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diff --git a/41641-8.txt b/41641-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 2346b4a..0000000 --- a/41641-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,6982 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Just Sixteen., by Susan Coolidge - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - - -Title: Just Sixteen. - -Author: Susan Coolidge - -Release Date: December 17, 2012 [EBook #41641] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK JUST SIXTEEN. *** - - - - -Produced by Suzanne Shell and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive/American Libraries.) - - - - - - - - - -JUST SIXTEEN. - -[Illustration: "We will have luncheon here close to the fire," she said, -"and be as cosey as possible."--_Page 28._] - - - - -JUST SIXTEEN. - - BY - SUSAN COOLIDGE, - - AUTHOR OF "THE NEW YEAR'S BARGAIN," "WHAT KATY DID," - "WHAT KATY DID AT SCHOOL," "WHAT KATY DID NEXT," - "CLOVER," "A GUERNSEY LILY," ETC. - - [Illustration: QUI LEGIT REGIT.] - - BOSTON: - ROBERTS BROTHERS. - 1890. - - - _Copyright, 1889_, - BY ROBERTS BROTHERS. - - University Press: - JOHN WILSON AND SON, CAMBRIDGE, U.S.A. - - - - -CONTENTS. - - - PAGE - - A LITTLE KNIGHT OF LABOR (_Two Illustrations_) 7 - - SNOWY PETER 63 - - THE DO SOMETHING SOCIETY 80 - - WHO ATE THE QUEEN'S LUNCHEON? (_Illustration_) 92 - - THE SHIPWRECKED COLOGNE-BOTTLE 110 - - UNDER A SYRINGA-BUSH 126 - - TWO GIRLS--TWO PARTIES 137 - - THE PINK SWEETMEAT 154 - - ETELKA'S CHOICE (_Illustration_) 177 - - THE FIR CONES 204 - - A BALSAM PILLOW 217 - - COLONEL WHEELER 229 - - NINETY-THREE AND NINETY-FOUR 238 - - THE SORROWS OF FELICIA 258 - - IMPRISONED 271 - - A CHILD OF THE SEA FOLK 282 - - - - -JUST SIXTEEN. - -A LITTLE KNIGHT OF LABOR. - - -The first real snow-storm of the winter had come to Sandyport by the -Sea. - -It had been a late and merciful autumn. Till well into November the -leaves still clung to their boughs, honeysuckles made shady coverts on -trellises, and put forth now and then an orange and milk-white blossom -full of frosty sweetness; the grass was still green where the snow -allowed it to be seen. Thick and fast fell the wind-blown flakes on the -lightly frozen ground. The patter and beat of the flying storm was a -joyous sound to children who owned sleds and had been waiting the chance -to use them. Many a boy's face looked out as the dusk fell, to make sure -that the storm continued; and many a bright voice cried, "Hurrah! It's -coming down harder than ever! To-morrow it will be splendid!" Stable-men -were shaking out fur robes and arranging cutters. Already the fitful -sound of sleigh-bells could be heard; and all the world--the world of -Sandyport that is--was preparing to give the in-coming winter a gay -welcome. - -But in one house in an old-fashioned but still respectable street no one -seemed inclined to join in the general merry-making. Only two lights -broke its darkness: one shone from the kitchen at the back, where, -beside a kerosene lamp, Bethia Kendrick, the old-time servitor of the -Talcott family, was gloomily darning stockings, and otherwise making -ready for departure on the morrow. The other and fainter glow came from -the front room, where without any lamp Georgie Talcott sat alone beside -her fire. - -It was a little fire, and built of rather queer materials. There were -bits of lath and box-covers, fence-pickets split in two, shavings, -pasteboard clippings, and on top of all, half of an old chopping-bowl. -The light material burned out fast, and had to be continually -replenished from the basket which stood on one side the grate. - -Georgie, in fact, was burning up the odds and ends of her old life -before leaving it behind forever. She was to quit the house on the -morrow; and there was something significant to her, and very sorrowful, -in this disposal of its shreds and fragments; they meant so little to -other people, and so very much to her. The old chopping-bowl, for -instance,--her thoughts went back from it to the first time she had ever -been permitted to join in the making of the Christmas pies. She saw her -mother, still a young woman then, and pretty with the faded elegance -which had been her characteristic, weighing the sugar and plums, and -slicing the citron, while her own daring little hands plied the chopper -in that very bowl. What joy there was in those vigorous dabs and -cross-way cuts! how she had liked to do it! And now, the pretty mother, -faded and gray, lay under the frozen turf, on which the snow-flakes were -thickly falling. There could be no more Christmases for Georgie in the -old house; it was sold, and to-morrow would close its doors behind her -forever. - -She shivered as these thoughts passed through her mind, and rising moved -restlessly toward the window. It was storming faster than ever. The -sight seemed to make the idea of the morrow harder to bear; a big tear -formed in each eye, blurring the white world outside into a dim -grayness. Presently one ran down her nose and fell on her hand. She -looked at it with dismay, wiped it hastily off, and went back to the -fire. - -"I won't cry, whatever happens, I'm resolved on that," she said half -aloud, as she put the other half of the chopping-bowl on the waning -blaze. The deep-soaked richness of long-perished meats was in the old -wood still. It flared broadly up the chimney. Georgie again sat down by -the fire and resumed her thinking. - -"What am I going to do?" she asked herself for the hundredth time. "When -my visit to Cousin Vi is over, I must decide on something; but what? A -week is such a short time in which to settle such an important thing." - -It is hard to be confronted at twenty with the problem of one's own -support. Georgie hitherto had been as happy and care-free as other -girls. Her mother, as the widow of a naval officer, was entitled to a -small pension. This, with a very little more in addition, had paid for -Georgie's schooling, and kept the old house going in a sufficiently -comfortable though very modest fashion. But Mrs. Talcott was not by -nature an exemplary manager. It was hard not to overrun here and there, -especially after Georgie grew up, and "took her place in society," as -the poor lady phrased it,--the place which was rightfully hers as her -father's daughter and the descendant of a long line of Talcotts and -Chaunceys and Wainwrights. She coveted pretty things for her girl, as -all mothers do, and it was too much for her strength always to deny -herself. - -So Georgie had "just this" and "just that," and being a fresh attractive -creature, and a favorite, made her little go as far as the other girls' -much, and now and again the tiny capital was encroached upon. And then, -and then,--this is a world of sorry chances, as the weak and helpless -find to their cost,--came the bad year, when the Ranscuttle Mills passed -their dividend and the stock went down to almost nothing; and then Mrs. -Talcott's long illness, and then her death. Sickness and death are -luxuries which the poor will do well to go without. Georgie went over -the calculations afresh as she sat by the fire, and the result came out -just the same, and not a penny better. When she had paid for her -mother's funeral, and all the last bills, she would have exactly a -hundred and seventy-five dollars a year to live upon,--that and no more! - -The furniture,--could she get something for that? She glanced round the -room, and shook her head. The articles were neither handsome enough nor -quaint enough to command a good price. She looked affectionately at the -hair-cloth sofa on which her mother had so often lain, at the well-worn -secretary. How could she part with these? How could she sell her -great-grandfather's picture, or who, in fact, except herself, would care -for the rather ill-painted portrait of a rigid old worthy of the last -century, in a wig and ruffled shirt, with a view of Sandyport harbor by -way of a background? Her father's silhouette hung beneath it, with his -sword and a little mezzotint of his ship. These were treasures to her, -but what were they to any one else? - -"No," she decided. "Bethia shall take the old kitchen things and her own -bedroom furniture, and have the use of them; but the rest must go into -Miss Sally's attic for the present. They wouldn't fetch anything; and if -they would, I don't think I could bear to sell them. And now that is -settled, I must think again, what _am_ I to do? I must do something." - -She turned over all manner of schemes in her mind, but all seemed -fruitless. Sew? The town was full of sempstresses. Georgie knew of half -a dozen who could not get work enough to keep them busy half the time. -Teach? She could not; her education in no one respect had been thorough -enough. Embroider for the Women's Exchanges and Decorative Art -Societies? Perhaps; but it seemed to her that was the very thing to -which all destitute people with pretensions to gentility fled as a -matter of course, and that the market for tidies and "splashers" and -pine-pillows was decidedly overstocked. - -"It's no use thinking about it to-night," was the sensible decision to -which she at last arrived. "I am too tired. I'll get a sound night's -sleep if I can, and put off my worries till I am safely at Miss -Sally's." - -The sound night's sleep stood Georgie in good stead, for the morrow -taxed all her powers of endurance, both physical and moral. Bethia, -unhappy at losing the home of years, was tearful and fractious to a -degree. Sending off the furniture through the deep snow proved a slow -and troublesome matter. The doors necessarily stood open a great deal, -the rooms grew very cold, everything was comfortless and dispiriting. -And underlying all, put aside but never unfelt, was a deep sense of pain -at the knowledge that this was the last day,--the very, very last of the -home she had always known, and might know no more. - -When the final sledge-load creaked away over the hard frozen crust, -Georgie experienced a sense of relief. - - "The sooner 'tis over, the sooner to sleep," - -she sang below her breath. Everything was in order. She had generalled -all ably; nothing was omitted or forgotten. With steady care she raked -out the fire in the kitchen stove, which the new owner of the house had -taken off her hands, and saw to the fastenings of the windows. Then she -tied on her bonnet and black veil, gave the weeping Bethia a good-by -kiss on the door-step, closed and locked the door, and waded wearily -through the half-broken paths to the boarding-house of Miss Sally -Scannell, where Cousin Vi, otherwise Miss Violet Talcott, had lived for -years. - -No very enthusiastic reception awaited her. Cousin Vi's invitation had -been given from a sense of duty. She "owed it to the child," she told -herself, as she cleared out a bureau-drawer, and made a place for -Georgie's trunk in the small third-story room which for sixteen years -had represented to her all the home she had known. Of course such a -visit must be a brief one. - -"So you're come!" was her greeting as Georgie appeared. "I thought you'd -be here sooner; but I suppose you've had a good deal to do. I should -have offered to help if the day had not been so cold. Come in and take -your things off." - -Georgie glanced about her as she smoothed her hair. The room bore the -unmistakable marks of spinsterhood and decayed gentility. It was crammed -with little belongings, some valuable, some perfectly valueless. Two or -three pieces of spindle-legged and claw-footed mahogany made an odd -contrast to the common painted bedroom set. Miniatures by Malbone and -lovely pale-lined mezzotints and line engravings hung on the walls amid -a maze of photographs and Japanese fans and Christmas cards and chromos; -an indescribable confusion of duds encumbered every shelf and table; -and in the midst sat Miss Vi's tall, meager, dissatisfied self, with -thin hair laboriously trained after the prevailing fashion, and a dress -whose antique material seemed oddly unsuited to its modern cut and -loopings. Somehow the pitifulness of the scene struck Georgie afresh. - -"Shall I ever be like this?" she reflected. - -"Now tell me what has happened since the funeral," said her cousin. "I -had neuralgia all last week and week before, or I should have got down -oftener. Who has called? Have the Hanburys been to see you?" - -"Ellen came last week, but I was out," replied Georgie. - -"What a pity! And how did it happen that you were out? You ought not to -have been seen in the street so soon, I think. It's not customary." - -"How could I help it?" responded Georgie, sadly. "I had all the move to -arrange for. Mr. Custer wanted the house for Saturday. There was no one -to go for me." - -"I suppose you couldn't; but it's a pity. It's never well to outrage -conventionalities. Have Mrs. St. John and Mrs. Constant Carrington -called?" - -"Mrs. Carrington hasn't, but she wrote me a little note. And dear Mrs. -St. John came twice, and brought flowers, and was ever so kind. She -always has been so very nice to me, you know." - -"Naturally! The St. Johns were nobodies till Mr. St. John made all that -money in railroads. She is glad enough to be on good terms with the old -families, of course." - -"I don't think it's that," said Georgie, rather wearily. "I think she's -nice because she's naturally so kind-hearted, and she likes me." - -The tea-bell put an end to the discussion. Miss Sally's welcome was a -good deal warmer than Cousin Vi's had been. - -"You poor dear child," she exclaimed, "you look quite tired out! Here, -take this seat by the fire, Georgie, and I'll pour your tea out first of -all. She needs it, don't she?" to Cousin Vi. - -"_Miss Talcott_ is rather tired, I dare say," said that lady, icily. -Cousin Vi had lived for sixteen years in daily intercourse with Miss -Sally, one of the sunniest and most friendly of women, and had never -once relaxed into cordiality in all that time. Her code of manners -included no approximation toward familiarity between a Talcott and a -letter of lodgings. - -Georgie took a different view. "Thank you so much, dear Miss Sally," she -said. "How good you are! I _am_ tired." - -"I wish you wouldn't call Miss Sally 'dear,'" her cousin remarked after -they had gone upstairs. "That sort of thing is most disagreeable to me. -You have to be on your guard continually in a house like this, or you -get mixed up with all sorts of people." - -Georgie let it pass. She was too tired to argue. - -"Now, let us talk about your plans," Miss Talcott said next morning. -"Have you made any yet?" - -"N--o; only that I must find some work to do at once." - -"Don't speak like that to any one but me," her cousin said sharply. -"There _are_ lady-like occupations, of course, in which you -can--can--mingle; but they need not be mentioned, or made known to -people in general." - -"What _do_ you mean?" - -"I don't know, I'm sure. I've never had occasion to look into the -matter, but I suppose a girl situated as you are could find -something,--embroidery, for instance. You could do that for the -Decorative Art. They give you a number, and nobody knows your real -name." - -"I thought of embroidery," said Georgie; "but I never was very good at -it, and so many are doing it nowadays. Besides, it seems to me that -people are getting rather tired of all but the finer sort of work." - -"What became of that nephew of Mr. Constant Carrington whom you used to -see so much of two or three years ago?" demanded Miss Vi, irrelevantly. - -"Bob Curtis? I don't quite know where he is. His father failed, don't -you remember, and lost all his money, and Bob had to leave Harvard and -go into some sort of business?" - -"Oh, did he? He's of no consequence, then. I don't know what made me -think of him. Well, you could read to an invalid, perhaps, or go to -Europe with some lady who wanted a companion." - -"Or be second-best wing-maker to an angel," put in Georgie, with a -little glint of humor. "Cousin Vi, all that would be very pleasant, but -I don't think it is likely to happen. I'm dreadfully afraid no one wants -me to go to Europe; and I must have something to do at once, you know. -I must earn my bread." - -"Don't use such a phrase. It sounds too coarse for anything." - -"I don't think so, Cousin Vi. I don't mind working a bit, if only I can -hit on something that somebody wants, and that I can do well." - -"This is exactly what I have been afraid of," said Miss Vi, -despairingly. "I've always had a fear that old Jacob Talcott would break -out in you sooner or later. He has skipped two generations, but he was -bound to show himself some day or other. He had exactly that common sort -of way of looking at things and talking about them,--the only Talcott I -ever knew of that did! Don't you recollect how he insisted on putting -his son into business, and the boy ran away and went to the West Indies -and married some sort of Creole,--all his father's fault? - -"Now, I'll tell you," she went on after a pause. "I've been thinking -over this matter, and have made up my mind about it. You're not to do -anything foolish, Georgie. If you do, you'll be sorry for it all your -life, and I shall never forgive you besides. Such a good start as you -have made in society, and all; it will be quite too much if you go and -spoil your chances with those ridiculous notions of yours. Now, listen. -If you'll give up all idea of supporting yourself, unless it is by doing -embroidery or something like that, which no one need know about, -I'll--I'll--well--I'll agree to pay your board here at Miss Sally's, and -give you half this room for a year. As likely as not you'll be married -by the end of that time, or if not, something else will have turned up! -Any way, I'll do it for one year. When the year is over, we can talk -about the next." And Miss Talcott folded her hands with the manner of -one who has offered an ultimatum. - -If rather a grudging, this was a really generous offer, as Georgie well -knew. To add the expense of her young cousin's board to her own would -cost Miss Vi no end of self-denials, pinchings here and pinchings there, -the daily frets and calculations that weigh so heavily. Miss Talcott's -slender income at its best barely sufficed for the narrow lodgings, to -fight off the shabbiness which would endanger her place in "society," -and to pay for an occasional cab and theatre ticket. Not to do, or at -least to seem to be doing and enjoying, what other people did, was real -suffering to Cousin Vi. Yet she was deliberately invoking it by her -proposal. - -Had it been really made for her sake, had it been quite disinterested, -Georgie would have been deeply touched and grateful; as it was, she was -sufficiently so to thank her cousin warmly, but without committing -herself to acceptance. She must think it over, she said. - -She did think it over till her mind fairly ached with the pressure of -thought, as the body does after too much exercise. She walked past the -Woman's Exchange and studied the articles in the windows. There were the -same towels and tidies that had been there two months before, or what -seemed the same. Georgie recollected similar articles worked by people -whom she knew about, for which she had been asked to buy raffle tickets. -"She can't get any one to buy it," had been said. Depending on such work -for a support seemed a bare outlook. She walked away with a little shake -of her head. - -"No," she thought; "embroidery wouldn't pay unless I had a 'gift'; and I -don't seem to have a gift for anything unless it is housework. I always -was good at that; but I suppose I can't exactly take a place as -parlor-maid. Cousin Vi would certainly clap me into an asylum if I -suggested such a thing. How nice it would be to have a real genius for -something! Though now that I think of it, a good many geniuses have died -in attics, of starvation, without being able to help themselves." - -When she reached home she took a pencil and a piece of paper and wrote -as follows:-- - - _Things Wanted._ - - 1. Something I can do. - - 2. Something that somebody wants me to do. - - 3. Something that all the other somebodies in search of work - are not trying to do. - -Round these problems her thoughts revolved, and though nothing came of -them as yet, it seemed to clear her mind to have them set down in black -and white. - -Meantime the two days' _tête-à-tête_ with Cousin Vi produced one -distinct result, which was, that let come what come might, Georgie -resolved that nothing should induce her to stay on at Miss Sally's as -proposed, and be idle. Her healthy and vigorous youth recoiled from the -idea. - -"It is really good of her to ask me," she thought, "though she only does -it for the honor of the family and the dead-and-gone Talcotts. But what -a life it would be, and for a whole year too! Cousin Vi has stood it for -sixteen, to be sure, poor thing! but how could she? Mother used to say -that she was called a bright girl when she first grew up. Surely she -might have made something of herself if she had tried, and if Aunt -Talcott hadn't considered work one of the seven deadly sins for a lady! -She was handsome, too. Even I can recollect her as very good looking. -And here she is, all alone, and getting shabbier and poorer all the -time. I know she sometimes has not money enough to pay her board, and -has to ask Miss Sally to wait, snubbing her and despising her all the -time, and holding on desperately to her little figment of gentility. -People laugh at her and make fun of her behind her back. They invite her -now and then, but they don't really care for her. What is such a society -worth? I'll take in washing before I'll come to be like Cousin Vi!" - - * * * * * - -How little we guess, as we grope in the mists of our own uncertainties, -just where the light is going to break through! Georgie Talcott, -starting for a walk with her cousin on the third day of her stay at -Miss Sally's, saw the St. John carriage pass them and then pull up -suddenly at the curb-stone; but she had no idea that so simple a -circumstance could affect her fate in any manner. It did, though. - -Mrs. St. John was leaning out of the window before they got to the place -where the carriage stood, and two prettily gloved hands were stretched -eagerly forth. - -"Georgie! oh Georgie, how glad I am to see you out, dear! I made Henry -stop, because I want you to get in for a little drive and then come home -with me to lunch. Mr. St. John is in New York. I am quite alone, and -I'll give orders that no one shall be admitted, if you will. Don't you -think she might, Miss Talcott? It isn't like going anywhere else, you -know,--just coming to me quietly like that." - -"I don't see that there would be any impropriety in it," said Miss -Talcott, doubtfully; "though--with you, however, it _is_ different. But -please don't mention it to any one, Mrs. St. John. It might be -misunderstood and lead to invitations which Georgie could not possibly -accept. Good-morning." - -With a stately bend Cousin Vi sailed down the street. Mrs. St. John, I -am sorry to say, made a face after her as she went. - -"Absurd old idiot!" she muttered. "Such airs!" Then she drew Georgie in, -and as soon as the carriage was in motion pulled her veil aside and gave -her a warm kiss. - -"I am so glad to get hold of you again!" she said. - -Mrs. St. John, rich, childless, warm-hearted, and not over-wise, had -adopted Georgie as a special pet on her first appearance in society two -years before. It is always pleasant for a girl to be made much of by an -older woman; and when that woman has a carriage and a nice house, and -can do all sorts of things for the girl's entertainment, it is none the -less agreeable. Georgie was really fond of her friend. People who are -not over-wise are often loved as much as wiser ones; it is one of the -laws of compensation. - -"Now tell me all about yourself, and what you have been doing this past -week," said Mrs. St. John, as they drove down to the beach, where the -surf-rollers had swept the sands clean of snow and left a dry, smooth -roadway for the horses' feet. The sea wore its winter color that day,--a -deep purple-blue, broken by flashing foam-caps; the wind was blowing -freshly; a great sense of refreshment came to Georgie, who had been -wearying for a change. - -"It has been rather sad and hard," she said. "I have had the house to -clear out and close, and all manner of things to do, and I was pretty -tired when I finished. But I am getting rested now, and by and by I want -to talk over my affairs with you." - -"Plans?" asked Mrs. St. John. - -"Not exactly. I have no plans as yet; but I must have some soon. Now -tell me what _you_ have been doing." - -Mrs. St. John was never averse to talking about herself. She always had -a mass of experiences and adventures to relate, which though -insignificant enough when you came to analyze them, were so deeply -interesting to herself that somehow her auditors got interested in them -also. Georgie, used to her ways, listened and sympathized without -effort, keeping her eyes fixed meanwhile on the shining, shifting -horizon of the sea, and the lovely arch of clear morning sky. How wide -and free and satisfactory it was; how different from the cramped outlook -into which she had perforce been gazing for days back! - -"If life could all be like that!" she thought. - -The St. John house seemed a model of winter comfort, bright, -flower-scented, and deliciously warm, as they entered it after their -drive. Mrs. St. John rang for her maid to take off their wraps, and led -Georgie through the drawing-room and the library to a smaller room -beyond, which was her favorite sitting-place of a morning. - -"We will have luncheon here close to the fire," she said, "and be as -cosey as possible." - -It was a pretty room, not over-large, fitted up by a professional -decorator in a good scheme of color, and crowded with ornaments of all -sorts, after the modern fashion. It was many weeks since Georgie had -seen it, and its profusion and costliness of detail struck her as it -never had done before. Perhaps she was in the mood to observe closely. - -They were still sipping their hot _bouillon_ in great comfort, when a -sudden crash was heard in the distance. - -"There!" said Mrs. St. John, resignedly; "that's the second since -Monday! What is it _now_, Pierre?" - -She pushed back her chair and went hurriedly into the farther room. -Presently she came back laughing, but looking flushed and annoyed. - -"It's really too vexatious," she said. "There seems no use at all in -buying pretty things, the servants do break them so." - -"What was it this time?" asked Georgie. - -"It was my favorite bit of Sèvres. Don't you recollect it,--two lovely -little shepherdesses in blue Watteaus, holding a flower-basket between -them? Pierre says his feather duster caught in the open-work edge of the -basket." - -"Why do you let him use feather dusters? The feathers are so apt to -catch." - -"My dear, what can I do? Each fresh servant has his or her theory as to -how things should be cleaned. Whatever the theory is, the china goes all -the same; and I can't tell them any better. I don't know a thing about -dusting." - -That moment, as if some quick-witted fairy had waved her wand, an idea -darted like a flash into Georgie's head. - -She took five minutes to consider it, while Mrs. St. John went on:-- - -"People talk of the hardship of not being able to have things; but I -think it's just as hard to have them and not be allowed to keep them. I -don't dare to let myself care for a piece of china nowadays, for if I do -it's the first thing to go. Pierre's a treasure in other respects, but -he smashes most dreadfully; and the second man is quite as bad; and -Marie, upstairs, is worse than either. Mr. St. John says I ought to be -'mistress of myself, though china fall;' but I really can't." - -Georgie, who had listened to this without listening, had now made up her -mind. - -"Would you like me to dust your things?" she said quietly. - -"My dear, they _are_ dusted. Pierre has got through for this time. He -won't break anything more till to-morrow." - -"Oh, I don't mean only to-day; I mean every day. Yes, I'm in earnest," -she went on in answer to her friend's astonished look. "I was meaning to -talk to you about something of this sort presently, and now this has -come into my head. You see," smiling bravely, "I find that I have got -almost nothing to live upon. There is not even enough to pay my board at -such a place as Miss Sally's. I must do something to earn money; and -dusting is one of the few things that I can do particularly well." - -"But, my dear, I never heard of such a thing," gasped poor Mrs. St. -John. "Surely your friends and connections will arrange something for -you." - -"They can't; they are all dead," replied Georgie, sadly. "Our family has -run out. I've one cousin in China whom I never saw, and one great-aunt -down in Tennessee who is almost as poor as I am, and that's all except -Cousin Vi." - -"She's no good, of course; but she's sure to object to your doing -anything all the same." - -"Oh yes, of course she objects," said Georgie, impatiently. "She would -like to tie my hands and make me sit quite still for a year and see if -something won't happen; but I can't and won't do it; and, besides, what -is there to happen? Nothing. She was kind about it, too--" relenting; -"she offered to pay my board and share her room with me if I consented; -but I would so much rather get to work at once and be independent. Do -let me do your dusting," coaxingly; "I'll come every morning and put -these four rooms in nice order; and you need never let Pierre or Marie -or any one touch the china again, unless you like. I can almost promise -that I won't break anything!" - -"My dear, it would be beautiful for me, but perfectly horrid for you! I -quite agree with your cousin for once. It will never do in the world for -you to attempt such a thing. People would drop you at once; you would -lose your position and all your chance, if it was known that you were -doing that kind of work." - -"But don't you see," cried Georgie, kneeling down on the hearth-rug to -bring her face nearer to her friend's,--"don't you see that I've _got_ -to be dropped any way? Not because I have done anything, not because -people are unkind, but just from the necessity of things. I have no -money to buy dresses to go out and enjoy myself with. I have no money to -stay at home on, in fact,--I _must_ do something. And to live like -Cousin Vi on the edge of things, just tolerated by people, and mortified -and snubbed, and then have a little crumb of pleasure tossed to me, as -one throws the last scrap of cake that one doesn't want to a cat or a -dog,--_that_ is what I could not possibly bear. - -"I like fun and pretty things and luxury as well as other people," she -continued, after a little pause. "It isn't that I shouldn't _prefer_ -something different. But everybody can't be well off and have things -their own way; and since I am one of the rank and file, it seems to me -much wiser to give up the things I _can't_ have, out and out, and not -try to be two persons at once, a young lady and a working-girl, but put -my whole heart into the thing I must be, and do it just as well as I -can. Don't you see that I am right?" - -"You poor dear darling!" said Mrs. St. John, with tears in her eyes. -Then her face cleared. - -"Very well," she said briskly, "you _shall_. It will be the greatest -comfort in the world to have you take charge of the ornaments. _Now_ I -can buy as many cups and saucers as I like, and with an easy mind. You -must stay and lunch, always, Georgie. I'll give you a regular salary, -and when the weather's bad I shall keep you to dinner too, and to spend -the night. That's settled; and now let us decide what I shall give you. -Would fifty dollars a month be enough?" - -"My dear Mrs. St. John! Fifty! Two dollars a week was what I was -thinking of." - -"Two dollars! oh, you foolish child! You never could live on that! You -don't know anything at all about expenses, Georgie." - -"But I don't mean only to do _your_ dusting. If you are satisfied, I -depend on your recommending me to your friends. I could take care of -four sets of rooms just as well as of one. There are so many people in -Sandyport who have beautiful houses and collections of bric-à-brac, that -I think there might be as many as that who would care to have me if I -didn't cost too much. Four places at two dollars each would make eight -dollars a week. I could live on that nicely." - -"I wish you'd count me in as four," said Mrs. St. John. "I should see -four times as much of you, and it would make me four hundred times -happier." - -But Georgie was firm, and before they parted it was arranged that she -should begin her new task the next morning, and that her friend should -do what she could to find her similar work elsewhere. - -Her plan once made, Georgie suffered no grass to grow under her feet. -On the way home she bought some cheese-cloth and a stiff little brush -with a pointed end for carvings, and before the next day had provided -herself with a quantity of large soft dusters and two little phials of -alcohol and oil, and had hunted up a small pair of bellows, which -experience had shown her were invaluable for blowing the dust out of -delicate objects. Her first essay was a perfect success. Mrs. St. John, -quite at a loss how to face the changed situation, gave her a -half-troubled welcome; but Georgie's business-like methods reassured -her. She followed her about and watched her handle each fragile treasure -with skilful, delicate fingers till all was in perfect fresh order, and -gave a great sigh of admiration and relief when the work was done. - -"Now come and sit down," she said. "How tired you must be!" - -"Not a bit," declared Georgie; "I like to dust, strange to say, and I'm -not tired at all; I only wish I had another job just like it to do at -once. I see it's what I was made for." - -By the end of the week Georgie had another regular engagement, and it -became necessary to break the news of her new occupation to Cousin Vi. -I regret to say that the disclosure caused an "unpleasantness," between -them. - -"I would not have believed such a thing possible even with you," -declared that lady with angry tears. "The very idea marks you out as a -person of low mind. It's enough to make your Grandmother Talcott rise -from her grave! In the name of common decency, couldn't you hunt up -something to do, if do you must, except this?" - -"Nothing that I could do so well and so easily, Cousin Vi." - -"Don't call me Cousin Vi, I beg! There was no need of doing anything -whatever. I asked you to stay here,--you cannot deny that I did." - -"I don't wish to deny it," said Georgie, gently. "It was ever so kind of -you, too. Don't be so vexed with me, Cousin Vi. We look at things -differently, and I don't suppose either of us can help it; but don't let -us quarrel. You're almost the only relative that I have in the world." - -"Quarrel!" cried Miss Talcott with a shrill laugh,--"quarrel with a girl -that goes out dusting! That isn't in my line, I am happy to say. As for -being relatives, we are so no longer, and I shall say so to everybody. -Great Heavens! what will people think?" - -After this outburst it was evident to Georgie that it was better that -she should leave Miss Sally's as soon as possible. But where to go? She -consulted Miss Sally. That astute person comprehended the situation in -the twinkling of an eye, and was ready with a happy suggestion. - -"There's my brother John's widder in the lower street," she said. "She's -tolerably well off, and hasn't ever taken boarders; but she's a sort of -lonesome person, and I shouldn't wonder if I could fix it so she'd feel -like taking you, and reasonable too. It's mighty handy about that -furniture of yours, for her upstairs rooms ain't got nothing in them to -speak of, and of course she wouldn't want to buy. I'll step down after -dinner and see about it." - -Miss Sally was a power in her family circle, and she knew it. Before -night she had talked Mrs. John Scannell into the belief that to take -Georgie to board at five dollars a week was the thing of all others that -she most wanted to do; and before the end of two days all was arranged, -and Georgie inducted into her new quarters. It was a little low-pitched, -old-fashioned house, but it had some pleasant features, and was very -neat. A big corner room with a window to the south and another to the -sunset was assigned to Georgie for her bedroom. The old furniture that -she had been used to all her life made it look homelike, and the -hair-cloth sofa and the secretary and square mahogany table were welcome -additions to the rather scantily furnished sitting-room below, which she -shared at will with her hostess. Mrs. Scannell was a gentle, kindly -woman, the soul of cleanliness and propriety, but subject to low -spirits; and contact with Georgie's bright, hopeful youth was as -delightful to her as it was beneficial. She soon became very fond of "my -young lady," as she called her, and Georgie could not have been better -placed as to kindness and comfortableness. - -A better place than Sandyport for just such an experiment as she was -making could scarcely have been found. Many city people made it their -home for the summer; but at all times of the year there was a -considerable resident population of wealthy people. Luxurious homes were -rather the rule than the exception, and there was quite a little -rivalry as to elegance of appointment among them. Mrs. St. John's -enthusiasm and Mrs. St. John's recommendation bore fruit, and it was not -long before Georgie had secured her coveted "four places." - -Two of her employers were comparative strangers; with the fourth, Mrs. -Constant Carrington, she had been on terms of some intimacy in the old -days, but was not much so now. It _is_ rather difficult to keep up -friendship with your "dusting girl," as her Cousin Vi would have said; -Mrs. Carrington called her "Georgie" still, when they met, and was -perfectly civil in her manners, but always there was the business -relation to stand between them, and Georgie felt it. Mrs. St. John still -tried to retain the pretty pretext that Georgie's labors were a sort of -joke, a playing with independence; but there was nothing of this pretext -with the other three. To them, Georgie was simply a useful adjunct to -their luxurious lives, as little to be regarded as the florist who -filled their flower-boxes or the man who tuned their pianos. - -These little rubs to self-complacency were not very hard to bear. It was -not exactly pleasant, certainly, to pass in at the side entrance where -she had once been welcomed at the front door; to feel that her comings -and her goings were so insignificant as to be scarcely noticed; now and -then, perhaps, to be treated with scant courtesy by an ill-mannered -servant. This rarely chanced, however. Georgie had a little natural -dignity which impressed servants as well as other people, and from her -employers she received nothing but the most civil treatment. Fashion is -not unkindly, and it was still remembered that Miss Talcott was born a -lady, though she worked for a living. There were stormy days and dull -days, days when Georgie felt tired and discouraged; or, harder still to -bear, bright days and gala days, when she saw other girls of her age -setting forth to enjoy themselves in ways now closed to her. I will not -deny that she suffered at such moments, and wished with all her heart -that things could be different. But on the whole she bore herself -bravely and well, and found some happiness in her work, together with a -great deal of contentment. - -Mrs. St. John added to her difficulties by continual efforts to tempt -her to do this and that pleasant thing which Georgie felt to be -inexpedient. She wanted her favorite to play at young ladyhood in her -odd minutes, and defy the little frosts and chills which Georgie -instinctively knew would be her portion if she should attempt to enter -society again on the old terms. If Georgie urged that she had no proper -dress, the answer was prompt,--"My dear, I am going to give you a -dress;" or, "My dear, you can wear my blue, we are just the same -height." But Georgie stood firm, warded off the shower of gifts which -was ready to descend upon her, and loving her friend the more that she -was so foolishly kind, would not let herself be persuaded into doing -what she knew was unwise. - -"I can't be two people at once," she persisted. "There's not enough of -me for that. You remember what I said that first day, and I mean to -stick to it. You are a perfect darling, and just as kind as you can be; -but you must just let me go my own way, dear Mrs. St. John, and be -satisfied to know that it is the comfort of my life to have you love me -so much, though I won't go to balls with you." - -But though Georgie would not go to balls or dinner-parties, there were -smaller gayeties and pleasures which she did not refuse,--drives and -sails now and then, tickets to concerts and lectures, or a long quiet -Sunday with a "spend the night" to follow. These little breaks in her -busy life were wholesome and refreshing, and she saw no reason for -denying them to herself. There was nothing morbid in my little Knight of -Labor, which was one reason why she labored so successfully. - -So the summer came and went, and Georgie with it, keeping steadily on at -her daily task. All that she found to do she did as thoroughly and as -carefully as she knew how. She was of real use, and she knew it. Her -work had a value. It was not imaginary work, invented as a pretext for -giving her help, and the fact supported her self-respect. - -We are told in one of our Lord's most subtly beautiful parables, that to -them who make perfect use of their one talent, other talents shall be -added also. Many faithful workers have proved the meaning and the truth -of the parable, and Georgie Talcott found it now among the rest. With -the coming in of the autumn another sphere of activity was suddenly -opened to her. It sprang, as good things often do, from a seeming -disappointment. - -She was drawing on her gloves one morning at the close of her labors, -when a message