{"collection":"folklore-oral-tradition","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_40683/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_40683","id":"gutenberg_40683","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/40683","summary":null,"tags":["Category: American Literature","Category: Children & Young Adult Reading","Category: Short Stories","Children's stories","Fairy tales"],"text":"Produced by Al Haines.\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: Cover]\n\n\n\n\n                            LULU'S LIBRARY.\n\n\n                                   BY\n\n                           LOUISA M. ALCOTT,\n\n\n    AUTHOR OF \"LITTLE WOMEN,\" \"AN OLD-FASHIONED GIRL,\" \"LITTLE MEN,\"\n      \"EIGHT COUSINS,\" \"ROSE IN BLOOM,\" \"UNDER THE LILACS,\" \"JACK\n      AND JILL,\" \"JO'S BOYS,\" \"HOSPITAL SKETCHES,\" \"WORK, A STORY\n          OF EXPERIENCE,\" \"MOODS, A NOVEL,\" \"PROVERB STORIES,\"\n              \"SILVER PITCHERS,\" \"SPINNING-WHEEL STORIES,\"\n                      \"A GARLAND FOR GIRLS,\" \"AUNT\n                            JO'S SCRAP-BAG.\"\n\n\n\n                               VOL. III.\n\n                     RECOLLECTIONS OF MY CHILDHOOD.\n                  A CHRISTMAS TURKEY, AND HOW IT CAME.\n                           THE SILVER PARTY.\n                            THE BLIND LARK.\n                          MUSIC AND MACARONI.\n                         THE LITTLE RED PURSE.\n                            SOPHIE'S SECRET.\n                           DOLLY'S BEDSTEAD.\n                            TRUDEL'S SIEGE.\n\n\n\n                                BOSTON:\n                           ROBERTS BROTHERS.\n                                 1889.\n\n\n\n\n                           _Copyright, 1889,_\n                          BY J. S. P. ALCOTT.\n\n\n\n                           University Press:\n                    JOHN WILSON AND SON, CAMBRIDGE.\n\n\n\n\n                               CONTENTS.\n\n      I. Recollections of My Childhood\n     II. A Christmas Turkey, and How It Came\n    III. The Silver Party\n     IV. The Blind Lark\n      V. Music and Macaroni\n     VI. The Little Red Purse\n    VII. Sophie's Secret\n   VIII. Dolly's Bedstead\n     IX. Trudel's Siege\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: Louisa May Alcott]\n\n\n\n                                   I.\n\n                     RECOLLECTIONS OF MY CHILDHOOD.\n\n\nOne of my earliest memories is of playing with books in my father's\nstudy,--building towers and bridges of the big dictionaries, looking at\npictures, pretending to read, and scribbling on blank pages whenever pen\nor pencil could be found.  Many of these first attempts at authorship\nstill exist; and I often wonder if these childish plays did not\ninfluence my after-life, since books have been my greatest comfort,\ncastle-building a never-failing delight, and scribbling a very\nprofitable amusement.\n\nAnother very vivid recollection is of the day when running after my hoop\nI fell into the Frog Pond and was rescued by a black boy, becoming a\nfriend to the colored race then and there, though my mother always\ndeclared that I was an abolitionist at the age of three.\n\nDuring the Garrison riot in Boston the portrait of George Thompson was\nhidden under a bed in our house for safekeeping; and I am told that I\nused to go and comfort \"the good man who helped poor slaves\" in his\ncaptivity. However that may be, the conversion was genuine; and my\ngreatest pride is in the fact that I have lived to know the brave men\nand women who did so much for the cause, and that I had a very small\nshare in the war which put an end to a great wrong.\n\nBeing born on the birthday of Columbus, I seem to have something of my\npatron saint's spirit of adventure, and running away was one of the\ndelights of my childhood.  Many a social lunch have I shared with\nhospitable Irish beggar children, as we ate our crusts, cold potatoes,\nand salt fish on voyages of discovery among the ash heaps of the waste\nland that then lay where the Albany station now stands.\n\nMany an impromptu picnic have I had on the dear old Common, with strange\nboys, pretty babies, and friendly dogs, who always seemed to feel that\nthis reckless young person needed looking after.\n\nOn one occasion the town-crier found me fast asleep at nine o'clock at\nnight, on a doorstep in Bedford Street, with my head pillowed on the\ncurly breast of a big Newfoundland, who was with difficulty persuaded to\nrelease the weary little wanderer who had sobbed herself to sleep there.\n\nI often smile as I pass that door, and never forget to give a grateful\npat to every big dog I meet, for never have I slept more soundly than on\nthat dusty step, nor found a better friend than the noble animal who\nwatched over the lost baby so faithfully.\n\nMy father's school was the only one I ever went to; and when this was\nbroken up because he introduced methods now all the fashion, our lessons\nwent on at home, for he was always sure of four little pupils who firmly\nbelieved in their teacher, though they have not done him all the credit\nhe deserved.\n\nI never liked arithmetic or grammar, and dodged these branches on all\noccasions; but reading, composition, history, and geography I enjoyed,\nas well as the stories read to us with a skill which made the dullest\ncharming and useful.\n\n\"Pilgrim's Progress,\" Krummacher's \"Parables,\" Miss Edgeworth, and the\nbest of the dear old fairy tales made that hour the pleasantest of our\nday.  On Sundays we had a simple service of Bible stories, hymns, and\nconversation about the state of our little consciences and the conduct\nof our childish lives which never will be forgotten.