oe
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"MRS C-A-READ
The Baldwin Library
RmB we.
SHannoekburn Publie Sehool.
MID-SESSION, 1886.
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a Pre in Standard A.
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AWARDED BY
E. L. WILSON, Esq., Hillpark,
4 gTO 5
FAIRY FANCY.
° if
‘‘CoME ALONG WITH ME, SHE S8AI1D.â€â€™
PAGE 42,
FAIRY FANCY:
WHAT SHE SAW AND WHAT SHE HEARD,
BY
MRS. C. A. READ,
AUTHOR OF “ MILLY DAVIDSON,†“ SILVERMERE,†“ OUR DOLLY,â€
ETC. ETC.
ILLUSTRATED,
LONDON:
BLACKIE & SON, 49 OLD BAILEY, E.C.;
GLASGOW, EDINBURGH, AND DUBLIN.
1883,
CONTENTS
PART IL
CITAP.
I. Toru, .
II. Trepy’s Inte Currosity, .
Tit. A Dancerous ADVENTURE,
IV. Poor Rosy,
V. Gonz Away,
PART IL
VI. Arrer THREE Years’ BANISHMENT,
VII. How Miss Janez pEALS WiTH Harry,
VIII. How Enna ran Away, .
IX. How Etta’s Runaway ENDED, .
X. A Gipsy at Mountain Hovusg,.
XI. Conciusion or THE Farry’s SToRY,
PAGE
20
30
47
66
77
. 101
. 122
. 140
. 159
. 185
FAIRY FANCY:
WHAT SHE SAW AND WHAT SHE HEARD.
PART IL
CHAPTER I.
TOPH.
i
st is quite common for men and women to
oy write about their travels and experiences
ap for the benefit and amusement of others.
Indeed the fashion is set by the great ones of the
earth, kings and queens and princes, so that it is
not surprising if I, a descendant in direct line
from the illustrious Titania, queen of the fairies,
should make known my experiences during my
last visit to the habitation of mortals, more par-
ticularly as it is scarcely probable any of our
race in future will care to visit a world becoming
so matter of fact and sensible—so realistic as
they call it.
F
8 FAIRY FANCY VISITS A MORTAL,
Of course all well-read little girls and boys
know that when people crowded into the world,
we fairies crowded out of it by degrees. What
you call science almost entirely wiped us out; in
fact we should be all clean gone but for the faith
of a few poetically minded persons and young
children. There is a law among us which
compels us to remain on earth so long as a single
person believes in us, and we exist in proportion
to the number of believers.
The family to which I belonged had retired
inside one of your wild Scotch mountains, be-
cause a poet and his family lived near its foot.
I, for one, was not contented, and often wished
to see the world, for I had only visited mortals
about half-a-dozen times since the flood. My
mother at length consented that I should have
my wish gratified in due time, and that night,
when we came out to hold our revels, I felt tired,
and curled myself up to sleep in a broom
blossom.
Once I used to know a mortal who wrote a
meditation upon a broomstick—and upon a
broomstick depended my future, as you shall
hear. I suppose I slept, for 1 knew no more
after lying down inside the blossom till I found
a pair of human eyes fixed upon meas I lay. I
AND BABY SEES HER. 9
ought to mention that to rouse me into life among
mortals some one must recognize me. But, dear
me, I was no longer on the side of our Scotch
mountain, but on the top of a broomstick, and
the pair of eyes belonged to a half-naked little
baby. Somethings else saw me as well as the
baby, but without understanding me in the least,
a robin-redbreast, a butterfly, and a wooden doll
lying on the floor. The sunlight almost blinded
10 FANCY IN THE HOME OF THE POET.
me at first, but I scon got used to it, and pre-
sently I took courage and crept out from the
blossom and down the broomstick, so that just
when across nurse came and picked up the baby
I had managed to hide quite comfortably inside
his breast. I ought to tell you that my name is
Phantastikos—a long name, you will say, but our
family used to live in Greece ages ago, so that
my name is a Grecian one, but you can call me
“Fancy ’â€â€”“ the Fairy Fancy.â€
Nurse carried the baby into a pretty room, and
closing the door she shook him and slapped him,
at the same time calling him naughty, for crawl-
ing out of the nursery just when she had left
him for a moment. I whispered in his ear a
pretty poem about fairy bells, birds and bees,
and mountain blossoms, so that he scarcely heard
the cross nurse at all, and forgot to ery for her
punishment. Then she dressed him quickly and
brought him his breakfast, and I could see that
she tried to make up for her temper by being
extra kind to him. I soon found that I had not
got so far away from my mountain home after
all, for it was in the poct’s house I had taken up
my abode, and by degrees I got to know every
member of the family, and, after a while, the
visitors too
NURSE LEAVES HER PITCHER. 11
There was a cat called Tibby, and a dog named
Tray, inside the house. There were hens and
cocks outside, and a fox used to visit them. At
first I thought he might be a friend of Tray’s,
but I soon learned the difference. There was
another visitor of whom the master of the house.
was very fond, and that was a raven; and my
baby Ernest liked him too, and used to try and
talk with him; but every one else hated him,
because they said he was a thief, and got them
into trouble. Master called him Mephistopheles,
but no one else cared to pronounce the long
name, so they usually called him “Toph the
Thief,’ and he knew his name well, and had
learned lots of words from the family, so that
the servants thought he was an evil spirit, and
they were quite right too, for doing mischief
was his greatest delight. He liked the master’s
notice, and hated everything else he paid any
attention to.
One day Nurse took a pitcher to fetch some
water from the lake below the house. Ernest
cried to go with her, but she said she couldn’t
carry him and the pitcher too. I followed her
and whispered in her ear that she ought to fetch
the baby, and that he could toddle a little way,
so she needn't carry him. Ellen wasn’t an ill-
12 TOPH SEES A CHANCE OF MISCHIEF.
natured girl, so she put down the pitcher beside
a bunch of tall grass, and ran back to the house.
She had only turned away when who should
swoop down but Toph. There was a twinkle in
his eye, such as I_ knew boded mischicf; then he
looked into the pitcher, and I knew he felt sorry
that there was not something in it either good to
eat or to destroy. Next moment he tumbled it
over with his strong beak against a stone, and
smashed it in two pieces, then he croaked twice,
his method of laughing, and flew away into a
grove of trees at a little distance to watch the
result. Presently Tray came racing along, and I
TIBBY FALSELY ACCUSED. 13
knew Nurse and Ernest could not be far behind.
He stopped when he came to the jar, smelt all
round it and looked puzzled, then he gave a
short sharp bark. I had noticed Tibby, the cat,
at the other side of the clump of grass sitting
watching for a field-mouse to come out of its
hole, but when she heard Tray bark she thought
she had better come
and see what he
meant.
Thave notieed that ~~
cats are very like
little girls in being
curious about what
doesn’t concern them,
and they frequently
get into trouble over their curiosity, as poor
Tibby did.
She had just emerged from the underwood as
Nurse came up with Ernest in her arms. She
mewed loudly, and in her language said:
“Naughty Tray, you’ve been and broken the
pitcher.â€
“Bow wow!†cried Tray angrily, which meant:
“JT didn’t, you did it yourself.â€
“O dear, what shall I do!†cried Ellen; then
catching sight of poor Tibby she exclaimed, “I'll
14 A BAD COMPANION
pay you, Miss Pussy. You broke it as you did
the jug the other day.â€
“She did break it,†chimed in Tray with his
bow wow.
Then to Ellen’s surprise Tibby flew at Tray
and scratched his face; and Tray defended him-
self and then attacked the cat. Pussy turned
and ran away, Tray following her at full speed
till she reached the very tree Si on sat
laughing till he shook all his feathers.
When Tibby got to the top she began to com-
plain of the unjust treatment she had received
from her friend Tray. He told her that he knew
Tray broke the pitcher. She was quite right in
that, and he encouraged her in her bad feeling
to her former companion, on the principle that
when friends fall out the common enemy is sure
to find their weak points.
So Ellen carried Ernest home again, and had a
good scolding from the cook for her carelessness,
TOPH ON THE WATCH. 15
and the baby tried to tell her that Nurse did not
break the pitcher, but he couldn’t put what he
wanted to say in words.
Meantime Tibby kept up in the tree all day,
and although she was dreadfully hungry she
never attempted to come down till it was quite
dark, and she knew that Nurse would be gone to
bed, and Tray asleep on the rug in the hall. All
this time Toph kept her company, and heard her
tales of the family she lived with. It was re-
markable that no small birds attempted to rest
on that tree while these two remained. At
length Tibby said she must go home for she was
awfully hungry, and she hoped the larder might
chance to be open. Toph offered to accompany
her, for he wanted to find how she managed to
get into the house and all the doors closed, but
Tibby was too cunning to permit him to see her
plan, and she excused herself, telling him that
another time she would be happy to admit him,
but not to-night.
Tibby met with the fate of most untruthful
people in not being believed, and Toph deter-
mined to watch her; so when Pussy reached the
foot of the tree he rose in the air, and slowly
flew in the direction she ran. He noted her
make her way through the orchard, then climb
16 TIBBY’S SECRET.
a tree, spring to the garden wall, and running
along this till she came opposite the conservatory.
She sprang on its roof, clambered up to the
sloping roof of the house, and soon reached a
window in a gable. She gave it a slight push
with her paw and walked inside, closing the
window after her. “Bravo!†said Toph to him-
self, “I can do what I like now;†and alighting
on the window-sill, he too pushed the window
with his strong beak, and flew inside, closing it
after him as Tibby had done. He put his head
to one side to listen, and soon heard the pat of
her velvet feet down the stairs. She went right
down to the basement, and then ran along a
stone passage and past a large window, through
which the moonlight streamed upon the opposite
wall. Toph noticed a window on the side
covered with wire net-work, and the next
moment Tibby had sprung upon the sill to try if
the frame were fastened. To her joy she found
that Cook had neglected this precaution, and then
she skilfully pushed the sliding frame across
with her paw, and sat looking into the larder.
“That's another wrinkle for me,†thought
Toph, ruffling his feathers with delight. “One
never loses anything by being civil. I wonder
what she is looking at?â€
(171)
CAT, RAT, AND TRAP. 17
He did not wonder long, for he managed to fly
near enough to peep in, and he saw a fine fat rat
just in the act of helping himself to a nice piece of
salmon. Tibby crept nearer, and then there was
a fearful spring, a short struggle, and the rat lay
quivering in its last agony. Then Tibby took
about a minute to recover breath, and spurning
her fallen foe with
her paw she at
once attacked the
thy
Wl |
dish of salmon.
Her appetite was
so keen that she
had no time to
pause and look
round or she would
have seen her friend, the raven, swoop in through
the window and carry off the dead rat in his
beak. Once outside he laid down the body,
and with all the cunning he was master of he
set himself to discover some means of fastening
the window. He soon discovered a little brass
bolt, and closing the frame without noise he
slipped it in; then he could restrain his delight
no longer, but shouted through the window:
“Good night, Miss Tibby; thank you for my
supper. I hope you'll enjoy yourself in there,
a7) B
18 THE FOOLISH HEN.
particularly when they come to open the door in
the morning.â€
Poor Tibby rushed frantically to the window,
and finding it fastened mewed her appeal for
liberty, but Mr. Toph was already on his way
through the house.
He croaked with delight, so that Ernest
awoke and called Nurse, who lay in the next
room. She came in pale and trembling, for she
had heard the rush of wings.
“Tt’s a ghost, Baby,†she said, while her teeth
chattered with fright. Baby clapped his hands,
crowed, and pointed to the door, for he knew it
was his own raven, and he wanted Nurse to open
the door, but of course she wouldn’t understand
him.
I have often wondered how little grown-up
people understand babies.
At length she got him to sleep by singing a
hymn, while Toph carried his rat to the farm-
yard and devoured it. He was about to fly
away to his nest, when he noticed a foolish hen
straying away from its companions, no doubt
mistaking the moonlight for daylight, and trying
to practise crowing like a cock. He stopped his
flight to muse upon this curious sight, when he
noticed the fox too observing her closely. She was
MR. ARTFUL FOX OUTWITTED. 19
in the midst of her practice, and trying to strut
like a cock when the fox pounced upon her, and
in an instant the poor foolish hen was dead.
Then Toph gave a mighty croak of delight, so
loud that the startled fox dropped the hen and
ran away. Now was Toph’s opportunity; he
soon flew down and regaled himself on the choice
portions of the poor foolish hen. He rose lazily
in the air and flew towards his nest, determined
to have a sound sleep after so much good food.
Presently the frightened fox crept back to find
only a few bones left for him to pick.
I have noticed that girls who try to look and
act like boys attract more observation than is
pleasant for them, and they are always punished,
if not so severely as the poor hen, yet in a
manner very mortifying to their self-love and
pride.
CHAPTER IL
TIBBY'S IDLE CURIOSITY.
WW AYEN Tibby found that she couldn’t get
ea: out, she made terrible havoc among the
a provisions within her reach, and when
quite gorged she curled herself up on a
piece of matting in one corner and fell soundly
asleep.
Now, although you children who read this
may laugh at me, I can tell you that animals
brought up within the sound of a human voice
are apt to partake of their master’s qualities, and
Tibby had something very like a conscience. She
knew that she had been a thief, that she had
eaten her master’s favourite dish, besides smashing
a lot of turkey eggs provided especially for him,
and she feared punishment in the morning; and
in fact she could trace the whole trouble back
to her feminine curiosity, so that while she slept
she started and even mewed uneasily. It was
POOR TIBBY SENTENCED. 21
my custom to visit the poet’s study early every
morning, for I found that he liked me and
could recognize me easily; and better than all he
never talked or made a fuss, only scribbled away.
On this morning he was reading something
earnestly. It was a
newspaper, and I
knew he seldom read
the news. Suddenly
I heard him exclaim:
“Ah! that is why
they sent the paper.
He is dead, poor
fellow. I must show
this to Bessie, and have the children down here
till their mother gets settled.â€
He rose and left the room. I could see that his
mind was too much disturbed for work that
morning. I next visited Ernest and found his
nurse dressing him, and when he was almost
finished Cook opened the door and rushed in.
She was dreadfully excited and angry while she
told how Tibby had been hidden in the larder
and what she had destroyed. Ernest listened,
and lisped something that no one tried to under-
stand.
“She must be put out of the house,†said the
22 BABY TRIES TO HELP A FRIEND.
anery cook asa wind-up. “T’ll tell Missis so, and
have her drowned this very night.â€
“ Where is she now?†asked Nurse.
“JT whipped her well and put her in an empty
hamper, and carried it to the odds-and-ends room.
Tl get John to drown her to-night if missis don’t
object.â€
Ernest talked loudly. I knew he was pleading
for Tibby’s life, but of course Nurse didn’t under-
stand him, and only told him to hold his tongue.
He was vexed and angry and scarcely touched
his bread-and-milk breakfast. I knew he was
thinking how he could help Tibby. After break-
fast Nurse put on his hat and sent him out into
the garden. She knew he was quite safe there,
for a high wall guarded it all round. He walked
about for a little while, but did not run and play
as usual. Presently he stopped opposite the
open French windows of the drawing-room, as
if a thought occurred to him, and then he went
inside the room, turned the handle of the door,
and passed through the hall till he came to the
odds-and-ends room, and walked in. He had
made up his mind to find Tibby and let her free
if possible.
“Croak, croak, croak,’ sounded from the win-
dow, and Ernest looked up to see the raven
“THAT VILLAIN OF A RAVEN,†23
perched on the upper sash, which stood open, and
stare down into the room. I knew he was laugh-
ing at Tibby in the basket and taunting her with
being a prisoner. She replied by a series of loud
mews, and then Ernest noticed the hamper and
went over to openit. But, alas! Cook had taken
the precaution to set a heavy box on the top
of it. In vain Pussy pleaded in cat language
to be let out, and in vain Ernest tried to move
the box, while Toph nearly choked himself with
his kind of laughter, but it seemed to be loud
croaking; so that, what with Tibby mewing, and
the raven croaking, the noise was so great that
it attracted Cook to the door.
“Why, my goodness! but little ones are ever
an’ always at mischief. Is it a tryin’ to bring
down that box upon you? I wonder what your
nurse is about, to let you get in here.â€
While Cook spoke she picked Ernest up in her
arms. He kicked and screamed, of course; but she
held him fast till she reached the nursery, and
then put him down inside, and rang the bell for
Nurse, to whom she related where she found him.
“That there villain of a raven was a sittin’
croakin’ away,†she concluded; “I do wish as
Master would shoot him.â€
Ernest stopped screaming instantly, and tried
24 THE WRETCHED PRISONER.
to tell her he wouldn’t have the raven shot, but
he lisped go that both servants began to laugh
at him, and then he danced and screamed; he
couldn’t help it, they seemed such fools to him.
“What a temper he has got, to be sure!†re-
marked the cook; “I shouldn’t care to be his
nurse.â€
“ He’s very trying, indeed,†replied Nurse, “and
I sha’n’t leave him alone again. : I suppose he got
in by the drawing-room window.â€
« Ain’t he knowin’; who'd think it now2†said
Cook as she left the room.
That was a terrible day for the prisoner in
the basket. She got nothing to eat, and her cries
were heart-rending. Even Toph, who came fre-
quently to the window, at length began to repent
himself of his share in the mischief, and yet he had
no idea for what fate poor Tibby was reserved.
The master of the house had his study in a
remote wing at the back, from whence he could
look out upon the grand mountains, my former
home. Here no sound from the house penetrated,
and Tibby’s agony continued unheeded. A new
baby had come to the house a fortnight before,
so that the mistress had not yet begun to go
about. And although Cook said she would con-
sult the missis about getting rid of Tibby, she
THE PLACE OF EXECUTION. 25
did not take the trouble, but when night came,
Jobn, the man-servant, entered the room, and
pushing off the heavy box, he took the hamper
containing Tibby under his arm and walked out
of the servants’ door.
Just then Ernest was being put to bed in the
room above. He was very unhappy and gave
Nurse a lot of trouble; of course she did not know
why, but I did. He felt that something evil was
being done in the house, although he could not
tell what, and it made him miserable, all the
more so because it did not take definite shape.
Curious to see the tragedy played out, I fol-
lowed the man and listened to poor Tibby, whose
cries for help were growing fainter and fainter.
Like a thing of evil the raven too flew slowly
overhead in perfect silence. At length we reached
the lake, and it did look lovely in the moonlight.
There was a little island in the centre on which
shrubs and grass grew, and one giant tree lifted
its head into the clouds. Just as John paused
a stately swan sailed out of its nest in the island.
The moon broke forth from a bank of dark
clouds and silvered the white plumage of the
bird, and the rippling water. The raven flitted
overhead and rested on a branch of the tree,
waiting anxiously to see what was going to hap-
26 THE FATE OF TIB.
pen. The quiet beauty of the scene had no
softening effect on the man. He stood for an
instant opposite the island, then threw the hamper
from him into the water, where the light fell
upon it. There was a long-drawn agonizing
shriek from Tibby as the water flooded in and
she felt herself sinking. The man turned and
walked rapidly in the direction of home after
performing his vile work.
I wondered if Toph would laugh now at poor
Tibby being murdered, and all through him; but
to my surprise I saw him swoop down from the
tree, croak some words of encouragement to the
TOPH TO THE RESCUE. 27
half-drowned cat as he caught the lid of the
hamper in his strong beak and towed it to the
shore.
“Never go back to your old home again,†he
advised as the poor wet Tibby dragged herself
up the bank.
“You have saved my life, and I thank you,â€
she whined in a weak voice.
“You had better go to Widow Green’s cottage,â€
suggested Toph after a moment’s thought; “she
likes cats, and keeps two already.â€
“Thank you, sir, Tl try her,†said Tibby
humbly. It seems to meas if I’d never be dry
or Warm again.â€
“O, yes, but you will, no fear for you,†said the
raven as he flew away; and Pussy took the road
leading to the widow’s house.
I have often remarked how much cats and
females of the human race resemble each other
in their powers of endurance; they can bear and
live after treatment that one would suppose
enough to kill them.
Ernest wandered about the house for days
after this looking for Tibby, and Toph tried to
tell him that she was safe, and although Ernest did
not understand, yet the presence of the raven
somehow comforted him.
28 THE RAVEN’S FRIEND GETS TIB’S PLACE.
That same evening, about the usual supper
time of the household, I happened to look out
of the dining-room window, and noticed Toph
perched on the tree opposite it where he usually
sat when the family were at meals; he was talk-
ing to something on the grass below.
“Go into the house boldly,†he said. “They
want a cat, and
even the dog Tray
will be glad to see
you, for he misses
Tibby to fight
with.†I looked
down and saw a
fine white - and -
gray cat sitting below, and looking up anxiously
at the window of the room. It was plain to me
that Toph was an acquaintance of hers and had
informed her of the opening in the house. Two
or three days afterwards I saw her trotting
about and feeling quite at home. Cook looked
upon her as a nice well-conducted cat; of course
she had no idea of the understanding between
her and the raven.
When a little boy and girl arrived one morning
I could see what the master meant that day in
his library. They were the children of a friend,
ERNEST AND THE NEW BABY. 29
and were to stop for a few weeks till their
mamma had arranged a new home for them.
The raven used to watch them curiously, and
wonder where they came from; but somehow
Ernest did not get along well with them, because
they were so much older than he was. About
this time he was allowed to sce his new sister
baby, and he felt so delighted with her that he
did not seem to want anything else to play with.
He would sit gazing at her for an hour at a time,
admiring the tiny dimpled hands and wondering
how she could do without tecth and hair. Once
he put out his finger to try what her eyes felt
like. He never attempted that again, for Nurse
thrust him from the room, calling him a naughty
wicked boy.
I have often noted how men and women call
things by wrong names. A simple mistake, a little
experiment, is naughty, as well as a falsehood or a
piece of wilful cruelty; so that the poor child is
puzzled to know right from wrong.
CHAPTER III.
A DANGEROUS ADVENTURE,
Rea little strangers who arrived at our house
on a visit were from a distant town, and
the country ways and sights pleased them
greatly because of their novelty. Neither of the
children could see me, as I said before there
were only two persons at Mountain Lodge who
could see me, Baby Ernest, and his papa, the poet.
I often half-suspected that the raven could see
me, but I have since come to believe that he
could not.
The little girl Fanny soon noticed Toph, but
she disliked him very much, and took no pains
to conceal her fear of him. Her brother Willie
had no fear of the raven. On the contrary, he
would whistle to him, and try to teach him to
talk. Fanny was in the habit of feeding the
little birds which flew to the nursery window.
Ernest liked her to do it, and one had grown so
FANNY’S PET BIRD. 31
tame that it would hop inside and even pick
crumbs from her hand. Toph felt anery and
jealous at this.
At length one morning while it picked crumbs
out of her hand at the table, near the open
window, I noticed Toph sitting on the sill, his
eyes glittering maliciously.
Presently Willie, her brother, called Fanny
away for a walk, and she left the nursery with
him, and the bird flew away. But Toph did not
fly away; he entered the empty room and perched
on the chimney-piece with a wicked look on his
face and his feathers ruffled in anger. He had
his eyes fixed on a cage sitting on the window-
sill; it was used by Ernest as a toy, for it resembled
a baby-house somewhat; the door stood open, and
32 TOPH’S REVENGE.
some crumbs of bread were scattered over the
floor.
The raven sat watching the cage patiently; he
had a strong will, and he was waiting now to
bring the little bird back again to the window.
This may seem a curious power, but I can
assure little boys and girls that they all possess
it, and if they would only use their will for good
it would accomplish wonders for them.
For an hour there was no sign of anything
stirring, and yet Toph waited. Presently a
rushing of wings was audible, and the tame bird
flew in and rested for a moment on the table.
Finding no food there, it almost instantly walked
across to the window-sill and entered the cage
by the open door. It had often done so before.
Now was Toph’s opportunity, for which he had
waited so long, longer than he had sat in that
room, for the plan had occurred to him quite a
week before. He flew to the window silently, and
all the intimation of his presence that the poor
doomed bird had, was a black shadow obscuring
the light. This was while Toph closed the door
and pushed in a little peg which answered for a
bolt; then with his strong beak he threw the cage
from the window, and it fell among the weeds
and dank grass which grew thickly underneath.
FRESH MISCHIEF, 33
Just then Fanny came in hastily to look for her
gloves, and after a search she found them. She
glanced towards Toph sitting quietly on the win-
dow-sill as she left the room. In her haste she
had tossed a pair of very bright tiny scissors from
a drawer, and forgot to put them back again.
The door had scarcely closed behind her when
Toph pounced upon
them, with difficulty
restraining hiscroaks |,
of delight at this LM
chance of being re-
venged, Only the
day before Nurse had
put away these very
scissors, and shaking her head at Toph, who was
sitting on the window-sill as usual, she said:
“J mustn't leave anything bright lying about
for you to steal, you thief.â€
Toph flew straight out of the window, and
across a plantation of young trees, and over
several meadows and fields of grain, till he
reached a farmyard. I wondered why he had
taken the trouble to carry the scissors so far, but
I soon found out, for he descended slowly and
dropped them into a trough from which a pig
was just eating his dinner. The animal stopped
(171) c
34 FANNY’S PLEASANT WALK.
and sniffed at this addition to his mess, then, as
if satisfied, he went on devouring voraciously.
Toph croaked with delight. The farmer’s chil-
dren and some of the servants heard him and
threw all sorts of handy missiles at him, scream-
ing out:
“The raven, the raven.â€
Toph only laughed or croaked louder as he
flew out of their reach. He had disappeared
altogether when the farmer himself hurried up
with his gun, vowing that next time the unlucky
bird came on his land he would shoot him.
I could see that this family had some un-
reasoning fear of the raven as well as a dislike
to him.
T now turned to follow Fanny and Willie on
their walk, being curious to watch these strangers.
Just after they set out Fanny started and
screamed at the bellowing of an innocent cow,
and a little further on she ran away from a flock
of geese, who gave chase for the fun of the thing.
Willie laughed at her folly, but tried to make her
forget her fears by pointing out the beauty of
the scenery, the silvery lake at their feet, and the
lofty mountains in the background. Close to
their base and beyond the meadows and the
grove of trees lay a portion of uncultivated land,
THE SHEPHERD'S ADVICE. 35
a kind of common; it was covered with yellow
gorse and purple broom, and here the children
wandered, and here I followed them, for it was
nearer my old home on the mountain. They
climbed up higher and higher till they could see
the whole country spread out like a map below
them.
Here they sat down to rest, and Fanny listened
with delight to a sound most people who have
visited mountains or heather-clad hills are
familiar with, that is a tinkle, tinkle, as if in-
numerable fairy bells were in motion. This is
the only comparison I can make, as I am best
acquainted with fairy bells. Suddenly there
was heard just above them a mighty rushing of
feet, and Fanny screamed wildly and threw her-
self flat on the heather, drawing the skirt of her
dress over her head in an agony of terror. On
came the terrible enemies as she supposed them
to be, till they rushed past her, and Willie laughed
heartily, for it was only a flock of sheep.
“What’s the lassie greetin’ aboot?†asked a
rough, but not unkindly voice.
“She’s frightened at the sheep,†said Willie as
well as he could reply for laughing.
“Hoots, lassie, one wad think ye’d seen a
kelpie, lettin’ sic a skizl,†and the shepherd
36 IN THE GROVE.
watched her as she put down her skirts and
looked up at him.
“Dinna be feart o’ naething, lassie,†he said
rather in a contemptuous tone; “or yell be na
wiser than the sheep, runnin’ frae their ain
shadows.†The shepherd was mistaken in this,
however, for it was the appearance of our friend
Mr. Fox that had frightened them, and I felt
that Toph could not be far away, he knew how
to wait for the spoil.
The shepherd asked the children where they
had come from, and being satisfied on this point
he advised them not to wander too far from home,
and then went after his sheep.
Fanny proposed that they should turn back,
but Willie had made up his mind to walk as far
as a grove of trees which crowned the summit
of a little hill in the distance, and Fanny would
FANNY HEARS HER NAME CALLED, 37
not dare to go back alone, so they walked on to-
gether till they reached the grove. It was much
larger than they imagined, in fact almost a forest,
and they found a pretty rustic seat under one
of the trees, where they sat down to rest.
Presently Willie noticed smoke curling up a little
way off among the trees, as he supposed, and he
asked Fanny to come with him and find what it
meant; but she told him that she felt too tired,
and she would sit here till his return and shouldn't
feel at all afraid. So Willie started in the
direction of the smoke, and for a time Fanny sat
quite still enjoying the shade after the hot sun-
shine. Then she heard a voice in the distance
call:
“Fanny, Fanny
She felt frightened at first; then concluding
that it must be Willie, she ventured out from the
shelter of the tree and walked in the direction
he had taken. Again her name was called; this
time the sound came from far in advance of her,
and she quickened her pace. Suddenly a cry.
“Fanny, Fanny!†sounded a little to the left,
and so close that she replied:
“T’m coming, Willie, where are you?†and she
left the little beaten path between the trees and
plunged in among the grass and shrubs at the
1?
38 AND WILLIE IS CALLED ALSO.
side. She paused when she had got a yard or
two, and looked round again, asking:
“Where are you, Willie?â€
Her name was repeated in a still louder key,
and she went forward another few yards and
again paused. She did not see the mischievous
raven flitting about among the trees a little in
advance of her. Again her name was repeated,
this time in tones of entreaty, and she ran
through the underwood towards the open ground
she could see between the trees in the distance.
Meantime Willie had satisfied his curiosity
respecting the smoke—it was from the keeper’s
hut—and he returned to the seat where he had
left Fanny, to find that she was gone. Knowing
her timidity, he at once believed that some harm
had happened to her, and he bitterly reproached
himself with leaving her for even a few moments.
Suddenly he heard his name called in curious
choked tones, and he ran in the direction from
whence the voice proceeded, calling:
“Fanny, Fanny!†in his turn. The more haste,
a proverb says, the worse speed, and so it was
with poor Willie, for his toe caught on a project-
ing root of a tree and he fell at full length upon
the turf. Just then he heard a wicked croak,
croak, in front of him. It was Toph: he could
THE SPITEFUL CROAKER. 39
not help laughing at the two children hunting
for each other, and all through him.
“T see you,†cried Willie glancing up, while he
rose from the ground slowly; “you have been
calling and not Fanny.†As if to verify his
words Toph screamed:
“Willie! Fanny!†alternately, and then croaked
delightedly.
“What am I to do?†said Willie to himself
when he regained his feet, “she is always getting
into trouble.†Then he called his sister’s name
loudly, and Toph rose slowly in the air, and flying
in an opposite direction screamed “Fanny, Fanny!â€
I really pitied the boy’s perplexity, for should his
sister hear her name called in different directions
she would be completely puzzled. Then he
40 WILLIE FINDS THE SHEPHERD.
thought of the shepherd; if he could only meet
him again he might help him to find Fanny. He
gave up calling now and ran along, but more
carefully than at first. He rather ascended
towards the hills while Fanny had taken quite
an opposite direction towards the lake. Presently
he could see the sheep dotted here and there a
little beyond, and he hastened on more rapidly,
so that he came upon the shepherd stretched at
full length behind a cluster of whin bushes.
“Have you seen my sister?†he asked breath-
lessly. The shepherd sat up and looked at the
boy meditatively.
“Ts it the feckless! lassie that’s bauld enough
to rin awa’ by hersel’?†he asked.
“Yes, yes; she was afraid of the sheep, but she
came to look for me, and I suppose she has lost
her way.â€
“JT didna see her. She’s maybe gane doon till
the water side; lassies is likest to gang doon, I
ken. If Mad Peg meets her she'll be scared oot
o’ her senses.â€
“Where does Mad Peg live?†asked Willie.
The shepherd pointed with his finger across the
country, in the direction of the lake, to a pile of
crumbling walls without a roof.
1 Silly.
THEY GO IN SEARCH OF FANNY. 4]
“Tt was ance her faither’s hamestead and she
staps in it whiles.â€
Willie waited for nothing more, but set off in
the direction indicated.
The shepherd looked after the boy for a
moment, then jumped to his feet suddenly and
whistled for his dog, gave him some directions
about taking care of the sheep, and hurried off
with his long strides after Willie.
“Haith it wadna be neighbourly to let them
bairns rin aboot an’ lose themselves; Pll gang
a bit wi’ him,†he said to himself.
In a few minutes he had overtaken Willie, who
was very glad of his company.
We must return to Fanny, whom we left
running along, as she fancied, in the direction her
brother had taken, and as the shepherd remarked
it happened to be down towards the lake. It
was much easier to go down than to climb up,
so Fanny went on pretty rapidly. The sun was
shining, the birds were singing, and the little girl
felt happy, as she thought, even should Willie
not turn up, she could find her way home by the
shores of the lake.
I have often noted that mortals without much
fancy or imagination are frequently most easy
and confident in their minds when nearest to
42 MAD PEG.
great danger. So it was with poor Fanny. She
actually began to sing in company with the birds,
but her song was changed to a wild ery of terror
when she felt her arm grasped firmly, and looked
up to see the face of a strange woman, and a
pair of wild blue eyes bent upon her inquiringly.
“You're Janet Clysdel,†she said rapidly; “I’ve
waited for you long, and now—†she paused, while
her wrinkled face was brought closer down to
the child’s, and she smiled hideously. Fanny
could not utter a word after that first scream,
but all the tales she had read and heard of witches
came into her mind; they were few, but im-
pressive.
Surely this old woman with her small wrinkled
face, wild eyes, long hooked nose, and thin lips
closed tightly over toothless gums, must be a
witch. Then she wore an enormous bonnet of
bygone fashion, decorated with coloured ribbons
and wild flowers, while an old cloak of faded red
was clasped round her shoulders.
“Come along with me,†she said, as if satisfied
with her scrutiny of the child’s face. But sheer
terror forced Fanny to speak.
“T can’t go with you, I don’t know you.â€
“Dear me! not know me, is it? an’ you coming
that evening; it was a bonny evening too, and
THE MAD WOMAN’S THREAT. 43
you took away my Polly with you, you did, and
pushed her into the water. The law let you off,
but I won’t. Do you hear? Come along.â€
“T don’t know what you mean; pray let my
arm go, you are hurting me,†said Fanny, the
tears starting to her eyes.
“Tl kill you here if you won’t come quietly,â€
hissed the women in her ear. Fanny called
loudly.
“Willie, Willie!†It was of no use, and only
caused the mad woman to grip her arm more
tightly, and almost drag her along towards the
lake. She begged of her to let go her arm, and
promised to walk with her, but the only result
was a bitter mocking laugh from the woman.
They had almost reached the lake when I noticed
Toph wheeling about in the air over their heads;
he was croaking viciously,and sometimes laughing
in his own fashion. Poor Fanny gave herself
up for lost; she thought this terrible woman must
intend to murder her, and she was not far wrong.
At length they reached the edge of the lake, and
the woman paused; she was tired with her hasty
walk, and Fanny felt so weak that she could
scarcely stand on her feet.
“Now you thought to escape me, you did,
and I’ve waited and watched for this day; I
44 THE LAST MOMENT.
knew it would come some time; revenge is
sweet, sweet.â€
“Oroak, croak, croak,’ screamed the raven
overhead, and once more Fanny called:
“Willie, Willie, save me.â€
“How dare you scream?†asked the woman.
“My Polly didn’t scream, she went down, down
into the water—it was cold, very cold—you must
try it too, then you'll be quiet as she was, and
white and cold.â€
“Willie, Willie, Willie!†screamed the raven.
He had been flying in circles overhead, and
wheeling nearer and nearer. The mad woman
had grasped the child’s arm tighter, and pushed
her close to the edge of the water. The scream
of the bird startled her, and she relaxed her
hold. With a strength born of terror Fanny
wrenched her arm out of the slackened grasp
and sped away along the bank. But the effort
was a vain one; the mad woman rushed after
her, and once more held her in a vice-like grasp.
Again Fanny screamed for help, this time not in
vain. She had given herself up for lost, and
scarcely resisted as the woman dragged her back
to the spot she had quitted a moment before.
“Here you pushed her in, here you shall—â€
the woman paused exhausted. Fanny had closed
JUST IN TIME. 45
her eyes so as to shut out the dark water from
her sight, and the face of the terrible woman.
“You stand with your face to the water, and
your back to me. Face foremost she went in,
face down you shall go. Now—’â€
“Pray have mercy upon me, I never pushed
any one in,†exclaimed the child, clutching the
woman's cloak in her agony.
There was a hurried rush of feet across the
rank grass, and next moment the shepherd had
grasped the woman and dragged her back from
the water by main force. She dropped her hold
on the child’s arm, while Willie hurried forward
crying:
“Fanny, Fanny, I have had such a job to find
you, but what—what’s the matter?†he exclaimed.
The child had turned quite pale, and fell fainting
on the grass. He brought some water in his hat
instantly, and sprinkled it on her face by the
shepherd’s directions.
“Poor lassie, she’s been frightened amaist to
death; it’s war nor my sheep. But hoo daur you
meddle wi’ her?†he asked of the woman.
“She’s Janet—Janet that enticed my Polly
and drownded her,†she replied. “I must drown
her, I’ve sworn it.â€
“She's no Janet; yere daft, Peggy—Janet’s
46 SAFE ONCE MORE.
dead lang years agone. Gae hame, guid woman,
an’ let ither folks’ bairus alane.â€
The woman looked at him for a moment as if
vainly trying to remember something, then with-
out giving another look towards the little girl
she turned and walked away. Fanny had re-
covered her consciousness by this time, but both
children were thankful when the honest shepherd
offered to see them safe home.
CHAPTER IV.
POOR ROBIN.
ere
ye kind shepherd saw the children safe
“e-3 home, and had a talk with the poet him-
ale self about the poor maniac, telling him
the history of her life, and why she had lost her
senses. From the bare outline the poet guessed
the thoughts and feelings which had sent the
mind astray, and he said he would make it a
point to see her some day soon, and try and have
her placed where she would be taken care of.
Her story he afterwards made into a very
beautiful poem.
Fanny related to Nurse and Ernest what had
befallen her; the latter sat with his eyes wide
open and his thumb in his mouth, listening eager-
ly; and although Nurse did not think he heard
or understood the story, yet he knew enough of
it to raise in his little head all sorts of foolish fears
and which would trouble him some other day.
48 THE DEAD ROBIN.
There was no more wandering away from the
house for the children, but they had plenty of
room in the grounds to amuse themselves, and
Fanny became more of a companion for Ernest
in the walled garden which we have mentioned
before.
They were out playing here on one sunshiny
morning about two days after Fanny’s adventure,
when Ernest’s keen eyes noticed something lying
among the long grass just under the nursery
window, and Fanny ran off to see what it was.
“It’s your cage-house, Ernest,†she said, as she
picked it up and carried it out to the path.
“Why, it’s fastened, and there’s something in-
side.â€
To open the cage and take out the bird was
the work of a moment.
“O dear! it’s dead, dead,†she exclaimed, hold-
ing it up and looking at it pitifully, till the tears
came into her eyes. “My pretty robin redbreast
that I fed in the nursery.â€
Ernest toddled across to her and looked at the
bird with awe and curiosity. She put it down
on the grass carefully, and still Ernest watched
it, then he went nearer and touched the wing
and turned it over.
“Tt's dead,†repeated Fanny.
WHO IS THE MURDERER? 49
Ernest had no idea of what she meant; he had
never seen death. He brought out a piece of
cake from the pocket of his pinafore and put it
to the bird’s beak, but of course it never moved.
He crumbled it down and then stood watching
and waiting patient-
ly for some sign of
motion, while Fanny
wondered if he
would understand
whatitmeant. Pre-
sently a sparrow
hopped down from
a tree and began to
pick up the crumbs.
The contrast be-
tween the living bird
and the dead one
was too much for Ernest; he suddenly compre-
hended the pain and the mystery, and burst into
tears, sobbing so violently that the sparrow took
fright and flew away.
