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diff --git a/75385-0.txt b/75385-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..289290b --- /dev/null +++ b/75385-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,6702 @@ + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75385 *** + + +[Illustration: [Portrait of Jessie]] + +[Illustration: The Aimwell Stories BY Walter Aimwell Gould & Lincoln] + + + + + =The Aimwell Stories.= + + + + + JESSIE; + OR, + TRYING TO BE SOMEBODY. + + + BY + + WALTER AIMWELL, + + AUTHOR OF “MARCUS,” “WHISTLER,” “ELLA,” ETC. + + + WITH ILLUSTRATIONS. + + + BOSTON: + + GOULD AND LINCOLN, + + 59 WASHINGTON STREET. + + NEW YORK: SHELDON AND COMPANY. + CINCINNATI: GEO. S. BLANCHARD. + + 1870. + + + + + Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1858, by + + GOULD AND LINCOLN, + + In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the District of + Massachusetts. + + + + + PREFACE. + + +While this series of books is designed to furnish a succession of +pleasant and instructive lessons and recreations for boys and girls, +each volume has also a specific aim, more or less prominently wrought +into its woof. The special object of JESSIE is to kindle in the hearts +of the young, especially the children of misfortune and poverty, a pure +and noble ambition, and to encourage them to strive for that “good name” +whose price is far above rubies, and that “conscience void of offence” +which is of still more inestimable value. + + + + + CONTENTS + + + CHAPTER I. + + THE NEW HOME. + PAGE + The trunk—What made it so heavy—Jessie’s gold—The Hapley + family—The separation—Jessie’s new position—Her mother’s + departure—The Pages—Going to work—Ronald’s flag—A patriotic + appeal—A job for Jessie—The flag-staff—Ronald’s shrewdness + questioned—Some criticisms on the flag—Worth all it + cost—Alterations proposed—An unexpected difficulty—How to make + an American flag—The repairs completed—The flag hoisted—A + surprise—Crying before breakfast—Two sober ones—Jessie in + retirement—Traces of tears—Henry’s visit—Homesickness—A dory + voyage across the ocean—What Marcus was thinking + about—Celebrating Washington’s birth-day—Marcus explains his + plan—An objection to a bonfire—The committee of + arrangements—Preparations for the celebration—The + pictures—Washington and his home—A busy time—The programme—The + parlor and the audience—The exercises—The tableau—A scene not in + the bill—Sound sleepers, 19 + + + CHAPTER II. + + SOMETHING ABOUT DIARIES. + + How Jessie happened to keep a journal—Advantages of the habit—The + blank book—The title-page—origin of the motto—Abby Leonard—A + cutting remark—Its effect—Jessie’s resolution—Divine aid + sought—Abby conquered by kindness—The first record in the + journal—Benny’s death—Specimen of a Diary in Dry Measure—One in + Long Measure—One in Solid Measure—Which is best, 41 + + + CHAPTER III. + + SNOW AND ICE. + + Building a snow-house—A disagreement—The work goes on—Another + dispute—Obstinacy—View of the snow-hut—Going to see the + ice-boat—Angry words—Ronald’s early life—Esquimaux snow-houses—A + traveller’s testimony—An ice-boat—Round Hill Pond—A lively + scene—The coasters—Description of the ice-boat—sailing wrong end + first—A western ice-boat—Invitation declined—The boat under + sail—Going home—The snow-slide—A vast heap of snow—A narrow + escape—Thoroughly alarmed—Ronald’s snow-hut, 57 + + + CHAPTER IV. + + THE REFEREE CASE. + + Henry missing—Oscar’s account of the falling out—Jessie + incredulous—Henry’s defence—A reluctant admission—Jessie’s plan + for settling the quarrel—Rights of partners—Henry + obstinate—Another proposal—Referees—Henry’s reluctance—He + yields—The award to be binding—Ronald’s version of the + quarrel—Wherein he was to blame—He agrees to the referee + plan—The referees chosen—The meeting—Henry’s arrival—His + embarrassment—Ronald’s talkativeness—Fast skating—Subsiding into + silence—Examination of the two parties—Ronald’s comments on the + proceedings—Anticipating the decision—Making up—Summoned to the + tribunal—The referees surprised—They take it coolly—Looking + after the fees—Reading the award—The decision carried out—The + gallery of literary portraits—Jessie’s taste for + drawing—Twenty-four characters enigmatically expressed—The key, 71 + + + CHAPTER V. + + A DAY AT SCHOOL. + + Two new comers—The academy—The opening exercises—The sentence on + the blackboard—The definition of wisdom—Knowledge brings + promotion—Education a good investment—Cuffee and the + calf—Charging for “the know how”—Building a house—The + laborers—Masons and carpenters—The “boss”—The + architect—Knowledge promotes a man in other ways—Jessie’s + appointment as assistant—The monitorial desk—The dinner + hour—Good riddance—The slow boy—A good time among the girls—Abby + and her pickles—The cake—Bragging—The squint-eyed girl—Making + fun of Abby—How she tried to make herself pale—Is it scandal to + tell the truth?—Evil speaking—Jessie called to account—Lucy + Grant—Strabismus, or squinting—A surgical operation—The slight + put upon Lucy—Jessie dispels the clouds—Closing the afternoon + session—Mr. Upton’s remarks—The evening hymn, 91 + + + CHAPTER VI. + + SWEETS AND BITTERS. + + The Home Wreath—Jessie’s doubts about the nature of scandal—Light + from the dictionary—A note of inquiry—Henry missing—His + appearance—The temple of peace abandoned—Henry’s explanation—His + troubles—Mrs. Allen—Making husk mats—What Jessie said—How to be + loved—Jessie’s entreaties—The promise—The sugar season—Ronald’s + sugar enterprise—Tapping the trees—The sap—Sugar grown, not + made—Boiling down the sap—Clarifying it—“Sugaring off”—The + cakes—Going to a sugar camp—Who went, and who did + not—Description and view of the camp—Appearance of the Home + Wreath—Editorial reply to Jessie’s inquiry—The Bible on + scandal—Writers on moral science—Scandal is the worst kind of + robbery—Cases in which it is right to speak evil of + another—Prevalence of scandal—A noble exception—A secret well + kept—Oscar’s career, 110 + + + CHAPTER VII. + + HOW TO BE HAPPY. + + What Henry thought of his promise—The real origin of Henry’s + troubles—Mrs. Allen’s rigid neatness—Scrubbing through the + floor—Henry roughly touches her weak point—Grows reckless—The + change in Mrs. Allen—The scolding—A forgotten duty—Dressing + up—Henry’s altered bearing—His explanation about the + wood—Attending school—Work and play—A decided improvement—An + approving conscience—Disappointment—Voluntary mat-braiding—A + welcome order—Another disappointment—How Henry bore it—Story of + the tornado—A stage-coach blown over—Freaks of the wind—Firm + buildings—A song—Learning it—Henry’s pictures—The top in rhyme—A + story—An abrupt ending—Willie’s talk about sending Henry to the + “Boy-Tamer”—A call from Jessie—Her gratification—Mrs. Allen’s + return, 130 + + + CHAPTER VIII. + + SABBATH LESSONS. + + The miniature—Sad Associations—A life history—Melancholy + thoughts—Going to church—The sermon—The universal + burden—Laughing it away—Moping over it—Running away from it—The + man who was haunted by a goblin—One only true remedy for + sorrow—How to cast our burdens on the Lord—The Sabbath + School—The lesson—Why prayer is a duty—God requires it—Our + dependence upon Him—Not to pray is unnatural—Our need of + forgiveness—The boy who was too old to pray—A talk with him—His + great mistake—A ridiculous excuse—The climax of + meanness—Conscience prompts us to pray—Prayer a natural and + universal instinct—Prayer of infidels—Prayer brings + blessings—Its happy influence on our hearts—Good men have always + been praying men—Examples from history—Recapitulation—Jessie’s + eighth argument for prayer—Evening devotions, 149 + + + CHAPTER IX. + + RAINY-DAY DIVERSIONS. + + The equinoctial storm—An argument postponed—Distribution of + work—An afternoon of leisure—Nothing to do—Andrew Airpump and + his comrades—An unceremonious check—Alliteration—Univocalic + verses—Task verses—Thread-paper poetry—How to write it—A + specimen—Cento verses—Pith-tumblers—The Grand Mufti—The sleepy + Brahmin—Balancing a coin on a needle—The trick + explained—Ronald’s experiment—The Moslem oracle—Its five + responses—Kate’s cento poem—How she found the lines—Contents of + the Wreath—Arithmetical puzzles and answers, 169 + + + CHAPTER X. + + ALL FOOLS’ DAY. + + The boys’ chamber—Early and late rising—Ronald’s trick—Otis enjoys + a long nap—The clean plate—Suspicions allayed—More + tricks—Imaginary chalk—The railroad whistle—Easter—Easter + eggs—Trial of strength—Another trial—The soft egg—The pitched + seat—Otis missed at school—Inquiries—Aunt Fanny’s + discovery—Vexation—Otis at school—Interview with Ronald—A talk + about April-fooling—Difference of opinion—A court proposed—A + family custom—How the court managed business—The trial—The + prosecuting Attorney’s speech—The complaint—The plea of “not + guilty”—The first witness—Amusing cross-examination—Other + witnesses—The prisoner’s speech—A question arises—The judge’s + decision—The prisoner’s admission—His argument and appeal—The + prosecuting attorney’s closing plea—An interruption—Can you tell + a lie to a hen?—Conclusion of the argument—The charge—The + verdict—The sentence—Its execution, 185 + + + CHAPTER XI. + + SCHOLARS. + + Good spelling—A spelling match—Choosing sides—Evils attending + spelling matches—An incident—Jessie blamed for an act of + kindness—Another incident—The last of choosing sides—Jessie’s + rank in school—Disadvantages—Secret of her success—Good and poor + memories—Abby’s memory—Lord Adolphus D’Orsay—The list of + irregular verbs—Saying over lessons before sleep—A contrast—The + good and the poor scholar—Concentrating the mind—Luther’s + testimony—Anecdote of St. Bernard—Power of early culture and + discipline—Why Jessie and Abby associated—Novel reading—Its + effects on Abby—Objections to it—Jessie proof against the + temptation, 209 + + + CHAPTER XII. + + A FEW BUSINESS MATTERS. + + Driving a bargain—Beating down the price—Jessie’s rule, in + trading—Mrs. Page’s practice—How Jessie got her new dress so + cheap—Shillings and pence—Was Jessie to blame?—Selling for less + than cost—Motives for doing so—Meanness—Getting out of debt—An + unexpected application of good advice—Ronald’s debt—The lost + Reader—Plans frustrated—Dunning—An arrangement effected—The note + of hand—Interest—The receipt—Negotiating the note—A good + rule—Keeping account of expenses—Jessie’s poverty—Longings—Uncle + Morrison—His proposal to adopt Jessie—Jessie’s perplexity—Her + uncle’s tavern—His character—His wife—The + decision—Surprise—Further proposals—Jessie firm—A wise choice, 222 + + + CHAPTER XIII. + + THE NEW GAME. + + Family portraits in the Home Wreath—A startling + announcement—Portrait of the sociable contributor—Portrait of + the high-minded contributor—Ronald’s literary enterprise—A new + pleasure heralded—Directions for playing the + game—Transformations—Literary patchwork—Literary puzzle—PETER + CODDLE’S TRIP TO NEW YORK—Setting out on the journey—Peter’s + sudden return—State of excitement—Conjectures—Peter’s own + story—His departure from home—A smash-up—The ruins—The railroad + depot—Riding in the cars—Curious sights—Quizzed by a + dandy—Returning the compliment—The dandy in a rage—A long + nap—Unceremonious awaking—Peter in New York—Incidents in the + depot—The music—Peter accosted by a stranger—Disinterested + benevolence—The boarding-house—Private grief—The nice little + room—Something to drink—The pictures—Queer feelings—The + dream—The awaking—Unpleasant discoveries—Inquiries—Peter’s eyes + opened—He is overwhelmed—A walk out—A free ticket for home—His + safe arrival—Settling down for life—List of phrases to supply + the blanks, 236 + + + CHAPTER XIV. + + JUST OUT OF JAIL. + + Sam’s sentence—Changes during his imprisonment—Unanswered + letters—The note to Jessie—The meeting—Sam’s appearance—His + refusal to see any one—Why he came to see Jessie—His selfish + purpose thwarted—Jessie’s appeal—The promise—A call at Mr. + Allen’s—An early morning walk—The package for Sam—Henry’s + burden—A talk about Mrs. Allen—Henry informed of Sam’s visit—The + graveyard—The two hillocks—Setting out the trees—Sam’s + non-appearance—Disappointment, 260 + + + CHAPTER XV. + + SHOW AND SUBSTANCE. + + How Charlie Doane made money—Maple sugar—Picking greens—Learning + to be a miser—Mr. Doane and the widow’s cow—Free remarks—Marcus + justifies himself—Ronald wants a new-fashioned cap—Oscar + unburdens his mind—What the girls talk about—Jessie’s + defence—Oscar renews the assault—Kate enters the ring—Her + explanation—Her good nature for once overpowered—Oscar beats a + retreat—Ronald and Otis come to the rescue—A telling shot from + Kate—The debate arrested—Mrs. Page awards justice + impartially—Evils and folly of thinking too much of dress—The + fault not quite universal—Oscar takes back a portion of his + charge—Aunt Fanny’s testimony—Little souls—A dwarfed + mind—Testimony of foreign travellers—A good rule about dress—An + inspired command—Failure of Abby’s father—Telegraph + despatch—Free comments—Sympathy—Abby at school—An unexpected + placidity, and a sudden explosion—First effect of the + intelligence upon Abby—A secret struggle—Shutting herself out + from sympathy—One Friend in the time of need—Lessons and + consolations—How Abby received Jessie’s kind offices, 271 + + + CHAPTER XVI. + + GETTING UP IN THE WORLD. + + Reviewing studies—The scholar’s countersign—Step by step—How men + become eminent—The idea, if not the language—Porson’s + testimony—A French grenadier on the top of the pyramid—A lesson + from a picture—What man has done, man may do—Kate’s + promotion—Why Ronald failed—Better late than never—The Grade of + Honor—A substitute for prizes—The two honorary grades—Ceremony + of admission to the Grade of Fidelity—Popularity of the + Grade—Exclusion from it—Difficulty of getting into the Grade of + Honor—Admission ceremonies—Privileges of members—Abby called + home, 286 + + + CHAPTER XVII. + + TIDINGS. + + Unpleasant news—Sam injured in a fight—Anxiety—The letter of + inquiry—The reply—Visit to Sam—His injuries—His account of the + fight—Mr. Preston’s kindness—Oscar’s proposed visit home—Jerry + Preston’s return from sea—A present from Ralph to Ronald—Jessie + writes to Sam—Oscar and Jerry—Their relations to one + another—Capt. Page—Possibility of his survival—Ronald’s + present—Cage and bird—Principle on which the toy is + constructed—Other applications of the principle—Oscar’s trip to + Boston—An unexpected pleasure, 301 + + + CHAPTER XVIII. + + THE SURPRISE PARTY. + + Exhibition day—Jessie invited out to tea—The return home—A + surprise—The academy party—The collation—Marcus makes a + speech—The box—Its contents—The nest of boxes, and their + mottoes—Jessie’s curiosity excited—The letter—The portemonnaie + and its contents—A new surprise—Jessie’s acknowledgment—The + Hymn—Conclusion, 310 + + + + + =Illustrations.= + + + PORTRAIT OF JESSIE, FRONTISPIECE + VIGNETTE, TITLE PAGE + WASHINGTON AND HIS HOME, 36 + THE SNOW-HOUSE, 59 + ESQUIMAUX SNOW-HUTS, 62 + GALLERY OF LITERARY PORTRAITS (twenty-four figures), 89, 90 + SUGAR BOILING, 124 + THE MINIATURE, 149 + GRAND MUFTI AND SLEEPY BRAHMIN (two figures), 176 + THE BALANCED COIN, 177 + MILD PUNISHMENT, 208 + PORTRAIT OF THE SOCIABLE CONTRIBUTOR, 237 + PORTRAIT OF THE HIGH-MINDED CONTRIBUTOR, 238 + THE INTERVIEW, 262 + TIP-TOP, 290 + HOW TO CAGE A BIRD, 307 + THE PICTURE ON THE BOX, 314 + + + + + JESSIE. + + + + + CHAPTER I. + THE NEW HOME. + + +It was on a dull and cold morning in February, that Jessie Hapley, a +girl between fourteen and fifteen years old, stood before a window in +the farm-house of Mrs. Page, watching a couple of boys who were drawing +a sled on which was lashed a trunk. The sled dragged heavily through the +new-fallen snow, and when yet some distance off, the cord by which it +was drawn suddenly snapped asunder. After a few moments’ delay, the boys +took a position behind their load, and pushed it along to its +destination, without meeting with any further obstacles. + +“Where will you have it, Jessie—up in your chamber?” inquired the oldest +boy, as he and his companion landed the trunk in the entry. + +“Yes, you may carry it up stairs, if you please,” replied Jessie. + +“I hope you have got something good in that trunk, Jessie,—it’s heavy +enough, if that’s all,” said the younger boy, when they came down from +the chamber. + +“Is it heavy?” inquired Jessie. “Well, I don’t wonder—it contains all my +gold, except this pin and ring, and you know gold is heavy.” + +“Is that it?” continued the boy, whose name was Ronald. “I didn’t know +but you had filled it with stones, to make us think you had got +something valuable. They say rogues play that game sometimes, when they +put up at hotels. But about that gold; how much is there of it?” + +“Well, I can’t tell you exactly how much there is, but I will show it to +you some time, if you wish to see it,” replied Jessie. + +“Is it visible to the naked eye?” inquired the boy, with a roguish look. + +“Of course it is,” replied Jessie. “You can see it plain enough, but +that is the best you can say about it.” + +This was an enigma which Ronald could not solve, and it was not until +Jessie exhibited to him her portion of the precious metal, displayed +upon the covers and edges of several books, that he comprehended the +mystery. + +The fact was, whatever else might have been Jessie’s possessions, at +this time, she was far from being rich in gold and silver, or any of the +paper representatives of those metals. Within a period of about two +months, a fearful train of calamities had overwhelmed the family to +which she belonged. The oldest son, Samuel, a youth of sixteen, had +committed a burglary in a neighboring town, for which he was now serving +a sentence in prison. The youngest child, an interesting and lovely boy +of nine, had sickened and died, at the beginning of the year. The +father, who for many years had been a victim of intemperate habits, +sought to drown his sorrows by still deeper draughts at the fountain of +woe and death, and came to a dreadful end, a few weeks after his boy was +laid in his frozen grave. Mr. Hapley’s farm and other property, on which +there were heavy mortgages, were taken to pay his debts, and the widow +and children were left homeless and moneyless.[1] + +Footnote 1: + + These events are more fully related in the fifth volume of this + series, entitled, “Marcus; or the Boy-Tamer.” + +Jessie, and her brother Henry, a lad of thirteen, were the only children +now living with their mother. A home was soon found for Henry, in the +village, where he was to work for his board and clothes. Mrs. Hapley, +whose health was poor, was invited to return to the home of her +childhood, in another town, where her parents were still living. Jessie +was at that time attending the village academy, with a view of fitting +herself for the profession of teaching. With no slight struggle, she +relinquished this cherished purpose of her heart, and, as the readiest +way of supporting herself and aiding her mother, volunteered to work in +a factory. But in this hour of extremity, a new door was opened to her. +Mrs. Page and her family, who were next neighbors to the Hapleys, were +so much interested in the welfare of Jessie, that they offered her a +home for a season, on conditions that she could not well refuse. Her +services in the family were to be considered an equivalent for her +board, but she was to have the privilege of attending the academy. Her +mother was to provide her with clothes, and there was a prospect that +she would be able to offset her tuition bills, by rendering some +assistance to the lower classes. It was thought that by this arrangement +she would be enabled to enter upon her chosen work in less than a year. + +On the morning with which our story opens, Mrs. Hapley had bidden her +daughter farewell, and started for the home of her parents. It was not +without a strange sinking of heart, and eyes blurred with tears, that +Jessie took leave of her mother and her old home; but nothing of this +was visible on her countenance, now. She was apparently as calm and +cheerful as any of those around her. + +The family of which Jessie had now become an inmate, comprised the +following named persons: Mrs. Page, who was the widow of a sea-captain; +her sister, Miss Fanny Lee, usually called Aunt Fanny; Marcus, Mrs. +Page’s son, a young man in his nineteenth year, who had just served his +first term as assistant teacher in the academy, of which he was a +graduate; Ronald, an adopted son of Mrs. Page, about twelve years old; +and Oscar Preston, a nephew of Mrs. Page, in his sixteenth year, who +came to live with the family the previous fall. They lived upon a small +farm, in one of the pleasant hill towns of Vermont, which we shall call +Highburg. + +Jessie at once began to busy herself with various household duties, +taking hold almost as handily as though she had been at home. Knowing +that constant occupation is a great security against desponding +thoughts, Mrs. Page was careful to provide her with something to employ +her time. It was “washing day,” and of course there was no lack of work. +In the course of the forenoon, Ronald came in, with his arms full of +rope and bunting, and exclaimed: + +“There, mother, I’ve got my flag, at last. But just see how dirty it is. +Can’t you wash it, right off, so I can have it all bright and clean for +to-morrow?” + +“Our washing is done, and on the line, and the suds are thrown away; so +you had better let it be till next Monday,” replied Mrs. Page. + +“But who wants to hang up such a dirty thing as that on Washington’s +birth-day?” continued Ronald. “We’ve got our staff almost ready, and we +want to raise our flag to-morrow morning; but it’s all soiled, and +dingy—and here’s a big rip in it, too. Why, mother, haven’t you got any +patriotism at all? I should think you’d consider it an honor to wash the +stains out of your country’s flag.” + +Mrs. Page smiled at this sally, but did not accede to Ronald’s request. + +“Couldn’t I wash it out for him, Mrs. Page?” inquired Jessie. + +“You can, if you choose to,” was the reply. + +“That’s right, Jessie—you ought to have three cheers for your +patriotism, and I’ll give ’em to you to-morrow, when I hoist the flag,” +said Ronald, as Jessie commenced preparations for the work. + +Ronald detached the flag from the rope, and then went out to the barn to +see how Oscar was getting on with the pole. He found it nearly ready for +its place, although only the day before it was a young tree in the +forest. As it was to be fastened to the gable of the barn, it was not +very large, but was tall, straight, and rounded in a smooth and uniform +manner. Oscar was now inserting into the top of it a small pulley or +grooved wheel for the line to run over. Ronald, meanwhile, went to work +upon the cap that was to surmount the whole, which he made out of a +wooden knob that belonged to an old bureau. + +Before they had finished the staff, Jessie had washed the flag, and hung +it upon the line. It was much improved in appearance. Soon after Marcus +came along, and having examined the flag a minute or two, he entered the +barn, saying: + +“Ronald, I don’t think you made much of a bargain when you bought that +flag.” + +“You don’t? Why, what is the matter with it?” inquired Ronald. + +“Oh, it’s an old thing, and it wasn’t made properly in the first place, +either,” replied Marcus. + +“I don’t care, so long as it’s a flag,” said Ronald. “I’ll get that torn +place mended, and then I guess it will do.” + +“I think it is altogether too large for your staff,” continued Marcus. + +“I don’t think so,” replied Ronald. + +“Besides, it strikes me it is not in good proportion,” added Marcus. + +“I don’t care for that,” replied Ronald. + +“And it has got only twenty-nine stars, when there ought to be +thirty-two,”[2] continued Marcus. + +Footnote 2: + + Thirty-two is the number at the time this is written, but there is a + prospect of an early increase of our family of States, which happy + event will of course add to the ever-enlarging galaxy of stars on our + national banner. + +“Well, nobody would have noticed that if you hadn’t told us,” added +Ronald, somewhat vexed at these free criticisms of his flag. + +“One star for every State in the Union, is the rule—I shouldn’t suppose +such a patriotic boy as you would ignore three of the States in the +confederacy,” added Marcus. + +Ronald felt the force of these criticisms more than he was willing to +admit. The purchase of the flag was his own individual enterprise. He +gave in exchange for it sundry articles of personal property, and +flattered himself that he had made a good trade. And so, in fact, he +had, for flags cost more than Marcus imagined, and Ronald’s, though +somewhat dilapidated, was worth all that he gave for it. But Ronald did +not feel quite at ease about his bargain, after what Marcus had said. He +soon after had a conference with Jessie, and the result was apparent in +the evening, when that young lady undertook the task of making the flag +over new. + +Jessie was somewhat at a loss where to begin upon the novel job she had +undertaken, and neither Ronald nor any of the family could give her much +light upon the subject. Marcus soon came in, however, and his advice was +sought. + +“What do you propose to do with it?” was his first inquiry. + +“I want to make it smaller, for one thing—you said it was too large,” +replied Ronald. + +“Well,” said Marcus, surveying the flag quite calmly, as it lay spread +out upon the floor, “I’m afraid Jessie wont get much sleep to-night, if +you intend to have it ready to hoist in the morning. She will have to +rip the stripes apart, and make them all narrower; and then the blue +field and the stars will be too large, and they must all be altered; but +I don’t see exactly how that is to be done, for you can’t very well make +the holes for the stars any smaller.” + +“But why can’t we take off one or two stripes, and cut a piece off the +length, and let it go so?” inquired Jessie. + +“There is one slight objection to that,—it wouldn’t be an American +flag,” replied Marcus. + +“Well, I don’t pretend to know much about the science of flags,” said +Jessie, smiling. + +“You must have just thirteen stripes and thirty-two stars; didn’t you +know that?” inquired Ronald. + +“The outside stripes must be red,” continued Marcus. “That gives us +seven red and six white stripes. The field for the stars should be +square, and of just the width of the first seven stripes.” + +“This is right, then, as it is, and I don’t see how we can make it any +smaller without spoiling it,” said Jessie. + +“I think it will bear shortening a little,” added Marcus, “and that will +make it look smaller, and give it better proportions, too. It should be +just one-half longer than it is broad. For instance, if it is four feet +broad, it should be six feet long. Let us measure it, and see how it +is.” + +The flag was found to be too long, as Marcus suspected. So Jessie cut +off the superfluous part, mended the rents, added three new stars to the +field, and it was pronounced fit for service. Before sunrise, the next +morning, it was run up to the top of the staff on the barn, amid the +shouts of the boys. Soon after, the family were startled by a loud +report from behind the barn. All ran to ascertain the cause, and it was +found to proceed from a small cannon which Ronald had procured, in order +to add _eclat_ (which in this case means noise) to his celebration of +Washington’s birth-day. He had kept this little secret entirely to +himself, intending to surprise the family with this new proof of his +patriotism. But the surprise did not prove quite so pleasant as he +anticipated; for Marcus quickly took possession of the cannon and +ammunition, and the young patriot found himself so severely condemned by +all the family for playing with powder without leave, that he burst into +tears, and betook himself for a while to the uncensuring society of the +cows in the barn. So the bright sun of his hopes went into a cloud +before breakfast! + +It was noticed by all that Jessie did not eat much at the table that +morning, and she did not appear to be in her usual good spirits. Ronald, +too, was uncommonly sober, and altogether it did not seem much like a +holiday. The flag, however, which was visible for a considerable +distance, soon drew together several of the boys and girls of the +neighborhood, and Ronald’s lengthened countenance gradually assumed its +wonted form. Among the visitors was Henry, Jessie’s brother, who, after +a while, inquired for his sister. Ronald went in search of her, but no +one could tell him where she was. At length, having looked everywhere +else, he ran up stairs, and thoughtlessly opened her chamber door, +without asking permission. Jessie was there, and as the door opened, she +closed a book that she held, with a startled look, and Ronald saw very +plainly that she had been weeping, although she quickly turned her face +away. Frightened at the impropriety of which he had been guilty, in thus +intruding upon her privacy, he made a ludicrous attempt at apology. + +“I—I didn’t know you were here,” he said; “but I’ve been hunting for you +all over the house. Henry is down stairs, and wants to see you.” + +“You may ask him to come up here,” replied Jessie, without turning her +face towards Ronald. + +Henry went up to Jessie’s room, and remained with her some time. When he +came out, he, too, seemed more sober and silent than usual, and Ronald +half suspected, from his looks, that he had been crying. And so he had. +The fact was, both he and his sister were suffering from that +distressing malady—homesickness. It seems strange that one who has +exchanged a poor home for a better one, should pine after what he has +relinquished; but so it is. We cannot separate ourselves from the +friends with whom we have always lived, and the associations and haunts +with which we have for years been familiar, without suffering more or +less from homesickness, no matter into how excellent hands we may have +fallen. And this feeling is sometimes very prolonged and distressing, +especially with those who are exiled from their native land. A few years +ago, a German emigrant in Boston became insane from homesickness, and +bought a little boat, called a dory, which he fitted up in a peculiar +manner, with oars, sails, a canvas covering, and provisions for a +fortnight’s subsistence. He intended to put to sea in this frail skiff, +hoping, as he said, to reach his fatherland in twenty-two days. When +asked how he should supply himself with food, after his stock was +exhausted, he said he had a little money to buy more. Perhaps he thought +he should find a half-way house on the great deep, or meet a baker’s or +butcher’s cart, on the voyage. + +Marcus had been sitting for an hour or more before a small portable +desk—a parting gift from his late pupils—which lay open upon the table +in the sitting-room, with papers and books scattered around it. He had +been engaged in studying a Greek lesson; for he intended at some future +day to enter college in an advanced class, and with this view was +continuing his studies. He was now leaning back in his chair, with his +eyes intently fixed upon the ceiling, while his thoughts were busily +engaged in trying to devise some way to relieve the melancholy of +Jessie, and to dispel the shadows which from sympathy seemed to be +stealing over other members of the family. After remaining in this +position about ten minutes, he stepped into the kitchen, and held a +short consultation with his mother and his aunt. He then went out to the +woodshed, where Oscar and Ronald were at work, and accosted them with— + +“Boys, what do you say to getting up a little celebration of +Washington’s birth-day, this evening?” + +“Good! First rate!” cried the impetuous Ronald, without giving Oscar a +chance to reply. “What kind of a celebration shall we have? If I were +you, I’d have the whole house illuminated, or else I’d build a great +bonfire on the hill, that will show off all over town—wouldn’t that be +grand, Oscar?” + +“That isn’t exactly the kind of a celebration that I was thinking of,” +said Marcus. “What I propose is, to invite in a few of our young +acquaintances, and have an oration, and some appropriate music, and +perhaps a tableau or two. How does that strike you, Oscar?” + +“I think it’s a good idea; but who can get an oration ready, in so +little time?” inquired Oscar. + +“O, we can manage that—the oration will be the easiest part to arrange,” +replied Marcus. + +“But why couldn’t we have a bonfire, too?—I’ll take the whole care of +it,” interposed Ronald, who just now thought more of material than +mental illumination. + +“I am afraid that might draw together more company than we want,” +replied Marcus, “and so interfere with our indoor arrangements. I think +you had better give up that idea.” + +Ronald readily assented to this, and Marcus appointed him and Oscar a +“committee of arrangements,” to invite guests, and make other +preparations for the festival, giving them such instructions as he +deemed necessary. He afterwards added Jessie to this committee, who +entered into the plan with much interest. Marcus then returned to his +studies, leaving the affair almost entirely in the hands of the +committee. + +The committee at once began to discuss the order of arrangements, and +the leading features of the celebration were soon decided upon. The work +of preparation was then divided among the committee, a particular line +of duties being assigned to each member. As the front parlor, usually +called “the best room,” was the largest apartment, it was selected as +the place of entertainment, and Jessie at once commenced preparing it +for the occasion. She removed to this room an engraved portrait of +Washington, which hung in one of the chambers, and then despatched +Ronald to the woods for some evergreens, with which to adorn its old +black frame. She also found an old engraving of the Washington mansion +at Mount Vernon, among a large collection of prints in Miss Lee’s +closet, which she had liberty to overhaul. When Ronald returned, she +made a pretty frame of evergreen for this, and hung it by the side of +the portrait. A small work table, intended to serve as the orator’s +desk, was placed directly in front of these pictures, so that one would +appear on either side of him. The wall back of the table was further +ornamented by a large star in evergreen, and several wreaths and +festoons were displayed in other parts of the room. + +[Illustration: [Washington and his Home]] + +Jessie seemed in better spirits at noon, and talked with much interest +of the anticipated celebration. The committee continued their labors in +the afternoon, and apparently had about as much on their hands as they +could conveniently manage. This was especially true of Ronald, who did +not seem content to do less than three or four things at once. Before +sunset, however, the business was finished; and when Marcus came home, +he found on his desk the following paper, in the handwriting of Jessie, +with the exception of one line—the last—which was evidently an +interpolation by Ronald: + + + PROGRAMME + + FOR THE + + CELEBRATION OF WASHINGTON’S BIRTH-DAY. + + 1. Music—“Washington’s Grand March”—piano-forte. + + 2. Reading of a sketch of Washington’s Life, by Jessie Hapley. + + 3. Music—“Hail Columbia”—sung by the Company. + + 4. Webster’s Oration on Washington, read by Mr. Marcus Page. + + 5. Music—“My country, ’tis of thee”—sung by the company. + + 6. Tableau. + + 7. Music—“Yankee Doodle”—piano-fort. + + 8. Going Home with the Girls. + + +Early in the evening the company assembled, embracing eight or ten lads +and misses from the neighborhood, among whom was Henry Hapley. The old +parlor never looked more beautiful, with its generous wood-fire blazing +upon the hearth, its extra display of lamps disposed around the room, +its decorations in evergreen and bunting, (for Ronald’s flag was hauled +down at sunset, and now figured as drapery around the “orator’s desk,”) +and its rows of smiling faces duly arranged in audience fashion. The +programme was carried out in a style that gave the utmost satisfaction. +One of the guests, a young lady, furnished the instrumental portion of +the music, while all joined in the singing. By way of refreshing the +memories of the audience, Jessie read from a book a brief summary of the +leading events in Washington’s life, concluding by reading a poem on the +same subject, from a popular English authoress, (Miss Eliza Cook,) +commencing, + + “Land of the west! though passing brief + The record of thine age, + Thou hast a name that darkens all + On history’s wide page!” + +The oration, which was well delivered by Marcus, consisted of the +principal portion of Webster’s eloquent address on the centennial +anniversary of the birth-day of Washington. The tableau was exhibited in +an adjoining room, the door being opened to the “audience,” when the +figure was arranged. It was a scene that had been enacted at a Christmas +party in which most of the people of the town participated, two months +previous. The figure represented was “Liberty,” which was personated by +a beautiful girl, arrayed in flowing antique drapery, holding with one +hand a staff, on the top of which hung a liberty cap, and with the other +hand supporting a shield bearing the United States arms. As the company +were crowded around the door,—which they were not allowed to +pass,—gazing at the tableau, Rover, a handsome spaniel, who had been +sleeping all the evening under a table in the room devoted to “Liberty,” +now came forth to see what the stir was all about. At a sly signal from +his young master, Ronald, he saluted the goddess with one of his loudest +barks, at which everybody laughed except the statue-like figure; and it +is not improbable that she moved the muscles of her face a trifle, for +Rover seemed suddenly to recognize her and, wagging his shaggy tail, he +lay down by her side, close to the shield, as much as to say,— + +“Ah, yes, I understand it, now. This is Miss Liberty, and I am bound to +be her protector and defender.” + +This unexpected addition to the tableau was received with a shout that +upset the gravity even of Liberty herself, and she joined in the laugh, +while the piano-forte struck up “Yankee Doodle” in the liveliest style, +and the guests began to hunt up their hoods and caps, in anticipation of +the grand finale smuggled into the programme by Ronald, who, by the way, +in consideration of his tender years, was excused from any participation +in _that_ performance. + +So ended the memorable twenty-second. There were half a dozen sound +sleepers in the house, that night, but dull Care and the dolorous Blues +and Dumps could find no chance to lodge there! + + + + + CHAPTER II. + SOMETHING ABOUT DIARIES. + + +Jessie had one secret that she preserved very carefully from even her +most intimate friends. She kept a “journal,” or daily record of her +life. Not that she was ashamed to have this known, but regarding it as a +strictly private matter, she preferred to keep it entirely to herself. +She was induced to commence keeping a journal by some remarks made by +Mr. Upton, the preceptor of the academy, to his older scholars, near the +close of the previous year. He recommended the practice of journalizing +very highly, and mentioned quite a number of benefits that were usually +derived from it, by the young, the chief of which were these: + +1. It aids in acquiring an improved and distinctive handwriting. + +2. It promotes ease and rapidity of composition. + +3. It assists the young to acquire and retain knowledge. + +4. It cultivates habits of thought and observation. + +5. It encourages habits of system and method. + +6. It is often of great value in after life, when we wish to recall +facts, events, impressions, etc., of earlier years. + +7. As a history of one’s life, it must always possess great interest. + +Jessie at once procured a small blank book, determined to put the advice +in practice at the beginning of the year. Supposing that every book +ought to have a title-page, she set apart the first ruled page of her +journal for this purpose, and at sundry odd moments inscribed upon it, +in the handsomest characters she could make, a title expressive of its +object. Jessie was tolerably expert with the pen, and her best efforts +with this implement were by no means devoid of merit. But you must not +suppose that they were chiefly remarkable for the fantastic shapes of +the letters, or elaborate shadings, or fanciful and intricate scrawls, +and other frippery. Her taste was rather for the chaste, graceful and +simple, than for the grotesque and the tawdry. To illustrate this, I +will show you the title-page of her Journal, or rather a fac simile of +it, reduced in size, if the printer can imitate it with his types. Here +it is: + +[Illustration: A _Journal for 185–_. BY JESSIE HAPLEY. “Try to be +Somebody.” _Highburg, Vt._] + +I suppose the motto which Jessie inscribed upon her title-page will +strike some minds as being both too ambitious and too indefinite, to say +nothing of its inelegance. To her, however, it had a history and a +significance that rendered it quite appropriate for the place. Its +history was as follows. There was a girl attending the academy, named +Abby Leonard, who came from a distant city, and whose parents were +reputed to be