\n\nWalks each morning round the Common while in the city, and long tramps\nover hill and dale when our home was in the country, were a part of our\neducation, as well as every sort of housework, for which I have always\nbeen very grateful, since such knowledge makes one independent in these\ndays of domestic tribulation with the help who are too often only\nhindrances.\n\nNeedle-work began early; and at ten my skilful sister made a linen shirt\nbeautifully, while at twelve I set up as a dolls' dressmaker, with my\nsign out, and wonderful models in my window.  All the children employed\nme; and my turbans were the rage at one time, to the great dismay of the\nneighbor's hens, who were hotly hunted down that I might tweak out their\ndowniest feathers to adorn the dolls' head-gear.\n\nActive exercise was my delight from the time when a child of six I drove\nmy hoop round the Common without stopping, to the days when I did my\ntwenty miles in five hours and went to a party in the evening.\n\nI always thought I must have been a deer or a horse in some former\nstate, because it was such a joy to run.  No boy could be my friend till\nI had beaten him in a race, and no girl if she refused to climb trees,\nleap fences, and be a tomboy.\n\nMy wise mother, anxious to give me a strong body to support a lively\nbrain, turned me loose in the country and let me run wild, learning of\nNature what no books can teach, and being led, as those who truly love\nher seldom fail to be,\n\n    \"Through Nature up to Nature's God.\"\n\n\nI remember running over the hills just at dawn one summer morning, and\npausing to rest in the silent woods, saw, through an arch of trees, the\nsun rise over river, hill, and wide green meadows as I never saw it\nbefore.\n\nSomething born of the lovely hour, a happy mood, and the unfolding\naspirations of a child's soul seemed to bring me very near to God; and\nin the hush of that morning hour I always felt that I \"got religion,\" as\nthe phrase goes.  A new and vital sense of His presence, tender and\nsustaining as a father's arms, came to me then, never to change through\nforty years of life's vicissitudes, but to grow stronger for the sharp\ndiscipline of poverty and pain, sorrow and success.\n\nThose Concord days were the happiest of my life, for we had charming\nplaymates in the little Emersons, Channings, Hawthornes, and Goodwins,\nwith the illustrious parents and their friends to enjoy our pranks and\nshare our excursions.\n\nPlays in the barn were a favorite amusement, and we dramatized the fairy\ntales in great style. Our giant came tumbling off a loft when Jack cut\ndown the squash-vine running up a ladder to represent the immortal bean.\nCinderella rolled away in a vast pumpkin; and a long black pudding was\nlowered by invisible hands to fasten itself on the nose of the woman who\nwasted her three wishes.\n\nLittle pilgrims journeyed over the hills with scrip and staff, and\ncockle-shells in their hats; elves held their pretty revels among the\npines, and \"Peter Wilkins'\" flying ladies came swinging down on the\nbirch tree-tops.  Lords and ladies haunted the garden, and mermaids\nsplashed in the bath-house of woven willows over the brook.\n\nPeople wondered at our frolics, but enjoyed them; and droll stories are\nstill told of the adventures of those days.  Mr. Emerson and Margaret\nFuller were visiting my parents one afternoon; and the conversation\nhaving turned to the ever-interesting subject of education, Miss Fuller\nsaid,--\n\n\"Well, Mr. Alcott, you have been able to carry out your methods in your\nown family, and I should like to see your model children.\"\n\nShe did in a few moments,--for as the guests stood on the doorsteps a\nwild uproar approached, and round the corner of the house came a\nwheelbarrow holding baby May arrayed as a queen; I was the horse, bitted\nand bridled, and driven by my elder sister Anna, while Lizzie played dog\nand barked as loud as her gentle voice permitted.\n\nAll were shouting, and wild with fun, which, however, came to a sudden\nend as we espied the stately group before us, for my foot tripped, and\ndown we all went in a laughing heap, while my mother put a climax to the\njoke by saying with a dramatic wave of the hand,--\n\n\"Here are the model children, Miss Fuller!\"\n\nMy sentimental period began at fifteen, when I fell to writing romances,\npoems, a \"heart journal,\" and dreaming dreams of a splendid future.\n\nBrowsing over Mr. Emerson's library, I found \"Goethe's Correspondence\nwith a Child,\" and was at once fired with the desire to be a second\nBettine, making my father's friend my Goethe. So I wrote letters to him,\nbut was wise enough never to send them, left wild flowers on the\ndoorsteps of my \"Master,\" sung Mignon's song in very bad German under\nhis window, and was fond of wandering by moonlight, or sitting in a\ncherry-tree at midnight till the owls scared me to bed.\n\nThe girlish folly did not last long, and the letters were burned years\nago; but Goethe is still my favorite author, and Emerson remained my\nbeloved \"Master\" while he lived, doing more for me, as for many another\nyoung soul, than he ever knew, by the simple beauty of his life, the\ntruth and wisdom of his books, the example of a good great man untempted\nand unspoiled by the world which he made nobler while in it, and left\nthe richer when he went.\n\nThe trials of life began about this time, and my happy childhood ended.\nMoney is never plentiful in a philosopher's house; and even the maternal\npelican could not supply all our wants on the small income which was\nfreely shared with every needy soul who asked for help.