Casper










The Baldwin Library

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A. B. WARNER,





pO EST ERY eg































18

CHAPTER II.

For several days Casper kept away from Mrs.
Cheerful’s cottage most carefully. Not that it
was pleasanter than usual at home,—everything
there was as dirty and noisy and disagreeable as
it could be; and Casper spent the most of his
time out of doors, and was miserable enough.

But he couldn’t make up his mind to go to
the cottage—he couldn’t make up any reason for
going. Ifthe young lady would have asked him
to show her the way there now, how gladly
would he have done it; and he sat and stood
and lay about in the road where he had first
seen her, hoping that she might come and send
him on some errand to Mrs. Cheerful. But
nobody came by except wagons to raise a great
cloud of dust, or some of the village boys to get
him to play with them, or their fathers and mothers
to call him idle and good for nothing.

Casper began to long to see Ruth’s kind little
face, and her clean frock; and he wondered if
the sparrow still kept up his bathing habits.
Suddenly he remembered that Ruth had said her
mother loved flowers, and that the young lady
had told him he would always be miserable if
he didn’t try to please other people. Casper



CASPER. 19

jumped right up out of the dust, and ran off as
fast as he could to a meadow where he thought
he had seen some flowers. There they were still
—in great yellow tufts.

Now the meadow was very wet, but that didn’t
signify,—Casper rolled up his trowsers and plunged
into the mud; wading about, and jumping from
bog to bog, never thinking of the mud, until he
had his hands full of the yellow flowers. But
when he came out Casper looked at himself in
dismay. The dust had been bad enough—the
mud was worse ; and both together made him a
sight to be seen. Could such a little figure carry
yellow flowers to Mrs. Cheerful, and walk about
over her clean floor ?

“Tam miserable!” he cried, throwing down the
flowers and putting his hands into his eyes—and
the eyes looked none the cleaner for such atten-
tion. Then came up to him little Ruth’s gentle
words—

“Why don’t you wash it off?’

Casper took down his hands and looked at
them—water would take it off, no doubt; and he
scampered away to the little stream that came
out of the meadow and ran across the road.
There was plenty of pure water rippling on over
the pebbles, and the mud was very good-natured
and came off with no trouble at all, and the dust
after it. Casper didn’t know his hands again,
and wouldn’t have known his face, had he seen



20 CASPER.

it. He thought it was a great pity that he could
not wash his jacket, but that wouldn’t dry in a
minute; so he took it off and gave it a good
shaking, and put it on again. Then he smoothed
down his hair with his little wet hands, as he had
seen the labourers do when they came home to
dinner ; and pulling up a tuft of grass, he tried to
rub off the spots of mud with which his trowsers
were spattered. The last thing was to dip his
flowers in the brook, that they might look quite
fresh, and then Casper was ready.

It would have amused any one to see him on
his way to the cottage, as he bounded from tuft
to tuft of the grass that was springing by the
wayside; or walked along a piece of stick, or
picked his way by the help of little stones; and
all to keep his feet clean. But as he came near
the cottage he remembered Ruth’s little black.
shoes; and his breast heaved, for he had not a
pair in the world. He stood still for a long time,
not wanting to go forward. A pretty little curl
of smoke went up from the hut but everything
else was still; only Casper saw the birds flying
off to the brook, and supposed they had gone in
bathing. Presently he heard some one singing
off in the woods, and as the little yoice came
nearer it sang these words :—

“Jesus, listen now to me—
I thy little child would be.
Hear my prayer, and grant it too,
Make my heart entirely new.”



CASPER. ot

And little Ruth Cheerful came tripping out of
the wood, with a great basket of chips on her
head. Casper looked down for the black shoes,
but they were gone; and only Ruth’s little bare
feet stood on the moss.

“Oh, good morning!” she said. ‘ Why didn’t
you come before? Oh, what beautiful flowers !”

“You may have ’em,” said Casper, holding
out his great bunch of cowslips.

Ruth set down her basket and took the flowers.

“‘ How pretty they are!” she said; “I’m very
much obliged to you! Did you bring them for
me 2”

“Yes,” said Casper. “ No I didn’t, either—you

said your mother liked flowers.”

“Oh, well, that’s just as good,” said little Ruth,
smelling the cowslips,—‘ better too, I think.—
You'll come in and see her to-day, won’t you ?”

“No, I guess not,” said Casper, whose boldness
seemed to have left his hand with the flowers.

“Oh yes you will,” said Ruth,—*“ come!” and
she took up her basket again and marched on ;
while Casper followed with doubtful steps.

“ Ruth !” he said, “ stop !”

And Ruth stopped and set down her basket.

«* What’s the matter?”

“7’m not going in,” said Casper. “ Let’s go
down to the brook and play.”

“ T can’t,” said Ruth. ‘ Mother wouldn’t like
it. I must go now.”



22 ey CASPER.

~ And she turned and walked on.

Casper walked after her, thinking to himself
that he might offer to carry that heavy basket of
chips—that perhaps it wouldn’t feel so heavy on
his head as it was on hers—and at last that he
didn’t want to plague himself with it. ‘ Do you
never try to please other people?” the young lady
had said to him. ‘‘ Wouldn’t you like to have
somebody try to please you ?”

“ Ruth,” said Casper, “ is your basket heavy ?””

“ Pretty heavy,” said Ruth, as her little bare
feet went somewhat unsteadily over the rocks.

“ Well, give it to me, and I’ll carry it.”

“Oh, thank you!” said Ruth, stopping short
with a very bright face,— that would rest me
nicely. But I don’t believe you can.”

«A boy can do as much as a girl,” said Casper.
“ They’re a great deal stronger. What have you
done with your other straw hat ?”

“Oh, that’s for Sundays,” said Ruth, whose
weekday hat was tied with strings of red flannel.
** Will you carry the basket in your hand?”

“On my head,” said Casper. ‘ You do.”

“JT thought maybe as you were so strong—”
said Ruth,—“ it’s harder to hold it in your hand,
unless you are strong. Stoop down then, Casper,
and [ll put it on your head.”

So Casper stooped down, and when the basket
was on his head he took hold with both hands
to keep it there. Then he remembered that



CASPER. ae 23

Ruth never touched it with her hands, and he
took his down at once. And the basket followed.
Down, down,—a perfect shower of chips, all over
Casper’s head and shoulders, the minute he let go,
The chips lodged on his shoulders, and stuck in
his hair, and fell into his pockets ; while the basket
bounded away and went rolling down the hill.

* What a hateful basket!” said Casper angrily.

* Oh no,” said Ruth, “don’t say so! Mother
always says that nothing is hateful that isn’t
wicked.”

“Well, why wouldn’t it stay on my head
then?” said Casper.

Ruth might have answered that it was because
he didn’t know how to carry it; but she was
very good-natured and didn’t say anything of the
kind, nor even laugh.

“ Never mind,” she said,—* maybe it will next
time ;” and away she ran down the hill after
the ill-behaved basket. Casper didn’t offer to
help her again, but stood still and looked as she
came running with the basket in her hand; and
though he did pick up a few of the chips, it was
with no very good will, and he still had a great
inclination to kick the basket.

«What do you pick up chips for?’ he said.

“To burn,” said Ruth.

“ We don’t,” said Casper.

“JT s’pose you’re not so poor as we are,” said
Ruth gently.



24 CASPER.

Casper stood up and watched her for awhile as
she crowded the chips into the basket.

“Well,” he said at last, “if God loves your
mother, as you say He does, why don’t He give
her big sticks to burn ?”

“T don’t know,” said Ruth, going on with
her work.

“ No, I guess you don’t,” said Casper.

Ruth looked up with a very grieved little face.

“O Casper! that isn’t right!”

“Why not?” said Casper.

“JT don’t know exactly,” said Ruth. “I’m
sure it isn’t. I don’t believe we deserve to have
chips.”

“Why not?” said Casper again; for he felt
cross with the overthrow of the basket.

Ruth was laying the last few long chips on
top of her load, pressing them down and tucking
small ones in every little corner, and she made
no reply.

“ Where’s my great piece of bark?” she said,
looking round. ‘“ Oh, here it is!—that goes’on
top of all—see, Casper, it’s like a cover. These
are oak chips—don’t they smell sweet ?”

“No,” said Casper, “I don’t think they do.
Where did you get ’em?”’

“Oh, away off in the woods,” said Ruth,—
‘‘where Mr. Broadaxe is cutting trees. He gives
’em to me.”

“Do you go every day ?”” said Casper.



CASPER. 25

“ Yes, when it don’t rain,” said Ruth, ‘“ Some-
times twice a-day. We don’t burn ’em all up
now, though. I'll show you where we put ’em.”
And, lifting the basket to her head again, she
went on; and Casper followed.

There was a little shed at the back of Mrs.
Cheerful’s cottage, made with some old boards
which stood with their heads leaning against the
cottage and their feet on the ground. Into this
dark place Ruth crept, and Casper after her; and
then Ruth began to take the chips out of her
basket, and to pile them up nicely at one end.
There were a good many chips there already,
and the shed was full of the pleasant smell of the
oak bark.

“ What’s that shining over there ?”’ said Casper
suddenly. “See!—it’s something bright, like
fire! It’s moving about, too, Ruth.”

“Why, it’s only our cat’s eyes,” said little
Ruth, laughing. “ Pussy! kitty!”

“ Ma-ow!” said the cat in a very melancholy
tone of voice, which made both the children laugh.

“What makes you come into this dark place,
Ruth?” said Casper. ‘“ Aren’t you afraid ?”’

“Why no!” said Ruth,—“ what should I be
afraid of ?”

“T don’t know,” said Casper. “ Aren’t you?”

“Why, no!” said Ruth again. “It’s just as
safe here as it is in the light, Casper. We’re not
safe anywhere if God doesn’t take care of us.”



26 CASPER.

“ But it’s so. dark!” said Casper.

“Mother taught me a verse out of the Bible
once,” said little Ruth, as she went on piling
her chips; “and it said about God, ‘ Yea, the
darkness hideth not from thee; but the night
shineth as the day: the darkness and the light
are both alike to thee.’ ‘'That’s pleasant, isn’t it,
Casper ?””

But Casper was silent a little.

“Why didn’t you talk to me awhile ago?”
he said. ‘ You wouldn’t answer.”

“ Because you asked naughty questions,” said
Ruth. “Mother told me I might tell people
what the Bible said, but I mustn’t answer if they
didn’t believe it. Now I’ve done—come, we'll
goin. See how nicely the flowers have kept,—I
haven’t lost one.”

‘* Mother,” said Ruth as she entered the hut
“here’s Casper. You know he wouldn’t come in
on Sunday because he was dusty, but he’s come
to-day, and brought you a great bunch of flowers.
And he tried to carry my basket because it was
heavy ; and it fell down off his head and spilt all
the chips—wasn’t it good of him, mother ?”

And Ruth stroked her mother’s face, and softly
kissed it, and then went behind her and arranged
the bows of the broad ribbon that covered her
eyes. But her own little face looked very grave
then.

“ Aren’t they beautiful, mother?” she said,

22



CASPER. Qi

touching the hand into which she had put the
cowslips. ‘I mean, aren’t they sweet?”

“Both, dear child,” said her mother. But
how long you were gone, Ruth—and where is
Casper ?””

“Oh, I had to pick up the chips twice, you
know, mother—and then pile ’°em up. Here’s
Casper—he brought the flowers, because I told
him you loved ’em.”

“He is a very kind little boy,” said Mrs.
Cheerful, keeping hold of the hand Ruth put in
hers, and drawing Casper close to her—he was
not very willing to come.

“Where did you find them, Casper ?”

“ Down in the meadow.”

“Well, what made you bring them to me? do
you like to please other people ?”

“JT never did but twice,” said Casper. “The
young lady said I’d always be miserable if I
didn’t.”

“ Always be miserable?” said Mrs. Cheerful,
smiling. Why, are you miserable now ?”

“Yes,” said Casper.

“OQ Casper! I am very sorry!” said little
Ruth.

“How happens that?” said Mrs. Cheerful.
“Ts your father poor 2” :

*T don’t know,” said Casper,—* mother’s dead,
and nobody wants me.”

Little Ruth quite sobbed at that, as if it was



28 CASPER.

a degree of poverty she had never imagined ;
and though she ran away to get some water to
put the cowslips in, her blue apron was wet with
nothing but tears when she came back.

As for Mrs. Cheerful, she said nothing for
awhile, but sat there with her arm round Casper
and her hand stroking his head, until by and bye
the head came down on her shoulder.

“Poor child!’’ she said,— poor little boy!
And so there is no one but God to take care
of you. But He would have to do it, Casper,
even if your dear mother was alive,—don’t you
think He can do it without her ?’”’

“TI s’pose he can,” said Casper, with a long
sigh,—his heart was wonderfully softened bv his
present resting-place.

“T will ask Him every day to take care of
you, and make you happy,” said Mrs. Cheerful.
“ Will you ask Him too?”

“Yes,” said Casper, with another deep breath.

Mrs. Cheerful did not say any more to him
then, but sat silent for awhile; and Casper never
moved. And then little Ruth whispered to her
mother, and wert off and began to set the table
for dinner.

It was a little bit of a table, and the cloth
that Ruth put on it was very coarse, though as
white as it could be; and the dinner was only
a brown loaf, and a little bit of cold pork, and a
pitcher of water. Yet Mrs. Cheerful gave thanks



CASPER. 29

for it before they began, and Casper relished it |

better than any dinner he had + in a great
while. So much did he enjoy it, that he never
found out that little Ruth had given him her cup,
and that she drank with her mother.

After dinner Ruth washed the dishes and put
them away, and then she and Casper wound a
_ large skein of yarn for Mrs. Cheerful’s knitting ;

and by that time Casper thought he ought to be
going home.

“Ruth!” he called, when he had got outside
the door. Ruth ran out.

“T guess God does love your mother,” he
said— I do.”

And then he ran away as fast as he could.



*



80

CHAPTER III.

THERE grew a great oak in the forest. Its roots
were deep down in the earth, but nobody could
tell where its top was—the leaves were so thick.
Moreover, its neighbour trees—the elms and
maples and ashes—were tall like itself; and
their leaves mingled with those of the oak.
Unlike most neighbours, they were for ever
kissing each other. Early in the spring the
maples put forth bright red flowers, when there
was not a leaf to be seen; and the elms showed
their blossoms, which were, however, hardly worth
the trouble. But the oak kept his back; until
softly there came out little tufts of young leaves,
and then the long brownish green flowers came
and hung down between them. After that the
maples had bunches of flat green seeds, with
wings to them, that fluttered about in the summer
wind; but the oak had little acorns with brown
cups.

Now it was true, though nobody knew it, that
up in the oak tree a bird had built her nest;
and deep in a hole in one side of the oak, there
lived a large family of squirrels. Nobody knew
it,—and yet anybody might have guessed it; for
the birds were constantly fluttering and singing



CASPER. 31
among the branches, and the old squirrels ran
up and down the tree a great many times a day.
To be sure, if anybody looked at them they were
just as like to run up another tree as up their
own; and then to jump from branch to branch
till they reached the oak, and so down to their
nest. The young birds had many a rocking when
the wind arose while they slept, and swayed and
bent the branches from side to side; but the
squirrels never minded the wind—they couldn’t
fall unless the tree did, and of course that could
never happen. The young birds cried out a little
sometimes—when their cradle rocked too hard;
but nothing kept them awake long—it was all so
nice and dark under their mother’s wings; with
her warm feathered breast keeping the wind off,
and her little heart beating a lullaby. Whether
the wind frightened her or not, nobody ever
knew, and nobody ever inquired. If it did she
never told her young ones. But certain it is,
that after a long rainy night, if the sun chanced
to come out in the morning, the mother bird
always jumped up on the edge of the nest, and
wien stirred her wings, as if she felt
very glad the storm was over. And well she
might be. It was wet work to fly about in the
rain after food for her young ones; and the little
bird had no umbrella.

One morning, when the sun had got up very
early and the birds were all astir, the mother



32 CASPER.

bird flew up to the very top branch of the tree,
and perched herself there in the sunshine to get
a billful of fresh air, and sing her morning song.
But before she was well through the first verse,
the tree trembled so, with a sudden shock, that
the little bird nearly fell off the twig; and in-
stantly she spread her wings and flew up into
the air. There, hovering over the oak tree,she
saw it shake again, and a third time, more severely
than at first.

“Tt is without doubt an earthquake!’’ thought
the little bird; not noticing, in the agitation of
her mind, that the neighbouring trees were quite
still. But if it was an earthquake, clearly every-
body would be safest in the air!

So with some fear and trembling she lit on the
trembling tree, and made her way down to her
nest ; feeling very glad that her young ones were
duly provided with feather coats, and could fly
almost as well as herself. They were in a great
state of fright when she reached the nest; for
though the other old bird was there—trying his
best to keep them quiet and not to be frightened
himself—still it mattered very little what any-
body said so long as their mother was away ; and
they gladly obeyed her when she bade them jump
out of the nest and follow her up into the air.
The little ones’ wings soon grew tired, and they
perched on a maple tree, and sat feeling very cold
and disconsolate in the morning wind, without



CASPER. 33

their breakfast; but the old birds continued to
fly back and forth over the tree, and the tree
continued to shake.

Now the cause of all this commotion was Mr.
Broadaxe.

So one of the young squirrels said, when he
had put his whiskers cautiously out of the mouth
of the hole, and looked carefully about. And he
went on to remark, that as it was Mr. Broadaxe,
who was such a good man and never did harm
to anybody, they might as well all go to sleep
again. And immediately all the squirrels curled
their tails over their noses and went to sleep.

Mr. Broadaxe, meanwhile, was intent upon
cutting down the tree: his blows fell sharp and
quick upon its great trunk, and the white chips
flew hither and thither till the grass was quite
spotted with them. And the sound of his axe
went through the forest, chop, chop, till you
might have known half a mile off what was
going on.

But about the time that the little birds got
tired of flying over the tree, and went off in full
pursuit of their breakfast, Mr. Broadaxe bethought
him of his; so he stopped his work, set his axe
down on one side of the tree and himself on the
other, and took up his little basket.

“Chip!” said Mr. Broadaxe. “Chip!”

A little dog came dashing out of the underwood

at this—running along as if he was dreadfully
D



84 CASPER.

afraid of being late, and hadn’t the least bit of an
excuse to give for it.

“ Chip!” said Mr. Broadaxe. ‘“ Poor fellow!”

Chip thrust his nose into his master’s face in a
very gratified manner, then laid himself down a
few feet off; his paws stretched out before him,
his head up, his ears further yet, and his eyes
shining like black beads.

“Chip!” said Mr. Broadaxe again. “There, sir.”

“There” meant a piece of bread, which Mr.
Broadaxe cut off and threw to Chip, and which
Chip caught at one snap without moving anything
but his head—swallowed it down whole and was
ready for the next piece, which his eyes had
watched for all the time. Indeed, if those eyes
told truth, the pieces of bread which his master
ate were matters of great interest to him, and he |;
licked his chops as if they had had the catching.
But as the basket was but small the breakfast
could not be large, and Mr. Broadaxe had soon
drunk his last cupful of coffee, and eaten his last
bit of bread. No—that he gave to Chip. For
Chip sat there with his head on one side and his
mouth watering for more breakfast ; and when his
master tossed the last bit of bread to him, Chip
caught it with one snap as before, and then threw
his head back to assist him in mastication.

But as he ate, Chip pricked up his ears; and
as soon as his mouth was empty Chip barked—
and then immediately wagged his tail. It was



CASPER. 85

the best thing he could do under the circum-
stances, for little Ruth Cheerful was coming
thruugh the wood; and clearly she was not a
thing to bark at.

“Good morning, Mr. Broadaxe,” she said.
“ Good morning, poor little doggie. Why, what a
parcel of chips you’ve got for me already.”

“Yes,” said Mr. Broadaxe. “I guess that
one will fill your basket of itself.”

“ What, the little dog?” said Ruth. “Oh yes;
but I don’t want to carry him off. Now, little
dog—be good and quiet.”

I suppose the little dog was good, but certainly
he was not quiet. He frisked about Ruth, caught
hold of her apron and shook it, pulled the chips
out of her basket, and put his feet on those she
was going to pick up. He even went so far once
as to take the handle of the basket in his teeth
and run off with it; and when Ruth said, “O
Chip! Chip!—put that right down, sir!” he
' turned round and looked at her, with one ear
turned back and the other hanging over his eye,
as if it really was too bad, but he couldn’t for the
life of him help it. Meanwhile Mr. Broadaxe
was chopping away at the great tree till every leaf

» shook and trembled.

“What makes you cut down such a beautiful
tree, Mr. Broadaxe?’’ said Ruth.

“Cause it ain’t mine,” said Mr, Broadaxe,
with another chop.



36 CASPER.

« Well, then, why do you?” said Ruth.

‘It %s somebody’s,” said the woodcutter, pausing
in his work, “and he wants it down,—so down it
must come. I make money out of the cutting it,
and he’Il make money out of the selling it.”

“And we make wood out of the chips,” said
little Ruth with a laugh. “So everybody gets
something.”

As Ruth turned round for another chip she
saw Casper standing there.

“ You don’t make wood out of the chips,” said
he. ‘ They’re wood already.”

“Well, but I mean firewood,” said Ruth.
“‘ How do you do, Casper ?””

“JT guess I’m well,” said Casper, who was
watching the sharp tool do its work upon the
tree. ‘ How fast he strikes !”

* Don’t-he!” said Ruth. “I wonder if any-
body else chops so fast.”

“ T could, if I was a man,” said Casper.

“Youre not a man, though,” said Ruth.
“Don’t you want to help me put all the chips
in a pile?’ 5

“Yes,” said Casper. “‘ No—I’ll hold the dog
and you can do the chips. He’d pull your pile to
pieces.”

“That’ll be some help,” said Ruth, a little
doubtfully. “But I don’t believe you can hold
him.”

Chip, however, submitted to be caught, and

2



CASPER. 87

then sat very still with Casper’s arms round
him, and watched Ruth with the utmost gravity.
But when her pile was about a foot high, and
she had just laid a long piece of wood and bark
on top, Chip made one spring out of Casper’s
arms, overturning him, and then rushing suddenly
upon Ruth he seized hold of the long slice of
wood and began to pull.

is Rauphty: little dog!” said Ruth,—*“ let go,
and behave yourself.”

But at that moment Mr. Broadaxe called out— -

“ Now then, children, get out of the way of the
tree !” and Casper and Ruth and the dog ran off
as fast as they could to a safe distance.

Mr. Broadaxe, however, kept on with his
chopping, and the great tree shook and swayed
about and bent its tall head, and then went
slowly down,—the limbs creaking, and the leaves
fluttering far and wide. There it lay on the

_ ground.

The minute it was down little Ruth came
running up, and jumped upon the trunk and
danced back and forth from the root to the head
Presently she stopped short.

“O Mr. Broadaxe! there are squirrels up here
among the leaves !’

“So, so?” said the woodcutter. ‘Aye, I dare-
say. And here’s been their nest, in this hole.”

“Then we can catch ’em and take ’em home,”
said Casper.



89

CHAPTER IV.

* Ruru,” said Casper, “I like those squirrels.”
And as he spoke he picked up a big chip and threw
it at a squirrel’s tail that appeared among the
branches of the fallen tree.

“Well, what do you throw things at them for,
then?” said Ruth, as the little red bushy tail

‘whisked off out of sight. “We shan’t see a bit of
*em if you frighten ’em so.”

“J like to throw things,” said Casper.

« That isn’t much reason,” said Ruth.

“ Ruth,” said Casper, “ what do you suppose
squirrels have to eat ?”

“Oh, all sorts of nice things,” said Ruth.
“Corn, and nuts, and apples, and seeds, and
acorns.”

“Yes, I know they eat corn,” said Casper.
‘* What do you suppose they have to eat away off
in the woods, where there’s nobody to plant corn
for ’em ?”

“Why, then God feeds them—just as He does
here,” said Ruth.

“ But here the farmers plant the corn,” said
Casper.

“Yes, but who makes it grow?” said Ruth.



38 CASPER.

“ Oh no we can’t,” said Ruth. -“ That would be
cruel.

“ Why no it wouldn’t,” said Casper. ‘“ We'd
shut ’em up and feed ’em.”

“Then they’d be miserable, as you said you
were,” said Ruth.

Casper stopped at this, and looked doubtful.

“No, we won’ take ’em home,” said the
woodcutter, “ because they love their own home
best. I’m sorry I had to cut it down for them.
But I won’t cut the branches off the tree just yet,
and the young ones may have a chance to grow a
bit bigger before they go off to seek their fortune. —

So Mr. Broadaxe walked away to another tree
and began to cut that down, and Casper and Ruth
stood still and looked at the squirrels.





40 CASPER.

** And besides, they eat a great many things that
nobody plants.”

“Tf I was a squirrel,” said Casper, “ I should
always have plenty to eat.”

“ And nice clothes, too,” said Ruth. “But every-
body can have plenty to eat—no, not plenty, but
something. Mother’s tried it.”

“Well, how did she try?” said Casper.

“Tn the first place,” said Ruth, “she always
worked as hard as she could; and in the second
place, she always prayed God to take care of her,
and believed that He would. Mother says it never
fails.”

“T can’t work,” said Casper,— so that wouldn’t
do for me.”

“Well, then, you can be good,” said Ruth,
“and that'll do just as well, if you can’t
work.”

“T can’t be good,” said Casper. “I don’t know
how. And I don’t believe I could, either.”

“ Don’t you!” said Ruth. “ Well, you know
how to be naughty.”

“ Yes,” said Casper, “I s’pose I do.”

“Well, it’s just the other way,” said Ruth.
“When you. want to be cross you must be good-
natured, and when you want to be idle you must

go to work, and when you don’t want to pray
‘you must kneel down and pray all the more.
So mother says. Because nobody can be really
good, Casper, unless God helps them. And if



CASPER. 41

they never ask Him, it looks as if they didn’t want
his help.”

Casper shook his head and looked at the squir-
rels. Ruth looked too,and was silent a few minutes.
Then suddenly she broke forth—

“Why, Casper, you must know how to be good,
if you read the Bible.” ~

“T don’t read it,” said Casper.

“Then you ought to,” said Ruth.

“ Haven’t got one,” said Casper.

“Oh well, maybe you haven’t,” said Ruth, “ but
your father has.”

“Guess not,” said Casper, taking aim at the
squirrels with another chip. ‘If he has I don’t
know it, and I guess he don’t.”

“Why, you poor little boy!” said Ruth, aphdns
at him with unfeigned compassion.

“T’m bigger than you are,”’ said Casper,— ever
so much.”

“Well, I’m a girl,” said Ruth, “so it don’t
signify.”

