Eee Loss Te AOD a ee
The Baldwin Library
2 RmB vt
THE LARD OF PLUCK
@ther Books by
SMlary Mapes Donge
®
DONALD AND DOROTHY.
HANS BRINKER.
THEOPHILUS AND OTHERS.
ALONG THE WAY.
RHYMES AND JINGLES.
WHEN LIFE IS YOUNG,
ETC., ETC., ETC.
TWO BOYS OF HOLLAND.
Crom an old Dutch painting.)
THE LAND OF PLUCK
STORIES AND SKETCHES
FOR YOUNG FOLK
BY
MARY MAPES DODGE
AUTHOR OF ‘* HANS BRINKERâ€
‘© pONALD AND DOROTHYâ€
‘C RHYMES AND JINGLESâ€
ETC., ETC.
NEW YORK
THE CENTURY CO.
1894
Copyright, 1894, by
THE CENTURY Co.
THe DEVINNE PRESS.
AUTHOR'S NOTE
The paper on Holland which constitutes Part I
of this book has now been expanded to more than
double the proportions of ‘The Land of Pluck†as
printed a few years ago in “St. Nicholas.â€
The stories and sketches composing Part II are
here for the first time collected in book form.
The frontispiece ‘ Two Boys of Holland†has been
engraved from a fine Dutch painting, attributed to
Cuyp, and owned by Mr. Charles T. Barney of New
York, who courteously allowed it to be copied for
use in this volume.
CONTENTS
Tur LAND OF PLUCK.
CHAPTER I. On Boru SIDES OF THE DIKE.......
CHAPTER II. Brrp’s-nryYE VIEWS ...............
Craprer III. WIntTER AND SUMMER... ...........
CHaprer IV. SrREETS AND Byways...............
CHAPTER V. DurcH ODDITIES....................
CHaprerR VI. THe BaTavIANS AND THEIR Goop
MEADOW ............... 0.000000,
CHapteR VII. Tor Durcu Have TAKEN ITIOLUAND .
Cuaprer VIII. THe DurcH ar Home anp ABROAD .
CHapreR IX. Ho~uanp To-pay................. .
Day-DREAMS ON THE DIKE ............. ...... 0.0...
PART IT.—STORIES AND SKETCHES
WonNDERING TOM....... Paes ee Say satan eae
Lirrte VemBa Brown ...... gee) AOS ee eee ae
Tur CROW-CHILD.................. bee Gn be ee bese
TRAPPER JOB 0.0... eee eee
THE BRIGHTON CATS.....0.0.0..0.0 cece eee ee eee
WortTH YOUR WEIGHT IN GOLD.... ....... ..........
BIANCA AND BEPPO.........0.0.0.000.0 00000002000. .
A Law TuHat CouLD NoT BE BROKEN.................
A GARRET ADVENTURE..... ...............000. 7
BoRROWING TROUBLE.............0....... Pah basse
HIBAVIER THAN ATR .... 0... 0.00 ec ee ee
Wuat THe Snow-Man Dip......0 ........0 0.00...
Karry’s CANARY...............2.0-. aera sh oe
GRANDMOTHER .......00.0 0000 cece eee ee eee dee pes
Two May-QuUEENS........0...000..0.0 cece eee eee
Littum Haw’s RICHES ..... 0.0.0... ce eee ee eee
ONLY A ROSE ..... 00 eee eee
LIMPETTY JACK 0.0.00 e eee,
BUBBLES 0.000000 00 eee eee tence ee
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307
THE LAND OF PLUCK
CHAPTER I
ON BOTH SIDES OF THE DIKE
SAR over the sea is a famous little country
generally known as Holland; but that
Z name, even if it should mean Hollow land,
or How land?’ does not describe it half so
well as this—The Little Land of Pluck.
Verily, a queerer bit of earth was never shone upon by
the sun nor washed by the tide. It is the oddest, funniest
country that ever raised its head from the waves (and,
between ourselves, it does not quite do that), the most
topsyturvy landscape, the most amphibious spot in the
universe,—as the Man in the Moon cannot deny,— the
chosen butt of the elements, and good-naturedly the
laughing-stock of mankind. Its people are the queerest
and drollest of all the nations; and yet so plucky, so wise
and resolute and strong, that “beating the Dutch†has
1 1
2 THE LAND OF PLUCK
become a familiar byword for expressing the limits of
mortal performance.
As for the country, for centuries it was not exactly
anywhere; at least it objected to remaining just the
same for any length of time, in any one place. It may
be said to have lain around loose on the waters of a
certain portion of Europe, playing peek-a-boo with its
inhabitants; now coming to the surface here and there
to attend to matters, then taking a dive for change of
scene,—and a most disastrous dive it often proved.
tip Van Winkle himself changed less between his
great sleeping and waking than Holland has altered
many a time, between sunset and dawn. All its firm-
ness and permanence seems to have been soaked out of
it, or rather to have filtered from the land into the people.
Every field hesitates whether to turn into a pond or not,
and the ponds always are trying to leave the country by
the shortest cut. One would suppose that under this con-
dition of things the only untroubled creatures would be
turtles and ducks; but no, strangest and most mysterious
of all, every living thing in Holland appears to be thor-
oughly placid and content! The Dutch mind, so to speak,
is at once anti-dry and waterproof. Little children run
about in fields where once their grandfathers sailed over
the billows; and youths and maidens row their pleasure-
?
boats where their ancestors played “tag†among the hay-
stacks. When the tide sweeps unceremoniously over
Mynheer’s garden, he lights his pipe, takes his fishing-rod,
and sits down on his back porch to try his luck. If his
pet pond breaks loose and slips away, he whistles, puts up
ON BOTH SIDES OF THE DIKE
eo
adam so that it cannot come back, and decides upon the
crop to be raised in its place. None but the Dutch could
live so tranquilly in Holland; though, for that matter, if
‘“*MYNHEER SITS DOWN ON HIS BACK PORCH TO TRY HIS LUCK.â€
it had not been for the Dutch, we may be sure that by
this time there would be no Holland at all.
And yet this very Holland, besides holding its own
place, has managed to gain a foothold on almost every
4 - THE LAND OF PLUCK
quarter of the globe. An account of its colonies is a
history in itself. In the East Indies alone it has under
its authority more than thirty million people.
It is said that the Greenlanders, in spite of the discom-
forts of their country, become so very fond of it that even
the extreme cold is considered a luxury.
In some such way, I suppose, the Hol-
lander becomes infatuated with water.
He deems no landscape, no pleasure-
spot complete without it. It is
Yu.) funny to see the artificial pond
that a Dutchman will have be-
neath his very window; and
funny, also, to see how soon the
pond will try to look like land,
by filming itself over with a coat
of green. Many of the city peo-
ple have little summer-houses,
or pavilions, near the outskirts
— _ of the town. They are built
: just large enough for the
family to sit in. Each
zomeriuis, as it is called,
is sure to be surrounded
by a ditch, if indeed it is not built out over the water.
Its chief ornaments are its little bridges, its fanciful roof,
and its Dutch motto painted over the entrance. Hither
the family repair on summer afternoons.. Mynheer sips
his coffee, smokes his pipe, and gazes at the water. His
vrouw knits or sews; and the children fish from the win-
ON BOTH SIDES OF THE DIK 5
dows, or climb the little bridges, or paddle about in skiffs, °
gathering yellow water-liies. Near by, perhaps, they can
hear some bargeman’s wife singing her cheery song while
busy at her housekeeping, or rather homekeeping, for she
lives on the canal-boat. That is her flower-gatden grow-
ing on a corner of the deck, quite unconscious that it is
doing anything remarkable in blooming over the water.
In fact, it is in much less danger of sinking there than
it would be on shore.
Now, these oddities arise mainly from the fact thet
though mankind cannot help admiring this Land of Pluck,
the ocean has always looked down upon it. A large por-
tion of Holland lies below the level of the sea,—in some
places as much as twenty or thirty feet. Besides, the
country abounds with lakes and rivers that persist in
swelling and choking and overflowing to such a degree
that, as I said before, none but the Dutch could do
anything with them. All this disturbs an unpleasant
phantom named Fog, who has a cousin in London. He
sometimes rises like a great smoke over the land, shutting
out the sunlight, and wrapping everything and everybody
in a veil of mist, so that it is almost as much as a person’s
life is worth to venture out of doors, for fear of tumbling
into a canal. Again, the greater part of Holland is so flat
that the wind sweeps across it in every direction, putting
the waters up to no little mischief, and blowing about
‘all the dry sand it can find, heaping it, scattering it, in
the wildest possible way.
What wonder the Dutch have always been wise, plucky,
and strong? They have had to struggle for a foothold
1*
6 THE LAND OF PLUCK
upon the very land of their birth. They have had to push
back the ocean to prevent it from rolling in upon them.
They have had to wall in the rivers and lakes to keep
them within bounds. They have been forced to decide
which should be land and which should be water,
forever digging, building, embanking, and pumping for
dear existence. They had no stones, no timber, that
they had not themselves procured from elsewhere.
Added to this, they have had the loose, blowing sand
in their mind’s eye for ages; never forgetting it, gov-
erning its drifts, and where its vast, silent heapings (as
in the great dunes along the coast) have proved use-
ful as a protection, they have planted sea-bent and
other vegetation to fasten it in its place. Even the riotous
wind has been made their slave. Caught by thousands of
long-armed windmills, it does their grinding, pumping,
draining, sawing. When it ceases to blow, those great
white sleeve-like sails all over the country hang limp and
listless in the misty air, or are tucked trimly out of sight ;
but let the first breath of a gale be felt, and straightway,
with one flutter of preparation, every arm is turning slowly,
steadily, with a peculiar plenty-of-time air, or is whirling
as if the spirit of seventy Dutchmen had taken posses-
sion of it.
You scarcely can stand anywhere in Holland without
seeing from one to twenty windmills. Many of them are
built in the form of a two-story tower, the second story
being smaller than the first, with a balcony at its base
from which it tapers upward until the cap-like top is
reached. High up, near the roof, the great axis juts from
ON BOTH SIDES OF THE DIKE 7
ONE OF THE WINDMILLS.
the wall; and to this are fastened two prodigious arms,
formed somewhat like ladders, bearing great sheets of can-
vas, whose business it is to catch the mischief-maker and
set him at work. These mills stand like huge giants
guarding the country. Their bodies are generally of a
dark red; and their heads, or roofs, are made to turn this
way and that, according to the direction of the wind.
Their round eye-window is always staring. Altogether,
they seem to be keeping a vigilant watch in every direc-
E o ¢
8 THE LAND OF PLUCK
tion. Sometimes they stand clustered together; some-
times alone, like silent sentinels ; sometimes in long rows
a
like ranks of soldiers. You see them rising from the
midst of factory buildings, by the cottages, on the polders
(the polders are lakes pumped dry and turned into farms) ;
?
on the wharves; by the rivers; along the canals; on the
dikes; Holland would n’t
“ALONG THE CANAL.â€
be Holland without its windmills, any more than it would
be Holland without its dikes and its Dutchmen.
A certain zealous dame is said to have once attempted
to sweep the ocean away with a broom. The Dutch have
heen wiser than she. They area slow and deliberate people.
Desperation may use brooms, but deliberation prefers clay
and solid masonry. So, slowly and deliberately, the dikes,
those great walls of cement and stone, have risen to
breast the Iuffeting waves. And the queer part of it is,
ON BOTH SIDES OF THE DIKE 9
A DUTCH DIKE AS SEEN FROM THE LAND SIDE,
they are so skilfully slanted and paved on the outside
with flat stones that the efforts of the thumping waves
to beat them down only make them all the firmer!
These Holland dikes are among the wonders of the
world. I cannot say for how many miles they stretch
along the coast, and throughout the interior ; but you may
be sure that wherever a dike is necessary to keep back
the encroaching waters, there it is. Otherwise, nothing
would be there—at least, nothing in the form of land;
nothing but a fearful illustration of the principal law of
hydrostatics: Water always seeks its level.
Sometimes the dikes, however carefully builded, will
spring a leak, and if this be not promptly attended to, terri-
ble results are sure to follow. In threatened places guards
are stationed at intervals, and a steady watch is kept up
night and day. At the first signal of danger, every Dutchman
within hearing of the startling bell is ready to rush to the
rescue. When the weak spot is discovered, what do you
think is used to meet the emergency ? What, but straw—
everywhere else considered the most helpless of all things
10 THE LAND OF PLUCK
in water! Yet straw, in the hands of the Dutch, has a
will of its own. Woven into huge mats and securely
pressed against the embankment, it defies even a rush-
ing tide, eager to sweep over the country.
These dikes form almost the only perfectly dry land to
be seen from the ocean-side. They are high and wide,
with fine carriage-roads on top, sometimes lined with
buildings, windmills, and trees. On one side of them, and
nearly on a level with the edge, is the sea, lake, canal, or
river, as the case may be; on the other, the flat fields
stretching damply along at their base. Cottage roofs,
therefore, may be lower than the shining line of the
water; frogs squatting on the shore can take quite a
bird’s-eye view of the landscape; and little fish wriggle
their tails higher than the tops of the willows near by.
Horses look complacently down upon the bell-towers ;
and men in skiffs and canal-boats cannot know when
they are passing Dirk’s cottage close by, except by seeing
the smoke from its chimney,
or perhaps the cart-wheel
that he has perched upon the peak of its overhanging
thatched roof, in the hope that some stork will build her
nest there, and so bring him good luck.
A butterfly may take quite an upward flight in Holland,
leaving flowers and shrubs and trees beneath her, and,
after all, mount only to where a snail is sunning himself
on the water’s edge; or a toad may take a reckless leap
from the land side of the dike, and, alighting on a tree-
top, be obliged to reach earth in monkey-fashion, by leaping
from branch to branch!
CHAPTER II
go BIRD’S-EYE VIEWS
O the birds, skimming high over the
country, it must be a fanciful sight—this
i Holland. There are the fertile farms or
AY polders, studded with cattle and bright red
cottages ; shortwaisted men, women, and children,
moving about in wide jackets and big wooden shoes;
trees-everywhere clipped into fantastical shapes, with their
trunks colored white, yellow, or brick red; country man-
sions too, and farm-houses gaudy with roofs of brightly
tinted tiles.. These tiles are made of a kindof glazed earthen-
ware,and make one feel as if all the pie-dishes in the country
were lapped in rows on top of the buildings. Then the
great slanting dikes, with their waters held up as if to catch
the blue of the sky ; the ditches, canals, and rivers trailing
their shining lengths in every direction ; shining lines of
railway, too, that now connect most of the principal points
of the Netherlands; then, the thousands of bridges, little
and big ; “the sluice- gates, canal-locks, and windmills; the
silver and golden weathercocks perched on one foot, and
twitching right and left to show their contempt for the
ul
12 THE LAND OF PLUCK
wind. All this,as you must know, makes the sun jeweler-
in-chief to the landscape, which shines and glitters and
trembles with motion and light. Yet that is only one
way of looking at it. A low-spirited bird might still see
CAPSIZING !
only marshes and puddles, though he might learn a good
lesson or two in seeing jolly Dutch folk, young and old,
making merry over every-day affairs. Or one of the prac-
tical every-day sort might notice only commonplace things
—such as the country roads paved with yellow bricks;
cabbage-plots scarcely greener than the ponds nestling
everywhere among the reeds; cottages, with roofs ever so
BIRD S-HYH VIEWS 13
much too big for them, perched upon wooden legs to keep
them from sinking in the marsh; and horses wearing
wide, stool-like shoes for the same reason. Or they might
watch the wagons bumping along with drivers sitting out-
side, kicking the funny little crooked pole; or horses
yoked three abreast, dragging obstinate loads; or women
and boys harnessed to long towing-ropes, meekly drawing
their loads of market-stuff up and down the canal.
Then there are the boats, large and small, of every pos-
sible Dutch style; wonderful ships made to breast the
rough seas of the coast; fishing-smacks (smakschepen),
heavy with fresh catches; the round-sterned craft by the
cities, with their gilded prows and gaily painted sides;
trekschuiten, or water-omnibuses, plying up and down the
canals for the conveyance of passengers; brown-sailed
pakschuiten, or water-carts, for carrymg coal and mer-
chandise upon these same water-roads; barges loaded
= ff
|
H
t
fh
j
A WATER OMNIBUS.
14 THE LAND OF PLUCK
with peat; pleasure-boats with their showy sails; the
little skiffs, the rafts, the chip boats launched by white-
haired urchins kneeling in the mud.
fi
IRGE MRO Po oearos, cof nant
rr
eee nie
co rit
OVER THE CHIMNEYS AND HOUSE-TOPS (AMSTERDAM).
- bares
Then, mingling confusedly with masts, and windmills,
and sails are the long rows of willows, firs, beeches, or
elms, planted on the highways wherever root-hold can be
found or manufactured ; the stiff, symmetrical gardens,
with their nodding tulips and brilliant shrubs; the great
white storks flying to and fro with outstretched necks
and legs, busily attending to family needs, or settling upon
the quaint gabled roofs, perhaps, of Amsterdam; water-fowl
BIRD S-EYHE VIEWS 15
dipping with soft splashings into the tide ; rabbits scudding
here and there; water-rats slyly slipping into their cran-
nies, and bright water-insects rocking at the surface on
reed and tangleweed. Seeing all this, our birds have not
seen half; but they have ample time to look, for bird-life
is not the uncertain thing in Holland that it is here. They
are citizens loved and respected, and protected by rigorous
laws. Stones are not thrown at their heads, nor is “ salt
sprinkled upon their tails.†They are not afraid of guns,
for the law has its eye on the gunners; and, strangest of
all, they see nothing terrible in small boys! Young eyes,
to be sure, often peep into their nests; but the owners
have been taught not to rob nor molest. Human mothers
and bird mothers are in secret league. Indeed, the softest,
warmest nest is not softer nor warmer than the Dutch
heart has proved itself to the birds.
MYNHEER ON HIS WAY TO BUSINESS,
CHAPTER III
WINTER AND SUMMER
HEN the coldest days of winter come, and
the little songsters—and their greedy cou-
sins, the storks—have flown away in search
of warmer climes, the country still is in a glitter, for its
waters are frozen. Then all Holland puts on its skates,
and gets atop of its beloved water, in which before it has
only dabbled. Everybody, young and old, little and big,
goes skimming and sliding along the canals, over the lakes,
and on the rivers.
The entire country seems one vast skating-rink. No
“need of red balls to tell the people that everything is
ready for the sport. They know that, in their land, a
cold winter means ice,—and good solid ice, too,— some-
times for weeks together. Then come out the skaters ;
and the sleighs; and the happy, sliding-chair folk who
are pushed swiftly over the ice by friends, or by liveried
lackeys, gliding close behind. Then appear,—swiftest,
most dazzling of all,—the ice-boats, perhaps with merry
loads of laughing boys and singing school-children. Lis-
tening to these sweet choruses, as they suddenly burst
2 iv
18 THE LAND OF PLUCK
upon you and then as suddenly die away with the vanish-
ing boat, you feel that not the wind but the joyous music
fills the sails skimming so swiftly over the ice.
As you may well believe, these flying, whizzing ice-
boats always get the right of way, for nobody would
willingly come into collision with them. They seem to
THE ICE-BOATS ARE ouUT!
know that their season is brief, at the best, and they make
speed while the ice shines.
Now, there is a new sensation among the pleasure-seek-
ers. Distant shouts of men are heard, and faint crashing
sounds slowly growing louder. The ~¢sbrekers are out!
These, as you may guess by trying to pronounce the word,
are provided with pikes for clearing a way throuch the ice,
so that barges and other vessels may pass. Sometimes
they are rather small affairs, worked by hand, and some-
times are large and heavy, and drawn by as many as
WINTER AND SUMMER 19
twenty or even thirty horses. There is no little excite-
ment among the boys and girls when a big ice-breaker
comes out for the first time in the season. The great
crashing thing inspires them with wonder and admiration;
yet with all its power it cuts only a narrow pathway for
the boats. The main face of the country belongs to the
skaters.
For miles and miles the glassy ice spreads its mirror
under the blinking and dazzled sun. Everywhere is one
shining network of slippery highway. Who would walk
or ride then? Not one. Doctors skate to their patients;
clergymen to their parishioners; marketwomen to town
with baskets upon their heads. Laborers go skimming by,
with tools on their shoulders; and tradespeople, busily
planning the day’s affairs; fat old burgomasters, too, with
gold-headed canes cautiously flourished to keep them in
balance ; laughing girls with arms entwined ; long files of
young men, shouting as they pass; children with school-
satchels slung over their shoulders,— all whizzing by, this
way and that, until you can see nothing but the flashing
of skates, and a rushing confusion of color.
And while all this is happening in the open air, the
simple indoor life is steadily going on, in the homes, the
shops, the churches, the schools, the workshops, the
picture-galleries.
Ah, the picture-galleries! All Hollanders, from the very
richest and most cultivated to almost the very humblest,
visit and enjoy the rare collections of paintings that en-
noble their principal towns and cities. And what pictures
those old Dutchmen have painted! The Dutchmen of to-
20 THE LAND OF PLUCK
day well may be proud of them. There was Rembrandt
Van Ryn (of the Rhine), perhaps the greatest portrait-
painter this world has ever known; and Franz Hals and
Van der Helst and Van Ostade, and the careful Gerard
Dou, and Mieris and the two Cuyps, father and son, and
Teniers and Adriaen Hanneman, and other great paint-
ers by the score. You must read about them, and some
day see their pictures, if indeed you have not already come
upon them either in your books or on your travels.
But if you visit no other, you surely must plan some
day to go to the Ryks Museum at Amsterdam, and see its
collection of priceless Rembrandts and other treasures of
Dutch art.
If you go to Holland in summer and look at the people,
you will wonder when all the work was done, and who did
it. The country folk move so slowly and serenely, looking
as if to smoke their pipes were quite as much as they
care to do,—they have so little to say, and seem to see
you only because their eyes happen to be open. You feel
sure if by any accident the lids dropped they would not
be lifted again in a hurry. Yet there are the dikes, the’
water-roads, the great ship-canals, the fine old towns, the
magnificent cities, the colleges, the galleries, the charit-
able institutions, the churches. There are the public
parks, the beautiful country-seats, the immense factories,
the herring-packeries, the docks, the shipping-yards, the
railways, and the telegraphs. Surely these Hollanders
must work in their sleep !
But though the men outside of Amsterdam and the
large cities may screen themselves with a mask of dull-
HIMSELF,
F
0
rr
PORTRAI
s
MBRANDTâ€
RE!
WINTER AND SUMMER 23
ness, it is not so with the women. They are as lively
as one could wish, taller in proportion than the men,
with fresh, rosy faces, and hair that matches the sun-
shine. Many of them are elegant and graceful. As for
work,—well, if there could be such a thing as a Dutch
Barnum, he would make
his fortune by exhibiting
a lazy Dutchwoman—if
he could find one! Ah!
how they work!—brush-
ing, mopping, scrubbing,
and polishing. Judging
from some houses that I
have seen in Holland, I do
believe the tiniest Lillipu-
tian that Gulliver ever
saw could not fill his
pockets with dust if he
searched through dozens
of Dutch homes.
Brock, a little village
near beautiful Amster-
dam, that city of ninety
islands, is said to be the
cleanest place in the world.
It used to be quite famous
for its North-Holland pe- cca tna
culiarities—and even to-day it has strong characteristics
of its own. It is inhabited mainly by retired Dutch mer-
chants and their families, who seem determined to enjoy
24 THE LAND OF PLUCK
the world as it appears when scrubbed to a polish. Every
morning the village shines forth as fresh as if it had just
taken a bath. The wooden houses are as bright and gay
as paint can make them. Their shining tiled roofs and
polished facings flash up a defiance to the sun to find a
speck of dust upon them. Certain dooryards, curiously
paved with shells and stones, look like enormous mosaic
brooches pinned to the earth ; the little canals and ditches,
instead of crawling sluggishly as many of their kindred do,
flow with a limpid cleanliness; the streets of fine yellow
brick are carefully sanded. Even the children walk as if
they were trying to make their wooden shoes express a
due respect for sand and pebbles. Horses and wheeled
vehicles of any kind are not allowed within the borders
of the town. The pea-green window-shutters usually are
closed; and the main entrances of cottages never are
opened except on the occasion of a christening
ge, a wedding,
or a funeral, or when the dazzling brass knobs and knock-
ers are to be rendered more dazzling still.
The gardens are as trim and complete as the houses; but
in summer the flower-beds, all laid out in little patches,
are bright with audacious blossoms nodding saucily to the
prim box-border that incloses them. Most of you have
seen the stocky, thick-stemmed box-plant, with its dense
growth of dark, glossy little leaves. Every old-fashioned
country-place in our own Middle States has had its box-
bordered flower-beds, with occasional taller clumps of the
shrub, looking like dumpy little trees. Well, the box-
plants in Broek -grow in a similar way, but they are very
old, and the work of trimming and shaping their hedges
PORTRAIT OF A BOY, BY ADRIAEN HANNEMAN (BORN 1610, DIED 1666).
WINTER AND SUMMER Q7
may have been handed down from father to son for gener-
ations. Nearly every garden in Broek has its zomerhwis
and its pond. Some of these ponds have queer automata
—or self-moving figures—upon them: sometimes a duck
that paddles about and flaps its wooden wings; some-
times a wooden sportsman standing upon the shore, jerkily
taking aim at the duck, but never quite succeeding in
getting his range accurate enough to warrant firing; and
sometimes a dog stands among the shrubbery and snaps
his jaws quite fiercely when he is not too damp to work.
Queer things, too, are seen in the growing box, which is
trimmed so as to fail in resembling peacocks and wolves.
Altogether, Broek is a very remarkable place. The
dairy-ly inclined inhabitants regard their kine as friends
and fellow-lodgers, and so the very cattle there live in
fine style. Pet cows, it is said, sometimes rejoice in
pretty blue ribbons tied to their tails,
they not uncommonly find themselves daintily housed
and in winter
beneath the family roof.
In some Dutch houses the rooms are covered with two
or three carpets, laid one over the other, and others have
no carpets at all, but the floors are polished, or perhaps
made of tiles laid in regular patterns. Sometimes doors
are curtained like the windows, and the beds are nearly
concealed by heavy draperies. Many among the poorer
classes sleep in rough boxes, or on shelves fixed in recesses
against the wall; so that sometimes the best bed in the
cottage looks more like a cupboard than anything else.
Whether having so much water about suggested the
idea or not, T cannot say, but certain it is that big blocks
28 THE LAND OF PLUCK
of imported cork are quite in fashion for footstools. They
stand one on each side of the great open fireplace, as
though the household intended to have at least a couple
of life-preservers on hand, in case of a general flood. The
large earthen cup, or fire-pot, that you may see standing
near, filled with burning peat, and casting a bright glow
over the Dutch sentence inscribed on the tiles arching the
fireplace, is very: useful for warming the room on chilly
days, when it is not quite cold enough for a fire. For that
matter, it is a general custom in Holland to use little tin
fire-boxes (with a handle, and with holes in the top lid)
for warming the feet. Our Dutch ancestors brought some
of them over to America long ago, and many grown-up
New-Yorkers can remember seeing similar ones in use.
In Holland every lady has her voet stoof, or foot-stove.
Churches are provided with a large number; and on Sun-
day, boys and sometimes old women, bearing high piles of
them, move softly about, distributing them among the
congregation.
A DUTCH FOOT-STOVE,
CHAPTER IV
STREETS AND BYWAYS
NLY an hours ride on the railroad
\. from Broek to Amsterdam—and yet
M\ how.different are the two! Here,
as in the other large Dutch cities,
you see a brisk business look on
the men’s faces. They are slighter
in build than the rustic folk; and,
a not having such broad backs and short
legs, not wearing leather breeches and wide jackets and
big waist-buckles as the countrymen do, they quite make
you forget that they are Dutch. In fact they look like
New-Yorkers. Nowadays, the fashions and the stiff mas-
culine costume of Paris and London tend to make nearly
all city folk of the Christian world look alike.
Still, often in Dutch cities you see something distinctive
in costume,—huge coal-scuttle bonnets on the women;
and wooden shoes, that clatter-clatter at every step.
Some of the women and girls have their hair cropped short
and wear close-fitting caps; and these caps and head-
29
30 THE LAND OF PLUCK
dresses are seen in great variety. Some have plain gold
bands over the forehead, others have gold or silver plates
at the back, and some have deep folds of rich lace hanging
from them. The writer once saw two young women walk-
ing together in Rotterdam, one of whom wore a fashion-
able French bonnet, and the other a queer head-gear with
>
rosettes and golden “ blinders†projecting on each side of
her forehead. Little girls often are very charming with
their sweet, bright faces, their clean, trig, simple attire, and
their queer white caps decked with a gold band over the
forehead and small gold twirls dangling at each side. The
little visitor in the picture on page 31 is one of these, and
you see how carefully she has slipped off her wooden shoes
so as not to soil her hostess’s spotless floors. Then there
are the boys, cheerful, clean, and sturdy; some dressed in
modern-looking hats and suits; but others wearing such
short jackets and loose knee-breeches, you would declare
they had borrowed the former from their little brothers
and the latter from their erandfathers.
Now and then, in our own country, we hear vague ru-
mors of a person having been born with a silver spoon in
his mouth. As a rule, we scorn to credit such stories, but
if we were told that all Dutchmen were born with pipes in
their mouths, we probably should not consider it worth
while to doubt. In making an inventory of a Dutch rus-
tic’s face, you would need to mention two eyes, two ears,
one nose, one mouth, and one pipe. To be sure, there
might be but one eye, or one ear, or no nose; but there
certainly would be a pipe. The pipe-rack on the wall, and
a large box of tobacco attached beneath, so that any guest
A LITTLE VISITOR,
STREETS AND BYIVAYS 33
or stranger may help himself, may frequently be seen in
Dutch farm-houses. The men, and too often the boys,
smoke, smoke, smoke, as if some malicious fairy had given
them a perpetual season-
ticket for enjoying the priv-
ilege. Perhaps that is why
they seem sosleepy ; and yet,
with what a sudden glow
both pipe and Dutcliman
can brighten at a whiff!
Instead of seeming to
shrivel up, inside and out,
as constant smokers in
other lands are apt to do,
A MAIDEN FROM MONNIKENDAM.
a Dutchman grows sleeker
and fatter behind his pipe; as if the same fairy who gave
him the season-ticket had perched herself invisibly on the
bowl and was continually blowing him out like a rubber
balloon.
All things are reversed in Holland. The main entrance
to the finest public building in the country, The Palace,
or late town-hall, of Amsterdam, is its back door. Bash-
ful maidens hire beaus to escort them to the Kermis, or
fair, on festival-days. Timid citizens are scared in the
dead of the night by their own watchmen, who at every
quarter of the hour make such a noise with their wooden
clappers, one would suppose the town to be on fire. You
1A noble town-hall it is, too ; but the building, to be safe and dry, has
Do
to stand on more ‘than thirteen thousand piles driven deep into the
spongy soil.
2
3
THE
PALACE, OR TOWN-HALL,
AT AMSTERDAM.
STREETS AND BYWAYS 35
«
will see sleds used in summer there. They go bumping
over the bare cobblestones, while the driver holds a drip-
ping oil-rag in advance of the runners to lessen the fric-
tion. You will see streets of water; and the country
roads paved as carefully as Broadway. You will see
vessels hitched, like horses, to their owners’ door-posts ;
and whole rows of square-peaked houses with overlapping
stories and roofs seeming to lean over the street, just
as if they were getting ready to tumble. Instead of sol-
emn, striking clocks, you will hear church chimes playing
snatches of operatic airs. every quarter of an hour, by
way of marking the time.
You will see looking-glasses hanging outside of the
dwellings; and, occasionally, mysterious pincushions dis-
played on the street-doors. The first are called spionnen
(or spionnetjen), and are so arranged outside of the win-
dows, that persons sitting inside can, without being seen,
enjoy a reflection of all that is going on in the street.
They can learn, too, what visitor may: be coming, and
watch him rubbing his soles to a polish before entering.
The pincushion means that a new baby has appeared in
the household. If white or blue, the new-comer is a girl;
if red, it is a little Dutchman. Some of these signals
are very showy affairs; some are not cushions at all, but
merely shingles trimmed with ribbon or lace; and, among
the poorest class, it is not uncommon to see merely a
white or red string tied to the door-latch—fit token of
the meager life the poor little stranger is destined to lead.
Sometimes, instead of either pincushion or shingle,
you will see a large placard hung outside of the front
36 THE LAND OF PLUCK
SOME ONE AT THE WINDOW IS WATCHING!
door. Then you may know that somebody in the house
is ill, and his or her present condition is described on
the placard for the benefit of inquiring friends; and
sometimes, when such a placard has been taken down,
you may meet a grim-looking man on the street, dressed
in black tights, a short cloak, and a high hat, from which
a long black streamer is flying. This is the Aanspreker,
going from house to house to tell certain persons that
their friend is dead. He attends to funerals, and bears
invitations to all friends whose presence may be desired.
A strange weird-looking figure he is; and he wears a
peculiar, professional cast of countenance that is any-
thing but refreshing.
Ah! here is something more cheerful! For now a
little cart rattles past, drawn by a span of orderly dogs,
ROTTERDAM.
A_ STREET IN
38 THE LAND OF PL UCK
and filled with shining
brass kettles that were
brimming with milk when
it started on its round.
How nimbly the little ani-
mals trot over the stones !
How promptly they heed
the voice of their young
master stalking leisurely
along the sidew— no,
not on the — sidewalk,
but on the narrow foot-
path of yellow brick that
stretches along near the
houses! Excepting this,
the cobble pavement, if
Tee ar ecu: there be no canal, reaches
entirely across the street from door to door. Occasionally
one may see dogs dragging tiny fish-carts. They jog
oo
READY FOR CUSTOMERS.
STREETS AND BYWAYS 39
along in such practised style, we may be sure they were
taught at the dog-school in Amsterdam. But oftener, in
Holland, the small milk-cart or water-cart is drawn by
a robust boy, or a pretty rosy-cheeked girl with eyes
brighter than the shining brass water-jar she may
CARRYING MILK AND CHEESE TO MARKET.
carry. Those canal-boats around the corner, wending
their way among the houses, are loaded with peat for
the people to burn; coal is a luxury used only by the
rich. That barge by the market-place, drawn up to
the street’s edge (for many of the principal thoroughfares
40 THE LAND OF PLUCK
A WATER-BARGE.
are half water and half street), is laden with— what do
you think?) What should you suppose these people would,
least of all, need to buy? You see these canals, following
and crossing the streets in every direction; you see the
mastheads and sails rising everywhere, in among the
trees and steeples, showing that river or sea always is
close at hand; you know that all Holland is a kind of
wet sponge; and the guide-books will tell you that every
house is built wpon long wooden piles driven deep into the
marsh, or it could not stand there at all. Now, what do
you think these barges contain? What but water !—
water for the people to drink. It is brought for the
purpose from Utrecht, or the river Vecht, or from some
favored inland spot. All along the coast, just where Hol-
land is wettest, our poor Dutchmen must go without any
drinking-water, for there is none fit to swallow, unless
they buy from the barges, or catch the rain almost as
soon as it falls.
