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<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.01 Transitional//EN">
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<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Little Lucy's Wonderful Globe, by Charlotte M. Yonge</title>
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<pre>
Project Gutenberg's Little Lucy's Wonderful Globe, by Charlotte M. Yonge
#22 in our series by Charlotte M. Yonge

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Title: Little Lucy's Wonderful Globe

Author: Charlotte M. Yonge

Release Date: October, 2003 [EBook #4538]
[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule]
[This file was first posted on February 4, 2002]
[This file was last updated on September 29, 2002]

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LITTLE LUCY'S WONDERFUL GLOBE ***




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</pre>
<h2 align="center">LITTLE LUCY'S WONDERFUL GLOBE</h2>
<p align="center"><img src="lucy.jpg" alt="Cover image"></p>v
<h3 align="center">BY CHARLOTTE M. YONGE</h3>

<p align="center">"<i>Young fingers idly roll<br>
 The mimic earth or trace<br>
 In picture bright of blue and gold<br>
 Each other circling chase.</i>"&mdash;KEBLE</p>

<p>&nbsp;&nbsp;</p>

<h3>CONTENTS</h3>

<blockquote><b><a href="#chap1">CHAPTER I. MOTHER BUNCH</a><br>
<a href="#chap2">CHAPTER II. VISITORS FROM THE SOUTH SEAS</a><br>
<a href="#chap3">CHAPTER III. ITALY</a><br>
<a href="#chap4">CHAPTER IV. GREENLAND</a><br>
<a href="#chap5">CHAPTER V. TYROL</a><br>
<a href="#chap6">CHAPTER VI. AFRICA</a><br>
<a href="#chap7">CHAPTER VII. LAPLANDERS</a><br>
<a href="#chap8">CHAPTER VIII. CHINA</a><br>
<a href="#chap9">CHAPTER IX. KAMSCHATKA</a><br>
<a href="#chap10">CHAPTER X. THE TURK</a><br>
<a href="#chap11">CHAPTER XI. SWITZERLAND</a><br>
<a href="#chap12">CHAPTER XII. THE COSSACK</a><br>
<a href="#chap13">CHAPTER XIII. SPAIN</a><br>
<a href="#chap14">CHAPTER XIV. GERMANY</a><br>
<a href="#chap15">CHAPTER XV. PARIS IN THE SIEGE</a><br>
<a href="#chap16">CHAPTER XVI. THE AMERICAN GUEST</a><br>
<a href="#chap17">CHAPTER XVII. THE DREAM OF ALL
NATIONS</a></b></blockquote>

<p>&nbsp;</p>

<h3 align="center">LITTLE LUCY'S WONDERFUL GLOBE</h3>

<p>&nbsp;</p>
<h4 align="center"><a name="chap1">&mdash;CHAPTER I&mdash;</a><br>
MOTHER BUNCH</h4>

<p>There was once a wonderful fortnight in little Lucy's life. One
evening she went to bed very tired and cross and hot, and in the
morning when she looked at her arms and legs they were all covered
with red spots, rather pretty to look at, only they were dry and
prickly.</p>

<p>Nurse was frightened when she looked at them. She turned all the
little sisters out of the night nursery, covered Lucy up close, and
ordered her not to stir, certainly not to go into her bath. Then
there was a whispering and a running about, and Lucy was half
alarmed, but more pleased at being so important, for she did not
feel at all ill, and quite enjoyed the tea and toast that Nurse
brought up to her. Just as she was beginning to think it rather
tiresome to lie there with nothing to do, except to watch the flies
buzzing about, there was a step on the stairs and up came the
doctor. He was an old friend, very good-natured, and he made fun
with Lucy about having turned into a spotted leopard, just like the
cowry shell on Mrs. Bunker's mantel-piece. Indeed, he said he
thought she was such a curiosity that Mrs. Bunker would come for
her and set her up in the museum, and then he went away. Suppose,
oh, suppose she did!</p>

<p>Mrs. Bunker, or Mother Bunch, as Lucy and her brothers and
sisters called her, was housekeeper to their Uncle Joseph. He was
really their great uncle, and they thought him any age you can
imagine. They would not have been much surprised to hear that he
sailed with Christopher Columbus, though he was a strong, hale,
active man, much less easily tired than their own papa. He had been
a ship's surgeon in his younger days, and had sailed all over the
world, and collected all sorts of curious things, besides which he
was a very wise and learned man, and had made some great discovery.
It was <i>not</i> America. Lucy knew that her elderly brother
understood what it was, but it was not worth troubling her head
about, only somehow it made ships go safer, and so he had had a
pension given him as a reward. He had come home and bought a house
about a mile out of town, and built up a high room from which to
look at the stars with his telescope, and to try his experiments
in, and a long one besides for his museum; yet, after all, he was
not much there, for whenever there was anything wonderful to be
seen, he always went off to look at it, and, whenever there was a
meeting of learned men&mdash;scientific men was the right
word&mdash;they always wanted him to help them make speeches and show
wonders. He was away now. He had gone away to wear a red cross on
his arm, and help to take care of the wounded in the sad war
between the French and the Germans.</p>

<p>But he had left Mother Bunch behind him. Nobody knew exactly
what was Mrs. Bunker's nation; indeed she could hardly be said to
have any, for she had been born at sea, and had been a sailor's
wife; but whether she was mostly English, Dutch or Spanish, nobody
knew and nobody cared. Her husband had been lost at sea, and Uncle
Joseph had taken her to look after his house, and always said she
was the only woman who had sense and discretion enough ever to go
into his laboratory or dust his museum.</p>

<p>She was very kind and good natured, and there was nothing that
the children liked better than a walk to Uncle Joseph's, and, after
a play in the garden, tea with her. And such quantities of sugar
there were in her room! such curious cakes made in the fashion of
different countries! such funny preserves from all parts of the
world! And still more delightful, such cupboards and drawers full
of wonderful things, and such stories about them! The younger ones
liked Mrs. Bunker's room better than Uncle Joseph's museum, where
there were some big stuffed beasts with glaring eyes that
frightened them; and they had to walk round with hands behind, that
they might not touch anything, or else their uncle's voice was sure
to call out gruffly, "Paws off!"</p>

<p>Mrs. Bunker was not a bit like the smart house-keepers at other
houses. To be sure, on Sundays she came out in a black silk gown
with a little flounce at the bottom, a scarlet crape shawl with a
blue dragon on it&mdash;his wings over her back, and a claw over
each shoulder, so that whoever sat behind her in church was
terribly distracted by trying to see the rest of him&mdash;and a
very big yellow Tuscan bonnet, trimmed with sailor's blue
ribbon.</p>

<p>But during the week and about the house she wore a green gown,
with a brown holland apron and bib over it, quite straight all the
way down, for she had no particular waist, and her hair, which was
of a funny kind of flaxen grey, she bundled up and tied round,
without any cap or anything else on her head. One of the little
boys had once called her Mother Bunch, because of her stories; and
the name fitted her so well that the whole family, and even Uncle
Joseph, took it up.</p>

<p>Lucy was very fond of her; but when about an hour after the
doctor's visit she was waked by a rustling and a lumbering on the
stairs, and presently the door opened, and the second best big
bonnet&mdash;the go-to-market bonnet with the turned ribbons&mdash;came
into the room with Mother Bunch's face under it, and the
good-natured voice told her she was to be carried to Uncle Joseph's
and have oranges and tamarinds, she did begin to feel like the
spotted cowry-shell to think about being set on the chimney-piece,
to cry, and say she wanted Mamma.</p>

<p>The Nurse and Mother Bunch began to comfort her, and explain
that the doctor thought she had the scarlatina; not at all badly;
but that if any of the others caught it, nobody could guess how bad
they would be; especially Mamma, who had just been ill; and so she
was to be rolled up in her blankets, and put into a carriage, and
taken to her uncle's; and there she would stay till she was not
only well, but could safely come home without carrying infection
about with her.</p>

<p>Lucy was a good little girl, and knew that she must bear it; so,
though she could not help crying a little when she found she must
not kiss any one, nay not even see them, and that nobody might go
with her but Lonicera, her own china doll, she made up her mind
bravely; and she was a good deal cheered when Clare, the biggest
and best of all the dolls, was sent into her, with all her clothes,
by Maude, her eldest sister, to be her companion,&mdash;it was such
an honor and so very kind of Maude that it quite warmed the sad
little heart.</p>

<p>So Lucy had her little scarlet flannel dressing gown on, and her
shoes and stockings, and a wonderful old knitted hood with a tippet
to it, and then she was rolled round and round in all her bed-
clothes, and Mrs. Bunker took her up like a very big baby, not
letting any one else touch her. How Mrs. Bunker got safe down all
the stairs no one can tell, but she did, and into the carriage, and
there poor Lucy looked back and saw at the windows Mamma's face,
and Papa's, and Maude's and all the rest, all nodding and smiling
to her, but Maude was crying all the time, and perhaps Mamma was
too.</p>

<p>The journey seemed very long; and Lucy was really tired when she
was put down at last in a big bed, nicely warmed for her, and with
a bright fire in the room. As soon as she had had some beef-tea,
she went off soundly to sleep and only woke to drink tea, give the
dolls their supper, and put them to sleep.</p>