very rich. She was fifteen years old, had more and better +dresses than any other girl in town, and prided herself on her superior +gentility and refinement. She was a sad dunce, it is true, but her ample +stock of self-esteem did not seem to suffer in the least from that +circumstance, and in spite of it she contrived to wield a pretty potent +influence over the other girls of the academy. When Jessie became a +pupil, and it was whispered from one to another that she was a scholar +of unusual promise, Abby contemptuously remarked: + +“Oh, it’s that drunken Hapley’s daughter, isn’t it? I wonder who pays +the bills? Well, I don’t think I shall associate with such folks, if +they do feel smart. If there’s anything I despise, it’s to see a poor +girl all the time trying to be somebody.” + +This cruel remark was quickly reported to Jessie, by some well-meaning +but inconsiderate friend. Foolish as it was, it entered her sensitive +heart like an arrow, and for days and nights she tried in vain to +dislodge the poisoned shaft. But at length she was fortunate enough to +find a complete antidote for the envenomed wound. She had studied until +late in the evening, and on retiring, her wakeful thoughts refused to be +composed, and the old ogre which had haunted her of late, returned to +torment her. Then she resolutely and calmly said to herself: + +“I will endure this no longer. Henceforth I _will_ ‘try to be somebody,’ +if I never have tried before; not in the foolish sense that Abby Leonard +meant, but in a higher and nobler one. Her taunt shall furnish me with a +motto and a spur. I will show to her and all my acquaintances that I +have no ambition to become a fine lady, or to affect gentility, or to +pass for what I am not. I will show to them that even a poor girl may +aspire to something better than these. The ‘somebody’ that I try to be, +shall possess a pure heart and a spotless character. She shall, if +possible, reach an honorable, independent and useful position. She shall +make her influence felt in the world for good. She shall win the love +and respect of those who know her. The poor, the suffering and the +erring shall always find in her a friend. But whether she succeeds in +all these things or not, her life shall be strictly governed by +christian principles, and she shall always patiently submit to the will +of God;” and Jessie concluded her soliloquy with a silent prayer that no +unworthy motive might mingle with the purpose she had formed, and that +she might be enabled to adhere to her resolution through life. + +From that hour, “Try to be somebody” was Jessie’s motto. The sting was +at once withdrawn from her wounded spirit, and the ogre was suddenly +transformed into an angel of light. The weeks of the academical term +flew swiftly by, but ere half of them had sped, the aristocratic Miss +Leonard manifested not only a willingness but a desire to associate with +“that drunken Hapley’s daughter,” little suspecting that her thoughtless +and cruel remark on the first day of the term had ever reached the ears +of Jessie. + +The first record Jessie was called to make in her journal was a very sad +one. On the afternoon of New-Year’s day, her youngest brother, Benjamin, +fell asleep in the arms of his mother, never more to awake in this +world, until the dead shall arise from their graves. For a day or two, +all thoughts of the journal vanished from her mind; but when the first +outburst of grief was past, she found a melancholy satisfaction in +recording the incidents of Benny’s sickness and death, and from that +time she continued her daily entries without intermission. + +In the remarks which Mr. Upton made to his scholars on keeping journals, +he said there were several ways of doing this. The diaries of some +people, he said, were merely a very brief and dry record of events. +Supposing one of his scholars to keep a diary after this style, he said +something like the following would be a fair specimen of its pages: + + + SPECIMEN OF A DIARY—IN DRY MEASURE + +“_Monday, Dec. 20._—Cloudy and cold. Attended academy all day. Studied +in the evening. + +“_Tuesday, Dec. 21._—Pleasant, but very cold. Attended the academy, as +usual. Went over to Sarah Cobb’s and spent the evening. + +“_Wednesday, Dec. 22._—It snowed a little in the forenoon. I studied an +hour in the morning, and then went to school. In the afternoon pa +carried us to ride. Got a lesson in the evening, and then read till +bed-time.” + +Mr. Upton, who was in a rather funny mood, said this might be called a +diary in dry measure. Another method of keeping a journal he illustrated +somewhat after this fashion, denominating it a + + + SPECIMEN OF A DIARY—IN LONG MEASURE. + +“_Monday, Dec. 20._—The weather is really dismal. The sun has not shown +himself to-day, and it is so cold it is of no use to try to keep warm. I +meant to have had an hour for study in the morning, but it was so cloudy +and dark that I over-slept myself and lost it. It seems as if the +mornings were always cloudy, when the days are shortest. I shall be +thankful when they begin to lengthen. How many precious hours I waste +abed, when the days are so short! I attended the academy morning and +afternoon, and got through tolerably well with all the recitations, +though I thought I should break down in grammar. I do wish I could take +more interest in grammar, but I don’t think I shall ever like it. I +suppose it is a necessary study, but I think it is the dryest and +hardest one we have. I wore my new plaid winter dress to school, to-day, +for the first time. The girls all think it is pretty, and so do I. I +fixed my hair in a new way, this morning, which I think becomes me much +better than the old way though John laughed at it until he got me almost +angry. I wonder that father will let that boy plague me so. After tea I +spent two hours in trying to learn my history lesson, but did not get it +perfectly, after all. I think it is too bad to give us such long +lessons. Two pages and a half, full of hard names, is enough to try +anybody’s patience. I got sleepy over it, and went to bed at nine +o’clock. + +“_Tuesday, Dec. 21._—We have had a pleasant day, at last, but such a +cold one! I ought to have got up early, and looked over my history +lesson again, but it was so awful cold I dreaded to, and so I laid abed +till ma called me to breakfast. Somehow, all my good early-rising +resolutions vanish, these cold mornings. I had a terrible time getting +to school, and for a while I really thought I had frozen my nose. It +actually felt stiff. The academy was so cold, that Mr. Upton let those +of us who sit back come forward and gather around the stove to warm +ourselves. Then he made all the scholars form a procession, and march +around the room half a dozen times, in double quick time, to quicken our +blood. I missed once in history, just as I expected, but was marked +perfect in all the other recitations. I went over to Sarah Cobb’s and +spent the evening. She sent for me to come, as she was going to be +alone. We sewed, and talked, and had a good time; but we got terribly +frightened, just before the folks got back. We thought we heard steps +around the house, for two or three minutes. We listened, and kept +hearing strange noises, and knew there must be a man around, but we +wondered why he did not knock at the door, if he had come with good +intentions. Pretty soon he did knock, sure enough, and such a knock! We +thought he was banging at the door with a club. Sarah was frightened out +of her wits, and declared she would not go to the door, and so did I. At +last she went into the entry, and mustered courage enough to say, ‘Who’s +there?’ Nobody answered, but immediately after there were three +tremendous raps, louder than the first. Sarah says she thought the door +would be broken down the next time, and so she opened it, when behold, +there stood old Deacon Melcher, who had come to borrow some spearmint +for his wife! The old gentleman is quite infirm, and that is the reason +he was so long in getting to the door, after we first heard him; and he +is so deaf, that I suppose he does not know how loud he knocks at +people’s doors with his big cane. But I would not go through such a +fright again for a good deal. Mr. Cobb soon returned, and brought me +home in his sleigh. + +“_Wednesday, Dec. 22._—More snow! Oh, dear, I wish it would never snow +any more—I am tired of the sight of it. Two or three inches fell this +forenoon, and then the sun came out bright. As I was away last evening, +I _had_ to get up this morning, and study my geography lesson. Mr. Upton +says he wishes us to study at least two hours every day, out of school, +and I should think he meant we should, by the long lessons he gives us. +I only half got my lesson, before it was time to go to school; but I +made out to finish it, before we were called to recite. I was marked +perfect in all my lessons, to-day. There is real satisfaction, after +all, in being able to give a perfect recitation, if it does cost some +labor. I think I have improved some this term, in this respect. As +father says I am not going to school after this winter, I must make the +best of my advantages, while they last. How thankful I ought to be for +them! After dinner, father tackled up Bessy, and took mother, John and +me in the sleigh, and carried us to ride. We went about two miles beyond +Mr. Clarkson’s mill, on the Dodgeville road, to where Mr. Rogers lives. +Father had some business there, but Mr. Rogers was away, and so he did +not accomplish anything. We saw Mrs. Rogers’s baby. It is as fat as +butter, and is a real cunning little thing; but it was not dressed +neatly, at all. It is strange how little taste some people have. Father +says looks are of no consequence, if the child is only kept comfortable, +but I don’t believe he really means it. He likes to be on the +opposition, and get me into an argument. We had a real nice ride, but it +was very cold coming home. I do wish I could have a good warm pair of +fur mittens—I think I really need them. Father says I might make them +myself, but I am sure I never could do it. It took all of two hours to +get my philosophy lesson in the evening. Then I had an hour to read the +Advertiser. As usual, it was half filled up with politics. I don’t see +why they want to publish such dry stuff. But I found two or three good +things in it, and a long list of articles advertised for Christmas and +New Year’s gifts. How I should like to take my pick from them!” + + +“There is still another method of keeping a journal,” said Mr. Upton, +“which, by way of distinction from the others, we may call a diary in +solid measure. I will give you an illustration of it, and we will +suppose the young lady to pass through the same scenes that the others +record:” + + + SPECIMEN OF A DIARY—IN SOLID MEASURE. + +“_Monday, Dec. 20._—Cold and cloudy. I intended to study an hour before +going to school, but as usual, these short mornings, I over-slept +myself. However, I got through my recitations tolerably well. I got one +or two new ideas on grammar, to-day. Mr. Upton says ‘had rather’ is a +very vulgar expression, although it is often used by people who ought to +know better. ‘I had rather go’—_had go_—what tense is that? ‘I would +rather go,’ is the correct phrase. ‘Had better,’ he says, is also bad +grammar. He says he sometimes hears the girls say such a dress or bonnet +is ‘tasty,’ but there is no such word—we should say tasteful. I studied +my history lesson two hours in the evening, but did not quite master it. +I was tired and sleepy, and I am afraid I did not apply my mind very +closely to it. + +“_Tuesday, Dec. 21._—Pleasant, but the coldest day yet, this winter. +Thermometer 3° below zero, at sunrise. The almanac says ‘winter +commences’ to-day, and I should think it did, in good earnest. This is +the shortest day of the year, the sun having reached its greatest +southern declination. Mr. Upton explained it to us, this morning. I was +perfect in all my recitations except history, in which I missed one +question. It is strange how we go on mispronouncing words for a long +time, without discovering our error. Our history lesson to-day had a +good deal to say about _magna charta_, the great charter of liberty +which the English barons compelled King John to sign; and it turned out +that only two in the class knew how to pronounce _charta_. I always +supposed the _ch_ should be pronounced as in chart, but it seems they +have the sound of _k_. _Distich_ is another word that I never knew how +to pronounce until to-day. It occurred in our reading lesson, this +morning, and I pronounced the _ch_ as in stitch; but Mr. Upton corrected +me, and told me to call it _distick_. I could not believe he was right, +until I looked into the large dictionary. I wish I could learn as easily +as some of the scholars do. While we were reciting history, several of +us missed, and Mr. Upton asked us if we had studied two hours out of +school, according to the rule. By-and-by he came to Jerry Hall, who +recited so well that Mr. Upton said, ‘There’s a boy that has studied his +two hours, I am very certain.’ ‘No, sir, I didn’t,’ said Jerry, ‘I only +read it over twice; that’s all that I ever study my history lessons.’ +And yet I spent two hours over it, and did not learn it perfectly, even +then. I stayed with Sarah Cobb in the evening, as she was alone. When +the family got back, Mr. C. brought me home in his sleigh. + +“_Wednesday, Dec. 22._—A little more snow fell in the forenoon, but the +afternoon was pleasant. I got up early and studied an hour, before +school-time. My recitations were all perfect. After dinner, father took +us all to ride. We went as far as Mr. Rogers’s house, on the Dodgeville +road. We stopped there, and warmed ourselves, and on the whole, had a +pleasant time. I noticed that the snow-birds were very plenty and +lively, this afternoon. Father says that is a sign of a storm. These +birds are not the same as the little chipping sparrows that are around +here in summer. I always supposed they were the same, but father says it +is a mistake. He says the snow-birds go to the Arctic regions in the +spring, and breed, and do not come back again till winter. I studied a +philosophy lesson, in the evening, about two Lours, and then read the +‘Advertiser’ till bed-time.” + + +After giving these illustrations of the different methods of +journalizing, Mr. Upton said any one of them was better than no diary, +but there was a marked difference in their value. No. 1, he said, was +dry, bare, and uninteresting—a mere skeleton; useful, it is true, but +not half so useful as it might be. No. 2 was too wordy, and recorded too +many trivial things, and dealt too much in moral reflections that seemed +to be lugged in for effect. It was quite a tax on one’s time and +patience to keep such a journal, and perseverance in so serious an +undertaking was almost too much to expect. No. 3 came nearer to the true +idea of a diary, which should be a register of daily observations as +well as occurrences—a record of ideas as well as events. This was the +system, “solid measure,” which he recommended; and it was this that +Jessie took as her model, when she began the experiment of keeping a +journal. + + + + + CHAPTER III. + SNOW AND ICE. + + +One day Ronald and Henry, Jessie’s brother, took it into their heads to +build a large snow-house in the yard back of the house. It was to be +capacious enough to receive half a dozen boys at once, and so high as to +admit of their standing upright within it. There was plenty of snow all +around, and by working diligently with their shovels about an hour, they +accumulated a pretty large heap. They had beat it down hard with their +shovels, as they piled it up, so that it was quite solid. But after +working harmoniously together, all this time, some differences of +opinion at length began to arise between the two builders. Henry wanted +to pile on more snow, and make the house larger. Ronald insisted that it +was large enough, now. Henry, who was taller than Ronald, declared that +he should not be able to stand up straight in it. Ronald told him not to +be alarmed about that, for in digging out the inside, he meant to go +clean down to the ground, which would make the hut nearly two feet +higher than it appeared to be. + +So Ronald carried his point, and Henry yielded somewhat reluctantly. +They worked together again for a while, though not quite so merrily as +before, smoothing and rounding off the pile into a regular shape. But +when this was completed, they again began to dispute. Not that either of +them was of a quarrelsome disposition, but there was an honest +difference of opinion between them, and, as will sometimes happen in +such cases, each was more ready to argue his own side than to listen to +the other. Henry was for throwing a quantity of water upon the heap, by +which means the outside would be turned into solid ice, as the water +froze. He proposed to do this now, and to leave the work of excavation +until another day. But Ronald thought the heap was compact and solid +enough as it was, and it would only be throwing away labor to put water +upon it. He determined to dig it out at once; and having marked a place +for the door, he forthwith began to hollow out the hut, without further +argument. Henry stood leaning upon his shovel, apparently not much +pleased with the independent spirit displayed by Ronald; but he said +little, and offered no further assistance. + +[Illustration: [The Snow-House]] + +Such was the position of affairs, when footsteps were heard on the other +side of the fence, and Ronald, looking over, spied Jessie, who had +evidently set out for a walk. + +“Where are you going, Jessie?” he inquired. + +“Down to the pond, to see the ice-boat,” replied Jessie. + +“Hold on a minute and I’ll go, too,” said Ronald, throwing down his +shovel, and brushing the snow from his clothes. + +“That’s right—I should like company,” replied Jessie. “Wont you come, +too, Henry?” + +“I can’t—it’s about time for me to go home,” replied Henry. + +“Well, don’t you touch my snow-house, while I’m gone, will you?” +interposed Ronald. + +“_Your_ snow-house, I should think!” retorted Henry, in a sneering tone. + +“Yes, it is mine, for it’s on mother’s land, and you’ve no right to come +into the yard, if I tell you not to,” replied Ronald. + +“It’s your mother’s land, is it? I thought she died in the poor-house, +years ago,” responded Henry, with a bitter look that did not seem to sit +at all naturally upon that open, good-natured face. + +“Well, you touch it if you dare, that’s all,” replied Ronald, with an +angry look; and leaping over the fence, he ran to overtake Jessie, who +had walked on, and had heard none of this ill-natured conversation. + +To explain Henry’s ungenerous fling about Ronald’s mother, it should be +mentioned that the parents of that boy were poor French Canadian +emigrants, who were suddenly carried off by a fever, in Highburg, +leaving their only child, Ronald, at the age of eight years, homeless +and friendless. He was a singularly bright and lively boy, and Marcus +Page took such a fancy to him, that he induced his mother to adopt the +orphan. Never having received much training, Ronald had many wild and +strange ways, and had fallen into some bad habits, though his +disposition was naturally affectionate, kind-hearted and docile. Marcus, +from the first, exerted a great influence over him, acting the part of +teacher and father to him; and from his success in making a good boy of +this little semi-savage, he earned the name of “the Boy-Tamer.” + +[Illustration: [Esquimaux Snow-Huts]] + +Ronald’s anger was somewhat cooled off, by the time he overtook Jessie, +although he was not yet in a very pleasant mood. He looked back several +times, to see what Henry was about, but the latter stood leaning upon +the fence, apparently undecided what to do. Jessie asked several +questions about the snow-house, as they walked along. Although Ronald +did not seem inclined to say much about it, he was careful to give her +no intimation of the quarrel that had arisen. She had been recently +reading a volume of Arctic travels, and Ronald’s snow-house reminded her +of the huts of snow in which the Esquimaux live. She explained to him +the manner in which they are built. They are circular in shape, rising +in the form of a dome, and are built wholly of ice and snow. We give a +representation of one nearly completed. The picture also shows a +finished hut, in the distance, and the low and narrow entrance to a +third, in the foreground. It does not seem as though these snow hovels +could be much more comfortable to dwell in than the one which Ronald and +Henry built; but the poor Esquimaux, though living in a climate far +colder than the coldest in the United States, are glad to make their +homes in these rude huts, which seem fit only for boys’ playthings. An +American traveller in those regions says that although these snow-houses +might not be considered exactly comfortable, particularly by those who +had a fondness for dry clothing, and for joints that did not creak with +frost in the morning, yet he confessed he had often slept soundly in +them. + +From snow-houses the conversation glided to iceboats, which are sleds or +boats constructed to sail on the ice. One of these had been recently +rigged up by a young man in town, and as it was a novelty, it was the +object of Jessie’s walk to see it. Ronald had already seen it, and +explained its construction to her; and she, in return, told him how in +Arctic expeditions the sledges were sometimes provided with sails, by +which the men were greatly aided in their tedious journeys over vast +fields of ice. + +Merry voices soon informed Jessie and Ronald that they were in the +vicinity of the pond. Round Hill Pond, it was called, taking its name +from a prominent hill near its borders. It was a beautiful sheet of +water, surrounded on all sides by hilly land, much of which was covered +with forest trees. At this time, there was quite a large gathering of +young men and boys upon its glassy surface. There were parties of merry +skaters, performing their quick and graceful evolutions, or cutting +fantastic figures upon the ice. Some of the skaters had bats and balls, +and others were drawing sleds, on which were seated their little +brothers or sisters. There were also some famous coasts on the pond, +which many of the boys were improving. Starting high up on the steep +sides of the pond, they came down with a railroad speed that sent them +whizzing across the narrow part of the pond; and here, fortunately, was +another icy hill-side, by which they were returned to their first +starting place, in the same way they came. I cannot say what would have +been the consequences of a collision between these two opposite trains +of coasters; but as each side had its own track, and the law of keeping +to the right was enforced by common consent, they got along without +anything more serious than an occasional narrow escape from an accident. + +But the great attraction of the pond was the ice-boat. This was a large, +rough sled, shaped somewhat like a flat-iron, and instead of runners, +having three skate irons, two behind and one forward. The forward skate +could be turned, and thus served as a rudder to steer the craft. Near +the centre of the sled there was a mast, capable of supporting a large, +square sail. The sail was dropped, and the ice-boat was at rest, near +the edge of the pond, when Jessie and Ronald arrived. They went down +upon the ice, to have a nearer view of it, and found the young man who +made it getting ready for a sail. Several persons were standing around, +one of whom, a middle-aged man, was endeavoring to convince the youth +that he sailed his craft wrong end first. + +“Why, look here, John,” said the man, “doesn’t it stand to reason that +the rudder of a boat ought to be in the stern? Now just answer me that, +will you?” + +“Well,” replied the boy, availing himself of the Yankee’s privilege of +answering a question by asking another, “supposing you were making an +ox-sled with a set of double runners, would you put the traverse runners +behind, because you were going to steer with them?” + +“That’s nothing to do with it,” replied the other; “of course I wouldn’t +build an ox-sled as I would a sail-boat. But, let me tell you, I’ve seen +these things before to-day. I was out in Iowa, one winter, and crossed +the Mississippi in a sail-sled, a good deal like this, only she had the +two stationary runners in front, and the single one behind. She was +running as a ferry-boat, and she flew across the river like a bird. And +then she’d mind her rudder just as quick as any boat you ever saw; you +could whirl her right about in a moment.” + +“So I can my boat,” replied the youth; “and as to that, I don’t believe +it makes any difference whether the steering runner is in front or +behind. Come, jump on, Mr. Grant, and you shall see for yourself,” added +the young man, as he hoisted his sail. + +“No, you’ll sail better with one than with two on board, with this +wind,” replied the man. + +“Well, Jessie, you’re light—I’ll take you, if you want to have a sail,” +continued the young man. + +“No, I thank you, I had rather stand here and see you sail,” replied +Jessie. + +“Yes, go, Jessie,” interposed Ronald; “I would, if he asked me.” + +John did not take the hint, but setting his sail to the breeze, and +giving his craft a push by means of a boat-hook, he started on his trip +alone. There was a light wind, and the ice-boat, after a few minutes, +got up a pretty good speed, sailing along very handsomely at the rate of +four or five miles an hour, which is a little faster than a good walker +usually travels. The young man frequently changed her course, and +conclusively showed that the craft obeyed her rudder, if it was, as Mr. +Grant asserted, in the wrong end of the boat. + +As the sun was nearing the western horizon, Jessie and Ronald did not +wait to see the return of the ice-boat, but started for home after it +had disappeared behind the hills. They had not proceeded far, when they +discovered, with astonishment and awe, that since they had passed +securely over the road, but little more than an hour before, a fearful +snow-slide had taken place at a particular point, burying up the highway +for nearly a dozen rods, to the depth of twenty feet! The road at this +place wound around the foot of a steep hill, upon the side of which the +deep snow had become softened by the afternoon sun, and slipping from +the grasp of its icy moorings, had swept down from the heights above in +an avalanche which must have shaken the solid ground beneath. There was +a farm-house just beyond, and Jessie and Ronald, as soon as their first +surprise was over, began to feel serious apprehensions that it had been +swept away in the rushing tide from the mountain. They accordingly +scaled the immense pile of snow, which was as hard and compact as if it +had been trodden down by the feet of an army, and hurried forward to +ascertain the extent of the disaster. To their great relief, they found +the house safe, but so near had the destructive avalanche come to it, +that a shed attached to the barn was demolished and buried up, and a +wagon standing in it was crushed to pieces. The family which occupied +the house had not yet recovered from their alarm and excitement. At the +time the slide occurred, the mother and her two children were alone in +the house. Hearing an unusual noise, which jarred the building like an +earthquake, she ran to the door, and saw the whole hill-side apparently +sliding down into the road. Comprehending her danger at a glance, she +seized her little girl with one hand, and her babe with the other, and +fled from the house with all possible speed—all of them bareheaded, and +with only such garments as they wore indoors. Fortunately, she soon met +her husband, who at first thought his wife had suddenly become crazy; +but after hearing her story, he took the little girl into his arms, and +they went back to the house. When Jessie and Ronald got there, the man +was trying very earnestly to convince his wife that there was no further +danger, but she kept glancing anxiously at the snow on the hill behind +the house, as if momentarily expecting to see it commence its +destructive march. There was, however, really little danger, now, for +such was the form of the hill above the house, that a slide would not be +likely to occur there, unless in connection with an avalanche on the +more precipitous part of the mountain. + +Jessie and Ronald now hurried home, thankful that an unseen Hand had +held back the crashing snow-slip, while they were slowly passing along +its track, unconscious of danger. So intently were their minds engaged +with the fearful scene they had just witnessed, that Ronald did not +notice, as he passed into the yard, that his snow-house was reduced to a +shapeless heap, and its ruins scattered around in every direction. + + + + + CHAPTER IV. + THE REFEREE CASE. + + +“I wonder where Henry is; I haven’t seen him for three or four days,” +said Jessie one morning, as Ronald was mending one of the straps of his +skates, preparatory to an excursion to the pond with several boys who +were waiting outside. + +No reply was made, and after a moment’s pause, she added, + +“I am afraid he is sick. Have you seen him, lately, Ronald?” + +“No, I haven’t seen him since that day we went over to Round Hill Pond, +to see the ice-boat,” replied Ronald. + +“You haven’t heard of the falling out of Ronald and Henry, have you?” +inquired Oscar of Jessie, as soon as Ronald left the room. + +“A falling out? No, I have heard nothing about that. What is the trouble +between them?” inquired Jessie. + +“I didn’t know anything about it until yesterday,” replied Oscar, +“although I suspected something was wrong. It seems, according to +Ronald’s story, that he and Henry undertook to build a snow-house, and +had got it nearly done, when Henry got mad about something or other, and +knocked it all to pieces, while Ronald was away.” + +“But I can hardly believe that,” said Jessie. “It doesn’t seem at all +like Henry, to do such a thing as that—and such good friends as he and +Ronald have always been, too. Did anybody see Henry tear the house down, +or is it all mere suspicion?” + +“It’s nothing but suspicion, I believe,” replied Oscar; “but Ronald says +he’s certain Henry did it, and he declares he will never have anything +more to say to him. It’s a little suspicious that Henry hasn’t been over +here, since that day, isn’t it?” + +“Well, I shall not believe Henry did it, unless he acknowledges it, or +some witness testifies that he saw him do it,” added Jessie. “I will go +over and see Henry, to-day, and find out the truth about the matter.” + +In the afternoon, when her work was finished up, Jessie went over to Mr. +Allen’s, where Henry lived, and made inquiries about the report she had +heard in the morning. Her brother readily admitted that he had destroyed +the snow-house; but he justified himself on the ground, first, that +Ronald did not treat him well, but provoked him to do it; and secondly, +that he had a right to destroy it, as the snow-house was just as much +his as it was Ronald’s. Jessie listened patiently to all he had to say +in his defence, and then simply inquired:— + +“Why haven’t you been over to see us, since that day?—you used to come +almost every day.” + +Henry bit his thumb nail nervously, and gazed intently at the corner of +the carriage-shed, but made no reply. + +“Come, Henry, I want an answer to that question,” added Jessie. “You +know that you and I have no better friend, next to our mother, than Mrs. +Page. Then all the rest of the family have always been very kind to us. +Now I want to know why you should shun them all, and your own sister, +too, if you only did what your conscience approved, the last time you +were over there. Will you answer me that?” + +After a long pause, finding that Jessie was still patiently waiting for +a reply, he stammered:— + +“I don’t know—I suppose I didn’t do exactly right—but Ronald’s more to +blame than I am—he began to pick upon me, first.” + +“Well,” added Jessie, “I want this quarrel settled right up, before it +grows any worse. You acknowledge that you did wrong; now are you willing +to confess this to the one you wronged, and to ask his pardon?” + +“If he’d apologize to me first, perhaps I would,” replied Henry, after a +little hesitation. + +“How much nobler it would be for you to go to him, first,” replied +Jessie. “According to your own showing, you are the one most to blame, +even if Ronald did provoke you a little. Now I will engage, that if you +go and acknowledge to him that you have done wrong, he will make ample +apology to you for whatever provocation he may have given. Will you do +it?” + +“But I only did what I had a right to do—the snow-house was mine as much +as it was his,” said Henry, evading the question. + +“I have some doubts about that,” replied Jessie. “The snow-house was in +Ronald’s yard, and you were his guest. I think he had the best right to +it. But even if you were equal partners in the matter, you had no right +to destroy it without his consent. He has rights, as well as you. Two +men sometimes build a house together; but if they should get into a +dispute, when it was finished, and one of them should go and set the +building afire, or pull it all to pieces, I think he would have to go to +the State prison, even if he did own half the property. It would be a +crime. And it is just the same in your case. At most you only owned half +the snow-house, and you had no right to destroy even your own half, +because it would interfere with Ronald’s rights to do so.” + +Henry attempted no reply to this reasoning, but still manifested an +unwillingness to make any advances towards a reconciliation. Jessie then +tried to persuade him to go home with her, and have an interview with +Ronald, she promising to do her best to arrange matters to the +satisfaction of both; but Henry resolutely refused to do this. + +“I have thought of one other way to settle this quarrel,” added Jessie, +after a little pause; “and that is, to refer it to two or three +referees, and let them decide who is most to blame, and who shall make a +first confession. Will you agree to that?” + +“I don’t see any need of going to all that fuss about it—Ronald began +the quarrel, and if he wants to make up, let him say so,” replied Henry. + +“It is not considered a very good sign,” resumed Jessie, “when a man +refuses to submit his dispute with a neighbor to two or three +disinterested persons. People say he does not act in good faith. It +looks as though he were neither innocent nor honest. Must I go home and +tell the folks that you have done this?” + +“No, I didn’t refuse, but I don’t see any use in doing it, though,” +answered Henry. + +“Suppose Ronald insists that you are more to blame than he, and refuses +to acknowledge his error until you have confessed yours; how can you +ever come to terms, unless by some such means as I have proposed? It is +a very simple thing, and if you are both acting in good faith, I don’t +see how you can object to it. Will you agree to it, if Ronald will?” + +“Y-e-s,” replied Henry, with evident reluctance. + +“Well, you had better choose your referee now—that will save the +necessity of seeing you again about it,” added Jessie. + +“I’ll choose you,” said Henry. + +“Very well, I’ll accept,” replied Jessie. “Ronald shall choose another, +and we two shall elect a third; then both parties shall have a hearing, +and you agree to abide by the decision we make, without any question or +grumbling, do you?” + +“Why—but—” + +“No whys or buts now, bub,” interrupted Jessie, “the award of the +referees is final—there’s no appeal from it.” + +“Well, but suppose you referees should decide that Ronald should give me +a thrashing; do you suppose I’d stand still and take it?” inquired +Henry. + +“That is not a supposable case,” replied Jessie. “All I can say to it, +is, that if the referees think the breach cannot be healed, and justice +done to all, without some kind of reparation, or punishment, we shall +expect the guilty one to submit to it, whatever it is. But I must be +going, now—you will probably hear from us to-morrow.” + +Jessie had a private interview with Ronald, on her return home, and +found that he was really much offended with Henry. He gave his version +of the difficulty, dwelling particularly upon Henry’s ungenerous fling +at his parents, and the spite he exhibited in destroying the snow-house. + +“But,” Jessie suggested, after patiently hearing his statement, “isn’t +it possible that you were the aggressor, after all? Were you not a +little arbitrary, and self-willed, about that time? And didn’t you +provoke Henry by telling him you could order him out of the yard, if you +chose, and by _daring_ him to touch the snow-house, after you left it? +You know Henry is older than you, and that made it harder to submit to +such treatment. He feels that he did wrong, and I think he is sorry for +it; but he says you began the quarrel, and are more to blame than he is. +If you should go to him, and apologize for what you said, I am confident +he would be melted into penitence in an instant, and make all the +reparation possible for the wrong he has done you.” + +Ronald was ready to admit that some of the blame should be placed to his +account, but he did not think he was called upon to take the first step +towards a reconciliation. Jessie then told him of the referee plan, and +he cheerfully assented to it, and chose Marcus as his arbitrator. + +It happened that Marcus heard nothing about the quarrel until Jessie +apprised him of the honorable office to which he had been chosen. He +approved of the course Jessie had taken, and accepted the appointment; +and as a third referee was wanted, they selected Oscar for that post. +Shortly after this, Mr. Allen rode by, and Marcus, hailing him, asked +permission for Henry to come over for a little while in the evening, +which he readily granted. So it was decided that the matter should be +settled up at once. + +Henry arrived early in the evening, before the referees had commenced +their business, Jessie being engaged with her duties in the kitchen. He +was ushered into the sitting-room, where several of the family were +seated, including Ronald. + +“Mr. Allen said you wanted me to come over here, this evening,” he said +to Marcus, with some embarrassment of manner, as he entered the room. + +“Yes, walk in and take a seat—I’m glad to see you once more,” replied +Marcus. + +“Good evening, Henry,” said Ronald, very composedly, after the others +had all saluted the newcomer. + +“Good evening,” Henry feebly responded, blushing a deeper red than +before. + +“Been skating, to-day?” inquired Ronald. + +“No,” replied Henry, in an almost inaudible tone, hitching uneasily in +his seat. + +“I have,” continued Ronald, warming up. “Oh, you ought to have been +there, and seen Gil Bryant skate. Did you ever see him?” + +“No, I believe not,” replied Henry, who was winking intently at the +fire. + +“Well, if he isn’t a splendid skater, then I never saw one,” continued +Ronald. “Why, they say he has skated a mile in three minutes and a half; +shouldn’t you call that pretty quick travelling?” + +Henry silently nodded assent—to the fire, and looked more “worked up” +than ever. + +“What, don’t you believe it, Marcus?” inquired Ronald, in a tone of +surprise, as he noticed a broad smile illuminating Marcus’s face. + +“Believe it?” responded Marcus; “of course I do. I’ve skated about as +fast as that myself, before now.” + +The fact was, Marcus was smiling at the thoughtless, good-natured +talkativeness of Ronald, as contrasted with the timid and nervous +reserve of Henry, and was balancing in his mind the question whether, +after all, the services of the board of arbitrators would be necessary +to bring the opposing parties to a reconciliation. That smile, however, +seemed to have broken the spell that was upon Ronald. He dropped the +thread of conversation, and was soon lost in his book, while Henry +continued to sit winking at the glowing, coal-enveloped back-log. Aunt +Fanny, who sat at the table sewing, now endeavored to draw him into +conversation by inquiries after Mr. Allen’s family, but did not meet +with much better success than Ronald. Pretty soon Mrs. Page and Jessie +came in, and Marcus inquired: + +“Can we have the kitchen, now, mother?” + +“Yes,” replied Mrs. Page. + +“Well, Jessie and Oscar, suppose we withdraw,” continued Marcus. + +The three referees retired to the kitchen, and after consulting a few +moments, decided to examine the two parties to the dispute separately. +Henry was then called in, and gave his version of the difficulty, from +its beginning to his destruction of the snow-house. He defended himself, +as well as he could, and promptly and frankly answered all the questions +that were put to him by the referees. He was then requested to withdraw, +and Ronald was called in, and underwent a similar examination. The +latter seemed in quite a merry mood, when he returned to the +sitting-room. + +“Mother,” he said, “you ought to go out there, and see what an august +tribunal we’ve got. They’re all as sober as judges, and Marcus has got a +sheet of paper, and is scribbling away on it as fast as he can. He made +believe that he was writing down all I said, but I guess I can talk +faster