NEAR SUPPER-TIME,
“See <
SA Wesss
ON THE BEACH AT SCHEVENINGEN.
CHAPTER V
DUTCIL ODDITIES
Now, is not Holland a funny land? Where else do the
people pray for fish and never pray for rain? Where
else do they build enormous factories for the cutting and
polishing of such little things as diamonds? Where
else do peasant women wear solid gold and costly old
lace on their heads? Where else do persons carry foot-
stoves about in their hands? Where else do crowds
of folk sit on the sea-shore as at Scheveningen, every one
in a great high hut-like wicker chair with a window on
each side? In what other country are over eighteen hun-
43
44 THE LAND OF PLUCK
dred varieties of tulips cultivated ?— tulips ranging from
the palest tints to the most brilliant hues and gorgeous
combinations of colors. Where else do funny wooden
heads or gapers at the apothecaries’ windows “make
faces†for all who have to take physic? Where else is
fire —in the form of red-hot peat—sold in summer by
the pailful ?
Is not water often as fertile as land, in Holland?
Cannot the frogs there look down upon chimney-swal-
lows? Did not the learned Erasmus, who knew how
the piles were driven in, say that their city people lived
like crows, on the tops of trees? And does not every-
body know that “Dutch pink†is as yellow as gold?
In what other land do men cut down willow-trees to
make shoes of ? and where else are shoes not only worn
on the feet but made to serve on occasion as improvised
flower-pots, hammers, toy boats, boxes and baskets, and
Christmas stockings ?
These wooden shoes, or Alompen,— well named from the
noise they make upon hard roads and cobbled streets,—
are of all degrees, from the huge affairs worn by heavy
working-men to the dainty bits of clumsiness in which lit-
tle children trudge about. The well-to-do peasant of Hol-
land, on winter evenings, loves to carve pretty patterns
upon these small klompen for the delight of his darling
Jantje and Kassy. Dainty or not, the shoes must be
slipped off by their wearer upon entering any tidy cottage.
A row of klompen standing outside some prim doorway is
ho uncommon sight; and if, in addition, a pretty juffrouw!
1Pronounced yuffrow.
46 THE LAND OF PLUCK
DRYING SHOES BEFORE THE FIRE.
or maiden on the threshold peers expectantly up the
street, one may well suspect that still another guest will
soon arrive, and add his klompen to the row.
French shoe-polish is not for klompen. What they like
is plenty of soap and water and a good scraping and serub-
bing, inside and out, on Saturday, and a thorough drying
by the fire or a bleaching in the sunshine. All Dutch
folk love to be spick and span for Sunday. So, if ever you
visit Holland and see a klompen-bush in full bloom, you
DUTCH ODDITIES 47
will know that it is only the family shoes hung out to dry
after their Saturday “shine,†—and, of course, a Dutch
?
“shine†must be snowy white!
Even in their formal courtesies, the Dutch have queer
ways of their own. For instance, it is said that in certain
towns when, in walking along
the street, they come upon the
home of a friend, or a house at
which they have been socially
entertained, they bow in passing
it— yes, bow tothe house, bow to
the windows, evenif not a person
can be seen there. And a very
pretty custom it is, for it shows
good feeling and kindly remem-
brance of hospitality enjoyed.
We are told, too, that at Kit-
wyk, during the morning hours
— indeed, from the first break-
fast of early morning to the
second breakfast — a noon serv-
ing of biscuitand hoffs (coffee)
ladies and maids do not make
any attempt at fine dressing. :
And, strange to say, if in this A KLOMPEN-BUSH IN BLOOM.
magic space of time, they choose to go out of doors, either
about their own homes, or to the market-place, or ‘to the
great town-pump, they are supposed to be invisible! In
other words, one must not recognize them nor even ap-
pear to see them, so long as they are in their clogs, crimps,
48 THE LAND OF PLUCK
nightcaps, and jackets, or wrappers,—which, it seems,
constitute the forenoon undress uniform of many a
Dutch lady who may shine resplendent later in the day.
And now comes the greatest oddity of all—the Tulip
Craze, or Tulipomania, as it is called, which raged over
Holland early
in the seven-
teenthcentury.
Have you not
read of it ?—
how the cul-
tivating and
owning of tu-
lips seemed for
a while to be
the only thing
men cared for ?
The first speci-
men seen in
Holland came
from Constan-
tinoplein1599.
Therarebeauty
of the flower—
called tulip on
THE TOWN PUMP AT KITWYK.
account of its
resemblance to a turban (tulipa)—at once attracted great
attention. Rich Hollanders sent to Constantinople direct
for the bulbs. They vied with one another in ol staining the
most beautiful varieties, and in having the finest tulip-
DUTCH ODDITIES 49
beds. At last this taste, growing to a fancy, then to
an ambition, became a mania. The same thing would
now be called “tulip on the brain.†Everybody had
°
“Ho! HO! I THOUGHT HER LITTLE TULIP-BULB WAS AN ONION,
AND 1 SWALLOWED IT!â€
it—old, young, rich, and poor. One rich man at Haarlem
gave half of his fortune for a single root. By the year
1635, persons were known to invest 100,000 florins? for
thirty or forty roots. A tulip of the species Admiral Lief-
ken sold for 4400 florins. The Semper Augustus easily
brought 2000 florins. And one superb specimen of the
Semper Augustus actually sold for 13,000 florins,— or
5200 dollars. At one time there were but two roots of
this variety in Holland; one belonged to a gentleman
of Haarlem, the other to a trader in Amstetdam. Both
of these were eagerly sought for by infatuated tulip-men.
1A Dutch florin is equal to about forty cents in United States currency.
4
50 THE LAND OF PLUCK
The owner of the first refused an offer for it of the fee simple
of twelve acres of building lots. The second, that of Am-
sterdam, was finally sold for 4600 florins (1840 dollars), a
new carriage, two gray horses, and a complete suit of har-
ness! This statement is well attested, and is printed in the
records of the day.
One Munsing, who wrote a large volume on the tulipo-
mania, gives this list of articles which were delivered for
a single root of the variety called The Viceroy:
“Two lasts [loads] of wheat; four lasts of rye; four fat
oxen; eight fat swine; twelve fat sheep; two hogsheads of
wine; four tuns of beer; one thousand pounds of cheese ;
a suit of clothes; a silver cup; a bed, complete, and two
tuns of butter— the whole valued at twenty-five hundred
florins [or one thousand dollars].†And all for one root!
Still the mania grew. Men parted not only with their
money, but with their lands, household goods, apparel,
watches —anything, for the purchase of tulips.
DUTCIE ODDITIES 51
People of all grades, from the rich burgomaster to the
chimney-sweep, speculated in the flower. Ladies bought
bulbs in the hope of making large profits upon them. The
rise and fall in tulip stocks were the excitement of the
day. At last, the government, becoming alarmed for the
state of society, checked the traffic, and so burst the bubble.
Then things were worse than ever. Disappointed and en-
raged speculators went to law; but the law turned its back
upon them. It was decided that debts contracted under
tulip-speculation were not leeal. Then there was trouble!
3ut time, the great consoler quieted matters before very
A TULIP FANTASY.
long, and Holland settled down to its tobacco and meer-
schaum again. There had also been great tulip excitements
in England and Paris, but these, too, died out in time.
To this day, however, the Hollanders are fond of their
52 THE LAND OF PLUUK
turban-flower, as well they may be. A great tulip-bed,
with its stately rows of gay flowers in their setting of soft,
waving green, is a beautiful sight. But, to enjoy it to the
utmost, one must love the flowers with true Dutch fond-
ness and pride. Not only this, but he must dwell upon
the special traits and charms of each specimen, as though
it were a personal friend.
Verily, as I said at first, Holland is the queerest
country that ever the sun shone upon! But the queerest
thing of all is, when you really know much about it
you feel more like crying than laughing; for this land
that lies so loosely wpon the sea has many a time been
forced to be as a rock against a legion of foes. Its stanch-
hearted people have suffered as never nation suffered be-
fore. Dutch country-folk look sleepy, I know, and have
some very odd ways; but —Motley’s history of the Rise
of the Dutch Republic is not a funny book.
There is no more heartrending, terrible story in all his-
tory than that of the siege of Haarlem by the Spaniards in
the sixteenth century. It cannot be told here; but one
of its opening incidents shows the Spanish forces, unused
to ice, tramping and tumbling toward Haarlem upon the
frozen, slippery sea. Their object was to capture the
Dutch ships that lay near the city, tightly held in by the
ice. Suddenly they were overpowered. How? By a body
of armed men on skates, who, springing from ice-trenches,
flew swiftly upon the astonished Spaniards, shooting
them down by hundreds. It was a day of victory for the
Dutch patriots. But what months of terrible suffering, of
almost superhuman endurance, came to them afterward!
GHARGE OF THE DUTCH SOLDIERS ON SKATES.
DUTCH ODDITIES 55
The ocean, too, could tell tales of Dutch sea-fights and
Dutch ships bound on great enterprises; though it has
a funny story of the brave admiral Van Tromp, which
you may already have heard. He was born a little Dutch-
man, two hundred and ninety-seven years ago,—just two
summers before the first tulip bowed upon Dutch soil.
His father, who was an admiral, in due time took his lit-
tle boy to sea. One day in a naval fight with the British,
the father was killed, and little Marten Harpertzoon Van
Tromp was taken prisoner. He was made to work as
cabin-boy for many a weary month, but he did not des-
par. He was a Dutch boy.
In two years he was free again. Soon better fortunes
came to him. In early manhood he entered the Dutch
navy, and finally became Admiral of Holland, sometimes
fighting against the Spaniards, sometimes beaten on the
high seas, but oftener victorious. In fact, in the course of
his career, he was winner of more than thirty battles.
He had many a fierce sea-fight with Admiral Blake of
England, and, though conquered by this enemy at last,
he had the satisfaction of one victory over Blake so bril-
lant and thorough that he celebrated the event by sail-
ing the British Channel with a broom fastened to his
masthead. This was his way of proclaiming that he had
swept his enemy from the seas.
CHAPTER VI
THE BATAVIANS AND THEIR GOOD MEADOW
ND now let us see how Holland, from its
earliest history, has proved itself to be truly
a Land of Pluck:
\ Y In the old, old time, when many who now
are called the heroes of antiquity were cutting their
baby-teeth, men began to quarrel for the possession of the
country which is now known as Holland; and in one form
or another, the contest has been going on nearly ever since.
Why any should have coveted it, is a mystery to me. It
was then only a low tract. of spongy marsh, a network of
queer rivers that seemed never to know where they be-
longed, but insisted every spring upon paying unwelcome
visits to the inland—hiding here, running into each other
there, and falling asleep in pleasant places. It was a great
land-and-water kaleidoscope, girt about with a rim of
gloomy forest; or a sort of dissected puzzle, with half of
the pieces in soak; and its owners were a scanty, savage,
57
58 THE LAND OF PLUCK
fish-eating tribe, living like beavers on mounds of their
own raising.
What could have tempted outsiders to disturb them ?
What, indeed, unless it were the same feeling that often
makes a small boy holding either a kaleidoscope, or a puzzle,
an object of persecution to all the big boys around him.
“Let me take a look!†they ery; “I want my turn†;
or, “Give me the puzzle! Let ’s see what I can make out
of it!â€
You know how it is too apt to be. First, their attention
is arrested by seeing the small boy peculiarly happy and
absorbed. They begin to nudge, then to bully him. Small
Boy shakes his head and tries to enjoy himself in peace
and quietness. Bullying increases—the nudges become
dangerous. In despair he soon gives in, or, rather, gives
up, and the big boys slide into easy possession.
But suppose the small boy is plucky, and will not give
up? Suppose he would see the puzzle crushed to atoms
first? Suppose only positive big-boy power can overcome
his as positive resistance? What then ?
So began the history of Holland.
The first who held possession of Dutch soil—not the
first who ever had lived upon it, but the first who had per-
sistently enjoyed the kaleidoscope, and busied themselves
with the puzzle—were a branch of the great German race.
Driven by circumstances from their old home, they had
settled upon an empty island in the river Rhine, which,
you know, after leaving its pleasant southern country,
strageles through Holland in a bewildered search for the
sea. This island they called Betauw, or “Good Meadow,â€
THE BATAVIANS AND THEIR GOOD MLADOW 59
and so, in time, themselves came to be called Batavii, or
Batavians.
Other portions of the country were held by various
tribes living upon and beyond a great tract of land which
afterward, in true Holland style, was turned into a sea,
called the Zuyder Zee. Most of these tribes were sturdy
and brave, but the Batavii were braver than any. Fierce,
stanch and defiant, they taught even their little children
only the law of might; and their children grew up to be
mightier than they. The blessed Teacher had not yet
brought the world his lesson of mercy and love. “Con-
quer one another†had stronger claims to their considera-
tion. than “ Love one another.â€
Their votes in council were given by the clashing of
arms; and often their wives and mothers stood by with
shouts and cries of encouragement wherever the fight was
thickest. “Others go to battle,†said the historian Taci-
tus; “these go to war.â€
Soon the all-conquering Romans, who, with Julius
Cesar at their head, had trampled surrounding nations
into subjection, discovered that the sturdy Batavil were
not to be vanquished—that their friendship was worth
far more than the spongy country they inhabited. An al-
liance was formed, and the Batavii were declared to be ex-
empt from the annual tax or tribute which all others were
forced to pay to the Romans. Czsar himself was not
ashamed to extol their skill in arms, nor to send their
1The Zuyder Zee was formed by successive inundations during the thir-
teenth century. In the last of these inundations—in 1287 —nearly
cighty thousand persons were drowned.
60 THE LAND OF PLUUK
already famous warriors to fight his battles and strike
terror to the hearts of his foes.
The Batavian cavalry could swim across wide and deep
rivers without breaking their ranks, and their infantry
were excelled by none in drill, in archery, and in wonderful
powers cf endurance. They had fought too long with the
elements in holding their “Good Meadow†to be dismayed
in battle by any amount of danger and fatigue.
The Romans called them “ friends,†but the Batavians
soon discovered that they were being used merely as a
cat’s-paw. After a while, as cat’s-paws will, they turned
and scratched. A contest, stubborn and tedious, between
the Romans and Batavians followed. At length both par-
ties were glad to make terms of peace, which prevailed,
with few interruptions, until the decline of the Roman
Empire.
After that, hordes of barbarians overran Europe; and
Holland, with the rest, had a hard time of it. Man to
man, the Batavian could hold his own against any mortal
foe, but he could not always be proof against numbers.
The “Good Meadow,†grown larger and more valuable,
was conquered and held by several of the “big-boy †sav-
age tribes, in turn, but not until Batavian pluck stood
recorded in many a fearful tale passed from generation
to generation.
Later, each of the surrounding nations, as it grew more
powerful, tried to wrest Holland from the holders of her
soil, Some succeeded for a time, some failed ; but always,
and every time, the Dutch gathered their strength for
the contest and went not to battle, but to war. As, in later
BATAVIANS IN COUNCIL.—‘‘ DEATH TO THE INVADER!â€
THE BATAVIANS AND THEIR GOOD MEADOW 63
history, the Russians burned Moscow to prevent it from
falling into the hands of Napoleon, so this stanch people
always stood ready, at the worst, to drown Holland rather
than yield her to the foe. Often they let in the waters
they had laboriously shut out, laying waste hundreds of
fertile acres, that an avenging sea might suddenly con-
found the invaders. Often they faced famine and pesti-
lence,— men, women, and little wonder-stricken children
all
who had breath to say it, still fiercely refusing to surrender.
perishing in the streets of their beleaguered cities
Wherever the strong arm of the enemy succeeded in mow-
ing these people down, a stronger, sturdier growth was sure
to spring from the stubble. Sometimes defeated, never
subdued, they were patient under subjection only until
they were again ready to rise as one man and throw off the
yoke. Now and then, it is true, under promise of peace
and increased prosperity, they formed a friendly union
with a one-time enemy. But woe to the other side if it
carried ageression and a trust in might too far. Treach-
ery, oppression, breach of faith were sure, sooner or later,
to arouse Dutch pluck; and Dutch pluck, in the end, has
always beaten.
CHAPTER VII
THE DUTCH HAVE TAKEN MNOLLAND
AND so, though Roman, Saxon,
Austrian, Spaniard, Belgian, Eng-
lishman, and Frenchman in turn
flourished a scepter over them, it
comes, after all, to be true, that only
“the Dutch have taken Holland.â€
It is theirs by every right of in-
heritance and strife—theirs to hold,
to drain, and to pump, for ever and
ever. They wrested it from the sea,
not in a day, but through long years
of patient toil, through dreary years
of suffering and sorrow. They have counted their dead, in
their war with the ocean alone, by hundreds of thousands.
Industry, hardihood, and thrift have been better allies to
them than were Ciesar’s Roman legions to the old Batavian
forefathers.
For ages, it seems, Holland could not have known a
leisure moment. Frugal, hardy, painstaking, and perse-
vering, her spirit was ever equal to great enterprises.
With her every difficulty was a challenge. Obstacles
G4
THE DUTCH HAVE TAKEN HOLLAND 65
that would have discouraged others, inspired the Dutch
with increased energy. Their land was only a marsh
threatened by the sea. What of that? So much the
more need of labor and skill to make it a hailing-place
among nations. It was barren and bleak. “Why, then,â€
said they, “so much the more need for us to become
masters in tilling the soil†It was a very little place,
scarcely worth a name on the maps. “So much the more
need,†said plucky Holland, “that we extend our posses-
sions, gain lands in every corner of the earth, and send
our ships far and near, until every nation shall uncon-
sciously pay us tribute.â€
“Such is the industry of the people and the trade
they drive,†said a writer of the sixteenth century, “that,
having little or no corn of their own growth, they do
provide themselves elsewhere, not only sufficient for their
own spending, but wherewith to supply their neighbors.
Having no timber of their own, they spend more timber
in building ships and fencing their water-courses than
any country in the world... . And finally, having
neither flax nor wool, they make more cloth of both sorts
than is made in all the countries of the world, except
France and England.â€
Of some things they soon began to have a surplus.
There were not half nor a quarter enough persons in frugal
Holland to drink all the milk of their herds. Forthwith
Dutch butter and cheese came to be sent all over Chris-
tendom. The herring-fisheries were enormous. More fish
came to their nets than would satisfy every man, woman,
and child in Holland. England had enough herring of,
5
‘A FINE CATCH OF HERRING!â€
THE DUTCH HAVE TAKEN HOLLAND 67
her own. Ships were far too slow in those steamless
days to make fresh fish a desirable article of export. Here
was trouble! Notso. Up rose a Dutchman named William
Beukles, to invent the curing and pickling of herring.
The fish trade made Holland richer, more prosperous than
ever. In time, a monument was raised to the memory
of Beukles, for was he not a national benefactor ?
The Dutch delight in honoring their heroes, their states-
men, and inventors. You cannot be long among them
without hearing of one Laurens Janzoon Koster, to whom,
they insist, the world owes the art of printing with mov-
able types
the most important of human inventions.
Their cities are rich in memorials and monuments of
those whose wisdom and skill have proved a boon to
mankind. All along the paths of human progress we
can find Dutch footprints. In education, science, and
political economy, they have, many a time, led the way.
The boys and girls of Holland are citizens in a high
sense of the word. They soon learn to love their country,
and to recognize the fatherly care of its government. The
sense of common danger, and the necessity of all acting
together in common defense, has served to knit the affec-
tions of the people. In truth it may be said, for history
has proved it, that in every Dutch arm you can feel the
pulse of Holland. Throughout her early struggles, in the
palmy, glorious days of the republic, as well as now in
her cautious constitutional monarchy, the Dutch have
been patriots — mistaken and short-sighted at times, even
goaded to cruel deeds by the brutal wickedness of their
enemies, but always true to their beloved “Good Meadow.â€
68 THE LAND OF PLUCK
Hollow-land, Low-land, or Netherland, whatever men may
call it, their country stands high in their hearts. They
love it with more than the love of a mountaineer for his
native hills.
To be sure there have been riots and outbreaks there, as
in all other thickly settled parts of the world—perhaps
more than elsewhere, for Dutch indignation, though slow
in kindling, makes a prodigious blaze when once fairly
afire. Some of these disturbances have arisen only after
a long endurance of serious wrongs; and some seem to
have been started at once by that queer friction-match in
human nature, which, if left unguarded, is sure to be
nibbled at, and so ignited, by the first little mouse of
discontent that finds it.
There was a curious origin to one of these domestic
quarrels. On a certain occasion a banquet was given,
at which were present two noted Dutch noblemen, rivals
in power, who had several old grudges to settle. The
conversation turning on the codfishery, one of the two
remarked upon the manner in which the hook (hoek)
took the codfish, or kabbeljanuw, as the Dutch call it.
“The hook take the codfish!†exclaimed the other in no
very civil tone; “it would be better sense to say that the
codfish takes the hook.â€
The grim jest was taken up in bitter earnest. High
words passed, and the chieftains rose from the table en-
emies for life.
They proceeded to organize war against each other ;
a bitter war it proved to Holland, for it lasted one
hundred and fifty years, and was fought out with all
4G
‘“THE GRIM JEST WAS TAKEN UP IN BITTER EARNEST.â€
THE ORIGIN OF THE CODFISH WAR.
THE DUTCH HAVE TAKEN HOLLAND val
the stubbornness of family feuds. The opposing parties
took the names of “hoeks†and “ kabbeljaauws,†and men
of all classes enlisted in their respective ranks. In many
instances fathers, brothers, sons, and old-time friends forgot
their ties, and knew each other only as foes. The feud
(being Dutch!) raged hotter and stronger in proportion
as men had time coolly to consider the question. A
thicket of mutual wrongs, real or imaginary, sprang up
to further entangle the opposing parties; families were
divided, miles of smiling country laid in ruin, and tens
of thousands of men slain — for what ?
Those who fought, and those who looked on, longing for
peace, are alike silent now. Historical records do not
quite clear up the mystery. We know how hard it must
have been to settle the knotty question whether hooks or
codfish can more properly be said to be “ taken,†and how
dangerous the smallest thorns of anger and jealousy be-
come if not plucked out promptly. It is certain, too, that
the hoeks and kabbeljaauws were terribly in earnest,
though what they killed each other for we “cannot well
make out.â€
The kabbeljaauws had one advantage. When a public
dinner was given by their party, the first dish brought in
by the seneschal (or steward) was a huge plate of codfish
elaborately decorated with flowers; something not orna-
mental only, but substantial and satisfactory ; while the
corresponding dish at a hoek festival contained nothing
but a gigantic hook encircled by a flowery wreath.
All through Dutch history you will find quaint words
and phrases that have a terrible record folded within their
"9 THE LAND OF PLUCK
quaintness. The Casenbrotspel, or Bread and Cheese war,
was not funny when it came to blight the last ten years of
the fifteenth century, though its name sounds trivial now.
And the Gueux, or “ Beggars,†who, nearly a century later,
come forth on the bloodstained page, were something
more than beggars, as King Philip and the wicked Duke
of Alva found to their cost.
Ah, those Gueux! Watch for them when you read
Dutch history. They will soon appear, with their wallets
and wooden bowls, their doublets of ashen gray,
brave,
reckless, desperate men, whose deeds struck terror over
land and sea. When once they come in sight, turn as you
may, you will meet them; you will hear their wild cry,
“Long live the Beggars!†ringing amid the blaze and
carnage of many a terrible day. There are princes and
nobles among them. They will grow bolder and fiercer,
more reckless and desperate, until their country’s perse-
cutor, Philip of Spain, has withdrawn the last man of all
his butchering hosts from their soil; until the Duke of
Alva, one of the blackest characters in all history, has
cowered before the wrath of Holland!
Ah! iy light-hearted boys and girls, if there were not
lessons to be learned from these things, it would be well
to blot them from human memory. But would it be well
to forget the heroism, the majestic patience, the trust in
God, that shine forth resplendent from these darkest pages
of Dutch history? Can we afford to lose such examples
of human grandeur under suffering as come to us from the
beleaguered cities of Naarden, Haarlem, and Leyden ?
When you learn their stories, if you do not know them
THE GUEUX, OR BEGGARS.
THE DUTCH HAVE TAKEN HOLLAND 15
already, you will understand Dutch pluck in all its full-
ness, and be glad that, in the end, it proved victorious
over every foe.
But, as you have been told before, it is not only amid
the din of war that Holland has shown her pluck; nor is
hers the bragging, boisterous quality that offends at every
turn. A simpler, firmer, more peacefully inclined people
it would be hard to find; but somehow they have an odd
way of being actively concerned in the history of other
nations. Possibly this is due to the fact that their pecu-
liar simplicity and love of quiet have proved a sort of
standing invitation to those who would make war with
them; possibly it is because of their great commercial
enterprise, and their tempting stores; but, to my mind,
their remarkably far-seeing, though seemingly sleepy, way
of looking at things, has had much to do with their
progress. They-seem never to threaten, yet always to
perform; never to prepare, but always to be ready.
THE COFFEE-HOUSE.~â€
CHAPTER VIII
THE DUTCH AT HOME AND ABROAD
=4| HE story of Dutch patriotism could be written
{| out in symbols, or pictures, more eloquently
than that of any other nation. There would
be shields, arrows and spears, and battleships
and fortresses, and all the paraphernalia of
war, ancient and modern. But beside these, and having
a sterner significance, would be the tools and implements
of artisans ; the windmills, the dikes, the canals ; the sluice-
gates, the locks; the piles that hold up their cities. How
much could be told by the great, white-sailed merchantmen
bound for every sea; by the mammoth docks, and by the
wonderful cargoes coming and going! How the great
buildings would loom up, each telling its-story— the fac-
tories, warehouses, schools, colleges, museums, legislative
halls, the hospitals, asylums, and churches !
76
THE DUTCH AT HOME AND ABROAD 7
There would be more than these: there would be libra-
ries, art-galleries, and holy places battered and broken.
There would be monuments and relics, and church organs
—chief among them that of the Haarlem Cathedral, to
THE HAARLEM CATHEDRAL.
this day ranking among the grandest in the world. There
would be boats manned by rough heroes trying to save
thousands of drowning fellow-creatures whose homes had
been swept away by the waves. We should see some of
the most beautiful public parks of their time; gardens, too,
78 THE LAND OF PLUCK
wonderful in their blooming ; and, over all, the bells — the
faithful carillons that for ages have sent down messages,
more or less musical, upon the people.
Dvrcu pluck has accomplished, and will yet accomplish,
wonders. Even now, while the waves of the great Zuyder
Zee are beating against its dikes, Holland is deciding
whether a vast portion of this sea shall be changed back
to what it was in the thirteenth century
dry land!
A tremendous piece of work, indeed ; but it will be done if
the Dutchmen say so. Here is the small bit of very big
news as it came to the “London Times†from the capital
of Holland, in this year of grace, 1894:
“The Hague, May 5—The Royal Commission, presided
over by M. Lely, Minister of the Waterstaat, which has
long been studying the scheme for the draining and reclaim-
ing of the Zuyder Zee, has concluded its labors. Twenty-
one members out of the twenty-six composing the Com-
mission recommend that the projected work be carried out
by the State. ;
“Tt is proposed to reclaim from the sea about 450,000
acres, the value of which is estimated at 326,000,000 guil-
ders1 The cost of this important work is computed at
189,000,000 euilders, or with the accumulated expenditure,
including measures of defense and the payment of com-
pensation to the fishermen of the Zee, at 315,000,000 euil-
ders. The draining is to be carried out by means of a sea
dike from northern Holland into Friesland.â€
; 1 $130, 400,000, as the guilder —like the silver florin — is equal to
forty cents of United States money.
THE DUTCH AT HOME AND ABROAD 79
Dutch pluck has sailed all over the world. It has put
its stamp on commerce, science, and manufactures. It has
set its seal on every quarter of the earth. Dutchmen were
at home in Japan before either the Americans or English
had dared to intrude upon those inhospitable shores.
There were great obstacles to encounter in any attempt at
trading or becoming acquainted with that strange hermit
of an empire in the east. She had enough of her own, she
said, and asked no favors of the outside barbarians.
Would they be kind enough to stay away? Most of the
world gave an unwilling assent ; but Holland undertook to
show Japan the folly of rejecting the benefits of commerce ;
and in time, and after many a hard struggle, succeeded in
establishing a Japanese trade.
Talking of ships, whence did the ship sail that brought
the good Fathers of New England safely across the sea ?
And, for months before, what country had sheltered them
from the persecution that threatened them in their native
land? Ask the books these questions, if need be, and ask
yourselves whether to shelter the oppressed, to offer an
asylum to innocent but hunted fugitives from every clime,
is not a noble work for pluck to do.
Whence, too, did some of our New York oddities come ?
Why are you, little New Yorkers, so fond of watftles, crul-
lers, doughnuts, and New Year’s cake? Dutch inventions
every one of them. Why do you expectantly honor the
good St. Nicholas, the patron saint of New York? Why
is this city turned topsyturvy in a general “ movingâ€
whenever the first of May comes round? Why, until very
recently, did your fathers and uncles on the first day of
80 THE LAND OF PLUCK
January, from morning till night, pay visits from house to
house, wishing the ladies a “Happy New Year� Simply
because these were Holland customs. The Americans of
the day only were following the example long ago set them
by the Dutch.
Hendrik Hudson, the first white man who explored
our noble North River, was an adopted Dutchman. He
modestly called it De Groote (or the Great) River, little
thinking that for all time after it would be known as the
Hudson. Staten (or States) Island was so named by him
in honor of his home government, the States-General.
At that time he was in the service of the Dutch East
India Company. Three years later he made another voy-
age and discovered the famous bay, far to our northward,
which now bears his name. Intrepid as he was, the bitter
cold of that region, and threatened starvation, prevented
him from carrying out his resolve to spend the winter on
the shores of his bay, and he set sail for home, only to
meet the tragic fate which to this day is veiled in mystery.
The sailors mutinied, and set him afloat, with eight other
men, in an open boat. They were never seen nor heard of
again,
It is said that Hudson gave the name Helle Gat, or
Beautiful Pass, to the dangerous waterway between Long
Island and Manhattan Island which in 1885, only nine
years ago, yielded its most dangerous reef, Flood Rock,
to the persuasions of science and dynamite.
The site of the present capital of the State of New
York at first was called New Orange, in honor of William,
Prince of Orange and Stadtholder of Holland; but in 1664,
ir
«|
A FIRESIDE IN OLD NEW YORK.
THE DUTCH AT HOME AND ABROAD 83
when the English were in power, they changed the name
to Albany, after the Duke of York and Albany, better
known to you, perhaps, by his later title, King James
IL. of England.
Look at the names of many down-town streets of New
York city, once called New Amsterdam,—Cortlandt, Van-
dam, Roosevelt, Stuyvesant, and scores of others all nained
after good Dutchmen. Not only New York, but Brooklyn,
Albany, and other cities have streets that lead one directly
into the Netherlands, so to speak. Indeed, Dutch names
he sprinkled very thickly within a hundred miles of Fifth
Avenue in every direction. You readily may suspect the
origin of Harlem, named when it was a little hamlet quite
far fron New Amsterdam, but connected with it by a
country road known as the Bouerie. This Bouerie, or
Bowerie, now spelled Bowery, no longer has the rural,
bower-like aspect it enjoyed in those old days; for then
it was a road through the farm or bowerie of Peter Stuy-
vesant, the last Dutch colonial governor of these New
Netherlands.
Few New-Yorkers nowadays stop to ask why Eleventh
street, which extends across the city from the East to the
North River, should break off at Fourth Avenue and begin
again on the west side of Broadway. But they know that
a long solid block—its southwestern corner beautitied by
Grace Church and its parsonage—reaches from Tenth
street to Twelfth street. The fact is, Eleventh street was
stopped just there by a Dutchman, or an honored citizen
of Dutch descent, named Brevoort. Mrs. Lamb, in her
“ History of New York,†tells us that the mansion of Henry
84 THE LAND OF PLUCK
Brevoort fronted the Bowery road, and, according to the ~
plans of the street commissioners, Eleventh street would
cut across the site occupied by his house. He resisted
the opening of the street with such determination and
effect “that the block remained undisturbed. To this day,
Eleventh street has no passageway between Broadway
and Fourth Avenue.â€
And in Grace Church, near the south entrance, may
be seen a memorial tablet of white marble, the leading
inscription of which reads:
IN MEMORY OF
HENRY BREVOORT
WHO DIED AUG. 21. 1841 IN THE 94. YEAR OF HIS AGE
IN POSSESSION OF THE GROUND ON WHICH THIS
CHURCH NOW STANDS ; DERIVED IN UNBROKEN DESCENT
FROM THE FIRST COLONISTS OF NEW NETHERLANDS.
CHAPTER IX
NMNOLLAND TO-DAY
6S Qala OLLAND is stanch, true, and plucky,
CaN ee
“) but it is Holland; and, lest you for-
get that it still is the oddest country
in Christendom, I must tell you that
within a few years a new king has
succeeded to its throne—and this
new king is a bright little girl not
yet fifteen years of age! Yes, the High Council of Hol-
land solemnly decreed that officials and other public ser-
vants should take the oath of allegiance, not to Queen but
to King Wilhelmina! The Dutch newspapers protested
vehemently against this form, as being contrary to common
sense. But the High Court of Holland does not yield to
dictation, and the press, it seems, at last adopted a dignified
silence in the matter. Possibly the expression “King Wil-
helmina†may recall to some readers that historic incident
of 1740, when the heroic young Empress of Austria, beset
with foes, heard her impassioned Hungarian nobles shout-
ing, as their swords leaped from their scabbards: “Let us
die for our King, Maria Theresa !â€
6* 85
86 THE LAND OF PLUCK
But, king or queen, this royal little Wilhelmina of Hol-
land already rules in the hearts of her people. Well may
the boys and girls of our republic follow her career
with interest ;—so bright, winning, and unaffected is she
in her pretty dignity and her earnest patriotic spirit.
