{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_16468/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_16468","id":"gutenberg_16468","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/16468","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Children & Young Adult Reading","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Short Stories","New England -- Social life and customs -- Fiction"],"text":"Produced by Ted Garvin, Lesley Halamek and the Online\nDistributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nSHORT STORY\n\n\nTHE POT OF GOLD\n\n\nAND OTHER STORIES\n\n\n\nBY\n\nMARY E. WILKINS\n\nAuthor of \"A New England Nun,\" \"A Humble Romance,\" etc.\n\n\n\n_ILLUSTRATED_\n\nBOSTON D LOTHROP COMPANY 1893\n\n\n\n\n\nCOPYRIGHT, 1892, BY D. LOTHROP COMPANY.\n\n\n\n\n\n\nSHORT STORY\n\n\n\nCONTENTS.\n\nTHE POT OF GOLD\nTHE COW WITH GOLDEN HORNS\nPRINCESS ROSETTA AND THE POP-CORN MAN.\n  I. THE PRINCESS ROSETTA\n  II. THE POP-CORN MAN\nTHE CHRISTMAS MONKS\nTHE PUMPKIN GIANT\nTHE CHRISTMAS MASQUERADE\nDILL\nTHE SILVER HEN\nTOBY\nTHE PATCHWORK SCHOOL\nTHE SQUIRE'S SIXPENCE\nA PLAIN CASE\nA STRANGER IN THE VILLAGE\nTHE BOUND GIRL\nDEACON THOMAS WALES'S WILL\nTHE ADOPTED DAUGHTER\n\n\n\n\n\n\nLIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.\n\nFlax looks into the Pot of Gold      _Frontis._\nThe settle and the kettle\nDrusilla and her gold-horned cow\nA Knight of the Golden Bee\nThe princess was not in the basket!\nThe bee guards patrolled the city\n\"You!\" cried the baron scornfully\nBoth the king and queen were obliged to pop\nGoing into the chapel\nThe boys read the notice\nThe prince and Peter are examined by the monks\nThe boys at work in the convent garden\nThe prince runs away\nHe picked up an enormous young Plantagenet and threw\n  it at him\nThey were all over the field\nThen the king knighted him on the spot\nThere never was anything like the fun at the mayor's\n  Christmas ball\nTheir parents stared in great distress\n\"I will go and tend my geese!\"\nShe sang it beautifully\nA strange sad state of things\nNan returns with the umbrellas\nSuch frantic efforts to get away\nDame Elizabeth stared with astonishment\nThe count thinks himself insulted\nThe snow was quite deep\nTwo by two\nThe snow man's house\nPuss-in-the-corner\nTo the rescue\n\"I'll put this right in your face and--melt you!\"\nLetitia stood before uncle Jack\nSchool children in Pokonoket\nPokonoket in stormy weather\nToby and the crazy loon\nToby ran till he was out of breath\nThe patchwork woman\nThe patchwork girl\nJulia was arrested on Christmas Day\nJulia entertains the ambassador through the keyhole\nThe grandmothers enjoy the Chinese toys\n\"Six\"--she began feebly\n\"What!\" said Squire Bean suddenly\nLittle Patience obeys the squire's summons\nWatching for the coach\n\"Just look here!\" said Willy's sweet voice\nThe little stranger\nShe almost fainted from cold and exhaustion\nA conveyance is found\n\n\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\nTHE POT OF GOLD.\n\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\nTHE POT OF GOLD.\n\n\nThe Flower family lived in a little house in a broad grassy meadow,\nwhich sloped a few rods from their front door down to a gentle,\nsilvery river. Right across the river rose a lovely dark green\nmountain, and when there was a rainbow, as there frequently was,\nnothing could have looked more enchanting than it did rising from\nthe opposite bank of the stream with the wet, shadowy mountain for a\nbackground. All the Flower family would invariably run to their front\nwindows and their door to see it.\n\nThe Flower family numbered nine: Father and Mother Flower and seven\nchildren. Father Flower was an unappreciated poet, Mother Flower was\nvery much like all mothers, and the seven children were very sweet and\ninteresting. Their first names all matched beautifully with their last\nname, and with their personal appearance. For instance, the oldest\ngirl, who had soft blue eyes and flaxen curls, was called Flax Flower;\nthe little boy, who came next, and had very red cheeks and loved to\nsleep late in the morning, was called Poppy Flower, and so on. This\ncharming suitableness of their names was owing to Father Flower. He\nhad a theory that a great deal of the misery and discord in the world\ncomes from things not matching properly as they should; and he thought\nthere ought to be a certain correspondence between all things that\nwere in juxtaposition to each other, just as there ought to be between\nthe last two words of a couplet of poetry. But he found, very often,\nthere was no correspondence at all, just as words in poetry do not\nalways rhyme when they should. However, he did his best to remedy\nit. He saw that every one of his children's names were suitable\nand accorded with their personal characteristics; and in his\nflower-garden--for he raised flowers for the market--only those of\ncomplementary colors were allowed to grow in adjoining beds, and, as\noften as possible, they rhymed in their names. But that was a more\ndifficult matter to manage, and very few flowers were rhymed, or, if\nthey were, none rhymed correctly. He had a bed of box next to one of\nphlox, and a trellis of woodbine grew next to one of eglantine, and a\nthicket of elder-blows was next to one of rose; but he was forced\nto let his violets and honeysuckles and many others go entirely\nunrhymed--this disturbed him considerably, but he reflected that it\nwas not his fault, but that of the man who made the language and named\nthe different flowers--he should have looked to it that those of\ncomplementary colors had names to rhyme with each other, then all\nwould have been harmonious and as it should have been.\n\nFather Flower had chosen this way of earning his livelihood when he\nrealized that he was doomed to be an unappreciated poet, because it\nsuited so well with his name; and if the flowers had only rhymed a\nlittle better he would have been very well contented. As it was, he\nnever grumbled. He also saw to it that the furniture in his little\nhouse and the cooking utensils rhymed as nearly as possible, though\nthat too was oftentimes a difficult matter to bring about, and\nrequired a vast deal of thought and hard study. The table always stood\nunder the gable end of the roof, the foot-stool always stood where it\nwas cool, and the big rocking-chair in a glare of sunlight; the lamp,\ntoo, he kept down cellar where it was damp. But all these were rather\nfar-fetched, and sometimes quite inconvenient. Occasionally there\nwould be an article that he could not rhyme until he had spent years\nof thought over it, and when he did it would disturb the comfort\nof the family greatly. There was the spider. He puzzled over that\nexceedingly, and when he rhymed it at last, Mother Flower or one of\nthe little girls had always to take the spider beside her, when she\nsat down, which was of course quite troublesome. The kettle he rhymed\nfirst with nettle, and hung a bunch of nettle over it, till all the\nchildren got dreadfully stung. Then he tried settle, and hung the\nkettle over the settle. But that was no place for it; they had to go\nwithout their tea, and everybody who sat on the settle bumped his head\nagainst the kettle. At last it occurred to Father Flower that if he\nshould make a slight change in the language the kettle could rhyme\nwith the skillet, and sit beside it on the stove, as it ought, leaving\nharmony out of the question, to do. Accordingly all the children were\ninstructed to call the skillet a skettle, and the kettle stood by its\nside on the stove ever afterward.\n\n[Illustration: The Settle]\n\nThe house was a very pretty one, although it was quite rude and very\nsimple. It was built of logs and had a thatched roof, which projected\nfar out over the walls. But it was all overrun with the loveliest\nflowering vines imaginable, and, inside, nothing could have been more\nexquisitely neat and homelike; although there was only one room and a\nlittle garret over it. All around the house were the flower-beds and\nthe vine-trellises and the blooming shrubs, and they were always in\nthe most beautiful order. Now, although all this was very pretty to\nsee, and seemingly very simple to bring to pass, yet there was a vast\ndeal of labor in it for some one; for flowers do not look so trim and\nthriving without tending, and houses do not look so spotlessly clean\nwithout constant care. All the Flower family worked hard; even the\nlittlest children had their daily tasks set them. The oldest girl,\nespecially, little Flax Flower, was kept busy from morning till night\ntaking care of her younger brothers and sisters, and weeding flowers.\nBut for all that she was a very happy little girl, as indeed were\nthe whole family, as they did not mind working, and loved each other\ndearly.\n\nFather Flower, to be sure, felt a little sad sometimes; for, although\nhis lot in life was a pleasant one, it was not exactly what he would\nhave chosen. Once in a while he had a great longing for something\ndifferent. He confided a great many of his feelings to Flax Flower;\nshe was more like him than any of the other children, and could\nunderstand him even better than his wife, he thought.\n\nOne day, when there had been a heavy shower and a beautiful rainbow,\nhe and Flax were out in the garden tying up some rose-bushes, which\nthe rain had beaten down, and he said to her how he wished he could\nfind the Pot of Gold at the end of the rainbow. Flax, if you will\nbelieve me, had never heard of it; so he had to tell her all about it,\nand also say a little poem he had made about it to her.\n\nThe poem ran something in this way:\n\n  O what is it shineth so golden-clear\n     At the rainbow's foot on the dark green hill?\n  'Tis the Pot of Gold, that for many a year\n     Has shone, and is shining and dazzling still.\n  And whom is it for, O Pilgrim, pray?\n  For thee, Sweetheart, should'st thou go that way.\n\nFlax listened with her soft blue eyes very wide open. \"I suppose if we\nshould find that pot of gold it would make us very rich, wouldn't it,\nfather?\" said she.\n\n\"Yes,\" replied her father; \"we could then have a grand house, and keep\na gardener, and a maid to take care of the children, and we should no\nlonger have to work so hard.\" He sighed as he spoke, and tears stood\nin his gentle blue eyes, which were very much like Flax's. \"However,\nwe shall never find it,\" he added.\n\n\"Why couldn't we run ever so fast when we saw the rainbow,\" inquired\nFlax, \"and get the Pot of Gold?\"\n\n\"Don't be foolish, child!\" said her father; \"you could not possibly\nreach it before the rainbow was quite faded away!\"\n\n\"True,\" said Flax, but she fell to thinking as she tied up the\ndripping roses.\n\nThe next rainbow they had she eyed very closely, standing out on the\nfront door-step in the rain, and she saw that one end of it seemed\nto touch the ground at the foot of a pine-tree on the side of the\nmountain, which was quite conspicuous amongst its fellows, it was so\ntall. The other end had nothing especial to mark it.\n\n\"I will try the end where the tall pine-tree is first,\" said Flax to\nherself, \"because that will be the easiest to find--if the Pot of Gold\nisn't there I will try to find the other end.\"\n\nA few days after that it was very hot and sultry, and at noon the\nthunder heads were piled high all around the horizon.\n\n\"I don't doubt but we shall have showers this afternoon,\" said Father\nFlower, when he came in from the garden for his dinner.\n\nAfter the dinner-dishes were washed up, and the baby rocked to sleep,\nFlax came to her mother with a petition.\n\n\"Mother,\" said she, \"won't you give me a holiday this afternoon?\"\n\n\"Why, where do you want to go, Flax?\" said her mother.\n\n\"I want to go over on the mountain and hunt for wild flowers,\" replied\nFlax.\n\n\"But I think it is going to rain, child, and you will get wet.\"\n\n\"That won't hurt me any, mother,\" said Flax, laughing.\n\n\"Well, I don't know as I care,\" said her mother, hesitatingly. \"You\nhave been a very good industrious girl, and deserve a little holiday.\nOnly don't go so far that you cannot soon run home if a shower should\ncome up.\"\n\nSo Flax curled her flaxen hair and tied it up with a blue ribbon, and\nput on her blue and white checked dress. By the time she was ready to\ngo the clouds over in the northwest were piled up very high and black,\nand it was quite late in the afternoon. Very likely her mother would\nnot have let her gone if she had been at home, but she had taken the\nbaby, who had waked from his nap, and gone to call on her nearest\nneighbor, half a mile away. As for her father, he was busy in the\ngarden, and all the other children were with him, and they did not\nnotice Flax when she stole out of the front door. She crossed the\nriver on a pretty arched stone bridge nearly opposite the house, and\nwent directly into the woods on the side of the mountain.\n\nEverything was very still and dark and solemn in the woods. They knew\nabout the storm that was coming. Now and then Flax heard the leaves\ntalking in queer little rustling voices. She inherited the ability to\nunderstand what they said from her father. They were talking to each\nother now in the words of her father's song. Very likely he had heard\nthem saying it sometime, and that was how he happened to know it,\n\n  \"O what is it shineth so golden-clear\n  At the rainbow's foot on the dark green hill?\"\n\nFlax heard the maple leaves inquire. And the pine-leaves answered\nback:\n\n  \"'Tis the Pot of Gold, that for many a year\n  Has shone, and is shining and dazzling still.\"\n\nThen the maple-leaves asked:\n\n  \"And whom is it for, O Pilgrim, pray?\"\n\nAnd the pine-leaves answered:\n\n  \"For thee, Sweetheart, should'st thou go that way.\"\n\nFlax did not exactly understand the sense of the last question and\nanswer between maple and pine-leaves. But they kept on saying it\nover and over as she ran along. She was going straight to the tall\npine-tree. She knew just where it was, for she had often been there.\nNow the rain-drops began to splash through the green boughs, and the\nthunder rolled along the sky. The leaves all tossed about in a strong\nwind and their soft rustles grew into a roar, and the branches and the\nwhole tree caught it up and called out so loud as they writhed and\ntwisted about that Flax was almost deafened, the words of the song:\n\n  \"O what is it shineth so golden-clear?\"\n\nFlax sped along through the wind and the rain and the thunder. She was\nvery much afraid that she should not reach the tall pine which was\nquite a way distant before the sun shone out, and the rainbow came.\n\nThe sun was already breaking through the clouds when she came in sight\nof it, way up above her on a rock. The rain-drops on the trees began\nto shine like diamonds, and the words of the song rushed out from\ntheir midst, louder and sweeter:\n\n  \"O what is it shineth so golden-clear?\"\n\nFlax climbed for dear life. Red and green and golden rays were already\nfalling thick around her, and at the foot of the pine-tree something\nwas shining wonderfully clear and bright.\n\nAt last she reached it, and just at that instant the rainbow became a\nperfect one, and there at the foot of the wonderful arch of glory was\nthe Pot of Gold. Flax could see it brighter than all the brightness of\nthe rainbow. She sank down beside it and put her hand on it, then she\nclosed her eyes and sat still, bathed in red and green and violet\nlight--that, and the golden light from the Pot, made her blind and\ndizzy. As she sat there with her hand on the Pot of Gold at the foot\nof the rainbow, she could hear the leaves over her singing louder and\nlouder, till the tones fairly rushed like a wind through her ears. But\nthis time they only sang the last words of the song:\n\n  \"And whom is it for, O Pilgrim, pray?\n  For thee, Sweetheart, should'st thou go that way.\"\n\nAt last she ventured to open her eyes. The rainbow had faded almost\nentirely away, only a few tender rose and green shades were arching\nover her; but the Pot of Gold under her hand was still there, and\nshining brighter than ever. All the pine needles with which the ground\naround it was thickly spread, were turned to needles of gold, and some\nstray couplets of leaves which were springing up through them were all\ngilded.\n\nFlax bent over it trembling and lifted the lid off the pot. She\nexpected, of course, to find it full of gold pieces that would buy the\ngrand house and the gardener and the maid that her father had spoken\nabout. But to her astonishment, when she had lifted the lid off and\nbent over the Pot to look into it, the first thing she saw was the\nface of her mother looking out of it at her. It was smaller of course,\nbut just the same loving, kindly face she had left at home. Then, as\nshe looked longer, she saw her father smiling gently up at her, then\ncame Poppy and the baby and all the rest of her dear little brothers\nand sisters smiling up at her out of the golden gloom inside the Pot.\nAt last she actually saw the garden and her father in it tying up the\nroses, and the pretty little vine-covered house, and, finally, she\ncould see right into the dear little room where her mother sat with\nthe baby in her lap, and all the others around her.\n\nFlax jumped up. \"I will run home,\" said she, \"it is late, and I do\nwant to see them all dreadfully.\"\n\nSo she left the Golden Pot shining all alone under the pine-tree, and\nran home as fast as she could.\n\nWhen she reached the house it was almost twilight, but her father was\nstill in the garden. Every rose and lily had to be tied up after the\nshower, and he was but just finishing. He had the tin milk pan hung\non him like a shield, because it rhymed with man. It certainly was a\nbeautiful rhyme, but it was very inconvenient. Poor Mother Flower\nwas at her wits' end to know what to do without it, and it was very\nawkward for Father Flower to work with it fastened to him.\n\nFlax ran breathlessly into the garden, and threw her arms around her\nfather's neck and kissed him. She bumped her nose against the milk\npan, but she did not mind that; she was so glad to see him again.\nSomehow, she never remembered being so glad to see him as she was now\nsince she had seen his face in the Pot of Gold.\n\n\"Dear father,\" cried she, \"how glad I am to see you! I found the Pot\nof Gold at the end of the rainbow!\"\n\nHer father stared at her in amazement.\n\n\"Yes, I did, truly, father,\" said she. \"But it was not full of gold,\nafter all. You was in it, and mother and the children and the house\nand garden and--everything.\"\n\n\"You were mistaken, dear,\" said her father, looking at her with his\ngentle, sorrowful eyes. \"You could not have found the true end of the\nrainbow, nor the true Pot of Gold--that is surely full of the most\nbeautiful gold pieces, with an angel stamped on every one.\"\n\n\"But I did, father,\" persisted Flax.\n\n\"You had better go into your mother, Flax,\" said her father; \"she will\nbe anxious to see you. I know better than you about the Pot of Gold at\nthe end of the rainbow.\"\n\nSo Flax went sorrowfully into the house. There was the tea-kettle\nsinging beside the \"skettle,\" which had some nice smelling soup in it,\nthe table was laid for supper, and there sat her mother with the baby\nin her lap and the others all around her--just as they had looked in\nthe Pot of Gold.\n\nFlax had never been so glad to see them before--and if she didn't hug\nand kiss them all!\n\n\"I found the Pot of Gold at the end of the rainbow, mother,\" cried\nshe, \"and it was not full of gold, at all; but you and father and the\nchildren looked out of it at me, and I saw the house and garden and\neverything in it.\"\n\nHer mother looked at her lovingly. \"Yes, Flax dear,\" said she.\n\n\"But father said I was mistaken,\" said Flax, \"and did not find it.\"\n\n\"Well, dear,\" said her mother, \"your father is a poet, and very wise;\nwe will say no more about it. You can sit down here and hold the baby\nnow, while I make the tea.\"\n\nFlax was perfectly ready to do that; and, as she sat there with her\ndarling little baby brother crowing in her lap, and watched her pretty\nlittle brothers and sisters and her dear mother, she felt so happy\nthat she did not care any longer whether she had found the true Pot of\nGold at the end of the rainbow or not.\n\nBut, after all, do you know, I think her father was mistaken, and that\nshe had.\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE COW WITH GOLDEN HORNS.\n\n\nOnce there was a farmer who had a very rare and valuable cow. There\nwas not another like her in the whole kingdom. She was as white as\nthe whitest lily you ever saw, and her horns, which curved very\ngracefully, were of gold.\n\nShe had a charming green meadow, with a silvery pool in the middle, to\nfeed in. Almost all the grass was blue-eyed grass, too, and there were\nyellow lilies all over the pool.\n\nThe farmer's daughter, who was a milkmaid, used to tend the\ngold-horned cow. She was a very pretty girl. Her name was Drusilla.\nShe had long flaxen hair, which hung down to her ankles in two smooth\nbraids, tied with blue ribbons. She had blue eyes and pink cheeks, and\nshe wore a blue petticoat, with garlands of rose-buds all over it, and\na white dimity short gown, looped up with bunches of roses. Her hat\nwas a straw flat, with a wreath of rose-buds around it, and she always\ncarried a green willow branch in her hand to drive the cow with.\n\nShe used to sit on a bank near the silvery pool, and watch the\ngold-horned cow, and sing to herself all day from the time the dew was\nsparkling over the meadow in the morning, till it fell again at night.\nThen she would drive the cow gently home, with her green willow stick,\nmilk her, and feed her, and put her into her stable, herself, for the\nnight.\n\nThe farmer was feeble and old, so his daughter had to do all this. The\ngold-horned cow's stable was a sort of a \"lean-to,\" built into the\nside of the cottage where Drusilla and her father lived. Its roof, as\nwell as that of the cottage, was thatched and overgrown with moss, out\nof which had grown, in its turn, a little starry white flower, until\nthe whole roof looked like a flower-bed. There were roses climbing\nover the walls of the cottage and stable, also, pink and white ones.\n\nDrusilla used to keep the gold-horned cow's stable in exquisite order.\nHer trough to eat out of, was polished as clean as a lady's china\ntea-cup. She always had fresh straw, and her beautiful long tail was\ntied by a blue ribbon to a ring in the ceiling, in order to keep it\nnice.\n\nThe gold-horned cow's milk was better than any other's, as one would\nreasonably suppose it to have been. The cream used to be at least an\ninch thick, and so yellow; and the milk itself had a peculiar and\nexquisite flavor--perhaps the best way to describe it, is to say it\ntasted as lilies smell. The gentry all about were eager to buy it,\nand willing to pay a good price for it. Drusilla used to go around to\nsupply her customers, nights and mornings, a bright, shining milk-pail\nin each hand, and one on her head. She had learned to carry herself so\nsteadily in consequence that she walked like a queen.\n\n[Illustration: DRUSILLA AND HER GOLD-HORNED COW.]\n\nEverybody admired Drusilla, and all the young shepherds and farmers\nmade love to her, but she did not seem to care for any of them, but to\nprefer tending her gold-horned cow, and devoting herself to her old\nfather--she was a very dutiful daughter.\n\nEverything went prosperously with them for a long time; the cow\nthrived, and gave a great deal of milk, customers were plenty, they\npaid the rent for their cottage regularly, and Drusilla who was a\nbeautiful spinner, had her linen chest filled to the brim with the\nfinest linen.\n\nAt length, however, a great misfortune befell them. One morning--it\nwas the day after a holiday--Drusilla, who had been up very late the\nnight before dancing on the village green, felt very sleepy, as she\nsat watching the cow in the green meadow. So she just laid her flaxen\nhead down amongst the blue-eyed grasses, and soon fell fast asleep.\n\nWhen she woke up, the dew was all dried off, and the sun almost\ndirectly overhead. She rubbed her eyes, and looked about for the\ngold-horned cow. To her great alarm, she was nowhere to be seen. She\njumped up, distractedly, and ran over the meadow, but the gold-horned\ncow was certainly not there. The bars were up, just as she had left\nthem, and there was not a gap in the stonewall which extended around\nthe meadow. How could she have gotten out? It was very mysterious!\n\nDrusilla, when she found, certainly, that the gold-horned cow was\ngone, lost no time in wonderment and conjecture; she started forth to\nfind her. \"I will not tell father till I have searched a long time,\"\nsaid she to herself.\n\nSo, down the road she went, looking anxiously on either side. \"If\nonly I could come in sight of her, browsing in the clover, beside the\nwall,\" sighed she; but she did not.\n\nAfter a while, she saw a great cloud of dust in the distance. It\nrolled nearer and nearer, and finally she saw the King on horseback,\nwith a large party of nobles galloping after him. The King, who was\nquite an old man, had a very long, curling, white beard, and had his\nbreast completely covered with orders and decorations. No convenient\nboard fence on a circus day was ever more thoroughly covered with\nelephants and horses, and trapeze performers, than the breast of the\nKing's black velvet coat with jeweled stars and ribbons. But even\nthen, there was not room for all his store, so he had hit upon the\ningenious expedient of covering a black silk umbrella with the\nremainder. He held it in a stately manner over his head now, and it\npresented a dazzling sight; for it was literally blazing with gems,\nand glittering ribbons fluttered from it on all sides.\n\nWhen the King saw Drusilla courtesying by the side of the road, he\ndrew rein so suddenly, that his horse reared back on its haunches, and\nall his nobles, who always made it a point to do exactly as the King\ndid--it was court etiquette--also drew rein suddenly, and all their\nhorses reared back on their haunches.\n\n\"What will you, pretty maiden?\" asked the King graciously.\n\n\"Please, your Majesty,\" said Drusilla courtesying and blushing and\nlooking prettier than ever, \"have you seen my gold-horned cow?\"\n\n\"Pardy,\" said the King, for that was the proper thing for a King to\nsay, you know, \"I never saw a gold-horned cow in my life!\"\n\nThen Drusilla told him about her loss, and the King gazed at her while\nshe was talking, and admired her more and more.\n\nYou must know that it had always been a great cross to the King and\nhis wife, the Queen, that they had never had any daughter. They had\noften thought of adopting one, but had never seen any one who exactly\nsuited them. They wanted a full-grown Princess, because they had an\nalliance with the Prince of Egypt in view.\n\nThe King looked at Drusilla now, and thought her the most beautiful\nand stately maiden he had ever seen.\n\n\"What an appropriate Princess she would make!\" thought he.\n\n\"Suppose I should find the gold-horned cow for you,\" said he to\nDrusilla, when she had finished her pitiful story, \"would you consent\nto be adopted by the Queen and myself, and be a princess?\"\n\nDrusilla hesitated a moment. She thought of her dear old father\nand how desolate he would be without her. But then she thought how\nterribly distressed he would be at the loss of the gold-horned cow,\nand that if he had her back, she would be company for him, even if his\ndaughter was away, and she finally gave her consent.\n\nThe King always had his Lord Chamberlain lead a white palfrey, with\nrich housings, by the bridle, in case they came across a suitable\nfull-grown Princess in any of their journeys; and now he ordered him\nto be brought forward, and commanded a page to assist Drusilla to the\nsaddle.\n\nBut she began to weep. \"I want to go back to my father, until you have\nfound the cow, your Majesty,\" said she.\n\n\"You may go and bid your father good-by,\" replied the King,\nperemptorily, \"but then you must go immediately to the boarding\nschool, where all the young ladies of the Court are educated. If you\nare going to be a Princess, it is high time you began to prepare. You\nwill have to learn feather stitching, and rick-rack and Kensington\nstitch, and tatting, and point lace, and Japanese patchwork,\nand painting on china, and how to play variations on the piano,\nand--everything a Princess ought to know.\"\n\n\"But,\" said Drusilla timidly, \"suppose--your Majesty shouldn't--find\nthe cow\"--\n\n\"Oh! I shall find the cow fast enough,\" replied the King carelessly.\n\"Why, I shall have the whole Kingdom searched. I can't fail to find\nher.\" So the page assisted the milkmaid to the saddle, kneeling\ngracefully, and presenting his hand for her to place her foot in, and\nthey galloped off toward the farmer's cottage.\n\nThe old man was greatly astonished to see his daughter come riding\nhome in such splendid company, and when she explained matters to him,\nhis distress, at first, knew no bounds. To lose both his dear daughter\nand his precious gold-horned cow, at one blow, seemed too much to\nbear. But the King promised to provide liberally for him during his\ndaughter's absence, and spoke very confidently of his being able to\nfind the cow. He also promised that Drusilla should return to him if\nthe cow was not found in one year's time, and after a while the old\nman was pacified.\n\nDrusilla put her arms around her father's neck and kissed him\ntenderly; then the page assisted her gracefully into the saddle, and\nshe rode, sobbing, away.\n\nAfter they had ridden about an hour, they came to a large, white\nbuilding.\n\n\"O dear!\" said the King, \"the seminary is asleep! I was afraid of it!\"\n\nThen Drusilla saw that the building was like a great solid mass, with\nnot a door or window visible.\n\n\"It is asleep,\" explained the King. \"It is not a common house; a great\nprofessor designed it. It goes to sleep, and you can't see any doors\nor windows, and such work as it is to wake it up! But we may as well\nbegin.\"\n\nThen he gave a signal, and all the nobles shouted as loud as they\npossibly could, but the seminary still remained asleep.\n\n\"It's asleep most of the time!\" growled the King. \"They don't want the\nyoung ladies disturbed at their feather stitching and rick-rack, by\nanything going on outside. I wish I could shake it.\"\n\nThen he gave the signal again, and all the nobles shouted together,\nas loud as they could possibly scream. Suddenly, doors and windows\nappeared all over the seminary, like so many opening eyes.\n\n\"There,\" cried the King, \"the seminary has woke up, and I am glad of\nit!\"\n\nThen he ushered Drusilla in, and introduced her to the lady principal\nand the young ladies, and she was at once set to making daisies in\nKensington stitch, for the King was very anxious for her education to\nbegin at once.\n\nSo now, the milkmaid, instead of sitting, singing, in a green meadow,\nwatching her beautiful gold-horned cow, had to sit all day in a\nhigh-backed chair, her feet on a little foot-stool with an embroidered\npussy cat on it, and do fancy work. The young ladies worked by\nelectric light; for the seminary was asleep nearly all the time, and\nno sunlight could get in at the windows, for boards clapped down over\nthem like so many eye-lids when the seminary began to doze.\n\nDrusilla had left off her pretty blue petticoat and white short gown\nnow, and was dressed in gold-flowered satin, with an immense train,\nwhich two pages bore for her when she walked. Her pretty hair was\ncombed high and powdered, and she wore a comb of gold and pearls in\nit. She looked very lovely, but she also looked very sad. She could\nnot help thinking, even in the midst of all this splendor, of her dear\nfather, and her own home, and wishing to see them.\n\nShe was a very apt pupil. Her tatting collars were the admiration of\nthe whole seminary, and she made herself a whole dress of rick-rack.\nShe painted a charming umbrella stand for the King, and actually\nworked the gold-horned cow in Kensington stitch, on a blue satin tidy,\nfor the Queen. It was so natural that she wept over it, herself, when\nit was finished; but the Queen was delighted, and put it on her best\nstuffed rocking-chair in her parlor, and would run and throw it back\nevery time the King sat down there, for fear he would lean his head\nagainst it and soil it.\n\nDrusilla also worked an elegant banner of old gold satin, with\nhollyhocks, for the King to carry at the head of his troops when he\nwent to battle; also a hat-band for the Prince of Egypt. This last was\nsent by a special courier with a large escort, and the Prince sent an\nexquisite shopping-bag of real alligator's skin to Drusilla in return.\nShe was the envy of the whole seminary when it came.\n\nThe young ladies fared very delicately. Their one article of diet was\npeaches and cream. It was thought to improve their complexions. Once\nin a while, they went out to drive by moonlight; they were afraid\nof sunburn by day, and they wore white gauze veils, even in the\nmoonlight, and they all had embroidered afghans of their own\nhandiwork.\n\nThey used to sit around a large table over which hung a chandelier of\nthe electric light, to work, and some young lady either played \"Home,\nsweet Home, and variations,\" or else \"The Maiden's Prayer,\" on the\npiano for their entertainment.\n\nIt seemed as if Drusilla ought to have been happy in a place like\nthis; but although she was diligent and dutiful, she grieved all the\ntime for her father.\n\nMeantime, the King was keeping up an energetic search for the\ngold-horned cow. Every stable and pasture in the Kingdom was searched,\nspies were posted everywhere, but the King could not find her. She had\ndisappeared as completely as if she had vanished altogether from the\nface of the earth. It at last began to be whispered about that there\nnever had been any gold-horned cow, but that the whole had been a\nclever trick of Drusilla's, that she might become a Princess. An\nenvious schoolmate, who had been very desirous of becoming Princess\nand marrying the Prince of Egypt herself, started the report; and it\nsoon spread over the whole Kingdom. The King heard it and began to\nbelieve it; for he could not see why he failed to find the cow. It\nalways exasperated the King dreadfully to fail in anything, and he\nnever allowed that it was his own fault, if he could possibly help it.\n\nAt last the end of the year came, and still no signs of the\ngold-horned cow. Then the King became convinced that Drusilla had\ncheated him, that there never had been any such wonderful cow, and\nthat she had used this trick in order to become a Princess. Of course,\nthe King felt more comfortable to believe this, for it accounted\nsatisfactorily for his own failure to find her, and it is extremely\nmortifying for a King to be unable to do anything he sets out to.\n\nSo Drusilla was dismissed from the seminary in disgrace, and sent\nhome. Her jewels and fine clothes were all taken away from her, even\nher rick-rack dress, and she put on her blue petticoat and short gown,\nand straw flat again. Still, she was so happy at the prospect of\nseeing her dear old father again, that she did not mind the loss of\nall her fine things much. She did not ride the white palfrey now, but\nwent home on foot, in the dewy morning, as fast as she could trip.\n\nWhen she came in sight of the cottage, there was her father sitting in\nhis old place at the window. When he saw his beloved daughter coming,\nhe ran out to meet her as fast as he could hobble, and they tenderly\nembraced each other.\n\nThe King had provided liberally for the old man while Drusilla was in\nthe seminary, but now that he was so angry at her alleged deception,\nhis support would probably cease, and, since the gold-horned cow was\nlost, it was a question how they would live. The father and daughter\nsat talking it over after they had entered the cottage. It was a\npuzzling question, and Drusilla was weeping a little, when her father\ngave a joyful cry:\n\n\"Look, look, Drusilla!\"\n\nDrusilla looked up quickly, and there was the milk-white face and\ngolden horns of the cow peering through the vines in the window. She\nwas eating some of the pink and white roses.\n\nDrusilla and her father hastened out with joyful exclamations, and\nthere was the cow, sure enough. A couple of huge wicker baskets were\nslung across her broad back, and one was filled to the brim with gold\ncoins, and the other with jewels, diamonds, pearls and rubies.\n\nWhen Drusilla and her father saw them, they both threw their arms\naround the gold-horned cow's neck, and cried for joy. She turned her\nhead and gazed at them a moment with her calm, gentle eyes; then she\nwent on eating roses.\n\nWhen the King heard of all this, he came with the Queen in a golden\ncoach, to see Drusilla and her father. \"I am convinced now of your\ntruthfulness,\" he said majestically, when the Court Jeweler had\nexamined the cow's horns to see if they were true gold, and not merely\ngilded, and he had seen with his own eyes the two baskets full of\ncoins and jewels. \"And, if you would like to be Princess, you can be,\nand also marry the Prince of Egypt.\"\n\nBut Drusilla threw her arms around her father's neck. \"No; your\nMajesty,\" she said timidly, \"I had rather stay with my father, if you\nplease, than be a Princess, and I rather live here and tend my dear\ncow, than marry the Prince of Egypt.\"\n\nThe King sighed, and so did the Queen; they knew they never should\nfind another such beautiful Princess. But, then, the King had not kept\nhis part of the contract and found the gold-horned cow, and he could\nnot compel her to be a Princess without breaking the royal word.\n\nSo the cow was again led out to pasture in the little meadow of\nblue-eyed grasses, and Drusilla, though she was very rich now, used to\nfind no greater happiness than to sit on the banks of the silvery pool\nwhere the yellow lilies grew, and watch her.\n\nThey had their poor little cottage torn down and a grand castle built\ninstead: but the roof of that was thatched and over-grown with moss,\nand pink and white roses clustered thickly around the walls. It was\njust as much like their old home as a castle can be like a cottage.\nThe gold-horned cow had, also, a magnificent new stable. Her\neating-trough was the finest moss rose-bud china, she had dried rose\nleaves instead of hay to eat, and there were real lace curtains at all\nthe stable windows, and a lace _portiere_ over her stall.\n\nThe King and Queen used to visit Drusilla often; they gave her back\nher rick-rack dress, and grew very fond of her, though she would not\nbe a Princess. Finally, however, they prevailed upon her to be made\na countess. So she was called \"Lady Drusilla,\" and she had a coat of\narms, with the gold-horned cow rampant on it, put up over the great\ngate of the castle.\n\n\n\n\n\n\nPRINCESS ROSETTA AND THE POP-CORN MAN.\n\nI.\n\nTHE PRINCESS ROSETTA.\n\n\nThe Bee Festival was held on the sixteenth day of May; all the court\nwent. The court-ladies wore green silk scarfs, long green floating\nplumes in their bonnets, and green satin petticoats embroidered with\napple-blossoms. The court-gentlemen wore green velvet tunics with\nnose-gays in their buttonholes, and green silk hose. Their little\npointed shoes were adorned with knots of flowers instead of buckles.\n\nAs for the King himself, he wore a thick wreath of cherry and\npeach-blossoms instead of his crown, and carried a white thorn-branch\ninstead of his scepter. His green velvet robe was trimmed with a\nborder of blue and white violets instead of ermine. The Queen wore a\ngarland of violets around her golden head, and the hem of her gown was\nthickly sown with primroses.\n\nBut the little Princess Rosetta surpassed all the rest. Her little\ngown was completely woven of violets and other fine flowers. There was\na very skillful seamstress in the court who knew how to do this kind\nof work, although no one except the Princess Rosetta was allowed to\nwear a flower-cloth gown to the Bee Festival. She wore also a little\nwhite violet cap, and two of her nurses carried her between them in a\nlittle basket lined with rose and apple-leaves.\n\nAll the company, as they danced along, sang, or played on flutes, or\nrang little glass and silver bells. Nobody except the King and Queen\nrode. They rode cream-colored ponies, with silken ropes wound with\nflowers for bridle-reins.\n\nThe Bee Festival was held in a beautiful park a mile distant from the\ncity. The young grass there was green and velvety, and spangled\nall over with fallen apple and cherry and peach and plum and pear\nblossoms; for the park was set with fruit-trees in even rows. The blue\nsky showed between the pink and white branches, and the air was very\nsweet and loud with the humming of bees. The trees were all full of\nbees. There was something peculiar about the bees of this country;\nnone of them had stings.\n\nWhen the court reached the park, they all tinkled their bells in time,\nwhistled on their flutes, and sang a song which they always sang on\nthese occasions. Then they played games and enjoyed themselves. They\nplayed hide-and-seek among the trees, and formed rings and danced. The\nbees flew around them, and seemed to know them. The little Princess,\nlying in her basket, crowed and laughed, and caught at them when they\ncame humming over her face. Her nurses stood around her, and waved\ngreat fans of peacock-feathers, but that did not frighten the bees at\nall.\n\nThe court's lunch was spread on a damask-cloth, in an open space\nbetween the trees. There were biscuits of wheaten flour, plates of\nhoney-comb, and cream in tall glass ewers. That was the regulation\nlunch at the Bee Festival. The Bee Festival was nearly as old as the\nkingdom, and there was an ancient legend about it, which the Poet\nLaureate had put into an epic poem. The King had it in his royal\nlibrary, printed in golden letters and bound in old gold plush.