“Yes it does,” said Casper,—‘ I’d rather be a
boy.” :
“ Well,” said Ruth, “ but I mean boys always

are bigger, aren’t they ?”’

“T don’t know,” said Casper. “TI s’pose so.
They’re bigger when they grow up. I want to be
aman!”

“TJ don’t,”—-said little Ruth thoughtfully. “TI
want to be an angel.”



42 CASPER.

TI guess you don’t,” said Casper.
“ Yes I do,” said Ruth. And joining her hands
together, she sang :—

T want to be an angel,
And with the angels stand :
A crown of gold upon my head,
A harp within my hand.”

* But you’d have to die to be an angel,” said
Casper, who had listened very attentively.

“Oh well,” said little Ruth,—‘ everybody’s
got to die some time. I don’t mean that I want
to die now, but when I do die I want to be an
angel.” ;

“Do you think you will be?’ said Casper,
looking at her with a very interesting face.

“Mother says,” answered little Ruth, “ that
when people really want to be angels in heaven,
they should try to be angels on earth.”

_ ©T don’t know how,” said Casper,—* and I’m
too ragged.”

“O Casper!” said Ruth—and then her voice
was choked, and she burst into tears. “It don’t
make a bit of difference to Jesus what clothes
children wear, if they’ll only love Him. Mother
says a great many angels in this world are very
poor, but in heaven they shall have enough of
everything.”

' “T don’t know how,” repeated Casper, his own
lip beginning to tremble. Ruth sat looking at him,



CASPER. 43

and stroked his face once or twice, as if she didn’t
know what to say.

“Casper, I learn a little verse in the Bible
every morning before I come out, and if you’ll be
here in the wood I’ll come and teach it to you;
and so you could learn a great deal; and maybe
when you’re a man you can buy a whole Bible
for yourself.”

“What did you learn this morning?” said
Casper, without looking up.

“ It was this,” said Ruth: “ * My little children,
these things write I unto you, that ye sin not.’”

Casper made no reply, and Ruth sat silent as
before.

“Shall I say it for you again, Casper?” she
asked softly.

“ No,” said Casper, “ I know it now.”

“Do you?” said Ruth. “ Why, how quick
you are. It took me longer than that.”

The sun had mounted high into the heavens,
but the trees were so thick that his rays scarcely
found their way down to the ground, and in the
wood it was cool and pleasant. Mr. Broadaxe
had stopped chopping, and was shouldering his
axe to go home to dinner, and the squirrels were
playing hide and seek among the withering leaves
of the fallen oak. A sweet breeze wandered along
through the forest, and said that there were a
great many flowers out in different places.

“JT must go home too,” said Ruth, jumping



44. CASPER.

up and taking her basket of chips. ‘ Good bye,
Casper—will you come to-morrow ?”

“ Yes,” he said.- And then, as she trudged off
with her basket on her head, he looked up again
and called out—* Ruth!”

“ What, Casper?” said Ruth, stopping and
turning round.

«What did you learn yesterday ?”

“ Oh, such a pretty one!” said Ruth, her eyes
brightening,—“ about the children that were
brought to Jesus when he was in the world,—
‘ And he took them up in his arms, and put his
hands upon them, and blessed them.’ ”

Casper turned away again, and so did Ruth
on her way home, and soon her little figure was
quite out of sight among the trees. The heavy
steps of Mr. Broadaxe had died away too, and
Chip’s frolics could be seen no longer. Casper
looked about to be sure that they were gone, and
then he threw himself down on the soft green
moss and cried. I don’t know that he could
have told why if anybody had asked him; but
there was nobody to ask, and so he cried and
cried till he was tired. He wasn’t going home
to dinner,—his father had told him not to show
his face in the house till night; and Casper
thought of Ruth’s verse, and longed for some one
to lay hands on him and bless him.



45

CHAPTER V.

Casper cried himself tired and then went to
sleep,—his bare feet curled up and resting on
the soft moss, his head resting—or not resting—
on a great tree root, which in the course of time
had twisted and thrust itself out of the soil. The
sun passed on from the mid heaven, and soft
flickering shadows fell over his face, as the broad
leaves

“ Clapped their little hands in glee,”

and waved to and fro above his head.

But Casper saw and heard none of it; nor
even dreamed that there were angels about kim,
and that the little ragged boy had. heavenly
watchers. When at last he did wake up, he
saw only Mr. Broadaxe standing before him—his
sharp tool resting on the ground; while by his
side sat Chip—his head particularly on one side,
his black eyes sparkling with eagerness, his paws
ready to pounce upon Casper at the, slightest
invitation. It was Chip indeed who had found
the little sleeper, and had barked at him and
pranced round him until Mr. Broadaxe came to
see and Casper awoke



46 CASPER.

“ Child, you will catch your death,” said the
old woodman.

“ Well, I don’t know,” said Casper, raising
himself on one elbow and rubbing his eyes.

‘What made you come back after dinner?”
said the woodman.

“J didn’t,” said Casper,—“ I haven’t been.”

“ Why not?” said Mr. Broadaxe.

“There wasn’t any,” said Casper. “ Father
took Ais along. There’s nobody else there.”

“ You don’t care about dinner, I s’pose?” said
the woodman.

“T guess I can get sie without it,” said
Casper, picking up bits of the moss and throwing
them at Chip, who caught them as if they had
been pieces of bread and butter, and tried to
Keep them all in his mouth at once.

“ 'That’s a great mistake, little boy,” said Mr.
Broadaxe gravely, “and you’ve got to go right
home this minute and get your dinner.”

“ ] say there isn’t any there,” said Casper.

“Not in your home,” said Mr. Broadaxe;

there is in mine. Lots o’ bread and milk, and
such trash. What do you think of that?”

Casper’s eyes sparkled a little, as if they had
caught a reflection of Chip’s, but he said not a
word.

“Look here,” said the woodman, lifting his
axe and setting it down again till all the moss
trembled; “how do you s’pose you'll ever work



CASPER. 47

such a tool as that when you come to be a man, if
you eat nothing but sleep when you’re a boy?
Why, you'll never be a man!”

“Ruth says she wants to be an angel,” said
Casper thoughtfully.

“Well, they’re a better sort of creature, I'll never
deny,” said the woodman; “ but starvation ain’t
exactly the gate that leads to that road. Come,
jump up—you shan’t be one o’ the babes in the
wood this time. Now do you know where I
live?”

“°Tother end of the brook, by the chestnut
tree,” said Casper.

« That’s it,” said the woodman, who was writ-
ing on a leaf of his pocket-book, which he pre-
sently tore out and gave to Casper. “ There’s a
message, child, for my wife. You take it and
wait for an answer, and when you come back I'll
give you sixpence.”

Casper looked up doubtfully.

“ Didn’t you ever hear anybody speak truth ?”
said the woodman. “Now go, or I shan’t have
an answer till sundown.” And Casper went.

.He didn’t walk very steadily at first, between
shame at having no dinner of his own, and desire
to have dinner of some sort—even though it
should come from other people. So when he
looked at the bit of paper in his hand he went
very slow ; and then again when he listened to
his keen little appetite he went fast. But even



48 CASPER.

this irregular way of getting along in the world
brought him at last to the woodcutter’s door.
There Casper stopped. The door stood wide
open -

All signs of dinner were long ago cleared away,
the floor was swept up, and Mrs. Broadaxe had
brought out her big wheel and began to spin.
But her back was towards the door, and Casper
could watch her unobserved. She was just as
cleanly dressed as Mrs. Cheerful, but her dress
was a good deal more fresh and new, and on her
head, instead of a ribbon, there was a very white
eap. A little black silk apron—or rather a pretty
large one—fluttered about as she stepped to and
fro before the wheel, and her shoes creaked with
smartness and new leather. She was as big as
two or three of Mrs. Cheerful— stout and hearty,
and just the sort of a woman in whose lap little
boys like to curl down and go to sleep. She was
whirling the wheel swiftly round with one hand,
while the other drew out a long blue thread of
yarn from the spindle’s point, in a manner that
seemed quite wonderful. Casper forgot both his
message and his appetite, and stood still to see;
and there is no telling how long he might have
stood, if a large white cat had not suddenly
- come round the corner of the house and cried out
“ Meow!”

« Winkie! Winkie!’’ said Mrs. Broadaxe, turn-
ing the wheel but not her head.



CASPER. 49

“ Meow!” replied Winkie, with the tone of a
deeply injured cat.

“ Well, it serves you right,” said Mrs. Broadaxe,
walking straight off to the pantry and talking all
the time ; “you should have come home before,
Winkie—of course dinner is done, and if this was
some houses you wouldn’t have a mouthful. Some
of these days I shall not save you any either—I’ve
no doubt I sha’n’t.”

“Some of these days” had not come yet,
however, for Mrs. Broadaxe presently appeared
with a large plate of chicken bones, which. Winkie
waited for at the.door. But when Mrs. Broadaxe
had set the plate down, and had straightened
herself up again, then she beheld Casper.

* Well, little dear,” she said, “‘ how do you like
my cat? Shouldn’t you like to come and sit on
the door-step and see her eat her dinner? And if
the chickens come up you can drive them away
for me, will you?—because they help themselves
out of Winkie’s plate.”

“Why mayn’t they?” said Casper.

“Why, they’ve had their dinner long ago,”
said Mrs. Broadaxe.

“ Oh!—” said Casper. He did not say that
he was worse off than the chickens, but he came
and sat down on the door-step and gave Mrs.
Broadaxe the little paper message the woodcutter
had sent.

Mrs. Broadaxe stood still to read.
E

















CASPER. 57

a drumstick in one hand and bread and butter in
the other.

“Little boys—” said the woodman— and gin-
gerbread. And if Ruth Cheerful comes along
we'll go off far into the wood and have a time.”

“T like Ruth!” said Casper. “She’s so good.”

“Well, why shouldn’t Casper be so good too?”
said the woodman.

“T can’t—” said Casper,—“ I’m bad.”

Mr. Broadaxe made no reply to that, but as
the chicken and bread and butter had all dis-
appeared, he went through the wood with Casper
until he could see the village lamps; and then
bade him good night, and told him to find some
better reason for not being good than the one he
had just given.



bes an =
EEN









































76 CASPER.

trust to him with our hearts, God will forgive us
all our sins for his sake—because he took our
punishment.”

“What do you think, Casper ?” said the wood-
man,—‘ does no one love you? ‘ God so loved
the world, that he sent his only begotten Son,
that whosoever believeth in him might not perish,
but have everlasting life ;? and the Lord Jesus
came from all his heavenly glory, and lived, and
suffered, and died, that just such poor sinners as
you and I, Casper, might live for ever in heaven
and not in hell.”

“Then he isn’t here now,” ‘said Casper,—“ I
wish he was!”

“ He is near you all the time, little Casper,”
said the woodman; “he can hear every word
you say, and knows every thought you think.
And if you will pray to him, and try to be his
little child, you will never be miserable any more.
‘When my father and my mother forsake me,
then the Lord will take me up.’ ”

Casper made no answer. He had dropped
his head upon his hand, and so he sat for some
time without speaking or moving. And when
at last the woodcutter said it was time to go, and
they all got up and began to walk through the
forest, Casper walked along just as silent as ever ;
only once when he saw Ruth looking at him,
there came a little gush of tears from his eyes, and
he put up his hand quick to wipe them away



CASPER. Vk

Mr. Broadaxe took them both home with him
to supper, and when the two children were coming
away together, Casper looked up and said—

“Mr. Broadaxe, when will you talk again?”

“T don’t know,” said the woodcutter, smiling
kindly, —“ I must work to-morrow ; but we’ll see.”

Ruth and Casper walked quietly on till they
were near Mrs. Cheerful’s cottage, when Ruth
suddenly exclaimed—

“Casper! mother will talk to you whenever
youll come. Will you come to-morrow ?”

“T can’t,” said Casper,—* father said I was
to go to the mill.”

“Well, Sunday, then,—you can come after
church.”

“Well, maybe I will,” said Casper; and bid-
ding Ruth good night, he ran home, for it was
quite late, and every little bird in the forest had
its head under its wing.





78

CHAPTER VIII.

Tue forest in which Mr. Broadaxe pursued his
business of woodcutting, and where little Ruth
came to pick up chips, and Casper to sze them
both, was very large. The trees of it rose up
like a great wall very near the village where
Casper lived, and from thence it stretched away
back into the mountains, and ran up their sides,
sometimes even to the very top. By the village,
and for some miles from there, the woods were a
good deal cleared up; the underbrush was cut out
and the trees were thinned, and you could find
no wild animals but squirrels and rabbits, and
now and then a woodchuck or a racoon. But
going towards the mountains the woods grew
thicker. ‘The trees stood close together, and wild
vines crept up their trunks and twined about
their branches, and low bushes grew about their
roots,—huckleberry and sweetbriar and dogwood.
The moss grew thick and rank in the shade, and
whole beds of fern sent up their beautiful leaves
which the wind could hardly get in to stir. Over
the ground in some places the little partridge
berry spread itself—a mere mat of leaves and
white flowers; and the wintergreens clustered



CASPER. 79

together in large patches, hanging: full of their
pretty red fruit which no one ever found but the
wild birds.

There were plenty of birds—and of squirrels
too, for that matter; and now and then a snake
went softly along, and frightened them both.
The woodpecker hammered all day upon the
hollow trees, and picked out the insects from
under the bark with his sharp bill, and the oriole
swung her hammock of a nest from the branch
of some weeping elm, and then bade defiance to
the black snake and all his advances.

But other sounds were heard besides the
“tap, tap” of the woodpecker, or the sharp little
* chip!” of the Hackee—for so the Indians call
the little striped squirrel. Sometimes a wolf
would stroll through the forest, with two or three
after him for company; and when they all cried
out together, any little animal that had stayed
out too late trembled and shook all over. And
if the pretty deer that were lying down among
the fern leaves heard the soft bounds of a panther
coming along, they took to their heels as fast as
fear could make them. ;

An old gray wolf had her den just at the foot
of the mountains; indeed there was quite a
settlement in that place, though one could hardly
call it a neighbourhood.

The wolf had made her home in a cave-like
sort of a place, where great rocks lay piled to-



80 CASPER.

gether, leaving a dry rock house within that was
wolfish and wild enough ; and there the old wolf
lived and amused herself with her eight cubs,
for whose comfort she had lined the nest with
moss and her own hair. They were soft little
things, with eyes as tight shut as if they had
been kittens ; and their mother probably thought
they were about perfect, and looked forward with
pleasure to the six or eight months during which
she must mount guard over them and never let
them go out alone. And as soon as they were
old enough to eat meat, the two old wolves wenz
out and caught sheep and deer and all sorts of
dainties, and having first chewed the meat and
swallowed it to make it tender, they brought, it
up again and fed the young ones out of their own
mouths. And so well did the cubs thrive with
all this care and attention, that in a short time
they were able to chew for themselves, and could
even tear a lamb to pieces if it was young and
tender; while for growling and fighting there -
was not a more promising set of young wolves in
the whole country. They could amuse themselves
so by the hour together.

In the same line of life—although great ene-
mies to the wolves—were a family of foxes that
lived half way up the mountain, in the thickest
of the wood. Anybody who had gone in among
the trees and looked carefully enough, would have
seen a dark hole going into the very hill side.



CASPER. 81

This was the foxes’ front door, and led to a long
burrow or passage-way cut in the earth: and at
the further end of the burrow the foxes lived.
There were but seven of them, altogether—the
two old ones and five cubs; but that was seven
too many, considering what wicked little things
they were. The old fox would steal out at night
and go to the barns and chicken-houses that were
a long way off, and if there was one chicken
straying out where he ought not to be, or roosting
on too low a branch—the old fox was sure to
have him, and would go back to her cubs with
the chicken in her mouth. Sometimes if the
duck-house had been left open she went in there,
and killed more than she could carry away; or if
there was nothing to be got in the barnyard, the
fox would maybe surprise a partridge on her way
home, and then the cubs had a dainty supper.
To pay for this, however, there were times when
the partridge managed to hide all her brood,
when the chickens were shut up, and the rabbits
invisible; and then the foxes took what they
could get,—lizards and frogs, a snake, or a family
of field-mice. Such were busy times for the old
foxes,—mice were small and the cubs hungry.
They growled and grumbled a great deal some-
times, because they could not reach the wild
grapes that hung about the trees at the mouth of
their hole—these grapes would have made such a

nice dessert after a chicken dinner.
G



82 CASPER.

On one of the same trees where the grape vines
clambered about, an oriole had built her nest,—
built it too on a branch that stretched far out
beyond the others, quite over the foxes’ front
door. It was a queer nest, hung upon several
strong threads, and these made fast to the very
end of the branch. The nest itself was made of
wool and flax and threads of hemp, which the
bird had woven neatly together into a rough sort
of cloth, and sewed through and through with
long horse-hairs. The bottom was made of tufte
of cow’s hair, sewed like the rest; and within,
the lining was thick and soft. Little tufts of
wool and of moss were laid in first, and then a
thick layer of horse-hair, smoothly woven and
twisted round. The whole nest was seven inches
long and five across, and was narrowed up to
a small hole at the top, over which hung a great
bunch of elm leaves, and helped keep off the
rain.

The birds were as pretty as their nest, for
they were dressed in bright orange and black
feathers, and flew about among the green leaves
like gleams of fire. They were very merry too,
and whistled all the while the nest was a build-
ing; but when it was done, and the little mother-
bird had laid in it five little white eggs all
streaked and spotted with purple; then she began
to sit on them all day, and let the other bird
whistle for her.



CASPER. 83

After a time, five little orioles broke the
eggshells and came out, having on little downy
coats—very thin ones too; and then the two old
birds were busier than ever. As soon as it grew
light in the morning they flew off, and then every
little while one or the other would come back to
the nest with a worm or a fly or a beetle for the
young ones: there was a kind of little green
beetle that they all loved particularly. And
there were always five little mouths wide open
at the bottom of the nest, the moment the old
bird was seen at the top. They all opened
their mouths every time, though they were fed
only in turn ; but they never could remember that,
or perhaps they hoped that their mother would not.

When the little ones grew older, and had eaten
a great many green beetles, their feathers began
to appear, and they looked a great deal prettier,
and the nest became almost too small to hold
them. But the top of it was so far off that they
could not get there, do what they would, for their
wings were not strong yet.

“If we could only climb up to the top we could
look out so finely,” said one of the brood.

And forthwith he tried, but only succeeded
in tumbling down upon the heads of the others.
And as they felt themselves deeply injured thereby,
there is no telling, what might have followed, had
not the mother bird at that moment come in with
a green beetle.



84 CASPER.

“ Mother!’ screamed all the young ones at
once, “why can’t we go up to the top of the
nest ?””

“Because you can’t get there,” said the old
bird as she flew off. The young ones were quiet
till she came back, and then they screamed out
again.

“ Well, why don’t you take us up there?”

“ve got something else to do,” said Mrs.
Oriole, putting a little brown worm into the
mouth of the noisiest and going off again.

“T7ll tell you what,” said that little fellow as
soon as he had swallowed the worm, “ wait till
to-night, and then we’ll ask her. I can keep
awake now sometimes, if I try hard.”

So all the rest of the day they were perfectly
quiet; but when the sun set, and the old bird
came back and covered them up with her wings,
they poked their heads out through the feathers,
and began to talk.

“Mother, what is there outside of the nest ?”

“Great trees,” said the mother-bird sleepily,
for she was tired after her day’s work.

“And what else?” said the youngsters.

“ Foxes—” replied Mrs. Oriole
. “Foxes?” cried all the young ones, opening
their eyes very wide; “oh, what are foxes?”

“Great beasts, that love little birds and eat
7em up whenever they can find ’em.”

All the young heads went back under Mrs.



CASPER. 85

Oriole’s wings at that; and for awhile there was
so little said, that the young ones fell asleep
before they knew it. But when the daylight
came they felt very brave again, and began as
_ before.

“Mother, why aren’t you afraid of the foxes?”

“T can fly.” And away she flew.

“Then the foxes can’t, I suppose,” said one
of the young ones, “and if they can’t fly they
can’t get up here. I should like to see ’em so
much !”

Carefully he began to climb again, sticking
his claws into the sides of the nest and working
his way up, till he really arrived at the top and
could stick his head out of the hole. How
splendid it was!

There were great trees—just as the old bird
had said, but where were the foxes? The little
bird looked and looked but could see none.
His feet began to feel very tired, but still he held
on and looked about him, till far down, down
near the ground he saw something moving; and
a large black snake began to climb a little tree
that was there. Up it came, almost to the very
top, and then darting out upon one of the branches
stuck its head into a nest of young sparrows, and
ate them all up, one by one!

The young oriole was so frightened that ‘he
forgot all about holding on, and if he had been
on the edge of the nest he would most certainly



86 CASPER.

have fallen over to the black snake,—as it was,
he only fell down to the bottom of the nest—
fully believing that he was dead; and nothing
could convince him of the contrary till his
mother came in and presented him with a green
beetle.

But after that, the young orioles were content
to stay where their mother bade them, until their
wings were grown and they also could fly.





87

CHAPTER IX.

Tut next morning after the day spent in the
woods, Casper was sent off very early to the mill,
as he had expected. Mrs. Clamp had declared that
there was no more flour in the house to make
bread, and therefore Casper and a little sack were
sent for more. Trudging along the dusty road, his
sack flung over his shoulder, Casper paid small
heed to the dust, and only enough to the sack to
keep it in its place. If he had not been so tired
last night, he would have thought a great deal of
all Mr. Broadaxe and Ruth had said: as it was,
he went to sleep and dreamed about it; and now
this morning his thoughts were very busy. Two
new ideas had come into his head,—first that he
could not be happy without loving somebody, and
then that God really loved him. It puzzled Cas-
per especially why in that case his mother should
have died,—and why he himself should have been
such a miserable little boy ever since; only as he
could not forget that he had not been a very good
little boy, the wonder seemed less. And what
should he do to bé good, and how should he learn
the way. “ Pray to Jesus, and try—” the wood-
cutter had said,—Casper thought he didn’t know



88 CASPER.

how to do either. But he did go and kneel down
by the hedge and say a poor little prayer—a few
words of begging that the Lord Jesus would love
him, and take care of him, and take him to heaven,
—and then he went on his way. And everything
looked brighter and sweeter, as if the morning
had changed ; but it was only Casper’s heart that
felt lighter.

The flour-mill stood about two miles off, over
a stream that came rushing down from the hills,
and then flowed gently through a broad meadow.
Outside, the water and the wind kept things fresh
enough, but within, everything was dusty with
white dust,—tall flour bags stood about the floor,
and between them lay the flour which had been
spilled, and the miller and all his men looked pretty
much like other flour-bags moving about.

There was a great whirring to be heard when
Casper got there, for the mill was hard at work.
The water went tumbling and foaming along,
turning the great wheels in its way; and as the
wheels went round and round outside the mill,
they turned the huge grindstones within. Casper
saw how the grains of wheat were put into a
vessel above the stones, which was called the
hopper—and how from the hopper they fell slowly
down between the stones; and then, as the upper
stone went round upon the under one, the wheat
was crushed and ground, and came out in soft
flour beneath



CASPER. 89

Then the miller put the flour through a sieve—
which he called bolting it—and some he bolted
two or three times; but that for Casper was bolted
_ only once. And when the sack was filled and tied
up, and Casper had paid for it, the miller told
him he had better sit down and rest. So laying
his own little sack on the floor, Casper climbed
up to the top of a high flour-bag and looked
about him. He was very glad not to go home
just then, there was no chance of anything plea-
sant there, and it might be too late to find Ruth
in the woods. And besides, he was really tired,
for his little feet made a great many steps out of
the two miles. Nobody took any notice of him—
the miller and his men went tramping about, busy
and in haste; the mill kept on its whirring, and
the splash of the water on the great wheel out-
side could be distinctly heard. Casper could hear
little else. - Through the open mill-door he saw
the birds fly to and fro; he saw the mill-stream,
which having got away from the wheels, turned
into a little brook, and ran away as fast as it could;
he saw the steeple of the village church just peep-
ing over the hill; and off on one side began the
forest, and stretched away into the blue distance.
Casper fixed his eyes on those tall trees, and
thought of Ruth, and of Mr. Broadaxe, and Chip
—and wondered what they were all doing. And
then he wondered if he ever should be good—like
Ruth; and if so, what things he should do and what



90 CASPER.

things he shouldn’t; whether he should have to
walk so far with a great bag of flour on his back,
and whether his father would make him fetch all
the water, and whether it would be any pleasanter
to do it than it was now. And as he thought
these things, Casper laid his head down on the
flour bag next him, and went to sleep.

“What shall we do with this boy?” said the
miller, when dinner-time came.

“* Lock him up and leave him,” said one of the
men; and they locked the mill-door and went off
to dinner.

At that time the mice usually came out to get
theirs, for though they managed to pick up a few
grains of wheat, or a little flour between the
sacks, while the men where about, yet they dared
not venture out on the open floor. Now, how-
ever, they came forth, ran back when they saw
Casper, and ran out again when they found he did
not stir, and then went on just as if he had not
been there.

Poor little Casper !

His feet hung dangling down the sides of one
great sack, and his head nestled down on the top
of another, and his coat and hair were already ©
much whiter than when he entered the mill—
for the flour had dusted them in all directions,
Once or twice he twisted about as if his bed
were far from comfortable, and then for a long
time he lay perfectly still—only smiling now and



CASPER. 9]

then, in a way that would have made Ruth quite
happy.

What do you suppose made him smile? He
was dreaming. When he first went to sleep, he
was tired and hungry, and this made him turn
about so; but after awhile he fell into a sweet
dream, and then lay quiet.

He thought he was in the beautiful city—the
city of which Ruth had told him; that the streets
were all made of gold, and the light so bright as
he had never seen. And suddenly Casper thought
to himself that he had no business there—with
his dusty little feet and ragged clothes—what
should he do in such a glorious place? But when
he looked at himself, all was changed. His
clothes were whole and white—more beautiful
than any he had ever seen—he had clean hands,
there was not a particle of soil to be found upon
him. He felt, too, that he was rested: instead of
being weary and ready to cry, it seemed as if he
had no more tears to shed.

And while Casper was wondering at all this,
he saw little Ruth Cheerful; who came running
up to him in clothes as beautiful as his own.
But when she was going to speak, Casper pre-
vented her, and asked how he got there. And
Ruth said—

OQ Casper! the Lord Jesus has loved you, and
died that you might come here, and now you have
come; and we will love and serve him for ever! ”



92 CASPER.

Casper thought he could have cried then for.
joy, he was so happy; he even thought that the
tears did come into his eyes; but as he put up his
hand to rub them away, the bright city faded out
of his sight—little Ruth changed and changed till
she looked like only a stick of wood, and Casper
was sitting up on the flour bag, rubbing his eyes
very hard to know whether he were still in a
dream or no. There was the old mill—the heavy
stones—the sacks—the little mice,—there was
even the miller unlocking the door on his return
from dinner !