Willie heard Ernest’s voice while passing the
garden gate, and he came in to see what was the
matter.
“Why, who has killed Cock Robin?†he asked,
lifting the bird and looking at it. “Some one
171) D
50 MORE MISCHIEF.
fastened the door of the cage and threw it down
here, and the poor thing has been starved to
death,†replied Fanny indignantly.
“Croak, croak, croak,†sounded just above
them. It was Toph, of course, perched on the
tree quite near, and looking down on his dead
rival. He was laughing, as usual, at the mischief.
“There's that naughty raven,†said Fanny,
looking up at the tree; “I shouldn’t wonder but
he did it.â€
“Tm sure he didn't,†said Willie confidently.
“How could he fasten the door as you say it
was fastened? it must have been Nurse, or Ernest
might have done it in mistake.â€
“What's that you say about me?†asked Nurse,
looking out of the window. “I wish you would
tell me, Miss Fanny, what you have done with
my little scissors. I have been a-looking for
them this half hour.â€
“J don’t know anything about them, Nurse; I
haven’t had them for a long time; but do you see
the poor Robin I used to feed?†and she pointed
to the dead bird. Willie says you must have
shut the door of the cage upon it, and some one
pushed it down here by accident, perhaps Ernest,
and it was starved to death.â€
“Tm sure I wouldn't take the trouble to shut
NURSE SUSPECTS TOPH. 51
up a bird in a cage, Miss Fanny. I'll come down
and see it.â€
So Susan came down and heard all about the
finding of it, while Ernest, who had ceased
sobbing to listen, now sat on the grass, his face
all tear-stained, and his consolation in his mouth.
“Tt was that raven did it, and no one else,â€
affirmed Nurse on hearing the story. “I missed
the cage after you left for your walk that day,
and Ernest was asleep when you left, so he
couldn’t have done it; and my scissors too, that
thief has stolen them, I’m sure.â€
“ Croak, croak, croak,†said the raven, much as
he might have laughed ha! ha! ha!
“T do hate that bird,†said Nurse, looking up.
“T wish as master would shoot him; he’s unlucky
about the house, J know.â€
“Dood Toph, poor birdie,†iisped Ernest, first
looking at the raven and then at the dead bird.
Toph knew his name, and perched a little nearer,
setting his head knowingly on one side.
“J hardly think Toph could have done it,â€
said Willie.
“Susan, Susan,†screamed Toph in high glee at
being noticed. Susan was Nurse’s name.
“You see he blames it on you,†said Willie
laughing, but Ernest and Fanny kept grave;
52 THE CHIEF MOURNER.
they couldn’t laugh while looking at the dead
bird.
“I must have my scissors anyhow,†said Nurse,
going towards the house, “and if that thief has
them IT’ll make him turn them up. There's
Pussy, if you don’t bury Robin she'll eat him for
you;†and she laughed.
“Nurse is very naughty,†said Fanny, as she
lifted up the bird. “Pussy wouldn't eat it.â€
“Wouldn’t she? Try her,†laughed Willie.
“Even Toph would eat it.â€
“Gib birdie to Baby,†lisped Ernest.
“Why, it begins to smell,†said Willie. “Let's
have a funeral, that’s fine fun.â€
“Tt’s no fun at all, Willie,†said his sister
gravely, “but we had better bury the poor thing
properly.
“Toph, come along, Toph, you'll be chief
mourner, you are properly dressed in black ;†and
Willie whistled and held out his finger.
Toph came flying down, his eyes twinkling
with delight. Then, as if he understood what
was required of him, he seated himself at a
respectful distance from the dead bird, drooping
his black wings like plumes, and bowing his
head as if in woe—only for the twinkle in his
eye he had all the appearance of chief mourner.
THE FUNERAL. 53
“Dood Toph,†said Ernest caressingly.
Clever as he was it never entered his little head
that the raven was the murderer of his robin
redbreast. Willie meantime had gone away and
routed out a pasteboard box with a lid, and
Fanny brought a pretty piece of print she had
saved to dress her dolls. Ernest watched her
fold this carefully round the bird and then place
it in the box. Willie brought a toy cart of
Ernest’s and put the box in it; then he left them
and went away to a distant corner of the garden
to dig a hole under a laburnum tree. They
waited patiently for his return, Ernest wondering
why the bird was put in a box, and Toph quite
enjoying the whole affair. Presently Willie
returned and put the procession in order. He
went first, drawing along the hearse, as he called
the cart. Ernest followed it closely, while Toph
was with some difficulty persuaded to hop along
by its side, and Fanny brought up the rear.
Presently the procession reached the grave, not
in the order they started certainly, for Ernest
wanted to peep into the hole, and Toph hopped
about in a lively fashion, very unbecoming to the
chief mourner. Willie placed the coffin in the
grave, and proposed that they should sing a
hymn over it. To this Fanny had no objection;
54 THE DIRGE SUNG OVER ROBIN.
even Ernest forgot his trouble so far as to clap
his hands; and Toph croaked loudly, varying the
exercise by crowing like a cock and barking
like Tray. These imitations he gave when par-
ticularly pleased. He knew the robin was shut
up in the box, and that he was in favour. His
plan had succeeded, and he was happy; he had
no sorrow, no remorse. After some little arrange-
ment as to which tune they should sing, for their
stock was limited, and a slight alteration of
words to suit the solemn occasion, Willie struck
up a doleful ditty with the following words:
“Poor pet Robin, all the children cry,
Poor pet Robin, once sang in the sky,
Poor pet Robin, came down for bread,
Got caged and starved, now he is dead,
Poor pet Robin, hide him under ground,
Strew bright flowers, o’er his little mound,
Poor pet Robin, never more you'll sing,
Sitting at our window, in the early spring.
Good-bye, Robin, sleep the long night through,
Till the world grows young, and all that’s old grows new.
Good-bye, Robin, in that endless Spring,
In that fadeless sunlight, we shall hear thee sing.
Chorus—Good-bye, Robin, sleep the long night through,
Till the world grows young, and all that’s old grows new.â€
Fanny did her best to assist Willie in the
hymn, as he called it. Ernest sang lustily, and
SAILING WILLIE’S SHIP. 55
attempted to lisp the words, while Toph croaked
and crowed alternately, and looked the very
picture of a cunning fellow, highly delighted, but
trying to seem as grave as possible. During the
singing Willie had put the earth over the little
orave with his toy shovel, and then they all
turned away, Toph hopping after them quite
familiarly. The day now commenced to be
oppressively hot, even under the shade of the
trees, and Willie proposed that they should
accompany him to the porch of the wash-house,
and they could sail his toy ship on a tub of water
he had noticed standing there. Fanny objected,
for she knew Nurse would be angry if Ernest
played with water, because one day he had come
in with his shoes and socks all wet, and she
forgot to change them, so he caught a bad cold,
and she was blamed for not taking care of him.
Willie ran off by himself, and left his sister and
Ernest to amuse themselves as they best might.
But Ernest caught Fanny’s hand, and begged
her as well as he could to only allow him to see
Willie’s boat.
“You mustn’t touch the water, Ernest,’ she
said as she took the child’s hand and followed
Willie. But Ernest said nothing, for he was
thinking he would touch the water if he could
56 FANNY LEFT ALONE WITH ERNEST.
get near enough, just because he was forbidden.
They soon came to the porch, and Ernest shouted
with delight when he saw Willie on his knees
beside the tub, and puffing out his cheeks to
make the wind to blow his boat along.
“Well, so you came after all. You try and be
a wind, Ernest,†said Willie, rising to his feet.
“No, no, he'd
best not go near
the water,†said
Fanny. “He
might make all
his clothes wet.â€
“Sall go an’
be wind,†lisped
Ernest, and suit-
ing the action to the word he went over beside
the tub and blew vigorously. He tried to clutch
the ship, but Willie would’ not permit him to
touch it.
“No, no, Ernest, you might smash the masts.â€
“Master Willie, Master Willie, where are you?
Master’s going to fish, would you like to go with
him?â€
“T should very much,†replied Willie, jumping
up and hurrying away. “You take care Ernest
doesn’t break my ship, Fanny,†he shouted back.
IN DANGER. 57
“IT wish I could go with them,†thought Fanny;
“he is not kind at all to run off like that and
leave me with only Baby.â€
Ernest was too busy blowing the ship to take
any notice of Willie’s departure. Suddenly a
‘voice which seemed to come from the garden
called:
«Fanny, Fanny!â€
Now Fanny was not at all a thoughtful child,
or careful of others. She was a little bit selfish,
and just then she was thinking how nice it would
be if Willie should relent and bring her too.
The voice seemed an answer to her thoughts, and
she ran round the house to the front, where the
call came from.
I couldn’t follow her just then, for a dreadful
fear came over me as if something was about to
happen to my charge, Ernest, and I would not
leave him. In vain I tried to whisper some of
my fears to him, but he was quite deaf to my
warnings, and completely engrossed by the toy.
Suddenly he looked round and found himself
alone. Now he thought he would grasp the
toy. It had floated to the further side of the
large tub, and instead of walking round to it
he reached across. He gave a little scream as
he overbalanced, and plumped in head foremost.
58 FAIRY FANCY SAVES ERNEST.
What should I do? I was in agony, for I had
no power to save him; must I watch him die?
Suddenly Tray came up and began to bark, then
I heard Toph croak wildly over the porch. Only
to be able to help I would give up a portion of
my allotted time upon earth. The power I
wished for was mine. I assisted Ernest to raise
his head, then to scramble out. He began to
tremble and ery bitterly; no matter, he was
alive. Tray redoubled his barking, and Toph
called, “ Willie, Fanny, Susan,†alternately.
After a long time Nurse came, and, horrified at
seeing the dripping Ernest, took him up in her
arms and tried to stop his crying, and carried
him inside, asking him how he got into the tub,
for she could see he had been in, and above all
how he got out; but Ernest was too much
frightened to reply.
Before I followed him I saw Toph swoop down
and pick up the toy ship in his strong beak, then
he rose higher and higher in the air, and dis-
appeared behind the grove of trees. When I
went inside I found Nurse had undressed Ernest
and put him to bed, after giving him a warm
bath. The little fellow had fallen into a pleasant
sleep.
“You had no business to leave him, Miss
VARMER JONES'S QUESTIONS. 59
Fanny,’ she was saying to the little girl as I
entered the nursery. “He got into the tub some-
how, and I’m surprised that he could get out at
all, for it’s deep, and he was wet right over.â€
“T thought some one called me, and I know
they did too,†she said in defence.
“There’s no excuse for you, Miss Fanny,†said
Nurse severely. “I wouldn’t have left the child,
only that I thought you would take care of
him.â€
“Here's Farmer Jones a-wantin’ to see the
master,†said Cook, putting in her head at the
door and speaking softly. “He says as he’s got
something belonging to this house, and he wants
to see all of us servants first. How’s the Baby
now?â€
“O, all right again, I hope,†replied Nurse,
glancing towards the bed. “He’s sleeping nicely.â€
“Then just step down for a minute. I do
wonder what he wants,†said Cook.
The nurse walked down-stairs quietly, and
Fanny, quite as curious as Tibby had been once,
followed her. The parlour-maid was talking to
the farmer, and the nurse and cook joined them.
“ Are you all the women folks in the house?â€
he asked.
“ All except missis an’ her nurse; they’re both
60 WHERE THE LOST SCISSORS WERE FOUND.
upstairs this three weeks past, you know,†said
Cook.
“Yes, yes, we heard tell o’ it. I hopes the lady
an’ the bairn’s doin’ well.â€
“Yes, thank you.â€
“Then I s’pose one of you has lost something
about ten days ago? Think a bit.â€
The servants looked at each other, but none of
them remembered losing anything.
“You lost your scissors, Nurse,†said Fanny,
coming forward.
“So I did, of course, Miss Fanny, but what
could Mr. Jones know about that? Just go right
back to the nursery, and don’t meddle with what
don’t concern you.†While she spoke the farmer’s
face was overspread with a broad grin, and he
put his hand in his waistcoat pocket, and taking
out a pair of scissors he said, “Don’t be too fast,
young woman, the child’s right enough, if these
be yours;†and he held forward the article for in-
spection.
“Why, yes, they are, to be sure,†exclaimed
Nurse in surprise; “but however did you get
them?â€
“Get them?†exclaimed the farmer excitedly;
“they’ve cost me siller, I can tell you; killed one
of my prime pigs, stuck in his throat. I knew
A BAD LOOK-OUT FOR TOPH. 61
somethin’ was bound to happen when that villain-
ous raven came neat.â€
“The raven?†“Toph the thief?†asked the
servants in chorus.
“T suppose he stole them and hid them where
your pig got them,†said Nurse, examining the
_ Scissors.
“Stole them an’ put them in his mess, lassie,
that’s what he did; an’ now I want to see the
governor, and settle with him about killin’ that
same raven. I’ve watched him a-comin’ to and
fro between here and the farm, and I won’t have
him about no more.â€
“And you're right too, no one could blame
you,†said Nurse. “He's a bad, thieving bird,
besides being unlucky.â€
“That he is,†replied the farmer; “didn’t my
best plough-horse go lame when he flew across
the field, and didn’t I lose my purse at the fair
when he flew across the road after I started for
town.â€
“ Croak, croak, croak.â€
“There he’s now, hanged if he ain’t!†ejaculated
the farmer, rushing out, followed by the servants.
But he was only in time to see Toph rise in the
air and disappear towards the mountains.
“ A eunnin’ thief!†remarked the farmer as he
62 THE WHITE CAT HEARS IT ALL.
turned inside and accepted a seat in the parlour,
determined to wait for the master’s return.
“T mean to ask the governor to poison him, or
hand him over to me, for I hear he’s quite at
home in this house, and I can never get a shot
at him, he’s so cunnin’.†The cook had come
into the room to have a chat.
“ Master’s rare fond o’ him, I believe,†she said
confidentially.
“Fond or no fond, if he’s an honest man he'll
not object to have a thief put out of the way.
Hangin’ or drownin’s too good for him.â€
“Tm sure he won’t make no objection, Mr.
Jones, for there never was a nicer or juster
gentleman than our master, though I say it,†said
Cook, wiping the table with her apron as an
excuse for lingering in the room, “an’ there’s not
one of us as don’t hate that same raven.â€
“Poor Pussy,†said the good-natured farmer
looking down at the white cat, who had come
over from the rug, and was purring and rubbing
herself against his legs. “She’s a fine cat and
no mistake.â€
“Yes, that she is; we had one a terrible thief,
like the raven, but we drownded her; that’s
what ought to be done with him.†She left the
room for some time, and then returned with the
WARNINGS. 63
news of her master’s approach. “'There’s master
now a-coming in at the gate; he’s caught no fish,
I can see; he’s a-goin’ to his own study. I'll tell
and Cook went
out to return in a minute with the message that
2
him you're waitin’ to see him;’
her master would see Mr. Jones in his own room.
So the farmer followed her along the hall and
up the stairs, while I noticed that the white cat
looked round slyly, then trotted off through the
garden, Once there she leaped the wall, and
then ran through the shrubbery at the back of
the house like a hare, across the fields to the
common, and still at the same headlong scamper,
till she had got half-way up the hill. Here she
paused and looked round, mewing in a peculiar
fashion. Presently Toph joined her, and they
began to talk earnestly together.
Now I found that this new cat was a friend
of Toph’s, and that she was warning him of his
danger. He heard what she had to say, then
sent her back. to learn more, desiring her to meet
him at midnight in this same spot.
Pussy hurried back to the house, and I
followed. Instead of going upstairs she turned
into the scullery, and sitting down on the mat at
the door she watched Willie eagerly. He had
got a little fish in a glass dish full of water, and
64 WILLIE’S FISH.
was amusing himself by watching its motions.
The cat watched it too, but Willie never noticed
her, and when she heard Cook’s voice in the
passage I observed that she ran and hid herself
under the table, so that no one could see her.
“Time for bed, Master Willie,†said Cook;
|
se
“Nurse’s a-callin’ you. Best put that glass dish
on the table; nothing won’t hurt it till you come
back in the mornin’.â€
Willie left his treasure reluctantly, and Cook
put the dish on the table.
“Tt wouldn’t do to have Master Ernest see it,â€
she remarked, “for he nigh drownded himself
after your ship this day, but he don’t often come
down here.â€
ARTFUL PUSS. 65
“T forgot about it,†said Willie as he ran away.
“TI must get my ship before I go to bed.â€
Cook went out and closed the door. The
white cat listened till her steps died away in the
distant stone passage, then she made a spring
upon the table. A dextrous movement of her
paw sent the dish over, and the unfortunate fish
disappeared down Pussy’s throat. She licked
her lips with satisfaction, washed her face clean,
then sprung through the open window, and in
two minutes more she was lying apparently
asleep on the rug in the parlour, where the
farmer had noticed her.
(471) E
CHAPTER V.
GONE AWAY,
=r
i HAD not heard the chat between the far-
omer and my master (I cannot help calling
a
»
the poet master, because he knew me so
‘sia
well and could make use of me when he pleased);
but when I visited his study that night, after
every one had retired to rest, I saw that he
looked more thoughtful than usual, and instead
of sitting at his desk writing, he walked about
his room talking aloud at times, and smoking his
meerschaum. The window stood open, for the
night was very sultry, and the lamp on his table
burned low. Presently the door opened and a
lady came in. She looked very thin and delicate,
and almost as white as the garment she wore,
but she was very pretty.
“So you start to-morrow for the south coast,
my dear!†he said. I have had a letter saying
your apartments are quite ready for you; it will
do you and Baby immense service.â€
TOPH IS TO MAKE A JOURNEY, 67
“You will follow us in a week?†she said; “I
shouldn’t be happy without you.†He smiled as
he replied:
“Of course the house here won’t look like
home for me.â€
Then I heard their plans discussed. Ernest and
Nurse were to go with mamma, as well as her own
maid, while Cook and a housemaid were to remain.
“T want you to take an addition to the family,
if possible,†said the poet. “That unfortunate
raven, no doubt he is mischievous, but I believe
more is laid to his charge than he is guilty of.
There is my neighbour farmer Jones; he declares
the scissors his pig swallowed were put in the
trough by the bird, and that he is most unlucky
about a place. Only that the man believes what
he says sincerely, I could laugh at him.â€
“The scissors belong to Ernest’s nurse,†said
the lady.
“No doubt, my dear, but we get milk from the
farm, do we not?â€
“O yes.â€
“Well, is it not likely enough that one of the
servants sent with it morning and evening had
found the scissors lying somewhere about the
garden or grounds. Ernest might have carried
them out, or Fanny, or perhaps Nurse herself.â€
68 AND TO BE MADE PRISONER.
“T never thought of that,†said the lady, “ but
it is quite probable.â€
“More than probable, almost certain,†said the
poet, and all sorts of possibilities floated through
his mind as I perched upon his shoulder. “It
would be a shame to have the bird shot, just to
please an ignorant and superstitious prejudice.
Mr. Jones is a very decent man, and his loss is a
serious one. No doubt his family would encour-
age him to believe that a dumb bird was guilty
rather than one of themselves. Now instead of
giving up the raven to his tender mercies, I pro-
pose that we take him with us, my dear, if you
have no objection; he is almost tame, and is
certain to prove very amusing to the children.â€
“T have no objection at all; but to his being
dumb, as you say, that is a mistake; he has learned
to say several words, and you remember what
Willie told us of his calling him on that day he
and Fanny got lost.â€
“O,yes, he knows the names of the family pretty
well. So it is settled; when Toph pays his first
visit weshall detain himand cage him. There isan
old parrot cage that will answer for him. I must
ask some one to rout it out of the lumber room.â€
So it was settled Toph was not to be shot, but
made a prisoner. I wondered where his friend
A MARK OF CONFIDENCE. 69
the white cat could be now, while this discussion
was going on.
The master had scarcely done speaking when
I heard the fluttering of wings at the open win-
dow, and Toph himself appeared perched upon
the sill. The moon had not yet risen, and the
night was rather darker than usual, so that Toph
looked weird and strange as he sat with the
lamplight shining upon him, and revealing his
form dimly, and his glittering eyes against the
dark background.
“Why, there he is!†exclaimed the lady, sud-
denly looking up.
“And the lamplight o’er him streaming, throws
his shadow on the floor,†quoted the poet.
“Yes, but we want something more than the
shadow,†said the lady smiling. And she began
to talk to Toph, and encourage him to come in.
I have noticed that poetically-minded people,
or fanciful people, generally manage to get along
best with practical, sensible people. Now the
poet, my master, was all feeling and fancy, while
his wife was remarkably practical.
Toph took no notice of her coaxing for a long
time, but kept his eyes fixed upon the poet’s face.
“Come in, Toph, he said reassuringly. “We
mean you no harm.â€
70 ONLY FOR HIS GOOD.
Then gravely the bird flitted inside the room and
seated itself on the table, while the lady walked
to the window and closed the casement noiselessly.
“He looks as if he knew what was going to
happen,†said my master. And I knew he did;
he felt he was in danger from the farmer, and he
knew the poet was his friend; so far his instinct
carried him. Then the bell was rung and the
parlour-maid answered it. She was desired to
bring the parrot cage from the lumber-room, and
a piece of meat for Toph. There was no sign that
the bird understood the order, only an extra bright-
ening of the eye when his name was mentioned.
When the servant returned with the articles she
had cunningly placed the beef inside the cage, and
set it down in a dark corner of the room, and the
white cat came in with her, and lay down on the
hearth-rug without glancing towards the bird.
“A contrast,†remarked the poet; “white cat
and black bird, no doubt they are mortal enemies.
It seems a mean thing to do,†he went on as he
lifted the cage, and put it full in view of the
raven, pointing to the piece of meat at the same
time, “but it is only for his good; the farmer
would be sure to take his life.â€
The raven, still preserving his gravity, hopped
over in leisurely fashion towards the cage, and
FAIRY FANCY DEPARTS. 71
once inside, the lady closed the door, slipping the
bolt.
I observed that the white cat lay blinking from
her place on the hearth-rug at the whole business.
“Poor Toph prisoned at last,†said the poet
as he lifted the cage and set it on a side-board.
“T can’t bear him to look at me; I feel guilty.â€
“Never mind,†said his wife, “he'll soon like
his new home, I have no doubt.â€
I heard a few dismal croaks from the raven
when, after swallowing the meat, he found himself
a prisoner; but I could not stay to learn any more,
as I had received a summons which I dared not
disobey; and as closed doors and bolts made no
difference to me, I found myself in a shorter time
than it takes to say, “ Hey presto!†on my- moun-
tain side, among the gorse, and broom, and heather,
and in the presence of my mother.
She was very stern and severe in her manner
towards me, for I had broken one of her com-
mands in assisting Ernest.
“The time for assisting mortals with physical
aid is past,†she said sternly. “In the olden
days, when they had not denied our power and
our very existence as they do now, we might aid
them, but now that power is no longer to be
exercised by us.â€
72 TOPH HAS DISAPPEARED.
“T shall never disobey again,†I pleaded, “if
I am forgiven this time.â€
“You cannot escape the penalty,†she said.
“ And that penalty?†I asked.
“You must leave the family you live in for
three years,†she said.
I begged permission just to see Ernest once
again, before I retired from his presence. I would
have borne twice as much to save the child from
death. My prayer was granted, and next mor-
ning, as the sun rose, I peeped into the room
where Ernest slept. I gazed upon him till I
could gaze no more. What might not happen
during my long absence. And I had come to love
the child as no mortal could love, because it was
a pure and unselfish feeling. I wandered all
over the house, and saw that preparations for
departure were being made rapidly. Then I
heard that Toph, the raven, had somehow escaped
during the night; the cage had been unfastened,
and he had disappeared, leaving only one black
feather behind to tell of his presence
The servants looked at each other and whis-
pered mysteriously; they always knew that he
was no raven, but an evil spirit. Even the poet
himself was surprised, and could not account for
the cage being opened. No one thought of the
FAIRY FANCY’S FAREWELL VISIT. 73
white cat, but I knew how the whole thing was
managed, and Toph of course knew how to get
out of the attic window.
I have often noticed that mortals are too
stupid to account for many natural things that
happen, and put them down to something super-
natural, and those incidents which are really
supernatural they set
down to natural causes,
and are quite proud
when they find an ex-
planation for them.
The last look I had
at Ernest was after his
breakfast. Nurse had
set him down on the
carpet, and put a slate into his hand to amuse
him, while she packed up his clothes in a trunk.
He would be a boy of six years old when I should
see him again, if I ever saw him.
I wandered about the garden, looking at every
spot where Ernest had played; and then from
the garden to the meadow beyond, with its
enarled oak-tree in the middle, and the lake lying
so calmly at its foot.
Here I saw Willie and Fanny; they were out
already to enjoy the beauties of the country,
74 THE BIRD'S NEST.
before returning once more to their mother in
town. I had heard they were to go with the
poet’s wife and Ernest part of their way home
that afternoon. I wondered what they were so
much pleased with, and: found it was a bird’s
nest. A lark flew singing overhead, but I felt
as if I could ery. You needn't laugh, for fairies
can ery like mortals, unfortunately.
“T should so like to have that peu speckled
egg!†said Willie.
“What would the poor birdie say when she
found it gone?†put in Fanny.
“Ah! yes,†I thought; “she is more careful of
the happiness of others than the boy. I wonder
if that is the nature of girls, or if she is better
than most of them.â€
I dare not return to the house again, so I
A LAST LOOK AT BABY ERNEST. 75
wandered about in the woods like a restless
spirit, as I was, waiting to have one more look
at Ernest as he passed along the road. Two
little girls were picking flowers, they were
daughters to farmer Jones, and they chatted
and laughed in the bright sunshine.
Somehow the air seemed purer and sweeter
that day, and all the world looked brighter as
I was going to leave it, for our home was far
below the lake and the mountain, although at
times we were permitted to ascend, and hold high
revel on the mountain side.
“There's the coach, Maggie,†called out the
youngest of the girls. She was standing at an
opening between the trees, from which the road,
winding like a white thread, was visible.
I saw the coach too; the windows were open,
but, alas! the blinds were closed, to keep out the
sun I suppose, and I could not see inside it.
There was a pile of luggage on the top. Yes,
they were gone, and I must go too, for the
moment was at hand on which I had been roused
into life from the blossom of the broom by that
look of Ernest’s eyes, and that same moment my
absence of three years was to begin.
“The lady and the children too are gone,†said
the eldest sister.
76 FAREWELL FOR THREE YEARS,
“And that bad raven, he’s with them. The
gentleman told father he’d send him.â€
“Vm so glad!†replied the other.
“And Tm so sorry!†I said to myself. Just
then I heard the fairy bells tinkle. So farewell
Ernest and his home for three years to come.
PARE Uy
CHAPTER VI.
AFTER THREE YEARS’ BANISHMENT.
ILLINGLY would I relate my experience
in Fairy-land during those three years,
but I am not permitted to do so, and I
must begin where I left off.
This time I had not to wait for some human
being torecognize me,
T had only to mount
upon a thistle-down
and float in through
theopen window with
a sunbeam. Ah, yes!
the room was exactly
the same; tables and
chairs as if I had left
them yesterday, but
who could that little boy be, seated at the table
with his eyes fixed so steadily on an open book?
738 MARKS OF SORROW.
Could it be my baby Ernest? Yes, it must be;
the eyes were the same, the hair the same, and
the same soul lit up the face. He had changed
and grown greatly, that was certain.
How is it, I wonder, that chairs and tables
remain the same, and human beings change? I
suppose those who have least soul change least—
that’s worth noting.
The door opened and Susan came in. Yes it
was Susan, although she had changed too. She
was dressed in black. Some one must be dead
in the family; could it be the poet? Her words
settled this point—for she said:
“IT wish you'd go and put on a clean collar,
Master Ernest; your papa and aunt will be here
presently. I do hope as she'll not be cross and
faultfinding like most old maids; if she do I
sha’n’t stop.â€
Ernest looked up while she talked. He had not
heard half of what she said, that was evident, for
he never moved, but went on reading. She lifted
a handsome flower-vase from the mantelpiece.
“T must fill this to make the place look as
bright as possible,†she said. She was leaving
the room when Ernest suddenly looked up.
“Ts Harry gone out?†he asked.
“Yes, he’s always out and about mischief. If
THE BROKEN VASE. 79
I was your papa I’d never bring a boy like that
to be with my son.â€
“He’s my cousin, you know, Susan,†said
Ernest reprovingly.
“Cousin or no,†muttered the girl as she went
out, “I know your poor dear mamma, if she were
alive, wouldn’t have him under the roof.â€
So that pale delicate lady was dead, and what
had become of the baby Ernest used to be so
fond of? it would now be able to run about. I
was wondering at this and many other things,
when Susan came into the room in a hurry with
the vase full of flowers. She set it down on the
table, just at Ernest’s elbow, and went out again;
but a cat came in with her, not Tibby, nor the
white one, but a gray and white new cat. Iwas
speculating as to whether this cat was related
to the white one, and what had become of her,
when pussy sprang on the chair, then planted
her front paws on the table, and gave a loud
mew to attract Ernest’s attention. He was so
interested with his book that he contented him-
self by putting over his hand to caress the cat.
A loud crash startled him; his arm had over-
turned the vase, it was broken in fragments. He
sprang to his feet hastily, picked up a piece and
looked at it for a moment, then burst into tears.
80 CUNNING HARRY.
“O dear, what shall I do? It was mamma’s, and
she gave it to me; and papa will be vexed too.â€
The cat had dropped from the table, and stood
on the chair looking from the broken vase to the
distressed child.
Just then the door opened, and a boy I had
never seen before came in. He had bright black
eyes, and dark hair, inclined to curl; there was a
reckless bold look about his face, and somehow I
disliked him altogether, although he was very
handsome. I could see that in disposition and
love of mischief he nearly equalled Toph, and
there was less excuse for him.
“What's the matter, Ernest?†he asked.
“JT broke that vase by accident,†said Ernest. “I
am so sorry, for*I know papa will be vexed, and—â€
“Hold on!†exclaimed the boy, clutching
Ernest’s arm, and looking sly and clever. “What
a muff you are, to be sure! Can’t you say the cat
did it? It’s likely enough; there she is looking
as if she did it too.â€
I trembled for Ernest, but I was relieved when
he replied:
“That wouldn’t be true, Harry; pussy didn’t
do it.â€
“What matter?†urged the tempter. “She can’t
tell, and it won’t hurt her. If she didn’t break
THE BULLY. 8]
it, she has broken lots of other things, I dare-
say.†Ernest shook his head.
“Tt mightn’t matter for pussy, but it would
for me; I should feel mean and cowardly if I
told an untruth, and besides it would be a sin.â€
“Tt ain’t a sin to tell a little fib like that.
You're a fool, Ernest, and ’m no coward either;
I could fight you, I bet;†and he closed his hands
and threw himself into an attitude such as I
have seen cowardly bullies assume when they
wanted to look brave.
“T don’t like fighting,†said Ernest, picking up
(171% i
82 THE POEWS GRIEF.
the pieces of the vase, and vainly striving to fit
them together. “And why should we fight? we
are cousins, of course.â€
“O, yes, I knew you wouldn’t fight, but you
ought to learn; it is a nice thing to be able to
knock a fellow down, I can tell you; make him
turn up anything you take a fancy to.â€
“Do you mean anything of his?†asked Ernest,
looking up with a very red face.
“Of course; what’s the fun but that?â€
“Then I think it’s no better than being a thief,
or a highwayman, making boys weaker than
yourself give you what belongs to them,†said
Ernest indignantly.
What reply Harry might have made was cut
short by the hasty entrance of Susan to announce
the arrival of Ernest’s papa and his aunt. Both
boys left the room at once, but Ernest carried
the pieces of the broken vase in his hand. I
followed, curious to see my master, the poct, and
feeling very unhappy, I could scarcely tell why,
except that the air seemed thick and difficult for
me to live in. It used to be pure and fresh; now
the presence of sorrow perhaps had changed it.
And my master, too, he looked ten years older
than when I saw him last in his study on that
summer night. All the brightness had gone out
AUNT JANE, 83
of his face, his dark hair was threaded with
silver, and a look of settled melancholy seemed
impressed upon his features. The lady with him
locked older a great deal than he did. She
appeared not only grave, but stern as well. She
was tall and angular, and I could see that she
thought herself a very amiable and proper
person, and could make no excuse at all for faults
inanyone. I felt as if a cold wind were blowing
through the room as I looked at her. Of course
she was too practical and common-sense to
believe in fairies, or have fancies about anything
at all.
“This is your Aunt Jane, Ernest,†said the poet;
“she is coming to live with us, and try to supply
your dear mamma’s place in our lonely house;â€
here his voice faltered. “I hope you will be, as
you always have been, a good obedient boy.â€
“T will do my best, papa,†he said promptly, as
he came forward shyly to the lady, who reached
out her hand to shake his in a cold fashion.
“What is that you have got there?†she asked
rather sharply, as she sat down on a chair.
“Tt’s a vase, papa,†said Ernest, turning in-
stinctively to his father. “I broke it by accident,
and J am very sorry?â€
“So am I, Ernest,†said the poet; he had been
84 SHARP QUESTIONING.
examining the fragments as his son spoke, “but
you are a good boy to be honest about it.â€
“Tt must have been very costly,†said Aunt
Jane. “It is ashame for a boy to be so careless.â€
Ernest was about to reply hastily, for I saw his
face flushed, but his papa spoke quietly:
“Ernest is not at all careless usually; quite
the contrary; and I know he wouldn’t do this
above all things if he could avoid it.â€
Ernest looked gratefully at his father. “ Put
the pieces in my study, I'll see if it is not
possible to put them together somehow.â€
Ernest left the room to do as he was desired,
and Aunt Jane turned her attention to Harry.
He had been too busy pursuing a blue-bottle fly
on the window pane to take any particular
notice of what was going on.
“And who is that nice boy?†asked the lady.
“That is Harry Thompson,†said the poet, “you
know, a cousin of Ernest’s.â€
“Ol!†ejaculated the lady, “a son of your wife’s
brother. I hope he is not living here alto-
gether.â€
“He is only on a visit for his midsummer
holidays.â€
“Tsn’t there a little girl too?†she asked.
“Yes, my little daughter Ella, but you won't
A BOX OF TOYS. 85
have anything to do with her at present, the
nurse is very kind and careful.’
“Tam glad of it, for you'll find few servants
answer to that description nowadays. Is it
killing flies you are?†she asked angrily of Harry.
He turned round promptly, and replied with-
out a blush:
“No, I ain’t.â€
“Yes, but you were; I saw you catch one just
now, a blue-bottle.â€
“O, yes, they're bad; Cook likes them all
killed; they do mischief in the larder,’ he
replied promptly.
“Well, I know they do, yet she oughtn’t to set
you to kill them.â€
The poet smiled and left the room. Harry
followed him, and Cook came in to hand over
the keys to Miss Jane.
“Your father has sent a box of toys for you,
Harry,†said the poet, as he passed through the
hall. “There is a train for you, a ball for Ernest,
and a doll for Ella. You will see his letter in
the box with the toys.â€
Harry hurried away to the nursery to examine
the box, and his papa sent Ernest. There was a
train and a drum for Harry himself, a book and
a ball for Ernest, and a doll for Ella. I had not
86 LITTLE ELLA IN TROUBLE.
seen her yet, and I was very anxious to find out
if she was at all like Ernest, and to contrast her
with her brother. Susan brought her into the
nursery, and Harry made a great fuss about
giving her the doll. She sat down in a corner
by herself and began to examine it. Somehow
she didn’t seem so much pleased with the doll as
Harry expected.
“Don’t you like it, Ella?†he asked.
“Yes, like it,†she replied, and I remarked
that she scarcely lisped at all, but seemed to
make her answers as short as possible.
“Then why don’t you look pleased?†said
Ernest, who was already deep in his new book.
“’Cause I’s cross,†said Ella pouting.
“And why?†asked Harry. She did not speak
for a long time, then she jerked her doll up
rudely by the arms, and looked in its face in a
cross fashion as she said:
“ Pinafores ain’t made to cat, ‘ittle girl.â€
Harry burst out laughing, and Ernest looked
up from his book.
“What do you mean, Ella?†asked Harry when
he had somewhat sobered down.
“ Aunty Dane ain’t dood,†she said decidedly;
“spoke’t to Ella like dat.â€
“She’s a cross old maid,†said Harry; “I
UNKIND AND KIND WORDS. 87
shouldn’t like her to order me about. What do
you think, Ernest?†he asked.
“About what?†asked Henest, looking up.
“ About your new Aunt Jane, of course.â€
“Well, I don’t quite know yet. She doesn’t
seem pleasant; but
when we get used to
her we may like her
better.â€
“S'an't like her,
hates her,’ said the
little girl, shaking her
head solemnly.
“OQ, Ella, youought-
n’t to hate anybody,
it isn’t good,†said
Ernest reprovingly.
“People can’t be like you,†said Harry; “T don’t
think you could hate anything.â€
“Yes, I could,†replied Ernest quickly, “I could
hate telling untruth or being mean. Aunt Jane
is a stranger here, and we oughtn’t to talk about
her, and—and she’s papa’s sister.â€
“We know all about that,†sneered Harry; “I
heard from my mother. She’s an odd one. When
your father married your mother she wouldn’t
speak to him, or know him at all, and nowщۉ۪
88 A HOUSE OUT OF WINDOWS,
“JT know all about it too, Harry,†said Ernest,
closing his book. “That is quite true, but papa
told me she went to see mamma at last, and
stopped with her a week before-—before—†here
he paused, for his voice was choked with emotion.
I could have eried for his sorrow. Ella dropped
her doll.on the carpet, and coming over she reached
up her arms and drew down his face for a kiss.
“Before mamma died,†he went on with an
effort. “Aunt promised her to take care of us, and
you must try to love her, Ella,â€
“S’an’t love no one but papa, own mamma, and
you, Ernest,†she said, shaking her head, as usual
with her.
“Then you must obey her; do what she tells
you anyhow, Ella, if you want me to love you.â€
“Don't you love me, Ella?†asked Harry
smiling, “I gave you that doll.â€
“Don’t love peoples for divin’ sings, but I feels
nice to dem.â€
“OQ, you feel nice to me then,†said Harry
laughing. She nodded her head and left the
room to find Nurse and exhibit her doll.
It took Aunt Jane quite a fortnight before she
could get the house into Christian order, as she
called it. She had vast changes made, and
wonderful turnings up of concealed dust and
THE “OLD MAID†IS MASTER. 89
lumber. All this was to be done before she
settled down to the task of looking sharply after
the children, as she called it. She meant to
begin by teaching Ella her letters, and the
catechism by rote. Willie could read very well,
and as his papa instructed him, she only intended
to take charge of the religious part of his edu-
cation, The servants shared Ella’s dislike to the
new mistress. She fussed about too much for
the cook, and was too orderly and methodical in
her habits for the younger servants. The atmo-
sphere of the house for that first fortnight was
most irritating to the poet, although he kept his
own room except when he went out for a sharp
walk oraramble on the mountains. But at length
the storm blew over; things were arranged just
as Miss Jane liked, and a calm succeeded. Some-
how no one thought of questioning or contradict-
ing any order she gave, and even the cook shrank
from offending her. In the first place all her
plans were sensible and correct, and in the second
she had got absolute authority from the master,
and instant dismissal was to be the fate of any
servant who displeased her; so she threatened,
and they could see they had a very different
person to deal with from their former gentle
mistress. She had nerves of iron herself, she
90 POOR LITTLE ELLA.
expected others to have the same. She never
got weary working; change of work was her
rest, she used to say, and she expected every one
to be like herself. In every respect as a manager
and economist of time and money Miss Jane was
admirable, and she honestly meant to do her best
by her brother and his family, but she wanted
one important quality—sympathy—for any one
unlike herself. She was perfection, she expected
perfection, she had been a model little child,
never soiled her pinafores, never disobeyed her
parents, always learned her lessons, and said her
prayers. Of course poor Ella, being very differ-
from all this, had no sympathy from Miss Jane,
and instead of her aunt improving in her regard
as time went on, Ella only got to dislike her
more and more, and avoided her presence when-
ever she could.