Despite her high station, she is a real child, ready for
play and, as a recent writer tells us, “devotedly fond of
dolls.â€
On one occasion, it is said, her youthful majesty was
heard addressing a refractory doll as follows: “Now be
good and quiet, because if you don’t I will tun you into
a queen, and then you will not have any one to play
with at all.â€
Poor little doll-mother! In the confidence of that
family circle she may say things that she hardly could
utter at court receptions! To some of her dolls, however,
she undoubtedly shows a dignified reserve ; for instance,
to the fifty lately given to her on her fourteenth birthday
by her mother, the queen regent. They are stiff and im-
posing, we may be sure, for they are dressed to represent
soldiers of rank, in order that the little queen may be-
come familiar with, and easily recognize, the different
uniforms of the officers in her Dutch army.
In concluding these simple chapters about the Land
of Pluck, I yield to an impulse to quote—for the benefit
of readers who would like a further familiar word about
the Holland of to-day—some extracts from two personal
letters recently received. The first is from an American
QUEEN WILHELMINA OF HOLLAND, AT THE AGE OF ELEVEN.
(FROM A PHOTOGRAPH BY KAMEKE, THE HAGUE, NETHERLANDS. )
HOLLAND TO-DAY 89
friend traveling through the Netherlands. The other was
written by a young girl born and bred in Holland.
“Tur Hacur, March 28, 189-.
“ ,.. Heaven bless the Dutchmen! They are the
most delightful and sterling folk that we have found
in all Europe! And no more charming days have we
had anywhere than at Amsterdam, at Haarlem, and at The
Hague and Scheveningen. . . . At Amsterdam we saw the
Great Dike and the lesser dikes (worthy monuments to
the sturdy force of this brave race), and at Zaandam, near
by, we went through a perfect forest of windmills, of which
there are nearly four hundred within the town limits. A
more picturesque sight cannot be imagined. As the little
steamboat got into the thick of them, with those huge
arms whirling close by on every side, the whole land-
scape began to take on the motion, and I half expected
the boat would turn a somersault any moment. But
it was a fascinating spectacle.
“« ... And the little cottages alongside the stream—
how quaint and cozy! And every street in Amsterdam,
and every woman and child—how clean and fair and
tidy they look! And the delightful head-gear that the
country women wear! And the happy, healthy smiles of
the boys and girls! The virtues of these honest Dutch folk
shine out to eyes that have just seen the Italian paupers.
Small as it is, Holland can take care of itself For a
thousand years the Dutch have fought the sea, and for
eighty years they fought the greatest military power of
Europe, and always held their own.
90 THE LAND OF PLUCK
“Tn all our travels we have found no race so sturdy
and independent as this, so healthy and seemingly so
happy. Not a beggar have we seen in Holland, but we
have seen the origin of many of the best characteristics
of New York life. I never realized till now how much
our big city owes to the Dutchmen. . . . And these people
are not only the tidiest folk in the world, and among the
bravest, cheeriest, and most upright, but they also have
an inborn, genuine love of art. It is a significant fact that
the only place in Europe in which we have seen the peo-
ple of the country actually enjoying their great pictures,
was in the Ryks Museum at Amsterdam. The great
building was crowded with Dutch folk of all classes, and
of a hundred different types— all really interested in the
pictures. It was a study to watch them.
“And the pictures themselves! The Dutchmen of to-
day may well appreciate them. You remember Rem-
brandt’s famous ‘Night Watch’ and his portrait of an old
woman, at Amsterdam, and his celebrated ‘Anatomist,
here at The Hague. I have seen now many of the most
famous paintings in the world, but for perfection of tech-
nical skill these of Rembrandt’s surely are equal to the
best. True, he did not paint ideal subjects, nor enter
the spiritual realm —in which the Italian masters were ©
so great. But as a portrait-painter he seems to me the
greatest of all the masters.
“... But I must restrain my enthusiasm, and tell you
briefly that we have ‘done’ also the Amsterdam ‘ Zoo’ (one
of the finest zodlogical gardens in the world), have heard
the great organ of Haarlem, have seen two rich private gal-
HOLLAND TO-DAY 91
leries, have heard the ‘Mikado’ sung in Dutch (fairly well
sung, too, but with some nightmare words fitted to the
music), have seen ‘Peter the Great’s hut’ at Zaandam,—
and to-day an auction of fish on the beach at Schevenin-
gen, with the fishermen and white-capped fisherwomen
thronging about in their odd costumes and big wooden
shoes. . . . To-morrow we return to Amsterdam.â€
Holland speaks for itself, and every traveler is its inter-
preter. But here is an inside, home letter straight from
the land of dikes. Its writer, a bright and patriotic Dutch
gil, is in herself the best evidence one can have of the
advantages of education her country offers to all.
It cannot but be encouraging to young Americans try-
ing to master a foreign language to note how admirably
this young Hollander expresses herself in English. Not
a word of her clearly written letter has been changed :
“ SCHEVENINGEN, Feb. 28, 189-.
e The winter has been, as probably everywhere
else, exceptionally cold; an old-fashioned winter, and one
that will be recorded in the annals of history and not soon
forgotten. Of course, it has been the cause of much pov-
erty and misery, and every one was thankful when, after
weeks of severe frost, the thaw fell in; but much has been
done to soften the sufferings of the poor, and those who
went round to ask for help did not ask in vain. On the
other hand, the whole country was alive with wholesome
merriment, caused by the skating that was practised over
the whole length and width of our watery little land.
92 THE LAND OF PLUCK
Holland is very characteristic and very much at its ad-
vantage during such a time, and I am really thankful. to
have been able to join in the universal movement.
“As you know, a great many of the people, especially
the peasants, skate very well. The country is cut up by
canals running from one town to the other, and from one
village to the other ; along these waters slow barges travel
peacefully the whole summer through, laden with coals,
wood, vegetables, pottery, and numberless other things; a
ereat deal of traffic is done in this slow but sure way, as it
is a very cheap mode of transport. But these same waters
now bore a much livelier aspect. People of all classes
skated along their smooth surfaces, and many have been
the expeditions planned and executed to skate from one
town to the other, halting at several small villages on the
way, and thus seeing the country in an original and very
pleasant manner.
“My sister and I, and several ladies and gentlemen,
made a charming excursion on one of the finest and mild-
est days of the winter. The sun shone brightly, the sky
was blue, and although the thermometer pointed below
zero, it was quite warm and delicious to skate. We were
quite a large party, and went from the Hague to Amster-
dam, and thence across the Y and farther over the inland
waters to Monnickendam, on skates of course.
“Monnickendam lies at the Zuider Zee, which is a kind
of bay formed by the North Sea and surrounded by sev-
eral provinces of our country. In comparison with your
grand lakes, it is small, but we consider it quite a large
water, and it is very rarely frozen over. This year, how-
IN SUMMER-TIME — ON THE CANAL.
HOLLAND TO-DAY 95
ever, it was one immense surface of ice, stretching itself
out as far as the eye could reach. It was quite the thing
this winter to go out and see it; so, of course, we went
there and visited the small island of Marken, which is
situated near the coast.
«... Asmall steamer goes daily from Monnickendam
to the island, or three times a week—I ’m not sure about
that; now all the communication was done by sledge and
on skates over the ice. Thousands of people have seen
Marken this winter in that way, and the place is quite a
curiosity, especially for strangers. (If you happen to have
a map of the Netherlands you Il be sure to find where it
lies in the Zuider Zee.)
“The quaint costumes worn by the peasant men and
women are alone well worth the voyage to the place, being
quite different from those worn in Scheveningen, and be-
sides the pokey little wooden houses are charming in their
way, and exceedingly clean and neat, with rows of colored
earthenware dishes along the walls, and carved chests and
painted wooden boxes piled one on the top of the other
containing their clothes. Although so near the civilized
world these good people live quite apart, hardly ever
marry some one not from the island, and seem quite con-
tented. They earn their living by fishing, and occasion-
ally get as far as a harbor of Scotland.
“When we arrived at Marken across the ice we were
very hungry, and on asking a peasant if he could procure
us something to eat, were very hospitably received in his
little house by his wife, who regaled us on bread, cheese,
‘and milk. Enormous hunches of bread! but what will a
96 THE LAND OF PLUCK
L za
A WOMAN OF ZEELAND,
hungry skater not eat ? And we sat very snugly in their
little room, admiring all their funny little contrivances.
“... The Zuider Zee was very curious and interesting
to see. Fancy an enormous field of ice crowded with thou-
sands of people all on skates, and, moving swiftly between
them, brightly painted sledges with strong horses and jing-
HOLLAND TO-DAY 97
ling bells, looking very picturesque. Also little ice-boats
with large sails that come flying across the frozen waters,
looking like great birds, but keeping at a little distance
from the crowd for fear of accidents. A fair was held on
the ice, where were going on all kinds of harmless amuse-
ments; and there were tents where they sold cakes and
steaming hot milk and chocolate. The whole scene, the
bright, moving, joyous crowd, made me think of the pictures
by the old masters, like Teniers and Ostade, it was so thor-
oughly Dutch. But to think that this immense solid sur-
face, whereon you moved so confidently, would melt again
before the year was much older and change itself into lap-
ping waves! It was hardly conceivable! .. .
“ At the Hague we have a very prettily situated skating-
club, where our little circle of friends saw each other daily
and where we spent many a pleasant hour. So the winter
has flown by. It is not quite over, but it seems so to me,
as the last weeks have been very fine, and the place where
we live, being half country, directly takes a spring-like air.
Tennis begins to reign supreme, and I am going to practise
this game very seriously.
«... [have not heard much music this winter. Our
German opera, which grew poorer and poorer every year, 1s
now gone altogether, and that was the only way in which we
heard some Wagnerian operas, which I like above all others;
indeed, the more you hear them the less you care about the
others. Once a fortnight I regularly go to the concert, but
there are times when I can’t listen to the music. My
mind strays, and try as much as I will, the sounds pass
over me and don’t leave any impression ; I think the reason
7
98 THE LAND OF PLUCK
®
of this is that I have heard too much music in the last few
years, and that I don’t appreciate it. So when it is not
something I like very much I had rather not hear it, as
I think it only needlessly fatigues my brain, and so I do
not profit by it atall. .. .
“Your letter was very pleasant and so fluently, written !
I wish I could do as well. My only consolation is that it is
not my language; but then I cannot produce such a good
style in Dutch either, and you will hardly believe it, but I
need a dictionary more when I write a Dutch letter than
when I write an English one. Of course I make a great
many mistakes in English, but Dutch is a far more difficult
language, and you never know when a word is masculine
or feminine (unless you are exceedingly clever!), as it
makes no difference when you speak, but a great difference
when you write; so if you want to write correctly you have
to look in the dictionary or else to guess. Then you say,
‘Oh! that word is probably feminine, and you change the
sentence accordingly, and afterward you discover that you
were quite wrong. Is not that a troublesome language ?
The French can hear when to put ‘le’ or ‘la’ before the
word (at least they rarely make mistakes), but we can’t. It
sounds all the same when speaking.
“. .. The year that has gone has been very much like
the foregoing ones except for some political events which
have created a change in our country. Our old king died,
as you remember, and at his death there was a sincere
mourning over the whole country. Personally he was not
so very much liked; still his subjects were attached to
him because he was (his two sons having died) the last
A STREET IN THE HAGUE.
HOLLAND TO-DAY 101
male descendant of a glorious and highly respected race:
the House of Orange. The Oranges are loved by the
Dutch because they can boast of many a valorous and
wise ancestor, but principally because the head of the
house, Prince William, who was murdered in 1584, freed
the people from the Spanish tyrant whose despotic reign
had become unbearable.
“The sole descendant of this long list of princes and
kings is our little Queen Wilhelmina, much beloved by
the people, who cherish her as something very precious.
The government is now in the hands of her mother, who
is queen regent until the little one is eighteen years old.
Queen Emma is a very superior woman, kind and wise,
giving her little daughter a sensible education, and quite
capable of filling her difficult position and of executing
her duties exceedingly well.
“Of course you, like a true American, do not feel any
enthusiasm for kings and queens, but our government is
constitutional and liberal, and I don’t think the people have
in reality much more freedom in any of the new republics
than in our kingdom. The two queens live in the Hague.
As yet, of course, everything is very quiet at the court, but
the mother and daughter can be seen daily when driving
out, looking very happy together. They pass our house
nearly every day. I would not be a queen for anything —
would you? Fancy not a bit of freedom, not being able
to move a step without the whole land, so to say, knowing
of it; their sorrows and rejoicings public sorrows and
rejoicings! Seemingly rulers of the land, but in reality
dictated to in their slightest acts!
7%
t
102 THE LAND OF PLUCK
4
“As yet all goes well in our little country, and I don’t
think we need have any fear of being swallowed up by the
ereat states that surround us.
“... And now, my dear L., it is really time to finish
this long letter. I think I never wrote such a long one
before... . Ens: M—.â€
“ALL goes well in our little country.†Cheery words,
these, from a daughter of the race.
Long may all go well with sturdy, steadfast Holland,
girt with grim dikes higher than the tallest of its foes ;
the land of whirling sails and leaning seas; the great
little land of oddity, thrift, patriotism—and pluck !
DAY-DREAMS ON THE DIKE
“FIVE STOUT LITTLE HOLLANDERS, ALL SITTING IN
DAY-DREAMS ON THE DIKE
THERE were five of them,— Dirk van Dorf, Katrina
van Dorf, Greitje Kuyp, Kassy Riker, and Ludoff Kleef,—
five stout little Hollanders, all well and happy, and all
sitting in the broad, bright sunlight—dreaming !
It was not so at first, you must know. They had been
trudging along the great dike,— their loose wooden shoes
beating the hard clay
laughing a little, talking less, yet
with an air of goodfellowship about them — these chubby
little neighbor children, who knew one another so well that
by a nod or a gesture, or by throwing a quick glance or a
sinile, they could take one another’s meaning and make
two words do the work of twenty. Their fathers and
mothers were thrifty, hard-working folk living in Volen-
dam, a little fishing-village hard by, built under one of
the dikes of the Zuyder Zee.
The children, being Hollanders, knew quite well that
the dike they were treading was a massive, wide bank or
105
106 THE LAND OF PLUCK
wall built to keep back the sea that was forever trying to
spread itself over Holland, though Holland by no means
intended to allow it to do any such thing. And _ they
knew also, as did all Volendam, that Jan van Riper had
been out over long in his little fishing-boat, and that there had
been heavy winds
after he started;
also that his wife,
Oo
s
who was continually
scolding him, was
now going about,
her eyes red with
weeping, telling the
neighbors how good
and easy he was,
and how he would
n't harm a kitten
Jan would n’t!
They knew, more-
over, that Adrian
Runckel’s tulip-bed
“CHE WOULD N’T HARM A KITTEN— JAN WOULD N’T.â€â€
was a show; hardly
another man in the
village had a flower worth looking at, if you went in for
size, color, and stiffness. They knew, besides, that ever
so many queer flapping and squirming things had been
hauled in that very morning by Peter Loop’s big net
only he was dreadfully cross, and would n’t let a body
come near it—that is, a little body. Above all, they
knew that the mother of Ludoff Kleef was coming to join
DAY-DREAMS ON TH DIK 107
them as soon as she could finish wp her dairy-work, and
make herself and the children tidy. All the party need do
was to keep along the dike and be good, and take care of
little Ludoff, and sit down and rest whenever they felt
like resting, and of all things they were not to soil or
tear their clothes. So you see they were neither empty-
headed nor careworn, nor were they in any danger of
falling asleep; yet there they sat, on the dike, side by
side, dreaming !
Kassy Riker was the first to glide into a dream, though
sitting close beside little Ludoff, who wrigeled, and won-
dered why his mother and sister and baby brother did ’t
come. He wanted to cry, but he felt in the depth of his
baby soul that Kassy would laugh at him if he did; and as
for the others, Greitje Kuyp was gazing a hundred iniles
out to sea already; Katrina van Dorf was so busy with her
knitting that she had forgotten there was such a thing as
asmall boy in the world ; and big boy Dirk van Dorf—why,
he was altogether too erand a person to be moved by any
amount of howling. So poor little Ludoff amused himself
by watching a long straw that in the still air hitched itself
along till it wavered feebly on the edge of the dike, uncer-
tain whether to stay on shore or start on a seafaring
career. If the straw had settled upon any definite course
of action, Ludoff would have done the same; but, as it
was, Ludoff kept on watching and watching it until, in
the stillness, he forgot all about being a little boy who
wanted his mother; for was not the straw whisking one
end feebly, and turning round to begin again ?
Meantime Greitje Kuyp gazed out to sea, the great
108 THE LAND OF PLUCK
Zuyder Zee, wondering why any one should think it was
trying to come ashore and do mischief. It was so quiet,
so grand, and it bore the big fishing-smacks so patiently,
when it could so easily topple them over! Mother was
patient and peaceful, too. Greitje herself (so went her
day-dream) would be just like Mother, one of these days:
she would sew and mend and churn and bake, only she
would make more cakes and less bread.. Yes, she would
bake great chests full of cinnamon-cakes,—aneel koehjes,—
such as they sold at the Kermis; and she would be, oh,
just as good and kind to her little girl as Mother was to
her, and—
* # %
“T’m not going to stay at home all my life,†Kassy
Tuker was thinking or dreaming. “Some day I shall
keep a beautiful shop in Amsterdam, and sell laces and
caps and head-gear and lovely things ; and I 71] courtesy
and say ‘ja, mi nheer, like a grand lady; and Ill learn
to sing and dance better than any girl at the Kermis;
and IT shall wear gold on my temples, and have a lovely
jacket for skating-days ; and every month I ’1l come ‘back
for a while, and bring pretty things to Father, Mother, and
the minister ; and —â€
“T’ve done full a finger-length of it to-day,†mused
Katrina, as she pressed her red lips together and worked
steadily at the chain she was weaving on a pin-rack
for her father. “It shall be done by his birthday, and
I’ll hang his big silver watch on-it while he ’s asleep,
and then kiss and hug him till he opens his eyes. Ah,
DAY-DREAMS ON THE DIKE 109
how we all will wish him a happy day and the Lord’s
blessing! And if he gives me a little cart some time for
my dog ‘Shag’ to draw, I think 171] fill it full of wet,
shining fish and sell them at the market-town. No; I Il
help Mother very hard at making the cheeses; and I ’Il
fill the cart with them ; and soon Mother can have a fine
new lace cap with the money, and a silk apron; and maybe
I'll be so useful to the family that they 71] decide to take
and then Ill work and I ’Il
save, and save, till perhaps—â€
me out of school; and then
“Can that be Jan van Riper’s boat?†mused big boy
Dirk, as he eyed a fishing-smack just coming into view.
“No, it ’s my uncle Ryk’s. Like enough, Jan has landed
somewhere and put off to foreign parts, as he often says
he will when Vrouw van Riper’s tongue gets too lively.
ZI should. I ’d like to go to foreign parts, anyway. Lots
of room for a fellow in Java; lots of rich Hollanders there
—we Hollanders own it, they say ; and there ’s no reason
a fellow like me should n’t grow to be a merchant and
own warehouses, and—â€
# * *
So the dreams ran on,— Greitje’s, Kassy Riker’s,
Katrina’s, and Dirk van Dorf’s,—all different, and all very
absorbing. Meantime the straw had shown itself so weak-
minded and tedious that little Ludoff had nodded himself
into a dose as he leaned against Greitje’s plump little
shoulder. The dreaming time, pleasant as it was, had
really not been very long; for even ‘a smooth sea, a soft
summer breeze, and five serene little Dutch natures could
110 THE LAND OF PLUCK
not have kept ten young legs and ten young arms quiet
any longer.
A great shout from the village came faintly to the chil-
dren’s ears. Jan’s boat was in sight! The little folk
were up and alert in an instant. They turned about,
to look back toward the village,—and if there was not
Ludofi’s mother, Mevrouw! Kleef, erect and smiling, com-
ing briskly along the dike toward them! How handsome
she looked, with her bright eyes and rosy cheeks, and
the big lace cap, the blue-and-black short skirt, and
the low jacket over the gaily-colored underwaist ! Her
little Troide toddled beside her, taking two steps to
the mother’s one, with deep blue eyes fixed upon the
line of familiar forms just risen from the dike. The
baby—it was a boy; one could tell thaé by the woolen
slawpivuts, or nightcap, on -his head, for the girl-babies in
Volendam never wear that kind—the baby, trig and smart,
gazed from the mother’s arms at the same five familiar
little forms, and in a moment the children all were crowd-
ing around the mevrouw.
“Jan is back, is n’t he?†asked Dirk.
“Yes, [ suppose so,†she answered carelessly. The good
woman was rather tired of her neighbor Jan van Riper’s
frequent misbehavings and false alarms.
“My, how warm the day!†she added, gently setting the
baby down upon the turf beside her; “and the dear child
is as weighty as a keg of herring !â€
“Oh, oh, the beauty!†exclaimed the girls, quite en-
raptured with the little one; while Dirk and Ludoff
1 Mevroww, Madam (pronounced Meffrouw).
3s fifnodrugyy
7,
me
“LUDOFF’§ MOTHER, MEVROUW KLEEF, WAS
COMING
BRISKLY ALONG THE DIKE,â€
DAY-DREAMS ON THE DIKE 113
doubled their tists, and pretended (to his great delight)
they were going to puminel him soundly.
“Ves,†said the mother. “He’s a bouncing little man,
and with a good head of his own. I was saying to myself
as I came along that I should n’t wonder if he should get
to be a grand burgomeister some day, and rule a city, and
lift us all to greatness—and so you shall, my little one!
There, there, don’t pull my skirt off, my Ludoff!†Then,
looking brightly from one to another of the group, Mev-
rouw Kleef asked:
“And what have you been doing—you, Dirk, Katrina,
and the rest of you?â€
“Nothing,†answered the children; but they all looked
very happy. Day-dreams linger about us, you know, and
light our way even when they are half forgotten.
“And now, my children,†she continued, “ we are to have
a great pleasure, for I shall take you all to see the men
start Raff Ootcalt’s new windmill this very afternoon.
Raff is to make a short speech, and there will be music
and dancing and a little feast.â€
“Good, good!†cried the happy little crowd, eager to
set off at once.
So the mother took up her little burgomeister, and, rosy
and smiling, started on her way back to the village, the
children trudging after.
WONDERING TOM
ae eee
‘OH, TOM! THE KING WISHES TO SPEAK WITH you!â€
WONDERING TOM
Lona, long ago, in a great city whose name is forgotten,
situated on a river that ran dry in the days of Cinderella,
there lived a certain boy, the only son of a poor widow.
He had such a fine form and pleasant face that one day, as
he loitered on his mother’s door-step, the King stopped on
the street to look at him.
“Who is that boy?†asked his Majesty of his Prime
Minister.
This question brought the entire royal procession to a
standstill.
The Prime Minister did not know, so he asked the Lord
of the Exchequer. The Lord of the Exchequer asked the
High Chamberlain; the High Chamberlain asked the
Master of the Horse; the Master of the Horse asked the
Court Physician; the Court Physician asked the Royal
Rat-Catcher ; the Royal Rat-Catcher asked the Chief-
Cook-and-Bottle-Washer ; and the Chief-Cook-and-Bottle-
Washer asked a little girl named Wisk.
Little Wisk, with a pretty courtesy, informed him that
the boy’s name was Wondering Tom.
st 117
118 THE LAND OF PLUCK
“So, ho!†said the Chief-Cook-and-Bottle-Washer, tell-
ing the Royal Rat-Catcher. “So, ho!†said the Royal Rat-
Catcher, passing on the news; and it traveled in that way
until, finally, the Prime Minister, bowing low to the King,
said :
“May it please your most tremendous Majesty, it ’s
Wondering Tom.â€
â€
“Tell him to come here!†said the King to the Prime
Minister. “His Majesty commands him to come here!â€
was repeated to the next in rank; and again his words
traveled through the Lord of the Exchequer, the High
Chamberlain, the Master of the Horse, the Court Physician,
the Royal Rat-Catcher, and the Chief-Cook-and-Bottle-
Washer, until they reached little Wisk, who called out :
“Oh, Tom! the King wishes to speak with you.â€
“With me!†exclaimed Tom, never budging. “Why?â€
“TI don’t know,†returned little Wisk, “ but you must go
at once.â€
“ Why?†cried Tom.
“Oh, Tom! Tom! they ’re going to kill you,†she eried,
in an agony.
“Wiy? What for?†shouted Tom, staring in the wild-
est astonishment.
Surely enough, the Master of Ceremonies had ordered
forth an executioner with a bowstring. In that city, any
man, woman, or child who disregarded the King’s slightest
wish was instantly put to death.
The man approached Tom. Another second, and the
howstring would have done its work ; but the King held
up his royal hand in token of pardon, and beckoned Tom
to draw near,
WONDERING TOM 119
“Whatever in all this world can his Majesty want with
me?†pondered the bewildered boy, moving very slowly
toward the monarch.
“Well, sir!†said his Majesty, scowling. “So you are
here at last! Why do they call you Wondering Tom?â€
“Mr, your Majesty?†faltered Tom. “I—I—don’t
know.â€
“You don’t know? (Most remarkable boy, this!) And
what were you doing, sir, when we sent for you ?â€
“Nothing, your Majesty. I was only wondering
whether —â€
“Ah, I see. You take your life out in wondering, A
fine, strong fellow like you has no right to be idling in his
mother’s doorway. A pretty kingdom we should have if
all our subjects were like this! You may go. -
“He has a good face,†continued the King, turning to the
Prime Minister, “ but he ll never amount to anything.â€
“Ah, exactly so,†said the Prime Minister. “Exactly so,â€
echoed the Lord of the Exchequer, and “ Exactly so,â€
sighed the Chief-Cook-and-Bottle-Washer at last, as the
royal procession passed on.
Tom heard it all.
“ Now, how do they know that?†he muttered, seratch-
ing his head as he lounged back to the door-step. “Why in
the world do they think I ‘ll never amount to anything ?â€
In the doorway he fell to thinking of little Wisk.
“What a very nice girl she is! I wonder if she ’d play
with me if I asked her,—but I can’t ask her. I do
wonder what makes me so afraid to talk to Wisk!â€
Meantime, little Wisk, who lived in the next house,
watched him shyly.
120 THE LAND OF PLUCK
“Tom!†she called out at last, swaying herself lithely
round and round her wooden door-post, “the blackberries
are ripe.â€
“You don’t say so!†exclaimed Tom, in surprise.
“Yes, Ido. And, Tom, there are bushels of them in the
woods just outside of the city gates.â€
“Oh!†answered Tom, “I wonder if there are!â€
“T now it,†said little Wisk, decidedly, “and I ’m going
to get some.â€
“Dear me!†thought Tom, “T wonder if she ’d like to
have me go with her. Wisk !â€
“What, Tom ?â€
“Oh, nothing,†said the frightened fellow, suddenly
changing his mind, “I was only wondering whether it is
going to rain or not.â€
“Rain? Of course not,†laughed little Wisk, as she
ran off to join a group of children going toward the north
city-gate ; “but even if it should rain, what matter 2?â€
“Oh,†thought Tom, “she ’s really gone for blackberries !
T wondered what she had that little kettle on her arm for.
Pshaw! Why did n’t T tell her that I ’d like to go too?â€
Just then his mother came to the door, clapping a wet
ruffle between her hands. She was a clear-starcher.
“Tom, Tom! why dowt you set about something!
There ’s plenty to do, in doors and out, if you ’d only
think so.â€
“Yes, ma’am,†said Tom, wondering whether or not he
was going to have a scolding.
“But you look pale, my pet; go and play. Do. One
does n’t often have such a perfect day as this (and such
WONDERING TOM 121
splendid drying, too!). If I were you, I ’d make the
most of itâ€; and the mother went back into the bare
entry, still clapping the ruffle.
“T do wonder how I can make the most of it,†asked
Tom of himself, over and over again, as he sauntered off.
He did n’t dare to go toward the north gate of the city,
because he could n’t decide what he should say if he
should meet little Wisk; so he turned toward the south.
“Shall I go back, { wonder, or keep on?†thought Tom,
as he found himself going farther from the door-step and
nearer to the great city-wall, until at last the southern
gate was reached. Following the dusty highway leading
from the city, he came to pleasant fields. Then, after
wading awhile through the sunlit grain, he followed a
shady brook ‘and entered the wood.
“Tt ’s pleasant here,†he thought. “I wonder why
mother did 1’t get a cottage out here in the country in-
stead of livine in the noisy city.â€
“Could u’t,†croaked a voice close by.
Tom started. There was nobody near but frogs and
crickets. Besides, as he had not spoken aloud, of course
it could not be in answer to him. Still, he wondered
what in the world the voice could be, and why it sounded
like “could n’t.â€
“Tt certainly did sound so. Maybe she could 1’t, after
all,†thought Tom ; “but why could 1’t she, T wonder?â€
“No-one-to-help,†said something, as it jumped with a
splash into the water.
“T do wonder what that was!†exclaimed Tom, aloud ;
“there ’s nobody here, that ’s certain. Oh, it must have
122 THE LAND OF PLUCK
been a toad! Queer, though, how very much it sounded
like ‘no-one-to-help’! Poor mother! I don’t help her
much, I know. Pshaw! what if I do love her, I ’m not
the least bit of use, for I never know what to start about
doing. What in all botheration makes me so lazy!
Heigh-ho!†and Tom threw himself upon the grass, an
image of despair. ‘He ‘Il never amount to anything, the
King said. Now, what did he mean by that ?â€
“Dilly, dally !†said another mysterious voice, speaking
far up among the branches overhead.
Tom was getting used to it. He just lifted his eyebrows
a little and wondered what bird that was. In a moment
he found himself puzzling over the strange words.
“«Dilly, dally, it said, I declare. Oh dear! It’s too
bad to have to hear such things all the time. And then,
there ’s the King’s ugly speech; a fellow is n’t agoing to
stand everything !â€
He rested his elbows upon his knees, holding his face
between his hands ; and, although he felt very wretched, he
could n’t help wondering whether the daisies crowding in
his shadow did n’t think it was growing late. They cer-
tainly nodded as if they felt sleepy.
Suddenly his hat, which had tumbled from his head and
now lay near him, began to twitch strangely.
“Pshaw!†almost sobbed Tom, “what ’s coming now, I
wonder?â€
“Tam,†said a piping voice.
“Where are you?†he asked, trembling.
“Here. Under your hat. Lift it offâ€
While Tom was wondering whether to obey or not, the
WONDERING TOM 123
hat fell over, and out came a fairy, all shining with green
and gold,—a funny little creature with a sprightly air.
Her eyes sparkled like diamonds.
“What troubles you, Master Tom?†asked the fairy.
“So she knows my name!†thought the puzzled youth ;
“well, that ’s queerer than anything! I’ve always heard
that these woods were full of fairies ; but I never saw one
before. I wonder why I ’m not more frightened.â€
“Did you hear me?†piped the little visitor.
“Did you speak? Oh—yes—ina’am— certainly, I heard
plainly enough.â€
“Well, what troubles you ?â€
He looked sharply at the fairy. Yes, her little face was
kind. He would tell her all.
“T wonder what your name is?†he said, by way of a
beginning.
“Tt ’s Setalit,†said the fairy. “In mortal language that
means ‘come-to-the-point. Now be quick !—if you can.
I shan’t stay long.â€
“Why ?†asked Tom, quite astonished.
“Because I cannot. That’s enough. If you wish me
to help you, you must promptly tell me your trouble.â€
“Oh!†said Tom, wondering where to begin.
“Are you lame? Are you sick? Are you blind, deaf,
or dumb ?†she asked, briskly.
“Oh no,†he replied, “nothing like that. Only I don’t
know what to make of things. Everything in this world
puzzles me so, and I can’t ever make up my mind what
to do.â€
“Well,†said Setalit, “perhaps I can help you a little.â€
124 THE LAND OF PLUCK
“Can you?†he exclaimed. “Now I wonder how in
the world such a little mite as you ever—’
“Don’t wonder so much,†squeaked the fairy, impa-
tiently, “but ask me frankly what I can do?â€
“Tm going to,†said Tom.
“Going to!†she echoed. “What miserable creatures
you mortals are! How could we ever get our gossamers
spun if we always were going to do a thing, and never :
doing it! Now listen. I’m a very wise fairy, if I am small;
I can tell you how to accomplish anything you please.
Don’t you want to be good, famous, and rich ?â€
“Certainly I do,†answered Tom, startled into making a
prompt reply.
“Very well,†she responded, quite pleased. “If you
always knew your own mind as decidedly as that, they
would n’t call you ‘Wondering Tom.†It’s an ugly name,
Master Mortal. If I were you (may Titania pardon the
dreadful supposition!) —if I were you, I ’d wonder less
and work more.â€
“T wonder if I could n’t!†said Tom, half convinced.
“There you go again!†screeched the fairy, stamping
her tiny foot. “You ’re not worth talking to. I shall
leave you.â€
“She ’s fading away,†cried Tom. “O fairy, good fairy,
please come back! You promised to tell me how to be-
come good and famous and rich!â€
Once more she stood before him, looking brighter and
fresher than ever.
“You ’re a noisy mortal,†she said, nodding pleasantly
at Tom. “I thought for an instant that it was thunder-
WONDERING TOM 125
ing, but it was only you, calling. I’ve a very little while
to stay, but you shall have one more chance of obtaining
everything you wish. Now, sir, be careful! I Il answer
?
you any three questions you may choose to put to meâ€; and
Setalit sat down on a toadstool, and looked very profound.
“Only three?†asked Tom, anxiously.
“Only three.â€
“Why can’t you give me a dozen? There ’s so much
that one wishes to know in this world.â€
“ Because I cannot,†said the fairy, firmly.
“But it’s so hard to put everything into such a few
questions! I don’t know what in the world to decide upon.
What do you think I ought to ask ?â€
“Consult the dearest wishes of your heart,’ answered
Setalit, “for there is the truest wisdom.â€
“Ah, well. Let me think,†pursued Tom, with great de-
liberation. “I want to be wise, of course, and good, and
very rich—and I want mother to be the same,— and,
good fairy, if you would n’t mind it, little Wisk to be the
same too. And dear me!
it’s hard to put everything into
such a few questions. Let me see. First, I suppose T ought
to learn how to become immensely rich, right off, and then
I can give mother and Wisk everything they want; so, good
Setalit, here ’s my first question, How can I grow rich, very
rich, in —in one week ?â€
The fairy shook her head.
“T would answer you, Master Tom, with ereat pleasure,â€
she said, “but this is number rour. You have already
asked your three questions.†And she turned into a green
frog and jumped away, chuckling.
126 THE LAND OF PLUCK
Tom rubbed his eyes and sat up straight. Mad he been
dreaming #
“T’m a fool!†he cried.
All the trees nodded, and their branches seemed to be
having ereat fun among themselves.
“A diy fool!†he insisted.
The leaves fairly tittered.
“Did n't old Katy, the apple-woman, call me a goose
only this morning?†he continued, growing very angry
with himself.
“Katy did,†assented a voice from among the bushes.