“ Well, sleepy child,” said the miller, “ you’ve
had a fine sleep.”

“Yes,” said Casper. “I wish I hadn’t ever
waked up.”

The men all laughed at that, and Casper feel-
ing much more ready to cry, jumped down from
the flour-bag, took up his own little sack, and
marched out of the mill door withovt another
word.

With what disgust he looked at his clothes,
thinking of those so white and new which he
had worn in his dream! Casper felt tired and
down-hearted. For awhile he walked fast, as
if to get away from his bad feelings,—then his
feet went slower and slower—then he stopped
and sat down under the hedge. He sat there after
his old fashion—sticking out his feet into the dust
and feeling miserable: and there is no telling



CASPER. 93

when he would have stirred if he had not heard the
wheels of a wagon coming along. Then Casper
got up, and having with some trouble got the sack
of flour on his back again, he walked on. But he
saw now that there was a little hole in the sack—
the mice might have gnawed it while he was
asleep—and through that hole the flour came
dropping out, and left a little white streak on the
ground as he went along. The wagon came on
and stopped just by him. It was a great farm-
wagon full of sheaves of wheat: two fat brown
horses drew it along, and a pleasant-looking man
sat between them and the wheat.

“Took here, my boy!” he called to Casper.
Casper looked but said nothing.

«Who lives in that red house next the orchard
yonder ?” said the man.

“Farmer Pippin,” said Casper.

“ Well, now, my child, run over there will you?
—I can’t leave my horses—and ask him for a
white sheepskin that belongs to Mr. Sickles—you
fetch it to me, will you ?”

Casper opened his eyes very wide, and didn’t
feel at all disposed to go.

“Yow’re spilling your flour,” said the man,
smiling.

“T ain’t—” said Casper—“ it’s the bag.”

“ Well, I guess it is the bag’s fault,” said
the man with another smile. ‘ Come—run—will
you 2”



94 CASPER.

Casper was just going to say no. He was
tired, it was rather late; the bag was easily put
down indeed, but it was hard to get it up to his
shoulder again; and moreover Mr. Pippin’s red
house was beyond a broad meadow and two
fences. But as he looked up to speak, the face
of little Ruth Cheerful came to his mind—so
bright, so unselfish: and instead of no, Casper
said yes.

He put down the bag and climbed the fence,
and had begun to walk over the meadow, when
Mr. Sickles called him.

“Look here, my boy !”

Casper looked once more, and then as he saw
the man beckon, he came back and climbed over
the fence again. Mr. Sickles opened his pocket-
book and took out some money.

“'There’s two’ shillings owing them,” he said,
“and if you carry the cash there’ll be no fear
about getting the skin. Now go.”

“What did you make me come back for?"
said Casper, not very well pleased.

“To get this money for Mr. Pippin,” said the
man with another smile. “ Ah, you don’t like to
be called back, hey? Never mind, my boy—don’t
ever refuse to help make road for other people,
because some day you may travel that way your-
self. You needn’t hurry, but the quicker you’re
back the better I shall like it.”

And Casper once more set forth ; nor was it long



CASPER. 95

before he came back again with the pretty white
sheepskin in his hand.

“ There’s a good boy,” said Mr. Sickles—“ first-
rate. Where are you going?”

“ Home,” said Casper.

“* Where’s that ?”

* Tn the village.”

“Do you think you'll ever get there on those
two little feet?” said Mr. Sickles with a very
beaming face.

Casper couldn’t help smiling a little too, as he
said “ he guessed he should.”

“You like walking better than riding?” said
Mr. Sickles.

“ No,” said Casper.

“Then jump up here and sit in the wheat,”
said the wagoner, “and there’ll be some chance
of the flour’s getting home too; you can hold the
bag with one hand and the hole with the other.
Jump up!”

Casper jumped up, in high spirits: Mr. Sickles
pushed him down into a little nest among the
wheatsheaves, where he was as comfortable as
could be, and the two brown horses moved on.
Casper was so glad they had a heavy load and
couldn’t go faster !

Jog, jog went the horses, and the wagon rolled
after them and jolted over the stones in the most
slow and comfortable manner. The sharp, bearded
ears of wheat hung down from the sheaves and



96 CASPER.

scratched Casper’s legs, and tickled his neck, and
dressed off his hair after a most curious fashion ;
but it was so delightful to ride, and the soft straw
on which he sat rested him so nicely, that he
minded not the scratching a whit.

«‘ What sort of place is the village? said Mr.
Sickles. ‘ Pleasant ?”

“No,” said Casper.

«Ah, that’s bad,” said his friend,— people
ought to live in a pleasant place. Why isn’t thre
village pleasant ?”

“1 don’t know—
is, but our house isn’t.”

“Why not?” said Mr. Sickles, looking round
at him.

“ Mother’s dead,” said Casper, as if that told
everything.

Mr. Sickles looked Sane again, and said “ Get
up!” to the horses in a very imperative way.

“Do you know where I five?” he said, after
a pause.

“ No,” said Casper.

“See that hill yonder, with a white house and
a red barn just at the top?”

Casper said yes.

“ That’s the place,” said Mr. Sickles,—“ nice
place too, and pleasant—I don’t care who says
it ain’t. Now do you think you could walk so
far ?”

Casper wondered whether Mr. Sickles was

” said Casper,—% maybe it



CASPER. 97

going to ask him to carry the sheepskin up there,
because the wagon had to go somewhere else, but
he only said yes again.

“Well, come up some time and spend the
day, will you?” said Mr. Sickles. ‘‘ Come to+
morrow.”

“Spend the whole day?” said Casper.

“Why yes,” said his friend. ‘‘ Got anything
to do at home ?”

“Oh no!” said Casper. “I should like to
come very much.”

“ Well, there’s nothing to hinder, that I can
see,” replied Mr. Sickles. And he was silent
again till they reached the village. There he
stopped for Casper to get out. Casper couldn’t
shake hands with him, for it was all both hands
could do to manage the flour-bag, but he said
“Thank you, sir.”

“Look here!” said Mr. Sickles, as he turned
away, “what’s your name? If the wrong boy
comes to-morrow I should like to know it.”

“My name’s Casper.”

“ Well see,” continued Mr. Sickles, “do you
always carry that face round with you”

“JT haven’t got any other face,” said Casper.

“Well, do you always cry every day? or do
you laugh some of ’em ?”

“TJ don’t cry when I’m out in the woods with
Ruth,” replied Casper.

“ Don’t bring any tears along to-morrow,” said

H



100 CASPER.

other she scattered the breakfast, while cock and
hen and chick fluttered round her, and ate as fast
as they could. Then Mrs. Sickles shaded her
eyes with one hand from the bright sunbeams,
and looked off across the fields. There were
some black specks in a distant meadow, which
might be Mr. Sickles and his men, at work, but
they were too far off for her to see much of them.

A little red dog who sat by her, his tail curled
up out of the dew, now gave a sharp little bark,
and Mrs. Sickles turned and looked down the
road.

The sunbeams lay very bright there, with only
a tree shadow now and then, and in the very
midst of sunshine and shadow—toiling along
through both—was a little figure that caught Mrs.
Sickles’ eye at once: she looked more intently
than before. The little red dog jumped up, and
said with a growl that he would go and see who
it was.

“Sit down, Gruff!” said Mrs. Sickles. And
Gruff sat down, and curled up his tail as before.

“Don’t you stir, Gruff!” said Mrs. Sickles ;
and she went back to the house and put her dish
away, and came out again, while Gruff whined
and seemed to feel very bad. But when his mis-
tress came out, she walked straight down to the
garden gate that opened upon the road, and there
she stood, looking very hard at the little figure ;
and the little figure looked just as hard at her.








The Baldwin Library

RmB nin




A. B. WARNER,


pO EST ERY eg


18

CHAPTER II.

For several days Casper kept away from Mrs.
Cheerful’s cottage most carefully. Not that it
was pleasanter than usual at home,—everything
there was as dirty and noisy and disagreeable as
it could be; and Casper spent the most of his
time out of doors, and was miserable enough.

But he couldn’t make up his mind to go to
the cottage—he couldn’t make up any reason for
going. Ifthe young lady would have asked him
to show her the way there now, how gladly
would he have done it; and he sat and stood
and lay about in the road where he had first
seen her, hoping that she might come and send
him on some errand to Mrs. Cheerful. But
nobody came by except wagons to raise a great
cloud of dust, or some of the village boys to get
him to play with them, or their fathers and mothers
to call him idle and good for nothing.

Casper began to long to see Ruth’s kind little
face, and her clean frock; and he wondered if
the sparrow still kept up his bathing habits.
Suddenly he remembered that Ruth had said her
mother loved flowers, and that the young lady
had told him he would always be miserable if
he didn’t try to please other people. Casper
CASPER. 19

jumped right up out of the dust, and ran off as
fast as he could to a meadow where he thought
he had seen some flowers. There they were still
—in great yellow tufts.

Now the meadow was very wet, but that didn’t
signify,—Casper rolled up his trowsers and plunged
into the mud; wading about, and jumping from
bog to bog, never thinking of the mud, until he
had his hands full of the yellow flowers. But
when he came out Casper looked at himself in
dismay. The dust had been bad enough—the
mud was worse ; and both together made him a
sight to be seen. Could such a little figure carry
yellow flowers to Mrs. Cheerful, and walk about
over her clean floor ?

“Tam miserable!” he cried, throwing down the
flowers and putting his hands into his eyes—and
the eyes looked none the cleaner for such atten-
tion. Then came up to him little Ruth’s gentle
words—

“Why don’t you wash it off?’

Casper took down his hands and looked at
them—water would take it off, no doubt; and he
scampered away to the little stream that came
out of the meadow and ran across the road.
There was plenty of pure water rippling on over
the pebbles, and the mud was very good-natured
and came off with no trouble at all, and the dust
after it. Casper didn’t know his hands again,
and wouldn’t have known his face, had he seen
20 CASPER.

it. He thought it was a great pity that he could
not wash his jacket, but that wouldn’t dry in a
minute; so he took it off and gave it a good
shaking, and put it on again. Then he smoothed
down his hair with his little wet hands, as he had
seen the labourers do when they came home to
dinner ; and pulling up a tuft of grass, he tried to
rub off the spots of mud with which his trowsers
were spattered. The last thing was to dip his
flowers in the brook, that they might look quite
fresh, and then Casper was ready.

It would have amused any one to see him on
his way to the cottage, as he bounded from tuft
to tuft of the grass that was springing by the
wayside; or walked along a piece of stick, or
picked his way by the help of little stones; and
all to keep his feet clean. But as he came near
the cottage he remembered Ruth’s little black.
shoes; and his breast heaved, for he had not a
pair in the world. He stood still for a long time,
not wanting to go forward. A pretty little curl
of smoke went up from the hut but everything
else was still; only Casper saw the birds flying
off to the brook, and supposed they had gone in
bathing. Presently he heard some one singing
off in the woods, and as the little yoice came
nearer it sang these words :—

“Jesus, listen now to me—
I thy little child would be.
Hear my prayer, and grant it too,
Make my heart entirely new.”
CASPER. ot

And little Ruth Cheerful came tripping out of
the wood, with a great basket of chips on her
head. Casper looked down for the black shoes,
but they were gone; and only Ruth’s little bare
feet stood on the moss.

“Oh, good morning!” she said. ‘ Why didn’t
you come before? Oh, what beautiful flowers !”

“You may have ’em,” said Casper, holding
out his great bunch of cowslips.

Ruth set down her basket and took the flowers.

“‘ How pretty they are!” she said; “I’m very
much obliged to you! Did you bring them for
me 2”

“Yes,” said Casper. “ No I didn’t, either—you

said your mother liked flowers.”

“Oh, well, that’s just as good,” said little Ruth,
smelling the cowslips,—‘ better too, I think.—
You'll come in and see her to-day, won’t you ?”

“No, I guess not,” said Casper, whose boldness
seemed to have left his hand with the flowers.

“Oh yes you will,” said Ruth,—*“ come!” and
she took up her basket again and marched on ;
while Casper followed with doubtful steps.

“ Ruth !” he said, “ stop !”

And Ruth stopped and set down her basket.

«* What’s the matter?”

“7’m not going in,” said Casper. “ Let’s go
down to the brook and play.”

“ T can’t,” said Ruth. ‘ Mother wouldn’t like
it. I must go now.”
22 ey CASPER.

~ And she turned and walked on.

Casper walked after her, thinking to himself
that he might offer to carry that heavy basket of
chips—that perhaps it wouldn’t feel so heavy on
his head as it was on hers—and at last that he
didn’t want to plague himself with it. ‘ Do you
never try to please other people?” the young lady
had said to him. ‘‘ Wouldn’t you like to have
somebody try to please you ?”

“ Ruth,” said Casper, “ is your basket heavy ?””

“ Pretty heavy,” said Ruth, as her little bare
feet went somewhat unsteadily over the rocks.

“ Well, give it to me, and I’ll carry it.”

“Oh, thank you!” said Ruth, stopping short
with a very bright face,— that would rest me
nicely. But I don’t believe you can.”

«A boy can do as much as a girl,” said Casper.
“ They’re a great deal stronger. What have you
done with your other straw hat ?”

“Oh, that’s for Sundays,” said Ruth, whose
weekday hat was tied with strings of red flannel.
** Will you carry the basket in your hand?”

“On my head,” said Casper. ‘ You do.”

“JT thought maybe as you were so strong—”
said Ruth,—“ it’s harder to hold it in your hand,
unless you are strong. Stoop down then, Casper,
and [ll put it on your head.”

So Casper stooped down, and when the basket
was on his head he took hold with both hands
to keep it there. Then he remembered that
CASPER. ae 23

Ruth never touched it with her hands, and he
took his down at once. And the basket followed.
Down, down,—a perfect shower of chips, all over
Casper’s head and shoulders, the minute he let go,
The chips lodged on his shoulders, and stuck in
his hair, and fell into his pockets ; while the basket
bounded away and went rolling down the hill.

* What a hateful basket!” said Casper angrily.

* Oh no,” said Ruth, “don’t say so! Mother
always says that nothing is hateful that isn’t
wicked.”

“Well, why wouldn’t it stay on my head
then?” said Casper.

Ruth might have answered that it was because
he didn’t know how to carry it; but she was
very good-natured and didn’t say anything of the
kind, nor even laugh.

“ Never mind,” she said,—* maybe it will next
time ;” and away she ran down the hill after
the ill-behaved basket. Casper didn’t offer to
help her again, but stood still and looked as she
came running with the basket in her hand; and
though he did pick up a few of the chips, it was
with no very good will, and he still had a great
inclination to kick the basket.

«What do you pick up chips for?’ he said.

“To burn,” said Ruth.

“ We don’t,” said Casper.

“JT s’pose you’re not so poor as we are,” said
Ruth gently.
24 CASPER.

Casper stood up and watched her for awhile as
she crowded the chips into the basket.

“Well,” he said at last, “if God loves your
mother, as you say He does, why don’t He give
her big sticks to burn ?”

“T don’t know,” said Ruth, going on with
her work.

“ No, I guess you don’t,” said Casper.

Ruth looked up with a very grieved little face.

“O Casper! that isn’t right!”

“Why not?” said Casper.

“JT don’t know exactly,” said Ruth. “I’m
sure it isn’t. I don’t believe we deserve to have
chips.”

“Why not?” said Casper again; for he felt
cross with the overthrow of the basket.

Ruth was laying the last few long chips on
top of her load, pressing them down and tucking
small ones in every little corner, and she made
no reply.

“ Where’s my great piece of bark?” she said,
looking round. ‘“ Oh, here it is!—that goes’on
top of all—see, Casper, it’s like a cover. These
are oak chips—don’t they smell sweet ?”

“No,” said Casper, “I don’t think they do.
Where did you get ’em?”’

“Oh, away off in the woods,” said Ruth,—
‘‘where Mr. Broadaxe is cutting trees. He gives
’em to me.”

“Do you go every day ?”” said Casper.
CASPER. 25

“ Yes, when it don’t rain,” said Ruth, ‘“ Some-
times twice a-day. We don’t burn ’em all up
now, though. I'll show you where we put ’em.”
And, lifting the basket to her head again, she
went on; and Casper followed.

There was a little shed at the back of Mrs.
Cheerful’s cottage, made with some old boards
which stood with their heads leaning against the
cottage and their feet on the ground. Into this
dark place Ruth crept, and Casper after her; and
then Ruth began to take the chips out of her
basket, and to pile them up nicely at one end.
There were a good many chips there already,
and the shed was full of the pleasant smell of the
oak bark.

“ What’s that shining over there ?”’ said Casper
suddenly. “See!—it’s something bright, like
fire! It’s moving about, too, Ruth.”

“Why, it’s only our cat’s eyes,” said little
Ruth, laughing. “ Pussy! kitty!”

“ Ma-ow!” said the cat in a very melancholy
tone of voice, which made both the children laugh.

“What makes you come into this dark place,
Ruth?” said Casper. ‘“ Aren’t you afraid ?”’

“Why no!” said Ruth,—“ what should I be
afraid of ?”

“T don’t know,” said Casper. “ Aren’t you?”

“Why, no!” said Ruth again. “It’s just as
safe here as it is in the light, Casper. We’re not
safe anywhere if God doesn’t take care of us.”
26 CASPER.

“ But it’s so. dark!” said Casper.

“Mother taught me a verse out of the Bible
once,” said little Ruth, as she went on piling
her chips; “and it said about God, ‘ Yea, the
darkness hideth not from thee; but the night
shineth as the day: the darkness and the light
are both alike to thee.’ ‘'That’s pleasant, isn’t it,
Casper ?””

But Casper was silent a little.

“Why didn’t you talk to me awhile ago?”
he said. ‘ You wouldn’t answer.”

“ Because you asked naughty questions,” said
Ruth. “Mother told me I might tell people
what the Bible said, but I mustn’t answer if they
didn’t believe it. Now I’ve done—come, we'll
goin. See how nicely the flowers have kept,—I
haven’t lost one.”

‘* Mother,” said Ruth as she entered the hut
“here’s Casper. You know he wouldn’t come in
on Sunday because he was dusty, but he’s come
to-day, and brought you a great bunch of flowers.
And he tried to carry my basket because it was
heavy ; and it fell down off his head and spilt all
the chips—wasn’t it good of him, mother ?”

And Ruth stroked her mother’s face, and softly
kissed it, and then went behind her and arranged
the bows of the broad ribbon that covered her
eyes. But her own little face looked very grave
then.

“ Aren’t they beautiful, mother?” she said,

22
CASPER. Qi

touching the hand into which she had put the
cowslips. ‘I mean, aren’t they sweet?”

“Both, dear child,” said her mother. But
how long you were gone, Ruth—and where is
Casper ?””

“Oh, I had to pick up the chips twice, you
know, mother—and then pile ’°em up. Here’s
Casper—he brought the flowers, because I told
him you loved ’em.”

“He is a very kind little boy,” said Mrs.
Cheerful, keeping hold of the hand Ruth put in
hers, and drawing Casper close to her—he was
not very willing to come.

“Where did you find them, Casper ?”

“ Down in the meadow.”

“Well, what made you bring them to me? do
you like to please other people ?”

“JT never did but twice,” said Casper. “The
young lady said I’d always be miserable if I
didn’t.”

“ Always be miserable?” said Mrs. Cheerful,
smiling. Why, are you miserable now ?”

“Yes,” said Casper.

“OQ Casper! I am very sorry!” said little
Ruth.

“How happens that?” said Mrs. Cheerful.
“Ts your father poor 2” :

*T don’t know,” said Casper,—* mother’s dead,
and nobody wants me.”

Little Ruth quite sobbed at that, as if it was
28 CASPER.

a degree of poverty she had never imagined ;
and though she ran away to get some water to
put the cowslips in, her blue apron was wet with
nothing but tears when she came back.

As for Mrs. Cheerful, she said nothing for
awhile, but sat there with her arm round Casper
and her hand stroking his head, until by and bye
the head came down on her shoulder.

“Poor child!’’ she said,— poor little boy!
And so there is no one but God to take care
of you. But He would have to do it, Casper,
even if your dear mother was alive,—don’t you
think He can do it without her ?’”’

“TI s’pose he can,” said Casper, with a long
sigh,—his heart was wonderfully softened bv his
present resting-place.

“T will ask Him every day to take care of
you, and make you happy,” said Mrs. Cheerful.
“ Will you ask Him too?”

“Yes,” said Casper, with another deep breath.

Mrs. Cheerful did not say any more to him
then, but sat silent for awhile; and Casper never
moved. And then little Ruth whispered to her
mother, and wert off and began to set the table
for dinner.

It was a little bit of a table, and the cloth
that Ruth put on it was very coarse, though as
white as it could be; and the dinner was only
a brown loaf, and a little bit of cold pork, and a
pitcher of water. Yet Mrs. Cheerful gave thanks
CASPER. 29

for it before they began, and Casper relished it |

better than any dinner he had + in a great
while. So much did he enjoy it, that he never
found out that little Ruth had given him her cup,
and that she drank with her mother.

After dinner Ruth washed the dishes and put
them away, and then she and Casper wound a
_ large skein of yarn for Mrs. Cheerful’s knitting ;

and by that time Casper thought he ought to be
going home.

“Ruth!” he called, when he had got outside
the door. Ruth ran out.

“T guess God does love your mother,” he
said— I do.”

And then he ran away as fast as he could.



*
80

CHAPTER III.

THERE grew a great oak in the forest. Its roots
were deep down in the earth, but nobody could
tell where its top was—the leaves were so thick.
Moreover, its neighbour trees—the elms and
maples and ashes—were tall like itself; and
their leaves mingled with those of the oak.
Unlike most neighbours, they were for ever
kissing each other. Early in the spring the
maples put forth bright red flowers, when there
was not a leaf to be seen; and the elms showed
their blossoms, which were, however, hardly worth
the trouble. But the oak kept his back; until
softly there came out little tufts of young leaves,
and then the long brownish green flowers came
and hung down between them. After that the
maples had bunches of flat green seeds, with
wings to them, that fluttered about in the summer
wind; but the oak had little acorns with brown
cups.

Now it was true, though nobody knew it, that
up in the oak tree a bird had built her nest;
and deep in a hole in one side of the oak, there
lived a large family of squirrels. Nobody knew
it,—and yet anybody might have guessed it; for
the birds were constantly fluttering and singing
CASPER. 31
among the branches, and the old squirrels ran
up and down the tree a great many times a day.
To be sure, if anybody looked at them they were
just as like to run up another tree as up their
own; and then to jump from branch to branch
till they reached the oak, and so down to their
nest. The young birds had many a rocking when
the wind arose while they slept, and swayed and
bent the branches from side to side; but the
squirrels never minded the wind—they couldn’t
fall unless the tree did, and of course that could
never happen. The young birds cried out a little
sometimes—when their cradle rocked too hard;
but nothing kept them awake long—it was all so
nice and dark under their mother’s wings; with
her warm feathered breast keeping the wind off,
and her little heart beating a lullaby. Whether
the wind frightened her or not, nobody ever
knew, and nobody ever inquired. If it did she
never told her young ones. But certain it is,
that after a long rainy night, if the sun chanced
to come out in the morning, the mother bird
always jumped up on the edge of the nest, and
wien stirred her wings, as if she felt
very glad the storm was over. And well she
might be. It was wet work to fly about in the
rain after food for her young ones; and the little
bird had no umbrella.

One morning, when the sun had got up very
early and the birds were all astir, the mother
32 CASPER.

bird flew up to the very top branch of the tree,
and perched herself there in the sunshine to get
a billful of fresh air, and sing her morning song.
But before she was well through the first verse,
the tree trembled so, with a sudden shock, that
the little bird nearly fell off the twig; and in-
stantly she spread her wings and flew up into
the air. There, hovering over the oak tree,she
saw it shake again, and a third time, more severely
than at first.

“Tt is without doubt an earthquake!’’ thought
the little bird; not noticing, in the agitation of
her mind, that the neighbouring trees were quite
still. But if it was an earthquake, clearly every-
body would be safest in the air!

So with some fear and trembling she lit on the
trembling tree, and made her way down to her
nest ; feeling very glad that her young ones were
duly provided with feather coats, and could fly
almost as well as herself. They were in a great
state of fright when she reached the nest; for
though the other old bird was there—trying his
best to keep them quiet and not to be frightened
himself—still it mattered very little what any-
body said so long as their mother was away ; and
they gladly obeyed her when she bade them jump
out of the nest and follow her up into the air.
The little ones’ wings soon grew tired, and they
perched on a maple tree, and sat feeling very cold
and disconsolate in the morning wind, without
CASPER. 33

their breakfast; but the old birds continued to
fly back and forth over the tree, and the tree
continued to shake.

Now the cause of all this commotion was Mr.
Broadaxe.

So one of the young squirrels said, when he
had put his whiskers cautiously out of the mouth
of the hole, and looked carefully about. And he
went on to remark, that as it was Mr. Broadaxe,
who was such a good man and never did harm
to anybody, they might as well all go to sleep
again. And immediately all the squirrels curled
their tails over their noses and went to sleep.

Mr. Broadaxe, meanwhile, was intent upon
cutting down the tree: his blows fell sharp and
quick upon its great trunk, and the white chips
flew hither and thither till the grass was quite
spotted with them. And the sound of his axe
went through the forest, chop, chop, till you
might have known half a mile off what was
going on.

But about the time that the little birds got
tired of flying over the tree, and went off in full
pursuit of their breakfast, Mr. Broadaxe bethought
him of his; so he stopped his work, set his axe
down on one side of the tree and himself on the
other, and took up his little basket.

“Chip!” said Mr. Broadaxe. “Chip!”

A little dog came dashing out of the underwood

at this—running along as if he was dreadfully
D
84 CASPER.

afraid of being late, and hadn’t the least bit of an
excuse to give for it.

“ Chip!” said Mr. Broadaxe. ‘“ Poor fellow!”

Chip thrust his nose into his master’s face in a
very gratified manner, then laid himself down a
few feet off; his paws stretched out before him,
his head up, his ears further yet, and his eyes
shining like black beads.

“Chip!” said Mr. Broadaxe again. “There, sir.”