Ernest was wiser and more thoughtful than
many children twice his age; he did not judge
his aunt by her hard outside, and as time passed
he liked her a little better than at first, but he
sould not possibly feel any affection for her
yet.
Harry’s holidays were drawing to a close, and
Miss Jane felt that his absence would be a relief,
for he was constantly at the bottom of some mis-
AN ARTFUL BOY. 91
chief, and there was no possibility of finding it
out so clearly as to fix it upon him.
Ernest felt sorry at the prospect of losing his
companionship. Although he did not like Harry’s
character, yet good boys will even take a com-
panion they do not quitelike,ratherthan have none.
This morning Ernest was with his papa in the
study, repeating a
lesson, while Harry
amused himself as
best hemightinthe :
nursery, waiting
till Ernest would :
be ready to go out
with him for a
ramble. I watched
him fora while; he : ars : es
was a curiosity to me. I could understand Toph
being fond of mischief, in fact putting evil for
his good; but a boy with a soul, who knew good
from evil, to choose the evil, and only think it
good fun, I could not understand. He looked
very quiet and amiable as he drew his toy train
across the carpet in the nursery; but I could read
his thoughts, and he was planning a story just
then to induce Ernest to accompany him into a
meadow he wished very much to cross, because
92 THE READING LESSON.
at its further side he had found a bank full of
wild strawberries. A labourer seeing him in it
one day had ordered him out, but he had deter-
mined to try again, and if any one caught them
his cousin would be as bad as himself; besides, he
did not care to go alone. When he had made up
his mind to manage anything Harry generally
saw it out. This would have been a very good
quality if he had been bent upon doing good.
I have noticed that precisely the same qualities
of mind lead to good and to evil, just as the per-
sons possessing them use them; but why some
should turn to good and some to evil I cannot
understand, because good is so much pleasanter
afterwards and evil-doing always ends in sorrow
and trouble.
Harry picked up his whip from the floor, and
strolled out of the room; he knew that Ernest
would soon finish his lesson. As he passed the
dining-room door he paused, for he heard Miss
Jane’s voice speaking in a very sharp tone. He
opened the door, and saw Ella standing before
the lady, book in hand. He seated himself in a
window recess; the child had not noticed him,
and Miss Jane heeded him no more than she
would a fly. She was too busy and anxious just
then with the little rebel before her.
A HARD TEACHER. 93
“Go on, Ella, I’m listening to you,†she said,
while she knitted away vigorously. There was
something commanding in the very click of the
needles.
“$—O—lo,†said Ella in a sing-song tone, as if
she felt very weary.
“Have you no ear at all, child? S—O, I have
told you, spells so, and L—O, lo.â€
Ella did not seem to hear or to heed, she
went on calling so—lo most provokingly, and
sometimes she would call go—so.
“You cannot be so stupid,†said Miss Jane
putting down her knitting on her lap, “it must
be bad temper or sulks.†She forgot that Ella
was learning her letters as well as putting them
together. “If you think to escape you are mis-
taken, for you shall stand there all day, till you
do those four words properly.â€
Ella began to cry quietly.
“One would require the patience of Job to
manage ‘you,’ said Miss Jane. “How long do
you mean to ery for nothing?â€
She thought it was nothing to stand there all
day spelling stupid words, while the sun shone
outside, and the little birds sang sweetly among
the trees.
“Look at your brother.†Ella looked round
94 A GENTLE BROTHER.
instantly. “How he does his lessons!†continued
Miss Jane after smiling contemptuously at the
child’s mistake. “I want to do out, p’ease,†said
Ella meekly.
“T have told you that you sha’n’t leave this
room till you spell those four words.†And her
aunt took up her knitting, closed her lips firmly,
and went on with her work as if she could sit
contentedly till the following morning, if neces-
sary. The child stole a look at her, there was
no relenting in the face, nothing that tears or
entreaties could move, and she once more began
to labour over the four, to her hateful words, but
with very little better success. Harry had quite
enough of Miss Jane’s presence; and glad that he
was not in her power like Ella, he opened the
door and left the room. In the hall he met Ernest.
“Tve been waiting for you,’ he exclaimed.
“Let us have a ramble.â€
“T wonder if Ella has left aunt; she went in
as I went to papa,†said Ernest, pausing before
the door.
“She'll never finish, come on,†said Harry im-
patiently.
“But Ernest was too kind a brother to go out
and enjoy himself while poor little Ella was en-
during what he knew she looked upon as torment.
THE RIGHT WAY TO LEARN. 95
“JY shall be with you in a minute or two,
Harry,†he said, as he opened the door and walked
into the room. Here he found Ella as Harry had
found her, standing before Aunt Jane, only the
lady was looking more determined than ever, and
her needles were going at double speed. Ernest
knew what these signs meant.
“Not finished yet, Ella?†he said cheerfully;
“why, you ought to work harder.â€
“She won't try,†said Miss Jane. “She is
obstinate and sullen. I never knew a child like
her—never.â€
That was quite probable, for she had never
tried to teach any child before.
“Why, how much have you got to learn? let
me see.†Ella pointed out the four words very
readily; she had great faith in Ernest’s power of
making rough places smooth.
He talked to her very prettily, as Aunt Jane
said afterwards, asking her if she would like to
go into the woods, or go in a coach, or go in a
boat.
“You could not lo in a boat, could you?†he
asked.
She smiled as she replied readily:
“No, go in boat.†Then he got her to under-
stand how the other little words fitted in, and all
96 TEMPTATION.
difficulty was at an end. The four words were
repeated to Miss Jane, but Ella kept her eyes
fixed on Ernest’s face while she said them—had
she looked at her aunt she would have made her
former mistakes over again—and the lady was
quite pleased to get over the difficulty, so that
Ella left the room with Ernest in triumph.
“T thought you would never come,’ said Harry.
“Why have you not got to stand all day over
those silly little words?†he asked of Ella.
She did not deien to reply, but ran away into
the garden, where Susan noticed her, and carried
out her sun-bonnet.
“ Now, come along,†said Harry; and the boys
walked down the long avenue in front of the
house, and out upon the narrow country road.
“See here, Ernest,†Harry said when they had
got away a good distance from the house. “You
know that meadow I wanted you to come into
last week.â€
“Yes, I know.â€
“And you wouldn’t come, because you said the
farmer your father used to know, who lived there,
had gone back to England again. He didn’t like
these hills, and there were strangers at the farm
now, and you wouldn’t take any liberty.â€
“Yes, you have a good memory, Harry.â€
RIPE STRAWBERRIES. 97
“Well, I have got liberty from the old fellow.â€
“The farmer himself?â€
“Yes, and we can go into the field and pick
as many strawberries as we like.â€
Ernest knew that Harry was not in the habit
of telling the truth, and he felt that he should
not take his word on the subject; but then his
cousin was to leave in two days, and he did not
care to vex him by refusing, and above all Ernest
would like very much to go into the meadow
himself, and alone he would not attempt it. So
he said nothing, but walked along beside Harry
till they came to the field. The gate was closed
and locked. This ought to have been a warning
to Ernest, but when Harry climbed over the
fence he followed him without question, only
his conscience whispered all the time that he was
doing wrong; and yet he thought, even should
their new neighbour object, it was not a great
thing after all. They crossed the meadow, and
reached the further end where the strawberries
grew. They were very fine and ripe, so fine that
Ernest regretted they could not have Ella with
them; but he took care to gather a lot, and put
them on some grass in the crown of his hat.
This was suggested by Harry. Then instead of
returning by the way they came, he also proposed
(171) @
98 HARRY ON HORSEBACK.
that they should climb a fence into another field,
cross it, and go out on the common, from which
only a wooden fence divided it.
Ernest could see no objection to this, and they
climbed over easily, and crossed the wide meadow,
Ernest carefully carrying his hat full of straw-
berries.
“Look, look!â€
got half across. “That’s a nice horse tied to the
exclaimed Harry, when they had
fence, I should like a ride upon him, should you?â€
“T wouldn’t care much,†replied Ernest.
But Harry ran on before, and soon mounted
the fence and sat upon the animal’s back. The
horse didn’t seem to mind him at all, but went
on nipping the tops off the grass, as if no little
boy were on his back.
“How nice it is, Ernest!†he said as the boy
came up. “I wish you would untie the bridle
and give it to me, I think I could ride him along
a little way.â€
At first Ernest refused, but Harry over-per-
suaded him, and he untied the knot and put the
halter in Harry’s hand. The horse behaved very
well, for instead of running away, when it got
its liberty, ib only moved along quietly, and
stooped its head to eat a piece of fresh grass, now
and then. Harry at length brought it to a stop,
|
oe
HY | ~ |
"MRS C-A-READ
The Baldwin Library
RmB we.
SHannoekburn Publie Sehool.
MID-SESSION, 1886.
ats Es
a Pre in Standard A.
e
AWARDED BY
E. L. WILSON, Esq., Hillpark,
4 gTO 5
FAIRY FANCY.
° if
‘‘CoME ALONG WITH ME, SHE S8AI1D.â€â€™
PAGE 42,
FAIRY FANCY:
WHAT SHE SAW AND WHAT SHE HEARD,
BY
MRS. C. A. READ,
AUTHOR OF “ MILLY DAVIDSON,†“ SILVERMERE,†“ OUR DOLLY,â€
ETC. ETC.
ILLUSTRATED,
LONDON:
BLACKIE & SON, 49 OLD BAILEY, E.C.;
GLASGOW, EDINBURGH, AND DUBLIN.
1883,
CONTENTS
PART IL
CITAP.
I. Toru, .
II. Trepy’s Inte Currosity, .
Tit. A Dancerous ADVENTURE,
IV. Poor Rosy,
V. Gonz Away,
PART IL
VI. Arrer THREE Years’ BANISHMENT,
VII. How Miss Janez pEALS WiTH Harry,
VIII. How Enna ran Away, .
IX. How Etta’s Runaway ENDED, .
X. A Gipsy at Mountain Hovusg,.
XI. Conciusion or THE Farry’s SToRY,
PAGE
20
30
47
66
77
. 101
. 122
. 140
. 159
. 185
FAIRY FANCY:
WHAT SHE SAW AND WHAT SHE HEARD.
PART IL
CHAPTER I.
TOPH.
i
st is quite common for men and women to
oy write about their travels and experiences
ap for the benefit and amusement of others.
Indeed the fashion is set by the great ones of the
earth, kings and queens and princes, so that it is
not surprising if I, a descendant in direct line
from the illustrious Titania, queen of the fairies,
should make known my experiences during my
last visit to the habitation of mortals, more par-
ticularly as it is scarcely probable any of our
race in future will care to visit a world becoming
so matter of fact and sensible—so realistic as
they call it.
F
8 FAIRY FANCY VISITS A MORTAL,
Of course all well-read little girls and boys
know that when people crowded into the world,
we fairies crowded out of it by degrees. What
you call science almost entirely wiped us out; in
fact we should be all clean gone but for the faith
of a few poetically minded persons and young
children. There is a law among us which
compels us to remain on earth so long as a single
person believes in us, and we exist in proportion
to the number of believers.
The family to which I belonged had retired
inside one of your wild Scotch mountains, be-
cause a poet and his family lived near its foot.
I, for one, was not contented, and often wished
to see the world, for I had only visited mortals
about half-a-dozen times since the flood. My
mother at length consented that I should have
my wish gratified in due time, and that night,
when we came out to hold our revels, I felt tired,
and curled myself up to sleep in a broom
blossom.
Once I used to know a mortal who wrote a
meditation upon a broomstick—and upon a
broomstick depended my future, as you shall
hear. I suppose I slept, for 1 knew no more
after lying down inside the blossom till I found
a pair of human eyes fixed upon meas I lay. I
AND BABY SEES HER. 9
ought to mention that to rouse me into life among
mortals some one must recognize me. But, dear
me, I was no longer on the side of our Scotch
mountain, but on the top of a broomstick, and
the pair of eyes belonged to a half-naked little
baby. Somethings else saw me as well as the
baby, but without understanding me in the least,
a robin-redbreast, a butterfly, and a wooden doll
lying on the floor. The sunlight almost blinded
10 FANCY IN THE HOME OF THE POET.
me at first, but I scon got used to it, and pre-
sently I took courage and crept out from the
blossom and down the broomstick, so that just
when across nurse came and picked up the baby
I had managed to hide quite comfortably inside
his breast. I ought to tell you that my name is
Phantastikos—a long name, you will say, but our
family used to live in Greece ages ago, so that
my name is a Grecian one, but you can call me
“Fancy ’â€â€”“ the Fairy Fancy.â€
Nurse carried the baby into a pretty room, and
closing the door she shook him and slapped him,
at the same time calling him naughty, for crawl-
ing out of the nursery just when she had left
him for a moment. I whispered in his ear a
pretty poem about fairy bells, birds and bees,
and mountain blossoms, so that he scarcely heard
the cross nurse at all, and forgot to ery for her
punishment. Then she dressed him quickly and
brought him his breakfast, and I could see that
she tried to make up for her temper by being
extra kind to him. I soon found that I had not
got so far away from my mountain home after
all, for it was in the poct’s house I had taken up
my abode, and by degrees I got to know every
member of the family, and, after a while, the
visitors too
NURSE LEAVES HER PITCHER. 11
There was a cat called Tibby, and a dog named
Tray, inside the house. There were hens and
cocks outside, and a fox used to visit them. At
first I thought he might be a friend of Tray’s,
but I soon learned the difference. There was
another visitor of whom the master of the house.
was very fond, and that was a raven; and my
baby Ernest liked him too, and used to try and
talk with him; but every one else hated him,
because they said he was a thief, and got them
into trouble. Master called him Mephistopheles,
but no one else cared to pronounce the long
name, so they usually called him “Toph the
Thief,’ and he knew his name well, and had
learned lots of words from the family, so that
the servants thought he was an evil spirit, and
they were quite right too, for doing mischief
was his greatest delight. He liked the master’s
notice, and hated everything else he paid any
attention to.
One day Nurse took a pitcher to fetch some
water from the lake below the house. Ernest
cried to go with her, but she said she couldn’t
carry him and the pitcher too. I followed her
and whispered in her ear that she ought to fetch
the baby, and that he could toddle a little way,
so she needn't carry him. Ellen wasn’t an ill-
12 TOPH SEES A CHANCE OF MISCHIEF.
natured girl, so she put down the pitcher beside
a bunch of tall grass, and ran back to the house.
She had only turned away when who should
swoop down but Toph. There was a twinkle in
his eye, such as I_ knew boded mischicf; then he
looked into the pitcher, and I knew he felt sorry
that there was not something in it either good to
eat or to destroy. Next moment he tumbled it
over with his strong beak against a stone, and
smashed it in two pieces, then he croaked twice,
his method of laughing, and flew away into a
grove of trees at a little distance to watch the
result. Presently Tray came racing along, and I
TIBBY FALSELY ACCUSED. 13
knew Nurse and Ernest could not be far behind.
He stopped when he came to the jar, smelt all
round it and looked puzzled, then he gave a
short sharp bark. I had noticed Tibby, the cat,
at the other side of the clump of grass sitting
watching for a field-mouse to come out of its
hole, but when she heard Tray bark she thought
she had better come
and see what he
meant.
Thave notieed that ~~
cats are very like
little girls in being
curious about what
doesn’t concern them,
and they frequently
get into trouble over their curiosity, as poor
Tibby did.
She had just emerged from the underwood as
Nurse came up with Ernest in her arms. She
mewed loudly, and in her language said:
“Naughty Tray, you’ve been and broken the
pitcher.â€
“Bow wow!†cried Tray angrily, which meant:
“JT didn’t, you did it yourself.â€
“O dear, what shall I do!†cried Ellen; then
catching sight of poor Tibby she exclaimed, “I'll
14 A BAD COMPANION
pay you, Miss Pussy. You broke it as you did
the jug the other day.â€
“She did break it,†chimed in Tray with his
bow wow.
Then to Ellen’s surprise Tibby flew at Tray
and scratched his face; and Tray defended him-
self and then attacked the cat. Pussy turned
and ran away, Tray following her at full speed
till she reached the very tree Si on sat
laughing till he shook all his feathers.
When Tibby got to the top she began to com-
plain of the unjust treatment she had received
from her friend Tray. He told her that he knew
Tray broke the pitcher. She was quite right in
that, and he encouraged her in her bad feeling
to her former companion, on the principle that
when friends fall out the common enemy is sure
to find their weak points.
So Ellen carried Ernest home again, and had a
good scolding from the cook for her carelessness,
TOPH ON THE WATCH. 15
and the baby tried to tell her that Nurse did not
break the pitcher, but he couldn’t put what he
wanted to say in words.
Meantime Tibby kept up in the tree all day,
and although she was dreadfully hungry she
never attempted to come down till it was quite
dark, and she knew that Nurse would be gone to
bed, and Tray asleep on the rug in the hall. All
this time Toph kept her company, and heard her
tales of the family she lived with. It was re-
markable that no small birds attempted to rest
on that tree while these two remained. At
length Tibby said she must go home for she was
awfully hungry, and she hoped the larder might
chance to be open. Toph offered to accompany
her, for he wanted to find how she managed to
get into the house and all the doors closed, but
Tibby was too cunning to permit him to see her
plan, and she excused herself, telling him that
another time she would be happy to admit him,
but not to-night.
Tibby met with the fate of most untruthful
people in not being believed, and Toph deter-
mined to watch her; so when Pussy reached the
foot of the tree he rose in the air, and slowly
flew in the direction she ran. He noted her
make her way through the orchard, then climb
16 TIBBY’S SECRET.
a tree, spring to the garden wall, and running
along this till she came opposite the conservatory.
She sprang on its roof, clambered up to the
sloping roof of the house, and soon reached a
window in a gable. She gave it a slight push
with her paw and walked inside, closing the
window after her. “Bravo!†said Toph to him-
self, “I can do what I like now;†and alighting
on the window-sill, he too pushed the window
with his strong beak, and flew inside, closing it
after him as Tibby had done. He put his head
to one side to listen, and soon heard the pat of
her velvet feet down the stairs. She went right
down to the basement, and then ran along a
stone passage and past a large window, through
which the moonlight streamed upon the opposite
wall. Toph noticed a window on the side
covered with wire net-work, and the next
moment Tibby had sprung upon the sill to try if
the frame were fastened. To her joy she found
that Cook had neglected this precaution, and then
she skilfully pushed the sliding frame across
with her paw, and sat looking into the larder.
“That's another wrinkle for me,†thought
Toph, ruffling his feathers with delight. “One
never loses anything by being civil. I wonder
what she is looking at?â€
(171)
CAT, RAT, AND TRAP. 17
He did not wonder long, for he managed to fly
near enough to peep in, and he saw a fine fat rat
just in the act of helping himself to a nice piece of
salmon. Tibby crept nearer, and then there was
a fearful spring, a short struggle, and the rat lay
quivering in its last agony. Then Tibby took
about a minute to recover breath, and spurning
her fallen foe with
her paw she at
once attacked the
thy
Wl |
dish of salmon.
Her appetite was
so keen that she
had no time to
pause and look
round or she would
have seen her friend, the raven, swoop in through
the window and carry off the dead rat in his
beak. Once outside he laid down the body,
and with all the cunning he was master of he
set himself to discover some means of fastening
the window. He soon discovered a little brass
bolt, and closing the frame without noise he
slipped it in; then he could restrain his delight
no longer, but shouted through the window:
“Good night, Miss Tibby; thank you for my
supper. I hope you'll enjoy yourself in there,
a7) B
18 THE FOOLISH HEN.
particularly when they come to open the door in
the morning.â€
Poor Tibby rushed frantically to the window,
and finding it fastened mewed her appeal for
liberty, but Mr. Toph was already on his way
through the house.
He croaked with delight, so that Ernest
awoke and called Nurse, who lay in the next
room. She came in pale and trembling, for she
had heard the rush of wings.
“Tt’s a ghost, Baby,†she said, while her teeth
chattered with fright. Baby clapped his hands,
crowed, and pointed to the door, for he knew it
was his own raven, and he wanted Nurse to open
the door, but of course she wouldn’t understand
him.
I have often wondered how little grown-up
people understand babies.
At length she got him to sleep by singing a
hymn, while Toph carried his rat to the farm-
yard and devoured it. He was about to fly
away to his nest, when he noticed a foolish hen
straying away from its companions, no doubt
mistaking the moonlight for daylight, and trying
to practise crowing like a cock. He stopped his
flight to muse upon this curious sight, when he
noticed the fox too observing her closely. She was
MR. ARTFUL FOX OUTWITTED. 19
in the midst of her practice, and trying to strut
like a cock when the fox pounced upon her, and
in an instant the poor foolish hen was dead.
Then Toph gave a mighty croak of delight, so
loud that the startled fox dropped the hen and
ran away. Now was Toph’s opportunity; he
soon flew down and regaled himself on the choice
portions of the poor foolish hen. He rose lazily
in the air and flew towards his nest, determined
to have a sound sleep after so much good food.
Presently the frightened fox crept back to find
only a few bones left for him to pick.
I have noticed that girls who try to look and
act like boys attract more observation than is
pleasant for them, and they are always punished,
if not so severely as the poor hen, yet in a
manner very mortifying to their self-love and
pride.
CHAPTER IL
TIBBY'S IDLE CURIOSITY.
WW AYEN Tibby found that she couldn’t get
ea: out, she made terrible havoc among the
a provisions within her reach, and when
quite gorged she curled herself up on a
piece of matting in one corner and fell soundly
asleep.
Now, although you children who read this
may laugh at me, I can tell you that animals
brought up within the sound of a human voice
are apt to partake of their master’s qualities, and
Tibby had something very like a conscience. She
knew that she had been a thief, that she had
eaten her master’s favourite dish, besides smashing
a lot of turkey eggs provided especially for him,
and she feared punishment in the morning; and
in fact she could trace the whole trouble back
to her feminine curiosity, so that while she slept
she started and even mewed uneasily. It was
POOR TIBBY SENTENCED. 21
my custom to visit the poet’s study early every
morning, for I found that he liked me and
could recognize me easily; and better than all he
never talked or made a fuss, only scribbled away.
On this morning he was reading something
earnestly. It was a
newspaper, and I
knew he seldom read
the news. Suddenly
I heard him exclaim:
“Ah! that is why
they sent the paper.
He is dead, poor
fellow. I must show
this to Bessie, and have the children down here
till their mother gets settled.â€
He rose and left the room. I could see that his
mind was too much disturbed for work that
morning. I next visited Ernest and found his
nurse dressing him, and when he was almost
finished Cook opened the door and rushed in.
She was dreadfully excited and angry while she
told how Tibby had been hidden in the larder
and what she had destroyed. Ernest listened,
and lisped something that no one tried to under-
stand.
“She must be put out of the house,†said the
22 BABY TRIES TO HELP A FRIEND.
anery cook asa wind-up. “T’ll tell Missis so, and
have her drowned this very night.â€
“ Where is she now?†asked Nurse.
“JT whipped her well and put her in an empty
hamper, and carried it to the odds-and-ends room.
Tl get John to drown her to-night if missis don’t
object.â€
Ernest talked loudly. I knew he was pleading
for Tibby’s life, but of course Nurse didn’t under-
stand him, and only told him to hold his tongue.
He was vexed and angry and scarcely touched
his bread-and-milk breakfast. I knew he was
thinking how he could help Tibby. After break-
fast Nurse put on his hat and sent him out into
the garden. She knew he was quite safe there,
for a high wall guarded it all round. He walked
about for a little while, but did not run and play
as usual. Presently he stopped opposite the
open French windows of the drawing-room, as
if a thought occurred to him, and then he went
inside the room, turned the handle of the door,
and passed through the hall till he came to the
odds-and-ends room, and walked in. He had
made up his mind to find Tibby and let her free
if possible.
“Croak, croak, croak,’ sounded from the win-
dow, and Ernest looked up to see the raven
“THAT VILLAIN OF A RAVEN,†23
perched on the upper sash, which stood open, and
stare down into the room. I knew he was laugh-
ing at Tibby in the basket and taunting her with
being a prisoner. She replied by a series of loud
mews, and then Ernest noticed the hamper and
went over to openit. But, alas! Cook had taken
the precaution to set a heavy box on the top
of it. In vain Pussy pleaded in cat language
to be let out, and in vain Ernest tried to move
the box, while Toph nearly choked himself with
his kind of laughter, but it seemed to be loud
croaking; so that, what with Tibby mewing, and
the raven croaking, the noise was so great that
it attracted Cook to the door.
“Why, my goodness! but little ones are ever
an’ always at mischief. Is it a tryin’ to bring
down that box upon you? I wonder what your
nurse is about, to let you get in here.â€
While Cook spoke she picked Ernest up in her
arms. He kicked and screamed, of course; but she
held him fast till she reached the nursery, and
then put him down inside, and rang the bell for
Nurse, to whom she related where she found him.
“That there villain of a raven was a sittin’
croakin’ away,†she concluded; “I do wish as
Master would shoot him.â€
Ernest stopped screaming instantly, and tried
24 THE WRETCHED PRISONER.
to tell her he wouldn’t have the raven shot, but
he lisped go that both servants began to laugh
at him, and then he danced and screamed; he
couldn’t help it, they seemed such fools to him.
“What a temper he has got, to be sure!†re-
marked the cook; “I shouldn’t care to be his
nurse.â€
“ He’s very trying, indeed,†replied Nurse, “and
I sha’n’t leave him alone again. : I suppose he got
in by the drawing-room window.â€
« Ain’t he knowin’; who'd think it now2†said
Cook as she left the room.
That was a terrible day for the prisoner in
the basket. She got nothing to eat, and her cries
were heart-rending. Even Toph, who came fre-
quently to the window, at length began to repent
himself of his share in the mischief, and yet he had
no idea for what fate poor Tibby was reserved.
The master of the house had his study in a
remote wing at the back, from whence he could
look out upon the grand mountains, my former
home. Here no sound from the house penetrated,
and Tibby’s agony continued unheeded. A new
baby had come to the house a fortnight before,
so that the mistress had not yet begun to go
about. And although Cook said she would con-
sult the missis about getting rid of Tibby, she
THE PLACE OF EXECUTION. 25
did not take the trouble, but when night came,
Jobn, the man-servant, entered the room, and
pushing off the heavy box, he took the hamper
containing Tibby under his arm and walked out
of the servants’ door.
Just then Ernest was being put to bed in the
room above. He was very unhappy and gave
Nurse a lot of trouble; of course she did not know
why, but I did. He felt that something evil was
being done in the house, although he could not
tell what, and it made him miserable, all the
more so because it did not take definite shape.
Curious to see the tragedy played out, I fol-
lowed the man and listened to poor Tibby, whose
cries for help were growing fainter and fainter.
Like a thing of evil the raven too flew slowly
overhead in perfect silence. At length we reached
the lake, and it did look lovely in the moonlight.
There was a little island in the centre on which
shrubs and grass grew, and one giant tree lifted
its head into the clouds. Just as John paused
a stately swan sailed out of its nest in the island.
The moon broke forth from a bank of dark
clouds and silvered the white plumage of the
bird, and the rippling water. The raven flitted
overhead and rested on a branch of the tree,
waiting anxiously to see what was going to hap-
26 THE FATE OF TIB.
pen. The quiet beauty of the scene had no
softening effect on the man. He stood for an
instant opposite the island, then threw the hamper
from him into the water, where the light fell
upon it. There was a long-drawn agonizing
shriek from Tibby as the water flooded in and
she felt herself sinking. The man turned and
walked rapidly in the direction of home after
performing his vile work.
I wondered if Toph would laugh now at poor
Tibby being murdered, and all through him; but
to my surprise I saw him swoop down from the
tree, croak some words of encouragement to the
TOPH TO THE RESCUE. 27
half-drowned cat as he caught the lid of the
hamper in his strong beak and towed it to the
shore.
“Never go back to your old home again,†he
advised as the poor wet Tibby dragged herself
up the bank.
“You have saved my life, and I thank you,â€
she whined in a weak voice.
“You had better go to Widow Green’s cottage,â€
suggested Toph after a moment’s thought; “she
likes cats, and keeps two already.â€
“Thank you, sir, Tl try her,†said Tibby
humbly. It seems to meas if I’d never be dry
or Warm again.â€
“O, yes, but you will, no fear for you,†said the
raven as he flew away; and Pussy took the road
leading to the widow’s house.
I have often remarked how much cats and
females of the human race resemble each other
in their powers of endurance; they can bear and
live after treatment that one would suppose
enough to kill them.
Ernest wandered about the house for days
after this looking for Tibby, and Toph tried to
tell him that she was safe, and although Ernest did
not understand, yet the presence of the raven
somehow comforted him.
28 THE RAVEN’S FRIEND GETS TIB’S PLACE.
That same evening, about the usual supper
time of the household, I happened to look out
of the dining-room window, and noticed Toph
perched on the tree opposite it where he usually
sat when the family were at meals; he was talk-
ing to something on the grass below.
“Go into the house boldly,†he said. “They
want a cat, and
even the dog Tray
will be glad to see
you, for he misses
Tibby to fight
with.†I looked
down and saw a
fine white - and -
gray cat sitting below, and looking up anxiously
at the window of the room. It was plain to me
that Toph was an acquaintance of hers and had
informed her of the opening in the house. Two
or three days afterwards I saw her trotting
about and feeling quite at home. Cook looked
upon her as a nice well-conducted cat; of course
she had no idea of the understanding between
her and the raven.
When a little boy and girl arrived one morning
I could see what the master meant that day in
his library. They were the children of a friend,
ERNEST AND THE NEW BABY. 29
and were to stop for a few weeks till their
mamma had arranged a new home for them.
The raven used to watch them curiously, and
wonder where they came from; but somehow
Ernest did not get along well with them, because
they were so much older than he was. About
this time he was allowed to sce his new sister
baby, and he felt so delighted with her that he
did not seem to want anything else to play with.
He would sit gazing at her for an hour at a time,
admiring the tiny dimpled hands and wondering
how she could do without tecth and hair. Once
he put out his finger to try what her eyes felt
like. He never attempted that again, for Nurse
thrust him from the room, calling him a naughty
wicked boy.
I have often noted how men and women call
things by wrong names. A simple mistake, a little
experiment, is naughty, as well as a falsehood or a
piece of wilful cruelty; so that the poor child is
puzzled to know right from wrong.
CHAPTER III.
A DANGEROUS ADVENTURE,
Rea little strangers who arrived at our house
on a visit were from a distant town, and
the country ways and sights pleased them
greatly because of their novelty. Neither of the
children could see me, as I said before there
were only two persons at Mountain Lodge who
could see me, Baby Ernest, and his papa, the poet.
I often half-suspected that the raven could see
me, but I have since come to believe that he
could not.
The little girl Fanny soon noticed Toph, but
she disliked him very much, and took no pains
to conceal her fear of him. Her brother Willie
had no fear of the raven. On the contrary, he
would whistle to him, and try to teach him to
talk. Fanny was in the habit of feeding the
little birds which flew to the nursery window.
Ernest liked her to do it, and one had grown so
FANNY’S PET BIRD. 31
tame that it would hop inside and even pick
crumbs from her hand. Toph felt anery and
jealous at this.
At length one morning while it picked crumbs
out of her hand at the table, near the open
window, I noticed Toph sitting on the sill, his
eyes glittering maliciously.
Presently Willie, her brother, called Fanny
away for a walk, and she left the nursery with
him, and the bird flew away. But Toph did not
fly away; he entered the empty room and perched
on the chimney-piece with a wicked look on his
face and his feathers ruffled in anger. He had
his eyes fixed on a cage sitting on the window-
sill; it was used by Ernest as a toy, for it resembled
a baby-house somewhat; the door stood open, and
32 TOPH’S REVENGE.
some crumbs of bread were scattered over the
floor.
The raven sat watching the cage patiently; he
had a strong will, and he was waiting now to
bring the little bird back again to the window.
This may seem a curious power, but I can
assure little boys and girls that they all possess
it, and if they would only use their will for good
it would accomplish wonders for them.
For an hour there was no sign of anything
stirring, and yet Toph waited. Presently a
rushing of wings was audible, and the tame bird
flew in and rested for a moment on the table.
Finding no food there, it almost instantly walked
across to the window-sill and entered the cage
by the open door. It had often done so before.
Now was Toph’s opportunity, for which he had
waited so long, longer than he had sat in that
room, for the plan had occurred to him quite a
week before. He flew to the window silently, and
all the intimation of his presence that the poor
doomed bird had, was a black shadow obscuring
the light. This was while Toph closed the door
and pushed in a little peg which answered for a
bolt; then with his strong beak he threw the cage
from the window, and it fell among the weeds
and dank grass which grew thickly underneath.
FRESH MISCHIEF, 33
Just then Fanny came in hastily to look for her
gloves, and after a search she found them. She
glanced towards Toph sitting quietly on the win-
dow-sill as she left the room. In her haste she
had tossed a pair of very bright tiny scissors from
a drawer, and forgot to put them back again.
The door had scarcely closed behind her when
Toph pounced upon
them, with difficulty
restraining hiscroaks |,
of delight at this LM
chance of being re-
venged, Only the
day before Nurse had
put away these very
scissors, and shaking her head at Toph, who was
sitting on the window-sill as usual, she said:
“J mustn't leave anything bright lying about
for you to steal, you thief.â€
Toph flew straight out of the window, and
across a plantation of young trees, and over
several meadows and fields of grain, till he
reached a farmyard. I wondered why he had
taken the trouble to carry the scissors so far, but
I soon found out, for he descended slowly and
dropped them into a trough from which a pig
was just eating his dinner. The animal stopped
(171) c
34 FANNY’S PLEASANT WALK.
and sniffed at this addition to his mess, then, as
if satisfied, he went on devouring voraciously.
Toph croaked with delight. The farmer’s chil-
dren and some of the servants heard him and
threw all sorts of handy missiles at him, scream-
ing out:
“The raven, the raven.â€
Toph only laughed or croaked louder as he
flew out of their reach. He had disappeared
altogether when the farmer himself hurried up
with his gun, vowing that next time the unlucky
bird came on his land he would shoot him.
I could see that this family had some un-
reasoning fear of the raven as well as a dislike
to him.
T now turned to follow Fanny and Willie on
their walk, being curious to watch these strangers.
Just after they set out Fanny started and
screamed at the bellowing of an innocent cow,
and a little further on she ran away from a flock
of geese, who gave chase for the fun of the thing.
Willie laughed at her folly, but tried to make her
forget her fears by pointing out the beauty of
the scenery, the silvery lake at their feet, and the
lofty mountains in the background. Close to
their base and beyond the meadows and the
grove of trees lay a portion of uncultivated land,
THE SHEPHERD'S ADVICE. 35
a kind of common; it was covered with yellow
gorse and purple broom, and here the children
wandered, and here I followed them, for it was
nearer my old home on the mountain. They
climbed up higher and higher till they could see
the whole country spread out like a map below
them.
Here they sat down to rest, and Fanny listened
with delight to a sound most people who have
visited mountains or heather-clad hills are
familiar with, that is a tinkle, tinkle, as if in-
numerable fairy bells were in motion. This is
the only comparison I can make, as I am best
acquainted with fairy bells. Suddenly there
was heard just above them a mighty rushing of
feet, and Fanny screamed wildly and threw her-
self flat on the heather, drawing the skirt of her
dress over her head in an agony of terror. On
came the terrible enemies as she supposed them
to be, till they rushed past her, and Willie laughed
heartily, for it was only a flock of sheep.
“What’s the lassie greetin’ aboot?†asked a
rough, but not unkindly voice.
“She’s frightened at the sheep,†said Willie as
well as he could reply for laughing.
“Hoots, lassie, one wad think ye’d seen a
kelpie, lettin’ sic a skizl,†and the shepherd
36 IN THE GROVE.
watched her as she put down her skirts and
looked up at him.
“Dinna be feart o’ naething, lassie,†he said
rather in a contemptuous tone; “or yell be na
wiser than the sheep, runnin’ frae their ain
shadows.†The shepherd was mistaken in this,
however, for it was the appearance of our friend
Mr. Fox that had frightened them, and I felt
that Toph could not be far away, he knew how
to wait for the spoil.
The shepherd asked the children where they
had come from, and being satisfied on this point
he advised them not to wander too far from home,
and then went after his sheep.
Fanny proposed that they should turn back,
but Willie had made up his mind to walk as far
as a grove of trees which crowned the summit
of a little hill in the distance, and Fanny would
FANNY HEARS HER NAME CALLED, 37
not dare to go back alone, so they walked on to-
gether till they reached the grove. It was much
larger than they imagined, in fact almost a forest,
and they found a pretty rustic seat under one
of the trees, where they sat down to rest.
Presently Willie noticed smoke curling up a little
way off among the trees, as he supposed, and he
asked Fanny to come with him and find what it
meant; but she told him that she felt too tired,
and she would sit here till his return and shouldn't
feel at all afraid. So Willie started in the
direction of the smoke, and for a time Fanny sat
quite still enjoying the shade after the hot sun-
shine. Then she heard a voice in the distance
call:
“Fanny, Fanny
She felt frightened at first; then concluding
that it must be Willie, she ventured out from the
shelter of the tree and walked in the direction
he had taken. Again her name was called; this
time the sound came from far in advance of her,
and she quickened her pace. Suddenly a cry.
“Fanny, Fanny!†sounded a little to the left,
and so close that she replied:
“T’m coming, Willie, where are you?†and she
left the little beaten path between the trees and
plunged in among the grass and shrubs at the
1?
38 AND WILLIE IS CALLED ALSO.
side. She paused when she had got a yard or
two, and looked round again, asking:
“Where are you, Willie?â€
Her name was repeated in a still louder key,
and she went forward another few yards and
again paused. She did not see the mischievous
raven flitting about among the trees a little in
advance of her. Again her name was repeated,
this time in tones of entreaty, and she ran
through the underwood towards the open ground
she could see between the trees in the distance.
Meantime Willie had satisfied his curiosity
respecting the smoke—it was from the keeper’s
hut—and he returned to the seat where he had
left Fanny, to find that she was gone. Knowing
her timidity, he at once believed that some harm
had happened to her, and he bitterly reproached
himself with leaving her for even a few moments.
Suddenly he heard his name called in curious
choked tones, and he ran in the direction from
whence the voice proceeded, calling:
“Fanny, Fanny!†in his turn. The more haste,
a proverb says, the worse speed, and so it was
with poor Willie, for his toe caught on a project-
ing root of a tree and he fell at full length upon
the turf. Just then he heard a wicked croak,
croak, in front of him. It was Toph: he could
THE SPITEFUL CROAKER. 39
not help laughing at the two children hunting
for each other, and all through him.
“T see you,†cried Willie glancing up, while he
rose from the ground slowly; “you have been
calling and not Fanny.†As if to verify his
words Toph screamed:
“Willie! Fanny!†alternately, and then croaked
delightedly.
“What am I to do?†said Willie to himself
when he regained his feet, “she is always getting
into trouble.†Then he called his sister’s name
loudly, and Toph rose slowly in the air, and flying
in an opposite direction screamed “Fanny, Fanny!â€
I really pitied the boy’s perplexity, for should his
sister hear her name called in different directions
she would be completely puzzled. Then he
40 WILLIE FINDS THE SHEPHERD.
thought of the shepherd; if he could only meet
him again he might help him to find Fanny. He
gave up calling now and ran along, but more
carefully than at first. He rather ascended
towards the hills while Fanny had taken quite
an opposite direction towards the lake. Presently
he could see the sheep dotted here and there a
little beyond, and he hastened on more rapidly,
so that he came upon the shepherd stretched at
full length behind a cluster of whin bushes.
“Have you seen my sister?†he asked breath-
lessly. The shepherd sat up and looked at the
boy meditatively.
