Famous story book

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Lorarop PoBLISHING (OMPANY,
Boston.













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FAMOUS STORY BOOK

BY THE BEST AMERICAN AUTHORS



FULLY ILLUSTRATED

BOSTON
LOTHROP PUBLISHING COMPANY



’ COPYRIGHT, 1896,
BY
LoTHROP PUBLISHING COMPANY.

All rights reserved.

S.J. PARKHILL & CO., BOSTON, U.S.A
PRINTERS








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NCE upon a time, a long while ago, a prince started out to seek his
fortune. So he left the grim old castle, where he and his father
and his father’s father had been born, and “took the world for
his pillow,” as they say in old legends. For you see a stay-at-
home prince was not thought much of in those days, it being
the fashion to have adventures.

He started out one morning so soon as the sun was up and
shining, and journeyed toward a great forest that stretched dim,
deep and mysterious away to the west. Now this forest was en-
chanted, and it was said that in the middle of it stood a wonder-

ful palace that was as green as the ocean, and had a thousand and six little windows
with a dwarf looking out of each. In this castle lived a wizard, who was quite

out of the common run of
wizards, for he had nineteen
legs and twenty-one hands,
and a poor, pretty enchanted
princess.

Well, the prince reached
the forest just at nightfall.
It was a curious place, for
every flower had a little
head peeping out of it that
nodded to him, and the tall
trees shook their great sides
with laughter, and, bending
down, tried to wrap their

arms around him as- he passed.



THE ENCHANTED FOREST.

And this was truly dreadful, for if those

goblin trees had once caught the prince they would never have let him go.



THE WIZARD’S PALACE.

Suddenly he heard loud cries, and looking around saw a will-o’-the-wisp
rushing toward him, chased by a large bat, who was trying to blow out its lamp
with its wings. Now everybody knows that a will-o’-the-wisp is of no use what-
ever without its light, so the prince drove the bat off with his cap. “Many
thanks, my dear prince,” said a tiny voice in the dancing flame; “when you
reach the palace remember to say, ‘ Brek-kock! jock-lock !’ to everything they
ask you, and you will gain the princess.” With that it danced off.

The prince went on, and after a long time he reached the palace, which
shone like the sun in the dark wood, and just as he reached it the thousand and
six little windows flew open, and a thousand and six dwarfs stuck out their
heads, and screamed all together, “Krek! krek! lak!” “ Brek-kock! jock-





THE TALL TREES TRIED TO WRAP THEIR ARMS AROUND HIM.

lock!” answered the prince, and they all gave a horrible yell, dropped to the
ground, and rushed into the forest.

“Come, they are done for, any way,” said the prince, and he opened the
door and went into the great hall. And it wasa wonderful place, to be sure.
The floor was of gold, and the walls were covered with odd figures that danced
and swayed, and looked out laughing from between the cobweb curtains.

Right in the middle of the hall was the old wizard, sitting in a great
silver chair, with his twenty-one hands folded and his eyes shut, and by his
side, in a little ivory chair, was the loveliest maiden the prince had ever seen.
For her face was as fair as a lily, and her eyes as blue as the sky, while the



THE LITTLE BROWN DOG.

lovely hair that rippled to her feet was like spun gold. Any one could see
with half an eye that she was a true princess.

Just then the wizard opened his eyes, and seeing the prince he seemed ready
to die of rage, and jumped to his feet
roaring, “ Flip! flap! fliddle!”’ “ Brek-
kock! jock-lock! ” answered the prince,
not in the least afraid. Then the wiz-
ard screamed, and rushed at him. Dear
me, how they fought! while
the poor little princess got
behind her chair and sobbed.
But at last the prince gave
him a dreadful slash that cut
his head off, and then there
was nothing left to do but to
comfort the princess.

The princess showed him
THE WIZARD AND THE Eon CRS : o where the wizard kept his

treasure, and they put some

chests of gold on two horses and rode away to the prince’s castle. Then they
were married. They had sixteen children—eight boys and eight girls—and
the princess dressed the boys in blue, and the girls in pink, and they all lived
happily ever after.






















Elton Craig.

THE. LITTLE BROWN: DOG,

ITTLE brown dog with the meek brown eyes,
Tell me the boon that most you prize.

Would a juicy bone meet your heart’s desire? _
Or a cosey rug by a blazing fire ?

Or a sudden race with a truant cat?

Or.a gentle word, or a friendly pat?

Is the worn-out ball you have always near

The dearest of all the things held dear?

Or is the home you left behind

The dream of bliss to your doggish mind ?



THE LITTLE BROWN DOG



“4 BOY’S CLEAR WHISTLE CAME FROM THE STREET.”

But the little brown dog just shook his head
As if “ None of these are best,” he said.

A boy’s clear whistle came from the street,
There’s a wag of the tail, and a twinkle of feet,
And the little brown dog did not even say
“ Hxcuse me, ma’am,” as he scampered away.
But I’m sure as can be that his greatest joy,
Is just to trot behind that boy.
May Ellis Nichols.





































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































THE JOELY DUGONG. |

T was the jolly Dugong,

As he sat on the springing lea,

And his eyes were blue as the raven’s wing,
And his hair was black as the sea.






GE He piped and he trilled on his baritone tail,
Till the fishes began to stare ;
And came, with a skip o’er the shimmering sands,

To beg for their favorite air.

Then he scratched his head with his clammy claw,
And he smoothed his face with his fin,

While he murmured, “ Come nearer, my aqueous friends,
And a ditty T'll soon begin.”

So the fishes approached with a festive flop,
In numbers even and odd;

And the halibut leaned on the pickerel’s arm,
While the trout escorted the cod.

As the scaly bevy gathered around,
The Dugong unbuckled his belt,

And he tuned his tail with a tuning-fork,
Carved out of the rib of a smelt.

“Ah!” he sighed, “it is really a joy to receive
A mark of approval so rare,

For I very well know that a fish’s applause,
Is to flourish his skin in the air.”

Then he warbled in notes that were merry and gay,
And in tones that were clear as a flute,

And he caroled a lay of the rolling deep,
While the fishes with joy were mute.

The song was the one that they loved the best,
And ’twas quite a remarkable sight,

When they waved their skins like to flotsam flags,
And. rattled their bones with delight.



THE JOLLY DUGONG.

“OQ, Rosy, my posy!” the sun-fish said,
To a herring that swam by his side,
“On similar music, we'll constantly feed,
If you'll be but my beauteous bride.”

“QO, halibut, walibut!” whispered the cod,
“ What a glorious song of the sea!

Throw your skimply skin on the sandy shore,
And dance on the wave with me.”










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THE JOLLY DUGONG SINGS TO THE FISHES.

The hours went by, and the Dugong played on,
While the shadows of eve did descend —

But everything earthly must come to a stop,
And e’en such a concert must end.

The Dugong stopped singing — the hour was late,
All hurried for skins to the shore ;

"T'was confusion and bustle — each snatched what he could,
Half put them on hind-side before.



A SCHOOLMA’AM IN HAWAII.

Old Flatly, the flounder, went off in a coat
That was certainly made for the eel,

While Pinky, the salmon, was wretched in fit,
And extremely unpleasant in feel.

So, highly uncomfortable, each swam away,
With a coat much too small, or too great;
And just such an accident may befall you,
If you stay at a party too late.
Nora A. Smith.

A SCHOOLMA’AM IN dAWATI.

H ¥ ONOLULU, the island capital, is on the south side of Oahu. In the north-

western part of the island is the ~illage of Waialua, surrounded by

cane fields and taro patches. Its front is the blue Pacific, and for a background
it has high green mountains, densely clotned with tropical verdure.

From these mysterious heights there comes a river which flows into the sea
at Waialua. Hence the name, which signifies “two waters.’ This place was
once a missionary station, and the old stone church is still standing, much too
large for the dwindled congregation of the present.

Formerly it had a boarding-school for native girls, and here, some years ago,
it was my fortune to act as schoolma’am. There were between thirty and forty
girls, and three teachers. The girls had to be taught many things besides the
lessons in their schoolbooks. At home they slept on mats on the floor, ate poi
out of calabashes with their fingers, and wore only a loose garment called the
holoku. Here, they were required to eat at table, with knife and fork and spoon,
to sleep in beds, and to adopt the manners and customs of civilization.

The dwelling-house was two stories and a half high, with a basement, and
was surrounded by wide verandas.

The basement served for kitchen, dining-room, study room, and for a laundry
on ironing days. On the first floor were the smaller girls’ room, sewing-room,
parlor and library, which was also music-room, and the principal’s sleeping
apartment. The two upper stories were dormitories for the larger girls.

A couple of rods away was the schoolhouse, a two-story frame structure,
painted white. Both were shaded by tall trees; the tamarind, pride-of-India,
and kukwt or candle-nut trees mingling their foliage.

Then there were oleanders with rose-colored blossoms, pomegranates, whose



A SCHOOLMA’AM IN HAWAII,

flowers glow like coals of fire amid the dark-green foliage, and oranges and
limes, whose white bloom loaded the air with fragrance.

The girls had their flower gardens under these shrubs, which they tended
with careful pride. Besides roses, heliotrope, geranium, sweet-pea, nasturtium,
and other familiar flowers, there were fragrant Japanese lilies, and plants from
the Micronesian Islands.

In front of the stone wall inclosing the school property, which was over-
grown with the night-blooming cereus vine, a lawn of smooth maninia grass
stretched down to the sea, and here, under clusters of cocoanut palms, stood
several grass huts, the homes of natives, and a white cottage ; this was the
summer dwelling of Mrs. Dominis, now the ex-queen, Liliuokalani. The little
village lay on the other side of the river.

The schoolgirls under our care ranged from six to eighteen years of age.

They were of all shades of complexion, from chocolate-brown to white.
Their black hair, redolent of cocoanut oil, was usually ornamented with fresh
flowers, and their black eyes danced with fun, or languished with sullen scorn.

The younger ones were bright and happy in their expression, but the older
ones seemed already to realize the curse that rests upon their decaying race,
and to be brooding over it in stifled rebellion or mournful apathy. Some would
be called beautiful anywhere; they were graceful, with regular features and
lovely eyes; others were attractive only on account of their animation ; while
one comical little negro girl, who had somehow got mixed up with the Malay
race, was a veritable imp of darkness, so far as mischief was concerned.

All wore neatly-made calico or gingham dresses, and went barefooted during
the week, being allowed to don their finery, only on Sundays and festivals.

Miss G , herself a native of the islands, was the life and soul of the estab-
lishment. She was principal, housekeeper and accountant all in one. She
taught the larger girls in Hawaiian, and gave music lessons.

She had a faithful assistant in Miss P , the daughter of a missionary then
living in Honolulu, who taught the smaller children in their native language.
My duty was to teach classes in English. The oversight of the cooking, sewing
and other departments of housekeeping we shared as equally as possible. As the
school had to be conducted economically there were no servants, and all the work
was done by the girls under the direction of their teachers; tasks bein g given in
rotation to allow each girl to become familiar with the various departments.

After the breakfast in the large basement dining-room, each girl got her
Hawaiian Testament and read a verse; then Miss G offered prayer in the
same language. Then followed the routine work of the day. Some of the older
girls remained in the dining-room to put away the food, wash the dishes and
sweep the floor; one went to the kitchen to wash the pots and pans; and the
younger ones dispersed to various tasks—to sweep and dust the parlor, the
sewing-room or the schoolroom, to gather up the litter of leaves and branches









A SCHOOLMA’AM IN HAWAII,

from the yard, or to put the teachers’ rooms in order. The second floor and
attic were filled with single beds, canopied with mosquito netting. Each girl
“was expected to make her own bed, hang up her clothes, or put them away
in her trunk. A luna, or overseer, in each dormitory superintended this
work, and reported any negligence to the teachers.

The routine of the schoolroom from nine to twelve in the forenoon, and
from one till four in the afternoon,
was that of any ordinary school,
except that the girls who prepared
the meals were excused earlier
than the others. One day in the
week was devoted to washing and
ironing ; much of this work was
done on the river bank in the
shade of the tamarind-trees.

The girls were required to talk
English until the four-o’clock bell
sounded in the afternoon. From
that until supper-time they were
allowed to talk Hawaiian, and their
tongues ran fast.

Wednesday afternoons the girls
went to bathe in the river, and
Saturday afternoons to bathe in
the sea. It usually fell to my lot
to accompany them.

The river, a few rods back of
the house, had steep banks ten or
fifteen feet high, and a deep, still

apne current. The girls would start to
run and would race with each other
as soon as they left the house, and leap from the bank into the river.

Presently their heads would appear above water, and, shaking the drops
from their faces, they would swim across the river. The older girls could dive
and swim under water for some distance. They were always glad when the time
came to go swimming in the sea, for they were fond of a green moss which
grew on the reef, and they would all sit on rocks picking and eating it, while
the spray dashed over them. They sometimes caught little silver fish in their
dress skirts; these they ate raw. One girl told me that her father could dive
and bring up a fish in each hand and one in his mouth.

Now and then they would persuade me to commit myself to a bundle of
rushes, which two girls would seize with a hand apiece and tow out into the

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A SCHOOLMA’AM IN HAWAII.

bay; but generally I sat upon the white sand of the beach, watching them at
their sport, or lifting my eyes to the fronds of the cocoanut palms, which
seemed always in motion, even in calm weather, with some secret unrest.

Sometimes we went on picnic excursions to places in the neighborhood — to
the beach of Waiamea, two or three miles distant, where thousands of pretty
shells were strewn upon the sand, or to the wild-orange groves and indigo
thickets on the mountain side — coming back wreathed with ferns and the fra-

grant maile, a vine which is loved by all Hawaiians.

But we had plenty of oranges without going after them. For half a dollar
we could buy at our door a hundred large fine oranges. This Waialua fruit is
noted all over the islands for size and delicious flavor.

A real (twelve and a half cents) would buy a bunch of bananas so heavy
that it took two of us to lift it to the hook in the veranda ceiling. Limes and
small Chinese oranges grew plentifully in the front yard.

Of cocoanuts and tamarinds we made no account, they were so common.
Guavas grew wild on bushes in the neighborhood, and made delicious ples.
For vegetables we had taro, sweet potatoes and papayas, the latter tasting like
summer squash, but growing in thick pulpy clusters on a tree.

An old native brought us the taro just as it was pulled — roots and nodding
green tops; and of the donkey who was laden with it, little showed but his legs
and his ears as his master led him up to the gate.

This old man wore only a loin cloth and a shirt. He said he could not
dress in civilized fashion, because the education of his two daughters in our
school cost him so much that he must economize.

Native women, mothers of some of the pupils, sometimes visited our school,
sat on the veranda floor, and told us fascinating stories of the strange, barbarous
past; how Waialua was once a populous village ; how it was the favorite resj-
dence of the chiefs, and how the great King Kamehameha practiced feats of
strength here, drawing a crowd of enthusiastic spectators who had more respect
for his wonderful physical power than for his royalty. .

Every Sunday we crossed the bridge that spanned Waialua River near the
sea, and made our way to the huge old-fashioned mission church which stood in
an open field surrounded by prickly pears six or eight feet high.

While Pai-ku-li, the native minister, preached a sermon in Hawaiian, I looked
at the side pews where the old folks sat, and tried to picture the life they had
known in their youth, when every mountain ravine, every misty headland had
its god or goddess, to whom a sacrifice must be made, even if it consisted only
in placing a handful of freshly-gathered leaves on a flat stone.

Though nominally Christians, many of the old superstitions yet linger among,
the natives. One of these is that a person can be prayed to death by his
enemy. ‘This is something akin to the Voudou witchcraft so firmly believed in
by the ignorant negroes of our Southern States.



A SCHOOLMA’AM IN HAWAII,

I come now to the rebellion which broke forth in Waialua School when I
had been there a few weeks. Shortly before my arrival one of the schoolgirls
had died, after a brief illness. Some of the lower-class natives in the neighbor-
hood, who were unfriendly to the school, whispered that she had been prayed
to death by her teachers, and transmitted this superstition to the older pupils.

While yet unaware of this I had noticed the scowls and dark looks, the
reluctant obedience and manifest distrust of ten or twelve girls from fifteen to
eighteen, the leaders in the school. The younger girls were affectionate and
obedient; they brought flowers from their gardens and wove wreaths for us;
they lomi-lomi-ed our hands and feet when we were sitting at rest; if they
neglected their tasks or broke any of the rules it was through the carelessness
of childhood. But it seemed impossible to gain the confidence of the older girls.

One day Miss P. , the assistant teacher, received a message that her
father was ill, and immediately started for Honolulu on horseback. The next
day a tropical storm burst upon us. The rain fell in torrents, and the air was
filled with the flying branches of trees. This continued for twenty-four hours.
When Sunday dawned the rain and wind had ceased, but sullen clouds still hung
overhead, and there was an oppressive heaviness in the air. Within, there was
something of the same atmosphere; the tropical nature of the girls seemed to
be in sympathy with the stormy elements. The older ones were silent and
brooding. The bridge over the river had been washed away, and we could not
go to church. The oppressive day passed, and was succeeded by a similar one.

The older girls cast dark looks upon us as they reluctantly went through
the round of school and house work. At night the explosion occurred. All
the girls were at the usual study hour in the basement dining-room. It was
Miss G ’s turn to sit with them. Suddenly a loud yell, a sound as of scuf-

-fling, and Miss G ’s quick tones of command greeted my ear. The next
moment I was downstairs. There stood Miss G in the middle of the room
holding by the wrist, Elizabeth Aukai, one of the largest and worst girls. The
girl’s head was bent, and her teeth were buried in Miss G ’s hand.

I tried to pull her off, but she was as strong as an ox. Presently she loos-
ened her hold, and hurling us off she poured forth a flood of abuse in Hawaiian,
reviling the teachers and all other wicked black-hearted foreigners, who were
praying her people to death, ending her outburst by saying, “ You shall not
pray us to death.” Her companions answered with a yell.

Then one snatched up a lamp, and they ran upstairs to their dormitories,
screaming and laughing, and singing forbidden native songs; then, taking their
shawls and Sunday dnewads from their trunks they arrayed themselves in all
their finery, and began dancing an old heathen dance.

The little girls, ‘Sephténed and crying, and a half-white girl of seventeen,
who was Miss G ’s adopted daughter, remained with us.

We put the younger children to bed on the first floor, and held a council.















A SCHOOLMA’AM IN HAWAII.

“One of us must cross the river and bring Pai-ku-li” (the native minister),
said Miss G “He is Elizabeth Aukai’s guardian — she is his wife’s niece;
he can control her, if anybody can, and break this hold of superstition. Nothing
that we can say or do will stop this frenzy. Which of us shall gor”

The bridge was washed away; there was no boat; Miss P had taken the
only horse to go to Honolulu. Whoever went must ford the river. I was less
afraid to go than to stay, and volunteered to bring Pai-ku-li.

“ Ti-li-noe shall go with you,” said Miss G “She is a good swimmer,
and can find the best way through the river.”

Just then the whole crowd of girls came screaming down the stairs. They
swept through the sitting-room, insulting Miss G ; then they went up the
other flight of stairs which led to the teachers’ rooms and was forbidden to
the school girls. They were anxious to break as many rules as possible.

With a lighted lantern hidden between us, Li-li-noe and I stole out through
the flower garden and across the lawn. We wished to keep the girlsin ignorance
of our absence, fearing that they might attempt some violence to Miss G. :
Stealing quietly past the grass huts of the natives, we approached the river
where the bridge had been. Just ahead the surf showed through the darkness,
white and threatening, and beyond was the ocean, dimly heaving in the dusk.

The roar of the two waters filled the air, and we were wet with the flying
spray as we stood, hesitating, on the brink.

Li-li-noe stepped down into the river to find, if possible, a place shallow
enough to ford, but at the first step she sank to her shoulders.

“That will never do,” she said, climbing out; “ you cannot cross here.”

“Can we cross above the bridge?” I asked.

“No; the water is ten feet deep there; it is shallower toward the sea.”

“Then let us try there ;” and into the water we went, Li-li-noe first. It
was not quite waist deep, and in calm weather there would have been no danger ;
but now the current of the river and the tide of the in-rushing sea swept back
and forth with the force of a whirlpool. We had got to the middle, when a
great wave, white with foam, came roaring toward us from the ocean. Li-li-noe
threw herself forward, and began to swim..

For a moment there was darkness and the noise of many waters around me,
and my feet were almost swept from under me.

The foliage of the cocoanut-trees, high on the bank, was dimly outlined
against the cloudy sky. I wondered if they were the last things I should see
in this world. The bitter salt water wet my face, quenched the light, and swept
away my shawl, but the wave returned without carrying me out to sea.

Then Lili-noe’s voice reached me, calling from the other shore, and just as
another wave surged in, I reached her side.

After resting on the sand a few moments, we rose and began picking our
way to the village, half a mile distant.













A SCHOOLMA’AM IN HAWAII.

Our route led along a narrow path between the muddy, watery road on one
side, and a still more muddy, watery taro-patch on the other. Without a light
to guide our steps, we slipped, now with one foot into the road, now with the
other into the taro-patch, and when we reached the level cactus field around the
church, we were covered with mud to our knees.

Pai-ku-li lived nearly a mile beyond the village, but dlste by the church lived
Mrs. W , whose place as English teacher I had taken in the school.

