Citation
In the chimney corner

Material Information

Title:
In the chimney corner fireside stories for young people
Creator:
Fenn, George Manville, 1831-1909
Burnside, Helen Marion ( author )
Jackson, Helen M ( Illustrator )
Bennett, H. M. (Harriet M.) ( Illustrator )
DeWolfe, Fiske & Co. (Boston, Mass.) ( Publisher )
S.J. Parkhill & Co ( Printer )
Place of Publication:
Boston
Publisher:
DeWolfe, Fiske & Co.
Manufacturer:
S.J. Parkhill & Co.
Publication Date:
Language:
English
Physical Description:
1 v. (unpaged) : ill. (some col.) ; 26 cm.

Subjects

Subjects / Keywords:
Children's stories ( lcsh )
Children's poetry ( lcsh )
Children's stories -- 1894 ( lcsh )
Children's poetry -- 1894 ( lcsh )
Bldn -- 1894
Genre:
Children's stories
Children's poetry
Spatial Coverage:
United States -- Massachusetts -- Boston
Target Audience:
juvenile ( marctarget )

Notes

General Note:
Date of publication from inscription.
Statement of Responsibility:
by Geo. Manville Fenn, H. M. Burnside, and others ; illustrations in color and photogravure by Helen M. Jackson, H.M. Bennett, and others.

Record Information

Source Institution:
University of Florida
Holding Location:
University of Florida
Rights Management:
This item is presumed to be in the public domain. The University of Florida George A. Smathers Libraries respect the intellectual property rights of others and do not claim any copyright interest in this item. Users of this work have responsibility for determining copyright status prior to reusing, publishing or reproducing this item for purposes other than what is allowed by fair use or other copyright exemptions. Any reuse of this item in excess of fair use or other copyright exemptions may require permission of the copyright holder. The Smathers Libraries would like to learn more about this item and invite individuals or organizations to contact The Department of Special and Area Studies Collections (special@uflib.ufl.edu) with any additional information they can provide.
Resource Identifier:
026634557 ( ALEPH )
ALG4202 ( NOTIS )
226871316 ( OCLC )

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oA TPAMILY STORY

T was a mild summer night. The lamps were lighted in the house, and
the hour for the children’s bedtime drew near.

They had been having a happy day. In the morning Frank had been
with his father to see the trained dogs, and was pleased to see how many
funny tricks they had learned to do.

They could walk upon a rope, jump through hoops, and turn summer-
saults forwards and backwards, like the men in the circus. They could also
ride upon the back of a pony, and could all dance to the music of the band.

His father told him that they had learned to do these things when they
were very young, and if he expected to be wise when he grew old, he must
learn while he was a boy.

-When Frank got home he told his sisters of all he had seen.

Maud said, ‘‘ My dolly knows just as much as the dogs. She can cry
when she wants me to take her to ride, and she can sit in her carriage and
fold her hands, and can move her eyes, and can shut them when I put her
to bed.”

Mary said she would rather have a dog or a kitty than a dolly.

‘So would I,” said Frank. ‘We will ask papa to give us one next
Christmas.”

In the afternoon the children had all been to ride with their father.
They drove a long distance into the country and enjoyed many pleasing sights.

They stopped at a river for their horse to drink, and while there a boy
with a covered basket on his arm came along and stood behind the carriage,



A FAMILY STORY.

and then followed it as the horse walked slowly up the hill. The children
wondered what the basket contained.

At a farmhouse they stopped for a drink of milk, which the housewife
brought sweet and cool from the cellar.

They waited awhile and watched the old duck and her fluffy goslings
gliding over the silver surface of a pool. The old duck seemed very proud of
them. They floated as lightly as masses of golden down. They seemed
happy, but there was a large black cat roaming about the garden among the
shrubbery crying piteously.

On their way home the children were talking about the dogs which Frank
had seen, and they wondered whether
they could teach a dog or cat to do
similar things.

Just then the carriage jolted over a
stone in the road and they heard the cry
of a kitten. It startled them. They
thought one must have been crushed
by the wheels. Yet none was to be
seen and they again drove on. They
had not gone far when they again heard



the cry. They were more surprised than
before, and their father made a thorough search.

How strange! In the back of the carriage, under the wraps, was a very
small black kitten, not many weeks old. How he came there was a great
wonder; but they were all much pleased with him, and their father said they
could have him for a playmate.

When they got home they made him a nice soft bed in their mother’s
work-basket, and then played with him till bedtime.

When supper was over the three gathered around to see him eat. Maud
held for him a dish of warm milk, and Frank and Mary stood and watched
him with pleasure, and thought how many tricks they could teach him to do.

Then they placed a dish of milk and a few pieces of bread near the
window, over which hung a beautiful branch of the running rose that grew by
the piazza, for they thought kitty would be hungry during the night; this
having been done they all went to bed.

For a long time they lay awake. They thought over the events of the



A FAMILY STORY.

past day. They could not forget their ride in the country, and the strange
way in which they found their new playmate.

When morning came they were all three awake early. They could
scarcely wait to be dressed they were so anxious to see their playmate.

To their great grief, when they went to his little bed in the basket he was
gone. Though search was made throughout the whole house he was nowhere
to be found. Three children were never more unhappy. Their bright dreams
of sport were over, and everybody wondered where the kitten could have gone.

The next day the children were in the garden with their father. The
gardener said to them, —

“T must jest tell ye, children, what I beheld with my own eyes this blessed
morning. Iam an early bird, always up with the lark. The rising sun niver
catches me sleepin’; and when I came out here this mornin’, down under the
rosebush I beheld a big black cat. She was a stranger here, and was kind o'
smelling around loike, hunting among the vines.

(Se Catea calcul

“«Meow!’ said she, and sprang over
the flower-pots and into your bedroom
window like a tiger. Well, now I must
tell ye I felt kind o’ frighten loike
to see a black cat act so strange. While
I stood wondering she sprang out from
the window with a big rat in her mouth.

«“«Scat! Scat!’ said I] again; and
away she went over the garden wall into
the road. The last I saw of her she

was going over yonder hill; it was



very strange, and] keep asking myself
where did she get that big black rat ?
The loikes of it I niver before beheld!”

The children wondered at the gar-
dener’s story; and their father gave a knowing smile, and said, —

“Well, children, we will ride again this afternoon, and perhaps we shall
get a sight of that strange rat-catcher.”

When the afternoon came, they again rode into the country, and stopped at
the river where the day before they had seen the boy with a basket. Then



A FAMILY STORY.

they drove to the farmhouse where they had seen the ducks swimming in the
pool. Upon the steps of the house lay the same cat which they saw moaning
in the yard the day before. She now seemed very happy, for with her was a
little black kitten, jumping over her and playing with her tail.

”

“That looks just like our lost kitty,” said Frank.

“Let's get out and go and see him,” said Mary.

“T know ’tis our kitty,’ said Maud. ‘He has one white foot and a few
white hairs over his left eye.”

The housewife, seeing their interest in her cats, came out and told them
this story:

“ Yesterday a boy took that kitten to the river to drown him; but seeing
a gentleman and his family riding along, he threw him into the carriage
instead of the river. The old cat felt very bad, and cried about the house and
grounds. This morning she came home bringing him in her mouth. Where
she had been during the night no one can tell, but she seems very happy to
have him restored to her.”

Soon the whole mystery was explained.

The old cat had followed the road and found where the little kitten was
sleeping in his basket. It was the kitten instead of the rat which the gardener
saw her carrying away in her mouth.

When this had been told the children were more interested in the kitten
than ever; and their father bought him of the housewife, but left him with
the old mother till he was older; then they took him home and he grew very
large and handsome, and learned to do many wonderful tricks.

This happened many years ago. Frank grew to manhood and was killed
in war.

Maud and Mary are now old ladies; but they remember and tell of their
wonderful cat.

He lived with them till he became old, and blind, and helpless. One day
he fell asleep in a cushioned rocking-chair. They tried to wake him but could

not — he was dead.



MATTIE AND OBO.

R. GRUFF was a very wicked man. He had two boys, and they were
very much like their father. They were all very cruel to animals, and,
in fact, were unkind to everybody.

There is an old Scotch proverb, worth remembering : “ One who is guid to
a beast is guid to a body.”

When one is unkind to animals they are generally unkind to all whom they
meet. ,

Mr. Gruff and his boys once did a very wicked thing.

Little Mattie Mayo lived in
the house next to Mr. Gruff.
She had a little dog which was
very cunning and play-
ful. She took great care
of him, and fed him




often with warm
sweet milk. As
he grew he be-
came very full
Ometans a mec
learned to do
many curious
tricks, and thus
he gave Mattie
a great deal of
pleasure.



One morn-
ing when she
came down to
breakfast her
mother told her
that Obo (that
was his name)
could not be found: they had searched all over the house and grounds, and



had inquired of the neighbors ; no one had seen him, and he was nowhere to be



MATTIE AND OBO.

found. There was his basket where he had slept, but he was gone. Mattie
felt very badly, and could eat no breakfast, and the whole family were in
trouble. Her father offered a reward to any one who would return him. It
was believed that he had fallen into the river, and, as it was winter, he had
been carried under the ice, for he was known to be very venturesome, and
would sometimes go into dangerous places.

One winter day, when out playing with Mattie, he came very near being
drowned. They were playing near the lake. The water was but partially
frozen, and had not become strong enough to hold him except near the shore.
That day he was very full of mischief, and would not obey his little mistress.
He ran upon the thin ice:
she tried to call him back,
but he kept on till it broke
beneath his weight. He

gave a spring, and had the

g
good luck to reach the land
in safety, though he and
Mattie were both very much
frightened.

After Obo had been

missing about two weeks,



g, sad

weeks to Mattie,— she was

—and they were lon

returning from school, think-
ing how he used to come to meet cher. She almost cried when she thought
that he would never come again.

As she was passing a damp, dirty alley, she saw two boys having sport with
something in the gutter, half buried in the melting snow and mud. She
knew they were Mr. Gruff’s boys, and her parents had told her never to go
near them lest they might do her some injury. She started to run away ;
but when she heard the cry of an animal in pain, she forgot her danger,
and turned her steps towards the boys to see what caused those piteous
cries.

The boys were making sport of a poor little dog, which they had thrown
into the water and dirt: he had been there so long that it was hard to tell his
shape or color. They had tied an old tin saucepan to his tail, and were mak-





Very Vent uresome.



MATTIE AND OBO.

ing him drag it through the water and mud. This he had not strength to do,
for he was weak from hunger!

When he saw Mattie he uttered a loud cry for help, and tried to spring
towards her. He knew her, and when he gave his well-known bark of welcome,
she cried,—

“Tt is my darling Obo;” and though he was covered with dirt and water
she caught him in her arms and cried for joy.

The boys jeered her, and tried to pull him from her, but she would not let
him go. Just thena policeman came in sight, and the boys tried to run away.
In doing so they were captured by a policeman coming in the other direction,
and were hastened off to prison.

The policeman was very kind to Mattie, and helped her to carry Obo home.
And there was great rejoicing in the family.

The poor little dog seemed very thankful to be at home again, but he was
tired and hungry and sick. They tried to give him every care that would
make him well again, but he had been treated so cruelly by those bad boys
that he could never be bright and playful again; he grew sicker, and died in a
few days; and Mattie was again in sorrow.

It was found that Mr. Gruff stole Obo from his bed in the basket, thinking
to sell him to some one far away in the country. His boys thought to have
some fun with him, and stole him from their father.

They were punished for being cruel to an animal, and their father for steal-
ing; and that whole wicked family is now in prison, where they are compelled
to spend their days in hard labor, yet they have time to think over their

wicked deeds.







THE. DISOBEDIENT “CLONE N.

IGHT babies! Eight little yellow chicks to look after! Eight young
children to be instructed in polite manners and the very best of morals!
Certainly, Mrs. Hen had her wings full.

The little chickens were hatched one sunny morning ; and no sooner had
they popped out of their shells and got over their astonishment, than they
began to scratch for worms, and tumble over one another in their eagerness
to catch the passing flies and gnats.

“ Hoity-toity! this sort of thing won't do,” cried Mrs. Hen. ‘“ My dears,
you musn’t be greedy. Come here, and listen to me while I give you your
names.”

Now, as a rule, the finding of a name for one baby gives a great deal of
trouble; so we can easily imagine how worried poor Mrs. Hen and _ her
husband were before they settled what they should call their eight children.
But it was finally agreed that the names should be: Snap, Peep, Scrap, Tweet,
Snip, Puff, Pop, Scruff; and very good names, too, I think. But, at any rate,
the chicks thought so (which is far more important), and were immensely
proud of themselves as they went to walk with their father and mother, and
were introduced to the other animals in the farmyard.

Certainly, the chicks, with one exception, were a credit to their parents,
and I am sorry to say that Scrap was that exception. Although the smallest



THE DISOBEDIENT CHICKEN.

chick in the whole brood, he had more naughtiness in his little body than all
the rest of his brothers and sisters put together. While Mrs. Hen’s other
children paid the greatest attention to their lessons every morning, Scrap’s
mind was filled with thoughts of flies and worms, and he was always wishing
it was dinner-time. Scrap, I am grieved to say, was a greedy chicken. Then
he caused his family terrible anxiety by being too friendly with the young
ducks. Now, young ducks, in their own way, are just as nice as young
chickens; but their way led them to the pond, for they delighted in water,
and could swim perfectly. But Scrap could not swim ; and so his father
and mother, and brothers and sisters, were afraid that
if he continued to associate with the ducklings, he might
venture one day into the water and be drowned. And
it so happened that Scrap’s greediness ded lead him
into terrible trouble. One afternoon he met the ducks
coming away from the pond; they were talking about
the happy day they had spent, and how far more pleasant



“° it was, and what a lot more there was to eat on the other
side of the water. Scrap said nothing, but listened very eagerly ; and that
night before he went to sleep under his mother’s wing, he made up his mind
that on the morrow he would, by hook or by crook, reach the other side of
the pond.

The next day Scrap was awake betimes, and as soon as he sawa good
opportunity, this naughty chick stole away from his family, and ran as fast as
his little legs could carry him to the water's side. But there he came to a
standstill, just as you would have done if you had run away from home and
had come to the wide sea, and were thinking about swimming across It. Scrap
put one foot into the water, and drew it out again very quickly — he thought
it very cold and uncomfortable. He would not have ventured in the water
then for all the dinners in the world. But still he could just see the little
ducks in the distance swimming gayly over to the other side; it was really
very tantalizing. Scrap thought for a moment, and then determined that, as
he could not cross the pond, he would go round it.

Poor Scrap! he did not know what a terrible undertaking this was for so
smail a body.

At first, his journey was easy enough, for it lay through short, sweet
grass, but soon he had to encounter thistles, nettles, and thick brambles.



‘THE DISOBEDIENT CHICKEN.

With great difficulty he pushed himself through these, having to rest every
minute. And he very soon got so tired, and scratched, and wet with the dew,
that he made up his mind to return to his mother. But, all of a sudden, he
heard a rustling, and, to his horror, he saw a big rat. Now, for a chicken to
meet a rat, is just as bad as if you were to mect a lion. Poor Scrap lay quite
still, trembling all over, and oh, how thankful he was that the rat didn’t see
him as it passed along. Then, up he jumped and ran off— in his fright he
did not know where. On he went, tumbling over sticks, and tumbling into
ditches, until he was in a terrible plight, and had lost his way.

You can fancy how anxious his father and mother, his brothers and sisters,
were about him all this time. They hunted high and low, and searched
the farm-yard, the kitchen garden, and even the flower-beds, but he was
nowhere to be found. No one had seen or heard anything of him.

It was dusk, and night was fast approaching. Mrs. Hen was sadly putting
the remaining children vo sleep, when a small black object was seen to limp
towards the fowl-house.

“Tweet! tweet!” it cried faintly, as it came near, and then threw itself
beneath Mrs. Hen’s wing.

Dear me! It was poor Scrap, but oh! how changed — black with mud,
and with hardly a bit of fluff remaining on his little body. You can imagine
how glad Mrs. Hen was to get him back again, and the fluff soon grew; but I
am glad to say that Scrap was a much better chick afterwards, for whenever
he felt inclined to be disobedient he always remembered the big black rat.

He never stays away now from the crowing class which his father holds
every day; and although he was very backward at first, 1 am sure he will soon
make up for lost time, for his father is very indulgent.

Listen to what he and his brothers are saying now :

“Ts it hard to do, papa? Is it hard to do?
We would like to crow like that, and be as big as you,
But you are old and fatherly, and we are young and new!”
“ Silence, children, while I speak, now, Cock-a-doodle-doo !
Now, my children, run and scratch, I am coming too,
Mother let you out to play, she'll her kindness rue,
If you don’t obey papa, as all good chickens true.

”

Well, to please you, once again, ‘ Cock-a-doodle-doo.’



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GOLD -AND SILVER.

. INE really looks rather a large
ee ae family when you see them all
ee together, as you do now: four
grown-ups and the baby. When I
call them grown-ups, you know I
mean that they are grown-up for
dollies. 1 am Dolly too, so it is
. quite a family name for them; and
they have others, of course, besides.
The one in the blue hat is Lu-
cinda: she’s the eldest, and the
beauty of the family, though some



people consider her very like her
mother too. Then comes Bron-

Rowell”



zella. J gave her that name because
when she came she had on the most lovely bronze shoes, but they were worn
out long ago. I can’t keep her hair tidy, whatever Ido. And as I can’t afford
more than one hat at a time amongst them all, they take it by turns to wear
it; and Bronzella’s in a temper because it isn’t her turn to-day. That boy
sitting by Lucinda is Carlo Dolci. I called him Charlie at first; but he was
such a dear, sweet, gentle little fellow that Uncle Leo, who paints pictures,
advised me to change it to Carlo Dolci. Carlo always holds baby carefully on
his knee when I take them for a drive: her name is Pinkie, because of her
pink frock, made out of a bit of mine. I’ve left Drowsabella till the last
because her story is a sad one, and |
do not like telling it.

I left her out of doors one night
last summer, and Ben found her when
he went out early to milk the cows,
and brought her in, so when I woke

in the morning, there she was lying



on my bed, but in such a state, that

though she is my own child I really did not know her at first. All her
pretty curls were gone ; she was balder even than Uncle Leo, and had a great
hole in her head besides; her back was hurt, and one hand bitten off: and her



GOLD AND SILVER.

clothes were all wet and muddy. Nurse said the cows had done it, and that
it served me right for being so careless ; but I cried so, I think nurse was sorry,
and when I was dressed she helped me to do all that could be done for
Drowsabella. We made a tight cap that just fitted her poor head, such as
Uncle Leo wears when he is painting, but there was no little frill of hair to curl
round it as his does, you see; then we bound up her poor arm, and nurse
washed her clothes while she was in bed. _ It’s quite impossible amongst so many
to give them more than one frock each,

or for that matter, more than one any — :.

thing; so they all have to stay in bed ee








on washing-days, and play at being
ill.

Poor Drowsabella, she will
never sit up again, and isn’t
a bit pretty now; but
she sleeps most of the
time, and gives
no trouble, and
I love her best
atters all. Vel
have learnt a +
song called, “I . |
once had a
sweet little doll, dears ;” and when her back is very bad I sing it to comfort
her, because it seems to have been written on purpose for her.

Now you know all about the family. They are just dressed and fed, and
it’s quite one person's work to see to them every morning, I can tell you.
Jack and I are taking them out into the fields. Jack always goes with us, and
I find him very useful in sitting by them whilst I pick flowers. It is too hot
to run about this morning, so I am going to keep them quiet by telling them
a story. You shall hear it too, if you like stories, and will come with us.

This big oak-tree is my summer nursery. The branches hang down so
low that the cows never come quite underneath, and these great roots stick-
ing out with pillows of moss between, make lovely seats and beds for the
family. Drowsabella has the softest place: she lies on this long sloping cushion

7

with Pinkie beside her, and Carlo sits on the root close by. Lucinda and







GOLD AND SILVER.

Bronzella always quarrel about the hat if they sit together, so I put them on
each side of the others. Jack turns round three times and then lies down with
his nose on his paws, and pretends to be asleep; but he hears and sees every-
thing all the same. There, now for my story. I read a bit of it in a book,
you know, and made up the rest, and I call it

GOLDVAND=sILVER:

Once upon a time a most beautiful little girl, whose name was Lilian, was
picking buttercups and daisies in a large meadow which was quite covered with
them. Lilian was very fair indeed, and thin and tall for her age, which was

oS ; about eight or nine ;_ her hair

& as

was as yellow as gold, and
she wore a long green frock,
so that she really looked
rather like a tall white lily.
I suppose that is why they
called her Lilian. She went
about and about the field
singing softly to herself, and
picking the finest buttercups
and daisies till she had quite
a large bundle under her
arm. Suddenly she came
upon a tiny brown field-
mouse, lying on the grass
quite dead. Lilian took it



up in her hand, and stroked
and kissed it gently ; then she dug a little hole with a bit of a stick, and lined
it with daisies, and laid the little mouse in it, and covered it up again with a
daisy-root on the top. When she had done she sat down fora few minutes to
rest, feeling rather sad, because she loved all the little creatures out of doors
so much, she did not like to think of their dying. While she sat thinking
she was surprised to hear a little voice close to her say, —

“Thank you, little mistress ; you have done my work for me, I see.”

Lilian looked all about her, but could see no one.

“T can’t see anybody,” she said to herself, “ but I am sure some one spoke.”



GOLD AND SILVER.

“Jt was I,” said the same voice. ‘I am here, close to your feet.”

Lilian looked down, and there, balanced on the centre of a moon-daisy, was
the tiniest and prettiest little man she had ever seen. He was dressed in
green, and had on a little yellow cap, like a buttercup upside down, so that
unless one looked closely, it was not easy to distinguish him amongst the
buttercups and daisies.

‘Oh, you dear wee fellow!” exclaimed Lilian, ‘‘ who are you, and where
do you come from ?”

‘“My name is Amber, very much at your service,” answered the little man
jumping up, and taking off his cap with a graceful bow ;
“but whence I come, sweet Mistress Lilian, I am not
at liberty to say.”

“ Are you all alone, Master Amber?” asked Lilian.

“Just at present I am, but I have hundreds and hun-
dreds of brothers and sisters.”

“ Are they all as small as yourself?”

“Some are smaller still.”

“Oh, how I should like to see them !”

“T daresay you have seen, but did not know them ;
we are always about. My sister Azure knows you very
well, and so do I,” continued Amber. ‘ We all wear
green dresses, but have different colored flower caps.
It is not easy to see us unless we choose to be seen; it



is only to kind and gentle little children like you, Mis-
tress Lilian, that we sometimes appear in our real forms. We know that you
love all the little creatures that we watch over and care for; and when you
buried the dead mouse just now, you were doing my work, that is why I spoke
to you.”

“ How do you mean that it was your work?”

“T should have done it if you had not. Have you never noticed how
seldom you find dead birds or butterflies about ?—and yet think how many
there would be if some one did not bury them. I and my brothers go about
and find them, and lay them carefully under the buttercups and daisies, which,
by the way, we call gold and silver flowers. ‘There is a large band of us, also,
who look for, and help any little creatures that happen to be hurt, and we

cure them when we can.”



GOLD AND SILVER.

“ How do you cure them?” asked Lilian.

“ Why, we know secrets of healing powers, possessed by herbs and flowers,
just as your doctors do, but we know more of them, and how to use them.”

“T know that lily leaves cure cuts and bruises,” said Lilian.

“Ves,” nodded Amber, ‘‘ you were not called Lilian for nothing, I see.”

“ How is it you know my name?” questioned Lilian: “I have been want-
ing to ask you all the time.”

‘Ah, we know more things than you think for,” replied Ge “T should
not wonder if we had something to do with your being called so.’

“1 do not see how that could be, because I had proper godmothers, and
was christened in the church over there, you can just see the tower through
the trees. But please tell me more about yourself, Master Amber, and what
your sisters do?”

“ Some of them help us to take care of the sick creatures, but the greater
number of them watch over the flowers.”

“ How do they do that ?”

“Oh, in a hundred ways. For instance, there are a great many flowers that
require closing up at night, or when it is going to rain, and others that want a
great deal of dew to drink have to be opened wide at twilight ; my sisters pull
cool leaves over those that cannot bear hot sun by day, and uncover others
that like the sunshine. They prop up tall flower stems when the wind sways
them too roughly; all night long they drop dew on their petals, and keep
away any thing that might hurt them; but their busiest time is early in the
- morning, when they have to repai., as far as they can, any little accident that
may happen to their charges in the night, and make them look fresh and
bright and beautiful, just as you see them when you come Ouees

“ That is lovely work,” said Lilian. “ How I wish I could see them doing
ieee

“ Look here, then,” whispered Amber, pointing to a daisy which hung its
head because its stem was bent and bruised ; and at the same moment a little
lady in a green frock, and harebell cap, bustled out of the tall grass close by.
She went up to the injured daisy, and gently raised its head, and began to
bathe the stem with something from a harebell cup which she carried slung
across her shoulders. She continued to do this till the daisy held up its head
quite strongly again, and then lightly kissing its silver fringe she tripped away.

‘That was my sister Azure,” said Amber; ‘‘she bathed the stem with a
lily leaf, dipped in honey and dew.”



GOLD AND SILVER.

“Tt was lovely,” exclaimed Lilian.

Amber nodded kindly at her, and went on —

“said early morning was the busiest time, but often the evening work is
the saddest. Ah! Mistress Lilian, you little know the havoc that human
children, and, for that matter, grown-up folk too, make amongst the dear
beautiful flowers —how often they break and trample on whole masses at
once, and hurt them quite beyond our skill to cure. Then they pick great
bunches, just to throw them away, and pick more: that is the saddest sight of
all to us. As for Azure, you would be quite grieved if you could see how she
breaks her little heart over it.”

“Tam sorry,” said Lilian. ‘It always makes me sad too.” Then she
looked down at the bundle of flowers she carried under her arm, and saw they
were beginning to droop.

“ Please, Master Amber,” she said, ‘I think I must go home now, and put
my flowers in water. 1 did not pick them to throw away, you know, but for
mother, my own dear mother —she is not strong enough to come out and
pick them, but she loves them, and | pick some for her every day. I hope |
shall see you again some day.”

Amber nodded, as he skipped down from the daisy where he had been sitting
all the time.

“ Surely,” he said, ‘** now that you know how to findus. You area favorite
with the fairies, Mistress Lilian,” he added, bowing and kissing his hand till he
disappeared in the thicket of gold and silver.

“So Amber was a fairy after all, you see,” finished up Dolly. ‘And now
the family must go home too. Heigh-ho, how I wish there were fairies who
could cure dollies, and then I would take poor dear Drowsabella to them.”









































































































































































































HEeARTH-RUG RAFT.

HEN Baby and J are playing alone, our plays are always the same, —
Dolls’ tea-parties, and fetching the Doctor to Dolly, and that sort
of game.
But we have much better fun when Cousin Eric comes to stay,
Because ‘he’s read so much, and he gets things out of books, and we do them
for play.
But last time he came was jolliest, for we played at rafts all day:
We got the hearth-rug, that was the raft, and the carpet was the great wide sea.
; And Eric was captain of a ship-
y wrecked crew, — that was Baby
and me.
And we had a walking-stick for
one oar, and Aunt Jane’s red















silk sunshade, that she’d left in
the hall ;

And I’m sorry to say we broke
the handle, but she needn't
have been so cross for we
didn’t mean to at all.

And we hoisted a flag, — Eric’s
handkerchief, — and made sig-
nals of distress, and sent up
rockets ;

I didn’t understand exactly what

\p! they were, but Eric threw up all
|



the little things in our pockets.

zy’ And I suppose we aid
make the dining-room
rather untidy, with tops,
and marbles, and string ;
But Aunt Jane needn't
have sent us to bed, and
said we were the ruin of
everything.



THE CARD CASTLE.

T was a wet afternoon. The children had found a pack of cards, and Alec
was building a splendid house with them, and Baby sat on the floor and

sang :

We're going to build a castle,
A castle, oh, so high!

Whose towers and noddin’ battlements
Will almost touch the sky.

But in this wondrous castle,
Although it is so tall,

You cannot go up-stairs, because
There are no stairs at all.



And in my castle liveth There came a Knight a-riding,
A boo’ful little maid, His spear of golden straw ;
Who in its topmost turret He was the very bravest Knight

A prisoner long hath stayed. That mortal ever saw.
He cried, “I’ve come to save thee; = Just then came by a Mousie,
Come down, oh, maiden fair!” With a mushroom for a hat,
The maid she sobbed, ‘‘ How can I And as he saw their trouble,
Without a single stair?” He said, “I'll settle that!

“Go, fetch the kitchen bellows,
And give a good big puff,

To bring the castle tumbling down,
You'll find it quite enough !”

They followed Mousie’s counsel,
And soon that castle grand

Was gone, while Knight and Maiden
Rode off to Fairyland!







is



&







DIE IGT IE Eee Seite azo taxa) ol SS

HERE was once a little maid, and her name was —
no, I don’t think I'll tell you what it was, for you



f% might laugh, and this is such a sad, sad story.

Well, this little girl did not go to school, and she did
not stop at home, and she did not play — but I'll tell you
what she did do: she was out in the fields all day minding
her father’s sheep.

And they were such funny sheep. Do you know
they each had four legs, and instead of walking on two
feet as we do, they walked on four feet; and then they
had such long noses, and they couldn’t talk a bit, that is,
they could only say Baa: and there is not much variety in that, is there?
And then there was another funny thing about them, their tails were always
behind them, no matter where they went, or how slowly they walked, those
stupid tails always kept behind.

Well, Bo-peep (there, I have let out her name after all) used to sit and
watch those curious sheep, under the shade of her big blue hat, and she used
to talk to them, and tell them wonderful stories of fairies and hobgoblins, but
no matter how exciting her tales were, she
never got anything in the way of applause
but Baa!

So one day when it was very hot, and
Bo-peep had seen all her flock comfortably
asleep in the shade, she thought she would



have a little nap too; so making a pillow of }
the softest moss she could find, she soon fell asleep, and dreamt she was a
queen, and had nothing to do all day but to sing, and dance, and eat sweets,
and ride about in a beautiful golden chariot with snow-white horses, and
everything that was lovely.

But she awoke with a great start, as a little bird perched upon her
shoulder.

She rubbed her eyes and looked all around, but not a sheep was in sight,
not even a tail, and they would sure to have been behind. Poor Bo-peep !
she called loudly and waved her crook, but not a single Baa could she hear.



THE LITTLE SHEPHERDESS.

But she saw a squirrel, and she said, “ Oh, do get up to the top of this
tree, and tell me if you can see anything of my sheep.”

But the squirrel said, “I am going to a garden-party, and am a little late,
I will look for you to-morrow.” Then the same little bird flew back.

‘Poor little Bo-peep,
Oh, why do you weep ?
See, here are your sheep,
Look, little Bo-peep,”

sang the bird in her ear; and, looking up, to her great surprise, Little Bo-
peep saw all her sheep quite close to her, and happily feeding ; and, yes, there
were their tails, all behind them as usual.

Bo-peep could not understand how ever they had come back; but she was

quite happy again, and sang away, the little bird piping an accompaniment :

“T’'m little Bo-peep,
I’ve found all my sheep,
I'll never more sleep,

- But careful watch keep.
Good little Bo-peep.”























































THE LITTLE MONKEY.

os URSEY,” said Miss Lil, one morning, “ father has given me a whole
N large penny.”
“Has he, Miss?” said Nurse. ‘I wonder why he did that?”

“He gived it me for my thoughts,” answered Lil. ‘He said to me this
morning, ‘A penny for your thoughts, Lil,’ and I was just thinking whether I
should put Dolly’s blue hat on when I went out, or her fur cap. And I told
him, and he laughed so, and gave me a beautiful bright penny. It looks like a
gold penny, doesn’t it? And, now, what shall I buy with it, Nursey, dear?”

“Well, what do you want most, Missy?”

“T might buy a little totty dolly for Miranda to play with,” continued Lil.
“Can I get a dolly for a penny, Nursey ?”

“Oh! yes, I think so,” answered Nurse. ‘‘ You can buy a little china or
wooden dolly for a penny, I feel sure. When we were children we used to get
little wooden dollies, two a penny. They were not so pretty as the dollies now,
but they had jointed legs and arms, and you could make them sit down, and
sometimes stand up. I hardly know whether you can buy that kind now.”

“ Would they really sit down?” cried Lil, a little excited ; “ because that is
what Miranda won’t do. She is so stiff in the middle. Then I might buy a
chair. I saw some penny chairs in the shop yesterday, and the little dolly
could sit in it.”

“ But if you buy the dolly, you won't have any penny left to buy the chair.”

“Oh, dear!” Lil exclaimed rather in dismay. Her face fell a little, for a
beautiful vision of a jointed wooden doll sitting up in a chair was rising in her
mind. ‘ But, oh, Nursey, what is that funny noise?” and Lil started up and
ran to the window.

“Oh! it is a little dark boy with a hurdy-gurdy,” she cried, “and he has a
little monkey — such a funny little monkey in a frock, with a cap on his head.
And now he plays a tune ; the monkey runs about and dances and bows. Oh!
Nursey, let us go outside and see him, do, please.”

Nurse put on Lil’s sun-bonnet, and then they went into the front garden.
The little Italian boy came just in at the gate, and smiled at her with his soft
dark eyes, and turned his hurdy-gurdy, and made his monkey go through all
his tricks; but Lil was a tiny bit afraid of the little creature, and shrank back

‘

close to Nurse.



THE LITTLE MONKEY.

“Jacko not hurt little lady,” said the boy in his imperfect English. ‘ Jacko
good little monkey.”

“Is he?” said Lil. ‘Won't he bite ?”

‘““No, no, not bite. See here. Come, Jacko!”

The little creature ran back to his master, sprang on his shoulder, and
rubbed his wizened, quaint little face against the boy’s olive cheek.

‘Is he your monkey, your very own ?” asked Lil.

‘Si, si, now,” said the lad. ‘‘ The Padrone lets me have him. Jacko does
more tricks for me.”

“Then I expect you are kind to him;” said Nurse; “and that’s why
he obeys you.” ,

“ T love Jacko,” the boy answered simply, ‘‘ and Jacko loves me.”

“ Nursey, "" whispered Lil, “my penny, mayn't I give the monkey my
penny?”

‘Do, miss, if you like,” said Nurse. ‘I would give him one also, but I
sent all my money away yesterday to Mother, because Father is out of work.”
So Lil pulled out her bright penny and dropped it into Jacko’s cap, and Jacko’s
master, Luigi, thanked her in soft Italian words and smiles, which latter were
much more intelligible to Lil than his speech.

And Miss Lil was really happier in giving her penny to the poor little
Italian than if she had bought half-a-dozen jointed dollies, and chairs for them
to siton. She would have been happier still if she could have known how
her penny was spent, for Luigi got so many pence. that day —people seem
in a giving mood he thought — that the Padrone who had employed him gave
‘him back one for himself.

‘That is the pretty little lady’s penny,” said Luigi. ‘I know it because it
is so bright and shining. Now, my Little Jacko, what shall we buy? 1 know;
we will have an orange and some nuts, and it will be the little lady’s festa.”

So Luigi spent his penny on these dainties, and he and Jacko enjoyed
their little treat on a quiet, sheltered daorstep, and then went home to sleep.








THE MAGIC DAISY-CHAIN:

T was asad day at the farm. Mrs. Giles shook her head






mournfully from side to side, so did Farmer Giles, so did
~ Tommy Giles, so did also his little sister Esther.
They were sad because somebody else was sad, very sad
* indeed. This somebody was a poor woman who lived in a
small cottage at the farther end of the village, and she was
: sad because she had very little money, and very little food,
<2 but she was still more unhappy and broken-hearted because
she had no comforts to give her little daughter, — her poor
little daughter who lay ill in bed all day long this beautiful summer weather.
Farmer Giles had just returned from the cottage, having taken the poor
woman a jar of soup that his good wife had thought would do the little one
good, and he had met the doctor ENsit hve ge gen vied
in the village, who had looked very nt make her a great
grave, and had shaken “zs head long one that will go

\
iy
mournfully when he spoke about ee Ee
‘ RS -

) two times round her
the poor woman and the little i ily neck.”
I : . : ‘ le ~ .
brown-eyed girl. i;\ He iin ec The children
\ a

walked on across
the field to-
gether, Esther

When Tommy and Esther went



to play they did not rush out of
the house with a shout and a laugh I
as they usually did, but walked ; AN with her doll
along in silence, both little minds under her arm,
thinking about the poor sick child. until them came
“J wonder if she’d like my * to a shady bank

dolly,” said Esther, after a long



pause. .
“Pm sure she would,” said --\%
Tom. ‘Let us walk over the hill
and give it to her. And let us
make her a lovely daisy-chain :
she’d like that too, because she
cannot get up to pick the daisies.”

“Es, that will be lovely,” said





THE MAGIC DAISY-CHAIN.

beside a wood, and there having gathered a pinafore full of daisies, they
sat down to make the chain.

‘Dis daisy,” said Esther, picking up the first flower, — “ dis daisy is to
make her quite well again.”

‘And this daisy is to give her plenty to eat for ever and ever,” said Tom,
as he handed his sister a second flower.

‘And dis one is to give her heaps and heaps of silver pennies,” said the
little girl. ‘‘ Oh, won't it be a lovely daisy-chain!”

“Rather,” replied Tom. ‘And what’s this one to do?”

“Dat one,” said Esther, after
thinking some time, ‘‘is to make









her a good girl always, always,
always. Praps that ought to
have been with the first daisy,”
she added doubtfully.

‘SRraps 'sO.) ssaid. her =e
brother =* but. it doesn't ( a,
matter if she zs :
good always which
daisy makes her
Som

“And the next
one shall be plum- ‘¥
cake for breakfast,
dinner, and _ tea,”
cried Esther glee-
fully.

“And the next one a cage of white mice,” chimed in Tom.

“And the next— oh, it will be a booful daisy-chain, — must give her a good
fairy always to look after her,” exclaimed the little girl excitedly.

And so the daisy-chain went on getting longer and longer until there was
not one good thing left to wish the sick child.

If only these good wishes had come true she would have been more lovely,
more fortunate, and happy than any princess in the whole wide world.

When the children rose to go they discovered for the first time that they |
were not alone. A lady was standing behind them, leaning against a tree at







THE MAGIC D-AISY-CH-AIN.

the edge of the wood. She was a very pretty lady, and had such a sweet
smile and such a pretty dress.

“ Little ones,” said she, I] have been watching you make your beautiful
daisy-chain. Who is the fortunate person to whom you are going to give it?
Come and sit down beside me and tell me all about it.”

Down the three sat; and the lady was so kind and gentle that the children
were not a bit shy, and told
her all about the sick child,







and how poor her mother was,



and how they had made the ext —

daisy-chain to make the little | ae jie
girl well again. ARMM

«And where does she
live?” asked the
pretty lady.

«‘At the last cot-
tage in the village,
over there,” replied

Tommy, pointing



“And now, I
daresay, you wish

to be off to take the

over the green hill. I
f
| i
| Us

pi ie

daisy-chain. Per- {
haps we may meet —&

tm I 5 | |
i 5 Ss
again some day. | pes ae

So saying the lady cae
‘ . 3 5 = oe Fi se
kissed the two chil- — Mes
dren, and leaving ae eZ
them went down a path in the wood and was soon out of sight in the distance.
“J wonder who she is,” said Esther, as the two trotted along. ‘‘ She's

almost as booful as a fairy.”
It was not long before they arrived at the cottage, when Esther gave her

doll to the little girl, who was so pleased with it, and listened with delight

to the story of the daisy-chain.
“Qu must get quite well first,” said Esther, as she put the chain round the



THE MAGIC DAISY-CHAIN.

child’s neck, “and p’r'aps the good fairy and all the other nice things will
come.”

The poor mother listened to the children’s prattle with tears glistening
in her eyes.

“ Now, good-by,” said Tommy: “we will come again to-morrow.” And
after many kisses all round, Esther and her brother returned to the farm.

To-morrow! J think it was the most wonderful to-morrow that ever came;
so the poor woman and her child, and Tommy and Esther thought, and so, I
am sure, will you, dear.

First of all a great big basket arrived at the cottage, a hamper full of
jellies, and soups, and ever so
many nice things — comforts
enough for a princess.

And then as _ they were all
wondering where the hamper
could have come from, in
walked the pretty lady with
the sweet smile upon her face.
And she kissed the children,
and sitting down by the bed-
side, stroked the little girl’s
long brown hair.

‘‘Do you feel better, dear?”
she asked.

Yes, oh, yes, she felt much
better, was the reply.

“That was a wonderful
daisy-chain,” said the lady,
turning to Esther and patting



her head.

‘Es, it sent such a basket this morning, and sent ou too. Ou must be
the good fairy,” replied Esther.

It was indeed a wonderful daisy-chain, because from that day more baskets
came, and the pretty lady came also every afternoon. And best of all, the
little girl grew better and better, until she was quite fat and strong, and able

to run about with Tom and Esther.







Wisk IWOG, Wale COCK, ANID Ihale IF QUS








OCK-A-DOODLE-DOO!_ Cock-a-doo-

dle-doo!!” cried a Cock. “It’s an
extremely fine morning. Cock-a-doo-
dle-doo!”

sllommnoy mesaideramsly,
Jy, Old Fox to himself, ‘ that
sounds as if there would
be a nice little breakfast
for me,” and he stole
softly along. But, alas,
for the Fox, the Cock was
perched so high on a tree,
that Reynard could not
S ‘ reach him. ‘t Dear Friend,”
” Westan 4S SNE. See then said the Fox, “ it was
good of you to crow me so loud a ‘good-morning.’ I have come to wish you
a happy day. Pray come down that I may do so in a more friendly manner.”