\n\nCenturies ago, so the legend ran, in the days of the very first\nmonarch of the royal family of which this king was a member, there\nwere no bees at all in the kingdom. Not a child in the whole country,\nnot even the little princes and princesses in the palace, had ever\ntasted a bit of bread and honey.\n\nBut, while there were no bees in this kingdom, one just across the\nriver was swarming with them. That kingdom was governed by a king who\nwas the tenth cousin of the first, and not very well disposed toward\nhim. He had stationed lines of sentinels with ostrich-feather brooms\non his bank of the river to keep the bees from flying over, and he\nwould not export a single bee, nor one ounce of honey, although he had\nbeen offered immense sums.\n\nHowever, the inhabitants of this second country were so cruel and\ntormenting in their dispositions, and the children so teased the\nbees, which were stingless and could not defend themselves, that they\nrebelled. They stopped making honey, and one day they swarmed, and\nflew in a body across the river in spite of the frantic waving of the\nostrich-feather brooms.\n\nThe other King was overjoyed. He ordered beautiful hives to be built\nfor them, and instituted a national festival in their honor, which\never since had been observed regularly on the sixteenth day of May.\n\nUp to this day there were no bees in the kingdom across the river. Not\none would return to where its ancestors had been so hardly treated;\nhere everybody was kind to them, and even paid them honor. The present\nKing had established an order of the \"Golden Bee.\" The Knights of the\nGolden Bee wore ribbons studded with golden bees on their breasts, and\ntheir watchword was a sort of a \"buzz-z-z,\" like the humming of a bee.\nWhen they were in full regalia they wore also some curious wings made\nof gold wire and lace. The Knights of the Golden Bee comprised the\nfinest nobles of the court.\n\nIn addition to them were the \"Bee Guards.\" They were the King's own\nbody-guards. Their uniform was white with green cuffs and collar and\nfacings. On the green were swarms of embroidered bees. They carried a\nbanner of green silk worked with bees and roses.\n\nSo the bee might fairly have been considered the national emblem of\nRomalia, for that was the name of the country. The first word which\nthe children learned to spell in school was \"b-e-e, bee,\" instead of\n\"b-o-y, boy.\" The poorest citizen had a bush of roses and a bee-hive\nin his yard, and the people were very forlorn who could not have a bit\nof honey-comb at least once a day. The court preferred it to any other\nfood. Indeed it was this particular Queen who was in the kitchen\neating bread and honey, in the song.\n\n[Illustration: A KNIGHT OF THE GOLDEN BEE.]\n\nBut to return to the Bee Festival, on this especial sixteenth of May.\nAt sunset when the bees flew back to their hives for the last time\nwith their loads of honey, the court also went home. They danced along\nin a splendid merry procession. The cream-colored ponies the King and\nQueen rode pranced lightly in advance, their slender hoofs keeping\ntime to the flutes and the bells; and the gallants, leading the ladies\nby the tips of their dainty fingers, came after them with gay waltzing\nsteps. The nurses who carried the Princess Rosetta held their heads\nhigh, and danced along as bravely as the others, waving their\npeacock-feather fans in their unoccupied hands. They bore the little\nPrincess in her basket between them as lightly as a feather. Up and\ndown she swung. When they first started she laughed and crowed; then\nshe became very quiet. The nurses thought she was asleep. They had\nlaid a little satin coverlet over her, and put a soft thick veil over\nher face, that the damp evening-air might not give her the croup. The\nPrincess Rosetta was quite apt to have the croup.\n\nThe nurses cast a glance down at the veil and satin coverlet which\nwere so motionless. \"Her Royal Highness is asleep,\" they whispered to\neach other with nods. The nurses were handsome young women, and they\nwore white lace caps, and beautiful long darned lace aprons. They\nswung the Princess's basket along so easily that finally one of them\nremarked upon it.\n\n\"How very light her Royal Highness is,\" said she.\n\n\"She weighs absolutely nothing at all,\" replied the other nurse who\nwas carrying the Princess, \"absolutely nothing at all.\"\n\n\"Well, that is apt to be the case with such high-born infants,\" said\nthe first nurse. And they all waved their fans again in time to the\nmusic.\n\nWhen they reached the palace, the massive doors were thrown open, and\nthe court passed in. The nurses bore the Princess Rosetta's basket up\nthe grand marble stair, and carried it into the nursery.\n\n\"We will lift her Royal Highness out very carefully, and possibly we\ncan put her to bed without waking her,\" said the Head-nurse.\n\nBut her Royal Highness's ladies-of-the-bed-chamber who were in waiting\nset up such screams of horror at her remark, that it was a wonder that\nthe Princess did not awake directly.\n\n\"O-h!\" cried a lady-of-the-bed-chamber, \"put her Royal Highness to\nbed, in defiance of all etiquette, before the Prima Donna of the court\nhas sung her lullaby! Preposterous! Lift her out without waking her,\nindeed! This nurse should be dismissed from the court!\"\n\n\"O-h!\" cried another lady, tossing her lovely head scornfully, and\ngiving her silken train an indignant swish; \"the idea of putting her\nRoyal Highness to bed without the silver cup of posset, which I have\nhere for her!\"\n\n\"And without taking her rose-water bath!\" cried another, who was\ndabbling her lily fingers in a little ivory bath filled with\nrose-water.\n\n\"And without being anointed with this Cream of Lilies!\" cried one with\na little ivory jar in her hand.\n\n\"And without having every single one of her golden ringlets dressed\nwith this pomade scented with violets and almonds!\" cried one with a\nround porcelain box.\n\n\"Or even having her curls brushed!\" cried a lady as if she were\nfainting, and she brandished an ivory hair-brush set with turquoises.\n\n\"I suppose,\" remarked a lady who was very tall and majestic in her\ncarriage, \"that this nurse would not object to her Royal Highness\nbeing put to bed without--her nightgown, even!\"\n\nAnd she held out the Princess's little embroidered nightgown, and\ngazed at the Head-nurse with an awful air.\n\n\"I beg your pardon humbly, my Ladies,\" responded the Head-nurse\nmeekly. Then she bent over the basket to lift out the Princess.\n\nEvery one stood listening for her Royal Highness's pitiful scream\nwhen she should awake. The lady with the cup of posset held it in\nreadiness, and the ladies with the Cream of Lilies, the violet and\nalmond pomade and the ivory hair-brush looked anxious to begin their\nduties. The Prima Donna stood with her song in hand, and the first\ncourt fiddler had his bow raised all ready to play the accompaniment\nfor her. Writing a fresh lullaby for the Princess every day, and\nsetting it to music, were among the regular duties of the Poet\nLaureate and the first musical composer of the court.\n\nThe Head-nurse with her eyes full of tears because of the reproaches\nshe had received, reached down her arms and attempted to lift the\nPrincess Rosetta--suddenly she turned very white, and tossed aside the\nveil and the satin coverlet. Then she gave a loud scream, and fell\ndown in a faint.\n\nThe ladies stared at one another.\n\n\"What is the matter with the Head-nurse?\" they asked. Then the second\nnurse stepped up to the basket and reached down to clasp the Princess\nRosetta. Then she gave a loud scream, and fell down in a faint.\n\nThe third nurse, trembling so she could scarcely stand, came next.\nAfter she had stooped over the basket, she also gave a loud scream and\nfainted. Then the fourth nurse stepped up, bent over the basket, and\nfainted. So all the Princess Rosetta's nurses lay fainting on the\nfloor beside her basket.\n\nIt was contrary to the rules of etiquette for any one except the\nnurses to approach nearer than five yards to her Royal Highness before\nshe was taken from her basket. So they crowded together at that\ndistance and craned their necks.\n\n\"What can ail the nurses?\" they whispered in terrified tones. They\ncould not go near enough to the basket to see what the trouble was,\nand still it seemed very necessary that they should.\n\n\"I wish I had a telescope,\" said the lady with the hair-brush.\n\nBut there was none in the room, and it was contrary to the rules of\netiquette for any person to leave it until the Princess was taken from\nthe basket.\n\nThere seemed to be no proper way out of the difficulty. Finally the\nfirst fiddler stood up with an air of resolution, and began unwinding\nthe green silk sash from his waist. It was eleven yards long. He\ndoubled it, and launched it at the basket, like a lasso.\n\n[Illustration: THE PRINCESS WAS NOT IN THE BASKET!]\n\n\"There is nothing in the code of etiquette to prevent the Princess\napproaching us before she is taken from her basket,\" he said bravely.\nAll the ladies applauded.\n\nHe threw the lasso very successfully. It went quite around the basket.\nThen he drew it gently over the five yards. They all crowded around,\nand looked into it.\n\n_The Princess was not in the basket!_\n\n\nII.\n\nTHE POP-CORN MAN.\n\n\nThat night the whole kingdom was in a turmoil. The Bee Guards were\ncalled out, and patrolled the city, alarm-bells rung, signal fires\nburned, and everybody was out with a lantern. They searched every inch\nof the road to the park where the Bee Festival had been held, for it\ndid seem at first as if the Princess had possibly been spilled out of\nthe basket, although the nurses were confident that it was not so. So\nthey searched carefully, and the nurses were in the meantime placed in\ncustody. But nothing was found. The people held their lanterns low,\nand looked under every bush, and even poked aside the grasses, but\nthey could not find the Princess on the road to the park.\n\nThen a regular force of detectives was organized, and the search\ncontinued day after day. Every house in the country was examined in\nevery nook and corner. The cupboards even were all ransacked, and the\nbureau drawers. The King had a favorite book of philosophy, and one\nmotto which he had learned in his youth recurred to him. It was this:\n\n\"When a-seeking, seek in the unlikely places, as well as the likely;\nfor no man can tell the road that lost things may prefer.\"\n\nSo he ordered search to be made in unlikely as well as likely places,\nfor the Princess; and it was carried so far that the people had all\nto turn their pockets inside out, and shake their shawls and\ntable-cloths. But it was all of no use. Six months went by, and\nthe Princess Rosetta had not been found. The King and Queen were\nbroken-hearted. The Queen wept all day long, and her tears fell into\nher honey, until it was no longer sweet, and she could not eat it. The\nKing sat by himself and had no heart for anything.\n\n[Illustration: THE BEE GUARDS PATROLLED THE CITY.]\n\nBut the four nurses were in nearly as much distress. Not only had they\nbeen very fond of the little Princess, and were grieving bitterly for\nher loss, but they had also a punishment to endure. They had been\nreleased from custody, because there was really no evidence against\nthem, but in view of their possible carelessness, and in perpetual\nreminder of the loss of the Princess, a sentence had been passed upon\nthem. They had been condemned to wear their bonnets the wrong way\naround, indoors and out, until the Princess should be found. So the\npoor nurses wept into the crowns of their bonnets. They had little\npeep-holes in the straw that they might see to get about, and they\nlifted up the capes in order to eat; but it was very trying. The\nnurses were all pretty young women too, and the Head-nurse who came of\nquite a distinguished family was to have been married soon. But how\ncould she be a bride and wear a veil with her face in the crown of her\nbonnet?\n\nThe Head-nurse was quite clever, and she thought about the Princess's\ndisappearance, until finally her thoughts took shape. One day she put\non her shawl--her bonnet was always on--and set out to call on the\nBaron Greenleaf. The Baron was an old man who was said to be versed\nin white magic, and lived in a stone tower with his servants and his\nhouse-keeper.\n\nWhen the Head-nurse came into the tower-yard, the dog began to bark;\nhe was not used to seeing a woman with her face in the crown of her\nbonnet. He thought that her head must be on the wrong way, and that\nshe was a monster, and had designs upon his master's property. So he\nbarked and growled, and caught hold of her dress, and the Head-nurse\nscreamed. The Baron himself came running downstairs, and opened the\ndoor. \"Who is there?\" cried he.\n\nBut when he saw the woman with her bonnet on wrong he knew at once\nthat she must be one of the Princess's nurses. So he ordered off the\ndog, and ushered the nurse into the tower. He led her into his study,\nand asked her to sit down. \"Now, madam, what can I do for you?\" he\ninquired quite politely.\n\n\"Oh, my lord!\" cried the Head-nurse in her muffled voice, \"help me to\nfind the Princess.\"\n\nThe Baron, who was a tall lean old man and wore a very large-figured\ndressing-gown trimmed with fur, frowned, and struck his fist down upon\nthe table. \"Help you to find the Princess!\" he exclaimed; \"don't you\nsuppose I should find her on my own account if I could? I should\nhave found her long before this if the idiots had not broken all my\nbottles, and crystals, and retorts, and mirrors, and spilled all the\nmagic fluids, so that I cannot practice any white magic at all. The\nidea of looking for a princess in a bottle--that comes of pinning\none's faith upon philosophy!\"\n\n\"Then you cannot find the Princess by white magic?\" the Head-nurse\nasked timidly.\n\nThe Baron pounded the table again. \"Of course I cannot,\" he replied,\n\"with all my magical utensils smashed in the search for her.\"\n\nThe Head-nurse sighed pitifully.\n\n\"I suppose that you do not like to go about with your face in the\ncrown of your bonnet?\" the Baron remarked in a harsh voice.\n\nThe Head-nurse replied sadly that she did not.\n\n\"It doesn't seem to me that I should mind it much,\" said the Baron.\n\nThe Head-nurse looked at his grim old face through the peep-holes in\nher bonnet-crown, and thought to herself that if she were no prettier\nthan he, she should not mind much either, but she said nothing.\n\nSuddenly there was a knock at the tower-door.\n\n\"Excuse me a moment,\" said the Baron; \"my housekeeper is deaf, and my\nother servants have gone out.\" And he ran down the tower-stair, his\ndressing-gown sweeping after him.\n\nPresently he returned, and there was a young man with him. This young\nman was as pretty as a girl, and he looked very young. His blue eyes\nwere very sharp and bright, and he had rosy cheeks and fair curly\nhair. He was dressed very poorly, and around his shoulders were\nfestooned strings of something that looked like fine white flowers,\nbut it was in reality pop-corn. He carried a great basket of pop-corn,\nand bore a corn-popper over his shoulder.\n\nWhen he entered he bowed low to the Head-nurse; her bonnet did not\nseem to surprise him at all. \"Would you like to buy some of my nice\npop-corn, madam?\" he asked.\n\nShe curtesied. \"Not to-day,\" she replied.\n\nBut in reality she did not know what pop-corn was. She had never seen\nany, and neither had the Baron. That indeed was the reason why he had\nadmitted the man--he was curious to see what he was carrying. \"Is it\ngood to eat?\" he inquired.\n\n\"Try it, my lord,\" answered the man. So the Baron put a pop-corn in\nhis mouth and chewed it critically. \"It is very good indeed,\" he\ndeclared.\n\nThe man passed the basket to the Head-nurse, and she lifted the\ncape of her bonnet and put a pop-corn in her mouth, and nibbled it\ndelicately. She also thought it very good.\n\n\"But there is no use in discussing new articles of food when the\nkingdom is under the cloud that it is at present, and my retorts and\ncrystals all smashed,\" said the Baron.\n\n\"Why, what is the cloud, my lord?\" inquired the Pop-corn man. Then the\nBaron told him the whole story.\n\n\"Of course it is necromancy,\" remarked the Pop-corn man thoughtfully,\nwhen the Baron had finished.\n\nThe Baron pounded on the table until it danced. \"Necromancy!\" he\ncried, \"of course it's necromancy! Who but a necromancer could have\nmade a child invisible, and stolen her away in the face and eyes of\nthe whole court?\"\n\n\"Have you any idea where she is?\" ask the Pop-corn man.\n\nThe Baron stared at him in amazement.\n\n\"Idea where she is?\" he repeated scornfully. \"You are just of a piece\nwith the idiots who broke my mirrors to see if the Princess was not\nbehind them! How should we have any idea where she is if she is lost,\npray?\"\n\nThe Pop-corn man blushed, and looked frightened, but the Head-nurse\nspoke up quite bravely, although her voice was so muffled, and said\nthat she really did have some idea of the Princess's whereabouts. She\npropounded her views which were quite plausible. It was her opinion\nthat only an enemy of the King would have caused the Princess to be\nstolen, and as the King had only one enemy of whom anybody knew, and\nhe was the King across the river, she thought the Princess must be\nthere.\n\n\"It seems very likely,\" said the Baron after she had finished, \"but if\nshe is there it is hopeless. Our King could never conquer the other\none, who has a much stronger army.\"\n\n\"Do you know,\" asked the Pop-corn man, \"if they have ever had any\npop-corn on the other side of the river?\"\n\n\"I don't think they have,\" replied the Baron.\n\n\"Then,\" said the Pop-corn man, \"I think I can free the Princess.\"\n\n\"You!\" cried the Baron scornfully.\n\nBut the Pop-corn man said nothing more. He bowed low to the Baron and\nthe Head-nurse, and left the tower.\n\n\"The idea of his talking as he did,\" said the Baron. But the nurse was\npinning her shawl, and she hurried out of the tower and overtook the\nPop-corn man.\n\n\"How are you going to manage it?\" whispered she, touching his sleeve.\n\nThe Pop-corn man started. \"Oh, it's you?\" he said. \"Well, you wait a\nlittle, and you will see. Do you suppose you could find six little\nboys who would be willing to go over the river with me to-morrow?\"\n\n\"Would it be quite safe?\"\n\n\"Quite safe.\"\n\n\"I have six little brothers who would go,\" said the Head-nurse.\n\nSo it was arranged that the six little brothers should go across the\nriver with the Pop-corn man; and the next morning they set out. They\nwere all decorated with strings of Pop-corn, they carried baskets of\npop-corn, and bore corn-poppers over their shoulders, and they crossed\nthe river in a row boat.\n\nOnce over the river they went about peddling pop-corn. The man sent\nthe boys all over the city, but he himself went straight to the\npalace.\n\nHe knocked at the palace-door, and the maid-servant came. \"Is the King\nat home?\" asked the Pop-corn man.\n\nThe maid said he was, and the Pop-corn man asked to see him. Just then\na baby cried.\n\n\"What baby is that crying?\" asked he.\n\n\"A baby that was brought here at sunset, several months ago,\" replied\nthe maid; and he knew at once that he had found the Princess.\n\n\"Will you find out if I can see the King?\" he said.\n\n\"I'll see,\" answered the maid. And she went in to find the King.\nPretty soon she returned and asked the Pop-corn man to step into the\nparlor, which he did, and soon the King came downstairs.\n\n[Illustration: \"YOU!\" CRIED THE BARON SCORNFULLY.]\n\nThe Pop-corn man displayed his wares, and the King tasted. He had\nnever seen any pop-corn before, and he was both an epicure and a man\nof hobbies. \"It is the nicest food that ever I tasted,\" he declared,\nand he bought all the man's stock.\n\n\"I can buy corn for you for seed, and I can order poppers enough to\nsupply the city,\" suggested the Pop-corn man.\n\n\"So do,\" cried the King. And he gave orders for seven ships' cargoes\nof seed corn and fifty of poppers. \"My people shall eat nothing else,\"\nsaid the King, \"and the whole kingdom shall be planted with it. I am\nsatisfied that it is the best national food.\"\n\nThat day the court dined on pop-corn, and as it was very light\nand unsatisfying, they had to eat a long time. They were all the\nafter-noon dining. Right after dinner the King wrote out his royal\ndecree that all the inhabitants should that year plant pop-corn\ninstead of any other grain or any vegetable, and that as soon as the\nships arrived they should make it their only article of food. For the\nKing, when he had learned from the Pop-corn man that the corn needed\nto be not only ripe but well dried before it would pop, could not\nwait, but had ordered five hundred cargoes of pop-corn for immediate\nuse.\n\nSo as soon as the ships arrived the people began at once to pop corn\nand eat it. There was a sound of popping corn all over the city, and\nthe people popped all day long. It was necessary that they should,\nbecause it took such a quantity to satisfy hunger, and when they were\nnot popping they had to eat. People shook the poppers until their arms\nwere tired, then gave them to others, and sat down to eat. Men, women\nand children popped. It was all that they could do, with the exception\nof planting the seed-corn, and then they were faint with hunger as\nthey worked. The stores and schools were closed. In the palace the\nKing and Queen themselves were obliged to pop in order to secure\nenough to eat, and the nobles and the court-ladies toiled and ate,\nday and night. But the little stolen Princess and the King's son, the\nlittle Prince, could not pop corn, for they were only babies.\n\nWhen the people across the river had been popping corn for about a\nmonth, the Pop-corn man went to the King of Romalia's palace, and\nsought an audience. He told him how he had discovered his daughter in\nthe palace of the King across the river.\n\nThe King of Romalia clasped his hands in despair. \"I must make war,\"\nsaid he, \"but my army is nothing to his.\"\n\nHowever, he at once went about making war. He ordered the swords to be\ncleaned with sand-paper until they shone, and new bullets to be cast.\nThe Bee Guards were drilled every day, and the people could not sleep\nfor the drums and the fifes.\n\n[Illustration: BOTH THE KING AND QUEEN WERE OBLIGED TO POP.]\n\nWhen everything was ready the King of Romalia and his army crossed\nthe river and laid siege to the city. They had expected to have the\npassage of the river opposed, but not a foeman was stationed on the\nopposite bank. All the spears they could see were the waving green\nones of pop-corn fields. They marched straight up to the city walls\nand laid siege. The inhabitants fought on the walls and in the\ngate-towers, but not very many could fight at a time, because they\nwould have to stop and pop corn and eat.\n\nThe defenders grew fewer and fewer, some were killed, and all of them\nwere growing too tired and weak to fight. They could not eat enough\npop-corn to give them strength and have any time left to fight. They\nfilled their pockets and tried to eat pop-corn as they fought, but\nthey could not manage that very well.\n\nOn the third day the city surrendered with very little loss of life\non either side, and the little Princess Rosetta was restored to her\nparents. There was great rejoicing all through Romalia; in the evening\nthere was an illumination and a torch-light procession. The nurses\nmarched with their bonnets on the right way, and the Knights of the\nGolden Bee were out in full regalia.\n\nThe next day the Head-nurse was married, and the King gave her a farm\nand a dozen bee-hives for a wedding present, and the Queen a beautiful\nbridal bonnet trimmed with white plumes and hollyhocks.\n\nAll the court, the Baron and the Pop-corn man went to the wedding, and\nwedding-cake and corn-balls were passed around.\n\nAfter the wedding the Pop-corn man went home. He lived in another\ncountry on the other side of a mountain. The King pressed him to take\nsome reward. \"I am puzzled,\" he said to the Pop-corn man, \"to know\nwhat to offer you. The usual reward in such cases is the hand of the\nPrincess in marriage, but Rosetta is not a year old. If there is\nanything else you can think of\"--\n\nThe Pop-corn man kissed the King's hand and replied that there was\nnothing that he could think of except a little honey-comb. He should\nlike to carry some to his mother. So the King gave him a great piece\nof honey-comb in a silver dish, and the Pop-corn man departed.\n\nHe never came to Romalia again, but the Poet Laureate celebrated him\nin an epic poem, describing the loss of the Princess and the war\nfor her rescue. The Princess was never stolen again--indeed the\nnecromancer across the river who had kidnaped her was imprisoned for\nlife on a diet of pop-corn which he popped himself.\n\nThe King across the river became tired of pop-corn, as it had caused\nhis defeat, and forbade his people to eat it. He paid tribute to the\nKing of Romalia as long as he lived; but after his death, when his\nson, the young prince, came to reign, affairs were on a very pleasant\nfooting between the two kingdoms. The new King was very different from\nhis father, being generous and amiable, and beloved by every one.\nIndeed Rosetta, when she had grown to be a beautiful maiden, married\nhim and went to live as a Queen where she had been a captive.\n\nAnd when Rosetta went across the river to live, the King, her father,\ngave her some bee-hives for a wedding present, and the bees thrived\nequally in both countries. All the difference in the honey was this:\nin Romalia the bees fed more on clover, and the honey tasted of\nclover: and in the country across the river on peppermint, and that\nhoney tasted of peppermint. They always had both kinds at their Bee\nFestivals.\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE CHRISTMAS MONKS.\n\n\nAll children have wondered unceasingly from their very first Christmas\nup to their very last Christmas, where the Christmas presents come\nfrom. It is very easy to say that Santa Claus brought them. All well\nregulated people know that, of course; but the reindeer, and the\nsledge, and the pack crammed with toys, the chimney, and all the rest\nof it--that is all true, of course, and everybody knows about it; but\nthat is not the question which puzzles. What children want to know is,\nwhere do these Christmas presents come from in the first place? Where\ndoes Santa Claus get them? Well the answer to that is, _In the garden\nof the Christmas Monks_. This has not been known until very lately;\nthat is, it has not been known till very lately except in the\nimmediate vicinity of the Christmas Monks. There, of course, it has\nbeen known for ages. It is rather an out-of-the-way place; and that\naccounts for our never hearing of it before.\n\nThe Convent of the Christmas Monks is a most charmingly picturesque\npile of old buildings; there are towers and turrets, and peaked roofs\nand arches, and everything which could possibly be thought of in the\narchitectural line, to make a convent picturesque. It is built of\ngraystone; but it is only once in a while that you can see the\ngraystone, for the walls are almost completely covered with mistletoe\nand ivy and evergreen. There are the most delicious little arched\nwindows with diamond panes peeping out from the mistletoe and\nevergreen, and always at all times of the year, a little Christmas\nwreath of ivy and hollyberries is suspended in the center of every\nwindow. Over all the doors, which are likewise arched, are Christmas\ngarlands, and over the main entrance _Merry Christmas_ in evergreen\nletters.\n\nThe Christmas Monks are a jolly brethren; the robes of their order are\nwhite, gilded with green garlands, and they never are seen out at\nany time of the year without Christmas wreaths on their heads. Every\nmorning they file in a long procession into the chapel, to sing a\nChristmas carol; and every evening they ring a Christmas chime on the\nconvent bells. They eat roast turkey and plum pudding and mince-pie\nfor dinner all the year round; and always carry what is left in\nbaskets trimmed with evergreen, to the poor people. There are always\nwax candles lighted and set in every window of the convent at\nnightfall; and when the people in the country about get uncommonly\nblue and down-hearted, they always go for a cure to look at the\nConvent of the Christmas Monks after the candles are lighted and the\nchimes are ringing. It brings to mind things which never fail to cheer\nthem.\n\n[Illustration: GOING INTO THE CHAPEL.]\n\nBut the principal thing about the Convent of the Christmas Monks is\nthe garden; for that is where the Christmas presents grow. This garden\nextends over a large number of acres, and is divided into different\ndepartments, just as we divide our flower and vegetable gardens; one\nbed for onions, one for cabbages, and one for phlox, and one for\nverbenas, etc.\n\nEvery spring the Christmas Monks go out to sow the Christmas-present\nseeds after they have ploughed the ground and made it all ready.\n\nThere is one enormous bed devoted to rocking-horses. The rocking-horse\nseed is curious enough; just little bits of rocking-horses so small\nthat they can only be seen through a very, very powerful microscope.\nThe Monks drop these at quite a distance from each other, so that they\nwill not interfere while growing; then they cover them up neatly with\nearth, and put up a sign-post with \"Rocking-horses\" on it in evergreen\nletters. Just so with the penny-trumpet seed, and the toy-furniture\nseed, the skate-seed, the sled-seed, and all the others.\n\nPerhaps the prettiest and most interesting part of the garden, is that\ndevoted to wax dolls. There are other beds for the commoner dolls--for\nthe rag dolls, and the china dolls, and the rubber dolls, but of\ncourse wax dolls would look much handsomer growing. Wax dolls have\nto be planted quite early in the season; for they need a good start\nbefore the sun is very high. The seeds are the loveliest bits of\nmicroscopic dolls imaginable. The Monks sow them pretty close\ntogether, and they begin to come up by the middle of May. There is\nfirst just a little glimmer of gold, or flaxen, or black, or brown as\nthe case may be, above the soil. Then the snowy foreheads appear, and\nthe blue eyes, and black eyes, and, later on, all those enchanting\nlittle heads are out of the ground, and are nodding and winking and\nsmiling to each other the whole extent of the field; with their pinky\ncheeks and sparkling eyes and curly hair there is nothing so pretty as\nthese little wax doll heads peeping out of the earth. Gradually, more\nand more of them come to light, and finally by Christmas they are all\nready to gather. There they stand, swaying to and fro, and dancing\nlightly on their slender feet which are connected with the ground,\neach by a tiny green stem; their dresses of pink, or blue, or\nwhite--for their dresses grow with them--flutter in the air. Just\nabout the prettiest sight in the world, is the bed of wax dolls in the\ngarden of the Christmas Monks at Christmas time.\n\nOf course ever since this convent and garden were established (and\nthat was so long ago that the wisest man can find no books about it)\ntheir glories have attracted a vast deal of admiration and curiosity\nfrom the young people in the surrounding country; but as the garden is\nenclosed on all sides by an immensely thick and high hedge, which no\nboy could climb, or peep over, they could only judge of the garden by\nthe fruits which were parcelled out to them on Christmas-day.\n\nYou can judge, then, of the sensation among the young folks, and older\nones, for that matter, when one evening there appeared hung upon a\nconspicuous place in the garden-hedge, a broad strip of white cloth\ntrimmed with evergreen and printed with the following notice in\nevergreen letters:\n\n    \"WANTED:--By the Christmas Monks, two _good_ boys to assist in\n    garden work. Applicants will be examined by Fathers Anselmus and\n    Ambrose, in the convent refectory, on April 10th.\"\n\nThis notice was hung out about five o'clock in the evening, some time\nin the early part of February. By noon, the street was so full of boys\nstaring at it with their mouths wide open, so as to see better, that\nthe king was obliged to send his bodyguard before him to clear the way\nwith brooms, when he wanted to pass on his way from his chamber of\nstate to his palace.\n\nThere was not a boy in the country but looked upon this position as\nthe height of human felicity. To work all the year in that wonderful\ngarden, and see those wonderful things growing! and without doubt any\nboy who worked there could have all the toys he wanted, just as a boy\nwho works in a candy-shop always has all the candy he wants!\n\nBut the great difficulty, of course, was about the degree of goodness\nrequisite to pass the examination. The boys in this country were no\nworse than the boys in other countries, but there were not many of\nthem that would not have done a little differently if he had only\nknown beforehand of the advertisement of the Christmas Monks. However,\nthey made the most of the time remaining, and were so good all over\nthe kingdom that a very millennium seemed dawning. The school teachers\nused their ferrules for fire wood, and the King ordered all the\nbirch-trees cut down and exported, as he thought there would be no\nmore call For them in his own realm.\n\nWhen the time for the examination drew near, there were two boys whom\nevery one thought would obtain the situation, although some of the\nother boys had lingering hopes for themselves; if only the Monks would\nexamine them on the last six weeks, they thought they might pass.\nStill all the older people had decided in their minds that the Monks\nwould choose these two boys. One was the Prince, the King's oldest\nson; and the other was a poor boy named Peter. The Prince was no\nbetter than the other boys; indeed, to tell the truth, he was not so\ngood; in fact, was the biggest rogue in the whole country; but all the\nlords and the ladies, and all the people who admired the lords and\nladies, said it was their solemn belief that the Prince was the best\nboy in the whole kingdom; and they were prepared to give in their\ntestimony, one and all, to that effect to the Christmas Monks.\n\n[Illustration: The Boys Read the Notice]\n\nPeter was really and truly such a good boy that there was no excuse\nfor saying he was not. His father and mother were poor people; and\nPeter worked every minute out of school hours, to help them along.\nThen he had a sweet little crippled sister whom he was never tired of\ncaring for. Then, too, he contrived to find time to do lots of little\nkindnesses for other people. He always studied his lessons faithfully,\nand never ran away from school. Peter was such a good boy, and so\nmodest and unsuspicious that he was good, that everybody loved him. He\nhad not the least idea that he could get the place with the Christmas\nMonks, but the Prince was sure of it.\n\nWhen the examination day came all the boys from far and near, with\ntheir hair neatly brushed and parted, and dressed in their best\nclothes, flocked into the convent. Many of their relatives and friends\nwent with them to witness the examination.\n\nThe refectory of the convent where they assembled, was a very large\nhall with a delicious smell of roast turkey and plum pudding in it.\nAll the little boys sniffed, and their mouths watered.\n\nThe two fathers who were to examine the boys were perched up in a\nhigh pulpit so profusely trimmed with evergreen that it looked like a\nbird's nest; they were remarkably pleasant-looking men, and their eyes\ntwinkled merrily under their Christmas wreaths. Father Anselmus was\na little the taller of the two, and Father Ambrose was a little the\nbroader; and that was about all the difference between them in looks.\n\nThe little boys all stood up in a row, their friends stationed\nthemselves in good places, and the examination began.\n\nThen if one had been placed beside the entrance to the convent, he\nwould have seen one after another, a crestfallen little boy with his\narm lifted up and crooked, and his face hidden in it, come out and\nwalk forlornly away. He had failed to pass.\n\nThe two fathers found out that this boy had robbed birds' nests,\nand this one stolen apples. And one after another they walked\ndisconsolately away till there were only two boys left: the Prince and\nPeter.\n\n\"Now, your Highness,\" said Father Anselmus, who always took the lead\nin the questions, \"are you a good boy?\"\n\n\"O holy Father!\" exclaimed all the people--there were a good many fine\nfolks from the court present. \"He is such a good boy! such a wonderful\nboy! we never knew him to do a wrong thing.\"\n\n\"I don't suppose he ever robbed a bird's nest?\" said Father Ambrose a\nlittle doubtfully.\n\n[Illustration: The Prince & Peter are examined by the monks.]\n\n\n\"No, no!\" chorused the people.\n\n\"Nor tormented a kitten?\"\n\n\"No, no, no!\" cried they all.\n\nAt last everybody being so confident that there could be no reasonable\nfault found with the Prince, he was pronounced competent to enter upon\nthe Monks' service. Peter they knew a great deal about before--indeed\na glance at his face was enough to satisfy any one of his goodness;\nfor he did look more like one of the boy angels in the altar-piece\nthan anything else. So after a few questions, they accepted him also;\nand the people went home and left the two boys with the Christmas\nMonks.\n\nThe next morning Peter was obliged to lay aside his homespun coat,\nand the Prince his velvet tunic, and both were dressed in some little\nwhite robes with evergreen girdles like the Monks. Then the Prince was\nset to sewing Noah's Ark seed, and Peter picture-book seed. Up and\ndown they went scattering the seed. Peter sang a little psalm to\nhimself, but the Prince grumbled because they had not given him\ngold-watch or gem seed to plant instead of the toy which he had\noutgrown long ago. By noon Peter had planted all his picture-books,\nand fastened up the card to mark them on the pole; but the Prince had\ndawdled so his work was not half done.\n\n\"We are going to have a trial with this boy,\" said the Monks to each\nother; \"we shall have to set him a penance at once, or we cannot\nmanage him at all.\"\n\nSo the Prince had to go without his dinner, and kneel on dried peas in\nthe chapel all the afternoon. The next day he finished his Noah's Arks\nmeekly; but the next day he rebelled again and had to go the whole\nlength of the field where they planted jewsharps, on his knees. And so\nit was about every other day for the whole year.\n\nOne of the brothers had to be set apart in a meditating cell to invent\nnew penances; for they had used up all on their list before the Prince\nhad been with them three months.\n\nThe Prince became dreadfully tired of his convent life, and if he\ncould have brought it about would have run away. Peter, on the\ncontrary, had never been so happy in his life. He worked like a bee,\nand the pleasure he took in seeing the lovely things he had planted\ncome up, was unbounded, and the Christmas carols and chimes delighted\nhis soul. Then, too, he had never fared so well in his life. He could\nnever remember the time before when he had been a whole week without\nbeing hungry. He sent his wages every month to his parents; and he\nnever ceased to wonder at the discontent of the Prince.\n\n\"They grow so slow,\" the Prince would say, wrinkling up his handsome\nforehead. \"I expected to have a bushelful of new toys every month; and\nnot one have I had yet. And these stingy old Monks say I can only have\nmy usual Christmas share anyway, nor can I pick them out myself. I\nnever saw such a stupid place to stay in in my life. I want to have my\nvelvet tunic on and go home to the palace and ride on my white pony\nwith the silver tail, and hear them all tell me how charming I am.\"\nThen the Prince would crook his arm and put his head on it and cry.\n\nPeter pitied him, and tried to comfort him, but it was not of much\nuse, for the Prince got angry because he was not discontented as well\nas himself.\n\nTwo weeks before Christmas everything in the garden was nearly ready\nto be picked. Some few things needed a little more December sun, but\neverything looked perfect. Some of the Jack-in-the-boxes would not pop\nout quite quick enough, and some of the jumping-Jacks were hardly\nas limber as they might be as yet; that was all. As it was so near\nChristmas the Monks were engaged in their holy exercises in the chapel\nfor the greater part of the time, and only went over the garden once a\nday to see if everything was all right.\n\nThe Prince and Peter were obliged to be there all the time. There was\nplenty of work for them to do; for once in a while something would\nblow over, and then there were the penny-trumpets to keep in tune; and\nthat was a vast sight of work.\n\nOne morning the Prince was at one end of the garden straightening up\nsome wooden soldiers which had toppled over, and Peter was in the wax\ndoll bed dusting the dolls. All of a sudden he heard a sweet little\nvoice: \"O, Peter!\" He thought at first one of the dolls was talking,\nbut they could not say anything but papa and mamma; and had the merest\napologies for voices anyway. \"Here I am, Peter!\" and there was a\nlittle pull at his sleeve. There was his little sister. She was not\nany taller than the dolls around her, and looked uncommonly like the\nprettiest, pinkest-cheeked, yellowest-haired ones; so it was no wonder\nthat Peter did not see her at first. She stood there poising herself\non her crutches, poor little thing, and smiling lovingly up at Peter.\n\n\"Oh, you darling!\" cried Peter, catching her up in his arms. \"How did\nyou get in here?\"\n\n\"I stole in behind one of the Monks,\" said she. \"I saw him going up\nthe street past our house, and I ran out and kept behind him all the\nway. When he opened the gate I whisked in too, and then I followed him\ninto the garden. I've been here with the dollies ever since.