We knocked at her door to beg for a light; and when she found what was
the matter, she made us come in, muddy and dripping as we were, and put on
some dry clothes, while her husband went for the minister. She asked me to
stay all night, saying that’she would not trust her life with the girls at such a
time — they might attempt to poison us, or burn the house; but I thanked her
for her hospitality, and lighting our lantern, we started back as soon as Mr.
W returned saying that Pai-ku-li would come. We walked slowly on, listen-
ing for the sound of his horse’s feet, for we had planned to ride across the river, 5
one at a time, behind Pai-ku-li; but he did not overtake us. After waiting at
the river till we grew anxious on Miss G ’s account, we resolved to cross
as we had before.

Again we went down into the cold flood; again our light was quenched and
our feet nearly swept from under us, but we reached the opposite shore in safety.

As we crossed the lawn, we saw every window lighted, and knew by the
sounds of yelling and laughing and singing that the girls were still raving.
Miss G sat quietly in the parlor. She had been upstairs to try to reason
with the girls, but they had drowned her voice with hooting and reviling.

Pile -li came later, but he had no better success. He cemained with us that
night and all the next day. The screaming upstairs continued till late in the
night, and began again as soon as the first girl woke. Early in the morning a
fleet messenger started to Honolulu, and just at dusk two men, the sheriff and
Mr. P , who was Miss G ’s brother-in-law and president of the board of
trustees of Waialua Seminary, rode up on foaming horses.

A court was held in the schoolroom, many natives were present as specta-
tors. There were among them a few of the better class who disapproved of the
rebellion, and more of the lower class who upheld the rebels, but no one in-
terrupted the prompt and stern proceedings.

Elizabeth Aukai was whipped until she burst out crying and begged for
mercy, and asked Miss G. ’s forgiveness for biting her.

Then she and the other rebels were expelled, and the sheriff took them away
that night. Those who lived on other islands were sent home by the first
schooner leaving Honolulu. Thus ended the rebellion at Waialua school. The
girls who remained were gentle and obedient; and the routine of school life
went tranquilly on, and the skies of the outer world became serene again.

Louise Coffin Jones.























































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































HOLGER DANSKE.

We the mighty walls of Kronberg
Tower o’er the cold blue tides,
Like a couching lion set to guard
A treasure which he hides,
In a deep, deep vault shut out from day,
In the heart of the dungeon place,
There sleepeth Holger Danske
The noblest of his race.

There sleeps he in his rusted mail,
With his sword across his knees,
His snowy beard has grown ell long

Through the long centuries.
And if ever a faint, far murmur stirs
Or the sound of a bell’s dim chime,
He moves, and fumbles at the hilt,
And mutters, “Is it time?”

A peasant once of old, ’tis said,
Lost in the labyrinth ways,

Chanced on the door and raised the bar,
And stared with a wild amaze.

And, “Is it time?” he heard the shape
In an awful voice demand;

Trembling, he answer made, “ Not yet!”
“Then reach to me thy hand.”

But the frighted hind dares not approach
To touch that form of eld,

And laid instead in the mailed grasp
The iron bar he held.

Like wax the iron bent and snapped,
And the grim lips moved to smile.

“Ha! There are men in Denmark still;
I may rest me yet a while.”

Never since then has mortal man
Trod the forgotten stair,



HOLGER DANSKE.

Or lifted the bar of the hidden vault
To rouse the sleeper there.

But whenever the Danish blood is hot,
Or the land for a hero cries,

Men think of Holger Danske,
And they look to see him rise.

For the runes have read and the sagas sung
That whenever the worst shall be,

And the Raven standard flutter low
Above the Northern Sea,

And the Danish blade be broken short,
And the land be rent with grief,

The genius of the Danes shall wake
And come to his relief,

Before his cold and frozen look,
Before his blasting blade,

The armies of the foe shall flee,
The alien shrink, afraid;

And the Paladin of ancient days
Shall rule with the ancient might,

And all the bitter be made sweet,
And all the wrong made right.

Out of the throes of the heaviest pain

This new peace shall be born,
Out of the very heart of night

Break the unlooked-for morn,
When the nation’s need shall answer

In one deep, according chime,
To the voice of Holger Danske,
Demanding, “Is it time?”

Susan Coolidge.







THE ‘‘ WAYSIDE.” — HOME OF THE ‘‘ LITTLE WOMEN.”’

CONCORD DRAMATICS.

HE old town of Concord in Massachusetts seems to have encouraged private
theatricals long before any of the other New England settlements. The
earliest record of an amateur performance names a curious place for such an
exhibition. A gentleman of high standing in State affairs, now wearing a long
white beard and snowy hair, relates that when a boy he acted in a play of
Shakspere’s, in a no less remarkable place than the old jail in which Sir Archi-
bald Campbell was confined in 1776, and of which he complained so bitterly on
his return to England. Many men well-known in offices of State assisted in the
play, but their names have passed away with the old theater of their exploits.
Fifty years later the play of “Ion” was acted in the old Academy, where
Thoreau, in company with his more gifted brother John, taught school, soon
after his graduation from college. This building was afterward, for many years,
the home of Channing; but before it was moved from its old site, the above-
named play was given in very fine style. Scenery was painted by the now
aged “ violinist”’ of the town, and the parts were taken by judges, lawyers, poets



CONCORD DRAMATICS.

and authors, then only anxious to “act well their parts,” thinking little of those
they were to enact in the great theater of life. Some of the gorgeous costumes
of cambric and tinsel still remain to keep in memory the good old days.

A few years later the old Academy witnessed the début of the wise professor
of a Western college, a dashing cavalry officer of the Confederate army, a lady
principal of the great Cincinnati Seminary, and a light comedian who has written
many a heavy treatise. Here was played the burlesque on “ Beauty and the
Beast,” in which the fairy feast came down on black silk cords invisible to the
spectators. The fairies, now aged mothers of little grand fairies, danced and
capered about, furniture came up through the floor, and many other wonders
surprised the simple village folk. The manager of this wonderful entertain-
ment, after raising many thousands for charity by amateur effort, has retired to
the modest obscurity of the lecture field.

Soon after, the arrival of the Alcott family gave a fresh impetus to the
drama in Concord. They were very Little Women then, when they settled in a
rambling old cottage, which Mr. Alcott called “ Hillside,” about a mile from the
center of the village. This name was afterward changed to “Wayside” by
Nathaniel Hawthorne, who bought the estate in 1852. It was an early home of
the Little Women, and here they acted their impromptu plays, often with an
imaginary role of twenty actors, including witches, fairies, brigands, lords, ladies
and rustics. Really only two persons performed all these parts, one of the sis-
ters often entertaining the audience of two with a monologue, while the other
made some slight change of costume behind a screen. On rainy days, the young
actors, like Shakspere, and many a humble follower since, took refuge in the
barn still standing on the “ Wayside” grounds. After the Alcotts and the Haw-
thornes had gone, the place was purchased and adorned by the late Daniel
Lothrop, and here little Margaret, the first child born at “ Wayside ” within a cen-
tury, celebrated her birthdays with many a charming entertainment. At each
recurring birthday there was the all-day féte on the broad lawn and terraces.
When it rained, as it often did, the old barn was again used for the dramas
and episodes that were always newly invented for the occasion, which will be
described more fully in a subsequent paper.

It was during the Alcott period at “ Wayside,” that “Jack and the Bean-
stalk” was played outside the barn. A long ladder covered with vines leaned
against the window-sill, and when the vine gave out, Jack threw himself from
the window to the ground, so fully was he impressed with the spirit of his part.
There is no better place for a play than an old-fashioned garden, such as adorned
this cottage.

Dickens was the great inspirer of the mimic drama, and the Alcotts seem to
have chosen his works as best suited to their powers. The scene between Mrs.
Corney and her faithful Bumble has been acted with Louisa by the writer of
these reminiscences, many times in many places, for fun and charity ; but both



CONCORD DRAMATICS.

agreed that the efforts of her sister Meg in the part of the pauper washerwoman
surpassed them both. On one occasion, while they were waiting to go on, bursts
of applause and laughter from the delighted audience greeted Meg’s performance

on the wash-board, as she
worked away with such
spirit as to take the house
by storm without speak-
ing a word. She excelled
in pantomime.

Betsey Trotwood was
one of Miss Louisa’s favor-
ite parts, especially the
scene with David in the
garden. In this admirable
selection for out-of-door
dramatics, it is only need-
ful to carefully study the
exact words of the author.

Sairey Gamp was acted
almost too well by this de-
voted nurse, with a real-
ism suggestive of her own
self-sacrifice. The writer
was urged to essay the
part of Betsey Prig, and
on his steady refusal to
grasp subtleties, he was
usually addressed in con-
versation and correspond-
ence for years by the title
of “faithful pardner” —
the second sentence in the
conversation between the
charming pair.

Mrs. Jarley’s wax-



THE LARCH PATH AT THE ‘‘ WAYSIDE.”
(From saplings planted by Hawthorne, and brought by him from England.)

works was Miss Aicott’s greatest dramatic success, and in the title rdle she
showed to the very best advantage, as tens of thousands of spectators can testify.

Much care has been taken to ascertain the manager who first conceived the
idea of extending the few words written by Dickens into an entertainment,
which under dozens of talented Mrs. Jarleys has built a chapel, endowed hos-
pitals and earned millions for many noble causes. There is little doubt that
Mr. Holyoke, a schoolteacher in Syracuse, directed the first of these unique



CONCORD DRAMATICS.

performances, and that the elder of the Alcott girls saw it there, and started it
on its successful career. In 1850 it was given by Miss Louisa in the vestry of the
old church in Concord, and its parts were taken by many since noted people.
The giant, then a teacher, who was instructor of the most brilliant and youngest
major-general in the late Rebellion, millionaires, statesmen and poets, was the
friend and biographer of John Brown, Alcott and Parker. He over-topped all
others, as his head, crowned with a lamp shade, touched the ceiling. Many of
his own famous pupils surrounded him: as Capt. Kidd, the dwarf, and the noto-
rious Jasper, etc. Of the Little Women, Meg was Martha Bangs, holding the
“pestiferous pickle,” and tearing her dark and abundant tresses. Amy was the
Victim, her beautiful blonde
hair and pale face well fit-
ting the part. John Brooks
also appeared, and Jo’s won-
derful description of the
figures and their clock-work
motions when wound up,
will never be forgotten by
the delighted audience.

In the lovely groves
along the rivers, the many
picnic parties furnished an
opportunity for outdoor
pastimes. Every variety of
scene has been played in

THE OLD JAIL AT CONCORD. pantomime and impromptu

conversation, from the Con-

cord fight to the last tea party. The original old squaw sachem, who once

ruled the tribe, has returned to her former lodge, gliding down the beautiful

Assabet in a birch canoe of the very pattern used by her in 1632, when first

seen by the little band of early settlers. Hundreds of plays have been also

given in vestry, hall and barn by men who have acted tragedies on both sides
of the late war, and lighter pieces in the halls of Congress.

George Bradford Bartlett.



IREFLY, firefly, flitting about,
What would you do if your lamp should go out?
Some matches and oil are very good things —
Say, do you carry them under your wings ? :



















































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































a 2 SS SS
| Sunbeam came to play. with: hers. Pee
i It tinged her hair and. touched her eb eek,

a And made a dimple ‘for, ils ray;
“aay To p Ly at hide-and-seek.

















me

irr -o79) 2 ’

5 ot blayed around about her mouth, \
peek And lighted ub ife tiny pearls (7 AN
a Dut when .she spoke away it flew 2
“inde hi

er curls.



Sait cast Soft shadows on her brow,
And waited there See tresh Surprise
ill now the Sunbeam tired out,
Lies resting in her eyes.

lee Collier









IN HAYING TIME.

GO to Grandfather’s when school is done
In June, and the haying is just begun ;

For when clover is red and the timothy tall,
And purple, and silky, it has to fall.
When the wind blows over the grasses, they go
In waves and billows that seem to flow
Like the sea; and then the great shadows will run
On the fields, and I watch them and lie in the sun.
In the walls there are woodchucks that squeak at Tray
When he goes to digging the stones away ;
And the birds fly over, and everything sings,
And the grass is all buzzing and whirring with wings.
As soon as ’tis sunrise the mowing machine
Is clicking away, and the grass that is green
In the early morning, at noon is dry.
And then Grandfather and Tray and I
Go into the fields. There are windrows as wide
As the widest field is from side to side;
And out of these there are tumbles to make.
Grandfather says one kind is made with a rake
And a fork, and another is made by me
And Tray — but that is his fun, you see.
For I like the smell of the new-mown hay,
And we tumble and roll in it—TI and Tray.



IN HAYING TIME.

hy Wi LZ, if A Fy
Wi 7
UES,

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if TM Paes
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“WHEN CLOVER IS RED IT HAS TO FALL.”

And J ride on the heaped-up loads, and leap
On the mows and scaffolds, and go to sleep
Sometimes in the heat, with my head on Tray
Behind a tumble of sweet new hay ;
And at sunset we go for the cows. ’Tis fun
To see Tray gather them, one by one,
And march them along in single file,
Wagging his tail at me the while,
As if he would say, “I can’t romp now,
I’m so full of business;” and every cow
Will march before him and mind him well,
The leader ahead with her tinkling bell.
When the men are milking I sit on the bars
And watch the fireflies and count the stars,
And smell the clover, and wish that I
Could live in the country till I die.

Anna Boynton Avery.

]



i ? \





THE - STRATEGY OF CTILE SPAMS.

HERE was a feud of long standing between the two schools. “Hard Alee”
was far ahead in the natural beauty of its surroundings, but “ Hobomok ”’
boasted the “smartest” scholars. It had been going on for years — this rivalry
—and suffered no signs of abatement at the time Miss Hastings came down
from the city, fresh from the Normal School, to take charge of the scholars at
Hard Alee.

Her coming added fresh fuel to the fire. To begin with, she was the first
recularly trained teacher who had taken charge of a Tangertown school, and
“ Hobomokers ” felt aggrieved that “ Hard Alee” district had the benefit of it.
Then, again, she had advanced ideas, and taught her school by an entirely new
method, and they soon exhibited signs of an improvement, which, if allowed to
continue, would bring them up to the standard Hobomok had established.

Cap’n Fred said as much to the Hobomok boys, and they agreed with him,
as they always did. He was one of those leaders of which every community
that contains three or four boys is sure to boast; a tall, slender lad, with frank
blue eyes, and a lively and generally healthy imagination. He it was who
planned all the new games that were especially breakneck, and therefore fasci-
nating. He was the one who was always ready to stand up for a weaker boy,
and help out a comrade on a hard arithmetic lesson. In short, Cap'n Fred was
the bright and shining light of the Hobomok school, as full of mischief as Hobo-
mok Pond was of fish, and so honest in confessing his misdeeds that one could
not help admiring him. He had planned, and was now the authorized leader
of, “ The United Order of Scouts and Spies,’ whose antics were the terror and
amusement of the neighborhood, and he was the one who fought the Griffin
single-handed — and worsted him, too. But that story belongs in another place.

Hobomok schoolhouse stood at the foot of One Pine Hill, and faced the east.
In front of it stood the Fortress — an old hollow tree, calculated to hold innumer-
able schoolboy treasures, and the especial property of the “ Scouts and Spies.”
Back of it ran a well-worn path up and over the hill, which, in spite of its name,
was covered with dark waving pines. At the end of this path, a mile and a
half from Hobomok, stood the Hard Alee schoolhouse, on the summit of a
smaller hill, a cluster of smaller birches brushing against its roof, a line of sway-
ing pines, in which the children made shadow pictures, at its back, and its broad
playground in front, green and beautiful, sloping gently down to the road.
Hard Alee was proud of its schoolhouse, and it had reason to be, for there was
no prettier spot in the country.

Miss Hastings was proud of it, too, and did her best to make it even prettier.
She had planted cypress and morning-glory seeds about the door, and now the





EFHE STRATEGY OF “PAE. (StAHS.

whole front of the schoolhouse was covered with dainty blossoms set in green ;
and she had made two flower beds, and in them set a plant for every child. It
was counted great honor to attain to the ownership of a plant in those flower-
beds, for they were only earned by hard study, and the absence of black marks
on the register.

Miss Hastings’s pupils and their parents were as well pleased with her as she
was with her surroundings. Mrs. Bagster spoke openly in her favor at a basket
meeting of the sewing circle. “ Mercy knows,” said Mrs. Bagster, “ my Meribah
never knowed the figger ‘three’ from the letter ‘a,’ till Mis’ Hastin’s come
here. "Tain’t that the child’s a fool, but she’s slow to learn, an’ nobody else
never hed no manner o’ patience with ’er. An’ my ’Siah — laws! she’s got
him so he takes off his mite of a cap w’en he meets grown folks in the road.”
And Mrs. Bagster beamed on the company as she spoke.

Farmer Allen’s portly wife spoke then, and told a pretty little story of Miss
Hastings’s trial with the Griffin, whose real name was Andrews, and whose repu-
tation was none of the best. A confirmed bully and malicious mischief-maker
is not an easy person to control. “But she done it,” said Mrs. Allen, “ an’ he
come out an’ down them steps a-cryin’. Hen Andrews a-cryin, mind ye!”

It was very hard for the Hobomok boys to see all this go on.

“Tt ain’t that we don’t like Miss Wicks, fellers,” said Cap’n Fred, “ but she
ain’t got the go-ahead to her Miss Hastings has. There she has planted flowers
an’ got the Griffin calmed down to a sneakin’ calf, ‘stead of a roarin’ lion, an’
reads to’em every Friday, an’ all that. Worst of it is, theyll get ahead of us in
lessons yet, and, Poy we can’t allow that. Hobomok’s always been number
one, and she’s goin’ to stay there. What she'll do next is more’n I know.”
Cap’n Fred was apt to get a little mixed in his grammar when much excited,
but the “Scouts and Spies” knew what he meant.

Miss Hastings knew what she was going to do, if Cap’n Fred did not. She
was telling the children, that afternoon, the story of the Revolution and of the
Minute Men. She had tears in her brown eyes, and her face was flushed.
“Now,” she said as she finished, “I want one of the Two ’Siahs to tell me, if
he can, what cheered the hearts of those brave men | when they were in such
trouble and danger.”

The ’Siahs were sitting at her feet drinking in every word. One must live
in the county with the Two ’Siahs to appreciate them. They are bound by no
ties of kindred, but rather united by the law that “like shall seek like.” They
are named respectively, Josiah Bagster and Josiah Allen, and they are far from
being fictitious. People are wont to call them “Number One” and “ Number
Two.” “One” has big brown eyes, and “Two's” are big and blue, but inno-
cence abides with each; and yet, probably in their six years of existence, they
have been almost as much dreaded as a band of White Caps.

They sat at Miss Hastings’s feet, and pondered over her question.



THE STRATEGY (OF “THE *STAHS:

“ Paps,” ventured One, rather timidly, “ p’r’aps their muvver cooked um a
lasses pie.”

“No; I tell you,” said Two, “’twas a frag, you silly. Don’ you ’member
that piece Jim speaked yes’erday ? Bout ‘up in the window the frag she set?’”

“Yes; I’member,” responded ’Siah number one, declaiming with energy:
“<«Who hits a hair of that gray head with eyes like a dog. March on,’ he said.”

There was a general shout at the Siahs’ rendering of old ‘ Barbara Frietchie.’

“The ’Siahs were right. I did mean the flag,’ Miss Hastings said, “and
when I tell you that nearly all the scholars in this big country are raising the
flag over their schoolhouses, and learning to honor it, so that if the sad need
comes again they may fight for love of it — what will you say then ?”

“ Why, we ought to have one, too,” they cried in chorus.

“ Just what I supposed you would say,” returned Miss Hastings. “ And now
let us see how many pennies we can scrape together toward buying one.”

Hard Alee meant to keep this a very great secret ; but it leaked out as great
secrets will, and the “ Scouts and Spies” got hold of it. They were indignant,
and held a meeting to discover if in some way they might not be able to get
ahead of Hard Alee and its projected glorification. By means of much peeking
and prying, as befitted “ Scouts and Spies,’ they had learned that the flag had
arrived on the coach three days before; that the flag-raising was to take place
on the following Monday, at ten A. M., and that the Two ’Siahs were to raise it.
Also that they, as a school, weré invited to join in the exercises of the day.

“ That’s all very well,” Cap’n Fred said, as these bits of news were imparted
to him. “But what I want to know is, did any of you fellers find out where
they kept that flag?”

“That’s easy,” said one of the boys. “It’s in the woodshed behind that
clump o’ birches, where the ’Siahs’ playhouse is.”

“ Now, Ill tell you what,” said Cap’n Fred, “we'll just raise that flag over
our Fortress, and see what Hard Alee ’Il have to say to that.”

The boys fairly gasped at their leader’s audacity.

“ You'll never dare,” said one. ‘ You'll have to fight against the committee
an’ Miss Hastin’s, Cap’n Fred, let alone the Griffin.”

“Yes; you better say ‘let alone’ the Griffin,” exclaimed Cap’n Fred, with
some asperity. ‘“Tve beat him once, an’ I can do it again. We'll raise that
flag over our Fortress, I tell yougan’ we’ll get it down here Sat’day night an’
raise it Monday morning “fore we go up there. I reckon there'll be some tall
howling ’mongst them Two ’Siahs when it comes Monday morning an’ that flag
turns up missin’.”

Unlucky Cap’n Fred! not to know that the man or boy who reckons on the
Two ’Siahs reckons without his host. And still worse, not to know that as you
made your speech, two small figures stood open-mouthed in the path behind
you, and vanished behind the pines as you finished.



THE SPRATEGY OF- THE: OSIAHS*.

The ’Siahs, after school that night, had wandered through that path by
chance, in search of flowers for Miss Hastings; at an opportune moment they
had stumbled on the indignation meeting at Hobomok. They heard Cap’n Fred’s
plans, and, very much excited over his proposed indignity to their precious flag,
withdrew into the hill path to talk it over. When the ’Siahs held a con-
ference something was sure to come of it. From that talk arose a plan —a deep-
laid scheme worthy of the Siahs—and they started to put it into execution.

