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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: A Round Dozen + +Author: Susan Coolidge + +Illustrator: F. T. Merrill + +Release Date: February 6, 2011 [EBook #35186] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A ROUND DOZEN *** + + + + +Produced by Suzanne Shell, Beginners Projects, Emmy and +the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images +generously made available by The Internet Archive/American +Libraries.) + + + + + + +</pre> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 393px;"> +<img src="images/cover.jpg" width="393" height="600" alt="Cover" title="" /> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h1>A ROUND DOZEN.</h1> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 347px;"> +<img src="images/gs01.png" width="347" height="500" alt="Toinette and the Elves." title="" /> + +<span class="caption"><span class='smcap'>Toinette and the Elves.</span><br /> +Down on the ground beside her, a tiny figure became visible, so small that Toinette had to kneel and stoop her head to see it.—<a href="#Page_234"><span class='smcap'>Page</span> 234.</a></span> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h1>A ROUND DOZEN.</h1> + +<div class='center'>BY<br /> + +<span class='author'>SUSAN COOLIDGE,</span><br /> + + +<div class='small'>AUTHOR OF "THE NEW YEAR'S BARGAIN," "WHAT KATY DID," "WHAT KATY<br /> +DID AT SCHOOL," "MISCHIEF'S THANKSGIVING," "NINE LITTLE<br /> +GOSLINGS," "EYEBRIGHT," "CROSS-PATCH,"<br /> +"A GUERNSEY LILY."<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 220px;"> +<img src="images/emblem.png" width="220" height="200" alt="QUI LEGIT REQIT" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><br /><br /> +BOSTON:<br /> +ROBERTS BROTHERS.<br /> +1892.<br /> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div class='copyright'> +<i>Copyright, 1883</i>,<br /> +<span class="smcap">By Roberts Brothers</span>.<br /> +<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> +<span class="smcap">University Press:<br /> +John Wilson and Son, Cambridge</span>.<br /> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + +<div class='center'> +TO<br /> +<br /> +V V V V V<br /> +<br /></div><div class='poem'> +<i>Five little buds grouped round the parent stem,<br /> +Growing in sweet airs, beneath gracious skies,<br /> +Watched tenderly from sunrise to sunrise,<br /> +Lest blight, or chill, or evil menace them.</i><br /> +<br /> +<i>Five small and folded buds, just here and there<br /> +Giving a hint of what the bloom may be,<br /> +When to reward the long close ministry<br /> +The buds shall blossom into roses fair.</i><br /> +<br /> +<i>Soft dews fall on you, dears, soft breezes blow,<br /> +The noons be tempered and the snows be kind,<br /> +And gentle angels watch each stormy wind,<br /> +And turn it from the garden where you grow.</i><br /> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CONTENTS.</h2> + + + + + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary=""> +<tr><td align='left'> </td><td align='right'><span class="small">PAGE</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Little White Door</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_9">9</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Little Karen and her Baby</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_34">34</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Helen's Thanksgiving</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_47">47</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">At Fiesole</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_67">67</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Queen Blossom</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_93">93</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">A Small Beginning</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_115">115</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Secret Door</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_135">135</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Two Wishes</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_156">156</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Blue and Pink</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_183">183</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">A Fortunate Misfortune</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_198">198</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Toinette and the Elves</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_232">232</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Jean's Money, and What it Bought</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_259">259</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">How the Storks Came and Went</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_277">277</a></td></tr> +</table></div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span></p> +<h2>THE LITTLE WHITE DOOR.</h2> + + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 100px;"> +<img src="images/drop_i.png" width="100" height="100" alt="I" title="" /> +</div><div class='unindent'><br /> SUPPOSE that most boys and girls +who go to school and study geography +know, by sight at least, the little +patch of pale pink which is marked on the map +as "Switzerland." I suppose, too, that if I asked, +"What can you tell me about Switzerland?" a +great many of them would cry out, "It is a +mountainous country, the Alps are there, Mont +Blanc is there, the highest land in Europe." +All this is true; but I wonder if all of those +who know even so much have any idea what +a beautiful country Switzerland is? Not only +are the mountains very high and very grand, +but the valleys which lie between are as green +as emerald, and full of all sorts of wild flowers;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span> +there are lakes of the loveliest blue, rivers +which foam and dash as merrily as rivers do +in America, and the prettiest farmhouses in +the world,—<i>châlets</i> the Swiss call them,—with +steep roofs and hanging balconies, and mottoes +and quaint ornaments carved all over their +fronts. And the most peculiar and marvellous +thing of all is the strange nearness of the +grass and herbage to the snows. High, high +up in the foldings of the great mountains on +whose tops winter sits all the year long, are +lovely little valleys hidden away, where goats +and sheep feed by the side of glacier-fed +streams; and the air is full of the tinkle of +their bells, and of the sweet smells of the +mountain flowers. The water of these streams +has an odd color which no other waters have,—a +sort of milky blue-green, like an opal. Even +on the hottest days a chilly air plays over their +surface, the breath, as it were, of the great ice-fields +above, from whose melting snows the +streams are fed. And the higher you climb,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span> +still greener grow the pastures and thicker +the blossoms, while the milk in the <i>châlet</i> pans +seems half cream, it is so rich. Delicious milk +it is, ice cold, and fragrant as if the animals +which produce it had fed on flowers. Oh, +Switzerland is a wonderful land indeed!</div> + +<p>One day as I sat in a thicket of Alp roses +in one of those lovely, lonely upper valleys, I +happened to raise my eyes, and noticed, high +in the cliff above, a tall narrow rock as white +as snow, which looked exactly like a door set +in the face of the gray precipice. An old +shepherd came by, and I asked him about it. +He said it was called "The Door," and that the +valley was called "The Valley of the Door" +by some folks because of it, but that its real +name was "<i>Das Fritzethal</i>," or "Fritz's Valley," +on account of a boy called Fritz who +once lived there. I wanted to know about the +boy, and as the old man had a little time to +spare, he sat down beside me and told this +story, which I will now tell you.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span></p> + +<p>"It was many, many years ago," the shepherd +said, "so many that no man now remembers +exactly when it happened. Fritz's mother +was a widow, and he was her only child. +They were poor people, and had to work hard +for a living. Fritz was a steady, faithful lad, +and did his best. All day long he dug and +toiled, and herded and milked and fed his goats; +in the winter he carved wooden bowls for sale in +the lower valley; but, work as he would, it was +not always easy to keep the meal-bin full. +What made it harder, were the strange storms +which every few months swept the valley and +damaged the crops. Out of the blue sky, as it +were, these storms would suddenly drop. The +sun would be shining one moment; the next, +great torrents of rain would begin to fall and +fierce winds to blow, flooding the crops and +carrying drifts of sand and gravel across the +fields. Then, at other times, no rain would +fall for months together, and every green thing +would be burned and dried up, while perhaps<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span> +at the very same time the lower valleys had +plenty of rain. This happened so often that +people gave the Thal the name of "The +Unlucky Valley," and it was accounted a sad +thing to have to get a living there. The climate +is very different now—praised be God.</p> + +<p>"You can see, madame, that Fritz's lot was +not strewn with roses. Still he was a brave +lad, and did not lose heart. He had no play-fellows, +but sometimes in the long summer days +when he sat to watch the herd, he would tell +himself stories by way of amusement, and +almost always these stories were about the +White Door up there, which was as much a +marvel then as now. At last, by dint of looking +and dreaming, it grew to be so like a real +door to him, that he resolved one day to climb +up and see it closer."</p> + +<p>"Up there!" I cried with horror.</p> + +<p>"Yes, madame. It was very rash. Any +ordinary boy would have been dashed to +pieces, but Fritz was wiry, strong, and active<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span> +as a mountain goat. There are no such boys +left nowadays. One night, while his mother +slept, he stole away, climbed as high as he +dared by moonlight, took a wink of sleep under +a shelving rock, and with the first dawn began +to make his way upward, testing every foothold, +and moving cautiously; for though he +loved adventure, Fritz was by no means a foolhardy +boy, and had no mind to lose his life +if wit and care could keep it safe. But the +climb was a terrible one. He had been on +precipices before, but never on such as this. +Only God's goodness saved him again and +again. A hundred times he wished himself +back, but to return was worse than to go on. +So up and up he went, and at last, scaling that +sheer brown cliff which you see there, and +throwing himself breathless on a narrow ledge, +he found himself close to the object of his +desires. There, just before him, was the Little +White Door.</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 327px;"> +<img src="images/gs02.png" width="327" height="500" alt="Pretty soon he grew bold, and seizing the knocker he gave a loud rap." title="" /> +<span class="caption">Pretty soon he grew bold, and seizing the knocker he gave a loud rap. +<br /> +<span class='smcap'>Page</span> 15.</span> +</div> + +<p>"The sight restored his energies at once.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span> +It was a real door—that he saw at a glance, +for there was a latch and a keyhole and a +knocker—all carved of white stone, and on the +door a name in good German characters, '<i>Die +Wolken</i>.' I do not know the name in English."</p> + +<p>"It is 'Clouds,'" I told him.</p> + +<p>"Ah, yes, 'die clouds.' Fritz could hardly +believe his eyes, as you may imagine.</p> + +<p>"Pretty soon he grew bold, and seizing the +knocker he gave a loud rap. Nobody answered +at first, so he rapped again, louder and louder, +until the sound echoed from the rocks like +thunder. At last the door opened very suddenly, +and some one drew Fritz in and shut the +door again quickly. All was dark inside, but +he felt a cool touch on his wrist, and a hand +he could not see led him along a rocky passage +into the heart of the cliff.</p> + +<p>"After a while a glimmering light appeared, +and the passage turned suddenly into a large +hall, which was full of people, Fritz thought +at first; but then he saw that they were not<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span> +people, but strange rounded shapes in white or +gray, who moved and bounded, and seemed to +be playing a game of some sort. It was like a +game of bowls, but the things they rolled to +and fro on the rocky floor were not balls, but +shapes like themselves, only smaller and +rounder, and of all beautiful colors, red and +purple and yellow. The creatures liked to +roll, it would seem, for they skipped and +jumped as they went along, and laughed with +a sort of crackling laughter, which echoed oddly +back from the roof of the cave. The big +shapes laughed too in great booming tones. +Altogether they made a great deal of noise. +Still the damp little hand clasped Fritz's wrist, +and looking down he saw that his guide was +no other than one of those same small shapes +which were the balls of the game. There was +something so familiar in the pink-cheeked +fleecy outline, that in his surprise Fritz forgot +to be afraid, and spoke aloud, crying, 'Why! +It's a cloud!'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span></p> + +<p>"'To be sure. What did you suppose me +to be, and why did you come to the clouds' +house if you didn't want to see clouds?' +replied the thing.</p> + +<p>"'Didn't you see our name on the door? +Or perhaps you can't read, Stupid!' demanded +a large white cloud, leaving the group of players +and coming up to Fritz and his companion.</p> + +<p>"'Yes, I can read, and I did see the name,' +stammered Fritz; 'still I didn't—'</p> + +<p>"'You did and you didn't; how intelligent +you seem to be!' said the white cloud, with a +toss and curl; while a big black thunder-cloud, +pitching a little yellow one clear across the +cave, shouted in sullen tones which echoed +frightfully from the rocks overhead, 'What's +that boy doing here spoiling our game? +Cumulus, it's your roll. Turn that little +beggar out. He has no business here, interfering +with the sports of his betters!'</p> + +<p>"Fritz trembled, but his small conductor +faced the black cloud undauntedly.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span></p> + +<p>"'Hold your tongue!' he said. 'This boy +is my visitor. I let him in, and you're not to +bully him. I won't permit it.'</p> + +<p>"'<i>You</i>, indeed!' blustered the thunder-cloud. +'Pray, what can you do about it, Little Pink? +I shall say what I like, and do as I like.'</p> + +<p>"'No, you won't,' cried all the small clouds +together, rearing themselves up from the floor. +'We fair-weather clouds are not a bit afraid of +you, as you know. We know very well how +to drive you black ones away, and we will do +it now if you are not civil.' Their voices +though bright were threatening, and one little +violet bit made a dash straight at the nose of +the thunder-cloud, who shrank into a corner, +muttering wrathfully.</p> + +<p>"'Don't be at all afraid,' said Little Pink +to Fritz, in a patronizing tone. 'He shan't do +you any harm. That sort of cloud is always +afraid to face us, because we are so many, you +see, and can serve him as he deserves. Well, +now, and what brought you up here, pray?'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span></p> + +<p>"'I didn't know who lived here, and I +wanted so much to see,' replied Fritz, shyly.</p> + +<p>"'You didn't? Didn't you know that this +was our house?' demanded the little cloud, +astonished.</p> + +<p>"'No, indeed. I didn't even know that you +had a house.'</p> + +<p>"'What! Not know that? Pray, where did +you suppose we were when you didn't see us +in the sky?' cried Little Pink. 'A house! Of +course we have a house. Everybody has one. +You've got a house yourself, haven't you? +Why, we've lived here always, all we clouds. +Sometimes we have great family meetings, +when we get together and indulge in all sorts +of fun and frolic, never going out doors for +weeks at a time.'</p> + +<p>"'Oh, those must be the times when our +fields all burn up, and the streams run dry, +and the poor cattle low with thirst!' said Fritz, +suddenly enlightened. 'So you are enjoying +yourselves up here all the time, are you? I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span> +call that very unkind, and—' Suddenly recollecting +where he was, he hung his head, +abashed at his own daring.</p> + +<p>"Little Pink hung his head too, with a +grieved face.</p> + +<p>"'I never thought of that before,' he said +penitently. 'It was pleasant for us, and the +time went fast. I recollect now that the world +has looked rather queer and yellow sometimes +when we have come out again after a long +absence, but it grew green presently, and I did +not suppose any one minded—'</p> + +<p>"All this while a strange growling sound +had been going on in a room opening from the +hall, across whose entrance stout bars were +fixed.</p> + +<p>"'What <i>is</i> that?' asked Fritz, unable longer +to restrain his curiosity.</p> + +<p>"'That? That's only the North Wind,' +replied Little Pink, in an absent tone. 'We've +shut him up, because he has no business to be +abroad in the summer; and he's such a restless<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span> +creature, and so violent, that he will break +loose if he can, and do all manner of mischief. +Last year, about this time, he got out and +raised a great storm, and made a fearful mess +of it down below.'</p> + +<p>"'I recollect. That was the storm that +killed three of our sheep, and ruined the barley +crop,' exclaimed Fritz. 'Oh, it was dreadful! +We had to make half a loaf do the work of a +whole one all winter long in consequence. It +was hungry times in the valley, I can tell you. +Oh, the evil Wind!'</p> + +<p>"'You poor fellow!' cried the little cloud. +'Well, he's safe now, as you see. He can't +get out and plague you this year, at least. +But I'm so sorry you went hungry. It wasn't +our fault, really it wasn't; still I should like to +make it up to you somehow, if I could.' He +reflected a moment, then he went forward and +gave a call which collected all the other clouds +around him. Fritz watched them consulting +together; at last they moved toward him in a +body.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span></p> + +<p>"'Now, Boy,' said Little Pink, who seemed +to have elected himself spokesman, 'because +you're a good boy and have had bad luck, and +because you're the first boy who ever came up +here and rapped on our door, we're going to +propose a bargain. So long as you live in the +valley below and are steady, and work hard +and keep a kind heart in your bosom for +people not so well off as yourself, so long we +will look after your farm and befriend it. +Water shall fall on it regularly, flood and tempest +shall spare it, the grass shall never dry, +nor the brook fail, nor the herds lack for food. +We shall watch closely, and so long as you +keep your word we will keep ours. Do you +agree?'</p> + +<p>"'What! never any more droughts, never +any floods,' cried Fritz, unable to believe such +good news. 'Oh, how happy mother will be! +Indeed, indeed I will do my best—pray believe +that I will.'</p> + +<p>"'The proof of the pudding,' began Cumulus,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span> +but Little Pink silenced him with a wave of his +hand.</p> + +<p>"'Very well, you do your best and we will +do ours,' he said in a cheery tone. 'Now +about getting you home. Do you know how +late it is?'</p> + +<p>"'No,' said Fritz, who had forgotten all +about time.</p> + +<p>"'It is just noon.'</p> + +<p>"'Really? Oh, how frightened the mother +will be!' cried Fritz, his heart sinking as he +thought of the terrible cliffs which he must +descend.</p> + +<p>"'He never can go home as he came,' declared +a rainbow, craning its long curved neck +like a giraffe's over the heads of the others.</p> + +<p>"'I'll tell you, let us all carry him down on +our shoulders,' suggested Little Pink.</p> + +<p>"'So we will,' shouted the clouds in a +chorus; and jostling and laughing they all +crowded into the narrow passage, bearing Fritz +in their midst. As the door swung open, in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span> +swept fresh visitors, a crowd of tiny scurrying +shapes, and some one behind, whipping them +along with a lash of many-colored air.</p> + +<p>"'Why, where are you all going?' demanded +the new-comer, in a breezy voice. 'I've collected +these stray lambs from hither and yon, +and now I'm in for the day. What takes you +out, pray?'</p> + +<p>"'We'll not be gone a minute. We're only +going to carry this boy home,' answered the +rest; while Little Pink whispered in Fritz's ear, +'That's the West Wind. He's a great favorite +with us all.'</p> + +<p>"'Hallo! A boy! Why, so it is,' cried +West Wind. He pounced on Fritz as he spoke, +kissed him, ruffled his hair, boxed his ears +softly, all in a minute. Then, with a gay, +whooping laugh he vanished into the passage, +while the clouds, raising Fritz, floated downward +like a flock of white-winged birds. Little +Pink lay under his cheek like a pillow. Softly +as thistle-down touches earth they landed on<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span> +the valley floor, laid Fritz on a bed of soft +grass, and rose again, leaving him there. He +looked up to watch them rise, bright and smiling. +Little Pink waved a rosy hand. Higher +and higher sailed the clouds, then they vanished +into the door, and the door was shut."</p> + +<p>I am telling the story, as you see, rather in +my own words than in those of the old shepherd, +but you won't mind that. The truth is, I +cannot remember the exact language he used, +but so long as I keep to the main points of the +history it doesn't much matter, does it?</p> + +<p>"In a few minutes Fritz recovered his wits +and made haste home, for he feared his mother +might be alarmed at his long absence. She +was not, however, for she supposed that he had +risen early, as he sometimes did, and taking a +piece of bread in his hand, had followed the +goats up the valley, breakfasting by the way. +She met him, full of wonder at a strange thing +that had happened.</p> + +<p>"'Such a queer mist filled the valley just<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span> +now,' she said, 'I could not see the sun at all. +I feared a storm was coming, but presently it +rolled away all in a minute, and left the day +as fine as ever. Did you notice it? I never +saw anything like it before.'</p> + +<p>"Fritz let his mother wonder, and held his +peace. She would think that he had fallen +asleep and dreamed it all, he was sure; in fact, +after a little he himself began to believe that +it was a dream.</p> + +<p>"But, dream or no dream, the strange thing +was that it came true! From that time on, the +climate of the Unlucky Valley seemed to change. +Years passed by without a single drought or +inundation. When the pastures below were +parched with thirst, rain fell on Fritz's fields, +keeping them green as emerald. All his crops +succeeded; his goats and sheep gave double +share of milk, and little by little he grew rich.</p> + +<p>"'The Lucky Valley,' people now called the +once unlucky spot, while to Fritz they gave +the name of 'The Favored of the Saints.'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span> +Year after year his gains went on increasing. +Gradually all the land in the valley became his, +except one tiny strip, there at the upper end, +which belonged to a widow, poor as Fritz's +mother once had been. This strip Fritz desired +to buy, but the widow refused to sell, though +he offered a large price. She had come there +a bride, she declared, with the myrtle-crown +on her head, and there she wished to die and +be buried when her time should come. The +memory of his own poor mother, who had +died some time before, should have made Fritz +pitiful to this lonely woman, but his heart had +grown hard with continued prosperity, and it +angered him to be opposed. So when after +many attempts she persisted in her resolution, +he tried harsher means. The widow had debts. +These he bought up, and when she could not +pay he brought the pressure of the law to bear, +and turned her from her home.</p> + +<p>"The very night after he had watched her +depart, weeping and broken-hearted, as he lay<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span> +on his bed, feeling at last that the valley was +all his own, the Little White Door opened on +the cliffs far above, and out came the clouds.</p> + +<p>"Not pink and purple now, smiling and full +of good will, but black and wrathful. Like a +flock of dark vultures they swooped at the +sleeping valley. Floods of rain fell, fierce +winds tore and raved, the river rose and burst +its bounds, carrying all before it; and Fritz, +awakened by the fearful roar, had just time to +escape from his bed and gain the nearer hillside, +when the waters struck the <i>châlet</i> and bore +it away in ruins down the valley, as though it +were no more than a bubble of foam. The +crops were swept off, the flocks drowned in the +fields. Fritz clung to a tree-trunk through that +fearful night, listening to the hiss and rush of +the flood, and the bleatings of the drowning +sheep; and ever and anon it seemed as if +shapes, dimly seen through the darkness, +swooped at and buffeted him, while voices +cried in his ear, 'Promise-breaker! Widow-spoiler!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span> +Is <i>this</i> the way you keep faith with +the clouds?'</p> + +<p>"When morning dawned it revealed a scene +of ruin. Not a blade of barley remained in +the meadows, not a blade of grass in the fields. +The labor of years had vanished in a single +night."</p> + +<p>"It served him right," said I.</p> + +<p>"Ah, my lady," replied the old shepherd, +"God is more merciful to sinners than we men +can be. Fritz was not wicked at heart. He +saw his fault now in the light of his misfortune, +and was sorry for it. Gladly would he have +made amends, but he was now poor as the +poorest, for the waters lay over the earth, and +did not run off as waters generally do. The +fertile valley was become a lake, into which +points of land, fringed with broken and battered +trees, pushed themselves. It was a sad sight.</p> + +<p>"News of the disaster reached the lower +valleys, and the kindly peasants flocked to +help. But what could they do till the water<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span> +receded? Nothing. They could only say comforting +words and return to their homes, leaving +Fritz to his fate.</p> + +<p>"He waited many days, then he formed a +bold resolution. He determined to climb the +cliff once more, knock at the Little White Door, +and plead with the clouds for forgiveness."</p> + +<p>"That was bold indeed," I said.</p> + +<p>"It was a much harder task than it had been +years before, when he was a boy and his joints +were supple," continued the old shepherd. +"Only desperation carried him upward, but at +last he did reach the door. He knocked many +times without answer, and when at length the +door opened, it was not a merry little cloud +which appeared, but a tall, gloomy white one, +which looked like a sheeted ghost. No game +was going on in the great hall. The clouds, +dressed in black, each with his thunder-cap on, +sat side by side, and frowned on Fritz as he +stood in the midst and made his plea.</p> + +<p>"'I have sinned,' he said sadly, as he ended,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span> +'I have sinned grievously, and I am justly +punished. I forgot my promise to you, <i>meine +Herren</i>, and I cannot complain that you broke +yours to me. But give me one more chance, I +implore you. Let me atone for my fault, and +if I fail again, punish me as you will.'</p> + +<p>"It seemed to him that the clouds grew a +little less gloomy as he spoke, and their voices +were gentle as they replied, 'Very well, we +will consider of it. Now go.' There was no +offer to carry him this time. Exhausted and +weary he groped his way down at peril to life +and limb, and more dead than alive crept into +the miserable shed which had replaced his +home, with no assured hope as to what the +clouds might elect to do.</p> + +<p>"But lo, in the morning the waters had +begun to fall. He hardly dared believe his +eyes, but day by day they slowly grew less. +By the end of a fortnight the ground was left +bare. Such land! Rough, seamed, gullied by +the flood, covered with slime from the mountain<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span> +side and with rocks and gravel,—it seemed a +hopeless task to reclaim it again into pasture.</p> + +<p>"But Fritz was a strong man and his will +was good. Little by little the rocks were +removed, the fields resown, and the valley +restored to its old fruitfulness. The soil seemed +richer than ever before, as if the mud and slime +which had lain so long on the surface were +possessed of some fertilizing quality. Another +<i>châlet</i> in time arose, in place of the old one. +By the end of fifteen years Fritz again was a +rich man, richer than before. But his hard +heart had been drowned in the flood, and the +new heart which he brought back from the +Little White Door was soft and kind. As soon +as he could, he sought out the poor widow +and restored to her all she had lost, land and +home and goats. Later on he wedded her niece, +a good and honest maiden, and they took the +widow to live under their own roof, and were +to her as a son and daughter. So the last +years of Fritz were his best years, and his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span> +name, 'The Favored of the Saints,' stuck to +him for the rest of his life. And it is from him +that this valley is named <i>Das Fritzethal</i>, my +lady."</p> + +<p>"And is the story really a true one?" I +asked.</p> + +<p>"Ah, who knows?" said the old shepherd, +shaking his head wisely. "The world has so +many liars in it that no one can be sure." +Then he took off his odd pointed hat, made a +bow, called to his goats, and went his way +down the valley, followed by the herd with +their many-keyed tinkling bells.</p> + +<p>I looked up. The Little White Door shone +out of the face of the cliff all rosy pink with +sunset. It was time for me to go also.</p> + +<p>"At least," I thought, "if the story is not +all true, if it has changed and grown a little +during the course of the years,—at least it is +a good story, and I am glad I heard it."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span></p> +<h2>LITTLE KAREN AND HER BABY.</h2> + + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 100px;"> +<img src="images/drop_t.png" width="100" height="100" alt="T" title="" /> +</div><div class='unindent'><br />HE cottage in which little Karen lived +stood high up on the hillside, close +to the edge of a great forest. It was +a strange, lonely place for a young wife, almost +a girl, to be so happy in; but Karen was not +afraid of the forest, and never thought her home +lonely, not even when the strong winds blew in +winter-time, and brought the far-off baying of +wolves from the mountains beyond. Her husband, +her boy, her housewifely cares, her spinning-wheel, +and her needle kept her busy all +day long, and she was as cheerful as busy. The +cottage was not large, but it was strongly built +of heavy beams and stones. Its low walls +seemed to hug and clasp the ground, as if for<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span> +protection in time of storm. The casement +windows, with their very small panes of thick +glass, let in little sun, but all summer long they +stood open, and in winter, what with the +crackling fire, the hum of the wheel, and +Karen's bright face, the living-room never +looked dark, and, for all its plainness, had an +air of quaint comfort about it. Fritz, Karen's +husband, who was skilful with tools, had +ornamented the high-backed chair, the press +for clothes, and the baby's oaken cradle, with +beautiful carving, of which little Karen was +exceedingly proud. She loved her cottage, +she loved the great wood close by; her lonely +life was delightful to her, and she had not the +least wish to exchange it for the toy-like +village in the valley below.</div> + +<p>But Karen was unlike other people, the +neighbors said, and the old gossips were wont +to shake their heads, and mutter that there +was a reason for this unlikeness, and that all +good Christians ought to pity and pray for the +poor child.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span></p> + +<p>Long, long ago, said these gossips,—so long +that nobody now could remember exactly when +it was,—Karen's great-great-great-grandfather, +(or perhaps <i>his</i> grandfather—who could tell?) +when hunting in the high mountains, met a +beautiful, tiny maiden, so small and light that +a man could easily carry her in the palm of +one hand. This maiden he fell in love with, +and he won her to be his wife. She made a +good wife; kept the house as bright as new +tin; and on her wheel spun linen thread so fine +that mortal eye could hardly see it. But a +year and a day from the time of her marriage +she went out to walk in the wood, and never +came back any more! The reason of this was, +that she was a gnomide,—daughter of one of +the forest gnomes,—and when her own people +encountered her thus alone, they detained her, +and would not suffer her to return to her husband. +The baby she left in the cradle grew to +be a woman,—bigger than her gnome mother, +it is true, but still very small; and all the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span> +women of the race have been small since that +time. Witness little Karen herself, whose head +only came up to the shoulder of her tall Fritz. +Then her passion for woods and solitary +places, her beautiful swift spinning, her hair, +of that peculiar pale white-brown shade,—all +these were proofs of the drops of unearthly +blood which ran in her veins. Gnomes always +had white hair. This was because they lived +in holes and dark places. Even a potato +would throw out white leaves if kept in a +cellar,—everybody knew that,—and the +gossips, ending thus, would shake their heads +again, and look very wise.</p> + +<p>Karen had heard these stories, and laughed +at them. No fairy or gnome had ever met her +eyes in the woods she loved so well; and as for +hair, Rosel Pilaff's, and Gretchen Erl's too, was +almost as pale as hers. Fair hair is common +enough in the German mountains. Her little +boy—bless him!—had downy rings which +promised to become auburn in time, the color<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span> +of his father's beard. She did not believe in +the gnome story a bit.</p> + +<p>But there came a time when she almost +wished to believe it, for the gnomes are said to +be wise folk, and little Fritz fell ill of a strange +disease, which neither motherly wisdom nor +motherly nursing was able to reach. Each day +left him thinner and weaker, till he seemed no +more than half his former size. His very face +looked strange as it lay on the cradle-pillow, +and Karen was at her wits' end to know what +to do.</p> + +<p>"I will go to the village and ask Mother +Klaus to come and see the child," said Fritz. +"She may know of a remedy."</p> + +<p>"It will be of no use," declared Karen, +sadly. "She went to the Berards' and the +baby died, and to Heinrich's and little Marie +died. But go, go, Fritz!—only come back +soon, lest our angel take flight while you are +away!"</p> + +<p>She almost pushed him from the door, in her +impatience to have him return.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span></p> + +<p>A while after, when the baby had wailed +himself to sleep, she went again to the door to +look down the path into the valley. It was +too soon to hope for Fritz, but the movement +seemed a relief to her restlessness. It was +dusk, not dark,—a sweet, mild dusk, with +light enough left to show the tree-branches as +they met and waved against the dim yellow +sky. Deep shadows lay on the moss-beds and +autumn flowers which grew beneath; only a +faint perfume here and there told of their presence, +and the night was very near.</p> + +<p>Too unhappy to mind the duskiness, Karen +wandered a little way up the wood-path, and +sat down on the root of an old oak, so old that +the rangers had given it the name of "Herr +Grandfather." It was only to clear her brimming +eyes that she sat down. She wiped +them with her kerchief, and, with one low sob, +was about to rise, when she became aware that +somebody was standing at her side.</p> + +<p>This somebody was a tiny old woman, with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span> +a pale, shadowy, but sweet face, framed in +flossy white hair. She wore a dark, foreign-looking +robe; a pointed hood, edged with fur, +was pulled over her head; and the hand which +she held out as she spoke was as white as the +stalk of celery.</p> + +<p>"What is the matter, my child?" she asked, +in a thin, rustling voice, which yet sounded +pleasantly, because it was kind.</p> + +<p>"My baby is <i>so</i> ill," replied Karen, weeping.</p> + +<p>"How ill?" inquired the old woman, anxiously. +"Is it cold? Is it fever? Do its eyes +water? My baby once had a cold, and her +eyes—" She stopped abruptly.</p> + +<p>"His eyes do not water," said Karen, who +felt singularly at home with the stranger. "But +his head is hot, and his hands; he sleeps ill, +and for these ten days has hardly eaten. He +grows thinner and whiter every hour, and wails +whenever he is awake. Oh, what am I doing? +I must go back to him." And, as she spoke, +she jumped from her seat.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span></p> + +<p>"One minute!" entreated the little old +woman. "Has he pain anywhere?"</p> + +<p>"He cries when I move his head," said +Karen, hurrying on.</p> + +<p>The stranger went too, keeping close beside +her in a swift, soundless way.</p> + +<p>"Take courage, Liebchen, child to her who +was child of my child's child," she said. "Weep +not, my darling. I will send you help. Out of +the wisdom of the earth shall come aid for the +little dear one."