was brought by the discreet English butler. - -"Mrs. Parish says, Miss, will you be so good as to step up to her -morning-room before you go." - -"Certainly, Frederick." And Georgie turned and ran lightly upstairs. -Mrs. Parish was sitting at her writing-table with rather a preoccupied -face. - -"I sent for you, Miss Talcott, because I wanted to mention that we are -going abroad for the winter," she began. "Maud isn't well, the doctors -recommend the Riviera, so we have decided rather suddenly on our plans, -and are to sail on the 'Scythia' the first of November. We shall be gone -a year." - -"Dear me," thought Georgie, "there's another of my places lost! It is -quite dreadful!" She was conscious of a sharp pang of inward -disappointment. - -"My cousin, Mrs. Ernest Stockton, is to take the place," continued Mrs. -Parish. "Her husband has been in the legation at Paris, you know, for -the last six years, but now they are coming back for good; and when I -telegraphed her of our decision, she at once cabled to secure this -house. They will land the week after we sail, and I suppose will want -to come up at once. Now, of course all sorts of things have got to be -done to make ready for them; but it's out of the question that I should -do them, for what with packing and the children's dressmaking and -appointments at the dentist's and all that, my hands are so full that I -could not possibly undertake anything else. So I was thinking of you. -You have so much head and system, you know, and I could trust you as I -could not any stranger, and you know the house so well; and you could -get plenty of people to help, so that it need not be burdensome. There -will be some things to be packed away, and the whole place to be -cleaned, floors waxed and curtains washed, the Duchesse dressing-tables -taken to pieces and done up and fluted,--all that sort of thing, you -know. Oh! and there would be an inventory to make, too; I forgot that. -Then next year I should want it gone over again in the same way,--the -articles that are packed taken out and put into place, and so on, that -it may look natural when we come home. My idea would be to move the -family down to New York on the 15th, so as to give you a clear -fortnight, and just come up for one day before we sail, for a final -look. Of course I should leave the keys in your charge, and I should -want you to take the whole responsibility. Now, will you do it, and just -tell me what you will ask for it all?" - -"May I think it over for one night?" said prudent Georgie. "I will come -to-morrow morning with my answer." - -She thought it over carefully, and seemed to see that here was a new -vista of remunerative labor opened to her, of a more permanent character -than mere dusting. So she signified to Mrs. Parish that she would -undertake the job, and having done so, bent her mind to doing it in the -best possible manner. She made careful lists, and personally -superintended each detail. Miss Sally recommended trustworthy -workpeople, and everything was carried out to the full satisfaction of -Mrs. Parish, who could not say enough in praise of Georgie and her -methods. - -"It robs going to Europe of half its terrors to have such a person to -turn to," she told her friends. "That little Miss Talcott is really -wonderful,--so clear-headed and exact. It's really extraordinary where -she learned it all, such a girl as she is. If any of you are going -abroad, you'll find her the greatest comfort possible." - -These commendations bore fruit. People in Sandyport were always setting -forth for this part of the world or that, and leaving houses behind -them. A second job of the same sort was soon urged upon Georgie, -followed by a third and a fourth. It was profitable work, for she had -fifty dollars in each case (a hundred for her double job at the Algernon -Parishes'); so her year's expenses were assured, and she was not sorry -when another of her "dusting" families went to Florida for the winter. - -It became the fashion in Sandyport to employ "little Miss Talcott." Her -capabilities once discovered, people were quick in finding out ways in -which to utilize them. Mrs. Robert Brown had the sudden happy thought of -getting Georgie to arrange the flowers for a ball which she was giving. -Georgie loved flowers, and had that knack of making them look charming -in vases which is the gift of a favored few. The ball decorations were -admired and commented upon; people said it was "so clever of Mrs. -Brown," and "so much better than stiff things from a florist's," and -presently half a dozen other ladies wanted the same thing done for -them. Fashion and sheep always follow any leader who is venturesome -enough to try a new fence. - -Later, Mrs. Horace Brown, with her cards out for a great lawn-party, had -the misfortune to sprain her ankle. In this emergency she bethought -herself of Georgie, who thereupon proved so "invaluable" as a _dea ex -machina_ behind the scenes, that thenceforward Mrs. Brown never felt -that she could give any sort of entertainment without her help. -Engagements thickened, and Georgie's hands became so full that she -laughingly threatened to "take a partner." - -"That's just what I always wanted you to do," said Mrs. St. John,--"a -real nice one, with heaps of money, who would take you about everywhere, -and give you a good time." - -"Oh, that's not at all the sort I want," protested Georgie, laughing and -blushing. "I mean a real business partner, a fellow-sweeperess and -house-arranger and ball-supper-manageress!" - -"Wretched girl, how horribly practical you are! I wish I could see you -discontented and sentimental just for once!" - -"Heaven forbid! That _would_ be a pretty state of things! Now good-by. I -have about half a ton of roses to arrange for Mrs. Lauriston." - -"Oh,--for her dance! Georgie," coaxingly, "why not go for once with me? -Come, just this once. There's that white dress of mine from _Pingat_, -with the _Point de Venie_ sleeves, that would exactly fit you." - -"Nonsense!" replied Georgie, briefly. She kissed her friend and hurried -away. - -"I declare," soliloquized Mrs. St. John, looking after her, "I could -find it in my heart to _advertise_ for some one to come and rescue -Georgie Talcott from all this hard work! What nice old times those were -when you had only to get up a tournament and blow a trumpet or two, and -have true knights flock in from all points of the compass in aid of -distressed damsels! I wish such things were in fashion now; I would buy -a trumpet this very day, I vow, and have a tournament next week." - -Georgie's true knight, as it happened, was to come from a quarter little -suspected by Mrs. St. John. For the spare afternoons of this second -winter Georgie had reserved rather a large piece of work, which had -the advantage that it could be taken up at will and laid down when -convenient. This was the cataloguing of a valuable library belonging to -Mr. Constant Carrington. That gentleman had observed Georgie rather -closely as she went about her various avocations, and had formed so high -an opinion of what he was pleased to term her "executive ability," that -he made a high bid for her services in preference to those of any one -else. - -[Illustration: Recognizing an old friend, she jumped up, exclaiming, -"Why Bob--Mr. Curtis--how do you do?"--_Page 49._] - -She was sitting in this library one rainy day in January, beside a big -packing-case, with a long row of books on the table, which she was -dusting, classifying, and noting on the list in her lap, when the door -opened and a tall young man came in. Georgie glanced at him vaguely, as -at a stranger; then recognizing an old friend, she jumped up, -exclaiming, "Why Bob--Mr. Curtis,--how do you do? I had no idea that you -were here." - -Bob Curtis looked bewildered. He had reached Sandyport only that -morning. No one had chanced to mention Georgie or the change in her -fortunes, and for a moment he failed to recognize in the white-aproned, -dusty-fingered vision before him the girl whom he had known so well five -years previously. - -"It is?--why it _is_," he exclaimed. "Miss Georgie, how delighted I am -to see you! I was coming down to call as soon as I could find out where -you were. My aunt said nothing about your being in the house." - -"Very likely she did not know. I am in and out so often here that I do -not always see Mrs. Carrington." - -"Indeed!" Bob looked more puzzled than ever. He had not remembered that -there was any such close intimacy in the old days between the two -families. - -"I can't shake hands, I am too dusty," went on Georgie. "But I am very -glad indeed to see you again." - -She too was taking mental notes, and observing that her former friend -had lost somewhat of the gloss and brilliance of his boyish days; that -his coat was not of the last cut; and that his expression was -spiritless, not to say discontented. "Poor fellow!" she thought. - -"What on earth does it all mean?" meditated Bob on his part. - -"These books only came yesterday," said Georgie, indicating the big box -with a wave of the hand. - -"I have had to dust them all; and I find that Italian dust sticks just -as the American variety does, and makes the fingers just as black." A -little laugh. - -"What _are_ you doing, if I may be so bold as to ask?" - -"Cataloguing your uncle's library. He has been buying quantities of -books for the last two years, as perhaps you know. He has a man in -Germany and another in Paris and another in London, who purchase for -him, and the boxes are coming over almost every week now. A great case -full of the English ones arrived last Saturday,--such beauties! Look at -that Ruskin behind you. It is the first edition, with all the plates, -worth its weight in gold." - -"It's awfully good of you to take so much trouble, I'm sure," remarked -Mr. Curtis politely, still with the same mystified look. - -"Not at all," replied Georgie, coolly. "It's all in my line of business, -you know. Mr. Carrington is to give me a hundred dollars for the job; -which is excellent pay, because I can take my own time for doing it, and -work at odd moments." - -Her interlocutor looked more perplexed than ever. A distinct -embarrassment became visible in his manner at the words "job" and "pay." - -"Certainly," he said. Then coloring a little he frankly went on, "I -don't understand a bit. Would you mind telling me what it all means?" - -"Oh, you haven't happened to hear of my 'befalments,' as Miss Sally -Scannell would call them." - -"I did hear of your mother's death," said Bob, gently, "and I was truly -sorry. She was so kind to me always in the old days." - -"She was kind to everybody. I am glad you were sorry," said Georgie, -bright tears in the eyes which she turned with a grateful look on Bob. -"Well, that was the beginning of it all." - -There was another pause, during which Bob pulled his moustache -nervously! Then he drew a chair to the table and sat down. - -"Can you talk while you're working?" he asked. "And mayn't I help? It -seems as though I might at least lift those books out for you. Now, if -you don't mind, if it isn't painful, won't you tell me what has happened -to you, for I see that something _has_ happened." - -"A great deal has happened, but it isn't painful to tell about it. -Things _were_ puzzling at first, but they have turned out wonderfully; -and I'm rather proud of the way they have gone." - -So, little by little, with occasional interruptions for lifting out -books and jotting down titles, she told her story, won from point to -point by the eager interest which her companion showed in the narrative. -When she had finished, he brought his hand down heavily on the table. - -"I'll tell you what," he exclaimed with vigorous emphasis, "it's most -extraordinary that a girl should do as you have done. You're an absolute -little _brick_,--if you'll excuse the phrase. But it makes a fellow--it -makes _me_ more ashamed of myself than I've often been in my life -before." - -"But why,--why should you be ashamed?" - -"Oh, I've been having hard times too," explained Bob, gloomily. "But I -haven't been so plucky as you. I've minded them more." - -Georgie knew vaguely something of these "hard times." In the "old days," -five years before, when she was seventeen and he a Harvard Junior of -twenty, spending a long vacation with his uncle, and when they had -rowed and danced and played tennis together so constantly as to set -people to wondering if anything "serious" was likely to arise from the -intimacy, the world with all its opportunities and pleasures seemed open -to the heir of the Curtis family. Bob's father was rich, the family -influential, there seemed nothing that he might not command at will. - -Then all was changed suddenly; a great financial panic swept away the -family fortunes in a few weeks. Mr. Curtis died insolvent, and Robert -was called on to give up many half-formed wishes and ambitions, and face -the stern realities. What little could be saved from the wreck made a -scanty subsistence for his mother and sisters; he must support himself. -For more than two years he had been filling a subordinate position in a -large manufacturing business. His friends considered him in luck to -secure such a place; and he was fain to agree with them, but the -acknowledgment did not make him exactly happy in it, notwithstanding. - -Discipline can hardly be agreeable. Bob Curtis had been a little spoiled -by prosperity; and though he did his work fairly well, there was always -a bitterness at heart, and a certain tinge of false shame at having it -to do at all. He worked because he must, he told himself, not because he -liked or ever should like it. All the family traditions were opposed to -work. Then he had the natural confidence of a very young man in his own -powers, and it was not pleasant to be made to feel at every turn that he -was raw, inexperienced, not particularly valuable to anybody, and that -no one especially looked up to or admired him. He scorned himself for -minding such things; but all the same he did mind them, and the frank, -kindly young fellow was in danger of becoming soured and cynical in his -lonely and uncongenial surroundings. - -It was just at this point that good fortune brought him into contact -with Georgie Talcott, and it was like the lifting of a veil from before -his eyes. He recollected her such a pretty, care-free creature, petted -and adored by her mother, every day filled with pleasant things, not a -worry or cloud allowed to shadow the bright succession of her -amusements; and here she sat telling him of a fight with necessity -compared with which his seemed like child's play, and out of which she -had come victorious. He was struck, too, with the total absence of -embarrassment and false shame in the telling. Work, in Georgie's mind, -was evidently a thing to be proud of and thankful over, not something to -be practised shyly, and alluded to with bated breath. The contrast -between his and her way of looking at the thing struck him sharply. - -It did not take long for Georgie to arrive at the facts in Bob's case. -Confidence begets confidence; and in another day or two, won by her -bright sympathy, he gradually made a clean breast of his troubles. -Somehow they did not seem so great after they were told. Georgie's -sympathy was not of a weakening sort, and her questions and comments -seemed to clear things to his mind, and set them in right relations to -each other. - -"I don't think that I pity you much," she told him one day. "Your mother -and the girls, yes, because they are women and not used to it, and it -always _is_ harder for girls--" - -"See here, you're a girl yourself," put in Bob. - -"No--I'm a business person. Don't interrupt. What I was going to say -was, that I think it's _lovely_ for a young man to have to work! We are -all lazy by nature; we need to be shaken up and compelled to do our -best. You will be ten times as much of a person in the end as if you had -always had your own way." - -"Do you really think that? But what's the use of talking? I may stick -where I am for years, and never do more than just make a living." - -"I wouldn't!" said Georgie, throwing back her pretty head with an air of -decision. "I should scorn to 'stick' if I were a man! And I don't -believe you will either. If you once go into it heartily and put your -will into it, you're sure to succeed. I always considered you clever, -you know. You'll go up--up--as sure as, as sure as _dust_,--that's the -thing of all the world that's most certain to rise, I think." - -"'Overmastered with a clod of valiant marl,'" muttered Robert below his -breath; then aloud, "Well, if that's the view you take of it, I'll do my -best to prove you right. It's worth a good deal to know that there is -somebody who expects something of me." - -"I expect everything of you," said Georgie confidently. And Bob went -back to his post at the end of the fortnight infinitely cheered and -heartened. - -"Bless her brave little heart!" he said to himself. "I won't disappoint -her if I can help it; or, if I must, I'll know the reason why." - -It is curious, and perhaps a little humiliating, to realize how much our -lives are affected by what may be called accident. A touch here or -there, a little pull up or down to set us going, often determines the -direction in which we go, and direction means all. Robert Curtis in -after times always dated the beginning of his fortunes from the day when -he walked into his uncle's library and found Georgie Talcott cataloguing -books. - -"It set me to making a man of myself," he used to say. - -Georgie did not see him for more than a year after his departure, but he -wrote twice to say that he had taken her advice and it had "worked," and -he had "got a rise." The truth was that the boy had an undeveloped -capacity for affairs, inherited from the able old grandfather, who laid -the foundations of the fortune which Bob's father muddled away. When -once will and energy were roused and brought into play, this hereditary -bent asserted itself. Bob became valuable to his employers, and like -Georgie's "dust," began to go up in the business scale. - -Georgie had just successfully re-established the Algernon Parishes, who -arrived five months later than was expected, in their home, when Bob -came up for a second visit to his uncle. This time he had three weeks' -leave, and it was just before he went back that he proposed the -formation of what he was pleased to call "A Labor Union." - -"You see I'm a working man now just as you are a working woman," he -explained. "It's our plain duty to co-operate. You shall be Grand -Master--or rather Mistress--and I'll be some sort of a subordinate,--a -Walking Delegate, perhaps." - -"Indeed, you shall be nothing of the sort. Walking Delegates are -particularly idle people, I've always heard. They just go about ordering -other folks to stop work and do nothing." - -"Then I won't be one. I'll be Grand Master's Mate." - -"There's no such office in Labor Unions. If we have one at all, you must -have the first place in it." - -"What is that position? Please describe it in full. Whatever happens, I -won't strike." - -"Oh," said Georgie, with the prettiest blush in the world, "the position -is too intricate for explanation; we won't describe it." - -"But will you join the Union?" - -"I thought we had joined already,--both of us." - -"Now, Georgie, dearest, I'm in earnest. Thanks to you, I know what work -means and how good it is. And now I want my reward, which is to work -beside you always as long as I live. Don't turn away your head, but tell -me that I may." - -I cannot tell you exactly what was Georgie's answer, for this -conversation took place on the beach, and just then they sat down on the -edge of a boat and began to talk in such low tones that no one could -overhear; but as they sat a long time and she went home leaning -contentedly on Bob's arm, I presume she answered as he wished. He went -back to his work soon afterward, and has made his way up very fast -since. Next spring the firm with which he is connected propose to send -him to Chicago to start a new branch of their business there. He is to -have a good salary and a share of the profits, and it is understood that -Georgie will go with him. She has kept on steadily at her various -avocations, has made herself so increasingly useful that all Sandyport -wonders what it shall do without her when she goes away, and has laid up -what Miss Sally calls "a tidy bit of money" toward the furnishing of the -home which she and Bob hope to have before long. Mrs. St. John has many -plans in mind for the wedding; and though Georgie laughingly protests -that she means to be married in a white apron, with a wreath of "dusty -miller" round her head, I dare say she will give in when the time comes, -and consent to let her little occasion be made pretty. Even a girl who -works likes to have her marriage day a bright one. - -Cousin Vi, for her part, is dimly reaching out toward a reconciliation. -For, be it known, work which brings success, and is proved to have a -solid money value of its own, loses in the estimation of the fastidious -its degrading qualities, and is spoken of by the more euphonious title -of "good fortune." It is only work which doesn't succeed, which remains -forever disrespectable. I think I may venture to predict that the time -will come when Cousin Vi will condone all Georgie's wrong-doings, and -extend, not the olive-branch only, but both hands, to "the Curtises," -that is if they turn out as prosperous as their friends predict and -expect them to be. - -But whatever Fate may have in store for my dear little Georgie and her -chosen co-worker, of one thing I am sure,--that, fare as they may with -worldly fortune, they will never be content, having tasted of the salt -of work, to feed again on the honey-bread of idleness, or become drones -in the working-hive, but will persevere to the end in the principles and -practices of what in the best sense of the word may be called their -Labor Union. - - - - -SNOWY PETER. - - -The weather was very cold, though it was not Christmas yet, and to the -great delight of the Kane children, December had brought an early and -heavy fall of snow. Older people were sorry. They grieved for the swift -vanishing of the lovely Indian summer, for the blighting of the last -flowers, chrysanthemums, snow-berries, bitter-sweet, and for the red -leaves, so pretty but a few days since, which were now blown about and -battered by the strong wind. But the children wasted no sympathy on -either leaves or berries. A snow-storm seemed to them just then better -than anything that ever grew on bush or tree, and they revelled in it -all the long afternoon without a thought of what it had cost the world. - -It was a deep snow. It lay over the lawn six inches on a level; in the -hollow by the fence the drifts were at least two feet deep. There was -no lack of building material therefore when Reggie proposed that they -should all go to work and make a fort. - -Such a wonderful fort as it turned out to be! It had walls and bastions -and holes for cannon. It had cannon too, all made of snow. It had a -gateway, just like a real fort, and a flag-staff and a flag. The staff -was a tall slender column of snow, and they poured water over it, and it -froze and became a long pole of glittering ice. The flag had a -swallow-tail and was icy too. Reggie had been in New London and Newport -the last summer, he had seen real fortifications and knew how they -should look. Under his direction the little ones built a _glacis_. Some -of you will know what that is,--the steep slippery grass slope which -lies beneath the fort walls and is so hard to climb. This _glacis_ was -harder yet--snow is better than grass for defensive purposes--if only it -would last. - -"Now let's make the soldiers," shouted little Paul as the last -shovel-full of snow was spread on the _glacis_ and smoothed down. - -"Oh, Paul, we can't, there won't be time," said Elma, the biggest girl, -glancing apprehensively at the sun, which was nearing the edge of the -sky. "It must be five o'clock, and nurse will call us almost right -away." - -"Oh, bother! I wish the days weren't so short," said Paul -discontentedly. "Let's make one man, any way; just for a sentry, you -know. There ought to be a sentry to take care of the fort. Can't we, -Elma?" - -"Yes--only we must hurry." - -The small crew precipitated itself on the drift. None of them were cold, -for exercise had warmed their blood. The little ones gathered great -snowballs and rolled them up to the fort, while the big ones shaped and -moulded. In a wonderfully short time the "man" was completed,--eyes, -nose, and all, and the gun in his hand. A pipe was put into his mouth, a -cocked-hat on his head. Elma curled his hair a little. Susan Sunflower, -as the round-faced younger girl was called for fun, patted and smoothed -his cheeks and forehead with her warm little hands. They made boots for -him, and a coat with buttons on the tail-pocket; he was a beautiful man -indeed! Just as the last touch was given, a window opened and nurse's -head appeared,--the very thing the children had been dreading. - -"Come, children, come in to supper," she called out across the snow. -"It's nearly half-past five. You ought to have come in half an hour ago. -Miss Susan, stop working in that snow, nasty cold stuff; you'll catch -your death. Master Reggie, make the little boys hurry, please." - -There was never any appeal from Nurse Freeman's decisions, least of all -now when papa and mamma were both away, and she ruled the house as its -undisputed autocrat. Even Reggie, on the verge of twelve, dare not -disobey her. She was English and a martinet, and had been in charge of -the children all their lives; but she was kind as well as strict, and -they loved her. Reluctantly the little troop prepared to go. They picked -up the shovels and baskets, for Nurse Freeman was very particular about -fetching things in and putting them in their places. They took a last -regretful look at their fort. Paul climbed the wall for one more jump -down. Little Harry indulged in a final slide across the _glacis_. Susan -Sunflower stroked the Sentinel's hand. "Good-night, Snowy Peter!" they -cried in chorus, for that was the name they had agreed upon for their -soldier. Then they ran across the lawn in a long skurrying line like a -covey of birds, there was a scraping of feet on the porch, the side-door -closed with a bang, and they were gone. - -Left to himself, Snowy Peter stood still in his place beside the gateway -of the fortification. Snowmen usually do stand still, at least till the -time comes for them to melt and run away, so there was nothing strange -in that. What _was_ singular was that about an hour after the children -had left him, when dusk had closed in over the house and the leafless -trees, and "Fort Kane" had grown a vague dim shape, he slowly turned his -head! It was as though the fingers of little Susan had communicated -something of their warmth and fulness of life to the poor senseless -figure while working over it, and this influence was beginning to take -effect. He turned his head and looked in the direction of the house. All -was dark except for the hall lamp below, which shone through the glass -panes above the door, and for two windows in the second story out of -which streamed a strong yellow light. These were the windows of the -nursery, where, at that moment, the children were eating their supper. - -Snowy Peter remained for a time in motionless silence looking at the -window. Then his body slowly began to turn, following the movement of -its head. He lifted one stiff ill-shaped foot and moved a step forward. -Then he lifted the other and took another step. His left arm dangled -uselessly; the right hand held out the gun which Paul had made, and -which was of the most curious shape. The tracks which he left in the -snow as he crossed the lawn resembled the odd, waddling tracks of a -flat-footed elephant as much as anything else. - -It took him a long, long time to cross the space over which the light -feet of the children had run in two minutes. Each step seemed to cost -him a mighty effort. The right leg would quiver for a moment, then wave -wildly to and fro, then with a sort of galvanic jerk project itself, and -the whole body, with a pitch and a lurch, would plunge forward heavily, -till brought up again in an upright position by the advanced leg. After -that the left leg would take its turn, and the process be repeated. -There was no spring, no supple play to the joints; in fact, Snowy Peter -had no joints. His young creators had left them out while constructing -him. - -At last he reached the wall of the house, and stood beneath the windows -where the yellow light was burning. This had been the goal of his -desires; but, alas, now that he had attained the coveted position he -could not look in at the windows--he was far too short. Desperation lent -him energy. A stout lattice was nailed against the house, up which in -summer a flowering clematis twined and clustered. Seizing this, Snowy -Peter began to climb! - -Up one bar after another he slowly and painfully went, lifting his heavy -feet and clinging tightly with his poor, stiff hands. His gun-stock -snapped in the middle, his cocked-hat sustained many contusions, even -his nose had more than one hard knock. But he had the heart of a hero, -whom neither danger, nor difficulty, nor personal inconvenience can -deter, and at last his head was on a level with the nursery window-sill. - -It was a pleasant sight that met his eyes. No one had slept in the -nursery since Paul had grown big enough for a bed of his own; and though -it kept its own name, it was in reality only a big, cheerful upstairs -sitting-room, where lessons could be studied, meals taken, and Nurse -Freeman sit and do her mending and be on hand always for any one who -wanted her. Now that Mr. and Mrs. Kane were absent, the downstairs rooms -looked vacant and dreary, and the children spent all their evenings in -the nursery from preference. A large fire burned briskly in the ample -grate. A kettle hissed and bubbled on the hob; on the round table where -the lamp stood, was a row of bright little tin basins just emptied of -the smoking-hot bread-and-milk which was the usual nursery supper. Nurse -was cutting slices from a big brown loaf and buttering them with nice -yellow butter. There was also some gingerbread, and by way of special -and particular treat, a pot of strawberry-jam, to which Paul at that -moment was paying attention. - -He had scooped out such an enormous spoonful as to attract the notice of -the whole party; and just as Snowy Peter raised his white staring eyes -above the sill, Reggie called out, "Hullo! I say! leave a little of that -for somebody else, will you?" - -"Piggy-wiggy," remarked Harry, indignantly; "and it's your second help -too!" - -"Master Paul, I'm surprised at you," observed Nurse Freeman severely, -taking the big spoonful away from him. "There, that's quite enough," -and she put half the quantity on the edge of his plate and gave the -other half to Susan. - -"That's not fair," remonstrated Paul, "when I've been working so hard, -and it's so cold, and when I like jam so, and when it's so awfully good -beside." - -"Jam! what is jam?" thought Snowy Peter. He pressed his cold nose closer -to the glass. - -"We all worked hard, Paul," said Elma, "and we all like jam as much as -you do. May I have some more, Nursey?" - -"I wonder how poor Snowy Peter feels all alone out there in the garden," -said Susan Sunflower. "He must be very cold, poor fellow!" - -"Ho, he don't mind it!" declared Paul with his mouth full of -bread-and-jam. - -"Oh, yes, I do--I mind it very much," murmured Snowy Peter to himself; -but he had no voice with which to make an outward noise. - -"Won't you come out and see him to-morrow, Nursey?" went on Susan. "He's -the best man we ever made. He's quite beautiful. He's got a pipe and a -hat and curly hair and buttons on his coat--I'm sure you'll like him." - -Snowy Peter reared himself straighter on the lattice. He was proud to -hear himself thus commended. - -"If he could only talk and walk, he'd be just as good as a live person, -really he would, Nursey," said Elma. "Wouldn't it be fun if he could! -We'd bring him in to tea and he'd sit by the fire and warm his hands, -and it would be such fun." - -"He'd melt fast enough in this warm room," observed Reggie, while Nurse -Freeman added: "That's nonsense, Miss Elma. How could a man like that -walk? And I don't want no nasty snow images in _my_ nursery, melting and -slopping up the carpet." - -Snowy Peter listened to this conversation with a painful feeling at his -heart. He felt lonely and forlorn. No one really liked him. To the -children he was only a thing to be played with and joked about. Nurse -Freeman called him a "nasty snow image." But though he was hurt and -troubled in his spirit, the warm bright nursery, the sound of laughter -and human voices, even the fire, that foe most fatal of all to things -made of snow, had an irresistible attraction for him. He could not bear -the idea of returning to his cold post of duty beside the lonely Fort, -and under the wintry midnight sky. So he still clung to the lattice and -looked in at the window with his unwinking eyes; and a great longing to -be inside, and to sit down by the cheerful fire and be treated with -kindness, took possession of him. But what is the use of such ambitions -to a snow-man? - -Long, long he clung to the lattice and lingered and looked in. He saw -the two little ones when first the sand-man began to drop his grains -into their eyes, and noticed how they struggled against the sleepy -influence, and tried to keep awake. He saw Nurse Freeman carry them off, -and presently fetch them back in their flannel nightgowns to say their -prayers beside the fire. Snowy Peter did not know what it meant as they -knelt with their heads in Nursey's lap, and their pink toes curled up in -the glow of the heat, but it was a pretty sight to see, and he liked it. - -After they were taken away for the second time, he watched Elma as she -studied her geography lesson for the morrow, while Reggie did sums on -his slate, and Paul played at checkers with Susan Sunflower. Snowy Peter -thought he should like to do sums, and he was sure it would be nice to -play checkers, and jump squares and chuckle and finally beat, as Paul -did. Alas, checkers are not for snow-men! Paul went to bed when the game -was ended, and Susan, and a little later the other two followed. Then -Nurse Freeman raked out the fire and put ashes on top, and blew the -lights out and went away herself, leaving the nursery dark and silent -except for a dim glow from the ash-smothered grate and the low ticking -of the clock. - -Some time after she departed, when the lights in the other windows had -all been extinguished and the house was as dark inside as the night was -outside, Snowy Peter raised his hand and pushed gently at the sash. It -was not fastened, and it opened easily and without much noise. Then a -heavy leg was thrown over the sill, and stiffly and painfully the snow -soldier climbed into the room. He wanted to feel what it was like to sit -in a chair beside a table as human beings sit, and he was extremely -curious about the fire. - -Alas, he could not sit! He was made to stand but not to bend. When he -tried to seat himself his body lay in a long inclined plane, with the -shoulder-blades resting on the back of the chair, and the legs sticking -out straight before him,--an attitude which was not at all comfortable. -The chair creaked beneath him and tipped dangerously. It was with -difficulty that he got again into his natural position, and he trembled -with fear in every limb. It had been a narrow escape. "A fine thing it -would have been if I had fallen over and not been able to get on my feet -again," he thought. "How that terrible old woman would have swept me up -in the morning!" Then, cautiously and timidly, he put his finger into -the nearly empty jam-pot, rubbed it round till a little of the sweet, -sticky juice adhered to it, and raised it to his lips. It had no taste -to him. Jam was a human joy in which he could not share, and he heaved a -deep sigh. - -Drops began to stand on his forehead. Though there was so little fire -left, the room was much warmer than the outer air, and Snowy Peter had -begun to melt. A great and sudden fear took possession of him. As fast -as his heavy limbs would allow, he hastened to the window. It was a -great deal harder to go down the lattice than to climb up it, and twice -he almost lost his footing. But at last he stood safely on the ground. -The window he left open; he had no strength left for extra exertion. - -With increasing difficulty he stumbled across the lawn to his old -position beside the gateway of the fort. A sense of duty had sustained -him thus far, for a sentry must be found at his post; but now that he -was there, all power seemed to desert his limbs. Little Susan's warm -fingers had perhaps put just so much life into him, and no more, as -would enable him to do what he had done, as a clock can run but its -appointed course of hours and must then stop. His head turned no longer -in the direction of the house. His eyes looked immovably forward. The -straight stiff hand held out the broken gun. Two o'clock sounded from -the church steeple, three, four. The earliest dawn crept slowly into the -sky. It broadened to a soft pink flush, a sudden wind rose and stirred, -and as if quickened by its impulse up came the yellow sun. Smoke began -to curl from the house chimneys, doors opened, voices sounded, but still -Snowy Peter did not move. - -"Why, what is this?" cried Nurse Freeman, hurrying into the nursery from -her bedroom, which was near. "How comes this window to be open? I left -the fire covered up a purpose, that my dears might have a warm room to -breakfast in. It's as cold as a barn. It must be that careless Maria. -She's no head and no thoughtfulness, that girl." - -Maria denied the accusation, but Nurse was not convinced. "Windows did -not open without hands," she justly observed. But what hands opened this -particular window Nurse Freeman never, never knew! - -Presently another phenomenon claimed her attention. There on the carpet, -close to the table where the jam-pot stood, was a large slop of water. -It marked the spot where the snow-man had begun to melt the night -before. - -"It's the snow the children brought in on their boots," suggested Maria. - -"Boots!" cried Nurse Freeman incredulously. "Boots! when I changed them -myself and put on their warm slippers!" She shook her head portentously -as she wiped up the slop. "There's something _on_accountable in it all," -she said. So there was, but it was a great deal more unaccountable than -Nurse Freeman suspected. - -When the children ran out, after lessons, to play in their fort, their -time for wonderment came. How oddly Snowy Peter looked,--not at all as -he did the day before. His figure had somehow grown rubbed and shabby. -The buttons were gone from his coat-tails. The gun they had taken such -pains with was broken in two. _Where was the other half?