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diff --git a/27678-h/27678-h.htm b/27678-h/27678-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..7d89a63 --- /dev/null +++ b/27678-h/27678-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,7960 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=ISO-8859-1" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Nine Little Goslings, by Susan Coolidge</title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + p {margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + text-indent: 1.25em; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + img {border: 0;} + .tnote {border: dashed 1px; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; padding-bottom: .5em; padding-top: .5em; + padding-left: .5em; padding-right: .5em;} + ins {text-decoration:none; border-bottom: thin dotted gray;} + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; + } + hr { width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; + } + + table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;} + + body{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + + .pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; + } /* page numbers */ + .copyright {text-align: center; font-size: 70%;} + .blockquot{margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 10%; text-align: justify;} + + .bbox {border: solid 2px; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; padding-bottom: .5em; padding-top: .5em; + padding-left: .5em; padding-right: .5em;} + + .center {text-align: center;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + + .caption {font-weight: bold;} + + .figcenter {margin: auto; text-align: center;} + + .figleft {float: left; clear: left; margin-left: 0; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: + 1em; margin-right: 1em; padding: 0; text-align: center;} + + .figright {float: right; clear: right; margin-left: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em; + margin-top: 1em; margin-right: 0; padding: 0; text-align: center;} + + .unindent {margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + .right {text-align: right;} + .poem {margin-left: 30%; margin-right: 10%; text-align: left;} + .poem2 {margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 10%; text-align: left;} + .sig {margin-right: 10%; text-align: right;} + .u {text-decoration: underline;} + .linenum {position: absolute; top: auto; left: 4%;} /* poetry number */ + .hang1 {text-indent: -3em; margin-left: 3em;} +.cap:first-letter {float: left; clear: left; + margin: -0.2em 0.1em 0; margin-top: 0%; + padding: 0; + line-height: .75em; font-size: 300%; text-align: justify;} + .cap {text-align: justify;} + + hr.full { width: 100%; + margin-top: 3em; + margin-bottom: 0em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + height: 4px; + border-width: 4px 0 0 0; /* remove all borders except the top one */ + border-style: solid; + border-color: #000000; + clear: both; } + pre {font-size: 85%;} + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> +</head> +<body> +<h1>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Nine Little Goslings, by Susan Coolidge</h1> +<pre> +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 <a href = "http://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a></pre> +<p>Title: Nine Little Goslings</p> +<p>Author: Susan Coolidge</p> +<p>Release Date: December 31, 2008 [eBook #27678]</p> +<p>Language: English</p> +<p>Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1</p> +<p>***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NINE LITTLE GOSLINGS***</p> +<p> </p> +<h3>E-text prepared by Adrian Mastronardi, Emmy,<br /> + and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team<br /> + (http://www.pgdp.net)</h3> +<p> </p> +<hr class="full" /> +<p> </p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 362px;"> +<img src="images/illus-001.png" width="362" height="500" alt="Nine little Goslings" title="" /> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h1><span class="smcap">Nine Little Goslings.</span></h1> + +<h2><span class="smcap">By</span> SUSAN COOLIDGE,</h2> + +<div class='center'><small>AUTHOR OF "THE NEW YEAR'S BARGAIN," "MISCHIEF'S THANKSGIVING," +"WHAT KATY DID," "WHAT KATY DID AT SCHOOL."</small><br /> +<br /><br /> +<i>WITH ILLUSTRATIONS.</i></div> + + +<div class='bbox'> +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="Nursery Rhymes"> +<tr><td align='left'><small>CURLY LOCKS.</small></td><td align='left'><small>ONE, TWO, BUCKLE MY SHOE.</small></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><small>GOOSEY, GOOSEY GANDER.</small> </td><td align='left'><small>RIDE A COCK-HORSE.</small></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><small>LITTLE BO-PEEP.</small></td><td align='left'><small>LADY QUEEN ANNE.</small></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><small>MISTRESS MARY.</small></td><td align='left'><small>UP, UP, UP, AND DOWN, DOWN, DOWN-Y.</small></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><small>LADY BIRD.</small></td></tr> +</table></div></div> + + + + +<div class='center'><br /><br /><br /> +BOSTON:<br /> +ROBERTS BROTHERS.<br /> +1893.<br /> +</div> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class='copyright'> +Copyright, 1875.<br /> +<span class="smcap">By Roberts Brothers.</span><br /> +<br /><br /><br /></div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 150px;"> +<img src="images/emblem.png" width="150" height="137" alt="Qui Legit Regit" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='copyright'><br /><br /><br /> +<span class="smcap">University Press · John Wilson & Son,<br /> +Cambridge.</span><br /> +</div> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class='poem'> +<i>When nursery lamps are veiled, and nurse is singing</i><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;"><i>In accents low,</i></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;"><i>Timing her music to the cradle's swinging,</i></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;"><i>Now fast, now slow,—</i></span><br /> +<br /> +<i>Singing of Baby Bunting, soft and furry</i><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;"><i>In rabbit cloak,</i></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;"><i>Or rock-a-byed amid the toss and flurry</i></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;"><i>Of wind-swept oak;</i></span><br /> +<br /> +<i>Of Boy-Blue sleeping with his horn beside him,</i><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;"><i>Of my son John,</i></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;"><i>Who went to bed (let all good boys deride him)</i></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;"><i>With stockings on;</i></span><br /> +<br /> +<i>Of sweet Bo-Peep following her lambkins straying;</i><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;"><i>Of Dames in shoes;</i></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;"><i>Of cows, considerate, 'mid the Piper's playing,</i></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;"><i>Which tune to choose;</i></span><br /> +<br /> +<i>Of Gotham's wise men bowling o'er the billow,</i><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;"><i>Or him, less wise,</i></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;"><i>Who chose rough bramble-bushes for a pillow,</i></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;"><i>And scratched his eyes,—</i></span><br /> +<br /> +<i>It may be, while she sings, that through the portal</i><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;"><i>Soft footsteps glide,</i></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;"><i>And, all invisible to grown-up mortal,</i></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;"><i>At cradle side</i></span><br /> +<br /> +<i>Sits Mother Goose herself, the dear old mother,</i><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;"><i>And rocks and croons,</i></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;"><i>In tones which Baby hearkens, but no other,</i></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;"><i>Her old-new tunes!</i></span><br /> +<br /> +<i>I think it must be so, else why, years after,</i><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;"><i>Do we retrace</i></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;"><i>And mix with shadowy, recollected laughter</i></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;"><i>Thoughts of that face;</i></span><br /> +<br /> +<i>Seen, yet unseen, beaming across the ages,</i><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;"><i>Brimful of fun</i></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;"><i>And wit and wisdom, baffling all the sages</i></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;"><i>Under the sun?</i></span><br /> +<br /> +<i>A grown-up child has place still, which no other</i><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;"><i>May dare refuse;</i></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;"><i>I, grown up, bring this offering to our Mother,</i></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;"><i>To Mother Goose;</i></span><br /> +<br /> +<i>And, standing with the babies at that olden,</i><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;"><i>Immortal knee,</i></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;"><i>I seem to feel her smile, benign and golden,</i></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;"><i>Falling on me.</i></span><br /> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/contentsa.png" width="500" height="126" alt="Harp decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<h2>CONTENTS.</h2> + + + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary="contents"> +<tr><td align='right'><small>CHAP</small></td><td align='right'> </td><td align='right'><small>PAGE</small></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>I.</td><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Curly Locks</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_1">1</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>II.</td><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Goosey, Goosey Gander</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_40">40</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>III.</td><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Little Bo-Peep</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_65">65</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>IV.</td><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Mistress Mary</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_101">101</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>V.</td><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Lady Bird</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_137">137</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>VI.</td><td align='left'><span class="smcap">One, Two, Buckle My Shoe</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_165">165</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>VII.</td><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Ride a Cock-Horse</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_197">197</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>VIII.</td><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Lady Queen Anne</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_228">228</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>IX.</td><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Up, Up, Up, and Down, Down, Down-y</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_259">259</a></td></tr> +</table></div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 150px;"> +<img src="images/contentsb.png" width="150" height="105" alt="flower decoration" title="" /> +</div><hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[1]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 350px;"> +<img src="images/illus-008.png" width="350" height="386" alt="Curly Locks" title="" /> +</div> + + + + +<h2>CURLY LOCKS.</h2> + + +<p>WHEN a little girl is six and a little boy is +six, they like pretty much the same things +and enjoy pretty much the same games. She +wears an apron, and he a jacket and trousers,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[2]</a></span> +but they are both equally fond of running races, +spinning tops, flying kites, going down hill on +sleds, and making a noise in the open air. But +when the little girl gets to be eleven or twelve, +and to grow thin and long, so that every two +months a tuck has to be let down in her frocks, +then a great difference becomes visible. The +boy goes on racing and whooping and comporting +himself generally like a young colt in a +pasture; but she turns quiet and shy, cares no +longer for rough play or exercise, takes droll +little sentimental fancies into her head, and likes +best the books which make her cry. Almost all +girls have a fit of this kind some time or other +in the course of their lives; and it is rather a +good thing to have it early, for little folks get +over such attacks more easily than big ones. +Perhaps we may live to see the day when wise +mammas, going through the list of nursery diseases +which their children have had, will wind up +triumphantly with, "Mumps, measles, chicken-pox,—and +they are all over with 'Amy Herbert,'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[3]</a></span> +'The Heir of Redclyffe,' and the notion +that they are going to be miserable for the rest +of their lives!"</p> + +<p>Sometimes this odd change comes after an +illness when a little girl feels weak and out of +sorts, and does not know exactly what is the +matter. This is the way it came to Johnnie +Carr, a girl whom some of you who read this +are already acquainted with. She had intermittent +fever the year after her sisters Katy +and Clover came from boarding-school, and was +quite ill for several weeks. Everybody in the +house was sorry to have Johnnie sick. Katy +nursed, petted, and cosseted her in the tenderest +way. Clover brought flowers to the bedside and +read books aloud, and told Johnnie interesting +stories. Elsie cut out paper dolls for her by +dozens, painted their cheeks pink and their eyes +blue, and made for them beautiful dresses and +jackets of every color and fashion. Papa never +came in without some little present or treat in +his pocket for Johnnie. So long as she was in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[4]</a></span> +bed, and all these nice things were doing for her, +Johnnie liked being ill very much, but when +she began to sit up and go down to dinner, and +the family spoke of her as almost well again, +<i>then</i> a time of unhappiness set in. The Johnnie +who got out of bed after the fever was not +the Johnnie of a month before. There were +two inches more of her for one thing, for she +had taken the opportunity to grow prodigiously, +as sick children often do. Her head ached at +times, her back felt weak, and her legs shook +when she tried to run about. All sorts of queer +and disagreeable feelings attacked her. Her +hair had fallen out during the fever so that +Papa thought it best to have it shaved close. +Katy made a pretty silk-lined cap for her to +wear, but the girls at school laughed at the cap, +and that troubled Johnnie very much. Then, +when the new hair grew, thick and soft as the +plumy down on a bird's wing, a fresh affliction +set in, for the hair came out in small round +rings all over her head, which made her look like<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span> +a baby. Elsie called her "Curly," and gradually +the others adopted the name, till at last +nobody used any other except the servants, who +still said "Miss Johnnie." It was hard to recognize +the old Johnnie, square and sturdy and +full of merry life, in poor, thin, whining Curly, +always complaining of something, who lay on +the sofa reading story-books, and begging Phil +and Dorry to let her alone, not to tease her, and +to go off and play by themselves. Her eyes +looked twice as big as usual, because her face +was so small and pale, and though she was still +a pretty child, it was in a different way from +the old prettiness. Katy and Clover were very +kind and gentle always, but Elsie sometimes +lost patience entirely, and the boys openly declared +that Curly was a cross-patch, and hadn't +a bit of fun left in her.</p> + +<p>One afternoon she was lying on the sofa with +the "Wide Wide World" in her hand. Her +eyelids were very red from crying over Alice's +death, but she had galloped on, and was now<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span> +reading the part where Ellen Montgomery goes +to live with her rich relatives in Scotland.</p> + +<p>"Oh, dear," sighed Johnnie. "How splendid +it was for her! Just think, Clover, riding +lessons, and a watch, and her uncle takes her +to see all sorts of places, and they call her their +White Rose! Oh, dear! I wish <i>we</i> had relations +in Scotland."</p> + +<p>"We haven't, you know," remarked Clover, +threading her needle with a fresh bit of blue +worsted.</p> + +<p>"I know it. It's too bad. Nothing ever +does happen in this stupid place. The girls in +books always do have such nice times. Ellen +could leap, and she spoke French <i>beau</i>tifully. +She learned at that place, you know, the place +where the Humphreys lived."</p> + +<p>"Litchfield Co., Connecticut," said Clover +mischievously. "Katy was there last summer, +you recollect. I guess they don't <i>all</i> speak +such good French. Katy didn't notice it."</p> + +<p>"Ellen did," persisted Johnnie. "Her uncle<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span> +and all those people were so surprised when +they heard her. Wouldn't it be grand to be +an adopted child, Clover?"</p> + +<p>"To be adopted by people who gave you +your bath like a baby when you were thirteen +years old, and tapped your lips when they didn't +want you to speak, and stole your Pilgrim's +Progresses? No, thank you. I would much +rather stay as I am."</p> + +<p>"I wouldn't," replied Johnnie pensively. "I +don't like this place very much. I should love +to be rich and to travel in Europe."</p> + +<p>At this moment Papa and Katy came in together. +Katy was laughing, and Papa looked +as if he had just bitten a smile off short. In +his hand was a letter.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Clovy," began Katy, but Papa interposed +with "Katy, hold your tongue;" and +though he looked quizzical as he said it, Katy +saw that he was half in earnest, and stopped at +once.</p> + +<p>"We're about to have a visitor," he went on,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span> +picking Johnnie up and settling her in his lap,—"a +distinguished visitor. Curly, you must +put on your best manners, for she comes especially +to see you."</p> + +<p>"A visitor! How nice! Who is it?" cried +Clover and Johnnie with one voice. Visitors +were rare in Burnet, and the children regarded +them always as a treat.</p> + +<p>"Her name is Miss Inches,—Marion Joanna +Inches," replied Dr. Carr, glancing at the letter. +"She's a sort of godmother of yours, Curly; +you've got half her name."</p> + +<p>"Was I really named after her?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. She and Mamma were school-friends, +and though they never met after leaving school, +Mamma was fond of her, and when little No. 4 +came, she decided to call her after her old intimate. +That silver mug of yours was a present +from her."</p> + +<p>"Was it? Where does she live?"</p> + +<p>"At a place called Inches Mills, in Massachusetts. +She's the rich lady of the village, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span> +has a beautiful house and grounds, where she +lives all alone by herself. Her letter is written +at Niagara. She is going to the Mammoth Cave, +and writes to ask if it will be convenient for us +to have her stop for a few days on the way. +She wants to see her old friend's children, she +says, and especially her namesake."</p> + +<p>"Oh, dear!" sighed Johnnie, ruffling her +short hairs with her fingers. "I wish my curls +were longer. What <i>will</i> she think when she +sees me?"</p> + +<p>"She'll think</p> + +<div class='poem'> +"There is a little girl, and she has a little curl<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Right in the middle of her forehead;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">When she is good she is very, very good,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And when she is bad she is horrid—"</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='unindent'>said Dr. Carr, laughing. But Johnnie didn't +laugh back. Her lip trembled, and she said,—</div> + +<p>"I'm not horrid <i>really</i>, am I?"</p> + +<p>"Not a bit," replied her father; "you're only +a little goose now and then, and I'm such an old +gander that I don't mind that a bit."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span></p> + +<p>Johnnie smiled and was comforted. Her +thoughts turned to the coming visitor.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps she'll be like the rich ladies in +story-books," she said to herself.</p> + +<p>Next day Miss Inches came. Katy was an +experienced housekeeper now, and did not +worry over coming guests as once she did. The +house was always in pleasant, home-like order; +and though Debby and Alexander had fulfilled +Aunt Izzie's prediction by marrying one another, +both stayed on at Dr. Carr's and were as good +and faithful as ever, so Katy had no anxieties +as to the dinners and breakfasts. It was late in +the afternoon when the visitor arrived. Fresh +flowers filled the vases, for it was early June, +and the garden-beds were sweet with roses and +lilies of the valley. The older girls wore new +summer muslins, and Johnnie in white, her +short curls tied back with a blue ribbon, looked +unusually pretty and delicate.</p> + +<p>Miss Inches, a wide-awake, handsome woman, +seemed much pleased to see them all.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span></p> + +<p>"So this is my name-child," she said, putting +her arm about Johnnie. "This is my little +Joanna? You're the only child I have any +share in, Joanna; I hope we shall love each +other very deeply."</p> + +<p>Miss Inches' hand was large and white, with +beautiful rings on the fingers. Johnnie was +flattered at being patted by such a hand, and +cuddled affectionately to the side of her name-mamma.</p> + +<p>"What eyes she has!" murmured Miss Inches +to Dr. Carr. She lowered her voice, but Johnnie +caught every word. "Such a lambent blue, +and so full of soul. She is quite different from +the rest of your daughters, Dr. Carr; don't you +think so?"</p> + +<p>"She has been ill recently, and is looking +thin," replied the prosaic Papa.</p> + +<p>"Oh, it isn't <i>that</i>! There is something else,—hard +to put into words, but I feel it! You +don't see it? Well, that only confirms a theory +of mine, that people are often blind to the qualities<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span> +of their nearest relations. We cannot get +our own families into proper perspective. It +isn't possible."</p> + +<p>These fine words were lost on Johnnie, but +she understood that she was pronounced nicer +than the rest of the family. This pleased her: +she began to think that she should like Miss +Inches very much indeed.</p> + +<p>Dr. Carr was not so much pleased. The note +from Miss Inches, over which he and Katy had +laughed, but which was not shown to the rest, +had prepared him for a visitor of rather high-flown +ideas, but he did not like having Johnnie +singled out as the subject of this kind of praise. +However, he said to himself, "It doesn't matter. +She means well, and jolly little Johnnie won't be +harmed by a few days of it."</p> + +<p>Jolly little Johnnie would not have been +harmed, but the pale, sentimental Johnnie left +behind by the recently departed intermittent +fever, decidedly <i>was</i>. Before Miss Inches had +been four days in Burnet, Johnnie adored her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span> +and followed her about like a shadow. Never +had anybody loved her as Miss Inches did, she +thought, or discovered such fine things in her +character. Ten long years and a half had she +lived with Papa and the children, and not one +of them had found out that her eyes were full +of soul, and an expression "of mingled mirth +and melancholy unusual in a childish face, and +more like that of <i>Goethe's Mignon</i> than any +thing else in the world of fiction!" Johnnie +had never heard of "<i>Mignon</i>," but it was delightful +to be told that she resembled her, and +she made Miss Inches a present of the whole of +her foolish little heart on the spot.</p> + +<p>"Oh, if Papa would but give you to me!" exclaimed +Miss Inches one day. "If only I could +have you for my own, what a delight it would +be! My whole theory of training is so different,—you +should never waste your energies in +house-work, my darling, (Johnnie had been +dusting the parlor); it is sheer waste, with an +intelligence like yours lying fallow and only<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span> +waiting for the master's hand. Would you +come, Johnnie, if Papa consented? Inches +Mills is a quiet place, but lovely. There are +a few bright minds in the neighborhood; we +are near Boston, and not too far from Concord. +Such a pretty room as you should have, darling, +fitted up in blue and rose-buds, or—no, Morris +green and Pompeian-red would be prettier, +perhaps. What a joy it would be to choose +pictures for it,—pictures, every one of which +should be an impulse in the best Art direction! +And how you would revel in the garden, and in +the fruit! My strawberries are the finest I +ever saw; I have two Alderney cows and quantities +of cream. Don't you think you could be +happy to come and be my own little Curly, if +Papa would consent?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes," said Johnnie eagerly. "And I +could come home sometimes, couldn't I?"</p> + +<p>"Every year," replied Miss Inches. "We'll +take such lovely journeys together, Johnnie, +and see all sorts of interesting places. Would<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span> +you like best to go to California or to Switzerland +next summer? I think, on the whole, +Switzerland would be best. I want you to +form a good French accent at once, but, above +all, to study German, the language of <i>thought</i>. +Then there is music. We might spend the +winter at <i>Stuttgard</i>—"</p> + +<p>Decidedly Miss Inches was counting on her +chicken before hatching it, for Dr. Carr had +yet to be consulted, and he was not a parent +who enjoyed interference with his nest or nestlings. +When Miss Inches attacked him on the +subject, his first impulse was to whistle with +amazement. Next he laughed, and then he +became almost angry. Miss Inches talked very +fast, describing the fine things she would do +with Johnnie, and for her; and Dr. Carr, having +no chance to put in a word, listened patiently, +and watched his little girl, who was clinging to +her new friend and looking very eager and anxious. +He saw that her heart was set on being +"adopted," and, wise man that he was, it occurred<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span> +to him that it might be well to grant +her wish in part, and let her find out by experiment +what was really the best and happiest +thing. So he did not say "No" decidedly, as +he at first meant, but took Johnnie on his knee, +and asked,—</p> + +<p>"Well, Curly, so you want to leave Papa +and Katy and Clover, and go away to be +Miss Inches' little girl, do you?"</p> + +<p>"I'm coming home to see you every single +summer," said Johnnie.</p> + +<p>"Indeed! That will be nice for us," responded +Dr. Carr cheerfully. "But somehow +I don't seem to feel as if I could quite make +up my mind to give my Curly Locks away. +Perhaps in a year or two, when we are used +to being without her, I may feel differently. +Suppose, instead, we make a compromise."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Miss Inches, eagerly.</p> + +<p>"Yes," put in Johnnie, who had not the least +idea of what a compromise might be.</p> + +<p>"I can't <i>give</i> away my little girl,—not yet,"—went<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span> +on Dr. Carr fondly. "But if Miss Inches +likes I'll <i>lend</i> her for a little while. You may +go home with Miss Inches, Johnnie, and stay +four months,—to the first of October, let us +say." ("She'll miss two weeks' schooling, but +that's no great matter," thought Papa to himself.) +"This will give you, my dear lady, a +chance to try the experiment of having a child +in your house. Perhaps you may not like it so +well as you fancy. If you do, and if Johnnie +still prefers to remain with you, there will be +time enough then to talk over further plans. +How will this answer?"</p> + +<p>Johnnie was delighted, Miss Inches not so +much so.</p> + +<p>"Of course," she said, "it isn't so satisfactory +to have the thing left uncertain, because it +retards the regular plan of development which +I have formed for Johnnie. However, I can +allow for a parent's feelings, and I thank you +very much, Dr. Carr. I feel assured that, as +you have five other children, you will in time<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span> +make up your mind to let me keep Johnnie entirely +as mine. It puts a new value into life,—this +chance of having an immortal intelligence +placed in my hands to train. It will be a real +delight to do so, and I flatter myself the result +will surprise you all."</p> + +<p>Dr. Carr's eyes twinkled wickedly, but he +made Miss Inches the politest of bows, and said: +"You are very kind, I am sure, and I hope +Johnnie will be good and not give you much +trouble. When would you wish her visit to +commence?"</p> + +<p>"Oh—now, if you do not object. I should so +enjoy taking her with me to the Mammoth Cave, +and afterward straight home to Massachusetts. +You would like to see the Cave and the eyeless +fish, wouldn't you, darling?"</p> + +<p>"Oh yes, Papa, yes!" cried Johnnie. Dr. +Carr was rather taken aback, but he made no +objection, and Johnnie ran off to tell the rest +of the family the news of her good fortune.</p> + +<p>Their dismay cannot be described. "I really<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span> +do think that Papa is crazy," said Clover that +night; and though Katy scolded her for using +such an expression, her own confidence in his +judgment was puzzled and shaken. She comforted +herself with a long letter to Cousin +Helen, telling her all about the affair. Elsie +cried herself to sleep three nights running, and +the boys were furious.</p> + +<p>"The <i>idea</i> of such a thing," cried Dorry, +flinging himself about, while Phil put a tablespoonful +of black pepper and two spools of +thread into his cannon, and announced that if +Miss Inches dared to take Johnnie outside the +gate, he would shoot her dead, he would, just as +sure as he was alive!</p> + +<p>In spite of this awful threat, Miss Inches persisted +in her plan. Johnnie's little trunk was +packed by Clover and Katy, who watered its +contents with tears as they smoothed and folded +the frocks and aprons, which looked so like +their Curly as to seem a part of herself,—their +Curly, who was so glad to leave them!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Never mind the thick things," remarked +Dr. Carr, as Katy came through the hall with +Johnnie's winter jacket on her arm. "Put in +one warmish dress for cool days, and leave the +rest. They can be sent on <i>if</i> Johnnie decides +to stay."</p> + +<p>Papa looked so droll and gave such a large +wink at the word "if," that Katy and Clover +felt their hearts lighten surprisingly, and finished +the packing in better spirits. The good-by, +however, was a sorry affair. The girls +cried; Dorry and Phil sniffed and looked fiercely +at Miss Inches; old Mary stood on the steps with +her apron thrown over her head; and Dr. Carr's +face was so grave and sad that it quite frightened +Johnnie. She cried too, and clung to Katy. +Almost she said, "I won't go," but she thought +of the eyeless fish, and didn't say it. The carriage +drove off, Miss Inches petted her, everything +was new and exciting, and before long +she was happy again, only now and then a +thought of home would come to make her lips +quiver and her eyes fill.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span></p> + +<p>The wonderful Cave, with its vaults and galleries +hung with glittering crystals, its underground +river and dark lake, was so like a +fairy tale, that Johnnie felt as if she <i>must</i> go +right back and tell the family at home about it. +She relieved her feelings by a long letter to +Elsie, which made them all laugh very much. +In it she said, "Ellen Montgomery didn't have +any thing half so nice as the Cave, and Mamma +Marion never taps my lips." Miss Inches, it +seemed, wished to be called "Mamma Marion." +Every mile of the journey was an enjoyment to +Johnnie. Miss Inches bought pretty presents +for her wherever they stopped: altogether, it +was quite like being some little girl taking a +beautiful excursion in a story-book, instead of +plain Johnnie Carr, and Johnnie felt that to be +an "adopted child" was every bit as nice as she +had supposed, and even nicer.</p> + +<p>It was late in the evening when they reached +Inches Mills, so nothing could be seen of the +house, except that it was big and had trees<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span> +around it. Johnnie went to sleep in a large +bedroom with a huge double bed all to herself, +and felt very grown-up and important.</p> + +<p>The next day was given to unpacking and +seeing the grounds; after that, Miss Inches said +they must begin to lead a regular life, and Johnnie +must study. Johnnie had been to school all +winter, and in the natural course of things +would have had holidays now. Mamma Marion, +however, declared that so long an idle time +would not do at all.</p> + +<p>"Education, my darling, is not a thing of +periods," she explained. "It should be like the +air, absorbed, as it were, all the time, not like a +meal, eaten just so often in the day. This idea +of teaching by paroxysms is one of the fatal +mistakes of the age."</p> + +<p>So all that warm July Johnnie had French +lessons and German, and lessons in natural +philosophy, beside studying English literature +after a plan of Miss Inches' own, which combined +history and geography and geology, with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span> +readings from various books, and accounted for +the existence of all the great geniuses of the +world, as if they had been made after a regular +recipe,—something like this:—</p> +<div class='center'>TO MAKE A POET.</div> +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>Take a political situation, add a rocky soil, and the +western slope of a great water-shed, pour into a mould +and garnish with laurel leaves. It will be found delicious!</p></div> + +<p>The "lambent blue" of Johnnie's eyes grew +more lambent than ever as she tried to make +head and tail of this wonderful hash of people +and facts. I am afraid that Mamma Marion +was disappointed in the intelligence of her pupil, +but Johnnie did her best, though she was rather +aggrieved at being obliged to study at all in +summer, which at home was always play-time. +The children she knew were having a delightful +vacation there, and living out of doors from +morning till night.</p> + +<p>As the weeks went on she felt this more and +more. Change of air was making her rosy and +fat, and with returning strength a good deal of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span> +the old romping, hearty Johnnie came back; or +would have come, had there been anybody to +romp with. But there was nobody, for Miss +Inches scarcely ever invited children to her +house. They were brought up so poorly she +said. There was nothing inspiring in their +contact. She wanted Johnnie to be something +quite different.</p> + +<p>So Johnnie seldom saw anybody except +"Mamma Marion" and her friends, who came +to drink tea and talk about "Protoplasm," and +the "Higher Education of Women," which +wasn't at all interesting to poor Curly. She +always sat by, quietly and demurely, and Miss +Inches hoped was listening and being improved, +but really she was thinking about something else, +or longing to climb a tree or have a good game +of play with real boys and girls. Once, in the +middle of a tea-party, she stole upstairs and +indulged in a hearty cry all to herself, over the +thought of a little house which she and Dorry +and Phil had built in Paradise the summer<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span> +before; a house of stumps and old boards, +lined with moss, in which they had had <i>such</i> a +good time.</p> + +<p>Almost as soon as they got home, Miss Inches +sent to Boston for papers and furniture, and +devoted her spare time to fitting up a room for +her adopted child. Johnnie was not allowed to +see it till all was done, then she was led triumphantly +in. It was pretty—and queer—perhaps +queerer than pretty. The walls were +green-gray, the carpet gray-green, the furniture +pale yellow, almost white, with brass handles +and hinges, and lines of dull red tiles set into +the wood. Every picture on the walls had a +meaning, Miss Inches explained.</p> + +<p>"Some of these I chose to strengthen your +mind, Johnnie, dear," she said. "These portraits, +for example. Here are Luther, Mahomet, and +Theodore Parker, three of the great Protestants +of the world. Life, to be worthy, must be +more or less of a protest always. I want you to +renumber that. This photograph is of Michael<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span> +Angelo's Moses. I got you that too, because it +is so strong. I want you to be strong. Do you +like it?"</p> + +<p>"I think it would be prettier without the +curl-papers," faltered the bewildered Johnnie.</p> + +<p>"Curl-papers! My dear child, where are your +eyes? Those are horns. He wore horns as a +law-giver."</p> + +<p>"Yes, ma'am," said Johnnie, not daring to +ask any more questions for fear of making more +mistakes.</p> + +<p>"These splendid autotypes are from the ceiling +of the Sistine Chapel in Rome, the glory +of the world," went on Miss Inches. "And +here, Johnnie, is the most precious of all. This +I got expressly for you. It is an education to +have such a painting as that before your eyes. +I rely very much upon its influence on you."</p> + +<p>The painting represented what seemed to be +a grove of tall yellow-green sea-weeds, waving +against a strange purple sky. There was a +path between the stems of the sea-weeds, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span> +up this path trotted a pig, rather soft and +smudgy about his edges, as if he were running a +little into the background. His quirly tail was +smudgy also; and altogether it was more like +the ghost of a pig than a real animal, but Miss +Inches said <i>that</i> was the great beauty of the +picture.</p> + +<p>Johnnie didn't care much for the painted pig, +but she liked him better than the great Reformers, +who struck her as grim and frightful; +while the very idea of going to sleep in the +room with the horned Moses scared her almost +to death. It preyed on her mind all day; and +at night, after Johnnie had gone to bed, Miss +Inches, passing the door, heard a little sob, half +strangled by the pillows. She went in.