHRISTMAS TREE</p> + +<p>THE SYMBOL AND THE SAINT</p> + +<p>THE COMING OF THE PRINCE</p> + +<p>THE MOUSE AND THE MOONBEAM</p> + +<p>THE DIVELL'S CHRYSTMASS</p> + +<p>THE MOUNTAIN AND THE SEA</p> + +<p>THE ROBIN AND THE VIOLET</p> + +<p>THE OAK-TREE AND THE IVY</p> + +<p>MARGARET: A PEARL</p> + +<p>THE SPRINGTIME</p> + +<p>RODOLPH AND HIS KING</p> + +<p>THE HAMPSHIRE HILLS</p> + +<p>EZRA'S THANKSGIVIN' OUT WEST</p> + +<p>LUDWIG AND ELOISE</p> + +<p>FIDO'S LITTLE FRIEND</p> + +<p>THE OLD MAN</p> + +<p>BILL, THE LOKIL EDITOR</p> + +<p>THE LITTLE YALLER BABY</p> + +<p>THE CYCLOPEEDY</p> + +<p>DOCK STEBBINS</p> + +<p>THE FAIRIES OF PESTH</p> + +<p><br> +</p> + +<p><br> +</p> + +<p><b>The First Christmas Tree</b></p> + +<p><br> +</p> + +<p><br> +</p> + +<p>THE FIRST CHRISTMAS TREE</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"What beautiful music!" cried the little tree. "I wonder +whence it comes."</p> + +<p>"The angels are singing," said a cedar; "for none but angels +could make such sweet music."</p> + +<p>"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!"</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"Dear angel," cried the tree, "can you not hear the footsteps +of some one approaching? Why do you leave me?"</p> + +<p>"Have no fear," said the angel; "for He who comes is the +Master."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"Alas," cried the vine, "they have come to destroy the tree, +the pride and glory of the forest!"</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"They are killing me!" cried the tree; "why is not the angel +here to protect me?"</p> + +<p>But no one heard the piteous cry,—none but the other trees of +the forest; and they wept, and the little vine wept too.</p> + +<p>Then the cruel men dragged the despoiled and hewn tree from +the forest, and the forest saw that beauteous thing no more.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>1884.</p> + +<p><br> +</p> + +<p><br> +</p> + +<p><b>The Symbol and the Saint</b></p> + +<p><br> +</p> + +<p><br> +</p> + +<p>THE SYMBOL AND THE SAINT</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"Where are you going?" asked his neighbor Jans, the +forge-master.</p> + +<p>"I am going sailing for a wife," said Norss.</p> + +<p>"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!"</p> + +<p>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.'"</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>Norss shook his head. "The spirit will provide," said he. "I +have no fear, and I shall take no care, trusting in the +spirit."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"Hast thou come sailing out of the North into the East?" asked +the maiden.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Norss.</p> + +<p>"And thou art Norss?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"I am Norss; and I come seeking my bride," he answered.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>Remembering then the spirit's words, Norss said: "What symbol +have you, Faia, that I may know how truly you have spoken?"</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>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!</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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?"</p> + +<p>"Ay, ay," said Norss; "but how is that possible?"</p> + +<p>"We shall see," said Faia.</p> + +<p>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."</p> + +<p>Then when the morning was come Norss told his dream to Faia, +his wife; and Faia said,—</p> + +<p>"The same dream had I,—an angel appearing to me and speaking +these very words."</p> + +<p>"But what of the symbol?" cried Norss.</p> + +<p>"I have it here, about my neck," said Faia.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"Faia, Faia!" cried Norss, "it is the same,—the same you wore +when I fetched you a bride from the East!"</p> + +<p>"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!"</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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!"</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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!"</p> + +<p>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."</p> + +<p>The kobolds and the brownies laughed gleefully, and sped away +on noiseless wings; and so, too, did the other fairies and +elves.</p> + +<p>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?"</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>1886.</p> + +<p><br> +</p> + +<p><br> +</p> + +<p><b>The Coming of the Prince</b></p> + +<p><br> +</p> + +<p><br> +</p> + +<p>THE COMING OF THE PRINCE</p> + +<p>I</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"What are they doing at the cathedral?" inquired Barbara.</p> + +<p>"Why, haven't you heard?" exclaimed the snowflake. "I supposed +everybody knew that the prince was coming to-morrow."</p> + +<p>"Surely enough; this is Christmas eve," said Barbara, "and the +prince will come tomorrow."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"I should like to see the prince," said Barbara, "for I have +heard he was very beautiful and good."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"Much as I may yearn to have them, it cannot be," she said to +herself, "yet I may feast my eyes upon them."</p> + +<p>"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!"</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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 <i>me</i>, a 'miserable little +beggar'?"</p> + +<p>So Barbara crept on through the storm, shivering and +disconsolate, yet thinking of the prince.</p> + +<p>"Where are you going?" she asked of the wind as it overtook +her.</p> + +<p>"To the cathedral," laughed the wind. "The great people are +flocking there, and I will have a merry time amongst them, ha, +ha, ha!"</p> + +<p>And with laughter the wind whirled away and chased the snow +toward the cathedral.