than he can write, any day.” + +“He was only noting down the leading points of your testimony, I +suppose,” remarked Mrs. Page. + +“Leading points?” continued Ronald; “he must have found them pretty +thick, then, for he kept scribbling the whole time I was in the room. +Did he when you was in there, Henry?” + +“Yes,” replied Henry, “he filled a whole page, and began another.” + +“Well,” added Ronald, with an air of mock gravity, “I suppose the +momentous question is almost decided. I tremble for my fate—don’t you, +Henry?” + +“Not much,” replied Henry, with a smile. + +“After all, I suppose we might as well be resigned,” continued Ronald; +“I’m not going to worry about it, any way.” + +“I don’t think it will be a very great hardship to either of you, to +shake hands and become friends again, if that is all the referees ask,” +remarked Mrs. Page. + +“Nor I, neither. Come, Henry, let’s do it now, and get the start of +them,” cried Ronald; and grasping each other’s hands, the two estranged +playmates indulged in a long and hearty shake, and felt that their +quarrel was at once healed. + +“Well done, boys!” exclaimed Mrs. Page. “Now how much better that is, +than to let such a trifling thing make enemies of you. I shouldn’t +wonder if you both remembered this act as long as you live; and you’ll +always remember it with pleasure, too.” + +“Do you suppose that’s all they’ll tell us to do—to shake hands and make +up?” inquired Ronald. + +“I haven’t any idea what kind of a decision they will make, as I know +but little about the facts in the case,” replied Mrs. Page. + +“It seems to me they are a good while making their decision,” said +Henry; “I should think it was about time to hear from them.” + +Oscar appeared at the door, a few minutes afterward, and summoned Ronald +and Henry before the referees. Marcus requested them to stand, while he +read the decision. + +“Mayn’t I say something, first?” inquired Ronald. + +“Yes,” replied Marcus. + +“Well, Henry and I have made up,” added Ronald. + +“Ah, I’m glad to hear that,” said Marcus. “If you had done this a little +sooner, you might have saved yourselves and us some trouble; but as we +have finished up the business you employed us to do, we shall expect you +to abide by our decision, and to pay us our fees.” + +“Fees? Have we got to pay you fees?” inquired Ronald, with a laugh. + +“To be sure you have,” replied Marcus, with the utmost gravity. “It is +customary to pay the referees, in such cases.” + +“Well, I don’t believe you’ll make much out of me—I can’t raise more +than one cent apiece for you, any way,” said Ronald, feeling in his +pocket. + +“We wont discuss that point now, but I will read the decision,” observed +Marcus; “and he proceeded to read the following paper: + + + “AWARD OF REFEREES. + + “The Board of Referees in the case of Hapley vs. Page, have carefully + considered the matter committed to their judgment, and have come to + the following decision. They find that Page originated the trouble, by + manifesting an overbearing and unaccommodating spirit towards Hapley; + by claiming exclusive ownership of the snow-house erected by their + joint labors; and by using taunting language. They also find that + Hapley was to blame, for using unkind language towards Page, and + especially for destroying the snow-house, in a spirit of retaliation. + Supposing the structure in dispute to have been the joint property of + Page and Hapley, the Referees are clearly of opinion that neither + party had a right to pull down the whole of it, or even one-half, + without the consent of the other. Buildings, ships, etc., are often + owned by several persons, jointly; but one party may not do any thing + to the common property that would injure the other owners. The + Referees, therefore, decide that Hapley, being the elder, ought to + express to Page his regret for what has occurred in connection with + this affair, and to ask his forgiveness; and that Page, in return, + ought to make a similar acknowledgment to Hapley, asking his pardon + for commencing the quarrel. The Referees also recommend both parties + cordially to forgive each other, and to manifest their determination + to do so by shaking hands. + + “The Referees further order, that at the earliest practicable day, the + said Hapley and Page shall erect a new snow edifice, on the site of + the one destroyed, to be called the _Temple of Peace_. Said structure + shall be of such size and proportions as the said Hapley and Page may + agree upon, and when completed, it shall belong to the Referees, who + shall accept the same as full payment for their services in this case. + + “MARCUS PAGE, } + “JESSIE HAPLEY, } _Referees_. + “OSCAR PRESTON, } + + “_Highburg, March 4._” + + +As soon as Marcus concluded the reading of this paper, Henry stepped up +to Ronald, and taking his hand, told him he was sorry for what he had +done, and asked his forgiveness. Ronald responded in a similar spirit, +and a cordial shaking of hands concluded the ceremonies. Marcus then +thanked them for submitting so promptly and good-naturedly to the +decision of the Referees, after which they all withdrew to the +sitting-room. + +“Jessie, have you finished your gallery of literary portraits?” inquired +Marcus, as he drew his chair to its accustomed place at the table. + +“Yes, I have done about all I shall do to it—I am getting a little sick +of it,” replied Jessie. + +“Suppose you pass it around, then, for the entertainment of the +company,” said Marcus. + +“I’m almost ashamed to show it,” continued Jessie, going to a drawer in +the secretary. “There are so many figures that I did not have time to +take much pains with them. I think you’ll be puzzled to tell what some +of them represent.” + +“So much the better for that,” replied Marcus. + +Jessie had a taste for drawing, and had taken a few lessons in this art. +Her interest in it had been rekindled, since removing to her new home, +by the offer of Miss Lee to give her further instruction in the use of +the pencil. Miss Lee was an accomplished sketcher and painter, and had +formerly taught these branches in the academy, for several terms. The +“gallery of literary portraits,” alluded to by Marcus, was undertaken by +Jessie to furnish amusement to the younger members of the family, rather +than as an exercise in drawing. It consisted of a series of names of +literary characters, enigmatically expressed. She handed the sheets to +Marcus, who passed them round the circle. Some of the portraits were +recognized by all at first sight; but others proved quite puzzling to +the younger folks, and there were several which no one could solve, +until Jessie gave a clue to them. On the next two pages we give a +transcript of this GALLERY OF LITERARY PORTRAITS. + +[Illustration: + + 1. An Irish Poet. + + 2. A Philosopher. + + 3. A Religious Poet. + + 4. A Statesman. + + 5. An Essayist. + + 6. A Scottish Poet. + + 7. An English Poet. + + 8. An American Traveller. + + 9. Another Poet. + + 10. A Popular Poet. + + 11. An Eminent Divine. + + 12. A Celebrated Novelist. +] + +[Illustration: + + 13. A Philosopher. + + 14. A Popular Poet. + + 15. A Celebrated Orator. + + 16. A Great Poet. + + 17. A Novelist. + + 18. Another Poet. + + 19. An American Writer. + + 20. An English Poet. + + 21. An Astronomer. + + 22. A Celebrated Divine. + + 23. An American Poet. + + 24. An English Poet. +] + + + =Key to the Gallery of Literary Portraits.= + + 1. SWIFT. + 2. LOCKE. + 3. YOUNG. + 4. FOX. + 5. LAMB. + 6. HOGG. + 7. AKENSIDE. + 8. KANE. + 9. GAY. + 10. COWPER. + 11. PALEY. + 12. COOPER. + 13. BACON. + 14. LONGFELLOW. + 15. PITT. + 16. SHAKSPEARE. + 17. OPIE. + 18. POPE. + 19. SPARKS. + 20. HOOD. + 21. HERSCHEL. + 22. HOOKER. + 23. DRAKE. + 24. CRABBE. + + + + + CHAPTER V. + A DAY AT SCHOOL. + + +Early the next Monday morning, a sleigh drove up to Mrs. Page’s door, +containing a large man wrapped in a shaggy bear-skin coat, a girl about +fourteen years old, to whose cheeks the frosty morning air had lent a +beautiful glow, and a boy whose age might have been between twelve and +thirteen years. The girl and boy hurried into the house, and were warmly +greeted by all the family. They were Katharine and Otis Sedgwick, and +had boarded in the family for six months past, during which period they +had attended the academy. They belonged in a town about ten miles +distant. Their father, after hitching his horse in the shed, and +throwing a blanket over him, came in to have a chat with the family, and +to settle the “term bills” with Marcus. He stopped about half an hour, +and then set out for home; after which the young folks began to prepare +for school. + +The academy building was about a mile distant from Mrs. Page’s. In good +weather, Marcus and the students in the family usually walked to and +from school, taking their dinners with them. This first morning of the +new term was a bright though cool one, and soon after half-past eight +o’clock, the six “academicians,” as Ronald called them, might have been +seen wending their way through the snow-path, towards a little white +belfry that gleamed over the tops of an evergreen forest in the +distance. + +At nine o’clock the bell rang, and as the students assembled in the +hall, it was found that the attendance was quite large. The old scholars +took their former seats, and desks were assigned to the new ones. Mr. +Upton, the preceptor, then touched a little hand-bell—the signal for +silence; after which he took the Bible, and read from it a passage rich +in instruction to the young—the fourth chapter of Proverbs. Every head +was then bowed, as he offered up a simple and fervent prayer for the +divine blessing upon the students and teachers there assembled. + +After these exercises were concluded, Mr. Upton went to the large +blackboard, facing the school, and wrote upon it this sentence, in +characters that could be seen in the remotest part of the room: + + “EXALT HER, AND SHE SHALL PROMOTE THEE.” + +“‘Exalt _her_’—can any one tell me what this refers to?” inquired Mr. +Upton. + +“Wisdom,” was the general answer from all parts of the room. + +“Right,” replied Mr. Upton. “It is found in the chapter I have just +read. Can any of you tell me what wisdom means, in this case?” + +There were several answers to this question, such as “Religion,” +“Prudence,” “Knowledge,” etc., but they were mostly given in a +hesitating manner, and only a few of the scholars made any reply to the +question. + +“The word wisdom,” continued Mr. Upton, “has several significations. As +used in the Bible, it sometimes means learning or knowledge; and +sometimes it means piety, or true religion. This last is the sense in +which the word is used in the chapter I read to you. You will notice +that it is a favorite word with Solomon, if you read his Proverbs. But +you will also observe that much that he says about this heavenly wisdom, +may also apply with great propriety to human wisdom, or that knowledge +with which we store our minds. This is true of the motto I have written +on the blackboard. ‘Exalt her, and she shall promote thee.’ That is, if +you desire promotion, give attention to the acquisition of +knowledge—strive after the wisdom and skill which come from patient +study, practice and observation—give the work of education a prominent +place in your thoughts and plans. This, to be sure, is not the _highest_ +motive we have for faithfulness in study, but it is a strong one, and I +think it may be useful to press it upon your attention, as we are +entering upon a new term. This is the idea I wish to impress upon your +minds, viz., that _knowledge brings promotion_. Vice, immorality, +idleness, improvidence, or misfortune, sometimes interfere with this +general law; but on the whole the rule holds good, that a man’s +happiness, position, property and influence are promoted by knowledge. I +feel safe, therefore, in assuring you that for every dollar your +education costs your parents, and for every hour of study, every act of +self-denial, every effort and struggle it costs yourselves, you will be +abundantly repaid hereafter. If you come here in a right spirit, you are +putting your money, your time and your efforts into a safe bank. It will +prove a capital investment to you, as long as you live. + +“A gentleman at the South once employed a negro to kill a calf. When the +animal was dressed and brought home, Cuffee, the butcher, demanded two +dollars for the job. ‘Why, Cuffee! do you charge me two dollars for +dressing a calf?’ exclaimed the gentleman. ‘No, massa, I charge one +dollar for killin’ de calf, and one dollar for de _know how_,’ was +Cuffee’s reply. Cuffee was right. A man has a perfect right to charge +for the ‘know how.’ And generally men do charge for it, and get well +paid, too. + +“Suppose I am about to build a house. In the first place, I hire several +common laborers to dig the cellar, and pay them one dollar per day. +These are the most ignorant and unskilled laborers we have among us; +that is, they have about as little ‘know how,’ as a man can get along +with. Their tools are few, and do not cost much, and so we may take the +dollar per day they earn as the standard market value of a mere +unskilled pair of hands and a set of strong muscles. + +“After the cellar is dug, I set carpenters to work, employing them all +by the day. By-and-by the head carpenter brings in his weekly or monthly +bill. I find he charges me at the rate of one dollar a day for one hand. +This is his apprentice, a young man of sixteen or seventeen, who has +worked but a year or two at the trade. The ‘know how’ he has acquired +makes him even now of as much value to me as a full grown man of the +common laborer sort. Then there are several journeymen carpenters, for +whose services I am charged one dollar and a half or three-quarters per +day. These men have no more physical strength than the dollar-a-day +laborers—perhaps not so much. Then why should they receive fifty or +seventy-five per cent. more for their daily labor? A small fraction +offsets the cost of their tools, and the balance is to pay them for +their ‘know how.’ But the boss carpenter, who has a general oversight of +the job, and of the other carpenters, charges perhaps two and a half or +three dollars per day for his time. He works no harder than the others, +but he has more ‘know how’ than they, and is paid accordingly. + +“So it is with the masons, painters, and all other workmen on my house—I +must pay them in proportion to their ‘know how.’ And if I employ an +architect, to make the drawings of the building, and he should charge me +at the rate of five or ten dollars per day for the time he spent upon +them, I should remember that his peculiar ‘know how’ cost more time, +money and study than that of the carpenter or the mason, and therefore +commands a higher price in the market. + +“Thus you see one of the ways in which knowledge brings promotion. It +has a market value, in dollars and cents. There are other ways in which +it promotes a man. It saves him from errors and blunders. It increases +his self-respect, and his means of enjoyment. It gives him a higher +position in society. It endows him with greater influence among men. But +I will not weary you by dwelling upon these ideas. You have come here +avowedly to get wisdom, and I have held up to you one motive for +persevering in the work. I hope we shall all earnestly seek, and find, +not only earthly but heavenly wisdom, so that at last we may receive +that ‘crown of glory’ which is promised, in the chapter that has been +read, to those who get wisdom and understanding.” + +Mr. Upton, aided by Marcus, then proceeded to arrange the classes, and +perfect the organization of the school. Jessie was very glad to learn +that her plan of paying for her own tuition by rendering occasional +assistance, in the way of hearing the recitations of the lower classes, +had been acceded to by the trustees. There was to her a double +gratification in this; since she would not only earn her own tuition +bills, but would all the while be gaining experience in the profession +to which she was looking forward with so much interest. After breaking +to her this pleasant intelligence, Mr. Upton added, in tones audible to +those who sat near her:— + +“I have been telling the scholars that ‘knowledge brings promotion’—now +I am going to illustrate it by promoting you to the first monitorial +desk. You will please to remove your books to that desk, as I want this +one for another young lady.” + +There were several monitorial desks in the hall, which were slightly +elevated above the others, and so placed as to overlook them. They were +usually assigned to the oldest and most trustworthy pupils, and were +regarded as posts of honor. The one to which Jessie was transferred was +near the teachers’ desks, and was the principal monitorial desk on the +girls’ side of the room. With a modest blush she gathered up her books +and took possession of her new dignity; but it was a long time before +she could muster courage to look up, and meet the battery of as yet idle +eyes that were directed towards her. + +The organization of the school occupied most of the forenoon. At twelve +o’clock the morning session closed, and the scholars were released for +an hour and a half. About a score of them, who lived at a distance, +remained, and either singly, or in little scattered groups, were for a +time very busy over the contents of sundry small baskets and tin pails. +The boys quickly found the bottoms of _their_ dinner receptacles, and +impatiently sallied forth, with a half-eaten apple, dough-nut or slice +of bread in one hand, and a sled or pair of skates in the other. + +“Good riddance to you!” cried one of the girls, as the last +boy-muncher—one of the slow sort—closed the door. + +“Look here, now! I’m not gone, yet,” replied the boy, opening the door. + +“Well, you’d better go,—and tell your mother not to put you up so much +dinner to-morrow, will you?” responded the girl. + +“There, now, I’d come right back, and stay all the noon with you, only I +don’t want to humor you so much,” replied the boy, who was as “slow to +anger” as he was slow in eating—and none too slow in either case, after +all, I suspect. + +“O _do_ come—we should be _so_ delighted with your company,” retorted +the girl; but the tramp, tramp, tramp of a stout pair of boots down the +stairs was all the reply she got. + +And now the girls seemed determined to have a good time among +themselves. The little groups gradually enlarged, the tongues wagged in +a more lively manner, and sundry choice tit-bits were transferred from +one basket to another. There were two or three “new girls,” however, who +did not venture into any of the social circles, but demurely sat at +their own desks. Jessie was a favorite in the school, and quite a number +of the girls gathered around her, among whom was Abby Leonard, who +sometimes stayed at noon, by way of change, although her boarding-place +was not far off. Abby, notwithstanding the foolish speech she made about +associating with such poor girls as Jessie, a few months before this, +was far from shunning the company of that young lady. On the contrary, +she seemed to court it. + +“Have a pickle, Jessie?” inquired Abby, holding out a good-sized +cucumber. + +“No, I thank you, I seldom eat pickles,” replied Jessie. + +“You don’t?—why, I’ve eaten six as big as that, this noon,” replied +Abby. “I had to ‘hook’ them, though, for Mrs. Miles would fidget herself +to death if she knew how fast her pickles are going off. I love sour +things, dearly. When I was at home, I used to eat a dozen pickled limes +a day, sometimes. We always keep them in the house—father buys them by +the barrel. I think it’s real mean, that they don’t keep them for sale +here.” + +“I shouldn’t think it could be very wholesome to eat so much of such +things—they are very indigestible,” remarked Jessie. + +“O, they never hurt me—I eat everything I want, and think nothing about +it,” replied Abby. + +Abby then prevailed upon Jessie to accept a piece of her cake, but +immediately added:— + +“I declare, it’s so mean I’m almost ashamed to offer it to you. At home, +we shouldn’t think it was hardly fit to set before the servants. Mother +never allows our cook to make anything plainer than nice pound cake.” + +“I call that very good cake—good enough for anybody,” said Jessie, +utterly indifferent to “our cook” and her “nice pound cake.” + +“Just look at that squint-eyed girl—did you ever see such a fright?” +continued Abby, in a whisper, alluding to one of the new scholars, who +sat in her seat, alone, apparently listening with a good degree of +astonishment to Abby’s remarks. + +“Poor girl, she feels lonesome—some of us ought to go and speak to her,” +said Jessie. + +Abby now left the room, whereupon the girls in Jessie’s neighborhood +began to make merry at her expense. + +“My mother doesn’t allow the cook to make anything meaner than brown +bread, and we have that on the table three times a day,” said one girl. + +“When I’m at home, I eat six pints of pea-nuts a day—father buys them by +the ton,” said another. + +“Speaking of pickles—do you know what she eats them for?” inquired +another girl. “I can tell you—she thinks they make her look pale and +genteel. She eats chalk, and slate pencils, too—I’ve seen her do it, +many a time.” + +“Yes,” added Kate Sedgwick, who was one of the group, “and you ought to +see her drink vinegar, too. Why, she makes nothing of drinking a whole +cup full of clear vinegar at one draught.” + +“I do think she is the most hateful thing”—— + +“Come, girls, this is scandal,” interposed Jessie, “let us talk about +something else.” + +“Scandal?—no, this is nothing but the truth, and telling the truth isn’t +scandal,” replied Kate. + +“I think it is, very often,” replied Jessie. + +“Well, I don’t call telling the truth talking scandal, and I never heard +anybody say it was, before,” remarked another girl, one of the largest +in the school. “If a girl really eats chalk and slate pencils, and +drinks vinegar, to make herself look genteel, it isn’t scandal to tell +of it.” + +The other girls in the group all took the same ground, and Jessie was at +least half convinced she was in the wrong. She made no attempt to argue +the point, but sought to give the matter a practical turn, by saying:— + +“Well, I never hear a lot of girls talking about another one behind her +back, without having a suspicion that I shall be served the same way, as +soon as I am out of hearing. Abby was here a few moments ago, and we +were all on good terms with her, and she spoke kindly to us. But every +tongue is against her, as soon as her back is turned. It seems to me +there is something inconsistent and unkind in this. If we had any +criticisms to make on what she said, would it not have been better to +have made them to her face?” + +“Why, Jessie!” exclaimed Kate, “you are not in earnest, are you? Only +think what an explosion there would be, if we should tell her just what +we think of her. Everybody dislikes that girl, and I don’t believe you +think any better of her than the rest of us do. I don’t see why you +should stand up for her so, all at once—she doesn’t deserve it.” + +“I haven’t ‘stood up’ for her more than I would for any of you, under +the same circumstances,” replied Jessie. “I only proposed that we talk +something beside scandal. Now I’m going to have a run out-doors—but +first I must speak to Lucy Grant—nobody has spoken to her to-day, +hardly, and the poor child feels bad—I can see it in her looks.” + +Lucy was the “squint-eyed girl” who had attracted Abby’s notice a few +minutes before. She was afflicted with that defect of the eye commonly +called squinting, but the proper name of which is _strabism_, or +_strabismus_. In her case, the difficulty originated in a severe fit of +sickness which she experienced when she was about five years old, and +which was attended by a great deal of nervous irritation. There are +muscles on each side of the eye-ball, by which it is moved from side to +side. Squinting is caused by one of these muscles (usually the inner +one) contracting, or growing short, while the one on the other side of +the ball is lengthened in the same proportion. Sometimes the defect is +very slight, but in the case of Lucy the deformity was quite prominent, +and it began to cause her much mortification, for she was just entering +upon her teens. Within a few months she had thought seriously of +submitting to a surgical operation—for strabismus is sometimes removed +by cutting through the contracted muscle of the eye-ball; but the +uncertainty of the operation, and the dread of the pain, were too much +for her weak courage to overcome. + +Lucy belonged in Highburg, and was more or less known to most of the +scholars. Though she did not hear Abby Leonard’s allusion to her, she +saw enough to satisfy her what the purport of the remark was; and this, +together with the little notice the other girls took of her, exaggerated +by a somewhat suspicious disposition, had depressed her into a not very +enviable frame of mind. A few kind words, however, will often dispel the +blackest cloud; and it was Jessie’s privilege to wield this potent power +in behalf of Lucy. Greeting her with the cordial air of an old friend, +and forgetting the disparity in their ages, Jessie chatted freely with +her about several matters of common interest, for a few minutes, and +then added:— + +“Come, Lucy, let’s go out and see what is going on. You mustn’t get into +the habit of sitting here all the noon-time—Mr. Upton tells us we must +always go out and take the fresh air.” + +Lucy went out with Jessie, and, after mingling in the society and the +sports of the other girls for an hour, returned to her seat at the +ringing of the bell, with a very different opinion of her school-mates +from that which she entertained an hour before. + +The afternoon session passed off quite pleasantly. When the hour to +close arrived, Mr. Upton gave out a hymn to be sung, as was his custom. +Before giving the signal to commence singing, he remarked:— + +“My young friends, I think we have made a very good beginning to-day. +Everything has gone favorably with us, and I feel much indebted to you +all for coöperating with me so willingly, in organizing the school. I +augur from this day’s work a pleasant and prosperous term. We seem all +to be in harmony, and I trust we shall continue so to the end. In +referring to this text this morning,” continued the preceptor, pointing +to the motto on the blackboard, “I made a somewhat strong appeal to your +ambition. I endeavored to show that pecuniary and other advantages would +be your reward, for faithfulness to your studies. If any of you suppose +that this is the highest and noblest motive for study, our evening hymn +will, I hope, correct the error.” + +The scholars then united in singing the following beautiful hymn, by +“holy George Herbert:” + + “Teach me, my God and King, + In all things Thee to see; + And what I do in any thing, + To do it as for Thee;— + + “To scorn the senses’ sway, + While still to Thee I tend; + In all I do, be Thou the way,— + In all, be Thou the end. + + “All may of Thee partake: + Nothing so small can be, + But draws, when acted for Thy sake, + Greatness and worth from Thee. + + “If done beneath Thy laws, + E’en servile labors shine; + Hallowed is toil, if this the cause,— + The meanest work divine.” + + + + + CHAPTER VI. + SWEETS AND BITTERS. + + +Among the sources of amusement and instruction enjoyed by Mrs. Page’s +family, was a weekly newspaper. I do not mean one of those folio medleys +of literature, news and advertisements, whose weekly visits one or two +dollars per annum will insure to all who desire them—though this useful +class of publications was fully appreciated in the family; but _the_ +newspaper _par excellence_ was quite another affair. Its title was “THE +HOME WREATH;” the publishers were “Page & Co.;” the terms were “gratis;” +the publication day was Saturday. It was usually composed of one, two or +three sheets of letter paper, according to the lack or press of matter +supplied. All the members of the family were regular contributors, and +Aunt Fanny was the editress. The contents consisted of original +articles, and short selections cut from other newspapers. All original +articles were written on one side of narrow strips of paper, of uniform +size, so that they could be neatly pasted into the columns—for the +“Wreath” was not printed, and only one copy was issued. There was a +letter-box in the entry, in which all contributions were dropped, and +through which private communications were exchanged between members of +the family. Before the newspaper was established, the family had +resolved itself into a “Letter-Writing Society,” each member of which +was bound by the by-laws to write at least one letter or note per week +to some other member. This proved for a while a pleasant and profitable +arrangement; but the newspaper enterprise had now nearly superseded it. + +Jessie’s conversation with some of her school-mates on scandal, +mentioned in the last chapter, led her thoughts to that subject, +afterward; and the longer she reflected on it, the more confirmed was +she in the belief that she had taken the right ground in the dispute. +Still, she did not know how to silence objections, and prove that she +was right, and her investigations did not aid her much. She looked into +Webster’s large Dictionary, and found that one definition of scandal was +“something uttered which is _false_ and injurious to reputation.” This +rather bore against her; but the other definitions, “reproachful +aspersion,” “opprobrious censure,” and “defamatory speech or report,” +seemed to favor her side of the question, as they did not distinctly +recognize falsity as an ingredient of scandal. The matter was by no +means clear to her mind, however, and as she felt the need of further +light, she wrote the following communication for the “Wreath,” and +dropped it in the letter-box, in the evening: + + + “MISS EDITOR:—Several of the scholars of the academy had a little + dispute, to-day, on the question whether a person is guilty of scandal + who merely tells the _truth_ about another. I took the ground that to + circulate evil reports about a person, even if they were true, was + scandal; but the others all disagreed with me. Please inform me, + through the columns of the ‘Wreath,’ whether I am right or wrong; and + if I am right, have the kindness to tell me how I can prove it. + + “INQUIRER.” + + +Several days passed, and it was now the middle of the week. Nothing had +been seen of Henry since the Friday evening previous, when the referee +case was decided, and Jessie began to feel uneasy about his absence. It +was expected that he would come over on Saturday afternoon, and help +build the “Temple of Peace.” It was now too late to do this, a warm rain +and thaw having carried off most of the snow. On Wednesday afternoon +Ronald and Otis were going in search of the truant, that being one of +the regular half-holidays of the week in all the schools; but before +they were ready to start, Henry made his appearance. + +“Well, you’re a pretty fellow!” cried Ronald, as soon as Henry hove in +sight. “So you’ve come over to help me build that snow temple, now the +snow has all gone.” + +“Can’t we scrape up enough in the garden to do it now?—let’s go and +see,” replied Henry. + +The boys went to the rear of the house, and found some depth of snow yet +remaining under the shadow of the buildings and fences. But it was too +hard and icy to answer their purpose, even had there been enough of it. +Henry seemed to be quite disappointed, and exclaimed, with considerable +warmth:— + +“It’s too bad! But there, I knew it would be just so. I could have come +over Saturday afternoon just as well as not, but Mrs. Allen wouldn’t let +me. She never lets me go anywhere, when I want to.” + +“Never mind,” said Ronald, “it’s likely we shall have plenty of snow +yet, and we’ll build the temple when it does come.” + +“I don’t know about that,” replied Henry, shaking his head. “Besides, I +wanted to build the temple right away—it spoils all the fun, waiting so +long. I wish I _had_ come over here Saturday afternoon, in spite of +her.” + +“How did you happen to get away this afternoon?” inquired Otis. + +“I asked Mr. Allen to let me come, this morning, and he said I might. +She tried to keep me at home, as it was; but I got the start of her, +this time. Mr. Allen is a real good man—I like him first rate; but I +can’t bear his wife—she’s just as cross as she can be to me.” + +Henry remained with his friends most of the afternoon, and spoke rather +freely of his mistress, in the presence of other members of the family. +Jessie was much pained by these remarks, and before her brother returned +home, she had a private interview with him, and cautioned him against +speaking so disrespectfully of Mrs. Allen. After a few moments’ +conference, however, she was more inclined to pity than to censure the +boy. The resentful feeling he had manifested in the presence of others, +melted into grief, as he opened his heart to his sister, and poured into +her ear the story of his sorrows. The poor fellow was still the victim +of homesickness, and not without good reasons, it seemed. He had found a +father, in Mr. Allen, who treated him with parental kindness and +indulgence, but he wanted a mother. He was persuaded that Mrs. Allen had +no affection for him. He thought she actually disliked him. She +manifested no motherly interest in his welfare—she evidently felt little +sympathy for him. She never praised, commended or encouraged him, but +spoke to him only to give orders and find fault. She actually seemed to +take pleasure in thwarting his plans and wishes, and interfering with +his enjoyment. + +Such was Henry’s opinion of Mrs. Allen. It may have been unjust to her, +but he evidently was persuaded in his heart that the woman disliked him, +and he felt unhappy in consequence, and hinted of running away. As an +illustration of his trials, he said that whenever he finished up his +work, and wanted to go anywhere, Mrs. Allen would set him to braiding +husk mats, just to keep him busy, although “she had mats enough to last +her fifty years,” he added, rather indignantly. It was mat-braiding that +prevented his coming over to build the snow temple at the appointed +time, and he could not refer to his severe disappointment, even now, +without some petulance. + +“Well,” said Jessie, after listening patiently to this outpouring of +complaint, “I am very sorry to hear this. I thought you had got a good +home, and were happy. But I cannot believe that Mrs. Allen is as bad as +you represent. There must be some mistake about this. She appears to be +a good, kind-hearted woman, and she speaks of you as though she felt an +interest in you. I can’t think that she dislikes you, unless you have +given her cause. Are you careful to try to please her?” + +“Why, yes, I do everything she tells me to do,” replied Henry. + +“That may be,” continued Jessie, “and yet you may not try to please her. +Do you remember the anecdote about the little girl who was asked why +everybody loved her? ‘I don’t know,’ she said, ‘unless it’s because I +love everybody.’ Now isn’t it possible that you think Mrs. Allen doesn’t +love you, because you don’t love her?” + +“I know I don’t love her—but it’s because I can’t,” replied Henry. + +“Suppose, now,” resumed Jessie, “you go home with the determination of +making her love you. Try to please her in everything. Do everything +cheerfully, and do it just right. Anticipate her wishes. Don’t let her +see any scowls, or impatient looks, or hear any fretting. Try to feel +grateful and affectionate towards her, and think as well of her as you +can. Come, Henry, will you do this?” + +“It’s of no use to try that,” replied Henry. “You wouldn’t talk so, if +you knew her as well as I do. I don’t like her, and I can’t.” + +“Then do it for Mr. Allen’s sake,” continued Jessie, “if you cannot for +hers. He treats you kindly, and you like him, and I suppose you would be +glad to show your gratitude to him. But what would he think of you, if +he knew how you feel towards his wife, and how you speak of her? For his +sake, if for no other reason, you ought to try to get along pleasantly +with her. But in any event, I beg of you never to say another word about +running away, unless you want to _wholly_ break mother’s heart. Sam ran +away from home, and you know the consequences of it. You and I are all +that mother has left now, and if we——” but emotion checked her +utterance, and she gave way to her tears. + +Henry seemed somewhat affected by the advice and entreaties of his +sister, and before he left her, he promised to do his best to please +Mrs. Allen, for one week, and to refrain, during that period, from +saying anything evil of her, and from cherishing any unkind feelings +towards her, whatever provocation she might give him. At the end of that +time, or as soon after as convenient, he was to report the result to +Jessie. + +The “sugar season” had now commenced. The rock or sugar maple is a +common tree, in Vermont, and every spring the farmers make large +quantities of sugar from its sap. The sap, when it begins to ascend, and +before the foliage has put forth, is very rich in sugar. The time when +this takes place varies from February to May, according to the season. +It was now the second week in March, and the sap had begun to run +freely. Mrs. Page did not own a “sugar plantation,” as a maple forest is +called; but there were several large maple trees on her land, near the +house, which Marcus had always been accustomed to tap, in the spring, +for his own amusement. The process of sugar-making was familiar to all +the family except Oscar, who had resided in Highburg only since the +previous autumn, and had never witnessed the operation. As Ronald hinted +pretty broadly that he was quite willing to undertake the responsibility +of extracting from the aforesaid half dozen trees their yearly rental of +molasses and sugar, Marcus, remembering the pleasure he derived from the +same occupation when a boy, gave up the business into the hands that +coveted it. + +Ronald commenced his sugar operations early the next morning. With a +small auger he bored several holes in each tree, two or three inches +deep, and inclining upwards. These holes were about eighteen or twenty +inches from the ground, and on the south side of the tree. Into each +hole he drove a spile, which consisted of a piece of sumac, elder, or +sassafras, with the pith bored out, and one end sharpened. The sap +flowed through these spiles into the tubs or buckets placed to receive +it. When Ronald came home from school, in the afternoon, he found he had +collected several gallons of the sweet liquid, which he and the other +boys removed to the house. A large iron kettle was filled with the sap, +and placed over the fire. We are so accustomed to speak of “making” +sugar, that it is possible the word sometimes misleads us. We cannot +make sugar. The cane, the maple, the beet, and other plants, are our +sugar factories, but they give us their saccharine treasures greatly +diluted in water. We boil this water away, or evaporate it, and the +solid sugar remains—and that is the way we “make” sugar. As fast as the +water evaporated in Ronald’s kettle, new sap was added, so that the mass +did not thicken much that evening. + +The next morning, Ronald again emptied his buckets, which were partly +filled. The kettle was kept over the fire, through the day, the sap +being turned in as fast as room was made for it by evaporation. In the +afternoon, when the liquid had thickened to a syrup, Mrs. Page removed +it from the fire, and strained it through woollen, and then suffered it +to cool and settle. In the evening, the boiling was resumed, under +Ronald’s direction, the white of an egg and a little milk being thrown +into the kettle, to clarify the compound. The scum was carefully removed +as it rose to the surface, and then the syrup was boiled with a gentle +fire until it began to grain. All hands were now called into the +kitchen, and the poetry of sugar-making commenced in earnest. Some of +the children had provided themselves with pieces of ice hollowed out +upon the upper surface, like saucers, into which a ladle full of the +delicious liquid was dropped, when it immediately assumed the +consistency of wax. Others dipped snow-balls into the “liquid +sweetness,” or dropped the syrup into cold water, in which it assumed +the waxy form; while the older ones were content to eat their “maple +honey” out of plain saucers. The syrup was by this time hard enough to +be taken off the fire. And now it had to be stirred vigorously until it +was cool enough to cake, when it was dipped into little round fluted +moulds. The grain now quickly hardened, the molasses drained off, and +the boys had a good supply of prime maple sugar the next morning. + +The next morning was Saturday, and as the day was fine, and the maple +sugar fever was now fully developed, when Oscar proposed a visit in the +afternoon to a “sugar camp” about a mile distant, there was a general +response in favor of the suggestion, among the young folks, and Marcus +promised to go with them. When the party were about starting, after +dinner, it was found that Jessie was not among them. Her brother Henry, +too, whom Ronald had seen, on his way home from school, and invited, did +not make his appearance—a circumstance ominously suggestive of “husk +mats” to Jessie’s mind. Perhaps it was partly this fact, and not +entirely her sense of duty to the family, that led her to insist on +remaining at home and doing her part of the Saturday afternoon’s work, +although Marcus and Mrs. Page both urged her to join the party. She had +her reward, however, in an approving conscience, whichever may have been +the motive of the act of self-denial. + +[Illustration: [Sugar Boiling]] + +The “sugar camp” which the young people visited that afternoon, belonged +to one of their neighbors, who had about a hundred and fifty maple +trees. They found the man and one of his sons engaged in collecting and +boiling down the sap. The kettles were suspended by chains and hooks +attached to a stout pole, which was supported by two crotched posts. +There was a lively fire under the kettles, which was often replenished +by wood that had been seasoned and split. During the boiling process, it +is necessary to have some one on the ground night and day, and so they +eat and sleep in the camp, and there is no rest until the work is done. +A rude shed was erected, opposite the fire, for their protection. The +side towards the fire was open, for the sake of the warmth, and for +convenience in watching the boiling. The floor was thickly carpeted with +straw, and here the men sometimes took a nap when weary. One of the men +in the engraving is represented as bringing sap, and the other is +blowing the candy or wax, to ascertain how far the boiling has advanced. + +Marcus and his companions passed an hour or two very pleasantly in the +camp, chatting with the men, watching their operations, and occasionally +taking a sip of the delicious syrup. Meanwhile Jessie, by virtue of +their absence, got the first reading of the “Home Wreath,” which made +its appearance in the afternoon. Under the editorial head, she found the +inquiry she had sent to the editress, appended to which was the +following reply: + + + “Our correspondent is right. To circulate evil reports about another, + without a good object in view, is wrong, even if the reports be true. + Those who do this from a habit of tattling, or to gratify an idle + curiosity, or from envy or malice, or from no cause whatever, are + guilty of scandal. We have no right to publish the evil deeds of + others, unless there is a prospect that we can accomplish good by + doing so. There are several ways in which our correspondent can prove + this to the satisfaction of her young friends, if they possess + ordinary candor. + + “1st. She can prove it from the Bible, by such passages as these: + ‘Thou shalt not go up and down as a tale-bearer among thy people.’