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diff --git a/19766.txt b/19766.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..7579ddd --- /dev/null +++ b/19766.txt @@ -0,0 +1,6572 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Young Lucretia and Other Stories, by Mary E. +Wilkins + + +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: Young Lucretia and Other Stories + + +Author: Mary E. Wilkins + + + +Release Date: November 11, 2006 [eBook #19766] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK YOUNG LUCRETIA AND OTHER STORIES*** + + +E-text prepared by Chuck Greif, Juliet Sutherland, and the Project +Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team (https://www.pgdp.net/) + + + +Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this + file which includes the original illustrations. + See 19766-h.htm or 19766-h.zip: + (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/9/7/6/19766/19766-h/19766-h.htm) + or + (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/9/7/6/19766/19766-h.zip) + + + + + +YOUNG LUCRETIA AND OTHER STORIES + +by + +MARY E. WILKINS + +Author of "A New England Nun, and Other Stories" +"A Humble Romance, and Other Stories" Etc. + +Illustrated + + + + + + + +New York +Harper & Brothers, Franklin Square +1893 +Copyright, 1892, by HARPER & BROTHERS. +All rights reserved. + + + + +CONTENTS + + +YOUNG LUCRETIA +HOW FIDELIA WENT TO THE STORE +ANN MARY; HER TWO THANKSGIVINGS +ANN LIZY'S PATCHWORK +THE LITTLE PERSIAN PRINCESS +WHERE THE CHRISTMAS-TREE GREW +WHERE SARAH JANE'S DOLL WENT +SEVENTOES' GHOST +LITTLE MIRANDY, AND HOW SHE EARNED HER SHOES +A PARSNIP STEW +THE DICKEY BOY +A SWEET-GRASS BASKET +MEHITABLE LAMB + + + + +ILLUSTRATIONS + + +"'LUCRETIA RAYMOND, WHAT _DO_ YOU MEAN, PUTTING YOUR +DRESS ON THIS WAY?'" +"'WHOSE LITTLE GAL AIR YOU?'" +MR. LITTLE SELECTS THE THANKSGIVING TURKEY +"THIS LITTLE GIRL SOON CAME FLYING OUT WITH HER CONTRIBUTION; +THEN THERE WERE MORE" +"SARAH JANE SAT DOWN BESIDE THE ROAD AND WEPT" +"HE THRUST OUT HIS RIGHT HAND AND GAVE SEVENTOES A PUSH" +THE VISIT TO CAP'N MOSEBY'S +"'EAT 'EM!' ORDERED CAP'N MOSEBY" +"A PARSNIP STEW" +"THERE, AMONG THE BLOSSOMING BRANCHES, CLUNG THE DICKEY BOY" +"SHE WAS A REAL INDIAN PRINCESS" + + + + +YOUNG LUCRETIA + + +"Who's that little gal goin' by?" said old Mrs. Emmons. + +"That--why, that's young Lucretia, mother," replied her daughter Ann, +peering out of the window over her mother's shoulder. There was a fringe +of flowering geraniums in the window; the two women had to stretch their +heads over them. + +"Poor little soul!" old Mrs. Emmons remarked further. "I pity that +child." + +"I don't see much to pity her for," Ann returned, in a voice +high-pitched and sharply sweet; she was the soprano singer in the +village choir. "I don't see why she isn't taken care of as well as most +children." + +"Well, I don't know but she's took care of, but I guess she don't get +much coddlin'. Lucretia an' Maria ain't that kind--never was. I heerd +the other day they was goin' to have a Christmas-tree down to the +school-house. Now I'd be will-in' to ventur' consider'ble that child +don't have a thing on't." + +"Well, if she's kept clean an' whole, an' made to behave, it amounts to +a good deal more'n Christmas presents, I suppose." Ann sat down and +turned a hem with vigor: she was a dress-maker. + +"Well, I s'pose it does, but it kinder seems as if that little gal ought +to have somethin'. Do you remember them little rag babies I used to make +for you, Ann? I s'pose she'd be terrible tickled with one. Some of that +blue thibet would be jest the thing to make it a dress of." + +"Now, mother, you ain't goin' to fussing. She won't think anything of +it." + +"Yes, she would, too. You used to take sights of comfort with 'em." Old +Mrs. Emmons, tall and tremulous, rose up and went out of the room. + +"She's gone after the linen pieces," thought her daughter Ann. "She is +dreadfully silly." Ann began smoothing out some remnants of blue thibet +on her lap. She selected one piece that she thought would do for the +dress. + +Meanwhile young Lucretia went to school. It was quite a cold day, but +she was warmly dressed. She wore her aunt Lucretia's red and green plaid +shawl, which Aunt Lucretia had worn to meeting when she was herself a +little girl, over her aunt Maria's black ladies' cloth coat. The coat +was very large and roomy--indeed, it had not been altered at all--but +the cloth was thick and good. Young Lucretia wore also her aunt Maria's +black alpaca dress, which had been somewhat decreased in size to fit +her, and her aunt Lucretia's purple hood with a nubia tied over it. She +had mittens, a black quilted petticoat, and her aunt Maria's old drab +stockings drawn over her shoes to keep the snow from her ankles. If +young Lucretia caught cold, it would not be her aunts' fault. She went +along rather clumsily, but quite merrily, holding her tin dinner-pail +very steady. Her aunts had charged her not to swing it, and "get the +dinner in a mess." + +Young Lucretia's face, with very pink cheeks, and smooth lines of red +hair over the temples, looked gayly and honestly out of the hood and +nubia. Here and there along the road were sprigs of evergreen and +ground-pine and hemlock. Lucretia glanced a trifle soberly at them. She +was nearly in sight of the school-house when she reached Alma Ford's +house, and Alma came out and joined her. Alma was trim and pretty in her +fur-bordered winter coat and her scarlet hood. + +"Hullo, Lucretia!" said Alma. + +"Hullo!" responded Lucretia. Then the two little girls trotted on +together: the evergreen sprigs were growing thicker. "Did you go?" asked +Lucretia, looking down at them. + +"Yes; we went way up to the cross-roads. They wouldn't let you go, would +they?" + +"No," said Lucretia, smiling broadly. + +"I think it was _mean_," said Alma. + +"They said they didn't approve of it," said Lucretia, in a serious +voice, which seemed like an echo of some one else's. + +When they got to the school-house it took her a long time to unroll +herself from her many wrappings. When at last she emerged there was not +another child there who was dressed quite after her fashion. Seen from +behind, she looked like a small, tightly-built old lady. Her little +basque, cut after her aunt's own pattern, rigorously whaleboned, with +long straight seams, opened in front; she wore a dimity ruffle, a square +blue bow to fasten it, and a brown gingham apron. Her sandy hair was +parted rigorously in the middle, brought over her temples in two smooth +streaky scallops, and braided behind in two tight tails, fastened by a +green bow. Young Lucretia was a homely little girl, although her face +was always radiantly good-humored. She was a good scholar, too, and +could spell and add sums as fast as anybody in the school. + +In the entry, where she took off her things, there was a great litter of +evergreen and hemlock; in the farthest corner, lopped pitifully over on +its side, was a fine hemlock-tree. Lucretia looked at it, and her +smiling face grew a little serious. + +"That the Christmas-tree out there?" she said to the other girls when +she went into the school-room. The teacher had not come, and there was +such an uproar and jubilation that she could hardly make herself heard. +She had to poke one of the girls two or three times before she could get +her question answered. + +"What did you say, Lucretia Raymond?" she asked. + +"That the Christmas-tree out there?" + +"Course 'tis. Say, Lucretia, can't you come this evening and help trim? +the boys are a-going to set up the tree, and we're going to trim. Say, +can't you come?" + +Then the other girls joined in: "Can't you come, Lucretia?--say, can't +you?" + +Lucretia looked at them all, with her honest smile. "I don't believe I +can," said she. + +"Won't they let you?--won't your aunts let you?" + +"Don't believe they will." + +Alma Ford stood back on her heels and threw back her chin. "Well, I +don't care," said she. "I think your aunts are _awful mean_--so there!" + +Lucretia's face got pinker, and the laugh died out of it. She opened her +lips, but before she had a chance to speak, Lois Green, who was one of +the older girls, and an authority in the school, added her testimony. +"They are two mean, stingy old maids," she proclaimed; "that's what they +are." + +"They're not neither," said Lucretia, unexpectedly. "You sha'n't say +such things about my aunts, Lois Green." + +"Oh, you can stick up for 'em if you want to," returned Lois, with cool +aggravation. "If you want to be such a little gump, you can, an' +nobody'll pity you. You know you won't get a single thing on this +Christmas-tree." + +"I will, too," cried Lucretia, who was fiery, with all her sweetness. + +"You won't." + +"You see if I don't, Lois Green." + +"You won't." + +All through the day it seemed to her, the more she thought of it, that +she must go with the others to trim the school-house, and she must have +something on the Christmas-tree. A keen sense of shame for her aunts and +herself was over her; she felt as if she must keep up the family +credit. + +"I wish I could go to trim this evening," she said to Alma, as they were +going home after school. + +"Don't you believe they'll let you?" + +"I don't believe they'll 'prove of it," Lucretia answered, with dignity. + +"Say, Lucretia, do you s'pose it would make any difference if my mother +should go up to your house an' ask your aunts?" + +Lucretia gave her a startled look: a vision of her aunt's indignation at +such interference shot before her eyes. "Oh, I don't believe it would do +a mite of good," said she, fervently. "But I tell you what 'tis, Alma, +you might come home with me while I ask." + +"I will," said Alma, eagerly. "Just wait a minute till I ask mother if I +can." + +But it was all useless. Alma's pretty, pleading little face as a +supplement to Lucretia's, and her timorous, "Please let Lucretia go," +had no effect whatever. + +"I don't approve of children being out nights," said Aunt Lucretia, and +Aunt Maria supported her. "There's no use talking," said she; "you can't +go, Lucretia. Not another word. Take your things off, and sit down and +sew your square of patchwork before supper. Almy, you'd better run +right home; I guess your mother'll be wanting you to help her." And Alma +went. + +"What made you bring that Ford girl in here to ask me?" Aunt Lucretia, +who had seen straight through her namesake's artifice, asked of young +Lucretia. + +"I don't know," stammered Lucretia, over her patchwork. + +"You'll never go anywhere any quicker for taking such means as that," +said Aunt Lucretia. + +"It would serve you right if we didn't let you go to the +Christmas-tree," declared Aunt Maria, severely, and young Lucretia +quaked. She had had the promise of going to the Christmas-tree for a +long time. It would be awful if she should lose that. She sewed very +diligently on her patchwork. A square a day was her stent, and she had +held up before her the rapture and glory of a whole quilt made all by +herself before she was ten years old. + +Half an hour after tea she had the square all done. "I've got it done," +said she, and she carried it over to her aunt Lucretia that it might be +inspected. + +Aunt Lucretia put on her spectacles and looked closely at it. "You've +sewed it very well," she said, finally, in a tone of severe +commendation. + +"You can sew well enough if you put your mind to it." + +"That's what I've always told her," chimed in Aunt Maria. "There's no +sense in her slighting her work so, and taking the kind of stitches she +does sometimes. Now, Lucretia, it's time for you to go to bed." + +Lucretia went lingeringly across the wide old sitting-room, then across +the old wide dining-room, into the kitchen. It was quite a time before +she got her candle lighted and came back, and then she stood about +hesitatingly. + +"What are you waiting for?" Aunt Lucretia asked, sharply. "Take care; +you're tipping your candle over; you'll get the grease on the carpet." + +"Why don't you mind what you're doing?" said Aunt Maria. + +Young Lucretia had scant encouragement to open upon the subject in her +mind, but she did. "They're going to have lots of presents on the +Christmas-tree," she remarked, tipping her candle again. + +"Are you going to hold that candle straight or not?" cried Aunt +Lucretia. "Who is going to have lots of presents?" + +"All the other girls." + +When the aunts got very much in earnest about anything they spoke with +such vehement unison that it had the effect of a duet; it was difficult +to tell which was uppermost. "Well, the other girls can have lots of +presents; if their folks want to get presents for 'em they can," said +they. "There's one thing about it, you won't get anything, and you +needn't expect anything. I never approved of this giving presents +Christmas, anyway. It's an awful tax an' a foolish piece of business." + +Young Lucretia's lips quivered so she could hardly speak. "They'll think +it's--so--funny if--I don't have--anything," she said. + +"Let 'em think it's funny if they want to. You take your candle an' go +to bed, an' don't say any more about it. Mind you hold that candle +straight." + +Young Lucretia tried to hold the candle straight as she went up-stairs, +but it was hard work, her eyes were so misty with tears. Her little face +was all puckered up with her silent crying as she trudged wearily up the +stairs. It was a long time before she got to sleep that night. She cried +first, then she meditated. Young Lucretia was too small and innocent to +be artful, but she had a keen imagination, and was fertile of resources +in emergencies. In the midst of her grief and disappointment she +devolved a plan for keeping up the family honor, hers and her aunts', +before the eyes of the school. + +The next day everything favored the plan. School did not keep; in the +afternoon both the aunts went to the sewing society. They had been gone +about an hour when young Lucretia trudged down the road with her arms +full of parcels. She stole so quietly and softly into the school-house, +where they were arranging the tree, that no one thought about it. She +laid the parcels on a settee with some others, and stole out and flew +home. + +The festivities at the school-house began at seven o'clock. There were +to be some exercises, some recitations and singing, then the +distribution of the presents. Directly after tea young Lucretia went up +to her own little chamber to get ready. She came down in a surprisingly +short time all dressed. + +"Are you all ready?" said Aunt Lucretia. + +"Yes, ma'am," replied young Lucretia. She had her hand on the +door-latch. + +"I don't believe you are half dressed," said Aunt Maria. "Did you get +your bow on straight?" + +"Yes, ma'am." + +"I think she'd better take her things off, an' let us be sure," said +Aunt Lucretia. "I'm not goin' to have her down there with her clothes +on any which way, an' everybody making remarks. Take your sacque off, +Lucretia." + +"Oh, I got the bow on straight; it's real straight, it is, _honest_," +pleaded young Lucretia, piteously. She clutched the plaid shawl tightly +together, but it was of no use--off the things had to come. And young +Lucretia had put on the prim whaleboned basque of her best dress wrong +side before; she had buttoned it in the back. There she stood, very much +askew and uncomfortable about the shoulder seams and sleeves, and hung +her head before her aunts. + +"Lucretia Raymond, what _do_ you mean, putting your dress on this way?" + +"All--the other--girls--wear--theirs buttoned in--the back." + +"All the other girls! Well, you're not going to have yours buttoned in +the back, and wear holes through that nice ladies' cloth coat every time +you lean back against a chair. I should think you were crazy. I've a +good mind not to let you go out at all. Stand round here!" + +Young Lucretia's basque was sharply unbuttoned, she was jerked out of +it, and it was turned around and fastened as it was meant to be. When +she was finally started, with her aunts' parting admonition echoing +after her, she felt sad and doubtful, but soon her merry disposition +asserted itself. + +There was no jollier and more radiant little soul than she all through +the opening exercises. She listened to the speaking and the singing with +the greatest appreciation and delight. She sat up perfectly straight in +her prim and stiff basque; she folded her small red hands before her; +her two tight braids inclined stiffly towards her ears, and her face was +all aglow with smiles. + +When the distribution of presents began her name was among the first +called. She arose with alacrity, and went with a gay little prance down +the aisle. She took the parcel that the teacher handed to her; she +commenced her journey back, when she suddenly encountered the eyes of +her aunt Lucretia and her aunt Maria. Then her terror and remorse began. +She had never dreamed of such a thing as her aunts coming--indeed, they +had not themselves. A neighbor had come in and persuaded them, and they +had taken a sudden start against their resolutions and their principles. + +Young Lucretia's name was called again and again. Every time she slunk +more reluctantly and fearfully down to the tree; she knew that her +aunts' eyes were surveying her with more and more amazement. + +After the presents were all distributed she sat perfectly still with +hers around her. They lay on her desk, and the last one was in her lap. +She had not taken off a single wrapping. They were done up neatly in +brown paper, and Lucretia's name was written on them. + +Lucretia sat there. The other girls were in a hubbub of delight all +around her, comparing their presents, but she sat perfectly still and +watched her aunts coming. They came slowly; they stopped to speak to the +teacher. Aunt Lucretia reached young Lucretia first. + +"What have you got there?" she asked. She did not look cross, but a good +deal surprised. Young Lucretia just gazed miserably up at her. "Why +don't you undo them?" asked Aunt Lucretia. Young Lucretia shook her head +helplessly. "Why, what makes you act so, child?" cried Aunt Lucretia, +getting alarmed. Then Aunt Maria came up, and there was quite a little +group around young Lucretia. She began to cry. "What on earth ails the +child?" said Aunt Lucretia. She caught up one of the parcels and opened +it; it was a book bound in red and gold. She held it close to her eyes; +she turned it this way and that; she examined the fly-leaf. "Why," said +she, "it's the old gift-book Aunt Susan gave me when I was eighteen +years old! What in the world!" + +Aunt Maria had undone another. "This is the _Floral Album_," she said, +tremulously; "we always keep it in the north parlor on the table. Here's +my name in it. I don't see--" + +Aunt Lucretia speechlessly unmuffled a clove apple and a nautilus shell +that had graced the parlor shelf; then a little daintily dressed rag +doll with cheeks stained pink with cranberry juice appeared. When young +Lucretia spied this last she made a little grab at it. + +"Oh," she sobbed, "somebody did hang this on for me! They did--they did! +It's mine!" + +It never seemed to young Lucretia that she walked going home that night; +she had a feeling that only her tiptoes occasionally brushed the earth; +she went on rapidly, with a tall aunt on either side. Not much was said. +Once in a lonely place in the road there was a volley of severe +questions from her aunts, and young Lucretia burst out in a desperate +wail. "Oh!" she cried, "I was going to put 'em right back again, I was! +I've not hurt 'em any. I was real careful. I didn't s'pose you'd know +it. Oh, they said you were cross an' stingy, an' wouldn't hang me +anything on the tree, an' I didn't want 'em to think you were. I wanted +to make 'em think I had things, I did." + +"What made you think of such a thing?" + +"I don't know." + +"I shouldn't think you would know. I never heard of such doings in my +life!" + +After they got home not much was said to young Lucretia; the aunts were +still too much bewildered for many words. Lucretia was bidden to light +her candle and go to bed, and then came a new grief, which was the last +drop in the bucket for her. They confiscated her rag doll, and put it +away in the parlor with the clove apple, the nautilus shell, and the +gift-book. Then the little girl's heart failed her, remorse for she +hardly knew what, terror, and the loss of the sole comfort that had come +to her on this pitiful Christmas Eve were too much. + +"Oh," she wailed, "my rag baby! my rag baby! I--want my--rag baby. Oh! +oh! oh! I want her, I want her." + +Scolding had no effect. Young Lucretia sobbed out her complaint all the +way up-stairs, and her aunts could distinguish the pitiful little wail +of, "my rag baby, I want my rag baby," after she was in her chamber. + +The two women looked at each other. They had sat uneasily down by the +sitting-room fire. + +"I must say that I think you're rather hard on her, Lucretia," said +Maria, finally. + +"I don't know as I've been any harder on her than you have," returned +Lucretia. "I shouldn't have said to take away that rag baby if I'd said +just what I thought." + +"I think you'd better take it up to her, then, and stop that crying," +said Maria. + +Lucretia hastened into the north parlor without another word. She +carried the rag baby up-stairs to young Lucretia; then she came down to +the pantry and got a seed-cake for her. "I thought the child had better +have a little bite of something; she didn't eat scarcely a mite of +supper," she explained to Maria. She had given young Lucretia's head a +hard pat when she bestowed the seed-cake, and bade her eat it and go +right to sleep. The little girl hugged her rag baby and ate her cooky in +bliss. + +The aunts sat a while longer by the sitting-room fire. Just before they +left it for the night Lucretia looked hesitatingly at Maria, and said, +"I s'pose you have noticed that wax doll down to White's store, 'ain't +you?" + +"That big wax one with the pink dress?" asked Maria, faintly and +consciously. + +"Yes. There was a doll's bedstead there, too. I don't know as you +noticed." + +"Yes, I think I did, now you speak of it. I noticed it the day I went in +for the calico. There was a doll baby's carriage there, too." + +The aunts looked at each other. "I s'pose it would be dreadful foolish," +said Lucretia. + +"She'd be 'most too tickled to live," remarked Maria. + +"Well, we can't buy 'em to-night anyway," said Lucretia. "I must light +the candles an' lock up." + +The next day was Christmas. It was about three o'clock in the afternoon +when old Mrs. Emmons went up the road to the Raymond house. She had a +little parcel. When she came into the sitting-room there was young +Lucretia in a corner, so that the room should not get in a mess, with +her wealth around her. She looked forth, a radiant little mother of +dolls, from the midst of her pretty miniature house-keeping. + +"My sakes!" cried old Mrs. Emmons, "isn't that complete? She's got a big +wax doll, an' a bedstead, an' a baby-carriage, an' a table an' bureau. I +declare! Well, I don't know what I should have thought when I was a +little gal. An' I've brought some pieces for you to make some more +dresses for the rag baby, if you want to." + +Young Lucretia's eyes shone. + +"You were real kind to think of it," said Aunt Lucretia; "an' she'll +take real comfort making the dresses. I'm real glad you came in, Mis' +Emmons. I've been going down to see you for a long time. I want to see +Ann, too; I thought I'd see if she hadn't got a pattern of a dress that +buttons up in the back for Lucretia." + +Young Lucretia's eyes shone more than ever, and she smiled out of her +corner like a little star. + + + + +HOW FIDELIA WENT TO THE STORE + + +"I don't know what we're goin' to do," said Aunt Maria Crooker. She sat +in a large arm-chair, and held in her lap a bowl of sugar and butter +that she was creaming. Aunt Maria filled up the chair from arm to arm, +for she was very portly; she had a large, rosy, handsome face, and she +creamed with such energy that she panted for breath. + +"Well, I don't know, either," rejoined her sister, Mrs. Lennox. "I can't +go to the store with my lame foot, that's certain." + +"Well, I know _I_ can't," said Aunt Maria, with additional emphasis. "I +haven't walked two mile for ten year, an' I don't believe I could get to +that store and back to save my life." + +"I don't believe you could, either. I don't know what is goin' to be +done. We can't make the cake without raisins, anyhow. It's the queerest +thing how father happened to forget them. Now here he is gone over to +East Dighton after the new cow, and Cynthy gone to Keene to buy her +bonnet, an' me with a scalt foot, an' you not able to walk, an' not one +raisin in the house to put into that weddin'-cake." + +Mrs. Lennox stated the case in full, with a despairing eloquence, and +Aunt Maria sighed and wrinkled her forehead. + +"If there were only any neighbors you could borrow from," she observed. + +"Well, there ain't any neighbors 'twixt here and the store except the +Allens and the Simmonses, and the Allens are so tight they never put +raisins into their Thanksgivin' pies. Mis' Allen told me they didn't. +She said she thought most folks made their pies too rich, an' her folks +liked them just as well without raisins. An' as for the Simmonses, I +don't believe they see a raisin from one year's end to the other. +They're lucky if they can get enough common things to eat for all those +children. I don't know what's goin' to be done. Here's the dress-maker +comin' to-morrow, an' Cynthy goin' to be married in two weeks, and the +cake ought to be made to-day if it's ever goin' to be." + +"Yes, it had," assented Aunt Maria. "We've put it off full long enough, +anyway. Weddin'-cake ain't near so good unless it stands a little +while." + +"I know it." + +Just then there was a shrill, prolonged squeak. It came from the yard. +The doors and windows were open; it was a very warm day. + +"What's that?" cried Aunt Maria. + +"Oh, it's nothin' but Fidelia's little wagon. She's draggin' it round +the yard." + +The two women looked at each other; it was as if a simultaneous idea had +come suddenly to them. + +Aunt Maria gave expression to it first. "Fidelia couldn't go, could +she?" + +"Maria Crooker, that little thing! She ain't six years old, an' she's +never been anywhere alone. Do you s'pose I'm goin' to send her a mile to +that store?" Mrs. Lennox's tone was full of vehement indignation, but +her eyes still met Aunt Maria's with that doubtful and reflective +expression. + +"I don't see a mite of harm in it," Aunt Maria maintained, sturdily. She +set her bowl of sugar and butter on the table, and leaned forward with a +hand on each aproned knee. "I know Fidelia ain't but five year old, but +she's brighter than some children of seven. It's just a straight road to +the store, an' she can't get lost, to save her life. And she knows where +'tis. You took her down to Mis' Rose's three or four weeks ago, didn't +you?" + +"Yes; that day father went down for grain. I s'pose she would remember." + +"Of course she'd remember. I don't see one thing, as far as I'm +concerned, to hinder that child's goin' down to the store an' bringin' +home some raisins. I used to go on errands before I was as old as she +is. Folks didn't fuss over their children so much in my day." + +"Well," said Mrs. Lennox, finally, with a great sigh, "I don't know but +I may as well send her." + +Mrs. Lennox was much smaller than her sister, and she had a rather +sickly but pleasant face. She had to push a chair before her as she +walked, for she had scalded her foot quite badly the week before, and it +was now all swathed in bandages. It had been a very unfortunate accident +in more ways than one, for Cynthia, her elder daughter, was going to be +married soon, and the family were busily engaged in the wedding +preparations. It was very hard for poor Mrs. Lennox to have to limp +about with one knee in a chair, while she made wedding-cake and arranged +for the bridal festivities, but she made the best of it. + +Now she pushed over to the door, and called, "Fidelia! Fidelia!" + +Directly the squeak increased to an agonizing degree, the rattle of +small wheels accompanied it, and Fidelia came trudging around the +corner of the house. She was a chubby little girl, and her blue tier +seemed rather tight for her. She had a round, rosy face, and innocent +and honest black eyes. She wore a small Shaker bonnet with a green cape, +and she stubbed her toes into the grass every step she took. + +"Don't stub your toes so," said her mother, admonishingly. "You'll wear +your shoes all out." + +Fidelia immediately advanced with soft pats like a kitten. When she got +into the kitchen her mother took off her Shaker bonnet and looked at her +critically. "You'll have to have your hair brushed," said she. "Fidelia, +do you remember how you went with mother down to Mis' Rose's three or +four weeks ago?" + +Fidelia nodded and winked. + +"There was a big pussy cat there, do you remember? and Mis' Rose gave +you a cooky." + +Fidelia's affirmative wink seemed to give out sparkles. + +"Well, you remember how we went to the _side_ door and knocked--the door +with some roses over the top of it--and Mis' Rose came--the _side_ +door?" + +Fidelia, intensely attentive, standing before her mother and Aunt Maria, +remembered about the side door. + +"Well, you remember how there was a piazza across the front of the +house, don't you? Father hitched the horse to a post there. Well, +there's another door there opening on the piazza, don't you remember--a +door with panes of glass in it like a window?" + +Fidelia remembered. + +"Well, now, Fidelia, do you suppose you can go down to the store and buy +some raisins for mother to put in sister Cynthy's weddin'-cake, all +yourself?" + +"An' be a real smart little girl," put in Aunt Maria. + +Fidelia gave one ecstatic roll of her black eyes at them, then she broke +into a shout, "Lemme go! lemme go!" She oscillated on her small stubbed +toes like a bird preparing to fly, and she tugged energetically at her +mother's apron. + +"I'll give you a penny, an' you can buy you a nice stick of +red-and-white twisted candy," added her mother. + +Fidelia actually made a little dash for the door then, but her mother +caught her. "Stop!" she said, in an admonitory voice which was quieting +to Fidelia, and made her realize that the red-and-white candy was still +in the future. "Now you just wait a minute, an' not be in such a pucker. +You ain't goin' this way, with your apron just as dirty as poison, and +your hair all in a snarl. You've got to have on your clean apron, and +have your hair brushed and your face washed." + +So Fidelia climbed obediently into her high chair, and sat with her eyes +screwed up and her fists clinched, while her mother polished her face +faithfully with a wet, soapy end of a towel, and combed the snarls out +of her hair. When it was all done, her cheeks being very red and shiny, +and her hair very damp and smooth, when she was arrayed in her clean +starched white tier, and had her Shaker tied on with an emphatic square +bow, she stood in the door and drank in the parting instructions. Her +eyes were wide and intent, and her mouth drooped soberly at the corners. +The importance of the occasion had begun to impress her. She held a +penny tight in her hand; the raisins were to be charged, it not being +judged advisable to trust Fidelia with so much money. + +"I don't believe that little thing can carry three pounds of raisins," +Mrs. Lennox said to Aunt Maria. She was becoming more and more uneasy +about Fidelia's going. + +"Let her take her little wagon an' drag 'em; that'll be just the thing," +said Aunt Maria, complacently. + +So Fidelia started down the road, trundling behind her the little +squeaking cart. It was a warm July day, and it was very dusty. Directly +Fidelia started she forgot her mother's injunctions about stubbing her +toes; she disappeared in a small cloud of dust, for she walked in the +middle of the road, and flirted it up with great delight. + +[Illustration: "'WHOSE LITTLE GAL AIR YOU?'"] + +In the course of the mile Fidelia met one team. It was an old rocking +chaise and a white horse, and an old farmer was driving. He drove slower +when he came alongside of Fidelia. When he had fairly passed her he +stopped entirely, twisted about in his seat, and raised his voice. + +"Whose little gal air you?" he asked. + +Fidelia was a little frightened. Instead of giving her father's name, +she gave her own with shy precision--"Fidelia Ames Lennox," she said, +retiring into her Shaker bonnet. + +"You ain't runnin' away, be you?" + +Fidelia's pride was touched. "I'm going to the store for my mother," she +announced, in quite a shrill tone. Then she took to her heels, and the +little wagon trundled after, with a wilder squeak than ever. + +Fidelia kept saying over to herself, "Three pounds of your best raisins, +and Mr. Lennox will come in and pay you." Her mother and Aunt Maria +wished after she had gone that they had written it out on a piece of +paper; they had not thought of that. But Aunt Maria said she knew that +such a bright child as Fidelia would remember three pounds of raisins +when she had been told over and over, and charged not to come home +without them. + +Fidelia had started about ten o'clock in the morning, and her mother and +Aunt Maria had agreed that they would not worry if she should not return +until one o'clock in the afternoon. That would allow more than an hour +for the mile walk each way, and give plenty of time for a rest between; +for Fidelia had been instructed to go into the store and sit down on a +stool and rest a while before starting upon her return trip. "Likely as +not Mis' Rose will give her a cooky or something," Aunt Maria had +whispered to Mrs. Lennox. + +So when noon came the two women pictured Fidelia sitting perched upon a +stool in the store, being fed with candy and cookies, and made much of, +or even eating dinner with the Rose family. "Mis' Rose made so much of +her when you took her there before that I shouldn't wonder a mite if +she'd kept her to dinner," said Aunt Maria. She promulgated this theory +the more strenuously when one o'clock came and Fidelia had not appeared. +"Of course that's what 'tis," she kept repeating. "It would take 'em a +good hour to eat dinner. I shouldn't be a bit surprised if she didn't +get here before two o'clock. I think you're dreadful silly to worry, +Jane." + +For poor Mrs. Lennox was pushing her chair every few minutes over to the +door, where she would stand, her face all one anxious frown, straining +her eyes for a glimpse of the small figure trudging up the road. She had +made the blueberry dumpling that Fidelia loved for dinner, and it was +keeping warm on the back of the stove. Neither she nor Aunt Maria had +eaten a mouthful. + +When two o'clock came Mrs. Lennox broke down entirely. "Oh dear!" she +wailed; "oh dear! I ought to have known better than to let her go." + +Aunt Maria was now pacing heavily between her chair and the door, but +she still maintained a brave front. "For goodness' sake, Jane, don't +give up so," said she. "I don't see anything to worry about, for my +part; they're keepin' her." + +At half-past two Mrs. Lennox stood up with a determined air. "I ain't +goin' to wait here another minute," said she. "I'm goin' to find her. I +don't know but she's fell into the brook, or got run over." Mrs. +Lennox's face was all drawn with anxiety. + +"I'd like to know how you're goin'," said Aunt Maria. + +"I guess I can push this chair along the road just as well as in a +room." + +"Pretty-lookin' sight you'd be goin' a mile with one knee in a wooden +chair." + +"I guess I don't care much how I look if I only find--her." Mrs. +Lennox's voice broke into a wail. + +"You just sit down and keep calm," said Aunt Maria. "If anybody's goin', +I am." + +"Oh, you can't." + +"Yes, I can, too. I ain't quite so far gone that I can't walk a mile. +You ain't goin' a step on that scalt foot an' get laid up, with that +weddin' comin' off, not if I know it. I'm just goin' to slip on my +gaiter-shoes an' my sun-bonnet, an' take the big green umbrella to keep +the sun off." + +When Aunt Maria was equipped and started, Mrs. Lennox watched her +progress down the road with frantic impatience. It seemed to her that +she could have gone faster with her chair. Truth was, that poor Aunt +Maria, plodding heavily along in her gaiter-shoes, holding the green +umbrella over her flaming face, made but slow and painful progress, and +it was well that Mr. Lennox and Cynthia Lennox came home two hours +before they were expected. It was three o'clock when Mr. Lennox came +driving into the yard in the open buggy. Cynthia, erect and blooming, +with her big bandbox in her lap, sat beside him, and the new Jersey cow, +fastened by a rope to the tail of the buggy, came on behind with +melancholy moos. Cynthia had bought her wedding-bonnet sooner than she +had expected, so she had come home on the three o'clock train instead of +the five; and her father had bought the cow sooner than he had expected, +and had come to the railroad crossing just about the time that Cynthia's +train arrived. So he had stopped and taken in her and her bandbox, and +they had all ridden home together. + +Mrs. Lennox stood in the kitchen door when they drove in. + +"Oh, mother," Cynthia cried out, "I've had splendid luck! I've got the +handsomest bonnet!" + +"I guess you won't care much about bonnets," answered her mother; +"_Fidelia's lost_." She spoke quite slowly and calmly, then she began to +weep wildly and lament. It was quite a time before she could make the +case plain to them, and Cynthia and her bandbox, and Mr. Lennox and the +horse and buggy and cow, all remained before her in a petrified halt. + +As soon as Mr. Lennox fairly understood, he sprang out of the buggy, +untied the cow, led her into the barn, turned the team around, with a +sharp grate of the wheels, jumped in again, and gathered up the reins. +Cynthia, her rosy cheeks quite pale, still sat in her place, and the +tears splashed on her new bandbox cover. Mrs. Lennox had set her chair +outside the door, and followed it, with a painful effort. "Stop, +father!" she cried; "I'm goin' too!" + +"Oh, mother, you can't!" said Mr. Lennox and Cynthia, together. + +"I'm goin'. You needn't say a word. Father, you get out an' help me in." + +Mr. Lennox got out and lifted, while Cynthia pulled. Mrs. Lennox's +injured foot suffered, but she set her mouth hard, and said nothing. +They started at a good pace, three on a seat, with Mr. Lennox in the +middle, driving. + +They had got about half-way to the store when they overtook Aunt Maria. +Aunt Maria, with the green umbrella overhead, was proceeding steadily, +with a sideways motion that seemed more effective than the forward one. + +"I'll get out, and let her get in," said Cynthia. + +"No," said her father; "it won't do; it 'ill break the springs. We can't +ride three on a seat with Aunt Maria, anyhow, and I've got to drive." + +So they passed Aunt Maria. + +"Don't go any farther, Aunt Maria," Cynthia called, sobbingly, back to +her. "You sit down on the wall and rest." + +But Aunt Maria shook her head, she could not speak, and kept on. + +It was quarter-past three when they reached the Rose house and the +store. The store was in the front of the house, and the Rose family +occupied the rear portion. The house stood on a street corner, so a good +deal of it was visible, and the whole establishment had a shut-up air; +not a single farmer's wagon stood before the store. However, as Mr. +Lennox drove up, a woman's head appeared at a window; then a side door +opened, and she stood there. She had on a big apron, and her face was +flushed as if she had been over the stove; she held a great wooden +spoon, too. She began talking to the Lennoxes, but they paid no +attention to her--their eyes were riveted upon the store door. There was +a speck of white against its dark front, and suddenly it moved. It was +Fidelia's white tier. + +"Why, there's Fidelia!" gasped Cynthia. She jumped out, not waiting for +her father to turn the wheel, and ran to the store door. The bandbox +rolled out and the lid came off, and there was her wedding-bonnet in the +dust, but she did not mind that. She caught Fidelia. "Oh, you naughty +little girl, where have you been all this time?" cried she. + +Fidelia's eyes took on a bewildered stare, her mouth puckered more and +more. She clung to her sister, and sobbed something that was quite +inaudible. It was quite a time before her father and mother and Cynthia +and Mrs. Rose, surrounding her with attention, could gather that the +import of it all was that she had knocked and knocked and nobody had +come to the door. + +"_Knocked!_" gasped Mrs. Rose; "why, the poor little lamb! Here Mr. Rose +and Sam have been away all day, an' I've been makin' currant-jell' out +in the kitchen. An' there's the bell on the counter, that customers +always ring when there ain't anybody round. I've been listenin' for +_that_ all day. It's been so hot, an' everybody hayin', that I don't +suppose a soul but her has been near the store since nine o'clock this +mornin', and there she's stood an' knocked. I never heard anything like +it in my life. See here, Pussy, haven't you been asleep?" + +Fidelia shook her head in a sulky and down-cast manner, but there was a +suspiciously flushed and creasy look about her, and they agreed that it +was more than probable that a nap on the store steps had softened and +shortened her vigil. + +Mrs. Lennox had her up in the wagon on her lap. She took her Shaker +bonnet off, and smoothed her hair and kissed her. "She thought she'd got +to knock, I s'pose," said she. "I ought to have told her she didn't have +to when she went to a store. Poor little soul! mother won't send her to +the store again till she's bigger." + +"I knocked an' knocked," wailed Fidelia, piteously. + +She looked cross and worn out. Mrs. Rose ran into the house, and brought +out a plate of cookies and a mug of milk, and then Fidelia sat in her +mother's lap and ate and drank and felt comforted. But after the raisins +had been finally purchased, Cynthia's bonnet picked up out of the dust +and shaken, the little squeaking wagon stowed under the seat of the +buggy, and the team turned around, Fidelia set up a grievous and injured +cry: "My candy! my candy! I 'ain't--got my candy!" And she held up to +view the copper cent still clutched in her moist little fist. + +"Poor little lamb, she shall have her candy!" cried Mrs. Rose. Fidelia +had never seen such a handful of candy as Mrs. Rose brought out from the +store. There was a twisted red-and-white stick of peppermint, pink +checkerberry, clear barley--a stick of every kind in the glass jars in +Mr. Rose's store window. And Mrs. Rose would not take Fidelia's one +penny at all; she bade her keep it until she came to the store again. + +Aunt Maria was almost up to the store when they left it, and it was +decided that she should remain and make a call upon Mrs. Rose while Mr. +Lennox carried the others home, then he would return for her. Aunt Maria +folded her green umbrella and sank down on the door-step, and Mrs. Rose +brought her a palm-leaf fan and a glass of ginger water. "I 'ain't +walked a mile before for ten year," gasped Aunt Maria; "but I'm so +thankful that child's safe that I can't think of anything else." There +were tears in her eyes as she watched the wagon-load disappearing under +the green branches of the elm-trees. And Fidelia, in her mother's lap, +rode along and sucked a stick of barley candy in silent bliss. Griefs in +childhood soon turn to memories; straightway, as she sucked her barley +candy, Fidelia's long and painful vigil at the store door became a thing +of the past. + + + + +ANN MARY HER TWO THANKSGIVINGS + + +"Grandma." + +"What is it, child?" + +"You goin' to put that cup-cake into the pan to bake it now, grandma?" + +"Yes; I guess so. It's beat 'bout enough." + +"You ain't put in a mite of nutmeg, grandma." + +The grandmother turned around to Ann Mary. "Don't you be quite so +anxious," said she, with sarcastic emphasis. "I allers put the nutmeg in +cup-cake the very last thing. I ruther guess I shouldn't have put this +cake into the oven without nutmeg!" + +The old woman beat fiercely on the cake. She used her hand instead of a +spoon, and she held the yellow mixing-bowl poised on her hip under her +arm. She was stout and rosy-faced. She had crinkly white hair, and she +always wore a string of gold beads around her creasy neck. She never +took off the gold beads except to put them under her pillow at night, +she was so afraid of their being stolen. Old Mrs. Little had always been +nervous about thieves, although none had ever troubled her. + +"You may go into the pantry, an' bring out the nutmeg now, Ann Mary," +said she presently, with dignity. + +Ann Mary soberly slipped down from her chair and went. She realized that +she had made a mistake. It was quite an understood thing for Ann Mary to +have an eye upon her grandmother while she was cooking, to be sure that +she put in everything that she should, and nothing that she should not, +for the old woman was absent-minded. But it had to be managed with great +delicacy, and the corrections had to be quite irrefutable, or Ann Mary +was reprimanded for her pains. + +When Ann Mary had deposited the nutmeg-box and the grater at her +grandmother's elbow, she took up her station again. She sat at a corner +of the table in one of the high kitchen-chairs. Her feet could not touch +the floor, and they dangled uneasily in their stout leather shoes, but +she never rested them on the chair round, nor even swung them by way of +solace. Ann Mary's grandmother did not like to have her chair rounds +all marked up by shoes, and swinging feet disturbed her while she was +cooking. Ann Mary sat up, grave and straight. She was a delicate, +slender little girl, but she never stooped. She had an odd resemblance +to her grandmother; a resemblance more of manner than of feature. She +held back her narrow shoulders in the same determined way in which the +old woman held her broad ones; she walked as she did, and spoke as she +did. + +Mrs. Little was very proud of Ann Mary Evans; Ann Mary was her only +daughter's child, and had lived with her grandmother ever since she was +a baby. The child could not remember either her father or mother, she +was so little when they died. + +Ann Mary was delicate, so she did not go to the village to the public +school. Miss Loretta Adams, a young lady who lived in the neighborhood, +gave her lessons. Loretta had graduated in a beautiful white muslin +dress at the high-school over in the village, and Ann Mary had a great +respect and admiration for her. Loretta had a parlor-organ, and could +play on it, and she was going to give Ann Mary lessons after +Thanksgiving. Just now there was a vacation. Loretta had gone to Boston +to spend two weeks with her cousin. + +Ann Mary was all in brown, a brown calico dress and a brown calico, +long-sleeved apron; and her brown hair was braided in two tight little +tails that were tied with some old brown bonnet-strings of Mrs. +Little's, and flared out stiffly behind the ears. Once, when Ann Mary +was at her house, Loretta Adams had taken it upon herself to comb out +the tight braids and set the hair flowing in a fluffy mass over the +shoulders; but when Ann Mary came home her grandmother was properly +indignant. She seized her and re-braided the tails with stout and +painful jerks. "I ain't goin' to have Loretty Adams meddlin' with your +hair," said she, "an' she can jest understand it. If she wants to have +her own hair all in a frowzle, an' look like a wild Injun, she can; you +sha'n't!" + +And Ann Mary, standing before her grandmother with head meekly bent and +watery eyes, decided that she would have to tell Loretta that she +mustn't touch the braids, if she proposed it again. + +That morning, while Mrs. Little was making the pies, and the cake, and +the pudding, Ann Mary was sitting idle, for her part of the Thanksgiving +cooking was done. She had worked so fast the day before and early that +morning that she had the raisins all picked over and seeded, and the +apples pared and sliced; and that was about all that her grandmother +thought she could do. Ann Mary herself was of a different opinion; she +was twelve years old, if she _was_ small for her age, and she considered +herself quite capable of making pies and cup-cake. + +However, it was something to sit there at the table and have that covert +sense of superintending her grandmother, and to be reasonably sure that +some of the food would have a strange flavor were it not for her +vigilance. + +Mrs. Little's mince-pies had all been baked the day before; to-day, as +she said, she was "making apple and squash." While the apple-pies were +in progress, Ann Mary watched her narrowly. Her small folded hands +twitched and her little neck seemed to elongate above her apron; but she +waited until her grandmother took up an upper crust, and was just about +to lay it over a pie. Then she spoke up suddenly. Her voice had a timid +yet assertive chirp like a bird's. + +"Grandma!" + +"Well, what is it, child?" + +"You goin' to put that crust on that pie now, grandma?" + +Mrs. Little stood uneasily reflective. She eyed the pie sharply. "Yes, I +be. Why?" she returned, in a doubtful yet defiant manner. + +"You haven't put one bit of sugar in." + +"For the land sakes!" Mrs. Little did not take correction of this kind +happily, but when she was made to fairly acknowledge the need of it, she +showed no resentment. She laid the upper crust back on the board and +sweetened the pie. Ann Mary watched her gravely, but she was inwardly +complacent. After she had rescued the pudding from being baked without +the plums, and it was nearly dinner-time, her grandfather came home. He +had been over to the village to buy the Thanksgiving turkey. Ann Mary +looked out with delight when he drove past the windows on his way to the +barn. + +"Grandpa's got home," said she. + +It was snowing quite hard, and she saw the old man and the steadily +tramping white horse and the tilting wagon through a thick mist of +falling snow-flakes. + +Before Mr. Little came into the kitchen, his wife warned him to be sure +to wipe all the snow from his feet, and not to track in any, so he +stamped vigorously out in the shed. Then he entered with an air of +pride. "There!" said he, "what do ye think of that for a turkey?" Mr. +Little was generally slow and gentle in his ways, but to-day he was +quite excited over the turkey. He held it up with considerable +difficulty. He was a small old man, and the cords on his lean hands +knotted. "It weighs a good fifteen pound'," said he, "an' there wasn't a +better one in the store. Adkins didn't have a very big lot on hand." + +[Illustration: MR. LITTLE SELECTS THE THANKSGIVING TURKEY] + +"I should think that was queer, the day before Thanksgivin'," said Mrs. +Little. She was examining the turkey critically. "I guess it'll do," she +declared finally. That was her highest expression of approbation. "Well, +I rayther thought you'd think so," rejoined the old man, beaming. "I +guess it's about as good a one as can be got--they said 'twas, down +there. Sam White he was in there, and he said 'twas; he said I was goin' +to get it in pretty good season for Thanksgivin', he thought." + +"I don't think it's such very extra season, the day before +Thanksgivin'," said Mrs. Little. + +"Well, I don't think 'twas, nuther. I didn't see jest what Sam meant by +it." + +Ann Mary was dumb with admiration. When the turkey was laid on the broad +shelf in the pantry, she went and gazed upon it. In the afternoon there +was great enjoyment seeing it stuffed and made ready for the oven. +Indeed, this day was throughout one of great enjoyment, being full of +the very aroma of festivity and good cheer and gala times, and even +sweeter than the occasion which it preceded. Ann Mary had only one +damper all day, and that was the non-arrival of a letter. Mrs. Little +had invited her son and his family to spend Thanksgiving, but now they +probably were not coming, since not a word in reply had been received. +When Mr. Little said there was no letter in the post-office, Ann Mary's +face fell. "Oh, dear," said she, "don't you suppose Lucy will come, +grandma?" + +"No," replied her grandmother, "I don't. Edward never did such a thing +as not to send me word when he was comin', in his life, nor Maria +neither. I ain't no idee they'll come." + +"Oh, dear!" said Ann Mary again. + +"Well, you'll have to make up your mind to it," returned her +grandmother. She was sore over her own disappointment, and so was +irascible towards Ann Mary's. "It's no worse for you than for the rest +of us. I guess you can keep one Thanksgivin' without Lucy." + +For a while it almost seemed to Ann Mary that she could not. Lucy was +her only cousin. She loved Lucy dearly, and she was lonesome for another +little girl; nobody knew how she had counted upon seeing her cousin. Ann +Mary herself had a forlorn hope that Lucy still might come, even if +Uncle Edward _was_ always so particular about sending word, and no word +had been received. On Thanksgiving morning she kept running to the +window and looking down the road. But when the stage from the village +came, it passed right by the house without slackening its speed. + +Then there was no hope left at all. + +"You might jest as well be easy," said her grandmother. "I guess you can +have a good Thanksgivin' if Lucy _ain't_ here. This evenin' you can ask +Loretty to come over a little while, if you want to, an' you can make +some nut-candy." + +"Loretta ain't at home." + +"She'll come home for Thanksgivin', I guess. It ain't very likely she's +stayed away over that. When I get the dinner ready to take up, you can +carry a plateful down to Sarah Bean's, an' that'll be somethin' for you +to do, too. I guess you can manage." + +Thanksgiving Day was a very pleasant day, although there was +considerable snow on the ground, for it had snowed all the day before. +Mr. Little and Ann Mary did not go to church as usual, on that account. + +The old man did not like to drive to the village before the roads were +beaten out. Mrs. Little lamented not a little over it. It was the custom +for her husband and granddaughter to attend church Thanksgiving +morning, while she stayed at home and cooked the dinner. "It does seem +dreadful heathenish for nobody to go to meetin' Thanksgivin' Day," said +she; "an' we ain't even heard the proclamation read, neither. It rained +so hard last Sabbath that we couldn't go." + +The season was unusually wintry and severe, and lately the family had +been prevented from church-going. It was two Sundays since any of the +family had gone. The village was three miles away, and the road was +rough. Mr. Little was too old to drive over it in very bad weather. + +When Ann Mary went to carry the plate of Thanksgiving dinner to Sarah +Bean, she wore a pair of her grandfather's blue woollen socks drawn over +her shoes to keep out the snow. The snow was rather deep for easy +walking, but she did not mind that. She carried the dinner with great +care; there was a large plate well filled, and a tin dish was turned +over it to keep it warm. Sarah Bean was an old woman who lived alone. +Her house was about a quarter of a mile from the Littles'. + +When Ann Mary reached the house, she found the old woman making a cup of +tea. There did not seem to be much of anything but tea and +bread-and-butter for her dinner. She was very deaf and infirm, all her +joints shook when she tried to use them, and her voice quavered when she +talked. She took the plate, and her hands trembled so that the tin dish +played on the plate like a clapper. "Why," said she, overjoyed, "this +looks just like Thanksgiving Day, tell your grandma!" + +"Why, it _is_ Thanksgiving Day," declared Ann Mary, with some wonder. + +"What?" asked Sarah Bean. + +"_It is Thanksgiving Day, you know._" But it was of no use, the old +woman could not hear a word. Ann Mary's voice was too low. + +Ann Mary could not walk very fast on account of the snow. She was absent +some three-quarters of an hour; her grandmother had told her that dinner +would be all on the table when she returned. She was enjoying the nice +things in anticipation all the way; when she came near the house, she +could smell roasted turkey, and there was also a sweet spicy odor in the +air. + +She noticed with surprise that a sleigh had been in the yard. "I wonder +who's come," she said to herself. She thought of Lucy, and whether they +_could_ have driven over from the village. She ran in. "Why, who's +come?" she cried out. + +Her voice sounded like a shout in her own ears; it seemed to awaken +echoes. She fairly startled herself, for there was no one in the room. +There was absolute quiet through all the house. There was even no +sizzling from the kettles on the stove, for everything had been dished +up. The vegetables, all salted and peppered and buttered, were on the +table--but the turkey was not there. In the great vacant place where the +turkey should have been was a piece of white paper. Ann Mary spied it in +a moment. She caught it up and looked at it. It was a note from her +grandmother: + + We have had word that Aunt Betsey has had a bad turn. Lizz wants us + to come. The dinner is all ready for you. If we ain't home + to-night, you can get Loretty to stay with you. Be a good girl. + GRANDMA. + +Ann Mary read the note and stood reflecting, her mouth drooping at the +corners. Aunt Betsey was Mrs. Little's sister; Lizz was her daughter who +lived with her and took care of her. They lived in Derby, and Derby was +fourteen miles away. It seemed a long distance to Ann Mary, and she felt +sure that her grandparents could not come home that night. She looked +around the empty room and sighed. After a while she sat down and pulled +off the snowy socks; she thought she might as well eat her dinner, +although she did not feel so hungry as she had expected. Everything was +on the table but the turkey and plum-pudding. Ann Mary supposed these +were in the oven keeping warm; the door was ajar. But, when she looked, +they were not there. She went into the pantry; they were not there +either. It was very strange; there was the dripping-pan in which the +turkey had been baked, on the back of the stove, with some gravy in it; +and there was the empty pudding-dish on the hearth. + +"What has grandma done with the turkey and the plum-pudding?" said Ann +Mary, aloud. + +She looked again in the pantry; then she went down to the cellar--there +seemed to be so few places in the house in which it was reasonable to +search for a turkey and a plum-pudding! + +Finally she gave it up, and sat down to dinner. There was plenty of +squash and potatoes and turnips and onions and beets and cranberry-sauce +and pies; but it was no Thanksgiving dinner without turkey and +plum-pudding. It was like a great flourish of accompaniment without any +song. + +Ann Mary did as well as she could; she put some turkey-gravy on her +potato and filled up her plate with vegetables; but she did not enjoy +the dinner. She felt more and more lonely, too. She resolved that after +she had washed up the dinner dishes and changed her dress, she would go +over to Loretta Adams's. It was quite a piece of work, washing the +dinner dishes, there were so many pans and kettles; it was the middle of +the afternoon when she finished. Then Ann Mary put on her best plaid +dress, and tied her best red ribbons on her braids, and it was four +o'clock before she started for Loretta's. + +Loretta lived in a white cottage about half a mile away towards the +village. The front yard had many bushes in it, and the front path was +bordered with box; the bushes were now mounds of snow, and the box was +indicated by two snowy ridges. + +The house had a shut-up look; the sitting-room curtains were down. Ann +Mary went around to the side door; but it was locked. Then she went up +the front walk between the snowy ridges of box, and tried the front +door; that also was locked. The Adamses had gone away. Ann Mary did not +know what to do. The tears stood in her eyes, and she choked a little. +She went back and forth between the two doors, and shook and pounded; +she peeked around the corner of the curtain into the sitting-room. She +could see Loretta's organ, with the music-book, and all the familiar +furniture, but the room wore an utterly deserted air. + +Finally, Ann Mary sat down on the front door-step, after she had brushed +off the snow a little. She had made up her mind to wait a little while, +and see if the folks would not come home. She had on her red hood, and +her grandmother's old plaid shawl. She pulled the shawl tightly around +her, and muffled her face in it; it was extremely cold weather for +sitting on a door-step. Just across the road was a low clump of birches; +through and above the birches the sky showed red and clear where the sun +was setting. Everything looked cold and bare and desolate to the little +girl who was trying to keep Thanksgiving. Suddenly she heard a little +cry, and Loretta's white cat came around the corner of the house. + +"Kitty, kitty, kitty," called Ann Mary. She was very fond of Loretta's +cat; she had none of her own. + +The cat came close and brushed around Ann Mary so she took it up in her +lap; and wrapped the shawl around it, and felt a little comforted. + +She sat there on the door-step and held the cat until it was quite +dusky, and she was very stiff with the cold. Then she put down the cat +and prepared to go home. But she had not gone far along the road when +she found out that the cat was following her. The little white creature +floundered through the snow at her heels, and mewed constantly. +Sometimes it darted ahead and waited until she came up, but it did not +seem willing to be carried in her arms. + +When Ann Mary reached her own house the lonesome look of it sent a chill +all over her; she was afraid to go in. She made up her mind to go down +to Sarah Bean's and ask whether she could not stay all night there. + +So she kept on, and Loretta's white cat still followed her. There was no +light in Sarah Bean's house. Ann Mary knocked and pounded, but it was of +no use; the old woman had gone to bed, and she could not make her hear. + +Ann Mary turned about and went home; the tears were running down her +cold red cheeks. The cat mewed louder than ever. When she got home she +took the cat up and carried it into the house. She determined to keep it +for company, anyway. She was sure, now, that she would have to stay +alone all night; the Adamses and Sarah Bean were the only neighbors, and +it was so late now that she had no hope of her grandparents' return. Ann +Mary was timid and nervous, but she had a vein of philosophy, and she +generally grasped the situation with all the strength she had, when she +became convinced that she must. She had laid her plans while walking +home through the keen winter air, even as the tears were streaming over +her cheeks, and she proceeded to carry them into execution. She gave +Loretta's cat its supper, and she ate a piece of mince-pie herself; then +she fixed the kitchen and the sitting-room fires, and locked up the +house very thoroughly. Next, she took the cat and the lamp and went into +the dark bedroom and locked the door; then she and the cat were as safe +as she knew how to make them. The dark bedroom was in the very middle of +the house, the centre of a nest of rooms. It was small and square, had +no windows, and only one door. It was a sort of fastness. Ann Mary made +up her mind that she would not undress herself, and that she would keep +the lamp burning all night. She climbed into the big yellow-posted +bedstead, and the cat cuddled up to her and purred. + +Ann Mary lay in bed and stared at the white satin scrolls on the +wall-paper, and listened for noises. She heard a great many, but they +were all mysterious and indefinable, till about ten o'clock. Then she +sat straight up in bed and her heart beat fast. She certainly heard +sleigh-bells; the sound penetrated even to the dark bedroom. Then came a +jarring pounding on the side door. Ann Mary got up, unfastened the +bedroom door, took the lamp, and stepped out into the sitting-room. The +pounding came again. "Ann Mary, Ann Mary!" cried a voice. It was her +grandmother's. + +"I'm comin', I'm comin', grandma!" shouted Ann Mary. She had never felt +so happy in her life. She pushed back the bolt of the side door with +trembling haste. There stood her grandmother all muffled up, with a +shawl over her head; and out in the yard were her grandfather and +another man, with a horse and sleigh. The men were turning the sleigh +around. + +"Put the lamp in the window, Ann Mary," called Mr. Little, and Ann Mary +obeyed. Her grandmother sank into a chair. "I'm jest about tuckered +out," she groaned. "If I don't ketch my death with this day's work, I'm +lucky. There ain't any more feelin' in my feet than as if they was lumps +of stone." + +Ann Mary stood at her grandmother's elbow, and her face was all beaming. +"I thought you weren't coming," said she. + +"Well, I shouldn't have come a step to-night, if it hadn't been for +you--and the cow," said her grandmother, in an indignant voice. "I was +kind of uneasy about you, an' we knew the cow wouldn't be milked unless +you got Mr. Adams to come over." + +"Was Aunt Betsey very sick?" inquired Ann Mary. + +Her grandmother gave her head a toss. "Sick! No, there wa'n't a thing +the matter with her, except she ate some sassage-meat, an' had a little +faint turn. Lizz was scart to death, the way she always is. She didn't +act as if she knew whether her head was on, all the time we were there. +She didn't act as if she knew 'twas Thanksgivin' Day; an' she didn't +have no turkey that I could see. Aunt Betsey bein' took sick seemed to +put everythin' out of her head. I never saw such a nervous thing as she +is. I was all out of patience when I got there. Betsey didn't seem to be +very bad off, an' there we'd hurried enough to break our necks. We +didn't dare to drive around to Sarah Bean's to let you know about it, +for we was afraid we'd miss the train. We jest got in with the man that +brought the word, an' he driv as fast as he could over to the village, +an' then we lost the train, an' had to sit there in the depot two mortal +hours. An' now we've come fourteen mile' in an open sleigh. The man that +lives next door to Betsey said he'd bring us home, an' I thought we'd +better come. He's goin' over to the village to-night; he's got folks +there. I told him he'd a good deal better stay here, but he won't. He's +as deaf as an adder, an' you can't make him hear anythin', anyway. We +ain't spoke a word all the way home. Where's Loretty? She came over to +stay with you, didn't she?" + +Ann Mary explained that Loretta was not at home. + +"That's queer, seems to me, Thanksgivin' Day," said her grandmother. +"Massy sakes, what cat's that? She came out of the settin'-room!" + +Ann Mary explained about Loretta's cat. Then she burst forth with the +question that had been uppermost in her mind ever since her grandmother +came in. "Grandma," said she, "what did you do with the turkey and the +plum-pudding?" + +"What?" + +"What did you do with the turkey and the plum-pudding?" + +"The turkey an' the plum-puddin'?" + +"Yes; I couldn't find 'em anywhere." + +Mrs. Little, who had removed her wraps, and was crouching over the +kitchen stove with her feet in the oven, looked at Ann Mary with a dazed +expression. + +"I dunno what you mean, child," said she. + +Mr. Little had helped the man with the sleigh to start, and had now come +in. He was pulling off his boots. + +"Don't you remember, mother," said he, "how you run back in the house, +an' said you was goin' to set that turkey an' plum-pudding away, for you +was afraid to leave 'em settin' right out in plain sight on the table, +for fear that somebody might come in?" + +"Yes; I do remember," said Mrs. Little. "I thought they looked 'most too +temptin'. I set 'em in the pantry. I thought Ann Mary could get 'em when +she came in." + +"They ain't in the pantry," said Ann Mary. + +Her grandmother arose and went into the pantry with a masterful air. +"Ain't in the pantry?" she repeated. "I don't s'pose you more'n gave one +look." + +Ann Mary followed her grandmother. She fairly expected to see the turkey +and pudding before her eyes on the shelf and to admit that she had been +mistaken. Mr. Little also followed, and they all stood in the pantry and +looked about. + +"I guess they ain't here, mother," said Mr. Little. "Can't you think +where you set 'em?" + +The old woman took up the lamp and stepped out of the pantry with +dignity. "I've set 'em somewhere," said she, in a curt voice, "an' I'll +find 'em in the mornin'. You don't want any turkey or plum-puddin' +to-night, neither of you!" + +But Mrs. Little did not find the turkey and the plum-pudding in the +morning. Some days went by, and their whereabouts was as much a mystery +as ever. Mrs. Little could not remember where she had put them; but it +had been in some secure hiding-place, since her own wit which had placed +them there could not find it out. She was so mortified and worried over +it that she was nearly ill. She tried to propound the theory, and +believe in it herself, that she had really set the turkey and the +pudding in the pantry, and that they had been stolen; but she was too +honest. "I've heerd of folks puttin' things in such safe places that +they couldn't find 'em, before now," said she; "but I never heerd of +losin' a turkey an' a plum-puddin' that way. I dunno but I'm losin' what +little wits I ever did have." She went about with a humble and resentful +air. She promised Ann Mary that she would cook another turkey and +pudding the first of the week, if the missing ones were not found. + +Sunday came and they were not discovered. It was a pleasant day, and the +Littles went to the village church. Ann Mary looked over across the +church after they were seated and saw Loretta, with the pretty brown +frizzes over her forehead, sitting between her father and mother, and +she wondered when Loretta had come home. + +The choir sang and the minister prayed. Suddenly Ann Mary saw him, +standing there in the pulpit, unfold a paper. Then _the minister began +to read the Thanksgiving Proclamation_. Ann