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"Please, can I go and sit inside?" inquired Barbara of the +sexton.</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>"But I will be very good and quiet," pleaded Barbara. "Please, +may I not see the prince?"</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>"Ah, no!" sighed Barbara, in tears; "but what cares the prince +for <i>me</i>?"</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"I am Barbara, and I am going into the forest," said she, +boldly.</p> + +<p>"Into the forest?" cried the watchman, "and in this storm? No, +child; you will perish!"</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>The watchman smiled sadly. He was a kindly man; he thought of +his own little girl at home.</p> + +<p>"No, you must not go to the forest," said he, "for you would +perish with the cold."</p> + +<p>But Barbara would not stay. She avoided the watchman's grasp +and ran as fast as ever she could through the city gate.</p> + +<p>"Come back, come back!" cried the watchman; "you will perish +in the forest!"</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>II</p> + +<p>"What do you see up there, O pine-tree?" asked a little vine +in the forest.</p> + +<p>"You lift your head among the clouds tonight, and you tremble +strangely as if you saw wondrous sights."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"But the prince will surely come to-morrow?" inquired the tiny +snowdrop that nestled close to the vine.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"What are you little folks down there talking about?" asked +the pine-tree.</p> + +<p>"We are talking about the prince," said the vine.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said the fir-tree, "the east is black, and only the +wind and the snow issue from it."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"Take <i>that</i> for your bad manners," retorted the fir, +slapping the pine-tree savagely with one of her longest +branches.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"Hush!" cried the vine in a startled tone; "there is some one +coming through the forest."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"Nonsense!" said the pine-tree, in a tone of assumed bravery. +"No one would venture into the forest at such an hour."</p> + +<p>"Indeed! and why not?" cried a child's voice. "Will you not +let me watch with you for the coming of the prince?"</p> + +<p>"Will you not chop me down?" inquired the pine-tree, +gruffly.</p> + +<p>"Will you not tear me from my tree?" asked the vine.</p> + +<p>"Will you not pluck my blossoms?" plaintively piped the +snowdrop.</p> + +<p>"No, of course not," said Barbara; "I have come only to watch +with you for the prince."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"Lie at my feet," said the pine-tree, "and I will protect +you."</p> + +<p>"Nestle close to me, and I will chafe your temples and body +and limbs till they are warm," said the vine.</p> + +<p>"Let me rest upon your cheek, and I will sing you my little +songs," said the snowdrop.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>"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!"</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"Dear Barbara," said the snowflake, "I will watch with thee +for the coming of the prince."</p> + +<p>And Barbara was glad, for she loved the little snowflake, that +was so pure and innocent and gentle.</p> + +<p>"Tell us, O pine-tree," cried the vine, "what do you see in +the east? Has the prince yet entered the forest?"</p> + +<p>"The east is full of black clouds," said the pine-tree, "and +the winds that hurry to the hill-tops sing of the snow."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"Yes, they are singing of the prince in the cathedral," said +Barbara, sadly.</p> + +<p>"But we shall see him first," whispered the vine, +reassuringly.</p> + +<p>"Yes, the prince will come through the forest," said the +little snowdrop, gleefully.</p> + +<p>"Fear not, dear Barbara, we shall behold the prince in all his +glory," cried the snowflake.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"Fear nothing," whispered the vine to Barbara,—"fear nothing, +for they dare not touch you."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"It is very cold," said Barbara. "My hands and feet are like +ice."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"You will be warm now," said the vine, kissing Barbara's +forehead. And Barbara smiled.</p> + +<p>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?"</p> + +<p>And they said they would. So Barbara fell asleep.</p> + +<p>III</p> + +<p>"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?"</p> + +<p>"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!"</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"Wake up, little one," cried the vine, "for the prince is +coming!"</p> + +<p>But Barbara slept; she did not hear the vine's soft calling, +nor the lofty music of the forest.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"Alas!" sighed the vine, "Barbara will not awaken, and the +prince is coming."</p> + +<p>Then the vine and the snowdrop wept, and the pine-tree and the +fir were very sad.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"Barbara, my little one," said the prince, "awaken, and come +with me."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p><i>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!</i></p> + +<p>1886.</p> + +<p><br> +</p> + +<p><br> +</p> + +<p><b>The Mouse and the Moonbeam</b></p> + +<p><br> +</p> + +<p><br> +</p> + +<p>THE MOUSE AND THE MOONBEAM</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"But why shouldn't I be merry?" asked the little mauve mouse. +"To-morrow is Christmas, and this is Christmas eve."</p> + +<p>"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?"