<p>The next evening she was sitting up by the fire, and the fourth
day she was running about the house as if nothing had ever been the
matter with her, but she was not to go home for a fortnight; and
being wet, cold, dull weather, it was not always easy to amuse
herself. She had her dolls, to be sure, and the little dog Don, to
play with, and sometimes Mr. Bunker would let her make funny things
with the dough, or stone the raisins, or even help make a pudding;
but still there was a good deal of time on her hands. She had only
two books with her, and the rash had made her eyes weak, so that
she did not much like reading them. The notes that every one wrote
from home were quite enough for her. What she liked best&mdash;that
is, when Mrs. Bunker could not attend to her&mdash;was to wander
about the museum, explaining the things to the dolls: "That is a
crocodile, Lonicera; it eats people up, and has a little bird to
pick its teeth. Look, Clare, that bony thing is a skeleton
&mdash;the skeleton of a lizard. Paws off, my dear; mustn't touch.
That's amber, just like barley sugar, only not so nice; people make
necklaces of it. There's a poor little dead fly inside. Those are
the dear delightful humming-birds; look at their crests, just like
Mamma's jewels. See the shells; aren't they beauties? People get
pearls out of those great flat ones, and dive all down to the
bottom of the sea after them; mustn't touch, my dear, only look;
paws off."</p>

<p>One would think that Lonicera's curved fingers, all in one
piece, and Clare's blue leather hands had been very moveable and
mischievous, judging by the number of times this warning came; but
of course it was Lucy herself who wanted it most, for her own
little plump, pinky hands did almost tingle to handle and turn
round those pretty shells. She wanted to know whether the amber
tasted like barley-sugar, as it looked; and there was a little musk
deer, no bigger than Don, whom she longed to stroke, or still
better to let Lonicera ride; but she was a good little girl, and
had real sense of honor, which never betrays a trust; so she never
laid a finger on anything but what Uncle Joe had once given them
leave to move.</p>

<p>This was a very big pair of globes&mdash;bigger than globes
commonly are now, and with more frames round them&mdash;one great
flat one, with odd names painted on it, and another brass one,
nearly upright, going half-way round from top to bottom, and with
the globe hung upon it by two pins, which Lucy's elder sisters
called the poles, or the ends of the axis. The huge round balls
went very easily with a slight touch, and there was something very
charming in making them go whisk, whisk, whisk; now faster, now
slower, now spinning so quickly that nothing on them could be seen,
now turning slowly and gradually over and showing all that was on
them.</p>

<p>The mere twirling was quite enough for Lucy at first, but soon
she liked to look at what was on them. One she thought more
entertaining than the other. It was covered with wonderful
creatures: one bear was fastened by his long tail to the pole;
another bigger one was trotting round; a snake was coiling about
anywhere; a lady stood disconsolate against a rock; another sat in
a chair; a giant sprawled with a club in one hand and a lion's skin
in the other; a big dog and a little dog stood on their hind legs;
a lion seemed just about to spring on a young maiden's head; and all
were thickly spotted over, just as if they had Lucy's rash, with
stars big and little: and still more strange, her brothers declared
these were the stars in the sky, and this was the way people found
their road at sea; but if Lucy asked how, they always said she was
not big enough to understand, and it had occurred to Lucy to ask
whether the truth was not that they were not big enough to explain.
The other globe was all in pale green, with pink and yellow
outlines on it, and quantities of names. Lucy had had to learn some
of these names for her geography, and she rather kept out of the
way of looking at it first, till she had really grown tired of all
the odd men and women and creatures upon the celestial sphere; but
by and by she began to roll the other by way of variety.</p>

<p>&nbsp;</p>

<h4 align="center"><a name="chap2">&mdash;CHAPTER II&mdash;<br>
VISITORS FROM THE SOUTH SEAS</a></h4>

<p>"Miss Lucy, you're as quiet as a mouse. Not in any mischief?"
said Mrs. Bunker, looking into the museum; "why, what are you doing
there?"</p>

<p>"I'm looking at the great big globe, that Uncle Joe said I might
touch," said Lucy. "Here are all the names just like
my lesson-book at home: Europe, Africa, and America."</p>

<p>"Why, bless the child! where else should they be? There are all
them oceans and seas besides that I've crossed over, many's the
time, with poor Ben Bunker, who was last seen off Cape
Hatteras."</p>

<p>"What, all these great green places, with Atlantic and Pacific
on them; you don't really mean that you've sailed over them! I
should like to make an ant do it on a sunflower seed! How could
you, Mother Bunch? You are not small enough."</p>

<p>"Ho! ho!" said the housekeeper, laughing; "does the child think
I sailed on that very globe there?"</p>

<p>"I know one learns names," said Lucy; "but is it real?"</p>

<p>"Real! Why, Missie, don't you see it's a sort of a picture?
There's your photograph now, it's not as big as you, but it shows
you; and so a chart, or a map, or a globe, is just a picture of the
shapes of the coast-line of the land and the sea, and the rivers in
them, and mountains, and the like. Look here!" And she made Lucy
stand on a chair and look at a map of her own town that was hanging
against the wall, showing her all the chief buildings, the
churches, streets, the town hall, and at last helping her find her
own Papa's house.</p>

<p>When Lucy had traced all the corners she had to turn in going
from home to Uncle Joe's, and had even found little frizzles for
the five maple trees before the Parsonage, she understood that the
map was a small picture of the situation of the buildings in the
town, and thought she could find her way to some new place if she
studied it well.</p>

<p>Then Mrs. Bunker showed her a big map of the whole country, and
there Lucy found the river, and the roads, and the names of the
villages near, as she had seen or heard of them; and she began to
understand that a map or globe really brought distant places into
an exceedingly small picture, and that where she saw a name and a
spot she was to think of houses and churches; that a branching
black line was a flowing river full of water; a curve in, a pretty
bay shut in with rocks and hills; a point jutting out, generally a
steep rock with a lighthouse on it.</p>

<p>"And all these places are countries, Bunchey, are they, with
fields and houses like ours?"</p>

<p>"Houses, yes, and fields, but not always like ours, Miss
Lucy."</p>

<p>"And are there little children, boys and girls, in them
all?"</p>

<p>"To be sure there are, else how would the world go on? Why, I've
seen them by swarms, white or brown or black, running down to the
shore as soon as the vessel cast anchor; and whatever color they
were, you might be sure of two things, Miss Lucy, in which they
were all alike."</p>

<p>"Oh, what, Mrs. Bunker?"</p>

<p>"Why, in making plenty of noise, and in wanting all they could
get to eat. But they were little darlings, some of them, if I only
could have got at them to make them a bit cleaner. Some of them
looked for all the world like the little bronze images your Uncle
has got in the museum, which he brought from Italy, and they hadn't
a rag more clothing on either. They were in India. Dear, dear, to
see them tumble about in the surf!"</p>

<p>"Oh, what fun! what fun! I wish I could see them."</p>

<p>"You would be right glad, Missie, I can tell you, if you had
been three or four months aboard a vessel with nothing but dry
biscuits and salt junk, and may be a tin of preserved vegetables
just to keep it wholesome, to see the black fellows come grinning
alongside with their boats and canoes all full of oranges and limes
and grape-fruit and cocoanuts. Doesn't one's mouth fairly water for
them?"</p>

<p>"Do please sit down, there's a good Mother Bunch, and tell me
all about them. Come, please do."</p>

<p>"Suppose I did, Miss Lucy, where would your poor uncle's
preserved ginger be, that no one knows from real West Indian
ginger?"</p>

<p>"Oh, let me come into your room, and you can tell me all the
time you are doing the ginger.</p>

<p>"It is very hot there, Missie."</p>

<p>"That will be more like some of the places. I'll suppose I'm
there! Look, Mrs. Bunker! here's a whole green sea; the tiniest
little dots all over it."</p>

<p>"Dots? You'd hardly see all over one of those dots if you were
in one. That's the South Sea, Miss Lucy, and those are the
loveliest isles, except, may be, the West Indies, that ever I
saw."</p>

<p>"Tell me about them, please," entreated Lucy. "Here's one; it's
name is&mdash;is Isabel&mdash;such a little wee one."</p>

<p>"I can't tell you much of those South Sea Isles, Missie, as I
made only one voyage among them, when Bunker chartered the <i>
Penguin</i> for the sandalwood trade; and we did not touch at many,
for the natives were fierce and savage, and thought nothing of
coming down with arrows and spears at a boat's crew. So we only
went to such islands as the missionaries had been to, and had made
the people more gentle and civil."</p>

<p>"Tell me all about it," said Lucy, following the old woman
hither and thither as she bustled about, talking all the time, and
stirring her pan of ginger over the hot plate.</p>

<p>How it happened, it is not easy to say. The room was very warm,
and Mother Bunch went on talking as she stirred, and a steam rose
up, and by and by it seemed to Lucy that she had a great sneezing
fit; and when she looked again into the smoke, what did she see but
two little black figures, faces, heads, and feet all black, but
with an odd sort of white garment round their waists, and some fine
red and green feathers sticking out of their wooly heads.</p>

<p>"Mrs. Bunker, Mrs. Bunker!" she cried; "what's this? Who are
these ugly figures?"</p>

<p>"Ugly!" said the foremost; and though it must have been some
strange language, it sounded like English to Lucy. "Is that the way
little white girl speaks to boy and girl that have come all the way
from Isabel to see her?"</p>

<p>"Oh, indeed! little Isabel boy, I beg your pardon. I didn't know
you were real, nor that you could understand me! I am so glad to
see you. Hush, Don! don't bark so!"</p>