[3] + ‘Be not a witness against thy neighbor without cause.’[4] ‘Judge not, + that ye be not judged.’[5] ‘Speak evil of no man.’[6] There are many + other passages, enjoining the same duty. + +Footnote 3: + + Lev. 19:16. + +Footnote 4: + + Prov. 24:28. + +Footnote 5: + + Matt. 7:1. + +Footnote 6: + + Tit. 3:2. + + “2d. She can prove it from writers on moral science, who generally + teach that it is wrong to utter injurious truth concerning others, + except in certain specified cases, where the ends of justice require + it”. + + “3d. She can prove it by an argument drawn from analogy, thus:—Every + person possesses a reputation, which is the estimation in which he is + held by the community. This is a priceless possession, and the + greatest harm we can do to another, next to corrupting his moral + character, is to injure his reputation. This is what scandal does, and + it is this that makes it wrong. When we expose another’s faults, + without adequate cause, we virtually declare that he has more + estimation than he deserves, and we proceed to strip him of a portion + of it. If this is right, then when we find a dishonest man, who has + more property than really belongs to him, it would be right for us to + rob him of a part of it. Nobody would justify the latter case, and the + other must be settled on the same principles.” + + “The exceptions to this rule are few and simple. When the ends of + justice, the protection of the innocent, or the good of the offender, + demand the exposure of a transgressor, we are bound to tell what we + know of his guilt, to those whose duty it is to call him to account, + or who may be exposed to danger from him. + + “We are glad our friend has called our attention to this subject. + Evil-speaking is a sadly prevalent sin, in our community. Some wise + man once said, that ‘if all persons knew what they said of each other, + there would not be four friends in the world.’ We are afraid there are + many people in our town who would think themselves suddenly deserted + by every friend they ever had, if all the scandal and gossip in + circulation should be borne to their ears. Let us set our faces + against this mean and debasing sin.” + + +Miss Lee, while alluding to the facility with which scandal was +circulated in that community, might have pointed to a striking +exception, had it been proper. There was in that town a youth who had +run a wild and reckless course, bringing sorrow and shame to his +parents, and retribution to himself. He had twice been put into prison +on a charge of crime, and had finally been tried and sentenced for +larceny. There were three persons in the town who knew these facts in +his history, and only three. So inviolably had they kept the secret, +that no one else, not even the members of their own family, suspected +that the young man had ever departed from the path of rectitude. That +youth was Oscar Preston; and the three friends who had so jealously +guarded his reputation in Highburg from injuries which seemed almost +inevitable, were Mrs. Page, Miss Lee, and Marcus. They were induced to +receive him into their home, because he expressed a sincere desire to +reform; and to encourage him in his good purposes, they had carefully +refrained from all allusion to his past errors. Oscar at one time feared +that the secret had been divulged, by one of his old city comrades who +passed through the town with a circus company; but so far as he could +ascertain, his apprehensions were unfounded. He had now lived about six +months in Highburg, and had proved himself worthy of the kindness which +had been shown to him by his aunts and cousin.[7] + +Footnote 7: + + The early career of Oscar is related at length in the first two + volumes of this series, “Oscar,” and “Clinton.” + + + + + CHAPTER VII. + HOW TO BE HAPPY. + + +When Henry Hapley left his sister, after making the promise mentioned in +the last chapter, he came to the conclusion, upon a few moments’ +reflection, that he had been coaxed into doing a foolish thing. The idea +of loving Mrs. Allen seemed absurd; and as to pleasing her, he did not +believe he could do it, if he should try as hard as possible. However, +as he had made the promise, he finally concluded that he must try to +keep it, at least for the week to which it was limited. + +Jessie, in her conversation with her brother, had come very near to the +true origin of Henry’s troubles, though she knew but little of the facts +in the case. The truth was, he did _not_ try to please his mistress, and +it was mainly owing to this that he had become so unhappy. Mrs. Allen, +like most other people, had her peculiarities. One of the most prominent +of these was her extreme neatness. She carried this excellent virtue to +excess. A grain of sand in the eye could hardly be more painful to her +than was a grain of dirt on her floors. Everything about the premises +that would bear contact with soap and water, had to undergo its regular +ablution, even to the outside of the house. Her husband, sometimes, +while witnessing the terrible scrubbings which were of almost daily +occurrence, used pleasantly to remind her, by way of warning, of the +good Dutch woman who scoured her floor until she tumbled through into +the cellar. But her motto was, that “nothing is clean that can be made +cleaner;” and so she patiently scrubbed on, in spite of the warning, +wherever there was dirt, or even a “might, could, would or should have +been,” upon which to hang a suspicion. + +Now there can be no doubt that a boy thirteen years old is capable of +bringing a vast deal of dirt into a house. So Mrs. Allen discovered, to +her dismay, before Henry had been an inmate of her dwelling twelve +hours. Not that he was unusually dirty or careless in his habits, for he +was as neat as boys will average; but he had never been trained to that +rigid observance of the laws of cleanliness which was the rule in Mrs. +Allen’s family. He could scarcely stir an inch in the house, no matter +how silently or secretly, but Mrs. Allen, with her keen sight, could +track his every step. There would always be snow, ice, water or mud from +his boots, hay-seed from his clothing, crumbs and litter from his +pockets, or something else, to tell that he had been there, and call for +the broom. + +Mrs. Allen began at once to combat this alarming evil—at first kindly +and hopefully, then despondingly, and then chidingly. Henry thought she +made unnecessary trouble about a small matter, and soon began to feel +provoked by the measures she deemed necessary to insure greater neatness +on his part. Frequently hearing Mr. Allen good-naturedly rally his wife +for being so over-nice, Henry soon came to think he had a right to set +himself in opposition to this peculiarity of her character. So, after a +few weeks, he grew more careless than at first, in regard to making +dirt; and, when irritated by the scoldings that were sure to follow, he +sometimes even took a sort of malicious satisfaction in the mischief he +had done. + +Mrs. Allen was really a kind-hearted woman, though everybody did not +find it out at first sight. She readily assented to Mr. Allen’s proposal +to give Henry a home, and she felt much sympathy for the boy on account +of the misfortunes that had overtaken his family. But now her feelings +towards him began to change. Henry little imagined that he was closing +the door to her heart, and locking himself out; but this he was doing. +Mrs. Allen could not help noticing that he took little or no pains to +please her, and she soon came to feel that it was of little consequence +whether she consulted his wishes and happiness, in her arrangements. So +the unhappy antagonism between them grew from day to day. + +When Henry reached his home, after his interview with Jessie, he found +Mrs. Allen in a rather unamiable mood. She said nothing, but her looks +indicated anything but peace within. She was getting supper. Henry +usually “set the table,” and assisted in other ways in getting the +meals, and clearing away after them; but the table was already spread, +and seeing no chance to render assistance, he inquired, after sitting a +few moments:— + +“Is there anything I can do?” + +“You can eat your supper, I suppose,” replied Mrs. Allen; “you’re always +sure to be on hand for that. The work is of no consequence—I can do it +all—yours and my own too. You haven’t brought a stick of wood into the +house to-day—I’ve had to go out twice after some, this afternoon.” + +“Oh, there! I forgot all about the wood—that’s too bad,” exclaimed +Henry, with a feeling of real regret at his own heedlessness; and he +started to get an armful of wood, but was called back by Mrs. Allen, who +told him it was not wanted now. + +“You went off, as usual,” continued Mrs. Allen, “leaving your coat on a +chair, and your old muddy boots right in the passage-way, for everybody +to tumble over. I think it is very strange that you should have to +change your clothes every time you go out to play. Who do you think can +afford to clothe you, if you put on your best clothes whenever you get a +chance?” + +“I haven’t been playing, this afternoon—I went over to see my sister,” +replied Henry. + +“There was no need of changing your clothes, to go there,” continued +Mrs. Allen. + +“Well, I wont do so again, if you don’t want me to,” replied Henry. + +This answer, though made in a respectful tone, surprised Mrs. Allen so +much, that she looked at the boy a moment, as if in doubt whether he +could be in earnest. + +“I don’t see how I could have forgotten about the wood,” continued +Henry. “I thought of it as I was coming home from school; and I started +out to get it, almost the first thing after I got home; but just then I +heard the cows making a racket in the barn, and I went to see what the +matter was, and I never thought of the wood again. After this I mean to +keep enough in the back-room all the time to last two or three days; +then if I should happen to forget it, once in a while, you wont get +out.” + +Henry had usually received the reprimands of Mrs. Allen in sullen +silence, and no wonder she was surprised at the spirit manifested in +this reply. But her husband came in, tea time had arrived, and the +subject was dropped. + +Henry was at this time attending school, as Mr. Allen had little for him +to do. He was to have from four to six months’ schooling a year, and to +devote the rest of his time to work. This was the agreement made with +Mrs. Hapley. Of course, while attending school, Henry could have but few +play hours, unless he encroached upon time that should have been devoted +to work, which he was sometimes tempted to do. The next day, however, +after the conversation just reported, he was careful to do his work up +thoroughly, although it left him no time for sport. He had the kitchen +fire started in the morning before any one else was up—a feat almost +without a precedent. Instead of cutting a scanty mess of hay for the +day, as usual, he cut enough to last two days. The wood-box in the house +was heaped full in the morning, and again replenished at night. And so +with all his other work. The yard and roads were very muddy, but Mrs. +Allen searched in vain for his tracks on her clean floors, and as she +did so, “wondered what was going to happen.” + +Thus matters went on for several days. No one appeared to notice that +Henry was not doing just as he had done for several weeks. He got no +commendation or encouragement, either by words or looks. He was a little +disappointed that his efforts to please were not noticed; but then it +was some satisfaction that no fault had been found with him, since he +began to reform. Even when, while wiping the supper dishes one evening, +he had the ill luck to drop a saucer, which flew into fragments, Mrs. +Allen did not scold him, but simply remarked that it was fortunate it +was an odd one. He also found a good deal of satisfaction in the +consciousness that he was trying to do right. He felt on better terms +with himself and every one else, than he did a few days before, His +moping, homesick feelings were fast disappearing. + +When Henry came home from school on Saturday, he mentioned to Mrs. Allen +that he had been invited to go over to the sugar camp with his sister +and others. As he had been away one afternoon, that week, he did not +like to ask for another half day; but he hoped permission would be given +him to go, without his request, and he finished up his work as quickly +as possible, that he might be ready to start the moment the word was +spoken. But when these things were attended to, Mrs. Allen had other +jobs for him to do, which he cheerfully performed; and when these were +finished, knowing it was too late to join the excursion party, he +actually went to braiding husks of his own accord, and so filled up the +remainder of the afternoon. + +“Why, Henry!” exclaimed Mrs. Allen, as she went into the barn towards +sunset, and found the boy at work, “I thought you had gone off to play. +You needn’t have done this, to-day.” + +“I thought I would be getting the husks out of the way, they have been +lying around so long,” replied Henry. + +“Well, I think you have got enough braided—you can use the rest for +litter,” said Mrs. Allen. + +Henry was delighted to hear this, for he was heartily sick of braiding +husks. The bin was quickly emptied of its contents, and before the barn +was shut up for the night, the two horses were standing knee deep in +clean, sweet corn husks. + +Henry faithfully kept his promise to Jessie, through the week agreed +upon, which ended the next Wednesday afternoon. He expected to have an +opportunity to see Jessie, at least for a few moments, that afternoon, +and to tell her of his success; but after dinner, Mr. Allen and his wife +went away, to be gone until night, leaving the house and their little +boy in charge of Henry. So his plans were again frustrated. He did not +manifest any ill-humor, however, although for a moment he was inclined +to. Willie, Mr. Allen’s only child, was about six years old. He had the +hooping-cough, at this time; and as the day was very windy and +blustering, his mother wished him to stay in the house during her +absence. Instead of fretting at his disappointment, and brooding over +his irksome confinement, Henry sat down with Willie, and began to amuse +him with stories about the wind. He told him of a whirlwind or tornado +he had once heard about, which unroofed several buildings, completely +demolished others, and then cut a clean path for itself through a +forest, for nearly a mile, prostrating every tree in its course, and +tearing up the ground as though an immense plough had run through it. + +“Now,” continued Henry, “I’ll tell you something that happened a year or +two ago, not a great way from here. There was a stage-coach crossing the +mountains, one blustering afternoon, with a number of passengers. They +got along pretty well, until they came to a place where the wind blew +tremendously. They call it the bellows-pipe of the mountains, the wind +rushes through the place so strong.” + +“Does it blow there all the time?” inquired Willie. + +“No, I suppose not,” replied Henry; “but it blew like everything, that +day. The trunks and bundles on the top of the stage blew off, first. +When the driver stopped to go after them, the passengers were so +frightened that they got out; and then the body of the coach was so +light, that the wind lifted it right off from the wheels.” + +“What became of the horses?” inquired Willie. + +“Oh, they were too heavy to blow away,” replied Henry; “but they must +have been pretty well frightened. I suppose some of the men held them. +But there was a lady among the passengers that actually blew away into +the fields. Some men had to go after her, and help her back, for she +couldn’t stand before the wind. The men lost their hats, and you can’t +imagine what a time they had of it. They were afraid to travel any +further, while the wind blowed so hard. So they went to a tavern that +was near, and stayed all night; and the next day they finished their +journey.” + +“Is that all?” inquired Willie; “I thought you were going to say the +house blew down.” + +“No, not quite so bad as that,” added Henry. “The man that built the +house, knew the winds blew very hard in that place, and I suppose he +made his house just as strong as he could, so that it might stand the +hardest blows. But I shouldn’t wonder if the house rocked a little that +night, after all.” + +“Our house is strong, isn’t it? It would take a pretty hard wind to +start it, don’t you think so?” inquired Willie. + +“Yes, this house is firm enough,” replied Henry; “we don’t feel the wind +here at all, to speak of. Now you keep still a few minutes, Willie, and +I’ll see if I can’t write you a little song about the wind.” + +“Oh, do! do! that’s just what I should like,” exclaimed Willie. + +Henry occasionally amused himself by writing rhymes, for which exercise +he had quite a knack. So he took his slate, and was soon deeply engaged +in his “song,” while Willie amused himself with some little experiments +on the power of wind—setting a piece of wood up on end, and then trying +to blow it over. In a little while, Henry finished his lines, and read +them aloud. They were as follows: + + “TO THE WIND. + + “Blow, wind, blow! + Over the ice and over the snow, + Blow—blow—blow! + Rattle the windows and shake the doors, + Whistle down chimney, and creep up through the floors; + Send the old cod-fish[8] whizzing around, + And thrash the trees till they bend to the ground; + Blow up, and blow down—blow in and blow out— + Blow sideways, and crosswise, and blow all about; + But you can’t start our house—it’s as firm as a rock; + Willie and I only laugh at the shock. + So blow, wind, blow! + Over the ice and over the snow, + Blow—blow—blow! + And when you are done, then go—go—go! + And don’t you come back, oh, no—no—no!” + +Footnote 8: + + The vane on the barn. + +Willie was delighted with this little song, and made Henry repeat it +over and over again, which he did in a half singing, half reciting tone. +After hearing it several times, Willie was able to repeat it himself, +and I can assure you he clapped his hands with glee the first time he +reached the “no—no—no!” without tripping over a single word. + +Willie now teased Henry to draw some pictures on the other side of the +slate—for notwithstanding he had transferred the wind song to his +memory, he would not yet risk rubbing it out from the slate. So Henry +made several pictures, such as a horse, a cow, a woman, a barn, etc. I +would show you a specimen or two of them, if I were not afraid you would +laugh at them. But you should remember that it is not for any one person +to know or do everything. Because a girl sews beautifully, you ought not +to expect that she will sing like a nightingale; and if a boy writes +clever rhymes, that is no reason why he ought to draw fine pictures. But +Henry’s rude drawings answered their end. They pleased Willie, and that +was all they were designed to do. + +But Henry drew one picture on his slate that I think you will like to +look at. It was a picture of a top, drawn in writing, or rather a little +poem arranged in the form of a top, which he had learned to make some +time before. Here it is: + + THE + TOP, + THE + TOP, + YOU + SEE + HIM + HOP, + SOON AS YOU LET HIM DROP, + AND BY THE WHIP HE’S MADE TO SKIP; + HOW STILL HE KEEPS WHEN FAST HE SLEEPS; + BUT NOW HE NODS, HE SOON WILL FALL, + FOR WHIP ONCE MORE HE SEEMS TO + CALL; PUT ON THE LASH WHILE + YET HE SPINS; WHO FASTEST + GOES THE SOONEST WINS. + HIM HERE YOU SEE, + DRAWN OUT BY ME, + AND ENDED + WITH A + POINT- + ED + V + +“Now tell me another story,” said Willie, after he had looked at the +pictures as long as he wished. + +“I can’t think of any more stories, now,” replied Henry. + +“Yes, do please to think of one more,” persisted Willie. + +“Well, I’ll tell you a story I learned a long time ago,” said Henry. “It +is this. But you don’t like long stories, do you?” he added, as if a +sudden thought had struck him. + +“Yes, I do—I like long ones the best,” was the reply. + +“Well, then,” resumed Henry, “if I tell you this story, you must try to +keep awake till I get through, and you must give close attention, too, +so as not to lose any of it.” + +“I will—I don’t feel sleepy a bit,” eagerly replied Willie. + +“Then I’ll tell you the story,” said Henry. “It is this: + + “There was a man, + And he had a calf; + And that’s half. + He took it out of the stall, + And put it on a wall; + And that’s all.” + +“Pooh! that isn’t any story at all,” cried Willie, with evident +disappointment, after a pause. “Come, tell me a real story—you said you +would.” + +“Yes, that’s a story, and a pretty good one, too, I think,” said Henry. +“Come, say it after me, and see if you don’t think so.” + +Willie repeated the lines after him, until he had learned them. Though +at first vexed with the story, he now seemed rather pleased with it. + +Willie sat silently at a window for several minutes, watching the vain +attempts of a venerable and solemn cock turkey to maintain his dignity +in a wind blowing at the rate of twenty or thirty miles an hour; and +then he suddenly exclaimed:— + +“Henry, I don’t think we shall have to send you to Marcus, after all.” + +“Why not?” inquired Henry, laughing. + +“Because you are good enough without going to him,” replied Willie. + +“Well, that’s a bran-new idea,” added Henry. “I should like to know how +long that’s been—ever since dinner-time?” + +“No, a good while longer than that—I can’t tell how long,” replied +Willie. + +Willie had often heard his parents speak of Marcus, and knew something +of his success as a “boy-tamer.” It was a habit with him, whenever he +saw a boy who did not come up to the mark of duty, to say he “ought to +be sent to Marcus.” One day, while his mother was reproving Henry for +some fault, Willie followed up the admonition with the remark, uttered +with all soberness:— + +“We shall have to send you to Marcus, if you don’t behave better.” + +Now although Willie did not mean any harm, Henry thought it was impudent +for such a little boy to speak to him in that way; and when Mrs. Allen, +instead of reproving her boy, seemed to repress a smile with difficulty, +Henry felt angry with both of them. But the matter soon blew over, and +Henry never thought of it again until this unexpected taking back of the +offensive remark. While he was musing over this gratifying proof that +his good resolution had not been wholly in vain, Jessie suddenly made +her appearance, to his great joy. She said she could stop only a few +minutes, but had run over because she was anxious to hear from him. +Through the week she had felt many misgivings about Henry; but now she +heard from his lips that he had kept his promise, and saw by his altered +appearance the beneficial effect it had exerted upon him; and Willie +artlessly confirmed it all by telling what a first-rate time they had +had all the afternoon, and repeating the little song Henry had written +for him. It was a happy moment to Jessie; and when Henry promised her in +the entry, as she was about leaving, that he would keep on in that same +way until she saw him again, she went home with a lighter heart than she +had before known for several weeks. + +When Mrs. Allen got home, she found the tea-kettle boiling, the table +ready for supper, and the house in as good order as when she left +it—three things which she hardly dared to expect. She was still further +surprised, when Willie, at the first opportunity, commenced telling a +very long story about what had been going on at home through the +afternoon. “Well,” she thought to herself, “Henry _can_ be a good boy, +when he pleases to be.” + + + + + CHAPTER VIII. + SABBATH LESSONS. + + +[Illustration: [The Miniature]] + +Jessie had a small, old-fashioned miniature in her trunk, at which she +often gazed intently and sadly, in her hours of retirement. It was a +likeness of a young man of pleasing features and apparent +intelligence—one who was evidently on good terms with himself and the +world, and who had known little of the rough experiences of life. There +were very sad associations connected with this picture, in Jessie’s +mind. She never could look at it without recalling the lines of the +poet— + + “Of all sad words of tongue or of pen, + The saddest are these—it might have been.” + +That young man was the only son of the most prosperous farmer in all +that region. Foolishly petted by his parents, he was not required to +perform any hard work, because he did not like to do it. For the same +reason, he left school and gave up all thoughts of educating himself, +before he was fourteen years old. After an idle, unprofitable and not +perfectly blameless youth, he thought it would be a fine thing to become +a merchant, and so his father set him up in business in a large town +twenty or thirty miles distant. It was at this period that the miniature +was painted, for a young lady who shortly after became his wife. For a +while he flourished; but owing to his loose habits, and his want of +business training, he soon became a bankrupt, his father being the +principal sufferer. Within a year after this, he followed both of his +parents to the grave. The fine farm thus came into his possession, but +it was heavily mortgaged for debt, owing to his own failure, and to the +fact that his father, during the latter part of his life, had used +intoxicating liquors to excess, to the injury of his business and +property. The son followed but too swiftly in the steps of the father, +emulating, not his many years of honest and prosperous toil, but only +the sad errors by which he embittered his last days. He became a +fast-bound victim of strong drink. He saw his patrimony slowly melting +away, and his family coming to want. The pinching hand of poverty at +length came upon them, and he felt ashamed to look his neighbors in the +face, so bitter were his self-reproaches. He made one or two feeble +attempts to reform, and then died as the fool dieth. He was overtaken by +a dreadful snow-storm while intoxicated, and the next day was found +stiff in death, with a jug of rum by his side. + +Such was the sad history of Jessie’s father, whose tragic death occurred +only about two months previous to the time of which I am now writing. No +wonder the tears filled her eyes, as she gazed on the handsome face of +the miniature, and thought how different might have been the life and +destiny of the one who sat for it. She saw in that capacious brow, in +that mild and thoughtful eye, and in those fine features, indications of +capacities and feelings, that had never been developed. Oh, how mournful +was it to contrast these things with the coarse, bloated and besotted +features which relentless memory always called up at the mention of +father! + +Such thoughts as these were passing through Jessie’s mind, one Sabbath +morning, as she sat in her room, awaiting the signal to start for +church. The weather was dull and drizzly, and her feelings were so much +in sympathy with it, that she could scarcely keep the tears from her +eyes. She thought of her father, whose miniature she held before her; of +her mother, whose health was quite poor, as a letter received a few days +before had informed her; of her brother Sam, in his gloomy prison cell, +who had not taken the slightest notice of the affectionate letters she +had sent him; of Henry, with his peculiar trials and dangers; and of +Benny, too, on whose little grave the snows were for the first time +melting. Everything seemed to present its dark side to her, and she felt +as though she could spend the day in weeping. + +It was a rule in Mrs. Page’s house that every one should attend church +regularly on the Sabbath, unless prevented by sickness or other +sufficient cause. Perhaps I should say it _had been_ a rule, for it had +now become a custom—a habit—a matter of mutual agreement, rather than of +law. Oscar chafed a little against the regulation, when he first came +into the family; but finding that it would not be bent to suit him, he +submitted to it, and now had no desire to absent himself from the house +of public worship. The distance from Mrs. Page’s to the church was about +a mile, and the family generally walked, unless the weather was bad. On +the morning to which reference has been made, the female portion rode to +church, and Marcus and the boys walked. + +The sermon which the good pastor, Mr. Merrill, preached that morning, +seemed intended expressly for Jessie. It was exactly adapted to the +frame of mind in which she went up to the house of God. The course of +thought was so plain and simple, that I think I can tell you about it so +that even the youngest reader can understand it, and feel some interest +in it. This was the text, and a sweet one it is:—“Cast thy burden upon +the Lord, and he shall sustain thee.” You will find it in the +twenty-second verse of the fifty-fifth Psalm. The pastor said that +everybody who comes into the world, brings a burden with him. The young +and the old, the rich and the poor, the high and the low, the wise and +the ignorant, the virtuous and the wicked, all have their burdens. These +burdens have various names, such as temptations, trials, +disappointments, regrets, sorrows, sins, etc.; but there is one general +name under which they may all be included, and that is, unhappiness. + +The next thing the preacher noticed, was, that we are all running about +trying to get rid of our burdens. We don’t want to be unhappy. Some try +to laugh away their sorrows. They may succeed with a few of the lighter +ones, but there are others too far down in the heart to be reached by +laughter. Others mope, and cry, and fret over their troubles, and so +make them worse. Others travel to new scenes, or plunge into new cares, +or yield themselves up to their passions and desires, to get rid of the +burden, but in vain. It only grows heavier, instead of lighter. And then +the pastor repeated a German fable about a man who had a frightful +goblin in his house, which haunted him day and night. After trying every +way he could think of to get rid of the goblin, and all in vain, he shut +up his house, and set it on fire, so that the tormentor might roast +within, and flung himself into the saddle, and galloped away, homeless +and pennyless, but merry in the thought that he was at last rid of the +demon that made his life miserable. So after galloping a while, he +turned round to see if his house burned merrily, and what was it he saw? +The house burned, indeed, but the goblin, there he sat, cowered behind +the rider, on his saddle’s cantle! “And do you know,” inquired the +pastor, “what is the goblin’s name? His name is Sorrow.” + +But, continued the preacher, there is a way, and only one way, to get +rid of this pressing burden, this terrible goblin in our hearts. It is +pointed out in the text. Bring all your cares and sorrows and cast them +upon the Lord, and he will sustain you. He does not promise to remove +them at once; but if he does not take them away now, he will give you +strength to bear them, so that they will seem light. We must not expect +to escape all pain, disappointment and trial in this world. It would not +be good for us, if we should. But we can be happy, in spite of these, if +we cast our burden upon the Lord, for He careth for us. The only truly +happy people are those who have done this. The Christian can sing, in +his darkest hour: + + “I’ll drop my burden at His feet, + And bear a song away.” + +The concluding portion of the sermon was devoted to an explanation of +the way in which we can cast our burdens on the Lord. The preacher said +we must do just what the little child does, when any trouble befalls it, +and it runs crying to its mother. It believes its mother can and will +relieve it. That is _faith_. It pours out its little complaints and +desires. That is _prayer_. It is ready, if it goes in a proper spirit, +to follow its mother’s directions. That is _submission_. So, if we would +cast our burdens upon the Lord, we must believe in His promises, and ask +Him to sustain us, and submit ourselves to His will. + +After the morning service, Jessie attended the Sabbath school, as was +her custom. She was a member of a Bible class of young ladies, and took +much interest in its weekly lessons. The subject of the lesson, on this +Sabbath, was _prayer_. The point of inquiry was simply _why_ we ought to +pray, the manner in which the duty should be performed being reserved +for another lesson. Each member of the class had been requested to note +down on a slip of paper such reasons as she could think of for offering +prayer to God, and most of them had done so. The teacher called upon one +of the younger pupils first, to give a reason for believing prayer is a +duty. + +“Because God commands it, in the Bible,” replied the girl, and she +quoted several texts, in proof of the assertion. + +“Yes,” replied the teacher, “God requires it, and I am glad you have +given this as the first reason, for it is sufficient to make the duty +imperative, if there were no other. Can any of you think of any other +texts which inculcate the duty of prayer?” + +A number of additional passages from the Bible were repeated, and then +another pupil was asked to give a second reason why prayer is a duty. + +“Because we are dependent upon God for everything, and it seems proper +that we should ask Him to supply our wants, just as a child asks his +father for what he wants,” was the reply. + +“Very good,” replied the teacher. “Nothing is more natural than that we +should pray to God. We cannot take a step, or draw a breath, and our +hearts cannot beat for an instant, without Him; and how strange it is +that any of us should ever rise up in the morning or lie down at night, +without asking Him to preserve us! What should we think of a little +child who had a very kind father, and yet never took any notice of +him,—never showed any gratitude for his goodness, never asking him for +any favor, and never even spoke to him? And yet this is the way in which +many people treat their heavenly Father.” + +The teacher then called upon another scholar for a reason in favor of +prayer, who gave the following: + +“We ought to pray, because we are sinners, and need forgiveness.” + +“Yes,” resumed the teacher, “that is another good argument for prayer. +We are not only dependent upon our heavenly Father for everything we +need, but we have rebelled against Him, and we feel that we deserve to +be punished. Now if we have not enough gratitude to make us thank Him +for the thousands of blessings He bestows, one would suppose that we +should fear Him enough to ask Him to forgive our sins, and save us from +their consequences. I once asked a boy about a dozen years old, if he +ever prayed. He hesitated a moment, as if afraid even to talk about such +a thing, and then replied, ‘No, but I used to when I was a little boy.’ +‘Why don’t you pray now?’ I asked. ‘Oh, I left off a good while ago,’ he +said. ‘Why did you leave off?’ I inquired. His lips quivered a moment, +and then he replied, ‘Because I thought I was too old.’ ‘Too old to +pray!’ I exclaimed; ‘why, that is the strangest thing I ever heard of. I +thought the older people were, the more they needed to pray. They +certainly have more favors to be thankful for, and more sins to be +forgiven, as they advance in years; and if that is the case, don’t you +think they need to pray more than they did when they were young? When +did you stop praying?’ I inquired. He said he could not remember +exactly, but he thought it was about two years previous to that time. +‘Well,’ I said, ‘have you received any blessings from God, during these +two years?’ He said he had, a great many. ‘And have you committed any +sins during that period?’ I continued. ‘Yes,’ he replied, ‘I suppose I +sin every day.’ I asked him if he didn’t think he was exposed to more +temptations, at that time, than he was two years before. I suppose he +had never thought much about that, for he did not give me any decided +answer. I told him I thought it was usually the case with the young, +that their temptations to do wrong increased very rapidly every year, +until they reached maturity; and then I put to him the question, +whether, with all these increased blessings, and sins, and temptations, +he was not under much greater obligations to pray, at that time, than he +was two years before. And what kind of an answer do you suppose he gave +me? Why, he said all the boys would laugh at him, if they knew he +prayed! I felt almost disheartened, when he said that. Only think of a +boy twelve years old giving such a ridiculous excuse as that for +treating his Maker with utter neglect! But I did not let him hide +himself long behind such a miserable refuge. ‘What,’ said I, ‘is it +possible you are _ashamed_ to say any thing to your best Friend, for +fear a few thoughtless boys will laugh at you? And is it possible you +can make such a confession without hiding your face in shame? Why, it +seems to me, if you ever did a thing in this world that you ought to be +heartily ashamed of, it was giving up prayer to God. I don’t think any +body _can_ do a much meaner thing than that, and instead of being +ashamed of praying, I wonder that everybody is not ashamed to live +without prayer.’ Then I said it was no matter if the whole world laughed +at us—that should not deter us from what we know to be our duty. But I +told him I knew ‘_all_ the boys’ would not laugh at him for praying, and +that even the few foolish ones who did laugh, would secretly respect him +in their hearts for doing his duty. Now, Jessie, can you give us a +fourth reason why we ought to pray?” + +“We know we ought to pray,” said Jessie, “because our feelings and +conscience tell us so. There is a voice within, a sort of instinct, that +urges us to pray. This is proved by the fact that even the most degraded +heathen offer up prayers to their idols. It is said there never was a +nation or religion that did not have some form of prayer. Of course, if +prayer is so universal, it must be a dictate of nature.” + +“Very good,” said the teacher; “and this is not only true of nations, +but of individuals. I doubt whether any person ever lived to mature age, +who never offered a prayer at some period of his life, in some way or +other. Let some terrible calamity suddenly threaten even the most +abandoned man, and how quickly does he begin to pray! Even infidels +cannot repress this natural instinct of prayer. It is said that Thomas +Paine, when in danger of shipwreck, called loudly on God for mercy; and +Lord Herbert, the celebrated deist,[9] after he had written a book +against Christianity, actually prayed to God to tell him whether he +should publish it. I have even read an argument written by an avowed +infidel, trying to prove that it was right and consistent for an atheist +to pray to God. He maintained that if there were only one chance in a +thousand that there is a Deity who hears prayer, and will reward or +punish us for our conduct, it was a matter of policy to call upon Him, +rather than run the risk of offending Him.” + +Footnote 9: + + A Deist is one who rejects the Bible, but believes in a Supreme Being. + By an Atheist, is commonly understood one who professes to believe + there is no God; but there are very few if any _real_ atheists. We + read that “the fool hath said in his heart, There is no God;” but he + does not, he cannot believe it. The term Infidel is applied to both + atheists and deists. + +“Prayer brings down blessings,” was given by another pupil as a fifth +reason why we ought to pray; and in proof, she cited several examples +from the Old and New Testaments. + +“How do you account for it, then, that some people who never pray +receive so many blessings?” inquired the teacher. + +“It is because God is so good, that he often bestows blessings when they +are not asked for,” was the reply. + +“You are right,” said the teacher. “The Lord is good to all; He is kind +unto the unthankful and the evil; but He often bestows special favors in +answer to prayer. His choicest blessings are spiritual ones, and these +He usually gives only in answer to prayer. They are offered to us +conditionally. We must ask for them if we want them.” + +Another reason was now called for, but the class seemed to have +exhausted the theme, and no one responded. The teacher then continued: + +“Supposing it were possible to overthrow all the arguments that have +been mentioned, there is one more that would still have great weight +with me. It is this—prayer exerts a good influence on our hearts. It +improves our temper, and disposition. It makes us better children, +better parents, better men and women. It seems as if God rewarded us for +the very act of coming to Him in prayer, even when He does not think it +best to grant our petition. It appears to me that if this were the only +benefit we derived from prayer, we should be very unwise to give it up. + +“Can any of you think of another argument in favor of this duty?” +inquired the teacher. No one replying, she continued: “The fact that the +best people that have ever lived have always been praying people, is, I +think, a strong argument in favor of prayer. The Bible is full of +examples of this kind, and so is all history. The purest men that the +world has ever known, and those that have done the most for mankind, +have been men who communed with God. I should like to have the members +of the class name some examples, if they can think of any.” + +Moses, Samuel, David, Daniel, Paul, and several other Bible saints, were +mentioned by different scholars. + +“Can you think of any striking examples besides those that are recorded +in the Bible?” inquired the teacher. + +“Washington,” suggested one of the girls. + +“Yes,” resumed the teacher, “Washington is an illustration of this +truth, from our own history. It is well known that he was a man of +prayer. And so was Alfred the Great, the wisest and best ruler England +ever had. We are told that he devoted one third of his time to study and +devotion. The same rule holds good even among the heathen. Socrates was +one of the purest of the Greek philosophers, and though he knew nothing +of the Scriptures, he rebuked those who did not look to God in prayer +for guidance and assistance. Now if such men as these, and thousands of +others of the wisest and best that ever lived, thought it a duty and a +privilege to pray, it seems to me their example ought to have some +influence on us.” + +The teacher then reviewed the arguments for prayer that had been brought +forward, requesting each scholar to note them down in the following form +and order: + + “WHY WE OUGHT TO PRAY.” + + “1. Because God commands it. + “2. Because we are dependent upon Him. + “3. Because we are sinners against Him. + “4. Because instinct prompts us to pray. + “5. Because God answers prayer. + “6. Because prayer benefits the heart. + “7. Because the wisest and best men pray.” + +The lesson was one of much interest to Jessie. She had learned something +of the value of prayer during the past few months. She had often +secretly poured her troubles into the gracious ear that is ever ready to +hear, and had found comfort in doing so. Her heart warmly responded to +all the motives to pray that had been mentioned, and but for her +diffidence in alluding to her own religious feelings, she would have +suggested an eighth motive, viz., “Because it is delightful to pray.” + +Before retiring at night, Jessie copied into her journal the foregoing +list of motives for prayer, adding the eighth. She then knelt down, as +was her daily habit, and offered to her Maker the homage of a grateful +heart. + + + + + CHAPTER IX. + RAINY-DAY DIVERSIONS. + + +The dull Sabbath morning mentioned in the last chapter, proved the +beginning of one of those long and dreary storms, not unusual in the +spring of the year. The sun did not show himself for half an hour during +the whole week, but snow, sleet, rain, drizzle, high winds, and leaden +skies, had everything their own way. The old people said it was the +“equinoctial,” or “line” storm; and their opinion was not in the least +disturbed, if Marcus suggested that many scientific men believed the +notion of such a storm to be a popular delusion. It certainly was not a +very auspicious time to express any doubts on this point—in the midst of +a seven days’ storm, happening in the very week of the equinox; so +Marcus, without seriously doubting that the men of science were right, +concluded it were wiser to postpone any argument on the subject until a +dryer season. + +The younger members of Mrs. Page’s family found little chance for +out-door sports, during this tedious storm. Still, the time did not pass +heavily with them. All but Kate and Otis had their regular daily work to +perform; but as it was divided among several pairs of hands, it was not +very arduous, at this season of the year. Jessie’s work, however, was an +exception, for she insisted upon devoting most of her time, when +released from study, to household duties. On Wednesday and Saturday +afternoons, Marcus frequently invited Oscar and Ronald to help him about +some extra job or other; but all such jobs were now finished up, as far +as they could be until the season should open for out-door operations. +The farming tools had been put in complete order, the potatoes sorted +for planting, the cellar cleaned out, and when Wednesday afternoon came, +with a pouring rain, Marcus told the boys they must amuse themselves as +best they could, as he had nothing for them to do. + +For awhile, the state of things was rather dull indoors as well as out. +Marcus and Oscar were reading. Kate sat down to practise a music lesson, +but the notes which her fingers called forth were so dull and +spiritless, that she soon abandoned the attempt. Otis sat looking +dreamily out of the window, towards the distant hills just visible +through the rain. Ronald, after trying in vain to get somebody to go out +to the barn and “have some fun,” went alone; but he evidently did not +find what he went after, for he soon returned, repeating, on the way, a +queer alliterative exercise in rapid pronunciation he had recently +learned for his own amusement. It was as follows, only each line was +repeated in four different ways, as indicated at the beginning: + + “Andrew Airpump asked his aunt her ailment, + Did Andrew, etc., + If Andrew, etc., + Where is the, etc. + Billy Button bought a buttered biscuit, + Did, etc, + Captain Crackskull cracked a catchpole’s coxcomb. + Davy Doldrum dreamt he drove a dragon. + Enoch Elkrig eat an empty eggshell. + Francis Fripple flogged a Frenchman’s filly. + Gaffer Gilpin got a goose and gander. + Humphrey Hunchback had a hundred hedgehogs. + Inigo Impey itched for an Indian image. + Jumping Jackey jeered a jesting juggler + Kimbo Kemble kicked his kinsman’s kettle. + Lanky Lawrence lost his lass and lobster. + Matthew Mendlegs missed a mangled monkey. + Neddy Noodle nipped his neighbor’s nutmeg. + Oliver Oglethorpe ogled an owl and oyster. + Peter Piper picked a peck of peppers. + Quixote Quixite quizzed a queerish quidbox. + Rawdy Rumpus rode a rawboned racer. + Sammy Smellie smelt a smell of small coal. + Tiptoe Tommy turned a Turk for twopence. + Uncle Usher urged an ugly urchin. + Villiam Voedy viped his vig and vaistcoat. + Walter Waddle won a walking wager. + X Y Z have made my brains to crack O. + X smokes, Y snuffs, Z chews too strong tobacco. + Though oft by X Y Z much lore is taught, + Still Peter Piper beats them all to nought.” + +Ronald kept on repeating these very sensible lines after he had entered +the house; but before he had finished “Captain Crackskull,” he was +interrupted by Marcus, who said:— + +“Ronald, if you are going through with that long yarn, I think you had +better take it back to the barn with you, and reel it off to the cows.” + +“I can say it right straight through, to X Y Z,” said Ronald. + +“Well, we’ll take your word for it—we wont ask you to prove it,” replied +Marcus. + +“What do you call it, when all the words in a line begin with the same +letter?” inquired Ronald. + +“When two or more words, near together, commence with the same letter, +it is called _alliteration_,” replied Marcus. “It is what the poet calls +‘_a_pt _a_lliteration’s _a_rtful _a_id.’” + +“I’ve got a curious specimen of alliteration, that I found in an old +newspaper,” said Kate; and from a small roll of paper clippings which +she had in her pocket she drew forth the curiosity. It contained five +little poems, or “univocalic verses,” as they were called, each of which +contained only one of the vowels. The following is a specimen. It is on +the fall of Eve, and contains no vowel but _e_, as will be observed; + + “Eve, Eden’s Empress, needs defended be: + The Serpent greets her when she seeks the tree; + Serene, she sees the speckled tempter creep; + Gentle he seems—perversest schemer deep— + Yet endless pretexts, ever fresh prefers, + Perverts her senses, revels when she errs, + Sneers when she weeps, regrets, repents she fell; + When deep revenged, reseeks the nether hell!” + +“That is not alliteration, exactly,” observed Marcus, “as the words do +not begin with the same letter. I should call it a sort of ‘task +poetry.’ By the way, Kate, did you ever see a little task poem that old +George Herbert wrote?” and taking down a volume from the book-case, he +turned to the following lines, in which it will be seen, the rhyming +words are obtained by dropping a letter from the last word of the +preceding line: + + “Inclose me still, for fear I _start_, + Be to me rather sharp and _tart_, + Than let me want thy hand and _art_. + + “Such sharpness shows the sweetest _friend_, + Such cuttings rather heal than _rend_, + And such beginnings touch their _end_.” + +Marcus turned to a still more curious specimen of task poetry, in the +same book. It was a couplet, formed of three lines of the fragments of +words, so that those of the middle one read with either of the other +two. Here it is: + + cur- f- w- d- dis- and p- + A -sed -iend -rought -eath -ease -ain. + bles- fr- b- br- and ag- + +The couplet is to be read thus: + + “A cursed fiend wrought death, disease and pain; + A blessed friend brought breath and ease again.” + +“Come, all hands, I move that we have a game of ‘thread-paper poetry’—we +haven’t played it for a long time,” said Kate. + +“What sort of a game is that?” inquired Jessie, who had but just come in +from the kitchen, and sat down to sew. + +“Why, didn’t you ever play it?” inquired Kate, with surprise. “It’s a +real good game, if you have the right sort of players. The first player +takes a slip of paper, and writes a line of poetry upon it—original or +selected, just as he pleases. Then he folds the paper so as to hide the +line, but he tells the next player what the last word is, and he must +write a line to rhyme with it, and another line beside; and so they pass +it around, until they have got enough, and then it is read aloud. It +makes great sport, sometimes, I can assure you.” + +The company generally assented to Kate’s proposal, and it was agreed, at +the outset, that each line should contain eight syllables, every other +one accented, commencing with the second. No other restriction was laid +upon any one. Jessie was selected to commence the play, and she wrote +the following line: + + “How dark the day! how drear the scene!” + +Doubling over the paper, she passed it to Oscar, and thus it went round +the circle twice, Marcus finally winding up the poem with an extra +rhyme, to give it a fitting conclusion. He then unfolded the paper, and +read the contents aloud. Here is a copy of it. The figures indicate +where it passed from one hand to another: + + 1. How dark the day! how drear the scene! + + 2. Now I do think you’re real mean + + To get me into such a scrape! + + 3. I sing the glories of the grape, + + Delicious fruit, so rich and nice. + + 4. Oh, I can do it in a trice— + + My lines are written—here they are, + + 5. Shining like evening’s brightest star, + + Or like the fire-bug’s milder ray! + + 6. This is a very rainy day, + + The walking, it is dreadful bad. + + 7. To find a rhyme I’m always glad, + + So this I write, and pass’t along. + + 8. I vow, it is a curious song, + + All shreds, and patchwork, and so forth. + + 9. This horrid weather makes me cough— + + I had hard work to find that rhyme; + + 10. But I wont give it up this time, + + Although I own I’m not a poet. + + 11. If I am wrong, then please to show it, + + This is the best that I can do. + + 12. And now, good friends, we’ve all got through, + + And this queer song I give to you. + +“Now let’s write some cento verses,” cried Kate, after this had been +read. + +“What kind of verses are those?” inquired Otis. + +“Don’t you know what cento verses are?” replied Kate. “Why, you take a +number of lines of poetry from different authors, and arrange them +together so that they will rhyme, and make some sort of sense—that’s the +way to make cento verses.” + +“Pooh! I don’t think much of that,” said Ronald. + +“A person needs to have a good deal of poetry at his tongue’s end, to +find amusement in writing cento verses,” observed Marcus. “Kate and +Jessie have a poetical turn, and might succeed at it, but I am afraid +the rest of us would find it rather hard work.” + +“Well, I’m going to try,” said Kate; “and if there isn’t poetry enough +on my tongue’s end, there’s plenty up in the book-case.” + +[Illustration: [Grand Mufti and Sleepy Brahmin]] + +Kate took a piece of paper, and commenced jotting down some lines, +occasionally consulting Jessie, or turning to a volume of poetry. Ronald +and Otis found more congenial amusement, in a couple of toys of which +they had recently come in possession. They were “pith-tumblers,” made by +an ingenious boy in their class, who realized quite a little fortune of +pocket-money by manufacturing these comical figures for his mates. They +were made of the pith of elder trees, and the figures were neatly cut, +to represent Turks, Chinese Mandarins, Brahmins, clowns, and other +characters. Ronald’s tumbler was a Turk, and he named him the _Grand +Mufti_. He was seated on half a bullet, composedly smoking his long +pipe. Otis called his figure the _Sleepy Brahmin_. It had a lead cap, +and consequently was under the disagreeable necessity of standing on its +head. Both the Mufti and the Brahmin, when jarred, seemed ready to fall +over, but were sure to right themselves very quickly, owing to the +centre of gravity being in the leaden base. While the boys were playing +with these trifles, Marcus stepped out of the room, and soon returned +with a bottle and a couple of forks. Seeing the curiosity of the boys +was excited, Marcus asked them if they could make a quarter of a dollar +spin round on the point of a needle. + +“Give me a quarter, and I’ll try,” said Ronald. + +[Illustration: [The Balanced Coin]] + +Marcus chose to make the trial himself, and in a few minutes he +accomplished the feat, to the no small astonishment of the boys. This +was the way he did it. In the cork of the bottle he fixed a needle. He +then took another cork, and cut a slit in it, large enough to receive +the edge of the coin. Then he stuck into the cork the two forks, +opposite each other, with the handles inclining downwards. The edge of +the coin was now placed on the needle, and the whole apparatus,—coin, +cork, and forks,—was made to spin round without falling off. + +“Now, Ronald, can you explain the philosophy of that?” inquired Marcus. + +“No, sir, I’m sure I can’t,” replied Ronald. + +“Well, can you explain why your little pith-tumblers operate as they +do?” inquired Marcus. + +“It’s because the centre of gravity is in one end of the figures, in the +lead,” replied Ronald. + +“What do you mean by the centre of gravity?” inquired Marcus. + +“Why, the point where the weight of the whole thing is evenly balanced,” +said Ronald; “for instance, if I balance this book on the end of my +finger, the point that rests on my finger will be the centre of +gravity.” + +“Yes, you have the idea,” resumed Marcus; “and this little experiment is +explained on the same principle. The weight of the forks, projecting as +they do so much below the coin, brings the centre of gravity of the +arrangement below the point of the needle, which is the point of +suspension; and the coin is much less liable to fall off than it would +be if the centre of gravity were higher.” + +“Now let me show you a little experiment,” said Ronald. “I’m going to +put two chairs back to back, take off my shoes, and jump over them. Do +you believe I can do it?” + +“This isn’t a suitable place for such rough play—if you want to do any +jumping, you had better go out-doors,” said Mrs. Page. + +“But I wont do the least harm in the world,” replied Ronald. “Let me +show you how I do it, wont you?” + +Mrs. Page making no reply, Ronald inferred that she consented; and +placing the chairs as he had described, he took off his shoes, and +drawing back to the end of the room, ran and jumped over the—_shoes_, to +the great amusement of those who were watching the “experiment.” + +Marcus and Oscar had resumed their reading, and Ronald and Otis now +began to amuse themselves with a puzzle which they called the Moslem +Oracle. It was a table, divided by lines into a hundred little squares, +in each of which was written a letter, as follows: + + ┌─┬─┬─┬─┬─┬─┬─┬─┬─┬─┐ + │d│w│w│a│w│o│h│a│b│h│ + ├─┼─┼─┼─┼─┼─┼─┼─┼─┼─┤ + │i│o│i│s│o│t│d│t│t│w│ + ├─┼─┼─┼─┼─┼─┼─┼─┼─┼─┤ + │w│o│a│a│a│i│e│n│i│i│ + ├─┼─┼─┼─┼─┼─┼─┼─┼─┼─┤ + │t│s│d│n│t│h│i│a│a│e│ + ├─┼─┼─┼─┼─┼─┼─┼─┼─┼─┤ + │o│t│t│n│t│u│w│t│d│h│ + ├─┼─┼─┼─┼─┼─┼─┼─┼─┼─┤ + │t│i│a│e│s│f│l│i│n│u│ + ├─┼─┼─┼─┼─┼─┼─┼─┼─┼─┤ + │e│l│n│j│c│a│d│t│o│c│ + ├─┼─┼─┼─┼─┼─┼─┼─┼─┼─┤ + │r│o│h│y│e│o│w│y│p│e│ + ├─┼─┼─┼─┼─┼─┼─┼─┼─┼─┤ + │f│r│w│e│d│i│o│i│a│e│ + ├─┼─┼─┼─┼─┼─┼─┼─┼─┼─┤ + │l│n│s│c│t│l│g│h│e│h│ + └─┴─┴─┴─┴─┴─┴─┴─┴─┴─┘ + +The boy from whom they obtained a copy of this Oracle, told them he had +read that it was sometimes actually used by the superstitious Moslems, +when they were in doubt about any thing they thought of doing. The rule +is to repeat certain verses of the Koran, and then to place the finger +upon the table, without looking at it. The Moslem then looks to see on +what letter his finger has rested, and writes it down, with every +_fifth_ following letter in the table, until he has got back to his +starting place. For example, we will suppose his finger fell on the +letter e in the sixth line. He writes down every fifth letter, and the +following appears: + + _enjoypeaceabstainand_ + +In reading the sentence, he commences with the first of the letters +taken from the upper line; and so the utterance of his Oracle is: + + “_Abstain, and enjoy peace._” + +This Oracle is capable of giving five distinct answers, as any reader +can easily verify; and commence with what letter we will, we shall +obtain one of these answers. It is, of course, a superstition, which +gives any authority to these answers; but it is curious to observe that +the Oracle is so arranged as to be likely to do good rather than harm to +those who consult it. It contains but one affirmative and four negative +answers, and it is evident that its framer knew that when men hesitate +about doing an action, it is generally safer to abstain from it than to +perform it. Men are more disposed to consult oracles for leave to do +wrong, than for advice to do right. + +Kate had now finished her cento poem, and read it aloud. It was as +follows: + + When the immortals at their banquet lay [_Moore._ + Butchered to make a Roman holiday, [_Byron._ + By all their country’s wishes blest, [_Collins._ + The fright was general; but the female band, [_Dryden._ + Waked by the circling hours, with rosy hand, [_Milton._ + ’Scaped all the toils that life molest, [_Cowley._ + And on a sudden sung the hundredth Psalm. [_Gay._ + Of living lakes, in summer’s noontide calm. [_Akenside._ + The wanton troopers, riding by, [_Marvell._ + To sweep the cobwebs from the sky, [_Mother Goose._ + Intent on high designs, a thoughtful band, [_Goldsmith._ + Peered from the curtained gallery, [_Croly._ + And strewed with sudden carcasses the land. [_Armstrong._ + The piper loud and louder blew [_Burns._ + A circle regularly true, [_Prior._ + Savage and shrill! But with the breath which fills [_Byron._ + Twelve bottles ranged upon the board, [_Gay._ + And the world’s cold neglect, which surest kills, [_Hunt._ + He watched, he served, he cheered his lord. [_Spencer._ + O heaven! he cried, my bleeding country save, [_Campbell._ + Poor human ruins, tottering o’er the grave! [_Young._ + By that dread name, we wave the sword on high, [_Campbell._ + When in the valley of Jehoshaphat, [_Dryden._ + For whom contending kings are proud to die— [_Falconer._ + Die, and endow a college or a cat! [_Pope._ + +“That’s pretty fair,” said Marcus; “but I suspect memory didn’t have a +great deal to do with it—only a few of the lines have a familiar sound +to my ear.” + +“Well, to tell the truth,” replied Kate, “my memory is one of the kind +that never can think of anything when you happen to want it; so I helped +it along a little, with two or three books of poetry.” + +The request was general that a copy of these lines, and also of the +“thread-paper poem,” should be furnished for publication in the “Home +Wreath.” The successive numbers of this little paper were carefully kept +on file, after all had read them, and it was a custom to insert in its +pages anything of suitable length that the family wished to preserve. +The next number of the “Wreath,” which appeared on Saturday afternoon, +contained one of these poems, together with an unusual variety of +original matter, which an editorial paragraph pleasantly attributed to +the protracted storm, remarking that “it was an ill wind that blew +nobody any good.” Among the contributions were several arithmetical +problems. One was as follows: “So arrange four nines as to make one +hundred.” Another was:—“If you take nine from six, ten from nine, and +fifty from forty, there will then six remain.” Jessie, in the course of +the evening, threw off the following rhyming answers to these questions, +designing to send them to the editor for insertion the next week: + + “Two nines I place upon a line, + And that will make just ninety-nine; ... 99 + In form of fraction then I write + Nine-ninths, and to the first unite, .... ⁹⁄₉ + And that the number makes just right ... 100.” + + “From S, I, X, I take I, X, + And that will leave an .... S, + Thus standing by itself alone, + And nothing more nor less. + Then from I, X, I take the X, + (So you can if you try,) + And that, you see, leaves only this + Poor slender letter .... I. + + “From X, L, next, as Pat might say, + The L I _disannex_, + And then there’s left, as here you see, + This little saw horse, .... X. + These three remainders thus I fix, + And they read plainly S, I, X.” + +Such were some of the ways in which the young folks in Mrs. Page’s +family amused themselves, when kept indoors by stress of weather. + + + + + CHAPTER X. + ALL FOOLS’ DAY. + + +Ronald and Otis occupied the same chamber. It was in the second story of +the house, and had two windows, one looking to the north-east and the +other to the south-east. At this season of the year, Ronald was obliged +to rise soon after day-break, to attend to his work. He was very apt to +feel sleepy in the morning, and Marcus, who was an early riser, usually +called him when it was time to get up. Otis, being a boarder, did not +rise so early, but commonly slept until the sun poured its light into +the chamber through the north-east window, and sometimes long after. He +was, in fact, rather fond of his bed. + +On the morning of the first day of April, Ronald played quite a serious +trick upon his room-mate, by way of celebrating “All Fools’ day.” The +windows of their chamber happened to be provided with old-fashioned +tight shutters, which, however, were not now used, curtains having been +substituted for them. On the morning in question, Ronald arose very +slyly, at early day-break, and commenced disarranging and secreting the +several articles of Otis’s every-day apparel. One of his suspenders he +hid under the bed-clothes, and the other he tied into knots; he turned +the legs of his pantaloons and the sleeves of his jacket inside out; +deposited one stocking in his jacket pocket, and crowded the other into +the toe of his shoe; hid the other shoe on the upper shelf of the +closet, after emptying into it the contents of his trousers pockets; +and, in short, put things into such a plight, that he supposed it would +take Otis at least an hour to dress himself. He then closed the +shutters, and left the room, carefully shutting the door, lest the +movements of the rest of the family should disturb the sleeper. + +Otis did not make his appearance at the breakfast table, when the bell +rang, but as this had occasionally happened before, it did not excite +any surprise. The table was left standing for him, after breakfast, and +the several members of the family went about their business. Ronald, +somewhat to his disappointment, was despatched to school nearly an hour +before the usual time, that he might do an errand in a distant part of +the town, on his way. Before he started, he crept up to the door of his +chamber, and, listening, heard the loud breathing of Otis, as if still +asleep. As he passed out through the dining-room, he noticed a clean +plate and knife at Otis’s place, and impelled by the spirit of mischief +which had taken possession of him, he snatched them from the table, and +put dirty ones in their place. A moment after, Jessie came in, and began +to clear off the table, when Miss Lee, who was in the kitchen, seeing +Ronald about to leave, said: + +“Before you go, Ronald, I wish you would run up stairs and call Otis—he +hasn’t been to breakfast yet.” + +“Yes, ma’am, he’s been to breakfast and gone,” said Jessie, deceived by +the appearance of the table. + +“Then he was very quick about it, for I haven’t seen him this morning,” +said Miss Lee. + +Ronald said nothing, but, availing himself of Jessie’s mistake, hurried +away without calling Otis, congratulating himself that his plot had +worked so admirably. After doing his errand, he had time and opportunity +to fool several of his school-mates, which he diligently improved. He +made one simple boy believe that his back was covered with chalk, and +thank him for drubbing it off in vigorous style, when there was not a +particle of chalk upon the poor fellow’s jacket. He exhibited to a group +of boys what he called a “railroad whistle.” It looked like an ordinary +whistle, with a number of holes on the top, but he represented it as +having remarkable power, if a boy only had wind enough to sound it. One +of the boys, more curious than wise, gave it a vigorous blast, and blew +into his face a cloud of flour, with which the whistle had been filled, +to the great amusement of all who witnessed the experiment. + +Ronald was born and lived for eight years among a people of French +extraction, in Canada. He still remembered some of the habits and +customs of his native village, among which was the observance of Easter. +Easter is a festival in commemoration of the resurrection of Christ, and +is quite generally observed in European countries. It occurs about the +first of April. In some countries, it is customary to give eggs to the +children, on this occasion, which are ornamented in various ways. In +Ronald’s native town, the children used to boil their Easter eggs in +water containing a dye of some color, by which the shells became red, +blue, purple, or of any other hue that was desired. If they wished to +inscribe a name or ornament on an egg, they first plunged it into hot +water, and then wrote the name or drew the design on the shell with +tallow. The egg was then boiled in the colored water, but the dye would +not penetrate any part of the shell which had been covered with grease, +and consequently the ornament or inscription would appear white. + +Ronald had been indulged in his Easter eggs every year since he was +adopted into Mrs. Page’s family. He called them Easter eggs, but they +might more appropriately have been termed “April-Fool” eggs, for, +regardless of the ecclesiastical calendar, the first day of the fourth +month was always Easter to him. He carried several of these stained eggs +to school, on the morning whose history I am recounting; and after the +“railroad whistle” experiment, he exhibited them to some of the girls. +They were blue, with white fillets around them, and looked quite pretty. +Somebody inquiring about their strength, Ronald said they were boiled +very hard, and would stand a pretty smart blow. He said he boiled them +as soon as they were laid, which was the way to do, if you wanted a real +hard egg. He invited two of the girls to make a trial of their hardness, +by each taking an egg in her hand, and striking them together, promising +that the egg which stood the test should be the property of the one who +held it. They did so, and at the first trial, neither egg was damaged, +the blow being too light. The next time, however, one of the eggs was +crushed, but the other was uninjured. + +The girl who won the blue egg, refused to hazard it again in a trial +with an uncolored boiled egg, which Ronald wished her to submit it to. +So Ronald drew from his pocket a second white egg, and persuaded Kate +Sedgwick and another girl to a trial of strength, similar to the first. +Each held the egg firmly in her palm, and measured the distance +carefully with her eye, and then, after a moment’s pause, came the +shock, the crash, and the smash. And a smash it was indeed; for the egg +Kate held was just as raw and tender as when biddy laid it, and in the +rude encounter, its liquid contents spirted out in an astonishing manner +upon both the contestants, but especially upon Kate. The fragments that +remained in her hand she hurled at Ronald’s head, but the rogue was too +spry for her, and they fell short of the mark. + +It would have been strange if a boy who was so active as Ronald in +playing off his pranks upon others, had himself wholly escaped from +similar practical jokes. But he did not. One trick was played upon him, +which annoyed him very much. Some one, he could not ascertain who, +spread upon his seat a quantity of soft pitch, upon which he +unsuspiciously sat. The sticky gum adhered so pertinaciously to his +clothing, that he could not remove it, but through the day, whenever he +attempted to make the slightest movement upon his seat, he found himself +held fast by an invisible power. + +When the morning session of the academy opened, Marcus was not a little +surprised to discover that Otis was missing. He went to Ronald’s seat +and asked where he was. + +“I don’t know,” replied Ronald. + +“Didn’t he go with you to Mr. Bright’s, this morning?” inquired Marcus. + +“No, sir, I haven’t seen him since I got up,” replied Ronald. + +“But haven’t you any idea where he is?” continued Marcus. + +“I don’t know where he can be, unless he’s abed,” said Ronald. + +“A-bed this time of day! How can that be?” exclaimed Marcus. + +Ronald made no farther reply, and Marcus then questioned Kate, Jessie +and Oscar, but none of them could say they had seen Otis, that morning. +Meanwhile, Aunt Fanny was making quite as surprising a discovery at +home, as Marcus made at school. She went up stairs, to take care of the +boys’ room, and found Otis asleep, and the room as dark as at night. + +“Why, Otis Sedgwick! are you asleep yet?” exclaimed Aunt Fanny, shaking +the boy by the shoulder. “Come, wake up! It’s after nine o’clock.” + +“Is it this morning, or last night?” inquired the drowsy and bewildered +boy, rubbing his eyes, as if to let the day-light into them. + +Aunt Fanny pulled open the shutters, and the sun, two hours and a half +high, came streaming in upon the bed, to the astonishment of Otis. + +“This is one of Ronald’s tricks, I suppose,” said Aunt Fanny. “But he +has carried the joke altogether too far. You are too late to go to +school this forenoon.” + +“Well, this is a pretty piece of business, I do think,” said Otis, who +now began to comprehend the joke that had been played upon him. + +Aunt Fanny withdrew, telling Otis she would go and prepare his +breakfast. After waiting some time, as the boy did not appear, she again +went to his room, to call him. She found him partly dressed, and crying +with vexation because he could not find the rest of his apparel. With +her aid, the missing articles were soon found, and Otis sat down to his +breakfast, in not a very pleasant mood, about half-past nine o’clock. + +Otis went to school in the afternoon. He at once informed Marcus of the +cause of his absence, but he kept out of the way of Ronald, with whom he +felt offended. At recess, Ronald determined to speak to Otis, and he +did. + +“Hullo, Otis,” he said, “why didn’t you come to school, this morning?” + +Otis took no notice of the question, except to turn away from his +persecutor. + +“Sun didn’t rise as early as common, did it?” continued Ronald, +laughing. + +Otis made no reply. + +“Come, now,” added Ronald, laying his arm over the shoulder of Otis, +“don’t get mad with a fellow for a joke—it was all in fun, you know.” + +“It was fun to you, but it wasn’t to me,” replied Otis, slipping away +from under Ronald’s arm, and leaving him alone. + +Ronald felt rather sober after this decided rebuff. He began to realize +that a joke carried too far, is no joke at all; the difficulty with +which he moved about on his pitchy seat, helping him materially to this +conclusion. After school, he walked home alone, in advance of the +others, who, by the way, were discussing his conduct with much interest. +Kate and Otis told how they had been served, and several other jokes of +Ronald were related. All concurred in the opinion that the custom of +“making fools” of each other on the first of April, was a senseless one, +and very liable to abuses. Still, Marcus said it was not worth while to +get angry about such things, and he tried to make Otis forget the +resentment which it was evident he felt towards Ronald. + +On reaching his home, Marcus learned from his mother some facts in +regard to Ronald’s trick upon Otis, which made it even more serious than +it at first appeared. In carrying it out, it appeared he had really been +guilty of something that looked very much like disobedience and +falsehood, and had fooled several others besides Otis. When spoken to, +however, Ronald seemed unwilling to admit that he had done anything +blameworthy, and was especially astonished when he was charged with +doing violence to the truth. He defended himself against this latter +charge with considerable ingenuity, contending that if any falsehood was +told, Jessie was the guilty one. + +“I think,” said Marcus, after talking with him awhile, “we had better +have a court to try this case, as it involves some important +principles.” + +“Well, I’ll agree to that,” replied Ronald. “Give me a fair trial, and +if I’m beat, I won’t say a word.” + +A custom had been introduced into the family of occasionally holding a +court to try offences of a peculiar nature. When there was some doubt as +to the measure of blame due to an offender, or when it was uncertain to +whom the blame principally belonged, or when important moral principles +were involved in a wrong act, or when disputes arose about perplexing +points, the affair was sometimes settled by resolving the family into a +court to try the case. This was what Marcus now proposed to do; and, as +Ronald agreed to it, the evening of the next day was appointed for +holding the court, and all concerned were immediately notified, that +suitable preparation might be made. + +In these little courts, no attempt was made to imitate the cumbrous +machinery, the solemn dignity, the slow and formal movements, or the +“glorious uncertainty,” which usually characterize the tribunals +established by law. Instead of a long indictment, setting forth a simple +act in all sorts of wicked shapes, and magnifying and multiplying it +till it looked like a dozen huge crimes, stuck together, the court I am +describing based their action on a simple complaint, written in plain, +unexaggerating language. They had no constable, sheriff, clerk or crier, +because they did not need them. A judge, two lawyers, (one to prosecute +and the other to defend the accused,) a jury, (usually consisting of two +or three persons,) witnesses, and a prisoner, were all the functionaries +necessary to this court. The law they administered was that “common law” +written in every unperverted heart, and their statute book was the +Bible. + +The trial of Ronald commenced early on the evening appointed. Marcus +presided as judge. Oscar was the prosecuting attorney. As the accused +intended to conduct his own defence, no counsel appeared for him. Mrs. +Page, Kate, and Jessie’s brother Henry, who happened to be present, were +the jury. Miss Lee, Jessie and Otis were summoned as witnesses. + +After the court had come to order, the prosecuting attorney arose, and +said that several complaints had been made against the accused, very +similar in their character, all of them being for improper and +unwarrantable jokes perpetrated on the first day of April. He thought, +however, that the ends of justice would be sufficiently met by trying +the prisoner for only one of these offences. He then read the +indictment, or complaint, which was drawn up with care, and was in the +following form: + + + “COMPLAINT. + + “I hereby charge Ronald D. Page with entering into an unjustifiable + plot on the morning of the first day of April, 185–, to detain his + room-mate, Otis Sedgwick, in his chamber until an unusual hour, which + design he carried out by darkening the room, displacing and + disarranging the clothing of said Sedgwick, and closing the door, + contrary to his usual custom, thereby keeping said room-mate in his + chamber until it was too late to go to school; which act was against + the peace, dignity and good order of the family. + + “I also charge said Page with disobedience, in neglecting to call said + Sedgwick, when told to do so by Miss Lee. + + “I also charge said Page with being virtually guilty of falsehood, + inasmuch as he deceived Miss Hapley by removing certain articles from + the breakfast table, and allowed an erroneous statement, which she + made in consequence, to go uncorrected. + + “OSCAR PRESTON, _Pros. Att’y._ + + “_Highburg, Vt., April 2, 185–._” + + +A copy of this complaint had been given to Ronald in the morning, that +he might know precisely what points he had got to meet. He at first +doubted whether it would be right to plead not guilty to all the +charges, as he admitted that he played the joke upon Otis, referred to +in the first charge. But Marcus explained that while he admitted the +_acts_ specified, he might if he chose deny the bad _character_ ascribed +to them in the complaint. He said that if Ronald did not believe his +April-fool trick upon Otis was “unjustifiable,” and “against the peace, +dignity and good order of the family,” he had a moral as well as legal +right to plead not guilty to the complaint. Accordingly, when the +complaint was read in court, and the judge asked the accused whether he +was guilty or not guilty, the reply was, “Not guilty.” + +The witnesses were now introduced. Otis first appeared, and related all +that he knew about the trick that had been played upon him. After he had +got through, Ronald put a few questions to him. + +“Do you generally know what is going on when you are sound asleep?” +inquired the accused. + +“No,” replied the witness. + +“How, then, do you know that _I_ did the mischief?” + +“Because—because I _know_ you did it.” + +“Did you _see_ me do it?” + +“No.” + +“Did you _hear_ me?” + +“No.” + +“Did you _smell_ me?” + +A titter ran through the room, which the judge promptly rebuked by +calling out “Order!” The reply to the last question was not heard, and +the accused told the witness he might take his seat, remarking, at the +same time, to the prosecuting attorney: + +“I don’t think you have made much out of him—why, he undertakes