\n\nFugitive slaves were sheltered under our roof; and my first pupil was a\nvery black George Washington whom I taught to write on the hearth with\ncharcoal, his big fingers finding pen and pencil unmanageable.\n\nMotherless girls seeking protection were guarded among us; hungry\ntravellers sent on to our door to be fed and warmed; and if the\nphilosopher happened to own two coats, the best went to a needy brother,\nfor these were practical Christians who had the most perfect faith in\nProvidence, and never found it betrayed.\n\nIn those days the prophets were not honored in their own land, and\nConcord had not yet discovered her great men.  It was a sort of refuge\nfor reformers of all sorts, whom the good natives regarded as lunatics,\nharmless but amusing.\n\nMy father went away to hold his classes and conversations, and we women\nfolk began to feel that we also might do something.  So one gloomy\nNovember day we decided to move to Boston and try our fate again after\nsome years in the wilderness.\n\nMy father's prospect was as promising as a philosopher's ever is in a\nmoney-making world; my mother's friends offered her a good salary as\ntheir missionary to the poor; and my sister and I hoped to teach.  It\nwas an anxious council; and always preferring action to discussion, I\ntook a brisk run over the hill and then settled down for \"a good think\"\nin my favorite retreat.\n\nIt was an old cart-wheel, half hidden in grass under the locusts where I\nused to sit to wrestle with my sums, and usually forget them scribbling\nverses or fairy tales on my slate instead. Perched on the hub, I\nsurveyed the prospect and found it rather gloomy, with leafless trees,\nsere grass, leaden sky, and frosty air; but the hopeful heart of fifteen\nbeat warmly under the old red shawl, visions of success gave the gray\nclouds a silver lining, and I said defiantly, as I shook my fist at fate\nembodied in a crow cawing dismally on a fence near by,--\n\n\"I _will_ do something by-and-by.  Don't care what, teach, sew, act,\nwrite, anything to help the family; and I'll be rich and famous and\nhappy before I die, see if I won't!\"\n\nStartled by this audacious outburst, the crow flew away; but the old\nwheel creaked as if it began to turn at that moment, stirred by the\nintense desire of an ambitious girl to work for those she loved and find\nsome reward when the duty was done.\n\nI did not mind the omen then, and returned to the house cold but\nresolute.  I think I began to shoulder my burden then and there, for\nwhen the free country life ended, the wild colt soon learned to tug in\nharness, only breaking loose now and then for a taste of beloved\nliberty.\n\nMy sisters and I had cherished fine dreams of a home in the city; but\nwhen we found ourselves in a small house at the South End with not a\ntree in sight, only a back yard to play in, and no money to buy any of\nthe splendors before us, we all rebelled and longed for the country\nagain.\n\nAnna soon found little pupils, and trudged away each morning to her\ndaily task, pausing at the corner to wave her hand to me in answer to my\nsalute with the duster.  My father went to his classes at his room down\ntown, mother to her all-absorbing poor, the little girls to school, and\nI was left to keep house, feeling like a caged sea-gull as I washed\ndishes and cooked in the basement kitchen, where my prospect was limited\nto a procession of muddy boots.\n\nGood drill, but very hard; and my only consolation was the evening\nreunion when all met with such varied reports of the day's adventures,\nwe could not fail to find both amusement and instruction.\n\nFather brought news from the upper world, and the wise, good people who\nadorned it; mother, usually much dilapidated because she _would_ give\naway her clothes, with sad tales of suffering and sin from the darker\nside of life; gentle Anna a modest account of her success as teacher,\nfor even at seventeen her sweet nature won all who knew her, and her\npatience quelled the most rebellious pupil.\n\nMy reports were usually a mixture of the tragic and the comic; and the\nchildren poured their small joys and woes into the family bosom, where\ncomfort and sympathy were always to be found.\n\nThen we youngsters adjourned to the kitchen for our fun, which usually\nconsisted of writing, dressing, and acting a series of remarkable plays.\nIn one I remember I took five parts and Anna four, with lightning\nchanges of costume, and characters varying from a Greek prince in silver\narmor to a murderer in chains.\n\nIt was good training for memory and fingers, for we recited pages\nwithout a fault, and made every sort of property from a harp to a\nfairy's spangled wings.  Later we acted Shakespeare; and Hamlet was my\nfavorite hero, played with a gloomy glare and a tragic stalk which I\nhave never seen surpassed.\n\nBut we were now beginning to play our parts on a real stage, and to know\nsomething of the pathetic side of life, with its hard facts, irksome\nduties, many temptations, and the daily sacrifice of self.  Fortunately\nwe had the truest, tenderest of guides and guards, and so learned the\nsweet uses of adversity, the value of honest work, the beautiful law of\ncompensation which gives more than it takes, and the real significance\nof life.\n\nAt sixteen I began to teach twenty pupils, and for ten years learned to\nknow and love children.  The story-writing went on all the while with\nthe usual trials of beginners.  Fairy tales told the Emersons made the\nfirst printed book, and \"Hospital Sketches\" the first successful one.