</p> + +<p>"What <i>do</i> you mean?" cried Karen, stopping +short in her surprise.</p> + +<p>But the old woman did not answer. She had +vanished. Had the wind blown her away?</p> + +<p>"How could I wander so far? How could I +leave my baby? Wicked mother that I am!" +exclaimed Karen, in sudden terror, as she ran +into the cottage.</p> + +<p>But nothing seemed disturbed, and no one +had been there. The baby lay quietly in his +cradle, and the room was quite still, save for<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span> +the hiss of the boiling pot and the fall of an +ember on the hearth. Gradually her heart +ceased its terrified beating; a sense of warmth +and calm crept over her, her eyes drooped, and, +seated at the cradle-foot, she fell asleep in her +chair.</p> + +<p>Whether it was an hour or a minute that she +slept, she never knew. Slowly and dimly her +waking senses crept back to her; but though +she heard and saw and understood, she could +neither stir nor speak. Two forms were bending +over the cradle, forms of little men, venerable +and shadowy, with hair like snow, and +blanched, pale hands, like her visitor of the +afternoon. They did not look at Karen, but +consulted together above the sleeping child.</p> + +<p>"It is <i>here</i>, brother, and <i>here</i>," said one, laying +his finger gently on the baby's head and +heart.</p> + +<p>"Does it lie too deep for our reaching?" +asked the second, anxiously.</p> + +<p>"No. The little herb you know of is powerful."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span></p> + +<p>"And the crystal dust <i>you</i> know of is more +powerful still."</p> + +<p>Then they took out two minute caskets, and +Karen saw them open the baby's lips, and each +drop in a pinch of some unknown substance.</p> + +<p>"He is of ours," whispered one, "more of +ours than any of them have been since the +first."</p> + +<p>"He has the gift of the far sight," said the +other, lightly touching the closed eyes, "the +divining glance, and the lucky finger."</p> + +<p>"I read in him the apprehension of metals," +said the second old man, "the sense of hidden +treasures, the desire to penetrate."</p> + +<p>"We will teach him how the waters run, and +what the birds say—yes, and the way in and +the way out!"</p> + +<p>"Put the charm round his neck, brother."</p> + +<p>Then Karen saw the little men tie a bright +object round the baby's neck. She longed to +move, but still she sat mute and powerless, +while the odd figures passed round the cradle,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span> +slowly at first, then faster and faster, crooning, +as they went, a song which was like wind in +branches, and of which this scrap lodged in her +memory:—</p> + +<div class='poem'> +"Eyes to pierce the darkness through,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Wit to grasp the hidden clew,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Heart to feel and hand to do,—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">These the gnomes have given to you."</span><br /> +</div> + +<p>So the song and the circling movement went +on, faster and more fast, and round and round, +till Karen's head swam and her senses seemed +to spin in a whirling dance; and she knew no +more till roused by the opening of the door, +and Fritz's voice exclaiming: "Come in, Dame +Klaus—come in! Karen! Where are you, +wife? Ah, here she is, fast asleep, and the +little man is asleep too."</p> + +<p>"I am not asleep," said Karen, finding her +voice with an effort. Then, to her husband's +surprise, she began to weep bitterly. But, for +all his urgings, she would not tell the cause, +for she was afraid of Dame Klaus's tongue.</p> + +<p>The dame shook her head over the sick baby.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span> +He was very bad, she said; still, she had brought +through others as bad as he, and there was no +telling. She asked for a saucepan, and began +to brew a tea of herbs, while Karen, drawing +her husband aside, told her wonderful tale in +a whisper.</p> + +<p>"Thou wert dreaming, Karen; it is nothing +but a dream," declared the astounded Fritz.</p> + +<p>"No, no," protested Karen. "It was not a +dream. Baby will be well again, and great +things are to happen! You will see! The +little men know!"</p> + +<p>"Little men! Oh, Karen! Karen!" exclaimed +Fritz.</p> + +<p>But he said no more, for Karen, bending +over the cradle, lifted the strange silver coin +which was tied round the baby's neck, and held +it up to him with a smile. A silver piece is +not a dream, as every one knows; so Fritz, +though incredulous, held his tongue, and neither +he nor Karen said a word of the matter to +Mother Klaus.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span></p> + +<p>Baby <i>was</i> better next day. It was all the +herb-tea, Mother Klaus declared, and she gained +great credit for the cure.</p> + +<p>This happened years ago. Little Fritz grew +to be a fine man, sound and hearty, though +never as tall as his father. He was a lucky +lad too, the villagers said, for his early taste +for minerals caught the attention of a rich +gentleman, who sent him to the school of +mines, where he got great learning. Often +when the mother sat alone at her wheel, a +smile came to her lips, and she hummed low +to herself the song of the little old men:—</p> + +<div class='poem'> +"Eyes to pierce the darkness through,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Wit to grasp the hidden clew,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Heart to feel and hand to do,—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">These the gnomes have given to you."</span><br /> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span></p> +<h2>HELEN'S THANKSGIVING.</h2> + + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 117px;"> +<img src="images/drop_mquote.png" width="117" height="100" alt=""M" title="" /> +</div><div class='unindent'><br />AMMA, would you mind <i>very</i> much +if I should learn to make pies?"</div> + +<p>This request sounds harmless, but +Mrs. Sands quite started in her chair as she +heard it. She and Helen were sitting on either +side of a wood-fire. The blinds had been +pulled down to exclude the chill November +darkness, and the room was lit only by the +blazing logs, which sent out quick, bright +flashes followed by sudden soft shadows, in +that unexpected way which is one of the +charms of wood-fires. It was a pretty room, in +a pretty house, in one of the up-town streets of +New York, and the mother and daughter looked +very comfortable as they sat there together.</p> + +<p>"Pies, my dear? What <i>do</i> you mean?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I'll tell you, mamma. You're going to +Grandmamma Ellis for Thanksgiving, this year, +you know, and papa and I are going up to +Vermont, to Grandmother Sands?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Well, I don't remember grandmother +much, because it is so long since she was here, +but the one thing I do recollect is how troubled +she was because I didn't know anything about +housekeeping. One day you had a headache, +and wanted some tea; and you rang and rang, +and Jane was ever so long in fetching it, and at +last grandma said, 'Why don't you run down +and see to it, Helen?' And when I told her +that I wasn't allowed to go into the kitchen, +and beside that I didn't know how to make +tea, she looked so distressed, and said, 'Dear +me, dear me! Poor little ignorant girl! What +a sad bringing up for you in a country like +ours!' I didn't understand exactly what she +meant, but I have never forgotten it, and do you +know, mamma, just that one speech of grandma's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span> +has made me want to do ever so many things. +I never told you, but once I made my bed for +more than a week,—till Bridget said I was +'worth my salt as a chambermaid,' and I used +to dust the nursery, and sweep. And the +other day it came into my head suddenly how +pleased grandmother would be if I carried her +a pumpkin-pie that I had made myself; so I +asked Morrison, and she said she'd teach me, +and welcome, if you didn't mind. Do you +mind, mamma?"</p> + +<p>"You know, dear, I don't like to have you +about with the servants, and I never wanted +you to become a drudge at home, as so many +American girls are. Then you have your +lessons to attend to besides."</p> + +<p>"Yes, mamma, I know, but it will only take +one morning, and I'll not begin till school +closes, if you'd rather not. I really would like +to so much, mamsie?"</p> + +<p>Helen's pet name for her mother was coaxingly +spoken, and had its effect. Mrs. Sands +yielded.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Very well, dear; you may, if you like, +only I wish you could wear gloves."</p> + +<p>"O mamma! nobody makes pies in gloves. +But I needn't put my hands in at all, except +for rolling the paste, Morrison says so."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Sands was not so silly a woman as she +sounds. Born and bred in the West Indies, +the constant talk about servants and housekeeping, +that met her ears when she came to +New York, a young married woman, so puzzled +and annoyed her that she somewhat +rashly decided that her child should never +know anything about such matters. Morrison, +the good old cook, had lived with her since +Helen was a baby, and all had gone so +smoothly that there had never seemed occasion +for interference from anybody. And Helen +would have grown up in utter ignorance of all +practical matters, had not a chance remark of +her thrifty New England grandmother piqued +her into the voluntary wish of learning.</p> + +<p>It was with a good deal of excitement, and a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span> +little sense of victory as well, that Helen went +downstairs, a few days later, to take the +promised lesson. The kitchen looked very +cheerful and neat, and Morrison was all ready +with her spice-box, eggs, pie-dishes, and great +yellow bowl full of strained pumpkin; likewise +a big calico apron to tie over Helen's +dress. First they made the crust. It was +such good fun pinching the soft bits of lard +into the nice, dry-feeling flour, that Helen +would willingly have prolonged the operation, +but Morrison objected. Pastry didn't like to be +fingered, she said; and she made Helen wash +her hands, and then mix in the ice-water with +a thin-bladed knife, cutting and chopping till +all was moistened into a rough sort of dough. +Next, she produced the rolling-pin, and showed +her how to beat the dough with dexterous +strokes, up and down, and cross-ways, till it +became a smooth paste, which felt as soft as +velvet, and then how to roll it into a smooth +sheet, lay on the butter in thin flakes, fold and +roll again.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Now wrap this towel all round it, and I'll +set it into the ice-chest till we want it," she said. +"It'll puff the minute it goes into the oven, +never fear; I can always tell. You like it,—don't +you,—Miss Helen dear?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, indeed, ever so much. I <i>hope</i> the pies +will be good; grandmamma will be so pleased."</p> + +<p>"They'll be good," pronounced Morrison, +confidently. "Now sift in plenty of sugar, +miss."</p> + +<p>So Helen put in "plenty" of sugar, and then, +as directed, grated lemon-peel, lemon-juice, cinnamon, +ginger, nutmeg, melted butter, a pinch +of salt, beaten eggs, a dash of rose-water, and +then a little more sugar, and "just the least +taste of cinnamon," till Morrison pronounced +the flavor exactly right, and Helen declared +that for all she could see, pumpkin-pies were +made of anything in the world except pumpkins. +Last of all went in a great pour of hot milk; +then the pie-dishes were lined, filled, and set in +the oven, after being ornamented with all manner<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span> +of zigzags and curly-queues of paste round +their edges; and Helen rushed upstairs to tell +her mother that pie-making was "just lovely," +and she would like to be a cook always, she +thought. By Morrison's advice she wrote the +whole process down in a book while it was +fresh in her mind, and she was glad afterwards +that she had done so, as you will see.</p> + +<p>That same afternoon Mrs. Sands went on to +Philadelphia, and next morning early Helen +and her father started for their journey to Vermont. +It was gray, blustering weather, but +neither of them cared for that. Papa was in +high spirits, and full of fun as a school-boy. +Their baggage comprised, besides two valises, +a big hamper full of all sorts of nice things +for grandmother, game and fruit and groceries, +and Helen carried a flat basket in her hand, in +which, wrapped in a snowy napkin, reposed one +of the precious pies.</p> + +<p>"Bless me, how raw it is! It looks as though +it were going to snow," said Mr. Sands, as he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span> +came in from a walk up and down the platform +of one of the little stations at which the train +stopped; and five minutes later Helen, with a +little scream of surprise, cried out, "Why, +papa, it <i>is</i> snowing!" Sure enough it was,—in +fine snow-flakes, which before long thickened +into a heavy fall.</p> + +<p>"It will only be a squall," Mr. Sands said; +but the conductor shook his head, and remarked +that up there so near the mountains there was +no calculating on weather. It might stop in +half an hour, or it might go on all night: no +one could pretend to say beforehand which it +would do.</p> + +<p>By the time they reached Asham, their stopping-place, +the ground was solid white. The +wind, too, had risen, and was drifting the snow +in all directions. The tavern-keeper at Asham, +to whom Mr. Sands went for "a team," advised +them to stay all night, but this both Helen and +her father agreed was not to be thought of. It +was only fourteen miles. Grandmamma was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span> +expecting them, and must not be disappointed. +So, well wrapped in carriage blankets and buffalo +robes, they set out in a light covered rockaway, +with a stout horse, their baggage packed +in behind them.</p> + +<p>Fourteen miles may seem a very short distance +or a very long one, according to circumstances. +Before they had gone half-way both +of them began to think it an extremely long +one. The road lay up hill for the greater part +of the way. Night was coming on fast, and +every moment the drift grew thicker and more +confusing. Mr. Sands in his secret heart repented +that he had not taken the tavern-keeper's +advice, and stayed at Asham. At last the +horse, which had halted several times and been +urged on again, came to a dead stop. Mr. +Sands touched him with the whip, but he would +not stir. He jumped up to see what was the +matter, and found the poor animal up to his +chest in snow. He had wandered from the +road a little and plunged into a drift. Mr.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span> +Sands tried to turn him toward the road, when, +lo, a loud and ominous crack was heard, and +Helen gave a scream. One of the shafts had +snapped in two.</p> + +<p>Matters now looked serious. Mr. Sands undid +the harness as fast as possible, for he feared +the horse might flounder to release himself, +and upset the carriage. Then he climbed into +the rockaway again, and stood up to see if he +could anywhere see the light of a house. No; +a twinkling beam was visible farther up the +hill, about a quarter of a mile away.</p> + +<p>"Helen," he said, "I'll have to ask you to +sit here quietly for ten minutes or so, while I +ride on to a house which I see up there, and +get some one to help us. Will you be afraid to +be left alone? It's only for a little while."</p> + +<p>"N-o; but O papa! must you go? I'm so +afraid the horse will kick, or you'll tumble +off."</p> + +<p>"Never fear,"—trying to laugh,—"I really +must go, dear; it's our only chance of getting<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span> +out of this scrape. Promise me to sit perfectly +still, and on no account to leave the carriage."</p> + +<p>It seemed much longer than ten minutes before +papa got back, but there he was at last, +with another man carrying a lantern, both of +them white with snow up to their waists.</p> + +<p>"All right, Helen," he cried cheerily. "Wrap +all the blankets round your shoulders; I'm +going to set you on the horse, and Mr. Simmons +and I—this is Mr. Simmons, my dear—will +walk on either side and hold you on; we'll +have you up the hill in a trice."</p> + +<p>Helen did not like it at all. The horse felt +dreadfully <i>alive</i> under her, and jerked so, as he +plunged up hill through the snow, that she was +constantly afraid of tumbling off. It did not +last long, however. In five minutes her father +had lifted and carried her in, and set her down +in a kitchen, where a woman with a candle in +her hand stood waiting for them.</p> + +<p>"This is Mrs. Simmons," he said. "She is so +kind as to say that she will keep us till to-morrow<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span> +morning, when perhaps the snow will have +stopped, and, at all events, we shall have daylight +to find our way with. Mr. Simmons and +I are going back now to fetch up the luggage. +The rockaway will have to take care of itself +till to-morrow, I fancy."</p> + +<p>Left alone, Helen looked curiously about her. +The kitchen was a bare-looking place to her eyes. +There was a stove with a fire in it, a rocking-chair +covered with faded "patch," some wooden +chairs, a table, and a sort of dresser with dishes. +A large wheel for spinning wool stood in one of +the windows. Everything was clean, but there +was an air of poverty, and to Helen it seemed +a most dismal place. She could not imagine +how people could live and be happy there.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Simmons herself looked very ill and +tired.</p> + +<p>"I enjoy such poor health," she explained to +Helen, as she took some plates and bowls down +from the dresser. "I got the ague down to +Mill Hollow, where we lived, and we moved up<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span> +here, hoping to get rid of it. I am some better, +but it took me powerful hard yesterday, and I +suppose I'll have it bad again to-morrow. Mr. +Simmons, he's got behindhand somehow, and +it's hard work trying to catch up in these times. +What with one thing and another, both of us +have felt clean discouraged this fall. Glory, +fetch the milk."</p> + +<p>"Yes, mother." And out of the buttery +came a girl of about Helen's age, with a pan in +her hands. She had apparently tumbled out of +bed to help in the entertainment of the strangers, +for her hair was flying loose, and she +looked only half dressed; but she had pretty +brown eyes and a bright smile.</p> + +<p>"I feel real bad to think I'm out of tea," +said Mrs. Simmons. "Father, he was calculating +to get some later on, when he'd finished a +job of lumber-hauling. And the hens have +'most stopped laying, too; I hain't but four eggs +in the house."</p> + +<p>"Oh, don't give us the eggs!" cried Helen;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span> +"you'll want them yourself for Thanksgiving, +I'm sure."</p> + +<p>"Thanksgiving! Dear me, so it is!" said +Mrs. Simmons. "I'd forgot all about that. +Not that it'd have made much difference, any +way. You can't make something out of nothin', +and that's about what we've come to."</p> + +<p>"I've got a pie," cried Helen, with a sudden +generous impulse, but feeling a little pang +meanwhile, as she recalled her vision of putting +the pie into grandmamma's own hands. But +where was the pie? She recollected now,—the +basket was in her lap when papa lifted her +out of the carriage. It must have fallen out, +and probably was now buried deep in snow.</p> + +<p>A great stamping of boots just then announced +the entrance of the two men with the valises +and hamper. Mrs. Simmons renewed her apologies +about the tea. Hot milk, a little fried +pork, two of the eggs, and a loaf of saleratus +bread were all she had to offer, but it was very +welcome to the hungry travellers. There was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span> +some choice tea in grandmother's hamper, but +Mr. Sands very rightly judged it better to say +nothing about it just then, as it might have +seemed that he and Helen were not satisfied +with their supper. They ate heartily, and +soon after went to bed in two chilly little lofts +upstairs, where all the buffalo robes and blankets +from the carriage could not <i>quite</i> keep them +warm.</p> + +<p>Helen lay awake a long time, thinking of +her own disappointment and grandmamma's, +but more still about the Simmons family. +How hard and melancholy their life seemed, +struggling with poverty and ague up here +among the lonely hills, with no doctor near +them, and no neighbors! A great sympathy +and pity awoke in her heart. Her first impulse, +when she roused next morning, was to hurry +to the window. It was still snowing, and the +drifts seemed deeper than ever! "Oh, dear!" +she thought, "we shall have to stay in this forlorn +place another day, I am afraid." A more<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span> +generous thought followed: "If it seems so +hard to me to have to spend one day here, +what must it be to live here always?" And +she made up her mind that, if they were forced +to stay, she would do all she could to make +Thanksgiving a little less forlorn than it +seemed likely to be to Mrs. Simmons and +Glory.</p> + +<p>It did look forlorn downstairs in the bare +little kitchen. Mrs. Simmons's chill was coming +on. She was up and dragging herself +about, but she looked quite unfit to be out of +bed. Two little children, a boy and a girl, +whom Helen had not seen the night before, +clung close to her dress, and followed wherever +she moved, hiding their shy faces from the +strangers. They got over their shyness gradually +as Helen laughed, and coaxed them, and +by the time breakfast was over had grown +good friends.</p> + +<p>"Now," said Helen, gayly, after a last glance +at the window, which showed the snow-storm<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span> +still raging, "I am going to propose a plan. +You shall go to bed, Mrs. Simmons,—I'm +sure you ought to be there at this moment,—and +Glory and I will wash the dishes, and we +will cook the Thanksgiving dinner."</p> + +<p>"Oh, dear! there ain't nothing worth +cooking," sighed poor Mrs. Simmons, but she +was too ill to make objections. So Glory, or +Glorvina, put the kitchen to rights with Helen's +help, and then the two girls sat down to consult +over dinner.</p> + +<p>"Could you roast a turkey, do you think?" +asked Helen.</p> + +<p>"There ain't no turkey to be roasted," +objected Glory.</p> + +<p>"Yes, but could you if there were? Because +I think there's one in the hamper, papa, and I +know grandmamma would let us have it if she +knew."</p> + +<p>"Why, of course she would. Use everything +in the hamper if you like; grandma +would never think of objecting, and there's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span> +plenty more to be had where those came from," +said her father.</p> + +<p>So the hamper was unpacked, and the turkey +extracted, and a package of tea and another +of lump sugar, and a tumbler of currant jelly; +and Helen filled a big dish with oranges and +white grapes, and the preparations went merrily +on. There proved to be half a squash in the +cellar, and Glory, wading out in the snow, +fetched in a couple more eggs from the barn, +so pies were possible. Helen produced her +recipe-book.</p> + +<p>"Now I'm going to show you just how to +make pies," she said; "I only learned myself day +before yesterday." And she thought, "How +lucky it is that I did learn, for now I can show +Glory, and she'll always know. But wouldn't +Morrison open her eyes if she could see me?"</p> + +<p>The spices and lemons came out of the +hamper, of course, and the crust had to be +made of salt butter and no lard; but the pies +turned out very good, for all that, and no one<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span> +was in the least disposed to find fault with +their flavor. Really, the little dinner was a +great success. Glory's potatoes were a little +underdone, but that was the only failure. The +children ate as though they could never be +satisfied. Mr. Simmons cheered up and cracked +one or two feeble jokes; and even Mrs. +Simmons, propped high in bed to survey the +festive scene, called out that it "looked something +like," and she didn't know when there +had been so much laughing going on in their +house before.</p> + +<p>The clock struck three just as the last nicely +washed plate was set away on the dresser. +Helen quite jumped at the sound. How short, +after all, the day had seemed which promised +to be so long and dismal! And just then a +bright yellow ray streamed through the window, +and, looking out, she saw blue sky.</p> + +<p>"Papa," she screamed, "it has cleared up! +I do believe we shall get to grandmamma's +to-night, after all!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span></p> + +<p>And so they did. Mr. Sands, with Mr. Simmons's +assistance, fitted the rockaway on to +a pair of old sledge-runners, and, with many +warm good-byes from the whole family, they +drove off. Just at sunset they reached Morrow +Hill, and grandma was so glad to see them, +and they so glad to get there, that it was easy +to forget all their disappointment and delay. +In fact, after a little while Helen convinced +herself that the whole thing was rather a piece +of good fortune than otherwise.</p> + +<p>"For, don't you see, papa," she exclaimed, +"we had all Thanksgiving evening with grandmother, +you know, and she had it with us, so +we only lost part of our pleasant time? But +if it hadn't been for the snow and the breakdown, +the poor Simmonses wouldn't have had +any Thanksgiving at all—not a bit; so it +really was a great deal better, don't you see +that it was, papa?"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span></p> +<h2>AT FIESOLE.</h2> + + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 98px;"> +<img src="images/drop_f.png" width="98" height="100" alt="F" title="" /> +</div><div class='unindent'><br />IESOLE is a quaint old town which +perches on a hill-top above the +valley of the Arno and the city of +Florence. You must not pronounce it as it +is spelt, but like this—Fee-es-o-lee. From +the Florence streets people catch glimpses of +its bell-towers and roofs shining above the +olive orchards and vineyards of the hillside. +A white road winds upward toward it in long, +easy zigzags, and seems to say, "Come with +me and I will show you something pretty."</div> + +<p>Not long ago there were two girls in Florence +to whom, plainly as road could speak, the +white road seemed to utter these very words. +Pauline and Molly Hale were the names of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span> +these girls. It was six months since they had +left America with their father and mother, and +it seemed much longer, because so much had +happened in the time. First, the sea voyage, +not pleasant, and yet not exactly unpleasant, +because papa got better all the way, and that +made mamma happy. Now papa would be +quite well at once, they thought. His people +(for papa was a clergyman) had sent him away +for that purpose. They were not a rich people, +but each gave a little, and all together it made +enough to carry the pastor and his family +across the sea and keep them there one year, +with very prudent management. The Hales, +therefore, did not travel about as most people +do, but went straight to Italy, where they +hoped to find that sun and warm air which +are an invalid's best medicines.</p> + +<p>"Going straight to Italy" means, however, +a great many pleasant things by the way. +Molly was always reminding Maria Matilda, +her doll, of the sights she had seen and the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span> +superior advantages she enjoyed over the dolls +at home.</p> + +<p>After this mention of a doll, what will you +say when I tell you that Molly was almost +thirteen? Most girls of thirteen scorn to play +with dolls, but Molly was not of their number. +She was childish for her years, and possessed +a faithful little heart, which clung to Maria +Matilda as to an old friend whom it would be +unkind to lay aside.</p> + +<p>"First, there was Paris," Molly would say +to her. "No, first there was <i>Deep</i>, where the +people all talked so queerly that we couldn't +understand a word. That was funny, Matilda, +wasn't it? Then, don't you recollect that +beautiful church which we saw when we went +past <i>Ruin?</i>" (Molly meant Rouen, but I am +sorry to say her pronunciation of French names +was rather queer.) "And Paris too, where I +took you to walk in the gardens, and papa let +us both ride in a whirligig. None of the home +dollies have ever ridden in whirligigs, have<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span> +they? They won't understand what you mean +unless I draw them a picture on my slate. +Then we got into the cars, and went and +went till we came to that great dark tunnel. +Weren't we frightened? And you cried, +Matilda—I heard you. You needn't look so +ashamed, though, for it <i>was</i> horrid. But we +got out of it at last, though I thought we never +should; and here we are at the padrona's, and +it's ever so nice, only I wish papa would come +back."</p> + +<p>For Florence had proved too cold, and papa +had joined a party and gone off to Egypt, +leaving mamma and the children to live quietly +and cheaply at Signora Goldi's boarding-house. +It was a dingy house in the old part of Florence, +but for all that it was a very interesting place +to live in. The street in which the house +stood was extremely narrow. High buildings +on either side shut out the sun, the cobblestone +pavement was always dirty, but all day +long a stream of people poured through it<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span> +wearing all sorts of curious clothes, talking all +sorts of languages, and selling all sorts of +things. Men with orange-baskets on their +heads strolled along, crying, "Oranges, sweet +oranges!" Others, with panniers of flowers, +chanted, "Fiori, belli fiori!" Pedlers displayed +their wares or waved gay stuffs; boys +held up candied fruits, wood-carvings, and +toys; women went to and fro bearing trays +full of a chocolate-colored mixture dotted with +the white kernels of pine-cones. This looked +very rich and nice, and the poor people bought +great slices of it. Pauline once invested a +penny therein, but a single taste proved enough; +it was sour and oily at once, and she gave +the rest to a small Italian girl, who looked delighted, +and gobbled it up in huge mouthfuls. +Whenever they went out to walk, there were +fresh pleasures. The narrow street led directly +to a shining sunlit river, which streamed +through the heart of the city like a silver +ribbon. Beautiful bridges spanned this river,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span> +some reared on graceful arches, some with +statues at either end, one set all along its +course by quaint stalls filled with gold and +silver filigree, chains of amber, and turquoises +blue as the sky. All over the city were +delightful pictures, churches, and gardens, +open and free to all who chose to come. +Every day mamma and the children went +somewhere and saw something, and, in spite of +papa's absence, the winter was a happy one.</p> + +<p>Going to and fro in the city, the children +had often looked up the Fiesole hill, which +is visible from many parts of Florence, and +Pauline had conceived a strong wish to go +there. Molly did not care so much, but as +she always wanted to do what Pauline did, +she joined her older sister in begging to go. +Mamma, however, thought it too far for a walk, +and carriage hire cost something; so she said +no, and the girls were forced to content themselves +with "making believe" what they would +do if ever they went there,—a sort of play<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span> +in which they both delighted. None of the +things they imagined proved true when they +did go there, as you shall hear.</p> + +<p>It was just as they were expecting papa +back, that, coming in one day from a walk +with Signora Goldi, Pauline and Molly found +mamma hard at work packing a travelling-bag. +She looked very pale, and had been crying. +No wonder, for the mail had brought a letter to +say that papa, travelling alone from Egypt, had +landed at Brindisi very ill with Syrian fever. +The kind strangers who wrote the letter would +stay with and take care of him till mamma +could get there, but she must come at once.</p> + +<p>"What <i>shall</i> I do?" cried poor Mrs. Hale, +appealing in her distress to Signora Goldi. "I +cannot take the children into a fever-room, and +even if that were safe, the journey costs so +much that it would be out of the question. +Mr. Hale left me only money enough to last +till his return. After settling with you and +buying my ticket, I shall have very little<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span> +remaining. Help me, padrona! Advise me +what to do."</p> + +<p>Signora Goldi's advertisement said, "English +spoken," but the English was of a kind which +English people found it hard to understand. +Her kind heart, however, stood her instead of +language, and helped her to guess the meaning +of Mrs. Hale's words.</p> + +<p>"Such peety!" she said. "Had I know, I +not have let rooms for week after. The signora +said 'let' and she sure to go, so I let, else the +<i>piccoli</i> should stay wiss me. Now what?" and +she rubbed her nose hard, and wrinkled her +forehead in a puzzled way. "I have!" she +cried at last, her face beaming. "How the +<i>piccolini</i> like go to Fiesole for a little? My +brother who dead, he leave Engleis wife. She +lady-maid once, speak Engleis well as me!—better! +She have <i>pensione</i>—very small, but +good—ah, so good, and it cost little, with air +<i>si buono, si fresco!</i>"</p> + +<p>The signora was drifting into Italian without<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span> +knowing it, but was stopped by the joyous +exclamations of the two girls.</p> + +<p>"Fiesole! Oh, mamma! just what we +wanted so much!" cried Pauline. "Do let +us go there!"</p> + +<p>"Do, do!" chimed in Molly. "I saw the +padrona's sister once, and she's so nice. Say +yes, please, mamma."</p> + +<p>The "yes" was not quite a happy one, but +what could poor Mrs. Hale do? No better +plan offered, time pressed, she hoped not to be +obliged to stay long away from the children, +and, as the signora said, the Fiesole hill-top +must be airy and wholesome. So the arrangement +was made, the terms settled, a carriage +was called, and in what seemed to the girls a +single moment, mamma had rattled away, with +the signora to buy her ticket and see her off +at the station. They looked at each other disconsolately, +and their faces grew very long.</p> + +<p>"We're just like orphans in a book," sobbed +Pauline at last, while Molly watered Matilda's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span> +best frock with salt tears. The signora had +a specially nice supper that night, and petted +them a great deal, but they were very homesick +for mamma, and cried themselves to sleep.</p> + +<p>Matters seemed brighter when they woke up +next morning to find a lovely day, such a day +as only Italy knows, with sunshine like gold, +sky of clearest blue, and the river valley +shining through soft mists like finest filtered +rainbows. By a happy chance the Fiesole +sister-in-law came to Florence that morning, +and drove up to the door in a droll little cart +drawn by a mouse-colored mule, with a green +carrot-top stuck over his left ear and a bell +round his neck. She gladly agreed to lodge +the children, and her pleasant old face and +English voice made them at once at home with +her. There was just room in the cart for their +trunk, and about five in the afternoon they +set out, perched on the narrow bench in front, +one on each side of their new friend, and +holding each other's hands tightly behind her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span> +ample back. Signora Bianchi was the sister-in-law's +name, but "padrona" was easier to say, +and they called her so from the beginning.</p> + +<p>The hill-road was nowhere steep, but each +winding turn took them higher and higher +above Florence. They could see the curvings +of the river, the bridges, the cathedral dome, +and the tall, beautiful bell-tower, which they +had been told was the work of the great artist +Giotto. Further on, the road was shut in +between stone walls. Over the tops of these +hung rose-vines, full of fresh pink roses, though +it was early March. Pauline and Molly +screamed with pleasure, and the padrona, driving +her mule close under the wall, dragged +down a branch and let them gather the flowers +for themselves, which was delightful. She +would not stop, however, when, a little later, +they came to fields gay with red and purple +anemones, yellow tulips, and oddly colored +wild lilies so dark as to be almost black; there +were plenty of such on top of the hill, she said,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span> +and they must not be too late in getting home. +The black lilies were <i>giglios</i>,—the emblem or +badge of the city of Florence; the children +had not seen them before, but they remembered +the form of the flower in the carved shields over +the door of some of the old buildings.</p> + +<p>The road ended in a small paved <i>piazza</i>, +which is the Italian name for an open square. +All about it stood old buildings, houses and +churches, and a very ancient cathedral with a +dirty leather curtain hanging before its door. +Passing these, the mule clattered down a narrow +side-street, or rather lane. The streets in +Florence had seemed dark and dirty; but what +were they compared with this alley, in which +the wheels of the little cart grazed the walls on +either side as it passed along? Rickety flights +of outside stairs led to the upper stories of the +buildings; overhead, lines of linen, hung out +to dry, were flapping in the wind. An ill-smelling +stream of water trickled over the +rough cobble-stone pavement. Jolt, jolt, jolt!