“Ts it the feckless! lassie that’s bauld enough
to rin awa’ by hersel’?†he asked.
“Yes, yes; she was afraid of the sheep, but she
came to look for me, and I suppose she has lost
her way.â€
“JT didna see her. She’s maybe gane doon till
the water side; lassies is likest to gang doon, I
ken. If Mad Peg meets her she'll be scared oot
o’ her senses.â€
“Where does Mad Peg live?†asked Willie.
The shepherd pointed with his finger across the
country, in the direction of the lake, to a pile of
crumbling walls without a roof.
1 Silly.
THEY GO IN SEARCH OF FANNY. 4]
“Tt was ance her faither’s hamestead and she
staps in it whiles.â€
Willie waited for nothing more, but set off in
the direction indicated.
The shepherd looked after the boy for a
moment, then jumped to his feet suddenly and
whistled for his dog, gave him some directions
about taking care of the sheep, and hurried off
with his long strides after Willie.
“Haith it wadna be neighbourly to let them
bairns rin aboot an’ lose themselves; Pll gang
a bit wi’ him,†he said to himself.
In a few minutes he had overtaken Willie, who
was very glad of his company.
We must return to Fanny, whom we left
running along, as she fancied, in the direction her
brother had taken, and as the shepherd remarked
it happened to be down towards the lake. It
was much easier to go down than to climb up,
so Fanny went on pretty rapidly. The sun was
shining, the birds were singing, and the little girl
felt happy, as she thought, even should Willie
not turn up, she could find her way home by the
shores of the lake.
I have often noted that mortals without much
fancy or imagination are frequently most easy
and confident in their minds when nearest to
42 MAD PEG.
great danger. So it was with poor Fanny. She
actually began to sing in company with the birds,
but her song was changed to a wild ery of terror
when she felt her arm grasped firmly, and looked
up to see the face of a strange woman, and a
pair of wild blue eyes bent upon her inquiringly.
“You're Janet Clysdel,†she said rapidly; “I’ve
waited for you long, and now—†she paused, while
her wrinkled face was brought closer down to
the child’s, and she smiled hideously. Fanny
could not utter a word after that first scream,
but all the tales she had read and heard of witches
came into her mind; they were few, but im-
pressive.
Surely this old woman with her small wrinkled
face, wild eyes, long hooked nose, and thin lips
closed tightly over toothless gums, must be a
witch. Then she wore an enormous bonnet of
bygone fashion, decorated with coloured ribbons
and wild flowers, while an old cloak of faded red
was clasped round her shoulders.
“Come along with me,†she said, as if satisfied
with her scrutiny of the child’s face. But sheer
terror forced Fanny to speak.
“T can’t go with you, I don’t know you.â€
“Dear me! not know me, is it? an’ you coming
that evening; it was a bonny evening too, and
THE MAD WOMAN’S THREAT. 43
you took away my Polly with you, you did, and
pushed her into the water. The law let you off,
but I won’t. Do you hear? Come along.â€
“T don’t know what you mean; pray let my
arm go, you are hurting me,†said Fanny, the
tears starting to her eyes.
“Tl kill you here if you won’t come quietly,â€
hissed the women in her ear. Fanny called
loudly.
“Willie, Willie!†It was of no use, and only
caused the mad woman to grip her arm more
tightly, and almost drag her along towards the
lake. She begged of her to let go her arm, and
promised to walk with her, but the only result
was a bitter mocking laugh from the woman.
They had almost reached the lake when I noticed
Toph wheeling about in the air over their heads;
he was croaking viciously,and sometimes laughing
in his own fashion. Poor Fanny gave herself
up for lost; she thought this terrible woman must
intend to murder her, and she was not far wrong.
At length they reached the edge of the lake, and
the woman paused; she was tired with her hasty
walk, and Fanny felt so weak that she could
scarcely stand on her feet.
“Now you thought to escape me, you did,
and I’ve waited and watched for this day; I
44 THE LAST MOMENT.
knew it would come some time; revenge is
sweet, sweet.â€
“Oroak, croak, croak,’ screamed the raven
overhead, and once more Fanny called:
“Willie, Willie, save me.â€
“How dare you scream?†asked the woman.
“My Polly didn’t scream, she went down, down
into the water—it was cold, very cold—you must
try it too, then you'll be quiet as she was, and
white and cold.â€
“Willie, Willie, Willie!†screamed the raven.
He had been flying in circles overhead, and
wheeling nearer and nearer. The mad woman
had grasped the child’s arm tighter, and pushed
her close to the edge of the water. The scream
of the bird startled her, and she relaxed her
hold. With a strength born of terror Fanny
wrenched her arm out of the slackened grasp
and sped away along the bank. But the effort
was a vain one; the mad woman rushed after
her, and once more held her in a vice-like grasp.
Again Fanny screamed for help, this time not in
vain. She had given herself up for lost, and
scarcely resisted as the woman dragged her back
to the spot she had quitted a moment before.
“Here you pushed her in, here you shall—â€
the woman paused exhausted. Fanny had closed
JUST IN TIME. 45
her eyes so as to shut out the dark water from
her sight, and the face of the terrible woman.
“You stand with your face to the water, and
your back to me. Face foremost she went in,
face down you shall go. Now—’â€
“Pray have mercy upon me, I never pushed
any one in,†exclaimed the child, clutching the
woman's cloak in her agony.
There was a hurried rush of feet across the
rank grass, and next moment the shepherd had
grasped the woman and dragged her back from
the water by main force. She dropped her hold
on the child’s arm, while Willie hurried forward
crying:
“Fanny, Fanny, I have had such a job to find
you, but what—what’s the matter?†he exclaimed.
The child had turned quite pale, and fell fainting
on the grass. He brought some water in his hat
instantly, and sprinkled it on her face by the
shepherd’s directions.
“Poor lassie, she’s been frightened amaist to
death; it’s war nor my sheep. But hoo daur you
meddle wi’ her?†he asked of the woman.
“She’s Janet—Janet that enticed my Polly
and drownded her,†she replied. “I must drown
her, I’ve sworn it.â€
“She's no Janet; yere daft, Peggy—Janet’s
46 SAFE ONCE MORE.
dead lang years agone. Gae hame, guid woman,
an’ let ither folks’ bairus alane.â€
The woman looked at him for a moment as if
vainly trying to remember something, then with-
out giving another look towards the little girl
she turned and walked away. Fanny had re-
covered her consciousness by this time, but both
children were thankful when the honest shepherd
offered to see them safe home.
CHAPTER IV.
POOR ROBIN.
ere
ye kind shepherd saw the children safe
“e-3 home, and had a talk with the poet him-
ale self about the poor maniac, telling him
the history of her life, and why she had lost her
senses. From the bare outline the poet guessed
the thoughts and feelings which had sent the
mind astray, and he said he would make it a
point to see her some day soon, and try and have
her placed where she would be taken care of.
Her story he afterwards made into a very
beautiful poem.
Fanny related to Nurse and Ernest what had
befallen her; the latter sat with his eyes wide
open and his thumb in his mouth, listening eager-
ly; and although Nurse did not think he heard
or understood the story, yet he knew enough of
it to raise in his little head all sorts of foolish fears
and which would trouble him some other day.
48 THE DEAD ROBIN.
There was no more wandering away from the
house for the children, but they had plenty of
room in the grounds to amuse themselves, and
Fanny became more of a companion for Ernest
in the walled garden which we have mentioned
before.
They were out playing here on one sunshiny
morning about two days after Fanny’s adventure,
when Ernest’s keen eyes noticed something lying
among the long grass just under the nursery
window, and Fanny ran off to see what it was.
“It’s your cage-house, Ernest,†she said, as she
picked it up and carried it out to the path.
“Why, it’s fastened, and there’s something in-
side.â€
To open the cage and take out the bird was
the work of a moment.
“O dear! it’s dead, dead,†she exclaimed, hold-
ing it up and looking at it pitifully, till the tears
came into her eyes. “My pretty robin redbreast
that I fed in the nursery.â€
Ernest toddled across to her and looked at the
bird with awe and curiosity. She put it down
on the grass carefully, and still Ernest watched
it, then he went nearer and touched the wing
and turned it over.
“Tt's dead,†repeated Fanny.
WHO IS THE MURDERER? 49
Ernest had no idea of what she meant; he had
never seen death. He brought out a piece of
cake from the pocket of his pinafore and put it
to the bird’s beak, but of course it never moved.
He crumbled it down and then stood watching
and waiting patient-
ly for some sign of
motion, while Fanny
wondered if he
would understand
whatitmeant. Pre-
sently a sparrow
hopped down from
a tree and began to
pick up the crumbs.
The contrast be-
tween the living bird
and the dead one
was too much for Ernest; he suddenly compre-
hended the pain and the mystery, and burst into
tears, sobbing so violently that the sparrow took
fright and flew away.
Willie heard Ernest’s voice while passing the
garden gate, and he came in to see what was the
matter.
“Why, who has killed Cock Robin?†he asked,
lifting the bird and looking at it. “Some one
171) D
50 MORE MISCHIEF.
fastened the door of the cage and threw it down
here, and the poor thing has been starved to
death,†replied Fanny indignantly.
“Croak, croak, croak,†sounded just above
them. It was Toph, of course, perched on the
tree quite near, and looking down on his dead
rival. He was laughing, as usual, at the mischief.
“There's that naughty raven,†said Fanny,
looking up at the tree; “I shouldn’t wonder but
he did it.â€
“Tm sure he didn't,†said Willie confidently.
“How could he fasten the door as you say it
was fastened? it must have been Nurse, or Ernest
might have done it in mistake.â€
“What's that you say about me?†asked Nurse,
looking out of the window. “I wish you would
tell me, Miss Fanny, what you have done with
my little scissors. I have been a-looking for
them this half hour.â€
“J don’t know anything about them, Nurse; I
haven’t had them for a long time; but do you see
the poor Robin I used to feed?†and she pointed
to the dead bird. Willie says you must have
shut the door of the cage upon it, and some one
pushed it down here by accident, perhaps Ernest,
and it was starved to death.â€
“Tm sure I wouldn't take the trouble to shut
NURSE SUSPECTS TOPH. 51
up a bird in a cage, Miss Fanny. I'll come down
and see it.â€
So Susan came down and heard all about the
finding of it, while Ernest, who had ceased
sobbing to listen, now sat on the grass, his face
all tear-stained, and his consolation in his mouth.
“Tt was that raven did it, and no one else,â€
affirmed Nurse on hearing the story. “I missed
the cage after you left for your walk that day,
and Ernest was asleep when you left, so he
couldn’t have done it; and my scissors too, that
thief has stolen them, I’m sure.â€
“ Croak, croak, croak,†said the raven, much as
he might have laughed ha! ha! ha!
“T do hate that bird,†said Nurse, looking up.
“T wish as master would shoot him; he’s unlucky
about the house, J know.â€
“Dood Toph, poor birdie,†iisped Ernest, first
looking at the raven and then at the dead bird.
Toph knew his name, and perched a little nearer,
setting his head knowingly on one side.
“J hardly think Toph could have done it,â€
said Willie.
“Susan, Susan,†screamed Toph in high glee at
being noticed. Susan was Nurse’s name.
“You see he blames it on you,†said Willie
laughing, but Ernest and Fanny kept grave;
52 THE CHIEF MOURNER.
they couldn’t laugh while looking at the dead
bird.
“I must have my scissors anyhow,†said Nurse,
going towards the house, “and if that thief has
them IT’ll make him turn them up. There's
Pussy, if you don’t bury Robin she'll eat him for
you;†and she laughed.
“Nurse is very naughty,†said Fanny, as she
lifted up the bird. “Pussy wouldn't eat it.â€
“Wouldn’t she? Try her,†laughed Willie.
“Even Toph would eat it.â€
“Gib birdie to Baby,†lisped Ernest.
“Why, it begins to smell,†said Willie. “Let's
have a funeral, that’s fine fun.â€
“Tt’s no fun at all, Willie,†said his sister
gravely, “but we had better bury the poor thing
properly.
“Toph, come along, Toph, you'll be chief
mourner, you are properly dressed in black ;†and
Willie whistled and held out his finger.
Toph came flying down, his eyes twinkling
with delight. Then, as if he understood what
was required of him, he seated himself at a
respectful distance from the dead bird, drooping
his black wings like plumes, and bowing his
head as if in woe—only for the twinkle in his
eye he had all the appearance of chief mourner.
THE FUNERAL. 53
“Dood Toph,†said Ernest caressingly.
Clever as he was it never entered his little head
that the raven was the murderer of his robin
redbreast. Willie meantime had gone away and
routed out a pasteboard box with a lid, and
Fanny brought a pretty piece of print she had
saved to dress her dolls. Ernest watched her
fold this carefully round the bird and then place
it in the box. Willie brought a toy cart of
Ernest’s and put the box in it; then he left them
and went away to a distant corner of the garden
to dig a hole under a laburnum tree. They
waited patiently for his return, Ernest wondering
why the bird was put in a box, and Toph quite
enjoying the whole affair. Presently Willie
returned and put the procession in order. He
went first, drawing along the hearse, as he called
the cart. Ernest followed it closely, while Toph
was with some difficulty persuaded to hop along
by its side, and Fanny brought up the rear.
Presently the procession reached the grave, not
in the order they started certainly, for Ernest
wanted to peep into the hole, and Toph hopped
about in a lively fashion, very unbecoming to the
chief mourner. Willie placed the coffin in the
grave, and proposed that they should sing a
hymn over it. To this Fanny had no objection;
54 THE DIRGE SUNG OVER ROBIN.
even Ernest forgot his trouble so far as to clap
his hands; and Toph croaked loudly, varying the
exercise by crowing like a cock and barking
like Tray. These imitations he gave when par-
ticularly pleased. He knew the robin was shut
up in the box, and that he was in favour. His
plan had succeeded, and he was happy; he had
no sorrow, no remorse. After some little arrange-
ment as to which tune they should sing, for their
stock was limited, and a slight alteration of
words to suit the solemn occasion, Willie struck
up a doleful ditty with the following words:
“Poor pet Robin, all the children cry,
Poor pet Robin, once sang in the sky,
Poor pet Robin, came down for bread,
Got caged and starved, now he is dead,
Poor pet Robin, hide him under ground,
Strew bright flowers, o’er his little mound,
Poor pet Robin, never more you'll sing,
Sitting at our window, in the early spring.
Good-bye, Robin, sleep the long night through,
Till the world grows young, and all that’s old grows new.
Good-bye, Robin, in that endless Spring,
In that fadeless sunlight, we shall hear thee sing.
Chorus—Good-bye, Robin, sleep the long night through,
Till the world grows young, and all that’s old grows new.â€
Fanny did her best to assist Willie in the
hymn, as he called it. Ernest sang lustily, and
SAILING WILLIE’S SHIP. 55
attempted to lisp the words, while Toph croaked
and crowed alternately, and looked the very
picture of a cunning fellow, highly delighted, but
trying to seem as grave as possible. During the
singing Willie had put the earth over the little
orave with his toy shovel, and then they all
turned away, Toph hopping after them quite
familiarly. The day now commenced to be
oppressively hot, even under the shade of the
trees, and Willie proposed that they should
accompany him to the porch of the wash-house,
and they could sail his toy ship on a tub of water
he had noticed standing there. Fanny objected,
for she knew Nurse would be angry if Ernest
played with water, because one day he had come
in with his shoes and socks all wet, and she
forgot to change them, so he caught a bad cold,
and she was blamed for not taking care of him.
Willie ran off by himself, and left his sister and
Ernest to amuse themselves as they best might.
But Ernest caught Fanny’s hand, and begged
her as well as he could to only allow him to see
Willie’s boat.
“You mustn’t touch the water, Ernest,’ she
said as she took the child’s hand and followed
Willie. But Ernest said nothing, for he was
thinking he would touch the water if he could
56 FANNY LEFT ALONE WITH ERNEST.
get near enough, just because he was forbidden.
They soon came to the porch, and Ernest shouted
with delight when he saw Willie on his knees
beside the tub, and puffing out his cheeks to
make the wind to blow his boat along.
“Well, so you came after all. You try and be
a wind, Ernest,†said Willie, rising to his feet.
“No, no, he'd
best not go near
the water,†said
Fanny. “He
might make all
his clothes wet.â€
“Sall go an’
be wind,†lisped
Ernest, and suit-
ing the action to the word he went over beside
the tub and blew vigorously. He tried to clutch
the ship, but Willie would’ not permit him to
touch it.
“No, no, Ernest, you might smash the masts.â€
“Master Willie, Master Willie, where are you?
Master’s going to fish, would you like to go with
him?â€
“T should very much,†replied Willie, jumping
up and hurrying away. “You take care Ernest
doesn’t break my ship, Fanny,†he shouted back.
IN DANGER. 57
“IT wish I could go with them,†thought Fanny;
“he is not kind at all to run off like that and
leave me with only Baby.â€
Ernest was too busy blowing the ship to take
any notice of Willie’s departure. Suddenly a
‘voice which seemed to come from the garden
called:
«Fanny, Fanny!â€
Now Fanny was not at all a thoughtful child,
or careful of others. She was a little bit selfish,
and just then she was thinking how nice it would
be if Willie should relent and bring her too.
The voice seemed an answer to her thoughts, and
she ran round the house to the front, where the
call came from.
I couldn’t follow her just then, for a dreadful
fear came over me as if something was about to
happen to my charge, Ernest, and I would not
leave him. In vain I tried to whisper some of
my fears to him, but he was quite deaf to my
warnings, and completely engrossed by the toy.
Suddenly he looked round and found himself
alone. Now he thought he would grasp the
toy. It had floated to the further side of the
large tub, and instead of walking round to it
he reached across. He gave a little scream as
he overbalanced, and plumped in head foremost.
58 FAIRY FANCY SAVES ERNEST.
What should I do? I was in agony, for I had
no power to save him; must I watch him die?
Suddenly Tray came up and began to bark, then
I heard Toph croak wildly over the porch. Only
to be able to help I would give up a portion of
my allotted time upon earth. The power I
wished for was mine. I assisted Ernest to raise
his head, then to scramble out. He began to
tremble and ery bitterly; no matter, he was
alive. Tray redoubled his barking, and Toph
called, “ Willie, Fanny, Susan,†alternately.
After a long time Nurse came, and, horrified at
seeing the dripping Ernest, took him up in her
arms and tried to stop his crying, and carried
him inside, asking him how he got into the tub,
for she could see he had been in, and above all
how he got out; but Ernest was too much
frightened to reply.
Before I followed him I saw Toph swoop down
and pick up the toy ship in his strong beak, then
he rose higher and higher in the air, and dis-
appeared behind the grove of trees. When I
went inside I found Nurse had undressed Ernest
and put him to bed, after giving him a warm
bath. The little fellow had fallen into a pleasant
sleep.
“You had no business to leave him, Miss
VARMER JONES'S QUESTIONS. 59
Fanny,’ she was saying to the little girl as I
entered the nursery. “He got into the tub some-
how, and I’m surprised that he could get out at
all, for it’s deep, and he was wet right over.â€
“T thought some one called me, and I know
they did too,†she said in defence.
“There’s no excuse for you, Miss Fanny,†said
Nurse severely. “I wouldn’t have left the child,
only that I thought you would take care of
him.â€
“Here's Farmer Jones a-wantin’ to see the
master,†said Cook, putting in her head at the
door and speaking softly. “He says as he’s got
something belonging to this house, and he wants
to see all of us servants first. How’s the Baby
now?â€
“O, all right again, I hope,†replied Nurse,
glancing towards the bed. “He’s sleeping nicely.â€
“Then just step down for a minute. I do
wonder what he wants,†said Cook.
The nurse walked down-stairs quietly, and
Fanny, quite as curious as Tibby had been once,
followed her. The parlour-maid was talking to
the farmer, and the nurse and cook joined them.
“ Are you all the women folks in the house?â€
he asked.
“ All except missis an’ her nurse; they’re both
60 WHERE THE LOST SCISSORS WERE FOUND.
upstairs this three weeks past, you know,†said
Cook.
“Yes, yes, we heard tell o’ it. I hopes the lady
an’ the bairn’s doin’ well.â€
“Yes, thank you.â€
“Then I s’pose one of you has lost something
about ten days ago? Think a bit.â€
The servants looked at each other, but none of
them remembered losing anything.
“You lost your scissors, Nurse,†said Fanny,
coming forward.
“So I did, of course, Miss Fanny, but what
could Mr. Jones know about that? Just go right
back to the nursery, and don’t meddle with what
don’t concern you.†While she spoke the farmer’s
face was overspread with a broad grin, and he
put his hand in his waistcoat pocket, and taking
out a pair of scissors he said, “Don’t be too fast,
young woman, the child’s right enough, if these
be yours;†and he held forward the article for in-
spection.
“Why, yes, they are, to be sure,†exclaimed
Nurse in surprise; “but however did you get
them?â€
“Get them?†exclaimed the farmer excitedly;
“they’ve cost me siller, I can tell you; killed one
of my prime pigs, stuck in his throat. I knew
A BAD LOOK-OUT FOR TOPH. 61
somethin’ was bound to happen when that villain-
ous raven came neat.â€
“The raven?†“Toph the thief?†asked the
servants in chorus.
“T suppose he stole them and hid them where
your pig got them,†said Nurse, examining the
_ Scissors.
“Stole them an’ put them in his mess, lassie,
that’s what he did; an’ now I want to see the
governor, and settle with him about killin’ that
same raven. I’ve watched him a-comin’ to and
fro between here and the farm, and I won’t have
him about no more.â€
“And you're right too, no one could blame
you,†said Nurse. “He's a bad, thieving bird,
besides being unlucky.â€
“That he is,†replied the farmer; “didn’t my
best plough-horse go lame when he flew across
the field, and didn’t I lose my purse at the fair
when he flew across the road after I started for
town.â€
“ Croak, croak, croak.â€
“There he’s now, hanged if he ain’t!†ejaculated
the farmer, rushing out, followed by the servants.
But he was only in time to see Toph rise in the
air and disappear towards the mountains.
“ A eunnin’ thief!†remarked the farmer as he
62 THE WHITE CAT HEARS IT ALL.
turned inside and accepted a seat in the parlour,
determined to wait for the master’s return.
“T mean to ask the governor to poison him, or
hand him over to me, for I hear he’s quite at
home in this house, and I can never get a shot
at him, he’s so cunnin’.†The cook had come
into the room to have a chat.
“ Master’s rare fond o’ him, I believe,†she said
confidentially.
“Fond or no fond, if he’s an honest man he'll
not object to have a thief put out of the way.
Hangin’ or drownin’s too good for him.â€
“Tm sure he won’t make no objection, Mr.
Jones, for there never was a nicer or juster
gentleman than our master, though I say it,†said
Cook, wiping the table with her apron as an
excuse for lingering in the room, “an’ there’s not
one of us as don’t hate that same raven.â€
“Poor Pussy,†said the good-natured farmer
looking down at the white cat, who had come
over from the rug, and was purring and rubbing
herself against his legs. “She’s a fine cat and
no mistake.â€
“Yes, that she is; we had one a terrible thief,
like the raven, but we drownded her; that’s
what ought to be done with him.†She left the
room for some time, and then returned with the
WARNINGS. 63
news of her master’s approach. “'There’s master
now a-coming in at the gate; he’s caught no fish,
I can see; he’s a-goin’ to his own study. I'll tell
and Cook went
out to return in a minute with the message that
2
him you're waitin’ to see him;’
her master would see Mr. Jones in his own room.
So the farmer followed her along the hall and
up the stairs, while I noticed that the white cat
looked round slyly, then trotted off through the
garden, Once there she leaped the wall, and
then ran through the shrubbery at the back of
the house like a hare, across the fields to the
common, and still at the same headlong scamper,
till she had got half-way up the hill. Here she
paused and looked round, mewing in a peculiar
fashion. Presently Toph joined her, and they
began to talk earnestly together.
Now I found that this new cat was a friend
of Toph’s, and that she was warning him of his
danger. He heard what she had to say, then
sent her back. to learn more, desiring her to meet
him at midnight in this same spot.
Pussy hurried back to the house, and I
followed. Instead of going upstairs she turned
into the scullery, and sitting down on the mat at
the door she watched Willie eagerly. He had
got a little fish in a glass dish full of water, and
64 WILLIE’S FISH.
was amusing himself by watching its motions.
The cat watched it too, but Willie never noticed
her, and when she heard Cook’s voice in the
passage I observed that she ran and hid herself
under the table, so that no one could see her.
“Time for bed, Master Willie,†said Cook;
|
se
“Nurse’s a-callin’ you. Best put that glass dish
on the table; nothing won’t hurt it till you come
back in the mornin’.â€
Willie left his treasure reluctantly, and Cook
put the dish on the table.
“Tt wouldn’t do to have Master Ernest see it,â€
she remarked, “for he nigh drownded himself
after your ship this day, but he don’t often come
down here.â€
ARTFUL PUSS. 65
“T forgot about it,†said Willie as he ran away.
“TI must get my ship before I go to bed.â€
Cook went out and closed the door. The
white cat listened till her steps died away in the
distant stone passage, then she made a spring
upon the table. A dextrous movement of her
paw sent the dish over, and the unfortunate fish
disappeared down Pussy’s throat. She licked
her lips with satisfaction, washed her face clean,
then sprung through the open window, and in
two minutes more she was lying apparently
asleep on the rug in the parlour, where the
farmer had noticed her.
(471) E
CHAPTER V.
GONE AWAY,
=r
i HAD not heard the chat between the far-
omer and my master (I cannot help calling
a
»
the poet master, because he knew me so
‘sia
well and could make use of me when he pleased);
but when I visited his study that night, after
every one had retired to rest, I saw that he
looked more thoughtful than usual, and instead
of sitting at his desk writing, he walked about
his room talking aloud at times, and smoking his
meerschaum. The window stood open, for the
night was very sultry, and the lamp on his table
burned low. Presently the door opened and a
lady came in. She looked very thin and delicate,
and almost as white as the garment she wore,
but she was very pretty.
“So you start to-morrow for the south coast,
my dear!†he said. I have had a letter saying
your apartments are quite ready for you; it will
do you and Baby immense service.â€
TOPH IS TO MAKE A JOURNEY, 67
“You will follow us in a week?†she said; “I
shouldn’t be happy without you.†He smiled as
he replied:
“Of course the house here won’t look like
home for me.â€
Then I heard their plans discussed. Ernest and
Nurse were to go with mamma, as well as her own
maid, while Cook and a housemaid were to remain.
“T want you to take an addition to the family,
if possible,†said the poet. “That unfortunate
raven, no doubt he is mischievous, but I believe
more is laid to his charge than he is guilty of.
There is my neighbour farmer Jones; he declares
the scissors his pig swallowed were put in the
trough by the bird, and that he is most unlucky
about a place. Only that the man believes what
he says sincerely, I could laugh at him.â€
“The scissors belong to Ernest’s nurse,†said
the lady.
“No doubt, my dear, but we get milk from the
farm, do we not?â€
“O yes.â€
“Well, is it not likely enough that one of the
servants sent with it morning and evening had
found the scissors lying somewhere about the
garden or grounds. Ernest might have carried
them out, or Fanny, or perhaps Nurse herself.â€
68 AND TO BE MADE PRISONER.
“T never thought of that,†said the lady, “ but
it is quite probable.â€
“More than probable, almost certain,†said the
poet, and all sorts of possibilities floated through
his mind as I perched upon his shoulder. “It
would be a shame to have the bird shot, just to
please an ignorant and superstitious prejudice.
Mr. Jones is a very decent man, and his loss is a
serious one. No doubt his family would encour-
age him to believe that a dumb bird was guilty
rather than one of themselves. Now instead of
giving up the raven to his tender mercies, I pro-
pose that we take him with us, my dear, if you
have no objection; he is almost tame, and is
certain to prove very amusing to the children.â€
“T have no objection at all; but to his being
dumb, as you say, that is a mistake; he has learned
to say several words, and you remember what
Willie told us of his calling him on that day he
and Fanny got lost.â€
“O,yes, he knows the names of the family pretty
well. So it is settled; when Toph pays his first
visit weshall detain himand cage him. There isan
old parrot cage that will answer for him. I must
ask some one to rout it out of the lumber room.â€
So it was settled Toph was not to be shot, but
made a prisoner. I wondered where his friend
A MARK OF CONFIDENCE. 69
the white cat could be now, while this discussion
was going on.
The master had scarcely done speaking when
I heard the fluttering of wings at the open win-
dow, and Toph himself appeared perched upon
the sill. The moon had not yet risen, and the
night was rather darker than usual, so that Toph
looked weird and strange as he sat with the
lamplight shining upon him, and revealing his
form dimly, and his glittering eyes against the
dark background.
“Why, there he is!†exclaimed the lady, sud-
denly looking up.
“And the lamplight o’er him streaming, throws
his shadow on the floor,†quoted the poet.
“Yes, but we want something more than the
shadow,†said the lady smiling. And she began
to talk to Toph, and encourage him to come in.
I have noticed that poetically-minded people,
or fanciful people, generally manage to get along
best with practical, sensible people. Now the
poet, my master, was all feeling and fancy, while
his wife was remarkably practical.
Toph took no notice of her coaxing for a long
time, but kept his eyes fixed upon the poet’s face.
“Come in, Toph, he said reassuringly. “We
mean you no harm.â€
70 ONLY FOR HIS GOOD.
Then gravely the bird flitted inside the room and
seated itself on the table, while the lady walked
to the window and closed the casement noiselessly.
“He looks as if he knew what was going to
happen,†said my master. And I knew he did;
he felt he was in danger from the farmer, and he
knew the poet was his friend; so far his instinct
carried him. Then the bell was rung and the
parlour-maid answered it. She was desired to
bring the parrot cage from the lumber-room, and
a piece of meat for Toph. There was no sign that
the bird understood the order, only an extra bright-
ening of the eye when his name was mentioned.
When the servant returned with the articles she
had cunningly placed the beef inside the cage, and
set it down in a dark corner of the room, and the
white cat came in with her, and lay down on the
hearth-rug without glancing towards the bird.
“A contrast,†remarked the poet; “white cat
and black bird, no doubt they are mortal enemies.
It seems a mean thing to do,†he went on as he
lifted the cage, and put it full in view of the
raven, pointing to the piece of meat at the same
time, “but it is only for his good; the farmer
would be sure to take his life.â€
The raven, still preserving his gravity, hopped
over in leisurely fashion towards the cage, and
FAIRY FANCY DEPARTS. 71
once inside, the lady closed the door, slipping the
bolt.
I observed that the white cat lay blinking from
her place on the hearth-rug at the whole business.
“Poor Toph prisoned at last,†said the poet
as he lifted the cage and set it on a side-board.
“T can’t bear him to look at me; I feel guilty.â€
“Never mind,†said his wife, “he'll soon like
his new home, I have no doubt.â€
I heard a few dismal croaks from the raven
when, after swallowing the meat, he found himself
a prisoner; but I could not stay to learn any more,
as I had received a summons which I dared not
disobey; and as closed doors and bolts made no
difference to me, I found myself in a shorter time
than it takes to say, “ Hey presto!†on my- moun-
tain side, among the gorse, and broom, and heather,
and in the presence of my mother.
She was very stern and severe in her manner
towards me, for I had broken one of her com-
mands in assisting Ernest.
“The time for assisting mortals with physical
aid is past,†she said sternly. “In the olden
days, when they had not denied our power and
our very existence as they do now, we might aid
them, but now that power is no longer to be
exercised by us.â€
72 TOPH HAS DISAPPEARED.
“T shall never disobey again,†I pleaded, “if
I am forgiven this time.â€
“You cannot escape the penalty,†she said.
“ And that penalty?†I asked.
“You must leave the family you live in for
three years,†she said.
I begged permission just to see Ernest once
again, before I retired from his presence. I would
have borne twice as much to save the child from
death. My prayer was granted, and next mor-
ning, as the sun rose, I peeped into the room
where Ernest slept. I gazed upon him till I
could gaze no more. What might not happen
during my long absence. And I had come to love
the child as no mortal could love, because it was
a pure and unselfish feeling. I wandered all
over the house, and saw that preparations for
departure were being made rapidly. Then I
heard that Toph, the raven, had somehow escaped
during the night; the cage had been unfastened,
and he had disappeared, leaving only one black
feather behind to tell of his presence
The servants looked at each other and whis-
pered mysteriously; they always knew that he
was no raven, but an evil spirit. Even the poet
himself was surprised, and could not account for
the cage being opened. No one thought of the
FAIRY FANCY’S FAREWELL VISIT. 73
white cat, but I knew how the whole thing was
managed, and Toph of course knew how to get
out of the attic window.
I have often noticed that mortals are too
stupid to account for many natural things that
happen, and put them down to something super-
natural, and those incidents which are really
supernatural they set
down to natural causes,
and are quite proud
when they find an ex-
planation for them.
The last look I had
at Ernest was after his
breakfast. Nurse had
set him down on the
carpet, and put a slate into his hand to amuse
him, while she packed up his clothes in a trunk.
He would be a boy of six years old when I should
see him again, if I ever saw him.
I wandered about the garden, looking at every
spot where Ernest had played; and then from
the garden to the meadow beyond, with its
enarled oak-tree in the middle, and the lake lying
so calmly at its foot.
Here I saw Willie and Fanny; they were out
already to enjoy the beauties of the country,
74 THE BIRD'S NEST.
before returning once more to their mother in
town. I had heard they were to go with the
poet’s wife and Ernest part of their way home
that afternoon. I wondered what they were so
much pleased with, and: found it was a bird’s
nest. A lark flew singing overhead, but I felt
as if I could ery. You needn't laugh, for fairies
can ery like mortals, unfortunately.
“T should so like to have that peu speckled
egg!†said Willie.
“What would the poor birdie say when she
found it gone?†put in Fanny.
“Ah! yes,†I thought; “she is more careful of
the happiness of others than the boy. I wonder
if that is the nature of girls, or if she is better
than most of them.â€
I dare not return to the house again, so I
A LAST LOOK AT BABY ERNEST. 75
wandered about in the woods like a restless
spirit, as I was, waiting to have one more look
at Ernest as he passed along the road. Two
little girls were picking flowers, they were
daughters to farmer Jones, and they chatted
and laughed in the bright sunshine.
Somehow the air seemed purer and sweeter
that day, and all the world looked brighter as
I was going to leave it, for our home was far
below the lake and the mountain, although at
times we were permitted to ascend, and hold high
revel on the mountain side.
“There's the coach, Maggie,†called out the
youngest of the girls. She was standing at an
opening between the trees, from which the road,
winding like a white thread, was visible.
I saw the coach too; the windows were open,
but, alas! the blinds were closed, to keep out the
sun I suppose, and I could not see inside it.
There was a pile of luggage on the top. Yes,
they were gone, and I must go too, for the
moment was at hand on which I had been roused
into life from the blossom of the broom by that
look of Ernest’s eyes, and that same moment my
absence of three years was to begin.
“The lady and the children too are gone,†said
the eldest sister.
76 FAREWELL FOR THREE YEARS,
“And that bad raven, he’s with them. The
gentleman told father he’d send him.â€
“Vm so glad!†replied the other.
“And Tm so sorry!†I said to myself. Just
then I heard the fairy bells tinkle. So farewell
Ernest and his home for three years to come.
PARE Uy
CHAPTER VI.
AFTER THREE YEARS’ BANISHMENT.
ILLINGLY would I relate my experience
in Fairy-land during those three years,
but I am not permitted to do so, and I
must begin where I left off.
This time I had not to wait for some human
being torecognize me,
T had only to mount
upon a thistle-down
and float in through
theopen window with
a sunbeam. Ah, yes!
the room was exactly
the same; tables and
chairs as if I had left
them yesterday, but
who could that little boy be, seated at the table
with his eyes fixed so steadily on an open book?
738 MARKS OF SORROW.
Could it be my baby Ernest? Yes, it must be;
the eyes were the same, the hair the same, and
the same soul lit up the face. He had changed
and grown greatly, that was certain.
How is it, I wonder, that chairs and tables
remain the same, and human beings change? I
suppose those who have least soul change least—
that’s worth noting.
The door opened and Susan came in. Yes it
was Susan, although she had changed too. She
was dressed in black. Some one must be dead
in the family; could it be the poet? Her words
settled this point—for she said:
“IT wish you'd go and put on a clean collar,
Master Ernest; your papa and aunt will be here
presently. I do hope as she'll not be cross and
faultfinding like most old maids; if she do I
sha’n’t stop.â€
Ernest looked up while she talked. He had not
heard half of what she said, that was evident, for
he never moved, but went on reading. She lifted
a handsome flower-vase from the mantelpiece.
“T must fill this to make the place look as
bright as possible,†she said. She was leaving
the room when Ernest suddenly looked up.
“Ts Harry gone out?†he asked.
“Yes, he’s always out and about mischief. If
THE BROKEN VASE. 79
I was your papa I’d never bring a boy like that
to be with my son.â€
“He’s my cousin, you know, Susan,†said
Ernest reprovingly.
“Cousin or no,†muttered the girl as she went
out, “I know your poor dear mamma, if she were
alive, wouldn’t have him under the roof.â€
So that pale delicate lady was dead, and what
had become of the baby Ernest used to be so
fond of? it would now be able to run about. I
was wondering at this and many other things,
when Susan came into the room in a hurry with
the vase full of flowers. She set it down on the
table, just at Ernest’s elbow, and went out again;
but a cat came in with her, not Tibby, nor the
white one, but a gray and white new cat. Iwas
speculating as to whether this cat was related
to the white one, and what had become of her,
when pussy sprang on the chair, then planted
her front paws on the table, and gave a loud
mew to attract Ernest’s attention. He was so
interested with his book that he contented him-
self by putting over his hand to caress the cat.
A loud crash startled him; his arm had over-
turned the vase, it was broken in fragments. He
sprang to his feet hastily, picked up a piece and
looked at it for a moment, then burst into tears.
80 CUNNING HARRY.
“O dear, what shall I do? It was mamma’s, and
she gave it to me; and papa will be vexed too.â€
The cat had dropped from the table, and stood
on the chair looking from the broken vase to the
distressed child.
Just then the door opened, and a boy I had
never seen before came in. He had bright black
eyes, and dark hair, inclined to curl; there was a
reckless bold look about his face, and somehow I
disliked him altogether, although he was very
handsome. I could see that in disposition and
love of mischief he nearly equalled Toph, and
there was less excuse for him.
“What's the matter, Ernest?†he asked.
“JT broke that vase by accident,†said Ernest. “I
am so sorry, for*I know papa will be vexed, and—â€
“Hold on!†exclaimed the boy, clutching
Ernest’s arm, and looking sly and clever. “What
a muff you are, to be sure! Can’t you say the cat
did it? It’s likely enough; there she is looking
as if she did it too.â€
I trembled for Ernest, but I was relieved when
he replied:
“That wouldn’t be true, Harry; pussy didn’t
do it.â€
“What matter?†urged the tempter. “She can’t
tell, and it won’t hurt her. If she didn’t break
THE BULLY. 8]
it, she has broken lots of other things, I dare-
say.†Ernest shook his head.
“Tt mightn’t matter for pussy, but it would
for me; I should feel mean and cowardly if I
told an untruth, and besides it would be a sin.â€
“Tt ain’t a sin to tell a little fib like that.
You're a fool, Ernest, and ’m no coward either;
I could fight you, I bet;†and he closed his hands
and threw himself into an attitude such as I
have seen cowardly bullies assume when they
wanted to look brave.
“T don’t like fighting,†said Ernest, picking up
(171% i
82 THE POEWS GRIEF.
the pieces of the vase, and vainly striving to fit
them together. “And why should we fight? we
are cousins, of course.â€
“O, yes, I knew you wouldn’t fight, but you
ought to learn; it is a nice thing to be able to
knock a fellow down, I can tell you; make him
turn up anything you take a fancy to.â€
“Do you mean anything of his?†asked Ernest,
looking up with a very red face.