_" - -"What's that on his finger?" demanded Elma. "It looks as if it were -bleeding." - -It was the juice of the strawberry-jam! Paul first tasted delicately -with the tip of his tongue, then he boldly bit the finger off and -swallowed it. - -"Why, what made you do that?" asked the others. - -"Jam!" was the succinct reply. - -"Jam! Impossible. How could our snow-man get at any jam? It couldn't be -that." - -"Tastes like it, any way," remarked Paul. - -"I can't think what has happened to spoil him so," said Elma, -plaintively. "Do you think a loose horse can have got into the yard -during the night? See how the snow is trampled down!" - -"Hallo, look here!" shouted Reggie. "This is the queerest thing yet. -There's the other half the gun sticking out half-way up the clematis -frame!" - -"It must have been a horse," said Elma, who having once settled on the -idea found it hard to give it up. "It couldn't be anything else." - -"Oh, yes, it could. It was no horse. It was me," said Snowy Peter in the -depths of his being, where a little warmth still lingered. - -"He's very ugly now, I think; see how he's melted all along his -shoulder, and his hair has got out of curl, and his nose is awful," -pronounced Susan Sunflower. "Let's pull him to pieces and make a nicer -man." - -"Oh, oh!" groaned Snowy Peter, with a final effort of consciousness. His -inward sufferings did not affect his features in the least, and no one -suspected that he was feeling anything. Paul knocked the pipe out of his -mouth with a snow-ball. Harry, with a great push, rolled him over. The -crisp snow parted and flew, the children hurrahed; in three minutes he -was a shapeless mass, and nobody ever knew or guessed how for a few -brief hours he had lived the life of a human being, been agitated by -hope and moved by desire. So ended Snowy Peter; and his sole mourner was -little Susan, who remarked, "After all, he _was_ nice before he got -spoiled, and I wish Nursey had seen him." - - - - -THE DO SOMETHING SOCIETY. - - -Clatter, clatter, went a sewing-machine in an upstairs room, as the busy -mamma of the Newcombe children bent over it, guiding the long breadths -beneath the clicking needle, her eyes fixed on its glancing point, but -her thoughts very far away, after the fashion of mammas who work on -sewing-machines. The slam of a door, and the sound of quick feet in the -entry below, arrested her attention. - -"That is Catherine, of course," she said to herself. "None of the other -children bang the door in just that particular way." - -The top of a rapidly ascending red hat, with a pigtail of fair hair -hanging beneath it, became visible, as Mrs. Newcombe glanced across to -the staircase. It _was_ Catherine. Another moment, and she burst into -the room. - -"Mamma, mamma, where are you? Oh, mamma, we girls have invented a -society, and we are all going to belong to it." - -"Who is 'all,' and what sort of a society is it?" demanded Mrs. -Newcombe, by no means suspending her machine work. - -"All--we six, I mean--Frances and the Vaughns, and the 'Tittering -Twins,' and me. We haven't any name for the society yet, but we want to -do something." - -"What sort of a something?" - -"Oh, I don't know. All sorts of somethings; but, first of all--you know -how sick Minnie Banister is, don't you, mamma?" - -"Yes." - -"Well, the society is really gotten up for her. We want to go every -Saturday, and take her presents. Surprises, you know, so that she can be -sort of expecting us all the week and looking forward. Don't you think -that is a good plan, mamma?" - -"Very good; but what kind of presents were you thinking of?" - -"I don't know exactly; we haven't thought about that yet. Something -pretty. You'll give us some money to buy them with, won't you, mamma?" - -"No, dear, I can't do that." - -"But, mamma!" - -"Listen, Catherine, and don't pucker your forehead so. It's a bad habit -which you have taken up lately, and I want you to break yourself of it. -I cannot give you money to buy presents; not that I do not love Minnie, -or am not sorry for her, but I cannot afford it. Papa has his own boys -and girls to feed and clothe and educate. He cannot spare money for -things that are not necessary, even when they are kind pleasant things -like this plan of yours." - -"But, mamma--little bits of things! It wouldn't take much!" - -"You naturally feel that there is no bottom to papa's pocket, Catherine; -that he has only to put his hand in and take out what he likes; but, my -dear, that isn't true. Papa cannot do it any more than you can." - -"Then we can't have our society," cried Catherine. - -Her lip trembled, and her face flushed pink with the sense of -disappointment. - -"I didn't say that," said her mother, smiling. "Have the society by all -means, and carry out your plans. That can be done without money." - -"But, mamma, how can it? What do you mean?" - -"The how I must leave to you. Set your wits to work, and you will find -out. There are plenty of ways in which to please sick people besides -buying them things. Notice carefully when you are there; ask Mrs. -Banister; use your eyes. Things will suggest themselves. What sick -people enjoy most are little surprises to vary their dull days, and the -sense that some one is loving and thinking about them. Small unexpected -pleasures count for more than their worth with them. Now, dear, run -away. Consult with the others, and when you decide what you want to do, -come to me, and I will do what I can to help you in ways that do not -cost money." - -Catherine looked more hopeful, though not altogether convinced. - -"I'll see what they say," she remarked thoughtfully. Then, after -lingering a moment, as if in hopes of something more, she ran downstairs -again. - -She found the members of the future society looking rather crestfallen. -They had all rushed home to propound their plan, and each of their -mothers in turn had raised pretty much the same objections to it which -Mrs. Newcombe had raised, and had not tempered their denials with any -fresh suggestions. Catherine's report had, therefore, rather the effect -of raising their spirits. - -"I'm--not--sure," said Frances Brooks, "but it would be more fun to do -it that way than the other. Don't you know how much nicer it always is -to make Christmas presents than to buy them? And I thought of something -while you were talking that might do for the first Saturday surprise." - -"Have you really? What?" - -"It came into my head because the other day when Mary and I were there, -Minnie lost her handkerchief. It had slipped under the mattress or -somewhere, and she worried about not finding it, and Mrs. Banister was a -good while in getting another, and I was wondering if it wouldn't be -nice to make some sort of a little case, which could lie on the bed -beside her, and hold it." - -"Out of birch bark," suggested Mary Vaughn. - -"Splendid! We could work little blue forget-me-nots on it in crewels," -suggested Sue Hooper. - -"Yes, and I have a bit of blue silk that would be just the thing for the -lining," put in Ethel Hooper, the second "Tittering Twin," Sue being the -first. "Sister had it left over from a sofa-pillow, so she gave it to -me. It is quite light, and will match the forget-me-nots." - -"Now, isn't that delightful!" cried Catherine. "Here's our first -surprise all settled without any trouble at all. I know where we can get -the bark,--from one of those big birches in Mr. Swayne's woods, and -mother'll give us some orris-root for a _sachet_, I know. She has some -that's particularly nice. It came from Philadelphia." - -Under these promising auspices the "Do Something Society," for that was -the name resolved upon, came into existence. Many hands made light work -of the little handkerchief-case. All the members went together to get -the birch bark, which in itself was good fun. Mary Vaughn cut out the -case. Amy, who had taken a set of lessons in Kensington stitch, worked -the starry zigzag pattern, which did duty for forget-me-nots, upon it. -Susy Hooper, who was the best needlewoman of them all, lined it. -Catherine made the _sachet_. Ethel, as youngest, was allowed to fasten -it into the case with a tiny blue bow, and they took turns in carrying -it, as they walked toward Minnie's house Saturday morning. - -Minnie had been looking forward to Saturday all the week. It was the -only day when these special friends had time to come for a good long -stay with her. On other days they "ran in;" but what with schools and -music-lessons, and daily walks and short winter afternoons, they always -had to run out again long before she was ready to have them go. She had -been watching the clock ever since she woke, in hopes that they would -come early; nor was she disappointed, for by half-past ten the bell -rang, and steps and voices were heard coming upstairs. Minnie raised -herself, and held out her hands. - -"O girls, how lovely! You've all come together," she said. "I've been -wondering all the week if you would." - -"You darling, how nice it is to see you! Are you any better to-day?" -asked Catherine. - -Then, after they had all kissed her, Amy laid on the counterpane the -handkerchief-case pinned up in thin white paper. - -"There's something for you," cried the society, as with one voice. - -It took a good while for Minnie to open the parcel, for her fingers were -weak, but she would not let any one help her. When the pretty birch-bark -case was revealed, she was even more pleased than her friends had hoped -she would be. - -"How dear you were to make it for me!" she kept repeating. "I shall -never lose my handkerchiefs now. And I shall look at it when you are not -here, and it will give me the feeling that you are making me a visit." - -Then they explained the new society to her and asked her to join, with -the understanding that she was not to be an "active member" till she was -quite well again, and Minnie agreed, and became on the spot number seven -of the Do Somethings. What they did not explain was their plan for the -Saturdays, because Mrs. Newcombe had dropped this word of wisdom into -their counsels, that sick people enjoy a little pleasure which comes -unexpectedly, much more than a larger one which they lie and think about -till they are tired of the idea of it. Catherine had to bite her nimble -tongue more than once to hold the secret in, but the eyes of the others -held her in check, and she remembered in time. And while they chattered -and laughed, Mary Vaughn kept her eyes open as Mrs. Newcombe had -advised, and with such good effect that, as the society trooped out on -to the sidewalk, she was ready to say, "Girls, I have thought of -something for next time." - -"And so have I," added Frances. - -"Not really! What fun! Tell us what yours is." - -"A wall-basket full of dried leaves and things to fill up that bare -space of wall opposite Minnie's bed. It needn't cost anything, for I -have got one of those big Japanese cuffs made of straw which will do for -the basket, and there are thousands of leaves to be had for the -picking." - -"What a good idea that is!" said Amy Vaughn. "We will make it lovely, -and it will be something bright for Minnie to look at. We'll do it. But -what was your idea, Mary?" - -"Mine was a sand-bag. Didn't you hear Minnie say, 'Mamma, the sheet is -quite wet just where my foot comes;' and Mrs. Banister came in a hurry -and took away the hot-water bag, and said there was something wrong with -the screw, and it was always leaking? My aunt, who is an invalid, uses -a bag of sand instead. It is made very hot in the oven and slipped into -a little cover, and it keeps warm longer than hot water does, she says. -Don't you think we might make one for Minnie?" - -"It's the best idea yet," said Catherine. "And we will have it for next -Saturday because it's something useful that she really wants, and that -will give us plenty of time to dry the leaves for the Saturday after." - -The sand-bag, with its little slip cover of red canton flannel, proved a -remarkable success. It was the comfort of her life, Minnie declared; but -the joy of her life was the wall-basket which followed on the next -Saturday, and which made a beautiful spot of brightness on the bare -wall. Ethel Hooper, who had a natural instinct for color and effect, -arranged it. It held branches of deep red and vivid yellow leaves, with -sprays of orange and green sumach, deep russet oak and trails of flaming -blackberry-vine, amid which rose a few velvet-brown cat-tails and fluffy -milk-weed pods, supporting in their midst a tiny bird's nest poised in a -leafless twig. Minnie was never tired of looking at it. She said it was -as good as taking a walk in the woods to see it. The gay color -refreshed her eyes, and cheered many a dull moment when she was alone -and did not feel like reading; and, altogether, the wall-basket proved -one of the most successful of the achievements of the Do Something -Society that winter. - -I have not time to tell you of all the many other things they did. One -Saturday the gift was a home-made sponge-cake. Another time it was some -particularly nice molasses candy, pulled very white, and braided and -twirled into M's and B's. A pillow stuffed with balsam-fir was another -of the presents. On Christmas Eve they carried her the tiniest little -fir-tree ever seen, a mere baby of a fir, planted in a flower-pot, hung -with six mandarin oranges, and lighted with wax matches which burned -just long enough to be admired and no longer. Later there was a comical -valentine, and on Minnie's birthday a pretty card, designed by -Catherine, who had a taste for drawing. - -One melancholy Saturday, when Minnie was too ill to see them, the -members all left their cards in a little basket. Another time it was the -cards of all their pet cats. And while they thus labored to make the -hard months less hard for their friend, their own souls were growing, -keeping pace with their growing bodies, as souls do which are properly -exercised in deeds of kindliness and unselfish love. So that when spring -came, bringing roses back to Minnie's pale cheeks, and strength to her -feeble limbs, and she was able to take her place among the rest and be a -"Do Something" too, all of them were eager to keep on, and to continue -the work begun for one, by service for the many who needed cheering as -much as Minnie had done. - -And the best part of the lesson which all of them had learned was, so -Mrs. Newcombe thought, the great lesson that money, though a useful, is -not an essential, part of true helpfulness, and that time given, and -thought, and observation, and ingenuity, and loving hearts, can -accomplish without it all the best and sweetest part of giving. - - - - -WHO ATE THE QUEEN'S LUNCHEON? - - -You can imagine the state of excitement into which Otillie Le Breton was -thrown, when, one day in June, her father, the Seigneur of Sark, came -home and told her that the Queen, who was cruising about the Channel in -the royal yacht, had notified him of her intention of landing at Sark -the next Thursday and of lunching at the Seigneurie. - -It sounds such a fine thing to be the daughter of the Seigneur of Sark, -that perhaps you will imagine that Otillie was used to kings and queens -and fine company of all sorts, and wonder that she should feel so much -excited on this occasion. Not at all! The Seigneur of Sark is only a -quiet, invalid clergyman who owns his little island just as other -English gentlemen do their estates, letting out the land to farmers and -collecting his rents and paying his taxes like other people; and Otillie -was a simply brought-up girl of fourteen, who knew much less of the -world than most girls of her age in Boston or New York, had never been -off the Channel Islands, and never set eyes on a "crowned head" in her -life, and she felt exactly as any of us would if we were suddenly told -that a queen was coming to take a meal in our father's house. - -Queens are not common apparitions in any of the Channel Islands, and -least of all in little Sark. It is a difficult place to get to even for -common people. The island, which is only three miles long, is walled by -a line of splendid cliffs over three hundred feet high. Its only harbor -is a strip of beach, defended by a tiny breakwater, from which a steep -road is tunnelled up through the rocks to the interior of the island. In -rough weather, when the wind blows and the sea runs high, which is the -case five days out of seven in summer, and six-and-a-half days out of -seven in winter, boats dare not make for this difficult landing, which -is called by the natives "The Creux"--or hole. It is reported that some -years since when the Lords of the Admiralty were on a tour of inspection -they sailed all round Sark and sailed away again, reporting that no -place could be discovered where it was possible to land, which seemed -to the Sarkites a very good joke indeed. - -There are four principal islands in the Channel group: Alderney and -Jersey, from which come the cows all of us know about; Guernsey, whose -cattle, though not so celebrated on this side of the sea, are held by -the islanders as superior to all others; and Sark, the smallest and by -far the most beautiful of the four. It is a real story-book island. The -soft, sea-climate and the drifting mists of the Gulf Stream nourish in -its green valleys all manner of growing things. Flowers flourish there -as nowhere else. Heliotropes grow into great clumps, and red and pink -geraniums into bushes. Fuchsias and white-starred jessamines climb to -the very roofs of the mossy old farm-houses, which stand knee-deep, as -it were, in vines and flowers. Long links of rose-colored bindweed lie -in tangles along the dusty roadside; you tread on them as you walk -through the shady lanes, between hedge-rows of ivy and sweet-brier and -briony, from whose leaves shine out little glittering beetles, in mail -coats of flashing, iridescent green, like those which the Cuban ladies -wear on their lace dresses as a decoration. There is only one wagon -kept for hire on the island, and all is primitive and peaceful and full -of rest and repose. - -But there are wonderful things too, as well as beautiful ones,--strange -spouting-holes in the middle of green fields, where the sea has worn its -way far inland, and, with a roar, sends sudden shocks of surf up through -its chimney-like vent. Caves too, full of dim green light, in whose -pools marvellous marine creatures flourish-- - - "The fruitage and bloom of the Ocean," - -or strange spines of rock path linking one end of the island with the -other by a road not over five feet wide, from whose undefended edges the -sheer precipice goes down on either side for hundreds of feet into the -ocean. There are natural arches in the rocks also through which the -wonderful blue-green sea glances and leaps. All about the island the -water is of this remarkable color, like the plumage of a peacock or a -dragonfly's glancing wings, and out of it rise strange rock-shapes, -pyramids and obelisks and domes, over which white surf breaks -constantly. - -Some of the most remarkable of these rocks are beneath the Seigneurie, -whose shaven lawns and walled gardens stretch to the cliff top and -command a wide sea-view. It is a fine old house, with terraces and stone -balustrades over which vines cluster thickly, and peacocks sit, -spreading their many-eyed tails to the sun, as if trying to outdo the -strange, flashing, iridescent sea. - -Otillie herself always fed these peacocks, which were old family -friends. There were six of them, Bluet and Cramoisie,--the parents of -the flock, who had been named by Mrs. Le Breton, who was a -Frenchwoman,--Peri and Fee de Fees, and Lorenzo the Magnificent and the -Great Panjandrum, these last christened by Otillie herself on account of -their size and stately demeanor. The beautiful creatures were quite -tame. They would take food from her hand, and if she failed to present -herself at the accustomed time with her bowl of millet and bread, they -would put their heads in at the terrace windows and scream, till she -recollected her duty and came to them. - -I am afraid that the peacocks were rather neglected for the few days -preceding the Queen's visit, for everybody at the Seigneurie was very -busy. Mr. Le Breton, as a general thing, lived simply enough. His wife -had died when Otillie was only six years old. Miss Niffin the governess, -Marie the cook, two housemaids, and an old butler who had served the -family for a quarter of a century made up the establishment indoors. -Otillie had her basin of porridge and cream and her slice of bread at -eight o'clock every morning, and bread and milk and "kettle-tea" for -supper, with now and then a taste of jam by way of a treat. The servants -lived chiefly on "Jersey soup," a thick broth of oatmeal, vegetables, -and fish, with a trifle of bacon or salt-beef to give it a relish. Mr. -Le Breton had his morning coffee in his study, and the early dinner, -which he shared with Otillie and Miss Niffin, was not an elaborate one. - -These being the customs of the Seigneurie, it can easily be imagined -that it taxed every resource of the establishment to provide suitably -for the Queen's entertainment. All the island knew of the important -event and longed to advise and help. The farmers sent their thickest -cream and freshest strawberries and lettuces, desirous to prove their -loyalty not to their sovereign only, but also to their landlord. Marie, -the cook, spent the days in reading over her most difficult recipes, -and could not sleep at night. A friend of hers, once second cook to the -Earl of Dunraven, but now retired on her laurels into private life, -offered to come for a few days to assist, and to fabricate a certain -famous game pasty, of which it was asserted the English aristocracy are -inordinately fond. Peter the butler crossed over to Guernsey twice -during the week with a long list of indispensables to be filled up at -the shops there, hampers of wine came from London, and hot-house grapes -and nectarines from friends in Jersey; the whole house was in a bustle, -and nothing was spoken of but the Queen and the Queen's visit, what she -would wear and say and do, whom she would bring with her, and what sort -of weather she would have for her coming. - -This last point was the one on which Otillie was most solicitous. A true -child of Sark, she knew all about its tides and currents, the dangers of -the island channels, and the differences which a little more or less -wind and sea made in the navigation of them. She could recollect one -stormy winter, when a Guernsey doctor who had come over to set a broken -arm was detained for three weeks on the island, in plain sight all the -time of his own home in St. Peterport, but as unable to get to it as if -it had been a thousand miles away! - -"It would be dreadful if the Queen came and then could not get away -again for three weeks!" she said to herself. "It would be awfully -interesting to have her here, of course--but I don't quite know what we -should do--or what she would do!" She tried to make a picture of it in -her mind, but soon gave up the attempt. Provisions are scarce sometimes -on Sark when the wind blows and the boats cannot get in. There would -always be milk and vegetables and fruit if it were summer, and perhaps -chickens enough could be collected to hold out; but there was something -terrible in the idea of a queen without butcher's meat! Otillie's -imagination refused to compass it! - -Her very first thought when the important day dawned was the weather. - -She waked with the first sunbeam and ran at once to the window. When she -saw a clear sky and the sun rising out of a still sea, she gave a scream -of delight. - -"What is the matter?" asked Miss Niffin sleepily from the next room. - -"It's good weather," replied Otillie. "We've got the most beautiful day -for the Queen to come in." - -Miss Niffin's only answer was a little groan. She was a small, shy -person, and the idea of confronting royalty made her dreadfully nervous. -"Oh, if the day were only over!" she said to herself; and she longed to -plead a headache and stay in bed, but she dared not. Besides, she felt -that it would be cowardly to desert her post on such an important -occasion and leave Otillie alone; so she braced her mind to face the -awful necessity and began to dress. - -Mr. Le Breton, awakening about the same time, gave a groan a good deal -like Miss Niffin's. He was a loyal subject, and felt the honor that was -done him by the Queen's inviting herself to luncheon; but, all the same, -invalids do not like to be put out of their way, and he, too, wished the -day well done. - -"Ten to one I shall be laid up for the next month to pay for it," he -reflected. Then he too braced himself to the necessity and rang for hot -water, determined to do his duty as a man and a Seigneur. - -Otillie was perhaps the only person in the house who was really glad to -have the day come. The servants were tired and fretted with a sense of -responsibility. Marie had passed a dreadful night, full of dreams of -failure and spoiled dishes. - -"Now just as sure as guns my rolls will have failed to rise this day of -all the days of the year," was her first waking thought. But no, the -rolls were light as a feather, and the sponge and almond cakes came out -of the oven delicately browned and quite perfect in taste and -appearance. Nothing went wrong; and when Mr. Le Breton, just before -starting for the Creux harbor to meet the royal party, took a look into -the dining-room to make sure that all was right, he said to himself that -he had never seen a prettier or more complete little "spread." - -The table was ornamented with hot-house fruit and flowers, beautifully -arranged by Miss Niffin and Otillie. All the fine old Le Breton plate -had been brought out and polished, the napery shone like iced snow, -there were some quaint pieces of old Venetian glass, jugs, dishes, and -flagons, and a profusion of pretty confections, jellies, blanc-manges, -crystallized fruits, and bonbons, to give sparkle and color. The light -streamed in at the windows which opened on the terrace, from under the -vines the flash of the waves could be seen, the curtains waved in the -wind, which was blowing inland. Nothing could be prettier; the only -discord was the noisy scream of the peacocks on the lawn, who seemed as -much upset and disturbed by the great event as the rest of the -household. - -"Can't something be done to stop those creatures?" said Mr. Le Breton. -"Tie them up somewhere, can't you, Otillie, or send a boy to drive them -down to the farm." - -"It's only because they are hungry," replied Otillie rather absently. "I -haven't given them their breakfast yet." - -She was sticking long stems of fronded Osmundas into a jar as a -decoration for the fireplace, and scarcely noticed what her father said. -It was some minutes after the carriage drove away before she finished; -then, with a sigh of relief, she brushed up the leaves she had scattered -on the carpet, and ran upstairs to change her dress. It would never do -to be caught by the Queen in a holland frock, with her hair blown about -her eyes, and green finger-tips! - -The clock struck one as she fastened her white dress and patted smooth -the bows of her wide pink sash. One was the hour fixed for the Queen to -land, so there was no time to lose. Otillie only waited for a glance in -at the door of the spare room, where the Queen, if so minded, was to -take off her things. She glanced at the bed with a sort of awe as the -possible repository of a royal bonnet, altered the position of a bowl of -roses on the mantelpiece, and then hurried down to join Miss Niffin, -who, attired in her best black silk and a pair of lace mitts, was seated -decorously in the hall doing nothing. Otillie sat down beside her. It -was rather a nervous waiting, and a long one; for half an hour passed, -three quarters, and finally the clock struck two, before wheels were -heard on the gravel, and during all that time the two watchers spoke -scarcely a word. Only once Otillie cried as a gust of wind blew the -curtains straight out into the room, "O dear! I hope it isn't rough. O -dear! wouldn't it be dreadful if the Queen were to be sick? She would -never like Sark again!" - -"I think her Majesty must be used to the sea, she sails so much," -replied Miss Niffin. The gust died away and did not blow the curtains -any more, and again they sat in silence, waiting and listening. - -"At last!" cried Otillie as the distinct roll of wheels was heard on -the drive. Her heart beat fast, but she got up bravely, straightened her -slender little figure as became a Le Breton, and walked out on to the -porch. Her eyes seemed strangely dazzled by the sun--for she could see -no one in the carriage but her father. - -It rolled up to the door, and Otillie felt a great throb of -disappointment rise like a wave in her heart, and spread and swell! Mr. -Le Breton had come back alone! - -"Papa," she cried, as soon as she could speak, "what _has_ happened? -Where is the Queen?" - -"I hope nothing has gone amiss with her Gracious Majesty," put in Miss -Niffin from behind. - -Mr. Le Breton got out of the carriage before he replied. He looked tired -and annoyed. - -"You can drive to the stable, Thomas," he said; "the carriage will not -be wanted." Then he turned to Miss Niffin. - -"Her Gracious Majesty has decided not to land," he went on. "The wind -has sprung up and made rather a sea outside the breakwater; nothing to -signify by the Sark standard, but enough to deter inexperienced persons. -I waited at the Creux for nearly an hour, and every man, woman, and -child on the island waited with me, with the exception of you and -Otillie and the servants, and then the captain of the royal yacht -signalled that he could not risk putting the Queen ashore in a small -boat in such rough water. So the thing is given up." - -There was a certain latent relief in Mr. Le Breton's tone. - -"Oh!" cried Otillie, stamping her foot. "How hateful of the wind to -spring up! It could have waited as well as not! It has all the rest of -the time to blow in, and now all the nice preparations are thrown away, -and all our pleasant time spoiled, and just as likely as not the Queen -will never come to Sark at all." Her voice died away into a storm of -sobs. - -"I wish I could be assured of that," remarked her father in a tone of -weary resignation. "What I am afraid of is that she will come, or try to -come, another day, and then there will be all this to do over again." - -He indicated by a gesture the door of the dining-room, from which queer -muffled sounds were heard just then. - -"Peter seems as much afflicted by this disappointment as you are, -Otillie," he added. "Come, my child, don't cry over the matter. It can't -be helped. Wind and waves oblige nobody, not even kings and queens." - -"There are compensations for all our troubles," said Miss Niffin in her -primmest tone. "We must bear up, and try to feel that all is for the -best." Miss Niffin seemed to find it quite easy to be morally consoled -for her share of loss in the giving up of the Queen's visit. - -"How can you talk in that way!" cried Otillie, who was not in the least -in awe of Miss Niffin. "If I had broken my comb, you would have said -exactly the same, I know you would! There isn't any compensation at all -for this trouble, and it's no use my trying to feel that it's for the -best,--it isn't." - -"We never know," replied Miss Niffin piously. - -"Come," said Mr. Le Breton, desiring to put an end to the altercation, -"I don't know why we should go hungry because her Majesty won't come and -eat our luncheon. Take my arm, Miss Niffin, and let us have something to -eat. Marie will break her heart if all her trouble and pains are not -appreciated by somebody." - -[Illustration: The peacocks, tired of waiting for their morning meal, -and finding the windows open, had entered and helped themselves.--_Page -107._] - -He gave his arm to Miss Niffin as he spoke, and moved forward to the -dining-room. Otillie followed, wiping her eyes with her handkerchief, -and feeling that the dainties would stick in her throat if she tried to -swallow them, she was so very, very, dreadfully disappointed. - -But when Mr. Le Breton reached the dining-room door he stopped suddenly -as if shot, and gave a sort of shout! No one could speak for a moment. -There was the feast, so prettily and tastefully arranged only an hour -before, a mass of ruins! The flowers were upset, the fruit, tumbled and -mashed, stained the cloth and the floor. Wine and lemonade dripped from -the table's edge. The pink and yellow jellies, the forms of Charlotte -Russe and blanc-mange and the frosted cakes and tarts were reduced to -smears and crumbs. Where the gigantic pasty had stood remained only an -empty dish, and above the remains, rearing, pecking, clawing, gobbling, -appeared six long blue-green necks, which dipped and rose and dipped -again! - -The peacocks, tired of waiting for their morning meal, and finding the -windows open, had entered and helped themselves! There was Lorenzo the -Magnificent with a sponge-cake in his beak, and Peri gobbling down a -lump of blanc-mange, and the Grand Panjandrum with both claws embedded -in a pyramid of macaroons. Their splendid tails were draggled with cream -and crumbs, and sticky with jelly; altogether they presented a most -greedy and disreputable appearance! The strangest part of the whole was -that while they stuffed themselves they preserved a dead silence, and -did not express their enjoyment by one of their usual noisy screams. It -was evident that they felt that the one great opportunity of their lives -was going on, and that they must make the most of it. - -At the sound of Mr. Le Breton's shout the peacocks started guiltily. -Then they gathered up their tails as best they might, and, half flying, -half running, scuttled out of the windows and far across the lawn, -screaming triumphantly as they went, while Otillie tumbled into a chair -and laughed till she cried. - -"Oh! didn't they look funny?" she gasped, holding her sides. - -"Rather expensive fun," replied the Seigneur ruefully. "But it is one -comfort that we have it to ourselves." Then the humor of the situation -seized on him also, and he sat down and laughed almost as hard as -Otillie. - -"Dear me! what a mercy that her Majesty didn't come!" remarked Miss -Niffin in an awe-struck tone. - -"Good gracious," cried Otillie with sudden horror at the thought, -"suppose she had! Suppose we had all walked in at that door and found -the peacocks here! And of course we should! Of course they would have -done it just the same if there had been fifty queens to see them! How -dreadful it would have been! Oh, there are compensations, Miss Niffin; I -see it now." - -So Otillie was reconciled to her great disappointment, though the Queen -never has tried to land at Sark again, and perhaps never will. For, as -Otillie sensibly says, "It is a great deal better that we should be -disappointed than that the Queen should be; for if she had been very -hungry, and most likely she would have been after sailing and all, she -would not have thought the Grand Panjandrum with his feet in the -macaroons half so funny as we did, and would have been truly and really -vexed." - -So it was all for the best, as Miss Niffin said. - - - - -THE SHIPWRECKED COLOGNE-BOTTLE. - - -It seemed the middle of the night, though it was really only three -o'clock in the morning, when little Davy Crocker was wakened by a sudden -stamping of feet on the stoop below his window, and by a voice calling -out that a ship was ashore off the Point, and that Captain Si, Davy's -uncle, must turn out and help with the life-boat. - -Davy was a "landlubber," as his cousin Sam Coffin was wont to assert -whenever he wanted to tease him. He had lived all his short life at -Townsend Harbor, up among the New Hampshire hills, and until this visit -to his aunt at Nantucket, had never seen the sea. All the more the sea -had for him a great interest and fascination, as it has for everybody to -whom it has not from long familiarity become a matter of course. - -Conversation in Nantucket is apt to possess a nautical and, so to speak, -salty flavor. Davy, since his arrival, had heard so much about ships -which had foundered, or gone to pieces on rocks, or burned up, or sprung -leaks and had to be pumped out, that his mind was full of images of -disaster, and he quite longed to realize some of them. To see a -shipwreck had become his great ambition. He was not particular as to -whether the ship should burn or founder or go ashore, any of these would -do, only he wanted all the sailors to be saved. - -Once he had gone with his cousins to the South Shore on the little -puffing railroad which connects Nantucket town with Siasconsett, and of -which all the people of the island are so justly proud; and there on the -beach, amid the surf-rollers which look so soft and white and are so -cruelly strong, he had seen a great piece of a ship. Nearly the whole of -the bow end it appeared to be. It was much higher than Davy's head, and -seemed to him immense and formidable; yet this enormous thing the sea -had taken into its grasp and tossed to and fro like a plaything and at -last flung upon the sand as if it were a toy of which it had grown -weary. It gave Davy an idea of the great power of the water, and it was -after seeing this that he began to long to witness a shipwreck. And now -there was one, and the very sound of the word was enough to make him rub -open his sleepy eyes and jump out of bed in a hurry! - -But when he had groped his way to the window and pulled up the rattling -paper shade, behold! there was nothing to be seen! The morning was -intensely dark. A wild wind was blowing great dashes of rain on the -glass, and the house shook and trembled as the blasts struck it. - -Davy heard his uncle on the stairs, and hurried to the door. "Mayn't I -go to the shipwreck with you, Uncle Si?" he called out. - -"Go to what? Go back to bed, my boy, that's the place for you. There'll -be shipwreck enough in the morning to satisfy all of us, I reckon." - -Davy dared not disobey. He stumbled back to bed, making up his mind to -lie awake and listen to the wind till it was light, and then go to see -the shipwreck "anyhow." But it is hard to keep such resolutions when you -are only ten years old. The next thing he knew he was rousing in -amazement to find the room full of brilliant sunlight. The rain was -over, though the wind still thundered furiously, and through the noise -it made, the sea could be heard thundering louder still. - -Davy jumped out of bed, dressed as fast as he could, and hurried -downstairs. The house seemed strangely empty; Aunt Patty was not in the -kitchen, nor was cousin Myra in the pantry skimming milk, as was usual -at this hour of the day. Davy searched for them in woodshed, garden, and -barn. At last he spied them on the "walk" at the top of the house, and -ran upstairs to join them. - -Do any of you know what a "walk" is? I suppose not, unless you have -happened to live in a whaling-town. Many houses in Nantucket have them. -They are railed platforms, built on the peak of the roof between the -chimneys, and are used as observatories from which to watch what is -going on at sea. There the wives and sweethearts of the whalers used to -go in the old days, and stand and sweep the ocean with spy-glasses, in -hopes of seeing the ships coming in from their long cruises each with -the signals set which told if the voyage had been lucky or no, and how -many barrels of oil and blubber she was bringing home. Then they used to -watch the "camels," great hulls used as floats to lighten the vessels, -go out and help the heavy-laden ship over the bar. And when that was -done and every rope and spar conned and studied by the experienced eyes -on the roofs, it was time to hurry down, hang on the welcoming pot, trim -the fire and don the best gown, so as to make a bright home-coming for -the long-absent husband or son. - -Aunt Patty had a spy-glass at her eyes when Davy gained the roof. She -was looking at the wrecked ship, which was plainly in view, beyond the -little sandy down which separated the house from the sea. There she lay, -a poor broken thing, stuck fast on one of the long reaches of sandy -shoal which stretch about the island and make the navigation of its -narrow and uncertain channels so difficult and sometimes so dangerous. -The heavy seas dashed over the half-sunken vessel every minute; between -her and the shore two lifeboats were coming in under closely-reefed -sails. - -"Oh, do let me look through the glass!" urged Davy. When he was -permitted to do so he uttered an exclamation of surprise, so wonderfully -near did it make everything seem to be. - -"Why, I can see their faces!" he cried. "There's Uncle Si! There's Sam! -And there's a very wet man! I guess he's one of the shipwrecked sailors! -Hurrah!" and Davy capered up and down. - -"You unfeeling boy!" cried Myra, "give me the glass--you'll let it fall. -He's right, mother, father and Sam are coming ashore as fast as they can -sail, and they'll be wanting their breakfasts, of course. I'd better go -down and mix the corn bread." She took one more look through the glass, -announced that the other boat had some more of the shipwrecked men on -board, she guessed, and that Abner Folger was steering; then she ran -down the ladder, followed by her mother, and Davy was left to watch the -boats in. - -When he too went down, the kitchen was full of good smells of boiling -coffee and frying eggs, and his uncle and Sam and the "very wet man" -were just entering the door together. The wet man, it appeared, was the -captain of the wrecked vessel; the rest of the crew had been taken home -by other people. - -The captain was a long, brown, sinewy Maine man. He was soaked with -sea-water and looked haggard and worn, as a man well might who had just -spent such a terrible night; but he had kind, melancholy eyes, and a -nice face, Davy thought. The first thing to be done was to get him into -dry clothes, and Uncle Si carried him up to Davy's room for this -purpose. Davy followed them. He felt as if he could never see enough of -this, his first shipwrecked sailor. - -When the captain had been made comfortable in Uncle Silas's flannel -shirt and spare pea-jacket and a pair of Sam's trousers, he hung his own -clothes up to dry, and they all went down to breakfast. Aunt Patty had -done her best. She was very sorry for the poor man who had lost his -ship, and she even brought out a tumbler of her best grape jelly by way -of a further treat; but the captain, though he ate ravenously, as was -natural to a man who had fasted so long, did not seem to notice what he -was eating, and thus disappointed kind Aunt Patty. She comforted herself -by thinking what she could get for dinner which he would like. Uncle Si -and Sam were almost as hungry as the Maine captain, so not much was said -till breakfast was over, and then they all jumped up and hurried out, -for there was a deal to be done. - -Davy felt very dull after they had gone. He had never heard of such a -thing as "reaction," but that was what he was suffering from. The -excitement of the morning had died out like a fire which has no more -fuel to feed it, and he could not think of anything that he wanted to -do. He hung listlessly round, watching Aunt Patty's brisk operations -about the kitchen, and at last he thought he would go upstairs and see -if the captain's clothes were beginning to dry. Wet as they were, they -seemed on the whole the most interesting things in the house. - -The clothes were not nearly dry, but on the floor, just below where the -rough pea-jacket hung, lay a little shining object. It attracted Davy's -attention, and he stooped and picked it up. - -It was a tiny bottle full of some sort of perfume, and set in a socket -of plated filagree shaped like a caster, with a filagree handle. The -bottle had a piece of white kid tied over its cork with a bit of blue -ribbon. It was not a thing to tempt a boy's fancy, but Davy saw that it -was pretty, and the idea came into his head that he should like to carry -it home, to his little sister Bella. Bella was fond of perfumes, and -the bottle had cologne in it, as Davy could smell without taking out the -cork. He was sure that Bella would like it. - -Davy had been brought up to be honest. I am sure that he did not mean to -steal the cologne-bottle. The idea of stealing never entered his mind, -and it would have shocked him had it done so. He was an imaginative -little fellow, and the tiny waif seemed to him like a shell or a pebble, -something coming out of the sea, which any one was at liberty to pick up -and keep. He did not say to himself that it probably belonged to the -captain, who might have a value for it, he did not think about the -captain at all, he only thought of Bella. So after looking at the pretty -toy for a while, he put it carefully away in the drawer where he kept -his things, pushing it far back, and drawing a pair of stockings in -front of it, so that it might be hidden. He did not want anybody to -meddle with the bottle; it was his now, or rather it was Bella's. Then -he went up to the walk once more, and was so interested in watching the -wreck