—then<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span> +the mule turned suddenly into a dark +place which looked like a shabby stable-yard. +It was the ground-floor of the padrona's house, +and this was the place where Pauline and Molly +were to stay! They looked at each other with +dismayed faces.</p> + +<p>But the padrona called them to follow, and +led the way up one stone staircase after another +till they came to the third story. Here things +were pleasanter. It was plain and bare; the +floors were of brick, there were no carpets, +and the furniture was scanty and old, but the +rooms were large and airy, and through the +open casement bright rays of sunshine streamed +in. Pauline ran to the window, and behold, +instead of the dirty lane, she saw the open +piazza, and beyond, a glimpse of the blue hills +and the Florence valley! She called Molly, +and, perched on the broad sill, they watched +the sunset and chattered like happy birds, while +the padrona bustled to and fro, preparing supper +and spreading coarse clean linen on the beds of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span> +a little chamber which opened from the sitting-room. +The padrona's kitchen was about the +size of an American closet. The stove was a +stone shelf with two holes in it, just big enough +to contain a couple of quarts of charcoal. It +was like a doll's kitchen, Molly thought; and +Pauline stared when she saw the padrona produce +a palm-leaf fan and begin to fan the fire, +as if it were faint and needed to be revived. +But as she gazed, the charcoal was coaxed into +a glow, the little pots and pans bubbled, and +hey, presto! supper was ready, with half the +trouble and a quarter the fuel which would have +been needed to set one of our big home ranges +going. It was a queer supper, but very good, +the children thought; their long drive had +made them hungry, and the omelette, salad, and +<i>polenta</i>, or fried mush, tasted delicious. Everything +was nice but the bread, which was dark +in color and had an unpleasant sour taste. The +padrona smiled when she saw them put aside +their untasted slices, and said that she too used<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span> +to dislike Italian bread, but that now she preferred +it to any other.</p> + +<p>The padrona was delighted with her young +visitors. She had long been a widow. One of +her sons was in the army, and seldom at home; +the other helped her about the house and tilled +a little meadow which belonged to them. She +had no daughter to keep her company, and the +sweet, bright-faced American girls pleased her +greatly. She helped the sisters to undress, and +tucked them into their beds as kindly as any +old nurse, and they fell asleep with her pleasant +voice in their ears: "Good-night and good +dreams, little miss."</p> + +<p>The morrow brought another fine day, and +the girls improved it for a ramble about the +quaint town. It seemed to them the very <i>oldest</i> +place they had ever seen—and, in fact, +Fiesole is older far than Florence, of which it +was first the cradle and afterward the foe. They +stood a long time before the windows of the +straw-shop, choosing the things they would like<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span> +to buy <i>if</i> they had any money! Pauline fell +in love with a straw parasol, and Molly hankered +after a work-basket for mamma. Both of +them felt that it was dreadful to be poor, but +there was no help for it. Then they climbed to +an upper terrace and sat a long time looking +on the fine view it commanded, and talking in +gestures to some brown little children who came +up to beg from them. After that, they lifted +the curtain over the cathedral door, and stole +quietly about the ancient church. It was dark +and shabby and worm-eaten; but as they +wandered to and fro they came upon beautiful +things,—tombs of sculptured marble with figures +of saints and madonnas, wreaths of marble +flowers, bits of old carved wood as black as +ebony. It was strange to find such treasures +hidden away in the dust and gloom, and to +think that there they were, dusty and gloomy +and old, before Columbus discovered the very +new continent which we call America! A queer +smell breathed about the place, a smell of must<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span> +and age and dried-up incense. Pauline and +Molly were glad to get away from it and feel +the fresh air and the sunshine again. They +rambled on to the western slope of the hill, and +a little way down, where the land descends in +terraces to the wooded valley below, they came +upon the ruins of a Roman amphitheatre. +They had never seen an amphitheatre before, +but they guessed what it was from a picture +which mamma had shown them. On the ledges +which once were seats, where spectators seated +in rows had watched the lions and the gladiators +fight, crowds of purple violets now lifted +their sweet faces to the sky.</p> + +<p>After that, the amphitheatre became their +favorite walk, and they went back every day. +The padrona warned them against sitting long +on the ground or staying out till the sunset +dews fell, but they heeded what she said very +little; it seemed impossible that so pleasant a +spot could have any harm about it. But at last +came a morning when Pauline recollected the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span> +padrona's warnings, with a great frightened +heart-jump, for Molly waked up hot and thirsty, +and, when she lifted her head from the pillow, +let it fall back again, and complained of being +dizzy. The padrona made her some tea, and +after a while she felt better and got up. But +all that day and the next she looked pale, and +dragged one foot after the other as she went +about, and the third day fever came upon her +in good earnest. Tea did no good this time, +and she lay still and heavy, with burning hands +and flushed cheeks. The padrona tried various +simple medicines, and Pauline sat all day bathing +Molly's head and fanning her, but neither +medicine nor fanning was of use; and as night +came on, and the fever grew higher, Molly began +to toss and call for mamma, and to cry out +about her pillow, which was stuffed with wool +and very hard.</p> + +<p>"I don't like this pillow, Pauline—indeed I +don't, it makes my neck ache so! Why don't +you take it away, Pauline, and give me a nice<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span> +soft pillow, such as we used to have at home? +And I want some ice, and some good American +water to drink. This water is bad. I can't +drink it. Make the ice clink in the tumbler, +please—because if I hear it clink I shan't be +thirsty any more. And call mamma. I must +see mamma. Mamma!"</p> + +<p>And Molly tried to get up, and then tumbled +back and fell into a doze, while poor Pauline +sat beside her with a lump in her throat +which seemed to grow worse every moment, +and to bid fair to choke her entirely if it +didn't stop. She did not dare to sob aloud, +for fear of rousing Molly, but the tears ran +quietly down her cheeks as she thought of +home and mamma. Where was she? How +was papa? Why didn't they write? And, +oh dear! what should she, should she do, if +Molly were to be very ill in that lonely place, +where there was no doctor or any of the nice +things which people in sickness need so much? +No one can imagine how forlorn Pauline felt—that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span> +is, no one who has not tried the experiment +of taking care of a sick friend in a foreign +land, where the ways and customs are strange +and uncomfortable, and the necessaries of good +nursing cannot be had.</p> + +<p>Nobody in the world could be kinder than +was the padrona to her young invalid guest. +Night after night she sat up, all day long she +watched and nursed and cooked and comforted. +Pauline clung to this friend in need as to the +only helper left in the wide world. Beppo, +the padrona's son, walked into Florence and +brought out a little Italian doctor, who ordered +beef-tea, horrified Pauline by a hint of bleeding, +and left, promising to come again, which +promise he didn't keep. Pauline was glad that +he did not; she felt no confidence in the little +doctor, and she knew, besides, that doctors +cost money, and the small sum which mamma +left was almost gone. Day after day passed, +Molly growing no better, the padrona more +anxious, Pauline more unhappy. It seemed as<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span> +if years and years had gone by since mamma +left them,—almost as if it were a dream that +they ever had a mamma, or a home, or any of +the happy things which now looked so sadly +far away.</p> + +<p>Then came the darkest day of all, when +Molly lay so white and motionless that Pauline +thought her dead; when the padrona sat for +hours, putting a spoonful of something between +the pale lips every little while, but never +speaking, and the moments dragged along as +though shod with lead. Morning grew to noon, +noon faded into the dimness of twilight, still +the white face on the pillow did not stir, and +still the padrona sat silently and dropped in her +spoonfuls. At last she stopped, laid down the +spoon, bent over Molly, and listened. Was +any breath at all coming from the quiet lips?</p> + +<p>"Oh, padrona, is she dead?" sobbed Pauline, +burying her face in the bedclothes.</p> + +<p>"No, she is asleep," said the padrona. Then +she hid her own face and said a prayer of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span> +thankfulness, while Pauline wept for joy, +hushing herself as much as possible, that Molly +might not be disturbed.</p> + +<p>All that night and far into the morning +the blessed sleep continued, and when Molly +awoke the fever was gone. She was very +white, and as weak as a baby; but Pauline +and the padrona were happy again, for they +knew that she was going to get well.</p> + +<p>So another week crept by, each day bringing +a little more strength and appetite to Molly, +and a little more color to her pale face, and +then the padrona thought she might venture to +sit up. They propped her up in a big chair with +many pillows ("brickbats" Molly called them), +and had just pulled her across the room to the +window, when a carriage rattled on the stones +below, somebody ran upstairs, and into the +room burst mamma! Yes, the little mamma +herself, pale as Molly almost, from the fright +she had gone through; but so overjoyed to +see them, and so relieved at finding Molly<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span> +up and getting well, that there was nothing for +it but a hearty cry, in which all took part, and +which did them all a great deal of good.</p> + +<p>Then came explanations. Papa was a great +deal better. The doctor thought the fever +would do him good in the end rather than +harm. But he was still weak, and mamma had +left him to rest at the hotel in Florence while +she flew up the hill to her children. Why +didn't she write? She <i>had</i> written, again and +again, but the letters had gone astray somehow, +and none of the girls' notes had reached +her except one from Molly, written just after +they went to Fiesole. I may as well say now +that all these missing letters followed them to +America three months later, with a great deal +of postage to be paid on them; but they were +not of much use <i>then</i>, as you can imagine!</p> + +<p>There was so much to say and to hear that +it seemed as though they could never get +through. Pauline held mamma's hand tight, +and cried and laughed by turns.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span></p> + +<p>"It was dreadful!" she said. "It was just +exactly as if you and papa and everybody we +knew were dead and we were left all alone. +And I thought Molly would die too, and then +what would have become of me? The padrona +has been so kind—you can't think how kind. +She sat up nine nights with Molly, and always +said she wasn't tired; but I knew she was. I +used to think it must be the nicest place in +the world up here at Fiesole, but I never want +to see it again in all my life."</p> + +<p>"Don't say that, for Molly has got well here. +And the good padrona too! You ought to love +Fiesole for her sake."</p> + +<p>"So I ought. And I do love her. But +you'll not ever go away and leave us <i>anywhere</i> +again, will you, mamma?"</p> + +<p>"Not if I can help it," replied mamma, +speaking over Molly's head, which was nestled +comfortably on her shoulder. There were tears +in her eyes as she spoke. It had not been +possible to help it, but the tender mother's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span> +heart felt it a wrong to her children that they +should have been without her in sickness.</p> + +<p>It was another week before Molly could be +moved. Mamma drove up twice during that +time, bringing oranges and wine and all sorts +of nice things, and the last time a parcel with +a present in it for the children to give to the +padrona. It was a pretty silk shawl and a +small gold pin to fasten it. Pauline and Molly +were enchanted to make this gift, and the +padrona admired the shawl extremely; but +Mrs. Hale sorrowfully longed to be richer, that +she might heap many tokens of gratitude in +the kind hands which had worked so lovingly +for her little girls in their trouble.</p> + +<p>"I can't bear to say good-bye," were Molly's +last words as she leaned from the carriage for +a parting hug. "Dear padrona, how I wish +you would just come with us to America and +live there. We would call you 'aunty' and +love you so, and be so glad, you can't think! +Do come!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span></p> + +<p>But the padrona, smiling and tearful, shook +her head and declared that she could never +leave her boys and the hill-top and old neighbors, +but must stay in Fiesole as long as she +lived. So with many kisses and blessings the +good-byes were uttered, and out of the narrow +street and across the piazza rattled the carriage, +and so down the hill-road to Florence.</p> + +<p>Pauline and Molly are safe in America now. +They tell the girls at school a great deal about +what they saw and where they went, but they +don't talk much of the time of Molly's illness; +and when Matilda Maria, who lives in a drawer +now, entertains the other dolls with tales of +travel, she skips that. It is still too fresh in +their memories, and too sad, for them to like +to speak of it. But sometimes, after they go to +bed at night, they put their heads on the same +pillow and whisper to each other about the old +church, the amphitheatre, the padrona, those +days of fever, and all the other things that happened +to them when mamma went away and +left them alone at Fiesole.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span></p> +<h2>QUEEN BLOSSOM.</h2> + + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 99px;"> +<img src="images/drop_p.png" width="99" height="100" alt="P" title="" /> +</div><div class='unindent'><br />ROMPTLY the bell tinkled for noon +recess in the red school-house, and +boys and girls came trooping out +into the sunshine, which was warm as summer +that day. Nobody stayed behind except Miss +Sparks, the teacher. She turned the damper in +the stove to make it warmer, and put on more +wood; then took a roll of bread and butter and +a large pickled cucumber out of her desk and +sat down to lunch, and to read Young's "Night +Thoughts," which somebody had told her was +an "improving" book. The heat soon made +her head ache, and "Night Thoughts" and the +cucumber aiding, the children, had they only +known it, were in a fair way to pass an extremely +unpleasant afternoon.</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span></p> + +<p>Luckily they did not know it, otherwise the +pleasure of the recess would have been spoiled, +which would have been a pity, for the recess +was very pleasant. There was the sun for one +thing; and real, warm, yellow sun is a treat in +April, not always to be had. There were the +woods, beginning to be beautiful, although not +a leaf-bud was yet visible. Spring was awake, +and busy at her silent work, varnishing brown +boughs to glossy brightness, tinting shoots and +twigs with pink and yellow and soft red colors, +arranging surprises everywhere. The children +could not have put into words the feeling which +made the day so delightful, but all were aware +of it, and each, in his or her way, prepared to +enjoy the hour. One tiny snow-drift remained +in a leaf-strewn hollow. The boys found it out, +and fell to snow-balling with the zest of those +who do not hope to see snow again for many a +long month. Big girls, with arms about each +other's waists, walked to and fro, whispering +together. The smaller children cuddled into<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span> +a sunny fence corner, and, like Wordsworth's +village maid,</p> + +<div class='poem'> +"Took their little porringers,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">And ate their dinners there."</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='unindent'>A group of girls, not so big as those, nor so +little as these, strolled off into the woods, talking +as they went.</div> + +<p>"Now you just hush up, Winnie Boker," +said one. "It's no use, for we won't have +her. She's been Queen ever so many times, +and now it's somebody else's turn. There +are other girls in town besides Blossom, I +guess."</p> + +<p>"Oh yes, Marianne; it isn't <i>that</i>," broke in +Winnie, the words running out of her eager +mouth so fast that they tumbled over each +other. "It isn't that at all. You'd make +a first-rate Queen, or so would Arabella or +Eunice. But, don't you see, Blossom always +<i>was</i> Queen, and now she's sick I'm afraid she'd +feel badly if we chose somebody else."</p> + +<p>"Dear me, what nonsense!" exclaimed Arabella,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span> +a tall girl in purple calico, with sharp +black eyes and a Roman nose. "It wasn't fair +a bit, ma says, to have Blossom always. Ma +says other people have got rights too. You +needn't be so fiery about that stuck-up Blossom, +Winnie."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I'm not," began Winnie, peaceably, +"but—"</p> + +<p>"My father says that Blossom is the prettiest +girl in the whole township," broke in Charlie +Starr, excitedly; "and it's real mean of you to +call her stuck-up. Don't you recollect how +sweet she looked last year in her white dress, +and what a pretty speech she made when George +Thorne put the crown on her head? <i>She</i> never +said unkind things or called anybody names! +She's always been May-Queen, and I say it's +a shame to leave her out just because she's +sick."</p> + +<p>"You're a goose," responded Arabella. +"Who wants a sick Queen of the May? She'll +never be well again, the doctor says; and as<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span> +for her beauty, that's gone for good. Ma +declares that it's absurd to call her Blossom +any more. It isn't her real name, only her +pa named her so when she was little, because +he was so proud of her looks. Her real +name's Sarah Jane, and I'm going to call her +Sarah Jane always. So there now, Charlotte +Starr!"</p> + +<p>"You bad girl!" cried Charlie, almost in +tears. "How can you! Poor dear Blossom!"</p> + +<p>"Stop quarrelling," said Laura Riggs, "and +listen to my plan. Blossom can't be Queen, +anyhow, don't you see, because she's too sick +to come to the celebration. So what's the use +of fighting about her?"</p> + +<p>"I thought we could go to her, and put on +the crown and all, and it would be <i>such</i> a surprise," +ventured Winnie, timidly. "She'd be +so pleased."</p> + +<p>"I suppose she would," sneered Arabella, +"only, you see, we don't mean to do it."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I propose that we call all the boys and girls +together after school, and vote who shall be +Queen," went on Laura. "Then to-morrow +we can go a flower-hunting, and have the +wreath all ready for next day. It's splendid +that May-day comes on Saturday this +year."</p> + +<p>"I know who I shall vote for,—and I,—and +I," cried the children.</p> + +<p>Winnie and Charlotte did not join in the cry. +They moved a little way off, and looked sadly +at each other. To them, poor Blossom, sick +and neglected, seemed still the rightful Queen +of the May.</p> + +<p>"I've thought of a plan," whispered Charlie.</p> + +<p>"What?"</p> + +<p>But the answer was so softly spoken that +nobody but Winnie could hear.</p> + +<p>Did I say <i>nobody?</i> I was wrong. Certain +fine ears which were listening heard all, question +and answer both. These ears belonged to +a little hepatica, who had stolen up very near<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span> +the surface of the ground to hearken, and, with +a tiny leaf-hand curled behind her lilac ear, had +caught every syllable. Whatever the secret +was, it pleased her, for she clapped both hands +and called out,—</p> + +<p>"Listen! listen! Hepsy, Patty, Violet,—all +of you,—listen!"</p> + +<p>"What is it—what?" cried the other flowers, +crowding near her.</p> + +<p>"Didn't you hear what those two little girls +were saying,—Winnie and—what <i>is</i> her +name—Charlie?"</p> + +<p>"No, we heard nothing. We were listening +to the tiresome ones who quarrelled. How +horrid children are!"</p> + +<p>"Go a flower-hunting indeed," tittered a +bloodroot. "They are welcome to hunt, but +they will find no flowers."</p> + +<p>"Indeed they won't. I'd bite if they tried +to pick me," said a dog-tooth violet.</p> + +<p>"Ach! fancy their fingers at your stem," +shuddered a pale wind-flower.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span></p> + +<p>"How little they guessed that we were +listening to it all," laughed a white anemone.</p> + +<div class='poem'> +"Ring-a-ling, ring-a-ling,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">We'll be as late as we can this spring,"</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='unindent'>sang a columbine.</div> + +<p>"We know when to go and when to stay; +when to open and when to shut," said a twin-flower.</p> + +<p>"Where is Mamma Spring?" inquired the +dog-tooth violet.</p> + +<p>"On the other side the wood," replied the +columbine. "But she can't be interrupted just +now. She's very busy cutting out Dutchman's +Breeches. There are five hundred pairs +to be finished before night."</p> + +<p>"All of the same everlasting old pattern," +grumbled a trillium.</p> + +<p>"But listen; you don't listen," urged the +lilac hepatica. "<i>All</i> the children didn't quarrel. +My two—the two I liked—were gentle +and sweet, and they have a plan—a kind plan—about +somebody named Blossom. They<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span> +want to give her a surprise with flowers and +a wreath, and make her Queen of the May, +because she is ill and lies in bed. Let us help. +I like them; and Blossom is a pretty name."</p> + +<p>"Are you quite sure they did not quarrel?" +asked the wind-flower, anxiously. "It made +me shiver to hear the others."</p> + +<p>"No, they didn't quarrel. When the rest +would not listen, they moved away and made +their little plan in a whisper."</p> + +<p>"And what was the plan?" inquired the +bloodroot.</p> + +<p>"Oh, they are wise little things. The others +are going to have a 'celebration' on Saturday, +with a great deal of pie and cake and fuss. I +shall tell Mamma Spring to order up an east +wind and freeze them well, little monsters! +But my two are coming into the woods quietly +to-morrow to search for flowers. I heard +Charlie tell Winnie that she knew where the +first May-flowers always come out, and they +would look there. We know too, don't we?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span> +In the hollow behind the beech-wood, on the +south bank."</p> + +<p>"They're not there yet," said the columbine, +yawning.</p> + +<p>"No, but they're all packed and ready," said +the lilac hepatica. "Do let us telegraph them +to start at once. I somehow feel as if I should +like to please Blossom too."</p> + +<p>So the trillium, who was telegraph operator, +stooped down and dragged up a thread-like +root, fine as wire.</p> + +<p>"What is the message?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Be—in—flower—by—to-morrow—noon—for—Charlie—and—Winnie," +dictated +the hepatica. "Precisely ten words."</p> + +<p>"All right," responded the bloodroot, with +his fingers on the wire. Tap, tap, tap, tap, +tap; the message was sent, and presently came +an answering vibration.</p> + +<p>"All right. We are off." It was the reply +of the May-flowers.</p> + +<p>"What a fine thing is the telegraph!" sighed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span> +a sentimental sand-violet, while the hepatica +rubbed her little lilac palms gleefully, and +exclaimed,—</p> + +<p>"I flatter myself that job is as good as done. +Hurrah for Queen Blossom!"</p> + +<p>The other girls did not notice Winnie and +Charlie particularly next day as they stole from +the rest and crept away almost on tiptoe to +the south bank, where the arbutus <i>might</i> be in +bloom. Drifted leaves hid the bottom of the +hollow. At first sight there was no promise +of flowers; but our little maids were too wise +to be discouraged. Carefully they picked their +way down, brushed aside the brown leaves, and +presently a shriek from both announced discovery.</p> + +<p>"Oh, the darlings!" cried Winnie.</p> + +<p>There they were, the prompt, punctual May-flowers, +so lately arrived that only half their +leaves were uncurled, and the dust of travel +still lay on their tendrils. For all that, they +were not too tired to smile at the happy faces<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span> +that bent over them as the little girls lifted the +leaf blankets and gently drew them from their +hiding-place. Pale buds winked and brightened; +the fuller flowers opened wide pink +eyes; all shook their ivory incense-bottles at +once, and sent out sweet smells, which mixed +deliciously with the fragrance of fresh earth, of +moving sap, and sun-warmed mosses.</p> + +<p>"Shouldn't you think they had come out +on purpose?" said Winnie, kissing one of the +pinkest clusters.</p> + +<p>"We did! we did!" cried the May-flowers +in chorus. But the children did not understand +the flower-language, though the flowers +knew well what the children said. Flowers +are very clever, you see; much cleverer than +little girls.</p> + +<p>Winnie and Charlie hid their treasures in a +tin dinner-pail, pouring in a little water to keep +them fresh, and carefully shutting the lid. They +did not want to have their secret found out.</p> + +<p>Going home, they met the others, looking +somewhat disconsolate.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Where <i>have</i> you been?" they cried. "We +looked everywhere for you."</p> + +<p>"Oh, in the woods," said Winnie, while +Charlie asked,—</p> + +<p>"Did you find any flowers?"</p> + +<p>"Not one," cried Arabella, crossly; "the +spring is so late; it's a shame. Carrie Briggs +is chosen Queen, and Miriam Gray is going to +lend us some paper flowers for the crown. +They will do just as well."</p> + +<p>"Paper flowers!" began Charlie, indignantly; +but Winnie checked her, and pretty soon their +path turned off from that of the others.</p> + +<p>"Come early to-morrow and help us make +the throne," called out Marianne.</p> + +<p>"We can't: we've got something else to do," +called back Charlie.</p> + +<p>"What?"</p> + +<p>"We're going to see Blossom."</p> + +<p>"Oh, pshaw! Do let that everlasting Sarah +Jane alone, and come and have a good time," +screamed Arabella after them.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span></p> + +<p>Winnie laughed and shook her head. The +others went on.</p> + +<p>Blossom lay in bed next morning. She +always lay in bed now, and it was pitiful to see +what a pale blossom she had become. Only a +year before her cheeks had been rosier, her +limbs more active, than those of any of the +children who daily passed her window on their +way to school. One unlucky slip on the ice had +brought all this to an end, and now the doctor +doubted if ever she could get up and be well +and strong as she used to be. The pretty +name, given in her days of babyhood, sounded +sadly now to the parents who watched her so +anxiously; but no name could be too sweet, +her mother thought, for the dear, patient child, +who bore her pain so brightly and rewarded +all care and kindness with such brave smiles. +Blossom she was still, though white and thin, +and Blossom she would always be, although +she might never bloom again as once she did, +until set in the Lord's garden, where no frosts +come to hurt the flowers.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Happy May-day," she said, as her mother +came in. "I wonder what the girls are doing. +Winnie didn't come yesterday. I don't even +know who is to be Queen. Have you heard, +mamma?"</p> + +<p>"I shouldn't think they'd want to have +any Queen on such a cold day as this," replied +mamma. "Look how the boughs are blowing +in the wind. It feels like March out doors."</p> + +<p>"Oh, they're sure to want a Queen," said +Blossom. "May-day is such fun. I used to +like it better than any day in the year."</p> + +<p>"Somebody wants to spake to ye, ma'am, if +you pl'ase," said Norah, putting her head in at +the door.</p> + +<p>"Very well. Blossom, dear, you don't mind +being left alone for a minute?"</p> + +<p>"Oh no, indeed. I've such a nice book +here." But Blossom did not open her book +after mamma went away, but lay looking out +of the window to where the elm-boughs were +rocking in the wind. Her face grew a little sad.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span></p> + +<p>"How nice it used to be!" she said to +herself.</p> + +<p>Just then she heard a queer noise in the +entry—drumming, and something else which +sounded like music. Next, the door opened, +and a procession of two marched in. Charlie +was the head of the procession. She wore a +pink-and-white calico, and tied about her neck +with a pink string was Willie Smith's drum, +borrowed for the occasion. Winnie, in her best +blue gingham, brought up the rear, her mouth +full of harmonica. Winnie also carried a flat +basket, covered with a white napkin, and the +two girls kept step as they marched across the +room to Blossom's bedside, who lay regarding +them with eyes wide open from amazement.</p> + +<p>"Happy May-day, Queen Blossom," sang +Charlie, flourishing her drumsticks.</p> + +<p>"Happy May-day, Queen Blossom," chimed +in Winnie, taking the harmonica from her +mouth.</p> + +<p>"Happy May-day," responded Blossom.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span></p> + +<p>"But—how funny—what do you call me +Queen Blossom for?"</p> + +<p>"Because you <i>are</i> Queen, and we have come +to crown you," replied Charlie. Then she laid +down the drumsticks, lifted the white napkin, +and in a solemn tone began to repeat these +verses, which she and Winnie—with a little +help from somebody, I guess—had written the +evening before.</p> + +<div class='poem'> +Never mind who the others choose;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You are the Queen for us;</span><br /> +They're welcome to their paper flowers<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And fuss.</span><br /> +<br /> +We bring our Queen a wreath of May,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And put it on her head,</span><br /> +And crown her sweetest, though she lies<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">In bed.</span><br /> +<br /> +These flowers, dear Blossom, bloomed for you,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The fairest in the land;</span><br /> +Wear them, and give your subjects leave to kiss<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Your hand.</span><br /> +</div> + +<p>Charlie finished the verses with great gravity. +Then, drawing the May-wreath from the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span> +basket, she put it on Blossom's head, after +which, instead of kissing the royal hand, +according to programme, she clapped both her +own and began to dance about the bed exclaiming,—</p> + +<p>"Wasn't that nice? Aren't they pretty? +We made them up ourselves—Winnie and I. +Why, Blossom, you're crying."</p> + +<p>In fact, Queen Blossom <i>was</i> crying.</p> + +<p>It was only a very little cry—just a drop +or two, with a rainbow to follow. In another +minute Blossom had winked the tears away, +and was smiling brightly.</p> + +<p>"I didn't mean to cry," she exclaimed, "only +I was so surprised. I thought you would all +be busy to-day, and nobody would come. I +never dreamed that I should be made Queen +of the May again. How kind you are, dear +Charlie and Winnie, and where <i>did</i> you get +the flowers—real May-flowers? Nobody has +begun to look for them yet."</p> + +<p>"They came out on purpose for you," persisted<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span> +Charlie; and the May-buds smiled and +nodded approvingly as she said so.</p> + +<p>Next, Winnie opened her basket, and behold! +a cake, with white icing, and in the middle a +pink thing meant for a crown, but looking more +like a cuttle-fish, because of the icing's having +melted a little. Mrs. Boker had stayed up late +the night before to bake and ice this May-day +loaf. She, too, loved Blossom, and it pleased +her that Winnie should plan for the enjoyment +of her sick friend.</p> + +<p>A knife was brought, and slices cut. Blossom +lay on her pillows, nibbling daintily, as +befits a Queen. Her subjects, perched on the +bed, ate with the appetite of commoners. The +sun struggled out, and, in spite of the east wind, +sent a broad yellow ray into the window. Blossom's +May-wreath made the air delicious; there +could not have been found a merrier party.</p> + +<p>"Please, dear Duchess, take off my crown +for a minute," said Blossom, with a pretty air of +command.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span></p> + +<p>The Duchess, otherwise Charlie, obeyed, and +laid the wreath on the coverlet just under the +royal nose.</p> + +<p>"How lovely, lovely, lovely it is!" said Blossom, +with a long sigh of delight.</p> + +<p>"The sun is streaming exactly into your eyes, +dear," said her mother.</p> + +<p>She opened the window to close the shutter. +A sharp, sudden gust of wind blew in, and +mamma pulled the sash down quickly lest Blossom +should be chilled. Nobody noticed that +one of the May-flowers, as if watching its +chance, detached itself from the wreath, and +flew out of window on the back of the interloping +wind. But it did.</p> + +<p>The wind evidently knew what was expected +of it, for it bore the May-flower along to the +woods, and laid it on the brown earth in a certain +sunny spot. Then, like a horse released +from rider, it pranced away, while the flower, +putting her pink lips to the ground, called in a +tiny voice,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span>—</p> + +<p>"Hepatica—Hepsy dear, are you there?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; what is it?" came back an answering +voice, which sounded very close. It was the +voice of the lilac hepatica. She and her companions +were much nearer the surface than they +had been two days before.</p> + +<p>"It has all gone off so nicely," went on the +May-blossom. "We were there in time, and I +must say I never saw nicer children than that +Winnie and Charlie. They picked us so gently +that it scarcely hurt at all. As for Blossom, +she's a little dear. Her eyes loved us, and +how tenderly she handled our stems. I really +wanted to stay with her, only I had such a +good chance to go, and I thought you would +all want to hear. It was the nicest May-day +party I ever saw."</p> + +<p>"More—tell us more," said the underground +flowers.</p> + +<p>"There is no more to tell," replied the May-flower, +faintly. "It is cold out here, and I am +growing sleepy. Good-night."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span></p> + +<p>After that there was silence in the woods.</p> + +<p>Winnie and Charlie never knew how the +dear little flower-people had conspired to +make their May-day happy. Perhaps Blossom +guessed, for when she laid aside her wreath +that night she kissed the soft petals, which +had begun to droop a little, and whispered +gently,—</p> + +<p>"Thank you, darlings."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span></p> +<h2>A SMALL BEGINNING.</h2> + + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 100px;"> +<img src="images/drop_a.png" width="100" height="100" alt="A" title="" /> +</div><div class='unindent'><br /> LITTLE ground-floor room, a little +fire in a small stove, burning dully +as fires are apt to do at times when +their blaze might be worth something in the +way of cheer; out doors the raw gray of a +spring thaw; on the window-seat two girls +crouched together and looking out with faces +as disconsolate as the weather. Such was the +picture presented at No. 13 Farewell Street, +three years ago last March.</div> + +<p>Farewell Street was so named because of +its being the customary route of exit from the +old cemetery, the point where mourners were +supposed to turn for a last look at the gates +which had just shut in the newly buried friend; +and this association, as well as the glimpse of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span> +tall cemetery fence, topped with mournful evergreens +which bounded the view, did not tend +to make the sad outlook any the less sad on +that dismal day. For it was only a fortnight +since Delia and Hetty Willett, the girls on the +window-seat, had left within those gates the +kind old grandmother who for years had stood +to them in the stead of father and mother +both.</p> + +<p>"The Willetts," as the neighbors called them, +using the collective phrase always, were twins, +and just eighteen years old. Bearing to each +other even a stronger personal likeness than +twins customarily possess, they were in other +points curiously unlike. Delia was soft and +clinging, Hetty vigorous and self-reliant. +Delia loved to be guided, Hetty to guide; the +former had few independent views and opinions, +the latter was brimful of ideas and fancies, +plans and purposes; some crude, some foolish, +but all her own. Yet, oddly enough, it was +Delia, very often, who gave the casting vote in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span> +their decisions, for Hetty's love for her slender +twin was a sentiment so deep and intense +that she often yielded against her own better +sense and judgment, simply for the pleasure +of yielding to what Delia wished. Delia in +return adored her sister, waited on her, petted, +consoled, "exactly as if she were Hetty's wife," +Aunt Polly said, "and the worst was they +suited each other so well that no one else +would ever suit either of them, and they were +bound to die old maids in consequence!"