“It’s kind of you,” replied the Cock, “very kind indeed, but there are



some nasty animals about who wouldn’t a bit mind eating me for breakfast.
1 would rather stay where I am for the present.”

“My dear soul,” replied Reynard, “King Lion and King Eagle have
proclaimed that there is henceforth to be peace amongst the animals.”

“ Well!” exclaimed the Cock, ‘‘ You ought to be delighted, for there is
an old friend of yours coming along to greet you.” The Fox was horrified to
_find himself face to face with a big Dog. ‘Oh, don’t!” cried Reynard, as the
Dog seized him. But the Dog said nothing, but killed the Fox, and I don't

think that Cock was very sorry.



TIC-TAC-TOO.

IC-TAC-TOO was a little boy; he was exactly three years old, and the
a youngest in the family; so, of course, he was the king. His real name

was Alec; but he was always known in the household, and among his
wide circle of friends generally, as Tic-tac-too. There was a little story to
account for this, and it is that story which I am now going to tell.

There are very few children who do not know the funny old nursery rhyme
of ‘‘ Tic-tac-too ;” it is an old-fashioned rhyme, and in great vogue amongst
nurses. Of course Alec enjoyed it, and liked to have his toes pulled, and the
queer words said to him. But that is not the story; for it is one thing to like

a nursery rhyme very much, and another to be
called by the name of that rhyme, and nothing
yf else.
Now, please, listen to the story.





There was no nicer house to live in than
Daisy Farm: it was old-fashioned and roomy;
there were heaps of small bed-
rooms with low ceilings, and heaps
of long passages, and unexpected
turnings, and dear little cosey cor-
ners; and there was a large nur-
‘cy, sery made out of two or three of
~~ the small rooms thrown together,
and this nursery had casement
windows, and from the windows
the daisies, which gave their name
to the farm, could be seen. They
came up in thousands upon thou-
sands, and no power of man and scythe combined could keep them down.
The mowing-machine only suppressed them for a day or two ; up they started
anew in their snowy dresses, with their modest pink frills and bright yellow
edges.

Mr. Rogers, who owned Daisy Farm, objected to the flowers; but his
children delighted in them, and picked them in baskets-full, and made daisy-
chains to their hearts’ content. There were several children who lived in this









































An Zt
+ he p - (f }
oh

x)

RADNER YY



TIC-TAC-TOO.

pleasant farmhouse, for Tic-tac-too had many brothers and sisters. The old-
fashioned nursery was all that a modern nursery should be; it had deep cup-
boards for toys, and each child had his or her wide shelf to keep special
treasures on; and the window-ledges were cosey places to curl up in on wet
days, when the rain beat outside, and the wind sighed, and
even the daisies looked as if they did not like to be washed
so much.

Some of the children at Daisy Farm were old enough to
have governesses and masters, to have a schoolroom for
themselves, and, in short, to have very little to say to the
nursery; but still there were four nursery little ones; and one
day mother electrified the children by telling them that
another little boy was coming to pay them a visit.

‘He is coming to-morrow,” said mother; ‘“‘he is a year



younger than Alec here, but his mother has asked us to take
i y care of him. You must all be kind to the little baby

iis stranger, children, and try your very best to make him feel at
home. Poor little man, I trust he will be happy with us.”

Mother sighed as she spoke; and when she did this, Rosie, the eldest
nursery child, looked up at her quickly. Rosie had dark gray eyes, and a very
sympathetic face ; she was the kind of child who
felt everybody's troubles, and nurse said she did
this far more than was good for her.

The moment her mother left the room, Rosie
ran up to her nurse, and spoke eagerly —

‘Why did mother sigh when she said a new
little boy was coming here, nursie ?”

“Oh, my love, how can I tell? People sigh
most likely from habit, and from no reason what-
ever. There's nothing to fret anybody in a sigh,



Miss Rosie.” é
“ But mother doesn’t sigh from habit,” answered Rosie; ‘I expect there’s
going to be something sad about the new little boy, and I wonder what it is.
Harry, shall we collect some of our very nicest toys to have ready for the poor

little new boy?”
- Harry was six; he had a determined face, and was not so generous as

Rosie.



TIC-TAC-TOO.

“T’'ll not give away my skin-horse,” he said, ‘‘ so you needn’t think it, nor
my white dog with the joints; there are some broken things down in that
corner that he can have. But I don’t see why a new baby should have my
best toys. Gee-up, Alec! you're a horse, you know, and I’m going to race
you from one end of the nursery to the other — now trot!”

Fat little curly-headed Alec started off good-humoredly, and Rosie sur-
veyed her own shelf to see which toys would most distract the attention of
the little stranger.

She was standing on a hassock, and counting her treasures over carefully,
when she was startled by a loud exclamation from nurse.

“Mercy me! If that ain’t the telegraph boy coming up the drive!”

Nurse was old-fashioned enough still to regard telegrams with apprehen-
sion. She often said she could never look at one of those awful yellow
envelopes, without her heart jumping into her mouth; and these fears she had,
to a certain extent, infected the children with.

Harry dropped Alec’s reins, and rushed to the window; Rosie forgot
her toys, and did likewise; Jack and Alec both pressed for a view from
behind.

“Me, me, me, me want to see!” screamed baby Alec from the back.

Nurse lifted him into her arms; as she did so, she murmured under her
breath, —

‘God preserve us! I hope that awful boy isn’t bringing us anything bad.”

Rosie heard the words, and felt a sudden sense of chill and anxiety; she
pressed her little hand into nurse’s, and longed more than ever to give all the
nicest toys to the new little boy.

Just then the nursery door was opened, and Kate, the housemaid, appeared,
carrying the yellow envelope daintily between her finger and thumb.

‘There, nurse,” she said, ‘it’s for you ; and I hope, I’m sure, it’s no ill-luck
Tm bringing you.”

“Oh, sake’s alive!” said nurse. ‘Children, dears, let me sit down.
That awful boy to bring it to me! Well, the will of the Lord must be done;
whatever's inside this ugly thing? Miss Rosie, my dear, could you hunt
round somewhere for my spectacles ?”

It always took a long time to find nurse’s spectacles; and Rosie, after
a frantic search, in which she was joined by all the other nursery children,
discovered them at last at the bottom of Alec’s cot. She rushed with them



TIC-TAC-TOO.

to the old woman, who put them on her nose, and began deliberately to read
the contents of her telegram.

The children stood round her as she did so. They were all breathless
and excited; and Rosie looked absolutely white from anxiety.

‘Well, my dears,” said nurse at last, when she had spelt through the
words, ‘‘it ain’t exactly a trouble ; far from me to say that; but all the same,
it's mighty contrary, and a new child coming here, and all.”

“What is it, nurse?” said Harry. ‘“ Do tell us what it's all about.”

“It's my daughter, dears,” said nurse; ‘she'll be in London to-morrow, on
her way back to America.”

‘Oh, nurse!” said Rosie, “not your daughter Ann?”

‘The same, my love; she that has eight children, and four of them with
carrotty hair. She wants me to go up to Lon-
don, to see her to-morrow; that’s the news the
telegraph boy has brought, Miss Rosie. My
daughter Ann says, ‘Mother, meet me to-morrow
- at aunt’s, at two o'clock.’ Well, well, it's mighty
contrary; and that new child coming, and all!”

‘But you'll have to go, nurse. It would be
~ dreadful for your daughter Ann not to see you again.’

‘Yes, dear, that’s all very fine; but what’s to become
of all you children? How is this blessed baby to get on
without his old Nan ?”

“Oh, nurse, you must go! It would be so cruel if




you didn’t,” exclaimed Rosie.

Nurse sat thinking hard for a minute or two; then saying she would go
and consult her mistress, she left the room.

The upshot of all this was, that at an early hour the following morning
nurse started for London, and a girl, of the name of Patience, from the vil-
lage, came up to take her place in the nursery.

Mrs. Rogers was particularly busy during these days. She had some
friends staying with her, and in addition to this her eldest daughter, Ethel,
was ill, and took up a good deal of her mother’s time ; in consequence of
these things the nursery children were left entirely to the tender mercies of

Patience.
Not that that mattered much, for they were independent children, and



TIC-T-AC-TOO.

always found their own amusements. The first day of nurse’s absence, too,
was fine, and they spent the greater part of it in the open air; but the second
day was wet —a hopelessly wet day —a dull day with a drizzling fog, and no
prospect whatever of clearing up.

The morning’s post brought a letter from nurse to ask for further leave of
absence ; and this, in itself, would have depressed the spirits of the nursery
children, for they were looking forward to a gay supper with her, and a
long talk about her daughter Ann, and all her London adventures.

But this was not the real
trouble which pressed so heavily
on Rosie’s motherly heart; the
real anxiety which made her little
face look so careworn was caused
by the new baby, the little boy of
two years old, who had arrived
late the night before, and now sat
with a shadow on his face, abso-
_ lutely refusing to make friends

with any one.

“He must have been a petted
little boy at home, for he was
beautifully dressed, and his curly
hair was nicely cared for, and his
fair face had a delicate peach
bloom about it; but if he was
petted, he was also, perhaps,
spoilt, for he certainly would not



make advances to any of his new
comrades, nor exert himself to be agreeable, nor to overcome the strangeness
which was filling his baby mind. Had nurse been at home, she would have
known how to manage; she would have coaxed smiles from little Fred, and
taken him up in her arms, and ‘“ mothered” him a good bit. Babies of two
require a great lot of ‘ mothering,” and it is surprising what desolation fills
their little souls when it is denied them.

Fred cried while Patience was dressing him; he got almost into a passion
when she washed his face, and he sulked over his breakfast. Patience was



TIC-TAC-TOO.

not at all the sort of girl to manage a child like Fred; she was rough in every
sense of the word; and when rough petting failed, she tried the effect of
rough scolding.

“Come, baby, come, you mast eat your bread and milk. No nonsense
now, open your mouth and gobble it down. Come, come, I'll slap you if you
done

But baby Fred, though sorrowful, was not a coward ; he pushed the bowl
of bread and milk away, upset its contents over the clean tablecloth, and
raised two sorrowful big eyes to the new nurse’s face.

“ Naughty dirl, do away,” he said; ‘‘ Fred don’t 'ove ‘oo. Fred won't
eat bekfus’.”

“Oh, Miss Rosie, what
a handful he is!” said
Patience.

“Let me try him!”
said Rosie; “Tllmake him ~~
eat something. Come Fred-
dy darling, you love Rosie,
don’t you?”

‘No, I don’t,” said Fred.

“Well, you'll eat some breakfast ; come now.”



“ T won't eat none bekfus’ — do away.”

Rosie turned round and looked in a despairing way at
her own three brothers.

“Tf only nurse were at home!” she said.

“ Master Fred,” said Patience, “ if you won’t eat, you must get down from
the breakfast-table. I have got to clear up, you know.”

She popped the little boy on the floor. He looked round in a bewildered

fashion.

“Tet’s have a very exciting kind of play, and perhaps he'll join in,” said
Rosie, in a whisper. ‘‘ Let’s play at kittens — that’s the loveliest of all our
games.”

“ Kittens” was by no means a quiet pastime. It consisted, indeed, in wild
romps on all-fours, each child assuming for the time the character of a kitten,
and jumping after balls of paper, which they caught in their mouths.

“Ts the happiest of all our games, and perhaps he'll like it,” said Rosie.



TIC-TAC-TOO.

But the little stranger did of like the game of kittens. He marched in a
fat, solid sort of way across the nursery, and sat down in a corner, with his
back to the company. Here he really looked a most dismal little figure. The
view of his back was heart-rending; his curly head drooped slightly, forlorn-
ness was written all over his little person.

“What a little muff he is!” said Harry; “I’m glad I didn’t give my skin
horse to him.”

“ Oh, don’t,” said Rosie, “can’t you see he’s unhappy? I must go and
speak to him. Fred,” she said, going up to the child, ‘come and play with
Alec and me.”



‘“No,” said Fred, “ I’se too little to p’ay.”

‘But we'll have such an easy play, Fred. Do come; I wish you would.”

‘T'se too little,” answered Fred, shaking his head again.

At that moment Rosie and her two elder brothers were called out of the
room to their morning lessons. Rosie’s heart ached as she went away.

‘Something must be done,” she said to herself. ‘‘ That new little boy-
baby will get quite ill if we can’t think of something to please him soon.”

She did not know that a very unexpected little deliverer was at hand. The
two babies were now alone in the nursery, and Patience, having finished her
tidying up, sat down to her sewing.



TIC-TAC-TOO.

“Patie,” said Alec, going up to the new nurse, “does ’00 know 7%c-tac-
too?” ;

“Of course I do, master Baby —a silly game that.”

‘“T “ike it,” said little Alec.

He tripped across the nursery to the younger baby, and sat down by his
side.

“Take off ’0o shoe,” he said.

Fred was very tired of being cross and miserable. He could not say he
was too little to Alec, for Alec was scarcely bigger than himself. Besides he
understood about taking off his shoe. It was a performance he particularly
liked. He looked at Baby Alec, and obeyed him.

“Take off ’oo other shoe,” said Alec.

Fred did so.

“ Pull off ’oo ’tocks,” ordered the eldest baby.

Fred absolutely chuckled as he tugged away at his white socks, and
revealed his pink toes.

‘“ Now, come to Patie.”

Fred scrambled to his feet, and holding Alec’s hand, trotted down the long
nursery.

“Patie,” said Alec, “take Fed on ’our lap, and play Z%¥c-tac-too for
him?”

Patience was busy sewing; she
raised her eyes. Two smiling little
baby-boys were standing by her knee.
Could this child, whose blue eyes were
full of sunshine, be the miserable little
Fred?

‘Well, master Alec,” she said, kiss-
ing the older baby, “ you’re a perfect
little darling. Well, I never! to think




of you finding out a way to please that —
poor child.”

“Tic-tac-too !” said Fred, in a loud
and vigorous voice. He was fast get-
ting over his shyness, and Alec’s game
suited him to perfection.



TIC-TAC-TOO.

Patience lifted him on her lap, popped him down with a bounce, kissed
him, and began, — ;
“ Tic, tac, too,
The little horse has lost his shoe,
Here a nail, and there a nail,
Here a nail, and there a nail,

dkictacy 100) lm

When the other children returned to the nursery, they heard peals of

merry baby laughter; and this was the fashion in which a little boy won his
name.





DOTS is Thee.

T came ina hamper. But what was it? It was

a big hamper, tied up with blue ribbon, and

rather heavy; and a very neatly written label,

addressed to ‘Miss Baby Dot,’ was on_ that

hamper. What could it be? Was it apples and
pears, cakes and crackers, or bags of sweeties?

Dot stood by while mamma undid the ribbons,



and then what do you think she saw? Why, noth-
YZ oh. ing less than a little tabby kitten, with light blue
a “ee ihe eyes.

Sgr Dot clapped her hands with joy, and hugged
and kissed the kitten. Dot had no brothers and sisters; and although she
had a number of toys, dolls, and dolls’ houses, bricks and picture-books, she
had never had anything that could love her so much as a kitten might do.
Of course she had her papa and mamma, and nurse, but she had nothing
young like her little self.

Now, I am sorry to say that Dot pulled that kitten’s tail, and picked it up
by one paw, and then by another paw, until the poor little cat did not know
which leg to stand upon.

‘“Humph!” said the kitten to itself, ‘that’s a very nice little baby-girl, I
dare say; but she seems to think I’m made of rags and sawdust, like her
dollies, and I must say it is rather uncomfortable to be treated so. And yet I
don’t like to scratch her.”

It was certainly very good of Kitty not to scratch Dot; but whenever she
saw the little girl coming, away she would run and hide in the coal-scuttle, so
that Dot could not catch her.

“ Oh, what a naughty Pussy!” said the Baby to her Nurse. ‘ She always
runs away from Dot, and Dot loves her so.”

‘Well, dear,” said Nurse, ‘““I daresay you love her very much, but you
don’t treat her properly. Suppose you had a tail and I were to pull you round
the room by it; and suppose | were to pick you up by your hands and feet,
why I am quite sure you would run away whenever you saw me coming.”
Baby did not say anything in reply to this, but that very day she put a saucer
of milk on the floor for Kitty.



‘DOT’S PET KITTEN.

“Hullo!” said Miss Puss, ‘Is she trying to catch me, or is she going to
be kind? I really must find out.”

What was the little cat's wonder and delight to discover that Dot really
meant to be kind. She stroked her and loved her, and never pulled her tail
once, although it was really very tempting.

From that day to this Dot and the kitten were the very best of friends.
They will play together on the floor, and Kitty, who has grown into a
beautiful cat by this time, will often sit in Baby’s high chair, and wait patiently
till the pap gets cool, when she knows that Dot will be sure to give her
some. |

Dot has a little brother to love and play with now, but you may be quite
sure she loves Pussy none the less.







“MAYDAY.”

eT was a beautiful morning on the first of May, and the dew
= twinkled on the spiders’ webs till they looked like strings of
A diamonds. The sun had got up smiling over the distant
ea hills, and seemed inclined to continue this pleasant behavior.
am Lae All was very still at present. The geese had not got their
A NGS | heads from under their wings or let down their other legs,
for it was quite early. Oliver, the gamekeeper, had come
out of his cottage and gone striding off to look after the



young pheasants in the Red Spinney; Jim Wallis, Farmer
Nethercote’s shepherd, was also up, because he had to see to the lambs in the
Far Close, and two or three of the lads of the village had stolen away an hour
or two before, and brought back boughs of hawthorn and willow and _ black-
thorn, cut from the beautiful bosky hedgerows that had not yet been
“splashed” and pared by modern farming. So that, if a girl in that village
were a shrew,-and had a scolding temper, when she tried to light the fire that
morning, she would find the chimney-pot stuffed with a branch of blackthorn ;
if she were a slut it would be a branch of willow; but if she were a sweet,
pretty girl, with a loving heart and gentle ways, then she would find a beauti-



““ MAYDAY.”

ful branch of white May, all wound about with love-ribbon, set outside the
door to greet her.

Just now, however, nobody was about except the old donkey; and he
would not have been, only that he dis-
approved of wasting time. He had
heard rumors that the butcher intended
keeping a Nanny-goat on the green that
summer, and he had determined that the
creature should not have one of his
thistles so long as he was alive and could
devour. And as he had lived longer
than the oldest inhabitant could remem-
ber, and looked like lasting for many
years yet, and as he was always eating
when he was not asleep, there did not
seem to be much chance for the Nanny-
goat. So he passed several hours this



morning fulfilling his destiny, which, ‘”
with him, meant full-filling himself. Then the young ladies from the Hall
came out, with their Cousin John to take care of them. They had come to
gather May dew to wash their faces, so that their complexions should be
bright and clear. But they did not require May dew at all, for they looked as
fresh as roses already, and Cousin John pointed to the mass of furze blooms
yellowing over all the common yonder, and said he —

«“«When the furze is out of blossom, kissing’s out of fashion,’ so I must

kiss you Cousin Lucy and Cousin Kate ;’
which he did, greatly to the young ladies’



horror and disgust, most properly and vigor-



ously expressed. Seno
He

“Ugh! What sillies they are!” said the FN ee
old donkey to himself, and he took another 24!

>
si

mouthful of thistles. On ME .




x CER
iN

Ges:
Then came out by ones and twos and .

N

threes



laughing and chattering — little rip-
ples and rills of laughter flowing to meet each
other —the children of the village. To-day a











eNround the e



lay pole.



““MAYDAY.”

they had a holiday because it was the first of May, and there was going to be
a tea in the school that afternoon, and games and dancing on the green. A
large pole, with a movable ring on the top, from which depended several
bright ribbon streamers, stood ready near the inn; and the children ran to it,
and began to dance round, holding the streamers. They were to dance the
ribbon-weaving dance when Squire and Madam from the Hall came down, and
meantime they wanted to see how well they knew it. So they danced and sang
the little song they had learned; and the old donkey pricked up his ears, and
wagged his tail, but he did not stop eating lest he should waste any time, and
there was no telling when that goat creature would come. Soon a very small
boy and girl came out of a cottage near, and travelled slowly over the green,
threading their way among the furze bushes. The girl had something firmly
clutched in her hand, and now and then they both stopped to look at it, to
make quite sure
it was safe. Then
they stamped
» along again sol-
emnly _ satisfied.
At last they ar-
rived at the shop,
and going in, the
girl stood on tip-
toe, and rapped
on the counter
with the treasure,
which proved to
be a dingy little



farthing.

Out came the smiling dame who kept the shop.

‘ Please ‘em, a farden-worth o’ suckers,” said the girl.

“Yes, my dear; which sort will you have, these pink ’uns, or them striped
‘uns ?”

“ Stiped ’uns!” bellowed a voice below the counter.

“Please ’em,” said the girl reprovingly.

‘“What, Dick! So he’s come along o’ sister is he? Bless him!” szid
motherly Mrs. Thrupp, leaning as far over as she could, to try and catch sight
of his shock head; but she could not manage it because she was so fat,



“MAYDAY.”

“Well, my dear, here’s the suckers ; and how’s
your mother?”






“Please ’em, she’s a bit better, and
doctor says she'll be about again d’rec'ly.
Mornin’, ma’am, and thank you
kindly.”

So, grasping the suckers in one
hand, and Dicky’s fat fist in the
other, she towed him carefully out
= oftheshop. There were two steps
rae down into the road, and they had
to sit on each of these in order to
descend safely, but at last it was accomplished.

“ Me a sucker,” began Dicky, almost before they had started.

“ Dicky, wait till we ’wide ’em,” gravely responded the girl, stamping along
determinedly.

“ Me a sucker, d'eckly minnit,” whimpered Dicky, making preparations to
howl, ‘ Libby give Dicky.”

So she stopped, and, after a long struggle, succeeded in undoing the packet
of sticky stuff, and one sucker was taken out and put in Dick’s open mouth,
stretched eagerly out like a young bird’s.

Their mother had been maid to the Squire’s lady; and when her little girl
was christened and the parson said, ‘‘ Name this child,” she had dropped a
courtesy, and said, ‘‘ Elizabeth, please, sir;” that being Madam’s name. And
she had called her baby so, despising all abbreviations. Now Dick followed
his mother’s example to the best of his ability.

They re-crossed the green on their way home, and divided the suckers on
a round mill-stone which was laid down in front
of their cottage door. There were five; so
Libby gave Dicky two, and herself two, and
then they cracked the remaining one with a
stone, and had half each; and Dicky bit all his
suckers in two, and, displaying the sticky treas-
ures in his hand, said, triumphantly, ‘“ There,
Libby, I got lot 0’ bits more’n you.”

“Tdon'tcares said leibby.

But now the day got on, and the sun rose





“MAYDAY.”

higher, and Libby and, Dicky went indoors, for it was nearly time for the May-
garlands to start, and they had to be dressed. Their Aunt Rachel had come
in to do this, because their mother was not well enough yet, and a hard task
she had; for Dicky wanted to dance when his face was being washed, and to
stand on his head when he should have been getting into his Sunday breeches ;
and Libby was trembling with excitement, for she was to wear a white muslin
frock, and a wreath of pink and white daisies, and be Queen of the May, while
Dicky, in the Sunday breeches and a smart



little blue coat with a gilt paper crown
round his cap, was ‘“ the king.”

But Aunt Rachel got them
finished at last, and they went
to their mother to be looked
at, and stamped out to meet
the other children, who came to fetch them
with garlands of gillyflowers and pinks and
marigolds and sweet-williams and bunches of
cowslips and daisy chains and
ladies’ smocks so pretty. Then
they went round to each house
in the village, and sang their
May-songs, and begged money
to pay for their tea in the after-
noon; and when they got to
the Hall, the Squireand Madam
and the young ladies and gen-
tlemen all came out to the front
door to listen ; and silver coins
rained down into the great gar-
land that two of the biggest girls carried, made of interlaced hoops, covered
with a sheet, adorned with flowers, and inhabited by the most lovely dolls.
Then the children courtesied to the gentlefolks, and said, ‘‘ Thank you kindly,
Sir and Madam,” as good children should; for this was in the olden times
before School Boards came in and destroyed good manners, a sideways nod
being now the usual salutation offered by the young to their elders and
betters, at least in the village I live in; and the Squire actually patted Libby



“MAYDAY.”

on the shoulder, and said, ‘Good little girl;” while Dicky stared with his
thumb in his mouth, dumbfounded in the presence of so much greatness.
Then they went home to dinner, and out again to the races and games on
the green where the big boys jumped and ran, and the girls played drop
handkerchief, and the ribbon-weaving dance was performed to the great
amusement of everybody.

But Libby and Dicky were too young to do this, so they played about on
the grass with the other little ones — at least Libby did for a long time, until
all at once she looked round, and no Dicky was there.

Where could he have gone? She got up, and looked again, and then ran
off to seek for him.

Anxiously she trotted down the road which led across the common, peering
between and under the furze bushes, and eying the old donkey as he still ate
thistles ; but he had no time to stop and tell her where Dicky was. Farther
and farther she went till her legs ached terribly, and she was quite out of sight
of the May Feast, and out of hearing of the singing and music. Still no
Dicky. The common was a very wide one, and seemed a trackless waste to
little Libby who had never ventured so far before ; and now she came to a hilly
part, and toiled and panted up 3 sand =down
rabbit - holes,
and thickets

steep slopes where were great ss
and heaps of scratched up sand,





of fern and bramble amongst the ~~
















furze. Her legs were torn and 7= eye
2 eat a tio
‘ “ SE, MN fk
bleeding, and she stumbled over x ae Nath
$e 2 hoy Ua UY, NM
; ['S ON NAscr
rough places, and fell more than bs on TAIN VAC
As 4 hy

ONE

once, but she picked herself up



ry
P SaaN Re) A
dered until the sun began to go down, and she felt =~ "4,

: : : : = Sys \
frightened in this great, wide, lonely place all by ae f

again and went on; and she wan-

herself. Poor Libby began to cry, and presently her sobs were
answered by faint howls.

“Dicky ! O—o—o—oh Dicky!” she called, and ran off in the direction
from which they came. Sure enough Dicky it was, with his clothes torn and
dirty, and his face besmirched with tears, his gilt crown all awry and crumpled,
while a torn fragment hung down over one eye; and he was roaring dolefully
as he sat by a rabbit-hole. When he saw Libby he instantly left off, and she







““MAYDAY.”

took his hand, wiped his face with the skirt of her frock, and turned to lead
him home. But, alas, the day was fast fading; and all the holes and heaps
looked exactly alike, and they soon got quite lost. Hand in hand they wan-
dered until at last Dicky lurched and stumbled, being overcome with weari-
ness, and down he went under a mass of dry fern, and fell fast asleep. Libby
could not wake him, neither could she carry him, and she was so afraid he

would be cold. She took off the little scarlet-hooded cloak she wore — Madam



had given one to each of the girls in the school at Christmas — and tucked it
well round Dicky, and then she wrapped her little muslin skirt about her own

bare arms and neck, and huddled down beside him.






Now it was quite dark under the furze bushes, and she
could hear nothing but the rustle of the grass as the wind
swept through it, until came a sound of scores of little
pattering feet, and the rabbits ran out of their holes to dance.
How they scuttered, and ran, and capered, and splut-
tered the sand about, little knowing that the shapeless heap under
the bracken yonder was composed of the dreadful two-legged

creatures they feared so much.

Then Libby

beginning to be pierced by one little twinkling star after another, and she felt

looked up into the deep profound of the night sky,

still more frightened and alone

and small in sucha great solemn

world so far away from home.
Poor little tiny Lrbby ! What

should she do if bogies

came? She had heard

the bigger girls whisper

together about bogies,

and had trembled in her

shoes many a time. # af

What tf they should |...

conte ! She glanced”

round her into the deep



o, and

shadows, cowering,

half expecting to see awful eyes glaring at her and dreadful claws coming
to seize. She felt ready to scream for a minute, and it seemed as if she



««MAYDAY.”

could bear it no longer. Then Libby shut her eyes tight, and said out

loud : —

Jesus, tender Shepherd hear me:
Bless Thy little lamb to-night,
Through the darkness be Thou near me,
Keep me safe till morning light.

Through the day Thy Hand has led me,
And I thank Thee for Thy care ;
Thou hast warmed and clothed and fed me,

Listen to my evening prayer.

Let my sins be all forgiven,

Bless the friends I love so well,

Take me when I die to Heaven,

Happy there with Thee to dwell. — Amen.”

And then she didn’t feel frightened any more. She got as close to Dicky
as she could, and fell fast asleep.

“Why, bless em, here they are!” said a rough, hearty voice, as a flash of
light fell on Dicky’s sleepy face, and he and Libby were lifted up and carried
home.

Of course they had been missed and anxiously searched for, and n@w it
was Oliver the gamekeeper who had found his children.

“ Bless her little heart, if she ain’t gone and wrapped the boy in her own
cloak,” said her father, as he raised the heavy little head and pillowed it ten-
derly on his velveteen coat, and he hugged her warmly in his strong arms.
So home they went, and were put to bed; and Dicky got up next day all
right, and ready for further mischief; but Libby lay there for many weeks, and
when she came out on the common again she was still in her father’s arms,
and the old donkey remarked that she was thinner. ‘“ She’s been wasting her
time,” said he, contemplating the place where the thistles had been, and where
the Nanny-goat was at last browsing, not having had one. “ I should be thin
if I didn't keep on eating. Wooden thing she is!” and he turned and ate
again.

3ut Libby soon got quite well; and when she grew up she went to be maid
to Miss Kate, and was nurse to her children after she married Cousin John.
And all the children loved her very much.

















































A DONKEY-LOAD OF ROSES.





cALLIE’S HOUSEKEEPING.

ji GREAT many things are not so easy as they look.
Alice found this out, the day when mother and Mary
went out and left her to do the housework and take
care of the little ones.

It happened in this way: Alice and Mary had
. both been to school; and Alice, who was the elder,




_and the quicker, had learned a great deal more than
, Mary, and so when they came home for the holi-
days, Alice just amused herself and read her prizes —
she had seven



and played about in the garden. And when
, Betty, the maid, had to go home to nurse her sick father, Mary
and mother did all the housework. Alice never cffered to help: she
thought that kind of work very unpleasant, and besides, very easy. Why
should she, who could do Compound Long Division sums, crochet tidies,
and play the “ Bluebells of Scotland” on the piano with only two wrong
chords in the bass—why should she do such low, easy things as washing
dishes and making beds? It seemed to her that a great deal of time was
wasted in this way. Often, when she wanted to play at shops, or have a
doll’s tea-party, Mary would say, —

“T can’t come now—I must damp down the clothes for to-morrow’s



ALLIE’S HOUSEKEEPING.

ironing,” or else, “I will this afternoon, Allie, but this morning I must see

to the baking for mother.”
-It seemed very hard, especially as mother was just the same. When Alice



wanted a story it often happened that S=-
her mother said, — a
“My dear little girl, how can I ~.
sit down and tell you stories, with the
beds not made and the rooms not
swept?”
“JT wish housework didn’t take—

)

such a long time,” grumbled Alice.
But one day Mrs. Merton, as she

was busy at the wash-tub, heard little

voices in the garden outside, where

Mary had just taken out a little basket



full of fine things to hang on the line. <
‘“Come down in the orchard,” said Alice, wy \
‘“T’ve got such a lovely plan fora game. I’ve
nailed a piece of board up in the crooked apple-tree,
and we can have all the dolls up there, and get some .
gooseberries and currants, and make a feast.”
“IT can’t just now,” Mary answered: “I must help
mother with the washing.”

”

“Well, I think it’s very hard,” Allie answered bitterly: “ it’s always the
same. I don’t see why we can't have servants to do things for us.”

“You know we can’t have a lot of servants, because we're not rich,” said
Mary ; ‘besides, I like to help mother do the work.”

“Conceited thing,” said Allie, who felt cross without knowing why, as
idle people so often do; ‘why, I could do all your work, and mother’s too, in
half the time, if I chose to try.”

“Would you /#e to try?” said mother’s voice from the wash-house.
Allie was rather taken aback, but she did not like to confess that she had been
“ talking big,” so she said, —

Ves!

“You mean you would really like to do all the work, without any help
from:-Mary and me?”



eALLIE’S HOUSEKEEPING.

“T could,” said Allie, leaning up against the wash-house door, and turning
up arather red face to her mother’s eyes.

“Very well, you shall try. I am
going to market to-morrow, and |
will take Mary with me, and you
shall do everything. Only I warn
you, it will not be so easy as it
seems.”

Allie got red, red, redder, even
to the tips of her ears and the back
of her neck.. Then she flung her
arms around her mother’s knees.

‘T don’t mean to be a pig, moth-
er,’ she said, ‘‘ but I do hate house-
work; and people do seem to make
so much fuss about it.”

‘Perhaps after to-morrow you'll
think differently,” said her mother.

‘Tl tell you what I shall do to-
morrow,” she said to her sister as
they were going to bed that night.



‘After I’ve done the beds and things,
I shall cook a most lovely dinner for the little ones, and I shall give them
tea in the orchard, and I shall have yours and mother’s tea ready for you
when you come home.”

The next morning was bright and sunny, and Alice felt in very good spirits
as she stood leaning over the gate of the cottage, with Bobbie and Elsie
beside her, and watched the back view of the covered cart, which was carrying
mother and Mary away to the market-town.

When the last glimpse of the covered cart disappeared round the corner
of the lane, she went back to the little house, eager to get the housework
done, and cook the beautiful dinner for the little ones. She cleared the
breakfast-table, washed up and put away the things as well as she could, in the
places where she thought they ought to go. Then she swept up the crumbs
and the hearth, as she had seen Mary do every morning. But it took her
much longer than she expected, and it was half-past ten before the hearth
brush was hung up.



eALLIE’S HOUSEKEEPING.

“ Now for the dinner,” she was saying to herself, when she remembered ”
the bedrooms.

She ran up-stairs, and began to make the beds; but sheets and blankets
are hard things to handle, and her arms ached before the beds were made.

Then she wiped the wash-stands, and
took the best water-pitcher and in it
brought some water up-stairs. It was
very heavy, and made her arms ache
again. When she was carrying it full
the third time, she let it fall, and a hole
was broken in the bottom, and the water
flowed in a stream across the room.
She seized the best towels, and tried to
mop it up; but it ran under the bed,
and under the cupboard, and among the
bandboxes, and came near spoiling her



mother’s best bonnet.

By the time the water was wiped
up, Allie was very hot and rather cross. She put the wet towels on the
top of the narrow stairs, and set to work to sweep the bedrooms. ‘This took
some time; but it was fairly easy work, and her old impression of housework
being “so easy” was beginning to recover from the shock of the broken jug,
when, in going from one room to another, she stumbled over the wet towels,
and down the stairs she went, rolling over and over, and banging her head
against the door that shut them in at the bottom. The door flew open with
the knock, and poor Allie rolled over on to the kitchen floor, where she lay
without moving for a few moments, till she could make up her mind whether
she was killed or not. The little ones came running in, and pitied and kissed
her, and presently she got up and went and sat in the rocking-chair, feeling
rather sick, and with a lump on her forehead as big as a duck’s egg. She
sat there and thought about dinner. She had meant to make a potato pie,
and a plum pudding — she had often seen mother make these dishes, and
even Mary could manage them, “ So of course / could,” said Allie to herself.

She drank a mugful of water and felt better. Then she went into the
kitchen to begin to get dinner.

“ You're going to have a splendid dinner,” she explained to the children,



pay



of | On ‘
lie’s Dousekee ping



eALLIE’S HOUSEKEEPING.

as she got out the paste-board and flour-crock, ‘‘ so go out in the garden and
play at ships till it’s ready.”

“ Will it be sooz ?” asked Elsie wistfully. ‘“ I’se so hungry.”

“Yes, very soon,” replied Allie rashly. ‘“ Elsie, you like potato pie, and
plum-pudding — don’t you?”

“Oh, yes/” said both the little ones, ‘ but it’s a long time till dinner to-day,
isn’t it, Bobby?”

Allie glanced at the tall
clock, tick, ticking in the corner.
It was one o'clock. No dinner
prepared — no dusting done up-
stairs! nor in the parlor!

She flew to the oven to see
if it was hot enough for the
potato pie. The frre was out.

Topliont-ar fire sis; slikemso
many other things, not as easy
as it seems. Every one knows
that you light it with coal and
wood and paper and matches —
7f you can. Allie had matches
and paper and wood and coal —~
and she couldn't. She black-
ened her face and hands. She
burned her wrist against the still
hot bars. She wasted a whole
box of matches, and I shouldn’t
like to say how much paper, but the fire would zof light. Just then Bobby



and Elsie came in.

‘“Come and play at ships with us,” they said.

“ Play,” cried Allie, turning her little black face on them — “TI look like
playing, don’t 1?”

Her tone and face were something so new from Sister Allie, who was
never cross, and never too busy to play, that the little ones, after one look at
her, and one at each other, broke into a howl. Poor Allie felt inclined to cry
too, but she kissed them and comforted them, making them thereby as black



ALLIE’S HOUSEKEEPING.

as herself; and when, for the tenth or twelfth time they had dried their tears
and said, ‘‘ We zs so hungry,” she replied with sudden resolution, —

“Then we'll have a picnic dinner and give up the plum-pudding and pie.”
So she spread the cloth on the bricks outside the door, and brought out all the
cold food she could find.

The dinner went off very well—the little ones were good—but Allie
thought they would never get done eating. It was nearly three when the last
plate was carried in-doors, and mother would
be home at half-past four.

She flew to wash up, but there was no
hot water, now the fire was out; and Allie
__ did not know how to wash greasy plates.

the sink, and had another struggle with the
fire. This time it really did burn up. She
filled the kettle and put it on, and then caught up a duster and rushed to the
parlor. When she opened the door she stood still a moment, and turned
quite pale. There was a white pool on the best carpet. From the ceiling,
water was still dripping, bringing with it the whitewash and plaster.

“ Oh —what shall | do?” she cried aloud; but there was no one to
answer. She wiped the carpet as well as she could, and then got a basin and
put it under that big wet patch on the ceiling, from which the water was still
dripping.



Now came a sudden hissing, splutter, and crash from the kitchen. She
turned. The kettle had toppled over as the fire burned through. A horrid
smell and steam came from the wet coals, and a slow stream of water mingled
with wood-ashes was running from under the steel fender, and making its way
to the table from which Bobby and Elsie, startled by the fall of the kettle, had
just knocked over the flour-crock. It broke, and a cloud of flour rose up from
the ruins.

Amid those ruins Allie sat down and cried as she hadn’t cried for many a
long day. There's nothing like unsuccessful housework to make you cry.

Allie cried and cried, and Elsie and Bobby, who knew they ought to have
left the flour alone, cried too —and so Mary found them all when she ran in,
ten minutes later.

“ Mother will be in in half an hour; she stopped at Mrs. Green’s to —
What's the matter ?”



ALLIE’S HOUSEKEEPING.

No one spoke, but the whole look of the kitchen answered plainly enough.
Mary looked and understood — and she azan’¢ say, ‘1 told you so!” which is
much to her credit. She just kissed the others and sent them off to wash

their hands and faces, and took off her hat and put on her apron and set to
work.

The kitchen fireplace was too wet to light a fire in, but she soon had one
burning in the little grate in the back-kitchen. ‘The flour was soon swept up,
and the hearth; but Mary had to call Allie to find the tea-things, for she had
put everything away in the wrong place.

I can’t say the kitchen looked very tidy even when mother came home, but
there was tea ready for the family, yet Allie couldn’t eat anything. After tea
her mother said, —

‘Well, dear, how have you got on?”

And then Alice told her
wa everything that had happened,
wa a0 and how hard she had found
Ps the - housework.
yr \ 5, in, there would have



been no -tea_ for

ao SA you when you came
eS AJ home.”

Ta Ceommell oP E Mother _ kissed



her, and said softly :

‘“Then you do begin to understand now ?”

“Ves,” said Allie, ‘I hope you'll teach me things, mother. I don’t know
a single thing.”

Mother smiled and kissed her again. Allie often found housework tire-
some after that, but she persevered, and now she is as clever as Mary. Allie
has taught Mary to crochet, and to play the “ Bluebells of Scotland,” wrong
chords and all.

So that their father will find that both his little girls have learned some-
thing, when he comes home from sea. Nothing is left to remind Alice of her
dreadful first day of housework, except the rivets in the best jug, and the

stain on the best carpet.





“J,” samp the duck.
<“Lealliate tun,
For I had my little red

rubbers on.



They make a cunning three-toed track
In the soft, cool mud, — quack! quack!”

“T!” cried the dandelion, “I!

My roots are thirsty, my buds are dry.”
And she lifted a towsled yellow head
Out of her green grass bed.

“T hope *twill pour! I hope ’twill pour!”
Purred the tree-toad at his gray bark door,
“Hor, with a broad leaf for a roof,
I am perfectly weather-proof.”





EE = SS ZZ,
a SS as





HEE “GIEDR OP LOWE.

HE snow lay thickly over the fields.
The hedges were laden with icicles
sparkling in the wintry sun like sprays
of diamonds. Along the railway the
snow was piled in high drifts, through
which the train had cut a road during
the last storm. The morning air was
stinging cold, and sprays of ice crystals
branched in fern-like shapes across the
car window in which Mrs. Burr and her



little daughter Bessie, clad in their
Ssthickest wraps and tucked in beneath a
warm fur rug, were journeying from
Maine, the most eastern State in the
Union, to Boston, the largest city in
New England and the capital of Massachusetts.