\n\nEvery experience went into the caldron to come out as froth, or\nevaporate in smoke, till time and suffering strengthened and clarified\nthe mixture of truth and fancy, and a wholesome draught for children\nbegan to flow pleasantly and profitably.\n\nSo the omen proved a true one, and the wheel of fortune turned slowly,\ntill the girl of fifteen found herself a woman of fifty, with her\nprophetic dream beautifully realized, her duty done, her reward far\ngreater than she deserved.\n\n\n\n[Illustration: Chapter I tailpiece]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: Kitty gives the bunch of holly to the little girl.--PAGE\n36.]\n\n\n\n                                  II.\n\n                  A CHRISTMAS TURKEY, AND HOW IT CAME.\n\n\n\"I know we could n't do it.\"\n\n\"I say we could, if we all helped.\"\n\n\"How can we?\"\n\n\"I've planned lots of ways; only you mustn't laugh at them, and you must\nn't say a word to mother.  I want it to be all a surprise.\"\n\n\"She 'll find us out.\"\n\n\"No, she won't, if we tell her we won't get into mischief.\"\n\n\"Fire away, then, and let's hear your fine plans.\"\n\n\"We must talk softly, or we shall wake father. He's got a headache.\"\n\nA curious change came over the faces of the two boys as their sister\nlowered her voice, with a nod toward a half-opened door.  They looked\nsad and ashamed, and Kitty sighed as she spoke, for all knew that\nfather's headaches always began by his coming home stupid or cross, with\nonly a part of his wages; and mother always cried when she thought they\ndid not see her, and after the long sleep father looked as if he did n't\nlike to meet their eyes, but went off early.\n\nThey knew what it meant, but never spoke of it,--only pondered over it,\nand mourned with mother at the change which was slowly altering their\nkind industrious father into a moody man, and mother into an anxious\nover-worked woman.\n\nKitty was thirteen, and a very capable girl, who helped with the\nhousekeeping, took care of the two little ones, and went to school.\nTommy and Sammy looked up to her and thought her a remarkably good\nsister.  Now, as they sat round the stove having \"a go-to-bed warm,\" the\nthree heads were close together; and the boys listened eagerly to\nKitty's plans, while the rattle of the sewing-machine in another room\nwent on as tirelessly as it had done all day, for mother's work was more\nand more needed every month.\n\n\"Well!\" began Kitty, in an impressive tone, \"we all know that there\nwon't be a bit of Christmas in this family if we don't make it.\nMother's too busy, and father don't care, so we must see what we can do;\nfor I should be mortified to death to go to school and say I had n't had\nany turkey or plum-pudding.  Don't expect presents; but we _must_ have\nsome kind of a decent dinner.\"\n\n\"So I say; I'm tired of fish and potatoes,\" said Sammy, the younger.\n\n\"But where's the dinner coming from?\" asked Tommy, who had already taken\nsome of the cares of life on his young shoulders, and knew that\nChristmas dinners did not walk into people's houses without money.\n\n\"We 'll earn it;\" and Kitty looked like a small Napoleon planning the\npassage of the Alps.  \"You, Tom, must go early to-morrow to Mr. Brisket\nand offer to carry baskets.  He will be dreadfully busy, and want you, I\nknow; and you are so strong you can lug as much as some of the big\nfellows.  He pays well, and if he won't give much money, you can take\nyour wages in things to eat.  We want everything.\"\n\n\"What shall I do?\" cried Sammy, while Tom sat turning this plan over in\nhis mind.\n\n\"Take the old shovel and clear sidewalks. The snow came on purpose to\nhelp you.\"\n\n\"It's awful hard work, and the shovel's half gone,\" began Sammy, who\npreferred to spend his holiday coasting on an old tea-tray.\n\n\"Don't growl, or you won't get any dinner,\" said Tom, making up his mind\nto lug baskets for the good of the family, like a manly lad as he was.\n\n\"I,\" continued Kitty, \"have taken the hardest part of all; for after my\nwork is done, and the babies safely settled, I 'm going to beg for the\nleavings of the holly and pine swept out of the church down below, and\nmake some wreaths and sell them.\"\n\n\"If you can,\" put in Tommy, who had tried pencils, and failed to make a\nfortune.\n\n\"Not in the street?\" cried Sam, looking alarmed.\n\n\"Yes, at the corner of the Park.  I 'm bound to make some money, and\ndon't see any other way.  I shall put on an old hood and shawl, and no\none will know me.  Don't care if they do.\"  And Kitty tried to mean what\nshe said, but in her heart she felt that it would be a trial to her\npride if any of her schoolmates should happen to recognize her.\n\n\"Don't believe you 'll do it.\"\n\n\"See if I don't; for I _will_ have a good dinner one day in the year.\"\n\n\"Well, it does n't seem right for us to do it. Father ought to take care\nof us, and we only buy some presents with the little bit we earn. He\nnever gives us anything now.\"  And Tommy scowled at the bedroom door,\nwith a strong sense of injury struggling with affection in his boyish\nheart.\n\n\"Hush!\" cried Kitty.  \"Don't blame him. Mother says we never must forget\nhe's our father.  I try not to; but when she cries, it's hard to feel as\nI ought.\"  And a sob made the little girl stop short as she poked the\nfire to hide the trouble in the face that should have been all smiles.\n\nFor a moment the room was very still, as the snow beat on the window,\nand the fire-light flickered over the six shabby little boots put up on\nthe stove hearth to dry.\n\nTommy's cheerful voice broke the silence, saying stoutly, \"Well, if I\n've got to work all day, I guess I 'll go to bed early.  Don't fret,\nKit.  We 'll help all we can, and have a good time; see if we don't.