“Katy did n’t !†contradicted another.
“ Katy did!â€
“ Katy did n't!â€
Tom laughed bitterly.
“Ha! ha! Fight it out among yourselves, old fellows.
Timay have been asleep; but, anyhow, I’ve been a fool!â€
“Ooo —!†echoed a solemn voice above him.
Tom looked up, and in the hollow of an old tree he
saw a ereat blinking owl.
“Hallo, old Gogele-eyes! You ’re having something to
say, too, are you?â€
The owl shifted his position, and stared at Tom an
instant. Then, as if the sight of so ridiculous a fellow
was too much for him, he shut his eyes with a loud
“T whit!†that made Tom jump.
All these things set the poor boy to thinking in earnest.
The words of Setalit were ringing in his ears, “Jf J were
you, Id wonder less and work more.†Going back through
the wood across the brook, and over the lots, he pondered
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WONDERING TOM 127
and pondered over the day’s events, but with new resolu-
tion in his soul. And the result of all his pondering was
that, as he entered the city gate, he snapped his ‘fingers,
saying,“ The King’s words shall never come true! Wonder-
ing Tom is going to work at last!â€
THREE years passed away.
“Little Wisk†grew to be quite a big girl; but nobody
thought of calling her by any other name. She was so
lithe and quick, so rosy, fresh, and sparkling, and so ten-
der and true withal, that she was Little Wisk as a matter
of course.
One chilly November afternoon she missed old Katy,
the old apple-woman, from her accustomed place at the
street corner.
“She must be ill,†thought little Wisk. “Perhaps she
has no one to help her.â€
With some persons, to think is to act. Wisk stepped
into a neighboring cobbler’s shop.
“Mr. Wacksend, do you know where the old apple-
woman. lives ?â€
“No,†said the cobbler, eruffly. “Shut the door when
you go out.â€
Little Wisk looked at him as he sat upon his bench,
pegging away at his work.
“Poor man!†she said to herself, “pushing the awl
through that thick leather makes him press his lips tight
together, and I suppose pressing his lips so tight, day after
day, makes him cross. I'll try the butcher.â€
She ran into the next shop.
128 THE LAND OF PLUCK
“Mr. Butcher, do you know where the old apple-woman
lives 2?â€
“Well,†said the butcher, pausing to wipe his cleaver
on his big apron, “she does n’t exactly dwe anywhere.
But, as the poor thing has neither kith nor kin to help
her, why, for the past year or so I’ve just let her tumble
herself in under a shed in my yard yonder. She ’s got an
old chopping-bench for a table, and a pile of straw for a
bed, and that ’s all her housekeeping.â€
“And does n’t she have anything to eat but apples?â€
asked Wisk, much distressed.
“Bless your simple heart!†said the butcher, laugh-
ing, “she can’t afford to eat her apples. No, no. She
keeps the breath in her body mostly with black bread
and scraps.â€
“Scraps ?â€
“Yes, meat-scraps. I save ’em for her out of the trim-
min’s. But what are you wantin’ of her so particular ?
Did you come to invite her to court 2â€
“Td like to see her for a moment,†said Wisk, shrink-
ing from his coarse laugh.
“Well,†answered the butcher, beginning to chop again,
“the surest way of seeing her is to go to the corner and
buy an apple.â€
“ But she is n’t there.â€
“Not there? That’s uncommon. Well,â€â€”pointing
back over his shoulder with his cleaver—*go down the
alley here, alongside the shop; steer clear of old Beppo in
his kennel, he ’s ugly sometimes; then go past the pig-
sties and the skin-heaps, and cross over by the cattle-stalls ;
WONDERING TOM 129
and right back of them, a little beyond, is the shed. May-
be she ’s lying there sick ; like enough, poor thing!â€
Little Wisk followed the directions, as she picked her
way carefully through the great bleak cattle-yard, think-
ing, as she went, that killing lambs did n’t always make a
man so very wicked, after all.
Reaching the shed, she found the poor old apple-woman,
moaning and bent nearly double with rheumatism.
“ce
I’M SORRY YOU ARE NOT WELL, Goopy,’ SAID LITTLE WISK.â€
“T’m sorry you are not well, Goody,†said Little Wisk.
“We missed you, you know. What can I do for you?â€
“Bless your bright eyes! Did you come to see poor old
Katy? Ough ah-h! the pain’s killing me, child! Oh, the
Lord save us, ough ah!â€
9
130 THE LAND OF PLUCK
“Tt ’s too cold and damp for you in here, I ’m sure.â€
« Ah yes, it is, dearie dear,—ough, ough!—cold and wet
enough !â€
“This old rusty stove would be nice if you had a fire in
it, Goody.â€
“Oh, the stove, dearie! The good gentleman in the
shop put it in here for me last winter. He’s kept me in
meat-seraps, too. Oh,—oh,—oh! (it catches me that way
often, child). But, alack! I have n’t a chip nor a shaving
to make a bit of fire. Oh! oh! (the worst ’s in this shoul-
der, dearie, and ’cross the back and into this ’ere knee).
Yes, cold and wet enough, so it is. Aouch! No use s’arch-
ing out there; you won't find nothing. Not a waste splin-
ter of wood left, I’ll be bound, after my raking and scrap-
ing till I was too sick to stand up.â€
“T do wish I had money to buy you some, Goody,†said
Wisk. “I sha’n’t have another silver-piece till my next
birthday, but you shall have that, I promise you.â€
“ Blessings on you for saying it, dearie; but old Katy
is n’t going to last till then. What with cold and hunger
(the meat on the nail there ’s no use, you see, if I can’t
cook it), and this ere —ough —ah !—this ’ere dreadful
rheumatiz, I can’t hold out much longer.â€
Suddenly a thought came to Wisk.
“Oh, Katy!†she exclaimed, and off she ran, past the
cattle-sheds, the skin-heaps, the pigsties, the dog-kennel,
up the alley, up the street, and round the corner toward the
river till she came to the workshop of a ship-carpenter.
“Tom,†she said, hurrying in, quite out, of breath, and
addressing a great strong boy who was working there,
“won't you give me some shavings and chips ?â€
WONDERING TOM 131
“ Certainly,†said Tom, straightway beginning to scrape
together a big pile. “What shall we put them in?â€
“Into my apron. They ’re for poor Katy, the apple-
woman. She lives in an old shed in Slorter’s cattle-yard.
She ’s sick, Tom, and she has n’t a thing to make a fire
with.â€
“Oh, if that’s it,†said Tom, “we must get her up a
cart-load of waste stuff, if the boss is willing.â€
The boss spoke up :
“ Help yourself, Tom. You ’re the steadiest lad in the
shop, and you ’ve never asked me a favor before. Help
yourself. Take along all those odds and ends in the cor-
ner yonder. Chips and shavings soon burn up.â€
“ Much obliged to you, sir,†said Tom ; and he added in
a lower tone to Wisk, “I ’ll load up and take ’em ’round
to her as soon as I’ve done my work. You can carry your
apronful now.â€
Wisk held up the corners of her apron while Tom filled
it, laughing to see how she lifted her pretty chin so that he
might pile in a “good lot,†as she called it.
“ There !†he exclaimed at last, “that ’s as much as you
can manage.â€
“Thank you, Tom. Oh, how kind you are! I was as
sure as anything that you ’d know just what to do. Thank
you again, Tom,†and she started at once.
“Wisk !â€
He had followed her to the door. When she turned
back, in answer to his call, he tried to speak to her, but
coughed instead.
“Did you want me, Tom?†she asked, demurely.
“Yes, Wisk. I—I wanted to say that—that J—â€
132 THE LAND OF PLUCK
“Why, what a cough you have, Tom! It’s from work-
ing so much in this windy shop. Oh, Tom, I’ve just
thought! If Katy had a door to her shed and a bench
with a back to it, she ’d be so comfortable!â€
“She shall have both,†said Tom. “I ll do it this very
evening. It’s full moon.â€
“Oh, you dear, blessed Tom! Good-by.â€
“Wisk!â€
But she was already running down the street. Tom
turned back slowly. I think he was wondering, though
he had really conquered that old habit. But it is so dif-
ficult, sometimes, to say just what we feel to those whom
we like very much!
“First the shavings, then the chips,†sang Wisk’s happy
heart, as she hurried along ; “ first the shavings, and then
the chips, and then a spark from old Katy’s tinder-box,
and sha’n’t we have a beautiful blaze!â€
That night, the one-eyed dog in the butcher’s yard had
a hard time of it. There was the moon to be barked at;
the pigs to be barked at; the sheep, the oxen, and the
lambs to be barked at every time they moved in their
stalls. The skin-heap, too, required a constant barking
to keep it from stirring while the rats were burrowing
beneath. And then there was the strange lad to be
barked at, coming in twice, as he did, with a hand-cart
heaped high with chips, shavings, and blocks, and again
coming back with planks, hammer, and saw. And the
sudden smoke from the sick woman’s fire; ah, how it
bothered old Beppo!
He had lived long in the yard, and remembered well
nearer
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WONDERING TOM 133
how the high chimney had stood there for years and
years,—all that was left of a burned-down factory,—
and how the shed had been built up around it as if to
keep it from tumbling. For months past it had been a
quiet, well-behaved chimney ; but now to see smoke rush-
ing out of it at such a rate, bound straight for that irri-
tating moon, was really too much to stand. So Beppo
barked and barked; and Tom hammered and hammered ;
and old Katy, warm at last, curled herself up in the
straw, saying over and over again, “How nice it will be!
1?
How nice it will be
YEARS passed on. One day, the King and his court
came riding down that same city again. Suddenly his
Majesty, grown older now, halted before a boat-builder’s
shop, and asked:
“Who is that busy fellow, yonder ?â€
“Where, your most prodigal Majesty?†asked the Prime
Minister in return.
“Tn the shop. Yesterday this same young fellow and
his man were busy out on the docks. He works with
a will, that fellow. I must set him at the royal ships.â€
“The royal ships!†echoed the Prime Minister, “your
most overwhelming Majesty; why, that is a fortune for
any man!â€
“T know it. Why not?†said the King. “What is his
name ?â€
The Prime Minister could not say. And again, as on
that day lone before, the question traveled through the
o*
134 THE LAND OF PLUCK
>
“**THOMAS REDDY, YOUR MAJESTY.
erandees of the court, until it reached the Chief-Cook-and-
Bottle-Washer, and the Chief-Cook-and-Bottle-Washer
asked a pretty young woman named Wisk, who chanced to
be coming out of the shop.
“He ’s a master-builder,†replied Wisk, blushing.
“But what ’s his name ?†repeated the Chief-Cook-and-
Bottle-Washer.
“He used to be called Wondering Tom,†she answered ;
“but now we all call him by his real name, Thomas Reddy.â€
WONDERING TOM 135
“Thomas Reddy!†shouted the Chief-Cook-and-Bottle-
Washer. “Thomas Reddy!†cried the Royal Rat-Catcher.
And, in fact, “Thomas Reddy!†was called so often and
so loudly along the line before it reached the only officer
who could venture to speak to the King, that the master-
builder, with a keen eye to business, threw down his tools
and came out of the shop.
“Oh, Tom! Again the King wishes to speak with you,â€
said Little Wisk.
They took each other by the hand, and together walked
toward his Majesty.
“Behold!†said the King, “we have found the finest
young workman in our realms! Let preparations be
made at once for proclaiming him Royal Ship-Builder !
What do they call you, young man? I’ve lost the name.â€
“Thomas Reddy, your Majesty,†he answered, his eye
sparkling with grateful joy.
« And who are you, my pretty one?â€
“Oh, I’m his wife,†said the smiling Wisk.
LITTLE VEMBA BROWN
LITTLE VEMBA LROWN.
LITTLE VEMBA BROWN
VEMBA was a new name in the Brown family; and,
very properly, it was given to a brand-new girl,— the
sweetest, prettiest mite of a girl, in fact, that ever had
come to join the Brown household. To be sure, six years
before this, they had weleomed a Morris Brown nearly
as small and sweet and pretty, and, later on, a Harris
Brown, who began life as a baby of the very first quality ;
but they, both, were boys. And here was a girl! She
was so new that she did not know Morris and Harris
were in the house. Think of that! And if she had
noticed them, she would not have had the slightest idea
who they were. Dear me! How very well acquainted
the three became after awhile! But at first, when the
little girl was only a few wecks old, she was still quite
a stranger to the boys, and had no other name than Miss
3yown; yet she had the air of owning not only Mr. and
Mrs. Brown, but all the family, and the very house they
lived in. Why, the King of the Cannibal Islands him-
self could not have made her change countenance unless
she chose to do so.
Well, there they were-— Morris Brown, aged six years,
139
140 THE LAND OF PLUCK
Harris Brown, aged three, and Miss Brown of hardly any
age at all. These were the Brown children.
“Dear me! a bonny little lady !†said Uncle Tom, who
had come all the way from Philadelphia to take a look at
the baby.
At this point of time, as he gazed at her through his
spectacles, all the family crowded around ; the boys, proud
and happy, stood on either side of him to hear what his
opinion might be.
“A bonny little lady,†repeated Uncle Tom; “and now,
Stephania, what are you going to call her ?â€
He turned so suddenly upon Mrs. Brown, in his brisk
way, that it made her start.
“Dear me! I—I—don’t know,†she answered. “Some
novel, pretty name, of course ; something fanciful; but we
have nt settled upon one yet.â€
“Why not call her Stephania, after you and me?†asked
Grandmama, brightly.
“Oh, dear, no,†sighed Mrs. Brown; “I ’d like some-
thing not so horri—, I mean, something more fanciful
than that!â€
“Well, I declare!†exclaimed Grandmama, and she
closed her lips as if resolved never to say another word
about it.
“We have thought of Marjorie,†remarked Mr. Brown,
with a funny twinkle in his eyes, “and, ahem! two or
three others,—Mabel, for instance, and Ida, and Irene,
and Clara, and Jean, and Olivia; Florence, and Francesca,
too, and Lily; Alice, and Elinor, and Anita, and Jessie,
and Dora, and Isabel, and Bertha, and Louise, and Can-
LITTLE VEMBA BROWN 141
dace, and Alma; but Stephania condemns every one of
them as too plain or too hackneyed. The fact is, all the
pretty names are used up.â€
“You might name her Chestnut,†said Morris, musingly.
“There are three of us, and three is an awful lot.â€
Just then the wind howled dismally ; sere and yellow
leaves whirled past the windows.
!†exclaimed Grandmama.
is n't it?â€
“Here ’s sunshine, though,’ murmured Mrs. Brown,
cheerily. “You ’re a ’ittle pessus bit of booful sunshine,
so you is, even if you is a poor ‘itty "Vember baby !†and
she fell to kissing Miss Brown in the most rapturous
manner.
“Goodness, what weather
“Bleak even for November
“Ha! there it is!†cried Uncle Tom. “Vemba ’s her
name. Her mother has said it. Let us call her Vemba!â€
Every one laughed, but Uncle Tom was in earnest; be-
sides, he had to take the afternoon train back to Phila-
delphia,
and you know how they always rush matters
through in Philadelphia.
“Tt’s a good name, and new,†he said, nodding his head
in a rotary way that somehow took in Mr. Brown, Mrs.
3rown, Grandma Brown, Morris Brown, Harris Brown,
and Miss Brown. “It ’s a good name. Think it over.
I must be off!â€
“Vemba, from November?†eried Grandma. “What a
bleak name! Do you want the poor child to be a shadow
on the house?†and the dear old lady flourished her knit-
ting as she spoke.
Whether it was the gleam of the long needles, or Uncle
142 THE LAND OF PLUCK
Tom’s frantic but slow way of putting on his coat,— or
whether Miss Brown, catching Grandina Brown’s words,
had suddenly resolved to show them that she had n’t the
slightest intention in the world of being a shadow on the
house, I do not know. But certain it is she smiled,—
smiled the brightest, sunniest little smile you can imagine.
All the family were delighted. The boys shouted, Papa
laughed, Mama laughed, Uncle Tom laughed, and Coane
exclaimed, “ Well, I never!â€
“She ’s answered you, Grandma!†cried Uncle Tom,
bending down with only one sleeve of lis overcoat on,—
and actually kissing the baby,
“she has answered you.
Ha, ha! No clouds about her ; you see she ’s a sunshine-
girl, Well, good-by, little Vemba! Good-by, all,†and he
was out of the room and on his way to the train before
the baby had time to blink.
Well, to make a long story short, the more they thought
about the new name, the better they liked it. Besides,
Morris and Harris, who adored Uncle Tom, would hear of
no other. Papa declared it was not “half bad,†and even
Mana adinitted that at least it was not commonplace.
Meanwhile, the baby fell into a pleasant sleep.
When she awoke her name was Vemba Brown.
That was five years ago, this November, and now every
one says that of all the sweet, sunny, bright little girls in
New York, Vemba Brown is the sunniest, brightest, and
sweetest. She is now thorouchly acquainted with Morris
an Harris; and as for Uncle Tom—well, you should
have heard her laugh the other day when that gentleman
told the wee maiden that bleak November would soon
LITTLE VEMBA BROWN 143
be here, and then everybody would shiver and sneeze —
So /—and you should have seen her throw her arms around
his neck and kiss him when that same day he gave her a
beautiful new walking-suit and a soft white muff to keep
her little hands warm !
And oh, you should have seen, besides, what the little
maid found waiting for her when she went down to break-
fast on that happy birthday! A gift from Mama, and an-
other from Papa. One of the gifts was very quiet, for it
held a secret ; the other at first was just a little noisy, and
he soon told Vemba all he knew.
WAITING FOR VEMBA !
THE CROW-CHILD
CORA AND RUKY.
THE CROW-CHILD
Mipway between a certain blue lake and a deep forest
there once stood a cottage, called by its owner “The
Ltookery.â€
The forest shut out the sunlight and scowled upon the
ground, breaking with shadows every ray that fell, until
only a few little pieces lay scattered about. But the
broad lake invited all the rays to come and rest upon her,
so that sometimes she shone from shore to shore, and the
sun winked and blinked above her, as though dazzled by
his own reflection. The cottage, which was very small,
had sunny windows and dark windows. Only from the
roof could you see the mountains beyond, where the light
crept up in the morning and down in the evening, turning
all the brooks into living silver as it passed.
But something brighter than sunshine used often to
look from the cottage into the forest, and something even
more gloomy than shadows often glowered from its win-
dows upon the sunny lake. One was the face of little
Ruky Lynn; and the other was his sister’s when she
felt angry or ill-tempered.
They were orphans, Cora and Ruky, living alone in the
cottage with an old uncle. Cora—or “Cor,†as Ruky
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148 THE LAND OF PLUCK
called her — was nearly sixteen years old, but her brother
had seen the forest turn yellow only four times. She was,
therefore, almost mother and sister in one. The little fel-
low was her companion night and day. Together they ate
and slept, and — when Cora was not at work in the cot-
tage — together they rambled in the wood, or floated in
their little skiff upon the lake.
tuky had bright, dark eyes, and the glossy blackness of
his hair made his cheeks look even rosier than they were.
He had funny ways for a boy, Cora thought., The quick,
bird-like jerks of his raven-black head, his stately baby
gait, and his habit of pecking at his food, as she called it,
often made his sister laugh. Young as he was, the little
fellow had learned to mount to the top of a low-branching
tree near the cottage, though he could not always get down
alone. Sometimes when, perched in the thick foliage, he
would scream, “Cor! Cor! Come, help me down!†his
sister would answer, as she ran out laughing, “ Yes, little
Crow! I’m coming.â€
Perhaps it was because he reminded her of a crow that
Cora called him her little bird. This was when she was
good-natured and willing to let him see how much she
loved him. But in her cloudy moments, as the uncle
called them, Cora was another girl. Everything seemed
ugly to her, or out of tune. Even Ruky was a trial; and,
instead of giving him a kind word, she would scold and
grumble until he would steal from the cottage door, and,
jumping lightly from the door-step, seek the shelter of his
tree. Once safely perched among its branches he knew
she would finish her work, forget her ill-humor, and be
THK CROW-CHILD 149
quite ready, when he cried “Cor! Cor!†to come from
the cottage with a cheery, “Yes, little Crow! I’m com-
ing! I ’m coming!â€
No one could help loving Ruky, with his quick, affec-
tionate ways; and it seemed that Ruky, in turn, could
not help loving every person and thing around him. He
loved his silent old uncle, the bright lake, the cool forest,
THE HOME OF CORA AND RUKY.
and even his little china cup with red berries painted upon
it. But more than all, Ruky loved his golden-haired sis-
ter, and the great dog, who would plunge into the lake at
the mere pointing of his chubby little finger. In fact, that
finger and the commanding baby voice were “law†to Nep
at any time.
Nep and Ruky often talked together, and though one
used barks and the other words, there was a perfect under-
standing between them. Woe to the strageler that dared
to rouse Nep’s wrath, and woe to the bird or rabbit that ven-
tured too near!—those great teeth snapped at their prey
10â€
150 THE LAND OF PLUCK
without even the warning of a growl. But Ruky could
safely pull Nep’s ears or his tail, or climb his great shagey
back, or even snatch away the untasted bone. Still, as I
said before, every one loved the child; so, of course, Nep
was no exception.
One day Ruky’s “Cor! Cor!†had sounded oftener than
usual. THis rosy face had bent saucily to kiss Cora’s up-
turned forehead, as she raised her arms to lift him from the
tree; but the sparkle in his dark eyes had seemed to kindle
so much mischief in him that his sister’s patience became
fairly exhausted.
“ Has Cor nothing to do but to wait upon you?†she cried,
“and nothing to listen to but your noise and your racket ?
You shall go to bed early to-day, and then I shall have
some peace.â€
“No, no, Cor. Please let Ruky wait till the stars come.
Ruky wants to see the stars.â€
“Hush! Ruky is bad. He shall have a whipping when
Uncle comes back from town.â€
Nep growled.
“WMa!ha!†laughed Ruky, jerking his head saucily from
side to side; “ Nep says ‘No!’â€
Nep was shut out of the cottage for his pains, and poor
iiuky was undressed, with many a hasty jerk and pull.
“You hurt, Cor!†he said, plaintively. “I’m going to
take off my shoes my own self.â€
“No, you ’re not,†cried Cora, almost shaking him; and
when he cried she called him naughty, and said if he did
not stop he should have no supper. This made him ery all
the more, and Cora, feeling in her angry mood that he
deserved severe punishment, threw away his supper and
THE CROW-CHILD 151
put him to bed. Then all that could be heard were Ruky’s
low sobs and the snappish clicks of Cora’s needles, as she
sat knitting, with her back to him.
He could not sleep, for his eyelids were scalded with
1â€
tears, and his plaintive “Cor! Cor!†had reached his sister’s
ears in vain. She never once looked up from those eleam-
ing knitting-needles, nor even gave him his good-night
kiss.
It grew late. The uncle did not return. At last Cora,
sulky and weary, locked the cottage door, blew out her
candle, and lay down beside her brother.
The poor little fellow tried to win a forgiving word, but
she was too ill-natured to grant it. In vain he whispered,
“Cor, Cor!†He even touched her hand over and over
again with his lips, hoping she would turn toward him,
and, with a loving kiss, murmur, as usual, “Good night,
little bird.â€
Instead of this, she jerked her arm angrily away, saying:
“Oh, stop your pecking and go to sleep! I wish you
were a crow in earnest, and then I ’d have some peace.â€
After this, Ruky was silent. His heart drooped within
?
him as he wondered what this “peace†was that his sister
wished for so often, and why he must go away before it
could come to her.
Soon, Cora, who had rejoiced in the sudden calm, heard
a strange fluttering. In an instant she saw by the starlight
a dark object circle once or twice in the air above her, then
dart suddenly through the open window.
Astonished that Ruky had not shouted with delight
at the strange visitor, or else clung to her neck in fear,
she turned to see if he had fallen asleep.
152 THE LAND OF PLUCK
No wonder that she started up, horror-stricken,— Ruky
was not there !
His empty place was still warm; perhaps he had slid
softly from the bed. With trembling haste she lighted the
candle, and peered into every corner. The boy was not to
be found !
Then those fearful words rang in her ears:
“I wish you were a crow in earnest !â€
Cora rushed to the door, and, with straining gaze, looked
out into the still night.
“Ruky! Ruky!†she screamed.
There was a slight stir in the low-growing tree.
“Ruky, darling, come back !â€
“Caw, caw!†answered a harsh voice from the tree.
Something black seemed to spin out of it, and then, in
great sweeping circles, sailed upward, until finally it settled
upon one of the loftiest trees in the forest.
“Caw, caw!†it screamed, fiercely.
The girl shuddered, but, with outstretched arms, cried
out :
“Oh, Ruky, if it is you, come back to poor Cor!â€
“Caw, caw!†mocked hundreds of voices, as a shadow
like a thunder-cloud rose in the air. It was an immense
flock of crows. She could distinguish them plainly in the
starlight, circling higher and higher, then lower and lower,
until, with their harsh “Caw, caw!†they sailed far off
into the night.
“Oh, Ruky, answer me!†she cried.
Nep growled, the forest trees whispered softly together,
and the lake, twinkling with stars, sang a lullaby as it lifted
THE CROW-CHILD ' 153
its weary little waves upon the shore: there was no other
sound,
It seemed that daylight never would come; but at last
the trees turned slowly from black to green, and the lake
put out its stars, one by one, and waited for the new day.
Cora, who had been wandering restlessly in every direc-
tion, now went weeping into the cottage. “Poor boy!†she
sobbed ; “he had no supper.†Then she scattered bread-
crumbs near the doorway, hoping that Ruky would come
for them; but only a few timid little songsters hovered
about, and, while Cora wept, picked up the food daintily,
as though it burned their bills. When she reached forth
her hand, though there were no crows among them, and
called “Ruky! Ruky!†they scattered and flew away in
an instant.
Next she went to the steep-roofed barn, and, bringing
out an apronful of grain, scattered it all around his favorite
tree. Before long, to her great joy, a flock of crows came
by. They spied the grain, and soon were busily picking it
up with their short, feathered bills. One even came near
the mound where she sat. Unable to restrain herself
longer, she fell wpon her knees with an imploring ery :
“Oh, Ruky ! is this you ?â€
Instantly the entire flock set up an anery “caw,†and,
surrounding the crow, who was hopping closer and closer to
Cora, hurried him off, until they all looked like mere specks
against the summer sky.
Every day, rain or shine, she scattered the grain, tremb-
ling with dread lest Nep should leap among the hungry
crows, and perhaps kill her “little bird†first. But Nep
154 THE LAND OF PLUCK
“fou, RUKY! IS THIS you?’â€
knew better; he never stirred when the noisy crowd set-
tled around the cottage, excepting once, when one of them
pounced upon his back. Then he started up, wagging his
tail, and barking with uproarious delight. The crow flew
off in a flutter, and did not venture near him again.
THE CROW-CHILD 155
Poor Cora felt sure that this could be no other than
Ruky. Oh, if she only could have caught him then! Per-
haps with kisses and prayers she night have won him back
to Ruky’s shape; but now the chance was lost.
There was no one to help her; for the nearest neighbor
dwelt miles away, and her uncle had not yet returned.
After awhile she remembered the little cup, and, filling
it with grain, stood it upon a grassy mound. When the
crows came, they fought and strugeled for its contents
with many an angry cry. One of them made no effort to
seize the grain. He was content to peck at the berries
painted upon its sides, as he hopped joyfully around it
again and again. Nep lay very quiet. Only the tip of his
tail twitched with an eager, wistful motion. But Cora
sprang joyfully toward the bird.
“Tt is Ruky!†she cried, striving to catch it.
Alas! the cup lay shattered beneath her hand, as, with a
taunting, “ caw, caw,†the crow joined its fellows and flew
away.
Next, gunners came. They were looking for other birds;
but they hated the crows, Cora knew, and she trembled
for Ruky. She heard the sharp crack of fowling-pieces
in the forest, and shuddered whenever Nep, pricking up
his ears, darted with an angry howl in the direction of
the sound. She knew, too, that her uncle had set traps
for the crows, and it seemed to her that the whole world
was against the poor birds, plotting their destruction.
Time flew by. The leaves seemed to flash into bright
colors and fall off almost in a day. Frost and snow came.
Still the uncle had not returned, or, if he had, she did not
‘4 TERRIBLE NIGHT OF WIND AND STORM.â€
THE CROW-CHILD 157
know it. Her brain was bewildered. She knew not
whether she ate or slept. Only the terrible firing reached
her ears, or that living black cloud came and went with its
ceaseless “ caw.â€
At last, during a terrible night of wind and storm, Cora
felt that she must go forth and seek her poor bird.
“Perhaps he is freezing—dying!†she cried, springing
frantically from the bed, and casting her long cloak over
her night-dress.
In a moment, she was trudging barefooted through the
snow. It was so deep she could hardly walk, and the sleet
was driving into her face; still she kept on, though her
numbed feet seemed hardly to belong to her. All the way
she was praying in her heart; promising never, never to
be passionate again, if she only could find her bird — not
tuky the boy, but whatever he might be. She was will-
ing to accept her punishment. Soon a faint cry reached
her ear. With eager haste, she peered into every fold of
the drifted snow. A black object caught her eye. It was
a poor storm-beaten crow, lying there benumbed and stiff.
For Ruky’s sake she folded it closely to her bosom, and
plodded back to the cottage. The fire cast a rosy light on
its glossy wing as she entered, but the poor thing did not
stir, Softly stroking and warming it, she wrapped the
frozen bird in soft flannel and blew into its open mouth.
Soon, to her great relief, it revived, and even swallowed a
few grains of wheat.
Cold and weary, she cast herself upon the bed, still fold-
ing the bird to her heart. “It may be Ruky! It is all I
ask,†she sobbed. “I dare not ask for more.â€
158 THE LAND OF PLUCK
“JUST TWO Hours.â€
Suddenly she felt a peculiar stirring. The crow seemed
to grow larger. Then, in the dim light, she felt its feathers
pressing lightly against her cheek. Next, something soft
and warm wound itself tenderly about her neck, and she
heard a sweet voice saying :
“Don’t ery, Cor,—I "Il be good.â€
THE CROW-CHILD 159
She started up. It was, indeed, her own darling! The
starlight shone into the room. Lighting her candle, she
looked at the clock.
It was just two hours since she had uttered those cruel
words! Sobbing, she asked :
“ Have I been asleep, Ruky, dear ?â€
“T don’t know, Cor. Do people ery when they ’re
asleep ?â€
“Sometimes, Ruky,†clasping him very close.
“Then you have been asleep. But Cor, please don’t let
Uncle whip Ruky.†.
“No, no, my little bird—I mean, my brother. Good
night, darling !â€
“Good night.â€
we.
ow male.
A
ry So)
<3 no SP. c}
oop ee,
vine
TRAPPER JOE
Ve
‘
TRAPPER JOE STOOD ON THE EDGE OF THE TIMBER-LAND LISTENING
TO “—K DID N’Y KNOW WHAT.†(PAGE 173.)
TRAPPER JOE
How strange it all seemed to little Winifred! One
year ago, or, as she reckoned it, one snow-time and one
flower-time ago, she was living in Boston, and now she
was in the wilds of Colorado. It was a great change —
this going from comfort and luxury to a place where com-
fort was hard to find, and luxury not to be thought of;
where they had a log-hut instead of a house, and a pig in
place of a poodle. But, on the whole, she enjoyed it. Her
father was better, and that was what they came for. The
doctor had said Colorado air would cure him. And, though
her young Mother often looked tired and troubled, she
certainly never used to break forth into happy bits of song
when Father was ill in bed, as she did now that he was
able to help cut down trees in the forest. Besides, who
ever saw in Boston such beautiful blue flowers and such
flaming red blossoms? And what was the frog-pond com-
pared with these streams that now, in the springtime,
came rushing through the woods—silently sometimes, and
sometimes go noisily that, if it were not for their sparkle
when they passed the open, sunny places, and the playful
163
164 THE LAND OF PLUCK
way they had of running into every chink along the banks,
one would think they were anery? Yes, on the whole,
Winifred liked Colorado ; and so did her little brother Nat ;
though, if you had told him Boston was just around the
corner, he would have started to run there without waiting
to put on his cap.
A little mite of a fellow Nat was, full of good nature
and sunshine. Although he thought himself quite a big
boy, as he strutted about in his home-made jacket and
and that
was to be away from Mother, even for an hour. There
trousers, one thing could sorely trouble him
was something in Mother’s way of singing, Mother’s way
of kissing hurt little heads and fingers, Mother’s way of
sprinkling sugar upon bread, and Mother’s way of rock-
ing tired little boys, that Nat approved of most heartily.
He loved his father, too, and thought him the most power-
ful woodcutter that ever swung an ax, though really the
poor man had to stop and rest at nearly every stroke.
See these two children now trudging toward the shal-
low bend of the little river near by, quite intent upon the
launching and sailing of a tiny sloop that Father had made
for Nat on the evening before, warranting only that she
would float. This she did, and reared her one sail most
gallantly. But alas! inspired by the current she sailed too
well. It required the restraining efforts of both children
to keep her near shore; and when at last Winnie remarked
in cold scorn that she did n’t see much fun in sailing a
boat that had to be pulled back all the time, Nat and she
promptly decided to try some other kind of sport.
Father’s big rowboat was moored close by, and why not
TRAPPER JOE 165
get into it and set it a-rocking? Father and Mother both
had laughed the other day to see them do this —so of
course there could be no harm in it.
But when they had climbed into the rowboat they found
it too hot and sunny. At least Winnie said it was so.
“NOT MUCH FUN IN SAILING A BOAT THAT HAD TO BE PULLED BACK
ALL THE TIME.â€
“Let ’s try the canoe,†she added, in a sprightly way.
“T’msure Papa would let us just sit in it.â€
“Course he would,†responded Nat, promptly beginning
to climb out of the boat as he spoke.
The canoe was tied to a stake a little farther downstream,
where the river grew narrow, and the current was much
stronger. It was matle of bark, and was pointed at both
ends. Now that the stream was swollen and flowing fast,
it was fine fun to sit together in the middle and “ get
bounced about,†as Winnie said.
11*
166 THE LAND OF PLUCK
“You get in first, because you ’re the littlest,†said Win-
nie, holding her dress tightly away from the plashing wa-
ter with one hand, and pulling the boat close to the shore
with the other.
“No, you get in first, cause you’m a girl,†said Nat. “I
don’t want any helpin’. I’m going to take off my tods and
tockies first, cause Mama said I might.â€
Nat could say “shoes and stockings†quite plainly
when he chose, but everybody said “toos and ’tockiesâ€
to him; so he looked upon these words, and many other
crooked ones, as a sort of language of Nat, which all the
world would speak if they only knew how.