The distance to be travelled was more than one hundred miles, and it
seemed long to Bessie, who with her mother was to visit her mother’s sister,
Mrs. Noble, and her little son Harry, about her own age, whom she had never
seen. Every time the train stopped she asked her mother, ‘“‘ Is this Boston?”
and when told it was not, she impatiently cried, “ Oh, dear! When shall we
Sersierente

She was an only child; and the idea of having her Cousin Harry fora play-
mate was something new, and filled her mind with many plans for sport. Site:
however, became tired as the early darkness came on, and when the lights of
the great city began to be seen in the distance, she had fallen asleep on her
mother’s shoulder, and knew nothing more till a hearty kiss was given upon
her rosy cheek, with a cordial greeting for herself and mother, from her Aunt
Noble, when they entered the hall of her brilliantly lighted house.

“ Harry has gone to bed,” said Mrs. Noble, when they had seated them-
selves in the dining-room at the cosey tea-table. ‘ He stayed up half an hour
later than usual to see you, but your train was so late I was obliged to send
him up-stairs. He is planning to have a gay time with his Cousin Bessie. I
hope you will both have much fun together.”



THE GIFT OF LOUE.

The two ladies went to earnestly chatting about the things that happened
when they were young, and Bessie, whose sleep in the cars had made her
wakeful, played with Harry’s kitten till past nine o’clock. Then Aunt Noble
showed Bessie and her mother to the large front chamber which they were to
occupy during their stay in Boston, which was.to be during the Holiday
season. |

The children met at the nursery breakfast on the following morning, and
oh! how lovely it was to Bessie to see another little figure opposite to her.
Harry was rather shy at first; but he soon overcame that feeling, and they
passed that day and the rest of the week in unbroken happiness.

Christmas morning was the dawn of new pleasures. ‘The stockings hang-
ing at the foot of the beds were so full of toys that pillow-cases had been used
too; and shouts of de-




/, light echoed through the







LY / ..rooms, as first one, then
Ye
“77 to view. It seemed to

the children that the

Yt another treasure came

; iy w/ kindest of Santa Claus
ore ! Y “1 had brought everything
‘ 4/11), they most wanted ; but
yi
j Hy) Wy

Yi secret know very well
Mi,

you and I who are in the

// /! that it was the loving
r+? >--thoughtan the mothers:

hearts that made such

a beautiful Christmas

morning to their little
ones. Anyway, the toys were there — dolls, dolls’ clothes, tea-things, puzzles,
a baker’s shop, and no end of goodies for Bessie; and a ball, pop-gun, reins,
whip, box of animals, and goodies for Harry, besides many other things I have
forgotten.

Then came the Christmas dinner with a whole party of relations, children
big and little; the pudding with a great sprig of holly in the middle, and a
sauce of blue flames running all round the dish; the crackers with caps and
toys inside.



oe
Sac ast a)

mas ae





THE GIFT OF LOVE.

By-and-by came games in the drawing-room, when the grown-up people
tried to be children again, and romped with the little ones. ‘“ Hunt the Slip-
per” was too funny, with Uncle Noble as the old cobbler ; for he was so stupid
and could not find the slipper for ever so long, although once a little boy
flourished it just under his nose. Then they had ‘‘ Musical chairs,” with Mrs.
Burr at the piano playing the old familiar tunes Bessie knew so well; and all
the children danced round the chairs, and Bessie won the game. Last of all
came “ Fox and Geese,” when Mrs. Burr, as Mother Goose, spread out her
skirts for wings, striving to protect the flock of merry children behind her
from Uncle Noble, the wary fox, who ran about on all fours, pursuing the
goslings, and finally frightened Harry into tears as he carried him off as a tid-
bit for his supper.

One more romp to end the evening with a smile of joy, then good-night.

“Oh! what a lovely Christmas,” said Bessie, as nurse undressed her: “1
wish every day in the week was Christmas Day.” . . .

The next day the little cousins were playing in the library.

At first all went smoothly
with the little cousins. Bes-













sie wore Harry’s reins and
played horses with him.
Next they had a dollie’s
Christmas-party, using the
A tea-things given to Bessie,
» and agrand feast of sweets.

These having disappeared, Harry
wished to play with his tramcar.
Bessie wanted it too.

“ Let me have it, I’m the biggest,” said Bessie.
“Then I’m the littlest, and ought to have it,” said Harry. ‘It’s mine, and

you're an unkind girl!”



THE GIFT OF, LOUE.

“Tf you have the car I shall take your balland keep it,” said Bessie, putting
it behind her. I am afraid she was feeling cross and tired after her gayety.

“Tf you take my ball I'll poke your doll’s eyes out,” cried Harry defiantly.
“JT did it once to Mary Jane’s doll. Mary Jane is nurse’s sister. Her
doll’s eyes rattled about inside her head, and she looked so ugly!”

Bessie was infuriated. ‘‘ You're a bad, wicked boy,” she cried, fairly pant-
ing with passion, ‘“‘and I hate you. If you touch my dear dollie, I'll break all
your Christmas toys.” She raised her hand as though to strike her little cousin,
when the library door opened, and Aunt Noble, with a very grave face, came
into the room.

“What is the matter? Are you quarrelling ? Oh! my dear children, you
have everything to make you happy, and yet I see angry looks, and hear hard
words. Stop, both of you. Kiss and make friends directly. I am going to
tell you what has happened to two little city waifs who have no home, who

; don’t even know
what Christmas
means, unless it be
extra cold and hun-
ger.” The chil-
dren’s interest was
. awakened; they
quickly forgot their
quarrel, and nestled
close to Mrs.
Noble’s side.

‘“T was turning
into the Square,”
she said, ‘‘when I
-saw two ragged
children sitting on



the curbstone, almost without clothing, and apparently exhausted from cold
and hunger. The elder one, a boy of seven, told me his mother was dead, his
father gone away, and they had been left to try and get a living as they could.
I asked him if they had breakfasted. ‘No, mum,’ said the boy wearily, ‘1
haven’t been able to pick up a job yet.’ The younger child began to cry. I
brought them home — they are now in the kitchen; and presently, when they
have had a good meal, you shall see them.”



THE GIFT OF LOVE.

During this conversation in the library, the greatest excitement prevailed
down-stairs.

The two destitute children, on being left to the servants, at first stared
around them as though half-dazed, but gradually the elder boy ventured a
remark.

“Is she a lodger in this ’ouse, ma’am?” he said gravely to cook, jerking
his thumb in the direction of the door through which Mrs. Noble had just
passed.

‘There are no lodgers here,” said cook kindly. ‘‘ The lady who brought
you in is mistress, and we her servants.”

“Oh, my!” said the boy. He could not quite grasp this idea: as far as
his experience went an entire family occupied each separate room of a house.

“ Aren’t they dirty, poor children,” said

Poe oe









the housemaid. ‘ Here, cook, while you’re
making the cocoa, and cutting the bread
and butter, I'll give them a bath.”
“What's that?” asked the elder boy
sharply, clutching his younger brother's
hand tightly, as though to protect him
from some unknown danger, while Jane

deliberately poured the warm water into a large, round bath before the
kitchen-fire. “You ain’t going for to drown us surely. I say, let’s go back

to the streets again!”
“Drown you, no!” replied Jane, laughing, “ only to get rid of the city
mud sticking about you. Come, you needn't be frightened. What's your
»»”
name ?



THE GIFT OF LOVE,

‘“My name’s Ginger, ’cos my 'air’s red,” said the boy, touching his head,
which looked like an ill-kept door-mat.

‘‘ And mine’s Tim,” said the younger child.

‘“Well, Tim, you come first,” said Jane, as, whisking off the few rags
hanging about the boy, she popped him into the water, and began scrubbing
vigorously.

‘My! ain't he white!” cried Ginger delightedly, dancing up and down;
“and his ’air, why it ain’t mud color at all! Is it nice, Tim?”

‘“ Ah! ain't it just,” said Tim gratefully, surveying his small person with —
pride, while Ginger, impatient for his turn, fumbled with the knots of string
that held his scanty clothing together.

‘‘ Here are two bundles of nice tidy clothes,” said another maid, entering
the kitchen.

‘These are what the Missis sends for you, boys,” said cook. “ We'll burn
those dirty old rags and see what you look like presently.”

The children, too enchanted to reply, could only nod and smile. The
bathing was soon over, then re-dressed and unrecognizable they sat down to a
good meal.

How they enjoyed that cocoa and bread and butter.

“I feel as if I ’adn’t never ’ad no food afore,” said Ginger. ‘ We’s walked
the streets since six this mornin’, but I don’t mind now.”

Presently Mrs. Noble peeped into the kitchen. ‘ Well, boys,” she said,
‘do you feel better ?”

“Yes, ma’am, and ain’t we smart. We ’aven’t never ’ad clothes all over us
afore.”

Mrs. Noble was silent, tears rose in her eyes as she thought of the children
up-stairs, laden with all the good things of the world, and then of these two
poor little waifs. She went to the foot of the stairs to call Bessie and Harry,
who came at once, eager to see Ginger and Tim.

“We’s done now,” said Ginger, rising, “and thank you kindly,mum. We'll
never ‘ave nothink so good again, I guess,” he sighed. ,

‘“ Bessie and Harry,” said Mrs. Noble, “these poor children have no
mother, no one to take care of them — nothing.”

“No Christmas presents?” asked Bessie, the thought of her toys being
uppermost in her mind.

‘‘ Nothing,” repeated Mrs. Noble.



THE GIFT OF LOVE.

Bessie ran up-stairs and returned quickly with an armful of toys. “ You
may have them,” she said to Ginger. ‘I prize them
all, but you shall have them.” She was only a very
little girl, and this first sacrifice was her Christmas
gift of love.

Mrs. Noble’s kindness did not stop here. She
found a respectable old woman to take charge of the
poor boys, and every morning Bessie and Harry
caught sight of their glad faces as they ran down
the kitchen steps to enjoy the warm breakfast pre-
pared by cook.

By-and-by, when Bessie and her mother were
safely home again, Mrs. Noble wrote that the boys
had gone to a comfortable school, where they would !
be well cared for, and where she could go and see
them from time to time.

On Bessie’s next birthday, when mother gave
her a bright new half-crown, she did not forget
Ginger and Tim. She said she would like them to
have a small Christmas present, just to show they
were not forgotten at that glad season of the year.

Now Bessie is grown up, her life is full of kind, unselfish deeds; but it
was not the least of them all, when out of the fulness of her childish heart,



she offered her precious Christmas toys to Ginger and Tim.

Now, children, I would ask that when
You gaze upon your Christmas toys,
You'd just remember there are some
Bereft of all your Christmas joys ;
And spare one thought, do one kind deed,
Let one sad heart through your help know,
That flowers of love and sympathy
Are blooming ’mid the winter snow.





Do you want to help me, dear,

Very, very much?
Careful walk along right here,

And you must not touch;
You must learn to keep the row;
Pull the weeds where’er they grow;
Soon you'll learn to use the hoe,

Rake, and spade, and such.

M. E. McKEE.























































































































































































































































































































































































































































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BG TT nYem OANA

THINK you must go to your father; he is evidently fretting for

re
cess %







you, and you ought to go to-day,” said Dr. Lee, as he handed a
letter to his wife, whose whole attention
seemed given to two small children who
were sitting, one on each side of her, at
the breakfast table.

“It is really most perplexing,” said
Mrs. Lee, as she poured milk into two
little porridge bowls, and pressed kisses
on the restless, chubby hands, which were
busy with the sugar basin.

“With nurse away how can I possibly manage to leave these two little
darlings?”

“They are desperate little plagues,” said Dr. Lee, smiling, laying a fond
hand on the golden head near him, that of Jack. ‘ What's to be done with
them?”

“Me go to me own nursie!” said Jack complacently, as he took a bite
from a slice of raspberry jam and bread.

“The whole matter in a nutshell!” cried Dr. Lee, laughing. ‘The diffi-
culty has vanished! Senda telegram to nurse. She arrives this afternoon.



BUTTERFLY U-ALLEY.

I take you off to Brighton, leaving nurse to manage the youngsters’ affairs.
She sleeps here, and takes them off to Arundel to-morrow. How would Elsie
and Jack like that?”

Now, it will not for a moment be supposed that this proposed programme
of events was listened to in orderly silence by
the little people so much concerned init. On
the contrary, there was a great commotion.
Elsie’s arms were round her mother’s neck, ‘
teacups in danger of breakage, porridge bowls




were upset, Jack was climbing on his father’s
knee, and deafening him with as big “ Hurrahs” as
could be expected from his years, and the whole
scene was lively in the extreme. For, to visit the
dearest nurse in the whole world, living in a lovely
_ river ever inviting you to row upon it, is as fair a prospect as a London child
could ask for; and Elsie and Jack were not hard to please.

Nurse had only left the little people six months before, to be married to one
of the gardeners belonging to
Arundel Castle, and had already
managed to get possession of the
children for a day or two in the

park, near a grand old castle, and with a shining.

early spring, so that her pretty
cottage home seemed, in a man-
ner, familiar to them, and she was
such a dear and cosey creature
that no child could feel unhappy
with her, certainly not Elsie and Jack, who
had never been separated from her until



she was married.

“Tt is altogether a splendid plan,” said
Mrs. Lee, ‘“‘and I shall feel quite easy
about the children, if nurse will take charge of them. We will send a tele-
gram to her at once, and I will pack up to be ready to start for Brighton with
you as soon as she has arrived, and taken them under her charge.”

‘‘T must be off then, now,” said Dr. Lee, ‘‘ and arrange for my work. I





Sutterfly Valley.



BUTTERFLY VALLEY.

shall look in at lunch-time to hear nurse’s reply; and if all is well we will catch
the seven o’clock train for Brighton this evening.”

The telegram from nurse arrived in due time. It ran thus: ‘Coming by
next train. Can stay night.” Mother was greatly relieved by this reply, and
Elsie and Jack executed a wild dance over portmanteaus and boxes, and were
carried off by Annie, the nursemaid, who had a romp with them in the nursery,
until the lunch-bell rang, and they were made ready to go down-stairs.

And soon after lunch nurse found her way into her old
nursery, and sat in the old rocking-chair, and hummed the
old tunes which used to send the children into dreamland,



and the children flew into her arms, and
hugged her to their hearts’ content.

“Well, nurse,” said Dr. Lee, coming
in before he went his rounds, ‘‘ you see
we can’t get on without you; these little
tyrants z7/7 have you.. Let them spend
the week out of doors, give them milk
and bread and butter, leave all their finery
at home, and let them be happy in pina-
fores and sun-bonnets.” With which
injunctions he departed. Seven o'clock
soon came, and mother unwillingly tore
herself away from the merry nursery
\party, to join Dr. Lee at the station for
the Brighton train.

‘Oh, my dear canary! who will take



care of you?” cried Elsie, next morning,
as she put a lump of sugar between the
bars of its cage, as a parting gift.

“ It will be well looked after, Missy dear,” said nurse, as she led the chil-
dren down-stairs to the cab. ‘You shall gather plantains for it from our
lanes, and store them for winter use.”

The little party, Elsie and Jack, nurse and Annie, were soon out of the
din and dust of London, and whirling in the train through wooded valleys
and chalky downs. Then the river Arun gleamed before them, soft mossy
hills appeared, deep shady woods, then the stately castle and keep, and they
were at Arundel.



‘BUTTERFLY VALLEY.

Nurse’s husband, Simmonds, met them with a truck for the luggage. The
station was full of soldiers, and the quiet town was unusually lively.

“Is there going to be a battle?” asked Jack eagerly.

‘No, little master,” answered Simmonds, ‘but there’s a fine sight for you
in the park. Seven or eight hundred men are encamped there, and to-morrow
there will be a review, and the duke will be there, and a grand show of gentry
from round about. Oh! you young folks are come at the right time, I can
tell you. There will be grand doings to-morrow.”

“Let us go this minute to the
park!” cried Elsie. ‘“ Please, nurse,
let us go now!” and Jack began coax-
ing nurse in a way that she could not
resist.

“You shall, my dears, if nursey
can manage it. What can I do, Sim-
monds? I must go home to get dinner
for you and the children.”

“All right.” said good-natured g
Simmonds. ‘I'll leave the luggage —
and truck in the dairy, and come for it
when I have taken the little ones and
Annie to the park. They shall have a
drink of milk at the dairy, and that will
serve them until they come to dinner.”

They crossed the bridge over the



Arun, and turning to the right passed by the ruins of an ancient monastery,
and so on, under shady trees, until they came to the dairy.

“This is like the Queen’s dairy at Windsor,” said nurse, as the children
had a glass of milk each; “ but we can’t stay to look over it, if you want to go
into the park. I shall leave you now and go home, Simmonds; you will tell
Annie where she is to be found with the children at dinner-time. So good-by,
dears, for the present,” and nurse hurried off.

Simmonds took the children and Annie through the lodge gates into the
park. Oh, those soft, mossy hills, with the warm mid-day sun resting upon
them! They could scarcely leave them, but Simmonds hurried them on to the
encampment. And here a splendid sight was before them. Tents were



‘BUTTERFLY VALLEY.

dotted about in all directions, groups of soldiers were being drilled, officers
were hurrying about, and a band was playing. Simmonds found them a seat
where they could enjoy the sight of what was going on, and telling Annie to
keep them there until he could fetch them, he left them.

Simmonds soon appeared, and finding that little Jack’s footsteps lagged,
hoisted him on his shoulder and thus carried
him to the cottage. Honeysuckle and clematis
covered the porch, and sweet scented white roses
ran up the walls of the house, and the garden was
fragrant with old-fashioned flowers. Roses and °
honeysuckle peeped in at the windows of the
sitting-room where they dined, and a big bowl of
roses stood on the table.

“Oh, I so happy and comfy with me own
nursie!” said Jack, with a sigh of delicious con-
tent, as he climbed into her arms after dinner.
His head soon drooped, and his blue eyes closed,
and nurse carried him up, and laid him on a
small white-draped bed, and Elsie was glad to
lie down upon another, and they slept soundly
-until the pleasant clatter of teacups awakened



them.

« Anybody up there want a cup of tea?” cried Simmonds at the foot of
the stairs, and nurse scolded him for waking them; but Elsie and Jack shouted
out, “ Yes, yes, come and fetch us!” And they tumbled out of bed and down-
stairs in a state of rumple and crumple and tangled curls
that would have shocked their London nurse.

“Why, here are swallows on our teacups and saucers,
and over your mantel-piece,” cried Elsie; ‘and I saw some
swallows on the china in the shops, as we passed through
the town. Swallows seem everywhere.”

“The town took the swallow for its device hundreds of



years ago, and some say that the town of Arundel got its
name that way.”

“JT shall take it as my device,” said Elsie quickly. ‘‘The swallow is my
very dearest bird.”



BUTTERFLY U-ALLEY.

“Me have the swallow for me ’vice too,” said Jack.

“ But, nurse,” said Elsie, looking puzzled, ‘“ how could the town be named
from the swallow ?”

“The French for swallow is //zrondelle, 1 have heard tell,” said nurse ;
‘and so, some say, they called the town Arundelle, after the swallow. And
now, are you tired of soldiers, or shall we go to








the park again until bedtime ?”

There could be only one answer to this, and
two very happy children, in clean white frocks
and smooth curls, ran by her side. They entered
the park this time by a different way. They
climbed up the steep hill
road past the castle walls,
which were wreathed with
creepers and foliage of
all kinds, and entered by
a beautiful avenue. More
tents were to be seen, for
all was being prepared
% for the Review next day.
The timid deer had re-
tired to the further re-
cesses of the park: the
children caught sight of
a few of the herd, but
were not allowed to
follow them, for the day
had been full of excite-
: ment to them, and nurse
was afraid they would be over fatigued. But she let them stay to hear the
band play; and Jack was proud to take off his cap when they played ‘“ God
Save the Queen,” and Elsie was sorry that girls kept their hats on. Then, in
the soft evening air, and through the twilight, nurse and the tired children
walked home, and so passed the first day at Arundel.

Do you remember the happy and drowsy feeling of being very slowly
awakened on a summer’s morning by country sounds, to which you were quite



BUTTERFLY V-ALLEY.

unaccustomed, such as the lowing of cattle, the “ chuck, chuck” of hens, the
bleating of sheep? You must have been a dweller in a town fully to appre-
ciate and enjoy the delicious sense of rest and peace which these sounds con-
vey. Our little friends from Harley Street certainly didn’t analyze their sen-
sations, but they woke up feeling that life was all sunshine, warmth, and love.
Birds were twittering round the window; they could hear, and even /eed, the



foliage and stems bending
under their weight; and the
scent of mignonette and
geraniums filled their room.

Then, to breakfast in a
small nest of a room when you are accustomed to a large and stately one,— to
be able to stretch out your hand as you sit at table and gather a rose at your
pleasure, to know that there is a shining river close at hand, on which you
may be invited to row, and a Valley of Butterflies, which in a way seems to
belong to you by right of discovery and by right of name; and to know that
for a whole week you may wander in your valley or row upon your river.



‘BUTTERFLY UALLEY.

Well, such a state of affairs is enough to fill young hearts with delight, and
young faces with smiles. And Elsie and Jack smiled so much at breakfast,
that Simmonds said that their faces looked like full moons.

The Review in the park was to begin at three o'clock. What should be
done this morning?

‘The children want to be in ‘ Butterfly Valley,’ as they call it,” said nurse.

“1 don't rightly know where that is,” said Simmonds,

“Where the target stands,” answered nurse. ‘Annie shall take them
soon. They shall water nurse’s flowers after breakfast, and play about in the
garden.” :

Jack’s tiny water-pot was filled with water, and Elsie was trusted with a
“real” one, as she called it, and they began their work. Nurse placed a pail
of water by the garden chair for refilling their watering-pots, gathered for
each of them some sweet-scented clove carnations, gave them two juicy apples
apiece, and left them. Now, watering flowers in summer is a most delightful
occupation. The sweet breath of the flowers, and the grateful smell of the
moistened earth, are better than all the scents ever made for a lady’s handker-
chief. The little gardeners enjoyed the work immensely; and Elsie asked to
have the water-pail refilled again and again, while Jack climbed into the garden
chair and ate an apple. Then came the run to Butterfly Valley, through the
park. Oh, that you could see that spot! The soft mossy hills on either side,
covered with fragrant thyme and golden cistus, and a thousand tiny flowers ;
butterflies here, and butterflies there, under your feet and over your head, of
the softest colors, and the downiest softness! The children climbed the sunny
hills again and again, and were never weary of rolling down the slopes. It -
was hard to tear themselves away from the spot; but there was a store of joy
waiting for them in the afternoon, though, asielack said, “hills and butterflies
were far nicer than peoples.” Still, when they found themselves among the
expectant crowds of people in the afternoon, and watched the officers on their
spirited horses, and the whole battalion going through their exercises in such
a splendid manner, and saw the Duke of Norfolk himself on his magnificent
horse, and the Duchess, seated among her ladies, watching the Review, their
delight knev no bounds. You do not at all wonder that Jack declared that
he must be a soldier, or that Elsie sighed deeply because she couldn’t be
one.

Very tired little people returned to the cottage for tea, and there was a



‘BUTTERFLY U-ALLEY.

letter from mother to her darlings, hoping that they were good and happy
children, and that she might come to see them before long. And so ended

another bright day.
“The tide will serve for a row on the river this afternoon,” said Simmonds,

next morning, to his wife. ‘ Shall I tell Adams you will be ready for the boat
by two o'clock?”

“Yes! yes!” shouted two voices. ‘ We'll row too!”

‘“‘ Now, listen to me, young folks,” said Simmonds seriously. ‘The river

is ever so deep and dangerous in parts, and if you jump about I’m afraid of an
upset. You'll be all right if you sit quiet. Now, shall I order the boat for
two children who will do just as nurse bids them?”

“ Yes,” said Elsie, “we will do all our jumping and riots this morning in



our valley, and be as quiet as mice in the boat; so order the boat, dear
Simmonds.”

“Then I shall pack a hamper, and we will take tea at Amberley,” said
nurse. ‘ We'll boil our kettle and have a picnic.”

Could anything be more delightful? The children collected sticks, which
they tied in bundles, and put into the hamper with a box of matches; and
Elsie packed up the plates with straw between, and cups and saucers, and a
teapot and teaspoons. Jack fetched eggs from the fowl-house, which nurse
packed in some tea and sugar, and placed the kettle ready with a cork in the



BUTTERFLY VALLEY.

spout. Zhat would be filled with fresh spring-water the last thing before
starting, and a bottle of milk, a loaf of bread, and some butter would not be
forgotten.

With joyful hopes the children ran off to their valley, while nurse got
through her work, that she might be free for the boating expedition in the
afternoon.

At two o’clock a merry party got on board the boat for Amberley. The
river glittered in the sunshine, the boat glided rapidly past the grand old
castle and green glades of Arundel. Elsie tried an oar, and even Jack man-
aged to pull a stroke with Annie holding him.

The castle looked dark and gloomy as they returned, and the stars were



out before the children were home again; but they never forgot that lovely
row upon the river.

“Annie,” said nurse next morning, “I must put the dear children under
your charge to-day. I have to be at the castle, and may not have a chance
of coming home until the afternoon.”

Two faces looked mournful at this announcement.

“There are some apples to be sorted,” said Simmonds. <“ Will Missy and
Master help me this ‘morning ?”

“Yes, yes, we can sort them and eat them,” said Elsie, laughing. “I

@



‘BUTTERFLY VALLEY.

should like to pick the red apples from the tree by the shed, and sit among
the boughs while nurse is away, and do leave your dog to play with us.”
“Well, that may be safe enough,” answered Simmonds; “ but we had best
have no pranks while you are under our care. You are safest on mother
earth, so follow me, Missy.

”

There were several baskets in the shed, some full of summer apples, some



empty. Simmonds showed them where to place the bruised ones, and where
to put those that were for sale.

“And when you are tired of your work,” said he, “choose two apples
apiece and eat them in the garden, and keep Flip with you if you can hold
him back.”

Jack’s fat arms held Flip fast, and a good game followed among the bas-
kets, while Elsie began her work. It was pretty work too: the apples, red,
yellow, and russet, were splendid fruit and fragrant, and Jack held out his
hand for one.



BUTTERFLY VALLEY.

“ Lazy Jack ought to work!” said Elsie; but she gave him an apple, and
the little boy ran away with Flip. Elsie sorted apples steadily for a time, and
then, taking her wages in the shape of an apple, looked about for Jack.

That enterprising young gentleman had scrambled on to the orchard wall,
Flip stationed as a guard near him, and, in trying to help him down, the two
children rolled down together, and Flip set up sharp, alarmed barks for help.
But there was no harm done. Annie appeared, and took them in for clean
pinafores and hats.

The next day when Annie was walking with them in the park they rambled
off after the deer, which retreated as they approached, until Elsie and Jack
found themselves far away from Hiorne Tower, in a glade altogether new to
them. They climbed a mossy hill, and scrambled down the other side, and
found themselves on very familiar ground, in their own valley.

‘‘Me velly, velly, tired,” said Jack, and Elsie, too, was glad to throw her-
self on the warm, soft grass and rest; and soon they grew’ drowsy, and fell
fast asleep in Butterfly Valley! Meanwhile, the train had brought their mother
from Brighton, and she was hastening to nurse’s home to meet her children.
But Mrs. Lee found the cottage empty. Annie, returning to find the children,
was surprised to see her mistress there, for she had given no notice of her
coming, as it was rather uncertain and dependent on grandpapa’s health.
Annie was troubled at losing the children, but Mrs. Lee felt pretty sure they
were in their favorite haunt, and hastened to find them, with Annie. In pass-
ing through the park they met Dr. Lee. “I’ve heard,” he said, “ of two little
folks being seen chasing the deer; their little feet won’t carry them away from
us far afield.”

Elsie and Jack were waking up from their afternoon nap, when their father
and mother found them; and such embraces and huggings ensued, and such
bewildering accounts of picnics, boating, and all manner of pleasures, that
there could be no doubt about the success of Jack’s plan of being with ‘‘ Me
own nursie.”

‘“T want a cup of tea after my journey,” said Mrs. Lee; ‘and as we all have
to get back to town to-night, there is no more time to idle here.”

There was a cosey tea-party in.the cottage, a rapid packing up, fond good-
bys to nurse, and the train carried the children from Arundel and the “ Valley
of Butterflies.”







JOHNNIE BROWN’S WHITE DRESS.



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oA TPAMILY STORY

T was a mild summer night. The lamps were lighted in the house, and
the hour for the children’s bedtime drew near.

They had been having a happy day. In the morning Frank had been
with his father to see the trained dogs, and was pleased to see how many
funny tricks they had learned to do.

They could walk upon a rope, jump through hoops, and turn summer-
saults forwards and backwards, like the men in the circus. They could also
ride upon the back of a pony, and could all dance to the music of the band.

His father told him that they had learned to do these things when they
were very young, and if he expected to be wise when he grew old, he must
learn while he was a boy.

-When Frank got home he told his sisters of all he had seen.

Maud said, ‘‘ My dolly knows just as much as the dogs. She can cry
when she wants me to take her to ride, and she can sit in her carriage and
fold her hands, and can move her eyes, and can shut them when I put her
to bed.”

Mary said she would rather have a dog or a kitty than a dolly.

‘So would I,” said Frank. ‘We will ask papa to give us one next
Christmas.”

In the afternoon the children had all been to ride with their father.
They drove a long distance into the country and enjoyed many pleasing sights.

They stopped at a river for their horse to drink, and while there a boy
with a covered basket on his arm came along and stood behind the carriage,
A FAMILY STORY.

and then followed it as the horse walked slowly up the hill. The children
wondered what the basket contained.

At a farmhouse they stopped for a drink of milk, which the housewife
brought sweet and cool from the cellar.

They waited awhile and watched the old duck and her fluffy goslings
gliding over the silver surface of a pool. The old duck seemed very proud of
them. They floated as lightly as masses of golden down. They seemed
happy, but there was a large black cat roaming about the garden among the
shrubbery crying piteously.

On their way home the children were talking about the dogs which Frank
had seen, and they wondered whether
they could teach a dog or cat to do
similar things.

Just then the carriage jolted over a
stone in the road and they heard the cry
of a kitten. It startled them. They
thought one must have been crushed
by the wheels. Yet none was to be
seen and they again drove on. They
had not gone far when they again heard



the cry. They were more surprised than
before, and their father made a thorough search.

How strange! In the back of the carriage, under the wraps, was a very
small black kitten, not many weeks old. How he came there was a great
wonder; but they were all much pleased with him, and their father said they
could have him for a playmate.

When they got home they made him a nice soft bed in their mother’s
work-basket, and then played with him till bedtime.

When supper was over the three gathered around to see him eat. Maud
held for him a dish of warm milk, and Frank and Mary stood and watched
him with pleasure, and thought how many tricks they could teach him to do.

Then they placed a dish of milk and a few pieces of bread near the
window, over which hung a beautiful branch of the running rose that grew by
the piazza, for they thought kitty would be hungry during the night; this
having been done they all went to bed.

For a long time they lay awake. They thought over the events of the
A FAMILY STORY.

past day. They could not forget their ride in the country, and the strange
way in which they found their new playmate.

When morning came they were all three awake early. They could
scarcely wait to be dressed they were so anxious to see their playmate.

To their great grief, when they went to his little bed in the basket he was
gone. Though search was made throughout the whole house he was nowhere
to be found. Three children were never more unhappy. Their bright dreams
of sport were over, and everybody wondered where the kitten could have gone.

The next day the children were in the garden with their father. The
gardener said to them, —

“T must jest tell ye, children, what I beheld with my own eyes this blessed
morning. Iam an early bird, always up with the lark. The rising sun niver
catches me sleepin’; and when I came out here this mornin’, down under the
rosebush I beheld a big black cat. She was a stranger here, and was kind o'
smelling around loike, hunting among the vines.

(Se Catea calcul

“«Meow!’ said she, and sprang over
the flower-pots and into your bedroom
window like a tiger. Well, now I must
tell ye I felt kind o’ frighten loike
to see a black cat act so strange. While
I stood wondering she sprang out from
the window with a big rat in her mouth.

«“«Scat! Scat!’ said I] again; and
away she went over the garden wall into
the road. The last I saw of her she

was going over yonder hill; it was



very strange, and] keep asking myself
where did she get that big black rat ?
The loikes of it I niver before beheld!”

The children wondered at the gar-
dener’s story; and their father gave a knowing smile, and said, —

“Well, children, we will ride again this afternoon, and perhaps we shall
get a sight of that strange rat-catcher.”

When the afternoon came, they again rode into the country, and stopped at
the river where the day before they had seen the boy with a basket. Then
A FAMILY STORY.

they drove to the farmhouse where they had seen the ducks swimming in the
pool. Upon the steps of the house lay the same cat which they saw moaning
in the yard the day before. She now seemed very happy, for with her was a
little black kitten, jumping over her and playing with her tail.

”

“That looks just like our lost kitty,” said Frank.

“Let's get out and go and see him,” said Mary.

“T know ’tis our kitty,’ said Maud. ‘He has one white foot and a few
white hairs over his left eye.”

The housewife, seeing their interest in her cats, came out and told them
this story:

“ Yesterday a boy took that kitten to the river to drown him; but seeing
a gentleman and his family riding along, he threw him into the carriage
instead of the river. The old cat felt very bad, and cried about the house and
grounds. This morning she came home bringing him in her mouth. Where
she had been during the night no one can tell, but she seems very happy to
have him restored to her.”

Soon the whole mystery was explained.

The old cat had followed the road and found where the little kitten was
sleeping in his basket. It was the kitten instead of the rat which the gardener
saw her carrying away in her mouth.

When this had been told the children were more interested in the kitten
than ever; and their father bought him of the housewife, but left him with
the old mother till he was older; then they took him home and he grew very
large and handsome, and learned to do many wonderful tricks.

This happened many years ago. Frank grew to manhood and was killed
in war.

Maud and Mary are now old ladies; but they remember and tell of their
wonderful cat.

He lived with them till he became old, and blind, and helpless. One day
he fell asleep in a cushioned rocking-chair. They tried to wake him but could

not — he was dead.
MATTIE AND OBO.

R. GRUFF was a very wicked man. He had two boys, and they were
very much like their father. They were all very cruel to animals, and,
in fact, were unkind to everybody.

There is an old Scotch proverb, worth remembering : “ One who is guid to
a beast is guid to a body.”

When one is unkind to animals they are generally unkind to all whom they
meet. ,

Mr. Gruff and his boys once did a very wicked thing.

Little Mattie Mayo lived in
the house next to Mr. Gruff.
She had a little dog which was
very cunning and play-
ful. She took great care
of him, and fed him




often with warm
sweet milk. As
he grew he be-
came very full
Ometans a mec
learned to do
many curious
tricks, and thus
he gave Mattie
a great deal of
pleasure.



One morn-
ing when she
came down to
breakfast her
mother told her
that Obo (that
was his name)
could not be found: they had searched all over the house and grounds, and



had inquired of the neighbors ; no one had seen him, and he was nowhere to be
MATTIE AND OBO.

found. There was his basket where he had slept, but he was gone. Mattie
felt very badly, and could eat no breakfast, and the whole family were in
trouble. Her father offered a reward to any one who would return him. It
was believed that he had fallen into the river, and, as it was winter, he had
been carried under the ice, for he was known to be very venturesome, and
would sometimes go into dangerous places.

One winter day, when out playing with Mattie, he came very near being
drowned. They were playing near the lake. The water was but partially
frozen, and had not become strong enough to hold him except near the shore.
That day he was very full of mischief, and would not obey his little mistress.
He ran upon the thin ice:
she tried to call him back,
but he kept on till it broke
beneath his weight. He

gave a spring, and had the

g
good luck to reach the land
in safety, though he and
Mattie were both very much
frightened.

After Obo had been

missing about two weeks,



g, sad

weeks to Mattie,— she was

—and they were lon

returning from school, think-
ing how he used to come to meet cher. She almost cried when she thought
that he would never come again.

As she was passing a damp, dirty alley, she saw two boys having sport with
something in the gutter, half buried in the melting snow and mud. She
knew they were Mr. Gruff’s boys, and her parents had told her never to go
near them lest they might do her some injury. She started to run away ;
but when she heard the cry of an animal in pain, she forgot her danger,
and turned her steps towards the boys to see what caused those piteous
cries.

The boys were making sport of a poor little dog, which they had thrown
into the water and dirt: he had been there so long that it was hard to tell his
shape or color. They had tied an old tin saucepan to his tail, and were mak-


Very Vent uresome.
MATTIE AND OBO.

ing him drag it through the water and mud. This he had not strength to do,
for he was weak from hunger!

When he saw Mattie he uttered a loud cry for help, and tried to spring
towards her. He knew her, and when he gave his well-known bark of welcome,
she cried,—

“Tt is my darling Obo;” and though he was covered with dirt and water
she caught him in her arms and cried for joy.

The boys jeered her, and tried to pull him from her, but she would not let
him go. Just thena policeman came in sight, and the boys tried to run away.
In doing so they were captured by a policeman coming in the other direction,
and were hastened off to prison.

The policeman was very kind to Mattie, and helped her to carry Obo home.
And there was great rejoicing in the family.

The poor little dog seemed very thankful to be at home again, but he was
tired and hungry and sick. They tried to give him every care that would
make him well again, but he had been treated so cruelly by those bad boys
that he could never be bright and playful again; he grew sicker, and died in a
few days; and Mattie was again in sorrow.

It was found that Mr. Gruff stole Obo from his bed in the basket, thinking
to sell him to some one far away in the country. His boys thought to have
some fun with him, and stole him from their father.

They were punished for being cruel to an animal, and their father for steal-
ing; and that whole wicked family is now in prison, where they are compelled
to spend their days in hard labor, yet they have time to think over their

wicked deeds.




THE. DISOBEDIENT “CLONE N.

IGHT babies! Eight little yellow chicks to look after! Eight young
children to be instructed in polite manners and the very best of morals!
Certainly, Mrs. Hen had her wings full.

The little chickens were hatched one sunny morning ; and no sooner had
they popped out of their shells and got over their astonishment, than they
began to scratch for worms, and tumble over one another in their eagerness
to catch the passing flies and gnats.

“ Hoity-toity! this sort of thing won't do,” cried Mrs. Hen. ‘“ My dears,
you musn’t be greedy. Come here, and listen to me while I give you your
names.”

Now, as a rule, the finding of a name for one baby gives a great deal of
trouble; so we can easily imagine how worried poor Mrs. Hen and _ her
husband were before they settled what they should call their eight children.
But it was finally agreed that the names should be: Snap, Peep, Scrap, Tweet,
Snip, Puff, Pop, Scruff; and very good names, too, I think. But, at any rate,
the chicks thought so (which is far more important), and were immensely
proud of themselves as they went to walk with their father and mother, and
were introduced to the other animals in the farmyard.

Certainly, the chicks, with one exception, were a credit to their parents,
and I am sorry to say that Scrap was that exception. Although the smallest
THE DISOBEDIENT CHICKEN.

chick in the whole brood, he had more naughtiness in his little body than all
the rest of his brothers and sisters put together. While Mrs. Hen’s other
children paid the greatest attention to their lessons every morning, Scrap’s
mind was filled with thoughts of flies and worms, and he was always wishing
it was dinner-time. Scrap, I am grieved to say, was a greedy chicken. Then
he caused his family terrible anxiety by being too friendly with the young
ducks. Now, young ducks, in their own way, are just as nice as young
chickens; but their way led them to the pond, for they delighted in water,
and could swim perfectly. But Scrap could not swim ; and so his father
and mother, and brothers and sisters, were afraid that
if he continued to associate with the ducklings, he might
venture one day into the water and be drowned. And
it so happened that Scrap’s greediness ded lead him
into terrible trouble. One afternoon he met the ducks
coming away from the pond; they were talking about
the happy day they had spent, and how far more pleasant



“° it was, and what a lot more there was to eat on the other
side of the water. Scrap said nothing, but listened very eagerly ; and that
night before he went to sleep under his mother’s wing, he made up his mind
that on the morrow he would, by hook or by crook, reach the other side of
the pond.

The next day Scrap was awake betimes, and as soon as he sawa good
opportunity, this naughty chick stole away from his family, and ran as fast as
his little legs could carry him to the water's side. But there he came to a
standstill, just as you would have done if you had run away from home and
had come to the wide sea, and were thinking about swimming across It. Scrap
put one foot into the water, and drew it out again very quickly — he thought
it very cold and uncomfortable. He would not have ventured in the water
then for all the dinners in the world. But still he could just see the little
ducks in the distance swimming gayly over to the other side; it was really
very tantalizing. Scrap thought for a moment, and then determined that, as
he could not cross the pond, he would go round it.

Poor Scrap! he did not know what a terrible undertaking this was for so
smail a body.

At first, his journey was easy enough, for it lay through short, sweet
grass, but soon he had to encounter thistles, nettles, and thick brambles.
‘THE DISOBEDIENT CHICKEN.

With great difficulty he pushed himself through these, having to rest every
minute. And he very soon got so tired, and scratched, and wet with the dew,
that he made up his mind to return to his mother. But, all of a sudden, he
heard a rustling, and, to his horror, he saw a big rat. Now, for a chicken to
meet a rat, is just as bad as if you were to mect a lion. Poor Scrap lay quite
still, trembling all over, and oh, how thankful he was that the rat didn’t see
him as it passed along. Then, up he jumped and ran off— in his fright he
did not know where. On he went, tumbling over sticks, and tumbling into
ditches, until he was in a terrible plight, and had lost his way.

You can fancy how anxious his father and mother, his brothers and sisters,
were about him all this time. They hunted high and low, and searched
the farm-yard, the kitchen garden, and even the flower-beds, but he was
nowhere to be found. No one had seen or heard anything of him.