</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"Why, you silly little mauve mouse," said the old clock, "you +don't believe in Santa Claus, do you?"</p> + +<p>"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 <i>not</i> 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.</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"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, <i>not</i> to be +depreciating the merits of others! Yes, I recall the time; that +cat's tongue is fully as sharp as her claws."</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>"'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.'</p> + +<p>"The children obeyed,—all but Squeaknibble. 'Let the others +think what they please,' said she, 'but <i>I</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?"</p> + +<p>"Why, Santa Claus himself," said the old clock.</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I understand," said the old clock.</p> + +<p>"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?"</p> + +<p>"Like the boy doll," suggested the old clock.</p> + +<p>"No, no!" cried the little mauve mouse.</p> + +<p>"Like Dear-my-Soul?" asked the old clock.</p> + +<p>"How stupid you are!" exclaimed the little mauve mouse. "Why, +she looked like Santa Claus, of course!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes; I see," said the old clock. "Now I begin to be +interested; go on."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"I do not know," said the moonbeam, faintly. "I am so very +old, and I have seen so many things—I do not know."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"Well, that is a remarkable story," said the old clock. "But +if you believe in Santa Glaus, why aren't you in bed?"</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"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.'"</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"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?"</p> + +<p>"Indeed we should," said the old clock; "but before you begin, +let me strike twelve; for I shouldn't want to interrupt you."</p> + +<p>When the old clock had performed this duty with somewhat more +than usual alacrity, the moonbeam began its story:—</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>"'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.'</p> + +<p>"'What are these wonderful things of which you speak?' I +asked.</p> + +<p>"'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.'</p> + +<p>"'But who is this Master?' I asked.</p> + +<p>"'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.'</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>"'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.'</p> + +<p>"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?'</p> + +<p>"'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.'</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>"'What sound was that?' cried Dimas, for he was exceeding +fearful.</p> + +<p>"'Have no fear, Dimas,' said the little Master. 'Give me thy +hand, and I will lead thee.'</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>"'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.'</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>"'Greater joy than this shall be thine, Dimas,' said the +little Master; 'but first must all things be fulfilled.'</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"Well, is that all?" asked the old clock.</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>"'The Master!' cried Dimas, and he stretched forth his neck +that he might see him that spake.</p> + +<p>"'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.</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>"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.'"</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>1888.</p> + +<p><br> +</p> + +<p><br> +</p> + +<p><b>The Divell's Christmass</b></p> + +<p><br> +</p> + +<p><br> +</p> + +<p>THE DIVELL'S CHRYSTMASS.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>1888.</p> + +<p><br> +</p> + +<p><br> +</p> + +<p><b>The Mountain and the Sea</b></p> + +<p><br> +</p> + +<p><br> +</p> + +<p>THE MOUNTAIN AND THE SEA</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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!"</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"Whither art thou going, my love?" cried the mountain in +dismay.</p> + +<p>"She is false to thee," laughed the air, mockingly. "She is +going to another love far away."</p> + +<p>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."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"She is false!" whispered the air. "I alone am true to +thee."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"Comeback, comeback, O my beloved!" he cried and cried.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"She is false!" whispered the air to the mountain. "She is +false, and she has gone to another lover. I alone am true!"</p> + +<p>But the mountain believed her not. And one day clouds came +floating through the sky and hovered around the mountain's +crest.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>And so the ages come and go, but love is eternal.</p> + +<p>1886.</p> + +<p><br> +</p> + +<p><br> +</p> + +<p><b>The Robin and the Violet</b></p> + +<p><br> +</p> + +<p><br> +</p> + +<p>THE ROBIN AND THE VIOLET</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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!"</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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!"</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>One morning, after a night of exceeding darkness and frost, +the boisterous north wind came trampling through the +greenwood.</p> + +<p>"I have come for the violet," he cried; "she would not have my +fair brother, but she must go with <i>me</i>, whether it pleases +her or not!"</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>1884.