and the boats, which, as the wind moderated, came and went between -her and the shore, picking up the barrels and casks which were floated -out of her hold, that he soon forgot all about the matter. - -It was nearly dark before the two captains and Sam came back to eat the -meal which had been ready for them since the middle of the afternoon. -Aunt Patty had taken off her pots and saucepans more than once and put -them on again, to suit the long delay; but nothing was spoiled and -everything tasted good, which showed how cleverly she had managed. The -Maine captain--whose name it appeared was Joy--seemed more cheerful than -in the morning, and more inclined to talk. But after supper, when he had -gone upstairs and put on his own clothes, which Aunt Patty had kept -before the fire nearly all day and had pressed with hot irons so that -they looked almost as good as ever, his melancholy seemed to come on -again. He sat and puffed at his pipe till Aunt Patty began to ask -questions about the wreck. Captain Joy, it appeared, was part owner of -the ship, whose name was the "Sarah Jane." - -"She was called after my wife's sister," he told them, "and my little -girl to home has the same name, 'Sarah Jane.' She is about the age of -that boy there, or a mite older maybe,"--nodding toward Davy. "She -wanted to come with me this vy'age, but her mother wouldn't hear of it, -and I'm mighty thankful she wouldn't, as things have turned out. No -child could have stood the exposure of such a night as we had and come -out alive; and Sarah Jane, though she's as spry as a cricket and always -on the go, isn't over strong." - -The captain took a long pull at his pipe and looked dreamily into the -fire. - -"I asked her, just as I was coming off, what I should bring her," he -went on, "and she had a wish all fixed and ready. I never knew such a -child for knowing her own mind. She's always sure what she wants, Sarah -Jane is. The thing she wanted was a cologne-bottle, she said, and it -must be just so, shaped like one of them pepper and vinegar what d' you -call em's, that they put on hotel tables. She was very pertikeler about -the kind. She drew me a picter of it on her slate, so 's to have no -mistake, and I promised her if New York could furnish it she should have -that identical article, and she was mighty pleased." - -Nobody noticed that at the mention of the cologne-bottle, Davy gave a -guilty jump, and shrank back into the shadow of Uncle Si's broad -shoulders. Oh, if he could only put it back into the pocket of the -pea-jacket! But how could he when the captain had the jacket on? - -"I was kind of fearful that there wouldn't be any bottles of that -pertikeler shape that Sarah Jane had in her mind," continued Captain -Joy, "but the town seemed to be chock-full of 'em. The very first shop I -come to, there they stood in the window, rows of 'em, and I just went in -and bought one for Sarah Jane before I did anything else, and when I'd -got it safely stowed away in the locker, I felt kind of easy in my mind. -We come down with a load of coal, but I hadn't more 'n a quarter cargo -to take back, mostly groceries for the stores up to Bucksport and -Ellsworth,--and it's lucky it was no more, as things have happened. The -schooner was pretty old and being so light in ballast, I jedged it -safest, when the blow come on so hard from the nor'-east, to run it -under the lee of Cape Cod and ride it out there if we could. But we -hadn't been anchored more 'n three hours--just about nine o'clock it -was--when the men came to tell me that we was taking in water terrible -fast. I suppose the ship had kind of strained her seams open in the -gale. It want no use trying to pump her out in such a storm, and if we -didn't want to go down at our anchorage, there wasn't anything for it -but to cut her loose and drive across the Haven in hopes of going -aground on the sand before she sank. I can tell you if ever a man -prayed, I prayed then, when I thought every minute she'd founder in deep -water before we struck the shoal. And just as she was settling I heard -the sand grate under the keel, and you may believe I was thankful, -though it meant the loss of pretty much all I've got in the world. I -shouted to the men to get to the rigging in the mainmast, for I knew -she'd go to pieces pretty soon, and there wasn't no way of signalling -for help till daylight, and I gave one dive for the cabin, got the -papers out of the locker, and Sarah Jane's cologne-bottle, buttoned them -up inside my pea-coat, and just got back again in time to see the -foremast go over the side and the sea make a clean sweep of the decks. -The mainmast stayed, and we lashed ourselves, and managed to hold on -till sunrise, when we see you a-coming out to us, and glad we were. - -"Every now and then in the night, when the water was washing over us, I -put my fingers inside my coat and made sure that Sarah Jane's bottle was -there, and wasn't broken. I didn't want the child to be disappointed, -you see. It was safe when we come ashore, I'm certain of that, but--" -The captain paused. - -"Now don't say it got broken after all!" cried Myra sympathetically. - -"No, it wasn't broken, but it's just as bad," said Captain Joy. "Either -I dropped it getting out of the boat and trod it down in the sand, or -else some one has took it. It's gone, any way, and do you know, it's a -foolish thing to say, but I feel nigh as bad about that there little dud -as wasn't worth more 'n fifty cents, as I do about the loss of the hull -cargo, on account of Sarah Jane." - -There was a pause as he ceased. Aunt Patty and Myra were too sorry for -the captain to feel like speaking at once. Suddenly into the silence -there fell the sound of a sob. Everybody started, and Uncle Si caught -Davy's arm and pulled him into the firelight where his face could be -seen. - -"Why, what are you crying for, little 'un?" asked Uncle Si. - -"I'm so sorry. I didn't know it was the captain's," said Davy, in a -tear-choked voice. - -"Didn't know what was the captain's? Now, Davy Crocker, 'twasn't ever -you who took that bottle?" cried Aunt Patty. - -"I found it on the floor," sobbed Davy. "I thought it was washed ashore -from the shipwreck. I didn't suppose it belonged to anybody, and I -wanted it for Bella. Oh, I'm so sorry." - -"Why, then it ain't lost after all," cried Captain Joy, brightening up. -"Well, how pleased Sarah Jane _will_ be! Don't cry any more, my lad. I -can see how it was, and that you didn't think it was stealing to take -anything that had been in the sea." - -Aunt Patty and Myra, however, still were deeply shocked, and could not -look as lightly at Davy's offence as did the captain. Davy crept -upstairs, brought down the cologne-bottle and slid it into Captain Joy's -hand; then he crept away and sat in a dark corner behind the rest, but -his conscience followed him, and Myra's reproachful look. - -"Oh, Davy!" she whispered, "I never thought you'd be so mean as to take -anything from a shipwrecked sailor!" - -This was Davy's punishment, and rankled in his mind long after everybody -else had forgotten the matter, after the sands had swallowed up all that -was left of the "Sarah Jane," and after the captain had returned to -Bucksport and made the real Sarah Jane happy by the gift of the bottle -she had wished for so much. It rankles occasionally to this day, though -he is now a stout lad of fifteen. That he, he of all boys, should have -done such a thing to a man just saved from the sea! He consoles himself -by resolving to be particularly kind to shipwrecked sailors all the rest -of his life; but unluckily, the "Sarah Jane" is, so far, his sole -experience of a wreck, and the only sailor he has as yet had any chance -to do anything for is Captain Joy, and what he did for him we all know. -One does not always have the opportunity to make up for a blunder or a -fault, and I am afraid Davy may live his life out and never again have -the good luck to show his good intentions by _not_ picking up and hiding -a Shipwrecked Cologne-Bottle! - - - - -UNDER A SYRINGA-BUSH. - - -The old syringa at the foot of the Wade's lawn was rather a tree than a -bush. Many years of growth had gone to the thickening of its interlaced -boughs, which grew close to the ground, and made an impervious covert, -except on the west side, where a hollow recess existed, into which a -small person, boy or girl, might squeeze and be quite hidden. - -Sundry other small persons with wings and feathers had discovered the -advantages of the syringa. All manner of unsuspected housekeepings went -on within its fastnesses, from the lark's nest, in a tuft of grass at -the foot of the main stem, to the robin's home on the topmost bough. -Solicitous little mothers brooded unseen over minute families, while the -highly decorative bird papa sat on a neighboring hedge, carrying out his -mission, which seemed to be to distract attention from the secreted -family by the sweetness of his song and the beauty of his plumage. In -the dusk of the evening, soft thrills and twitters sounded from the -bush, like whispered conversation; and very entertaining it must have -been, no doubt, to any one who understood the language. So, altogether, -the old syringa-bush was an interesting little world of itself. - -Elly Wade found it so, as she sat in the green hiding-place on the west -side, crying as if her heart would break. The syringa recess had been -her favorite "secret" ever since she discovered it, nearly two years -before. No one else knew about it. There she went when she felt unhappy -or was having a mood. Once the boughs had closed in behind her, no one -could suspect that she was there,--a fact which gave her infinite -pleasure, for she was a child who loved privacies and mysteries. - -What are moods? Does any one exactly understand them? Some people -attribute them to original sin, others to nerves or indigestion; but I -am not sure that either explanation is right. They sweep across the -gladness of our lives as clouds across the sun, and seem to take the -color out of everything. Grown people learn to conceal, if not to -conquer, their moods; but children cannot do this, Elly Wade least of -all. - -As I said, this was by no means her first visit to the syringa-bush. It -has witnessed some stormy moments in her life, when she sat there hot -and grieved, and in her heart believing everybody cruel or unjust. Ralph -had teased her; or Cora, who was older than she, had put on airs; or -little Kitty had been troublesome, or some schoolmate "hateful." She -even accused her mother of unkindness at these times, though she loved -her dearly all the while. - -"She thinks the rest are always right, and I wrong," she would say to -herself. "Oh, well! she'll be sorry some day." What was to make Mrs. -Wade sorry Elly did not specify; but I think it was to be when she, -herself, was found dead, somewhere on the premises, of a broken heart! -Elly was very fond of depicting this broken heart and tragical -ending,--imaginative children often are. All the same, if she felt ill, -or cut her finger, she ran to mamma for help, and was as much frightened -as if she had not been thinking these deadly thoughts only a little -while before. - -To-day Elly had fled to the syringa-bush with no idea of ever coming out -again. A great wrong had been done her. Cora was going with a -yachting-party, and she was not. Mamma had said she was too young to be -trusted, and must wait till she was older and steadier. - -"It is cruel!" she said with a fresh burst of sobs, as she recalled the -bitter moment when she heard the verdict. "It was just as unkind as -could be for her to say that. Cora is only four years the oldest, and I -can do lots of things that she can't. She doesn't know a bit about -crocheting. She just knits. And she never made sponge-cake, and I have; -and when she rows, she pulls the hardest with her left hand, and makes -the boat wabble. I've a much better stroke than she has. Papa said so. -And I can swim just as well as she can! - -"Nobody loves me," was her next reflection,--"nobody at all. They all -hate me. I don't suppose anybody would care a bit if I _did_ die." - -But this thought was too hard to be borne. - -"Yes, they would," she went on. "They'd feel remorse if I died, and they -ought to. Then they would recollect all the mean things they've done to -me, and they would groan, and say, 'Too late--too late!' like the bad -people in story-books." - -Comforted by this idea, she resolved on a plan of action. - -"I'll just stay here forever, and not come out at all. Of course, I -shall starve to death. Then, all summer long they'll be hunting, and -wondering and wondering what has become of me; and when the autumn -comes, and the leaves fall off, they'll know, and they'll say, 'Poor -Elly! how we wish we'd treated her better!'" - -She settled herself into a more comfortable position,--it isn't -necessary to have cramps, you know, even if you _are_ starving to -death,--and went on with her reflections. So still was she that the -birds forgot her presence, and continued their twittering gossip and -their small domestic arrangements undisturbed. The lark talked to her -young ones with no fear of being overheard; the robins flew in and out -with worms; the thrush, who occupied what might be called the second -story of the syringa, disciplined a refractory fledgling, and papa -thrush joined in with a series of musical expostulations. Elly found -their affairs so interesting that for a moment she forgot her -own,--which was good for her. - -A big bumble-bee came sailing through the air like a wind-blown drum, -and stopped for a minute to sip at a syringa blossom. Next a soft whir -drew Elly's attention, and a shape in green and gold and ruby-red -glanced across her vision like a flying jewel. It was a -humming-bird,--the first of the season. Elly had never been so near one -before, nor had so long a chance to look, and she watched with delight -as the pretty creature darted to and fro, dipping its needle-like bill -into one flower-cup after another, in search of the honey-drop which -each contained. She held her breath, not to startle it; but its fine -senses seemed to perceive her presence in some mysterious fashion, and -presently it flew away. - -Elly's mind, no longer diverted, went back to its unhappiness. - -"I wonder how long it is since I came here," she thought. "It seems like -a great while. I guess it must be as much as three hours. They're all -through dinner now, and beginning to wonder where I am. But they won't -find me, I can tell them!" - -She set her lips firmly, and again shifted her position. At the slight -rustle every bird in the bush became silent. - -"They needn't," she said to herself. "I wouldn't hurt them. I'm not like -Ralph. He's real bad to birds sometimes. Once he took some eggs out of a -dear, cunning, little song-sparrow's nest, and blew the yolks. I'd never -do such a mean thing as that." - -But though she tried to lash herself up to her old sharpness of feeling, -the interruption of wrathful thoughts had somewhat soothed her mood. -Still, she held firmly to her purpose, while an increasing drowsiness -crept over her. - -"I shall stay here all night," she thought, "and all to-morrow, and -to-morrow night. And then"--a yawn--"pretty soon I shall be dead, I -suppose, and they'll be--sorry"--another yawn--"and--" - -Elly was asleep. - -When she woke, the bright noon sunshine had given place to a dusky -light, which made the syringa recess very dark. The robins had -discovered her whereabouts, and, hopping nearer and nearer, had perched -upon a branch close to her feet, and were talking about her. She was -dimly conscious of their voices, but had no idea what they were saying. - -"Why did it come here, any way?" asked Mrs. Robin. "A great heavy thing -like that in _our_ bush!" - -"I don't know, I'm sure," replied Mr. Robin. "It makes a strange noise, -but it keeps its eyes shut while it makes it." - -"These great creatures are so queer!" pursued Mrs. Robin. "There,--it's -beginning to move! I wish it would go away. I don't like its being so -near the children. They might see it and be frightened." - -The two birds flitted hastily off as Elly stretched herself and rubbed -her eyes. - -A very uncomfortable gnawing sensation began to make itself evident. It -wasn't exactly pain, but Elly felt that it might easily become so. She -remembered now that she fled away from the table, leaving her breakfast -only half finished, yesterday morning,--was it yesterday, or was it the -day before that? It felt like a long while ago. - -The sensation increased. - -"Dear me!" thought Elly, "the story-books never said that starving to -death felt so. I don't like it a bit!" - -Bravely she fought against the discomfort, but it gained upon her. - -She began to meditate whether her family had perhaps not been -sufficiently punished. - -"I've been away a whole day," she reflected, "and a whole night, and I -guess they've felt badly enough. Very likely they've all sat up waiting -for me to come back. They'll be sorry they acted so, and, any way, I'm -so dreadfully hungry that I must have something to eat! And I want to -see mamma too. Perhaps she'll have repented, and will say, 'Poor Elly! -She _may_ go.'" - -In short, Elly was seized with a sudden desire for home, and, always -rapid in decision, she lost no time in wriggling herself out of the -bush. - -"There, it's gone!" chirped the female robin. "I'm glad of it. I hope it -will never come back." - -Very cautiously Elly crept through the shrubbery on to the lawn. It -still seemed dark, but she now perceived that the gloom came from a -great thunder-cloud which was gathering overhead. She could not see the -sun, and, confused with her long sleep, was not able to make out what -part of the day it was; but, somehow, she felt that it was not the early -morning as in the bush she had supposed. - -Across the lawn she stole, and upon the piazza. No one was visible. The -open window showed the dining-table set for something,--was it tea? -Upstairs she crept, and, looking in at the door as she went by, she saw -her mother in her room taking off her bonnet. - -"My poor child, where did you think we had gone?" she called out. "Papa -was kept in town till the second train, and that was late, so we have -only just got back. You must be half starved, waiting so long for your -dinner. I hope nurse gave you some bread and milk." - -"Why,--what day is it?" stammered the amazed Elly. - -"Day? Why, Elly, have you been asleep? It's to-day, of -course,--Thursday. What did you think it was?" - -Elly rubbed her eyes, bewildered. Had the time which seemed to her so -long really been so short? Had no one missed her? It was her first -lesson in the comparative unimportance of the individual! A sense of -her own foolishness seized her. Mamma looked so sweet and kind! Why had -she imagined her cruel? - -"Did you go to sleep, dear?" repeated Mrs. Wade. - -"Yes, mamma," replied Elly, humbly; "I did. But I'm waked up now." - - - - -TWO GIRLS--TWO PARTIES. - - -A great bustle and confusion had reigned the whole week long in the old -house at the top of the hilly street, known to the neighborhood as "the -Squire's." All the slip-covers had been taken from the furniture in the -best parlor. All the company china had been lifted off its top shelf and -washed. All the spare lamps had been filled, all the rooms swept and -dusted, all the drawers in the bureaus freshly arranged, for--as Milly -said to herself--"who knew but some one might take a fancy to peep in?" - -Milly Grace, the Squire's daughter, had sat for hours in a cold woodshed -tying up wreaths of ground-pine and hemlock with fingers which grew more -chilly every hour. These wreaths now ornamented the parlor, festooning -curtains, chimney-piece, and door-frames, and making green edges to the -family portraits, which were two in number, neither of them by Copley -or Stuart, as was plain to the most casual observation. - -One of these portraits represented the Squire's father in a -short-waisted, square-tailed blue coat, and a canary-colored waistcoat. -His forefinger was inserted in a calf-bound volume of Blackstone, and -his eyes were fixed with a fine judicial directness upon the cupola of -the court-house seen through a window in the background. The other was -his wife, in a sad-colored gown and muslin tucker, with a countenance -which suggested nothing except saleratus and the renunciation of all -human joys. - -The Squire did not care much for this picture. It made him feel badly, -he said, just the feeling he used to have when he was a boy and was sent -every Sunday by this orthodox parent to study the longer answers of the -Shorter Catechism on the third step of the garret-stairs, with orders -not to stir from that position till he had them perfectly committed to -memory. It was this strict bringing-up, perhaps, which made him so -indulgent to Milly,--a great deal too indulgent her step-mother thought. - -In the buttery stood a goodly row of cakes little and big, loaves whose -icings shone like snow-crust on a sunny day, little cakes with plums -and little cakes without plums; all sorts of cakes. On the swinging -shelf of the cellar were moulds of jelly clear and firm. In the -woodhouse stood three freezers of ice-cream, "packed" and ready to turn -out. Elsewhere were dishes of scalloped oysters ready for the oven, each -with its little edging of crimped crackers, platters of chicken-salad, -forms of blanc-mange, bowls of yellow custard topped with -raspberry-and-egg like sunset-tinted avalanches, all that goes to the -delectation of a country party: for a party there was to be, as after -this enumeration I need hardly state. It was Milly's party, and all -these elaborate preparations were her own work,--the work of a girl of -nineteen, with no larger allowance of hands, feet, and spinal-vertebræ -than all girls have, and no larger allowance of hours to her day; but -with a much greater share of zeal, energy, and what the Squire called -"go" than most young women of her age can boast of. - -She it was who had pounded away at the tough sacks full of ice and salt -till they were ready for the freezers. She it was who had beaten the -innumerable eggs for the sponge cakes, pound cakes, fruit cakes, "one, -two, three, four," jelly, nut and other cakes, who had swept the rooms, -washed the china, rearranged, changed, brightened everything. Like most -other families on Croydon Hill, the Graces kept but one "help," a stout -woman, who could wash, iron, and scrub with the best, and grapple -successfully enough with the simple daily _menu_, but who for finer -purposes was as "unhandy" as a gorilla. All the embellishments, all the -delicate cookeries, fell to the share of the ladies of the household, -which meant Milly as a general thing, and in this case particularly, for -the party was hers, and she felt bound to take the burden of it on her -own shoulders as far as possible, especially as her step-mother did not -quite approve, and considered that the Squire had done a foolish thing -in giving consent. "Milly should have her way for once," the Squire had -announced. - -So Milly had her way, and had borne herself bravely and brightly through -the fatigues of preparation. But somehow when things were almost ready, -when the table was set, lacking only the last touches, and the fire -lighted, a heavy sense of discouragement fell upon her. It was the -natural reaction after long overwork, but she was too inexperienced to -understand it. She only knew that suddenly the thing she had wished for -seemed undesirable and worth nothing, and that she felt perfectly -miserable, and "didn't care what became of her." She laid her tired head -on the little table by which she was sitting, and, without in the least -intending it, began to cry. - -Mrs. Grace was lying down, the Squire was out; there was no one to note -her distress or sympathize with it excepting Teakettle, the black cat. -He was sorry for Milly after his cat-fashion, rubbed his velvet head -against her dress for a little while as if wishing to console her, but -when she took no notice, he walked away and sat down in front of the -door, waiting till some one should open it and let him through. Cats -soon weary of the role of comforter, and escape to pleasanter -things,--sunshine, bird-shadows on the grass, light-hearted people who -will play with them and make no appeal to their sympathies. - -Milly's tears did her no good. She was too physically worn out to find -relief in them. They only deepened her sense of discouragement. The -clock struck six; she roused herself wearily and went upstairs to -dress. There were still the lamps to light and last things to do. - -"And no one to do them but me," thought poor Milly. "Oh dear, how -dreadfully my feet ache! How glad I shall be when they all go away and I -can go to bed!" - -This was indeed a sad state of mind to be in on the eve of a -long-anticipated pleasure! - -Everything looked bright and orderly and attractive when the guests -arrived a little after half-past seven. The fire snapped and the candles -shone; a feeling of hospitable warmth was in the air. Milly's -arrangements, except so far as they regarded her own well-being, had -been judicious and happy. The pretty girls in their short-sleeved blue -and crimson merinos, with roses and geranium-leaves in their hair (I -need not say that this was at a far-back and old-fashioned date), looked -every whit as charming as the girls of to-day in their more elaborate -costumes. - -Cousin Mary Kendal, who, for all her grown-up sons and daughters liked -fun as much as any girl among them, had volunteered to play for the -dancing, and the spirit with which she dashed at once into "The Caspian -Waltz" and "Corn Rigs are Bonny" was enough to set a church steeple to -capering. - -Everybody seemed in a fair way to have a delightful evening except one -person. That one was poor Milly, usually the merriest in every party, -but now dull, spiritless, and inert. She did not even look pretty! Color -and sparkle, the chief elements of beauty in her face, were, for the -moment, completely quenched. She was wan and jaded, there were dark -rings under her eyes, and an utter absence of spring to her movements, -usually so quick and buoyant. She sat down whenever she had the chance, -she was silent unless she must speak; half-unconsciously she kept a -watch of the clock and was saying to herself, "Only two hours more and I -can go to bed." Her fatigued looks and lack of pleasure were a constant -damper to the animation of the rest. Every one noticed, and wondered -what could be the matter; but only Janet Norcross dared to ask. - -"Have you got a headache?" she whispered; but the "No" which she -received by way of answer sounded so cross that she did not venture on -further inquiries. - -"Why won't you dance with me?" urged Will Benham; "you said you would -when we were talking about the party after the Lecture--don't you -remember?" - -"I'd rather the others had the chance--it's my party, you know," replied -Milly. - -"But they _are_ having a chance. Everybody is dancing but you. Come, -Milly." - -"Oh, Will, don't tease," cried Milly irritably. "I never saw such an -evening. Do please to leave me alone and go and ask some of the others." - -Weariness sharpened her voice. Till the words were out of her lips she -had no idea that she was going to speak so petulantly to Will. It -sounded dreadfully even to herself. - -"Oh, certainly," said Will with freezing dignity. He crossed the room, -and presently Milly saw him take Helen Jones out to the set of Lancers -just forming. He did not look at Milly again, or come near her, and the -sense of his displeasure was just the one drop too much. Milly felt -herself choke, a hot rush of tears blinded her eyes, she turned, and -being fortunately near the door, got out of it and upstairs without -suffering her face to be seen. - -Janet found her half an hour later lying prone across the bed, and -sobbing as if her heart would break. - -"What _is_ the matter?" she cried in alarm. "Are you ill, dear Milly? -has anything dreadful happened? I came up to look for you. Will Benham -got worried because you were away so long, and came to me to ask what -had become of you. I told him I guessed you were taking out the -ice-creams, but Katy said you hadn't been in the kitchen at all, so I -came up here. What is the matter--do tell me?" - -"Oh, nothing is the matter at all, except that I am a perfect idiot, and -so tired that I wish I were dead," said Milly. "It was awfully good of -Will to care, for I spoke so crossly to him. You can't think. It was -horrid of me, but somehow I felt so dreadfully tired that the words -seemed to jump out of my mouth against my will. Dear Janet--and I was -cross to you, too," added Milly penitently. "Everything has gone wrong -with me to-night. Oh, and there is that horrible ice-cream! I must go -and get it out of the freezers. But my back aches so, Janet, and the -soles of my feet burn like fire." - -"You poor thing, you are just tired out," said her friend. "No wonder. -You must have worked like a horse to make everything so nice and pretty -as it is. Don't worry about the ice-cream. Just tell me what dishes to -put it in, and I'll see to it. It won't take five minutes. But do rouse -yourself now, and keep up a little while longer. The others will wonder -so if you don't go down. You _must_ go down, you know. Here is a wet -towel for your eyes, and I'll smooth your hair." - -Even so small a lift as having the ice-cream taken out for her was a -relief, and Janet's kindness, and the sense that Will was not hopelessly -alienated by her misconduct, helped Milly to recover her equilibrium. -Soothed and comforted she went downstairs, and got through the rest of -the evening tolerably well. - -But when the last good-night had been said, and the last sleigh-bell had -jingled away from the door, she found herself too tired to rest. All -night long she tossed restlessly on her hot pillows, while visions of -pounding ice and stirring cake, of Will's anger, and Janet's surprise -when she found her in tears, whirled through her thoughts. When morning -came she was so "poorly" that the doctor was sent for. - -"Too much party, no doubt," was his inward commentary when he received -the summons; and his first words to Milly were, "Well, Missy, so you are -down with fruit cake and mottoes, are you?" - -"Oh, Doctor, no, I never ate a mouthful of the cake. I only made it," -was poor Milly's disclaimer. - -"That sounds serious," said the doctor. But when he had felt her pulse -he looked graver. - -"You've done a good deal too much of something, that is evident," he -said. "I shall have to keep you in bed awhile to pay you for it." - -Milly was forced to submit. She stayed in bed for a whole week and the -greater part of another, missing thereby two candy-pulls on which her -heart was set, and the best sleighing frolic of the season. Everybody -was kind about coming to see her, and sending her flowers and nice -things, and Janet, in particular, spent whole hours with her every day. - -"The whole thing seems such a dreadful pity," Milly said one day. She -was really better now, able to sit up, and equal to a calm discussion of -her woes. "I had looked forward so much to my party, and I wanted to -have it as nice as could be, and I worked so hard; and then, when the -time came, I didn't enjoy it a bit. If I could only have it over again -now when I am all rested and fresh, I should have as good a time as -anybody. Doesn't it seem a pity, Janet?" - -"Yes, it does," replied Janet, after which she fell into a little -musing-fit. - -"One can't have company without taking some trouble," she said at last. -"But I wonder if one need take so much?" - -"I don't see what else I could have done," said Milly. "You must give -people nice things when they come to see you, and somebody has got to -make them. And besides that, there is so much to see to about the -house,--dusting, and washing china, and making the rooms nice." - -"I know," went on Janet reflectively. "Mrs. Beers half killed herself, I -remember, when she had that quilting two years ago, in giving the whole -house a thorough house-cleaning beforehand. She said as like as not -somebody would want to run up into the garret-chamber after something, -and she should have a fit if it wasn't in order. And after all, not a -soul went anywhere except to the parlor and dining-room, and into Mrs. -Beers's bedroom to take off their things; so the fuss was all thrown -away, and Mrs. Beers had inflammation of the lungs afterward, and almost -died." - -"I recollect. But then they might have gone to the attic--she couldn't -tell. It was natural that Mrs. Beers should think of it." - -"Well, and suppose they had, and that there had been a trifle of dust on -the top of some old trunk, what difference would it have made? People -who are busy enjoying themselves don't stop to notice every little -thing. I am going to think the thing over, Milly. It's all wrong -somehow." - -Janet herself was meditating a party. Her father had given permission, -and Aunt Esther, who managed the housekeeping, was only too glad to fall -in with any plan which pleased Janet. Judge Norcross was the richest man -on the Hill. There was no reason why Janet's entertainment should not -out-shine Milly's. In fact, she had felt a little ambitious to have it -do so, and had made certain plans in her private mind all of which -involved labor and trouble; but now she hesitated. - -"If I'm going to be as tired out as Milly was, and not enjoy it, what's -the use of having a party at all?" she said to herself. "I'd _like_ to -have it as nice as hers; but whatever I have, I have got to do it all -myself. I'm not as strong as Milly, I know, and it has half killed -_her_; perhaps it would quite kill me. A party isn't worth that!" - -She discussed the matter within herself, reasonably. She _could_ wind -herself up and make eight kinds of cake if she liked. There were the -recipes and the materials and she knew how; moreover, Aunt Esther would -help her. She could have as much jelly and syllabub and blanc-mange as -Milly, she could turn the house upside down if she desired, and trim and -beautify and adorn. It was a temptation. No girl likes to be outdone, -least of all by her intimate friend. "But is it worth while?" Janet -queried. And I think she proved herself possessed of a very "level head" -when, at last, she decided that it was not. - -"I'll be sensible for once," she told herself. "A party is not a duty, -it is a pleasure. If I get so tired that I spoil my own pleasure, I -spoil my company's too, for they will be sure to find it out just as -they did at Milly's. I couldn't half enjoy anything that night, because -she looked so miserable; and I won't run the risk of having the same -thing happen at our house. I'll just do what is necessary, and leave off -the extras." - -The "necessary," when Janet came to analyze it, proved to be quite as -much as she was able to undertake; for, as she had admitted to herself, -she was not nearly so strong as Milly Grace. It meant an ample supply of -two sorts of cake, freshly made and delicate, with plenty of ice-cream, -salad, scalloped oysters, and rolls. There was extra china to wash, the -table to set, and the rooms to dust and arrange, and Janet was quite -tired enough before it was done. She sent to Boston for some preserved -ginger to take the place of the jelly which she didn't make, she made no -attempt at evergreen wreaths, and she wisely concluded that rooms in -their usual state of cleanliness would pass muster with young people -intent on dancing and amusement, that no one would find time to peep -into holes and corners, and that the house could wait to have its -"thorough cleaning" administered gradually after the occasion was over. - -There was really a great deal of steady good sense in holding to this -view of the matter, and Janet found her reward in the end. The -preparations, even thus simplified, taxed her strength; the extra -touches which she had omitted would have been just the "straw too much." -She gave herself a good margin for rest on the afternoon preceding the -party, and when she came downstairs in her pretty dress of pale blue -cashmere and swan's-down, ready to meet her guests, her cheeks and eyes -were as bright as usual, and her spirits were ready for the exhilaration -of excitement. - -The tone of any gathering depends in great measure on its hostess. If -she is depressed or under the weather, her visitors are pretty sure to -catch her mood and be affected by it. Janet's sunny looks and gay laughs -set the key-note of her party. Nobody missed the wine jelly or the six -absent sorts of cake, no one wasted a thought on the evergreen wreaths. -All was fun and merriment, and nothing seemed wanting to the occasion. - -"What a good time we _have_ had!" said Helen Jones to Alice Ware as they -stood at the door of the dressing-room waiting for their escorts. "It's -been ever so much jollier than it was at Milly's, and I can't think -why. That was a beautiful party, but somehow people seemed to feel -dull." Helen had no idea of being overheard, but as it happened Milly -was nearer to her than she thought. - -"I'll tell you why it was, Helen," she said, coming forward frankly. -"Don't look so shocked. I know you didn't mean me to hear, but indeed I -don't mind a bit. And it's quite true besides. Janet's party has been a -great deal nicer, and it's because I was such a goose about mine. I did -a great deal too much and got dreadfully tired, so tired that I couldn't -enjoy it, and you all found it out of course, so you couldn't enjoy it -either. I'm sure I don't wonder, but it was all my own fault. Janet took -warning by my experience and made her party easier, and you see how nice -it has been. We have all had a beautiful time, and so has she. -Well--I've learned a lesson by it. Next time I give a party I shall just -do what I can to make it pleasant for you all, and not what I can't, and -I hope it will turn out better for everybody concerned." - - - - -THE PINK SWEETMEAT. - - -Only three pairs of stockings were left in the shop. It was a very -little shop indeed, scarcely larger than a stall. Job Tuke, to whom it -belonged, was not rich enough to indulge in the buying of any -superfluous wares. Every spring he laid in a dozen dozen of thin -stockings, a bale of cheap handkerchiefs, a gross of black buttons, a -gross of white, a little stationery, and a few other small commodities. -In the autumn he added a dozen dozen of thick stockings, and a box full -of mittens and knitted comforters. Besides these he sold penny papers, -and home-made yeast made by Mrs. Tuke. If the stock of wearables grew -scant toward midwinter, Job rejoiced in his heart, but by no means made -haste to replenish it. He just laid aside the money needed for the -spring outfit, and lived on what remained. Thus it went year after year. -Trade was sometimes a little better, sometimes a little worse, but -whichever way it was, Job grew no richer. He and his old wife lived -along somehow without coming on the parish for support, and with this -very moderate amount of prosperity they were content. - -This year of which I write, the supply of winter stockings had given out -earlier than usual. The weather had been uncommonly cold since October, -which may have been the reason. Certain it is, that here at Michaelmas, -with December not yet come in, only three pairs of stockings were left -in the little shop. Job Tuke had told his wife only the week before that -he almost thought he should be forced to lay in a few dozen more, folks -seemed so eager to get 'em. But since he said that, no one had asked for -stockings, as it happened, and Job, thinking that trade was, after all, -pretty well over for the season, had given up the idea of replenishing -his stock. - -One of the three pairs of stockings was a big pair of dark mixed gray. -One pair, a little smaller, was white, and the third, smaller still and -dark blue in color, was about the size for a child of seven or eight -years old. - -Job Tuke had put up the shutters for the night and had gone to bed. The -stockings were talking together in the quiet darkness, as stockings will -when left alone. One pair had been hung in the window. It had got down -from its nail, and was now straddling carelessly with one leg on either -side of the edge of the box in which the others lay, as a boy might on -the top of a stile. This was the big gray pair. - -"Our chances seem to be getting slim," he said gloomily. - -"That is more than you seem," replied the White Stockings, in a tart -voice. "Your ankles are as thick as ever, and your mesh looks to me -coarser than usual to-night." - -"There are worse things in the world than thickness," retorted the Gray -Stockings angrily. "I'm useful, at any rate, I am, while you have no -wear in you. I should say that you would come to darning about the -second wash, if not sooner." - -"Is that my fault?" said the White Pair, beginning to cry. - -"No; it's your misfortune. But people as unfortunate as you are should -mind their P's and Q's, and not say disagreeable things to those who -are better off." - -"Pray don't quarrel," put in the Little Blues, who were always -peacemakers. "Think of our situation, the last survivors of twelve -dozen! we ought to be friends. But, as you say, matters _are_ getting -serious with us. Of course we are all thinking about the same thing." - -"Yes; about the Christmas, and the chimney corner," sighed the White -Pair. "What a dreadful thing it would be if we went to the rag-bag never -having held a Christmas gift. I could not get over such a disgrace. My -father, my grandfather--all my relations had their chance--some of them -were even hung a second time!" - -"Yes; Christmas is woven into our very substance," said the Gray -Stockings. "The old skeins and the ravellings tell the story to the new -wool,--the story of the Christmas time. The very sheep in the fields -know it. For my part," he added proudly, "I should blush to lie in the -same ash-heap even with an odd stocking who had died under the disgrace -of never being hung up for Christmas, and I will never believe that my -life-long dream is to be disappointed!" - -"Why will you use such inflated language?" snapped the White Pair. "You -were only woven last July. As late as May you were running round the -meadow on a sheep's back." - -"Very well; I don't dispute it. I may not be as old as Methuselah, but -long or short, my life is my life, and my dream is my dream, and you -have no call to criticise my expressions, Miss!" thundered the Big Pair. - -"There you are again," said the Little Blues. "I _do_ wish you wouldn't -dispute. Now let us talk about our chances. What day of the month is -it?" - -"The twenty-seventh of November," said the Gray Stockings, who, because -they hung over the penny papers in the window, always knew the exact -date. - -"Little more than four weeks to the holidays," said the White Pair -dolorously. "How I wish some one would come along and put us out of -suspense." - -"Being bought mightn't do that," suggested the Little Blues. "You might -be taken by a person who had two pairs of stockings, and the others -might be chosen to be hung up. Such things do happen." - -"Oh, they wouldn't happen to me, I think," said the White Pair -vaingloriously. - -As it happened, the three pairs of stockings were all sold the very day -after this conversation, and all to one and the same person. This was -Mrs. Wendte, an Englishwoman married to a Dutch shipwright. She had -lived in Holland for some years after her marriage, but now she and her -husband lived in London. They had three children. - -The stockings were very much pleased to be bought. When Job Tuke rolled -them up in paper and tied a stout packthread round them, they nestled -close, and squeezed each other with satisfaction. Besides, the joy of -being sold was the joy of keeping together and knowing about each -other's adventures. - -The first of these adventures was not very exciting. It consisted in -being laid away in the back part of a bureau-drawer, and carefully -locked in. - -"Now, what is this for?" questioned the White Stockings. "Are we to stay -here always?" - -"Yes; that is just what I should like to know," grumbled the Big Grays. - -"Why, of course not! Who ever heard of stockings being put away for -always?" said the wise Little Blues. "Wait patiently and we shall see. I -think it is some sort of a surprise." - -But day after day passed and nothing happened, surprising or otherwise, -till even the philosophical Little Blue Stockings began to lose heart -and hope. At last, one evening they heard the key click in the lock of -the drawer, a stream of light flashed into their darkness, and they were -seized and drawn forth. - -"Well, mother, let us see thy purchase. Truly fine hosen they are," said -Jacob Wendte, whose English was rather foreign. - -"Yes," replied his wife. "Good, handsome stockings they are, and the -children will be glad, for their old ones are about worn out. The big -pair is for Wilhelm, as thou knowest. Those must hang to the right of -the stove." - -The Big Gray Pair cast a triumphant glance at his companions as he found -himself suspended on a stout nail. This _was_ something like life! - -"The white are for Greta, and these small ones for little Jan. Ah, they -are nice gifts indeed!" said Mrs. Wendte, rubbing her hands. "A fine -Christmas they will be for the children." - -The stockings glowed with pleasure. Not only were they hung up to -contain presents, but they themselves were Christmas gifts! This was -promotion indeed. - -"Hast thou naught else?" demanded Jacob Wendte of his wife. - -"No great things; a kerchief for Greta, this comforter for Wilhelm, for -the little one, mittens. That is all." - -But it was not quite all, for after her husband had gone to bed, Mrs. -Wendte, a tender look on her motherly face, sought out a small, -screwed-up paper, and with the air of one who is a little ashamed of -what she is doing, dropped into each stocking a something made of sugar. -They were not sugar almonds, they were not Salem Gibraltars,--which -delightful confections are unfamiliar to London shops,--but irregular -lumps of a nondescript character, which were crumbly and sweet, and -would be sure to please those who did not often get a taste of candy. It -was of little Jan that his mother had thought when she bought the -sweetmeats, and for his sake she had yielded to the temptation, though -she looked upon it as an extravagance. There were three of the -sweetmeats--two white, one pink--and the pink one went into Jan's -stockings. Mrs. Wendte had not said anything about them to her husband. - -"Well, this is satisfactory," said the Gray Pair, when Mrs. Wendte had -left the room, and he was sure of not being overheard. "Here we are all -hanging together on Christmas Eve. My dream is accomplished." - -"Mine isn't," said the White Pair plaintively. "I always hoped that I -should hold something valuable, like a watch or a pair of earrings. It -is rather a come-down to have nothing but a bit of candy inside, and a -pocket handkerchief pinned to my leg. I don't half like it. It gives me -an uncomfortable pricking sensation, like a stitch in the side." - -"It's just as well for you to get used to it," put in the Gray. "It -doesn't prick as much as a darning-needle, I fancy, and you'll have to -get accustomed to that before long, as I've remarked before." - -"I'm the only one who has a pink sweetmeat," said the Little Blues, who -couldn't help being pleased. "And I'm for a real child. Wilhelm and -Greta are more than half grown up." - -"Real children are very hard on their stockings, I've always heard," -retorted the White Pair, who never could resist the temptation to say a -disagreeable thing. - -"That may be, but it is all in the future. This one night is my own, and -I mean to enjoy it," replied the contented Little Blues. - -So the night went, and now it was the dawn of Christmas. With the first -light the door opened softly and a little boy crept into the room. This -was Jan. When he saw the three pairs of stockings hanging by the stove, -he clapped his hands together, but softly, lest the noise should wake -the others. Then he crossed the room on tiptoe and looked hard at the -stockings. He soon made sure which pair was for himself, but he did not -take them down immediately, only stood with his hands behind his back -and gazed at them with two large, pleased eyes. - -At last he put his hand up and gently touched the three, felt the little -blue pair, gave it a pat, and finally unhooked it from its nail. Then he -sat down on the floor, and began to put them on. His toe encountering an -obstacle, he pulled the stocking off again, put his hand in, and -extracted the pink sweetmeat, with which he was so pleased that he -laughed aloud. That woke up the others, who presently came in. - -"Ah, little rogue that thou art! Always the first to waken," said his -mother, pleased at his pleasure. - -"See, mother! see what I found!" he cried. "It is good--sweet! I have -tasted a crumb already. Take some of it, mother." - -But Mrs. Wendte shook her head. - -"No," she said. "I do not care for sugar. That is for little folks like -thee. Eat it thyself, Jan." - -It was her saying this, perhaps, which prevented Wilhelm and Greta from -making the same offer,--at least, I hope so. Certain it is that neither -of them made it. Greta ate hers up on the spot, with the frank -greediness of a girl of twelve who does not often get candy. Wilhelm -buttoned his up in his trousers pocket. All three made haste to put on -the new stockings. The three pairs had only time to hastily whisper as -they were separated,-- - -"To-night perhaps we may meet again." - -The pink sweetmeat went into the pocket of Jan's jacket, and he carried -it about with him all the morning. He did not eat it, because once eaten -it would be gone, and it was a greater pleasure to have it to look -forward to, than to enjoy it at the moment. Jan was a thrifty little -boy, as you perceive. - -Being Christmas, it was of course an idle day. Jacob Wendte never knew -what to do with such. There was his pipe, and there was beer to be had, -so in default of other occupation, he amused himself with these. Mrs. -Wendte had her hands full with the dinner, and was frying sausages and -mixing Yorkshire pudding all the morning. Only Greta went to church. She -belonged to a parish-school where they gave Christmas prizes, and by no -means intended to lose her chance; but, apart from that, she really -loved church-going, for she spoke English and understood it better than -either of the other children. Wilhelm went off on errands of his own. -Little Jan spent the morning in admiring his stockings, and in wrapping -and unwrapping his precious sweetmeat, and taking it out of his pocket -and putting it in again. - -"Why dost thou not eat it, dear?" asked his mother, as she lifted the -frying-pan from the stove. - -But he answered: "Oh! not yet. When once it is eaten, it is over. I will -wait." - -"How long wilt thou wait?" she asked. - -Jan said bashfully, "I don't know." - -In truth, he had not made up his mind about the sweetmeat, only he felt -instinctively that he did not want to hurry, and shorten his pleasure. - -Dinner over, he went out for a walk. Every now and then, as he marched -along, his hand would steal into his pocket to finger his precious candy -and make sure that it was safe. - -It was a gray afternoon, but not snowing or raining. Hyde Park was not -too far away for a walk, and Jan went there. The Serpentine was skimmed -over with ice just strong enough to bear boys, and quite a little crowd -was sliding or skating upon it. Jan could skate very well. He had -learned in Holland, but he made no attempt to join the crowd. He was -rather shy of English boys, for they sometimes laughed at his Hollander -clothes or his Dutch accent, and he did not like to be laughed at. - -So he strolled away, past the Serpentine and the skaters, and watched -the riders in the Row for a while. There were not a great many, for -people who ride are apt to be out of London at the Christmas time; but -there were some pretty horses, and one fair little girl on a pony who -took Jan's fancy very much. He stood for a long time watching her trot -up and down, and the idea occurred to him that he would like to give her -his sweetmeat. He even put his hand into his pocket and half pulled it -out; but the little girl did not look his way, and presently her father, -with whom she was riding, spoke to her, and she turned her horse's head -and trotted off through the marble arch. Jan dropped the sugarplum again -into his pocket, and felt as if his sudden fancy had been absurd; and -indeed I think the little girl would have been surprised and puzzled -what to do had he carried out the intention. - -After the pony and his little mistress had departed, Jan lost his -interest in the riders, and walked away across the park. Once he stopped -to look at a dear little dog with a blue collar, who seemed to have lost -his master, for he was wandering about by himself, and smelling -everybody and everything he met, as if to recover a lost trail. Jan -called him. He came up in a very friendly way and allowed himself to be -patted; and once more the sweetmeat was in danger, for Jan had taken it -out with the intention of dividing it with this new friend, when a -whistle was heard which the little dog evidently recognized, and he -darted off at once to join his master. So again the pink sweetmeat was -put back into Jan's pocket, and he walked on. - -He had gone quite a distance when he saw a number of people collected -round the foot of a tree. A ladder was set against one of the lower -branches, and a man had climbed up nearly to the top of the tree. Jan, -like a true boy, lost no time in joining the crowd, but at first he -could not make out what was going on. The boughs were thick. All that he -could see was the man's back high up overhead, and what he was doing he -could not guess. - -A benevolent-looking old gentleman stood near, and Jan heard him exclaim -with great excitement: - -"There, he's got him! No, he's not; but it was a close shave!" - -"Got what, sir?" he ventured to ask. - -"Why, the rook, to be sure." - -Then, seeing that Jan still looked puzzled, he took the trouble to -explain. - -"You see that rook up there, my lad, don't you?" Jan had not seen any -rook at all! "Well it is caught in some way, how, I can't tell you, but -it can't get away from the tree. It has been there three days, they -say, and all that time the other rooks have brought food to it, and kept -it from starving. Now some one has gone up to see what is the -difficulty, and, if possible, to set the poor thing free." - -"Thank you, sir," said Jan. - -And the old gentleman looked at him kindly, and said to himself:-- - -"A very civil, tidy little lad! I like his face." - -Jan had now become deeply interested in what was going on. He stood on -tiptoe, and stretched his neck; but all he could see was the man's back -and one of his feet, and now and then the movement of a stick with which -the man seemed to be trying to hit something. At last there was a great -plunge and a rustling of branches, and people began to hurrah. Jan -hurrahed too, though he still saw nothing very clearly; but it is easier -to shout when other boys shout, if you happen to be a boy, than it is to -keep still. - -Slowly the man in the tree began to come down. He had only one hand to -help himself with now, for the other held the heavy rook. We in America -do not know what rooks are like, but in England they are common enough. -They are large black birds, something like our crows, but they look -wiser, and are a good deal bigger. - -As the man neared the ground, every one in the crowd could see what had -been the matter with the rook. A kite-string, caught among the tree -branches, had tangled his legs and held him fast. He had pulled so hard -in his efforts to escape that the string had cut into one of his legs -and half broken it. It was stiff and bleeding, and the rook could -neither fly nor hop. People searched in their pockets, and one little -girl, who had a half biscuit, began to feed the rook, who, for all the -kindly efforts of his friends, seemed to be half-famished. The poor -thing was too weak to struggle or be frightened, and took the crumbs -eagerly from the girl's hand. - -Jan thought of his sweetmeat, and took it out for the third time. -Everybody was crowding round the man who held the rook, and he could not -get near. A very tall policeman stood in front of him. Jan pulled his -arm, and when he turned, handed him the sweetmeat, and said in his soft -foreign English:-- - -"For the bird, sir." - -"Thank you, my dear," said the policeman. - -He had not understood what Jan said, and in an abstracted way, with his -eyes still fixed on the rook, he bit the pink sweetmeat in two, and -swallowed half of it at a mouthful. Fortunately Jan did not see this, -for the policeman's back was turned to him; but observing that the man -made no attempt to go forward, he pulled his sleeve for the second time, -and again said:-- - -"For the bird, I said, sir." - -This time the policeman heard, and taking one step forward, he held the -remaining half of the sweetmeat out to the rook, who, having by this -time grown used to being fed, took the offered dainty greedily. Jan saw -the last pink crumb vanish into the long beak, but he felt no regret. -His heart had been touched by the suffering of the poor bird, and he was -glad to give what he could to make it forget those painful days in the -tree. - -So that was the end of the pink sweetmeat, or not quite the end. The -kind old gentleman to whom Jan had spoken, had noticed the little -transaction with the policeman. He was shrewd as well as kind. He -guessed by Jan's clothes that he was a working-man's son, to whom sweets -were not an every-day affair, and the generous act pleased him. So he -put his hand into _his_ pocket, pulled out a half-crown, and watching -his opportunity, dropped it into Jan's pocket, quite empty now that the -sweetmeat was gone. Then, with a little chuckle, he walked away, and Jan -had no suspicion of what had been done to him. - -Gradually the crowd dispersed, Jan among the rest walking briskly, for -he wanted to get home and tell his mother the story. It was not till -after supper that he discovered the half-crown, and then it seemed to -him like a sort of dream, as if fairies had been at work, and turned the -pink sweetmeat into a bit of silver. - -That night the three pairs of stockings had another chance for -conversation. The blue ones and the gray ones lay close together on the -floor of the room where Jan slept with his brother, and the white ones, -which Greta had carelessly dropped as she jumped into bed, were near -enough the half-opened door to talk across the sill. - -"It has been an exciting day," said the White Pair. "My girl got a -Keble's 'Christian Year' at her school. It was the second-best prize. It -is a good thing to belong to respectable people who take prizes. Only -one thing was painful to me: she wriggled her toes so with pleasure that -I feel as if I were coming to an end in one of my points." - -"You probably are," remarked the Big Gray. "Yes, now that I examine, I -can see the place. One stitch has parted already, and there is quite a -thin spot. You know I always predicted that you would be in the rag-bag -before you knew it." - -"Oh, don't say such dreadful things," pleaded the Little Blues. "Mrs. -Wendte will mend her, I am sure, and make her last. What did your girl -do with her sweetmeat?" - -"Ate it up directly, of course. What else should one do with a -sweetmeat?" snapped the White Pair crossly. "Oh, dear! my toe feels -dreadfully ever since you said that; quite neuralgic!" - -"My boy was not so foolish as to eat his sweetmeat," said the Big Gray -stockings. "Only girls act in that way, without regard to anything but -their greedy appetites. He traded his with another boy, and he got a -pocket-knife for it, three screws, and a harmonica. There!" - -"Was the knife new?" asked the Blue. - -"Could the harmonica play any music?" demanded the White. - -"No; the harmonica is out of order inside somehow, but perhaps my boy -can mend it. And the knife isn't new--quite old, in fact--and its blade -is broken at the end; still, it's a knife, and Wilhelm thinks he can -trade it off for something else. And now for your adventures. What did -_your_ boy do with his sweetmeat, Little Blues? Did he eat it, or trade -it?" - -"It is eaten," replied the Blue Stockings cautiously. - -"Eaten! Then of course he ate it. Why don't you speak out? If he ate it, -say so. If he didn't, who did?" - -"Well, nobody ate the whole of it, and my boy didn't eat any. It was -divided between two persons--or rather, between one person and--and--a -thing that is not a person." - -"Bless me! What are you talking about? I never heard anything so absurd -in my life. Persons, and things that are not persons," said the White -Pair; "what do you mean?" - -"Yes; what _do_ you mean? What is the use of beating about the bush in -this way?" remonstrated the Big Gray Pair. "Who did eat the sweetmeat? -Say plainly." - -"Half of it was eaten by a policeman, and the other half by a rook," -replied the Little Blues, in a meek voice. - -"Ho, ho!" roared the Gray Stockings, while the White Pair joined in with -a shrill giggle. "That beats all! Half by a policeman, and half by a -rook! A fine way to dispose of a Christmas sweetmeat! Your boy must be a -fool, Little Blues." - -"Not a fool at all," said the Blue Pair indignantly. "Now just listen to -me. Your girl ate hers up at once, and forgot it. Your boy traded his -away; and what has he got? A broken knife, and a harmonica that can't -play music. I don't call those worth having. My boy enjoyed his -sweetmeat all day. He had more pleasure in giving it away than if he had -eaten it ten times over! Besides, he got half a crown for it. An old -gentleman slipped it into his pocket because he was pleased with his -kind heart. I saw him do it." - -"Half a crown!" ejaculated the White Pair, with amazement. - -"That _is_ something like," admitted the Big Gray Stockings. "Your boy -did the best of the three, I admit." - -The Little Blues said no more. - -Presently the others fell asleep, but she lay and watched Jan as he -rested peacefully beside his brother, with his wonderful treasure--the -silver coin--clasped tight in his hand. He smiled in his sleep as though -his dreams were pleasant. - -"Even if he had no half-crown, still he would have done the best," she -whispered to herself at last. - -Then the clock struck twelve, and the day after Christmas was begun. - - - - -ETELKA'S CHOICE. - - -Etelka lived on the very borders of the Fairy Country. - -It may be that some of you do not believe that there are any such beings -as fairies. In fact, it is not easy to hold to one's faith in them when -one lives in such a country as this of ours. Fairies are the shyest of -creatures; shyer than the wood-dove, shyer than the glancing dragon-fly. -They love silence, seclusion, places where they can sport unseen with no -intruding voice or step to startle them: when man comes they go. And I -put it to you whether it is likely that they can enjoy themselves in the -United States, where every forest with any trees in it worth cutting -down is liable at any moment to be attacked by an army of wood-choppers; -where streams are looked upon as "water power," lakes as "water supply," -and ponds as suitable places for the breeding of fish; where distance -is brought near by railroads, and solitudes only mean a chance for a -settler; where people are always poking about the hills and mountains in -search of coal mines or silver mines, and prodding the valleys in hopes -of oil wells, and where silence generally means an invitation to a -steam-whistle of one kind or another? - -But where Etelka lived no one doubted the reality of fairies any more -than they did that of human beings. Her home was in Bohemia, in the -outskirts of the _Boehmer-wald_, a vast, unpeopled tract of mountainous -country thickly wooded, full of game, and seldom visited except by -hunting-parties in pursuit of stags or wild boars. Etelka's people were -of mixed Sclavonic and gypsy origin. They cultivated a patch of land -under the stewardship of a lord who never came near his estate, but this -was only their ostensible occupation; for poaching or smuggling goods -across the frontier brought in a great deal more money to them than did -farming. There were three sons, Marc, Jocko, and Hanserl; Etelka was the -only girl. They were lithe, sinewy young fellows, with the swarthy skins -and glittering black eyes which belonged to their gypsy blood, and -something furtive and threatening in their looks, but she was different. -Her hair and eyes were of a warm brown, her features were delicate, and -their expression was wistful and sweet. All summer long she ran about -with her slender feet and ankles bare. A thin little cotton gown and a -bead necklace composed her wardrobe for the warmer months. In winter she -wore woollen stockings and wooden shoes, a stuff petticoat and a little -shawl. She was always shabby, often ragged, and on cold days scarcely -ever warm enough to be comfortable; but she somehow looked pretty in her -poor garments, for beauty is the gift of Heaven, and quite as often sent -to huts as to palaces. No one had ever told Etelka that she was pretty, -except indeed young Sepperl of the Mill, whom she had seen now and again -on her semi-annual visits to the neighboring village to dispose of her -yarn, and he had said more with his eyes than with his tongue! - -To her family it made no difference whatever whether she was pretty or -not. They preferred to have her useful, and they took care that she -should be so. She spun and sewed, she cleaned the pots and pans, cooked -the rye porridge and the cabbage soup, and rarely got a word of thanks -for her pains. Her brothers flung her their jackets to mend or their -game to dress, without a word of ceremony; if she had refused or delayed -to attend to their wants she would have got a rough word, a curse, or -perhaps a blow. But Etelka never refused; she was a willing little -creature, kindly and cheerful, and had no lazy blood in her veins. So -early and late she worked for them all, and her chief, almost her only -pleasure was when, her tasks despatched, she could escape from the hut -with its atmosphere of smoke and toil, and get away into the forest by -herself. - -When once the green and fragrant hush of the high-arched thickets closed -her in, she would give a sigh of relief, and a sense of being at home -took possession of her. She did not feel it in the hut, though she -called that home, and it was the only one she had ever known. - -Did Etelka believe in fairies? Indeed she did! She had a whole volume of -stories about them at her tongue's end. Her great-grandmother had seen -them often; so had her great-aunt. The mother of Dame Gretel, the wise -woman of the village, who herself passed for a witch, had been on -intimate terms for a long time with a hoary little kobold who had -taught her all manner of marvellous things. The same fortunate woman had -once seen Rubesal, the mountain demon, and had left an account of him -and his looks, which were exactly those of a charcoal-burner. Etelka -knew the very hollow where Dame Gretel's mother used to sit and listen -to the teachings of the kobold, and could point out the ring where a -number of the "good people" had once been seen moving a mystic dance, -their wings glancing in the darkness like fire-flies. She, herself, had -never seen a fairy or a kobold, it is true; everybody was not thus -fortunate, but she might some day, who knew? And meantime she had often -heard them whispering and sighing in their odd little voices close -beside her. You may be sure that Etelka believed in fairies. It was one -reason why she liked so well to go to the great forest, which was their -well-known abiding-place. - -One day the desire to escape from home was unusually strong upon her. -Her mother was out of sorts for some reason and had been particularly -harsh. Her father, who sometimes stood her friend, had gone to the -village with a bundle of hare-skins which he hoped to trade for oil and -brandy. Her brothers, who had some private expedition on foot, had kept -her running since early morning. She had grown tired and a little cross -at their many exactions, and when, finally, all was made ready, and they -set out with their guns and snares and a knapsack full of food, and her -mother, sitting with her pipe beside the fire, had fallen into a doze, -Etelka gladly closed the door behind her and stole away. The soup was -simmering in its pot, the bowls were ready set on the table. She would -not be missed. For an hour or two she might feel that she belonged to -herself. - -The forest felt deliciously cool and still as she walked fast up the -little glade which led to the Fairy Spring. This was a small pool of -clear water, bubbling strongly up from a sandy bottom, and curiously -walled round with smooth stones, which seemed fitted and joined by the -labor of man, though in reality they were a freak of nature. - -Etelka sat herself down on this stony rim, dipped her hands in the water -and sprinkled a little on her hot forehead. A tall spear of feathery -grass grew just by. Presently it began to bend and sway as if -wind-blown, and dance lightly up and down before her face. She took no -notice at first; then it occurred to her, as no wind was blowing -anywhere else, it was odd that this particular grass-blade should be in -such active motion. - -"How queer," she said, looking hard at the grass-blade; "it seems to be -alive!" - -A shrill, small laugh echoed her words, and suddenly, as if her eyes had -been magically opened to see, she became aware that a tiny shape in -green, with a pointed cap on its head, was sitting upon the blade of -grass and moving it to and fro with hand and foot. The little -countenance under the cap was full of mischief and malice, and the -bright eyes regarded her with a strange glee. Etelka knew instantly that -her wish had come true, and that at last she was face to face with a -veritable fairy. - -"Oh!" was all she could say in her amazement. - -"Well, stupid, do you know who I am?" asked the creature in a voice as -shrill as its laugh. - -"Yes, mein Herr," faltered Etelka. - -"Here you have gone about all your days wishing you could see a fairy," -continued the small creature, "and there we were close by all the time, -and you never opened your eyes to look. How do you like me now you do -see me?" - -"Very much, Herr Fairy," replied Etelka, gaining courage. "I think you -are beautiful." - -The fairy seemed pleased at this compliment, which was evidently -sincere. - -"Thou art a good maiden enough, as maidens go," he said, accosting her -more familiarly. "I have long had my eye on thee, Etelklein. I have sat -up in the roof-thatch and heard Jocko and Hanserl scold and hector, and -the mother order thee about, and I have noted that thou wast almost -always kind and humble, and seldom answered them back again. Thou art -neat-handed, too, and that we fairies think much of. Many a drink of -good new milk have I had, which I should have missed hadst thou -forgotten to scour the pail. So now in return I will do something for -thee. Listen. - -"Thou must know that each fairy of the _Boehmer-wald_ has the privilege -once every hundred years of granting one wish to a mortal. All do not -exercise it. Some crabbed ones do not like the human folk enough to be -willing to do them a good turn, others again are too lazy or too -pleasure-loving to go out of their way for the purpose. I am neither of -these. Now, hearken. I will give thee the power that every time thou -dancest a piece of gold shall lie under thy foot--or, instead of the -gold, a flower shall spring up out of the ground; which wilt thou have?" - -"Yes; which wilt thou have?" cried another sharp voice, and a second -fairy appeared, out of the air as it were, and seated himself on the -very tip of the grass-blade. "Don't be in a hurry. Think a bit before -you choose, Etelka. Why, child, what are you looking so scared about?" - -For Etelka had grown pale, and had not been able to repress a little -scream at this sudden apparition. She rallied her courage and tried to -look brave, but her heart misgave her. Was the wood full of these unseen -creatures? - -"It is only my gossip," explained fairy number one. "Thimblerig is his -name. Mine is Pertzal. He usually comes after me wherever I go. You -needn't be afraid of _him_. Now, gold-piece or flower--decide." - -Etelka was in a whirl of confusion. It was dreadful to have to make up -her mind all in a moment about such an important thing. Her thoughts -flew to Sepperl of the Mill. He was fond of flowers, she knew; the mill -garden was always full of blue flax, poppies, and lavender, and Sepperl -spent all his spare hours in working over it. Suppose--suppose--the -thing over which she had sometimes shyly glowed and blushed were to -happen, how pleasant it would be to dance flowers all day long for -Sepperl! - -Then her mind reverted to the hut, to her mother and the boys, who were -always craving after the luxuries of life which they could not have, and -fiercely envying those who were better off than themselves. Would they -not be happier and better and kinder for the gold which she had it in -her power to give them? They would not forgive her if she lost such a -chance, that she knew. And even so far as Sepperl went, gold never came -amiss to a poor man's door. So many things could be bought with it. - -"One cannot eat flowers," said Etelka to herself with a sigh; yet still -she hesitated, and her heart felt heavy within her. - -"Choose," repeated the two fairies, each echoing the other. - -"I choose the gold-piece," said Etelka. The fairy faces clouded over as -she spoke, and she knew she had chosen wrong. - -"Very well," said Pertzal, "have thy wish." He vanished as he spoke. -Etelka sat alone by the bubbling spring, and she rubbed her eyes and -asked herself if it were not all a dream. - -"I will put it to the test," she thought; and jumping up she began to -dance beneath the trees, slowly and doubtfully at first, and then with -swift and joyful bounds and steps, for as she danced, ever and anon upon -the ground beneath her feet appeared a glittering coin. She danced so -long that when at last she ceased she sank down exhausted. The beautiful -yellow pieces lay thickly around her, some larger, some smaller, as if -their size depended upon the vigor of her movements. She had never -dreamed of such wealth before, and she gathered them up and tied them in -the corner of her shawl, half-fearing they might turn to brass or -pebbles; but when she neared home and looked at them again they were -still gold. - -Her mother was standing at the door with a black look on her face. - -"Where hast thou been, thou idle baggage?" she demanded. "I drop asleep -for one moment, and when I wake the fire is well-nigh out." - -Etelka glanced at the setting sun. In her excitement she had not marked -the flight of time. It was much later than she had supposed. - -"I am sorry," she faltered. Then, to appease her mother's anger, she -untied the corner of her shawl and showed the fairy money. - -"See what I have brought," she said; "they are all for thee." - -The old woman fairly gasped in her surprise. - -"Gold!" she cried, clutching the coins which Etelka held out. "Real -gold! More than I ever saw before. Where didst get it, girl? Who gave it -thee?" - -"The fairies!" exclaimed Etelka joyfully. "And they taught me how to get -more when we are again in need." - -"Do you dare to make a mock of me?" screamed her mother, aiming a blow -at her with the staff which she held in her hand. "Fairies indeed! A -fine story! Tell the truth, hussy. Didst thou meet some count in the -forest--or the landgrave himself?" - -"I met nobody," persisted Etelka, "no one at all except the fairy and -the other fairy, and it was they who gave me the gift." - -Her mother's staff descended with a whack on her shoulder. - -"Get thee in," she said harshly. "Thou are lying." But she held fast to -the gold all the same, and when Etelka's back was turned she hid it -secretly away. - -So the first fruit of the fairy gift was a blow! - -Later, when the father came back from the village, there was another -scene of severity and suspicion. Neither of Etelka's parents believed -her story. They treated her like a culprit who will not confess his -guilt. It was worse yet when her brothers returned the following day. In -vain she wept and protested, in vain she implored them to believe her. - -"It's easy enough to talk," Jocko declared at last, "but to prove thy -words is not so easy. If thou hast the power to dance gold-pieces into -existence, why, face to work and dance! Then we shall know whether or -not to believe thee." - -Strange to say, this method of proving her veracity had not occurred to -Etelka's mind. After her troubled sleep and unhappy day she had begun -to feel that the interview with the fairies was no more than a dream, -and she scarcely ventured on the test, dreading that the strange gift -bestowed upon her might have been withdrawn. - -Slowly and fearfully she began to dance, while her family watched every -movement with eyes of scornful incredulity. Suddenly Marc, uttering a -great oath, stooped and picked up something from the hard-trodden -earthen floor. It was a gold-piece! - -"By Heavens!" he exclaimed, "the girl spoke true! or"--with a return of -suspicion--"is it one of those she gave thee which thou hast dropped?" -turning to his mother. - -But as Etelka, with heart suddenly grown lighter, went on bounding and -twirling, one shining coin after another shone out on the floor beneath -her feet, and with howls and screams of joy her relatives precipitated -themselves upon them. It seemed as if they could never have enough. If -Etelka paused to rest they urged her on. - -"Dance thou!" they cried. "Dance, Etelklein, liebchen, susschen, -darling of our hearts, do not stop! Keep on till we are all rich." - -One hour, two, passed, and still Etelka obeyed their eager behest and -danced on. The boys' pockets, her father's pouch, her mother's lap were -full, and yet they demanded more. - -At last, quite worn out, she sank in a heap on the ground. - -"I cannot take another step," she sighed. - -"Oh, well," Jocko reluctantly admitted, "that may do for to-night. -To-morrrow we will have some more of it." - -From that day all was changed for the family in the forest hut. Every -one, except Etelka, fell to work straightway to squander the fairy gold. -The sons made expeditions to the distant town, and came back laden with -goods of the most incongruous kinds,--silks, velvets, tobacco, -gold-embroidered caps, bonbons, carved pipes, gayly painted china, gilt -clocks, toys of all descriptions; anything and everything which had -pleased their untutored fancy. The father and mother smoked all day -long, till the air of the hut was dense and stifling. Brandy and -_kirsch-wasser_ flowed in streams. Etelka alone profited nothing from -the fairy gift. To be sure she had her share of the dainties which the -others devoured, and her brothers now and then tossed her a ribbon or a -brightly colored handkerchief; but for these she did not much care, and -her liberty, for which she did care, was greatly abridged. No longer was -she suffered to wander at will in the forest. She had become too -precious for that. Something might happen to her, they all declared, a -bear or a wolf might come along and attack her, or she might slip and -sprain her ankle, which, so far as they were concerned, would be just as -bad! No, Etelka must run no risks; she must stay at home, and be ready -to dance for them whenever they needed her. - -The slender limbs grew very weary, and the heart which gave them life -was often heavy, as time went on, and more and more gold was needed to -satisfy the exactions of her family. Money easily won is still more -easily spent. The fairy gold melted fast in the rapacious fingers which -clutched it. Soon--for appetite grows by what it feeds upon--the little -hut no longer sufficed the growing ambition of Etelka's brothers. It was -too poor, too lonely, too everything, they declared; they must all -remove to Budweis or Linz; the city was the only fit place for people to -live in who had money to spend. - -Etelka was not consulted. She was ordered to pack this and that, and to -leave the other behind, that was all, and was made to dance a few extra -hours to pay the travelling expenses. All the homely old furniture was -left in the hut, as not smart enough for the grand city home they were -going to. They took only the things they had bought since their good -luck began; but these filled a great cart, on the top of which Etelka -and her mother were perched. She cast one last look toward her beloved -forest, to which she had not been allowed a farewell visit. Jocko -cracked his long whip, the oxen slowly moved forward. "Good-by to -everything," said Etelka in her heart, but she dared not say it aloud. - -A quick pang shot through her as they passed the mill garden, gay with -flowers, where Sepperl, hoe in hand, was standing. His eyes met hers -with deep and silent reproach, then were averted. She did not -understand, but it made her very sad. No one had told her that a few -weeks before, Sepperl had asked her in marriage of her father, and had -been roughly refused. Such an offer would have been looked upon as -unheard-of good fortune six months previously; now it was regarded -almost as an insult! Marry Etelka! Take their gold-earner away from -them! It was out of the question. What was the fool thinking of? But -Etelka heard nothing of all this. - -Haunted by the recollection of Sepperl's wistful glance, she went her -way with the others. Little heart had she for the new home which seemed -to them so fine. It was high up in an old building, overlooking a -crowded street. The rooms seemed very large and empty after the forest -hut, and the first care of the family was to furnish them. With reckless -disregard of good taste as well as of expense, Marc and Jocko and -Hanserl rushed away to the market and the shops, and presently the -stairs began to fill with porters bringing up all manner of -things,--beds and chairs and tables, gaudy carpets for the floors, -ill-painted pictures in showy frames for the walls, a piano on which -none of them knew how to play, a music-box of extraordinary size which -could play without assistance, looking-glasses, lamps, wonderful china -figures, a parrot in a gilded cage, with a dreadful command of profane -language. The rooms were filled and more than filled in no time, and -for the payment of all these things Etelka must dance! - -And dance she did, but with a heavy heart and no spring in her feet. -Accustomed to the quiet of the forest neighborhood, the sounds and -smells of the city oppressed her greatly. The crowd and bustle -frightened her, the roar of noise kept her awake at night, she felt as -if she could not breathe. Things grew worse rather than better. Their -extravagance provoked notice, and the fame of their riches and their -ignorance soon brought about them a crew of tempters and needy -adventurers. Men with evil eyes and sly greedy faces began to appear at -all hours, to smoke and drink with Marc and Jocko, to gamble with them -and win their money. Much money did they win, and all that was lost -Etelka must make good. With her will or without it, she must -dance,--dance always to content her rapacious kindred. They could hardly -endure to spare her for the most needful rest. Time and again when she -had sunk exhausted on her bed to sleep, while dice rattled and glasses -clinked in the next room, Hanserl or Jocko had rushed in to awaken her -roughly and demand that she should get up at once and dance. Stumbling -and half blind with drowsiness the poor girl would do her best, but her -movements being less brisk and buoyant, the coins would be of smaller -value, and she would be sworn at for her pains, and threatened with dire -penalties if she did not do better next time. - -No wonder that under this treatment