It was Friday afternoon; at dusk the “ Scouts and Spies” had planned their
raid for the next night. With
dancing eyes the Two ’Siahs went
home, and in trying to keep their
secret inviolate nearly raised their
respective roofs.

The next afternoon two tiny
figures might have been seen toil-
ing laboriously up the schoolhouse
hill, tugging with might and main
ata big bundle. They disappeared
behind the birches, and then—
they laughed. It was not often
that the Two ’Siahs found time
to laugh. When they regained
their breath, another tug com-
menced. The big flag was brought
out and carefully hidden in the
crotch of the big “ ellum” over be-
yond the hill, while the big bundle
was put in its place in the clump
of birches.

“T spose,” said Number One
in a whisper, “I spose my mother

THE TWO “SIAHS. would — well, Two, it’s my mother’s
(“I?s mothers bestest bedquilt.’’) bestest bedquilt.”

It was nearly sunset when things were settled to their satisfaction, and, re-
gardless of the punishment that always followed on their prolonged absence
from home, they repaired to their nest in the birches to watch what came next.

It was a long time for two little boys to wait patiently, but they did it, and
just as the whip-poor-will began to sing behind them, they were rewarded.

Out of the hill path, in single file, came the “ United Order of Scouts and
Spies,” and vanished in the woodshed, while the ’Siahs pinched each other to
keep from shouting. And presently they came out again, carrying the bulky
bundle.







THE STRATEGY OF THE ’SIAHS.

“Tl be very dark “fore they get froo the woods, One,’ whispered Two,
very softly, “ an’ they'll never find it out at all.”

“ Be still,” said One, “ they are saying something.”

“ Look a-here, boys,’ they heard Cap’n Fred say, “’tain’t no use to think
we can get that flag raised Monday mornin’, for Miss Wicks'll be after us. We'll
have to plan to get her an’ the girls started off early, and Sam an’ Ill stay
behind an’ get it up before we come on. What do you say ?”

The ’Siahs did not hear the reply. They had slid out of the birches, and
were scuttling home as fast as their short legs would carry them.

“That Cap'n Fred,” gasped One as he ran, “ he’ll do anything when he finds
out that ain’t afrag. He'll raise that bedquilt, I shouldn’ wonder. And I tell
you, Two, we'll catch it when my mother finds us out.”

The “Scouts and Spies” got their bulky burden stored carefully away in
the interior of the Fortress, and left it there for “over Sunday,” with a feeling |
of perfect ease. No one knew its whereabouts but themselves— of that they felt
sure. They would fly that flag one day; they planned then to return it to Hard
Alee, and take the consequences— which were pretty sure to be a general
flogging.

Monday morning dawned fair and warm, and with it came a general clashing
of pians. a

In the first place, the Two ’Siahs’ mothers, after carefully putting out the
clothes these hopefuls were to wear, went to seek them out, and could find no
trace of their whereabouts. So the two worthy ladies made all haste to the
schoolhouse, and found Miss Hastings and most of her pupils in a state of great
excitement. The flag was missing. Mrs. Bagster mentioned that the Two
*Siahs were missing, also. Thereupon the fast-multiplying crowd vowed sum-
mary vengeance on the Two ’Siahs.

Then Miss Wicks with her school appeared, and was told the news; and the
three committee-men came, and the postmaster and Dr. Frank. And all united
in saying that the ’Siahs should receive more than ordinary punishment. The
“Scouts and Spies” were rather sorry when they heard this, and wished Cap’n
Fred would come, for he was the only one to tell.

Cap'n Fred, meanwhile, was holding a short conversation with the ’Siahs.
They had appeared on the scene just as he and Sam Brown had unrolled, in
mute astonishment, a gay patchwork bedquilt.

The ’Siahs were disposed to converse cheerfully.

“Why, where did you get that quilt?” asked Two, in great apparent
astonishment.

“T don’t know,” groaned Cap’n Fred. “I wish’t I did.”

“Was you goin’ to waise it?” inquired One. Cap'n Fred shot a swift sus-
picious glance in his direction, but One’s innocent expression stood him in good
stead.



THE STRATEGY OF THE ’SIAHS.

“No; I wasn’t goin’ to waise it,” said the valiant cap’n. “What you want
down here, anyhow? Here, Sam, chuck this thing into the tree, and then come
along an’ see me make those traitors weep.” Cap’n Fred had a dim idea that
some one of his band had played him false ; and after stowing away the quilt, he
started up the road at a run, with Sam following. The ’Siahs hardly waited for
them to get out of sight before they pulled out the precious quilt, and toiled up
the hill as fast as their load would allow. When they reached Hard Alee, and
saw the crowd, with one accord they dropped their burden in the path, and ran '
for the big “ ellum.”

“We are late,” gasped Two. “Oh! do you s’pose they’ve waised it ?”

No; the flag was safe in its nest, and in too much of a flurry to use precau-
tion, One clambered up and pulled it out; then they started for the front of the
schoolhouse, trailing it after them.

Cap’n Fred had reached the spot before them, and to his amazement had dis-
covered that none of his followers had touched the contents of the Fortress.
Much perplexed, he stood listening to Farmer Bagster who just then was saying:

“ Ef "twas my youngster that done’t, he’ll hev to suffer for’t. I fought fer
that flag, some odd years back, an’ I don’ propose ter see no boy insultin’ it an’
trailin’ it in the dust, an’ ”’ —

“Tf—oh!” interrupted two small voices behind him, so suddenly that
everybody jumped; “we didn’t mean to. We only’’—and there stood the
*Siahs, very red in the face, and hastily gathering in the yards of red, white and
blue, that trailed in their wake.

Farmer Bagster strode toward them with a very grim face. It looked very
black for the Two ’Siahs, and in spite of their wrong-doing, people felt sorry for
the tiny, shivering mites; but before the farmer’s heavy hand descended, Cap'n
Fred sprang out, and laid his hand on the big man’s arm.

“Oh! don’t strike them,” he cried. “TI don’t understand it at all, but it’s my
fault; it truly is. I took the flag, and hid it in the Fortress, an’ this mornin’
‘twas gone. J” —

“You ain’t going to take all the blame,” said Sam Brown, stepping up. “I
helped.”

“ And I,” cried the others in chorus.

“Well, anyhow, we ask your pardon, Miss Hastings,” said Cap’n Fred.
“ We — that is, I didn’t think how mean ’twas before, but I’m willin’ to be pun-
ished. I— why” —and to the surprise of every one, Cap’n Fred broke down
and cried.

The people were dumb with astonishment, and Farmer Bagster was trying
very hard to suppress a grin; but Miss Hastings went over to the lad and put
her hand on his head.

Miss Hastings had the tact that comes of generous impulses.

' « Thank you, for telling us, Cap’n Fred. It would have been so easy to be



A LINE FROM VIRGIL.

mean about it. I don’t think you'll ever do it again.” But no one heard her
but Cap’n Fred, for Mrs. Bagster was saying :

“For massy’s sakes, Josiah Bagster! ef there ain’t my spare-room bedquilt
fit fer the wash tub up there on the groun’. What will you younguns do
next?”

“Yes,” said Two, with a gleam of satisfaction on his face; “we capsured

that quilt this morning.”
Maud R. Burton.



A LINE FROM VIRGIL.

ee I watched a little maid
Upon the Mantuan’s page intent,
And after school I found a scrawl
Which showed on what her thought was bent.

Virgil, Aineid, 9, 582:

“ A hero by the Tuscan slain
Within my memory liveth yet.

I see him with his golden shield
And cloak of Spanish violet.

“Tt seems to me — somewhere, somehow —
In ages past I must have met

This fair young knight of Sicily,
In cloak of Spanish violet.

“ Let no one clad in modern dress
On me his heart’s affection set;
My love must bear a shield of gold,

Accoutered all in violet.”

Grace Harriet Macurdy.

















































































































































































































































THE ADVENTURE OF THE TWINS.

66 WT isn’t going to blow so hard after all, Tom.”
“ Supposin’ we try her with a reef in the mainsail, Jim?”

“ All right.”

The speakers were twin brothers, who owned, and fora good part of the year
lived in a snug forty-foot schooner. Peter Johnson, a grizzled old sea dog who
knew every nook on the coast, acted as crew, cook and skipper. But the twins
had learned almost as much about running a schooner as Peter.

When the boys told him they proposed to take a sail that afternoon, Peter
took a squint to leeward, turned the quid in his cheek, and drawled:

“Waal, I’m bound to say that I don’t see no use in going out to-day.”

“Why not?”

“ Waal, it’s this way: it looks kind o’ measly down there in the southeast ;
it’s blowin’ feather white outside; there’s a big lump of a sea on already, and
itll blow harder before it blows less. What’s more, it’s’ gettin’ pretty late in
the year to run any risks.”

“Well, Cap, it may be as you say ” (they called him Cap for short). “But
then we don’t want to gooutside. We just want torun down to the Cave. We
can lie there just as snug as here, and Tom can go ashore and make the sketch
he wants of the surf on the beach outside.”

“We might do that,” Peter reluctantly replied. ‘“ But you won’t need to
set more’n the reefed mainsail and the bonnet off’n the jib.”

It was indeed breezing up fast, and the little schooner laid her sail under as
the blasts struck her, even with that short sail.

“Tm thinkin’ we'd better take two reefs in the foresail and have it ready if
so be we have to dowse the mainsail,” said Captain Peter.

_ A very smart squall following soon after showed the wisdom of this prudent
advice. Under the double-reefed foresail the Yankee Maid was kept away
before the wind, with the intention of easing her off to the Cave when the
squall moderated. But a blinding rain came with the wind and hid everything
like a wall. :

The scene was exceedingly wild and dreary, and was attended with con-
siderable danger, for they could not see a hand’s breadth into the mist, and the
tide was running out strong.

Peter had just said that he hoped no vessel would run foul of them when he
heard a roaring sound of foam, and immediately saw a huge, spectral shape
suddenly loom out of the mist. There was no mistake about it; it was a large
ship tearing down on them at the rate of thirteen knots.

Peter jammed the helm hard a-starboard, hoping to clear the coming ship ;



THE ADVENTURE OF THE TWINS.

she also starboarded her helm. Thus a complete collision, which would have
sunk the schooner, was avoided ; but the huge hulk sweeping by grazed the side
of the yacht and tore away her mainboom. In that instant of contact, supposing
their little vessel to be doomed, Jim and Peter sprang for the stranger’s chain-
plates. The next moment she was gone, as completely shrouded out of sight as
if she had never existed, and Tom remained alone in the schooner. He had now
to look out for himself, with the chances against him. To beat back to the
Cave, alone as he was, against a furious wind and tide, was impossible. He
would soon be out on the open sea, where he might perhaps be safer, notwith-
standing the great threatening waves, for the ledges bristling along the coast



“A HUGE SPECTRAL SHAPE LOOMED OUT OF THE MIST.”

made it necessary to keep clear of the land. Night was coming on fast, and he
doubted whether he should ever see another dawn.

Happily Tom had mastered the art of handling his little schooner. By
nightfall he had weathered the reefs at the entrance to the bay, and had made
an offing. By careful steering he had kept pretty clear of the following seas ;
but he could not stand at the helm all night, and it was far more safe also for
the schooner to heave to. There was a sea-anchor, or drag, in the forepeak.
During alull of the wind Tom lugged it out from below, and moored the schooner
toit by along scope of cable. The drag consisted of a triangular frame with canvas
spread across like paper on the frame of a kite. It floated on the top of the sea,
and was kept upright’ by an anchor suspended to its lower corner. The resist-



RS

THE ADVENTURE OF THE TWINS.

ance it presented to the water kept the schooner’s head to the wind with a firm,
yet elastic strain, and thus she rode the waves easily and with comparative
safety.

Thoroughly exhausted by this time, Tom went below and lit the swinging
lamp. He then fished out some provisions from the lockers. He was in little
mood for eating, but tired nature needed some refreshment. And before he was
aware of it, Tom fell asleep on a transom. Hour after hour went by while the
little ship rode at her floating moorings on the yeast of the storm, now tossed
high in the air, and anon diving to the depths. But Tom slept on.

The gray dawn had come again when the slumbering boy was rudely aroused
by a prodigious breaker which lifted the schooner almost on end, and then
buried herina green sea. The shock was terrific. But at last the Yankee Maid
shook herself free of the torrent, and floated buoyantly again on the billows
that rushed past with a mane of foam on their mighty shoulders.

Tom put his head above the companion-way and took a survey of the wild
scene; the sight made him shudder and close his eyes with horror. Still,
reasoned he, if she had ridden the storm safely so many hours while he slept,
why might she not continue to float until the fury of the tempest should abate ?
But while he was thus trying to keep up courage, Tom noticed that the schooner
was less buoyant than her wont, and plunged more heavily when she pitched.
In a word, she had sprunga leak. Looking below, he saw the water already
covering the cabin floor. An hour or two at farthest would decide the fate of
the Yankee Maid.

The lulls seemed to come oftener, but still there was no reason to expect the
wind to change before sunset; and where would he be by that time ?

Tom long and anxiously scanned the misty horizon. At last, as it became
more clear, he caught a glimpse of the lightship moored down to leeward off
Bloomer’s Ledge. It was to him a sign, and the only visible sign of hope. His
mind was made up instantly. Hoisting the peak of the foresail, making a sort
of balance reef of it, and cutting away the sea-anchor, Tom sprang to the helm,
and between two big seas put “tie schooner handsomely before the wind and
headed her straight for the lightship.

A tremendous sea was running. It was scarcely two miles to the lightship,
but if the schooner were overtaken by one of those combers, she never would
get there. She went like mad, but all the time, alas! settling lower in the
water. Tom dared not think of the imminent danger that surrounded him, lest
he lose his presence of mind; it was literally a chase for life; he felt it to be So,
and therefore steered coolly as if merely sailing in a light breeze.

The crew of the lightship saw the little schooner scudding toward them, and
divined her purpose; one of them ran out on the bowsprit, holding a line in
readiness. It was all done in a moment. ‘Tom steered the Vankes Maid
directly under the bow of the lightship, bringing her around a little to avoid a



THE ADVENTURE OF THE TWINS.

collision. Just as the line hung over the stern of the schooner, he darted for it
and clutched it with lightning speed and a grip of iron. The schooner was
swooped away from under him on the top of a wave, and left him dangling in
the air as the bow of the lightship arose. The next minute he was half-drowned
in the surge, and then arose again. The man who had hold of the line pulled
with a will, and gradually lifted the boy until he could climb on the bowsprit
and so get on board.

The poor little Yankee Maid in the meantime staggered on, and went down
head foremost before she had gone half a mile.

Tom was taken into the cabin, where a fire was burning. They gave him a
dry suit of clothes and a joram of hot coffee. He then turned into a warm bunk.
His nerves had been through a terrible strain, but he had a vigorous constitu-
tion and slept most refreshingly, notwithstanding the violent movement of the
vessel jerking at her moorings.

But when he awoke all the dreariness of his situation burst on his mind.
He could not forget the loss of his twin brother Jim. The lonely life on the
lightship was poorly fitted to revive his spirits, although the light-keepers did
all they could to cheer him. There was a small library on board, and for two
or three days he was also interested in observing the way they cleaned the
lanterns and kept watch at night.

He was surprised to find out how much work there was merely in looking
after the lanterns. The vessel had two short stout masts; the lights were in
circular lanterns which fitted around the masts. At sunset they were hoisted to
the tops of the masts, just under the large armillary, or bracelet-like globes of
open iron-work which cap each mast, and serve to mark a lightship in the daytime.
The lanterns were provided with powerful lenses and reflectors. They were low-
ered at sunrise into little houses built around the masts on deck. The roof turned
back like the lid of a box and admitted the lanterns. After eight bells, or eight
o'clock, breakfast being over, the lanterns were thoroughly cleaned in their
little houses, the wicks were trimmed and the lenses carefully. wiped and
polished.

The lenses, being arranged on what is called the Fresnel plan, were
composed of many prisms, and each of these prisms had to be rubbed inside and
out. The oil used was the purest refined petroleum. The lanterns were hoisted
by winches.

To each mast a smaller mast was attached. They were fixed sufficiently
apart to enable the lantern to travel on the large mast and a sail on the smaller
mast. In this way the vessel was able to set a jib and a small fore-and-aft
mainsail and foresail in case of need.

Every morning the decks were washed down, and everything on board was
kept in apple-pie order. The galley, or kitchen, was below and not, as in
most ships, on the spar-deck. The outer or lower part of the hawse holes for



THE ADVENTURE OF THE TWINS.

the cables was not, as is most common, on the spar-deck, but on the lower deck,
the cable entering the water near the water-line. This was in order to ease the
strain and prevent the bow from plunging too far in a high sea. A massive iron
tube through which the cable ran from the forecastle to the water, prevented
the sea from entering the ship as she buried herself in a wave.

The cabin was a cheerful little apartment at the stern, lighted by a small,
strangely-made skylight. It was carpeted, and a square table in the center was
clinched to the deck. Two small staterooms were on either side.

The crew was divided into watches, but all the men were awake during the two



“TOM CLUTCHED THE LINE WITH A GRIP OF IRON.”

short watches called the dog watches, between four in the afternoon and eight
in the evening. These two watches ar. designed in order to give the men
rotation in their long watches.

In fine weather passing ships or pilot boats would sometimes stop and leave
a package of papers. The steam-tender of the lighthouse board also came
around then with supplies and relays of men who would relieve the regular
keepers for a few days. But in winter, or during long-continued heavy weather,
the men on the lightship sometimes held no communication with the world for
weeks and even months.



THE ADVENTURE OF THE TWINS.

Naturally, Tom found this sort of life dreadfully monotonous. It took him
several days to become accustomed to the peculiar motion of a ship at anchor in
a high sea, and be able to enjoy the simple, but not unpalatable fare on board.

A very stormy season had set in, the worst known for years, and it seemed
as if Tom might have to stay there until spring. Captain Coles looked graver
than usual one morning when he came out of his stateroom and glanced at the
barometer. There was an enormous swell on already; the tin pans rattled
ominously in the galley, as in the heaviest weather ; and when he stepped on
deck and saw the sky an unbroken livid hue from zenith to horizon, he gruffly
muttered, “ Umph !”

“ What did you say, Captain Coles?” anxiously inquired Tom, who was
standing by him holding on to the rail to keep his footing.

“‘T guess we are in for it now,” answered the captain.

A low wind was wailing sadly in the rigging. In less than two hours that
low wind swelled to a howling, shrieking hurricane, that pealed above the
thunder of the mountainous billows. The spray flew over the vessel, sharp as
needles: The spoondrift shot over the ocean like snow over a frozen lake.

“ You'd better keep below, my boy,” said one of the men, putting his mouth
close to Tom’s, and shouting in his ear. “The sea is mighty rugged to-day, and
if one of them old graybacks comes aboard here, that’ll be the end of you.”

The crew, encased in oil-suits, went about their duties as usual, but at great
risk. Life lines were stretched along the deck. The ship tugged at her moor-
ingsas if she would tear out her very frame. After the lights were hoisted for the
night, Captain Coles ordered the foresail to be reefed, ready for any emergency.

Not a soul on board slept that night. Rations of hot coffee were served
from time to time. About midnight, when one of the crew was spinning a yarn,
a sudden thrill trembled through every timber of the ship.

“She’s adrift!” they all exclaimed as with one voice, as she arose on a wave
with a movement like that of one suddenly relieved from pain, and fell off
broadside to the storm.

“ Allhands on deck!” yelled the captain, springing fiercely up the companion-
way and darting to the wheel.

The next moment she settled in the trough of the sea, and before she could
rise from the black abyss, a frightful surge rolled completely over her from stem
to stern. Her buoyancy and high freeboard, and the great strength of her
timbers alone saved the lightship from foundering then and there. The boats
and one of the lantern-houses were carried away; the skylight was stove in,
and the cabin was flooded. The men fortunately had caught fast hold of the
life lines. But, in spite of that, one of them was hurled against an iron winch —
and broke his leg short off in a twinkling. There was no time to attend to the
suffering ; the survivors had their hands full hoisting the reefed foresail and
getting their drifting vessel under control.



THE ADVENTURE OF THE TWINS.

Tom was not one to stand idle at such a moment. He had sprung for the
deck with the others, and had just reached the head of the companion-way when
the wind violently snatched away his hat. Instinctively he stopped to look back
for it. That trivial incident probably saved his life, for at that instant came the
awful wave. He ducked his head and grasped the sides of the companion-way
for dear life.

In the comparative “smooth” that followed, he managed to work his way
forward and help to man the halliards.

The foresail being at last hoisted, the maimed light-keeper was lifted from
the deck where he lay groaning in agony, and was taken below as carefully as
possible. Of course there was no surgeon on board, and all that his companions
could do was to keep up his strength until they could reach port.

They left Tom to wait on poor Smith for awhile, and find a quieting dose for
him in the ship’s medicine chest —a morphine ora Dover’s powder. Itwasanew
experience for the boy to be tending a wounded man in a hurricane. He said
to himself, “I wonder what's coming next.” What he really expected was
that the horrors of that day would end by all going to the bottom.

Captain Coles ordered the red and green side-lights to be set in the fore-
rigging, and the lanterns at the masthead to be lowered to the deck. As soon
as she went adrift the vessel ceased to be a lightship, and became like any other
ship on the high seas.

The heavy lanterns carried so high aloft only served to press her over and
make her roll more dangerously. It was necessary to lower them without delay.