“There” meant a piece of bread, which Mr.
Broadaxe cut off and threw to Chip, and which
Chip caught at one snap without moving anything
but his head—swallowed it down whole and was
ready for the next piece, which his eyes had
watched for all the time. Indeed, if those eyes
told truth, the pieces of bread which his master
ate were matters of great interest to him, and he |;
licked his chops as if they had had the catching.
But as the basket was but small the breakfast
could not be large, and Mr. Broadaxe had soon
drunk his last cupful of coffee, and eaten his last
bit of bread. No—that he gave to Chip. For
Chip sat there with his head on one side and his
mouth watering for more breakfast ; and when his
master tossed the last bit of bread to him, Chip
caught it with one snap as before, and then threw
his head back to assist him in mastication.

But as he ate, Chip pricked up his ears; and
as soon as his mouth was empty Chip barked—
and then immediately wagged his tail. It was
CASPER. 85

the best thing he could do under the circum-
stances, for little Ruth Cheerful was coming
thruugh the wood; and clearly she was not a
thing to bark at.

“Good morning, Mr. Broadaxe,” she said.
“ Good morning, poor little doggie. Why, what a
parcel of chips you’ve got for me already.”

“Yes,” said Mr. Broadaxe. “I guess that
one will fill your basket of itself.”

“ What, the little dog?” said Ruth. “Oh yes;
but I don’t want to carry him off. Now, little
dog—be good and quiet.”

I suppose the little dog was good, but certainly
he was not quiet. He frisked about Ruth, caught
hold of her apron and shook it, pulled the chips
out of her basket, and put his feet on those she
was going to pick up. He even went so far once
as to take the handle of the basket in his teeth
and run off with it; and when Ruth said, “O
Chip! Chip!—put that right down, sir!” he
' turned round and looked at her, with one ear
turned back and the other hanging over his eye,
as if it really was too bad, but he couldn’t for the
life of him help it. Meanwhile Mr. Broadaxe
was chopping away at the great tree till every leaf

» shook and trembled.

“What makes you cut down such a beautiful
tree, Mr. Broadaxe?’’ said Ruth.

“Cause it ain’t mine,” said Mr, Broadaxe,
with another chop.
36 CASPER.

« Well, then, why do you?” said Ruth.

‘It %s somebody’s,” said the woodcutter, pausing
in his work, “and he wants it down,—so down it
must come. I make money out of the cutting it,
and he’Il make money out of the selling it.”

“And we make wood out of the chips,” said
little Ruth with a laugh. “So everybody gets
something.”

As Ruth turned round for another chip she
saw Casper standing there.

“ You don’t make wood out of the chips,” said
he. ‘ They’re wood already.”

“Well, but I mean firewood,” said Ruth.
“‘ How do you do, Casper ?””

“JT guess I’m well,” said Casper, who was
watching the sharp tool do its work upon the
tree. ‘ How fast he strikes !”

* Don’t-he!” said Ruth. “I wonder if any-
body else chops so fast.”

“ T could, if I was a man,” said Casper.

“Youre not a man, though,” said Ruth.
“Don’t you want to help me put all the chips
in a pile?’ 5

“Yes,” said Casper. “‘ No—I’ll hold the dog
and you can do the chips. He’d pull your pile to
pieces.”

“That’ll be some help,” said Ruth, a little
doubtfully. “But I don’t believe you can hold
him.”

Chip, however, submitted to be caught, and

2
CASPER. 87

then sat very still with Casper’s arms round
him, and watched Ruth with the utmost gravity.
But when her pile was about a foot high, and
she had just laid a long piece of wood and bark
on top, Chip made one spring out of Casper’s
arms, overturning him, and then rushing suddenly
upon Ruth he seized hold of the long slice of
wood and began to pull.

is Rauphty: little dog!” said Ruth,—*“ let go,
and behave yourself.”

But at that moment Mr. Broadaxe called out— -

“ Now then, children, get out of the way of the
tree !” and Casper and Ruth and the dog ran off
as fast as they could to a safe distance.

Mr. Broadaxe, however, kept on with his
chopping, and the great tree shook and swayed
about and bent its tall head, and then went
slowly down,—the limbs creaking, and the leaves
fluttering far and wide. There it lay on the

_ ground.

The minute it was down little Ruth came
running up, and jumped upon the trunk and
danced back and forth from the root to the head
Presently she stopped short.

“O Mr. Broadaxe! there are squirrels up here
among the leaves !’

“So, so?” said the woodcutter. ‘Aye, I dare-
say. And here’s been their nest, in this hole.”

“Then we can catch ’em and take ’em home,”
said Casper.
89

CHAPTER IV.

* Ruru,” said Casper, “I like those squirrels.”
And as he spoke he picked up a big chip and threw
it at a squirrel’s tail that appeared among the
branches of the fallen tree.

“Well, what do you throw things at them for,
then?” said Ruth, as the little red bushy tail

‘whisked off out of sight. “We shan’t see a bit of
*em if you frighten ’em so.”

“J like to throw things,” said Casper.

« That isn’t much reason,” said Ruth.

“ Ruth,” said Casper, “ what do you suppose
squirrels have to eat ?”

“Oh, all sorts of nice things,” said Ruth.
“Corn, and nuts, and apples, and seeds, and
acorns.”

“Yes, I know they eat corn,” said Casper.
‘* What do you suppose they have to eat away off
in the woods, where there’s nobody to plant corn
for ’em ?”

“Why, then God feeds them—just as He does
here,” said Ruth.

“ But here the farmers plant the corn,” said
Casper.

“Yes, but who makes it grow?” said Ruth.
38 CASPER.

“ Oh no we can’t,” said Ruth. -“ That would be
cruel.

“ Why no it wouldn’t,” said Casper. ‘“ We'd
shut ’em up and feed ’em.”

“Then they’d be miserable, as you said you
were,” said Ruth.

Casper stopped at this, and looked doubtful.

“No, we won’ take ’em home,” said the
woodcutter, “ because they love their own home
best. I’m sorry I had to cut it down for them.
But I won’t cut the branches off the tree just yet,
and the young ones may have a chance to grow a
bit bigger before they go off to seek their fortune. —

So Mr. Broadaxe walked away to another tree
and began to cut that down, and Casper and Ruth
stood still and looked at the squirrels.


40 CASPER.

** And besides, they eat a great many things that
nobody plants.”

“Tf I was a squirrel,” said Casper, “ I should
always have plenty to eat.”

“ And nice clothes, too,” said Ruth. “But every-
body can have plenty to eat—no, not plenty, but
something. Mother’s tried it.”

“Well, how did she try?” said Casper.

“Tn the first place,” said Ruth, “she always
worked as hard as she could; and in the second
place, she always prayed God to take care of her,
and believed that He would. Mother says it never
fails.”

“T can’t work,” said Casper,— so that wouldn’t
do for me.”

“Well, then, you can be good,” said Ruth,
“and that'll do just as well, if you can’t
work.”

“T can’t be good,” said Casper. “I don’t know
how. And I don’t believe I could, either.”

“ Don’t you!” said Ruth. “ Well, you know
how to be naughty.”

“ Yes,” said Casper, “I s’pose I do.”

“Well, it’s just the other way,” said Ruth.
“When you. want to be cross you must be good-
natured, and when you want to be idle you must

go to work, and when you don’t want to pray
‘you must kneel down and pray all the more.
So mother says. Because nobody can be really
good, Casper, unless God helps them. And if
CASPER. 41

they never ask Him, it looks as if they didn’t want
his help.”

Casper shook his head and looked at the squir-
rels. Ruth looked too,and was silent a few minutes.
Then suddenly she broke forth—

“Why, Casper, you must know how to be good,
if you read the Bible.” ~

“T don’t read it,” said Casper.

“Then you ought to,” said Ruth.

“ Haven’t got one,” said Casper.

“Oh well, maybe you haven’t,” said Ruth, “ but
your father has.”

“Guess not,” said Casper, taking aim at the
squirrels with another chip. ‘If he has I don’t
know it, and I guess he don’t.”

“Why, you poor little boy!” said Ruth, aphdns
at him with unfeigned compassion.

“T’m bigger than you are,”’ said Casper,— ever
so much.”

“Well, I’m a girl,” said Ruth, “so it don’t
signify.”

“Yes it does,” said Casper,—‘ I’d rather be a
boy.” :
“ Well,” said Ruth, “ but I mean boys always

are bigger, aren’t they ?”’

“T don’t know,” said Casper. “TI s’pose so.
They’re bigger when they grow up. I want to be
aman!”

“TJ don’t,”—-said little Ruth thoughtfully. “TI
want to be an angel.”
42 CASPER.

TI guess you don’t,” said Casper.
“ Yes I do,” said Ruth. And joining her hands
together, she sang :—

T want to be an angel,
And with the angels stand :
A crown of gold upon my head,
A harp within my hand.”

* But you’d have to die to be an angel,” said
Casper, who had listened very attentively.

“Oh well,” said little Ruth,—‘ everybody’s
got to die some time. I don’t mean that I want
to die now, but when I do die I want to be an
angel.” ;

“Do you think you will be?’ said Casper,
looking at her with a very interesting face.

“Mother says,” answered little Ruth, “ that
when people really want to be angels in heaven,
they should try to be angels on earth.”

_ ©T don’t know how,” said Casper,—* and I’m
too ragged.”

“O Casper!” said Ruth—and then her voice
was choked, and she burst into tears. “It don’t
make a bit of difference to Jesus what clothes
children wear, if they’ll only love Him. Mother
says a great many angels in this world are very
poor, but in heaven they shall have enough of
everything.”

' “T don’t know how,” repeated Casper, his own
lip beginning to tremble. Ruth sat looking at him,
CASPER. 43

and stroked his face once or twice, as if she didn’t
know what to say.

“Casper, I learn a little verse in the Bible
every morning before I come out, and if you’ll be
here in the wood I’ll come and teach it to you;
and so you could learn a great deal; and maybe
when you’re a man you can buy a whole Bible
for yourself.”

“What did you learn this morning?” said
Casper, without looking up.

“ It was this,” said Ruth: “ * My little children,
these things write I unto you, that ye sin not.’”

Casper made no reply, and Ruth sat silent as
before.

“Shall I say it for you again, Casper?” she
asked softly.

“ No,” said Casper, “ I know it now.”

“Do you?” said Ruth. “ Why, how quick
you are. It took me longer than that.”

The sun had mounted high into the heavens,
but the trees were so thick that his rays scarcely
found their way down to the ground, and in the
wood it was cool and pleasant. Mr. Broadaxe
had stopped chopping, and was shouldering his
axe to go home to dinner, and the squirrels were
playing hide and seek among the withering leaves
of the fallen oak. A sweet breeze wandered along
through the forest, and said that there were a
great many flowers out in different places.

“JT must go home too,” said Ruth, jumping
44. CASPER.

up and taking her basket of chips. ‘ Good bye,
Casper—will you come to-morrow ?”

“ Yes,” he said.- And then, as she trudged off
with her basket on her head, he looked up again
and called out—* Ruth!”

“ What, Casper?” said Ruth, stopping and
turning round.

«What did you learn yesterday ?”

“ Oh, such a pretty one!” said Ruth, her eyes
brightening,—“ about the children that were
brought to Jesus when he was in the world,—
‘ And he took them up in his arms, and put his
hands upon them, and blessed them.’ ”

Casper turned away again, and so did Ruth
on her way home, and soon her little figure was
quite out of sight among the trees. The heavy
steps of Mr. Broadaxe had died away too, and
Chip’s frolics could be seen no longer. Casper
looked about to be sure that they were gone, and
then he threw himself down on the soft green
moss and cried. I don’t know that he could
have told why if anybody had asked him; but
there was nobody to ask, and so he cried and
cried till he was tired. He wasn’t going home
to dinner,—his father had told him not to show
his face in the house till night; and Casper
thought of Ruth’s verse, and longed for some one
to lay hands on him and bless him.
45

CHAPTER V.

Casper cried himself tired and then went to
sleep,—his bare feet curled up and resting on
the soft moss, his head resting—or not resting—
on a great tree root, which in the course of time
had twisted and thrust itself out of the soil. The
sun passed on from the mid heaven, and soft
flickering shadows fell over his face, as the broad
leaves

“ Clapped their little hands in glee,”

and waved to and fro above his head.

But Casper saw and heard none of it; nor
even dreamed that there were angels about kim,
and that the little ragged boy had. heavenly
watchers. When at last he did wake up, he
saw only Mr. Broadaxe standing before him—his
sharp tool resting on the ground; while by his
side sat Chip—his head particularly on one side,
his black eyes sparkling with eagerness, his paws
ready to pounce upon Casper at the, slightest
invitation. It was Chip indeed who had found
the little sleeper, and had barked at him and
pranced round him until Mr. Broadaxe came to
see and Casper awoke
46 CASPER.

“ Child, you will catch your death,” said the
old woodman.

“ Well, I don’t know,” said Casper, raising
himself on one elbow and rubbing his eyes.

‘What made you come back after dinner?”
said the woodman.

“J didn’t,” said Casper,—“ I haven’t been.”

“ Why not?” said Mr. Broadaxe.

“There wasn’t any,” said Casper. “ Father
took Ais along. There’s nobody else there.”

“ You don’t care about dinner, I s’pose?” said
the woodman.

“T guess I can get sie without it,” said
Casper, picking up bits of the moss and throwing
them at Chip, who caught them as if they had
been pieces of bread and butter, and tried to
Keep them all in his mouth at once.

“ 'That’s a great mistake, little boy,” said Mr.
Broadaxe gravely, “and you’ve got to go right
home this minute and get your dinner.”

“ ] say there isn’t any there,” said Casper.

“Not in your home,” said Mr. Broadaxe;

there is in mine. Lots o’ bread and milk, and
such trash. What do you think of that?”

Casper’s eyes sparkled a little, as if they had
caught a reflection of Chip’s, but he said not a
word.

“Look here,” said the woodman, lifting his
axe and setting it down again till all the moss
trembled; “how do you s’pose you'll ever work
CASPER. 47

such a tool as that when you come to be a man, if
you eat nothing but sleep when you’re a boy?
Why, you'll never be a man!”

“Ruth says she wants to be an angel,” said
Casper thoughtfully.

“Well, they’re a better sort of creature, I'll never
deny,” said the woodman; “ but starvation ain’t
exactly the gate that leads to that road. Come,
jump up—you shan’t be one o’ the babes in the
wood this time. Now do you know where I
live?”

“°Tother end of the brook, by the chestnut
tree,” said Casper.

« That’s it,” said the woodman, who was writ-
ing on a leaf of his pocket-book, which he pre-
sently tore out and gave to Casper. “ There’s a
message, child, for my wife. You take it and
wait for an answer, and when you come back I'll
give you sixpence.”

Casper looked up doubtfully.

“ Didn’t you ever hear anybody speak truth ?”
said the woodman. “Now go, or I shan’t have
an answer till sundown.” And Casper went.

.He didn’t walk very steadily at first, between
shame at having no dinner of his own, and desire
to have dinner of some sort—even though it
should come from other people. So when he
looked at the bit of paper in his hand he went
very slow ; and then again when he listened to
his keen little appetite he went fast. But even
48 CASPER.

this irregular way of getting along in the world
brought him at last to the woodcutter’s door.
There Casper stopped. The door stood wide
open -

All signs of dinner were long ago cleared away,
the floor was swept up, and Mrs. Broadaxe had
brought out her big wheel and began to spin.
But her back was towards the door, and Casper
could watch her unobserved. She was just as
cleanly dressed as Mrs. Cheerful, but her dress
was a good deal more fresh and new, and on her
head, instead of a ribbon, there was a very white
eap. A little black silk apron—or rather a pretty
large one—fluttered about as she stepped to and
fro before the wheel, and her shoes creaked with
smartness and new leather. She was as big as
two or three of Mrs. Cheerful— stout and hearty,
and just the sort of a woman in whose lap little
boys like to curl down and go to sleep. She was
whirling the wheel swiftly round with one hand,
while the other drew out a long blue thread of
yarn from the spindle’s point, in a manner that
seemed quite wonderful. Casper forgot both his
message and his appetite, and stood still to see;
and there is no telling how long he might have
stood, if a large white cat had not suddenly
- come round the corner of the house and cried out
“ Meow!”

« Winkie! Winkie!’’ said Mrs. Broadaxe, turn-
ing the wheel but not her head.
CASPER. 49

“ Meow!” replied Winkie, with the tone of a
deeply injured cat.

“ Well, it serves you right,” said Mrs. Broadaxe,
walking straight off to the pantry and talking all
the time ; “you should have come home before,
Winkie—of course dinner is done, and if this was
some houses you wouldn’t have a mouthful. Some
of these days I shall not save you any either—I’ve
no doubt I sha’n’t.”

“Some of these days” had not come yet,
however, for Mrs. Broadaxe presently appeared
with a large plate of chicken bones, which. Winkie
waited for at the.door. But when Mrs. Broadaxe
had set the plate down, and had straightened
herself up again, then she beheld Casper.

* Well, little dear,” she said, “‘ how do you like
my cat? Shouldn’t you like to come and sit on
the door-step and see her eat her dinner? And if
the chickens come up you can drive them away
for me, will you?—because they help themselves
out of Winkie’s plate.”

“Why mayn’t they?” said Casper.

“Why, they’ve had their dinner long ago,”
said Mrs. Broadaxe.

“ Oh!—” said Casper. He did not say that
he was worse off than the chickens, but he came
and sat down on the door-step and gave Mrs.
Broadaxe the little paper message the woodcutter
had sent.

Mrs. Broadaxe stood still to read.
E
CASPER. 57

a drumstick in one hand and bread and butter in
the other.

“Little boys—” said the woodman— and gin-
gerbread. And if Ruth Cheerful comes along
we'll go off far into the wood and have a time.”

“T like Ruth!” said Casper. “She’s so good.”

“Well, why shouldn’t Casper be so good too?”
said the woodman.

“T can’t—” said Casper,—“ I’m bad.”

Mr. Broadaxe made no reply to that, but as
the chicken and bread and butter had all dis-
appeared, he went through the wood with Casper
until he could see the village lamps; and then
bade him good night, and told him to find some
better reason for not being good than the one he
had just given.



bes an =
EEN


76 CASPER.

trust to him with our hearts, God will forgive us
all our sins for his sake—because he took our
punishment.”

“What do you think, Casper ?” said the wood-
man,—‘ does no one love you? ‘ God so loved
the world, that he sent his only begotten Son,
that whosoever believeth in him might not perish,
but have everlasting life ;? and the Lord Jesus
came from all his heavenly glory, and lived, and
suffered, and died, that just such poor sinners as
you and I, Casper, might live for ever in heaven
and not in hell.”

“Then he isn’t here now,” ‘said Casper,—“ I
wish he was!”

“ He is near you all the time, little Casper,”
said the woodman; “he can hear every word
you say, and knows every thought you think.
And if you will pray to him, and try to be his
little child, you will never be miserable any more.
‘When my father and my mother forsake me,
then the Lord will take me up.’ ”

Casper made no answer. He had dropped
his head upon his hand, and so he sat for some
time without speaking or moving. And when
at last the woodcutter said it was time to go, and
they all got up and began to walk through the
forest, Casper walked along just as silent as ever ;
only once when he saw Ruth looking at him,
there came a little gush of tears from his eyes, and
he put up his hand quick to wipe them away
CASPER. Vk

Mr. Broadaxe took them both home with him
to supper, and when the two children were coming
away together, Casper looked up and said—

“Mr. Broadaxe, when will you talk again?”

“T don’t know,” said the woodcutter, smiling
kindly, —“ I must work to-morrow ; but we’ll see.”

Ruth and Casper walked quietly on till they
were near Mrs. Cheerful’s cottage, when Ruth
suddenly exclaimed—

“Casper! mother will talk to you whenever
youll come. Will you come to-morrow ?”

“T can’t,” said Casper,—* father said I was
to go to the mill.”

“Well, Sunday, then,—you can come after
church.”

“Well, maybe I will,” said Casper; and bid-
ding Ruth good night, he ran home, for it was
quite late, and every little bird in the forest had
its head under its wing.


78

CHAPTER VIII.

Tue forest in which Mr. Broadaxe pursued his
business of woodcutting, and where little Ruth
came to pick up chips, and Casper to sze them
both, was very large. The trees of it rose up
like a great wall very near the village where
Casper lived, and from thence it stretched away
back into the mountains, and ran up their sides,
sometimes even to the very top. By the village,
and for some miles from there, the woods were a
good deal cleared up; the underbrush was cut out
and the trees were thinned, and you could find
no wild animals but squirrels and rabbits, and
now and then a woodchuck or a racoon. But
going towards the mountains the woods grew
thicker. ‘The trees stood close together, and wild
vines crept up their trunks and twined about
their branches, and low bushes grew about their
roots,—huckleberry and sweetbriar and dogwood.
The moss grew thick and rank in the shade, and
whole beds of fern sent up their beautiful leaves
which the wind could hardly get in to stir. Over
the ground in some places the little partridge
berry spread itself—a mere mat of leaves and
white flowers; and the wintergreens clustered
CASPER. 79

together in large patches, hanging: full of their
pretty red fruit which no one ever found but the
wild birds.

There were plenty of birds—and of squirrels
too, for that matter; and now and then a snake
went softly along, and frightened them both.
The woodpecker hammered all day upon the
hollow trees, and picked out the insects from
under the bark with his sharp bill, and the oriole
swung her hammock of a nest from the branch
of some weeping elm, and then bade defiance to
the black snake and all his advances.

But other sounds were heard besides the
“tap, tap” of the woodpecker, or the sharp little
* chip!” of the Hackee—for so the Indians call
the little striped squirrel. Sometimes a wolf
would stroll through the forest, with two or three
after him for company; and when they all cried
out together, any little animal that had stayed
out too late trembled and shook all over. And
if the pretty deer that were lying down among
the fern leaves heard the soft bounds of a panther
coming along, they took to their heels as fast as
fear could make them. ;

An old gray wolf had her den just at the foot
of the mountains; indeed there was quite a
settlement in that place, though one could hardly
call it a neighbourhood.

The wolf had made her home in a cave-like
sort of a place, where great rocks lay piled to-
80 CASPER.

gether, leaving a dry rock house within that was
wolfish and wild enough ; and there the old wolf
lived and amused herself with her eight cubs,
for whose comfort she had lined the nest with
moss and her own hair. They were soft little
things, with eyes as tight shut as if they had
been kittens ; and their mother probably thought
they were about perfect, and looked forward with
pleasure to the six or eight months during which
she must mount guard over them and never let
them go out alone. And as soon as they were
old enough to eat meat, the two old wolves wenz
out and caught sheep and deer and all sorts of
dainties, and having first chewed the meat and
swallowed it to make it tender, they brought, it
up again and fed the young ones out of their own
mouths. And so well did the cubs thrive with
all this care and attention, that in a short time
they were able to chew for themselves, and could
even tear a lamb to pieces if it was young and
tender; while for growling and fighting there -
was not a more promising set of young wolves in
the whole country. They could amuse themselves
so by the hour together.

In the same line of life—although great ene-
mies to the wolves—were a family of foxes that
lived half way up the mountain, in the thickest
of the wood. Anybody who had gone in among
the trees and looked carefully enough, would have
seen a dark hole going into the very hill side.
CASPER. 81

This was the foxes’ front door, and led to a long
burrow or passage-way cut in the earth: and at
the further end of the burrow the foxes lived.
There were but seven of them, altogether—the
two old ones and five cubs; but that was seven
too many, considering what wicked little things
they were. The old fox would steal out at night
and go to the barns and chicken-houses that were
a long way off, and if there was one chicken
straying out where he ought not to be, or roosting
on too low a branch—the old fox was sure to
have him, and would go back to her cubs with
the chicken in her mouth. Sometimes if the
duck-house had been left open she went in there,
and killed more than she could carry away; or if
there was nothing to be got in the barnyard, the
fox would maybe surprise a partridge on her way
home, and then the cubs had a dainty supper.
To pay for this, however, there were times when
the partridge managed to hide all her brood,
when the chickens were shut up, and the rabbits
invisible; and then the foxes took what they
could get,—lizards and frogs, a snake, or a family
of field-mice. Such were busy times for the old
foxes,—mice were small and the cubs hungry.
They growled and grumbled a great deal some-
times, because they could not reach the wild
grapes that hung about the trees at the mouth of
their hole—these grapes would have made such a

nice dessert after a chicken dinner.
G
82 CASPER.

On one of the same trees where the grape vines
clambered about, an oriole had built her nest,—
built it too on a branch that stretched far out
beyond the others, quite over the foxes’ front
door. It was a queer nest, hung upon several
strong threads, and these made fast to the very
end of the branch. The nest itself was made of
wool and flax and threads of hemp, which the
bird had woven neatly together into a rough sort
of cloth, and sewed through and through with
long horse-hairs. The bottom was made of tufte
of cow’s hair, sewed like the rest; and within,
the lining was thick and soft. Little tufts of
wool and of moss were laid in first, and then a
thick layer of horse-hair, smoothly woven and
twisted round. The whole nest was seven inches
long and five across, and was narrowed up to
a small hole at the top, over which hung a great
bunch of elm leaves, and helped keep off the
rain.

The birds were as pretty as their nest, for
they were dressed in bright orange and black
feathers, and flew about among the green leaves
like gleams of fire. They were very merry too,
and whistled all the while the nest was a build-
ing; but when it was done, and the little mother-
bird had laid in it five little white eggs all
streaked and spotted with purple; then she began
to sit on them all day, and let the other bird
whistle for her.
CASPER. 83

After a time, five little orioles broke the
eggshells and came out, having on little downy
coats—very thin ones too; and then the two old
birds were busier than ever. As soon as it grew
light in the morning they flew off, and then every
little while one or the other would come back to
the nest with a worm or a fly or a beetle for the
young ones: there was a kind of little green
beetle that they all loved particularly. And
there were always five little mouths wide open
at the bottom of the nest, the moment the old
bird was seen at the top. They all opened
their mouths every time, though they were fed
only in turn ; but they never could remember that,
or perhaps they hoped that their mother would not.

When the little ones grew older, and had eaten
a great many green beetles, their feathers began
to appear, and they looked a great deal prettier,
and the nest became almost too small to hold
them. But the top of it was so far off that they
could not get there, do what they would, for their
wings were not strong yet.

“If we could only climb up to the top we could
look out so finely,” said one of the brood.

And forthwith he tried, but only succeeded
in tumbling down upon the heads of the others.
And as they felt themselves deeply injured thereby,
there is no telling, what might have followed, had
not the mother bird at that moment come in with
a green beetle.
84 CASPER.

“ Mother!’ screamed all the young ones at
once, “why can’t we go up to the top of the
nest ?””

“Because you can’t get there,” said the old
bird as she flew off. The young ones were quiet
till she came back, and then they screamed out
again.

“ Well, why don’t you take us up there?”

“ve got something else to do,” said Mrs.
Oriole, putting a little brown worm into the
mouth of the noisiest and going off again.