Mary cast one queer glance +at her grandmother, who returned it with one of inexpressible dignity +and severity. + +As soon as meeting was done, her grandmother clutched her by the arm. +"Don't you say a word about it to anybody," she whispered. "You mind!" + +When they were in the sleigh going home she charged her husband. "You +mind, you keep still, father," said she. "It'll be town-talk if you +don't." + +The old man chuckled. "Don't you know, I said once that I had kind of an +idee that Thanksgivin' weren't quite so early, and you shut me up, +mother," he remarked. He looked good-naturedly malicious. + +"Well, I dunno as it's anything so very queer," said Mrs. Little. "It +comes a whole week later than it did last year, and I s'posed we'd +missed hearin' the proclamation." + +The next day a letter arrived saying that Lucy and her father and mother +were coming to spend Thanksgiving. "I feel jest about beat," Mrs. +Little said, when she read the letter. + +Really, she did feel about at her wit's end. The turkey and pudding were +not yet found, and she had made up her mind that she would not dare wait +much longer without providing more. She knew that another turkey must be +procured, at all events. However, she waited until the last minute +Wednesday afternoon, then she went to work mixing a pudding. Mr. Little +had gone to the store for the turkey. "Sam White was over there, an' he +said he thought we was goin' right into turkeys this year," he reported +when he got home. + +That night the guests arrived. Thanksgiving morning Lucy and Ann Mary +and their grandfather and Lucy's father and mother were all going to +meeting. Mrs. Little was to stay at home and cook the dinner. + +Thanksgiving morning Mr. Little made a fire in the best parlor air-tight +stove, and just before they started for meeting Lucy and Ann Mary were +in the room. Lucy, in the big rocking-chair that was opposite the sofa, +was rocking to and fro and talking. Ann Mary sat near the window. Each +of the little girls had on her coat and hat. + +Suddenly Lucy stopped rocking and looked intently over towards the +sofa. + +"What you lookin' at, Lucy?" asked Ann Mary, curiously. + +Lucy still looked. "Why--I was wondering what was under that sofa," said +she, slowly. Then she turned to Ann Mary, and her face was quite pale +and startled--she had heard the turkey and pudding story. "Oh, Ann Mary, +it does look--like--oh--" + +Both little girls rushed to the sofa, and threw themselves on the floor. +"Oh, oh, oh!" they shrieked. "Grandma--mother! Come quick, come quick!" + +When the others came in, there sat Ann Mary and Lucy on the floor, and +between them were the turkey and the plum-pudding, each carefully +covered with a snow-white napkin. + +Mrs. Little was quite pale and trembling. "I remember now," said she, +faintly, "I run in here with 'em." + +She was so overcome that the others tried to take it quietly and not to +laugh much. But every little while, after Lucy and Ann Mary were seated +in church, they would look at each other and have to put their +handkerchiefs to their faces. However, Ann Mary tried hard to listen to +the sermon, and to behave well. In the depths of her childish heart she +felt grateful and happy. There, by her side, sat her dear Lucy, whose +sweet little face peeped out from a furry winter hat. Just across the +aisle was Loretta, who was coming in the evening, and then they would +pop corn and make nut-candy. At home there was the beautiful new turkey +and unlimited pudding and good cheer, and all disappointment and mystery +were done away with. + +Ann Mary felt as if all her troubles would be followed by +thanksgivings. + + + + +ANN LIZY'S PATCHWORK + + +Ann Lizy was invited to spend the afternoon and take tea with her friend +Jane Baxter, and she was ready to set forth about one o'clock. That was +the fashionable hour for children and their elders to start when they +were invited out to spend the afternoon. + +Ann Lizy had on her best muslin delaine dress, her best embroidered +pantalets, her black silk apron, and her flat straw hat with long blue +ribbon streamers. She stood in the south room--the sitting-room--before +her grandmother, who was putting some squares of patchwork, with needle, +thread, and scissors, into a green silk bag embroidered with roses in +bead-work. + +"There, Ann Lizy," said her grandmother, "you may take my bag if you are +real careful of it, and won't lose it. When you get to Jane's you lay it +on the table, and don't have it round when you're playin' out-doors." + +"Yes, ma'am," said Ann Lizy. She was looking with radiant, admiring eyes +at the bag--its cluster of cunningly wrought pink roses upon the glossy +green field of silk. Still there was a serious droop to her mouth; she +knew there was a bitter to this sweet. + +"Now," said her grandmother, "I've put four squares of patchwork in the +bag; they're all cut and basted nice, and you must sew 'em all, over and +over, before you play any. Sew 'em real fine and even, or you'll have to +pick the stitches out when you get home." + +Ann Lizy's radiant eyes faded; she hung her head. She calculated swiftly +that she could not finish the patchwork before four o'clock, and that +would leave her only an hour and a half to eat supper and play with +Jane, for she would have to come home at half-past five. "Can't I take +two, and do the other two to-morrow, grandma?" said she. + +Her grandmother straightened herself disapprovingly. She was a tall, +wiry old woman with strong, handsome features showing through her +wrinkles. She had been so energetic all her life, and done so much work, +that her estimation of it was worn, like scales. Four squares of +patchwork sewed with very fine even stitches had, to her, no weight at +all; it did not seem like work. + +"Well, if a great girl like you can't sew four squares of patchwork in +an arternoon, I wouldn't tell of it, Ann Lizy," said she. "I don't know +what you'd say if you had to work the way I did at your age. If you +can't have time enough to play and do a little thing like that, you'd +better stay at home. I ain't goin' to have you idle a whole arternoon, +if I know it. Time's worth too much to be wasted that way." + +"I'd sew the others to-morrow," pleaded Ann Lizy, faintly. + +"Oh, you wouldn't do it half so easy to-morrow; you've got to pick the +currants for the jell' to-morrow. Besides, that doesn't make any +difference. To-day's work is to-day's work, and it hasn't anything to do +with to-morrow's. It's no excuse for idlin' one day, because you do work +the next. You take that patchwork, and sit right down and sew it as soon +as you get there--don't put it off--and sew it nice, too, or you can +stay at home--just which you like." + +Ann Lizy sighed, but reached out her hand for the bag. "Now be careful +and not lose it," said her grandmother, "and be a good girl." + +"Yes, ma'am." + +"Don't run too hard, nor go to climbin' walls, and get your best dress +torn." + +"No, ma'am." + +"And only one piece of cake at tea-time." + +"Yes, ma'am." + +"And start for home at half-past five." + +"Yes, ma'am." + +Little Ann Lizy Jennings, as she went down the walk between the rows of +pinks, had a bewildered feeling that she had been to Jane Baxter's to +tea, and was home again. + +Her parents were dead, and she lived with her Grandmother Jennings, who +made her childhood comfortable and happy, except that at times she +seemed taken off her childish feet by the energy and strong mind of the +old woman, and so swung a little way through the world in her wake. But +Ann Lizy received no harm by it. + +Ann Lizy went down the road with the bead bag on her arm. She toed out +primly, for she had on her best shoes. A little girl, whom she knew, +stood at the gate in every-day clothes, and Ann Lizy bowed to her in the +way she had seen the parson's wife bow, when out making calls in her +best black silk and worked lace veil. The parson's wife was young and +pretty, and Ann Lizy admired her. It was quite a long walk to Jane +Baxter's, but it was a beautiful afternoon, and the road was pleasant, +although there were not many houses. There were green fields and +flowering bushes at the sides, and, some of the way, elm-trees arching +over it. Ann Lizy would have been very happy had it not been for the +patchwork. She had already pieced one patchwork quilt, and her +grandmother displayed it to people with pride, saying, "Ann Lizy pieced +that before she was eight years old." + +Ann Lizy had not as much ambition as her grandmother, now she was +engaged upon her second quilt, and it looked to her like a checked and +besprigged calico mountain. She kept dwelling upon those four squares, +over and over, until she felt as if each side were as long as the Green +Mountains. She calculated again and again how little time she would have +to play with Jane--only about an hour, for she must allow a half-hour +for tea. She was not a swift sewer when she sewed fine and even +stitches, and she knew she could not finish those squares before four +o'clock. One hour!--and she and Jane wanted to play dolls, and make +wreaths out of oak-leaves, and go down in the lane after thimbleberries, +and in the garden for gooseberries--there would be no time for anything! + +Ann Lizy's delicate little face under the straw flat grew more and more +sulky and distressed, her forehead wrinkled, and her mouth pouted. She +forgot to swing her muslin delaine skirts gracefully, and flounced +along hitting the dusty meadowsweet bushes. + +Ann Lizy was about half-way to Jane Baxter's house, in a lonely part of +the road, when she opened her bead bag and drew out her +pocket-handkerchief--her grandmother had tucked that in with the +patchwork--and wiped her eyes. When she replaced the handkerchief she +put it under the patchwork, and did not draw up the bag again, but went +on, swinging it violently by one string. + +When Ann Lizy reached Jane Baxter's gate she gave a quick, scared glance +at the bag. It looked very flat and limp. She did not open it, and she +said nothing about it to Jane. They went out to play in the garden. +There were so many hollyhocks there that it seemed like a real +flower-grove, and the gooseberries were ripe. + +Shortly after Ann Lizy entered Jane Baxter's house a white horse and a +chaise passed down the road in the direction from which she had just +come. There were three persons in the chaise--a gentleman, lady, and +little girl. The lady wore a green silk pelerine, and a green bonnet +with pink strings, and the gentleman a blue coat and bell hat. The +little girl had pretty long, light curls, and wore a white dress and +blue sash. She sat on a little footstool down in front of the seat. +They were the parson's wife's sister, her husband, and her little girl, +and had been to visit at the parsonage. The gentleman drove the white +horse down the road, and the little girl looked sharply and happily at +everything by the way. All at once she gave a little cry--"Oh, father, +what's that in the road?" + +She saw Ann Lizy's patchwork, all four squares nicely pinned together, +lying beside the meadowsweet bushes. Her father stopped the horse, got +out, and picked up the patchwork. + +"Why," said the parson's wife's sister, "some little girl has lost her +patchwork; look, Sally!" + +"She'll be sorry, won't she?" said the little girl, whose name was +Sally. + +The gentleman got back into the chaise, and the three rode off with the +patchwork. There seemed to be nothing else to do; there were no houses +near and no people of whom to inquire. Besides, four squares of calico +patchwork were not especially valuable. + +"If we don't find out who lost it, I'll put it into my quilt," said +Sally. She studied the patterns of the calico very happily, as they rode +along; she thought them prettier than anything she had. One had pink +roses on a green ground, and she thought that especially charming. + +Meantime, while Sally and her father and mother rode away in the chaise +with the patchwork to Whitefield, ten miles distant, where their house +was, Ann Lizy and Jane played as fast as they could. It was four o'clock +before they went into the house. Ann Lizy opened her bag, which she had +laid on the parlor table with the _Young Lady's Annuals_ and _Mrs. +Hemans's Poems_. "I s'pose I must sew my patchwork," said she, in a +miserable, guilty little voice. Then she exclaimed. It was strange that, +well as she knew there was no patchwork there, the actual discovery of +nothing at all gave her a shock. + +"What's the matter?" asked Jane. + +"I've--lost my patchwork," said Ann Lizy. + +Jane called her mother, and they condoled with Ann Lizy. Ann Lizy sat in +one of Mrs. Baxter's rush-bottomed chairs and began to cry. + +"Where did you lose it?" Mrs. Baxter asked. "Don't cry, Ann Lizy, maybe +we can find it." + +"I s'pose I--lost it comin'," sobbed Ann Lizy. + +"Well, I'll tell you what 't is," said Mrs. Baxter; "you and Jane had +better run up the road a piece, and likely as not you'll find it; and +I'll have tea all ready when you come home. Don't feel so bad, child, +you'll find it, right where you dropped it." + +But Ann Lizy and Jane, searching carefully along the road, did not find +the patchwork where it had been dropped. "Maybe it's blown away," +suggested Jane, although there was hardly wind enough that afternoon to +stir a feather. And the two little girls climbed over the stone-walls +and searched in the fields, but they did not find the patchwork. Then +another mishap befell Ann Lizy. She tore a three-cornered place in her +best muslin delaine, getting over the wall. When she saw that she felt +as if she were in a dreadful dream. "Oh, what will grandma say!" she +wailed. + +"Maybe she won't scold," said Jane, consolingly. + +"Yes, she will. Oh dear!" + +The two little girls went dolefully home to tea. There were hot biscuits +and honey and tarts and short gingerbread and custards, but Ann Lizy did +not feel hungry. Mrs. Baxter tried to comfort her; she really saw not +much to mourn over, except the rent in the best dress, as four squares +of patchwork could easily be replaced; she did not see the true +inwardness of the case. + +At half-past five, Ann Lizy, miserable and tear-stained, the +three-cornered rent in her best dress pinned up, started for home, and +then--her grandmother's beautiful bead bag was not to be found. Ann Lizy +and Jane both remembered that it had been carried when they set out to +find the patchwork. Ann Lizy had meditated bringing the patchwork home +in it. + +"Aunt Cynthy made that bag for grandma," said Ann Lizy, in a tone of +dull despair; this was beyond tears. + +"Well, Jane shall go with you, and help find it," said Mrs. Baxter, "and +I'll leave the tea-dishes and go too. Don't feel so bad, Ann Lizy, I +know I can find it." + +But Mrs. Baxter and Jane and Ann Lizy, all searching, could not find the +bead bag. "My best handkerchief was in it," said Ann Lizy. It seemed to +her as if all her best things were gone. She and Mrs. Baxter and Jane +made a doleful little group in the road. The frogs were peeping, and the +cows were coming home. Mrs. Baxter asked the boy who drove the cows if +he had seen a green bead bag, or four squares of patchwork; he stared +and shook his head. + +Ann Lizy looked like a wilted meadow reed, the blue streamers on her hat +drooped dejectedly, her best shoes were all dusty, and the +three-cornered rent was the feature of her best muslin delaine dress +that one saw first. Then her little delicate face was all tear-stains +and downward curves. She stood there in the road as if she had not +courage to stir. + +"Now, Ann Lizy," said Mrs. Baxter, "you'd better run right home and not +worry. I don't believe your grandma 'll scold you when you tell her just +how 't was." + +Ann Lizy shook her head. "Yes, she will." + +"Well, she'll be worrying about you if you ain't home before long, and I +guess you'd better go," said Mrs. Baxter. + +Ann Lizy said not another word; she began to move dejectedly towards +home. Jane and her mother called many kindly words after her, but she +did not heed them. She kept straight on, walking slowly until she was +home. Her grandmother stood in the doorway watching for her. She had a +blue-yarn stocking in her hands, and she was knitting fast as she +watched. + +"Ann Lizy, where have you been, late as this?" she called out, as Ann +Lizy came up the walk. "It's arter six o'clock." + +Ann Lizy continued to drag herself slowly forward, but she made no +reply. + +"Why don't you speak?" + +Ann Lizy crooked her arm around her face and began to cry. Her +grandmother reached down, took her by the shoulder, and led her into the +house. "What on airth is the matter, child?" said she; "have you fell +down?" + +"No, ma'am." + +"What does ail you, then? Ann Lizy Jennings, how come that great +three-cornered tear in your best dress?" + +Ann Lizy sobbed. + +"Answer me." + +"I--tore it gittin' over--the wall." + +"What were you gettin' over walls for in your best dress? I'd like to +know what you s'pose you'll have to wear to meetin' now. Didn't I tell +you not to get over walls in your best dress? _Ann Lizy Jennings, where +is my bead bag?_" + +"I--lost it." + +"Lost my bead bag?" + +"Yes, ma'am." + +"How did you lose it, eh?" + +"I lost it when--I was lookin' for--my patchwork." + +"Did you lose your patchwork?" + +"Yes, ma'am." + +"When?" + +"When I was--goin' over to--Jane's." + +"Lost it out of the bag?" + +Ann Lizy nodded, sobbing. + +"Then you went to look for it and lost the bag. Lost your best +pocket-handkerchief, too?" + +"Yes, ma'am." + +Old Mrs. Jennings stood looking at Ann Lizy. + +"All that patchwork, cut out and basted jest as nice as could be, your +best pocket-handkerchief and my bead bag lost, and your meetin' dress +tore," said she; "well, you've done about enough for one day. Take off +your things and go up-stairs to bed. You can't go over to Jane Baxter's +again for one spell, and every mite of the patchwork that goes into the +quilt you've got to cut by a thread, and baste yourself, and to-morrow +you've got to hunt for that patchwork and that bag till you find 'em, if +it takes you all day. Go right along." + +Ann Lizy took off her hat and climbed meekly up-stairs and went to bed. +She did not say her prayers; she lay there and wept. It was about +half-past eight, the air coming through the open window was loud with +frogs and katydids and whippoorwills, and the twilight was very deep, +when Ann Lizy arose and crept down-stairs. She could barely see her way. + +There was a candle lighted in the south room, and her grandmother sat +there knitting. Ann Lizy, a piteous little figure in her white +night-gown, stood in the door. + +"Well, what is it?" her grandmother said, in a severe voice that had a +kindly inflection in it. + +"Grandma--" + +"What is it?" + +"I lost my patchwork on purpose. I didn't want--to sew it." + +"Lost your patchwork on purpose!" + +"Yes--ma'am," sobbed Ann Lizy. + +"Let it drop out of the bag on purpose?" + +"Yes, ma'am." + +"Well, you did a dreadful wicked thing then. Go right back to bed." + +Ann Lizy went back to bed and to sleep. Remorse no longer gnawed keenly +enough at her clear, childish conscience to keep her awake, now her sin +was confessed. She said her prayers and went to sleep. Although the next +morning the reckoning came, the very worst punishment was over for her. +Her grandmother held the judicious use of the rod to be a part of her +duty towards her beloved little orphan granddaughter, so she switched +Ann Lizy with a little rod of birch, and sent her forth full of salutary +tinglings to search for the bead bag and the patchwork. All the next +week Ann Lizy searched the fields and road for the missing articles, +when she was not cutting calico patchwork by a thread and sewing over +and over. It seemed to her that life was made up of those two +occupations, but at the end of a week the search, so far as the bead bag +was concerned, came to an end. + +On Saturday afternoon the parson's wife called on old Mrs. Jennings. The +sweet, gentle young lady in her black silk dress, her pink cheeks, and +smooth waves of golden hair gleaming through her worked lace veil +entered the north room, which was the parlor, and sat down in the +rocking-chair. Ann Lizy and her grandmother sat opposite, and they both +noticed at the same moment that the parson's wife held in her hand--_the +bead bag_! + +Ann Lizy gave a little involuntary "oh;" her grandmother shook her head +fiercely at her, and the parson's wife noticed nothing. She went on +talking about the pinks out in the yard, in her lovely low voice. + +As soon as she could, old Mrs. Jennings excused herself and beckoned Ann +Lizy to follow her out of the room. Then, while she was arranging a +square of pound-cake and a little glass of elderberry wine on a tray, +she charged Ann Lizy to say nothing about the bead bag to the parson's +wife. "Mind you act as if you didn't see it," said she; "don't sit there +lookin' at it that way." + +"But it's your bead bag, grandma," said Ann Lizy, in a bewildered way. + +"Don't you say anything," admonished her grandmother. "Now carry this +tray in, and be careful you don't spill the elderberry wine." + +Poor Ann Lizy tried her best not to look at the bead bag, while the +parson's wife ate pound-cake, sipped the elderberry wine, and conversed +in her sweet, gracious way; but it did seem finally to her as if it were +the bead bag instead of the parson's wife that was making the call. She +kept wondering if the parson's wife would not say, "Mrs. Jennings, is +this your bead bag?" but she did not. She made the call and took leave, +and the bead bag was never mentioned. It was odd, too, that it was not; +for the parson's wife, who had found the bead bag, had taken it with her +on her round of calls that afternoon, partly to show it and find out, if +she could, who had lost it. But here it was driven out of her mind by +the pound-cake and elderberry wine, or else she did not think it likely +that an old lady like Mrs. Jennings could have owned the bag. Younger +ladies than she usually carried them. However it was, she went away with +the bag. + +"Why didn't she ask if it was yours?" inquired Ann Lizy, indignant in +spite of her admiration for the parson's wife. + +"Hush," said her grandmother. "You mind you don't say a word out about +this, Ann Lizy. I ain't never carried it, and she didn't suspect." + +Now, the bead bag was found after this unsatisfactory fashion; but Ann +Lizy never went down the road without looking for the patchwork. She +never dreamed how little Sally Putnam, the minister's wife's niece, was +in the mean-time sewing these four squares over and over, getting them +ready to go into her quilt. It was a month later before she found it +out, and it was strange that she discovered it at all. + +It so happened that, one afternoon in the last of August, old Mrs. +Jennings dressed herself in her best black bombazine, her best bonnet +and mantilla and mitts, and also dressed Ann Lizy in her best muslin +delaine, exquisitely mended, and set out to make a call on the parson's +wife. When they arrived they found a chaise and white horse out in the +parsonage yard, and the parson's wife's sister and family there on a +visit. An old lady, Mrs. White, a friend of Mrs. Jennings, was also +making a call. + +Little Ann Lizy and Sally Putnam were introduced to each other, and Ann +Lizy looked admiringly at Sally's long curls and low-necked dress, which +had gold catches in the sleeves. They sat and smiled shyly at each +other. + +"Show Ann Lizy your patchwork, Sally," the parson's wife said, +presently. "Sally has got almost enough patchwork for a quilt, and she +has brought it over to show me," she added. + +Ann Lizy colored to her little slender neck; patchwork was nowadays a +sore subject with her, but she looked on as Sally, proud and smiling, +displayed her patchwork. + +Suddenly she gave a little cry. There was one of her squares! The calico +with roses on a green ground was in Sally's patchwork. + +Her grandmother shook her head energetically at her, but old Mrs. White +had on her spectacles, and she, too, had spied the square. + +"Why, Miss Jennings," she cried, "that's jest like that dress you had so +long ago!" + +"Let me see," said Sally's mother, quickly. "Why, yes; that is the very +square you found, Sally. That is one; there were four of them, all cut +and basted. Why, this little girl didn't lose them, did she?" + +Then it all came out. The parson's wife was quick-witted, and she +thought of the bead bag. Old Mrs. Jennings was polite, and said it did +not matter; but when she and Ann Lizy went home they had the bead bag, +with the patchwork and the best pocket-handkerchief in it. + +It had been urged that little Sally Putnam should keep the patchwork, +since she had sewed it, but her mother was not willing. + +"No," said she, "this poor little girl lost it, and Sally mustn't keep +it; it wouldn't be right." + +Suddenly Ann Lizy straightened herself. Her cheeks were blazing red, +but her black eyes were brave. + +"I lost that patchwork on purpose," said she. "I didn't want to sew it. +Then I lost the bag while I was lookin' for it." + +There was silence for a minute. + +"You are a good girl to tell of it," said Sally's mother, finally. + +Ann Lizy's grandmother shook her head meaningly at Mrs. Putnam. + +"I don't know about that," said she. "Ownin'-up takes away _some_ of the +sin, but it don't _all_." + +But when she and Ann Lizy were on their homeward road she kept glancing +down at her granddaughter's small face. It struck her that it was not so +plump and rosy as it had been. + +"I think you've had quite a lesson by this time about that patchwork," +she remarked. + +"Yes, ma'am," said Ann Lizy. + +They walked a little farther. The golden-rod and the asters were in +blossom now, and the road was bordered with waving fringes of blue and +gold. They came in sight of Jane Baxter's house. + +"You may stop in Jane Baxter's, if you want to," said old Mrs. Jennings, +"and ask her mother if she can come over and spend the day with you +to-morrow. And tell her I say she'd better not bring her sewing, and +she'd better not wear her best dress, for you and she ain't goin' to sew +any, and mebbe you'll like to go berryin', and play out-doors." + + + + +THE LITTLE PERSIAN PRINCESS + + +"And you must spin faster, Dorothy, or you'll go to bed without your +supper," said Dame Betsy. + +"Yes, ma'am," replied Dorothy. Then she twirled the wheel so fast that +the spokes were a blur. + +Dorothy was a pretty little girl. She had a small pink-and-white face; +her hair was closely cropped and looked like a little golden cap, and +her eyes were as blue as had been the flowers of the flax which she was +spinning. She wore an indigo-blue frock, and she looked very short and +slight beside the wheel. + +Dorothy spun, Dame Betsy tended a stew-kettle that was hanging from the +crane in the fire-place, and the eldest of Dame Betsy's six daughters +sat on the bench beside the cottage door and ate honey-cakes. The other +daughters had arrayed themselves in their best tuckers and plumed hats +and farthingales, spread their ruffled parasols, and gone to walk. + +Dame Betsy had wished the oldest daughter to go with her sisters; but +she was rather indolent, so she dressed herself in her best, and sat +down on the bench beside the door, with a plate of honey-cakes of which +she was very fond. She held up her parasol to shield her face, and also +to display the parasol. It was covered with very bright green satin, and +had a wreath of pink roses for a border. The sun shone directly into the +cottage, and the row of pewter plates on the dresser glittered; one +could see them through the doorway. The front yard of Dame Betsy's +cottage was like a little grove with lemon-color and pink hollyhocks; +one had to look directly up the path to see the eldest daughter sitting +on the bench eating honey-cakes. She was a very homely girl. All Dame +Betsy's daughters were so plain and ill-tempered that they had no +suitors, although they walked abroad every day. + +Dame Betsy placed her whole dependence upon the linen chests when she +planned to marry her daughters. At the right of her cottage stretched a +great field of flax that looked now like a blue sea, and it rippled like +a sea when the wind struck it. Dame Betsy and Dorothy made the flax into +linen for the daughters' dowries. They had already two great chests of +linen apiece, and they were to have chests filled until there were +enough to attract suitors. Every little while Dame Betsy invited all the +neighboring housewives to tea; then she opened the chests and unrolled +the shining lengths of linen, perfumed with lavender and rosemary. "My +dear daughters will have all this, and more also, when they marry," she +would remark. The housewives would go home and mention it to their sons, +for they themselves were tempted by the beautiful linen; but there it +would end. The sons would not go to woo Dame Betsy's homely, ill-natured +daughters. + +Dorothy spun as fast as she was able; Dame Betsy kept a sharp watch upon +her as she stirred the stew. Dorothy wanted some of the stew for her +supper. It had a delicious odor, and she was very faint and hungry. She +did not have a great deal to eat at any time, as she lived principally +upon the scraps from the table, and the daughters were all large eaters. +She also worked very hard, and never had any time to play. She was a +poor child whom Dame Betsy had taken from the almshouse, and she had no +relatives but an old grandmother. She had very few kind words said to +her during the day, and she used often to cry herself to sleep at night. + +Presently Dame Betsy went down to the store to buy some pepper to put in +the stew, but as she went out of the door she spoke to the eldest +daughter, and told her to go into the house and mend a rent in her +apron. "Since you were too lazy to go to walk with your sisters you must +go into the house and mend your apron," said she. The eldest daughter +pouted, but she made no reply. Just as soon as her mother was out of +hearing she called Dorothy. "Dorothy, come here a minute!" she cried, +imperatively. Dorothy left her wheel and went to the door. "Look here," +said the eldest daughter, "I have one honey-cake left, and I have eaten +all I want. I will give you this if you will mend my apron for me." + +Dorothy eyed the honey-cake wistfully, but she replied that she did not +dare to leave her spinning to mend the apron. + +"Why can't you mend it in the night?" asked the eldest daughter. + +"I will do that," replied Dorothy, eagerly, and she held out her hand +for the honey-cake. Just as she did so she saw the little boy that lived +next door peeping through his fence. His beautiful little face, with his +red cheeks and black eyes, looked, through the pickets, like a +damask-rose. Dorothy ran swiftly over to him with her honey-cake. "You +shall have half of it," said she, and she quickly broke the cake in +halves, and gave one of them to the little boy. He lived with his old +grandmother, and they were very poor; it was hard for them to get the +coarsest porridge to eat. The little boy often stood looking through the +fence and smiling at Dorothy, and the old grandmother spoke kindly to +her whenever she had an opportunity. + +The little boy stood on one side of the fence and Dorothy on the other, +and they ate the honey-cake. Then Dorothy ran back to the house and fell +to spinning again. She spun so fast, to make up for the lost time, that +one could not see the wheel-spokes at all, and the room hummed like a +hive of bees. But, fast as she spun, Dame Betsy, when she returned, +discovered that she had been idling, and said that she must go without +her supper. Poor Dorothy could not help weeping as she twirled the +wheel, she was so hungry, and the honey-cake had been very small. + +Dame Betsy dished up the stew and put the spoons and bowls on the table, +and soon the five absent daughters came home, rustling their flounces +and flirting their parasols. + +They all sat down to the table and began to eat, while Dorothy stood at +her wheel and sadly spun. + +They had eaten all the stew except a little, just about enough for a +cat, when a little shadow fell across the floor. + +"Why, who's coming?" whispered Dame Betsy, and directly all the +daughters began to smooth their front hair; each thought it might be a +suitor. + +But everything that they could see entering the door was a beautiful +gray cat. She came stepping across the floor with a dainty, velvet +tread. She had a tail like a plume, and she trailed it on the floor as +she walked; her fur was very soft and long, and caught the light like +silver; she had delicate tufted ears, and her shining eyes were like +yellow jewels. + +"It's nothing but a cat!" cried the daughters in disgust, and Dame Betsy +arose to get the broom; she hated cats. That decided the daughters; they +also hated cats, but they liked to oppose their mother. So they insisted +on keeping the cat. + +There was much wrangling, but the daughters were too much for Dame +Betsy; the beautiful cat was allowed to remain on the hearth, and the +remnant of the stew was set down there for her. But, to every one's +amazement, she refused to touch it. She sat purring, with her little +silvery paws folded, her plumy tail swept gracefully around her, and +quite ignored the stew. + +"I will take it up and give it to the pig," said Dame Betsy. + +"No, no!" cried the daughters; "leave it, and perhaps she will eat it +by-and-by." + +So the stew was left upon the hearth. In the excitement Dorothy had +stopped spinning, and nobody had observed it. Suddenly Dame Betsy +noticed that the wheel was silent. + +"Why are you not spinning, miss?" she asked, sharply. "Are you stopping +work to look at a cat?" + +But Dorothy made no reply; she paid no attention whatever: she continued +to stare at the cat; she was quite pale, and her blue eyes were very +large. And no wonder, for she saw, instead of a cat, a beautiful little +princess, with eyes like stars, in a trailing robe of gray velvet +covered with silver embroidery, and instead of a purr she heard a +softly-hummed song. Dame Betsy seized Dorothy by the arm. + +"To your work!" she cried. + +And Dorothy began to spin; but she was trembling from head to foot, and +every now and then she glanced at the princess on the hearth. + +The daughters, in their best gowns, sat with their mother around the +hearth until nine o'clock; then Dorothy was ordered to leave her wheel, +the cottage was locked up, and everybody went to bed. + +Dorothy's bed was a little bundle of straw up in the garret under the +eaves. She was very tired when she lay down, but did not dare to sleep, +for she remembered her promise to mend the eldest daughter's apron. So +she waited until the house was still; then she arose and crept softly +down-stairs. + +The fire on the hearth was still burning, and there sat the princess, +and the sweet hum of her singing filled the room. But Dorothy could not +understand a word of the song, because it was in the Persian language. +She stood in the doorway and trembled; she did not know what to do. It +seemed to her that she must be losing her wits to see a princess where +every