“Of course; what’s the fun but that?â€
“Then I think it’s no better than being a thief,
or a highwayman, making boys weaker than
yourself give you what belongs to them,†said
Ernest indignantly.
What reply Harry might have made was cut
short by the hasty entrance of Susan to announce
the arrival of Ernest’s papa and his aunt. Both
boys left the room at once, but Ernest carried
the pieces of the broken vase in his hand. I
followed, curious to see my master, the poct, and
feeling very unhappy, I could scarcely tell why,
except that the air seemed thick and difficult for
me to live in. It used to be pure and fresh; now
the presence of sorrow perhaps had changed it.
And my master, too, he looked ten years older
than when I saw him last in his study on that
summer night. All the brightness had gone out
AUNT JANE, 83
of his face, his dark hair was threaded with
silver, and a look of settled melancholy seemed
impressed upon his features. The lady with him
locked older a great deal than he did. She
appeared not only grave, but stern as well. She
was tall and angular, and I could see that she
thought herself a very amiable and proper
person, and could make no excuse at all for faults
inanyone. I felt as if a cold wind were blowing
through the room as I looked at her. Of course
she was too practical and common-sense to
believe in fairies, or have fancies about anything
at all.
“This is your Aunt Jane, Ernest,†said the poet;
“she is coming to live with us, and try to supply
your dear mamma’s place in our lonely house;â€
here his voice faltered. “I hope you will be, as
you always have been, a good obedient boy.â€
“T will do my best, papa,†he said promptly, as
he came forward shyly to the lady, who reached
out her hand to shake his in a cold fashion.
“What is that you have got there?†she asked
rather sharply, as she sat down on a chair.
“Tt’s a vase, papa,†said Ernest, turning in-
stinctively to his father. “I broke it by accident,
and J am very sorry?â€
“So am I, Ernest,†said the poet; he had been
84 SHARP QUESTIONING.
examining the fragments as his son spoke, “but
you are a good boy to be honest about it.â€
“Tt must have been very costly,†said Aunt
Jane. “It is ashame for a boy to be so careless.â€
Ernest was about to reply hastily, for I saw his
face flushed, but his papa spoke quietly:
“Ernest is not at all careless usually; quite
the contrary; and I know he wouldn’t do this
above all things if he could avoid it.â€
Ernest looked gratefully at his father. “ Put
the pieces in my study, I'll see if it is not
possible to put them together somehow.â€
Ernest left the room to do as he was desired,
and Aunt Jane turned her attention to Harry.
He had been too busy pursuing a blue-bottle fly
on the window pane to take any particular
notice of what was going on.
“And who is that nice boy?†asked the lady.
“That is Harry Thompson,†said the poet, “you
know, a cousin of Ernest’s.â€
“Ol!†ejaculated the lady, “a son of your wife’s
brother. I hope he is not living here alto-
gether.â€
“He is only on a visit for his midsummer
holidays.â€
“Tsn’t there a little girl too?†she asked.
“Yes, my little daughter Ella, but you won't
A BOX OF TOYS. 85
have anything to do with her at present, the
nurse is very kind and careful.’
“Tam glad of it, for you'll find few servants
answer to that description nowadays. Is it
killing flies you are?†she asked angrily of Harry.
He turned round promptly, and replied with-
out a blush:
“No, I ain’t.â€
“Yes, but you were; I saw you catch one just
now, a blue-bottle.â€
“O, yes, they're bad; Cook likes them all
killed; they do mischief in the larder,’ he
replied promptly.
“Well, I know they do, yet she oughtn’t to set
you to kill them.â€
The poet smiled and left the room. Harry
followed him, and Cook came in to hand over
the keys to Miss Jane.
“Your father has sent a box of toys for you,
Harry,†said the poet, as he passed through the
hall. “There is a train for you, a ball for Ernest,
and a doll for Ella. You will see his letter in
the box with the toys.â€
Harry hurried away to the nursery to examine
the box, and his papa sent Ernest. There was a
train and a drum for Harry himself, a book and
a ball for Ernest, and a doll for Ella. I had not
86 LITTLE ELLA IN TROUBLE.
seen her yet, and I was very anxious to find out
if she was at all like Ernest, and to contrast her
with her brother. Susan brought her into the
nursery, and Harry made a great fuss about
giving her the doll. She sat down in a corner
by herself and began to examine it. Somehow
she didn’t seem so much pleased with the doll as
Harry expected.
“Don’t you like it, Ella?†he asked.
“Yes, like it,†she replied, and I remarked
that she scarcely lisped at all, but seemed to
make her answers as short as possible.
“Then why don’t you look pleased?†said
Ernest, who was already deep in his new book.
“’Cause I’s cross,†said Ella pouting.
“And why?†asked Harry. She did not speak
for a long time, then she jerked her doll up
rudely by the arms, and looked in its face in a
cross fashion as she said:
“ Pinafores ain’t made to cat, ‘ittle girl.â€
Harry burst out laughing, and Ernest looked
up from his book.
“What do you mean, Ella?†asked Harry when
he had somewhat sobered down.
“ Aunty Dane ain’t dood,†she said decidedly;
“spoke’t to Ella like dat.â€
“She’s a cross old maid,†said Harry; “I
UNKIND AND KIND WORDS. 87
shouldn’t like her to order me about. What do
you think, Ernest?†he asked.
“About what?†asked Henest, looking up.
“ About your new Aunt Jane, of course.â€
“Well, I don’t quite know yet. She doesn’t
seem pleasant; but
when we get used to
her we may like her
better.â€
“S'an't like her,
hates her,’ said the
little girl, shaking her
head solemnly.
“OQ, Ella, youought-
n’t to hate anybody,
it isn’t good,†said
Ernest reprovingly.
“People can’t be like you,†said Harry; “T don’t
think you could hate anything.â€
“Yes, I could,†replied Ernest quickly, “I could
hate telling untruth or being mean. Aunt Jane
is a stranger here, and we oughtn’t to talk about
her, and—and she’s papa’s sister.â€
“We know all about that,†sneered Harry; “I
heard from my mother. She’s an odd one. When
your father married your mother she wouldn’t
speak to him, or know him at all, and nowщۉ۪
88 A HOUSE OUT OF WINDOWS,
“JT know all about it too, Harry,†said Ernest,
closing his book. “That is quite true, but papa
told me she went to see mamma at last, and
stopped with her a week before-—before—†here
he paused, for his voice was choked with emotion.
I could have eried for his sorrow. Ella dropped
her doll.on the carpet, and coming over she reached
up her arms and drew down his face for a kiss.
“Before mamma died,†he went on with an
effort. “Aunt promised her to take care of us, and
you must try to love her, Ella,â€
“S’an’t love no one but papa, own mamma, and
you, Ernest,†she said, shaking her head, as usual
with her.
“Then you must obey her; do what she tells
you anyhow, Ella, if you want me to love you.â€
“Don't you love me, Ella?†asked Harry
smiling, “I gave you that doll.â€
“Don’t love peoples for divin’ sings, but I feels
nice to dem.â€
“OQ, you feel nice to me then,†said Harry
laughing. She nodded her head and left the
room to find Nurse and exhibit her doll.
It took Aunt Jane quite a fortnight before she
could get the house into Christian order, as she
called it. She had vast changes made, and
wonderful turnings up of concealed dust and
THE “OLD MAID†IS MASTER. 89
lumber. All this was to be done before she
settled down to the task of looking sharply after
the children, as she called it. She meant to
begin by teaching Ella her letters, and the
catechism by rote. Willie could read very well,
and as his papa instructed him, she only intended
to take charge of the religious part of his edu-
cation, The servants shared Ella’s dislike to the
new mistress. She fussed about too much for
the cook, and was too orderly and methodical in
her habits for the younger servants. The atmo-
sphere of the house for that first fortnight was
most irritating to the poet, although he kept his
own room except when he went out for a sharp
walk oraramble on the mountains. But at length
the storm blew over; things were arranged just
as Miss Jane liked, and a calm succeeded. Some-
how no one thought of questioning or contradict-
ing any order she gave, and even the cook shrank
from offending her. In the first place all her
plans were sensible and correct, and in the second
she had got absolute authority from the master,
and instant dismissal was to be the fate of any
servant who displeased her; so she threatened,
and they could see they had a very different
person to deal with from their former gentle
mistress. She had nerves of iron herself, she
90 POOR LITTLE ELLA.
expected others to have the same. She never
got weary working; change of work was her
rest, she used to say, and she expected every one
to be like herself. In every respect as a manager
and economist of time and money Miss Jane was
admirable, and she honestly meant to do her best
by her brother and his family, but she wanted
one important quality—sympathy—for any one
unlike herself. She was perfection, she expected
perfection, she had been a model little child,
never soiled her pinafores, never disobeyed her
parents, always learned her lessons, and said her
prayers. Of course poor Ella, being very differ-
from all this, had no sympathy from Miss Jane,
and instead of her aunt improving in her regard
as time went on, Ella only got to dislike her
more and more, and avoided her presence when-
ever she could.
Ernest was wiser and more thoughtful than
many children twice his age; he did not judge
his aunt by her hard outside, and as time passed
he liked her a little better than at first, but he
sould not possibly feel any affection for her
yet.
Harry’s holidays were drawing to a close, and
Miss Jane felt that his absence would be a relief,
for he was constantly at the bottom of some mis-
AN ARTFUL BOY. 91
chief, and there was no possibility of finding it
out so clearly as to fix it upon him.
Ernest felt sorry at the prospect of losing his
companionship. Although he did not like Harry’s
character, yet good boys will even take a com-
panion they do not quitelike,ratherthan have none.
This morning Ernest was with his papa in the
study, repeating a
lesson, while Harry
amused himself as
best hemightinthe :
nursery, waiting
till Ernest would :
be ready to go out
with him for a
ramble. I watched
him fora while; he : ars : es
was a curiosity to me. I could understand Toph
being fond of mischief, in fact putting evil for
his good; but a boy with a soul, who knew good
from evil, to choose the evil, and only think it
good fun, I could not understand. He looked
very quiet and amiable as he drew his toy train
across the carpet in the nursery; but I could read
his thoughts, and he was planning a story just
then to induce Ernest to accompany him into a
meadow he wished very much to cross, because
92 THE READING LESSON.
at its further side he had found a bank full of
wild strawberries. A labourer seeing him in it
one day had ordered him out, but he had deter-
mined to try again, and if any one caught them
his cousin would be as bad as himself; besides, he
did not care to go alone. When he had made up
his mind to manage anything Harry generally
saw it out. This would have been a very good
quality if he had been bent upon doing good.
I have noticed that precisely the same qualities
of mind lead to good and to evil, just as the per-
sons possessing them use them; but why some
should turn to good and some to evil I cannot
understand, because good is so much pleasanter
afterwards and evil-doing always ends in sorrow
and trouble.
Harry picked up his whip from the floor, and
strolled out of the room; he knew that Ernest
would soon finish his lesson. As he passed the
dining-room door he paused, for he heard Miss
Jane’s voice speaking in a very sharp tone. He
opened the door, and saw Ella standing before
the lady, book in hand. He seated himself in a
window recess; the child had not noticed him,
and Miss Jane heeded him no more than she
would a fly. She was too busy and anxious just
then with the little rebel before her.
A HARD TEACHER. 93
“Go on, Ella, I’m listening to you,†she said,
while she knitted away vigorously. There was
something commanding in the very click of the
needles.
“$—O—lo,†said Ella in a sing-song tone, as if
she felt very weary.
“Have you no ear at all, child? S—O, I have
told you, spells so, and L—O, lo.â€
Ella did not seem to hear or to heed, she
went on calling so—lo most provokingly, and
sometimes she would call go—so.
“You cannot be so stupid,†said Miss Jane
putting down her knitting on her lap, “it must
be bad temper or sulks.†She forgot that Ella
was learning her letters as well as putting them
together. “If you think to escape you are mis-
taken, for you shall stand there all day, till you
do those four words properly.â€
Ella began to cry quietly.
“One would require the patience of Job to
manage ‘you,’ said Miss Jane. “How long do
you mean to ery for nothing?â€
She thought it was nothing to stand there all
day spelling stupid words, while the sun shone
outside, and the little birds sang sweetly among
the trees.
“Look at your brother.†Ella looked round
94 A GENTLE BROTHER.
instantly. “How he does his lessons!†continued
Miss Jane after smiling contemptuously at the
child’s mistake. “I want to do out, p’ease,†said
Ella meekly.
“T have told you that you sha’n’t leave this
room till you spell those four words.†And her
aunt took up her knitting, closed her lips firmly,
and went on with her work as if she could sit
contentedly till the following morning, if neces-
sary. The child stole a look at her, there was
no relenting in the face, nothing that tears or
entreaties could move, and she once more began
to labour over the four, to her hateful words, but
with very little better success. Harry had quite
enough of Miss Jane’s presence; and glad that he
was not in her power like Ella, he opened the
door and left the room. In the hall he met Ernest.
“Tve been waiting for you,’ he exclaimed.
“Let us have a ramble.â€
“T wonder if Ella has left aunt; she went in
as I went to papa,†said Ernest, pausing before
the door.
“She'll never finish, come on,†said Harry im-
patiently.
“But Ernest was too kind a brother to go out
and enjoy himself while poor little Ella was en-
during what he knew she looked upon as torment.
THE RIGHT WAY TO LEARN. 95
“JY shall be with you in a minute or two,
Harry,†he said, as he opened the door and walked
into the room. Here he found Ella as Harry had
found her, standing before Aunt Jane, only the
lady was looking more determined than ever, and
her needles were going at double speed. Ernest
knew what these signs meant.
“Not finished yet, Ella?†he said cheerfully;
“why, you ought to work harder.â€
“She won't try,†said Miss Jane. “She is
obstinate and sullen. I never knew a child like
her—never.â€
That was quite probable, for she had never
tried to teach any child before.
“Why, how much have you got to learn? let
me see.†Ella pointed out the four words very
readily; she had great faith in Ernest’s power of
making rough places smooth.
He talked to her very prettily, as Aunt Jane
said afterwards, asking her if she would like to
go into the woods, or go in a coach, or go in a
boat.
“You could not lo in a boat, could you?†he
asked.
She smiled as she replied readily:
“No, go in boat.†Then he got her to under-
stand how the other little words fitted in, and all
96 TEMPTATION.
difficulty was at an end. The four words were
repeated to Miss Jane, but Ella kept her eyes
fixed on Ernest’s face while she said them—had
she looked at her aunt she would have made her
former mistakes over again—and the lady was
quite pleased to get over the difficulty, so that
Ella left the room with Ernest in triumph.
“T thought you would never come,’ said Harry.
“Why have you not got to stand all day over
those silly little words?†he asked of Ella.
She did not deien to reply, but ran away into
the garden, where Susan noticed her, and carried
out her sun-bonnet.
“ Now, come along,†said Harry; and the boys
walked down the long avenue in front of the
house, and out upon the narrow country road.
“See here, Ernest,†Harry said when they had
got away a good distance from the house. “You
know that meadow I wanted you to come into
last week.â€
“Yes, I know.â€
“And you wouldn’t come, because you said the
farmer your father used to know, who lived there,
had gone back to England again. He didn’t like
these hills, and there were strangers at the farm
now, and you wouldn’t take any liberty.â€
“Yes, you have a good memory, Harry.â€
RIPE STRAWBERRIES. 97
“Well, I have got liberty from the old fellow.â€
“The farmer himself?â€
“Yes, and we can go into the field and pick
as many strawberries as we like.â€
Ernest knew that Harry was not in the habit
of telling the truth, and he felt that he should
not take his word on the subject; but then his
cousin was to leave in two days, and he did not
care to vex him by refusing, and above all Ernest
would like very much to go into the meadow
himself, and alone he would not attempt it. So
he said nothing, but walked along beside Harry
till they came to the field. The gate was closed
and locked. This ought to have been a warning
to Ernest, but when Harry climbed over the
fence he followed him without question, only
his conscience whispered all the time that he was
doing wrong; and yet he thought, even should
their new neighbour object, it was not a great
thing after all. They crossed the meadow, and
reached the further end where the strawberries
grew. They were very fine and ripe, so fine that
Ernest regretted they could not have Ella with
them; but he took care to gather a lot, and put
them on some grass in the crown of his hat.
This was suggested by Harry. Then instead of
returning by the way they came, he also proposed
(171) @
98 HARRY ON HORSEBACK.
that they should climb a fence into another field,
cross it, and go out on the common, from which
only a wooden fence divided it.
Ernest could see no objection to this, and they
climbed over easily, and crossed the wide meadow,
Ernest carefully carrying his hat full of straw-
berries.
“Look, look!â€
got half across. “That’s a nice horse tied to the
exclaimed Harry, when they had
fence, I should like a ride upon him, should you?â€
“T wouldn’t care much,†replied Ernest.
But Harry ran on before, and soon mounted
the fence and sat upon the animal’s back. The
horse didn’t seem to mind him at all, but went
on nipping the tops off the grass, as if no little
boy were on his back.
“How nice it is, Ernest!†he said as the boy
came up. “I wish you would untie the bridle
and give it to me, I think I could ride him along
a little way.â€
At first Ernest refused, but Harry over-per-
suaded him, and he untied the knot and put the
halter in Harry’s hand. The horse behaved very
well, for instead of running away, when it got
its liberty, ib only moved along quietly, and
stooped its head to eat a piece of fresh grass, now
and then. Harry at length brought it to a stop,
A COWARDLY TRICK. 99
and managed to turn it round and bring it back
to the point from whence they started.
“Now, could you do that?†asked Harry
proudly.
Ernest had ridden a pony before now, and he
said so.
“Well, just try and ride this quiet old fellow,
as far as I did.â€
Something again whispered to Ernest that he
oughtn’t to ride a stranger’s horse without per-
mission, but Harry’s jeering:
“You ain’t afraid, are you?†decided him; and
putting down his hat full of strawberries, he
climbed on the fence, and seated himself on the
horse’s back, grasping the halter which Harry put
into his hand.
“Now, if you ain’t afraid, you had best go a little
faster,†and he gave the horse a cut across the
flanks with his whip, which he had carried all
the way from home. The animal made a sudden
plunge, causing Ernest to lose his hold on the
halter, then he galloped off at full speed.
It was not the cut with the whip alone that
sent him off, for just then a black bird swooped
low before the animal’s eyes. Could it be our
old friend, Toph the raven?
I had no time to decide, for I was in agony at
100 ERNEST’S PERILOUS RIDE.
Ernest’s danger. On the horse flew over the
open common, and to my terror I saw that he
took the way to the lake. The land sloped down
to the water edge, so that naturally the horse
went down. A glance back showed me Harry
picking up the hat, and walking along the com-
mon eating the strawberries at his leisure. At
first he felt frightened, but as he was in no
danger he took it comfortably and turned towards
home, trusting that he might escape blame, if
anything happened to Ernest; but he had little
fear of this, for he thought some one would stop
the horse before it went far.
CHAPTER VIL
HOW MISS JANE DEALS WITH HARRY.
eT was a good thing for Ernest that he had
~ learnt to ride a little, for after the first
natural alarm he got firmer in his seat, and
regained his courage. The horse, too, after his
panic was over, settled in his mind where he
should go to, and he galloped along with an easy
swing till he reached the road which led to the
nearest town. About two miles off his owner
lived, and he would go home. He had been
ridden over by a servant from his master with a
message to the farmer, and he had tied the horse
to the fence while he crossed the fields to the
house, never dreaming that any one would meddle
with it.
Meantime Harry had reached home, and he
managed to keep out of the way till tea-time.
He had hoped Ernest would arrive before that
time, but when the bell rang he went inside
without him.
102 AN AWKWARD POSITION.
Ella was in her usual seat beside her papa,
Miss Jane at the head of the table, and he took
his place feeling a little uncomfortable.
“Where is Ernest?†asked his papa of Harry.
The boy hesitated, then spoke.
“We went out for a walk together,†he replied,
“but he left me; I thought he would be home
before now.â€
“Did you have a quarrel?†asked Aunt Jane
sharply.
“No, we did not,†replied Harry.
“And why did he leave you?†asked the poct.
“T don’t know.â€
“You don’t know! that is a strange story,â€
said Miss Jane, as she poured out the tea.
“Ernest is sure to be home presently,†said his
papa; “no doubt he had a book in his pocket,
and is walking slowly and reading; I have
noticed him do that often.â€
“TI don’t approve of children being absent at
meal-time; it is very irregular and careless.â€
“Ernest ain’t rereg’lar,†said Ella, looking up
with a piece of bread and honey in her hand.
“Trrecular, you mean, Ella,†said papa smiling.
“ Ain’t naughty, knows dat,†she said, nodding
her head. Harry was too much frightened to
meet Aunt Jane’s eye, and he felt it fixed upon
THE READY LIE. 103
him all that tea-time, so as soon as possible he
got done and left the room. But Miss Jane was
not going to let him off so easily. Susan came
running out to the garden when he had been
there for half an hour.
“Master Harry, you’re wanted.â€
“Who wants me?†he asked.
“Miss Jane; you'd best go quickly too.â€
He thought of refusing at first, then he feared
that might rouse suspicion, and he was becoming
uneasy about Ernest. What if he had been
thrown from the horse and killed? Yet he
would say he knew nothing about it, he would
keep to that. These thoughts passed through
his mind as he went into the parlour and saw
Miss Jane sitting near the fire. She was rather
of a chilly nature, and in the evenings she re-
quired warmth.
“Sit down here,†she said, indicating a chair in
front of her. Harry obeyed.
“You have been taught that to tell an untruth
isa sin,’ she began. “I hope you will now tell me
exactly why Ernest did not come with you.â€
“T told you before; he went away, and I came
home. I thought he would be home before me.â€
He spoke confidently, clasping his knee in his
hand, and looking up in her face as if he were
104 AUNT JANE IS NOT DECEIVED.
telling the simple truth. Miss Jane closed her
thin lips tightly, and looked unbelieving.
“T may tell you I don’t believe you,†she said
decidedly. “1 know Ernest to be a good boy; he
has always been punctual at meal-times, because
cS
WO
I told him I liked that. I thought you would
tell me the truth now.†She paused, but Harry
only shook his head.
“T can’t say anything but what I have said,
unless I make a story.â€
“Very well, we shall see. I know you went
out with Ernest, I saw you together.â€
TOPH REAPPEARS. 105
“O, Miss Jane!†exclaimed Susan, bursting
into the room in haste, “I declare if that Toph
ain’t back again in the nursery, a-sittin’ on the
window-sill, just as he used to be long ago.â€
“Toph, who is Toph?†asked the lady rising,
while Harry hurried to the nursery to see what
Susan meant.
She explained to Miss Jane all about it, and
wound up by giving it as her opinion that the
bird was unlucky, nothing less than an evil
spirit.
« Absurd!†pronounced the practical lady; “an
evil spirit, indeed! I am surprised that you can
be so ignorant and superstitious.†Whatever
form this bird assumed, Miss Jane determined to
encourage it, just to show that she was not either
one or other. As she followed Susan to the
nursery the poct passed them on his way out.
“T am getting uneasy about Ernest,†he said;
“T must walk over the common, and meet him if
he is coming this way.â€
“T think it’s Toph, sir, that’s come back again,â€
said Susan.
“Where is he?â€
“Tn the nursery, it seems,†replied Miss Jane.
He looked in and saw the bird sitting solemn
and sedate as of old on the window-sill, Harry
106 THE RIDE GROWS LONGER.
looking at it, and Ella pleased but half afraid of
it.
“Toph, Toph,†he called, and the bird flew in
slowly and lit on the table beside him.
“Tt is Toph,†he pronounced; “let no one hurt
or annoy him; his enemy, Farmer Jones, is gone.â€
“Ernest told me something about him,†said
Aunt Jane, approaching Toph caressingly, while
the poet turned away and walked rapidly through
the hall door, taking the direction of the com-
mon.
We left Ernest riding alone on the way to the
nearest village. For quite two miles he met no
one, then a little girl crossing the common saw
him, and noticing the bridle hanging down she
called to two schoolboys who were returning
from the village school to stop the horse. They
ran and shouted, but only with the effect of
starting the animal off at a quicker pace. These
schoolboys happened to be the sons of the Scotch
farmer who had settled down on the farm where
Toph’s enemy used to live, and they believed
they knew the little boy on the horse as a neigh-
bour, but they were not quite certain.
Still the horse galloped on, and Ernest, al-
though not so much afraid as when he started,
yet wondered when the animal meant to stop. He
THE PONY REACHES HOME. 107
had read the poem of John Gilpin, as what school-
boy hag not, and it oceurred to him forcibly that
he was very like a picture of John, clasping the
horse round the neck and flying along. By
degrees the horse began to slacken his pace till
they came opposite an avenue. Here he turned
up at an easy trot, and cantered on till he came
to a full stop opposite the front door of a pretty
straggling country house with an ivy-covered
gable and rose-covered porch. As he dismounted
he noticed a lady sitting away back in the par-
lour pointing a little girl to the open window.
08 NEW ACQUAINTANCES.
“Run out,†she was saying, “and ask the little
boy to come in.â€
But the child was too late; her sister had
noticed their old gray horse canter up with a
strange little boy on his back without any hat,
and she was now standing beside him.
“Where did you come from, little boy,†she
asked, “and how did you get our pony?â€
“Ts it your pony?†asked Ernest.
“ Of course it is,†she replied impatiently, “but
how did you gct him?â€
Had it been Harry he would have at once
invented a story, but Ernest never thought of
that; he told the truth plainly, and by this time
the lady inside and the little girl had come out
to look at him.
“Tt is most surprising,†said the lady, “that
you could come safely all that way. What is
your name?†she asked.
AMELIA. 109
“Ernest Macleod,†he replied, “and I am afraid
papa and aunt will be frightened at me not
going home for tea.†The lady thought for a
moment, she knew the name.
“Your papa is a poet, is he not?†she asked.
Ernest replied in the affirmative.
“Tf you come in and sit down Amelia will get
you some tea, and we shall send you home safely.
Why, you look quite pale and tired, you must
have been frightened.â€
“T was frightened at first,†said Ernest. He felt
as if he could ery, the lady spoke so kindly to
him when he expected she would be angry at
him for riding on her horse.
“Run round to the kitchen and send Peter,â€
said the lady to Amelia, “then come and get
some tea for Ernest.†As she spoke she took
the little boy’s hand and led him into the pretty
parlour, and the other little girl brought him a
low chair. He thanked her and sat down. He
noticed that she was older than Ella, but not
so old-fashioned looking in the face. Meantime
the lady gave the servant boy directions to ride
the horse back again, and tell Mr. Macleod that
his boy was safe, and would be home during
the evening.
“If you please,†said Ernest, rising after he
110 TEA IN THE ARBOUR.
had rested for a few minutes, “I would rather go
back home if you will permit me.â€
“Are you not hungry?†asked the lady smiling,
“T always thought hard riding gave one an appe-
tite.†Ernest’s face flushed as he replied candidly:
“T am a little hungry, but I ought to be at
home.â€
“You are a good truthful boy,†she said ap-
provingly, “and I have sent Peter to tell your
papa that you are safe, so you may rest con-
tentedly.†Ernest thanked her. He felt grate-
ful, for he was tired after his exciting ride.
“Will you please come with me for tea?†said
Amelia, walking in through the French window.
“T have it in the arbour at the foot of the
garden,†she said to her mamma.
Ernest thought he had never seen such a wise
womanly looking little girl She wore her dress
longer than usual, and he noticed as she walked
before him that she had a slight halt. That was
the secret of her wise looks; she had suffered.
They soon reached the arbour, and Amelia
poured out the tea, trying to look grave and
motherly. After tea was over she had a long
chat with Ernest, and he confided to her all
about his trouble in losing his mamma, and told
her of his sister Ella, and how much he wished
THE VIOLIN. 111
she might know her. In fact they became quite
good friends, for Amelia believed in fairies, and
felt my presence with Ernest.
After tea she took him to a little room she
called her own; it opened off a conservatory filled
with choice flowers, and she took down a violin
and played some soft sweet airs upon it, till
Ernest’s eyes actually filled with tears.
“You play beautifully,†he said.
“T have practised a great deal,†she replied.
“JT have been ill for years, and that has been my
companion; I love it. Should you like to play?
You seem as if you loved music.â€
“So I do,†replied Ernest, “but I have never
heard music like that. Why, it is like the sigh-
ing of the wind sometimes, and again like falling
water.â€
112 HOME BY A WATER-COACH.
“You are a true musician,†she said earnestly,
“when you can hear the music in such sounds;
few can.â€
“On your favourite theme again, Amelia,†said
her mamma, coming in. “I am sorry to say it is
time for Ernest to go home, that is if you mean
to accompany him.†Amelia looked question-
ingly at her mamma.
“Yes, we were thinking you could go along
in your boat and harness Fanny to it. Ernest
lives on the shores of the lake at the wide part,
he could tell you when you came opposite his
house, and the man is going over again to pay for
some hay at the farm, and he will come back
with you.â€
“O, how nice!†cried Amelia, and she ran off to
get on her hat. Mrs. Campbell—that was the
lady’s name—provided a hat for Ernest to wear
on hig return, and she desired him to remember
her to his papa, as they had been friends when
they were children many years ago. Ernest
promised very readily, and Mrs. Campbell and
the other little girl, who was called Ada, accom-
panied him down by a meadow path,and across the
road to the edge of the water where a nice boat
lay, and Peter the boy was harnessing a goat to
it. Ernest expressed his surprise and admiration
THE CHARM OF MUSIC. 113
at the plan. Then Amelia joined them, and
seated herself in the boat at the tiller, while Peter
gave Ernest a long whip, just to touch up Fanny
now and again. Mrs. Campbell kissed Ernest and
hoped he would visit them often, and Ada kissed
him, then he too got into the boat, and Fanny
started off quite pleasantly. Ernest watched the
lady standing on the bank, till a bend in the lake
hid her from his sight. Then he touched up the
goat a little, and began to talk with Amelia.
It is curious how a little incident may influence
the whole course of a human life. This run-
away horse affected all Ernest’s future in a strange
fashion.
As they glided along, the talk turned upon
Amelia’s favourite study, music, and she hinted
that if her mamma permitted, and his papa had
no objection, she would be glad to teach Ernest
(171) H
114 FINDING OLD FRIENDS.
what she knew, or he might take lessons from
the blind violin player who came over from the
village twice a week to teach her. The very
thought of this filled the boy’s heart with delight,
and he determined to ask his papa’s permission
at once.
It was quite twilight when they came opposite
the meadow and the grove of trees, beyond which
the gables and chimneys of the poet’s house could
be seen; and standing on the bank, Ernest first
saw his papa, and beyond him, the figure of a
man looking gigantic in the fading light. This
was the servant waiting to return with Amelia.
Ernest knew then how dearly he was loved by
his father, when he felt the warm clasp of his
hand, and saw the bright look in his face as he
said:
“Safe and sound, my boy, after all.†Then he
knew his papa had heard all about it, and he
should not have to tell anything.
“And so you are the eldest daughter of my
old friend,†he said to Amelia. “Do you know,
my dear, that when I was a boy like Ernest we
used to be playmates, your mamma and I.â€
Amelia looked at him shyly.
“And you are a great poet, sir, I have read
one of your books,†she said.
AUNTY IS PLEASED FOR ONCE. 115
“Why, you are only a child; could you care for
them?†he asked curiously.
“T am eleven years old,†she said with her own
quiet dignity.
“She’s been delicate, sir, nearly all her life,â€
said the man; “an’ she’s always been readin’ an’
thinkin’.â€
“Ah! yes, that’s it,†said the poet. “I hope you
will be friends with Ernest. Tell your mamma
that I am glad to know she is such a close neigh-
bour; we must see each other frequently.â€
Then Ernest said good-bye to Amelia, and the
man took the whip and turned the goat back by
the way they came. Ernest and his papa stood
on the bank watching the boat as long as it
could be seen in the fading light, and Amelia
waved her hand as a good-bye, and they walked
up to the house and straight into the parlour,
where Miss Jane sat knitting very rapidly.
She showed the nearest approach to pleasure
Ernest had yet seen on her face, as he came in
at the door.
“J am pleased you are safe,†she said; then
checking herself, she put on her usual manner.
“But you ought not to have mounted a strange
animal. I had no idea you could be so thought-
less.â€
116 A ROD IN PICKLE.
Ernest went over without noticing her altered
manner, and kissed her withered cheek.
“Yes, I was thoughtless, Aunty, but I won't
do such a thing again,†he said.
There was no word of blame for another, no
saying Harry led me to do it; Ernest was too
brave for that.
Miss Jane looked at her brother meaningly, as
she set a basin of bread and milk (it was cream
that night) on the table before Ernest, and ordered
him to sit down and eat that before he said a
word more.
“A nice trouble [ have had to keep it warm
for you,†she said sharply to cover her pleasure.
Ernest knew the sharpness was only put on,
although most children would not have known it.
“JT think it is best allow it to pass; he is
going away soon.†This was said in a low tone
by the poet as he turned to leave the room.
“ Let it pass indeed!†said Miss Janeindignantly.
“It is only a matter of justice and truth, it would
be a sin on my soul if I allowed it to pass for
the sake of saving myself a little unpleasantness.
I have observed with pain that your principles
are lax, your—â€
“Oh, pray, do what you like,†exclaimed the
poet, opening the door and retreating quickly
UNPLEASANT FOR HARRY. 117
“Anything to save myself a lecture,†he said
half aloud as he ascended to his own study.
“But I believe to punish a culprit is a pleasure
to my amiable sister, no matter what she makes
herself believe. Justice and no mercy is her
motto.â€
Miss Jane’s indignation was at its fiercest as
she sat knitting, while Ernest eat his bread and
milk, all unconscious of the storm brewing so
near him. It was very little wonder that the
good lady felt so, when I found that the man
who had been sent to the farm was crossing the
field just as Harry gave the horse a cut with his
whip and sent it off He had followed as quickly
as possible, and on the way he had met the boy
his mistress had sent to tell the poet that his son
was safe. He accompanied him, saw Miss Jane,
and told her all he had seen, and how he was sur-
prised that the young gentleman wasn’t killed;
and how that other young gentleman was a born
mischief. In the latter opinion Miss Jane quite
agreed; and when the man left, she sent to the
garden for Harry, and without saying one word
to him about what she heard, she ordered him
into the nursery. The grim look on her face
frightencd him, and he obeyed at once. Then
she turned the key in the door, and told him he
118 A FEARSOME SOUND.
might stop there with his conscience for com-
pany till she let him out.
Meantime Ella had been put to bed, and al-
though she stated that she would not sleep till
Ernest came home, she soon forgot, and slept as
usual. I could see that, for while he was engaged
with his bread and milk I slipped away to
visit Harry, curious to find how he bore his
imprisonment; and I peeped into Ella’s room in
passing.
It was almost dark in the nursery, and although
there were candles, Harry could find no matches.
Evidently he had tired himself out in hunting
for something to amuse him, and it was too dark
to read now. The window stood open, and he
sat with his elbows on the table staring straight
out at the mountain. As I said before, the
nursery was at the back of the house, so that he
had not heard Ernest come in. Harry was a
coward, and full of superstitious fears. He
thought as he gazed that the shadows of the trees
looked like so many giants, and he felt as if he
could scream out. While he was in this state
a rustling sound was audible at the window.
He started up and crouched down in the farthest
corner of the room, covering his face with his
hands; then he heard the name Ernest pronounced
A GUILTY CONSCIENCE. 119
distinctly, followed by an ominous croak. He
could bear no more, but with a shriek of terror
he rushed towards the door and flung himself
against it, as a black object flew into the room
and settled on the table.
“What is all this noise about?†asked Miss
Jane as she opened the door candle in hand.
“It’s a—it’s a ghost,’ replied Harry as he fled
out into the passage. But Miss Jane was too
quick for him. She grasped him by the arm,
and turned him round.
“Ghost, indeed! look there, it is only the
raven.†And she held up the candle, so that the
light fell upon Toph seated on the table.
“But I heard a voice,†said Harry humbly.
“A voice! I shouldn’t wonder at all if your
conscience spoke to you; what did you do with
Ernest? answer me,†she said, shaking him by
the arm.
“J—I; he isn’t killed, is he?â€
“That's not owing to your care of him,†she
replied angerly. And still holding his arm, Miss
Jane marched him along to the parlour, where
Ernest was sitting at the table, with his basin
pushed to one side and a book before him.
On seeing him Harry hung his head, while Miss
Jane closed the door, and told him how she
120 HARRY IS PACKED OFF.
knew all from the servant-man, and that she
suspected as much before, and now he was to be
sent home in the morning; and she would write
a letter to his father and say he was never, never
to visit Mountain House again. The last punish-
ment was hardest to bear, and Harry burst
into tears. Ernest pleaded with his aunt to
forgive Harry for this time; he was certain
he never thought, when he struck the horse
with the whip. But Miss Jane would not
hear a word. Any boy that could deny what he
had done, and look so innocent too all the while,
must be bad at heart, and quite fit for any crime,
murder not excepted; that he struck the horse,
and sent him off, so that Ernest might be thrown
and killed, she believed firmly.
This was going too far. Harry had intended to
have a little fun out of Ernest, but he had no
idea the horse would run off in such a fashion;
in fact he did not trouble himself to think much
about the matter, at all.
I have noticed that selfish children are always
thoughtless of others, and in this way they
manage to work as much evil to those around
them as the wilfully vicious do.
Early the following morning Miss Jane, with
her usual promptitude, had Harry’s clothes packed
A PARTING CAUTION. 121
up, and accompanied him to the town, where the
train would take him home.
“T’m not going to have a boy like that in the
house for an hour longer than I can help,†she
said to her brother at breakfast.
I know that not a soul in the house said good-
day to Master Harry with any feeling but one
of satisfaction.
He was sorry to go away from his freedom,
and begin school work again. Above all, it pun-
ished him sorely that he should never return to
the hospitable house where he had spent so
many happy days.
I did not accompany him, for I felt quite re-
lieved when he went away; but on her return
I heard Miss Jane tell her brother what she said
to him at parting.
“Remember, my boy, that deceit is always-sure
to be found out and punished in this world, as
well as in the next.â€
CHAPTER VIIL
HOW ELLA RAN AWAY.
is Miss Jane got rid of Harry, to her great
ce satisfaction, and the course of daily life
a> e ran quietly for a time at Mountain House.
Toph became a pretty regular visitor, and
his sober looks and modesty of demeanour won
for him at least toleration from the servants, and
the kind regards of Miss Jane; in fact she petted
him.
Although Mrs. Campbell’s family lived two
miles distant, yet Ernest was permitted to visit
them regularly, and his papa had no objection to
his cultivating the love for music he had so
rapidly developed. Once or twice Amelia visited
Mountain House, and although Miss Jane liked
the little girl she would not accede to her request
that Ella should accompany her brother some-
times when he came to see them.
“No, no,†she replied firmly, “in my young
ERNEST APPEALS IN VAIN. 123
days little girls and boys of her age were kept at
home till they learned how to conduct themselves
in company. Ella is not at all well mannered
for her age, indeed she is rather wild. She can-
not be trusted from home yet.â€
At first Ella did not much mind Ernest going
away to visit his new friends; but after she had
seen Amelia and heard of Ada she wanted to go
very much, and resented her aunt’s authority in
a manner which Ernest was shocked at. He
spoke to her, but Ella only sulked all the more,
and she was in the sulks for two days at least.
Matters came to a climax when one evening
Amelia came over in her boat to invite Ernest
and Ella to spend the following day. They were
going down the lake, and intended having a pic-
nic onthe common. Miss Jane heard that several
friends were to be there, and as usual she refused
to allow Ella to go. She would be better fit to
take care of herself next year.
“Could she not go just for this once?†asked
Ernest.