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said poor Peter, \"I don't see what I am going to do with you,\nnow you are here. I can't let you out again; and I don't know what the\nMonks will say.\"\n\n\"Oh, I know!\" cried the little girl gayly. \"I'll stay out here in the\ngarden. I can sleep in one of those beautiful dolls' cradles over\nthere; and you can bring me something to eat.\"\n\n[Illustration: THE BOYS AT WORK IN THE CONVENT GARDEN.]\n\n\"But the Monks come out every morning to look over the garden, and\nthey'll be sure to find you,\" said her brother, anxiously.\n\n\"No, I'll hide! O, Peter, here is a place where there isn't any doll!\"\n\n\"Yes; that doll didn't come up.\"\n\n\"Well, I'll tell you what I'll do! I'll just stand here in this place\nwhere the doll didn't come up, and nobody can tell the difference.\"\n\n\"Well, I don't know but you can do that,\" said Peter, although he was\nstill ill at ease. He was so good a boy he was very much afraid of\ndoing wrong, and offending his kind friends the Monks; at the same\ntime he could not help being glad to see his dear little sister.\n\nHe smuggled some food out to her, and she played merrily about him all\nday; and at night he tucked her into one of the dolls' cradles with\nlace pillows and quilt of rose-colored silk.\n\nThe next morning when the Monks were going the rounds, the father\nwho inspected the wax doll bed, was a bit nearsighted, and he never\nnoticed the difference between the dolls and Peter's little sister,\nwho swung herself on her crutches, and looked just as much like a wax\ndoll as she possibly could. So the two were delighted with the success\nof their plan.\n\nThey went on thus for a few days, and Peter could not help being happy\nwith his darling little sister, although at the same time he could not\nhelp worrying for fear he was doing wrong.\n\nSomething else happened now, which made him worry still more;\nthe Prince ran away. He had been watching for a long time for an\nopportunity to possess himself of a certain long ladder made of\ntwisted evergreen ropes, which the Monks kept locked up in the\ntoolhouse. Lately, by some oversight, the toolhouse had been left\nunlocked one day, and the Prince got the ladder. It was the latter\npart of the afternoon, and the Christmas Monks were all in the chapel\npracticing Christmas carols. The Prince found a very large hamper, and\npicked as many Christmas presents for himself as he could stuff into\nit; then he put the ladder against the high gate in front of the\nconvent, and climbed up, dragging the hamper after him. When he\nreached the top of the gate, which was quite broad, he sat down to\nrest for a moment before pulling the ladder up so as to drop it on the\nother side.\n\nHe gave his feet a little triumphant kick as he looked back at his\nprison, and down slid the evergreen ladder! The Prince lost his\nbalance, and would inevitably have broken his neck if he had not clung\ndesperately to the hamper which hung over on the convent side of the\nfence; and as it was just the same weight as the Prince, it kept him\nsuspended on the other.\n\nHe screamed with all the force of his royal lungs; was heard by a\nparty of noblemen who were galloping up the street; was rescued, and\ncarried in state to the palace. But he was obliged to drop the hamper\nof presents, for with it all the ingenuity of the noblemen could not\nrescue him as speedily as it was necessary they should.\n\nWhen the good Monks discovered the escape of the Prince they were\ngreatly grieved, for they had tried their best to do well by him; and\npoor Peter could with difficulty be comforted. He had been very fond\nof the Prince, although the latter had done little except torment him\nfor the whole year; but Peter had a way of being fond of folks.\n\nA few days after the Prince ran away, and the day before the one on\nwhich the Christmas presents were to be gathered, the nearsighted\nfather went out into the wax doll field again; but this time he had\nhis spectacles on, and could see just as well as any one, and even\na little better. Peter's little sister was swinging herself on her\ncrutches, in the place where the wax doll did not come up, tipping her\nlittle face up, and smiling just like the dolls around her.\n\n\"Why, what is this!\" said the father. \"_Hoc credam!_ I thought that\nwax doll did not come up. Can my eyes deceive me? _non verum est!_\nThere is a doll there--and what a doll! on crutches, and in poor,\nhomely gear!\"\n\nThen the nearsighted father put out his hand toward Peter's little\nsister. She jumped--she could not help it, and the holy father jumped\ntoo; the Christmas wreath actually tumbled off his head.\n\n\"It is a miracle!\" exclaimed he when he could speak: \"the little girl\nis alive! _parra puella viva est._ I will pick her and take her to the\nbrethren, and we will pay her the honors she is entitled to.\"\n\nThen the good father put on his Christmas wreath, for he dared not\nventure before his abbot without it, picked up Peter's little sister,\nwho was trembling in all her little bones, and carried her into the\nchapel, where the Monks were just assembling to sing another carol.\nHe went right up to the Christmas abbot, who was seated in a splendid\nchair, and looked like a king.\n\n\"Most holy abbot,\" said the nearsighted father, holding out Peter's\nlittle sister, \"behold a miracle, _vide miraculum_! Thou wilt remember\nthat there was one wax doll planted which did not come up. Behold, in\nher place I have found this doll on crutches, which is--alive!\"\n\n\"Let me see her!\" said the abbot; and all the other Monks crowded\naround, opening their mouths just like the little boys around the\nnotice, in order to see better.\n\n\"_Verum est_,\" said the abbot. \"It is verily a miracle.\"\n\n\"Rather a lame miracle,\" said the brother who had charge of the funny\npicture-books and the toy monkeys; they rather threw his mind off\nits level of sobriety, and he was apt to make frivolous speeches\nunbecoming a monk.\n\n[Illustration: THE PRINCE RUNS AWAY.]\n\nThe abbot gave him a reproving glance, and the brother, who was the\nleach of the convent, came forward. \"Let me look at the miracle, most\nholy abbot,\" said he. He took up Peter's sister, and looked carefully\nat the small, twisted ankle. \"I think I can cure this with my herbs\nand simples,\" said he.\n\n\"But I don't know,\" said the abbot doubtfully. \"I never heard of\ncuring a miracle.\"\n\n\"If it is not lawful, my humble power will not suffice to cure it,\"\nsaid the father who was the leach.\n\n\"True,\" said the abbot; \"take her, then, and exercise thy healing art\nupon her, and we will go on with our Christmas devotions, for which we\nshould now feel all the more zeal.\" So the father took away Peter's\nlittle sister, who was still too frightened to speak.\n\nThe Christmas Monk was a wonderful doctor, for by Christmas Eve the\nlittle girl was completely cured of her lameness. This may seem\nincredible, but it was owing in great part to the herbs and simples,\nwhich are of a species that our doctors have no knowledge of; and also\nto a wonderful lotion which has never been advertised on our fences.\n\nPeter of course heard the talk about the miracle, and knew at once\nwhat it meant. He was almost heartbroken to think he was deceiving the\nMonks so, but at the same time he did not dare to confess the truth\nfor fear they would put a penance upon his sister, and he could not\nbear to think of her having to kneel upon dried peas.\n\nHe worked hard picking Christmas presents, and hid his unhappiness as\nbest he could. On Christmas Eve he was called into the chapel. The\nChristmas Monks were all assembled there. The walls were covered with\ngreen garlands and boughs and sprays of hollyberries, and branches\nof wax lights were gleaming brightly amongst them. The altar and the\npicture of the Blessed Child behind it were so bright as to almost\ndazzle one; and right up in the midst of it, in a lovely white dress,\nall wreaths and jewels, in a little chair with a canopy woven of green\nbranches over it, sat Peter's little sister.\n\nAnd there were all the Christmas Monks in their white robes and\nwreaths, going up in a long procession, with their hands full of the\nvery showiest Christmas presents to offer them to her!\n\nBut when they reached her and held out the lovely presents--the\nfirst was an enchanting wax doll, the biggest beauty in the whole\ngarden--instead of reaching out her hands for them, she just drew\nback, and said in her little sweet, piping voice: \"Please, I ain't a\nmillacle, I'm only Peter's little sister.\"\n\n\"Peter?\" said the abbot; \"the Peter who works in our garden?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said the little sister.\n\nNow here was a fine opportunity for a whole convent full of monks to\nlook foolish--filing up in procession with their hands full of gifts\nto offer to a miracle, and finding there was no miracle, but only\nPeter's little sister.\n\nBut the abbot of the Christmas Monks had always maintained that there\nwere two ways of looking at all things; if any object was not what you\nwanted it to be in one light, that there was another light in which it\nwould be sure to meet your views.\n\nSo now he brought this philosophy to bear.\n\n\"This little girl did not come up in the place of the wax doll, and\nshe is not a miracle in that light,\" said he; \"but look at her in\nanother light and she is a miracle--do you not see?\"\n\nThey all looked at her, the darling little girl, the very meaning and\nsweetness of all Christmas in her loving, trusting, innocent face.\n\n\"Yes,\" said all the Christmas Monks, \"she is a miracle.\" And they all\nlaid their beautiful Christmas presents down before her.\n\nPeter was so delighted he hardly knew himself; and, oh! the joy there\nwas when he led his little sister home on Christmas-day, and showed\nall the wonderful presents.\n\nThe Christmas Monks always retained Peter in their employ--in fact he\nis in their employ to this day. And his parents, and his little\nsister who was entirely cured of her lameness, have never wanted for\nanything.\n\nAs for the Prince, the courtiers were never tired of discussing and\nadmiring his wonderful knowledge of physics which led to his adjusting\nthe weight of the hamper of Christmas presents to his own so nicely\nthat he could not fall. The Prince liked the talk and the admiration\nwell enough, but he could not help, also, being a little glum: for he\ngot no Christmas presents that year.\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE PUMPKIN GIANT.\n\n\nA very long time ago, before our grandmother's time, or our\ngreat-grandmother's, or our grandmothers' with a very long string of\ngreats prefixed, there were no pumpkins; people had never eaten a\npumpkin-pie, or even stewed pumpkin; and that was the time when the\nPumpkin Giant flourished.\n\nThere have been a great many giants who have flourished since the\nworld begun, and although a select few of them have been good giants,\nthe majority of them have been so bad that their crimes even more than\ntheir size have gone to make them notorious. But the Pumpkin Giant was\nan uncommonly bad one, and his general appearance and his behavior\nwere such as to make one shudder to an extent that you would hardly\nbelieve possible. The convulsive shivering caused by the mere mention\nof his name, and, in some cases where the people were unusually\nsensitive, by the mere thought of him even, more resembled the blue\nague than anything else; indeed was known by the name of \"the Giant's\nShakes.\"\n\nThe Pumpkin Giant was very tall; he probably would have overtopped\nmost of the giants you have ever heard of. I don't suppose the Giant\nwho lived on the Bean-stalk whom Jack visited, was anything to compare\nwith him; nor that it would have been a possible thing for the Pumpkin\nGiant, had he received an invitation to spend an afternoon with the\nBean-stalk Giant, to accept, on account of his inability to enter the\nBean-stalk Giant's door, no matter how much he stooped.\n\nThe Pumpkin Giant had a very large yellow head, which was also smooth\nand shiny. His eyes were big and round, and glowed like coals of fire;\nand you would almost have thought that his head was lit up inside with\ncandles. Indeed there was a rumor to that effect amongst the common\npeople, but that was all nonsense, of course; no one of the more\nenlightened class credited it for an instant. His mouth, which\nstretched half around his head, was furnished with rows of pointed\nteeth, and he was never known to hold it any other way than wide open.\n\nThe Pumpkin Giant lived in a castle, as a matter of course; it is not\nfashionable for a giant to live in any other kind of a dwelling--why,\nnothing would be more tame and uninteresting than a giant in a\ntwo-story white house with green blinds and a picket fence, or even a\nbrown-stone front, if he could get into either of them, which he could\nnot.\n\nThe Giant's castle was situated on a mountain, as it ought to have\nbeen, and there was also the usual courtyard before it, and the\ncustomary moat, which was full of--_bones_! All I have got to say\nabout these bones is, they were not mutton bones. A great many details\nof this story must be left to the imagination of the reader; they are\ntoo harrowing to relate. A much tenderer regard for the feelings of\nthe audience will be shown in this than in most giant stories; we will\neven go so far as to state in advance, that the story has a good end,\nthereby enabling readers to peruse it comfortably without unpleasant\nsuspense.\n\nThe Pumpkin Giant was fonder of little boys and girls than anything\nelse in the world; but he was somewhat fonder of little boys, and more\nparticularly of _fat_ little boys.\n\nThe fear and horror of this Giant extended over the whole country.\nEven the King on his throne was so severely afflicted with the Giant's\nShakes that he had been obliged to have the throne propped, for fear\nit should topple over in some unusually violent fit. There was good\nreason why the King shook: his only daughter, the Princess Ariadne\nDiana, was probably the fattest princess in the whole world at that\ndate. So fat was she that she had never walked a step in the dozen\nyears of her life, being totally unable to progress over the earth by\nany method except rolling. And a really beautiful sight it was, too,\nto see the Princess Ariadne Diana, in her cloth-of-gold rolling-suit,\nfaced with green velvet and edged with ermine, with her glittering\ncrown on her head, trundling along the avenues of the royal gardens,\nwhich had been furnished with strips of rich carpeting for her express\naccommodation.\n\nBut gratifying as it would have been to the King, her sire, under\nother circumstances, to have had such an unusually interesting\ndaughter, it now only served to fill his heart with the greatest\nanxiety on her account. The Princess was never allowed to leave the\npalace without a body-guard of fifty knights, the very flower of\nthe King's troops, with lances in rest, but in spite of all this\nprecaution, the King shook.\n\nMeanwhile amongst the ordinary people who could not procure an escort\nof fifty armed knights for the plump among their children, the ravages\nof the Pumpkin Giant were frightful. It was apprehended at one time\nthat there would be very few fat little girls, and no fat little boys\nat all, left in the kingdom. And what made matters worse, at that time\nthe Giant commenced taking a tonic to increase his appetite.\n\nFinally the King, in desperation, issued a proclamation that he would\nknight any one, be he noble or common, who should cut off the head of\nthe Pumpkin Giant. This was the King's usual method of rewarding\nany noble deed in his kingdom. It was a cheap method, and besides\neverybody liked to be a knight.\n\nWhen the King issued his proclamation every man in the kingdom who was\nnot already a knight, straightway tried to contrive ways and means\nto kill the Pumpkin Giant. But there was one obstacle which seemed\ninsurmountable: they were afraid, and all of them had the Giant's\nShakes so badly, that they could not possibly have held a knife steady\nenough to cut off the Giant's head, even if they had dared to go near\nenough for that purpose.\n\nThere was one man who lived not far from the terrible Giant's castle,\na poor man, his only worldly wealth consisting in a large potato-field\nand a cottage in front of it. But he had a boy of twelve, an only son,\nwho rivaled the Princess Ariadne Diana in point of fatness. He was\nunable to have a body-guard for his son; so the amount of terror which\nthe inhabitants of that humble cottage suffered day and night was\nheart-rending. The poor mother had been unable to leave her bed for\ntwo years, on account of the Giant's Shakes; her husband barely got a\nliving from the potato-field; half the time he and his wife had hardly\nenough to eat, as it naturally took the larger part of the potatoes to\nsatisfy the fat little boy, their son, and their situation was truly\npitiable.\n\nThe fat boy's name was AEneas, his father's name was Patroclus, and\nhis mother's Daphne. It was all the fashion in those days to have\nclassical names. And as that was a fashion as easily adopted by the\npoor as the rich, everybody had them. They were just like Jim and\nTommy and May in these days. Why, the Princess's name, Ariadne Diana,\nwas nothing more nor less than Ann Eliza with us.\n\nOne morning Patroclus and AEneas were out in the field digging\npotatoes, for new potatoes were just in the market. The Early Rose\npotato had not been discovered in those days; but there was another\npotato, perhaps equally good, which attained to a similar degree of\ncelebrity. It was called the Young Plantagenet, and reached a very\nlarge size indeed, much larger than the Early Rose does in our time.\n\nWell, Patroclus and AEneas had just dug perhaps a bushel of Young\nPlantagenet potatoes. It was slow work with them, for Patroclus had\nthe Giant's Shakes badly that morning, and of course AEneas was not\nvery swift. He rolled about among the potato-hills after the manner\nof the Princess Ariadne Diana; but he did not present as imposing an\nappearance as she, in his homespun farmer's frock.\n\nAll at once the earth trembled violently. Patroclus and AEneas looked\nup and saw the Pumpkin Giant coming with his mouth wide open. \"Get\nbehind me, O, my darling son!\" cried Patroclus.\n\nAEneas obeyed, but it was of no use; for you could see his cheeks each\nside his father's waistcoat.\n\nPatroclus was not ordinarily a brave man, but he was brave in an\nemergency; and as that is the only time when there is the slightest\nneed of bravery, it was just as well.\n\nThe Pumpkin Giant strode along faster and faster, opening his mouth\nwider and wider, until they could fairly hear it crack at the corners.\n\nThen Patroclus picked up an enormous Young Plantagenet and threw it\nplump into the Pumpkin Giant's mouth. The Giant choked and gasped, and\nchoked and gasped, and finally tumbled down and died.\n\n[Illustration: HE PICKED UP AN ENORMOUS YOUNG PLANTAGENET AND THREW IT\nAT HIM.]\n\nPatroclus and AEneas while the Giant was choking, had run to the house\nand locked themselves in; then they looked out of the kitchen window;\nwhen they saw the Giant tumble down and lie quite still, they knew he\nmust be dead. Then Daphne was immediately cured of the Giant's\nShakes, and got out of bed for the first time in two years. Patroclus\nsharpened the carving-knife on the kitchen stove, and they all went\nout into the potato-field.\n\nThey cautiously approached the prostrate Giant, for fear he might be\nshamming, and might suddenly spring up at them and--AEneas. But no, he\ndid not move at all; he was quite dead. And, all taking turns, they\nhacked off his head with the carving-knife. Then AEneas had it to play\nwith, which was quite appropriate, and a good instance of the sarcasm\nof destiny.\n\nThe King was notified of the death of the Pumpkin Giant, and was\ngreatly rejoiced thereby. His Giant's Shakes ceased, the props were\nremoved from the throne, and the Princess Ariadne Diana was allowed to\ngo out without her body-guard of fifty knights, much to her delight,\nfor she found them a great hindrance to the enjoyment of her daily\noutings.\n\nIt was a great cross, not to say an embarrassment, when she was\ngleefully rolling in pursuit of a charming red and gold butterfly, to\nfind herself suddenly stopped short by an armed knight with his lance\nin rest.\n\nBut the King, though his gratitude for the noble deed knew no bounds,\nomitted to give the promised reward and knight Patroclus.\n\nI hardly know how it happened--I don't think it was anything\nintentional. Patroclus felt rather hurt about it, and Daphne would\nhave liked to be a lady, but AEneas did not care in the least. He had\nthe Giant's head to play with and that was reward enough for him.\nThere was not a boy in the neighborhood but envied him his possession\nof such a unique plaything; and when they would stand looking over the\nwall of the potato-field with longing eyes, and he was flying over the\nground with the head, his happiness knew no bounds; and AEneas played\nso much with the Giant's head that finally late in the fall it got\nbroken and scattered all over the field.\n\n[Illustration: THEY WERE ALL OVER THE FIELD.]\n\nNext spring all over Patroclus's potato-field grew running vines,\nand in the fall Giant's heads. There they were all over the field,\nhundreds of them! Then there was consternation indeed! The natural\nconclusion to be arrived at when the people saw the yellow Giant's\nheads making their appearance above the ground was, that the rest of\nthe Giants were coming.\n\n\"There was one Pumpkin Giant before,\" said they, \"now there will be\na whole army of them. If it was dreadful then what will it be in the\nfuture? If one Pumpkin Giant gave us the Shakes so badly, what will a\nwhole army of them do?\"\n\nBut when some time had elapsed and nothing more of the Giants appeared\nabove the surface of the potato-field, and as moreover the heads had\nnot yet displayed any sign of opening their mouths, the people began\nto feel a little easier, and the general excitement subsided somewhat,\nalthough the King had ordered out Ariadne Diana's body-guard again.\n\nNow AEneas had been born with a propensity for putting everything into\nhis mouth and tasting it; there was scarcely anything in his vicinity\nwhich could by any possibility be tasted, which he had not eaten a\nbit of. This propensity was so alarming in his babyhood, that Daphne\npurchased a book of antidotes; and if it had not been for her\nadmirable good judgment in doing so, this story would probably never\nhave been told; for no human baby could possibly have survived the\nheterogeneous diet which AEneas had indulged in. There was scarcely one\nof the antidotes which had not been resorted to from time to time.\n\nAEneas had become acquainted with the peculiar flavor of almost\neverything in his immediate vicinity except the Giant's heads; and he\nnaturally enough cast longing eyes at them. Night and day he wondered\nwhat a Giant's head could taste like, till finally one day when\nPatroclus was away he stole out into the potato-field, cut a bit out\nof one of the Giant's heads and ate it. He was almost afraid to,\nbut he reflected that his mother could give him an antidote; so he\nventured. It tasted very sweet and nice; he liked it so much that he\ncut off another piece and ate that, then another and another, until he\nhad eaten two thirds of a Giant's head. Then he thought it was about\ntime for him to go in and tell his mother and take an antidote, though\nhe did not feel ill at all yet.\n\n\"Mother,\" said he, rolling slowly into the cottage, \"I have eaten\ntwo thirds of a Giant's head, and I guess you had better give me an\nantidote.\"\n\n\"O, my precious son!\" cried Daphne, \"how could you?\" She looked in her\nbook of antidotes, but could not find one antidote for a Giant's head.\n\n\"O AEneas, my dear, dear son!\" groaned Daphne, \"there is no antidote\nfor Giant's head! What shall we do?\"\n\nThen she sat down and wept, and AEneas wept too as loud as he possibly\ncould. And he apparently had excellent reason to; for it did not seem\npossible that a boy could eat two thirds of a Giant's head and survive\nit without an antidote. Patroclus came home, and they told him, and he\nsat down and lamented with them. All day they sat weeping and watching\nAEneas, expecting every moment to see him die. But he did not die; on\nthe contrary he had never felt so well in his life.\n\nFinally at sunset AEneas looked up and laughed. \"I am not going to\ndie,\" said he; \"I never felt so well; you had better stop crying. And\nI am going out to get some more of that Giant's head; I am hungry.\"\n\n\"Don't, don't!\" cried his father and mother; but he went; for he\ngenerally took his own way, very like most only sons. He came back\nwith a whole Giant's head in his arms.\n\n\"See here, father and mother,\" cried he; \"we'll all have some of this;\nit evidently is not poison, and it is good--a great deal better than\npotatoes!\"\n\nPatroclus and Daphne hesitated, but they were hungry too. Since\nthe crop of Giant's heads had sprung up in their field instead of\npotatoes, they had been hungry most of the time; so they tasted.\n\n\"It is good,\" said Daphne; \"but I think it would be better cooked.\"\nSo she put some in a kettle of water over the fire, and let it boil\nawhile; then she dished it up, and they all ate it. It was delicious.\nIt tasted more like stewed pumpkin than anything else; in fact it was\nstewed pumpkin.\n\nDaphne was inventive, and something of a genius; and next day she\nconcocted another dish out of the Giant's heads. She boiled them, and\nsifted them, and mixed them with eggs and sugar and milk and spice;\nthen she lined some plates with puff paste, filled them with the\nmixture, and set them in the oven to bake.\n\nThe result was unparalleled; nothing half so exquisite had ever been\ntasted. They were all in ecstasies, AEneas in particular. They gathered\nall the Giant's heads and stored them in the cellar. Daphne baked pies\nof them every day, and nothing could surpass the felicity of the whole\nfamily.\n\nOne morning the King had been out hunting, and happened to ride by the\ncottage of Patroclus with a train of his knights. Daphne was baking\npies as usual, and the kitchen door and window were both open, for the\nroom was so warm; so the delicious odor of the pies perfumed the whole\nair about the cottage.\n\n\"What is it smells so utterly lovely?\" exclaimed the King, sniffing in\na rapture.\n\nHe sent his page in to see.\n\n\"The housewife is baking Giant's head pies,\" said the page returning.\n\n\"What?\" thundered the King. \"Bring out one to me!\"\n\nSo the page brought out a pie to him, and after all his knights had\ntasted to be sure it was not poison, and the king had watched them\nsharply for a few moments to be sure they were not killed, he tasted\ntoo.\n\n[Illustration: THEN THE KING KNIGHTED HIM ON THE SPOT.]\n\nThen he beamed. It was a new sensation, and a new sensation is a great\nboon to a king.\n\n\"I never tasted anything so altogether superfine, so utterly\nmagnificent in my life,\" cried the king; \"stewed peacocks' tongues\nfrom the Baltic, are not to be compared with it! Call out the\nhousewife immediately!\"\n\nSo Daphne came out trembling, and Patroclus and AEneas also.\n\n\"What a charming lad!\" exclaimed the King as his glance fell upon\nAEneas. \"Now tell me about these wonderful pies, and I will reward you\nas becomes a monarch!\"\n\nThen Patroclus fell on his knees and related the whole history of the\nGiant's head pies from the beginning.\n\nThe King actually blushed. \"And I forgot to knight you, oh noble and\nbrave man, and to make a lady of your admirable wife!\"\n\nThen the King leaned gracefully down from his saddle, and struck\nPatroclus with his jeweled sword and knighted him on the spot.\n\nThe whole family went to live at the royal palace. The roses in the\nroyal gardens were uprooted, and Giant's heads (or pumpkins, as they\ncame to be called) were sown in their stead; all the royal parks also\nwere turned into pumpkin-fields.\n\nPatroclus was in constant attendance on the King, and used to\nstand all day in his ante-chamber. Daphne had a position of great\nresponsibility, for she superintended the baking of the pumpkin pies,\nand AEneas finally married the Princess Ariadne Diana.\n\nThey were wedded in great state by fifty archbishops; and all the\nnewspapers united in stating that they were the most charming and well\nmatched young couple that had ever been united in the kingdom.\n\nThe stone entrance of the Pumpkin Giant's Castle was securely\nfastened, and upon it was engraved an inscription composed by the\nfirst poet in the kingdom, for which the King made him laureate, and\ngave him the liberal pension of fifty pumpkin pies per year.\n\nThe following is the inscription in full:\n\n  \"Here dwelt the Pumpkin Giant once,\n  He's dead the nation doth rejoice,\n  For, while he was alive, he lived\n  By e----g dear, fat, little boys.\"\n\nThe inscription is said to remain to this day; if you were to go there\nyou would probably see it.\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE CHRISTMAS MASQUERADE.\n\n\nOn Christmas Eve the Mayor's stately mansion presented a beautiful\nappearance. There were rows of different-colored wax candles burning\nin every window, and beyond them one could see the chandeliers of gold\nand crystal blazing with light. The fiddles were squeaking merrily,\nand lovely little forms flew past the windows in time to the music.\n\nThere were gorgeous carpets laid from the door to the street, and\ncarriages were constantly arriving, and fresh guests tripping over\nthem. They were all children. The Mayor was giving a Christmas\nMasquerade to-night, to all the children in the city, the poor as well\nas the rich. The preparation for this ball had been making an immense\nsensation for the last three months. Placards had been up in the most\nconspicuous points in the city, and all the daily newspapers had\nat least a column devoted to it, headed with THE MAYOR'S CHRISTMAS\nMASQUERADE in very large letters.\n\nThe Mayor had promised to defray the expenses of all the poor children\nwhose parents were unable to do so, and the bills for their costumes\nwere directed to be sent in to him.\n\nOf course there was a great deal of excitement among the regular\ncostumers of the city, and they all resolved to vie with one another\nin being the most popular, and the best patronized on this gala\noccasion. But the placards and the notices had not been out a week\nbefore a new Costumer appeared, who cast all the others into the shade\ndirectly. He set up his shop on the corner of one of the principal\nstreets, and hung up his beautiful costumes in the windows. He was a\nlittle fellow, not much larger than a boy of ten. His cheeks were as\nred as roses, and he had on a long curling wig as white as snow.\nHe wore a suit of crimson velvet knee-breeches, and a little\nswallow-tailed coat with beautiful golden buttons. Deep lace ruffles\nfell over his slender white hands, and he wore elegant knee-buckles\nof glittering stones. He sat on a high stool behind his counter and\nserved his customers himself; he kept no clerk.\n\nIt did not take the children long to discover what beautiful things he\nhad, and how superior he was to the other costumers, and they begun to\nflock to his shop immediately, from the Mayor's daughter to the poor\nrag-picker's. The children were to select their own costumes; the\nMayor had stipulated that. It was to be a children's ball in every\nsense of the word.\n\nSo they decided to be fairies, and shepherdesses, and princesses,\naccording to their own fancies; and this new costumer had charming\ncostumes to suit them.\n\nIt was noticeable, that, for the most part, the children of the rich,\nwho had always had everything they desired, would choose the parts of\ngoose-girls and peasants and such like; and the poor children jumped\neagerly at the chance of being princesses or fairies for a few hours\nin their miserable lives.\n\nWhen Christmas Eve came, and the children flocked into the Mayor's\nmansion, whether it was owing to the Costumer's art, or their own\nadaptation to the characters they had chosen, it was wonderful how\nlifelike their representations were. Those little fairies in their\nshort skirts of silken gauze, in which golden sparkles appeared as\nthey moved, with their little funny gossamer wings, like butterflies,\nlooked like real fairies. It did not seem possible, when they floated\naround to the music, half supported on the tips of their dainty toes,\nhalf by their filmy, purple wings, their delicate bodies swaying in\ntime, that they could be anything but fairies. It seemed absurd to\nimagine that they were Johnny Mullens, the washwoman's son, and Polly\nFlinders, the charwoman's little girl, and so on.\n\nThe Mayor's daughter, who had chosen the character of a goose-girl,\nlooked so like a true one that one could hardly dream she ever was\nanything else. She was, ordinarily, a slender, dainty little lady,\nrather tall for her age. She now looked very short and stubbed and\nbrown, just as if she had been accustomed to tend geese in all sorts\nof weather. It was so with all the others--the Red Riding-hoods, the\nprincesses, the Bo Peeps, and with every one of the characters who\ncame to the Mayor's ball; Red Riding-hood looked round, with big,\nfrightened eyes, all ready to spy the wolf, and carried her little\npat of butter and pot of honey gingerly in her basket; Bo Peep's eyes\nlooked red with weeping for the loss of her sheep; and the princesses\nswept about so grandly in their splendid brocaded trains, and held\ntheir crowned heads so high that people half believed them to be true\nprincesses.\n\nBut there never was anything like the fun at the Mayor's Christmas\nball. The fiddlers fiddled and fiddled, and the children danced and\ndanced on the beautiful waxed floors. The Mayor, with his family and a\nfew grand guests, sat on a dais covered with blue velvet at one end of\nthe dancing hall, and watched the sport. They were all delighted. The\nMayor's eldest daughter sat in front and clapped her little soft white\nhands. She was a tall, beautiful young maiden, and wore a white dress,\nand a little cap woven of blue violets on her yellow hair. Her name\nwas Violetta.\n\n[Illustration: THERE NEVER WAS ANYTHING LIKE THE FUN AT THE MAYOR'S\nCHRISTMAS BALL.]\n\nThe supper was served at midnight--and such a supper! The mountains\nof pink and white ices, and the cakes with sugar castles and\nflower-gardens on the tops of them, and the charming shapes of gold\nand ruby-colored jellies! There were wonderful bonbons which even the\nMayor's daughter did not have every day; and all sorts of fruits,\nfresh and candied. They had cowslip wine in green glasses, and\nelderberry wine in red, and they drank each other's health. The\nglasses held a thimbleful each; the Mayor's wife thought that was all\nthe wine they ought to have. Under each child's plate there was a\npretty present; and every one had a basket of bonbons and cake to\ncarry home.\n\nAt four o'clock the fiddlers put up their fiddles and the children\nwent home; fairies and shepherdesses and pages and princesses all\njabbering gleefully about the splendid time they had had.\n\nBut in a short time what consternation there was throughout the city!\nWhen the proud and fond parents attempted to unbutton their children's\ndresses, in order to prepare them for bed, not a single costume would\ncome off. The buttons buttoned again as fast as they were unbuttoned;\neven if they pulled out a pin, in it would slip again in a twinkling;\nand when a string was untied it tied itself up again into a bow-knot.\nThe parents were dreadfully frightened. But the children were so tired\nout they finally let them go to bed in their fancy costumes, and\nthought perhaps they would come off better in the morning. So Red\nRiding-hood went to bed in her little red cloak, holding fast to her\nbasket full of dainties for her grandmother, and Bo Peep slept with\nher crook in her hand.\n\nThe children all went to bed readily enough, they were so very\ntired, even though they had to go in this strange array. All but the\nfairies--they danced and pirouetted and would not be still.\n\n[Illustration: THEIR PARENTS STARED IN GREAT DISTRESS]\n\n\"We want to swing on the blades of grass,\" they kept saying, \"and play\nhide-and-seek in the lily-cups, and take a nap between the leaves of\nthe roses.\"\n\nThe poor charwomen and coal-heavers, whose children the fairies were\nfor the most part, stared at them in great distress. They did not know\nwhat to do with these radiant, frisky little creatures into which\ntheir Johnnys and their Pollys and Betseys were so suddenly\ntransformed. But the fairies went to bed quietly enough when daylight\ncame, and were soon fast asleep.\n\nThere was no further trouble till twelve o'clock, when all the\nchildren woke up. Then a great wave of alarm spread over the city. Not\none of the costumes would come off then. The buttons buttoned as fast\nas they were unbuttoned; the pins quilted themselves in as fast as\nthey were pulled out; and the strings, flew round like lightning and\ntwisted themselves into bow-knots as fast as they were untied.\n\nAnd that was not the worst of it; every one of the children seemed to\nhave become, in reality, the character which he or she had assumed.\n\nThe Mayor's daughter declared she was going to tend her geese out in\nthe pasture, and the shepherdesses sprang out of their little beds of\ndown, throwing aside their silken quilts, and cried that they must go\nout and watch their sheep. The princesses jumped up from their straw\npallets, and wanted to go to court; and all the rest of them likewise.\nPoor little Red Riding-hood sobbed and sobbed because she couldn't go\nand carry her basket to her grandmother, and as she didn't have any\ngrandmother she couldn't go, of course, and her parents were very much\ntroubled. It was all so mysterious and dreadful. The news spread very\nrapidly over the city, and soon a great crowd gathered around the new\nCostumer's shop, for every one thought he must be responsible for all\nthis mischief.\n\nThe shop door was locked; but they soon battered it down with stones.\nWhen they rushed in the Costumer was not there; he had disappeared\nwith all his wares. Then they did not know what to do. But it was\nevident that they must do something before long, for the state of\naffairs was growing worse and worse.\n\nThe Mayor's little daughter braced her back up against the tapestried\nwall and planted her two feet in their thick shoes firmly. \"I will\ngo and tend my geese!\" she kept crying. \"I won't eat my breakfast! I\nwon't go out in the park! I won't go to school. I'm going to tend my\ngeese--I will, I will, I will!\"\n\nAnd the princesses trailed their rich trains over the rough, unpainted\nfloors in their parents' poor little huts, and held their crowned\nheads very high and demanded to be taken to court. The princesses\nwere, mostly, geese-girls when they were their proper selves, and\ntheir geese were suffering, and their poor parents did not know what\nthey were going to do, and they wrung their hands and wept as they\ngazed on their gorgeously-appareled children.\n\nFinally, the Mayor called a meeting of the Aldermen, and they all\nassembled in the City Hall. Nearly every one of them had a son or\na daughter who was a chimney-sweep, or a little watch-girl, or a\nshepherdess. They appointed a chairman and they took a great many\nvotes, and contrary votes; but they did not agree on anything, until\nsome one proposed that they consult the Wise Woman. Then they all held\nup their hands, and voted to, unanimously.\n\n[Illustration: \"I WILL GO AND TEND MY GEESE!\"]\n\nSo the whole board of Aldermen set out, walking by twos, with the\nMayor at their head, to consult the Wise Woman. The Aldermen were all\nvery fleshy, and carried gold-headed canes which they swung very high\nat every step. They held their heads well back, and their chins stiff,\nand whenever they met common people they sniffed gently. They were\nvery imposing.\n\nThe Wise Woman lived in a little hut on the out-skirts of the city.\nShe kept a Black Cat; except for her, she was all alone. She was very\nold, and had brought up a great many children, and she was considered\nremarkably wise.\n\nBut when the Aldermen reached her hut and found her seated by the\nfire, holding her Black Cat, a new difficulty presented itself. She\nhad always been quite deaf, and people had been obliged to scream as\nloud as they could in order to make her hear; but, lately, she had\ngrown much deafer, and when the Aldermen attempted to lay the case\nbefore her she could not hear a word. In fact, she was so very deaf\nthat she could not distinguish a tone below G-sharp. The Aldermen\nscreamed till they were quite red in their faces, but all to no\npurpose; none of them could get up to G-sharp, of course.\n\nSo the Aldermen all went back, swinging their gold-headed canes, and\nthey had another meeting in the City Hall. Then they decided to send\nthe highest Soprano Singer in the church choir to the Wise Woman; she\ncould sing up to G-sharp just as easy as not. So the high-Soprano\nSinger set out for the Wise Woman's in the Mayor's coach, and the\nAldermen marched behind, swinging their gold-headed canes.\n\nThe high-Soprano Singer put her head down close to the Wise Woman's\near, and sang all about the Christmas Masquerade, and the dreadful\ndilemma everybody was in, in G-sharp--she even went higher,\nsometimes--and the Wise Woman heard every word. She nodded three\ntimes, and every time she nodded she looked wiser.\n\n\"Go home, and give 'em a spoonful of castor-oil, all 'round,\" she\npiped up; then she took a pinch of snuff, and wouldn't say any more.\n\nSo the Aldermen went home, and each one took a district and marched\nthrough it, with a servant carrying an immense bowl and spoon, and\nevery child had to take a dose of castor-oil.