one else saw a cat. Still she could not doubt the evidence of her +own eyes. Finally she advanced a little way and courtesied very low. The +princess stopped singing at once. She arose in a stately fashion, and +fastened her bright eyes upon Dorothy. + +"So you know me?" said she. + +Dorothy courtesied again. + +"Are you positive that I am not a cat?" + +Dorothy courtesied. + +"Well, I am _not_ a cat," said the princess. "I am a true princess from +Persia, travelling incognita. You are the first person who has pierced +my disguise. You must have very extraordinary eyes. Aren't you hungry?" + +Dorothy courtesied. + +"Come here and eat the stew," ordered the princess, in a commanding +tone. "Meantime I will cook my own supper." + +With that the princess gave a graceful leap across the floor; her gray +velvet robe fluttered like a gray wing. Dorothy saw a little mouse scud +before her; then in an instant the princess had him! But the moment the +princess lifted the mouse, he became a gray pigeon, all dressed for +cooking. + +The princess sat down on the hearth and put the pigeon on the coals to +broil. + +"You had better eat your stew," said she; "I won't offer you any of this +pigeon, because you could not help suspecting it was mouse." + +So Dorothy timidly took up the stew, and began to eat it; she was in +reality nearly starved. + +"Now," said the Persian princess, when she had finished, "you had better +do that mending, while I finish cooking and eat my own supper." + +Dorothy obeyed. By the time the apron was neatly mended, the princess +had finished cooking and eaten the pigeon. "Now, I wish to talk a little +to you," said she. "I feel as if you deserved my confidence since you +have penetrated my disguise. I am a Persian princess, as I said before, +and I am travelling incognita to see the world and improve my mind, and +also to rescue my brother, who is a Maltese prince and enchanted. My +brother, when very young, went on his travels, was shipwrecked on the +coast of Malta, and became a prince of that island. But he had enemies, +and was enchanted. He is now a Maltese cat. I disguise myself as a cat +in order to find him more readily. Now, for what do you most wish?" + +Dorothy courtesied; she was really too impressed to speak. + +"Answer," said the princess, imperiously. + +"I--want," stammered Dorothy, "to--take my grandmother out of--the +almshouse, and have her sit at the window in the sun in a cushioned +chair and knit a silk stocking all day." + +"Anything else?" + +"I should like to--have her wear a bombazine gown and a--white lace cap +with--lilac ribbons." + +"You are a good girl," said the princess. "Now, listen. I see that you +are not very pleasantly situated here, and I will teach you a way to +escape. Take your hood off that peg over there, and come out with me. I +want to find my portmanteau that I left under the hedge, a little way +down the road." + +Dorothy put on her hood and followed the princess down the road. The +little girl could scarcely keep up with her; she seemed to fairly fly +through the moonlight, trailing her gray robe after her. + +"Here is my portmanteau," said the princess, when they had reached the +hedge. The hedge was all white hawthorn and very sweet. The portmanteau +had lain well under it. All Dorothy could see was a tiny leather wallet, +that a cat could carry in her mouth. But the princess blew upon it three +times, and suddenly a great leather trunk stood on the grass. The +princess opened it, and Dorothy gave a little cry, her eyes were so +dazzled. It was like a blaze of gold and silver and jewels. "Look at +this," said the princess. And she took out of the trunk the splendid +robe that was laid uppermost. + +Dorothy looked; she could not say anything. The robe was woven of silk, +with gold and silver threads, and embroidered with jewels. + +"If you will give this to Dame Betsy for her eldest daughter's bridal +dress, she will let you go," said the princess. She took a pair of +silver shears out of the trunk and cut off a bit of the robe under a +flounce. "Show that to Dame Betsy," said the princess, "and tell her you +will give her the dress made of the same material, and she will let you +go. Now you had better run home. I shall stay here and sleep under the +hedge. I do not like Dame Betsy's house. Come here in the morning, when +you have told her about the dress." + +The princess sat down on the trunk, and it immediately shrunk into the +little wallet; then she curled herself up on the grass under the flowery +hedge. Dorothy ran home and crept noiselessly up to her bed in the +garret. + +In the morning, when the daughters came down to breakfast, they missed +the cat. "Where is the cat?" they inquired indignantly of their mother. +They suspected her of driving the cat away with the broom. They had +quite a wrangle over it. Finally, the daughters all put on finery and +went out shopping for some needles and pins; then Dorothy showed Dame +Betsy the scrap of the splendid robe, and said to her what the princess +had directed she should say. + +Dame Betsy was very much surprised and disturbed. She did not wish to +lose Dorothy, who was a great help to her; still, she had no doubt that +a suitor would soon appear for her eldest daughter, if arrayed in so +beautiful a bridal gown as that. She reflected how she might have a +tea-party and invite all the neighbors, and display the robe, and how +all the sons would come flocking to the door. Finally she consented, +and Dorothy, as soon as her mistress's back was turned, ran out and away +to the hedge, under which she knew the Persian princess to be concealed. + +The princess looked up and rubbed her eyes. She had slept late, although +the birds were singing loudly all around her. Dorothy courtesied and +said that she had come for the robe. "Very well," replied the princess, +"I will give it to you; then you must carry it and hang it over Dame +Betsy's gate, and run back to me as fast as you are able." + +Then the princess blew on the wallet until it became a trunk, and she +took out the splendid robe and gave it to Dorothy, who carried it and +hung it over Dame Betsy's gate just as she had been bidden. But as she +was about to run away, she saw the little boy who lived next door +peeping through his fence, so she stopped to bid him good-bye. He felt +so sad that he wept, and Dorothy herself had tears in her eyes when she +ran to join the princess. + +Dorothy and the princess then set off on their travels; but nobody +except Dorothy herself knew that there was a princess. Every one who met +them saw simply a little girl and a beautiful gray cat. Finally they +stopped at a pretty little village. "Here," said the princess, "we will +rent a cottage." + +They looked about until they found a charming cottage with a grape-vine +over the door, and roses and marigolds in the yard; then Dorothy, at the +princess's direction, went to the landlord and bargained for it. + +Then they went to live in the cottage, and the princess taught Dorothy +how to make lovely tidies and cushions and aprons out of the beautiful +dresses in her trunk. She had a great store of them, but they were all +made in the Persian fashion and were of no use in this country. + +When Dorothy had made the pretty articles out of the rich dresses, she +went out and sold them to wealthy ladies for high prices. She soon +earned quite a sum of money, which she placed at interest in the bank, +and she was then able to take her grandmother out of the almshouse. She +bought a beautiful chair with a canary-colored velvet cushion, and she +placed it at the window in the sun. She bought a bombazine dress and a +white cap with lilac ribbons, and she had the silk stocking with the +needles all ready. + +But the day before the old grandmother came the princess bade Dorothy +good-bye. "I am going out again on my travels," said she; "I wish to see +more of the country, and I must continue my search for my brother, the +Maltese prince." + +So the princess kissed Dorothy, who wept; then she set forth on her +travels. Dorothy gazed sorrowfully after her as she went. She saw a +dainty little princess, trailing her gray velvets; but everybody else +saw only a lovely gray cat hurrying down the road. + +Dorothy's grandmother came to live with her. She sat in her cushioned +chair, in the sunny window and knitted her silk stocking, and was a very +happy old woman. Dorothy continued to make beautiful things out of the +princess's dresses. It seemed as if there would never be any end to +them. She had cut up many dresses, but there were apparently as many now +as when she began. She saw no more of the princess, although she thought +of her daily, until she was quite grown up and was a beautiful maiden +with many suitors. Then, one day, she went to the city to deliver a +beautiful cushion that she had made for some wealthy ladies, and there, +in the drawing-room, she saw the Persian princess. + +Dorothy was left in the room until the ladies came down, and as she sat +there holding her cushion, she heard a little velvet rustle and a +softly-hummed song in the Persian language. She looked, and there was +the princess stepping across the floor, trailing her gray velvets. + +"So you have come, dear Dorothy," said the princess. + +Dorothy arose and courtesied, but the princess came close and kissed +her. "What have you there?" she inquired. + +Dorothy displayed the cushion; the princess laughed. + +"It is quite a joke, is it not?" said she. "That cushion is for me to +sleep on, and it is made out of one of my own dresses. The ladies have +bought it for me. I have heard them talking about it. How do you fare, +Dorothy, and how is your grandmother?" + +Then Dorothy told the princess how the grandmother sat in the cushioned +chair in the sunny window and knitted the silk stocking, and how she +herself was to be married the next week to the little boy who had lived +next door, but was now grown up and come a-wooing. + +"Where is his grandmother?" asked the princess. + +Dorothy replied that she was to live with them, and that there was +already another cushioned chair in a sunny window, another bombazine +dress and lace cap, and a silk stocking, in readiness, and that both +grandmothers were to sit and knit in peace during the rest of their +lives. + +"Ah, well," said the princess, with a sigh, "if I were only back in +Persia I would buy you a wedding present, but I do not know when that +will be--the ladies are so kind." + +Dorothy ventured to inquire if the princess had found her brother, the +Maltese prince. + +"Dear me, yes," replied the princess. "Why, he lives in this very house. +He is out in the back parlor asleep on the sofa, this minute. Brother, +dear brother, come here a second, I pray!" + +With that a Maltese prince, with a long, aristocratic face, and +beautiful, serious eyes, entered with a slow and stately tread. He was +dressed in gray velvet, like his sister, and he wore white velvet +mittens. Dorothy courtesied very low. + +"Yes, I found my brother here, some time ago," said the princess; "but I +have very little hope of freeing him from his enchantment. You see, +there is only one thing that can break the spell: one of his mistresses +must drive him out of the house with the broom, and I do not believe +that either of them ever will--they are so exceedingly gracious and +kind. I have tried to induce my brother to commit some little sin--to +steal some cream or some meat, or to fly around the room as if he were +in a fit (I myself have shown him how to do that), but he will not +consent. He has too much dignity, and he is too fond of these ladies. +And, if he should, I doubt if he would be driven out with the +broom--they are so kind." + +The princess sighed. The prince stood looking in a grave and stately +manner at Dorothy, but he did not speak. "However," the princess +continued, cheerfully, "we do very well here, and in some respects this +is a more enlightened country than either Persia or Malta, and it is a +privilege to live here. The ladies are very kind to us, and we are very +fond of them; then, too, we see very fine company. And there are also +Persian hangings and rugs which make it seem home-like. We are very well +contented. I don't know, on the whole, that we are in any hurry to go +away. But should either of the ladies ever take it into her head to +drive my brother out of the house with the broom, we shall at once leave +the country for Persia and Malta; for, after all, one's native land is +dear." + +The princess stopped talking, and began to hum her Persian song, and +then the ladies entered the room. They greeted Dorothy kindly; then they +began to call, "Vashti, Vashti, come here, pretty Vashti," and, "Muff, +Muff, come here, pretty Muff." For they did not see the Persian +princess and the Maltese prince, but two beautiful cats, whose names +were Vashti and Muff. + +"Just hear Vashti purr," said one of the ladies. "Come here, pretty +Vashti, and try your new cushion." + +And the ladies saw a cat sitting on the rich cushion, and another cat +looking at her gravely, while Dorothy saw a Persian princess and a +Maltese prince. + +However, the ladies knew that there was something uncommon about their +cats, and they sometimes suspected the truth themselves, but they +thought it must be a fancy. + +Dorothy left her cushion and went away, and that was the last time she +ever saw the Persian princess. As she went out the door the princess +pressed close to her. The ladies thought she mewed, but in reality she +was talking. + +"Good-bye, Dorothy," said she, "I hope you will live happily ever after. +And as for my brother and I, we really enjoy ourselves; we are seeing +the country and improving our minds, and we love the ladies. If one of +them should drive him out with the broom, he will become a prince again, +and we shall leave; but I do not know that it is desirable. A cat has a +more peaceful life than a prince. Good-bye, dear Dorothy." + +The princess was going closer to embrace Dorothy, but the ladies became +alarmed; they thought that their beautiful cat was going to steal out of +the house. So they called, and a maid with a white cap ran and caught +the Persian princess, and carried her back to the drawing-room. The +ladies thought she mewed as she was being carried in, but in reality she +was calling back merrily, "Good-bye, and live happily ever after, dear +Dorothy!" + + + + +WHERE THE CHRISTMAS-TREE GREW + + +It was afternoon recess at No. 4 District School, in Warner. There was a +heavy snow-storm; so every one was in the warm school-room, except a few +adventurous spirits who were tumbling about in the snow-drifts out in +the yard, getting their clothes wet and preparing themselves for +chidings at home. Their shrill cries and shouts of laughter floated into +the school-room, but the small group near the stove did not heed them at +all. There were five or six little girls and one boy. The girls, with +the exception of Jenny Brown, were trim and sweet in their winter +dresses and neat school-aprons; they perched on the desks and the arms +of the settee with careless grace, like birds. Some of them had their +arms linked. The one boy lounged against the blackboard. His dark, +straight-profiled face was all aglow as he talked. His big brown eyes +gazed now soberly and impressively at Jenny, then gave a gay dance in +the direction of the other girls. + +"Yes, it does--_honest_!" said he. + +The other girls nudged one another softly; but Jenny Brown stood with +her innocent, solemn eyes fixed upon Earl Munroe's face, drinking in +every word. + +"You ask anybody who knows," continued Earl; "ask Judge Barker, ask--the +minister--" + +"Oh!" cried the little girls; but the boy shook his head impatiently at +them. + +"Yes," said he; "you just go and ask Mr. Fisher to-morrow, and you'll +see what he'll tell you. Why, look here"--Earl straightened himself and +stretched out an arm like an orator--"it's nothing more than +_reasonable_ that Christmas-trees grow wild with the presents all on +'em! What sense would there be in 'em if they didn't, I'd like to know? +They grow in different places, of course; but these around here grow +mostly on the mountain over there. They come up every spring, and they +all blossom out about Christmas-time, and folks go hunting for them to +give to the children. Father and Ben are over on the mountain to-day--" + +"Oh, oh!" cried the little girls. + +"I mean, I guess they are," amended Earl, trying to put his feet on the +boundary--line of truth. "I hope they'll find a full one." + +Jenny Brown had a little, round, simple face; her thin brown hair was +combed back and braided tightly in one tiny braid tied with a bit of +shoe-string. She wore a nondescript gown, which nearly trailed behind, +and showed in front her little, coarsely-shod feet, which toed-in +helplessly. The gown was of a faded green color; it was scalloped and +bound around the bottom, and had some green ribbon-bows down the front. +It was, in fact, the discarded polonaise of a benevolent woman, who +aided the poor substantially but not tastefully. + +Jenny Brown was eight, and small for her age--a strange, gentle, +ignorant little creature, never doubting the truth of what she was told, +which sorely tempted the other children to impose upon her. Standing +there in the school-room that stormy recess, in the midst of that group +of wiser, richer, mostly older girls, and that one handsome, mischievous +boy, she believed every word she heard. + +This was her first term at school, and she had never before seen much of +other children. She had lived her eight years all alone at home with her +mother, and she had never been told about Christmas. Her mother had +other things to think about. She was a dull, spiritless, reticent +woman, who had lived through much trouble. She worked, doing washings +and cleanings, like a poor feeble machine that still moves but has no +interest in its motion. Sometimes the Browns had almost enough to eat, +at other times they half starved. It was half-starving time just then; +Jenny had not had enough to eat that day. + +There was a pinched look on the little face up-turned towards Earl +Munroe's. + +Earl's words gained authority by coming from himself. Jenny had always +regarded him with awe and admiration. It was much that he should speak +at all to her. + +Earl Munroe was quite the king of this little district school. He was +the son of the wealthiest man in town. No other boy was so well dressed, +so gently bred, so luxuriously lodged and fed. Earl himself realized his +importance, and had at times the loftiness of a young prince in his +manner. Occasionally, some independent urchin would bristle with +democratic spirit, and tell him to his face that he was "stuck up," and +that he hadn't so much more to be proud of than other folks; that his +grandfather wasn't anything but an old ragman! + +Then Earl would wilt. Arrogance in a free country is likely to have an +unstable foundation. Earl tottered at the mention of his paternal +grandfather, who had given the first impetus to the family fortune by +driving a tin-cart about the country. Moreover, the boy was really +pleasant and generous hearted, and had no mind, in the long run, for +lonely state and disagreeable haughtiness. He enjoyed being lordly once +in a while, that was all. + +He did now, with Jenny--he eyed her with a gay condescension, which +would have greatly amused his tin-peddler grandfather. + +Soon the bell rung, and they all filed to their seats, and the lessons +were begun. + +After school was done that night, Earl stood in the door when Jenny +passed out. + +"Say, Jenny," he called, "when are you going over on the mountain to +find the Christmas-tree? You'd better go pretty soon, or they'll be +gone." + +"That's so!" chimed in one of the girls. "You'd better go right off, +Jenny." + +She passed along, her face shyly dimpling with her little innocent +smile, and said nothing. She would never talk much. + +She had quite a long walk to her home. Presently, as she was pushing +weakly through the new snow, Earl went flying past her in his father's +sleigh, with the black horses and the fur-capped coachman. He never +thought of asking her to ride. If he had, he would not have hesitated a +second before doing so. + +Jenny, as she waded along, could see the mountain always before her. +This road led straight to it, then turned and wound around its base. It +had stopped snowing, and the sun was setting clear. The great white +mountain was all rosy. It stood opposite the red western sky. Jenny kept +her eyes fixed upon the mountain. Down in the valley shadows her little +simple face, pale and colorless, gathered another kind of radiance. + +There was no school the next day, which was the one before Christmas. It +was pleasant, and not very cold. Everybody was out; the little village +stores were crowded; sleds trailing Christmas-greens went flying; people +were hastening with parcels under their arms, their hands full. + +Jenny Brown also was out. She was climbing Franklin Mountain. The snowy +pine boughs bent so low that they brushed her head. She stepped deeply +into the untrodden snow; the train of her green polonaise dipped into +it, and swept it along. And all the time she was peering through those +white fairy columns and arches for--a Christmas-tree. + +That night, the mountain had turned rosy, and faded, and the stars were +coming out, when a frantic woman, panting, crying out now and then in +her distress, went running down the road to the Munroe house. It was the +only one between her own and the mountain. The woman rained some +clattering knocks on the door--she could not stop for the bell. Then she +burst into the house, and threw open the dining-room door, crying out in +gasps: + +"Hev you seen her? Oh, hev you? My Jenny's lost! She's lost! Oh, oh, oh! +They said they saw her comin' up this way, this mornin'. _Hev_ you seen +her, _hev_ you?" + +Earl and his father and mother were having tea there in the handsome +oak-panelled dining-room. Mr. Munroe rose at once, and went forward, +Mrs. Munroe looked with a pale face around her silver tea-urn, and Earl +sat as if frozen. He heard his father's soothing questions, and the +mother's answers. She had been out at work all day; when she returned, +Jenny was gone. Some one had seen her going up the road to the Munroes' +that morning about ten o'clock. That was her only clew. + +Earl sat there, and saw his mother draw the poor woman into the room and +try to comfort her; he heard, with a vague understanding, his father +order the horses to be harnessed immediately; he watched him putting on +his coat and hat out in the hall. + +When he heard the horses trot up the drive, he sprang to his feet. When +Mr. Munroe opened the door, Earl, with his coat and cap on, was at his +heels. + +"Why, you can't go, Earl!" said his father, when he saw him. "Go back at +once." + +Earl was white and trembling. He half sobbed: "Oh, father, I must go!" +said he. + +"Earl, be reasonable. You want to help, don't you, and not hinder?" his +mother called out of the dining-room. + +Earl caught hold of his father's coat. "Father--look here--I--_I believe +I know where she is_!" + +Then his father faced sharply around, his mother and Jenny's stood +listening in bewilderment, and Earl told his ridiculous, childish, and +cruel little story. "I--didn't dream--she'd really be--such a +little--goose as to--go," he choked out; "but she must have, for"--with +brave candor--"I know she believed every word I told her." + +It seemed a fantastic theory, yet a likely one. It would give method to +the search, yet more alarm to the searchers. The mountain was a wide +region in which to find one little child. + +Jenny's mother screamed out, "Oh, if she's lost on the mountain, +they'll never find her! They never will, they never will! Oh, Jenny, +Jenny, Jenny!" + +Earl gave a despairing glance at her, and bolted up-stairs to his own +room. His mother called pityingly after him; but he only sobbed back, +"Don't, mother--please!" and kept on. + +The boy, lying face downward on his bed, crying as if his heart would +break, heard presently the church-bell clang out fast and furious. Then +he heard loud voices down in the road, and the flurry of sleigh-bells. +His father had raised the alarm, and the search was organized. + +After a while Earl arose, and crept over to the window. It looked +towards the mountain, which towered up, cold and white and relentless, +like one of the ice-hearted giants of the old Indian tales. Earl +shuddered as he looked at it. Presently he crawled down-stairs and into +the parlor. In the bay-window stood, like a gay mockery, the +Christmas-tree. It was a quite small one that year, only for the +family--some expected guests had failed to come--but it was well laden. +After tea the presents were to have been distributed. There were some +for his father and mother, and some for the servants, but the bulk of +them were for Earl. + +By-and-by his mother, who had heard him come down-stairs, peeped into +the room, and saw him busily taking his presents from the tree. Her +heart sank with sad displeasure and amazement. She would not have +believed that her boy could be so utterly selfish as to think of +Christmas-presents _then_. + +But she said nothing. She stole away, and returned to poor Mrs. Brown, +whom she was keeping with her; still she continued to think of it all +that long, terrible night, when they sat there waiting, listening to the +signal-horns over on the mountain. + +Morning came at last and Mr. Munroe with it. No success so far. He drank +some coffee and was off again. That was quite early. An hour or two +later the breakfast-bell rang. Earl did not respond to it, so his mother +went to the foot of the stairs and called him. There was a stern ring in +her soft voice. All the time she had in mind his heartlessness and +greediness over the presents. When Earl did not answer she went +up-stairs, and found that he was not in his room. Then she looked in the +parlor, and stood staring in bewilderment. Earl was not there, but +neither were the Christmas-tree and his presents--they had vanished +bodily! + +Just at that moment Earl Munroe was hurrying down the road, and he was +dragging his big sled, on which were loaded his Christmas-presents and +the Christmas-tree. The top of the tree trailed in the snow, its +branches spread over the sled on either side, and rustled. It was a +heavy load, but Earl tugged manfully in an enthusiasm of remorse and +atonement--a fantastic, extravagant atonement, planned by that same +fertile fancy which had invented that story for poor little Jenny, but +instigated by all the good, repentant impulses in the boy's nature. + +On every one of those neat parcels, above his own name, was written in +his big crooked, childish hand, "Jenny Brown, from--" Earl Munroe had +not saved one Christmas-present for himself. + +Pulling along, his eyes brilliant, his cheeks glowing, he met Maud +Barker. She was Judge Barker's daughter, and the girl who had joined him +in advising Jenny to hunt on the mountain for the Christmas-tree. + +Maud stepped along, placing her trim little feet with dainty precision; +she wore some new high-buttoned overshoes. She also carried a new beaver +muff, but in one hand only. The other dangled mittenless at her side; it +was pink with cold, but on its third finger sparkled a new gold ring +with a blue stone in it. + +"Oh, Earl!" she called out, "have they found Jenny Brown? I was going up +to your house to--Why, Earl Munroe, what have you got there?" + +"I'm carrying up my Christmas-presents and the tree up to Jenny's--so +she'll find 'em when she comes back," said the boy, flushing red. There +was a little defiant choke in his voice. + +"Why, what for?" + +"I rather think they belong to her more'n they do to me, after what's +happened." + +"Does your mother know?" + +"No; she wouldn't care. She'd think I was only doing what I ought." + +"All of 'em?" queried Maud, feebly. + +"You don't s'pose I'd keep any back?" + +Maud stood staring. It was beyond her little philosophy. + +Earl was passing on when a thought struck him. + +"Say, Maud," he cried, eagerly, "haven't you something you can put in? +Girls' things might please her better, you know. Some of mine +are--rather queer, I'm afraid." + +"What have you got?" demanded Maud. + +"Well, some of the things are well enough. There's a lot of candy and +oranges and figs and books; there's one by Jules Verne I guess she'll +like; but there's a great big jack-knife, and--a brown velvet bicycle +suit?" + +"Why, Earl Munroe! what could she do with a bicycle suit?" + +"I thought, maybe, she could rip the seams to 'em, an' sew 'em some way, +an' get a basque cut, or something. Don't you s'pose she could?" Earl +asked, anxiously. + +"I don't know; her mother could tell," said Maud. + +"Well, I'll hang it on, anyhow. Maud, haven't you anything to give her?" + +"I--don't know." + +Earl eyed her sharply. "Isn't that muff new?" + +"Yes." + +"And that ring?" + +Maud nodded. "She'd be delighted with 'em. Oh, Maud, put 'em in!" + +Maud looked at him. Her pretty mouth quivered a little; some tears +twinkled in her blue eyes. + +"I don't believe my mother would let me," faltered she. "You--come with +me, and I'll ask her." + +"All right," said Earl, with a tug at his sled-rope. + +He waited with his load in front of Maud's house until she came forth +radiant, lugging a big basket. She had her last winter's red cashmere +dress, a hood, some mittens, cake and biscuit, and nice slices of cold +meat. + +"Mother said these would be much more _suitable_ for her," said Maud, +with a funny little imitation of her mother's manner. + +Over across the street another girl stood at the gate, waiting for news. + +"Have they found her?" she cried. "Where are you going with all those +things?" + +Somehow, Earl's generous, romantic impulse spread like an epidemic. This +little girl soon came flying out with her contribution; then there were +more--quite a little procession filed finally down the road to Jenny +Brown's house. + +The terrible possibilities of the case never occurred to them. The idea +never entered their heads that little, innocent, trustful Jenny might +never come home to see that Christmas-tree which they set up in her poor +home. + +It was with no surprise whatever that they saw, about noon, Mr. Munroe's +sleigh, containing Jenny and her mother and Mrs. Munroe, drive up to the +door. + +Afterwards they heard how a wood-cutter had found Jenny crying, over on +the east side of the mountain, at sunset, and had taken her home with +him. He lived five miles from the village, and was an old man, not able +to walk so far that night to tell them of her safety. His wife had been +very good to the child. About eleven o'clock some of the searchers had +met the old man plodding along the mountain-road with the news. + +They did not stop for this now. They shouted to Jenny to "come in, +quick!" They pulled her with soft violence into the room where they had +been at work. Then the child stood with her hands clasped, staring at +the Christmas-tree. All too far away had she been searching for it. The +Christmas-tree grew not on the wild mountainside, in the lonely woods, +but at home, close to warm, loving hearts; and that was where she found +it. + + + + +WHERE SARAH JANE'S DOLL WENT + + +In the first place, Sarah Jane had no right to take the doll to school, +but the temptation was too much for her. The doll was new--it was, in +fact, only one day old--and such a doll! Rag, of course--Sarah Jane had +heard only vague rumors of other kinds--but no more like the ordinary +rag doll than a fairy princess is like a dairy-maid. The minute that +Sarah Jane saw it she knew at once that there never had been such a +doll. It was small--not more than seven or eight inches tall--not by any +means the usual big, sprawling, moon-faced rag baby with its arms +standing out at right angles with its body. It was tiny and genteel in +figure, slim-waisted, and straight-backed. It was made of, not common +cotton cloth, but linen--real glossy white linen--which Sarah Jane's +mother, and consequently the doll's grandmother, had spun and wove. Its +face was colored after a fashion which was real high art to Sarah Jane. +The little cheeks and mouth were sparingly flushed with cranberry juice, +and the eyes beamed blue with indigo. The nose was delicately traced +with a quill dipped in its grandfather's ink-stand, and though not quite +as natural as the rest of the features, showed fine effort. Its little +wig was made from the fine ravellings of Serena's brown silk stockings. + +Serena was Sarah Jane's married sister, who lived in the next house +across the broad green yard, and she had made this wonderful doll. She +brought it over one evening just before Sarah Jane went to bed. "There," +said she, "if you'll be a real good girl I'll give you this." + +"Oh!" cried Sarah Jane, and she could say no more. + +Serena, who was only a girl herself, dandled the doll impressively +before her bewildered eyes. It was dressed in a charming frock made from +a bit of Serena's best French calico. The frock was of a pale lilac +color with roses sprinkled over it, and was cut with a low neck and +short puffed sleeves. + +"Now, Sarah Jane," said Serena, admonishingly, "there's one thing I want +to tell you: you mustn't carry this doll to school. If you do, you'll +lose it; and if you do, you won't get another very soon. It was a good +deal of work to make it. Now you mind what I say." + +"Yes, ma'am," said Sarah Jane. It was not her habit to say ma'am to her +sister Serena, if she was twelve years older than she; but she did now, +and reached out impatiently for the doll. + +"Well, you remember," said Serena. "If you take it to school and lose +it, it'll be the last doll you'll get." + +And Sarah Jane said, "Yes, ma'am," again. + +She had to go to bed directly, but she took the new doll with her; that +was not forbidden, much to her relief. And before she went to sleep she +had named her with a most flowery name, nothing less than Lily Rosalie +Violet May. It took her a long time to decide upon it, but she was +finally quite satisfied, and went to sleep hugging Lily Rosalie, and +dreamed about her next day's spelling lesson--that she failed and went +to the foot of the class. + +It was singular, but for once a dream of Sarah Jane's came true. She +actually did miss in her spelling lesson the next day; and although she +did not go quite to the foot of the class, she went very near to it. But +if Sarah Jane was not able to spell _scissors_ correctly, she could have +spelled with great success Lily Rosalie Violet May. All the evening she +had been printing it over and over on a fly-leaf of her spelling-book. +She could feel no interest in scissors, which had no connection, except +a past one, with her beloved new doll. + +Poor Sarah Jane lived such a long way from school that she had to carry +her dinner with her, so there was a whole day's separation, when she had +only possessed Lily Rosalie for a matter of twelve hours. It was hard. + +She told some of her particular cronies about her, and described her +charms with enthusiasm, but it was not quite equal to displaying her in +person. + +The little