</p> + +<p>But eighteen can laugh at such auguries, and +there was no thought or question of marriage +in the minds of the sisters as they crouched +that afternoon close together on the old window-seat.</p> + +<p>A very different question absorbed them, +and a perplexing one; how they were to live, +namely, and to keep together while doing +so, which meant pretty much the same thing +to them both. Grandmother's death had left +them with so very, very little. Her annuity<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span> +died with her. There was the old house, the +plain, worn furniture to which they had been +accustomed all their lives, and about a hundred +dollars a year! What could they do with +that?</p> + +<p>"If one of us only happened to be clever," +sighed Delia. "If I could paint pictures, or +you had a talent for writing, how easy it +would be!"</p> + +<p>"I don't know as to that," responded Hetty. +"Seems to me I've heard of people who did +those things, and yet didn't find it so mighty +easy to get along. Somebody's got to buy the +pictures after they're painted, you know, and +read the books, and pay for them." She spoke +in an absent tone, and her brow was knitted +into the little frown which Delia knew betokened +that her twin was puzzling hard over +something.</p> + +<p>"Don't scowl, it'll spoil your forehead," she +said, smoothing out the objectionable frown +with her fingers.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Was I scowling? Well, never mind. I'm +trying to think, Dely. You can't paint and +I can't write. The question is, What can we +do?"</p> + +<p>"That <i>is</i> a question," said a voice at the +door. It was Aunt Polly's voice. She managed +on most days to drop in and "give a look +to them, the lonely little creeturs," as she +would have expressed it.</p> + +<p>"You're consultin', I see," she said, taking in +the situation at a glance: the dismal room, the +depressive and tearful cheeks of the two girls, +the lack of comfort and cheer. She twitched +open the stove door as she passed, threw in a +stick of wood, twirled the damper, and gave +a brisk, rattling shake to the ashes,—all with +a turn of her hand as it were,—attentions to +which the stove presently responded with a +brisk roar. "Well, it's time you did. I was +planning to have a talk with you before long, +for you ought to settle to something. Pull the +blind down, Dely, and, Hetty, you light the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span> +lamp, and come to the fire, both of you, and +let's see what we can make of it. It's a +tangled skein enough, I don't deny it; but +most skeins are that, and there's always a +right end somewhere, if the Lord'll give us +sense enough to get hold of it and keep on +pulling out and winding up."</p> + +<p>Presently the girls were seated close to +Aunt Polly's rocking-chair. The room looked +more cheerful now with the lamplight and the +yellow glow from the stove, and both were +conscious of a sense of hopefulness.</p> + +<p>"Now—what <i>can</i> you do?" demanded +Aunt Polly, whirling round in her chair so as +to face them.</p> + +<p>"We hadn't got so far as that when you +came in," replied Hetty; "I suppose we must +do what other people do in the same circumstances."</p> + +<p>"What's that?"</p> + +<p>"Teach something, or sew, I suppose."</p> + +<p>"Sewing's slow starvation, in my opinion,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span> +unless you've got a machine, which you haven't, +and not much better then. What do you +know that you can teach?"</p> + +<p>"Not much," replied Hetty, humbly, while +Delia added hesitatingly, "We could teach +children their letters, perhaps."</p> + +<p>"I presume you could," responded Aunt +Polly, dryly. "But, though you mayn't know +it, perhaps, there are about fifty women in this +town can do the same, and who mean to do it, +what's more. And most of 'em have got the start +of you in one way or another, so what's your +chance worth? No, girls, sewing and teaching are +played out. They are good things in their way, +but every woman who's got her living to earn +thinks of them the very first thing and of nothing +else, and the market is always overstocked. +My advice to you is, to <i>think up something you +can do better than other people</i>—that's what gives +folks a real chance! Now, what is there?"</p> + +<p>"There isn't anything I can do better than +other people," cried the dismayed Delia. "Nor<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span> +Hetty either—except make gingerbread," she +added, with a faint little laugh. "Hetty beats +everybody at that, grandmother always said."</p> + +<p>"Very well; make gingerbread then. That's +your thing to do," said Aunt Polly.</p> + +<p>Hetty looked at her with incredulous eyes.</p> + +<p>"You're not in earnest, are you?" she said.</p> + +<p>"I am. In dead earnest."</p> + +<p>"But, Aunt Polly, <i>gingerbread!</i> Such a little +thing as that! Who ever heard of a girl's +doing such a thing?"</p> + +<p>"All the better if they never did. A new +trade has a double chance. As for the 'little,' +great things often come from small beginnings. +Fortunes have been made out of gingerbread +before now, I'll be bound, or if not that, out of +something no bigger. No, Hetty, depend upon +it, if your gingerbread is <i>best</i>, folks will want it. +And if your teaching or sewing is only second +best, they won't. It's the law of human nature, +and a very good law, too, though it cuts the +wrong way sometimes, like all laws."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Aunt Polly, you're a genius!" cried Hetty, +warmed into sudden glow by this vigorous common +sense. "I <i>can</i> make good gingerbread, +and it's just as you say, neither of us know +enough to teach well, and we are both poor +hands at sewing, and we should have a much +better chance if we tried to do what we can +and not what we can't. Why shouldn't I make +gingerbread? Dely'd help me, and if folks +liked our things and bought them, we could +live and keep together. We could make a kind +of shop of this room, couldn't we? What do +you think?"</p> + +<p>"'Tisn't a bad place for such a trade," said +Aunt Polly, slowly, measuring the room with +her eyes. "Being on a corner is an advantage, +you see; and there's that double winder +on the street gives a first-rate chance to +show what you've got to sell. I never did see +no use in that winder before. My father, he +had it cut for a kind of a whim like, and we all +thought it was notional in him; but, as they<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span> +say, keep a thing long enough and a use'll turn +up. It's a sort of a gain for you, too, having +the house so old-fashioned. Folks has a hankering +for such things, nowadays—the Lord +knows why. I hear 'em going on about it +when I'm out tailorin', calling ugly things +'quaint,' and lovely, because they're old. Hetty,"—with +sudden inspiration,—"here's an +idea for you, be 'quaint'! Don't try for a shop, +keep the room a room, and make it as old-fashioned-looking +as you can, and I'll bet a +cookie that your gingerbread'll be twice as +popular with one set of folks, and if it's first-rate +gingerbread, the other set who don't care +for old things will like it just as well."</p> + +<p>What a bracing thing is a word in season! +Aunt Polly's little seed of suggestion grew and +spread like Jack's fabled bean-stalk.</p> + +<p>"Your light biscuits always turn out well," +said Delia.</p> + +<p>"And my snaps. Grandmother liked them +so much. And you're a good hand at loaf<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span> +bread, you know. Aunt Polly—I seem to +smell a fortune in the air. We will begin at +once, just as soon as I can get a half-barrel of +flour and put an advertisement in the paper."</p> + +<p>Hetty had a ready wit, and Aunt Polly's +hint as to "quaintness" was not lost upon her. +The advertisement when it appeared the next +day but one ran thus:—</p> + +<p>"After Monday next, the Old-Time Bakery, +corner of Farewell and Martin Streets, will be +prepared to furnish, to order, fresh bread, buns, +biscuits, and grandmother's gingerbread, all +home-made."</p> + +<p>People smiled over the little notice, but the +odd wording stuck in their memories as odd +things will, and more than one person went out +of his way during the next week to take a look +into the wide, low window, within which, on a +broad, napkin-covered shelf, stood rows of biscuits, +light and white, buns, each glazed with +shining umber-brown, and loaves of gingerbread +whose complexion and smell were enough<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</a></span> +to vouch for their excellence. Acting on Aunt +Polly's suggestion, Hetty had set forth her +wares on plates of the oldest and oddest pattern +which could be found in grandmother's closet. +A queer, tall pitcher flanked them on either +side, and round the window-frame she had +twined the long, luxuriant shoots of a potted +ivy. Altogether the effect was pretty, and no +one need be told that the pitchers had for years +been consecrated to the reception of yeast and +corks, or that the plates had long since been +relegated to kitchen use as too shabby for +better occasions.</p> + +<p>"Hain't ye no white chany?" inquired their +first customer, an old woman, as she slowly +counted out the pennies for half a dozen biscuit. +"It would kind of set your cakes off."</p> + +<p>"We used what we had," replied Hetty, +diplomatically. "But I hope your biscuits'll +taste just as good as if they came off a white +plate."</p> + +<p>This old woman, two others, and a little boy +were the only customers that first day.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span></p> + +<p>"'Tisn't a bit a good beginning," declared +Delia, pouring the money received out of an +old-fashioned china tea-caddy which Hetty had +unearthed in an up-stairs closet and brought +down to serve as a till. "Two dozen biscuits, +that's twenty-four cents, a loaf of gingerbread, +and about half the buns. That's fifty-three +cents in all. What did you say the materials +cost?"</p> + +<p>"About seventy cents. But then we have +our supper and breakfast out of them, and +nearly half the stock to sell at a reduced rate +to-morrow. We shan't lose anything, I reckon, +but we shan't gain much either."</p> + +<p>"Rome wasn't built all in a minute. You'll +do yet," remarked Aunt Polly, who had dropped +in to hear the result of the first day's sales.</p> + +<p>But two days—three—a week, went by, +and still trade did not materially improve, and +it took all Aunt Polly's wise saws and hopeful +auguries to keep their spirits up. Each day +showed the same record, no loss, but almost<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span> +no gain. Toward the end of the second week +matters mended. Mrs. Corliss, the wife of a +wealthy manufacturer, having an errand in +Farewell Street, happened to pass the little +window, and her bric-a-brac-loving eyes were +caught at once by its unusual appearance. +She stopped, studied the whole arrangement +from the ivy wreath to the old pitchers; a +recollection of the droll little advertisement over +which she had laughed a few days previously, +came over her. "I declare, this is the very +place," she said to herself; and opening the +door she entered, precisely as Hetty came from +the kitchen through the opposite door, a handkerchief +tied over her shiny hair, a white apron +with a little ruffled waist protecting her print +gown, her cheeks flushed rosy pink with heat, +and in her hands a tray full of crisp, delectably +smelling ginger-snaps.</p> + +<p>"A real study—like a Flemish picture," +Mrs. Corliss said afterward. She fell in love +at once with the quaint room, the pretty sisters,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span> +the old china, stayed twenty minutes nibbling +ginger-snaps and looking about her, bought a +dollar's worth of everything, "on trial," as she +said, and swept out, leaving a wake of rose-colored +hope in the air—and Delia and Hetty +executing a wild waltz behind her back, for joy +and gratulation.</p> + +<p>"Luck has turned—I know, I feel it," +declared Hetty.</p> + +<p>Luck <i>had</i> turned. Mrs. Corliss raved to +everybody she knew about the room, the twin-sisters, +and the excellence of the gingerbread. +It became a fashion to go to Farewell Street +for buns and biscuits. Hetty and Delia had +to work early and late to fill their orders, but +what was that "to sewing their fingers off for a +bare living"? Hetty said; and toil was sweetened +now by a gradually increasing profit. +At the end of the first six months they had +not only "lived and kept together," but had +a little sum laid by, which, as Aunt Polly +advised, was treated as "business capital," part<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span> +of it being invested in the purchase of an +awning for the window and an extra stove to +increase their baking capacity. Very rarely +were there any stale things left now to be sold +next day at half-price, the regular orders and +chance custom consuming all.</p> + +<p>"We shall have to hire a boy to carry things +round, I actually believe," declared Hetty. +"Mrs. Malcomb and Mrs. Sayres both said +that they would order our bread regularly if +we could send it home."</p> + +<p>"I've been expecting that would be the next +step," remarked Aunt Polly, "and I guess I've +got just the boy you want, in my eye. It's +Widow McCullen's lad—Sandy, as they call +him. He's a good little chap, and it'll be a +real help to his mother to have him earning +a trifle."</p> + +<p>So Sandy McCullen was regularly engaged +as "bread-boy," and business grew brisker +still.</p> + +<p>"Aunt Polly, we've got to another notch,"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span> +said Hetty, at the end of the first year. "You +don't happen to know of a girl, do you, who +could help us in the baking? Delia and I +can't keep up with the orders. She gets so +tired every now and then that she can't sleep, +and that worries me so that I lie awake, too."</p> + +<p>"That'll never answer; no, I don't know of +any girl, but there's a nice kind of an oldish +woman, if she'll do, that I'd like to recommend. +Yes—I mean myself," she went on, chuckling +at Hetty's amazed look. "It's come to +me more than once lately that it'd be sort of +good and restful to make a change, and not +go on tailorin' forever, all the rest of my days. +I used to be a master hand at bread and pie-crust, +too, when I was your age, and I've a +little saved up which can go with the business +if it's needed; and, if you girls say so, we'll +just make a kind of family firm of the thing. +How does it strike you?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, Aunt Polly, the very thing, only it +seems too good to be true. Do you really<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span> +mean it? We did so hate the idea of a raw girl +to whom we should have to teach everything, +and who would spoil half she made for the first +month, and I've fought it off as long as I could. +Why, it will be like having grandmother come +back, to have you living with us. There's the +west room all ready. Dear me! How delightfully +things seem to turn out for us always!"</p> + +<p>"That wasn't your view always, it seems to +me," rejoined Aunt Polly. "A year ago you +was pretty down in the mouth, if I don't mistake. +Gingerbread is good for something, you +see."</p> + +<p>"The Old-Time Bakery" still goes on in +Farewell Street, but it has grown far beyond its +original proportions. If you were to visit it to-day +you would find a room double the size of +the former, and which has been made by taking +down a partition wall between the sitting-room +and a spare bedroom and throwing them into +one. There are two windows on the street +now, one full of bread, biscuits, and buns, the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span> +other stored with Hetty's now famous gingerbread, +and with delicious-looking pumpkin-pies +and apple-tarts with old-fashioned flaky crust, +which are Aunt Polly's specialty and have +added greatly to the reputation of the establishment. +Still it is not a shop. Hetty, with +wary good taste, has scrupulously preserved +the "quaint" look which first gave character +to the little enterprise, and by judicious rummaging +in neighbors' garrets has acquired sundry +old-time chairs, bottles, jugs, and platters, +which help in the effect. Everything is scrupulously +clean and bright, as all things must be +where Aunt Polly supervises; but the brightest +things in the room are the faces of the twin +sisters. They have tested and proved their +powers; they know now what they can do, and +they taste the happiness of success.</p> + +<p>I tell their little story, in which is nothing +remarkable or out of the way, for the sake of +other girls, who, perhaps, are sitting to-day +with folded hands and puzzling and wondering,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span> +just as Hetty and Delia did, over what they are +to do and how to set about it. I do not mean +at all that these girls should all make gingerbread—that +indeed would be "overstocking +the market," as Aunt Polly would say, but only +that they should hearken to her word of wisdom, +"find out what they can do <i>best</i>, and do +that," whatever it is, secure that good work, +and hearty striving will win some measure of +success soon or late, even if its beginnings are +small and insignificant as a gingerbread loaf or +a batch of biscuit!</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a></span></p> +<h2>THE SECRET DOOR.</h2> + + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 101px;"> +<img src="images/drop_k.png" width="101" height="100" alt="K" title="" /> +</div><div class='unindent'><br />NOWLE, in Kent, is an ancient +manor-house. It stands knee-deep +in rich garden and pasture lands, +with hay-fields and apple-orchards stretching +beyond, and solemn oak woods which whisper +and shake their wise heads when the wind +blows, as though possessed of secrets which +must not be spoken.</div> + +<p>Very much as it looks to-day, it looked two +hundred and thirty years ago, when Charles +the First was king of England. That was the +Charles who had his head cut off, you may +remember. Blue Christmas smokes curled from +the twisted chimneys in 1645, just as they will +this year if the world lasts so long as December. +The same dinnery fragrance filled the air, for<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span> +good cheer smells pretty much alike in all ages +and the world over. A few changes there may +be—thicker trees, beds of gay flowers which +were not known in that day; and where once +the moat—a ditch-like stream of green water +covered with weeds and scum—ran round the +walls, is now a trimly cut border of verdant +turf. But these changes are improvements, and +in all important respects the house keeps its +old look, undisturbed by modern times and +ways.</p> + +<p>In the same nursery where modern boys and +girls eat, sleep, and learn their A, B, C to-day, +two children lived,—little Ralph Tresham and +his sister Henrietta. Quaint, old-fashioned creatures +they would look to us now; but, in spite of +their formal dresses and speech, they were bright +and merry and happy as any children you can +find among your acquaintances. Ralph's name +was pronounced "Rafe," and he always called +his sister "Hexie."</p> + +<p>Christmas did not come to Knowle in its<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span> +usual bright shape in 1645. Gloom and sadness +and anxiety overshadowed the house; and +though the little ones did not understand what +the cause of the anxiety was, they felt something +wrong, and went about quietly whispering +to each other in corners, instead of +whooping and laughing, as had been their +wont. They had eaten their Christmas beef, +and toasted the king in a thimbleful of wine, as +usual, but their mother cried when they did so; +and Joyce, the old butler, had carried off the +pudding with a face like a funeral. So after +dinner they crept away to the nursery, and +there, by the window, began a long whispering +talk. Hexie had something very exciting +to tell.</p> + +<p>"Nurse thought I was asleep," she said, "but +I wasn't quite; and when they began to talk I +woke up. That wasn't wrong, was it, Rafe? +I couldn't sleep when I couldn't, could I?"</p> + +<p>"I suppose not; but you needn't have +listened," said Rafe, whose notions about honor +were very strict.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I did pull the pillow over my ear, but the +words would get in," went on Henrietta, piteously. +"And it was so interesting. Did you +know that there were such creatures as Bogies, +Rafe? Dorothy thinks we have got one in our +house, and that its hole is in the great gallery, +because once when she was there dusting the +armor, she heard a queer noise in the wall, and +what else could it be? It eats a great deal, +does the Bogie. That's the reason nurse is sure +we have got one. It ate all the cold sheep's-head +yesterday, and the day before half the +big pasty. No victual is safe in the larder, +the Bogie has such a big appetite, nurse +says."</p> + +<p>"I remember about the sheep's-head," said +Rafe, meditatively. "Almost all of it was left, +and I looked to see it come in cold; but when +I asked, Joyce said there was none. Cold +sheep's-head is very good. Do you remember +how much Humphrey used to like it?"</p> + +<p>"I don't remember exactly, it is so long ago,"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></span> +replied Hexie. "How long is it, brother?—since +Humphrey went away, I mean. Won't +he ever come back?"</p> + +<p>"I asked Winifred once, but she only said, +'God knew,' that nothing had been heard of +him since the battle when the king was taken. +He might be dead, or he might be escaped into +foreign parts—and then she cried, oh, so hard, +Hexie! Poor Humphrey! I hope he isn't +dead. But, about the Bogie, how curious it +must be to meet one! Oh, I say, let us go to +the gallery now, and listen if we can hear any +strange noises there. Will you?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, Rafe! I'm afraid. I don't quite like—"</p> + +<p>"But you can't be afraid if I'm there," said +Rafe, valiantly; "besides, I'll put on Humphrey's +old sword which he left behind. Then +if the Bogie comes—we shall see!"</p> + +<p>Rafe spoke like a conquering hero, Hexie +thought; so, though she trembled, she made no +further objection, but stood by while he lifted +down the sword, helped to fasten its belt over<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[140]</a></span> +his shoulder, and followed along the passage +which led to the gallery. The heavy sword +clattered and rattled as it dragged on the floor, +and the sound was echoed in a ghostly way, +which renewed Hexie's fears.</p> + +<p>"Rafe! Rafe! let us go back," she cried.</p> + +<p>"Go back yourself if you are afraid," replied +Ralph, stoutly; and as going back alone +through the dim passage seemed just then +worse than staying where she was, Hexie +stayed with her valiant brother.</p> + +<p>Very softly they unlatched the gallery door, +and stole in. It was a long, lofty apartment, +panelled with cedar-wood, to which time had +given a beautiful light brown color. The +ceiling, of the same wood, was carved, here +and there, with shields, coats of arms, and other +devices. There was little furniture: one tall +cabinet, a few high-backed Dutch chairs, and +some portraits hanging on the walls. The sun, +not yet quite set, poured a stream of red light +across the polished floor, leaving the far corners<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</a></span> +and the empty spaces formidably dusk. The +children had seldom been in the gallery at this +hour, and it looked to them almost like a +strange place, not at all as it did at noonday +when they came to jump up and down the +slippery floor, and play hide-and-seek in the +comers which now seemed so dark and +dismal.</p> + +<p>Even Rafe felt the difference, and shivered +in spite of his bold heart and the big sword by +his side. Timidly they went forward, hushing +their footsteps and peering furtively into the +shadows. Suddenly Hexie stopped with a +little scream.</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 331px;"> +<img src="images/gs03.png" width="331" height="500" alt="Close by the armor, half hidden by a curtain of heavy tapestry, was an open door.—Page 142." title="" /> +<span class="caption">Close by the armor, half hidden by a curtain of heavy tapestry, was an open door.—<span class='smcap'>Page</span> 142.</span> +</div> + +<p>Close to them stood a huge suit of armor, +larger and taller than a man. The empty eye-holes +of the helmet glared out quite like real +eyes, and the whole figure was terrible enough +to frighten any little girl. But it was not at +the armor that Hexie screamed; the iron man +was an old friend of the children's. Many a +game of hide-and-seek had they played around,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[142]</a></span> +and behind, and even inside him; for Humphrey +had contrived a cunning way by which +the figure could be taken to pieces and put +together again; and more than once Rafe had +been popped inside, and had lain shaking with +laughter while Hexie vainly searched for him +through all the gallery. This had not happened +lately, for Rafe was hardly strong enough to +manage by himself the screws and hinges +which opened the armor; but he knew the iron +man too well to scream at him, and so did +Hexie. The object which excited her terror +was something different, and so strange and +surprising that it is no wonder she screamed.</p> + +<p>Close by the armor, half hidden by a curtain +of heavy tapestry, was an open door, where +never door had been known to be. It stood +ajar, and dimly visible inside was a narrow +staircase winding upward.</p> + +<p>"The hole of the Bogie!" gasped Hexie, +clutching at Rafe's arm. He started, and felt +for the sword. It rattled fearfully, and the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[143]</a></span> +sound completed Hexie's terror. She burst +away, flew like a scared lapwing down the +gallery, along the passages, and never stopped +till she reached the nursery and her own bed, +where, with two pillows and the quilt drawn +over her head, she lay sobbing bitterly at the +thought of Ralph left behind, to be eaten perhaps +by the Bogie! Poor little Hexie!</p> + +<p>Ralph, meanwhile, stood his ground. His +heart beat very fast, but he would not run +away,—that was for girls. It must be owned, +however, that when a moment later the sound +of muffled voices became audible down the +stairs, he trembled extremely, and was guilty +of the unmanlike act of hiding behind the +curtain. He was only ten years old, which +must plead his excuse with bigger boys who +are confident that they could never, under any +circumstances, hide themselves or be afraid.</p> + +<p>The voices drew nearer, steps sounded, and +two figures came out of the narrow doorway. +Could there be two Bogies? No wonder they<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</a></span> +ate so much. But in another minute all thought +of Bogies vanished from Ralph's mind, for in +one of the figures he recognized his own sister +Winifred.</p> + +<p>Her companion was a man. There was +something familiar in his form. It moved +forward, and Ralph jumped so that the big +sword rattled again. Bogie number two was +his brother Humphrey, mourned as dead ever +since the summer before, when so many brave +gentlemen gave up their lives for King Charles +at the battle of Naseby.</p> + +<p>"What noise was that?" whispered Winifred, +fearfully.</p> + +<p>"Some sound from below," replied Humphrey, +after listening a moment. "Must you +go, Winnie?"</p> + +<p>"I must, dear Humphrey. I dare not +absent myself longer lest I be missed and +suspected. Oh, if to-morrow were but over, +and you safe on the French lugger and over the +sea! I cannot breathe while this hiding and +danger go on."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I suppose I ought to be glad also," said +Humphrey, ruefully; "but to me that French +lugger means exile, and loneliness, and poverty, +for the rest of my life, perhaps. Better have +laid down my life with the rest at Naseby, in +striking one last blow for the king."</p> + +<p>"Don't, don't speak so!" protested Winifred, +tearfully. "You are alive, thank God; and +once these wars are over we may rejoin you, +and have a happy home somewhere, if not in +the land of our fathers. Now, dear Humphrey, +have you all you need for the night?"</p> + +<p>"Christmas cheer," said Humphrey, in a +would-be cheerful voice. "Beef and ale,—what +better fare could be? You are a gallant +provider, my Winnie, and there is need, for +since I have lain in that hole with nothing else +to do, my appetite has raged like a wolf. That +sheep's-head was wondrous savory. I say +though, Winnie, what do the servants think of +the famine I create in the larder?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, the stupid things fancy that a Bogie<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[146]</a></span> +has taken up his residence here. A very hungry +Bogie, Joyce calls the creature!"</p> + +<p>The brother and sister laughed; then they +kissed each other.</p> + +<p>"Good-night, dearest Winifred."</p> + +<p>"Good-night, brother." And Humphrey +vanished up the stairs. Winifred lingered a +moment; then, as if remembering something, +opened the door again and ran after him. +Ralph marked that she laid her hand on a +particular boss in the carved wainscot, and +pressed it in hard, whereon the door sprang +open. He stole out, laid his hand on the same +boss, and felt the spring give way under his +touch. Some undefined idea of stealing in +later, to make Humphrey a visit, was in his +head; but he heard Winifred returning, and +hurried out of the gallery. Putting back the +sword in its place, he entered the nursery. No +Hexie was visible, but a sobbing sound drew +his attention to a tumbled heap on the bed.</p> + +<p>"Is that you, Hexie? Why, what are you<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</a></span> +crying about?" pulling away the pillow, which +she held tight.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Rafe! Then the Bogie didn't eat +you, after all!" And Hexie buried her tear-stained +face in his shoulder.</p> + +<p>"Bogie! Nonsense! There are no such +things as Bogies!"</p> + +<p>"What was it, then, that lived up that +dreadful stairs?"</p> + +<p>"I can't tell you; only it was nothing at all +dreadful. And, Hexie, don't say a word about +that door to any one, will you? It might +make great trouble if you did."</p> + +<p>"I did tell Deborah, when she fetched the +candle and asked why I cried, that I saw a +strange door in the gallery," faltered Hexie, +truthful, though penitent.</p> + +<p>"Oh! Hexie, how could you? I don't like +Deborah, and her father is a crop-eared knave. +Humphrey said so one day. How could you +talk to her about the door, Hexie?"</p> + +<p>"I—don't know. I was frightened, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[148]</a></span> +she asked me," sobbed Hexie. "Will it do +any harm, Rafe?"</p> + +<p>"It may," said Rafe, gloomily. "But don't +cry, Hexie. You meant no harm, at all +events."</p> + +<p>"Oh, don't speak so gravely and so like +Joyce," said Hexie, much troubled. She cried +herself to sleep that night. Deborah, who +undressed her, asked many questions about the +gallery and the door.</p> + +<p>"It was very dark, and perhaps I mistook,"—that +was all Hexie could be made to say. +Ralph was disturbed and wakeful, and slept +later than usual next morning. He jumped +up in a hurry and made what haste he could +with dressing and breakfast, but it seemed as +though they never took so much time before; +and all the while he ate he was conscious of a +stir and bustle in the house, which excited his +curiosity very much. Knocking—the sound +of feet—something unusual was going on.</p> + +<p>As soon as possible he slipped away from<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</a></span> +nurse and ran to the gallery. The door was +half open. He looked in, and stood still with +terror. Men in brown uniforms and steel caps +were there sounding the walls and tapping the +floor-boards with staves. The gallery seemed +full of them, though when Rafe counted there +were but five.</p> + +<p>"This man of iron was, in all likelihood, a +Malignant also," he heard one of them say, +striking the armor with his fist.</p> + +<p>"He is somewhat old for that. Methinks +that is armor of the time of that man of blood, +Harry the Eighth. Move it aside, Jotham, +that we may search the farther panel."</p> + +<p>So the heavy figure was thrust into a corner, +and the men went on tapping with their wands. +Rafe groaned within himself when he heard +them declare that the wall sounded hollow, and +saw them searching for a spring. Twenty +times it seemed as though they must have +lighted on the right place. Twenty times +they just missed it.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</a></span></p> + +<p>"We were ill advised to come without tools," +declared the man who seemed leader of the +party. "Come thou to my shop, Peter Kettle, +and thou, Bartimeus and Zerubbabel, and we +will fetch such things as are needful. Jotham, +stay thou here, to see that no man escapeth +from the concealment behind the wall."</p> + +<p>So four of the men went away, leaving +Jotham striding up and down as on guard. +Presently came a shout from beneath the +window,—</p> + +<p>"Jotham! our leader hath dropped his pouch +in which are the keys of the smithy. Hasten +and bring it to the outer door."</p> + +<p>"Aye, aye!" answered Jotham, and, pouch +in hand, he ran down the stairs. Now was +Rafe's opportunity. Like a flash he was across +the gallery, his hand on the boss. The door +flew open, and he fell into the arms of Humphrey, +who, sword in hand and teeth set, stood +on the lower step of the staircase, prepared to +sell his liberty as dearly as possible.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Rafe! little Rafe!" he exclaimed.</p> + +<p>"Hush! The man will come back," panted +Rafe. "Come away—hide—oh, where?" +Then with a sudden inspiration he dragged his +brother toward the iron man. "Get inside," he +cried. "They will never think of searching +there! Oh, Humphrey—make haste! Get +inside!"</p> + +<p>There was no time to be lost. With the +speed of desperation, Humphrey unscrewed, +lifted, stepped inside the armor. Rafe slipped +the fastenings together, whispered "Shut your +eyes," and flew back to his hiding-place. Just +in time, for Jotham's step was on the stair, +and next moment he entered the gallery, and +resumed his march up and down, little dreaming +that the man sought for was peeping +through the helmet holes at him, not three feet +away.</p> + +<p>Presently the other soldiers came back with +hammers and wrenches, and in a short time the +beautiful wainscot, split into pieces, lay on the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[152]</a></span> +floor. Suddenly there was a shout. The secret +door had flown open, and the staircase stood +revealed. Four of the men, with pikes and +pistols, prepared to ascend, while the fifth +guarded the opening below.</p> + +<p>At that moment Winifred entered the gallery +from the farther end. She turned deadly +pale when she saw the open door and the men.</p> + +<p>"Oh! Heaven have mercy!" she cried, and +dropped half fainting into a chair.</p> + +<p>Rafe darted across the floor and seized her +hand.</p> + +<p>"Hush," he whispered. "Don't say a word, +sister. <i>He</i> is safe."</p> + +<p>"He? Who?" cried the amazed Winifred.</p> + +<p>But now voices sounded from above. The +men were coming down. Winifred rallied +her courage, rose, and went forward. She was +very white still, but she spoke in a steady voice. +Her two brothers, Humphrey in his hiding-place +and little Rafe by her side, both admired +her greatly.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[153]</a></span></p> + +<p>"What is the meaning of this, Jotham +Green?" she demanded. "By what warrant +do you enter and spoil our house?"</p> + +<p>"By the warrant which all true men have to +search for traitors," said Jotham.</p> + +<p>"You will find none such here," responded +Winifred, firmly.</p> + +<p>"We find the lurking-place in which one such +has doubtless lain," said Zerubbabel. "Where +holes exist, look out for vermin."</p> + +<p>"You are less than civil, neighbor. An old +house like this has many strange nooks and +corners of which the inhabitants may have +neither use nor knowledge. If your search is +done, I will beg you to make good the damage +you have caused as best you may, and with as +little noise as possible, that my mother be not +alarmed. Jotham Green, you are a good workman, +I know. I recollect how deftly you once +repaired that cabinet for us."</p> + +<p>All the men knew Winifred, and her calm +and decided manner made its impression. Jotham<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[154]</a></span> +slowly picked up the fragments of the +panelling and began to fit them together. The +rest consulted, and at last rather sheepishly, and +with a muttered half apology about "wrong +information," went away, taking with them the +injured woodwork, which Jotham undertook to +repair. Rafe's first words after they disappeared +were,—</p> + +<p>"Winifred, you must dismiss Deborah. It +is she that has betrayed us."</p> + +<p>"How do you know that, Rafe?"</p> + +<p>Then it all came out. Winifred listened to +the tale with streaming tears.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Rafe, my darling, how brave you were! +You played the man for us to-day, and have +saved—I trust you have saved—our Humphrey. +The men will not return to-day, and +to-night the lugger sails."