These preliminaries having been completed with much exertion and danger,
the lightship was hove to under reefed foresail and main trysail. Happily the
wind was in a quarter that blew her off instead of toward the land. Plenty of
sea room is what the sailor wants in a gale. The weather cleared off on the
third day, but it was a great relief when the smoke of an ocean-liner was seen
in the offing. Signals were made and she bore down to them. As the light-
ship’s boats were gone, the steamer sent a boat to see what was needed. On
learning that there was a suffering man on board in need of assistance, the
surgeon of the steamer at once visited the lightship to overhaul poor Smith.

Having bound up Smith’s leg, the surgeon happened to observe Tom. He
could not help noticing that he was in no way connected with the ship, and his
curiosity was therefore aroused. After conversing with him a minute, a sudden
idea seemed to flash on the surgeon’s mind, and he said:

“Ah! by the by, there’s a young fellow on board our steamer who looks
awfully like you, enough like you to be your twin brother, don’t you know? A
little thinner, perhaps. Youdon’t happen to have a brother or cousin who looks
like you who has been in England lately ?”

Tom was so sure that Jim had been lost that he could hardly allow himself
even to dream that it could be he. So he replied, “ What’s his name ?”



THE ADVENTURE OF THE TWINS.

“That I don’t know; he sits at the captain’s table and looks like a gentle-
man, and is exactly like you; ‘pon my word, I never saw such a likeness !”’

“Oh! it must be my twin brother Jim, and yet it seems too good to believe,
for I thought he was lost at sea. I can hardly wait to find out. I wish I could
see him,” replied Tom; then he continued: “T’ll write just a short note to him;
my name is Thomas Allerton Lefavour; his name is James Allerton Lefavour.
If the passenger you speak of answers to that name, will you please give him my
note ?”

The surgeon willingly agreed, and Tom scratched off the following few
words:

DEAR BROTHER JIMMY:

If you are indeed alive and on board the steamer, come aft to the taffrail and wave your hand.
Your affec. bro.,
THomas A. LEravour.

The surgeon had not been gone fifteen minutes before Tom, who was watch-
ing with wild impatience from the forecastle of the lightship, saw a youth run
to the steamer’s taffrail and wildly toss his cap in the air. That settled it.

In another quarter of an hour the steamer’s boat returned to the lightship
for Tom. As he stepped on the deck of the steamer, Jim was waiting for him,
and the brothers rushed into each other’s arms. Each hailed the other as one
alive from the dead.

It seems that Jim and Peter had managed to climb on board of the bark by
the skin of their teeth when she collided with their little schooner. But Peter
had broken two of his ribs, and had to go into the hospital when the bark
reached England. Jim cabled his father for funds, and after leaving some
money with Peter, sailed for home. He was expecting to find his parents wait-
ing to welcome him at the dock. Of course they supposed, as did he, that
Tom had long ago been lost, as no traces of either him or the schooner had ever
been found. Imavine, then, their rapture and surprise when they saw both their
sons restored to them, happy and well.

S. G. W. Benjamin.















THE ELF’S GYMNASIUM.

AID the Little Brown Elf, in dire dismay,
As he woke from a fit of meditation,
“‘My friends, it pains me indeed to say
What never impressed me before to-day —
That you lack a physical education.
You are all ‘run down!’ you are ‘ growing fat!’
You'll soon be having ‘ nerves’ — and all that!”
And he frightened those friends into taking strong measures,
And giving up frolics and sweets — such treasures! !!
And gave them gymnastics three minutes each day,
And in just the liveliest kind of a way !!
But whether they grew either fatter or thinner
Because of the efforts of that little sinner —
Well, I don’t think Pm quite prepared to say.
Lilian Crawford True.



















































































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4

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CINDERELLA.

(( \INDERELLA couldn’t find her slipper. It was a glass slipper which her
fairy godmother had given her along with a magnificent ball costume and
the loan of a coach and six from the livery stable. In point of fact, there had
~ been a pair of slippers, and very pretty they were; only they were rather hard,
and when Cinderella tried to dance in them at the court ball, they hurt her toes
dreadfully ; besides, they were so smooth that her feet kept sliding away from
under her, and that was awkward, especially as she had the Prince for her part-
ner. The Prince wasa polite young man, and he told Cinderella that she skated
beautifully, only he found it hard to keep up with her because he had left his
own roller-skates at home. But Cinderella explained that it was only her glass
slippers which would make her wander around, and she begged permission to
take them off while she was dancing; so she did, and danced all the evening in
her stocking-feet, and I am sure she danced very nicely, too. She enjoyed her-
self so much that she forgot her promise to be home by midnight; so when the
clock struck twelve, she was quite frightened, and hurried away as fast as she
could go. It must have been then that she iost her left slipper; she remem-
bered picking up both of them and slipping them in the pocket of her gown;
but when she came to look for them in the morning, she could only find one.
Now Cinderella was very proud of those slippers, though they did pinch her
feet; and she hunted high and low for the missing one. She turned all the
bureau drawers topsy-turvy ; she looked in all the vases, and behind the pictures,
and in the canary-bird’s cage; she even lit a kerosene lamp and looked down
cellar ; but not a sign of that slipper could she find. All this made her neglect
her kitchen work; Cinderella’s wicked sisters scolded her because breakfast was
late, and they complained that the mutton-chops were burned and the buck-
wheat-cakes were heavy. But, by and by, they went off to their dressmaker’s, and
then Cinderella looked in their room, thinking they might have been mean
enough to steal the slipper; but it was not there. It occurred to her that she
might have dropped it in the carriage ; so she went to the corner drug-store and
bought a postal card, and wrote to the owner of the livery stable, asking him to
look. She got an answer by the next morning’s mail; the man said he was very
sorry, but the carriage had unfortunately turned into a pumpkin and the horses
into mice; he had looked inside the pumpkin before it was made into pies, but
had found only pumpkin seeds.
When she read that, Cinderella just sat down and cried.
She dried her eyes presently, and went out for a walk. While she was
walking she met Robinson Crusoe. He was dressed in a magnificent suit of
goatskin, with the hair hanging about his waist and knees; he had an ax and a



CINDERELLA.

saw in his girdle, and a great goatskin umbrella over his head, and he carried
four or five muskets across his shoulder; his parrot was perched on one of the
‘muskets, and his tame kid walked behind.

“ Good afternoon,” said Robinson Crusoe; “are you Beauty?”

Cinderella blushed and hung her head a little. “Some people say I am,” she
answered. “Are you the Beast?”

“Tm afraid I look like it, my dear,” said Crusoe; “ but it isn’t my fault; I
live in a desert island and keep the only dry-goods’ store in the place; it’s a very
fine store, but just now we're all out of cloth, so I’m obliged to content myself
with goatskins. Pm expecting another shipwreck soon, and then we can re-
plenish.”

“Why don’t you go to one of the big Sixth Avenue stores?” asked Cinder-
ella. “My godmother always does her shopping at one of those places.”

“OQ, my dear! that would never do; what would all the boys and girls say
if I got my clothes in such an irregular way ? Besides, I have no money except
Spanish doubloons and pieces of eight, and I believe they're not current at
present.”

“Please,” asked Cinderella, “ have you seen a little glass slipper anywhere ?”

“No,” said Crusoe, “I don’t think I have; I saw the print of a man’s foot
down by the seashore, but there were no signs of a slipper about it.”

“Tt’s not a man’s slipper I’m looking for,” said Cinderella; “ I’ve lost one of
my own slippers, and I can’t find it anywhere. I’m sure I had iton at the Court
ball; I-took it off because it was so uncomfortable to dance in.”

“ Perhaps you left it there,’ suggested Crusoe. “Why don’t you telephone
up to the palace and ask ?”

“T would,’ sobbed Cinderella, “only I’m so ashamed of my carelessness.
What would the Prince think of me? He said he did admire a good, careful
housekeeper above all things.”

“Tm sorry,” said Robinson kindly; ‘‘if you'll come over to my hut perhaps
Ican fit you with a goatskin pair; I’m sure they'd be softer than glass, and
probably warmer.” :

“T don’t want goatskin slippers,’ said Cinderella, pouting; “I want my own
glass slipper.”

“Tt is very unfortunate,” said Robinson Crusoe. “TI can’t think of anything
else, unless you advertise in the paper. But I must really say good-by now;
I'm told that several canoe-loads of cannibals are in sight, and I must go to the
top of the hill where I can watch them through my perspective glass,” and he
hurried off.

Cinderella sat down on a log, feeling very sad; she buried her face in her
hands, and thought bitterly of her loss.

“What's the matter?” asked a soft voice. Cinderella looked around and
saw Little Red Riding-hood, in her scarlet cloak, with a basket on her arm.

>



CINDERELLA.

“Have you found a glass slipper?” asked Cinderella.

“No,” said Red Riding-hood; “ have you lost one?”

“T lost it yesterday ; such a beautiful glass slipper, you can’t think ! Maybe
it’s in this wood; do help me to find it; that’s a dear girl!”

“T would,” said Red Riding-hood, “but Pm afraid to go into the wood
again ; there’s a wolf there. “Do you know,” she added confidentially, “I had
quite a narrow escape this
morning; I met the wolf,
but fortunately he had just
eaten my grandmother, and
he really had no room for
another meal. He looked
dreadfully fierce, and he had
my grandmother’s nightcap
and spectacles on; but he
didn’t eat me; wasn’t it
lucky ?”

“Indeed it was,’ said
Cinderella warmly ; “lucky
for you, [mean,” she added;
“but perhaps it was a little |
unpleasant for your grand-
mother. Was: she very
old?”

“ About eighty. We al-
ways said it was careless of
her, living in that lonely
house, with no lock on the door, but only a latchstring. The wolf got in by
pulling the latchstring, and he ate my poor grandmother in bed.”

“When is the funeral?” asked Cinderella.

“T don’t know yet,” answered Red Riding-hood; “ you see, we don’t know
just how to arrange matters until somebody kills the wolf.”

“Tll do that!” cried a voice near them. It was Jack the Giant-killer ;
he had on a fine suit of clothes, and carried a tremendous great sword which.
he kept flourishing all the while; it made Cinderella and Red Riding-
hood quite afraid of him. .

“Tf you please, sir,” said Red Riding-hood, “I should like very much to have
the wolf killed; but I’m afraid it wouldn’t be safe for you.”

“Oh! perfectly safe; a mere bit of sport;” and Jack the Giant-killer swag-
gered around and slashed with his sword worse than ever. “A wolf is nothing
at all beside some of the giants I have killed. By the way, can’t I rescue any
poor lady from the wolf’s den?”



“THE PRINCE TOLD HER SHE SKATEO BEAUTIFULLY.”



CINDERELLA.

“J don’t know,” said Red Riding-hood; “the wolf has eaten my grand-
mother already, so I don’t see how you are going to rescue her.”

“Tt is difficult, but perhaps not impossible; nothing is impossible to me,”
said Jack the Giant-killer, with another swagger. “Is it long since the poor
lady was eaten?”

“Tt was only this morning. Oh! do rescue her if you can,” pleaded Red
Riding-hood.

Just then a little girl ran screaming out of the wood, her long yellow hair
flying behind her.

“A fair lady in distress!” cried Jack the Giant-killer. “To the rescue!”
and he rushed about, making a great show of peering among the bushes for a
giant or a dragon. Then he led -the little girl up, holding her hand above her
head, as if he were walking an old-fashioned minuet.

“Why! it’s Little Goldilocks,” exclaimed Cinderella; “what can be the
matter?”

“Matter enough,” cried Goldilocks ; “ you'd be frightened yourself if you
saw a great big bear and a middle-sized bear and a little wee bear all together.”

“Bears!” exclaimed Jack the Giant-killer. ‘* Really, this wood is very in-
teresting. And now I think of it, they want to buy some bears and wolves for
the Central Park menagerie! I must see if I can’t turn an honest penny in this
business.” With that he screwed his face into a scowl which he imagined to be
alook of fierce resolution, and pulling a bit of whetstone from his pocket, he
began to sharpen the sword, with an immense parade. Cinderella couldn’t help
thinking that he boasted too much; and though he had very pretty clothes and
a fine sword, she liked the Prince much better.

Presently Jack bowed to them and ran off into the wood, slashing and pranc-
ing, throwing his sword up into the air and catching it as it came down. But
he had scarcely been gone a minute before he appeared again, this time scamper-
ing for dear life, with his sword trailing behind.

“It’s coming!” he panted ; “ save yourselves, ladies, or you will be devoured.”

“What's coming ?” asked Cinderella, in great alarm. ;

“ A wolf! or a bear! or —or something! Oh! there itis! Save me! save
me!” Jack the Giant-killer didn’t look a bit heroic as he dodged about, trying
to get behind Little Goldilocks; at length he dropped his sword and began to
climb a tree; but he only got half-way up the trunk, and there he stuck.

The girls all screamed and were going to run away, but Red Riding-hood
happened to look around, and saw something trotting out of the wood; when
she saw it, she stopped and sat down on the grass and just laughed until the
tears rolled down her cheeks; and whenever she began to recover herself she
looked up and burst out with new peals of laughter; it was really quite delight-
ful; only Jack the Giant-killer, looking down from where he was clinging, didn’t
like it a bit.



CINDERELLA.

«‘ What are you laughing about?” he growled.

“©, dear! O, dear me!” panted Red Riding-hood; “oh! it’s too funny
for anything. Why, that isn’t a wolf at all; ha, ha! Nora bear! It’s only just
Mary’s Little Lamb.”

“ Are you certain?” asked Jack, in a trembling voice. But sure enough, the
Lamb came running out when Red Riding-hood called it, and laid its head in her
lap; it knew her very well and liked her
almost as much as it did its own mistress.

“T ain’t afraid of it,” screamed Jack the
Giant-killer, in a great passion. He slid
down the tree, tearing his fine clothes in
two or three places; then he caught up his sword. “TU
kill it!” he bellowed.

Red Riding-hood jumped up. “If you do, Pll slap
your face,” she cried very fiercely; and then she began
to sob.

« And I'll pull your hair,” chimed in Little Goldilocks,
crying also.

“And Tl scratch you and stick pins into you,”
added Cinderella; she was older than the rest, and didn’t
cry a bit.

Jack the Giant-killer scowled and swaggered, but
by this time they knew what his courage amounted to;

JACK UP A TREE, so Cinderella and Red Riding-hood and Little Goldilocks

and the Lamb all ran right at him; and they scared
him so that he fairly took to his heels and fled; and that was the last they ever
saw of him.

“The great coward!” said Red Riding-hood ; “ to take Mary’s Little Lamb
for a wolf or a bear!” and she fondled the Lamb lovingly.

“Oh! but there are really true bears in the wood,” said Goldilocks ; “I saw
them, and they were dreadful.”

“Did any of them have a glass slipper?” asked Cinderella.

“TI don’t know,” said Goldilocks; “but they had nice chairs and beds, and
excellent porridge. I’m very fond of porridge when it’s neither too hot nor too
cold.”

“JT don’t like porridge,” remarked Cinderella; “cracked wheat mush is ever
so much better.”

“Or oatmeal,” said Red Riding-hood; “Grandma always ate oatmeal for
breakfast before the wolf ate her.”

“ By the way,” asked Cinderella, “ do your folks use saracella in house-clean-
ing? I saw an advertisement of it at the Court ball.”

“Sold by all grocers,” squeaked a little fellow at their feet. He was a very





CINDERELLA.

little man, so small that they had not noticed him before ; and he was busy past-
ing advertisements on all the trees and fences and houses.

“What are you doing that for?” asked Goldilocks. The advertisements
were mostly about soap, and indigo, and patent medicines.

““T do it to improve the landscape,” said the little man; “and to teach the
children to read ; and I’m paid for it.”

“ How much do they pay you?” asked Cinderella.

“ Sometimes more, sometimes less. Yesterday they gave me a bean.”

“ A bean!” exclaimed Cinderella. “ Isn’t that very poor pay?”

“That depends on how you look at it; a bean alone isn’t much; but if I
plant it perhaps I shall get half a cupful of beans from it; and if I plant those,
I shall get a peck; and if I plant those they will yield twenty bushels; and if I
plant those ” —

“But,” objected Cinderella, “you will have to wait a long time unless your
beans grow very fast.”

“This kind is said to be a rapid grower,” said the little man.

“Oh! do plant it now and let’s see,” exclaimed Goldilocks; “I never saw a
bean planted.”

“So I will,” said the little man, drawing the bean from his pocket; then he
made a hole in the ground, put the bean in and covered it up. No sooner had
he done so than the earth broke away, and a bean-plant began to rise very fast.

“OQ, dear me!” squeaked the little man; “ O, dear! I’m ruined!”

“‘ What's the matter?” asked Cinderella, in great surprise.

“Oh! don’t you see? I’ve lost the bean! It came up on top of the plant,
and now I'll never see it again. Yes, I will! Pll climb for it!” and he threw
off his coat and began to climb
up the beanstalk. But as he
climbed it kept growing.

Cinderella called after him,
“Tf yousee a little glass slipper
up there, please bring it down.”

“JT will,” said the little man ;
but the bean plant kept grow-
ing, and the little man kept
climbing, until he was quite
out of sight.

“Tm afraid I never shall “} pO IT TO IMPROVE THE LANDSCAPE,” HE SAID.
see that slipper again,” sighed
Cinderella ; and she said good-by to the others and went slowly and sadly home.

But next morning the following advertisement appeared in the newspapers:

“Tf the lady who dropped a small glass slipper at the Court Ball will please
write to Room 753, Royal Palace, she will hear of something to her advantage.”





CINDERELLA.

Cinderella saw this, and wrote at once, saying that she had lost a glass slipper
and would like to get it back again. Next day, one of the king’s officers came
with the slipper; he had a black dress suit on, and a feather in his cap, and a
little golden sword strapped to his side. Cinderella saw all this through a crack
in the door, while she pretended to be examining the gentleman’s card. She
thought him very fine looking indeed.

When she went into the drawing-room, the gentleman rose and made such a
very low bow that his little golden sword stuck straight out behind him. Cin-
derella curtesied, and the gentleman bowed again, and placed a chair for her, and
made her ever so many compliments, which were very nice; but he didn’t say
anything about the slipper at first. The fact is, he was a celebrated diplomat.
Diplomats are remarkable for a great many things; among others, for a custom
they have of always avoiding the very subjects that they wish to talk about.

At length Cinderella thought it better to open the business herself; and be-
cause she was not a diplomat, she went straight at it.

“ Have you brought me my slipper?” she asked.

“My dear young lady,” said the Diplomat, “I have done myself that honor;
and permit me to confess a mistake which I made ; it is the less to be deplored
because it gave me an opportunity of conversing with your charming sisters —
only less charming than yourself, of course.”

“Oh!” said Cinderella; “have you seen my sisters?”

“T have, indeed; but it was through a mistake. When I first entered the
house, your sisters alone were visible; and I naturally imagined — not having
seen you— that one of them was the owner of the slipper. In fact, each of
those two ladies claimed it ; but it was an illusion on their part; or a mistake;
or possibly a prevarication ; or”? —

“Never mind,” said Cinderella; “how did you know it was not theirs?”

““ My dear lady, the Prince requested me not to give up this slipper without
first making certain of the owner by a test.”

“ What is that ?” asked Cinderella.

“The lady is to try the slipper on. Now your sisters, though perfect in
every other way, failed to meet the requirements in this one particular; their
feet — I whisper it only in confidence — were miles too big; neither of them
could get the slipper on.

“At first I was greatly disappointed, but bethought me to ask if there were
any other lady in the house; and they informed me that there was none, except
one who —I hesitate to mention it —was performing menial services in a part
of the dwelling which, I am credibly informed, is known as the kitchen.”

“Oh!” laughed Cinderella, “ you needn’t be afraid to speak of it; I work in
the kitchen every day ; I like it.”

“The kitchen is refined and beautified by your presence,” said the Diplomat,
with a bow. “ Now as to this slipper, I am forced to trouble you to try it on.”



CINDERELLA.

“Ts that all?” said Cinderella. “Please let me take it and I will put it on
now.”

“Could I permit you to?” exclaimed the gentleman; “nay, allow me but
to kneel and I will place the slipper on your foot.”

“Tf you please,’ said Cinderella; “but I think it will be rather like a shoe-
maker’s shop.” However, the gentleman insisted; he first laid a handkerchief
on the floor, to protect his fine clothes, then he knelt down;
Cinderella took off her left boot, and the gentleman held the
slipper while she put her foot into it; of course it fitted exactly.

The Diplomat got wp and made a very low bow again; then
he kissed Cinderella’s hand, which she thought a very surprising
thing to do.

“Madam,” he said, “I congratulate you; the
Prince, my master, saw your beauty and grace at the TER
Court ball; he had no means of finding you save by === 4e
this slipper ; he now, through me, offers you his sincere ee
homage, and is desirous to marry you.” AIAN

Cinderella rose and curtesied as well as she could
with one boot on; her heart was beating very fast, but she tried
to look cool and collected.

“YT will see if I have any previous engagement,” she said,
turning over her ivory tablets. She knew very well that nothing was written
there, but she thought it looked well to consult. the tablets, because the
Diplomat was such a very ceremonious gentleman.

However, she had to say something, and what she said was: “Thank you; I
shall be very happy to marry the Prince.”