</p> + +<p><br> +</p> + +<p><br> +</p> + +<p><b>The Oak-tree and the Ivy</b></p> + +<p><br> +</p> + +<p><br> +</p> + +<p>THE OAK-TREE AND THE IVY</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>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!"</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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."</p> + +<p>Then, confidently and with an always-growing love, the ivy +would cling more closely to the oak-tree, and no harm came to +her.</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>"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!"</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"I have no fear," murmured the ivy; and she clasped her arms +most closely about him and nestled unto his bosom.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"Dear oak-tree, you are riven by the storm-king's +thunderbolt!" cried the ivy, in anguish.</p> + +<p>"Ay," said the oak-tree, feebly, "my end has come; see, I am +shattered and helpless."</p> + +<p>"But <i>I</i> am unhurt," remonstrated the ivy, "and I will +bind up your wounds and nurse you back to health and vigor."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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?"</p> + +<p>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."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>So the old age of the oak-tree was grander than his youth.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>1886</p> + +<p><br> +</p> + +<p><br> +</p> + +<p><b>Margaret: A Pearl</b></p> + +<p><br> +</p> + +<p><br> +</p> + +<p>MARGARET: A PEARL</p> + +<p>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 <i>terra firma</i>. 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.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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 <i>was</i> only a little +oyster.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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!</p> + +<p>"Will you please bring me two tumblerfuls of water?" he +remarked to the mother-oyster.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"Tell me, doctor," asked the mother, "shall she continue the +food suggested by Dr. Porpoise?"</p> + +<p>"What food did he recommend?" inquired Dr. Sculpin.</p> + +<p>"Sea-foam on toast," answered the mother.</p> + +<p>Dr. Sculpin smiled a smile which seemed to suggest that Dr. +Porpoise's ignorance was really quite annoying.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"Throw it away," said one of the men. "Like as not it is bad +and not fit to eat."</p> + +<p>"No, keep it and send it out West for a Blue Point," said the +other man,—what a heartless wretch he was!</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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!"</p> + +<p>"Perhaps he is the doctor," suggested the little oyster; and +then she added with a sigh, "but, oh! I hope not."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, how terrible!" said the little oyster; and she meant it +too, for she was thinking of the gallant young perch with green +fins.</p> + +<p>"Well, I've said it, and I mean it!" continued the old gum +boot; "now just wait and see."</p> + +<p>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?</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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!"</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<i>you</i>, in my heart of hearts."</p> + +<p>"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!"</p> + +<p>And Margaret said: "Then in my weakness hath there been a +wondrous strength, and from my sufferings cometh the glory I have +sought!"</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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!"</p> + +<p>Edward took the dwarfed, misshapen thing, and lo! it held a +beauteous pearl.</p> + +<p><i>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</i>.</p> + +<p>1887.</p> + +<p><br> +</p> + +<p><br> +</p> + +<p><b>The Springtime</b></p> + +<p><br> +</p> + +<p><br> +</p> + +<p>THE SPRINGTIME</p> + +<p>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."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"You little folks seem very much puzzled about something," +said the old oak-tree.</p> + +<p>"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?"</p> + +<p>The old oak-tree smiled sadly.</p> + +<p>"I do not call it death," said the old oak-tree; "I call it +sleep,—a long, restful, refreshing sleep."</p> + +<p>"How does it feel?" inquired the daisy, looking very full of +astonishment and anxiety.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"And I," said the violet, "I think it would be dreadful to go +to sleep. What if we never should wake up again!"</p> + +<p>The suggestion struck the others dumb with terror,—all but +the old oak-tree.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"What nonsense!" cried the thistle.</p> + +<p>"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!"</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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!</p> + +<p>"Well, this is the last of us!" exclaimed the thistle; "we're +going to die, and that's the end of it all!"</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>The little ones were very weary indeed. The promised sleep +came very gratefully.</p> + +<p>"We would not be so willing to go to sleep if we thought we +should not awaken," said the violet.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"Wake up, little friends!" cried the sunbeams,—"wake up, for +it is the springtime!"</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"Wake up, little violet," called the bluebird. "Have I come +all this distance to find you sleeping? Wake up; it is the +springtime!"</p> + +<p>That pretty little voice awakened the violet, of course.