“T7ll tell you what,” said that little fellow as
soon as he had swallowed the worm, “ wait till
to-night, and then we’ll ask her. I can keep
awake now sometimes, if I try hard.”

So all the rest of the day they were perfectly
quiet; but when the sun set, and the old bird
came back and covered them up with her wings,
they poked their heads out through the feathers,
and began to talk.

“Mother, what is there outside of the nest ?”

“Great trees,” said the mother-bird sleepily,
for she was tired after her day’s work.

“And what else?” said the youngsters.

“ Foxes—” replied Mrs. Oriole
. “Foxes?” cried all the young ones, opening
their eyes very wide; “oh, what are foxes?”

“Great beasts, that love little birds and eat
7em up whenever they can find ’em.”

All the young heads went back under Mrs.
CASPER. 85

Oriole’s wings at that; and for awhile there was
so little said, that the young ones fell asleep
before they knew it. But when the daylight
came they felt very brave again, and began as
_ before.

“Mother, why aren’t you afraid of the foxes?”

“T can fly.” And away she flew.

“Then the foxes can’t, I suppose,” said one
of the young ones, “and if they can’t fly they
can’t get up here. I should like to see ’em so
much !”

Carefully he began to climb again, sticking
his claws into the sides of the nest and working
his way up, till he really arrived at the top and
could stick his head out of the hole. How
splendid it was!

There were great trees—just as the old bird
had said, but where were the foxes? The little
bird looked and looked but could see none.
His feet began to feel very tired, but still he held
on and looked about him, till far down, down
near the ground he saw something moving; and
a large black snake began to climb a little tree
that was there. Up it came, almost to the very
top, and then darting out upon one of the branches
stuck its head into a nest of young sparrows, and
ate them all up, one by one!

The young oriole was so frightened that ‘he
forgot all about holding on, and if he had been
on the edge of the nest he would most certainly
86 CASPER.

have fallen over to the black snake,—as it was,
he only fell down to the bottom of the nest—
fully believing that he was dead; and nothing
could convince him of the contrary till his
mother came in and presented him with a green
beetle.

But after that, the young orioles were content
to stay where their mother bade them, until their
wings were grown and they also could fly.


87

CHAPTER IX.

Tut next morning after the day spent in the
woods, Casper was sent off very early to the mill,
as he had expected. Mrs. Clamp had declared that
there was no more flour in the house to make
bread, and therefore Casper and a little sack were
sent for more. Trudging along the dusty road, his
sack flung over his shoulder, Casper paid small
heed to the dust, and only enough to the sack to
keep it in its place. If he had not been so tired
last night, he would have thought a great deal of
all Mr. Broadaxe and Ruth had said: as it was,
he went to sleep and dreamed about it; and now
this morning his thoughts were very busy. Two
new ideas had come into his head,—first that he
could not be happy without loving somebody, and
then that God really loved him. It puzzled Cas-
per especially why in that case his mother should
have died,—and why he himself should have been
such a miserable little boy ever since; only as he
could not forget that he had not been a very good
little boy, the wonder seemed less. And what
should he do to bé good, and how should he learn
the way. “ Pray to Jesus, and try—” the wood-
cutter had said,—Casper thought he didn’t know
88 CASPER.

how to do either. But he did go and kneel down
by the hedge and say a poor little prayer—a few
words of begging that the Lord Jesus would love
him, and take care of him, and take him to heaven,
—and then he went on his way. And everything
looked brighter and sweeter, as if the morning
had changed ; but it was only Casper’s heart that
felt lighter.

The flour-mill stood about two miles off, over
a stream that came rushing down from the hills,
and then flowed gently through a broad meadow.
Outside, the water and the wind kept things fresh
enough, but within, everything was dusty with
white dust,—tall flour bags stood about the floor,
and between them lay the flour which had been
spilled, and the miller and all his men looked pretty
much like other flour-bags moving about.

There was a great whirring to be heard when
Casper got there, for the mill was hard at work.
The water went tumbling and foaming along,
turning the great wheels in its way; and as the
wheels went round and round outside the mill,
they turned the huge grindstones within. Casper
saw how the grains of wheat were put into a
vessel above the stones, which was called the
hopper—and how from the hopper they fell slowly
down between the stones; and then, as the upper
stone went round upon the under one, the wheat
was crushed and ground, and came out in soft
flour beneath
CASPER. 89

Then the miller put the flour through a sieve—
which he called bolting it—and some he bolted
two or three times; but that for Casper was bolted
_ only once. And when the sack was filled and tied
up, and Casper had paid for it, the miller told
him he had better sit down and rest. So laying
his own little sack on the floor, Casper climbed
up to the top of a high flour-bag and looked
about him. He was very glad not to go home
just then, there was no chance of anything plea-
sant there, and it might be too late to find Ruth
in the woods. And besides, he was really tired,
for his little feet made a great many steps out of
the two miles. Nobody took any notice of him—
the miller and his men went tramping about, busy
and in haste; the mill kept on its whirring, and
the splash of the water on the great wheel out-
side could be distinctly heard. Casper could hear
little else. - Through the open mill-door he saw
the birds fly to and fro; he saw the mill-stream,
which having got away from the wheels, turned
into a little brook, and ran away as fast as it could;
he saw the steeple of the village church just peep-
ing over the hill; and off on one side began the
forest, and stretched away into the blue distance.
Casper fixed his eyes on those tall trees, and
thought of Ruth, and of Mr. Broadaxe, and Chip
—and wondered what they were all doing. And
then he wondered if he ever should be good—like
Ruth; and if so, what things he should do and what
90 CASPER.

things he shouldn’t; whether he should have to
walk so far with a great bag of flour on his back,
and whether his father would make him fetch all
the water, and whether it would be any pleasanter
to do it than it was now. And as he thought
these things, Casper laid his head down on the
flour bag next him, and went to sleep.

“What shall we do with this boy?” said the
miller, when dinner-time came.

“* Lock him up and leave him,” said one of the
men; and they locked the mill-door and went off
to dinner.

At that time the mice usually came out to get
theirs, for though they managed to pick up a few
grains of wheat, or a little flour between the
sacks, while the men where about, yet they dared
not venture out on the open floor. Now, how-
ever, they came forth, ran back when they saw
Casper, and ran out again when they found he did
not stir, and then went on just as if he had not
been there.

Poor little Casper !

His feet hung dangling down the sides of one
great sack, and his head nestled down on the top
of another, and his coat and hair were already ©
much whiter than when he entered the mill—
for the flour had dusted them in all directions,
Once or twice he twisted about as if his bed
were far from comfortable, and then for a long
time he lay perfectly still—only smiling now and
CASPER. 9]

then, in a way that would have made Ruth quite
happy.

What do you suppose made him smile? He
was dreaming. When he first went to sleep, he
was tired and hungry, and this made him turn
about so; but after awhile he fell into a sweet
dream, and then lay quiet.

He thought he was in the beautiful city—the
city of which Ruth had told him; that the streets
were all made of gold, and the light so bright as
he had never seen. And suddenly Casper thought
to himself that he had no business there—with
his dusty little feet and ragged clothes—what
should he do in such a glorious place? But when
he looked at himself, all was changed. His
clothes were whole and white—more beautiful
than any he had ever seen—he had clean hands,
there was not a particle of soil to be found upon
him. He felt, too, that he was rested: instead of
being weary and ready to cry, it seemed as if he
had no more tears to shed.

And while Casper was wondering at all this,
he saw little Ruth Cheerful; who came running
up to him in clothes as beautiful as his own.
But when she was going to speak, Casper pre-
vented her, and asked how he got there. And
Ruth said—

OQ Casper! the Lord Jesus has loved you, and
died that you might come here, and now you have
come; and we will love and serve him for ever! ”
92 CASPER.

Casper thought he could have cried then for.
joy, he was so happy; he even thought that the
tears did come into his eyes; but as he put up his
hand to rub them away, the bright city faded out
of his sight—little Ruth changed and changed till
she looked like only a stick of wood, and Casper
was sitting up on the flour bag, rubbing his eyes
very hard to know whether he were still in a
dream or no. There was the old mill—the heavy
stones—the sacks—the little mice,—there was
even the miller unlocking the door on his return
from dinner !

“ Well, sleepy child,” said the miller, “ you’ve
had a fine sleep.”

“Yes,” said Casper. “I wish I hadn’t ever
waked up.”

The men all laughed at that, and Casper feel-
ing much more ready to cry, jumped down from
the flour-bag, took up his own little sack, and
marched out of the mill door withovt another
word.

With what disgust he looked at his clothes,
thinking of those so white and new which he
had worn in his dream! Casper felt tired and
down-hearted. For awhile he walked fast, as
if to get away from his bad feelings,—then his
feet went slower and slower—then he stopped
and sat down under the hedge. He sat there after
his old fashion—sticking out his feet into the dust
and feeling miserable: and there is no telling
CASPER. 93

when he would have stirred if he had not heard the
wheels of a wagon coming along. Then Casper
got up, and having with some trouble got the sack
of flour on his back again, he walked on. But he
saw now that there was a little hole in the sack—
the mice might have gnawed it while he was
asleep—and through that hole the flour came
dropping out, and left a little white streak on the
ground as he went along. The wagon came on
and stopped just by him. It was a great farm-
wagon full of sheaves of wheat: two fat brown
horses drew it along, and a pleasant-looking man
sat between them and the wheat.

“Took here, my boy!” he called to Casper.
Casper looked but said nothing.

«Who lives in that red house next the orchard
yonder ?” said the man.

“Farmer Pippin,” said Casper.

“ Well, now, my child, run over there will you?
—I can’t leave my horses—and ask him for a
white sheepskin that belongs to Mr. Sickles—you
fetch it to me, will you ?”

Casper opened his eyes very wide, and didn’t
feel at all disposed to go.

“Yow’re spilling your flour,” said the man,
smiling.

“T ain’t—” said Casper—“ it’s the bag.”

“ Well, I guess it is the bag’s fault,” said
the man with another smile. ‘ Come—run—will
you 2”
94 CASPER.

Casper was just going to say no. He was
tired, it was rather late; the bag was easily put
down indeed, but it was hard to get it up to his
shoulder again; and moreover Mr. Pippin’s red
house was beyond a broad meadow and two
fences. But as he looked up to speak, the face
of little Ruth Cheerful came to his mind—so
bright, so unselfish: and instead of no, Casper
said yes.

He put down the bag and climbed the fence,
and had begun to walk over the meadow, when
Mr. Sickles called him.

“Look here, my boy !”

Casper looked once more, and then as he saw
the man beckon, he came back and climbed over
the fence again. Mr. Sickles opened his pocket-
book and took out some money.

“'There’s two’ shillings owing them,” he said,
“and if you carry the cash there’ll be no fear
about getting the skin. Now go.”

“What did you make me come back for?"
said Casper, not very well pleased.

“To get this money for Mr. Pippin,” said the
man with another smile. “ Ah, you don’t like to
be called back, hey? Never mind, my boy—don’t
ever refuse to help make road for other people,
because some day you may travel that way your-
self. You needn’t hurry, but the quicker you’re
back the better I shall like it.”

And Casper once more set forth ; nor was it long
CASPER. 95

before he came back again with the pretty white
sheepskin in his hand.

“ There’s a good boy,” said Mr. Sickles—“ first-
rate. Where are you going?”

“ Home,” said Casper.

“* Where’s that ?”

* Tn the village.”

“Do you think you'll ever get there on those
two little feet?” said Mr. Sickles with a very
beaming face.

Casper couldn’t help smiling a little too, as he
said “ he guessed he should.”

“You like walking better than riding?” said
Mr. Sickles.

“ No,” said Casper.

“Then jump up here and sit in the wheat,”
said the wagoner, “and there’ll be some chance
of the flour’s getting home too; you can hold the
bag with one hand and the hole with the other.
Jump up!”

Casper jumped up, in high spirits: Mr. Sickles
pushed him down into a little nest among the
wheatsheaves, where he was as comfortable as
could be, and the two brown horses moved on.
Casper was so glad they had a heavy load and
couldn’t go faster !

Jog, jog went the horses, and the wagon rolled
after them and jolted over the stones in the most
slow and comfortable manner. The sharp, bearded
ears of wheat hung down from the sheaves and
96 CASPER.

scratched Casper’s legs, and tickled his neck, and
dressed off his hair after a most curious fashion ;
but it was so delightful to ride, and the soft straw
on which he sat rested him so nicely, that he
minded not the scratching a whit.

«‘ What sort of place is the village? said Mr.
Sickles. ‘ Pleasant ?”

“No,” said Casper.

«Ah, that’s bad,” said his friend,— people
ought to live in a pleasant place. Why isn’t thre
village pleasant ?”

“1 don’t know—
is, but our house isn’t.”

“Why not?” said Mr. Sickles, looking round
at him.

“ Mother’s dead,” said Casper, as if that told
everything.

Mr. Sickles looked Sane again, and said “ Get
up!” to the horses in a very imperative way.

“Do you know where I five?” he said, after
a pause.

“ No,” said Casper.

“See that hill yonder, with a white house and
a red barn just at the top?”

Casper said yes.

“ That’s the place,” said Mr. Sickles,—“ nice
place too, and pleasant—I don’t care who says
it ain’t. Now do you think you could walk so
far ?”

Casper wondered whether Mr. Sickles was

” said Casper,—% maybe it
CASPER. 97

going to ask him to carry the sheepskin up there,
because the wagon had to go somewhere else, but
he only said yes again.

“Well, come up some time and spend the
day, will you?” said Mr. Sickles. ‘‘ Come to+
morrow.”

“Spend the whole day?” said Casper.

“Why yes,” said his friend. ‘‘ Got anything
to do at home ?”

“Oh no!” said Casper. “I should like to
come very much.”

“ Well, there’s nothing to hinder, that I can
see,” replied Mr. Sickles. And he was silent
again till they reached the village. There he
stopped for Casper to get out. Casper couldn’t
shake hands with him, for it was all both hands
could do to manage the flour-bag, but he said
“Thank you, sir.”

“Look here!” said Mr. Sickles, as he turned
away, “what’s your name? If the wrong boy
comes to-morrow I should like to know it.”

“My name’s Casper.”

“ Well see,” continued Mr. Sickles, “do you
always carry that face round with you”

“JT haven’t got any other face,” said Casper.

“Well, do you always cry every day? or do
you laugh some of ’em ?”

“TJ don’t cry when I’m out in the woods with
Ruth,” replied Casper.

“ Don’t bring any tears along to-morrow,” said

H
100 CASPER.

other she scattered the breakfast, while cock and
hen and chick fluttered round her, and ate as fast
as they could. Then Mrs. Sickles shaded her
eyes with one hand from the bright sunbeams,
and looked off across the fields. There were
some black specks in a distant meadow, which
might be Mr. Sickles and his men, at work, but
they were too far off for her to see much of them.

A little red dog who sat by her, his tail curled
up out of the dew, now gave a sharp little bark,
and Mrs. Sickles turned and looked down the
road.

The sunbeams lay very bright there, with only
a tree shadow now and then, and in the very
midst of sunshine and shadow—toiling along
through both—was a little figure that caught Mrs.
Sickles’ eye at once: she looked more intently
than before. The little red dog jumped up, and
said with a growl that he would go and see who
it was.

“Sit down, Gruff!” said Mrs. Sickles. And
Gruff sat down, and curled up his tail as before.

“Don’t you stir, Gruff!” said Mrs. Sickles ;
and she went back to the house and put her dish
away, and came out again, while Gruff whined
and seemed to feel very bad. But when his mis-
tress came out, she walked straight down to the
garden gate that opened upon the road, and there
she stood, looking very hard at the little figure ;
and the little figure looked just as hard at her.
CASPER. 101

She was a pretty young woman, with gentle
eyes and smooth shining hair, and a fair sweet
face; her dark dress as neat as wax, with an im-
mense check apron that nearly covered her up.
She never moved till the little figure was very
near the gate; then she opened it and stepped out.

“Ts that Casper?” she said.

“Yes, ma’am,” said Casper.

“I’m so glad you have come!” said Mrs.
Sickles—“I was afraid you wouldn’t.”” And she
stooped down by Casper, and, laying her hands
on his shoulders, looked at him for a minute, and
then kissed him.

Casper was very much surprised, and the tears
started right up into his eyes; it wasn’t often
that anybody gave him a kiss now-a-days. But,
remembering what Mr. Sickles had said, he
turned his face away as quick as he could, and
rubbed his eyes very hard with his hands. He
hoped Mrs. Sickles didn’t see the tears, but he
was not quite sure; he thought he saw her rub
her own eyes with her apron. But she did not
look frightened ; she only took his hand and led
him on to the house.

“Mr. Sickles is gone to the field,’’ she said,
«and won’t be back till dinner, and I am to take
care of you in the meantime. Did you walk all
the way from the village ?”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Casper. “ Oh, how sweet
the flowers are!”
102 CASPER.

Mrs. Sickles looked pleased at that, and she
stooped down and picked a red rose for him, and
stuck it into the buttonhole of his jacket.

“Why, what time do you eat breakfast at
home?” she said. ‘ How could you get here so
early, and walk all the way ?”

“ We have breakfast—when father gets up,”
said Casper; for he didn’t want to say that
neither thing had happened before he left home,
and that he had caught up a piece of bread and
run off with it while everybody else was asleep.

“What do you think you will do here, all the
long day?” said Mrs. Sickles.

“T don’t know—” said Casper. “What are
you going to do?” So he felt quite at home
already ;—the way Mrs. Sickles had hold of his
hand, made him forget that he had never seen
her before in his life. So he looked up and
smiled in her face, and asked her what she was
going to do.

She said she must wash the breakfast dishes,
and that he should feed the chickens for her in
the meanwhile.

“TI thought you were feeding’em when I came,”
said Casper.

“Yes, I fed the cocks and hens,” said Mrs.
Sickles, “but there are some little chicks in a
coop.”

She mixed a saucer of food for them, and
showed him where the coop was, and then went
CASPER. 103

into the house again to her dishes; and for half
an hour Casper quite forgot that he had ever
been miserable. There he sat before the coop,
throwing down the wetted meal by spoonfuls, and
watching the soft little white and brown chickens,
as they came out and picked it up. They en-
joyed it very much; but there was not a chick of
them all so pleased as Casper. There were large
daisies and clover-heads growing about in the
grass, and Casper picked some of them and laid
them over the ccop, till it looked quite flowery.
He had seen daisies and clover often enough
before, but none that he ever thought half so
pretty.

Suddenly a voice called him.

* Casper!” it said. 5

And Casper started, for he feared that some one
had come for him; but, when he looked round,
there was only Mrs. Sickles standing in the cot-
tage door, with a basket in her hand. Casper
ran to her.

“T am going into the garden, to pick some
beans for dinner,” she said, “and you can help
me.”

Casper had never picked any beans in his life,
but he soon learned which were fit to pick, and
which must be left to grow yet awhile longer.
And when the basket was full, Mrs. Sickles
picked two or three large yellow squ’‘shes, with
green stripes, and carried them inte |» house

-
104 CASPER.

along with the beans. Then, while she pared
the squashes, Casper shelled the beans; and then
Mrs. Sickles told him to amuse himself as he
liked, in the house, or out of the house, till
dinner.

Casper went to the door and looked out—then
he came back into the kitchen.

“Mrs. Sickles, may I go all over your house ?”

“ Yes to be sure,” she said witha smile. “I
am certain you won’t touch anything that ought
not to be touched.”

“‘T won’t touch anything at all,” said Casper—
“Tl only just look at everything.” And off he
went.

First into the parlour, which opened out of
the kitchen, but it was so dark there that
he couldn’t see much; though after awhile he
counted six chairs, and two rocking-chairs, and a
table full of books, and a looking-glass, and two
white muslin curtains. Casper came out and
shut the door, and went softly upstairs.

There were a good many little rooms there,
but most of them looked as if nobody slept in
them. Some had beds, but the beds were not
made up; and some had pans of currants drying
in the window, and strings of dried apples and
of red peppers hanging about the wall. Bunches
of dried herbs, too, were there; and in one room
was a quantity of white wool, and a spinning-
wheel. Casper shut that door and opened another.
CASPER. 105

Somebody slept in that room, for the bed was made
up with very white sheets and a checked woollen
counterpane, and the pitcher was full of clean
water, and clean towels hung by it. A looking-
glass was -there to, with a little white-covered
table beneath, and a pincushion on the table; and
there were four chairs and three windows. Between
the windows hung a little picture. Casper got
up in a chair to see it better.

It was a picture of a pretty-faced, rosy-cheeked
little boy, with blue check apron that came up
close round his neck, and a little old straw hat
in his hand. In the front of the picture sat a
little red dog that looked very much like Gruff
—his tail was curled up after just the same
fashion.

Casper stood and looked at it for a long time.
He had never seen a pretty picture of any pretty
thing in his life before; and this little boy was
most pleasant to look at. The little face made
Casper think of Ruth, and he didn’t like it the
less for that. But he wondered so much who the
boy could be! and where he was. Casper thought
he would go and ask Mrs. Sickles—she must
know; and he jumped from his chair and ran
down stairs to the kitchen to find her, but she
was not there. And then seeing a large door
stand open into the shed outside, he thought he
might as well go out and see what was to be seen
in that direction. The shed was very full of all
106 + ©. casper.

sorts of things, and Casper had his hands full of
business at once. Over the beams hung calf skins
and one sheep skin—Casper remembered that—
and against the wall hung a saddle and bridle,
and a string of red onions, and an old pan, and
two horseshoes. There was a pail in one corner,
and a broom, a wire sieve, a hoe, and a sledge-
hammer stood round the sides. Two or three
barrels and boxes filled the end of the shed; but
when Casper began to explore there, a white hen
with a very red comb and very yellow legs flew
out of one of the barrels, and began to cackle as if
she was astonished clean out of her wits. Casper
felt quite frightened and+ afraid he had done
mischief; but he couldn’t take his eyes off the
hen, and as he walked backwards to the kitchen
door he ran right against Mrs. Sickles.

“T didn’t mean to frighten the hen,” said
Casper looking up at her. “I just went over there
and she flew out.”

‘* She’s not much frightened,” said Mrs. Sickles,
—‘she cackles because she has laid an egg.
Come, we will go and get it.”

The barrel was so high that Casper couldn’t
see over it; but Mrs. Sickles helped him up, and
he looked down to the very bottom of the barrel,
and there lay a large white egg, and another one
not so white.

Mrs. Sickles stooped over into the barrel and
got the white egg; and she let Casper carry it
CASPER,” 7 107

into the house and into the pantry, and lay it on
a dish that was covered with eggs—large eggs
and small, some brown and some white.

“Mrs. Sickles,” said Casper suddenly, ‘‘ where’s
that little boy upstairs. Does he live here ?”’

Mrs. Sickles had followed him out of the pantry,
and they both stood before the kitchen fire on
the broad hearthstone. She had been smiling a
minute before, but when Casper spoke to her she
started and looked quite pale.

“* No—” she said in a low voice.

“ Well, where does he live then?” said Casper.

She didn’t answer at first, and then she said
with just the same low voice—

“In heaven—”

And went away.

Casper looked after her, but she had gone so
quick that he couldn’t tell where she went; so he
looked back at the fire again. He felt very much
astonished.

He had been dreaming of heaven, and Ruth
and Mr. Broadaxe had told him about it, and now
here was the picture of a little boy who really
lived there! lived there all the time. Casper
wondered if the little boy was very happy—and if
he had ever been miserable; and whether he
wore that same little blue apron now, or the |
white clothes of his dream. And then he went
upstairs to look at the child again, and thought he
must have been very good—he looked so like Ruth!
108 CASPER.

Mr. Sickles came home to dinner, and they had
a very merry time; and the dinner was very good
too, and much more substantial than Casper’s
breakfast. And as for Casper himself you would
hardly have known him. He was very quiet, to
be sure, and didn’t say much, but he laughed more
than he had done in a great while before, and his
little face looked quite unlike itself, it was so
bright.

After dinner Mr. Sickles went back to the
field and took Casper with him, and instead of
walking they rode in the ox-cart.

“Look here,” said Mr. Sickles as they rode
along, “how did you scare my wife this morning?”

“Why I haven’t!”? said Casper.

“ Oh—” said Mr. Sickles,—“I thought may be
you had,”’—after which he said not a word till
they reached the field.

Three or four men were there, making hay.
Some were heaping it up in large haycocks, and
some were raking it together, and when the cart
arrived they began to throw the hay into that
with their long pitchforks. Casper found a rake
which had lost part of its handle, and so was
short enough for him to manage, and then he
helped the men rake hay. When the cart was
loaded it went off to the barn, and the men threw
the hay into the barn and came back with the
empty cart. And Mr. Sickles put Casper down
on the ground and covered him up with the hay,
CASPER. . 109

and made him run races with Gruff, and made
Gruff chase him.

The hay was very sweet and the sun was very
bright, and the field crickets sang away at the top
of their voices.

When it grew late, and the cart went home for
the last time, Mr. Sickles and Casper climbed
up to the very top of the great load of hay and
sat there. And when they got to the barn Mrs.
Sickles was standing in the great doorway, ready
to help Casper down. ‘Tea was ready too; and
as soon as tea was over Casper went home.

But when he was just going, and Mrs. Sickles
had stooped down to kiss him as she did in the
morning, Casper put his face cluse to hers and
said softly—

“‘ How did the little boy get to heaven ?”’

And she answered—

“ The Lord Jesus took him.”


110

CHAPTER XI.

“ MornHer,” said little Ruth, “isn’t it a great
while since Casper was here?”

«* When was the last time, Ruth ?”

“‘ Why, he hasn’t been here—I mean I haven’t
seen him—since the day Mr. Broadaxe took us
into the forest.”

“That is only four days ago, little child,” said
her mother.

“ To be sure it isn’t,” said Ruth,—‘ and Casper
said he had to go to the mill next day. But why
didn’t he come on Friday or Saturday ?”

“ On Saturday it rained.”

“ But it didn’t rain on Friday, nor Sunday—”
said Ruth,—“ it was beautiful all day. And I
asked him to come on Sunday.”

Ruth went to the door and stood still, thinking
over the matter very gravely, when suddenly she
. heard quick footsteps running round the house,
and Casper himself appeared. Ruth was full of
questions and exclamations of delight, but the
little boy was so out of breath that he didn’t
answer for a minute, and then he only said—

“ Tve come—I’ve got here at last!”

“Well, why didn’t you come before?’ said
Ruth.
CASPER. 111

“ T couldn’t—” said Casper, still panting.

“Not on Sunday?” said Ruth. ‘ O Casper!
you didn’t have to go to the mill on Sunday.”

“No,” said Casper, “ but father stayed at home
all day and kept me. O Ruth—I’m never coming
any more!”. And Casper sat down on the door-
step and cried.