“If there were any grown-up people going,
Ernest, she might, but as you are all only chil-
dren, and just able to take care of yourselves, I
could not think of trusting Ella; but she needn't
know anything about it.â€
124 ELLA IN THE SULKS.
Of course Amelia promised not to tell her;
but the following morning, when Ella met Ernest
walking through the hall dressed in his best
clothes, she guessed what it meant, and after he
had gone Susan told her all about it.
That morning Ella was particularly tiresome
to Aunt Jane. She blotted her copy-book, and
would not do her sums right. In fact she
seemed to forget that one and one made two.
Learning to spell a few words seemed a task far
beyond her powers, and at lenoth Aunt Jane
suggested that she should carry her book out to
the garden and learn her lesson there. Ella con-
sented to this readily, but once among the flowers
she forgot all about the troublesome spelling, and
she amused herself by chasing a butterfly till her
aunt’s voice recalled her to a sense of her duty.
Of course she had not learnt one word, and her
aunt took her inside the house and up to her
own room where she locked her in.
I was curious to see how she would act, so I
followed her. She didn’t ery, but when her aunt
was gone she put down her book on the dressing-
table and began to look out of the window. I
could see she was very cross and sulky, and had
made up her mind not to learn a word. Aunt
Jane came up to her in about twenty minutes,
UNDER PUNISHMENT. 125
took her book, and asked her to spell the first
word; but Ella did not know it.
“You have not tried to learn, Ella; you know
it is very naughty of you,’ said the good lady.
“Perhaps if I put you in the empty room you
will have nothing to take your attention offâ€
and she led the little child down-stairs and shut
her in an empty room at the back of the house,
but she did not lock her in this time. Ella made
no answer.
“Now I shall return in twenty minutes; surely
you can learn five words in that time if you try;â€
and again Miss Jane went away.
I saw that a naughty temper had quite taken
possession of Ella, She could have easily learnt
the words, but when she looked out of the win:
dow at the bright sunshine, and saw the little
birds flitting through the trees, her heart grew
harder, and she resolved not to learn one single
word for her aunt, because she had prevented
her from accompanying Ernest. She put down
her book upon the window-sill, and buried her
face in her hands. I thought how much happier
the child would have felt in doing right instead
of wrong, for I saw she did not seem at all
satisfied with herself.
Presently she heard a footstep approaching the
126 A TERRIBLE SCRAPE
door, and she turned from the window and stood
pouting near the middle of the room. There
was a very fretful look upon her face as she put
her finger in her mouth. If she had had a
kind mamma, who would have kissed her and
coaxed her, or had
even a kind word
been spoken to her,
the hard little heart
would havesoftened
and the stubborn
will given way.
Toph had been sit-
ting on his usual
tree opposite this
window, for it was
the room below the
nursery. Hewatched
Ella as she stood
with her head on her hands, and when she turned
away he flew down, and picking up the book from
the window-sill he carried it off in his strong
beak. The door opened and Miss Jane looked in.
“Well, Ella?—why, is it possible you are
standing there without your book? But I sup-
pose you know your lesson;†and the lady walked
in,
ELLA IN DISGRACE. 127
Ella did not speak a word.
“Get your book instantly,†ordered Miss Jane.
The child turned slowly to the window, but to
her amazement she found it was gone.
“Tt has gone away, Aunty,†she said simply.
“Gone away!†ejaculated Miss Jane, coming
over to the window, her patience nearly exhausted.
“You naughty child, you have thrown it out of
the window.â€
« Ain't naughty; ain’t thrown it out,†screamed
Ella, stamping her little foot with anger.
“You have told me an untruth,’ said Miss
Jane severely, “and you must be punished.â€
Then she ran out through the hall, and hunted
about upon the grass for the book, but no book
was to be found. The good lady was completely
at her wits’ end. That the child had made away
with the book somehow she had no doubt at all,
so ringing the bell for Susan she desired her to
give Ella her dinner in the nursery, and to see
that she should not get out all the afternoon, as
she had not only refused to learn her lesson, but
had destroyed or hidden her book. Susan had no
doubt that Ella was guilty, for she knew how the
child hated learning with her aunt.
So all that bright afternoon little Ella was
kept a prisoner, her only solace leaning her
128 WANTING A KIND WORD.
elbows on the window-sill and staring out into
the garden. Toph sat up in his old tree blinking
down at her. He knew there was something
amiss when she stood there instead of running
about in the garden, but what it was of course
he could not understand. Cook brought up some
bread and milk for Ella’s supper, and Susan,
anxious to get the child out of her way, hurried
her to bed.
Now most people would say Ella was very
naughty, and I say so too; but her punishment
was far greater than it should have been, and
Miss Jane believed she had made away with her
book, and would not credit her word. She went
~ to bed in a half stupid fashion, feeling a kind of
dull misery, and a great hungering for one kind
look or word.
“There, now, go to sleep fast. I’m sure you’ve
been naughty enough for one day,†said Susan
as she left the room.
“Want Ernest,†she said as the girl was going
out; but no attention was paid to this appeal. It
suddenly occurred to Ella that she had forgotten
to say her prayers, so she slipped out of bed and
repeated something I did not understand, because
she only repeated the words without thinking of
them. Somehow she felt the better for it, and
AUNT JANE’S OPINION OF FIDDLERS. 129
presently she fell asleep. I had not left the
room when Ernest entered and approached the
bed on tiptoe.
“Poor little Ella,†he said as he kissed her
gently, “Aunt says you have been naughty; I
wish I had stopped at home with you.â€
Ella slept on, only turning her head uneasily
and moaning slightly; then Ernest left as quietly
as he had entered. I followed him down to the
parlour, and heard him tell Aunt Jane all about
the day’s outing, and about the progress he had
made on the violin.
“J can’t think why your father should permit
you to be a fiddler, Ernest,†she said. “In our
country fiddlers and poets were thought poor
bodies, harmless enough, but not with all their
wits about them like other folks.†Ernest’s face
tushed.
“ Papa is a poet, Aunty.â€
“Well, yes, it seems as if people like his poetry
now, and it pays him; but, dear me, when his
father first found him out he was nearly wild,
and I thought no good could come of it either.â€
“ But you sce good has come of it, Aunty.â€
“Ah! well, perhaps so, but I don’t approve of
people making money by new ways and near
cuts, and as to you making a living as a fiddler,
(171) I
130 THE LOST BOOK.
why, that is absurd. Dear me, I remember the
blind fiddler who used to go about when I was a
girl; he did play beautifully, and there was some
excuse for him too, he couldn’t work.â€
“But I might be a composer one day, Aunty.
When I am alone I can imagine all sorts of
beautiful sounds floating about, and they weave
themselves into a measure in my mind, and then
I can play them.†Miss Jane shook her head
solemnly.
“T don’t like it, Ernest, it is folly and nonsense;
I wish you could be sensible, and take to some-
thing definite and solid.†Ernest smiled as he
replied:
“T cannot help fancying, Aunty, no more than
I can help breathing;†and I knew he spoke the
truth.
“Then, my poor boy, I am afraid your brain is
a little gone, or if it isn’t it will be in time.â€
“TI hope not, Aunty,†he replied; then he said
good-night and went up quietly to his own room.
On the following morning Miss Jane had a
thorough search for Ella’s book, but of course it
was not to be found, and the child persisted in
denying any knowledge of its whereabouts.
Even Ernest had his doubts as to her truth,
knowing that there was only one book in the
ELLA MAKES HER ESCAPE. 131
house suitable for her, and another would have
to be written for to London before she could
begin again. No one thought of blaming Toph,
for no trick could be laid to his charge since his
return, and Miss Jane had no personal experience
of his former cleverness.
“T’m afraid I must only shut Ella up till the
book is found,†said her aunt after breakfast.
The threat was intended to frighten the child
into telling where the book was hidden.
Ernest went into his papa’s study as usual, and
Miss Jane pretended to take no notice when she
saw Ella glance towards her slyly as she slipped
out of the breakfast room. She took her sun-
bonnet from the hall table and walked out into
the garden.
“T suppose she’s gone to find the book,†thought
her aunt as she went out of the room about some
business.
But Miss Jane was very much mistaken indeed;
I knew Ella had made up her mind to run away.
She couldn’t bear it any longer; even Ernest
thought she had hidden the book, and papa had
looked reprovingly at her.
In a very short time she left the garden and
ran down the avenue and out by the front gate.
Once on the road she ran very fast for fear some
132 ALONE IN THE COMMON.
one might follow her and bring her back. She
soon reached a stile where she had been before
with Susan, and she passed through and into the
meadow-path. A sharp walk brought her across
this, and then she came out on the common. A
sweet breeze was blowing from the mountains,
bearing with it the scent of gorse and heather,
mingled with the fragrance of new-mown hay.
Something seemed urging her on further and
further, till, quite weary and exhausted, she
reached the outskirts of the plantation where
Fanny had rested three years before.
It was about mid-day, and Ella felt both tired
and hungry. So once under the shelter of the
trees, she sat down on a trunk she found con-
venient, and resting her chin on her hands she
fell asleep. She believed herself now perfectly
safe from pursuit, and almost at the end of the
world. A whole army of wasps, fancying that
her bonnet would make a good nest, advanced in
single file to take possession, but a gentle little
sound, somewhat louder than ordinary breathing,
warned them off, and Ella’s bonnet was saved
from being turned into a wasp’s nest. A rabbit
scampering past, stopped to stare at her, and
shortly afterwards she opened her eyes and
started to her feet.
SOMEBODY SHOWS HER THE WAY. 133
The short sleep had refreshed her, and she
hurried on through the grove of trees and out
upon the open common. She saw the sheep with
delight, they were companions for her. Still
further on a countryman met her.
“Lost your way, little un?†he said kindly;
“b’longs to the Sunday-school treat, I'll be bound.
Well, just ahint the hill you'll meet a lot of your
playmates,†and he pointed in the direction.
Ella had put her finger in her mouth when he
began to speak to her; but when she found he
134 A NEW WORLD.
was not going to carry her back home she re-
gained her courage and thanked him prettily,
running off in the direction he indicated, because
it was still further from home. The new world
she had discovered was a very pleasant one,
WM
< a
SY
\ m
We
she thought, if only she could find something to
eat; it must be almost dinner time. As Ella
passed through a clump of trees she noticed a
group of children below her, and they soon noticed
her, for one of the elder girls ran to meet her,
picked her up in her arms, and carried her down
to the others. I heard one of the little girls
remark to another as she saw the girl carry Ella
towards them.
“SHE HAS COME WITH THE INFANTS.†135
“She’s one of the infants, I suppose she has
strayed away.â€
Presently Ella was set down on her feet beside
these two, and they began to ask her questions.
“Do you live in any of the farms about here?â€
asked one of the girls. Ella shook her head.
“T am sure she has come with the infants.
There is a whole van full of them.â€
Come with the infants! The words roused
Ella’s attention, and she remembered that Susan
told her infants came down from heaven in
a basket. Of course she had come with the
infants, there was no doubt at all of that in her
mind.
“How did you come here, pretty little dar-
ling?†asked the little girl with the Scotch cap.
“ Comed wif the infants,†replied Ella promptly.
“Wants to go back wif them.â€
“Why, they are gone half an hour ago,†said
the elder girl who had picked Ella up. “It isa
long drive, and they'll be late enough. I suppose
she can come with us.†This was said to the
girl with the Scotch cap.
“O, yes, of course; there’s plenty of room in the
van for the little dear.â€
«Wants somefing to eat,†said Ella.
“Of course. I suppose you went away before
136 A DELICIOUS LUNCHEON.
the infants had luncheon?†Again Ella nodded
her head; she could not remember that time at
all, but this girl seemed to know all about it.
Then the big girl took her up in her arms once
more, and they all walked very fast till they came
to a great tree, with more children gathered
under its shade, and the pretty gentle lambs
browsing close beside them. There was a swing
too, and one little girl ran on before and got
into it.
Presently two young men, the teachers or
superintendents, came up, and the oldest girl put
Ella on the other side of the tree, so that they
should not see her, and perhaps blame her for
running away from the other infants; and she
got some sandwiches out of a basket for Ella.
The child thought them delicious, and when she
finished off with a jam tart she rose up quite a
new creature, and ready to ramble off in com-
pany with her friend. Presently a horn was
heard sounding, and all the children hastened
across the common to the highroad. Ella’s
friend, who was called Polly, carried her most
of the way, and there was a fine coach, as Ella
thought, but it was only a brightly painted van
with canvas awnings to keep off the sun, and it
was drawn by four horses. Ella could have
os
ONE INFANT OVER, 137
screamed with delight, but she contented herself
with putting her arms round her new friend’s
e
neck and kissing her. They stepped in first th
little girl with the Scotch cap and the others
followed. Then there was a fuss to see if all the
children were there.
“Mary Grey went with the infants,†whispered
138 A MERRY RIDE
Polly to the others; “say nothing, for this is one
of the infants here who got lost.â€
Then the gentlemen came over hastily and
counted heads. The number was all right, and
the driver got the order to start, while the two
gentlemen and two lady teachers came on in a
trap behind. Then there was a lot of tittering
among the children, and settling down into their
seats; and the coachman cracked his whip, and’
the four horses started off merrily, the blue
ribbons on their ears flying in the wind.
They had gone about a mile when a light cart
passed them. Through the curtains Ella could see
it was the grocer’s boys who came once a month
for orders to Mountain House. She shrank well
back, although there was no chance of them seeing
her. She heard one of them speak to the driver.
“Did you see a little girl along the road any-
where?†he asked; “or among the fields?â€
“ Lots of ’em,†he replied laughing.
“But this child has strayed away from home,
and they’re in a bad state about her.â€
“Ain't seen her,†replied the coachman, as he
pulled a little to one side to allow the cart to
pass. “We've got our lot all right; good-day.â€
“ Good-day,†replied the young grocer, and Ella
was delighted as she saw the cart shoot ahead.
FEARS FOR LITTLE ELLA. 139
I wondered what Ernest would feel, and I
determined to leave Ella and return to Mountain
House. Again we passed the cart, it was stopping
opposite a farmhouse, and the boy went in for
some orders, I suppose. I took a blue-bottle fly
prisoner, and taking my seat between its wings
L ordered it to return by the way I desired to
go. We passed close by the grocer’s ear, as he
started once more on the road.
“JT shouldn’t wonder but the little one tumbled
into the lake and was drowned,†the boy said.
I laughed to myself, thinking what fools they
were. Then I whispered to my blue-bottle, and
in a few minutes more we were inside the nursery
of Mountain House.
CHAPTER IX.
HOW ELLA’S RUN-AWAY ENDED.
Gens
» G HAVE noted that human beings who seem
e;> hardest and firmest to others are frequently
at heart softest and most yielding, and they
put on the contrary appearance to prevent people
imposing upon them.
So it was with Miss Jane. She did not wish
to confine Ella, but, acting as if she forgot all
about her, and believing that the child was
idling in the garden as usual, she took no notice
of her movements till dinner-time. Then when
the poet and Ernest came in and took their seats
in answer to the bell, Ella was asked for. After
his lessons Ernest had gone for a walk with his
papa. I learned all this by degrees, and during
the excitement her absence threw the whole
family into. Susan was summoned, but she
believed Ella had been with her aunt, and she
was busy assisting at ironing linen in the laundry.
A SEARCH FOR A CHILD. 141
The grounds had been searched, the house almost
turned upside down, and there was no sign of
the child. Then the horrible dread that she had
wandered to the lake and fallen in, took posses-
sion of her papa, and a search was organized,
the neighbouring farmer and his men turning
out with a will to render aid. Ernest hurried
off to Mrs. Campbell’ with the hope that she
might give him some hint or help in the search.
As he passed through the garden he saw Amelia
at a distance in one of the paths. He ran to-
wards her, and found that she was studying a
spider’s web. Suddenly the thought arose in his
mind, “ Perhaps some one has stolen Ella, some
gypsy or evil person, and they may be even now
holding her as that spider is holding the fly.â€
He soon explained to Amelia what had hap-
pened.
“Don’t you know that the Sunday-school chil-
dren have been down for their treat?†she said;
142 A DREADFUL HiNT.
“what if Ella had gone to play with them, and
wandered so far that she lost her way?â€
“That we thought of,†replied Ernest; “but
she is nowhere on the common between our
house and here.â€
“She might be in the wood beyond. I'll start
off at once and search,†she proposed.
She ran into the house for her bonnet, and
Mrs. Campbell came out to talk with Ernest
and comfort him. She thought there was no
danger of Ella being drowned, but that most
likely she had lost her way.
Then Amelia started in one direction, and
went on wonderfully fast considering her lame-
ness, and Ernest went in another.
There were long shadows falling across the
paths as he ran along calling, “Ella, Ella,†as
Willic had called when Fanny got lost; but there
was no mocking voice to reply now, for Toph
did not care about taking such a long journey.
“What's the matter?†asked a man Ernest sud-
denly found himself face to face with. The boy
explained.
“ Well, there’s no fear of mad Peg catching her
now, that’s one comfort. She’s been dead a year
and more, but she might be drownded, I shouldn't
wonder.â€
A FRIENDLY VOICE. 143
Ernest did not reply to this Job’s comforter.
To think of his dear little sister being drowned!
he could not, would not believe it. And although
ready to drop down with fatigue, he hurried on
faster than before, calling her name aloud as he
went, and again pausing to wipe the blinding
tears from his eyes.
At this particular point the road ran through
the wood, and Ernest had gone a considerable
distance towards the town to which the children
had been driven some hours before. A pony
phaeton, containing a little girl and a gentleman,
happened to pass just as Ernest once more cried
out, “ Ella, Ella,†in a despairing tone.
“May I go into the wood, please, papa?†asked
the little girl; “someone iscalling the child’sname.â€
I could hear and see her quite plainly as she
stepped out of the phaeton, climbed up the grassy
bank, and came in among the trees; but Ernest
was nearly wild with excitement and blinded
with tears, so that the little girl caught his arm
and shook him before he noticed her.
“Stop, please, and rest; you are tired, I can
see,†she said, as she almost forced him down
upon a grassy bank.
“Who are you?†he asked; “I must go and
look for my sister Ella.â€
144 GOOD NEWS.
“I am Effie Mason,†she replied simply, and
as if everyone ought to know her. “ Papa is the
clergyman. We went to see the children come
home from their drive and give them tea, and
we have found your little sister, at least we think
so; she was carried away in mistake for one of
the infants.†Here Ernest could control his
emotion no longer; the tears ran down his cheeks,
but he wiped them away quickly, ashamed of
himself.
“I am so glad,†he said in an apologetic tone,
“that I cannot help it.â€
“You needn’t mind me at all,†she said, as she
sat down and looked up into his face. “1’m not
a boy, to laugh at you for being fond of your
sister Ella, if that’s her name. This little child
is Ella, and she says she hates everybody but her
brother Ernest; and she wouldn’t leave Polly
Malcolm, the girl that picked her up, so papa and
I came to fetch her brother Ernest. And on the
way we heard that the poet had lost his little
daughter, and they were dragging the lake for
her, and—and we've found her, I’m almost sure,
and I’m so glad.â€
The little girl was so anxious and eager in
telling her story that she never noticed her papa
coming towards her through the trees.
A RAPID DRIVE. 145
Ernest, after explaining who he was, consented
at once to accompany them back, and her father,
the Rev. Mr. Mason, sent a man to tell Ernest’s
father that his little daughter was safe, for he
ee AS
felt certain she was sister to Ernest from a cer-
tain likeness in the expression of the faces.
The drive was a rapid one, but Ernest did not
think so, for he felt impatient.
At length the vehicle stopped before the door
of a large building which Ernest had noticed
when he came to the railway-station with his
(71) K
146 ELLA OBJECTS TO GOING BACK.
father. They were soon inside and among the
bright-faced happy children. Their entrance
attracted general attention, and Ernest’s eyes
wandered from group to group. Suddenly he
discovered at the further end of the room his
sister Ella seated on a girl’s lap. She was laugh-
ing and enjoying herself, apparently quite un-
conscious or careless of the trouble she had caused
at home.
“Ella, Ella, darling,†cried Ernest, rushing
towards her, and hecdless of the wondering looks
bent upon him, “we thought you had been
drowned;†and he clasped his arms round her
and kissed her.
She did not seem particularly delighted to
see him, but returned his caress in her usual
fashion.
“Won't go back wif you,†she said, shaking
her head gravely; “you stay here wif Ella.â€
“Do you know that papa wants you, and
aunty, and all of us?†he asked, chilled and dis-
appointed at her manner.
“Klla in heaben wif good childers,†she said
quite gravely; “wanted to go way from aunty.â€
“You cannot stop here,†said Mr. Mason in a
kindly tone; “all these children are going to
their homes; they don’t live here, you know.â€
POLLY. 147
“You can come and see them all again,†said
“fie Mason consolingly.
“May Ella go home wif you?†she asked
suddenly of the girl whose knee she sat upon.
The girl blushed and smiled, but shook her
head, then glanced timidly at Ernest.
“J think my father knows you,†she said.
Ernest was surprised, and looked it.
“He is the blind violin player,†she explained.
How curious that it should be the daughter of
the man he had a respect almost veneration for,
Ernest thought; and Ella clung to her as if she
had been an old friend, while the clerzyman
stood wondering how he should solve the diffi-
culty, and Polly felt embarrassed. Effie came to
the rescue.
“Polly can go with you to your home, Ella,â€
she said; “would you like that?â€
“Polly can come?†said Ella, looking at Ernest
questioningly.
“T suppose so, if she wishes,†replied Ernest, a
vision of his aunt’s stern face rising before him.
The girl had no objection to accompany them,
and Ella’s sun-bonnect was tied on, and as the
evening was getting rather chilly Effie Mason
wrapped one of her own warm scarves about the
child’s shoulders, and Polly carried her out and
148 AUNT JANE’'S PRAYER.
put her in the phaeton and sat beside her.
Ernest sat on the other side, while Mr. Mason
took the front seat with his coachman. Effie
said good-bye to Ella, and shook hands with
Ernest, hoping she might meet him again. He
hoped so too, and wondered if she knew Amelia,
for he thought they might be good friends.
The drive was pleasant to him, for everything
looked so weird and solemn by moonlight, the
mountains threw gigantic shadows across the
road, and the lake lay below white and pure as
silver. If the world were so beautiful, Ernest
thought, what must heaven be? Then a great
thankfulness arose in his heart, an unspoken
prayer for the safety of his little sister. I felt
they were likely to get home safely, so I left
Ernest—Ella had fallen fast asleep on Polly's
arm—and hastened to Mountain House before
them.
Of course they had heard of Ella’s safety, and
her father was sitting before the window in his
study, thinking some of his grand and beautiful
thoughts, which used to come when he was alone
in the moonlight, or midnight, or early morning.
I knew all about him pretty well now, but I did
not quite understand his sister Miss Jane, so I
left him and tried to find her. She was wander-
TOPH DETECTED. 149
ing about restlessly, and I could see that her
conscience troubled her sadly. She went down-
stairs and looked out of the hall door. All was
calm and still. Somchow a little of the calm
crept into her heart, and her lips moved silently.
She said, for I knew without a sound coming:
“Lord, help me to guide the child aright, teach
me for His sake who loved little children.â€
She raised her eyes to the clear sky as she
spoke, and saw a bird slowly winging its way
towards the house. She thought it must be
Toph, and stepping from the front door she
watched it wheel round the left gable and cross
the garden wall. Opening a door leading into
the back portion of the grounds she still followed
the course of the bird. Then she saw him alight
on the sill of one of the attic windows and dis-
appear inside.
The circumstance impressed her as curious, I
could see. At another time Miss Jane was not
liable to impressions, nor was she as a rule guilty
of the feminine sin of curiosity; but now she
never hesitated a moment, it would give her
something to do, and she went inside the house
once more, and ascended the stairs till she reached
the attic. She knew the gable window at which
Toph had entered, and since her arrival at Moun-
150 THE LUMBER-ROOM.
tain House she had frequently looked in at the
odd collection of lumber, as she called it, disposed
of here. One day she resolved to clear it up, but
she would wait the absence of her brother and
the children, because it was in the back of the
house, directly over the poet’s study, and she
knew he disliked clearing up of all things, at
least when conducted near him or overhead.
Now she walked in
boldly, and by the
moonlight she could see
Toph drag something
from under a bundle
of rags and paper, and
proceed to devour it.
The smell was far from
pleasant, but she knew the nature of these birds
was to hide any carrion they found, till it suited
them to dispose of it. She would allow the bird to
finish this time, but to-morrow the window should
be fastened. A nice thing indeed for him to use
this room as a store for his rubbish! She was
about to turn away when her eyes fell upon a jar
standing before a recess under the slates. Now
only the day before she had asked Susan for just
such a jar to hold some gooseberry wine, of which
Miss Jane was a famous brewer. Two only had
A SINGULAR DISCOVERY. 151
been produced, and here was a third of which no
one knew. She went over and took it up to find
if it were whole and sound, and then her eye
caught the gleam of something white in the
recess behind it. She stooped to pick it up, and
as she did so Toph suddenly discovered her
presence, and fluttered over to the window-sill,
croaking out his objections to his private pro-
perty being meddled with.
“Tt is Ella’s book; you must have carried it
here, and I wouldn't believe her. I see it all
now; she left it on the window-sill, and you
pounced upon it.â€
“ Croak, croak,†replied Toph.
He was very angry, but Miss Jane did not see
that.
“Susan did it,†he screamed, and then went off
into the string of names he used to know:
“Willie, Fanny, Fanny, Willie——Willie did it,
cat did it,’ and so on, till poor Miss Jane was
glad to retreat from Toph’s domain, carrying the
recovered book with her.
If any doubt lingered in her mind as to who
stole the book, the very legible mark of Toph’s
beak on the pink cover set it at rest.
She had scarcely reached the parlour when the
sound of wheels was heard outside the door,
152 A HAPPY RETURN.
and Susan hastened to open it. Ella, now wide
awake, was carried in by Polly; and her papa
had hurried down from his study to welcome the
lost lamb back again. They all went into the
parlour, and the poet thanked Mr. Mason for his
kindness, and Miss Jane spoke so stiffly no one
would guess how grateful she felt.
Now there was a difficulty no one seemed pre-
pared for. Ella insisted that Polly should undress
her and put her to bed. Miss Jane stood in
dumb amazement, and the two gentlemen, of
course, could not arrange the matter.
“Please come with her,†said Ernest, after an
awful pause, “I shall show you where her room
is.â€
Polly rose, glad to escape from the room, and
Ella kissed her hand to Aunt Jane and the
clergyman; she meant to see her papa again.
“Who is the girl?†asked Miss Jane anxiously,
after the door was closed.
“A very good girl indeed, madam,†replied Mr.
Mason, “daughter to a man I respect highly.â€
He went on to explain how the violin player
was also a composer, but from want of friends he
could not get his work recognized. He had two
daughters, and his wife was dead. This Polly
had got a fair English education, and a certain
A NICE WAY OF SPEAKING. 153
amount of training; she wished to go out as a
kind of nursery governess.
I knew he spoke with a purpose, and the poet
eould see that too, but Miss Jane heard the words
without catching their hidden meaning.
“Filla has taken a sudden fancy to the girl,â€
said her papa. “I wonder if â€â€”and he looked at
Miss Jane—“if she requires a governess yet? I
know she gives you a lot of trouble.â€
There was a struggle in the good lady’s mind
as she saw what her brother hinted at. Could
she resien her charge of the child just as she was
resolving to try a fresh experiment. But her
failure had taught her humility, and after a
moment's pause, during which the poet felt deeply
anxious, she spoke.
“Tf the young girl can teach her and manage
her better than I can, and I believe so, then you
should engage her.â€
“Perhaps she would enter into the feelings of
a child more readily, not having your wisdom
and experience, madam,†said the clergyman;
“and the salary paid her is of no importance,
compared with having her an inmate of a
Christian, well-regulated family such as yours.â€
I saw that the words pleased Miss Jane as they
were intended.
154 ELLA IS FORGIVEN.
“Of course the matter rests entirely with my
sister,†said the poet. “She has kindly under-
taken to manage the house for me. You will
excuse me for a few minutes; I would like to sce
Ella before she goes to sleep.â€
I knew why he left them; he wanted Miss
Jane to conclude the matter herself.
He met Polly coming down the stairs, and told
her to go into the parlour, as his sister wanted to
speak with her, then he passed to his own study.
Presently he heard the pattering of little feet
on the carpet, the door opened, and Ella in her
night-gown rushed over to his chair, while Ernest
followed more slowly.
“We've been telling her how naughty she has
been to run away, papa,†said Ernest, “and she
has come to tell you that she is sorry, and won't
do it again.â€
“Hilla sorry, papa,†she said, climbing up on his
knee, “but ain’t naughty ‘bout the book. Aunty’s
eross wif me for hidin’ it, but didn’t hide it.â€
“Very well, Ella, I believe you; but it looked
bad, you know, dear, and you have given us all
great pain and anxiety.â€
“May Polly stay wif Ella, papa?â€
“Tf your aunt thinks it right, dear.â€
“T think she would be able to teach Ella better
A QUIET TIME WITH PAPA. 155
than Aunt Jane,†said Ernest candidly, “and I
know her father: I would ask him if he could
spare her. ca A
i iu |
un H
em
in
iW ma
a
! hy
ll
IT
|
“Say nothing about it, my boy; we shall see
presently.â€
Then he took Ernest on his other knee, and
they all looked out at the lovely moonlight as
it fell on the waters of the lake, and the poet
tallked to them in a simple fashion of the shep-
156 ALL GOES WELL WITH ELLA,
herds sitting on the plains long ago on a bright
night like this, and the angel hosts coming in
the sky to tell them a little child was born who
would save them and all mankind, and how
they went to see the baby, and how the baby
grew up, and although he was wise and good, far
beyond the people around him, he obeyed his
mother and father in all things, and that little
children should follow his example if they
wanted to go to him in the beautiful home up in
the sky. Then he told them how He loved little
children, and how He died for them. And he
painted it all so plainly in words, about. the pain,
and the suffering, and the sorrow of that One so
innocent and pure and holy, that I could not
help melting to tears, so that I failed to observe
how Ella was impressed. I know that she went
away seeming very much subdued, and crept into
her bed quietly.
Then Miss Jane came up to say that she had
arranged for Polly coming the following day, and
as Mr. Mason was about to go her brother had
better come down. Ernest had gone down to the
parlour already.
When his papa came in he pressed the good
clereyman to stay for supper, but he declined, as
his little daughter would be anxious till his
AUNTY MAKES IT UP WITH HER. L5G
return. He promised, however, to drive over
frequently and visit them.
Then Polly took her seat in the phaeton, after
first thanking Miss Jane very humbly for pro-
mising her a trial as nursery governess.
“We shall expect you in the afternoon, Miss
Malcolm,†said Aunt Jane with more cordiality
than usual. “Of course she must be Miss Mal-
colm to the servants,†she explained to Ernest,
who looked in surprise at his aunt.
The following morning at breakfast Miss Jane
produced the missing book, and related where
she found it. In the fulness of her delight Ella
clasped her arms round her aunt’s neck and
kissed her. Then Aunt Jane told her that she
had engaged a young lady named Miss Malcolin
to be her governess, and she hoped Ella would
attend to her governess’s teaching better than
she had done to hers.
“May I have Polly sometime, Aunty?†she
asked humbly.
“We shall see about that, Ella?†replied the
lady smiling.
And Ernest could scarcely keep from laughing,
and papa smiled too, for he saw that Miss Jane
was unbending, and contriving a little surprise
for the child.
158 POLLY FOR GOVERNESS.
“Now run and play in the garden. Don’t
say a word, Ernest, till she sees the new gover-
ness,†whispered Miss Jane as he rose to follow
Ella.
As a rule children who are naughty enough to
run away suffer punishment, but the rule was
reversed in Ella’s case, and I know that the kind
treatment had a much better effect than severe
measures would have had. Her nature was one
to be led by kindness, but never by punishment.
Her delight when she found that her new
governess, Miss Malcolm, and Polly were one and
the same person, knew no bounds. She thanked
her Aunt Jane, and resolved to do her best to
please her, by attending to her lessons in future.
CHAPTER X.
A GYPSY AT MOUNTAIN HOUSE.
Â¥ GT was wonderful what influence Polly, or, I
PS ought to say, Miss Malcolm, had over Ella.
(> She taught the child by sympathy, and she
did not regard her labour as a toil, but rather a
pleasure. So that by degrees Ella began to learn
her lessons with pleasure, instead of, as formerly,
with pain and as a drudgery.
I have noted that to influence the minds of
children or young people, or old people either;
one must be able to feel with them, to put one’s
self, as it were, in their place, and realize all
their difficulties. Some consider it easy to teach
little children, or act as if they thought so; but
I know it ig not easy, and very few are fitted for
the task. Many a child has been discouraged and
mentally blighted by a hard unfeeling teacher.
The fall of snow had been so long continued
that Ernest found it impossible to visit Amelia
Campbell. Of course he had seen her after Ella’s
160 ERNEST LEARNS TO PLAY THE VIOLIN.
run-away, and Ella herself had visited Amelia in
company with her governess. However, Ernest
did not neglect his music, and as neither his aunt
nor his papa cared to hear the squeaks and
wailings of his violin, he carried the instrument
to the loft over the stable, and practised there
to his heart’s content.
Miss Malcolm knew something of musical
notation, and she instructed Ernest so far as she
was able; but he supplemented this by a book
on thorough bass and harmony, which he found
in his papa’s study. His violin was an ordinary
modern one, purchased by his father as a birth-
day present. Miss Jane told him he woulda
regret making his son such a present, and so
he did, for as time went on he found the boy’s
imind so completely occupied by the science of
music that he did not make such rapid progress
in Latin and other studies as formerly. Of course
Ernest tried his best to please his papa, but he
had not the love for dry details which he formerly
possessed, nor could he plod so diligently.
The poet had a long talk with his sister, and
it was concluded that Ernest ought to be sent to
school. Miss Jane objected to a boarding-school,
but suggested that, if her brother permitted, she
would write to their cousin, a great shipowner
PREPARING FOR SCHOOL. 161
and an unmarried man, to allow Ernest to live
with him, while he attended a public school in
the city or suburbs of London.
At first the poet objected, on the ground that
his wealthy relative might imagine he wanted
to interest him in his son. Miss Jane overruled
this, telling her brother that it was only fancy,
and till their relative showed some such feeling
they had no right to judge him.
So the letter was written, and a very cordial
answer returned. Then Ernest was informed of
the proposed change. He received the news
quietly, and commenced to get together those
valuable trifles which boys delight in. He did
not forget his rude attempts at musical com-
position, nor his beloved violin. It was arranged
that he should leave Mountain House in time
to begin school after the Christmas holidays;
and Miss Jane made up her mind to give a chil-
dren’s party previous to his departure.
She waited, with her usual prudence, for the
melting away of the snow, and when a heavy
frost had set in, and the roads were as hard as
iron, she wrote and despatched her invitations.
I followed the letter sent to Mrs. Campbell’s,
curious to see how Amelia would receive it, for I
took an interest in the poor lame girl. She had
(71) L
162 TOMMY—THE UNINVITED ONE.
a friend called Marion, and her brother Tommy
stopping with her for their holidays, and a -
council was held round the parlour fire as to
how they should arrange about going. Ada had
been invited, of course, but she had a severe cold,
and the doctor forbade her going out.
“Yuu can take Marion in place of her,’ pro-
posed Tommy.
“So I intended,†replied Amelia; “but what
will you do? I would take you, but I shouldn't
like to presume with Miss Jane.â€
“You sha’n’t take me like a baby,†said Tommy
manfully, “and I'll be there too, I bet.â€
“Shame, shame! we don’t bet, of course,†said
his sister; “he has learnt lots of slang at that
school of his.â€
WHAT DOES HE MEAN TO DO? 163
“ Never mind the betting,†interrupted Tommy,
“Tl be there, and without an invitation too; see
if I don’t.â€
The girls smiled at each other; they both knew
that Tommy was fond of practical joking, al-
though far from being, like Harry, a vicious boy.
“Will you tell us what you mean to do?†asked
Marion smiling.
“No, I won’t
tell you, Tl
manage it all by
myself, and it
is better you
should know
nothing of it |
beforehand.â€
I could see that Tommy meant what he said,
and so I started off for Mountain House, not
without a little curiosity as to what trick he
might play. Although I could read people’s
thoughts, his were too many for me, because he
hadn’t made up his mind himself, nor formed a
plan. I suppose, like many wiser people, he
determined to be guided by circumstances.
When I got near Mountain House I heard a
voice calling Toph, Toph, and I noticed Ella and
her governess at the open window of the nursery,
164 TOPH THE RAVEN SEEKS SHELTER,
waiting for the bird to come down to them.
He was sitting on the tree, his feathers all ruffled
up, and a really sad look upon his old cunning
face. I could see he was not at all so young or
strong as he used to be, and the cold was trying
him severely. Miss Jane had closed up his win-
dow too, so that he had no means of coming in
and going out at pleasure. I wondered if he would
come to them and take to living in the house at
last.
He hesitated for some time, then giving a
dismal croak he swooped down from his tree,
and flying in past Ella he perched upon the
table. Then the window was closed, and Toph
got a nice piece of meat from the kitchen. He
was too hungry even to think of hiding it for
the fun of finding it, but devoured it as if he
had eaten nothing for months.
Presently Miss Jane came in, and Toph gave
one dismal croak and flew to the top of a book-
case, where he ruffled up his feathers and sat
blinking down at her.
“T do believe that bird can’t forgive me since
Thad the window fastened against him, if creatures
like him have any sense. He knew I did it, and
that I found out the book he had stolen.â€
“Susan did it, the cat did it,†he said in his
THE EVENING BEFORE THE PARTY. 165
peculiar voice, now hoarse and harsh with a cold.
Ella laughed.
“Youre not anery with him, Ella?†asked her
aunt smiling; “he brought you into trouble.â€
“Filla couldn’t be cross long, Aunty,†she re-
plied.
“Poor Toph, he can’t help being mischievous,
I suppose,†said Aunt Jane. “I think we must
allow him to stop in the house during this cold
weather anyhow.â€
“Croak, croak, croak,†said Toph, by which he
meant to say, Thank you very much.
“You would think he understood what you
say, madam,†said Miss Malcolm.
“Toph knows very well,†said Ella decidedly.
During the evening the raven made his way
to his old room, and finding it “swept and gar-
nished,†he began speedily to take to himself all
the rubbish he could find in odd corners of
the house. Well for him that Miss Jane was too
busy to notice his goings on, or have a search in
the attic.
It was the evening before the party, and Ernest
and Ella could not but suspect something, for
the drawing-room had a great fire lit in it, and
all the little tables and ornaments were removed
or placed where they could receive no injury.
166 ADA’S PRESENT TO ELLA.
Ella coaxed her governess to tell her what it
meant, and she got permission from Aunt Jane
to tell both children that night before they went
to bed. The Rev. Mr. Mason’s family were to
come, including Effie, of course, and the Camp-
bells too. Ernest had met two boys, sons of the
local physician, at Amelia’s, and they had also
been invited, so that a pretty fair gathering of
children might be expected.
“J do hope it may keep nice and frosty all day
to-morrow,†said Ernest. “How good it is of
Aunt Jane to think of having a party for us! I
can scarcely believe it.â€
“ Aunty’s commin’ good,†said Ella; “and I
likes to live wif her now.â€
“Your aunt was always good, Ella,†said Miss
Malcolm reprovingly.
Then the children said their prayers and I left
them, determined to find, it possible, what Tommy
meant to do.
Next morning I went to Mrs. Campbell’s, and
saw Ada dressing a doll she meant to send to
Ella by her sister that evening. She did not
feel angry at being prevented from accompanying
her sister; I could see that she was not at all a
selfish child. Presently Tommy came in, while
I looked at her, and offered to take the doll for
TOMMY MEANS TO BE THERE. 167
her to Mountain House and give it to Ella.
When she asked him how he meant to go he
refused to tell her; and I knew he could not tell
yet himself.