</p> + +<p>"Oh, how sweetly I have slept!" cried the violet; "how happy +this new life is! Welcome, dear friends!"</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"I slept horribly," growled the thistle. "I had bad dreams. It +was sleep, after all, but it ought to have been death."</p> + +<p>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!</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>1885</p> + +<p><br> +</p> + +<p><br> +</p> + +<p><b>Rodolph and his King</b></p> + +<p><br> +</p> + +<p><br> +</p> + +<p>RODOLPH AND HIS KING</p> + +<p>"Tell me, Father," said the child at Rodolph's knee,—"tell me +of the king."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"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?"</p> + +<p>"Nay," answered Rodolph, "you imagine these things; there is +no king. Believe me, child, there is no king."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Rodolph heard these things, and they filled him with +anger.</p> + +<p>"It is a lie!" muttered Rodolph; and in great petulance he +came to the brook.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"But there is no king!" cried Rodolph. "They all conspire to +plague me! There is no king—there is no king!"</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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!</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"But there is no king!" cried Rodolph. "It is a lie; there is +no king!"</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>What voice was that which spoke in Rodolph's bosom then as +Rodolph's eyes beheld this revelation?</p> + +<p>"There is a king!" said the voice. "The king lives, and this +is his abiding-place!"</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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!"</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"There <i>is</i> a king, my child," said Rodolph to his little +one. "Together let us sing to him, for he is <i>our</i> king, and +his goodness abideth forever and forever."</p> + +<p>1885.</p> + +<p><br> +</p> + +<p><br> +</p> + +<p><b>The Hampshire Hills</b></p> + +<p><br> +</p> + +<p><br> +</p> + +<p>THE HAMPSHIRE HILLS</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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."</p> + +<p>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 <i>you</i>,—we trees and grass and birds and +bees and flowers. Abide with us, and learn the wisdom we +teach."</p> + +<p>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."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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!</p> + +<p>And now they were old and gray. They lived in splendid +mansions, and all people paid them honor.</p> + +<p>One August day a grim messenger stood in Seth's presence and +beckoned to him.</p> + +<p>"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?"</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"You shall not die!" cried Abner, and he threw himself about +his brother's neck and wept.</p> + +<p>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."</p> + +<p>A great wonder overcame Abner. With reverence he listened, and +as he listened a sweet peace seemed to steal into his soul.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"Say on, dear brother," said Abner.</p> + +<p>"I am thinking of an August day long ago," said Seth, solemnly +and softly. "It was <i>so very</i> long ago, and yet it seems +only yesterday. We were in the orchard together, under the +bellflower-tree, and our little dog—"</p> + +<p>"Fido," said Abner, remembering it all, as the years came +back.</p> + +<p>"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?"</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>"The robin, too, carolled in the linden."</p> + +<p>"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!"</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>1885.</p> + +<p><br> +</p> + +<p><br> +</p> + +<p><b>Ezra's Thanksgivin' Out West</b></p> + +<p><br> +</p> + +<p><br> +</p> + +<p>EZRA'S THANKSGIVIN' OUT WEST</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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 <i>me</i>, +and they hev the kind o' Thanksgivin' I like!"</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>Ezra did not stir. His head rested upon his hand, and his eyes +were fixed upon the shadows in the firelight.</p> + +<p>"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 <i>is</i> 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.</p> + +<p>"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' +<i>she</i> 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 <i>own</i> 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.</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>"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>I</i> don't like Sam's voice. Laura sings soprano in +the choir, and Sam stands next to her an' holds the book.</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>"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 +<i>did</i> 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.</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>1885.</p> + +<p><br> +</p> + +<p><br> +</p> + +<p><b>Ludwig and Eloise</b></p> + +<p><br> +</p> + +<p><br> +</p> + +<p>LUDWIG AND ELOISE</p> + +<p>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."</p> + +<p>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."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>And no one in all these years spoke of Ludwig. No one thought +of him. Ludwig was forgotten. And so the years went by.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>And Eloise said: "Bid him enter; perchance his music will +comfort my breaking heart."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"If thou art indeed the Master," said Eloise, "let thy music +be balm to my chastened spirit."