girls promised to come over and see the new doll just as soon +as their mothers would let them, and one, Ruth Gurney, who was Sarah +Jane's especial friend, said she would go home with her that very +night--she didn't believe her mother would care--but they were going to +have company at tea, and she was afraid if she were late, and had to sit +at the second table, that she wouldn't get any currant tarts. + +Sarah Jane did not urge her; she had a shy little pride of her own; but +she felt deeply hurt that Ruth could prefer currant tarts to a sight of +Lily Rosalie. + +She was rather apt to loiter on her way home. There was much temptation +to at this time of the year, when the meadows on either side of the road +were so brimful of grass and flowers, when the air was so sweet, and so +many birds were singing. There was a brook on the way, and occasionally +Sarah Jane used to stop and have a little secret wade. It was one of +those pleasures which, although not actually prohibited, was doubtful. +Sarah Jane had at times got the hem of her little blue calico gown +draggled, and met with a reprimand at home. + +But to-night neither nodding way-side flowers nor softly rippling brook +had any attraction for her. Straight home, her little starched white +sun-bonnet pointing ahead unswervingly, her small pattering feet never +turning aside from the narrow beaten track between the way-side grasses, +she went to Lily Rosalie Violet May. + +She found her just as beautiful as when she left her. That long day of +absence, filled in with her extravagant childish fancy, had not caused +her charms to lessen in the least. + +Sarah Jane ran straight to the linen chest, in whose till she had hidden +for safety the precious doll, and there she lay, her indigo blue eyes +staring up, smiling at her with the sweet cranberry-colored smile which +Serena had fixed on her face. Sarah Jane caught her up in rapture. + +Her mother told Serena that night that she didn't know when she'd seen +the child so tickled with anything as she was with that doll. + +"She didn't carry it to the school, did she?" said Serena. + +"No. I guess she won't want to, as long as you told her not to," replied +her mother. + +Sarah Jane had been always an obedient little girl; but--she had never +before had Lily Rosalie Violet May. Her mother did not consider that. + +Sarah Jane did not have a pocket made in her dress; it was not then the +fashion. Instead, she wore a very large-sized one, made of stout cotton, +tied around her waist by a string under her dress skirt. The next day, +when Sarah Jane went to school, she carried in this pocket her new doll. +She was quite late this morning, so there was no time to display it +before school commenced. + +Once, when the high arithmetic class was out on the floor, she pulled it +slyly out of her pocket, held it under her desk, and poked Ruth Gurney, +who sat in the next seat. + +"Oh!" gasped Ruth, almost aloud. The doll seemed to fascinate everybody. +"Let me take it," motioned Ruth; but Sarah Jane shook a wise head, and +slid Lily Rosalie back in her pocket. She was not going to run the risk +of having her confiscated by the teacher. But when recess came Sarah +Jane was soon the proud little centre of an admiring group. + +"Sarah Jane's got the handsomest new doll," one whispered to another, +and they all crowded around. Even some of the "big girls" came, and two +or three of the big boys. Sarah Jane was one of the smallest girls in +school, and sat in the very front seat. Now she felt like a big girl +herself. This wonderful doll raised her at once to a position of +importance. There she stood in the corner by the window, and proudly +held it. She wore a blue cotton dress cut after the fashion of Lily +Rosalie's, with a low neck and short sleeves, displaying her dimpled +childish neck and arms. Her round cheeks were flushed with a softer pink +than the doll's, and her honest brown eyes were full of delight. + +One and another of the girls begged for the privilege of taking the doll +a moment for a closer scrutiny, and Sarah Jane would grant it, and then +watch them with thinly veiled anxiety. Suppose their fingers shouldn't +be quite clean, and there should be a spot on Lily Rosalie's beautiful +white linen skin! One of the girls rubbed her cheeks to see if the red +would come off, and Sarah Jane wriggled. + +Joe West was one of the big boys who had joined the group. Years after, +he was Joseph B. West, an eminent city lawyer. Years after that, he was +Judge West of the Superior Court. Now he was simply Joe West, a tall, +lanky boy with a long rosy face and a high forehead. His arms came too +far through his jacket sleeves, and showed his wrists, which looked +unnaturally knobby and bony. He went barefoot all summer long, and was +much given to chewing sassafras. + +He offered a piece to Sarah Jane now, extracting it with gravity from a +mass of chalk, top strings, buttons, nails, and other wealth with which +his pocket was filled. + +Sarah Jane accepted it with a modest little blush, and plumped it into +her rosy mouth. + +Then Joe West followed up his advantage. "Say, Sarah Jane," said he, +"lemme take her a minute." + +She eyed him doubtfully. Somehow she mistrusted him. Joe West had rather +the reputation of being a wag and a sore tease. + +"She's just the prettiest doll I ever saw," Joe went on. "Lemme take her +just a minute, Sarah Jane; now do." + +"He's just stuffing you, Sarah Jane; don't you let him touch it," spoke +out one of the big girls. + +"Stuffing" was a very expressive word in the language of the school. +Sarah Jane shook her head with a timid little smile, and hugged Lily +Rosalie tighter. + +"Now do, Sarah Jane. I wouldn't be stingy. Haven't I just given you some +sassafras?" + +That softened her a little. The spicy twang of the sassafras was yet on +her tongue. "I'm afraid you won't give her back to me," murmured she. + +"Yes, I will, honest. Now do, Sarah Jane." + +It was against her better judgment; the big girl again raised her +warning voice; but Joe West adroitly administered a little more +flattery, and followed it up with entreaty, and Sarah Jane, yielding, +finally put her precious little white linen baby into his big grimy, +out-reaching hands. + +"Oh, the pretty little sing!" said Joe West then, in an absurdly soft +voice, and dandled it up and down. "What's its name, Sarah Jane?" + +And Sarah Jane in her honesty and simplicity repeated that flowery name. + +"Lily Rosalie Violet May," said Joe, after her, softly. And everybody +giggled. + +A pink color spread all over Sarah Jane's face and dimpled neck; tears +sprang to her eyes. She felt as if they were poking fun at something +sacred; her honest childish confidence was betrayed. "Give her back to +me, Joe West!" she cried. + +But Joe only dandled it out of her reach, and then the bell rang. The +children trooped back into the school-room, and Joe quietly slipped the +doll into his pocket and marched gravely to his seat. + +Every time when Sarah Jane gazed around at him he was studying his +geography with the most tireless industry. She could hardly wait for +school to be done; when it was, she tried to get to Joe, but he was too +quick for her. He had started with his long stride down the road before +she could get to the door. She called after him, but he appeared to have +suddenly grown deaf. The other girls condoled with her, all but the big +girl who had given the warning. "You'd ought to have listened to me," +said she, severely, as she tied on her sun-bonnet in the entry. "I told +you how it would be, letting a boy have hold of it." + +Sarah Jane was not much comforted. She crept forlornly along towards +home. Joe West's house was on the way. There was a field south of it. As +she came to this field she saw Joe out there with the bossy. This bossy, +which was tethered to an old apple-tree, was cream-colored, with a white +star on her forehead and a neck and head like a deer. She stood +knee-deep in the daisies and clover, and looked like a regular +picture-calf. If Sarah Jane had not been so much occupied with her own +troubles, she would have stopped to gaze with pleasure at the pretty +creature. + +Joe stood at her head and appeared to be teasing her. She twitched away +from him, and lunged at him playfully with her budding horns. + +"Joe! Joe!" called quaking little Sarah Jane. + +Joe West gave one glance at her; his face flushed a burning red; then he +left the bossy and went with long strides across the fields towards his +home. The poor girl followed him. + +"Joe! Joe!" called the little despairing voice, but he never turned his +head. + +Sarah Jane got past his house; then she sat down beside the road and +wept. She did not know how Joe West, remorseful and penitent, was +peeping at her from his window. She did not know of the tragedy which +had just been enacted over there in the clover-field. The bossy calf, +who was hungry for all strange articles of food, had poked her inquiring +nose into Joe West's jacket pocket, whence a bit of French calico +emerged, had caught hold of it, and, in short, had then and there eaten +up Lily Rosalie Violet May. Joe had made an attempt to pull her by her +silken wig out of that greedy mouth, but the bossy calmly chewed on. + +It was just as well that Sarah Jane did not know it at the time. She had +enough to bear--her own distress over the loss of the doll, and the +reproaches of Serena and her mother. They agreed that the loss of the +doll served her right for her disobedience, and that nothing should be +said to Joe West. They also thought the affair too trivial to fuss over. +Lily Rosalie even in her designer's eyes was not what she was to Sarah +Jane. + +"If you'd minded me you wouldn't have lost it," said Serena. "I am not +going to make you another." + +Sarah Jane hung her head meekly. But in the course of three months she +had another doll in a very unexpected and curious way. + +One evening there was a knock on the side door, and when it was opened +there was no one there, but on the step lay a big package directed to +Sarah Jane. It contained a real bought doll, with a china head and a +cloth body, who was gorgeously and airily attired in pink tarlatan with +silver spangles. The memory of Lily Rosalie paled. + +There was great wonder and speculation. Nobody dreamed how poor Joe West +had driven cows from pasture, and milked, and chopped wood, out of +school-hours, and taken every cent he had earned and bought this doll to +atone for the theft of Lily Rosalie Violet May. + +Sarah Jane's mother declared that she should not carry this doll, no +matter whence it came, to school, and she never did but once--that was +on her birthday, and she teased so hard, and promised not to let any one +take her, that her mother consented. + +At recess Sarah Jane was again the centre of attraction. She turned that +wonderful pink tarlatan lady round and round before the admiring eyes; +but when Joe West, meek and mildly conciliatory, approached the circle, +she clutched her tightly and turned her back on him. + +"I'm not going to have Joe West steal another doll," said she. And Joe +colored and retreated. + +Years afterwards, when Joe was practising law in the city, and came home +for a visit, and Sarah Jane was so grown-up that she wore a white muslin +hat with rosebuds, and a black silk mantilla, to church, she knew the +whole story, and they had a laugh over it. + + + + +SEVENTOES' GHOST + + +"You needn't waste any more time talkin' about it, Benjamin; you can +jest take that puppy-dog and carry him off. I don't care what you do +with him; you can carry him back where you got him, or give him away, or +swap him off; but jest as sure as you leave him here half an hour +longer, I'll call Jimmy up from the hay-field and have him shoot him. I +won't have a dog round the place, nohow. Couldn't keep Seventoes a +minute; he's dreadful scart of dogs." + +"Grandsir--" + +"Take that puppy-dog and go along, I tell ye. I won't have any more talk +about it." + +Benjamin Wellman, small and slight, sandy-haired and blue-eyed, stood +before his grandfather, who sat in his big arm-chair in the east door. +Benjamin held in his right hand an old rope, which was attached to a +leather strap around a puppy's neck. The puppy pulled at the rope, +keeping it taut all the time. He also yelped shrilly. He did not like to +be tied. The puppy was not a pretty one, being yellow and very clumsy; +but Benjamin thought him a beauty. He had urged to his grandfather that +there would not be a dog to equal him in the neighborhood when he was +grown up, but the old man had not been moved. + +There were tears in Benjamin's pretty blue eyes, but his square chin +looked squarer. He tried to speak again. "Grandsir--" he began. + +"Not another word," said his grandfather. + +Benjamin looked past his grandfather into the kitchen. His mother sat in +there stemming currants. He went around to the other door and entered, +dragging the puppy after him. + +"Mother," he said, in a low voice, "can't I keep him?" + +His grandfather in the east door looked around suspiciously, but he +could hear nothing; he was somewhat deaf. + +"No; not if your grandfather don't want you to," said his mother; "you +know I can't let you, Benjamin." + +The puppy was whining piteously, and Benjamin seemed to echo it when he +spoke. "I don't see why he don't want me to. It ain't as if Caesar was a +common puppy. You ask him, mother." + +"No," returned his mother; "it won't do any good. You know how much he +thinks of Seventoes, and the dog might kill him when he was grown." + +"Wouldn't care if he did," muttered Benjamin; "nothing but a cross old +stealing cat; don't begin to be worth what this puppy is." + +"Now, Benjamin, you mustn't talk any more about it," said his mother, +severely. "Grandsir does too much for you and me for you to make any +fuss about a thing like this. Take that puppy and run right along with +it, as he tells you to." + +Grandsir's suspicions suddenly took shape then. "Benjamin, you run right +along," he called out; "don't stand there teasing your mother about it." + +So Benjamin gathered the puppy up into his arms with a jerk--it was +impossible to lead him any distance--and plunged out of the house. He +gave two or three little choking sobs as he hurried along. It was a hot +day, and he was tired and disappointed and discouraged. He had walked +three miles over to the village and back to get that puppy, and now he +had to walk a mile more to give it away. He had no doubt whatever as to +the disposal of it; he knew Sammy Tucker would give it a hearty welcome, +for there was an understanding to that effect. Benjamin had been a +little doubtful as to the reception the puppy might have from his +grandfather; but when Mr. Dyer, who kept the village grocery store, had +offered it to him three weeks before, he had not had the courage to +refuse. Sammy Tucker, too, had been in the store, buying three bars of +soap for his mother, and he had looked on admiringly and enviously. When +Benjamin had mentioned hesitatingly his doubts about his grandfather, +Sammy had pricked up his ears. + +"Say, Ben, you give him to me if your grandfather won't let you keep +him," he had whispered, with a nudge. "Father said I might have a dog +soon as there was a good chance, and Mr. Dyer won't want it back. He's +giv away all but this, and he wants to get rid of 'em. They're common +kind of dogs, anyhow. I heard him say so." + +Benjamin had looked at him stiffly. "Oh, I guess grandsir'll let me keep +this puppy, he's such a smart one," he had answered, with dignity. + +"Well, you ask him, and if he won't, I'll take him," said Sammy. + +But Benjamin had not asked his grandfather. He had not had courage to +run the risk. He had waited the three weeks which the store-keeper had +said must elapse before the little dog could leave its mother, and then +had gone over to the village and brought it home, without a word to any +one, trusting to the puppy's own attractions to plead for it. It had +seemed to Benjamin that nobody could resist that puppy. But Grandfather +Wellman had all his life preferred cats to dogs, and now he was +childishly fond of Seventoes. Benjamin's mother often said that she +didn't know what grandsir would do if anything happened to Seventoes. + +Benjamin, going out of the yard with the puppy under his arm, could see +Seventoes sitting on the shed roof. That and the ledge of the old well +behind the barn were his favorite perches. Grandfather Wellman thought +he chose them because he was so afraid of dogs. Benjamin looked at him, +and wished Caesar was big enough to shake him. He had named the puppy +Caesar on his way home from the village. There was a great mastiff over +there by the same name. Benjamin had always admired this big Caesar, and +now thought he would name his dog after him. It was the same principle +reduced on which Benjamin himself had been named after Benjamin +Franklin. + +Benjamin trudged down the road, kicking up the dust with his toes. That +was something he had been told not to do, so now in this state of mind +he liked to do it. The sun beat down fiercely upon his small red cropped +head in the burned straw-hat, and his slender shoulders in the calico +blouse. The puppy was large and fat for his age, and made his arms ache. +The stone-walls on both sides of the road were hidden with wild-rose and +meadowsweet bushes; the fields were dotted with hay-makers; now and then +a loaded hay-cart loomed up in the road. Many boys no older than +Benjamin had to work hard in the hay-fields, but Grandfather Wellman was +too careful of him; he would not let him work much in vacation; he had +never been considered very strong. But Benjamin did not think of that. +One grievance will outweigh a hundred benefits. He hugged the struggling +puppy tight in his arms and trudged on painfully, brooding over his +wrongs. + +He muttered to himself as he went, "Wanted a dog ever since I was born. +All the other boys have got 'em. 'Ain't never had nothing but an old +cat. Sha'n't never have a chance to get such a dog as this again. Wish +something would happen to that old cat; shouldn't care a mite." He +stubbed more fiercely into the dust, and it flew higher; a squirrel ran +across the road, and he looked at it with an indifferent scowl. + +When he reached Sammy Tucker's house he saw Sammy out in the great north +yard raking hay with his father. Sammy looked up and saw Benjamin +coming. + +"Holloa!" he sang out, eagerly. Then he dropped his rake and raced into +the road. His black eyes winked fast with excitement. "Say, won't he let +you keep him, Ben?" he cried. + +"No; he won't let me keep nothing." + +"Going to let me have him, then?" + +"S'pose so." + +Sammy reached forth his eager hands, and took the kicking puppy from +Benjamin's reluctant arms. "Nice fellar--nice little fellar," said he, +tenderly. + +"I've named him Caesar," said Benjamin. + +"That's a good name," assented Sammy. "Hi, Caesar! Hi, sir!" + +Sammy's father came smilingly forward to the fence; he was fond of dogs. +He also took the puppy, and talked to it. Benjamin thought to himself +that he wished his grandfather was more like Sammy's father. He looked +on gloomily. + +"Hate to give it up, don't you, Ben?" said Mr. Tucker, kindly. + +"Sha'n't never have such a chance again." + +"Oh yes, you will; your grandfather'll let you have a dog some time." + +"No; he won't never let me have nothing." + +"Oh, don't you give up yet, Ben." + +Benjamin shook his head like a discouraged old man, and turned to go +home. + +"Sammy'll feed him, and take real good care of him, and you can come +over here and see him," Mr. Tucker called after him, as he went down the +road. + +Benjamin thought to himself that he should not want to, as he marched +wearily homeward. His arms were lightened of the puppy, but his heart +seemed heavy within him. Two boys whom he knew sang out to him from a +load of hay, but he gave only a grim nod in response. "_They've_ got a +dog," he muttered; and indeed the pretty shepherd dog was following +after the load. + +Benjamin, when he came in sight of home, thought he would take a +short-cut through the orchard. He meditated stealing up the back stairs +to his chamber, staying up there, and saying that he did not want any +supper; he was not hungry. They had not cut the grass in the orchard, +and he plunged through clover, feathery grass, and daisies to his waist. +He felt pleased to think how he was making a furrow through his +grandfather's hay. He emerged from the orchard, and went on towards the +barn; directly back of it was the old well. When he reached that he +stopped short. There was Seventoes--beautiful great yellow +cat--stretched in the sun, all his wonderful seven-toed paws spread out. +The ledge of the old well was a strange place for a cat, but Seventoes +was fond of it, and stayed there much of the time when he was not on the +shed roof. + +Benjamin walked close to the well and looked at Seventoes. His small +face was burning red with the heat; his blue eyes gleamed angrily. "You +lazy old cat," said he. He stood a second longer; then he thrust out his +right hand and gave Seventoes a push. There was a piteous yawl and a +great clawing, and Seventoes was out of sight. Benjamin ran. He gasped; +a white streak was settling around his mouth. He was well versed in +Bible stories, and he thought of Cain. What had he done? What would +happen to him? Could he ever get away from his guilt, run fast as he +would? Benjamin ran as he had never run before, his heart pounding, +although he did not know clearly what he was running for. He tore around +the barn, through the pasture bars, towards the house. When he came in +sight of the shed a great qualm of guilt and remorse forced him to +glance up at the place where poor Seventoes had so loved to sit, and +where he would sit no more. Benjamin glanced, then he stood stock-still, +fairly aghast with awe and terror--_there sat Seventoes_! + +All the red faded out of Benjamin's cheeks. He had never been encouraged +in superstitious beliefs, but he was an imaginative child, and just now +bewildered and unstrung. He stared at the shed roof. Yes! he saw +Seventoes there, and Seventoes was at the bottom of the old well. Had he +not seen him fall, clawing, down? + +Benjamin rushed staggering into the kitchen. "Oh, grandsir! oh, mother!" +he wailed--"oh, I've pushed Seventoes into the old well and drowned him, +and his ghost's sitting on the shed roof! Oh, mother!" + +Grandfather Wellman was confined to his chair with rheumatism, but he +arose. "Pushed Seventoes into the well," he repeated, while Benjamin's +mother turned as pale as her son. + +"I have--I have," sobbed Benjamin. "I didn't know I was going to, but I +have. And he's in the well, and he's sitting on the shed roof too. Oh!" + +"What do you mean?" his mother gasped. "Stop acting so, and tell me what +you've done." + +"I pushed Seventoes into the old well. I didn't know I was going to, but +I did; and he's dead in there, and he's on the shed roof. Oh, mother!" + +"You 'ain't pushed that cat into the well?" groaned Grandfather Wellman. +"If you have--" He was trying to limp across the kitchen with his cane. +He, too, was pale, and trembling from head to foot. "Hannah," he said to +Benjamin's mother, "you come right along quick, and see if we can't get +him out. I wouldn't take a hundred dollars for that cat." + +Benjamin's mother started. Benjamin, sobbing and trembling, was clinging +to her. Just then _Seventoes walked in through the east door_, his +splendid ringed tail waving a little uneasily, but not a hair of him was +hurt. A frightened cat can run faster than a guilty little boy, and +Seventoes had found his unusual number of claws of good service in +climbing a well and retarding his progress towards the bottom. + +They all looked. + +"Is it--Seventoes?" gasped Benjamin, with wild eyes. + +"Of course it's Seventoes," growled his grandfather. "I'd like to know +what you've been cutting up so for. Pussy, pussy, pussy." + +Benjamin's mother took him over to the sink, and put some water on his +head, and made him drink some. "There's no such thing as a ghost, and +you're acting very silly," said she; "but I don't wonder you are scared, +when you've done such a dreadful thing. It scares me to think of it. It +was 'most as bad as killing somebody. I never thought a boy of mine +would do such a thing. Grandsir good as he is to you, too." + +"I--won't ever do so--again," sobbed Benjamin, all trembling. "I'm +sorry; I _am_ sorry." + +Benjamin was not whipped, the scourging of his own conscience had been +severe enough, but he sat pale and sober in the kitchen, while grandsir, +with Seventoes on his knees, and his mother talked to him. + +"If you ever do anything like this again, Benjamin," said his +grandfather, "I shall be ha'sh with you, ha'sher than I've ever been, +and you must remember it." + +"I guess he must," said his mother. "It was a dreadful wicked thing, and +he should be punished now if I didn't think he'd suffered enough from +his own guilty conscience for this time, and would never as long as he +lived do such a terrible thing again." + +"I won't--I--won't!" choked Benjamin. + +At supper-time, when the new milk was brought in from the barn, Benjamin +filled a saucer with it and carried it to the door for Seventoes. He +filled it so full that he spilled it all the way over the clean kitchen +floor, but his mother said nothing. Seventoes lapped his milk happily; +Benjamin, with his little contrite, tear-stained face, stood watching +him, and grandsir sat in his arm-chair. Over in the fields the +hay-makers were pitching the last loads into the carts; the east sky was +red with the reflected color of the west. Everything was sweet and cool +and peaceful, and the sun was not going down on Benjamin's childish +wrath. His grandfather put out his hand and patted his little red +cropped head, "You're always going to be a good boy after this, ain't +you, sonny?" + +"Yes, sir," said Benjamin, and he got down on his knees and hugged +Seventoes. + + + + +LITTLE MIRANDY AND HOW SHE EARNED HER SHOES + + +By the 1st of June Mrs. Thayer had the sun-bonnets done. There were four +of them, for the four youngest girls--Eliza, Mary Ann, Harriet, and +Mirandy. She had five daughters besides these, but two were married and +gone away from home, and the other three were old enough to make their +own sun-bonnets. + +There were four Thayer boys; one of them came next to Mirandy, the +youngest girl, the others ranked upward in age from Harriet, who was +eleven, to Sarah Jane, who was sixteen. There were thirteen sons and +daughters in all in Josiah Thayer's family, and eleven were at home. It +was hard work to get enough from the stony New England farm to feed +them; and let Mrs. Thayer card and spin and dye and weave as she would, +the clothing often ran short. And so it happened that little Mirandy +Thayer, aged six, had no shoes to her feet. + +One Sunday in June she cried because she had to go to meeting +barefooted. + +"Ain't you ashamed of yourself, a great big girl like you, crying?" said +her mother, sternly. "You go right over there, and sit down on the +settle till father gets hitched up, and Daniel, you go and sit down +'side of her, and teach her the first question in the catechism. She'd +ought to find out there's something else to be thought about on the +Sabbath day besides shoes." + +So Mirandy, sniffing between the solemn words, repeated them after +Daniel, who was twelve years old, and knew his catechism quite +thoroughly. And when the great farm wagon, with the team of oxen, stood +before the door, she climbed in with the rest without a murmur. + +But sitting in the meeting-house through the two hours' discourse, she +drew up her little bare feet under her blue petticoat, and going down +the aisle afterwards, she crouched, making it sweep the floor, until her +mother dragged her up forcibly by one arm. + +"Ain't you ashamed of yourself?" she whispered. "A great big girl like +you!" + +Mirandy was in reality very small for her age, and everybody called her +"little;" but she got very few privileges on account of her youth and +littleness. In those days, and especially in a family like Josiah +Thayer's, where there were so many children that each had to scratch for +itself at an early age or go without, six years was considered +comparatively mature, and the child who had lived that long was not +exempt from many duties. + +So Mrs. Thayer did not think herself in the least severe when she said +to Mirandy after meeting: "If you want some shoes so bad, you'll have to +work an' earn 'em." + +Mirandy looked up inquiringly at her mother. + +"You can pick berries an' sell 'em," replied her mother. "You're plenty +big enough to." + +Mirandy said nothing, and soon her mother set her to rocking Jonathan in +his red wooden cradle; but as she sat, with her small bare foot on the +rocker, ambition expanded wider and wider in her childish soul, and she +resolved that she would earn some shoes. + +The berries were not ripe before the middle of July. She had some five +weeks to wait before she could fairly begin work. But not a day passed +that she did not visit the pastures to see if the berries were ripe. She +brought home so many partially ripe ones for samples that her brothers +and sisters remonstrated. They, too, were vitally interested in the +berry crop in behalf of shoes and many other things. "She won't leave +any berries on the bushes to get ripe if she picks so many green ones," +they complained, and her mother issued a stern decree that Mirandy +should not go to the berry pasture until the berries were fairly ripe. + +But at last, one hot morning in July, the squad of berry-pickers +started. There were four Thayer girls and two Thayer boys, besides +Jonathan, the baby, whom Eliza dragged in his little wooden wagon. + +"If you go berrying this mornin', you've got to take Jonathan with you," +Mrs. Thayer had said. "Dorcas is weaving, an' Lyddy an' I have got to +dye. You'll have to take him out in the pasture with you, an' tend him." + +The berry pasture whither they were bound was about a half-mile from +home. The two boys scurried on ahead, the four yellow sun-bonnets +marched bravely on, and Jonathan's wagon rattled behind. + +"The berries are real thick," said Harriet; "but they say the bushes are +loaded with 'em over in Cap'n Moseby's lot, an' they're as big as +walnuts." + +"He can't use quarter of 'em himself," returned Mary Ann. "I call it +real stingy not to let folks go in there pickin'!" She nodded her +sun-bonnet indignantly. + +When they reached the berry pasture, they fell to work eagerly. +Jonathan's wagon was drawn up on one side, under the shade of a +pine-tree, and Mirandy was bidden to have an eye to him. Nobody had much +faith in the seriousness of Mirandy's picking, and they thought that she +might as well tend Jonathan and leave them free. + +But Mirandy stationed herself at a bush near Jonathan, and began with a +will. They all had birch baskets fastened at their waists to pick into, +and they had brought buckets to fill. Mirandy had hers as well as the +rest. + +The yellow sun-bonnets and the palm-leaf hats waved about among the +bushes, and the berries fell fast into the birch-bark baskets. Mirandy +stayed close to Jonathan, as she had been bidden, and she struggled +bravely with her berry bush, but it was too tall for her; the bushes in +this pasture were very tall. Mirandy tugged the branches down, and +panted for breath. She was eager to fill her basket as soon as anybody. +She heard Harriet and Mary Ann talking near her, although she could not +see them. + +"Cap'n Moseby's pasture is right over there. You get over the +stone-wall, and go across one field, and you come to it," remarked +Harriet. + +"I s'pose the berries are as thick as spatters," said Mary Ann, with a +sigh. + +"Dan'l says the bushes are dragging down with 'em." + +"Well," said Mary Ann, "nobody would dare to go there, for he keeps that +great black dog, and I've heard he watches with a gun." + +"So've I. No; I shouldn't dare to go. I s'pose it would be stealing, +anyway." + +"I don't s'pose 'twould," rejoined Harriet, hotly. "I guess if anything +is free, berry pastures are. Who planted berry bushes, I'd like to +know?" + +"I s'pose the Lord did," said Mary Ann. "Mebbe it ain't stealin', but +anyhow I shouldn't dare to go there." + +"I shouldn't," agreed Harriet; "an' I know Dan'l and Abijah wouldn't." + +Mirandy listened; she thought both Harriet and Mary Ann very wise. She +trusted to their conclusion that it would not be stealing to pick Cap'n +Moseby's berries, but she privately thought she would "dare to." + +Mirandy did not know what fear was; dogs did not alarm her in the least; +and as for Cap'n Moseby and his gun, she knew he would not shoot her; +once he had given her some peppermints. + +She pulled her bush down painfully, and thought the berries were not +very large, and how fast those in Cap'n Moseby's pasture would fill up. +Harriet's and Mary Ann's voices grew fainter. Mirandy let the bush fly +back, and pushed softly through a tangle of blackberry vines to the +stone-wall; a narrow stretch of rocky land lay between it and the other +which bounded Cap'n Moseby's land. Mirandy stood on tiptoe, and peered +over; then she looked at Jonathan asleep in his little wagon, his yellow +lashes on his pink cheeks, his fat fists doubled up. + +Mirandy was loyal, although she was so young, and she had been bidden +not to leave Jonathan. She looked at him, then at the stone-wall; it was +manifestly impossible for her to lift him over that. She took hold of +the little wagon, and pushed it carefully along. She remembered that she +had seen some bars a little farther back. + +When she reached the bars, she shook Jonathan until he woke up. He +stared at her in a surprised way, but never cried; he was a good baby. + +"Put your arms round sister's neck," ordered Mirandy; and Jonathan +obeyed. + +Mirandy tugged him out of his little wagon, and they both rolled over +under a berry bush. Still Jonathan did not cry. He only gurgled a +little, by way of laugh. He thought Mirandy was playing with him. + +The bars were close together, and Mirandy could not stir one. Jonathan +gurgled again when his sister rolled him, like a ball, under the lowest +bar, and then rolled under herself. But it was harder for her to tug +Jonathan across to the other bars which guarded Cap'n Moseby's berry +pasture; he could only toddle feebly when led by a strong hand. It was +quite a puzzle for six-year-old Mirandy, but she got him across and +under the other bars; then she set him down in a sweet-fern thicket, and +bade him keep still; and he fell asleep again. + +Mirandy picked until she had filled her bucket and rounded it up. Her +heart beat faster and faster; her face was flushed and eager; she looked +a year older than when she started that morning. She had seen no great +black dog, and Cap'n Moseby, with his gun, had not appeared. In the +distance she could see the hipped roof and squat chimney of the Moseby +house; but nobody molested her. + +When her bucket was full, she tugged Jonathan across the field again. +This time he rebelled; a blackberry vine had scratched his little