</p> + +<p>And Humphrey was saved. Before morning, +well disguised, he had made his way across +country to a little fishing-port, embarked, and +reached France without further accident.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</a></span></p> + +<p>So that strange Christmas adventure ended +happily. It was all long, long ago. Humphrey +and Winifred and Rafe lived their lives out, +and lay down to rest a century and a half since +under the daisy-sprinkled English sod. Little +Hexie died an aged woman, before any of us +was born. But still the beautiful old manor-house +stands amid its gardens and pasture +lands, with the silvery look of time on its gray +walls. Still the armed figure keeps guard beside +the secret staircase, the tapestry hangs in +the old heavy folds, evening reddens the cedar +walls and the polished floor, and everything +occupies the same place and wears the same +look that it did when little Rafe played the +man in that gallery, and saved his brother +Humphrey, more than two hundred years ago.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[156]</a></span></p> +<h2>THE TWO WISHES.</h2> + + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 99px;"> +<img src="images/drop_p.png" width="99" height="100" alt="P" title="" /> +</div><div class='unindent'><br />IEROT and Pierotte were a small +brother and sister who were always +wishing to be something that they +were not, or to have something which they had +not. They were not unhappy or discontented +children,—far from it. Their home, though +poor, was comfortable; their parents, though +strict, were kind: they were used to both, and +desired nothing better. Wishing with them +was a habit, an idle game which they were forever +playing. It meant little, but it sounded +ill; and a stranger, listening, would have judged +them less well-off and cheerful than they really +were.</div> + +<p>"I wish I needn't wake up, but might lie +still all day," was Pierotte's first thought every<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[157]</a></span> +morning; while Pierot's was, "I wish Pierotte +wasn't such a sleepy-head, for then we could +get out before sunrise, and gather every mushroom +in the meadow while the Blaize children +are still snoring in their beds." Then later, at +breakfast, Pierotte would say, "I wish I were +the Princess, to have coffee and white bread for +my <i>déjeuner</i>, instead of tiresome porridge. I +am tired of porridge. White bread and coffee +must be better,—much better!" But all the +time she spoke, Pierotte's spoon, travelling between +her bowl and mouth, conveyed the +"tiresome" porridge down her throat as rapidly +as though it were the finest Mocha; and +Pierotte enjoyed it as much, though she fancied +that she did not.</p> + +<p>"I wish I were the young Comte Jules," +Pierot would next begin in his turn. "No +fagots to bind, no cow to fodder, no sheep to +tend. Ah! a fine life he leads! Beautiful +clothes, nothing to do. Six meals a day, two +of them dinners, a horse to ride,—everything! +I wish—"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[158]</a></span></p> + +<p>"And a nice yellow skin and eyes like +boiled gooseberries," chimed in his mother. +"Better wish for these while you are about it. +Much you know of noblemen and their ways! +Didst ever have an indigestion? Tell me that. +When thou hast tried one, wish for it again, if +thou canst."</p> + +<p>Then Pierot would laugh sheepishly, shoulder +his hatchet, and go off after wood, the +inseparable Pierotte trotting by his side. As +they went, it would be,—</p> + +<p>"I wish I were a bird," or "I wish we could +jump like that grasshopper;" or, "Pierotte, I +wish our godfather had left us his money. We +should be rich then."</p> + +<p>For the children had the same godfather. +Pierotte first, and then Pierot having been +named after their father's cousin, a well-to-do +peasant, who it was expected would remember +his little relatives in his will. This hope had +been disappointed, and the children's regrets +were natural and excusable, since even the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[159]</a></span> +wise dame, their mother, did not conceal her +opinion of Cousin Pierre's conduct, which she +considered irregular and dishonest. Children +soon learn to join in chorus with older voices, +and Pierot and Pierotte, in this case, found it +particularly easy, as it chimed with the habit +of their lives.</p> + +<p>One warm July morning their mother roused +them for an early breakfast, and sent them into +the forest after wood.</p> + +<p>"My last fagot is in," she said. "You must +bind and tie smartly to-day. And, Pierotte, +help thy brother all that thou canst, for the +father cannot spare him to go again this week, +and on Saturday is the sennight's baking."</p> + +<p>So they set forth. The sun was not fairly +risen, but his light went before his coming, and +even in the dim forest-paths it was easy to distinguish +leaf from flower. Shadows fell across +the way from the trees, which stood so motionless +that they seemed still asleep. Heavy dew +hung on the branches; the air was full of a rare<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[160]</a></span> +perfume, made up of many different fragrances, +mixed and blended by the cunning fingers of +the night. A little later, and the light broadened. +Rays of sun filtered through the boughs, +a wind stirred, and the trees roused themselves, +each with a little shake and quiver. Somehow, +the forest looked unfamiliar, and like a new +place to the children that morning. They were +not often there at so early an hour, it is true, +but this did not quite account for the strange +aspect of the woods. Neither of them knew, +or, if they knew, they had forgotten, that it +was Midsummer's Day, the fairies' special festival. +Nothing met their eyes, no whir of wings +or sparkle of bright faces from under the fern-branches, +but a sense of something unusual +was in the air, and the little brother and sister +walked along in silence, peering curiously this +way and that, with an instinctive expectation of +unseen wonders.</p> + +<p>"Isn't it lovely?" whispered Pierotte, at +last. "It never looked so pretty here as it does<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[161]</a></span> +to-day. See that wild-rose,—how many flowers +it has! Oh! what was that? It waved at +me!"</p> + +<p>"What waved?"</p> + +<p>"The rose. It waved a white arm at me!"</p> + +<p>"Nonsense! It was the wind," replied +Pierot, sturdily, leading the way into a side-path +which led off from the rose-bush.</p> + +<p>"Is it much farther where we get the wood?" +asked Pierotte, for the children had been walking +a considerable time.</p> + +<p>"Father said we were to go to the hazel +copse," answered Pierot. "We must be almost +there."</p> + +<p>So for half an hour longer they went on and +on, but still no sign of fallen trees or wood-choppers +appeared, and Pierot was forced to +confess that he must have mistaken the +road.</p> + +<p>"It is queer, too," he said. "There was +that big red toadstool where the paths joined. +I noticed it the other day when I came with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[162]</a></span> +the father. What's the matter?" for Pierotte +had given a sudden jump.</p> + +<p>"Some one laughed," said Pierotte, in an +awe-struck tone.</p> + +<p>"It was a cricket or tree-toad. Who is here +to laugh?"</p> + +<p>Pierotte tried hard to believe him, but she +did not feel comfortable, and held Pierot's +sleeve tight as they went. He felt the trembling +of the little hand.</p> + +<p>"Pierotte, thou art a goose!" he said; but +all the same he put his arm round her shoulders, +which comforted her so that she walked +less timorously.</p> + +<p>One path after another they tried, but none +of them led to the cleared spot where the fallen +trees lay. The sun rose high, and the day +grew warmer, but in the forest a soft breeze +blew, and kept them cool. Hour after hour +passed; the children had walked till they were +tired. They rested awhile, ate half their dinner +of curds and black bread, then they went on<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[163]</a></span> +again, turned, twisted, tried paths to right and +paths to left, but still the dense woods closed +them in, and they had no idea where they were +or how they should go.</p> + +<p>Suddenly the track they were following led +to a little clearing, in which stood a tiny hut, +with a fenced garden full of cherry-trees and +roses. It was such a surprise to find this fertile +and blooming spot in the heart of the wild wood, +that the children stood still with their mouths +open, to stare at it.</p> + +<p>"How strange!" gasped Pierot, when at +last he found his voice. "The father always +said that ours was the only hut till you got to +the other side the forest."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps this <i>is</i> the other side," suggested +Pierotte.</p> + +<p>An odd chuckling laugh followed this remark, +and they became aware of an old woman sitting +at the window of the cottage,—a comical old +woman, with a stiff square cap on her head, +sharp twinkling eyes, and a long hooked nose. +As the children looked, she laughed again, and,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[164]</a></span> +extending her finger, beckoned them to come +nearer.</p> + +<p>Timidly they obeyed, setting down their big +wood-basket at the gate. The old woman +leaned over the window to await them, her +hand on a square glass jar full of yellow liquid, +in which floated what seemed to be a pickled +serpent with his tail in three coils, and the tip +in his mouth. Pierotte shuddered at the serpent, +but Pierot was bolder.</p> + +<p>"Did you want us, good madam?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Want you? No," replied the "good +madam." "How should I want you? I saw +you staring at my house as if your eyes would +pop out of your heads, and I thought, perhaps, +you wanted me."</p> + +<p>"It was only—we were only—surprised," +stammered Pierot. "Because we didn't know +that there was a house here."</p> + +<p>"There was none last night, and there won't +be any to-morrow morning—at least—none +for children to stare at," replied the old woman, +coolly.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[165]</a></span></p> + +<p>"What <i>do</i> you mean?" cried Pierot, astonished +beyond measure. "How can a house be +built in one night? And why won't it be here +to-morrow?"</p> + +<p>"Because to-morrow won't be Midsummer's +Day—and to-day is," replied the old woman; +"and a fairy-house is visible to mortal eyes at +that time, and no other."</p> + +<p>"Fairy-house!" faltered Pierot; while Pierotte, +jumping more rapidly to a conclusion, +fairly screamed: "Oh, Pierot! Madam, then, +is a fairy! A real fairy! Pierot, think of it, +only think of it!"</p> + +<p>"Very much at your service," said the old +woman, with a malicious smile. "Do you like +fairies, then? Do you admire my pickled +snake? Would you wish to pull some +flowers?"</p> + +<p>Something in the smile made Pierotte draw +back; but Pierot said politely,—</p> + +<p>"One rose, perhaps—since Madam is so +good."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[166]</a></span></p> + +<p>The fairy leaned out and plucked a rose +from the vine which grew on the wall close by.</p> + +<p>"Now listen," she said. "Each of my roses +encloses a wish. You are great wishers, I +know;" and her eyes twinkled queerly. "This +time the wish will come true, so take care what +you are about. There will be no coming to +get me to undo the wish, for I shan't be visible +again till this time next year on Midsummer's +Day,—you know."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Pierot! what shall we wish for?" cried +Pierotte, much excited; but the old woman +only repeated, "Take care!" drew her head +in at the window, and all in a minute—how, +they could not explain—the cottage had vanished, +the garden, the gate,—they were in the +wood again, with nothing but trees and bushes +about them; and all would have seemed like +a dream, except for the red and fragrant rose +which Pierot held in his hand.</p> + +<p>"What shall we wish for?" repeated Pierotte, +as they seated themselves under a tree to talk +over this marvellous adventure.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[167]</a></span></p> + +<p>"We must be very careful, and ask for +something nice," replied Pierot.</p> + +<p>"It would be better to wait and think for a +long time first," suggested Pierotte.</p> + +<p>"Thou art right. We will. Art thou not +hungry?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, so hungry! Let us eat the rest of our +bread now. I can't wait any longer."</p> + +<p>So Pierot produced the big lump of bread, +and divided it into two equal portions.</p> + +<p>"Look, look!" cried Pierotte, as her teeth +met in the first mouthful. "A cherry-tree, +brother,—a real cherry-tree here in the woods! +And with ripe cherries on it! How good some +would be with our bread!"</p> + +<p>"First-rate!" cried Pierot; and, putting +their bread carefully on the grass, both ran +to the tree. Alas! the boughs grew high, and +the cherries hung far beyond their reach. +Pierot tried to climb the tree, but the stem +was both slight and slippery. Then they +found a forked stick, but vainly attempted to +hook and draw down a branch.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[168]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Oh, dear! I wish we were both grown up," +cried Pierot, panting with exertion.</p> + +<p>"So do I. If we were as old as father and +mother, we could reach the boughs without +even getting on tiptoe," chimed in Pierotte.</p> + +<p>Luckless words! As Pierot spoke, the rose, +which he had stuck in his cap, shrivelled and +faded, while a queer sensation as if he were +being carried up into the air swept over him. +He clutched at something to hold himself +down. That something was the cherry-tree +bough! He could reach it now, and as his eyes +turned with dismay toward Pierotte, there she +stood, also holding a twig of the tree, only two +or three inches lower than his own. Her pretty +round cheeks and childish curls were gone, and +instead of them he beheld a middle-aged countenance +with dull hair, a red nose, and a mouth +fallen in for lack of teeth. She, on her part, +unconscious of the change, was staring at him +with a horrified expression.</p> + +<p>"Why, Pierot!" she cried at last, in a voice<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[169]</a></span> +which sounded as old as her face, "how +queer you look! You've got a beard, and +your forehead is all criss-cross and wrinkly, +and your chin rough. Dear me, how ugly you +are! I never thought you could be so ugly."</p> + +<p>"Ugly, eh! Perhaps you would like to see +your own face," said Pierot, enraged at this +flattering criticism. "Just wait till we get +home, and I show you the old looking-glass. +But stay, we needn't wait;" and he dragged +Pierotte to the side of a little pool of still +water, which had caught his eye among the +bushes. "Here's a looking-glass ready made," +he went on. "Look, Pierotte, and see what a +beauty you have become."</p> + +<p>Poor Pierotte! She took one look, gave a +scream, and covered her face with her hands.</p> + +<p>"That me?" she cried. "Oh! I never, +never will think it! What is the matter with +us, Pierot? Was it that horrid fairy, do you +think? Did she bewitch us?"</p> + +<p>"The wish!" faltered Pierot, who at that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[170]</a></span> +moment caught sight of the faded rose in his +cap. "I wished that we were both grown up, +don't you remember? Oh, what a fool I was!"</p> + +<p>"You horrid boy! You have gone and +wished me into an ugly old woman! I'll +never forgive you!" sobbed Pierotte.</p> + +<p>"It was your wish too. You said you would +like to be as old as father and mother. So you +needn't call me horrid!" answered Pierot, +angrily.</p> + +<p>Silence followed, broken only by Pierotte's +sobs. The two old children sat with their +backs to each other, under different trees. By +and by Pierot's heart began to smite him.</p> + +<p>"It was more my fault than hers," he +thought; and, turning round a little way, he +said coaxingly, "Pierotte."</p> + +<p>No answer. Pierotte only stuck out her +shoulder a little and remained silent.</p> + +<p>"Don't look so cross," went on Pierot. "You +can't think how horrid it makes you—a woman +of your age!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[171]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I'm not a woman of my age. Oh, how +can you say such things?" sobbed Pierotte. +"I don't want to be grown-up. I want to be +a little girl again."</p> + +<p>"You used to be always wishing you were +big," remarked her now big brother.</p> + +<p>"Y—es, so I was; but I never meant all at +once. I wanted to be big enough to spin—and +the—mother—was—going—to teach +me," went on poor Pierotte, crying bitterly, +"and I wanted to be as big as Laura Blaize—and—pretty—and +some day have a sweetheart, +as she had—and—but what's the use—I've +lost it all, and I'm grown up, and old +and ugly already, and the mother won't know +me, and the father will say, 'My little Pierotte—Cœur +de St. Martin—impossible! get out, +you witch!'" Overcome by this dreadful picture, +Pierotte hid her face and cried louder +than ever.</p> + +<p>"I'll tell you what," said Pierot, after a +pause, "don't let us go home at all. We will<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[172]</a></span> +just hide here in the woods for a year, and +when Midsummer's Day comes round, we'll +hunt till we find the fairy house again, and beg +the fairy, on our knees, for another wish, and if +she says 'yes,' we'll wish at once to be little +just as we were this morning, and <i>then</i> we'll go +home directly."</p> + +<p>"Poor mother; she will think we are dead!" +sighed Pierotte.</p> + +<p>"That's no worse than if she saw us like +this. I'd be conscripted most likely and sent +off to fight, and me only twelve years old! +And you'd have a horrid time of it with the +Blaize boys. Robert Blaize said you were the +prettiest girl in Balne aux Bois. I wonder what +he'd say now!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, let us stay here," shuddered +Pierotte. "I couldn't bear to see the Blaize +boys now. But then—it will be dark soon—shan't +you be frightened to stay in the woods +all night?"</p> + +<p>"Oh! a man like me isn't easily frightened,"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[173]</a></span> +said Pierot, stoutly, but his teeth chattered a +little.</p> + +<p>"It's so queer to hear you call yourself 'a +man,'" remarked Pierotte.</p> + +<p>"And it's just as queer to hear you call yourself +a little girl," answered Pierot, with a glance +at the antiquated face beside him.</p> + +<p>"Dear, how my legs shake, and how stiff my +knees are!" sighed Pierotte. "Do grown-up +people feel like that always?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know," said Pierot, whose own legs +lacked their old springiness. "Would you like +some cherries now, Pierotte? I can reach them +easily."</p> + +<p>"Cherries! Those sour things? No, thank +you. They would be sure to disagree with me," +returned Pierotte, pettishly.</p> + +<p>"Times are changed," muttered Pierot; but +he dared not speak aloud.</p> + +<p>"Where shall we sleep?" asked Pierotte.</p> + +<p>"Under the trees, so long as the summer +lasts."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[174]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Gracious! We shall both die of rheumatism."</p> + +<p>"Rheumatism? What an idea for a child +like you!"</p> + +<p>"I wish I <i>were</i> a child," said Pierotte, with a +groan. "Here's a tree with grass below it, and +I'm getting tired and sleepy."</p> + +<p>When the brother and sister woke it was +broad sunlight again.</p> + +<p>"One day gone of our year," said Pierot, +trying to be cheerful.</p> + +<p>It was hard work as time went on, and with +all their constant walking and wandering they +never seemed to find their way out of the forest, +or of that particular part of it where their +luckless adventure had befallen them. Turn +which way they would, the paths always +appeared to lead them round to the same spot; +it was like bewitchment; they could make +nothing out of it. The dulness of their lives +was varied only by an occasional quarrel. +Pierot would essay to climb a tree, and Pierotte,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[175]</a></span> +grown sage and proper, would upbraid him for +behaving so foolishly,—"just like a boy,"—or +he would catch her using the pool as a mirror, +and would tease her for caring so much for +a plain old face when there was nobody but +himself to look. How the time went they had +no idea. It seemed always daylight, and yet +weeks, if not months, must have passed, they +thought, and Pierot at last began to suspect the +fairy of having changed the regular course of +the sun so as to cheat them out of the proper +time for finding her at home.</p> + +<p>"It's just like her," he said. "She is making +the days seem all alike, so that we may not +know when Midsummer comes. Pierotte, I'll +tell you what, we must be on the lookout, and +search for the little house every day, for if we +forget just once, that will be the very time, +depend upon it."</p> + +<p>So every day, and all day long, the two old +children wandered to and fro in search of the +fairy cot. For a long time their quest was in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[176]</a></span> +vain; but at last, one bright afternoon, just +before sunset, as they were about giving up the +hunt for that day, the woods opened in the +same sudden way and revealed the garden, +the hut, and—yes—at the window the pointed +cap, the sharp black eyes. It was the fairy herself; +they had found her at last.</p> + +<p>For a moment they were too much bewildered +to move; then side by side they hurried +into the garden without waiting for invitation.</p> + +<p>"Well, my old gaffer, what can I do for you, +or for you, dame?" asked the fairy, benevolently.</p> + +<p>"Oh, please, I am not a dame, he is not a +gaffer," cried Pierotte, imploringly. "I am +little Pierotte"—and she bobbed a courtesy. +"And this is Pierot, my brother."</p> + +<p>"Pierot and Pierotte! Wonderful!" said the +fairy. "But, my dear children, what has caused +this change in your appearance? You have +aged remarkably since I saw you last."</p> + +<p>"Indeed, we have," replied Pierot, with a +grimace.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[177]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Well, age is a very respectable thing. +Some persons are always wishing to be old," +remarked the fairy, maliciously. "You find it +much pleasanter than being young, I dare +say."</p> + +<p>"Indeed, we don't," said Pierotte, wiping +her eyes on her apron.</p> + +<p>"No? Well, that is sad, but I <i>have</i> heard +people say the same before you."</p> + +<p>"Oh, please, please," cried Pierot and Pierotte, +falling on their knees before the window, +"please, dear, kind fairy, forgive us. We don't +like to be grown-up at all. We want to be +little and young again. Please, dear fairy, +turn us into children as we were before."</p> + +<p>"What would be the use?" said the old +woman. "You'd begin wanting to be somebody +else at once if you were turned back to +what you were before."</p> + +<p>"We won't, indeed we won't," pleaded the +children, very humbly.</p> + +<p>The fairy leaned out and gathered a rose.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[178]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Very well," she said. "Here's another +wish for you. See that it is a wise one this +time, for if you fail, it will be of no use to +come to me."</p> + +<p>With these words, she shut the blinds suddenly, +and lo! in one second, house, garden, +and all had vanished, and Pierot and Pierotte +were in the forest again.</p> + +<p>There was no deliberation this time as to +what the wish should be.</p> + +<p>"I wish I was a little boy," shouted Pierot, +holding the rose over his head with a sort of +ecstasy.</p> + +<p>"And I wish I was a little girl, the same +little girl exactly that I used to be," chorused +Pierotte.</p> + +<p>The rose seemed to melt in air, so quickly +did it wither and collapse. And the brother +and sister embraced and danced with joy, for +each in the other's face saw the fulfilment of +their double wish.</p> + +<p>"Oh, how young you look! Oh, how pretty<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[179]</a></span> +you are! Oh, what happiness it is not to be +old any longer! The dear fairy! The kind +fairy!" These were the exclamations which the +squirrels and the birds heard for the next ten +minutes, and the birds and the squirrels seemed +to be amused, for certain queer and unexplained +little noises like laughs sounded from +under the leaves and behind the bushes.</p> + +<p>"Let us go home at once to mother," cried +Pierotte.</p> + +<p>There was no difficulty about the paths now. +After walking awhile, Pierot began to recognize +this turn and that. There was the huntsman's +oak and the Dropping Well; and there—yes, +he was sure—lay the hazel copse where the +father had bidden them go for wood.</p> + +<p>"I say," cried Pierotte, with a sudden bright +thought, "we will wait and bind one fagot for +the mother's oven—the poor mother! Who +has fetched her wood all this time, do you +suppose?"</p> + +<p>Plenty of sticks lay on the ground ready for<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[180]</a></span> +binding. The wood-choppers had just left off +their work, it would seem. Pierotte's basket +was filled, a fagot tied and lifted on to Pierot's +shoulders, and through the gathering twilight +they hurried homeward. They were out of the +wood soon. There was the hut, with a curl of +smoke rising from the chimney; there was the +mother standing at the door and looking toward +the forest. What <i>would</i> she say when she saw +them?</p> + +<p>What she said astonished them very much.</p> + +<p>"How long you have been!" were the +words, but the tone was not one of surprise.</p> + +<p>"O mother, mother!" cried Pierotte, clinging +to her arm, while Pierot said, "We were +afraid to come home because we looked so old, +and we feared you would not know us, but now +we are young again."</p> + +<p>"Old! young!" said the mother. "What +does the lad mean! One does not age so fast +between sunrise and sunset as to be afraid to +come home. Are you dreaming, Pierot?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[181]</a></span></p> + +<p>"But we have been away a year," said +Pierot, passing his hand before his eyes as if +trying to clear his ideas.</p> + +<p>"A year! Prithee! And the sheets which I +hung out at noon not fairly dry yet. A year! +And the goats thou drovest to pasture before +breakfast not in the shed yet! A year! Thou +wouldst better not let the father hear thee prate +thus! What, crying, Pierotte! Here's a pretty +to-do because, forsooth, you are come in an +hour late!"</p> + +<p>An hour late! The children looked at each +other in speechless amazement. To this day +the amazement continues. The mother still +persists that they were absent but a few hours. +Where, then, were the weeks spent in the wood, +the gray hair, the wrinkles, the wanderings in +search of the old woman and her hut? Was +all and each but a bit of enchantment, a trick +of the mirth-loving fairies? They could not +tell, and neither can I. Fairies are unaccountable +folk, and their doings surpass our guessing,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[182]</a></span> +who are but mortal, and stupid at that! +One thing I know, that the two children since +that day have dropped their foolish habit of +wishing, and are well content to remain little +Pierot and Pierotte till the time comes for them +to grow older, as it will only too soon.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[183]</a></span></p> +<h2>BLUE AND PINK.</h2> + + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 100px;"> +<img src="images/drop_t.png" width="100" height="100" alt="T" title="" /> +</div><div class='unindent'><br />WO valentines lay together in the +pillar post-box. One was pink and +one was blue. Pink lay a-top, and +they crackled to each other softly in the paper-language, +invented long since by Papyrus, the +father of Manuscript, and used by all written +and printed sheets unto this day. Listen hard, +next time you visit the reading-room at the +Public Library, and you will hear the newspapers +exchanging remarks across the table in +this language.</div> + +<p>Said the pink valentine: "I am prettier than +you, much prettier, Miss Blue."</p> + +<p>Blue was modester. "That may be true, my +dear Miss Pink; still, some folks like blue best, +I think," she replied.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[184]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I wonder they should," went on Pink, talking +in prose now, for valentines can speak in +prose and in rhyme equally well. "You are +such a chilly color. Now <i>I</i> warm people. +They smile when they see me. I like that. It +is sweet to give pleasure."</p> + +<p>"I like to give pleasure, too," said Blue, +modestly. "And I hope I may, for something +beautiful is written inside me."</p> + +<p>"What? oh! what?" cried Pink.</p> + +<p>"I cannot say," sighed Blue. "How can one +tell what is inside one? But I know it is something +sweet, because</p> + +<div class='poem'> +She who sent me here<br /> +Is so very fair and dear."<br /> +</div> + +<p>Blue was running into rhyme again, as valentines +will.</p> + +<p>"I don't believe a word of it," said Pink, +digging her sharp elbow into Blue's smooth +side. "Nothing is written inside me, and I'm +glad of it. I am too beautiful to be written +on. In the middle of my page is a picture,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[185]</a></span> +Cupid, with roses and doves. Oh, so fine! +There is a border too, wreaths of flowers, +flowers of all colors, and a motto, 'Be mine.' +Be mine! What can be better than that? +Have you got flowers and 'Be mine' inside, +you conceited thing? If not, say so, and be +ashamed, as you deserve to be."</p> + +<p>Again the pink elbow dented Blue's smooth +envelope.</p> + +<p>But Blue only shook her head softly, and +made no answer. Pink grew angry at this. +She caught Blue with her little teeth of mucilage +and shook her viciously.</p> + +<p>"Speak," she said. "I hate your stuck-up, +shut-up people. Speak!"</p> + +<p>But Blue only smiled, and again shook her +head.</p> + +<p>Just then the pillar-post opened with a click. +The postman had come. He scooped up Pink, +Blue, and all the other letters, and threw them +into his wallet. A fat yellow envelope of law-papers +separated the two valentines, and they +had no further talk.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[186]</a></span></p> + +<p>Half an hour later, Pink was left at the door +of a grand house, almost the finest in the town. +Charles, the waiter, carried her into the parlor, +and Pink said to herself: "What a thing it +is to have a mission. My mission is to give +pleasure!"</p> + +<p>"A letter for you, Miss Eva," said Charles. +He did not smile. Well-behaved waiters never +smile; besides, Charles did not like Eva.</p> + +<p>"Where is your tray?" demanded Eva, +crossly. "You are always forgetting what +mamma told you. Go and get it." But when +she saw Pink in her beautiful envelope, unmistakably +a valentine, she decided not to wait.</p> + +<p>"Never mind, this time," she said; "but +don't let it happen again."</p> + +<p>"Who's your letter from, Evy?" asked +grandmamma.</p> + +<p>"I haven't opened it yet, and I wish you +wouldn't call me Evy; it sounds so backwoodsy," +replied Eva, who, for some mysterious +reason, had waked that morning very +much out of temper.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[187]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Eva!" said her father, sternly.</p> + +<p>Eva had forgotten that papa was there. To +hide her confusion, she opened the pink envelope +so hastily as to tear it all across.</p> + +<p>"Oh dear!" she complained. "Everything +goes wrong."</p> + +<p>Then she unfolded the valentine. Pink, who +had felt as if a sword were thrust through +her heart when her envelope was torn, brightened +up.</p> + +<p>"Now," she thought, "when she sees the +flowers, Cupid, and doves, she <i>will</i> be pleased."</p> + +<p>But it was not pleasure which shone on Eva's +countenance.</p> + +<p>"What's the matter?" asked papa, seeing +her face swell and angry tears filling her eyes.</p> + +<p>"That horrid Jim Slack!" cried Eva. "He +said he'd send me a valentine just like Pauline's, +and he hasn't. Hers was all birds and butterflies, +and had verses—"</p> + +<p>"Yours seems pretty enough," said papa, +consolingly.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[188]</a></span></p> + +<p>"It's not pretty enough," responded Eva, +passionately. "It's a stupid, ugly thing. I +hate it. I won't have it."</p> + +<p>And, horrible to state, she flung Pink, actually +flung her, into the middle of the fire. There +was time for but one crackling gasp; then the +yellow flame seized and devoured all—Cupid, +doves, flowers! Another second, they were +gone. A black scroll edged with fiery sparkles +reared itself up in the midst of the glow; then +an air-current seized it, it rose, and the soul of +Pink flew up the chimney.</p> + +<p>Blue, meantime, was lying on the lap of a +little girl of twelve, a mile or more from this +scene of tragedy. Two plump hands caressed +her softly.</p> + +<p>"Sister, may I read it to you just once +more?" begged a coaxing voice.</p> + +<p>"Yes, Pet, once more. That'll make five +times, and they say there is luck in odd numbers," +said another voice, kind and gay.</p> + +<p>So Pet read:<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[189]</a></span>—</p> + +<div class='poem'> +"My dear is like a dewy rose<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">All in the early morn;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">But never on her stem there grows</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">A single wounding thorn.</span><br /> +<br /> +"My dear is like a violet shy,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Who hides her in the grass,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">And holds a fragrant bud on high</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">To bless all men who pass.</span><br /> +<br /> +"My dear is like a merry bird,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">My dear is like a rill,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Like all sweet things or seen or heard,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Only she's sweeter still.</span><br /> +<br /> +"And while she blooms beside my door,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Or sings beneath my sky,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">My heart with happiness runs o'er,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Content and glad am I.</span><br /> +<br /> +"So, sweetheart, read me as I run,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Smile on this simple rhyme,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">And choose me out to be your one</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And only <span class="smcap">Valentine</span>."</span><br /> +</div> + +<p>"Isn't it lovely?" said Pet, her blue eyes +dancing as she looked up.</p> + +<p>"Yes, it's very nice," replied sister.</p> + +<p>"I wish everybody in the world had such a +nice valentine," went on Pet. "How pleased +they'd be! Do you suppose anybody has sent<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[190]</a></span> +Lotty one? Only that about the bird wouldn't +be true, because Lotty's so sick, you know, +and always stays in bed."</p> + +<p>"But Lotty sings," said sister. "She's +always singing and cheerful, so she's like a +bird in that."</p> + +<div class='poem'> +"Birdies with broken wings<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Hide from each other;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">But babies in trouble</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Can run home to mother,"</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='unindent'>hummed Pet, who knew the "St. Nicholas" +jingles by heart. "But poor Lotty hasn't any +mamma to run to," she added softly.</div> + +<p>"No; and that's a reason why it would be +so specially nice to give her the pleasure of a +valentine like yours."</p> + +<p>"I wish somebody had sent her one," said +Pet, thoughtfully.</p> + +<p>"I don't suppose there is another in the +world just like yours," said sister, smiling at +Pet.</p> + +<p>"Then she <i>can't</i> have one. What a pity!"</p> + +<p>"She might have this of yours," suggested +sister.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[191]</a></span></p> + +<p>"But—then—I shouldn't have any," cried +Pet.</p> + +<p>"Oh yes, you would, and I'll tell you how," +said sister. "You've had all the pleasure of +getting it, and opening and reading it, already. +<i>That's</i> yours to keep. Now, if I copy the +verses for you on plain white paper, you can +read them over as often as you like, till by and +by you learn them by heart. When you have +done that they will be yours for always; and, +meanwhile, Lotty will have the pleasure of +getting the valentine, opening, reading, learning, +just as you have done—so you will get +a double pleasure instead of one. Don't you +see?"</p> + +<p>"That will be splendid," cried Pet, joyously. +"Poor Lotty, how glad she will be! And +I shall have two pleasures instead of one, +shan't I?"</p> + +<p>"How nice," thought Blue, "to have given +two pleasures already!"</p> + +<p>Sister copied the verses, a fresh envelope was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[192]</a></span> +found, and Blue was sent on her way. When +she was carried upstairs to Lotty's room, she +thought it the pleasantest place she had ever +seen. Sunshine was there—on the wall, on the +plants in the window, most of all in Lotty's face, +as she sat up in bed, knitting with red worsted +and big needles. When Blue was put into her +hands, she laughed with astonishment.