</p> + +<p>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."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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!"</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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?"</p> + +<p>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 <i>my</i> 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?"</p> + +<p>"Thou art Ludwig!" cried Eloise. "Thou art Ludwig, who didst +love me, and hast come to comfort me who loved thee not!"</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>1885.</p> + +<p><br> +</p> + +<p><br> +</p> + +<p><b>Fido's Little Friend</b></p> + +<p><br> +</p> + +<p><br> +</p> + +<p>FIDO'S LITTLE FRIEND</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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!"</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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?"</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"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!"</p> + +<p>"Why so?" inquired Fido. "As for myself, I love little boys. I +have always found them the pleasantest of companions. Why do +<i>you</i> dislike them?"</p> + +<p>"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!"</p> + +<p>"Good little boys don't steal birds' eggs," said Fido, "and +I'm sure I never would play with a bad boy."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"Goggie, goggie, goggie!" said the voice. "Tum here, 'ittle +goggie—tum here, goggie, goggie, goggie!"</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"Me love oo," said the little stranger, patting Fido's honest +brown back; "me love oo, 'ittle goggie!"</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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?"</p> + +<p>"Me love oo," said the little boy; "me wan' to tiss oo, 'ittle +goggie!"</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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!"</p> + +<p>But no, Fido was not sick, even though his nose <i>was</i> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"Mamma says oo dot f'eas, 'ittle goggie," said the little boy. +"<i>Has</i> oo dot f'eas?"</p> + +<p>Fido looked crestfallen, for could Fido have spoken he would +have confessed that he indeed <i>was</i> 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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I'm not going to hurt you, old Mr. Woodchuck," said Fido. +"I have too much respect for your gray hairs."</p> + +<p>"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!"</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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!"</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"But where is our little boy?" asked the old woodchuck.</p> + +<p>"I do not know," said Fido. "I waited for him and called to +him again and again, but he never came."</p> + +<p>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."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"He is asleep," said the yellow-bird.</p> + +<p>"Asleep!" cried Fido.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"Little boy! little boy!" they called, "why are you sleeping? +Why are you sleeping, little boy?"</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>1885.</p> + +<p><br> +</p> + +<p><br> +</p> + +<p><b>The Old Man</b></p> + +<p><br> +</p> + +<p><br> +</p> + +<p>THE OLD MAN</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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, <i>my</i> heart wuz wrapped up +in the Old Man, <i>too</i>, 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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>'Most all boys, as I've heern tell, is proud to be round with +their father, doin' what <i>he</i> does 'nd wearin' the kind of +clothes <i>he</i> 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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Time changes all things,—all things but memory, nothin' can +change <i>that</i>. 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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"Mudder! mudder!" cried the Old Man, but his voice warn't +strong 'nd clear like it used to be. "Mudder, where <i>be</i> +you, mudder?"</p> + +<p>Then, breshin' by me, Lizzie caught the Old Man up 'nd held +him in her arms, like she had done a thousand times before.</p> + +<p>"What is it, darlin'? <i>Here</i> I be," says Lizzie.</p> + +<p>"Tum here," says the Old Man,—"tum here; I wanter tell you +sumfin'."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>1889.</p> + +<p><br> +</p> + +<p><br> +</p> + +<p><b>Bill, the Lokil Editor</b></p> + +<p><br> +</p> + +<p><br> +</p> + +<p>BILL, THE LOKIL EDITOR</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 <i>hev</i> 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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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?"</p> + +<p>"Wall, no; not exactly <i>that</i>," sez Mose, "but to be +frank with you, I <i>hev</i> jest one regret in connection with +this affair."</p> + +<p>"What's that?" asked the minister.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"Hello, Mr. Baker," sez he, "whar be you goin' this time o' +night?"</p> + +<p>"Bill," sez I, "I'm goin' on the saddest errand uv my +life."</p> + +<p>"What d' ye mean?" sez he, comin' up to me as straight as he +c'u'd.</p> + +<p>"Why, Bill," sez I, "our little girl—my little girl—Allie, +you know—she's dead."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>What would you—what would <i>I</i>—say, if we wuz settin' in +jedgment then?</p> + +<p>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."</p> + +<p>1888.