</p> + +<p>"What <i>is</i> the matter?" she cried.</p> + +<p>"It's that awful man with horns," gasped +Johnnie, taking her head out from under the +bedclothes. "I can't go to sleep, he frightens +me so."</p> + +<p>"Oh, my darling, what, <i>what</i> weakness," cried +Mamma Marion.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span></p> + +<p>She was too kind, however, to persist in +any plan which made Johnnie unhappy, so +Moses came down, and Johnnie was allowed to +choose a picture to fill his place. She selected a +chromo of three little girls in a swing, a dreadful +thing, all blue and red and green, which +Miss Inches almost wept over. But it was a +great comfort to Johnnie. I think it was the +chromo which put it into Mamma Marion's head +that the course of instruction chosen for her +adopted child was perhaps a little above her +years. Soon after she surprised Johnnie by the +gift of a doll, a boy doll, dressed in a suit of +Swedish gray, with pockets. In one hand the +doll carried a hammer, and under the other +arm was tucked a small portfolio.</p> + +<p>"I like to make your sports a little instructive +when I can," she said, "so I have dressed +this doll in the costume of Linnæus, the great +botanist. See what a nice little herbarium he +has got under his arm. There are twenty-four +tiny specimens in it, with the Latin and English<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span> +names of each written underneath. If you +could learn these perfectly, Johnnie, it would +give you a real start in botany, which is the +most beautiful of the sciences. Suppose you +try. What will you name your doll, darling?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know," replied Johnnie, glaring at +the wax-boy with very hostile feelings.</p> + +<p>"Linnæus? No, I don't quite like to give +that name to a doll. Suppose, Johnnie, we +christen him <i>Hortus Siccus</i>. That's the Latin +name for a herbal, and will help you to remember +it when you form one of your own. Now +take him and have a good play."</p> + +<p>How was it possible to have a good play with +a doll named <i>Hortus Siccus</i>? Johnnie hated +him, and could not conceal the fact. Miss Inches +was grieved and disappointed. But she +said to herself, "Perhaps she is just too old for +dolls and just too young to care for pictures. +It isn't so easy to fix a child's mental position +as I thought it would be. I must try something +else."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span></p> + +<p>She really loved Johnnie and wished to make +her happy, so the thought occurred of giving +her a child's party. "I don't approve of them," +she told her friends. "But perhaps it may be +possible to combine some instruction with the +amusements, and Johnnie is <i>so</i> pleased. Dear +little creature, she is only eleven, and small +things are great at that age. I suppose it is +always so with youth."</p> + +<p>Twenty children were asked to the party. +They were to come at four, play for two hours +in the garden, then have supper, and afterward +games in the parlor.</p> + +<p>Johnnie felt as if she had taken a dose of +laughing-gas, at the sight of twenty boys and +girls all at once, real boys, real girls! How long +it was since she had seen any! She capered and +jumped in a way which astonished Miss Inches, +and her high spirits so infected the rest that a +general romp set in, and the party grew noisy +to an appalling degree.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Johnnie dear, no more 'Tag,'" cried<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span> +poor Mamma Marion, catching her adopted +child and wiping her hot face with a handkerchief. +"It is really too rude, such a game as +that. It is only fit for boys."</p> + +<p>"Oh, please!—please!—<i>please</i>!" entreated +Johnnie. "It is splendid. Papa always let us; +he did indeed, he always did."</p> + +<p>"I thought you were my child now, and +anxious for better things than tag," said Miss +Inches gravely. Johnnie had to submit, but +she pouted, shrugged her shoulders, and looked +crossly about her, in a way which Mamma +Marion had never seen before, and which annoyed +her very much.</p> + +<p>"Now it is time to go to supper," she announced. +"Form yourselves into a procession, +children. Johnnie shall take this tambourine +and Willy Parker these castanets, and we will +march in to the sound of music."</p> + +<p>Johnnie liked to beat the tambourine very +much, so her sulks gave place at once to smiles. +The boys and girls sorted themselves into couples,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span> +Miss Inches took the head of the procession +with an accordion, Willy Parker clashed +the castanets as well as he could, and they all +marched into the house. The table was beautifully +spread with flowers and grapes and pretty +china. Johnnie took the head, Willy the foot, +and Dinah the housemaid helped them all round +to sliced peaches and cream.</p> + +<p>Miss Inches meanwhile sat down in the corner +of the room and drew a little table full of books +near her. As soon as they were all served, she +began,—</p> + +<p>"Now, dear children, while you eat, I will +read aloud a little. I should like to think that +each one of you carried away one thought at +least from this entertainment,—a thought which +would stay by you, and be, as it were, seed-grain +for other thoughts in years to come. +First, I will read 'Abou Ben Adhem,' by Leigh +Hunt, an English poet."</p> + +<p>The children listened quietly to Abou Ben +Adhem, but when Miss Inches opened another<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span> +book and began to read sentences from Emerson, +a deep gloom fell upon the party. Willy +Parker kicked his neighbor and made a face. +Lucy Hooper and Grace Sherwood whispered +behind their napkins, and got to laughing till +they both choked. Johnnie's cross feelings +came back; she felt as if the party was being +spoiled, and she wanted to cry. A low buzz of +whispers, broken by titters, went round the table, +and through it all Miss Inches' voice sounded +solemn and distinct, as she slowly read one passage +after another, pausing between each to let +the meaning sink properly into the youthful +mind.</p> + +<p>Altogether the supper was a failure, in spite +of peaches and cream and a delicious cake full +of plums and citron. When it was over they +went into the parlor to play. The game <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'o'">of</ins> +"Twenty Questions" was the first one chosen. +Miss Inches played too. The word she suggested +was "iconoclast."</p> + +<p>"We don't know what it means," objected +the children.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Oh, don't you, dears? It means a breaker +of idols. However, if you are not familiar with +it we will choose something else. How would +'Michael Angelo' do?"</p> + +<p>"But we never heard any thing about him."</p> + +<p>Miss Inches was shocked at this, and began +a little art-lecture on the spot, in the midst of +which Willy Parker broke in with, "I've thought +of a word,—'hash'?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes! Capital! Hash is a splendid +word!" chorussed the others, and poor Miss +Inches, who had only got as far as Michael +Angelo's fourteenth year, found that no one +was listening, and stopped abruptly. Hash +seemed to her a vulgar word for the children to +choose, but there was no help for it, and she +resigned herself.</p> + +<p>Johnnie thought hash an excellent word. It +was so funny when Lucy asked whether the +thing chosen was animal, vegetable, or mineral? +and Willy replied, "All three," for he explained +in a whisper, there was always salt in hash, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span> +salt was a mineral. "Have you all seen it?" +questioned Lucy. "Lots of times," shouted the +children, and there was much laughing. After +"Twenty Questions," they played "Sim says +wiggle-waggle," and after that, "Hunt the +Slipper." Poor, kind, puzzled Miss Inches was +relieved when they went away, for it seemed to +her that their games were all noisy and a fearful +waste of time. She resolved that she would +never give Johnnie any more parties; they upset +the child completely, and demoralized her +mind.</p> + +<p>Johnnie <i>was</i> upset. After the party she was +never so studious or so docile as she had been +before. The little taste of play made her dislike +work, and set her to longing after the home-life +where play and work were mixed with each +other as a matter of course. She began to +think that it would be only pleasant to make up +her bed, or dust a room again, and she pined +for the old nursery, for Phil's whistle, for Elsie +and the paper-dolls, and to feel Katy's arms<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span> +round her once more. Her letters showed the +growing home-sickness. Dr. Carr felt that the +experiment had lasted long enough. So he discovered +that he had business in Boston, and one +fine September day, as Johnnie was forlornly +poring over her lesson in moral philosophy, the +door opened and in came Papa. Such a shriek +as she gave! Miss Inches happened to be out, +and they had the house to themselves for a while.</p> + +<p>"So you are glad to see me?" said Papa, +when Johnnie had dried her eyes after the +violent fit of crying which was his welcome, and +had raised her head from his shoulder. His +own eyes were a little moist, but he spoke +gaily.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Papa, <i>so</i> glad! I was just longing for +you to come. How did it happen?"</p> + +<p>"I had business in this part of the world, and +I thought you might be wanting your winter +clothes."</p> + +<p>Johnnie's face fell.</p> + +<p>"<i>Must</i> I stay all winter?" she said in a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span> +trembling voice. "Aren't you going to take +me home?"</p> + +<p>"But I thought you wanted to be 'adopted,' +and to go to Europe, and have all sorts of fine +things happen to you."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Papa, don't tease me. Mamma Marion +is ever so kind, but I want to come back and be +your little girl again. Please let me. If you +don't, I shall <i>die</i>—" and Johnnie wrung her +hands.</p> + +<p>"We'll see about it," said Dr. Carr. "Don't +die, but kiss me and wash your face. It won't +do for Miss Inches to come home and find you +with those impolite red rims to your eyes."</p> + +<p>"Come upstairs, too, and see my room, while +I wash 'em," pleaded Johnnie.</p> + +<p>All the time that Johnnie was bathing her +eyes, Papa walked leisurely about looking at +the pictures. His mouth wore a furtive smile.</p> + +<p>"This is a sweet thing," he observed, "this +one with the pickled asparagus and the donkey, +or is it a cat?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Papa! it's a pig!"</p> + +<p>Then they both laughed.</p> + +<p>I think there was a little bit of relief mixed +with Miss Inches' disappointment at hearing of +Johnnie's decision. The child of theory was a +delightful thing to have in the house, but this +real child, with moods and tempers and a will +of her own, who preferred chromos to Raphael, +and pined after "tag," tried her considerably. +They parted, however, most affectionately.</p> + +<p>"Good-by, dear Mamma Marion," whispered +Johnnie. "You've been just as good as good +to me, and I love you so much,—but you know +I am <i>used</i> to the girls and Papa."</p> + +<p>"Yes, dear, I know. You're to come back +often, Papa says, and I shall call you my girl +always." So, with kisses, they separated, and +Miss Inches went back to her old life, feeling +that it was rather comfortable not to be any +longer responsible for a "young intelligence," +and that she should never envy mammas with +big families of children again, as once she had +done.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span></p> + +<p>"So we've got our Curly Locks back," said +Katy, fondly stroking Johnnie's hair, the night +after the travellers' return. "And you'll never +go away from us any more, will you?"</p> + +<p>"Never, never, never!" protested Johnnie, +emphasizing each word by a kiss.</p> + +<p>"Not even to be adopted, travel in Europe, or +speak Litchfield Co. French?" put in naughty +Clover.</p> + +<p>"No. I've been adopted once, and that's +enough. Now I'm going to be Papa's little girl +always, and when the rest of you get married +I shall stay at home and keep house for him."</p> + +<p>"That's right," said Dr. Carr.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span></p> +<h2>GOOSEY, GOOSEY GANDER.</h2> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 350px;"> +<img src="images/illus-047.png" width="350" height="389" alt="Goosey, Goosey" title="" /> +</div> + + +<p>"BUT why +must I go to +bed? It isn't +time, and I'm +not sleepy yet," +pleaded Dickie, +holding fast by the +side of the door.</p> + +<p>"Now, Dickie, +don't be naughty. +It's time because I say that it's time."</p> + +<p>"Papa never tells me it's time when it's light +like this," argued Dickie. "<i>He</i> doesn't ever +send me to bed till seven o'clock. I'm not<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span> +going till it's a great deal darker than this. So +there, Mally Spence."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, you are, Dickie darling," replied +Mally coaxingly. "The reason it's light is because +the days are so long now. It's quite late +really,—almost seven o'clock,—that is," she +added hastily, "it's past six (two minutes past!), +and sister wants to put Dickie to bed, because +she's going to take tea with Jane Foster, and +unless Dick is safe and sound she can't go. +Dickie would be sorry to make sister lose her +pleasure, wouldn't he?"</p> + +<p>"I wiss you didn't want me to go," urged +Dick, but he was a sweet-tempered little soul, +so he yielded to Mally's gentle pull, and suffered +her to lead him in-doors. Upstairs they went, +past Mally's room, Papa's,—up another flight of +stairs, and into the attic chamber where Dick +slept alone. It was a tiny chamber. The ceiling +was low, and the walls sloped inward like +the sides of a tent. It would have been too +small to hold a grown person comfortably, but<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span> +there was room in plenty for Dickie's bed, one +chair, and the chest of drawers which held his +clothes and toys. One narrow window lighted +it, opening toward the West. On the white +plastered wall beside it, lay a window-shaped +patch of warm pink light. The light was reflected +from the sunset. Dickie had seen this +light come and go very often. He liked to +have it there; it was so pretty, he thought.</p> + +<p>Malvina undressed him. She did not talk as +much as usual, for her head was full of the tea-party, +and she was in a hurry to get through +and be off. Dickie, however, was not the least +in a hurry. Slowly he raised one foot, then the +other, to have his shoes untied, slowly turned +himself that Mally might unfasten his apron. +All the time he talked. Mally thought she had +never known him ask so many questions, or +take so much time about every thing.</p> + +<p>"What makes the wall pink?" he said. "It +never is 'cept just at bedtime."</p> + +<p>"It's the sun."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Why doesn't the sun make it that color +always?"</p> + +<p>"The sun is setting now. He is not setting +always."</p> + +<p>"That's an improper word. You mustn't +say it."</p> + +<p>"What's an improper word?"</p> + +<p>"Papa <i>said</i>, when I said 'setting on the door-steps,' +that it wasn't proper to say that. He +said I must say <i>sitting</i> on the door steps."</p> + +<p>"That isn't the same thing, Goosey Gander," +cried Mally laughing. "The sun sets and little +boys sit."</p> + +<p>"I'm not a goosey gander," responded Dickie. +"And Papa <i>said</i> it wasn't proper."</p> + +<p>"Never mind," said Mally, whipping on his +night-gown: "you're a darling, if you are a +goosey. Now say your prayers nicely."</p> + +<p>"Yes," replied Dick, dreamily. He knelt +down and began his usual prayer. "Please, +God, bless Papa and Mally and Gwandmamma +and—" "make Dick a good boy" should have<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span> +come next, but his thoughts wandered. "Why +don't the sun sit as well as little boys?" he +asked.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Dickie, Dickie!" cried the scandalized +Malvina. "You're saying your prayers, you +know. Good children don't stop to ask questions +when they're saying their prayers."</p> + +<p>Dickie felt rebuked. He finished the little +prayer quickly. Mally lifted him into bed. +"It's so warm that you won't want this," she +said, folding back the blanket. Then she stooped +to kiss him.</p> + +<p>"Tell me a story before you go," pleaded +Dickie, holding her tight.</p> + +<p>"Oh, not to-night, darling, because I shall +be late to Jane's if I do." She kissed him +hastily.</p> + +<p>"I don't think it's nice at all to go to bed +when the sun hasn't sit, and I'm not sleepy a +bit, and there isn't nothing to play with," remarked +Dick, plaintively.</p> + +<p>"You'll fall asleep in a minute or two, Goosey,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span> +then you won't want any thing to play with," +said Mally, hurrying away.</p> + +<p>"I'm <i>not</i> a goosey," shouted Dick after her. +Ten minutes later, as she was tying her bonnet +strings, she heard him calling from the top of +the stairs.</p> + +<p>"What is it, Dickie?"</p> + +<p>"I'm not a goose. Goosies has feathers. +They say 'quack.'"</p> + +<p>"You're the kind that hasn't feathers and +doesn't say quack," replied Mally from below. +"No, darling, you're not a goose; you're Mally's +good boy. Now, run back to bed."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I will," replied Dick, satisfied by this +concession. He climbed into bed again, and lay +watching the pink patch on the wall. Yellow +bars began to appear and to dance in the midst +of the pink.</p> + +<p>"Like teeny-weeney little ladders," thought +Dick. There was a ladder outside his door, +at top of which was a scuttle opening on to +the roof. Dickie turned his head to look at<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span> +the ladder. The scuttle-door stood open; +from above, the pink light streamed in and lay +on the rungs of the ladder.</p> + +<p>"I did go up that ladder once," soliloquized +Dick. "Papa took me. It was velly nice up +there. I wiss Papa would take me again. +Mally, she said it was dangewous. I wonder +why she said it was dangewous? Mally's a very +funny girl, I think. She didn't ought to put +me to bed so early. I can't go to sleep at all. +Perhaps I sha'n't ever go to sleep, not till morning,—then +she'd feel sorry.</p> + +<p>"If I was a bird I could climb little bits of +ladders like that," was his next reflection. "Or +a fly. I'd like to be a fly, and eat sugar, and +say b-u-z-z-z all day long. Only then perhaps +some little boy would get me into the corner +of the window and squeeze me all up tight with +his fum." Dickie cast a rueful look at his own +guilty thumb as he thought this. "I wouldn't +like that! But I'd like very much indeed to +buzz and tickle Mally's nose when she was twying<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span> +to sew. She'd slap and slap, and not hit me, +and I'd buzz and tickle. How I'd laugh! But +perhaps flies don't know how to laugh, only just +to buzz.</p> + +<div class='center'> +"'Pretty, curious, buzzy fly.'<br /> +</div> + +<div class='unindent'>That's what my book says."</div> + +<p>The pink glow was all gone now, and Dick +shifted his position.</p> + +<p>"I <i>wiss</i> I could go to sleep," he thought. +"It isn't nice at all to be up here and not have +any playthings. Mally's gone, else she'd get me +something to amoose myself with. I'd like my +dwum best. It's under the hall table, I guess. +P'waps if I went down I could get it."</p> + +<p>As this idea crossed his mind, Dickie popped +quickly out of bed. The floor felt cool and +pleasant to his bare little feet as he crossed to +the door. He had almost reached the head of +the stairs when, looking up, something so pretty +met his eyes that he stopped to admire. It was +a star, shining against the pure sky like a twinkling +silver lamp. It seemed to beckon, and the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span> +ladder to lead straight up to it. Almost without +stopping to think, Dickie put his foot on the +first rung and climbed nimbly to the top of the +ladder. The star was just as much out of reach +when he got there as it had been before, but +there were other beautiful sights close at hand +which were well worth the trouble of climbing +after.</p> + +<p>Miles and miles and miles of sky for one thing. +It rose above Dickie's head like a great blue +dome pierced with pin-pricks of holes, through +which little points of bright light quivered and +danced. Far away against the sky appeared +a church spire, like a long sharp finger pointing +to Heaven. One little star exactly above, +seemed stuck on the end of the spire. Dickie +wondered if it hurt the star to be there. He +stepped out on to the roof and wandered about. +The evening was warm and soft. No dew fell. +The shingles still kept the heat of the sun, and +felt pleasant and comfortable under his feet. +By-and-by a splendid rocker-shaped moon came<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span> +from behind the sky's edge where she had been +hiding away, and sailed slowly upward. She +was a great deal bigger than the stars, but they +didn't seem afraid of her in the least. Dickie +reflected that if he were a star he should hurry +to get out of her way; but the stars didn't mind +the moon's being there at all, they kept their +places, and shone calmly on as they had done +before she came.</p> + +<p>He was standing, when the moon appeared, +by the low railing which guarded the edge of +the roof. The railing was of a very desirable +height. Dickie could just rest his chin on +top of it, which was nice. Suddenly a loud +"Maau-w!" resounded from above. Dickie +jumped, and gave his poor chin a knock against +the railing. It couldn't be the moon, could it? +Moons didn't make noises like that.</p> + +<p>He looked up. There, on the ridge pole of +the next roof, sat a black cat, big and terrible +against the sky. "Ma-a-uw," said the cat again, +louder than before.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Why, pussy, what's the matter?" cried +Dick. His voice quavered a little, but he tried +to speak boldly. Pussy was displeased at the +question. She hissed, put up her back, swelled +her tail to a puff, and fled to a distant part of +the roof, where, from some hidden ambush, Dick +could hear her scolding savagely.</p> + +<p>"She's a cwoss cat, I guess," he remarked philosophically. +"Why, this chimney is warm," he +cried, as his arm touched the bricks. "It's +'cause there used to be a fire in there. But +there isn't any smoke coming out. I wonder if +all the chimneys are warm too, like this one."</p> + +<p>There was another chimney not far off, and +Dick hastened to try the experiment. To do +this he was obliged to climb a railing, but it was +low and easy to get over. The second chimney +was cold, but a little farther on appeared a third, +and Dick proceeded to climb another railing.</p> + +<p>But before he reached this third chimney, a +surprising and interesting sight attracted his +attention. This was a scuttle door just like the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span> +one at home, standing open, with a ladder leading +down into a garret below.</p> + +<p>Dick peered over the edge of the scuttle. +There was no little chamber in this attic like his +at home. It was all an open space, crammed +with trunks, furniture, boxes, and barrels. He +caught sight of a rocking-horse standing in a +corner; a rocking-horse with a blue saddle on +his wooden back, and a fierce bristling mane +much in need of brush and comb. Drawn by +irresistible attraction, Dickie put, first one foot, +then the other, over the scuttle's edge, crept +down the ladder, and in another moment stood +by the motionless steed. Thick dust lay on +the saddle, on the rockers, and on the stiffly +stretched-out tail, from which most of the red +paint had been worn away. It was evidently +a long time since any little boy had mounted +there, chirruped to the horse, and ridden gloriously +away, pursuing a fairy fox through imaginary +fields. The eye of the wooden horse was +glazed and dim. Life had lost its interest to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span> +the poor animal, turned out, as it were, to pasture +as best he might in the dull, silent garret.</p> + +<p>Dickie patted the red neck, a timid, affectionate +pat, but it startled the horse a little, +for he shook visibly, and swayed to and fro. +There was evidently some "go" left in him, +in spite of his dejected expression of countenance. +The shabby stirrup hung at his side. +Dickie could just reach it with his foot. He +seized the mane, and, pulling hard, clambered +into the saddle. Once there, reins in hand, he +clucked and encouraged the time-worn steed to +his best paces. To and fro, to and fro they +swung, faster, slower, Dickie beating with his +heels, the wooden horse curveting and prancing. +It was famous! The dull thud of the rockers +echoed through the garret, and somebody sitting +in the room below raised his head to listen +to the strange sound.</p> + +<p>This somebody was an old man with white +hair and a gray, stern face, who sat beside a +table on which were paper and lighted candles.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span> +A letter lay before him, but he was not reading +it. When the sound of the rocking began, he +started and turned pale. A little boy once +used to rock in that way in the garret overhead, +but it was long ago, and for many years +past the garret had been silent and deserted. +"Harry's horse!" muttered the old man with +a look of fear as he heard the sound. He half +rose from his chair, then he sat down again. +But soon the noise ceased. Dickie had caught +sight of another thing in the garret which interested +him, and had dismounted to examine it. +The old man sank into his chair again with a +look of relief, muttering something about the +wind.</p> + +<p>The thing which Dickie had gone to examine +was a little arm-chair cushioned with red. It +was just the size for him, and he seated himself +in it with a look of great satisfaction.</p> + +<p>"I wiss this chair was mine," he said. "P'waps +Mally'll let me take it home if I ask her."</p> + +<p>A noise below attracted his attention. He<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span> +peeped over the balusters and saw an elderly +woman, with a candle in her hand, coming up +from the lower story. She went into a room at +the foot of the attic stair, leaving the door open. +"Hester! Hester!" called a voice from below. +The woman came from the room and went down +again. She did not take the candle with her: +Dick could see it shining through the open door.</p> + +<p>Like a little moth attracted by a flame, Dick +wandered down the stair in the direction of the +light. The candle was standing on the table in +a bedroom,—a pretty room, Dickie thought, +though it did not seem as if anybody could +have lived in it lately. He didn't know why +this idea came into his mind, but it did. It was +a girl's bedroom, for a small blue dress hung on +the wall, and on the bureau were brushes, combs, +and hair-pins. Beside the bureau was a wooden +shelf full of books. A bird-cage swung in the +window, but there was no bird in it, and the +seed glass and water cup were empty. The +narrow bed had a white coverlid and a great<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span> +white pillow. It looked all ready for somebody, +but it was years since the girl who once owned +the room had slept there. The old housekeeper, +who still loved the girl, came every day to dust +and smooth and air and sweep. She kept all +things in their places just as they used to be in +the former time, but she could not give to the +room the air of life which once it had, and, do +what she would, it looked deserted always—empty—and +dreary.</p> + +<p>On the chimney-piece were ranged a row of +toys, plaster cats, barking dogs, a Noah's ark, +and an enormous woolly lamb. This last struck +Dick with admiration. He stood on tip-toe with +his hands clasped behind his back to examine it.</p> + +<p>"Oh, dear," he sighed, "I wiss I had that +lamb." Then he gave a jump, for close to him, +in a small chair, he saw what seemed to be a +little girl, staring straight at him.</p> + +<p>It was a big, beautiful doll, in a dress of faded +pink, and a pink hat and feather. Dick had +never seen such a fine lady before; she quite<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span> +fascinated him. He leaned gently forward and +touched the waxen hand. It was cold and +clammy; Dick did not like the feel, and retreated. +The unwinking eyes of the doll followed +him as he sidled away, and made him +uncomfortable.</p> + +<p>In the opposite room the old man still sat with +his letter before him. The letter was from the +girl who once played with the big doll and slept +in the smooth white bed. She was not a child +now. Years before she had left her father's +house against his will, and in company with a +person he did not like. He had said then that +he should never forgive her, and till now she +had not asked to be forgiven. It was a long +time since he had known any thing about her. +Nobody ever mentioned her name in his hearing, +not even the old housekeeper who loved +her still, and never went to bed without praying +that Miss Ellen might one day come back. +Now Ellen had written to her father. The +letter lay on the table.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I was wrong," she wrote, "but I have been +punished. We have suffered much. My husband +is dead. I will not speak of him, for I +know that his name will anger you; but, father, +I am alone, ill, and very poor. Can you not forgive +me now? Do not think of me as the wild, +reckless girl who disobeyed you and brought +sorrow to your life. I am a weary, sorrowful +woman, longing, above all other things, to be +pardoned before I die,—to come home again to +the house where all my happy years were spent. +Let me come, father. My little Hester, named +after our dear nurse, mine and Harry's, is a +child whom you would love. She is like me as +I used to be, but far gentler and sweeter than I +ever was. Let me put her in your arms. Let +me feel that I am forgiven for my great fault, +and I will bless you every day that I live. +Dear father, say yes. Your penitent <span class="smcap">Ellen</span>."</p> + +<p>Two angels stood behind the old man as he +read this letter. He did not see them, but he +heard their voices as first one and then the +other bent and whispered in his ear.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Listen," murmured the white angel with +radiant moonlit wings. "Listen. You loved +her once so dearly. You love her still. I +know you do."</p> + +<p>"No," breathed the darker angel. "You +swore that you would not forgive her. Keep +your word. You always said that she would +come back as soon as she was poor or unhappy, +or that scamp treated her badly. It makes no +difference in the facts. Let her suffer; it serves +her right."</p> + +<p>"Remember what a dear child she used to +be," said the fair angel, "so bright, so loving. +How she used to dance about the house and +sing; the sun seemed to shine always when she +came into the room. She loved you truly then. +Her little warm arms were always about your +neck. She loves you still."</p> + +<p>"What is love worth," came the other voice, +"when it deceives and hurts and betrays? All +these long years you have suffered. It is her +turn now."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Remember that it was partly your fault," +whispered the spirit of good. "You were harsh +and stern. You did not appeal to her love, but +to her obedience. She had a high spirit; you +forgot that. And she was only sixteen."</p> + +<p>"Quite old enough to know better," urged +the spirit of evil. "Remember the hard life you +have led ever since. The neighbors speak of +you as a stern, cruel man; the little children +run away when you appear. Whose fault is +that? Hers. She ought to pay for it."</p> + +<p>"Think of the innocent child who never did +you wrong, and who suffers too. Think of the +dear Lord who forgives your sins. Pray to him. +He will help you to forgive her,"—urged the +good angel, but in fainter tones, for the black +angel spoke louder, and thrust between with his +fierce voice.</p> + +<p>"The thing is settled. Why talk of prayer +or pardon? Let her go her way."</p> + +<p>As this last whisper reached his ear the old +man raised his bent head. A hard, vindictive<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span> +look was in his eyes. He seized the letter and +tore it in two. "Alas! alas!" sighed the sweet +angel, while the evil one rejoiced and waved his +dark wings in triumph.</p> + +<p>It was at this moment that Dickie, attracted +by the rustle of paper, appeared at the door. +His eyes were beginning to droop a little. He +rubbed them hard as he crossed the entry. The +pit-pat of his bare feet made no sound on the +carpeted floor, so that the old man had no warning +of his presence till, turning, he saw the +little night-gowned figure standing motionless +in the door-way.</p> + +<p>He sprang from his chair and stretched out +his hands. He tried to speak, but no voice +came at first; then in a hoarse whisper he said,—"Harry—is +it you? Ellen—"</p> + +<p>Dickie, terrified, fled back into the hall as if +shod with wings. In one moment he was in +the attic, up the ladder, on the roof. The old +man ran blindly after him.</p> + +<p>"Come back, Ellen—come back!" he cried.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span> +"I will forgive you,—come back to your poor +old father, dear child." His foot slipped as he +spoke. It was at the stair-head. He fell forward +heavily, and lump, bump, bump, down +stairs he tumbled, and landed heavily in the +hall below.</p> + +<p>Hester and the housemaid ran hastily from +the kitchen at the sound of the fall. When +they saw the old man lying in a heap at the +foot of the stair, they were terribly frightened. +Blood was on his face. He was quite unconscious.</p> + +<p>"He is dead. Mr. Kirton is dead!" cried the +housemaid, wringing her hands.</p> + +<p>"No,—his heart beats," said Hester. "Run +for Doctor Poster, Hannah, and ask Richard +Wallis to come at once and help me lift the +poor old gentleman."</p> + +<p>Hannah flew to do this errand. A moment +after, Mr. Kirton opened his eyes.</p> + +<p>"Where is Ellen?" he said. Then he shut +them again. Hester glanced at the torn letter,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span> +which through all his fall the old man had held +tightly clasped in his hand, and gave a loud cry.</p> + +<p>"Miss Ellen, come back!" she exclaimed. +"My own Miss Ellen. God has heard my +prayers."</p> + +<p>When Mr. Kirton's senses returned, late in +the night, he found himself in his own bed. +His head felt strangely; one arm was tied up in +a queer stiff bandage, so that he could not move +it. A cloth wet with water lay on his forehead. +When he stirred and groaned, a hand lifted the +cloth, dipped it in ice-water, and put it back +again fresh and cool. He looked up. Some +one was bending over him, some one with a face +which he knew and did not know. It puzzled +him strangely. At last, a look of recognition +came into his eyes. "Ellen?" he said, in a +tone of question.</p> + +<p>"Yes, dear father, it is I."</p> + +<p>"Why did you come dressed as a little child +to frighten me? You are a woman," he said +wonderingly; "your hair is gray!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I did not come as a little child, father. I +am an old woman now. I have come to be your +nurse."</p> + +<p>"I don't understand," muttered the old man, +but he asked no more, and presently dropped +asleep. Ellen watched him for a long time, +then she went across the hall to her old room, +where Hester stood looking at a little girl, who +lay on the bed sleeping soundly, with the pink +doll hugged tight in her arms.</p> + +<p>"She is just like yourself, Miss Ellen," said +Hester, with joyful tears in her eyes,—"just +like your old self, with a thought more brown +in the hair. Ah! good times have begun again +for my poor old master; the light has come +back to the house."</p> + +<p>But neither Hester nor Ellen saw the white-robed +angel, who bent over the old man's bed +with a face of immortal joy, and sang low songs +of peace to make sleep deep and healing. The +dark spirit has fled away.</p> + +<p>Meantime Dickie, unconscious messenger of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span> +Fate, scrambling easily over the roofs, had +gained his own room, and was comfortably +tucked up in his little bed. His dreams were +of dolls, rocking-horses, black cats. So soundly +did he sleep, that, when morning came, Mally +had to shake him and call loudly in his ear +before she could wake him up.</p> + +<p>"Why, Dick!" she cried, "look at your +night-gown. It's all over dust, and there are +one—two—three tears in the cotton. What +<i>have</i> you been doing?"</p> + +<p>But Dickie could not tell.</p> + +<p>"I dweamed that I walked about on the woof," +he said. "But I guess I didn't weally, did I?"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 350px;"> +<img src="images/illus-072.png" width="350" height="263" alt="Little Bo Peep" title="" /> +</div> +<h2>LITTLE BO PEEP.</h2> + + +<p>THE sun was setting at the end of an August +day. Everybody was glad to see the last of +him, for the whole world felt scorched and hot,—the +ground, the houses,—even the ponds<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span> +looked warm as they stretched in the steaming +distance. On the edge of the horizon the sun +winked with a red eye, as much as to say, +"Don't flatter yourselves, I shall be back again +soon;" then he slowly sank out of sight. It +was comforting to have him go, if only for a +little while. "Perhaps," thought the people, +"a thunder-storm or something may come +along before morning, and cool him off."</p> + +<p>Little Mell Davis was as glad as anybody +when the sun disappeared. It had been a hard +day. Her step-mother had spent it in making +soap. Soap-making is ill-smelling, uncomfortable +work at all times, and especially in August. +Mrs. Davis had been cross and fractious, had +scolded a great deal, and found many little jobs +for Mell to do in addition to her usual tasks of +dish-washing, table-setting, and looking after +the children. Mell was tired of the heat; tired +of the smell of soap, of being lectured; and when +supper was over was very glad to sit at peace +on the door-steps and read her favorite book, a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span> +tattered copy of the Fairy Tales. Soon she +forgot the trials of the day. "Once upon a +time there lived a beautiful Princess," she read, +but just then came a sharp call. "Mell, Mell, +you tiresome girl, see what Tommy is about;" +and Mrs. Davis, dashing past, snatched Tommy +away from the pump-handle, which he was plying +vigorously for the benefit of his small sisters, +who stood in a row under the spout, all +dripping wet. Tommy was wetter still, having +impartially pumped on himself first of all. +Frocks, aprons, jacket, all were soaked, shoes +and stockings were drenched, the long pig tails +of the girls streamed large drops, as if they had +been little rusty-colored water-pipes.