legs, +and his peace was too rudely disturbed. Mirandy tugged him into his +little wagon, and he lay there kicking and screaming. She flew back +across the field for her bucket of berries. She had been forced to +leave it while she brought Jonathan over, and the bucket was gone. She +had set it close to the bars, and there could be no mistake about it. + +Mirandy went back across the field; Jonathan wailed louder than ever. +Her four sisters were gathered about his little wagon, and Daniel and +Abijah were coming through the bushes. Then they all turned on her. + +"Now, Mirandy Thayer, I'd like to know this minute where you've been?" +demanded Eliza. + +Mirandy jerked her head backward. + +"You 'ain't been over in Cap'n Moseby's pasture?" + +Mirandy nodded. + +"She's been over in Cap'n Moseby's pasture," announced Eliza to the +others. + +They all stared at Mirandy, and paid no heed to Jonathan's wails. + +Suddenly Mirandy flung her little blue apron over her face and began to +weep. + +"Did you get scared?" asked Harriet. + +"Did the dog chase you?" asked Mary Ann, very excitedly. + +Mirandy shook her head, and sobbed harder. + +"Did you see Cap'n Moseby with his gun?" asked Daniel. + +Mirandy shook her head. + +"I wouldn't be such a baby for nothing, then," said Daniel. + +"I've lost my bucket!" sobbed Mirandy. + +"Lost your bucket!" repeated Eliza. She was the oldest sister there. + +Mirandy nodded. + +"You're a wicked girl!" Eliza said, severely. "I don't know what +mother'll say. Here's Jonathan all scratched up, too. Did you take him +over there?" + +"Yes," sobbed Mirandy. + +"You're a dreadful wicked girl! Didn't you know 'twas stealing?" + +"Harriet said--it wasn't," returned Mirandy, in feeble defence. + +"It was. I shouldn't think you'd said such a thing, Harriet." + +"Of course it's stealing," said Daniel, soberly. + +"Here you've been stealing," scolded Eliza; "and your bucket's gone, and +Jonathan is all scratched up with blackberry vines. I don't know what +mother'll say." + +She took Jonathan out of his wagon and hushed him, and then they had a +consultation as to what was best to be done. Mirandy related, with +tearful breaks, the story of her well-filled bucket and its mysterious +disappearance. + +"Of course Cap'n Moseby was watching out there with his gun and took +it," said Daniel. + +It was finally agreed that they would all go in a body to Cap'n +Moseby's, and try to recover Mirandy's bucket, that she might not have +to face her mother without it. When they reached the Moseby house the +doors were closed and the windows looked blank. They knocked as loudly +as they dared, and there was not a sound in response. They looked at one +another. + +"S'pose he ain't at home?" whispered Harriet. + +"Dan'l, you pound on the door again," said Eliza. + +And Daniel pounded. Abijah pounded, too, and Eliza herself rattled away +on one panel, with her freckled face screwed up, but nobody came. + +"If he's there, he won't come to the door," said Daniel. + +Suddenly the silence within the house was broken. Then came a volley of +quick barks, and the children all fell back in a panic, and scurried +into the road. + +"He's in there," said Daniel; "an' he's been keeping the dog still, but +he can't any longer." + +"Just hear him!" whispered Harriet, with a shudder. + +The dog was not only barking and growling, but leaping at the door. + +[Illustration: "THE VISIT TO CAP'N MOSEBY'S"] + +Mary Ann began to cry. "I'm going home," she sobbed. "S'pose that door +should break;" and she started down the road. + +Eliza grasped the handle of Jonathan's wagon. "I guess we might just as +well go," she said. "I don't b'lieve he'll come to the door if we stand +there a week. I don't know what mother'll say when she finds that good +bucket's gone. I guess Mirandy'll catch it. An' when she finds out she's +been stealing, too, I don't know what she will say." + +The sorry procession started. Jonathan's wagon creaked; but Mirandy +stood still, with a stubborn pout on her mouth, and her brows contracted +over her blue eyes. + +"Come along, Mirandy," called Eliza, with a foreboding voice. + +But Mirandy stood still. + +"Why don't you come?" Harriet said. + +"I ain't coming," said Mirandy. + +"What?" + +"I ain't coming till I get my bucket." + +Then the whole procession stopped, and reasoned and argued, but Mirandy +was unmoved. + +"What are you going to do? You can't get in," said Eliza. + +"I'm going to sit on the door-step till Cap'n Moseby comes out," +answered Mirandy. + +"You'll sit there all day, likely's not," said Eliza. "What do you +s'pose mother'll say? I'm a-going to tell her." + +"She'll send me right back again if I don't stay," said Mirandy. + +And there was some show of reason in what she said. It was indeed quite +probable that Mrs. Josiah Thayer would send Mirandy straight back again +to confess her sins and get the bucket. + +"I don't know but mother would send her back," said Eliza; and Daniel +nodded in assent. + +"I'll stay with you," said Mary Ann, although she was still trembling +with fear of the dog. + +"Don't want anybody to stay," protested Mirandy. + +Finally she sat on Cap'n Moseby's door-step, and watched them all +straggle out of sight. The creak of Jonathan's wagon grew fainter and +fainter, until she could hear it no longer. The dog was quiet now. +Mirandy sat up straight in front of the panelled door. + +She waited and waited; the time went on, and it was high noon. She heard +a dinner-horn in the distance. She wondered vaguely if Cap'n Moseby +didn't have any dinner because he lived alone. She began to feel hungry +herself. There was not a sound in the house. She wanted to cry, but she +would not. She sat perfectly still. Once in a while she said over to +herself the questions she had learned from the catechism, and she +reflected much upon the two boys in the _Pilgrim's Progress_. She had +eaten a few of the Cap'n's berries as she filled her bucket, and she +wondered that they did not make her ill, as the fruit did the boys. + +Nobody passed the house, the insects rasped in her ears, she thought her +forlorn childish thoughts, and it was an hour after noon. She did not +see a curtain trimmed with white balls in a window overhead pulled +cautiously to one side, and a grizzled head thrust out; but this +happened several times. + +About two o'clock there was a sudden puff of cool wind on her back; she +glanced around, trembling, and there stood Cap'n Moseby in the open +door, with his great black dog at his heels. His old face was the color +of tanned leather, and full of severe furrows; his shaggy brows frowned +over sharp black eyes. He leaned upon a stout oak staff, for he had been +lamed by a British musket-ball. + +"Who's this?" he asked, in a grim voice. + +Mirandy arose and stood about, and courtesied. She could not find her +tongue yet. + +"Hey?" said Cap'n Moseby. + +"Mirandy Thayer," she answered then, in a shaking voice that had yet a +touch of defiance in it. + +"Mirandy Thayer, hey? Well, what do you want here, Mirandy Thayer?" + +Mirandy dropped another courtesy. "My bucket." + +"Your bucket! What have I got to do with your bucket?" + +"I left it out in--your berry pasture." + +"Out in my berry pasture! So you have been stealing my berries, hey? +What about your bucket?" + +Mirandy's little hands clutched and opened at her sides, her face was +quite pale, but she looked straight up at Cap'n Moseby. "You took it," +said she. + +Cap'n Moseby looked straight back at her, frowning terribly; then, to +her great astonishment, his mouth twitched as if he were going to laugh. +"You think I took your bucket, and you have been waiting here all this +time to get it back, hey?" said he. + +"Yes, sir." + +"Didn't you feel afraid that I'd set the dog on you, or shoot you out of +the window with my gun?" + +"No, sir," said Mirandy. + +"Well," said Cap'n Moseby. He paused a minute, his mouth twitched +again. "You have got to come into the house and settle with me if you +want your bucket," he continued, and his voice was still very grim. + +Mirandy stepped up on the threshold, and the black dog growled faintly. + +"Be still, Lafayette!" said Cap'n Moseby. "I'm going to settle with her. +You lay down." + +She followed Cap'n Moseby into his kitchen, and he pushed a little stool +towards her. "Sit down," said he. + +And Mirandy sat down. Directly opposite her, on a corner of the settle, +was her berry bucket, and near it stood the gun, propped against the +wall. She eyed it. There was a vague fear in her mind that settlement +was in some way connected with that gun; but she never flinched. She was +resolved to have that bucket. + +Cap'n Moseby went to the dresser and got out a large china bowl with +green sprigs on it, and a pewter spoon. He filled the bowl with berries +from Mirandy's bucket, and then poured on some milk out of a blue +pitcher. Mirandy watched him. + +He carried the bowl over to her, and set it in her lap. "Eat 'em all up, +now, every one," he commanded. + +Mirandy looked up at him pitifully. Her courage almost failed. She +thought of the boys and the stolen fruit in the _Pilgrim's Progress_, +and she almost felt premonitory cramps. + +"Eat 'em," ordered Cap'n Moseby. + +And Mirandy ate them, thrusting the pewter spoon, laden with those +stolen berries, desperately into her mouth. Never berries tasted like +those to her. There was no sweetness in them. But she kept thinking how +her mother could give her boneset tea if they made her sick, and she was +determined to have the bucket back. + +Cap'n Moseby watched her as she ate. He emptied the remaining berries +out of the bucket into a large bowl. Then he sat opposite, on the +settle. Lafayette lay at his feet. + +Mirandy finished the berries, and sat with the empty bowl in her lap. + +"Finished 'em?" asked Cap'n Moseby. + +"Yes, sir." + +"Now, Mirandy Thayer, I'm going to ask you a question." Cap'n Moseby's +eyes looked into hers, and she looked back into his. "If you hadn't been +a little gal, Mirandy Thayer, what would you have been?" + +Mirandy hesitated. + +"Hey?" said Cap'n Moseby. + +"One of my brothers," said Mirandy, doubtfully. + +[Illustration: "'EAT 'EM!' ORDERED CAP'N MOSEBY"] + +"No, you wouldn't. I'll tell you what you would have been. You would +have been a soldier, and you would have gone right up to the redcoats' +guns. Well, you must tend to your knittin'-work and your spinnin'. Now +what did you steal my berries for, hey?" + +"To earn my shoes," faltered Mirandy; she felt a little bewildered. + +"Earn your shoes?" + +"Yes, sir; I 'ain't got any to wear to meetin'." + +"Have to go barefoot?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"Well, they went barefoot at Valley Forge; that's nothing. You wait a +minute, Mirandy Thayer." + +And Mirandy waited until Cap'n Moseby had limped into another room and +back again. He had a pair of little rough shoes dangling in his hand. + +"Here," said he, "these belonged to my Ezra that died. He had some grit +in him; he'd have done some marchin' in 'em if he'd lived. They'll jest +about fit you. It's a pity you're a little gal. Well, you must tend to +your knittin'-work and your spinnin'. Now you'd better run home, an' +don't you ever come stealin' my berries again, or you'll run faster than +they did at Lexington." + +And so it happened that Mirandy went home, about three o'clock of that +summer afternoon, carrying her new shoes in her berry bucket, and Cap'n +Moseby limped along at her side. Mirandy did not know that he went to +explain matters to her mother, so that she should not be dealt with too +severely, but she was surprised that she received so small a chiding. + +"Don't you ever let me hear of your doing such a thing again," said her +mother; and that was all she said. + +The next Sunday Mirandy went up the aisle clattering bravely in little +Ezra Moseby's shoes, and she could not help looking often at them during +the sermon. + + + + +A PARSNIP STEW + + +Ruth stood by with a dish and spoon, while her mother stirred the stew +carefully to be sure that it was not burning on the bottom of the +kettle. Her sister Serena was paring apples and playing with the cat, +and her father and her uncles Caleb and Silas sat before the fire +smoking, sniffing the stew, and watching solemnly. The uncles had just +come in, and proposed staying to dinner. + +Mrs. Whitman squinted anxiously at the stew as she stirred it. She +feared that there was not enough for dinner, now there were two more to +eat. + +"I'm dreadful afraid there ain't enough of that stew to go round," she +whispered to Ruth in the pantry. + +"Oh, I guess it'll do," said Ruth. + +"Well, I dun know about it. Your father an' Caleb an' Silas are dreadful +fond of parsnip stew, an' I do hate to have 'em stinted." + +"Well, I won't take any," said Ruth. "I don't care much about it." + +"Well, I don't want a mouthful," rejoined her mother. "Mebbe we can make +it do. Caleb an' Silas don't have a good hot dinner very often, an' I do +want them to have enough, anyway." + +Caleb and Silas Whitman were old bachelors, living by themselves in the +old Whitman homestead about a mile away, and their fare was understood +to be forlorn and desultory. To-day they watched with grave complacency +while their sister-in-law cooked the stew. + +Over on the other side of the kitchen the table was set out with the +pewter plates and the blue dishes. The stew was almost done, Mrs. +Whitman was just about to dip out the slices of pork into the dish that +Ruth held, when there was a roll of wheels out in the yard, and a great +shadow passed over the kitchen floor. + +"Mother, it's the Wigginses!" said Ruth, in a terrified whisper. + +"Good gracious!" sighed her mother; "they've come to dinner." + +Everybody stared for a second; then Mrs. Whitman recovered herself. +"Father, you go out an' help them put the horse up. Don't sit there any +longer." + +Then she threw open the door, and thrust her large handsome face out +into the rain. "Why, how do you do, Mis' Wiggins?" said she, and she +smiled beamingly. + +[Illustration: "A PARSNIP STEW"] + +The wagon looked full of faces. On the front seat were a large man and +two little boys; out of the gloom in the rear peered two women and a +little girl. They were Mr. Wiggins, his wife and three children, and his +mother. They were distant relatives of Mrs. Whitman's; they often came +over to spend the day, and always unannounced. + +Mr. Whitman came out clumsily and opened the barn doors, and Mr. Wiggins +led the horse into the barn. "I hope you 'ain't got wet," Mrs. Whitman +said. Nothing could have exceeded her cordiality; but all the time she +was thinking of the parsnip stew, and how it surely would not go around +now. + +Ruth had not followed the others out to greet the guests. She stayed by +the kettle and stirred the stew, and scowled. "I think it's downright +mean for folks to come in this way, just dinner-time," said she to the +uncles, who had not left their chairs. And they gave short grunts which +expressed their assent, for neither of them liked company. + +They watched soberly as Ruth stirred the stew, but they did not dream +that there was not enough to go around. + +When her mother and the guests entered, Ruth turned around and bobbed +her head stiffly, and said, "Pretty well, thank you," and then stirred +again. Serena helped the Wigginses take off their things. She untied old +Mrs. Wiggins's pumpkin hood, and got her cap out of her cap basket and +put it on for her. She also took off little Mary Wiggins's coat, and set +her in a little child's arm-chair and gave her a kiss. Little Mary +Wiggins, with her sober, chubby face and her rows of shiny brown curls, +in her best red frock and her scalloped pantalets, was noticed +admiringly by everybody but Ruth. + +As soon as she could Ruth cornered her mother in the pantry. "Mother, +what _are_ you going to do?" said she. + +"I'm goin' to do jest the best I can," she whispered, severely. "I'm +goin' to tell father an' Caleb an' Silas they mustn't take none of that +stew; they can have some bread an' apple-sauce. I guess they'll git +along." + +"Well, I don't care," said Ruth, in a loud voice. "I think it's mean and +a downright imposition on folks, coming in this way, just dinner-time." + +"Ruth Whitman, if you care anything about me, you'll keep still. Now you +get the salt-cup an' go out there, an' put some more salt in that stew. +It tasted dreadful flat, I thought. I jest tasted of it when they drove +in. I've got to get out the other knives." + +Ruth caught up a cup with a jerk. "Well, how much shall I put in?" she +inquired, sulkily. + +"Oh, quite a lot. You can tell. It was dreadful flat. Taste of it." + +But Ruth did not taste of it. She scattered the contents of the cup +liberally into the stew, gave it a stir, returned to the pantry, and set +the cup down hard. "Well," said she, "I've put it in, and now I'm +goin'." + +"Ruth Whitman, you ain't goin' off to school without any dinner." + +"I don't see as there is anything for dinner but bread and apple-sauce, +and I'm sure I don't want any." + +"I should think you'd be ashamed of yourself, actin' so." + +"I think there are other folks that ought to be ashamed of themselves. +Before I'd go into folk's houses that way--" + +"Ruth Whitman, they'll hear you!" + +"I don't care if they do. I've got to go, anyway. It's late. I couldn't +stop for dinner now if I wanted to." + +She went through the kitchen, where Serena now tended the stew, only +stopping to take her shawl off the peg. + +"Why, you going?" Serena called after her. + +"I've got to; it's late," replied Ruth, shortly. She faced about for a +second and gave a stiff nod, which seemed directed at the stew-kettle +rather than at the Wigginses. "Good-bye," said she. Then she went out. + +It was raining with a hard, steady drizzle. Ruth had no rubbers nor +water-proof--they were not yet invented. She sped along through the rain +and mist. She had to walk half a mile to the little house where she +taught the district school, and before she got there she felt calmer. + +"I suppose I was silly to act so mad," she said to herself. "I know it +plagued mother." + +It was early in the spring; the trees were turning green in the rain. +Over in the field she could see one peach-tree in blossom, showing pink +through the mist. "I suppose Mr. Wiggins couldn't work out to-day, and +that's how they happened to come. They could have the horse. But they +ought to have come earlier," reflected Ruth. "There are a good many of +'em for Mrs. Wiggins to get ready," mused Ruth. "There's old Mrs. +Wiggins and Johnny and Sammy and Mary and Mr. Wiggins." + +By the time Ruth was seated at her table in the school-room, and the +scholars were wriggling and twisting before her on their wooden +benches, she saw the matter quite plainly from the Wiggins side. She +made up her mind that she would behave just as well as she knew how to +the Wigginses when she got home. She planned how she would swing little +Mary out in the barn and play with the boys, and how she would help her +mother get tea. + +When school was done and Ruth started for home the rain had stopped and +the sun was shining. The rain-pools in the road glittered, and she +noticed a cherry-tree in blossom. When she reached home Serena met her +at the door. + +"Oh, Ruth Whitman!" she cried, "we have had such a time!" + +Ruth stared. "What do you mean?" said she. "Where are the Wigginses?" + +"They've gone. Mrs. Wiggins and old Mrs. Wiggins were dreadful mad. Oh, +Ruth, you didn't do it on purpose, did you?" + +"Do what on purpose?" said Ruth, pushing into the house, and looking +around the empty kitchen in a bewildered way. "I don't know what you +mean." + +"Don't you know what you put into that parsnip stew?" + +"No; I don't know of anything I put in but some salt, just before I went +to school; mother told me to. Why?" + +"Oh, Ruth, you put in--saleratus!" + +"I don't believe it." + +Ruth flew into the pantry, and came out with a cracked blue cup. "Here," +said she--"here's the salt-cup, and this is the one I got it out of, I +know." + +"Taste of it," said Serena, solemnly. + +Ruth tasted. "It _is_ saleratus," said she, looking at her sister in +horror. "Did it spoil the stew?" + +"It was--dreadful." + +"I don't see how it happened," Ruth said, slowly, puckering her +forehead, "unless mother dipped out some saleratus in the salt-cup to +bring out in the kitchen when she mixed the sour-milk cakes for +breakfast. I don't know anything about it, true's I live and breathe. I +hope they didn't think I did such a mean thing as that on purpose." + +"Well, I don't know as they really thought you did, but you know you did +kind of jerk round, Ruth, and the Wigginses saw it." + +"What did they say?" + +"Well," said Serena, "we all sat down to the table, and mother had put +on the bread and apple-sauce for the rest of us, and she helped the +Wigginses to the stew. There wasn't more'n enough to go around, but she +kept the cover over the dish so they shouldn't suspect, and all the +rest of us said we wouldn't take any. + +"Well, Mrs. Wiggins she tasted, and old Mrs. Wiggins she tasted. Then +they looked at mother. Mother she didn't know what it meant, and she +kept getting redder and redder. Finally she spoke up. 'Is there anything +the matter with the stew?' says she. + +"Then Mrs. Wiggins she pushed over her plate for mother to taste of the +stew, and the first thing we knew they were all talking at once. Old +Mrs. Wiggins said she'd noticed how we acted kind of stiff, and as if we +wasn't glad to see them, the minute she come, and Mrs. Wiggins said she +had, too, and she'd seen you put the saleratus into the stew, and she +thought from the way you switched around you were up to something. +Mother she tried to excuse it off, but they wouldn't hear a word. They +said it didn't look very likely that it was an accident, and they +noticed none of us took any of it, and mother wouldn't tell them the +reason for that. So they just got up and put on their things, and Mr. +Wiggins backed out the horse, and they went home. Mother asked them to +come again, and she'd try and have a better dinner, but they said they'd +never set foot in the house again if they knew it." + +"Didn't anybody eat the stew?" + +"Nobody but Sammy Wiggins; he ate his whole plateful, saleratus and all, +before anybody spoke." + +"Oh dear!" said Ruth; "I suppose mother feels dreadfully. Where is she?" + +"She's gone over to Lucy Ann's to help her take care of the baby; he was +real sick last night. I don't believe she'll come home till after +supper. She felt dreadful." + +"The Wigginses are dreadful touchy folks, anyhow." + +"Course they are. It don't seem as if anybody with any sense would get +mad at such a thing. But they're always suspecting folks of meaning +something." + +Ruth looked sternly reflective. She took off her thick dingy shawl, and +got from its peg a bright red and green plaid one that she wore in +pleasant weather. + +"Where are you going?" asked Serena. + +"I'm going over to the Wigginses'." + +"What for?" + +"I'm going to ask them to come over here to-morrow and spend the day." + +"Why, Ruth Whitman, ain't you afraid to?" + +"No, I ain't afraid. I'm going to carry over a jar of the honey--mother +'ll be willing--and I'm going to tell Mrs. Wiggins just how it was." + +"She won't hear a word you say." + +"I'll make her hear." + +"They won't come a step." + +"You see." + +The Whitmans kept bees, and their honey was the celebrated luxury of the +neighborhood. Ruth got a jar of clear white honey out of the closet, put +it under her shawl, and was off. First, though, she instructed Serena to +go out in the garden and dig a good supply of parsnips and clean them +for the next day's dinner. + +It was a mile to the Wigginses', and it took Ruth over an hour to +accomplish her errand and return. When she got home she found Serena +getting supper, and her father was washing his hands out in the shed; +her mother had not returned. On the kitchen sink lay a tin pan with four +or five muddy parsnips. Serena looked up eagerly when her sister +entered. "They coming?" said she. + +"Yes, they are," replied Ruth, with a triumphant smile. + +But Serena walked over to the sink and extended her arm with a tragical +gesture towards the parsnips. "Well, you've gone and done it now, Ruth +Whitman," said she. "There's every single parsnip that's fit to eat that +I could find in the garden." + +"H'm! I guess I can find some." + +"No, you can't; they've rotted. I heard mother say to-day she was afraid +they had. More'n half those father brought in this morning weren't good +for anything. When mother finds out that all the Wigginses are coming, +and there's just five parsnips for dinner, I don't know what she will +do; I don't know but it will kill her. And she's asked Uncle Caleb and +Uncle Silas over, too." + +Ruth gave a desperate glance at the parsnips. "I said we were going to +have parsnip stew," said she, "Mrs. Wiggins had been crying; she looked +dreadful tired out; and Sammy had just bumped his head, and there was a +great lump over one eye. She took the honey, and said she'd be real +happy to come if they could have the horse, and old Mrs. Wiggins acted +dreadful tickled." + +"The Wigginses have got parsnips," said Serena. "I heard Mrs. Wiggins +say they'd got a splendid lot, she expected, but they hadn't dug any +yet." + +Ruth looked at her sister. "Serena!" + +"What?" + +"I'm going to send over and _buy some of the Wigginses' parsnips_." + +"Ruth!" But it seemed to Serena as if there was a flash of red and green +light through the room, and Ruth had gone. Serena gave a little gasp, +and stood looking. + +"What's the matter?" asked her father, coming in--an old man in +checkered shirt sleeves, yet with a certain rustic stateliness about +him. + +"Oh, nothing," said Serena; and she fell to slicing the bread for +supper. + +While her father had gone to the well to draw a pail of water Ruth came +in, breathless, but rosy with daring and triumph. Ben White, Mrs. +White's grown-up son, was going to drive over to the Wigginses and buy +some parsnips; his mother was to have some, and Ruth a noble portion for +the next day's stew. + +Serena dropped into a chair and giggled feebly; the humor, of it was so +forcible that it seemed to fairly rebound in her face. "Ask the +Wigginses to dinner to have a parsnip stew, and then--buy their own +parsnips for it!" she gasped. + +Ruth did not laugh at all; she saw nothing but the seriousness of the +situation. "Mind you don't tell mother till after it's all over," said +she. "I don't want her to know where those parsnips came from till after +the Wigginses have gone, she'll be so upset. I'm just going to tell her +how I carried the honey over there, and how they're coming. I do hope +Ben will bring the parsnips before mother gets home." + +"Suppose Ben should bring 'em in when mother was here," chuckled Serena. + +"I told him to shy into the shed with 'em," replied Ruth, severely. +"Hush! father's coming, and we'd better not say anything to him till +afterwards." + +Mrs. Whitman did not return until quite late; her married daughter Lucy +Ann and her teething baby did not generally release her in very good +season. When she came into the kitchen she found a great pan of parsnips +all washed and scraped, and heard the news how the Wigginses were over +their ill-tempers and were coming the next day. Mrs. Whitman dropped +into a chair, her large mild face beamed, and tears stood in her eyes. +"Well, I'm dreadful glad if we can patch it up," said she; "I never had +any fuss with any of my folks before in the world, and I hate to begin +now. I've always thought a good deal of the Wigginses." And her mouth +quivered. + +The next morning a parsnip stew of noble proportions was prepared. At +eleven o'clock the great kettle, full to the rim, hung over the fire, +and the room was cloudy with savory steam. The Wigginses were expected +every minute. Uncles Silas and Caleb Whitman could be seen from the +kitchen window out in the field with their brother bending over the +plough furrows, and they kept righting themselves and looking at their +old silver watches. At half-past eleven Mrs. Whitman and Serena began to +think it was strange that the Wigginses did not come. At quarter of +twelve there was a little stir out in the yard, and they ran to the +windows. There was Mr. Wiggins with a wheelbarrow and an empty grain +sack and a half-bushel basket of russet apples in it. + +Mrs. Whitman and Serena stood wonderingly in the door. "Where's the +folks?" asked Mrs. Whitman. + +Then Mr. Wiggins, standing by the wheelbarrow, explained how Hiram Green +had had to use the horse for ploughing up in the six-acre lot, how he +had promised to hire it to him, and his wife hadn't known it, and how he +had had to go to the store for grain with the wheelbarrow, and his wife +had got him to stop and tell Mis' Whitman she was dreadfully sorry it +happened so, but she didn't see how they could walk, and they would come +over the first day they could have the horse; and she didn't know but +what Mis' Whitman's apples had give out, so she sent her over a few of +their russets; they had 'most two barrels left, and they were spoiling +fast, and they wanted to get rid of them. + +When Ruth came home from school she found an immense kettle of parsnip +stew, her father and her uncles Silas and Caleb again forming a pleasant +expectant semicircle before the fire, but no Wigginses. To-day the stew +was seasoned daintily, and salt had taken the place of saleratus. There +was no stint as to quantity, but there were not enough partakers. Mrs. +Whitman filled a great bowl for Lucy Ann; she sent a dish over to the +Whites; father and Caleb and Silas ate manfully, and passed their plates +again and again; Serena and Ruth and their mother ate all they could, +and the cat had her fill; but the Whitmans, with all their allies, could +not eat their own share and that of the Wigginses. But the stew was +delicious, and as the family ate, their simple homely little feud was +healed, and the parsnip stew smoked in their midst like a pipe of +peace. + + + + +THE DICKEY BOY + + +"I should think it was about time for him to be comin'," said Mrs. Rose. + +"So should I," assented Miss Elvira Grayson. She peered around the +corner of the front door. Her face was thin and anxious, and her voice +was so like it that it was unmistakably her own note. One would as soon +expect a crow to chick-a-dee as Miss Elvira to talk in any other way. +She was tall, and there was a sort of dainty angularity about her narrow +shoulders. She wore an old black silk, which was a great deal of dress +for afternoon. She had considerable money in the bank, and could afford +to dress well. She wore also some white lace around her long neck, and +it was fastened with a handsome gold-and-jet brooch. She was knitting +some blue worsted, and she sat back in the front entry, out of the +draft. She considered herself rather delicate. + +Mrs. Rose sat boldly out in the yard in the full range of the breeze, +sewing upon a blue-and-white gingham waist for her son Willy. She was a +large, pretty-faced woman in a stiffly starched purple muslin, which +spread widely around her. + +"He's been gone 'most an hour," she went on; "I hope there's nothin' +happened." + +"I wonder if there's snakes in that meadow?" ruminated Miss Elvira. + +"I don't know; I'm gettin' ruther uneasy." + +"I know one thing--I shouldn't let him go off so, without somebody older +with him, if he was my boy." + +"Well, I don't know what I can do," returned Mrs. Rose, uneasily. "There +ain't anybody to go with him. I can't go diggin' sassafras-root, and you +can't, and his uncle Hiram's too busy, and grandfather is too stiff. And +he is so crazy to go after sassafras-root, it does seem a pity to tell +him he sha'n't. I never saw a child so possessed after the root and +sassafras-tea, as he is, in my life. I s'pose it's good for him. I hate +to deny him when he takes so much comfort goin'. There he is now!" + +Little Willy Rose crossed the road, and toiled up the stone steps. The +front yard was terraced, and two flights of stone steps led up to the +front door. He was quite breathless when he stood on the top step; his +round, sweet face was pink, his fair hair plastered in flat locks to his +wet forehead. His little trousers and his shoes were muddy, and he +carried a great scraggy mass of sassafras-roots. "I see you a-settin' +out here," he panted, softly. + +"You ought not to have stayed so long. We began to be worried about +you," said his mother, in a fond voice. "Now go and take your muddy +shoes right off, and put on your slippers; then you can sit down at the +back door and clean your sassafras, if you want to." + +"I got lots," said Willy, smiling sweetly, and wiping his forehead. +"Look-a-there, Miss Elviry." + +"So you did," returned Miss Elvira. "I suppose, now, you think you'll +have some sassafras-tea." + +"Yes, ma'am." + +"I guess I'll steep him a little for supper, he's so crazy for it," said +Mrs. Rose, when Willy had disappeared smilingly around the corner. + +"Yes, I would. It's real wholesome for him. Who's that comin'?" + +Mrs. Rose stared down at the road. A white horse with an open buggy was +just turning into the drive-way, around the south side of the terraces. +"Why, it's brother Hiram," said she, "and he's got a boy with him. I +wonder who 'tis." + +The buggy drew up with a grating noise in the drive-way. Presently a man +appeared around the corner. After him tagged a small white-headed boy, +and after the boy, Willy Rose, with a sassafras-root and an old +shoe-knife in his hands. + +The man, who was Mr. Hiram Fairbanks, Mrs. Rose's brother, had a +somewhat doubtful expression. When he stopped, the white-headed boy +stopped, keeping a little behind him in his shadow. + +"What boy is that, Hiram?" asked Mrs. Rose. Miss Elvira peered around +the door. Mr. Fairbanks was tall and stiff-looking. He had a sunburned, +sober face. "His name is Dickey," he replied. + +"One of those Dickeys?" Mrs. Rose said "Dickeys," as if it were a +synonym for "outcasts" or "rascals." + +Mr. Fairbanks nodded. He glanced at the boy in his wake, then at Willy. +"Willy, s'pose you take this little boy 'round and show him your +rabbits," he said, in an embarrassed voice. + +"Willy Rose!" cried his mother, "you haven't changed those muddy shoes! +Go right in this minute, 'round by the kitchen door, and take this boy +'round with you; he can sit down on the door-step and help you clean +your sassafras-root." + +Willy disappeared lingeringly around the house, and the other boy, on +being further bidden by Mr. Fairbanks, followed him. "Willy," his mother +cried after him, "mind you sit down on the door-step and tie your shoes! +I ain't goin' to have that Dickey boy left alone; his folks are nothin' +but a pack of thieves," she remarked in a lower tone. "What are you +doing with him, Hiram?" + +Hiram hesitated. "Well, 'Mandy, you was sayin' the other day that you +wished you had a boy to run errands, and split up kindlin's, and be kind +of company for Willy." + +"You ain't brought that Dickey boy?" + +"Now, look here, 'Mandy--" + +"I ain't going to have him in the house." + +"Jest look here a minute, 'Mandy, till I tell you