</p> + +<p><br> +</p> + +<p><br> +</p> + +<p><b>The Little Yaller Baby</b></p> + +<p><br> +</p> + +<p><br> +</p> + +<p>THE LITTLE YALLER BABY</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"Look a' hyar, Sam," says I to the nigger, "come hyar 'nd +bresh me off ag'in! Why ain't you 'tendin' to bizness?"</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<i>and</i> a baby!</p> + +<p>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?"</p> + +<p>"How is oranges 'nd bananas?" says he.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 <i>leetle</i> +the durnedest lonesomest place I ever seen.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"Hello, Bill," says I; "what air you totin' so kind uv +keerful-like in your arms there?"</p> + +<p>"Why, I've got the baby," says he; 'nd as he said it the tears +come up into his eyes.</p> + +<p>"Your own baby, Bill?" says I.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>Poor Bill! it wuz his wife that the men were carryin' in that +pine box to the baggage-car.</p> + +<p>"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'."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"Bill," says I, "here's a ten-dollar note for the baby, 'nd +God bless you!"</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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!</p> + +<p>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."</p> + +<p>1888.</p> + +<p><br> +</p> + +<p><br> +</p> + +<p><b>The Cyclopeedy</b></p> + +<p><br> +</p> + +<p><br> +</p> + +<p>THE CYCLOPEEDY</p> + +<p>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 +<i>he</i> don't know nothin'.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"Lor's sakes, Leander, how you talk!" sez Hattie, blushin' all +over, ez brides allers does to heern tell uv sich things.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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."</p> + +<p>"But you can't find out nothin' 'bout Roxbury russets nor +Rhode Island greenin's in <i>our</i> cyclopeedy," sez Hattie.</p> + +<p>"Why not, I'd like to know?" sez Leander, kind uv indignant +like.</p> + +<p>"'Cause ours hain't got down to the R yet," sez Hattie. "All +ours tells about is things beginnin' with A."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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."</p> + +<p>"How in thunder kin I see Pomology," sez Leander, "when there +ain't no Pomology to see? Gol durn a cyclopeedy, anyhow!"</p> + +<p>And he put the volyume back onto the shelf 'nd never sot eyes +into it ag'in.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"That's so," sez Leander, "babies does begin with B, don't +it?"</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"Leander," sez Hattie one forenoon, "that B cyclopeedy ain't +no account. There ain't nothin' in it about babies except 'See +Maternity'!"</p> + +<p>"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!</p> + +<p>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!</p> + +<p>Oncet when Hiram wanted to dreen the home pasture, he went to +the cyclopeedy to find out about it, but all he diskivered +wuz:</p> + +<p>"Drain—See Tile." This wuz in 1859, and the cyclopeedy had +only got down to G.</p> + +<p>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."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>All to oncet a bright 'nd joyful look come into them eyes, 'nd +ol' Leander riz up in bed 'nd sez, "It's come!"</p> + +<p>"What is it, Father?" asked his daughter Sarey, sobbin' +like.</p> + +<p>"Hush," says the minister, solemnly; "he sees the shinin' +gates uv the Noo Jerusalum."</p> + +<p>"No, no," cried the aged man; "it is the cyclopeedy—the +letter Z—it's comin'!"</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"Here's the Z cyclopeedy, Mr. Hobart," sez Higgins.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"I thank Thee for this boon," sez Leander, rollin' his eyes up +devoutly; then he gave a deep sigh.</p> + +<p>"Hold on," cried Higgins, excitedly, "you've made a +mistake—it isn't the last—"</p> + +<p>But Leander didn't hear him—his soul hed fled from its mortal +tenement 'nd hed soared rejoicin' to realms uv everlastin' +bliss.</p> + +<p>"He is no more," sez Dock Wilson, metaphorically.</p> + +<p>"Then who are his heirs?" asked that mean critter Higgins.</p> + +<p>"We be," sez the family.</p> + +<p>"Do you conjointly and severally acknowledge and assume the +obligation of deceased to me?" he asked 'em.</p> + +<p>"What obligation?" asked Peasley Hobart, stern like.</p> + +<p>"Deceased died owin' me f'r a cyclopeedy!" sez Higgins.</p> + +<p>"That's a lie!" sez Peasley. "We all seen him pay you for the +Z!"</p> + +<p>"But there's another one to come," sez Higgins.</p> + +<p>"Another?" they all asked.</p> + +<p>"Yes, the index!" sez he.</p> + +<p>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!</p> + +<p>1889</p> + +<p><br> +</p> + +<p><br> +</p> + +<p><b>Dock Stebbins</b></p> + +<p><br> +</p> + +<p><br> +</p> + +<p>DOCK STEBBINS</p> + +<p>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'!"</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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."</p> + +<p>Lem wuz onto Dock's methods, 'nd he knew there wuz sumthin' +ahead. So he says: "Tough-lookin' ear, wuz it?"</p> + +<p>"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!"</p> + +<p>"Jest imagine the feelinks uv the mother!" says Lem, sad +like.</p> + +<p>"Jest imagine the feelinks uv the <i>baby</i>," says Dock. +"How'd you like to be lyin' helpless in a crib with a big rat +gnawin' your ear?"</p> + +<p>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!"</p> + +<p>'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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"How shell we administer the pill?" asked my wife.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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,—</p> + +<p>"Where be you goin' with them eggs?" says he.