It was dusk, and night was fast approaching. Mrs. Hen was sadly putting
the remaining children vo sleep, when a small black object was seen to limp
towards the fowl-house.

“Tweet! tweet!” it cried faintly, as it came near, and then threw itself
beneath Mrs. Hen’s wing.

Dear me! It was poor Scrap, but oh! how changed — black with mud,
and with hardly a bit of fluff remaining on his little body. You can imagine
how glad Mrs. Hen was to get him back again, and the fluff soon grew; but I
am glad to say that Scrap was a much better chick afterwards, for whenever
he felt inclined to be disobedient he always remembered the big black rat.

He never stays away now from the crowing class which his father holds
every day; and although he was very backward at first, 1 am sure he will soon
make up for lost time, for his father is very indulgent.

Listen to what he and his brothers are saying now :

“Ts it hard to do, papa? Is it hard to do?
We would like to crow like that, and be as big as you,
But you are old and fatherly, and we are young and new!”
“ Silence, children, while I speak, now, Cock-a-doodle-doo !
Now, my children, run and scratch, I am coming too,
Mother let you out to play, she'll her kindness rue,
If you don’t obey papa, as all good chickens true.

”

Well, to please you, once again, ‘ Cock-a-doodle-doo.’
SSS SSS
DUES a ae

e * SSeS SAN
SS =
oe SN


















































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































GOLD -AND SILVER.

. INE really looks rather a large
ee ae family when you see them all
ee together, as you do now: four
grown-ups and the baby. When I
call them grown-ups, you know I
mean that they are grown-up for
dollies. 1 am Dolly too, so it is
. quite a family name for them; and
they have others, of course, besides.
The one in the blue hat is Lu-
cinda: she’s the eldest, and the
beauty of the family, though some



people consider her very like her
mother too. Then comes Bron-

Rowell”



zella. J gave her that name because
when she came she had on the most lovely bronze shoes, but they were worn
out long ago. I can’t keep her hair tidy, whatever Ido. And as I can’t afford
more than one hat at a time amongst them all, they take it by turns to wear
it; and Bronzella’s in a temper because it isn’t her turn to-day. That boy
sitting by Lucinda is Carlo Dolci. I called him Charlie at first; but he was
such a dear, sweet, gentle little fellow that Uncle Leo, who paints pictures,
advised me to change it to Carlo Dolci. Carlo always holds baby carefully on
his knee when I take them for a drive: her name is Pinkie, because of her
pink frock, made out of a bit of mine. I’ve left Drowsabella till the last
because her story is a sad one, and |
do not like telling it.

I left her out of doors one night
last summer, and Ben found her when
he went out early to milk the cows,
and brought her in, so when I woke

in the morning, there she was lying



on my bed, but in such a state, that

though she is my own child I really did not know her at first. All her
pretty curls were gone ; she was balder even than Uncle Leo, and had a great
hole in her head besides; her back was hurt, and one hand bitten off: and her
GOLD AND SILVER.

clothes were all wet and muddy. Nurse said the cows had done it, and that
it served me right for being so careless ; but I cried so, I think nurse was sorry,
and when I was dressed she helped me to do all that could be done for
Drowsabella. We made a tight cap that just fitted her poor head, such as
Uncle Leo wears when he is painting, but there was no little frill of hair to curl
round it as his does, you see; then we bound up her poor arm, and nurse
washed her clothes while she was in bed. _ It’s quite impossible amongst so many
to give them more than one frock each,

or for that matter, more than one any — :.

thing; so they all have to stay in bed ee








on washing-days, and play at being
ill.

Poor Drowsabella, she will
never sit up again, and isn’t
a bit pretty now; but
she sleeps most of the
time, and gives
no trouble, and
I love her best
atters all. Vel
have learnt a +
song called, “I . |
once had a
sweet little doll, dears ;” and when her back is very bad I sing it to comfort
her, because it seems to have been written on purpose for her.

Now you know all about the family. They are just dressed and fed, and
it’s quite one person's work to see to them every morning, I can tell you.
Jack and I are taking them out into the fields. Jack always goes with us, and
I find him very useful in sitting by them whilst I pick flowers. It is too hot
to run about this morning, so I am going to keep them quiet by telling them
a story. You shall hear it too, if you like stories, and will come with us.

This big oak-tree is my summer nursery. The branches hang down so
low that the cows never come quite underneath, and these great roots stick-
ing out with pillows of moss between, make lovely seats and beds for the
family. Drowsabella has the softest place: she lies on this long sloping cushion

7

with Pinkie beside her, and Carlo sits on the root close by. Lucinda and

GOLD AND SILVER.

Bronzella always quarrel about the hat if they sit together, so I put them on
each side of the others. Jack turns round three times and then lies down with
his nose on his paws, and pretends to be asleep; but he hears and sees every-
thing all the same. There, now for my story. I read a bit of it in a book,
you know, and made up the rest, and I call it

GOLDVAND=sILVER:

Once upon a time a most beautiful little girl, whose name was Lilian, was
picking buttercups and daisies in a large meadow which was quite covered with
them. Lilian was very fair indeed, and thin and tall for her age, which was

oS ; about eight or nine ;_ her hair

& as

was as yellow as gold, and
she wore a long green frock,
so that she really looked
rather like a tall white lily.
I suppose that is why they
called her Lilian. She went
about and about the field
singing softly to herself, and
picking the finest buttercups
and daisies till she had quite
a large bundle under her
arm. Suddenly she came
upon a tiny brown field-
mouse, lying on the grass
quite dead. Lilian took it



up in her hand, and stroked
and kissed it gently ; then she dug a little hole with a bit of a stick, and lined
it with daisies, and laid the little mouse in it, and covered it up again with a
daisy-root on the top. When she had done she sat down fora few minutes to
rest, feeling rather sad, because she loved all the little creatures out of doors
so much, she did not like to think of their dying. While she sat thinking
she was surprised to hear a little voice close to her say, —

“Thank you, little mistress ; you have done my work for me, I see.”

Lilian looked all about her, but could see no one.

“T can’t see anybody,” she said to herself, “ but I am sure some one spoke.”
GOLD AND SILVER.

“Jt was I,” said the same voice. ‘I am here, close to your feet.”

Lilian looked down, and there, balanced on the centre of a moon-daisy, was
the tiniest and prettiest little man she had ever seen. He was dressed in
green, and had on a little yellow cap, like a buttercup upside down, so that
unless one looked closely, it was not easy to distinguish him amongst the
buttercups and daisies.

‘Oh, you dear wee fellow!” exclaimed Lilian, ‘‘ who are you, and where
do you come from ?”

‘“My name is Amber, very much at your service,” answered the little man
jumping up, and taking off his cap with a graceful bow ;
“but whence I come, sweet Mistress Lilian, I am not
at liberty to say.”

“ Are you all alone, Master Amber?” asked Lilian.

“Just at present I am, but I have hundreds and hun-
dreds of brothers and sisters.”

“ Are they all as small as yourself?”

“Some are smaller still.”

“Oh, how I should like to see them !”

“T daresay you have seen, but did not know them ;
we are always about. My sister Azure knows you very
well, and so do I,” continued Amber. ‘ We all wear
green dresses, but have different colored flower caps.
It is not easy to see us unless we choose to be seen; it



is only to kind and gentle little children like you, Mis-
tress Lilian, that we sometimes appear in our real forms. We know that you
love all the little creatures that we watch over and care for; and when you
buried the dead mouse just now, you were doing my work, that is why I spoke
to you.”

“ How do you mean that it was your work?”

“T should have done it if you had not. Have you never noticed how
seldom you find dead birds or butterflies about ?—and yet think how many
there would be if some one did not bury them. I and my brothers go about
and find them, and lay them carefully under the buttercups and daisies, which,
by the way, we call gold and silver flowers. ‘There is a large band of us, also,
who look for, and help any little creatures that happen to be hurt, and we

cure them when we can.”
GOLD AND SILVER.

“ How do you cure them?” asked Lilian.

“ Why, we know secrets of healing powers, possessed by herbs and flowers,
just as your doctors do, but we know more of them, and how to use them.”

“T know that lily leaves cure cuts and bruises,” said Lilian.

“Ves,” nodded Amber, ‘‘ you were not called Lilian for nothing, I see.”

“ How is it you know my name?” questioned Lilian: “I have been want-
ing to ask you all the time.”

‘Ah, we know more things than you think for,” replied Ge “T should
not wonder if we had something to do with your being called so.’

“1 do not see how that could be, because I had proper godmothers, and
was christened in the church over there, you can just see the tower through
the trees. But please tell me more about yourself, Master Amber, and what
your sisters do?”

“ Some of them help us to take care of the sick creatures, but the greater
number of them watch over the flowers.”

“ How do they do that ?”

“Oh, in a hundred ways. For instance, there are a great many flowers that
require closing up at night, or when it is going to rain, and others that want a
great deal of dew to drink have to be opened wide at twilight ; my sisters pull
cool leaves over those that cannot bear hot sun by day, and uncover others
that like the sunshine. They prop up tall flower stems when the wind sways
them too roughly; all night long they drop dew on their petals, and keep
away any thing that might hurt them; but their busiest time is early in the
- morning, when they have to repai., as far as they can, any little accident that
may happen to their charges in the night, and make them look fresh and
bright and beautiful, just as you see them when you come Ouees

“ That is lovely work,” said Lilian. “ How I wish I could see them doing
ieee

“ Look here, then,” whispered Amber, pointing to a daisy which hung its
head because its stem was bent and bruised ; and at the same moment a little
lady in a green frock, and harebell cap, bustled out of the tall grass close by.
She went up to the injured daisy, and gently raised its head, and began to
bathe the stem with something from a harebell cup which she carried slung
across her shoulders. She continued to do this till the daisy held up its head
quite strongly again, and then lightly kissing its silver fringe she tripped away.

‘That was my sister Azure,” said Amber; ‘‘she bathed the stem with a
lily leaf, dipped in honey and dew.”
GOLD AND SILVER.

“Tt was lovely,” exclaimed Lilian.

Amber nodded kindly at her, and went on —

“said early morning was the busiest time, but often the evening work is
the saddest. Ah! Mistress Lilian, you little know the havoc that human
children, and, for that matter, grown-up folk too, make amongst the dear
beautiful flowers —how often they break and trample on whole masses at
once, and hurt them quite beyond our skill to cure. Then they pick great
bunches, just to throw them away, and pick more: that is the saddest sight of
all to us. As for Azure, you would be quite grieved if you could see how she
breaks her little heart over it.”

“Tam sorry,” said Lilian. ‘It always makes me sad too.” Then she
looked down at the bundle of flowers she carried under her arm, and saw they
were beginning to droop.

“ Please, Master Amber,” she said, ‘I think I must go home now, and put
my flowers in water. 1 did not pick them to throw away, you know, but for
mother, my own dear mother —she is not strong enough to come out and
pick them, but she loves them, and | pick some for her every day. I hope |
shall see you again some day.”

Amber nodded, as he skipped down from the daisy where he had been sitting
all the time.

“ Surely,” he said, ‘** now that you know how to findus. You area favorite
with the fairies, Mistress Lilian,” he added, bowing and kissing his hand till he
disappeared in the thicket of gold and silver.

“So Amber was a fairy after all, you see,” finished up Dolly. ‘And now
the family must go home too. Heigh-ho, how I wish there were fairies who
could cure dollies, and then I would take poor dear Drowsabella to them.”



































































































































































































HEeARTH-RUG RAFT.

HEN Baby and J are playing alone, our plays are always the same, —
Dolls’ tea-parties, and fetching the Doctor to Dolly, and that sort
of game.
But we have much better fun when Cousin Eric comes to stay,
Because ‘he’s read so much, and he gets things out of books, and we do them
for play.
But last time he came was jolliest, for we played at rafts all day:
We got the hearth-rug, that was the raft, and the carpet was the great wide sea.
; And Eric was captain of a ship-
y wrecked crew, — that was Baby
and me.
And we had a walking-stick for
one oar, and Aunt Jane’s red















silk sunshade, that she’d left in
the hall ;

And I’m sorry to say we broke
the handle, but she needn't
have been so cross for we
didn’t mean to at all.

And we hoisted a flag, — Eric’s
handkerchief, — and made sig-
nals of distress, and sent up
rockets ;

I didn’t understand exactly what

\p! they were, but Eric threw up all
|



the little things in our pockets.

zy’ And I suppose we aid
make the dining-room
rather untidy, with tops,
and marbles, and string ;
But Aunt Jane needn't
have sent us to bed, and
said we were the ruin of
everything.
THE CARD CASTLE.

T was a wet afternoon. The children had found a pack of cards, and Alec
was building a splendid house with them, and Baby sat on the floor and

sang :

We're going to build a castle,
A castle, oh, so high!

Whose towers and noddin’ battlements
Will almost touch the sky.

But in this wondrous castle,
Although it is so tall,

You cannot go up-stairs, because
There are no stairs at all.



And in my castle liveth There came a Knight a-riding,
A boo’ful little maid, His spear of golden straw ;
Who in its topmost turret He was the very bravest Knight

A prisoner long hath stayed. That mortal ever saw.
He cried, “I’ve come to save thee; = Just then came by a Mousie,
Come down, oh, maiden fair!” With a mushroom for a hat,
The maid she sobbed, ‘‘ How can I And as he saw their trouble,
Without a single stair?” He said, “I'll settle that!

“Go, fetch the kitchen bellows,
And give a good big puff,

To bring the castle tumbling down,
You'll find it quite enough !”

They followed Mousie’s counsel,
And soon that castle grand

Was gone, while Knight and Maiden
Rode off to Fairyland!




is



&




DIE IGT IE Eee Seite azo taxa) ol SS

HERE was once a little maid, and her name was —
no, I don’t think I'll tell you what it was, for you



f% might laugh, and this is such a sad, sad story.

Well, this little girl did not go to school, and she did
not stop at home, and she did not play — but I'll tell you
what she did do: she was out in the fields all day minding
her father’s sheep.

And they were such funny sheep. Do you know
they each had four legs, and instead of walking on two
feet as we do, they walked on four feet; and then they
had such long noses, and they couldn’t talk a bit, that is,
they could only say Baa: and there is not much variety in that, is there?
And then there was another funny thing about them, their tails were always
behind them, no matter where they went, or how slowly they walked, those
stupid tails always kept behind.

Well, Bo-peep (there, I have let out her name after all) used to sit and
watch those curious sheep, under the shade of her big blue hat, and she used
to talk to them, and tell them wonderful stories of fairies and hobgoblins, but
no matter how exciting her tales were, she
never got anything in the way of applause
but Baa!

So one day when it was very hot, and
Bo-peep had seen all her flock comfortably
asleep in the shade, she thought she would



have a little nap too; so making a pillow of }
the softest moss she could find, she soon fell asleep, and dreamt she was a
queen, and had nothing to do all day but to sing, and dance, and eat sweets,
and ride about in a beautiful golden chariot with snow-white horses, and
everything that was lovely.

But she awoke with a great start, as a little bird perched upon her
shoulder.

She rubbed her eyes and looked all around, but not a sheep was in sight,
not even a tail, and they would sure to have been behind. Poor Bo-peep !
she called loudly and waved her crook, but not a single Baa could she hear.
THE LITTLE SHEPHERDESS.

But she saw a squirrel, and she said, “ Oh, do get up to the top of this
tree, and tell me if you can see anything of my sheep.”

But the squirrel said, “I am going to a garden-party, and am a little late,
I will look for you to-morrow.” Then the same little bird flew back.

‘Poor little Bo-peep,
Oh, why do you weep ?
See, here are your sheep,
Look, little Bo-peep,”

sang the bird in her ear; and, looking up, to her great surprise, Little Bo-
peep saw all her sheep quite close to her, and happily feeding ; and, yes, there
were their tails, all behind them as usual.

Bo-peep could not understand how ever they had come back; but she was

quite happy again, and sang away, the little bird piping an accompaniment :

“T’'m little Bo-peep,
I’ve found all my sheep,
I'll never more sleep,

- But careful watch keep.
Good little Bo-peep.”

















































THE LITTLE MONKEY.

os URSEY,” said Miss Lil, one morning, “ father has given me a whole
N large penny.”
“Has he, Miss?” said Nurse. ‘I wonder why he did that?”

“He gived it me for my thoughts,” answered Lil. ‘He said to me this
morning, ‘A penny for your thoughts, Lil,’ and I was just thinking whether I
should put Dolly’s blue hat on when I went out, or her fur cap. And I told
him, and he laughed so, and gave me a beautiful bright penny. It looks like a
gold penny, doesn’t it? And, now, what shall I buy with it, Nursey, dear?”

“Well, what do you want most, Missy?”

“T might buy a little totty dolly for Miranda to play with,” continued Lil.
“Can I get a dolly for a penny, Nursey ?”

“Oh! yes, I think so,” answered Nurse. ‘‘ You can buy a little china or
wooden dolly for a penny, I feel sure. When we were children we used to get
little wooden dollies, two a penny. They were not so pretty as the dollies now,
but they had jointed legs and arms, and you could make them sit down, and
sometimes stand up. I hardly know whether you can buy that kind now.”

“ Would they really sit down?” cried Lil, a little excited ; “ because that is
what Miranda won’t do. She is so stiff in the middle. Then I might buy a
chair. I saw some penny chairs in the shop yesterday, and the little dolly
could sit in it.”

“ But if you buy the dolly, you won't have any penny left to buy the chair.”

“Oh, dear!” Lil exclaimed rather in dismay. Her face fell a little, for a
beautiful vision of a jointed wooden doll sitting up in a chair was rising in her
mind. ‘ But, oh, Nursey, what is that funny noise?” and Lil started up and
ran to the window.

“Oh! it is a little dark boy with a hurdy-gurdy,” she cried, “and he has a
little monkey — such a funny little monkey in a frock, with a cap on his head.
And now he plays a tune ; the monkey runs about and dances and bows. Oh!
Nursey, let us go outside and see him, do, please.”

Nurse put on Lil’s sun-bonnet, and then they went into the front garden.
The little Italian boy came just in at the gate, and smiled at her with his soft
dark eyes, and turned his hurdy-gurdy, and made his monkey go through all
his tricks; but Lil was a tiny bit afraid of the little creature, and shrank back

‘

close to Nurse.
THE LITTLE MONKEY.

“Jacko not hurt little lady,” said the boy in his imperfect English. ‘ Jacko
good little monkey.”

“Is he?” said Lil. ‘Won't he bite ?”

‘““No, no, not bite. See here. Come, Jacko!”

The little creature ran back to his master, sprang on his shoulder, and
rubbed his wizened, quaint little face against the boy’s olive cheek.

‘Is he your monkey, your very own ?” asked Lil.

‘Si, si, now,” said the lad. ‘‘ The Padrone lets me have him. Jacko does
more tricks for me.”

“Then I expect you are kind to him;” said Nurse; “and that’s why
he obeys you.” ,

“ T love Jacko,” the boy answered simply, ‘‘ and Jacko loves me.”

“ Nursey, "" whispered Lil, “my penny, mayn't I give the monkey my
penny?”

‘Do, miss, if you like,” said Nurse. ‘I would give him one also, but I
sent all my money away yesterday to Mother, because Father is out of work.”
So Lil pulled out her bright penny and dropped it into Jacko’s cap, and Jacko’s
master, Luigi, thanked her in soft Italian words and smiles, which latter were
much more intelligible to Lil than his speech.

And Miss Lil was really happier in giving her penny to the poor little
Italian than if she had bought half-a-dozen jointed dollies, and chairs for them
to siton. She would have been happier still if she could have known how
her penny was spent, for Luigi got so many pence. that day —people seem
in a giving mood he thought — that the Padrone who had employed him gave
‘him back one for himself.

‘That is the pretty little lady’s penny,” said Luigi. ‘I know it because it
is so bright and shining. Now, my Little Jacko, what shall we buy? 1 know;
we will have an orange and some nuts, and it will be the little lady’s festa.”

So Luigi spent his penny on these dainties, and he and Jacko enjoyed
their little treat on a quiet, sheltered daorstep, and then went home to sleep.


THE MAGIC DAISY-CHAIN:

T was asad day at the farm. Mrs. Giles shook her head






mournfully from side to side, so did Farmer Giles, so did
~ Tommy Giles, so did also his little sister Esther.
They were sad because somebody else was sad, very sad
* indeed. This somebody was a poor woman who lived in a
small cottage at the farther end of the village, and she was
: sad because she had very little money, and very little food,
<2 but she was still more unhappy and broken-hearted because
she had no comforts to give her little daughter, — her poor
little daughter who lay ill in bed all day long this beautiful summer weather.
Farmer Giles had just returned from the cottage, having taken the poor
woman a jar of soup that his good wife had thought would do the little one
good, and he had met the doctor ENsit hve ge gen vied
in the village, who had looked very nt make her a great
grave, and had shaken “zs head long one that will go

\
iy
mournfully when he spoke about ee Ee
‘ RS -

) two times round her
the poor woman and the little i ily neck.”
I : . : ‘ le ~ .
brown-eyed girl. i;\ He iin ec The children
\ a

walked on across
the field to-
gether, Esther

When Tommy and Esther went



to play they did not rush out of
the house with a shout and a laugh I
as they usually did, but walked ; AN with her doll
along in silence, both little minds under her arm,
thinking about the poor sick child. until them came
“J wonder if she’d like my * to a shady bank

dolly,” said Esther, after a long



pause. .
“Pm sure she would,” said --\%
Tom. ‘Let us walk over the hill
and give it to her. And let us
make her a lovely daisy-chain :
she’d like that too, because she
cannot get up to pick the daisies.”

“Es, that will be lovely,” said


THE MAGIC DAISY-CHAIN.

beside a wood, and there having gathered a pinafore full of daisies, they
sat down to make the chain.

‘Dis daisy,” said Esther, picking up the first flower, — “ dis daisy is to
make her quite well again.”

‘And this daisy is to give her plenty to eat for ever and ever,” said Tom,
as he handed his sister a second flower.

‘And dis one is to give her heaps and heaps of silver pennies,” said the
little girl. ‘‘ Oh, won't it be a lovely daisy-chain!”

“Rather,” replied Tom. ‘And what’s this one to do?”

“Dat one,” said Esther, after
thinking some time, ‘‘is to make









her a good girl always, always,
always. Praps that ought to
have been with the first daisy,”
she added doubtfully.

‘SRraps 'sO.) ssaid. her =e
brother =* but. it doesn't ( a,
matter if she zs :
good always which
daisy makes her
Som

“And the next
one shall be plum- ‘¥
cake for breakfast,
dinner, and _ tea,”
cried Esther glee-
fully.

“And the next one a cage of white mice,” chimed in Tom.

“And the next— oh, it will be a booful daisy-chain, — must give her a good
fairy always to look after her,” exclaimed the little girl excitedly.

And so the daisy-chain went on getting longer and longer until there was
not one good thing left to wish the sick child.

If only these good wishes had come true she would have been more lovely,
more fortunate, and happy than any princess in the whole wide world.

When the children rose to go they discovered for the first time that they |
were not alone. A lady was standing behind them, leaning against a tree at

THE MAGIC D-AISY-CH-AIN.

the edge of the wood. She was a very pretty lady, and had such a sweet
smile and such a pretty dress.

“ Little ones,” said she, I] have been watching you make your beautiful
daisy-chain. Who is the fortunate person to whom you are going to give it?
Come and sit down beside me and tell me all about it.”

Down the three sat; and the lady was so kind and gentle that the children
were not a bit shy, and told
her all about the sick child,







and how poor her mother was,



and how they had made the ext —

daisy-chain to make the little | ae jie
girl well again. ARMM

«And where does she
live?” asked the
pretty lady.

«‘At the last cot-
tage in the village,
over there,” replied

Tommy, pointing



“And now, I
daresay, you wish

to be off to take the

over the green hill. I
f
| i
| Us

pi ie

daisy-chain. Per- {
haps we may meet —&

tm I 5 | |
i 5 Ss
again some day. | pes ae

So saying the lady cae
‘ . 3 5 = oe Fi se
kissed the two chil- — Mes
dren, and leaving ae eZ
them went down a path in the wood and was soon out of sight in the distance.
“J wonder who she is,” said Esther, as the two trotted along. ‘‘ She's

almost as booful as a fairy.”
It was not long before they arrived at the cottage, when Esther gave her

doll to the little girl, who was so pleased with it, and listened with delight

to the story of the daisy-chain.
“Qu must get quite well first,” said Esther, as she put the chain round the
THE MAGIC DAISY-CHAIN.

child’s neck, “and p’r'aps the good fairy and all the other nice things will
come.”

The poor mother listened to the children’s prattle with tears glistening
in her eyes.

“ Now, good-by,” said Tommy: “we will come again to-morrow.” And
after many kisses all round, Esther and her brother returned to the farm.

To-morrow! J think it was the most wonderful to-morrow that ever came;
so the poor woman and her child, and Tommy and Esther thought, and so, I
am sure, will you, dear.

First of all a great big basket arrived at the cottage, a hamper full of
jellies, and soups, and ever so
many nice things — comforts
enough for a princess.

And then as _ they were all
wondering where the hamper
could have come from, in
walked the pretty lady with
the sweet smile upon her face.
And she kissed the children,
and sitting down by the bed-
side, stroked the little girl’s
long brown hair.

‘‘Do you feel better, dear?”
she asked.

Yes, oh, yes, she felt much
better, was the reply.

“That was a wonderful
daisy-chain,” said the lady,
turning to Esther and patting



her head.

‘Es, it sent such a basket this morning, and sent ou too. Ou must be
the good fairy,” replied Esther.

It was indeed a wonderful daisy-chain, because from that day more baskets
came, and the pretty lady came also every afternoon. And best of all, the
little girl grew better and better, until she was quite fat and strong, and able

to run about with Tom and Esther.

Wisk IWOG, Wale COCK, ANID Ihale IF QUS








OCK-A-DOODLE-DOO!_ Cock-a-doo-

dle-doo!!” cried a Cock. “It’s an
extremely fine morning. Cock-a-doo-
dle-doo!”

sllommnoy mesaideramsly,
Jy, Old Fox to himself, ‘ that
sounds as if there would
be a nice little breakfast
for me,” and he stole
softly along. But, alas,
for the Fox, the Cock was
perched so high on a tree,
that Reynard could not
S ‘ reach him. ‘t Dear Friend,”
” Westan 4S SNE. See then said the Fox, “ it was
good of you to crow me so loud a ‘good-morning.’ I have come to wish you
a happy day. Pray come down that I may do so in a more friendly manner.”

“It’s kind of you,” replied the Cock, “very kind indeed, but there are



some nasty animals about who wouldn’t a bit mind eating me for breakfast.
1 would rather stay where I am for the present.”

“My dear soul,” replied Reynard, “King Lion and King Eagle have
proclaimed that there is henceforth to be peace amongst the animals.”

“ Well!” exclaimed the Cock, ‘‘ You ought to be delighted, for there is
an old friend of yours coming along to greet you.” The Fox was horrified to
_find himself face to face with a big Dog. ‘Oh, don’t!” cried Reynard, as the
Dog seized him. But the Dog said nothing, but killed the Fox, and I don't

think that Cock was very sorry.
TIC-TAC-TOO.

IC-TAC-TOO was a little boy; he was exactly three years old, and the
a youngest in the family; so, of course, he was the king. His real name

was Alec; but he was always known in the household, and among his
wide circle of friends generally, as Tic-tac-too. There was a little story to
account for this, and it is that story which I am now going to tell.

There are very few children who do not know the funny old nursery rhyme
of ‘‘ Tic-tac-too ;” it is an old-fashioned rhyme, and in great vogue amongst
nurses. Of course Alec enjoyed it, and liked to have his toes pulled, and the
queer words said to him. But that is not the story; for it is one thing to like

a nursery rhyme very much, and another to be
called by the name of that rhyme, and nothing
yf else.
Now, please, listen to the story.





There was no nicer house to live in than
Daisy Farm: it was old-fashioned and roomy;
there were heaps of small bed-
rooms with low ceilings, and heaps
of long passages, and unexpected
turnings, and dear little cosey cor-
ners; and there was a large nur-
‘cy, sery made out of two or three of
~~ the small rooms thrown together,
and this nursery had casement
windows, and from the windows
the daisies, which gave their name
to the farm, could be seen. They
came up in thousands upon thou-
sands, and no power of man and scythe combined could keep them down.
The mowing-machine only suppressed them for a day or two ; up they started
anew in their snowy dresses, with their modest pink frills and bright yellow
edges.

Mr. Rogers, who owned Daisy Farm, objected to the flowers; but his
children delighted in them, and picked them in baskets-full, and made daisy-
chains to their hearts’ content. There were several children who lived in this






































An Zt
+ he p - (f }
oh

x)

RADNER YY
TIC-TAC-TOO.

pleasant farmhouse, for Tic-tac-too had many brothers and sisters. The old-
fashioned nursery was all that a modern nursery should be; it had deep cup-
boards for toys, and each child had his or her wide shelf to keep special
treasures on; and the window-ledges were cosey places to curl up in on wet
days, when the rain beat outside, and the wind sighed, and
even the daisies looked as if they did not like to be washed
so much.

Some of the children at Daisy Farm were old enough to
have governesses and masters, to have a schoolroom for
themselves, and, in short, to have very little to say to the
nursery; but still there were four nursery little ones; and one
day mother electrified the children by telling them that
another little boy was coming to pay them a visit.

‘He is coming to-morrow,” said mother; ‘“‘he is a year



younger than Alec here, but his mother has asked us to take
i y care of him. You must all be kind to the little baby

iis stranger, children, and try your very best to make him feel at
home. Poor little man, I trust he will be happy with us.”

Mother sighed as she spoke; and when she did this, Rosie, the eldest
nursery child, looked up at her quickly. Rosie had dark gray eyes, and a very
sympathetic face ; she was the kind of child who
felt everybody's troubles, and nurse said she did
this far more than was good for her.

The moment her mother left the room, Rosie
ran up to her nurse, and spoke eagerly —

‘Why did mother sigh when she said a new
little boy was coming here, nursie ?”

“Oh, my love, how can I tell? People sigh
most likely from habit, and from no reason what-
ever. There's nothing to fret anybody in a sigh,



Miss Rosie.” é
“ But mother doesn’t sigh from habit,” answered Rosie; ‘I expect there’s
going to be something sad about the new little boy, and I wonder what it is.
Harry, shall we collect some of our very nicest toys to have ready for the poor

little new boy?”
- Harry was six; he had a determined face, and was not so generous as

Rosie.
TIC-TAC-TOO.

“T’'ll not give away my skin-horse,” he said, ‘‘ so you needn’t think it, nor
my white dog with the joints; there are some broken things down in that
corner that he can have. But I don’t see why a new baby should have my
best toys. Gee-up, Alec! you're a horse, you know, and I’m going to race
you from one end of the nursery to the other — now trot!”

Fat little curly-headed Alec started off good-humoredly, and Rosie sur-
veyed her own shelf to see which toys would most distract the attention of
the little stranger.

She was standing on a hassock, and counting her treasures over carefully,
when she was startled by a loud exclamation from nurse.

“Mercy me! If that ain’t the telegraph boy coming up the drive!”

Nurse was old-fashioned enough still to regard telegrams with apprehen-
sion. She often said she could never look at one of those awful yellow
envelopes, without her heart jumping into her mouth; and these fears she had,
to a certain extent, infected the children with.

Harry dropped Alec’s reins, and rushed to the window; Rosie forgot
her toys, and did likewise; Jack and Alec both pressed for a view from
behind.

“Me, me, me, me want to see!” screamed baby Alec from the back.

Nurse lifted him into her arms; as she did so, she murmured under her
breath, —

‘God preserve us! I hope that awful boy isn’t bringing us anything bad.”

Rosie heard the words, and felt a sudden sense of chill and anxiety; she
pressed her little hand into nurse’s, and longed more than ever to give all the
nicest toys to the new little boy.

Just then the nursery door was opened, and Kate, the housemaid, appeared,
carrying the yellow envelope daintily between her finger and thumb.

‘There, nurse,” she said, ‘it’s for you ; and I hope, I’m sure, it’s no ill-luck
Tm bringing you.”

“Oh, sake’s alive!” said nurse. ‘Children, dears, let me sit down.
That awful boy to bring it to me! Well, the will of the Lord must be done;
whatever's inside this ugly thing? Miss Rosie, my dear, could you hunt
round somewhere for my spectacles ?”

It always took a long time to find nurse’s spectacles; and Rosie, after
a frantic search, in which she was joined by all the other nursery children,
discovered them at last at the bottom of Alec’s cot. She rushed with them
TIC-TAC-TOO.

to the old woman, who put them on her nose, and began deliberately to read
the contents of her telegram.

The children stood round her as she did so. They were all breathless
and excited; and Rosie looked absolutely white from anxiety.

‘Well, my dears,” said nurse at last, when she had spelt through the
words, ‘‘it ain’t exactly a trouble ; far from me to say that; but all the same,
it's mighty contrary, and a new child coming here, and all.”

“What is it, nurse?” said Harry. ‘“ Do tell us what it's all about.”

“It's my daughter, dears,” said nurse; ‘she'll be in London to-morrow, on
her way back to America.”

‘Oh, nurse!” said Rosie, “not your daughter Ann?”

‘The same, my love; she that has eight children, and four of them with
carrotty hair. She wants me to go up to Lon-
don, to see her to-morrow; that’s the news the
telegraph boy has brought, Miss Rosie. My
daughter Ann says, ‘Mother, meet me to-morrow
- at aunt’s, at two o'clock.’ Well, well, it's mighty
contrary; and that new child coming, and all!”

‘But you'll have to go, nurse. It would be
~ dreadful for your daughter Ann not to see you again.’

‘Yes, dear, that’s all very fine; but what’s to become
of all you children? How is this blessed baby to get on
without his old Nan ?”

“Oh, nurse, you must go! It would be so cruel if




you didn’t,” exclaimed Rosie.

Nurse sat thinking hard for a minute or two; then saying she would go
and consult her mistress, she left the room.

The upshot of all this was, that at an early hour the following morning
nurse started for London, and a girl, of the name of Patience, from the vil-
lage, came up to take her place in the nursery.

Mrs. Rogers was particularly busy during these days. She had some
friends staying with her, and in addition to this her eldest daughter, Ethel,
was ill, and took up a good deal of her mother’s time ; in consequence of
these things the nursery children were left entirely to the tender mercies of

Patience.
Not that that mattered much, for they were independent children, and
TIC-T-AC-TOO.

always found their own amusements. The first day of nurse’s absence, too,
was fine, and they spent the greater part of it in the open air; but the second
day was wet —a hopelessly wet day —a dull day with a drizzling fog, and no
prospect whatever of clearing up.

The morning’s post brought a letter from nurse to ask for further leave of
absence ; and this, in itself, would have depressed the spirits of the nursery
children, for they were looking forward to a gay supper with her, and a
long talk about her daughter Ann, and all her London adventures.

But this was not the real
trouble which pressed so heavily
on Rosie’s motherly heart; the
real anxiety which made her little
face look so careworn was caused
by the new baby, the little boy of
two years old, who had arrived
late the night before, and now sat
with a shadow on his face, abso-
_ lutely refusing to make friends

with any one.

“He must have been a petted
little boy at home, for he was
beautifully dressed, and his curly
hair was nicely cared for, and his
fair face had a delicate peach
bloom about it; but if he was
petted, he was also, perhaps,
spoilt, for he certainly would not



make advances to any of his new
comrades, nor exert himself to be agreeable, nor to overcome the strangeness
which was filling his baby mind. Had nurse been at home, she would have
known how to manage; she would have coaxed smiles from little Fred, and
taken him up in her arms, and ‘“ mothered” him a good bit. Babies of two
require a great lot of ‘ mothering,” and it is surprising what desolation fills
their little souls when it is denied them.

Fred cried while Patience was dressing him; he got almost into a passion
when she washed his face, and he sulked over his breakfast. Patience was
TIC-TAC-TOO.

not at all the sort of girl to manage a child like Fred; she was rough in every
sense of the word; and when rough petting failed, she tried the effect of
rough scolding.

“Come, baby, come, you mast eat your bread and milk. No nonsense
now, open your mouth and gobble it down. Come, come, I'll slap you if you
done

But baby Fred, though sorrowful, was not a coward ; he pushed the bowl
of bread and milk away, upset its contents over the clean tablecloth, and
raised two sorrowful big eyes to the new nurse’s face.

“ Naughty dirl, do away,” he said; ‘‘ Fred don’t 'ove ‘oo. Fred won't
eat bekfus’.”

“Oh, Miss Rosie, what
a handful he is!” said
Patience.

“Let me try him!”
said Rosie; “Tllmake him ~~
eat something. Come Fred-
dy darling, you love Rosie,
don’t you?”

‘No, I don’t,” said Fred.

“Well, you'll eat some breakfast ; come now.”



“ T won't eat none bekfus’ — do away.”

Rosie turned round and looked in a despairing way at
her own three brothers.

“Tf only nurse were at home!” she said.

“ Master Fred,” said Patience, “ if you won’t eat, you must get down from
the breakfast-table. I have got to clear up, you know.”

She popped the little boy on the floor. He looked round in a bewildered

fashion.

“Tet’s have a very exciting kind of play, and perhaps he'll join in,” said
Rosie, in a whisper. ‘‘ Let’s play at kittens — that’s the loveliest of all our
games.”

“ Kittens” was by no means a quiet pastime. It consisted, indeed, in wild
romps on all-fours, each child assuming for the time the character of a kitten,
and jumping after balls of paper, which they caught in their mouths.

“Ts the happiest of all our games, and perhaps he'll like it,” said Rosie.
TIC-TAC-TOO.

But the little stranger did of like the game of kittens. He marched in a
fat, solid sort of way across the nursery, and sat down in a corner, with his
back to the company. Here he really looked a most dismal little figure. The
view of his back was heart-rending; his curly head drooped slightly, forlorn-
ness was written all over his little person.

“What a little muff he is!” said Harry; “I’m glad I didn’t give my skin
horse to him.”

“ Oh, don’t,” said Rosie, “can’t you see he’s unhappy? I must go and
speak to him. Fred,” she said, going up to the child, ‘come and play with
Alec and me.”



‘“No,” said Fred, “ I’se too little to p’ay.”

‘But we'll have such an easy play, Fred. Do come; I wish you would.”

‘T'se too little,” answered Fred, shaking his head again.

At that moment Rosie and her two elder brothers were called out of the
room to their morning lessons. Rosie’s heart ached as she went away.

‘Something must be done,” she said to herself. ‘‘ That new little boy-
baby will get quite ill if we can’t think of something to please him soon.”

She did not know that a very unexpected little deliverer was at hand. The
two babies were now alone in the nursery, and Patience, having finished her
tidying up, sat down to her sewing.
TIC-TAC-TOO.

“Patie,” said Alec, going up to the new nurse, “does ’00 know 7%c-tac-
too?” ;

“Of course I do, master Baby —a silly game that.”

‘“T “ike it,” said little Alec.

He tripped across the nursery to the younger baby, and sat down by his
side.

“Take off ’0o shoe,” he said.

Fred was very tired of being cross and miserable. He could not say he
was too little to Alec, for Alec was scarcely bigger than himself. Besides he
understood about taking off his shoe. It was a performance he particularly
liked. He looked at Baby Alec, and obeyed him.

“Take off ’oo other shoe,” said Alec.

Fred did so.

“ Pull off ’oo ’tocks,” ordered the eldest baby.

Fred absolutely chuckled as he tugged away at his white socks, and
revealed his pink toes.

‘“ Now, come to Patie.”

Fred scrambled to his feet, and holding Alec’s hand, trotted down the long
nursery.

“Patie,” said Alec, “take Fed on ’our lap, and play Z%¥c-tac-too for
him?”

Patience was busy sewing; she
raised her eyes. Two smiling little
baby-boys were standing by her knee.
Could this child, whose blue eyes were
full of sunshine, be the miserable little
Fred?

‘Well, master Alec,” she said, kiss-
ing the older baby, “ you’re a perfect
little darling. Well, I never! to think




of you finding out a way to please that —
poor child.”

“Tic-tac-too !” said Fred, in a loud
and vigorous voice. He was fast get-
ting over his shyness, and Alec’s game
suited him to perfection.
TIC-TAC-TOO.

Patience lifted him on her lap, popped him down with a bounce, kissed
him, and began, — ;
“ Tic, tac, too,
The little horse has lost his shoe,
Here a nail, and there a nail,
Here a nail, and there a nail,

dkictacy 100) lm

When the other children returned to the nursery, they heard peals of

merry baby laughter; and this was the fashion in which a little boy won his
name.


DOTS is Thee.

T came ina hamper. But what was it? It was

a big hamper, tied up with blue ribbon, and

rather heavy; and a very neatly written label,

addressed to ‘Miss Baby Dot,’ was on_ that

hamper. What could it be? Was it apples and
pears, cakes and crackers, or bags of sweeties?

Dot stood by while mamma undid the ribbons,



and then what do you think she saw? Why, noth-
YZ oh. ing less than a little tabby kitten, with light blue
a “ee ihe eyes.

Sgr Dot clapped her hands with joy, and hugged
and kissed the kitten. Dot had no brothers and sisters; and although she
had a number of toys, dolls, and dolls’ houses, bricks and picture-books, she
had never had anything that could love her so much as a kitten might do.
Of course she had her papa and mamma, and nurse, but she had nothing
young like her little self.

Now, I am sorry to say that Dot pulled that kitten’s tail, and picked it up
by one paw, and then by another paw, until the poor little cat did not know
which leg to stand upon.