</p> + +<p>"For me!" she cried. "Who could have +sent it? How pretty it is—how pretty! A +great deal too pretty for me. Oh, what a kind, +dear somebody there is in the world!"</p> + +<p>Everybody in the house was glad because +Lotty was glad. Grandmamma came in to hear +the valentine; so did papa, and Jack, Lotty's +big brother, and Fred, her little one. Even the +cook made up an excuse about the pudding, +and stole upstairs to hear the "fine verses +which somebody had sint to Miss Lotty. It's +swate as roses she is, any day," said cook; +"and good luck to him for sinding it, whoiver +he is."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[193]</a></span></p> + +<p>By and by Lotty's tender heart began to +busy itself with a new plan.</p> + +<p>"Grandma," she said, "I'm thinking about +little Mary Riley. She works so hard, and she +hardly ever has anything nice happen to her. +Don't you think I might send her my valentine—in +a different envelope, you know, with +her name on it and all? She'd be so pleased."</p> + +<p>"But I thought you liked it so much yourself, +dear," replied grandmamma, unwilling to +have her darling spare one bit of brightness +out of her sick-room life.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I do; that's the reason I want to give +it away," said Lotty, simply, and stroking Blue, +who, had she known how, would gladly have +purred under the soft touch. "But I shall go +on liking it all the same if Mary has it, and +she'll like it too. Don't you see, grandmamma? +I've copied the verses in my book, so that I +can keep them."</p> + +<p>Grandmamma consented. The new envelope +was found, Mary's address was written upon it,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[194]</a></span> +and away went happy Blue to give pleasure to +a fresh friend.</p> + +<p>"This is best of all," she said to herself, as +Mary laid aside her weary sewing to read over +and over again the wonderful verses, which +seemed to have dropped out of fairy-land. She +almost cried with pleasure that they should be +sent to <i>her</i>.</p> + +<p>"I wish I could buy a frame for 'em—a +beautiful gold frame," she whispered to herself.</p> + +<p>Pink would have been vain had she heard +this; but Blue glowed with a purer feeling—the +happiness of giving happiness.</p> + +<p>Mary read the verses over a dozen times at +least before putting them aside; but she did put +them aside, for she had work to finish, and daylight +was precious. The work was a birthday +frock. When the last stitch was set, she folded +it carefully, put on cloak and bonnet, and prepared +to carry the frock home. Last of all, she +dropped Blue into her pocket. She did not<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[195]</a></span> +like to leave it behind. Something might happen, +she thought.</p> + +<p>It was quite a grand house to which the +birthday frock went. In fact; it was next door +but one to the house in which Pink met with +her melancholy fate. The little girl who was +to wear the frock was very glad to see Mary, +and her mamma came upstairs to pay for the +work.</p> + +<p>"Have you any change?" she said. "Come +nearer to the fire. It is cold to-night."</p> + +<p>Mary was confused by this kindness. Her +fingers trembled as she searched for her +porte-monnaie, which was at the bottom of +her pocket, underneath her handkerchief. She +twitched out the handkerchief hastily, and with +it, alas! came Blue. They were close to the +grate, and Blue was flung into the fire. Mary +gave a scream and made a snatch. It was +too late! Already the flames had seized it; +her beloved valentine was gone, vanished into +ashes!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[196]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Was it anything valuable?" asked the +lady, as Mary gave a little sob.</p> + +<p>"Oh, n-o—yes, ma'am; that is, it was +verses. I never had any before. And they +were s-o beautiful!" replied poor Mary, half +crying.</p> + +<p>The lady gave her an extra dollar for the +sewing, but this did not console Mary.</p> + +<p>Meantime the ghost of Blue flew up the +chimney. Upon the roof hovered a dim gray +shade. It was the ghost of Pink, wind-blown +for a little space.</p> + +<p>"How sad life is!" sighed Pink's ghost—</p> + +<div class='poem'> +"I was young, I was fair,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">And now I'm in the air,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">As ugly gray ashes as ever were."</span><br /> +</div> + +<p>"How sweet life is!" murmured the ghost +of Blue—</p> + +<div class='poem'> +"I've only lived a little while,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">But I have made three people smile."</span><br /> +</div> + +<p>A chickadee who heard the two ghosts discoursing +now flew down from the roof-peak.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[197]</a></span> +He gathered Blue's ashes up into his beak, +flew down into the garden, and strewed them +about the root of a rose-tree.</p> + +<p>"In the spring you'll be a rose," he said.</p> + +<p>Then he flew back, took up Pink's ashes, +bore them into another garden, and laid them +in the midst of a bed of chickweed.</p> + +<p>"Make that chickweed crop a little richer, if +you can," he chirped. "All the better for the +dicky-birds if you do; and a good thing for +you too, to be of use for once in your life."</p> + +<p>Then the chickadee flew away. Ghosts have +to get accustomed to plain speaking.</p> + +<p>This was the end of Blue and Pink.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[198]</a></span></p> +<h2>A FORTUNATE MISFORTUNE.</h2> + + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 101px;"> +<img src="images/drop_e.png" width="101" height="100" alt="E" title="" /> +</div><div class='unindent'><br />MMY GALE was far from anticipating +misfortunes or suspecting that she +was going to have any as she packed +her trunk for the much-talked-of visit to +Elliott's Mills. The very putting of the things +into the trays was a pleasure, for it meant the +satisfaction of a long-deferred wish. To go to +Elliott's Mills had been the desire of her heart +ever since she was a little girl of eight, and she +was now fourteen; and she folded her dresses +and patted each collar and pair of stockings into +place with a glad feeling at her heart.</div> + +<p>I must tell you about Elliott's Mills, or you +will not understand why Emmy was so pleased +to go there. It was a very small village in the +western part of New York. To reach it you<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[199]</a></span> +had to take, first a whole day's journey by rail, +and then a two-mile drive over a rather rough +road. When arrived there you found yourself +in an ugly, unattractive little wooden hamlet, +set down among low hills and tracts of woodland. +This does not sound over-delightful, does +it? But what made Elliott's Mills so charming +was that Aunt Emma lived there during the +summer, and the life that she and her family +led had an inexpressible fascination for all the +young people in the connection.</p> + +<p>Aunt Emma's home had always been in New +York City until her husband, who was a lawyer, +came into possession some years before of an +enormous tract of land, some thousands of acres +in extent, in the western part of the State. It +became necessary for him to spend some months +there every year to look after it. First he built +a small law office and a couple of bedrooms for +use on these occasions. Then Aunt Emma +wanted to go with him, and another room or +two was added for her; and so it went on till<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[200]</a></span> +the little law office had grown into a big, rambling +country house of the most irregular shape, +with small chambers opening out of large ones, +doors, cupboards, entries, and staircases where +you least expected them, little flights of steps +leading up into rooms and down into rooms—just +the sort of house, in short, which boys +and girls delight in. Aunt Emma, who was a +woman of admirable sense, made no attempt to +introduce the elegances of the city into the +woods, not even when it grew to be her home +for the greater part of the year. Air, space, +and freedom to do as you liked were the luxuries +of the place. All the bedrooms were +furnished with the same small-patterned blue +ingrain carpet and little sets of oak-painted +furniture precisely alike. The big parlor +and dining-room had wicker chairs and willow +tables, roomy sofas and couches covered with +well-washed chintz, and skins and rugs on the +matted floors. Deer's antlers in the hall held +hats, whips, and coats. There was a garden of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[201]</a></span> +sweet common flowers to supply the summer +vases, crackling wood-fires for cool evenings, +and a bookcase of light reading for rainy days. +The table was deliciously supplied with game +and trout, wild fruits and country cream, and +you might sit on the floor and tell ghost-stories +till midnight if you cared to do so. In the big +stables a little troop of Indian ponies, broken to +saddle or harness, were kept. Most of them +had Indian names, in honor of the half-civilized +tribe which lived close by on their reservation. +There was Chief Blacksnake and Lady Blacksnake +and Young Blacksnake, Uncas and Pottomet +and "Xantego," commonly pronounced +"Want-to-go," and riding and driving went on +the summer through among the visitors who +filled the ample, hospitable house. There +seemed to be a pony for everybody, and everybody +liked to have a pony, and the ponies +themselves enjoyed it.</p> + +<p>Emmy Gale was her aunt Emma's namesake, +but, as it happened, she had never been at<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[202]</a></span> +Elliott's Mills, though her elder sisters, Bess and +Jean, had made many visits there. This was +partly accidental, for twice it had been arranged +that she should go, and twice illness had prevented. +Once, her cousin Lena had measles, and +the other time Emmy herself had scarlet fever. +Nobody was in fault either time, still it rankled +in Emmy's mind that she should never have +seen the place about which Bess and Jean were +forever raving. And now her time was come; +she was actually packing her trunk. No wonder +she was pleased.</p> + +<p>I must just say one word about Emmy before +I start her on her journey. She was very +tall of her age, thin, and rather awkward, as +overgrown girls are apt to be. A passionate +desire to be liked was one of the ruling motives +of her nature, but she was very apt to fancy +that people did not like her, and to worry and +grieve over it in a morbid manner. When +quite at her ease, she was an attractive girl, +loving and bright and funny, but poor Emmy<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[203]</a></span> +was seldom quite at ease. She could only be +that when she forgot herself, and that was not +often; for what with wondering if people would +approve of her, and vexing herself with the +idea that they did not, and fidgeting as to <i>why</i> +they did not, she contrived to be the subject +of her own thoughts for a considerable part of +the time.</p> + +<p>Her escort was an old gentleman, a friend of +her father's. He did not say much to Emmy, +but he was very polite as old gentlemen go, +and in the course of the long day's journey +bought for her three illustrated papers, half a +dozen beautiful red apples, and a "prize package +of pop-corn," which, had it chosen to live +up to its label, <i>might</i> have had a gold bracelet +in it, but in reality contained nothing better +than a brass ring. Emmy liked the apples, and +did not at all resent her escort's lack of conversation. +In fact, she scarcely noticed it, so busy +was she in thinking of the joys to come. With +her eyes fixed on the long reaches of soft red<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[204]</a></span> +and yellow woods which seemed to be running +past the train as the train ran by them, she +made pictures to herself of what was going to +happen. Lena would come down at the carriage +to meet her, she was quite sure. And +perhaps Bess or Jean, who had been at Elliott's +Mills for the past month, would come too. +It would be about half-past five when the +train was due, so they could reach the house +just before supper, which is always a pleasant +time to arrive anywhere. It all seemed most +promising as she thought it over.</p> + +<p>The first bit of ill luck which befell Emmy +was that the train proved to be behind time. +There were tiresome stops and unaccountable +delays. At noon the conductor owned to being +two hours late, so they kept on losing time. +Railroads are like a dissected puzzle—if one +piece gets out of its place it makes the other +pieces wrong. They had to wait for all the +other trains, and telegraph and stand still. +Tired and vexed, Emmy sat with her nose<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[205]</a></span> +pressed against the window, looking out into +the deepening dusk as the engine puffed and +snorted and ran the train slowly back and forward, +on to sidings and off them. Her impatience +grew and grew, till it seemed as if she +<i>must</i> jump out and push something, the locomotive +or the conductor—she didn't care which—anything +to make them go on; and when +eight o'clock came and nine, with the Mills +station still far ahead, she felt so worn out and +discouraged that she could easily have cried, +except that girls of fourteen do not like to cry in +public. The only thing that diverted her from +her woes was watching two girls of her own +age who sat in front of her, and were "capping +verses" to pass away the time. The train +made a great deal of noise, so that they had to +scream to make themselves heard; then the roar +and rumble ceased suddenly in that queer way +which is common to all railroads, and a very +high-pitched voice was heard to shriek out the +following extraordinary question,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[206]</a></span>—</p> + +<p>"Pray how was the Devil dressed? D—" +Everybody jumped, and Emmy's old gentleman +put on his spectacles and gazed long and solemnly +at the young ladies who seemed to be +conversing on such extraordinary topics, while +they hid their faces and giggled violently for +two miles.</p> + +<p>It was exactly ten when they finally reached +the Mills station. The old gentleman helped +Emmy out, the train rushed on, and she found +herself standing alone on a wet platform beside +her trunk. Her aunt's man William came to +meet her, swinging a lantern.</p> + +<p>"Didn't any one come down to meet me?" +she asked.</p> + +<p>"No, miss. Mr. Tom drove down for the +two o'clock express, and sent back word that +your train would be late, and I must be sure +to fetch a big lantern, for the road is all +washed away by the freshet. Is that your box, +miss? We'd better start at once, for it's going +to take us two hours and a half to get over to +the village."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[207]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Two hours and a half!" gasped Emmy.</p> + +<p>"Yes, miss, because of the roads. They're +almost dangerous. We'll have to walk nearly +the whole way, for it's so dark that we can't +see where we're going."</p> + +<p>It was quite two hours and a half before they +reached the house. Emmy had fallen asleep +half a dozen times, and waked up to be conscious +that she was stiff, chilled, and aching in +every bone, and that William was walking at +the horses' heads, holding the lantern up high +to make sure of the road. At last they turned +in at a gate and he came to the window to say +encouragingly, "Just there, miss."</p> + +<p>"What time is it?" asked Emmy.</p> + +<p>"Nigh on to one, miss."</p> + +<p>"Oh dear, and they will all be in bed!" +thought Emmy; but she was really too tired to +care much about it. A sleepy-looking maid +was sitting up to receive her. Mrs. Elliott had +left her love, she said, and the young lady must +take some hot soup and get to bed as fast as<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[208]</a></span> +possible. It was not at all the reception which +Emmy had dreamed of, but she was so worn +out with fatigue that bed seemed the only thing +in the world worth thinking of just then, and +there, with the assistance of the maid, she soon +found herself.</p> + +<p>When she woke, the room was bright with +sun, which streamed into the window with such +an "up a long time ago" expression, that Emmy +knew she must have slept late. She was still +tired, and lay quietly looking about her and +recognizing all the little conveniences and +devices of which she had heard from her sisters, +till a little tap sounded, the door softly +opened, and Aunt Emma's kind, handsome face +looked in.</p> + +<p>"Good morning, my dear; I hope you are +rested," she said, with a kiss. "I would not let +any one wake you, for you must have been +tired out. Now you must have some breakfast." +And in another moment, with the ease +which seemed to characterize all arrangements<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[209]</a></span> +in which Aunt Emma had a share, in came a +napkin-covered tray borne by a neat little maid, +with <i>such</i> a nice breakfast! A big pink-and-white +cup full of hot cocoa, broiled chicken, +delicious potato stewed with cream, two white +rolls, and a baked pear in a saucer. Nothing +could have been more tempting to hungry +Emmy, but even as she sipped the first spoonful +of cocoa, the question at her heart found +its way to her lips: "Aunty, where are the +girls?"</p> + +<p>"The girls," said aunty in her pleasant, decided +voice, "are gone to Niagara for two or +three days. A party was made up for some +friends of your cousin May's who are staying +with us, and Bess and Jean and Lena went too. +They will be back day after to-morrow, and +meanwhile you will have a chance to get +thoroughly rested."</p> + +<p>"Gone to Niagara!" exclaimed Emmy. +"Oh, why didn't they wait till I came!"</p> + +<p>"That would not have been possible, my<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[210]</a></span> +dear," said her aunt. "The Jarvises, for whom +the party was made, only stay with us till next +Thursday, and May expects other guests early +in the week, so she could not be away later." +Then some one called her, and Aunt Emma +went away, just saying kindly as she walked +off, "Make a good breakfast, dear!"</p> + +<p>Poor Emmy! she was too hungry not to eat, +but the meal was literally mingled with tears. +She sobbed with each mouthful, and more than +one salt drop hopped down her nose to flavor +the baked pear. It was foolish of her, I admit, +but disappointments are hard to bear when one +is only fourteen years old and very tired into +the bargain, and this was a really great disappointment. +Three whole days all alone with +aunty, and the others away enjoying themselves +at Niagara without her! She was rather +afraid of her aunt, and, though very desirous +to win her good opinion, this hidden fear made +Emmy so shy and awkward that she never appeared +at her best when in her company.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[211]</a></span></p> + +<p>Sadly and languidly she got up and began +to dress, feeling as if the heart was taken out +of everything. Raising the lid of the soap-dish, +there on the nice little pink cake of soap lay a +note with "Emmy" written on it. Much wondering, +she opened. It was from her sister +Bess, and it read:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"<span class="smcap">Dear Emmy</span>,—Don't be poky because you +find us gone. It's only for a day or two, +and we shall be back almost before you miss +us." ("Not much chance of that!" reflected +Emmy, dolorously.) "Be a good girl, laugh +and talk with aunty, pet Uncle Tom, <i>don't poke</i>, +and be glad to see us on Saturday night.</p> + +<div class='sig'> +<span style="margin-right: 4em;">"Your loving</span><br /> +"<span class="smcap">Bess</span>."<br /> +</div></div> + +<p>"How can I help poking, and what does she +mean anyway?" thought Emmy. However, +this proof that she had been remembered +cheered her a little, and she went on with her +dressing in better spirits. A long folded slip<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[212]</a></span> +of paper was pinned round the handle of the +water-jug. Another note! from Jean this time.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"<span class="smcap">Dear little Emmy</span>," (Emmy was half a +head taller than Jean!)—"We hate to go away +and leave you, and we wouldn't if it were not +so perfectly splendid to see Niagara. It won't +be long before we come back, and you mustn't +be lonely. Aunty is so nice, and, dear, if only +you wouldn't be afraid of her! She doesn't +like shy people, so don't be shy. There's a +lovely story-book in the bookcase in the dining-room: +'The Dove in the Eagle's Nest.' It's on +the third shelf from the top. Do read it while +we are away! You will like it, I am sure.</p> + +<p>"Your affectionate +"<span class="smcap">Jean</span>."</p></div> + +<p>Jean was the kindest little soul in the world, +but this hint about Aunt Emma's not liking shy +people was a mistake. It made Emmy more +frightened and ill at ease than ever.</p> + +<p>Washing over, she went to the dressing-table<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[213]</a></span> +to braid her hair. Behold! another billet on +the pincushion. This was in rhyme:—</p> + +<div class='poem'> +"O Emmy tall, O Emmy fair,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Don't forget to brush your hair.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Pin your ruffle neat and straight,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Be down to breakfast at half-past eight;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Don't crook your shoulders when you sit down,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Don't rip the gathers of your gown,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Don't set up to be lonesome, pray,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Because we girls are gone away,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">But cheer up auntie and Uncle Tom,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">And we'll be back anon, anon!"</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 13em;">"<span class="smcap">Anon-y-mous</span>."</span><br /> +</div> + +<p>This made Emmy smile, and she did her +hair quite cheerfully. When she opened the +top drawer to put away her comb and brush, +she spied a small parcel directed to herself, +and laid there to catch her eye. She gave a +little laugh. How nice in the girls to do this +for her!</p> + +<p>The parcel was from Lena. It contained +a very pretty velvet pincushion, mounted on a +fluted shell, and a note.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"<span class="smcap">Dear Emmy</span>,—We are <i>so</i> sorry not to be +here when you come, but we shall only be gone<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[214]</a></span> +a little while. Marian Jarvis is such a nice +girl! She wants to see you <i>dreadfully</i>. I do +hope you will like her. You must do everything +pleasant that you can think of till we +come back.</p> + +<div class='sig'> +<span style="margin-right: 4em;">"Your loving</span><br /> +"<span class="smcap">Lena.</span>"<br /> +</div></div> + +<p>One more surprise awaited Emmy. She +was just leaving the room when she spied a +large piece of brown paper pinned to the +wall. On it was the following mysterious inscription,—</p> + +<p>"N. E. corner of room, under edge of carpet. +Search rewarded."</p> + +<p>It took her some time to make out which was +the northeast corner; when at last she identified +it, all that appeared from under the carpet +was a similar bit of paper with another mysterious +inscription,—</p> + +<p>"S. W. corner of room, under edge of carpet. +Search rewarded."</p> + +<p>The reward of search in this instance was a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[215]</a></span> +long narrow parcel containing two brand-new +hair-pins and a single line of writing,—</p> + +<p>"Behind looking-glass on bureau."</p> + +<p>Highly diverted, Emmy hastened to tip the +glass, and there, stored away behind it, she +beheld a small white jam-pot. A label tucked +in between lid and jar said succinctly,—</p> + +<p>"Plum jam at bedtime eaten with a hair-pin +is <i>goloptious!</i> Try it!"</p> + +<p>All these jokes and surprises raised Emmy's +spirits so that she ran down-stairs quite gleefully. +But there things went wrong again. +Aunt Emma was deep in household accounts. +She nodded kindly to Emmy and said a few +pleasant words; then she became absorbed in +her reckonings and forgot her for the moment. +Emmy was by no means one of those children +who can be trusted to entertain themselves <i>in +the room where any one else is sitting</i>. She was +too self-conscious, too apt to imagine that +people were criticising what she did or said. +She wanted to ramble about the house and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[216]</a></span> +identify the things and places she had heard +described, and if she had done this simply and +naturally as Jean would, or Bess, no one would +have been disturbed, least of all Aunt Emma. +But a sense of shy awkwardness prevented, +and what she did was to wait till her aunt was +in the very middle of a long column of figures, +and then say timidly,—</p> + +<p>"Aunt Emma, may I—may I—go into the +dining-room?"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Elliott stopped, lost her count, and after +trying in vain to recover it, said with a little +natural impatience,—</p> + +<p>"My dear, never interrupt any one who is +adding up a sum, if you can help it. You +have lost me all my last ten minutes' work. +What did you say? go into the dining-room? +why, of course, go just where you like." Then +she began to cipher again.</p> + +<p>This was quite enough to make Emmy miserable. +She had done wrong. She had put +Aunt Emma out. Aunt Emma did not love<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[217]</a></span> +her. She never would love her as she loved +the other girls! These reflections passed +through her mind as she sat before the glass +door of the bookcase, not even trying to look +up the story which Jean had recommended. +Uncle Tom coming into the room noticed her +melancholy attitude, and said in his hearty +voice, "Well, my little maid, you look dumpy. +All your contemporaries gone, heh! Never +mind; they will all be back soon, and meanwhile +you must cheer up the old folks." Jean +or Bess would have dimpled and giggled at +such an address, and perhaps run across the +room and given Uncle Tom a kiss; but Emmy +only shrank a little and said nothing; so that +her uncle, as he drank his glass of Apollinaris +water, said to himself, "A sulky child, I'm +afraid." So easy it is to be misjudged in this +world.</p> + +<p>At dinner, Emmy's evil angel took possession +of her again. She answered in monosyllables +when her uncle and aunt spoke to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[218]</a></span> +her, and poked her food into her mouth with a +nervous haste which brought on a fit of choking. +This mortified her deeply, for she imagined +that Aunt Emma was thinking, "What an +ill-mannered girl she is!" whereas Aunt Emma +was really thinking, "Poor thing! what can I +do to make her feel more comfortable?" It +would be a convenience, sometimes, if we might +have glass panes in our hearts, so that people +could look in and see what we are really +feeling.</p> + +<p>The evening seemed dreadfully long. Emmy +pretended to read "The Dove in the Eagle's +Nest," but a sort of spell of stiff misery was +over her all the while. She was conscious of +her knees and elbows, her upper lip kept twitching, +she neither acted nor spoke naturally. +Mrs. Elliott pitied her, but she could not help +saying to herself, "What a self-conscious child +she is; how different from Jean and Bess!" +And what was worse, Emmy suspected that +aunty was thinking exactly that, and suffered +accordingly.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[219]</a></span></p> + +<p>Tom came home next day. He was an immensely +tall, handsome, good-natured young +man. Bess and Jean adored him, and were +always telling stories about the things he said +and did, but to Emmy he seemed a formidable +person. He was fond of teasing and of banter, +and it was another of his peculiarities to be particularly +observant about a lady's dress. He +noticed at once that the braid was ripped off +the edge of Emmy's skirt so as to form a +dangerous little loop, and told her of it. She +went away at once, and sewed it fast, but she +felt disgraced somehow, and marked out as +a slattern, and could not help shedding a few +tears as she worked. Then Tom, who saw +everything, observed the red marks under her +eyes, and the melancholy droop of her mouth, +and he too set her down as sulky, and, supposing +that she had taken offence at some of his +harmless pleasantries, forbore to joke with her +thenceforward. This made her sure that Tom +did not like her either, which was another<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[220]</a></span> +affliction, for Emmy was most anxious to be +taken into the circle of his pets and favorites.</p> + +<p>In the afternoon she had another mishap. +Aunt Emma sent her to get a paper out of her +writing-desk, and Emmy somehow managed to +hamper the lock so that the key could not be +turned. Nobody scolded her, but Mrs. Elliott +looked sorry and perplexed, as well she might, +with the nearest locksmith twenty miles distant, +and Emmy felt that her cup of misfortune was +full. That night she cried herself to sleep.</p> + +<p>On the third day the party from Niagara +came back, and the house all in a moment +seemed to fill with bright life and gayety. +Cousin May's friends, the Jarvises, were handsome, +well-bred girls, with a great deal of air +and style about all their appointments. Cousin +May herself was a belle and beauty, and had +always been the object of Emmy's wildest +admiration. Several gentlemen were of the +party, and there were Jean and Bess running +about with the rest, on the friendliest<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[221]</a></span> +terms with everybody, and as much at home as +Lena. It made Emmy feel left out and lonely, +for her shyness was by no means lessened by +the arrival of all these strangers, and she had +the painful sensation of being separated from the +others by a sort of invisible wall, which she +could not, and they would not, pass over. Jean +and Bess did what they could to cheer her, but +a great deal was going on in the large gay +household, and they had not much time to +spare for the little sister who could not explain +even to herself why she felt so forlorn.</p> + +<p>Lady Blacksnake was supposed to be Lena's +own particular pony. Lena had a little wagon +of her own too; and on Monday she took +Emmy out with her. This went delightfully +till, as they were coming home late in the afternoon, +Emmy coaxed Lena to let her drive. +What she did to Lady Blacksnake no one ever +knew, but all in one minute that excellent animal +put her head down and ran away.</p> + +<p>"Oh," screamed Emmy, "shall we jump +out?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[222]</a></span></p> + +<p>"No," said Lena, perfectly calm, though her +face was very white. "Saw her mouth."</p> + +<p>So she took one rein, and Emmy the other, +and they sawed Lady Blacksnake's mouth with +hard, regular pulls, till the wild pace slackened +first to a gallop and then to a trot, and they +were going along at their old rate, only Lady +Blacksnake's heaving flanks and their own +frightened countenances telling the tale of +their late danger. It was real danger, for +once during the run the hind wheel absolutely +grazed the edge of a sharp bank, and had they +met another carriage they could scarcely have +escaped a collision; but they both agreed to +make as light of the incident as they could when +they got home, lest they should be forbidden +to go out again by themselves. Their account +of the accident therefore was given with a levity +which quite angered Uncle Tom.</p> + +<p>"Upon my word, young ladies," he said +severely, "you seem to think it a fine thing to +have been in danger of your lives. If you had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[223]</a></span> +really broken all your bones it would have been +funnier still, I suppose. What on earth <i>are</i> you +laughing at?" for somehow this address tickled +the girls' half-hysterical mood into paroxysms +of giggling which continued till they cried, and +the more Uncle Tom frowned the more they +giggled. Aunt Emma saw how it was, and +ordered them off to bed, and next morning the +reaction had come, and they were pale and +nervous and depressed enough to please the +most exacting friend who might be anxious to +make them "sensible of their escape."</p> + +<p>Wednesday, the day before the Jarvises were +to leave, had been set aside for a picnic. Emmy +had looked forward eagerly to this; so you can +imagine her feelings when on Tuesday a hard +toothache set in which kept her awake all +night, and left her next morning still in such +pain and with such a swollen face that it was +manifestly impossible for her to leave the house. +Kind little Jean offered to give up the picnic +and stay at home with her; but neither Emmy<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[224]</a></span> +nor Aunt Emma would hear of this, and it ended +in everybody's going and leaving her in the +care of old Eliza, aunty's housekeeper, who had +been nurse to all the children in turn, from Tom +to Lena, and liked nothing better than a chance +to cuddle and cosset any one who was ill.</p> + +<p>Her warm fomentations and roasted raisins +and pettings and pattings were so effectual that +by afternoon Emmy felt quite comfortable +again. She grew very fond of kind old Eliza, +and her heart being opened by the situation, +she ended by telling her how miserable and +"unlucky" she had been all the week.</p> + +<p>"And indeed I can't see any reason for it, +though I'm sorry enough it is so, Miss Emmy," +declared Eliza when she had listened to the +tale. "Never any young person came here +before who didn't look upon this house as a +kind of a paradise."</p> + +<p>"I know. That's just the way Jean and +Bess feel. But then they are different from +me. Everybody likes them," said Emmy.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[225]</a></span></p> + +<p>"And pray why shouldn't they like yourself, +miss, I'd like to ask?"</p> + +<p>"I—don't—know," slowly. "I'm always +getting into scrapes and making mistakes, and +things don't happen nicely with me as they do +with them. Just think of all the misfortunes +I've had this week since I came! My train +was late, and I was all tired out, and the girls +went to Niagara without me, and I broke Aunt +Emma's lock, and the horse ran away, and now +this toothache! I am <i>very</i> unfortunate."</p> + +<p>"Well, I <i>have</i> heard of other people's trains +being late afore now," replied Eliza, dryly. +"And though I'm sorry you didn't have the +trip with the rest, miss, it wasn't nobody's fault +that you didn't come in time. It was a pity +about the lock, to be sure—the Madam hasn't +got it open yet, I know—but so far as the horse +goes, it's no more than I'm always expecting, +letting Miss Lena drive out by herself with +them vicious little rats of ponies. And God +sent your toothache, miss, I suppose you know +that."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[226]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Well, God made me shy, too, I suppose, +and that's my worst misfortune of all," declared +Emmy.</p> + +<p>"I'm not so sure about that, either," remarked +the shrewd old Eliza. "In my opinion, what +folks call shyness is very often just another +name for selfishness. If you thought about +yourself less and about other people more, Miss +Emmy, you wouldn't be so shy, as you call it. +You'll get better of it as soon as you're old +enough to find out that for the most part of the +time nobody is noticing what you do or thinking +about you at all."</p> + +<p>There was a certain tonic in this speech of +Eliza's which did Emmy good. She lay meditating +upon it that night after the girls had +come in to kiss her and say how dreadfully +they had missed her at the picnic, and how she +must get quite well before next Monday, when +they were going to have another. She had +slept so much during the day that she was not +sleepy now, and she lay turning over in her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[227]</a></span> +mind what Eliza had said. <i>Was</i> shyness selfishness? +and was it her own fault that she +got on so badly and made so many mistakes? +or was she really marked for misfortune and +doomed to be misunderstood, as she had sometimes +imagined? She thought of Bess and Jean +with a little wonderment of envy. How pretty +and nice they were! how people liked them! +how easy it seemed to them to be graceful and +natural and at ease with strangers!</p> + +<p>While she was thus thinking, a queer little +noise met her ear, like some one snapping two +sticks together. Again it came and yet again, +and Emmy was sure that she smelt a slight +smell of burning. All her little foolish fancies +fled at once. She jumped out of bed, lit a +candle, slipped on her dressing-gown, and +opened the door. The burning smell was +stronger in the entry, and the air was dim with +smoke. Not nervous now nor cowardly, Emmy +ran down-stairs with all her wits about her, following +the smoke till she came to Uncle Tom's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[228]</a></span> +office. The door stood half open, and inside +she saw a flaring light. The carpet was on fire +in front of the grate, flames were creeping up +the legs of the table, which was covered with +papers. Emmy knew that some of these papers +were valuable, and without a thought of fear +she hurried in, gathered as many as she could +in her hands, flung them into the hall, ran back +for more, and never stopped till all were safe. +Then she ran to Uncle Tom's dressing-closet +for a pitcher of water which she knew was kept +there, and dashed it on the flames, all the time +calling at the top of her voice, "Fire! fire! +fire! O Tom! O aunty! O Uncle Tom! O +somebody! Come, please come! Oh, why +don't you hear!"