</p> + +<p>"Look at that!" cried Mrs. Davis, exhibiting +the half-drowned brood. "You might as +well be deaf and blind, Mell, for any care you +take of 'em. Give you a silly book to read, +and the children might perish before your eyes +for all you'd notice. Look at Isaphine, and +Gabella Sarah. Little lambs,—as likely as not<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span> +they've taken their deaths. It shan't happen +again, though. Give me that book—" And, +snatching Mell's treasure from her hands, Mrs. +Davis flung it into the fire. It flamed, shrivelled: +the White Cat, Cinderella, Beauty +and the Beast,—all, all were turned in one +moment into a heap of unreadable ashes! Mell +gave one clutch, one scream; then she stood +quite still, with a hard, vindictive look on her +face, which so provoked her step-mother that +she gave her a slap as she hurried the children +upstairs. Mrs. Davis did not often slap Mell. +"I punish my own children," she would say, +"not other people's." "Other people's children" +meant poor Mell.</p> + +<p>It was not a very happy home, this of the +Davis's. Mell's father was captain of a whaler, +and almost always at sea. It was three years +now since he sailed on his last voyage. No +word had come from him for a great many +months, and his wife was growing anxious. +This did not sweeten her temper, for in case he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span> +never returned, Mell's would be another back to +clothe, another mouth to fill, when food, perhaps, +would not be easily come by. Mell was not +anxious about her father. She was used to +having him absent. In fact, she seldom thought +of him one way or another. If Mrs. Davis had +been kinder, and had given her more time to +read the Fairy Tales, she would have been quite +a happy little girl, for she lived in dreams, and +it did not take much to content her. Half her +time was spent in a sort of inward play which +never came out in words. Sometimes in these +plays she was a Princess with a gold crown, and +a delightful Prince making love to her all day +long. Sometimes she kept a candy-shop, and +lived entirely on sugar-almonds and sassafras-stick. +These plays were so real to her mind +that it seemed as if they <i>must</i> some day come +true. Her step-mother and the children did not +often figure in them, though once in a while she +made believe that they were all changed into +agreeable people, and shared her good luck.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span> +There was one thing in the house, however, +which invariably took part in her visions. This +was a large wooden chest with brass handles +which stood upstairs in Mrs. Davis's room, and +was always kept locked.</p> + +<p>Mell had never seen the inside of this chest +but once. Then she caught glimpses of a red +shawl, of some coral beads in a box, and of various +interesting looking bundles tied up in paper. +"How beautiful!" she had cried out eagerly, +whereupon Mrs. Davis had closed the lid with a +snap, and locked it, looking quite vexed. "What +is it? Are all those lovely things yours?" +asked Mell, and she had been bidden to hold +her tongue, and see if the kitchen fire didn't +need another stick of wood. It was two years +since this happened. Mell had never seen the +lid raised since, but every day she had played +about the big chest and its contents.</p> + +<p>Sometimes she played that the chest belonged +to the beautiful Princess, and was full of her +clothes and jewels. Sometimes a fairy lived<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span> +there, who popped out, wand in hand, and made +things over to Mell's liking. Again, Mell played +that she locked her step-mother up into the +chest, and refused to release her till she promised +never, never again, so long as she lived, to +scold about any thing. Mrs. Davis would have +been very vexed had she known about these +plays. It made her angry if Mell so much as +glanced at the chest. "There you are again, +peeping, peeping," she would cry, and drive +Mell before her downstairs.</p> + +<p>So this evening, after the burning of the +book, Mell's sore and angry fancies flew as usual +to the chest. "It's so big," she thought, "that +all the children could get into it. I'll play that +a wicked enchanter came and flew away with +mother, and never let her come back. Then I +should have to take care of the children; and +I'd get somebody to nail some boards, so as to +make five dear little cubby-houses inside the +chest. I'd put Tommy in one, Isaphine in +another, Arabella Jane in another, Belinda in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span> +another, and Gabella Sarah in another. Then +I'd shut the lid down and fasten it, and wouldn't +I have a good time! When dinner was ready +I'd fetch a plate and spoon, feed 'em all round, +and shut 'em up again. It would be just the +same when I washed their faces; I'd just take a +wet cloth and do 'em all with a couple of scrubs. +They couldn't get into mischief I suppose in +there. Yet I don't know. Tommy is so bad +that he would if he could. Let me see,—what +could he do? If he had a gimlet he'd bore +holes in the boards, and stick pins through to +make the others cry. I must be sure to see if +he has any gimlets in his pocket before I put +him in. Oh, dear, I hope I shan't forget!"</p> + +<p>Mell was so absorbed in these visions that she +did not hear the gate open, and when a hand +was suddenly laid on her shoulder she gave a +little cry and a great jump. A tall man had +come in, and was standing close to her.</p> + +<p>"Does Mrs. Captain Davis live here?" asked +the tall man.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Yes," said Mell, staring at him with her big +eyes.</p> + +<p>"Is she to home?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Mell again. "She's in there," +pointing to the kitchen.</p> + +<p>The tall man stepped over Mell, and went in. +Mell heard the sound of voices, and grew curious. +She peeped in at the door. Her step-mother +was folding a letter. She looked vexed +about something.</p> + +<p>"What time shall you start?" she said.</p> + +<p>"Half-past five," replied the man. "I've my +hands to pay at ten, and the weather's so hot +it's best to get off early."</p> + +<p>"I suppose I must go," went on Mrs. Davis, +"though I'd rather be whipped than do it. You +can stop if you've a mind to: I'll be ready."</p> + +<p>"Very well," said the man. "You haven't +got a drink of cider in the house, have you? +This dust has made me as dry as a chip."</p> + +<p>"Mell, run down cellar and fetch some," said +Mrs. Davis. "It was good cider once, but I'm<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span> +afraid it's pretty hard now." She bustled about; +brought doughnuts and a pitcher of water. The +man drank a glass of the sour cider and went +away. Mrs. Davis sat awhile thinking. Then +she turned sharply on Mell.</p> + +<p>"I've got to go from home to-morrow on +business," she said. "Perhaps I shall be back by +tea-time, and perhaps I sha'n't. If there was +anybody I could get to leave the house with I +would, but there isn't anybody. Now, listen to +me, Mell Davis. Don't you open a book to-morrow, +not once; but keep your eyes on the children, +and see that they don't get into mischief. +If they do, I shall know who to thank for it. +I'll make a batch of biscuit to-night before I go +to bed; there's a pie in the cupboard, and some +cold pork, and you can boil potatoes for the +children's breakfast and for dinner. Are you +listening?"</p> + +<p>"Yes'm," replied Mell.</p> + +<p>"See that the children have their faces and +hands washed," went on her step-mother. "Oh,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span> +dear, if you were a different kind of girl how +much easier would it be! I wish your father +would come home and look after his own affairs, +instead of my having to leave things at sixes and +sevens and go running round the country hunting +up his sick relations for him."</p> + +<p>"Is it grandmother who is sick?" asked Mell +timidly. She had never seen her grandmother, +but she had played about her very often.</p> + +<p>"No," snapped Mrs. Davis. "It's your +Uncle Peter. Don't ask questions; it's none +of your business who's sick. Mind you strain +the milk the first thing to-morrow, and wring +out the dishcloth when you're through with it. +Oh, dear, to think that I should have to go!"</p> + +<p>Mell crept to bed. She was so very tired +that it seemed just one moment before Mrs. +Davis was shaking her arm, and calling her to +get up at once, for it was five o'clock. Slowly +she unclosed her sleepy eyes. Sure enough, +the night was gone. A fiery red bar in the +East showed that the sun too was getting out<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span> +of bed, and making ready for a hot day's work. +Mell rubbed her eyes. She wished that it was +all a dream, from which she had waked only to +fall asleep again. But it was no use playing at +dreams with Mrs. Davis standing by.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Davis was by no means in a humor for +play. People rarely are at five in the morning. +She rushed about the house like a whirlwind, +giving Mell directions, and scolding her in advance +for all the wrong things she was going to +do, till the poor child was completely stunned +and confused. By and by the tall man appeared +with his wagon. Mrs. Davis got in and drove +away, ordering and lecturing till the last moment. +"What's the use of telling, for you're +sure to get it all wrong," were her last words, +and Mell thought so too.</p> + +<p>She walked back to the house feeling stupid +and unhappy. But the quiet did her good, and +as gradually she realized that her step-mother +was actually gone,—gone for the whole day,—her +spirits revived, and she began to smile and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span> +sing softly to herself. Very few little girls of +twelve would, I think, have managed better +than Mell did for the first half of that morning.</p> + +<p>First she got breakfast, only bread and milk +and baked potatoes, but there is a wrong as well +as a right way with even such simple things, and +Mell really did all very cleverly. She swept +the kitchen, strained the milk, wound the clock. +Then, as a sound of twittering voices began +above, she ran up to the children, washed and +dressed, braided the red pigtails, and got them +downstairs successfully, with only one fight between +Tommy and Isaphine, and a roaring fit +from Arabella Jane, who was a tearful child. +After breakfast, while the little ones played on +the door-steps, she tidied the room, mended the +fire, washed plates and cups, and put them away +in the cupboard, wrung out the dishcloth according +to orders, and hung it on its nail. When +this was finished she looked about with pride. +The children were unusually peaceful; altogether, +the day promised well. "Mother'll not<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span> +say that I'm a good-for-nothing girl <i>this</i> time," +thought Mell, and tried to recollect what should +be done next.</p> + +<p>The kerosene can caught her eye.</p> + +<p>"I'll clean the lamp," she said.</p> + +<p>She had never cleaned the lamp before, but +had seen her step-mother do it very often. First, +she took the lamp-scissors from the table drawer +and cut the wick, rather jaggedly, but Mell did +not know that. Then she tipped the can to fill +the lamp. Here the misfortunes of the day +began; for the can slipped, and some of the oil +was spilled on the floor. This terrified Mell, for +that kitchen-floor was the idol of Mrs. Davis's +heart. It was scrubbed every day, and kept as +white as snow. Mell knew that her step-mother's +eyes would be keen as Blue Beard's to detect a +spot; and, with all the energy of despair, she +rubbed and scoured with soap and hot water. +It was all in vain. The spot would not come +out.</p> + +<p>"I'll put a chair there," thought Mell. "Then +perhaps she won't see it just at first."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I want that scissors," cried Tommy from +the door.</p> + +<p>"You can't have it," replied Mell, hurrying +them into the drawer. "It's a bad scissors, +Tommy, all oily and dirty. Nice little boys +don't want to play with such dirty scissors as +that."</p> + +<p>"Yes, they do," whined Tommy, quite unconvinced.</p> + +<p>"Now, children," continued Mell, "I'm going +upstairs to make the beds. You must play just +here, and not go outside the gate till I come +down again. I shall be at the window, and see +you all the time. Will you promise to be good +and do as I tell you?"</p> + +<p>"Es," lisped Gabella Sarah.</p> + +<p>"Es," said Isaphine.</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes," clamored the others, headed by +Tommy, who was a child of promise if ever +there was one. All the time his eyes were +fixed on the table drawer!</p> + +<p>Mell went upstairs. First into the children's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span> +room, then into her own. She put her head +out of the window once or twice. The children +were playing quietly; Tommy had gone in for +something, they said. Last of all, Mell went +to her step-mother's room. She had just begun +to smooth the bed, when an astonishing sight +caught her eyes. <i>The key was in the lock of +the big chest!</i></p> + +<p>Yes, actually, the fairy treasury, home of so +many fancies, was left unlocked! How Mrs. +Davis came to do so careless a thing will never +be known, but that she had done so was a fact.</p> + +<p>Mell thought at first that her eyes deceived +her. She stole across the room and touched the +key timidly with her forefinger to make sure. +Then she lifted the lid a little way and let it fall +again, looking over her shoulder as if fearing to +hear a sharp voice from the stairs. Next, grown +bolder, she opened the lid wide. There lay the +red shawl, just as she remembered it, the coral +beads in their lidless box, the blue paper parcels, +and, forgetting all consequences in a rapture of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span> +curiosity, Mell sat down on the floor, lifted out +the red shawl, tied the coral beads round her +neck, and plunged boldly into the contents of +the big chest.</p> + +<p>Such a delightful chest as it proved to be! +Mell thought it a great deal better than any +fairy tale, as one by one she lifted out and +handled the things which it contained. First +and most beautiful was a parasol. It was covered +with faded pink silk trimmed with fringe, +and had a long white handle ending in a curved +hook. Mell had never seen a parasol so fine. +She opened it, shut it, opened it again; she +held it over her head and went to the glass to +see the effect. It was gorgeous, it was like the +parasols of Fairy-land, Mell thought. She laid it +on the floor close beside her, that she might see +it all the while she explored the chest.</p> + +<p>Below the parasol was a big paper box. Mell +lifted the lid. A muff and tippet lay inside, +made of yellow and brown fur like the back +of a tortoise-shell cat. These were beautiful,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span> +too. Then came rolls of calico and woollen +pieces, some of which were very pretty, and +would make nice doll's dresses, Mell thought.</p> + +<p>A newspaper parcel next claimed her attention. +It held an old-fashioned work-bag made +of melon seeds strung on wire, and lined with +green. Mell admired this exceedingly, and +pinned it to her waist. Then she found a fan +of white feathers with pink sticks. This was +most charming of all. Mell fanned herself a +long time. She could not bear to put it away. +Princesses, she thought, must use fans like that. +On the paper which wrapped the fan was something +written in pencil. Mell spelled it out. +"For my little Melicent" was what the writing +said.</p> + +<p>Was the fan really hers? Perhaps the parasol +was hers too, the coral beads, the muff and +tippet! All sorts of delightful possibilities +whirled through her brain, as she tossed and +tumbled the parcels in the chest out on to the +floor. More bundles of pieces, some knitting-needles,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span> +an old-fashioned pair of bellows (Mell +did not know what these were), a book or two, +a package of snuff, which flew up into her face +and made her sneeze. Then an overcoat and +some men's clothes folded smoothly. Mell did +not care for the overcoat, but there were two +dresses pinned in towels which delighted her. +One was purple muslin, the other faded blue +silk; and again she found her own name pinned +on the towel,—"For my little Mell." A faint +pleasant odor came from the folds of the blue +silk dress. Mell searched the pocket, and found +there a Tonquin bean, screwed up in a bit of +paper. It was the Tonquin bean which had +made the dress smell so pleasantly. Mell +pressed the folds close to her nose. She was +fond of perfumes, and this seemed to her the +most delicious thing she ever smelt.</p> + +<p>Suddenly the clock downstairs struck something +very long, and Mell, waking up as it were, +recollected that it was a good while since she +had heard any sounds from the children in the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span> +yard. She jumped up and ran to the window. +No children were there.</p> + +<p>"Children, children, where are you?" she +called; but nobody answered.</p> + +<p>"Tiresome little things," thought Mell. +"They've gone round to the pump again. I +must hurry, or they will be all sopping wet." +She seized the parasol, which she could not bear +to part with, and, leaving the other things on +the floor, ran downstairs. The red shawl, which +had been lying in her lap, trailed after her as +far as the kitchen, and then fell, but Mell did +not notice it.</p> + +<p>"What!" she cried, looking at the clock, +"noon already! Why, where has the morning +gone to?"</p> + +<p>Where had the children gone to? was another +question. Back yard, side yard, front +yard, cellar, shed, Mell searched. There were +no small figures ranged about the pump, no +voices replied to her calls. Mell ran to the gate. +She strained her eyes down the road, this way,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span> +that way; not a sign of the little flock was visible +in any direction.</p> + +<p>Now Mell <i>was</i> frightened. "What <i>will</i> +mother say?" she thought, and began to run +distractedly along the road, crying and sobbing +as she went, and telling herself that it wasn't +her fault, that she only went upstairs to make +the beds,—but here her conscience gave a great +prick. It was but ten o'clock when she went +upstairs to make the beds!</p> + +<p>"Oh, dear!" she sobbed. "If only Tommy +isn't drowned!" Drowning came into her head +first, because her step-mother was always in an +agony about the pond. The pond was a mile +off at least, but Mrs. Davis never let the children +even look that way if she could help it.</p> + +<p>Toward the pond poor Mell bent her way; +for she thought as Tommy had been strictly forbidden +to go there, it was probably the very +road he had taken. The sun beat on her head +and she put up the parasol, which through all +her trouble she had grasped firmly in her hand.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span> +Even under these dreadful circumstances, with +the children lost, and the certainty of her step-mother's +wrath before her, there was joy in +carrying a parasol like that.</p> + +<p>By and by she met a farmer with a yoke +of oxen.</p> + +<p>"Oh, please," said Mell, "have you seen five +children going this way,—four girls and one +little boy?"</p> + +<p>The farmer hummed and hawed. "I did see +some children," he said at last. "It was a +good piece back, nearly an hour ago, I reckon. +They was making for the pond?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, dear!" sighed Mell. She thanked the +farmer, and ran on faster than ever.</p> + +<p>"Have you passed any children on this +road?" she demanded of a boy with a wheelbarrow, +who was the next person she met.</p> + +<p>"Boys or girls?"</p> + +<p>"One boy and four girls."</p> + +<p>"Do they belong to you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, they're my brothers and sisters," said +Mell. "Where did you see them?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Haven't seen 'em," replied the boy. He +grinned as he spoke, seized his barrow, and +wheeled rapidly away.</p> + +<p>Mell's tears broke forth afresh. What a +horrid boy!</p> + +<p>The pond was very near now. It was a +large pond. There were hills on one side of +it; on the other the shore was low, and covered +with thick bushes. In and out among these +bushes went Mell, hunting for her lost flock. +It was green and shady. Flowers grew here +and there; bright berries hung on the boughs +above her head; birds sang; a saucy squirrel +ran to the end of a branch, and chippered to +her as she passed. But Mell saw none of these +things. She was too anxious and unhappy to +enjoy what on any other day would have been +a great pleasure; and she passed the flowers, +the berries, and the chattering squirrel unheeded +by.</p> + +<p>No signs of the children appeared, till at last, +in a marshy place, a small shoe was seen sticking<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span> +in the mud. Belinda's shoe! Mell knew +it in a minute.</p> + +<p>She picked up the shoe, wiped the mud from +it with a tuft of dried grass, and, carrying it in +her hand, went forward. She was on the track +now, and here and there prints of small feet in +the earth guided her. She called "Tommy! +Isaphine! Belinda!" but no answer came. +They were either hidden cleverly, or else they +had wandered a longer distance than seemed +possible in so short a time.</p> + +<p>Suddenly Mell gave a shriek and a jump. +There on the path before her lay a snake, or +what looked like one. It did not move. Mell +grew bold and went nearer. Alas! alas! it +was not a snake. It was a pigtail of braided +hair,—Isaphine's hair: the red color was unmistakable. +She seized it. A smell of kerosene +met her nose. Oh that Tommy!</p> + +<p>With the pigtail coiled inside of the lost +shoe, Mell ran on. She was passing a thicket +of sassafras bushes, when a sound of crying met<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span> +her ears. Instantly she stopped, and, parting +the bushes with her hands, peered in. There +they were, sitting in a little circle close together,—Arabella +and Gabella Sarah fast asleep, +with their heads in Belinda's lap; Isaphine +crying; Tommy sitting a little apart, an evil +smile on his face, in his hand a pair of scissors!</p> + +<p>"You naughty, naughty, naughty boy," +screamed Mell, flinging herself upon him.</p> + +<p>With a howl of terror, Tommy started up and +prepared to flee. Mell caught and held him +tight. Something flew from his lap and fell to +the ground. Alas! alas! three more pigtails. +Mell looked at the children. Each little head +was cropped close. What <i>would</i> mother say?</p> + +<p>"He cut off my hair," sobbed Isaphine.</p> + +<p>"So did he cut mine," whined Belinda. +"He took those nassy scissors you told him not +to take, and he cut off all our hairs. Boo-hoo! +boo-hoo! Tommy's a notty boy, he is."</p> + +<p>"I'm going to tell Ma when she comes home, +see if I don't," added Isaphine.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I ain't a bad boy," cried Tommy. "Stop +a-shaking of me, Mell Davis. We was playing +they was sheep. I was a-shearing of em."</p> + +<p>"O Tommy, Tommy!" cried poor Mell, hot, +angry, and dismayed, "how could you do such +a thing?"</p> + +<p>"They was sheep," retorted Tommy sulkily.</p> + +<p>"Boo-hoo! boo-hoo!" blubbered Belinda. +"I don't like my hair to be cut off. It makes +my head feel all cold."</p> + +<p>"He didn't play nice a bit," sobbed Isaphine. +"He's always notty to us."</p> + +<p>"I'll cut off your head," declared Tommy, +threatening with the scissors.</p> + +<p>Mell seized the scissors, and captured them, +Tommy kicking and struggling meantime. +Then she waked up the babies, tied on Belinda's +shoe, collected the unhappy pigtails, and +said they must all go home. Home! The +very idea made her sick with fright.</p> + +<p>I don't suppose such a deplorable little procession +was ever seen before. Isaphine and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span> +Belinda went first; then the little ones, very +cross after their nap; and, lastly, Mell, holding +Tommy's arm, and driving the poor little shorn +sheep before her with the handle of the parasol, +which she used as a shepherdess uses her crook. +They were all tired and hungry. The babies +cried. The sun was very hot. The road +seemed miles long. Every now and then Mell +had to let them sit down to rest. It was nearly +four o'clock when they reached home; and, +long before that, Mell was so weary and discouraged +that it seemed as if she should like to +lie down and die.</p> + +<p>They got home at last. Mell's hand was on the +garden gate, when suddenly a sight so terrible +met her eyes that she stood rooted to the spot, +unable to move an inch further. There in the +doorway was Mrs. Davis. Her face was white +with anger as she looked at the children. Mell +felt the coral beads burn about her throat. She +dropped the parasol as if her arm was broken, +the guilty tails hung from her hand, and she<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span> +wished with all her heart that the earth could +open and swallow her up.</p> + +<p>It was a full moment before anybody spoke. +Then "What does this mean?" asked Mrs. +Davis, in an awful voice.</p> + +<p>Mell could not answer. But the children +broke out in full chorus of lament.</p> + +<p>"Tommy was so bad to us." "He lost us in +the woods." "He stole the scissors, and they +were dirty scissors." "Mell went away and +left us all alone."</p> + +<p>"Yes," cried Mrs. Davis, her wrath rising +with each word, "I know very well what you +were up to, miss. All my things upset. As +soon as I found out that I had forgotten my +key, I knew very well—" her voice died away +into the silence of horror. She had just caught +sight of Belinda's cropped head.</p> + +<p>"Tommy did it. He cut off all our hairs," +blubbered Belinda.</p> + +<p>Mell shut her eyes tight. She was too +frightened to move. She felt herself clutched,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span> +dragged in-doors, upstairs, and her ears boxed, +all in a moment. Mrs. Davis pushed her violently +forward, a door banged, a key turned.</p> + +<p>"There you stay for a week, and on bread and +water," cried a voice through the keyhole; +and Mell, opening her eyes, found herself in the +dark and alone. She knew very well where +she was,—in the closet under the attic stairs; +a place she dreaded, because she had once seen +a mouse there, and Mell was particularly afraid +of mice.</p> + +<p>"Oh, don't shut me up here! Please don't; +please let me out, please," she shrieked. But +Mrs. Davis had gone downstairs, and nobody +replied.</p> + +<p>"They'll come and eat me up as soon as it +grows dark," thought Mell; and this idea so terrified +her that she began to beat on the door +with her hands, and scream at the top of her +voice. No one came. And after a while she +grew so weary that she could scream no longer; +so she curled herself up on the floor of the +closet and went to sleep.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span></p> + +<p>When she woke the closet was darker than +ever. Mell felt weak and ill for want of food. +Her head ached; her bones ached from lying +on the hard floor; she was feverish and very +miserable.</p> + +<p>"It's dark; she's going to leave me here all +night," sobbed Mell. "Oh! won't somebody +come and let me out?" Now <i>would</i> have been +a chance to play that she was a princess shut +up in a dark dungeon! But Mell didn't feel +like playing. She was a real little girl shut up +in a closet, and it wasn't nice at all. There +was no "make believe" left in her just then.</p> + +<p>Suddenly a fine scratching sound began in +the wall close to her head. "The mouse, the +mouse," thought Mell, and she gave a shriek so +loud that it would have scared away a whole +army of mice. The shriek sounded all over the +house. It woke the children in their beds, and +rang in the ears of Mrs. Davis, who was sitting +down to supper in the kitchen with somebody +just arrived,—a big, brown, rough-bearded<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span> +somebody, who smelt of salt-water; Mell's father, +in short, returned from sea.</p> + +<p>"What's that?" asked Captain Davis, putting +down his cup.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Davis was frightened. In the excitement +of her husband's sudden return she had +quite forgotten poor Mell in her closet.</p> + +<p>"Some of the children," she answered, trying +to speak carelessly. "I'll run up."</p> + +<p>Another terrible shriek. Captain Davis seized +a candle, and hurried upstairs after his wife.</p> + +<p>He was just in time to see her unlock the +closet door, and poor Mell tumble out, tear-stained, +white, frightened almost out of her +wits. She clutched her step-mother's dress with +both hands.</p> + +<p>"Oh, don't make me go in there again!" she +pleaded. "I will be good. I'll never meddle +with the things in the chest any more. There +are mice in there, hundreds of 'em; they'll +run all over me; they'll eat me up. Oh, <i>don't</i> +make me go in there again!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Why, it's my little Mell!" cried the amazed +Captain. "Shiver my timbers! what does this +mean?" He lifted Mell into his arms and +looked sternly at his wife.</p> + +<p>"She's been a <i>very</i> naughty girl," said Mrs. +Davis, trying to speak boldly. "So naughty +that I had to shut her up. Stop crying so, Mell. +I forgive you now. I hope you'll never be so +bad again."</p> + +<p>"Oh, may I come out?" sobbed Mell, clinging +to her father's neck. "You said I must stay a +week, but I couldn't do that, the mice would +kill me. Mice are so awful!" She shuddered +with horror as she spoke.</p> + +<p>"This ain't a pleasant welcome for a man just +in from sea," remarked Captain Davis.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Davis explained and tried to smooth the +matter over, but the Captain continued very +sober all that evening. Mell thought it was +because he was angry with her, but her step-mother +knew very well that she also was in +disgrace. The truth was that the Captain was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span> +thinking what to do. He was not a man of +many words, but he felt that affairs at home +must go very wrong when he was away, and +that such a state of things was bad for his wife, +and very bad for Mell.</p> + +<p>So in a day or two he went off to Cape Cod, +"to see his old mother," as he said, in reality to +consult her as to what should be done. When +he came back, he asked Mell how she would like +to go and live with Grandmother and be her +little girl.</p> + +<p>"Will she shut me up in closets?" asked +Mell apprehensively.</p> + +<p>"No, she'll be very kind to you if you are a +good girl. Grandma's an old lady now. She +wants a handy child about the house to help, +and sort of pet and make much of."</p> + +<p>"I—guess—I'll—like—it," said Mell +slowly. "It's a good way from here, isn't it?"</p> + +<p>"Yes,—a good way."</p> + +<p>Mell nodded her head in a satisfied manner. +"<i>She'll</i> not often come there," she thought. +"She" meant Mrs. Davis.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span></p> + +<p>Mrs. Davis was unusually pleasant for the few +remaining days which Mell spent at home. I do +not think she had ever meant to treat Mell unkindly, +but she had a hot temper, and the care +of five unruly children is a good deal for one +woman to undertake, without counting in a +little step-daughter with a head stuffed with +fairy stories. She washed and ironed, mended +and packed for Mell as kindly as possible, and +did not say one cross word, not even when her +husband brought the coral necklace from the +big chest and gave it to Mell for her very own. +"The child had a right to her mother's necklace," +he said. All was peaceful and serene, +and when Mell said good-by she surprised herself +by feeling quite sorry to go, and kissed +Gabella Sarah's small face with tears in her +eyes.</p> + +<p>Grandmother was just such a dear old woman +as one reads about in books. Her cheeks were +all criss-crossed with little wrinkles, which made +her look as if she were always smiling. Her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span> +forehead was smooth, her eyes kind and blue. +She was small, thin, and wiry. Her laugh was +as fresh as a young woman's. Mell loved her +at once, and was sure that she should be happy +to live with her and be her little girl.</p> + +<p>"Why, Bethuel, you've brought me a real +good helper," said Grandmother, as Mell ran to +and fro, setting the tea-table, cutting bread, and +learning where things were kept. "I shall sit +like a lady and do nothing but rock in my +cheer now that I've got Mell." Mell heard +the kind words, and sprang about more busily +than ever. It was a new thing to be praised.</p> + +<p>Before Captain Davis went next day he +walked over to Barnstable, and came back with +a parcel in his hand. The parcel was for Mell. +It contained the Fairy Tales,—all new and complete, +bound in beautiful red covers.</p> + +<p>"You shall read them aloud to me in the +evenings," said Grandmother.</p> + +<p>That night, if anybody had peeped through +the window of Grandmother's little house he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span> +would have seen a pleasant sight. The kitchen +was all in order; the lamp burned clear; Grandmother +sat in her rocking-chair with a smile on +her kind old face, while Mell, at her feet on a +little stool, opened the Fairy Tales, and prepared +to read. "Once upon a time there lived +a beautiful Princess," she began;—then a sudden +sense of the delightfulness of all this overcame +her. She dropped the book into her lap, +clasped her hands tight, and said, half to herself, +half to Grandmother, "<i>Isn't</i> it nice?"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 350px;"> +<img src="images/illus-108.png" width="350" height="277" alt="Mistress Mary" title="" /> +</div> +<h2>MISTRESS MARY.</h2> + + +<p>IT was the first of May; but May was in an +April mood,—half cloudy, half shiny,—and +belied her name. Sprinkles of silvery rain +dotted the way-side dust; flashes of sun caught<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span> +the drops as they fell, and turned each into a +tiny mirror fit for fairy faces. The trees were +raining too, showers of willow-catkins and +cherry-bud calyxes, which fell noiselessly and +strewed the ground. The children kicked the +soft brown drifts aside with their feet as they +walked along.</p> + +<p>The doors of the Methodist meeting-house at +Valley Hill stood open, and crowds of men and +women and children were going into them. It +was not Sunday which called the people together: +it was the annual Conference meeting; +and all the country round was there to hear the +reports and learn where the ministers were to +be sent for the next two years. Methodist +clergymen, you know, are not "called" by the +people of the parish, as other clergymen are. +They go where the church sends them, and +every second year they are all changed to other +parishes. This, it is thought, keeps the people +and pastors fresh and interested in each other. +But I don't know. Human beings, as well as<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span> +vegetables, have a trick of putting down roots; +and even a cabbage or a potato would resent +such transplanting, and would refuse to thrive.</p> + +<p>Sometimes, when a parish has become attached +to its minister, it will plead to have him +stay longer. Now and then this request is +granted; but, as a rule, the minister has to go. +And it is a hard rule for his wife and children, +who have to go too.</p> + +<p>The Valley Hill people "thought a heap" of +their minister, Mr. Forcythe, and had begged +hard that he might stay with them for another +term. Everybody belonging to the church had +come to the meeting feeling anxious, and yet +pretty certain that the answer would be favorable. +All over the building, people were whispering +about the matter, and heads were nodding +and bowing. The bonnets on these heads were +curiously alike. Mrs. Perry, the village milliner, +never had more than one pattern hat. "That is +what is worn," she said; and nobody disputed +the fact, which saved Mrs. Perry trouble. The<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span> +Valley Hill people liked it just as well, and +didn't mind the lack of variety. This year Mrs. +Perry had announced yellow to be the fashion, +so nine out of ten of the hats present were +trimmed with yellow ribbon crossed in just the +same way over a yellow straw crown; and the +church looked like a bed of sisterly tulips nodding +and bowing in the wind.</p> + +<p>Bishop Judson was the person to read the +announcements. He was a nice old man, kind +at heart, though formal in manner, and anxious +eyes were fixed on him as he got up with a +paper in his hand. That important little paper +held comfort or discomfort for ever so many +people. Every one bent forward to listen. It +was so still all over the church that you might +have heard a pin drop. The Bishop began with +a little speech about the virtues of patience and +contentment, and how important it was that +everybody should be quite satisfied whatever +happened to them. Then he opened the paper.</p> + +<p>"Brother Johnson, Middlebury," he read.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span> +Middlebury was a favorite parish, so Brother +Johnson looked pleased, and Sister Johnson was +congratulated by the friends who sat near her. +"Brother Woodward, Little Falls; Brother +Ashe, Plunxet; Brother Allen, Claxton Corners." +And so on. Some faces grew bright, +some sad, as the reading proceeded. At last +"Brother Forcythe, Redding; Brother Martin, +Valley Hill," was announced. A quiver of disappointment +went over the church, and a little +girl sitting in the gallery began to cry.</p> + +<p>"My dear, my dear," whispered her mother, +much distressed at her sobs and gulps. People +looked up from below; but Mary could not +stop. She took her mother's handkerchief and +held it tight over her mouth; but the sobs +would come. Her heart was half-broken at the +idea of leaving Valley Hill and going to that +horrid Redding, where nobody wanted to go.