<p>"Pig, pig; I never heard a pig squeak like that," said the black
stranger.</p>

<p>"Pig! It is a little dog. Have you no dogs in your country?"</p>

<p>"Pigs go on four legs. That must be pig."</p>

<p>"What, you have nothing that goes on four legs but a pig! What
do you eat, then, besides pig?"</p>

<p>"Yams, cocoa-nut, fish&mdash;oh, so good, and put pig into hole
among hot stones, make a fire over, bake so nice!"</p>

<p>"You shall have some of my tea and see if that is as nice," said
Lucy. "What a funny dress you have; what is it made of?"</p>

<p>"Tapa cloth," said the little girl. "We get the bark off the
tree, and then we go hammer, hammer, thump, thump, till all the
hard thick stuff comes off;" and Lucy, looking near, saw that the
substance was really all a lacework of fibre, about as close as the
net of Nurse's caps.</p>

<p>"Is that all your clothes?" she asked.</p>

<p>"Yes, till I am a warrior," said the boy; "then they will tattoo
my forehead, and arms, and breast, and legs."</p>

<p>"Tattoo? what's that!"</p>

<p>"Make little holes, and lines all over the skin with a sharp
shell, and rub in juice that turns it all to blue and purple
lines."</p>

<p>"But doesn't it hurt dreadfully?" asked Lucy.</p>

<p>"Hurt! to be sure it does, but that will show that I am brave.
When father comes home from the war he paints himself white."</p>

<p>"White?"</p>

<p>"With lime made by burning coral, and he jumps and dances and
shouts. I shall go to the war one of these days."</p>

<p>"Oh no, don't!" said Lucy, "it is horrid."</p>

<p>The boy laughed, but the little girl whispered, "Good white men
say so. Some day Lavo will go and learn, and leave off
fighting."</p>

<p>Lavo shook his head. "No, not yet; I will be brave chief and
warrior first,&mdash;bring home many heads of enemies."</p>

<p>"I&mdash;I think it nice to be quiet," said Lucy;
"and&mdash;and&mdash;won't you have some dinner?"</p>

<p>"Have you baked a pig?" asked Lavo.</p>

<p>"I think this is mutton," said Lucy, when the dish came
up,&mdash;"It is sheep's flesh."</p>

<p>Lavo and his sister had no notion what sheep were. They wanted
to sit cross-legged on the floor, but Lucy made each of them sit in
a chair properly; but then they shocked her by picking up the
mutton-chops and stuffing them into their mouths with their
fingers.</p>

<p>"Look here!" and she showed the knives and forks.</p>

<p>"Oh!" cried Lavo, "what good spikes to catch fish with! and
knife&mdash; knife&mdash;I'll kill foes! much better than shell
knife."</p>

<p>"And I'll dig yams," said the sister.</p>

<p>"Oh, no!" entreated Lucy, "we have spades to dig with, soldiers
have swords to fight with; these are to eat with."</p>

<p>"I can eat much better without," said Lavo; but to please Lucy
his sister did try; slashing hard away with her knife, and digging
her fork straight into a bit of meat. Then she very nearly ran it
into her eye, and Lucy, who knew it was not good manners to laugh,
was very near choking herself. And at last saying the knife and
fork were "Great good&mdash;great good; but none for eating," they
stuck them through the great tortoise shell rings they had in their
ears and noses. Lucy was distressed about Uncle Joseph's knives and
forks, which she knew she ought not to give away; but while she was
looking about for Mrs. Bunker to interfere, Don seemed to think it
his business and began to growl and fly at the little black
legs.</p>

<p>"A tree, a tree!" cried the Isabelites, "where's a tree?" And
while they spoke, Lavo had climbed up the side of the door, and was
sitting astride on the top of it, grinning down at the dog; and his
sister had her feet on the lock, going up after him.</p>

<p>"Tree houses," they cried; "there we are safe from our
enemies."</p>

<p>And Lucy found rising before her, instead of her own nursery, a
huge tree, on the top of a mound. Basket-work had been woven
between the branches to make floors, and on these were huts of
bamboo cane; there were ladders hanging down made of strong
creepers twisted together, and above and around, the cries of
cockatoos and parrots and the chirp of grasshoppers rang in her
ears. She laid hold of the ladder of creeping plants and began to
climb, but soon her head swam, she grew giddy, and called out to
Lavo to help her. Then suddenly she found herself curled up in Mrs.
Bunker's big beehive chair, and she wondered whether she had been
asleep.</p>

<p>&nbsp;</p>

<h4 align="center"><a name="chap3">&mdash;CHAPTER III&mdash;</a><br>
ITALY</h4>

<p>"If I could have such another funny dream!" said Lucy. "Mother
Bunch, have you ever been to Italy?" and she put her finger on the
long leg and foot, kicking at three-cornered Sicily.</p>

<p>"Yes, Missie, that I have; come out of this cold room and I'll
tell you."</p>

<p>Lucy was soon curled in her chair; but no, she wasn't! She was
under a blue, blue sky, as she had never dreamt of; clear, sharp,
purple hills rose up against it. There was a rippling little
fountain, bursting out of a rock, carved with old, old carvings,
broken now and defaced, but shadowed over by lovely maidenhair fern
and trailing bindweed; and in a niche above a little roof, a figure
of the Blessed Virgin. Some way off stood a long, low house propped
up against the rich yellow stone walls and pillars of another old,
old building, and with a great chestnut-tree shadowing it. It had a
balcony, and the gable end was open, and full of big yellow
pumpkins and clusters of grapes hung up to dry; and some goats were
feeding round.</p>

<p>Then came a merry, merry voice singing something about <i>la
vendemmia;</i> and though Lucy had never learnt Italian, her
wonderful dream knowledge made her sure that this meant the
vintage, the grape-gathering. Presently there came along a youth
playing a violin and a little girl singing. And a whole party of
other children, all loaded with as many grapes as they could carry,
came leaping and singing after them; their black hair loose, or
sometimes twisted with vine-leaves; their big black eyes dancing
with merriment, and their bare, brown legs with glee.</p>

<p>"Ah! Cecco, Cecco! cried the little girl, pausing as she beat
her tambourine, "here's a stranger who has no grapes; bring them
here!"</p>

<p>"But," said Lucy, "aren't they your mamma's grapes; may you give
them away?"</p>

<p>"Ah, ah! 'tis the <i>vendemmia!</i> all may eat grapes; as much
as they will. See, there's the vineyard."</p>

<p>Lucy saw on the slope of the hill above the cottage long poles
such as hops grow upon, and clusters hanging down. Men in shady,
battered hats, bright sashes and braces, and white shirt sleeves,
and women with handkerchiefs folded square over their heads, were
cutting the grapes down, and piling them up in baskets; and a low
cart drawn by two mouse-colored oxen, with enormous wide horns and
gentle-looking eyes, was waiting to be loaded with baskets.</p>

<p>"To the wine-press! to the press!" shouted the children, who
were politeness itself and wanted to show her everything.</p>

<p>The wine-press was a great marble trough with pipes leading off
into other vessels around. Into it went the grapes, and in the
midst were men and boys and little children, all with bare feet and
legs up to the knees, dancing and leaping, and bounding and
skipping upon the grapes, while the red juice covered their brown
skins.</p>

<p>"Come in, come in; you don't know how charming it is!" cried
Cecco. "It is the best time of all the year, the dear vintage; come
in and tread the grapes."</p>

<p>"But you must take off your shoes and stockings," said his
sister, Nunziata; "we never wear them but on Sundays and
holidays."</p>

<p>Lucy was not sure that she might, but the children looked so
joyous, and it seemed to be such fun, that she began fumbling with
the buttons of her boots, and while she was doing it she opened her
eyes, and found that her beautiful bunch of grapes was only the
cushion in the bottom of Mother Bunch's chair.</p>

<p>&nbsp;</p>

<h4 align="center"><a name="chap4">&mdash;CHAPTER IV&mdash;</a><br>
GREENLAND</h4>

<p>"Now suppose I tried what the very cold countries are like!" And
Lucy bent over the globe till she was nearly ready to cut her head
off with the brass meridian, as she looked at the long, jagged
tongue, with no particular top to it, hanging down on the east side
of America. Perhaps it was the making herself so cold that did it,
but she found herself in the midst of snow, snow, snow! All was
snow except the sea, and that was a deep green, and in it were
monstrous, floating white things, pinnacled all over like a
Cathedral, and as big, and with hollows in them of glorious deep
blue and green, like jewels; Lucy knew they were icebergs. A sort
of fringe of these cliffs of ice hemmed in the shore. And on one of
them stood what she thought at first was a little brown bear, for
the light was odd, the sun was so very low down, and there was so
much glare from the snow that it seemed unnatural. However, before
she had time to be afraid of the bear, she saw that it was really a
little boy, with a hood and coat and leggings of thick, thick fur,
and a spear in his hand, with which he every now and then made a
dash at a fish,&mdash;great cod fish, such as Mamma had often on a
Friday.</p>

<p>Into them went his spear, up came the poor fish, which was
strung with some others on a string the boy carried. Lucy crept up
as well as she could on the slippery ice, and the little Esquimaux
stared at her with a kind of stupid surprise.</p>