\"\n\n\"I 'll go out real early, and shovel like fury. Maybe I 'll get a\ndollar.  Would that buy a turkey?\" asked Sammy, with the air of a\nmillionnaire.\n\n\"No, dear; one big enough for us would cost two, I 'm afraid.  Perhaps\nwe 'll have one sent us.  We belong to the church, though folks don't\nknow how poor we are now, and we can't beg.\"  And Kitty bustled about,\nclearing up, rather exercised in her mind about going and asking for the\nmuch-desired fowl.\n\nSoon all three were fast asleep, and nothing but the whir of the machine\nbroke the quiet that fell upon the house.  Then from the inner room a\nman came and sat over the fire with his head in his hands and his eyes\nfixed on the ragged little boots left to dry.  He had heard the\nchildren's talk; and his heart was very heavy as he looked about the\nshabby room that used to be so neat and pleasant.  What he thought no\none knows, what he did we shall see by-and-by; but the sorrow and shame\nand tender silence of his children worked a miracle that night more\nlasting and lovely than the white beauty which the snow wrought upon the\nsleeping city.\n\nBright and early the boys were away to their work; while Kitty sang as\nshe dressed the little sisters, put the house in order, and made her\nmother smile at the mysterious hints she gave of something splendid\nwhich was going to happen.  Father was gone, and though all rather\ndreaded evening, nothing was said; but each worked with a will, feeling\nthat Christmas should be merry in spite of poverty and care.\n\nAll day Tommy lugged fat turkeys, roasts of beef, and every sort of\nvegetable for other people's good dinners on the morrow, wondering\nmeanwhile where his own was coming from. Mr. Brisket had an army of boys\ntrudging here and there, and was too busy to notice any particular lad\ntill the hurry was over, and only a few belated buyers remained to be\nserved.  It was late; but the stores kept open, and though so tired he\ncould hardly stand, brave Tommy held on when the other boys left, hoping\nto earn a trifle more by extra work.  He sat down on a barrel to rest\nduring a leisure moment, and presently his weary head nodded sideways\ninto a basket of cranberries, where he slept quietly till the sound of\ngruff voices roused him.\n\nIt was Mr. Brisket scolding because one dinner had been forgotten.\n\n\"I told that rascal Beals to be sure and carry it, for the old gentleman\nwill be in a rage if it does n't come, and take away his custom. Every\nboy gone, and I can't leave the store, nor you either, Pat, with all the\nclearing up to do.\"\n\n\"Here's a by, sir, slapin illigant forninst the cranberries, bad luck to\nhim!\" answered Pat, with a shake that set poor Tom on his legs, wide\nawake at once.\n\n\"_Good_ luck to him, you mean.  Here, What's-your-name, you take this\nbasket to that number, and I 'll make it worth your while,\" said Mr.\nBrisket, much relieved by this unexpected help.\n\n\"All right, sir;\" and Tommy trudged off as briskly as his tired legs\nwould let him, cheering the long cold walk with visions of the turkey\nwith which his employer might reward him, for there were piles of them,\nand Pat was to have one for his family.\n\nHis brilliant dreams were disappointed, however, for Mr. Brisket\nnaturally supposed Tom's father would attend to that part of the dinner,\nand generously heaped a basket with vegetables, rosy apples, and a quart\nof cranberries.\n\n\"There, if you ain't too tired, you can take one more load to that\nnumber, and a merry Christmas to you!\" said the stout man, handing over\nhis gift with the promised dollar.\n\n\"Thank you, sir; good-night,\" answered Tom, shouldering his last load\nwith a grateful smile, and trying not to look longingly at the poultry;\nfor he had set his heart on at least a skinny bird as a surprise to Kit.\n\nSammy's adventures that day had been more varied and his efforts more\nsuccessful, as we shall see, in the end, for Sammy was a most engaging\nlittle fellow, and no one could look into his blue eyes without wanting\nto pat his curly yellow head with one hand while the other gave him\nsomething.  The cares of life had not lessened his confidence in people;\nand only the most abandoned ruffians had the heart to deceive or\ndisappoint him.  His very tribulations usually led to something\npleasant, and whatever happened, sunshiny Sam came right side up, lucky\nand laughing.\n\nUndaunted by the drifts or the cold wind, he marched off with the\nremains of the old shovel to seek his fortune, and found it at the third\nhouse where he called.  The first two sidewalks were easy jobs; and he\npocketed his ninepences with a growing conviction that this was his\nchosen work.  The third sidewalk was a fine long one, for the house\nstood on the corner, and two pavements must be cleared.\n\n\"It ought to be fifty cents; but perhaps they won't give me so much, I'm\nsuch a young one. I'll show 'em I can work, though, like a man;\" and\nSammy rang the bell with the energy of a telegraph boy.\n\nBefore the bell could be answered, a big boy rushed up, exclaiming\nroughly, \"Get out of this!  I'm going to have the job.  You can't do it.\nStart, now, or I'll chuck you into a snow-bank.\"\n\n\"I won't!\" answered Sammy, indignant at the brutal tone and unjust\nclaim.  \"I got here first, and it's my job.  You let me alone.  I ain't\nafraid of you or your snow-banks either.\"\n\nThe big boy wasted no time in words, for steps were heard inside, but\nafter a brief scuffle hauled Sammy, fighting bravely all the way, down\nthe steps, and tumbled him into a deep drift.  Then he ran up the steps,\nand respectfully asked for the job when a neat maid opened the door.  