“Why, what can you mean?” said Ruth, who
would have cried too, only that she couldn’t
believe such bad news at once hearing. ‘“ What’s
the reason, Casper? won’t you tell me?”

“Father says I shan’t—” said Casper; and
then he felt vexed and stopped crying. “He
says I shan’t—but I will, too! I ran away now,
and I will again!”

“Oh, don’t talk so—please don’t!” said little
Ruth. “Don’t talk about your father, but just
tell me what’s the matter—won’t you, Casper ?”

“T can’t tell you what’s the matter without
talking about him—” said Casper.

“Well, don’t be vexed with me,” said Ruth
gently, “only tell me.”

“Tm cross, I know I am, Ruth,” said Casper,
looking up at her sorrowfully, “ but it’s so hard!
You see I went away up the mountain on Friday
to see Mr, Sickles—and, O Ruth! such a splendid
place! Great loads of hay bigger than your
house; and ever so many chickens, and hundreds
of flowers. And Mrs. Sickles was just as good as
she could be. And she let me feed the chickens,
112 CASPER.

and then I went out into the fields and helped
*em rake hay, and I didn’t get home till it was
quite dark.”

“How happy you must have been!” said
Ruth, looking as pleased as if it had all happened
to herself. “ But what made you go?” -

“He asked me to,” said Casper,—“ I met him
other day when I came from the mill. Oh, it’s
a splendid place !”

“Well, you'll go there again, won’t you?” said
Ruth. o

“Oh, I’m never going anywhere again,” said
Casper, his tone changing and the cloud coming
over his face. ‘‘ You see, Ruth, I didn’t get
home till after dark, as I told you; and the day I
was in the woods with you and Mr. Broadaxe I
didn’t get home till dark, either. So father was
angry because I wasn’t there to make the fire, and
because I went off in the morning when he wasn’t
up. And he said I shouldn’t go off again till he
said I might—not anywhere—not out of the
village. And yesterday he was home all day, so I

_couldn’t, but to-day he’s gone to work.”

£ . And Casper sat still on the door-step and looked
up at Ruth, and Ruth stood and looked down at
Casper—too much dismayed to speak. When
she did move she came and laid her hand—on
his shoulder.

“ Come in, Casper—come in and tell mother,—
that’s the best thing.”

be
CASPER. 113

Casper came in, and the story was told to
Mrs. Cheerful; and then Ruth watched her
mother’s face and waited anxiously for her to
speak. But rather asad smile came with the words.

Little Casper—do you know what the Bible
says ’—‘ Children, obey your parents in the Lord:
for this is right.’ ”

“Don’t you like to have me come?” said
Casper, his eyes getting very full.

“QO mother!” said little Ruth,—say yes,
quick !”

** Yes, indeed I do,” said Mrs. Cheerful; “ but,
Casper, your father says you must not come.”

“TI don’t care then—” said Casper. “If you
like to have me come, I’ll come.”

“Then you wouldn’t obey your father.”

“I don’t care,” said Casper.

“ Then you would not obey God.”

Casper was silent at that. He stood twisting
one of the buttons of his jacket round and round,
as if he meant to twist it off, but he said never a
word. As for Ruth, her fortitude quite gave way,
—now, the case seemed hopeless.

Mrs. Cheerful was silent too, for awhile; then
she said—

“Sit down, Casper—come here and sit down by
me. I want to tell youa story.” And when she
had one of his hands fast in hers, as he sat by
Ruth at her feet, Mrs. Cheerful went on :—

“In some countries, where the people keep a
I
114 CASPER.

great many sheep, and the flocks stay out by
night and by day in the fields and on the hills,
there are men who have nothing to do but take
care of them; and those men are called shep-
herds. In stormy weather the shepherd brings
his flock home at night to a warm, dry house
called the sheep-fold ; but in the summer nights
the sheep never go home at night, and the shep-
herd stays with them. When the flock move
about from one hill to another, if the shepherd
sees any weak little lamb that cannot go so fast
as the rest, he takes it up in his arms and carries
it to the pasture; and if any are sick he nurses
and takes care of them. If one of the sheep
wanders away and gets lost, the shepherd goes
up and down the hills till he finds it; and if a
wolf or any other wild beast comes out to kill
the sheep, the shepherd will fight with him and
drive him away. He leads the flock to the best
pastures, where the grass is fresh and the water
sweet; and when he goes on before, the sheep
all follow him, for they know his voice. Often,
too, he knows them by name, and each sheep
knows its own name, and will run when it is
called. Should you think any of those sheep
need ever be afraid, little Casper ?’’

“Why no—” said Casper,—* what should they
for ?” ¥

“Not of the fierce wolves?” said Mrs. Cheer-
ful,—* nor of the cold and storms ?”’
CASPER. 115

“Why, the shepherd will take care of that,”
said Casper.

« And suppose the sheep were to trouble them-
selves because the grass was all eaten up in one
field ?”’

“Then he’d take ’em to another,” said Casper,
—“they might know that.” The story had
almost made him forget his own troubles.

“ And what should you think,” continued Mrs.
Cheerful, “‘ of any lamb who wouldn’t follow the
shepherd into another field, because it didn’t look
pleasant ?”

“J should say he was foolish,” replied Casper
— and bad too.”

Mrs. Cheerful smiled—a little sorrowfully as
before, and stroked her hand kindly over his
head.

“ Now,” she said, “I am going to tell you a
story out of the Bible. Shall I tell it, or shall
Ruth read it?”

« Ruth may,” said Casper.

Ruth jumped up and got the Bible, and then
found the chapter her mother told her—the tenth
chapter of John.

««Then said Jesus unto them again, Verily,
verily, I say unto you, I am the door of the
sheep. All that ever came before me are thieves
and robbers: but the sheep did not hear them.
I am the door: by me if any man enter in, he
shall be saved, and shall go in and out, and find
116 CASPER.

pasture. The thief cometh not, but for to steal,
and to kill, and to destroy: I am come that. they
might have life, and that they might have it
more abundantly. I am the good shepherd: the
good shepherd giveth his life for the sheep. But
he that is an hireling, and not the shepherd,
whose own the sheep are not, seeth the wolf
coming, and leaveth the sheep, and fleeth: and
the wolf catcheth them, and scattereth the sheep.
The hireling fleeth, because he is an hireling, and
careth not for the sheep. I am the good shep-
herd, and know my sheep, and am known of
mine. As the Father knoweth me, even so: know
I the Father: and I lay down my life for the
sheep. And other sheep I have, which are not
of this fold: them also I must bring, and they
shall hear my voice; and there shall be one fold,
and one shepherd.

**¢ My sheep hear my voice, and I know them,
and they follow me: and I give unto them eternal
life; and they shall never perish, neither shall
any man pluck them out of my hand. My Father,
which gave them me, is greater than all; and no
man is able to pluck them out of my Father’s
hand. I and my Father are one.’ ”

Little Ruth was quite silent when she had
finished these words, but she leaned her head
down against her mother’s knee, and seemed to
be reading them over again to herself. Casper
was silent too, and as Mrs. Cheerful could not
CASPER, 117

see his face, she did not feel sure whether he had
understood the two stories.

“ Casper,” she said, “ what does that last story
mean ?”?

“Tt means—” said Casper—“ that the Good
Shepherd takes care of his flock just as the men
do of theirs. It sounds so.”

“Yes, that is it. And who is the Good
Shepherd ?””

Casper hesitated a little, and Ruth said—

“The Lord Jesus.”

“ Yes—” said Casper,— Mr. Broadaxe told us
about Him. How He came and died.”

« sheep,’ ” repeated Mrs. Cheerful.

“ And what kind of sheep do you think He
has in his fold?”

“ People—” said Casper.

“ Everybody?” asked Mrs. Cheerful.

Casper thought a little, but didn’t speak.

“See, Casper,” said his friend, “ He tells us
himself who they are—‘ My sheep hear my voice,
and I know them, and they follow me.’ The
people who follow Jesus, who try to obey him,
are in his fold. Little child, will you follow the
Good Shepherd and keep all his commandments ?””

‘J will try,” said Casper.

It was spoken very softly, and in rather a broken
voice, for Casper thought directly of one command
he must obey, and that was—
118 CASPER.
&

“* Honour thy father.”

Mrs. Cheerful stroked his head in the same kind
way that she had done before.

“ Then you will be safe, little boy,” she said,
“and happy too. The Lord Jesus will gather
the lambs in his arms, and carry them on his
bosom—there shall not one of them be lost. Pray -
to Him every day, dear Casper, and tell Him all
that you want, and everything that troubles you.
‘The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want.’
Think of that.”

Casper did think, but his heart was very full.
For besides all that Mrs. Cheerful had said, he
knew that now he must go home—and he couldn’t
bear to say good bye. So after a little while he
suddenly jumped up and ran out of the door, and
then home as fast as he could, without another
word.


119

CHAPTER XII,

Tuar night, being very tired and weary, Casper
fell into even a deeper sleep than usual, and did
not awake until the sun was well up in the sky,
and pouring his full light in at the dusty window.
Casper sat up in bed and looked round. There
was nobody in the room.

There stood the breakfast table, with pieces of
bread and meat, and plates that had not long ago
been used: the sticks of wood in the fireplace
had, without doubt, been burning that morning,
but were now burnt in two, and fallen into the
corners; and the tea-kettle stood, all black and
desolate, upon the hearth. Flies buzzed about
the window-panes, and several spiders were busy
catching them, in webs new spun for the occasion.
Nothing looked very bright except the sunbeams,
and for once they made everything else the darker.
Casper rubbed his eyes in great dissatisfaction.
Then he lay down again—then sat up and took
another look round the room, and finally jumped
out of bed and put on his clothes. That was soon
done—so was breakfast. ‘There wasn’t much to
eat—the whole variety being large pieces of bread
and small pieces ; for, on examination, the scraps
of meat turned out to be bones. Casper ate what
120 CASPER.

bread he wanted, and then went to the window,—
he never thought of clearing the table and making
things look comfortable,—and there he stood
watching the flies. They buzzed about, and got
caught in the webs, and the spiders sprung upon
them and ate them up. It was very curious, but
not very interesting to Casper—he had seen it so
often before ; and he yawned two or three times,
and rubbed his eyes ‘as if he was going to sleep
again. He thought he heard the door open and
shut, but as he didn’t want to see Mrs. Clamp,
he didn’t look round,—nobody but Mrs. Clamp
ever came there at that time of the day. But
while he listened, expecting to hear the clatter of
the dishes as she cleared them away, he heard
instead a firm, loud step upon the floor; and then
Casper turned his head and saw Mr. Broadaxe.

“ Well,” said the woodcutter kindly, ‘so you’ve
got the house all to yourself this morning? A
fine chance to do what you like!”

“No it isn’t,” said Casper. “TI can’t do any-
thing I like.”

“That always means that you don’t like any-
thing you can do,” said the woodcutter. “ But
what’s the matter ’—let’s look at you. Has the
well given out this morning ?”

“No,” said Casper. But he coloured up very
red and looked down—he had not washed his face
since yesterday, and his hands were a match for
the dusty windows.
CASPER. 121

* Now there’s one thing that can be mended,”
said the woodcutter. ‘ Your father will let you
go to the well, won’t he ?”

“Casper said yes, and looked more ashamed
than ever.

“Then if you'll get a bason full of cold water,
and make good use of it,” said Mr. Broadaxe,
“1 think you'll feel better,—I’m certain I shall.”

Casper didn’t wait to be told twice. He ran off,
only too glad to get a clean face before he came
back.

** Ah—now you look like somebody,” said the
woodcutter,—“ a good deal like the little boy I
used to see in the woods. But how did it happen
that yoy always had a clean face there ?””

“ Ruth was there,” said Casper.

“ Oh—Ruth was, to be sure,” said the wood-
cutter. ‘‘ Well, suppose Ruth had come with me
this morning? And suppose when I go back she
should ask me how you looked ?”

“You won’t tell her, Mr. Broadaxe?” said
Casper.

“‘T don’t mean to,” said the woodman. “ But
now, Casper, I think there is something else you
have forgotten this morning. Can you guess what
it is?”

Casper didn’t try—he stood silent.

“What do you suppose Ruth does every morn-
ing before she eats her breakfast?’ said Mr.
Broadaxe.
122 CASPER.

Casper’s lips began to tremble a little, and he
said softly—

“J guess she says her prayers.”

“ [guess she does,” said the woodman. “Come,
Casper, let’s kneel down, here together, and
ask the Good Shepherd to take care of this
little child, who has such a mind to take care of
himself.”

Mr. Broadaxe prayed for just what he had said,
and Casper understood every word of the prayer,
but it made him feel glad and sorry too—he
couldn’t help crying a little.

““ Now I feel better vet,” said the woodcutter, .
when the prayer was ended. “It’s not so much
matter whether you’ve had any breakfast, but
it’s a great deal of matter that you should have
a blessing.”

“ But Mr. Broadaxe,” said Casper, “ what
made you think that I wanted to take care of
myself ?””

** Because you had not asked God to take care
of you,” said the woodman.

“Well, what made you think I hadn’t done
that 2?” said Casper.

“I never heard of a little boy in my life,”
said Mr. Broadaxe, “ who if he said his prayers
as he ought to say them, didn’t wash his face
too.”

“ Mr. Broadaxe,” said Casper after a little
pause, “do you think I shall ever see Ruth again?”
CASPER. 123

See her!—dozens of times,” said the wood-
cutter. “Maybe not for a week or so—but
what then? Be as good as you can in the
erro and she’ll be all the more glad to
see you.” "

“T can’t be good—” said Casper sorrowfully.
“T’ve got nothing to do.”

“Then you must be good doing nothing,”
said Mr. Broadaxe ; “ good, and patient, and
gentle. Besides, as to having nothing to do, that’s
all nonsense.”

“ Why, what can I do?” said Casper.

“ Find something,” said the woodcutter. “If
I was a little boy living all by myself, I should
keep my house in better order,—I should carry
the dishes out into the kitchen, and set up the
chairs and dust them.”

“Mrs. Clamp does that,” said Casper.

“She hasn’t done it this morning,” said Mr.
Broadaxe. ‘‘ And if you do it you’ll save her the
trouble.”

“T don’t want to save her the trouble,” said
Casper, flushing up.. “ She’s bad—I don’t like
her.”

««'Then be very kind to her,” said Mr. Broadaxe
Gxavely. “ People that are bad need a great deal
of pity. Iso often do bad things myself, that I
feel sorry for other people that do.”

Casper looked a little ashamed.

“T know I’m not good,” he said.

Ei
124 CASPER.

“Well,” said Mr. Broadaxe kindly, “ I’ve told
you to find something to do; now i tell you to
find something to love.”

Casper looked up as if that was a harder task
than the other.

“Why, do all the little kind things you can for
other people—” said the woodcutter,—“ help ’em
im every way.”

“TJ don’t like to,” said Casper.

“ Ah!” said Mr. Broadaxe, “then it will do
you good. I guess you haven’t had much prac-
tice. Now I must be off. Here’s a whole pack-
age of seed cakes my wife sent you, and Ruth
sent a couple of apples and an ear of roasted
corn. So you won’t starve till supper time.
Good bye.”

And the woodcutter’s long steps soon took him
far from the door, while Casper stood there and
looked after him.

“Mr. Broadaxe !”? Casper called out.

“Well?” said his friend, coming back a step
or two.

Casper went a few steps to meet him.

* Will you come again, Mr. Broadaxe ?””

“ Maybe so,” said the woodcutter smiling.
“Will you never forget again what you forgot
this morning ?”

“T didn’t forget it,” said Casper, for he was
a sturdy little truth-teller.

“What then 2?” said Mr. Broadaxe.
CASPER. 125

“T felt cross,” said Casper.

“Oh—” said the woodcutter,—‘‘ a worse rea-
son couldn’t be.” And he once more nodded
and smiled, and went on his way. Slowly Cas-
per came back into the house and looked about
him.

The sun shone strongly in at the windows,
pointing out with a bright finger the dust, the
spiders, and the flies; and lay in long warm
streaks across the dingy wooden chairs. Casper
thought of the cool forest, the clear soft moss and
sparkling brooks, and almost cried to be out
there and at play. What was he to do here all
by himself?—he didn’t want to touch the chairs,
nor the dishes. Moved by some remembrance
of the woodcutter’s words, however, he began to
shove the chairs back to the wall, scraping them
over the floor and making a great noise. But
this lazy fashion of finding something to do didn’t
work well. The first chair let itself be pushed
back to its place, and so did the second,—the
third tumbled over, and Casper with it. The
chair received several scratches, and Casper scraped
the skin off his knee in a very uncomfortable
manner. He didn’t cry, however—it made him
feel rather angry, and he was very near saying
that he wouldn’t do another thing alt day; but
just then his eye fell on the package of seed cakes
and .Ruth’s two little apples and ear of corn,
which stood all untasted on the table. It was as

*
126 CASPER.

good as a scolding—yes, much better. Casper’s
good-nature came back at once, and a little shame
with it. He put the chairs carefully back against
the wall, carried all the dishes into the kitchen,
and brought back some old cloth with which he
wiped off the chairs. Then he got a broom and
swept out the crumbs, set the teakettle in the fire-
place, set himself down on the door-step, and felt
pleased.

“T’ve done a great deal!’ he said to him-
self. “I wonder if there’s anything more to
lo?”

Yes—there was wood and water; so Casper
went to the well once more and got a pailful,
and brought in no less than four sticks of wood,
which made quite a pile on the hearth; and by
that time he had to go to the well again to wash
his hands. Clearly after that, he must sit down
and eat a seed cake—they looked so good; and
besides, it was really dinner time.

He took his pile of cakes, the two apples, and
the ear of corn, to the door-step, and there sat
down again, with his treasures beside him. How
nice they looked! how good they tasted! Casper
looked anything but miserable, as he sat there at
his ease, munching a cake, with a few grains of
the roast corn for variety.

All of a sudden a little noise made him look
round, and there was the cat approaching her
nose much too near the pile of cakes. Up jumped
CASPER. 127

Casper, and away ran the cat; but after a hot
chase, Casper drove her out of the back door, and
shut it fast. He then came back to the front
door, just in time to see a large white chicken,
who had daringly walked in and ventured a peck
at the ear of corn. If the chicken was not im-
mediately frightened out of his wits, it certainly
was no fault of Casper’s, for he ran and shouted
till he was out of breath; but the chicken jumped
up on the fence and crowed defiance.

Casper came back in a fright lest something else
should have attacked the apples, but they were
there safe ; and the only living thing in sight was
a little bit of a girl standing just outside the door.
Casper hastened to count the remaining cakes (he
had been chasing the chicken with one in his
mouth all the while), for he didn’t feel sure what
the little child might have taken hold of. Nota
cake was missing, and Casper sat down and began
to eat the one he had held in his mouth so long,
with much relish.

The little girl came a step or two nearer.

Casper carefully put his hand over the cakes
and apples, to guard them.

The child held out her hand and said, “ Please!”

Casper felt very much tried. If she had
snatched one of the cakes, he would have taken it
from her without the smallest scruple, but when
she asked so meekly and properly, he didn’t
know what to say. He had such a vision of
128 CASPER.

bright little Ruth Cheerful giving him half her
breakfast.

“Please!” repeated the child, ‘ One!”

Casper took a cake, and held it out to the dirty
little fingers so eager to get it. They closed upon
the cake, and putting it at once to her mouth, the
little girl dropped a curtsey—as queer and as
little as she was.

“ Now, don’t you ask for any more!” said Cas-
per. “ Goright away!”

The child looked at him, curtsied again, and
trotted off round the corner of the house; out of
sight.

But, when another half hour had passed, and
Casper had done his dinner, he almost wished
that his little visitor would come back again, he
felt so lonely.

“‘There’s nothing more to do,” he said to him-
self, as he looked into the house and saw that
not a chair had stirred since he set their backs up
against the wall.

“And Mr. Broadaxe said I must try and find
something to love; but there’s nobody here, nor ©
nothing.”

He got up, and went out into the garden, and
thought he would try to make friends with the
eat. In general, Casper didn’t like this cat, and
the cat didn’t like him ;—she scratched him, and
he pulled her tail. But now he thought it would
be better than nothing even to stroke her head,
CASPER. 129

or run races with her. No—puss had had one
race lately, and that was enough. There she sat,
up in the old pear-tree, curling her tail and her
whiskers, and looking much too wise to come
down. Over her head the swallows flew twitter-
ing to their nests in the chimney, and a full cho-
rus of grasshoppers sang out that they were at
play ; but Casper felt sad. He was not at work,
neither was he at play,—why couldn’t he have a
playfellow—some one to love? He sat down at
the foot of the old tree, and thought over every
day that he had spent in the forest with Ruth,—
thought of the Bible verses she had told him, the
hymns he had heard her sing. Then he recol-
lected the woodcutter’s talk, and Mrs. Cheerful’s
stories. He thought how happy the sheep must
be, feeding on the green hills, and so well taken
care of, and how much they must love the shep-
herd. And then, why didn’t he love that Great
Shepherd of the sheep, who, as the Bible said,
loved him ?

“TI don’t know how—” Casper repeated to
himself. “I’m not good, and I don’t know
how.” But, even as he said the words, he seemed
to hear Ruth’s little voice repeating one of her
verses—

“If ye love me, keep my commandments.”

Some tears came into Casper’s eyes; partly at
the words, partly at the thought of Ruth. But

he said as he had before—
K


130 CASPER.

“JT will try! I’ll mind father, and not go to the
forest; and maybe next week, or the week after,
he’ll let me go, and then we’ll all be so happy!”

And Casper curled himself down against the
old tree, and went to sleep; and the old cat
looked down at him with a singularly grave coun-
tenance 5


CHAPTER XIII.

But Casper did not see Ruth next week, nor
the week after. She could not come to the
village alone, and he could not go to see her,—
his father would not let him. Casper’s patience
was almost tired out. He thought it was—and
yet he was really growing more patient, more
gentle and obedient, than ever he had been in
his life before. Even Mrs. Clamp found it out,
and on her part couldn’t help being a little more
good-natured. Nevertheless, Casper grew more
and more tired of living alone; and he couldn’t
amuse himself now as he used to with the village
boys: the good ones went to school or to work,
and the bad ones he couldn’t bear to be with—
their words fairly frightened him.

Meantime he had found nothing to love.

“TI don’t believe I ever shall, Mr. Broadaxe,”
he said one day when his friend had paid him a
long visit. “Nothing but you, and Ruth, and
Mrs. Cheerful, and Mr. and Mrs. Sickles.”

‘“‘ Well, there are five people—” said the wood-
cutter. ‘That’s not a bad beginning. Five
people to love and that love you.”

Casper smiled.
132 CASPER,

“T didn’t know there — so many,” he said.

“ But then I can’t see ’em.”

“Can’t you see me?” said Mr. Broa
“Open your eyes.”

“Why yes,” said Casper laughing, “
mean you're not here all the time.”

“‘Nobody’s anywhere all the time,” said
woodcutter. ‘And so you sit here all day and
wish for some one to come and make you
happy ?”

“Yes,” said Casper.

“ Does your father let you go apa the village ?”
said the woodcutter.

Casper said yes.

“Well,” said Mr. Broadaxe, “the next time
you want something done for you, just run
out of the door and do something for some-
body. See how many people you can make
happy.”

“Why, how?” said Casper, opening his eyes
very wide.

“ Find out—” said the woodman. “If people
have fallen down, pick ’em up,—if they hunger,
feed them,—if they thirst, give them drink.
Don’t go near the people that speak bad words
—there are plenty of others that would be glad
enough to have a little piece of kindness come
walking up to them.”

“T wish I was a little piece of kindness,” said
Casper. “ Like Ruth.”


CASPER. 133

“Where did Ruth get her goodness?” said the
woodcutter.

Casper looked up and smiled—a very bright
smile—but he did not speak.

«¢ Ask, and ye shall receive,’ little boy,” said
Mr. Broadaxe as he rose up to go away. And
‘Casper answered—

“Mr. Broadaxe, I do try.”

He stood as usual in the doorway, watching
his friend as he went down the road; and when
that pleasant sight was no more to be seen,
Casper looked round upon the village. He could
see a good deal of that. The road wound away
up the hill towards the church, softening off in
the distance; and the little village-houses were
grouped and scattered by the wayside, now
thickly and now far apart. Everything looked
very quict. The men were out at work, the
women at work within; the children at school or
at play on the hill-side. Down the road a flock
of white geese came waddling along, plucking
the grass and talking to each other in very harsh
tones, and’ otherwise the road seemed deserted ;
unless when a stray cat came softly out from one
house and crossed over to another.

“I s’pose Mr. Broadaxe wouldn’t find anything
to love there,’ Casper thought, as he looked
about. ‘‘ Ruth would love the cat—I don’t,—I
don’t like cats. And the geese are as ugly as
they can be. Nobody wants anything either,
134 CASPER.

that I can see—but me,—they’ve got grass -
enough.”

A few months ago these thoughts would have
made Casper fretful, and he would have called
himself miserable. He didn’t feel very bright
now—it was rather lonely to stand there looking
over the quiet village. But as the eye went from
one thing to another, suddenly it found a flock of
sheep feeding on the distant hill-side; and the
sight of them brought back all the sweet Bible
words that Mrs. Cheerful had told him. Casper
stood looking down now, thinking strangely and
yet pleasantly, how wonderful it was that the
Good Shepherd should care about him!

“TI wish I was a good child!” he thought,
“and then I would never do anything more to
displease Him.”

“Look! look!” cried a little voice near by.

Casper turned, and there stood the little bit of
a girl who had asked him for a cake.

“Look!” she repeated.

“Well, I am looking,” said Casper, “and I
don’t see anything but you,—and youw’re not very
big.”

“Cat in i? well,” said the child, taking her
finger out of her mouth to speak and then putting
it back again.

“TI don’t care—” said Casper. “I think I’m
glad. I don’t like cats.” :

“My cat,” said the child.
CASPER. 135

But to that Casper made no reply.

“My cat—” she repeated, trotting off to the
corner of the house. ‘ Come—look.” And at
the corner she stopped and waited with her finger
in her mouth.

*T tell you I don’t care,” said Casper.

The child’s face wrinkled and screwed up in
most remarkable style, and two or three tears ran
slowly down.

“What are you aeaee for?’ said Benes

“ My cat,” repeated the child. ‘ Come.”