‘“Humph!” said the kitten to itself, ‘that’s a very nice little baby-girl, I
dare say; but she seems to think I’m made of rags and sawdust, like her
dollies, and I must say it is rather uncomfortable to be treated so. And yet I
don’t like to scratch her.”

It was certainly very good of Kitty not to scratch Dot; but whenever she
saw the little girl coming, away she would run and hide in the coal-scuttle, so
that Dot could not catch her.

“ Oh, what a naughty Pussy!” said the Baby to her Nurse. ‘ She always
runs away from Dot, and Dot loves her so.”

‘Well, dear,” said Nurse, ‘““I daresay you love her very much, but you
don’t treat her properly. Suppose you had a tail and I were to pull you round
the room by it; and suppose | were to pick you up by your hands and feet,
why I am quite sure you would run away whenever you saw me coming.”
Baby did not say anything in reply to this, but that very day she put a saucer
of milk on the floor for Kitty.
‘DOT’S PET KITTEN.

“Hullo!” said Miss Puss, ‘Is she trying to catch me, or is she going to
be kind? I really must find out.”

What was the little cat's wonder and delight to discover that Dot really
meant to be kind. She stroked her and loved her, and never pulled her tail
once, although it was really very tempting.

From that day to this Dot and the kitten were the very best of friends.
They will play together on the floor, and Kitty, who has grown into a
beautiful cat by this time, will often sit in Baby’s high chair, and wait patiently
till the pap gets cool, when she knows that Dot will be sure to give her
some. |

Dot has a little brother to love and play with now, but you may be quite
sure she loves Pussy none the less.




“MAYDAY.”

eT was a beautiful morning on the first of May, and the dew
= twinkled on the spiders’ webs till they looked like strings of
A diamonds. The sun had got up smiling over the distant
ea hills, and seemed inclined to continue this pleasant behavior.
am Lae All was very still at present. The geese had not got their
A NGS | heads from under their wings or let down their other legs,
for it was quite early. Oliver, the gamekeeper, had come
out of his cottage and gone striding off to look after the



young pheasants in the Red Spinney; Jim Wallis, Farmer
Nethercote’s shepherd, was also up, because he had to see to the lambs in the
Far Close, and two or three of the lads of the village had stolen away an hour
or two before, and brought back boughs of hawthorn and willow and _ black-
thorn, cut from the beautiful bosky hedgerows that had not yet been
“splashed” and pared by modern farming. So that, if a girl in that village
were a shrew,-and had a scolding temper, when she tried to light the fire that
morning, she would find the chimney-pot stuffed with a branch of blackthorn ;
if she were a slut it would be a branch of willow; but if she were a sweet,
pretty girl, with a loving heart and gentle ways, then she would find a beauti-
““ MAYDAY.”

ful branch of white May, all wound about with love-ribbon, set outside the
door to greet her.

Just now, however, nobody was about except the old donkey; and he
would not have been, only that he dis-
approved of wasting time. He had
heard rumors that the butcher intended
keeping a Nanny-goat on the green that
summer, and he had determined that the
creature should not have one of his
thistles so long as he was alive and could
devour. And as he had lived longer
than the oldest inhabitant could remem-
ber, and looked like lasting for many
years yet, and as he was always eating
when he was not asleep, there did not
seem to be much chance for the Nanny-
goat. So he passed several hours this



morning fulfilling his destiny, which, ‘”
with him, meant full-filling himself. Then the young ladies from the Hall
came out, with their Cousin John to take care of them. They had come to
gather May dew to wash their faces, so that their complexions should be
bright and clear. But they did not require May dew at all, for they looked as
fresh as roses already, and Cousin John pointed to the mass of furze blooms
yellowing over all the common yonder, and said he —

«“«When the furze is out of blossom, kissing’s out of fashion,’ so I must

kiss you Cousin Lucy and Cousin Kate ;’
which he did, greatly to the young ladies’



horror and disgust, most properly and vigor-



ously expressed. Seno
He

“Ugh! What sillies they are!” said the FN ee
old donkey to himself, and he took another 24!

>
si

mouthful of thistles. On ME .




x CER
iN

Ges:
Then came out by ones and twos and .

N

threes



laughing and chattering — little rip-
ples and rills of laughter flowing to meet each
other —the children of the village. To-day a








eNround the e



lay pole.
““MAYDAY.”

they had a holiday because it was the first of May, and there was going to be
a tea in the school that afternoon, and games and dancing on the green. A
large pole, with a movable ring on the top, from which depended several
bright ribbon streamers, stood ready near the inn; and the children ran to it,
and began to dance round, holding the streamers. They were to dance the
ribbon-weaving dance when Squire and Madam from the Hall came down, and
meantime they wanted to see how well they knew it. So they danced and sang
the little song they had learned; and the old donkey pricked up his ears, and
wagged his tail, but he did not stop eating lest he should waste any time, and
there was no telling when that goat creature would come. Soon a very small
boy and girl came out of a cottage near, and travelled slowly over the green,
threading their way among the furze bushes. The girl had something firmly
clutched in her hand, and now and then they both stopped to look at it, to
make quite sure
it was safe. Then
they stamped
» along again sol-
emnly _ satisfied.
At last they ar-
rived at the shop,
and going in, the
girl stood on tip-
toe, and rapped
on the counter
with the treasure,
which proved to
be a dingy little



farthing.

Out came the smiling dame who kept the shop.

‘ Please ‘em, a farden-worth o’ suckers,” said the girl.

“Yes, my dear; which sort will you have, these pink ’uns, or them striped
‘uns ?”

“ Stiped ’uns!” bellowed a voice below the counter.

“Please ’em,” said the girl reprovingly.

‘“What, Dick! So he’s come along o’ sister is he? Bless him!” szid
motherly Mrs. Thrupp, leaning as far over as she could, to try and catch sight
of his shock head; but she could not manage it because she was so fat,
“MAYDAY.”

“Well, my dear, here’s the suckers ; and how’s
your mother?”






“Please ’em, she’s a bit better, and
doctor says she'll be about again d’rec'ly.
Mornin’, ma’am, and thank you
kindly.”

So, grasping the suckers in one
hand, and Dicky’s fat fist in the
other, she towed him carefully out
= oftheshop. There were two steps
rae down into the road, and they had
to sit on each of these in order to
descend safely, but at last it was accomplished.

“ Me a sucker,” began Dicky, almost before they had started.

“ Dicky, wait till we ’wide ’em,” gravely responded the girl, stamping along
determinedly.

“ Me a sucker, d'eckly minnit,” whimpered Dicky, making preparations to
howl, ‘ Libby give Dicky.”

So she stopped, and, after a long struggle, succeeded in undoing the packet
of sticky stuff, and one sucker was taken out and put in Dick’s open mouth,
stretched eagerly out like a young bird’s.

Their mother had been maid to the Squire’s lady; and when her little girl
was christened and the parson said, ‘‘ Name this child,” she had dropped a
courtesy, and said, ‘‘ Elizabeth, please, sir;” that being Madam’s name. And
she had called her baby so, despising all abbreviations. Now Dick followed
his mother’s example to the best of his ability.

They re-crossed the green on their way home, and divided the suckers on
a round mill-stone which was laid down in front
of their cottage door. There were five; so
Libby gave Dicky two, and herself two, and
then they cracked the remaining one with a
stone, and had half each; and Dicky bit all his
suckers in two, and, displaying the sticky treas-
ures in his hand, said, triumphantly, ‘“ There,
Libby, I got lot 0’ bits more’n you.”

“Tdon'tcares said leibby.

But now the day got on, and the sun rose


“MAYDAY.”

higher, and Libby and, Dicky went indoors, for it was nearly time for the May-
garlands to start, and they had to be dressed. Their Aunt Rachel had come
in to do this, because their mother was not well enough yet, and a hard task
she had; for Dicky wanted to dance when his face was being washed, and to
stand on his head when he should have been getting into his Sunday breeches ;
and Libby was trembling with excitement, for she was to wear a white muslin
frock, and a wreath of pink and white daisies, and be Queen of the May, while
Dicky, in the Sunday breeches and a smart



little blue coat with a gilt paper crown
round his cap, was ‘“ the king.”

But Aunt Rachel got them
finished at last, and they went
to their mother to be looked
at, and stamped out to meet
the other children, who came to fetch them
with garlands of gillyflowers and pinks and
marigolds and sweet-williams and bunches of
cowslips and daisy chains and
ladies’ smocks so pretty. Then
they went round to each house
in the village, and sang their
May-songs, and begged money
to pay for their tea in the after-
noon; and when they got to
the Hall, the Squireand Madam
and the young ladies and gen-
tlemen all came out to the front
door to listen ; and silver coins
rained down into the great gar-
land that two of the biggest girls carried, made of interlaced hoops, covered
with a sheet, adorned with flowers, and inhabited by the most lovely dolls.
Then the children courtesied to the gentlefolks, and said, ‘‘ Thank you kindly,
Sir and Madam,” as good children should; for this was in the olden times
before School Boards came in and destroyed good manners, a sideways nod
being now the usual salutation offered by the young to their elders and
betters, at least in the village I live in; and the Squire actually patted Libby
“MAYDAY.”

on the shoulder, and said, ‘Good little girl;” while Dicky stared with his
thumb in his mouth, dumbfounded in the presence of so much greatness.
Then they went home to dinner, and out again to the races and games on
the green where the big boys jumped and ran, and the girls played drop
handkerchief, and the ribbon-weaving dance was performed to the great
amusement of everybody.

But Libby and Dicky were too young to do this, so they played about on
the grass with the other little ones — at least Libby did for a long time, until
all at once she looked round, and no Dicky was there.

Where could he have gone? She got up, and looked again, and then ran
off to seek for him.

Anxiously she trotted down the road which led across the common, peering
between and under the furze bushes, and eying the old donkey as he still ate
thistles ; but he had no time to stop and tell her where Dicky was. Farther
and farther she went till her legs ached terribly, and she was quite out of sight
of the May Feast, and out of hearing of the singing and music. Still no
Dicky. The common was a very wide one, and seemed a trackless waste to
little Libby who had never ventured so far before ; and now she came to a hilly
part, and toiled and panted up 3 sand =down
rabbit - holes,
and thickets

steep slopes where were great ss
and heaps of scratched up sand,





of fern and bramble amongst the ~~
















furze. Her legs were torn and 7= eye
2 eat a tio
‘ “ SE, MN fk
bleeding, and she stumbled over x ae Nath
$e 2 hoy Ua UY, NM
; ['S ON NAscr
rough places, and fell more than bs on TAIN VAC
As 4 hy

ONE

once, but she picked herself up



ry
P SaaN Re) A
dered until the sun began to go down, and she felt =~ "4,

: : : : = Sys \
frightened in this great, wide, lonely place all by ae f

again and went on; and she wan-

herself. Poor Libby began to cry, and presently her sobs were
answered by faint howls.

“Dicky ! O—o—o—oh Dicky!” she called, and ran off in the direction
from which they came. Sure enough Dicky it was, with his clothes torn and
dirty, and his face besmirched with tears, his gilt crown all awry and crumpled,
while a torn fragment hung down over one eye; and he was roaring dolefully
as he sat by a rabbit-hole. When he saw Libby he instantly left off, and she

““MAYDAY.”

took his hand, wiped his face with the skirt of her frock, and turned to lead
him home. But, alas, the day was fast fading; and all the holes and heaps
looked exactly alike, and they soon got quite lost. Hand in hand they wan-
dered until at last Dicky lurched and stumbled, being overcome with weari-
ness, and down he went under a mass of dry fern, and fell fast asleep. Libby
could not wake him, neither could she carry him, and she was so afraid he

would be cold. She took off the little scarlet-hooded cloak she wore — Madam



had given one to each of the girls in the school at Christmas — and tucked it
well round Dicky, and then she wrapped her little muslin skirt about her own

bare arms and neck, and huddled down beside him.






Now it was quite dark under the furze bushes, and she
could hear nothing but the rustle of the grass as the wind
swept through it, until came a sound of scores of little
pattering feet, and the rabbits ran out of their holes to dance.
How they scuttered, and ran, and capered, and splut-
tered the sand about, little knowing that the shapeless heap under
the bracken yonder was composed of the dreadful two-legged

creatures they feared so much.

Then Libby

beginning to be pierced by one little twinkling star after another, and she felt

looked up into the deep profound of the night sky,

still more frightened and alone

and small in sucha great solemn

world so far away from home.
Poor little tiny Lrbby ! What

should she do if bogies

came? She had heard

the bigger girls whisper

together about bogies,

and had trembled in her

shoes many a time. # af

What tf they should |...

conte ! She glanced”

round her into the deep



o, and

shadows, cowering,

half expecting to see awful eyes glaring at her and dreadful claws coming
to seize. She felt ready to scream for a minute, and it seemed as if she
««MAYDAY.”

could bear it no longer. Then Libby shut her eyes tight, and said out

loud : —

Jesus, tender Shepherd hear me:
Bless Thy little lamb to-night,
Through the darkness be Thou near me,
Keep me safe till morning light.

Through the day Thy Hand has led me,
And I thank Thee for Thy care ;
Thou hast warmed and clothed and fed me,

Listen to my evening prayer.

Let my sins be all forgiven,

Bless the friends I love so well,

Take me when I die to Heaven,

Happy there with Thee to dwell. — Amen.”

And then she didn’t feel frightened any more. She got as close to Dicky
as she could, and fell fast asleep.

“Why, bless em, here they are!” said a rough, hearty voice, as a flash of
light fell on Dicky’s sleepy face, and he and Libby were lifted up and carried
home.

Of course they had been missed and anxiously searched for, and n@w it
was Oliver the gamekeeper who had found his children.

“ Bless her little heart, if she ain’t gone and wrapped the boy in her own
cloak,” said her father, as he raised the heavy little head and pillowed it ten-
derly on his velveteen coat, and he hugged her warmly in his strong arms.
So home they went, and were put to bed; and Dicky got up next day all
right, and ready for further mischief; but Libby lay there for many weeks, and
when she came out on the common again she was still in her father’s arms,
and the old donkey remarked that she was thinner. ‘“ She’s been wasting her
time,” said he, contemplating the place where the thistles had been, and where
the Nanny-goat was at last browsing, not having had one. “ I should be thin
if I didn't keep on eating. Wooden thing she is!” and he turned and ate
again.

3ut Libby soon got quite well; and when she grew up she went to be maid
to Miss Kate, and was nurse to her children after she married Cousin John.
And all the children loved her very much.














































A DONKEY-LOAD OF ROSES.


cALLIE’S HOUSEKEEPING.

ji GREAT many things are not so easy as they look.
Alice found this out, the day when mother and Mary
went out and left her to do the housework and take
care of the little ones.

It happened in this way: Alice and Mary had
. both been to school; and Alice, who was the elder,




_and the quicker, had learned a great deal more than
, Mary, and so when they came home for the holi-
days, Alice just amused herself and read her prizes —
she had seven



and played about in the garden. And when
, Betty, the maid, had to go home to nurse her sick father, Mary
and mother did all the housework. Alice never cffered to help: she
thought that kind of work very unpleasant, and besides, very easy. Why
should she, who could do Compound Long Division sums, crochet tidies,
and play the “ Bluebells of Scotland” on the piano with only two wrong
chords in the bass—why should she do such low, easy things as washing
dishes and making beds? It seemed to her that a great deal of time was
wasted in this way. Often, when she wanted to play at shops, or have a
doll’s tea-party, Mary would say, —

“T can’t come now—I must damp down the clothes for to-morrow’s
ALLIE’S HOUSEKEEPING.

ironing,” or else, “I will this afternoon, Allie, but this morning I must see

to the baking for mother.”
-It seemed very hard, especially as mother was just the same. When Alice



wanted a story it often happened that S=-
her mother said, — a
“My dear little girl, how can I ~.
sit down and tell you stories, with the
beds not made and the rooms not
swept?”
“JT wish housework didn’t take—

)

such a long time,” grumbled Alice.
But one day Mrs. Merton, as she

was busy at the wash-tub, heard little

voices in the garden outside, where

Mary had just taken out a little basket



full of fine things to hang on the line. <
‘“Come down in the orchard,” said Alice, wy \
‘“T’ve got such a lovely plan fora game. I’ve
nailed a piece of board up in the crooked apple-tree,
and we can have all the dolls up there, and get some .
gooseberries and currants, and make a feast.”
“IT can’t just now,” Mary answered: “I must help
mother with the washing.”

”

“Well, I think it’s very hard,” Allie answered bitterly: “ it’s always the
same. I don’t see why we can't have servants to do things for us.”

“You know we can’t have a lot of servants, because we're not rich,” said
Mary ; ‘besides, I like to help mother do the work.”

“Conceited thing,” said Allie, who felt cross without knowing why, as
idle people so often do; ‘why, I could do all your work, and mother’s too, in
half the time, if I chose to try.”

“Would you /#e to try?” said mother’s voice from the wash-house.
Allie was rather taken aback, but she did not like to confess that she had been
“ talking big,” so she said, —

Ves!

“You mean you would really like to do all the work, without any help
from:-Mary and me?”
eALLIE’S HOUSEKEEPING.

“T could,” said Allie, leaning up against the wash-house door, and turning
up arather red face to her mother’s eyes.

“Very well, you shall try. I am
going to market to-morrow, and |
will take Mary with me, and you
shall do everything. Only I warn
you, it will not be so easy as it
seems.”

Allie got red, red, redder, even
to the tips of her ears and the back
of her neck.. Then she flung her
arms around her mother’s knees.

‘T don’t mean to be a pig, moth-
er,’ she said, ‘‘ but I do hate house-
work; and people do seem to make
so much fuss about it.”

‘Perhaps after to-morrow you'll
think differently,” said her mother.

‘Tl tell you what I shall do to-
morrow,” she said to her sister as
they were going to bed that night.



‘After I’ve done the beds and things,
I shall cook a most lovely dinner for the little ones, and I shall give them
tea in the orchard, and I shall have yours and mother’s tea ready for you
when you come home.”

The next morning was bright and sunny, and Alice felt in very good spirits
as she stood leaning over the gate of the cottage, with Bobbie and Elsie
beside her, and watched the back view of the covered cart, which was carrying
mother and Mary away to the market-town.

When the last glimpse of the covered cart disappeared round the corner
of the lane, she went back to the little house, eager to get the housework
done, and cook the beautiful dinner for the little ones. She cleared the
breakfast-table, washed up and put away the things as well as she could, in the
places where she thought they ought to go. Then she swept up the crumbs
and the hearth, as she had seen Mary do every morning. But it took her
much longer than she expected, and it was half-past ten before the hearth
brush was hung up.
eALLIE’S HOUSEKEEPING.

“ Now for the dinner,” she was saying to herself, when she remembered ”
the bedrooms.

She ran up-stairs, and began to make the beds; but sheets and blankets
are hard things to handle, and her arms ached before the beds were made.

Then she wiped the wash-stands, and
took the best water-pitcher and in it
brought some water up-stairs. It was
very heavy, and made her arms ache
again. When she was carrying it full
the third time, she let it fall, and a hole
was broken in the bottom, and the water
flowed in a stream across the room.
She seized the best towels, and tried to
mop it up; but it ran under the bed,
and under the cupboard, and among the
bandboxes, and came near spoiling her



mother’s best bonnet.

By the time the water was wiped
up, Allie was very hot and rather cross. She put the wet towels on the
top of the narrow stairs, and set to work to sweep the bedrooms. ‘This took
some time; but it was fairly easy work, and her old impression of housework
being “so easy” was beginning to recover from the shock of the broken jug,
when, in going from one room to another, she stumbled over the wet towels,
and down the stairs she went, rolling over and over, and banging her head
against the door that shut them in at the bottom. The door flew open with
the knock, and poor Allie rolled over on to the kitchen floor, where she lay
without moving for a few moments, till she could make up her mind whether
she was killed or not. The little ones came running in, and pitied and kissed
her, and presently she got up and went and sat in the rocking-chair, feeling
rather sick, and with a lump on her forehead as big as a duck’s egg. She
sat there and thought about dinner. She had meant to make a potato pie,
and a plum pudding — she had often seen mother make these dishes, and
even Mary could manage them, “ So of course / could,” said Allie to herself.

She drank a mugful of water and felt better. Then she went into the
kitchen to begin to get dinner.

“ You're going to have a splendid dinner,” she explained to the children,
pay



of | On ‘
lie’s Dousekee ping
eALLIE’S HOUSEKEEPING.

as she got out the paste-board and flour-crock, ‘‘ so go out in the garden and
play at ships till it’s ready.”

“ Will it be sooz ?” asked Elsie wistfully. ‘“ I’se so hungry.”

“Yes, very soon,” replied Allie rashly. ‘“ Elsie, you like potato pie, and
plum-pudding — don’t you?”

“Oh, yes/” said both the little ones, ‘ but it’s a long time till dinner to-day,
isn’t it, Bobby?”

Allie glanced at the tall
clock, tick, ticking in the corner.
It was one o'clock. No dinner
prepared — no dusting done up-
stairs! nor in the parlor!

She flew to the oven to see
if it was hot enough for the
potato pie. The frre was out.

Topliont-ar fire sis; slikemso
many other things, not as easy
as it seems. Every one knows
that you light it with coal and
wood and paper and matches —
7f you can. Allie had matches
and paper and wood and coal —~
and she couldn't. She black-
ened her face and hands. She
burned her wrist against the still
hot bars. She wasted a whole
box of matches, and I shouldn’t
like to say how much paper, but the fire would zof light. Just then Bobby



and Elsie came in.

‘“Come and play at ships with us,” they said.

“ Play,” cried Allie, turning her little black face on them — “TI look like
playing, don’t 1?”

Her tone and face were something so new from Sister Allie, who was
never cross, and never too busy to play, that the little ones, after one look at
her, and one at each other, broke into a howl. Poor Allie felt inclined to cry
too, but she kissed them and comforted them, making them thereby as black
ALLIE’S HOUSEKEEPING.

as herself; and when, for the tenth or twelfth time they had dried their tears
and said, ‘‘ We zs so hungry,” she replied with sudden resolution, —

“Then we'll have a picnic dinner and give up the plum-pudding and pie.”
So she spread the cloth on the bricks outside the door, and brought out all the
cold food she could find.

The dinner went off very well—the little ones were good—but Allie
thought they would never get done eating. It was nearly three when the last
plate was carried in-doors, and mother would
be home at half-past four.

She flew to wash up, but there was no
hot water, now the fire was out; and Allie
__ did not know how to wash greasy plates.

the sink, and had another struggle with the
fire. This time it really did burn up. She
filled the kettle and put it on, and then caught up a duster and rushed to the
parlor. When she opened the door she stood still a moment, and turned
quite pale. There was a white pool on the best carpet. From the ceiling,
water was still dripping, bringing with it the whitewash and plaster.

“ Oh —what shall | do?” she cried aloud; but there was no one to
answer. She wiped the carpet as well as she could, and then got a basin and
put it under that big wet patch on the ceiling, from which the water was still
dripping.



Now came a sudden hissing, splutter, and crash from the kitchen. She
turned. The kettle had toppled over as the fire burned through. A horrid
smell and steam came from the wet coals, and a slow stream of water mingled
with wood-ashes was running from under the steel fender, and making its way
to the table from which Bobby and Elsie, startled by the fall of the kettle, had
just knocked over the flour-crock. It broke, and a cloud of flour rose up from
the ruins.

Amid those ruins Allie sat down and cried as she hadn’t cried for many a
long day. There's nothing like unsuccessful housework to make you cry.

Allie cried and cried, and Elsie and Bobby, who knew they ought to have
left the flour alone, cried too —and so Mary found them all when she ran in,
ten minutes later.

“ Mother will be in in half an hour; she stopped at Mrs. Green’s to —
What's the matter ?”
ALLIE’S HOUSEKEEPING.

No one spoke, but the whole look of the kitchen answered plainly enough.
Mary looked and understood — and she azan’¢ say, ‘1 told you so!” which is
much to her credit. She just kissed the others and sent them off to wash

their hands and faces, and took off her hat and put on her apron and set to
work.

The kitchen fireplace was too wet to light a fire in, but she soon had one
burning in the little grate in the back-kitchen. ‘The flour was soon swept up,
and the hearth; but Mary had to call Allie to find the tea-things, for she had
put everything away in the wrong place.

I can’t say the kitchen looked very tidy even when mother came home, but
there was tea ready for the family, yet Allie couldn’t eat anything. After tea
her mother said, —

‘Well, dear, how have you got on?”

And then Alice told her
wa everything that had happened,
wa a0 and how hard she had found
Ps the - housework.
yr \ 5, in, there would have



been no -tea_ for

ao SA you when you came
eS AJ home.”

Ta Ceommell oP E Mother _ kissed



her, and said softly :

‘“Then you do begin to understand now ?”

“Ves,” said Allie, ‘I hope you'll teach me things, mother. I don’t know
a single thing.”

Mother smiled and kissed her again. Allie often found housework tire-
some after that, but she persevered, and now she is as clever as Mary. Allie
has taught Mary to crochet, and to play the “ Bluebells of Scotland,” wrong
chords and all.

So that their father will find that both his little girls have learned some-
thing, when he comes home from sea. Nothing is left to remind Alice of her
dreadful first day of housework, except the rivets in the best jug, and the

stain on the best carpet.


“J,” samp the duck.
<“Lealliate tun,
For I had my little red

rubbers on.



They make a cunning three-toed track
In the soft, cool mud, — quack! quack!”

“T!” cried the dandelion, “I!

My roots are thirsty, my buds are dry.”
And she lifted a towsled yellow head
Out of her green grass bed.

“T hope *twill pour! I hope ’twill pour!”
Purred the tree-toad at his gray bark door,
“Hor, with a broad leaf for a roof,
I am perfectly weather-proof.”


EE = SS ZZ,
a SS as


HEE “GIEDR OP LOWE.

HE snow lay thickly over the fields.
The hedges were laden with icicles
sparkling in the wintry sun like sprays
of diamonds. Along the railway the
snow was piled in high drifts, through
which the train had cut a road during
the last storm. The morning air was
stinging cold, and sprays of ice crystals
branched in fern-like shapes across the
car window in which Mrs. Burr and her



little daughter Bessie, clad in their
Ssthickest wraps and tucked in beneath a
warm fur rug, were journeying from
Maine, the most eastern State in the
Union, to Boston, the largest city in
New England and the capital of Massachusetts.

The distance to be travelled was more than one hundred miles, and it
seemed long to Bessie, who with her mother was to visit her mother’s sister,
Mrs. Noble, and her little son Harry, about her own age, whom she had never
seen. Every time the train stopped she asked her mother, ‘“‘ Is this Boston?”
and when told it was not, she impatiently cried, “ Oh, dear! When shall we
Sersierente

She was an only child; and the idea of having her Cousin Harry fora play-
mate was something new, and filled her mind with many plans for sport. Site:
however, became tired as the early darkness came on, and when the lights of
the great city began to be seen in the distance, she had fallen asleep on her
mother’s shoulder, and knew nothing more till a hearty kiss was given upon
her rosy cheek, with a cordial greeting for herself and mother, from her Aunt
Noble, when they entered the hall of her brilliantly lighted house.

“ Harry has gone to bed,” said Mrs. Noble, when they had seated them-
selves in the dining-room at the cosey tea-table. ‘ He stayed up half an hour
later than usual to see you, but your train was so late I was obliged to send
him up-stairs. He is planning to have a gay time with his Cousin Bessie. I
hope you will both have much fun together.”
THE GIFT OF LOUE.

The two ladies went to earnestly chatting about the things that happened
when they were young, and Bessie, whose sleep in the cars had made her
wakeful, played with Harry’s kitten till past nine o’clock. Then Aunt Noble
showed Bessie and her mother to the large front chamber which they were to
occupy during their stay in Boston, which was.to be during the Holiday
season. |

The children met at the nursery breakfast on the following morning, and
oh! how lovely it was to Bessie to see another little figure opposite to her.
Harry was rather shy at first; but he soon overcame that feeling, and they
passed that day and the rest of the week in unbroken happiness.

Christmas morning was the dawn of new pleasures. ‘The stockings hang-
ing at the foot of the beds were so full of toys that pillow-cases had been used
too; and shouts of de-




/, light echoed through the







LY / ..rooms, as first one, then
Ye
“77 to view. It seemed to

the children that the

Yt another treasure came

; iy w/ kindest of Santa Claus
ore ! Y “1 had brought everything
‘ 4/11), they most wanted ; but
yi
j Hy) Wy

Yi secret know very well
Mi,

you and I who are in the

// /! that it was the loving
r+? >--thoughtan the mothers:

hearts that made such

a beautiful Christmas

morning to their little
ones. Anyway, the toys were there — dolls, dolls’ clothes, tea-things, puzzles,
a baker’s shop, and no end of goodies for Bessie; and a ball, pop-gun, reins,
whip, box of animals, and goodies for Harry, besides many other things I have
forgotten.

Then came the Christmas dinner with a whole party of relations, children
big and little; the pudding with a great sprig of holly in the middle, and a
sauce of blue flames running all round the dish; the crackers with caps and
toys inside.
oe
Sac ast a)

mas ae


THE GIFT OF LOVE.

By-and-by came games in the drawing-room, when the grown-up people
tried to be children again, and romped with the little ones. ‘“ Hunt the Slip-
per” was too funny, with Uncle Noble as the old cobbler ; for he was so stupid
and could not find the slipper for ever so long, although once a little boy
flourished it just under his nose. Then they had ‘‘ Musical chairs,” with Mrs.
Burr at the piano playing the old familiar tunes Bessie knew so well; and all
the children danced round the chairs, and Bessie won the game. Last of all
came “ Fox and Geese,” when Mrs. Burr, as Mother Goose, spread out her
skirts for wings, striving to protect the flock of merry children behind her
from Uncle Noble, the wary fox, who ran about on all fours, pursuing the
goslings, and finally frightened Harry into tears as he carried him off as a tid-
bit for his supper.

One more romp to end the evening with a smile of joy, then good-night.

“Oh! what a lovely Christmas,” said Bessie, as nurse undressed her: “1
wish every day in the week was Christmas Day.” . . .

The next day the little cousins were playing in the library.

At first all went smoothly
with the little cousins. Bes-













sie wore Harry’s reins and
played horses with him.
Next they had a dollie’s
Christmas-party, using the
A tea-things given to Bessie,
» and agrand feast of sweets.

These having disappeared, Harry
wished to play with his tramcar.
Bessie wanted it too.

“ Let me have it, I’m the biggest,” said Bessie.
“Then I’m the littlest, and ought to have it,” said Harry. ‘It’s mine, and

you're an unkind girl!”
THE GIFT OF, LOUE.

“Tf you have the car I shall take your balland keep it,” said Bessie, putting
it behind her. I am afraid she was feeling cross and tired after her gayety.

“Tf you take my ball I'll poke your doll’s eyes out,” cried Harry defiantly.
“JT did it once to Mary Jane’s doll. Mary Jane is nurse’s sister. Her
doll’s eyes rattled about inside her head, and she looked so ugly!”

Bessie was infuriated. ‘‘ You're a bad, wicked boy,” she cried, fairly pant-
ing with passion, ‘“‘and I hate you. If you touch my dear dollie, I'll break all
your Christmas toys.” She raised her hand as though to strike her little cousin,
when the library door opened, and Aunt Noble, with a very grave face, came
into the room.

“What is the matter? Are you quarrelling ? Oh! my dear children, you
have everything to make you happy, and yet I see angry looks, and hear hard
words. Stop, both of you. Kiss and make friends directly. I am going to
tell you what has happened to two little city waifs who have no home, who

; don’t even know
what Christmas
means, unless it be
extra cold and hun-
ger.” The chil-
dren’s interest was
. awakened; they
quickly forgot their
quarrel, and nestled
close to Mrs.
Noble’s side.

‘“T was turning
into the Square,”
she said, ‘‘when I
-saw two ragged
children sitting on



the curbstone, almost without clothing, and apparently exhausted from cold
and hunger. The elder one, a boy of seven, told me his mother was dead, his
father gone away, and they had been left to try and get a living as they could.
I asked him if they had breakfasted. ‘No, mum,’ said the boy wearily, ‘1
haven’t been able to pick up a job yet.’ The younger child began to cry. I
brought them home — they are now in the kitchen; and presently, when they
have had a good meal, you shall see them.”
THE GIFT OF LOVE.

During this conversation in the library, the greatest excitement prevailed
down-stairs.

The two destitute children, on being left to the servants, at first stared
around them as though half-dazed, but gradually the elder boy ventured a
remark.

“Is she a lodger in this ’ouse, ma’am?” he said gravely to cook, jerking
his thumb in the direction of the door through which Mrs. Noble had just
passed.

‘There are no lodgers here,” said cook kindly. ‘‘ The lady who brought
you in is mistress, and we her servants.”

“Oh, my!” said the boy. He could not quite grasp this idea: as far as
his experience went an entire family occupied each separate room of a house.

“ Aren’t they dirty, poor children,” said

Poe oe









the housemaid. ‘ Here, cook, while you’re
making the cocoa, and cutting the bread
and butter, I'll give them a bath.”
“What's that?” asked the elder boy
sharply, clutching his younger brother's
hand tightly, as though to protect him
from some unknown danger, while Jane

deliberately poured the warm water into a large, round bath before the
kitchen-fire. “You ain’t going for to drown us surely. I say, let’s go back

to the streets again!”
“Drown you, no!” replied Jane, laughing, “ only to get rid of the city
mud sticking about you. Come, you needn't be frightened. What's your
»»”
name ?
THE GIFT OF LOVE,

‘“My name’s Ginger, ’cos my 'air’s red,” said the boy, touching his head,
which looked like an ill-kept door-mat.

‘‘ And mine’s Tim,” said the younger child.

‘“Well, Tim, you come first,” said Jane, as, whisking off the few rags
hanging about the boy, she popped him into the water, and began scrubbing
vigorously.

‘My! ain't he white!” cried Ginger delightedly, dancing up and down;
“and his ’air, why it ain’t mud color at all! Is it nice, Tim?”

‘“ Ah! ain't it just,” said Tim gratefully, surveying his small person with —
pride, while Ginger, impatient for his turn, fumbled with the knots of string
that held his scanty clothing together.

‘‘ Here are two bundles of nice tidy clothes,” said another maid, entering
the kitchen.

‘These are what the Missis sends for you, boys,” said cook. “ We'll burn
those dirty old rags and see what you look like presently.”

The children, too enchanted to reply, could only nod and smile. The
bathing was soon over, then re-dressed and unrecognizable they sat down to a
good meal.

How they enjoyed that cocoa and bread and butter.

“I feel as if I ’adn’t never ’ad no food afore,” said Ginger. ‘ We’s walked
the streets since six this mornin’, but I don’t mind now.”

Presently Mrs. Noble peeped into the kitchen. ‘ Well, boys,” she said,
‘do you feel better ?”

“Yes, ma’am, and ain’t we smart. We ’aven’t never ’ad clothes all over us
afore.”

Mrs. Noble was silent, tears rose in her eyes as she thought of the children
up-stairs, laden with all the good things of the world, and then of these two
poor little waifs. She went to the foot of the stairs to call Bessie and Harry,
who came at once, eager to see Ginger and Tim.

“We’s done now,” said Ginger, rising, “and thank you kindly,mum. We'll
never ‘ave nothink so good again, I guess,” he sighed. ,

‘“ Bessie and Harry,” said Mrs. Noble, “these poor children have no
mother, no one to take care of them — nothing.”

“No Christmas presents?” asked Bessie, the thought of her toys being
uppermost in her mind.

‘‘ Nothing,” repeated Mrs. Noble.
THE GIFT OF LOVE.

Bessie ran up-stairs and returned quickly with an armful of toys. “ You
may have them,” she said to Ginger. ‘I prize them
all, but you shall have them.” She was only a very
little girl, and this first sacrifice was her Christmas
gift of love.

Mrs. Noble’s kindness did not stop here. She
found a respectable old woman to take charge of the
poor boys, and every morning Bessie and Harry
caught sight of their glad faces as they ran down
the kitchen steps to enjoy the warm breakfast pre-
pared by cook.

By-and-by, when Bessie and her mother were
safely home again, Mrs. Noble wrote that the boys
had gone to a comfortable school, where they would !
be well cared for, and where she could go and see
them from time to time.

On Bessie’s next birthday, when mother gave
her a bright new half-crown, she did not forget
Ginger and Tim. She said she would like them to
have a small Christmas present, just to show they
were not forgotten at that glad season of the year.

Now Bessie is grown up, her life is full of kind, unselfish deeds; but it
was not the least of them all, when out of the fulness of her childish heart,



she offered her precious Christmas toys to Ginger and Tim.

Now, children, I would ask that when
You gaze upon your Christmas toys,
You'd just remember there are some
Bereft of all your Christmas joys ;
And spare one thought, do one kind deed,
Let one sad heart through your help know,
That flowers of love and sympathy
Are blooming ’mid the winter snow.


Do you want to help me, dear,

Very, very much?
Careful walk along right here,

And you must not touch;
You must learn to keep the row;
Pull the weeds where’er they grow;
Soon you'll learn to use the hoe,

Rake, and spade, and such.

M. E. McKEE.




















































































































































































































































































































































































































































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BG TT nYem OANA

THINK you must go to your father; he is evidently fretting for

re
cess %







you, and you ought to go to-day,” said Dr. Lee, as he handed a
letter to his wife, whose whole attention
seemed given to two small children who
were sitting, one on each side of her, at
the breakfast table.

“It is really most perplexing,” said
Mrs. Lee, as she poured milk into two
little porridge bowls, and pressed kisses
on the restless, chubby hands, which were
busy with the sugar basin.

“With nurse away how can I possibly manage to leave these two little
darlings?”

“They are desperate little plagues,” said Dr. Lee, smiling, laying a fond
hand on the golden head near him, that of Jack. ‘ What's to be done with
them?”

“Me go to me own nursie!” said Jack complacently, as he took a bite
from a slice of raspberry jam and bread.

“The whole matter in a nutshell!” cried Dr. Lee, laughing. ‘The diffi-
culty has vanished! Senda telegram to nurse. She arrives this afternoon.
BUTTERFLY U-ALLEY.

I take you off to Brighton, leaving nurse to manage the youngsters’ affairs.
She sleeps here, and takes them off to Arundel to-morrow. How would Elsie
and Jack like that?”

Now, it will not for a moment be supposed that this proposed programme
of events was listened to in orderly silence by
the little people so much concerned init. On
the contrary, there was a great commotion.
Elsie’s arms were round her mother’s neck, ‘
teacups in danger of breakage, porridge bowls




were upset, Jack was climbing on his father’s
knee, and deafening him with as big “ Hurrahs” as
could be expected from his years, and the whole
scene was lively in the extreme. For, to visit the
dearest nurse in the whole world, living in a lovely
_ river ever inviting you to row upon it, is as fair a prospect as a London child
could ask for; and Elsie and Jack were not hard to please.

Nurse had only left the little people six months before, to be married to one
of the gardeners belonging to
Arundel Castle, and had already
managed to get possession of the
children for a day or two in the

park, near a grand old castle, and with a shining.

early spring, so that her pretty
cottage home seemed, in a man-
ner, familiar to them, and she was
such a dear and cosey creature
that no child could feel unhappy
with her, certainly not Elsie and Jack, who
had never been separated from her until



she was married.

“Tt is altogether a splendid plan,” said
Mrs. Lee, ‘“‘and I shall feel quite easy
about the children, if nurse will take charge of them. We will send a tele-
gram to her at once, and I will pack up to be ready to start for Brighton with
you as soon as she has arrived, and taken them under her charge.”

‘‘T must be off then, now,” said Dr. Lee, ‘‘ and arrange for my work. I


Sutterfly Valley.
BUTTERFLY VALLEY.

shall look in at lunch-time to hear nurse’s reply; and if all is well we will catch
the seven o’clock train for Brighton this evening.”

The telegram from nurse arrived in due time. It ran thus: ‘Coming by
next train. Can stay night.” Mother was greatly relieved by this reply, and
Elsie and Jack executed a wild dance over portmanteaus and boxes, and were
carried off by Annie, the nursemaid, who had a romp with them in the nursery,
until the lunch-bell rang, and they were made ready to go down-stairs.

And soon after lunch nurse found her way into her old
nursery, and sat in the old rocking-chair, and hummed the
old tunes which used to send the children into dreamland,



and the children flew into her arms, and
hugged her to their hearts’ content.

“Well, nurse,” said Dr. Lee, coming
in before he went his rounds, ‘‘ you see
we can’t get on without you; these little
tyrants z7/7 have you.. Let them spend
the week out of doors, give them milk
and bread and butter, leave all their finery
at home, and let them be happy in pina-
fores and sun-bonnets.” With which
injunctions he departed. Seven o'clock
soon came, and mother unwillingly tore
herself away from the merry nursery
\party, to join Dr. Lee at the station for
the Brighton train.

‘Oh, my dear canary! who will take



care of you?” cried Elsie, next morning,
as she put a lump of sugar between the
bars of its cage, as a parting gift.

“ It will be well looked after, Missy dear,” said nurse, as she led the chil-
dren down-stairs to the cab. ‘You shall gather plantains for it from our
lanes, and store them for winter use.”

The little party, Elsie and Jack, nurse and Annie, were soon out of the
din and dust of London, and whirling in the train through wooded valleys
and chalky downs. Then the river Arun gleamed before them, soft mossy
hills appeared, deep shady woods, then the stately castle and keep, and they
were at Arundel.
‘BUTTERFLY VALLEY.

Nurse’s husband, Simmonds, met them with a truck for the luggage. The
station was full of soldiers, and the quiet town was unusually lively.

“Is there going to be a battle?” asked Jack eagerly.