</p> + +<p>Old Mrs. Clapp, from behind, reached over +and gave her a bunch of fennel. But the fennel +only made Mary cry harder. In Redding, she<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span> +was sure, would be no kind Mrs. Clapp, no +"meeting-house seed;" and her sobs grew +thicker at the thought.</p> + +<p>"I observe that your little daughter seems to +be distressed," said Bishop Judson, as Mrs. Forcythe +led the sobbing Mary down from the +gallery at the end of service. "Children of her +age form strong attachments to places, I am +aware. But it is well to break them before +they become unduly strong. Here we have no +continuing city, you know."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said poor Mrs. Forcythe, with a meek +sigh. She had been married fourteen years, +and this was her seventh move.</p> + +<p>"Redding—hum—is a desirable place in +some respects," went on the Bishop. "There +is a great work to do there,—a great work. It +requires a man of Brother Forcythe's energy to +meet it. Mistress Mary here will doubtless find +consolation in the thought that her father's +sphere of usefulness is—h'm—enlarged."</p> + +<p>"But we shan't have any garden," faltered<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span> +Mary, "Tilly Brooks, who was there before, +says it isn't a bit nice. She never saw a flower +all the time she was there, she said. I'd just +planted my bed in the garden here. Mrs. +Clapp gave me six pansies, and it was going to +be so pretty. Now I've got to—leave—'em." +Her voice died away into sobs.</p> + +<p>"Tut, tut!" said the Bishop. "The customs +of a church cannot be set aside to accommodate +a child's flower-bed. You'll find other things to +please you in Redding, Mistress Mary. Come, +come, dry your eyes. Your father's daughter +should not set an example like this."</p> + +<p>"No, sir," gulped Mary, mortified at this reproof +from the Bishop, who was an important +person, and much looked up to. She did her +best to stop crying, but it was hard work. +When they reached home, the sight of the pansies +perking their yellow and purple faces up to +meet her, renewed her grief. There was her +mignonette seed not yet sprouted. If she had +known that they were going away, she would<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span> +not have planted any. There, worst of all, was +the corner where she had planned such a nice +surprise for her mother,—"A. F." in green +parsley letters. A. F. stood for Anne Forcythe. +Now, mother would never see the letters or +know any thing about it. Oh dear, oh dear!</p> + +<p>Mrs. Forcythe's own disappointment was +great, for they had all made sure that they +should stay. But, like a true mother, she put +her share of the grief aside, and thought only of +comforting Mary.</p> + +<p>"Don't feel so badly, dear," she said. "Recollect, +you'll have Papa still, and me and Frank +and little Peter. We'll manage to be happy +somehow. Redding isn't half so disagreeable as +you think."</p> + +<p>"Yes, it is. Tilly said so. I was going to have +radishes and a rose-bush," replied Mary tearfully. +"There's a robin just building in the elm-tree +now. There won't be any trees in Redding; +only horrid hard cobble-stones."</p> + +<p>"We must hope for the best," said Mrs.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span> +Forcythe, who did not enjoy the idea of the +cobble-stones any more than Mary did.</p> + +<p>"Only ten days more at Valley Hill," was +the first thought that came into Mary's mind +the next morning. She went downstairs cross +and out of spirits. Her mother was laying +sheets and table-cloths in a trunk. The books +were gone from the little book-shelf; every thing +had already begun to look unsettled and uncomfortable.</p> + +<p>"I shall depend on you to take care of little +Peter," said Mrs. Forcythe. "We shall all have +to work hard if we are to get off next Monday +week."</p> + +<p>Mary gave an impatient shrug with her shoulders. +She loved little Peter, but it seemed an +injury just then to have to take care of him. +All the time that her mother was sorting, counting, +and arranging where things should go, she +sat in the window sullen and unhappy, looking +out at the pansy-bed. Peter grew tired of a +companion who did nothing to amuse him, and +began to sprawl and scramble upstairs.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span></p> + +<p>"O baby, come back!" cried Mary, and, I am +sorry to say, gave him a shake. Peter cried, +and that brought poor weary Mrs. Forcythe +downstairs.</p> + +<p>"Can't you manage to make him happy?" +she said. Mary only pouted.</p> + +<p>All that day and the next and the next it was +the same. Mrs. Forcythe was busy every moment. +There were a thousand things to do, +another thousand to remember. People kept +coming in to say good-by. Peter wandered out +on the door-steps when Mary's back was turned, +took cold, and was threatened with croup. Mrs. +Forcythe was half sick herself from worry and +fatigue. And all this time Mary, instead of +helping, was one of her mother's chief anxieties. +She fretted and complained continually. Every +thing went wrong. Each article put into the +boxes cost her a flood of tears. Each friend +who dropped in, renewed the sense of loss. She +scarcely noticed her mother's pale face at all. +All the brightness and busy-ness in her was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span> +changed for selfish lamentations, and still the +burden of her complaint was, "I shan't have +any flowers in Redding. My garden, oh, my +garden."</p> + +<p>"I don't know what's come to her," said poor +Mrs. Forcythe. "She's not like the same child +at all." And old Mrs. Clapp, who had been very +fond of Mary, declared that she never knew a +girl so altered.</p> + +<p>"She's the most <i>contrary</i> piece you ever saw," +she said to her daughter. "I could have given +her a right-down good slap just now for the way +she spoke to her mother. It's all her fault that +the baby took cold. She don't lift a hand to help, +and I expect as sure as Fate that we'll have +Mrs. Forcythe sick before we get through. I +wouldn't have believed that such a likely girl as +Mary Forcythe could act so."</p> + +<p>Poor "contrary" Mary! She was very unhappy. +The fatal last morning came. All the +boxes were packed. The drays, laden with furniture +and beds, stood at the gate. Mrs. Clapp,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span> +and Mrs. Elder, the class-leader, were going over +the house collecting last things and doing last +jobs. Mary wandered out alone into the garden +for a farewell look at her pets.</p> + +<p>"Good-by, pansies," she said, bending over +them. There were only five in the bed now, +for Mary had taken up one and packed it in +paper to carry with her. A big tear hopped +down her nose and splashed into the middle of +the yellow pansy, her favorite of all. It turned +up its bright kitten-face just the same. None +of them minded Mary's going away. Flowers +are sometimes so unkind to people.</p> + +<p>"Good-by, rose-bush," proceeded Mary, turning +from the pansy-bed. "Good-by, honey-suckle. +Good-by, peony. Good-by, matter-i-mony." +This sounds funny, but Mary only meant by it +a vine with a small purple flower which grew +over the back-door. "Good-by, lilac," she went +on. "Good-by, grass plot." This brought her +to the gate. The wagon stood waiting to carry +them to the railroad, three miles away. Mrs.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span> +Forcythe, with the baby in her arms, was just +getting in. "Hurry, Mary," called her father. +Slowly she opened the gate, slowly shut it. +Her father helped her over the wheel. She sat +down beside Frank. Mrs. Clapp waved her +handkerchief, then put it to her eyes. Mary +took a long look at the pretty garden just budding +with spring, and burst into tears. Mr. +Forcythe chirruped to the horse; they were off,—and +that was their good-by to Valley Hill.</p> + +<p>Redding was certainly very different. It was +an old-fashioned town with narrow streets, which +smelt of fish. Most of the people were sailors, +or had something to do with ships. There were +several nice churches, and outside the town a +few handsome houses, but there were a great +many poor people in the place and not many +rich ones.</p> + +<p>In the very narrowest of all the streets stood +the parsonage; a little brick house with a paved +yard behind, just wide enough for clothes-lines. +When the wash was hung out there was not an<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span> +inch to spare on either side. Mary gave up all +hope as soon as she saw it. There was not +room even for <i>one</i> pansy. The windows looked +out on chimneys and roofs and other backyards, +with lines of wet clothes flapping in the sun. Not +a tree was to be seen. Any one might be excused +for thinking it doleful; and Mary, having made +up her mind beforehand to dislike it, found it +easy to keep her resolution.</p> + +<p>There was no possibility of getting things to +rights that night; though several people came +in to help, and a comfortable supper was ready +spread for the travellers on their arrival. Mrs. +Forcythe was cheered by this kindness, but Mary +could not be cheerful. She had to sleep upon a +mattress laid on the floor. At another time this +would have been fun, but now it did not seem +funny at all; it was only part and parcel of the +misery of coming to live in Redding. She cried +herself to sleep, and came down in the morning +with swollen eyelids and a disposition to make +the very worst of things,—easy enough for any +girl to do if she sets about it.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span></p> + +<p>She scarcely thanked her father when he went +out and bought a red pot for the unlucky pansy, +which, after its travels and its night in brown +paper, looked as disconsolate as Mary herself. +"I know it'll die right away," she muttered as +she set it on the window-sill. "Oh, dear, there's +mother calling. What <i>does</i> she want?"</p> + +<p>"Mary, dear," said Mrs. Forcythe when she +went down, "where have you been? I want +you to put away the dishes for me."</p> + +<p>"I'm so tired," objected Mary crossly.</p> + +<p>"Don't you think that mother must be tired +too?" asked her father gravely.</p> + +<p>Mary blushed and began to place the cups +and plates on the cupboard shelves. Her slow +movements attracted her father's attention.</p> + +<p>"What's the matter?" he said. "At Valley +Hill you were as brisk as a bee, always wanting +to help in every thing. Here you seem +unwilling to move. How is it?"</p> + +<p>"I—don't—like—Redding," broke out +Mary in a burst of petulance.</p> + +<p>"You haven't seen it yet."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Yes, I have, Papa. I've seen it as much +as I want to. It's horrid!"</p> + +<p>"I never knew her to behave so before," said +Mr. Forcythe in a perplexed tone, as Mary, +having unpacked the dishes, sobbed her way +upstairs.</p> + +<p>"She'll brighten when we are settled," replied +Mrs. Forcythe, indulgent as mothers are, +and ready to hope the best of her child. "Oh, +dear! there's the baby waked up. Would you +call Mary to go to him?"</p> + +<p>So it went on all that week. Mr. and Mrs. +Forcythe were very patient with Mary, hoping +always that this evil mood would pass, and their +bright, helpful little daughter come back to them +again. She never refused to do any thing that +was asked of her; but you know the difference +between willing and unwilling service: Mary +just did the tasks set her, no more, and as soon +as they were finished fled to her own room to +fret and cry. Her father took her out to walk +and showed her the new church, but Mary<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span> +thought the church ugly, and the outside view +of Redding as unpleasant as the inside one. +Dull streets, small houses everywhere; no gardens, +except now and then a single bed, edged +with a row of stiff cockle-shells by way of fence, +and planted with pert sweet-williams or crown +imperials. These Mary thought were worse +than no flowers at all. Every thing smelt of +fish. The very sea was made ugly by warehouses +and shabby wharves. The people they +met were strangers; and, altogether, the effect +of Mary's walk was to send her back more +homesick than ever for Valley Hill.</p> + +<p>By Friday night the little parsonage was in +order. Mrs. Forcythe was a capital manager. +She planned and contrived, turned and twisted +and made things comfortable in a surprising +way. But she overtired herself greatly in doing +this, and on Saturday morning Mary was +waked by her father calling from below that +mother was very ill, and she must come down +at once and stay with her while he went for a +doctor.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Oh, dear!" sighed Mary, as she hurried on +her clothes. "Now mother is sick. It's all +this hateful Redding. She never was sick when +we lived in the country."</p> + +<p>But the hard mood melted the moment she +saw her mother's pale face and feeble smile.</p> + +<p>"I hope I'm not going to be very ill," said +Mrs. Forcythe; "probably it's only that I have +tired myself out. You'll have to be 'Mamma' +for a day or two, Mary dear. Make Papa as +comfortable as you can. See that Frank has his +lunch put up for school, and don't let Peter take +cold. Oh, dear!—my head aches so hard that +I can't talk. I know you'll do your best Mary, +won't you?"</p> + +<p>Guess how Mary felt at this appeal! All her +better nature came back in a moment. She +saw how wrong she had been in nursing her +selfish griefs, and letting this dear mother over-work +herself. "O mother, I will, indeed I +will!" she cried, kissing the pale face; and, only +waiting to draw the blind so that the sun should<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span> +not shine in, she flew downstairs, eager to do all +she could to make up for past ill-conduct.</p> + +<p>The Doctor came. He said Mrs. Forcythe +was threatened with fever, and must be kept +very quiet for several days. Mary had never +in her life worked so hard as she did that Saturday. +There was breakfast, dinner, supper to +get, dishes to wash, water to heat, the fire to +tend, rooms to dust, beds to make, the baby +to keep out of mischief. She was very tired by +night, but her heart felt lighter than it had for +many days past. Do you wonder at this? I +can tell you the reason. Mary's troubles were +selfish troubles, and the moment she forgot herself +in thinking of somebody else, they became +small and began to creep away.</p> + +<p>"Pitty, pitty!" said little Peter, as he heard +her singing over her dish-washing. Mary caught +him up and gave him a hearty kiss,—a real +Valley Hill kiss, such as she had given no one +since they came to Redding.</p> + +<p>"Mary is doing famously," Mr. Forcythe told<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span> +his wife that night. "She has a first-rate head +on her shoulders for a girl of her age." Mary +heard him, and was pleased. She liked—we +all like—to be counted useful and valuable. +The bit of praise sent her back to her work +with redoubled zeal.</p> + +<p>Next morning Mrs. Forcythe was a little better. +Her head ached less; she sat up on her pillows +and drank a cup of tea. Mary was smoothing +her mother's hair with soft pats of the brush, +when suddenly the church bells began to ring. +She had never heard such sounds before. The +bell at Valley Hill was cracked, and went tang—tang—tang, +as if the meeting-house were +an old cow walking slowly about. These bells +had a dozen different voices,—some deep and +solemn, others bright and clear, but all beautiful; +and across their pealing a soft, delicious +chime from the tower of the Episcopal church +went to and fro, and wove itself in and out like +a thread of silver embroidery. Mary dropped +the brush, and clasped her hands tight. It was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span> +like listening to a song of which she could not +hear enough. When the last tinkle of the +chime died away, she unclasped her hands, and, +turning from the window, cried, "O mother! +wasn't that lovely? There is <i>one</i> pleasant +thing in Redding, after all!"</p> + +<p>I do not think matters ever seemed so hard +again after that morning when Mary made +friends with the church bells. It was the beginning +of a better understanding between her +and her new home; and there is a great deal in +beginnings, even though they may work slowly +toward their ends.</p> + +<p>By the close of the week Mrs. Forcythe was +downstairs again, weak and pale, but able to +sit in her chair and direct things, which Mary +felt to be a great comfort. The parishioners +began to call. There were no rich people +among them; but it was a hard-working, active +parish, and did a great deal for its means. The +Sunday-school was large and flourishing; there +was a missionary association, a home missionary<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span> +association, a mite society, and a sewing +circle, which met every week to make clothes +for the poor and partake of tea, soda biscuit, +and six sorts of cake. Beside these, a new +project had just been started, "The Seamen's +Daughters' Industrial Society;" or, in other +words, a sewing-school for little girls whose +fathers were sailors. There were plenty of +such little girls in Redding.</p> + +<p>"Your daughter will join, of course," said +Mrs. Wallis, when she came to call on her +minister's wife. "It's important that the pastor's +family should take a part in every good +work." Mrs. Wallis was the most energetic +woman of the congregation,—at the head of +every thing.</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid Mary's sewing is not good +enough," replied Mrs. Forcythe. "She isn't +very skilful with her needle yet."</p> + +<p>"Oh! she knows enough to teach those +ignorant little creatures. Half of them are +foreigners, and never touch a needle in their<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span> +homes. It's every thing to give them some +ideas beyond their own shiftless ways."</p> + +<p>"Would you like to try, Mary?" asked her +mother.</p> + +<p>"I—don't—know," replied Mary, afraid to +refuse, because Mrs. Wallis looked so sharp and +decided.</p> + +<p>"Very well, then I'll call for you on Saturday, +at half-past ten," went on Mrs. Wallis, +quite regardless of Mary's hesitating tone. +"I'm glad you'll come. It would never do not +to have some of the minister's family. Saturday +morning, at half-past ten! Good-by, Mrs. +Forcythe. Don't get up; you look peaked +still. To-morrow is baking day, and I shall +send you a green-currant pie. Perhaps <i>that'll</i> +do you good." With these words she departed.</p> + +<p>"Must I really teach in that school?" asked +Mary dolefully.</p> + +<p>"I think you'd better. The people expect +it, and it will be a good thing for you to practise +sewing a little," replied her mother. "I +daresay it will be pleasanter than you think."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span></p> + +<p>"It seems so funny that I should be set to +teach any one to sew," said Mary, bursting into +a laugh. "Don't you recollect how Mrs. Clapp +used to scold me, and say I 'gobbled' my +darns?"</p> + +<p>"You mustn't 'gobble' before the seamen's +daughters," said Mrs. Forcythe, smiling. "It +will be a capital lesson for you to try to teach +what you haven't quite learned yourself."</p> + +<p>Punctual as the clock Mrs. Wallis appeared +on Saturday, and bore the unwilling Mary away +to the sewing-school. Mrs. Forcythe watched +them from the window. She couldn't help +laughing, their movements were so comically +different,—Mrs. Wallis was so brisk and decided, +while Mary lagged behind, dragging one +slow foot after the other as if each moment she +longed to stop and dared not. Very different +was her movement, however, two hours later, +when she returned. She came with a kind of +burst, her eyes bright with excitement, and her +cheeks pinker than they had been since she left +Valley Hill.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span></p> + +<p>"O mother, it is <i>so</i> nice! Ever so many +children were there,—thirty at least; and Mrs. +Wallis said I might choose any five I liked to +be my class. First, I chose the dearest little +Irish girl. Her name is Norah, and she's just +as pretty as she can be, only her face was +dreadfully dirty, and her clothes all rags. Then +her little sister Kathleen cried to come; so I +took her too. Then I chose a cunning little +German tot named Gretchen. She has yellow +hair, braided in tight little tails down her back, +and is a good deal cleaner than the rest, but not +very clean, you know; and she hadn't any shoes +at all. Then Mrs. Wallis brought up the funniest +little French girl, with a name I can't pronounce. +I'm going to call her Amy. And the +last of all is an American, real pretty. Her +name is Rachel Gray. Her father is gone on a +whaling voyage, and won't be back for three +years. Don't they sound nice, mother? I +think I shall like teaching them so much!"</p> + +<p>"Do they know any thing about sewing?" +asked Mrs. Forcythe.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Not a thing. They made dreadful stitches. +Kathleen cried because the needle pricked her, +and Rachel wanted to wear the thimble on the +wrong finger. Amy did the best. When they +went away they all wanted to kiss me, and +Norah said she guessed I was the best teacher +in the school. Wasn't that cunning? Mrs. +Wallis is real kind. She brought ever so much +gingerbread, and gave each of the children a +piece."</p> + +<p>"I'm glad it begins so well—"</p> + +<p>"Yes. There's just one thing, though. The +children's faces! You can't think how dirty +they are. I should like to give them a good +scrub all round."</p> + +<p>"Well, why don't you?"</p> + +<p>"How can I? There isn't any wash-bowl +down at the school-room."</p> + +<p>"If you liked you might have them all come +here at ten o'clock, and walk down with you. +Then you could take them up to your room, +wash their faces and hands, and brush their hair<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span> +smooth before you start. I really think you +would enjoy your teaching more if the scholars +were clean."</p> + +<p>"May I really do that?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. I'll buy you a fresh cake of soap and +a brush, and you can take two clean towels from +the drawer every Saturday morning. Make it +a rule, but be very gentle and pleasant about it +or the children may refuse."</p> + +<p>"O mother, what a good plan! Thank you +so much," said Mary with sparkling eyes. "Now +I shall have real comfort with them."</p> + +<p>There was great excitement in the sewing-class +when they were told that in future they +were to go to "Teacher's" house every Saturday, +and walk down to school with her. They +were a droll little procession enough when they +appeared the next week at the appointed time. +Norah's toes were out of her shoes. Her tangled +curls were as rough as a bird's-nest, and the +hat on top of them looked as if it had sailed +across every mud-puddle in town. Little Kathleen's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span> +scanty garments were rather rags than +clothes. And Gretchen, tidiest of all, had +smears of sausage on her rosy face, and did not +seem to have been brought into contact with +soap and water for weeks.</p> + +<p>Mary led them up into her own room, which, +plain as it was, looked like a palace to the little +ones after the dirt and discomfort of their +crowded homes. There were the nice clean +towels, the new hair-brush, and the big cake of +honey-soap, mother's contributions to the undertaking. +The washing was quite a frolic. Norah +cried a little at having her hair pulled, but +Mary was gentle and pleasant, and made the +affair so amusing that the children thought it +pleasant to be clean, instead of disliking it. +She rewarded their patience by a kiss all round. +Kathleen threw her arms about Mary's neck +and gave her a great hug. "You're iver so +nice," she said, and Mary kissed her again.</p> + +<p>So every Saturday from that time forward, +Mary went to school followed by a crowd of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span> +clean little faces, which looked all the brighter +and happier for their cleanliness. She was +proud of her class, but their ragged clothes distressed +her greatly.</p> + +<p>"It is such a pity," she told her mother. +"They are so pretty, and they look like beggars."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Forcythe had only been waiting for this. +She was not a woman to give much advice, even +to her own child. "Drop in a seed and let it +grow," was her motto.</p> + +<p>"There's that old gingham of yours," she +suggested. "You could spare that for one of +them, if there were anybody to make it over."</p> + +<p>"<i>I'll</i> make it!" cried Mary, "only—" her, +face falling, "I don't know how to cut dresses."</p> + +<p>"I'll cut it for you if you like," said Mrs. +Forcythe quietly.</p> + +<p>"Will you, mother dear? How splendid. +I'll make it for Norah. She's the raggedest of +all."</p> + +<p>The gingham was measured, and proved<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span> +enough to make frocks for Norah and Kathleen +too. Mary had double work to undertake, but +her heart was in her fingers, and they flew fast. +It took every spare moment for a fortnight to +make the frocks, but when they were done and +tried on to the delighted children, they looked +so nicely that Mary was rewarded for her trouble +and for the many needle-pricks in her forefinger.</p> + +<p>"Only it's such a pity about the others," she +told her mother. "They'll think I'm partial, +and I'm not, though I <i>do</i> love Norah a little bit +the best, she's so affectionate. I wish we were +rich. Then I could buy frocks for them all."</p> + +<p>"If you were rich, perhaps you wouldn't +care about it," said her mother. "A little here +and a little there, a stitch, a kind word, a small +self-denial, these are in the power of all of us, +and in course of time they mount up and make +a great deal. And, Mary dear, I've always found +if you once start in a path and are determined +to keep on, somebody's sure to come along and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span> +lend a helping hand, when you think you have +got to the end of every thing, and must stop or +turn back."</p> + +<p>"Well, I've got to the end of every thing +now," said Mary. "There aren't any more +old frocks to make over, and we can't afford to +buy new ones."</p> + +<p>"Don't be discouraged," said her mother. +"The way is sure to open somehow."</p> + +<p>"How wise mother is," thought Mary, when +the very next week on their way back from +school Mrs. Wallis said, "I noticed that two of +your scholars had respectable frocks on to-day. +I wonder if their mothers made them? If they +did, I've an old chintz dress which I could spare, +and perhaps Gretchen's mother and Amadine's +could take it and fit them out too."</p> + +<p>"I made the dresses," cried Mary joyfully. +"And if you'll let me have the old chintz, I'll +make some more for the others, Mrs. Wallis. +Oh, I'm so glad."</p> + +<p>"Did you make them," said Mrs. Wallis in a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span> +pleased tone. "Well, that's first-rate. I'll send +the chintz round to-night; and any other old +things I can find to help along."</p> + +<p>So that night came a great bundle, which, on +opening, revealed not only the chintz, but a nice +calico, some plaid ribbon, a large black alpaca +apron, and an old shirt of Mr. Wallis's. Such a +busy time as Mary had in planning how to make +the most of these gifts. The chintz was long +and full. It had a cape, and made two beautiful +frocks. The calico made another frock and +two nice pinafores, the black alpaca some small +aprons. Mary trimmed the two worst hats with +the ribbon. Last of all, she cut and stitched five +narrow bands of the linen, which mother washed +and starched, and behold, the class had collars! +I don't know which was most pleased at this +last decoration, Mary or the children.</p> + +<p>"They are just as good as dolls to you, aren't +they," said her father.</p> + +<p>"O Papa! much better than <i>that</i>. Dolls can't +laugh and talk, and they don't really care any<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span> +thing about you, you only just make believe +that they do. It's horrid to fit a doll's clothes; +she sticks her arm out stiff and won't bend it a +bit. I'd rather have my class than all the dolls +in the world."</p> + +<p>"Teaching those children is having a capital +effect on Mary herself," said Mrs. Forcythe to +her husband after Mary had gone away. "She +gains all the time in patience and industry, and +is twice as careful of her things as she used to +be. I found her crying the other day because +she had torn her oldest frock, and the darn +was sure to come in a bad place when the frock +was made over for Gretchen! Think of Mary's +crying because of having torn any thing!"</p> + +<p>Time flies rapidly when people are busy and +happy. Days crept into weeks, weeks into +months; before any one knew it two years +were passed and another Conference day was +at hand. It met this time at Redding.</p> + +<p>Mary, a tall girl of fifteen now, went with +her mother to hear the appointments read.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span> +The Redding people had applied to keep Mr. +Forcythe for another term, but the request was +denied; and, when his name was reached on the +list, it appeared that he was to go back to Valley +Hill.</p> + +<p>"There's one person I know will be pleased," +said the Bishop, pausing on his way out of +church to speak to Mrs. Forcythe. "Mistress +Mary here! She'll be glad to go back to Valley +Hill again. But, hey-day! she doesn't look +glad. What! tears in her eyes. How is this?"</p> + +<p>"I—don't—know—" sighed Mary. "I +thought—I thought we should stay here. Of +course I feel sorry just at first."</p> + +<p>"Sorry! Not want to leave Redding! Why, +what a contrary little maid you are! Don't you +recollect how you cried, and said Redding was +horrid."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Mary, on the verge of a sob. +"But I like it now, Bishop. I don't mind the +fish a bit, and the funny old streets and the posy-beds +with cockle-shell edges are so nice, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a></span> +the bells sound so sweet on Sunday morning!—I +like Redding ever so much."</p> + +<p>"But your garden,—I remember how badly +you felt to leave that. You can't have a garden +in Redding."</p> + +<p>"No, but I have my little girls. I'd rather +have them than a garden, a great deal!"</p> + +<p>"What does she mean?" asked the Bishop, +turning to Mrs. Forcythe.</p> + +<p>"Her sewing-class," replied Mrs. Forcythe, +smiling.</p> + +<p>"There they are!" cried Mary eagerly. +"They're waiting for me. Do look at them, +Bishop; it's those five little girls in a row behind +the second pillar from the door. That big +one is Norah, and the one in blue is Rachel, +and the littlest is named Kathleen. Isn't she +pretty? They're the sweetest little things, oh, +I shall miss them so. I shan't ever have such +good times again as I've had with them." Her +voice faltered; a lump came in her throat. To<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span> +hide it she slipped away, and went across the +church to where the little ones sat.</p> + +<p>"That's a dear child of yours," said the good +Bishop, looking after her. "I guess she'll <i>do</i> +wherever she goes."</p> + +<p>And I think Mary will.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 350px;"> +<img src="images/illus-144.png" width="350" height="394" alt="Lady Bird" title="" /> +</div> +<h2>LADY BIRD.</h2> + + +<p>"NOW, Pocahontas Maria, sit still and don't disturb +the little ones. Imogene, that lesson must<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span> +be learned before I come back, you know. Now, +dear, that was very, very naughty. When +Mamma tells you to do things you mustn't pout +and poke Stella with your foot in that way. +It isn't nice at all. Stella is younger than you, +and you ought to set her samples, as Nursey +says. Look at Ning Po Ganges, how good she +is, and how she minds all I say, and yet she's +the littlest child I've got."</p> + +<p>If anybody had been walking in Madam +Bird's old-fashioned garden that morning, and +had heard these wise words coming from the +other side of the rose thicket, he would certainly +have supposed that some old dame with +a school was hidden away there, or at the least an +anxious Mamma with a family of unruly children. +But if this somebody had gone into the thicket, +bobbing his head to avoid the prickly, wreath-like +branches, he would have found on the other +side only one person, little Lota Bird, playing +all alone with her dolls. "Lady Bird" Nursey +called Lota, because when, six years before,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></span> +Papa fetched her home from China, she wore +a speckled frock of orange-red and black, very +much the color of those other tiny frocks in +which the real lady-birds fly about in summer-time. +The speckled frock was outgrown long +ago, but the name still clung to Lota, and every +one called her by it except Grandmamma, who +said "Charlotte," sighing as she spoke, and +Papa, whose letters always began, "My darling +little Lota." Papa had been away so long now +that Lota would quite have forgotten him had it +not been for these letters which came regularly +every month. The paper on which they were +written had an odd, pleasant smell. Nurse said +it was the smell of sandal-wood. Sometimes +there were things inside for Lota, bird's feathers +of gay colors, Chinese puzzles of carved ivory, +or small pictures painted on rice paper. Lota +liked these things very much. It was like playing +at a Papa rather than really having one, but +she enjoyed the play; and when they told her +that Papa was soon coming home to stay always,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[140]</a></span> +she was only half glad, and said: "Won't there +be any more letters then? I shan't like that." +Poor little girlie: we, who know how nice it +is to have real Papas, can feel sorry for her; +can't we?</p> + +<p>But Lota did not pity herself in the least. +Grandmamma's house was stiff and gloomy, +shaded by high trees and thick vines which jealously +shut out the sun whenever he tried to shine +in at the window panes. Grandmamma's servants +were old too, like the house. Most of them had +gray hair. Nursey wore spectacles; the coachman +indulged in rheumatism. Grandmamma +herself was old and feeble. She rarely laughed +or seemed to enjoy any thing, but sat in an easy +chair all the year round, and read solemn books +bound in black leather, which made her cry. +Jennings her maid waited on her, fetched footstools +and cushions, pushed the blinds down as +soon as the cheerful noon got round to that side +of the house. "Missus is uncommon poorly to-day," +she announced every morning. "Miss, you<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</a></span> +must be very quiet." Lota was quiet. She was +the only young thing in the sad old house, but +the shadows of age and sorrow fell lightly upon +her, and in spite of them she was as happy a +child as you will find in a summer's day. The +garden was her kingdom and her Paradise. It +was a wide, fragrant, shaded place, full of the +shrubs and flowers of former days. Huge pink +and white oleanders, planted in tubs, stood on +either side the walks. Thick spikes of purple +lavender edged the beds; the summer-house was +a tangle of honey-suckle, rosemary, and eglantine. +Roses of all colors abounded. They towered +high above Lota's head as she walked,—twined +and clasped, shut her in with perfumed shadows, +rained showers of many-colored petals on the +grass. An old-fashioned fairy would have delighted +to dwell in that garden, and perhaps one +did dwell there, else why should little lonely +Lota have been always so very, very happy left +alone among the trees and flowers? Can any +one tell me that?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[142]</a></span></p> + +<p>Far up in the curved angle made by the rose-hedge +was the little house where she and her +dollies lived. Jacob the gardener built this house, +of roots and willow-osiers curiously twisted. It +was just big enough for Lady Bird and her +family. The walls were pasted over with gay +prints cut from the "Illustrated News" and other +papers. There was a real window. The moss +floor had a blue cotton rug laid over it. A +small table and chair for Lota and one apiece +for the dolls made up the furniture, beside a +shelf on which the baby-house tea-set was displayed. +The roof kept out the weather pretty +well, except when it rained hard; then things +got wet. Here Lota sat all the morning, after +she had finished her lessons with Nursey,—short +lessons always, and easy ones, by Papa's particular +request, for the doctors had said that Lota +must not study much till she was really big and +strong. Pocahontas Maria and the other children +had to work much harder than their Mamma, +I assure you. Lota was very strict with them.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[143]</a></span> +When they were idle she put them into the corner, +and made them sit with their faces to the +wall by way of punishment. Once Lota had the +measles, and for two whole weeks was kept +away entirely from the garden-house. When +she came back, she found that during all this +time poor little Ning-Po Ganges had been sitting +in this ignominious position with her face +hidden. Lota cried with remorse at this, and +promised Ning-Po that never, so long as she +lived, should she be put into the corner again; +so after that, for convenience' sake, Ning-Po was +always called the best child in the family. Now +and then, when Lota felt hospitable, she would +give a tea-party, and ask Lady Green and her +children from under the snow-ball bush next +door. Nobody but Lota and the dolls could see +the Greens, even when they sat about the table +talking and being talked to, but that was no +matter; and when Nursey said, "Law, Miss +Lady Bird, how can you; there's never any +such people, you know," Lota would point<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</a></span> +triumphantly to a card tacked on to the snow-ball +bush, which had "Lady Green" printed on +it, and would say, "Naughty Nursey! can't you +read? There's her door-plate!"</p> + +<p>As this story is all about Lota, I think I +would better tell you just how she spent one +week of her life, she and the dolls.</p> + +<p>The week began with Sunday, which was +always a dull day, because Lota was forbidden +to go into the garden.</p> + +<p>In the morning she went to church with +Grandmamma, drawn thither by two fat old black +horses, who seemed to think it almost too much +trouble to switch the flies off with their tails. +Church was warm and the sermon was drowsy, +so poor Lady Bird fell asleep, and tumbled over +suddenly on to Grandmamma's lap. This distressed +the old lady a good deal, for she was +very particular about behavior in church. By +way of punishment, Lota had to learn four verses +of a hymn after dinner. It was the hymn which +begins,—</p> + +<div class='poem'> +"Awake, my soul, and with the sun<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Thy daily course of duty run,"</span><br /> +</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</a></span></p> + +<div class='unindent'>and learning it took all the time from dinner +till four o'clock.