she grew pale and thin. The pretty -cheeks lost their roundness, the pink faded from them, her eyes were -dull and lustreless. A great homesickness took possession of her. Night -and day she pined for the forest hut. So wan and unhappy was she, that -even the hard hearts of those who profited by her should have been -touched by it; but no one noticed her looks or cared that she was -unhappy, so long as she would keep on dancing and coin gold for them. - -At last came a day when she could not rise from her bed. Marc came and -threatened her, he even pulled her on to her feet, but it was in vain; -she fell down with weakness and could not stand. Alarmed at last, Jocko -hastened after a doctor. He came, felt Etelka's pulse, shook his head. - -"What has she been doing?" he asked. - -Nothing, they told him, nothing at all! Then he shook his head still -more portentously. - -"Ah, well, in that case it is all of no use," he said. "She is all given -out. She must die." - -And now indeed those who had let Etelka tire herself to death for them -were thoroughly frightened. With her would perish all their hopes, for -the gold she had earned for them had been spent as fast as made; nothing -had been laid up. They took wonderfully good care of her now. There was -nothing she fancied that they would not willingly have brought her; but -all the poor child asked for was to be left alone and suffered to lie -still, not to be forced to keep on with that weary dancing! - -Gradually the spent flame of life flickered feebly upward within her, -and as she gained a little in strength, a longing after the forest took -possession of her. The wish seemed utterly foolish to her family, but -they would not refuse it, for their one desire was to have her get well -and able to earn gold for them again. So the big wagon and the oxen were -hired, Etelka on her bed was laid carefully in it, Marc took the goad, -and slowly, slowly, the sick girl was carried back to her old home. - -All was unchanged there. Dust lay thickly on the rude furniture which -had been left behind, on the pots and pans which hung upon the wall, but -no one had meddled with them or lifted the latch of the door since the -family went away. The cool hush and stillness of the place was like a -balm to Etelka's overstrained nerves. She slept that night as she had -not slept for weeks, and on the morrow was visibly stronger. Marc did -not stay with her long. The quiet of the hut disgusted him, and after -enduring it for a day or two he went back to the others in the city, -leaving Etelka alone with her father and mother. He gave strict orders -that he was to be sent for the moment that Etelka was able to use her -feet again. Then, indeed, she must fall to work and dance to make up for -all this wasted time. - -Poor Etelka rejoiced to see him go. She had learned to fear her brothers -and almost to dislike them. - -The day after he went, she begged her father to carry her in his arms to -the edge of the forest and lay her under a tree. She wanted to feel the -wind in her face again, she said. He consented at last, though grumbling -a little at the trouble. Etelka was comfortably placed on a bear-skin -under the shade of a spreading fir, and after a while, as her eyes were -closed and she seemed to be asleep, her father stole away and left her. -She was in full sight of the hut, so there seemed no danger in leaving -her alone. - -But Etelka was not asleep. She was thinking with all her might, thinking -of the fairy, wishing she could see him again and ask him to undo the -fatal gift which had brought such misery into her life. - -Suddenly, as she lay thinking these thoughts, her cheek was tickled -sharply. She opened her eyes. There stood the same odd little figure in -green which she had seen before; as then a grass-blade was in his hand, -and leaning over his shoulder was his gossip Thimblerig. Etelka almost -screamed in her joy. - -"Thou seemest pleased to see us," remarked Pertzal with a mocking smile. - -"Oh, I am glad, indeed I am," cried poor Etelka. "Dear kind Herr Fairy, -have pity! Don't let me dance gold any more!" - -"What! Tired already? What queer creatures mortals be!" began Pertzal -teasingly; but the kinder Thimblerig interposed. - -"Tired of her gift, of course she is! You knew she would be when you -gave it, Gossip! Don't plague the poor child. Look how thin she has -grown. But, Etelka, I must tell thee that when once a fairy has granted -to a mortal his wish, he has no power to take it back again." - -"What!" cried Etelka in despair, "must I then go on dancing forever till -I die?" - -"He cannot take it back," repeated Thimblerig. "But do not cry so; there -is another way. A second fairy can grant a wish which will contradict -the first, and so all may be made right. Now, Etelka, I have a kindness -for thee as well as Pertzal here, and like him I have the right to grant -a favor to a mortal. Now, listen. Dance thee never so well or dance thee -never so long, from henceforward shall never gold-piece lie under foot -of thine for all thy dancing! And, furthermore, if ever thou art married -to a man whom thou lovest, I endow thee with this gift, that when thou -dancest with will and because thy heart is light, violets and daisies -and all sweet blossoms shall spring at thy tread, till all about thee is -as a garden." - -"Now I will add this piece of advice," said Pertzal, grinning -maliciously. "If ever this does happen, hold thy tongue about thy gift -to thy husband. The best of men can hardly resist the temptation of -making money out of their womenkind,--safety lies in silence." - -"Oh, how can I thank you?" sighed Etelka. - -"Thank us by being happy," said Thimblerig. Then the fairies faded from -sight, and Etelka was alone. - -I have not time to tell of the wrath of Etelka's father and mother and -brothers, when, as she grew strong enough to dance again for their -bidding, it was found that no gold-pieces followed her light steps, and -that the fairy gift had been withdrawn. Their ill-humor and discontent -made the life of the hut worse than ever it had been before. Etelka sank -into her former insignificance. Very willingly and faithfully she worked -for them all, but she could not win them to content. One after another -the boys departed from home. Marc enlisted as a soldier, Jocko joined a -party of smugglers and disappeared over the Italian frontier, Hanserl -took service with the charcoal-burners high up on the mountains. When -Sepperl of the Mill asked again for Etelka's hand in marriage the -following year, there was no question as to what answer should be given -him. Her father was only too glad to say yes. Etelka was made happy at -last. - -She had been a wife several months before she made trial of her second -fairy gift. It was one evening when she and Sepperl were in their -garden, and he was telling her his plans with regard to a bit of waste -land which he had lately fenced in. - -"It will take many roots and seeds to make it like the rest," he -remarked, "but little by little we can do it without feeling the cost, -and in the end it will be the best of all." - -Then, with a sudden flash in her eyes, Etelka left her husband and began -to dance. To and fro over the bare earth she sped with quick graceful -steps, now advancing, now retreating, now describing circles, with her -arm poised above her head like wings and her laughing eyes fixed on -Sepperl. He was puzzled by this freak on the part of his pretty wife, -but stood watching her with great admiration, her cheeks were so -flushed, and her movements so light and dainty. - -She stopped at last, came to him, and laid her hand on his arm. - -[Illustration: Then with a sudden flash in her eyes, Etelka left her -husband and began to dance.--_Page 202_.] - -"Now look," she said. - -And lo! where had been bare, brown earth a half-hour before, was now a -green sward enamelled all over with buttercups, violets, pink-and-white -Michaelmas daisies, and pansies of every shade of gold and purple. - -Sepperl stood transfixed. "Hast thou commerce with the elves?" he asked. - -But Etelka did not reply. The words of Pertzal recurred to her memory, -"Silence is safety," and they were like a wise hand laid on her lips. -She only laughed like a silver bell, shook her head, and left on -Sepperl's cheek a happy kiss! - - - - -THE FIR CONES. - -AN IDYL OF CHRISTMAS EVE. - - -"Well, the old tree has gone at last," said the farmer, as he latched -the heavy door and began to stamp the snow from his boots. - -"What tree?" cried a girl's voice, as the whir of the busy wheel -suddenly slackened. "Oh, father, not the Lovers' Tree,--the old fir? -Surely thou canst not mean _that_?" - -"No other, Hilda; the Lovers' Tree, under which thy mother and I -exchanged our troth-plight more than twenty years back. Hey, dame?" And -he turned with a smile to where his wife sat in the sunset light, -humming a low tune to the accompaniment of her clicking needles. She -smiled back in answer. - -"Yes, Paul, and my mother as well; and thine too, I'll be bound, for she -also was a Brelau girl. All Brelau knows the fir,--a hundred years old -it was, they say." - -"More than that," said the farmer. "My grandfather courted his lass -under its shade, and his father did the same. Add a hundred and fifty to -your hundred, and it won't be so far amiss, wife. But it has fallen at -last. There'll be no more maidens wooed and won under the Lovers' Tree. -Thou hast lost thy chance, Hilda." And he turned fondly to his girl. - -"That was indeed a terrible wind last night," went on the dame. "It -rocked the bed till it waked me from my sleep. Did it rouse thee also, -Liebchen?" - -But Hilda responded neither to word nor look. She had left her wheel, -had crossed the room, and now stood gazing from the window to where -across the valley the green obelisk of the old fir had risen. Men were -moving about the spot where once it stood, and the ring of axes on the -frosty air told that already the frugal peasantry were at work; and the -pride of the village, confidant of many secrets, was in process of -reduction to the level of vulgar fire-wood. - -In rushed two children. "Hast thou heard the news?" they cried. "The -Lovers' Tree is blown down! All the people are up there chopping. May we -go too, and see them chop? We will bring home all the cones to build the -Christmas fire. Ah, do let us go, mother; fir cones blaze so -magnificently." - -"You are such little ones, you will get in the way of the axes and be -hurt," replied their mother, fondling them. - -But the farmer said,-- - -"Yes, let them go; we will all go. Get thy cloak, Ursula, and thy -woollen hood. We will see the old tree once more before it is carried -away. Wilt thou come too, Hilda?" - -But Hilda shook her head, and did not turn or answer. The children -rioted about, searching for baskets and fagot strings; but she neither -moved nor spoke. Then the door closed, and all was quiet in the cottage. -But still Hilda stood in the window, looking with dreamy, unseeing eyes -across the valley to the opposite hillside. - -She was looking upon a picture,--a picture which nobody would ever see -again; upon the venerable tree, beloved of all Brelau, which for more -years than men could count, had stood there watching the tide of human -life ebb and flow, as some majestic old man might stand with children -playing about his kindly knees. Whole generations of lovers had held -tryst under its shade. Kisses had been interchanged, vows murmured,--the -old, old story of human love, of human joy, of hope, of longing, of -trust, had been repeated and repeated there, age after age, and still -the old tree guarded its secrets well, as in days of greenest youth, and -still bent to listen like a half-human friend. White arms clasped its -trunk, soft cheeks were laid there, as if the rough bark could feel -responsive thrill. Two centuries of loving and listening had mellowed -its heart. The boughs seemed to whisper meanings to those who sought -their shade,--gay songs to the young, counsels to the burdened, -benedictions to those who, bowed down with trouble, came, black-clad and -sorrowful, to look across the valley where once the purple lights of -hope had met their eyes. "Wait," the rustling murmur seemed to say to -such; "only wait--wait, as I have waited, and you shall be made -exceedingly glad. Behold, the day dawns and the shadows fly away!" And -though the heavy heart might not comprehend the whispered words, -something seemed lifted from the weight of sadness, and the mourners -departed comforted, knowing not why. - -But not upon a vague picture only did Hilda look. German girls can keep -their own counsel as well as girls of other nations, and for all her -father's joking she had not "lost her chance" under the Lovers' Tree. -Often had she sat there--sat there not alone--and now in thought she was -there again. She heard a voice--she leaned to meet a kiss. "Wilhelm," -she faltered, and then the vision dissolved in a mist of hot and rushing -tears. In the old fir she seemed to lose a friend, an intercessor. Oh, -why had this unhappy quarrel arisen? Why had she and Wilhelm loved at -all, if only to be so unhappy in the end? - -But, in truth, it is very easy for lovers to quarrel. Like particles of -electric matter, the two natures near, attract, repel. The fire that -leaps from either soul, responsive to kindred fire, fuses or destroys. A -hint, a suspicion, jealousy, mistrust, the thousand and one small -chances of life, come between, and all is over. Only-- - - "The little pitted speck in garnered fruit" - -is needful. A trifle, or what seemed a trifle, had been the beginning of -mischief between Hilda and Wilhelm, but the breach had slowly widened -till now; when for weeks they had neither met nor spoken, and the idyl -begun under summer boughs was withering in time of frost like summer -flowers. - -To the old tree, and to him alone, did the girl confide her -wretchedness. In his dumb ear she owned herself in the wrong. "Why do -you not say so?" the responsive murmur seemed to breathe. "Wilhelm is -true! Wilhelm is kind! only a word, and all will be well." But pride -laid his finger on her lips. She neglected the kindly monitor, the word -came not, and now the dear old fir was gone; and thinking of all these -things, Hilda's heart was very sad. - -Meantime upon the hillside a great crowd of people were assembled about -the fallen trunk. Old men and women, with wistful eyes, stood there; -comely middle-aged pairs, surrounded by children; young girls and their -bachelors; boys with fresh rosy faces and wondering eyes,--all alike had -come to see once more the face of the village friend. Merrily rang the -axes upon the wood. Some looked sad, some merry, as the work went on. -There was much interchange of "Do you remembers," much laughing and -joking, a few tears. The children with their baskets ran about picking -up the bright cones which once hung like a coronet upon the forehead of -the fir. Here and there a woman stooped for a chip or a small twig to -carry away as relic. And then it began to grow dark. The people -recollected themselves, as people will after doing a sentimental thing, -and saw that it was time to go home. So in contented crowds they -descended the hill to their suppers, and threw billets of the old fir on -the fire, and beside the blaze partook of sausage and cheese, and -laughed and gossiped no less merrily than usual, and the funeral of the -old tree was over. - -"We will keep all our cones, and the big fagot which Fritz tied up, -until day after to-morrow," said little Gretchen; "because, you know, -day after to-morrow comes Christmas eve, and the Christ-child must be -sure to find a good fire." - -No one gainsaid this, so the fagot was laid aside. - -All next day, and the next, did Hilda labor busily, throwing herself -with feverish energy into the Christmas preparations. There was a plenty -to do. The furniture must shine its brightest, veal and puddings must be -made ready for spit and oven, green boughs be hung everywhere, and, -above all, the tree must be prepared. Hard and continually she worked, -and as the sun set on the blessed eve all was in order. A vast fire -crackled on the hearth of the "big room," thrown open in honor of the -festival. Its bright blaze was reflected back from the polished panels -of the tall corner clock, and danced on the rosy apples and glossy -filberts of the still unlighted tree, which stood, green and -magnificent, beyond. Little fruit of value did this wonderful tree bear. -Jackets, stockings, leather shoes, loaded the lower boughs; above was a -flowering of warm hoods and gay neck-cloths, there was a wooden cow for -Gretchen, a trumpet of red tin for little Paul; but the useful and the -necessary predominated. Tender hands had arranged all, had hung the -many-colored tapers, crowned the whole with bright-berried stems, and, -in the moss at the foot, laid reverently a tiny straw cradle, with waxen -occupant, in memory of that resting-place in the Bethlehem manger where -once a "young child lay." And now, pale and tired, Hilda stood gazing -upon her finished work. - -"Sister, sister!" clamored eager voices through the closed door, "hasn't -the Christ-child come yet?" - -"No, dears, not yet. Go away and play quietly in the kitchen. I'll call -you when he comes." - -The little footsteps retreated, and Hilda seated herself before the fire -with a weary sigh. It would be an hour or more before her father would -return, and the lighting of the tree begin; so, leaning back in the high -carved chair, she gave herself up to rest of body, leaving her mind to -rove listlessly as it would. - -The basket of cones stood beside the hearth. Half mechanically she -stooped for a handful, and threw them on the blaze. Then a certain -drowsy peace came over her, broken only by the flickering noise of the -burning cones. They did not burn like other cones, she thought, and even -as the idea floated through her brain, a strange, phantasmal change -passed over them. Moving and blending, they began to build a picture in -the heart of the fire,--the picture of a tree, drawn in flaming lines. -Hilda knew the tree. It was the old fir of Brelau, complete in limb and -trunk. And, as she gazed, figures formed themselves beneath the -boughs,--figures as of people sitting there, which moved and -scintillated, and, swaying toward each other, seemed to clasp and kiss. -She uttered a low cry of pain. At the sound the scene shifted, the tree -dissolved as in fiery rain, and the cones, raising themselves and -climbing upward, stood ranged in a group on the topmost log, like a -choir of musicians about to play. Strange notes seemed to come from the -blaze, low and humming, like a whispered prelude, then voices began to -speak, or to sing--which was it?--in tones which sounded oddly near, and -yet infinitely far away. It was like a chorus of elves sung to the -accompaniment of rustling leaves. And all the time it went on, certain -brightly flaming cones, which took precedence, emphasized the music with -a succession of quick, glancing sparks, darting out like tiny -finger-points, as if to attract attention. - -"Look at us! look at us!" were the words of the strange _staccato_ chant -which sounded from the fire. "We are all light and glorious as your love -used to be,--used to be. It isn't so any longer." Then other cones, half -burned and crusted over with white ashes, pushed forward and took up the -strain in sad recitative: "Look at us! look at us, Hilda! We are as your -love is now,--is now. Ah, there will be worse to come ere long!" And all -the time they sang, glowing strongly from within, they fixed what -seemed eyes, red and winking, on Hilda's face. Then the ashes from -below, drifting upward in an odd, aimless way, formed themselves into a -shadowy shape, and began to sing in low, muffled tones, full of sadness. -"We are dead, Hilda," was their song; "all dead! dead as your love will -be--will be--before long." And at the close of the strain all the cones -closed together, and emitted a sigh so profound and so melancholy that -Hilda started from her chair. Tears stood upon her cheeks. She stared at -the fire with strange excitement. It was burning quietly now, and -without noise. She was certainly awake. Had she been dreaming? - -Just at that moment the latch of the door clicked slightly, and somebody -entered, slowly, hesitatingly, propelled from behind by a childish -figure. "Hilda," said Gretchen's voice, "here's Wilhelm wanting to see -the father. I told him to come in, because _perhaps_ the father was -here, or else the mother." And Gretchen's eyes explored the room in -search of the Christ-child, for a glimpse of whom she had resorted to -this transparent device. Then, alarmed by Hilda's stony silence, she -suddenly hung her head, and, rushing out, clapped the door behind her, -and left the two alone. - -Hilda gave a gasp of bewilderment. She could not move. Was this part of -the vision? Wilhelm stole one furtive glance at her face, then dropped -his eyes. For a moment perfect stillness prevailed, then, shifting -uneasily from one leg to the other in his embarrassment, the young man -muttered something undistinguishable, and turned. His hand was on the -door,--a moment more and he would be gone. Hilda started forward. - -"Wilhelm!" she exclaimed, with the hoarse utterance of one who seeks to -escape from some frightful dream. - -Wilhelm turned. He saw the pale, agitated face, the eyes brimmed with -tears, the imploring, out-stretched hands. Another second and he held -her in his arms. The familiar touch melted the ice of Hilda's heart, her -head sank upon his breast, and in a few broken words all was spoken and -explained. - -So brief an interval and all life changed! The same intense feeling -which drove them asunder drew them as inevitably together now that once -the returning tides had chance to flow. Clasped in close embrace, with -tears and smiles and loving self-reproachings, they stood before the -fire; and as they bent for their first reconciled kiss, the fir cones, -flashing once more into life and activity, rose upon the topmost log. -Even the burned and blackened ones glowed with fresh fire. Hand in hand, -as it were, they climbed into position, and leaped and capered side by -side as if merrily dancing, while little jubilant cracks and clicks and -sounds, as of small hands clapped for joy, accompanied the movement. -Then suddenly the splendor faded, and sinking with one consent into -ashes, the cones sifted through the logs and vanished forever, their -mission accomplished, their work done. - -With eyes of amazement the lovers gazed upon the spectacle to its close. -As the last spark faded, Hilda laid her head again on Wilhelm's breast. - -"Ah!" she said, tenderly sighing, "the dear old fir! He loved us well, -Wilhelm, and that was his 'good-by.'" - -Perhaps it was! - - - - -A BALSAM PILLOW. - - -Now that fir-needles and hemlock-needles have become recognized articles -of commerce, and every other shop boasts its row of fragrant cushions, -with their inevitable motto, "Give Me of Thy Balm, O Fir-tree," I am -reminded of the first pillow of the sort that I ever saw, and of what it -meant to the girl who made it. I should like to tell you the little -story, simple as it is. It belongs to the time, eight or nine years -since, before pine pillows became popular. Perhaps Chateaubriand Dorset -may be said, for once in her life, to have set a fashion. - -Yes, that was really her name! Her mother met with it in a newspaper, -and, without the least idea as to whether it appertained to man or -woman, adopted it for her baby. The many syllables fascinated her, I -suppose, and there was, besides, that odd joy in a piece of extravagance -that costs nothing, which appeals to the thrifty New England nature, -and is one of its wholesome outlets and indulgences. - -So the Methodist elder baptized the child "Chateaubriand Aramintha," -making very queer work of the unfamiliar accents; and then, so far as -practical purposes are concerned, the name ceased to be. How can a busy -household, with milk to set, and milk to skim, and pans to scald, and -butter to make, and pigs to feed, find time for a name like that? -"Baby," the little girl was called till she was well settled on her feet -and in the use of her little tongue. Then she became "Brie," and Brie -Dorset she remained to the end. Few people recollected that she -possessed any other name, unless the marriage, birth, and death pages of -the family Bible happened to be under discussion. - -The Dorsets' was one of those picturesque, lonely, outlying farms, past -which people drive in the summer, saying, "How retired! how peaceful!" -but past which almost no one drives in the winter. It stood, with its -environment of red barns and apple-orchards, at the foot of a low -granite cliff whose top was crowned with a fir wood; and two enormous -elm-trees met over its roof and made a checker-work of light and shade -on its closely blinded front. No sign of life appeared to the city -people who drew their horses in to admire the situation, except, -perhaps, a hen scratching in the vegetable-beds, or a lazy cat basking -on the doorstep; and they would drive on, unconscious that behind the -slats of the green blinds above a pair of eyes watched them go, and a -hungry young heart contrasted their lot with its own. - -Hungry! There never was anything like the starvation which goes on -sometimes in those shut-up farmhouses. Boys and girls feel it alike; but -the boys are less to be pitied, for they can usually devise means to get -away. - -How could Brie get away? She was the only child. Her parents had not -married young. When she was nineteen, they seemed almost elderly people, -so badly does life on a bleak New England farm deal with human beings. -Her mother, a frail little woman, grew year by year less fit for hard -labor. The farm was not productive. Poverty, pinch, the inevitable -recurrence of the same things to be done day after day, month after -month, the same needs followed by the same fatigues,--all these Brie had -to bear; and all the while the child had that love and longing for the -beautiful which is part of the artist's equipment, and the deprivation -of which is keen suffering. Sweet sights, sounds, smells,--all these she -craved, and could get only in such measure as her daily work enabled her -to get them from that world of nature which is the satisfaction of eager -hearts to whom all other pleasures are denied. - -The fir wood on the upper hill was the temple where she worshipped. -There she went with her Bible on Sunday afternoons, with her patching -and stocking-mending on other days. There she dreamed her dreams and -prayed her prayers, and while there she was content. But all too soon -would come the sound of the horn blown from below, or a call from the -house, "Brie, Brie, the men are coming to supper; make haste!" and she -would be forced to hurry back to the workaday world. - -Harder times followed. When she was just twenty, her father fell from -his loaded hay-wagon, and fractured his thigh. There was no cure for the -hurt, and after six months of hopeless tendance, he died. Brie and her -mother were left together on the lonely farm, with the added burden of a -large bill for doctoring and medicines, which pressed like a heavy -weight on their honorable hearts. - -The hired man, Reuben Hall, was well disposed and honest, but before Mr. -Dorset's death he had begun to talk of going to the West, and Brie -foreboded that he might not be willing to stay with them. Mrs. Dorset, -broken down by nursing and sorrow, had become an invalid, unable to -assist save in the lightest ways. The burden was sore for one pair of -young shoulders to bear. Brie kept up a brave face by day, but at night, -horrors of helplessness and apprehension seized her. The heavens seemed -as brass, against which her feeble prayers beat in vain; the future was -barred, as it were, with an impassable gate. - -What could they do? Sell the farm? That would take time; for no one in -particular wanted to buy it. If Reuben would stand by them, they might -be able to fight it out for another year, and, what with butter and eggs -and the corn-crop, make enough for his wages and a bare living. But -would Reuben stay? - -Our virtues sometimes treat us as investments do, and return a dividend -when we least expect it. It was at this hard crisis that certain good -deeds of Brie's in the past stood her friend. She had always been good -to Reuben, and her sweet ways and consideration for his comfort had -gradually won a passage into his rather stolid affections. Now, seeing -the emergency she was in, and the courage with which she met it, he -could not quite find the heart to "leave the little gal to make out by -herself." Fully purposing to go, he stayed, putting off the idea of -departure from month to month; and though, true to his idea of proper -caution, he kept his good intentions to himself, so that the relief of -having him there was constantly tempered by the dread lest he might go -at any time, still it _was_ relief. - -So April passed, and May and June. The crops were planted, the -vegetables in. Brie strained every nerve. She petted her hens, and -coaxed every possible egg out of them, she studied the tastes of the two -cows, she maintained a brave show of cheer for her ailing mother, but -all the time she was sick at heart. Everything seemed closing in. How -long could she keep it up? - -The balsam firs of the hill grove could have told tales in those days. -They were Brie's sole confidants. The consolation they gave, the counsel -they communicated, were mute, indeed, but none the less real to the -anxious girl who sat beneath them, or laid her cheek on their rough -stems. June passed, and with early July came the answer to Brie's many -prayers. It came, as answers to prayer often do, in a shape of which she -had never dreamed. - -Miss Mary Morgan, teacher in grammar school No. 3, Ward Nineteen, of the -good city of Boston, came, tired out from her winter's work, to spend a -few days with Farmer Allen's wife, her second cousin, stopped one day at -the Dorset's door, while driving, to ask for a drink of water, took a -fancy to the old house and to Brie, and next day came over to propose -herself as a boarder for three months. - -"I can only afford to pay seven dollars a week," she said; "but, on the -other hand, I will try not to make much trouble, if you will take me." - -"Seven dollars a week; only think!" cried Brie, gleefully, to her mother -after the bargain was completed, and Miss Morgan gone. "Doesn't it seem -like a fortune? It'll pay Reuben's wages, and leave ever so much over! -And she doesn't eat much meat, she says, and she likes baked potatoes -and cream and sweet baked apples better than anything. And there's the -keeping-room chamber all cleaned and ready. Doesn't it seem as if she -was sent to us, mother?" - -"Your poor father never felt like keepin' boarders," said Mrs. Dorset. -"I used to kind of fancy the idea of it, but he wasn't willin'. I -thought it would be company to have one in the house, if they was nice -folks. It does seem as if this was the Lord's will for us; her coming in -so unexpected, and all." - -Two days later Miss Morgan, with a hammock and a folding canvas chair -and a trunk full of light reading, arrived, and took possession of her -new quarters. For the first week or two she did little but rest, -sleeping for hours at a time in the hammock swung beneath the shadowing -elms. Then, as the color came back to her thin face and the light to her -eyes, she began to walk a little, to sit with Brie in the fir grove, or -read aloud to her on the doorstep while she mended, shelled peas, or -picked over berries; and all life seemed to grow easier and pleasanter -for the dwellers in the solitary farmhouse. The guest gave little -trouble, she paid her weekly due punctually, and the steady income, -small as it was, made all the difference in the world to Brie. - -As the summer went by, and she grew at home with her new friend, she -found much relief in confiding to her the perplexities of her position. - -"I see," Miss Morgan said; "it is the winter that is the puzzle. I will -engage to come back next summer as I have this, and that will help -along; but the time between now and then is the difficulty." - -"Yes," replied Brie; "the winter is the puzzle, and Reuben's money. We -have plenty of potatoes and corn and vegetables to take us through, and -there's the pig to kill, and the chickens will lay some; if only there -were any way in which I could make enough for Reuben's wages, we could -manage." - -"I must think it over," said Miss Morgan. - -She pulled a long branch of the balsam fir nearer as she spoke, and -buried her nose in it. It was the first week of September, and she and -Brie were sitting in the hill grove. - -"I love this smell so," she said. "It is delicious. It makes me dream." - -Brie broke off a bough. - -"I shall hang it over your bed," she said, "and you will smell it all -night." - -So the fir bough hung upon the wall till it gradually yellowed, and the -needles began to drop. - -"Why, they are as sweet as ever,--sweeter," declared Brie, smelling a -handful which she had swept from the floor. Then an idea came into her -head. - -She gathered a great fagot of the branches, and laid them to dry in the -sun on the floor of a little-used piazza. When partly dried, she -stripped off the needles, stuffed with them a square cotton bag, and -made for that a cover of soft sage-green silk, with an odd shot pattern -over it. It was a piece of what had been her great-grandmother's wedding -gown. - -_Voilà!_ Do you realize the situation, reader? Brie had made the first -of all the many balsam pillows. It was meant for a good-by gift to Miss -Morgan. - -"Your cushion is the joy of my life," wrote that lady to her a month -after she went home. "Every one who sees it, falls in love with it. Half -a dozen people have asked me how they could get one like it. And, Brie, -this has given me an idea. Why should you not make them for sale? I will -send you up some pretty silk for the covers, and you might cross-stitch -a little motto if you liked. I copy some for you. Two people have given -me an order already. They will pay four dollars apiece if you like to -try." - -This suggestion was the small wedge of the new industry. Brie lost no -time in making the two pillows, grandmother's gown fortunately holding -out for their covers. Then came some pretty red silk from Miss Morgan, -with yellow _filoselle_ for the mottoes, and more orders. Brie worked -busily that winter, for her balsam pillows had to be made in spare -moments when other work permitted. The grove on the hill was her -unfailing treasury of supply. The thick-set twigs bent them to her will; -the upper branches seemed to her to rustle as with satisfaction at the -aid they were giving. In the spring the old trees renewed their foliage -with vigorous purpose, as if resolved not to balk her in her purpose. - -The fir grove paid Reuben's wages that winter. Miss Morgan came back the -following June, and by that time balsam pillows were established as -articles of commerce, and Brie had a munificent offer from a recently -established Decorative Art Society for a supply of the needles, at -three dollars the pound. It was hard, dirty work to prepare such a -quantity, but she did not mind that. - -As I said, this was some years since. Brie no longer lives in her old -home. Her mother died the third year after Miss Morgan came to them, the -farm is sold, and Brie married. She lives now on a ranch in Colorado, -but she has never forgotten the fir-grove, and the memory of it is a -help often in the desponding moments that come at times to all lives. - -"I could not be worse off than I was then," she says to herself. "There -seemed no help or hope anywhere. I felt as if God didn't care and didn't -hear my prayers; and yet, all the time, there was dear Miss Morgan -coming to help us, and there were the trees, great beautiful things, -nodding their heads, and trying to show me what could be made out of -them. No, I never will be faithless again, nor let myself doubt, however -dark things may look, but remember my balsam pillows, and trust in -God." - - - - -COLONEL WHEELER. - - -Colonel Wheeler, as any one might see at a glance, had been a gallant -officer in his day. It was true that he no longer had anything to do -with military movements, but his very face suggested a martial past. So -did his figure, which, though thin to an almost incredible degree, was -unmistakably that of a military man, and also his dress, for the colonel -invariably appeared in full uniform, with a scarlet, gold-laced coat, -epaulettes, and a cocked hat and feathers, seldom removed even at -meal-times. His moustache waved fiercely half-way across his cheeks, his -eyes were piercing, and his eyebrows black and frowning; in short, it -would be difficult to imagine a more warlike appearance than he -presented on the most peaceful occasions. - -Like all truly brave men, Colonel Wheeler was as gentle as he was -valiant, and nothing pleased him better in the piping times of peace -than to be detailed on escort duty, and made of use to the ladies of his -acquaintance. So it came to pass that again and again he was asked to -take charge of large family parties on long journeys. You might see him -starting off with a wife or two, half a dozen sisters-in-law, and from -eight to fourteen children, all of them belonging to somebody else; not -one of them being kith or kin to the gallant colonel. They made really a -formidable assemblage when collected, and it took the longest legal -envelope which Liz-- - -There! I have let out the secret. Colonel Wheeler was a paper doll, and -these ladies and children who travelled about with him were paper dolls -also. They belonged to Lizzie Bruce and her cousin Ernestine, who -between them owned several whole families of such. These families were -all large. None of the mamma dolls had less than twelve children, and -some of them had as many as twenty. Lizzie and Ernestine despised people -not made of paper, who had only two or three little boys and girls. In -fact, Lizzie was once heard to say of some neighbors with eleven -children, "They are the only really satisfactory people I ever -knew,--just as good as paper dolls;" and this was meant as the highest -possible compliment. - -Lizzie lived in Annapolis, Md., and Ernestine in Hingham, Mass., so, as -you will see, there was a long distance between their homes. It took a -day and a half to make the journey, and the little cousins did not visit -each other more than once or twice a year. But the dolls went much -oftener. _They_ travelled by mail, in one of those long yellow envelopes -which lawyers use to put papers in, and Colonel Wheeler always went in -the same envelope to take care of them. When they came back from these -trips, Lizzie or Ernestine, whichever it chanced to be, would unpack -them, and exclaim delightedly, "How well the dear things look! So much -better for the change! See, mamma, how round and pink their faces have -grown!" - -"I wouldn't advise you to depend so much on Colonel Wheeler," Lizzie's -mother would sometimes say. "These military men are rather uncertain -characters. I wouldn't send off all the dolls at once with him, if I -were you. And really, Lizzie, such constant journeys are very expensive. -There is never a stamp in my desk when I want one in a hurry." - -"But, mamma, the children really _had_ to have a change," Lizzie would -protest, with tears in her eyes. "And as for the colonel, he is such a -good man, truly, mamma! He would never steal anybody else's family! He -takes beau-tiful care of the dolls, always." - -"Very well, we shall see," answered mamma, with a teazing smile. But she -saw that Lizzie was in earnest, so she did not say anything more to -trouble her, and the very next day contributed seven postage-stamps to -pay for the transportation of a large party which Lizzie wanted to send -on to Hingham for a Christmas visit. - -This party included, besides Colonel Wheeler, who as usual acted as -escort, Mrs. Allen, the wife of Captain Allen, her fourteen children, -her sister-in-law Miss Allen, her own sister Pauline Gray,--so called -because her only dress happened to be made of gray and blue -tissue-paper,--and Mrs. Adipose and her little girl. Mrs. Adipose, whose -name had been suggested by papa, was the fattest of all the dolls. Her -daughter was fat, too, and Ernestine had increased this effect by making -her a jacket so much too large for her that it could only be kept on -with a dab of glue. Captain Allen was a creature who had no real -existence. Lizzie meant to make a doll to represent him some day. -Meanwhile, he was kept persistently "at the front," wherever that might -be, and Mrs. Allen travelled about as freely as if she had no husband at -all. This Lizzie and Ernestine considered an admirable arrangement; for, -as Captain Allen never came home and never wrote, he was as little of an -inconvenience to his family as any gentleman can ever hope to be. - -Well, this large and mixed company started off gayly in the mail-bag, -and in due time Lizzie heard of their safe arrival, that they were all -well, and that the baby "already looked better for the change." About -three weeks later another letter came, and she opened it without the -least qualm of anxiety, or any suspicion of the dreadful news it was to -bring. It ran thus:-- - - DEAR LIZ,--Mrs. Adipose grew a little home-sick. She began to - worry about Mr. Adipose. She was afraid he would have trouble - with the servants, or else try to clean house while she was - away, and make an awful mess all over everything. You never - could tell what men would do when they were left alone, she - said. So, as I saw she wasn't enjoying herself any more, and as - the baby and little Ellen seemed to have got as much good out of - the visit as they were likely to get, I sent them back last week - Friday, and hope you got them safely. - -Lizzie dropped the letter with a scream of dismay. This was Saturday. -Last week Friday was more than a week ago. Where, oh, where were the -precious