‘No, little master,” answered Simmonds, ‘but there’s a fine sight for you
in the park. Seven or eight hundred men are encamped there, and to-morrow
there will be a review, and the duke will be there, and a grand show of gentry
from round about. Oh! you young folks are come at the right time, I can
tell you. There will be grand doings to-morrow.”

“Let us go this minute to the
park!” cried Elsie. ‘“ Please, nurse,
let us go now!” and Jack began coax-
ing nurse in a way that she could not
resist.

“You shall, my dears, if nursey
can manage it. What can I do, Sim-
monds? I must go home to get dinner
for you and the children.”

“All right.” said good-natured g
Simmonds. ‘I'll leave the luggage —
and truck in the dairy, and come for it
when I have taken the little ones and
Annie to the park. They shall have a
drink of milk at the dairy, and that will
serve them until they come to dinner.”

They crossed the bridge over the



Arun, and turning to the right passed by the ruins of an ancient monastery,
and so on, under shady trees, until they came to the dairy.

“This is like the Queen’s dairy at Windsor,” said nurse, as the children
had a glass of milk each; “ but we can’t stay to look over it, if you want to go
into the park. I shall leave you now and go home, Simmonds; you will tell
Annie where she is to be found with the children at dinner-time. So good-by,
dears, for the present,” and nurse hurried off.

Simmonds took the children and Annie through the lodge gates into the
park. Oh, those soft, mossy hills, with the warm mid-day sun resting upon
them! They could scarcely leave them, but Simmonds hurried them on to the
encampment. And here a splendid sight was before them. Tents were
‘BUTTERFLY VALLEY.

dotted about in all directions, groups of soldiers were being drilled, officers
were hurrying about, and a band was playing. Simmonds found them a seat
where they could enjoy the sight of what was going on, and telling Annie to
keep them there until he could fetch them, he left them.

Simmonds soon appeared, and finding that little Jack’s footsteps lagged,
hoisted him on his shoulder and thus carried
him to the cottage. Honeysuckle and clematis
covered the porch, and sweet scented white roses
ran up the walls of the house, and the garden was
fragrant with old-fashioned flowers. Roses and °
honeysuckle peeped in at the windows of the
sitting-room where they dined, and a big bowl of
roses stood on the table.

“Oh, I so happy and comfy with me own
nursie!” said Jack, with a sigh of delicious con-
tent, as he climbed into her arms after dinner.
His head soon drooped, and his blue eyes closed,
and nurse carried him up, and laid him on a
small white-draped bed, and Elsie was glad to
lie down upon another, and they slept soundly
-until the pleasant clatter of teacups awakened



them.

« Anybody up there want a cup of tea?” cried Simmonds at the foot of
the stairs, and nurse scolded him for waking them; but Elsie and Jack shouted
out, “ Yes, yes, come and fetch us!” And they tumbled out of bed and down-
stairs in a state of rumple and crumple and tangled curls
that would have shocked their London nurse.

“Why, here are swallows on our teacups and saucers,
and over your mantel-piece,” cried Elsie; ‘and I saw some
swallows on the china in the shops, as we passed through
the town. Swallows seem everywhere.”

“The town took the swallow for its device hundreds of



years ago, and some say that the town of Arundel got its
name that way.”

“JT shall take it as my device,” said Elsie quickly. ‘‘The swallow is my
very dearest bird.”
BUTTERFLY U-ALLEY.

“Me have the swallow for me ’vice too,” said Jack.

“ But, nurse,” said Elsie, looking puzzled, ‘“ how could the town be named
from the swallow ?”

“The French for swallow is //zrondelle, 1 have heard tell,” said nurse ;
‘and so, some say, they called the town Arundelle, after the swallow. And
now, are you tired of soldiers, or shall we go to








the park again until bedtime ?”

There could be only one answer to this, and
two very happy children, in clean white frocks
and smooth curls, ran by her side. They entered
the park this time by a different way. They
climbed up the steep hill
road past the castle walls,
which were wreathed with
creepers and foliage of
all kinds, and entered by
a beautiful avenue. More
tents were to be seen, for
all was being prepared
% for the Review next day.
The timid deer had re-
tired to the further re-
cesses of the park: the
children caught sight of
a few of the herd, but
were not allowed to
follow them, for the day
had been full of excite-
: ment to them, and nurse
was afraid they would be over fatigued. But she let them stay to hear the
band play; and Jack was proud to take off his cap when they played ‘“ God
Save the Queen,” and Elsie was sorry that girls kept their hats on. Then, in
the soft evening air, and through the twilight, nurse and the tired children
walked home, and so passed the first day at Arundel.

Do you remember the happy and drowsy feeling of being very slowly
awakened on a summer’s morning by country sounds, to which you were quite
BUTTERFLY V-ALLEY.

unaccustomed, such as the lowing of cattle, the “ chuck, chuck” of hens, the
bleating of sheep? You must have been a dweller in a town fully to appre-
ciate and enjoy the delicious sense of rest and peace which these sounds con-
vey. Our little friends from Harley Street certainly didn’t analyze their sen-
sations, but they woke up feeling that life was all sunshine, warmth, and love.
Birds were twittering round the window; they could hear, and even /eed, the



foliage and stems bending
under their weight; and the
scent of mignonette and
geraniums filled their room.

Then, to breakfast in a
small nest of a room when you are accustomed to a large and stately one,— to
be able to stretch out your hand as you sit at table and gather a rose at your
pleasure, to know that there is a shining river close at hand, on which you
may be invited to row, and a Valley of Butterflies, which in a way seems to
belong to you by right of discovery and by right of name; and to know that
for a whole week you may wander in your valley or row upon your river.
‘BUTTERFLY UALLEY.

Well, such a state of affairs is enough to fill young hearts with delight, and
young faces with smiles. And Elsie and Jack smiled so much at breakfast,
that Simmonds said that their faces looked like full moons.

The Review in the park was to begin at three o'clock. What should be
done this morning?

‘The children want to be in ‘ Butterfly Valley,’ as they call it,” said nurse.

“1 don't rightly know where that is,” said Simmonds,

“Where the target stands,” answered nurse. ‘Annie shall take them
soon. They shall water nurse’s flowers after breakfast, and play about in the
garden.” :

Jack’s tiny water-pot was filled with water, and Elsie was trusted with a
“real” one, as she called it, and they began their work. Nurse placed a pail
of water by the garden chair for refilling their watering-pots, gathered for
each of them some sweet-scented clove carnations, gave them two juicy apples
apiece, and left them. Now, watering flowers in summer is a most delightful
occupation. The sweet breath of the flowers, and the grateful smell of the
moistened earth, are better than all the scents ever made for a lady’s handker-
chief. The little gardeners enjoyed the work immensely; and Elsie asked to
have the water-pail refilled again and again, while Jack climbed into the garden
chair and ate an apple. Then came the run to Butterfly Valley, through the
park. Oh, that you could see that spot! The soft mossy hills on either side,
covered with fragrant thyme and golden cistus, and a thousand tiny flowers ;
butterflies here, and butterflies there, under your feet and over your head, of
the softest colors, and the downiest softness! The children climbed the sunny
hills again and again, and were never weary of rolling down the slopes. It -
was hard to tear themselves away from the spot; but there was a store of joy
waiting for them in the afternoon, though, asielack said, “hills and butterflies
were far nicer than peoples.” Still, when they found themselves among the
expectant crowds of people in the afternoon, and watched the officers on their
spirited horses, and the whole battalion going through their exercises in such
a splendid manner, and saw the Duke of Norfolk himself on his magnificent
horse, and the Duchess, seated among her ladies, watching the Review, their
delight knev no bounds. You do not at all wonder that Jack declared that
he must be a soldier, or that Elsie sighed deeply because she couldn’t be
one.

Very tired little people returned to the cottage for tea, and there was a
‘BUTTERFLY U-ALLEY.

letter from mother to her darlings, hoping that they were good and happy
children, and that she might come to see them before long. And so ended

another bright day.
“The tide will serve for a row on the river this afternoon,” said Simmonds,

next morning, to his wife. ‘ Shall I tell Adams you will be ready for the boat
by two o'clock?”

“Yes! yes!” shouted two voices. ‘ We'll row too!”

‘“‘ Now, listen to me, young folks,” said Simmonds seriously. ‘The river

is ever so deep and dangerous in parts, and if you jump about I’m afraid of an
upset. You'll be all right if you sit quiet. Now, shall I order the boat for
two children who will do just as nurse bids them?”

“ Yes,” said Elsie, “we will do all our jumping and riots this morning in



our valley, and be as quiet as mice in the boat; so order the boat, dear
Simmonds.”

“Then I shall pack a hamper, and we will take tea at Amberley,” said
nurse. ‘ We'll boil our kettle and have a picnic.”

Could anything be more delightful? The children collected sticks, which
they tied in bundles, and put into the hamper with a box of matches; and
Elsie packed up the plates with straw between, and cups and saucers, and a
teapot and teaspoons. Jack fetched eggs from the fowl-house, which nurse
packed in some tea and sugar, and placed the kettle ready with a cork in the
BUTTERFLY VALLEY.

spout. Zhat would be filled with fresh spring-water the last thing before
starting, and a bottle of milk, a loaf of bread, and some butter would not be
forgotten.

With joyful hopes the children ran off to their valley, while nurse got
through her work, that she might be free for the boating expedition in the
afternoon.

At two o’clock a merry party got on board the boat for Amberley. The
river glittered in the sunshine, the boat glided rapidly past the grand old
castle and green glades of Arundel. Elsie tried an oar, and even Jack man-
aged to pull a stroke with Annie holding him.

The castle looked dark and gloomy as they returned, and the stars were



out before the children were home again; but they never forgot that lovely
row upon the river.

“Annie,” said nurse next morning, “I must put the dear children under
your charge to-day. I have to be at the castle, and may not have a chance
of coming home until the afternoon.”

Two faces looked mournful at this announcement.

“There are some apples to be sorted,” said Simmonds. <“ Will Missy and
Master help me this ‘morning ?”

“Yes, yes, we can sort them and eat them,” said Elsie, laughing. “I

@
‘BUTTERFLY VALLEY.

should like to pick the red apples from the tree by the shed, and sit among
the boughs while nurse is away, and do leave your dog to play with us.”
“Well, that may be safe enough,” answered Simmonds; “ but we had best
have no pranks while you are under our care. You are safest on mother
earth, so follow me, Missy.

”

There were several baskets in the shed, some full of summer apples, some



empty. Simmonds showed them where to place the bruised ones, and where
to put those that were for sale.

“And when you are tired of your work,” said he, “choose two apples
apiece and eat them in the garden, and keep Flip with you if you can hold
him back.”

Jack’s fat arms held Flip fast, and a good game followed among the bas-
kets, while Elsie began her work. It was pretty work too: the apples, red,
yellow, and russet, were splendid fruit and fragrant, and Jack held out his
hand for one.
BUTTERFLY VALLEY.

“ Lazy Jack ought to work!” said Elsie; but she gave him an apple, and
the little boy ran away with Flip. Elsie sorted apples steadily for a time, and
then, taking her wages in the shape of an apple, looked about for Jack.

That enterprising young gentleman had scrambled on to the orchard wall,
Flip stationed as a guard near him, and, in trying to help him down, the two
children rolled down together, and Flip set up sharp, alarmed barks for help.
But there was no harm done. Annie appeared, and took them in for clean
pinafores and hats.

The next day when Annie was walking with them in the park they rambled
off after the deer, which retreated as they approached, until Elsie and Jack
found themselves far away from Hiorne Tower, in a glade altogether new to
them. They climbed a mossy hill, and scrambled down the other side, and
found themselves on very familiar ground, in their own valley.

‘‘Me velly, velly, tired,” said Jack, and Elsie, too, was glad to throw her-
self on the warm, soft grass and rest; and soon they grew’ drowsy, and fell
fast asleep in Butterfly Valley! Meanwhile, the train had brought their mother
from Brighton, and she was hastening to nurse’s home to meet her children.
But Mrs. Lee found the cottage empty. Annie, returning to find the children,
was surprised to see her mistress there, for she had given no notice of her
coming, as it was rather uncertain and dependent on grandpapa’s health.
Annie was troubled at losing the children, but Mrs. Lee felt pretty sure they
were in their favorite haunt, and hastened to find them, with Annie. In pass-
ing through the park they met Dr. Lee. “I’ve heard,” he said, “ of two little
folks being seen chasing the deer; their little feet won’t carry them away from
us far afield.”

Elsie and Jack were waking up from their afternoon nap, when their father
and mother found them; and such embraces and huggings ensued, and such
bewildering accounts of picnics, boating, and all manner of pleasures, that
there could be no doubt about the success of Jack’s plan of being with ‘‘ Me
own nursie.”

‘“T want a cup of tea after my journey,” said Mrs. Lee; ‘and as we all have
to get back to town to-night, there is no more time to idle here.”

There was a cosey tea-party in.the cottage, a rapid packing up, fond good-
bys to nurse, and the train carried the children from Arundel and the “ Valley
of Butterflies.”




JOHNNIE BROWN’S WHITE DRESS.
NORA'S DREAM.

ORA was getting almost tired of the
N holidays. Holidays are very nice just

at first. It’s so delightful to have no
sums and no slates and no scoldings, but after
a time even playing gets tiresome. There
were plenty of things she might have done,
but it seemed silly to do useful things in the
holidays, when, as every one knows, you are
meant to play. One bright, hot morning she
was lying on the grass on the lawn, with
the great house-dog Max, just by the big
sundial. She had made about two-and-three-
quarters yards of Daisy-chain, and was feel-
ing quite exhausted by the exertion, so she i or



lay lazily watching the rooks, who were
exceedingly busy, in the elm-trees. Pres-
ently, among the black rooks,— cawing and quarrelling and arguing in the
sunlit branches, — she noticed a white bird, with feathers like silver, and she
sat up to look at it, for it was a thousand times whiter than the whitest of the
white pigeons who flew about the stable-yard.

The white bird wheeled and fluttered and dipped and rose, and at last, to
Nora’s delight, it settled down close beside her on the lawn.

‘Oh, you beauty!” Nora said, holding out her hand.

“Thank you,” said the bird, quite as though it were the most ordinary
thing in the world for a white bird to talk. ‘Thank you, I am generally
admired.”

“I wish,” said Nora, when she had recovered a little from her surprise at
hearing the bird’s pretty voice, “I wish you would come and sit on my lap.”

‘“Couldn’t do it,” said the bird briskly. ‘Not the thing — never done.
But I don’t mind perching on your wrist, if you like.”

‘Ts that done?” asked Nora, holding out her hand.

“Of course,” answered the bird. “ You see it in all the pictures.”

‘Would you like to play ?” asked Nora politely.

“Thanks, no, I never play. I sing a little, but just now I have my work
to do. Would you like to work ?”

&.
NORA’S DREAM.

“In the holidays?” Nora:felt that she would have rather liked it, but it’s
not considered ‘the thing” in very youthful circles to admit that you could
possibly have too much holiday.








Dickory, dickory,
dee ;

The cat ran up the
tree.

Then Nora shouted,
And Baby pouted,
But it didn't matter
to me.

UP A TREE.
NORA’S ‘DREAM.

“It’s never done,” she added doubtfully, feeling that this remark must

impress the bird, because it had said the same thing itself.

‘Oh, isn’t it?” said the white bird. ‘‘ You see! come with me, if
you like.”

“ May I bring Max?” asked Nora.

‘Oh, certainly,” the bird answered; ‘he won’t mind going as a butterfly,
will he? Some kind of fancy dress is considered the thing on these occasions.”

‘But I haven’t a fancy dress!”












“Oh, you can
go as a bee, I'll
find you the
Cise scree
suitable, for I’m
sure you're fond
of work. Shut
/ your eyes while
1 dress you.”
When Nora
opened them again she no
longer saw her pinafore
and her hands and feet, and
Max was gone; only a large
yellow butterfly fluttered in
the air beside her. And
Nora herself felt something queer
Ms and new about her shoulders — it
. was wings! And she spread them
out, and flew.
Then Nora and Max and the white bird flew through

ele the beautiful sunlight and away over the fields and
ees FE. orchards and trim little red farmhouses.

“Of course,” said the white bird, by way of making

conversation as they flew; ‘of course, I could eat you both up ina minute.

”
I suppose you know that.
“JT wouldn't if I were you,” said Nora. ‘“ We would disagree with you

as hard as we could — wouldn’t we, Max?”
NORA’S “DREAM.

‘Of course,” said Max, and it was delightful to hear him speak.

Presently they stopped, rather out of breath, for flying is as tiring as swim-
ming, if you’re not used to it. And they all rested on a plum-tree in a big
garden, with gray, moss-grown walls, and a paling at one end dividing it from
a lovely wood.

There were three little children in this garden, and they were very busy
weeding the paths, and making everything very nice and neat.

“It’s their holiday time,” said the bird, ‘so they've plenty of time to be

useful.”
Nora remembered the weeds in her Mother's rose-garden at home, and
made up her mind , that, directly she had

taken off her fancy dress, she would have




every weed out by its wicked little roots.
The three little chil-

very hard. A tor-

dren were working away
toiseshell cat was lying
in the sun against the
box edging, when —ac-
cidents will happen even
to the most industrious
families — the big birch-
broom very nearly swept
up the tortoiseshell cat
instead of «the leaves.
The cat was very much
an Moyedas soe ‘said
i Shich siay ehyesanotily,
and ran up the plum-tree.

““Oh, Pussy! we are
so sorry,” said the three little children. ‘ We didn’t mean to, Puss.. Oh,
do come down.” But the cat made its fur stiff and bristly, and its tail too,
and wouldn't.

‘“‘Let’s go now,” said the white bird. ‘They've got enough work now
to last them till tea-time. They’ve got to make it up with that cat, and there’s
no harder work in the world than getting a cat to kiss and be friends.”

So the bird and the bee and the butterfly flew away, but as they went
Nora turned to look back. The three children had climbed into the tree, and
‘Obe Morning Call.

‘3

ren


NORA’S “DREAM.

were sitting there. The cat was nowhere to be seen, but by the way they
all looked down to the path, Nora guessed it had gone down there to sulk.

The three winged creatures flew on. Presently they came to a big field.
There a little boy was feeding fowls. Nora saw that a crutch lay beside him
in the grass.

“He can’t do much,” said the bird, ‘“‘ because he’s lame; but he man-
ages to attend to these chickens, and he sells the eggs, and they bring in a
good many shillings, and he gives all the money to his Mother, who is very
poor.”

“ My Mother isn’t poor,” said Nora, thoughtfully.

“No, but other people’s Mothers are, answered the bird, shortly. “ You
mustn’t suppose that you're only to think of your own family — that's a great
mistake.”

Presently they came to a long, low, rose-covered gabled house, and flew
in at one of the pretty latticed windows. A little boy was there, standing
up in a cot, talking to a fat little dog, who was standing on his hind legs,
and trying to tempt his little Master to get out onto the floor.

“No, no, no! I mustn’t, Bob,” said the child earnestly, though Nora could
see from his face that he was longing to jump out of bed and race round
the room.

“That's pretty hard work,” said the bird. ‘That child is doing the
hardest morning’s work he ever did. His nurse is ill, and he’s promised his
Mother to stay in bed and be quiet until she can come and dress him. And
he’s keeping his promise: keeping promises is terribly hard work. There
are some promises you have to keep with both hands.”

The little boy in the cot had by this time coaxed the dog to jump up.

“We'll leave him now,” said the bird, “‘ his work’s easier now.”

So they all spread their bright wings, and went towards home. When
they reached the garden they looked down, and Nora could see a big dog
and a little girl looking as though they were asleep. ‘‘ Now,” said the bird,
pointing downwards, “go and put on your every-day dresses.”

“Thank you,” said Nora. ‘ But you haven't told us yet what your
work is.”

“Ah!” said the bird. “T’ve been at my work all the morning, and you'll
know what that is when you’ve learned to do your own. Come, change your

GO ”
things.
NORA’S DREAM.

The bee settled down on Nora's frock, and the butterfly on Max’s nose,
and the next minute Nora sat up in her every-day dress and rubbed her eyes,
and wondered if she had dreamed it all. But, just by her feet, Nora found
a white shining feather, and she takes care of that, because that shows it
couldn’t have been a dream. That afternoon she weeded Mother's garden.
And now she is always looking out for some work to do, and I assure you,

she finds plenty.


















(ny
yi if i vay
Sill) a Hb $
CHOC
We Ain I
a

est
LH? “a (t i









Ki

WN\Wre..

AN f
| i (i
ieee See ele eleleme SiO Miele:

was early one afternoon that little Mysie’s father, who
had just come home, found her sitting on a bench
under the lilac-tree, with her doll Jemima propped up
stiffly in one corner, and Mysie looking sad and ready
to cry in the other.

‘What is it, little one?” asked her father kindly as
he patted her curls: ‘‘ is Jemima naughty?”

* Jemima is never naughty,” returned Mysie with a droop of her
lip, — she could speak more plainly now, — “ but I am tired of talking to her,
and she never, never, never answers.”

‘Well, she is only a doll, you see.”

‘Yes, but I love her very much, if she would only love me too;” and here
Mysie heaved a sigh, so deeply, that a little white butterfly, who was settling
on a leaf near her, fluttered off in the idea that a
storm was brewing.

Mysie’s father was a very kind man, and he was_ !
sorry to find that his little girl was dull; so he good- ¥ on



naturedly had a game with her, and Mysie forgot



Jemima’s indifference as she raced down the garden ©

paths, shrieking with delight at the great growling = EN) Gem

bear, who pretended to eat her up — she did so love ‘y .
;

that bear-game.



And the next day Mysie had a delicious surprise.
She was just wishing that father would come home
early again, when she saw him crossing the little




lawn, with a tiny bundle in his arms: the next mo- _ ey
ment he dropped it on the grass, and Mysie saw a SE
fat, white puppy, almost as round as a ball, who .
rushed at her with a wheezy little bark, as much as 5
to say, ‘‘ Come, play with me.”

“T have brought you a new playfellow, Mysie,” said her father, as Mysie’s

great blue eyes were fixed on his face in their usual questioning way: “is he
EFFIE’S LITTLE MOTHER.

not a dear little baby dog ? — just feel how soft he is. We'll call him Jem: he

will quite cut Jemima out, — eh, Mysie?”
but Mysie did not hear him: she was sit-
ting on the grass, with the baby dog
hugged in her arms, and his little red

tongue was licking her face in the most 2...

loving way.

Mysie was a happy little girl that day,
and for many a day afterwards, — the
puppy proved an excellent playfellow.
But by and by Mysie grew older, and
there were still times when she longed
for a real playfellow.





‘ Father,” she said one Sunday evening, after she had repeated her hymn,
“ “I wish I had a little real sister: Bertha

you know.



brought
al gift, the
) wishing
Peeeesisten a
Mysie turned quite pale when her

Rose has two. Jem is very nice, and he
loves me very much, but he can’t talk to me,

When one talks to him he only

winks and says bow-wow.”

Now, the very next day the most wonder-
ful thing happened. Mysie could not believe
it at first, she thought her father was joking,
— fathers always joke, you know; but she
was rubbing her eyes and trying to wake
properly, when she saw her father standing
by her bed.

‘What makes you sleep so late this
morning, Mysie? it is Christmas Day.
pe fe) aes gues Do you know what the angels have

you? very one for which you were
last night, —a little real new

eee ee father said this. She did not utter a
word as her father kissed her tenderly, and wrapped her up in her little blue
Citfie

)

> Toittle Motbe


EFFIE’S LITTLE MOTHER.

dressing-gown, and carried her into her mother’s room. ‘ You will be very
quiet,” he whispered, ‘and not wake baby,” as he put her down.

Mysie never looked at her mother —her eyes were fixed on a tiny red-
faced infant, with a soft downy head, lying placidly asleep. She still thought
she was dreaming — could it be true? How soundly she must have slept, not
to see the great white angel coming down from the stars with her little sister
in his arms. Mysie’s mother thought she looked like a little angel herself,
with those tangled golden curls, and that enchanted look in her eyes.

At that moment baby stirred, and uttered a little cry —a little hungry cry
it was, only Mysie did not know that; but before her father knew what she
was doing, Mysie had clambered up on the bed, and was hugging the baby to
her breast.

“Oh, don’t cry, mine baby — don’t cry, my own dear little sister! Mysie
will take care of you, Mysie will love you,” —2in short breathless little sen-
tences; until Nurse interposed, and took the baby away.

You oughtn’t to have touched her, Miss Mysie,” she said rather crossly :
“you have disturbed your mamma,” for Mysie’s mother had tears in her
eyes.

“T may touch my own, own sister,” returned Mysie, as her father lifted her
down,

“Yes, darling; but she is too little and weak just now, and you are
very little yourself; by and by, when you are bigger, you shall hold her
yourself.”

Mysie was not allowed to see her little sister for a few days after that, but
she spent most of her time in the passage outside her mother’s door. Her
father always found her there on his return, curled up on the window-seat, with
the puppy and Jemima.

“ Why do you sit here, Mysie?” he would ask: “it is much warmer and
pleasanter down-stairs. You will catch cold, my child.”

“T was only waiting to hear baby cry,” was the invariable answer: ‘“ she
does cry so loud. Father,” she would continue plaintively, ‘why is nurse
such a cross old thing; she will not let me bid good-night to my own little
Sisters

“We will see about it to-morrow night,” was her father’s answer. ‘ Don't
you want your tea, Mysie? Susan has baked a famous cake, and I am as
hungry as a hunter,” and then Mysie was induced to go down-stairs.
EFFIE’S LITTLE MOTHER.

Mysie was not long banished from the room.

“It is so pretty to see them together,” Mysie’s mother would say. ‘‘ Mysie
holds baby beautifully. We let her sit on a low stool, and then nurse puts
baby in her lap; it is astonishing to see what a little woman she has grown.
Sometimes I pretend to be asleep when nurse is out of the room, and I can
hear,,Mysie talk to baby in the prettiest way. We call her baby’s little
mother.”

This was what Mysie’s mother heard one afternoon.



ee)

egies AN
one REE SESE

Mysie was on her little stool, and baby lay on her small lap gurgling happily
in the firelight, and curling up her pink toes after the manner of babies.

‘Are you comforble ?” for Mysie loved long words that she could not quite
pronounce, —‘“‘ very comforble, darling? I wonder,’ here Mysie’s face
puckered up a little anxiously, “ if you know it is sister holding you? Do you
love sister, baby ? When you are bigger, I shall call you Effie, — Effie is such
a sweet name, ever so much prettier than Mysie. What are you saying, baby ?
Goo-goo. I wonder what that means. If mother were not asleep I wouldask .
EFFIE’S LITTLE MOTHER.

her, mother knows everything. Goo-goo. I wish I knew,’—and then a
little blow at the end.

‘I shall always love that angel for bringing me mine baby. What a good
angel he must be. Father thinks he must be the same who brought the child

ve Christ, — that was Christmas Day
too. When I go to heaven I mean
to thank that angel very much.”

Another pause — then rather
excitedly, ‘I am sure baby under-
stands me; she is smiling ever so,
and look how her arms move, just
as though she were trying to fly.
She knows I am talking of the angel,
though she was fast asleep when
he brought her,’—then with a
sigh, “Oh do, do be quick and
grow up, baby, I do so want to
, hear you talk. What nice games
‘ we will have together. You shall
have Jemima for your very own, to
wash and dress; and Jem— well,
perhaps I can’t part with Jem, he is
so fond of me. We will both have
him — eh, baby ?”

“Mysie is growing quite a
chatterbox ; I never heard her talk so much before,” was her mother’s remark,
“she used to be such a little mouse. What a blessing baby will be to her!”

Mysie’s mother was right. Baby, or Effie as she was soon called, was the
joy and blessing of Mysie’s life.

No more dulness for Mysie, no more secret longings for a real live play-
fellow. Effie soon grew big and sturdy, and her first game of play was to
tangle Mysie’s curls, or to play peep-bo behind her mother’s shoulder.

‘Here comes the little mother,” Mysie’s father would say in his joking way,
as Mysie, panting a little, carried Effe to their favorite window-seat.

‘No, father, please don’t help me, I want to carry Effie all myself. See
how comforble she is,” — for Mysie still found her long words difficult.


EFFIE’S LITTLE MOTHER.

One night when Effie was a year old, Mysie’s father and mother went out
to a Christmas party in the village, leaving Susan in charge. The two chil-
dren were sleeping together, and Jem had a rug beside them. It was very
late, and they said afterwards that Susan must have fallen asleep in the
kitchen ; and how it happened no one knew, but Jem suddenly barked or
choked, and Mysie woke and found the room full of smoke, and a bright
tongue of fire seemed to shoot in at the window.

‘Were you not very frightened, darling ?” asked her father afterwards.

“T had no time to be frighted,” answered Mysie simply, in her wise old-
fashioned way, ‘there was so much to do. I had to get baby out of her crib
without waking her, and she is so heavy, you know; and there was Jem chok-
ing and whining, and I had to coax him. I got down-stairs somehow: I think
the Christmas angel helped me, I felt so strange. And Susan woke up and
screamed, and baby screamed too, and the door opened, and there were you
and mother in the snow, — mother crying so badly too.”

‘We thought — we thought that neither of our darlings would be saved,”
returned her father hoarsely, but there were tears in his eyes. ‘‘ You are a
brave child, Mysie. When Effie grows up, we shall tell her the story of this
Christmas nignt, and how her little mother — God bless you, my darling —
carried her barefooted through the smoke and fire.”















































































af OLN

FLUFFyDown’s nest swung high in a
tree
When the Maytime skies were blue
and fair,
And in it rocked her birdlings three,
With not a dream of anxious care.

One day she spied, on a distant
hill,
Some berries, so red and fair to see;
She said, “I will fly, and fly, until
I bring a treat to the birdlings

three.”


“Nay,” father Browny said; “let me go;

The way is long, and your wings are small.”
Fluffydown, tossing her head, said, “No;

You must stay near, for the birdlings call.”

She bathed her breast in the morning dew,
And preened her wings with dainty care;
Away from the tall tree-tops she flew,
With joyous song, through the fragrant air

Resting her wings from her daring flight,
She warbles a sweet and merry trill,

Glancing to earth like a ray of light,
Her prize is gained on the distant hill.

She gathers her berry, happy and proud;
But the lightning played in the tree-top tall,
The rain dashed out of the drifting cloud,
Fiercely beating her wings so small.

But bravely she carried her little treat
To the birdlings three, in the old oak nest;
Where Browny, waiting with song so sweet,
Welcomed her back from her wayward quest.

ANNIE D. BELL.




















































































































































































































































































































































MOTHER'S KISSES.



LINKS.

“T WISH I were grown up !”’ said little
Ruth Hill, as she sat in the window.
‘Why do you wish to be grown
up, Ruth?” asked Miss Trevor.
‘At least, I mean, why do you par-
ticularly wish it just now,” she
. added, as if the wish itself was
only what might be expected from
any little girl.
ae ay ‘Because then I would go out
ee to be a missionary to the blacks, or
else I would be a nurse in a hos-
pital, like Aunt Mary is,” answered Ruth.

‘And why do you wish to be a missionary to the blacks, or a nurse ina
hospital?” asked Miss Trevor.

‘‘ Because I want to be of use in the world,” said Ruth grandly.

“Dear child,” said Miss Trevor, ‘‘ for each of us, the world is only the
place we are in, and the utmost we can do is to make ourselves useful where
Wickalcr:

“What can I do?” asked Ruth rather discontentedly; and answered her
own question by remarking, ‘‘ There is nothing to do here.”

‘What could you do if you were a missionary to the blacks?” inquired
Miss Trevor.

«“ Well,” said Ruth, “I could teach them to read, and could tell them Bible
stories, and show them how to be clean and neat and civilized.”

“Yes,” answered Miss Trevor, ‘and that would be all very good work, and
very nice for you and for them. Only I wonder you don’t begin to do the

same sort of work now.”

Ruth opened her eyes widely. “Why, where is there any of that sort of
work ?”” she asked. ‘‘ Who can I teach, or help in any way?”
‘“Oh yes!” said Miss Trevor in her quiet cheerful way. ‘“ There is your

little brother Bob. As yet he is as ignorant of Bible stories as any black in


LINKS.

the heart of Africa. And he has not begun to learn his letters; and as for
being clean and neat and civilized, I think I heard a certain little girl fretting
because her mother wished her to keep little brother Bob from tumbling about
in the dust, and asked her to comb his hair and tie his shoe-strings !”

Ruth hung her head fora moment and toyed with the apple-blossom leaves
which the spring breeze was wafting through the open casement. Presently
she looked up and said, —

“But if I don’t do these things somebody else will, so it doesn’t make any
difference whether I do them or not.” |

“ Dear child,” said Miss Trevor again, ‘the day will come when you will
thank God that you may rest assured that He can find means to carry on any
bit of His work without you, and though all your efforts and powers may fail
and come to an end. God does not need our work. He only wants us, for
His sake, to be good in the place where He puts us. The being good is our
business. The rest is in His will. And now, Ruth, I think I hear Bobby
calling in the garden: run down-stairs and keep him out of mischief.”

“I'd rather stay and do something for you, Miss Trevor,” said Ruth, who
was really a useful little nurse. ‘Can't I read to you? Would you not like
your pillows shaken up?”

“You can certainly do something for me, Ruthie,” answered the sick lady.
‘“You can leave me to rest.” Her tone was of the kindest, and she smiled
sweetly on the girl. But Ruth quite understood.

Miss Trevor never returned to the subject of their talk. She left her words
to sink into Ruth’s mind. Ruth was one of those quiet, sincere people, who
do not always see their way to accept a truth when it is first shown them, but
who think it over, and presently yield obedience. Do you remember the
parable of the sower? Ruth was not like the ‘‘ stony ground,” — but like the
‘ good soil” which presently yields plenty of fruit.

Doubtless her mother still had sometimes to remind her of her little duties
towards Bobby. But now Ruth felt that they were her duties, just as much as
missionary teaching or hospital nursing could ever be. So she was glad to be
reminded of them whenever she failed. Whatever we try to do soon grows
into a habit, and soon there was not a trimmer child in the whole village than
little Bobby. And he knew all about Joseph and his brethren, and the infant
Samuel, and the manger at Bethlehem, and could sing, ‘‘ Gentle Jesus, meek
and mild,” and ‘“‘ There is a Happy Land.”

LINKS.

“ That little fellow might be a real lesson to our Master Herbert,” said Mrs.
Snow, the head nurse at the great house, as she saw Bobby trotting away to
school, in his sister’s loving charge. Mrs. Snow knew all about Ruth and
Bobby, because she frequently called on Miss Trevor, who had taught the
eldest members of the squire’s family — young ladies who were now at school
on the continent. ‘ But there!” she went on, ‘“‘ Mistress doesn’t think Master
Herbert is old enough for regular schoolroom lessons, and so he is just left
running wild. It is not every little boy’s sister who will take the pains with
him that Ruth Hill does with Bobby,” added nurse pointedly.

“You won't let me even wash Herbert’s face or comb his hair, nurse,” said
little Miss Lydia, who had
occasionally coveted those
functions.

‘Bless you, no, child,”
answered nurse: ‘ that’s not
work for you, that’s my
place.”

“Well, what else does
Ruth Hill do?” asked Miss
Lydia.

“ Why, she taught Bobby
a whole hymn, line by line,
and took him up to Miss
Trevor, when he could say
it all, to give her a pleasant
} surprise; and Bobby will
~ never forget that hymn, I'll



engage, though he live to
be a hundred years old,”
said Nurse Snow, who understood children.

Little Miss Lydia pondered. She did not know a hymn herself, so how
could she teach one to her brother; she might do it from the book, of course,
but somehow, though she could not have explained it, it seemed to her a mean
and unworthy thing to think of imparting to another what one had not fully
mastered one’s self. Besides, she did not know what hymn would be suitable,
nor even what mamma would like; for mamma used one hymn-book, and

nurse used another.
LINKS.

And yet it would be so nice to give mamma a pleasant surprise, such as
Ruth Hill had prepared for Miss Trevor !

At last Lydia had a happy thought. She would teach Herbert the
alphabet ! .

At first he was quite delighted with the idea. He got on famously with
a, b,c, andd. Perhaps he began to get tired of his new task then. Perhaps
his little teacher tried to force him on too quickly. Perhaps h’s and k’s are
very much alike when we first make their acquaintance! Anyhow, there were
days when Herbert was very tiresome, and when Lydia’s little cheeks would
grow red and hot. There were even some tears and a little chiding and fret-
ting. I wonder whether Nurse Snow had any idea what was in Lydia’s mind
when one day the little girl asked wistfully, ““ Does Ruth Hill teach her
brother every day? Doesn't she ever get tired and leave off?”

“ Bless you, no, child!” nurse answered quite confidently, far more confi-
dently than Ruth would have answered for herself! ‘‘ The proof of a pudding
is in the eating,” said nurse; ‘‘and if there was any getting tired and leaving
off, there would be no real getting on. It’s steady that does it. Races are
not won with a hop, skip, and jump.”

Lydia gave a little sigh, and coaxed Herbert back to his book, and caught
him for his task every day, just at the time when he was most in the mood for
it. Lydia herself was learning far more than she was teaching Herbert, as we
are always the greatest gainers whenever we give. Her own governess found
her much more attentive and painstaking than she had ever been before,
because she had learned what negligence in the pupil means to the teacher.
Then, too, she discovered that when we wish to get anything accomplished, we
have to think of other people as well as ourselves, and to study their wishes
and ways, at least as much as our own wills. For she found that Herbert got
on far better if she took him when he was inclined to learn, than he did if she
caught him when she was inclined to teach, but when he wanted rather to spin
his top or to play with the kitten.

Lydia never got that reward in hope of which she had started on her sis-
terly endeavor. For long before Herbert was perfect in his alphabet, papa and
mamma had gone away on a visit to the Continent, and were not likely to
return within the year; and before that time Herbert was to be given over
to the governess, and Lydia’s little effort would be swamped in the result of
her trained skill.
LINKS.

But Lydia had another sort of reward in the fun she and Herbert got out
of the alphabet, when he was grown familiar with it, and found no more task
in the matter, but was quite delighted to discover that c-a-t spelled cat, and
d-o-1-1 doll, and that he could leave a message which nurse could understand,
by laying “ I-n” or “ O-u-t” on the hall table.

While papa and mamma were away, a brother of papa’s came and stayed
awhile in the great house. He was a little younger than papa, but he looked
older, because he had lived much in India, and his face had grown bronzed and
lined and his hair grizzled. The children stood in awe of him at first, because
they knew that he had seen and done many wonderful things, and had been in
terrible dangers, and could speak with strange tongues. But they soon learned
to understand the grave warrior’s rare tenderness and consideration, — qualities
which seldom come to perfection except in those strong characters which have
stood firmly, and perhaps even sternly, in great storms and stresses. So, by-
and-by, the children carried on all their little sports and pursuits under his
very eyes, assured that he looked upon them kindly and was ready to take
favorable interest in everything.

“ What! does Herbert know the alphabet ?” asked the General one day as
he strolled through the drawing-room, where Lydia was perched on a settee,
with the open book on her knee, and her little brother leaning over her.
“T thought such early lessons were not the fashion in this house,” said the
General.

“Tt has not been a lesson,” answered Lydia, “ for I taught him.”

“Oh! and I suppose it is the governess only who can teach lessons,”
observed the General, amused. ‘‘ Well, did not you find this teaching a great
trouble?”

Lydia raised her clear, true eyes. It would not be true to say it had not
been a trouble. It would not be the whole truth to say it had been.

“T liked doing it,” she answered simply.

“What made you think of doing this?” asked the General.

It was not likely that Lydia could remember that Nurse Snow’s casual
praise of a little village girl had first put the idea into her head. But she
could well remember the wish which had inspired her earliest efforts.

“T thought it would please papa and mamma,” she said.

The General stood silently looking down on the two children. It came
into his head that he could not remember how or when he himself had learned
LINKS.

his letters. Could some such little sisterly act of loving service lie buried in
his own past? For there was his own sister Emily, who had died when she
was fourteen, and he was ten. He could remember she had tried to teach him
the musical scales, — and how reluctant and unruly he had been! There was
a suspicious moisture in the keen eyes beneath the overhanging” silvered
brows. He turned away and left the children sitting where they were.

“ Of such is the Kingdom of Heaven,” he said to himself softly. ‘And
if we would enter in, we must win and keep the heart and the ways of child-
hood amid all the wisdom and weariness of later years. So Lydia did this to

yee:



please her parents! Do we old folk always consider what we may do to
please our Father who is in Heaven?”

Something came into the General’s mind at that moment. His thoughts
turned to the great, quiet house in London, which the lonely man called his
“home.” He thought of his good, faithful housekeeper, the widow of an
orderly, who had lived and died devoted to his service, and he remembered
how whenever he looked into the little parlor where she sat over the house-
keeping book or the stocking basket, there he found also her only son, a lad


Off to School.
LINKS.

of fourteen, intently studying wise and deep books which had certainly never
troubled the General’s own head when he was a merry lad at Eton! He knew
he had heard his housekeeper say that the schoolmaster reported that the boy
had learned all he could teach him, and she had added with a little sigh,
that he would soon need to give up his books and do something for himself in
life. The General had heard heedlessly, with a cursory reflection that it
seemed a world of pity that a lad with such inclinations and: such a brain
should have no chance to find a fit sphere for them — ‘while thousands of
pounds and the best teaching power in the land are wasted on brainless
young puppies who don’t care a straw for anything beyond their sports.”

Now, since clearly it was
God who had bestowed great
mental powers on this father-
less boy, surely it would be

‘pleasing to God that they
should have justice done to
them!