</p> + +<p>It is astonishing how long it takes to wake +up people who are sound asleep. Emmy had +time to fetch another pitcher of water from the +kitchen, and the fire was nearly out before the +family came rushing down, half dressed and +bewildered, to her aid. Fires are easily managed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[229]</a></span> +if they are taken in hand exactly at the +right time, but half an hour more or less makes +a great difference. Emmy had acted at the +critical moment, and her courage and presence +of mind had probably saved the house.</p> + +<p>Uncle Tom declared that he owed her ten +thousand dollars. Part of this debt he paid the +very next week by the present of the prettiest +little gold watch and chain ever seen, with the +date of the fire engraved inside the watch-lid. +Aunty, too much agitated to speak, folded +Emmy in her arms and gave her a great +squeeze which said more than words. Tom, +when he understood the whole, said that she +was "a brick," and that not one girl in a thousand +would have been so plucky or shown so +much sense. So poor, awkward Emmy, who +had fared so ill up to this time, got up next +morning, like Lord Byron, to find herself famous, +and the heroine of the house.</p> + +<p>To be praised and made much of does some +people harm, but to others it does a great deal<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[230]</a></span> +of good. Emmy did not grow vain when she +found herself thus made important. She only +felt that she was liked, and approved of, and +it set her at her ease. From that day Elliott's +Mills grew delightful to her as it had always +been to her sisters. She ran about freely +among the others, talked, laughed, shared in +the fun that was going on, and enjoyed every +moment of her visit.</p> + +<p>Years afterward, when she and Aunt Emma +had grown intimate, Emmy told that dear +friend and relative whom she had learned to +love and admire better than any one else except +her own mother, the story of her foolish +troubles.</p> + +<p>"But indeed," she ended, "they were lucky +troubles to me, for I never was so bad after +that. I think what old Eliza said about selfishness +stuck in my mind, and I found out after +a while that she was pretty much right, and +that the way to be comfortable and at ease was +to think about other people instead of myself."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[231]</a></span></p> + +<p>"And I am sure," replied Aunt Emma, "that +your troubles were lucky troubles for us. If +you hadn't had the toothache and lain awake +meditating on that and your other sorrows, +I'm sure I don't know where we should all +be now, my dear little Emmy."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[232]</a></span></p> +<h2>TOINETTE AND THE ELVES.</h2> + + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 100px;"> +<img src="images/drop_t.png" width="100" height="100" alt="T" title="" /> +</div><div class='unindent'><br />HE winter sun was nearing the horizon's +edge. Each moment the tree-shadows +grew longer in the forest; +each moment the crimson light on the upper +boughs became more red and bright. It was +Christmas Eve, or would be in half an hour, +when the sun should be fairly set; but it did +not feel like Christmas, for the afternoon was +mild and sweet, and the wind in the leafless +boughs sang, as it moved about, as though +to imitate the vanished birds. Soft trills and +whistles, odd little shakes and twitters,—it was +astonishing what pretty noises the wind made, +for it was in good humor, as winds should be +on the Blessed Night; all its storm-tones and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[233]</a></span> +bass-notes were for the moment laid aside, and +gently, as though hushing a baby to sleep, it +cooed and rustled and brushed to and fro in the +leafless woods.</div> + +<p>Toinette stood, pitcher in hand, beside the +well. "Wishing Well," the people called it, +for they believed that if any one standing +there, bowed to the East, repeated a certain +rhyme and wished a wish, the wish would certainly +come true. Unluckily, nobody knew +exactly what the rhyme should be. Toinette +did not; she was wishing that she did, as she +stood with her eyes fixed on the bubbling +water. How nice it would be! she thought. +What beautiful things should be hers, if it were +only to wish and to have! She would be +beautiful, rich, good—oh, so good! The children +should love her dearly, and never be disagreeable. +Mother should not work so hard—they +should all go back to France—which +mother said was <i>si belle</i>. Oh, dear, how nice it +would be! Meantime, the sun sank lower, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[234]</a></span> +mother at home was waiting for the water, but +Toinette forgot that.</p> + +<p>Suddenly she started. A low sound of crying +met her ear, and something like a tiny +moan. It seemed close by, but she saw +nothing.</p> + +<p>Hastily she filled her pitcher, and turned to +go. But again the sound came, an unmistakable +sob, right under her feet. Toinette stopped +short.</p> + +<p>"What <i>is</i> the matter?" she called out bravely.</p> + +<p>"Is anybody there; and if there is, why don't +I see you?"</p> + +<p>A third sob—and all at once, down on the +ground beside her, a tiny figure became visible, +so small that Toinette had to kneel and stoop +her head to see it plainly. The figure was that +of an odd little man. He wore a garb of green, +bright and glancing as the scales of a beetle. +In his mite of a hand was a cap, out of which +stuck a long-pointed feather. Two specks of +tears stood on his cheeks, and he fixed on<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[235]</a></span> +Toinette a glance so sharp and so sad, that it +made her feel sorry and frightened and confused +all at once.</p> + +<p>"Why, how funny this is!" she said, speaking +to herself out loud.</p> + +<p>"Not at all," replied the little man, in a voice +as dry and crisp as the chirr of a grasshopper. +"Anything but funny. I wish you wouldn't +use such words. It hurts my feelings, +Toinette."</p> + +<p>"Do you know my name, then?" cried Toinette, +astonished. "That's strange! But what +is the matter? Why are you crying so, little +man?"</p> + +<p>"I'm not a little man. I'm an elf," responded +the dry voice; "and I think you'd cry if you +had an engagement out to tea, and found yourself +spiked on a great bayonet, so that you +couldn't move an inch. Look!" He turned a +little as he spoke, and Toinette saw a long rose-thorn +sticking through the back of the green +robe. The little man could by no means reach<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[236]</a></span> +the thorn, and it held him fast prisoner to +the place.</p> + +<p>"Is that all? I'll take it out for you," she +said.</p> + +<p>"Be careful—oh, be careful!" entreated the +little man. "This is my new dress, you +know—my Christmas suit, and it's got to last +a year. If there is a hole in it, Peascod will +tickle me, and Bean Blossom tease till I shall +wish myself dead." He stamped with vexation +at the thought.</p> + +<p>"Now, you mustn't do that," said Toinette, +in a motherly tone, "else you'll tear it yourself, +you know." She broke off the thorn as she +spoke, and gently drew it out. The elf anxiously +examined the stuff. A tiny puncture +only was visible, and his face brightened.</p> + +<p>"You're a good child," he said. "I'll do as +much for you some day, perhaps."</p> + +<p>"I would have come before if I had seen +you," remarked Toinette, timidly. "But I +didn't see you a bit."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[237]</a></span></p> + +<p>"No, because I had my cap on," replied the +elf. He placed it on his head as he spoke, and, +hey, presto! nobody was there, only a voice +which laughed and said: "Well—don't stare so. +Lay your finger on me now."</p> + +<p>"Oh!" said Toinette, with a gasp. "How +wonderful! What fun it must be to do that! +The children wouldn't see me. I should steal +in and surprise them; they would go on talking, +and never guess that I was there! I should +so like it! Do elves ever lend their caps to +anybody? I wish you'd lend me yours. It +must be so nice to be invisible!"</p> + +<p>"Ho!" cried the elf, appearing suddenly +again. "Lend my cap, indeed! Why, it +wouldn't stay on the very tip of your ear, it's +so small. As for nice, that depends. Sometimes +it is, and sometimes it isn't. No, the +only way for mortal people to be invisible +is to gather the fern-seed and put it in their +shoes."</p> + +<p>"Gather it? Where? I never saw any<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[238]</a></span> +seed to the ferns," said Toinette, staring about +her.</p> + +<p>"Of course not—we elves take care of that," +replied the little man. "Nobody finds the +fern-seed but ourselves. I'll tell you what, +though. You were such a nice child to take +out the thorn so cleverly, that I'll <i>give</i> you a +little of the seed. Then you can try the fun +of being invisible, to your heart's content."</p> + +<p>"Will you really? How delightful! May +I have it now?"</p> + +<p>"Bless me! do you think I carry my pocket +stuffed with it?" said the elf. "Not at all. Go +home, say not a word to anybody, but leave +your bedroom window open to-night, and +you'll see what you'll see."</p> + +<p>He laid his finger on his nose as he spoke, +gave a jump like a grasshopper, clapping on +his cap as he went, and vanished. Toinette +lingered a moment, in hopes that he might +come back, then took her pitcher and hurried +home. The woods were very dusky by this<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[239]</a></span> +time; but, full of her strange adventure, she +did not remember to feel afraid.</p> + +<p>"How long you have been!" said her mother. +"It's late for a little maid like you to be up. +You must make better speed another time, my +child."</p> + +<p>Toinette pouted, as she was apt to do when +reproved. The children clamored to know what +had kept her, and she spoke pettishly and +crossly; so that they too became cross, and +presently went away into the outer kitchen to +play by themselves. The children were apt to +creep away when Toinette came. It made her +angry and unhappy at times that they should +do so, but she did not realize that it was in +great part her own fault, and so did not set +herself to mend it.</p> + +<p>"Tell me a 'tory," said baby Jeanneton, +creeping to her knee a little later. But Toinette's +head was full of the elf; she had no +time to spare for Jeanneton.</p> + +<p>"Oh, not to-night!" she replied. "Ask +mother to tell you one."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[240]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Mother's busy," said Jeanneton, wistfully.</p> + +<p>Toinette took no notice, and the little one +crept away disconsolately.</p> + +<p>Bedtime at last. Toinette set the casement +open, and lay a long time waiting and watching; +then she fell asleep. She waked with a sneeze +and jump, and sat up in bed. Behold, on the +coverlet stood her elfin friend, with a long train +of other elves beside him, all clad in the beetle-wing +green, and wearing little pointed caps! +More were coming in at the window; outside a +few were drifting about in the moon-rays, which +lit their sparkling robes till they glittered like +so many fire-flies. The odd thing was, that +though the caps were on, Toinette could see +the elves distinctly, and this surprised her so +much, that again she thought out loud, and +said, "How funny!"</p> + +<p>"You mean about the caps," replied her +special elf, who seemed to have the power of +reading thoughts. "Yes, you can see us tonight, +caps and all. Spells lose their value on<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[241]</a></span> +Christmas Eve, always. Peascod, where is the +box? Do you still wish to try the experiment +of being invisible, Toinette?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes—indeed I do!"</p> + +<p>"Very well—so let it be!"</p> + +<p>As he spoke he beckoned, and two elves, +puffing and panting like men with a heavy load, +dragged forward a droll little box about the +size of a pumpkin-seed. One of them lifted +the cover.</p> + +<p>"Pay the porter, please, ma'am," he said, +giving Toinette's ear a mischievous tweak +with his sharp fingers.</p> + +<p>"Hands off, you bad Peascod!" cried Toinette's +elf. "This is my girl. She shan't be +pinched." He dealt Peascod a blow with his +tiny hand as he spoke, and looked so brave and +warlike that he seemed at least an inch taller +than he had before. Toinette admired him +very much; and Peascod slunk away with an +abashed giggle, muttering that Thistle needn't +be so ready with his fist.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[242]</a></span></p> + +<p>Thistle—for thus, it seemed, Toinette's friend +was named—dipped his fingers in the box, +which was full of fine brown seeds, and shook +a handful into each of Toinette's shoes, as they +stood, toes together, by the bedside.</p> + +<p>"Now you have your wish," he said, "and +can go about and do what you like, no one seeing. +The charm will end at sunset. Make the +most of it while you can; but if you want to +end it sooner, shake the seeds from the shoes, +and then you are just as usual."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I shan't want to," protested Toinette; +"I'm sure I shan't."</p> + +<p>"Good-by," said Thistle, with a mocking +little laugh.</p> + +<p>"Good-by, and thank you ever so much," +replied Toinette.</p> + +<p>"Good-by, good-by," replied the other elves, +in shrill chorus. They clustered together, as if +in consultation; then straight out of the window +they flew like a swarm of gauzy-winged +bees, and melted into the moonlight. Toinette<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[243]</a></span> +jumped up and ran to watch them; but the little +men were gone—not a trace of them was to +be seen; so she shut the window, went back to +bed, and presently, in the midst of her amazed +and excited thoughts, fell asleep.</p> + +<p>She waked in the morning with a queer, +doubtful feeling. Had she dreamed, or had it +really happened? She put on her best petticoat, +and laced her blue bodice; for she thought the +mother would perhaps take them across the +wood to the little chapel for the Christmas +service. Her long hair smoothed and tied, her +shoes trimly fastened, down-stairs she ran. The +mother was stirring porridge over the fire. +Toinette went close to her, but she did not +move or turn her head.</p> + +<p>"How late the children are!" she said at last, +lifting the boiling pot on the hob. Then she +went to the stair-foot, and called, "Marc, +Jeanneton, Pierre, Marie! Breakfast is ready, +my children. Toinette—but where, then, is +Toinette? She is used to be down long before +this."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[244]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Toinette isn't up-stairs," said Marie, from +above. "Her door is wide open, and she isn't +there."</p> + +<p>"That is strange!" said the mother. "I +have been here an hour, and she has not passed +this way since." She went to the outer door +and called, "Toinette! Toinette!"—passing +close to Toinette as she did so, and looking +straight at her with unseeing eyes. Toinette, +half frightened, half pleased, giggled low to +herself. She really was invisible then! How +strange it seemed, and what fun it was going +to be!</p> + +<p>The children sat down to breakfast, little +Jeanneton, as the youngest, saying grace. The +mother distributed the hot porridge, and gave +each a spoon, but she looked anxious.</p> + +<p>"Where can Toinette have gone?" she said +to herself.</p> + +<p>Toinette was conscience-pricked. She was +half inclined to dispel the charm on the spot. +But just then she caught a whisper from Pierre<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[245]</a></span> +to Marc, which so surprised her as to put the +idea out of her head.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps a wolf has eaten her up—a great +big wolf, like the 'Capuchon Rouge,' you +know." This was what Pierre said; and Marc +answered, unfeelingly,—</p> + +<p>"If he has, I shall ask mother to let me have +her room for my own!"</p> + +<p>Poor Toinette! her cheeks burnt and her +eyes filled with tears at this. Didn't the boys +love her a bit, then? Next she grew angry, +and longed to box Marc's ears, only she recollected +in time that she was invisible. What a +bad boy, he was! she thought.</p> + +<p>The smoking porridge reminded her that she +was hungry; so brushing away the tears, she +slipped a spoon off the table, and whenever she +found the chance, dipped it into the bowl for a +mouthful. The porridge disappeared rapidly.</p> + +<p>"I want some more," said Jeanneton.</p> + +<p>"Bless me, how fast you have eaten!" said +the mother, turning to the bowl.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[246]</a></span></p> + +<p>This made Toinette laugh, which shook her +spoon, and a drop of the hot mixture fell right +on the tip of Marie's nose, as she sat with +upturned face waiting her turn for a second +helping. Marie gave a little scream.</p> + +<p>"What is it?" said the mother.</p> + +<p>"Hot water! Right in my face!" spluttered +Marie.</p> + +<p>"Water!" cried Marc. "It's porridge."</p> + +<p>"You spattered with your spoon. Eat more +carefully, my child," said the mother; and +Toinette laughed again as she heard her. +After all, there was some fun in being invisible!</p> + +<p>The morning went by. Constantly the +mother went to the door, and, shading her eyes +with her hand, looked out, in hopes of seeing a +little figure come down the wood-path, for she +thought, perhaps the child went to the spring +after water, and fell asleep there. The children +played happily, meanwhile. They were used +to doing without Toinette, and did not seem to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[247]</a></span> +miss her, except that now and then baby Jeanneton +said: "Poor Toinette gone—not here—all +gone!"</p> + +<p>"Well, what if she has?" said Marc at last, +looking up from the wooden cup he was carving +for Marie's doll. "We can play all the better."</p> + +<p>Marc was a bold, outspoken boy, who always +told his whole mind about things.</p> + +<p>"If she were here," he went on, "she'd only +scold and interfere. Toinette almost always +scolds. I like to have her go away. It makes +it pleasanter."</p> + +<p>"It <i>is</i> rather pleasanter," admitted Marie, +"only I'd like her to be having a nice time +somewhere else."</p> + +<p>"Bother about Toinette!" cried Pierre. +"Let's play 'My godmother has cabbage to +sell.'"</p> + +<p>I don't think Toinette had ever felt so unhappy +in her life, as when she stood by unseen, +and heard the children say these words. She +had never meant to be unkind to them, but she<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[248]</a></span> +was quick-tempered, dreamy, wrapped up in +herself. She did not like being interrupted by +them, it put her out, and then she spoke sharply +and was cross. She had taken it for granted +that the others must love her, by a sort of right, +and the knowledge that they did not grieved +her very much. Creeping away, she hid herself +in the woods. It was a sparkling day, but +the sun did not look so bright as usual. Cuddled +down under a rose-bush, Toinette sat sobbing +as if her heart would break at the recollection +of the speeches she had overheard.</p> + +<p>By and by a little voice within her woke up +and began to make itself audible. All of us +know this little voice. We call it conscience.</p> + +<p>"Jeanneton missed me," she thought. "And, +oh dear! I pushed her away only last night +and wouldn't tell her a story. And Marie +hoped I was having a pleasant time somewhere. +I wish I hadn't slapped Marie last +Friday. And I wish I hadn't thrown Marc's +ball into the fire that day I was angry with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[249]</a></span> +him. How unkind he was to say that—but +I wasn't always kind to him. And once I said +that I wished a bear would eat Pierre up. That +was because he broke my cup. Oh dear, oh +dear! What a bad girl I've been to them all!"</p> + +<p>"But you could be better and kinder if you +tried, couldn't you?" said the inward voice. +"I think you could." And Toinette clasped +her hands tight and said out loud: "I could. +Yes—and I will."</p> + +<p>The first thing to be done was to get rid of +the fern-seed, which she now regarded as a +hateful thing. She untied her shoes and shook +it out in the grass. It dropped, and seemed to +melt into the air, for it instantly vanished. A +mischievous laugh sounded close behind, and +a beetle-green coat-tail was visible, whisking +under a tuft of rushes. But Toinette had had +enough of the elves, and, tying her shoes, took +the road toward home, running with all her +might.</p> + +<p>"Where have you been all day, Toinette?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[250]</a></span> +cried the children, as, breathless and panting, +she flew in at the gate. But Toinette could not +speak. She made slowly for her mother, who +stood in the doorway, flung herself into her +arms, and burst into a passion of tears.</p> + +<p>"Ma chérie, what is it, whence hast thou +come?" asked the good mother, alarmed. She +lifted Toinette into her arms as she spoke, and +hastened indoors. The other children followed, +whispering and peeping, but the mother sent +them away, and, sitting down by the fire with +Toinette in her lap, she rocked and hushed and +comforted, as though Toinette had been again +a little baby. Gradually the sobs ceased. For +a while Toinette lay quiet, with her head on her +mother's breast. Then she wiped her wet eyes, +put her arms around her mother's neck, and +told her all from the very beginning, keeping +not a single thing back. The dame listened +with alarm.</p> + +<p>"Saints protect us," she muttered. Then +feeling Toinette's hands and head, "Thou hast<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[251]</a></span> +a fever," she said. "I will make thee a <i>tisane</i>, +my darling, and thou must at once go to bed." +Toinette vainly protested; to bed she went, and +perhaps it was the wisest thing, for the warm +drink threw her into a long, sound sleep, and +when she woke she was herself again, bright +and well, hungry for dinner, and ready to do +her usual tasks.</p> + +<p>Herself,—but not quite the same Toinette +that she had been before. Nobody changes +from bad to better in a minute. It takes time +for that, time and effort, and a long struggle +with evil habits and tempers. But there is +sometimes a certain minute or day in which +people <i>begin</i> to change, and thus it was with +Toinette. The fairy lesson was not lost upon +her. She began to fight with herself, to watch +her faults and try to conquer them. It was +hard work; often she felt discouraged, but she +kept on. Week after week and month after +month she grew less selfish, kinder, more obliging +than she used to be. When she failed, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[252]</a></span> +her old fractious temper got the better of her, +she was sorry, and begged every one's pardon +so humbly that they could not but forgive. +The mother began to think that the elves really +had bewitched her child. As for the children, +they learned to love Toinette as never before, +and came to her with all their pains and pleasures, +as children should to a kind older sister. +Each fresh proof of this, every kiss from Jeanneton, +every confidence from Marc, was a comfort +to Toinette, for she never forgot Christmas +Day, and felt that no trouble was too much to +wipe out that unhappy recollection. "I <i>think</i> +they like me better than they did then," she +would say; but then the thought came, "Perhaps +if I were invisible again, if they did not +know I was there, I might hear something to +make me feel as badly as I did that morning." +These sad thoughts were part of the bitter fruit +of the fairy fern-seed.</p> + +<p>So with doubts and fears the year went by, +and again it was Christmas Eve. Toinette had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[253]</a></span> +been asleep some hours, when she was roused +by a sharp tapping at the window-pane. +Startled and only half awake, she sat up in +bed, and saw by the moonlight a tiny figure +outside, which she recognized. It was Thistle, +drumming with his knuckles on the glass.</p> + +<p>"Let me in," cried the dry little voice. So +Toinette opened the casement, and Thistle flew +in and perched, as before, on the coverlet.</p> + +<p>"Merry Christmas, my girl," he said, "and a +Happy New Year when it comes! I've brought +you a present;" and, dipping into a pouch tied +round his waist, he pulled out a handful of +something brown. Toinette knew what it was +in a moment.</p> + +<p>"Oh, no!" she cried, shrinking back. "Don't +give me any fern-seeds. They frighten me. I +don't like them."</p> + +<p>"Now, don't be silly," said Thistle, his voice +sounding kind this time, and earnest. "It +wasn't pleasant being invisible last year, but +perhaps this year it will be. Take my advice, +and try it. You'll not be sorry."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[254]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Shan't I?" said Toinette, brightening. +"Very well then, I will." She leaned out of +bed, and watched Thistle strew the fine, dust-like +grains in each shoe.</p> + +<p>"I'll drop in to-morrow night, and just see +how you like it," he said. Then, with a nod, +he was gone.</p> + +<p>The old fear came back when she woke in +the morning, and she tied on her shoes with a +tremble at her heart. Down-stairs she stole. +The first thing she saw was a wooden ship +standing on her plate. Marc had made the +ship, but Toinette had no idea that it was +for her.</p> + +<p>The little ones sat round the table with their +eyes on the door, watching till Toinette should +come in, and be surprised.</p> + +<p>"I wish she'd hurry," said Pierre, drumming +on his bowl with a spoon.</p> + +<p>"We all want Toinette, don't we?" said the +mother, smiling as she poured the hot porridge.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[255]</a></span></p> + +<p>"It will be fun to see her stare," declared +Marc. "Toinette is jolly when she stares. +Her eyes look big, and her cheeks grow pink. +Andre Brugen thinks his sister Aline is prettiest, +but I don't. Our Toinette is ever so pretty."</p> + +<p>"She is ever so nice, too," said Pierre. +"She's as good to play with as—as—a boy!" +he finished triumphantly.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I wish my Toinette <i>would</i> come!" said +Jeanneton.</p> + +<p>Toinette waited no longer, but sped up-stairs +with glad tears in her eyes. Two minutes, and +down she came again, visible this time. Her +heart was light as a feather.</p> + +<p>"Merry Christmas!" clamored the children. +The ship was presented, Toinette was duly surprised, +and so the happy day began.</p> + +<p>That night Toinette left the window open, +and lay down in her clothes; for she felt, as +Thistle had been so kind, she ought to receive +him politely. He came at midnight, and with +him all the other little men in green.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[256]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Well, how was it?" asked Thistle.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I liked it this time," declared Toinette, +with shining eyes. "And I thank you so +much!"</p> + +<p>"I'm glad you did," said the elf. "And I'm +glad you are thankful, for we want you to do +something for us."</p> + +<p>"What can it be?" inquired Toinette, wondering.</p> + +<p>"You must know," went on Thistle, "that +there is no dainty in the world which we elves +enjoy like a bowl of fern-seed broth. But it +has to be cooked over a real fire, and we dare +not go near fire, you know, lest our wings +scorch. So we seldom get any fern-seed broth. +Now, Toinette—will you make us some?"</p> + +<p>"Indeed I will," cried Toinette, "only you +must tell me how."</p> + +<p>"It is very simple," said Peascod; "only +seed and honey dew, stirred from left to right +with a sprig of fennel. Here's the seed and +the fennel, and here's the dew. Be sure and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[257]</a></span> +stir from the left; if you don't, it curdles, and +the flavor will be spoiled."</p> + +<p>Down into the kitchen they went, and Toinette, +moving very softly, quickened the fire, +set on the smallest bowl she could find, and +spread the doll's table with the wooden saucers +which Marc had made for Jeanneton to play +with. Then she mixed and stirred as the elves +bade, and when the soup was done, served it +to them smoking hot. How they feasted! No +bumble-bee, dipping into a flower-cup, ever +sipped and twinkled more rapturously than +they.</p> + +<p>When the last drop was eaten, they made +ready to go. Each, in turn, kissed Toinette's +hand, and said a little word of farewell. +Thistle brushed his feathered cap over the door-post +as he passed.</p> + +<p>"Be lucky, house," he said, "for you have +received and entertained the luck-bringers. +And be lucky, Toinette. Good temper <i>is</i> good +luck, and sweet words and kind looks and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[258]</a></span> +peace in the heart are the fairest of fortunes. +See that you never lose them again, my girl." +With this, he too kissed Toinette's hand, waved +his feathered cap, and—whir! they all were +gone, while Toinette, covering the fire with +ashes, and putting aside the little cups, stole up +to her bed a happy child.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[259]</a></span></p> +<h2>JEAN'S MONEY, AND WHAT IT BOUGHT.</h2> + + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 100px;"> +<img src="images/drop_t.png" width="100" height="100" alt="T" title="" /> +</div><div class='unindent'><br />HE last recitation of the last day of +the district school-term was over, +and the boys and girls shut their +books and put away slates and pencils, with +a glad sense of liberty immediately at hand, +which made it doubly hard to sit still for the +few remaining moments. Jean Thompson, +their teacher, was almost as impatient as they. +She was but seventeen, scarcely older than her +oldest scholar, and in her joy at getting through +the term would doubtless have made short work +of the closing exercises, had not Mr. Gillicraft +been there. Mr. Gillicraft was the senior member +of the school board,—a slow, formal man, +who liked things done ceremoniously, so for<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[260]</a></span> +his sake there had to be a little delay. He +made a speech to the children, speaking at +length and deliberately. They were all pleased +to have vacation begin, no doubt, but he hoped, +etc. He was sure they would join him in thanking +their excellent teacher, Miss Thompson, for +the judicious manner in which, etc. He trusted +the moral discipline inculcated during the term +would not, etc. And he hoped some at least of +them would find time to study somewhat during +the vacation, and thus redeem time which otherwise +would be idly spent. The children fidgeted +dreadfully during these remarks. The blue sky +and bright air wooed and coaxed them through +the open door; their feet were dancing with +impatience, how <i>could</i> they attend to Mr. Gillicraft? +At last the end came, the long-desired +bell tinkled; and whooping, jumping, rioting, +out they all rushed into their twelve weeks' +freedom. One or two of the lesser girls waited +to kiss "Teacher" for good-by; then they +followed the rest.</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[261]</a></span></p> + +<p>When the last child was gone, Mr. Gillicraft +approached Jean, who was setting matters +straight in her desk. His hand was in his +pocket, from which he presently drew a fat +leathern wallet.</p> + +<p>"Ahem!" he said. "It is my duty and my +privilege, too, as I may say, to hand you this, +Miss Thompson." Mr. Gillicraft called her +"Jean" usually, having known her all her life, +but this was a formal occasion. "Nine—ten—eleven," +he went on, counting the bills which +he had drawn from his wallet—"twelve. You +will find that correct, I believe, $120, and I +desire to say, in the name of the board, that we +are quite satisfied with the manner in which +you have conducted the school, and gratified +at your decision to continue with us during the +ensuing year."</p> + +<p>"Thank you, sir," said Jean, modestly.</p> + +<p>"Count it," remarked Mr. Gillicraft, dropping +the official and resuming the friend—"always +count your money, Jean, it's business-like.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[262]</a></span> +And don't put it loose in your pocket—that's +a careless trick. You never had so much money +at a time before in your life, did you? What +are you going to do with it all?"</p> + +<p>"I don't quite know yet," replied Jean, "I +shall have to talk with father about it. I'll +lock the door now, Mr. Gillicraft, if you're +ready, and give you the key."</p> + +<p>"Have you got it?" whispered her brother +James, as Mr. Gillicraft and the key disappeared +around the corner. "Have you got it, Jean?"</p> + +<p>Jean nodded.</p> + +<p>"How splendid," said Elsie, a younger sister, +coming to Jean's other side. "Show me. Oh! +What a lot of money!"</p> + +<p>"What will you get with it?" asked James. +"Don't I wish it was mine! I know well +enough what I would buy."</p> + +<p>"So do I," chimed in Elsie.</p> + +<p>"What?" said Jean, with a smile.</p> + +<p>"A piano! And the dearest little dog—just +like Ruth Parsons's dog, if I could find one.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[263]</a></span> +And ever so many books. And a watch." And +Elsie's list was interrupted by the necessity of +taking breath.</p> + +<p>"Hoo! Isn't that just like a girl? Why, you +couldn't get half those with that, you silly," +put in her brother. "I'd get something quite +different. I'd get a pony, a real strong useful +pony, which father could plough with when +I wasn't riding him. That would be something +like."</p> + +<p>"Your pony would cost as much as Elsie's +piano," remarked Jean.</p> + +<p>"Well, what would you get?" said James. +"Will you get some nice clothes?"</p> + +<p>"Pshaw! Clothes! Will you get a watch, +Jean? Or a breastpin and ear-rings?"</p> + +<p>"Now, what use would ear-rings be to her +when she hasn't any holes in her ears, Elsie? +Do tell us, Jean—what will you get?"</p> + +<p>Jean laughed. It seemed as if all the world +was bound to find out what she meant to do +with her money.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[264]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I'll tell you by and by," she said. "I've +made up my mind, I <i>think</i>, what I'd rather +do, but I want to talk to father first." They +reached the top of the hill as she spoke, and +she pushed open the gate for the others to enter, +paying no attention to Elsie's rather fretful—</p> + +<p>"By and by. That's a long time. Tell us +now, Jean, please do."</p> + +<p>After tea was the best time to catch Farmer +Thompson at leisure. At that hour he usually +treated himself to half an hour's rest and a +pipe in the porch, and there Jean found him +on this particular night.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Gillicraft paid me this to-day," she +said, handing him the roll of bills.</p> + +<p>"Ay. They're prompt with it, but that's +but fair. Well, my lass—it's a good bit of +money. What'll ye do with your gains?"</p> + +<p>"I'll tell you something I was thinking of, +father—if you approve, that is. It's a great +many years since mother and you came from +Scotland here, and she's never been home +since, you know."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[265]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Twenty-one years come October. 'Tis a +long time, truly," replied her father, letting a +curl of smoke escape from the corner of his +mouth.</p> + +<p>"Well—there was an advertisement in the +paper, awhile ago, about a steamboat line, the +Anchor Line, it's called, I think, which goes to +Glasgow, and it said great reductions for this +summer, and people could go and come back +in the second cabin for forty-five dollars. Now +if mother'd like it, and I know she would, she +and I could go for what I've got, and she could +visit grandmother, and there'd be thirty dollars +left for other things, such as going down to +New York and from Glasgow to Greenock. +Grandmother lives in Greenock, doesn't she? +Do you think it's a good plan, father?"</p> + +<p>"Well, it depends on your mother. If she +likes to go, I'd say nought against it," replied +her father. Then, his habitual Scotch caution +relaxing, he added: "You're a good lass, Jean. +A good, dutiful lass to think of this. Your<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[266]</a></span> +granny's an old woman by now, and I've +known this long back that your mother was +wearying to see her again before she dies, and +I'd have sent her myself, only I never could +see the way to do it. Scotland's a long travel, +and money's none too plenty now-a-days with +any of us. I'll just smoke my pipe out, and +then you and I'll go in and talk it over with +mother."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Thompson heard the proposal with a +tremulous mixture of bewilderment and joy. +She was not a strong woman, and fever-and-ague, +that insidious scourge of so many country +districts, had struck at the hill-farm the +year before, and left her weakened and languid +for months afterward. The neighbors were told +the new plan, and preparations set on foot at +once, that Jean might lose as little as possible +of her brief vacation time. Everybody was +interested and excited. Mrs. Parsons brought +warm knitted hoods to be worn at sea; Mrs. +Wright, a waterproof clothes-bag and a box of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[267]</a></span> +Ayer's Pills; Mrs. Gillicraft two linen catchalls +for state-room use, with pockets, and pincushions +well furnished with pins.