Casper stood still yet a minute longer; but the
child looked very miserable—he knew what that
meant—and two or three better thoughts, of
doing as he would be done by, came into his
head. So he jumped down from the door-step
and followed the queer little thing who stood
waiting for him. She trotted round Casper’s
house, and along the back of the next one to it,
and into a large yard which belonged to the next
one still. There, to be sure, was a well, and
down in the well was the cat,—Casper could see
her plain enough. She was not in the water,
having got out of that upon the rough stone side
of the well; but the well was so deep, and the
sides so straight, that how to get further the cat
was in doubt. She clung to the wet stones and
looked up at Casper—while he looked down at
her; her eyes shining like two coals of fire in the
darkness of the well.
136 CASPER.

“TI don’t see what I can do, little thing,” said
Casper. This was addressed to the owner of the
cat—not to pussy herself.

“My cat,” the child said again.

It was clear that she looked to him to get the
cat out; and it was so pleasant to have anybody
look up to him for any reason, that Casper at
once smiled and said he would try. But how to
try was the question.

Casper had heard that when people fall into
the water, the people on shore sometimes throw
them a rope, which the drowning men catch hold
of, and so are drawn to land; and he thought if
he could throw a rope to pussy, and she would
catch it in her teeth, it would be the best possible
way to get her up to the top of the well. He had
no rope, however, only a long piece of string in
his pocket; but that must be strong enough to
hold a cat. Casper unrolled the string, and
looking carefully over the top of the well he threw
down one end of the string, keeping the other in
his hand. He couldn’t lean over, for the well
was high, and built up.

Down went the string, but either it was too
short, or else the cat despised it,—that she didn’t
lay hold Casper could feel well enough.

“What shall I do, little thing?” he said.

“Little thing,’ however, made no answer:
having given the matter into Casper’s hands she
troubled herself no further, but stood there with
CASPER. 1387

her finger in her mouth, as though her cat had
been up a tree instead. of down a well.

Casper looked about. There were the old
apple trees—where puss ought to be,—there were
great sticks of wood which he could not lift,—
there was the great well-stick which held the
bucket, now high in the air. Why shouldn’t he
turn the stick and let down the bucket ?

It was all he could do. - Casper tried ‘and
tried before he could move it at all, but at last
up went the other end of the great stick into the
air, and down went the bucket slowly into the
well. It must not go into the water. But as
it took all his strength to keep it from going too
far, he could not look over to watch the cat,—
he could only leave the bucket down for a
while, and then again draw it up. And as it
came slowly to the top of the well, two black,
furry ears appeared! and the frightened cat
made one jump from the bucket to the curb
stone, and then scampered away just as fast as
she could. —

Casper let go the big stick, and clapping his
hands together gave a great shout—which made
puss run all the faster.

As for the little girl she didn’t say anything
for some time, only she trotted after Casper as
he walked home, even to the corner of his own
house. There she stopped, and Casper felt her
little claw-fingers take hold of him.
1388 CASPER.

“What do you want now, little thing?” he
said.

* You’re good,” said the child. “TI like you.”

“I’m glad you like me, little thing,” said
Casper. “I’m not good.”

* You’re good,” said the child again, just as
gravely as before. And looking up at him she
dropped her queer little curtsey and went away.

Casper clapped his hands and laughed again
when she was out of sight, and then he looked
sober.

“T wish I was good!” he said to himself.
“ And there’s nobody to teach me now, or tell
me Bible verses.”

Yes, there was some One to teach him—he
remembered that, and went into the house and
prayed that God would teach him,—there was
no one else. And then he sat down on the door-
step again and said over to himself all the verses
that Ruth had ever taught him.

He was so busy with this work, and was
trying so hard to remember one verse which he
had forgotten—leaning his head down on his
hands as if to help out the matter, that he did
not hear a little light foot come running down
the road; nor see the little face that bent over
him, while somebody took hold of his shoulder
and cried—

* Casper! Casper! Oh, I’m se glad to see
you |”
CASPER. 139

But when he did look, it was Ruth.

Casper was amazed, at first, and neither moved
nor spoke; and then his head went down on his |
hands again, and he fairly sobbed. But it was
only for gladness—not for sorrow.

They sat there side by side on the door-step,
the two children, and talked and rejoiced as
though they had not seen each other for three
months instead of three weeks.

“It’s very lonely in the forest now, Casper,”
said Ruth. “I never go there to play any more,
—I just get my chips and come home. And, O
Casper, Mr. Broadaxe says he thinks those squirrels
like the tree now it’s down just as well as they
did when it was up; and he says he shall have
to cut up the tree and drive em away, for they’ll
never go if he waits for them.”

«And how’s Chip?” said Casper.

** Chip’s just as well as he can be,” said Ruth,
“and his tail is so curly! He runs and barks
at me every day when I go to the forest, but
only for fun, you know. And mother wants to
see you so much!”

Casper drew a long breath at that, and was
silent.

“She prays for you every day,” said little
Ruth more sadly, “and so do I; and maybe very
soon you can come again. Don’t you think so?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Casper,— don’t
talk about it.”
140 CASPER.

“Well, what do you do here all day? said
Ruth. “ You can’t sew.”

“ Sew!’ said Casper; “no, I should think I
couldn’t. Oh, I don’t do much, Ruth; I haven’t
much to do. ‘To-day I’ve been busy, though.”
And he gave Ruth an account of his exertions
in behalf of the cat.

Ruth looked pleased.

“JT think it was good—” she said,—‘ very.
Let’s go take a walk, shan’t we? round the
village, you know,—we needn’t go out of it.
Mr. Broadaxe was going to the blacksmith’s, and
he said he’d stop for me, but I can stop for him
just as well. Mr. Broadaxe came with me to the
end of the street, and then he went to do some
business. He said there wouldn’t be anybody
here this time of day.”

“« Mr. Broadaxe came to see me this morning,”
said Caspet.

“Yes, I know he did,” said Ruth, “ and before
he got home his horse lost a shoe; so he had to
come back again.”

“ Well, we shan’t lose any shoes,” said Casper,
“so let’s go on.” And the two children got up
and began to walk along the village street.

It was just the pretty time of the afternoon,
when the shadows of the houses were so long
that they stretched across the road, and between
them the sun shone in bright and cheerful. You
could see that the chickens were getting sleepy,

2
CASPER. 141

for they came home from their wanderings and
began to draw near the roost; while the cows
wound slowly down the hill from the distant
pasture, ringing their bells all the way to call
out the dairymaids.

Ruth and Casper walked along hand in hand
through the broad shadows and the warm sun-
light, leaving the track of little feet and toes in
the dust at every step. But they didn’t kick up
a bit of dust—they walked too softly. And they
didn’t say much,—it seemed enough pleasure to
walk on together just so.

“Casper,” said Ruth at last, when they had
reached the end of the street, ‘I don’t think I
like your village much.”

“T’m sure J don’t,” said Casper.

“Well, where do the nice people live?’ said
Ruth.

“T don’t know,” said Casper—“ I don’t believe
there are any. They don’t live round our house.”

“ Qh yes, there must be some,” said little Ruth.
** There’s the minister for one.”

“He don’t live in the village,” said Casper,
‘he lives in the white house up by the church.”

“So he does,” said Ruth; “I forgot that.”

“The blacksmith’s rather a nice man,’ said
Casper. ‘‘ He gave me an old hoop once; only
one of the boys broke it.”

“Why!” exclaimed Ruth. “ What did he
do that for?”

>
142 CASPER.

“Tt ran against him one day,” said Casper.
“He was a big boy—if I’d been big too he
wouldn’t have done it.”

““ Would he have been afraid to do it?” asked
Ruth.

“‘T guess he would!” said Casper with spark-
ling eyes. ‘I’d have made him—and sorry too.”

“Oh no you wouldn’t—” said Ruth. “I’m
glad, you were not a big boy, then.”

“Why not?’ said Casper. ‘“ He’d no business
to break my hoop—I’d knock him down now for
, byt Toei’

“QO Casper!—no you wouldn’t!” said little
Ruth again.

“Well, I say why not 2?” said Casper.

“Jt wouldn’t be right,” said Ruth. “ Only
think, Casper, the Lord Jesus prayed for the
people that mocked him and killed him. It can’t
please him to have little children hurt and trouble
each other.”

“Well, I won’t do anything to that boy—”
said Casper, drawing a long breath. ‘I mean, I
won’t if I could.”

“Where does the blacksmith live?” said Ruth.

“Down the other road, by the brook. See,
you can tell which way the brook is, for all the
geese go down there to paddle about and wet
their feet.”

The geese were stalking down the green slope
to take one dip more before night, and the children
CASPER. 143

went running after them, for to walk down such
a pretty slope was impossible. They could soon
see the blacksmith’s shop, and hear the clang of
his hammer ; and then Ruth cried out—

“Mr. Broadaxe hasn’t gone! I see his horse!”
And Casper presently added—* There’s Mr. Sickles
too! I’m sure that’s his wagon.”

And they went bounding into the shop.

The blacksmith, standing there in a shower of
sparks that flew out against his leather apron,
stayed his hammer for a minute and smiled at the
children. Mr. Broadaxe said—

“Where do these chips come from?” and then
went on fastening the harness about his horse’s
head: while Mr. Sickles, who stood at the other
side of the anvil, called out—

‘ Look here, little boy—”’ and then when Casper
looked, he never said another word, only nodded
to him.

But when the horses were shod, and they were
all going away, Mr. Sickles said—* See here, little
boy—why haven’t you been up my way again ?”

“Father won’t let me,” said Casper. “ He
won’t let me go out of the village.”

“What?” said Mr. Sickles.

Casper repeated.

“Hem—” said Mr. Sickles. ‘Well, if you
meet my wife anywhere, just don’t tell her that—
will you?”
144

CHAPTER XIV.

“Mrs. Cramp,” said Casper, “ if you’ll mend my
jacket I’ll give you sixpence.”

It was a fine Saturday morning in the early
fall,—cool and fresh and bright. Casper sat in
his old place on the door-step, and Mrs. Clamp
stood by the table and washed the breakfast dishes.
She had come in early that day.

“T say, Mrs. Clamp!” repeated Casper; “if
you’ll mend my jacket, Ill give you sixpence.”

“ What’ll you give me to find the sixpence for
you 2”? said Mrs. Clamp.

“Nothing at all,” said Casper. “TI’ll find it
myself—in my pocket.”

“ Well, find it first, and I’ll see,” replied Mrs.
Clamp, going on with her dishes.

“There it is—” said Casper, drawing forth
sixpence and holding it up. Look—you never
saw a prettier one, and I don’t want to give it to
you a bit; but I will, if you'll mend my jacket.”

“What’s the matter with your jacket?’ said
Mrs. Clamp.

“There are four buttons off,” said Casper,
“and the elbows are all torn, and there’s a
great rip in the back—I don’t think it looks
nice.”
CASPER. 145

“You’re mighty particular all of a sudden,”
said Mrs. Clamp. “I didn’t know your jacket
ever had elbows to it at all.”

“Well, won’t you mend it for me?” said
Casper.

“What for?” said Mrs. Clamp,—‘“ your elbows
look just as well out as in.”

“They don’t!” said Casper, reddening and
speaking very quick. Then he recollected himself,
and stopped and sat’still for a minute.

“Mrs. Clamp,” he said gently, “if you'll please
mend it for me I’ll give you my sixpence that
Mr. Broadaxe gave me—I haven’t got any more.”

“ Well—” said Mrs. Clamp, as she wiped off
the table. “ But you needn’t think I’ll stay here
to do it—bring it down to my house this afternoon,
and I'll see.”

And with that she went away.

The afternoon had hardly begun when Casper
knocked at Mrs. Clamp’s door, jacket in hand;
for lest any time should be lost, he thought the
safest way was to pull it off at home before he set
out. And as Mrs. Clamp was fortunately in a
good humour, and her baby asleep, she set Casper
to rocking the cradle and herself sat,down to sew.

“TI suppose you'll be off to the forest again,
when this is done,” said Mrs. Clamp, as she
stitched away. :

“No, I shan’t,” said Casper. “Father says I

mustn’t.”’
L
146 CASPER.

“Oh dear!” said Mrs. Clamp. ‘ You’re a
very obedient little boy, to be sure! Always
were.”

Casper felt angry for a minute, and he was
so afraid he should speak, that he took his tongue
fast between his teeth, and held it. But when
he looked up again, he did speak—cried out quite
loud—

““Q Mrs.Clamp! you’re putting blue elbows to
my jacket !”

“ Blue or green—what’s the odds?” said Mrs.
Clamp.

“‘ But they shouldn’t be blue, nor green either
said Casper,—“ they ought to be black.”

“J hayven’t got any black cloth to spare,” said
Mrs. Clamp, stitching on.

“ Well, then, please don’t put any in,” said
Casper. ‘“I’d rather have it just as it was.”

“You should have been contented, then,”’ said
Mrs. Clamp. “TI can’t take the patches off now.
If you don’t like ’em, I can put some yellow
patches on over the blue. Maybe you’d like the
looks o’ that.”

Casper didn’t say any more. He turned to-
wards the cradle again, and whenever there came
a tear into his eyes he rubbed it off, lest Mrs.
Clamp should sce it, and put on red patches.
And when at last she told him the jacket was
done, and bade him take it and be off, still he
did net speak; only took out his sixpence and

1?
CASPER. 147

gave it to her, and then ran home. But when he
got home, he sat down and cried away all his
sorrow and vexation. Not quite all his sorrow—
and his disappointment seemed to increase. He
thought the jacket looked less respectable than
ever, and he had wanted it to look smart for a
particular purpose,—he wanted to go to church.
Often as Ruth had begged him to go, yet he had
never been; and now that the wish had really
grown up in his own heart, it was hard to be dis-
appointed. But when the tears were all spent,
and Casper had thought over the matter in his
mind, and turned over the jacket before his eyes,
he concluded that if his shirt-sleeves were clean,
he might hang the jacket over his arm, and go to
church dressed for hot weather. And he tried,
putting the jacket in all sorts of positions so as
best to hide the unfortunate blue patches. Then
he felt comforted, and went to bed quite happy,
meaning to get up with the first ray of sunlight
on Sunday morning.

But the first ray of sunlight didn’t come. On
its way from the sun to the earth, it fell in with
a thick curtain of cloud and mist, and the most it
could do, was to send a part of its light through
the curtain, and tarry behind itself. And the
cloud was not the worst ; for there came big rain-
drops heavily down, and then a steady pouring
shower. The chickens came from their roosting
places in the trees looking wet and miserable,
148 CASPER.

and as they sought about for breakfast, the rain
came pattering upon their backs, and dripped off
their tail feathers,—the cats put their noses out
of doors, or just stepped out to see the weather,
and as quickly stepped in again—shaking their
ears and fore feet with every symptom of disgust.
~ Only the ducks were quite at home in the rain,
and the muddier it grew, the more they paddled
about.

As for the people in the village, the rain and
dark weather made them lie in bed the longer:
they opened their eyes and looked out, then
turned and went to sleep again. Casper’s father,
among the rest, had done this.

Casper himself had no mind to believe that it
did rain; he covered his head up in the bed-
clothes, and tried to think that he had only
dreamed of bad weather; but after a little while,
he found himself listening again, and there could
be no mistake—patter, patter—drip, drip—if that
was not rain, then Casper had never heard rain
in all his life. He got up very softly, and put on
his clothes, and went and stood at the window,
leaning his elbows on the window-sill, and look-
ing very hard at the clouds,—as if that could do
any good. And presently—just as if the weather
was too dry out of doors—there came a little
shower of tears from Casper’s eyes. He was so
disappointed! Last Sunday it had been fine, and
the Sunday before,—why must it rain to-day?
CASPER. 149

Now, too, that his jacket was mended! He could
walk to church in the rain, and not mind it a bit ;
but then his clothes were none too nice when
they were dry ; and Casper did not think that to
be dripping with rain would improve their ap-
pearance. And besides, if it rained very hard,
Ruth would not be there, and then he should not
know where to go, nor what to do. No, he must
stay at home; and Sunday would not come again
for a whole long week; and at this thought
Casper’s tears rained down the faster. He wanted
to be good, and he tried to be good; and now,
just when he wanted to go to church, the rain
came. He might as well not try to be anything
but the idle, disobedient boy he had been before.

But, the minute this thought came into his
head, Casper felt sorry and ashamed. Ruth had
read to him once out of the Bible, that God sent
the rain, as well as the sunshine ;—then it was
God who kept him from going to church to-day,
—and he had nothing to do but be patient, and
try how good he could be at home. Casper
turned from the window, and wiped off his tears ;
and though the sight of his jacket hanging across
a chair, with its blue elbows full in view, made
them run down again, yet the impatience was
gone, and that was half the battle.

Casper had need of all his patience that morn-
ing. His father—kept at home like himself by
the rain—sat down by the fire as soon as he got
150 CASPER.

up from his bed, and did not move therefrom
except for breakfast. Whatever was wanting,
Casper must get,—water from the well, and wood
from the yard,—and the wood was wet,.and the
yard muddy, and the rain poured steadily down.
Casper would go out for wood, and then when he
came in all sprinkled with raindrops, his father
would suddenly want fresh water for his face, or
fresh water for the tea-kettle, or chips to make the
wood burn. . Or the back gate had been left open,
and Casper must go shut it—or Mrs. Clamp
hadn’t come, and Casper must go fetch her. By
the time breakfast was over, and the dishes put
away, Casper was so wet that the rain had little
effect on him.

It was pretty late in the morning now, and
his father had settled himself in the chimney
corner and gone to sleep, and Mrs. Clamp had
gone home. There was wood enough in to keep
the fire alive till dinner time, and all the pails
were full of water; so Casper sat down on the
hearth opposite his father, and went to thinking
instead of to sleep. He stuck out his bare feet
on the warm hearthstones, and felt very com-
fortable, though a little tired. He was wet, to
be sure, but by that fire he could soon get
dry ; his father was likely to be asleep for the
rest of the day—he had just now moved from
his chair to the bed—and Casper was alone by
himself in the warm kitchen. Somehow or other
CASPER. 151

the morning had been a pleasant one,—the
disagreeable work had seemed easier than usual,
the rain and the heavy pails of water had not made
him cross; and to all the impatient words of his
father and Mrs. Clamp, Casper had not given one
impatient answer,—he didn’t know why. God
knew. The Good Shepherd had not forgotten
his little child. Casper had prayed that morning
that he might not*be cross any more, and the
prayer was heard and answered.

And now, as he sat there by the fire, getting
warm and dry, and saying over to himself the
verses he had learned in the forest, softly his
eyelids closed and he went to sleep—nor even
dreamed of the pleasure that was preparing.

The wind had changed! that was the beginning
of pleasure. And now it came sweeping down
from the north-west, sweeping away the clouds as
if it had been Mrs. Clamp’s broom and they but a
parcel of cobwebs. ‘The sky came out fair and
blue, and every little pool of water changed from
a mud-puddle to a looking-glass—wherein lay bits
of the blue, and bits of the drifting clouds, and
the tree branches, and your own face. How the
sun shone! and the sun and the wind between
them soon began to dry the grass and the roads, and
the tops of the village houses. The vane on the
church steeple was quite dazzling in the sunlight,
and the birds fluttered about it, and sang better
than the people. But it was not till the first bell
152 CASPER.

rang for afternoon church that Casper awoke,
and saw what had been going on in the world.
When he went to sleep the whitewashed wall
of the kitchen looked gray with the cloudy lights,
and now they were streaked with sunbeams.
Casper started up and went to the window—yes,
it had cleared off—there was no doubt of it. He
looked round at the clock—half-past twelve,—he
could get to church before Ruth now, if he should
run allthe way. Then another thought came over
him, and he looked for his father. But he had gone
out—hat and coat and all, so Casper felt free to
do what he liked; and putting on his little old
hat, and hanging his coat on his arm, he set out.
He couldn’t take time to look about him, and see
how beautiful everything was after the rain,—the
very thought of Ruth’s getting there first would
not let him stop an instant; but when at last he
ran up the green slope to the church door, it
was not even open—and Casper knew he was in
time. Then he took breath and looked about
him. For a minute nobody was in sight, and
then the people began to wind slowly up the
different paths, one and two and three at a time.

First came the old sexton, to open the doors;
and then came a woman and then a man, and
then two little girls. Neither of them was Ruth
—Casper wouldn’t have known her, and Ruth
wouldn’t have known herself in such white bonnets
and pink strings; and their green slippers were
CASPER. 153

very unlike the neat little black shoes which used
to make Casper ashamed of his bare feet. And
Ruth would have been overjoyed to see him there,
but these little girls only pointed and whispered
and laughed. Casper thought he could stand
that, but when another little girl did the same
thing, and several boys followed her example, he
began to feel rather vexed. And when at last a
whole string of children began to come up the
slope from the little school-house at the foot,
Casper ran away from the church-door and stood
behind one of the tall grave-stones until all had
passed. It was the Sunday-school. First went
one of the teachers, and then all the children, two
and two. Some were laughing and talking, and
some were singing softly the hymn that had just
been sung at the school, and some were looking
into their lesson books. Last of all came little
Ruth Cheerful, with her sweet, serious little face.
She was not talking, nor reading, nor singing, but
seemed to be learning something by heart from a
paper which she held in her hand.

Casper had let all the others go by, lest they
should laugh at him, but when she came he said
softly —* Ruth !”

Ruth stopped, and looked bewildered.

“ Here I am,” said Casper, “‘ behind this grave-
stone.”

“O Casper!” said Ruth; and she sprang right
into the wet grass and took hold of him. “ How
154 CASPER.

glad I am! But what makes you stay here?
Did you wait forme? Will you come and sit
where I do?”

“No,” said Casper.

“ Why not?” said Ruth. “ Aren’t you going
to church?”

“ No—” said Casper,—“ I was going, but they
laughed at me. I know I don’t look very nice.”

Ruth looked grieved.

“Who laughed, Casper ?—it’s no matter if they
did. We’re poor children, but that’s no matter
either. Come—we shall be late. But why don’t
you put your coat on? Aren’t you cold ?”

“Not very,” said Casper,—* and my coat don’t
look nice. It’s got blue elbows.”

“ Blue elbows!” repeated Ruth.

“Yes,” said Casper. “There weren’t any
elbows to it, and I got Mrs. Clamp to mend ’em
and she put in blue ones. That wasn’t what
they laughed at, but I guess they would if they
saw it.”

“Tl tell you what I’d do, Casper,” said little
Ruth, who had been turning over the coat and
taking a careful look at the blue elbows; “I
should put the coat right on and go to church.
Black wold have been prettier, to be sure, but
anything is better than holes, mother says; and
it’s nicely mended, at any rate.”

“You'll be ashamed of me when I get in,” said
Casper, hanging back.
CASPER. 155

* No, indeed I won’t!” said Ruth. “Why, I
wore a blue calico frock with a black patch once
myself. I think you were very wise to have it
mended. Come!’

Casper let her take hold of his hand and lead
him into the church, even with his coat on. She
whispered to him at the door—

“Take off your hat, Casper, all the boys do—
and don’t look at any of them.”

And Casper did as she told him. Therefore if
anybody laughed he didn’t see it,—he only saw
Ruth—walking softly and quick to her place,
keeping fast hold of his hand, and looking as
pleased as if she had brought a little prince to
church—instead of a little boy with blue elbows.
Casper sat on a bench next the wall, and Ruth sat
between him and the other children; and when
the minister got up and read the hymn, Casper
_ forgot everything else—he was so interested and
happy. And when they began to sing, and Ruth
sang too—he turned round and listened to her,
and thought she sang better than the choir.

- “Casper,” said Ruth when they came out of
church, “ you'll come every Sunday, won’t you?”

“ Yes,” said Casper, “I'll try.”

“Well, don’t go home yet,” said Ruth,—*“ see
how pretty the sunshine is. Come over here
under the trees and let’s sit down and talk.”

So they went to the back of the church, and
sat down in the shade on the grass. Over-head
156 CASPER.

the trees blew softly about, and all around them
the white and gray and brown stones rose up out
of the green grass, and the birds perched on them
and sang.

“ it’s pretty here,” said Ruth, when they had
sat still a minute.

“Yes,” said Casper. Then after another
minute he added—

“My mother’s here.”

Ruth looked at him, but she didn’t speak.

“She’s here,” Casper repeated—“ over there,
behind the trees. Why can’t she live down in
the village with me?”

Ruth made no answer to that either, but she
looked away now, and the little kerchief that was
round her neck fluttered quick up and down.
The children sat without moving or speaking for
some time. Ruth spoke first.

‘My father isn’t here,” she said softly,—* he’s
very far away; and I don’t remember him a bit.
But mother says—if I’m a good child—I shall
see him in heaven.”

“Oh, you are good,” said Casper, as if that did
not comfort him much.

Little Ruth shook her head.

“IT guess you wouldn’t think so sometimes,
Casper.”

‘But I tell you I do—always,” said Casper.

“ Oh, well, you don’t know much about it,”
said Ruth decidedly. “ Now, Casper, my teacher
CASPER. 157

gave me a hymn printed on a little piece of paper,
and I want you to take it, because you’ve got
nothing to read. You carry it home.”

And she took out of her pocket a folded bit of
paper, and put it into his hand.

“ But you'll want it,” said Casper.

“No I shan’t,” said Ruth. “I know most of
it now, and when I want the rest I’ll come and
borrow it. It’s so pretty—I’m sure you'll like it !”

Casper did not say much, except with his eyes,
but they looked very bright and a little glistening.
He put the paper in his pocket, and taking Ruth’s
hand they weut slowly down the green slope
together.




158

CHAPTER XV.

Yrs, they went slowly down the slope, but as
soon as they came to the place where Ruth’s
road branched off, and Casper had let go of her
hand, and watched her till she was out of sight
behind the dark forest, then he began to run;
for he wanted to get home and read his hymn.
The little paper was safe in his pocket—he felt
it there; but as he went jumping, first on one foot
and then on the other, past Mrs. Clamp’s door,
she’came out and spoke to him.

“ Casper, where have you been ?”

“‘T haven’t been a step out of the village,” said
Casper, when he had thought for a minute.

“ Quite sure?” said Mrs. Clamp.

« Yes,” said Casper.

“Did you meet my cow anywhere ?”

“There wasn’t anybody’s cow on the road I
went,” said Casper.

“Did you see her before you went out, then !—
you’re always staring out of the window.”

“ Well, I haven’t been near the window since
morning, Mrs. Clamp,” said Casper.

“ Haven’t you seen my cow ?”

“No, I haven’t,” said Casper.
CASPER. 159

“ Well, you do tell truth—that’s one thing about
you,” said Mrs. Clamp. “TI s’pose I'll have to
believe you now. But what I’m to do I don’t know.

'There’s the cow off, and the baby screaming itself
to death in the cradle.”

She went back into the house again, and Casper
ran on; but by the time he was fairly seated in
his old place in the doorway, and had taken out
his hymn, then a disagreeable thought came into
his head.

“ Casper,” it said, “ why don’t you go and find
Mrs. Clamp’s cow?”