He\nwould have got it if Sam had not roared out, as he floundered in the\ndrift, \"I came first.  He knocked me down 'cause I 'm the smallest.\nPlease let me do it; please!\"\n\nBefore another word could be said, a little old lady appeared in the\nhall, trying to look stern, and failing entirely, because she was the\npicture of a dear fat, cosey grandma.\n\n\"Send that _bad_ big boy away, Maria, and call in the poor little\nfellow.  I saw the whole thing, and _he_ shall have the job if he can do\nit.\"\n\nThe bully slunk away, and Sammy came panting up the steps, white with\nsnow, a great bruise on his forehead, and a beaming smile on his face,\nlooking so like a jolly little Santa Claus who had taken a \"header\" out\nof his sleigh that the maid laughed, and the old lady exclaimed, \"Bless\nthe boy! he's dreadfully hurt, and does n't know it.  Come in and be\nbrushed and get your breath, child, and tell me how that scamp came to\ntreat you so.\"\n\nNothing loath to be comforted, Sammy told his little tale while Maria\ndusted him off on the mat, and the old lady hovered in the doorway of\nthe dining-room, where a nice breakfast smoked and smelled so\ndeliciously that the boy sniffed the odor of coffee and buckwheats like\na hungry hound.\n\n\"He 'll get his death if he goes to work till he's dried a bit.  Put him\nover the register, Maria, and I 'll give him a hot drink, for it's\nbitter cold, poor dear!\"\n\nAway trotted the kind old lady, and in a minute came back with coffee\nand cakes, on which Sammy feasted as he warmed his toes and told Kitty's\nplans for Christmas, led on by the old lady's questions, and quite\nunconscious that he was letting all sorts of cats out of the bag.\n\nMrs. Bryant understood the little story, and made her plans also, for\nthe rosy-faced boy was very like a little grandson who died last year,\nand her sad old heart was very tender to all other small boys.  So she\nfound out where Sammy lived, and nodded and smiled at him most cheerily\nas he tugged stoutly away at the snow on the long pavements till all was\ndone, and the little workman came for his wages.\n\nA bright silver dollar and a pocketful of gingerbread sent him off a\nrich and happy boy to shovel and sweep till noon, when he proudly showed\nhis earnings at home, and feasted the babies on the carefully hoarded\ncake, for Dilly and Dot were the idols of the household.\n\n\"Now, Sammy dear, I want you to take my place here this afternoon, for\nmother will have to take her work home by-and-by, and I must sell my\nwreaths.  I only got enough green for six, and two bunches of holly; but\nif I can sell them for ten or twelve cents apiece, I shall be glad.\nGirls never _can_ earn as much money as boys somehow,\" sighed Kitty,\nsurveying the thin wreaths tied up with carpet ravellings, and vainly\npuzzling her young wits over a sad problem.\n\n\"I 'll give you some of my money if you don't get a dollar; then we'll\nbe even.  Men always take care of women, you know, and ought to,\" cried\nSammy, setting a fine example to his father, if he had only been there\nto profit by it.\n\nWith thanks Kitty left him to rest on the old sofa, while the happy\nbabies swarmed over him; and putting on the shabby hood and shawl, she\nslipped away to stand at the Park gate, modestly offering her little\nwares to the passers-by.  A nice old gentleman bought two, and his wife\nscolded him for getting such bad ones; but the money gave more happiness\nthan any other he spent that day.  A child took a ten-cent bunch of\nholly with its red berries, and there Kitty's market ended.  It was very\ncold, people were in a hurry, bolder hucksters pressed before the timid\nlittle girl, and the balloon man told her to \"clear out.\"\n\nHoping for better luck, she tried several other places; but the short\nafternoon was soon over, the streets began to thin, the keen wind\nchilled her to the bone, and her heart was very heavy to think that in\nall the rich, merry city, where Christmas gifts passed her in every\nhand, there were none for the dear babies and boys at home, and the\nChristmas dinner was a failure.\n\n\"I must go and get supper anyway; and I 'll hang these up in our own\nrooms, as I can't sell them,\" said Kitty, wiping a very big tear from\nher cold cheek, and turning to go away.\n\nA smaller, shabbier girl than herself stood near, looking at the bunch\nof holly with wistful eyes; and glad to do to others as she wished some\none would do to her, Kitty offered the only thing she had to give,\nsaying kindly, \"You may have it; merry Christmas!\" and ran away before\nthe delighted child could thank her.\n\nI am very sure that one of the spirits who fly about at this season of\nthe year saw the little act, made a note of it, and in about fifteen\nminutes rewarded Kitty for her sweet remembrance of the golden rule.\n\nAs she went sadly homeward she looked up at some of the big houses where\nevery window shone with the festivities of Christmas Eve, and more than\none tear fell, for the little girl found life pretty hard just then.\n\n\"There don't seem to be any wreaths at these windows; perhaps they 'd\nbuy mine.  I can't bear to go home with so little for my share,\" she\nsaid, stopping before one of the biggest and brightest of these fairy\npalaces, where the sound of music was heard, and many little heads\npeeped from behind the curtains as if watching for some one.\n\nKitty was just going up the steps to make another trial, when two small\nboys came racing round the corner, slipped on the icy pavement, and both\nwent down with a crash that would have broken older bones.  One was up\nin a minute, laughing; the other lay squirming and howling, \"Oh, my\nknee! my knee!