\n\nBut it didn't do a bit of good. The children cried and struggled when\nthey were forced to take the castor-oil; but, two minutes afterward,\nthe chimney-sweeps were crying for their brooms, and the princesses\nscreaming because they couldn't go to court, and the Mayor's daughter,\nwho had been given a double dose, cried louder and more sturdily: \"I\nwant to go and tend my geese! I will go and tend my geese!\"\n\nSo the Aldermen took the high-Soprano Singer, and they consulted the\nWise Woman again. She was taking a nap this time, and the Singer had\nto sing up to B-flat before she could wake her. Then she was very\ncross, and the Black Cat put up his back and spit at the Aldermen.\n\n\"Give 'em a spanking all 'round,\" she snapped out, \"and if that don't\nwork put 'em to bed without their supper!\"\n\nThen the Aldermen marched back to try that; and all the children in\nthe city were spanked, and when that didn't do any good they were put\nto bed without any supper. But the next morning when they woke up they\nwere worse than ever.\n\nThe Mayor and the Aldermen were very indignant, and considered that\nthey had been imposed upon and insulted. So they set out for the Wise\nWoman's again, with the high-Soprano Singer.\n\nShe sang in G-sharp how the Aldermen and the Mayor considered her an\nimposter, and did not think she was wise at all, and they wished her\nto take her Black Cat and move beyond the limits of the city. She sang\nit beautifully; it sounded like the very finest Italian opera-music.\n\n\"Deary me,\" piped the Wise Woman, when she had finished, \"how very\ngrand these gentlemen are.\" Her Black Cat put up his back and spit.\n\n\"Five times one Black Cat are five Black Cats,\" said the Wise Woman.\nAnd, directly, there were five Black Cats, spitting and miauling.\n\n\"Five times five Black Cats are twenty-five Black Cats.\" And then\nthere were twenty-five of the angry little beasts.\n\n\"Five times twenty-five Black Cats are one hundred and twenty-five\nBlack Cats,\" added the Wise Woman, with a chuckle.\n\n[Illustration: SHE SANG IT BEAUTIFULLY.]\n\nThen the Mayor and the Aldermen and the high-Soprano Singer fled\nprecipitately out the door and back to the city. One hundred and\ntwenty-five Black Cats had seemed to fill the Wise Woman's hut full,\nand when they all spit and miauled together it was dreadful. The\nvisitors could not wait for her to multiply Black Cats any longer.\n\nAs winter wore on, and spring came, the condition of things grew more\nintolerable. Physicians had been consulted, who advised that the\nchildren should be allowed to follow their own bents, for fear of\ninjury to their constitutions. So the rich Aldermen's daughters were\nactually out in the fields herding sheep, and their sons sweeping\nchimneys or carrying newspapers; while the poor charwomen's and\ncoal-heavers' children spent their time like princesses and fairies.\nSuch a topsy-turvy state of society was shocking. Why, the Mayor's\nlittle daughter was tending geese out in the meadow like any common\ngoose-girl! Her pretty elder sister, Violetta, felt very sad about it,\nand used often to cast about in her mind for some way of relief.\n\nWhen cherries were ripe in spring, Violetta thought she would ask the\nCherry-man about it. She thought the Cherry-man quite wise. He was a\nvery pretty young fellow, and he brought cherries to sell in\ngraceful little straw baskets lined with moss. So she stood in the\nkitchen-door, one morning, and told him all about the great trouble\nthat had come upon the city. He listened in great astonishment; he had\nnever heard of it before. He lived several miles out in the country.\n\n\"How did the Costumer look?\" he asked respectfully; he thought\nVioletta the most beautiful lady on earth.\n\nThen Violetta described the Costumer, and told him of the unavailing\nattempts that had been made to find him. There were a great many\ndetectives out, constantly at work.\n\n\"I know where he is!\" said the Cherry-man. \"He's up in one of my\ncherry-trees. He's been living there ever since cherries were ripe,\nand he won't come down.\"\n\nThen Violetta ran and told her father in great excitement, and he at\nonce called a meeting of the Aldermen, and in a few hours half the\ncity was on the road to the Cherry-man's.\n\nHe had a beautiful orchard of cherry-trees, all laden with fruit.\nAnd, sure enough, in one of the largest, way up amongst the topmost\nbranches, sat the Costumer in his red velvet short-clothes and his\ndiamond knee-buckles. He looked down between the green boughs.\n\"Good-morning, friends,\" he shouted.\n\nThe Aldermen shook their gold-headed canes at him, and the people\ndanced round the tree in a rage. Then they began to climb. But they\nsoon found that to be impossible. As fast as they touched a hand or\nfoot to the tree, back it flew with a jerk exactly as if the tree\npushed it. They tried a ladder, but the ladder fell back the moment\nit touched the tree, and lay sprawling upon the ground. Finally, they\nbrought axes and thought they could chop the tree down, Costumer and\nall; but the wood resisted the axes as if it were iron, and only\ndented them, receiving no impression itself.\n\nMeanwhile, the Costumer sat up in the tree, eating cherries, and\nthrowing the stones down. Finally, he stood up on a stout branch and,\nlooking down, addressed the people.\n\n\"It's of no use, your trying to accomplish anything in this way,\" said\nhe; \"you'd better parley. I'm willing to come to terms with you, and\nmake everything right, on two conditions.\"\n\nThe people grew quiet then, and the Mayor stepped forward as\nspokesman. \"Name your two conditions,\" said he, rather testily. \"You\nown, tacitly, that you are the cause of all this trouble.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said the Costumer, reaching out for a handful of cherries,\n\"this Christmas Masquerade of yours was a beautiful idea; but you\nwouldn't do it every year, and your successors might not do it at all.\nI want those poor children to have a Christmas every year. My first\ncondition is, that every poor child in the city hangs its stocking for\ngifts in the City Hall on every Christmas Eve, and gets it filled,\ntoo. I want the resolution filed and put away in the city archives.\"\n\n\"We agree to the first condition!\" cried the people with one voice,\nwithout waiting for the Mayor and Aldermen.\n\n\"The second condition,\" said the Costumer, \"is that this good young\nCherry-man here, has the Mayor's daughter, Violetta, for his wife. He\nhas been kind to me, letting me live in his cherry-tree, and eat his\ncherries, and I want to reward him.\"\n\n\"We consent!\" cried all the people; but the Mayor, though he was\nso generous, was a proud man. \"I will not consent to the second\ncondition,\" he cried angrily.\n\n\"Very well,\" replied the Costumer, picking some more cherries, \"then\nyour youngest daughter tends geese the rest of her life, that's all!\"\n\nThe Mayor was in great distress; but the thought of his youngest\ndaughter being a goose-girl all her life was too much for him. He gave\nin at last.\n\n\"Now go home, and take the costumes off your children,\" said the\nCostumer, \"and leave me in peace to eat cherries!\"\n\nThen the people hastened back to the city and found, to their great\ndelight, that the costumes would come off. The pins staid out, the\nbuttons staid unbuttoned, and the strings staid untied. The children\nwere dressed in their own proper clothes and were their own proper\nselves once more. The shepherdesses and the chimney-sweeps came\nhome, and were washed and dressed in silks and velvets, and went to\nembroidering and playing lawn-tennis. And the princesses and the\nfairies put on their own suitable dresses, and went about their useful\nemployments. There was great rejoicing in every home. Violetta thought\nshe had never been so happy, now that her dear little sister was no\nlonger a goose-girl, but her own dainty little lady-self.\n\nThe resolution to provide every poor child in the city with a stocking\nfull of gifts on Christmas was solemnly filed, and deposited in the\ncity archives, and was never broken.\n\nVioletta was married to the Cherry-man, and all the children came to\nthe wedding, and strewed flowers in her path till her feet were quite\nhidden in them. The Costumer had mysteriously disappeared from the\ncherry-tree the night before, but he left, at the foot, some beautiful\nwedding presents for the bride--a silver service with a pattern of\ncherries engraved on it, and a set of china with cherries on it, in\nhand-painting, and a white satin robe, embroidered with cherries down\nthe front.\n\n\n\n\n\n\nDILL.\n\n\nDame Clementina was in her dairy, churning, and her little daughter\nNan was out in the flower-garden. The flower-garden was a little plot\nback of the cottage, full of all the sweet, old-fashioned herbs. There\nwere sweet marjoram, sage, summersavory, lavender, and ever so many\nothers. Up in one corner, there was a little green bed of dill.\n\nNan was a dainty, slim little maiden, with yellow, flossy hair in\nshort curls all over her head. Her eyes were very sweet and round and\nblue, and she wore a quaint little snuff-colored gown. It had a short\nfull waist, with low neck and puffed sleeves, and the skirt was\nstraight and narrow and down to her little heels.\n\nShe danced around the garden, picking a flower here and there. She was\nmaking a nosegay for her mother. She picked lavender and sweet-william\nand pinks, and bunched them up together. Finally she pulled a little\nsprig of dill, and ran, with that and the nosegay, to her mother in\nthe dairy.\n\n\"Mother dear,\" said she, \"here is a little nosegay for you; and what\nwas it I overheard you telling Dame Elizabeth about dill last night?\"\n\nDame Clementina stopped churning and took the nosegay. \"Thank you,\nSweetheart, it is lovely,\" said she, \"and, as for the dill--it is a\ncharmed plant, you know, like four-leaved clover.\"\n\n\"Do you put it over the door?\" asked Nan.\n\n\"Yes. Nobody who is envious or ill-disposed can enter into the house\nif there is a sprig of dill over the door. Then I know another charm\nwhich makes it stronger. If one just writes this verse:\n\n  \"'Alva, aden, winira mir,\n    Villawissen lingen;\n  Sanchta, wanchta, attazir,\n    Hor de mussen wingen,'\n\nunder the sprig of dill, every one envious, or evil-disposed, who\nattempts to enter the house, will have to stop short, just where they\nare, and stand there; they cannot move.\"\n\n\"What does the verse mean?\" asked Nan.\n\n\"That, I do not know. It is written in a foreign language. But it is a\npowerful charm.\"\n\n\"O, mother! will you write it off for me, if I will bring you a bit of\npaper and a pen?\"\n\n\"Certainly,\" replied her mother, and wrote it off when Nan brought pen\nand paper.\n\n\"Now,\" said she, \"you must run off and play again, and not hinder me\nany longer, or I shall not get my butter made to-day.\"\n\nSo Nan danced away with the verse, and the sprig of dill, and her\nmother went on churning.\n\nShe had a beautiful tall stone churn, with the sides all carved with\nfigures in relief. There were milkmaids and cows as natural as life\nall around the churn. The dairy was charming, too. The shelves were\ncarved stone; and the floor had a little silvery rill running right\nthrough the middle of it, with green ferns at the sides. All along the\nstone shelves were set pans full of yellow cream, and the pans were\nall of solid silver, with a chasing of buttercups and daisies around\nthe brims.\n\nIt was not a common dairy, and Dame Clementina was not a common\ndairy-woman. She was very tall and stately, and wore her silver-white\nhair braided around her head like a crown, with a high silver comb\nat the top. She walked like a queen; indeed she was a noble count's\ndaughter. In her early youth, she had married a pretty young dairyman,\nagainst her father's wishes; so she had been disinherited. The\ndairyman had been so very poor and low down in the world, that the\ncount felt it his duty to cast off his daughter, lest she should do\ndiscredit to his noble line. There was a much pleasanter, easier way\nout of the difficulty, which the count did not see. Indeed, it was a\npeculiarity of all his family, that they never could see a way out of\na difficulty, high and noble as they were. The count only needed to\nhave given the poor young dairyman a few acres of his own land, and a\nfew bags of his own gold, and begged the king, with whom he had great\ninfluence, to knight him, and all the obstacles would have been\nremoved; the dairyman would have been quite rich and noble enough for\nhis son-in-law. But he never thought of that, and his daughter was\ndisinherited. However, he made all the amends to her that he could,\nand fitted her out royally for her humble station in life. He caused\nthis beautiful dairy to be built for her, and gave her the silver\nmilk-pans, and the carved stone churn.\n\n\"My daughter shall not churn in a common wooden churn, or skim the\ncream from wooden pans,\" he had said.\n\nThe dairyman had been dead a good many years now, and Dame Clementina\nmanaged the dairy alone. She never saw anything of her father,\nalthough he lived in his castle not far off, on a neighboring height.\nWhen the sky was clear, she could see its stone towers against it. She\nhad four beautiful white cows, and Nan drove them to pasture; they\nwere very gentle.\n\nWhen Dame Clementina had finished churning, she went into the cottage.\nAs she stepped through the little door with clumps of sweet peas on\neach side, she looked up. There was the sprig of dill, and the magic\nverse she had written under it.\n\nNan was sitting at the window inside, knitting her stent on a blue\nstocking. \"Ah, Sweetheart,\" said her mother, laughing, \"you have\nlittle cause to pin the dill and the verse over our door. None is\nlikely to envy us, or to be ill-disposed toward us.\"\n\n\"O, mother!\" said Nan, \"I know it, but I thought it would be so nice\nto feel sure. Oh, there is Dame Golding coming after some milk. Do you\nsuppose she will have to stop?\"\n\n\"What nonsense!\" said her mother. They both of them watched Dame\nGolding coming. All of a sudden, she stopped short, just outside. She\ncould go no further. She tried to lift her feet, but could not.\n\n\"O, mother!\" cried Nan, \"she has stopped!\"\n\nThe poor woman began to scream. She was frightened almost to death.\nNan and her mother were not much less frightened, but they did not\nknow what to do. They ran out, and tried to comfort her, and gave her\nsome cream to drink; but it did not amount to much. Dame Golding had\nsecretly envied Dame Clementina for her silver milk-pans. Nan and her\nmother knew why their visitor was so suddenly rooted to the spot, of\ncourse, but she did not. She thought her feet were paralyzed, and she\nkept begging them to send for her husband.\n\n\"Perhaps he can pull her away,\" said Nan, crying. How she wished she\nhad never pinned the dill and the verse over the door! So she set off\nfor Dame Golding's husband. He came running in a great hurry; but when\nhe had nearly reached his wife, and had his arms reached out to grasp\nher, he, too, stopped short. He had envied Dame Clementina for her\nbeautiful white cows, and there he was fast, also.\n\nHe began to groan and scream too. Nan and her mother ran into the\nhouse and shut the door. They could not bear it. \"What shall we do,\nif any one else comes?\" sobbed Nan. \"O, mother! there is Dame Dorothy\ncoming. And--yes--Oh! she has stopped too.\" Poor Dame Dorothy had\nenvied Dame Clementina a little for her flower-garden, which was finer\nthan hers, so she had to join Dame Golding and her husband.\n\nPretty soon another woman came, who had looked with envious eyes at\nDame Clementina, because she was a count's daughter; and another, who\nhad grudged her a fine damask petticoat, which she had had before she\nwas disinherited, and still wore on holidays; and they both had to\nstop.\n\nThen came three rough-looking men in velvet jackets and slouched hats,\nwho brought up short at the gate with a great jerk that nearly took\ntheir breath away. They were robbers who were prowling about with a\nview to stealing Dame Clementina's silver milk-pans some dark night.\n\n[Illustration: A STRANGE SAD STATE OF THINGS.]\n\nAll through the day the people kept coming and stopping. It was\nwonderful how many things poor Dame Clementina had to be envied\nby men and women, and even children. They envied Nan for her yellow\ncurls or her blue eyes, or her pretty snuff-colored gown. When the\nsun set, the yard in front of Dame Clementina's cottage was full of\npeople. Lastly, just before dark, the count himself came ambling up\non a coal-black horse. The count was a majestic old man dressed in\nvelvet, with stars on his breast. His white hair fell in long curls\non his shoulders, and he had a pointed beard. As he came to the gate,\nhe caught a glimpse of Nan in the door.\n\n\"How I wish that little maiden was my child,\" said he. And,\nstraightway, he stopped. His horse pawed and trembled when he lashed\nhim with a jeweled whip to make him go on; but he could not stir\nforward one step. Neither could the count dismount from his saddle; he\nsat there fuming with rage.\n\nMeanwhile, poor Dame Clementina and little Nan were overcome with\ndistress. The sight of their yard full of all these weeping people\nwas dreadful. Neither of them had any idea how to do away with the\ntrouble, because of their family inability to see their way out of a\ndifficulty.\n\nWhen supper time came, Nan went for the cows, and her mother milked\nthem into her silver milk-pails, and strained off the milk into her\nsilver pans. Then they kindled up a fire and cooked some beautiful\nmilk porridge for the poor people in the yard.\n\nIt was a beautiful warm moonlight night, and all the winds were sweet\nwith roses and pinks; so the people could not suffer out of doors; but\nthe next morning it rained.\n\n\"O, mother!\" said Nan, \"it is raining, and what will the poor people\ndo?\"\n\nDame Clementina would never have seen her way out of this difficulty,\nhad not Dame Golding cried out that her bonnet was getting wet, and\nshe wanted an umbrella.\n\n\"Why, you must go around to their houses, of course, and get their\numbrellas for them,\" said Dame Clementina; \"but first, give ours to\nthat old man on horseback.\" She did not know her father, so many years\nhad passed since she had seen him, and he had altered so.\n\nSo Nan carried out their great yellow umbrella to the count, and went\naround to the others' houses for their own umbrellas. It was pitiful\nenough to see them standing all alone behind the doors. She could not\nfind three extra ones for the three robbers, and she felt badly about\nthat.\n\nSomebody suggested, however, that milk-pans turned over their heads\nwould keep the rain off their slouched hats, at least; so she got\na silver milk-pan for an umbrella for each. They made such frantic\nefforts to get away then, that they looked like jumping-jacks; but it\nwas of no use.\n\n[Illustration: NAN RETURNS WITH THE UMBRELLAS.]\n\nPoor Dame Clementina and Nan after they had given the milk porridge to\nthe people, and done all they could for their comfort, stood staring\ndisconsolately out of the window at them under their dripping\numbrellas. The yard was fairly green and black and blue and yellow\nwith umbrellas. They wept at the sight, but they could not think\nof any way out of the difficulty. The people themselves might have\nsuggested one, had they known the real cause; but they did not dare to\ntell them how they were responsible for all the trouble; they seemed\nso angry.\n\nAbout noon Nan spied their most particular friend, Dame Elizabeth,\ncoming. She lived a little way out of the village. Nan saw her\napproaching the gate through the rain and mist, with her great blue\numbrella and her long blue double cape and her poke bonnet; and she\ncried out in the greatest dismay: \"O, mother, mother! there is our\ndear Dame Elizabeth coming; she will have to stop too!\"\n\nThen they watched her with beating hearts. Dame Elizabeth stared with\nastonishment at the people, and stopped to ask them questions. But she\npassed quite through their midst, and entered the cottage under the\nsprig of dill, and the verse. She did not envy Dame Clementina or Nan,\nanything.\n\n\"Tell me what this means,\" said she. \"Why are all these people\nstanding in your yard in the rain with umbrellas?\"\n\n[Illustration: SUCH FRANTIC EFFORTS TO GET AWAY.]\n\nThen Dame Clementina and Nan told her. \"And oh! what shall we do?\"\nsaid they. \"Will these people have to stand in our yard forever and\never?\"\n\nDame Elizabeth stared at them. The way out of the difficulty was so\nplain to her, that she could not credit its not being plain to them.\n\n\"Why,\" said she, \"don't you take down the sprig of dill and the\nverse?\"\n\n\"Why, sure enough!\" said they in amazement. \"Why didn't we think of\nthat before?\"\n\nSo Dame Clementina ran out quickly, and pulled down the sprig of dill\nand the verse.\n\nThen the way the people hurried out of the yard! They fairly danced\nand flourished their heels, old folks and all. They were so delighted\nto be able to move, and they wanted to be sure they could move. The\nrobbers tried to get away unseen with their silver milk-pans, but some\nof the people stopped them, and set the pans safely inside the dairy.\nAll the people, except the count, were so eager to get away, that they\ndid not stop to inquire into the cause of the trouble then.\n\nAfterward, when they did, they were too much ashamed to say anything\nabout it.\n\nIt was a good lesson to them; they were not quite so envious after\nthat. Always, on entering any cottage, they would glance at the door,\nto see if, perchance, there might be a sprig of dill over it. And if\nthere was not, they were reminded to put away any envious feeling they\nmight have toward the inmates out of their hearts.\n\n[Illustration: DAME ELIZABETH STARED WITH ASTONISHMENT.]\n\nAs for the count, he had not been so much alarmed as the others, since\nhe had been to the wars and was braver. Moreover, he felt that his\ndignity as a noble had been insulted. So he at once dismounted and\nfastened his horse to the gate, and strode up to the door with his\nsword clanking and the plumes on his hat nodding.\n\n\"What,\" he begun; then he stopped short. He had recognized his\ndaughter in Dame Clementina. She recognized him at the same moment.\n\"O, my dear daughter!\" said he. \"O, my dear father!\" said she.\n\n\"And this is my little grandchild?\" said the count; and he took Nan\nupon his knee, and covered her with caresses.\n\nThen the story of the dill and the verse was told. \"Yes,\" said the\ncount, \"I truly was envious of you, Clementina, when I saw Nan.\"\n\nAfter a little, he looked at his daughter sorrowfully. \"I should\ndearly love to take you up to the castle with me, Clementina,\" said\nhe, \"and let you live there always, and make you and the little child\nmy heirs. But how can I? You are disinherited, you know.\"\n\n\"I don't see any way,\" assented Dame Clementina, sadly.\n\nDame Elizabeth was still there, and she spoke up to the count with a\ncurtesy.\n\n\"Noble sir,\" said she, \"why don't you make another will?\"\n\n\"Why, sure enough,\" cried the count with great delight, \"why don't I?\nI'll have my lawyer up to the castle to-morrow.\"\n\n[Illustration: THE COUNT THINKS HIMSELF INSULTED.]\n\nHe did immediately alter his will, and his daughter was no longer\ndisinherited. She and Nan went to live at the castle, and were\nvery rich and happy. Nan learned to play on the harp, and wore\nsnuff-colored satin gowns. She was called Lady Nan, and she lived a\nlong time, and everybody loved her. But never, so long as she lived,\ndid she pin the sprig of dill and the verse over the door again. She\nkept them at the very bottom of a little satin-wood box--the faded\nsprig of dill wrapped round with the bit of paper on which was written\nthe charm-verse:\n\n  \"Alva, aden, winira mir,\n    Villawissen lingen;\n  Sanchta, wanchta, attazir,\n    Hor de mussen wingen.\"\n\n[Illustration: THEY FAIRLY DANCED AND FLOURISHED THEIR HEELS.]\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE SILVER HEN.\n\n\nDame Dorothea Penny kept a private school. It was quite a small\nschool, on account of the small size of her house. She had only twelve\nscholars and they filled it quite full; indeed one very little boy had\nto sit in the brick oven. On this account Dame Penny was obliged to do\nall her cooking on a Saturday when school did not keep; on that day\nshe baked bread, and cakes, and pies enough to last a week. The oven\nwas a very large one.\n\nIt was on a Saturday that Dame Penny first missed her silver hen. She\nowned a wonderful silver hen, whose feathers looked exactly as if they\nhad been dipped in liquid silver. When she was scratching for worms\nout in the yard, and the sun shone on her, she was absolutely\ndazzling, and sent little bright reflections into the neighbors'\nwindows, as if she were really solid silver.\n\nDame Penny had a sunny little coop with a padlocked door for her, and\nshe always locked it very carefully every night. So it was doubly\nperplexing when the hen disappeared. Dame Penny remembered distinctly\nlocking the coop-door; several circumstances had served to fix it on\nher mind. She had started out without her overshoes, then had returned\nfor them because the snow was quite deep and she was liable to\nrheumatism. Then Dame Louisa who lived next door had rapped on her\nwindow, and she had run in there for a few moments with the hen-coop\nkey dangling on its blue ribbon from her wrist, and Dame Louisa had\nremarked that she would lose that key if she were not more careful.\nThen when she returned home across the yard a doubt had seized her,\nand she had tried the coop-door to be sure that she had really\nfastened it.\n\n[Illustration: THE SNOW WAS QUITE DEEP.]\n\nThe next morning when she fitted the key into the padlock and threw\nopen the door, and no silver hen came clucking out, it was very\nmysterious. Dame Louisa came running to the fence which divided her\nyard from Dame Penny's, and stood leaning on it with her apron over\nher head.\n\n\"Are you sure that hen was in the coop when you locked the door?\" said\nshe.\n\n\"Of course she was in the coop,\" replied Dame Penny with dignity. \"She\nhas never failed to go in there at sundown for all the twenty-five\nyears that I've had her.\"\n\nDame Penny carefully searched everywhere about the premises. When the\nscholars assembled she called the school to order, and told them of\nher terrible loss. All the scholars crooked their arms over their\nfaces and wept, for they were very fond of Dame Penny, and also of the\nsilver hen. Every one of them wore one of her silver tail-feathers\nin the best bonnet, or hat, as the case might be. The silver hen had\ndropped them about the yard, and Dame Penny had presented them from\ntime to time as rewards for good behavior.\n\nAfter Dame Penny had told the school, she tried to proceed with the\nusual exercises. But in vain. She whipped one little boy because he\nsaid that four and three made seven, and she stood a little girl in\nthe corner because she spelled hen with one _n_.\n\nFinally she dismissed the scholars, and gave them permission to search\nfor the silver hen. She offered the successful one the most beautiful\nChristmas present he had ever seen. It was about three weeks before\nChristmas.\n\nThe children all put on their things, and went home and told their\nparents what they were going to do; then they started upon the search\nfor the silver hen. They searched with no success till the day before\nChristmas. Then they thought they would ask Dame Louisa, who had the\nreputation of being quite a wise woman, if she knew of any more likely\nplaces in which they could hunt.\n\nThe twelve scholars walked two by two up to Dame Louisa's front door,\nand knocked. They were very quiet and spoke only in whispers because\nthey knew Dame Louisa was nervous, and did not like children very\nwell. Indeed it was a great cross to her that she lived so near the\nschool, for the scholars when out in their own yard never thought\nabout her nervousness, and made a deal of noise. Then too she could\nhear every time they spelled or said the multiplication-table, or\nbounded the countries of Africa, and it was very trying. To-day in\nspite of their efforts to be quiet they awoke her from a nap, and she\ncame to the door, with her front-piece and cap on one side, and her\nspectacles over her eyebrows, very much out of humor.\n\n[Illustration: TWO BY TWO.]\n\n\"I don't know where you'll find the hen,\" said she peevishly, \"unless\nyou go to the White Woods for it.\"\n\n\"Thank you, ma'am,\" said the children with curtesies, and they all\nturned and went down the path between the dead Christmas-trees.\n\nDame Louisa had no idea that they would go to the White Woods. She had\nsaid it quite at random, although she was so vexed in being disturbed\nin her nap that she wished for a moment that they would. She stood in\nher front door and looked at her dead Christmas-trees, and that\nalways made her feel crosser, and she had not at any time a pleasant\ndisposition. Indeed, it was rumored among the towns-people that that\nhad blasted her Christmas-trees, that Dame Louisa's scolding, fretting\nvoice had floated out to them, and smote their delicate twigs like a\nbitter frost and made them turn yellow; for the real Christmas-tree is\nnot very hardy.\n\nNo one else in the village, probably no one else in the county, owned\nany such tree, alive or dead. Dame Louisa's husband, who had been\na sea-captain, had brought them from foreign parts. They were mere\nlittle twigs when they planted them on the first day of January, but\nthey were full-grown and loaded with fruit by the next Christmas-day.\nEvery Christmas they were cut down and sold, but they always grew\nagain to their full height, in a year's time. They were not, it is\ntrue, the regulation Christmas-tree. That is they were not loaded with\ndifferent and suitable gifts for every one in a family, as they stood\nthere in Dame Louisa's yard. People always tied on those, after they\nhad bought them, and had set them up in their own parlors. But these\ntrees bore regular fruit like apple, or peach, or plum-trees, only\nthere was a considerable variety in it. These trees when in full\nfruitage were festooned with strings of pop-corn, and weighed down\nwith apples and oranges and figs and bags of candy, and it was really\nan amazing sight to see them out there in Dame Louisa's front yard.\nBut now they were all yellow and dead, and not so much as one pop-corn\nwhitened the upper branches, neither was there one candle shining\nout in the night. For the trees in their prime had borne also little\ntwinkling lights like wax candles.\n\nDame Louisa looked out at her dead Christmas-trees, and scowled. She\ncould see the children out in the road, and they were trudging along\nin the direction of the White Woods. \"Let 'em go,\" she snapped to\nherself. \"I guess they won't go far. I'll be rid of their noise, any\nway.\"\n\nShe could hear poor Dame Penny's distressed voice out in her yard,\ncalling \"Biddy, Biddy, Biddy;\" and she scowled more fiercely than\never. \"I'm glad she's lost her old silver hen,\" she muttered to\nherself. She had always suspected the silver hen of pecking at the\nroots of the Christmas-trees and so causing them to blast; then, too,\nthe silver hen had used to stand on the fence and crow; for, unlike\nother hens, she could crow very beautifully, and that had disturbed\nher.\n\nDame Louisa had a very wise book, which she had consulted to find the\nreason for the death of her Christmas-trees, but all she could find in\nit was one short item, which did not satisfy her at all. The book was\non the plan of an encyclopedia, and she, having turned to the \"ch's,\"\nfound:\n\n    \"Christmas-trees--very delicate when transplanted, especially\n    sensitive, and liable to blast at any change in the moral\n    atmosphere. Remedy: discover and confess the cause.\"\n\nAfter reading this, Dame Louisa was always positive that Dame Penny's\nsilver hen was at the root of the mischief, for she knew that she\nherself had never done anything to hurt the trees.\n\nDame Penny was so occupied in calling \"Biddy, Biddy, Biddy,\" and\nshaking a little pan of corn, that she never noticed the children\ntaking the road toward the White Woods. If she had done so she would\nhave stopped them, for the White Woods was considered a very dangerous\nplace. It was called white because it was always white even in\nmidsummer. The trees and bushes, and all the undergrowth, every flower\nand blade of grass, were white with snow and frost all the year round,\nand all the learned men of the country had studied into the reason\nof it, and had come to the conclusion that the Woods lay in a direct\ndraught from the North Pole and that produced the phenomenon.\nNobody had penetrated very far into the White Woods, although many\nexpeditions had been organized for that purpose. The cold was so\nterrible that it drove them back.\n\nThe children had heard all about the terrors of the White Woods. When\nthey drew near it they took hold of one another's hands and snuggled\nas closely together as possible.\n\nWhen they struck into the path at the entrance the intense cold turned\ntheir cheeks and noses blue in a moment, but they kept on, calling\n\"Biddy, Biddy, Biddy!\" in their shrill sweet trebles. Every twig on\nthe trees was glittering white with hoar-frost, and all the dead\nblackberry-vines wore white wreaths, the bushes brushed the ground,\nthey were so heavy with ice, and the air was full of fine white\nsparkles. The children's eyes were dazzled, but they kept on,\nstumbling through the icy vines and bushes, and calling \"_Biddy,\nBiddy, Biddy_!\"\n\nIt was quite late in the afternoon when they started, and pretty soon\nthe sun went down and the moon arose, and that made it seem colder. It\nwas like traveling through a forest of solid silver then, and every\nonce in a while a little frozen clump of flowers would shine so that\nthey would think it was the silver hen and dart forward, to find it\nwas not.\n\nAbout two hours after the moon arose, as they were creeping along,\ncalling \"Biddy, Biddy, Biddy!\" more and more faintly, a singular,\nhoarse voice replied suddenly. \"We don't keep any hens,\" said the\nvoice, and all the children jumped and screamed, and looked about for\nthe owner of it. He loomed up among some bushes at their right. He was\nso dazzling white himself, and had such an indistinctness of outline,\nthat they had taken him for an oak-tree. But it was the real Snow Man.\nThey knew him in a moment, he looked so much like his effigies that\nthey used to make in their yards.\n\n\"We don't keep any hens,\" repeated the Snow Man. \"What are you calling\nhens for in this forest?\"\n\nThe children huddled together as close as they could, and the oldest\nboy explained. When he broke down the oldest girl piped up and helped\nhim.\n\n\"Well,\" said the Snow Man, \"I haven't seen the silver hen. I never did\nsee any hens in these woods, but she may be around here for all that.\nYou had better go home with me and spend the night. My wife will be\ndelighted to see you. We have never had any company in our lives, and\nshe is always scolding about it.\"\n\nThe children looked at each other and shook harder than they had done\nwith cold.\n\n\"I'm--afraid our mothers--wouldn't--like to have us,\" stammered the\noldest boy.\n\n\"Nonsense,\" cried the Snow Man. \"Here I have been visiting you, time\nand time again, and stood whole days out in your front yards, and\nyou've never been to see me. I think it is about time that I had some\nreturn. Come along.\" With that the Snow Man seized the right ear of\nthe oldest boy between a finger and thumb, and danced him along, and\nall the rest, trembling, and whimpering under their breaths, followed.\n\nIt was not long before they reached the Snow Man's house, which was\nreally quite magnificent: a castle built of blocks of ice fitted\ntogether like bricks, and with two splendid snow-lions keeping guard\nat the entrance. The Snow Man's wife stood in the door, and the Snow\nChildren stood behind her and peeped around her skirts; they were\nsmiling from ear to ear. They had never seen any company before, and\nthey were so delighted that they did not know what to do.\n\n[Illustration: THE SNOW MAN'S HOUSE.]\n\n\"We have some company, wife,\" shouted the Snow Man.\n\n\"Bring them right in,\" said his wife with a beaming face. She was very\nhandsome, with beautiful pink cheeks and blue eyes, and she wore a\ntrailing white robe, like a queen. She kissed the children all around,\nand shivers crept down their backs, for it was like being kissed by an\nicicle. \"Kiss your company, my dears,\" she said to the Snow Children,\nand they came bashfully forward and kissed Dame Penny's scholars with\nthese same chilly kisses.\n\n\"Now,\" said the Snow Man's wife, \"come right in and sit down where it\nis cool--you look very hot.\"\n\n\"Hot,\" when the poor scholars were quite stiff with cold! They looked\nat one another in dismay, but did not dare say anything. They followed\nthe Snow Man's wife into her grand parlor.\n\n\"Come right over here by the north window where it is cooler,\" said\nshe, \"and the children shall bring you some fans.\"\n\nThe Snow Children floated up with fans--all the Snow Man's family\nhad a lovely floating gait--and the scholars took them with feeble\ncurtesies, and began fanning. A stiff north wind blew in at the\nwindows. The forest was all creaking and snapping with the cold. The\npoor children, fanning themselves, on an ice divan, would certainly\nhave frozen if the Snow Man's wife had not suggested that they all\nhave a little game of \"puss-in-the-corner,\" to while away the time\nbefore dinner. That warmed them up a little, for they had to run very\nfast indeed to play with the Snow Children who seemed to fairly blow\nin the north wind from corner to corner.\n\nBut the Snow Man's wife stopped the play a little before dinner was\nannounced; she said the guests looked so warm that she was alarmed,\nand was afraid they might melt.\n\n[Illustration: PUSS-IN-THE-CORNER.]\n\nA whistle, that sounded just like the whistle of the north wind in\nthe chimney, blew for dinner, and Dame Penny's scholars thought with\ndelight that now they would have something warm. But every dish on the\nSnow Man's table was cold and frozen, and the Snow Man's wife kept\nurging them to eat this and that, because it was so nice and cooling,\nand they looked so warm.\n\nAfter dinner they were colder than ever, even. Another game of\n\"puss-in-the-corner\" did not warm them much; they were glad when the\nSnow Man's wife suggested that they go to bed, for they had visions\nof warm blankets and comfortables. But when they were shown into the\ngreat north chamber, that was more like a hall than a chamber, with\nits walls of solid ice, its ice floor and its ice beds, their hearts\nsank. Not a blanket nor comfortable was to be seen; there were great\nsilk bags stuffed with snow flakes instead of feathers on the beds,\nand that was all.\n\n\"If you are too warm in the night, and feel as if you were going to\nmelt,\" said the Snow Man's wife, \"you can open the south window and\nthat will make a draught--there are none but the north windows open\nnow.\"\n\nThe scholars curtesied and bade her good-night, and she kissed them\nand hoped they would sleep well. Then she trailed her splendid robe,\nwhich was decorated with real frost embroidery, down the ice stairs\nand left her guests to themselves. They were frantic with cold and\nterror, and the little ones began to cry. They talked over the\nsituation and agreed that they had better wait until the house was\nquiet and then run away. So they waited until they thought everybody\nmust be asleep, and then cautiously stole toward the door. It was\nlocked fast on the outside. The Snow Man's wife had slipped an icicle\nthrough the latch. Then they were in despair. It seemed as if they\nmust freeze to death before morning. But it occurred to some of the\nolder ones that they had heard their parents say that snow was really\nwarm, and people had been kept warm and alive by burrowing under\nsnow-drifts. And as there were enough snow-flake beds to use for\ncoverlids also, they crept under them, having first shut the north\nwindows, and were soon quite comfortable.\n\nIn the meantime there was a great panic in the village; the children's\nparents were nearly wild. They came running to Dame Penny, but she was\ncalling \"Biddy, Biddy, Biddy!\" out in the moonlight, and knew nothing\nabout them. Then they called outside Dame Louisa's window, but she\npretended to be asleep, although she was really awake, and in a\nterrible panic.\n\nShe did not tell the parents how the children had gone to the White\nWoods, because she knew that they could not extricate them from the\ndifficulty as well as she could herself. She knew all about the Snow\nMan and his wife, and how very anxious they were to have company.\n\nSo just as soon as the parents were gone and she heard their voices in\nthe distance, she dressed herself, harnessed her old white horse into\nthe great box-sleigh, got out all the tubs and pails that she had in\nthe house, and went over to Dame Penny, who was still standing out in\nher front yard calling the silver hen and the children by turns.\n\n\"Come, Dame Penny,\" said Dame Louisa, \"I want you to go with me to the\nWhite Woods and rescue the children. Bring out all the tubs and pails\nyou have in the house, and we will pump them full of water.\"\n\n[Illustration: TO THE RESCUE.]\n\n\"The pails--full of water--what for?\" gasped Dame Penny.\n\n\"To thaw them out,\" replied Dame Louisa; \"they will very likely be\nwholly or partly frozen, and I have always heard that cold water was\nthe only remedy to use.\"\n\nDame Penny said no more. She brought out all her tubs and pails, and\nthey pumped them and Dame Louisa's full of water, and packed them into\nthe sleigh--there were twelve of them. Then they climbed into the\nseat, slapped the reins over the back of the old white horse, and\nstarted off for the White Woods.