</p> + +<p>"Goin' to town to sell 'em," says the boy.</p> + +<p>"How much a dozen?" asked the Dock.</p> + +<p>"'Bout ten cents, I reckon," says the boy.</p> + +<p>"Putty likely-lookin' eggs," says the Dock; 'nd he handed the +lines over to Lem, 'nd got out'n the buggy.</p> + +<p>"How many hev you got?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Ten dozen," says the boy.</p> + +<p>"Git out!" says Dock. "There hain't no ten dozen eggs in that +basket!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, there is," says the boy, "fur I counted 'em myself."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 <i>her</i> 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, <i>she</i> never would believe it.</p> + +<p>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'!"</p> + +<p>They looked, but they saw nuthin'; 'nd when they went to her +she wuz dead.</p> + +<p>1888.</p> + +<p><br> +</p> + +<p><br> +</p> + +<p><b>The Fairies of Pesth</b></p> + +<p><br> +</p> + +<p><br> +</p> + +<p>THE FAIRIES OF PESTH [1]</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"Take this," said the poet to old Leeza, the witchwife; and he +gave her a silver piece.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"The moon is rising," said the old poet. "Now we shall +see."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>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:</p> + +<blockquote> +<pre> + "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 cry, '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!" +</pre> +</blockquote> + +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. + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"I wish," said the old poet, "I wish that I had my violin +here, for then I would make merry music for you."</p> + +<p>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."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>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:—</p> + + +<p><img src="images/1st.jpg" alt="1st.jpg"></p> + +<p>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:—</p> + +<p><img src="images/2nd.jpg" alt="2nd.jpg" ></p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p><img src="images/3rd.jpg" alt="3rd.jpg"></p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p><img src="images/4th.jpg" alt="4th.jpg"></p> + +<p>"Why may I not dance?" asked a piping voice. "Please, dear +queen, may I not dance, too?"</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"If you would like it, Little Sorrowful," said the elf prince, +"I will dance with you."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>Then the queen smiled sadly; she loved the little hunchback +and she pitied her.</p> + +<p>"It shall be as you wish," said the queen. The little +hunchback was overjoyed.</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p><img src="images/5th.jpg" alt="5th.jpg"></p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"Is it thy spirit, O my love?" he wailed, "Is it thy spirit, O +dear, dead love?"</p> + +<p>A mist came before his eyes, and his heart gave a great +cry.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p><img src="images/6th.jpg" alt="6th.jpg"></p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>And you will know so, too, when you have read this true story +and heard old Volkmann's claim to immortality.</p> + +<p>1887.</p> + +<p>[Footnote 1: The music arranged by Mr. Theodore Thomas.]</p> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's A Little Book of Profitable Tales, by Eugene Field + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A LITTLE BOOK OF PROFITABLE TALES *** + +***** This file should be named 9485-h.htm or 9485-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/9/4/8/9485/ + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Sheila Vogtmann and PG +Distributed Proofreaders. + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: A Little Book of Profitable Tales + +Author: Eugene Field + +Posting Date: March 31, 2014 [EBook #9485] +Release Date: December, 2005 +First Posted: October 5, 2003 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS 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 cry, '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 THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A LITTLE BOOK OF PROFITABLE TALES *** + +***** This file should be named 9485.txt or 9485.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/9/4/8/9485/ + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Sheila Vogtmann and PG +Distributed Proofreaders. + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****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: 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 *** + +This file should be named 7abpt10.txt or 7abpt10.zip +Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks get a new NUMBER, 7abpt11.txt +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, 7abpt10a.txt + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Sheila Vogtmann and PG Distributed Proofreaders + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. 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Do not change or edit the +header without written permission. + +Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the +eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is +important information about your specific rights and restrictions in +how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****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 *** + +This file should be named 8abpt10.txt or 8abpt10.zip +Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks get a new NUMBER, 8abpt11.txt +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, 8abpt10a.txt + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Sheila Vogtmann and PG Distributed Proofreaders + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. 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