to tell +what was going on when he was sound asleep!” + +Aunt Fanny was the next witness. She testified to finding Otis asleep, +late in the morning, and described the state of things in his room, at +that time. She also related what took place in the kitchen, when she +told Ronald to call Otis to breakfast. Jessie was then called to the +stand, and corroborated a part of the testimony of Miss Lee. + +The evidence for the prosecution all being in, the prisoner said he +should summon no witnesses to rebut the testimony given, although he +presumed he could call upon every person in the court-room, from the +learned judge down to the witness who pretended to tell what took place +when he was asleep, to testify to his (the prisoner’s) good character, +if necessary. He then reviewed the evidence, and pronounced it all +guess-work. Certain things had been done. There was no proof that _he_ +did them, and he did not know why they should be so positive he was the +offender. + +“May it please your honor,” interrupted the prosecuting attorney, “if +the prisoner thinks there is any room for doubt, on that point, I can +call several witnesses to prove that he has _confessed_ that he did all +that we have charged him with.” + +“If it please your honor,” replied the accused, “I suppose I could claim +that anything I may have said shall not be used against me. Am I not +right?” + +“Whatever the law or usage may be in other tribunals,” replied the +judge, “this court is of the opinion that any confession made by the +defendant may be used as evidence against him, unless it can be shown +that he was influenced by fear, or a hope of gaining some end, in making +the confession.” + +“Well,” continued the accused, “I will save the prosecuting attorney the +trouble of bringing forward any more witnesses. I merely wished to show +him the flaw in the net in which he thinks he has caught me; but I had +no idea of crawling off through such a small hole. No, your honor, I +admit that I played an April-fool trick upon my young friend.” + +The accused then went on to justify himself, in a speech of considerable +length, which was very attentively listened to. He took the ground that +the custom of playing April-fool tricks was an old and almost universal +one; that it was one of the established and inalienable rights of boys; +that there is no harm in playing off a pleasant joke in a good-natured +way; that he had no malice against Otis, and in reality did him no harm; +that there was no excuse for his sleeping till after school-time, even +if the room was darkened; that in removing Otis’s plate from the +breakfast table, he only made an April-fool of Jessie; that it was not +his business to contradict Jessie, and correct her errors; that he did +not call Otis, because he supposed Aunt Fanny did not expect him to, +after what Jessie had said; and that he did not feel that he had been +guilty of disobedience or falsehood, in anything he had done, in +connection with this affair. He closed with an earnest appeal to the +jury, beseeching them to judge him by his motives rather than his acts, +and reminding them that it was better to err on the side of mercy than +of severity. + +The prosecuting attorney now arose, and made the closing plea. He set +forth in vivid colors the provoking nature of the offence, and the loss +of time, temper and school privileges which Otis had suffered in +consequence of it. Even allowing that there is no evil in playing +harmless practical jokes on the first day of April, he held that this +was a very different affair. It was too serious a matter to be passed +off as a joke. It was an offence against good order and good feeling. +But he was ready to go farther than this, and condemn all kinds of +April-fool tricks. It was a foolish custom, if it was an old one. As to +boys having an “inalienable _right_” to make fools of each other, on any +day of the year, as had been claimed by the defendant, he said the +proposition need only be stated, to be laughed at. There were serious +evils connected with this fooling business, as was abundantly +illustrated in the case under trial. It was very apt to be carried too +far, and to degenerate into impudence, rowdyism, recklessness, revenge, +etc. Besides, it begets lying. He believed there were more lies told +among boys on April first than on any other day of the year. Lying is +almost essential to the playing off of an April-fool hoax. Lies may be +acted, as well as spoken; they may be implied, as well as expressed. Any +attempt to deceive, is a falsehood. + +“I would like to ask the learned counsel,” interrupted Ronald, “whether +I am guilty of falsehood, when I give my hens glass nest-eggs?” + +This question produced some merriment in the room, and for a moment it +seemed to stagger the attorney. He got over it, however, by saying that +a falsehood could be told only to a rational being. A hen is not capable +of lying, or of being lied to. + +Ronald again interposed. He said he admitted that a hen could not tell a +lie; but she could be deceived with a glass egg, just as he was +sometimes deceived by lying boys why, then, could she not be lied to, as +well as he? + +The prosecuting attorney appeared somewhat confused, for a moment, but +he proceeded to say that this discussion had nothing to do with the case +on trial, and he would thank the defendant not to interrupt him again +with irrelevant matters. He then resumed his argument. He thought there +could be no doubt that if we allowed another to make an erroneous +statement in our hearing, innocently, and we did not correct it, we were +not blameless; but if we had previously set a trap to mislead the person +into this very false statement, we certainly were greatly to blame. He +then took up the question of Ronald’s disobedience, and argued that he +was without excuse for neglecting to call Otis, when told to. In +concluding, he said he had been informed that the accused had been +guilty of similar offences, though in a milder degree, a year previous +to this time, and had been faithfully warned against repeating them. +Justice, both to himself and to the family, seemed to require that +efficient means should be adopted to put a stop to such proceedings, and +he called upon the jury to do their duty firmly, and not allow their +verdict to be influenced by fear, favor, or a mistaken charity. + +The judge now arose and charged the jury. He set forth the facts that +had been proved against the accused, and stated in an impartial manner +the questions which the jury were to consider. He said he did not +consider it proper to offer them any instruction as to the moral law on +which their decision must be based, as they were as well versed in that +as he was himself. He closed by urging them to render an honest and +impartial decision. + +The jury now retired to another room, and the judge announced that the +court would take a recess. Judge and prisoner, counsel and witness, now +chatted together quite familiarly for a little while, until the jury +returned, when the court was called to order, and the verdict announced, +as follows: + +“We find the prisoner guilty on all the charges; but as we are of +opinion that he has erred through thoughtlessness rather than from +malice, we recommend that as light a penalty be inflicted as in the +opinion of the court will serve the ends of justice.” + +The judge, who had probably anticipated such a verdict, and had decided +in his mind what the penalty should be, now told the prisoner to arise, +and proceeded to address him in these words: + +“Ronald D. Page, you have been tried by a jury, and found guilty of +taking unwarrantable liberties with your room-mate, and with being +virtually guilty of disobedience and falsehood, that you might the +better carry out your plot. The court concurs in the justice of this +verdict, and also in the propriety of the recommendation of mercy that +accompanies it. But the court is of opinion that while the sentence is +tempered with mercy, it should be of sufficient severity to prevent a +repetition of the offence. Its sentence, therefore, is, that on +Wednesday next, at two o’clock in the afternoon, you be taken to your +chamber, and stripped of your clothing.” + +The judge here paused a moment, the prisoner’s face fell, and there was +a decided sensation throughout the room. Marcus continued: + +“That you then be put to bed, and there remain for the space of four +hours, or until six o’clock, when you shall be released. And the court +appoints Mr. Preston an officer, to see that this sentence is faithfully +carried out.” + +So ended what was in after days memorable in the annals of the family as +“the great April-fool case.” The sentence was fully carried out, the +next Wednesday afternoon, with the exception that, as Ronald pledged his +honor to put himself to bed, and remain there for four hours, Oscar +allowed him to perform that office for himself. The “judge” happened to +peep into his chamber, an hour or two after, and was not a little +surprised to find his prisoner sleeping as soundly, and snoring as +complacently, as if going to bed at two o’clock were a very pleasant +arrangement! + +[Illustration: [Mild Punishment]] + + + + + CHAPTER XI. + SCHOLARS. + + +The preceptor of the academy, Mr. Upton, used to say a great deal to the +scholars about the importance of good spelling, and was always sure to +point out any sins against this virtue which he discovered in the +various written exercises of the school. He said that even if a man was +well educated in other respects, but deficient in this, his bad spelling +would often cause him to be mistaken for an ignorant person. +Occasionally, by way of enlivening the exercises of the school, and +interesting the pupils in this important branch of study, Mr. Upton +would allow them to have a “spelling match,” as it was called. Sometimes +the contest was between the girls, arranged on one side of the room, and +the boys on the other. A leader was appointed on each side, to give out +the words to his or her regiment. A pretty hard lesson was selected, and +the leaders, beginning at the heads of their respective bands, took +turns in giving out the words. No waiting or hesitation was allowed, but +if a scholar could not promptly spell the word given out, he had to +return to his seat. The ranks were rapidly thinned out, and the band +which retained the largest number, when the exercise closed, were the +victors. + +These contests became still more exciting, when, as it sometimes +happened, the leaders were allowed to “choose sides.” Selecting by turns +any one they pleased from the whole school, they picked out the best +spellers first, and so kept on till all the scholars were enlisted on +one side or the other. + +Though these spelling matches were greatly enjoyed by the scholars, and +were profitable to them, too, they were liable to some objections, and +for this reason, probably, were not often indulged in. On one occasion, +when Jessie was one of the leaders, she chose Abby Leonard on her side, +when her list was only one-fourth full. She did this, to save Abby the +mortification of being left to the last, as she would otherwise have +been; for she was a notoriously bad speller, and somebody had said of +her, with more truth than kindness, that she ought to count only half of +one, in a spelling match. The struggle proved to be a pretty hard one, +and after the two bands had been reduced down to the best spellers, they +were so equally balanced that it was for a time doubtful whether either +would be able to claim a victory over the other. At length, however, one +of Jessie’s company missed a word, and the match was decided against +them, as the time had come to dismiss the school. The next day, Jessie +learned that under the excitement and disappointment of the moment, two +or three of the scholars on her side had found much fault with her for +choosing Abby instead of a good speller, whom she might have had, and +thus gained the day. Thus, in doing an act of kindness to one, she had +provoked censure from several of her associates. And, on reflection, she +was led to doubt whether she did not deserve blame; for ability to +spell, and not favor, was the principle on which the leaders were +expected to make their choice. + +At the next spelling match, the leaders thought of nothing but getting +the best spellers, and Abby sank to her natural level. She was almost +the last one called; and when her name was called, she turned a look of +scorn upon the young man who conferred this tardy honor upon her, and +refused to take her place. Mr. Upton whispered a few words to her, but +evidently without changing her mind, for he told the scholars to go on +without her. That was the last of “choosing sides” during that term. The +preceptor said nothing about the affair, but this unhappy exhibition of +temper probably led him to abandon an exercise that had been a favorite +one with the scholars generally. + +Jessie maintained a high rank as a scholar, although she labored under +some disadvantages, no small portion of her time being occupied with her +work at home, and her duties as assistant in the school-room. These +disadvantages, however, were not so great as they seemed; for what she +lost, on account of them, was made up to her in other ways. Those very +obstacles to her success served as a spur, inciting her to effort, and +leading her to appreciate better the advantages within her reach. + +Some of the scholars thought Jessie must be peculiarly gifted, because +her lessons were uniformly so perfect. But this was not the case. Study +was study, to her, and not play. It was not because she learned easily, +but because she worked hard, that her recitations rarely fell below the +required mark. + +“I’d give anything in the world if I could have such a memory as you’ve +got,” said Abby Leonard to Jessie, one day. + +“Why, do you think I’ve got a good memory?” inquired Jessie. + +“Of course you have,” replied Abby. “You couldn’t learn your lessons so +easily, if you hadn’t. And then only think how little time you have to +study, too!” + +“I think my memory is rather poor,” resumed Jessie. “I get almost out of +patience with myself, sometimes, it takes me so long to learn anything. +If you knew how hard I work to get my lessons, you wouldn’t think I +learned easily. In fact, I shouldn’t wonder if your memory was better +than mine, after all.” + +“Why, Jessie Hapley, how absurd!—when everybody knows you’ve got such a +splendid memory!” exclaimed Abby. + +“Then everybody is mistaken,” replied Jessie, “for my memory is no +better than the average, if it is as good. What was that long story I +heard you telling some of the girls, yesterday noon?” + +“Oh, I was telling them the adventures of Lord Adolphus D’Orsay, the +hero of a novel I read a few days ago,” said Abby. “He’s a beautiful +character, I can tell you—tall, and handsome, and rich, and his father—” + +“No matter about that, now,” interrupted Jessie; “what I want to find +out, is, how long it took you to commit that story to memory?” + +“Commit it to memory?” inquired Abby, with manifest surprise. “You +didn’t suppose I committed that novel to memory, did you? Why, I only +read it once—and I went through it like lightning, too, and skipped all +the uninteresting parts, besides, I was dying so to see how it was going +to end.” + +“And yet,” added Jessie, “you could relate, several days after, a large +part of this story, and give many minute particulars about the +characters. I don’t believe my memory would be equal to such a feat as +that.” + +“Oh, well,” said Abby, “that was only a story, and it’s easy enough to +remember stories. But take such a lesson as our class had this +morning—that hateful list of irregular verbs—I can’t learn it, and I +wont try. I should think Mr. Upton would know better than to tell us to +learn such a stupid mess of words—what good would it ever do us, if we +did learn them?” + +“I learned the list of irregular verbs two years ago, and I did not find +it half so hard as I thought it would be,” said Jessie. “I remember all +about it, as well as though it was last week. I thought it was a hard +lesson, and so I studied it just before I went to bed, and then repeated +it over two or three times, after I was in bed.” + +“Why, is that a good way to learn a hard lesson?” inquired Abby. + +“I think it is,” replied Jessie, “and I’ve heard others say that if you +want to remember words, it is a good rule to fix them in the memory just +before you go to bed. They say the best way to teach a parrot to talk, +is to darken his cage, and keep repeating the words he is to learn while +he is going to sleep. I kept saying over the irregular verbs until I +fell asleep, and the next morning I found I knew them by heart, and I +haven’t forgotten them yet.” + +“Oh, well, that just proves what I said, that you’ve got a better memory +than I have,” added Abby. + +“No, Abby, it proves no such thing,” replied Jessie. “You say you can’t +learn the list, and you wont try; I said, I can learn it, and I will—and +I did. That is all the difference between us. I have no doubt you could +commit the list to memory without much trouble, if you would only think +so, and would try. That’s the secret of good lessons.” + +“I don’t believe I could learn that lesson, if I should study it a +week—it’s a long string of words, without any sense or reason, and I +can’t learn such things,” said Abby. + +“Oh, yes, you can learn it if you will only determine to do so,” replied +Jessie. + +“But I _know_ I never could learn it—it isn’t in me,” said Abby, and she +declined further conversation on the subject by walking off. + +Jessie was on the right track, in attributing the difference between her +memory and that of Abby to a _will_ and a _wont_. She might have carried +the comparison still farther, and something like the following, I think, +would have been the result: + + THE GOOD AND THE POOR SCHOLAR. + + JESSIE. │ ABBY. + │ + Her motto is, Learn all you can. │Her motto is, Get through as easily + │as possible. + She makes sacrifices to obtain an │Her privileges are themselves a + education, and fully appreciates │burden and a hardship, and she + the privileges she enjoys. │longs to get rid of them. + She thinks much of the future │She cares far less about future + benefit to be derived from her │good than present ease. + studies. │ + She makes it a rule to thoroughly │She thoroughly masters nothing, and + master every task allotted to her, │is satisfied if she can repeat the + and to understand what she learns. │words of a lesson, without + │troubling herself about ideas. + She diligently improves her time. │She wastes many precious hours. + She concentrates her mind upon her │Her mind is seldom earnestly fixed + studies. │on her studies. + _Result._—Her lessons are perfect. │_Result._—Her lessons are failures. + +It was by a diligent improvement of her time, and a concentration of her +mind on her studies, that Jessie mainly owed her high standing in the +academy. When she studied, she studied in earnest. It is no easy thing +to fix the mind attentively upon one subject, and exclude every thing +else. Martin Luther says: “Let any one try how long he can rest on one +idea he proposed himself, or take one hour and avow that he will tell me +all his thoughts. I am sure he will be ashamed before himself, and +afraid to say what ideas have passed through the head, lest he should be +taken for a mad dog, and be chained.” And to illustrate this, he relates +an anecdote of St. Bernard, who once complained to a friend that he +found it very difficult to pray aright, and could not even pronounce the +Lord’s prayer once without a host of strange thoughts. His friend was +astonished, and gave it as his opinion that he could fix his thoughts on +his prayer without any difficulty. Bernard offered him the wager of a +fine horse, on condition he should commence forthwith. The friend +commenced, “Our Father,” etc., but before he had finished the first +petition, it occurred to him, if he should gain the horse, whether he +would also receive saddle and bridle. In short, he was so entangled in +his own thoughts, that he had to quit, and give up the prize. + +It should be added, that this difficulty, which every student +encounters, can in a great measure be overcome, by early culture and +discipline. The best scholars are those who can control and direct their +thoughts, and keep them fixed upon a subject as long as they please. The +extent to which this power may be acquired is wonderful. There is a +school in New England in which many of the pupils have accomplished the +feat of multiplying nine figures by nine figures, mentally, or “in the +head;” and the teacher thinks any child of ordinary capacity can learn +to do this. + +Some of the scholars wondered that two girls so little alike as Jessie +and Abby, should be such good friends as they seemed to be. The +intimacy, however, appeared greater than it really was, because Abby, by +her upstart ways and her bad temper, had alienated nearly all the other +girls, and had no bosom friends among them. Jessie’s forbearance and +kindness had won her affection, and the poor drunkard’s daughter, whom +she at first treated with contempt, and then regarded with a patronizing +air, she now looked upon as her superior, whose friendship was to be +prized. On the part of Jessie, it is true, there was no particular +partiality for Abby. There was little, either in the manners or the +character of the young scion of aristocracy, that was attractive, and if +Jessie had not been guided by the golden rule, and influenced by a +kindly heart, her intercourse with Abby would have been very slight. + +Abby was a great novel reader. She eagerly devoured everything in the +shape of fiction that she could lay her hands on. In fact, her reading +was wholly confined to this class of books. She would often read an +entire novel in one or two days, neglecting everything else, except +attendance at school, until it was finished. This habit interfered so +much with her studies, and was so manifestly injuring both her mind and +heart, that Mr. Upton tried to induce her to break it up. He told her +that her devotion to novels would destroy her taste for useful reading +and study; would give her false views of life; would weaken her +intellect, deaden her sympathy for real sorrow, and harden her heart; +would corrupt her principles, and break down the distinction in her mind +between vice and virtue, shame and glory; and would disincline and unfit +her for the duties of actual life. All his arguments and warnings, +however, were of no avail. The spell was already so strongly upon her, +that she could not, or would not, break from it, and her exploits, in +the way of novel-reading, were limited only by the somewhat meagre +supply which that small town afforded. She occasionally tried to tempt +Jessie to read one of her favorite tales, but never succeeded. Jessie +had no time to waste over such books, even had not her principles and +inclination stood in the way of novel-reading. + + + + + CHAPTER XII. + A FEW BUSINESS MATTERS. + + +“Jessie’s a first-rate hand to drive a bargain—you ought to have heard +her beat Mr. Simpson down, this afternoon,” said Oscar, at the +tea-table, one evening. + +“I didn’t beat him down, nor ask him to take one cent less—he put his +price down of his own accord,” replied Jessie. + +“Oh yes, that’s the beauty of it,” retorted Oscar. “She didn’t say +hardly anything, but she acted it out completely, and she got the dress +for her own price. I call that the perfection of beating down. I’m going +to get you to make my purchases, hereafter, Jessie; for you know folks +say I’m extravagant when I buy anything.” + +“I think it would be a good plan for you to get somebody to do your +trading,” replied Jessie. “You gave seventy-five cents for that flimsy +cravat, last week, and I’ll engage to buy the silk and make a better one +for one-half the money.” + +“Oh well, don’t say another word about _that_,” replied Oscar, whose +cravat speculation was not a very pleasant thing to dwell upon. “What +can’t be cured must be endured. But I wont get shaved in that way again, +for I’ve engaged you to do my shopping. And remember you must beat them +down just as you would for yourself.” + +“But I don’t make a practice of beating the shopkeepers down, for +myself,” said Jessie. “If a man asks more for a thing than I can afford +to give, I tell him so; and if he has a mind to offer it for less, very +well, but if he doesn’t, I can’t trade.” + +“Yes, you understand how to do it,” said Oscar, with a chuckle. + +“Do you call that beating a man down, Mrs. Page?” inquired Jessie. + +“No, I think that is fair enough,” replied Mrs. Page. “I don’t approve +of beating a man down below a fair price, on the one hand, and I don’t +approve of giving more for an article than it is worth, on the other. I +try to act on these principles, when I am trading. If I can’t afford to +pay a fair price for a thing, I conclude that I can’t afford to buy it.” + +“That is just the way I feel,” added Jessie. “But to tell the truth, I +was almost ashamed to take that dress pattern, although I don’t think I +was to blame. It came to just nine shillings, and there was nothing else +in the store cheaper, that suited me. But I could not afford to go over +a dollar for a dress, and I told Mr. Simpson so. ‘Oh,’ he said, ‘it was +no matter about the money now—I could pay any time when I had it.’ I +told him I made it a rule never to run in debt for anything. Then he +said I might have the dress for eight and three pence—” + +“You mean a dollar and thirty-seven cents—we have no shillings and pence +in our currency,” interrupted Marcus, who always set his face against +this common but very un-American way of reckoning. + +“Yes, a dollar and thirty-seven,” continued Jessie, “and then he said +he’d take a dollar and a quarter, which was just what the goods cost +him. But I told him I could not go over a dollar, and then he proposed +to split the difference, and let me have it for a dollar and nine +pence—I mean a dollar and twelve cents. But the trimmings would make the +price count up so, that I concluded I couldn’t go one cent over a +dollar, and I started off, and got as far as the door-steps, when he +called me back, and told me I might have it for a dollar. I had no idea +at first that he would let me have it at that price, and I didn’t ask +him to take off a cent, nor think of beating him down; but I declare I +felt really ashamed, when he called me back. If it cost him a dollar and +a quarter, it seems mean for me to buy it for a dollar. What do you +think of it, Mrs. Page—did I do wrong?” + +“No, under the circumstances I can’t say that you did wrong,” replied +Mrs. Page. “If you could not afford to give over a dollar, it was right +for you to stop at that mark; and if Mr. Simpson fell of his own accord +to that price, that was his own affair. If you had had plenty of money, +or if you had coaxed him down to a dollar, the case would have been +different.” + +“Merchants sometimes find it for their advantage to sell an article for +less than it costs, rather than not dispose of it,” observed Marcus. +“That was probably the case with Mr. Simpson. Perhaps the dress pattern +was the last of a lot.” + +“No, it was from a new lot, just received,” replied Jessie. + +“Then,” continued Marcus, “perhaps he thought you might go somewhere +else and buy, and he should lose your trade; or perhaps he was a little +short for money; or perhaps he knew you fancied the dress, and in the +kindness of his heart he determined you should have it, at some price or +other. He had a reason, no doubt, for doing as he did.” + +“Well, I can’t bear to be thought mean,” continued Jessie; “but poor +folks have to put up with many things they dislike, and that is one of +them.” + +“There was nothing mean in doing as you did,” said Miss Lee, “and I do +not believe Mr. Simpson thought so. I don’t approve of driving a hard +bargain, any more than I do of paying extravagant prices for things. +There is a golden mean between the two, which honest people ought to +seek after. I think you were wise in refusing to run in debt. Spending +money before we get it is one great source of extravagance, and keeps +many people poor all their lives.” + +“Everybody ought to get out of debt just as quick as they can, hadn’t +they?” inquired Ronald. + +“Certainly,” said Miss Lee. + +“Then, mother, I wish you would let me have fifty cents—I want to pay my +debts,” continued Ronald. + +“Your debts! Pray what do you owe?” inquired Mrs. Page. + +“I owe a boy fifty cents, and he’s dunned me for it two or three times,” +replied Ronald. + +“Who is he, and how came you to owe him fifty cents?” inquired Mrs. +Page. + +“The fellow is Joe Baker,” replied Ronald. “I lost my Reader, about a +month ago, and as he didn’t use his, he wanted to sell it to me, so I +bought it.” + +“How came you to lose your Reader?” inquired Marcus. + +“I don’t know—I never could tell what became of it,” replied Ronald. + +“Why didn’t you come to me or to Marcus, if you wanted a new one?” +inquired Mrs. Page. + +“I didn’t like to—I thought you would think I was careless, to lose my +old one,” was the reply. + +“And so you ran into debt, with nothing to pay, trusting I would foot +the bill some time or other?” said Mrs. Page. + +“I thought I could sell some maple sugar, and raise the money, but——” +the family ate up nearly all the sugar, he intended to say, but did not. + +“When did you agree to pay Baker?” inquired Marcus. + +“Oh, he said I might pay him any time when I had the money,” replied +Ronald. + +“And he has already asked you for it two or three times?” inquired +Marcus. + +“Yes, sir, he duns me every time he sees me,” said Ronald. + +“You are experiencing some of the pleasures of being in debt,” remarked +Miss Lee. + +“I hope it will be a good lesson to you,” said Mrs. Page. + +“Will you let me have the fifty cents?” inquired Ronald. + +“I will talk with you about that, some other time,” replied Mrs. Page, +and the subject was dropped. + +Mrs. Page and Marcus, after talking over Ronald’s financial +embarrassment, concluded it would be better not to relieve him at once, +but to let him bear the burden of his debt until he could earn the money +to pay it up. They thought that by adopting this course the transaction +would make a deeper impression on his mind, and perhaps serve as a +useful lesson to him as long as he lived. Joseph Baker, who held the +demand against Ronald, attended the academy, and Marcus, after +consulting him, effected a settlement on the following terms: Ronald +gave his promissory note to Joseph for the amount due, running three +months from the date of the purchase; and Joseph, in return, gave a +receipt in full for the demand. Ronald’s note ran as follows: + + + _Highburg, March 12, 185—._ + + _50 cents._ + + _Three months after date, for value received, I promise to pay to + Joseph Baker, or order, Fifty Cents, with interest._ + + RONALD D. PAGE. + + +As the note was dated back one month, Ronald had but two months in which +to raise the money. He objected to putting the note on interest, the +amount was so small; but Marcus told him this was the proper way to do, +and added that possibly the note would not be paid when due, in which +case the interest would be larger. + +The receipt Ronald received was as follows: + + _Highburg, March 12, 185—._ + RONALD D. PAGE, + _To_ JOSEPH BAKER, _Dr._ + _For one second-hand “Reader,”_ _50 cents._ + _Received payment by note_, JOSEPH BAKER. + +Marcus told Joseph that if he should happen to want the money at any +time before the note was due, to bring it to him, and he would +“discount” it—that is, give him the money for the note; in which case +Ronald would owe the debt to Marcus, instead of to Joseph. This transfer +could be made, because the note was payable “to Joseph Baker, _or +order_;” and all Joseph would have to do, to make it the property of +another, would be, to write his name across the back of the note. + +Jessie’s rule, never to buy anything she could not pay for at the time, +is a wise one, for a person situated as she was. She had another +excellent business habit, which all might imitate with profit. She kept +a strict account of all her money transactions. Every cent she received +or expended was noted down in a little book kept for the purpose. She +thus cultivated habits of order and economy, had the satisfaction of +knowing just where her money went, and could always tell what any +particular article cost her, and how long it lasted, by turning to her +book. + +But Jessie’s account book was after all a small affair. The columns of +dollars and cents, on both the Cr. and Dr. side, increased slowly; for +the reason that dollars and cents were a very scarce article with her. +The little pittance which her mother was able to spare her, was all the +money that passed through her hands, and this, with strict economy and +self-denial, was barely sufficient to clothe her decently. No one knew +how sadly she was sometimes straitened for money, for she never +complained of her many disappointments and deprivations. + +But though Jessie did not complain, she often sighed in secret for the +day when she should be free from dependence and poverty—when she should +become a help, instead of being a burden, to her mother. A door of +deliverance opened to her sooner than she anticipated. One day, on +returning from school, she found her uncle Morrison at the house, +waiting to see her. He lived about forty miles distant, and as he had +but seldom visited Highburg, when Jessie’s parents were living there, +his appearance was quite unexpected. He remained with the family over +night, and in the evening explained to his niece the object of his +visit. About six months previous to this time, he had buried his only +child, a daughter. His wife had been very low-spirited ever since, and +both of them deeply felt their loss. They now wished to adopt Jessie in +place of the lost child, receiving her into their home as a daughter, +and lavishing upon her the care and affection of parental hearts. They +knew something of Jessie’s amiable disposition, varied accomplishments, +and excellent character, and judged that she was not unworthy of the +great favor they sought to confer upon her. + +Jessie did not instantly accept the offer, with profuse thanks, as Mr. +Morrison expected she would, but she promised to give her answer the +next morning. It was no trifling struggle which she passed through that +night, in coming to a decision on her uncle’s proposition. If she +accepted it, she would at once be delivered from griping poverty, would +cease to be an expense to her mother, and would enjoy the comforts and +advantages of a permanent home. If this had been all, she might have +easily decided the question. But there was something more to be taken +into the account. Mr. Morrison, who was a large, jovial and +good-hearted, though rather coarse and uncultivated man, kept the tavern +in the village where he lived. Jessie had once visited him, and had a +vivid recollection of his house, which was pervaded from top to bottom +with a mingled flavor of alcohol and tobacco, and was the favorite +resort, especially during the evening and the Sabbath, of a set of idle +and not very prepossessing men, whose low and profane conversation +sometimes penetrated beyond the piazza and the bar-room. Mr. Morrison, +though apparently an honest, well-meaning man, seemed to have no +religious principle. He was not a church-goer, but spent the Sabbath +pretty much as he did other days. He relished the coarse jest, and the +story spiced with vulgarity or profaneness, as much as did any of the +idlers who frequented his house; and Jessie had a suspicion that he +slyly relished his own liquors, too, but of this she was not positive. + +Such was the man who proposed to become a father to Jessie. He was +doubtless kindly disposed, had ample means, and would do all for her +that he had promised. His wife was an excellent woman, with whom Jessie +would have esteemed it a privilege to live. The temptation was strong, +but the next morning Jessie was prepared to give a firm and decided +answer to her uncle. She told him she thought she had better remain +where she was—that she was with kind friends, and should soon be fitted +to support herself by teaching. Mr. Morrison was surprised at her +decision, and tried to reason her out of it, pointing out the advantages +she would enjoy, if she went to live with him. Mistaking the ground of +her refusal, he told her that if she did not wish to be dependent upon +any one, he would give her a first-rate education, after which she might +have the privilege of supporting herself by teaching, if she preferred. +But his arguments and persuasions all failed, and he was obliged to go +home without her. He was not without hope, however, that she would yet +“come to her senses,” as he expressed it—for he evidently thought she +was beside herself in rejecting such a fine offer; and he told her he +would come for her at any time within a few weeks, if she would write. +She did write, to thank her aunt for her kindness, and to express her +regret that she felt compelled to decline the liberal offer, and that +was the end of the matter. She preferred poverty and toil, in her +present position, rather than money and ease, coupled with influences +that might work disastrously upon her character and her happiness. + + + + + CHAPTER XIII. + THE NEW GAME. + + +[Illustration: [Portrait of the Sociable Contributor]] + +The “Home Wreath” continued to make its appearance promptly every +Saturday afternoon, and had of late acquired new popularity, by an +attractive feature it had adopted. It was now illustrated, almost every +week, by original drawings, usually executed by Miss Lee or Jessie. +These sketchings were small, and not very elaborate, but they served to +give a new interest to the sheet. They were entitled “_Family +Portraits_,” and at first were confined to likenesses of creatures kept +on the farm or in the house. Rover, the faithful spaniel, was sketched +to the life, and so was Goldy, the cat. The two horses, Charley and +Kittie, Cora, the calf, and a hen with a brood of chickens, were also +honored with places in the gallery. No one thought of extending this +collection of portraits beyond the domain of the brute portion of the +family, until, one Saturday afternoon, the whole house was startled by +an editorial announcement in the “Wreath,” to the effect that “the +portrait of one of its contributors would be given next week.” The +editor positively refused to let any one into the secret, and no one +else appeared to know anything about the matter. Curiosity was excited +almost to a painful degree, among the young folks, and all put on and +wore for a week their most amiable looks, each one anxious to appear as +pretty as possible on paper, if he or she were the favored individual. +After a week of suspense, Saturday came, and with it came the “Wreath.” +Kate got first possession of the sheet, and as she opened it, and the +annexed “portrait” disclosed itself, labelled “_Our Sociable +Contributor_,” there was a peal of laughter from the other members of +the family who were peeping over her shoulders, that woke the echoes +under the old roof. Marcus was of course the hero of the picture. He was +an attentive reader of the news of the day, and had a habit of getting +so absorbed in the paper as sometimes to become oblivious to remarks +addressed to him, so that the boys used to say the newspaper made him +deaf. The likeness was unanimously voted a capital one, inasmuch as +there was no mistaking who it was intended for. + +[Illustration: [Portrait of the High-Minded Contributor]] + +A week or two after this, the portrait of another contributor was +promised, and a lively sensation was again awakened. Expectation was on +tip-toe until the next number of the “Wreath” appeared, when a pair of +boy’s legs on stilts, labelled “_Our High-minded Contributor_,” sent +another merry shout through the house. A mania for stilts just then +prevailed among the boys, and Ronald, for several days, had scarcely +deigned to walk upon the earth, but “intent on high designs,” went +awkwardly hobbling round on two long poles, to the amazement of the cows +and chickens, and somewhat to the risk of his limbs and trousers. Of +course, nobody could mistake _this_ portrait; but Ronald seemed much +disappointed because the artist (whether Aunt Fanny or Jessie, he could +not find out,) did not finish it up, to his full length. And, really, it +was provoking to come so near being immortalized, and yet miss it. + +But Ronald’s mind was not altogether taken up with stilts, April-fool +hoaxes, or maple sugar speculations. He had been for several weeks, and +was at this very time, at odd moments, engaged on a literary enterprise +of considerable magnitude, for a boy but half way into his thirteenth +year. He let Jessie, alone, into the secret, and received from her some +useful suggestions and assistance; and a paragraph from her pen in the +“Wreath,” was the first announcement of the matter to the rest of the +family. The paragraph was as follows: + + + “A NEW PLEASURE.