In at last,— both of them,—and a fine rocking they
had. The bushes and trees threw cool shadows over the
canoe, and the birds sang, and the blue sky peeped down
at them through little openings overhead, and, altogether,
with the plashing water and the birds and pleasant murmur
of insects, it was almost like Mother’s rocking and singing.
At first they talked and laughed softly. Then they lis-
tened. Then they talked a very little; then they listened
again, lying on the rushes in the bottom of the canoe.
Then they ceased talking, and watched the branches wav-
ing overhead; and, at last, they both fell sound asleep.
This was early in the forenoon. Mother was very busy
in the cabin, sweeping the room, making the beds, heating
the oven, and doing a dozen other things. At last she took
a plate of crumbs, and went out to feed the chickens.
“Winnie! Nat!†she called, as she stepped out upon
the clean, rough door-stone. “Come, feed the chickens!â€
TRAPPER JOR 167
Then she added, in a surprised way, to herself: “Why,
where in the world can those childyen be? They must
have stopped at the new clearing to see their father.â€
At dinner-time, she blew the big tin horn that hung by
the door, and soon her hus-
band came home alone, hun-
ery and tired.
“Oh, you little witches!â€
laughed the mother, without
looking up from her task of
bread-cutting. “How could
you stay away so long from
Mama? ‘Tired, Frank ?â€
“Yes, very. But what do
you mean? Where ave the
youngsters ?â€
She looked up now, ex-
claiming in a frightened voice,
as she ran out past her hus-
band: “Oh, Frank! I ’ve not
seen them for two or three
hours. I thought they were
with you. They surely would
vil) FRANK! FRANK! THE
CANOE IS GONE!’â€
n't have played allthis time with the little sloop!â€
The father, who was indeed very weary, and not at all
alarmed, sat quietly awaiting her return. But when, in a
few moments, she rushed in screaming: “Oh, Frank!
Frank! the canoe is gone!†he sprang up, and together
they ran toward the stream.
168 THE LAND OF PLUCK
All that long, terrible day, and the next, they searched.
They followed the stream, and at last found the canoe
but it was empty! In vain the father and mother and
their only neighbor wandered through the forest in every
direction, calling: “ Winnie! Winnie! Nat! Nat!†In
vain the father and the neighbor took their boats and
explored the stream for miles and miles —no trace could
be found of the poor little creatures who, full of life and
joy, had so lately jumped into their father’s canoe to “be
bounced about.â€
Where were they? Alas! they themselves did not
know. They only knew that they had been wakened sud-
denly by a great thump, and that when they sprang out
of the canoe, and started to go home, everything was dif-
ferent. There was no foot-path, no clearing where trees had
been cut down, no sound of Father’s ax near by, nor of
Mother’s song
and the stream was rushing on very an-
erily over its sandy bed. The canoe, which had broken
loose and, borne on by the current, had drifted away with
them nearly three miles from the stake, was wedged be-
tween two great stones when they jumped out of it; but
now it was gone
the waters had taken it away. After a
while, in their distracted wanderings, they could not even
find the stream, though it seemed to be roaring in every
.direction around them.
Now they were in the depths of the forest, wandering
about, tired, hunery and frightened. That night they cried
themselves to sleep in each other’s arms under the black
trees; and, as the wind moaned through the branches,
Winnie had prayed God to save them from the wolves,
eel
TRAPPER JOE 169
and little Nat had screamed, “Papa! Mama!†sobbing as
if his heart would break.
In the morning all they could find to eat was a few
sweet red berries that grew close to the ground.
Every hour the poor children grew fainter, and, at last,
Nat could n’t walk at all.
“Tm too tired and sick,†he said, “and my feets all tut.
My toos and ’tockies is in the boat.
O Winnie! Winnie!†he would
cry, with a great sob, “why dowt
Mama ’v Papa come? Oh, if
Mama ’d only come and bring us
some bread!â€
“Don’t ery, dear — don’t ery,â€
Winnie would say over and over
again. “T’ll find some more red
berries soon; and God will show
us the way home. I know he will.
Only don’t cry, Nat, because it
takes away all my courage.â€
“What?†asked Nat, looking
wildly at her as if he thought cour-
age was something they could eat.
170 THE LAND OF PLUCK
“All my courage, Nat.†And then, after searching in
vain for more red berries, she would moan: “ Dear Father
in Heaven, I can’t find anything more for Nat to eat.
Oh, please show us the way home!â€
Often she would tie her handkerchief high upon some
sapling, and, charging Nat on no account to “ move a single
inch, dear,†she would place him down by the tree, and
then press through the thicket and stumble over fallen
boughs in the vain hope of spying a foot-path or at least
the gleam of the noisy stream. Never once, however, did
she lose sight of the handkerchief that hung limp and
spiritless above Nat’s head.
In vain. There was no path; only the wilderness and
the growing darkness in every direction ; not a berry any-
where. Returning to her brother, and stroking his restless
little hands and whispering cheery words, she would sink
to the ground, and sob, in spite of herself.
What was that quick sound coming toward them? The
underbrush was so thick Winnie could not see what caused
it, but she held her breath in terror, thinking of wolves
and Indians, for there were many of both, she knew, lurk-
ing about in these ereat forests.
The sound ceased for a moment. Seizing Nat in her
arms, she made one more frantic effort to find her way to the
stream, then, seeing a strange look in the poor little face
when she put him down to take a firmer hold, she screamed :
“Nat! Nat! Don’t look so! Speak to Winnie!â€
“Hello, there!†shouted a voice through the under-
brush, and in another instant a tall, keen-faced man came
stamping and breaking his way through the bushes.
ST
TRAPPER JOR 171
“Hello, there! What on airth’s up now? Ef old Joe
hain’t come upon queer game this time. Two sick young-
sters —an’ ef they ain't a-starving! Here, you young uns,
eat some uv this ’ere, and give an account uv yourselves.â€
With these words, he drew from a leather pouch at his
side, a couple of crackers.
The children clutched at them frantically.
“Hold up! Not so sharp!†he said; “you must have a
little at a time for an hour yet. Here, sis, give me the
little one —I ‘Il feed him; and as for you, jest see that
you don’t more ’n wibble 1â€
“Oh, give me a drink!†cried Winnie, swallowing the
cracker in two bites, and for an instant even forgetting
Nat.
The man pulled a canteen or flat thin flask from his belt â€
and gave her a swallow of water; then he hastened to
‘moisten Nat’s lips and feed him crumb after crumb of
the broken cracker.
“Another day,†he muttered to himself, as he gently fed
the boy and smoothed back the tangled yellow hair from
the pale little face-—* another day, and he ’d ’a’ been past.
mendin’.â€
Winnie looked up quickly.
“Ts he going to die ?†she asked.
“Not he,†said the man; “he ’1l come through right end
up yet. He’s got a fever on him, but we ll soon knock
that under. How ’d you get here, little gal ?â€
Winnie told her story, all the while feeling a glad cer-
tainty at her heart that their troubles were over.
The strange man carried a gun, and he had a big pistol,
172 THE LAND OF PLUCK
and a knife at the back of his belt. He looked very fierce,
too, yet she knew he would not harm her. She had seen
many a trapper since she had come to the West, and, be-
sides, she felt almost sure he was the very trapper who had
been at her father’s cabin a few months before, and taken
supper, warming himself by the big fire while he told
wonderful stories about Indians and furs, and about hav-
ing many a time had “fifty mile o’ traps out on one
stretch.†Yes, he was the very man, she believed, who had
told her parents how he had seen a bear walking one moon-
light night across the very spot where their cabin now stood.
She remembered, too, that her father had told her the
next day that trappers lived by catching with traps all
TRAPPER JOE 173
sorts of wild animals, and selling their furs to the traders,
and that this particular trapper had been very successful,
and had great influence among the Indians — in fact, that
he was “one of the big men of that country,†as he said.
These thoughts running through her mind now as she
told how they had been lost in the forest for two whole
days, and a night, and the sight of Nat falling peacefully
asleep on the trapper’s shoulder, made her feel so happy
that she suddenly broke forth with, “O Mr. Trapper! I
12
can run now. Let’s go right home!
THE stars came out one by one that night, and winked
and blinked at a strange figure stalking through the forest.
He had a sleeping child on his arm, and yet carried his
gun ready to fire at an instant’s notice. Trudging on, with
poor little Winnie half running beside him, he muttered
to himself:
“Well, old Joe, you ve bagged all sort o’ game in this
ere forest, and trapped most everything a-goin’, but you
ain’t never had such a rare bit o’ luck as this. No wonder
I stood there on the edge of the timber-land, listening to I
did n’t know what! Reckon here’s a couple o’ skins now’ll
fetch ’most
be putty popular at one market at any rate,
any price you could name. But I ’Il let ’em go cheap; all
the pay I want for these ’ere critters is jest to see the
antics of them poor frightened — Hello! tliere’s a light!
What, ahoy ! Neighbor, hello ! hello!â€
“Got ’em both!†he shouted, as three figures, two men
and a woman, came in sight through the starlight. “All
1?
right — got ’em both
174 THE LAND OF PLUCK
The children are awake now. What sobs, what laughter,
what broken words of gratitude and joy, fall upon the mid-
night air! Little Nat utters only a faint “ Hello, Papa!
hello, Mama!†as he slides from Trapper Joe’s strong hold
into his mother’s outstretched arms.
Mother, Father, Trapper Joe, and the neighbor seem all
to be talking at once — and Winnie, wondering and thrilled
with strange happiness, is saying to herself: “I knew God
would show us the way home!â€
THE BRIGHTON CATS
a sae
MAY AND MABEL.
THE BRIGHTON CATS
MABEL AND May, the twins, were very fond of cats.
From the time when they first toddled about the house and
garden, they had a pet kitten that was their special pride
and joy. Strange to say, under these circumstances, this
kitten had a very comfortable though active existence,
and seemed to think that, instead of the twins owning
it, it owned the twins.
Well, one happy day when May and Mabel were eight
years old, their Uncle Jack came home from a long visit—
in fact, as Mabel said, he had been away from them “a
He always had lived on Long Island, but
?
whole half-year.’
now he had been to Europe, and that, the twins insisted,
“made a ereat difference.†He had seen the bears at Berne ;
the poll-parrots at Havre ; the lions and tigers at Hamburg ;
the monstrous birds and all the wonderful things in the
Jardin des Plantes in Paris ; and the fishes and sea-marvels
in the London Aquarium. But best of all, to the twins,
he had seen the amazing and delightful Brighton cats —
those highly intelligent and dramatic creatures that, at one
time, were celebrated throughout Great Britain,
12 ui
178 THE LAND OF PLUCK
It was on a winter evening, after their early supper, that
the twins first heard about the Brighton cats. Uncle Jack,
bowing elegantly, asked them to “step into the library,
please.â€
When they were cozily seated by the big table, he ob-
served: “I beheve you two lke cats and kittens best of
all your animal friends.â€
“Oh, yes! indeed we do!†exclaimed the twins.
At this, Uncle Jack ran his hand deep down into the
inner breast-pocket of his coat, and held it there mysteri-
ously, while the twins waited eagerly to see what new sur-
prise was coming. Slowly he drew forth a small packet of
pictures, carefully laying them before him, backs up.
“Oh!†said Mabel.
“Oh!†said May.
“ Just so,†remarked Uncle Jack. “We understand one
another perfectly.†And, somehow, he contrived by his tone
and manner to let them know that he highly approved of
their patient politeness, and that he would now proceed.
And this is the story he told them — true from begin-
ning to end. And the pictures of the Brighton cats, shown
in these pages, are carefully copied from the very photo-
graphs that Uncle Jack took from his pocket that evening.
Dip ever you hear of the Brighton cats? No? Well,
that is strange, for they are very famous fellows, I assure
you. Brighton is in England, you must know. They are
trained cats, and they are not only very good actors, but,
what is more pleasant still, they seem to enjoy their own
THE BRIGHTON CATS 179
performances very much. ‘Their master loves them dearly,
and every day they jump up on his shoulders, and, rubbing
their soft cheeks against his beard, purr gently, as if to
say, “Ah, master dear, if it were not for you, how stupid
os VIMPKINS PAINTS.
we should be! You have taught us everything.†Then
the master laughs and strokes them, before he sets them
at work. Then he says:
“ Pussies, attention !â€
Down they jump, their eyes flashing, their ears twitch-
ing and eager, their very tails saying —“Aye, aye, sir.â€
180 THE LAND OF PLUCK
“ Pimpkins, to work !â€
Pimpkins is a painter; that is, he has learned to hold a
palette and malhlstick in one paw, and a brush in the
other, which you ‘ll adinit is doing very well for a cat.
With his master’s help, he is soon in readiness, perched
upon a stool and painting away for dear life on the canvas
before him. There is always a very queer-looking picture
on the easel unfinished, and pussy daubs away at it when
A GAME OF CHESS,
visitors are by; but when asked whether he did it all or
not, he keeps very still, and so does his master.
Meantime the two other pussies, whom we must know
as Tib and Miss Moffit, obeying a signal from the master,
seat themselves at a table, and begin a lively game at
chess. The chessmen stand in proper order at first, and
both pussies look at them with an air of unconcern. Soon
:
i
i
:
4
1
———
THE BRIGHTON CATS 181
Tib moves his man. Then Miss Moffit moves hers. On
comes Tib again, this time moving two men at once. In-
stantly Moflit moves three. The game now grows serious.
Moftit’s men press so thickly on Tib’s that suddenly he
elves all of them a shove, and Miss Moffit is check-mated !
Then Tib is grand. Leaning his elbows on the table, and
MISS MOFFIT HANGS THE CLOTHES TO DRy.
tipping his head sideways, he looks severely at Moffit until
she fairly glares.
After this all the pussies are, perhaps, requested to
wash for their master. And they do it, too, in fine style,
though, when they are through, Tib and Pimpkins gen-
erally squabble for a bath in the tub, or pretend to do
so. The fact is, they hate soapy water; but being great
actors, they scorn to show their real feelings while per-
forming. Meanwhile Miss Moffit takes the clothes they
12
182 THE LAND OF PLUCK
are supposed to have washed, and demurely hangs them
on the line to dry.
After work comes play. Miss Moffit and Pimpkins
have a little waltz, and Tib slides down the balusters.
Sometimes Tib amuses himself by drawing the cork from
MISS MOFFIT AND PIMPKINS WALTZ.
his master’s ale-bottle. And then if the foaming ale
happens to be unusually lively, it makes a leap for Tib,
and Tib rubs his nose with his paws for five minutes
afterward.
Are they ever naughty? Yes, indeed. But even then
their good inaster is gentle with them. He never whips
them, but simply looks injured, and orders them to “do
THE BRIGHTON CATS 183
TIB ACTS AS BUTLER.
penance.†Poor Tib and Moffit,—for they generally are
the naughty ones,— how they hate this! But they never
think of such a thing as escaping the punishment. No,
indeed ; they jump upon a chair at once, and, shutting their
eyes, stand as you see them in the picture, two images of
misery, until their master says they may get down.
What else can they do? Why, ever so many bright
things, I suppose, though I have told you of all that comes
to my mind at present. Ah, yes, they bowed; yes, all
three stood in a line and bowed eravely whenever the
pleased audience applauded very warmly. Sometimes,
too, they would place their right paws upon their hearts
as they bowed; but this was an uncertain part of the per-
formance, and their master pretended not to notice when
they failed.
One day an old woman from the country, after intently
184. THE LAND OF PLUCK
watching these talented cats,— painting, chess-playing and
all that,— shook her head solemnly. “I dunno as it’s
right,†she said; “it’s onnatural—cuttin’ about and actin’
like Christians as they do.â€
Tib stood on his hind legs at this, and Miss Moffit shook
paws with Pimpkins —as well she might.
So ended Uncle Jack’s true story. While telling it he
had always, at the right moment, presented May and Mabel
with the fitting photograph so that they might see exactly
how these Brighton cats appeared in each scene.
a
DOING PENANCE.
WORTH YOUR WEIGHT IN GOLD
(A TALK WITIL GIRLS)
“¢Syou ’s JES’ WUF YO’ WEIGHT
IN GOLE,’ SHE SAY TO OLE PATSY, ONE EBENIN’ IN MY KITCHUM.â€
WORTH YOUR WEIGHT IN GOLD
A STORY FROM LIFE
“Yus, Miss Mamie, dat ’s jes what de missus sed to me.
‘Aunt Patsy, ses she, ‘you ’s jes’ wuf yo’ weight in
gole’ An’ so I wuz, Miss Mamie; I knowd it. Poor
weak ole cull’d pusson as I is, I know’d she war tellin’
exac’ trufe. De Lord knows ’t ain’t no vain-gloruf cation
fur ole Patsy t? say dem words. I don’ take no pus’nal
credit “bout it, Miss Mamie. Cookin’ takes practice, but
it’s got to come fus’ by natu’. De ane’l Gabr’el hisse’f
could wt make a cook out o some folks. It’s got to be
born inter yer like. I’se mighty ’umble and fearful ub
myse’f ’bout some tings, but not "bout cookin. Dat I
un’stan’; an’ dat ’s what made me wuf my weight in gole.
Missus did n’ hab no sort troubl ’bout nothin’ afer once dis
chile come. ‘You’s jes’ wuf yo’ weight in gole,’ she say to
ole Patsy one ebeni’ in my kitchum, when I was a-gettin’
de supper ready for de fam’ly. She say so.
talkin’ ’bout it—dem’s her ’cise words ter prove it.
“Well, de work wuz mighty heavy in dat house. Stacks
0 comp’ny, and massa war one ob dem perwiders dat don’
hab no sort 0 notion how many pots kin go onto de stobe,
oO
187
188 THE LAND OF PLUCK
wm
and seem t’ t'ink de oben was ‘mos’ big as de barn. Many’s
de time I got so tired seem’d to me’s if I’d drop; but
afer missus sed dad, I did 1’ mind nuttin’. ‘Patsy, sez I,
when I seed myse’f gettin’ done up, ‘yer goo’ f nuffin’ lazy
nigger, wha’ ’s matter wid yer? Don’ yer know yer ’s wuf
oo
yo weight in gole?’—and dat ud fotch me squar’ up.
Many ’s de time I ’se sed dem words to myse’f sence dat
day, but wid dis diff’ence: Missus, dear soul! she done
gone to Alvam’s bosom four year ’go; an’ ole Patsy eber
sence ’s been mos’ too fur on wid dis ere cough to be much
‘count to white folks—and so I keep sayin’ to myse’f,
‘Yer wuz wuf yer weight in gole. Don’ you nebber forgit
dat.â€
And, all this time, the brightly kerchiefed and check-
aproned speaker was going on briskly with her work, while
I sat looking at her with an amused smile ?
Not a bit of it. She was helpless in bed, dying of con-
sumption, and my heart was full of reverence as I stood
gently fanning her. She was talking beyond her strength,
but I knew it was useless to check her while her thoughts
were with this treasured saying of her “missus.†Presently
she sank into a doze. I stood there, afraid to move lest I
should wake her.
In a few moments she opened her eyes.
“Bress yer heart, Miss Mamie, don’ stan’ dere no lon-
ger. Ole Patsy don’ want ter be nussed like she war a
queen.â€
Her eyes were so bright and her tones so cheerful that I
thought she was going to laugh; but, instead, she said
softly :
WORTH YOUR WEIGHT IN GOLD 189
-T ain’t fur much longer, Honey ; de Lord ’ll soon sen’
his char’ot an’ take me to glory.â€
She ceased speaking. I knew by her face, though not a
sound could be heard, that she was singing under her
breath one of the dear old negro hymns that we had been
used to hearing when she was up and at work; and then
she fell into another doze.
Two weeks from that day the chariot came.
Happy old Aunt Patsy! Even with the memory of her
ilness and suffering fresh in mind, I always think of her
as “happy old Aunt Patsy,†for had she not been worth
her weight in gold? The dear old woman always laid
ereat stress not at being prized at her weight in gold, but
in being really wf it. That was the point. And the best
of it was that her precious weight being mainly in her
value as a good servant, it increased just so much in pro-
portion as she excelled. Simple-hearted creature though
she was, she would have scorned the idea of weight, in this
connection, being a matter of mere flesh and bones. No,
it was Patsy the cook who was weighed in the balance.
It seems to me now that if I had seen Aunt Patsy
when I was a little girl, and heard her tell her story, it
would have been a great help. It would have taught me,
in one easy lesson, that to be worth your weight in gold is
a great advantage, and that the best way of becoming
worth your weight in gold is to learn to do some one
thing thoroughly well. Aunt Patsy could cook. That is
a fine thing in itself. Cooking is a good business when
one has one’s living to make, and a valuable accomplish-
190 THE LAND OF PLUCK
ment when one has a living ready-made. Every one of
us girls, little and big, young and old, should know some-
thing about it, and should seize all good opportunities to
improve in the art. But Iam not going to ask you to
learn to cook; that is, not now; especially if it is not
“horn into you.†TI only throw out as a friendly sugges-
tion the idea that every girl should make it an object, as
Aunt Patsy did, to learn to do one thing well at a time.
If, as a start, she selects some style of housework, so much
the better. Let it be sweeping and dusting; let it be
bed-making; let it be clear-starching,
cutting and sewing, or even one branch of cookery, such as
silver-cleaning or
bread-making, or that rare art, potato-boiling. Let her
am at real excellence in any one of these, taking the most
exact pains, looking out day by day for ways of improve-
ment, aiming to excel herself at each effort, until, at last,
“Jenny did it†(or whatever her fortunate name may be)
shall stand as a guarantee for excellence in this or that
special department. Let Jenny’s butter, or Jenny’s bread,
be the best her father and mother ever tasted ; or let them
feel that no one else can go brighten the silver, or the tins,
or furniture; that it is sure to be all right if Jenny but
sweeps the halls and stairs, or Jenny but makes the pud-
ding,—* It ’s her specialty, you know,’— and you will see,
if you are Jenny, what satisfaction there is in it.
Then, when one style of work is mastered, another can
be taken up and made a study; and so on, till you are
worth your weight in gold to your family. Mind, I do not
mean to say that while these special endeavors are going
WORTH YOUR WIGHT IN GOLD 191
on you are to do all other work carelessly and without in-
terest. Not so, of course. I mean only that one branch at
a time shall receive most care and attention till it is mas-
tered to the utmost of your ability. Nor do I mean that
you are to spend all of your young life in housework. An
average of half an hour a day devoted to such work, or
even less, all through one’s girlhood, will in many cases be
all that is necessary or desirable. But certainly a girl is
to be pitied who never is taught to sew, nor given an oppor-
tunity to learn practically the rudiments of housewifery.
I hope none of you who read this are so unfortunate.
There are other fields of effort which you may cultivate.
Sewing or music, reading, fancy-work, drawing, certain
school-studies, gardening — whichever of them seems most
attractive to you — will serve as a starting-point. I have
dwelt principally upon the art of cooking, because Aunt
Patsy set me talking; but there are many fair paths open-
ing in every direction. Take the one nearest by, whether
it lead to the kitchen, the parlor, the lbrary, or out of
doors. But be sure to be thorough as you go along. Don’t
shimble-shamble through everything, and then wonder
that those who love you best are not quite satisfied with
your progress —that you do not really add to any one’s
comfort or interest; in short, that you are not your worth
in gold.
“T love books best, but can I be a help to anybody at
home if I sit and read all day ?†you may ask.
And I answer, you cannot. If you read too much, you
are not reading well. If you read too steadily, you are not
192 THE LAND OF PLUCK
reading well, Andif you read books that do not make you
more intelligent, more sunny, more charitable and high-
minded than you otherwise would be, you are reading
very badly indeed. If you sit reading for hours, selfishly
neglecting some duty, and filling your mind with false ideas
of life, and arousing thoughts that in your secret heart
you know are not good for you, you are doing an injury,
not only to yourself, but to others with whom you hence-
forth may be brought in contact.
But if at seasonable times, and after proper intervals of
play or bodily exercise, you read in an inquiring, sincere
way books that entertain or instruct the best part of you
(we all soon find out what that best part of our nature is),
and that have been selected under guidance of some one
competent to help you, then you ae doing good to others
as well as to yourself, by reading. You hardly can go up or
down stairs when in the mood such reading engenders with-
out doing somebody good. If it is only the cat on the land-
ing, she “ll get the benefit of it somehow. A sunny, healthy
mind sheds beams of lght unconsciously ; and then there
are the cheery word, the pleasant smile, the ready spirit
of fun, the thoughtful question or answer, the entertaining
bubbles of talk that rise to the surface of a mind set
sparkling by good books worthily read. You will soon
find the value of it all—or some one else will.
It is not so much what good thing we do, though that is
of great consequence, but how well we do it that deter-
mines our success. A pragmatic, conceited manner, or a
too selfish eagerness, will spoil any pursuit. There is such
a thing, you must know, as being unpleasantly pleasant,
WORTH YOUR WEIGHT IN GOLD 193
meanly generous, incompetently competent, or even wick-
edly pious. If you will think a moment, you will see that
it must be so.
For instance, a gift that really is of help to one needing
it may be given in the spirit of display or of rivalry with
some other giver. This is not true generosity. A merely
surface quality, however effective to outsiders, cannot be
the same as a quality which is so true, so deep and genu-
ine, so in the grain from use and steady growth, that it
has become a part of one’s own soul.
Doubtless circumstances make the paths of improve-
ment easy for some and difficult for others — but a life
that is easy at the start is not necessarily a fortunate life.
Hindering things sometimes are the stepping-stones to
prosperity and peace. I know to-day noble women whose
lives are the fitting flower of a beautiful, happy, indus-
trious girlhood — women who did not spend their early,
most impressive years solely for enjoyment’s sake, with a
vague sense of something far ahead, called life, which had
very little to do with their present plans and pleasures —
even with their studies and occupations.
Some persons, if once started on a road, will be so confi-
dent of their way that they Il forget to make the proper
turnings; and there are persons who, in their tremendous
efforts for usefulness or self-improvement, make all around
them uneasy and uncomfortable. That is over-zeal. Such
persons are not worth their weight in gold to anybody. Then
we have the self-satisfied kind, the worst of all, perhaps.
Self-satisfaction is a wall that, builded by a girl’s own
vanity, shuts her in completely. She cannot get outside of
13
194 THE LAND OF PLUCK
it herself, and no one cares to scale it in order to get at her.
A state of entire self-satisfaction is the loneliest thing on
earth. Self-approbation is another matter. It is worth
’ trying for because it is, in itself, good. But we must build
steps with it, not walls.
That is what Aunt Patsy did. She cooked better and
better every day. She worked hard for self-approbation,
and slowly made it her stairway. Steadily she mounted,
always humble and fearful of herself, but always hearing
her mistress’s words, “worth your weight in goldâ€; and
when at last she stood on the top of the little flight, she
felt sure the Lord was pleased that Old Patsy had been of
use to somebody.
To-day, in the soft twilight——a golden haze slowly
hiding the hilltops, gentle memories gathering within my
soul— I can hear the echo of Aunt Patsy’s sweet refrain :
“Swing low, sweet chariot,
Comin’ for to carry me home.â€
BIANCA AND BEPPO
““HARK!’ SAID BEPPO; ‘WHAT Is THAT?â€
i
3
BIANCA AND BEPPO
Branca and Beppo were two little Italian children.
Their father was a Duke, and they lived years and years
ago when many of the Dukes of Italy were at war with one
another. Young as they were, Bianca and Beppo were
used to the sight of grim cavalcades of armed men and
mail-clad warriors.
It was a beautiful castle, adorned with fine pictures,
tapestries, and statues. Gay flowers bloomed at many a
window ; and the colors on the walls and floors were so
cunningly mingled that’ they were known to be there
only by a sense of brightness that filled the great rooms.
There were singing birds, too, that sang just as our birds
sing to-day. But pictures, or flowers, or birds, were not
half so bright, blooming, and merry as Beppo and Bianca.
Their father often said that the very armor in his halls
tingled with their childish laughter.
One day their mother, with an armed escort composed
of the most trusty of the duke’s retainers, went away on a
visit to her father, a fierce old Baron, whose castle was
many miles distant in the heart of the Apennines. That
13% 197
198 THE LAND OF PLUCK
very night trouble came to the home where these children
dwelt. In their little carved and gilded beds, side by side,
they were wakened by a sudden commotion, as if men
were scuffling below; and after that they could not go to
sleep again, because the castle was so very, very still.
For a long time they lay trembling and silent; at last
Beppo said :
“Bianca, wait thou here. I will go down and rouse our
father. Perhaps he is still asleep. What if evil work has
been done?â€
“Nay, Beppo,†said Bianca, shuddering, “our men have
been fighting, and it may be their swords are drawn yet.
Do not go among them. Thou knowest how the people of
the wicked Duke Faustino fell upon young Martigni one
night when they were drunken, and would have killed
him had not help come. Martigni is taller by a head
than thou art.â€
“Aye, but the duke’s men are not overloyal to his
house; besides,†said Beppo, proudly, “I could handle a
sword myself, if need be.â€
“Take me with thee,†said Bianca.
So the two children rose softly, and hastily putting on
their clothes, stole down the dark stone stairway together.
A ray of moonlight, coming through a high, narrow window
overhead, made them start, but when they reached their
father’s chamber and found the door wide open, the bed
empty, disordered, and siens of violence in the moonlighted
room, they clung to each other in dread and terror.
“What ho! without there!†cried Beppo, finding voice
at last.
BIANCA AND BEPPO 199
There was no answer.
Bianca, hardly knowing what she did,ran screaming from
the chamber, out into the long dark hall, and on through
the great oaken door, which, to her surprise, was wide open.
Finally, she stood irresolute upon the marble terrace.
Beppo followed her. On his way he saw one of the
duke’s chief attendants lying very still.
“Fesco! Fesco! are you hurt ?†called Beppo, again and
again.
But Fesco did not answer; and with a shudder, the boy
bounded past him and joined Bianca on the terrace.
Down the long broad walk, past the beautiful garden,
and out through the open gateway they flew together, two
scantily-clad little children, chilly with fear on that warm,
bright night, and trembling at every sound. Oh, if their
father were but with them!
The forest was near by— gloomy and erim now in its
shadows, but safer, at any rate, than the open highway.
They would hide there, they thought, till morning.
But night was nearly over; very soon the faint pink
streaks that lit the edge of the sky spread and grew
brighter and brighter. The children sat on a mossy mound
for a while and with tearful eyes watched the growing
light. Then Bianca remembered some fruit that she had
stowed the day before in the satchel hanging from her
girdle. She put it into Beppo’s cap, and begged him to eat.
“T cannot,†said Beppo. “Hark! What is that ?â€
They listened. It was a faint sound as of some one
moaning.
“Oh! oh!†sobbed Bianca, “ what can it be?â€
200 THE LAND OF PLUCK
But when Beppo rose and bravely ran in the direction
of the sound, she followed him, and peered as sharply as
he into every bush. Suddenly Beppo sprang forward with
a joyful ery.
He had seen his father.
Tn an instant the two children were bending over him,
eagerly trying to catch his indistinct words.
“T have been wounded, my little ones,†he said, slowly ;
“can you bring me water?â€
They did not wait to wring their hands and cry. Beppo,
forgetting his fears,— forgetting everything but that his
father needed help,— flew to his home.
At the portal, whom should he see but Fesco, standing
in the doorway, staring wildly about him.
The water was soon obtained, though it might have
been brought sooner, if Beppo, in his excitement, had not
forgotten the little stream near the great sycamore. And
Beppo and Fesco ran to the forest together. ,
When they reached the spot where the duke lay, Bianca,
under her father’s directions, was doing all she could to
bathe his wound; her little face was very pale, but she
looked up with a bright smile as Beppo approached.
“Father says he will get well, Beppo, but we are not to
move him from this soft bed, he says. See, I have heaped
leaves under his head, and I have brought water in my
hands from the brook.â€
It is a long, long story, if you hear every word of it;
but you will be elad to get quickly to its ending. Beppo
was right; there had been evil work. The duke had been
dragged from the castle and stabbed. His guilty, frightened
BIANCA AND BEPPO 201
assassins, thinking him dead, had thrown him into the
forest. All of the duke’s servants, excepting Fesco, had
either been badly wounded or had fled in terror at the first
alarm. He had been drugged, and had slept so heavily,
that, but for the fresh night-air blowing in upon him, he
might never have wakened.
Fesco now tried to persuade his wounded master to be
taken back to his own chamber, but the duke would not
consent. He lay concealed in the forest for a week, and
every day his children tended him faithfully. They
brought him cooling drinks and fruits, and fanned him
when the breezes were low; and as he grew better they
sang sweet little songs to him, and carried messages back
and forth between the duke and Fesco.
Meantime the frightened servants had returned; but
Fesco knew he could not trust them with his secret. Only
Mino, the old nurse, was told that the duke was alive, and
that the children must be allowed to go to him; but Fesco
threatened her with such terrible things if she breathed a
word about it, that she was only too glad to pretend to
mourn for her master with a grief that seemed as genuine
as that of the other servants. Through the faithful Fesco,
the duke contrived to send word to his wife, bidding her
stay in safe quarters for a while, until he should be able
to join her. The two children, busy as bees, and thought-
ful night and day for their dear patient hidden in the
forest, were secretly happy as children could be — despite
the somber black in which they had been clothed by old
Mino. It was Bianca’s delight to gather flowers in the
coolest places and heap*them up under her father’s head ;
202 THE LAND OF PLUCK
and Beppo was proud to stand guard, sword in hand, ready
to fight off any enemy that might approach.
But no enemy came; only the good friends health and
strength. And one dark night the duke and the children,
cleverly disguised by Fesco, were driven away in an old
wagon for miles and miles, until at last they came to a
shepherd’s cottage, where the duchess was waiting for
them; and a happier meeting than theirs never took place
on earth.
After that, Beppo’s father and mother went to live, for a
while, in Germany, taking their children with them, while
Fesco stayed at home to look after his master’s posses-
sions. But one fine day, the warfare came to an end, as all
things do soon or late; and, his troubles over, the duke
was free again. He and his family were able to go back
and live in their castle peacefully and happily; and once
more the armor on the old walls tingled with the merry
laughter of Bianca and Beppo.
A LAW THAT COULD NOT BE BROKEN
ie i
“OLD MR. FEATHER-BED! ALL YOU ’VE GOT TO DO IS TO CATCH IT.â€
A LAW THAT COULD NOT BE BROKEN
A YOUNG LAWYER'S STORY
not one
ONE evening I was reading aloud to my wife,
of my “never-ending law books,†as she called them, but
something, to my mind, much heavier. My wife had'‘a
strance faney for primary scientific reading, and I as a
wise husband humored her taste whenever I could. So
this time the book chanced to be one called Arnott’s
“Physics or Natural Philosophy.†Suddenly, in the very
middle of a sentence, I laughed aloud.