dolls? - -She flew with her tragic tale to mamma, who, for all she was very sorry, -could not help laughing. - -"You know I warned you against trusting too much to Colonel Wheeler," -she said. - -"Oh, mamma, it isn't his fault, I am sure it isn't," pleaded Lizzie. "I -have perfect confidence in him. Think how often he has gone to Hingham, -and never once didn't come back! He _would_ have fetched them safely if -he hadn't been interfered with, I know he would! No, something dreadful -has happened,--it's that horrid post-office!" and she wrung her hands. - -Mamma was very sorry for Lizzie. Papa wrote to the postmaster, and -Ernestine's papa inquired at the Hingham post-office, and there was -quite a stir over the lost travellers. - -Time went on. A month, six weeks, two months passed, and no tidings -came, and Mr. Adipose still sat in the lonely baby-house, watching the -cook brandishing a paper saucepan--always the same saucepan--over the -toy stove, and Bridget, the "housemaid," forever dusting the same -table-top, and never getting any farther on with her work. Mamma -proposed that Lizzie should make some new dolls to take the place of the -lost ones, and offered help and the use of her mucilage bottle; but -Lizzie shook her head sorrowfully. - -"I can't help feeling as if the Allens may come back some day," she -said. "Colonel Wheeler is such a good traveller; and what would they -think if there was a strange family in their rooms? Besides, it's almost -as much fun to play without them, because there is Mr. Adipose, a -widower, you know, which is very interesting, and the two pairs of -twins, which Mrs. Allen forgot to take. Besides, I can always make -believe that they are coming to-morrow." - -The very next morning after this conversation, as mamma sat writing in -her room upstairs, she heard a wild shriek at the front door. The -postman had rapped a moment before, and Lizzie had rushed down to meet -him, as she had each day since the dolls were lost. The shriek was so -loud and sudden that Mrs. Bruce jumped up; but before she could get to -the door in flew Lizzie, holding in her hand a wild huddle of battered -blue envelopes with "Dead Letter Office" stamped on their corners, and a -mass of pink and gray and green gowns and funny tumbled capes and hats. -It was the doll party, returned at last! - -"Mamma, mamma," she cried, "what did I tell you? Colonel Wheeler didn't -run away with them; he has brought them all home." - -There they were indeed; Mrs. Adipose as fat as ever, Mrs. Allen, and all -her children, the sister, the sister-in-law, and Colonel Wheeler, erect -and dignified as usual, in spite of a green crease across both his legs, -and a morsel of postage-stamp in his eye, and wearing an air of -conscious merit, which the occasion fully warranted. As Lizzie -rapturously embraced him, she cried: "Dear old Colonel, nobody believed -in you but me, not even mamma! I knew you hadn't run away with nineteen -people. Mamma laughed at me, but she doesn't know you as well as I do. -Nobody shall ever laugh at you again." - -And nobody did. Colonel Wheeler had earned public confidence, and from -that day to this no one has dared to say a word against him in Lizzie's -hearing. He has made several journeys to Hingham without the least -misadventure, and papa says he would trust him to escort Lizzie herself -if it were necessary. He is the hero of the dolls' home, and poor old -Mr. Adipose, who never stirs from home, is made miserable by having him -held up as a perpetual model for imitation. But unlike the generality of -heroes, Colonel Wheeler lives up to his reputation, and is not less -modest, useful, and agreeable in the domestic circle because of being so -exceptionally meritorious! - - - - -NINETY-THREE AND NINETY-FOUR. - - -Ninety-three and Ninety-four were two houses standing side by side in -the outskirts of a country town, and to all outward appearance as like -each other as two peas. They were the pioneer buildings of a small brick -block; but as yet the rest of the block had not been built, which was -all the better for Ninety-three and Ninety-four, and gave them more -space and outlook. Both had French roofs with dormer windows; both front -doors "grained" to represent oak, the graining falling into a pattern of -regular stripes like a watered silk; and across the front of each, on -the ground floor, ran the same little sham balcony of varnished -iron,--balconies on which nothing heavier than a cat could venture -without risk of bringing the frail structures down into the street. - -Inside, the houses differed in trifling respects, as houses must which -are under the control of differing minds; but in one point they were -precisely alike within,--which was, that the back room of the third -story of each was occupied by a girl of seventeen. - -It is of these two rooms that I want to tell the story. So much has been -said and written of late years about home decoration and the methods of -producing it, that I think some other girls of seventeen with rooms to -make pretty may like to hear of how Eleanor Pyne and May Blodgett -managed theirs. - -Eleanor was the girl at Ninety-three. She and May were intimate friends, -or considered themselves such. Intimacy is a word very freely used among -young people who have not learned what a sacred word it is and how very -much it means. They had grown up together, had gone to the same schools, -shared most of their pleasures as well as their lessons, sent each other -Christmas presents and birthday cards every year, and consulted in -advance over their clothes, spring bonnets, and fancy work, which, taken -all together, may be said to make an intimacy according to the general -use of the term. So it was natural that, when May, stirred by the sense -of young-ladyhood just at hand and by the modern impulse for house -decoration, desired to "do over" and beautify her room, Eleanor should -desire it also. - -Making a room pretty nowadays would seem easy enough where there is -plenty of money for the purpose. There is only the embarrassment of -choice, though that is so embarrassing at times as to lead one to envy -those grandmothers of ours, who, with only three or four patterns of -everything to choose from, and those all ugly, had but the simple task -of selecting the least ugly! But in the case of my two girls there was -this further complication, that very little money could be used for -adornment of the bedrooms. Mrs. Blodgett and Mrs. Pyne had consulted -over the matter, and the decision was that Eleanor and May might each -spend twenty dollars, and no more. - -What can be done with twenty dollars? It will buy one pretty article of -furniture. It will pay for a "Kensington Art Square," with perhaps -enough left for cheese-cloth curtains. It will paper a room, or paint -it. You can easily dispose of the whole of it, if you will, in a single -portière. And here were two rooms which needed renovation from floor to -ceiling! - -The rooms were of the same size. Both had two windows looking north and -an ample closet. The most important difference lay in the fact that the -builder of the houses, for some reason known only to himself, had put a -small fireplace across the corner of Eleanor's room, and had put none in -May's. _Per contra_ May's room was papered, which she considered a -counterbalancing advantage; but as the paper was not very pretty, -Eleanor did not agree with her. - -Many were the consultations held between the two girls. And just here, -before they had actually begun operations, a piece of good luck befell -both of them. Eleanor's grandmother presented her with an easy-chair, an -old one, very shabby as to cover, but a good chair still, and very -comfortable. And almost simultaneously a happily timed accident occurred -to Mrs. Blodgett's spare-room carpet, which made the buying of a new one -necessary, and the old one was given to May. It was a still respectable -Brussels, with rather a large medallion figure on a green ground. It did -not comport very well with the blue and drab paper on the walls, and the -medallions looked very big on the smaller floor; but May cared nothing -for that, and she accepted her windfall gleefully. - -"It will save ever and ever so much," she said, joyously. "Carpets do -cost so. Poor Eleanor, you will have to get one for yourself, unless you -can persuade your cook to upset an oil lamp on one of your mother's." - -"Oh, Annie is too careful; she could never be persuaded to do such a -thing as that," laughed Eleanor. "Besides, I don't want her to. I don't -like any of mother's carpets very much." - -"Well, I don't care what sort of a carpet it is so long as I don't have -to buy it," said May. - -"I do," replied Eleanor. - -She did. There was this great point of difference between the friends. -Eleanor possessed by nature that eye for color and sense of effects -which belongs to what people call the "artistic" temperament. May had -none of this, and did not even understand what it meant. To her all reds -and olives and yellows were alike; differences of tone, inflections of -tint, were lost on her untrained and unappreciative vision. She was -unconscious of this deficiency, so it did not annoy her, and as Eleanor -had a quiet and pleasant way of differing with her, they never -quarrelled. But none the less did each hold to her own point of view and -her own opinion. - -So, while May read eagerly all the articles in the secular and religious -papers which show how girls and women have made plain homes cheaply -charming by painting sunflowers and Black-Eyed Susans on ink-bottles and -molasses-jugs, converting pork-barrels into arm-chairs with the aid of -"excelsior" and burlaps, and "lighting up" dark corners with six-cent -fans, and was fired with an ambition to do the same, Eleanor silently -dissented from her enthusiasms. She was ready to help, however, even -when she did not agree; and May, glad of the help, did not notice much -the lack of sympathy. It is often so in friendships. One does the -talking and one the listening. One kisses while the other holds out the -cheek, as the French proverb puts it; one lays down the law and the -other differs without disputing it, so both are satisfied. - -It was so in this case. Eleanor was doing a great deal of quiet thinking -and planning while May chattered by the hour over her projects. - -"What I want my room to be," she told her friend, "is gay and dressy. I -hate dull-looking rooms, and having no carpet or paper to buy I can get -lots of chintz. There's a lovely pattern on the bargain counter at -Shell's for fourteen cents, all over roses. I am going to have a whole -piece of it, and just cover up all that awful old yellow furniture of -mine entirely. The bureau is to have little rods across the front and -curtains to hide the drawers, like that picture in the 'Pomologist,' and -I shall make a soapbox footstool and a barrel chair, and have -lambrequins and a drapery over my bed, and a coverlet and valances. The -washstand I have decided to do in burlaps with cat-tails embroidered on -the front, and a splasher with a pattern of swans and, 'Wash and be -clean.' Won't it be lovely? - -"You know those black-walnut book-shelves of mine," she went on, after a -pause; "well, I am going to cover them in white muslin with little -pleated ruffles on the edges and pink satin bows at the corners. Sarah -Stanton has promised to paint me a stone bottle with roses to put on -top, and Bell Short is working me a wall banner. It's going to be the -gayest little place you ever saw." - -"Won't the white muslin soil soon, and won't so much chintz get very -dusty?" objected Eleanor. - -"Oh, they can be washed," replied May, easily. - -So the big roll of chintz was ordered home, and for a fortnight she and -Eleanor spent all their spare time in hemming ruffles, tacking pleatings -on to wooden shelves, and putting up frills and curtains. When all was -done the room looked truly very fresh and gay. The old yellow "cottage -furniture" had vanished under its raiment of chintz and was quite -hidden. Even the foot-board of the bed had its slip-cover and flounce. -The books were ranged in rows on the muslin shelves with crisp little -ruffles above and below. Flowers and bright-colored zig-zags of crewels -adorned everything. Wherever it was possible, a Japanese fan was stuck -on the wall, or a bow of ribbon, or a little embroidered something, or a -Christmas card. Scarfs of one sort or another were looped across the -corners of the pictures, tidies innumerable adorned the chair-backs and -table-tops. There was a general look of fulness and of an irresistible -tendency in things to be of no particular use except to make spots of -meaningless color and keep the eye roving restlessly to and fro. - -"Isn't it just lovely?" said May, as she stood in the doorway to take in -the effect. "Now, Eleanor Pyne, do say it's lovely." - -"It's as bright as can be," answered Eleanor, cordially. "Only I can't -bear to think of all these pretty things getting dusty. They're so nice -and fresh now." - -"Oh, they can easily be dusted," said May. "You are a perfect crank -about dust, Elly. Now, here is my account. I think I have managed pretty -well, don't you?" - -The account ran thus:-- - - Sixty yards of chintz at 14 cents a yard $8.40 - Burlaps, cheese-cloth, white muslin 3.25 - Fans, ribbons, crewels 1.60 - Stamping a tidy .30 - One wicker-work chair 5.00 - Hanging-basket 1.25 - ------ - Total $19.80 - -"There's twenty cents left over," explained May, as she finished reading -the items. "That will just get a yellow ribbon to tie round the handle -of my clothes-brush. Eleanor, you've been ever so good to help me so -much. When are you going to begin your room? You must let me help you -now." - -"I began this morning." - -"Have you really begun? What did you get?" - -"Oh, I didn't get anything. This first thing isn't to cost anything at -all." - -"Why, what is it?" - -"You know that ugly fire-board in front of my fireplace? I have taken it -upstairs to the attic, and mother has lent me some cunning little -andirons and a shovel and tongs which grandmamma gave her, and I am -going to have an open fire." - -"But you don't need one. The room is warm enough, with your register." - -"Oh, I know that. And I didn't mean that I was going to _light_ the -fire, only have it all ready for lighting. I rubbed the brass knobs -myself with Puit's Pomade, and they shine _beautifully_, and I painted -the bricks with red-ochre and water, and arranged the wood and -kindlings, and it has such a cosy, homelike look, you can't think!" - -"Well, I confess I don't see the cosiness of a fire that you're never -going to light." - -"Oh, mamma says if I ever am sick in bed, or there is any particular -reason for it, I may light it. And even if it doesn't happen often, I -shall have the comfort of knowing that it's all ready." - -"I call it cold comfort. What a queer girl you are! Well, what are you -going to do next, Elly?" - -"You will laugh when I tell you. I'm going to paper my room myself." - -"Not really! Why, you can't. Papering is very difficult; I have always -heard so. People have to get men to do it, always." - -"I don't believe it's so very difficult. There was a piece about it once -in the 'Family Friend' which I cut out and saved. It told how to make -the paste and everything, and it didn't seem hard at all. Mother thinks -I can. I'm going to begin to-morrow. In fact, I began yesterday, for old -Joyce came and mended the crack in the ceiling and kalsomined it, and -oh, May, I did such a _thrifty_ thing! He had a nice big brush and a -roller to smooth out the paper with, and don't you think, I made a -bargain with him to hire them out to me for three cents an hour, so I -sha'n't have to buy any." - -"Didn't he laugh?" - -"Yes, he laughed, and Ned laughed too; but I don't care. 'Let those -laugh who win,'" concluded Eleanor, with a bright, confident smile. - -"Come in to-morrow afternoon and see how I get on," she called out from -the door of Ninety-three. - -May went at the appointed time. The papering was done, and for a -beginner very well done, though an expert might easily have found faulty -places here and there. The paper Eleanor had chosen was of a soft, warm -yellow like pale sunshine, which seemed to neutralize the cold light of -the north windows. It looked plain when seen in shadow, but where the -light struck it revealed a pattern of graceful interlaced disks. And the -ceiling was tinted with a much lighter shade of the same yellow. A -chestnut picture-rod separated wall and ceiling. - -"Putting the paper on myself saved _lots_," announced Eleanor, -gleefully. "It only cost fifteen cents a roll, so the whole room came to -exactly a dollar eighty. Then I am to pay Joyce eighteen cents for six -hours' use of his brush and roller, and mother isn't going to charge -anything for the flour for the paste, because I boiled it myself. I had -to get the picture-moulding, though, and that was rather dear,--nearly -two dollars. Ned nailed it up for me." - -"Why didn't you have a paper border; it would not have cost nearly as -much?" - -"No, but I should have had to drive nails and tacks in every time I -wanted to hang up anything, and that would have spoiled the paper. And I -want that to last a long, long time." - -"What are you going to do with your furniture?" asked May, casting an -eye of disfavor at the articles in question, a so-called "cottage" set, -enamelled, of a faded, shabby blue. - -"I am going to paint them," replied Eleanor, daringly. - -"Eleanor Pyne! you can't!" - -But Eleanor could and did. Painting is by no means the recondite art -which some of its professors would have us suppose. Eleanor avoided one -of the main difficulties of the craft, by buying her paint ready mixed -and qualified with "dryers." She chose a pretty tint of olive brown. Ned -took her bedstead apart for her, and one by one she carried the -different articles to a little-used attic, where, equipped in a -long-sleeved apron and a pair of old cotton gloves to save her fingers, -she gradually coated each smoothly with the new paint. It took some -days to finish, for she did not work continuously, but when done she -felt rewarded for her pains; for the furniture not only looked new, but -was prettier than it had ever been before during the memory of man. Her -brother Ned was so pleased with her success, that he volunteered, if she -would pay for the "stuff," to make a broad pine shelf to nail over the -narrow shelf of her chimney-piece, and some smaller ones above, cut -after a pretty design which he had seen in an agricultural magazine. -This handsome offer Eleanor gladly accepted, and when the shelves were -done, she covered them with two coats of the same useful olive-brown -paint. - -There was still some paint left; and grown bold with practice and no -longer afraid of her big brush, Eleanor essayed a bolder flight. She -first painted her doors and her window-frames, then she attacked her -floor, and, leaving an ample square space in the middle, executed a -border two feet and a half wide all round it, in a pattern of long -diamonds done in two shades of olive, the darker being obtained by -mixing a little black with the original tint. - -"You see I have to buy my own carpet," she explained to the astonished -and somewhat scandalized May; "and with this border a little square one -will answer, instead of my having to get a great big thing for the whole -floor." - -"But sha'n't you hate to put your feet on bare boards?" - -"That's just what I sha'n't do. Don't you see that the bureau and -washstand and the bedstead and towel-frame and all the rest fill up -nearly all the space I have left for a border. What's the use of buying -carpet for _them_ to stand on?" - -May shook her head. She was not capable of such original reasoning. In -her code the thing that generally had been always should be. - -"Well, it seems rather queer to me--and not very comfortable," she said. -"And I can't think why you painted those shelves over the mantel instead -of covering them with something,--chintz, now. They would have looked -awfully pretty with pinked ruffles, you know, and long curtains to draw -across the front like that picture you saw in 'Home made Happy.'" - -"Oh, I shouldn't have liked that at all. I should hate the idea of -calico curtains to a mantel-piece. It would always seem as if they were -going to catch fire." - -"But they _couldn't_. You don't have any fire," persisted May. - -"No, but they would seem so. And I want my fire to look as if it could -be lighted at any minute." - -Eleanor's instinct was based on an "underlying principle." It is a -charming point in any fireplace to look as if it were constantly ready -for use. Inflammable draperies, however pretty, militate against this -look, and so are a mistake in taste, especially in our changeful New -England climate, where, even in midsummer, a little blaze may at any -moment be desirable to cheer a dull day or warm a chilly evening. - -But May herself was forced to admit that the room looked "comfortable" -when the square of pretty ingrain carpeting of a warm golden brown was -tacked into its place, and the furniture brought back from the attic and -arranged. Things at once fell into harmonious relation with each other, -as in a well-thought-out room they should do. The creamy, bright paper -made a pleasant background; there was an air of cheerfulness even on -cloudy days. May could not understand the reason of this, or why on such -days her reds and pinks and drabs and greens and blues never seemed to -warm her out of dulness. - -"I am sure my colors are a great deal brighter than yours," she would -say; "I cannot imagine why they don't light up better." - -Eleanor did not try for many evanescent prettinesses. In fact, she could -not, even had she wished to do so, for her money was all spent; so, as -she told her mother, she contented herself with having secured things -that would wear, and a pretty color. She put short curtains of "scrim" -at her windows, and plain serviceable towels which could be often washed -on her bureau and table-tops. The bureau was enlivened by a large, -square scarlet pincushion, the only bit of finery in which Eleanor -indulged. Amid the subdued tone of its surroundings it looked absolutely -brilliant, like the famous red wafer which the great Turner stuck in the -foreground of his dim-tinted landscape, and which immediately seemed to -take the color out of the bright pictures on either side. - -Later, when Eleanor had learned to do the pretty Mexican work, now in -fashion, she decorated some special towels for her table and bureau, -with lace-like ends, and a pair of pillow-covers. Meanwhile, she bore -very well the knowledge that May and most of the other girls of their -set considered her room rather "plain and bare." It suited her own -fancy, and that satisfied her. - -"I do like room to turn about in and not too many things, and not to -smell of dust," she told her mother. - -Here is Eleanor's budget of expenses, to set against May's:-- - - Wall-paper, twelve rolls $1.80 - Use of brush and roller .18 - Kalsomining ceiling 1.75 - Picture-moulding 2.00 - Two gallons of mixed paint, at $1.80 per gallon 3.60 - Brush .30 - Nine yards of ingrain carpeting at sixty-five cents a yard 5.85 - Carpet thread and tacks .20 - Pine shelving 1.00 - Chintz for chair-cover put on by Eleanor herself 1.75 - Satin and ribbon for cushion 1.12 - ------ - Total $19.86 - -This was two years ago. If you could take a peep at the rival rooms in -Ninety-three and Ninety-four to-day, you would find Eleanor's looking -quite as pretty as when new, or prettier; for she has used it -carefully, and each year has added something to its equipments, as years -will. When a girl has once secured a good foundation for her room, her -friends are apt to make their gifts work in toward its further -beautification. - -With May it is different. Her room has lost the freshness which was its -one good point. The chintz has become creased and a little faded, the -muslin and scrim from repeated washings are no longer crisp, and look -limp and threadbare; all the ribbons and scarfs are shabby and tumbled; -while the green carpet and the blue wall "swear" as vigorously at each -other as they did at first. May sighs over it frequently, and wishes she -had tried for a more permanent effect. Next time she will do better, she -avers; but next times are slow in coming where the family exchequer has -not the recuperative powers of Fortunatus's purse. - -The Moral of this simple tale may be divided into three heads. I object -to morals myself as a wind-up for stories, and I dare say most of you -who read this are no fonder of them than I am; still, a three-headed -moral is such a novelty that it may be urged as an excuse. The three -heads are these:-- - -1. When you have only a small sum to spend on renovations, choose those -that will last. - -2. Ingenuity and energy count for more than mere money can. - -3. Once make sure in a room of convenience, cheerfulness, and a good -color, and you can afford to wait for gimcracks--or "Jamescracks"--or -any of the thousand and one little duds which so many people consider -indispensable features of pleasantness. Rooms have their anatomy as well -as human beings. There must be a good substructure of bones rightly -placed to underlie the bloom and sparkle in the one; and in like manner -for the other the laws of taste, which are immutable, should underlie -and support the evanescent and passing fancies and fashions of every -day. - - - - -THE SORROWS OF FELICIA. - - -It was a pretty chamber, full of evidences of taste and loving care. -White curtains draped the windows and the looking-glass. There was a -nice writing-table, set where the light fell upon it exactly as it -should for convenience to the writer. There was a book-shelf full of -gayly bound books, a pretty blue carpet, photographs on the faintly -tinted blue wall,--somebody had evidently taken pains to make the room -charming, and just as evidently to make it charming for the use of a -girl. And there lay the girl on the sofa,--Felicia, or, in schoolroom -parlance, Felie Bliss. Was she basking in the comfort and tastefulness -of her room? Not at all! A volume of "In Memoriam" was in her hand. Her -face was profoundly long and dismal. She murmured mournful lines over to -herself, only pausing now and then to reach out her hand and fill a -tumbler from a big jug of lemonade which stood on a little table beside -her. Felie always provided herself with lemonade when she retired to her -bedroom to enjoy the pleasures of woe for a season. - -From the door, which was locked, sounded a chorus of knocks and -irreverent voices. - -"Sister, are you in there?" demanded one. - -"Are you thinking about Life, sister?" asked another. - -"Have you got your sharp-pointed scissors with you?" cried the first -voice. "Oh, Felie, Felie, stay your rash hand." - -"We like lemonade just as much as you," chimed in Dimple, the youngest -of the four. - -"Let us in. We are very thirsty, and we long to comfort you," said voice -the second, with a stifled giggle. - -Felicia paid no attention whatever to these observations, only murmured -to herself,-- - - "But what to her shall be the end? - And what to me remains of good? - To her perpetual maidenhood--" - -"Who is 'her'?" demanded that bad Jenny through the door. "If you mean -Mrs. Carrington, you are all wrong. May Curtis says her engagement is -announced to Mr. Collins." - -"Oh, children, do go away!" cried Felie in a despairing tone. - - "Forgive these wild and wandering cries, - Confessions of a wasted youth; - Forgive them where they fail in truth, - And in Thy wisdom make me wise." - -"Hear her!" said Betty outside. "She's having it very badly to-day. I -wish I knew Tennyson. I should like to tell him what I think of his -writing a horrid, melancholy, caterwauling book, and making the Bliss -family miserable. Felie, if you've drunk up all your lemonade, you might -at least lend us the pitcher." - -It was no use. Felicia either did not, or would not, hear. So, with a -last thump on the panels of the long-suffering door, the trio departed -in search of another pitcher. - -If anybody had told Felie Bliss, at seventeen, that she really had not -a grief in the world worthy of the name, she would have resented it -deeply. She was a tall girl, whose bones and frame were meant for the -use of a large woman, when their owner should have arrived at all that -nature meant her to be, but who at this period of her life was almost -startlingly long and thin. She had "outgrown her strength," as people -say, which was Felie's only excuse for the almost tragic enjoyment -which she took in mournful things. She was in fair health, and had -an excellent appetite, and a real school-girl love for raisins, -stick-cinnamon, sugar-plums, and soda-water; tastes which were -highly at variance with the rôle which she wished to play,--that of a -sweetly-resigned and long-suffering being, whose hopes had faded from -earth, into the distant heaven toward which she was hastening. Felie's -sweet-tooth was quite a trial to her; but she struggled with it, and -resisted enjoyment as far as was possible with her naturally cheerful -disposition. - -She was an interesting perplexity to her family, who were contented, -reasonable folk, of the sort which, happily for the world, is called -commonplace. To her younger sisters, especially, Felicia was a -never-failing and exciting conundrum, the answer to which they were -always guessing, but never could find out. For days together she would -be as cheerful as possible, full of fun and contrivance, and the life of -the house; then, all of a sudden, gloom would envelop her like a soft -fog, and she would retire to her room with "In Memoriam," or some other -introspective volume, and the fat jug of lemonade, lock the door, and -just "drink and weep for hours together," as her sister Jenny expressed -it. It was really unaccountable. - -All her books were deeply scored with lines against the woful passages, -and such pencilled remarks as "Alas!" and "All too true!" She sat in -church with a carefully arranged sad smile on her face; but this, as -unsuitable to her natural expression, was not always a success. Felie -was much aggrieved one day at being told, by an indiscriminating friend, -that her face "seemed made to laugh,--no one could imagine it anything -but bright." This, for a girl who was posing for "Patience on a monument -smiling at grief," was rather a trial; but then the friend had never -seen her reading "King John," and murmuring,-- - - "Here I and sorrow sit--" - -with a long brown stick of cinnamon, in process of crunch, occupying the -other corner of her mouth. But perhaps the friend might have found even -this funny,--there are such unfeeling people in the world! - -Felie's letters were rather dull reading, because she told so little of -what she had said or done, and hinted so liberally at her own aching -heart and thwarted hopes. But her correspondents, who were mostly jolly -school-girls, knew her pretty well, and dismissed these jeremiads as, -"Just Felie's way. She does love to be miserable, you know, but nobody -is better fun than she when she doesn't think it her duty to be -unhappy." - -Felie didn't come down to tea on the evening of the day on which our -story opens. An afternoon of lemonade had dampened her appetite, but at -bedtime she stole out in her dressing-gown and slippers, helped herself -to a handful of freshly baked cookies and a large green cucumber pickle, -and, by the aid of these refreshments, contrived to stave off the pangs -of hunger till next morning, when she appeared at breakfast cheerful and -smiling, with no sign upon her spirits of the eclipse of the day before. -Her family made no allusion to that melancholy episode,--they were used -to such,--only Mr. Bliss asked, between two mouthfuls of toast, "Where -were you gadding to last night, child? I didn't hear you come home." - -"I was not out. I didn't feel very--very bright, and went to bed early." - -"Oh!"--Mr. Bliss understood. - -"He who makes truth unlovely commits high treason against virtue," says -an old writer; but he who simulates grief, and makes it ridiculous, -commits an almost equal crime against true feeling. Felie had been -playing at sorrow where no sorrow was. That very day a real sorrow came, -and she woke up to find her world all changed into a reality of pain and -puzzle and bewilderment, which was very different from the fictitious -loss and the sham suffering which she had found so much to her mind. - -She had no idea, as she watched her father and mother drive off that -afternoon, that anything terrible was about to happen. Only the "seers" -of the Scotch legends could see the shroud drawn up over the breast of -those who are "appointed to die" suddenly; the rest of us see nothing. -The horse which Mr. Bliss drove was badly broken, but he had often gone -out before and come back safely. It was only on this particular day that -the combination of circumstances occurred which made the risky horse -dangerous,--the shriek of the railroad-whistle, the sharp turn in the -road, the heap of stones. There was a runaway, an overset, and two hours -from the time when the youthful sisters, unexpectant of misfortune, had -watched their parents off, they were brought back, Mr. Bliss dead, Mrs. -Bliss with a broken arm, and injuries to the spine so severe that there -was little chance of her ever being able to leave her bed again. So much -can be done in one fatal moment. - -It is at such dark, dark times that real character shows itself. Felie's -little affectations, her morbid musings and fancies, fell from her like -some light, fantastic drapery, which is shrivelled in sudden heat. Her -real self--hopeful, self-reliant, optimistic--rose into action as soon -as the first paralyzing shock of pain was past, and she had taken in the -reality of this new and strange thing. All the cares of the house, the -management of affairs, the daily wear and tear of life, which has to be -borne by _some one_, fell upon her inexperienced hands. Her mother was -too shaken and ill to be consulted, the younger girls instinctively -leaned on what they felt to be a strength superior to their own. It was -a heavy load for young shoulders, and Felie was not yet eighteen! - -She made mistakes of course,--mistakes repented of with bitter crying -and urgent resolutions. She was often tried, often discouraged; things -did not smooth themselves easily, or the world go much out of its usual -course, because Felie Bliss was perplexed and in trouble. There were no -mornings to spare for tragedy, or Tennyson. Felie's eyeballs often -longed for the relief of a good fit of tears; that troublesome little -lump would come into her throat which is the price of tears resolutely -held back, but there was too much to do to allow of such a weakening -self-indulgence. Mother must be cared for, the house must be looked -after, people on business must be seen, the "children," as she called -her sisters, must not be suffered to be too sad. And then, again, "In -Memoriam," beautiful as it is, and full of sweet and true and tender -feeling, did not satisfy Felie now as it had done when she was forced to -cultivate an artificial emotion outside of herself. - -"If I had time and knew how to write poetry, I could say a great many -things that Tennyson never thought of," she told Jenny, one day. It is -so with all who suffer. No poet ever voiced the full and complete -expression of our own personal pain. There is always something -beyond,--an individual pang recognized and understood only by ourselves. - -So the years went on, as years do even when their wheels seem weighted -with lead. The first sharpness of their loss abated. They became used to -the sight of their father's empty chair, of his closed desk; they ceased -to listen for the sound of his step on the porch, his key in the door. -Mrs. Bliss gradually regained a more comfortable measure of health, but -she remained an invalid, the chief variation in her life being when she -was lifted from bed to sofa, and back again from sofa to bed. Felie was -twenty-four, and the younger ones were no longer children, though she -still called them so. Even Dimple wore long dresses, and had set up -something very like a lover, though Felie sternly refused to have him -called so till Dimple was older. Felie was equally severe with Dr. -Ernest Allen, on her own account. "She was a great deal too busy to -think of such a thing," she declared; but Dr. Allen, who had faith in -time, simply declared that he "didn't mind waiting," and continued to -hang his hat on the hat-tree in the Bliss's entry three times a week. - -Indeed, looking at Felicia Bliss, now that she had rounded physically -and mentally into what she was meant to become, you would not wonder -that any man should be willing to wait a while in hope of winning such a -prize. A certain bright cheer and helpfulness was her charm. "The room -grew pleasanter as soon as she came into it," Dimple declared. Certainly -Dr. Allen thought so; and as a man may willingly put off building a -house till he can afford to have one which fronts the sun, so he -considered it worth while to delay, for a few years, even, if need be, -and secure for life a daily shining which should make all life -pleasanter. He had never known Felie in her morbid days, and she could -never make him quite believe her when she tried to tell of that past -phase of her girlhood. - -"It is simply impossible. You must exaggerate, if you have not dreamed -it," he said. - -"Not a bit. Ask Dimple,--ask any of them." - -"I prefer to ask my own eyes, my own convictions," declared the lover. -"You are the most 'wholesome' woman, through and through, that I ever -knew. A doctor argues from present indications to past conditions. I am -sure you are mistaken about yourself. If I can detect with the -stethoscope the spot in your lungs where five years back pneumonia left -a trace, surely I ought to be able to make out a similar spot in your -nervous temperament. The idea is opposed to all that you are." - -"But not to all that I was. Really and truly, Dr. Allen, I used to be -the most absurd girl in the world. If you could have seen me!" - -"But what cured you in this radical and surprising manner?" - -"Well," said Felie, demurely, "I suppose the remedy was what you would -call homeopathic. I had revelled in a sort of imaginary sorrowfulness, -but when that dreadful time came, and I tasted real sorrow, I found that -it took all my strength to meet it, and I was glad enough of everything -bright and cheering that I could get at to help me through. - -"I wonder if there are many girls in the world who are nursing imaginary -miseries as I used to do," she went on. "If there are, I should like to -tell them how foolish it is, and how bad for them. But, dear me, there -are so many girls and one can't get at them! I suppose each must learn -the lesson for herself and fight her fight out somehow, and I hope they -will all get through safely, and learn, as I have, that happiness is the -most precious thing in the world, and that it is so, _so_ foolish not to -enjoy and make the most of it while we have it. Because, you know, -_some_ day trouble must come to everybody. And it is such a pity to have -to look back and know that you have wasted a chance." - - - - -IMPRISONED. - - -The big house stood in the middle of a big open space, with wide lawns -about it shaded by cherry-trees and lilac-bushes, toward the south an -old-fashioned garden, and back of that the apple-orchard. - -The little house was on the edge of the grounds, and had its front -entrance on the road. Its doors were locked and its windows shuttered -now, for no one had lived in it for several years. - -Three little girls lived in the big house. Lois, who was eight years -old, and Emmy, who was seven, were sisters. Kitty, their cousin, also -seven, had lived with them so long that she seemed like another sister. -There was, besides, Marianne, the cook's baby; but as she was not quite -three, she did not count for much with the older ones, though they -sometimes condescended to play with her. - -It was a place of endless pleasure to these happy country children, and -they needed no wider world than it afforded them. All summer long they -played in the open air. They built bowers in the feathery asparagus; -they knew every bird's-nest in the syringa-bushes and the thick -guelder-roses, and were so busy all the time that they rarely found a -moment in which to quarrel. - -One day in July their mother and father had occasion to leave home for a -long afternoon and evening. - -"You can stay outdoors till half-past six," Mrs. Spenser said to her -little girls; "then you must come in to tea, and at half-past seven you -must go to bed as usual. You may play where you like in the grounds, but -you must not go outside the gate." She kissed them for good-by. -"Remember to be good," she said. Then she got into the carriage and -drove away. - -The children were very good for several hours. They played that little -Marianne was their baby, and was carried off by a gypsy. Lois was the -gypsy, and the chase and recapture of the stolen child made an exciting -game. - -At last they got tired of this, and the question arose: "What shall we -do next?" - -"I wish mother would let us play down the road," said Emmy. "The Noyse -children's mother lets them." - -"I'll tell you what we'll do," said Lois, struck by a sudden bright -idea. "Let's go down to the shut-up house. That isn't outside the gate." - -"O Lois! yes, it is. You can't go to the front door without walking on -the road." - -"Well, who said anything about the front door? I'm going to look in at -the back windows. Mother never said we mustn't do that." - -Still, it was with a sense of guilt that the three stole across the -lawn; and they kept in the shadow of the hedge, as if afraid some one -would see and call them back. Little Marianne, with her rag doll in her -arms, began to run after them. - -"There's that little plague tagging us," said Kitty. - -"Go back, Marianne; we don't want you." Then, when Marianne would not go -back, they all ran away, and left her crying. - -The shut-up house looked dull and ghostly enough. The front was in deep -shadow from the tall row of elms that bordered the road, but at the -back the sun shone hotly. It glowed through the low, dusty window of a -cellar, and danced and gleamed on something bright which lay on the -floor within. - -"What do you suppose it is?" said Emmy, as they all stooped to look. "It -looks like real gold. Perhaps some pirates hid it there, and no one has -come since but us." - -"Or perhaps it's a mine," cried Lois,--"a mine of jewels. See, it's all -purple, like the stones in mother's breastpin. Wouldn't it be fun if it -was? We wouldn't tell anybody, and we could buy such splendid things." - -"We must get in and find out," added Kitty. - -Just then a wail sounded close at hand, and a very woful, tear-stained -little figure appeared. It was Marianne. The poor baby had trotted all -the long distance in the sun after her unkind playfellows. - -"Oh, dear! You little nuisance! What made you come?" demanded Emmy. - -"I 'ant to," was all Marianne's explanation. - -"Well, don't cry. Now you've come, you can play," remarked Lois; and -Marianne was consoled. - -They began to try the windows in turn, and at last found one in a -wood-shed which was unfastened. Kitty scrambled in, and admitted the -others, first into the wood-shed and then into a very dusty kitchen. The -cellar stairs opened from this. They all ran down, but--oh, -disappointment!