<p>"Is that the way you get fish?" she asked.</p>

<p>"Yes, and seals; father gets them," he said.</p>

<p>"Oh, what's that swimming out there?"</p>

<p>"That's a white bear," he said coolly; "we had better get
home."</p>

<p>Lucy thought so indeed; only where was home?&mdash;that puzzled
her. However, she trotted along by the side of her companion, and
presently came to what might have been an enormous snow-ball, but
there was a hole in it. Yes, it was hollow; and as her companion
made for the opening, she saw more little stout figures rolled up
in furs inside. Then she perceived that it was a house built up of
blocks of snow, arranged so as to make the shape of a beehive, all
frozen together, and with a window of ice. It made her shiver to
think of going in, but she thought the white bear might come after
her, and in she went. Even her little head had to bend under the
low doorway, and behold, it was the very closest, stuffiest, if not
the hottest place she had ever been in! There was a kind of lamp
burning in the hut; that is, a wick was floating in some oil, but
there was no glass, such as Lucy had been apt to think the chief
part of a lamp, and all round it squatted upon skins these queer
little stumpy figures dressed so much alike that there was no
knowing the men from the women, except that the women had much
bigger boots, and used them instead of pockets, and they had their
babies in bags of skin upon their backs.</p>

<p>They seemed to be kind people, for they made room near their
lamp for the little girl, and asked her where she had been wrecked.
Then one of the women cut off a great lump of raw
something&mdash;was it a walrus, with that round head and big
tusks?&mdash;and held it up to her; and when Lucy shook her head
and said, "No, thank you," as civilly as she could, the woman tore
it in two, and handed a lump over her shoulder to her baby, who
began to gnaw it. Then her first friend, the little boy, hoping to
please her better, offered her some drink. Ah! it was oil, just
like the oil that was burning in the lamp!&mdash;horrid oil from
the whales! She could not help shaking her head; and so much that
she woke herself up!</p>

<p>&nbsp;</p>

<h4 align="center"><a name="chap5">&mdash;CHAPTER V&mdash;</a><br>
TYROL</h4>

<p>"Suppose I could see where that dear little black chamois horn
came from! But Mother Bunch can't tell me about that I'm afraid,
for she always went by sea, and here's the Tyrol without one bit of
sea near it. It's just one of the strings to the great knot of
mountains that tie Europe up in the middle. Oh! what is a mountain
like?"</p>

<p>Then suddenly came on Lucy's ears a loud blast like a trumpet;
another answered it farther off, another fainter still, and as she
started up she found she was standing on a little shelf of green
grass with steep slopes of stones and rock above, below, and around
her; and rising up all round were huge, tall hills, their smooth
slopes green and grassy, but in the steep places all terrible cliff
and precipice; and as they were seen further away they looked a
beautiful purple, like a thunder-cloud.</p>

<p>Close to Lucy grew blue gentians like those in Mamma's garden,
and Alpine roses, and black orchids; but she did not know how to
come down, and was getting rather frightened, when a clear little
voice said, "Little lady, have you lost your way? Wait till the
evening hymn is over, and I'll come and help you;" and then Lucy
stood and listened, while from all the peaks whence the horns had
been blown there came the strong, sweet sound of an evening hymn,
all joining together, while there arose distant echoes of others
farther away. When it was over, one shout of "Jodel" echoed from
each point, and then all was still except for the tinkling of a
cow-bell. "That's the way we wish each other good night," said the
little girl, as the shadows mounted high on the tops of the
mountains, leaving them only peaks of rosy light. "Now come to the
chalet, and sister Rose will give you some milk."</p>

<p>"Help me. I'm afraid," said Lucy.</p>

<p>"That is nothing," said the mountain maiden springing up to her
like a kid, in spite of her great heavy shoes; "you should see the
places Father and Seppel climb when they hunt the chamois."</p>

<p>"What is your name?" asked Lucy, who much liked the looks of her
little companion in her broad straw hat, with a bunch of Alpine
roses in it, her thick striped frock, and white body and sleeves,
braced with black ribbon; it was such a pleasant, fresh, open face,
with such rosy cheeks and kindly blue eyes, that Lucy felt quite at
home.</p>

<p>"I am little Katherl. This is the first time I have come up with
Rose to the chalet, but I am big enough to milk the cows now. Ah!
do you see Daisy, the black one with a white tuft? She is our
leading cow, and she knows it, the darling. She never lets the
others get into dangerous places; she leads them home at the sound
of a horn; and when we go back to the village she will lead the
herd with a flower on the point of each horn, and a wreath round
her neck. The men will come up for us, Seppel and all; and may be
Seppel will bring the prize medal for shooting with the rifle."</p>

<p>"But what do you do up here?"</p>

<p>"We girls go up for the summer with the cows to the pastures,
the grass is so rich and good on the mountains, and we make butter
and cheese. Wait, and you shall taste. Sit down on the stone."</p>

<p>Lucy was glad to hear that promise, for the fresh mountain air
had made her hungry. Katherl skipped away towards a house with a
projecting wooden balcony, and deep eaves, beautifully carved, and
came back with a slice of bread and delicious butter, and a good
piece of cheese, all on a wooden platter, and a little bowl of new
milk. Lucy thought she had never tasted anything so nice.</p>

<p>"And now the gracious little lady will rest a little while,"
said Katherl, "whilst I go and help Rose to strain the milk."</p>

<p>So Lucy waited, but she felt so tired with her scramble that she
could not help nodding off to sleep, though she would have liked
very much to have stayed longer with the dear little Tyrolese. But
we know by this time where she always found herself when she
awoke.</p>

<p>&nbsp;</p>

<h4 align="center"><a name="chap6">&mdash;CHAPTER VI&mdash;</a><br>
AFRICA</h4>

<p>Oh! oh! here is a little dried crocodile come alive, and opening
a horrid great mouth, lined with terrible teeth, at her.</p>

<p>No, he is no longer in the museum; he is in a broad river,
yellow, heavy, and thick with mud; the borders are crowded with
enormous reeds and rushes; there is no getting through; no breaking
away from him; here he comes; horrid, horrid beast! Oh, how could
Lucy have been so foolish as to want to travel in Africa up to the
higher parts of the Nile? How will she ever get back again? He will
gobble her up, her and Clare, who was trusted to her, and what will
mamma and sister do?</p>

<p>Hark! There's a cry, a great shout, and out jumps a little black
figure, with a stout club in his hand. Crash it goes down on the
head of master crocodile. The ugly beast is turning over on its
back and dying. Then Lucy has time to look at the little negro, and
he has time to look at her. What a droll figure he is, with his
wooly head and thick lips, the whites of his eyes and his teeth
gleaming so brightly, and his fat little black person shining all
over, as well it may, for he is rubbed from head to foot with
castor- oil. There it grows on the bush, with broad, beautiful,
folded leaves and red stems and the pretty grey and black nuts.
Lucy only wishes the negroes would keep it all to polish themselves
with, and not send any home.</p>

<p>She wants to give the little black fellow some reward for saving
her from the crocodile, and luckily Clare has on her long necklace
of blue glass beads. She puts it into his hand, and he twists it
round his black wool, and cuts such dances and capers for joy that
Lucy can hardly stand for laughing; but the sun shines scorching
hot upon her, and she gets under the shade of a tall date palm,
with big leaves all shooting out together at the top, and fine
bunches of dates below, all fresh and green, not like those papa
sometimes gives her at dessert.</p>

<p>The little negro, Tojo, asks if she would like some. He takes
her by the hand, and leads her into a whole cluster of little round
mud huts, telling her that he is Tojo, the king's son; she is his
little sister and these are all his mothers! Which is his real
mother Lucy cannot quite make out, for she sees an immense party of
black women, all shiny and polished, with a great many beads wound
round their heads, necks, ankles, and wrists; and nothing besides
the tiniest short petticoats: and all the fattest are the smartest;
indeed, they have gourds of milk beside them, and are drinking it
all day long to keep themselves fat. No sooner however is Lucy led in
among them, than they all close round, some singing and dancing,
and others laughing for joy, and crying, "Welcome, little daughter
from the land of spirits!" And then she finds out that they think
she is really Tojo's little sister, who died ten moons ago, come
back again from the grave as a white spirit.</p>

<p>Tojo's own mother, a very fat woman indeed, holds out her arms,
as big as bed-posts and terribly greasy, gives her a dose of sour
milk out of a gourd, makes her lie down with her head in her lap,
and begins to sing to her, till Lucy goes to sleep; and wakes, very
glad to see the crocodile as brown and hard and immovable as ever;
and that odd round gourd with a little hole in it, hanging up near
the ceiling.</p>

<p>&nbsp;</p>

<h4 align="center"><a name="chap7">&mdash;CHAPTER VII&mdash;</a><br>
LAPLANDERS</h4>

<p>"It shall not be a hot country next time," said Lucy, "though,
after all, the whale oil was not much worse than the castor
oil.&mdash;Mother Bunch, did your whaler always go to Greenland,
and never to any nicer place?"</p>

<p>"Well, Missie, once we were driven between foul winds and
icebergs up into a fiord near North Cape, right at midsummer, and
I'll never forget what we saw there."</p>

<p>Lucy was not likely to forget, either, for she found herself
standing by a narrow inlet of sea, as blue and smooth as a lake,
and closely shut in, except where the bare rock was too steep, or
where on a somewhat smoother shelf stood a timbered house, with a
farm-yard and barns all round it. But the odd thing was that the
sun was where she had never seen him before,&mdash;quite in the
north, making all the shadows come the wrong way. But how came the
sun to be visible at all so very late? Ah! she knew it now; this
was Norway, and at this time of the year there was no night at
all!</p>