So the bells rang, and the cannons were fired, and there was great rejoicing over
the marriage of Cinderella to the Prince. She walked in procession through the
crowded streets to the church, and little girls — Goldilocks was one — strewed
roses in her path, banners waved everywhere, and because the banners were
not enough, the good wives hung all their carpets out of their windows ; with
music and perfumes, and better than all, with love, Cinderella went to marry
the Prince. And then they walked back through the street; and when they had
passed, the crowd went away, and the banners were furled, and the good wives
took in their carpets, and their husbands had to tack them down again, which
was not so pleasant. Really, it wasa magnificent celebration. The newspapers
had several columns about it next morning, under the title “ A Wedding in High
Life,” and Red Riding-hood has all the descriptions cut out and pasted in her
scrap-book, where you may see them if you are acquainted with her.

Cinderella made such an excellent housekeeper that the Prince found he could
live cheaper married than single; they didn’t even have to keep a hired girl.

H. S. Huntington. |







THE DIPLOMAT,









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Emma F. Kaan.























































































































































































































































































































































































































































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GLAD SUMMER TIME.



THE BEE-HUNTERS:.

HE eminence attained in the neighborhood by Mr. Lawson
Wimpy was that of being acknowledged the best bee-
hunter and bee-raiser that anybody there knew or ever
had known. A bachelor up to forty or thereabouts,
he one day, rather unexpectedly all around, married
the little orphan girl, Milly Pringle, and, choosing a suit-
able position on the land inherited from his father, put
up a modest, comfortable dwelling and outhouses, and
became settled there. New responsibilities led him to feel
that, as for bee-hunting, he ought to forego an indul-
gence however dear, and look more closely to business
necessary for a becoming maintenance of his family.

Yet few men ever can give up suddenly and en-
tirely a sport to which so much of their young time
has been devoted. Never since his marriage, a little

more than a year back, had he repaired of his own accord to the woods in pur-

suit of wild game, content, or at least endeavoring to be content with the hives
which with his other goods had been moved from the old home, and which were
many times more than were needed. Yet it rather gratified him when young
people, usually boys and girls, on a Saturday morning, after angling for horny
heads and pretty little red-bellies in the creek near by, went up to the house
and petitioned for the pleasure of witnessing the taking of a bee-tree. On such
occasions he did not yield the quick consent that was known to be in his heart.

No; he usually waited until his young wife was induced to take sides with the

children. Even then he deemed it prudent to make first one plea, then another,

which were easily shown to be worthless, and at last suffer himself to be over-

* come. After this, and when the party was on the way, his step would get an

alacrity which it did not know when taking him to work in his fields.

One morning in May a batch of satisfied fishers, casting about for other
diversion, decided, as they were so near the Wimpys’, to repair thither. Mrs.
Wimpy had been a schoolmate of all, and they trusted that, if they should not
find Mr. Wimpy, or should fail in their intended suit, they would not come
away entirely empty. There were the Hills, Reeds, Fowlers, Fletchers, and
. others, a dozen or so, from fourteen years old down. Janey Fowler rather
opposed the movement, that is ostensibly, for fear of the bees; but Tom
Fletcher convinced her how nonsensical that was, and said that he would de-
fend her against all harm. Tom claimed to be a bold fellow, particularly when
it came to assuming risks in behalf of the girls. When one of these so requested,







THE BEE-HUNTERS.

he would climb a chincapin-tree almost as glibly as any squirrel, except, of
course, when the asker happened to be one of his sisters. Whenever taunted
by her for his lack of politeness, he answered:

“Pshaw! You're nobody but my sister. When it’s nobody but a fellow’s
sister that wants him to go plunging up a tree, and risking his life or one of his
legs, that’s another kind of thing altogether.”

Martha Reed was the biggest of the girls. She was of an inquiring mind,
and, although inwardly not averse to the fun of it, was counting upon getting
what information she could about bees in general.

Mr. Wimpy was sitting on the piazza holding in his lap the baby to whom he
was talking in words too confidential to be repeated here. For some time,
knowing how busily his wife was engaged with her housework, he had been
meditating whether or not he ought to suspend the delightful intercourse which
he was having, turn over to the nurse his charge, and proceed to the field where
his small gang of negroes was at work; and he had almost decided that after
some little further caressing, he would do so.

All of a sudden he called loudly:

“ Milly, O, Milly! Will you please come out and look at that gang o’ chil-
dren at the gate? Well, I do think, upon my soul! What can they be at?”

Coming out instantly, the wife, after a brief look at the party, said :

“ Yes, it’s the Fowler children, and—yes, I know every single one of ’em
even from here. You know what theyre coming for. Needn’t try to make
out like you don’t.”

Yet she smiled; for they were true lovers, each thankful for hayes been
mated to the wee

“Well, now,” he answered, with mild sternness, “if it’s to go on a bee-tree-
takin’ tramp, I won’t — that is, Pm that busy that I jes’ have no time to be
a-goin’ a-prowlin’ ‘long with them on any such a frolickin’ projickin’. Had
a-suspicioned them of a-comin’, I'd a-got —I ain’t sure but that I'd a-got out of
their way.”

“ You wouldn’t have done anything of the kind,” smilingly she replied.

“Here, Judy,” he said to the nurse, in a tone intended to seem troubled,
“come take the baby. Its pap have business on hand now, and that a-not ex-
pected. Be keerful how you handle him.”

As the children drew near, he assumed as much gloominess upon his face as
would be not too inconsistent with the duty of hospitality. The full welcome
he knew could be left safely with his wife to bestow.

None objecting when he so offered, Tom Fletcher was to be leader. Martha
Reed knew that she would be a better; still she was content with merely sug-
gesting carefulness in avoiding abruptness. Tom said he knew exactly how to
go about the business.

After salutations were exchanged all around he said:



THE BEE-HUNTERS.

“Mr. Wimpy, we all got tired of fishing, and we’ve come to beg a favor of
you, which is, to take a bee-tree for us, knowing that you know more about it
than anybody else.”’

Mr. Wimpy sank his head as if meditating some sort of preliminary objec-
tion. Martha cast a momentary glance of daggers at Tom for his abruptness ;
but immediately withdrawing it, turned to Mrs. Wimpy and in the pleasantest
tone, said :

“Oh! how’s the baby, Milly? Iwas just about to ask you when Tom spoke.
Let’s hear about the baby before we begin on bees. You know B stands for
both ; but there’s a heap of difference, isn’t there ?”

The young mother smiled, and the father, all he could do, was not able to
conceal his satisfaction.

“Oh! he’s well, thanky, Marthy. He had some trouble with his first tooth,
but his pap got him a nice little powder-gourd to cut on, and he’s a-coming on
reason’ ble smart now.”

“Glad to hear it; ahem!” then Martha looked at Tom. _

“Yes, indeed,’ Tom replied; “we are all glad, very glad. Ma said they
told her it was an uncommon fine child, and was like — or at least they believed
it was going to be like Mr. Wimpy.”

Mr. Wimpy had actually to cough to hide the tickling that was in his throat.
Then he said, with solemn bluntness:

“Milly, make Judy fetch him out and let ’em see for theirselves who he’s
alike. That's the way to settle it.”

The look that Tom gave Martha, if it had had a tongue, would have said :

“Now! See what you've done, making everybody wait for that baby to be
showed.”

As the baby was being handed around, comments were variously comfirma-
tory of the report.

“Oh!” said Martha, “he has Mr. Wimpy’s eyes over and over again.”

“No, Marthy,” said Janey; “no, it’s not the eyes as much as the nose, not
nigh.”

“Give me that mouth for likeness,” said one of the Hills, “and that fore-
head, and look at those hands if you please, and Pve no doubt the feet would
be exactly the same if we could see them.”

“T should say,” remarked Tom, looking studiously over his new hat fondled
on his breast, “that you are all about right. No matter where anybody was to
see that baby, they’d know where he belonged.”

“7 knew they’d say it, soon as they see it,” said the mother.

Tom then turned his face toward the woods as if to make known that
he was ready for the expedition if the rest were.

“ Tommy’s in a pow ful swivet, ain’t he?” said Mr. Wimpy, smiling. “ Look
like he ain’t thinkin’ about my bein’ a man of fam’ly now and had ought to



THE BEE-HUNTERS.

quit goin’ on sech wild arrants. Do he ’spose a man with a wife and one baby
to start with, hadn’t ought to quit his bachel’rin’ ways and go to makin’ some-
thin’ to feed so many mouths ’ith, special when you all acknowledge it’s jes’
like me?”

“That it is,” Janey interrupted anxiously; “it’s your very picture, over
and over.”

Then going where the nurse was holding her charge, she tickled his nose till
he laughed, and clawing
at Janey’s finger, looked
as if he meant to swal-
low it at one gulp.

“ Besides,” persisted
the host, trying to look
rather sincere, “ you all
come at me like you
thought I jes’ had the
makin’ o’ bee-trees. How
do I know where they is
one, since I got married
and-quit the business of
huntin’ of ’°em?”

Then he winked slyly
at his wife.

She, knowing that he
wanted to go, waiting
thus far for him to put
himself on satisfactory
terms, now said :

“Laws, Unk Law-
son!” (keeping yet the
address of her orphan-
time) “you know that
work on the place isn’t
behind, and it’s no farther back than night before last I heard you say, my
very self, that as you was walking along the oat-patch fence there not far from
the spring-branch, you found a bee-tree in a Spanish oak, and it looked like it
were jammed, just jammed with honey; you know you did — now!”

Then how they all laughed! Even Mr. Wimpy did so silently, the only way
he knew how, pleased with the thought that he had fooled them as he had ~
fooled himself. Like old Silenus when Aigle and the two Fauns, finding him in
the grotto asleep from yesterday’s wine, tied him with his own garlands and
demanded the song long promised, Mr. Wimpy saw that he must yield.



































“MR. WIMPY WAS TALKING TO THE BABY.’’



THE BEE-HUNTERS.

“Well, you see for yourselves,” pointing to the baby, “how mouths is a-in-
creasin on me. But I’ve ben young in my time and loved my fun jes’ like
you — that is, in reason — and | have to acknowledge that the takin’ of a bee-
tree is hard to beat when you come to the enj’yment of the thing, let alone the
honey, which if it have been only for that, ’d ’a’ never took a bee-tree. It’s the
enj’yment o’ the thing I were always after. Come to think, I do ’member that
Spanish oak there by the oat-patch, and soon as I can git my contraptions, I'll
be ready to march forrard along ‘ith you all. While I’m a-fixin’, Milly can
get you some light-bread and honey. ‘That’s better than what we'll git in the
woods, and then you won’t git your hands all gaumed up, neither.”

It was a pretty sight in that clean piazza, the young wife and the not much
younger children around the table with its white home-made cover, on which
were trays of honey and that famous salt-yeast light-bread then common
throughout that region, baked in the big oven always on Saturday afternoons.

“O, Milly!” said Janey, “ don’t you know that just as soon as brother Will
and the other boys began to talk about trying to get Mr. Wimpy to take a bee-
tree, I got so ex-cited? And, fact is, if it had been left to me, I should have
said no, nothing of that kind for me, if you please; and then I'd have just said
let’s go and call on Milly and the baby ; because, if honey is what you're all
after, ’'ve no doubt Milly’ll give us some if she has it on hand, and it’s con-
venient. Not but what I’m fond of honey myself, and this is simply de-licious;
s-sweeoh! But, you know, I’m afraid of the bees, and ma says such as that is
because I have the nervous system, and it’s liable to come on me any time I get
ex-cited, don’t you know? But the boys, they just would have it so, and
Marthy said she wanted to hear Mr. Wimpy tell about the things and see how
it was done, and all that.”

Then, enveloping avery small piece of bread in a very large piece of snowy,
dripping comb, she put it daintily in her pretty red mouth, meaning to fortify
herself as well as possible against the assaults of bees or nervous systems.

“T told Janey I'd stand between her and all danger,” said Tom.

“‘ She was as anxious for it as any of us, Milly,” said Jimmy Fowler. “She
just wants to make a little fussy to-do. Pa says it’s all nonsense about her hay-
ing any nervous systems, and that it’s every bit put on.”

. “Ought to be ashamed of yourself, brother Jimmy. Ma says so, if pa
doesn’t, and everybody knows mothers know more about such things than
fathers do, ’specially in their own children ; wouldn’t you think:so, Milly ?”

“Well, Janey,” the hostess answered kindly, “there isn’t any danger of
getting stung by them if people that don’t understand them will be careful; and
the sting doesn’t hurt very much, anyhow. I used to go with Unk Lawson
many a time, when I was a girl, and I never got stung but once, and that
amounted to almost nothing. If you’re uneasy about it, suppose you stay with
me and let the rest go?”



THE BEE-HUNTERS.

“QO, no, no, no, no, no! That would be troublesome. I’m much obliged to
you, Milly, but O, no, indeed! They'd all laugh at me, and I’d better have my
nervous system on me than that.”

“Couldn’t keep her from going,” whispered Jimmy to Martha, “without Mr.
Wimpy was to chain her.”

In time Mr. Wimpy appeared with ax, buckets and other “ contraptions.”

“Well, children, how’s it all ’ith you by this time? Did Milly give you all
enough? Milly has got to be a monst’ous eekinom’cal since she ben married,
and that to a wild buck sech as me.”

Never, he candidly believed, had he put forth a better joke.

Wasn’t Milly going? What, leave that baby with nobody but his nurse!
That she wasn’t. The very idea of such a thing!

They went forth cheerily, the leader, after his kind, as much as the rest.
On the way the thoughtful Martha, partly in quest of information, mainly in-
tent upon being politely considerate, walked by Mr. Wimpy’s side. On the
other side, not to be outdone, traveled Janey. To Martha’s questionings the
hunter answered freely what he had learned about bees: how that in a swarm
there were usually five or six thousand, all told; how some of the workers made
the wax, and others less strong and more delicate, made the honey and took
care of the little bees; how there were about thirty or forty times as many
females as males ; how the latter, lazy things that they were, never did one sin-
gle stroke of work that anybody ever found out; how, in all probability, that
was the reason why they had always been called drones, and how there was
but one lone female that was the mother of all except the drones, and she
was the queen.

“Six thousand, Mr. Wimpy!” cried Janey, almost stopping. “Six thou-
sand, and just one mother?”

“Yes; jes’ so; jes’ as I tell you.”

“ Ph-ee-ee-ew! I should think — but never mind, go on —I never heard of
such a thing in all my life.”

“She’s the biggest and longest of the whole conflutement of ’em.”

“T should think so. My! and you say they call her the queen ?”’

“Yes; that’s the name she go by; that is, among folks. I don’t know what
they call her in their own langwidges.”’

“Oh! it is so interesting. I’m so glad you asked Mr. Wimpy about them,
Marthy.”

“Yes,” said Martha; “TI like to get all the knowledge I can about such
things. Don’t you think I’m right, Mr. Wimpy ?”

“That Ido. Now most people, they'll settle down and eat honey, and eat
honey, and they'll not bother their mind how it’s got and how it’s made, provid-
in’ they git a plenty of it for theirselves.- That's the way ‘ith most people
about honey. Now about this same queen, as you seem like you intrested in



THE BEE-HUNTERS.

her, do you know? No, of course you don’t; but that don’t hinder it bein’ so;
but they ain’t one single king nowheres upon his throne that have the power,
nor the influence, that she have. When a swarm have to move off anywheres,
she’s the one that gits the whole business up in the first place, and she don’t
open her mouth not one single time where she’s goin’; bnt when she gits
ready, she gits up, and she marches straight out the gum, and then she spreads
her wings and she rises, and then every single kit and bilin’ of ’em do the
same, and take right after her; and where she stops there they stop. And
here’s another thing you don’t know; and it’s that if she gits killed, or if she
dies jes’ so, the balance don’t no more know what to do ’ith theirselves than so _
many babies. Some of ’em may git taken in some other gums, if they can
ever find them, but not many, and ’ithout they can git another queen, the
most of ’em ‘Il jes’ give up, and not do one blessed thing, and they'll dwindle
and they’ll keep on a-dwindlin’ until they'll all perish out, jes’ so.”

“But,” Martha argued, “ that all seems foolish in the things. They know
how to fly about, and to work for their living, and I should think they’d go on
and do it.” ;

“Now, Marthy, anybody can make a objection to anythin’ ; but the thing is,
it’s to be supposened that bees know what they can do, and what they can’t, and
if they don’t they ain’t nobody that can tell’em. Now that’s jes’ the case with
the bees, and every other tribe of movin’ things that is.”

It hurt him somewhat to hear his little favorites spoken of with apparent
contempt.

“Yes, sir, I suppose so, of course,” Martha rejoined. “They ought to; still
I can’t help from thinking that five or six thousand animals —if you may call
them so —of no sort, wouldn’t have sense enough to not be satisfied to give
up every single blessed thing and perish to death just because their queen died.
If they must have a queen, I should suppose they’d make another out of them-
selves, or make one of their drones king.”

“The goodness! Hain’t I jes’ told you, child, that the drones ain’t worth
not only their victuals, but not even their very salt? And as for the she-bees,
there’s nare a one o’ them that’s any more fittin’ to be queen than the drones
is to be king ; and if they was to happen to be one that thought she was fittin’,
the balance of ’em, every blessed one of ’em, would dispute it. Why that’s all
so, it’s because o’ the —the nat’ral const’ootion of ’em, as the good Lord made
“em — their nat’ral const’ootion.”

The word was so apt that he must repeat it, thankful that, although never
having been an active politician, he could thus draw upon his studies of public
affairs.

“Well, then, when they do get another queen, where does she come from?”
asked Janey. Looking frowningly down upon her, he answered :

“ Now, Janey, anybody is liable to ask questions. Strictly speakin’, I hain’t,



THE BEE-HUNTERS.

in all my exper’ence o’ bees, I hain’t thought it were egzactly my business to
meddle with that question o’ the gittin’ of another queen, exceptin’ — but I
jes’ tell you, children, talkin’ so much have made me rather tired and hot, and
besides all that, yonder’s the Spanish oak a-waitin’ for us.”

Then he muttered :

“My sakes! some children, special girl children, they want to know not only
what grown folks do know, but what they don’t know, and all for cur’os’ty.”

All among the sloping woods sweet smells came from flowering shrubs and
young trees’ leaves. If they had not been used to them, they would have
noted more closely. As it was, the girls lingered anon to gather handfuls of
bubby-blossoms and sweet-bottles.

“Here she is,” said Mr. Wimpy, laying down his implements and seating
himself for a brief rest upon alog. The children were disappointed when they
looked up and saw nothing notin common with the surrounding trees. Familiar
with the sight of big hornets’ nests pendant from slender tree limbs, they ex-
pected to find standing forth something not less in size certainly than an
ordinary bee-hive, and with such higher outward ornamentation as an insect so
far superior would be expected to bestow. As it was, there stood the Spanish
oak, with its slender, smooth whitish trunk and limbs and not a sign of a bee-
gum or a bee.

“ Ain’t you mistaken, Mr. Wimpy?” asked Martha.

Pleased with the inquiry, he looked forgivingly at her and answered :

“‘ Marthy, ’m glad you take a int’rest in things that the more people studies
"em, the smarter they find out that bees is. And they is nothin’ that goes to
show me, that is me myself, that the good Lord want to be good to his creaturs
more than them same thing o’ bees, which I mayn’t be willing to acknowl-
edge it out an out, bein’ of a human myself; but they ain’t a doubt but what in
some things they’re smart as anybody, I don’t keer who it is. Now they know
better than a fool-hornet to make their gum o’ thin maturials, and hang it out
on a swingin’ limb for boys to shoot at that’s got nothin’ else to do, or pelt at
it with rocks, a-knowin’ that hornets’ nests ain’t worth to anybody acontemp’i-
ble red cent o’ the time ockepied in makin’ ’em. They—bees I’m a-talkin’
about — they don’t go for show. They go for workin’, and not only for their-
selves, but for folks, accordin’ to the nat’ral constootion the good Lord have
give em. And it’s for wherefore that when they start out on a immigratin’,
the queen bee she’s a-lookin’ out all the time for a suitable hollow tree, and
when she sees one to suit, ’ithout openin’ her mouth to ’ary one of ’em, there
she stops and takes the ’vantage of it. And they ain’t sooner lit than the
workers go right straight to gn’yawing off the rough places, and a-sweepin’, and
a-scrubbin’ ; for if there’s’ary tribe or gin’ration that wants and will have a clean
house, it’s bees. And that’s where the good Lord have provided a const’ootion
for ’em, not alone for their good, but for the gin’ration of people, a-knowin’



THE BEE-HUNTERS.

what a blessin’ they is, and givin’ ’em the instinct of sense to get out o’ the way
of every idle prowlin’ animal that comes along, and put asting in ’em in the bar-
gain. Now you look up at that big prong a-leanin’ to-wards the oat-patch, and
see if you don’t see some of ’em a-goin’ in and a-comin’ out the hollow there.
They ain’t many, because at this time o’ day they’re monst’ous busy inside and
out. For bees, jes’ like folks, loves good weather to work in, and the heat and
the wet pesters them the same that it do folks. People that studies bees and
the const’ootion 0’ bees, the more their mind find out how smart bees is. I de-



“ S00NER THAN THEY WERE EXPECTING, THE TREE CAME DOWN WITH A CRASH.”’

clare, it jes’ humble me sometimes when I think how much smarter bees is than
some people.”

At this juncture Janey, who had been flitting around in delicious excitement,
seeing Mr. Wimpy preparing for his work, ran to him and putting her hands
together, said :

“O, Mr. Wimpy! I do hope that you won't forget to keep the things off me ;
for if they come about me, I just know the nervous system’ll come on me.
Won't you please, Mr. Wimpy ?”

“Why — why, what’s that, Janey?” he stopped, after his first step, to ask.

“Oh! it’s— Mr. Wimpy, it’s getting ex-cited, and—and flustered all over
myself, and — I don’t know what all. Ma first found it out about me.”