“T wish some one could put the doll where
Ella would find it without knowing where it
came from; lay it down in this fashion.†And
Ada put the doll on
her lap, to show that
its eyes were closed,
and then took it up “<2
to show that they
opened when it was
lifted. “You see she
will think the doll
is alive, and it will be such a surprise for her.â€
“Tl do it,†said Tommy confidently.
I noticed that he had a long talk with the
grocer’s boy that morning, and I heard enough
to understand that Master Tommy was to get a
seat on the light cart as far as Mountain House,
late in the evening; and no one was to know
anything about it. I waited to see Amelia and
her friend set out to walk the two miles over the
frosty road, they gave themselves plenty of time,
and the trap was to be sent to bring them home
at ten o'clock.
168 THE GROCER’S BOY.
“So youre not coming after all, Tommy,â€
said Amelia as they walked away from the door.
“You would have lost your wager.â€
Tommy said nothing. I saw he was holding
back his wish to tell them what he meant to do, but
he only looked very foolish as they walked away.
“T do pity poor Tommy,†said Amelia, “he
will be dull.â€
“Never mind, he can keep Ada company,â€
said Tommy’s sister. And away they walked,
Amelia leaning on her friend’s arm, and the
wintry sun shining down upon them.
I preceded them to Mountain House, and
watched the guests arrive. They all went to
the drawing-room and had tea; then Miss Mal-
colm set them to play several games, blindman’s-
buff, and others equally well known. The poet
was present and enjoyed the fun like one of the
children, and Miss Jane forgot to be her usual
stiff self.
In the midst of the uproar I could hear a bell
ring at the servants’ door, and I hastened away
to see if Tommy had reached the house with the
grocer. I saw Cook stand in the hall, holding the
door open in her hand.
“T called, ma’am, as I was passing to see if you
wanted anything from town?†the boy said.
TOMMY’S SECRET ARRIVAL 169
At first Cook could remember nothing. She
was in a hurry seeing about supper, which had
to be served presently. Then it occurred to
her suddenly that she might require some
spice.
“Wait a minute; Ill see if the nutmegs is run
out.†She walked away, leaving the door open,
and then] saw Tommy entercarryingabundle. He
darted along the hall and ran up the back-stairs.
They landed him upon the first floor, where the
poet’s study stood, and where several passages
branched off. He was at a loss which way to
turn, but he very wisely concluded that he would
wait and hear how the fun was progressing
before making his preparations. The door of a
closet at the extreme end of a corridor stood half
open, and favoured this resolve. There was no
brilliant lighting up by gas, of course; an oil
lamp swung from an archway at the head of the
stairs, and only served to make the semi-dark-
ness of the passages visible, so Tommy had no
difficulty in concealing himself. He waited for
some time listening to the sounds of laughter and
merriment proceeding from the drawing-room,
and almost regretting his resolve. At length he
heard footsteps come upstairs; and voices which
he did not recognize. A door was opened, and
170 THE DOLL IN SAFE QUARTERS.
they passed in. Then one of the number came
out again, and a voice said:
“T cannot find the box of puzzles in the play-
room. Come up, Ella, and find them yourself.â€
“JT know where they are, Master Ernest,†said
Susan, “Miss Ella carried them to her own bed-
room.†The girl had advanced from one of the
dark passages.
“Thank you, Susan, Pll get them,†and Ernest
came quite near the closet where Tommy was
concealed, and threw open the door of a room.
“[Tve got it; she’s always carrying things
about,’ he said as he hurried down-stairs, two
boys following him.
So Tommy knew which was Ella’s room, and
he lost no time in undoing his bundle and taking
out the doll. Then he entered the little nest on
tiptoe. It was a small room opening on another
occupied by Miss Malcolm. He satisfied himself
the little pink curtained crib could belong to no
one but Ella, then he deposited the doll safely
between the sheets, and retreated noiselessly,
closing the door behind him. He was forced to
retreat to his closet again, for some girls came
up from below, and chatted and laughed on their
way to the play-room. After they had gone
Tommy crept out and explored, as he called it.
TOM HIDES IN THE ATTIC. 171
He found the foot of the stairs leading up to
the attic. It was like going into a dark cavern,
but Tommy was a bold little boy, and he thought
only of accomplishing what was in his mind, and
he dared not go into any of the rooms here lest
some one should find him out, so he ascended the
dark stairs bravely, and found himself in a great
wide passage with various doors leading from it,
some open, some closed. It was the attic, how-
ever, and no one was likely to interrupt him there.
He opened a door, and a flood of moonlight
poured in through the high window set in the
roof. The room happened to be the one in which
Toph stored his spoils, and here Tommy began
to disguise himself. He first opened the bundle
from which he had taken the doll, and took out
a front of jet black wavy hair, and this he ad-
justed on his head by the aid of a pocket folding
glass he had brought with him. He then put on
a cloak of faded red stuff which fastened down
the front firmly, and the hood of this he drew well
over his head and tied it tightly under his chin.
Before paying this visit to the Campbells, he
had just come from school, where he had assisted
at private theatricals, got up by the boys before
leaving, and these were his properties; even his
sister Marion did not know he possessed them.
2 A TERRIBLE FRIGHT.
Before setting out he had stained his face and
hands a light brown colour which exactly re-
sembled sunburn. He slipped the looking-glass
into his trousers pocket, thrust his arms through
the wide sleeves of the cloak, and turned to
leave the room, when a sudden noise behind
startled him. Then there was a rush past him
of something large and black, and he heard an
ominous croak.
For his life Tommy could not refrain from
screaming. He truly believed at the moment
that an evil being had come to pay him a visit.
The perspiration stood in large drops upon his
forehead, and his limbs refused to carry him
from the spot. Then common sense came to his
aid, and with a great effort he turned round and
saw the raven perched upon the window-sill, like
a black blot upon the moonlight. He was angry
at himself for being alarmed at a bird, and was
about to go down when he heard footsteps ap-
proaching, and the sound of voices.
“Tt wasn’t Toph croaked; I know a raven’s
croak. I tell you that I was just passing the
foot of those stairs, and the scream was enough
to curdle one’s blood.â€
Tommy recognized Amelia’s voice, and he
knew her to be full of fancies and superstitions.
AN EXPLORING PARTY. 173
“Let us go up and see what it is?†proposed
Miss Malcolm. “I am not the least afraid.â€
“T shouldn't care to go, thank you,†said
Amelia, “but Ill wait here till you come down
again. I am sure there are lots of rooms on the
attic of this house, it is so large and straggling.â€
“There are about six rooms,†replicd Miss
Malcoln, “ but what could harm you?â€
“Tf you had heard what I heard you wouldn’t
go, nor you mustn't go without one of the boys.â€
I heard her run to the top of the stairs and
call: “Come up some of you boys quickly, you're
wanted here.â€
Tommy had intended to go down and slip out
by the back-door, then come back as a poor gypsy
girl, and ask for food and permission to rest an
hour. Now that would be all useless, and he
withdrew into the further corner of the room,
and took his stand where there was little light.
I heard the voices of two boys, which I did not
recognize; they offered to accompany Miss Mal-
colm. One of them after hearing Amelia’s story
was rather nervous, and proposed to get a candle,
but Miss Malcolm said that was nonsense, as it
was quite clear moonlight on the attic. The
other boy said he wasn’t afraid of anything, and
walked up the narrow stairs boldly.
174 A SPLENDID VIEW.
As the door of Toph’s room stood open, and
the window was opposite it, of course they
naturally entered it first. The boy had no sooner
set foot on the threshold than Toph gave a croak
and flew over his head. He screamed and would
have rushed down-stairs again, but the governess .
laughed at him and told him it was only a pet
raven. Then he felt ashamed of himself, and
marched boldly in, the governess entering at the
same time, and the nervous boy bringing up the
rear.
“What a splendid view of the mountains you
have from this window; I wish Effie Mason saw
it.â€
“Tt is very lovely indeed,†said Miss Malcolm,
approaching after she had given one look round,
but failed to distinguish Tommy in his cloak
from the lumber in the dark corner.
The timid boy went to the top of the stairs
and asked Amelia to tell Effie and the others
they had better come up to see the fine view.
So Amelia called them, and Effie, Marion, and
Ernest came up, but Ella was too young to
care for views. Amelia grew bolder when they
arrived, and ascended the dark stairs with them.
They satisfied themselves looking at the moun-
tains, and turned to explore the other rooms. Of
A PANIC. 175
course there was nothing to be seen in any one
of them, and they were returning along the
passage to the top of the stairs, when a groan
sounded from the room they had first visited.
They paused terror-stricken; Amelia had not
been mistaken after all. Then there was a wild
shriek that they might have known as half
laughter, for Tommy could scarcely repress his
mirth. Amelia made a desperate rush towards
the stairs, and the others followed, but Ernest
and Miss Malcolm looked in as they passed.
One look was enough for them; Tommy stood
right in the moonlight and waved his arms aloft.
His figure looked weird and terrible enough, and
his wild shrick of laughter sent the whole party
down the stairs as if a bogey were really at their
heels. It did not require another wild scream
from the top of the stairs to send them down the
next flight, and the timid boy was so frantic in
his efforts to escape that he positively rolled
from top to bottom. Marion and Amelia came
down somehow in a heap, and Miss Malcolm,
Ernest, and the other boy trembled so that
they could go no further when they reached the
hall.
“What is all this?†asked the cook, coming
forward from the kitchen,
176 A COURAGEOUS COOK.
It was some time before any one spoke, then
Miss Malcolm replied:
“TI believe some evilly disposed person has
hidden in the attic to frighten us.â€
“It’s only that bird, Pll promise you,†she said
stoutly; “but I'll soon see.â€
The other servants also came forward to learn
what had happened, and with much laughter
they volunteered to accompany Cook. Susan
particularly made fun of their alarm, and threw
out a hint that Miss Malcolm was chicken-
hearted. I knew Susan had a little envy of this
young lady because Ella had taken to her so
completely. Miss Malcolm only smiled in her
gentle fashion, and admitted that she might have
been mistaken.
. They all waited at the foot of the stairs to see
the result of the exploration.
Ernest suggested that they should stand well
back into the hall, as Cook was so stout he
wouldn't care to have her roll down upon him.
So they ascended in their strength, the cook
and Susan first, the parlour-maid and the page-
boy next, and one of the gardeners behind, his
great shoes making noise enough to scare away
any number of ghosts.
Meantime the poet came out to learn what the
THE RED WITCH. 17%
uproar meant, and Aunt Jane joined him, some-
what annoyed to hear the hobnails mounting
upon the Brussels stair-carpet. The other chil-
dren came out, and a grown-up young lady, so
that the hall was quite full.
They had scarcely learned what caused the
alarm when the house re-echoed with shrieks,
and the whole party came down the stairs with
a rush, the gardener, who had been put in the
front, saw 7t—the terrible 7t—first, and pushing
all the others aside, he tumbled down the attic
stairs, and cleared the last flight at a leap. The
cook rolled down as Ernest expected, and Susan,
when she reached the foot, went off into hysterics.
“There must be something wrong, surely,†said
Ernest’s papa.
“Tt’s a—a—great—big woman, sir, all red,
sir,†gasped the gardener; “a witch, sir. She’s
got on a bonnet like one, and long white teeth,
sir, like fangs.â€
“We must see what it is that alarms you all,â€
said the poet. “T’ll go up alone.â€
“QO, sir, for goodness sake, sir, don’t; for the
sake of your children left orphants, sir, I beg
you on my bended knees,†prayed the stout cook.
She had not yet managed to regain her feet since
her tumble.
qa71) M
1738 RATHER AWKWARD FOR TOMMY.
“Tl go with you, papa,†proposed Ernest.
“Better not,†put in Miss Jane; “I hate such
nonsense. Get me the stable lantern lit, and
you,†she said to her brother, “had better get
your pistols. Any one who dares to frighten a
respectable family, particularly when supper is
cooling on the table, deserves to be shot;†and
Miss Jane looked so fierce one might imagine
she could do it, but I knew it was all talk; she
wouldn’t hurt a living soul.
“Never mind pistols,†said the poet smiling.
“T shouldn’t wonder but we'll find a bundle of
rags in some curious position.â€
“A bundle of rags, sir! Mercy on us, sir, don’t
go. Could a bundle of rags scream, and grin its
teeth, and shake its arms about?†asked the cook.
“Tt is wonderful what fancy can make them
do, Cook.â€
By this time the man, who was still trembling,
had returned with the lantern, and Miss Jane
walked up first, while the cook and Susan, who
had now recovered from her fits, looked upon
her as quite lost. Tommy heard all the con-
versation from the top of the attic stairs, and
knowing that it was persons in authority who
were now coming, he drew back once more into
the shadow.
THE CAPTURE. 179
As the others had done, so did Miss Jane and
her brother. They walked straight into Toph’s
room, and Miss Jane determined to go into the
matter thoroughly. So she put down the lantern
on the top of a small cask which stood convenient,
and commenced her search. Tommy felt he had
no chance with this stern lady; he could not hope
to frighten her off, but he ventured a little moan.
She started, prayed for herself quietly, and asked
her brother what that meant. He was standing
looking out of the window, but the sound startled
him too.
“Tt is in this room, and came from that dark
corner,†he said.
There was a sudden rush made for the door
by a curious figure in a red cloak. Miss Jane
could not help screaming, but the poet dashed
forward,and before Tommy couldescape he secured
him; and telling him that he need not make any
resistance, he led him down-stairs into the hall
in the presence of the whole family. Miss Jane,
who had regained her courage, followed with the
lantern.
“Who are you?) Where did you come from?
What were you doing upstairs? and how did
you get in?†were a few of the questions asked,
while Ella clapped her hands and exclaimed that
180 COOK RECOGNIZES THE GYPSY GIRL.
it must be the gypsy girl who had stepped out
of her toy picture-book.
“Shut her up till we send to the nearest town
for the police,†advised Miss Jane. “No doubt
she meant to open the door at night for a gang
of burglars.â€
“T think before we decide what to do with
the child, for she is only a child, we had better
give her time to speak,†said the poet; “she has
not been able to put mn a word edgeways since I
brought her down.â€
The servants drew back abashed, all but the
cook, who stood with her arms folded, regarding
Tommy with searching scrutiny.
“Just before she speaks, let me tell you, sir,
who she is,†said the cook, taking the privilege
of an old servant in having her own way.
Tommy listened anxiously to hear who he was,
for during the excitement he had made up his
mind not to reveal himself if possible, unless his
sister Marion or Amelia recognized him.
“Well, what do you think, Cook?†asked the
poet.
“I know, sir, ’m positive sure. After you
went away from here, sir, with the poor missis,
a horde of gypsies camped on the common, just
behind the house. We was in fear of them
A CLEVER ACTOR. 181
night and day, and a wench like this one used
to come up a beggin’ salt an’ such like, at the
back-door.â€
“That is nearly four years ago now, Cook;
the girl would have grown up.â€
“Bless your heart, sir, there were ’alf a dozen
of them all like steps of stairs; this is one of the
younger ones, and she knows her way. I wouldn’t
wonder but, as Miss Jane says, she meant mis-
chief.â€
“Well, what have you to say?†asked the poet,
turning to Tommy, who shrank back as if in
alarm, into the shadow of the massive pillars
supporting the archway over the stairs. He
dropped a low curtsey to Miss Jane as he spoke
in a half whining, half beseeching tone.
“Sweetest lady, ask her,’ and he pointed to
the cook, “if we ever stole anything from the
house or the neighbourhood while we were here.â€
Miss Jane could not resist the appeal, and the
quickness which singled her out as the mistress
of the house.
I have noted that all the mortals I ever knew
had a point on which they were weak, and clever
ones find it out and make use of it.
However, it was not Tommy’s unaided clever-
ness, for he had heard tell of Miss Jane before.
182 TOMMY BAFFLES HIS QUESTIONERS.
“Did they ever steal anything, Cook?†asked
the lady.
“Well, no, ma’am, I can’t say as they did, but
we watched them too well.â€
“T don’t believe we are justified in suspecting
people of evil, just because they may have a bad
name,†said the poet. And then he went off into
speculations over gypsies, recalling all he had
read and heard of their origin and wanderings,
and then coming back to the present, he wondered
if this girl’s story would give him the foundation
for a dramatic poem. And I’m sure I don’t
know where he would have stopped, but the
voice of Miss Jane brought him back to the
present, with a sudden shock, just like having a
pail of icy water over him.
“What did you come in here for, and why did
you moan to frighten everybody?†she asked in
her clear sharp tones.
“The door was open, my lady, and I walked in,
thinking I might find some corner to lie down in
till the morning. I’d got my foot hurt, and any
one would moan at that. Then I daren’t stop
below, for so many people were about.â€
“ But what about your friends?†asked the poet.
“They went on and left me behind, your wor-
ship, they didn’t care what became of me.â€
THE FLIGHT OF THE GYPSY. 183
“T think you had better take her to the kitchen
fire, Cook, and give her some supper, she can
stop till the morning if she likes; now that I
think of it she must be telling truth, for she
wouldn’t have made a noise if she intended to
open the doors for any one.â€
“Bless you, my lady,†said Tommy, making an
awkward curtsey, and with difficulty repressing
his laughter.
Then Miss Jane hurried every one in for
supper, while Ella said that afterwards she would
see the nice gypsy girl. But she was doomed to
disappointment. It seemed Cook had set some-
thing to eat before the strange visitor, and left
the kitchen about her business in the pantry.
When she returned she found the bird had flown,
and the back-door standing wide open, left no
doubt as to how she had gone.
The poet gave them quite an eloquent discourse
upon the peculiarities of these nomads. Ernest
and Amelia were interested and delighted, but
Miss Jane interrupted the tide of eloquence by
announcing the vehicle was at the door waiting
for Amelia and Marion. And presently the
doctor’s carriage and a trap arrived for the
other visitors, and Ella bade them all good-bye
reluctantly.
184 EVERYBODY LOOKS SILLY.
Surprises were not over for Ella. When the
guests departed she found the wonderful doll
with the living eyes in her bed. Miss Jane sug-
gested that some of the little visitors had put it
there to surprise her; but the child was not
willing to accept such a commonplace method
of accounting for the mystery. She felt certain
the gypsy girl had something to do with it, and
Ernest inclined to the same belief. The servants
had their own opinions still about that gypsy,
and the cook declared that it was no wonder she
had been frightened, for she never knew a real
gypsy or tramp who would go away and leave
good victuals untasted behind them. It was no
more a gypsy than she was, but something un-
canny, and they should all see what would hap-
pen.
A letter by a messenger in the morning from
Amelia set all their speculations and fancies at
rest. Cook was indignant at being made game
of by a mischievous lad, and secretly Miss Jane
felt very much the same. The poet laughed
quietly at himself when he remembered how
nearly he had been inspired by a masquerading
boy.
CHAPTER XI.
CONCLUSION OF THE FAIRY’S STORY.
-HREE weeks after the party Ernest set out
aay for London in company with his papa.
x He was sorry at leaving his home and
his sister Ea and Amelia, but he knew that his
papa knew best what was good for him, and no
one could guess how he felt, for he put on a
cheerful face as he said good-bye. At first
everything seemed new and strange in the Lon-
don house, but the housekeeper did her best to
put him at his ease, and Mr. Jeffrey, his papa’s
cousin, was an amiable and intellectual man. He
desired Ernest to call him Uncle for convenience
sake. Before a month had passed he felt almost
at home in his new duties, and he worked hard
to take a good place at his form in school.
So time wore on, and nothing took place in
Ernest’s life particularly worth noting. He took
little notice of me now, he was so busy cramming
in facts, and I almost decided to take a journey
186 ERNEST HAS TO CHOOSE,
to Mountain House and see the poet, when a
friend came home with Mr. Jeffrey one evening
to dine. He heard Ernest practising on his
violin, for it was a half holiday, and all his work
done. He asked about the performer, and Mr.
Jeffrey told him how the boy only played his
own compositions, he believed. The visitor, a
clever musician himsclf, asked to see Ernest, and
he, delighted at finding some one who could
understand and sympathize in his work, dis-
played his attempts unreservedly, and did not
hesitate to say, when asked, that to be a great
composer was the ambition of his life.
No more was said at the time, but in a month
afterwards his uncle asked him to call at his
office on the way home from school. Once there
Mr. Jeffrey took him all over the place, showing
him how many clerks were at work, and explain-
ing how the firm sent ships to the ends of the
earth. He told him how grand a thing it was to
transact such enormous business within these
four walls, and explained, so far as the boy could
understand, what interests and responsibilities
were involved in the honest and correct manage-
ment of affairs.
Then he took him to his own room, and, seated
in his arm-chair, he told Ernest that his father
HE CHOOSES MUSIC. 187
looked to see him in the firm as a clerk at first,
but Mr. Jeffrey said that if Ernest proved him-
self trustworthy he could set no limit to his
advancement.
Next he told him that his friend had discovered
a promise of genius in his crude compositions, and
if he would prefer it after duly considering what
he had told him, he would place him with one of
the best masters of the day, and he might, if he
wished, become a musical composer.
“Tf you please, sir,†said Ernest, “I made up
my mind long ago; I cannot be anything else. I
have no interest in it; I should never care for
business—never.â€
Mr. Jeffrey paused for a moment after the boy
spoke; he was disappointed, and yet he knew
human nature too well to attempt argument on
the point.
“Very well, Ernest,†he said, “it shall be as
you will.â€
He thought the boy was young, and perhaps
he would find out his mistake in time yet to
embrace a business career.
I was very anxious to find how they would
like the news at Mountain House, for I could see
Mr. Jeffrey write a letter a fortnight after Ernest
had been placed with the celebrated master. By
188 BACK TO MOUNTAIN HOUSE.
chance one day a man passed Ernest and I as we
were going through the street; he was thinking
of home, and how his aunt would be vexed at
the news of his choice. The man’s coat was a
rough homespun. I could see he had come over
the Border, for it was covered with thistle-down
which his railway-journey had not dislodged.
One of the downs floated quite near me. The
opportunity was too good to be lost, so seizing it
I mounted at once, and, Hey presto! we were off
towards Scotland in a whiff. I knew I need not
ELLA HAS GROWN OBEDIENT. 189
give it any directions, for a real Scotch thistle-
down cannot rest on any other than its native
soil. We beat the “Flying Scotchman†hollow,
and I managed to get off my seat while my steed
rested among the ivy at the nursery window of
Mountain House.
I passed in through a tiny opening in the
frame, and saw Ella standing before the table
dressing the very doll which had been left in her
bed by Tommy. She had a pin in her mouth,
and Miss Jane stood at the door and looked in at
that moment.
“Take that out directly, Ella. How often have
I told you never to put a pin in your mouth?â€
She walked away after speaking, in her usual
190 AUNT JANE DISLIKES GENIUS.
hurried fashion. Ella obeyed at once, I noticed
that.
Presently she returned, and Miss Malcolm with
her. Then the poet came in with letters in his
hand. He read one from Ernest; it was full of
his doings at school, and he also mentioned at
last, although I could see he thought it best, how
he was improving in his musical studies.
Miss Jane said it was dreadfully foolish for
her cousin to encourage Ernest’s folly by placing
him with a master. I could see his papa felt
rather proud of him.
“You know, Jane,†he said, “if he has a genius
for it, that makes a difference.â€
she repeated in a tone of contempt;
?
“Genius?â€
“oive me good solid work any day in preference.
Geniuses are mostly fools; to think of such a
business open to him!†and she sighed.
“ Perhaps you are not far astray about geniuses,â€
said her brother re-echoing her sigh, and he left
the room.
“J like Ernest to play his fiddle, Aunty,†said
Ella, “it is so nice.â€
“Very nice for leisure time, no doubt,†said
Miss Jane sharply. I noticed that Ella seemed
more thoughtful than she used to be, and she
was much more disposed to bow to the authority
TOPH IN HIS OLD AGE. 191
of the reigning powers, her governess, her aunt,
and papa, than formerly.
On the top of the press where toys and books
were kept, I saw Toph sitting solemnly, some-
times with closed eyes, and again blinking down
at Ella and Miss Jane. Some lines the poet used
to quote came into my head:
“ And the raven never flitting still is sitting, still is
sitting,
* * * * * *
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon that is
dreaming.â€
That was my last look at the inmates of Moun-
tain House. I returned to Ernest, determined to
spend the remaining time of my liberty with
him. Even after he had proved his ability in
the art he had chosen, he offered to go into the
counting-house if his father willed it, but the
poet was too wise to ask such a sacrifice. I stood
by hin in time of trial, of labour, and of triumph.
I see him, as I saw him last, preparing to play
a piece of his own composition, before one of the
best judges of music in Europe. On this man’s
verdict his fate would depend, and the verdict
was in his favour. His generous uncle sent him
to a great composer in Italy, to complete his
education.
192 THE FAIRY’S FAREWELL.
I have a notion that it is not at all strange
for the son of a poet to be a musical composer.
Although I was forced to leave Ernest, my
brother was permitted to
take my place, and remain
always near him. I think
he could scarcely get on
well without one of our
family. From him] learned
that although my friend
became famous in his pro-
fession, he never became
vain, but remained at heart
the same truthful, unselfish
Ernest I had loved; and we fairies know that
these qualities give the true greatness, which
endures for ever and ever.
THE END.
BLACKIE & SON’S
BOOKS FOR YOUNG PEOPLE.
New Series for Season 1884.
By G. A. HENTY.
With CLIvEe In INDIA:
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Hetty Gray:
Or Noxzopy’s BarrRn,
By GEORGE SAND.
TRANSLATED FROM THE FrencH By Mrs. CORKRAN.
- Tur WINGS oF COURAGE: AND THE CLOUD-
SPINNER.
By ANNIE E. ARMSTRONG,
Mapce’s MISTAKE:
A RECOLLECTION OF GIRLHOOD.
Blackie & Son's New Publications. 3
Twenty-third Thousand, medium Svo, cloth elegant, 7s. 6d.
THE UNIVERSE:
Or THe INFINITELY Great AND THE InFINITELY Lirtie. A
Sketch of Contrasts in Creation, and Marvels revealed and
explained by Natural Science. By F. A. Poucuzr, mp. J-
lustrated by
273 Engrav-
ings on wood,
of which 56are
full-page size.
7th Edition,
medium 8vo,
cloth elegant,
gilt edges,
7s. 6d.; also
full morocco,
blind tooled.
The object of this
Work is to inspire
and extend a taste
for natural science.
It is not a learned
treatise, butasimple
study. The title
adopted indicates
that the author has
gathered from crea-
tion at large, often
contrasting the
smallest of its pro-
ductions with the
mightiest.
Neptune's Cup.
“We can honestly commend this work, which is admirably, as it is copiously,
illustrated.†— Times.
“ As interesting as the most exciting romance, and a great deal more likely to be
remembered to good purpose.â€â€™.— Standard.
“Scarcely any book in French or in English is so likely to stimulate in the
young an interest in the physical phenomena.â€â€”Fortnightly Review.
«The volume, and it is a splendid one, will serve as a good pioneer to more exact
gtudies.â€â€”Saturduy Review.
4 Blackie & Sons New Publications.
WITH CLIVE IN INDIA:
Or the Beginnings of an Empire. By G. A. Henry, author of
“Facing Death,†“Under Drake’s Flag,†“The Young Buglers,â€
&e. With 12 full-page Illustrations printed in black and
tint. In crown. 8vo, cloth elegant, bevelled boards, olivine
edges, 6s.
The period between the landing of Clive as a young writer in India and
the close of his carecr was critical and eventful in the extreme. At its
commencement the English were traders existing on sufferance of the
native princes. At its close they were masters of Bengal and of the greater
part of Southern India, The Author has given a full and accurate account
of the historical events of that stirring time, and battles and sieges follow
each other in rapid succession, while he combines with his narrative a tale
of daring and adventure, which gives a lifelike interest to the volume,
THE GOLDEN MAGNET:
A Tale of the Land of the Incas. By Gro. Manvitie Fenn,
author of “In the King’s Name,†“ Nat the Naturalist,†“Off
to the Wilds,†&c. With 12 full-page pictures printed in
black and tint. In crown 8vo, cloth elegant, bevelled boards,
olivine cdges, 6s.
This is a story of adventure such as will be sure to be attractive to most
ads of quick imagination, and like most of Mr, Fenn’s stories it contains
genuine descriptive passages and accurate touches of natural history,
which not only increase its interest but enhance its value. The tale is of
a romantic lad who leaves home where his father conducts a failing busi-
ness to scck his fortune in South Amcrica, first by finding his uncle, who
is owner of a coffee plantation on the banks of the Orinoco; and secondly
by endeavouring to discover some of that treasure which legends declare
was ages ago hidden by the Peruvian rulers and the priests of that myste-
rious country, to preserve it from the Spanish invaders. The hero of the
story is accompanied by a faithful companion, who, in the capacity both
of comrade and henchman, does true service and shows the dogged courage
of the English lad during the strange adventures which befall them,
The plot of the story is simple, but the movement is rapid and full of
strange excitement. There are few lads who will not follow it with keen
enjoyment from beginning to end.
Blackie & Son's New Publications.
ou
UNDER DRAKE'S FLAG,
A Tale of the Spanish Main. By G. A. Henry, author of “The
Young Buglers,†“The Cornet of Horse,†“In Times of Peril,â€
&c. Illustrated by 12 full-page Pictures printed in black
and tint. Crown 8vo, cloth elegant, bevelled boards, price 6s.
“Under Drake’s Flag,†is a story of the days when England and Spain
struggled for the supremacy of the sca, and England carried off the palm.
The heroes of the story sail as lads with Drake in the expedition in which
the Pacific Ocean was first seen by an Englishman from a tree-top on the
Isthmus of Panama, and in his great voyage of circumnavigation. The
histovical portion of the story is absolutely to be relicd upon, but this,
although very useful to lads, will perhaps be less attractive than the great
varicty of exciting adventure through which the young adventurers pass
in the course of their voyages,
“ A stirring book of Drake’s time, and just such a book as the youth of this mari-
time country are likely to prize highly.â€â€”Daily Telegraph.
IN THE KING'S NAME:
Or the Cruise of the Kestrel. By G. Manvituy Feny, author
of “ Off to the Wilds,†“ Middy and Ensign,†&c. Illustrated
by 12 full-page Pictures printed in black and tint. Crown
8vo, cloth extra, bevelled boards, price 6s.
“In the King’s Name†is a spirited story of the Jacobite times, con-
cerning the adventures of Hilary Leigh, a young naval officer in the
preventive service off the coast of Sussex, on board the Mestre, Leigh
is taken prisoner by the adherents of the Pretender, amongst whom is an
early friend and patron who desires to spare the lad’s life, but will not release
him. ‘The narrative is full of exciting and often humorous incident,
“Mr. Manville Fenn has already won a foremost place among writers of stories
for boys. ‘In the King’s Name’ is, we are inclined to think, the best of all his pro-
ductions in this field. It has the great quality of always ‘moving on’—adventure
following adventure in constant succession.†—Datly News.
“Told with the freshness and nerve which characterize all Mr. Fenn’s writings and
put him in the front rank of writers for boys.†Standard,
6 Blackie & Son’s New Publications.
BY SHEER PLUCK:
A Tale of the Ashanti War. By G. A. Henry, author of “ Facing
Death,†“Under Drake’s Flag,†“The March to Coomassie,â€
&c, With 8 full-page Illustrations printed in black and tint.
In crown 8vo, cloth elegant, 5s.
The Ashanti Campaign seems but an event of yesterday, but it happened
when the generation now rising up were too young to have made them-
selves acquainted with its incidents, The author has woven, in a tale of
thrilling interest, all the details of the campaign, of which he was himself
a witness. Tlis hero, after many exciting adventures in the interior, finds
himself at Coomassie just before the outbreak of the war, is detained a
prisoner by the king, is sent down with the army which invaded the British
Protectorate, escapes, and accompanies the English expedition on their
march to Coomassie.
THE WIGWAM AND THE WAR-PATH:
Stories of the Red Indians. By Ascorr R. Hops, author of
“Stories of Old Renown,†“Buttons,†&, With 8 full-page
Pictures by Gorpon Browns, printed in black and tint. In
crown 8vo, cloth elegant, 5s.
The interest taken by boys in stories of the North American Indians is
probably as keen as ever. At all events the works of Fenimore Cooper and
other writers about the red men and the wild hunters of the forests and
prairies are still among the most popular of boys’ books. ‘‘ The Wigwam
and the War-path†consists of stories of Red Indians which are none the
less romantic for being true. They are taken from the actual records of
those who have been made prisoners by the red men or have lived among
them, joining in their expeditions and taking part in their semi-savage but
often picturesque and adventurous life. The stories are conscientiously
told, and may be regarded as truthful pictures of scenes, events, and
occurrences which are full of interest not only for youthful readers, but in
a great measure for those of older growth.
Blackie & Son’s New Publications. 7
STORIES OF OLD RENOWN.
Tales of Knights and Heroes. By Ascorr R. Horr, Author of
“Spindle Stories,†“The Old Tales of Chivalry,†“Stories of
Long Ago,†&. &e. With nearly 100 Illustrations, of which
8 are full-page size, from Drawings by Gorpon Browne.
Crown 8vo, cloth elegant, design on side, bevelled boards,
olivine edges, 5s.
A Scries of the best of the Stories of Noble Knighthood and Old Ro-
mance, told in refined and simple language, and adapted to young
readers. A book possessing remarkable attractions, especially for
boys who love to hear of great deeds and enterprises of high re-
nown,
He
ay
“ Ascott R. Hope here breaks new ground, and he deserves as much credit for his
choice of subject as for his mode of treatment.â€â€”A cadeny.
“‘Ogier the Dane, Robert of Sicily, and other old-world heroes find their deeds
embedded in beantiful type, and garnished with animated sketches by Gordon
Browne. It is a charming gift-book.â€â€”Land and Water.
“Mr. Hope’s style is quite in accord with his theme, and the simplicity with
which he recounts these ‘Stories of Old Renown’ is by no means the least part of
their attractiveness. Mr. Gordon Browne has furnished some excellent drawings to
illustrate the text, in many of which we recognize the touch of his late father, Mr.
Hablot K. Browne, and these drawings recall the time when ‘ Phiz’ was at his
freshest and his best.â€â€”Pictorial World.
8 Blackie & Son's New Publications.
FACING DEATH:
Or the Hero of the Vaughan Pit. A Tale of the Coal Mines.
By G. A. Henry, author of “In Times of Peril,†&. With
8 full-page Illustrations printed in black and tint. Crown
8vo, cloth elegant, price 5s.
“Facing Death†is a story with a purpose. It is intended to show that
a lad who makes up his mind firmly and resolutely that he will rise in life,
and who is prepared to face toil and ridicule and hardship to carry out his
determination, is sure to succeed. The hero of the story, though only a
colliery lad, is a character that boys will delight in, He is a typical British
boy, dogged, earnest, gencrous, and though ‘‘shamefaced†to a degree, is
ready to face death in the discharge of duty. His is a character for imita-
tion by boys in every station, who will assuredly be intensely interested in
the narrative,
“The tale is well written and well illustrated, and there is much reality in the
characters.â€â€”Athineum.
“If any father, godfather, clergyman, or schoolmaster is on the lookout for a good
book to give as a present this season to a boy who is worth his salt, this is the
book we would recommend.â€â€”Standard.
NAT THE NATURALIST:
Or a Boy’s Adventures in the Eastern Seas. By Gro. Manvitie
Fenn, author of “Off to the Wilds,†&. &¢. Illustrated by
8 full-page Pictures executed in black and tint. Crown 8vo,
cloth elegant, price 5s.
This isa pleasant story of alad who, though he is brought up in a strictly
quiet fashion by an aunt, has a great desire to go abroad to seck speci-
mens in natural history, and has that desire gratified by an uncle who
comes home from distant lands, whence he brings a beautiful collection.
The boy Nat and his uncle Dick go on a voyage to the remoter islands of
the Eastern seas, and their adventures there are told in a truthful and
vastly interesting fashion, which will at once attract and maintain the
earnest attention of young readers, The descriptions of Mr. Kbony, their
black comrade, and of the scenes of savage life, are full of genuine humour,
“«We can conceive of no more attractive present for a young naturalist.â€â€”Lund
and Water.
‘A really delightful story of the adventures of a naturalist and his nephew in the
Spice Islands.†—Truth.
“The pictures, as we have remarked before of Messrs. Blackie’s books, are far
above the average, both in drawing and in reproduction.†—Academy.
Blackie & Son's New Publications. 9
CHEEP AND CHATTER:
Or, Lessons FRoM Fietp AND Tree. By Auice Banks. With
50 Character Illustrations by Gorpoy Browns, of which four
are full-page size. Small 4to, cloth, handsome design on
cover, 3s. 6d.
About a dozen highly dramatic sketches or little stories, the actors in
which are not mcn and women but birds, beasts, and insects. ‘They are
instructive, suitcd to the capacities of young people, and very amusing.
The curious and laughable thing is the clever way in which mice, sparrows,
and butterflies are made to act and talk just as one should imagine mice,
sparrows, or butterflies would act and talk, and yct so wonderfully like
men and women, or boys and girls, at the same time. We take an
absorbing interest in the adventures of ‘“ Peepy†and “ Cheepy,†and
“Birdie†and ‘‘Pecky,†in the opinions they express and the characters
they develop, just as if they were papas and mamas, and boys and girls;
and whether we are in Fairy-land, or Mouse-land, or Bird-land, or in real
Boy-and-girl-land, we cease to be sure, or, for the matter of that, to care.
The character drawings, with which the book is profusely illustrated, are
delightfully funny.
A
10 Blackie & Sons New Publications.
PICKED UP AT SEA:
Or the Gold Miners of Minturne Creek, and other Stories. By
Joun C, Hurcueson, author of “Caught in a Trap,†“The
Penang Pirate,†&c. With 6 full-page Pictures in Colour.
In crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d.
“Picked up at Sea,†is the story of a young English lad, reseued in mid
Atlantic from a watery grave, and taken out west by a party of gold diggers
to the wild regions of the Black Hills in Dakota. Here, after warring
with the elements during months of unceasing toil in their search for the
riches of the earth, and having the result of their indefatigable labour well
nigh torn from their grasp when on the verge of victory by a desperate
onslaught of Sioux braves under ‘‘ Spotted Tail,†success at last rewards
the efforts of the adventurous band and their protégé. The tale abounds
in exciting scenes and stirring incidents—about mining mishaps, shooting
exploits, and fights with the hostile Indians,--all tending to show that
pluck and perseverance when allied to a good cause invariably win in the
jong run all the world over. The remainder of the book consists of spicy
yarns of life afloat and ashore by an ‘‘old salt,†detailing adventures
amongst pirates and brigands, cut-throats and mutineers, in which heroism
comes out in relief as opposed to cowardice and cravenly fear; while the
dangers of the deep and the perils of those who ‘‘ go down to the sea in
ships†are not forgotten.
DR. JOLLIFFE’S BOYS:
A Tale of Weston School. By Lewis Hoven, author of “ Phil
Crawford,†&c. With 6 full-page Pictures in black and tint.
In crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d.
A story of school life which will be read with genuine interest, especially
as it exposes some of the dangers which even in these days of high instruc-
tion may beset lads who are ill instructed at home or have been thrown
among vicious or unscrupulous companions. The descriptions of some of
the characters of the boys at Dr. Jolliffe’s are vivid and truthful,—that of
the worst boy being not too revolting, although it is necessarily painful as
conveying a very distinct impression which should be uscful in warning
lads against giving way to overweening personal conceit and envy of the
achievements of others. Perhaps the best touch in the book is the subtle
description of the manner in which the best boy may exhibit weakness of
purpose and some meannesses under the influence of flattery and of tempo-
rary luxury. The narrative throughout is bright, casy, and lighted by
touches of humour, and the plot is so well sustained that the reader goes
on to the end without abatement of the keen interest which is provoked in
the very first chapter.