how it happened, and +then you can do jest as you're a mind to about it. I was up by the +Ruggles's this afternoon, and Mis' Ruggles, she come out to the gate, +and hailed me. She wanted to know if I didn't want a boy. Seems the +Dickey woman died last week; you know the father died two year ago. +Well, there was six children, and the oldest boy's skipped, nobody knows +where, and the oldest girl has just got married, and this boy is the +oldest of the four that's left. They took the three little ones to the +poorhouse, and Mis' Ruggles she took this boy in, and she wanted to keep +him, but her own boy is big enough to do all the chores, and she didn't +feel as if she could afford to. She says he's a real nice little fellow, +and his mother wa'n't a bad woman; she was jest kind of sickly and +shiftless. I guess old Dickey wa'n't much, but he's dead. Mis' Ruggles +says this little chap hates awful to go to the poorhouse, and it ain't +no kind of risk to take him, and she'd ought to know. She's lived right +there next door to the Dickeys ever since she was married. I knew you +wanted a boy to do chores 'round, long as Willy wasn't strong enough, so +I thought I'd fetch him along. But you can do jest as you're a mind to." + +"Now, Hiram Fairbanks, you know the name those Dickeys have always had. +S'pose I took that boy, and he stole?" + +"Mis' Ruggles says she'd trust him with anything." + +"She ain't got so much as I have to lose. There I've got two dozen solid +silver teaspoons, and four table-spoons, and my mother's silver creamer, +and Willy's silver napkin-ring. Elviry's got her gold watch, too." + +"I've got other things I wouldn't lose for anything," chimed in Miss +Elvira. + +"Well, of course, I don't want you to lose anything," said Mr. +Fairbanks, helplessly, "but Mis' Ruggles, she said he was perfectly +safe." + +"I s'pose I could lock up the silver spoons and use the old pewter ones, +and Elviry could keep her watch out of sight for a while," ruminated +Mrs. Rose. + +"Yes, I could," assented Miss Elvira, "and my breastpin." + +"I s'pose he could draw the water, and split up the kindlin'-wood, and +weed the flower-garden," said Mrs. Rose. "I set Willy to weedin' this +morning, and it gave him the headache. I tell you one thing, Hiram +Fairbanks, if I do take this boy, you've got to stand ready to take him +back again the first minute I see anything out of the way with him." + +"Yes, I will, 'Mandy; I promise you I will," said Mr. Fairbanks, +eagerly. He hurried out to the buggy, and fumbled under the seat; then +he returned with a bundle and a small wooden box. + +"Here's his clothes. I guess he ain't got much," said he. + +Mrs. Rose took the newspaper bundle; then she eyed the box suspiciously. +It was a wooden salt-box, and the sliding cover was nailed on. + +"What's in this?" said she. + +"Oh, I don't know," replied Mr. Fairbanks; "some truck or other--I guess +it ain't worth much." + +He put the box down on the bank, and trudged heavily and quickly out to +the buggy. He was anxious to be off; he shook the reins, shouted "ge +lang" to the white horse, and wheeled swiftly around the corner. + +"I'd like to know what's in that box," said Mrs. Rose to Miss Elvira. + +"I hope he ain't got an old pistol or anything of that kind in it," +returned Miss Elvira. "Oh, 'Mandy, I wouldn't shake it, if I were you!" +For Mrs. Rose was shaking the wooden box, and listening with her ear at +it. + +"Something rattles in it," said she, desisting; "I hope it ain't a +pistol." Then she entered with the newspaper bundle and the box, and +went through the house, with Miss Elvira following. She set the bundle +and box on the kitchen table, and looked out of the door. There on the +top step sat the Dickey boy cleaning the sassafras-roots with great +industry, while Willy Rose sat on the lower one chewing some. + +"I do believe he's goin' to take right hold, Elviry," whispered Mrs. +Rose. + +"Well, maybe he is," returned Miss Elvira. + +Mrs. Rose stowed away the boy's belongings in the little bedroom off the +kitchen where she meant him to sleep; then she kindled the fire and got +supper. She made sassafras-tea, and the new boy, sitting beside Willy, +had a cup poured for him. But he did not drink much nor eat much, +although there were hot biscuits and berries and custards. He hung his +forlorn head with its shock of white hair, and only gave fleeting +glances at anything with his wild, blue eyes. He was a thin boy, smaller +than Willy, but he looked wiry and full of motion, like a wild rabbit. + +After supper Mrs. Rose sent him for a pail of water; then he split up a +little pile of kindling-wood. After that he sat down on the kitchen +door-step in the soft twilight, and was silent. + +Willy went into the sitting-room, where his mother and Miss Elvira were. +"He's settin' out there on the door-step, not speakin' a word," said he, +in a confidential whisper. + +"Well, you had better sit down here with us and read your Sunday-school +book," said his mother. She and Miss Elvira had agreed that it was wiser +that Willy should not be too much with the Dickey boy until they knew +him better. + +When it was nine o'clock Mrs. Rose showed the Dickey boy his bedroom. +She looked at him sharply; his small pale face showed red stains in the +lamplight. She thought to herself that he had been crying, and she spoke +to him as kindly as she could--she had not a caressing manner with +anybody but Willy. "I guess there's clothes enough on the bed," said +she. She looked curiously at the bundle and the wooden box. Then she +unfastened the bundle. "I guess I'll see what you've got for clothes," +said she, and her tone was as motherly as she could make it towards this +outcast Dickey boy. She laid out his pitiful little wardrobe, and +examined the small ragged shirt or two and the fragmentary stockings. "I +guess I shall have to buy you some things if you are a good boy," said +she. "What have you got in that box?"--the boy hung his head--"I hope +you ain't got a pistol?" + +"No, marm." + +"You ain't got any powder, nor anything of that kind?" + +"No, marm." The boy was blushing confusedly. + +"I hope you're tellin' me the truth," Mrs. Rose said, and her tone was +full of severe admonition. + +"Yes, marm." The tears rolled down the boy's cheeks, and Mrs. Rose said +no more. She told him she would call him in the morning, and to be +careful about his lamp. Then she left him. The Dickey boy lay awake, and +cried an hour; then he went to sleep, and slept as soundly as Willy Rose +in his snug little bedroom leading out of his mother's room. Miss Elvira +and Mrs. Rose locked their doors that night, through distrust of that +little boy down-stairs who came of a thieving family. Miss Elvira put +her gold watch and her breastpin and her pocket-book, with seventeen +dollars in it, under the feather-bed; and Mrs. Rose carried the silver +teaspoons up-stairs, and hid them under hers. The Dickey boy was not +supposed to know they were in the house--the pewter ones had been used +for supper--but that did not signify; she thought it best to be on the +safe side. She kept the silver spoons under the feather-bed for many a +day, and they all ate with the pewter ones; but finally suspicion was +allayed if not destroyed. The Dickey boy had shown himself trustworthy +in several instances. Once he was sent on a test errand to the store, +and came home promptly with the right change. The silver spoons +glittered in the spoon-holder on the table, and Miss Elvira wore her +gold watch and her gold breastpin. + +"I begin to take a good deal more stock in that boy," Mrs. Rose told her +brother Hiram. + +"He ain't very lively, but he works real smart; he ain't saucy, and I +ain't known of his layin' hands on a thing." + +But the Dickey boy, although he had won some confidence and good +opinions, was, as Mrs. Rose said, not very lively. His face, as he did +his little tasks, was as sober and serious as an old man's. Everybody +was kind to him, but this poor little alien felt like a chimney-sweep in +a queen's palace. Mrs. Rose, to a Dickey boy, was almost as impressive +as a queen. He watched with admiration and awe this handsome, energetic +woman moving about the house in her wide skirts. He was overcome with +the magnificence of Miss Elvira's afternoon silk, and gold watch; and +dainty little Willy Rose seemed to him like a small prince. Either the +Dickey boy, born in a republican country, had the original instincts of +the peasantry in him, and himself defined his place so clearly that it +made him unhappy, or his patrons did it for him. Mrs. Rose and Miss +Elvira tried to treat him as well as they treated Willy. They dressed +him in Willy's old clothes; they gave him just as much to eat; when +autumn came he was sent to school as warmly clad and as well provided +with luncheon; but they could never forget that he was a Dickey boy. He +seemed, in truth, to them like an animal of another species, in spite +of all they could do, and they regarded his virtues in the light of +uncertain tricks. Mrs. Rose never thought at any time of leaving him in +the house alone without hiding the spoons, and Miss Elvira never left +her gold watch unguarded. + +Nobody knew whether the Dickey boy was aware of these lurking suspicions +or not; he was so subdued that it was impossible to tell how much he +observed. Nobody knew how homesick he was, but he went about every day +full of fierce hunger for his miserable old home. Miserable as it had +been, there had been in it a certain element of shiftless ease and +happiness. The Dickey boy's sickly mother had never chided him; she had +not cared if he tracked mud into the house. How anxiously he scraped his +feet before entering the Rose kitchen. The Dickey boy's dissipated +father had been gentle and maudlin, but never violent. All the Dickey +children had done as they chose, and they had agreed well. They were not +a quarrelsome family. Their principal faults were idleness and a general +laxity of morals which was quite removed from active wickedness. "All +the Dickeys needed was to be bolstered up," one woman in the village +said; and the Dickey boy was being bolstered up in the Rose family. + +They called him Dickey, using his last name for his first, which was +Willy. Mrs. Rose straightened herself unconsciously when she found that +out. "We can't have two Willies in the family, anyhow," said she; "we'll +have to call you Dickey." + +Once the Dickey boy's married sister came to see him, and Mrs. Rose +treated her with such stiff politeness that the girl, who was fair and +pretty and gaudily dressed, told her husband when she got home that she +would never go into _that_ woman's house again. Occasionally Mrs. Rose, +who felt a duty in the matter, took Dickey to visit his little brothers +and sisters at the almshouse. She even bought some peppermint-candy for +him to take them. He really had many a little extra kindness shown him; +sometimes Miss Elvira gave him a penny, and once Mr. Hiram Fairbanks +gave him a sweet-apple tree--that was really quite a magnificent gift. +Mrs. Rose could hardly believe it when Willy told her. "Well, I must say +I never thought Hiram would do such a thing as that, close as he is," +said she. "I was terribly taken aback when he gave that tree to Willy, +but this beats all. Why, odd years it might bring in twenty dollars!" + +"Uncle Hiram gave it to him," Willy repeated. "I was a-showin' Dickey my +apple-tree, and Uncle Hiram he picked out another one, and he give it +to him." + +"Well, I wouldn't have believed it," said Mrs. Rose. + +Nobody else would have believed that Hiram Fairbanks, careful old +bachelor that he was, would have been so touched by the Dickey boy's +innocent, wistful face staring up at the boughs of Willy's apple-tree. +It was fall, and the apples had all been harvested. Dickey would get no +practical benefit from his tree until next season, but there was no +calculating the comfort he took with it from the minute it came into his +possession. Every minute he could get, at first, he hurried off to the +orchard and sat down under its boughs. He felt as if he were literally +under his own roof-tree. In the winter, when it was heavy with snow, he +did not forsake it. There would be a circle of little tracks around the +trunk. + +Mrs. Rose told her brother that the boy was perfectly crazy about that +apple-tree, and Hiram grinned shamefacedly. + +All winter Dickey went with Willy to the district school, and split wood +and brought water between times. Sometimes of an evening he sat soberly +down with Willy and played checkers, but Willy always won. "He don't try +to beat," Willy said. Sometimes they had pop-corn, and Dickey always +shook the popper. Dickey said he wasn't tired, if they asked him. All +winter the silver spoons appeared on the table, and Dickey was treated +with a fair show of confidence. It was not until spring that the +sleeping suspicion of him awoke. Then one day Mrs. Rose counted her +silver spoons, and found only twenty-three teaspoons. She stood at her +kitchen table, and counted them over and over. Then she opened the +kitchen door. "Elviry!" she called out, "Elviry, come here a minute! +Look here," she said, in a hushed voice, when Miss Elvira's inquiring +face had appeared at the door. Miss Elvira approached the table +tremblingly. + +"Count those spoons," said Mrs. Rose. + +Miss Elvira's long slim fingers handled the jingling spoons. "There +ain't but twenty-three," she said finally, in a scared voice. + +"I expected it," said Mrs. Rose. "Do you s'pose he took it?" + +"Who else took it, I'd like to know?" + +It was a beautiful May morning; the apple-trees were all in blossom. The +Dickey boy had stolen over to look at his. It was a round hill of +pink-and-white bloom. It was the apple year. Willy came to the stone +wall and called him. "Dickey," he cried, "Mother wants you;" and Dickey +obeyed. Willy had run on ahead. He found Mrs. Rose, Miss Elvira, Willy, +and the twenty-three teaspoons awaiting him in the kitchen. He shook his +head to every question they asked him about the missing spoon. He turned +quite pale; once in a while he whimpered; the tears streamed down his +cheeks, but he only shook his head in that mute denial. + +"It won't make it any easier for you, holding out this way," said Mrs. +Rose, harshly. "Stop cryin' and go out and split up some kindlin'-wood." + +Dickey went out, his little convulsed form bent almost double. Willy, +staring at him with his great, wondering blue eyes, stood aside to let +him pass. Then he also was sent on an errand, while his mother and Miss +Elvira had a long consultation in the kitchen. + +It was a half-hour before Mrs. Rose went out to the shed where she had +sent the Dickey boy to split kindlings. There lay a nice little pile of +kindlings, but the boy had disappeared. + +"Dickey, Dickey!" she called. But he did not come. + +"I guess he's gone, spoon and all," she told Miss Elvira, when she went +in; but she did not really think he had. When one came to think of it, +he was really too small and timid a boy to run away with one silver +spoon. It did not seem reasonable. What they did think, as time went on +and he did not appear, was that he was hiding to escape a whipping. They +searched everywhere. Miss Elvira stood in the shed by the wood-pile, +calling in her thin voice, "Come out, Dickey; we won't whip you if you +_did_ take it," but there was not a stir. + +Towards night they grew uneasy. Mr. Fairbanks came, and they talked +matters over. + +"Maybe he didn't take the spoon," said Mr. Fairbanks, uncomfortably. +"Anyhow, he's too young a chap to be set adrift this way. I wish you'd +let me talk to him, 'Mandy." + +"_You!_" said Mrs. Rose. Then she started up. "I know one thing," said +she; "I'm goin' to see what's in that wooden box. I don't believe but +what that spoon's in there. There's no knowin' how long it's been gone." + +It was quite a while before Mrs. Rose returned with the wooden box. She +had to search for it, and found it under the bed. The Dickey boy also +had hidden his treasures. She got the hammer and Hiram pried off the +lid, which was quite securely nailed. "I'd ought to have had it opened +before," said she. "He hadn't no business to have a nailed-up box +'round. Don't joggle it so, Hiram. There's no knowin' what's in it. +There may be a pistol." + +[Illustration: "THERE, AMONG THE BLOSSOMING BRANCHES, CLUNG THE DICKEY +BOY."] + +Miss Elvira stood farther off. Mr. Fairbanks took the lid entirely off. +They all peered into the box. There lay an old clay pipe and a roll of +faded calico. Mr. Fairbanks took up the roll and shook it out. "It's an +apron," said he. "It's his father's pipe, and his mother's +apron--I--swan!" + +Miss Elvira began to cry. "I hadn't any idea of anything of that kind," +said Mrs. Rose, huskily. "Willy Rose, what _have_ you got there?" + +For Willy, looking quite pale and guilty, was coming in, holding a muddy +silver teaspoon. "Where did you get that spoon? Answer me this minute," +cried his mother. + +"I--took it out to--dig in my garden with the--other day. I--forgot--" + +"Oh, you naughty boy!" cried his mother. Then she, too, began to weep. +Mr. Fairbanks started up. "Something's got to be done," said he. "The +wind's changed, and the May storm is comin' on. That boy has got to be +found before night." + +But all Mr. Fairbanks's efforts, and the neighbors' who came to his +assistance, could not find the Dickey boy before night or before the +next morning. The long, cold May storm began, the flowering apple-trees +bent under it, and the wind drove the rain against the windows. Mrs. +Rose and Miss Elvira kept the kitchen fire all night, and hot water and +blankets ready. But the day had fairly dawned before they found the +Dickey boy, and then only by the merest chance. Mr. Fairbanks, hurrying +across his orchard for a short cut, and passing Dickey's tree, happened +to glance up at it, with a sharp pang of memory. He stopped short. +There, among the blossoming branches, clung the Dickey boy, like a +little drenched, storm-beaten bird. He had flown to his one solitary +possession for a refuge. He was almost exhausted; his little hands +grasped a branch like steel claws. Mr. Fairbanks took him down and +carried him home. "He was up in his tree," he told his sister, brokenly, +when he entered the kitchen. "He's 'most gone." + +But the Dickey boy revived after he had lain a while before a fire and +been rolled in hot blankets and swallowed some hot drink. He looked with +a wondering smile at Mrs. Rose when she bent over him and kissed him +just as she kissed Willy. Miss Elvira loosened her gold watch, with its +splendid, long gold chain, and put it in his hand. "There, hold it a +while," said she, "and listen to it tick." Mr. Fairbanks fumbled in his +pocket-book and drew out a great silver dollar. "There," said he, "you +can have that to spend when you get well." + +Willy pulled his mother's skirt. "Mother," he whispered. + +"What say?" + +"Can't I pop some corn for him?" + +"By-and-by." Mrs. Rose smoothed the Dickey boy's hair; then she bent +down and kissed him again. She had fairly made room for him in her +stanch, narrow New England heart. + + + + +A SWEET-GRASS BASKET + + +Nancy and Flora were going through the garden, stepping between the +squash and tomato vines. Nancy's mother stood in the kitchen door +looking after them. + +"Mind you don't hit your clothes on the tomatoes!" she called out. + +"No, we won't," they answered back. After they had passed the last bean +pole they walked single file along the foot-path down the hill. The tall +timothy-grass rustled up almost to their waists. Flora went first, with +a light little tilt of her starched skirts. Nancy trudged briskly and +sturdily after. Nancy's old buff calico dress, which had been let down +for her every spring since she was seven years old, and marked its age, +like a tree, by rings of a brighter color where the old tucks had been, +did not look very well beside Flora's pretty new blue cambric. Neither +did Nancy's old Shaker bonnet show to advantage beside Flora's hat, +with its beautiful bows and streamers; but Nancy was not troubled about +that. She cared very little what she wore, so long as she went +somewhere. Flora always had nicer things, but she never minded. Flora +was her cousin; she had come to live with her when her mother died, ten +years before, and her father had considerable money. He lived in the +city. + +The two girls were nearly the same age, but Nancy was much the larger; +she looked clumsy and overgrown following slender little Flora. It was +like a dandelion in the wake of a violet. After they had reached the +foot of the hill, they crossed some low meadow-land. It was quite wet, +little dark pools glimmered between the clumps of rank grasses. Some +fine pink orchid flowers were very thick, but they did not stop to pick +any. They were going to see the Indians. Their eyes were fixed upon some +white tents ahead. They had been there once before with Nancy's father, +but the same sensations of curiosity and exhilarating fear were upon +them now. + +"Nancy," whispered Flora, fearfully. + +"What say?" + +"_Is_ that a--tomahawk in that tent door?" + +"No; it's a hoe," returned Nancy, peering with anxious eyes. + +Several Indian women and children were moving about; one Indian man was +scraping some birch bark at a tent door. They did not pay any attention +to the visitors. + +Flora nudged Nancy. "Go along," said she. + +"No, you," returned Nancy, pushing Flora. + +"I don't dare to." + +They stood hesitating. Finally Nancy gave her head a jerk. "I don't +care; I'm going, if you ain't," said she, and forward she went. Flora +followed. + +The tents were arranged like houses on a street, with the open doors +fronting each other. In each tent was a counter loaded with baskets and +little birch-bark canoes, and an Indian woman sat behind it to sell +them. + +The girls went from one tent to another and stared about them. Besides +the baskets and canoes, there were sea-gulls' wings and little fur +slippers and pouches. They saw everything. The Indian women offered to +sell, but they shook their heads shyly and soberly. + +Finally they went into the tent where the Princess kept store. She was a +large stout woman and a real Indian Princess. Under the counter a little +Indian baby, fast asleep, was swinging in a tiny hammock. Nancy and +Flora nudged each other and eyed it with awe. But it was on the +Princess's counter that they saw _the_ sweet-grass basket. They both +looked at it, then at each other. It was made of sweet-grass, it was +oblong, and had a cover and long handles. + +Finally Flora pointed one slim little finger at it. "How much does that +cost?" she asked the Princess. + +"Fifty cent," replied the Princess. + +Nancy had just eight cents at home. Flora had nothing at all. Her father +sent her money every month, and the last instalment was all spent. +Neither of them could buy the basket, and fifty cents sounded enormous, +but their faces were quite dignified and immovable. It might have been +the echo of their strange surroundings, but they acted as if they had +Indian blood themselves. + +They turned about and went out of the tent; they crossed the old road +and climbed the stone-wall. Flora spoke as she picked her way across the +meadow. "Guess I'll buy that basket when my money comes next week," said +she. + +Nancy said nothing; she looked gloomy. She stepped in an oozy place and +wet one foot, but she did not mind it. She thought of her eight cents, +and did an example in mental arithmetic. "Eight from fifty leaves +forty-two," she calculated. For the first time she was envious of +Flora. Everybody finds some object to grudge to another. Nancy had found +hers--the sweet-grass basket. If she had expressed her feelings, she +would have said, "Must she have all those pretty dresses and hats and +the sweet-grass basket, too?" + +The girls went home silently; they were never great talkers. Flora sat +down in the sitting-room with her aunt; Nancy went up-stairs to the +chamber where she slept with Flora, and got her little purse out of the +corner of her bureau drawer. She counted the eight cents, and puzzled +over the problem how to increase it to fifty. She puzzled over it all +the rest of that day until she went to sleep at nine o'clock. The next +day was Sunday; she puzzled over it as she sat in the pew in church, but +she could not arrive at any solution. + +However, the next morning she had an inspiration. Her mother sent her +over to Aunt Lucretia's on an errand. Flora was not allowed to go; it +was a very hot morning, and she was rather delicate. Nancy on her way to +Aunt Lucretia's thought of a way to swell eight cents to fifty. She +trudged down the sunny road in a cloud of dust, her face was scarlet +with the heat, but she ignored all little discomforts. + +Aunt Lucretia lived in a nice square white house with a green +lattice-work porch over the front door. She was an elderly lady and +quite rich. She had a Brussels carpet in the parlor and kept a +servant-maid. + +[Illustration: "SHE WAS A REAL INDIAN PRINCESS"] + +Nancy went in the side door, and through the sitting-room into the front +entry. The parlor door stood open. Aunt Lucretia and her servant, +Henrietta, were in there. Nancy stood looking in. + +"Aunt Lucretia," said she. + +Aunt Lucretia came forward, with Henrietta following. + +"Well, Nancy, what do you want?" said Aunt Lucretia. She was quite a +majestic old lady, very tall and large and short-waisted. She wore her +gray hair in two puffs each side of her face. + +"Mother sent your Stanford paper back," replied Nancy. + +"Well, you can lay it on the sitting-room table," said Aunt Lucretia. +"Is your mother well this morning?" + +"Yes, ma'am." + +Nancy laid the Stanford paper on the sitting-room table; then she +followed on into the kitchen after Aunt Lucretia and Henrietta. + +"Is there anything else you want, Nancy?" asked Aunt Lucretia. + +"I wanted to know if--I didn't know but--you'd like to have me pick +some blackberries for you, Aunt Lucretia." + +"Blackberries?" + +"Yes, ma'am." + +Aunt Lucretia stared reflectively at Nancy. "Do you suppose your mother +would be willing? The sun's pretty hot." + +"Yes, ma'am. I know she wouldn't care." + +"Well, I do want two quarts of blackberries dreadfully, and there 'ain't +a boy been along. I'm going to have the minister and his wife to tea +to-night, and I want to have blackberry shortcake. Do you suppose you +could pick me two quarts before four o'clock this afternoon?" + +"Yes, ma'am. I know where they're real thick." + +"Well," said Aunt Lucretia, "you can go home and ask your mother, and if +she's willing, you can go and pick them. Mind you keep out of the sun +all you can. I'll give you seven cents a quart; that's a cent more than +the boys ask." + +"Don't you want more'n two quarts, Aunt Lucretia?" asked Nancy, timidly. + +"I guess two quarts will be about all you'll want to pick," returned +Aunt Lucretia, grimly. + +"No, ma'am; it won't." + +"Well, we'll see how you hold out. I want four quarts for jell the last +of the week; but you pick two quarts first, and see." + +Nancy went home. She ran nearly all the way. + +"You go right into the sitting-room, and sit down with the palm-leaf +fan, and cool off before you do anything else," said her mother, when +she proposed the plan; "you'll have a sun-stroke." + +So Nancy had to sit in the dark, cool sitting-room and fan herself for +full twenty minutes before she was allowed to put on her old dress and +Shaker and start on her berrying excursion. Flora wanted to go, too, but +her aunt thought it was too hot; she was apt to have headaches. She sat +on the back door-step shelling pease when Nancy started. + +Nancy, bustling off with her two-quart tin pail, glanced back at Flora's +little yellow shaven head bending patiently over the pan of pease in the +doorway. She felt guilty. Was she not going off with the secret +intention of earning money enough to buy that sweet-grass basket before +Flora could? Flora would not have her money until Saturday; this was +Monday. If she could only earn the forty-two cents in the mean time. + +Nancy worked hard that week. Her hands and arms got scratched; she had +even a scratch across her nose. The blackberry vines seemed almost like +tangible foes; but she pushed and tussled with them until she had picked +the six quarts. + +On Monday Aunt Lucretia had the minister and his wife to tea, and made +blackberry shortcake; on Friday she made blackberry jelly. All Nancy's +part of the contract was promptly fulfilled, but Aunt Lucretia's was +not. She had not a cent of change in her purse when Nancy brought in the +last instalment of berries. + +"You'll have to wait two or three days until I can get this bill +changed," said she. "You've been real smart about picking 'em. You've +picked 'em clean, too. Here's a piece of sweet-cake for you." + +Nancy went home in the hot sun. Her red, scratched face looked gloomy +and discouraged in the depths of the Shaker bonnet. She nibbled at the +sweet-cake as she went along, but she did not care for it. Here it was +Friday forenoon, and she had to wait two or three days for her forty-two +cents. Flora's money would come, and she would buy the sweet-grass +basket. Nancy felt quite desperate. That afternoon she teased her mother +to let her go over to Aunt Lucretia's again. + +"No; you don't go a step," said her mother. "She's making jell', and +you've been over there once to-day. You can sit down with your +knitting-work this afternoon, and be contented." + +Nancy sat down with her knitting-work, but she was not contented. It +seemed to her that she must have those forty-two cents. After tea she +begged again for permission to go to Aunt Lucretia's. "It's real nice +and cool out now, mother," she pleaded. + +"I don't care how cool it is," said her mother, "you can't go. I don't +see what has got into you." + +But the next morning Nancy was really sent over to Aunt Lucretia's on an +errand. She did the errand, then she stood waiting. + +"Did your mother want anything else?" asked Aunt Lucretia. + +"No, ma'am." + +"Well, I guess you had better run home then. It's baking day, and maybe +you can help your mother some. You'd ought to help her all you can, +you're getting to be a big girl. I used to do a whole week's baking +before I was your age." + +"Aunt Lucretia!" + +"What say?" + +"Have you--got that--bill--changed yet?" + +"No, I haven't. You mustn't tease. I'm going down to the store in a day +or two, and then you can have it." + +So Nancy went home again without her forty-two cents. She wept a little +on the way. Here it was Saturday, and Flora expecting her money on the +noon mail. But it did not come on the noon mail. It did not come until +six o'clock at night, and Flora did not think of buying the basket that +day. + +After tea that night, about half-past seven o'clock, Nancy did something +that she had never done before in her life. She went over to her Aunt +Lucretia's without permission. Her mother had gone to one of the +neighbor's. Flora was in the sitting-room reading a story-book. Nancy +stole out of the front door, and hurried down the road. + +"What are you over here again for, child?" Aunt Lucretia cried when she +went in. + +Aunt Lucretia and Henrietta were in the kitchen, sticking papers over +the jelly tumblers. + +Nancy hesitated, and blushed. + +"What is it?" asked Aunt Lucretia. + +"I--didn't know but--what--you might have got--that bill changed." + +"Why, I never saw such an acting child! Can't you wait a minute? +Henrietta, have you got any change?" + +"Yes, ma'am," said Henrietta. And she got her purse, and they counted +out forty-two cents. Twenty-two of them were in pennies. + +"Now I hope you're satisfied," said Aunt Lucretia, sharply. "Did your +mother know you came over here?" + +"No, ma'am." + +"Well, you're a naughty girl. I'm surprised at you. I sha'n't want to +hire you to pick berries again if this is the way you do. Go right home, +and mind you tell your mother you've been here." + +The forty-two cents, twenty-two of which were pennies, jingled and +weighed heavily in Nancy's pocket. She was not happy going home. She had +meditated going to the Indian encampment that night to buy the basket, +but it looked so dark over the fields that she was afraid to; so she +went straight home. Her mother had returned from the neighbor's; there +she stood in the front door, watching for her. + +"Nancy Mann, I want to know where you've been," she cried out, as soon +as Nancy opened the gate. + +"Over to--Aunt Lucretia's." + +"You went over there, after all the times I told you not to?" + +"Yes, ma'am." + +"What for?" + +"I wanted my--forty-two cents." + +"Forty-two cents! What do you suppose your Aunt Lucretia thinks of you, +dunning her up this way? Now you come in and light your candle, and go +straight up-stairs to bed." + +It was only half-past eight o'clock. Nancy went to bed. Flora sat up and +read her story-book, and did not go up-stairs until after nine. Nancy +pretended to be asleep when she came in, but she was not. She did not go +to sleep for an hour after that. She lay there and cried softly, and +planned. + +The next morning was very pleasant. It was Sunday, and all the family +went to church. After church, Nancy and Flora went to Sunday-school. +Sunday-school was out about one o'clock; then they walked homeward +together. Nancy lagged behind, and Flora kept waiting for her. + +"Go along; do," said Nancy. "I want to pick these flowers." + +Flora wondered innocently what Nancy wanted to pick so many flowers for. +The flowers were mostly yarrow and arnica blossoms, and Flora had always +regarded them as the very commonest kind of weeds. + +They were quite near home, when Nancy climbed swiftly over the +stone-wall and lay down behind it. Flora went on without turning her +head. Nancy had spoken so shortly to her that her feelings were hurt. +When she went into the house her aunt asked where Nancy was. + +"She's coming," said Flora. "She stopped to pick flowers." + +But it was a half-hour before Nancy came. Running as fast as she could +over the meadows, it took some time to reach the Indian encampment and +return. When she finally approached the house, her mother stood in the +doorway, watching. She did not say a word until she came close to her. + +"Where have you been?" she inquired. + +Nancy hung her head, and was still. She kept one hand behind her. + +"Answer me this minute." + +"Down to--the Injuns." + +"What for? What are you holding behind you?" + +Nancy did not answer. + +"Bring your hand round!" commanded her mother. + +Nancy slowly swung around the hand holding the sweet-grass basket. + +"Did you go down to the Injuns to-day, and spend that money you earned +for that basket?" asked her mother. + +"Yes, ma'am." + +Her mother looked at her. The tears were streaming over her hot cheeks +and her scratched nose; her best hat had slipped back, and the brim was +bent; there was a great green stain on the front of her best dress, and +a rent on the side. + +"I can never get that green off your dress in the world," said her +mother. "You'll have to wear it so. Going down to the Injuns to buy +baskets on Sunday, in your best dress and hat! And