\" till Kitty ran and picked him up with the motherly\nconsolations she had learned to give.\n\n\"It's broken; I know it is,\" wailed the small sufferer as Kitty carried\nhim up the steps, while his friend wildly rang the doorbell.\n\nIt was like going into fairy-land, for the house was all astir with a\nchildren's Christmas party. Servants flew about with smiling faces; open\ndoors gave ravishing glimpses of a feast in one room and a splendid tree\nin another; while a crowd of little faces peered over the balusters in\nthe hall above, eager to come down and enjoy the glories prepared for\nthem.\n\nA pretty young girl came to meet Kitty, and listened to her story of the\naccident, which proved to be less severe than it at first appeared; for\nBertie, the injured party, forgot his anguish at sight of the tree, and\nhopped upstairs so nimbly that every one laughed.\n\n\"He said his leg was broken, but I guess he's all right,\" said Kitty,\nreluctantly turning from this happy scene to go out into the night\nagain.\n\n\"Would you like to see our tree before the children come down?\" asked\nthe pretty girl, seeing the wistful look in the child's eyes, and the\nshine of half-dried tears on her cheek.\n\n\"Oh, yes; I never saw anything so lovely. I 'd like to tell the babies\nall about it;\" and Kitty's face beamed at the prospect, as if the kind\nwords had melted all the frost away.\n\n\"How many babies are there?\" asked the pretty girl, as she led the way\ninto the brilliant room.  Kitty told her, adding several other facts,\nfor the friendly atmosphere seemed to make them friends at once.\n\n\"I will buy the wreaths, for we have n't any,\" said the girl in silk, as\nKitty told how she was just coming to offer them when the boys fell.\n\nIt was pretty to see how carefully the little hostess laid away the\nshabby garlands and slipped a half-dollar into Kitty's hand; prettier\nstill, to watch the sly way in which she tucked some bonbons, a red\nball, a blue whip, two china dolls, two pairs of little mittens, and\nsome gilded nuts into an empty box for \"the babies;\" and prettiest of\nall, to see the smiles and tears make April in Kitty's face as she tried\nto tell her thanks for this beautiful surprise.\n\nThe world was all right when she got into the street again and ran home\nwith the precious box hugged close, feeling that at last she had\nsomething to make a merry Christmas of.\n\nShrieks of joy greeted her, for Sammy's nice old lady had sent a basket\nfull of pies, nuts and raisins, oranges and cake, and--oh, happy\nSammy!--a sled, all for love of the blue eyes that twinkled so merrily\nwhen he told her about the tea-tray.  Piled upon this red car of\ntriumph, Dilly and Dot were being dragged about, while the other\ntreasures were set forth on the table.\n\n\"I must show mine,\" cried Kitty; \"we 'll look at them to-night, and have\nthem to-morrow;\" and amid more cries of rapture _her_ box was unpacked,\n_her_ money added to the pile in the middle of the table, where Sammy\nhad laid his handsome contribution toward the turkey.\n\nBefore the story of the splendid tree was over, in came Tommy with his\nsubstantial offering and his hard-earned dollar.\n\n\"I 'm afraid I ought to keep my money for shoes.  I 've walked the soles\noff these to-day, and can't go to school barefooted,\" he said, bravely\ntrying to put the temptation of skates behind him.\n\n\"We 've got a good dinner without a turkey, and perhaps we 'd better not\nget it,\" added Kitty, with a sigh, as she surveyed the table, and\nremembered the blue knit hood marked seventy-five cents that she saw in\na shop-window.\n\n\"Oh, we _must_ have a turkey! we worked so hard for it, and it's so\nChristmasy,\" cried Sam, who always felt that pleasant things ought to\nhappen.\n\n\"Must have turty,\" echoed the babies, as they eyed the dolls tenderly.\n\n\"You _shall_ have a turkey, and there he is,\" said an unexpected voice,\nas a noble bird fell upon the table, and lay there kicking up his legs\nas if enjoying the surprise immensely.\n\nIt was father's voice, and there stood father, neither cross nor stupid,\nbut looking as he used to look, kind and happy, and beside him was\nmother, smiling as they had not seen her smile for months.  It was not\nbecause the work was well paid for, and more promised, but because she\nhad received a gift that made the world bright, a home happy\nagain,--father's promise to drink no more.\n\n\"I 've been working to-day as well as you, and you may keep your money\nfor yourselves. There are shoes for all; and never again, please God,\nshall my children be ashamed of me, or want a dinner Christmas Day.\"\n\nAs father said this with a choke in his voice, and mother's head went\ndown on his shoulder to hide the happy tears that wet her cheeks, the\nchildren did n't know whether to laugh or cry, till Kitty, with the\ninstinct of a loving heart, settled the question by saying, as she held\nout her hands, \"We have n't any tree, so let's dance around our goodies\nand be merry.\"\n\nThen the tired feet in the old shoes forgot their weariness, and five\nhappy little souls skipped gayly round the table, where, in the midst of\nall the treasures earned and given, father's Christmas turkey proudly\nlay in state.\n\n\n\n[Illustration: Chapter II tailpiece]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: \"Grandpapa Ladle cheered them on, like a fine old\ngentleman as he was.\"--PAGE 55.]\n\n\n\n                                  III.\n\n                           THE SILVER PARTY.\n\n\n\"Such a long morning!  Seems as if dinner-time would never come!