Blackie & Son's New Publications. 11
—_—— =e —_ sso
GARNERED SHEAVES.
A Tale for Boys. By Mrs. Emma Raymonp Prrmay, author of
“Mission Life in Greece and Palestine,†&c. With 4 full-
page Illustrations printed in black and tint. Crown 8vo, cloth
extra, price 3s. 6d.
This Tale gives in narrative form the history and adventures of a class of
Sunday-school boys. Hach boy’s career is full of interest. In some chapters
we are taken to America, during the civil war, and mingle in scenes relat-
ing to the battle-field; while, in other chapters, we listen to the quict
teachings of one of God’s faithful servants, who strove to ‘ garner sheaves
for Christ.†The wide difference between the honourable upright youth, and
one who is clever and cunning, but dishonest, is here depicted by incidents
from the life; and it is proved that “godliness hath promise of the life
that now is,†as well as of that which is to come. From this tale Sunday-
school teachers may learn that their “labour shall not be in vain in the
Lord.â€
«*¢Garnered Sheaves’ is a charming story of the after life and labours of two
Sunday-school scholars whose carcers were diverse in their character and influence.â€
—Christian Union.
“The incidents are well depicted, and the characters are true to life. . . . We
shall be glad of more such sheaves as these.†—Freeman.
“Jt should be read by every youth who is leaving school and home for business.â€â€”
Literary World.
MY GOVERNESS’ LIFE:
Or Earning my Living. By Mrs. Emma Raymond Prrman,
author of “Mission Life in Greece and Palestine,†“ Heroines
of the Mission Field,†“Vestina’s Martyrdom,†“ Profit and
Loss,†&c. &e. With 4 full-page Hlustrations. Cloth neat, 33. 6d.
This Story, told in the first person, is larecly concerned with a young
woman cast upon the world by her father’s death, and compelled to earn
her living by the exercise of whatever talent she possesses. Some of the
minor characters in the narrative are skilfully depicted, notably the old
Cornish couple who figure in the little Methodist chapel; and the young
man of science, who is shown to have missed his way in substituting
science for faith in a personal God, but by painful chastening is recovered
and led to the cross of Christ as a humble believer. Finally, he marries
the heroine of the story, and turns outa good and useful man, ‘The aged
clergyman is a fine specimen of culture and Christian charity. The scenes
of boarding-school life here depicted are full of vivacity and reality.
12 Blackie & Son’s New Publications.
LIFES DAILY MINISTRY.
A Story of Everyday Service for Others. By Mrs. Emma Ray-
Mond Prrmay, author of “Mission Life in Greece and Pales-
tine,†“Heroines of the Mission Field,†“ Vestina’s Martyr-
dom,†“Profit and Loss,†&. &e. With 4 full-page Illustrations
printed in black and tint. Crown 8vo, cloth neat, 3s. 6d.
A Story of self-sacrifice in various forms, and of some touching expe-
riences of life. Some of the characters are very attractive, others very
repulsive; but all tend to show that true honour and happiness are to be
found in serving others, according to our capacity, and so imitating Him
“who went about doing good.†Some experiences of a sincere and gifted,
but doubting youth, helpless through spinal disease and destined to early
death, and his attainment of faith, light, and peace, are peculiarly affect-
ing. His brother, the medical student, is eventually brought back to faith
in bis mother’s God, after wandering very far in sin and folly. Olive
Forrester, the chief heroine of the story, presents an example of saintly
self-denial for the sake of her dead sister’s children,
FLORENCE GODFREY’S FAITH.
A Story of Australian Life. By Mrs. Emma Raymonp Pirman,
author of “ Heroines of the Mission Field,†&. With 4 full-
page Illustrations printed in black and tint. Crown 8vo, cloth
extra, price 3s. 6d.
This Tale traces the career and adventures of a family who were forced
to leave Manchester during the time of the cotton famine, and seek a home
in Australian wilds. Florence, the central character of the story, is a very
lovely one; and in spite of girlish timidity, girlish fear, and natural shrink-
ing, succeeds in raising a Christian church in the wilderness. ‘The story
teachos the lesson of perseverance in well-doing, and shows how faithful
effort is rewarded,
“This isa clever, and what is better still, a good book, written with a freshness
and power which win the reader’s sympathies, and carry the story along unflaggingly
to the close â€â€”Christian Globe.
“A story which will be eagerly read by boys, and which can hardly fail to promote
the growth of a manly type of Christian character.â€â€”Literary World.
“This is a very interesting book, and a suitable present for young men or women.
The influence of the tale is pure and bracing.†—Freeman.
“Mrs. Pitman’s works are all to be prized for their ennobling character—pure,
elevating, interesting, and intellectual.â€â€”Christian Union,
Blackie & Son’s New Publications. 13
BROTHER AND SISTER:
Or the Trials of the Moore Family. By Exizanern J. Lysacit,
author of “Nearer and Dearer,†&c. With 6 full-page Ilus-
trations in black and tint. Crown 8vo, cloth gilt, price 3s. 6d.
An interesting story for young people, showing by the narrative of the
vicissitudes and struggles of a family which has ‘‘come down in the world,â€
and of the brave endeavours of its two younger members, how the pressure
of adversity is mitigated by domestic affection, mutual confidence, and
hopeful honest effort.
“A pretty story, and well told. The plot is cleverly constructed, and the moral
is excellent.’â€â€”Athenwum.
“A charming story, admirably adapted for young people, which relates the brave
endeavours of the two youngest members of a family which has become reduced in
circumstances to mitigate the pressure of adversity.†—Society.
DORA:
Or a Girl without a Tome. By Mrs. R. H. Reap, author of
“The Lawyer’s Daughter,†&¢. &c, With 6 full-page Illus-
trations. Crown 8vo, cloth elegant, 3s. 6d.
The story of a friendless orphan girl, who is placed as pupil-teacher at
the school in which she was educated, but is suddenly removed by hard
and selfish relatives, who employ her as a menial as well as a governess,
Through a series of exciting adventures she makes discoveries respecting a
large property which is restored to its rightful owners, and at the same
time she sccures her escape from her persecutors. The character of Dora
is a very sweet one, and the interest of the story is so sustained that it can
scarcely fail to please the reader.
UNRAVELLED SKEINS:
Or Tales for the Twilight. By Grecson Gow. Tllustrated by
four facsimile Designs in black and tint. Crown 8vo, cloth
elegant, price 3s. 6d.
“For a volume of neat stories carefully told commend us to this â€â€”Scotsman.
MYTHS AND LEGENDS
OF ANCIENT GREECE AND ROME.
A Hand-book of Greek and Roman Mythology, by E. M. Berens,
Illustrated from Antique Sculptures in a highly interesting
and instructive manner. Cloth elegant, price 3s. 6d.
“Written in a spirit of reverent sympathy and of well-sustained interest, while ite
absolute purity should secure it a place in every family.â€â€”Schoolmaster.
14 Blackie & Son's New Publications.
JACK O’ LANTHORN.
A Tale of Adventure. By Henry Farru, author of “Through
Flood, through Fire,†“On the Wings of the Wind,†&c.
With 4 full-page Dlustrations, printed in black and tint. In
crown 8vo, cloth elegant, 2s. 6d.
This is a story which will be chiefly attractive to boys, and most boys
will read it with genuine interest, for it is told in a straightforward fashion
by the hero himself, a lad whose father was a Bristol tradesman in the
days when George the Third was king, and when “ Jack the Painter†was
trying to set fire to the shipping in Government dockyards. The boy, who
tells his own history, gets into certain scrapes, and at the sca-coast- makes
the acquaintance of Jack o’ Lanthorn, a sailor and the keeper of a light-
ship. The lad and a companion accidentally drifting out to sea in an open
boat, discover in a singular manner the approach of the Spanish flcet, and
Jack o’ Lanthorn accompanies the hero of the tale to report what they
have seen. Seized by a press-gang they are taken off to sea, and eventu-
ally take part in the defence of Gibraltar, and have some strange adventures
of their own. The author of the book has not only kept closely to the
history of the time, but has preserved the spcech and manner of the
narrator. The episodes are striking, the plot full of peculiar interest, and
there have becn few books published recently which so well represent the
spirit of those entertaining stories of the sea which made the reputation
of Marryat and of the author of ‘Tom Cringle’s Log.â€
A WAIF OF THE SEA:
Or, the Lost Found. By Karz Woop, author of “ Lory Bell,†&c.
With 4 full-page Illustrations. In small 8vo, cloth extra, 2s. 6d.
“A Waif of the Sea†is the kind of story which is likely to enlist the
sympathies of a large number of readers, for it deals very pathetically with
the sorrows and trials of children, and of mothers who are separated from
their children, With a gentle and affecting strain of religious feeling
which is neither too prominent nor too precise, the narrative is full of
human interest, and the lives and struggles of the people of a poor London
neighbourhood are well portrayed without unnecessary coarseness on the
one hand or a too romantic colouring on the other. The child-character
of “Little Birdic†and her short but affecting story will attract and
delight many readers, while the grown-up personages in the book are very
accurately and pleasingly drawn. One of the charms of the story is its
easy transition from town to country, and the freshness imparted to the
descriptive touches both of ‘‘Golden Square†and of the “Old Manor
House.â€
Blackie & Son’s New Publications. 15
HETTY GRAY;
Or Nobody’s Bairn. By Rosa Munnotnann, author of “ Four
Little Mischiefs,†&c. With 4 full-page Illustrations. In
small 8vo, cloth extra, 2s. 6d.
“Hetty Gray†is the story of a girl who, having been found as an infant
by a villager, is brought up by his wife, and is a kind of general pet, till an
accident causes a rich widow to adopt her, and spoil her by bringing her up
in alternate indulgence and neglect. On the death of her adoptive mother
Hetty, who is left unprovided for, is taken by the widow’s relatives to be
educated in the family as a dependant, but with a view to her gaining her
livelihood as a governess, an event which is prevented by a rather remark-
able discovery. The tale is carried on throughout with the simplicity but
genuine effect which distinguishes Miss Mulholland’s writing, and the
interest felt by the reader in the struggles and trials of the foundling, and
the gradual development of her character under circumstances often
pathetic but frequently humorous, is maintained to the last.
THE BALL OF FORTUNE;
Or Ned Somerset’s Inheritance. By Cuartzs Pzarceg, author of
“Frank the Fisher-boy,†&. With 4 full-page Mlustratious
printed in black and tint. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 2s. 6d.
A story of plot and character dealing with some out of the many scenes
of London life, and founded on the strange bequest left by a sea captain,
and the endeavours of some unscrupulous persons to obtaim possession of
it before the discovery of the truc heir in the person of a neglected street
Arab. 'The story is lively and attractive, and the incidents move so quickly
that the attention of the reader is sustained throughout,
“It is a bright genial story, which boys will thoroughly enjoy. . . . The moral
lies in the story itself, and is not administered in a succession of pious pills with
sweet draughts of racy fiction between to take the taste away. We have seen few
better stories for boys this season.†— Birmingham Daily Post.
THE FAMILY FAILING.
By Darusy Daue, author of “Little Bricks,†“The Black
Donkey,†“A Tearful Victory,†&c. &. With 4 full-page
Illustrations. Cloth elegant, 2s. 6d.
This is a lively and amusing account of a family, the members of which
while they lived in affluence were remarkable for their discontent, but who,
after the loss of fortune has compelled them to seek a more humble home
in Jersey, become less selfish, and develop very excellent traits of char-
acter under the pressure of comparative adversity. Their escapades and
narrow escapes from serious dangers form an exciting part of the narrative,
which contains many pleasant episodes of life in the Channel Islands.
16 Blackie & Son's New Publications.
EPISODES OF THE SEA IN FORMER DAYS:
Records of Suffering and Saving. A Book for Boys. With
engraved Title and Frontispiece. Cloth elegant, 2s. 6d.
Stories of shipwreck, famine, mutiny, and the other misfortunes which
befall the mariner, will always be appreciated by those who love to read of
deeds of daring, and to ponder on the lessons which may be drawn from
them, This volume comprises narratives of occurrences which have become
historical, such as the ever-memorable mutiny of the Bounty, and many
others of equal interest.
EPISODES OF CAPTIVITY AND EXILE
In various Parts of Europe. A Book for Boys. With engraved
Title and Frontispiece. Cloth elegant, 2s. 6d.
Captivity and Escape is at all times an attractive subject for youthful
minds, presenting as it does to them scenes of adventurous daring, hard-
ship, and suffering, calculated to excite their natural ardour and draw
forth their ready sympathies. The tales embodied in this volume will be
found to comprise those of the most fascinating description.
EPISODES OF HISTORY:
Stirring Incidents in the Lives of Men and Nations. A Book
for Youth. With engraved Title and Frontispiece. Cloth
elegant, 2s. 6d.
In the compilation of this volume the object has been to give a series of
sketches stretching over a long term of time, rather than a finished picture
of any definite period. These have been collected during an extensive
course of reading, and the only attempt made at classification has been
to place the articles in chronological order.
EPISODES OF DISCOVERY IN ALL AGES.
A Book for Youth. With engraved Title and Frontispiece.
Cloth extra, 2s. 6d.
In this work will be found accounts of a few of the most famous dis-
coverers and explorers of former days. ‘The materials from which this
volume has been compiled were gathered from scarce records and other
trustworthy sources; and the whole forms a series of incidents of unex-
ampled interest in the world’s history.
Blackie & Son's News Publications. 17
EPISODES OF FOREIGN LIFE AND MANNERS,
And Pictures of Foreign Lands. A Book for Youth. With
engraved Title and Frontispiece. Cloth elegant, 2s. 6d.
The object in this work is to whet the appetite rather than to satiate the
mind of the readers—to create within them a desire to know more of the
strange countries and peoples here mentioned.
EPISODES OF PERSONAL ADVENTURE
In Field, Flood, and Forest. A Book for Boys. "With engraved
Title and Frontispiece. Cloth elegant, 2s. 6d.
The incidents are wholly founded on the real experiences of those who
figure in them, They have been carefully selected from numerous sources.
THE NEWSPAPER READER.
Selections from leading Journals of the Nineteenth Century on
Events of the, Day. By H. F. Bussey and T. W. Retr.
With engraved Frontispiece. F’cap 8vo, cloth extra, 2s. 6d.
“The idea of the book is admirable, and its execution is excellent. 1t is extremely
interesting. Jt may be read not merely by young people, but by old ones, and they
will find profit to themselves in its perusal. The work is well done.â€â€”Scotsman.
THE BRITISH BIOGRAPITICAL READER:
Brief Biographies of prominent British Heroes, Statesmen, Dra-
matists, Poets, Scientific Men, &c. Tllustrated by numerous
Portraits. Foolscap 8vo, cloth extra, 2s. Gd.
«A number of excellent portraits add considerably to the attractiveness of the
work, which may safely be pronounced one of the most interesting of the Series.†—
Aberdeen Journal.
LONDON, PAST AND PRESENT.
Being Notices Historical and Descriptive of Ancient and Modern
London. With Illustrations. F’cap 8vo, cloth extra, 2s. 6d.
“ A compilation from which a variety of interesting information may be gathered
with regard to the past history and present condition of the metropolis.†—Athenwum.
18 Blackie & Son's New Publications.
THE WINGS OF COURAGE,
Anp Tue Croup-Spinner. ‘Translated from the French of
Grorer Sanp, by Mrs. Corxran. With 2 coloured Illustra-
tions. Small 8vo, cloth extra, 2s.
These stories are among the most attractive of the many tales which the
great French novelist wrote for her grandchildren. Hitherto the juvenile
stories told by George Sand have been little known in this country, but
they are so full of fancy, of vivid description, and of a keen appreciation
of the best way to arouse the interest of juvenile readers that it is time
they were introduced here. The romantic manner in which they are told
lends to them the kind of enchantment which thoughtful children deeply
appreciate.
FOUR LITTLE MISCHIEFS.
By Rosa Muiiornsnp, author of “Five Little Farmers,†&e.
With 3 full-page Pictures in colours. Cr. 8vo, cloth extra, 2s.
This story of child-life is one of the most amusing of the author’s excel-
lent little books. Its fun is innocent, its incident both captivating and
instructive.
“Will be read with absorbing interest by the youngsters.â€â€”Land and Water.
OUR DOLEY:
Her Words and Ways. By Mrs. R. TI. Reap. With many Wood-
cuts, and a Frontispiece in colours. Cr. 8vo, cloth extra, 2s.
A story for children, showing the growth and development of character
in a little girl, and describing the surroundings of the family and a series
of entertaining small adventures suitable for very juvenile readers,
“‘Prettily told and prettily illustrated.†—Guardion,
FAIRY FANCY:
What she Heard and what she Saw. By Mrs. R. H. Reap.
With many Woodcut Illustrations in the text, and a Frontis-
piece printed in colours. Crown 8vo, cloth elegant, price 2s.
The tale is designed to show the influence of character even among little
children, and the narrative is such as to awaken and sustain the interest of
the younger readers,
“The authoress has very great insight into child nature, and a sound healthy tone
pervades the book.†—Glasgow Herald.
‘All is pleasant, nice reading, with a little knowledge of natural history and other
dry matters gently introduced and divested of dryness.†—Practicul Teacher,
Blackie & Sons New Publications. 19
ADVENTURES OF MRS. WISHING-TO-BE.
By Azice CorKray, author of “Latheby Towers,†&c. With 3
full-page Pictures in colours. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 2s.
The strange adventures of a very young lady, showing how she met with
the wonderful people of nursery legend and the manner of her introduction
to them. A tale for the Little Ones.
“Simply a charming book for little girls. We havea good deal of confidence in
recommending the book, which is, moreover, well illustrated.â€â€”Saturday Review.
NAUGHTY MISS BUNNY:
Her Tricks and Troubles. A. Story for Little Children, With
3 Illustrations in colours. By Ciara Munnoiianp, Crown
8yvo, cloth extra, price 2s.
This is a book which will amuse quite littlo folks, as a story of the way-
ward tricks of a spoiled child, and the scrapes into which they lead her.
The story consists of small incidents such as please small listeners, who will
be interested not only in Miss Bunny’s naughtiness, but in her reformation,
“This naughty child is positively delightful, Papas should not omit ‘ Naughty
Miss Bunny’ from their list of juvenile presents.â€â€”Land and Water.
NEW LIGHT THROUGH OLD WINDOWS.
A Series of Stories illustrating Fables of Afsop. By Greeson
Gow. With 3 full-page Pictures in colours. Crown 8vo, cloth
extra, 2s.
A series of stories designed to bring before the young mind, in a new
and entertaining form, some of the shreds of wit and wisdom which have
come down to us from ancient times in the guise of fables. Although
amusement has been a chief end aimed at, most of the tales will be found
to suggest some important truth, or teach some sound lesson in practical
morality.
“Racy, pointed, and fitted to delight young folks.†—Freeman.
“Entertaining for young and old alike,â€â€”Liye.
MADGE’S MISTAKE.
A Recollection of Girlhood. By Annie E. Armsrroye. With
2 coloured Illustrations. Small 8vo, cloth extra, 1s. 6d.
This is a lively, interesting little story, the characters are well marked,
and the plot, although simple, is so well worked out as to lead the reader,
young or old, on to the last word.
20 Blackie & Son's New Publications.
TROUBLES AND TRIUMPHS OF LITTLE TIM.
A City Story. By Grecsoy Gow, author of “Tales for the
Twilight.†With two Illustrations in colour. Foolscap 8vo,
192 pp., cloth extra, 1s. 6d.
“Strong in character and full of incident, and the narrative all through is in-
teresting and touching.â€â€”Edinburgh Daily Review.
“An unmistakable undereurrent of sympathy with the struggles of the poor, and
an ability to describe their feelings under various circumstances, eminently charac-
teristic of Dickens, are marked features in Mr. Gow’s story.â€â€”WNorth British Mail.
THE HAPPY LAD.
A Story of Peasant Life in Norway. From the Norwegian of
Bjornstjerne Bjornson, With Frontispiece in colour. Tools-
cap 8vo, 192 pp., cloth extra, 1s. 6d,
“The lad is happy from being a plucky boy, a good son, and a successful lover.â€â€”
Glasgow Herald.
INTO THE HAVEN.
By Anyi 8. Sway, author of “Shadow Lives,†“Thankful Rest,â€
&c. With two Illustrations printed in colour. TF oolscap 8vo,
192 pp., cloth extra, Is. 6d.
“No story more attractive . . . by reason of its breezy freshness and unforced
pathos, as well as for the wholesome practical lessons it conveys.â€â€”Christian Leader.
BOX OF STORIES.
Packed for Young Folk by Horacz Harrrman. A Series of
interesting Tales for the Young. With 2 Illustrations printed
in colours. Foolscap 8vo, 192 pp., cloth extra, 1s. 6d.
JEANNE D’ARC, THE PATRIOT MARTYR:
And other Narratives of Female Heroism in Peace and War.
Illustrated by 2 Pictures printed in colours. Foolscap 8vo,
cloth extra, 1s. 6d.
Blackie & Son’s New Publications. 21
BX Vn Lan VAAL a lan Vary’
DNACAWAVWANA Srl
eS
THE NEW BOY AT MERRITON,
By Junia Gopparp. With Frontispiece in colour. F’cap 8vo,
128 pp., cloth extra, price Is.
“A story of English school life. It is an attempt to teach a somewhat higher code
of honour than that which prevails among the general run of schoo!boys, and the
lesson makes a very good story.†—School Board Chronicle.
THE BLIND BOY OF DRESDEN.
With Frontispiece in colour. F’cap 8vo, 128 pp., cloth extra,
price ls.
“This is a family story of great pathos. It does not obtrusively dictate its lesson,
but it quietly introduces, and leaves it within the heart.â€â€”Aberdeen Journal.
JON OF ICELAND:
A True Story. With Frontispiece in colour. F’cap 8vo, 128 pp.,
cloth extra, price ls.
«“
cessful teacher. It gives children a clear idea of the chief physical features of the
island, and of the simple aud manly character of its inhabitants.â€â€”School Guardian.
STORIES FROM SHAKESPEARE.
By Macrarnanp and Assy Sace. With Frontispiece in colour.
F’cap 8vo, 128 pp., cloth extra, price Ls.
“The stories are told in such a way that young people having read them will desire
to study the works of Shakespeare in their original form.â€â€” The Schoolmistress.
EVERY MAN IN HIS PLACE:
The Story of a City Boy and a Forest Boy. With Frontispiece
in colour. I’cap 8vo, 128 pp., cloth extra, price ls.
“This is the history of the son of a wealthy Hamburg merchant, who wished to
follow in the steps of Robinson Crusoe. He visited Lleligoland and the Hartz Moun-
tains, and was put to the test, and became convinced in the end that it is better to
live the life of a wealthy merchant in a great city than to endure hardship by choice,â€
—School Board Cironicle,
22 Blackie & Son’s New Publications,
FIRESIDE FAIRIES anp FLOWER FANCIES:
Srorres ror Giris. With Frontispiece in colour. F’cap 8vo,
128 pp., cloth extra, price 1s.
“Nine stories are included, all for girls, encouraging them to try and do their
duty. Young servants would find this book very interesting.’â€â€”The Schoolmistress,
TO THE SEA IN SHIPS:
Srories oF SUFFERING AND Savine At Sua. With Frontis-
piece in colour. F’cap 8vo, 128 pp., cloth extra, price Is.
“ To the Sea in Ships records several noted disasters at sea, such as the foundering
of the London and the wreck of the Atlantic. 1t also contains narratives of success-
ful rescues. This isa capital bovuk for boys.â€â€”School Guardian,
JACK’S VICTORY:
AND oTHER Srorizes azout Dogs. With Frontispiece in colour.
F’cap 8vo, 128 pp., cloth extra, price ls.
“Every boy, and some girls, take great delight in reading about dogs. Well, Jack
was a dog; a famous and wonderful one, too. He became leader of a team in Green-
land, and some rare exploits he took part in. He would not sleep in a house; he
would not hide from an enemy; he would not harm the defenceless. Besides ‘ Jack’s
Victory’ there are ten other stories about dogs in this volume. These narratives are
not old ones, but are fresh and pleasing.†—The Schoolmistress,
THE STORY OF A KING,
ToLD BY ONE oF His Soxpiers. With Frontispiece in colour.
F’cap 8vo, 128 pp., cloth extra, price 1s.
“This book recounts the boyhood and reign of Charles XII. of Sweden. The wars
in which he was engaged and the extraordinary victories he won are well described,
and equally so are the misfortunes which latterly came on him and his kingdom
through his uncontrollable wilfulness,â€â€”A berdeen Journal.
Blackie & Son’s New Publications. 23
LITTLE DANIEL:
A Story of a Flood on the Rhine. With Frontispiece in colour.
F’cap 8vo, 128 pp., cloth extra, price 1s.
“‘A simple and touching story of a flood on the Rhine, told as well as George
Eliot so graphically wrote of The Mill on the Fioss.â€â€”Governess.
PRINCE ALEXIS:
A Tale of Old Russia. With Frontispiece in colour. cap 8vo,
128 pp., cloth extra, price 1s.
This is a legend wrought into a story, rendering a fiction of Life in
Russia, something more than a hundred ycars ago; a state of things which,
as the author says, ‘is now impossible, and will soon become incredible.â€
It is like a romance of Old Bagdad, in which the colouring and the charac-
ters and manners are Russian instead of Arabian.
SASHA THE SERF,
And other Stories of Russian Life. With Frontispiece in colour.
F’cap 8vo, 128 pp., cloth extra, price 1s.
The stories in the volume comprise:—The Life of Sasha, a poor boy who,
by his love of knowledge and his industry, saved the life of his lord, and
finally rose to wealth and gained his freedom,—Incidents of remarkable
personal bravery in the Russian army,—An interesting story of humble life
in Russia,— A story of Russian mining life,—A. bear-hunt in Russia, &c. &c.
TRUE STORIES OF FOREIGN HISTORY.
A Series of Interesting Tales. With Frontispiece printed in
colours. F’cap 8vo, 128 pp., cloth extra, price 1s.
The book contains stories—Of some of the early printers,—How Quentin
Matsys the Antwerp smith became a great painter,—The rise and fall
of Jean Ango the fisherman of Dieppe,—The early trials of Fritz Korner
the tailor’s son, who could not learn his father’s trade but who became
commander-in-chief of the Brunswick forces,—Of Polish patriotism,—The
heroisin of Casabianca the little French midshipman, &c. &e.
24 Blackie & Son's New Publications,
TULL
THE LITTLE BROWN BIRD:
A Story of Industry. With Frontispiece in colours. Medium
8vo, cloth elegant, price 6d.
This book contains two tales, the first intended to inculeate habits of
industry, and the other to show that mediocrity with perseverance achieves
a more honourable career than “ talent†wasted or misapplied.
THE MAID OF DOMREMY:
And other Tales. With Frontispiece in colours. Medium 8vo,
cloth elegant, price 6d.
“The Maid of Domremy†is in fact Joan of Arc, whose story is well ren-
dered into something less than twenty pages. Other sections of the little
volume treat of the “Feast of Cherries;†‘Something about Royal Chil-
dren;†“The Black Douglas;†‘What a Boy Did,†and ‘Johanna Sebus.â€
These are all narratives of fact,
LITTLE ERIC:
A Story of Honesty. With Frontispiece in colours. Medium 8vo,
cloth elegant, price 6d.
This isa pure juvenile fiction, illustrative of truthfulness and honesty.
It is full of interest from beginning to end, and well suited as a reward
book for Sunday Schools.
UNCLE BEN THE WHALER:
And other Stories. With Frontispiece in colours. Medium 8vo,
cloth elegant, price 6d.
“Uncle Ben the Whaler†is an ‘‘old salt†who tells a group of children
a very interesting tale of his career as a seaman in the Arctic waters, The
other stories in the volume are:—Three Handfuls of Grain,—The Golden
Rule,—The Broken Jar.
x
Blackie & Son’s New Publications.
THE PALACE OF LUXURY:
And other Stories. With Frontispiece in colours. Medium 8vo,
cloth elegant, price 6d.
A youth named Seekpeace is shown under the guidance of the fairy
Pureheart all the deceptions in the Palace of Luxury,—Madam Sunshine’s
parable about the Swan of Fortune,—The Colorado bectle’s talk with the
weathercock,—and other short amusing stories,
THE CHARCOAL BURNER:
Or Kindness Repaid. With Frontispiece in colours. Medium 8vo,
cloth elegant, price 6d.
This is a most interesting story of a poor charcoal-burner in a German
forest, who discovers and relieves a wounded officer, and is himsclf after-
wards strangely delivered from death by the same officer. The tale incul-
cates the duty of always showing kindness and of forgiving an injury.
WILLIE BLACK:
A Story of Doing Right. With Frontispiece in colours. Medium
8vo, cloth elegant, price 6d.
It is a tale of a little Shoe-black to whom a gentleman gave half-a-crown
by mistake for a penny, and it shows all the good that came to this little
boy through seeking to restore the silver coin to its owner. Proving how
it is always best to do right.
THE HORSE AND HIS WAYS:
Stories of Man and his Best Friend. With Frontispiece in colours,
Medium 8vo, cloth elegant, price 6d.
A series of interesting anecdotes about the courage of the horse; its
friendship, its docility, its sagacity, and its power of memory.
26 Blackie & Son’s New Publications.
THE SHOEMAKER’S PRESENT:
A Legendary Story. With Frontispiece in colours. Medium 8vo,
cloth elegant, price 6d.
_ A legendary story of ‘‘ How a boy became obedient.†The tale is told
in a semi-magical tone, and is very interesting.
LIGHTS TO WALK BY:
Stories for the Young. With Frontispiece in colours. Medium
8vo, cloth elegant, price 6d.
The book contains: Willy Montague’s Lesson—The Visit of the Prince—
The Conscript of Lyons—My Friend Jacques—Honesty and Usefulness—
God’s Promise. They are all lively little narratives, each with a wholesome
moral, They are well written and very attractive.
THE LITTLE MERCHANT:
And other Stories. With Frontispiece in colours. Medium 8vo,
cloth elegant, price 6d.
This book contains a series of little stories of English life and of the
experience of young people in this land. They are all designed to enforce
some important moral lesson, such as honesty, industry, kindness, &c. &c.
NICHOLINA:
A Story about an Iceberg. With Frontispiece in colours. Medium
8vo, cloth elegant, price 6d.
This is a tale of the Arctic regions, full of peculiar interest and vividly
suggestive of the feeling which is conveyed to the mind of the traveller
_who wanders over these latitudes. The other stories in the volume are :—
Frozen in; a Story of the Arctic Circle,—Idana and Her Apples; a Story
of Iceland.
A NEW SERIES
OF
FOURPENNY REWARD BOOKS.
Each 64 Pages, 18mo, Illustrated, in Picture Boards.
BRAVE AND TRUE. By Grecson Gow.
POOR TOM OLLIVER. By Jutta Gopparp.
THE CHILDREN AND THE WATER-LILY. By Jura
GoDDARD.
JOHNNIE TUPPER’S TEMPTATION. By Grecason Gow.
FRITZS EXPERIMENT. By Lerivia M‘Cuintock.
CLIMBING THE HILL. By Annxin 8. Sway.
A YEAR AT COVERLEY. By Aynniz 8. Sway.
LUCY’S CHRISTMAS-BOX: or, How GrEorGiz— FOUND HIS
CousIN.
* * These little books have been specially written with the aim of inculeating
some sound moral,such as obedience to parents, love for brothers and
sisters, kindness to animals, perseverance and diligence leading to
success, &c. &c.
28 Blackie & Son's New Publications.
VERE FOSTER’S
WATER-COLOR DRAWING-BOOKS.
SIMPLE LESSONS IN WATER-COLOR.
A series of Hight Fac-similes of Original Water-Color Drawings,
and Thirty Vignettes, after various artists. With full instruc-
tions by an experienced Master. In Tour Parts small 4to,
price 6d. each, or one volume, cloth elegant, 3s.
EASY STUDIES IN WATER-COLOR PAINTING.
By TR. P. Lerrcn and J. Catnow. A serics of Nine Pictures
executed in Neutral Tints. With full instructions for draw-
ing each subject, and for Sketching from Nature. In Three
Parts 4to, 1s. Gd. each, or one volume, cloth elegant, Gs.
SKETCHES IN WATER-COLORS.
By T. M. Ricuarnson, R. P. Lerrcu, J. A. Housroy, T. L. Row-
BorHAM, E. Duncan, and J. Nerpuam. A series of Nine
Pictures executed in colors. With full instructions for draw-
ing each subject, by an experienced Teacher. In ‘Three Parts
Ato, ls. 6d. each, or one volume, cloth elegant, 6s.
““The paper, printing, and general get-up of the scries leave nothing to be
desired.†—Lducationul Lines.
“To those who wish to become proficient in the art of water-color painting
no better instructor could be recommended than these series.â€â€” Newcuslle
Chronicle.
“Deserve the highest commendation; they are extremely serviceable for
their purpose, and are got up with remarkable care.â€â€”sS¢. Jc
“The names of the artists are quite suflicient to stamp th
highest qualities. ‘he pictures are judicious in selection and art
cution, while the instructions ar full and clear as to almost superscde the
need of a teacher.†—Liverprol Courier,
“A better selection of sketches calculated to guide the pupil in his progress
with the brush could scarcely have been made.â€â€”Bristol Mercury.
BLOCKS FORMED OF STOUT PAPER pruparep ror
SKETCHING FROM NATURE.
No. 1 (64†x 44â€), Threepence. No. 2 (9†x 64â€), Sixpence.
Blackie & Son's Book Last. 29
Approved by the Science and Art Department, South Kensington.
VERE ie OSTER'S PRAWING (OPY-BOOKS.
With Instructions and Paper to draw on, Superior Epirion, in Numbers,
at 3d. PorpuLar Eprrion (a selection) at 1d. ComPpiere Epirion, in ‘lwelve
Parts, at ls, (Hach part compete in itself.)
Part T—ELEMENTARY. Part VII._MARINE.
Al Initiatory Lessons. M1 Boats, Foregrounds, and Nautical Bits.
A2 Letters and Numerals, M2 Fishing Craft, Coasters, and Traders.
Bi Familiar Obj iStraight Lines), M3 Yuehts and Vessels of every Rig and Sail.
B2 Domestic Objects (Simple). M4 Coast Scenes, Waves, &c.
Part II.—OBJECTS. Parts VIII. and IX.-ANIMALS.
C1 Domestic Objects (Flat). O1 Birds and Quadrupeds.
C2 ie Objects (Perspective). 02 Poultry, various breeds,
D1 (Flat). 08 British Small Birds.
D2 Leaves (Natural). O04 British Wild Animals.
05 Ile s (Arab, Hunter, Dray, &¢.).
Part III.—PLANTS. 06 Racer, Trotter, Pony, Mule, &c.).
: mate O7 Dogs (Seventeen Species).
E1 Plants (Simple Forms). a . #
E2 Plants More Complex Forms). 08 Cattle, Sheep, Pigs, Goats, &e.
G1 Flowers (Simple Forms). O9 Cattle, Sheep, Lambs, Ass and Foal, &e.
G2 Flowers (More Complex Forms). 010 Foreign Wild Animals aud Birds.
Part IV.-ORNAMENT: Part X—HUMAN FIGURE.
é Q1 Features (from the Antique and from the Life).
I1 Elementary Forms, & i : ee -
I2 Simple Forms (Fretwork, Ironwork, &c.). Q2 Heads, Tiands, &e. (from Cast and Life). ,
13 Adyanced (Carving, Sculpture, &e.), 2 te eae a mien fi
I4 Ornament (Classic, Renaissance, &c.). Q igure, from the Antique (Outline),
Part V.—TREES. Part XIL—PRACTICAL GEOMETRY. ,
baer cae pet †for oa | WL Definitions aud Simple Problems.
uy ea aes we mene 2 eneh bee R2 Practical Geometry (Circie, Polygon, Ellipse).
53 Oak AGUIRRE Tivol sia. ds. -ados R3 Applied Geometry for Practical Mechanics, ke.
3 Oak, . 7 » &e., do. 2
J4 Larch, Poplar, Lime, Willow, &e., do. Part XIL—MECHANICAL DRAWING.
Part VI.—LANDSCAPE. | T1 Jnitiatory and Simple Subjects.’
T2 Details of Tools and Working Parts, &c.
T3 Models for Working Drawings, &e.
T4 Details of Machines and Engines.
K1 Rustic Landscape in Outline.
K2 Shaded Objects and Landscape.
K3 Shaded Landseape and Rustic Seenes.
K4 Advanced Landscape and Rural Scenes. 'Z BLANK EXERCISE BOOK.
Popular Edition, a selection of the above numbers printed on thin paper, price
dd. each number. The following are in print:—A, B, C, D, £2, 13, G, IL, 12, 13,
Id, J2, K1, M1, M4, 07, 08, 09, 010, Q, RL R2, R38, R4, T1, Ts, To, 7, Ts, Z.
“Tf any parent who reads these lines has a boy or girl who wishes to learn how
to be an artist, let us boldly recommend Vere Foster’s Drawing Book. It is not
only the cheapest bub by far the best that we have seen.â€â€”Graphic.
“Tt would be difficult to over-rate the value of this work—a work that is not
to be estimated by its cost: one is great, the other very small.â€â€”Art Journal.
NATIONAL COMPETITION tn WRITING AND DRAWING.
Mr. Vere Fosrer has awarded prizes for Writing and Drawing for many years.
4550 Prizes, in sums of from 5s, to £5, have been already distributed, amounting
to about £2000, List of prize-takers for last year and scheme for the Fourteenth
Annual Competition, 1884, will be sent post free on application to Mr, VERE
Fosrrr, Belfast, or to the Publishers.
30 Blackie & Son’s Book List,
Sanctioned by the Committee of Council on Education,
POYNTER'S
p OUTH KENSINGTON PBAWING - BOOK.
This new series of Drawing-Books has been issued under the direct superintendence
of IE. J. Poynter, R.A., who has selected the examples for the most part from
objects in the South Kensington Museum. The original Drawings have been
made under Mr. Poynter’s supervision by Pupils of the National Art Training
School.
Freehand Drawing.
Each Book has Fine Cartridge Paper to draw on.
Freehand, Elementary. Simple Forms, Leaves, and Flowers. Four Books,
6d. each.
Freehand, First Grade. Simple Objects, Ornament (Flat and Perspective).
Six Books, 6d. each.
Freehand, Second Grade. Ornament (Greek, Renaissance, &c.), Four
Books, 1s, each.
THE SAME SUBJECTS ON CARDS.
Elementary Freehand Cards, Four Packets, price 9d. each.
First Grade Freehand Cards, Six 4% » 18.0d. 4, j
Second Grade Freehand Cards, Four _,, oo LSBs 5,
“The choice of subjects is admirable; there is not an ugly drawing in the
book, and the infinite variety of curves that may be found in glass-work,
porcelain, shells, scroll-work, musical instruments, &c., is iUlustrated with
great skill in Mr. Poynter's models.â€â€”Pall Mall Gazette.
“My. Poynter's is probably the best series of the kind yet published.â€â€”
The Academy.
Elementary Human Figure.
Each Book has Fine Cartridge Paper to draw on.
Book I.—MIcHakEL ANGELO’s ‘ Davipâ€â€”Features (Lye, Nose, etc.). Price Sixpence.
Books II. and IIl._—Haxps ann Freer. Jn preparation.
The subjects of these books are taken from actual examples in the South
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Elementary Perspective Drawing.
By 8. J. Carriincr, Lecturer in the National Art Training School, South
Kensington. Four Books, 1s. each,
Beok i i For If. Grade Examination of the Department. Just ready.
Book IIl.—AccIDENTAL VANISHING PornTs.
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Book IV.—HiGHER PERSPECTIVE. \ Pe elos UneD ay anon:
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Life’s Daily Ministry. By Mrs. Prrman.
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London Past and Present.
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