</div> + +<p>The hymn learned and repeated, Lota read +for awhile in one of her Sunday books. She was +ashamed of her sleepiness in the morning, and +had every intention of being very good till bedtime; +but unluckily she looked across to where +the dolls were sitting, and, as she explained to +Nursey afterward, Pocahontas Maria was whispering +to Imogene, and both of them were +laughing so hard and looking so mischievous +that she <i>had</i> to see what was the matter. Result;—at +five, Jennings, coming to call Lota, +found her with all the dolls in a row before +her teaching them hymns. And, though this +seems most proper, Jennings, who was a strict +Methodist, did not think so; so Lota had another +lecture from Grandmamma, and went to +bed under a sense of disgrace. So much for +Sunday.</p> + +<p>Monday opened with bright sunshine. It +had rained all night; but by eleven o'clock the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[146]</a></span> +dear old garden was quite dry, and how sweet +it did look! The pink roses twinkled and +winked their whisker-like calyxes as she went +by; the white ones shook their serene leaves, +and sent out delicious smells. Every green +thing looked greener than it had done before +the rain. The blue sky, swept clear of clouds, +seemed to have been rubbed and made brilliant. +It was a day for gardens; and Lady Bird and +her family celebrated it by a picnic, to which +they invited all the Greens.</p> + +<p>"Lady Green hasn't treated me quite properly," +remarked Lota to her oldest child, Pocahontas. +"She didn't leave her card at this +house I don't know when. But we won't mind +about that, because it's such a nice day, and +we want the picnic. And we can't have the +picnic without the Greens, you know, dear, +because there aren't any other people to invite."</p> + +<p>So they had the picnic,—a delightful one. +The young Greens behaved badly. They almost +always did behave badly when they came to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</a></span> +see Lady Bird; but it was rather a good thing, +because she could warn her own children that, +if they did the same, they would be severely +punished. "Lady Green is too indulgent," +she would say. "I want <i>my</i> children to be +much gooder than hers. Mind that, Imogene." +So, on this occasion, when Clarissa Green +snatched at the rose-cakes which formed the +staple of the feast, Lota looked very sharply at +Stella, and said, "Don't let me ever see you do +so, Stella, or I shall have to slap your little +hands." Stella heeded the warning, and sat +upright as a poker and perfectly still.</p> + +<p>Clarissa was perhaps not so much to blame, +for the rose-cakes were delicious. Would you +like Lady Bird's recipe? Any little girl can +make them. Take a good many rose-leaves; +put some sugar with them,—as much sugar +as you can get; tie them up in paper, or in +a good thick grape-leaf; lay them on a bench, +and <i>sit down on them hard several times</i>: +then they are done. Some epicures pretend<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[148]</a></span> +that they must be buried in the ground, and +left there for a week; but this takes time, and +reasonable children will find them quite good +enough without. These particular rose-cakes +were the best Lota had ever made. The whole +party, Greens and all, agreed to that. For the +rest of the feast there was a motto-paper, which +had ornamented several picnics before. It could +not be eaten, but it looked well sitting in the +middle of the table. At the close of the banquet +all the party sang a song. Lady Green's +voice was not very good, but Lota explained +to the children afterward that it isn't polite +to laugh at company even when they do make +funny squeaks with their high notes. Pocahontas +had to sit in the corner awhile for having +done so. She was sorry, and promised never +to offend again; as a reward for which, her +Mamma gave her a small blank book made of +writing-paper and a pin, which she told her was +for her very own.</p> + +<p>"You are such a big girl now," said Mamma<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</a></span> +Lota, "that it is time you began to keep a +Diary like I do. I shall read it over every day, +and see how you spell."</p> + +<p>Here is Pocahontas Maria's journal as it stood +on Tuesday afternoon, after the children had +done their lessons and had their dinners:—</p> + +<p>"Tuseday. I am going to keep a Diry like +Mamma's. Studded as usel. Mamma said I +was cairless, and didn't get my jography lesson +propperly. Stella had hers better than me. I +hurt my ellbow against the table. It won't +bend any more. Mamma is going to get Doctor +Jacob to put in a woulden pin. I hope it won't +hurt."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Pocahontas! Pocahontas!" cried the +scandalized Lady Bird as she read this effusion. +"After all the pains I have taken, to think you +should spell so horridly as this." Then she sat +down and corrected all the words. "I don't wonder +your cheeks are so red," she said severely. +Pocahontas sat up straight and blushed, but +made no excuses. It is not strange that Lota,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</a></span> +who really spelt very nicely for a little girl of +her age, should have been shocked.</p> + +<p>On Tuesday night it rained again, and the +sun got up in a cloud next morning, and seemed +uncertain whether or not to shine. Grandmamma +was going to drive out to make a call, and Jennings +came early to the nursery to tell Nurse to +dress Lady Bird nicely, so that she might go too. +Accordingly Nursey put on Lota's freshest white +cambric and her best blue sash, and laid a pair +of white gloves and a little hat trimmed with +blue ribbons and forget-me-nots on the bed, so +that they might be ready when the carriage +came to the door. "Now, Miss Lady Bird, you +must sit still and keep yourself very nice," she +said. This was hard, for the children had all +been left in the garden-house the night before, +and Lota wanted very much to see them. She +stood at the window looking wistfully out. By +and by the sun flashed gloriously from the clouds, +and sent a bright ray right into her eyes. It +touched the rain-drops which hung over the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</a></span> +bushes, and instantly each became a tiny mimic +sun, sending out separate rays of its own. Lota +forgot all about Nursey's injunctions. "I'll just +run out one minute and fetch little Ning-Po in," +she thought. "That child's too delicate to be +left out in the damp. She catches cold so +easily; really it quite troubles me sometimes +the way she coughs."</p> + +<p>So down the garden walk she sped. The +shrubs, shaken by her swift passage, scattered +showers of bright drops upon the white frock +and the pretty sash. But Lota didn't mind or +notice. The air and sun, the clear, fresh feeling, +the birds' songs, filled her with a kind of +intoxication. Her head spun, her feet danced +as she ran along. Suddenly a cold feeling at +the toes of her bronze boots startled her. She +looked down. Behold, she was in a pool of +water, left by the rain in a hollow of the gravel-walk. +Was she frightened? Not at all. The +water felt delightfully fresh, her spirits flashed +out like the sun himself, and in the joy of her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[152]</a></span> +heart she began to waltz, scattering and splashing +the water about her. The crisp ruffles of +the cambric lost all their starch, the pretty boots +were quite spoiled, but Lota waltzed on, and in +this plight Nursey, flying indignantly out from +the kitchen door, found her naughty pet.</p> + +<p>"Well, Miss Charlotte, I <i>am</i> discouraged," she +said, as she pulled off the wet things. "Waltzing +in a mud-puddle! That's nice work for a +young lady! I am discouraged, Miss Charlotte."</p> + +<p>Nursey never said "Miss Charlotte" except +on the most solemn occasions, so Lota knew +that she was very vexed. She should have +been cast down by this, but somehow she was +not.</p> + +<p>"But <i>I'm</i> not discouraged," she replied. +"I'm not discouraged a bit! And the birds +aren't discouraged! They sang all the while +I was waltzing in the mud-puddle, Nursey; I +heard 'em!"</p> + +<p>Nursey gave it up. She loved Lady Bird +dearly, and could not hear to scold her or to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[153]</a></span> +have any one else do so. So she made haste to +change the unlucky frock and shoes, so that she +should be neat and trim whenever Grandmamma +sent for her. I suppose this forbearance touched +Lota's heart, for at the last moment she turned, +ran back, threw her arms round Nursey's neck, +and whispered, "I'm sorry, and I'll never waltz +in mud-puddles again." Nursey squeezed her +hard by way of answer. "Precious lamb!" she +said, and Lota ran downstairs quite happy.</p> + +<p>The lady whom Grandmamma drove out to +see, had a little granddaughter visiting her. +Isabel Bernard was her name. She came from +the city, and was so beautifully dressed and so +well-mannered, that Grandmamma took quite a +fancy to her, and invited her to spend a day +with Lota.</p> + +<p>"Charlotte will enjoy a young companion," +said Grandmamma. So the next day was fixed +upon.</p> + +<p>This was a very exciting event for the Bird +family, who rarely had any visitors except Lady<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[154]</a></span> +Green, who did not count, being such a near +neighbor. Pocahontas wrote in her journal, +"A grand lady is coming to see Mamma. Me +and all of us are going to have on our best +frocks. I hope she'll think us pretty;" and +though Lota told her that little girls ought not +to mind about being pretty if only they obey +their mammas and are good, the sentiment was +so natural that she really hadn't the heart to +scold the child much. The baby-house was +swept and garnished for the occasion, a fresh +batch of rose-cakes was made, and a general air +of festivity pervaded the premises.</p> + +<p>Lota hoped that Isabel would come early, +soon after breakfast, so as to have a longer day; +but it was quite twelve o'clock before she made +her appearance, all alone by herself in a huge +barouche, which made her seem scarcely larger +than a doll. She wore a fine frilled muslin +frock over blue silk, a white hat, and dainty +lemon-colored boots. When Lota, feeling shy +at the spectacle of this magnificence, proposed +going into the garden, she hung back.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Are you quite sure that it isn't damp?" she +said, "because—you see—this is my best +frock."</p> + +<p>"Oh, quite sure," pleaded Lota. "The grass +was cut only day before yesterday, and Jacob +rolled the gravel last night. Do come! The +children want to see you so much."</p> + +<p>"The children!" said Isabel, surprised. But +when she saw the doll-family sitting in a row +with their best clothes on, and their four pairs +of fixed blue eyes looking straight before them, +she laughed scornfully.</p> + +<p>"Do you play with dolls?" she asked. "I +gave them up long ago."</p> + +<p>Lady Bird's eyes grew large with distress. +"Oh, don't call them <i>that</i>," she cried. "I never +do. It hurts their feelings so. You can't think."</p> + +<p>Isabel laughed again. She wasn't at all a +nice girl to play with. The rose-cakes she pronounced +"nasty." When Lota explained about +Lady Green, she stared and said it was ridiculous, +and that there was no such person. She<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[156]</a></span> +turned up her nose at Pocahontas's journal, and +declared that Lota wrote it herself! "Did you +ever hear of such a thing?" asked Lady Bird +afterward of Lady Green. "As if my child +could not write!" It was just so all day. The +only thing Isabel seemed to enjoy was dining in +state with Grandmamma, and answering all her +questions with the air of a little grown-up +woman. Grandmamma said she was a very well-behaved +child, and she wished Charlotte would +take pattern by her. But Lota didn't agree +with Grandmamma. She hoped with all her heart +that Isabel would never come to visit her again.</p> + +<p>Pocahontas Maria wrote in her journal next +day:—</p> + +<p>"The lady who came to see Mamma wasn't +very nice, I think. She didn't even speak to +us children, and she made fun at my diry. We +didn't like her a bit. Stella says she's horrid, +and Ning-Po hopes Mamma won't ever ask her +any more." Lady Bird reproved Pocahontas +very gravely for these sentiments, and reminded<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[157]</a></span> +her again that "diry" is not the way to spell +diary; but she said to Lady Green, who dropped +in for a call, "Poor little thing, I don't wonder! +children always find out when people isn't nice; +and Isabel, she <i>was</i> very disagreeable, you know, +calling them 'dolls' and things like that! It's +not surprising that they didn't like her, I'm +sure."</p> + +<p>Saturday was an eventful day. There were +no lessons to do for one thing, because Nursey's +daughter had come to see her, and Grandmamma +said Lady Bird might be excused for once. +This gave her the whole morning to attend to +domestic matters, which was nice, or would have +been, only unluckily little Stella took this opportunity +to break out with measles. Of course +Lady Bird was much distressed. She put Stella +to bed at once, and sent the others to the farthest +side of the room lest they should catch the +disease also, "though," as she told Pocahontas, +"You'll be sure to have it. It always runs +straight through families; the doctor said so <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'wh '">when</ins><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[158]</a></span> +I had it; and whatever I shall do with all of you +on my hands at once, I can't imagine." There is +always a great deal to do in times of sickness, so +this was a very busy day. Lota had to make +broth for Stella, to concoct medicine out of +water and syringa-stems, to prepare dinner for +the other children, and hear all their lessons, for +of course education must not be neglected let +who will have measles! Pocahontas was unusually +troublesome. Imogene cried over the spelling +lesson; and altogether Lady Bird had her +hands full that morning.</p> + +<p>"I shall certainly send you all away to boarding-school +if you don't learn to behave better," +she cried in despair, at which awful threat the +children wept aloud and promised to be good. +Then came dinner,—real dinner, I mean,—which +Lady Bird could scarcely eat, so anxious +was she about her sick child in the garden. The +moment it was over back she flew, oblivious of +the charms of raisins and almonds. Stella was +asleep, but she evidently had fever, for her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[159]</a></span> +cheeks were bright pink, and her lips as red as +sealing-wax.</p> + +<p>"I must have a doctor for her," cried poor +Lady Bird.</p> + +<p>She tried to think what article would be +best to choose for the doctor, and fixed on an +old black muff of Nursey's which lived on the +shelf of the nursery closet. To get it, however, +it was needful to leave the children again.</p> + +<p>"You must all be good," she said, fussing +about and tidying the room, "very good and +very quiet, so as not to wake up Stella. Dear +me, what a queer smell there is here! Let me +think. What did Nursey do when I had measles? +She burned some sort of paper and made it smell +nice again. I must burn some paper too, else +Stella'll suffocate, won't you, dear?"</p> + +<p>No sooner thought than done. Jacob had +left his coat hanging near the tool-house while +he went to dinner, and he always carried matches +in his pipe-pocket. Lady Bird knew that. She +put her hand in and drew one out, feeling guilty,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[160]</a></span> +for one of Nursey's chief maxims was, "Never +touch matches, Lady Bird; remember what I +say, never!"</p> + +<p>"If Nursey knew about Stella's having the +measles she'd say different," she soliloquized.</p> + +<p>There was a good-sized bit of brown paper in +the garden-house. Lota rolled it up, laid it +near the bedside, lit the edge, and carefully blew +out the match. The paper did not flame, but +smouldered slowly, sending up a curl of smoke. +Lady Bird gazed at it with much satisfaction, +then, with a last kiss to Stella, she went away to +fetch the doctor, stopping at Lady Green's door +as she passed, to tell her that she had better not +let any of her children come over, because they +might catch the measles and be sick too.</p> + +<p>It took some time to rummage out the muff, +for Nursey had tucked it far back on the shelf +behind other things. There was nobody in the +nursery. Something unusual seemed to be +going on downstairs, for doors were opening +and shutting, and persons were talking and exclaiming.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[161]</a></span> +Lota paid no attention to this; her +head was full of her own affairs, and she had no +time to spend on other people's. Muff in hand, +she hastened down the garden walk. As she +drew near she smelt smoke, and smiled with +satisfaction. But the smell grew stronger, and +the air was blue and thick. She became alarmed, +and began to run. Another moment, and the +house was in sight. Smoke was pouring from +the door, from the window, and—what was that +red thing which darted out from the smoke like +a long tongue? Oh, Lady Bird! Lady Bird! fly, +hasten, your house is on fire, and there are the +children inside with none but you to aid them!</p> + +<p>Did ever mother hesitate when her little ones +were in danger? Lady Bird did not. With +a shriek of affright she plunged boldly into the +midst of the smoke. An awful sight met her eyes +through the open door. The wall-paper was on +fire, the cotton rug, the table-cover! Little red +flames were creeping up the valance of the crib +in which poor sick Stella lay! The other children<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[162]</a></span> +were sitting in a row opposite, very calm +and still, but blisters had begun to form on +Imogene's waxen cheeks, and a cinder, lodged +on Ning-Po's flaxen wig, was scorching and +singeing. What a spectacle to meet a mother's +eyes! Oh, Lady Bird, haste to the rescue!</p> + +<p>She did not falter. In the twinkling of an +eye she had dashed into the burning room, had +caught Stella from her bed, the others from their +chairs, and with all four hugged tight to her +heart was making for the door. Ah! a spark +fell on the white apron, on the holland frock! +Her rapid movement fanned it. It flickered, +blazed, the red flame rushed upward. What +would have happened I dare not think, if just +at that moment a gentleman, who was hastening +down the garden walk, had not caught sight of +the little figure, and, with a horrified exclamation, +seized, held it fast, wrapped round it a great +woollen shawl from his own shoulders, and in +one moment put out the deadly fire which was +snatching at the sweet young life. Who was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[163]</a></span> +this gentleman, do you think, thus arrived at +the very nick of time? Why, no other than +Lady Bird's own Papa, come home from China +a few weeks before any one expected him!</p> + +<p>I cannot pretend to describe all that followed +on that bewildering day, the dismay of Grandmamma +and Nursey, the wrath of Jennings +over the match, the joy of everybody at Lady +Bird's escape, or her own confusion of mind at +the fire and the excitement and the new Papa, +who was and was not the Papa of the letters. +At first she hugged the rescued dolls and said +nothing. But Papa gave her time to get used +to him, and she soon did so. He was very +kind and nice, and did not laugh at the children +and call them names as Isabel had done, but +felt Stella's pulse, recommended pomatum for +the scorch on Imogene's forehead, and even +produced a little out of his own dressing-case. +Best of all, he led Lady Bird upstairs, unlocked +a box and showed her a beautiful little Chinese +lady in purple silk and lovely striped muslin +trowsers, which he had brought for her.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[164]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Another child for you to take care of," said +Papa.</p> + +<p>Pocahontas Maria wrote in her Diary the +next day:—</p> + +<p>"My Grandpapa has come home from China. +He is <i>very</i> nice. He brought me a little Chinese +sister. Her name is Loo Choo, he says, +but Mamma calls her Loo Loo, because it sounds +prettier. Grandpapa treats us very kindly, and +never says 'dolls,' as Isabel Berners did; and he +went to call on Lady Green with Mamma. I'm +so glad he is come."</p> + +<p>When Lady Bird read this she kissed Pocahontas +and said,—</p> + +<p>"That's right, dear; so am I!"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[165]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 350px;"> +<img src="images/illus-172.png" width="350" height="384" alt="One, Two" title="" /> +</div> +<h2>ONE, TWO, BUCKLE MY SHOE.</h2> + + +<p>THE old clock on the stairs was drowsy. Its +ticks, now lower, now louder, sounded like the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[166]</a></span> +breathings of one asleep. Now and then came +a distincter tick, which might pass for a little +machine-made snore. As striking-time drew +near, it roused itself with a quiver and shake. +"One, two, three, four, five," it rang in noisy +tones, as who should say, "Behold, I am wide +awake, and have never closed an eye all night." +The sounds sped far. Marianne the cook heard +them, rubbed her eyes, and put one foot out of +bed. The nurse, Louisa, turned over and began +to dream that she was at a wedding. Perhaps +the sun heard too, for he stood up on tip-toe on +the edge of the horizon, looked about him, then +launched a long yellow ray directly at the crack +in the nursery shutter. The ray was sharp: it +smote full on Archie's eyelids, as he lay asleep, +surrounded by "Robinson Crusoe," two red apples, +a piece of gingerbread, and a spade, all of +which he had taken to bed with him. When he +felt the prick of the sun-ray he opened his eyes +wide. "Why, morning's come!" he said, and +without more ado raised himself and sat up.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[167]</a></span></p> + +<p>"What'll I do to-day?" he thought. "I +know. I'll go into the wood and build a house, +a nice little house, just like Wobinson Cwusoe's, +all made of sticks, Nobody'll know where my +house is; I'll not tell, not even Mamma, where +it is. Then when I don't want to study or any +thing, I can run away and hide, and they won't +know where to find me. That'll be nice! I +guess I'll go and begin it now, 'cause the days +are getting short. Papa said so once. I wonder +what makes 'em get short? Pr'aps sometime +they'll be so short that there won't be any days +at all, only nights. That wouldn't be pleasant, +I think. Mamma'd have to buy lots of candles +then, or else we couldn't see."</p> + +<p>With this he jumped out of bed.</p> + +<p>"I must be very quiet," he thought, "else +Loo—isa'll hear, and then she won't let me go +till I've had my bekfast. Loo—isa's real cross +sometimes; only sometimes she's kind when +she makes my kite fly."</p> + +<p>His clothes were folded on a chair by the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[168]</a></span> +bedside. Archie had never dressed himself +before, but he managed pretty well, except that +he turned the small ruffled shirt wrong-side out. +The other things went on successfully. There +were certain buttons which he could not reach, +but that did not matter. The small stocking +toes were folded neatly in, all ready to slip on to +the feet. But the shoes <i>were</i> a difficulty; they +fastened with morocco bands and buckles, and +Archie couldn't manage them at all.</p> + +<p>"Oh, dear!" he said to himself, "I wish +Loo—isa would come and buckle my shoes for +me. No, I don't, though, 'cause p'raps she'd +say, 'Go back to bed, naughty boy; it isn't +time to get up.' I wouldn't like that. Sometimes +Loo—isa does say things to me."</p> + +<p>So he put on the shoes without buckling +them, and, not stopping to brush his hair or +wash his face, he clapped on his broad-brimmed +straw hat, took "Robinson Crusoe" and the +spade, dropped the red apples and the gingerbread +into his pocket, and stole softly downstairs.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[169]</a></span> +The little feet made no noise as they +passed over the thick carpets. Marianne, who +was lighting the kitchen fire and clattering the +tongs, heard nothing. He reached the front +door, and, stretching up, pulled hard at the bolt. +It was stiff, and would not move.</p> + +<p>"Oh, dear!" sighed Archie, "I wish somebody +<i>would</i> come and open this door for me."</p> + +<p>He looked at the bolt a minute. Then an +idea struck him, and, laying "Robinson Crusoe" +and the little spade down on the floor, he went +into the dining-room pantry, where was a +drawer with tools in it.</p> + +<p>"I'll get Papa's hammer," he thought to himself, +"and I'll pound that old bolt to pieces."</p> + +<p>While he was gone, Marianne, who had +lighted her fire, came from the kitchen with a +broom in her hand. She opened the door, +shook the mat, and began to sweep the steps. +A sharp tinkle, tinkle met her ear from the +back gate. It was the milkman ringing for +some one to come and take in the milk. Marianne<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[170]</a></span> +set her broom against the side of the door, +and hurried back to the kitchen. Her foot +struck against "Robinson Crusoe" as she went. +She picked it up and laid it on the table.</p> + +<p>"Why, the door's open!" exclaimed Archie, +who at that moment came from the dining-room, +hammer in hand.</p> + +<p>He did not trouble himself to speculate as +to how the door happened to be open, but, +picking up the spade, wandered forth into the +garden. The gate gave no trouble. He walked +fast, and long before Marianne came back to +her sweeping he had gained the woods, which +were near, and enclosed the house on two sides +in a shady half-circle. They were pretty woods, +full of flowers and squirrels and winding, puzzling +paths. Archie had never been allowed to +go into them alone before.</p> + +<p>The morning was delicious, so full of snap +and sunshine that it set him to dancing and +skipping as he went along. All the wood-flowers +were as wide awake as he. They<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[171]</a></span> +nodded at Archie, as if saying "Good-morning," +and sent out fresh smells into the air. Busy +birds flapped and flew, doing their marketing, +and fetching breakfast to hungry nestlings, +chirping and whistling to each other, as they +did so, that the sun was up and it was a fine +day. A pair of striped squirrels frisked and +laughed and called out something saucy as +Archie trotted by. None of these wild things +feared the child: he was too small and too +quick in his movements to be fearful. They +accepted him as one of themselves,—a featherless +bird, or a squirrel of larger growth; while +he, on his part, smiled vaguely at them and +hurried past, intent on his projects for a house +and careless of every thing else.</p> + +<p>The sun rose higher and higher. But the +thick branching trees kept off the heat, and the +wood remained shady and cool. The paths +twisted in and out, and looped into each other +like a tangled riband. No grown person could +have kept a straight course in their mazes.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[172]</a></span> +Archie did not even try, but turned to right +or to left just as it happened, taking always +the path which looked prettiest, or which led +into deepest shade. If he saw anywhere a +particularly red checkerberry, he went that +way; otherwise it was all one to him where he +went. So it came to pass that, by the end of +an hour, he was as delightfully and completely +lost as ever little boy has succeeded in being +since woods grew or the world was made.</p> + +<p>"I dess this is a nice place for my house," +he said suddenly, as the path he had been following +led into a small open space, across which +lay a fallen tree, with gray moss, which looked +like hair, hanging to its trunk. It <i>was</i> a nice +place; also, Archie's feet were tired, and he +was growing hungry, which aided in the decision. +The ground about the fallen tree was +carpeted with thick mosses. Some were bright +green, with stems and little branches like tiny, +tiny pine-trees. Others had horn-shaped cups +of yellow and fiery red. Others still were<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[173]</a></span> +bright beautiful brown, while here and there +stood round cushion-shaped masses which looked +as soft as down.</p> + +<p>Into the very middle of one of these pretty +green cushions plumped Archie. He rested +his back against a tree trunk, and gave a sigh +of comfort. It was like an easy chair, except +that it had no arms; but what does a little boy +want of arms to chairs? He put his hand into +his pocket and pulled out, first the red apples, +and then the gingerbread. The gingerbread +was rather mashed; but it tasted most delicious, +only there was too little of it.</p> + +<p>"I wish I'd brought a hundred more pieces," +soliloquized Archie, as he nibbled the last +crumb. "One isn't half enough bekfast."</p> + +<p>The red apples, however, proved a consolation; +and, quite rested and refreshed now, he +jumped from the moss cushion and prepared to +begin his house-building.</p> + +<p>"First, I must pick up some sticks," he +thought,—"a great many, many sticks, heaps<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[174]</a></span> +of 'em. Then I'll hammer and make a house. +Only—I haven't got any nails," he added with +an after-thought.</p> + +<p>There were plenty of sticks to be had in that +part of the wood; twigs and branches from the +dead tree, fragments of bark, odds and ends of +dry brush. Close by stood a white birch. The +thin, paper-like covering hung loose on its stem, +like grey-white curls. Archie could pull off +large pieces, and he enjoyed this so much that he +pulled till the birch trunk, as far up as he could +reach, was perfectly bare. Some of the boughs +were crooked. Archie tried to lay them straight +with the others, but they wouldn't fit in nicely, +and stuck their stiff angles out in all directions.</p> + +<p>"Those are naughty sticks," said Archie, +giving the crookedest a shove. "They shan't +go into my house at all."</p> + +<p>The want of nails became serious as the heap +of wood grew large and Archie was ready to +build. What was the use of a hammer without +nails? He tried various ways. At last he laid<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[175]</a></span> +the longest boughs in a row against the side of +the fallen tree. This left a little place beneath +their slope into which it was possible to creep. +Archie smiled with satisfaction, and proceeded +to thatch the sloping roof with moss and bits of +bark. Then he grubbed up the green cushion +and transferred it bodily to his house.</p> + +<p>"This'll be my chair," he said to himself. +"I dess I don't want any more furnture except +just a chair. Loo—isa, she said, 'so many +things to dust is a bodder.'"</p> + +<p>At that moment came a rustling sound in +the underbrush. "P'raps it's savages," thought +Archie, and, half pleased, half frightened at the +idea, he gave a loud whoop. Out flew a fat +motherly hen, cackling and screaming. What +she was doing there in the woods I cannot +imagine. Perhaps she had lost her way. Perhaps +she had private business there which only +hens can understand. Or it may be that she, +too, had built a little house and hidden it away +so that no one should know where it was.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[176]</a></span></p> + +<p>Archie was enchanted. "A hen, a hen," he +cried. "I'll catch her and keep her for my +own. Then I'll have eggs, and I'll give 'em to +Mamma, and I'll make custards. Custards <i>is</i> +made of eggs. Loo—isa said so."</p> + +<p>"Chicky, chicky, chicky," he warbled in a +winning voice, waving his fingers as if he were +sprinkling corn on the ground for the hen to +eat. But the hen was not to be enticed in that +manner, and, screaming louder than ever, ran +into the bushes again. Then Archie began to +run too. Twice he almost seized her brown +wings, but she slipped through his hands. Had +the hen been silent she would easily have +escaped him, but she cackled as she flew, and +that guided him along. His shoe came off, +next the hammer flew out of his hand, but he +did not stop for either. Running, plunging, +diving, on he went, the frightened hen just +before, till at last a root tripped him up and +he fell forward on his face. The hen vanished +into the thicket. Her voice died away<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[177]</a></span> +in distance. By the time Archie had picked +himself up there was not even the rustling of a +leaf to show which way she had gone.</p> + +<p>He rose from the ground disconsolate. His +nose bled from the fall, and there was a bump +on his forehead, which ached painfully. A +strong desire to cry came over him. But, like +a brave fellow, he would not give way to it, and +sat down under a tree to rest and decide what +was to be done next.</p> + +<p>"I'll go back again to my house," was his +decision. But where <i>was</i> the house? He ran +this way, that way; the paths all looked alike. +The house had vanished like the hen. Archie +had not the least idea which way he ought to +turn to find it.</p> + +<p>One big tear did force its way to his eyes +when this fact became evident. House and +hen, it was hard to lose both at once. The +hammer, too, was gone. Only the spade remained, +and, armed with this, Archie, like a +true hero, started to find a good place and build<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[178]</a></span> +another house. Surely nowhere, save in the +histories of the great Boston and Chicago fires, +is record to be found of parallel pluck and determination!</p> + +<p>House-building was not half so easy in this +part of the wood where he then was, for the +bushes were thick and stood closely together. +Their branches hung so low, that, small as +Archie was, he had to bend forward and walk +almost double to avoid having his eyes scratched +by them. At last, in the middle of a circle of +junipers, he found a tolerably free space which +he thought would do. The ground, however, +was set thick with sharp uncomfortable stones, +and the first thing needed was to get rid of +them.</p> + +<p>So for an hour, with fingers and spade, Archie +dug and delved among the stones. It was hard +work enough, but at last he cleared a place +somewhat larger than his small body, which he +carpeted with soft mosses brought from another +part of the wood. This done, he lay down flat<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[179]</a></span> +on his back, and looked dreamily up at the +pretty green roof made by the juniper boughs +overhead. "I dess I'll take a nappy now," he +murmured, and in five minutes was sleeping as +soundly as a dormouse. Two striped squirrels, +which may or may not have been the same +which he had seen in the early morning, came +out on a bough not a yard from his head, chattered, +winked, put their paws to their noses +and made disrespectful remarks to each other +about the motionless figure. Birds flew and +sang, bees hummed, the wind went to and fro +in the branches like the notes of a low song. +But Archie heard none of these things. The +hen herself might have come back, cackled her +best, and flapped her wings in his very face +without arousing him, so deep was his slumber.</p> + +<p>Meantime at home, two miles away, there +was great commotion over the disappearance +of Master Archie. Marianne had lingered quite +a long time at the back gate. The milkman +was a widower, looking out for a wife, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[180]</a></span> +Marianne, as she said, could skim cream with +anybody; so it was only natural that they +should have a great deal to say to each other, +and that measuring the milk at that particular +gate should be a slow business. This morning +their talk was so interesting that twenty minutes +at least went by before Marianne, with +very rosy cheeks and very bright eyes, came +back, pail in hand, along the garden walk. As +she took up the broom to finish her sweeping, +she heard a great commotion overhead, steps +running about, voices exclaiming; but her mind +was full of the milkman, and she paid no attention, +till Louisa came flying downstairs, half-dressed, +and crying,—</p> + +<p>"Sake's alive, Marianne, where's Master Archie?"</p> + +<p>"How should I know? Not down here, anyway," +was Marianne's reply.</p> + +<p>"But he <i>must</i> be down here," persisted +Louisa. "He's gone out of the nursery, and so +are his clothes. Whatever's taken him I can't<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[181]</a></span> +imagine. I've searched the closets, and looked +under the beds, and up in the attic, and I took +Mr. Gray his hot water, and he isn't there. +His spade's gone too, and his ap— Oh, mercy! +there's his story-book now," and she pounced on +"Robinson Crusoe," where it lay on the table. +"He's been down here certain sure, for that book +was on his bed when he went to sleep last night. +Don't stand there, Marianne, but come and help +me find him."</p> + +<p>Into the parlor, the dining-room, the pantry, +ran the maids, calling "Archie! Archie!" at +the tops of their voices. But Archie, who as we +know was a good mile away by that time, did +not hear them. They searched the kitchen, the +cellar, the wood-shed, the store-closet. Marianne +even lifted the lid of the great copper boiler and +peeped in to make sure that he was not there! +Louisa ran wildly about the garden, looking behind +currant bushes and raspberry vines, and +parting the tall feathers of the asparagus lest +Archie should have chosen to hide among them.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[182]</a></span> +She tapped the great green watermelons with +her fingers as she passed,—perhaps she fancied +that Archie might be stowed away inside of +one. All was in vain. Archie was not behind +the currant bushes, not even in the melon patch. +Louisa began to sob and cry, Marianne, never +backward, joined her with a true Irish howl; +and it was in this condition that Archie's Papa +found things when he came downstairs to breakfast.</p> + +<p>Then ensued a fresh confusion.</p> + +<p>"Where did you say the book was lying, +Louisa?" said Mr. Gray, trying to make out +the meaning of her sobbing explanation.</p> + +<p>"Just here, sir, on the hall table. Oh, the +darling child, whatever has come to him?