THE BEE-~HUNTERS.

“ Umph—humph. Well, you jes’ keep a respec’ble distance, Janey, and if
you happen to see one a-flyin’ around, jes’ don’t go to fightin’ her. She ain’t
goin’ to be pesterin’ her mind about you.”

As he went off he muttered in rather pleasant warmth:

“T do think some girl children can git up more things to make people think
they ain’t in the common rut o’ girl children all over the blessed world. Nerv-
ous system! Now like nobody but jes’ Janey Fowler never had ’em! Tm
thankful Milly hasn’t yit ever heerd o’ the things.”

Interesting it is to look at a lusty ax-man with instrument in good order
felling a forest-tree ; the keen, deep incisions of sloping strokes, the sharp, loud
reverberations of horizontal blows severing the big chips from the trunk, and
making the incipient stump look as if leveled with a smoothing plane. Sooner
than they were expecting, the tree came down with a crash upon the limb in
whose fork was the hive, opening it wide, and the excited insects in hundreds
rushed out and flitted nervously around their fallen home.

Everybody held to as much calmness as possible.

Except Tom and Janey. The latter wanted to see everything, and so
pressed forward, resisting all efforts of Martha to hold her back. Tom remem-
bering his promise and confident in his powers to defend, advanced along with
her, the while jerking a bough from a young oak near by, and flourishing it. in
admonition. Soon a bee which had been fanned away, returning, stung him on
the nose.

“Blame it all!” said Tom, “ they ve got me Take this bush, Janey, and
get out of the way, fighting behind as you run.’

They entered upon a retreat, Tom in the lead. Janey gave a loud scream,
then another. One had assailed her neck, another her cheek near the mouth.
Martha ran to help, and taking the sufferer by the hand, hastened to the branch
below.

“T-ve got it, Marthy,” said poor Janey; “it’s come on me just as I knew it
would.”

Then she let Martha lay her down at the foot of a great white oak.. Not very —
far away stood Tom, mournfully caressing his nose, and looking as if he were
extremely sorry for everybody.

“Is the pain very bad, dear?” asked Martha.

_ “No, Marthy,” feebly answered Janey ; “it isn’t the sting as much as it’s the
nervous system on me. Don’t my mouth look like a sight? I just know it
~~ does. Couldn’t you put a little water on my for ehead, please, Marthy?”’

_ “Tom,” cried Martha, in a peremptory, business way, “come here and get
some water for Janey. It’s every bit your fault. Come right along here.”

Tom came forward. The running stream was at their feet. He looked
around vaguely as if expecting to find a gourd or other sort of dipper hanging
near by.



THE BEE-HUNTERS.

“Take your hat! take your hat!” cried Martha, in a commanding, impatient
tone.

Tom removed from his head the covering referred to. It was very new and
correspondingly sleek. It had been after some remonstrance on his mother’s
part that he was allowed to wear it that day. He looked at it on all its out-
side ; turning it over, he looked inside and studied his name which, in regular
copy-book hand, a friend had written in full; then muttering, “I just can’t, I
just can’t nohow,” he rammed it back on fis head, and saying, “I’m going
to get some camphor from Milly,” rushed away.

Not long afterwards Milly, followed by Tom, came down with the camphor,
and under her ministrations, laughingly bestowed, Janey was persuaded at last
that she was not quite as badly off as she thought, and that the systems and
things had gone away.

“Tt was mighty well for that camphor,” said Tom.

“ Law, bro’ Tom,” said his sister, “if I was in your place, I think I'd hush.”

Indeed, Tom looked as if he felt that it was not a case for very many words
on his part, although he could not but hope that he had tried to do through it
all, what was best for all parties.

During all this while Mr. Wimpy, deliberately, calmly, with his long sharp
knife and his long wide poplar spoon, had been taking what he thought was no
more than fair from the well-filled hollow. When the business was finished, he
and the rest repaired to the streamlet where Janey was peacefully reclining.
Milly’s camphor and liniments had raised her into a condition of considerable
sweetness. Wrapping the honey in green leaves, Mr. Wimpy gave a portion of
the booty to one representative of each family. Then they parted; for Milly
declared that positively she must get back to that baby.

On the return Mr. Wimpy made some comments.

“Soon as [ heard her hollow, I know it were that Janey Fowler. But I didn’t

‘let on, because I know it were a heap of cry and mighty little wool, as the say-
in’ is. Is’picioned from the start that she were bent on showin’ off her nerv-
ous system as she call it, like everybody weren’t liable to have the same. Why,
didn’t I hear her own pa tell her one day when I were over there, that she
loved to have fusses made over her? Still, she’s a nice, pritty little thing, and
ll git over it. Now as for that Tommy Fletcher, he’s got plenty of sense, and
there’s more in him than I thought. When the bee struck him he had the
sense to take himself out of the way. But the main place where he showed his
sense were his not dippin’ of his new hat in the branch when there wasn’t the
slightest earthly need of it. Then he were a-thinkin’ about what he’d git from
his ma if he done it, when he got home. She’d a-give him the nervous system,
cert’n. Yes, there’s a heap of come-out in that boy. I hope Judy hain’t let the
baby git hurted. But, bless my soul! if it weren’t a noble tree.”

Richard Malcolm Jobnston.





Pyle.

Katharine



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MY PRINCESS.

HAVE read of a princess whose gleaming hair
Outshone the sheen of her crown of gold ;
Her step was proud, and her face was fair,
And the ’broideries of her garments rare,
Were full of jewels as they could hold.

My princess is clad in a plain black gown —

In a plain black gown that is worn and old —
And a simple hat instead of a crown ;
But up and down through the dingy town

She carries a heart that is all of gold.

For her soul is the home of all things blest,
Her heart is the palace of the King ;

Ready to welcome the holy guest

She keeps it daily garnished and dressed,
Free from each false and evil thing.

She cheers the heart of the sad like wine ;
Sorrow she comforts, and pain and loss;
The sufferer blesses this princess of mine,
Whose outward sign of the life divine
Is the sheen of a little silver cross.
Alice Williams Brotherton.





THE MORIART Y-DUCKLING FAIR

I DON’T know how we first came to think of having a fair, am sure Per-

haps it was because we had heard about some little girls in Drake ‘awn
who had held one; or perhaps it was because we had been to see the little b.ivd
children that day, and Uncle Miguales had told us how much they needed money
for their new kindergarten.

Anyhow, we did think about a fair, Dora and I, both at the same time, in
the very middle of the night, when we were lying awake talking, in the old
cherry-wood bedstead that was sold at auction afterward for only a dollar !

I know that we oughtn’t to have been lying awake so late, but it was such a
hot night! And when I say the middle of the night, I mean by local time, for
they have two times in Augusta, Me., — two different clock times, that is, and one
is called Deacon Pogram’s time (because Deacon P. winds up the Methodist
Church clock every Saturday afternoon at six o’clock), and the other is called
Joe Bradworth’s saw-mill time — because his whistles blow nearly all the time.

Uncle George says that the correct names are local and standard time ; but
at any rate, they are just half an hour faster than each other —I mean the
Deacon’s is faster than Joe Bradworth’s; and so the church clocks strike every
half-hour all night, and we get so puzzled sometimes, trying to find out which
eleven o’clock it is, when we are sound asleep — or rather when we ought to be,
of course.

But I came away from Augusta, Me., a few days after that night, and so
there was no one to help me get up the fair except Ben (Ben is my little
brother), because I haven’t got any sister at all, and the big boys said “ rats!”’
(which was very rude of them) every time I asked them if they didn’t think a
fair would be fun. Big brothers aren’t of much use, unless you want to kill
frogs, or shoot red-winged blackbirds, or something of that sort, and of course
no little girl wants to go killing things, because it’s cruel, and not pleasant
besides. se

Ben is only six years old, and he’s still in dresses, so he’s almost as good as a
girl, and he’s got a thimble and likes to sew — once in a while.

The first thing we did about our fair was to establish a bank ; papa says that
is the correct expression, but he laughed a great deal about our bank, and said
that there hadn’t been such an institution since Jackson broke the United
States Bank.

Papa is very funny sometimes, and it must have been one of his jokes to
call our bank an institution, because every one knows that’s a big house, and
ours wasn’t a house at all, but just an imitation bronze Santa Claus.

I do hope Jackson won’t break our bank, but of course it would break if he



THE MORIARTY-DUCKLING FAIR.

should throw it down hard on a stone, and why people still vote for such an
unpleasant man (papa says they do in the back counties), who smashes banks
just for fun, we can’t understand.

We «srote our accounts in our bank book. Papa laughed at the book even
more than he did at the bank, which was funny, because when I asked him
if that wasn’t the right thing to do, he said, “O, yes! certainly.” And then he
laughed again.

Grown people are so queer; they all have bank books. Papa has one, and
mamma has one, but when we have one, then they laugh.

Ours was just a home-made affair. I made it out of yellow paper from Uncle
George’s paper-mill, and
fastened it round the neck
of the bank (Santa Claus,
that is) with a piece of tin-
sel. This is what it said
on the outside: SANTA
KLAWS’S BANK.

I know now that that
isn’t the right way to spell
Santa Claus, but I didn’t
then. Papa says it is very
funny that a little girl who
hears about Santa Claus,
and reads stories about him
every Christmas, shouldn’t
be able to spell his name.
But papa never was a little
girl, of course, and he
doesn’t know what trouble
we have with that horrible
spelling.

Our first deposit (that’s
a pretty hard word, isn’t
it?) was quite a big one —
for us, that is to say.

Ben put forty-two cents in the bank, and a small lead pig, but he took the
pig out again afterwards, so I scratched it off the book. I put in half a dollar,
so the total was ninety-two cents, and one lead pig !

Oh! how much trouble we had with that total! Every time either of us put
im a cent, or mamma gave us any pennies, why, it made another. total—a
different one, that is, so that adding up our money kept us pretty busy.

But that wasn’t the worst of it. When mamma found that we had so many

Hyg









































































































































































PICKING UP THE PINS.



THE MORIARTY-DUCKLING FAIR.

pennies, she said that they were extremely convenient to make change with.
Now the egg man, the vegetable man and the clam man never do have one bit
of change, so mamma would constantly say, ‘‘ Daisy, can’t you lend me a few
pennies out of your bank ?”

And of course I could, because by taking out one screw in the middle of his
back, he came in two pieces; but it was a great deal of bother, and then I had
to write down all these loans in the bank book. Of course that made minuses,
which aren’t half as nice as pluses; and then I had to remind mamma to pay
back what she had borrowed, and add all over again!

It seemed as if we never should get three dollars and twenty cents; that was
for the ice-cream money; eight quarts of cream at forty cents a quart.

But we did at last. Mamma paid me a quarter of a dollar for hemming a
dozen napkins, and Ben earned more pennies by sitting still at his spelling
lesson; you see he likes to sit in the most peculiar attitudes when he spells.
Sometimes he has his feet over the arm of his chair, and sometimes he kicks the
varnish off the sofa with his boots, and one day he really put his feet over the
back of the chair, and his hands on the seat! Mamma says it’s just like teach-
ing a monkey.

Oh! how glad I was to write in our bank book: “ Finis of the ice-cream
money.”

Then I made a neat little ornamental scroll, and we began on the lemon
money —for the lemonade, that was. It was only two dollars, however, and
the Ducklings helped us on that; they are our new neighbors, and they thought
a fair would be “ lovely!”

Tommy Duckling is a very nice boy, though he’s only five years old. He
gave me thirty cents for my “misleanous little expenses,” and J don’t care if
he does roar in a loud voice. Besides, his grandmother is stone deaf, and so he
can’t help it — roaring loud, I mean.

Tom and Ben don’t really belong to our sewing circle, because they’re boys,
and because there weren’t enough amber beads for badges for them, too. Hach
“member in regular standing” of our Sewing Society has a badge made of a
long pin, with a real amber bead at the top; but we did let Ben come and sew
sometimes, because he screamed so that mamma couldn’t write, and besides, he
kicked my door so hard that I was afraid he would knock off all the paint. We
made him an honorary member, and I fixed up a badge for him, with a ball of
gilt sealing-wax on the end of a broken needle.

When mamma found that we were “really in earnest,” as she said, she
bought me nice splashers and other things to embroider, and Mrs. Duckling was
ever so kind, and gave us silk flowers and other materials that were just lovely.

We had our sewing circle in my little room; a little swallow’s nest, mamma
calls it, just under the eaves. It was oh! so cosey up there, although we were
rather short of chairs.



THE MORIARTY-DUCKLING FAIR.

Daphne had the old high chair, because she was the smallest. Marian had
the little rattan rocking-chair with the bottom out, because that was the chair
she liked best, and it really had a very good seat, made of wood and covered
with plush, that we girls fixed up ourselves. I sat on a common chair, only its
back was rather weak, and if I leaned back too suddenly, it would « crack,” and
give us such a scare !

One day mamma came up to see how we were getting on.

“Why, children! you can’t stay here; it’s as hot as fury,” said mamma, only
she didn’t really say “fury.” “Why don’t you go and sit out under the big
chestnut-tree ? There is lovely shade there.”

Mamma never understands how much trouble it is for children to move their
things. Iwas just in the midst of cutting out a lovely doll’s frock; I really
couldn't stop that minute, so Marian and Daphne said they would pick the
things up.

I don’t see why Marian needs to giggle so much, and why she need be
always “fooling.” She thinks everything is so funny. Now I don’t think it’s
very funny to upset a whole basket of another person’s pins; but that’s just
what Marian did, though of course she didn’t do it on purpose.

“TI think you’re ever so careless, Marian,” said I. “There are my pins
scattered all over the floor, and it'll take years to pick them up.”

“Oh! how funny you are, Daisy. Years to pick them up, he, he, he!
Why, I can do it in five minutes, ha, ha, ha!’

“Well, then, I wish you would, for I can’t leave off what ’m doing. This
is very important.”

I said this ina mild, but very majestic tone, just as Miss Luce, the dressmaker,
talks when we girls bother her. But Marian doesn’t understand these things.
She gave me such a droll look, and said to Daphne in a loud whisper :

“Ain't she severe? I’m really afraid of her.”

Of course I had to laugh then. I don’t believe Miss Luce herself could have
helped it.

Dear me! if we hadn’t all laughed so it would never have happened, and I
really don’t think it was all my fault. Marian could hardly pick up the pins,
she was laughing so much, and presently she said:

“Daphne, I think you might help me with these horrid old dirty pins.”

Now they were really nice clean new pins, almost all of them, although
there were two or three that were bent in the middle, or rather stubby at the
points, because we had picked them out of the cracks of the floor. One had a
lovely big head of red sealing-wax. Miss Luce made it for me out of a broken
needle. That was our favorite pin, and when Marian tried to pick it up, Daphne
pushed her, because she wanted it, too. O, dear me! and I stopped a moment
to watch them, with the scissors open in my hands. And the points were stick-
ing up! Ididn’t hold them so but one single second. Just at that moment



THE MORIARTY-DUCKLING FAIR.

Daphne pushed Marian, and she lost her balance, and tumbled right over against
my knees, and against those awful scissors.

Such a scream as the poor child gave. I certainly thought those points had
gone into her heart.

“Tve killed her; I’ve killed her! Oh! what shall I do?”

Daphne screamed too, and then Marian, who had staggered up, turned
deadly pale, and leaned against the bureau. Everything seemed to be going
‘round and ’round before my eyes, and I thought the world was coming to
an end.

II.

I believe we should all three have fainted away if my own dear mamma
hadn’t burst into the room just at that moment.

She was as white as a sheet, but she didn’t lose any time in fooling.

“ Marian’s killed!” screamed Daphne. “ Daisy ran the scissors into her.”

And with that mamma began to look a sort of green color, for she can’t bear
the sight of blood. But she bit her lip hard, and threw half the pitcher of cold
water over poor Marian’s face, and the rest over mine.

“Daphne, run for Dr. James, at the corner, as quick as you can, and, Daisy,
you tell Bridget to get me some ice at once, and send Katy here.”

We just flew downstairs. Bridget seemed to be an hour getting the ice,
though she said she was only three minutes.

The ice was to stop the blood, I found out afterward. It all seemed to me
like the most awful sort of dream, and I kept wishing I could wake up. Oh!
how unhappy I was, sitting in the parlor crying all by myself, and wondering
what the doctor would say. Presently I heard his step on the stair; I couldn’t
very well help hearing it, for he weighs two hundred and eighty pounds, and
walks exactly like an elephant.

I rushed out into the entry, and seized the skirts of his long black coat, for
he was going right out of the door without stopping to look at me.

“©, Doctor! will she get well? Have I killed her?”

The doctor smiled for a minute, I suppose because I looked so queer; my
pinafore all drenched with water, and covered with odds and ends of wet doll’s
rags, my eyes all red with crying, and my curly hair standing up on end. Then
he looked grave and said:

“ You gave her a pretty bad cut, my dear and it might have been a danger-
ous thing, but I think she’ll be well before very long, Rs her blood is in good
condition.”

Marian was taken home in a hack, and when I went back to my anny room
it seemed as if some awful tragedy had taken place there. Those horrid pins
were lying on the floor, and I picked them up as well as I could for crying.



THE MORIARTY-DUCKLING FAIR.

This was on Friday afternoon, and Saturday was a black day for me. I
didn’t dare to go to the Ducklings’ to ask how Marian was, because I was afraid
to see Mrs. Duckling, after injuring her dear little daughter so badly.

On Sunday morning Ben and I walked to church together, and as we passed
by the Ducklings’ door, we glanced up at the windows to see if there was any
sign of Marian. At that
moment the front door
opened, and who should walk
out but Mrs. Duckling and
Marian herself.

I’m afraid I screamed for
joy, in spite of its being Sun-
day, and we ran up the steps,
and I hugged and kissed the _/
dear girl till she said I would - |//|
break her new blue parasol.

Oh! what a relief it is to
find one is not a murderer.
I never was so happy in my
life as when our dear little
Marian walked out of that
door, alive and well and
happy.

We all walked to church
together, and Marian seemed
a good deal more dignified
than usual. I think now that
it was the blue parasol;
people can't be Ee thought- MRS. GRIMPIL LADLED THE ICE-CREAM.
less when they have new
clothes. I have known girls look ever so serious when they had new bonnets.

On that Sunday it worried me to have Marian seem so quiet and grown-up,
and I was afraid about that condition in her blood, of which Dr. James spoke.
All through the sermon I kept wondering whether it had got in or not. As we
came out of church I asked Mrs. Duckling whether she thought a condition could
have got into Marian’s blood.

“ What do you mean, child?” said she.

“ The doctor said Marian would get well, ma’am, if a condition didn’t get into
her blood.”

Mrs. Duckling laughed, and said Marian’s blood was all right, she was very
sure.

Ben said I walked home justasif I were jumping rope, but I couldn’t help it.











THE MORIARTY-DUCKLING FAIR.

How can a girl help skipping and hopping when she finds that she isn’t a
murderess, and that her poor dear friend hasn’t got any condition in her blood?

Mamma said that we must use round-pointed scissors after that, and when I
wanted to cut with the other kind of scissors, that I must come to her room and .
use hers.

It made a good deal of fuss and bother, to be running up and down stairs so
often, but when I remembered that an inch more rice have killed our dear
Marian, why, I didn’t mind so much.

Well, we sewed and we sewed and we sewed, and the Bo-peep children made
a lot of things, too, and at last mamma said we might have the fair.

Papa sighed very dismally when he heard of it, and said he would just as lief
have a menagerie, or Barnum’s circus let loose in our best parlor as a children’s
fair. Papa always is so funny about such things. He said if our wall paper and
carpets and pictures must be destroyed, he’d rather do the deed himself. He
and mamma and Mrs. Snapshot worked all that evening; we could hear them,
Ben and I, though they thought we were asleep.

You wouldn’t have known our parlor in the morning. Great sheets were
hung over the walls, so as to cover up that precious wall paper; all our carpets
were gone, and some large old rugs of Mrs. Snapshot’s laid down in their place.
There were some lovely looking tables standing about, all draped with snowy
linen, as Marian said. Marian is rather poetical, and when I told her it was
only new cotton cloth laid over long boards, with barrels to hold the boards up,
she said “ she didn’t care ; it looked lovely!”

But our fair table was the prettiest. Miss Snapshot lent us an enormous fan,
tall as Ben, and we hung that up in the bow-window, behind the table; then we
had oceans of fans spread out on the table, and hung up on lines against the wall.

That was Ben’s and Daphne’s table, but they were so shy, they just held
down their heads when any one asked the price of the eS and Miss Snapshot
had to do all the selling.

The candy table, flower table and fish pond were all on the back piazza, and
the children all ate their candy out of doors, like little lambs.

The lemonade bower was perfectly lovely, all made of evergreen boughs,
and the ice-cream bower was so funny!

The dining-room, of course, had to be used as a refreshment room, and we
didn’t know where under the sun we should put the ice-cream, for the kitchen
was as hot asfury! At last Mrs. Grimpil said she’d fix that all right, so she made
herself the queerest “bower” any one ever saw, on the front piazza. It was
made of our big clothes horse, covered with bright chintz curtains, and was put
right against the dining-room window. No one could see Mrs. Grimpil from the
outside, and there she sat, spectacles and all, ladling out the ice-cream, and
handing it through the dining-room window whenever it was called for — and it
was, very often.



THE MORIARTY-DUCKLING FAIR.

Oh! how excited we were when the first carriage drove up. It was old
Colonel Mixer’s, and he came himself with his wife and daughter. He is a very
stern-looking man, and we were all awfully afraid of him. But he bought a lot
of things —a sofa-pillow, ten bookmarks, some toy flatirons (I don’t know what
he wanted them for, for his children are all grown-up), and a lot of vegetables.
John, the gardener, said we could have some lettuce and radishes to sell, so we
thought that we might as well.