Now, Arnott’s “Physics†is by no means a droll book.
Iam quite sure there is not a joke in it, from cover to
cover. So, when I laughed, my wife looked up in great
surprise, for, naturally, my reading had put the dear little
lady in a decidedly thoughtful mood.
“What is it, Rob?†she asked, smiling in spite of her-
self when she met my broad erin.
“This part here, about the center of gravity and its
always taking the proper place,†answered IT, tapping the
page with my fingers, “made me think of something.â€
205
206 THE LAND OF PLUCK
“Did it?†she said with solemn surprise.
As the precious girl—please don’t mind my speaking
in this way of my little wife, for, the fact is, we have been
marrigd but two years, and she is just twenty to my twenty-
five,
as the precious girl evidently did not expect an
answer to her question, I took up the book again and read:
“By attending to the center of gravity of the bodies around us
on the earth, we are enabled to explain why, from the influence
of gravity, some of them are stable, or firmly fixed, others tot-
tering, others falling. * * * The line of a plummet hanging
from the center of gravity is called the line of direction of the
center, or that in which it tends naturally to descend to the
earth,
“You remember, Lily,†said I, interrupting myself,
“the law we read in Gale yesterday:
“While the line of direction falls within the base wpon which
the body stands, the body cannot upset; but if the line fall
beyond the base, the body will tumble.â€
Then, taking a pencil and note-book from my pocket, I
made a picture of a coach tilted by a great stone in such
a way that a perpendicular line drawn from its center of
gravity fell beyond the base of the coach, that is, outside of
the point where its wheels touched the ground, and she
saw at a glance, with a little womanly shiver, that the
coach must upset.
“Oh, yes, I understand it now, perfectly,†she exclaimed,
quite pleased.
So I read on, as Dr. Arnott proceeded to tell us how to
find the center of gravity of any object, and to explain in
A LAW THAT COULD NOT BE BROKEN — 207
a very clear and delightful way the principle shown in
rolling balls, leaning towers, and unsafe chimneys; in the
eraceful positions of skaters; in tumbling dolls and the
movements of various toys,—
“Rob!†exclaimed my wife.
“No, dear,†said I, listening a moment and thinking
that she had fancied she heard the baby ery.
“Rob!†she exclaimed again, “what were you laughing
about ?â€
“When ?†said I.
“Why, a moment ago.â€
“Oh,†I said, “did n’t I ever tell you, my dear? It was
such a capital illustration of the laws we have just been
studying, though I did n’t know it at the time.â€
“Well?†said she.
She drew her chair close to mine, with a comical look
of curiosity on her face, and I began in a dramatic voice:
“°T is now about fifteen years since a small boy, full of
mischief by nature, but very cautious by education, found
himself alone in the upper part of a fine city mansion.
His mother was out. The servants were in the kitchen,
and this small boy felt that, perhaps, never again would
he have such a grand chance to be up to—something, he
hardly knew what.â€
“Was it you, Rob?â€
“Tt was,†said I. “ Well, as the boys say, T cast about
for some time, not able to settle on a plan. Many delight-°
ful projects entered my head, but they were all more or
less connected with danger. There was the roof, as steep
and as slanting as heart of boy could wish ; but [had been
208 THE LAND OF PLUCK
made so thoroughly to understand that to tumble from it
‘
g
would be to break every bone in my body, to say nothing
of being ‘ killed stone dead, that I gave up my half-formed
plan at once. Then there was the window. It would be
fun to let myself down from it by tying a stout rope to the
bed-post, and so sliding to the ground. But the rope
might break, or I might not be able to hold on —and the
wild thought was abandoned in a flash. Suddenly an idea
came to me:
“There was a beautiful porcelain, vase on the top of
father’s bookcase, high out of reach. Often had I longed
to see it near by, or perhaps to take it into my own hands,
but always I had been met by a harrowing array of
reasons why my wish could not be gratified. In the first
place the vase was precious — secondly, it was fragile
thirdly, it was expensive — fourthly, it had been firmly
perched upon the top of that solid bookcase so that it
might be ‘safely out of harm’s way’—fifthly, there was
no sense in my desiring a nearer view. of it, a sharp-eyed
little fellow like me — sixthly, they had no time to bother
with such nonsense
seventhly, they would n’t, and so on,
till, in the course of time, I had been given twenty good
reasons, more or less, why that vase should 1’t, could 1’t,
and must n’t be disturbed. These, of course, were soon
twisted by my perverse but most lovable self into twenty
or less good reasons why I should, could, and must hold
that vase in my own hands and enjoy a good, long, linger-
ing look at it. Now was my opportunity. Why not?
‘There was no one nigh to hinder’ But —
“What of LI should break it!
A LAW THAT COULD NOT Bh BROKEN — 209
“A happy thought came. Nothing could harm it if I
only could put a feather-bed between it and destruction.
I knew where there was a fine fat one. Glorious! now I
could manage to pull the vase down from its perch as
easy as a wink, and without breaking it !â€
then, not now,†added Mrs. Robert,
“ You little goose !
hastily.
“Goose or not, I tried it,’ said I “Tt was nearly time
for mother to return. There was not a moment to be lost,
and IT had to make important preparations.
“The bed was made up in fine style, with its great
ruffled pillow fixings and its silken spread all tucked in
as if it were never to come out again. But I hauled off
the covers, and with many a tug and pull brought the
feather-bed to the floor. Then I dragged it to the book-
case. The next thing was to fetch a step-ladder from the
garret — no easy job for a ten-yedr-old. This done, it was
evident I should need some sort of a stick with which I
could tenderly start the vase. Father’s umbrella with its
crooked handle was just the thing.
“Good! said I to myself. ‘Won't it be larks to knock
down the vase and never hurt it a bit! Good for you, too,
Old Mr. Feather-Bed ! All you ’ve got to do is to catch it.
“With this, seizing the wnbrella after the manner of
the boy and flag in ‘Excelsior, and hastily adjusting the
ladder, I mounted to the top and—â€
“O Rob!†eried Mrs. Robert, laughing. “I remember
hearing all about it! Yes, just as well as if it were yes-
terday. Your mother had been to our house, and my
mother had gone home with her. They went right
14 ‘
210 THE LAND OF PLUCK
up-stairs, and just as they opened the door they heard
such a crash, and there were you and the ladder on the
floor! No,the ladder was on the feather-bed, mama said,
and you were on the floor. You must have pitched over
backward, Rob, just as the ladder slipped from under
you.â€
“Very likely,†said I.
“Well, I declare! That was a caper! What a funny
little wisp of a boy you were! And to think of our
actually being married thirteen years afterward! But
what about the vase?â€
“Oh, that was safe enough, you may be sure, for the
umbrella had n’t time to touch it.â€
“Rob,†said Mrs. Robert, “if you had opened that ladder
a little wider, or taken a plummet up with you and been
careful to have the line of direction from the center of
eravity fall within the base of the ladder, all would have
been well, would n’t it, my—â€
Just then little Rob was heard in the next room screain- °
ing like a good fellow. Off ran Mrs. Robert. I was left
alone to ponder over the laws of gravitation.
.
A GARRET ADVENTURE
pe 8a WALES
: =
LO Tee TAN)
‘““aT LAST THE POND BEGAN TO SHOW, IN EARNEST.â€
A GARRET ADVENTURE
“Snow! snow! snow!â€
So it did! But Ned Brant need not have been so cross
about it. He seemed to think, as he said the words, that,
of all unfortunate, ill-used fellows, he was the most to be
pitied ; and, of all hateful, malignant things, those soft,
white, downy specks, flitting past the window, were hate-
fulest and most malignant.
“Christmas week, too, and new skates! new skates and
no skating!†said Ned, bitterly.
So it was; and perhaps the snow ought to have been
ashamed of itself; but it did ’t seem to be.
At this moment a great clattering was heard at the
back door.
“They ’ve come! after all,†cried Ned, rushing out of
the room and down the stairs, all his wretchedness gone
in an instant.
His two sisters were at the door before him, and the
three opened it together.
“Oh, oh, howdy-do? we were afraid you would n’t
>
come!†said some voices, and “Hello! where ’s your
213
1a4*
214 THE LAND OF PLUCK
scraper ?†“Pooh! we were n’t going to mind such a little
snow as this,†cried others, all in a chorus.
Six visitors! Think of that. Two lived next door on
one side, two lived next door on the other side, and two
lived right across the way. The first pair were Wilbur
and Rob; the second pair were Herbert and Dickie; the
third pair were Jamie and Tommy. Wilbur had on an
overcoat and a muffler, for he had a weak chest. Rob had
a tippet tied over his cap, for he was subject to ear-ache.
Herbert had a cap and a gray overcoat; Dickie had a cap
and no overcoat; Jamie wore a Scotch suit; and Tommy
wore a short bob-jacket and long trousers. I tell you this
so that you may know how they appeared. As for their
faces, they were so rosy and bright that they all looked
alike when the door opened. All the visitors were boys,
as any one would have known who heard the tramping as
the party went up-stairs.
Yes, up-stairs they went, nine of them, talking every
step of the way. The home children, Ned, Ruth and
Dot, almost always took any visitor that came, right to
their mother’s room either to introduce them, or, at any
‘rate, to give them the benefit of her hearty “How do you
do, my dears?†But this time they went straight past her
door, up, up, to the very garret.
“Ned,†his mother had said in the morning, “if the
children come this afternoon to help you keep the holi-
days, either play in the yard or up in the garret, for I
shall be quite busy. Have all the fun you can, but be
sure not to break anything and not to take cold.â€
You may wonder why Mrs. Brant did not say: “Be
A GARRET ADVENTURE
bo
He
Cr
sure not to be naughty.†But she would almost as soon
have said: “Be sure not to cut off your heads,†as to have
said that. She knew her children too well to think they
did not wish to be good. As for telling them “not to
take cold,†that only meant they must be sure to dress
warmly if they played out of doors. The garret was never
very chilly, because the heat from the furnace always
crept up there whenever it had a chance.
It was a lovely old garret, light, yet mysterious, with
plenty of stored-away things in it to make it interesting,
and a great cleared space to play in. Just now it was
even more delightful than usual, for in one corner of it
was a very big heap of “ potter’s clay.â€
“Oh, what ’s that ?†cried the visitors, the moment they
reached the garret door.
“That ’s potters clay,†said Ruth. “It’s splendid for
lots of things. Father ’s going to make some kind of
what-you-call’ems out of it.â€
Thereupon the six visitors all stood in a row and gazed
at the heap. It was gray, dusty and lumpy, and looked
something like faded-out garden soil.
“ What’s he going to make?†said Tommy.
“T don’t know, exactly,†said Ruth, “it only came
yesterday.â€
“Was it a Christmas present to your papa?†asked little
Dickie, innocently.
“No, indeed,†replied Ned, with lofty scorn. “We had
slippers. What ’d your father get?â€
“Slippers, too,†said Dickie.
“So did my papa,†remarked Wilbur, laughing.
216 . LHE LAND OF PLUCK
“T guess all gentlemens get ’em,†said Dickie, thought-
fully, “but I’d rather have ‘most anything ’sides them.â€
Still the children stood starmg at the heap of clay.
“Let ’s sit on it,†said Jamie, with great daring, “I
euess it “ll dust offâ€
A hint was enough. The heap soon was covered with
children, and when they jumped up they found that Jamie
was vieht. It “dusted off†adinirably.
“Tet ’s make a road,†cried one of the others.
“All right!†said Ned, in great glee; but he looked at
tuth, and she answered his look with, “Yes; we ’d best
ask Maia.â€
Ned was down the garret stairs in a twinkling. Then
on the next flight he stopped halfway and called:
“Mother! Mother! may we play with the clay?†No
answer came; so he ran on down. Mrs. Brant was very
busy, fitting a dress for her mother.
“out come in, Ned!†she called, as Ned knocked at the
door, “I?m busy with Grandina; what do you want?â€
“May we play with the clay, Mother ?â€
“Oh, yes, I suppose so,†said the mother, pinning a plait
on Grandma’s shoulder; “do what you please with it, only
dowt throw it about and get it into one another's eyes.â€
“Oh, no, certainly not,†answered Ned, as he rushed
toward the garret stairs again, quite delighted.
But when he reached the top he found all the children
with tears in their eyes.
They had already forgotten the clay; for Ruth had taken
a big onion from a bunch that hung on one of the rafters.
Wilbur had cut it in slices, and now every one was hold-
A GARRET ADVENTURE 217
4
ing a piece to see “which could smell the onion longest
without crying.â€
“What a pack of ninnies!†cried Ned, laughing, and all
the ninnies laughed with him, except little Dot, who
whined a little and wished she had not tried it.
“Have you given up the road?†asked Ned, but nobody
answered him, for that old garret had so much in it to
look at, so many odd nooks and corners, that before the
eight pairs of eyes were dry their owners were all scudding
and burrowing about like so many rabbits. What a de-
lightful time they had! TI cannot begin to tell you all the
ganes they played, and the comical talks they had, nor
how they “dressed up†in the old hats and garments they
found hanging on the nails, nor how the boys made the
girls scream by crying, “Look out! a rat! kill him! kill
him!†and then flinging their victim across the floor in the
shape of an old boot or a bit of torn fur. At last Tommy
looked out of one of the little square windows, which was
half covered with cobwebs. “TI say, it’s snowing harder
than ever—there ’d have been good skating by to-morrow
if it had n’t snowed !â€
This had the effect of making all the party serious for a
moment.
“Tt isn’t sovery bad,†said Ruth, who always looked on the
bright side of things. “There “Il be splendid snowballing.â€
“Who cares for snowballing!†cried little Dickie,
“skatin’ ’s the best.â€
Everybody laughed at this, for Dickie was only six
years old, and could n’t skate a stroke, not even on roller
skates,
218 THE LAND OF PLUCK
Suddenly Wilbur cried, “Oh!†and stood motionless,
looking steadily at the tloor. Rob flew to him like a good
brother, as he was, and gave him a poke.
“What on earth ’s the matter, Wilbur?â€
“Nothing. Only I bet we could! Sure as I live we
could !â€
“Could what?†cried Tommy.
“Why, make a skating-pond here, right here, in this
very garret!â€
“Yes, you could,†sneered Tommy, who, by the way, was
the only fellow who had taken off his hat; Ruth had ex-
cused the others because the garret was not very warm.
“T tell you, I could, man. I say, Ned, let ’s do it! We
can have a pond here before night. You have a bath-room
on the next floor, have n’t you? Here are pots and pans
enough for all of us.â€
All the eight stared at Wilbur, as if they thought his
wits were leaving him, but he added eagerly:
“T tell you, it will be grand. We ’1l have as bie a cirele
as we can get here in the middle of the garret, and make a
bank out of that clay, after we ’ve moistened it so it will
stick together. Clay holds water perfectly. Then we ’ll
fill up the circle with water.â€
Their eyes danced at this, but Tommy chilled their
ardor with a sarcastic —
“Ho! skate on water! ho!â€
“We ’ll open the scuttle and the windows, and let the
pond freeze overnight†said Wilbur.
rt?
“Jimminy!†screamed Ned; “so we can! Come on
here; we ’ll have the bank in a jiffy!â€
e
A GARRET ADVENTURE 219
“Hurrah!†cried the rest.
In an instant all hands were at work—all but Ruth,
who looked troubled, and begged Dot to “go down and
ask Mama.†She should have gone herself, for Dot was
only six years old, and a very uncertain young person in
the art of carrying messages.
Soon Dot, clambering down two sets of stairs, rushed into
her mother’s room with, “Mama, Ruth wants to know if
we can do it?â€
“Do what, Dot? (Mother, do look at that child’s cheeks
—they ’re just like roses.) Do what, my pet ?â€
“Why, play bank with the clay,†panted Dot.
“Oh, I suppose I must,†laughed the mother. “Tell
her yes, Dot.†As the little girl ran out of the room and
up the stairs, screaming, “Yes, yes, Mama says you can
do it,†Mrs. Brant said to Grandma, “I ought to go up, I
suppose. But they can’t do more than make a mess with
it, and they can clear it all wp to-morrow. If I were you,
Mother, I ’d never let Madame Pomfret make me a gown
again. I can improve this a little, but the cut was all
wrong in the first place.â€
“You ’re too easy with those children, Eliza,†said
Grandma, quietly, adding, as Mrs. Brant hurriedly took
up her sewing again, “but they ’re such dear little things,
I don’t wonder you like to make ’em happy.â€
“Good!†cried Ned, when Dot’s happy message was de-
livered. “Mother ’s splendid. I say, we must fill up all
these cracks with the clay, boys.â€
“You ’re sure Mother said we could, Dot 2?â€
“Course she did,†said Dot, decidedly. “She laughed, too.â€
220 THE LAND OF PLUCK
Poor little Dot had no idea that she had told her mother
only half of their plan. Her own head was so full of it that
she thought every one else must know all about it, too. As
for Ruth, she being three years older, could not help being
surprised at their mother's consent to such wild fun, yet
she never dreamed but that her mother had consented.
Tt was a time of deep delight to her, for she could work as
hard as any of the boys.
In a little while the bank was made. “Many hands
make light work.†It was a fine affair, well packed and
quite regular in shape, for Wilbur had chalked a cirele on
the floor for them “to work by.â€
So before very long Ned and Tommy took two pails that
were in a corner of the garret and ran to the bath-room
for water. Ruth gave a pitcher to Jamie, a basin to Her-
bert, a tub to Wilbur, and, seizing a big earthen jar for
herself, gave the word for all to follow.
It was hard work, but it passed for play, and they all
played with a will, They let the water run from both of
the faucets into the bath-tub, so that after a while some
could fill at the faucets and others could dip as much
water as they wished out of the tub.
Up and down, down and up, the laughing children went,
panting and puffing, filling and pouring, bucketful, pailful,
pitcherful, basinful, crockful, over and over again, till at
last the pond began to show in earnest. Wilbur seized an
old spade out of a broken cradle, and had as much as he
could do to watch the clay bank, and mend breaks, and
beat it solid with the back of the spade.
“Keep on! keep on!†shouted Ned, still leading the way,
A GARRET ADVENTURE 221
while the rest followed. “We ’ll have her full in less than
no time.â€
. . . . . . . . . . .
“Vliza!†said Grandma, “do hear the tramping. What
on earth can those children be doing ?â€
“Oh,†laughed Mrs. Brant, “they ’re playing some game
or other. Betsey ‘ll look after them. She’s busy up-stairs,
for I hear the water running.â€
“Tt ’s mighty queer,†said Ned, dashing in a pailful, as
Ruth emptied her crock for the twentieth time—*“ mighty
queer how long it takes the thing to fill—but keep on,
fellows. Don’t stop!â€
In a few moments the street door opened, and in came
Mr. Brant. He went at once up to the sewing-room.
“How d’ ye do, how @’ ye do?†said he cheerily, kissing
Mis. Brant and his mother. “ Well, this 7s a busy party-—
put up your work, my dear, and come up to the library—
I’ve something to tell you and Mother. Ho! ho! here ’s
baby awake. Well, we must take him up, too.â€
Baby shouted with delight to find himself in Papa’s
avins. Mrs. Brant laid down her work, Grandma took her
crochet-basket in her hand, and they all went up to Papa’s
light, pleasant library on the floor above.
“Well, my dear, what is it? Some good news, I’m
sure,†said Mrs. Brant, as Grandma nestled in her easy
chair, and Papa, setting baby on the floor with a toss and a
flourish, proceeded to place a chair for himself between
his wife and mother.
“Yes, it is good news, dear, I’m happy to say,†he an-
swered, with a bright smile. “TI don’t know when I ’ve
aN He CT
i i a
“*HALLOA! WHAT THE MISCHIEF ’S THE MATTER?’â€
A GARRET ADVENTURE 223
had anything so pleasant to—Halloa, what the mischief ’s
the matter ?â€
They started up. Surely enough, something was the
matter. It was raining! A shower was coming down on
their heads, the ceiling was cracking, the baby screaming.
Patter, patter came the water, faster and faster. What
could it be? Perhaps the house was on fire and the fire-
men already were up-stairs with their hose! The thought
made Grandmother scream as she rushed to the baby’s
rescue. Mr. Brant dashed up the stairs, almost knocking
down Dot and Rob on the way.
“What ’s going on up here? Quick! where does the
water come from ?â€
No need of asking the question. There were the pond,
the startled faces of the children, the pitchers, basins and
pails.
“What in the world!†cried the father, seizing a pail
and scooping up as much as he could from the pond.
“Here, lend a hand, all of you! Call Betsey! we must
empty this as quickly as possible.â€
He had opened the little window by this time, had
emptied the pail, and was now dipping from the pond
again. The children meantime took the hint, and, opening
the other window, went to work as hard as they could.
Well, they emptied the pond in a quarter of the time it
had taken to fill it. Mrs. Brant, Grandma and Betsey came
to the rescue and did wonders with towels, sheets and
everything of that sort they could lay their hands on. In
her excitement, Mrs. Brant came near wiping the floor
with the baby.
294 THE LAND OF PLUCK
The worst was soon over, but it seemed the library
ceiling could n’t get over it in a hurry. It dripped, and
dripped, and broke out in great damp blotches and cracked
and whimpered as if it were alive. Fortunately, the con-
tents of the bookcases escaped wetting, and the carpet
did n’t “run,†as Grandma said; so it might have been worse.
But those six visitors —who shall describe their emo-
tions! As one of them afterward said, they “were fright-
ened to death and bursting with laughter.†They all tried
to hide behind one another when Mr. Brant, half angry, half
unused, asked them what they would like to do next.
“Go home, sir, I guess,†said Tommy.
And home they went.
BORROWING TROUBLE
TREE, PONDERING
AVORITE
ORDS.â€
R HIS F,
“HE LAY ON THE SOFT GRASS UNDE
THE JESTER’S W
BORROWING TROUBLE
A rew hundred years ago, there lived near Florence a
handsome little prince and a beautiful little princess.
These two children had everything that a good human
heart of that day could have, excepting trouble. It seemed
that this could not come to them. From the day that a
careless lady of the court had remarked in Francesca’s
presence, “Ah, Leonardo! thou well -mayst say this world
has trouble enough for all,†the little princess had won-
dered what trouble was, and why, if there was enough for
all, she and her brother had none of it. Often the princess
would say :
“Ferdinand, what is trouble?†And Ferdinand would
reply: “Alas! Francesca, I do not know.â€
“Let us ask our parents to give us some,†pursued Fran-
cesea; “they never refuse us anything.â€
But the king and queen shuddered at their request :
“No, no, dear children,†they cried; “you do not know
297
998 THE LAND OF PLUCK
what you ask. Pray that these wicked wishes may vanish
from your hearts!â€
But the prince and princess were not satisfied with this
answer. They applied to the most powerful of their cour-
tiers, and, to their great astonishment, met with a refusal,
accompanied with a smile and a polite bow. They even
had recourse to the court jester.
â€
“Ah, that trouble is a very precious thing,†said the
jester. “One cannot buy it, and it is not to be had for the
asking. But one may borrow it.â€
“Good!†cried the delighted pair. “We shall borrow
some.â€
“But,†added the jester, “if you borrow any, you must
pay back in the same coin.â€
“Alas!†sighed the prince and the princess. “How can
we, if we have no trouble which belongs to us?â€
“True! There is the trouble,†said the jester, as he
skipped away.
“What did he mean by those words?†said the prince,
nearly out of patience; “but we need not concern our-
selves about what he says—he is only a fool!†:
Still the prince did concern himself about it, and he lay
long on the soft grass under his favorite tree that day,
pondering the jester’s words.
The princess sought Master Cap-and-Bells again, but
the interview ended sadly; for her little highness turned
away despairingly, and the jester looked sorely puzzled.
“What stupidity,†he muttered to himself, “for the whole
court to be compelled to keep this royal youth and maiden
in ignorance of such a fact as trouble—the common lot of
BORROWING TROUBLE 299
“THE INTERVIEW ENDED SADLY.â€
al!†But he flourished his bauble and jineled his bells as
he danced off—for was he not the court jester ?
Next, in despair, the brother and sister went in search
of their faithful nurse.
“Dear Catherine,†said they, “we have never had any
trouble. The contessa told my lord Leonardo that there was
enough in this world for all. Have you had yours?â€
“Oh, yes, my darlings ; I have always had more trouble
than I want,†wailed the old woman, shaking her head.
“Oh, oh! Give us some! Give us some, good Catherine!â€
eagerly exclaimed the prince and princess.
But Catherine lifted her hands in horror, and tottered
away, mumbling her prayers.
15*
930 THE LAND OF PLUCK
Then the prince and princess wandered into the garden,
and sat down upon a mossy seat.
“Nobody will give us what we have asked for,†said
Francesca. “It is very cruel.â€
“Yes, very cruel,†replied Ferdinand, with a sigh.
“ Our parents never refused us before,†resumed Francesca.
“ Never !†echoed Ferdinand.
“Nor the courtiers,†added Francesca.
“Nor the courtiers,†echoed Ferdinand.
“Nor our dear old nurse,†said Francesca, with a strange
feeling in her eyes.
“Nor our dear nurse.â€
“Tt is ingratitude !â€
“Very great ingratitude !â€
“It is cruelty!†finished Francesca, with sobs ; “and my
eyes are all wet! Are yours, Ferdinand ?â€
“No, Francesca. But there is a choking in my throat.â€
Just then the chief gardener came that way.
“My dear prince and princess!†he exclaimed, throw-
ing himself on his knees before them. “You are sad! are
weeping! Qh, Heaven! to think that these noble and
beautiful children should have so much trouble.â€
“Trouble!†echoed Ferdinand and Francesca. “Is this
trouble, Antonio ?â€
“Assuredly, I think so,†said Antonio, much puzzled.
Then the prince and princess arose gaily and clapped
their hands, and ran to the palace as happy as two birds.
Their wish had been gratified at last.
HEAVIER THAN AIR
THE PICTURE IN THE GALLERY,
HEAVIER THAN AIR
ONCE upon a time, two little French children, while being
led through a picture-gallery, suddenly came upon a very
startling painting by the French artist Verlat. In vain
their bonne, or nurse, tried to draw them away. They
either were too much frightened, or too much amused, to
stir from the spot.
“OQ Matilde!†they cried, still gazing at the picture,
“what does it ean ? What is it all about ?â€
“Nothing,†said Matilde. “Come away. Those dread-
ful, ugly things will bite you. Come, Henri!â€
“Ho!†retorted Henri, stoutly. “How can a picture
bite? Oh! if Mama were only here to tell us how the
poor monkeys got up in the air so high!â€
“T know how the blackest one got there,†said the other
child; “the white one pulled him up with his tail.â€
Henri laughed at this, but after the sober manner of
one who has a great deal on his mind: “ No, no, Marie, he
did n’t go up that way. J think he’s holding on to that
fellow’s tail now so that he may not fall.â€
233
234 THE LAND OF PLUCK
“Oh! oh!†exclaimed Marie, with eager sympathy.
“That ’s it! They ’re both going to fall in a minute.
That ’s why they look so frightened. O Monsieur!†she
added, running up to an old gentleman who stood near by,
“don’t you think those monkeys are going to tumble ?â€
The bonne caught her arm with an anery “Hist!†but
the kind old gentleman turned to look at the picture
with Marie.
“Yes, my little one,†he answered with a smile; “in
one instant more those poor fellows will be whirling down,
down, to certain destruction.â€
“Tight upon the roofs?†Marie asked, with her eyes
very wide open.
“Right upon the roofs. You see the balloon is burst.â€
Henri nodded wisely. He began to suspect what was
the matter.
“TI suppose, Monsieur, the monkeys tried to go up ina
balloon, and it hit against something and bursted, and —â€
“Hit against what thing, my little man ?â€
Henri and Marie peered into the picture. Marie, with
a questioning glance at Monsieur, pointed to the little
balloon in the corner; but he shook his head. At last
Henri said:
“T think it broke its own self.â€
“Right!†said Monsieur. “If Mademoiselle will permit,
I will tell you all about it.â€
The bonne looked troubled, wondering what Madame
would say when she heard that the children had been al-
lowed to talk with a stranger. But she nodded her head,
and the old gentleman seated himself on a chair that
ma |
HEAVIER THAN AIR 235
chanced to be near by, and asked the children if they had
ever seen a balloon.
“Oh, yes,†said Marie; “don’t you remember, Henri,
how we saw one on the Emperor’s birthday sailing up way
over the Champs de Mars? But it was n't a bit like this
thing, and it had n’t any monkeys in it. It was like the
little one up there in the picture.â€
“That looks little,†said the old gentleman, “because it
is very far off in the air, J have been up in a balloon even
higher than that.â€
The children stared first at Monsieur, then at the picture,
and Marie asked timidly :
“With a monkey ?â€
“No, no,†he laughed, “not with a monkey. But once I
went up at night with a scientific friend, and we took a
carrier-pigeon with us. We let him loose with a note tied
under his wing telling his owner that we were safe and
happy and more than a mile high. And, another time, two
friends and myself went up in late autumn, and actually
sailed into a snow-storm, high, high over the world, and
with clouds both above and below us.â€
Marie hardly heard. She was gazing at the picture.
“Ah! I see you must be satisfied about those apes be-
fore you will listen to anything more. One cannot tell
from a picture all that has been happening; but J think
this: I think those two monkeys belonged to a public
garden, and one day, when a balloon was going to make its
ascent from there, the monkeys jumped in before any
one could stop them, and loosened the cords that held the
balloon down, and up it rose high in the air, amid the
ve
‘few TOOK A CARRIER-PIGEON WITH US.
HHAVIER THAN AIR 237
shouts and screams of the spectators. At first it was all
very fine; they enjoyed their sail and crouched in the
bottom of the balloon-car, chattering to each other at a
great rate, for they had no idea of their danger. The bal-
loon was kept up in the air by its great, big, varnished
silk bag, being full of hydrogen gas, which is about sixteen
â€
times lighter than air—†Then Henri spoke:
“Did it float in the air something as soap-bubbles do ?
because they ’re so much lighter than anything else.â€
“Yes,†said Monsieur, wondering whether it were worth
while to explain that the soap-bubble is just a bag made
of a very thin sheet of water and filled with warm breath.
“Anything that is lighter than air, if set free, will rise. But
the air grows thinner and lighter the higher one goes up
above the earth, and when a balloon gets into very thin
air, the gas within the bag, finding that it is not pressed upon
so much by the heavy air outside, begins to swell and try to
get out; and the higher it goes, the more the gas pushes,
until, at last, it bursts the bag—then what happens?â€
“The monkeys get frightened,†said Marie, gazing earn-
estly at the picture. ,
Henri was older and wiser; so he answered that “most
likely the balloon would all shrivel and tumble down if
the gas came out of it, just as a toy balloon would if some
one should prick it.â€
“Very good,†assented Monsieur. “ Now, in the top of
all balloons there is a valve or little door for letting out the
gas when it begins to swell, and a man seated in the bal-
loon-car has only to pull a certain string when he wishes
to open the valve. But our monkeys knew nothing of
238 THE LAND OF PLUCK
this. And so, after a while, their balloon burst with a
terrible bang, and at once began to tumble and pitch about
at such a rate that the poor fellows were bumped out of the
car and had to hold on to the wreck as well as they could ;
for, now that the gas was out, their balloon was heavier
than the air, and would have to go down.â€
“Tt ’s awful to be a monkey way up in a balloon, when
it’s all bursted,†said Marie, nearly ready to cry. “Oh!†she
added, suddenly turning her earnest blue eyes full upon
Monsieur’s face. “I do wish you had gone with them, so
you could have pulled the string !â€
Monsieur laughed, but the donne stepped briskly for-
ward, fearing that her little charge was growing too
talkative.
“Now, children, thank the kind gentleman, and come
home to Mama.â€
Marie took her hand willingly ; but Henri had another
question to ask:
“What word is that, Monsieur, printed on the balloon
in the corner ?â€
“Montgolfier, the name of two brothers. They were
the first men who ever sent a balloon up in the air. This
was in the sunmer-time, about a hundred years ago.â€
“Where did they get the gas?†asked Henri, hurriedly,
for the bonne was looking at him, with her lips pressed
impatiently.
“They did n’t use gas at all, my boy; they kindled a
fire, and filled the bag with smoke. They thought the
smoke carried up the balloon, but in reality it was the hot
air, which is very much lighter than ordinary air.â€
HEAVIER THAN AIR 239
BALLOONING THROUGH A SNOW-STORM.
“Oh!†said Henri, as the donne took hold of his hand,
“JT do wish I could stay all day and hear more about bal-
loons, and how often you have been up in them!â€
“So do I. Ask your papa, my boy. He can tell you,
I think, all about Monteolfier, and Lunardi, and Gay-
Lussae, and Glaisher, and—â€
“Q Matilde!†cried Henri, “do stop your pulling! Good
IAD THE LAND OF PLUCK
day, Monsieur—I ’m very much obliged to you, Monsieur
—if it was n’t for Matilde, I ’?d—â€
And out stalked Matilde through the doorway with the
children, one on each side of her; both looking back—
Henri at the old gentleman, and Marie at the picture.
“Q Matilde!†cried Henry indignantly, when they
reached the street, “you cruel Matilde! not to let me
wait and hear all about Lunardac, and Glaishac, and
Montgolfy, and all the rest.â€
“That ’s too bad!†said Marie, looking sympathetically
at him across Matilde’s skirts. “I 7d like to hear about
7em too—were they monkeys ?â€
BACK TO EARTH AGAIN.
16
WHAT THE SNOW-MAN DID
“ONE, TWO, THREE! LET HER GO!†(SEE PAGE 244.)
1
WHAT THE SNOW-MAN DID
Ir was twelve years ago, and midwinter. There had
been good skating at Rockville for nearly a week; but, on
a certain cold Friday, it suddenly began to snow. The
great white flakes came down, slowly at first, then more
rapidly, until the air seemed a tumultuous mass of eider-
down. Then the eround, the fences, the trees, began to
take their share, and the whole country-side grew white.
In the city, not far off, people bemoaned the “ bad walkingâ€
that already threatened them ; but country folk as promptly
looked forward to sleigh-rides and frolic.
The boys and girls of Rockville reveled in the discus-
sion of various plays for Saturday if it should keep on
snowing. Thoughts of snowballing, fort-building, coast-
ing, and all kinds of snow sport scurried through their busy
young noddles ; and, as soon as they came out of school, the
boys and girls divided off into merry groups, some eagerly
chatting, some frolicking in the soft snow; while a party
of five boys dashed off toward the large, frozen pond half
a mile away. These were the shinny-boys. They had
agreed to play a game of shinny on the ice after school
243
244 THE LAND OF PLUCK
the next day; but, now, as the snow threatened to stop
their promised sport, they had decided not to wait, but to
have their game at once.