—We learn that a young member of our family will in a + few days issue, in manuscript, a new and very amusing game of + transformations, upon which he has been engaged for some time. We + predict that it will prove quite popular with the young folks. Besides + the amusement it will afford, it has a peculiar feature which will + transform it at pleasure into a puzzling and useful exercise for the + intellect. Our readers will probably know more about it, before the + next number of the ‘Wreath’ appears. + + J.” + + +Immediately on this announcement, there was great inquiry about the “new +pleasure,” and Ronald was compelled to produce his game, the moment it +had received the finishing touches. As this game will perhaps amuse my +young readers, I shall copy it here, though it is rather long. At the +end of Peter’s “story,” will be found a list of phrases, which, before +playing the game, should be copied off, each upon a separate slip of +card or paper.[10] One person should be selected to read the story +aloud, and the cards should be distributed among the rest of the +company. Whenever the reader comes to a blank in the narrative, he +should look to some one of the company, who must immediately read aloud +the uppermost card in his pile; and so the game proceeds to the end. Of +course the story will read differently every time the game is tried, for +the transformations it is capable of are infinite. No, not exactly +infinite, which means without limits; but it would take many lines of +figures to express the precise number, as any reader who has studied +arithmetic as far as permutation can easily satisfy himself. This game +is called the “Game of Transformations.” + +Footnote 10: + + This game may be procured of the publishers in separate form, and put + up in a neat paper box. + +There is another game which Ronald called the “Game of Literary +Patchwork,” that may be played with the same cards. One person reads the +story, as in the other game, and the company, instead of taking the +cards hap-hazard, select at each pause one that they suppose will fit +the sentence. If the match proves in any case incongruous or absurd, the +reader may be empowered to exact a forfeit from the offender. + +It should also be noticed that this is not merely a game to amuse an +idle hour. It is also a “Literary Puzzle,” designed to exercise and +sharpen the wits; for it is so arranged that it can be put together so +as to make sense, from beginning to end. There is a particular place for +each phrase, but it will call into exercise some ingenuity, judgment and +carefulness, to give to each “Jack” its own appropriate “Gill.” It will, +however, be a profitable exercise, and, I think, will repay the young +reader for the attempt, even if he should not be perfectly successful. + +Now for the game: + + + PETER CODDLE’S TRIP TO NEW YORK. + +Mr. Peter Coddle, of Hogginsville, on reaching the mature age of +eighteen, was profoundly impressed with the idea that he needed a larger +field in which to develop his powers, and make his fortune. So, one fine +morning, having dressed himself in his new Sunday suit, and tied up his +old clothes in a cotton handkerchief, he bade adieu to the old folks, +and with high hopes in his heart, and about twenty-five dollars tucked +away in his pocket, he set out for the city of New York. + +A few days after, to the great surprise of all Hogginsville, Peter +suddenly re-appeared, in a very dirty and shabby suit, and with an +anxious and wo-begone countenance. He was evidently in a very excited +state of mind, and gave a most extraordinary account of his adventures. +Meeting-houses and saw-mills, thunder-claps and three-legged stools, +salt fish and bull-frogs, were so strangely jumbled together in his +mind, that he apparently could not distinguish one from the other. The +‘squire said he had undoubtedly been drugged with stupefying poisons, by +some villain in that great and wicked city of New York. The doctor shook +his head, and said he exhibited symptoms of a certain disease with a +learned name, sufferers from which were accustomed to transpose their +words and sentences in laughable ways; and he recommended “a good honest +dose of calomel,” as the best thing for him. Others thought the +unfortunate young man had gone crazy; but all finally agreed that it was +possible he had been drinking something stronger than country +well-water. Which of these theories was the true one, I shall not +undertake to decide, but will hasten to tell you his story, just as he +related it to the wondering Hogginsvillians: + + + PETER’S STORY. + +Well, boys, you know I streaked it off a-foot bright and early Monday +morning, for the Cranktown railroad depot. I had all my baggage tied up +in ... It wasn’t very heavy, you know, for there wasn’t anything in it +but ..., and ..., and ..., and.... But by-and-by I began to grow sort of +tired, and just then there came along ... riding in something that +looked like.... So I sung out, “Give us a ride, will ye?” says I; and +says he, “Yes, jump in,” says he, as civil as.... So in I jumps, and +then we travelled, I tell you. Why, we went like.... Says I, “She’s +running away, aint she?” says I. Says he, “No, she’s as steady as ... if +you know how steady that is,” says he. + +Well, just then ... started up suddenly from ... near the road, and +frightened the mare like all possessed. She took the bits in her mouth, +and ran like ... down a tremendous long hill. We met ..., and ..., +and ... driving ...; but we got by them all without rubbing a hair. But +just then, ... come jumping out of ..., and sprung right at the mare’s +head. Well, you see that made her shy one side, and plump we went right +against ..., that knocked us all into.... And such a sight as there was, +you never did see. The man had in his cart ..., and ..., and ..., +and ..., besides.... The cart was smashed into flinters and everything +was scattered round in ...; and the horse with the shafts was streaking +it off like ..., towards Cranktown depot. + +Well, after I found out I wasn’t killed, I jumps up, and says I, “Why, +you, this is a bad fix, isn’t it, now? I declare, I never saw ... +before, did you?” says I. Says he, “Oh dear,” says he, “I’ve +sprained ..., and broke ..., and tore a hole in ... big enough to +drive ... through,” says he. Says I, “That’s easily mended,” says I; +“come, let’s pick up the pieces, and make the best of....” But the old +fellow wouldn’t stir a peg, but lay as still as ..., and all he said +was, that it wasn’t of any use to cry for ..., or anything else that +couldn’t be helped. So after awhile I told him I must be on my taps, or +I should miss the cars, and I’d rather give ... than do that. + +So I picks up my bundle, and takes ... for a walking stick, and streaks +it off for Cranktown depot as fast as ... could carry me. I got there +half an hour before the cars did, and as I was as hungry as ..., thinks +I I’ll treat myself; so I went into ..., and bought ..., and ..., and +washed ’em down with.... Pretty soon the cars came scooting along, and I +got aboard and settled myself down on ...; and the way we rattled off +towards New York wasn’t particularly slow, I tell you. + +We flew like ..., and I got a squint at lots of wonderful things, but +couldn’t stop to examine them. There was ... with ... perched right on +one corner of it; and a great stone house, that had a roof that looked +something like ... upside down; and another monstrous big house, with +hundreds of windows, that had ... standing all alone out-doors. And I +saw ... cutting grass with ...; and ... sawing wood with ...; and a big +redheaded woman licking ... right out in the yard; and some youngsters +driving ... that was tackled into ...; and a dog with ... tied to his +tail; and lots of other curious sights, too numerous to mention. + +By-and-by I happened to look up, and there was a dandified little fellow +in the car, about as big round as ..., and with ... on his lip, who had +a quizzing glass up to his eye, and was staring right at me, just as +though I was.... Thinks I to myself, what’s sauce for ..., is sauce +for.... So I out with an old rusty key that I found one day in the +stomach of ..., and putting the round part up to my eye, I began to quiz +the little dandy through it. He looked as cross as ..., but I didn’t +care, so I puckered up my face as solemn as ..., and stared as hard as I +could. + +Well, pretty soon the folks around begun to get wind of the fun, and +looked as smiling as.... One fat man, who sat opposite, holding in one +hand ..., and in the other ..., snickered right out, and quieted himself +by taking ...; and a young woman who had ... in her arms, which she was +trying to get to sleep, laughed so that she had to stuff ... into her +mouth. The little dandy now looked as savage as ..., and pretty soon he +got up and strutted off like ... into another car; and then I put my +quizzing glass away, laid back in my seat, and took a good snooze, +with ... for a pillow. + +I don’t remember how long I slept, but I expect I had a pretty +considerable nap, for I didn’t wake up for ever so long, and I shouldn’t +then, only ... came along, with ... on his back, which he poked in my +face. I jumped up, and was going to give him ..., but he said it +was ..., and he didn’t mean to, and he asked my pardon as polite as.... +So I told him there was no harm done, and we’d let it pass for.... + +Well, we kept on travelling like ..., and towards night we got to New +York. I knew we were there, because the houses got to be as thick +as ..., and the folks were thicker still. Pretty soon the cars stopped, +and all hands rushed out helter skelter, like ... after the enemy; and +such a scrabbling, and yelling, and grabbing and punching as there was, +I guess you never did see. One great two-fisted fellow, with ... on his +back, ran into me like ..., and almost knocked me into.... An old woman +who wore ..., and who had for baggage ... and ..., besides ... in her +hand, threatened to call the police, because I offered to help carry her +traps. A little dirty-faced boy, with ... in the leg of his trousers, +had ... that he wanted to sell, but I told him I couldn’t trade. Then he +wanted to know how I’d swap, and said he’d trade for ..., or ..., or.... +I thought he was poking fun at me, and so I walked off; but as I turned +to go, I thought I heard him say something about.... + +Just then some music struck up in a corner of the depot, that sounded +for all the world like ... giving a concert, and I went to see what it +was. There was a man whose face was all covered with hair, singing, and +playing on.... There was a boy, too, who was playing on something that +sounded like.... They gave us ..., and then they struck up ..., and then +the boy passed round his cap for a contribution. One man put in ...; +another dropped in ...; and a rogue of a boy threw in something that +looked like.... + +Well, about that time I looked up, and caught the eye of a well-dressed +gentleman with ..., who was standing close by. His head was as smooth +and slick as ..., and he looked as nice as though he were just out +of.... He was in mourning, for he had ... on his hat, and appeared +dreadful solemn. Says he, “My friend,” says he, taking me aside, “I +suppose you wish to find ... of the right sort. I suppose you’ve heard,” +says he, “about the rascally tricks that are played off here upon +strangers; but you’ve no idea how many sharpers always stand ready to +fleece.... Why,” says he, “there are three or four of the rascals +watching you, in that crowd, like so many cats lying in wait for ..., +and that’s the reason I took you aside. If you want a good cosy home,” +says he, “where you will be out of the reach of these sharks, and where +you can have anything you call for, from ... to ... or ..., just come +along with me to my boarding-house. You see,” says he, “I aint +exactly ..., but I go about trying to do what little good I can in my +own humble way,” says he; and then he spouted off some poetry, but I +can’t remember but one verse. It was something like this: + + “A little word in kindness spoken, + A motion, or ..., + Has often healed the heart that’s broken, + And made....” + +Says I, as soon as I could get a word in edgewise, “You’re just the man +I want to see,” says I; “but I hope they don’t charge too much down to +your boarding-house, for you see I haven’t got but just ... in my +pocket, and I sha’n’t have anything more till I earn it,” says I. Says +he, “Oh don’t say anything more about that,” says he; “such sordid +thoughts are enough to curdle.... Come along, and you’ll be provided for +till you can do better,” says he. + +So we walked along together, and he talked like a book about.... He +spoke about ... crushing his heart, and said the world had lost all its +charms to him, and ... had extinguished the light of his life. He didn’t +say exactly what the matter was, but I thought he’d lost some of his +relations, or.... I asked him where he preached, for I concluded he must +be a minister; but he said he enjoyed such poor health, that he had to +give up his parish. He said he was troubled with ..., and his stomach +was so weak that he often had to dine on ... and.... He said he was also +afflicted with ... in his head, and had great trouble from ... that had +settled on his lungs. + +Well, we chatted together just like ..., until we came to his +boarding-house. It was a pretty stylish place, I tell you, and I began +to think a fellow ought to have ..., to afford to live there. He took me +into a nice little room, all cool and shady. There was a picture of ... +on the wall, and an image of ... sitting on the mantel-piece, just as +natural as life. I sat down on ..., and the man went to the closet, and +I heard him pouring something from a bottle. Pretty soon he brought out +on ... two glasses of something that looked real good. Says he, “A man +ought to wet his mouth,” says he, “after riding all day on ..., +especially when the weather’s as hot as ’tis to-day. But as a friend to +you,” says he, “I can’t advise you to drink much of our water, at +first—you know it might not agree with you—it sometimes acts as ... in +the stomach of.... It’s splendid water,” says he; “we Yorkers wouldn’t +take ... for it, and I prefer it to anything the art of man ever +concocted; but then you’ve got to get used to it gradually, you know. +Now,” says he, “just taste of this—it’s some of our temperance cordial, +made out of the pure nectar of.... We’re all temperance folks here,” +says he,—“never have anything in the house stronger than....” + +So he took one glass, and drank it down, and I emptied the other pretty +quick, I tell you, for I was as dry as.... Then he went down stairs, to +order supper, and I took up a book that was full of splendid pictures, +and began to look at them. There was a view of ... fighting with ..., +and a picture of ... holding ..., and a likeness of ..., and a portrait +of ..., and a picture of ..., and another of ... perched on the top +of ..., whistling Hail Columbia to all the world. + +But pretty soon I begun to feel sort of queer. First I felt ... creeping +over my head, like.... Then it seemed as though there were ... squirming +about in my brain. Then I began to feel queer down in my stomach. I +thought I’d swallowed ..., and ..., which rattled so every time I +stirred, that I couldn’t go to sleep. My legs, too, didn’t seem right—I +thought I’d been changed into.... I did get to sleep, though, after +awhile, and then such a dream as I had! I dreamt that the table was +spread for supper, and covered with everything you could think of. There +was ..., smoking hot ...; and ..., big enough for a whole board of +aldermen; and ..., with all the fixin’s; and ..., that made my mouth +water; and ..., raw; and ..., of the tallest kind; and ..., such as we +used to have at grand-ma’am’s; and ..., fried brown and crispy. But I +can’t remember now half the good things there were on the table. + +Well, as true as I’m a live man, I didn’t wake up again till the clock +struck ... the next morning. I was sort of confused, you know, for I +couldn’t find my hat and coat, nor my bundle of clean clothes, and +instead of my new boots, I had on the remnants of ..., all split out at +the sides. Pretty soon a fellow, who was dressed something like ..., +stuck his head in the door. “Hullo, friend,” says I, “can you tell me +where the minister is?” “The what?” says he, looking as puzzled as +though ... had got half way into his head, and then stuck fast. Says I, +“The minister—that city missionary that boards here, and has got ...; I +come along from the cars with him last night,” says I. That made the +fellow laugh right out, and his eyes shined like ... in a dark night. +But pretty soon he cooled off a little, and put ... into his mouth; and +then he sat down on ..., and said he was ..., and asked me to tell him +all about my adventures in New York. So I told him the whole story, but +I tell you I trembled all over, and my muscles felt as flabby as ..., +for you know I began to think I’d got into ..., of some sort or other; +and ... began to come over me, I tell you. + +Well, the man sat just as cool as ..., and heard it all, and then says +he, looking me right in the eye, says he, “Coddle, you’re green—dreadful +green. You’ve fallen among thieves, like ..., and got thoroughly cleaned +out,” says he. I began to shake like.... Says he, “Your ‘city +missionary’ was one of those very sharpers that he cautioned you +against—the smooth-tongued villain! He decoyed you into his den, and got +you as drunk as ...,” says he; but that wasn’t true, I’d have you to +know, for I didn’t drink a drop of anything but the temperance cordial. +“Well,” says the man, “after you was drunk enough, he robbed you of your +money and clothes, and then chucked you into ..., for the police to take +care of; and here you are in the police station, arrested for +drunkenness,” says he. + +When I heard that, I declare it was just as if ... had hit me right over +the head. “O, dear me,” says I, “what shall I do?” and I burst right out +into ..., for you know the poison stuff made me as weak as ...; and +besides, I had ... in my head, that almost drove me crazy. Well, the +policeman said in the first place I must have something to eat; so he +went out and got me ... and.... Then, as my coat and hat were gone, he +hunted up for me ... and ..., to take their place. My trousers were +badly torn, too, and he got me ... to mend ’em. So, after I’d got fixed +up a little, I went out with him to see if I could find the house where +I stopped. But I had ..., and was weak in the joints, and couldn’t walk +very well. So, after trotting round half an hour, with ... beating on +our heads, he said I’d better go to the depot, and take the first train +for home. I told him I hadn’t got anything in my pocket but ... and ..., +to pay the fare. He said he’d fix that. So he went with me to the depot, +and got a free ticket, which he gave me, with ...; and the way I left +that city wasn’t slow, I tell you. And as soon as ever I came in sight +of father’s piggery and cow-sheds, and saw ... bobbing round among the +cows, and Asa coming down the road with ... for the pigs, and heard +Touser barking ... up a tree, and thought of the hour when ma’am gave +me ..., I declare I burst right out into “Home, sweet home,” my heart +was so full. + +And now I tell you, boys, I’m going to settle down on ..., and +raise ..., and try and cultivate ..., and establish for myself ..., and +see if I can’t be ..., as well as other folks. But if anybody here wants +to know what ... is, or is anxious to see ... with his own eyes, and to +pay well for the sight, too, out of his own pocket, I’d just advise him +to go to New York as soon as possible. And I guess my advice is worth +something, if you do get it for nothing; for you see I’ve lost all my +money and new clothes, and got nothing in exchange but.... [_read all +the cards that remain._] + + + PHRASES TO SUPPLY THE BLANKS. + + A broken jackknife. + A flock of crows. + A carpenter’s chest. + A pinch of snuff. + A humbug. + A new idea. + This, that, and the other. + A bureau drawer. + A dancing-master. + A cake saloon. + A gander. + A good character. + Something green. + An old bandanna. + A streak of lightning. + A quarter of beef. + A charcoal-wagon. + A bad cold. + A vast oyster stew. + A bird. + Somebody. + A mowing machine. + A dishcloth. + A pair of old pantaloons. + A yellow dog. + A bucket of soft soap. + A contented mind. + A house afire. + Daddy Longlegs. + A thousand flowers. + A three-legged stool. + A few old clothes. + Two lame legs. + A white cat. + An immense pan-dowdy. + A grand palaver. + A great toe. + A great fool. + A load of hay. + The elephant. + A crust of bread. + A sick calf. + A tin kitchen. + A red moustache. + A fiddler. + A stiff knee. + A cornfield. + Two-and-three-pence. + A one-eyed man. + A cocked hat. + A liberty pole. + Some valuable experience. + A stack of fat lobsters. + A great sorrow. + A cup of coffee. + A quiet conscience. + A gridiron railroad. + An Irishman. + A drove of cattle. + Such a pretty kettle of fish. + A pair of cotton socks. + A dark shadow. + A quart of caterpillars. + A great hole. + An old brass key. + Yankee Doodle. + A dreadful pain. + A pair of green spectacles. + A cucumber. + A string of onions. + A clap of thunder. + Half a pair of scissors. + A soldier. + Half a peck of dried beans. + A telegraph despatch. + A velvet sofa. + A yoke of steers. + A bad scrape. + A basket of chips. + Half a dozen doughnuts. + An old owl. + A flood of tears. + Balaam’s ass. + An old coat. + A tub of butter. + A small boy. + A bad matter. + The milk of human kindness. + A heap of pancakes. + A boarding-house. + A little fiddle. + A Frenchman. + A peeled onion. + Half a dozen bundles. + A stick of candy. + A young earthquake. + A mint of gold. + A salt fish. + A mouse. + Just nothing at all. + A couple of lightning bugs. + A piece of putty. + A dose of salts. + A lightning express. + A handful of pea-nuts. + A Dutch farmer. + A set of false teeth. + A roast ox. + A liver complaint. + A long-legged fellow. + Something else. + A big meeting house. + A heavy weed. + A pumpkin-vine trumpet. + A tear. + The middle of next week. + A small waiter. + A blackbird fricasee. + A brass button. + A unicorn. + A pair of tongs. + A pair of old brogans. + Nine rats in a stocking. + A swarm of bees. + A litter of pups. + A patent boot-jack. + A one-horse saw-mill. + Potatoes and cabbages. + A dilapidated straw hat. + A big chimney. + A stuffed pig. + The American eagle. + A rusty horse-shoe. + A pocket full of rocks. + An Indian squaw. + A smoked herring. + Sally’s baby. + A blue cotton umbrella. + A sheet of fancy gingerbread. + A hickory sapling. + A spare seat. + A thousand of bricks. + A sloop load of clams. + A big iron pot. + Something or other. + A goose. + A bob-tailed donkey. + A sheet of last year’s buns. + A friend sincere. + A three-cent piece. + Fourteen bandboxes. + A city missionary. + A starving bear. + A hot sun. + A bunch of posies. + A gentleman from the country. + Two buckets of swill. + An old handcart. + A great curiosity. + Some serious reflections. + A snapping turtle. + A policeman. + A pocket handkerchief. + A pound of wooden nutmegs. + Twenty-three dollars. + A sweet potato. + A new comer. + A cup of green tea. + A crying baby. + A sea of turtle soup. + A tow-headed boy. + An unfortunate accident. + Old dog Tray. + A dozen bull-frogs. + A mammoth cooking-stove. + Polly’s old bonnet. + A bramble bush. + Some good advice. + A fishing pole. + Widow Buck’s cow. + A glass of ginger beer. + General confusion. + A punch. + A needle and thread. + A blind alley. + A chipmuck. + The old homestead. + A bad liver. + An ivory-headed cane. + A parting blessing. + A handful of crackers. + Three heavy trunks. + A tall steeple. + A strange sensation. + A cock turkey. + Twelve dozen eggs. + A hippopotamus. + An old newspaper. + An old linen sack. + A sore head. + A chaw of tobacco. + A procession of cockroaches. + A Patagonian chief. + Two old cronies. + An Egyptian mummy. + A big stone. + An old setting hen. + Something strange. + St. George and the dragon. + A butcher’s wagon. + These new trousers. + A little spilt milk. + Two shirts and a dickey. + A meat-axe. + Two leather shoe-strings. + A stiff leg. + + + + + CHAPTER XIV. + JUST OUT OF JAIL. + + +Four months in the county jail, was the sentence passed upon Sam Hapley, +Jessie’s oldest brother, for a robbery which he committed in a +neighboring town. Sam entered upon his imprisonment during the last week +of the year, and his sentence had now expired. Those were four very long +and weary months to the boy-prisoner, but he could scarcely realize the +change they had brought about in his once happy home. Since the key +first turned upon him in his little cell, his youngest brother, the +flower and pet of the household, had been carried to his long home, and +was soon followed by his father, who met with an awful fate one winter’s +night, while he was stupefied with liquor. The rest of the family had +been scattered, strangers gathered around the fireside where they used +to meet, and not one of them could now claim a home. + +A few days before Sam’s release from jail, Jessie wrote to him an +affectionate letter, inviting him, in behalf of Mrs. Page and Marcus, to +come and see them, before going elsewhere, and promising him a kind +reception. His mother had also written to him, informing him that she +had the promise of a good situation for him on a farm, in the town where +she was living, and urging him to come to her at once, on his discharge +from jail. Sam did not reply to either of these letters; but the day +after the expiration of his sentence, just as the academy bell was +ringing for the afternoon session, a little boy put into the hands of +Jessie a note, which he said a strange young man, whom he met in the +woods, had asked him to deliver. It was faintly written with a lead +pencil, and was dirty and crumpled; but she soon ascertained that it was +from Sam, and that it contained a request for her to meet him, that +afternoon, at a certain retired spot on the banks of Round Hill Pond. It +also apprised her that she must come alone, if she wished to see him. + +[Illustration: [The Interview]] + +Jessie at once got excused from her afternoon duties, and proceeded to +the spot indicated in the note. She seated herself on a certain large, +flattish stone, near the pond, as directed, and in a few minutes her +brother emerged from a thicket close by. She embraced him with the warm +affection of a sister, but his greeting was rather cool, and he kept +glancing about with suspicious eye, as if expecting to see some +unwelcome face peering out from behind a tree or rock. Sam had changed +but little in appearance, since Jessie last saw him. He was a trifle +taller, and seemed less bold and frank than formerly; and the coarse, +sensual and vulgar expression which his countenance had for several +years been assuming, was more painfully apparent than ever. He looked +well and hearty, however, and was evidently the same Sam Hapley that he +had always been. + +Jessie made it her first business to endeavor to persuade her brother to +go with her to Mrs. Page’s. But though she used all her powers of +persuasion, he resolutely refused, from first to last, to show himself +in town. He said he slept the night previous in an old, unoccupied barn, +near the pond, and had a little food, which he had bought with money +given to him by the sheriff. He had seen no one who knew him since he +came to Highburg, and he intended to leave the town that afternoon, or +early the next morning, “to seek his fortune,” as he expressed it. But +Jessie could gain no information as to what his purposes really were. +The most he divulged was, that he should not accept of his mother’s +proposition, nor even go to see her; and he wound up by saying, that he +should not have come to see Jessie, only he thought she might be able to +let him have a few dollars. + +Notwithstanding this cutting remark, and the unfeeling manner in which +it was uttered, Jessie would probably have offered her brother +assistance, had it been in her power to do so. But she had not a dollar +in the world, and she told him so. He then proposed that she should +borrow a small sum from Mrs. Page; but Jessie firmly declined to do +this, saying that nothing would tempt her to borrow, so long as she had +no means for repaying the debt. When Sam found that there was no +prospect of his accomplishing his selfish purpose, he seemed in haste to +close the interview, that he might at once resume his travels. But +Jessie still clung to him, with tears, beseeching him to reconsider his +resolution. + +“There is poor Henry,” she said; “what will he think, when he finds that +you have been here, and gone off, without seeing him?” + +“I can’t help it,” replied Sam. “I should like to see him well enough, +but I’ve determined I wont show myself in Highburg again, and I wont—so +that’s an end of it.” + +“And the graves of father and Benny—can you go away without making them +_one_ visit?” inquired Jessie, her tears bursting forth afresh. + +“I can’t do _them_ any good,” he replied, after a moment’s pause. “Come, +it’s of no use to tease so, for I’ve made up my mind to go off this +afternoon, and I shall go, whether or no.” + +But Jessie did continue to “tease,” and her importunities were at length +rewarded by a promise that he would remain there another night, and that +he would meet Jessie and Henry at an early hour the next morning, in the +burial-ground, which was in a secluded spot. + +On her way home, Jessie called at Mr. Allen’s, to get permission for her +brother to accompany her in the morning. Henry was at home, for he did +not now go to school, Mr. Allen having need of his services on the farm. +Jessie did not think it best to say anything about Sam, but merely +requested that Henry might be allowed to make an early visit to the +graveyard, with her, the next morning. She had been thinking, ever since +the snow began to disappear, of planting some young trees or shrubs over +the spot where her father and brother were laid; and as the time to +transplant trees had now arrived, she determined to perform this act of +filial and sisterly affection, in connection with her interview with +Sam. Mrs. Allen readily consented to Jessie’s request, and added that +her husband would probably furnish them with some young trees suitable +for their purpose. + +Jessie reached home a little before the rest of the young folks returned +from school. Some curiosity was manifested about her sudden +disappearance, but she let no one into her confidence except Mrs. Page, +to whom she related the adventures of the afternoon. Early the next +morning, Jessie departed as quietly as possible, to keep her +appointment. She took with her a small package, which Mrs. Page, in the +kindness of her heart, had hastily made up for the erring boy. It +contained several articles of underclothing, which Marcus had outgrown, +and some cold meat, bread, and other substantial provisions for the +body. + +On arriving at Mr. Allen’s, Jessie found her brother ready for her. Mr. +Allen had given him two tall and straight beeches, and Mrs. A. had +allowed him to take up a rose-bush and an althea from the front yard. +With these on his shoulder, and a shovel, hoe and rake in his hand, he +had about as much as he could carry. + +“Mr. Allen and his wife are very kind, to give us these,” said Jessie, +after they had left the yard. + +“I know it,” said Henry; “and I didn’t ask them, either—they did it of +their own accord.” + +“You seem to like your new home rather better than you did at first,” +continued Jessie. + +“I like Mrs. Allen a good deal better than I used to—she isn’t cross to +me, now,” replied Henry. + +“I suppose that is because you try harder to please her than you used +to, isn’t it?” inquired Jessie. + +“Yes, I suppose it’s partly that,” said Henry; “but I’m sure I haven’t +changed any more than she has. She used to scold me, whether I did right +or wrong. Now she hardly ever scolds, even when I deserve it.” + +“Still, I think you deserve most of the credit for the change,” said +Jessie. “If Mrs. Allen was ever cross or unkind to you, I’m satisfied it +was because she thought you did not try to please her. I knew it was out +of pure kindness to you that she consented to take you, in the first +place; and I think she would always have treated you as kindly as she +does now, if——but we wont rake over past errors. I’m very glad they’re +dead and buried, and I hope they’ll never rise again. And now, whom do +you suppose we’re going to see?” + +“I didn’t know we were going to see anybody,” replied Henry. + +“What should you say, if you should meet Samuel?” inquired Jessie. + +“What, our Sam! is _he_ here?” exclaimed Henry, stopping short, and +resting his burden upon the ground. + +Jessie then related to him the occurrences of the previous afternoon, as +they walked on towards the burial-ground. Henry seemed much pleased with +the idea of seeing his brother, and hurried along so fast, with his +burden, that Jessie could hardly keep up with him. + +On reaching the graveyard, as they saw nothing of Sam, they proceeded to +the lot where their father and brother were laid, and prepared to set +out the trees and shrubs. There was no stone to mark the spot, but +Jessie remembered too well the two little gravelly mounds, to need +anything to guide her to the locality. Henry threw off his jacket, and +went to work in good earnest with his shovel, pausing, every few +minutes, to look around in quest of Sam. Jessie, meanwhile, was busy +with the hoe and rake, cleaning out and levelling the lot. The holes for +the trees required to be large, and as the digging was rather hard, +Henry found he had undertaken no trifling task. But he kept steadily at +work, hoping, however, that the stronger arm of his brother would soon +come, to “spell” him. + +The two beeches were at length planted, each near the head of a grave; +but Sam had not appeared, though it was half an hour later than the time +he had appointed for the interview. Jessie and Henry, though +disappointed and dejected, still hoped their brother would appear, +thinking that his failure to keep the appointment might be owing to his +having no means of telling the exact time of day, where he was. They +kept on with their labor, and the shrubs were soon in their places at +the foot of the graves, and the whole lot was put in as good order as +the time would allow. + +But they looked and waited in vain for Sam. He did not appear. After +lingering around the burial-ground until it was nearly time for the +academy bell to ring, they departed, sadly disappointed, and wondering +whether Sam had taken alarm, and left town sooner than he intended, or +whether he had agreed to the appointment merely to get rid of the +importunities of his sister, and without any idea of keeping his +promise. Jessie and Henry felt, however, that they had done a good work, +though they had not accomplished the thing for which mainly they set out +on their early morning errand. + + + + + CHAPTER XV. + SHOW AND SUBSTANCE. + + +“Mother,” said Ronald, one evening, as the family were sitting together +in the twilight, “I wish we had a sugar-orchard. Only think—Charlie +Doane and his little brother Tom have made three hundred and ten pounds +of sugar, this year, without anybody’s help, and they’re going to have +all the money for it. All their father did was to cut a part of the +wood. Charlie isn’t fourteen years old, yet, and he’s got lots of money +laid up. Why, he says they’ll get all of twenty-five dollars for their +maple sugar, this year.” + +“What does he intend to do with his money?” inquired Mrs. Page. + +“Oh, he saves it up,” replied Ronald; “he doesn’t spend a cent of it; +and when he gets a lot together, he puts it in the bank. He’s earning +money all the time—I never see such a fellow. Why, he’s round by +day-break, every morning, now, after greens—he sells them over to the +village, and picks up lots of change, that way. There, I never thought +of it before—I mean to pick some greens, and see if I can’t sell them, +and get some money to pay my note. Will you buy them, mother?” + +“I’ll buy as many as we can use,” replied Mrs. Page; “but if you are as +industrious as Charlie is, I can’t promise to take all you bring.” + +“Oh, I never shall be as industrious as he is,” said Ronald; “or at any +rate, I never shall pick up money as fast as he does.” + +“I shouldn’t like to have you do just as Charlie Doane is doing, if you +could,” added Mrs. Page. “I like to see children industrious, and it is +well enough for them to earn a little money for themselves, +occasionally; but when I see them very eager to get money to hoard up, +and never spending a cent, if they can help it, I’m afraid they are +training themselves to be selfish, close-fisted worshippers of money. I +should tremble for Charlie, if he were my boy.” + +“His father praises him up to a great rate, for earning so much money, +and saving it up so close,” said Otis. “I was in Mr. Todd’s store, the +other day, when he was telling about it. He said Charlie would be a rich +man, yet.” + +“I’m afraid Mr. Doane, himself, thinks too much of his money,” continued +Mrs. Page. + +“Mr. Doane?” said Marcus, apparently awakening from a reverie; “he’s a +complete miser. When old Mrs. Lane lost her cow, and the people were +making up a subscription to buy her another, everybody thought that as +Mr. Doane sold the cow to her only a little while before, and made a +good profit on it, he would put his name down for five dollars, at +least; but he refused to give a single cent towards it. And yet he’s +worth fifteen thousand dollars, at the least calculation. He’s an old +miser, and it’s my opinion Charlie will be another, if he lives.” + +“You’re rather free in your remarks,” said Mrs. Page, smiling. “Do you +remember the article in the ‘Wreath,’ a month or two ago, about speaking +evil of our neighbors?” + +“Yes, ma’am, I remember it,” replied Marcus, “and I believe I’ve only +carried out its doctrine. If I recollect right, it took the ground that +we ought not to speak of the faults of another, except for a good +object. Now I had a good object in saying what I did about Mr. Doane. +Charlie’s miserly example had evidently made quite an impression on +Ronald, and it was necessary to hold up Mr. Doane’s character in its +true light, to counteract that impression. That’s all I did.” + +“Well, mother,” said Ronald, “you buy my greens, and I wont hoard up my +money. I’ll pay my note, first, and then I’ll buy one of those +new-fashioned caps that Ed Baldwin has got. I wish I could have one of +those caps, before examination day.” + +“There, Ronald,” said Oscar, “don’t begin to talk a fortnight beforehand +about what you will wear to the examination—that sounds a little too +much like the girls. I overheard some of the girls, to-day, talking +about the exhibition; and they didn’t have a word to say about the +lessons, or performances, or anything of that sort—it was all dress, +dress, dress. One was going to wear white muslin, and another pink, and +one was going to do her hair up in this way, and another in that way, +and so on to the end of the chapter. I wonder if the girls ever talk +about anything besides dress, and looks, and such things.” + +“I think they do,” replied Jessie. “I suppose I’ve been among the girls +at least as much as you have, to-day, and I don’t remember hearing a +word about dress or personal looks.” + +“Then you were very fortunate,” said Oscar. “I heard enough about those +subjects, at any rate. One girl said she’d give anything in the world, +if her hair would only curl; another had got some beautiful new lace to +trim her dress; and another didn’t intend to wear any jewelry, at the +examination, but was going to trim herself up with buds and flowers, +instead. One might have supposed, from the way they talked, that we were +to have a grand examination of dresses, and nothing else.” + +“And Mr. Paul Pry was sneaking around, listening to it all, was he?” +inquired Kate. + +“No, I didn’t have to listen, for I couldn’t help hearing,” replied +Oscar. “But I didn’t say who they were, and if you wont expose them, +Kate, I wont.” + +“Oh, I care nothing about your exposing us,” retorted Kate; “I was only +thinking how you had exposed yourself. I suppose I was one of the party +he refers to. Abby Leonard happened to come along, and you know she’s +always talking about dress, and she began to tell what she was going to +wear exhibition day. So the others joined in for a few minutes, and that +was the origin of all this fuss about ‘dress, dress, dress.’” + +This retort, which was uttered in a somewhat bitter tone, surprised +Oscar very much, for Kate was one of the best-natured of girls, and he +had never before heard her speak in this way. He had evidently touched +her in a tender spot, and he began to think he had committed a serious +offence. So he stammered out the best apology he could think of, saying +that he only spoke of the matter good-naturedly, and meant no offence to +any one. Ronald and Otis, seeing how the battle was going, now came +gallantly to the rescue of Oscar, and volunteered their testimony to his +side of the case. The girls, they said, were all the time talking about +dress—they noticed it every day. + +“Well, supposing we _do_ talk rather more about dress than we ought to,” +said Kate, “I think you are a pretty set of folks to rebuke us for it. +There’s Oscar—there isn’t a boy or young man in the academy