<p>And here beside her was a little fellow with a bow and arrows,
such as she had never seen before, except in the hands of the
little Cupids in the pictures in the drawing-room. Mother Bunch had
said that the little brown boys in India looked like the bronze
Cupid who was on the mantleshelf, but this little boy was white, or
rather sallow-faced, and well dressed too, in a tight, round,
leather cap, and a dark blue kind of shaggy gown with hairy
leggings; and what he was shooting at was some kind of wild-duck or
goose, that came tumbling down heavily with the arrow right through
its neck.</p>

<p>"There," said the boy, "I'll take that, and sell it to the Norse
farmer's wife up in the house above there."</p>

<p>"Who are you, then?" said Lucy.</p>

<p>"I'm a Lapp. We live on the hills, where the Norseman has not
driven us away, and where the reindeer find their grass in summer
and moss in winter."</p>

<p>"Oh! have you got reindeer? I should so like to see them and to
drive in a sledge!"</p>

<p>The boy, whose name was Peder, laughed, and said, "You can't go
in a sledge except when it is winter, with snow and ice to go upon,
but I'll soon show you a reindeer."</p>

<p>Then he led the way, past the deliciously smelling, whispering
pine woods that sheltered the Norwegian homestead, past a seater or
mountain meadow where the girls were pasturing their cows, much
like Lucy's friends in the Tyrol, then out upon the gray moorland,
where there was an odd little cluster of tents covered with skins,
and droll little, short, stumpy people running about them.</p>

<p>Peder gave a curious long cry, put his hand in his pocket, and
pulled out a lump of salt. Presently, a pair of long horns
appeared, then another, then a whole herd of the deer with big
heads and horns growing a good deal forward. The salt was held to
them, and a rope was fastened to all their horns that they might
stand still in a line, while the little Lapp women milked them.
Peder went up to one of the women, and brought back a little cupful
of milk for his visitor; it was all that one deer gave, but it was
so rich as to be almost like drinking cream.</p>

<p>He led her into one of the tents, but it was very smoky, and not
much cleaner than the tent of the Esquimaux. It is a wonder how
Lucy could go to sleep there, but she did, heartily wishing herself
somewhere else.</p>

<p>&nbsp;</p>

<h4 align="center"><a name="chap8">&mdash;CHAPTER VIII&mdash;</a><br>
CHINA</h4>

<p>Was it the scent of the perfumed tea, a present from an old
sailor friend, which Mrs. Bunker was putting away, or was it the
sight of the red jar ornamented with black-and-gold men, with round
caps, long petticoats, and pigtails, that caused Lucy next to open
her eyes upon a cane sofa, with cushions ornamented with figures in
colored silks? The floor of the room was of shining inlaid wood;
there were beautifully woven mats all round; stands made of red
lacquer work, and seats of cane and bamboo; and there was a round
window, through which could be seen a beautiful garden, full of
flowering shrubs and trees, a clear pond lined with colored tiles
in the middle, and over the wall the gilded roof of a pagoda, like
an umbrella, only all in ridge and furrow, and with a little bell
at every spoke. Beyond, were beautifully and fantastically shaped
hills, and a lake below with pleasure boats on it. It was all
wonderfully like a pretty china bowl come to life, and Lucy knew
she was in China, even before there came into the room, toddling
upon her poor little, tiny feet, a young lady with a small yellow
face, little slips of eyes sloping upwards from her flat nose, and
black hair combed up very tight from her face and twisted with
flowers and ornaments. She had ever so many robes on, the edge of
one peeping out below the other, and at the top a sort of blue
China-crape tunic, with very wide, loose sleeves dropping an
immense way from her hands. There was no gathering in at the waist,
and it reached to her knees, where a still more splendid white
silk, embroidered, trailed along. She had a big fan in her hand;
but when she saw the visitor she went up to a beautiful little, low
table, with an ivory frill round it, where stood some dainty,
delicate tea-cups and saucers. Into one of these she put a little
ball, about as big as an oak-apple, of tea-leaves; a maid dressed
like herself poured hot water on it, and handed it on a lacquer-
work tray. Lucy took it, said, "Thank you," and then waited.</p>

<p>"Is it not good?" said the little hostess.</p>

<p>"It must be! You are the real tea people," said Lucy: "but I was
waiting for sugar and milk."</p>

<p>"That would spoil it," said the Chinese damsel; "only outer
barbarians would think of such a thing. And, ah! I see you are one!
See, Ki-hi, what monstrous feet!"</p>

<p>"They are not bigger than your maid's," said Lucy rather
disgusted. "Why are yours so small?"</p>

<p>"Because my mother and nurse took care of me when I was a baby,
and bound them up that they might not grow big and ugly like those
of the poor creatures who have to run about for their husbands,
feed silk worms, and tend ducks!"</p>

<p>"But shouldn't you like to walk without almost tumbling down?"
said Lucy.</p>

<p>"No, indeed! Me a daughter of a mandarin of the blue button! You
are a mere barbarian to think a lady ought to want to walk. Do you
not see that I never do anything? Look at my lovely nails."</p>

<p>"I think they are claws," said Lucy; "do you never break
them?"</p>

<p>"No; when they are a little longer, I shall wear silver shields
for them as my mother does."</p>

<p>"And do you really never work?"</p>

<p>"I should think not," said the young lady, scornfully fanning
herself; "I leave that to the common folk, who are obliged to. Come
with me and let me lean on you, and I will give you a peep through
the lattice, that you may see that my father is far above making
his daughter work. See, there he sits, with his moustachios hanging
down to his chin, and his pig-tail to his heels, and the blue
dragon embroidered on his breast, watching while they prepare the
hall for a grand dinner. There will be a stew of puppy dog, and
another of kittens, and bird's-nest soup; and then the players will
come and act part of the nine-night tragedy, and we will look
through the lattice. Ah! father is smoking opium, that he may be
serene and in good spirits! Does it make your head ache? Ah! that
is because your are a mere outer barbarian. She is asleep, Ki-hi;
lay her on the sofa, and let her sleep. How ugly her pale hair is,
almost as bad as her big feet!"</p>

<p>&nbsp;</p>

<h4 align="center"><a name="chap9">&mdash;CHAPTER IX&mdash;</a><br>
KAMSCHATKA</h4>

<p>Lucy had been disappointed at not having a drive with the
reindeer, and she had been telling Don how useful his relations
were in other places. Behold, she awoke in a wide plain, where, as
far as her eye could reach, there was nothing but snow. The few
fir-trees that stood in the distance were heavily laden; and Lucy
herself,&mdash;where was she? Going very fast? Yes, whisking over
the snow with all her might and main, and muffled up in cloaks and
furs, as indeed was necessary, for her breath froze upon the big
muffler round her throat, so that it seemed to become as hard as a
stone wall; and by her side was a little boy, muffled up quite as
close, with a cap, or rather hood, casing his whole head, his hands
gloved in fur up to the elbows, and long fur boots. He had an
immense long whip in his hand, and was flourishing it, and striking
with it--at what? They were an enormous way off from him, but they
really were very big dogs, rushing along like the wind, and bearing
along with them&mdash; what? Lucy's ambition&mdash;a sledge, a
thing without wheels, but gliding along most rapidly on the hard
snow; flying, flying almost fast enough to take away her breath,
and leaving birds, foxes, and any creature she saw for one instant,
far behind. And&mdash;what was very odd&mdash;the young driver had
no reins; he shouted at the dogs and now and then threw a stick at
them, and they quite seemed to understand, and turned when he
wanted them to turn. Lucy wondered how he or they knew the way, it
all seemed such a waste of snow. They went so fast that at first
she was unable to speak; then she ventured on gasping out, "Well,
I've been in an express train, but this beats it! Where are you
going?"</p>

<p>"To Petropawlowsky, to change these skins for coffee, and rice,
and rice," answered the boy.</p>

<p>"What skins are they?" asked Lucy.</p>

<p>"Bears'&mdash;big brown bears that father killed in a
cave&ndash;and wolves' and those of the little ermine and sable
that we trap. We get much, much for the white ermine and his black
tail. Father's coming in another sledge with, oh! such a big pile.
Don't you hear his dogs yelp? We'll win the race yet! Ugh! hoo!
hoo! ho-o-o-o!&mdash;On! on! lazy ones, on, I say! don't let the
old dogs catch the young ones!"</p>

<p>Crack, crack, went the whip; the dogs yelped with
eagerness,&mdash;they don't bark, those Northern dogs; the little
Kamschatkadale bawled louder and louder, and never saw when Lucy
rolled off behind, and was left in the middle of a huge snowdrift,
while he flew on with his load.</p>

<p>Here were his father's dogs overtaking her; and then some one
was picking her up. No, it was Don! and here was Mrs. Bunker
exclaiming, "Well, if here is not Miss Lucy asleep on Master's old
bearskin!"</p>

<p>&nbsp;</p>

<h4 align="center"><a name="chap10">&mdash;CHAPTER X&mdash;</a><br>
THE TURK</h4>

<p>"What a beautiful long necklace, Mrs. Bunker! May I have it for
Lonicera?"</p>

<p>"You may play with it while you are here, Missie, if you'll take
care not to break the string, but it is too curious for you to take
home and lose. It is what they call a Turkish rosary; they say it
is made of rose-leaves reduced to a paste and squeezed ever so hard
together, and that the poor ladies that are shut up in the harems
have little or nothing to do but to run them through their
fingers."</p>