Next came Mrs. Duckling, and Marian made her buy that big orange-colored
tidy embroidered in Turkey red, for we knew nobody else would. After that
people came so fast we couldn’t count them, and the carriage doors went bang !
every minute.

The money in our cash box kept piling up and piling up, till we began to
think that making money was the easiest thing in the world. At first we had
ever so much trouble making change, for every one brought bills — two, five and
even ten dollar bills, and nobody had a cent of change. Our cashier, Mrs.
Sears, brought two dollars in change to start the bank with, but that was soon
used up, and I don’t know what we should have done if George Duckling hadn’t
run down to Jennings’ Bakery and got two great big rolls of pennies and
nickels.

Old Mrs. Smith grumbled a good deal when Marian gave her one dollar and
ninety-seven cents change in pennies. But mamma says it is not reasonable in
people to spend only three cents for gum drops at a fair, and expect to have a
two dollar bill changed into the bargain.

-It was great fun selling the things so fast, only it did worry us to see that
the change was just right, and one very good, kind man said [’'d given him
fifty cents too much. He gave Marian and me each five cents to buy a dipper
of lemonade with. You see we had the lemonade dipped out of the well with a
cocoanut dipper, because it looked more rustic, Marian said, though we had china
mugs for people to drink out of.

Edith Snapshot was having a splendid time at the lemonade well, although
she'd made two great yellow spots on her pink silk sash by spilling lemonade on
it. “J don’t care, though,” said Edith. She’s always so careless about her
clothes, because she has such lots of them. “It’s only an old sash, and Nurse
can fold it so the spots won’t show.”

“ How much money have you made, Edith?”

' “Twelve dollars; and Lotta has made six at the candy table. How much
have you girls made?”

“ Highteen at the fan table, and thirty-five at our fancy table. But, Edith,
you haven’t got twelve dollars in that cigar-box, have you? Haven’t you sent
any in to Mrs. Sears?”

“No. I ought to have sent it in, but P’'ve been so busy ladling out lemonade
and watching those bothersome boys, to see that they didn’t steal a drink while





THE MORIARTY-DUCKLING FAIR.

I wasn’t looking. Ill count the money now, and you take it to the cashier,
Daisy, won’t you please, like a dear good girl?”

1 was in a dreadful hurry, because I’d left my table all alone except for that
little Peters girl. She is the most dreadful little goose about arithmetic, and if
she adds eight and five, she has to count it on her fingers. However, it seemed
mean not to oblige Edith, and Mrs. Sears said we ought to hand our money over
to her as soon as we had five dollars.

So Edith and Marian and I began to count the money. There were twelve
dimes and five quarters, six nickels and forty-two pennies and a roll of bills in-
one corner. Marian counted the pennies, Edith the silver, and I counted the
bills. There were only two one dollar bills.

“ Why, Edith! here are only two dollars,” said I.

“‘Isn’t there a five dollar bill there, and a two, and two ones?”

“JT can’t find them,” said I, worried enough. Dear me! I wonder whether
I looked as frightened as those other two girls. Marian had a scared look in her
eyes, and Edith was all of a tremble. We hunted in every corner of the bower
—on the counter and under it, and all in among the long grass, and under the
mugs, and even looked into the lemonade well to see if those unlucky bills
could have tumbled in, and we counted the money over till we were fairly tired.

What had become of it? Could that Beecham boy have taken it? He
had peeped in at the garden gate so wistfully that Edith, who is the best-
hearted girl in the world, invited him to come in and have a mug of lemonade.
He looked so forlorn, in a torn hat and ragged trousers, and seemed to enjoy
the lemonade so much, Edith said. He didn’t criticise, either, as some of the
boys did. He was perfectly satisfied with the lemons, and the sugar, and the
little bit of pineapple taste, and actually smacked his lips. Of course that wasn’t
polite, but then I don’t suppose he knew any better. Edith remembered stoop-
ing to look under the counter to pick up one of the mugs while he was
standing near. Did he snatch the bills while she had her head poked under
there ?

O, dear! It seemed so dreadful to lose our money, and to have that poor
boy a thief.

Just as we were wondering what we should do, one of the Fish girls came run-
ning up, holding the Bennett baby by one hand. His mouth and cheeks and hands
were covered with stuff like red paint, and he was roaring tremendously.

“ Daisy Moriarty, your candy is all red paint and poison,” said Stella Fish ;
“and I don’t know what will become of Tommy Bennett, for he’s covered with
it, and how much more is in his stomach, I don’t know.”

Tommy began to cry louder than ever, and as for me, I felt just sick of fairs
aud money-making, and candy and troubles, though I didn’t more than half
believe the candy was poison. Presently I caught sight of mamma’s blue dress,
coming around the corner of the house.



THE MORIARTY-DUCKLING FAIR.

TIT.

Oh! how glad I was to see her. Mamma came right up to us, and all the
_ girls began talking at once, so that she couldn’t hear a thing.

“ Now, children, you must speak one at a time, for I can’t understand a
word you say when you all talk at once,” said mamma, in her calm, quiet way.
’ After the racket had stopped a little, “Stella Fish,” she continued, ‘“ what
ails Tommy Bennett — has he hurt himself ?” 5;

What foolish creatures babies are! Just as soon as Tommy heard his name
called, he began to roar again, as if that was the only way he could answer.

Mamma picked him up in her arms, though I don’t see how she could have,
he was so sticky and teary, and generally mussed up and horrid. She began to
wipe the red off his hands and mouth with her handkerchief, very calmly and
quietly.

“Lor, ma’am, ain’t that poison paint?” said Stella. (I know that “ain't”
isn’t good grammar, but Stella said it, just the same.)

“Why, no,” said mamma. “It can’t be very poisonous, because I have
known children to eat a great deal of this candy without really hurting them-
selves. At the same time, I would never have allowed the children to have it
at the fair if I had known about it.”

At this Marian and I hung our heads, for we knew it was all our fault.
Mamma wanted to buy the candy for us, but we thought we could do a great
deal better ourselves, and we picked out those little red round pieces of candy
that looked like beans, because they were such a lovely bright red color. I shall
never buy candy that looks like that again.

Stella looked a little less gloomy when she found mamma wasn’t worried,
though she hated to give up the idea of poison. Stella always thinks that
everything is poisonous or dangerous or something.

“Some candy is poisonous, isn’t it, ma'am?” she ventured to say.

“T believe it is, and children are better off without any candy, in my
opinion,” said mamma.

Stella is awfully fond of candy, so she didn’t say anything more after that,
but took Tommy into the house to have his face and hands and his poor little
painty tongue washed.

Mamma looked pretty grave when she heard about our losing the money, and
the Beecham boy and all.

She said that some of the ladies would take our tables for us, and we must get
the boys to help us, and make a grand searching party to find the lost money.

Edith wanted to send the town constable (he happened to be eating ice-cream
in the dining-room) after the Beecham boy, because she said she knew we never
could find the money. But mamma said we couldn’t take away a poor boy’s
character on such small evidence as that, and that we must look.



THE MORIARTY-DUCKLING FAIR.

Miss Sears took Edith’s place at the lemonade table, and we started on our
search, ruefully enough. Everybody else was having such a good time, it did
seem too mean that we should have to spend all that lovely afternoon grubbling
in the grass, and looking under bushes, and in the fence corners, and in all sorts
of horrid places. Out of doors looks pleasant enough until you lose something
there, and then you find what a hateful, aggravating place it is, especially grass.
I don’t see why things need go fall into grass, and go right down to the very
roots of it, but they always do; I never knew anything to get lost on a path,
where one could find it easily and comfortably.

What a lovely time every one seemed to be having in the parlor! We could
hear such a buzz of voices, and now and then a laugh. They were auctioning
off the last fans at the fan table, and I could see through the open window a
crowd of people around the table, bidding five, ten, fifteen cents, and all those
dear little Japanese fans that I wanted so badly for my doll-house were being
bought up by people who didn’t want them half as much asI did. One selfish
boy had six fans. I was quite out of patience with him, till Marian reminded
me that the more we sold the more money we should make by the fair.

We went all over that wretched lawn on our hands and knees, grubbling and
erubbling. When we got around near the dining-room window and caught a
glimpse of the chintz bower, where we knew Mrs. Grimpil was ladling out the
ice-cream, HEdith’s patience quite gave out.

“J don’t see the use of our digging up all your grass by the roots, with our
fingers, and spoiling your lilies of the valley when Mr. Dunn is right here, and
I believe that’s the thief looking over the fence.”

I looked up, and there, sure enough, was the Beecham boy, with a lot of
others, right in front of the house, and Mrs. Grimpil was selling them ice-cream
over the fence. Perhaps they were paying for it with ourmoney. The idea of
it made us awfully angry, and we were hot and tired and thirsty, and that made
us feel worse.

Mr. Dunn poked his head out of the dining-room window when Edith spoke
his name in such a loud voice, and asked what we wanted, and whether we were
looking for anything.

Edith jumped up from the ground so quickly that she Rugeked her face
against a rose bush, and the pricking of the thorns made her crosser than ever.

«We've lost seven dollars, Mr. Dunn, and I believe that Beecham boy took
it, and that he’s buying our ice-cream now with the money. He was standing
right by my lemonade well when I lost the money, and I know he took it.”

Mr. Dunn was out by the front fence in a trice, and the first thing we knew,
he had the Beecham boy by the shoulder, bringing him in to where we were.

“This young lady accuses you of having stolen seven dollars of her money,”
said Mr. Dunn, oh! in such astern voice. ‘“ Now what have you got to say
for yourself?”



THE MORIARTY-DUCKLING FAIR.

I shall never forget the look on that Beecham boy’s face. He looked so
wretched and unhappy, so white, and his lips were so tightly pressed together
that they were really blue. And yet there was a light in his eyes, a burning
look, as if he had some spirit left, if the constable did have hold of him.

“J didn’t take it, sir; the young lady is mistaken.” That wasall he said, in
a dogged sort of way.

“We'll soon see,” said Mr. Dunn, and he began looking in all his pockets.
Presently he held up a five dollar bill.

By this time a crowd had gathered about us, and word was passed from one
to another that the Beecham boy had stolen our lemonade money.

“What do you say, sir, now I’ve found the money on you?” said Mr. Dunn.

“ That's my own money ;' my week’s wages, which have just been paid me.”

“A likely story,” said Mr. Dunn. “You come before the justice with me.”

He began to drag him away, the boy holding back and saying he wasn’t a
thief.

Edith was crying to think the poor fellow would have to go to prison; the
boys outside the fence were calling out “ thief! thief!” and there was the most
dreadful noise and confusion.

Just then little Tom Duckling came running up, with some crumpled, wet-
looking bills in his hand.

“ Here’s your money!” he screamed out to Edith. “Here it is!”

And sure enough; when Tommy spread out the money, there were the five
and the two dollar bills, safe and sound.

“JT found it,” said Tommy, “in that little low place, with the bricks around
it, by the cellar window, and somebody’s been emptying water on it.”

We all danced and jumped for joy, though Edith looked rather shamefaced,
to think she’d been so careless. How the money got there we never knew, but
probably the wind blew it out of the box.

Mr. Dunn still seemed half inclined to carry off the Beecham boy. He let
go of his collar rather reluctantly, and then he cleared his throat, and said :

“Ahem, ahem! Beecham, this is a warning to you. Don’t ever let this
happen again.”

As if it were the poor Beecham boy’s fault that Edith let her money blow
away.

One of the gentlemen wanted to give him some money because he’d been
unjustly suspected, but he drew himself up, and in spite of his rags he really
looked quite grand when he said, “ Thank you, sir. I couldn’t possibly take it.” ~

Mamma was the cleverest, for she gave him a big loaf of cake, and a nice
book that I had got tired of reading. His eyes sparkled when he saw the book.
He thanked mamma very warmly, and as he walked out of the gate, with the
cake under his arm, and the book in his hand, he looked oh! so pleased and
proud, and the other boys didn’t tease him any more.



THE MORIARTY-DUCKLING FAIR.











“NOW WHAT HAVE YOU GOT TO SAY FOR YOURSELF?’ SAID MR. DUNN.

We went back to our tables with a great weight off our hearts, and when I
found that the ladies had sold that hideous splasher, with purple storks and blue
frogs on it, and all those ugly blue worsted mats, why, I felt as if we should sell
everything.



FALL DAYS.

Did we? Well, not quite; but we had not much left. Mamma said she
kept a provision store for the next two or three days, selling candy, butter, cake,
lettuce, cold ham, and other things left from the refreshment room.

After that unlucky scrape with the poor Beecham boy no one lost any more
money. We made two hundred and eight dollars, counting everything, and
taking out the money paid for fans and ice-cream and things.

When the report of the Blind Institution came, we found that they had got
money enough to build their kindergarten, and our fair money was part of it.
There it was, in black and white:

Fair in Blanktown by the Moriarty and Duckling children ; 5 : 3 : $208.33

So besides all the fun and good time we had, we had helped the little blind
children. We children thought we'd like to have another fair the next year,
but mamma said she must have two years to rest in before we had another one.

Florence Howe Hall.

FALL DAYS.

HE flowers will go to the races
That the wind has talked about ;
So with heads bent down with laughter
They merrily start them out.

The leaves are going to race, you know,
And they’re dressed in colors gay ;
And the sun is shining redly
On this smoky autumn day.

Now the wind puffs out his signal,
And with all their might and main

The leaves go tumbling wildly down
Like a shower of colored rain.

The end of it all is not so gay
As the sun withdraws his light,
For the skies are weeping in sorrow
Over leafless trees to-night.
L. E. Chittenden.



THES APPEE BEOSSOM “FEAST,

(A Translated Festival.)

HE joyous Japanese have a beautiful custom of observing festival days when
certain flowers are in bloom. The feast is named after the flower which
is in season. The cherry is the pride of flowering trees in Japan, and the
“cherry viewing” is the event of the spring. It comes in April. The winter
is gone and forgotten, and old and young in holiday dress seek the parks where
the cherry-trees are in flower, and everything is as gay as a fair. They view
the blossoms with delight, and sip a little tea and cherry-blossom water; but the
soul of the festival is the beauty of the cherry blossom. In a like observance
of flower festivals at our time of new moon or of harvest, we but pay a tribute
to nature, who has been to us as beautiful and bountiful as to the Japanese.

It was after reading descriptions of these festivals, that a certain family de-
termined to act on the thought suggested and to make a holiday when the apple
blossoms came. Accordingly, letters were dispatched to every member of the
family, bidding them come to the meadows to keep the Apple Blossom Feast.

In every household whither the letters were sent, followed days of happy
hurrying. There were great preparations being made for something. The
children were being prepared to go somewhere, and they, the sweet little
imitators, were getting their dollies ready to go also. The pleasant chattering
as boxes and bundles were strapped and tagged was incessant, and the pleasant-
ness was infectious. The holiday was already begun before they had started.
The elaborate preparations showed that the trip promised great pleasure.
Everything that was lying around on chair or table or stand or stool, was made
of pink and white. Dresses, tea-cloths, doll-cloaks, were ornamented with the
same device. The house was so filled with rose-pink and white, it seemed like
an orchard in bloom. In each house it was the same. All the Alabasters were
to keep the Feast of the Apple Blossoms. Word came up from the meadows,
saying, “ By the third day from this the apple-trees will be in full bloom,” and
the packing began. When the last knot was tied, and the last trunk strapped,
every one was so tired and so happy! So much for the anticipation of a new
sensation. The Apple Blossom Feast had not before been set down in the cal-
endar of the year’s holidays.

The orchard grass was as close cut and smooth as the most fastidious park-
keeper could wish. Small tables, chairs, benches, rugs, everything that luxuri-
ous out-of-door life requires, was in readiness for the feasters. The lawn tents
were rose-pink and white. The sky was blue, the sunshine warm, and it was all
pretty enough for a princess's wedding. Everybody wore the apple blossom.
Father, mother and baby carried a branch.



AN OLD LESSON IN A NEW PARABLE.

“ Of course it’s beautiful to get out of doors and welcome the blossom time on
said a sweet-faced mother. “I wonder that we never thought of it before.”

“ Never mind; we've thought of it now, or somebody thought of it for us;
let’s be happy while the blossoms last,” gaily answered a young girl, whose face
was fair like an apple blossom.

“Tf these days would only stay,” said another. But some one rejoined,
“Tf these days staid with us, we should never have apples,” and a little wise-
acre added, “If it were always blossom time we should never get to Christmas.”

When the blossoms began to fade the pretty pink cups were packed, the
trunks strapped, the bundles tagged, and the families so pleasantly united in
the merry-making returned to their homes, happy that the year had a new
holiday.

H. E. Tudley.



AN OLD LESSON IN A NEW PARABLE.

N the Journey of Life many men board the train
That is bound toward “ Unlimited Wealth,”
Intending to stop at a small wayside town
To change cars for “Statesmanship,” “Culture,” “Renown,”
Or simple “Home Joys” and “Good Health.”

“Just Enough” is the name of this small wayside town
Where so many intend to alight;

But if you'll believe it, of all of the men

Who buy tickets to stop, not one out of ten

Knows the place when it comes into sight!

And still stranger than this: every man of them thinks
That the Brakeman has made a mistake,

And has called “Just Enough” a station too soon;

And all of them vote him as crazed as a loon

Such a palpable blunder to make!

But alas! when the next station proves not to be
“Just Enough,” they deny that ’tis passed,
But look for it still, as they speed on their way
Toward “Unlimited Wealth;” until some fine day
They’re upset in a ditch at the last.
Henrietta R. Eliot.



JONATHAN'S VISIT -TO° THE PARM,

66 HOOP!”
“ Why, Jonathan, it’s Sunday.”

“’Twon’t be wicked if I do whoop, Tilda, for we’re going to grandpapa’s; I
heard papa tell mamma two minutes ago.”

Tilda gave a little squeal, and skipped about the veranda. “ When are we
going?”

“Tuesday; papa can’t go, but mamma and you and I are going, to rest
mamma.

“°T would be nice if papa was going,” said Tilda thoughtfully ; “ I won’t preach
when I grow up.”

“Girls never preach,” said Jonathan scornfully. “They can’t, Tilda Gray.”

“Girls are as good as boys,” cried Tilda furiously. “I shall preach if I
want to.” ;

“O, my! ain’t ye ’shamed,” said old Hannah, who had opened the dining-
room door, and stood looking at them. “ An’ you the minister’s children, too.”
‘““We ain’t to blame,” cried Tilda. “ An’ Jonathan ain’t a good brother.”

““ Ef ye don’t be good, both on ye, this instant minute, I feel’t in my bones
ye won't go nowheres,” said Hannah gravely. “I’ve got two tarts, I baked in
sassers for a boy an’ gal that used to be good, an’ now I shall have to eat ’em
myself.”

“No, you won't,” cried Jonathan and Tilda in one breath. “We'll be good,
Hannah.”

“ Forever, as true as leather,” added Jonathan.

Grandpapa and grandmamma Salisbury lived in a large, old-fashioned house,
beautiful for situation amidst the hills. It was painted red, and about it nestled
lilac, snow-ball and wax-ball bushes, and in front of it was a flower garden, in
which grew grass-pinks, ragged robins, four-o’clocks, balm, bergamot, and all the
old-fashioned flowers,

The’ day that Mrs. Gray and the children were expected, grandmamma began
watching the turn in the road where the carriage would first come in sight, di-
rectly after breakfast, and grandpapa trotted to the end of the drive, sure that he
heard wheels, fifty times at least. And when at last the carriage came rolling
up to the door, and grandpapa had taken Mrs. Gray in his arms, and called her
“my darling Louise” — “just as if she was a little girl,” said Tilda— it would
be difficult to tell whether the two laughing children or the tearful old people
were the happier.

After dinner grandpapa took Jonathan and Tilda about the farm. They had
taken the same walk many times, but it was always like traveling over a new



JONATHAN’S VISIT TO THE FARM.

and lovely country. The cheese-house, the corn-crib where there were huge
heaps of butternuts and hickory-nuts, the big hay-barn where the horses were
kept and the hens hid their nests—all these were interesting; but most of all
they enjoyed going down to the pasture, and seeing cows lick salt from a
wooden bowl that grandpapa carried down to them.

The next morning Jonathan was awake very early. The birds were singing,
and far away behind the big barn the chickens, and turkeys, and Guinea fowls
were making a great cackling and clucking, so he thought it was time for him
to be up; but he was strangely quiet about it. He usually danced and whistled
as he dressed himself, and when he bounced downstairs everybody in the house
heard him; but this morning when he entered the kitchen, and went up to Si
Jones, the hired man, who was standing in the open doorway, a milk pail in each
hand, and cried, “Say!” Si, though a very calm man, actually jumped straight
down the nine steps to the yard, he was so startled.

“Well,” he growled at Jonathan, “ what shall I say ?”

“Won't you let me see you milk, Mr. Jones?” said Jonathan with great
deference.

Si was not accustomed to deference, and felt flattered. “ Wall, I don’t keer,”
he said as he strode off.

The grass was full of rainbows, beautiful to look at, but ruimous to morocco
shoes, but Jonathan did not care for that; he ran in wide circles about Si Jones,
and stood on the cow-barn steps pulling at the padlock when he came up.

“ Naow ef ye meddle with the critters, ye can’t stay,” said Si,as he took
down his milking stool. “Yer gran’pa is dref'ul fond on ’em, an’ won’t have
’em fretted.”