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, wurra! wurra!" chimed in Marianne. +"He been and got took away by wicked people, +perhaps. Well niver get him back, niver!"</p> + +<p>"The hall table? Then he must have passed +out this way. Surely you must have seen him +or heard him open the door, Marianne?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[183]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Is it I see him, sir? I'd niver forget it if I +had. Oh, the pretty face of him! Wurra! +wurra!"</p> + +<p>"But, now I think of it, the child couldn't +have opened the door for himself," went on +Papa, growing impatient. "Did you leave it +standing open at all, Marianne?"</p> + +<p>"Only for a wee moment while I fetched in +the milk," faltered Marianne, growing rosy-red +as she reflected on the length of the "moment" +which she had passed at the gate with the milkman.</p> + +<p>"That must have been the time, then," said +Mr. Gray. "Probably the little fellow has set +off by himself for a walk. I'll go after and look +for him. Don't frighten Mrs. Gray when she +comes down, Louisa, but just say that Archie +and I are both gone out. Try to look as you +usually do."</p> + +<p>This, however, was beyond Louisa's powers. +Her eyes were as red as a ferret's, and her cheeks +the color of purple cherries from crying and excitement<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[184]</a></span> +of mind. Mrs. Gray saw at once that +something was wrong. She began to question, +Louisa to cry, and the secret came out in a burst +of sobs and tears. "Master Archie—bless his +little heart!—has got out of bed and ran away +into the woods. The master was gone after +him, but he'd niver find him at all at all"—(this +was Marianne's addition). "The tramps +had him fast by this time, no doubt. They'd +niver let him go."</p> + +<p>"How could he get away all by himself?" +asked poor frightened Mrs. Gray.</p> + +<p>"Ah, who knows? Like as not the thaves +came into the room and lifted him out of his +very bed. They're iverywhere, thim tramps! +There's no providing against thim. Oh, howly +St. Patrick! who'd have thought it?"</p> + +<p>This happy idea of tramps having lodged +itself in Marianne's mind, the story grew rapidly. +The butcher was informed of it when he came, +the fishmonger, and the grocer's boy. By noon +all the village had heard the tale, and farmers'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[185]</a></span> +wives for ten miles round were shuddering over +these horrible facts, that three men in black +masks, with knives as long as your arm, had +broken into Mr. Gray's house at midnight, gagged +the family, stowed the silver and money in +pillow-cases, token the little boy from his bed,—that +pretty little boy with curly hair, you know, +my dear,—and, paying no attention to his +screams and cries, had carried him off nobody +knew where. Poor Mrs. Gray was half dead +with grief, of course, and Mr. Gray had gone in +pursuit; but law! my dear, he'll never catch +'em, and if he did, what could he do against +three men?</p> + +<p>"He'd a ought to have taken the constable +with him," said old Mrs. Fidgit, "then perhaps +he'd have got him back. I guess the thieves +won't keep the boy long though, he's too troublesome! +His ma sent him over once on an +errand, and I'd as lieve have a wild-cat in the +house any day. Mark my word, they'll let him +drop pretty soon!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[186]</a></span></p> + +<p>As the day went on, Louisa began to disbelieve +this theory about robbers. It was Marianne's +theory for one thing; for another, she recollected +that Archie must have taken his apples and +gingerbread with him, and his spade. "Is it +likely that thieves would stop to pack up things +like that?" she asked Marianne, who was highly +indignant at the question. The afternoon came, +still Mr. Gray had not returned, and there were +no tidings of Archie. Mrs. Gray, half ill with +anxiety and headache, went to her room to lie +down. Marianne was describing the exact appearance +of the imaginary robbers to a crony, +who stood outside the kitchen window. "Six +foot high, ivery bit, and a face as black as chimney +sut," Louisa heard her say. "Pshaw," she +called out; but sitting still became unbearable; +and the motion of her needle in and out of the +work made her feel half crazy. She flung down +the work,—it was a jacket for Archie,—and, +tying on her bonnet, set off by herself in the +direction of the woods. Where she was going<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[187]</a></span> +she did not know,—somewhere, anywhere, to +search for her lost boy!</p> + +<p>The blind wood paths puzzled Louisa more +than they had puzzled Archie in the morning; +for she wanted to keep her way, which he did +not. She lost it, however, continually. Her +eyes were scratched by boughs and brambles, +the tree roots tripped her up, her dress caught +in a briar and was torn. "Archie! Archie!" +she cried, as she went along. Her voice came +back from the forest in strange echoing tones +which made her start. At last, after winding +and turning for a long time, she found herself +again upon the main path, not far from the +place where she had entered the wood. She +was hot, tired, and breathless; her voice was +hoarse with crying and calling. "I'll wait here +awhile," she thought. "Perhaps the blessed +little dear'll come this way; but, whether he +does or not, I'm too tired to move another step +till I've had some rest." She found a smooth +place under an oak, sat down, and leaned her +back against the stem.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[188]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Cheep, cheep, chickeree," sang one bird +to another. "What a stupid girl that is! I +could tell her which way to go. Why, there's +the mark of his big foot on the moss close by. +Why doesn't she see it and follow? Cheep, +cheep."</p> + +<p>"Cluck, cluck, whirr, whillahu," sang the +other bird. "Human beings are <i>too</i> stupid."</p> + +<p>Poor stupid Louisa, her eyes blurred with +tears, did not heed the birds' songs or understand +those plain directions for finding Archie +which they were so ready to give. The tree +trunk felt comfortable against her back. The +air came cool and spicy from the wood depths +to steal the smart from her hot face. The +rustle of the leaves was pleasant in her ear. +So the faithful maid waited.</p> + +<p>Mr. Gray meantime had tracked Archie for a +little way by the traces of his small feet on the +dewy grass. Then the marks became too confused +to help him longer; he lost the track, +and, after a long and weary walk, found himself<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[189]</a></span> +on the far side of the wood, near a little village. +There he hired a wagon, and drove home; resolving +to rouse the neighbors, and give the +wood a thorough search, even should it keep +them out all night.</p> + +<p>While he was bargaining for his wagon in the +distant village, Archie, in the midst of his nest +of moss, was waking up. He had slept three +hours, and so soundly that, at first arousing, he +could not in the least remember where he was. +He rubbed his eyes, and stared about him wonderingly. +"Why, I'm out in the woods!" he +said in a surprised voice. Gradually he recollected +how he had built the house, chased a +hen, and lost his hammer. This last accident +troubled him a little. "Papa said I mustn't +touch that big hammer ever," he thought to +himself, "'cause I'd be sure to spoil it. But I'll +tell him it isn't spoiled, and he can pick it up +and put it back into the drawer; then he won't +mind."</p> + +<p>One of the striped squirrels came down from<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[190]</a></span> +a bough overhead, and stopped just in front of +the place where Archie sat. Archie looked at +him; he looked at Archie. The squirrel put +its paws together and rubbed its nose. It +chippered a minute, twinkled its bead-like eyes, +then, with a final flick of its tail, it was off, +and up the tree again like a flash. Archie +looked after it delighted.</p> + +<p>"What a pretty bunny!" he said out loud.</p> + +<p>"Now I'll go home," was his next remark, +getting suddenly up from the ground.</p> + +<p>The cause of this resolution was a little gnawing +sensation which had begun within him and +was getting stronger every moment. In other +words, he was hungry. Gingerbread and apples +do not satisfy little boys as roast beef does. +Archie's stomach was quite empty, and began +to cry with an unmistakable voice, "I want my +dinner, I want my dinner. Give me my dinner +quick, or I shall do something desperate." +Everybody in the world has to listen when +voices like these begin to sound inside of them.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[191]</a></span> +All at once home seemed the most attractive +spot in the world to Archie. Visions of Mamma +and bread and milk and a great plate full of +something hot arose before his eyes, and an +immense longing for these delights took possession +of him. So he shouldered his spade and +set forth, not having the least notion—poor +little soul!—as to which side home lay, but +believing, with the confidence of childhood, that +now he wanted to go that way, the way was +sure to be easily found. Refreshed by his long +sleep, he marched sturdily on, taking any path +which struck his eye first.</p> + +<p>There is a pretty picture—I wonder if any +of you have ever seen it?—in which a little +child is seen walking across a narrow plank +which bridges a deep chasm, while behind flies +a tall, beautiful angel, with a hand on either +side the child, guiding it along. The child does +not see the angel, and walks fearlessly; but the +heavenly hands are there, and the little one is +safe. It may be that just such a good angel<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[192]</a></span> +flew behind our little Archie that afternoon to +guide him through the mazes of the wood. +Certain it is that, without knowing it, he turned, +or something turned him, in the direction of +home. It was far for such small feet to go, and +he made the distance farther by straying, now +to left and now to right; but, after each of +these strayings, the unseen hands brought him +back again to the right path and led him on. +He did not stop to play now, for the hungry +voices grew louder each minute, and he was in +a hurry to get home. Speculations as to whether +dinner would be all eaten up crossed his mind. +"But I dess not," he said confidently, "'cause +it isn't very long since morning." It was really +four in the afternoon, but Archie's long nap +had cheated the time, and he had no idea that +it was so late.</p> + +<p>The path grew wider, and was hedged with +barberries and wild roses. The lovely pink of +the roses pleased Archie's eye. He stopped +and tugged at a great branch till it broke, then<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[193]</a></span> +he laid it across his shoulder to carry to Mamma. +Suddenly, as he tramped along, a gasp and +exclamation was heard, and a tall figure rose up +from under a tree and caught him in its arms. +It was Louisa, who had fallen half asleep at her +post, and had been roused by the sound of the +well-known little feet as they went by.</p> + +<p>"Master Archie, dear," she cried, sobbing, +"how could you run away and scare us so?"</p> + +<p>"Why, it's Loo—isa," said Archie wonderingly. +"Did you come out here to build a +house too, Loo—isa?"</p> + +<p>"Where <i>have</i> you been?" clamored Louisa, +holding him tight in her arms.</p> + +<p>"Oh, out there," explained Archie, waving +his hand toward the woods generally.</p> + +<p>"How could you slip away and frighten +Nursey so, and poor Mamma and Papa? Papa's +been all the day hunting you. And where are +you going now?"</p> + +<p>"Home! Stop a squeezing of me, Loo—isa. +I don't like to be squeezed. Has the dinner-bell +runged yet? I want my dinner."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[194]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Dinner! Why it's most evening, Master +Archie. And nobody could eat, because we +was so frightened at your being lost."</p> + +<p>"I wasn't lost!" cried Archie indignantly. +"I was building a house. Come along, Loo—isa, +I'll show you the way."</p> + +<p>So Archie took Louisa's hand and led her +along. Neither of them knew the path, but +they were in the right direction, and by and +by the trees grew thinner, and they could see +where they were, on the edge of Mr. Plimpton's +garden, not far from home.</p> + +<p>Mr. and Mrs. Gray were consulting together +on the piazza, when the click of the gate made +them look up, and behold! the joyful Louisa, +displaying Archie, who walked by her side.</p> + +<p>"Here he is, ma'am," she cried. "I found +him way off in the wood. He'd run away."</p> + +<p>"I didn't," said Archie, squirming out of his +mother's arms. "I was building houses. And +you didn't find me a bit, Loo—isa. I found +you, and I showed you the way home!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[195]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Never mind who found who, so long as we +have our little runaway back," said Mr. Gray, +stooping to kiss Archie. "Another time we +must have a talk about boys who go to build +houses without leave from their Mamma's and +Papa's, and make everybody anxious. Meantime, +I fancy somebody I know about is half-starved. +Tell Marianne to send some dinner in +at once, Louisa."</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir, I will." And Louisa hastened off +to triumph over her friend Marianne.</p> + +<p>"Archie, darling, how could you go away and +frighten us so?" asked Mrs. Gray, taking him +in her lap.</p> + +<p>"Why, Mamma, were you frightened?" replied +Archie wonderingly. "I was building a +house. It's a <i>beau</i>-tiful house. I'll let you +come and sit in it if you want to. And I've +got a hen, and I'll give you all the eggs she +lays, to cook, you know. Only the hen's runned +away, and I couldn't find my house any more, +and the hammer tumbled down, and I lost my<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[196]</a></span> +shoe. I know where the hammer is, I dess, and +to-morrow I'll go back and get it."—Here the +expression of Archie's face changed. Louisa +had appeared at the door with a plate of something +which smelt excessively nice, and sent a +little curl of steam into the air. She beckoned. +He jumped down from Mamma's lap, ran to the +door, and both disappeared. Nothing more was +heard of him except his feet on the stairs, and +by and by the sound of Louisa's rocking-chair, +as she sat beside his bed singing Archie to sleep. +Mamma and Papa went in together a little later +and stood over their boy.</p> + +<p>"Oh, the comfort of seeing him safe in his +little bed to-night!" said Mrs. Gray.</p> + +<p>Roused by her voice, Archie stirred. "I <i>dess</i> +I know where the hammer is," he said drowsily. +Then his half-opened eyes closed, and he was +sound asleep.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[197]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 350px;"> +<img src="images/illus-204.png" width="350" height="393" alt="Ride a Cock-horse" title="" /> +</div> +<h2>RIDE A COCK-HORSE.</h2> + + +<p>IT was a drizzly day in the old market-town of +Banbury. The clouds hung low: all the world<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[198]</a></span> +was wrapped in sulky mist. When the sun +tried to shine out, as once or twice he did, his +face looked like a dull yellow spot against the +sky, and the clouds hurried up at once and extinguished +him. Children tapped on window +panes, repeating—</p> + +<div class='poem'> +"Rain, rain, go away,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Come again some other day."</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='unindent'>But the rain would not take the hint, and after +awhile the sun gave up his attempts, hid his +head, and went away disgusted, to shine somewhere +else.</div> + +<p>"It's too bad, it's <i>too</i> bad!" cried Alice Flower, +the Mayor's little daughter, looking as much out +of sorts as the weather itself.</p> + +<p>"You mustn't say too bad. It is God who +makes it rain or shine, and He is always right," +remarked her Aunt.</p> + +<p>"Yes—I know," replied Alice in a timid +voice. "But, Aunty, I did want to go to the +picnic very much."</p> + +<p>"So did I. We are both disappointed," said +Aunty, smiling.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[199]</a></span></p> + +<p>"But I'm the <i>most</i> disappointed," persisted +Alice, "because you're grown up, you know, and +I haven't any thing pleasant to do. All my +doll's spring clothes are made, and I've read my +story-books till I'm tired of 'em, and I learned +my lessons for to-morrow with Miss Boyd yesterday, +because we were going to the picnic. Oh, +dear, what a long morning this has been! It +feels like a week."</p> + +<p>Just then, Toot! toot! toot! sounded from +the street below. Alice hurried back to the +window. She pressed her nose close to the +glass, but at first could see nothing; then, as +the sound grew nearer, a man on horseback +rode into view. He was gorgeously dressed in +black velveteen, with orange sleeves and an +orange lining to his cloak. He carried a brass +trumpet, which every now and then he lifted to +his lips, blowing a long blast. This was the +sound which Alice had heard.</p> + +<p>Following the man came a magnificent scarlet +chariot, drawn by ten black horses with scarlet<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[200]</a></span> +trappings and scarlet feathers in their heads. +Each horse was ridden by a little page in a +costume of emerald green. The chariot was +full of musicians in red uniforms. They held +umbrellas over their instruments, and looked +sulky because of the rain, which was no wonder. +Still, the effect of the whole was gay and dazzling. +Behind the chariot came a long procession of +horses, black, gray, sorrel, chestnut, or marked +in odd patches of brown and white. These +horses were ridden by ladies in wonderful blue +and silver and pink and gold habits, and by +knights in armor, all of whom carried umbrellas +also. Pages walked beside the horses, waving +banners and shields with "Visit Currie's World-Renowned +Circus" painted on them. A droll +little clown, mounted on an enormous bay horse, +made fun of the pages, imitated their gestures, +and rapped them on the back with his riding-stick +in a droll way. A long line of blue and +red wagons closed the cavalcade.</p> + +<p>But prettiest of all was a little girl about ten<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[201]</a></span> +years old, who rode in the middle of the procession +upon a lovely horse as white as milk. The +horse had not a single spot of dark color about +him, and his trappings of pale blue were so +slight that they seemed like ribbons hung on +his graceful limbs. The little girl had hair of +bright, pale yellow, which fell to her waist in +loose shining waves. She was small and slender, +but her color was like roses, and her blue eyes +and sweet pink mouth smiled every moment as +she bent and swayed to the motion of the horse, +which she managed beautifully, though her bits +of hands seemed almost too small to grasp the +reins. Her riding-dress of blue was belted and +buttoned with silver; a tiny blue cap with long +blue plumes was on her head; and altogether +she seemed to Alice like a fairy princess, or one +of those girls in story-books who turn out to be +kings' daughters or something else remarkable.</p> + +<p>"O Aunty! come here do come," cried Alice.</p> + +<p>Just then the procession halted directly beneath +the window. The trumpeter took off his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[202]</a></span> +hat and made a low bow to Alice and her Aunt. +Then he blew a final blast, rose in his stirrups +and began to speak. Miss Flower opened the +window that they might hear more distinctly. +This seemed to bring the pretty little girl on +the horse nearer. She looked up at Alice and +smiled, and Alice smiled back at her.</p> + +<p>This is what the trumpeter said:—</p> + +<p>"Ladies and gentlemen,—I have the honor +to announce to you the arrival in Banbury of +Signor James Currie's World-Renowned Circus +and Grand Unrivalled Troupe of Equestrian +Performers, whose feats of equitation and horsemanship +have given unfeigned delight to all +the courts of Europe, her Majesty the Queen, +and the nobility and gentry of this and other +countries. Among the principal attractions of +this unrivalled troupe are Mr. Vernon Twomley, +with his famous trained steed Bucephalus; +Madame Orley, with her horse Chimborazo, who +lacks only the gift of speech to take a first class +at the University of Oxford; M. Aristide, the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[203]</a></span> +admired trapezeist; Goo-Goo, the unparalleled +and side-splitting clown; and last, but not least, +Mademoiselle Mignon, the child equestrienne, +whose feats of agility are the wonder of the +age! On account of Mr. Currie's unprecedented +press of engagements, his appearance +in Banbury is limited to a single performance, +which will take place this evening under the +Company's magnificent tent, in the Market Place, +behind the old cross. Come one, come all! +Performances to begin at eight precisely. Admission, +one-and-sixpence. Children under ten +years of age, half price. God save the Queen."</p> + +<p>Having finished this oration, the trumpeter +bowed once more to the window, blew another +blast, and rode on, followed by all the procession; +the little girl on the white horse giving +Alice a second smile as she moved away. For +awhile the toot, toot, toot of the trumpet could +be heard from down the street. Then the +sounds grew fainter. At last they died in distance, +and all was quiet as it had been before.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[204]</a></span></p> + +<p>Alice was sorry to have them go. But the +interruption had done her good by taking her +thoughts away from the rain and the lost picnic. +She could think and talk of nothing now except +the gay riders, and especially the pretty little +girl on the white horse.</p> + +<p>"Wasn't she sweet?" she asked her Aunt. +"And didn't she ride <i>beau</i>tifully. I wish I +could ride like that. And what a pretty name, +Mademoiselle Mignon! It must be very nice to +belong to a circus, I think."</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid that Mademoiselle Mignon does +not always find it so nice," remarked Miss +Flower.</p> + +<p>"O Aunty, what makes you say so? She +looks as if she were perfectly happy! Didn't +you see her laugh when the clown stole the +other man's cap from his head? And such a +dear horse as she was riding! I never saw such +a dear horse in all my life. I wish I had one +just like him."</p> + +<p>"It <i>was</i> a beauty. So perfectly white."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[205]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Wasn't it! O Aunty, don't you wish +Papa would take you and me to the performance? +There will only be one, you know, +because Mr. Currie has such un—un—unpresidential +engagements. I mean to ask Papa +if he won't. There he is now! I hear his key +in the door. May I run down and ask him, +Aunty?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, indeed—"</p> + +<p>Downstairs ran Alice.</p> + +<p>"O Papa!" she cried, "<i>did</i> you meet the +Circus? It was the most wonderful Circus, Papa. +Just like a story-book. And such a dear little +girl on a white horse! Won't you please take +me to see it, Papa—and Aunty too? We both +want to go very much. It's only here for one +night, the man said."</p> + +<p>"We'll see," said the Mayor, taking off his +coat. Alice danced with pleasure when she +heard this "we'll see," for with Papa "we'll +see" meant almost always the same thing as +"yes." Alice was an only child, and a petted<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[206]</a></span> +one, and Papa rarely refused any request on +which his motherless little girl had set her heart.</p> + +<p>She skipped upstairs beside him, full of satisfaction, +and had just settled herself on his knee +for the half hour of frolic and talk which was +her daily delight and his, when a knock came +to the door below, and Phebe the maid appeared.</p> + +<p>"Two persons to see you, sir."</p> + +<p>"Show them in here," said the Mayor. Alice +lingered and was rewarded, for the "persons" +were no other than Signor Currie himself and +his ring-master. Alice recognized them at once. +Both were gorgeously dressed in black and +orange and velvet-slashed sleeves, and came in +holding their plumed hats in their hands. The +object of the call was to solicit the honor of the +Mayor's patronage for the evening's entertainment. +How pleased Alice was when Papa engaged +a box and paid for it!</p> + +<p>"I shall bring my little daughter here," he +told Signor Currie. "She is much taken by a +child whom she saw to-day among your performers."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[207]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Mademoiselle Mignon, no doubt," replied +the Signor solemnly. "She is, indeed, a prodigy +of talent,—one of the wonders of the age, +I assure your worship!"</p> + +<p>"Well," said his worship, smiling, "we shall +see to-night. Good-day to you."</p> + +<p>"O Papa, that is delightful!" cried Alice, the +moment the men were gone. "How I wish it +were evening already! I can scarcely wait."</p> + +<p>Evenings come at last, even when waited +for. Alice had not time, after all, to get +<i>very</i> impatient before the carriage was at the +door, and she and Papa and Aunty were in it, +rolling away toward the market-place. Crowds +of people were going in the same direction. +Half the Papas and Mammas in Banbury had +taken their boys and girls to see the show. +There, behind the market cross, rose the great +tent, a flapping red flag on top. Bright lights +streamed from within. How exciting it was! +The tent was so big inside that there was plenty +of room for all the people who wished to come,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[208]</a></span> +and more. Ranges of benches ran up till they +met the canvas roof. Below were the boxes, +hung with red and white cloth and banners. +Dazzling lights were everywhere, the band was +playing, from behind the green curtain came +sounds of voices and horses whinnying to each +other. Alice had never been to a circus before. +It seemed to her the most beautiful and bewildering +place which she had ever imagined.</p> + +<p>By and by the performance began. How +the Banbury children did enjoy it! The clown's +little jokes had done duty in hundreds of places +before. Some of them had even appeared in +the almanac! But in Banbury they were all +new, and so funny that everybody laughed till +their sides ached. And the wonderful horses! +Madame Orley's educated steed, which picked +out letters from a card alphabet and spelled +words with them, went through the military +drill with the precision of a trooper, and waltzed +about the arena with his mistress on his back!—well, +he was not a horse; he was a wizard<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[209]</a></span> +steed, like the one described in the "Arabian +Nights Tales." Alice almost thought she detected +the little peg behind his ear!</p> + +<p>She shuddered over the feats of the sky-blue +trapezeist, who seemed to do every thing but +fly. The knights in imitation armor were real +knights to Alice; the pink and gold ladies were +veritable damsels of romance, undergoing adventures. +But, delightful as all this was, she +was conscious that the best remained behind, +and eagerly watched the door of entrance, in +hopes of the appearance of the white steed and +the little rider who had so fascinated her imagination +in the morning. Papa noticed it, and +laughed at her; but, for all that, she watched.</p> + +<p>At last they came, and Alice was satisfied. +Mignon looked prettier and daintier than ever +in her light fantastic robe of white and spangles, +with silver bracelets on her wrists and little +anklets hung with bells about her slender ankles. +Round and round and round galloped +the white horse, the fairy figure on his back<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[210]</a></span> +now standing, now lying, now on her knees, +now poised on one small foot, or, again, dancing +to the music on top of the broad saddle, keeping +exact time, every movement graceful and light +as that of a happy elf. Hoops, wreathed with +roses and covered with silver paper, were raised +across her path. She bounded through them +easily, smiling as she sprang. The white horse +seemed to love her, and to obey her every +gesture; and Mignon evidently loved the horse, +for more than once in the pauses Alice saw +her pat and caress the pretty creature. At +length the final bound was taken, the last +rose-wreathed hoop was carried away, Mignon +kissed her hand to the audience and disappeared +at full gallop, the curtain fell, and the ring-master +announced that Part First was ended, +and that there would be an intermission of +fifteen minutes.</p> + +<p>By this time Alice was in a state of tumultuous +admiration which knew no bounds.</p> + +<p>"Oh, if I could only speak to her and kiss<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[211]</a></span> +her, just once!" she cried. "Isn't she the darlingest +little thing you ever saw? I wish I +could. Don't you think they'd let me, Papa?"</p> + +<p>"Would there be any harm in it, do you +think?" asked the Mayor of his sister. "She's +a pretty, innocent-looking little creature."</p> + +<p>"I don't quite like having Alice associate +with such people," objected Miss Flower. Then, +softened by the wistful eagerness of Alice's +face, she added, "Still, in this case, the child is +so young that I really think there would be no +harm, except that the manager might object +to having the little girl disturbed between the +acts."</p> + +<p>"I'll inquire," said Papa.</p> + +<p>The manager was most obliging. Managers +generally are, I fancy, when Mayors +express wishes. "Mademoiselle Mignon," he +said, "would be very pleased and proud to +receive Miss Flower, if she would take the +trouble to come behind the scenes." So Alice, +trembling with excitement, went with Papa<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[212]</a></span> +behind the big green curtain. She had fancied +it a sort of fairy world; but instead she found +a great bare, disorderly place. Sawdust was +scattered on the ground; huge boxes were +standing about, some empty, some half unpacked. +From farther away came sounds of +loud voices talking and disputing, and the stamping +of horses' feet. It was neither a pretty or +a pleasant place; and Alice, feeling shy and half +frightened, held Papa's hand tight, and squeezed +it very hard as they waited.</p> + +<p>Pretty soon the manager came to them with +Mignon beside him. She looked smaller and +more childish than she had done on horseback. +A little plaid shawl was pinned over her gauzy +dress to keep her warm. Alice lost her fears +at once. She realized that here was no fairy +princess, but a little girl like herself. Mignon's +face was no less sweet when seen so near. Her +cheeks were the loveliest pink imaginable. +Her blue eyes looked up frankly and trustfully. +When the Mayor spoke to her she blushed and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[213]</a></span> +made a pretty courtesy, clasping Alice's hand +very tight in hers, but saying nothing.</p> + +<p>"The performances will recommence in ten +minutes," said Signor Currie, consulting his +watch. Then he and the Mayor moved a little +aside and began talking together, leaving the +little girls to make acquaintance.</p> + +<p>"I saw you this morning," said Alice.</p> + +<p>Mignon nodded and smiled.</p> + +<p>"Oh, did you see me? I thought you did, +but I wasn't sure, because we were up so high. +Aunty and I thought the procession was beautiful. +But I liked your horse best of all. Is he +gentle?"</p> + +<p>"Pluto? oh, he's very gentle," replied Mignon. +"Only now and then he gets a little wild +when the people hurrah and clap very loud. +But he always knows me."</p> + +<p>"How beautifully you do ride," went on +Alice. "It looks just like flying when you +jump through the hoops. I wish I knew how. +Is it very hard to do?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[214]</a></span></p> + +<p>"No—except when I get tired. Then I +don't do it well. But as long as the music +plays I don't feel tired. Sometimes before I +come out I am frightened, and think I can't do +it at all, but then I hear the band begin, and I +know I can. Oh! don't you love music?"</p> + +<p>"Y—es," said Alice wonderingly, for Mignon's +eyes sparkled and her face flushed as she +asked this question. "I like music when it's +pretty."</p> + +<p>"I love it so <i>so</i> much," went on Mignon confidentially. +"It's like flowers—and colors—all +sorts of things—sunsets too. Our band +plays beautifully, don't you think so? It makes +me feel as if I could do any thing in the world, +fly or dance on the air,—any thing! It's quite +different when they stop. Then I don't want +to jump or spring, but just to sit still. If they +would keep on playing always, I don't believe I +should ever get tired."</p> + +<p>"How funny!" said the practical Alice. "I +never feel that way at all. Aunty says I haven't<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[215]</a></span> +got a bit of ear for music. Did you see Aunty +at the window this morning when you looked +up?"</p> + +<p>"Was that your Aunty? I thought it was +your Mamma."</p> + +<p>"No; I haven't got any Mamma. She died +when I was a little baby. I don't remember +her a bit."</p> + +<p>"Neither do I mine," said Mignon wistfully. +"Mr. Currie says he guesses I never had any. +Do you think I could? Little girls always have +Mammas, don't they?"</p> + +<p>"But haven't you an Aunty or any thing?" +cried Alice.</p> + +<p>Mignon shook her head.</p> + +<p>"No," she said. "No Aunty."</p> + +<p>"Why! Who takes care of you?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, they all take care of me," replied Mignon +smiling. "Madame Orley,—that's Mrs. +Currie, you know,—she's very kind. She curls +my hair and fastens my frock in the morning, +and she always dresses me for the performance<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[216]</a></span> +herself. Mr. Currie,—he's kind too. He gave +me these anklets and my silver bracelets and +two rings—see—one with a blue stone and +one with a red stone. Aren't they pretty? Goo-Goo +is nice too. He taught me to write last +year. And old Jerry,—that's the head groom, +you know,—he's the kindest of all. He says +I'm like his little granddaughter that died, and +wherever we go he almost always buys me a +present. Look what he gave me this morning," +putting her hand into the bosom of her frock +and pulling out an ivory needle-case. "I keep +it here for fear it'll get lost. There's always +such a confusion when we only stop one night +in a place."</p> + +<p>"Isn't it pretty," said Alice admiringly. "I'm +glad Jerry gave it to you. But I wish you had +an Aunty, because mine is so nice."</p> + +<p>"Or a Mamma," said Mignon thoughtfully. +"If I only had a Mamma of my own, and music +which would play <i>all the time</i> and never stop, +I should be just happy. I wouldn't mind the +Enchanted Steed then,—or any thing."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[217]</a></span></p> + +<p>"What's the Enchanted Steed?" asked Alice.</p> + +<p>"Oh,—one of the things I do. It's harder +than the rest, so I don't like it quite so well. +You'll see—it's the grand <i>finale</i> to-night."</p> + +<p>A sharp little bell tinkled.</p> + +<p>"That's to ring up the curtain," said Mignon. +"I must go. Thank you so much for coming to +see me."</p> + +<p>"Oh, wait one minute!" cried Alice, diving +into her pocket. "Yes, I thought so. Here's +my silver thimble. Won't you take it for a +keepsake, dear, to go with your needle-book, +you know? And don't forget me, because I +never, never shall forget you. My name's +Alice,—Alice Flower."</p> + +<p>"How pretty!" cried Mignon, looking admiringly +at the thimble. "How kind you are! +Good-by."</p> + +<p>"Kiss your hand to me from the back of the +horse, won't you, please?" said Alice. "That +will be splendid! Good-by, dear, good-by."</p> + +<p>The two children kissed each other; then<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[218]</a></span> +Mignon ran away, tucking the thimble into her +bosom as she went.</p> + +<p>"O Aunty! you never saw such a darling +little thing as she is!" cried Alice, when they +had got back to the box. "So sweet, and so +pretty, prettier than any of the little girls we +know, Aunty. I'm sure you'd think so if you +saw her near. She hasn't any Mamma either, +and no Aunty or any thing. She wishes so +much she had. But she says all the circus +people are real kind to her. You can't think +how much she loves music. If the band would +play all the time, she could fly, she says, or do +any thing else that was hard. It was so queer +to hear her talk about it. I never saw any little +girl that I liked so much. I wish she was my +sister, my own true sister; really I do, Aunty."</p> + +<p>"Why, Alice, I never knew you so excited +about anybody before," remarked Miss Flower.</p> + +<p>"O Aunty! she isn't <i>anybody</i>; she's quite +different from common people. How I wish +she'd hurry and come out again. She promised<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[219]</a></span> +to kiss her hand to me from the horse's back, +Papa. Won't that be splendid?"</p> + +<p>The whole performance was more interesting +to Alice since her conversation with Mignon. +Madame Orley and her trained steed were quite +new and different now that she knew that +Madame Orley's real name was Currie, and that +she curled Mignon's hair every morning. Goo-Goo +seemed like an intimate friend, because of +the writing-lessons. Alice was even sure that +she could make out old Jerry of the needle-book +among the attendants. Round and round and +round sped the horses. Goo-Goo cracked his +whip. The trapezeist swung high in air like +a glittering blue spider suspended by silver +threads. Mr. Vernon Twomley's Bucephalus +did every thing but talk. Somebody else on +another horse played the violin and stood on his +head meanwhile, all at full gallop! It was delightful. +But the best of all was when Mignon +came out again. Her cheeks were rosier, her +eyes brighter than ever, and—yes—she recollected<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[220]</a></span> +her promise, for during the very first +round she turned to Alice, poised on one foot +like a true fairy, smiled charmingly, and kissed +her hand twice. How delightful that was! Not +Alice only, but all the children present were +bewitched by Mignon that evening. Twenty +little girls at least said to their mothers, "Oh, +how I would like to ride like that!" and many +who did not speak wished privately that they +could change places and <i>be</i> Mignon. Alice did +not wish this any longer. The noise and confusion +behind the scenes, the stamping horses +and swearing men, had given her a new idea of +the life which poor Mignon had to lead among +these sights and sounds, the only child among +many grown people, dependant upon the chance +kindness of clowns and head grooms for her +few pleasures, her little education. She no +longer desired to change places. What she +now wanted was to carry Mignon away for +a companion and friend, sharing lessons with +her and Aunty and all the other good things<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[221]</a></span> +which she had forgotten, when in the morning +she wished herself a part of the gay circus +troupe.