\n\nOn the way Dame Louisa wept, and confessed what she had done to Dame\nPenny. \"I have been a cross, selfish old woman,\" said she, \"and I\nthink that is the reason why my Christmas-trees were blasted. I don't\nbelieve your silver hen touched them.\"\n\nShe and Dame Penny called \"Biddy, Biddy, Biddy!\" and the names of the\nchildren, all the way. Dame Louisa drove straight to the Snow Man's\nhouse.\n\n\"They are more likely to be there than anywhere else, the Snow Man and\nhis wife are so crazy to have company,\" said she.\n\nWhen they arrived at the house, Dame Louisa left Dame Penny to hold\nthe horse, and went in. The outer door was not locked and she wandered\nquite at her will, through the great ice saloons, and wind-swept\ncorridors. When she came to the door with the icicle through the\nlatch, she knew at once that the children were in that room, so she\ndrew out the icicle and entered. The children were asleep, but she\naroused them, and bade them be very quiet and follow her. They got out\nof the house without disturbing any of the family; but, once out, a\nnew difficulty beset them. The children had been so nearly warm under\ntheir snow-flake beds that they began to freeze the minute the icy air\nstruck them.\n\nBut Dame Louisa promptly seized them, while Dame Penny held the horse,\nand put them into the tubs and pails of water. Then she took hold of\nthe horse's head, and backed him and turned around carefully, and they\nstarted off at full speed.\n\nBut it was not long before they discovered that they were pursued.\nThey heard the hoarse voice of the Snow Man behind them calling to\nthem to stop.\n\n\"What are you taking away my company for?\" shouted the Snow Man.\n\"Stop, stop!\"\n\nThe wind was at the back of the Snow Man, and he came with tremendous\nvelocity. It was evident that he would soon overtake the old white\nhorse who was stiff and somewhat lame. Dame Louisa whipped him up, but\nthe Snow Man gained on them. The icy breath of the Snow Man blew over\nthem. \"Oh!\" shrieked Dame Penny, \"what shall we do, what shall we do?\"\n\n\"Be quiet,\" said Dame Louisa with dignity. She untied her large\npoke-bonnet which was made of straw--she was unable to have a velvet\none for winter, now her Christmas-trees were dead--and she hung it on\nthe whip. Then she drew a match from her pocket, and set fire to the\nbonnet. The light fabric blazed up directly, and the Snow Man stopped\nshort. \"If you come any nearer,\" shrieked Dame Louisa, \"I'll put this\nright in your face and--melt you!\"\n\n\"Give me back my company,\" shouted the Snow Man in a doubtful voice.\n\n\"You can't have your company,\" said Dame Louisa, shaking the blazing\nbonnet defiantly at him.\n\n\"To think of the days I've spent in their yards, slowly melting and\nsuffering everything, and my not having one visit back,\" grumbled the\nSnow Man. But he stood still; he never took a step forward after Dame\nLouisa had set her bonnet on fire.\n\nIt was lucky Dame Louisa had worn a worsted scarf tied over her\nbonnet, and could now use it for a bonnet.\n\nThe cold was intense, and had it not been that Dame Penny and Dame\nLouisa both wore their Bay State shawls over their beaver sacques, and\ntheir stone-marten tippets and muffs, and blue worsted stockings\ndrawn over their shoes, they would certainly have frozen. As for the\nchildren, they would never have reached home alive if it had not been\nfor the pails and tubs of water.\n\n\"Do you feel as if you were thawing?\" Dame Louisa asked the children\nafter they had left the Snow Man behind.\n\n\"Yes, ma'am,\" said they.\n\nDame Louisa drove as fast as she could, with thankful tears running\ndown her cheeks. \"I've been a wicked, cross old woman,\" said she again\nand again, \"and that is what blasted my Christmas-trees.\"\n\nIt was the dawn of Christmas-day when they came in sight of Dame\nLouisa's house.\n\n\"Oh! what is that twinkling out in the yard?\" cried the children.\n\nThey could all see little fairy-like lights twinkling out in Dame\nLouisa's yard.\n\n\"It looks just as the Christmas-trees used to,\" said Dame Penny.\n\n[ILLUSTRATION: \"I'LL PUT THIS RIGHT IN YOUR FACE AND--MELT YOU!\"]\n\n\"Oh! I can't believe it,\" cried Dame Louisa, her heart beating wildly.\n\nBut when they came opposite the yard, they saw that it was true. Dame\nLouisa's Christmas-trees stood there all twinkling with lights, and\ncovered with trailing garlands of pop-corn, oranges, apples,\nand candy-bags; their yellow branches had turned green and the\nChristmas-trees were in full glory.\n\n\"Oh! what is that shining so out in Dame Penny's yard?\" cried the\nchildren, who were entirely thawed, and only needed to get home to\ntheir parents and have some warm breakfast, and Christmas-presents, to\nbe quite themselves. \"Biddy, Biddy, Biddy!\" cried Dame Penny, and Dame\nLouisa and the children chimed in, calling, \"Biddy, Biddy, Biddy!\"\n\nIt was indeed the silver hen, and following her were twelve little\nsilver chickens. She had stolen a nest in Dame Louisa's barn and\nnobody had known it until she appeared on Christmas morning with her\nbrood of silver chickens.\n\n\"Every scholar shall have one of the silver chickens for a Christmas\npresent,\" said Dame Penny.\n\n\"And each shall have one of my Christmas-trees,\" said Dame Louisa.\n\nThen all the scholars cried out with delight, the Christmas-bells in\nthe village began to ring, the silver hen flew up on the fence and\ncrowed, the sun shone broadly out, and it was a merry Christmas-day.\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTOBY.\n\n\nAunt Malvina was sitting at the window watching for a horse-car which\nshe wanted to take. Uncle Jack was near the register in a comfortable\neasy chair, his feet on an embroidered foot-rest, and Letitia, just as\nclose to him as she could get her little rocking-chair, was sewing her\nsquare of patchwork \"over and over.\" Letitia had to sew a square of\npatchwork \"over and over\" every day.\n\nAunt Malvina, who was not uncle Jack's wife, as one might suspect, but\nhis elder sister, was a very small, frisky little lady, with a thin,\nrosy face, and a little bobbing bunch of gray curls on each side\nof it. She talked very fast, and she talked all the time, so she\naccomplished a vast deal of talking in the course of a day, and the\npeople she happened to be with did a vast deal of listening.\n\nShe was talking now, and uncle Jack was listening, with his head\nleaning comfortably against a pretty tidy all over daisies in\nKensington work, and so was Letitia, taking cautious little stitches\nin her patchwork.\n\n\"Mrs. Welcome,\" aunt Malvina had just remarked, \"has got a little\ncolored boy as black as Toby to wait on table.\"\n\nLetitia opened her sober, light gray eyes very wide, and stared\nreflectively at aunt Malvina.\n\n\"It was dark as Pokonoket when we came out of church last night,\" said\naunt Malvina after a time, in the course of conversation.\n\nLetitia stared reflectively at her again.\n\n\"There's my car coming around the corner!\" cried aunt Malvina, and ran\nfriskily out of the room. Just outside the door she turned and thrust\nher face, with the little gray curls dancing around it, in again for a\nlast word. \"O, Jack!\" cried she, \"I hear that Edward Simonds' eldest\nson is as crazy as a loon!\"\n\n\"Is?\"\n\n\"Yes; isn't it dreadful? Good-by!\" Aunt Malvina frisked airily\ndownstairs, and out on the street, barely in time to secure her car.\n\nWhen Letitia heard the front door close after her, she quilted her\nneedle carefully into her square, then she folded the patchwork up\nneatly, rose, and laid it together with her thimble, scissors, and\ncotton, in her little rocking-chair. Then she went and stood still\nbefore uncle Jack, with her arms folded. It was a way she had when she\nwanted information. People rather smiled to see Letitia sometimes, but\nuncle Jack had always encouraged her in it; he said it was quaint.\nLetitia's face was very sober, and very innocent, and very round, and\nher hair was very long and light, and hung in two smooth braids, with\na neat blue bow on the end of each, down her back.\n\n[Illustration: LETITIA STOOD BEFORE UNCLE JACK.]\n\nUncle Jack gazed inquiringly at her through his half-closed eyes.\n\"What is it, Letitia?\"\n\n\"Aunt Malvina said 'as black as Toby,'\" said Letitia with a look half\nof inquiry, half of anxious abstraction. What Letitia could find out\nherself she never asked other people.\n\n\"Yes; I know she did,\" replied uncle Jack.\n\n\"Then she said, 'Dark as Pokonoket.'\"\n\n\"Yes; she said that too.\"\n\n\"And then she said, 'Crazy as a loon.'\"\n\n\"Yes; she did.\"\n\n\"Uncle Jack, what is Toby, and what is Pokonoket, and what is a loon?\"\n\n\"Toby,\" said uncle Jack slowly and impressively, \"lives in Pokonoket,\nand keeps a loon.\"\n\n\"Oh!\" said Letitia, in a tone which implied that she was both relieved\nand amazed at her own stupidity.\n\n\"Yes; perhaps you would like to hear something more particular about\nToby--how he got married, for instance?\"\n\n\"I should, very much indeed,\" replied Letitia gravely and promptly.\n\n\"Well, you had better sit down; it will take a few minutes to tell\nit.\"\n\nLetitia carefully took her patchwork, her thimble, her spool of\ncotton, and her scissors out of her little rocking-chair and laid them\non the table; then she sat down, and crossed her hands in her lap.\n\n\"Now, if you are ready,\" said uncle Jack, laughing a little to himself\nas he looked down at her. Then he related as follows: \"Toby is a\nlittle black fellow, not much taller than you are, and he lives in\nPokonoket, and keeps a loon. Toby's hair is very short and kinky, and\nhis mouth is wide, and always curves up a little at the corners, as\nif he were laughing; his eyes are astonishingly bright; but all the\npeople's eyes are bright in Pokonoket.\n\n\"Pokonoket is a very dark country. It always was dark. The most\nancient historians make no mention of its ever being light in\nPokonoket.\n\n\"The cause of the darkness has never been exactly understood.\nPhilosophers and men of science have worked very hard over it, but all\nthe conclusion they have been able to arrive at is, it must be due to\nfog, or smoke, or atmospheric phenomena. The most celebrated of them\nare in favor of atmospheric phenomena, and they are probably correct.\n\n\"The houses are always furnished with lamps, of course, and everybody\ncarries a lantern. No one dreams of stirring out in Pokonoket without\na lantern. The men go to their work with lanterns, the ladies take\ntheirs when they go out shopping, and all the children have their\nlittle lanterns to carry to school.\n\n[Illustration: SCHOOL CHILDREN IN POKONOKET.]\n\n\"On account of the darkness, there are some very curious customs in\nPokonoket. One is, all the inhabitants are required by law to wear\nsqueaky shoes. Whenever anybody's shoes don't squeak according to the\nprescribed standard he is fined, and sometimes even imprisoned, if he\npersists in his offense. A great many sad accidents are prevented by\nthis custom. People hear each other's shoes squeaking in the darkness\nat quite a distance, and don't run into each other. Pokonoket\nshoemakers make a specialty of squeaky shoes, and the squeakier they\nare, the higher prices they bring; they can even put in new squeaks\nwhen the old ones are worn out. It is a very common thing to see a\nPokonoket man with his little boy's shoes under his arm, carrying them\nto a shoemaker to get them re-squeaked.\n\n\"Another funny custom is the wearing of phosphorescent buttons.\nEverybody, men, women and children, are required to wear\nphosphorescent buttons on their outside garments. They are quite\nlarge--about the size of an old-fashioned cent--and there are,\ngenerally, two rows of them down the front of a garment. It is rather\na frightful sight to see a person with phosphorescent buttons on his\ncoat advancing toward one in the dark, till you are accustomed to it;\nhe looks as if he had two rows of enormous eyes.\n\n\"Then, when the weather is stormy, everybody has to carry an umbrella\nwith his name on it in phosphorescent letters. In this way, nobody's\neyes are put out, and no umbrellas are lost. Otherwise, umbrellas\nwould get so hopelessly mixed up in a dark country like Pokonoket that\nit would require a special sitting of Parliament to sort them out\nagain.\n\n\"It may seem rather odd that they should, but the inhabitants of\nPokonoket are, as a general thing, very much attached to their\ncountry, and could not be hired to leave it for any other. It is a\nvery peaceful place. There are no jails, and no criminals are executed\nin its bounds. If occasionally a person commits a crime that would\nmerit such extreme punishment, he puts out his lantern, and rips off\nhis phosphorescent buttons, and nobody can find him to punish.\n\n\"But commonly, folks in Pokonoket do not commit great crimes, and are\na very peaceful, industrious and happy people.\n\n\"They have never had any wars amongst themselves, and their country\nhas never been invaded by a foreign foe; all that they ever have had\nto seriously threaten their peace and safety was the Ogress.\n\n\"A terrible ogress once lived in Pokonoket, and devoured everybody she\ncould catch. Nobody knew when his life was safe, and the worst of it\nwas, they did not know where she lived, or they would have gone in\na body and disposed of her. She had a habitation somewhere in the\ndarkness, but nobody knew where--it might be right in their midst.\nThere are a great many inconveniences about a dark country.\n\n[Illustration: POKONOKET IN STORMY WEATHER.]\n\n\"Well, Toby who kept the loon, lived in a little hut on one of\nthe principal streets. He was a widower, and lived with his six\ngrandchildren who were all quite small and went to school. They were\nhis daughter's children. She had died a few years before of a disease\nquite common in Pokonoket, and almost always fatal. It had a long name\nwhich the doctors had given it, which really meant, 'wanting light.'\n\n\"Toby was rather feeble and rheumatic, and it was about all he could\ndo to knit stockings for his grandchildren, and make soup for their\ndinner. Almost all day, except when he was stirring the soup, which\nhe made in a great kettle set into a brick oven, he was sitting on a\nlittle stool in his doorway, knitting, and the loon sat on a perch at\nhis right hand. The loon who was a very large bird, was crazy, and\nthought he was a bobolink. _Link, link, bobolink!_' he sang all day\nlong, instead of crying in the way a loon usually does. His voice was\nnot anywhere near the right pitch for a bobolink's song, but that made\nno difference. _Link, link, bobolink!_ he kept on singing from morning\ntill night.\n\n\"Toby did not mind knitting, but he did not like to make the soup. It\nhad never seemed to him to be a man's work, and besides, it hurt his\nold, rheumatic back to bend over the soup-kettle. That was what put\nit into his head to get married again. He thought if he could find a\npleasant, tidy woman, who would stir the soup while he sat in the\ndoor beside the loon, and knit the stockings, he could live much more\ncomfortably than he did.\n\n\"Now Toby thought he knew of just the one he wanted. She was a widow\nwho lived a few squares from him. She was as sweet-tempered as a dove,\nand nobody could find a speck of dirt in her house if he was to search\nall day with a lantern.\n\n[Illustration: TOBY AND THE CRAZY LOON.]\n\n\"Toby thought about it for a long time. He did not wish to take any\nrash step, but his back got lamer and stiffer, and when one day the\nsoup burned on to the kettle, and he dropped some stitches in his\nstocking running to lift it off, he made up his mind.\n\n\"The very next morning after his six grandchildren had gone to school,\nhe put on his coat with phosphorescent buttons, lit his lantern, and\nstarted out. _Link, link, bobolink_! cried the crazy loon as he went\nout the door.\n\n\"'Yes; I am going to bring home a pleasant and neat mistress for you,\nand maybe you will recover your reason,' said Toby.\n\n\"_Link, link, bobolink_! cried the crazy loon.\n\n\"Toby limped away through the darkness. The wind was blowing hard that\nmorning, and as he turned the corner, puff! came a gust and blew out\nhis lantern.\n\n\"He felt in every pocket, but he had not a match in one of them. He\nhesitated whether to go back for one or not. Finally, he thought he\nknew the way pretty well and would risk it. His back was worse than\never that morning, and he did not want to take any unnecessary steps.\nSo he fumbled along until he came to the street where the widow's home\nwas; there were five more just like hers, and they stood in a row\ntogether.\n\n\"Much to Toby's dismay, there was not a light in either.\n\n\"'Well,' he reflected, 'she is prudent, and is saving her oil, I dare\nsay, and I can inquire.'\n\n\"So he felt his way along to the first house in the row--he could just\nsee them looming up in the darkness. He poked his head inside the\ndoor. 'Mrs. Clover-leaf!' cried he, 'are you in there? My lantern has\ngone out, and I cannot tell which is your house.'\n\n\"There came a little grunt in reply.\n\n\"'Mrs. Clover-leaf!' cried Toby again.\n\n\"'I am here; what do you want?' answered a voice in the darkness.\n\n\"It was so sharp that Toby felt for a moment as if his ears were being\nsawed off, and he clapped his hands on them involuntarily. 'Bless me!\nI had forgotten that Mrs. Clover-leaf had such a voice,' thought he.\n\n\"'What do you want?' said the voice again.\n\n\"It did not sound quite so sharp this time. He had become a little\nused to it, and, after all, a sharp voice would not prevent her being\nneat and pleasant and stirring the soup carefully.\n\n\"So he said, as sweetly and coaxingly as he was able, 'I have come to\nsee if you would like to marry me, Mrs. Clover-leaf.'\n\n\"'I don't know,' said the sharp voice, 'I had not thought of changing\nmy condition.'\n\n\"'All you would have to do,' said Toby pleadingly, 'would be to stir\nthe soup for my grandchildren's dinner, while I knit the stockings.'\n\n\"There came a sound like the smacking of lips out of the darkness\nwithin the house. 'Oh! you have grandchildren; I forgot,' said the\nvoice; 'how many?'\n\n\"'Six,' replied Toby.\n\n\"'I shall be pleased to marry you,' cried the voice; and Toby heard\nthe squeaking of shoes, as if the widow were coming.\n\n\"'When shall we be married?' said the sharp voice right in Toby's ear.\n\n\"He jumped so that he could not answer for a minute. 'Well,' said he\nfinally--'I don't want to hurry you, Mrs. Clover-leaf, but the soup is\nto be made for dinner, and if I don't finish the pair of stockings I\nam on to-day, my eldest grandchild will have to go barefoot. A pair of\nstockings only lasts one a week.' And Toby sighed so pitifully that it\nought to have touched any widow's heart.\n\n\"The widow laughed. Toby felt rather hurt that she should. He did not\nknow of any joke. It was a curious kind of a laugh, too; as bad in its\nway as her voice. But what she said the next minute set matters right.\n\n\"'Let us go and get married, then,' said she, 'and I will go right\nhome and make the soup, and you can finish the stocking.'\n\n\"Toby was delighted. 'Thank you, my dear Mrs. Clover-leaf!' he cried,\nand offered her his arm gallantly, and they set off together to the\nminister's.\n\n\"The widow took such enormous strides that Toby had to run to keep up\nwith her. She was much taller than he, and her bonnet was very large,\nand almost hid her face. Toby could hardly have seen her, if he had\nhad his lantern; still he could not help wishing that one of them had\none, but the widow said her oil was out, so there was no help for it.\n\n\"Once or twice when she turned her head toward him, Toby thought her\neyes looked about twice as large and bright as phosphorescent buttons,\nand he felt a little startled, but he told himself that it was only\nhis imagination, of course.\n\n\"When they reached the minister's, there was no light in his house,\neither, and it occurred to Toby that it was Fast Day. Once a week,\nPokonoket ministers sit in total darkness all day, and eat nothing.\n\n\"When Toby called, the minister poked his head out of the study\nwindow, and asked what he wanted.\n\n\"Toby told him, and he and the widow stood in front of the study\nwindow, and were married in the dark, and Toby gave a phosphorescent\nbutton for the fee.\n\n\"The widow took longer steps than ever on the way home, and Toby ran\ntill he was all out of breath; she fairly lifted him off his feet\nsometimes, and carried him along on her arm.\n\n\"_Link, link, bobolink_! sang the crazy loon when Toby and his bride\nentered the house.\n\n\"'Now let's have a light,' cried Toby's wife, and her voice was\nsharper than ever. It frightened the crazy loon so that he left the\nlink off the end of his song, and merely said bobo--\n\n\"'Yes,' answered Toby, bustling about cheerfully after the matches,\n'and then you will make the soup.'\n\n[Illustration: TOBY RAN TILL HE WAS OUT OF BREATH.]\n\n\"'I will make the soup,' laughed his wife.\n\n\"Toby felt frightened, he hardly knew why, but he found the matches,\nand lit the lamp. Then he turned to look at his new wife, and saw--the\nOgress! He had married the Ogress! Horrors!\n\n\"Toby sank down on his knees and shook with fear, his little kinky\ncurls bristling up all over his head.\n\n\"'Pshaw!' said the Ogress contemptuously. 'You needn't shake! Do\nyou suppose I would eat such a little tough, bony fellow as you for\nsupper? No! When do your grandchildren come home from school?'\n\n\"'Oh,' groaned Toby, 'take me, dear Mrs. Ogress, and spare my\ngrandchildren!'\n\n\"'I should smile,' said the Ogress. That was all the reply she made.\nShe talked popular slang along with her other bad habits.\n\n\"Toby wept, and groaned, and pleaded, but he could not get another\nword out of her. She filled the great soup-kettle with water, set it\nover the fire (Toby shuddered to see her), then she sat down to wait\nfor the grandchildren to come home from school. She was uncommonly\nhomely, even for an ogress, and she wore a brown calico dress that was\nvery unbecoming.\n\n\"Poor Toby gazed at her in fear and disgust. He looked out of the\ndoor, expecting every moment to see his grandchildren coming, one\nbehind the other, swinging their little lanterns. School children\nalways walked one behind the other in Pokonoket. It was against the\nlaw to walk two abreast.\n\n\"Finally, when the Ogress was leaning over the soup-kettle, putting\nher fingers in, to see if it was hot enough, Toby slipped out of the\ndoor, and ran straight to the minister's.\n\n\"He stood outside the study window and groaned.\n\n\"'What is the trouble?' asked the minister, poking his head out.\n\n\"'Oh,' cried Toby, 'you married me to the--Ogress!'\n\n\"'You don't say so!' cried the minister.\n\n\"'Yes, I do! What shall I do? She is waiting for my grandchildren, and\nthe soup-kettle is on!'\n\n\"'Wait a minute,' said the minister. 'In a matter of life and death,\nit is permitted to light a lamp on a Fast Day. This is a matter of\nlife and death; so I will light a lamp and look in my Encyclopaedia of\nUseful Knowledge.'\n\n\"So the minister lit his lamp, and took his Encyclopaedia of Useful\nKnowledge from the study shelf.\n\n\"He turned over the leaves till he came to Ogre; then he found Ogress,\nand read all there was under that head.\n\n\"'H'm!' he said; 'h'm, h'm! An Ogress is an inconceivably hideous\ncreature, yet, like all females, she is inordinately vain, and is\nextremely susceptible to any insinuations against her personal\nappearance! H'm!' said the minister; 'h'm, h'm! I know what I will\ndo.'\n\n\"Now it was one of the laws in Pokonoket that nobody should have\na looking-glass but the minister. Once a year the ladies of his\ncongregation were allowed to look at themselves in it; that was all. I\ndo not know the reason for this law, but it existed.\n\n\"The minister took his looking-glass under his arm, and came out of\nhis house. 'Now, Toby,' said he, 'take me home with you.'\n\n\"'But I am afraid she will eat you, sir,' said Toby doubtfully. 'You\nare not as thin as I am.'\n\n\"'I am not in the least afraid,' replied the minister cheerfully.\n\n\"So Toby took heart a little, and hastened home with the minister.\n\n\"_Link, link, bobolink_! cried the crazy loon as they went in the\ndoor.\n\n\"The minister walked straight up to the Ogress, who was standing\nbeside the soup-kettle, and held the looking-glass before her.\n\n\"When she saw her face in all its hideous ugliness, the shock was so\ngreat, for she had always thought herself very handsome, that she gave\none shriek and fell down quite dead.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nLetitia gave a sigh of relief, and uncle Jack yawned. \"Well, Letitia,\nthat's all,\" said he, \"only Toby married the real widow, Mrs.\nClover-leaf, the next day, and she made the soup to perfection, and he\nhad nothing to do all the rest of his life, but to sit in the doorway\nbeside the crazy loon, and knit stockings for his grandchildren.\"\n\n\"Thank you, uncle Jack,\" said Letitia gravely. Then she got her square\nof patchwork off the table and sat down and finished sewing it over\nand over.\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE PATCHWORK SCHOOL.\n\n\nOnce upon a time there was a city which possessed a very celebrated\ninstitution for the reformation of unruly children. It was, strictly\nspeaking, a Reform School, but of a very peculiar kind.\n\nIt had been established years before by a benevolent lady, who had a\ngreat deal of money, and wished to do good with it. After thinking a\nlong time, she had hit upon this plan of founding a school for the\nimprovement of children who tried their parents and all their friends\nby their ill behavior. More especially was it designed for ungrateful\nand discontented children; indeed it was mainly composed of this last\nclass.\n\nThere was a special set of police in the city, whose whole duty was to\nkeep a sharp lookout for ill-natured fretting children, who complained\nof their parents' treatment, and thought other boys and girls were\nmuch better off than they, and to march them away to the school. These\npolice all wore white top boots, tall peaked hats, and carried sticks\nwith blue ribbon bows on them, and were very readily distinguished.\nMany a little boy on his way to school has dodged round a corner to\navoid one, because he had just been telling his mother that another\nlittle boy's mother gave him twice as much pie for dinner as he had.\nHe wouldn't breathe easy till he had left the white top boots out of\nsight; and he would tremble all day at every knock on the door.\n\nThere was not a child in the city but had a great horror of this\nschool, though it may seem rather strange that they should; for the\npunishment, at first thought, did not seem so very terrible. Ever\nsince it was established, the school had been in charge of a very\nsingular little old woman. Nobody had ever known where she came from.\nThe benevolent lady who founded the institution, had brought her to\nthe door one morning in her coach, and the neighbors had seen the\nlittle brown, wizened creature, with a most extraordinary gown on,\nalight and enter. This was all any one had ever known about her. In\nfact, the benevolent lady had come upon her in the course of her\ntravels in a little German town, sitting in a garret window, behind a\nlittle box-garden of violets, sewing patchwork. After that, she became\nacquainted with her, and finally hired her to superintend her school.\nYou see, the benevolent lady had a very tender heart, and though she\nwanted to reform the naughty children of her native city, and have\nthem grow up to be good men and women, she did not want them to be\nshaken, nor have their ears cuffed; so the ideas advanced by the\nstrange little old woman just suited her.\n\n\"Set 'em to sewing patchwork,\" said this little old woman, sewing\npatchwork vigorously herself as she spoke. She was dressed in a\ngown of bright-colored patchwork, with a patchwork shawl over her\nshoulders. Her cap was made of tiny squares of patchwork, too. \"If\nthey are sewing patchwork,\" went on the little old woman, \"they can't\nbe in mischief. Just make 'em sit in little chairs and sew patchwork,\nboys and girls alike. Make 'em sit and sew patchwork, when the bees\nare flying over the clover, out in the bright sunlight, and the great\nbluewinged butterflies stop with the roses just outside the windows,\nand the robins are singing in the cherry-trees, and they'll turn over\na new leaf, you'll see!\" sewing away with a will.\n\n[Illustration: THE PATCHWORK WOMAN.]\n\nSo the school was founded, the strange little old woman placed over\nit, and it really worked admirably. It was the pride of the city.\nStrangers who visited it were always taken to visit the Patchwork\nSchool, for that was the name it went by. There sat the children, in\ntheir little chairs, sewing patchwork. They were dressed in little\npatchwork uniforms; the girls wore blue and white patchwork frocks\nand pink and white patchwork pinafores, and the boys blue and white\npatchwork trousers, with pinafores like the girls. Their cheeks were\nround and rosy, for they had plenty to eat--bread and milk three times\na day--but they looked sad, and tears were standing in the corners\nof a good many eyes. How could they help it? It did seem as if the\nloveliest roses in the whole country were blossoming in the garden of\nthe Patchwork School, and there were swarms of humming-birds flying\nover them, and great red and blue-winged butterflies. And there were\ntall cherry-trees a little way from the window, and they used to be\nperfectly crimson with fruit; and the way the robins would sing in\nthem! Later in the season there were apple and peach-trees, too, the\napples and great rosy peaches fairly dragging the branches to the\nground, and all in sight from the window of the schoolroom.\n\nNo wonder the poor little culprits cooped up indoors sewing red and\nblue and green pieces of calico together, looked sad. Every day bales\nof calico were left at the door of the Patchwork School, and it all\nhad to be cut up in little bits and sewed together again. When the\nchildren heard the heavy tread of the porters bringing in the bales\nof new calico, the tears would leave the corners of their eyes\nand trickle down their poor little cheeks, at the prospect of the\nadditional work they would have to do. All the patchwork had to be\nsewed over and over, and every crooked or too long stitch had to be\npicked out; for the Patchwork Woman was very particular. They had to\nmake all their own clothes of patchwork, and after those were done,\npatchwork bed quilts, which were given to the city poor; so the\nbenevolent lady killed two birds with one stone, as you might say.\n\n[Illustration: THE PATCHWORK GIRL.]\n\nOf course, children staid in the Patchwork School different lengths of\ntime, according to their different offenses. But there were very few\nchildren in the city who had not sat in a little chair and sewed\npatchwork, at one time or another, for a greater or less period.\nSooner or later, the best children were sure to think they were\nill-treated by their parents, and had to go to bed earlier than they\nought, or did not have as much candy as other children; and the police\nwould hear them grumbling, and drag them off to the Patchwork School.\nThe Mayor's son, especially, who might be supposed to fare as well\nas any little boy in the city, had been in the school any number of\ntimes.\n\nThere was one little boy in the city, however, whom the white-booted\npolice had not yet found any occasion to arrest, though one might have\nthought he had more reason than a good many others to complain of his\nlot in life. In the first place, he had a girl's name, and any one\nknows that would be a great cross to a boy. His name was Julia; his\nparents had called him so on account of his having a maiden aunt who\nhad promised to leave her money to him if he was named for her.\n\nSo there was no help for it, but it was a great trial to him, for\nthe other boys plagued him unmercifully, and called him \"missy,\" and\n\"sissy,\" and said \"she\" instead of \"he\" when they were speaking of\nhim. Still he never complained to his parents, and told them he wished\nthey had called him some other name. His parents were very poor,\nhard-working people, and Julia had much coarser clothes than the other\nboys, and plainer food, but he was always cheerful about it, and never\nseemed to think it at all hard that he could not have a velvet coat\nlike the Mayor's son, or carry cakes for lunch to school like the\nlawyer's little boy.\n\nBut perhaps the greatest cross which Julia had to bear, and the\none from which he stood in the greatest danger of getting into the\nPatchwork School, was his Grandmothers. I don't mean to say that\ngrandmothers are to be considered usually as crosses. A dear old lady\nseated with her knitting beside the fire, is a pleasant person to\nhave in the house. But Julia had four, and he had to hunt for their\nspectacles, and pick up their balls of yarn so much that he got very\nlittle time to play. It was an unusual thing, but the families on both\nsides were very long-lived, and there actually were four grandmothers;\ntwo great ones, and two common ones; two on each side of the\nfireplace, with their knitting work, in Julia's home. They were\nnice old ladies, and Julia loved them dearly, but they lost their\nspectacles all the time, and were always dropping their balls of yarn,\nand it did make a deal of work for one boy to do. He could have hunted\nup spectacles for one Grandmother, but when it came to four, and one\nwas always losing hers while he was finding another's, and one ball of\nyarn would drop and roll off, while he was picking up another--well,\nit was really bewildering at times. Then he had to hold the skeins of\nyarn for them to wind, and his arms used to ache, and he could hear\nthe boys shouting at a game of ball outdoors, maybe. But he never\nrefused to do anything his Grandmothers asked him to, and did it\npleasantly, too; and it was not on that account he got into the\nPatchwork School.\n\n[Illustration: JULIA WAS ARRESTED ON CHRISTMAS DAY.]\n\nIt was on Christmas day that Julia was arrested and led away to the\nPatchwork School. It happened in this way: As I said before, Julia's\nparents were poor, and it was all they could do to procure the bare\ncomforts of life for their family; there was very little to spend for\nknickknacks. But I don't think Julia would have complained at that; he\nwould have liked useful articles just as well for Christmas presents,\nand would not have been unhappy because he did not find some useless\ntoy in his stocking, instead of some article of clothing, which he\nneeded to make him comfortable. But he had had the same things over\nand over, over and over, Christmas after Christmas. Every year each of\nhis Grandmothers knit him two pairs of blue woollen yarn stockings,\nand hung them for him on Christmas Eve, for a Christmas present. There\nthey would hang--eight pairs of stockings with nothing in them, in a\nrow on the mantel shelf, every Christmas morning.\n\nEvery year Julia thought about it for weeks before Christmas, and\nhoped and hoped he would have something different this time, but there\nthey always hung, and he had to go and kiss his Grandmothers, and\npretend he liked the stockings the best of anything he could have had;\nfor he would not have hurt their feelings for the world.\n\nHis parents might have bettered matters a little, but they did not\nwish to cross the old ladies either, and they had to buy so much yarn\nthey could not afford to get anything else.\n\nThe worst of it was, the stockings were knit so well, and of such\nstout material, that they never wore out, so Julia never really\nneeded the new ones; if he had, that might have reconciled him to the\nsameness of his Christmas presents, for he was a very sensible boy.\nBut his bureau drawers were full of the blue stockings rolled up in\nneat little hard balls--all the balls he ever had; the tears used to\nspring up in his eyes every time he looked at them. But he never said\na word till the Christmas when he was twelve years old. Somehow that\ntime he was unusually cast down at the sight of the eight pairs of\nstockings hanging in a row under the mantel shelf; but he kissed and\nthanked his Grandmothers just as he always had.\n\nWhen he was out on the street a little later, however, he sat down in\na doorway and cried. He could not help it. Some of the other boys had\nsuch lovely presents, and he had nothing but these same blue woollen\nstockings.\n\n\"What's the matter, little boy?\" asked a voice.\n\nWithout looking up, Julia sobbed out his troubles; but what was his\nhorror when he felt himself seized by the arm and lifted up, and\nfound that he was in the grasp of a policeman in white top boots. The\npoliceman did not mind Julia's tears and entreaties in the least, but\nled him away to the Patchwork School, waving his stick with its blue\nribbon bow as majestically as a drum major.\n\nSo Julia had to sit down in a little chair, and sew patchwork with the\nrest. He did not mind the close work as much as some of the others,\nfor he was used to being kept indoors, attending to his Grandmothers'\nwants; but he disliked to sew. His term of punishment was a long one.\nThe Patchwork Woman, who fixed it, thought it looked very badly for a\nlittle boy to be complaining because his kind grandparents had given\nhim some warm stockings instead of foolish toys.\n\nThe first thing the children had to do when they entered the school,\nwas to make their patchwork clothes, as I have said. Julia had got his\nfinished and was busily sewing on a red and green patchwork quilt,\nin a tea-chest pattern, when, one day, the Mayor came to visit the\nschool. Just then his son did not happen to be serving a term there;\nthe Mayor never visited it with visitors of distinction when he was.\n\nTo-day he had a Chinese Ambassador with him. The Patchwork Woman sat\nbehind her desk on the platform and sewed patchwork, the Mayor in his\nfine broadcloth sat one side of her, and the Chinese Ambassador, in\nhis yellow satin gown, on the other.\n\nThe Ambassador's name was To-Chum. The children could not help\nstealing glances occasionally at his high eyebrows and braided queue,\nbut they cast their eyes on their sewing again directly.\n\nThe Mayor and the Ambassador staid about an hour; then after they had\nboth made some remarks--the Ambassador made his in Chinese; he could\nspeak English, but his remarks in Chinese were wiser--they rose to go.\n\nNow, the door of the Patchwork School was of a very peculiar\nstructure. It was made of iron of a great thickness, and opened like\nany safe door, only it had more magic about it than any safe door ever\nhad. At a certain hour in the afternoon, it shut of its own accord,\nand opened at a certain hour in the morning, when the Patchwork Woman\nrepeated a formula before it. The formula did no good whatever at any\nother time; the door was so constructed that not even its inventor\ncould open it after it shut at the certain hour of the afternoon,\nbefore the certain hour the next morning.\n\nNow the Mayor and the Chinese Ambassador had staid rather longer than\nthey should have. They had been so interested in the school that they\nhad not noticed how the time was going, and the Patchwork Woman had\nbeen so taken up with a very intricate new pattern that she failed to\nremind them, as was her custom.\n\nSo it happened that while the Mayor got through the iron door safely,\njust as the Chinese Ambassador was following it suddenly swung to, and\nshut in his braided queue at a very high point.\n\n[Illustration: JULIA ENTERTAINS THE AMBASSADOR THROUGH THE KEYHOLE.]\n\nThen there was the Ambassador on one side of the door, and his queue\non the other, and the door could not possibly be opened before\nmorning. Here was a terrible dilemma! What was to be done? There stood\nthe children, their patchwork in their hands, staring, open-mouthed,\nat the queue dangling through the door, and the Patchwork Woman pale\nwith dismay, in their midst, on one side of the door, and on the other\nside was the terror-stricken Mayor, and the poor Chinese Ambassador.\n\n\"Can't anything be done?\" shouted the Mayor through the keyhole--there\nwas a very large keyhole.\n\n\"No,\" the Patchwork Woman said. \"The door won't open till six o'clock\nto-morrow morning.\"\n\n\"Oh, try!\" groaned the Mayor. \"Say the formula.\"\n\nShe said the formula, to satisfy them, but the door staid firmly shut.\nEvidently the Chinese Ambassador would have to stay where he was until\nmorning, unless he had the Mayor snip his queue off, which was not to\nbe thought of.\n\nSo the Mayor, who was something of a philosopher, set about\naccommodating himself, or rather his friend, to the situation.\n\n\"It is inevitable,\" said he to the Ambassador. \"I am very sorry, but\neverybody has to conform to the customs of the institutions of the\ncountries which they visit. I will go and get you some dinner, and an\nextra coat. I will keep you company through the night, and morning\nwill come before you know it.\"\n\n\"Well,\" sighed the Chinese Ambassador, standing on tiptoe so his queue\nshould not pull so hard. He was a patient man, but after he had eaten\nhis dinner the time seemed terrible long.\n\n\"Why don't you talk?\" said he to the Mayor, who was dozing beside him\nin an easy-chair. \"Can't you tell me a story?\"\n\n\"I never did such a thing in my life,\" replied the Mayor, rousing\nhimself; \"but I am very sorry for you, dear sir; perhaps the Patchwork\nWoman can.\"\n\nSo he asked the Patchwork Woman through the keyhole.\n\n\"I never told a story in my life,\" said she; \"but there's a boy here\nthat I heard telling a beautiful one the other day. Here, Julia,\"\ncalled she, \"come and tell a story to the Chinese Ambassador.\"\n\nJulia really knew a great many stories which his Grandmothers had\ntaught him, and he sat on a little stool and told them through the\nkeyhole all night to the Chinese Ambassador.\n\nHe and the Mayor were so interested that morning came and the door\nswung open before they knew it. The poor Ambassador drew a long\nbreath, and put his hand around to his queue to see if it was safe.