After watching Si milk a sleek little Jersey, Jonathan was attracted to the
other end of the barn.

“Do you ever ride cows, Mr. Jones?” he screamed from the hay loft, after
a few moments of seeming stillness. And suddenly popping his head down over
the stall of the hooking cow, appeared about to plunge head foremost into her
manger.

“ My lan’! my lan’ o’ Goshen! Ef you don’t put fur the house you'll be
killed,” cried Si, starting up. “Get out’en that.”

Jonathan climbed down the ladder, and crept toward the door. He was
afraid of Si Jones. He thought the only danger he had to fear in the cow-barn
lurked in the heart of that tall, red-headed man. He sidled into the stall of the
little Jersey. Here was a chance for him to try riding a cow, for she was near
the open door, loosely tied, and he could jump on her back from a stool that
stood near. His idea was carried out in a moment, and with a wild snort the
Jersey dashed out the door, and galloped wildly up the meadow, Jonathan cling-
ing to her back like a bur. Grandpapa Salisbury saw her from his bedroom win-
dow, and ran out with only one slipper on, calling, “Co, boss! co, boss!” with



JONATHAN'S VISIT TO THE FARM.

all his might. She ran straight toward the bars, and when she had reached them
stopped suddenly. Jonathan slipped off her back. “ Didn’t I ride her nice,
grandpapa?” he cried.

Grandpapa’s stern face relaxed a little. “ Better than you'll ride a cow again,”
he said grimly ; “now go back to the yard, and don’t stir beyond the corn-crib
before breakfast.”

After sitting on the wheelbarrow in the big barn five whole minutes, Jonathan
thought he would just peep into the cheese-house, which was within the pre-
scribed limits. He found the door unlocked. Large tubs stood along the wall

on one side; on the other

a was a press, and a rack on

which cheese was drying.
First he stirred the whey
with his fingers, then he tried
the faucets, one after another,
leaving a little puddle of
whey under each one. The
last one turned easily, but
would not close. The whey
ran across the floor and un-
der the cheese press, and he
was tugging helplessly at the



poe spigot when he heard his
“We TRIED THE FAUCETS.”’ grandmamma calling him to
breakfast.

“Little boy, you’re a trackin’,” said M’nervy Jackson, who called herself
grandmamma’s “help,” as Jonathan entered the kitchen. “Take your shoes an’
stockings right off, an’ git into dry ones afore breakfast.”

Jonathan pattered upstairs with a heavy heart. He thought he could hear
the whey rushing across the cheese-house floor. Meanwhile M’nervy, who
had her suspicions, set the damp shoes on the stove-hearth, and began washing
out the stockings.

“These stockin’s smell cheesy, ’s true’s I’ve got a nose,’ she said to Si Jones,
who sat by the kitchen table eating his breakfast.

“Like nuf,” said Si calmly ; “he rid the Jersey cow lickety-split through the
clover lot this mornin’.”

“Ye don’t say,” said M’nervy, still sniffing at the stockings. “ But this ain’t
cow smell. Ye hevn’t seen him a-goin’ inter the cheese-house, now, hev ye?”

“No; but I see him a-comin’ out of it.”

“OQ, massy!” cried M’nervy, darting out of the kitchen door; and Si, who
followed slowly after her, saw a little rill of whey running over the cheese-house
door-sill.



JONATHAN'S VISIT TO THE FARM.

“T cannot trust a boy who has begun the day with so much mischief,’ said

Mrs. Gray after breakfast. “ You must undress yourself, and go to bed and stay
there till noon.”

As Jonathan tossed in
his bed he felt as if he
were going to burst. He
envied Tilda the tame
pleasure of looking at
grandmamma’s quilts. He
could hear them talking in
the next room. “ This is
a blazing-star quilted in
diamonds,” said grand-
mamma. “This is the
Bunker Hill Monument ;
but I think the most of
this wild-goose-chase.” He
wanted so much to know what
a wild-goose-chase quilt was that
he cried, and sat up in bed listen-
ing to their talk, till they went
downstairs; then he got up and
sat by the window.

The old-fashioned bureau stood
beside it. There were white glass
knobs to every drawer, and large
rosette-like knobs of milky glass un-
der the quaint old mirror framed
in hammered brass. Jonathan dis-
covered that these knobs could be
unscrewed, and he had them off
in a twinkling. Then he began
putting them on again; but the
first one he tried did not go on
easily, and he pulled open the
drawer to work better. There was little in the drawer besides two boxes. The
larger one was of wood painted green, the smaller one was oval, and covered
with porcupine quills, laid on ina wavy pattern. He opened the small box and
found within it a handsome snuff-box, half-full of snuff.

“I’ve heard of folks snuffing,” he thought ; “ Mr. Bates says Washington took
snuff. I wonder how it feels?” Then taking a liberal pinch, he put it as far as he
could up his round nose. It made his eyes water, and how he did sneeze! He




“(THE GREAT BARN REELED, THE BEAM
GREW SLIPPERY.”’



JONATHAN’S VISIT TO THE FARM.

had to hold a towel to his face he sneezed so hard, and finally crept into bed
panting and miserable, still holding the towel to his nose. Then recollecting he
had not explored the larger box, he was up in a minute. There was nothing in
it except a china tooth-powder box in which were half a dozen very large sugar-
coated pills. Jonathan had never seen or tasted any allopathic medicine, so to
him they looked innocent and even inviting. “Grandma takes ’em for her
cough,” he said to himself as he put three in his mouth. “ They are hoarhound
and licorice.” They tasted sweet, but peculiar, and he crushed them with his
strong teeth. ,;

Inafew minutes Grandmamma Salisbury, Mamma Gray and Tilda were startled
by Jonathan, who burst into the sitting-room crying, his face very pale, and his
night-gown very snuffy.

“T’m going to die, mamma,” he quavered; “I’ve took what was in the green
box;” and sobbing uncontrollably, he dropped into her lap, a very wretched
little boy indeed.

Grandmamma, who had started up trembling at his stormy entrance, sat down
again and laughed.

“ Don’t worry, Louise,” she said as she picked up her knitting, “he’s only
chewed up some of old Dr. Turnpike’s Indian vegetable pills.”

“ Now, children,” said grandmamma, “it’s Monday — alwaysa busy day for me.
Your mamma is sick with the headache, your grandfather is going to Decatur,
so I must trust you to take care of yourselves. And for all our sakes I do hope
you'll be good, Jonathan.”

“‘ Grandmamma,” said Jonathan earnestly, and trying to speak as his father did
when he wanted to impress his congregation, “‘ my sufferings last Wednesday will
last me a spell. We'll be good. Won't we, Tilda? And please, grandmamma,
I think we’d be the best in the attic.”

“ Well,” said grandmamma, hastily thinking over the stores of the attic, “you
may go up there this morning, but you must be very quiet. If you are not, you
will have to come down directly.”

The attic was high, and well lighted. Wooden chests full of bedding stood
along the sides of it; aspinning-wheel and-a flax-wheel were in one corner.
Quaint old chairs that would delight the lover of old furniture stood about, and
in the middle of the floor was a fine old cherry table crowded with boxes of eggs,
and jars of pickles and preserves. Bunches of herbs and dried apples hung
from the rafters. On a brass hook perched a pair of swifts, and above one of
the windows was a cavalry sword in a moldy scabbard, and a rusty old gun.

“This is a splendid place,’ said Tilda, rocking herself in one of the old
chairs. ‘I wonder if any of those bunches are pep’mint, Jonathan. I do so love
pep mint.”

Jonathan soon discovered a bunch of peppermint. “ Now, Tilda,” he said,
holding the herbs behind him, “you must be Miss Tubbs a-having a turn, and



JONATHAN’S VISIT TO THE FARM.

Tll be old Doctor Jewlop come to cure you. How'd do, Miss Tubbs? Guess
you're bill-us. Tl fix you a dose, Miss Tubbs. Such a dose you'll wink.”

“If you do,” cried the patient, rocking very hard, “I sha’n’t take it, for I
ain’t sick.”

“ Yes, you be,” said Doctor Jewlop, shaking his forefinger at her. “You're
Miss Tubbs a-having a turn. Stick out your tongue. Hain’t had no chills, have
you? This medicine’ll cure you; my, won't it! Take it reo’lar till it’s all took.”
He put abunch of peppermint into Miss Tubbs’s right hand, and a little bunch of
lobelia into her left. “This is to be took alter’ing with that.”

“What's that?” said Tilda, sniffing at the lobelia.

“ That’s real medicine, and you've got to take it.”

“ Tdon’t want to;” a big tear trickled down Miss Tubbs’s plump cheek. “I
can’t if 1 die in my turn. Real med’cine’s like that pill you chewed. I know.
[ve tasted Doctor Jewlop’s drops once. They was mamma’s. O, dear!”

Jonathan relented at the recollection of the pill. “ Well, you needn’t take
it, only you know Miss Tubbs’s turns are dangerous.”

Tilda nibbled at the lobelia just to see what it did taste like, and then began
to cry loudly.

“Don’t,” pleaded Johnathan; “we'll have to go downstairs, and be shut up.
Hat some peppermint, and let’s play with this funny old wheel.”

He turned the spinning-wheel round and round. “See here, Tilda, it’s like
old crazy Hugh’s machine that he said would keep a-going forever, only it’s
bigger and hasn’t any weights on the edge of it. If I had a gimlet I could fix it.”

“They’s a gimbeletin the barn,” said Tilda, wiping her eyes. “I know just
where;” and she skipped off to get it.

While she was gone, Jonathan peeped into a long box that stood under one
of the windows. It was full of eggs laid in salt, and as he had never seen them
packed so before, he tried to remove one. It had a soft shell, and he quickly
thrust his forefinger into it. He wondered if there were any more soft-shelled
eggs. Yes, there were many of them; and before Tilda returned every egg of
the top layer had a round hole in it.

It was somewhat difficult to bore holes in the tire of the spinning-wheel, but
Jonathan succeeded in making a dozen, in which he tied some small bags of bul-
lets that Tilda had found hanging by their long strings over an odd stand. But
the spinning-wheel was as motionless as before, and turned only when set a-going.
So Jonathan gave up his hope of making a perpetual-motion machine of it.

“T wasn’t born to fix wheels,’ he said wearily. “’Tain’t in me. I wonder
what we'd better do next.” Just then he caught sight of the sword and gun,
and his face brightened. “ T’ll tell you what le’s do, le’s play war. You shall be
the British army, and I'll be a patriot and fight you.”

“T don’t want to be a British army. I’m a patriot, too,” cried Tilda.

“You can’t be, for we can’t both be patriots and fight. Your dress is red, and



JONATHAN’S VISIT TO THE FARM.

my jacket is blue. You'll have to be the British ; you can be a general, if you
want to be, and hold the sword.”

By standing on tip-toe in one of the old chairs, Jonathan could reach both
weapons, and soon pulled them off the hooks.

“ You're going to be licked, Tilda. As Si says, ‘Pll lick you like a sack,’ ”
and Jonathan stood the old gun up and peered down into its barrel. “There ain’t
anything in it, I could see if there was,” his eye was close to the muzzle, “so
I'm going to point it straight at you, and when I say, ‘ Fire, my gallant fellows!’
and snap this trigger, you must drop down dead.”

He slowly lifted the gun into position; Tilda watched him with wide-open
eyes. “Fire, my gallant fellows!” he cried, and snapped the trigger with all
his might. Bang! went the old gun, with such a recoil Jonathan was thrown
violently to the floor. Even Si Jones at work in the potato field heard it, and
started for the house on,
what was for him, a swift
run. “J hed a kind o’ feel-
in’ that struck right to the
pit o’ my stumick; I hed
a kind of present’ment thet
boy was ter the bottom o’
thet bang. I know’d it
wan't in the woods,” he
said to Mnervy afterward.

Mamma Gray rushed up
the attic stairs closely fol-
| lowed by grandmamma,

‘“CPIRE, MY GALLANT FELLOWS !”? HE CRIED. Mnervy and Si Jones 5 but
before they were half-way
up, they heard Tilda shrilly scolding the surprised and crestfallen patriot.

“You ’most shooted me, Jonathan. If I hadn’t dropped dead too soon, I'd ‘a’
got dead for true, and you'd been obliged to bury me. ’Tain’t fair, long’s I ain’t
a real Britisher.”

For once in his life Jonathan was thoroughly frightened. His grief, too, was
real and intense, and the fall on the floor had raised a big lump on the back of his
head that worried his grandmamma ; so Grandpapa Salisbury, who had gone into
the attic after his return and found theswifts in fragments, anda big bullet in the
wall, just level with Tilda’s curly head, relented, and forgave him, though his
first judgment was very like the tersely expressed opinion of Si Jones, “ Thet
boy act’il’y needs a lib’ral dose o’ ile 0’ birch.”

“Q, Mis’ Salisbury!” cried M’nervy from the attic stairs the next morning,
<“‘] jes’ want to hev ye see this egg-box; jes’ step up chamber.”

Grandmamma Salisbury heaved a long sigh as she looked at the eggs. “ Well,





JONATHAN’S VISIT TO THE FARM.

Mnervy, the poor boy is bad enough off this morning. His head is very sore,
and aches so that his grandpa is going for old Doctor Doall. When he gets
well his mamma says he must be set at work, and I think myself it may be
better, he has such an active mind.”

In two days Jonathan was well ; even his erandmamma had toadmitit. He slid
down the baluster rail, scratching the polished cherry badly with his many but-
tons. He stood on his head, and turned hand-springs in the sitting-room, and
practiced the Indian war-whoop his grandpapa had incautiously described to him.

“ You'd better look out fur that ere boy, Mis’ Salisbury,” said Mnervy.
“ He’s a-puckerin’ up for more mischief; I seed him a-shinnin’ up the slippery
el’um this mornin’, an’ it set me all of a tremble, fur he had on his grandpa’s
meetin’ hat.”

“ He’s going to sprout some potatoes this morning,” said Grandmamma Salis-
bury plaintively ; “his mamma thought he had better work in the root cellar ;
but I think it’s a little damp down ther e, and Si is going to carry some basketfuls
to the hay-barn.”

The doorway of the great hay-barn was a pibasanit place to sprout potatoes.
If it had not been imposed upon him as a task, Jonathan would have thought it
fine fun to break the straggling sprouts from the potatoes with an old tin candle-
stick ; but now he thought it aisoustine work, and Si’s assurance, “ Ef ye buckle
to, mebbe ye’ll git an eighth on ’em done ’fore night,” did not encourage him.

Tilda was in the front yard helping grandmamma weed the flowers. He did
not like to weed usually, but as he sat sprouting potatoes, he thought weeding
delightful. Determined to win some praise, however, he worked steadily and
rapidly, and filled the big basket with potatoes long before Si appeared to empty
it, and bring some more. Jonathan did not think of calling him, but walked
round the barn to rest himself. He went to the back door, and waved his red
silk handkerchief at the big gobbler till the old fellow was so angry that every
feather stood up in defiance. Then he began watching the doves, that cooed
and fluttered about their nest which was on one of the long beams that
stretched the whole length of the barn.

“J never saw squabs near to,” he said to himself, gazing up at the nest, and
at the old doves flying in and out of the open window near by it. “If there was
only lots of hay in, Pd see em; I’d know squabs.”

He scanned the walls. Yes, at the front of the barn a ladder went straight
up to that beam. He must creep the whole length of it to reach the nest; but
there were the squabs, so he started.

He reached the nest safely. The squabs cried for fright, and the old doves
circled about much distressed. One squab flopped out of the nest, and dropped
helplessly to the floor where it lay quite still. “Tilda’d be awful tickled to see
one,” thought Jonathan. “She thinks a sight of everything little.” So he firmly
seized one of the wriggling, squeaking, pin-feathered squabs, and started back.



THE HeRO.

But he soon found that creeping, with one hand holding a struggling squab, was
difficult. He looked down a good deal, till the floor seemed to waver up and
down, and the barn to hum like a great bee. He wished with all his heart he
had never come up there, when glancing down he saw his grandpapa standing
in the doorway, and gazing at him in terrified astonishment. It was only
for a moment; the great barn reeled, the beam grew suddenly narrow and
slippery, and with a stifled cry Jonathan dropped, happily not on the floor, but
to the right, into the great bay, yet full enough of hay to deaden his fall.

Tilda printed a letter to her papa that afternoon. She spent a good deal of
time and labor upon it, and this is an exact copy of it:

DEAR Papa :—

Im sorry i let you sta home. Jonathans broke his leg. He was seein squabs
in the Barn. He kant move now, and granma is sorry but mamma says she nos
ware he is now. ile bring youa katif granmal give me one. Good by.

TILDA.
Elizabeth Cumings.

THE“ HERO.

WO young faces strangely set,
All their sweetness soured :
“ Can’t I make you strike me yet?
Then take that — you coward!
Boys, you like a pretty sight ;
Here is one — behold him!
Here’s a fellow that won’t fight —
‘Because his mother told him!’”

Little ninny, flushed and mad,
When your wits are older
You'll not measure courage, lad,
By hitting from the shoulder;
Bravest, strongest, most upright,
Would you fain behold him ?
Here — the boy who would not fight
“‘ Because his mother told him.”
Mary Elizabeth Blake.



My ee

AE Taal
Z FE By Ny
ras ake wows
eon, i jag’
dan ye NG

2 eh s



WILL O°’ STRATFORD.

A Pastoral in one Scene, inter-
woven with Songs, whereof here
followeth the Argument :



he was in such haste to try the world, of which he did say
twas even his oyster which he fain would open, that he
was ever and again importuning his father, the worshipful
Master John Shakspere of Stratford-on-Avon, to bid him
begone to London. And such was this yearning of young Will o’ Stratford
that he was ever talking of his desire to hie unto the great town where mar-
velous sights and mighty happenings did; he was sure, await him. And in
this fashion would he talk and tell his hopes unto his friend, the fair young
maiden of Shottery, Mistress Anne Hathaway, whom he long had known as
neighbor and playmate. Therefore this June pastoral which we have here
caused to be. writ down for the pleasant and profitable reading of all Estates,
doth but serve to show how great was young Will’s longing to be gone from
Stratford. And such as desire to hear more of this matter will find it herein
fully set forth, and for sale, in this year of grace, 1597, at the little north door
of Paul’s, at the sign of the Mask and Lyre.

In this Pastoral the players are young Will Shakspere, the maiden Anne
Hathaway of Shottery, Master John Shakspere of Stratford, Sir Thomas Lucy

'





E STRATFORD WOODLANDS

N TH

I

yeth Anne.

Sq

”

“* Perchance thow shalt see the Queen at London,



WILL O? STRATFORD.

of Chalcote Park, an archer and a gleeman. The scene of the Pastoral is a
grassy path in the woodlands nigh to Stratford. Among the trees the Avon
murmureth. The sun declineth toward the west. Down the pathway cometh
one of my Lord of Leicester’s archers, bearing his bow.

The archer singeth :
When I first fared forth to wars,
Heigho !
In the east the sun was low,
And I took mine arrows, gray goose tipt,
And I took my good yew bow.
For I vow’d its cord should sting the heart
Of the carrion foe of France;
So I march’d with those that bear the dart,
And with those that couch the lance ;
Heigho! MHeigho!
When I first fared forth to wars!

When I first fared forth from wars,
Heigho!

Ah! loud the birds did sing.

And in the broad and ruddy sky

The sun went westering ;

I knew my foeman lay 7’ the field,

A clothyard shaft in ’s side —

So what recks if my land no grain doth yield,

Or my bride be another’s bride ?
Heigho! Heigho!

When I first fared forth from wars!

(He passeth thro’ the woodland. Anon cometh Anne Hathaway, her kirtle
overfilled with daisies. She pauseth awhile, hearkening to the sound.)

Anne speaketh :

He cometh not? . . . Nay, ’tis not his voice. Will hath a piping treble,
and singeth like to a throstle; while yonder voice, methinks, hath the tang of
the bow-string in it . . . I am early yet, belike; these shadows on the

golden grass point not to four on our dial.
(She sitteth at the foot of a burly oak ; and pulleth the daisies from her kirtle.)

Day’s eye my father calleth me, when I arise betimes and am at work about
the house; but Will calleth me Rosalind, Juliet and Cordelia; names out of old



WILL O’ STRATFORD.

romaunts, unfitting for an English maid. My father saith Will is bewitched
with the poring over of old scrolls, so that the world is all crabbed letters, and
he seeth Diana in every brake and Adonis on every fern-bank. But, truly, Will
is as much in the woodland as in the schoolhouse; and is more given to twang-
ing his bow-string than to reading of romaunts and ballads. And now I bethink
me, he was beaten by the schoolmaster nigh a week past, for the misconstruing

of his Cicero.

Will singeth in the woodland :
What shall I ask of thee,
Heart, shall I ask of thee ?
Make true reply.
How shalt thou fare when winds are here,
And frosts are nigh ?
Shalt thou not perish, heart, —
from fear ?
Make no deny!
Where shalt thou find true
love and cheer ?
This do I ask of thee,
Heart, do I ask of thee.

















Will speaketh :

Anne? Thou art i
here; I might have
known asmuch. Thou |
art ever first at the |
tryst. I am a sorry
lageard. Aes

Anne:

Thou art not a dial-point
behind the hour, Will. Hath

thy father spoken? te
? SAO ie %
ea af Ve
Wid : ee et een fs oe
il Bags f eg
wi & Z iy v a wae Vira ZF. WE 2
Nota word. — os — MAY ee eS
: ¢ 1 at fern
He sits ever BE fosipe Ze :
in his chair, @7 3 \ it
2 tii
thus, Anne, ola
- THE ARCHER SINGETH.



and openeth «<“