Casper had plenty of reasons ready. He didn’t
want to go, and Mrs. Clamp was never very good
to him, and she had put blue elbows to his coat;
and besides, there was the hymn—he must read
that.

Casper unfolded the paper. But the first
words were— Little children ;” and with that the
verses which Ruth had taught him came into his
head.

“ Little children, love one another.”

“Tf ye love me, keep my commandments.”

“Love your enemies, and do good, and lend,
hoping for nothing again: and your reward shall
be great, and ye shall be the children of the
Highest: for he is kind unto the unthankful and
to the evil.”

Casper folded up his paper and put it in his
pocket, and then drawing a sigh or two, he jumped
160 CASPER.

off the step, and scampered away over the common
in search of the cow.

The cow was easy to find, in one respect—you
couldn’t mistake her for any other cow, nor any
other cow for her. Her sides were black and her
ears were white, and her back and face were
grizzled and spotted. One horn crooked down
quite over her eyes, and the other had been
broken short off in the middle, in a fight with
some other cow. Her tail was perfectly black,
and swept the ground with its black tassel. More-
over, the cow had the credit of not being very
good-natured,—Casper thought she was much like
her mistress.

There were a good many paths over the com-
mon, and many a clump of bushes where the cow
might hide. Casper thought there was no end to
them—either the cows or the bushes—as he went
from one clump to another, starting up red cows
and white cows, and frosted cows with little red
calves ; and looking in vain for the black sides of
the short and long-horned cow. But at last, far
off, beyond the furthest house in the village, he
saw something that looked like her gray back; and
when a run had brought him there, there she was.
And there she meant to stay. At first she wouldn’t
get up. Her place in the grass was very comfort-
able, and she had no mind to leave it; and when
she was really on her feet, she stood switching her
long tail about, as if that was the only thing in the
CASPER. 161

world she had to do, and nothing else could be
expected of her.

Casper got a little stick, and pounded her gently
with it,—the cow flung her tail about his ears by
way of answer. Then he shouted to her,—then he
took hold of the black tassel, and gave the cow a
few more soft blows with the stick. The cow
flirted her tail away, and set off at full gallop
across the common, but in the wrong direction.
Casper’s patience was nearly worn out. But as
the cow had now found out the use of her feet,
he thought if he could but turn her head towards
home, she would perhaps run thither. And so it
proved. Casper made a great exertion and got
ahead of the cow; the cow turned round, and then
aever stopped till she reached Mrs. Clamp’s door.

Casper followed more slowly, for he was tired.
He felt a little sorrowful too,—the shadow of the
cow as she ran over the green was very long, and
the sunbeams came straight across from the top of
the forest. Maybe his father would get home be-
fore him—and maybe it would be too dark to
read. Well, he knew what Ruth would say—

* Never mind, Casper; it don’t matter, so long
as we only do right.” ;

Mrs. Clamp was just coming out with her milk-
pail, as he drew near the house.

‘Who fetched this cow?” she said.

“T did,”’ said Casper.

“What did you do it for!’ said Mrs, Clamp.

â„¢M.
162 CASPER.

“T thought I would,” said Casper.

“Why, I do wonder if you’re growing good-
natured?” said the mistress of the cow, looking
at him.

“ I guess not—” said Casper. “ I wish I was.”
And he went on to his own home, feeling very
glad that he had found the cow, though he got’no
shanks for it.

His father sat near the open door. That was
bad,—Casper thought to himself, that he should
have water to bring and wood to kindle. But
he went quietly in and up to the window, got
on the table to see the better, and once more
took the little paper out of his pocket. He
could hardly read at first, for the mere dread
of being called off, and kept looking towards his
father between every two words, but his father
never moved. And at last Casper forgot him,
and read on in peace, the hymn demanding all
his attention. And there was light enough—the
lines were in such large print. Casper read
them over twice, and then began to learn them by
heart :-—

Little children, come and hear,
Jesus speaks—you need not fear.

Sweeter words there cannot be :—
“Let little children come to me.”

Jesus came to earth and died,
Full salvation to provide.

Jesus died that we might live—
He alone can Heaven give.
CASPER. 163

Ask of Him to make your heart

Pure and clean in every part.

Pray that He your soul would keep,
He’s the Shepherd of the sheep.

He’s the Shepherd, and he knows
All their wants and all their woes.
Not a lamb can suffer harm,
Guarded by the Saviour’s arm.

Little children, now obey,—

Hear his voice and learn his way.
True and kind and humble be:—
“Let little children come to me.”

By the time that Casper could say the first
verse over to himself without missing a word, the
sun had gone far down behind the forest, and not
a beam came through the dusty window where
Casper sat. It was really dark in the room; but
he got down from the table and went to the fire,
and by laying the brands together with a fresh
stick or two, Casper soon coaxed up a pretty little
blaze, which was at least as good as a candle.
The light glimmered and shone on the ceiling
and walls, and made Casper himself, as he sat
there in the corner, look quite rosy. He didn’t
feel rosy—he felt tired and pale; but the little
folded paper in his pocket was one comfort, and
the single verse which he kept saying over to
himself was another.

“T’ll try to follow Him—” Casper thought. “ I
don’t know how--maybe He’ll teach me. There’s
164 CASPER.

something about that in the last verse—‘ Ask of
him’—oh, I wish I could see!”

Casper bent down by the fire and tried to read, ©
but though the flame flashed out. now and then,
it died away between whiles, and all he could do
was to get his head very hot, and his eyes very
tired. The hymn must go back to his pocket
again.

“Casper!” said his father, who had now shut
the door and come forward into the kitchen.

“ Yes, sir,” said Casper, starting.

“Where did you ever see Mr. Sickles?”

“JT met him on the road one day when I
came from the mill,” said Casper, “ and then he
asked me to come up to his house once, and I
went.”

“I’m going away to-morrow, to get work
somewhere else,” said his father. “If I finda
place that I like, I’ll come back for the furniture
and you. While I’m gone don’t stir out of the
village, unless Mr. Sickles comes and asks you,—
if he does you can go. Mrs. Clamp will get your
meals, just as usual.”

And off he walked, out of the kitchen and out
of the house, shutting all the doors behind him.
Casper sat still in some astonishment.

It was pretty bad news, he thought; but then
maybe his father couldn’t find work anywhere
else; and then they would have to stay where
they were: so it would be all right again.
CASPER. 165

Casper hunted about in the cupboard for some
bits of bread and tried to eat them, but they didn’t
taste good—he was not hungry; and then feeling
very tired and chilly, he knelt down in the fire-
light and said his prayer and went to bed.

Next morning Casper woke up late. He didn’t
feel well. Whether he had been out too much in
the rain the day before, or whatever the reason
might be, his head ached and he felt cold. There-
fore when he first turned over and saw the bright
sun streaming into the kitchen, he lay quite still
and wondered what made him feel so bad. Then
he remembered what his father had said last
night, and Casper rose up on his elbow to look
about the better.

His father had gone—that was plain; for the
table was covered with odds and ends of break-
fast, and there was.a heap of red coals under the
tea-kettle. Moreover, his father’s best coat was
gone from its peg on the wall, and the kitchen
door stood half open; while the cool morning
wind came sweeping in, fluttering the table-cloth
and giving ashake to the counterpane which covered
Casper. He thought perhaps it was the wind
that made him feel so cold, and he got up and
shut the door; but as he dressed himself the fire
didn’t seem to warm him, and he stood shivering
over the hot coals. Mrs. Clamp came bustling in
as usual to put away the dishes, and Casper had
to eat his breakfast in a hurry; but as he was not
166 CASPER.

hungry that mattered the less. Mrs. Clamp was
particularly cross, too, for the cow had strayed
away again, but Casper didn’t offer to go after
her this time—he felt too sick. He sat quiet in
the chimney corner, till Mrs Clamp had finished
her scolding and her dishes, and gone home.
And he cat quiet then too—only a few tears came
trickling down his cheeks now and then; for he
felt very lonely.

Not because his father was away—Casper never
saw much of him; but the little boy felt sick, and
longed to go to his friends in the forest, and have
them talk to him.

Why shouldn’t he go?—his father was away,
and there was nothing but his father’s command
to keep Casper at home. How many times did
that question come into Casper’s mind as he sat
there shivering over the fire! how many times he
said, “ Why shouldn’t I2?—I will!” But whenever
he turned towards the door, just ready to get up
and go, he always thought of Mrs Cheerful’s
words—

“Then you would not obey God.”

And Casper turned his head away again and
looked into the fire. He tried to read his hymn,
but reading made his head ache, and he could
only sit still and say over the verse which he had
learned.

Towards the middle of the day there came a
gentle knock at the door.
CASPER. 167

‘Come in!”* said Casper.

‘Does a little boy named Casper live here?”
said a pleasant voice. And Mrs. Broadaxe pushed
open the door and walked in.

“Oh, yes! I live here, and I’m at home, Mrs.
Broadaxe,” said Casper jumping up. “I’m very
glad you’ve come to see me. There’s nobody
here—father’s gone away and I’m all alone.
But it’s very cold here—I don’t know what
you'll do.”

“Cold?” said good Mrs. Broadaxe, as she met
Casper and took hold of his hands. ‘“ Why it’s
warm here child, very; but you are cold.”

“Yes, I am,” said Casper. “I haven’t been
warm to-day.”

“Why, I guess you’re sick,”’ said Mrs. Broadaxe,
And she sat down by the fire and took Casper on
her lap.

_ “ You’re just the colour of Winkie’s nose in a
cold morning. What ails you, child?”

“JT did feel sick awhile ago,” said Casper.
“T don’t now.”

He was much too happy to know whether he
was sick or not. Curled up there in the lap ot
his kind friend, while she: rubbed his little cold
hands in her big warm ones, Casper shut up his
eyes and looked as if he should go right off to
sleep. And Mrs. Broadaxe didn’t disturb him—:
not by a word or a question. Only once, when
two or three little tears of comfort and pleasure


168 CASPER.

made their way out from Casper’s eyelids, then a
big drop from her eyes did come down with quite
a splash upon his forehead. But Mrs. Broadaxe
quickly wiped it off, and kept on rubbing his
hands, and drew her blue apron over him. And
when he really slept, she softly undressed him
and put him to bed, and then sat watching the
little red spot that began to burn in each cheek.
Casper had a fever.
















































































ibd

CHAPTER XVI.

Ir I were to give a history of the next two weeks,
it would be only about Mrs. Broadaxe,— Casper
was very sick. Too sick to know much of any-
thing, and his kind friend never left him. The
very first thing she did after undressing him that
day, was to take off her own bonnet and shawl
and put them away in the closet, and there they
stayed until Casper got well. While he was very
sick she watched over him day and night—
making for him gruel with her own Indian meal,
and apple-water from large roasted apples which
Mr. Broadaxe brought down from home for that
very purpose. When he grew better she told him
_ long:stories, that sometimes made him laugh and
sometimes put him to sleep ; and now on the first
day when Casper could be up and dressed, Mrs.
Broadaxe sat by the fire and held him on her lap,
all wrapped up in her great shawl, which was as
large as a blanket. Casper didn’t say much about
it all, but whenever he looked up at her, the good
woman’s apron went up to her eyes as quick as
if there had been a puff of smoke down the
chimney.

The morning had been abusy one. First came
170 CASPER.

Mr. Broadaxe with a partridge for Casper’s dinner,
and Chip came and licked his hands. Then
Ruth entered softly on tiptoe, with a little bunch
of wild flowers and a pocketful of butternuts—
which Casper “ musn’t eat till he was quite well ;”
and Ruth was so glad to see him in such a fair
way to be well, that she just stood and looked at
him.

“Why, it hardly seems as if he’d been sick,
Mrs. Broadaxe,” she said, ‘he looks so much
better. He’s just a little paler than he used to
be, that’s all.”

** And a good deal thinner,” said Mrs. Broadaxe.

“Yes, he zs thinner,” said Ruth. “ How strong
is he?”

“Strong enough to hold the posy,” said Mrs:
Broadaxe, smiling. “I guess he couldn’t do much
more.”

“Oh yes I could,” said Casper; “ only Mrs.
Broadaxe won’t let me try. But I did walk
clear from the bed to the fireplace this morning,
Ruth.”

“Well, I’m sure that was a great deal,” said
Ruth. ‘‘How many times would you have to
go across the room to make it as far as from here
to the forest ?”

Casper said he didn’t know, and Mrs. Broad-
axe sat smiling and didn’t tell him. Indeed, she
didn’t know herself; only she knew that the way
to the forest was hardly begun when you had

S
CASPER. 171

walked a dozen times the breadth of that little
room. Then Ruth got up to go home, and Casper
‘said she should stay and eat dinner with him. So
while Mrs Broadaxe broiled the partridge, Ruth
set the table and talked to Casper; and then she
ate a wing, and he ate a piece of the breast, and
enjoyed it very much.

It was afternoon now, and Ruth had gone,
and Casper sat quietly in his nurse’s lap by the
fire, wondering what made everybody so good to
him. If he had asked Mrs. Cheerful she would
have told him—“ The Lord is my Shepherd, I
shall not want,”—and something of that sort did
come into Casper’s heart, though not just in those
words.

Now the sun went down very fast, and Casper
began to feel sleepy; when just as the last beam
left the window (it was not a dusty window now,
Mrs. Broadaxe had washed it), the door opened
and in walked Mr. Sickles.

Casper started up and was wide awake in an
instant, but he said not a word.

“Well, little boy,” said Mr. Sickles, “‘ where
did you come from ?”

Casper replied that he had not been anywhere.

* Oh—” said Mr. Sickles. “I thought you’d
been amusing yourself in bed for the last two
weeks. I didn’t tell Mrs. Sickles—I was afraid
she mightn’t approve of it.”

Casper laughed a little, but he was too anxious
172 CASPER.

to hear what Mr. Sickles would say to say much
himself,—his eyes sparkled with eagerness, and
his little face flushed up.

‘Why, this is quite a pleasant house of yours,”
said Mr. Sickles, looking about. “I thought you
said it wasn’t.”

“‘T don’t think it is,” said Casper. ‘‘ Oh yes it
is mow, because there’s nobody here but Mrs.
Broadaxe, and she’s washed the window.”

“« Ah—” said Mr. Sickles. ‘ Well, I suppose
that does make a difference. I don’t like dusty
windows myself. How do you like Mrs. Cheer-
ful’s house ?””

“Oh very much!” said Casper.

“ You don’t like Ruth at all, I suppose?’ said
Mr. Sickles.

Casper shook his head and laughed, in a way
which said that was quite a mistake.

* Well, what do you think of my place?” said
Mr. Sickles.

“T think it’s beautiful,” said Casper, “and so
is Mrs. Sickles.”

Mr. Sickles smiled a little at that, as if he
thought so himself.

“Why, you like her, do you?” he said.

“Yes indeed,” said Casper. “I like her ever
so much. And the picture too.”

Mr. Sickles kicked the fire and laid on another
stick of wood before he spoke.

“You had better like my wife,” he said,—*“I
CASPER. 178

think on the whole it’s best you should. You'll
see her to-morrow at Mrs. Cheerful’s. She’s
going there to dinner.”

Casper wondered how he was to see her—
whether she meant to-stop and see him by the
way; but his father had bid him ask Mr. Sickles
no questions, and none he asked.

“Mr. Broadaxe is going,’ said Mr. Sickles,
“and so am I; and as Mrs. Broadaxe must go,
I don’t see but we must take you along with
us. J suppose it wouldn’t do to put you in bed
here and lock up the house.”

Casper laughed again, but he didn’t say any-
thing. .

“ T’ll be down in the morning,” continued the .
farmer, putting his hand under Casper’s chin and
looking him in the face. “I'll be down in the
morning with my ox-cart; and if you’re ready
we'll take you in, and if you’re not—why I guess
we'll wait for you.” And away he went and
shut the door after him.

Casper could hardly sleep that night, for think-
ing of the next day. He kept talking and asking
questions till Mrs. Broadaxe was afraid he would
be tired out; but it only did him good. The
next morning.he was a great deal stronger, and
as bright as the sunshine. But he couldn’t eat
much breakfast; and while Mrs. Broadaxe was
putting away the dishes, Casper sat bolstered up
in the rocking-chair, and watched the door every
174 CASPER

moment,—listening, too, with all his might: and
when he heard the slow rolling of wheels, and
Mr. Sickles’ loud “ Whoa!” he could hardly
sit still.

As soon as the cart stopped, Mrs. Sickles came
running in; and she stooped down by Casper,
and kissed him and took hold of his hands, and
said how sorry she was he had been sick, and how
glad that he was better. And then she and Mrs.
Broadaxe wrapped him up in a great shawl, and
Mr. Sickles carried him out and put him in the
cart ; and when they were all in, the oxen set off
and jogged on to Mrs. Cheerful’s.

Casper could hardly contain himself, for pleasure.
THe hadn’t been out of the house for more than a
fortnight, and everything seemed perfectly delight-
ful. The sky could not have been bluer, nor
the sunshine clearer; and if the birds could have
sung harder, no doubt they would. First a robin
came down on the road with a troop of his friends,
all hopping about and bobbing their heads and
whistling ; and a half dozen meadow-larks perched
on the fence, and then sped away over the green
pastures. Quails ran in and out of the hedges,
and a string of black crows sailed slowly over-
head, and “ cawed” out their approbation of the
weather. On another fence sat a striped squirrel,
—and large butterflies flapped and fluttered about
the read, and the chickens tried to catch them.

Casper had been set down on the floor of the
CASPER. 178

cart in such a heap of shawls and cloaks that he
was half covered up, for they sank beneath him
and rose up on all sides like a feather bed. Mrs.
Broadaxe and Mrs. Sickles sat behind him, and
made him lean against them when he was tired
of sitting up; and Mr. Sickles went on foot and
guided the oxen.

Casper saw Mrs. Clamp in her door as they
went by, and he felt so happy that he even
called out to her and said—

“Good morning, Mrs. Clamp,—and good oe
too. I shan’t be home to-day.”

But Mrs. Clamp answered never a word, only
stared at the cart and oxen.

Mr. Broadaxe met them at the edge of the
forest, with a great basket in his hand, almost
as big as the one Mrs. Sickles had brought in the
cart ; and then they were soon at Mrs. Cheerful’s.

How glad everybody was! Ruth ran out and
clapped her hands, and danced from one foot to
the other on the door-stone; and Casper could
scarcely sit still, for impatience,—the sight of
Mrs. Cheerful’s brown ribbon almost made him
cry. As for Chip, he seemed to have lost his
senses, and went scampering about in a way that
no reasonable dog would.

Casper was carried into the house again, and
put in the carpet chair in the very warmest
corner; and Ruth sat down by him. They didn’t
know what the rest were talking about; but for
176 CASPER.

them, they told all manner of things that had
happened, and laid plans for all manner of things
that should happen; the play they would have
in the snow next winter, and the walks in the
forest next summer. Casper said if he only had
a sled he could draw Ruth down to the village in
no time; and then Mr. Sickles put in a word, and
said they could have his old ox-sled;—and then
both the children laughed, and Ruth said she
thought in that case she should have to get off
the sled and help to pull. But suddenly Casper
stopped laughing, and his face grew very grave.

“What’s the matter?’ said Ruth anxiously.
‘You don’t feel sick, do you?”

“No,” said Casper. “ But, O Ruth! father’s
gone away somewhere else to get work, and if he
can he won’t come back to live in the village ever
again. So maybe I shan’t be here next winter.”

“Oh, I guess you will,” said little Ruth—and
first she smiled, and then she looked grave.
“T hope so, Casper. Wasn’t Mrs. Clamp very
sorry to have you come away ?”

“JT don’t know,” said Casper,—“ she didn’t
say she was. She didn’t even say good bye.
Maybe she thought it wasn’t worth while for only
one day.”

“Maybe not,” said Ruth, smiling again.

“ Well, what makes you smile?’ said Casper,
who had felt rather sober himself at the thought
of Mrs, Clamp asd his father.
CASPER. 177

“Oh, I feel happy—” said little Ruth. “I
s’pose that’s one reason. Did Mrs. Clamp come
often to see you when you were sick ?”

“T guess not,” said Casper. ‘ Once she came,
and I shut up my eyes tight for fear I should see
her. O Ruth! I had such a chase after her old
cow one day! She didn’t even thank me, then.
I had such work to find the cow—and oh, she is
so ugly !”

“ Mrs. Clamp is?” said Ruth.

“J didn’t mean her,” said Casper, “I meant
the cow. The cow’s just as ugly as—”

‘Well, as ugly as what?” said Ruth.

“T used to say she was just as ugly as Mrs.
Clamp,” replied Casper, “ but I don’t say so now.
She’s just as ugly as she can be, anyway.”

“ Ruth!” said Mrs. Cheerful, “it’s time to set
the table.”

“Yes,” said Mr. Sickles, “if you don’t take
those chickens out of my wife’s basket, they’ll let
themselves out—I shouldn’t wonder.”

Ruth laughed—she felt very merry that day—
and then went stepping about the table, and
covering it with dishes. Casper looked on from
his corner.

Now it was well that Mrs. Sickles and Mrs.
Broadaxe had brought plates and knives as well
as chickens, for Mrs. Cheerful’s cupboard could
furnish but three; and when Ruth had put those

on the table, and had counted the seven people
N
178 CASPER.

twice over, to be sure she made no mistake,
then she stopped short and looked puzzled. ° But
Mrs. Sickles said—

“Look in my basket, Ruth, among the legs of
the chickens,’”’—and there was a bundle of knives
and forks wrapped up in white paper. And Mrs.
Broadaxe said there were plates in her basket,
under the pies, and wanted to get up and look
for them. But Ruth said, “ Oh, please let me!”
and began to unpack both baskets directly.

There were the chickens—but as they were
roasted they were in no danger of getting away ;
and there was bread and butter, and two large
pies, and a loaf of cake. Mrs. Sickles had also
brought potatoes, and they were boiling merrily
over the fire while Ruth set the table; so there
was quite a dinner.

Casper thought it was pleasure enough to sit
and look at his friends and hear them talk; but
they made him eat too. One of the wishbones
was unfortunately broken in the carving, but the
other was laid up to dry; and when it was dry
enough Casper and Ruth took hold of it.

“* Now, Casper, what do you wish?” said Ruth.

“Well, wait and see who gets the wish,” said
Casper.

They pulled the bone—it broke, and the longest
piece was in Ruth’s hand.

“Now tell, Ruth,” said Casper.

“ Oh. I wished to be very good,” said little Ruth.
CASPER. 179

“Mother says that’s almost the only wish that
never makes a mistake.”

“TI wonder if my wish made a mistake,” said
Casper. ‘I wanted to live somewhere else, only
not in another village.”

By this time Mr. Broadaxe had brought to
view a large bag of chesnuts, ard they all gathered
round the fire.

“ Now Mr. Broadaxe,” said Mr. Sickles, “ you
will please to tell us a story.”

“A story!” said Mr. Broadaxe. ‘ Why, I
couldn’t tell about anything but squirrels, if I
tried.”

* Oh, that would be fine!” said Ruth and Casper
both at once.

“ Well,”’.said Mr. Broadaxe, “ when I was out
in the woods getting these nuts, I saw a red
squirrel. .I had been up in the tree, beating off
the nuts, and when I came down I threw the
burrs into a heap and began to get out the ches-
nuts. Then came up my red squirrel.”

“To get your nuts, Mr. Broadaxe?” said
Casper.

“For nothing else,” said the woodcutter. “I
sat on one side of the heap and he stood on the
other, but he was a little afraid to come too
close,—so I threw a chesnut every now and then
over to where he stood.”

“And did he eat them as fast as you threw
them, Mr. Broadaxe?”’ said Ruth.
180 CASPER.

Didn’t eat one of ’em,”’ said the woodcutter.
‘“‘ He picked them up fast enough, and then off he
jumped, over the dry leaves and stones, to an old
tree about twenty feet off. Then up the tree
as quick as a thought, and down into his hole;
and then back for another chesnut almost before
it was ready for him.”

“But why didn’t he eat them at first?” said
Casper. ‘ What made him take them all up into
the tree ?”’

“Why, he wanted to put ’em away for winter,”
said Mr. Broadaxe,—“just as Ruth here will
store that other bag of nuts in her garret.”

“O Mr. Broadaxe! you’re too good!” put in
Ruth—“ is all that bag of nuts for me ?”

“ T cut down an old tree once,” said the wood-
man smiling, “and there was a squirrel’s nest in
it; but I didn’t know that till I came to split up
the tree. The tree was hollow, and far down
towards the root two red squirrels had made a
storehouse. There was a bushel of hickory nuts,
half a bushel of chesnuts, and some handfuls of
corn and pine cones.”

‘Did you take *em away, Mr. Broadaxe?” said
Casper.

“No indeed,” said Mr. Broadaxe, “ I felt almost
like a thief for having cut-the tree down. Sol
did what I could, and let it lie there till the
squirrels had carried off their property. Next
day there wasn’t a nut left. Mr. Sickles—you
CASPER. 181

may tell a better story than that, but you can’t
tell a truer.”

“Tt’s your turn, ma’am,” said Mr. Sickles to
Mrs. Broadaxe.

“*Mine!”? said Mrs. Broadaxe. ‘“ Dear me,
Mr. Sickles, I’ve no story to tell,—only I caught
five mice in my trap the last day I was home, and
Winkie got into the dairy. I found her out by
the cream on her whiskers.”

Casper and Ruth laughed very much at that,
and Mr. Sickles said the cat ought to shave before
she went thieving. And then the idea of Winkie’s
shaving was so very funny, that the children
Jaughed again—till the tears came into their eyes.

“ Now, Mrs. Sickles,” said the farmer, “ tell us
a merry story.”

“Why, I haven’t any story to tell, either, I’m
sure,” said Mrs. Sickles. “ 'There’s a whole brood
of little chickens at home, that have got no
mother,—but that’s not worth telling about.”

“Oh yes! Mrs. Sickles; please do!” said Cas-
per and Ruth both together.

“It’s such a merry story—” added Mr. Sickles.

-©“Why, my dears,” said Mrs. Sickles, leaving
her chair, and taking one by Casper and Ruth,
* this old hen stole her nest—”

“ But if it was hers, how could she steal it?”
said Casper.

“T mean,” said Mrs. Sickles, “she stole away
into the grass, and made her nest ; and laid ten °
184 CASPER.

“ May I live with you?” said Casper; his face
very grave and trembling. ‘Did father say I
might ?” ‘

* Didn’t I say I was going to take you home?”
said Mr. Sickles. “I am, any way. Only, if
you don’t want to go, I’d rather you wouldn’t tell
Mrs. Sickles.”

And Casper fairly sat down and cried; he was
so happy.
Ae Hs
i