<p>"It has a very nice smell," said Lucy, examining the dark brown
beads, which hung loosely on their string, and letting them fall
one by one through her hands, till of course that happened which
she was hoping for: she woke on a long, low sofa, in the midst of a
room all carpet and cushions, in bright colors and gorgeous
patterns, curling about with no particular meaning; and with a
window of rich brass lattice-work.</p>

<p>And by her side there was an odd bubbling that put her in mind
of blowing the soap-suds into a froth when preparing them for
bubble blowing; but when she looked round she saw something very
unlike the long pipes her big brother used, or the basin of
soap-suds. There was a beautifully shaped glass bottle, and into it
went a very long twisting tube, like a snake coiled on the floor,
and the other end of the serpent, instead of a head, had an amber
mouth-piece which went between a pair of lips. Lucy knew it for a
hubble-bubble or Turkish pipe, and saw that the lips were in a
brown face, with big black eyes, round which dark bluish circles
were drawn. The jet-black hair was carefully braided with jewels,
and over it was thrown a purple satin sort of pelisse over a white
silk embroidered vest, tied in with a sash, striped with all manner
of colors; also immense wide white trousers, out of which peeped a
pair of brown bare feet, on which, however, were a splendid pair of
slippers curled up at the toes.</p>

<p>The owner seemed to be very little older than Lucy, and sat
gravely looking at her for a little while, then clapped her hands.
A black woman came, and the young Turkish maiden said, "Bring
coffee for the little Frank lady."</p>

<p>So a tiny table of mother-of-pearl was brought, and on it some
exquisite little striped porcelain cups, standing not in saucers,
but in silver filigree cups into which they exactly fitted. Lucy
remembered her Chinese experience, and did not venture to ask for
milk or sugar, but she found that the real Turkish coffee was so
pure and delicate that she could drink it without.</p>

<p>"Where are your jewels?" then asked the little hostess.</p>

<p>"I'm not old enough to have any."</p>

<p>"How old are you?"</p>

<p>"Nine."</p>

<p>"Nine! I'm only ten, and I shall be married next
week&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Married! Oh, no, you are joking."</p>

<p>"Yes, I shall. Selim Bey has paid my father the dowry for me,
and I shall be taken to his house next week."</p>

<p>"And I suppose you like him very much."</p>

<p>"He looks big and tall," said the child with exultation. "I saw
him riding when I went with my mother to the Sweet Waters. 'Amina,'
she said, 'there is your lord, in the Frankish coat&mdash;with the
white horse.'"</p>

<p>"Have you not talked to him?" asked Lucy.</p>

<p>"What should I do that for?" said Amina.</p>

<p>"Aunt Bessie used to like to talk to nobody but Uncle Frank
before they were married," replied Lucy.</p>

<p>"I shall talk enough when I am married," replied the little
Turk. "I shall make him give me plenty of sweetmeats, and a
carriage with two handsome bullocks, and the biggest Nubian black
slave in the market to drive me to Sweet Waters, in a thin blue
veil, with all my jewels on. Father says that Selim Bey will give
me everything, and a Frank governess. What is a governess? Is it
anything like the little gold case you have round your neck?"</p>

<p>"My locket with Mamma's hair? Oh, no, no," said Lucy, laughing;
"a governess is a lady to teach you."</p>

<p>"I don't want to learn any more," said Amina, much disgusted; "I
shall tell him I can make sweetmeats, and roll rose-leaves. What
should I learn for?"</p>

<p>"Should you not like to read and write?"</p>

<p>"Teaching is only meant for men," replied Amina. "They have got
to read the Koran, but it is all ugly letters; I won't learn to
read."</p>

<p>"You don't know how nice it is to read stories all about
different countries," said Lucy. "Ah! I wish I was in the
schoolroom, at home, and I would show you how pleasant it is."</p>

<p>And Lucy seemed to have her wish all at once, for she and Amina
stood in her own schoolroom, but with no one else there. The first
thing Amina did was to scream, "Oh, what shocking windows! even men
can see in; shut them up." She rolled herself up in her veil, and
Lucy could only satisfy her by pulling down all the blinds, after
which she ventured to look about a little. "What have you to sit
on?" she asked with great disgust.</p>

<p>"Chairs and stools," said Lucy, laughing and showing them.</p>

<p>"These little tables with four legs! How can you sit on
them?"</p>

<p>Lucy sat down and showed her. "That is not sitting," she said,
and she tried to curl herself up cross-legged.</p>

<p>"Our teacher always makes us write a long grammar lesson if she
sees us sitting with our legs crossed," said Lucy, laughing with
much amusement at Amina's attempts to wriggle herself up on the
stool from which she nearly fell.</p>

<p>"Ah, I will never have a governess!" cried Amina. "I will cry
and cry, and give Selim Bey no rest till he promises to let me
alone. What a dreadful place this is! Where can you sleep?"</p>

<p>"In bed, to be sure," said Lucy.</p>

<p>"I see no cushions to lie on."</p>

<p>"No; we have bedrooms, and beds there. We should not think of
taking off our clothes here."</p>

<p>"What should you undress for?"</p>

<p>"To sleep, of course."</p>

<p>"How horrible! We sleep in all our clothes wherever we like to
lie down. We never undress but for the bath. Do you go to the
bath?"</p>

<p>"I have a bath every morning, when I get up, in my own
room."</p>

<p>"Bathe at home! Then you never see your friends? We meet at the
bath, and talk and play and laugh."</p>

<p>"Meet bathing! No, indeed! We meet at home, and out of doors,"
said Lucy; "my friend Annie and I walk together."</p>

<p>"Walk together! what, in the street? Shocking! You cannot be a
lady."</p>

<p>"Indeed I am," said Lucy, coloring up. "My papa is a gentleman.
And see how many books we have, and how much we have to learn!
French, and music, and sums, and grammar, and history, and
geography."</p>

<p>"I <i>will</i> not be a Frank! No, no! I will not learn," said
the alarmed Amina on hearing this catalogue poured forth.</p>

<p>"Geography is very nice," said Lucy; "here are our maps. I will
show you where you live. This is Constantinople."</p>

<p>"I live at Stamboul," said Amina, scornfully.</p>

<p>"There is Stamboul in little letters below&mdash;look."</p>

<p>"That Stamboul! The Frank girl is false; Stamboul is a large,
large, beautiful place; not a little black speck. I can see it
from my lattice. White houses and mosques in the sun, and the blue
Golden Horn, with the little vessels gliding along."</p>

<p>Before Lucy could explain, the door opened, and one of her
brothers put in his head. At once Amina began to scream and roll
herself in the window curtain. "A man in the harem! Oh! oh! oh!
Were there no slippers at the door?" And her screaming awoke Lucy,
who found herself at her Uncle Joe's again.</p>

<p>&nbsp;</p>

<h4 align="center"><a name="chap11">&mdash;CHAPTER XI&mdash;</a><br>
SWITZERLAND</h4>

<p>"I liked the mountain girl best of all," thought Lucy. "I wonder
whether I shall ever get among the mountains again. There's a great
stick in the corner that Uncle Joe calls his alpenstock. I'll go
and read the names upon it. They are the names of all the mountains
where he has used it."</p>

<p>She read Mount Blanc, Mount Cenis, the Wengern, and so on; and
of course as she read and sung them over to herself, they lulled
her off into her wonderful dreams, and brought her this time into a
meadow, steep and sloping, but full of flowers, the loveliest
flowers, of all kinds, growing among the long grass that waved over
them. The fresh, clear air was so delicious that she almost hoped
she was back in her dear Tyrol; but the hills were not the same.
She saw upon the slope quantities of cows, goats, and sheep,
feeding just as on the Tyrolese Alps; but beyond was a dark row of
pines, and above, in the sky as it were, rose all round great sharp
points&mdash;like clouds for their whiteness, but not in their
straight, jagged outlines. And here and there the deep gray clefts
between seemed to spread into white rivers, or over the ruddy
purple of the half-distance came sharp white lines darting
downwards.</p>

<p>As she sat up in the grass and looked about her, a bark startled
her. A dog began to growl, bark, and dance round her, so that she
would have been much frightened if the next moment a voice had not
called him off&mdash;"Fie, Brilliant, down; let the little girl
alone. He is good, Madamoiselle, never fear. He helps me keep the
cows."</p>

<p>"Who are you, then?"</p>

<p>"I am Maurice, the little herd-boy. I live with my grandmother,
and work for her."</p>

<p>"What, in keeping cows?"</p>

<p>"Yes; and look here!"</p>

<p>"Oh, the delicious little cottage! It has eaves and windows, and
balconies, and a door, and little cows and sheep, and men and
women, all in pretty white wood! You did not make it, Maurice?"</p>

<p>"Yes, truly I did; I cut it out with my knife, all myself."</p>

<p>"How clever you must be. And what shall you do with it?"</p>

<p>"I shall watch for a carriage with ladies winding up that long
road; and then I shall stand and take off my hat, and hold out my
cottage. Perhaps they will buy it, and then I shall have enough to
get grandmother a warm gown for the winter. When I grow bigger I
will be a guide, like my father."</p>

<p>"A guide?"</p>

<p>"Yes, to lead travellers up to the mountain-tops. There is
nowhere you English will not go. The harder a mountain is to climb,
the more bent you are on going up. And oh, I shall love it too!
There are the great glaciers, the broad streams of ice that fill up
the furrows of the mountains, with the crevasses so blue and
beautiful and cruel. It was in one of them my father was swallowed
up."</p>