you went so Flora +shouldn't get it. I can see right through you. Now, Nancy Mann, you just +march straight back with that basket. You ain't going to do any trading +on the Sabbath day while you belong to me." + +"Oh, mother!" sobbed Nancy; but she had to go. Her forlorn little figure +disappeared lingeringly between the garden vines and bean poles. + +"Hold your dress back," called her mother. "Don't you spoil it any more +than you've done already." + +To Nancy, looking through a mist of tears, the green-clad bean poles +seemed dancing forward and the tomato vines creeping to meet her. +Crossing the meadow she wet her feet in her best shoes. But all this was +nothing. That stout Indian Princess displayed suddenly a sense of humor +and a witty shrewdness which seemed abnormal. Her stolid eyes twinkled +under their heavy brows when Nancy explained, tremblingly, how she had +brought the basket back; her mother would not let her buy it on Sunday. + +"Me no buy basket Sunday," said the Princess, and she looked loftily +away from the sweet-grass basket shaking in Nancy's shaking hand. She +was not in the least moved by Nancy's horrified, distressed face. +Perhaps something of the ancient cruelty of her race possessed her; +perhaps it was only the contagion of Yankee shrewdness. Nancy dared not +go home with the basket; she went home without it or her fifty cents. + +All that afternoon Nancy stayed up in her chamber and wept, while her +best dress was soaking to remove the green stain, if it was Sunday. She +felt as if her heart were broken. She had lost her self-respect, the +sweet-grass basket, and her fifty cents, besides getting a great green +stain on her best dress. Flora tried to comfort her. + +"Don't cry," said she. "It's too bad! The Princess is real mean." And +then Nancy sobbed harder. + +When her mother was getting supper, her father followed into the pantry. + +"I declare I feel sorry for the child," said he. "She's worked real hard +to get that money, and she'ain't ever had so much as Flora. If it wasn't +Sunday I'd go down there this minute, and get back the money or the +basket from those Injuns." + +"You'd look pretty going, and you a deacon of the church, after the way +the Princess put it," returned Nancy's mother. "I'm sorry enough for +Nancy, but she ought to have a little lesson. You can go over there +to-morrow morning and get the basket back." + +There was a beautiful custard pudding for supper, but Nancy did not want +any. + +"Sit up and eat your supper," said her mother. "Your father's going down +to the Injuns in the morning, and see what he can do about it." + +However, Nancy still did not care for the custard pudding; everything +tasted of tears. + +The next morning, before Nancy's father had a chance to go to the +Indians, the Princess herself came to the back door. Whether she came +from honesty or policy nobody could tell; but she came, and she brought +the sweet-grass basket. She rapped on the door, and Nancy opened it. The +Princess extended the basket without a word. Nancy wiped her hands, +which were damp from washing the breakfast dishes, on her apron, then +she took the basket. Then the Princess struck off across the garden. + +Nancy carried the basket into the kitchen. She had a shamefaced and +resolute expression. Flora was in there, and her father and mother. + +She went straight to Flora, and held out the basket. Flora drew back, +and looked at her. + +"Take it," said Nancy. "It's for you." + +Flora looked at her aunt. + +"Take it, if she wants you to," said Mrs. Mann. + +Flora took it. "Thank you," said she. She went soberly out of the room +with the basket. Nancy returned to her dish-washing at the sink, her +father stared out of the window, her mother came and shoved her aside, +and took the dish-cloth out of her hands. + +"There, I'll wash this heavy spider," said she. "You can go and put on +your other dress. I want you to go down to the store for me, and I'm +going to let you buy a couple of yards of that pretty pink calico for a +new apron." + +Nancy had admired that pink calico. As she went out of the kitchen her +father caught her by the shoulders and gave her a little shake; then he +patted her head. + +"Don't run too fast, and get all tired out," said he. + +Nancy put on her buff calico, and went to the store. It was an errand to +take about an hour. She had been gone about a half-hour when the Indian +Princess again came through the bean poles and tomato vines. This time +she was all strung about with baskets. She stood at the kitchen door, +and parleyed with Mrs. Mann and Flora. When she went away she had a +fifty-cent piece in one brown fist, and she was eating a molasses cooky. + +Nancy came home with the pink calico, and half a pound of cream of +tartar; her mother and Flora were in the sitting-room, and they laughed +when she entered. + +Nancy looked soberly at them. "Here's the calico, and the cream tartar," +said she. + +"See what Flora has got for you," said her mother. + +Nancy stared around. There on the table stood two sweet-grass baskets +exactly alike. + +"The Princess came again, and she had another basket. I got it for you," +said Flora. + +"Thank you," said Nancy, in a sober voice, but the dark depths of the +Shaker bonnet seemed fairly illumined with smiles. + + + + +MEHITABLE LAMB + + +Hannah Maria Green sat on the north door-step, and sewed over and over a +seam in a sheet. She had just gotten into her teens, and she was tall +for her age, although very slim. She wore a low-necked, and +short-sleeved, brown delaine dress. That style of dress was not +becoming, but it was the fashion that summer. Her neck was very thin, +and her collar-bones showed. Her arms were very long and small and +knobby. Hannah Maria's brown hair was parted from her forehead to the +back of her neck, braided in two tight braids, crossed in a flat mass at +the back of her head, and surmounted by a large green-ribbon bow. Hannah +Maria kept patting the bow to be sure it was on. + +It was very cool there on the north door-step. Before it lay the wide +north yard full of tall waving grass, with some little cinnamon +rose-bushes sunken in it. Hardly anybody used the north door, so there +was no path leading to it. + +It was nearly four o'clock. Hannah Maria bent her sober freckled face +over the sheet, and sewed and sewed. Her mother had gone to the next +town to do some shopping, and bidden her to finish the seam before she +returned. Hannah Maria was naturally obedient; moreover, her mother was +a decided woman, so she had been very diligent; in fact the seam was +nearly sewed. + +It was very still--that is, there were only the sounds that seem to make +a part of stillness. The birds twittered, the locusts shrilled, and the +tall clock in the entry ticked. Hannah Maria was not afraid, but she was +lonesome. Once in a while she looked around and sighed. She placed a pin +a little way in advance on the seam, and made up her mind that when she +had sewed to that place she would go into the house and get a slice of +cake. Her mother had told her that she might cut a slice from the +one-egg cake which had been made that morning. But before she had sewed +to the pin, little Mehitable Lamb came down the road. She was in reality +some years younger than Hannah Maria, but not so much younger as Hannah +Maria considered her. The girl on the door-step surveyed the one +approaching down the road with a friendly and patronizing air. + +"Holloa!" she sang out, when Mehitable was within hailing distance. + +"Holloa!" answered back Mehitable's little, sweet, deferential voice. + +She came straight on, left the road, and struck across the grassy north +yard to Hannah Maria's door-step. She was a round, fair little girl; her +auburn hair was curled in a row of neat, smooth "water curls" around her +head. She wore a straw hat with a blue ribbon, and a blue-and-white +checked gingham dress; she also wore white stockings and patent leather +"ankle-ties." Her dress was low-necked and short-sleeved, like Hannah +Maria's, but her neck and arms were very fair and chubby. + +Mehitable drew her big china doll in a doll's carriage. Hannah Maria +eyed her with seeming disdain and secret longing. She herself had given +up playing with dolls, her mother thought her too big; but they had +still a fascination for her, and the old love had not quite died out of +her breast. + +"Mother said I might come over and stay an hour and a half," said +Mehitable. + +Hannah Maria smiled hospitably. "I'm keepin' house," said she. "Mother's +gone to Lawrence." + +Mehitable took her doll out of the carriage with a motherly air, and +sat down on the door-step with it in her lap. + +"How much longer you goin' to play with dolls?" inquired Hannah Maria. + +"I don't know," replied Mehitable, with a little shamed droop of her +eyelids. + +"You can't when you get a little bigger, anyhow. Is that a new dress +she's got on?" + +"Yes; Aunt Susy made it out of a piece of her blue silk." + +"It's handsome, isn't it? Let me take her a minute." Hannah Maria took +the doll and cuddled it up against her shoulder as she had used to do +with her own. She examined the blue silk dress. "My doll had a real +handsome plaid silk one," said she, and she spoke as if the doll were +dead. She sighed. + +"Have you given her away?" inquired Mehitable, in a solemn tone. + +"No; she's packed away. I'm too old to play with her, you know. Mother +said I had other things to 'tend to. Dolls are well 'nough for little +girls like you. Here, you'd better take her; I've got to finish my +sewin'." + +Hannah Maria handed back the doll with a resolute air, but she handed +her back tenderly; then she sewed until she reached the pin. Mehitable +rocked her doll, and watched. + +When Hannah Maria reached the pin she jumped up. "I'm comin' back in a +minute," said she, and disappeared in the house. Presently Mehitable +heard the dishes rattle. + +"She's gone after a cooky," she thought. Cookies were her usual +luncheon. + +But Hannah Maria came back with a long slice of one-egg cake with +blueberries in it. She broke it into halves, and gave the larger one to +Mehitable. "There," said she, "I'd give you more, but mother didn't tell +me I could cut more'n one slice." + +Mehitable ate her cake appreciatively; once in a while she slyly fed her +doll with a bit. + +Hannah Maria took bites of hers between the stitches; she had almost +finished the over-and-over seams. + +Presently she rose and shook out the sheet with a triumphant air. +"There," said she, "it's done." + +"Did you sew all that this afternoon?" asked Mehitable, in an awed tone. + +"My! yes. It isn't so very much to do." + +Hannah Maria laid the sheet down in a heap on the entry floor; then she +looked at Mehitable. "Now, I've nothin' more to do," said she. "S'pose +we go to walk a little ways?" + +"I don't know as my mother'd like to have me do that." + +"Oh yes, she would; she won't care. Come along! I'll get my hat." + +Hannah Maria dashed over the sheet into the entry and got her hat off +the peg; then she and Mehitable started. They strolled up the country +road. Mehitable trundled her doll-carriage carefully; once in a while +she looked in to see if the doll was all right. + +"Isn't that carriage kind of heavy for you to drag all alone?" inquired +Hannah Maria. + +"No; it isn't very heavy." + +"I had just as lief help you drag it as not." + +Hannah Maria reached down and took hold by one side of the handle of the +doll-carriage, and the two girls trundled it together. + +There were no houses for a long way. The road stretched between +pasture-lands and apple-orchards. There was one very fine orchard on +both sides of the street a quarter of a mile below Hannah Maria's house. +The trees were so heavily loaded with green apples that the branches +hung low over the stone walls. Now and then there was among them a tree +full of ripe yellow apples. + +"Don't you like early apples?" asked Hannah Maria. + +Mehitable nodded. + +"Had any?" + +"No." + +"They don't grow in your field, do they?" + +Mehitable shook her head. "Mother makes pies with our apples, but +they're not mellow 'nough to eat now," she replied. + +"Well," said Hannah Maria, "we haven't got any. All our apples are +baldwins and greenin's. I havn't had an early apple this summer." + +The two went on, trundling the doll-carriage. Suddenly Hannah Maria +stopped. + +"Look here," said she; "my aunt Jenny and my uncle Timothy have got lots +of early apples. You just go along this road a little farther, and you +get to the road that leads to their house. S'pose we go." + +"How far is it?" + +"Oh, not very far. Father walks over sometimes." + +"I don't believe my mother would like it." + +"Oh yes, she would! Come along." + +But all Hannah Maria's entreaties could not stir Mehitable Lamb. When +they reached the road that led to Uncle Timothy's house she stood still. + +"My mother won't like it," said she. + +"Yes, she will." + +Mehitable stood as if she and the doll-carriage were anchored to the +road. + +"I think you're real mean, Mehitable Lamb," said Hannah Maria. "You're a +terrible 'fraid cat. I'm goin', anyhow, and I won't bring you a single +apple; so there!" + +"Don't want any," returned Mehitable, with some spirit. She turned the +doll-carriage around. Hannah Maria walked up the road a few steps. +Suddenly she faced about. Mehitable had already started homeward. + +"Mehitable Lamb!" said she. + +Mehitable looked around. + +"I s'pose you'll go right straight home and tell my mother just as quick +as you can get there." + +Mehitable said nothing. + +"You'll be an awful telltale if you do." + +"Sha'n't tell," said Mehitable, in a sulky voice. + +"Will you promise--'Honest and true. Black and blue. Lay me down and cut +me in two'--that you won't tell?" + +Mehitable nodded. + +"Say it over then." + +Mehitable repeated the formula. It sounded like inaudible gibberish. + +"I shall tell her myself when I get home," said Hannah Maria. "I shall +be back pretty soon, anyway, but I don't want her sending father after +me. You're sure you're not goin' to tell, now, Mehitable Lamb? Say it +over again." + +Mehitable said it again. + +"Well, you'll be an awful telltale if you do tell after that!" said +Hannah Maria. + +She went on up one road towards her uncle Timothy Dunn's, and Mehitable +trundled her doll-carriage homeward down the other. She went straight on +past Hannah Maria's house. Hannah Maria's mother, Mrs. Green, had come +home. She saw the white horse and buggy out in the south yard. She heard +Mrs. Green's voice calling, "Hannah Maria, Hannah Maria!" and she +scudded by like a rabbit. + +Mehitable's own house was up the hill, not far beyond. She lived there +with her mother and grandmother and her two aunts; her father was dead. +The smoke was coming out of the kitchen chimney; her aunt Susy was +getting supper. Aunt Susy was the younger and prettier of the aunts. +Mehitable thought her perfection. She came to the kitchen door when +Mehitable entered the yard, and stood there smiling at her. + +"Well," said she, "did you have a nice time at Hannah Maria's?" + +"Yes, ma'am." + +"What makes you look so sober?" + +Mehitable said nothing. + +"Did you play dolls?" + +"Hannah Maria's too big." + +"Stuff!" cried Aunt Susy. Then her shortcake was burning, and she had to +run in to see to it. + +Mehitable took her china doll out of the carriage, set her carefully on +the step, and then lugged the carriage laboriously to a corner of the +piazza, where she always kept it. It was a very nice large carriage, and +rather awkward to be kept in the house. Then she took her doll and went +in through the kitchen to the sitting-room. Her mother and grandmother +and other aunt were in there, and they were all glad to see her, and +inquired if she had had a nice time at Hannah Maria's. But Mehitable was +very sober. She did not seem like herself. Her mother asked whether she +did not feel well, and, in spite of her saying that she did, would not +let her eat any of her aunt Susy's shortcake for supper. She had to eat +some stale bread, and shortly after supper she had to go to bed. Her +mother went up-stairs with her, and tucked her in. + +"She's all tired out," she said to the others, "it's +quite a little walk over to the Greens', and I s'pose she played hard. I +don't really like to have her play with a girl so much older as Hannah +Maria. She isn't big enough to run and race." + +"She didn't seem like herself when she came into the yard," said Aunt +Susy. + +"I should have given her a good bowl of thoroughwort tea, when she went +to bed," said her grandmother. + +"The kitchen fire isn't out yet; I can steep some thoroughwort now," +said Aunt Susy, and she forthwith started. She brewed a great bowl of +thoroughwort tea and carried it up to Mehitable. Mehitable's wistful +innocent blue eyes stared up out of the pillows at Aunt Susy and the +bowl. + +"What is it?" she inquired. + +"A bowl of nice hot thoroughwort tea. You sit up and drink it right +down, like a good little girl." + +"I'm not sick, Aunt Susy," Mehitable pleaded, faintly. She hated +thoroughwort tea. + +"Well, never mind if you're not. Sit right up. It'll do you good." + +Aunt Susy's face was full of loving determination. So Mehitable sat up. +She drank the thoroughwort tea with convulsive gulps. Once in a while +she paused and rolled her eyes piteously over the edge of the bowl. + +"Drink it right down," said Aunt Susy. + +And she drank it down. There never was a more obedient little girl than +Mehitable Lamb. Then she lay back, and Aunt Susy tucked her up, and went +down with the empty bowl. + +"Did she drink it all?" inquired her grandmother. + +"Every mite." + +"Well, she'll be all right in the morning, I guess. There isn't anything +better than a bowl of good, hot, thoroughwort tea." + +The twilight was deepening. The Lamb family were all in the +sitting-room. They had not lighted the lamp, the summer dusk was so +pleasant. The windows were open. All at once a dark shadow appeared at +one of them. The women started--all but Grandmother Lamb. She was asleep +in her chair. + +"Who's there?" Aunt Susy asked, in a grave tone. + +"Have you seen anything of Hannah Maria?" said a hoarse voice. Then they +knew it was Mr. Green. + +Mrs. Lamb and the aunts pressed close to the window. + +"No, we haven't," replied Mrs. Lamb. "Why, what's the matter?" + +"We can't find her anywheres. Mother went over to Lawrence this +afternoon, and I was down in the east field hayin'. Mother, she got home +first, and Hannah Maria wasn't anywhere about the house, an' she'd kind +of an idea she'd gone over to the Bennets'; she'd been talkin' about +goin' there to get a tidy-pattern of the Bennet girl, so she waited till +I got home. I jest put the horse in again, an' drove over there, but +she's not been there. I don't know where she is. Mother's most crazy." + +"Where is she?" they cried, all altogether. + +"Sittin' out in the road, in the buggy." + +Mrs. Lamb and the aunts hurried out. They and Mr. Green stood beside the +buggy, and Mrs. Green thrust her anxious face out. + +"Oh, where do you suppose she is?" she groaned. + +"Now, do keep calm, Mrs. Green," said Mrs. Lamb, in an agitated voice. +"We've got something to tell you. Mehitable was over there this +afternoon." + +"Oh, she wasn't, was she?" + +"Yes, she was. She went about four o'clock, and she stayed an hour and a +half. Hannah Maria was all right then. Now, I tell you what we'll do, +Mrs. Green: you just get right out of the buggy, and Mr. Green will +hitch the horse, and we'll go in and ask Mehitable just how she left +Hannah Maria. Don't you worry. You keep calm, and we'll find her." + +Mrs. Green stepped tremblingly from the buggy. She could scarcely stand. +Mrs. Lamb took one arm and Aunt Susy the other. Mr. Green hitched the +horse, and they all went into the house, and up-stairs to Mehitable's +room. Mehitable was not asleep. She stared at them in a frightened way +as they all filed into the room. Mrs. Green rushed to the bed. + +"Oh, Mehitable," she cried, "when did you last see my Hannah Maria?" + +Mehitable looked at her and said nothing. + +"Tell Mrs. Green when you last saw Hannah Maria," said Mrs. Lamb. + +"I guess 'twas 'bout five o'clock," replied Mehitable, in a quavering +voice. + +"She got home at half-past five," interposed Mehitable's mother. + +"Did she look all right?" asked Mrs. Green. + +"Yes, ma'am." + +"Nobody came to the house when you were there, did there?" asked Mr. +Green. + +"No, sir." + +Aunt Susy came forward. "Now look here, Mehitable," said she. "Do you +know anything about what has become of Hannah Maria? Answer me, yes or +no." + +Mehitable's eyes were like pale moons; her little face was as white as +the pillow. + +"Yes, ma'am." + +"Well, what has become of her?" + +Mehitable was silent. + +"Why, Mehitable Lamb!" repeated Aunt Susy, "tell us this minute what has +become of Hannah Maria!" + +Mehitable was silent. + +"Oh," sobbed Mrs. Green, "you must tell me. Mehitable, you'll tell +Hannah Maria's mother what has become of her, won't you?" + +Mehitable's mother bent over her and whispered, but Mehitable lay there +like a little stone image. + +"Oh, do make her tell!" pleaded Mrs. Green. + +"Come, now, tell, and I'll buy you a whole pound of candy," said Mr. +Green. + +"Mehitable, you _must_ tell," said Aunt Susy. + +Suddenly Mehitable began to cry. She sobbed and sobbed; her little body +shook convulsively. They all urged her to tell, but she only shook her +head between the sobs. + +Grandmother Lamb came into the room. She had awakened from her nap. + +"What's the matter?" she inquired. "What ails Mehitable? Is she sick?" + +"Hannah Maria is lost, and Mehitable knows what has become of her, and +she won't tell," explained Aunt Susy. + +"Massy sakes!" Grandmother Lamb went up to the bed. "Tell grandmother," +she whispered, "an' she'll give you a pep'mint." + +But Mehitable shook her head and sobbed. + +They all pleaded and argued and commanded, but they got no reply but +that shake of the head and sobs. + +"The child will be sick if she keeps on this way," said Grandmother +Lamb. + +"She deserves to be sick!" said Hannah Maria's mother, in a desperate +voice; and Mehitable's mother forgave her. + +"We may as well go down," said Mr. Green, with a groan. "I can't waste +any more time here; I've got to do something." + +"Oh, here 'tis night coming on, and my poor child lost!" wailed Hannah +Maria's mother. + +Mehitable sobbed so that it was pitiful in spite of her obstinacy. + +"If that child don't have somethin' to take, she'll be sick," said her +grandmother. "I dunno as there's any need of her bein' sick if Hannah +Maria is lost." And she forthwith went stiffly down-stairs. The rest +followed--all except Mrs. Lamb. She lingered to plead longer with +Mehitable. + +"You're mother's own little girl," said she, "and nobody shall scold you +whatever happens. Now, tell mother what has become of Hannah Maria." + +But it was of no use. Finally, Mrs. Lamb tucked the clothes over +Mehitable with a jerk, and went down-stairs herself. They were having a +consultation there in the sitting-room. It was decided that Mr. Green +should drive to Mr. Pitkin's, about a quarter of a mile away, and see if +they knew anything of Hannah Maria, and get Mr. Pitkin to aid in the +search. + +"I wouldn't go over to Timothy's to-night, if I were you," said Mrs. +Green. "Jenny's dreadful nervous, and it would use her all up; she +thought so much of Hannah Maria." + +Mrs. Green's voice broke with a sob. + +"No, I'm not going there," returned Mr. Green. "It isn't any use. It +isn't likely they know anything about her. It's a good five mile off." + +Mr. Green got into his buggy and drove away. Mrs. Green went home, and +Aunt Susy and the other aunt with her. Nobody slept in the Lamb or the +Green house that night, except Grandmother Lamb. She dozed in her chair, +although they could not induce her to go to bed. But first she started +the kitchen fire, and made another bowl of thoroughwort tea for +Mehitable. + +"She'll be sick jest as sure as the world, if she doesn't drink it," +said she. And Mehitable lifted her swollen, teary face from the pillow +and drank it. "She don't know any more where that Green girl has gone to +than I do," said Grandmother Lamb, when she went down with the bowl. +"There isn't any use in pesterin' the child so." + +Mrs. Lamb watched for Mr. Green to return from Mr. Pitkin's, and ran out +to the road. He had with him Mr. Pitkin's hired man and eldest boy. + +"Pitkin's harnessed up and gone the other way, over to the village, and +we're goin' to look round the place thorough, an'--look in the well," he +said, in a husky voice. + +"If she would only tell," groaned Mrs. Lamb. "I've done all I can. I +can't _make_ her speak." + +Mr. Green groaned in response, and drove on. Mrs. Lamb went in, and +stood at her sitting-room window and watched the lights over at the +Green house. They flitted from one room to another all night. At dawn +Aunt Susy ran over with her shawl over her head. She was wan and +hollow-eyed. + +"They haven't found a sign of her," said she. "They've looked +everywhere. The Pitkin boy's been down the well. Mr. Pitkin has just +come over from the village, and a lot of men are going out to hunt for +her as soon as it's light. If Mehitable only would tell!" + +"I can't make her," said Mrs. Lamb, despairingly. + +"I know what I think you'd ought to do," said Aunt Susy, in a desperate +voice. + +"What?" + +"_Whip her._" + +"Oh, Susy, I can't! I never whipped her in my life." + +"Well, I don't care. I should." Aunt Susy had the tragic and resolute +expression of an inquisitor. She might have been proposing the rack. "I +think it is your duty," she added. + +Mrs. Lamb sank into the rocking-chair and wept; but within an hour's +time Mehitable stood shivering and sobbing in her night-gown, and held +out her pretty little hands while her mother switched them with a small +stick. Aunt Susy was crying down in the sitting-room. "Did she tell?" +she inquired, when her sister, quite pale and trembling, came in with +the stick. + +"No," replied Mrs. Lamb. "I never will whip that dear child again, come +what will." And she broke the stick in two and threw it out of the +window. + +As the day advanced teams began to pass the house. Now and then one +heard a signal horn. The search for Hannah Maria was being organized. +Mrs. Lamb and the aunts cooked a hot breakfast, and carried it over to +Mr. and Mrs. Green. They felt as if they must do something to prove +their regret and sympathy. Mehitable was up and dressed, but her poor +little auburn locks were not curled, and the pink roundness seemed gone +from her face. She sat quietly in her little chair in the sitting-room +and held her doll. Her mother had punished her very tenderly, but there +were some red marks on her little hands. She had not eaten any +breakfast, but her grandmother had kindly made her some thoroughwort +tea. The bitterness of life seemed actually tasted to poor little +Mehitable Lamb. + +It was about nine o'clock, and Mrs. Lamb and the aunts had just carried +the hot breakfast over to the Green's, and were arranging it on the +table, when another team drove into the yard. It was a white horse and a +covered wagon. On the front seat sat Hannah Maria's aunt, Jenny Dunn, +and a young lady, one of Hannah Maria's cousins. Mrs. Green ran to the +door. "Oh, Jenny, _have_ you heard?" she gasped. Then she screamed, for +Hannah Maria was peeking out of the rear of the covered wagon. She was +in there with another young lady cousin, and a great basket of yellow +apples. + +"Hannah Maria Green, where _have_ you been?" cried her mother. + +"Why, what do you think! That child walked 'way over to our house last +night," Aunt Jenny said, volubly; "and Timothy was gone with the horse, +and there wasn't anything to do but to keep her. I knew you wouldn't be +worried about her, for she said the little Lamb girl knew where she'd +gone, and--" + +Mrs. Green jerked the wagon door open and pulled Hannah Maria out. "Go +right into the house!" she said, in a stern voice. "Here she wouldn't +tell where you'd gone. And the whole town hunting! Go in." + +Hannah Maria's face changed from uneasy and deprecating smiles to the +certainty of grief. "Oh, I made her promise not to tell, but I s'posed +she would," she sobbed. "I didn't know 'twas going to be so far. Oh, +mother, I'm sorry!" + +"Go right in," said her mother. + +And Hannah Maria went in. Aunt Susy and Mrs. Lamb pushed past her as she +entered. They were flying home to make amends to Mehitable, with kind +words and kisses, and to take away the taste of the thoroughwort tea +with sponge-cake and some of the best strawberry jam. + +Later in the forenoon Mehitable, with the row of smooth water-curls +round her head, dressed in her clean pink calico, sat on the door-step +with her doll. Her face was as smiling as the china one. Hannah Maria +came slowly into the yard. She carried a basket of early apples. Her +eyes were red. "Here are some apples for you," she said. "And I'm sorry +I made you so much trouble. I'm not going to eat any." + +"Thank you," said Mehitable. "Did your mother scold?" she inquired, +timidly. + +"She did first. I'm dreadful sorry. I won't ever do so again. I--kind of +thought you'd tell." + +"I'm not a telltale," said Mehitable. + +"No, you're not," said Hannah Maria. + +THE END. + + + + * * * * * + + + + +HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE SERIES. + + +Illustrated. Post 8vo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1 25 per Volume. + +CANOE-MATES.--CAMP-MATES. +By KIRK MUNROE. + +YOUNG LUCRETIA, and +OTHER STORIES. By +MARY E. WILKINS. + +A BOY'S TOWN. By W. D. +HOWELLS. + +PHIL AND THE BABY, +ETC. By LUCY C. LILLIE. + +THE MOON PRINCE, and +OTHER NABOBS. By R. +K. MUNKITTRICK. + +THE MIDNIGHT WARNING +and OTHER STORIES. +By E. W. HOUSE. + +DIEGO PINZON. By J. R. +CORYELL. + +FLYING HILL FARM. By +SOPHIE SWETT. + +Illustrated. Square 16mo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1 00 per Volume. + +LUCY C. LILLIE.--THE HOUSEHOLD OF GLEN HOLLY.--THE +COLONEL'S MONEY.--MILDRED'S BARGAIN, ETC.--NAN.--ROLF +HOUSE.--JO'S OPPORTUNITY.--THE STORY +OF MUSIC AND MUSICIANS. + +JAMES OTIS.--SILENT PETE.--TOBY TYLER.--TIM AND +TIP.--MR. STUBBS'S BROTHER.--LEFT BEHIND.--RAISING +THE PEARL. + +DAVID KER.--THE LOST CITY.--INTO UNKNOWN SEAS. + +WILLIAM BLACK.--THE FOUR MACNICOLS. + +KIRK MUNROE.--CHRYSTAL, JACK & CO., AND DELTA BIXBY.--DERRICK +STERLING.--WAKULLA.--THE FLAMINGO FEATHER.--DORYMATES. + +JOHN HABBERTON.--WHO WAS PAUL GRAYSON? + +ERNEST INGERSOLL.--THE ICE QUEEN. + +W. O. STODDARD.--THE TALKING LEAVES.--TWO ARROWS.--THE +RED MUSTANG. + +MRS. W. J. HAYS.--PRINCE LAZYBONES, ETC. + +G. C. EGGLESTON.--STRANGE STORIES FROM HISTORY. + +GEORGE B. PERRY.--UNCLE PETER'S TRUST. + +SOPHIE SWETT.--CAPTAIN POLLY. + +W. L. ALDEN.--A NEW ROBINSON CRUSOE.--THE ADVENTURES +OF JIMMY BROWN.--THE CRUISE OF THE CANOE +CLUB.--THE CRUISE OF THE "GHOST."--THE MORAL +PIRATES. + +PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK. + +_Any of the above works will be sent by mail, postage prepaid, to any +part of the United States, Canada, or Mexico, on receipt of the price._ + + +By THOMAS W. KNOX. + +THE "BOY TRAVELLERS" SERIES. + +ADVENTURES OF TWO YOUTHS-- + IN THE FAR EAST. Five Volumes: + In Japan and China--In Siam and Java--In + Ceylon and India--In Egypt and Palestine--In + Central Africa. + IN SOUTH AMERICA. + IN MEXICO. + IN THE RUSSIAN EMPIRE. + IN GREAT BRITAIN AND IRELAND. + ON THE CONGO. + IN AUSTRALASIA. + IN NORTHERN EUROPE. + IN CENTRAL EUROPE. + +COPIOUSLY ILLUSTRATED. SQUARE 8VO, CLOTH, ORNAMENTAL, $3 00 PER VOLUME. +VOLUMES SOLD SEPARATELY. + +HUNTING ADVENTURES ON LAND AND SEA. Two Volumes. Copiously Illustrated. +Square 8vo, Cloth, Ornamental, $2 50 each. Each volume complete in +itself. _The volumes sold separately_. + +THE YOUNG NIMRODS IN NORTH AMERICA. + +THE YOUNG NIMRODS AROUND THE WORLD. + +Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York. + +_Any of the above works will be sent by mail, postage prepaid, to any +part of the United States, Canada, or Mexico, on receipt of the price_. + + +By MARY E. WILKINS. + +A NEW ENGLAND NUN, And Other Stories. 16mo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1 25. + + Always there is a freedom from commonplace, and a power to hold the + interest to the close, which is owing, not to a trivial ingenuity, + but to the spell which her personages cast over the reader's mind + as soon as they come within his ken.... The humor, which is a + marked feature of Miss Wilkins's stories, is of a pungent + sort.--_Atlantic Monthly_. + + What can we say that will express our sense of the beauty of "A New + England Nun, and Other Stories"? So true in their insight into + human nature, so brief and salient in construction, so deep in + feeling, so choice in expression, these stories rank even with the + works of Mrs. Stowe and Miss Jewett--_Critic_, N. Y. + + The unerring skill, the faultless delicacy, and the almost touching + fidelity with which these little stories are told cannot be too + highly commended.--_Epoch_, N. Y. + +A HUMBLE ROMANCE, And Other Stories. 16mo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1 25. + + Only an artistic hand could have written these stories, and they + will make delightful reading.--_Evangelist_, N. Y. + + The author has the unusual gift of writing a short story which is + complete in itself, having a real beginning, a middle, and an end. + The volume is an excellent one.--_Observer_, N. Y. + + All who enjoy the bright and fascinating short story will welcome + this volume.--_Boston Traveller_. + + A gallery of striking studies in the humblest quarters of American + country life. No one has dealt with this kind of life better than + Miss Wilkins. Nowhere are there to be found such faithful, + delicately drawn, sympathetic, tenderly humorous pictures.--_N.Y. + Tribune_. + +Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York. + +_The above works are for sale by all booksellers, or will be sent by +mail, postage prepaid, to any part of the United States, Canada, or +Mexico, on receipt of the price_. + + +By CHARLES CARLETON COFFIN. + + These are not books for boys alone, but well-arranged and carefully + prepared histories of war, profusely illustrated, with authentic + sketches of battle-fields, historic places, and + buildings.--_Observer_, N.Y. + + Mr. Coffin uses abundance of incident; his style is pictorial and + animated; he takes a sound view of the inner factors of national + development and progress; and his pages are plentifully sprinkled + with illustrations.--_Literary World_, Boston. + +THE BOYS OF '76. A History of the Battles of the Revolution. + +THE STORY OF LIBERTY. + +OLD TIMES IN THE COLONIES. + +BUILDING THE NATION. Events in the History of the United States from the +Revolution to the Beginning of the War between the States. + +_A HISTORY OF THE REBELLION:_ + +DRUM-BEAT OF THE NATION. + MARCHING TO VICTORY. +REDEEMING THE REPUBLIC. + FREEDOM TRIUMPHANT. + +Illustrated. Square 8vo, Cloth, Ornamental, $3 00 per volume. + +LIFE OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN. Illustrated. 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