The beautiful storm ceased as suddenly as it had begun ;
but that night the snow came again,—and this time to con-
tinue until morning. Then youthful existence in that region
Was comprised in the term, “lots of fun.†The coastine-
hill was crowded on that Saturday. Snow forts, hastily
erected, became scenes of bold attack and desperate de-
fense, and three hardy boys proceeded to make the biggest
ball of snow ever seen in that locality ; it grew and grew
until it reached to their shoulders, and finally it was as
much as the three could do to roll it to the edge of the
precipice called in Rockville— by the young ladies “the
Lovers’ Leapâ€; and by the boys “Clifford’s Jump,†be-
cause a daring young fellow of that name really had
jumped from it once,—and had taken a good, long rest
in the hospital afterward.
Well, the mammoth ball—after the boys’ ecstatic “ One,
two, three! Let her go !â€â€”went over “ Clifford’s Jumpâ€
fine style. It dashed down the steep descent, distributing
itself in blocks and fragments as it went,—and was soon
forgotten. The shinny-pond had yielded overnight to cir-
cumstances and become as white as its own level shores.
Before dusk the forts were demolished or abandoned, and
snow-day foes returned to the ways of peace.
Meantime, four fine fellows—Hal McDougal, Charley
Green, and Sydney Burton and his brother Will,—eager to
enjoy their Saturday to the utmost, had assembled after
early breakfast behind the McDougal cottage.
WHAT THE SNOW-MAN DID 245
THE SHINNY BOYS HAVE THEIR GAME,
“Shall we build a fort, or a what?†asked Charley
Green.
“A what,’ responded Sydney Burton, promptly.
“Oh, bother!†retorted Charley; “don’t begin your
fooling. T mean, shall we build a fort or aman? I vote
for the man.â€
“And Tm for a fort,†put in Will.
16*
246 THE LAND OF PLUCK
“Tt will be twice the fun to make a snow-man, Will,â€
said his brother Sydney ; “ won't it, Charley ?â€
Now, Charley had a way of saying “ Of course†that was
worth a bushel of arguments to a boy like Will; so when
he said “Of course,†and Hal added scornfully, “Who
wants a fort?†the thing was settled: a man it should be.
Nearly all day the boys worked. A strong clothes-pole
served as a backbone around which the figure was built
from the ground upward. None of them had ever made a
snow-man before, and to make a large, well-shaped one was
not a very easy task. Even with their determination to
have him well proportioned, he turned out, as Sydney con-
fessed, to be “rather short for his thicknessâ€; and Will’s
plan of helping this trouble, by piling the snow on top
of the big white head, did n’t work well at all. Still he
would insist upon holding up great balls, and shouting:
“Help yourself, Syd,—pile up!â€
And Sydney as resolutely shouted back :
“Don't want it. I tell you he’s got twice too much
forehead already.â€
“Fudge!†Charley would say ; “take it, Syd,—imake it
into a hat.â€
“A hat would n’t do any good,†Sydney would insist,
from the top of the barrel on which he was standing ; “ not
a bit of good; the man himself is out of proportion.
Don’t you understand? I’ve taken a heap from the top of
his noble brow already. Do you know I wish this chap
were marble instead of snow? I’ve been thinking, ever
since we began, I ’d like to make a statue in earnest.â€
Meantime, Hal McDougal, shaping the arm, fell to think-
aaa
WHAT THE SNOW-MAN DID 947
ing that if one had to get up a contrivance that would
do all that a boy’s arm does, what a task it would be! and,
anyhow, what a wonderful thing a real arm was, with
its muscles and sinews and all the little blood-vessels and
jig-a-rigs. And then the rest of the machine—the heart
and lungs and brain —he wished he knew all about them;
he ’d study it all out some day. Yes! he would begin
straight off reading anatomy in the evenings — declare
if he would n’t. All this time he said nothing, but kept
on shaping the sleeve, whistling and trying to build out
something like a fist.
Charley Green, the oldest boy of them all, did n’t care
anything about the height of the forehead, nor did he
trouble his brain by comparing this solid man of snow
with the wonderful human animal. What bothered him
was the snow itself.
“Tt’s a gay old puzzle, anyway,†he thought,—this water.
IT don’t wonder the Eastern tyrant had that traveler put
to death (if it was the law to bowstring liars) who said
that in Ais country water was sometimes like a cloud,
sometimes like a feather, sometimes like solid blocks of
glass. Nobody could believe it unless he saw it. And
then — hang it all!—they tell you water itself is made of
two gases; and, again, that there ’s water in everything —
even in dust. I’m going to study up on water. I’m going
to find out what this sparkle in the snow means, and why
melted snow tastes different from other water. I have n’t
cared for chemistry so far; but I ll take it up in earnest,
if a fellow can really find out things by studying it.â€
“Halioo! Charley,†scolded Will at this point; “stop
THE BUILDING OF THE SNOW-MAN.
WHAT THE SNOIV-MAN DID 949
a
blowing your mittens and looking like an owl, and lend a
hand here. I’m in for breaking off this military gentle-
man’s head and building him up higher, and clapping it
on again. The shoulder-straps are easy to change.â€
“Viddle for the straps,†broke forth Sydney, quite out
of patience. “If you heap up the shoulders, there ’s your
body too long, and your arms too short, and all your
features too little.â€
“That would n’t make a bit of difference,’ was Will’s
ready answer. “We could just shift the belt up, and I’d
alter the buttons in less than no time. Come on, Charley!â€
“That ’s just like you, Will,†said Sydney. “T declare
if he does n’t think more of regimentals than a drum-
major. I’m goin’ to scoop out the legs—no use in havin’
the old general run down all in one solid piece.â€
“Who would n’t go in for regimentals ?†retorted Will.
“T never saw anything like the way all these snow-buttons
have made a soldier of the old chap. Why, he was n’t any-
thing without them. The more I look at him, the more T
can see no two ways about it. A man, whether he’s flesh
or snow, is n’t more than half a man till you make him a
soldier.†:
Don’t you see how it all ended? Many a time has the
grass grown ereen and withered over the spot where the
great snow-soldier melted away; but the thoughts that
ame into those four boyish heads that day have kept on
growing and gathering streneth. How little they knew
then, as they sang, and shouted, and whistled, and clapped
the snow on here and there, that the fancies flitting to
250 THE LAND OF PLUCK
them from the white soldier would never leave them
again! that while they were busily shaping his_ body,
head, and arms to their satisfaction, he was quietly shaping
them, actually molding their careers!
Neither did haughty Milly Scott imagine, as she walked
by in her best clothes, that the snow-man would quite
change her ways of thinking and acting; nor did little
Ben, her brother, have any idea that the same shining
white soldier would make him a prisoner for six weeks—
not he. Yet these things all came to pass.
To-day, Sydney Burton (I do not give you his real
name) is a sculptor in Rome; his brother, Colonel William
Burton, is stationed somewhere on our Western frontier ;
Charley Green is soon to be made professor of chemistry
in one of our Northern colleges; and solemn Hal Mc-
Dougal is studying hard in the French Institute of Surgery.
As for Master Ben Scott and his sister Milly, perhaps
I should have told you about them sooner in the story.
Poor Milly! She was not a bad-hearted girl, but she
was very proud, and often blind to the feelings of others.
She cared more for her fine clothes, her fancy boots, her
wavy hair, than for anything else in the world, except
her mother and father and little Ben. She disliked plain,
unfashionable people exceedingly; and as for the really
poor and ragged, they seemed to her too disagreeable to
be thought of for an instant. She always avoided the
wretched places where they lived, and never seemed to
suspect that the little children whom Christ blessed were
not all dressed in fine garments.
On this particular day, she had seen a child tumble over
EE
WHAT THE SNOW-MAN DID 951
a big frozen lump on the road, and when Ben tried to
run toward it, she had pulled him back, saying:
“Stop, Benny! Don’t touch the dirty little creature!
Let her alone — she ‘Il stop crying in a minute.â€
“J wish I could give her a pair of shoes,†Ben had said ;
“her feet look so cold !â€
“Oh! poor people like her don’t feel the cold. They
are used to going barefoot,†Milly had answered, still hurry-
ing him on.
They ended their homeward walk in silence. Benny
was feeling sorry for the very shabby and unhappy little
girl, and Milly was trying not to blame herself, or at least
to forget that pitiful little face by saying to herself: “It’s
nothing to me, anyway.â€
That night, long after everybody was asleep, the snow-
soldier came to Milly.
She was frightened at seeing him standing near her,
but, somehow, she could n’t call out or make any noise.
“Get up!†he said sternly.
She obeyed him. And now comes the strangest part of
the story. She was Milly still, and yet so light that she
seemed to float beside him out of the room, and down the
stairs, and through the front door, and straight to the
wretched part of the city where the poor folks lived.
There she saw men, women, and children huddled together
on bare floors or heaps of straw and rags, with scarcely any-
thing to cover their poor, shivering bodies. Whenever the
show-man put his head in at the windows and doors, they
would shiver worse than before, and utter moans that
252 THE LAND OF PLUCK
made Milly tremble. In one place she saw a pale young
woman, with a baby in her arms, crouching before an
empty stove.
would light up a little whenever the mother blew upon
them. As the snow-iman rattled the broken window-
sash, the poor woman cried bitterly, and tried to warm
the baby by holding it against her breast; but Milly knew,
by the pinched look of the thin baby-face, that it was
dying of hunger and cold.
Other sights they saw that made Milly’s heart ache
as it never had ached before; and when she asked leave
to go home and send blankets and coal and wood to all
these poor creatures, he held her back, growling:
“Come on! Poor people like these don’t feel the cold.
They ’re used to it.â€
This sounded so cruel, so heartless, that Milly drew
back in horror. Then the snow-man vanished. Whether
he floated off or inelted away, as snow-men often do, she
never knew. But one thing is quite certain: from that
night Milly began to improve. One does not in a twink-
ling conquer habits of selfish indifference and gain a life
of good deeds and kindly sympathy for others. But Milly
did improve wonderfully ; and she never again said: “Oh!
poor folks don’t feel the cold.â€
KITTYS CANARY
KITTY IS REMINDED OF FLUFFY. (SEE PAGE 258.)
KITTYS CANARY
SUCH a pet as Fluffy became at first sight! Papa had
bought him to cheer Kitty when she was recovering from
a tedious fever, and it really seemed as if Fluffy understood
all about it. He appeared hardly to care for himself at all,
though a new bird in a strange house certainly must have
lonely and uneasy feelings at first. Fluffy never had lived
the free out-of-door life that birds of his kind always énjoy
in the Canary Isles; but he had come from a beautiful,
sunny shop where there were rows upon rows of cages, and
al the birds living in them knew one another by note, and
were sure of having plenty of everything to make them
comfortable. Mr. Carr, their owner, knew how important
it was that his singers should be well cared for, and he al-
ways gave them fresh food and water every day.
Whether some other little bird told him or not, or whe-
ther Fluffy heard Kitty softly sobbing because the doctor
had said she must stay in the house for a week longer, no-
body can say. I only know that as soon as Fluffy’s cage
was hung by the window in Kitty’s room, the little fellow
began to take an interest. Yes, really to take an interest.
255
256 THE LAND OF PLUCK
Katty said so. He hopped from one perch to another,
twitched his head this way and that, glanced about him
with his quick little black eyes, saw that Kitty was down-
hearted, and straightway began to sing!
“Cheer up, Kitty,’ he seemed to say. “I ’m here.
Listen!†And then a trill, so sweet and soft and cheery,
floated around the room and through the open window
that Kitty brightened up wonderfully. Everything seemed
different to her in an instant. To be confined to the house
for a few days longer was not so bad, after all; and to
be well enough to sit up and watch Fluffy, why, that was
perfectly delightful! And what a dear, pretty little crea-
ture he was—so light and soft and helpless, if you thought
of him in one way; so brave and wise and wonderful, if
you thought of him as he sat there cheering little Kitty!
How he hopped, too: now to the floor of the cage, now to
the perches, now to the seed-cup, stopping to sing at almost
every turn! Kitty said it made her laugh to think how she
would feel if she were to jump down to the kitchen, up to the
roof, out in the garden, in at the window, all in a minute.
But was n’t he tired? Did n’t he want something more
to eat? Would sugar hurt him? Was it safe to give him
orange-peel ? Did n’t he need more gravel? More water ?
More anything? And if he did n’t now, would n’t he very
soon? Kitty asked these questions of herself and those
around her again and again. Her mother laughingly told
her that as Mr. Warbler would need to be attended to
every single day, he would be troublesome enough after a
while. And Kitty hoped he would. It would be so nice
to take care of the dear little fellow. Hey, Fluffy? So it
KITTY’S CANARY 257
would. And all the time Fluffy kept on singing, as if to
say:
“Yes, Kitty, you look out for me, I ’ll look out for you,
and we ‘Il get on finely ; so we will.
“This is a nice house, Kitty,’ his song seemed to say,
when, after a while, he and the little girl were left alone
together ; “a very nice house. Pleasant window too, sunny
and fine ; pretty curtains, white as clouds, and thin as mist.
Kitty, Kitty, Kitty, Kitty, Kit—tee-e-c! I like the way
the wind lifts them. Don’t you? Don’t you? Every
one ’s so good to you, Kitty—Mama, Papa, Uncle Will,
and all. Soon you can go out and play. Hey, Kitty ?
Eh—Kitty, Kitty, Kitty, Kitty, Kitty, Kit, Kit —tee-c-c-e-c!â€
It all sounded so plain to Kitty, that, somehow, there
was nothing strange in it. Why should n’t dear. little
Fluffy say just such things to her when really her own
heart was saying the same to him? She felt this all the
while as she leaned back in the big easy-chair. It was a
kind of duet between herself and Fluffy, growing softer and
sweeter, sweeter and softer, every minute. Then when’he
happened to give an extra loud note of joy, she would
rouse herself with a start and revel again in the delight
of having a dear little canary-bird like Fluffy to love and
care for.
The little fellow did not miss the bird-colony at Mr.
Carr’s, in the least. His new cage was large and pretty,
and Kitty, who kept it in perfect order “all herself’ was
only too happy to attend to his every need. Even after
she became able to go out and sit in the sunshine, she
often would look up at the house and wave her hand
17
258 THE LAND OF PLUCK
to Fluffy, or try to whistle to him as he merrily hopped
about in his gilded cage.
But sometimes, as Kitty grew stronger and her little
playmates began to call for her, right after breakfast, to
join in this or that sport, she would fly out to them,
actually neglecting to give Fluffy fresh seed and water.
His cage hung out on the upper veranda now.
“An hour or so can’t make any difference,’ she would
say to herself,—“he ’s all rightâ€; and poor Fluffy would
have to wait for her till after school.
How it came about, Kitty could n’t tell. But, somehow,
in meeting the girls again, and racing through the fields
with them, and studying her lessons, and going out driving
with Uncle Will, and doing all sorts of pleasant things,
time slipped by; until one day, as she sat resting on the low
stone fence in her father’s orchard, watching a pair of busy
birds flitting about among the branches of a stunted little
tree, she wondered why they did not seek pleasanter
quarters,— and then she suddenly thought of Fluffy!
With a quick pang of remorse and fright, Kitty sprang
to the ground. She ran to the place where the cage hung.
The water-cup was empty,the feed-cup empty —nothing but
a few dried seed-husks scattered about. Fluffy was there,
silent and alone, sitting on the lowest perch, and looking
oh, so grieved !
“Fluffy! Fluffy !†sobbed Kitty, “here I am! I—I for-
got you, Fluffy —but don’t die!†and she started to get him
something to eat.
But he already had fallen from his perch. With a ery
Kitty tore open the little wire door, and, taking him in her
KITTY’S CANARY 259
hand, felt that he was still alive. He did not open his
eyes, but when she moistened his bill with water, and
sprinkled him, and laid him down on the sunny grass,—
now feeding him drop by drop with sweetened water,—
he stirred feebly ; then he sank back.
“Mama, mama!†she called loudly, “come quick —
Fluffy ’s dying!â€
But her mother had gone to the village with a friend.
Their nearest neighbor, Mrs. Scott, came to the window ;
and Kitty called to her.
“Oh, Mrs. Scott! You have canaries. Do, please, tell
me what to do for Fluffy! I forgot him, and he ’s starved.â€
“Oh, you child!†exclaimed the neighbor, and in a few
minutes (though it seemed a very long while to Kitty) she
was kneeling beside the little girl, bending over Fluffy.
She had a sheet of soft cotton in her hand. Tenderly and
lightly folding the bird in it, she rose, and, pityimg and
comforting him as only a bird-lover could, she hastened
home with the little sufferer—hardly noticing Kitty,
except to repeat reproachfully, now and then, “Oh, you
child! you child!â€
“Can you do anything? Can you, Mrs. Scott?†pleaded
Kitty, following her on a run.
“We ’ll see. Oh, the poor little fellow!†said the neigh-
bor, as they entered her cottage.
Did Fliffy live ?
Well, well—you should have seen him a week or two
later in his cage, jumping from perch to perch, on the floor,
up to the seed-cup and down again, snapping the seeds
260 THE LAND OF PLUCK
hither and thither, and singing: “Kitty, Kitty, here we
are! sweet and sunny; lovely, is n’t it? Kitty! Kitty!
Kitty! Here we are! Here we are!â€
“Oh, you little sweetness!†cried Kitty, clasping her
hands with joy. “I ‘ll never, never, never neglect you
again! Mama says she ’1l try me once more.â€
“ Kitty, Kit-Kit-Kittee—ee-ee!†sang Fluffy.
GRANDMOTHER
GRANDMOTHER’S AFTERNOON NAP.
GRANDMOTHER
ONE fine October afternoon some years ago, my sister
and I, happening to be in Germantown, that beautiful sub-
urb of Philadelphia, went to call upon our well-remembered
classmate Elsie G——. We found her and her two sisters,
Helen and Mary, at home in the sunny, quaintly windowed
living-room—and three very lovely girls they were. After
they and their grandmother had given us a hearty wel-
come, Elsie said:
“Girls, Grandmother was just going to tell us some-
thing about Patty Burlock, as you came in. Would n’t
you like to hear it?â€
We assured her that we should be delighted,—and
o
g
Grandmama, after a little coaxing, began:
“Tt is only a simple incident that came to my mind a
few moments back, hardly worth telling to an audience of
five. It occurred at a church wedding that I attended
eighteen—dear me! twenty-two years ago. T knew the
bride and Patty too, as I was telling the children†(here,
Grandmama looked beamingly at Helen, Elsie, and Mary).
“Well, the long and short of it is, little Patty did speak right
out loud in the middle of the ceremony.
263
264 THE LAND OF PLUCK
“But if the minister had asked any other question
than the one he did, it never would have happened.
“Or if it had been on any other day than that one
particular day, it would n’t have happened.
“Tf any other little boy in the whole wide universe ex-
cepting Robby Burlock had been with Patty, it never
would have happened,†she went on, with a playful nod.
«And I need n’t tell you if it had been two strangers
standing before the altar, instead of their sister Jessie and
Herbert Norris, it never could have happened.
“ But it did happen, for all that.
“Tf any one here present, said the minister, looking
kindly upon the sweet bride with the brave young man
beside her, and then glancing calmly over the little church-
ful of wedding guests, knows of any reason why this man
and this woman should not be joined together in the holy
bonds of matrimony, let him speak now, or,—
««What’s all that?’ whispered Robby, in great scorn, to
Patty. ‘I guess he doesn’t know. There ain’t any bounds
of materony about it.’
“That was enough. Young as he was, Robby was her
oracle. Up jumped Patty, anxious to set things right,
and determined that the wedding should go on, now that
Sister Jessie had on her white dress and orange-flowers
and lovely veil.
“«T do!’ she called out in a sweet, resolute voice, as
she held. up a warning finger. ‘I do. Please wait, Mr.
Minister. There ain’t any materony about it at all.
They came on purpose to be married!’
“*Q’ course they did!’ muttered Robby, distinctly.
GRANDMOTHER 265
“Everybody stared at Patty. It was a dreadful moment,
as you may believe, but the wedding went on all the same.
“And Patty and Robby, content and unabashed, were
among the very first to kiss the bride.â€
266 THE LAND OF PLUCK
We all laughed heartily as the old lady ended her story,
and she laughed with us.
“Tt so happened,†she added, “that I was seated quite
near the children, and I heard the whole thing. Their
parents were with them, but were separated from them by
Robby’s little hat and coat, and Patty’s big Leghorn hat,
which lay on the seat.
“By the way, did n’t one of you young folks tell me a
while ago that Patty Burlock herself is going to be married
next week ?â€
«Yes, indeed, Grandmother. We have cards for the
wedding—and you must go, too.â€
“Not I, my dears. Grandmas getting a little too stiff
in her old age to be ambling to weddings and such things—
but your young eyes will see it all, and, you ’ll tell me all
about it.â€
The pleasant old lady leaned back in her rocker with so
happy and satisfied an air as she said this, that, later, when
Elsie, my sister, and I were sauntering through the grounds
toward the summer-house, I could not help saying to our
young hostess: “How changed your grandmother is! and
for the better; she used to be so very quiet and grave.
And how charmingly she told that little story!â€
A peculiar expression crossed Elsie’s face, as though the
remark had given her both pain and pleasure. Then she
replied, as she led the way into the crimson-vined summer-
house :
“ Yes, Grandmother has changed. So have we, for that
matter. Come in and sit down a moment. Ill tell you
how it all came about:
GRANDMOTHER 267
“For a long time I did not understand it at all. I
thought that, because grandmothers often were feeble and
old-fashioned, they could never really feel as we children
do; that they needed no particular notice or enjoyment,
for it was their nature to sit in rocking-chairs and knit.
They seemed quite different from the rest of the world,
and not to be especially thought about; that is, by girls
who were as full of merry plans as we were.
“ Grandmother had lived with us of late years, as father
is her only son. We had a vague idea that she helped
Mother mend the clothes, and knitted Father’s woolen
stockings, besides some pairs for our church society. We
were supposed to love her, of course, and we were never
openly rude, for indeed we had been taught to be polite to
ul aged persons. As for Grandmother, she was one of
those peaceful souls who never make any trouble, but just
go on in their own way so quietly that you hardly know
they are in the house. Mother sat with her sometimes,
but we girls, in our gay, busy pursuits, rarely thought of
such a thing. She seemed to have no part in our existence.
“Tt went on so for some time, till one day I happened at
sundown to go into the sitting-room, and there sat Grand-
mother, alone. She had fallen asleep in her chair by the
window. The sun was just sinking out of sight, casting a
ruddy glow of light into the room, and in this glow I saw
Grandmother
saw her really for the first time in my life !
“She had been reading her Bible, and then, as if there
had been no need of reading more, since its treasure al-
ready lay shining in her soul, she had turned the book
over upon her lap and leaned back to enjoy the evening.
268 THE LAND OF PLUCK
“T saw it all in a moment,— her gentleness, her patience,
her holiness. Then, while her love and beautiful dignity
seemed to fold about me like a bright cloud, the sweet
every-day lines in her face told me a secret,— that even
then in the wonderful sunset of life she was, oh, how hu-
man! So human that she missed old faces and old scenes;
so human that she needed a share of what God was giving
us,— friends, home interests, little surprises and expecta-
tions, loving offices, and, above all, a recognition in the
details of our fresh young lives.
“Girls, when Grandmother woke up, she found us all
three stealing softly into the room; for I had told my
sisters about it, and we all had talked it over. Mary only
kissed her and asked if she had been having a good nap ;
Susie lifted her ball of yarn off the carpet, where it had
rolled, and began to wind it, all the while telling her a
pleasant bit of news about one of the school-girls; and I
—well, I knelt down at Grandmother’s feet and, just as I
was going to cry, I gave her knees a good hard hug, and
told her she was a darling.
“That ’s all, girls. Grandmother is different. And it ’s
been different with us too ever since that day when she
fell asleep by the window. Instead of our waking her,
you see, she really wakened us.â€
TWO MAY-QUEENS
‘“faT THE KINDERGARTEN, THE CHILDREN RUSHED TO THE DOOR AND WINDOWS.’’
TWO MAY-QUEENS
ONCE, not very long ago, and in a place not very far off,
a ragged little lame girl sat upon a stone in the doorway
of a poor hut, saying softly to herself:
“April showers bring forth May-flowers.â€
“They do, do they?†screeched a sharp voice from
within. “I Il May-flowers you, if you don’t look out!
What you settin’ out there for, Lerviny, and them clothes
a-getting cold in the pail ?â€
“T ’m a-lettin’ ’em soak,†answered the lame child gently,
without looking up.
“You be, be you? Well, just you take yerself off of
that, and come here to yer work. There’s them collars
all got to be starched.â€
Laviny, taking her rough little crutch, rose as quickly
as she could, and, entering the dingy room, worked her
way among tubs and broken chairs to an old pine table
that held a pan of hot starch and a number of dry collars
tied in a ragged towel.
“Can’t I take’em out in the sun, Aunt? I can’t half see
to do ’em in here.â€
Her aunt, who at the moment was bending over a tub-
ful of steaming-hot clothes, was rubbing the schoolmaster’s
271
O79, THE LAND OF PLUCK
shirts so hard upon the washboard that she did not hear
all that Laviny said. She saw the child’s movement toward
the door, however, and checked her with an impatient “No ;
stay where you be.â€
For a while after that, the only sounds in the cheerless
room were the soft skish, s-k-ish of the starch under La-
viny’s thin little palms and her aunt’s heavy rub, rub, rub
upon the washboard.
Did the aunt hate little Laviny ? Not she. Eliza Green
was only rough, quick-tempered, and tired. If she thought
about her conduct at all, she thought only that she was
doing her duty in not letting the child “gad about out-
doors†and in “ puttin’ a stop to the lazy ways she was a-
getting into.†Laviny, or Lavinia, was the orphan child of
this washerwoman’s sister, and it evidently was a settled
matter somewhere far in the depths of the poor woman’s
dull, neglected heart that “so long as there was a day’s
washing to be found, or a crust or a smitch left, the poor
little creetur should n’t want for food and shelter; no, nor
for careful trainin’.†Presently, Laviny, squeezing a collar
very hard and letting the starch ooze slowly through her
fingers, looked wistfully toward the open doorway. Some
white clouds were floating by in the distance.
“What ’s got into yer, Lerviny ? I'll give yer somethin’
to stare at if you don’t take your eyes off that there sky.â€
(Only the day before, Eliza Green had told her friend
Mrs. Delany, who lived in the shanty beyond, that that
queer look of Laviny’s always gave her “a crawl — like
as if she was goin’ to be took away from me, you know.â€
But she did not say this to Laviny.)
TWO MAY-QUEENS 273
“Why, Aunt,†answered the little girl, in her sweet,
patient voice, “I was only wondering about Miss Du-
plaine’s May-pole. Did n’t you hear how Miss Duplaine’s
little girl ’s going to be a May-queen? They ’re going to
have a great high pole, oh! ever so high! all hung full of
flowers, and Miss Lotty ’s a-going to have on her lovely
white frock and loads of flowers around her head!â€
“How Wd yer know ?â€
“Why, I heard ’em talkin’ about it when Jake Delany
and me went last night to take home Miss Duplaine’s clean
clothes.â€
“Much you took home Miss Duplaine’s clothes!â€
“Well, I went with Jake, anyhow, an’ I love himn—he’s
so good about carryin’ me when-I ’m tired.â€
“Lerviny! Mow, see you looking so again! Let that
there sky be! If you don’t stop that way of lookin’ up
smilin’ at the clouds, I ’ll be after you, so I will.â€
“T was only thinkin’ how good Jake is. And, Oh, Aunt!
you ought to see the throne !â€
The aunt gave a jump. “ What throne, you on’arthly
child, you ?â€
“Why, the one that ’s for dear little Miss Lotty Du-
plaine. It’s all made up pretty and green, and to-day she’s
going to sit on it for Queen of May, and have a whole
bushel o’ flowers all throwed over her!â€
“Sakes! what voin’s-on them rich folks do have! I
don’t see no sense into it.â€
“Oh, Aunt Lizer! J do!â€
Just then they heard a sound of mingled shouts and
laughter and the tramping of little feet.
18
274 THE LAND OF PLUCK
“Jake! Jake! Jake Delany!†screamed the chorus.
“What ’s a-wantin’?†shouted back a gruff voice from
the Delany shanty, which, with its low roof (like an old
hat) slouching over its clear windows, stood quite near.
“Oh! we want you to come help us get some apple-
blossoms. Come quick! we can’t reach.â€
Laviny ran to the door and the aunt followed briskly.
Tt was just noon. Jake Delany, Mrs. Delany’s great, good-
natured son, was shuffling his way toward Eliza Green’s
hut, and right outside, close to the very door-step, pressed
a troop of happy, soiled, ragged, laughing children—and
all carrying flowers! The girls had them in their aprons ;
the boys, bareheaded, held them in their hats and caps.
One girl had a pailful of grass and dandelions, and a
chubby little fellow, with red hair, held an old cracked
pitcher full of blossoms and sprays of willow.
At the kindergarten up the village street the children
rushed to the door and windows eager to see what was
happening.
And nearer still, Mrs. Delany’s little girl—younger than
Jake—stood gazing wistfully at the merry crowd.
“Come along, Ma-ri-er,†shouted some one; “ we ’re going
to have lots of fun!â€
“T can’t,’ Maria called back. “The children are kind
of ailin’ and Ma can’t spare me. I ’ve got to stay home
with them.â€
“Hallo, Laviny!†shouted half a dozen; “we ’re going
to be needin’ you soon.â€
“Needin’ me?†almost screamed Laviny, her face spark-
ling with delight and astonishment. “Why, what for?â€
TWO MAY-QUEENS O75
“We ’re going to keep May,†answered the biggest gir,
speaking for all, “and we ’re going to make you Queen.â€
“1 CAN'T, MA CAN’T SPARE ME.â€
“Oh! oh! oh!†said Laviny, clasping her hands. “And
have flowers throwed all over me ?â€
“Yes,†said the big girl, “and we ’re goin’ to crown you
beautiful, and we ’re goin’ to fix a wand for you like Miss
276 THE LAND OF PLUCK
Lotty’s. We’ve all been up to look through the bushes at
her. My! it’s splendid!â€
“She looks like a angel,†put in one of the little girls,
“with the loveliest white shoes and—â€
“Ho!†interrupted another scornfully. “They don’t
have no shoes on angels.â€
“How you know ?â€
“’Cause I seed a pictyer of em. Ain’t yer smart!â€
“She had the elegantest ribbons onto her back, too,
Laviny,†spoke the big girl again. “But they took her
right indoors. ’Fraid of her bein’ so thin-dressed, I guess.
Ready, Laviny ? We want you right offâ€
“Where we going?†asked Laviny, all in a glow.
“Why, where we ’ve been fixin’ the things, to be sure.
Jake and Charley and Pete ’ll have the blossoms all tied
to the pole fore we get there. His daddy’s long rake-
handle makes a splendid one.â€
“Do let me go—please do,†said Laviny, turning sud-
denly to her aunt. “Oh, can’t I?â€
“Why, what ’s got inter yer, Laviny ?†said the aunt,
sharply ; “anybody ’d think I was a bear to hear you go on.
You hain’t got a clean smitch on you, but never mind; go get
your cape, it may blow up colder bimeby. Some o’ you ‘Il
have to help her ‘long a little,†she added, turning to the
children, as Laviny went back into the shanty ; “the poor
child ’s too much of a cripple to be May what-you-call-it.â€
“Oh! no, she is n’t,†shouted two or three. “ We Il take
care of her.â€
“We picked her out for that,†added a little girl quickly,
“and because she ’s so pretty and good.â€
TIVO MAY-QUEENS 277
“She is that,†said Eliza Green, with a queer shine in
her eyes; then, changing her tone, “Here, you, Laviny,
don’t you know they ’re a-waitin’? You ain’t a-maki
that air cape, be yer? I never-see such a child.â€
Laviny came stumbling out with her crutch only half
under her arm. Her face was so flushed and happy-look-
ing that Mrs. Green gave her a slap as she passed out.
“Oh! oh!†exclaimed one of the girls.
“That ’s nothing,†laughed Laviny; “that ’s only her_
way o’ kissin’ me. Aunt’s real good. Maybe she “Il go
with us if you ask her.â€
One of the girls ran into the shanty, but came quickly
out again with, “She says what ’s the washin’ to do, she ’d
like to know ?â€
Nobody stopped to answer the question, and now Jake
and Charley and Pete came running toward them. i
“ Up for a ride, little missy, grunted Jake, as, suiting the
action to the word, he lifted Laviny up to a secure seat on
his great square shoulder. “Here we go!â€
It was a beautiful procession, after all. Jake ahead
with his sunburned cheek looking all the ruddier beside
Laviny’s sweet, pale face, Tom Tice with his pitcherful,
Kitty Carr with her pailful, and all the rest following with
laden aprons and caps—it was a procession of flowers led
on by the lily-girl shining up in Jake’s arms. At last they
reached the May-eground. It was only two fields off from
Mrs. Duplaine’s elegant place. They could see Lotty’s
beautiful May-pole distinctly, with its fluttering ribbons
and long festoons of flowers. What if their May-pole was
only a rake planted in the ground and wreathed with
18*
278 THE LAND OF PLUCK
daisies and dandelions! What if the throne was made of
an old tub and a stool sprinkled over with cut grass!
Did wt they trim Laviny’s crutch with violets and apple-
blossoms? Did nt they crown her with a beautiful
wreath? Did n’t they throw nearly a bushel of grass and
flowers at her feet? And did n’t the biggest girl walk up
to her, and with a funny little bob of a courtesy read these
lines, written by Jake on a piece of wrapping-paper ?—
“ Laviny Green,
You are our May-Queen.â€
That night, two little sisters, nestling in their straw bed
on the floor, talked over the events of the day.
“Was n't Laviny sweet?†said one. “I do think she’s
feelin’ real happy now, if she ts lame! It’s dreadful hard
to have to walk crooked, ain’t it?â€
“Bet itis! But I’m glad we made her Queen o’ May,â€
said the other.
LITTLE HAL'S RICHES
LITTLE HAL'S RICHES
OnE day our little Hal was invited to spend the after-
noon with his young playmate Johnny Lewis. ~Johnny’s
mother had died when he was a baby, but his father was
still living. Johnny was' an only child, and he dwelt in a
fine house, and on Sundays rode to church in the grandest
carriage to be met with in all the country round. He had
a great many toys, and a real watch that would go all day
and every day without stopping; and as for candies and
cakes, why! the physician who attended the family said
that Johnny had enough of such things given him to sup-
ply a whole regiment of little boys. He was a funny doec-
tor, and liked to make droll speeches ; but, for all that, he
would often shake his head very gravely when he felt his
little patient's pulse; then he would look sternly at the
big gold watch which he held in his hand while counting
Johnny’s pulse-beats, and mutter, “Too many good things
are bad things for youngsters.†Johnny would try for
a while to puzzle out the strange sentence, but as he was
ill on these occasions, he would soon give up the attempt
281
282 _ THE LAND OF PLUCK
in despair, and close his eyes, longing to get well, so that
he might eat plumcake and popcorn balls again.