The grave old General
smiled. Might not he, too,
‘“become as a little child,”
and, taking a leaf from his
niece Lydia’s book, seek to



please his Father by helping
one of his Father’s younger children



to learn the lessons which the Father
had made him fit to learn?

That is how it came about that
the housekeeper’s son was sent first
to study with a young clergyman in
the country, and then to a great
public school, and then to college. The General managed everything very
wisely, advancing no step which the boy’s growing merits did not justify. But
at no point did the lad fail the General’s expectations. And by the time he
was twenty-five he had gained such an academic standing, that everybody
felt sure he would be a great man, and do some valuable work. It seemed
quite impossible then to believe that he had so nearly missed the chance !


‘Dear little Flyaway, may I







inquire

Whither so fast you are going?

See not before you the creek and the

; mire ?

What if the wind should stop blowing?

You cannot curb in the wind-steeds; and
though

Firm on their necks you’re now lying,

If they should pause once, away you would
go

Into the mud, and he dying.”

‘“Wee, winsome Troubleheart, can you not
see,
Home, on these wind-steeds I’m going,
There to sleep sweetly till
Spring calls to me?
Then, a fair flower I shall
be growing.
Though but a weak little
waif I appear,
\ Purposes wise I’m fulfill-
Tous
Nothing that God makes is helpless, my dear.
Speed, winds! go if you are willing.”
JENNIE JOY

~




STAY, LITTLE BROOKE.
THE NEW KITTEN<

SAY, you know, this sort of thing won't do. I’m the cat in this
house. Have you dropped in to pay a visit, or dy you think you're
going to stop?”

“ T should like to stop, please.”

‘“T dare say you would. But allow me to remark that one cat's enough for
a small family like ours; besides, we have a dog, and a duck, and a bowl of
gold-fish, and three children, to say nothing of the ‘ grown-ups.’

‘“Why don’t you go back to your own people?”

‘Because my people have gone, and have forgotten to take me with them.”

The above conversation took place between two kittens: they were both
tabbies, but there the resemblance between them ceased. One was fat and
sleek, and had a red collar, and was evidently well cared for; while the other
was a poor, thin, half-starved looking little creature. The thin kitten had just
walked into the kitchen, where the fat kitten, whose name was Fluff, was
warming herself by the fire.

At that moment the children came running in from their morning’s play
in the garden, where Maud and
Lily had been skipping and behav-
ing quite properly, as good little
girls should, while Tom had been
mischievous as usual, chasing the
fowls, and holding the ducks under
the pump, in fact, behaving as a
good little boy shouldn't.

‘‘Halloa, here’s a poor kitten!”
cried Lily, “I wonder where it
came from?”

‘“Let’s go and ask mother if we



can keep it,” said Maud, ‘ the poor geet
little thing looks so miserable.” :

Away ran the children, and returned to the kitchen in a few minutes with
the news that the New Kitten could stop as long as it liked.

“Well,” said Fluff to herself, “if this isn’t disgusting, I don’t know
what is. Here am I, who am an educated cat, who have been taught never
to look at the canary and the gold-fish, who have had half-a-dozen lessons
THE NEW KITTEN.

on the piano, and am admitted to be a perfect mouser, have now to asso-
ciate with a thing like that. It’s past all bearing, and I'll —I’ll leave the
house.”

‘Perhaps you will kindly keep to the corner of the fireplace,” continued
Fluff, addressing the New Kitten, ‘and not come near me.”

Whether the New Kitten did so far misbehave itself remains to be seen.

About a week after the New Kitten had arrived, and during which time it
had been thoroughly snubbed and scolded by the other little cat, Fluff disap-
peared in a most
mysterious man-
ner. She had been
playing hide-and-
seek at the top of
the house with the
children, it being a
wet day and they
couldn’t go out,
and the New Kit-
ten was sitting be-
fore the fire, not
daring to join in
the play, for Fluff
had told her that
if ever she dared
to do such a thing
she would give ita
good scratching ;
and when tea-time
came, Fluff was



aaa is . not there to take

her milk as usual.

The children hunted high and low, but Fluff was nowhere to be found. They

called and cried, but Fluff did not answer, and finally they had to go to bed,
all very miserable at having lost their pussy.

“ T hope,” said the New Kitten to herself, ‘that Miss Fluff hasn’t gone off

because I’m here. She has threatened to more than once, and I would sooner
THE NEW KITTEN.

go myself than turn her out, although she is so unkind to me. She may be
in the house, after all, and locked up in some room, I'll go round and have
a look.”

Everybody was
asleep when the
kitten went to look
for Fluff. And she
had not been
searching long
when she heard a
faint mew proceed
from the top story,
and running up-
stairs found Fluff
had been shut up
in a big box.

“ Miou, Miou,
how did you get in
there, Miss Fluff?”
asked the New Kit-
ten.

“©Oh, dear, oh,
dear, what shall Ido?” cried Fluff,



“T found the box open, and thought
I would look for a mouse, and
Tom shut the lid down, not know-
ing I was inside. Do let me out,
New Kitten, and I'll never be
cross to you again.”

“[’m not strong enough
to open the box,” replied the
little cat.

‘“T know what you mean,



you wish me to die of hunger and thirst. You can have half of my milk for
the rest of your life if you will only go and let the children know I’m
here.” — “ Everybody’s asleep,” replied the Kitten.
THE NEW KITTEN.

‘““Can’t you make noise enough to wake them up?”

“No, but I'll tell you what I'll do, if you like; I'll sit here and tell you
stories, and in the morning I'll let them know you are here.”

Fluff could do nothing else but agree, so the New Kitten told stories
till the morning, wonderful stories about fairy cats; and in the morning the
New Kitten mewed loudly outside the nursery door, and when Tom came
out, she trotted on in front of him till she brought him to the box, where
Fluff was mewing piteously to be let free.

You may be quite sure this little experience taught Fluff a great lesson.
She made friends with the New Kitten, (who, by-the-by, never even looked
at the canary and gold-fish), and the two cats are now as great friends as
two cats can possibly be. Both their lives were much happier; so, dear, you
can understand how right it always is to return good for evil.


<.. A LITTLE BIRD TOLD ME.

ss OW, then, wake up, you lazy children, the sun’s
been out of bed at least half-an-hour, and there
will be no worms for breakfast if you don’t make
haste.”

It was Mrs. Sparrow who spoke, as she bustled
about making things tidy for the day in the cosey house
in the belfry-tower.

‘Dear me, children take it much easier nowadays
* than they used to do when I was young,” she con-
tinued.

‘“T remember I had to be up at the very first streak



"3 of dawn; but here they are at last.”

As she finished speaking, the four little sparrows came hopping in and
wished their mother good-morning, with many chirrups and rubbings of bills
together, which is the way the sparrows kiss.

‘Have we to go to work to-day, mother?” asked young Master Cock
Sparrow, who was the eldest of the children.

‘What a question, indeed!” replied his mother. ‘Of course you have
to go to work. Your father has started to business some minutes ago; what
do you think the children would do without you?”

Now, I dare say you don’t know what the work is that the little birds have
to do for the children in return for the crumbs that are given them in the
Winter, but I feel certain that you have very often heard your mother say to
you, “A little bird told me.”

Well, that's just it: it’s the little birds who whisper in mother’s ear that her
children have been good while they were away from her; it’s the little birds,
too, who tell her when her children have been naughty, but that, I’m sure, is
very seldom. And, best of all, it’s the little birds who fly all over the country
and see all sorts of wonderful things, and who whisper in the story-writers’
ears all the tales that they write for children. So, indeed, we must say with
Mrs. Sparrow: ‘* What do you think the children would do without you?”
MRS. SPECKLE’S DILEMMA.

MRS. SPECKLE, the hen, was sad. Ten out of her
eleven eggs were hatched, but the eleventh, the largest and



glossiest of the lot, still remained in the nest, and although
2 Mrs. Speckle had sat on it two days longer than on the
others, no chicken had appeared.

“Perhaps,” said Mrs. Waddle, the duck, “it has been boiled. Nothing
hardens an egg’s heart so much as hot water. If they once find their way
into the saucepan, try how you will, you can never get them to take an interest
in anything after. I'd give it up if I were you.”

“Ah, well, perhaps it would be best to give up trying to hatch it now,”
sighed Mrs. Speckle. ‘The other chickens are getting quite neglected. I
shall have to borrow Mr. Cock’s comb to straighten out their feathers. And
I thought this egg would turn out such a fine child. Ah, me, I’m afraid it’s
no use.”

“Never say die!” said Mrs. Crawleyweb, the spider, who rented the top
corner of the hen-house. “Try, try, try again, is my motto. Some hundreds
of years ago an ancestor of mine said the
same to King Robert Bruce of Scotland ;”
and then the spider told Mrs. Speckle all
about it, and how King Robert took the
spider's advice, and tried again, and suc-
ceeded:

“Very well,” said Mrs. Speckle, “I w2/Z

)



try.” And she did, and kept on trying; but
the egg still remained unhatched, and the chickens grew more neglected and
untidy every day. .

“Dear me,” said the Farmer’s wife, “here’s poor Speckle been trying to
hatch the china nest-egg; how stupid of me to leave it in the nest with the
others!”

“ Bother!” said Mrs. Speckle, “ I’ve wasted all my time for nothing.”

“ Never say die,” chimed in Mrs. Crawleyweb. ‘Try, try, try again, is my

”



motto. Some hundreds of years ago an ancestor of mine —
“ Bother your ancestor,” cried Mrs. Speckle. ‘‘ It’s all very well trying, but
even King Robert Bruce couldn’t hatch a china nest-egg.”


GRAN’MA_ GRACIE.

T was Uncle George who called her “ Gran’ma”’ when she
was only six, and by the time she was seven everybody had
taken to the name, and she answered to it as a matter of





course.

Why did he call her so? Because she was such a prim,
staid, serious, little old-fashioned body, and consequently
her mother laughingly took to dressing her in an old-
fashioned way, so that at last, whether she was out in the
grounds, or round by the stables with Grant, in her figured
pink dress, red sash, long gloves, and sun-bonnet, looking after her pets, or
indoors of an evening, in her yellow brocade, muslin apron — with pockets, of
course, and quaint mob cap tied up with its ribbon — she always looked serious
and grandmotherly.

“It is her nature to,” Uncle George said, quoting from ‘“ Let dogs
delight ;” and when he laughed at her, Gran’ma used to look at him wonder-
ingly in the most quaint way, and then put her hand in his, and ask him to
take her for a walk.

Gran’ma lived in a roomy old house with a delightful garden, surrounded
by a very high red-brick wall that was covered in the spring with white blos-
soms, and in the autumn with peaches with red cheeks that laughed at her and
imitated hers; purple plums covered with bloom, and other plums that looked
like drops of gold among the green leaves; and these used to get so ripe and
juicy in the hot sun, that they would crack and peer out at her as if asking to
be eaten before they fell down and wasted their rich honey juice on the ground.
Then there were great lumbering looking pears which worried John, the gar-
GRAN’MA_ GRACIE.

dener, because they grew so heavy that they tore the nails out of the walls, and
had to be fastened up again—old John giving Gran’ma the shreds to hold
while he went up the ladder with his hammer, and a nail in his mouth.

.That garden was Gran’ma’s world, it was so big; and on fine mornings she
could be seen seriously wandering about with Dinnywinkle, her little sister, up
this way, down that, under the apple-trees, along the gooseberry and currant
alleys, teaching her and Grant that it was not proper to go on the beds when
there were plenty of paths, and somehow Dinnywinkle, who was always
bubbling over with fun, did as the serious little thing told her in the most obe-
dient of ways, and helped her to scold Grant, who was much harder to teach.

For Grant, whose papa was a setter, and mamma a very lady-like retriever,
always had ideas in his head that there were wild
beasts hiding in the big garden, and as soon as his
collar was unfastened, and he was taken down the




?

grounds for a run, he seemed to run

Az.

mad. His ears went up, his tail began
to wave, and he dashed about franti-

SS

. Se

=

ES

cally to hunt for those imaginary wild
beasts. He barked till he was hoarse
sometimes, when after a good deal of
rushing about he made a discovery, and
would then look up triumphantly at
Gran’ma, and point at his find with his
nose, till she came up to see what he
had discovered. One time it would be
a snail, at another a dead mouse killed “:
by the cat, and not eaten because it was
ashrew. Upon one occasion, when
the children ran up, it was to find the woe"
dog half wild as he barked to them to come and see what he was holding
down under his paw, — this proving to be an unfortunate frog which uttered
a dismal squeal from time to time till Gran’ma set it at liberty, so that it could
make long hops into a bed of ivy, where it lived. happily long afterwards, to
sit there on soft wet nights under a big leaf like an umbrella, and softly whistle
the frog song which ends every now and then in a croak.

Grant was always obedient when he was caught, and then he would walk


Pel Giee.

Grandma @
GRAN’MA_ G‘RACIE.

steadily along between Gran’ma and Dinny, each holding one of his long silky
ears, with the prisoner making no effort to escape.

But the job was to catch him; and on these occasions Gran’ma used to run
and run fast, while Dinny ran in another direction to cut Grant off.

And a pretty chase he led them, letting them get close up, and then giving
a joyous bark and leaping sidewise, to dash off in quite a fresh direction.
Here he would perhaps hide. crouching down under one of the shrubs, ready
to pounce out on his pursuers, and then dash away again, showing his teeth as
if he were laughing, and in his frantic delight waltzing round and round after
his tail. Then away he would bound on to the closely shaven lawn, throw
himself down, roll over and over, and set Dinny laughing and clapping her
hands to see him play one of his favorite tricks, which was to lay his nose
down close to the grass, first on one side
and then on the other, pushing it along as
if it was a plough, till he sprang up and
stood barking and wagging his tail, as
much as to say, ‘‘ What do you think of
that fora game?” ending by running helter-
skelter after a blackbird which flew away,
crying ‘ Chink — chink — chink.”

That was a famous old wilderness of a
place, with great stables and out-houses,
where there was bright golden straw, and
delicious sweet-scented hay, and in one
place a large bin with a lid, and half-full of
oats, with which Gran’ma used to fill a
little cross-handled basket.



“ Now, Grant,” she cried, as she shut»
down the lid, after refusing to let Dinny) «*:
stand in the bin and pour oats over her head and down her back — ‘“ Now,
Grant!”

“Wuph!” said Grant, and he took hold of the basket in his teeth, and
trotted on with it before her round the corner, to stop before the hutches that
stood outside in the sun.

Here, if Dinny was what Gran’ma called “a good girl,’ she had a treat.
For this was where the rabbits lived.
GRAN’MA_ GRACIE.

Old Brownsmith sent those rabbits, hutch and all, as a present for Gran’ma,
one day when John went to the market garden with his barrow to fetch what
he called some “ plarnts ;” and when he came back with the barred hutch, and
set the barrow down in the walk, mamma went out with Gran’ma and Dinny,
to look at them, and Grant came up growling, sniffed all round the hutch before
giving a long loud bark, which, being put into plain English, meant, “‘ Open
the door, and I'll kill all the lot.”

““T don’t know what to say, John,” said mamma, shaking her head. “ It
is very kind of Mr. Brownsmith, but I don’t think your master will like the
children to keep them, for fear they should be neglected and die.”

“’Gleckted ?” said old John, rubbing one ear. ‘ What! little miss here
’gleck em? Not she. You'll feed them rabbuds reg’lar, miss, wontcher ?”

Gran’ma said she would, and the hutch was wheeled round by the stables,
Grant following and looking very much puzzled, for though he never hunted
the cats now, rabbits did seem the right things to kill.

But Gran’ma soon taught him better, and he became the best of friends
with Brown Downie and her two children, Bunny and White Paws.

In fact, one day there was a scene, for Cook rushed into the schoolroom
during lesson time, out of breath with excitement.

‘“Please’m, I went down the garden, ’m, to get some parsley, and that
horrid dog’s hunting the rabbits, and killing ’em.”

There was a cry from both children, and Gran’ma rushed out and round to
the stables, to find the hutch door unfastened, and the rabbits gone, while, as
she turned back to the house with the tears running down her cheeks, who
should come trotting up but Grant, with his ears cocked, and Bunny hanging
from his jaws as if dead.

Gran’ma uttered a cry; and as Mamma came up with Dinny, the dog set
the little rabbit down, looked up and barked, and Bunny began loping off to
nibble the flowers, not a bit the worse, while Grant ran and turned him back
with his nose, for Gran’ma to catch the little thing up in her arms.

Grant barked excitedly, and ran down the garden again, the whole party
following, and in five minutes he had caught White Paw.

Dinny had the carrying of this truant, and with another bark, Grant dashed
in among the gooseberry bushes, where there was a great deal of rustling,
a glimpse of something brown, and then of a white cottony tail. ‘Then in
spite of poor Grant getting his nose pricked with the thorns, Brown Downie
GRAN’MA_ GRACIE.

was caught and held by her ears till mamma lifted her up, and she was
carried in triumph back, Grant trotting on before, and leading the way to the
stable-yard and the hutch, turning round every now and then to bark.

The rabbits did not get out again, and every morning and evening they were
fed as regularly as Gran’ma fed herself.

On reaching the hutch, Grant set the basket down, leaving the handle rather
wet, though he could easily have wiped it with his ears, and then he sat down
in a dreamy way, half closing his eyes and possibly thinking about wild rabbits
on heaths where he could hunt them through furze bushes, while Gran’ma in
the most serious way possible opened the hutch door.

There was no difficulty about catching White Paw, for he was ready enough
to thrust his nose into
his little mistress’s
hand, and be lifted
out by his ears, and
held for Dinny to
stroke.

“Now let me take

”

him,” she cried.

“No, my dear, you
’

are too young yet,’
said Gran'ma; and



Dinny had to be con- i
tent with smoothing down White pee soft brown fur, as it nestled up
against its mistress’s breast, till it was put back kicking, and evidently longing
to escape from its wooden-barred prison, even if it was to be hunted by Grant.

Then Bunny had his turn, and was duly lifted out and smoothed; after
which, Brown Downie, who was too heavy to lift, gave the floor of the hutch a
sharp rap with one foot, making eu lift his ear and utter a deep sigh.

“No,” he must have thought; ‘it’s very tempting, but I must not seize
her by the back and give her a shake.”

Then the trough was filled with oats, the door fastened, and the girls looked
on as three noses were twitched and screwed about, and a low munching sound
arose.

Three rabbits and a dog! Enough pets for any girl, my reader; but
Gran’ma had another — Buzz, a round, soft-furred kitten with about as much
GRAN'MA_ GRACIE.

fun in it as could be squeezed into so small a body. But Buzz had a temper,
possibly soured by jealousy of Grant, whom he utterly detested.

Buzz’s idea of life was to be always chasing something, — his tail, a shadow,
the corner of the table-cover, or his mistress’s dress. He liked to climb, too, on
to tables, up the legs, into the coal-scuttle, behind the sideboard, and above
all, up the curtains, so as to turn the looped-up part into a hammock, and sleep
there for hours. Anywhere forbidden to a respectable kitten was Buzz’s favo-
rite spot, and especially inside the fender, where the blue tiles at the back
reflected the warmth of the fire, and the brown tiles of the hearth were so bright
that he could see other kittens in them, and play with them, dabbing at them
with his velvet paw.

Buzz had been dragged out from that forbidden ground by his hind leg, and
by the loose skin at the back of his neck, and he had been punished again and
again, but still he would go, and strange to say, he took a fancy to rub himself
up against the upright brass dogs from the tip of his nose to the end of his
tail, and then repeat it on the other side.

But Gran’ma’s pet did not trespass without suffering for it. Both his
whiskers were singed off close, and there was a brown, rough, ill-smelling
bit at the end of his tail where, in turning round, he had swept it amongst the
glowing cinders, giving him so much pain that he uttered a loud “‘ Mee-yow!”
and bounded out of the room, looking up at Gran’ma the while as if he believed
that she had served him like that.

In Gran’ma’s very small old-fashioned way, one of her regular duties was
to get papa’s blue cloth fur-lined slippers, and put them
against the fender to warm every night, ready for him
when he came back tired from London ; and no sooner
-&2 were those slippers set down to toast, than Buzz, who
ASM had been watching attentively, went softly from his
- cushion where he had been pretending to be asleep, but

watching all the time with one eye, and carefully packed

himself in a slipper, thrusting his nose well down, draw-

ing his legs right under him, and snoozling up so
compactly that he exactly fitted it, and seemed part of a fur cushion made in
the shape of a shoe.

But Buzz was not allowed to enjoy himself in that fashion for long. No
sooner did Gran’ma catch sight of what he had done than she got up, went to







Near Jatttle &unnie.
GRAN’MA_ GRACIE.

the fireplace, gravely lifted the slipper, and poured Buzz out on to the hearth-
rug, replaced the slipper where it would warm, and went back, to find, five
minutes later, that the kitten had fitted himself into the other slipper, with
only his back visible, ready to be poured out again. ‘Then, in a half-sulky,
cattish way, Buzz would go and seat himself on his square cushion, and watch,
while, to guard them from any more such intrusions, Gran’ma picked up the
slippers and held them to her breast until such time as her father came home.

Those were joyous times at the old house, till one day there was a report
spread in the village that little Gran’ma was ill. The doctor’s carriage was
seen every day at the gate, and then twice a day, and there were sorrow and
despair where all had been so happy. Dinny went alone with Grant to feed
the rabbits; and there were no more joyous rushes round the garden, for the
dog would lie down on the doorstep with his head between his paws, and watch
there all day, and listen for the quiet little footstep that never came. Every
day old John, the gardener, brought up a bunch of flowers for the little child
lying fevered and weak, with nothing that would cool her burning head, and
three anxious faces were constantly gazing for the change that they prayed
might come.

For the place seemed no longer the same without those pattering feet.
Cook had been found crying in a chair in the kitchen; and when asked why,
she said it was because Grant had howled in the night, and she knew now that
dear little Gran’ma would never be seen walking so sedately round the garden
again,

It was of no use to tell her that Grant had howled because he was miserable
at not seeing his little mistress: she said she knew better.

“Don’t tell me,” she cried; ‘look at him.” And she pointed to where
the dog had just gone down to the gate, for a carriage had stopped, and the
dog, after meeting the doctor, walked up behind him to the house, waited till
he came out, and then walked down behind him to the gate, saw him go, and
came back to lie down in his old place on the step, with his head between his
paws.

They said that they could not get Grant to eat, and it was quite true, for the
little hands which fed him were not there ; and the house was very mournful and
still, even Dinny having ceased to shout and laugh, for they told her she
must be very quiet, because Gran’ma was so ill.

From that hour Dinny went about the place like a mouse, and her favorite
GRAN’MA GRACIE.

place was on the step by Grant, who, after a time, took to laying his head in
her lap, and gazing up at her with his great brown eyes.

And they said that Gran’ma knew no one now, but lay talking quickly
about losing the rabbits and about Dinny and Grant; and then there came a
day when she said nothing, but lay very still as if asleep.

That night as the doctor was going, he said softly that he could do no more,
but that those who loved the little quiet
child must pray to God to spare her to



ae ee them ; and that night, too, while tears were :
—, ot 4 falling fast, and there seemed to be no
| \ hope, Grant, in his loneliness and misery,
|

did utter a long, low, mournful howl.

But next morning, after a weary night,
those who watched saw the bright glow of
(7 returning day lighting up the eastern sky,

. and the sun had not long risen before
s--~~ Gran’ma woke as if from a long sleep,











“sua oo es 3 EE"=___ looked up in her mother’s eyes as if she
AN ey My Ree ee
On knew her once more, and the great time of



peril was at an end.

All through the worst no hands but her mother’s had touched her; but
now a nurse was brought in to help —a quiet, motherly, North-country woman
who one day stood at the door, and held up her hands in astonishment, for
she had been busy down-stairs for an hour, and now that she had returned
there was a great reception on the bed: Buzz was seated on the pillow purr-
ing; the rabbits all three were playing at the bed being a warren, and loping
in and out from the valance; Grant was seated on a chair with his head close
up to his mistress’s breast; and Dinny was reading aloud from a picture story-
book like this, but the book was upside down, and she invented all she said.

‘ Bless the bairn! what does this mean?” cried nurse.

It meant that Dinny had brought up all Gran’ma’s friends, and that the
poor child was rapidly getting well.
















































































































































































































































































































































































































































































Apown the garden path they came

With rosy cheeks and sparkling eyes, —
My little pets, with hearts intent

On “giving Auntie a surprise!”


































































































































































































Six pretty brown birds, all in a row,
Hopping along on top of the snow;

Brave little fellows who ne’er flew away
When the winds became keen and the skies became gray.

Where do they hide, and where do they sleep,
That safe from Jack Frost they manage to keep?

For down to this spot as sure as the sun
They come every day when the chickens are done.

These never eat all of their meal up quite clean,
And many sweet morsels the little guests glean;

Till so smooth, and so round, and so plump they have grown,
They can laugh at the birds that have far away flown.

Now Katie the cook, who bakes and who brews,
Says little brown birds make very good stews.

Cruel old Katie! I’d starve — would n’t you ? —
Before I would eat any one of the crew.
SS

.

-

\
NS
AWW



SANTA CLAUS AT SEA.
CA INES OIE OIE iris aS iA:

OST of us only know the sea in the beautiful summer weather, when
M the little waves roll one after another on the bright yellow sands ; when

we spend the days paddling, building sand-castles, and fishing for
shrimps and little crabs. That is the sea as we know it, but not as our brave
sailors and fishermen know it. They who have to live at sea all the year
round have to face and brave terrible storms, — storms that bring sorrow to
so many.

This is a story of a poor fisherman and a storm at sea.

Seven years ago, one autumn day, the wind began to blow. I don’t
know whether the wind had a spite against one particular cottage, or whether
the windows in that cottage were particularly rickety; but I do know that they
rattled and rattled until Joe and Bessie, the fisherman and his wife who lived
there, began to think that the cottage, windows and all, would be blown
away.

Joe and Bessie sighed — the wind and the rain were enough to make any-
body sigh, but these two had more than that to make them unhappy. The
fact was they had no money, and the rent of the little cottage was over-
due, and the landlord said they must go. Poor Joe had lost his boat in
a storm a month before, the one pig had been taken ill and died, and the
two hens wouldn’t lay any eggs—so you see they had quite enough to be
miserable and sigh about.

Joe and Bessie sat hand in hand, and although they had often wished they
had had a little baby, they were pleased now to think that they had not,
because how terrible it would have been to have a little child to tell them
it was hungry, if they had nothing to give it to eat.

“To-morrow,” said Joe, looking through the window at the stormy sky,
‘““we must leave here, and bid good-by to the village.”

“Joe,” said his wife, ‘don’t be cast down: our lot is a very hard one, but
we are better off than some others. Think of the poor sailors at sea to-day,
and their wives sitting at home listening to the winds howling. We have
each other to console, so that is something.” At that moment the cottage
door suddenly opened, and the weather-beaten face of one of Joe’s friends
appeared for an instant.

“ Hulloa, there!” he cried, ‘‘There’s been a wreck, and the wood is
drifting in; come and help us get it up the beach.”
ef TREASURE FROM THE SEA.

Joe and Bessie were out of the cottage and on the beach in a very few
minutes, and there the big waves were rolling in the masts and rigging from
‘some ship that had been wrecked near the coast.

“Ah!” cried Bessie, clasping her hands, “I hope the poor sailors have
got safely off in their boats.”

Every one’s eyes were turned to the sea, but not a boat was to be seen;
nothing was to be seen but a little black speck which might have been a cae
or a bit of wood, and which the great sea was bringing quickly to land. On
came the speck, till one wave bigger than the rest laid it gently, yes, quite
gently, at Bessie’s feet. The speck, which turned out to be an oaken chest,
was dragged up the beach and opened, when a cry of surprise arose from
the fishermen and their wives as they gazed in wonder at the contents of the
box. Indeed, it was enough to surprise anybody. You might have one
hundred guesses and never tell me what it was. It was not gold, or silver,
or precious stones, although it was a great, great treasure, for it was a tiny
little baby girl, with bright blue eyes and a smile on its little mouth.

“Fetch it some milk,” cried one. In five minutes there were a dozen
jugs of milk ready for the baby, then the children came with sweets and
apples and cakes. There was never such a fuss made about any baby
before.

They found a little bag of gold in the oaken chest, but nothing whatever
to show who the baby was. So they agreed that Joe and Bessie should take
care of her; and they called the baby Dorothy, which means a gift from God.
They paid their rent, and bought a new boat, a new pig, and they got some
more hens that laid eggs every day, and half the money they made they put
by in a stocking for Dorothy.

And now they live in a very pretty cottage on the top of the cliff, where
the windows are not rickety, and where you can see the bright blue sea.
And Dorothy calls Bessie her dear Mammy, and Joe her dear Daddy.

They have never found out who the Baby really is. She may be a prin-
cess for all we know, but of this we are quite certain— she is the pet and
pride of the village, her adopted Mother’s darling, and her adopted Father's
dearest little Maid.




EF atber's Jo ittle aid.
igh sear gO) Sve LG iiiate Ns

fs I-A-OW! Mi-a-ow!” cried Fluff,
the tabby cat, as she ran about
the house in a state of great
excitement, with her fur on end and _ her
tail sticking straight up in the air.
‘“Boo-hoo! Boo-hoo!” cried golden-
haired Poppy as she followed Fluff about,
rubbing her fat little knuckles into her



pretty blue eyes.

In fact, these two little creatures were just as miserable as it is possible for
two little creatures to be. And yet the day before had been all sunshine and
happiness, both for the little girl and the tabby cat. The day before had been
Poppy’s birthday, and she had got up very early in the morning so as to make
the most of it.

Happy Poppy! What lovely presents there were waiting for her when she
got downstairs! There was a doll from her mother, a doll’s-house from her
father, and a lovely picture-book had come from Auntie by post.

Cook had made her a beautiful cake with sugar on the top; and Nurse had
given her a pretty mug with the words, ‘“‘A present for a good girl,” written
in golden letters upon it. Nobody had forgotten her.

‘There is one more present for you, Poppy,” said her father; ‘look in
pussy’s basket, and you will see what she has got for you.”

Now, what do you think it was? It was a kitten, a tiny wee kitten that
didn’t know how to open its eyes, and was not even able to stand. Fluff was
exceedingly proud of her baby, and purred when the little girl took it in her
arms. Poppy christened the kitten Midge, and Fluff seemed to think it a very
good name indeed.

So what with tea-parties given in the new doll’s-house, and what with
changing the new doll’s dress every half-hour, the day was a very happy one,
and bedtime seemed to come hours and hours too soon.

The next morning Poppy was awakened by Fluff mewing and scratching
at the bedroom-door; and as soon as it was opened in she ran, evidently in a
great state of mind about something.

‘“ Mi-a-ow! Mi-a-ow!” she cried as she jumped on Poppy’s bed and began
searching amongst the clothes.
THE LOST KITTEN.

‘““Mi-a-ow! Mi-a-ow!” she cried again as she jumped back to the floor and
buried her head in the coal-scuttle. Then she ran under the bed, and then
under the chest-of-drawers, and then popped behind the curtains, and at last
ran back to the door and scratched to be let out.

‘What can be the matter with the cat?” said Nurse, as she opened the
door and away ran Fluff, mewing all the time.

‘Perhaps she is hungry, and wants her breakfast,” said Poppy.

eee But it was more than breakfast that poor pussy
wanted, as Poppy found out as soon as she got
down-stairs. It was enough to make any cat mew ;
enough to make any mother weep.

Midge, the kitten, had disappeared !

Midge, the kitten, had gone, and nobody knew
where. Nobody could even guess what had become
of her. Fora kitten a day old that could neither
see nor walk to go off of her own accord was indeed
too wonderful.



“We shall be having the month-old babies
getting out of their cots next, and washing and
dressing themselves, and going out to walk to get an appetite before brcak-
fast,” said Cook.

This was a rather funny idea, but it didn’t make Poppy laugh: she was far
too miserable to think of anything else but crying for her kitten.

They hunted up-stairs and down-stairs. They looked into cupboards, boxes,
and baskets, but with no success, and at last they had to give up the search in
despair. Poppy had to console herself with her new doll, the doll’s-house, and
her picture-book, while poor Fluff, who didn’t care very much about toys,
continued to roam about the house, mewing piteously.

Now, I wonder, dear, if you could guess where that little kitten was. |
don’t think you would guess rightly if you tried a hundred times; and so to
save you so much trouble I will tell you.

Just as Poppy had finished her dinner, and thought that she would have
one more search for Midge, a rat-tat-tat came at the hall-door, and presently
in walked a little boy. Frank was his name; he lived next door, and was a
great friend of Poppy.

‘“T say, Pop, something very wonderful happened at home this morning,”
said Master Frank, lookingly exceedingly mysterious.
THE LOST KITTEN.

“Really! Do tell us, Frank,”
cried Poppy, who was a curious
little girl.

‘Don’t you be impatient. It’s
a really and truly wonderful story,
so I must begin at the beginning.
Well, you know our dog Scamp,
don’t you; and you know that
Scamp had four little puppies the
other day, and that we gave three
of them away, so Scamp bad only
one left — because three from four
leaves one. That’s subtraction.
Well, down I come this morning,
and went to look at the puppy, and
lo-and-behold there was something
else in the basket! What do you
think it was?”

‘A bone, p’raps,” said Poppy.

“Stupid!” cried Frank. “ That

wouldn't have been anything wonderful.

’

“A black-beetle, then,’



It was something alive.”

suggested Poppy.
“Wrong again. It was a £z¢/en.”

‘A kitten!” cried Poppy, and her mother, and Nurse all together.



“Yes, a tabby kitten.. There
it was, looking quite comfortable,
nestling up to Scamp,” said Frank.

flor ourse wit seour: Witdoesl
shrieked Poppy. And so it really
turned out to be when they all went
next door to see the kitten in
Scamp’s basket.

No doubt Scamp, when she went

out in the morning, went in search of her lost puppies, and finding the door

of the house where Poppy lived open, she thought she might just as well see
THE LOST KITTEN.

if the puppies were there, and not finding
them, ran off with the kitten as the next best
thing to be done.

Of course Midge was given back to Fluff,
who spent the rest of the day washing its

the basket, but carried it about in her mouth
wherever she went until it was old enough to



walk beside ner. This story is quite true,
and I think “ really and truly wonderful,” as Master Frank said.




GRANDMOTHER’S CLOCK.


pe
[EER OUT OF TOWN.

\ e

OW very unfortunate,” exclaimed Mrs. Maynard, as she
jx opened and glanced over one of the letters on the break-
a yy fast table.

“What is unfortunate?” asked her husband, looking
over the top of his newspaper.




“Why, Mrs. Fenton writes that there is a case of fever in

her house, and so she cannot take in Mary and the children.

It zs provoking, for it is the only place to which we could possibly

‘send them without us, and yet this hot weather tries them so, they
seem to look more delicate every day.”

‘Poor little mites. Yes, I see they do,” assented Mr. Maynard; “but
what is to be done —we cannot leave town just yet.”

‘No, of course not: that is the trouble. Well, it cannot be nel peck |
must go and tell Mary—she has begun to pack. How disappointed they
will be.”

Mrs. Maynard went up to the nursery, a pleasant airy room at the top of
the house : still it was but a small house in a close city street, and the summer
was an unusually hot one. The four children— Sybil, Lily, Hugh, and
OUT OF TOWN.

Dudley — did indeed look as if they wanted a sea-breeze to blow the roses
back into their pale cheeks.

Their mother’s news was received with outcries of disappointment; and
Lily, who had been packing her doll’s trunk, sat down on the floor and began
to cry.

‘““We must make the best of it for a little longer,” said Mrs. Maynard,
lifting the little girl into her lap. Mary, the fresh, countrified-looking nursery
maid, seemed almost as downcast as the children.

“Tf I may take the liberty of speaking, ma’am,” she said after a minutes’
silence, ‘‘ would the country do as well as the seaside ?”

‘Why, yes, I suppose it would. Why do you ask ?”

“Because, ma’am, there is a sort of cousin of mine, a well-to-do farmer,
who lives close to the friend of yours who recommended me to you, and is
well known to Mrs. Temple. He and his wife often take boarders in the
summer, for they have a large comfortable house, and no children — that is to
say, there is only our Jem, ma’am; but he’s grown up, and so does not count.
I'm sure Mrs. Holt would
make the children comfort-




> . able and happy, and we
Zge _ should be quite safe there.”
“Well, really, it does not



seem a bad idea. I will talk
to Mr. Maynard about it,” said Mrs. Maynard, as she left the room.

The matter was quickly settled; and on the third day afterwards Mr. May-
nard himself put Mary and the children into the train at Waterloo, and early
in the afternoon they found themselves at tea in the parlor of the big rambling
farmhouse — a pleasant-looking young man, who was hailed by Mary as “ Our
Jem,” having met them with a double wagon at the pretty little village station.
Such a tea as that was, — new-laid eggs, brown bread, yellow butter, golden
honey, and a huge seed-cake !

“The poor dears do look peaky, as if they were half-starved, and kept in
the dark,” said cheery Mrs. Holt to Mary.

i)

“It was the hotness,” remarked Lily: ‘ the ground was hot, and the sky

father said



was hot, and we could not play, it made us feel langid, you see

”

on
‘“ Langid, indeed,” laughed Mrs. Holt; “bless their little hearts. Well,


Gn the Field.
OUT OF TOWN.

we'll soon cure all that. You won’t feel languid long here, I'll be bound. Eat
some more cake, dearies, do— eat as much as ever you can, I made it
a-purpose.”

Mary put Sybil and Lily to bed in a great carved oak bedstead; Hugh had
a crib in a corner of their room; and Dudley a still smaller one beside Mary’s
bed in the next room, which opened into theirs. When they woke in the
morning the window was wide open, and honeysuckle and roses were nodding
at them from outside, and such sounds of lowing and crowing, cackling, cooing,
and squeaking came up from the yard below, as the children had never heard
before.

Hugh jumped up and ran to the window ‘‘It’s fairyland,” he exclaimed :
“we've woked in fairyland. Mary, Mary, do come and get us up quick, we
want to go and see fairyland outside.”

Mary came in smiling, with Dudley in her arms, and then went and brought
in a large washing tub, which, she said, was to do instead of a bath. After
breakfast “Our Jem” was ready to do the honors of the farmyard, which
seemed indeed fairyland to the city children. There were cows and calves,
pigs, turkeys, and flocks of hens and pigeons which were so tame that they flew
down and settled on the children’s heads and shoulders. Just outside in a
field was a white goat with a pair of prancing, dancing kids. None of them
had ever seen a kid before, and Jem
said that as long as they remained a
the farm, Sybil and Lily should have
them for their special pets. He pro-
duced a round black ball of a puppy

kitten for Dudley. Never were chil-
dren so happy before, they thought.



In the afternoon Mary took them
into the meadows, and sat and worked under a tree, whilst they played with
their pets. Jem came presently, and sat down by Mary — they seemed great
friends, Sybil thought to herself; but after a few days she changed her mind,
for when Jem came to talk to her, Mary turned away and would not answer.

Sybil called her kid Jack, and Lily’s was Jill. They tried to make their
pets follow as the puppy and kitten did — first by coaxing, and then with a
string, but they jumped and butted and turned heels over head in such an
OUT OF TOWN.

extraordinary manner that Mary said they would be strangled with the string,
so the little girls led them by the horns, and they soon learned to go quietly

in this manner.
By-and-by a sad thing happened. Squire Temple, a friend of their father’s,



lived near, and Mrs. Temple came and invited them to a strawberry feast in her
meadow. There was a great pond in the middle of the meadow, with a boat
on it, and water-lilies all round. The children had been forbidden to go near
the pond; but, tempted by the lovely flowers, Lily climbed down the bank, and
reached over to pick one, when her foot slipped, and in a moment she was in
the water. Jem, who was not far off, heard her scream and had her out again,
all dripping in his arms before Mary could reach her; but the little girl was so
dazed by the sudden shock that she did not come quite to herself till she
awoke after a long sleep to find herself in the big oak bed at the farm with
Mary by her side; but next morning she was quite well again, and everybcdy
kissed and scolded her by turns all day.

When the end of the happy visit drew near, Mr. Maynard came down to
Squire Temple's for a few days, and was then to take the children back to town
with him. They were out in the cornfield on the hillside playing at gleaning
when he arrived at the farm, and Mrs. Holt went out with him to find them.

“ Well,” said he, as he sat on the grass with all four in his arms, ‘‘ you have
gleaned something else besides barley, children ; I don’t think the sea-breezes
could have produced brighter roses than these,” and he pinched the plump
sun-browned cheeks as he spoke.

Mrs. Holt laughed.‘ Deary me, sir, Miss Lily there complained of feeling
OUT OF TOWN.

languid-like when she came, and no doubt she favored her name a deal too
much, but they do look hearty now, bless them. Your good lady will hardly
know them again.”

‘T don’t think she will,” said their father, laughing.

When they left “ Fairyland,” as Hugh persisted in calling it, a few days
afterwards, and said good-by to ‘Our Jem” at the station, Sybil thought that
he and Mary parted as if they were greater friends than ever.

“I suppose she likes him again for pulling Lily out of the water,” she said
to herself.




Sap the sparrows to the snow-flakes,
o Gee) “Where did you come from, pray ?
You make the trees all wet and cold;

We wish you’d go away.”

Said the snow-flakes to the sparrows,
“Don’t be so rude and bold;

Your feather coats are nice and warm,
You cannot feel the cold.”

Said the sparrows to the snow-flakes,
“You cover up the way ;

We'll starve, because we cannot find
A thing to eat to-day.”

‘Dear sparrows,” said the snow-flakes,
Now do not get so mad.