\nThen he wanted to thank and reward the boy who had made the long night\nhours pass so pleasantly.\n\n\"What is he in here for?\" asked the Mayor, patting Julia, who could\nhardly keep his eyes open.\n\n[Illustration: THE GRANDMOTHERS ENJOY THE CHINESE TOYS.]\n\n\"He grumbled about his Christmas presents,\" replied the Patchwork\nWoman.\n\n\"What did you have?\" inquired the Mayor.\n\n\"Eight pairs of blue yarn stockings,\" answered Julia, rubbing his\neyes.\n\n\"And the year before?\"\n\n\"Eight pairs of blue yarn stockings.\"\n\n\"And the year before that?\"\n\n\"Eight pairs of blue yarn stockings.\"\n\n\"Didn't you ever have anything for Christmas presents but blue yarn\nstockings?\" asked the astonished Mayor.\n\n\"No, sir,\" said Julia meekly.\n\nThen the whole story came out. Julia, by dint of questioning, told\nsome, and the other children told the rest; and finally, in the\nafternoon, orders came to dress him in his own clothes, and send him\nhome. But when he got there, the Mayor and Chinese Ambassador had\nbeen there before him, and there hung the eight pairs of blue yarn\nstockings under the mantel-shelf, crammed full of the most beautiful\nthings--knives, balls, candy--everything he had ever wanted, and the\nmantel-shelf piled high also.\n\nA great many of the presents were of Chinese manufacture; for the\nAmbassador considered them, of course, superior, and he wished to\nexpress his gratitude to Julia as forcibly as he could. There was one\nstocking entirely filled with curious Chinese tops. A little round\nhead, so much like the Ambassador's that it actually startled Julia,\npeeped out of the stocking. But it was only a top in the shape of\na little man in a yellow silk gown, who could spin around very\nsuccessfully on one foot, for an astonishing length of time. There was\na Chinese lady-top too, who fanned herself coquettishly as she spun;\nand a mandarin who nodded wisely. The tops were enough to turn a boy's\nhead.\n\nThere were equally curious things in the other stockings. Some of them\nJulia had no use for, such as silk for dresses, China crape shawls and\nfans, but they were just the things for his Grandmothers, who, after\nthis, sat beside the fireplace, very prim and fine, in stiff silk\ngowns, with China crape shawls over their shoulders, and Chinese fans\nin their hands, and queer shoes on their feet. Julia liked their\npresents just as well as he did his own, and probably the Ambassador\nknew that he would.\n\nThe Mayor had filled one stocking himself with bonbons, and Julia\npicked out all the peppermints amongst them for his Grandmothers. They\nwere very fond of peppermints. Then he went to work to find their\nspectacles, which had been lost ever since he had been away.\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE SQUIRE'S SIXPENCE.\n\n\nPatience Mather was saying the seven-multiplication table, when she\nheard a heavy step in the entry.\n\n\"That is Squire Bean,\" whispered her friend, Martha Joy, who stood at\nher elbow.\n\nPatience stopped short in horror. Her especial bugbear in mathematics\nwas eight-times-seven; she was coming toward it fast--could she\nremember it, with old Squire Bean looking at her?\n\n\"Go on,\" said the teacher severely. She was quite young, and also\nstood in some awe of Squire Bean, but she did not wish her pupils to\ndiscover it, so she pretended to ignore that step in the entry. Squire\nBean walked with a heavy gilt-headed cane which always went clump,\nclump, at every step; beside he shuffled--one could always tell who\nwas coming.\n\n\"Seven times seven,\" begun Patience trembling--then the door\nopened--there stood Squire Bean.\n\nThe teacher rose promptly. She tried to be very easy and natural, but\nher pretty round cheeks turned red and white by turns.\n\n\"Good-morning, Squire Bean,\" said she. Then she placed a chair on the\nplatform for him.\n\n\"_Good_-morning,\" said he, and seated himself in a lumbering way--he\nwas rather stiff with rheumatism. He was a large old man in a green\ncamlet cloak with brass buttons.\n\n\"You may go on with the exercises,\" said he to the teacher, after he\nhad adjusted himself and wiped his face solemnly with a great red\nhandkerchief.\n\n\"Go on, Patience,\" said the teacher.\n\nSo Patience piped up in her little weak soprano: \"Seven times seven\nare forty-nine. Eight times seven are\"--She stopped short. Then she\nbegun over again--\"Eight times seven\"--\n\nThe class with toes on the crack all swayed forward to look at\nher, the pupils at the foot stepped off till they swung it into a\nhalf-circle. Hands came up and gyrated wildly.\n\n\"Back on the line!\" said the teacher sternly. Then they stepped back,\nbut the hands indicative of superior knowledge still waved, the coarse\njacket-sleeves and the gingham apron-sleeves slipping back from the\nthin childish wrists.\n\n\"Eight times seven are eighty-nine,\" declared Patience desperately.\nThe hands shook frantically, some of the owners stepped off the line\nagain in their eagerness.\n\nPatience's cheeks were red as poppies, her eyes were full of tears.\n\n\"You may try once more, Patience,\" said the teacher, who was\ndistressed herself. She feared lest Squire Bean might think that it\nwas her fault, and that she was not a competent teacher, because\nPatience Mather did not know eight-times-seven.\n\nSo Patience started again--\"Eight times seven\"--She paused for a\nmighty mental effort--she must get it right this time. \"Six\"--she\nbegan feebly.\n\n\"What!\" said Squire Bean suddenly, in a deep voice which sounded like\na growl.\n\nThen all at once poor little Patience heard a whisper sweet as an\nangel's in her ear: \"Fifty-six.\"\n\n\"Eight times seven are fifty-six,\" said she convulsively.\n\n[Illustration: \"SIX\"--SHE BEGAN FEEBLY.]\n\n\"Right,\" said the teacher with a relieved look. The hands went down.\nPatience stood with her neat little shoes toeing out on the crack. It\nwas over. She had not failed before Squire Bean. For a few minutes,\nshe could think of nothing but that.\n\nThe rest of the class had their weak points, moreover their strong\npoints, overlooked in the presence of the company. The first thing\nPatience knew, ever so many had missed in the nine-table, and she had\ngone up to the head.\n\nStanding there, all at once a terrible misgiving seized her. \"I\nwouldn't have gone to the head if I hadn't been told,\" she thought\nto herself. Martha was next below her; she knew that question in the\nnines, her hand had been up, so had John Allen's and Phoebe Adams'.\n\nThis was the last class before recess. Patience went soberly out in\nthe yard with the other girls. There was a little restraint over all\nthe scholars. They looked with awe at the Squire's horse and chaise.\nThe horse was tied after a novel fashion, an invention of the Squire's\nown. He had driven a gimlet into the schoolhouse wall, and tied his\nhorse to it with a stout rope. Whenever the Squire drove he carried\nwith him his gimlet, in case there should be no hitching-post.\nOccasionally house-owners rebelled, but it made no difference; the\nnext time the Squire had occasion to stop at their premises there was\nanother gimlet-hole in the wall. Few people could make their way good\nagainst Squire Bean's.\n\nThere were a great many holes in the schoolhouse walls, for the Squire\nmade frequent visits; he was one of the committee and considered\nhimself very necessary for the well-being of the school. Indeed if he\nhad frankly spoken his mind, he would probably have admitted that in\nhis estimation the school could not be properly kept one day without\nhis assistance.\n\n[Illustration: \"WHAT!\" SAID SQUIRE BEAN SUDDENLY.]\n\nPatience stood with her back against the school fence, and watched\nthe others soberly. The girls wanted her to play \"Little Sally Waters\nsitting in the sun,\" but she said no, she didn't want to play.\n\nMartha took hold of her arm and tried to pull her into the ring, but\nshe held back.\n\n\"What is the matter?\" said Martha.\n\n\"Nothing,\" Patience said, but her face was full of trouble. There was\na little wrinkle between her reflective brown eyes, and she drew in\nher under lip after a way she had when disturbed.\n\nWhen the bell rang, the scholars filed in with the greatest order and\ndecorum. Even the most frisky boys did no more than roll their eyes\nrespectfully in the Squire's direction as they passed him, and they\ntiptoed on their bare feet in the most cautious manner.\n\nThe Squire sat through the remaining exercises, until it was time to\nclose the school.\n\n\"You may put up your books,\" said the teacher. There was a rustle and\nclatter, then a solemn hush. They all sat with their arms folded,\nlooking expectantly at Squire Bean. The teacher turned to him. Her\ncheeks were very red, and she was very dignified, but her voice shook\na little.\n\n\"Won't you make some remarks to the pupils?\" said she.\n\nThen the Squire rose and cleared his throat. The scholars did not pay\nmuch attention to what he said, although they sat still, with their\neyes riveted on his face. But when, toward the close of his remarks,\nhe put his hand in his pocket, and a faint jingling was heard, a\nthrill ran over the school.\n\nThe Squire pulled out two silver sixpences, and held them up\nimpressively before the children. Through a hole in each of them\ndangled a palm-leaf strand; and the Squire's own initial was stamped\non both.\n\n\"Thomas Arnold may step this way,\" said the Squire.\n\nThomas Arnold had acquitted himself well in geography, and to him the\nSquire duly presented one of the sixpences.\n\nThomas bobbed, and pattered back to his seat with all his mates\nstaring and grinning at him.\n\nThen Patience Mather's heart jumped--Squire Bean was bidding her step\nthat way, on account of her going to the head of the arithmetic class.\nShe sat still. There was a roaring in her ears. Squire Bean spoke\nagain. Then the teacher interposed. \"Patience,\" said she, \"did you not\nhear what Squire Bean said? Step this way.\"\n\nThen Patience rose and dragged slowly down the aisle. She hung her\nhead, she dimly heard Squire Bean speaking; then the sixpence touched\nher hand. Suddenly Patience looked up. There was a vein of heroism in\nthe little girl. Not far back, some of her kin had been brave fighters\nin the Revolution. Now their little descendant went marching up to her\nown enemy in her own way. She spoke right up before Squire Bean.\n\n\"I'd rather you'd give it to some one else,\" said she with a curtesy.\n\"It doesn't belong to me. I wouldn't have gone to the head if I hadn't\ncheated.\"\n\nPatience's cheeks were white, but her eyes flashed. Squire Bean\ngasped, and turned it into a cough. Then he began asking her\nquestions. Patience answered unflinchingly. She kept holding the\nsixpence toward him.\n\nFinally he reached out and gave it a little push back.\n\n\"Keep it,\" said he; \"keep it, keep it. I don't give it to you for\ngoing to the head, but because you are an honest and truthful child.\"\n\nPatience blushed pink to her little neck. She curtesied deeply and\nreturned to her seat, the silver sixpence dangling from her agitated\nlittle hand. She put her head down on her desk, and cried, now it was\nall over, and did not look up till school was dismissed, and Martha\nJoy came and put her arm around her and comforted her.\n\nThe two little girls were very close friends, and were together all\nthe time which they could snatch out of school hours. Not long after\nthe presentation of the sixpence, one night after school, Patience's\nmother wanted her to go on an errand to Nancy Gookin's hut.\n\nNancy Gookin was an Indian woman, who did a good many odd jobs for the\nneighbors. Mrs. Mather was expecting company, and she wanted her to\ncome the next day and assist her about some cleaning.\n\nPatience was usually willing enough, but to-night she demurred. In\nfact, she was a little afraid of the Indian woman, who lived all alone\nin a little hut on the edge of some woods. Her mother knew it, but it\nwas a foolish fear, and she did not encourage her in it.\n\n\"There is no sense in your being afraid of Nancy,\" she said with some\nseverity. \"She's a good woman, if she is an Injun, and she is always\nto be seen in the meeting-house of a Sabbath day.\"\n\nAs her mother spoke, Patience could see Nancy's dark harsh old face\npeering over the pew, where she and some of her nation sat together,\nSabbath days, and the image made her shudder in spite of its\nenvironments. However, she finally put on her little sunbonnet and set\nforth. It was a lovely summer twilight; she had only about a quarter\nof a mile to go, but her courage failed her more and more at every\nstep. Martha Joy lived on the way. When she reached her house, she\nstopped and begged her to go with her. Martha was obliging; under\nordinary circumstances she would have gone with alacrity, but to-night\nshe had a hard toothache. She came to the door with her face all tied\nup in a hop-poultice. \"I'm 'fraid I can't go,\" she said dolefully.\n\nBut Patience begged and begged. \"I'll spend my sixpence that uncle\nJoseph gave me, and I'll buy you a whole card of peppermints,\" said\nshe finally, by way of inducement.\n\nThat won the day. Martha got few sweets, and if there was anything\nshe craved, it was the peppermints, which came, in those days, in big\nbeautiful cards, to be broken off at will. And to have a whole card!\n\nSo poor Martha tied her little napping sunbonnet over her swollen\ncheeks, and went with Patience to see Nancy Gookin, who received the\nmessage thankfully, and did not do them the least harm in the world.\n\nMartha had really a very hard toothache. She did not sleep much that\nnight for all the hop-poultice, and she went to school the next day\nfeeling tired and cross. She was a nervous little girl, and never bore\nillness very well. But to-day she had one pleasant anticipation. She\nthought often of that card of peppermints. It had cheered her somewhat\nin her uneasy night. She thought that Patience would surely bring them\nto school. She came early herself and watched for her. She entered\nquite late, just before the bell rang. Martha ran up to her. \"I\nhaven't got the peppermints,\" said Patience. She had been crying.\n\nMartha straightened up: \"Why not?\"\n\nThe tears welled out of Patience's eyes. \"I can't find that sixpence\nanywhere.\"\n\nThe tears came into Martha's eyes too. She looked as dignified as her\npoulticed face would allow. \"I never knew you told fibs, Patience\nMather,\" said she. \"I don't believe my mother will want me to go with\nyou any more.\"\n\nJust then the bell rang. Martha went crying to her seat, and the\nothers thought it was on account of her toothache. Patience kept back\nher tears. She was forming a desperate resolution. When recess came,\nshe got permission to go to the store which was quite near, and she\nbought a card of peppermints with the Squire's sixpence. She had\npulled out the palm-leaf strand on her way, thrusting it into her\npocket guiltily. She felt as if she were committing sacrilege. These\nsixpences, which Squire Bean bestowed upon worthy scholars from time\nto time, were ostensibly for the purpose of book-marks. That was the\nreason for the palm-leaf strand. The Squire took the sixpences to the\nblacksmith who stamped them with B's, and then, with his own hands, he\nadjusted the palm-leaf.\n\nThe man who kept the store looked at the sixpence curiously, when\nPatience offered it.\n\n\"One of the Squire's sixpences!\" said he.\n\n\"Yes; it's mine.\" That was the argument which Patience had set forth\nto her own conscience. It was certainly her own sixpence; the Squire\nhad given it to her--had she not a right to do as she chose with it?\n\nThe man laughed; his name was Ezra Tomkins, and he enjoyed a joke. He\nwas privately resolving to give that sixpence in change to the\nold Squire and see what he would say. If Patience had guessed his\nthoughts--\n\nBut she took the card of peppermints, and carried them to the appeased\nand repentant and curious Martha, and waited further developments in\ntrepidation. She had a presentiment deep within her childish soul that\nsome day she would have a reckoning with Squire Bean concerning his\nsixpence.\n\nIf by chance she had to pass his house, she would hurry by at her\nutmost speed lest she be intercepted. She got out of his way as fast\nas she could if she spied his old horse and chaise in the distance.\nStill she knew the day would come; and it did.\n\nIt was one Saturday afternoon; school did not keep, and she was all\nalone in the house with Martha. Her mother had gone visiting. The two\nlittle girls were playing \"Holly Gull, Passed how many,\" with beans in\nthe kitchen, when the door opened, and in walked Susan Elder. She\nwas a woman who lived at Squire Bean's and helped his wife with the\nhousework.\n\nThe minute Patience saw her, she knew what her errand was. She gave a\ngreat start. Then she looked at Susan Elder with her big frightened\neyes.\n\nSusan Elder was a stout old woman. She sat down on the settle, and\nwheezed before she spoke. \"Squire Bean wants you to come up to his\nhouse right away,\" said she at last.\n\nPatience trembled all over. \"My mother is gone away. I don't know as\nshe would want me to go,\" she ventured despairingly.\n\n\"He wants you to come right away,\" said Susan.\n\n\"I don't believe mother'd want me to leave the house alone.\"\n\n\"I'll stay an' rest till you git back; I'd jest as soon. I'm all\ntuckered out comin' up the hill.\"\n\nPatience was very pale. She cast an agonized glance at Martha. \"I\nspent the Squire's sixpence for those peppermints,\" she whispered. She\nhad not told her before.\n\nMartha looked at her in horror--then she begun to cry. \"Oh! I made you\ndo it,\" she sobbed.\n\n\"Won't you go with me?\" groaned Patience.\n\n\"One little gal is enough,\" spoke up Susan Elder. \"He won't like it if\ntwo goes.\"\n\nThat settled it. Poor little Patience Mather crept meekly out of\nthe house and down the hill to Squire Bean's, without even Martha's\nforeboding sympathy for consolation.\n\nShe looked ahead wistfully all the way. If she could only see her\nmother coming--but she did not, and there was Squire Bean's house,\nsquare and white and massive, with great sprawling clumps of white\npeonies in the front yard.\n\nShe went around to the back door, and raised a feeble clatter with the\nknocker. Mrs. Squire Bean, who was tall and thin and mild-looking,\nanswered her knock. \"The--Squire--sent--for--me\"--choked Patience.\n\n\"Oh!\" said the old lady, \"you air the little Mather-gal, I guess.\"\n\nPatience shook so she could hardly reply.\n\n\"You'd better go right into his room,\" said Mrs. Squire Bean, and\nPatience followed her. She gave her a little pat when she opened a\ndoor on the right. \"Don't you be afeard,\" said she; \"he won't say\nnothin' to you. I'll give you a piece of sweet-cake when you come\nout.\"\n\nThus admonished, Patience entered. \"Here's the little Mather-gal,\"\nMrs. Bean remarked; then the door closed again on her mild old face.\n\n[Illustration: LITTLE PATIENCE OBEYS THE SQUIRE'S SUMMONS.]\n\nWhen Patience first looked at that room, she had a wild impulse to\nturn and run. A conviction flashed through her mind that she could\noutrun Squire Bean and his wife easily. In fact, the queer aspect\nof the room was not calculated to dispel her nervous terror. Squire\nBean's peculiarities showed forth in the arrangement of his room, as\nwell as in other ways. His floor was painted drab, and in the center\nwere the sun and solar system depicted in yellow. But that six-rayed\nyellow sun, the size of a large dinner plate, with its group of lesser\nsix-rayed orbs as large as saucers, did not startle Patience as\nmuch as the rug beside the Squire's bed. That was made of a brindle\ncow-skin with--the horns on. The little girl's fascinated gaze rested\non these bristling horns and could not tear itself away. Across the\nfoot of the Squire's bed lay a great iron bar; that was a housewifely\nscheme of his own to keep the clothes well down at the foot. But\nPatience's fertile imagination construed it into a dire weapon of\npunishment.\n\nThe Squire was sitting at his old cherry desk. He turned around and\nlooked at Patience sharply from under his shaggy, overhanging brows.\n\nThen he fumbled in his pocket and brought something out--it was the\nsixpence. Then he began talking. Patience could not have told what he\nsaid. Her mind was entirely full of what she had to say. Somehow\nshe stammered out the story: how she had been afraid to go to Nancy\nGookin's, and how she had lost the sixpence her uncle had given her,\nand how Martha had said she told a fib. Patience trembled and gasped\nout the words, and curtesied, once in a while, when the Squire said\nsomething.\n\n\"Come here,\" said he, when he had sat for a minute or two, taking in\nthe facts of the case.\n\nTo Patience's utter astonishment, Squire Bean was laughing, and\nholding out the sixpence.\n\n\"Have you got the palm-leaf string?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir,\" replied Patience, curtesying.\n\n\"Well, you may take this home, and put in the palm-leaf string, and\nuse it for a marker in your book--but don't you spend it again.\"\n\n\"No, sir.\" Patience curtesied again.\n\n\"You did very wrong to spend it, very wrong. Those sixpences are not\ngiven to you to spend. But I will overlook it this once.\"\n\nThe Squire extended the sixpence. Patience took it, with another dip\nof her little skirt. Then he turned around to his desk.\n\nPatience waited a few minutes. She did not know whether she was\ndismissed or not. Finally the Squire begun to add aloud: \"Five and\nfive are ten,\" he said, \"ought, and carry the one.\"\n\nHe was adding a bill. Then Patience stole out softly. Mrs. Squire Bean\nwas waiting in the kitchen. She gave her a great piece of plum-cake\nand kissed her.\n\n\"He didn't hurt you any, did he?\" said she.\n\n\"No, ma'am,\" said Patience, looking with a bewildered smile at the\nsixpence.\n\nThat night she tied in the palm-leaf strand again, and she put the\nsixpence in her Geography-book, and she kept it so safely all her life\nthat her great-grandchildren have seen it.\n\n\n\n\n\n\nA PLAIN CASE.\n\n\nWilly had his own little bag packed--indeed it had been packed for\nthree whole days--and now he stood gripping it tightly in one hand,\nand a small yellow cane which was the pride of his heart in the other.\nWilly had a little harmless, childish dandyism about him which his\nmother rather encouraged. \"I'd rather he'd be this way than the\nother,\" she said when people were inclined to smile at his little\nfussy habits. \"It won't hurt him any to be nice and particular, if he\ndoesn't get conceited.\"\n\nWilly looked very dainty and sweet and gentle as he stood in the door\nthis morning. His straight fair hair was brushed very smooth, his\nwhite straw hat with its blue ribbon was set on exactly, there was not\na speck on his best blue suit.\n\n\"Willy looks as if he had just come out of the band-box,\" Grandma had\nsaid. But she did not have time to admire him long; she was not nearly\nready herself. Grandma was always in a hurry at the last moment. Now\nshe had to pack her big valise, brush Grandpa's hair, put on his\n\"dicky\" and cravat, and adjust her own bonnet and shawl.\n\nWilly was privately afraid she would not be ready when the village\ncoach came, and so they would miss the train, but he said nothing.\nHe stood patiently in the door and looked down the street whence the\ncoach would come, and listened to the bustle in Grandma's room. There\nwas not an impatient line in his face although he had really a good\ndeal at stake. He was going to Exeter with his Grandpa and Grandma, to\nvisit his aunt Annie, and his new uncle Frank. Grandpa and Grandma had\ncome from Maine to visit their daughter Ellen who was Willy's mother,\nand now they were going to see Annie. When Willy found out that he was\ngoing too, he was delighted. He had always been very fond of his aunt\nAnnie, and had not seen her for a long time. He had never seen his new\nuncle Frank who had been married to Annie six months before, and he\nlooked forward to that. Uncles and aunts seemed a very desirable\nacquisition to this little Willy, who had always been a great pet\namong his relatives.\n\n\"He won't make you a bit of trouble, if you don't mind taking him. He\nnever teases nor frets, and he won't be homesick,\" his mother had told\nhis grandmother.\n\n\"I know all about that,\" Grandma Stockton had replied. \"I'd just as\nsoon take him as a doll-baby.\"\n\n[Illustration: WATCHING FOR THE COACH.]\n\nWilly Norton really was a very sweet boy. He proved it this morning\nby standing there so patiently and never singing out, \"Ain't you most\nready, Grandma?\" although it did seem to him she never would be.\n\nHis mother was helping her pack too; he could hear them talking. \"I\nguess I sha'n't put in father's best coat,\" Grandma Stockton remarked,\namong other things. \"He won't be in Exeter over Sunday, and won't want\nit to go to meetin', and it musses it up so to put it in a valise.\"\n\n\"Well, I don't know as I would as long as you're coming back here,\"\nsaid his mother.\n\nAfter a while she remarked further, \"If father should want that coat,\nyou can send for it, and I can put in Willy's other shoes with it.\"\n\nWilly noticed that, because he himself had rather regretted not taking\nhis other shoes. He had only his best ones, and he thought he might\nwant to go berrying in Exeter and would spoil them tramping through\nthe bushes and briers, and he did not like to wear shabby shoes.\n\n\"Well, I can; but I guess he won't want it,\" said Grandma.\n\nAt last the coach came in sight, and Grandma was all ready excepting\nher bonnet and gloves, and Grandpa had only to brush his hat very\ncarefully and put it on; so they did not miss the train.\n\nWilly's mother hugged him tight and kissed him. There were tears in\nher eyes. This was the first time he had ever been away from home\nwithout her. \"Be a good boy,\" said she.\n\n\"There isn't any need of tellin' him that,\" chuckled Grandpa, getting\ninto the coach. He thought Willy was the most wonderful child in the\nworld.\n\nIt was quite a long ride to Exeter. They did not get there until\ntea-time, but that made it seem all the pleasanter. Willy never forgot\nhow peaceful and beautiful that little, elm-shaded village looked with\nthe red light of the setting sun over it. There was aunt Annie, too,\nin the prettiest blue-sprigged, white cambric, standing in her door\nwatching for them; and she was so surprised and delighted to see\nWilly, and they had tea right away, and there were berries and cream,\nand cream-tartar biscuits and frosted cake.\n\nUncle Frank, Willy thought, was going to be the nicest uncle he had.\nThere was something about the tall, curly-headed, pleasant-eyed young\nman which won his boyish heart at once.\n\n\"Glad to see you, sir,\" uncle Frank said in his loud, merry voice;\nthen he gave Willy's little slim hand a big shake, as if it were a\nman's.\n\nHe was further prepossessed in his favor when, after tea, he begged to\ntake him over to the store and show him around before he went to\nbed. Grandma had suggested his going directly to bed, as he must\nbe fatigued with the journey, but uncle Frank pleaded for fifteen\nminutes' grace, so Willy went to view the store.\n\nIt was almost directly opposite uncle Frank's house, and uncle Frank\nand his father kept it. It was in a large old building, half of which\nwas a dwelling-house where uncle Frank's parents lived, and where he\nhad lived himself before he was married. The store was a large country\none, and there was a post-office and an express office connected with\nit. Uncle Frank and his father were store-keepers and postmasters and\nexpress-agents.\n\nThe jolly new uncle gave Willy some sticks of peppermint and\nwinter-green candy out of the glass jars, in the store-window, and\nshowed him all around. He introduced him to his father, and took him\ninto the house to see his mother. They made much of him, as strangers\nalways did.\n\n\"They said I must call them Grandpa and Grandma Perry,\" he told his\nown grandmother when he got home.\n\nHe told her, furthermore, privately, when she came upstairs after he\nwas in bed to see if everything was all right, that he thought Annie\nhad shown very good taste in marrying uncle Frank. She told of it,\ndownstairs, and there was a great laugh. \"I don't know when I have\ntaken such a fancy to a boy,\" uncle Frank said warmly. \"He is so good,\nand yet he's smart enough, too.\"\n\n\"Everybody takes to him,\" his grandmother said proudly.\n\nIn a day or two Willy wrote a letter to his mother, and told her he\nwas having the best time that he ever had in his life.\n\nWilly was only seven years old and had never written many letters, but\nthis was a very good one. His mother away down in Ashbury thought so.\nShe shed a few tears over it. \"It does seem as if I couldn't get along\nanother day without seeing him,\" she told Willy's father; \"but I'm\nglad if it is doing the dear child good, and he is enjoying it.\"\n\nOne reason why Willy had been taken upon the trip was his health. He\nhad always been considered rather delicate. It did seem as if he had\nevery chance to grow stronger in Exeter. The air was cool and bracing\nfrom the mountains; aunt Annie had the best things in the world to\neat, and as he had said, he was really having a splendid time. He\nrode about with uncle Frank in the grocery wagon, he tended store,\nhe fished, and went berrying. There were only two drawbacks to his\nperfect comfort. One came from his shoes. Grandpa Perry had found an\nold pair in the store, and he wore them on his fishing and berrying\njaunts; but they were much too large and they slipped and hurt his\nheels. However he said nothing; he stumped along in them manfully, and\ntried to ignore such a minor grievance. Willy had really a stanch vein\nin him, in spite of his gentleness and mildness. The other drawback\nlay in the fact that the visit was to be of such short duration. It\nbegan Monday and was expected to end Saturday. Willy counted the\nhours; every night before he went to sleep he heaved a regretful sigh\nover the day which had just gone. It had been decided before leaving\nhome that they were to return on Saturday, and he had had no\nintimation of any change of plan.\n\nFriday morning he awoke with the thought, \"this is the last day.\"\nHowever, Willy was a child, and, in the morning, a day still looked\ninterminable to him, especially when there were good times looming up\nin it. To-day he expected to take a very long ride with uncle Frank,\nwho was going to Keene to buy a new horse.\n\n\"I want Willy to go with me, to help pick him out,\" he told Grandma\nStockton, and Willy took it in serious earnest. They were going to\ncarry lunch and be gone all day. This promised pleasure looked so big\nto the boy, as he became wider awake, that he could see nothing at all\nbeyond it, not even the sad departure and end of this delightful visit\non the morrow. So he went down to breakfast as happy as ever.\n\n\"That boy certainly looks better,\" Grandpa Stockton remarked, as the\ncoffee was being poured.\n\n\"We must have him weighed before he goes home,\" Grandma said, beaming\nat him.\n\n\"That's one thing I thought of, 'bout stayin' a week longer,\" Grandpa\nwent on. \"It seems to be doin' Sonny, here, so much good.\" Grandpa had\na very slow, deliberate way of speaking.\n\nWilly laid down his spoon and stared at him, but he said nothing.\n\n\"I don't see what you were thinking of not to plan to stay longer in\nthe first place,\" said aunt Annie. \"I don't like it much.\" She made\nbelieve to pout her pretty lips.\n\n\"Well,\" said uncle Frank, \"I'll send for that coat right away this\nmorning, so you'll be sure to get it to-morrow night.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Grandpa, \"I'd like to hev it to wear to meetin'. Mother\nthinks my old one ain't just fit.\"\n\n\"No, it ain't,\" spoke up Grandma. \"It does well enough when you're at\nhome, where folks know you, but it's different among strangers. An'\nyou've got to have it next week, anyhow.\"\n\nWilly looked up at his grandmother. \"Grandma,\" said he tremblingly,\n\"ain't we going home to-morrow?\"\n\n\"Why, bless the child!\" said she. \"I forgot he didn't know. We talked\nabout it last night after he'd gone to bed.\"\n\nThen she explained. They were going to stay another week. Next week\nWednesday, Grandpa and Grandma Perry had been married twenty-five\nyears, and they were going to have a silver wedding. So they were\ngoing to remain and be present at it, and Grandpa was going to send\nfor his best coat to wear.\n\nWilly looked so radiant that they all laughed, and uncle Frank said he\nwas going to keep him always, and let him help him in the store.\n\nBefore they started off to buy the horse, uncle Frank telegraphed to\nAshbury about the coat; he also mentioned Willy's shoes.\n\nThe two had a beautiful ride, and bought a handsome black horse. Uncle\nFrank consulted Willy a great deal about the purchase, and expatiated\non his good judgment in the matter after they got home. One of Willy's\nchief charms was that he stood so much flattery of this kind, without\nbeing disagreeably elated by it. His frank, childish delight was\nalways pretty to see.\n\nThe next afternoon he went berrying with a little boy who lived next\ndoor. At five o'clock aunt Annie ran over to the store to see if the\ncoat had come.\n\n\"It has,\" she told her mother when she returned; \"it came at one\no'clock, and Mother Perry gave it to Willy to bring home.\"\n\n\"To Willy? Why, what did the child do with it?\" Grandma said\nwonderingly. \"He didn't bring it home.\"\n\n\"Maybe he carried it over to Josie Allen's and left it there.\" Josie\nAllen was the boy with whom Willy had gone berrying. His house stood\nvery near uncle Frank's, and both were nearly across the road from the\nstore.\n\n\"Well, maybe he did, he was in such a hurry to go berrying,\" said\nGrandma assentingly.\n\nAbout six o'clock, when the family were all at the tea-table, Willy\ncame clumping painfully in his big shoes into the yard. There were\nblisters on his small, delicate heels, but nobody knew it. His little\nfair face was red and tired, but radiant. His pail was heaped and\nrounded up with the most magnificent berries of the season.\n\n\"Just look here,\" said he, with his sweet voice all quivering with\ndelight.\n\nHe stood outside on the piazza, and lifted the pail on to the\nwindow-sill. He could not wait until he came in to show these berries.\nHe would have to walk way around through the kitchen in those\nirritating shoes.\n\nThey all exclaimed and admired them as much as he could wish, then\nGrandma said suddenly: \"But what did you do with the coat, Willy?\"\n\n\"The coat?\" repeated Willy in a bewildered way.\n\n\"Yes; the coat. Did you take it over to Josie's an' leave it? If you\ndid, you must go right back and get it. Did you?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Why, what did you do with it?\"\n\n\"I didn't do anything with it.\"\n\n\"William Dexter Norton! what do you mean?\"\n\n[Illustration: \"JUST LOOK HERE!\" SAID WILLY'S SWEET VOICE.]\n\nEverybody had stopped eating, and was staring out at Willy, who was\nstaring in. His happy little red face had suddenly turned sober.\n\n\"Come in, Sonny, an' we'll see what all the trouble's about, an'\nstraighten it out in a jiffy,\" spoke up Grandpa. The contrast between\nGrandpa's slow tones and the \"jiffy\" was very funny.\n\nWilly crept slowly down the long piazza, through the big kitchen into\nthe dining-room.\n\n\"Now, Sonny, come right here,\" said his grandfather, \"an' we'll have\nit all fixed up nice.\"\n\nThe boy kept looking from one face to another in a wondering\nfrightened way. He went hesitatingly up to his grandfather, and stood\nstill, his poor little smarting feet toeing in, after a fashion they\nhad, when tired, the pail full of berries dangling heavily on his\nslight arm.\n\n\"Now, Sonny, look up here, an' tell us all about it. What did you do\nwith Grandpa's coat, boy?\"\n\n\"I--didn't do anything with it.\"\n\n\"William,\" began his grandmother, but Grandpa interrupted her. \"Just\nwait a minute, mother,\" said he. \"Sonny an' I air goin' to settle\nthis. Now, Sonny, don't you get scared. You jest think a minute.\nThink real hard, don't hurry--now, can't you tell what you did with\nGrandpa's coat?\"\n\n\"I--didn't--do anything with it,\" said Willy.\n\n\"My sakes!\" said his grandmother. \"What has come to the child?\" She\nwas very pale. Aunt Annie and uncle Frank looked as if they did not\nknow what to think. Grandpa himself settled back in his chair, and\nstared helplessly at Willy.\n\nFinally aunt Annie tried her hand. \"See here, Willy dear,\" said she,\n\"you are tired and hungry and want your supper; just tell us what you\ndid with the coat after Grandma Perry gave it to you\"--\n\n\"She didn't,\" said Willy.\n\nThat was dreadful. They all looked aghast at one another. Was Willy\nlying--Willy!\n\n\"Didn't--give--it--to you--Sonny!\" said Grandpa, feebly, and more\nslowly than ever.\n\n\"No, sir.\"\n\nGrandma Stockton had been called quick-tempered when she was a girl,\nand she gave proof of it sometimes, even now in her gentle old age.\nShe spoke very sternly and quickly: \"Willy, we have had all of this\nnonsense that we want. Now you just speak right up an' tell the truth.\nWhat did you do with your grandfather's coat?\"\n\n\"I didn't do anything with it,\" faltered Willy again. His lip was\nquivering.\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"I--didn't\"--began the child again, then his sobs checked him. He\ncrooked his little free arm, hid his face in the welcome curve, and\ncried in good earnest.\n\n\"Stop crying and tell me the truth,\" said Grandma pitilessly.\n\nWilly again gasped out his one reply; he shook so that he could\nscarcely hold his berry pail. Aunt Annie took it out of his hand and\nset it on the table. Uncle Frank rose with a jerk. \"I'll run over and\nget mother,\" said he, with an air that implied, \"I'll soon settle this\nmatter.\"\n\nBut the matter was very far from settled by Mrs. Perry's testimony.\nShe only repeated what she had already told her daughter-in-law.\n\n\"The bundle came on the noon express,\" said she, \"and I told Mr. Perry\nto set it down in the kitchen, and I would see that it got over to\nyou. He didn't know how to stop just then. It laid there on one of the\nkitchen-chairs while I was clearing away the dinner-dishes. Then about\ntwo o'clock I was changing my dress, when I heard Willy whistling out\nin the yard, and I ran into the kitchen and got the bundle, and called\nhim to take it. I opened the south door and gave it to him, and told\nhim to take it right home to his grandpa. He said he guessed he'd open\nit and see if his shoes had come, and I told him 'no,' he must go\nstraight home with it.\"\n\nThat was Mrs. Perry's testimony. Willy heard in the presence of all\nthe family; then when the question as to the whereabouts of the coat\nwas put to him, he made the same answer. He also repeated that Grandma\nPerry had not given it to him.\n\n\"Don't you let me hear you tell that wicked lie again,\" said his\nGrandma Stockton. She was nearly as much agitated as the boy. She did\nnot know what to do, and nobody else did.\n\nGrandpa Perry came over with three sticks of twisted red and white\npeppermint candy, and three of barley. He caught hold of Willy and\nswung him on to his knee. He was a fleshy, jolly man.\n\n\"Now, sir,\" said he, \"let's strike a bargain--I'll give you these six\nwhole sticks of candy for your supper, and you tell me what you did\nwith Grandpa's coat.\"\n\n\"I--didn't do--any\"--Willy commenced between his painful sobs, but his\ngrandmother interrupted--\"Hush! don't you ever say that again,\" said\nshe. \"You did do something with it.\"\n\n\"I'll throw in a handful of raisins,\" said Mr. Perry. But it was of no\nuse.\n\n\"Well, if the little chap was mine,\" said Mrs. Perry finally, \"I\nshould give him his supper and put him to bed, and see how he would\nlook at it in the morning.\"\n\n\"I think that would be the best way,\" chimed in aunt Annie eagerly.\n\"He's all tired out and hungry, and doesn't know what he does know--do\nyou, dear?\"\n\nSo she poured out some milk, and cut off a big slice of cake, but\nWilly did not want any supper. It was hard work to induce him to\nswallow a little milk before he went upstairs. His grandmother heaved\na desperate sigh after he was gone.\n\n\"If it was in the days of the Salem witches,\" said she, \"I'd know just\nwhat to think; as 'tis, I don't.\"\n\n\"That boy was never known to tell a lie before in his whole life--his\nmother said so. He never pestered her the way some children do, lyin';\nan' as for stealin'--why, I'd trusted him with every cent I've got in\nthe world.\" That was Grandpa Stockton.\n\nDuring the next two or three days every inducement was brought to bear\nupon Willy. He was scolded and coaxed, he was promised a reward if he\nwould tell the truth, he was assured that he should not be punished.\nMonday he was kept in his room all day, and was given nothing but\nbread and milk to eat. Severer measures were hinted at, but Grandpa\nStockton put his foot down peremptorily. \"That boy has never been\nwhipped in his whole life,\" said he, \"an' his own folks have got to\nbegin it, if anybody does.\"\n\nAll the premises were searched for the missing coat, but no trace of\nit was found. The mystery thickened and deepened. How could a boy lose\na coat going across a road in broad daylight? Why would he not confess\nthat he had lost it?\n\nFinally it was decided to take him home. He was becoming all worn out\nwith excitement and distress. He was too delicate a child to long\nendure such a strain. They thought that once at home his mother might\nbe able to do what none of the rest had.\n\nAll the others were getting worn out also. A good many tears had been\nshed by the older members of the company. Poor Mrs. Perry took much\nblame to herself for giving the coat to the boy, and so opening the\nway for the difficulty.\n\n\"Mr. Perry says he thinks I ought not to have given the coat to him,\nhe's nothing but a child, any way,\" she said tearfully once.