But Johnny was not always sick; and, as I said before,
he had many beautiful things. So, of course, this visit
promised Master Hal a world of enjoyment. But, alas!
when the poor little fellow returned home in the after-
noon, his brow was clouded, and he had a dismal look in |
his blue eyes, and the least bit of a pout on his cherry lips.
Something was wrong, I knew, and at last Hal gave it
words. ‘
“Mother, Johnny has money in both his pockets !â€
“ Has he, dear?â€
_ “Yes; and he says he could get ever so much more, if
he. wanted it.â€
“Well, now, that makes it very pleasant for Johnny,†I
returned cheerfully, as a reply evidently was expected.
“Very pleasant; don’t you think .so ?â€
«Yes, only —†:
“Only what, Hal?â€
“Why, he has a big pop-gun and a gold watch and a
hobby-horse, and lots of things.†And Hal looked up into
my face with a disconsolate, doleful stare.
“Well, my boy, what of that?â€
“ Nothing, Mother,†and the telltale tears sprang to his
eyes, “only I think we ’re very poor, are n’t we ?â€
“No indeed, Hal, dear; we are very far froin being
poor. But we are not so rich as Mr. Lewis’s family, if
that is what ‘you mean.â€
“Oh, Mother!†insisted the little fellow, “I do think
199
we re very poor; anyhow J am!
LITTLE HADS RICHES
bo
Co
eso
“Oh, Hal!†I exclaimed reproachfully.
“Yes, mvam, Tam,†he sobbed ; “I have n’t anything at
all scarcely —I mean anything that’s worth money —
except things to eat and wear, and Id have to have them
anyway.â€
“Have to have them?†I echoed, at the same time laying
my book upon the couch on which we were sitting, and
preparing to reason with the young gentleman on this
co
â€
point ; “do you not know, my son —
Just then Uncle Ben called out from the next room,
where he had been reading his newspaper, “What ’s the
matter with the little man? Come in here, my boy.â€
“Hal,†said he solemnly, nodding slyly to me by way
of showing that he had overheard our conversation, “ you
know I’m a doctor, and if you ‘Il give me a chance to
try some experiments you can earn a lot of money.â€
“Can I?†asked Hal, looking up quickly through his
tears; “I'd like that ever so much; but what is a ’speri-
ment, Uncle ?â€
“An experiment,†said his uncle, “is a trial, a way of
finding out things. If you want to find out what will
happen when sugar is put into water, you simply try the
experiment of putting a lump into this tumbler, so, and
you ’Il find out that the sugar ‘Il melt-and the water will
become sweet. If you should put slices of lemon into the -
water, what would happen ?†;
“The water would be sour,†replied Hal, promptly.
“Yes, sir; you ’re right,†said his uncle. “So much for
“experiment. Now for business. ;
“T want to find out something about eyes; so, if you ‘Il
284 THE LAND OF PLUCK
let me have yours, Ill give you ten dollars apiece for
them.â€
“For my eyes!†exclaimed Hal, astonished almost out
of his wits.
“Yes,†resumed Uncle Ben, quietly, “for your eyes. I
promise not to hurt you a particle. Only you could n’t
see out of them any more. Come, sir! ten dollars apiece,
cash down. What do you say ?â€
“Give you my eyes, Uncle! Why, I’d be blind!†cried
Hal, looking wild at the very thought. “For two ten dol-
lars? I think not!†and the startled little fellow shook his
head defiantly.
“Well, thirty ;— forty;—fifty;—-a hundred dollars,
then?†but Hal shook his head at every offer.
“No, sir! I would n’t let you for a thousand dollars.
Why, what could I do without my eyes? I could n’t see
Mother, nor the baby, nor the flowers, nor the horses, nor
anything,†added Hal, waxing warmer.
“T’ll give you five thousand!†urged Uncle Ben, taking
avoll of bank-notes out of his pocket. Poor little Hal,
standing at a respectful distance, shouted that he never
would do any such thing.
“Very well,†continued his uncle, with a serious, busi-
nesslike air, at the same time writing down something in
his note-book, “I can’t afford to give you more than five
thousand dollars, Hal; so I shall have to do without the
eyes; but,’ he added, “I ‘Il tell you what I will do: T’ll
give you twenty dollars if you will let me put a few drops
out of this bottle into your ears. It will not hurt, but it
will make you deaf. I want to try some experiments with
LITTLE HAL’S RICHES 285
deafness, you see. Come now. Here are the twenty dol-
lars all ready for you.â€
“Make me deaf!†shouted Hal, without even looking at
the money temptingly displayed upon the table. “I guess
you won’t do that either. Why, I could n’t hear a word
if I was deaf, could I?â€
“ Probably not,†replied Uncle Ben, dryly. So, of course,
Hal refused again. He would never give up his hearing,
he said,—“ No, not for three thousand dollars !â€
Uncle Ben made another note in his book, and then
came out with prodigious bids for Hal’s “voice,†for his
“right arm,†then “left arm,†“hands,†“just one leg,†“ feet,â€
and so on, finally ending with an offer of ten thousand dol-
lars for “ Mother†and five thousand for “the baby.â€
To all of these offers, however, Hal shook his head, his
eyes flashing, and exclamations of surprise and indiena-
tion bursting from his lips. At last Uncle Ben said he
must give up his experiments, for the young man’s prices
were entirely too high.
“Ha-ha!†laughed Hal exultinely, and he folded his
arms and looked as if to say,“I’d like to see the man
who could pay them!â€
“Why, Hal, look at this!†exclaimed Uncle Ben, peering
into his note-book, “here is a big addition sum ; come, help
me do it.â€
Hal looked into the book, and there, surely enough, were
aul the figures. Uncle Ben read the list aloud :
“ Kyes, $5000; ears, $3000; voice, $2000; right arm,
$4000; left arm, $4000; hands, $2000; one leg, $4000;
feet, $3000; Mother, $10,000; Baby, $5000.â€
286 THE LAND OF PLUCK
He added the numbers together, and they amounted in
all to forty-two thousand dollars.
“There, Hal,†said Uncle Ben, “don’t you think you
are foolish not to take to some of my offers ?â€
“ No, sir, I don’t,†answered Hal resolutely.
“Then,†said Uncle Ben, “you talk of being poor, and
by your own showing you have treasures that you ‘Il not
take forty-two thousand dollars for. What do you say to
that?â€
Hal did n’t know exactly what to say; so he laughed
and blushed for a second, and then with shining eyes
exclaimed :
“Why, I’m awful rich! all of us — you and Mama and
everybody ! but Uncle —’
“Well, sir?â€
“Why, Johnny Lewis has got ’em too — besides the gold
watch and the money in his pockets and everything !â€
for,
to tell the truth, he was a little taken aback (as he after-
“My stars!†cried Uncle Ben in great surprise
ward confessed to me, in confidence) —“ Well, what ’s going
to be done about it?â€
“Nothing,†said Hal, rosy with joy as he strode about,
proud of his legs, his muscle, and all his possessions—
“Tt’s all right
out.â€
everybody ’s rich enough after they find it
“Right you are,†said Uncle Ben, quietly slipping from
the room.
ONLY A ROSE
nit
ena
fi
THE SISTERS.
ONLY A ROSE
A TRUE STORY
One day, many years ago, Mother summoned all of us
children—Marie, Gertrude, and me—to her sitting-room,
and made an announcement.
“Children,†said she, “I am going to the country with
your father, to remain a week.â€
Dear me! how our hearts sank!
“Miss Ellis will remain at home with you,†continued
Mother, “and I trust she will have a pleasant account to
give me on my return. She will tell me, I think, Marie,
that you have been a kind, faithful girl, keeping good
watch over your younger sisters.†(Marie smiled, though
her eyes were fast filling with tears.) “That you, Lilly,
have been quite steady, getting into no mischief whatever.â€
(I was the wild one of the household.) “And that you,
my little Rosebud†(kissing Gertrude), “have obeyed her
in everything like a little lady.â€
When Mother ceased speaking, she put her arms round
o
us, and looked into our faces to see what answers she
19 289
290 THE LAND OF PLUCK
could find there. Marie met her glance in a way that, I
know, satisfied Mother. I kissed her, and inwardly re-
solved that I would n’t go to the sugar-bowl all the while
she was gone; no, not once! And little Gertrude, who was
not four years old, looked up and shook her head saucily
as if-to say, “Ill think about it, Mother. My conduct
will depend entirely upon what turns up.â€
This is the way Gertrude looked, I say; but, if the truth
could be known, we probably would find that she had al-
ready forgotten Mother’s words, and just shook her head
because we all were watching her.
Mother talked with us a little longer, and then sent
down-stairs for our governess. This was Miss Ellis, a
dear, good lady, who was almost as kind as Mother. -We
loved her very much, and when she looked brightly at us
and said, “Oh, Iam sure they all will be very good and
obedient while Mama is gone,†we echoed her words from
the depths of our saddened little hearts.
It was interesting enough to see Miss Ellis put all the
wonderful things into the trunk — gloves, laces, the fan
that sparkled when you shook it, the little pink shawl
trimmed with swans’ down, that Mother used to throw
around her shoulders when she “ dressed upâ€; the funny
work-bag that shut by pulling two strings; and the beau-
tiful chintz dress with birds flying all over it. But our
hour of enjoyment was short. When the trunk. was
locked, strapped, and placed in the hall; when Father, who
came home to dinner that day, told Miss Ellis just how to
send for them in case anything should happen; and when,
above all, Father and Mother kissed us for “ good-by†and
ONLY A ROSE 291
were really going, and we sobbing ones (after a whispered
hint from Miss Ellis) were wishing them “a very hap-ap-
py time,†we felt that nothing more dreadful had ever
happened to three poor, forsaken children.
As soon as the carriage rolled away, and Miss Ellis
closed the street door, Marie just leaned her back against
it and cried; I sat down on the mat, forgetting my clean
white dress, and sobbed aloud; and little Gerty cried be-
cause Marie and I did. I do believe, if some fairy had
made my new wax doll walk down-stairs at that moment,
and take a seat on my lap, I should n’t have noticed it
much; or if the sugar-barrel had come bumping up the
kitchen stairs, and rolled past me, spilling sugar all the
way, I really could not have taken any for at least two
minutes, I was so wretched.
Seven days! Only to think of it! Why, a day appeared
nearly as long to me then as a month does now, and a week
without Mother seemed too cruel to think of—almost as
dreary as going through a dark tunnel fifty miles long, I
had yet to learn that to sit down and cry over such a trouble
was one of the silliest things in the world. Miss Ellis
told us so then, and tried to comfort us, but we hardly
heeded her. Indeed, we might have sobbed there for an
hour longer, if a well-known voice had not called us, from
the foot of the kitchen stairs :
“Doan be cryin’ dar, chillen! Come down ter ole Lizer.
I’m a-gwine ter make cookies !â€
Those words sent a ray of bright sunshine through the
lonely hall, I can tell you! Marie gave her eyes one or two
final rubs with her apron; Gerty clapped her hands and
292 THE LAND OF PLUCK
ran to “Lizerâ€; and I rose and walked slowly down the
hall, letting my lips stick out pretty far, so as to feel
2 3 J ?
miserable as long as possible.
?
“Jump, dearie!†we heard the cheerful voice say to
Gerty, who loved, when nearly at the bottom of the stairs,
to leap into Eliza’s arms. “Jump-a-daisy! doan be afeard!
Ole Lizer ‘11 ketch yer!â€
In another moment, Marie and I rushed joyfully into the
kitchen, exclaiming,“ Will you bake us a bogie man, Eliza?
Will you bake us a bogie man ?â€
“Course I will, honey; but you muss all be circum-
spectious, now. Can’t hab no fussin’ in dis yere kitchum.â€
We were so well accustomed to this command, that it
produced but little effect upon us. I was upon the kitchen
table “as quick as a wink,†and Gerty ran up and down
the well-scrubbed floor, laughing and shouting with delight.
Meanwhile, Eliza moved slowly and steadily about the
large kitchen, from pantry to table, from table to dresser,
her shining brown face beaming with kindness, yet grand
to our eyes with its look of importance; her great plump
form arrayed in a dark calico gown, covered with the
cleanest of check aprons; a bright plaid kerchief tied
about her head; another folded over her bosom. I can
hear her soft, heavy tread yet as it sounded that day while
she placed the sugar, eggs, butter, dishes, and other articles
upon the kitchen table. At last came the white flour-
pail, crowned with a big sieve, and then I knew that my
time to dismount from the table had arrived. Eliza spoke
even while I was scrambling down: “ Get off of dar, Miss
?
Lilly ; can’ hab no chillen cumberin’ up dis yere table!’
ONLY A ROSE 293
“4
Oh, what fun it was to see the butter and sugar, all
lumpy and mottled when first stirred together, grow into
a smooth golden paste under the strokes of her wooden
spoon! to see the beaten eges, like a little sea of foam,
erow less and less in their fragrant bed! then the snow-
like fall of flour, as with one hand she shook the sieve,
while stirring briskly with the other! and, above all, to
see the completed dough flatten out under the rolling-pin,
ul ready to be stamped into cookies! Marie, being the
eldest, always had the privilege of stamping out a few with
the tin cover of the little nutmeg-can; and, provided T had
faithfully kept my fingers out of the cinnamon-box and
not upset anything upon the table, I was sometimes
allowed to test my skill too. As soon as the cookies were
finished came the grand performance of bogie-baking. Such
lovely men! One for Marie, one for Gerty, and one for me
all with arms thicker than their legs, and noses bigger
than their feet ; or, rather, they often developed these pe-
culiarities after they were put into the oven. Two pieces
of cloves for eyes, and a strip of citron for the mouth, com-
pleted their charms. Soon the oven was quite filled. The
kitchen grew more and more delightful with the odor of
baking cookies, and we children clustered together on the
great window-bench, while Eliza made the kitchen, as she
said, look “a leetle scrumptuous†again.
When we went up-stairs, Miss Ellis let us play in the
nursery until tea-time ; so the afternoon passed away pleas-
antly enough, though we felt lonely at supper, notwith-
standing the cookies and our beautiful little bogies. It
seemed doleful to close our eyes that night without
19*
294 THE LAND OF PLUCK
Mother's “good night†kiss; but Miss Ellis allowed Marie
and me to pommel each other with the pillows for a while
before going to sleep, and that was a great consolation.
I cannot recall much of the second day of Father’s and
Mother’s absence. Probably we were good and happy, or T
should remember something about it, for clouds are apt
to make stronger pictures on the memory than sunshine.
Oh, yes; Henry Garnet came in from the country. He
was Eliza’s husband, or “ole man,†as she called him, and
he well knew that he was always welcome to a home with
us for Eliza’s sake. He was old and infirm, and would sit
by the kitchen stove hour after hour, rising only when
Eliza’s cheerful voice said, “ Here, ole man, just fotch mea
skettle o’ coal, if you ain’t grow’d fast ter dat yar stool,†or,
“Here, ole man, just fotch in a pail of water, will yer?â€
These little demands attended to, old Henry would sit
down again and settle into his afternoon doze, leaning his
head tenderly against the wooden mantel, and folding his
hands before him, quite sure that “Lizer†would set him
up straight, in case he “took to leanin’ over too much to one
side,†as he often did. It was strange to see her pause in
her busiest moments, and, walking toward the dozing old
man, straighten his leaning form in the most businesslike
way, never murmuring though she had to repeat the per-
formance half a dozen times during his nap.
“Ah, Miss Ellis,†she said, one day, “men ts unhandy
things ter hab aroun’, specially in a kitchum ; but den de
old gem’man’s had a hard time bein’ knocked about in dis
worl’, an’ while de Lord spares him, ole Lizer doan mind
de trouble.â€
ONLY A ROSE 295
Well, Henry came just before dinner, and the rest of the
day is a blank in my mind; but the next morning stands
out bright and clear. It was Sunday. After breakfast,
Marie and I were dressed for church, and, while Miss Ellis
was getting ready to go with us, we were all three allowed
to walk a while in the garden. It was a plain city yard,
with grassplot in the middle, bordered with a flower-bed
with fine rose-bushes in each corner. During the past few
days we had been watching the buds with great interest
(for it was June), and now, to our great joy, we found three
lovely new roses nestling amid the green. Our shouts of
delight brought Miss Ellis to the window.
After gently chiding us for making so much noise, Miss
Ellis told us (especially Gerty) not on any account to pick
the roses, for she wished the bush to look as beautiful as
possible when our parents should return. Marie and I saw
Gerty look wistfully up at the window, after Miss Ellis left it,
and then walk slowly toward the bush. We almost knew
that she meant to pick a rose (the very prettiest one of all)
hanging within reach of her chubby hand. Either Marie
or I could easily have prevented it ; but Mother’s wish was
forgotten. Was Marie “keeping faithful watch over her
sisters� Was I “steady, keeping out of all mischief†?
No! we both looked on—Marie indifferently, and I, filled
with mischievous glee, thinking of “the time†Miss Ellis
would make if Gerty should disobey her.
In a few moments the rose was pulled from its stem.
While we were looking at it, Miss Ellis came to the door
of the back piazza in plain sight of the blooming rose-bush,,.
which was still stirring after its tussle with Gerty.
296 THE LAND OF PLUCK
“Who picked that rose?†she asked sternly.
Gerty held the flower so tightly that it was all crushed ;
but none of us answered.
“Did you pick it, Gerty ?†asked Miss Ellis, in a sorrow-
ful tone.
“’Ks ; Gerty picked it,†replied Gerty, backing toward us
as she spoke.
“Then Gerty has been disobedient. Gerty must be
punished.â€
The frightened little creature began to cry. Marie and
T held our breaths. Miss Ellis took her up to one of the
garret rooms; it had nothing in it but an old chair and a
doll, which lay upon the floor. It was a gloomy room, with
only one window, and that was so high up that we never
could look out of it without glimbing up on something.
Gerty sobbed bitterly when Miss Ellis told her, as they
started for this room, that she must stay there alone for five
minutes, and we felt half tempted to follow and rescue
her by main force. But when we heard our governess shut
the door of the lonely room, and walk away, we ran down
into the front hall as fast as our legs could carry us.
It was now nearly church-time, the bells were ringing,
and as we stood on the front stoop, waiting for Miss Ellis
to join us, we saw the people walking quietly on their way
to church. We felt sorry for Gerty, but tried to comfort
ourselves with the secret falsehood that we could n’t help
it. “Pshaw!†I thought, “it was only a rose, after all;
there ’s no harm done.†“It was disobedience, too, and
you should have saved your little sister from the act,â€
whispered something within me; but I hushed the voice,
ONLY A ROSE 297
and kept repeating as I stood there, “It was only a rose,
anyhow.â€
By this time I felt sure that the “ five minutes†must be
nearly over, and was raising my eyes to the dormer windows
of the garret, and feeling very sorry for the poor little
prisoner, when suddenly I saw something spinning down
through the air from the very top of the house—spinning,
falling, nearer and nearer, until it struck the iron railing
of the front piazza, and then fell heavily upon the stone
pavement. Oh, it was Gerty! Gerty! our own darling
little sister !
Eliza and old Henry came rushing up the front cellar
steps. I remember his bent body; the gathering crowd;
the quiet little form upon the pavement; the crimsoned arm;
the screams and sobs of Marie, Miss Ellis, and Eliza; the
momentary tumult and terror; then the awful hush when
she was laid, still and white, upon the sofa. Would she
ever open her eyes—ever speak to us again? The doctor
shook his head when Miss Ellis looked imploringly into
his face. She was frantic with grief, and Eliza, groaning
and crying, dashed water upon Gerty’s white face, without
effect. The kind-hearted creature, even in her distress, had
a word of sympathy for Miss Ellis.
“Ah, chile,†she sobbed, “don’t take on—don’t take on —
de Lord knows yer was tryin’ to do right. Oh! if dose
bressed little eyes would on’y look at ole Lizer jist once.
If you’d on’y brought out de chair, Miss Ellis—but still it
seemed out o natur for de poor little creatur’ to drag it to
de winder all herself. Oh, doctor, doctor, 7s she killed ?
De Lord have merey. Js she killed?â€
298 THE LAND OF PLUCK
4
Soon the surgeon arrived. After he had been with her for
nearly an hour, set and bandaged the poor little arm, which
was broken in two places, and with his assistant attended
to her dreadful wounds and bruises, we were told that Gerty
had opened her eyes and asked faintly for a drink of water.
A messenger had gone on horseback to summon Father
and Mother. He crossed the ferry to Long Island, and
then, lashing his horse, never halted until he reached
the farm-house where they were visiting. The horse bore
him nobly, but fell dead a few moments after reaching the
house. Gerty did not know Father and Mother when they
caine. She did not notice anything, but she was living, and
that was more than they had dared hope for.
It was a terrible time. For weeks their little one hovered
between life and death; but their prayers were answered.
In course of time she grew stronger; new color bloomed
in her cheek, and her pattering feet once more made music
for the household. She lived, a bright, playful child, and
not an invalid or cripple, as all had feared she would be;
but never again did either Marie or I, while thinking upon
all that happened on that sad June morning, dare say in
our hearts, “It was only a rose.â€
LIMPETTY JACK
THE BOYS HELD MANY A CONSULTATION IN FRONT OF THE COUNTRY STORE.
LIMPETTY JACK
ONCE upon a time there was a very stupid fellow whom
nearly all the boys of the neighborhood, “just for fun,â€
called Limpetty Jack. It would have been better if they
had pitied him for his stupidity, and tried to help him to his
wits as well as they could. But none of them thought of
that. Probably if the boys had thought of it, they would
have gone to work and helped him heartily. But, at all
events, they did n’t. They made, instead, more and more
sport of him every day, until at last they resolved to have
some very wonderful fun indeed. So, after many a con-
sultation in front of the country store, they worked and
conjured with an ugly mask and brown stuff and wire
and long seaweeds and big green gogeles until they suc-
ceeded in producing a horrid-looking monster — that is,
when they had persuaded a young man to try on the
mask and all the trappings. Tt was one Philigan McDer-
mot who thus consented to join in their so-called fun.
Then they took Philigan to a damp, gloomy cave by the
sea; and after dressing him in the hideous rig, they made
him squat down on a rock in the dimmest corner. Such a
dreadful-looking object surely was never seen before, and
301
302 THE LAND OF PLUCK
the man himself, as he sat there, shivered to think of his
own appearance. Well, meantime some of the rest who
had joined in this cruel plan to frighten Limpetty Jack,
ran to find him, and to tell him that “a gentleman waited
to see him alone on important business.â€
“Won't it be too jolly!†they whispered to one another
in great glee. “We ‘Il not let any harm really come to
Limpetty, but we Il make him think he ’s in a peck of
trouble before we get through with hin.â€
So they all chimed in, “Oh! yes, Limpetty! it ’s so!
The gentleman wants to see you alone. Very important
business! You ‘ll find him in the cave by the water.â€
“And be quick, Limpetty Jack!†added their leader.
“He ’s the husband of the beautifulest mermaid that ever
lived. She sends you a bag of gold by him. He ’Il be
wanting a sacrifice of you to pay for the gold, but never
you mind. Do as he tells you, and all will be right.â€
“Ay, but I will!†cried poor Limpetty Jack in great glee.
“A bag of gold from a mermaid! Bless my lucky stars !â€
And off he ran to make himself fine for the wonderful
person who sat waiting for him in the cave by the water.
Now it so happened that just when Limpetty Jack was
about to start, he was joined by Philly Mac, as he was
affectionately called—the little son of the Philigan Mc-
Dermot who now crouched in the cave waiting for Lim-
petty Jack.
“Let me go with you, Jack!†cried little Philly.
“No! no!†answered Limpetty Jack. “TI must go
alone to get my bag of gold. It’s a great secret. Stay
you where you be.â€
LIMPETTY JACK 303
But Master Phil was a self-willed little fellow, and he
followed Limpetty Jack on the sly, slipping in and out
unong the low bushes and rocks, not showing himself till
they were at the very mouth of the cave. All those
thoughtless boys were hidden away in the cave, almost
bursting with suppressed laughter, and waiting to see
what Limpetty Jack would do when he should come upon
the monster.
“You can’t go in with me,†whispered Limpetty Jack to
Philly, when at last he discovered him just outside the
entrance to the cave.
“But I will,†insisted the child.
“We ’ll see,†said Limpetty Jack, as, catching the boy
in his arms, he waded into the water with him and set
him down upon a great rock that reared its top out of
the waves.
“Sit ye there like a good boy till I come back with the
bag of gold,†said Limpetty Jack. There was no danger
of his being disobeyed, for, little as he was, Phil knew he
must drown if he slid off of the rock. And if he should
try it, who could hear him scream through all the wailing
of the sea!
“ Now !†said Limpetty Jack, as he entered the cave.
“My stars!†he cried faintly, as his astonished gaze
fell upon the terrible figure squatted in the corner, “ but
the mermaids have a mighty queer taste in the way of
husbands !â€
Still he was too eager for his bag of gold to back out
now.
“Good day, sir,†said he, bowing as well as he could,
5
304 THE LAND OF PLUCK
considering his wet legs and the trembling that suddenly
came over him.
“Good day to you,†croaked a strange voice. “I have
brought you a bag of gold from my wife.â€
“Many thanks to her, I’m sure, sir,†faltered Limpetty
Jack, bowing again, and stepping slowly forward inch by
inch.
“ But,†roared the mermaid’s husband, “ you cannot have
it for-nothing. There must be a sacrifice. Get your fine
dog Shag, and stand him on the great rock near by, in the
sea, and when the waves wash him off and take him to my
wife, the gold is yours.â€
Poor Jack’s teeth chattered. Stupid though he was, he
dearly loved Shag, and Shag loved him ; but he could not
bear to give up the gold.
“Your Mightiness,†said he plaintively, “could n't ye
think of some other sakeryfice ?â€
“Not another,’ bellowed the mermaid’s husband, and a
low rumbling sound seemed to spring up in the cave; but
it was only those wicked jokers trying not to laugh. One
of them had whispered to another :
“Now for it! Limpetty ’s so scared he “Il never remem-
ber that Shag ’s a swimmer !â€
But with that ugly monster before him, the poor dull-
witted fellow was ready to believe that any impossible
thing might happen. Some other dreadful creature might
appear from the depths and drag his beloved Shag down
under the sea.
“Well, sir,†said Limpetty Jack, after a little bewildered
hesitation, “I have n’t any too much sense. That I know
LIMPETTY JACK 305
as well as the best one. But I like my dog Shag too well
to give him up for all the gold of the sea,†and with a
ereat sigh he turned to go away.
“Hold!†he cried, suddenly recollecting something. “TI
did leave behind me, on the great rock in the sea, a most
beautiful boy. I did n’t mind-me to do it; but he would
follow me against my will. So I set him there to keep
him out of sight till I could meet your worship alone as I
was told. Yes, he ’s there
a most beautiful boy, your
worship, the son of one Philigan MceDerm—’â€
Oh! but you should have seen the monster spring to his
feet, cast off his mask, and tear out of the cave, he and all
the wicked jokers after him! Limpetty Jack ran too, and
now he cared far more for finding poor little Phil than for
all the gold that ever was seen.
The tide had risen fast, and nearly covered the great
rock, and there on the very top, with the water close upon
his tiny feet, stood frightened, screaming little Phil.
It seemed as if the waves—each greater than the one
before it—must throw him off. They rushed into the sea.
It was hard work ;— but Limpetty Jack was first. The
rising waters were knee-high — breast-high—chin-high ;
and all the while the waves were dashing them against
the sharp rocks. The strongest of them drew back dis-
couraged. Then all they could distinguish was Limpetty
Jack’s black head. They had seen the frantic little boy
leap toward it as if Jack had called him, and then Phil
McDermot, who had stood in the waves as if turned into
stone, was thrown violently back upon the shore.
When he opened his eyes, there stood his little son beside
20
306 THE LAND OF PLUCK
him, screaming with terror at the father’s outlandish dress.
The boys were crowding about Limpetty Jack, cheering
him, shaking his hands, clapping his shoulders, and thank-
ing him with full hearts. He seemed dazed at tirst; but
after they had hurried him into the nearest house, and put
dry clothes upon him, he asked for little Philly Mac, and
wept with joy to know that the child was safe.
Strange to say, he seemed to brighten in his wits from
that day. It might have been owing to the shock, or to
his bravery in saving little Phil, or to the fact that people
young and old at last thought of helping him. Certain
it is, the boys were his friends. Never again did even
the most mischievous among them play any prank upon
Limpetty Jack.
BUBBLES
BUBBLES
AS TOLD BY JOEL STACY
Tr is so long since it happened, my dears, that whenever
I think about it, the youngest of my acquaintances fade
quite out of sight; dear middle-aged faces grow rosy and
youthful; Mary, my grave little wife, suddenly goes dan-
cing down the garden path with a skipping-rope ; our worn-
out old Dobbin becomes a frisky colt; the tumbled-down
affair yonder, behind the pile of brush, straightens it-
self into a trim, freshly-painted woodshed ; and — well, the
long and short of it is this: the memory of that day always
carries me back to the time when I was a little boy.
You see, I sat on the porch blowing soap-bubbles. I re-
member it just as if it were yesterday. The roses were out
and the wheelbarrow had a broken leg; the water in the
well was low, and if you tried to climb up on the curb to
look down into it you ’d have some one calling for you
to “come away from there.†But you could do what you
pleased on the porch. It was so warm and sunny that
Mother let me leave off my shoes as a matter of course. It
seems to me that I can remember just how the hot boards
felt to the soles of my tiny bare feet. Certainly I can re-
20* 309
Broce - THE LAND OF PLUCK
call how Rover looked, exactly —he has been dead these
dozen years, poor fellow!
The lather must have been precisely right, for I know it
worked beautifully. Such bubbles as I blew that morning!
What colors they displayed! How lightly they sailed up
into the clear air! Sometimes a little one with a bead at
the end—a failure
would fall upon Rover’s nose and
burst so quickly that I could n’t tell whether its bursting
made him blink or his blinking made it burst. Sometimes
a big one would float off in the sunlight and slowly settle
upon the soft grass, where it would rock for an instant, then
snap silently out of sight, leaving only a glistening drop
behind. And sometimes — but here I must begin afresh.
The little girl who lived next door very soon came and
leaned her bright head out of the window. A bubble had
just started at the end of my pipe. I did n’t look up; but
T knew she was watching me, and so I blew and blew just
as gently and steadily as I could, and the bubble grew big-
ger, bigger, bigger, until at last it almost touched my nose.
Then it let go; and looking up at it, I saw in the beautiful
ball first the blue sky, then perfect little apple-tree bran-
ches, then I saw the house, then the open window and the
little girl!
This made me shout with joy. I called out, but the
little girl was gone. Probably she had bobbed her head
back into the room. It was just like little girls to do so,
you know. Then I blew others, and knew she was watch-
ing me again; and, all of a sudden, Mother called me.
Well, I cannot remember much more about that sum-
mer. It seems to me that there were peaches, and that
BUBBLES oll
Rover learned to draw a wagon; but I’m not sure whether
that happened just then or a year or two later.
The next thing that comes up is a school-room. I
must have been a big boy by that time, for I remember
having my pockets full of marbles; also J remember hav-
ing a black eye on account of a fellow named Townley.
(Townley is in the sugar business now.) Besides, I was in
fractions, and, though I did n’t care very much for study,
I did n't wish her to think I was stupid. Who? Did n't
I tell you? Why, a little girl who went to the same
school,—a little girl in a pink calico dress and a white
sunbonnet. She had a way of dropping her books on her
way home from school, I remember, and we fellows used
to jump for them so as to have the fun of handing them to
her. Well, the way I used to try to get wp head in the
classes when she was there was astonishing. The other
fellows tried to show off, too; but I knew by the way that
she did n’t ever notice me unless I spoke to her that she
thought my bubble was the biggest. You see it was only
blowing bubbles again, after all.
Well, time flew along, and at last war came. I was a
stout fellow then ; Mother said I could go,—bless her brave
heart!—and I went. The scenes, the horrors of that war!
But we ’Il not talk of them now. It’s enough to say that
though I felt patriotic and all that, I specially wished to
distinguish myself — well, I don’t mind teiling you in
confidence — so that Somebody with brown, laughing eyes
and a gentle voice would be almost as proud as Mother
to see me coming back with honors.
Blowing bubbles again, you ’ll observe.
319 THE LAND OF PLUCK
“THERE SAT MY LITTLE MAN, AND IF THE YOUNG SCAMP WAS N’T BLOWING
BUBBLES !â€â€
Once more time flew along. Why not? And again I
found myself trymg—this time to make money. The
day, as I look back, is so close that the old faces put on
their own look again, and the young acquaintances come
to light once more, and Mary, my wife, no longer skipping
down the garden path, sits at her little work-table sewing.
Well, as I have said, this time I am trying to make
money. There is great excitement in Wall street. Men
are being made rich or poor in an hour. JI have a good,
steady clerkship, but a chance for blowing a great big, big
bubble comes to me. I can see a happy face already look-
ing up at me from its golden surface.
BUBBLES
ee
ee
Other men have succeeded. She shall be rich now!
T blow and blow, and the bubble bursts! All gone,
gone in a flash,— the savings of years! Ruined!
T hurry home — though it is but the middle of the day.
No one there. I sit down to think. Ruined? Not a bit
of it. Have n't I health and honesty and_ strength ?
Have n’t I Father and Mother and have n’t I Mary and
have n't I young Joe?
With this thought, and hearing our Ponto give a brisk
questioning bark of attention, and Joe calling me, I stepped
to the back window and looked out. Surely enough, there
sat my little man, and if the young scamp was n’t blowing
bubbles! And, if you'll believe me, the little gir] next door
was leaning out of the window watching him! Just then,
Mary came in,—I mean just now, for the fact is I’m
writing about this very day. And both Mary and I think
it is n’t such a very dreadful thing, after all, to lose a few
hundred dollars, for I have my. clerkship yet, and I’m
determined never to speculate with my savings again.
No, I’m going to be a steady, faithful, hard-working fel-
low, and Mary and Mother and Joe and I are going to be
just as comfortable and happy as birds — and — and —
You see, I am blowing this new bubble so slowly and
cautiously in the sunlight that I know it will be all safe.
And right in the heart of it I see Mary—Mary who has
looked brightly up at me from every bubble that I have
ever blown in all my hfe.
Vi Cege
BON 6983 |
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