that is so +particular about dress as he is; and Otis can never go within forty feet +of a looking-glass, without stopping to smooth his hair; and as to +Ronald, if he hadn’t just showed what’s running in his head, nobody +would have thought of talking about dress.” + +Ronald and Otis both attempted to reply to this speech at once, but Mrs. +Page stopped them, and then said: + +“This debate is getting to be a little too spicy, and I think it had +better be brought to a close. In my opinion, both sides are partly +right, and both are partly wrong. I have no doubt that many of the girls +think and talk a great deal too much of what they shall wear, and how +they shall look. It is a great fault, look at it in what light you will. +There is nothing so becoming in woman or girl as simplicity and neatness +in dress. It is a barbarous taste that is fond of extravagant and gaudy +apparel, or showy jewelry. And then, this taste is not only bad in +itself, but it leads to a great many evils. A woman who has it soon +becomes frivolous and vain; she overlooks honest merit, in plain attire; +she is jealous and envious of those who make more show than she does; +she becomes extravagant and reckless, and perhaps drives her father or +husband into bankruptcy, that she may have the means to gratify her +selfish taste. It is all wrong, from beginning to end. But then it was +hardly fair in Oscar to intimate that _all_ the girls are given to this +folly. I believe there are some who think and talk of other things +besides dress.” + +“I suppose I was a little too sweeping in saying that,” said Oscar. “But +I do think it is a great fault in many girls, that they think and say so +much about dress. I’ve thought of it a great many times.” + +“Now you’re talking sensibly,” said Aunt Fanny. “I think we all, ladies +as well as gentlemen, will agree with you there. We are all acquainted +with women and girls who seem to think more of dressing well and looking +pretty than of anything else. I have known women whose whole souls +seemed to be bound up in dress; but their souls were very small, you may +depend upon that.” + +“I think there is something very belittling and dwarfing to the mind, in +a love of dress and finery,” said Mrs. Page. “I knew a woman who was a +great lover of dress, who, at the age of forty, had no more judgment, or +stability, or strength of mind, than a child ten years old; and yet she +was naturally a person of good capacities. She devoted her mind to such +petty trifles, that instead of expanding as she grew older, it +shrivelled up.” + +“I have heard,” said Oscar, “that intelligent foreigners are astonished +by the parade of silks, and satins, and jewelry, which American ladies +make in the streets, and in the hotels and watering places. They say our +merchants’ and mechanics’ wives and daughters often dress more +extravagantly than the nobility of Europe.” + +“Mother used to say,” said Jessie, “that the best rule is, to dress so +that people will not notice what you have on. I think if I had ever so +much money, I should not want to dress so as to attract attention, and +occasion remark; neither do I want to dress so poorly, or be so far out +of fashion, that people cannot help noticing me.” + +“That is a safe and excellent rule,” said Mrs. Page, “to dress so that +people will not recollect what you had on. There is a command in the +Bible, particularly addressed to women, which we should do well to +remember: ‘Whose adorning, let it not be that outward adorning of +plaiting the hair, and of wearing of gold, or of putting on of apparel; +but let it be the hidden man of the heart, in that which is not +corruptible, even the ornament of a meek and quiet spirit, which is in +the sight of God of great price.’” + +“What is the name of the firm that Abby’s father is the head of?” +inquired Marcus, who had brought in a lamp, and was reading the morning +newspaper. + +“Leonard, Vandenberg & Co.,” replied Ronald; “I thought everybody in +town knew that by heart, she’s told of it so many times.” + +“They have failed,” said Marcus, his eye still upon the paper; and then +he read the telegraph despatch which announced the fact. It was as +follows: + + + “Leonard, Vandenberg & Co., one of our largest commission houses, + suspended to-day. Mr. Vandenberg mysteriously disappeared last week, + and it is rumored that he has embezzled a large portion of the firm’s + assets. The other partners have surrendered everything, but the + failure is believed to be a very bad one.” + + +“What will poor Abby do, now?” exclaimed Jessie, with unaffected +sympathy. + +“I don’t pity her one mite—she’d no business to be stuck up so,” said +Kate, who had not yet fully recovered her usual good nature. + +“Her pride will have a fall now, wont it?” added Otis. + +“I shouldn’t wonder if it proved the best thing that ever happened to +her,” said Oscar. + +“I wonder if she has heard of it, yet,” said Ronald. “I’ve a good mind +to go and tell her—would you?” + +“She’s heard of it, before this time—bad news travels fast,” said Mrs. +Page. + +“Well, I’m sorry for the poor girl—it must be a terrible blow to her,” +said Marcus. + +And so one and another commented on the news, most of the little company +expressing sympathy for Abby, though she was by no means a favorite with +any of them. Even Kate so far relented, before the matter was dropped, +as to express the hope that none of the scholars would “twit” Abby about +the sudden change in her position. + +Abby appeared at school, the next morning, holding her head as high as +ever, and apparently as calm and happy as though nothing out of the +usual course had occurred. She must have been conscious, it would seem, +that she was the centre of many sidelong glances, and that there was an +unusual amount of whispering going on among the girls; but she did not +appear to notice these significant signs. So it began to be believed +that she had not heard of her father’s failure. After a while, however, +one miss who had had many a sharp encounter with Abby, unable to stand +the painful suspense any longer, bluntly put the question to her old +enemy, in the presence of several of her school-mates— + +“Did you see the Boston papers, yesterday?” + +“It’s nothing to you whether I did or not,” instantly replied Abby, her +face white with passion, and her frame trembling with excitement. + +“Well, you needn’t be so touchy about it,” replied the other girl. “I +only asked, because I thought it would be doing you a favor to tell you +your father had failed, if you didn’t know it.” + +“I wish folks would mind their own business, and let me alone,” said +Abby in the same angry tone, and she turned away from the group, who had +listened to this conversation. + +“I declare, she has a queer way of expressing her sorrow,” said the +other girl, before Abby had got out of hearing. + +Abby heard of her father’s failure, almost as soon as she reached her +boarding-place, after school, the previous day. The intelligence fell +upon her like a thunderbolt. She retired to her room, and cried for +several hours, and finally, nature becoming exhausted, she sobbed +herself to sleep. The next morning, the question arose in her mind, +whether she should stay at home, and thus avoid meeting her +school-mates, whose taunts she was perhaps conscious she had reason to +expect; or whether she should go boldly and mingle with them, exhibiting +before them a total unconcern in regard to the failure. She finally +adopted the latter course, and we have seen how far she succeeded. There +were some among her associates who longed to whisper a word of sympathy +or encouragement in her ear; but the bravado air she assumed forbade, +and the poor girl found she had doomed herself to hug the crushing +burden secretly to her heart, without a loving word of pity from any of +her young associates. + +The academy was dismissed in the afternoon, and Abby was hurrying away +from her school-mates, when an arm was softly laid upon her shoulder, +and, turning, she found Jessie by her side. In the kindest and most +delicate way, Jessie alluded to the misfortune that had overtaken Abby, +and expressed her sympathy for her. And then she went on to tell her how +this very loss might prove, in the end, a great blessing to her family, +and especially to herself. It might lead her to depend upon herself, +instead of others; to think less of fashion, and show, and position, and +wealth, and more of a well-cultivated mind, an amiable spirit, and a +useful life. It might, in fact, be the making of her, if, instead of +sitting down and repining, she would now begin to live for some good +purpose. And then Jessie argued that the misfortune was not half so bad +as it might have been. Mr. Leonard was not an embezzler, like his +partner, but had honorably surrendered his property. The loss of money, +she said, was nothing compared with the loss of integrity and character. + +Abby at first received Jessie’s condolence rather cavalierly. She said +her family always had lived in style, and she did not believe they would +come down now. Her father was a great merchant, she said, and if he had +lost some of his money, he knew how to make plenty more. In fact, she +didn’t consider it any great thing if he had failed. But this assumed +indifference to her trouble soon melted away under the kind and +sympathizing words of Jessie, and Abby at length fully opened her heart, +and found some degree of relief in pouring out her griefs in the ear of +her friend. + + + + + CHAPTER XVI. + GETTING UP IN THE WORLD. + + +The academy term was now about to close, and the students were quite +earnestly engaged in reviewing studies, preparatory to the approaching +examination. Nothing else was talked much about, even by the boys. +Ronald came marching into the house one afternoon, fresh from school, +repeating the words: + +“Step by step—step by step—step by step;” adding, “that’s our +countersign, mother—the scholar’s countersign; Mr. Upton gave it to us +to-day.” + +“I thought a countersign was something to be kept private in the camp; +but you seem to take considerable pains to make yours public,” said Mrs. +Page. + +“Well, it wont make any difference,” said Ronald; “Mr. Upton called it a +countersign, but he didn’t tell us to keep it secret.” + +“What did he give you such a countersign, for?” inquired Mrs. Page. + +“O, he was telling us how we might get so as to know more than common +folks,” replied Ronald. “He said that when he was a boy, all great and +learned people seemed to be perched on the top of a high pinnacle, and +he used to envy them; but he said he had no idea, then, how they got up +there, only he thought there was some sort of a miraculous good luck +about it. But he said he had since discovered that there was no royal +road to learning, and that if any man wanted to get to the top of the +pinnacle, he had got to go up step by step. He couldn’t fly up, nor leap +up, nor sail up in a balloon, nor go up in a railroad train, nor ride up +on somebody’s back, nor pull himself up by the waistband of his +trousers, nor—” + +“Why, Ronald Page, he said no such thing!” interposed Kate, who had just +entered the room, with Jessie. + +“Well, it amounted to the same thing,—I’ve got the idea, at any rate,” +replied Ronald. “What he meant was, that everybody had to work to get up +there—they went step by step, step by step; he kept bringing that in, +every minute. Was there ever such a person as Porson, mother?” + +“Yes, there was a very learned Englishman named Porson; he was a +celebrated Greek scholar and a critic,” replied Mrs. Page. + +“He was the man, then,” said Ronald; “for Mr. Upton told us he used to +say any one might become as good a critic as he was, if he would only +take trouble to make himself so; and Mr. Upton said that sometimes when +Porson wanted to be sure and learn a thing, he would read it a dozen +times, and then copy it off six times. That was the way he got to be so +learned and famous, I suppose.” + +“It seems to me you paid unusual attention to Mr. Upton’s remarks,” said +Jessie; “you’ve repeated them very well.” + +“I don’t believe I shall forget that ‘step by step’ very soon; why, I +should think he said that over more than twenty times.” + +“I thought, while he was making the remarks, of that French engraving of +the top of the pyramid, in your portfolio,” said Jessie, addressing Aunt +Fanny. + +“What, that soldier on the top of a pyramid? Let me find it, will you, +Aunt Fanny?” said Ronald. + +[Illustration: [Tip-top]] + +Permission was given, and Ronald soon found the picture, a copy of which +is given on the opposite page. It represents a French grenadier at the +top of an Egyptian pyramid. You perceive he is a little elevated—about +four hundred and eighty feet above the surface of the earth—and may well +be pardoned for exhibiting a slight degree of enthusiasm. + +“The engraving is a pretty good illustration of Mr. Upton’s remarks,” +said Jessie. “You know the pyramids, a little way off, look as if their +sides were smooth; at least they look so in pictures. Now, if we should +see a man on top of one of them, we should wonder how he got there. We +should think there was some miracle about it, or else that he had got +faculties that common people don’t possess,—just as some people think +when they see a learned man. But if we go up to the pyramid, we shall +find that its sides are composed of steps, all the way up, and that the +way to reach the top is to climb those steps, one by one.” + +“I always thought the sides of the pyramids were smoothed off even, till +I saw that picture,” said Ronald. + +“When I went to school,” said Mrs. Page, “our teacher used to encourage +us, if we got disheartened, by telling us that ‘what man has done, man +may do.’ I heard that saying so often, that I got perfectly sick of it; +but, after all, there is a good deal of meaning in it. It isn’t +literally true that what one man has done, any other man can do. I might +study as hard and as long as Milton did, and yet I never should be able +to write such a poem as Paradise Lost. Some men are more highly endowed +by God than others. But, by patient effort, and perseverance, and +quietly going along step by step, as Mr. Upton says, we can do wonders. +We can accomplish anything, in fact, that does not require a very rare +and peculiar endowment from God. This is the way most people become +eminent, and it is the way all become learned. They toil up the steep +mountain, one step at a time, and if they get far above the crowd, you +may know that they have worked hard, and have a right to swing their +hats a little, with honest pride, as the soldier in the picture is +doing.” + +“O, mother!” exclaimed Ronald, “did you know Kate was admitted to the +Grade of Honor, to-day?” + +“No, I’ve heard nothing about it,” said Mrs. Page. + +“Well, she was,” added Ronald; “and it was lucky for her, for it was the +last chance—there wont be any more promotions before examination.” + +“I’m glad to hear she succeeded; but didn’t you get in, too?” inquired +Mrs. Page. + +“No, ma’am,” replied Ronald, looking a little ashamed; “I didn’t expect +to. But Marcus said I should have got in, if I hadn’t whispered so +much.” + +“Don’t you think it would have been better if you had denied yourself +the gratification of whispering, and got admitted to the Grade of +Honor?” inquired Mrs. Page. + +“Yes, ma’am,” replied Ronald, “I wish I had; but it’s too late now. But, +after all, I shouldn’t care about going in at the eleventh hour, just +for a fortnight; I should feel as if I didn’t hardly belong there.” + +“O, yes, you don’t think much of sour grapes, do you?” said Kate, who +thought this was a reflection upon herself. + +“Better late than never: better get in at the eleventh hour than not at +all,” said Mrs. Page. + +“Well, mother, I’ll get into the Grade of Honor at the very beginning of +the next term,—you see if I don’t,” added Ronald. + +“I hope you will,” said Mrs. Page; “and if you resolve to do so, I’ve no +doubt you will.” + +This Grade of Honor, which they were talking about, had been established +in the academy, at the commencement of that term, as a substitute for +prizes. It had been customary to award prizes, at the end of each term, +for good behavior and successful scholarship. But there were always many +disappointed faces when the awards were made; and, as the prizes were +few, and the attainments and merits of the best scholars were often so +nearly equal that it was difficult to discriminate between them, it not +seldom happened that some who failed to get a prize were as deserving as +some who competed successfully for that honor. So, at the beginning of +the present term, Mr. Upton said he was going to try a new system, as an +experiment, which would allow every scholar to reach the highest honor, +if he chose to. The system was as follows: + +Two grades or classes were established, the first and lower being known +as the Grade of Fidelity, and the higher as the Grade of Honor. +Excellence of deportment, and diligent effort and general faithfulness +in studies, were the passport to the first grade. It was not necessary +to be a very bright scholar, to get into the Grade of Fidelity. It was +open to all who made faithful endeavors, and who paid a decent respect +to the rules of the school. Those who, after at least a month’s +probation in the Grade of Fidelity, distinguished themselves by their +fidelity to all the duties of the school-room, and by the general +excellence of their moral characters (mere intellectual superiority, you +will observe, was not taken into the account), were admitted to the +Grade of Honor. The preceptor kept a credit and demerit account with +each scholar, and by this, principally, his or her standing was +determined. Every alternate week candidates were admitted to each grade. + +The ceremony of admission to the grades was quite interesting. These who +were to enter the Grade of Fidelity, were called out by the preceptor, +and arranged themselves in a line before his desk. He then addressed to +them a few words of congratulation and advice, after which he said: + +“I now present these candidates for admission to the Grade of Fidelity. +If it be your will that they be accepted, you will please to signify +it.” + +The members of the grade having previously been seated together, in the +front desks, now voted on the question, by putting into a box that was +passed round a slip of paper on which was usually inscribed, “Yes—all.” +If a member objected to any candidate, he wrote, “Yes—all except——,” +naming the person he objected to. Unless a candidate was objected to by +at least one-fourth of the members, he was admitted. When it was +ascertained that the vote was affirmative, the preceptor hung a blue +silk ribbon around the neck of each candidate. The members then filed +out from their seats, and after giving the hand of fellowship to their +new comrades, the whole company joined hands, and sung one verse of a +song, commencing: + + “We’re a band of faithful friends.” + +The blue ribbon was the badge of the Grade of Fidelity, and was worn at +the reception of candidates, at the examination of the academy, and on +other special occasions. The scholars in this grade enjoyed no +privileges over their fellows; but it was considered quite important to +gain admittance to it, unless one was content to be rated very low, +morally if not mentally. Before the term ended, about three-fourths of +the students had been admitted to the ranks of the “Fidels,” as they +sometimes abbreviated their name. Some, however, were afterwards +degraded; for if a member fell below the standard, or was guilty of any +serious offence, he was dismissed from the grade. + +It was not so easy to get into the Grade of Honor. One had to be very +exemplary in conduct, and very pure in character, to gain admittance +there. Less than one in six of the scholars passed this searching +ordeal. The names of candidates to this grade were posted up in the +school-room, three days before the ceremony of admission. Any member of +the academy had a right to object to a candidate, and could privately +inform the preceptor of his reasons. If a candidate was known to be +profane, or untruthful, or dishonest, or chewed or smoked tobacco, or +was addicted to any other bad habit, he was rejected, no matter how +exemplary his conduct in school might be. + +When the hour came to admit candidates to the Grade of Honor, those to +whom no valid objection had been made, presented themselves, in front of +the preceptor’s desk, the members of the grade being seated upon the +platform. A separate ballot was taken for each candidate, and if +one-fourth voted nay, he was rejected. The preceptor then affixed the +badge of the grade, a pink silk rosette, to the left breast of the +accepted candidate; and then, taking him by the hand, he addressed to +him a few affectionate words of welcome. When all had gone through this +ceremony, the members of the grade formed a ring, inside of which the +candidates were admitted, one at a time. After making the circuit, and +receiving the hand of fellowship from each one, the new member fell into +the ranks, and another candidate passed through the same ceremony, and +so on to the end. The whole school then arose and sang a song beginning: + + “Who are these, with honors decked;” + +the members of the grade, meanwhile, standing in a circle, with clasped +hands. When the singing was over, they returned to their desks, the +school remaining standing until they had taken their seats. So ended the +ceremony of the initiation. + +Those who belonged to the Grade of Honor enjoyed sundry privileges that +were denied to other students. They could leave their seats without +permission, and could even leave the room during study hours, without +being called to account. They had access at all times to the library, +while the other students enjoyed its privileges under some restrictions. +They were also clothed with a sort of monitorial power, and as their +testimony was received by the teachers with unwavering faith, it was +counted a poor time to brew mischief when one of this class was around. +It was of course expected that they would never take improper advantage +of their privileges, and, like the other grade, they were liable to lose +their position if found unworthy. + +Jessie was among the first who were admitted to the Grade of Honor. +Ronald and Otis, after some delay, worked their way into the Grade of +Fidelity, but did not rise higher. Kate, as has been already stated, +rose to the higher grade on the last day when promotions were made, for +that term. + +Abby Leonard did not remain long in Highburg, after her father’s +failure. After the first day, it was evident to all that she was +troubled and humbled, and those who had been inclined to exult over her +downfall, now began to pity her. But a message calling her home soon +came, and she was apparently not sorry to get away from a place which +had become so unpleasant to her. Only a few of her associates knew of +her intention to go, until she had left town. + + + + + CHAPTER XVII. + TIDINGS. + + +Jessie heard nothing from her brother Sam, until about a fortnight after +her interview with him at Round Hill Pond, when Marcus called her +attention to the following paragraph in a Boston newspaper: + + + “A FIGHT.—The police were called last night to quell a fight in a + notorious dance cellar in North Street, which for a time threatened + serious consequences. There were several bloody heads in the crowd, + but the only person seriously injured was a Vermont youth, sixteen or + seventeen years old, who, it is said, being crazed with liquor, joined + in the melee, attacking both parties with equal vigor. His name is + said to be Hapley. His injuries are so serious that he was sent to the + hospital.” + + +There could be scarcely a doubt as to who this youth was, and Jessie +proposed to hasten at once to the relief of her wayward brother. Her +friends, however, prevailed upon her to abandon this purpose, Marcus +promising to write forthwith to Mr. Preston, Oscar’s father, who lived +in Boston, and ask him to make inquiries in regard to the injured boy. +Marcus accordingly wrote to his uncle, and in a few days received the +following reply: + + + “BOSTON, May 17, 185–. + + “MY DEAR NEPHEW:—Your favor of the 15th came to hand, and it afforded + me much pleasure to comply with your request. I called at the hospital + this morning, and saw the young man who was injured in the fight. He + acknowledged he was the brother of the young lady who lives with you, + and said if he had followed her advice he never should have been in + this scrape. He was not hurt so badly as was at first supposed, and is + getting along very well. The doctor says he will be discharged in a + few days. He did not seem inclined to say much, but he wished me to + inform his sister that he was not intoxicated at the time of the + assault, and that he took no part in the fight, but was only looking + on. He says he drank nothing that night but a glass of lager beer. I + advised him to leave the city, as soon as he was able, and to go back + to Vermont; but he said he had no home there, and no friends to look + to for assistance. I then tried to persuade him to avoid bad + associates, and to seek steady and respectable employment, if he + remained in the city. I also gave him my card, and told him that if he + would call on me, after he was discharged, I would try to help him + procure employment. You may assure his sister that if I can do + anything to save him from ruin, it shall be most gladly done. + + “I am glad to hear so favorable a report from Oscar. I can never repay + you and your mother and aunt for the obligation you have laid me + under, in doing what you have done for that boy. He has persevered so + long, that I think his reform will be permanent. We have concluded to + let him spend a week or two of his vacation with us, if you can spare + him as well as not. If he comes, send him as soon as you please after + the term closes. We should be very glad to have you and your mother or + Aunt Fanny come with him, if you can leave home. + + “Please tell Oscar that Jerry, his runaway cousin, has got home. He + was wrecked at sea, and given up for lost, and has experienced any + amount of startling adventures and hair-breadth escapes. His story is + quite an interesting one, but it is so long that I will not attempt to + give it here. Oscar will learn all the particulars when he comes home. + Jerry says he has had enough of going to sea, and means to settle down + on the land, now. He arrived here last week, after an absence of about + fifteen months, and started for his home the same night. + + “Our family are all well, and send love to all the folks. Oscar’s old + friend, Willie Davenport, or ‘Whistler,’ as he is still called, is + spending the evening with Ralph, and wishes to be remembered to Oscar. + Ralph has teased me to forward the little toy you will find enclosed, + as a present to Ronald. It is designed to be twirled round by the + strings,—I suppose he will understand it. Ralph has taken quite a + fancy to Ronald, although he has never seen him. Hoping to see you + soon, I remain + + “Your affectionate uncle, + “HENRY PRESTON.” + + +This letter greatly relieved Jessie’s anxiety. Before going to bed, she +wrote an affectionate letter to her brother, assuring him of her +continued love and interest, and entreating him to go to his mother, and +accept the situation she had procured for him. + +Oscar was delighted to hear of the safe arrival of his cousin Jerry. The +two boys had at one time been very intimate. Jerry’s parents lived in a +small backwoods village in Maine, named Brookdale. His father was +engaged in the logging business, and also carried on a farm. When Oscar +was about fourteen years old, he was so unmanageable at home, and was so +rapidly forming bad acquaintances, that his father sent him down to +Brookdale, where he spent several months, and would have remained +longer, had he not got into a serious “scrape,” which compelled him to +leave town. Oscar’s influence upon Jerry, who was about a year younger +than himself, was very unfavorable. Indeed, it was mainly owing to this +bad influence that Jerry ran away from home, a few weeks after Oscar +left the village, and started on the long voyage from which he had just +returned.[11] The vessel in which Jerry shipped was wrecked on the +homeward passage, and he was supposed to have been lost, until his +unexpected appearance in Boston, as mentioned in Mr. Preston’s letter. +Oscar, since he had tried to reform, had regretted very much the evil +influence he had exerted upon Jerry; and, though he never said anything +about it, he felt that he was, to some extent, responsible for his +cousin’s ruin. It is not strange, therefore, that he was rejoiced to +hear that his old comrade and pupil in mischief was not dead, but alive, +and had still a chance to mend his ways, and become an honest and +respectable man. + +Footnote 11: + + The career of Jerry is more fully related in the first two volumes of + this series, “Oscar” and “Clinton.” + +“Who knows but that father will come home, yet?” said Marcus, who had +sat musing, while the others were talking about Jerry. + +“I gave up all hope of that long ago,” replied his mother. “It is over +ten years since your father sailed, and it is idle to expect ever to see +him again in this world.” + +“I don’t think so, mother,” replied Marcus. “You know the whalers pass +in the neighborhood of a good many islands in the Pacific that are +inhabited only by savages. Now isn’t it possible that father was wrecked +on one of these islands, and is still there, and unable to get away? We +know such things _have_ happened. I have read of sailors being wrecked +on some of these islands, and living with the savages a good many years, +before they could communicate with any vessel. I sha’n’t give up all +hopes of seeing father yet, for five years, at least.” + +“I cherished that hope, until it seemed like hoping against hope,” +replied Mrs. Page, sadly. + +[Illustration: [How to Cage a Bird]] + +While this conversation was going on, Ronald and Otis had been deeply +engaged with the toy sent by Oscar’s brother. It consisted of a circular +card, on one side of which was painted a bird-cage, and on the other a +bird. There were strings on each side of the card, by which it could be +rapidly twirled round, which operation made the bird look as if he were +actually in the cage. The engraving which we give of this little toy +necessarily represents it as composed of two cards, but there is only +one. Do you know why the bird is represented upside down? Did you ever +notice that the top of one side of a coin is always the bottom of the +other side? Both of these facts are to be explained on the same +principle. We do not turn over a coin as we do the leaf of a book, but +we reverse the top and bottom. As the card revolves, the bird will of +course show himself right side up. + +“Ronald, can you explain why it is that the bird looks as if he were in +the cage?” asked Marcus, after he had examined the toy. + +“I suppose it’s because the card revolves so fast that we see both sides +at once,” replied Ronald. + +“That is hardly a philosophical explanation,” said Marcus. “The true +reason is, the image of the bird is brought to the retina of the eye +before the image of the cage has passed away, and so both unite, and +produce the image of a bird and cage. The image of an object on the +retina does not vanish the instant the object is withdrawn, but is +retained a brief period afterward. This is the reason that two objects +may be seen in the same place at once, while each of them is presented +to the retina but half the time.” + +Aunt Fanny said she had seen a mouse and a trap represented in this way. +She also suggested that the body and legs of a man might be painted on +one side, and his arms and head on the other; or a horse on one side and +his rider on the other; or a portrait, and a frame; or a cell, and a +prisoner; and several other devices were named. + +It was settled that Oscar should avail himself of his father’s +invitation, and spend his vacation in Boston. He promised Jessie that he +would try to find Sam, and persuade him to return to Vermont. He also +promised Ronald that he would take charge of sundry cakes of maple sugar +which the latter desired to send to Ralph, in return for his present. + +This invitation home was as unexpected as it was agreeable to Oscar. He +had not anticipated visiting Boston until the next autumn. It was +judged, however, that he had become so fixed in his good purposes and +habits, there would be no risk in allowing him to return for a week or +two to the scene of his former temptations and misdeeds. + + + + + CHAPTER XVIII. + THE SURPRISE PARTY. + + +The twentieth of May at length came, and the academic term closed with a +searching examination of the several classes. It went a little deeper +than faces or dresses, and revealed to the assembled magnates of the +town something of the daily habits, the intellectual standing and the +private character of each pupil. The result, as a whole, was quite +favorable to the institution, and there were very few of the scholars +who positively reflected no credit upon it. It was evident enough where +the blame lay, in these cases—the school register told the story. + +Mr. Upton invited his assistants, Marcus and Jessie, to take tea with +him, at the close of the examination. They accepted the invitation, and +after an hour or two, passed very pleasantly with their friend, Marcus +proposed to return home, as he had business to attend to. Mr. Upton said +that, as he had been closely confined through the day, he thought the +fresh air would do him good, so he proposed to walk home with them. As +soon as they came in sight of Mrs. Page’s house, an unusual display of +lights attracted attention, and set them to conjecturing what it could +mean. On entering the house, however, the mystery was quickly explained. +All the scholars of the academy were there, and, with smiling faces and +words of welcome, pressed forward to greet the new comers. The trustees, +too, were soon discovered in the background, quietly enjoying the scene. + +“Why, how secret they have kept this!” whispered Jessie to Marcus, as +soon as she found an opportunity. “They didn’t even let _me_ know +anything about it—I’m as much surprised as you are.” + +“They are pretty good for keeping a secret,” replied Marcus, smiling. + +“And who would have thought of seeing the trustees here, too? Why, I +think it is quite a compliment to you,” continued Jessie. + +“Do you suppose there is to be any presentation?” whispered Marcus, with +a look of concern. + +“I don’t know,” replied Jessie; “but I shouldn’t wonder if there +was—you’d better prepare yourself for a speech.” + +After a season passed in games, and conversation, and pleasant social +intercourse, the party were invited to the tables, which had been +bountifully spread with good cheer by the scholars. The feast was +despatched without any speeches or other formalities, but not without a +merry interchange of good feeling, and a little of that “flow of soul” +which, according to the newspaper reporters, is seldom wanting when a +company of hungry people gather around a well-filled table, on any +public or special occasion. After the collation, the company adjourned +to the front rooms, and seemed unusually quiet, as if waiting for some +expected performance. Pretty soon Marcus arose, and, with a roguish +twinkle in his eye, said: + +“Soon after I came in here, this evening, our friend, Miss Hapley, +whispered to me that there would probably be a presentation, and advised +me to be thinking of my speech. She was right, in her prediction. Here +is a beautiful paper box which has just been put into my hand—though, I +am happy to say, without any speech-making. If agreeable to the company, +I will examine its contents.” + +[Illustration: WHO CAN FIND A VIRTUOUS WOMAN? FOR HER PRICE IS FAR ABOVE +RUBIES.] + +No one objecting, Marcus, before opening the box, proceeded to describe +it. It was covered with exquisitely tinted blue paper, ornamented with a +rich pattern in gold. On the cover was a beautiful colored engraving, +represented on the opposite page. The picture bore an inscription +selected from the last chapter of the book of Proverbs, as follows: + + “WHO CAN FIND A VIRTUOUS WOMAN? FOR HER PRICE IS FAR ABOVE RUBIES.” + +Marcus then opened the box, and found within it another box, similar to +the first, which bore this inscription, from the same book and chapter, +with an appropriate illustration, similar in style to the first: + + “SHE SEEKETH WOOL, AND FLAX, AND WORKETH WILLINGLY WITH HER HANDS.” + +On opening this, a third box appeared, with a device illustrating this +motto: + + “SHE RISETH ALSO WHILE IT IS YET NIGHT, AND GIVETH MEAT TO HER + HOUSEHOLD.” + +This contained a fourth box, corresponding with the others, and bearing +this motto: + + “SHE GIRDETH HER LOINS WITH STRENGTH, AND STRENGTHENETH HER ARMS.” + +Within this Marcus found another box, which bore an engraving +illustrating this verse: + + “SHE LAYETH HER HANDS TO THE SPINDLE, AND HER HANDS HOLD THE DISTAFF.” + +Opening this, a sixth box disclosed itself, with this verse illustrated: + + “SHE STRETCHETH OUT HER HAND TO THE POOR; YEA, SHE REACHETH FORTH HER + HANDS TO THE NEEDY.” + +There was still another box, within this, with its engraving, thus +inscribed: + + “STRENGTH AND HONOR ARE HER CLOTHING; AND SHE SHALL REJOICE IN TIME TO + COME.” + +And within this another box appeared, with this for its motto: + + “SHE OPENETH HER MOUTH WITH WISDOM; AND IN HER TONGUE IS THE LAW OF + KINDNESS.” + +Marcus opened this box, and found within it yet another, with a vignette +illustrating this verse: + + “MANY DAUGHTERS HAVE DONE VIRTUOUSLY, BUT THOU EXCELLEST THEM ALL.” + +Within this, a tenth box was found, on the cover of which was inscribed: + + “GIVE HER OF THE FRUIT OF HER HANDS; AND LET HER OWN WORKS PRAISE HER IN + THE GATES.” + +As Marcus opened these boxes, and read the inscriptions to the company, +he freely gave expression to exclamations of surprise, mingled with +running comments on the pictures. All present watched the proceedings +with much interest, but none more than Jessie, to whom the whole affair +was an enigma. She even asked a young lady at her side what Marcus could +do with all those little boxes. She could imagine that a lady might find +them useful, but the gift did not strike her as particularly appropriate +for a young gentleman. It was not until the opening of the tenth box, +that Jessie began to understand the matter. On opening this box, Marcus +took from it a piece of paper, and read aloud the following: + + + “The trustees, teachers and pupils of Highburg Academy beg Miss Jessie + Hapley to accept of this trifle, as a slight token of their + appreciation of her many virtues, and of her faithful labors as a + student and assistant teacher in the institution. ‘Many daughters have + done virtuously, but thou excellest them all.’” + + +“The box contains a porte-monnaie,” continued Marcus, “which, from the +weight, I should judge contained something more substantial than +promises to pay. Here, Jessie, step this way.” + +On hearing her name read, in the note of presentation, Jessie suddenly +darted towards the entry, but was arrested by several of her +school-mates, who led her back, covered with blushes, to Marcus. She +whispered a few words to the latter, who immediately arose, and said to +the company: + +“Miss Hapley requests me to say that she is too much overcome by this +unexpected token of your kindness, to make a suitable acknowledgment in +person; but she desires me to express to the company her grateful thanks +for the gift and the compliment bestowed upon her.” + +As soon as Marcus had finished, there was a general clapping of hands, +after which Mr. Upton started the Grade of Honor song, and the whole +assembly joined, singing: + + “Who are these, with honors decked? + The faithful, good and true; + They are spirits choice, select, + A brave but noble few. + Scorn they whatsoe’er is base, + They act no double part; + Honor’s written on their face, + And Duty in their heart.” + +Those who lived at a distance began to depart, soon after these +ceremonies, but the festivities were kept up by others for an hour +longer. Jessie, on examining her porte-monnaie, found within it ten +bright golden dollars,—a gift as timely, appropriate and acceptable to +her, in her straitened circumstances, as it was well deserved on her +part, and honorable to those who bestowed it. + +Tears of gratitude and joy moistened Jessie’s eyes, long after every +other eye under the roof was closed in slumber; and as her sleepless and +busy thoughts lingered around the exciting scenes of the day and +evening, ever and anon darting back over the eventful months that were +past, or flitting forward into the unknown future, she felt that she had +reached a point where it was meet that she should “thank God and take +courage.” + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + + + + TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES + + + ● Typos fixed; non-standard spelling and dialect retained. + ● Enclosed italics font in _underscores_. + ● Enclosed blackletter font in =equals=. + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75385 *** |