--the jewel-mine proved to be only the half of a broken -teacup with a pattern on it in gold and lilac. This was a terrible -come-down from a pirate treasure. - -"Pshaw!" said Kitty. "Only an old piece of crockery. I don't think it's -fair to cheat like that." - -Little Marianne had been afraid to venture down into the cellar, and now -stayed at the top waiting for them. - -"Let's run away from her," suggested Kitty, who was cross after her -disappointment. - -So they all hopped over Marianne, and, deaf to her cries, ran upstairs -to the second story as fast as they could go. There were four bare, -dusty chambers, all unfurnished. - -"There she comes," cried Kitty, as Marianne was heard climbing the -stairs. "Where shall we hide from her? Oh, here's a place!" - -She had spied a closet door, fastened with a large old-fashioned iron -latch. She flew across the room. It was a narrow closet, with a shelf -across the top of it. - -"Hurry, hurry!" called Kitty. The others made haste. They squeezed -themselves into the closet, and banged the door to behind them. Not till -it was firmly fastened did they notice that there was no latch inside, -or handle of any sort, and that they had shut themselves in, and had no -possible way of getting out again. - -Their desire to escape from Marianne changed at once into dismay. They -kicked and pounded, but the stout old-fashioned door did not yield. -Marianne could be heard crying without. There was a round hole in the -door just above the latch. Putting her eye to this, Lois could see the -poor little thing, doll in arms, standing in the middle of the floor, -uncertain what to do. - -"Marianne!" she called, "here we are, in the closet. Come and let us -out, that's a good baby. Put your little hand up and push the latch. You -can, if you will only try." - -"I'll show you how," added Kitty, taking her turn at the peep-hole. -"See, come close to the door, and Kitty will tell you what to do." - -But these mysterious voices speaking out of the unseen frightened -Marianne too much to allow of her doing anything helpful. - -"I tan't! I tan't!" she wailed, not venturing near the door. - -"Oh, do try, please do!" pleaded Lois. "I'll give you my china doll if -you will, Marianne." - -"And I'll give you my doll's bedstead," added Emmy. "You'd like that, I -know. Dear little Marianne, do try to let us out. Please do. We're so -tired of this old closet." - -But still Marianne repeated, "Tan't, tan't." And at last she sat down on -the floor and wept. The imprisoned children wept with her. - -"I've thought of a plan," said Emmy at last. "If you'll break one of the -teeth out of your shell comb, Lois, I think I can push it through the -hole and raise the latch up." - -Alas! the hole was above the latch, not below it. Half the teeth were -broken out of Lois's comb in their attempt, and with no result except -that they fell through the hole to the floor outside. At intervals they -renewed their banging and pounding on the door, but it only tired them -out, and did no good. - -It was a very warm afternoon, and, as time went on, the closet became -unendurably hot. Emmy sank down exhausted on the floor, and she and -Kitty began to sob wildly. Lois alone kept her calmness. Little Marianne -had grown wonderfully quiet. Peeping through the hole, Lois saw that she -had gone to sleep on the floor. - -"Don't cry so, Kitty," she said. "It's no use. We were naughty to come -here. I suppose we've got to die in this closet, and it is my fault. We -shall starve to death pretty soon, and no one will know what has become -of us till somebody takes the house; and when they come to clean it and -they open the closet door, they will find our bones." - -Kitty screamed louder than ever at this terrible picture. - -"Oh, hush!" said her cousin. "The only thing we can do now is to pray. -God is the only person that can help us. Mamma says he is close to every -person who prays. He can hear us if we are in the closet." - -Then Lois made this little prayer:-- - -"Our Father who art in heaven. We have been naughty, and came down here -when mamma didn't give us leave to come; but please forgive us. We won't -disobey again, if only Thou wilt. We make a promise. Help us. Show us -the way to get out of this closet. Don't let us die here, with no one to -know where we are. We ask it for Jesus Christ's sake. Forever and -forever. Amen." - -It was a droll little prayer, but Lois put all her heart into it. A -human listener might have smiled at the odd turn of the phrases; but God -knew what she meant, and he never turns away from real prayer. He -answered Lois. - -How did he answer her? Did he send a strong angel to lift up the latch -of the door? He might have done that, you know, as he did for Peter in -prison. But that was not the way he chose in this instance. What he did -was to put a thought into Lois's mind. - -She stood silent for a while after she had finished praying. - -"Children," she said, "I have thought of something. Kitty, you are the -lightest. Do you think Emmy and I could push you up on to the shelf?" - -It was not an easy thing to do, for the place was narrow; but at last, -with Lois and Emmy "boosting," and Kitty scrambling, it was -accomplished. - -"Now, Kitty, put your back against the wall," said Lois, "and when I say -'One, two, three,' push the door with your feet as hard as you can, -while we push below." - -Kitty braced herself, and at the word "three," they all exerted their -utmost strength. One second more, and--oh, joy!--the latch gave way, and -the door flew open. Kitty tumbled from the shelf, the others fell -forward on the floor,--they were out! Lois had bumped her head, and -Emmy's shoulder was bruised; but what was that? They were free. - -"Let us run, run!" cried Lois, catching Marianne up in her arms. "I -never want to see this horrible house again." - -So they ran downstairs, and out through the wood-shed into the open air. -Oh, how sweet the sunshine looked, and the wind felt, after their fear -and danger! - -Their mother taught them a little verse next morning, after they had -told her all about their adventure and made confession of their fault; -and Lois said it to herself every day all her life afterward. This is -it:-- - - "God is never far away; - God is listening all the day. - When we tremble, when we fear, - The dear Lord is quick to hear,-- - Quick to hear, and quick to save, - Quick to grant each prayer we make, - For the precious Gift he gave, - For his Son our Saviour's sake." - -"I love that hymn," Lois used to say; "and I know it's true, because God -heard us just as well in that little bit of a closet as if we had been -in church!" - - - - -A CHILD OF THE SEA FOLK. - - -The great storm of 1430 had done its worst. For days the tempest had -raged on land and sea, and when at last the sun struggled through the -clouds, broken now and flying in angry masses before the strong sea -wind, his beams revealed a scene of desolation. - -All along the coast of Friesland the dikes were down, and the salt water -washing over what but a few days before had been vegetable-gardens and -fertile fields. The farm-houses on the higher ground stood each on its -own little island as it were, with shallow waves breaking against the -walls of barns and stoned sheepfolds lower down on the slopes. Already -busy hands were at work repairing the dykes. Men in boats were wading up -to their knees in mud and water, men, swimming their horses across the -deeper pools, were carrying materials and urging on the work, but many -days must pass before the damage could be made good; and meanwhile, how -were people to manage for food and firing, with the peat-stacks under -water, and the cabbages and potatoes spoiled by the wet? - -"There is just this one thing," said Metje Huyt to her sister -Jacqueline. "Little Karen shall have her cup of warm milk to-night if -everybody else goes without supper; on that I am determined." - -"That will be good, but how canst thou manage it?" asked Jacqueline, a -gentle, placid girl of sixteen, with a rosy face and a plait of thick, -fair hair hanging down to her waist. Metje was a year younger, but she -ruled her elder sister with a rod of iron by virtue of her superior -activity and vivacity of mind. - -"I shall manage it in this way,--I shall milk the Electoral Princess." - -"But she is drowned," objected Jacqueline, opening wide a pair of -surprised blue eyes. - -"Drowned? Not at all. She is on that little hump of land over there -which looks like an island, but is really Neighbor Livard's high -clover-patch. I mean to row out and milk her, and thou shalt go with -me." - -"Art thou sure that it is the Electoral Princess, and not any other -cow?" asked Jacqueline. - -"Sure? Have I not a pair of eyes in my head? Sure? Don't I know the -twist of our own cow's horns? Oh, Jacque, Jacque,--what were thy blue -saucers given thee for? Thee never seemest to use them to purpose. -However, come along. Karen must not want for her milk any longer. The -mother was making some gruel-water for her when I came away, and Karen -did not like it, and was crying." - -Some wading was necessary to reach the row-boat, which fortunately had -been dragged up to the great barn for repairs before the storm began, -and so had escaped the fate which had befallen most of the other boats -in the neighborhood,--of being swept out to sea in the reflux of the -first furious tide. The barn was surrounded by water now, but it was -nowhere more than two or three inches deep. And pulling off their wooden -shoes, the sisters splashed through it with merry laughter. Like most -Friesland maidens, they were expert with the oar, and, though the waves -were still rough, they made their way without trouble to the wet green -slope where the Electoral Princess was grazing, raising her head from -time to time to utter a long melancholy moo of protest at the long delay -of her milkers. Very glad was she to see the girls, and she rubbed her -head contentedly against Jacqueline's shoulder while Metje, with gentle, -skilful fingers, filled the pail with foaming milk. - -"Now stay quietly and go on eating Friend Livard's clover, since no -better may be," she said, patting the cow's red side. "The water is -going down, the dikes are rebuilding, presently we will come and take -thee back to the home field. Meanwhile each day Jacque and I will row -out and milk thee; so be a good cow and stay contentedly where thou -art." - -"What can that be?" Jacqueline asked after the sisters had proceeded a -short distance on their homeward way. - -"What?" - -"That thing over there;" and she pointed toward a distant pool some -quarter of a mile from them and still nearer to the sea. "It looks -like--like--oh! Metje, do you think it can be some one who has been -drowned?" - -"No,--for it moves,--it lifts its arm," said Metje, shading her eyes -from the level rays of the sun, and looking steadily seaward. - -"It is a girl! She is caught by the tide in the pool. Row, Jacqueline, -row! the tide turns in half an hour, and then she will be drowned -indeed. The water was very deep out there last night when the flood was -full; I heard Voorst say so." - -The heavy boat flew forward, for the sisters bent to the oars with all -their strength. Jacqueline turned her head from time to time, to judge -of their direction and the distance. - -"It's no neighbor," she answered as they drew nearer. "It's no one I -ever saw before. Metje, it is the strangest-looking maiden you ever saw. -Her hair is long,--so long, and her face is wild to look upon. I am -afraid." - -"Never mind her hair. We must save her, however long it is," gasped -Metje, breathless from the energy of her exertions. "Steady, now, -Jacque, here we are; hold the boat by the reeds. Girl! I say, girl, do -you hear me? We are come to help you." - -The girl, for a girl it was who half-sat, half-floated in the pool, -raised herself out of the water as one alive, and stared at the sisters -without speaking. She was indeed a wild and strange-looking creature, -quite different from any one that they had ever seen before. - -"Well, are you not going to get into the boat?" cried Metje; "are you -deaf, maiden, that you do not answer me? You'll be drowned presently, -though you swam like forty fishes, for the tide will be coming in like -fury through yon breach in the dike. Here, let me help you; give me your -hand." - -The strange girl did not reply, but she seemed to understand a part, at -least, of what was said to her. She moaned, her face contracted as if -with pain, and, raising herself still farther from the water with an -effort, she indicated by signs that she was caught in the mud at the -bottom of the pool and could not set herself free. - -This was a serious situation, for, as Metje well knew, the mud was deep -and adhesive. She sat a moment in thought; then she took her oar, forced -the boat still nearer, and, directing Jacqueline to throw her weight on -the farther edge to avoid an upset, she grasped the cold hands which the -stranger held out, and, exerting her full strength, drew her from the -mud and over the side of the boat. It rocked fearfully under her -weight, the milk splashed from the pail, but the danger was over in half -a minute, and the rescued girl, exhausted and half-dead, lay safely on -the bottom. - -"Dear me, she will freeze," cried Jacqueline hastily; for the poor thing -they had saved was without clothing, save for the long hair which hung -about her like a mantle. "Here, Metje, I can spare my cloak to wrap -round her limbs, and she must put on thy jacket. We will row the harder -to keep ourselves warm." - -Rowing hard was indeed needful, for, summer as it was, the wind, as the -sun sank, blew in icy gusts from the Zetland Zee, whirling the sailless -windmills rapidly round, and sending showers of salt spray over the -walls of the sheepfolds and other outlying enclosures. The sisters were -thoroughly chilled before they had pulled the boat up to a place of -safety and helped the half-drowned stranger across the wet slope of -grass to the house door. - -Their mother was looking out for them. - -"Where hast thou been, children?" she asked. "Ach!" with a look of -satisfaction as Metje slipped the handle of the milk-pail between her -fingers. "That is well! Little Karen was wearying for her supper. But -who hast thou here?" looking curiously at the odd figure whom her -daughters were supporting. - -"Oh, mother, it is a poor thing that we saved from drowning in that pool -over there," explained Metje, pointing seaward. "She is a stranger, from -far away it must be, for she understands not our speech, and answers -nothing when we ask her questions." - -"Dear me! what should bring a stranger here at this stormy time? But -whoever she is, she must needs be warmed and fed." And the good Vrow -hurried them all indoors, where a carefully economized fire of peats was -burning. The main stock of peats was under water still, and it behooved -them to be careful of what remained, the father had said. - -"We shall have to lend her some clothes," said Metje in an embarrassed -tone. "Hers must have been lost in the water somehow." - -"Perhaps she went in to bathe, and the tide carried them away," -suggested Jacqueline. - -"Bathe! In a tempest such as there has not been in my time! Bathe! Thou -art crazed, child! It is singular, most singular. I don't like it!" -muttered the puzzled mother. "Well, what needs be must be. Go and fetch -thy old stuff petticoat, Metje, and one of my homespun shifts, and -there's that old red jacket of Jacqueline's, she must have that, I -suppose. Make haste, before the father comes in." - -It was easier to fetch the clothes than to persuade the strange girl to -put them on. She moaned, she resisted, she was as awkward and ill at -ease as though she had never worn anything of the sort before. Now that -they scanned her more closely there seemed something very unusual about -her make. Her arms hung down,--like flippers, Metje whispered to her -sister. She stumbled when she tried to walk alone; it seemed as though -her feet, which looked only half developed, could scarcely support her -weight. - -For all that, when she was dressed, with her long hair dried, braided, -and bound with a scarlet ribbon, there was something appealing and -attractive in the poor child's face. She seemed to like the fire, and -cowered close to it. When milk was offered her, she drank with avidity; -but she would not touch the slice of black bread which Metje brought, -and instead caught up a raw shell-fish from a pail full which Voorst -had scooped out of the pool of sea-water which covered what had been the -cabbage-bed, and ate it greedily. The mother looked grave as she watched -her, and was troubled in her mind. - -"She seems scarce human," she whispered to Metje, drawing her to a -distant corner; though indeed they might have spoken aloud with no fear -of being understood by the stranger, who evidently knew no Dutch. "She -is like no maiden that ever I saw." - -"Perhaps she is English," suggested Metje, who had never seen any one -from England, but had vaguely heard that it was an odd country quite -different from Friesland. - -The mother shook her head: "She is not English. I have seen one English -that time that thy father and I went to Haarlem about thy grand-uncle's -inheritance. It was a woman, and she was not at all like this girl. -Metje, but that thou wouldst laugh, and Father Pettrie might reprove me -for vain imaginations, I should guess her to be one of those mermaidens -of whom our forefathers have told us. There are such creatures,--my -mother's great-aunt saw one with her own eyes, and wrote it down, and -my mother kept the paper. Often have I read it over. It was off the -Texel." - -"Could she really be that? Why, it would be better--more interesting, I -mean--than to have her an Englishwoman," cried Metje. "We would teach -her to spin, to knit. She should go with us to church and learn the Ave. -Would it not be a good and holy work, mother, to save the soul of a poor -wild thing from the waves where they know not how to pray?" - -"Perhaps," replied the Vrow, doubtfully. She could not quite accustom -herself to her own suggestion, yet could not quite dismiss it from her -mind. - -The father and Voorst now came in, and supper, delayed till after its -usual time by the pressing needs of the stranger, must be got ready in -haste. - -Metje fell to slicing the black loaf, Jacqueline stirred the porridge, -while the mother herself presided over the pot of cabbage-soup which had -been stewing over the fire since early morning. Voorst, meanwhile, -having nothing to do but to wait, sat and looked furtively at the -strange girl. She did not seem to notice him, but remained motionless in -the chimney-corner, only now and then giving a startled sudden glance -about the room, like some wild creature caught in a trap. Voorst thought -he had never seen anything so plaintive as her large, frightened eyes, -or so wonderful as the thick plait of hair which, as she sat, lay on the -ground, and was of the strangest pale color, like flax on which a -greenish reflection is accidentally thrown. It was no more like Metje's -ruddy locks, or the warm fairness of Jacqueline's braids, than moonlight -is like dairy butter, he said to himself. - -Supper ready, Metje took the girl's hand and led her to the table. She -submitted to be placed on a wooden stool, and looked curiously at the -bowl of steaming broth which was set before her; but she made no attempt -to eat it, and seemed not to know the use of her spoon. Metje tried to -show her how to hold it, but she only moaned restlessly, and, as soon as -the family moved after the father had pronounced the Latin grace which -Father Pettrie taught all his flock to employ, she slipped from her seat -and stumbled awkwardly across the floor toward the fire, which seemed to -have a fascination for her. - -"Poor thing! she seems unlearnt in Christian ways," said Goodman Huyt; -but later, when his wife confided to him her notion as to the -stranger's uncanny origin, he looked perplexed, crossed himself, and -said he would speak to the priest in the morning. It was no time for -fetching heathen folk into homes, he remarked, still less those who were -more fish than folk; as for mermaids, if such things there might be, -they were no better in his opinion than dolphins or mackerel, and he did -not care to countenance them. - -Father Pettrie was duly consulted. He scouted the mermaid theory, and, -as the Vrow had foreboded, gave her a reprimand for putting such ideas -into the mind of her family. - -The girl was evidently a foreigner from some far distant country, he -said, a Turk it might be, or a daughter of that people, descended from -Ishmael, who held rule in the land of the Holy Sepulchre. All the more -it became a duty to teach her Christian ways and bring her into the true -fold; and he bade Goodman Huyt to keep her till such time as her friends -should be found, to treat her kindly, and make sure that she was brought -regularly to church and taught religion and her duty. - -There was no need of this admonition as to kindness. Vrow Huyt could -hardly have used a stray dog less than tenderly. And for Jacqueline and -Metje, they looked upon the girl as their own special property, and were -only in danger of spoiling her with over-indulgence. "Ebba," they called -her, as they knew no name by which to address her, and in course of time -she learned to recognize it as hers and to answer to it,--answer by -looks and signs, that is, for she never learned to speak, or to make -other sound than inarticulate moans and murmurs, except a wild sort of -laughter, and now and then, when pleased and contented, a low humming -noise like an undeveloped song. From these the family could guess at her -mood, from her expressive looks and gestures they made shift to -understand her wishes, and she, in turn, comprehended their meaning half -by observation, half by instinct; but closer communication was not -possible, and the lack of a common speech was a barrier between them -which neither she nor they could overcome. - -Gradually "Dumb Ebba," as the neighbors called her, was taught some of -the thrifty household arts in which Dame Huyt excelled. She learned to -spin, and though less expertly, to knit, and could be trusted to stir -whatever was set upon the fire to cook, and not let it burn or boil -over. When the family went to mass, she went too, limping along with -painful slowness on her badly-formed feet, and she bowed her head and -knelt with the rest, but how much or how little she understood they -could not tell. Except on Sundays she never left the house. Her first -attempts at doing so were checked by Metje, who could not dismiss from -her memory what her mother had said, and was afraid to let her charge so -much as look toward the tempting blue waves which shone in the distance; -and after a while Ebba seemed to realize that she was, so to speak, a -kindly treated captive, and resigned herself to captivity. Little Karen -was the only creature whom she played with; sometimes when busied with -the child she was noticed to smile, but for every one else her face -remained pitifully sad, and she never lost the look of a wild, -imprisoned thing. - -So two years passed, and still Dumb Ebba remained, unclaimed by friends -or kindred, one of the friendly Huyt household. The dikes were long -since rebuilt, the Electoral Princess had come back to her own -pasture-ground and fed there contentedly in company with two of her own -calves, but the poor sea-stray whom Metje had pulled into the boat that -stormy night remained speechless, inscrutable, a mystery and a -perplexity to her adopted family. - -But now a fresh interest arose to rival Ebba's claims on their -attention. A wooer came for pretty Jacqueline. It was young Hans Polder, -son of a thrifty miller in the neighborhood, and himself owner of one of -the best windmills in that part of Friesland. Jacqueline was not hard to -win, the wedding-day was set, and she, Metje, and the mother were busy -from morning till night in making ready the store of household linen -which was the marriage portion of all well-to-do brides. Ebba's services -with the wheel were also put into requisition; and part of her spinning, -woven into towels, which, after a fancy of Metje's, had a pattern of -little fish all over them, were known for generations as "the Mermaid's -towels." But this is running far in advance of my story. - -Amid this press of occupation Ebba was necessarily left to herself more -than formerly, and some dormant sense of loneliness, perhaps, made her -turn to Voorst as a friend. He had taken a fancy to her at the -first,--the sort of fancy which a manly youth sometimes takes to a -helpless child,--and had always treated her kindly. Now she grew to -feel for him a degree of attachment which she showed for no one else. In -the evening, when tired after the day's fishing he sat half asleep by -the fire, she would crouch on the floor beside him, watching his every -movement, and perfectly content if, on waking, he threw her a word or -patted her hair carelessly. She sometimes neglected to fill the father's -glass or fetch his pipe, but never Voorst's; and she heard his footsteps -coming up from the dike long before any one else in the house could -catch the slightest footfall. - -The strict watch which the family had at first kept over their singular -inmate had gradually relaxed, and Ebba was suffered to go in and out at -her will. She rarely ventured beyond the house enclosure, however, but -was fond of sitting on the low wall of the sheep-fold and looking off at -the sea, which, now that the flood had subsided, was at a long distance -from the house. And at such moments her eyes looked larger, wilder, and -more wistful than ever. - -As the time for the wedding drew near, Voorst fell into the way of -absenting himself a good deal from home. There were errands to be done, -he said, but as these "errands" always took him over to the little -island of Urk, where lived a certain pretty Olla Tronk, who was -Jacqueline's great friend and her chosen bridesmaiden, the sisters -naturally teased him a good deal about them. Ebba did not, of course, -understand these jokings, but she seemed to feel instinctively that -something was in the air. She grew restless, the old unhappy moan came -back to her lips; only when Voorst was at home did she seem more -contented. - -Three days before the marriage, Olla arrived to help in the last -preparations. She was one of the handsomest girls in the neighborhood, -and besides her beauty was an heiress; for her father, whose only child -she was, owned large tracts of pasture on the mainland, as well as the -greater part of the island of Urk, where he had a valuable dairy. The -family crowded to the door to welcome Olla. She came in with Voorst, who -had rowed over to Urk for her,--tall, blooming, with flaxen tresses -hanging below her waist, and a pair of dancing hazel eyes fringed with -long lashes. Voorst was almost as good looking in his way,--they made a -very handsome couple. - -"And this must be the stranger maiden of whom Voorst has so often told -me," said Olla after the first greetings had been exchanged. She smiled -at Ebba, and tried to take her hand, but the elfish creature frowned, -retreated, and, when Olla persisted, snatched her hand away with an -angry gesture and put it behind her back. - -"Why does she dislike me so?" asked Olla, discomfited and grieved, for -she had meant to be kind. - -"Oh, she doesn't dislike thee, she couldn't!" cried peace-loving -Jacqueline. - -But Ebba did dislike Olla, though no one understood why. She would -neither go near nor look at her if she could help it, and when, in the -evening, she and Voorst sat on the doorstep talking together in low -tones, Ebba hastened out, placed herself between them, and tried to push -Olla away, uttering pitiful little wailing cries. - -"What does ail her?" asked Jacqueline. Metje made no answer, but she -looked troubled. She felt that there was sorrow ahead for Ebba or for -Voorst, and she loved them both. - -The wedding-day dawned clear and cloudless, as a marriage-day should. -Jacqueline in her bravery of stiff gilded head-dress with its long -scarf-like veil, her snowy bodice, and necklace of many-colored beads, -was a dazzling figure. Olla was scarcely less so, and she blushed and -dimpled as Voorst led her along in the bridal procession. Ebba walked -behind them. She, too, had been made fine in a scarlet bodice and a -grand cap with wings like that which Metje wore, but she did not seem to -care that she was so well dressed. Her sad eyes followed the forms of -Olla and Voorst, and as she limped painfully along after them, she -moaned continually to herself, a low, inarticulate, wordless murmur like -the sound of the sea. - -Following the marriage-mass came the marriage-feast. Goodman Huyt sat at -the head of the table, the mother at the foot, and, side by side, the -newly-wedded pair. Opposite them sat Voorst and Olla. His expression of -triumphant satisfaction, and her blushes and demurely-contented glances, -had not been unobserved by the guests; so no one was very much surprised -when, in the midst of the festivity, the father rose, and knocked with -his tankard on the table to insure silence. - -"Neighbors and kinsfolk, one marriage maketh another, saith the old -proverb, and we are like to prove it a true one. I hereby announce that, -with consent of parents on both sides, my son Voorst is troth-plight -with Olla the daughter of my old friend Tronk who sits here,"--slapping -Tronk on the shoulder,--"and I would now ask you to drink with me a -high-health to the young couple." Suiting the action to the word, he -filled the glass with Hollands, raised it, pronounced the toast, "A -High-Health to Voorst Huyt and to his bride Olla Tronk," and swallowed -the spirits at a draught. - -Ebba, who against her will had been made to sit at the board among the -other guests, had listened to this speech with no understanding of its -meaning. But as she listened to the laughter and applause which followed -it, and saw people slapping Voorst on the back with loud congratulations -and shaking hands with Olla, she raised her head with a flash of -interest. She watched Voorst rise in his place with Olla by his side, -while the rest reseated themselves; she heard him utter a few sentences. -What they meant she knew not; but he looked at Olla, and when, after -draining his glass, he turned, put his arm round Olla's neck, drew her -head close to his own, and their lips met in a kiss, some meaning of the -ceremony seemed to burst upon her. She started from her seat, for one -moment she stood motionless with dilated eyes and parted lips, then she -gave a long wild cry and fled from the house. - -"What is the matter? Who screamed?" asked old Huyt, who had observed -nothing. - -"It is nothing. The poor dumb child over there," answered his wife. - -Metje looked anxiously at the door. The duties of hospitality held her -to her place. "She will come in presently and I will comfort her," she -thought to herself. - -But Ebba never "came in" again. When Metje was set free to search, all -trace of her had vanished. As suddenly and mysteriously as she had come -into their lives she had passed out of them again. No one had seen her -go forth from the door, no trace could be found of her on land or sea. -Only an old fisherman, who was drawing his nets that day at a little -distance from the shore, averred that just after high noon he had -noticed a shape wearing a fluttering garment like that of a woman pass -slowly over the ridge of the dike just where it made a sudden curve to -the left. He had had the curiosity to row that way after his net was -safely pulled in, for he wanted to see if there was a boat lying there, -or what could take any one to so unlikely a spot; but neither boat nor -woman could be found, and he half fancied that he must have fallen -asleep in broad daylight and dreamed for a moment. - -However that might be, Ebba was gone; nor was anything ever known of her -again. Metje mourned her loss, all the more that Jacqueline's departure -left her with no mate of her own age in the household. Little Karen -cried for "Ebbe" for a night or two, the Vrow missed her aid in the -spinning, but Voorst, absorbed in his happiness, scarcely noted her -absence, and Olla was glad. - -Gradually she grew to be a tradition of the neighborhood, handed down -from one generation to another even to this day, and nobody ever knew -whence she came or where she went, or whether it was a mortal maiden or -one of the children of the strange, solemn sea folk who was cast so -curiously upon the hands of the kindly Friesland family and dwelt in -their midst for two speechless years. - - NOTE.--The tradition on which this story is founded, and which - is still held as true in some parts of Friesland, is referred to - by Parival in his book, "Les Delices de Hollande." - - - - -SUSAN COOLIDGE'S POPULAR BOOKS. - - -[Illustration: NANNY'S SUBSTITUTE. Nanny at the Fair, taking orders and -carrying trays.--PAGE 171.] - -MISCHIEF'S THANKSGIVING, _AND OTHER STORIES_. - -WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY ADDIE LEDYARD. - -_One handsome square 16mo volume, bound in cloth, black and gilt -lettered. Price $1.25._ - - -[Illustration: "Now, Katy, do,--ah, do, do."--PAGE 108.] - -WHAT KATY DID AT SCHOOL. - -WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY MARY A. HALLOCK. - -_One handsome square 16mo volume, bound in cloth, black and gilt -lettered. Price, $1.25._ - - -[Illustration] - -_CLOVER_. A Sequel to the Katy Books. By SUSAN COOLIDGE. With -illustrations by Jessie McDermott. Square 16mo. Cloth. Price, $1.25. - -All the children will want to know more about "What Katy Did." - - -[Illustration: These girls were Clover and Elsie Carr.--PAGE 7.] - -WHAT KATY DID NEXT. - -WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY JESSIE MCDERMOTT. - -One handsome square 16mo volume, bound in cloth, black and gilt -lettered. Price $1.25. - - -[Illustration: THE CLIFFS.] - -A LITTLE COUNTRY GIRL. - -With Illustrations. - -One volume. Square 16mo. Cloth, black and gold. Price $1.25. - - -[Illustration: Eyebright, who had grown as dear as a daughter to the old -lady, was playing croquet with Charley.--Page 246] - -=EYEBRIGHT.= With Illustrations. One handsome, square, 16mo volume, bound -in cloth. Black and gilt lettered. Price, $1.25. - -ROBERTS BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS, BOSTON. - - - - -LOUISE CHANDLER MOULTON'S STORIES. - - -[Illustration] - - BED-TIME STORIES. - MORE BED-TIME STORIES. - NEW BED-TIME STORIES. - FIRELIGHT STORIES. - STORIES TOLD AT TWILIGHT. - -With pretty Illustrations. Five volumes in a box. Price, $6.25. - -ROBERTS BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS, BOSTON, MASS. - - - - -SUSAN COOLIDGE'S POPULAR BOOKS. - - -[Illustration: "As there was nobody to see, he just sat down and cried -as hard as Dotty herself."] - -THE NEW-YEAR'S BARGAIN. - -WITH TWENTY-SEVEN ILLUSTRATIONS BY ADDIE LEDYARD. - -_One handsome, square 16mo volume, bound in cloth, black and gilt -lettered. Price, $1.25._ - -ROBERTS BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS, _Boston_. - - - - -LOUISA M. ALCOTT'S FAMOUS BOOKS. - - -[Illustration: JO IN A VORTEX.--Every few weeks she would shut herself -up in her room, put on her scribbling suit, and "fall into a vortex," as -she expressed it.] - -LITTLE WOMEN; OR, MEG, JO, BETH, AND AMY. - -One volume, complete. Price, $1.50. - - -[Illustration: AN OLD-FASHIONED GIRL.] - -PRICE, $1.50. - - -[Illustration: 'Sing, Tessa; sing!' cried Tommo, twanging away with all -his might.--PAGE 47.] - -AUNT JO'S SCRAP-BAG: Containing "My Boys," "Shawl-Straps," "Cupid and -Chow-Chow," "My Girls," "Jimmy's Cruise in the Pinafore," "An -Old-Fashioned Thanksgiving." 6 vols. Price of each, $1.00. - - -[Illustration: Grandma's Story FROM "SPINNING-WHEEL STORIES."] - -THE SPINNING-WHEEL SERIES: - -SILVER PITCHERS, and Other Stories. - -PROVERB STORIES. - -SPINNING-WHEEL STORIES. - -A GARLAND FOR GIRLS, and Other Stories. - -4 volumes. Cloth. Price, $1.25 each. - - -[Illustration] - -JACK AND JILL: A VILLAGE STORY. With Illustrations. 16mo. -Price, $1.50. - - -ROSE IN BLOOM. - -[Illustration] - -A Sequel to - -"EIGHT COUSINS." - -Price $1.50. - -ROBERTS BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS, _Boston_. - - - - -LOUISA M. ALCOTT'S WRITINGS. - - -_Miss Alcott is really a benefactor of households._--H. H. - -_Miss Alcott has a faculty of entering into the lives and feelings of -children that is conspicuously wanting in most writers who address them; -and to this cause, to the consciousness among her readers that they are -hearing about people like themselves, instead of abstract qualities -labelled with names, the popularity of her books is due._--MRS. SARAH J. -HALE. - -_Dear Aunt Jo! You are embalmed in the thoughts and loves of thousands -of little men and women._--EXCHANGE. - - - =Little Women=; or =Meg, Jo, Beth, and Amy=. With - illustrations. 16mo $1.50 - - =Hospital Sketches, and Camp and Fireside Stories.= - With illustrations. 16mo 1.50 - - =An Old-Fashioned Girl.= With illustrations. 16mo 1.50 - - =Little Men=: Life at Plumfield with Jo's Boys. With - illustrations. 16mo 1.50 - - =Jo's Boys and How they Turned Out.= A sequel to - "Little Men." With portrait of "Aunt Jo." 16mo 1.50 - - =Eight Cousins=; or, The Aunt-Hill. With illustrations. - 16mo 1.50 - - =Rose in Bloom.= A sequel to "Eight Cousins." 16mo 1.50 - - =Under the Lilacs.= With illustrations. 16mo 1.50 - - =Jack and Jill.= A Village Story. With illustrations. - 16mo 1.50 - - =Work=: A Story of Experience. With character - illustrations by Sol Eytinge. 16mo 1.50 - - =Moods.= A Novel. New edition, revised and enlarged. - 16mo 1.50 - - =A Modern Mephistopheles, and A Whisper in the Dark.= - 16mo. 1.50 - - =Silver Pitchers, and Independence.= A Centennial Love - Story. 16mo 1.25 - - =Proverb Stories.= New edition, revised and enlarged. - 16mo. 1.25 - - =Spinning-Wheel Stories.= With illustrations. 16mo 1.25 - - =A Garland for Girls, and Other Stories.= With - illustrations. 16mo 1.25 - - =My Boys, &c.= First volume of Aunt Jo's Scrap-Bag. - 16mo 1.00 - - =Shawl-Straps.= Second volume of Aunt Jo's Scrap-Bag. - 16mo 1.00 - - =Cupid and Chow-Chow, &c.= Third volume of Aunt Jo's - Scrap-Bag. 16mo 1.00 - - =My Girls, &c.= Fourth volume of Aunt Jo's Scrap-Bag. - 16mo 1.00 - - =Jimmy's Cruise in the Pinafore, &c.= Fifth volume of - Aunt Jo's Scrap-Bag. 16mo 1.00 - - =An Old-Fashioned Thanksgiving, &c.= Sixth volume of - Aunt Jo's Scrap-Bag. 16mo 1.00 - - =Little Women.= Illustrated. Embellished with nearly - 200 characteristic illustrations from original designs - drawn expressly for this edition of this noted American - Classic. One small quarto, bound in cloth, with - emblematic designs 2.50 - - =Little Women Series.= Comprising Little Women; Little - Men; Eight Cousins; Under the Lilacs; An Old-Fashioned - Girl; Jo's Boys; Rose in Bloom; Jack and Jill. 8 large - 16mo volumes in a handsome box 12.00 - - Miss Alcott's novels in uniform binding in sets. Moods; - Work; Hospital Sketches; A Modern Mephistopheles, and A - Whisper in the Dark. 4 volumes. 16mo 6.00 - - =Lulu's Library. Vols. I., II., III.= A collection of - New Stories. 16mo 1.00 - -_These books are for sale at all bookstores, or will be mailed, -post-paid, on receipt of price, to any address._ - -ROBERTS BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS, _Boston, Mass._ - - - - -LOUISA M. ALCOTT'S FAMOUS BOOKS. - - -[Illustration] - -EIGHT COUSINS; or, The Aunt-Hill. With Illustrations by SOL EYTINGE. -Price, $1.50. - -ROBERTS BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS, BOSTON. - - - - -Transcriber's Note: - - Punctuation has been standardised. Hyphenation has been retained as - in the original publication. Changes have been made as follows: - - Page 39 - friendship with you, "dusting girl," _changed to_ - friendship with your "dusting girl," - - Page 89 - aunt, who is an invalid, used _changed to_ - aunt, who is an invalid, uses - - Page 190 - Dance, Etelklein, leibchen _changed to_ - Dance, Etelklein, liebchen - - Page 250 - choose a pretty tint of _changed to_ - chose a pretty tint of - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Just Sixteen., by Susan Coolidge - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK JUST SIXTEEN. *** - -***** This file should be named 41641-8.txt or 41641-8.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/1/6/4/41641/ - -Produced by Suzanne Shell and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://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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