\n\nIt was Monday afternoon when Willy was shut up in his room, and all\nthe others were talking the matter over downstairs.\n\nTears stood in aunt Annie's blue eyes. \"He's nothing but a baby,\"\nsaid she, \"and if I had my way I'd call him downstairs and give him a\ncookie and never speak of the old coat again.\"\n\n\"You talk very silly, Annie,\" said Grandmother Stockton. \"I hope you\ndon't want to have the child to grow up a wicked, deceitful man.\"\n\nWilly's grandparents gave up going to the silver wedding. Grandpa had\nno good coat to wear, and indeed neither of them had any heart to go.\n\nSo the morning of the wedding-day they started sadly to return to\nAshbury. Willy's face looked thin and tear-stained. Somebody had\npacked his little bag for him, but he forgot his little cane.\n\nWhen he was seated in the cars beside his grandmother, he began to\ncry. She looked at him a moment, then she put her arm around him, and\ndrew his head down on her black cashmere shoulder.\n\n\"Tell Grandma, can't you,\" she whispered, \"what you did with\nGrandpa's coat?\"\n\n\"I didn't--do--any\"--\n\n\"Hush,\" said she, \"don't you say that again, Willy!\" But she kept her\narm around him.\n\nWilly's mother came running to the door to meet them when they\narrived. She had heard nothing of the trouble. She had only had a\nhurried message that they were coming to-day.\n\nShe threw her arms around Willy, then she held him back and looked at\nhim. \"Why, what is the matter with my precious boy!\" she cried.\n\n\"O, mamma, mamma, I didn't, I didn't do anything with it!\" he sobbed,\nand clung to her so frantically that she was alarmed.\n\n\"What does he mean, mother?\" she asked.\n\nHer mother motioned her to be quiet. \"Oh! it isn't anything,\" said\nshe. \"You'd better give him his supper, and get him to bed; he's all\ntired out. I'll tell you by and by,\" she motioned with her lips.\n\nSo Willy's mother soothed him all she could. \"Of course you didn't,\ndear,\" said she. \"Mamma knows you didn't. Don't you worry any more\nabout it.\"\n\nIt was early, but she got some supper for him, and put him to bed, and\nsat beside him until he went to sleep. She told him over and over that\nshe knew he \"didn't,\" in reply to his piteous assertions, and all the\ntime she had not the least idea what it was all about.\n\nAfter he had fallen asleep she went downstairs, and Grandma Stockton\ntold her. Willy's father had come, and he also heard the story.\n\n\"There's some mistake about it,\" said he. \"I'll make Willy tell me\nabout it, to-morrow. Nothing is going to make me believe that he is\npersisting in a deliberate lie in this way.\"\n\nWilly's mother was crying herself, now. \"He never--told me a lie in\nhis whole dear little life,\" she sobbed, \"and I don't believe he has\nnow. Nothing will ever--make me believe so.\"\n\n\"Don't cry, Ellen,\" said her husband. \"There's something about this\nthat we don't understand.\"\n\nIt was all talked over and over that night, but they were no nearer\nunderstanding the case.\n\n\"I'll see what I can do with Willy in the morning,\" his father said\nagain, when the discussion was ended for the night.\n\nWilly was not awake at the breakfast hour next morning, so the family\nsat down without him. They were not half through the meal when there\nwere some quick steps on the path outside; the door was jerked open,\nand there was aunt Annie and uncle Frank.\n\nShe had Willy's little yellow cane in her hand, and she looked as if\nshe did not know whether to laugh or cry.\n\n\"It's found!\" she cried out, \"it's found! Oh! where is he? He left his\ncane, poor little boy!\"\n\nThen she really sank into a chair and began to cry. There were\nexclamations and questions and finally they arrived at the solution of\nthe mystery.\n\nPoor little Willy had not done anything with Grandpa's coat. Mrs.\nPerry had not given it to him. She had--given it to another boy.\n\n\"Last night about seven o'clock,\" said uncle Frank. \"Mr. Gilbert\nHammond brought it into the store. It seems he sent his boy, who is\njust about Willy's age, and really looks some like him, for a bundle\nhe expected to come by express. The boy was to have some shoes in it.\n\n\"I suppose mother caught a glimpse of him, and very likely she didn't\nhave on her glasses, and can't see very well without them, and she\nthought he was Willy. She was changing her dress, too, and I dare\nsay only opened the door a little way. Then the Hammond boy's got a\ngrandfather, and the shoes and the whole thing hung together.\n\n\"Mr. Hammond said he meant to have brought the bundle back before, but\nthey had company come the next day, and it was overlooked.\n\n\"Father and mother both came running over the minute they heard of\nit, and nothing would suit Annie but we should start right off on the\nnight train, and come down here and explain. And, to tell the truth,\nI wanted to come myself--I felt as if we owed it to the poor little\nchappie.\"\n\nUncle Frank's own voice sounded husky. The thought of all the\nsuffering that poor little innocent boy had borne was not a pleasant\none.\n\nEverything that could be done to atone to Willy was done. He was loved\nand praised and petted, as he had never been before; in a little while\nhe seemed as well and happy as ever.\n\nThe next Christmas Grandpa Perry sent a beautiful little gold watch to\nhim, and he was so delighted with it that his father said, \"He doesn't\nworry a bit now about the trouble he had in Exeter. That watch doesn't\nseem to bring it to mind at all. How quickly children get over things.\nHe has forgotten all about it.\"\n\nBut Willy Norton had not forgotten all about it. He was just as happy\nas ever. He had entirely forgiven Grandma Perry for her mistake. Next\nsummer he was going to Exeter again and have a beautiful time; but a\ngood many years would pass, and whenever he looked at that little gold\nwatch, he would see double. It would have for him a background of his\ngrandfather's best coat.\n\nInnocence and truth can feel the shadow of unjust suspicion when\nothers can no longer see it.\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE STRANGER IN THE VILLAGE.\n\n\n\"Margary,\" said her mother, \"take the pitcher now, and fetch me some\nfresh, cool water from the well, and I will cook the porridge for\nsupper.\"\n\n\"Yes, mother,\" said Margary. Then she put on her little white dimity\nhood, and got the pitcher, which was charmingly shaped, from the\ncupboard shelf. The cupboard was a three-cornered one beside the\nchimney. The cottage which Margary and her mother lived in, was very\nhumble, to be sure, but it was very pretty. Vines grew all over it,\nand flowering bushes crowded close to the diamond-paned windows. There\nwas a little garden at one side, with beds of pinks and violets in it,\nand a straw-covered beehive, and some raspberry bushes all yellow with\nfruit.\n\nInside the cottage, the floor was sanded with the whitest sand; lovely\nold straight-backed chairs stood about; there was an oaken table,\nand a spinning-wheel. A wicker cage, with a lark in it, hung in the\nwindow.\n\nMargary with her pitcher, tripped along to the village well. On the\nway she met two of her little mates--Rosamond and Barbara. They were\nflying along, their cheeks very rosy and their eyes shining.\n\n\"O, Margary,\" they cried, \"come up to the tavern, quick, and see! The\nmost beautiful coach-and-four is drawn up there. There are lackeys in\ngreen and gold, with cocked hats, and the coach hath a crest on the\nside--O, Margary!\"\n\nMargary's eyes grew large too, and she turned about with her empty\npitcher and followed her friends. They had almost reached the tavern,\nand were in full sight of the coach-and-four, when some one coming\ntoward them caused them to draw up on one side of the way and stare\nwith new wonder. It was a most beautiful little boy. His golden curls\nhung to his shoulders, his sweet face had an expression at once gentle\nand noble, and his dress was of the richest material. He led a little\nflossy white dog by a ribbon.\n\nAfter he had passed by, the three little girls looked at each other.\n\n\"Oh!\" cried Rosamond, \"did you see his hat and feather?\"\n\n\"And his lace Vandyke, and the fluffy white dog!\" cried Barbara. But\nMargary said nothing. In her heart, she thought she had never seen any\none so lovely.\n\nThen she went on to the well with her pitcher, and Rosamond and\nBarbara went home, telling every one they met about the beautiful\nlittle stranger.\n\n[Illustration: THE LITTLE STRANGER.]\n\nMargary, after she had filled her pitcher, went home also; and was\nbeginning to talk about the stranger to her mother, when a shadow fell\nacross the floor from the doorway. Margary looked up. \"There he is\nnow!\" cried she in a joyful whisper.\n\nThe pretty boy stood there indeed, looking in modestly and wishfully.\nMargary's mother arose at once from her spinning-wheel, and came\nforward; she was a very courteous woman. \"Wilt thou enter, and rest\nthyself,\" said she, \"and have a cup of our porridge, and a slice of\nour wheaten bread, and a bit of honeycomb?\"\n\nThe little boy sniffed hungrily at the porridge which was just\nbeginning to boil; he hesitated a moment, but finally thanked the good\nwoman very softly and sweetly and entered.\n\nThen Margary and her mother set a bottle of cowslip wine on the table,\nslices of wheaten bread, and a plate of honeycomb, a bowl of ripe\nraspberries, and a little jug of yellow cream, and another little bowl\nwith a garland of roses around the rim, for the porridge. Just as soon\nas that was cooked, the stranger sat down, and ate a supper fit for a\nprince. Margary and her mother half supposed he was one; he had such a\ncourtly, yet modest air.\n\nWhen he had eaten his fill, and his little dog had been fed too, he\noffered his entertainers some gold out of a little silk purse, but\nthey would not take it.\n\nSo he took hold of his dog's ribbon, and went away with many thanks.\n\"We shall never see him again,\" said Margary sorrowfully.\n\n\"The memory of a stranger one has fed, is a pleasant one,\" said her\nmother.\n\n\"I am glad the lark sang so beautifully all the while he was eating,\"\nsaid Margary.\n\nWhile they were eating their own supper, the oldest woman in the\nvillage came in. She was one hundred and twenty years old, and, by\nreason of her great age, was considered very wise.\n\n\"Have you seen the stranger?\" asked she in her piping voice, seating\nherself stiffly.\n\n\"Yes,\" replied Margary's mother. \"He hath supped with us.\"\n\nThe oldest woman twinkled her eyes behind her iron-bowed spectacles.\n\"Lawks!\" said she. But she did not wish to appear surprised, so she\nwent on to say she had met him on the way, and knew who he was.\n\n\"He's a Lindsay,\" said the oldest woman, with a nod of her\nwhite-capped head. \"I tried him wi' a buttercup. I held it under his\nchin, and he loves butter. So he's a Lindsay; all the Lindsays love\nbutter. I know, for I was nurse in the family a hundred years ago.\"\n\nThis, of course, was conclusive evidence. Margary and her mother\nhad faith in the oldest woman's opinion; and so did all the other\nvillagers. She told a good many people how the little stranger was\na Lindsay, before she went to bed that night. And he really was a\nLindsay, too; though it was singular how the oldest woman divined it\nwith a buttercup.\n\nThe pretty child had straightway driven off in his coach-and-four as\nsoon as he had left Margary's mother's cottage; he had only stopped\nto have some defect in the wheels remedied. But there had been time\nenough for a great excitement to be stirred up in the village.\n\nAll any one talked about the next day, was the stranger. Every one who\nhad seen him, had some new and more marvelous item; till charming as\nthe child really was, he became, in the popular estimation, a real\nfairy prince.\n\nWhen Margary and the other children went to school, with their\nhorn-books hanging at their sides, they found the schoolmaster greatly\nexcited over it. He was a verse-maker, and though he had not seen the\nstranger himself, his imagination more than made amends for that.\nSo the scholars were not under a very strict rule that day, for the\nmaster was busy composing a poem about the stranger. Every now and\nthen a line of the poem got mixed in with the lessons.\n\nThe schoolmaster told in beautiful meters about the stranger's rich\nattire, and his flowing locks of real gold wire, his lips like rubies,\nand his eyes like diamonds. He furnished the little dog with hair of\nreal floss silk, and called his ribbon a silver chain. Then the coach,\nas it rolled along, presented such a dazzling appearance, that several\npersons who inadvertently looked at it had been blinded. It was the\nschoolmaster's opinion, set forth in his poem, that this really was a\nprince. One could scarcely doubt it, on reading the poem. It is a pity\nit has not been preserved, but it was destroyed--how, will transpire\nfurther on.\n\nWell, two days after this dainty stranger with his coach-and-four\ncame to the village, a little wretched beggar-boy, leading by a dirty\nstring a forlorn muddy little dog, appeared on the street. He went to\nthe tavern first, but the host pushed him out of the door, throwing a\npewter porringer after him, which hit the poor little dog and made it\nyelp. Then he spoke pitifully to the people he met, and knocked at the\ncottage doors; but every one drove him away. He met the oldest woman,\nbut she gathered her skirts closely around her and hobbled by, her\npointed nose up in the air, and her cap-strings flying straight out\nbehind.\n\n\"I prithee, granny,\" he called after her, \"try me with the buttercup\nagain, and see if I be not a Lindsay.\"\n\n\"Thou a Lindsay,\" quoth the oldest woman contemptuously; but she was\nvery curious, so she turned around and held a buttercup underneath the\nboy's dirty chin.\n\n\"Bah,\" said the oldest woman, \"a Lindsay indeed! Butter hath no charm\nfor thee, and the Lindsays, all loved it. I know, for I was nurse in\nthe family a hundred year ago.\"\n\nThen she hobbled away faster than ever, and the poor boy kept on. Then\nhe met the schoolmaster, who had his new poem in a great roll in his\nhand. \"What little vagabond is this?\" muttered he, gazing at him with\ndisgust. \"He hath driven a fine metaphor out of my head.\"\n\nWhen the boy reached the cottage where Margary and her mother lived,\nthe dame was sitting in the door spinning, and the little girl was\npicking roses from a bush under the window, to fill a tall china mug\nwhich they kept on a shelf.\n\nWhen Margary heard the gate click, and turning, saw the boy, she\nstarted so that she let her pinafore full of roses slip, and the\nflowers all fell out on the ground. Then she dropped an humble\ncurtesy; and her mother rose and curtesied also, though she had not\nrecognized her guest as soon as Margary.\n\nThe poor little stranger fairly wept for joy. \"Ah, you remember me,\"\nhe said betwixt smiles and tears.\n\nThen he entered the cottage, and while Margary and her mother got some\nrefreshment ready for him, he told his pitiful story.\n\nHis father was a Lindsay, and a very rich and noble gentleman. Some\nlittle time before, he and his little son had journeyed to London,\nwith their coach-and-four. Business having detained him longer than he\nhad anticipated, and fearing his lady might be uneasy, he had sent his\nson home in advance, in the coach, with his lackeys and attendants.\nEverything had gone safely till after leaving this village. Some miles\nbeyond, they had been attacked by highwaymen and robbed. The servants\nhad either been taken prisoners or fled. The thieves had driven off\nwith the coach-and-four, and the poor little boy had crawled back to\nthe village.\n\nMargary and her mother did all they could to comfort him. They\nprepared some hot broth for him, and opened a bottle of cowslip wine.\nMargary's mother gave him some clean clothes, which had belonged to\nher son who had died. The little gentleman looked funny in the little\nrustic's blue smock, but he was very comfortable. They fed the forlorn\nlittle dog too, and washed him till his white hair looked fluffy and\nsilky again.\n\nWhen the London mail stopped in the village, the next day, they sent a\nmessage to Lord Lindsay, and in a week's time, he came after his son.\nHe was a very grand gentleman; his dress was all velvet and satin, and\nblazing with jewels. How the villagers stared. They had flatly refused\nto believe that this last little stranger was the first one, and had\nmade great fun of Margary and her mother for being so credulous.\nBut they had not minded. They had given their guest a little pallet\nstuffed with down, and a pillow stuffed with rose-leaves to sleep on,\nand fed him with the best they had. His father, in his gratitude,\noffered Margary's mother rich rewards; but she would take nothing. The\nlittle boy cried on parting with his kind friends, and Margary cried\ntoo.\n\n\"I prithee, pretty Margary, do not forget me,\" said he.\n\nAnd she promised she never would, and gave him a sprig of rosemary out\nof her garden to wear for a breastknot.\n\nThe villagers were greatly mortified when they discovered the mistake\nthey had made. However, the oldest woman always maintained that her\nnot having her spectacles on, when she met the stranger the second\ntime, was the reason of her not seeing that he loved butter; and the\nschoolmaster gave his poetical abstraction for an excuse. Mine host\nof the \"Boar's Head\" fairly tore his hair, and flung the pewter\nporringer, which he had thrown after the stranger and his dog, into\nthe well. After that he was very careful how he turned away strangers\nbecause of their appearance. Generally he sent for the oldest woman to\nput her spectacles on, and try the buttercup test. Then, if she\nsaid they loved butter and were Lindsays, they were taken in and\nentertained royally. She generally did say they loved butter--she\nwas so afraid of making a mistake the second time, herself; so the\nvillage-inn got to be a regular refuge for beggars, and they called it\namongst themselves the \"Beggars' Rest,\" instead of the \"Boar's Head.\"\n\nAs for Margary, she grew up to be the pride of the village; and in\ntime, Lord Lindsay's son, who had always kept the sprig of rosemary,\ncame and married her. They had a beautiful wedding; all of the\nvillagers were invited; the bridegroom did not cherish any resentment.\nThey danced on the green, and the Lindsay pipers played for them. The\nbride wore a white damask petticoat worked with pink roses, her pink\nsatin shortgown was looped up with garlands of them, and she wore a\nwreath of roses on her head.\n\nThe oldest woman came to the wedding, and hobbled up to the bridegroom\nwith a buttercup. \"Thou beest a Lindsay,\" said she. \"Thou lovest\nbutter, and the Lindsays all did. I know, for I was nurse in the\nfamily a hundred year ago.\"\n\nAs for the schoolmaster, he was distressed. His wife had taken his\npoem on the stranger for papers to curl her hair on for the wedding,\nand he had just discovered it. He had calculated on making a present\nof it to the young couple.\n\nHowever, he wrote another on the wedding, of which one verse is still\nextant, and we will give it:\n\n  \"When Lindsay wedded Margary,\n  Merrily piped the pipers all.\n  The bride, the village-pride was she,\n  The groom, a gay gallant was he.\n  Merrily piped the pipers all.\n  When Lindsay wedded Margary.\"\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE BOUND GIRL.\n\n\n    This Indenture Wittnesseth, That I Margaret Burjust of Boston, in\n    the County of Suffolk and Province of the Massachusetts Bay in New\n    England. Have placed, and by these presents do place and bind out\n    my only Daughter whose name is Ann Ginnins to be an Apprentice\n    unto Samuel Wales and his wife of Braintree in the County\n    afores:^d, Blacksmith. To them and their Heirs and with them the\n    s:^d Samuel Wales, his wife and their Heirs, after the manner of\n    an apprentice to dwell and Serve from the day of the date hereof\n    for and during the full and Just Term of Sixteen years, three\n    months and twenty-three day's next ensueing and fully to be\n    Compleat, during all which term the s:^d apprentice her s:^d\n    Master and Mistress faithfully Shall Serve, Their Secrets keep\n    close, and Lawful and reasonable Command everywhere gladly do and\n    perform.\n\n    Damage to her s:^d Master and Mistress she shall not willingly\n    do. Her s:^d Master's goods she shall not waste, Embezel,\n    purloin or lend unto Others nor suffer the same to be wasted or\n    purloined. But to her power Shall discover the Same to her s:^d\n    Master. Taverns or Ailhouss she Shall not frequent, at any\n    unlawful game She Shall not play, Matrimony she Shall not Contract\n    with any persons during s:^d Term. From her master's Service She\n    Shall not at any time unlawfully absent herself. But in all things\n    as a good honest and faithful Servant and apprentice Shall bear\n    and behave herself, During the full term afores:^d Commencing\n    from the third day of November Anno Dom: One Thousand, Seven\n    Hundred fifty and three. And the s:^d Master for himself, wife,\n    and Heir's, Doth Covenant Promise Grant and Agree unto and with\n    the s:^d apprentice and the s:^d Margaret Burjust, in manner\n    and form following. That is to say, That they will teach the\n    s:^d apprentice or Cause her to be taught in the Art of good\n    housewifery, and also to read and write well. And will find and\n    provide for and give unto s:^d apprentice good and sufficient\n    Meat Drink washing and lodging both in Sickness and in health, and\n    at the Expiration of said term to Dismiss s:^d apprentice with\n    two Good Suits of Apparrel both of woolen and linnin for all parts\n    of her body (viz) One for Lord-days and one for working days\n    Suitable to her Quality. In Testimony whereof I Samuel Wales and\n    Margaret Burjust Have Interchangably Sett their hands and Seals\n    this Third day November Anno Dom: 1753, and in the twenty-Seventh\n    year of the Reign of our Soveraig'n Lord George the Second of\n    great Britain the King.\n\n      Signed Sealed & Delivered.\n        In presence of\n        SAM VAUGHAN                Margaret Burgis\n        MARY VAUGHAN               her X mark.\n\n\nThis quaint document was carefully locked up, with some old deeds and\nother valuable papers, in his desk, by the \"s:^d Samuel Wales,\" one\nhundred and thirty years ago. The desk was a rude, unpainted pine\naffair, and it reared itself on its four stilt-like legs in a corner\nof his kitchen, in his house in the South Precinct of Braintree. The\nsharp eyes of the little \"s:^d apprentice\" had noted it oftener and\nmore enviously than any other article of furniture in the house. On\nthe night of her arrival, after her journey of fourteen miles from\nBoston, over a rough bridle-road, on a jolting horse, clinging\ntremblingly to her new \"Master,\" she peered through her little red\nfingers at the desk swallowing up those precious papers which Samuel\nWales drew from his pocket with an important air. She was hardly five\nyears old, but she was an acute child; and she watched her master draw\nforth the papers, show them to his wife, Polly, and lock them up in\nthe desk, with the full understanding that they had something to do\nwith her coming to this strange place; and, already, a shadowy purpose\nbegan to form itself in her mind.\n\nShe sat on a cunning little wooden stool, close to the fireplace,\nand kept her small chapped hands persistently over her face; she was\nscared, and grieved, and, withal, a trifle sulky. Mrs. Polly Wales\ncooked some Indian meal mush for supper in an iron pot swinging from\nits trammel over the blazing logs, and cast scrutinizing glances at\nthe little stranger. She had welcomed her kindly, taken off her outer\ngarments, and established her on the little stool in the warmest\ncorner, but the child had given a very ungracious response. She would\nnot answer a word to Mrs. Wales' coaxing questions, but twitched\nherself away with all her small might, and kept her hands tightly over\nher eyes, only peering between her fingers when she thought no one was\nnoticing.\n\nShe had behaved after the same fashion all the way from Boston, as Mr.\nWales told his wife in a whisper. The two were a little dismayed at\nthe whole appearance of the small apprentice; to tell the truth, she\nwas not in the least what they had expected. They had been revolving\nthis scheme of taking \"a bound girl\" for some time in their minds; and\nSamuel Wales' gossip in Boston, Sam Vaughan, had been requested to\nkeep a lookout for a suitable person.\n\nSo, when word came that one had been found, Mr. Wales had started at\nonce for the city. When he saw the child, he was dismayed. He had\nexpected to see a girl of ten; this one was hardly five, and she\nhad anything but the demure and decorous air which his Puritan mind\nesteemed becoming and appropriate in a little maiden. Her hair was\nblack and curled tightly, instead of being brown and straight parted\nin the middle, and combed smoothly over her ears as his taste\nregulated; her eyes were black and flashing, instead of being blue,\nand downcast. The minute he saw the child, he felt a disapproval of\nher rise in his heart, and also something akin to terror. He dreaded\nto take this odd-looking child home to his wife Polly; he foresaw\ncontention and mischief in their quiet household. But he felt as if\nhis word was rather pledged to his gossip, and there was the mother,\nwaiting and expectant. She was a red-cheeked English girl, who had\nbeen in Sam Vaughan's employ; she had recently married one Burjust,\nand he was unwilling to support the first husband's child, so this\nchance to bind her out and secure a good home for her had been eagerly\ncaught at.\n\nThe small Ann seemed rather at Samuel Wales' mercy, and he had not\nthe courage to disappoint his friend or her mother; so the necessary\npapers were made out, Sam Vaughan's and wife's signatures affixed, and\nMargaret Burjust's mark, and he set out on his homeward journey with\nthe child.\n\nThe mother was coarse and illiterate, but she had some natural\naffection; she \"took on\" sadly when the little girl was about to leave\nher, and Ann clung to her frantically. It was a pitiful scene, and\nSamuel Wales, who was a very tender-hearted man, was glad when it was\nover, and he jogging along the bridle-path.\n\nBut he had had other troubles to encounter. All at once, as he rode\nthrough Boston streets, with his little charge behind him, after\nleaving his friend's house, he felt a vicious little twitch at his\nhair, which he wore in a queue tied with a black ribbon after the\nfashion of the period. Twitch, twitch, twitch! The water came into\nSamuel Wales' eyes, and the blood to his cheeks, while the passers-by\nbegan to hoot and laugh. His horse became alarmed at the hubbub, and\nstarted up. For a few minutes the poor man could do nothing to free\nhimself. It was wonderful what strength the little creature had: she\nclinched her tiny fingers in the braid, and pulled, and pulled.\nThen, all at once, her grasp slackened, and off flew her master's\nsteeple-crowned hat into the dust, and the neat black ribbon on the\nend of the queue followed it. Samuel Wales reined up his horse with a\njerk then, and turned round, and administered a sounding box on each\nof his apprentice's ears. Then he dismounted, amid shouts of laughter\nfrom the spectators, and got a man to hold the horse while he went\nback and picked up his hat and ribbon.\n\nHe had no further trouble. The boxes seemed to have subdued Ann\neffectually. But he pondered uneasily all the way home on the small\nvessel of wrath which was perched up behind him, and there was a\ntingling sensation at the roots of his queue. He wondered what Polly\nwould say. The first glance at her face, when he lifted Ann off the\nhorse at his own door, confirmed his fears. She expressed her mind,\nin a womanly way, by whispering in his ear at the first opportunity,\n\"She's as black as an Injun.\"\n\nAfter Ann had eaten her supper, and had been tucked away between some\ntow sheets and homespun blankets in a trundle-bed, she heard the whole\nstory, and lifted up her hands with horror. Then the good couple read\na chapter, and prayed, solemnly vowing to do their duty by this\nchild which they had taken under their roof, and imploring Divine\nassistance.\n\nAs time wore on, it became evident that they stood in sore need of it.\nThey had never had any children of their own, and Ann Ginnins was the\nfirst child who had ever lived with them. But she seemed to have the\nfreaks of a dozen or more in herself, and they bade fair to have the\nexperience of bringing up a whole troop with this one. They tried\nfaithfully to do their duty by her, but they were not used to\nchildren, and she was a very hard child to manage. A whole legion of\nmischievous spirits seemed to dwell in her at times, and she became\nin a small and comparatively innocent way, the scandal of the staid\nPuritan neighborhood in which she lived. Yet, withal, she was so\naffectionate, and seemed to be actuated by so little real malice in\nany of her pranks, that people could not help having a sort of liking\nfor the child, in spite of them.\n\nShe was quick to learn, and smart to work, too, when she chose.\nSometimes she flew about with such alacrity that it seemed as if\nher little limbs were hung on wires, and no little girl in the\nneighborhood could do her daily tasks in the time she could, and they\nwere no inconsiderable tasks, either.\n\nVery soon after her arrival she was set to \"winding quills,\" so many\nevery day. Seated at Mrs. Polly's side, in her little homespun gown,\nwinding quills through sunny forenoons--how she hated it. She liked\nfeeding the hens and pigs better, and when she got promoted to driving\nthe cows, a couple of years later, she was in her element. There were\ncharming possibilities of nuts and checkerberries and sassafras and\nsweet flag all the way between the house and the pasture, and the\nchance to loiter, and have a romp.\n\nShe rarely showed any unwillingness to go for the cows; but once, when\nthere was a quilting at her mistress's house, she demurred. It was\nright in the midst of the festivities; they were just preparing for\nsupper, in fact. Ann knew all about the good things in the pantry, she\nwas wild with delight at the unwonted stir, and anxious not to lose\na minute of it. She thought some one else might go for the cows that\nnight. She cried and sulked, but there was no help for it. Go she had\nto. So she tucked up her gown--it was her best Sunday one--took her\nstick, and trudged along. When she came to the pasture, there were her\nmaster's cows waiting at the bars. So were Neighbor Belcher's cows\nalso, in the adjoining pasture. Ann had her hand on the topmost of her\nown bars, when she happened to glance over at Neighbor Belcher's, and\na thought struck her. She burst into a peal of laughter, and took a\nstep towards the other bars. Then she went back to her own. Finally,\nshe let down the Belcher bars, and the Belcher cows crowded out, to\nthe great astonishment of the Wales cows, who stared over their high\nrails and mooed uneasily.\n\nAnn drove the Belcher cows home and ushered them into Samuel Wales'\nbarnyard with speed. Then she went demurely into the house. The table\nlooked beautiful. Ann was beginning to quake inwardly, though she\nstill was hugging herself, so to speak, in secret enjoyment of her\nown mischief. She had one hope--that supper would be eaten before her\nmaster milked. But the hope was vain. When she saw Mr. Wales come in,\nglance her way, and then call his wife out, she knew at once what had\nhappened, and begun to tremble--she knew perfectly what Mr. Wales was\nsaying out there. It was this: \"That little limb has driven home all\nNeighbor Belcher's cows instead of ours; what's going to be done with\nher?\"\n\nShe knew what the answer would be, too. Mrs. Polly was a peremptory\nwoman.\n\nBack Ann had to go with the Belcher cows, fasten them safely in their\npasture again, and drive her master's home. She was hustled off to\nbed, then, without any of that beautiful supper. But she had just\ncrept into her bed in the small unfinished room upstairs where she\nslept, and was lying there sobbing, when she heard a slow, fumbling\nstep on the stairs. Then the door opened, and Mrs. Deacon Thomas\nWales, Samuel Wales' mother, came in. She was a good old lady, and had\nalways taken a great fancy to her son's bound girl; and Ann, on her\npart, minded her better than any one else. She hid her face in the tow\nsheet, when she saw grandma. The old lady had on a long black silk\napron. She held something concealed under it, when she came in.\nPresently she displayed it.\n\n\"There--child,\" said she, \"here's a piece of sweet cake and a couple\nof simballs, that I managed to save out for you. Jest set right up and\neat 'em, and don't ever be so dretful naughty again, or I don't know\nwhat will become of you.\"\n\nThis reproof, tempered with sweetness, had a salutary effect on Ann.\nShe sat up, and ate her sweet cake and simballs, and sobbed out her\ncontrition to grandma, and there was a marked improvement in her\nconduct for some days.\n\nMrs. Polly was a born driver. She worked hard herself, and she\nexpected everybody about her to. The tasks which Ann had set her did\nnot seem as much out of proportion, then, as they would now. Still,\nher mistress, even then, allowed her less time for play than was\nusual, though it was all done in good faith, and not from any\nintentional severity. As time went on, she grew really quite fond of\nthe child, and she was honestly desirous of doing her whole duty by\nher. If she had had a daughter of her own, it is doubtful if her\ntreatment of her would have been much different.\n\nStill, Ann was too young to understand all this, and, sometimes,\nthough she was strong and healthy, and not naturally averse to work,\nshe would rebel, when her mistress set her stints so long, and kept\nher at work when other children were playing.\n\nOnce in a while she would confide in grandma, when Mrs. Polly sent her\nover there on an errand and she had felt unusually aggrieved because\nshe had had to wind quills, or hetchel, instead of going berrying, or\nsome like pleasant amusement.\n\n\"Poor little cosset,\" grandma would say, pityingly.\n\nThen she would give her a simball, and tell her she must \"be a good\ngirl, and not mind if she couldn't play jest like the others, for\nshe'd got to airn her own livin', when she grew up, and she must learn\nto work.\"\n\nAnn would go away comforted, but grandma would be privately indignant.\nShe was, as is apt to be the case, rather critical with her sons'\nwives, and she thought \"Sam'l's kept that poor little gal too stiddy\nat work,\" and wished and wished she could shelter her under her own\ngrandmotherly wing, and feed her with simballs to her heart's content.\nShe was too wise to say anything to influence the child against her\nmistress, however. She was always cautious about that, even while\npitying her. Once in a while she would speak her mind to her son, but\nhe was easy enough--Ann would not have found him a hard task-master.\n\nStill, Ann did not have to work hard enough to hurt her. The worst\nconsequences were that such a rigid rein on such a frisky little colt\nperhaps had more to do with her \"cutting up,\" as her mistress phrased\nit, than she dreamed of. Moreover the thought of the indentures,\nsecurely locked up in Mr. Wales' tall wooden desk, was forever in\nAnn's mind. Half by dint of questioning various people, half by her\nown natural logic she had settled it within herself, that at any time\nthe possession of these papers would set her free, and she could\ngo back to her own mother, whom she dimly remembered as being\nloud-voiced, but merry, and very indulgent. However, Ann never\nmeditated in earnest, taking the indentures; indeed, the desk was\nalways locked--it held other documents more valuable than hers--and\nSamuel Wales carried the key in his waistcoat-pocket.\n\nShe went to a dame's school three months every year. Samuel Wales\ncarted half a cord of wood to pay for her schooling, and she learned\nto write and read in the New England Primer. Next to her, on the split\nlog bench, sat a little girl named Hannah French. The two became fast\nfriends. Hannah was an only child, pretty and delicate, and very much\npetted by her parents. No long hard tasks were set those soft little\nfingers, even in those old days when children worked as well as their\nelders. Ann admired and loved Hannah, because she had what she,\nherself, had not; and Hannah loved and pitied Ann because she had not\nwhat she had. It was a sweet little friendship, and would not have\nbeen, if Ann had not been free from envy and Hannah humble and\npitying.\n\nWhen Ann told her what a long stint she had to do before school,\nHannah would shed sympathizing tears.\n\nAnn, after a solemn promise of secrecy, told her about the indentures\none day. Hannah listened with round, serious eyes; her brown hair was\ncombed smoothly down over her ears. She was a veritable little Puritan\ndamsel herself.\n\n\"If I could only get the papers, I wouldn't have to mind her, and work\nso hard,\" said Ann.\n\nHannah's eyes grew rounder. \"Why, it would be sinful to take them!\"\nsaid she.\n\nAnn's cheeks blazed under her wondering gaze, and she said no more.\n\nWhen she was about eleven years old, one icy January day, Hannah\nwanted her to go out and play on the ice after school. They had no\nskates, but it was rare fun to slide. Ann went home and asked Mrs.\nPolly's permission with a beating heart; she promised to do a double\nstint next day, if she would let her go. But her mistress was\ninexorable--work before play, she said, always; and Ann must not\nforget that she was to be brought up to work; it was different with\nher from what it was with Hannah French. Even this she meant kindly\nenough, but Ann saw Hannah go away, and sat down to her spinning with\nmore fierce defiance in her heart than had ever been there before. She\nhad been unusually good, too, lately. She always was, during the three\nmonths' schooling, with sober, gentle little Hannah French.\n\nShe had been spinning sulkily a while, and it was almost dark, when\na messenger came for her master and mistress to go to Deacon Thomas\nWales', who had been suddenly taken very ill.\n\nAnn would have felt sorry if she had not been so angry. Deacon Wales\nwas almost as much of a favorite of hers as his wife. As it was, the\nprincipal thing she thought of, after Mr. Wales and his wife had gone,\nwas that the key was in the desk. However it had happened, there it\nwas. She hesitated a moment. She was all alone in the kitchen, and her\nheart was in a tumult of anger, but she had learned her lessons from\nthe Bible and the New England Primer, and she was afraid of the sin.\nBut at last she opened the desk, found the indentures, and hid them\nin the little pocket which she wore tied about her waist, under her\npetticoat.\n\nThen Ann threw her blanket over her head, and got her poppet out of\nthe chest. The poppet was a little doll manufactured from a corn-cob,\ndressed in an indigo-colored gown. Grandma had made it for her, and\nit was her chief treasure. She clasped it tight to her bosom, and ran\nacross lots to Hannah French's.\n\nHannah saw her coming, and met her at the door.\n\n\"I've brought you my poppet,\" whispered Ann, all breathless, \"and you\nmust keep her always, and not let her work too hard. I'm going away!\"\n\nHannah's eyes looked like two solemn moons. \"Where are you going,\nAnn?\"\n\n\"I'm going to Boston to find my own mother.\" She said nothing about\nthe indentures to Hannah--somehow she could not.\n\nHannah could not say much, she was so astonished, but as soon as Ann\nhad gone, scudding across the fields, she went in with the poppet and\ntold her mother.\n\nDeacon Thomas Wales was very sick. Mr. and Mrs. Samuel remained at\nhis house all night, but Ann was not left alone, for Mr. Wales had an\napprentice who slept in the house.\n\nAnn did not sleep any that night. She got up very early, before any\none was stirring, and dressed herself in her Sunday clothes. Then she\ntied up her working clothes in a bundle, crept softly downstairs, and\nout doors.\n\nIt was bright moonlight and quite cold. She ran along as fast as she\ncould on the Boston road. Deacon Thomas Wales's house was on the way.\nThe windows were lit up. She thought of grandma and poor grandpa, with\na sob in her heart, but she sped along. Past the schoolhouse, and\nmeeting-house, too, she had to go, with big qualms of grief and\nremorse. But she kept on. She was a fast traveler.\n\nShe had reached the North Precinct of Braintree by daylight. So far,\nshe had not encountered a single person. Now she heard horse's hoofs\nbehind her. She began to run faster, but it was of no use. Soon\nCaptain Abraham French loomed up on his big gray horse, a few paces\nfrom her. He was Hannah's father, but he was a tithing-man, and looked\nquite stern, and Ann had always stood in great fear of him.\n\nShe ran on as fast as her little heels could fly, with a thumping\nheart. But it was not long before she felt herself seized by a strong\narm and swung up behind Captain French on the gray horse. She was in a\npanic of terror, and would have cried and begged for mercy if she\nhad not been in so much awe of her captor. She thought with awful\napprehension of these stolen indentures in her little pocket. What if\nhe should find that out!\n\nCaptain French whipped up his horse, however, and hastened along\nwithout saying a word. His silence, if anything, caused more dread in\nAnn than words would have. But his mind was occupied. Deacon Thomas\nWales was dead; he was one of his most beloved and honored friends,\nand it was a great shock to him. Hannah had told him about Ann's\npremeditated escape, and he had set out on her track as soon as he had\nfound that she was really gone, that morning. But the news which he\nhad heard on his way, had driven all thoughts of reprimand which he\nmight have entertained, out of his head. He only cared to get the\nchild safely back.