<p>"Ah! then how can you love them?" said Lucy.</p>

<p>"Because they are so grand and so beautiful," said Maurice. "No
other place has the like, and they make one's heart swell with
wonder, and joy in the God who made them."</p>

<p>And Maurice's eyes sparkled, and Lucy looked at the clear, stern
glory of the mountain points, and felt as if she understood
him.</p>

<p>&nbsp;</p>

<h4 align="center"><a name="chap12">&mdash;CHAPTER XII&mdash;</a><br>
THE COSSACK</h4>

<p>Caper, caper; dance, dance. What a wonderful dance it was, just
as if the little fellow had been made of cork, so high did he bound
the moment he touched the ground; while he jerked out his arms and
legs as if they were pulled by strings, like the Marionettes that
had once performed in front of the window. Only, his face was all
fun and life, and he did look so proud and delighted to show what
he could do; and it was all in clear, fresh, open air, the whole
extent covered with short, green grass, upon which were grazing
herds of small lean horses, and flocks of sheep without tails, but
with their wool puffed out behind into a sort of bustle or <i>
panier.</i> There was a cluster of clean, white-looking houses in
the distance; and Lucy knew that she was in the great plains called the
Steppes, that lie between the rivers Volga and Don.</p>

<p>"Do you live there?" she asked, by way of beginning the
conversation.</p>

<p>"Yes; my father is the hetman of the Stantitza, and these are my
holidays. I go to school at Tcherkask the greater part of the
year."</p>

<p>"Tcherkask! Oh, what a funny name!"</p>

<p>"And you would think it a funny town if you were there. It is
built on a great bog by the side of the river Volga; all the houses
stand on piles of timber, and in the spring the streets are full of
water, and one has to sail about in boats."</p>

<p>"Oh! that must be delicious."</p>

<p>"I don't like it as much as coming home and riding. See!" and as
he whistled, one of the horses came whinnying up, and put his nose
over the boy's shoulder.</p>

<p>"Good fellow! But your horses are thin; they look little."</p>

<p>"Little?" cried the young Cossack. "Why, do you know what our
little horses can do? There are not many armies in Europe that they
have not ridden down, at one time or another. Why, the church at
Tcherkask is hung all round with Colors we have taken from our
enemies. There's the Swede&mdash;didn't Charles XII. get the worst
of it when he came in his big boots after the Cossack?&mdash;ay,
and the Turk, and the Austrian, and the French? Ah! doesn't my
Grandfather tell how he rode his good little horse all the way from
the Volga to the Seine, and the good Czar Alexander himself gave
him the medal with "Not unto us, but unto Thy Name be the praise'?
Our father the Czar does not think so little of us and our horses
as you do, young lady."</p>

<p>"I beg your pardon," said Lucy; "I did not know what your horses
could do."</p>

<p>"Oh, you did not! That is some excuse for you. I'll show
you."</p>

<p>And in one moment he was on the back of his little horse,
leaning down on its neck, and galloping off over the green plain
like the wind; but it seemed to Lucy as if she had only just
watched him out of sight on one side before he was close to her on
the other, having whirled round and cantered close up to her while
she was looking the other way. "Come up with me," he said; and in
one moment she had been swept up before him on the little horse's
neck, and was flying so wildly over the Steppes that her breath and
sense failed her, and she knew no more till she was safe by Mrs.
Bunker's fireside again.</p>

<p>&nbsp;</p>

<h4 align="center"><a name="chap13">&mdash;CHAPTER XIII&mdash;</a><br>
SPAIN</h4>

<p>"Suppose now I go to sleep again; what should I like to see
next? A sunny place, I think, where there is sea to look at. Shall
it be Spain, and shall it be among the poor people? Well, I think I
should be where there is a little lady girl. I hope they are not
all as lazy and conceited as the Chinese and the Turk."</p>

<p>So Lucy awoke in a large, cool room with a marble floor and
heavy curtains, but with little furniture except one table, and a
row of chairs ranged along the wall. It had two windows, one
looking out into a garden,&mdash;such a garden!&mdash;orange-trees
with shining leaves and green and golden fruit and white flowers,
and jasmines, and great lilies standing round about a marble court.
In the midst of this court was a basin of red marble, where a
fountain was playing, making a delicious splashing; and out beyond
these sparkled in the sun the loveliest and most delicious of blue
seas&mdash;the same blue sea, indeed, that Lucy had seen in her
Italian visit.</p>

<p>That window was empty; but the other, which looked out into the
street, had cushions laid on the sill, an open-work stone ledge
beyond, and little looking-glasses on either side. Leaning over
this sill there was seated a little maiden in a white frock, but
with a black lace veil fastened by a rose into her jet-black hair,
and the daintiest, prettiest-shaped little feet imaginable in white
satin shoes, which could be plainly seen as she knelt on the
window-seat.</p>

<p>"What are you looking at?" asked Lucy, coming to her side.</p>

<p>"I'm watching for the procession. Then I shall go to church with
mamma. Look! That way we shall see it come; these two mirrors
reflect everything up and down the street."</p>

<p>"Are you dressed for church?" asked Lucy. "You have no hat
on."</p>

<p>"Where does your grace come from not to know that a mantilla is
what is for church? Mamma is being dressed in her black silk and
her black mantilla."</p>

<p>"And your shoes?"</p>

<p>I could not wear great, coarse, hard shoes," said the little
Dona Ines; "It would spoil my feet. Ah! I shall have time to show
the Senorita what I can do. Can your grace dance?"</p>

<p>"I danced with Uncle Joe at our last Christmas party," said
Lucy, with great dignity.</p>

<p>"See now," cried the Spaniard; "stand there. Ah! have you no
castanets?" And she quickly took out two very small ivory shells or
bowls, each pair fastened together by a loop, through which she
passed her thumb so that the little spoons hung on her palm, and
she could snap them together with her fingers.</p>

<p>Then she began to dance round Lucy in the most graceful swimming
way, now rising, now falling, and cracking her castanets together
at intervals. Lucy tried to do the same, but her limbs seemed like
a wooden doll's compared with the suppleness and ease of Ines. She
made sharp corners and angles, where the Spaniard floated so like a
sea-bird that it was like seeing her fly or float rather than
merely dance, till at last the very watching her rendered Lucy
drowsy and dizzy; and as the church bells began to ring, and the
chant of the procession to sound, she lost all sense of being in
sunny Malaga, the home of grapes.</p>

<p>&nbsp;</p>

<h4 align="center"><a name="chap14">&mdash;CHAPTER XIV&mdash;</a><br>
GERMANY</h4>

<p>There was a great murmur and buzz of learning lessons; rows upon
rows of little boys were sitting before desks, studying; very few
heads looked up as Lucy found herself walking round the room&mdash;a
large clean room, with maps hanging on the walls, but hot and
weary-feeling, because there were no windows open and so little
fresh air.</p>

<p>"What are you about, little boy?" she asked.</p>

<p>"I am learning my verb," he said; "moneo, mones, monet."</p>

<p>Lucy waited no longer, but moved off to another desk. "And what
are you doing?"</p>

<p>"I am writing my analysis."</p>

<p>Lucy did not know what an analysis was, so she went a little
further. "What are you doing here?" she said timidly, for these
were somewhat bigger boys.</p>

<p>"We are writing an essay on the individuality of self."</p>

<p>That was enough to frighten any one away, and Lucy betook
herself to some quite little boys, with fat rosy faces and light
hair. "Are you busy, too?"</p>

<p>"Oh, yes; we are learning the chief cities of the
Fatherland."</p>

<p>Lucy felt like the little boy in the fable, who could not get
either the dog, or the bird, or the bee, to play with him.</p>

<p>"When do you play?" she asked.</p>

<p>"We have an hour's interval after dinner, and another at
supper-time, but then we prepare our work for the morrow," said one
of the boys, looking up well satisfied.</p>

<p>"Work! work! Are you always at work?" exclaimed Lucy; "I only
study from nine to twelve, and half an hour to get my lessons in
the afternoon."</p>

<p>"You are a maiden," said the little boy with civil superiority;
"your brothers study more hours."</p>

<p>"More; yes, but not so many as you do. They play from twelve
till two, and have a holiday on Saturday."</p>

<p>"So, you are not industrious. We are. That is the reason why we
can all act together, and think together, so much better than any
others; and we all stand as one irresistible power, the United
Germany."</p>

<p>Lucy have a little gasp! it was all so very wise.</p>

<p>"May I see your sisters?" she said.</p>

<p>The little sisters, Gretchens and Katchens, were learning away
almost as hard as the Hermanns and Fritzes, but the bigger sisters
had what Lucy thought a better time of it. One of them was helping
in the kitchen, and another in the ironing; but then they had their
books and their music, and in the evening all the families came out
into the pleasure gardens, and had little tables with coffee before
them, and the mamma knitted, and the papas smoked, and the young
ladies listened to the band. On the whole, Lucy thought she should
not mind living in Germany, if they would not have so many lessons
to learn.</p>

<p>&nbsp;</p>

<h4 align="center"><a name="chap15">&mdash;CHAPTER XV&mdash;</a><br>
PARIS IN THE SIEGE</h4>

<p>"And Uncle Joe is in France, where the fathers and brothers of
those little Prussian boys have been fighting. I wish I could see
it."</p>