</p> + +<p>"I envy you," said Maria Parsons, who was +Jean's special friend. "I always was wild to +travel, but there! I don't suppose I ever shall, +so long as I live. Some folks are born lucky. +You'll have a splendid time, Jean."</p> + +<p>"Do you think so?" replied Jean, rather +dismally.</p> + +<p>"Think so? Why, girl alive, don't you +<i>know</i> it?"</p> + +<p>"Well no, I don't. The fact is, Maria—the +fact is—well—I <i>hate</i> travelling. I don't look +forward to it one bit. I shall be horribly sick +first, and then I shall be horribly homesick: I'm +perfectly sure of it. Dear me—how I wish it +was over, and we safely back."</p> + +<p>"Good gracious!" cried Maria, opening her +eyes. "What on earth do you go for, Jean, +if you feel that way?"</p> + +<p>"Only to take mother. <i>She</i> wants to go, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[268]</a></span> +I always said she should, if ever I could earn +any money to take her. Except for that, I'd +gladly give you the chance, and stay at home +instead."</p> + +<p>This was not a very bright beginning for so +long a journey. But Jean did not think about +that. She had the sturdy old Scotch blood in +her, and having once put her hand to a task, +did not look back.</p> + +<p>Her expectations were realized so far as the +voyage went, for they had a rough passage, +and both she and her mother were sick for more +than half the way over. It was dull work +enough for a strong, active girl to lie day after +day in a narrow berth, watching the curtains +swing and the vessel rock, and very often Jean +said to herself, "I can't imagine what people +want to go to Europe for. It's <i>horrid!</i> I only +wish Maria were in my place—since she wanted +to come so much, and I at home instead. +I'm sure I'd change in a minute, if I could."</p> + +<p>Matters mended toward the last, and by the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[269]</a></span> +time the steamer entered the Frith of Clyde, +Mrs. Thompson, as well as Jean, was able to +be on deck. It was a fine day, and as they +slowly steamed up the beautiful Frith, between +richly cultivated shores, with wooded hills +dotted with country-seats rising behind, and +purple mountain outlines still farther back, +something new stirred in Jean's mind, a quite +unlooked-for excitement and pleasure, which +roused and woke her mind to the glad reception +of fresh impressions. It was the first reward of +her unselfishness, but she had looked for no +reward, and had been conscious of no unselfishness; +so it came with the zest of unexpectedness, +and was doubly delightful.</p> + +<p>"Mother, there's a castle!" she exclaimed. +"I truly think it's a real castle. It looks just +like the pictures of them."</p> + +<p>"And what for no?" replied her mother, +whose Scotch seemed to revive and broaden +with the very aspect of her native shores—"what +for should it na' be a castle? Mony's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[270]</a></span> +the castle I've seen in my childish time. Oh! +there's the Cathedral, Jean, and the Custom +House, and the bonny Monument. I weel remember +them a', lang as 'tis. And there—Jean, +see by the pillar—I'm most sure that's +your uncle Andrew. I know him by the bonny +shoulders, and the head above everybody +else's; but dear, he's grown much older since—much +older."</p> + +<p>This was no unnatural result of twenty-one +years of separation, but at that moment Mrs. +Thompson did not remember this. "It's like +a dream," she kept on repeating. "This is +Glasgow, and that's my brother that I never +looked to see again! It's like a dream, Jean."</p> + +<p>If they had turned back then and there for +thirteen more days of weary sea, Jean would +have felt rewarded for her journey by the half-tearful +rapture which shone in her mother's +face at that moment. But they did not turn +back. They landed instead, and, with Uncle +Andrew's assistance, were soon in the train for<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[271]</a></span> +Greenock. He and his sister plunged at once +into conversation in Scotch so much broader +than Jean was used to, that she could hardly +follow it. So she looked out of the window +instead of talking, and there was plenty there +to keep both eyes and mind happily busy. +The trees, the buildings, the silver links and +windings of the Frith, the pearl-gray shimmering +atmosphere which enveloped all—it was +unlike anything she had ever seen, and gave her +a pleasure which she had not expected to feel.</p> + +<p>Grandmother's house, or flat, was in an old-fashioned +street. It was rather barely furnished +to American eyes, but very clean and orderly, +and there was nothing bare in the greeting +given by the sweet-faced old Scotchwoman to +her long-unseen child and that child's child. +Jean was amused to hear her mother spoken +to as if she were still almost a baby, while to +herself granny accorded a certain respect and +distance as to a stranger and a woman grown. +Her size and age seemed an entire surprise to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[272]</a></span> +her Scotch relations, who had apparently never +realized a growth of which they had only heard +in letters.</p> + +<p>"She's a big hearty lass, indeed, she's a +very goodly lass!" granny kept on saying. +"She's as large for a maiden as Sandy is for +a lad. Aweel, I can't understand it, Maggie. +Ye were always the least of my weans, always +the wee one of the flock, and it's muckle +strange that your lass should be bigger than +ony of her cousins, and your sisters all bigger +than yersel. I'm clear puzzled about it."</p> + +<p>But puzzlement was lost in pleasure when +she understood that the whole journey was the +gift of Jean, the earnings of a year's hard work. +She took the girl into her arms, held her tight, +and kissed her heartily.</p> + +<p>"She who goes a mithering shall find violets +in the lanes," she said, quoting the pretty old +English proverb. "Ye'll find it so, my dear +lassie. Ye'll be the richer all your life for +giving your mither and me the chance of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[273]</a></span> +meeting again once more on this side the grave, +trust me, Jean, ye will."</p> + +<p>"I'm richer already, granny," whispered +Jean, warmed through and through by the +words and the embrace. There was no stiffness +between her and grandmother after that. +So granny's love was the first thing bought +with Jean's money.</p> + +<p>"Sandy" was Uncle Andrew's son. His +mother had long been dead, and he and his +father lived with granny in her flat. He was +a manly young fellow, steady and cheery both, +and doing well as clerk in one of the large +Greenock shipping-houses, with good chances +of promotion. The advent of a cousin from +America was an event in his life. He liked +Jean at once and Jean liked him, so they grew +friends speedily.</p> + +<p>Under his guidance, Jean's "violet" gathering +went on prosperously. There were many +interesting things to see and do in the neighborhood +of Greenock, and of Glasgow, to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[274]</a></span> +which place they ran down more than once in +a cheap train. There were rows on the Frith, +and walks into the lovely hill country, and +visits to the different aunts and cousins, all of +whom wanted to see Mrs. Thompson and make +acquaintance with Jean, and once they went +as far as Edinburgh with third-class return +tickets, and Jean saw the wonders of Holyrood, +the Castle, and Arthur's Seat. It seemed to put +new color and life into history and all the past, +this glimpse of the places where great things +had happened. Jean's interest in books waked +up, and as Sandy owned a share in a good +People's Library, she was able to get at various +histories and fictions which, read on the spot, +had a value and meaning which they could not +have had elsewhere. Her mind broadened, she +took in more of the width and grasp of life, and +this mental growth and stimulus was another +thing—and a very good one—bought with +Jean's money.</p> + +<p>So the short two months sped swiftly away,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[275]</a></span> +and the time came to go back. It was a hard +parting, as partings must be, where seas roll +between, and old age makes fresh meetings +improbable. But with all its hardness, all of +them felt that it had been blessed to meet. +Sandy was even more cast down than granny, +but he consoled himself by a long whispered +talk with Jean the last evening, in which he +promised to come out to America in two years +from then; and Jean, I am inclined to think, +half promised to go back again to Scotland +with him. But this is neither here nor there +in our story, and, as we all know, it is not +polite to listen when people whisper. So the +travellers sailed again over the wide Atlantic, +the journey not seeming half so long or so +hard, now that their faces were set the other +way; and in a very few days after the homecoming, +all they had seen and done began to +recede into dream-like distance, and they found +it almost impossible to realize that they had +gone so far and achieved so much.</p> + +<p>"I told you you would enjoy it," remarked<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[276]</a></span> +Maria Parsons. People always enjoy being +able to say "I told you so."</p> + +<p>"And is your money really all gone?" +said little Elsie, "every bit of it gone! And +you haven't got one single thing of your own +to keep out of it, Jean. What a pity!"</p> + +<p>"Ah, but I have," replied Jean. But she +made no answer to the further "What?"</p> + +<p>"Elsie is sorry that I've spent all my +money," she told her father that night. "She +doesn't think I got much for it. But it seems +to me no one else ever got so much as I have. +I never thought I should learn to like travelling, +father, but I did; I enjoyed it ever so +much. Then I know granny now, and Uncle +Andrew, and I've seen a great deal of Scotland, +and mother is so much stronger, and we +have so many nice things to remember and +think about—that's a great, great deal to get +with a hundred and twenty dollars, don't you +think so, father? And besides—"</p> + +<p>But here Jean stopped and blushed. I think +that blush meant—Sandy.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[277]</a></span></p> +<h2>HOW THE STORKS CAME AND WENT.</h2> + + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 101px;"> +<img src="images/drop_w.png" width="101" height="100" alt="W" title="" /> +</div><div class='unindent'><br />HEN the storks came, the spring came +too. Till then the skies had been +gray and the air cold and raw, while +the leaf-buds on the branches seemed afraid to +peep from their coverings. But when the call +of the storks was heard, and the click of their +large white wings, the leaves took courage, +unrolled their woolly blankets, and presently +the trees were green. Soon other birds came +too. The doves went to housekeeping in their +cote under the peak of the roof-gable. Just +beneath, a pair of swallows built a nest of +plastered clay: the cherry-tree in the garden +was chosen as home by a colony of lively +sparrows. All the air was astir with wings and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[278]</a></span> +songs, and the world, which for months had +seemed dead or asleep, waked suddenly into +life and motion.</div> + +<p>"What a droll house Mother Stork seems to +be building!" said the saucy swallow, cocking +up one eye at the long-legged pair on the roof +above. "I shouldn't like such an one at all. +Sharp sticks everywhere, no conveniences, great +holes for eggs to drop into and be broken. And +how the wind must blow up there! Give me a +cosey place like this of ours."</p> + +<p>"Give <i>me</i> a nice, smooth wooden box," cooed +the dove. "I don't fancy plaster; it's damp +and rheumatic, my mate says. But you +needn't worry about Mother Stork's eggs. +They're too large to drop through the holes +in the branches and be broken."</p> + +<p>"What coarse things they must be!" remarked +the swallow, looking complacently at +the tiny clouded spheres beneath her own wings.</p> + +<p>"They <i>are</i> big," agreed the dove. "But +then, Mother Stork is big too."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[279]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Listen to those absurd creatures!" said +Mother Stork to her partner. "Coarse, indeed! +My eggs! I like that."</p> + +<p>"Never mind them," replied Papa Stork, +good-humoredly, giving a crooked twig the +final shove to the side of the nest.</p> + +<p>Below on the grass, which was still winter-brown, +three little children stood gazing wistfully +up at the storks.</p> + +<p>"They flew straight to our roof," said +Annchen. "Frau Perl says that means good +luck before the year ends."</p> + +<p>"What does good luck mean?" asked Carl, +the youngest boy.</p> + +<p>"It means—oh, all sorts of things," replied +Annchen, vaguely: "that the mother should +not work so hard; that we should have plenty,—plenty +to eat every day,—and money, I +suppose,—and my new shoes I've waited for +so long;—all sorts of things."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps my father'll come back," suggested +Fritz, with a joyful leap.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[280]</a></span></p> + +<p>Annchen shook her brown head. The boys +were too little to understand, but she knew +well that the father would never come back. +She recollected the day when he marched away +with the other soldiers to fight the French. +He had lifted her in his arms. She had played +with his beard and kissed him, and Fritz had +cried after the glittering helmet-spike, till at +last the father took the helmet off and gave it +him to play with. Then the drum-tap sounded, +and he had to go. The mother had watched +awhile from the window, and when she could +no longer see anything, had sat down to sob and +cry with her apron over her face. Annchen +recollected it perfectly, and that other dreadful +day when Corporal Spes of the same regiment +had come, with his arm tied up and a bandage +round his head, to tell how the father had been +shot in one of the battles before Paris, and +buried in French soil. Everything had been +sad since. There was less black bread at dinner-time, +less soup in the pot, sometimes no soup<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[281]</a></span> +at all, and the mother worked all day and far +into the night, and cried bitterly when she +thought the children were not looking. Annchen +was too young to comprehend the full +cause of these tears, but she <i>felt</i> the sadness; it +was like a constant cloud over her childish sun. +Now the stork was come to their roof, which +all the neighbors said meant something good. +Perhaps the happy days would begin again.</p> + +<p>"How I hope they will!" she whispered to +herself.</p> + +<p>"Hope who will?" asked the mother, passing +behind with an armful of wood.</p> + +<p>Annchen felt abashed.</p> + +<p>"The storks," she murmured. "Frau Perl +said when they build on a roof it brings good +fortune always." The mother sighed.</p> + +<p>"There is no good fortune for us any more," +she said sadly. "Even the dear stork cannot +undo what is done."</p> + +<p>"But aren't the storks lucky birds?" asked +Fritz. "Jan Stein said they were."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[282]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Ah, luck, luck!" answered the mother. +"That is a word only. People use it, but what +does it mean?"</p> + +<p>"Isn't there any luck, then?" asked Annchen.</p> + +<p>"There is the good God, dear,—that is +better," replied the mother, and carried her +wood into the house.</p> + +<p>"Jan said the stork was God's bird," observed +little Carl.</p> + +<p>"That's it," said Annchen, brightening. +"God's bird; and the good God may let the +stork bring us good fortune. Dear storkie, +do! If only you would!"</p> + +<p>Mamma Stork looked solemnly down on the +children, and wagged her head gravely up and +down. Annchen thought it was in answer to +her appeal.</p> + +<p>"See, Fritz! see, Carl! She says she will!" +The stork kept on nodding, and Annchen went +in to supper, feeling happy.</p> + +<p>Days grew into weeks, and spring into full +summer. The big eggs and the little eggs had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[283]</a></span> +in turn cracked and given place to young birds, +who sat in the nests clamoring for food, and +being fed, caressed, and kept warm by their +mothers. At first the nestlings were ugly, +featherless creatures, and seemed all beaks and +appetites; but presently they began to grow, +to put out plumage, and become round and fat. +Soon they could hop; then they could flutter +their wings; the air was full of their calls +and their swift-moving bodies. Mother Stork's +babies were white like herself, and had long +legs and big bills. The swallow thought them +awkward, and contrasted them proudly with +her own brisk, glancing brood; but in Mother +Stork's eyes they were perfect in every way, +and graceful as birds should be. The dove +thought the same of her plump squabs,—each +parent was entirely satisfied with the kind of +child which the Lord had sent her; and that +was a happy thing, was it not?</p> + +<p>Summer was over, and now it was September, +but Annchen had not ceased to hope for the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[284]</a></span> +good fortune which the stork's coming prophesied. +Each morning, when she woke, she ran +to the window to see if the lucky birds were +still in the nest. There they were, but nothing +else happened, and the mother worked harder +than ever, and the black loaf grew smaller. +Still Annchen hoped.</p> + +<p>"Do you notice what a kind bird the stork +is?" said the mother one night, as she was putting +the children to bed. "She never gets tired +of taking care of her babies, nor beats them +with her wings, nor scolds them. Do you not +love her for being so amiable?"</p> + +<p>"Sometimes the babies scold her," remarked +Fritz from his corner.</p> + +<p>"I don't think that is scolding. What they +say is, 'Mother, we are hungry. We want a +fish or a couple of young frogs; when will the +father bring them?' The little storks do not +like to wait for their dinners any more than +you children do. I heard once a story about +a good Mother Stork. Shall I tell it you?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[285]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Oh, yes!" cried the children; but the +mother went first for her knitting-work, for +even at the twilight hour she dared not let her +fingers be idle for a moment.</p> + +<p>"Once there was a Frau Stork," she began, +"who built a nest in the roof of an old shed, +and in it laid three blue eggs. Presently out +of the eggs came three baby storks, large and +hungry. Then was Frau Stork very proud +and glad. All day she sat in the nest, keeping +her little ones warm under her feathers, while +Papa Stork flew to and fro, seeking places where +were ponds with fish and frogs; and these he +fetched home in his beak, and with them fed +his brood, who sat always with open mouths +ready for anything good which should come +along.</p> + +<p>"One day when Papa Stork was absent, and +Mother Stork had hopped from the nest to the +roof, she heard a crackling sound which she +did not at all understand. Then the air grew +thick and smoky, and there was a smell of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[286]</a></span> +burning wood. The shed was on fire! Frau +Stork became uneasy, and called loudly for +her mate, but he was too far away to hear +her voice. Presently the smoke became more +dense, and a little red tongue of flame crept +through the thatch. When it felt the air it +grew large, swelled, and at last, like a fiery +serpent, darted at the nest and the screaming +brood within."</p> + +<p>"Oh dear! oh dear!" cried the children, +sitting up in their beds. "What <i>did</i> the poor +stork do?"</p> + +<p>"She could easily have flown away, you +know," continued the mother. "There were +her strong wings, which would have borne her +faster than the fire could follow. But she loved +her babies too well to leave them like that. +She seized them with her beak, and tried to +drag them from the nest. But they were too +heavy, and flapped and struggled, hindering +her, for they did not understand what she +wished to do. The flames drew nearer, the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[287]</a></span> +branches began to blaze. Then Mother Stork +took her usual place in the nest, gathered her +brood under her wings as if to shield them, +bent her poor head, and—"</p> + +<p>"Oh, she didn't burn up!—please don't +say she did!" interrupted Annchen.</p> + +<p>"Yes. When Papa Stork came from the +pond with a fresh fish in his beak, there was +no roof there, no nest, no little storks,—only a +heap of ashes and curling smoke. Frau Stork +loved her children too well to desert them, and +they all died together."</p> + +<p>There was silence for a minute or two. +Annchen was sobbing softly, and a suspicious +sniff was heard from the direction of Fritz's +pillow.</p> + +<p>"I hope <i>our</i> stork won't burn up," said Carl, +solemnly.</p> + +<p>"Yes,—because then she won't bring us +good luck, you know," added Fritz.</p> + +<p>"Do you think the stork has forgotten?" +whispered Annchen to her mother. "I've<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[288]</a></span> +waited and waited for her so long that I'm +tired. Do they forget sometimes?"</p> + +<p>"She will have to bestir herself if she is to +do anything for us this year," said the mother; +and though her heart was heavy enough just +then, she smiled into Annchen's eager eyes. +"Autumn is here; the winter will come before +long. Frau Stork and her family may fly off +any day."</p> + +<p>"I shall <i>have</i> to remind her," murmured +Annchen, sleepily.</p> + +<p>She remembered this resolution next morning, +and went out into the yard. The day was +chilly; the blue sky, all dappled with gray, +looked as if a storm were coming. Mother +Stork was alone on the roof. Her young ones +could fly now, and they and their father were +off somewhere together.</p> + +<p>"Mother Stork," said Annchen, standing +close to the wall, and speaking in a loud, confidential +whisper, "you won't forget what you +promised, will you—that day when you<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[289]</a></span> +nodded your head, you know? The mother +says you will fly away soon, but please bring +us our good luck first. Poor mother works so +hard and looks so pale, and sometimes there is +almost no dinner at all, and the cold winter is +coming, and I don't know what we shall do, if +you don't help us. Please do, Mother Stork. +We can't wait till you come again, it's such a +long time. Pray fetch our good luck before +you go."</p> + +<p>Mother Stork, perched on one leg on the +roof's edge, nodded her head up and down, as +if considering the point. Then she rose on her +large wings and flew away. Annchen marked +her course through the air, and her eyes grew +large and eager with delight.</p> + +<p>"She has gone to the fen!" she cried. +"That's where she keeps it. Oh, the dear +stork!"</p> + +<p>"What is it? Who has gone where?" +asked the boys, running into the yard.</p> + +<p>"Frau Stork," explained Annchen. "I reminded<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[290]</a></span> +her about it,—our good luck, you +know,—and she flew straight off to fetch it. +She went to the fen, the beautiful fen, where +I went once with the father—<i>such</i> a place! +How I should like to go there again! You +never saw such a place, boys!"</p> + +<p>"I want to go to the fen too," said Carl.</p> + +<p>"I wonder if we might!" went on Annchen, +thoughtfully. "It isn't so very far. I didn't +get tired at all that day when I went before. +And we could help Frau Stork, perhaps. I +wonder if we might."</p> + +<p>"I'll go in and ask the mother," said Fritz, +running to the door with an eager demand: +"Mother, may we go for a walk,—Annchen +and Carl and I?"</p> + +<p>The mother, who was very busy, nodded.</p> + +<p>"Don't go too far," she called after him.</p> + +<p>"Mother says we may," shouted Fritz, as +he ran again into the yard; and the children, +overjoyed, set forth at once.</p> + +<p>It was quite a distance to the fen, but the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[291]</a></span> +road was a plain one, and Annchen had no +difficulty in following it. When she went there +before, not only her father had been along, but +Ernst the wood-cutter, with his donkey; so, +when tired, she had rested herself by riding on +top of the fagots. She was three years older +now, and the sturdy lads did not mind the distance +at all, but ran forward merrily, encouraging +each other to make haste.</p> + +<p>The sun had broken through the clouds, and +shone hotly on the white road. But as they +neared the fen, they passed into shade. Softly +they lifted the drooping branches of the trees, +and entered, moving carefully, that they might +not disturb the stork. A little farther, and the +ground grew wet under foot. Bright streams +of water appeared here and there. But between +the streams were ridges and island-like tufts of +moss and dried grasses, and stepping from one +of these to the other, the little ones passed on, +dry-shod. Tall reeds and lance-shaped rushes +rose above their heads as they crept along,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[292]</a></span> +whispering low to each other. The air was +hushed and warm, there was a pleasant fragrance +of damp roots and leaves. The children +liked the fen extremely. Their feet danced and +skipped, and they would gladly have shouted, +had it not been for the need of keeping quiet.</p> + +<p>Suddenly a beautiful glossy water-rat, with +a long tail, glanced like a ray of quick sunshine +from under a bank, and at sight of the +intruders flashed back again into his hole. +Fritz was enchanted at this sight. He longed +to stay and dig into the bank in search of the +rat. What fun it would be to take him home +and tame him! But Annchen whispered imploringly, +and Carl tugged at his fingers; so +at last he gave up searching for the rat, and +went on with the others. They were near the +middle of the fen now, and Mother Stork, they +thought, must be close at hand.</p> + +<p>Pop! glug! An enormous bull-frog leaped +from a log, and vanished into the pool with a +splash. Next a couple of lovely water-flies,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[293]</a></span> +with blue, shining bodies and gauze-like wings, +appeared hovering in the air. They rose and +sank and circled and whirled like enchanted +things; the children, who had never seen such +flies before, felt as if they had met the first +chapter of a fairy-story, and stood holding their +breaths, lest the pretty creatures should take +alarm and fly away. It was not till the water-flies +suddenly whirled off and disappeared, that +they recollected their errand, and moved on.</p> + +<p>All at once Annchen, who was in advance of +the rest, stopped short and uttered an exclamation. +The parting of the reeds had shown her +a pool larger than any they had seen before, +round which grew a fringe of tall flowering +water-plants. Half in, half out of the pool, +lay a black log with a hollow end, and beside +it, dabbling with her beak as if searching for +something, stood a large white bird. At the +sound of voices and rustling feet, the bird +spread a pair of broad wings and flew slowly +upward, turning her head to look at the children +as she went.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[294]</a></span></p> + +<p>"It <i>was</i>," cried Annchen. "Oh, Mother +Stork, we didn't mean to frighten you. Please +come back again. We'll go away at once if +you don't like to have us here."</p> + +<p>But Mother Stork was no longer visible. +She had dropped into some distant part of the +fen—where, the children could not see.</p> + +<p>"Her eyes looked angry," said little Carl.</p> + +<p>"Oh dear!" sighed Annchen. "I hope she +isn't angry. That <i>would</i> be dreadful! What +will poor mother do if she is? And it would +be all our fault."</p> + +<p>"I want to go home," whined Carl. "It's +dinner-time. I want my dinner very much."</p> + +<p>All of them wanted to go home, but it was +not an easy or quick task to do so. The children +had wandered farther than they knew. It +took a long time to find their way out of the +fen, and when at last they reached the rushy +limits, and stood on open ground, it was an +unfamiliar place, and much farther from home +than the side where they had entered. Weary,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[295]</a></span> +hungry, and disheartened, they trudged along +for what to them seemed hours, and it was long +past midday when at last they reached the +familiar gate.</p> + +<p>Frau Stork had got there before them, and +stood on the roof beside her mate, gazing +down as the sorry little procession filed beneath. +Annchen had no heart to greet her as she passed. +She was tired, and a dread lest their long absence +should have frightened or angered the +mother added weight to her fatigue, and made +her heart sink heavily as they opened the door.</p> + +<p>The mother did not start or run forward to +meet them as the children expected she would +do. She sat by the table, and some one sat +opposite her—a tall, stately officer in uniform, +with an order on his breast. His helmet lay +on the table, with some papers scattered about +it. When the children came in, he turned and +looked at them out of a pair of kind blue eyes.</p> + +<p>"Ah," he said. "These are the little ones, +dame?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[296]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Yes," said the mother, "these are <i>his</i> children. +Take off your hats, boys; and, Annchen, +make your reverence. This is the Herr Baron, +your father's captain, children."</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 359px;"> +<img src="images/gs04.png" width="359" height="500" alt="The Captain lifted Fritz and perched him on his knee.—Page 296." title="" /> +<span class="caption">The Captain lifted Fritz and perched him on his knee.—<span class='smcap'>Page</span> 296.</span> +</div> + +<p>Carl stared with round eyes at the splendid +Herr Baron, while Annchen demurely dropped +her courtesy. The captain lifted Fritz and +perched him on his knee.</p> + +<p>"My fine fellow," he said, "you have your +father's face,"—and he stroked Fritz's yellow +hair, while Fritz played with the bright buttons +of the uniform. The captain and the mother +went on talking. Annchen did not understand +all they said, but she saw that her mother +looked happier than for a long time before, and +that made her feel happy too.</p> + +<p>At last the captain rose to go. He kissed the +children, and Annchen saw him put a purse into +her mother's hands.</p> + +<p>"I take shame to myself that I left you so +long without aid," he said; "but keep up heart, +dame. Your pension will no doubt be granted<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[297]</a></span> +you, and I will see that you and the children +are cared for, as a brave man's family should +be. So good-day, and God bless you!"</p> + +<p>"May He bless you, Herr Baron," sobbed +the widow, as he went away.</p> + +<p>"What is it, mother,—why do you cry?" +asked little Carl at last, pulling her sleeve.</p> + +<p>"For joy, dear. The good Baron has brought +your father's back pay. I can discharge my +debts now, and you need hunger no more."</p> + +<p>"It is the good luck come at last. I knew it +would," said Annchen.</p> + +<p>"We will thank God for it," said her mother. +And they all knelt down and repeated "Our +Father," that beautiful prayer which suits +equally our time of joy and our time of +sorrow.</p> + +<p>But when the prayer was said, and the +mother, smiling through her tears, was bustling +about to cook such a supper as the little family +had not tasted for many a day, dear, superstitious +little Annchen stole softly to the door and +went into the yard.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[298]</a></span></p> + +<p>The young storks were asleep with their +heads under their wings, and Frau Stork, poised +on one leg, was gazing about with drowsy eyes. +She looked bigger than ever against the dim +evening sky.</p> + +<p>"Thank you, dear stork!" said Annchen.</p> + + +<div class='copyright'><br /><br /><br />———————— +<br />University Press, John Wilson & Son: Cambridge.<br /> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[299]</a></span></p> +<h2><span class='u'>SUSAN COOLIDGE'S POPULAR BOOKS.</span></h2> + + +<div class='center'><span class='big'>A GUERNSEY LILY;</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class='small'>OR,</span><br /> +<br /> +HOW THE FEUD WAS HEALED.<br /> +<br /> +<b>A Story for Girls and Boys.</b><br /><br /></div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/ad01.png" width="500" height="292" alt="Castle" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'> +<span class='small'>BY</span><br /> +SUSAN COOLIDGE,<br /> +<span class='small'>Author of "What Katy Did," "Clover," "In the High Valley," etc.</span><br /> +———————<br /> + + + +<span class='small'>NEW EDITION. Square 16mo. ILLUSTRATED. Price, $1.25.</span><br /> + + +———————<br /> + + +<span class='big'>ROBERTS BROTHERS,</span><br /> +<span class='small'>BOSTON.</span><br /> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[300]</a></span></p> +<h2><span class='u'>SUSAN COOLIDGE'S POPULAR BOOKS.</span></h2> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 372px;"> +<img src="images/ad02.png" width="372" height="500" alt="Nurse's Lecture." title="" /> +<span class="caption">Nurse's Lecture.</span> +</div> + + +<div class='center'><span class='big'>CROSS PATCH,</span></div> + +<div class='hang1'>And other Stories, adapted from the Myths of Mother Goose. With +44 Illustrations by <span class="smcap">Ellen Oakford</span>. One volume. Square +16mo. Cloth, black and gold. Price $1.25.</div> + +<div class='right'> +ROBERTS BROTHERS, <span class="smcap">Publishers</span>, <i>Boston</i>.<br /> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[301]</a></span></p> +<h2><span class='u'>SUSAN COOLIDGE'S POPULAR BOOKS.</span></h2> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 373px;"> +<img src="images/ad03.png" width="373" height="500" alt="Sitting in the field" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><span class='big'>IN THE HIGH VALLEY.</span></div> + +<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 /></div> +<div class='right'><br /> +ROBERTS BROTHERS, <span class="smcap">Publishers, Boston</span>.<br /> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[302]</a></span></p> +<h2><span class='u'>SUSAN COOLIDGE'S POPULAR BOOKS.</span></h2> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 365px;"> +<img src="images/ad04.png" width="365" height="500" alt="ENTERING PARADISE.—Page 23." title="" /> +<span class="caption">ENTERING PARADISE.—<span class='smcap'>Page</span> 23. +<br /> +So in they marched, Katy and Cecy heading the procession, and Dorry, with his great +trailing bunch of boughs, bringing up the rear.</span> +</div> + +<div class="hang1">WHAT KATY DID. With Illustrations by Addie Ledyard. +One handsome square 16mo volume, bound in cloth, +black and gilt lettered. Price, $1.25.</div> + +<div class='right'> +ROBERTS BROTHERS, <span class="smcap">Publishers, Boston</span>.<br /> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[303]</a></span></p> +<h2><span class='u'>SUSAN COOLIDGE'S POPULAR BOOKS.</span></h2> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 369px;"> +<img src="images/ad05.png" width="369" height="475" alt="NANNY'S SUBSTITUTE. + +Nanny at the Fair, taking orders and carrying trays.—Page 171." title="" /> +<span class="caption">NANNY'S SUBSTITUTE.<br /> + +Nanny at the Fair, taking orders and carrying trays.—<span class='smcap'>Page</span> 171.</span> +</div> + + +<div class='center'><br /><br /><span class='big'>MISCHIEF'S THANKSGIVING,</span><br /> +<i>AND OTHER STORIES</i>.<br /> + +<br /> +<span class='small'>WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY ADDIE LEDYARD.</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><i>One handsome square 16mo volume, bound in cloth, black and gilt +lettered. Price</i> $1.25.</p></div> + +<div class='right'> +ROBERTS BROTHERS, <span class="smcap">Publishers</span>, <span class="smcap">Boston</span>.<br /> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[304]</a></span></p> + + + +<h2><span class='u'>SUSAN COOLIDGE'S POPULAR BOOKS.</span></h2> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 411px;"> +<img src="images/ad06.png" width="411" height="400" alt=""As there was nobody to see, he just sat down and cried as hard as Dotty herself."" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"As there was nobody to see, he just sat down and cried as hard as Dotty herself."</span> +</div> + +<div class='center'><span class='big'>THE NEW-YEAR'S BARGAIN.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class='small'>WITH TWENTY-SEVEN ILLUSTRATIONS</span><br /> +<span class='small'>BY ADDIE LEDYARD.</span><br /><br /></div> + +<div class="hang1"><i>One handsome, square</i> 16<i>mo volume, bound in cloth, black and gilt +lettered. Price</i>, $1.25.</div> + +<div class='right'><br /> +<span style="margin-right: 2em;">ROBERTS BROTHERS, <span class="smcap">Publishers</span>,</span><br /> +<i>Boston</i><br /> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + +<div class='tnote'><div class='center'><b>Transcriber's Notes:</b></div> + +<p>Varied hyphenation has been retained as in now-a-days and nowadays.</p> + +<p><a href="#Page_300">Page 300</a>, period added (of Mother Goose. With)</p></div> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of A Round Dozen, by Susan Coolidge + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A ROUND DOZEN *** + +***** This file should be named 35186-h.htm or 35186-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/5/1/8/35186/ + +Produced by Suzanne Shell, Beginners Projects, Emmy and +the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images +generously made available by The Internet Archive/American +Libraries.) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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