</p> + +<p>And now the performances were almost over. +One last feat remained, the <i>Finale</i>, of which +Mignon had spoken. It stood on the bills +thus:—</p> + +<div class="center">"GRAND FINALE!!<br /> + +IN CONCLUSION<br /> + +WILL BE GIVEN THE STUPEFYING FEAT<br /> + +OF<br /> + +THE ENCHANTED STEED,<br /> + +AND<br /> + +THE FLIGHT THROUGH THE AIR!<br /> + +<i>Performers:</i><br /> + +MADEMOISELLE MIGNON; HER HORSE PLUTO; M. ARISTIDE; +AND M. JOACHIN."<br /></div> + +<p>Alice watched with much interest the arrangements +making for this feat. Fresh sawdust was +sprinkled over the arena, the ropes of the trapezes +were lowered and tested: evidently the +feat was a difficult one, and needed careful +preparation. M. Aristide and M. Joachin took +their places on the suspended bars, the ring-master<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[222]</a></span> +cleared the circle, and Mignon rode in at +a gallop. Three times she went round the arena +at full speed, then she was snatched from the +horse's back by the long arm of M. Aristide extended +from the trapeze above. Pluto galloped +steadily on. One second only M. Aristide held +Mignon poised in air, then he flung her lightly +across the space to M. Joachin, who as lightly +caught her, waited a second, and, as Pluto passed +beneath, dropped her upon his back. It looked +fearfully dangerous; all depended upon the +exact time at which each movement was executed. +The whole audience caught its breath, +but Mignon did not seem to be frightened. Her +little face was quite unruffled as the strong men +tossed her to and fro, her limbs and dress fell +into graceful lines as she went through the air; +it was really like a bird's flight. Alice's hands +were squeezed tightly together, she could hardly +breathe. Ah!—Pluto was an instant too late, +or M. Joachin a second too soon,—which was +it? Mignon missed the saddle,—grazed it with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[223]</a></span> +her foot, fell,—striking one of the wooden supports +of the tent with her head as she touched +the ground. There was a universal thrill and +shudder. Mr. Currie hurried up, Pluto faltered +in his pace, whinnied and ran back to where his +little mistress lay. But in one moment Mignon +was on her feet again, making her graceful +courtesy and kissing her hand, though she +looked very pale. The curtain fell rapidly. +Alice, looking anxiously that way, had a vague +idea that she saw Mignon drop down again, but +Aunty said, "How fortunate that that sweet +little thing was not hurt;" and Alice, being +used to finding Aunty always in the right, felt +her heart lightened. They went out, following +the audience, who were all praising Mignon, and +saying that it might have been a terrible accident; +and, for their part, it didn't seem right to +let children run such risks, and they were thankful +that the little dear was not injured. Many a +child envied Mignon that night; many dreamed +of silver spangles, galloping steeds, roses, applause,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[224]</a></span> +and waked up thinking how charming it +must be to live on a horse's back with music +always playing, and exciting things going on, +and people praising you!</p> + +<p>Oh, dear! I wish I could stop here. Why +should there be painful things in the world +which must be written about? That pretty +courtesy, that spring from the earth were poor +Mignon's last. She had risen and bowed with +the instinct which all players feel to act out +their parts to the end, but as the curtain fell +down she dropped again, this time heavily. +Mr. Currie, much frightened, lifted and carried +her to his wife's tent. The band, who were +playing out the audience, stopped with a dismayed +suddenness. Goo-Goo untied his mask +and hurried in. Madame Orley, who was feeding +Chimborazo with sugar, dropped the sugar +on the floor and ran too. Jerry flew for a +doctor. Mignon was laid on a bed. They +fanned her, rubbed her feet, put brandy into +her pale lips. But it was all of no use. The<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[225]</a></span> +little hands were cold, the blue-veined eyelids +would not unclose. Madame Orley and the +other women riders who were clustered beside +the bed began to sob bitterly. They all loved +Mignon; she was the pet and baby of the whole +circus troupe.</p> + +<p>It was not long before the doctor came. He +felt Mignon's pulse, and tried various things, +but his face was very grave.</p> + +<p>"She's a frail little creature," he said. "No +stamina to carry her through."</p> + +<p>"She's opening her eyes," cried Madame +Orley. "She's coming to herself."</p> + +<p>Slowly the blue eyes opened. At first she +seemed not to see the anxious countenances +bent over her. Then a look of recognition crept +into her face, and a wan little smile parted the +lips. She lifted one hand and began to fumble +feebly in the bosom of her frock.</p> + +<p>"What is it, Mignon, dear?" said one of the +women. It was Alice's silver thimble that Mignon +was seeking after. When it was given her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[226]</a></span> +she seemed content, and lay clasping it in her +hand.</p> + +<p>Just then a strange noise came from outside. +Pluto, suspecting that something had gone +wrong, had slipped his halter. A groom tried +to catch him. He snorted back and cantered +away. At the door of Madame Orley's tent he +paused, put in his head and gave a long whinny.</p> + +<p>Mignon started. The bells on her ankles +tinkled a little as she moved.</p> + +<p>"Now, Pluto"—she whispered faintly,—"steady, +dear Pluto. Ah, there's the music at +last! I thought it would never begin. How +sweet,—oh, how sweet! They never made such +sweet music before. I can do it now." A smile +brightened her face.</p> + +<p>"Has she a mother?" asked the doctor.</p> + +<p>The words caught Mignon's ear. She looked +up. "Mamma," she said—"Mamma! Did <i>you</i> +make the music?" Her head fell back, she +closed her eyes.—That was all.</p> + +<p>"She loved music so dearly," said one of the +women weeping.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[227]</a></span></p> + +<p>"She has it now," replied the good old doctor, +laying down the little hand from which the pulse +had ebbed away. "Don't cry so over her, my +good girl. She was a tender flower for such a +life as this. Depend upon it, it is better as it is. +Heaven is a home-like place for such little ones +as she, and the angels' singing will be sweeter to +her ears than the music of your brass band."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[228]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 350px;"> +<img src="images/illus-235.png" width="350" height="446" alt="Lady Queen" title="" /> +</div> +<h2>LADY QUEEN ANNE.</h2> + + +<p>"WHERE is Annie?" demanded old Mrs. Pickens.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[229]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I'm sure I don't know. Not far away, for +I heard her voice just now singing in the woods +near the house."</p> + +<p>"That child is always singing, always," went +on Mrs. Pickens in a melancholy voice. "What +she finds to sing about in this miserable place I +cannot imagine. It's really unnatural!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, no! mother,—not unnatural. Remember +what a child she is. She hardly +remembers the old life, or misses it. The sun +shines, and she sings,—she can't help it. We +ought to be glad instead of sorry that she +doesn't feel the changes as we do."</p> + +<p>"Well, I <i>am</i> glad," responded the old lady. +"You needn't take me up so sharply, Susan. +All I say is that it seems to me <i>unreasonable</i>."</p> + +<p>Miss Pickens glanced about the room, and +suppressed a sigh. It was, indeed, a miserable +dwelling, scarcely better than a hut. Very few +of you who read this have ever seen a place so +comfortless or so poor. The roof let in rain. +Through the cracked, uneven floor the ground<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[230]</a></span> +could be distinctly seen. A broken window-pane +was stopped by an old hat thrust into the +hole. For furniture was only a rusty stove, a +table, three chairs, a few battered utensils for +cooking, and a bed laid on the floor of the inner +room,—that was all. And the dwellers in this +wretched home, for which they were indebted to +the charity of friends scarcely richer than themselves, +were ladies born and bred, accustomed +to all the comforts and enjoyments of life.</p> + +<p>It was the old story,—alas! too common in +these times,—the story of a Southern family +reduced to poverty by the ravages of war. +Six years before, all had been different. Then +the fighting was not begun, and the Southern +Confederacy was a thing to boast over and +make speeches about. The gray uniforms were +smart and new then; the volunteers eager +and full of zeal. All things went smoothly in +the stately old house known to Charleston +people as the "Pickens Mansion." The cotton +was regularly harvested on the Sea Islands, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[231]</a></span> +on the Beaufort plantation, which belonged to +Annie; for little Annie, too, was an heiress, +with acres and negroes of her own. War +seemed an easy thing in those days, and a glorious +one. There was no lack felt anywhere; +only a set of fresh and exciting interests in +lives which had always been interesting enough. +Mrs. Pickens and the other Charleston ladies +scraped lint and rolled bandages with busy +fingers; but they smiled at each other as they +did so, and said that these would never be +needed, there would never be any real fighting! +They stood on their balconies to cheer and +applaud the incoming regiments,—regiments +of gallant young men, their own sons and the +sons of neighbors: and it was like the opening +chapter of a story. Ah! the story had run +through many chapters since then, and what +different ones! The smart uniforms had lost +all their gloss, blood was upon the flags, the +glory had changed to ashes; every family wore +mourning for somebody. The pleasant Charleston<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[232]</a></span> +home, where Mrs. Pickens had stood on the +balcony to watch the gray-coated troops pass +by, and little Annie had fluttered her mite of a +handkerchief, and laughed as the gay banners +danced in air, where was it? Burned to the +ground; only a sorry heap of ruin marked +where once it stood. No more cotton bales +came from the Sea Islands. First one army, +then the other, had swept over the Beaufort +plantation, trampling its fields into mire. It +had been seized, confiscated, retaken, re-confiscated, +sold to this person and that. Nobody +knew exactly to whom it belonged nowadays; +but it was not to little Annie, rightful heiress +of all. Stripped of every thing, reduced to +utter want, Mrs. Pickens and her daughter took +refuge in a lonely village, far up among the +Carolina hills, where some former friends, also +ruined by the war, offered them the wretched +home where now we find them. Little Annie, +sole blossom left upon the blasted tree, went +with them. It was a miserable life which they<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[233]</a></span> +led. The pinch of poverty is never so keenly +felt as when the recollection of better days +mixes with it like a perpetual sting. All the +bright hopes of six years before were over, and +the poor ladies could have said, "Behold, was +ever sorrow like unto my sorrow!" They +grieved for themselves; they grieved most of +all for their beautiful little Annie, but Annie +did not grieve,—not she!</p> + +<p>Never was a happier little maiden,—as +blithe and merry in her coarse cotton frock and +bare feet as though the cotton were choicest +satin. She was as pretty too. No frock could +spoil that charming little face framed in thick +chestnut curls, or hide the graceful movements +which would have made her remarkable anywhere. +Her eyes, which were brown like her +curls, danced continually. Her mouth was +always smiling. The dimples came and went +with every word she spoke. And, however +shabby might be her dress, she was a little lady +always. No one could mistake it, who listened<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[234]</a></span> +to her sweet voice and prettily chosen words. +The pitiful sadness of her Grandmother, the +rigid melancholy of her Aunt, passed over her +as a cloud drifts over a blue sky on a summer's +day, leaving the blue undimmed. She +loved them, and was sorry when they were +sorry; but God had given her such a happy +nature, that happy she must be in spite of +all. Just to be alive was pleasant enough, but +there were many other pleasant things beside. +The woods were full of flowers, and Annie +loved flowers dearly. Then there were the +beautiful pine forests themselves, with their +cool shades and fragrant smell. There was sunshine +too, and now and then a story, when +Aunty felt brighter than usual. The negroes +in the neighborhood were all fond of little +"Missy Annie." They would catch squirrels for +her, or climb for birds' eggs; and old Sambo +scarcely ever passed the hut without bringing +some little gift of flowers or nuts. There was +Beppo, also, a large and handsome hound belonging<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[235]</a></span> +to a distant plantation, who came now +and then to make Annie visits. It was a case +of pure affection on his part, for she was not +allowed to give him any thing to eat, not even +a piece of corn bread, for food was too precious +with the stricken family to be shared with dogs. +But Beppo came all the same, and seemed to +like to race and romp with Annie just as well as +though the entertainment had wound up with +something more substantial. Oh! there were +many pleasant things to do, Annie thought.</p> + +<p>When Aunty went out to call her that day, +she was sitting under a tree with a lap full of +yellow jessamines, which she was tying into a +bunch. As she worked she sang.</p> + +<p>"Who are those for, Annie?" asked Miss +Pickens.</p> + +<p>"I was going to give them to Mrs. Randolph, +Aunty. She came yesterday to the camp, Juba +says. I thought she'd like them."</p> + +<p>Miss Pickens looked rigid, but she made +no reply. "The Camp" was a depôt of United<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[236]</a></span> +States supplies, established for the relief of the +poor blacks and whites of the region, and Major +Randolph was the officer in charge of it. In her +great poverty, Miss Pickens had been forced to +apply with the rest of her neighbors for this aid, +going every week with a basket on her arm, +and receiving the same rations of bacon and +corn-meal which the poorest negroes received. +It was bitter bread; but what can one do when +one is starving? Major Randolph was sorry +for the poor lady, and kind and courteous +always, but Miss Pickens could not be grateful; +he was one of the Northern invaders who had +helped to crush her hopes and that of her State, +and to bring them to this extremity; and though +she took the corn-meal, she had no thanks in +her heart.</p> + +<p>"We are going to the village this afternoon, +aren't we, Aunty?" went on Annie.</p> + +<p>"Yes, we must," replied her Aunt. "I came +to tell you to get ready. And, Annie, don't sing +so loud when you are near the house. Grandmamma +doesn't like to hear it."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[237]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Doesn't she?" said Annie wondering. "I'll +try to remember, Aunty. But sometimes I +don't know when I am singing. It just sings of +itself."</p> + +<p>"Getting ready" consisted of tying on two +faded, flapping sun-bonnets, to which Miss Pickens +added an old ragged India shawl, relic of +past grandeur. Annie's feet were bare, her +Aunt wore army shoes made of cow-skin, part +of the Bureau supply. She was a tall, thin +woman, and, with the habit of former days, carried +her head high in air as she walked along. +Little fairy Annie danced by her side, now stopping +to gather a flower, now to listen to a bird, +chatting and laughing all the way, as though +she were a bird herself, and never heeding +Aunty's melancholy looks or short answers.</p> + +<p>"Who <i>are</i> those people?" asked Mrs. Randolph +of her husband, as she watched the odd-looking +pair come along the road. "Do look, +Harry. Such a strange woman, and—I do +declare, the prettiest child I ever saw in my +life. Tell me who they are?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[238]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Oh, that's my little pet, Annie Pickens," +replied the Major. Then he hastily told his +wife the story.</p> + +<p>"The poor ladies suffer dreadfully both in +pride and in pocket, I fear," he added. "But +Annie, bless her! she doesn't know what suffering +means, any more than if she were a bird or +a squirrel. I thought you'd take a fancy to her, +Blanche; and perhaps you can think of some +way to help them. Women know how to set +about such things. I'm such a clumsy fellow +that all I dared attempt was to deal out as much +meal and bacon as the Aunt could carry."</p> + +<p>Blanche Randolph found it easy to "take a +fancy" to the sweet little creature who lifted to +her such beaming eyes as she made her offering +of the yellow jessamines. "Oh, dear!" she said +to herself, "how I wish she belonged to me." +She kissed and fondled her, and while Miss +Pickens transacted her business, Annie sat on +Mrs. Randolph's lap and talked to her, quite as +though they were old acquaintances.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[239]</a></span></p> + +<p>"What do you do all day, dear? Have you +any one to play with?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, I have Beppo. That's Mr. Ashley's +dog, you know. He runs over to see me +almost every week, and we have such nice +times."</p> + +<p>"And don't you study any lessons?" asked +Mrs. Randolph.</p> + +<p>"No, not now. I used to, but Aunty is so +busy now that she says she hasn't time to teach +me. Beside, all my books were burned up."</p> + +<p>"Come, Annie, it is time to go," said Miss +Pickens, moving away, with a curt bow to +Mrs. Randolph.</p> + +<p>Annie lingered to kiss her new friend.</p> + +<p>"I shall pick you some fresh flowers next +time we come," she said.</p> + +<p>"I'll tell you what, Harry," said Mrs. Randolph, +"that is the most <i>pathetically</i> sweet little +darling I ever saw."</p> + +<p>"Pathetic? Why she's as happy as the day +is long."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[240]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Ah, you don't understand! That's the very +reason. 'I feel to cry' over her, as old Mauma +Sally would say."</p> + +<p>Medville was a quiet, lonely place. All the +people, black and white alike, were very poor. +Nobody called to see Mrs. Randolph; there were +no parties to go to; and after a while she learned +to look forward to little Annie's visit as the +pleasantest thing in the whole week. Annie +looked forward to it also. Her new friend was +both kind and gay. Always some little treat +was prepared for her coming,—a book, a parcel +of cakes, or a picture-paper with gay colored +illustrations. Mrs. Randolph chose these gifts +carefully, because she was afraid of offending +Miss Pickens, but Miss Pickens was not offended; +she loved Annie too dearly for that, and became +almost gracious as she thanked Mrs. Randolph +for her kindness. After some time Mrs. Randolph +ventured to walk out to the cottage. +What she saw there horrified her, but I can +best tell what that was by quoting a letter which<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[241]</a></span> +she wrote about that time to her sister, Mrs. +Boyd, who was spending the summer in England:—</p> + +<p>"Fancy, dear Mary, a miserable log hut not +one bit better than those in which the negroes +dwell. In fact, it used to be a negro hut, some +say a pig-pen; but that is too bad, I cannot +believe it. The roof lets in water, the floor is +broken away, the windows are stuffed with rags +and an old hat. Every thing is perfectly clean +inside, swept and scrubbed continually by the +poor ladies, and they are real ladies, Mary. It +was pitiful to see old Mrs. Pickens sitting in her +wooden chair in a dress which her former cook +would have disdained, and yet with all the dignity +and sad politeness of a duchess in difficulties. +They make no secret of their extreme +poverty; they cannot, in fact, for it stares you +in the face; but they ask for nothing, and you +would scarcely dare to offer aid. I was so +shocked that I could not restrain my tears. Miss +Pickens brought me a tin cupful of water, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[242]</a></span> +I think my sympathy touched her, for she has +thawed a little since, and has permitted Annie +to accept a gingham frock which I made for +her, and some stockings and shoes. Such dainty +little feet as hers are, and such a lovely child! +I have scarcely ever seen one so beautiful, and +it is not common beauty, but of the rarest sort, +with elegance and refinement in every feature +and movement. It is a thousand pities that she +should be left here to grow up in poverty without +education, or any of the things she was born +to, for, as I told you in my last, the family was +once wealthy, and Annie herself would be a +great heiress had not the war ruined them +all."</p> + +<p>When Mrs. Boyd received this letter, she was +making a visit to some friends who lived in a +villa on the banks of the Thames. Mr. and Mrs. +Grant were the names of these friends. They +were all sitting on the lawn when the post came +in. The sunset cast a pink glow on the curves +of the beautiful river; the roses were in perfect<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[243]</a></span> +bloom; overhead and underfoot the grass and +trees were of that rich and tender green which +is peculiar to England. The letter interested +Mrs. Boyd so much that she read it aloud to +her friends, who were rich and kind-hearted +people, with one little boy of their own.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Grant almost cried over the letter. It +was the saddest thing that she had ever heard +of, and all that evening she and her husband +could talk of nothing else. Little Annie, sound +asleep in her Carolina cabin, did not dream that, +three thousand miles away, two people, whom +she had never heard of, were spending half the +night in the discussion of her fate and fortunes! +Long after their guest had gone to bed, the +Grants sat up together conversing about Annie; +and in the morning they came down with a +proposal so astonishing, that Mrs. Boyd could +hardly believe her ears when she heard it.</p> + +<p>"We have been talking in a vague way for +years past of adopting a little girl," said Mr. Grant. +"We always wished for a daughter, and felt<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[244]</a></span> +sure that to have a sister would be the best thing +in the world for Rupert, who is an affectionate +little fellow, and would enjoy such a playmate of +all things. But you can easily guess that there +have been difficulties in the way of these plans, +especially as to finding the right child, so we +have done nothing about it. Now it strikes my +wife, and it strikes me also, that this story of +your sister's is a clear leading of Providence. +Here is a child who wants a home, and here are +we who want a child. So we have made up our +minds to send to America for Annie, and, if her +relatives will consent, to adopt her as our own. +Will you give me Mrs. Randolph's exact address?"</p> + +<p>"But it is so sudden. Are you sure you won't +repent?" asked Mrs. Boyd.</p> + +<p>"I don't think we shall. And it seems less +sudden to us than to you, because, as I have explained, +this idea has been in our minds for a +a long time."</p> + +<p>You can fancy the excitement of Major<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[245]</a></span> +and Mrs. Randolph when Mr. Grant's letter +reached Medville. He offered to adopt Annie, +and treat her in every respect as though she +were his own daughter, provided her Grandmother +and Aunt would give her up entirely, +and promise never again to claim her as theirs.</p> + +<p>"If they will consent to this," wrote Mr. Grant, +"I will settle a hundred pounds a year on them +for the rest of their lives. I will also employ a +lawyer to see if any thing can be done towards +getting back a part of the confiscated property. +But all this is only on condition that the child +is absolutely made over to me. I am not +willing to take her with any loop-hole left open +by which she may, by and by, be claimed back +again just as we have learned to consider her +our own. I beg that Major Randolph will have +this point most clearly understood, and will +attend to the drawing up of a legal paper which +shall put it beyond the possibility of dispute."</p> + +<p>The day after this letter came, Mrs. Randolph +put it in her pocket and walked out to the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[246]</a></span> +mountain hut. She felt very nervous as she +tapped at the door.</p> + +<p>"It was a terrible thing to do," she wrote +afterwards to her sister. "There were the two +poor ladies as stately as ever, and little Annie so +bright and winning. It was like asking for the +only happy thing left in their lives. I explained +first about my letter to you, and how you happened +to be staying with the Grants when you +received it, and then I gave Miss Pickens Mr. +Grant's letter. Her face was like iron as she +read it, and she swallowed hard several times, +but she never uttered one word. When she +had done, she thought for several minutes; +then she said, in a choked voice, 'If you will +leave this with us, Madam, you shall have an +answer to-morrow.' I came away. Dear little +Annie walked half way down the hill with me. +I hope, oh, so much, that they will let her go. +The life they lead is too sad for such a child, +and in every way it is better for them all; but +oh, dear! I am so sorry for them that I don't +know what to do."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[247]</a></span></p> + +<p>Next day Miss Pickens walked down alone +to the Relief Station.</p> + +<p>"My mother and I have talked it over," +she said briefly, "and we have decided. Annie +must go."</p> + +<p>"I am glad," said Mrs. Randolph. "Glad for +her, but very sorry for you."</p> + +<p>"It is like cutting out my heart," said the +poor Aunt. "But what can we do? I am not +able to give the child proper food even, or +decent clothes. If we keep her she must grow +up in ignorance. These English strangers offer +every thing; we have nothing to offer. If we +could count on the bare necessaries of life,—no +more than those,—I would never, never +give up Annie. As it is, it would be sinning +against her to refuse."</p> + +<p>"Mr. Grant's assistance will do much to make +your own lives more comfortable," suggested +Mrs. Randolph.</p> + +<p>"I don't care about that. We could go on +suffering and not say a word, if only we might<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[248]</a></span> +keep Annie. But she would suffer too, and +more and more as she grows older. No, Annie +must go."</p> + +<p>"The Grants are thoroughly good people, +and will be kindness itself, I am sure. The only +danger is that they may spoil your dear little +girl with over-indulgence."</p> + +<p>"She can stand a good deal, having had none +for so long a time," replied Miss Pickens with +a sad smile. "But Annie is not that sort of +child; nothing could spoil her. When must she +go, Mrs. Randolph?"</p> + +<p>"Mr. Grant spoke of the 'Cuba,' on which +some friends of his are to sail. She leaves on +the 24th."</p> + +<p>"The 24th. That is week after next."</p> + +<p>"If it seems to you too soon—"</p> + +<p>"No. The sooner it is over the better for us +all."</p> + +<p>"I half feel as if I had done you a wrong," +said Mrs. Randolph, with tears in her eyes.</p> + +<p>"No, you have done us no wrong. It is in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[249]</a></span> +our own hands, you see. We could say no, +even now. Oh, if I dared say it! But I dare +not,—that is worst of all,—I dare not." She +gave a dry sort of sob and walked away rapidly. +Mrs. Randolph, left behind, broke down and indulged +in a good fit of crying.</p> + +<p>Dear little Annie! she was partly puzzled, +partly pleased, partly pained by the news of +what was going to befall her. She clung to +her Aunty, and declared that she could not go. +Then Mrs. Randolph talked with her and explained +that Aunty would be better off, and +Grandmamma have a more comfortable house +to live in—making pictures of the sweet +English home, the kind people, the dear little +brother waiting for her on the other side of the +sea, till Annie felt as if it would be pleasant to +go. There was not much time for discussion; +every thing was done in a hurry. Mrs. Randolph +sewed all day long on her machine, making +little underclothes and a pretty blue travelling +dress. Miss Pickens patched up one of her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[250]</a></span> +faded silks, for she was to accompany Annie to +New York and see her sail, Mr. Grant paying +all the expenses of the journey for both of them. +Grandmamma cried all night, but in the daytime +her face looked set and hard. There were +papers to sign and boxes to pack. Beppo +seemed to smell in the air that something was +about to happen. All day long he hung around +the hut, whining and sniffing. Now and then he +would throw back his head and give a long, +sorrowful bay, which echoed from some distant +point in the pine wood. The last day came,—the +last kisses. It was like a rapid whirling +dream, the journey, the steam cars, the arrival +in New York, and Annie only seemed to wake +up when she stood on the steamer's deck and +felt the vessel throb and move away. On the +wharf, among the throng of people who had +come down to say good-by, stood Aunty's tall +figure in her faded silk and ragged shawl, looking +so different from any one else there. She +did not wave her handkerchief or make any<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[251]</a></span> +sign, but fixed her eyes on Annie as if she +could never look away, and there was something +in the expression of her face which made +Annie suddenly burst into tears. She wiped +them fast, but before she could see clearly, the +wharf was far distant, and Aunty's face was +only a white spot among other white spots, +which were partly faces and partly fluttering +handkerchiefs. A few minutes more and the +spots grew dim, the wharf could no longer be +seen, the vessel began to rock and plunge in +the waves, and the great steamer was fairly at +sea.</p> + +<p>Do you suppose that Annie cried all the +voyage? Bless you, no! It was not in her +to be sorrowful long. In a very little while +her tears dried, smiles came back, and the trustful +brown eyes were as bright as ever. Everybody +on board noticed the dear little girl and +was kind. The Captain, who had little girls of +his own at home, would walk with her on the +deck for an hour at a time, telling her stories<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[252]</a></span> +which he called "yarns," and which were very +interesting. The old sailors would coax the +little maiden amidships and tell her "yarns" +also, about sharks and whales and albatrosses. +One of them was such a nice old fellow. His +name was "Jack," and he won Annie's affections +completely, by catching a flying-fish in a +bucket and making her a present of it. Did +you ever see a flying-fish? Annie's did not +seem at all happy in the bucket, so she threw +him into the sea again, but none the less was +she pleased that Jack gave him to her. She +liked to watch the porpoises turn and wheel in +the water, and the gulls skim and dive; but +most of all she delighted in the Mother Carey's +chickens, which on stormy days fluttered in and +out, rocking on the waves, and never seeming +afraid, however hard the wind might blow. +Going to sea was to Annie as pleasant as all +the other pleasant things in her life. She +would have laughed hard enough had anybody +asked whether unpleasant things had never happened<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[253]</a></span> +to her, and would have said "No!" in a +minute.</p> + +<p>The voyage ended at Liverpool. Annie felt +sorry and homesick at leaving the vessel, as +travellers are apt to do. But pretty soon a +gentleman came on board, and a pretty little +boy. It was Mr. Grant and Rupert, come down +to meet her, and they were so pleasant and so +glad to see Annie that she forgot all her home-sickness +at once.</p> + +<p>"What a funny carriage," she exclaimed, +when, after they had all landed, Mr. Grant +helped her into a cab.</p> + +<p>"It's a Hansom," explained Rupert. "Papa +engaged one because I asked him. It's such +fun to ride in 'em, I think. Don't they have +any in America where you live?"</p> + +<p>"No,—not any carriages at all where I live," +replied Annie, nestling down among the cushions,—"only +mule carts and—wheelbarrows—and—oh, +yes—Major Randolph had an ambulance. +There were <i>beau</i>-tiful carriages in New York +though, but I didn't see any like this."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[254]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Don't you like it?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes,—very much," replied Annie, cuddling +cosily between her new Papa and Brother.</p> + +<p>"Isn't she pretty?" whispered Rupert to his +father. "None of the other fellows at our +school have got such a pretty sister as she is. +And she's a jolly little thing, too," he added +confidentially.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Grant had grown a little anxious about +the first meeting. "If we <i>should</i> be disappointed!" +she thought. But when the carriage +drove up and her husband lifted Annie out, a +glance made her easy. "I can love that child," +she said to herself, and her embrace was so warm +that Annie rested in her arms with the feeling +that here was real home and a real Mamma, +and that England was just as nice as America.</p> + +<p>You can guess how she enjoyed the lawn +with its roses, and the beautiful river. Fresh +from the poor little cabin on the hill-top, she +nevertheless fell with the greatest ease into the +ways and habits of her new life. It did not<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[255]</a></span> +puzzle or disturb her in the least to live in large +rooms, be waited on by servants, or have nice +things about her; she took to all these naturally. +For a few days Mr. and Mrs. Grant watched +with some anxiety, fearing to discover a flaw +in their treasure, but no flaw appeared. Not +that Annie was faultless, but hers were honest +little faults; there was nothing hidden or concealed +in her character, and in a short time her +new friends had learned to trust her and to love +her entirely.</p> + +<p>So here was our little girl fairly settled in +England, with dainty dresses to wear, a governess +coming every day to give her lessons, masters +in French and music, a carriage to ride in, +and half a dozen people at least ready to pet and +make much of her all the time. Do you think +she was happier than she had been before? +How could she be? One cannot be more than +happy. She was happy then, she was happy +now,—no more, no less.</p> + +<p>Rupert used to talk to her sometimes about<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[256]</a></span> +that old life, which seemed to him so strange +and dismal.</p> + +<p>"How you must have hated it!" he said +once. "I can't bear to have you tell me any +more. What's corn-meal? It sounds very +nasty! And didn't you have anybody to play +with, not anybody at all, or any fun, ever?"</p> + +<p>"Fun!" cried Annie; "I should think so! +Why, Rupert, our woods were full of squirrels. +Such dear little things!—you never saw such +pretty squirrels. One of them got so tamed +that he used to eat out of my hand. His name +was Torpedo. I named him myself. Then +there was Beppo, the dearest dog! I wish you +knew him. We used to run races and have the +greatest fun. And Aunty and I had nice times +going down to the camp."</p> + +<p>"Oh, dear! oh, dear!" sighed Rupert. He +could not see the fun at all.</p> + +<p>When Annie had been three years with the +Grants, Major and Mrs. Randolph came to London, +and drove down to the villa to see her. It<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[257]</a></span> +was a great pleasure to them all. Annie had a +thousand questions to ask about Grandmamma +and Aunty, who no longer lived in the hut, but +in Medville, where Mr. Grant had hired a small +house for them.</p> + +<p>"They are quite comfortable now," said Mrs. +Randolph. "Aunty has gained a little flesh, and +Grandmamma is stronger, and able to walk out +sometimes. Old Sambo came down the very +night before we left with a box of birds' eggs, +which he wished to send to 'Missy Annie.' They +are in the carriage; you shall have them presently. +And here is a long letter from Aunty."</p> + +<p>"Annie, you look just the same," remarked +the Major; "only you are grown, and the sunburn +has worn off and left you as fair as a lily. +You used to be brown as a bun when I knew +you first. I needn't ask if you are happy here?"</p> + +<p>"Oh! very, very happy," said Annie warmly.</p> + +<p>"A great deal happier than you were when +you lived with Grandmamma and Aunty?" +inquired Mrs. Randolph.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[258]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Why, no!" cried Annie wonderingly; "not +any happier than <i>that</i>. I used to have lovely +times then; but I have lovely times here too."</p> + +<p>"That child will never lack for happiness," +said the Major, as they drove back to London. +"She's the brightest little being I ever saw."</p> + +<p>"Yes," replied his wife; "rain or shine, it's +all one with Annie. Her cheer comes from +within, and is so warm and radiant that, whatever +sky is overhead, she always rejoices. Let +the clouds do what they may, it makes no difference: +Annie will always sit in the sun,—the +sunshine of her own sweet, happy little heart."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[259]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 350px;"> +<img src="images/illus-266.png" width="350" height="354" alt="Up, Up, Up" title="" /> +</div> +<h2>UP, UP, UP, AND DOWN, DOWN,<br /> +DOWN-Y.</h2> + + +<p>"<span class='smcap'>Now</span>, Dinah, it's time to try the jelly."