<p>There was a thunder and a whizzing in the air and a sharp
rattling noise besides; a strange, damp unwholesome smell too,
mixed with that of gunpowder; and when Lucy looked up, she found
herself down some steps in a dark, dull, vaulted-looking place,
lined with stone, however, and open to the street above. A little
lamp was burning in a corner, piles of straw and bits of furniture
were lying about, and upon one of the bundles of straw sat a little
rough-haired girl.</p>

<p>"Ah! Madamoiselle, good morning," she said. "Are you come here
to take shelter from the shells? The battery is firing now; I do
not think Mamma will come home till it slackens a little. She is
gone to my brother who is weak after his wounds. I wish I could
offer you something, but we have nothing but water, and it is not
even sugared."</p>

<p>"Do you live down here?" asked Lucy, looking round at the dreary
place with wonder.</p>

<p>"Not always. We used to have a pretty little house over this,
but the cruel shells came crashing in, and flew into pieces,
tearing everything to splinters, and we are only safe from them
down here. Ah, if I could only have shown you Mamma's pretty room!
But there is a great hole in the floor now, and the ceiling is all
tumbling down, and the table broken."</p>

<p>"But why do you stay here?"</p>

<p>"Mamma and Emily say it is all the same. We are as safe in our
cellar as we could be anywhere, and we should have to pay
elsewhere."</p>

<p>"Then you cannot get out of Paris?"</p>

<p>"Oh no, while the Prussians are all around us, and shut us in.
My brothers are all in the Garde Mobile, and, you see, so is my
doll. Every one must be a soldier, now. My dear Adolphe, hold
yourself straight." (And there the doll certainly showed himself
perfectly drilled and disciplined.) "March&mdash;right foot
forward&mdash;left foot forward." But in this movement, as may be
well supposed, little Coralie had to help her recruit a good
deal.</p>

<p>Lucy was surprised. "So you can play even in this dreadful
place?" she said.</p>

<p>"Oh yes! What's the use of crying and wearying one's self? I do
not mind as long as they leave me my kitten, my dear little
Minette."</p>

<p>"Oh! what a pretty, long-haired kitten! But how small and
thin!"</p>

<p>"Yes, truly, the poor Minette! The cruel people ate her mother,
and there is no milk&mdash;no milk, and my poor Minette is almost
starved, though I give her bits of my bread and soup; but the bread
is only bran and sawdust, and she likes it no more than I."</p>

<p>"Ate up her mother!"</p>

<p>"Yes. She was a superb Cyprus cat, all gray; but, alas! one day
she took a walk in the street, and they caught her, and then indeed
it was all over with her. I only hope Minette will not get out, but
she is so lean that they would find little but bones and fur."</p>

<p>"Ah! how I wish I could take you and her home to Uncle Joe, and
give you both good bread and milk! Take my hand, and shut your
eyes, and we will wish and wish very hard, and, perhaps, you will
come there with me. Paris is not very far off."</p>

<p>&nbsp;</p>

<h4 align="center"><a name="chap16">&mdash;CHAPTER XVI&mdash;</a><br>
THE AMERICAN GUEST</h4>

<p>No; wishing very hard did not bring poor little French Coralie
home with Lucy; but something almost as wonderful happened. Just at
the time in the afternoon when Lucy used to ride off on her dream
to visit some wonderful place, there came a ring at the front door;
a quite real substantial ring, that did not sound at all like any
of the strange noises of the strange worlds that she had lately
been hearing, but had the real tinkle of Uncle Joe's own bell.</p>

<p>"Well," said Mrs. Bunker, "what can that be, coming at this time
of day? It can never be the doctor coming home without sending
orders! Don't you be running out, Miss Lucy; there'll be a draught
of cold air right in."</p>

<p>Lucy stood still; very anxious, and wondering whether she should
see anything alive, or one of her visitors from various
countries.</p>

<p>"There is a letter from Mr. Seaman," said a brisk young voice,
that would have been very pleasant if it had not gone a little
through the nose; and past Mrs. Bunker there walked into the full
light a little boy, a year or two older than Lucy, holding out one
hand as he saw her and taking off his hat with the other. "Good
morning," he said, quite at ease; "is this where you live?"</p>

<p>"Good morning," returned Lucy though it was not morning at all;
"where do you come from?"</p>

<p>"Well, I'm from Paris last; but when I'm at home, I'm at Boston.
I am Leonidas Saunders, of the great American Republic."</p>

<p>"Oh, then you are not real, after all?"</p>

<p>"Real! I should hope I was a genuine article."</p>

<p>"Well, I was in hopes that you were real, only you say you come
from a strange country, like the rest of them, and yet you look
just like an English boy."</p>

<p>"Of course I do! my grandfather came from England," said
Leonidas; "we all speak English as well, or better, than you do in
the old country."</p>

<p>"I can't understand it!" said Lucy; "did you come like other
people, by the train, not like the children in my dreams?"</p>

<p>And then Leonidas explained all about it to her: how his father
had brought him last year to Europe and had put him to school at
Paris; but when the war broke out, and most of the stranger
scholars were taken away, no orders came about him, because his
father was a merchant and was away from home, so that no one ever
knew whether the letters had reached him.</p>

<p>So Leonidas had gone on at school without many tasks to learn,
to be sure, but not very comfortable: it was so cold, and there was
no wood to burn; and he disliked eating horses and cats and rats,
quite as much as Coralie did, though he was not in a part of the
town where so many shells from the cannons came in.</p>

<p>At last when Lucy's uncle and some other good gentlemen with the
red cross on their sleeves, obtained leave to enter Paris and take
some relief to the poor, sick people in the hospitals, the people
Leonidas was with, told the gentleman that there was a little
American left behind in their house.</p>

<p>Mr. Seaman, which was Uncle Joe's name, went to see about him,
and found that he had once known his father. So, after a great deal
of trouble, it had been managed that the boy should be allowed to
leave the city. He had been driven in a coach, he told Lucy, with
some more Americans and English, and with flags with stars and
stripes or else Union Jacks all over it; and whenever they came to
a French sentry, or afterwards to a Prussian, they were stopped
till he called an officer who looked at their papers and let them
go on.</p>

<p>Mr. Seaman had taken charge of Leonidas, and given him the best
dinner he had eaten for a long time, but as he was going to another
city to other hospitals, he could not keep the boy with him; so he
had put him in charge of a friend who was going to London, to send
him down to Mrs. Bunker.</p>

<p>Fear of Lucy's rash was pretty well over now, and she was to go
home in a day or two; so the children were allowed to be together,
and enjoyed it very much. Lucy told about her dreams, and Leonidas
had a good deal to tell of what he had really seen on his travels.
They wished very much that they could both see one of these
wonderful dreams together, only&mdash;what should it be?</p>

<p>&nbsp;</p>

<h4 align="center"><a name="chap17">&mdash;CHAPTER XVII&mdash;</a><br>
THE DREAM OF ALL NATIONS</h4>

<p>What should it be? She thought of Arabs with their tents and
horses, and Leonidas told her of Red Indians with their war-paint,
and little Negroes dancing round the sugar-boiling, till her head
began quite to swim and her ears to buzz; and all the children she
had seen seemed to come round her, and join hands and dance.</p>

<p>Oh, such a din! A little Highlander in his tartans stood on a
barrel in the middle, making his bagpipes squeal away; a Chinese
with a bald head and long pigtail beat a gong, and capered with a
solemn face; a Norwegian herd-boy blew a monstrous bark cow-horn;
an Indian juggler twisted snakes round his neck to the sound of the
tom-tom; and Lucy found herself and Leonidas whirling round with a
young Dutch planter between them, and an Indian with a crown of
feathers upon the other side of her.</p>

<p>"Oh!" she seemed to herself to cry, "what are you doing? How do
you all come here?"</p>

<p>"We are from all the nations who are friends, brethren," said
the voices; "we all bring our stores: the sugar, rice, cotton of
the West; the silk and coffee and spices of the East; the tea of
China; the furs of the North: it is all exchanged from one to the
other, and should teach us to be all brethren, since we cannot
thrive one without the other."</p>

<p>"It all comes to our country, because we are clever to work it
up, and send it out to be used in its own homes," said the
Highlander; "it is English and Scotch machines that weave your
cottons, ay, and make your tools."</p>

<p>"No; it is America that beats you all," cried Leonidas; "what
had you to do but to sit down and starve, when we sent you no
cotton?"</p>

<p>"If you send cotton, 'tis we that weave it," cried the Scot.</p>

<p>Lucy was almost afraid they would come to blows over which was
the greatest and most skilful country. "It cannot be buying and
selling that make nations love one another, and be peaceful," she
thought. "Is it being learned and wise?"</p>

<p>"But the Prussian boys are studious and wise, and the French are
clever and skilful, and yet they have had that dreadful war: I
wonder what it is that would make and keep all these countries
friends!"</p>

<p>And then there came an echo back to little Lucy: "For out of
Zion shall go forth the Law, and the word of the Lord from
Jerusalem. And He shall judge among the nations, and shall rebuke
many people; and they shall beat their swords into ploughshares,
and their spears into pruning-hooks; nations shall not lift up
sword against nation, neither shall they war any more."</p>

<p>Yes; the more they learn and keep the law of the Lord, the less
there will be of those wars. To heed the true law of the Lord will
do more for peace and oneness than all the cleverness in book-
learning, or all the skilful manufactures in the world.</p>


<pre>




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