We come from yonder cloudland,
To make the children glad;




I \ NES Wd

=A CRAPLE SON ey/\




iD

: Bd5 Rock-a-by, birdies, upon the elin-tree,

fe Where the long limbs wave gently
and free ;

Tough as a bow-string, and drooping
and small,

Nothing can break them to give you
a fall:

Rock-a-by, birdies, along with the
breeze,

All the leaves over you humming
like bees ;

High away, low away, come again, go!

Go again, come again, rock-a-by-low !

Wonder how papa-bird braided that
nest,

Binding tue twigs about close to his
breast ;

Wonder how many there are in your
bed,

Bonny swing-cradle hung far over-
head.


DATS SaDOGES:

\ , 7 HEN Daisy was three years old her papa gave her for a playfellow a
little round fat puppy, and, what seemed very strange, her uncle on

the same day sent her another. They were funny little fellows, and
looked very much alike. Her papa said one would be almost black when he
grew up, and so they called him Dusky. The other one they called Silky,
because he had soft yellow hair.

Daisy fed them every day with warm sweet milk, and they grew very fast.
It made her laugh to see them lap
the milk with their bright red
tongues. When they were two
years old they had changed from
little, plump, roly-poly pups to
soft, shaggy spaniels with fluffy
tails and long silky ears.

Daisy grew as fast as her play-
fellows; and the three were very
happy together, and she taught 4
them to mind what she said, and ..
to do many funny tricks. Her
mamma gave her a little silver
whistle, which she used to blow
when she wished to call them.
They learned the sound of it when
they were little, and it was fun to
see how quick they would obey the
call when they were grown large.

A funny thing happened one day when they were Gorn shut inside the
gate : —

Daisy was playing soldier. She had put on her brother’s cap, and was
marching along blowing her whistle like the men in the band which she had
seen marching through the street.



The sound awoke the little dogs, which had been sleeping under the rose
bushes. They thought she was calling them, and rushed from their hiding-
place to find her. Dusky was larger than Silky, and could run much faster,


CWS elcome Dome.
DAISY’S DOGS.

and he was the first to reach the gate; but he could not go between the slats,
and could only peep through and cry, ‘Bow! Bow! Bow wow wow!”
When Silky reached the gate he saw a hole under it, and thought he could



crawl through, but alas! it was too small, and he was held fast till the gardener
came and set him free.

It is wrong to laugh at those who have ill luck, but one could not help
laughing to see and hear these funny little dogs try to get through the gate.
DAISY’S “DOGS.

When they grew older they became very spry, and could leap over any
common fence at one bound, and they never again tried to crawl through a
hole too small for them. The mistake they made at the garden gate taught
them a good lesson.

They became very wonderful dogs as they grew older. Daisy’s father kept a
store, and Dusky learned the value of money. Ifa coin was dropped upon the
floor he would pick it up and put it in the money drawer. He would also beg
money of the patrons of the store, and with it go out to the butcher or baker
and buy himself a piece of meat or a doughnut. He never forgot a kindness,
and when ever a man entered the store who had once given him a penny, he
would run to greet him, and express his affection by jumping and wagging his
tail.

Silky could be sent on errands to the market. He would carry a letter in
his mouth to the merchant, and bring home a basket of provisions. If other
dogs came out to play with him he would not stop to notice them till his
errands were done.

The following is one of the most interesting incidents in the lives of these
wonderful dogs. One day they were sent to the railroad station to give
a letter to the mail-agent. After this was done they went into an open freight-
car which was standing upon a side track. Here they laid down and went to
sleep. The brakeman, not knowing they were there, closed the door. Soon
the car was attached to the engine, and they were carried rapidly to the next
station, ten miles away.

When the car was opened they seemed to understand their unlucky situa-
tion. They rushed out, and for a while looked around as if wishing to find
some friend to guide them. At length they turned to the track, and, setting
their faces homeward, started back at full speed, leaping from sleeper to
sleeper. They did not slacken their speed till they reached home.

Daisy had missed them, and in her winter hat and fur-trimmed cloak had
gone out to look for them. When they saw her they were so full of joy that
they sprang upon her with such force that it nearly threw her down. She was
as glad as they; and casting aside her muff and mittens, she threw her arms
around them and actually cried for joy.

They were both very tired and hungry, and after they had taken their supper
they both went to sleep at the foot of Daisy’s bed.


\

€
oA MESSAGE
FROM
THE SEA.

HE tide was low, leav-
ing a great stretch of




golden sand between
the towering cliffs and the sea.
-. Delicate sprays of seaweed floated
sa in the crevices of the brown rocks

where pale pink and green ane-

Vd

mones gleamed like fairy flowers.

Dot and Jack Ferris had built
a sand castle quite close to the water’s edge; but an enterprising wavelet had
run into the moat and washed it away in a moment. Jack was for beginning
again. He did not like to be frustrated in his plans, and already his active
brain had devised a more substantial fortress, when his eyes fell upon a beau-
tiful shell. It was all crinkled and streaked with faint rings of various colors.

‘This comes from over the sea, Dot,” he cried. ‘We haven't anything
like it. I wonder how it got here, and if it brings a message? Molly says
one lives in the heart of every shell.” He put it to his ear gravely. “I often
think I hear something,” he said, nodding his curly head and looking very
wise. ‘Dot, you listen.”

Dot took off her pink sun-bonnet, and tried her best to hear the message ;
but there was only a faint murmur as of distant water, and she could make
nothing of it.

‘Let's take it to Molly,” said she: ‘“ Molly knows everything. She'll tell
us all about it!”

‘Tell us the message, Molly,” cried Jack, running over the sand and break-
ing in upon his sister’s reverie.

Molly turned towards him with a far-away look in her blue eyes. She was
quite accustomed to these demands.

“T was just dreaming,” she said, “about the meaning of the song of the
A MESSAGE FROM THE SEA.

sea; perhaps we shall learn something. Give me the shell, Jack.” She put
it close to her ear, and smiled brightly.

“J hear a little mermaid softly singing, that far away under the deep blue
sea is a land filled with strange and lovely flowers, not like ours here on earth,
but living flowers, the beautiful many-colored sea anemones. Tangled sea-
weeds hang in gay festoons from the pink and white coral reefs, where the
tiny merman musicians breathe out strange, weird music from the conch shells,
and the mermaids float in the shallow pools, lit by silver moonbeams. Some-
times the mermen and mermaids rise through the waves hand in hand, sing-
ing sweet songs to the sailors; but human eyes cannot see them: they mis-
take their flowing hair for white sea foam. Our little mermaid says she came
from the other side of the world, but lingering on the sands near the spot
where you were playing, she
lost her companions, who all
floated back on the crests
of the waves. So, feeling



frightened and lonely she
crept into this pretty shell.”



‘Have we really caught
a mermaid?” interrupted ;
Dot, with wide-open eyes. She implicitly believed
all Molly’s stories, and was constantly finding traces
of fairy rings on the lawn, or seeing some tiny-
winged creature rocking in the lily bells.



‘“‘T shall paste the shell up. She sha’n’t get out
again,” said Jack.

“Then you will never hear her voice,” said Molly: ‘she must have breath-
ing space.”

“Why can’t I hear the mermaid singing all that as well as you?” asked
Jack.

‘Perhaps because the mermaids tell me their secrets,” laughed Molly.

“ Ah! but when the waves ripple against the cliff at high tide, they sing
the same song as the shell, —

.
“Come away, Jack,
Come away.’

Molly, I shall go some day.”


“Ohe Sea's eMessage.
A MESSAGE FROM THE SEA.

When Jack was eight, Dick Harper came to spend the summer holidays
with him. He was two years older than Jack, filled like him with a desire for

\

adventure, and before long had stirred up all the dormant ‘\

restlessness in the boy's nature. Numerous were the
scrapes into which he led Jack;
many the pangs suffered by pa-
tient Molly on his behalf; while
Dot stood aloof, feeling herself
for the first time shut out from
Jack and his confidence.



One day a grand idea came to
Dick. Why not go down to the
harbor, and get engaged as cabin-
boys! They would work, they
would do anything, if only they



could get away on board ship. E
Jack was too young for much reflection, so that the idea of causing anxiety
at home did not for a mo-
ment occur to him; while
Dick’s stern injunctions to
keep their secret, filled him
with a delightful sense of im-
portance.

Breakfast seemed unusu-
ally long that morning. At
last it was over, and the boys,
burning with impatience, set

- off on their quest, the only
provision for their intended
voyage being the precious
shell, to which Jack listened
from time to time on the way
down to the harbor, as though
its message would strengthen



his resolve. He looked back
once or twice in the direction
A MESSAGE FROM THE SEA.

of home, and at the last bend in the white road surreptitiously stifled a sigh,
lest Dick should reprove him for the weakness. Molly would be lying in front
of the window, and no little brother would run back to greet her to-day.

“Tsay, Jack, isn’t this jolly?” said Dick, who was perfectly callous as to
the feelings of others. ‘1 wonder how long it will be before we see this old
harbor again ?”

Jack could not find quite a ready answer. His mother and Molly and Dot
were very dear just then: had he forgotten






them during the last few hours? But of
course the new life upon which they were
entering must be jolly since Dick found
it so.

The first man to whom they applied was
the owner of a
fishing-smack. He
was seated on an
upturned _ barrel,
smoking, when the
boys approached,
and eyed them
suspiciously as
they proffered
their strange re-
quest.

“Run away
from _ school, —
eh?” he grunted.
“Speak up, now,’
don’t shilly-shally
with me.”

‘“ No,” said both
the boys, feeling uncomfortable, and glancing over their shoulders to see they
had not been followed. ‘Well, clear out of this. I don’t like the looks of
you,” said the man.

Jack felt cruelly rebuffed, but to argue the point with so surly an indi-

vidual was impossible. They moved slowly away.
A MESSAGE FROM THE SEA.

The smack-owner was not wholly wrong in his judgment, but neither
of the boys would have confessed so much even to themselves.
A man with a sunburnt face was mopping the deck of a steamer as they

turned.
“Do you want any cabin-boys?” asked Dick bravely. ‘‘ We aren’t afraid

of work.” The sailor winked at one of his mates.

“Well, lend a hand,” he said, making over the mop to Dick.

The color rushed into Dick’s face. To work in theory was one thing, in
practice another. He could not manage the long handle, his legs insisted on
getting in the way; he had never imagined a mop was such a stupid, clumsy
thing. He floundered about hopelessly for a few minutes, splashing the
water all around him, and finally slipping, fell full length on the wet planking
of the deck. .

Jack, carried away by the novel sight, had quite forgotten his assumed
character of cabin-boy, and with a merry shout clapped his hands at Dick's
discomfiture, while the good-natured sailors could not resist a laugh at his

expense.
“You young idiot!” cried Dick angrily, as he approached Jack, and
anxious to throw any blame upon him. ‘ Of course we sha’n’t get any work

if you are so foolish. Any fellow may have an accident. I shall go off on
my own hook if you don’t take care.”
Jack's spirits sank. Adventures in company were fun. Desertion could

not bear contemplation.

Again the boys wandered aimlessly
from ship to ship, discerning no signs
of encouragement in thie busy faces
around them. “Come here,”

cried a broad-shoul- dered man, as the

boys gazed intently at a large vessel
close to the landing stage. ‘What are
you hanging about for? I have been
watching you during an hour or more.”

said Jack faintly, and

“We don't mind

“We want work,”
checking a yawn.
what we do,” chimed in Dick, backing him

up. ‘And we won't eat much.”


A MESSAGE FROM THE SEA.

Jack could not honestly seccnd this last remark. It was nearly dinner-
time, and he was growing tremendously hungry.

‘Where do you want to go?” asked the captain, making a shrewd guess
at their position.

‘‘ Where the mermaids swim in and out of the coral reefs,” said Jack in all
good faith, ‘and sing to the sailors about the lands under the sea.”

‘My lad,” said the captain kindly, laying his hand on Jack’s shoulder, “1
once had a little son about your age, who sailed with me to the other side of
the world. He, too, wanted to hear the mermaids sing, and to catch them in
the sea-foam. Alas! the angels took the child into their keeping long ago.
Somehow I fancy you have a look of him, and I'll tell you what I'll do. Let
me know who you are, where you live, and if by-and-by your mother will let
you sail with me, I'll take you as my own for the sake of my boy, who had
eyes blue as yours.”

Jack listened eagerly to each word that fell from the captain’s lips; but as
he grasped his full meaning, something within him smote him for his conduct,
and he felt he did not really deserve such unexpected kindness.

‘My name is Jack Ferris,” he said; ‘but I—I don’t know if you'll help



me when I tell you

A lump was rising in his throat. It required a mighty effort on his part
to hazard the loss of such a wonderful offer, but still he could not bring him-
self to accept it under false pretences.

‘““T meant to run away from home to-day, Dick and I together, but now —
I say, Dick, let's go back and tell mother and Molly. And please what is
your name, sir? And do come home with me now: you might forget what
you have said, though I shall remember it every day of my life.”

The captain waited to give a few directions, then taking Jack’s hand in
his, left the harbor and went down the sandy road.

What dreams and hopes awoke in Jack’s heart! What unfulfilled desires
and world-worn thoughts stirred within the captain's during that walk !

Once more the child’s voice, so like that of his son’s, fell upon his ear,
laden with dim possibilities of renewed happiness.

“It was Molly who told me about the message,” he said: ‘“ the mermaid
whispered it to her the day I found this shell on the shore.”

Mrs. Ferris listened silently while the captain explained his plans, —lis-
tened, divided between joy and pain. It was a great thing to know her father-
eA MESSAGE FROM THE SEA.

less Jack would be provided for. His future career had already caused her
some anxiety ; but this new tie would mean separation. She could not decide

at once.
“ You will have plenty of time to think over my proposal, my dear madam,”
said the captain, at the close of his interview. “1 shall return to England in

six months, if all is well, and then we can come to some definite arrangement.
Meanwhile, I will put you in communication with my solicitors, so that you
may find out all you wish about me. Good-by, Jack: please God we'll take

many a trip together.”
Years passed, when the news of a terrible disaster at sea reached the

waiting hearts at home. Yet amid the panic and confusion, precious lives
had been saved, noble deeds of daring done; and the bravest hero of that

dreadful day was Captain Jack Ferris.


















7 HAT image is that so large and so white,

~ Standing alone out there in the yard ?

He seems to be holding a gun in his hand,
Like a soldier stationed the gateway to guard.

"Tis a man of snow that the boys have made ;

They have shaped and smoothed him with many a pat;
They have armed him well with a clumsy stick,

And covered his head with a battered old hat.

And there he will stay through the days and nights,
While skies are cloudy and winds are cold ;
Bravely he ’ll meet the charge of the storms, —
This ice-clad warrior faithful and bold.

But when the sun shines brightly again,
Then what will become of the gallant snow man ?
Oh, he’ll look very sorry, and drop his gun,
And away he will run as fast as he can.
M. E. N. HATHEWAY.
eA GREAT DISCOVERY.

NE day, I’m not quite sure how long ago, but that doesn’t matter very
much, the postman in a very big city gave a very big “ rat-tat” ata
street-door, and dropping a letter in the letter-box, walked off as if he

were used toit. The letter
was so very important that I
think the postman might
have looked a little more
important than he did, but,
as he didn’t know anything
about what was inside of
it, we must forgive him
this once.

Well, the letter was
addressed to little Miss
Sybil, and was from Cousin
Fanny, who lived in a coun-
try-house by the seaside,
and the important thing
about it was that it asked
Sybil to go and stay in
the country-house for one



whole month.

Now Cousin Fanny was
a grown-up cousin, and was
married and had little chil-
dren just about the same
age as Sybil, and a month in her house meant a month of romps, picking
apples in the orchard, swinging in the swing, playing with Toby on the
sands, and with the kittens in the play-room, and battledoor and shuttlecock,
hide-and-seek, blind-man’s-buff, and a hundred of other delightful games
such as children love.

Sybil was so delighted with her letter, and at her Mother telling her she
might go, that she hardly knew what to do with her little self till the day of
her departure arrived. She spent most of her time in packing, and when at
last the morning came, she got up hours before anybody else, and having
ed GREAT “DISCOVERY.

dressed herself, sat down upon her little box, and waited impatiently for the
hands on the clock to get round to the time when the cab was to call to fetch
her to the station, and when the cab did come it found her waiting on the
doorstep.

When, how-
ever, the moment
came for starting,
Sybil didn’t at all
like saying good-







Out in the orchard
we searching go;
For finding is

by to Mother and
Nurse, who saw

her off from the heeping,
station, and gave with apples, you
know.

her in charge of
the guard of the ©
train; but after
about a hundred
kisses and hugs
and squeezes,
the doors were
banged, the en-
gine whistled, and
then came the
shaking of hands
and handker-
chiefs, and little
Miss Sybil, before
she was aware of
it, had started on
her way to Cousin
Fanny and the
lovely country-house.

Cousin Fanny and her two children (young Master Bob and Bonny Miss
isthelseand Toby, the terrier, met Sybil when she arrived, and then com-
menced all the fun that the little girl had been looking forward to, and it
lasted till the Great Discovery was made.
“AA GREAT “DISCOVERY.

And it was a discovery, I can tell you. A very great discovery indeed,
for three little children and one small dog to make, without anybody to help
them. It not only astonished the children who made it, not only their fathers
and mothers, but everybody else in the village, and people have not finished
talking about it to this day.

It happened just like this. Bob and Ethel and Sybil and Toby were
having a picnic on the sands. They were sitting down resting for a little
while, and from where they sat the children threw pebbles in the sea.

“ Bob,” said Sybil suddenly, ‘“ what would you like to be?”

Bob, after thinking a little, said he thought it would be jolly fun being a
pirate with a fine ship, and a cave full of barrels of gold and silver and pre-
cious stones.

“J don’t think I should care to be a pirate,”
said Ethel, “‘ because you have to rob other people,
and then you might get shot.”

“Of course you might, that’s half the fun,”
replied Bob, and added rather scornfully: ‘ But

fea











who ever heard of a girl-pirate, I should
like to know.”

(oS ybilesand. le acontimucd
Ethel, *‘ think we should like to
be mermaids.”

“That wouldn’t be bad,” said Bob, “only you see there are no such
things: we might just as well wish to be giants, or fairies, or goblins, or
anything.”

“Yes, Bob,” argued his sister, “but while we are wishing things, why
shouldn’t we wish for lovely things, even if we can’t get them?”

“Come on, and let’s look for shrimps,” cried Bob, getting up, and not
being able to answer the last question to his satisfaction.
eA GREAT “DISCOVERY.

“We won't be long, Nurse,” cried the children, as away they ran, skipping
over the rocks, laughing and shouting, as merry as merry can be, with Toby
ee after them, while Nurse sat

st at her work and waited for
: them to come back.

They filled a basket with
small crabs and all sorts of
seaweed, and enjoyed them-
selves so much that they
quite forgot the time, and
that poor Nurse was wait-
ing for them quite a long
way off; for, in their thought-
lessness, they had wandered
far along the coast.

‘SEbulloal» sehurraly ss
suddenly shouted Bob, who
was some distance ahead
of the other two: “Hur-
rah! here’s a cave; such a
beauty! Come on, I say,
and let’s play at pirates,
and I'll be the Pirate King.”

So they played at pirates
in the beautiful cave, and
made a throne for their
king out of the silver sand,
until they suddenly remem-
bered that it was time for
them to be returning. So
they scampered back to the
mouth of the cave, and there
stopped. Stopped, because
it was impossible to go any



further. Stopped, because
the tide had come in, and there wasn’t an inch of sand for them to walk upon,
cA GREAT DISCOVERY.

What were they to do? Sybil looked at Ethel, and Ethel looked at Bob,
and Bob looked at Toby, and they all looked as if they were going to cry —
and really and truly it was quite enough to cry about.

Up came the tide, driving the poor children farther back into the cave.
Bob began to think it wasn’t much use being a Pirate King with a cave, unless
one hada ship to get away in; and they all thought how anxious everybody
would be about them.

On the tide came, creeping right up to the Pirate King’s throne, and Ethel
and Sybil couldn’t stop from crying any longer, and Bob couldn’t do much
else than say, “‘ Oh, dear ! ,
oh, dear! oh, dear!” as
he walked up and down
the cave with his hands
thrust deep into his pock-
ets.

Now, all this time, Mas-
ter Toby, the terrier, had
been sniffing around on
his own account, and all vise Sa
of a sudden he startled oe
the children by a loud
‘“ Bow-wow-wow ! — bow-

wow-wow! bow-wow-



wow!” he continued, in So =e

an excited manner; and

when they hurried to see what was the matter, they found their little dog
standing at the foot of some stone steps that he had discovered.

Up, and up, and up, came the tide, and the stone steps proved a blessing.
Up climbed Bob, Ethel, and Sybil, up a winding staircase cut in the rock,
until they found themselves in a room, or rather another cave, which was over
the one they had first entered, and which also looked out to sea, but was far
out of its reach, however far the tide might come in.

And this was the grand discovery. In the first place, because the children
would have been drowned if they had not made it; and, in the second place,
because the cave the stone steps led to was found to be a room that had
evidently once been used by smugglers, or even, perhaps, by one of Bob’s

ye
A GREAT DISCOVERY.

pirates. The children found, besides, a deal table and some forms, an old
telescope, and a lantern; also some barrels, but, unfortunately, they were
not full of gold and silver and precious stones, but chokefull of emptiness.

“ Bow-wow-wow! bow-wow-wow!” barked Master Toby again, and this
time it was because he saw half-a-dozen boats being rowed hastily towards
the cliff.

«“ Hurrah!” shouted Bob, ‘‘ here comes Nurse, and Mother, too

And, indeed, it was — Cousin Fanny in one boat, and Nurse in another,
and Bob’s Father in another, all three of them with faces as white as the

[B22

chalk-cliffs.

I can’t tell you how many hugs and kisses and scoldings there were, but
I am sure the children deserved a good many scoldings for having strayed
away and frightened everybody so much.

The one person who neither got kissed nor scolded was Toby, and, as a
matter of fact, he ought to have been praised for his part in the proceedings.

When Sybil got home she told her Mother about the great discovery; and
to this day, if you went down to that seaside place, you would be sure to be
shown by some one to the cliff, which everybody knows now as the “ Pirates’
Cavers


= KOO) IMU-INIE. COOKS,

La and Marjory were two happy little

children, and no trouble to anybody,




mother used to say, as long as they
e ao were playing with their dollies, or had something
Z else to do.

One day, when mother was going out shop-
ping, Dot and Marjory said, ‘‘ Oh, mother, may
we play with our new cooking-stove —the one
Aunt Lizzie gave us? And will you give us
something out of the store cupboard to play with,



*

GA

= because it’s Rosy Cheeks’s birthday, and we want
to give her a real birthday treat ?”

So their mother unlocked the store cupboard, and gave them an apple
and an orange, some biscuits, and sugar, and plums.

“There, now,” she said, ‘‘ you can be as busy as bees, but remember that
‘too many cooks spoil the broth.’ ”

So up-stairs they scampered, and began their cooking.

“T shall make a cake,” said Dot. So she ground one of the biscuits into
powder, and chopped up some apple for suet, and stirred in a bit of sugar and
a few of the plums. Then she mixed it all into a paste with orange-juice, and
put it into the oven to bake.

‘How does mother make a blanc-mange, Dot?” said Marjory.

“Why, first she puts some milk into a saucepan, then a lot of corn-flour,
and stirs and stirs, till it’s as thick as thick.”

“Well, here’s some milk,” said Marjory, “ just enough to fill the dear little
saucepan.” So she put it on the top of the stove.

‘“ Now let’s go down-stairs, and ask Sarah for some corn-flour,” she said,
‘‘and leave Carlo and Rosy Cheeks to look after the cooking.”

But when the little girls reached the kitchen, there was Sarah sitting in
the rocking-chair before the fire, with Baby on her lap, and Baby was scream-
ing so dreadfully, that Sarah’s face was as red as the ribbons in her cap.

‘Whatever is the matter, Sarah?” cried the two little sisters.

‘““Matter!” answered Sarah. ‘ Why, here’s Baby as cross as two sticks,
“TOO MANY COOKS.”

and your ma gone out, and all this washing to do before she comes back
again. How in the world shall I get it done 2”

‘Never mind, Sarah, we’ll amuse Baby,” said Dot and Marjory.

Sarah was so pleased with the kind little girls, that she gave them each a
good hearty kiss and dumped Baby on the floor ; and lea
Baby soon left off screaming, and was as happy as a BLS





like Dot and Marjory, or make such lovely music on > eS
ea :

little king. But then nobody could play bo-peep ‘
eas See )

the kitchen tea-tray. So what with the music and



laughing, and Sarah singing over her wash-tub,
mother had to knock ever so many times at the
street-door before she could be heard.



But as soon as she was let in, and had taken off AS
ea
Mh
Li

her things, she carried Baby away to his cot, and
then Dot and Marjory ran back to their cooking.
But Carlo had eaten the birthday cake, upset




the milk, and naughty little Rosy Cheeks, was look-
ing as though she had done nothing but laugh all
the while.

“You naughty, greedy fellow!” cried Dot and
Marjory.
‘‘Ah,” said mother, coming in to look at the mischief. “I told you that
now, didn’t 2?”

’

‘too many cooks spoil the broth,

“Yes,” said Dot. ‘But it wasn’t broth, you know, mother, it was
blanc-mange and birthday cake, and now poor Rosy Cheeks will have
to go without.”

‘Suppose you run and fetch my bag,” said mother. And when they
brought it and peeped in, they saw two lovely little cakes covered with pink
sugar, and red cherries on the top of each.

“Thank you, dear darling mother,” said Dot and Marjory. ‘What a
lovely birthday Rosy Cheeks will have, after all!”

*

EE USE OA hex Cre (oe)

OUSIN JIM is always laughing at us about our cats. The last time
he came to see us he began saying a teasing kind of rhyme begin-
ning —

‘The dog will come when he is called,

The cat will walk away,”

and we really had almost a squabble about it. But I think I quite showed
him that he was mistaken in thinking that cats are heartless and stupid. Ours
always come when we call them, and very often when we don’t. And as for
affectionateness, they are just full of it; you should see Alexander following
us round the garden, or little Penguin sitting on mother’s knee, when she is
writing, with his tiny fore-paws on the table just as if he wanted to help her.
And last winter, when she was very ill with a cold she caught helping to make
the new rockery, and had to stay in bed, Sandy insisted on going to see her
every day ; and it wasn’t cupboard-love in the least, for she never feeds him.
One day when her dinner was left on a stool outside her door, he sat up be-
side it and mewed piercingly to be let in. It is not every dog that would sit
alone with a boiled wing of chicken, and never so much as taste it. Not that
I want to say anything against dogs, they are very nice, indeed, in their way ;
but while everyone praises them up, and takes pains to understand them,
so many people won't take a bit of trouble to know what cats are really like,
or to see their good qualities.

Mother always says that you must master a dog and keep him well-mannered
THE KIT-CAT CLUB.

and obedient principally by fear; dogs will obey the roughest, unkindest sort
of men, who behave as badly’as possible to them and every one else. Buta
cat, she says, you can only win by being kind and polite. They will never
submit to force or cruelty, but if you treat
them properly they'll be just as fond of you
and as faithful as any dog. Anyhow, that’s
how ozr cats are.

We have only three just now; mother
would like to have four, but father says he
thinks three is a very nice number indeed,
and that if mother doesn’t take care she will be put in the newspapers like
that old lady —I forget her name — who has so many pussies that her neigh-



bors don’t like it.

The largest and the eldest is Alexander (that is his real name, but we call
him Sandy, for short) ; he is a most handsome cat, and his hair is very much
the same color as Valentine’s. We did mean to call him Marigold, but some-
how it didn’t seem quite to suit him, though the color matched. Perhaps his
immense white whiskers and eyebrows made it seem absurd.

Then there is little Penguin; we call him that because he is marked so
funnily with black and white, and looks exactly like one when he sits up and
begs. He is a plump little cat with deep silky fur; he looks as broad as he
is long, nurse says. He and Sooty are cousins; they are about the same
age, and were brought to us in the











same basket.

It is the most comical thing in
the world to see them playing
together at hide-and-seek. There
is a large curtain over a door in the
hall, and one of them gets behind
this and expects the other to come

and look for him, and if he is rather
long about it you will see a little
head and a pair of bright eyes peeping round the curtain like a disappointed
child. But when the other comes and begins to look, perhaps at the wrong
side of the curtain, you hear a sudden scamper of soft little feet and a big
bounce as the hiding one rushes out from his concealment and springs on his
THE KIT-CAT CLUB.

playmate; and then they go tumbling over and over one another with their
paws round each other’s necks, squealing with fun and excitement.

We were perfectly miserable, 1 remember, when Sandy’s mother died.
Mr. Austin’s keeper shot her because, he said, she used to catch his young
pheasants and partridges ; but I don’t believe for a moment that she ever did ;
she was only fond of walking about in the woods, like anybody else. It would
be very hard if everyone who liked rambling out in the hazel-copse was sup-
posed to be after his vexing little birds. But he has promised never to kill
any of our cats again, and mother has tied a bell and a ribbon on each of
them now, so that he may know them.



Poor Felicia! I shall never forget how we cried when she came crawling
in and dragged herself up to where mother usually sits — mother was out
that afternoon, though; she looked round, as if she were trying to find her,
and then she gave a faint kind of mew, and stretched herself out on mother’s
chair, and died.

She was such a clever cat! When Sandy was a tiny kitten, he was one
of five that she was bringing up in the summer-house at the end of the gar-
den, and three of them were taken away (“made off with,” as the gardener
calls it). Well, the day after that happened, Sandy disappeared too, and
nobody could think what Felicia had done with him.

So we watched her, and found that she used to go, very stealthily, to the
THE KIT-CAT CLUB.

arch that is all covered with Japanese honeysuckle, and climb up into it; and
then we discovered that Sandy was up there, living quite cosily in a black-
bird’s nest six feet above the ground. I suppose she was afraid lest he might
be “ made off with” too, and thought he would be safer in another place.

We gave her a splendid funeral in the garden. Valentine made her a
beautiful tombstone out of wood, and painted it with white paint, and Chris-
tine composed some poetry for her epitaph. But somehow, when you've
really been very fond of a pet, and it dies, the funeral and all that isn’t much
of a consolation.

There was another very clever mother-cat that we knew. She lived —



and lives still, for aught I know — at a farmhouse where we used to go and
stay every summer, near the sea.

We don’t go there anymore now, because Mr. Lee and his wife, who had
the farm, have gone to live somewhere else ; but I daresay Angelina remains.
She began by being the stable cat; but she was so pretty (and not shy as
most stable cats are), that by degrees they
allowed her in the house, till she took up her
abode there altogether.

She was quite a small tabby kitten when
first we persuaded Mrs. Lee to let her lie before
the kitchen fire, and a lovely kitten she was,
too; rather inclined to be long haired, with a
fluffy white shirt-front, and great green eyes,
and the sweetest expression imaginable.

Valentine used to say, when he saw her %
sitting upon the dresser, with Mrs. Lee’s beloved



willow-pattern plates behind her, looking dream-
ily at the flies playing kiss-in-the-ring in the air, that if she were only white,
and not tabby, he should believe she was that enchanted pussy who turned
into a beautiful princess when her head was cut off. She was not, for Mrs.
Lee knew her mother quite well; and if she had been, I’m sure Val would
never have had the heart to cut her little head off; besides, it would have been
very awkward supposing he did, and supposing she Aad turned into a princess.

I don’t expect she would have cared to play our games, and I’m not
quite sure that mother and father would have liked having her to live with us.
Fancy father’s having to walk down-stairs before her backwards, with a gold
THE KIT-C.AT CLUB.

candlestick in each hand, every evening! And I'm certain he ever would
have consented to wear court dress every day.

So, on the whole, it was just as well that she was only an ordinary mortal
kitten. ‘ You little mortal!” Mrs. Lee would call her, when she was more
than usually mischievous! yet, ordinarily, she was not. Never was such a
kitten for ridiculous pranks! She was very fond of being up-stairs when Jan,
who was only a baby then, was being put to bed.
She would hide under the flounce of the bassi-
net and make sudden darts at him. He didn't
mind it a bit— in fact, I think he liked it, for
he used to stretch out his little fat arms to the
IK little fat kitten, and laugh.

But nurse did not altogether appreciate
Angelina’s attentions. She is not as devoted



to cats as we are, and she was always rather
nervous lest her baby might receive a chance scratch. However, the kitten
would not be driven away, even when nurse blew in her face (which cats
dislike more than anything) ; and one evening nurse got out of patience, and
picking up one of Jan’s little shoes, threw it quite hard at Kitty, who, instead
of being properly ashamed, or crying out because it hit her, seemed to think
it must be some delightful new plaything made on purpose for her, for she
pranced and patted it, and settled down to a long game with it.


THE SiRANGE “PIGTO RE

TuERE were many queer old things in little Janet’s home. Her father’s
great-great-grandfather had built the house more than one hundred years before |
Janet was born, and some of the furniture had been brought to America by
his grandfather who belonged to an old English royal family who had kept
their curious relics and family treasures from age to age.

There were in this house old iron-bound chests with strong locks, in which
had. been stored the money and jewels of their rich owners. There were
paintings on the walls which had been owned by the family many hundred

years and were now of great value. The
chairs were of an odd shape, such as are
sometimes seen in old English castles ; many
of them were so old that no one living could
tell when they were made.

There was one curious square picture of
an old castle with a river flowing in front of
it, and high, dark mountains rising in the
distance. This hung in the front parlor of

~ the old house and had grown dark with age.
e It was not considered of much value, although
-* it was in an odd frame and was hung bya
"strong gilt chain to a knob in the wall. No
one living knew the history of this picture,
and no one thought of moving it, for it had



hung in one place so long, that to disturb it
seemed very wrong.

Little Janet was always trying to find out the meaning of things around
her, and by some was called mischievous; yet she did not intend to do wrong,
but was anxious to know how things were made and what they were made of.

One day she climbed up in one of the quaint chairs to look at the old
square picture in the odd frame. She found a little knob on one side of it, and
when she pressed upon it she touched a hidden spring, and to her great surprise
the picture opened like a door and showed a bright, polished mirror which
reflected the likeness of herself with her rosy cheeks and bright blue eyes. At
that time she had upon her head an odd ruffled cap which she had found in


Ohe Strange Picture,


THE STRANGE PICTURE.

one of the drawers of the old carved bureau, and she laughed heartily when she
saw herself in this strange looking-glass.

She again touched the knob, the glass swung back, and there appeared the
pleasing picture of two small kittens playing by the side of an ancient band-
box. This picture pleased Janet very much, for she loved little kittens and
these were the prettiest ones she had ever seen. They were gray and white,
and around their necks were pink ribbons tied on top in bows.

She began to wonder who could have owned these pretty creatures, and
who could have placed their pic-
‘tures in this old frame, when she
again pressed the knob and_ the
kittens disappeared and there was a
‘picture of a lovely young girl with
a bright golden crown upon her
head.

Janet was more surprised than
ever at this picture, and ran to her
mother to tell her what strange
things had happened.

Her mother. and father were both



more surprised than she, at the con-
tents of this wonderful frame, for
they never knew that it contained anything but the old picture which they
had been accustomed to see.

They examined it very carefully, and when Janet again pressed the knob it
again opened, and there was written its history which they all read with great
interest. It had been written more than two hundred years, and no one had
read it or knew it was there during all that time. This is the story written by
the hand of a king : —

“I, king of Scotland, have caused this frame to be made and these pic-
tures to be placed here in memory of my little daughter Sophia, who died when
only twelve years old. She would have been a queen if she had lived to grow
up, and I have caused her picture to be painted with a golden crown upon her
head. s

‘Her favorite pets were her two kittens, with which she used to play, and
I have had them painted and placed here with the band-box in which my
THE STRANGE PICTURE.

little Sophia used to place them to sleep when at night they were tired of
play.

“The picture which hides these from view is an old castle on the river
Clyde, where my little daughter used to play with her pet kittens.

‘“The mirror is to reflect the image of the one who discovers the contents
of this frame, to whom shall be given the plate of gold which is behind this
writing. It will make the finder rich and happy if this picture of my dear
daughter and her kittens is always kept from harm.”

Janet is now an old lady. The odd old picture hangs in her parlor. The
gold found in it made her rich, and she enjoys a happy old age.



























Se iste ‘\ Jack.


ice SOLE GEE:

R. BROWN was killed in a railroad accident. When Mrs. Brown heard
of it she was so overcome with grief that she died in a few days, and
their baby, only a year and a half old, was left alone in the world.

There was an old lady who lived near. She was very poor, though she
had once been the wife of a rich sea-captain who was lost, with all his
crew, when his ship was driven upon the rocks in a storm. A few of his
chests drifted ashore. These were all that were left to the captain's wife of
her husband's great fortune; and she always kept them, though she did not
consider them of much value. She earned her living by doing fine sewing
for wealthy ladies. Once when she was sick and could not work, Mrs. Brown
was very kind to her, and took care of her by day and night till she was well
again. For this the old lady was very thankful, and said she hoped she
should some time be able to repay Mrs. Brown for her kindness.

When she heard Mrs. Brown was dead she felt very badly, and went and
took the orphan baby to her home. This was a great deal for a poor woman
of her age to do; but she remembered how kind his mother had been to her,
and she denied herself many comforts for his sake, and loved him and cared
for him as her own child.

One day a terrible thing happened. She went to a neighbor's and left
baby sleeping in his crib. She was gone but a few minutes, but on her return
baby was gone. The door was open, — some one had entered the house and
stolen him. She was frantic with grief. The neighbors were aroused, and all
the men went in search of the child.

They knew that a party of gypsies had been encamped in the forest near
by. They went to the place, but they found only the burnt coals in the spot
where their camp-fires had been. No one knew where they had gone.
THE STOLEN CHILD.

Search was continued for several weeks, when they were found in a
distant part of the country, and with them the stolen child. He was so dirty
that they hardly knew him, but a pink calico apron which the old lady had
made for him was the means by which he was known. He was carried back
to the old lady, and great was her joy at seeing him again, and he was as
much pleased as she.

She placed him in a bath tub filled with nice warm water, and no child
ever enjoyed a bath so much as he. During the whole time he had been with
the gypsies he had not been washed, and he seemed to enjoy scrubbing off
the smoke of the gypsy camp.

He and the old lady were very happy together, but she worried for fear
she should be too poor to take care of him. One day she was looking over
the contents of the captain’s chests which had been saved from the wreck.
In one she found a box which she had never opened before. It was full of
bright gold and silver coins and valuable papers. To her great surprise and
joy it contained many thousands of dollars, and she was rich again. After
this she and baby never lacked for anything money could buy.

When he was grown to manhood she gave him all her money, and he
took care of her and was the support and comfort of her helpless old age.

Thus kind deeds have their reward.


recast

amine ee

ats





‘© he Bath.


OH! OHI! OH!!!

EVER, no never, was there such a hubbub anda row! The donkey was
braying, the geese cackling, cows mooing, horses neighing, piglings
squeaking, dogs barking, and pussy snarling. In fact, every animal on

the farm was making just as much noise as it possibly could.

But why? That’s what we want to know.

Well, the Enp or THE WorRLD HAD COME, and quite suddenly, too, without
one word of warning. So you see the animals had an excuse for making a
noise, and most certainly took advantage of the occasion.

The end of the world had come, so the donkey said, and said it again
and again. ‘‘ Oh, dear, oh, dear! What shall we do?” he brayed, putting
his head out of his stable-door and addressing the geese: “The hill behind
the farm has turned over, and is rolling down the field. Let me out. What
shall we do?” He was a donkey.

Away ran the geese, tumbling over one another in their hurry and excite-
ment. Gabble, gabble. Cackle, cackle.

«Tweet, tweet, don't leave us behind, our legs are not so long as yours,”
cried the goslings, trying hard to keep up with their father and mother.

“My whiskers!” cried the cat, who was sitting on a gate-post, © My

whiskers, what’s the matter?”
OH! OH!! OH!!!

“Matter enough for one day,” hissed the gander. ‘The end of the world
has come. The mountains have tumbled out of the moon, and are rolling
down the hill at the back of the farm.”

‘How very awkward!” said puss, as she jumped off the post and scam-
pered away across the field, in a terrible fright.

“What on earth has happened?” asked the cow, as the cat came hurry-
ing by.

‘“ Happened indeed! The end of the world has come. The moon and
the stars—including the great and little bears — have
tumbled down. And ” But the cow didn’t wait to
hear any more. She whisked round and galloped across
the field to the gate.

‘Open the gate. Let me out,” she cried. ‘‘ The end
of the world has come. The moon has tumbled down, and






is rolling about the earth like a
big Dutch cheese; and the Milky
Whey has also fallen and will
drown us; and the Great Bear is
sliding down the North Pole. Let



me out, or I shall go mad.”

The sheep heard the cow, and
rushed off to tell the horses the
alarming news, and the horses
told the dogs, and, as I said at
the commencement, never, no
never, was there such a hubbub and a row.

“ My dear girl,” said Mr. Cock-Robin, to little Jenny Wren, “if you go on
laughing like that, you will have a fit, or go into hysterics, or do something
equally ridiculous. Pray try and be calm.”

“I—I really can’t help it,” gasped Jenny, who was really quite faint from
laughing. “To think that all this excitement should have been caused by old
Mrs. Brown’s umbrella being blown out of her hand, and being sent bowling
along after the little pigs. They are young and don’t know any better, so I
daresay they thought that the end of the world really had come. But to think
that the other animals should have believed them when they came scampering
and squeaking into the yard! It’s really too much, it is indeed.”











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