</p> + +<p>"Wait a minute, Miss May; it can't be stiff +yet."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[260]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Oh, yes! Dinah, it is; I think it is. I'll +only just breathe on it, Dinah; I'll not disturb +it a bit."</p> + +<p>"Let me breathe on it too."</p> + +<p>"And me."</p> + +<p>Dinah chuckled silently to herself in a way +she had. She opened the kitchen window, and +in one second three little girls had climbed on +three chairs, and three curly heads had met over +the saucer of currant juice which stood on the +sill.</p> + +<p>"I <i>think</i> it's going to jelly," said May.</p> + +<p>Lulu touched it delicately with the point of +her small forefinger.</p> + +<p>"There!" she cried triumphantly. "It <i>crinkled</i>; +it did, Dinah! The jelly's come."</p> + +<p>"Oh, how good!" added Bertha, applying +her finger, not so gently, to the hot surface, +and then putting it into her mouth to cool it! +"It's the bestest jelly we ever made, Dinah."</p> + +<p>Dinah chuckled again at this "we." But, +after all, why not? Had not the children<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[261]</a></span> +watched her scald and squeeze the currants, and +stir and skim? Had not May wielded the big +wooden spoon for at least three minutes? Had +not Lulu eaten a mouthful of skimmings on the +sly? Were they not testing the product now? +The little ones had surely a right to say "we," +and Dinah accepted the partnership willingly. +She lifted the preserving kettle on to the table; +and the junior (not silent!) members of the +firm mounted on their chairs, watched with +intense interest as she dipped the glasses in hot +water, and filled each in turn with the clear red +liquid.</p> + +<p>"It's first-rate jell," she remarked. "Be +hard in no time."</p> + +<p>"Put a tiny, tiny bit in my doll's tumbler," +said Bertha, producing a minute vessel. "She +likes jelly very much, my dolly does."</p> + +<p>"Oh, isn't it nice to cook!" exclaimed Lulu, +jumping up and down in her chair! "Such fun! +I wish Mamma'd always let us do it."</p> + +<p>"What shall we make next?" asked May.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[262]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Jumbles," responded the senior partner +briefly.</p> + +<p>"I like to make jumbles," cried May. "I +may cut out all the diamond-shaped ones, +mayn't I, Di?"</p> + +<p>"And I, all the round ones?"</p> + +<p>"And I, the hearts?"</p> + +<p>Dinah nodded. The children got down from +their chairs, and ran to the closet. They came +back each with a tin cookie-pattern in her +hand. Dinah sifted flour and jumbled egg and +sugar rapidly together, with that precise carelessness +which experience teaches. In a few +minutes the smooth sheet of dough lay glistening +on the board, and the children began cutting +out the cakes; first a diamond, then a heart, +then a round, each in turn. As fast as the shapes +were cut, Dinah laid them in baking-tins, and carried +them away to the oven. The work went +busily on. It was great fun. But, alas! in the +very midst of it, interruption came. The door +opened, and a lady walked in,—a pretty lady in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[263]</a></span> +a beautiful silk gown of many flounces. When +she saw what the children were doing, she +frowned, and did not seem pleased.</p> + +<p>"My dears," she said, "I was wondering +where you were. It is quite time that you +should be dressed for the afternoon. Come +upstairs at once."</p> + +<p>"O Mamma!—we're helping Dinah. Mayn't +we stay and finish?"</p> + +<p>"Helping? Nonsense! Hindering, you mean. +Dinah will be glad to get rid of you. Come at +once."</p> + +<p>May got down from her chair. But Lulu and +Bertha pouted.</p> + +<p>"We've hung all our dolls' things out on +the line," they said. "It's washing-day in the +baby-house, Mamma. Mayn't we stay just a +little while to clap and fold up?"</p> + +<p>"Clap and fold," exclaimed Mrs. Frisbie. +"Where do you pick up such words, I wonder. +Of course you can't stay, you must come and +be made decent. Susan shall finish your dolls' +wash."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[264]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Oh, no! please Mamma, it's so much nicer +to do 'em ourselves," pleaded Lulu. "Don't let +Susan touch them. We love so to wash. Dinah +says we're worth our wages, we do it so +well."</p> + +<p>"Dinah should not say such things," said +Mrs. Frisbie, severely, leading the unwilling +flock upstairs. "Now, Lulu, do look pleasant. +I really cannot have all this fuss made each +time that I tell you to come and sit with me +and behave like little ladies. This passion for +house-work is vulgar; I don't like it at all. +With plenty of servants in the house, and your +Pa's money, and all, there's no need that you +should know any thing about such common +doings. Now, go upstairs and tell Justine to +put on your French cambrics and your sashes, +and when you're ready come straight down. I +want you."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Frisbie went into the drawing-room as +she spoke, and shut the door behind her with a +little bang. She was a good-natured woman in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[265]</a></span> +the main, but at that moment she was really +put out. Why should <i>her</i> children have this +outlandish taste for cooking and washing? <i>She</i> +liked to be beautifully dressed, and sit on a sofa +doing nothing. Why shouldn't they like to do +the same? It was really too bad, she thought. +The children were not a bit like her. They +were "clear Frisbie straight through," and it +was really a trial. She felt quite unhappy, and, +as I said, gave the door a bang to relieve her +feelings.</p> + +<p>While the children are putting on their French +cambrics, I will tell you a Fairy story.</p> + +<p>Once upon a time, in a wonderful country +where all the inhabitants are Kings and Queens, +a little Prince was born. His father's kingdom +was not big, being only a farm-house, two clover +fields, and a potato patch, but none the less was +it a kingdom, because no one else had right to +it or could dispute it. The Prince was born on a +Sunday, and the Fairy who has charge of Sunday +children came and stood by his cradle.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[266]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You shall be lucky always," she said, touching +the baby's soft cheek with the point of her +finger. "I give you four gifts, Sunday Prince. +The first is a strong and handsome body,"—and +the Fairy, as she spoke, stroked the small limbs +with her wand. "The next is a sweet temper. +The third is a brave heart—you'll need it, little +Prince,—all people do in this world. Lastly,"—and +the Fairy touched the sleeping eyelids +lightly,—"I give you a pair of clear, keen eyes, +which shall tell you the difference between hawks +and hernshaws from the very beginning. This +gift is worth something, as you'll soon find out. +Now, good-by, my baby. Sleep well, and grow +fast. Here's a pretty plaything for you,"—taking +from her pocket a big, beautiful bubble, +and tossing it in the air. "Run fast," she said, +"blow hard, follow the bubble, catch it if you +can; but, above all things, keep it flying. Its +name is Fortune,—a pretty name. All the little +boys like to run after my bubbles. As long as it +keeps up, up, all will go brightly; but if you fail<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[267]</a></span> +to blow, or blow unwisely, and it goes down, +down—well—you'll be lucky either way, my +Sunday Prince; 'tis I who say so." Thereupon +the Fairy kissed the sleeping child and vanished.</p> + +<p>Only the clear eyes of the little Prince could +see the rainbow bubble which hung in air above +his head, and flew before, wherever he went. +He began to see it when still very young, and +as he grew bigger he saw it more clearly still. +And he blew, blew, and the gay bubble went up, +up, and all things prospered. Before long, the +baby Prince was a man, and took possession of +his kingdom; for in this wonderful country +plenty of kingdoms are to be had, and Princes are +not forced to wait until their fathers die before +taking possession of their crowns. So, being a +grown Prince, he began to look about for a +Princess to share his throne with him. And he +found a very nice little one; who, when he asked +her, made a courtesy and said, "Yes, thank you," +in the prettiest way possible. Then the Prince +was pleased, and sent for a priest. The priest's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[268]</a></span> +name was Slack. He belonged to the Methodist +persuasion, Otsego Conference, but he married +the Prince and the Princess just as well as +though he had been an archbishop. They went +to live in a small palace of their own, and +after awhile some little princelings came to live +with them, and they were all very happy +together. And the lucky Prince, being fairy-blessed, +kept on being lucky. The rainbow +bubble flew before; he blew strongly, wisely; it +soared high, high, and all things prospered. +His kingdom increased, his treasure-bags were +filled with gold. By and by the little palace +grew too small for them, or they fancied it so, +and another was built, a real palace this time, +with lawns, and fish-ponds, and graperies, and +gardens. The only trouble was—</p> + +<p>But here come the children downstairs, so I +must drop into plain prose, and tell you what +already you have guessed, that the Prince I +mean is their father, John Frisbie,—Prince John, +if you like,—and the Princess's name was Mary<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[269]</a></span> +Jones before she was married, but now, of course, +it is Mary Frisbie. There were five of the +princelings,—Jack and May and Arthur and +Lulu and Bertha. The new palace was a beautiful +house, with wide, lovely grounds. But since +they came to live in it, Mrs. Frisbie had taken +it into her head that so fine a house required +manners to match, and that the things the +children liked best, and had been allowed to +do in the small house, were vulgar, and might +not be permitted now. This was a real trouble +to the little ones, for, as their mother said, they +were "clear Frisbie all through;" and the thrift, +energy, cleverness, and other qualities by which +their father had made his fortune, were strong +in them. Perhaps the Fairy had visited their +cradles also. Who knows?</p> + +<p>The girls came down crisp and fresh in their +ruffled frocks, with curls smoothed, sashes tied, +and their company dolls in their hands.</p> + +<p>"Now sit down and be comfortable," said +Mrs. Frisbie.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[270]</a></span></p> + +<p>Dear me, what a number of meanings there +are to that word "comfortable"! Mrs. Frisbie +thought it meant pretty clothes, pretty rooms, +and nothing to do. To the boys it took the +form of hard, hearty work of some sort. Papa +understood it as a cool day in his office, business +brisk, but not too brisk, and an occasional cigar. +May, Lulu, and Bertha would have translated +it thus: "our old ginghams and our own +way;" while Dinah, if asked, would have defined +"comfort" as having the kitchen "clar'd +up" after a successful bake, and being free to +sit down, darn stockings, and read the "Illustrated +Pirate's Manual," a newspaper she much +affected on account of the blood-thirstiness of +its pictures. None of these various explanations +of the word mean the same thing, you see. +And the drollest part is that no one can ever be +made "comfortable" in any way but his own: +that is impossible.</p> + +<p>The company dolls were very fine ladies indeed; +they came from Paris, and had trunks<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[271]</a></span> +full of splendid dresses. The children did not +care much for them, and liked better certain +decrepit babies of rag and composition, which +were thought too shabby to be allowed in the +parlor.</p> + +<p>"Where are the boys?" asked Mrs. Frisbie, +when the small sisters had settled themselves.</p> + +<p>"Jack was going to have his sale this afternoon," +replied Mary. "And Arthur is auctioneer."</p> + +<p>"His sale! What on earth is that?"</p> + +<p>"Why, Mamma—don't you know? Jack's +chickens, of course. Croppy had eleven and +Top-knot nine. There's a 'corner' in chickens +just now, Arthur says, because most of the other +boys have lost theirs. Alfred's were sick and +died, and the rats ate all of Charley Ross's, and +a hawk carried off five of Howard's. Jack expects +to make a lot of money, because Croppy +is a Bramahpootra hen, you know, and her +chicks are very valuable."</p> + +<p>"Corner! Lot of money! Oh, dear!" sighed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[272]</a></span> +poor Mrs. Frisbie, "what words the boys do +teach you. Where they learn them I can't +imagine. Not from me."</p> + +<p>"From Papa, I guess," explained Lulu innocently. +"He used to have hens when he was +little, and sell 'em. It was splendid fun, he +says. Grandmamma thinks that Jack is just +Papa over again."</p> + +<p>"All of you are," said Mrs. Frisbie. "Not +one of you is a bit like me. Can't you sit still, +Bertha? What <i>are</i> you doing there with your +handkerchief?"</p> + +<p>"Only dusting the table leg, Mamma; it +wasn't quite clean."</p> + +<p>"Dear, dear! and in your nice frock. Do let +the furniture alone, child. Ring for Bridget, if +any thing wants cleaning. You're a real Meddlesome +Matty, Bertha."</p> + +<p>"O Mamma!" cried Bertha, aggrieved. +"Grandmamma taught me to dust when we +lived in the other house, you know. Grandmamma +said it was a good thing for little girls<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[273]</a></span> +to be useful. And I didn't meddle with any +thing on the table; really I didn't, Mamma."</p> + +<p>"Never mind, dear," said Mrs. Frisbie. "It's +no great matter, only I don't like to have you do +such things. Now sit still and play with your +doll." She opened a book and began to read. +The children crept nearer to each other and +talked in low whispers.</p> + +<p>"Let's play that Eugenie and Victoria are +little girls come to make each other a visit, and +Isabella is their Mamma."</p> + +<p>"You can't! Little girls never have trains +to their dresses or necklaces."</p> + +<p>"Oh! I wish Nippy Scatch-Face and old Maria +were down here," sighed Lulu.</p> + +<p>"I'll tell you," put in May. "We'll play they +are three stiff old ladies, who always wear best +clothes, you know, and sit so in chairs; and that +Nippy and Maria are coming to make them a +visit. They needn't really come, you know. +Mrs. Eugenie, sit up straight. Now listen to the +hateful old thing! She's talking to Victoria."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[274]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Sister, when are those children coming?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know, sister," squeaked back Lulu +in the character of Victoria. "I wish they +wouldn't come at all. Children are the bane +of my existence."</p> + +<p>"You horrid doll, talking that way about <i>my</i> +baby," cried Bertha, giving Victoria a shove.</p> + +<p>"Don't, Beppie; you'll push her down," said +May. Then changing her voice again, "Your +manners is most awful, I'm sure," she squeaked, +in the person of the irate Victoria.</p> + +<p>All the children giggled, and Mrs. Frisbie +looked up from her book.</p> + +<p>At this moment in ran the two boys, hot, +dusty, and excited,—Arthur with a handful of +"fractional currency," and Jack waving a two-dollar +bill.</p> + +<p>"See!" they cried. "Four dollars and sixty-five +cents. Isn't that splendid? Mr. Ashurst +bought all the Croppys, and gave twenty-five +cents a piece for them."</p> + +<p>"Let us see, let us see!" cried the little girls, +precipitating themselves on the money.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[275]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Look here, now, Mary Frisbie—no snatching!" +protested Jack,—"I haven't told you +the best yet. Mr. Ashurst says we're such good +farmers, that he'll give us work whenever we +like to take it. He says I could earn three +dollars a week <i>now</i>! Think of that."</p> + +<p>"Oh, how much!" cried Lulu, awe-struck. +"What could you do with so much, Jacky?"</p> + +<p>"Now boys,—listen to me," said their mother. +"Go upstairs right away and get ready for tea. +You look like real farmers' boys at this moment, +I declare, so hot and dusty. I don't wonder +Mr. Ashurst offered you work,—though I think +it was very impertinent of him to do so. I hope +you said that your father's sons didn't need to +earn money in any such way."</p> + +<p>"Why, Mamma, of course I didn't. Arthur +and me like to work, and we are going to somehow +just as soon as we're big enough. It's lots +better fun than going to school. Besides, Papa +says we may. He told us all American boys +ought to work, whether their fathers are rich or +poor."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[276]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Papa likes to talk nonsense with you," said +Mrs. Frisbie, biting her lips. "Go up now and +dress."</p> + +<p>There was a howl from both boys.</p> + +<p>"O Mamma! not yet. It's too early for +that horrid dressing, oh, a great deal too early, +Mamma. We've got a lot to do in our chicken +house. Mayn't we go out again for a little +while, just for half an hour, Mamma?"</p> + +<p>"Well—for half an hour you may," said +Mrs. Frisbie reluctantly, consulting her watch. +Away clattered the boys,—the girls looking +after them with envious eyes.</p> + +<p>Presently Lulu slipped out and was gone a +few minutes. She came back sparkling, with +her cheeks very rosy.</p> + +<p>"Mamma," she cried, "what <i>do</i> you think? +David says if you haven't any objections, we +may each of us have a little garden down there +behind the asparagus beds. He'll make them +for us, Mamma, he says, and we can plant just +what we like in them. O Mamma! don't have +any objections—please."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[277]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Will he really?" cried May. "I'll put peppergrass +in mine,—and parsley. Dinah says +she never has as much parsley as she wants."</p> + +<p>"Yes, and little green cucumbers," added +Bertha,—"little teeny-weeny ones, for pickles, +you know. Dinah is always wishing she could +get them, but David never sends in any but +big ones. O Mamma! do say yes. It'll be so +nice."</p> + +<p>"Cucumbers! peppergrass! Well, you are +the strangest children! Why don't you have +pinks and pansies and pretty things?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, we will, and make bouquets for you, +Mamma; only we thought of the useful things +first."</p> + +<p>"Somehow you always do think of useful +things first," murmured Mrs. Frisbie. "However, +have the gardens if you like. I'm sure I +don't care."</p> + +<p>The children's thanks were cut short by the +click of a latch-key in the hall-door.</p> + +<p>"There's Papa!" cried Bertha; and, like<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[278]</a></span> +three arrows dismissed from the string, the children +were off to greet him. It was always a +joy to have Papa come home.</p> + +<p>He was looking grave as he opened the door, +but his face lit up at once at the sight of his +little girls. Papa's face without a smile upon it +would have seemed a strange sight indeed to +that household. It did cross May's mind that +evening that the smiles were not so merry as +usual, and that Papa seemed tired; but no one +else noticed it, either then or on the days that +followed.</p> + +<p>Bubbles are pretty things, but the keeping +them in air grows wearisome after a while. +About this time the rainbow bubble set afloat +by the kind Fairy for the sleeping Prince began +to misbehave itself. Contrary winds seized it; +it flew wildly, now here, now there; and, instead +of sailing steadily, it was first up, then +down, then up again, but more down than up. +Prince John blew his hardest and did his best +to keep it from sinking; for he knew, as we all<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[279]</a></span> +do, that once let a bubble touch the earth, and +all is over,—its glittering wings collapse,—they +fly no more.</p> + +<p>So the weeks went on. Unconscious of +trouble, the children dug and planted in their +little gardens. Each new leaf and shoot was a +wonder and a delight to them. Bertha's plants +flourished less than the others, because of a +habit she had of digging them all up daily to +see how the roots were coming on; but, except +for that, all went well, and the bluest of skies +stretched itself over the heads of the small +gardeners. In the City, where Papa's office +was, the sky was not blue at all. High winds +were blowing, stormy black clouds shut out the +sun. Bubbles were sinking and bursting on +every side, and men's hearts were heavy and +anxious. Prince John did his best. He watched +his bubble anxiously, and followed it far. It +was fairy-blessed, as I said, and its wings were +stronger than bubble's wings usually are; but +at last the day came when it could soar no<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[280]</a></span> +longer. The pretty shining sphere hovered, +sank, touched a rock, and in a minute—hey! +presto!—there was no bubble there; it had +utterly disappeared, and Prince Frisbie, with a +very sober face, walked home to tell his wife +that he had lost every thing they had in the +world. This was not a pleasant or an easy +thing to do, as you can readily imagine.</p> + +<p>The children never forgot this evening. They +used to vaguely refer to it among themselves +as "That time, you know." Papa came in +very quiet and pale, and shut himself up with +Mamma. She—poor soul!—was much distressed, +and sobbed and cried. They heard her +as they came downstairs dressed for the evening, +and it frightened them. Papa, coming out +after a while, found them huddled together in +a dismayed little group in the corner of the +entry.</p> + +<p>"O Papa! is it any thing dreadful?" asked +May. "Is Mamma sick?"</p> + +<p>"No, not sick, darling, but very much troubled<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[281]</a></span> +about something. Come with me and I will +explain it to you." Then Papa led them into +the dining-room; and, with Bertha on his knee +and the others close to him, he told them that +he had lost a great deal of money (almost all +he had), and they would have to sell the place, +and go and live in a little house somewhere,—he +didn't yet know exactly where.</p> + +<p>The children had looked downcast enough +when Papa commenced, but at this point their +faces brightened.</p> + +<p>"A really little house?" exclaimed May. +"O Papa! do you know, I'm glad. Little +houses are so pretty and cunning, I always +wanted to live in one. Susie Brown's Papa +does, and Susie can go into the kitchen whenever +she likes, and she toasts the bread for tea, +and does all sorts of things. Do you suppose +that I may toast the bread when we go to live +in our little house, Papa?"</p> + +<p>"I daresay Mamma will be glad of your help +in a great many ways," replied Papa.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[282]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Shall we be poor, very poor indeed?" demanded +Bertha anxiously.</p> + +<p>"Pretty poor for the present, I am afraid," +replied her Father.</p> + +<p>"Goody! goody!" cried May, hopping up +and down on her toes. "I always wanted to be +poor, it's so nice! We'll have the <i>best</i> times, +Papa; see if we don't!"</p> + +<p>Papa actually laughed, May's happy, eager +face amused him so much.</p> + +<p>"I know what we'll do," said Jack, who had +been considering the matter in silence. "We'll +raise lots of chickens, and give you all the +money, Papa."</p> + +<p>"My boy, I am afraid you must give up your +chickens. There will be no place for them in +the new home."</p> + +<p>"Must we?" Jack gave a little gulp, but +went on manfully, "Well, never mind, we'll +find something else that we can do."</p> + +<p>"Mr. Ashurst says Jack is the 'handiest' boy +he ever saw, Papa," put in Arthur eagerly.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[283]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Well, handiness is a capital stock-in-trade. +Now, dears, one thing,—be as good and gentle +as possible with Mamma, and don't trouble her +a bit more than you can help."</p> + +<p>"We will, we will," promised the little flock. +Mrs. Frisbie was quite right in saying that the +children took after their father. Their brave, +bright natures were as unlike hers as possible.</p> + +<p>It is sad to see what short time it requires to +pull down and destroy a home which has taken +years to build. The Frisbies' handsome, luxurious +house seemed to change and empty all in +a moment. Carriages were sold, servants dismissed. +Furniture was packed and carried +away. In a few days nothing remained but a +fine empty shell, with a staring advertisement +of "For Sale" pasted on it. The familiar look +was all gone, and everybody was glad to get +away from the place. It took some time to +find the "little house," and some time longer +to put it to rights. Papa attended to all that, +the children remaining meanwhile with Grandmamma.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[284]</a></span> +Mamma had taken to her bed with a +nervous attack, and cried day and night. Everybody +was sorry; they all waited on her, and did +their best to raise her spirits.</p> + +<p>At last the new home was ready. It was +evening when the carriage set them down at +the gate, and they could only see that there +were trees and shrubs in the tiny front yard, +and a cheerful light streaming from the door, +where Dinah stood to welcome them,—dear +old Di, who had insisted on following their +fortunes as maid of all work. As they drew +nearer, they perceived that she stood in a small, +carpeted entry, with a room on either side. +The room on the right was a sitting-room; the +room on the left, a kitchen. There were three +bedrooms upstairs, and a small coop in the attic +for Dinah. That was all; for it was indeed a +"really little house," as Papa had said.</p> + +<p>"Oh, how pretty!" cried Lulu, as she caught +sight of the freshly papered parlor, with its +cheerful carpet, and table laid for tea, and on<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[285]</a></span> +the other hand of the glowing kitchen stove +and steaming kettle. "Such a nice parlor, and +the dearest kitchen. Why, it's smaller than +Susie Brown's house, which we used to wish +we lived in. Don't you like it, Mamma? I +think it's <i>sweet</i>."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Frisbie only sighed by way of reply. +But the children's pleasure was a comfort to +Papa. He and Dinah had worked hard to +make the little home look attractive. They +had papered the walls themselves, put up +shelves and hooks, arranged the furniture, and +even set a few late flowers in the beds, that the +garden might not seem bare and neglected.</p> + +<p>The next day was a very busy one, for there +were all the trunks to unpack, and the bureau +drawers to fill, and places to be settled for this +thing and that. By night they were in pretty +good order, and began to feel at home, as people +always do when their belongings are comfortably +arranged about them.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Frisbie was growing less doleful. Her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[286]</a></span> +husband, who was very tired, lay back in a big +arm-chair. The evening was chilly, so Dinah +had lighted a small fire of chips, which flickered +and made the room bright. The glow danced +on Bertha's glossy curls as she sat at Mamma's +knee, and on the rosy faces of the two boys. +All looked cheerful and cosy; a smell of toast +came across the entry from the kitchen.</p> + +<p>"Bertha, your hair is very nicely curled to-night," +said Mrs. Frisbie. "I don't know how +Dinah found time to do it."</p> + +<p>"Dinah didn't do it, Mamma. May did it. +She did Lulu's too, and Lulu did hers. We're +always going to dress each other now."</p> + +<p>Just then May came in with a plate of hot +toast in her hand. Lulu followed with the +teapot.</p> + +<p>"It's so nice having the kitchen close by," +said May, "instead of way off as it was in the +other house. This toast is as warm as—toast"—she +concluded, not knowing exactly how to +end her simile.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[287]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Your face looks as warm as toast, too," +remarked her Father.</p> + +<p>"Yes, Papa, that's because I toasted to-night. +Dinah was bringing the clothes from the lines, +so she let me."</p> + +<p>"I stamped the butter, Papa," added Lulu. +"Look, isn't it a pretty little pat?"</p> + +<p>"And I sifted the sugar for the blackberries," +put in Bertha from her place at Mamma's knee.</p> + +<p>"You don't mind, do you Mamma?" observed +Mary anxiously. "Di pinned a big +apron over my frock. See, it hasn't got a spot +on it."</p> + +<p>"I'm glad she did," said Mrs. Frisbie, surprised. +"But it doesn't matter so much how +you dress here, you know. It was in the other +house I was so particular."</p> + +<p>"But I like to please you, Mamma, and you +always want us to look nice, you know. We +mean to be very careful now, because if we +don't we shall worry you all the time."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Frisbie put her arm round Mary and +kissed her.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[288]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I declare," she said, half-laughing, half-crying. +"This house <i>is</i> pleasant. It seems +snugger somehow, as if we were closer together +than we ever were before. I guess I shall like +it after all."</p> + +<p>"Hurrah!" cried Prince John, rousing from +his fatigue at these comfortable words. "That's +right, Molly, dear! You don't know what good +it does me to hear you say so. If only you can +look bright and the chicks keep well and happy, +I shall go to work with a will, and the world will +come right yet." He smiled with a look of conscious +power as he spoke; his eyes were keen +and eager.</p> + +<p>I think that just then, as the children gathered +round the table, as Mrs. Frisbie took up the teapot +and began to pour the tea, and her husband +pushed back his chair,—that just then, at that +very moment, the Fairy entered the room. +Nobody saw her, but there she was! She +smiled on the group; then she took from her +pocket another bubble, more splendid than the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[289]</a></span> +one she had brought before, and tossed it into +the air above Prince John's head. "There," +she said, "catch that. You'll have it this time, +and it won't break and go to pieces as the first +one did. Look at it sailing up, up, up,—this +bubble has wings, but it sails toward and not +away from you. Catch it, as I say, and make it +yours. But even when it <i>is</i> yours, when you +hold it in your hand and are sure of it, you'll +be no luckier and no happier, my lucky Prince, +than you are at this moment, in this small house, +with love about you, hope in your heart, and all +these precious little people to work for, and to +reward you when work is done."</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + + + + +<h1>THE STORY OF JULIETTE.</h1> + +<div class='hang1'>A Child's Romance. By <span class="smcap">Beatrice Washington</span>. With 45 illustrations +by J. F. Goodridge. Small 4to. Cloth. Price, $1.00.</div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 294px;"> +<img src="images/illus-305ad.png" width="294" height="400" alt=""SHE WAS CARRIED IN HER TRUE KNIGHT'S ARMS."" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"SHE WAS CARRIED IN HER TRUE KNIGHT'S ARMS."</span> +</div> + +<div class='center'><i>Sold by all Booksellers. Mailed, post-paid, by the Publishers.</i></div> + +<div class='right'><span class="smcap">ROBERTS BROTHERS, Boston.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3><i>Messrs. Roberts Brothers' Publications.</i></h3> + +<h2>OLD ROUGH THE MISER.</h2> + +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> + +<p>By <span class="smcap">Lily F. Wesselhœft</span>, author of "Sparrow the Tramp," +"Flipwing the Spy," "The Winds, the Woods, and the Wanderer." +With twenty-one illustrations by J. F. Goodridge. Square +16mo, cloth, $1.25.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 350px;"> +<img src="images/illus-306ad.png" width="350" height="341" alt="OLD ROUGH THE MISER." title="" /> +<span class="caption">OLD ROUGH THE MISER.</span> +</div> + +<p>Mrs. Wesselhœft's "Fable Stories" are proving themselves more and +more acceptable to the children. "Old Rough" is a decided acquisition +to the series.</p> + +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> + +<p><i>Sold by all Booksellers. Mailed, post-paid, by the publishers.</i></p> + +<div class='right'> +ROBERTS BROTHERS, <span class="smcap">Boston</span>.<br /> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3><i>Messrs. Roberts Brothers' Publications.</i></h3> + +<h2>SUSAN COOLIDGE'S POPULAR BOOKS.</h2> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 321px;"> +<img src="images/illus-307ad.png" width="321" height="400" alt="The Barberry Bush" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='hang1'><big><b>THE BARBERRY BUSH.</b></big> And Seven +Other Stories about Girls for Girls. By <span class="smcap">Susan +Coolidge</span>. Illustrated by Jessie McDermott. 16mo. +Cloth. Uniform with "What Katy Did," etc. Price, +$1.25.</div> + +<p><i>For sale by all booksellers, and mailed, post-paid, on receipt of price +by the publishers.</i></p> + +<div class='right'> +ROBERTS BROTHERS, <span class="smcap">Boston, Mass.</span><br /> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3><i>Messrs. Roberts Brothers' Publications.</i></h3> + +<h3>By the Author of Dear Daughter Dorothy.</h3> + +<h2><span class="smcap">Robin's Recruit.</span></h2> + +<h3><span class="smcap">By A. G. PLYMPTON</span>,</h3> + +<div class='center'>AUTHOR OF "BETTY A BUTTERFLY," AND "THE LITTLE<br /> +SISTER OF WILIFRED."</div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 292px;"> +<img src="images/illus-308ad.png" width="292" height="300" alt="Robin's Recruit" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>With illustrations by the author. Small 4to. Cloth, +gilt. Price, $1.00.</p> + +<p><i>Sold by all Booksellers. Mailed, post-paid, on receipt of price, +by the Publishers.</i></p> +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> +<div class='right'> +<span style="margin-right: 2em;"><span class="smcap">ROBERTS BROTHERS, Publishers,</span></span><br /> +BOSTON.<br /> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3>SUSAN COOLIDGE'S POPULAR BOOKS.</h3> + +<h2>A GUERNSEY LILY;</h2> + +<div class='center'>OR,<br /></div> + +<h3>HOW THE FEUD WAS HEALED.</h3> + +<h4>A Story for Girls and Boys.</h4> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/illus-309ad.png" width="400" height="242" alt="How the Feud was Healed" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'>BY<br /> + +SUSAN COOLIDGE,<br /> + +<small>Author of "What Katy Did," "Clover," "In the High Valley," etc.</small></div> +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> +<div class='center'>NEW EDITION. Square 16mo. ILLUSTRATED. Price, $1.25.</div> +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> +<div class='center'> +ROBERTS BROTHERS,<br /> +<small>BOSTON.</small><br /> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3>SUSAN COOLIDGE'S POPULAR BOOKS.</h3> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 294px;"> +<img src="images/illus-310ad.png" width="294" height="400" alt="In the High Valley" title="" /> +</div> + +<h2>IN THE HIGH VALLEY.</h2> + +<p>Being the Fifth and last volume of the "Katy Did Series." With +illustrations by <span class="smcap">Jessie McDermott</span>.</p> + +<div class='center'><b>One volume, square 16mo, cloth. Price, $1.25.</b><br /><br /></div> + +<div class='right'> +<span class="smcap">ROBERTS BROTHERS, Publishers, Boston.</span><br /> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3><i>Messrs. Roberts Brothers' Juveniles.</i></h3> + +<h2>THE LITTLE SISTER OF WILIFRED.</h2> + +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> + +<div class='hang1'>A Story. By Miss A. G. Plympton, author of "Dear +Daughter Dorothy" and "Betty a Butterfly." Illustrated +by the author. Small 4to. Cloth. Price, +$1.00.</div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 301px;"> +<img src="images/illus-311ad.png" width="301" height="300" alt="Little Sister of Wilifred" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>The author of "Dear Daughter Dorothy" needs no passport to favor. +That bewitching little story which she not only wrote but illustrated must +have given the name A. G. Plympton a notable place among the writers +of children's stories. Followed by "Betty, a Butterfly" and now by +"The Little Sister of Wilifred," we have a most interesting trio with +which to adorn a child's library.—<i>Boston Times.</i></p> +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> +<p><i>Sold by all booksellers; mailed, post-paid, by the publishers,</i></p> + +<div class='right'> +ROBERTS BROTHERS, <span class="smcap">Boston</span>.<br /> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><span class="smcap">Jolly Good Times at Hackmatack</span></h2> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 303px;"> +<img src="images/illus-312ad.png" width="303" height="400" alt=""There," said Miss Patty, "that's a surtout as is a surtout." Page 259." title="" /> +<span class="caption">"There," said Miss Patty, "that's a surtout as is a surtout." Page 259.</span> +</div> + +<h3>By MARY P. W. SMITH,</h3> + +<div class='hang1'>Author of "Jolly Good Times; or, Child-Life on a Farm," "Jolly Good Times at +School," "Their Canoe Trip," "The Browns." With illustrations. 16mo. Cloth. +Price, $1.25.</div> + +<div class='right'> +<span class="smcap">ROBERTS BROTHERS, Publishers</span>, <i>Boston</i>.<br /> +</div> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class='tnote'><h3>Transcriber's Notes:</h3> +<p>Varied hyphenation was retained when there was an equal number +of each, as in doorway and door-way.</p> +<p>Obvious punctuation errors corrected.</p> + +<p>The remaining corrections made are indicated by dotted lines under the corrections. Scroll the mouse over the word and the original text will <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'apprear'">appear</ins>.</p></div> + +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<hr class="full" /> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NINE LITTLE GOSLINGS***</p> +<p>******* This file should be named 27678-h.txt or 27678-h.zip *******</p> +<p>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:<br /> +<a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/7/6/7/27678">http://www.gutenberg.org/2/7/6/7/27678</a></p> +<p>Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed.</p> + +<p>Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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