\n\nSo not a word spoke Captain French, but rode on in grim and sorrowful\nsilence, with Ann clinging to him, till he reached her master's door.\nThen he set her down with a stern and solemn injunction never to\ntransgress again, and rode away.\n\nAnn went into the kitchen with a quaking heart. It was empty and\nstill. Its very emptiness and stillness seemed to reproach her. There\nstood the desk--she ran across to it, pulled the indentures from her\npocket, put them in their old place, and shut the lid down. There they\nstaid till the full and just time of her servitude had expired. She\nnever disturbed them again.\n\nOn account of the grief and confusion incident on Deacon Wales's\ndeath, she escaped with very little censure. She never made an attempt\nto run away again. Indeed, she had no wish to, for after Deacon\nWales's death, grandma was lonely and wanted her, and she lived most\nof the time with her. And, whether she was in reality treated any more\nkindly or not, she was certainly happier.\n\n\n\n\n\n\nDEACON THOMAS WALES'S WILL.\n\n\n    In the Name of God Amen! the Thirteenth Day of September One\n    Thousand Seven Hundred Fifty & eight, I, Thomas Wales of\n    Braintree, in the County of Suffolk & Province of the\n    Massachusetts Bay in New England, Gent--being in good health of\n    Body and of Sound Disproving mind and Memory, Thanks be given to\n    God--Calling to mind my mortality, Do therefore in my health make\n    and ordain this my Last Will and Testament. And First I Recommend\n    my Soul into the hand of God who gave it--Hoping through grace to\n    obtain Salvation thro' the merits and Mediation of Jesus Christ my\n    only Lord and Dear Redeemer, and my body to be Decently inter^d,\n    at the Discretion of my Executor, believing at the General\n    Resurection to receive the Same again by the mighty Power\n    of God--And such worldly estate as God in his goodness hath\n    graciously given me after Debts, funeral Expenses &c, are Paid I\n    give & Dispose of the Same as Followeth--\n\n    _Imprimis_--I Give to my beloved Wife Sarah a good Sute of\n    mourning apparrel Such as she may Choose--also if she acquit my\n    estate of Dower and third-therin (as we have agreed) Then that\n    my Executor return all of Household movables she bought at our\n    marriage & since that are remaining, also to Pay to her or Her\n    Heirs That Note of Forty Pound I gave to her, when she acquited my\n    estate and I hers. Before Division to be made as herein exprest,\n    also the Southwest fire-Room in my House, a right in my Cellar,\n    Halfe the Garden, also the Privilege of water at the well & yard\n    room and to bake in the oven what she hath need of to improve her\n    Life-time by her.\n\nAfter this, followed a division of his property amongst his children,\nfive sons and two daughters.\n\n\nThe \"Homeplace\" was given to his sons Ephraim and Atherton. Ephraim\nhad a good house of his own, so he took his share of the property in\nland, and Atherton went to live in the old homestead. His quarters had\nbeen poor enough; he had not been so successful as his brothers, and\nhad been unable to live as well. It had been a great cross to his\nwife, Dorcas, who was very high-spirited. She had compared, bitterly,\nthe poverty of her household arrangements, with the abundant comfort\nof her sisters-in-law.\n\nNow, she seized eagerly at the opportunity of improving her style of\nliving. The old Wales house was quite a pretentious edifice for those\ntimes. All the drawback to her delight was, that Grandma should\nhave the southwest fire-room. She wanted to set up her high-posted\nbedstead, with its enormous feather-bed in that, and have it for her\nfore-room. Properly, it was the fore-room, being right across the\nentry from the family sitting-room. There was a tall chest of drawers\nthat would fit in so nicely between the windows, too. Take it\naltogether, she was chagrined at having to give up the southwest room;\nbut there was no help for it--there it was in Deacon Wales's will.\n\nMrs. Dorcas was the youngest of all the sons' wives, as her husband\nwas the latest born. She was quite a girl to some of them. Grandma\nhad never more than half approved of her. Dorcas was high-strung and\nflighty, she said. She had her doubts about living happily with her.\nBut Atherton was anxious for this division of the property, and he was\nher youngest darling, so she gave in. She felt lonely, and out of\nher element, when everything was arranged, she established in the\nsouthwest fire-room, and Atherton's family keeping house in the\nothers, though things started pleasantly and peaceably enough.\n\nIt occurred to her that her son Samuel might have her own \"help,\" a\nstout woman, who had worked in her kitchen for many years, and she\ntake in exchange his little bound girl, Ann Ginnins. She had always\ntaken a great fancy to the child. There was a large closet out of the\nsouthwest room, where she could sleep, and she could be made very\nuseful, taking steps, and running \"arrants\" for her.\n\nMr. Samuel and his wife hesitated a little when this plan was\nproposed. In spite of the trouble she gave them, they were attached\nto Ann, and did not like to part with her, and Mrs. Polly was just\ngetting her \"larnt\" her own ways, as she put it. Privately, she feared\nGrandma would undo all the good she had done, in teaching Ann to be\nsmart and capable. Finally they gave in, with the understanding that\nit was not to be considered necessarily a permanent arrangement, and\nAnn went to live with the old lady.\n\nMrs. Dorcas did not relish this any more than she did the\nappropriation of the southwest fire-room. She had never liked Ann very\nwell. Besides she had two little girls of her own, and she fancied\nAnn rivaled them in Grandma's affection. So, soon after the girl was\nestablished in the house, she began to show out in various little\nways.\n\nThirsey, her youngest child, was a mere baby, a round fat dumpling of\na thing. She was sweet, and good-natured, and the pet of the whole\nfamily. Ann was very fond of playing with her, and tending her, and\nMrs. Dorcas began to take advantage of it. The minute Ann was at\nliberty she was called upon to take care of Thirsey. The constant\ncarrying about such a heavy child soon began to make her shoulders\nstoop and ache. Then Grandma took up the cudgels. She was smart and\nhigh-spirited, but she was a very peaceable old lady on her own\naccount, and fully resolved \"to put up with everything from Dorcas,\nrather than have strife in the family.\" She was not going to see this\nhelpless little girl imposed on, however. \"The little gal ain't\ngoin' to get bent all over, tendin' that heavy baby, Dorcas,\" she\nproclaimed. \"You can jist make up your mind to it. She didn't come\nhere to do sech work.\"\n\nSo Dorcas had to make up her mind to it.\n\nAnn's principal duties were \"scouring the brasses\" in Grandma's room,\ntaking steps for her, and spinning her stint every day. Grandma set\nsmaller stints than Mrs. Polly. As time went on, she helped about the\ncooking. She and Grandma cooked their own victuals, and ate from a\nlittle separate table in the common kitchen. It was a very large room,\nand might have accommodated several families, if they could have\nagreed. There was a big oven and a roomy fire-place. Good Deacon Wales\nhad probably seen no reason at all why his \"beloved wife\" should not\nhave her right therein with the greatest peace and concord.\n\nBut it soon came to pass that Mrs. Dorcas's pots and kettles were all\nprepared to hang on the trammels when Grandma's were, and an army of\ncakes and pies marshaled to go in the oven when Grandma had proposed\nto do some baking. Grandma bore it patiently for a long time; but Ann\nwas with difficulty restrained from freeing her small mind, and her\nblack eyes snapped more dangerously at every new offense.\n\nOne morning, Grandma had two loaves of \"riz bread,\" and some election\ncakes, rising, and was intending to bake them in about an hour, when\nthey should be sufficiently light. What should Mrs. Dorcas do, but mix\nup sour milk bread, and some pies with the greatest speed, and fill up\nthe oven, before Grandma's cookery was ready!\n\nGrandma sent Ann out into the kitchen to put the loaves-in the oven\nand lo and behold! the oven was full. Ann stood staring for a minute,\nwith a loaf of election cake in her hands; that and the bread would be\nruined if they were not baked immediately, as they were raised enough.\nMrs. Dorcas had taken Thirsey and stepped out somewhere, and there was\nno one in the kitchen. Ann set the election cake back on the table.\nThen, with the aid of the tongs, she reached into the brick oven and\ntook out every one of Mrs. Dorcas's pies and loaves. Then she arranged\nthem deliberately in a pitiful semicircle on the hearth, and put\nGrandma's cookery in the oven.\n\nShe went back to the southwest room then, and sat quietly down to her\nspinning. Grandma asked if she had put the things in, and she said\n\"Yes, ma'am,\" meekly. There was a bright red spot on each of her dark\ncheeks.\n\nWhen Mrs. Dorcas entered the kitchen, carrying Thirsey wrapped up in\nan old homespun blanket, she nearly dropped as her gaze fell on the\nfire-place and the hearth. There sat her bread and pies, in the most\nlamentable half-baked, sticky, doughy condition imaginable. She opened\nthe oven, and peered in. There were Grandma's loaves, all a lovely\nbrown. Out they came, with a twitch. Luckily, they were done. Her own\nwent in, but they were irretrievable failures.\n\nOf course, quite a commotion came from this. Dorcas raised her shrill\nvoice pretty high, and Grandma, though she had been innocent of the\nwhole transaction, was so blamed that she gave Dorcas a piece of her\nmind at last. Ann surveyed the nice brown loaves, and listened to the\ntalk in secret satisfaction; but she had to suffer for it afterward.\nGrandma punished her for the first time, and she discovered that that\nkind old hand was pretty firm and strong. \"No matter what you think or\nwhether you air in the rights on't, or not, a little gal mustn't ever\nsass her elders,\" said Grandma.\n\nBut if Ann's interference was blamable, it was productive of one good\nresult--the matter came to Mr. Atherton's ears, and he had a stern\nsense of justice when roused, and a great veneration for his mother.\nHis father's will should be carried out to the letter, he declared;\nand it was. Grandma baked and boiled in peace, outwardly, at least,\nafter that.\n\nAnn was a great comfort to her; she was outgrowing her wild,\nmischievous ways, and she was so bright and quick. She promised to\nbe pretty, too. Grandma compared her favorably with her own\ngrandchildren, especially Mrs. Dorcas's eldest daughter Martha, who\nwas nearly Ann's age. \"Marthy's a pretty little gal enough,\" she used\nto say, \"but she ain't got the snap to her that Ann has, though I\nwouldn't tell Atherton's wife so, for the world.\"\n\nShe promised Ann her gold beads, when she should be done with them,\nunder strict injunctions not to say anything about it till the time\ncame; for the others might feel hard as she wasn't her own flesh and\nblood. The gold beads were Ann's ideals of beauty and richness, though\nshe did not like to hear Grandma talk about being \"done with them.\"\nGrandma always wore them around her fair, plump old neck; she had\nnever seen her without her string of beads.\n\nAs before said, Ann was now very seldom mischievous enough to\nmake herself serious trouble; but, once in a while, her natural\npropensities would crop out. When they did, Mrs. Dorcas was\nexceedingly bitter. Indeed, her dislike of Ann was, at all times,\nsmouldering, and needed only a slight fanning to break out.\n\nOne stormy winter day Mrs. Dorcas had been working till dark, making\ncandle-wicks. When she came to get tea, she tied the white fleecy\nrolls together, a great bundle of them, and hung them up in the\ncellar-way, over the stair, to be out of the way. They were extra fine\nwicks, being made of flax for the company candles. \"I've got a good\njob done,\" said Mrs. Dorcas, surveying them complacently. Her husband\nhad gone to Boston, and was not coming home till the next day, so she\nhad had a nice chance to work at them, without as much interruption as\nusual.\n\nAnn, going down the cellar stairs, with a lighted candle, after some\nbutter for tea, spied the beautiful rolls swinging overhead. What\npossessed her to, she could not herself have told--she certainly had\nno wish to injure Mrs. Dorcas's wicks--but she pinched up a little end\nof the fluffy flax and touched her candle to it. She thought she would\nsee how that little bit would burn off. She soon found out. The flame\ncaught, and ran like lightning through the whole bundle. There was a\ngreat puff of fire and smoke, and poor Mrs. Dorcas's fine candle-wicks\nwere gone. Ann screamed, and sprang downstairs. She barely escaped the\nwhole blaze coming in her face.\n\n\"What's that!\" shrieked Mrs. Dorcas, rushing to the cellar door. Words\ncannot describe her feeling when she saw that her nice candle-wicks,\nthe fruit of her day's toil, were burnt up.\n\nIf ever there was a wretched culprit that night, Ann was. She had not\nmeant to do wrong, but that, may be, made it worse for her in one way.\nShe had not even gratified malice to sustain her. Grandma blamed her,\nalmost as severely as Mrs. Dorcas. She said she didn't know what would\n\"become of a little gal, that was so keerless,\" and decreed that she\nmust stay at home from school and work on candle-wicks till Mrs.\nDorcas's loss was made good to her. Ann listened ruefully. She was\nscared and sorry, but that did not seem to help matters any. She did\nnot want any supper, and she went to bed early and cried herself to\nsleep.\n\nSomewhere about midnight, a strange sound woke her up. She called out\nto Grandma in alarm. The same sound had awakened her. \"Get up, an'\nlight a candle, child,\" said she; \"I'm afeard the baby's sick.\"\n\nAnn scarcely had the candle lighted, before the door opened, and Mrs.\nDorcas appeared in her nightdress. She was very pale, and trembling\nall over. \"Oh!\" she gasped, \"it's the baby. Thirsey's got the croup,\nan' Atherton's away, and there ain't anybody to go for the doctor. Oh,\nwhat shall I do, what shall I do!\" She fairly wrung her hands.\n\n\"Hev you tried the skunk's oil?\" asked Grandma eagerly, preparing to\nget up.\n\n\"Yes, I have, I have! It's a good hour since she woke up, an' I've\ntried everything. It hasn't done any good. I thought I wouldn't\ncall you, if I could help it, but she's worse--only hear her! An'\nAtherton's away! Oh! what shall I do, what shall I do?\"\n\n\"Don't take on so, Dorcas,\" said Grandma, tremulously, but cheeringly.\n\"I'll come right along, an'--why, child, what air you goin' to do?\"\n\nAnn had finished dressing herself, and now she was pinning a heavy\nhomespun blanket over her head, as if she were preparing to go out\ndoors.\n\n\"I'm going after the doctor for Thirsey,\" said Ann, her black eyes\nflashing with determination.\n\n\"Oh, will you, will you!\" cried Mrs. Dorcas, catching at this new\nhelp.\n\n\"Hush, Dorcas,\" said Grandma, sternly. \"It's an awful storm out--jist\nhear the wind blow! It ain't fit fur her to go. Her life's jist as\nprecious as Thirsey's.\"\n\nAnn said nothing more, but she went into her own little room with the\nsame determined look in her eyes. There was a door leading from this\nroom into the kitchen. Ann slipped through it hastily, lit a lantern\nwhich was hanging beside the kitchen chimney, and was out doors in a\nminute.\n\nThe storm was one of sharp, driving sleet, which struck her face like\nso many needles. The first blast, as she stepped outside the door,\nseemed to almost force her back, but her heart did not fail her. The\nsnow was not so very deep, but it was hard walking. There was no\npretense of a path. The doctor lived half a mile away, and there\nwas not a house in the whole distance, save the meeting house and\nschoolhouse. It was very dark. Lucky it was that she had taken the\nlantern; she could not have found her way without it.\n\nOn kept the little slender, erect figure, with the fierce\ndetermination in its heart, through the snow and sleet, holding the\nblanket close over its head, and swinging the feeble lantern bravely.\n\nWhen she reached the doctor's house, he was gone. He had started for\nthe North Precinct early in the evening, his good wife said; he was\ncalled down to Captain Isaac Lovejoy's, the house next the North\nPrecinct Meeting House. She'd been sitting up waiting for him, it was\nsuch an awful storm, and such a lonely road. She was worried, but she\ndidn't think he'd start for home that night; she guessed he'd stay at\nCaptain Lovejoy's till morning.\n\n[Illustration: SHE ALMOST FAINTED FROM COLD AND EXHAUSTION.]\n\nThe doctor's wife, holding her door open, as best she could, in\nthe violent wind, had hardly given this information to the little\nsnow-bedraggled object standing out there in the inky darkness,\nthrough which the lantern made a faint circle of light, before she had\ndisappeared.\n\n\"She went like a speerit,\" said the good woman, staring out into the\nblackness in amazement. She never dreamed of such a thing as Ann's\ngoing to the North Precinct after the doctor, but that was what the\ndaring girl had determined to do. She had listened to the doctor's\nwife in dismay, but with never one doubt as to her own course of\nproceeding.\n\nStraight along the road to the North Precinct she kept. It would\nhave been an awful journey that night for a strong man. It seemed\nincredible that a little girl could have the strength or courage to\naccomplish it. There were four miles to traverse in a black, howling\nstorm, over a pathless road, through forests, with hardly a house by\nthe way.\n\nWhen she reached Captain Isaac Lovejoy's house, next to the meeting\nhouse in the North Precinct of Braintree, stumbling blindly into the\nwarm, lighted kitchen, the captain and the doctor could hardly believe\ntheir senses. She told the doctor about Thirsey; then she almost\nfainted from cold and exhaustion.\n\nGood-wife Lovejoy laid her on the settee, and brewed her some hot herb\ntea. She almost forgot her own sick little girl, for a few minutes,\nin trying to restore this brave child who had come from the South\nPrecinct in this dreadful storm to save little Thirsey Wales's life.\n\nWhen Ann came to herself a little, her first question was, if the\ndoctor were ready to go.\n\n\"He's gone,\" said Mrs. Lovejoy, cheeringly.\n\nAnn felt disappointed. She had thought she was going back with him.\nBut that would have been impossible. She could not have stood the\njourney for the second time that night, even on horseback behind the\ndoctor, as she had planned.\n\nShe drank a second bowlful of herb tea, and went to bed with a hot\nstone at her feet, and a great many blankets and coverlids over her.\n\nThe next morning, Captain Lovejoy carried her home. He had a rough\nwood sled, and she rode on that, on an old quilt; it was easier than\nhorseback, and she was pretty lame and tired.\n\nMrs. Dorcas saw her coming and opened the door. When Ann came up on\nthe stoop, she just threw her arms around her and kissed her.\n\n\"You needn't make the candle-wicks,\" said she. \"It's no matter about\nthem at all. Thirsey's better this morning, an' I guess you saved her\nlife.\"\n\nGrandma was fairly bursting with pride and delight in her little gal's\nbrave feat, now that she saw her safe. She untied the gold beads on\nher neck, and fastened them around Ann's. \"There,\" said she, \"you may\nwear them to school to-day, if you'll be keerful.\"\n\nThat day, with the gold beads by way of celebration, began a new era\nin Ann's life. There was no more secret animosity between her and\nMrs. Dorcas. The doctor had come that night in the very nick of time.\nThirsey was almost dying. Her mother was fully convinced that Ann had\nsaved her life, and she never forgot it. She was a woman of strong\nfeelings, who never did things by halves, and she not only treated Ann\nwith kindness, but she seemed to smother her grudge against Grandma\nfor robbing her of the southwest fire-room.\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE ADOPTED DAUGHTER\n\n\nThe Inventory of the Estate of Samuel Wales Late of Braintree, Taken\nby the Subscribers, March the 14th, 1761.\n\nHis Purse in Cash                                   L11-15-01\nHis apparrel                                         10-11-00\nHis watch                                            2-13-04\nThe Best Bed with two Coverlids, three sheets,\n  two underbeds, two Bolsters, two pillows,\n  Bedstead rope                                     L6\nOne mill Blanket, two Phlanel sheets, 12 toe Sheets L3-4-8\nEleven Towels & table Cloth                          0-15-0\na pair of mittens & pr. of Gloves                    0-2-0\na neck Handkerchief & neckband                       0-4-0\nan ovel Tabel--Two other Tabels                      1-12-0\nA Chist with Draws                                   2-8-0\nAnother Low Chist with Draws & three other Chists    1-10-0\nSix best Chears and a great chear                    1-6-0\na warming pan--Two Brass Kittles                     1-5-0\na Small Looking Glass, five Pewter Basons            0-7-8\nfifteen other Chears                                 0-15-0\nfire arms, Sword & bayonet                           1-4-0\nSix Porringers, four platters, Two Pewter Pots      L1-0-4\nauger Chisel, Gimlet, a Bible & other Books          0-15-4\nA chese press, great spinning-wheel, & spindle       0-9-0\na smith's anvil                                     L3-12-0\nthe Pillion                                          0-8-0\na Bleu Jacket                                        0-0-3\n\n  AARON WHITCOMB.\n  SILAS WHITE.\n\nThe foregoing is only a small portion of the original inventory of\nSamuel Wales's estate. He was an exceedingly well-to-do man for these\ntimes. He had a good many acres of rich pasture and woodland, and\nconsiderable live stock. Then his home was larger and more comfortable\nthan was usual then; and his stock of household utensils plentiful.\n\nHe died three years after Ann Ginnins went to live with Grandma, when\nshe was about thirteen years old. Grandma spared her to Mrs. Polly for\na few weeks after the funeral; there was a great deal to be done, and\nshe needed some extra help. And, after all, Ann was legally bound to\nher, and her lawful servant.\n\nSo the day after good Samuel Wales was laid away in the little\nBraintree burying-ground, Ann returned to her old quarters for a\nlittle while. She did not really want to go; but she did not object\nto the plan at all. She was sincerely sorry for poor Mrs. Polly,\nand wanted to help her, if she could. She mourned, herself, for Mr.\nSamuel. He had always been very kind to her.\n\nMrs. Polly had for company, besides Ann, Nabby Porter, Grandma's old\nhired woman whom she had made over to her, and a young man who had\nbeen serving as apprentice to Mr. Samuel. His name was Phineas Adams.\nHe was very shy and silent, but a good workman.\n\nSamuel Wales left a will bequeathing everything to his widow; that was\nsolemnly read in the fore-room one afternoon; then the inventory had\nto be taken. That, on account of the amount of property, was quite an\nundertaking; but it was carried out with the greatest formality and\nprecision.\n\nFor several days, Mr. Aaron Whitcomb and Mr. Silas White were stalking\nmajestically about the premises, with note-books and pens. Aaron\nWhitcomb was a grave, portly old man, with a large head of white hair.\nSilas White was little and wiry and fussy. He monopolized the greater\npart of the business, although he was not half as well fitted for it\nas his companion.\n\nThey pried into everything with religious exactitude. Mrs. Polly\nwatched them with beseeming awe and deference, but it was a great\ntrial to her, and she grew very nervous over it. It seemed dreadful to\nhave all her husband's little personal effects, down to his neckband\nand mittens, handled over, and their worth in shillings and pence\ncalculated. She had a price fixed on them already in higher currency.\n\nAnn found her crying one afternoon sitting on the kitchen settle, with\nher apron over her head. When she saw the little girl's pitying look,\nshe poured out her trouble to her.\n\n\"They've just been valuing his mittens and gloves,\" said she, sobbing,\n\"at two-and-sixpence. I shall be thankful when they are through.\"\n\n\"Are there any more of his things?\" asked Ann, her black eyes\nflashing, with the tears in them.\n\n\"I think they've seen about all. There's his blue jacket he used to\nmilk in, a-hanging behind the shed door--I guess they haven't valued\nthat yet.\"\n\n\"I think it's a shame!\" quoth Ann. \"I don't believe there's any need\nof so much law.\"\n\n\"Hush, child! You mustn't set yourself up against the judgment of your\nelders. Such things have to be done.\"\n\nAnn said no more, but the indignant sparkle did not fade out of her\neyes at all. She watched her opportunity, and took down Mr. Wales's\nold blue jacket from its peg behind the shed door, ran with it\nupstairs, and hid it in her own room behind the bed. \"There,\" said\nshe, \"Mrs. Wales sha'n't cry over that!\"\n\nThat night, at tea time, the work of taking the inventory was\ncomplete. Mr. Whitcomb and Mr. White walked away with their long\nlists, satisfied that they had done their duty according to the law.\nEvery article of Samuel Wales's property, from a warming-pan to a\nchest of drawers, was set down, with the sole exception of that old\nblue jacket, which Ann had hidden.\n\nShe felt complacent over it at first; then she began to be uneasy.\n\n\"Nabby,\" said she confidentially to the old servant woman, when they\nwere washing the pewter plates together after supper, \"what would they\ndo if anybody shouldn't let them set down all the things--if they hid\nsome of 'em away, I mean?\"\n\n\"They'd make a dretful time on't,\" said Nabby impressively. She was\na large, stern-looking old woman. \"They air dretful perticklar 'bout\nthese things. They hev to be.\"\n\nAnn was scared when she heard that. When the dishes were done, she sat\ndown on the settle and thought it over, and made up her mind what to\ndo.\n\nThe next morning, in the frosty dawning, before the rest of the family\nwere up, a slim, erect little figure could have been seen speeding\nacross lots toward Mr. Silas White's. She had the old blue jacket\ntucked under her arm. When she reached the house, she spied Mr. White\njust coming out of the back door with a milking pail. He carried a\nlantern, too, for it was hardly light.\n\nHe stopped and stared when Ann ran up to him.\n\n\"Mr. White,\" said she, all breathless, \"here's--something--I guess yer\ndidn't see yesterday.\"\n\nMr. White set down the milk pail, took the blue jacket which she\nhanded him, and scrutinized it sharply by the light of the lantern.\n\n\"I guess we didn't see it,\" said he finally. \"I will put it down--it's\nworth about three pence, I judge. Where\"--\n\n\"Silas, Silas!\" called a shrill voice from the house. Silas White\ndropped the jacket and trotted briskly in, his lantern bobbing\nagitatedly. He never delayed a moment when his wife called; important\nand tyrannical as the little man was abroad, he had his own tyrant at\nhome.\n\nAnn did not wait for him to return; she snatched up the blue jacket\nand fled home, leaping like a little deer over the hoary fields. She\nhung up the precious old jacket behind the shed door again, and no one\never knew the whole story of its entrance in the inventory. If she had\nbeen questioned, she would have told the truth boldly, though. But\nSamuel Wales's Inventory had for its last item that blue jacket,\nspelled after Silas White's own individual method, as was many another\nword in the long list. Silas White consulted his own taste with\nrespect to capital letters too.\n\nAfter a few weeks, Grandma said she must have Ann again; and back she\nwent. Grandma was very feeble lately, and everybody humored her. Mrs.\nPolly was sorry to have the little girl leave her. She said it was\nwonderful how much she had improved. But she would not have admitted\nthat the improvement was owing to the different influence she had been\nunder; she said Ann had outgrown her mischievous ways.\n\nGrandma did not live very long after this, however. Mrs. Polly had\nher bound girl at her own disposal in a year's time. Poor Ann was\nsorrowful enough for a long while after Grandma's death. She wore the\nbeloved gold beads round her neck, and a sad ache in her heart. The\ndear old woman had taken the beads off her neck with her own hands\nand given them to Ann before she died, that there might be no mistake\nabout it.\n\nMrs. Polly said she was glad Ann had them. \"You might jist as well\nhave 'em as Dorcas's girl,\" said she; \"she set enough sight more by\nyou.\"\n\nAnn could not help growing cheerful again, after a while. Affairs in\nMrs. Polly's house were much brighter for her, in some ways, than they\nhad ever been before.\n\nEither the hot iron of affliction had smoothed some of the puckers out\nof her mistress's disposition, or she was growing, naturally, less\nsharp and dictatorial. Any way, she was becoming as gentle and loving\nwith Ann as it was in her nature to be, and Ann, following her\nimpulsive temper, returned all the affection with vigor, and never\nbestowed a thought on past unpleasantness.\n\nFor the next two years, Ann's position in the family grew to be more\nand more that of a daughter. If it had not been for the indentures,\nlying serenely in that tall wooden desk, she would almost have\nforgotten, herself, that she was a bound girl.\n\nOne spring afternoon, when Ann was about sixteen years old, her\nmistress called her solemnly into the fore-room. \"Ann,\" said she,\n\"come here, I want to speak to you.\"\n\nNabby stared wonderingly; and Ann, as she obeyed, felt awed. There was\nsomething unusual in her mistress's tone.\n\nStanding there in the fore-room, in the august company of the best\nbed, with its high posts and flowered-chintz curtains, the best chest\nof drawers, and the best chairs, Ann listened to what Mrs. Polly had\nto tell her. It was a plan which almost took her breath away; for it\nwas this: Mrs. Polly proposed to adopt her, and change her name to\nWales. She would be no longer Ann Ginnins, and a bound girl: but Ann\nWales, and a daughter in her mother's home.\n\nAnn dropped into one of the best chairs, and sat there, her little\ndark face very pale. \"Should I have the--papers?\" she gasped at\nlength.\n\n\"Your papers? Yes, child, you can have them.\"\n\n\"I don't want them,\" cried Ann, \"never! I want them to stay just where\nthey are, till my time is out. If I am adopted, I don't want the\npapers!\"\n\nMrs. Polly stared. She had never known how Ann had taken the\nindentures with her on her run-away trip years ago; but now Ann\ntold her the whole story. In her gratitude to her mistress, and her\ncontrition, she had to.\n\nIt was so long ago in Ann's childhood, it did not seem so very\ndreadful to Mrs. Polly, probably. But Ann insisted on the indentures\nremaining in the desk, even after the papers of adoption were made\nout, and she had become \"Ann Wales.\" It seemed to go a little way\ntoward satisfying her conscience. This adoption meant a good deal to\nAnn; for besides a legal home, and a mother, it secured to her a\nright in a comfortable property in the future. Mrs. Polly Wales was\nconsidered very well off. She was a smart business-woman, and knew how\nto take care of her property too. She still hired Phineas Adams to\ncarry on the blacksmith's business, and kept her farm-work running\njust as her husband had. Neither she nor Ann were afraid of work, and\nAnn Wales used to milk the cows, and escort them to and from pasture,\nas faithfully as Ann Ginnins.\n\nIt was along in springtime when Ann was adopted, and Mrs. Polly\nfulfilled her part of the contract in the indentures by getting the\nSunday suit therein spoken of.\n\nThey often rode on horseback to meeting, but they usually walked on\nthe fine Sundays in spring. Ann had probably never been so happy in\nher life as she was walking by Mrs. Polly's side to meeting that first\nSunday after her adoption. Most of the way was through the woods;\nthe tender light green boughs met over their heads; the violets and\nanemones were springing beside their path. There were green buds and\nwhite blossoms all around; the sky showed blue between the waving\nbranches, and the birds were singing.\n\nAnn in her pretty petticoat of rose-colored stuff, stepping daintily\nover the young grass and the flowers, looked and felt like a part of\nit all. Her dark cheeks had a beautiful red glow on them; her black\neyes shone. She was as straight and graceful and stately as an Indian.\n\n\"She's as handsome as a picture,\" thought Mrs. Polly in her secret\nheart. A good many people said that Ann resembled Mrs. Polly in her\nyouth, and that may have added force to her admiration.\n\nHer new gown was very fine for those days; but fine as she was, and\nadopted daughter though she was, Ann did not omit her thrifty ways for\nonce. This identical morning Mrs. Polly and she carried their best\nshoes under their arms, and wore their old ones, till within a short\ndistance from the meeting-house. Then the old shoes were tucked away\nunder a stone wall for safety, and the best ones put on. Stone walls,\nvery likely, sheltered a good many well-worn little shoes, of a\nPuritan Sabbath, that their prudent owners might appear in the House\nof God trimly shod. Ah! these beautiful, new, peaked-toed, high-heeled\nshoes of Ann's--what would she have said to walking in them all the\nway to meeting!\n\nIf that Sunday was an eventful one to Ann Wales, so was the week\nfollowing. The next Tuesday, right after dinner, she was up in a\nlittle unfinished chamber over the kitchen, where they did such work\nwhen the weather permitted, carding wool. All at once, she heard\nvoices down below. They had a strange inflection, which gave her\nwarning at once. She dropped her work and listened. \"What is the\nmatter?\" thought she.\n\nThen there was a heavy tramp on the stairs, and Captain Abraham French\nstood in the door, his stern weather-beaten face white and set. Mrs.\nPolly followed him, looking very pale and excited.\n\n\"When did you see anything of our Hannah?\" asked Captain French,\ncontrolling as best he could the tremor in his resolute voice.\n\nAnn rose, gathering up her big blue apron, cards, wool and all. \"Oh,\"\nshe cried, \"not since last Sabbath, at meeting! What is it?\"\n\n\"She's lost,\" answered Captain French. \"She started to go up to her\nAunt Sarah's Monday forenoon; and Enos has just been down, and they\nhaven't seen anything of her.\" Poor Captain French gave a deep groan.\n\nThen they all went down into the kitchen together, talking and\nlamenting. And then, Captain French was galloping away on his gray\nhorse to call assistance, and Ann was flying away over the fields,\nblue apron, cards, wool and all.\n\n\"O, Ann!\" Mrs. Polly cried after, \"where are you going?\"\n\n\"I'm going--to find--Hannah!\" Ann shouted back, in a shrill, desperate\nvoice, and kept on.\n\nShe had no definite notion as to where she was going; she had only one\nthought--Hannah French, her darling, tender, little Hannah French, her\nfriend whom she loved better than a sister, was lost.\n\nA good three miles from the Wales home was a large tract of rough\nland, half-swamp, known as \"Bear Swamp.\" There was an opinion, more or\nless correct, that bears might be found there. Some had been shot in\nthat vicinity. Why Ann turned her footsteps in that direction,\nshe could not have told herself. Possibly the vague impression of\nconversations she and Hannah had had, lingering in her mind, had\nsomething to do with it. Many a time the two little girls had remarked\nto each other with a shudder, \"How awful it would be to get lost in\nBear Swamp.\"\n\nAny way, Ann went straight there, through pasture and woodland, over\nditches and stone walls. She knew every step of the way for a long\ndistance. When she gradually got into the unfamiliar wilderness of the\nswamp, a thought struck her--suppose she got lost too! It would\nbe easy enough--the unbroken forest stretched for miles in some\ndirections. She would not find a living thing but Indians, and, maybe,\nwild beasts, the whole distance.\n\nIf she should get lost she would not find Hannah, and the people would\nhave to hunt for her too. But Ann had quick wits for an emergency. She\nhad actually carried those cards, with a big wad of wool between them\nall the time, in her gathered-up apron. Now she began picking off\nlittle bits of wool and marking her way with them, sticking them on\nthe trees and bushes. Every few feet a fluffy scrap of wool showed the\nroad Ann had gone.\n\nBut poor Ann went on, farther and farther--and no sign of Hannah. She\nkept calling her from time to time, hallooing at the top of her shrill\nsweet voice: \"Hannah! Hannah! Hannah Fre-nch!\"\n\nBut never a response got the dauntless little girl, slipping almost up\nto her knees sometimes, in black swamp-mud; and sometimes stumbling\npainfully over tree-stumps, and through tangled undergrowth.\n\n\"I'll go till my wool gives out,\" said Ann Wales; then she used it\nmore sparingly.\n\nBut it was almost gone before she thought she heard in the distance a\nfaint little cry in response to her call: \"Hannah! Hannah Fre-nch!\"\nShe called again and listened. Yes; she certainly did hear a little\ncry off toward the west. Calling from time to time, she went as nearly\nas she could in that direction. The pitiful answering cry grew louder\nand nearer; finally Ann could distinguish Hannah's voice.\n\nWild with joy, she came, at last, upon her sitting on a fallen\nhemlock-tree, her pretty face pale, and her sweet blue eyes strained\nwith terror.\n\n\"O, Hannah!\" \"O, Ann!\"\n\n\"How did you ever get here, Hannah?\"\n\n\"I--started for aunt Sarah's--that morning,\" explained Hannah, between\nsobs. \"And--I got frightened in the woods, about a mile from father's.\nI saw something ahead I thought was a bear. A great black thing! Then\nI ran--and, somehow, the first thing I knew, I was lost. I walked and\nwalked, and it seems to me I kept coming right back to the same place.\nFinally I sat down here, and staid; I thought it was all the way for\nme to be found.\"\n\n\"O, Hannah! what did you do last night?\"\n\n\"I staid somewhere, under some pine-trees,\" replied Hannah, with a\nshudder; \"and I kept hearing things--O, Ann!\"\n\nAnn hugged her sympathizingly. \"I guess I wouldn't have slept much if\nI had known,\" said she. \"O, Hannah, you haven't had anything to eat!\nain't you starved?\"\n\nHannah laughed faintly. \"I ate up two whole pumpkin pies I was\ncarrying to aunt Sarah,\" said she. \"Oh! how lucky it was you had\nthem.\" \"Yes; mother called me back to get them, after I started. They\nwere some new ones, made with cream, and she thought aunt Sarah would\nlike them.\"\n\nPretty soon they started. It was hard work, for the way was very\nrough, and poor Hannah weak. But Ann had a good deal of strength in\nher lithe young frame, and she half-carried Hannah over the worst\nplaces. Still both of the girls were pretty well spent when they came\nto the last of the bits of wool on the border of Bear Swamp. However,\nthey kept on a little farther; then they had to stop and rest. \"I know\nwhere I am now,\" said Hannah, with a sigh of delight; \"but I don't\nthink I can walk another step.\" She was, in fact, almost exhausted.\n\nAnn looked at her thoughtfully. She hardly knew what to do. She could\nnot carry Hannah herself--indeed, her own strength began to fail; and\nshe did not want to leave her to go for assistance.\n\nAll of a sudden, she jumped up. \"You stay just where you are a few\nminutes, Hannah,\" said she. \"I'm going somewhere. I'll be back soon.\"\nAnn was laughing.\n\nHannah looked up at her pitifully: \"O Ann, don't go!\"\n\n\"I'm coming right back, and it is the only way. You must get home.\nOnly think how your father and mother are worrying!\"\n\nHannah said no more after that mention of her parents, and Ann\nstarted.\n\n[Illustration: \"A CONVEYANCE IS FOUND.\"]\n\nShe was not gone long. When she came in sight she was laughing, and\nHannah, weak as she was, laughed, too. Ann had torn her blue apron\ninto strips, and tied it together for a rope, and by it she was\nleading a red cow.\n\nHannah knew the cow, and knew at once what the plan was. \"O, Ann! you\nmean for me to ride Betty?\"\n\n\"Of course I do. I just happened to think our cows were in the\npasture, down below here. And we've ridden Betty, lots of times, when\nwe were children, and she's just as gentle now. Whoa, Betty, good\ncow.\"\n\nIt was very hard work to get Hannah on to the broad back of her novel\nsteed, but it was finally accomplished. Betty had been a perfect pet\nfrom a calf, and was exceedingly gentle. She started off soberly\nacross the fields, with Hannah sitting on her back, and Ann leading\nher by her blue rope.\n\nIt was a funny cavalcade for Captain Abraham French and a score of\nanxious men to meet, when they were nearly in sight of home; but they\nwere too overjoyed to see much fun in it.\n\nHannah rode the rest of the way with her father, on his gray horse;\nand Ann walked joyfully by her side, leading the cow.\n\nCaptain French and his friends had, in fact, just started to search\nBear Swamp, well armed with lanterns, for night was coming on.\n\nIt was dark when they got home. Mrs. French was not much more\ndelighted to see her beloved daughter Hannah safe again, than Mrs.\nPolly was to see Ann.\n\nShe listened admiringly to the story Ann told.\n\n\"Nobody but you would have thought of the wool or of the cow,\" said\nshe.\n\n\"I do declare,\" cried Ann, at the mention of the wool, \"I have lost\nthe cards!\"\n\n\"Never mind the cards!\" said Mrs. Polly.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *","title":"The Pot of Gold, and Other Stories","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":59975}