\" sighed\nTony, as he wandered into the dining-room for a third pick at the nuts\nand raisins to beguile his weariness with a little mischief.\n\nIt was Thanksgiving Day.  All the family were at church, all the\nservants busy preparing for the great dinner; and so poor Tony, who had\na cold, had not only to stay at home, but to amuse himself while the\nrest said their prayers, made calls, or took a brisk walk to get an\nappetite.  If he had been allowed in the kitchen, he would have been\nquite happy; but cook was busy and cross, and rapped him on the head\nwith a poker when he ventured near the door.  Peeping through the slide\nwas also forbidden, and John, the man, bribed him with an orange to keep\nout of the way till the table was set.\n\nThat was now done.  The dining-room was empty and quiet, and poor Tony\nlay down on the sofa to eat his nuts and admire the fine sight before\nhim.  All the best damask, china, glass, and silver was set forth with\ngreat care. A basket of flowers hung from the chandelier, and the\nsideboard was beautiful to behold with piled-up fruit, dishes of cake,\nand many-colored finger-bowls and glasses.\n\n\"That's all very nice, but the eating part is what _I_ care for.  Don't\nbelieve I 'll get my share to-day, because mamma found out about this\nhorrid cold.  A fellow can't help sneezing, though he can hide a sore\nthroat.  Oh, hum! nearly two more hours to wait;\" and with a long sigh\nTony closed his eyes for a luxurious yawn.\n\nWhen he opened them, the strange sight he beheld kept him staring\nwithout a thought of sleep.  The big soup-ladle stood straight up at the\nhead of the table with a face plainly to be seen in the bright bowl.  It\nwas a very heavy, handsome old ladle, so the face was old, but round and\njolly; and the long handle stood very erect, like a tall thin gentleman\nwith a big head.\n\n\"Well, upon my word that's queer!\" said Tony, sitting up also, and\nwondering what would happen next.\n\nTo his great amazement the ladle began to address the assembled forks\nand spoons in a silvery tone very pleasant to hear:--\n\n\"Ladies and gentlemen, at this festive season it is proper that we\nshould enjoy ourselves. As we shall be tired after dinner, we will at\nonce begin our sports by a grand promenade. Take partners and fall in!\"\n\nAt these words a general uprising took place; and before Tony could get\nhis breath a long procession of forks and spoons stood ready. The\nfinger-bowls struck up an airy tune as if invisible wet fingers were\nmaking music on their rims, and led by the stately ladle like a\ndrum-major, the grand march began.  The forks were the gentlemen, tall,\nslender, and with a fine curve to their backs; the spoons were the\nladies, with full skirts, and the scallops on the handles stood up like\nsilver combs; the large ones were the mammas, the teaspoons were the\nyoung ladies, and the little salts the children. It was sweet to see the\nsmall things walk at the end of the procession, with the two silver\nrests for the carving knife and fork trotting behind like pet dogs.  The\nmustard-spoon and pickle-fork went together, and quarrelled all the way,\nboth being hot-tempered and sharp-tongued. The steel knives looked on,\nfor this was a very aristocratic party, and only the silver people could\njoin in it.\n\n\"Here 's fun!\" thought Tony, staring with all his might, and so much\ninterested in this remarkable state of things that he forgot hunger and\ntime altogether.\n\nRound and round went the glittering train, to the soft music of the\nmany-toned finger-bowls, till three turns about the long oval table had\nbeen made; then all fell into line for a contradance, as in the good old\ntimes before every one took to spinning like tops.  Grandpa Ladle led\noff with his oldest daughter, Madam Gravy Ladle, and the little salts\nstood at the bottom prancing like real children impatient for their\nturn.  When it came, they went down the middle in fine style, with a\ncling! clang! that made Tony's legs quiver with a longing to join in.\n\nIt was beautiful to see the older ones twirl round in a stately way,\nwith bows and courtesies at the end, while the teaspoons and small forks\nromped a good deal, and Mr. Pickle and Miss Mustard kept every one\nlaughing at their smart speeches.  The silver butter-knife, who was an\ninvalid, having broken her back and been mended, lay in the rack and\nsmiled sweetly down upon her friends, while the little Cupid on the lid\nof the butter-dish pirouetted on one toe in the most delightful manner.\n\nWhen every one had gone through the dance, the napkins were arranged as\nsofas and the spoons rested, while the polite forks brought sprigs of\ncelery to fan them with.  The little salts got into grandpa's lap; and\nthe silver dogs lay down panting, for they had frisked with the\nchildren.  They all talked; and Tony could not help wondering if real\nladies said such things when they put _their_ heads together and nodded\nand whispered, for some of the remarks were so personal that he was much\nconfused. Fortunately they took no notice of him, so he listened and\nlearned something in this queer way.\n\n\"I have been in this family a hundred years,\" began the soup-ladle; \"and\nit seems to me that each generation is worst than the last.  My first\nmaster was punctual to a minute, and madam was always down beforehand to\nsee that all was ready.  Now master comes at all hours; mistress lets\nthe servants do as they like; and the manners of the children are very\nbad.  Sad state of things, very sad!\"\n\n\"Dear me, yes!\" sighed one of the large spoons; \"we don't see such nice\nhousekeeping now as we did when we were young.  Girls were taught all\nabout it then; but now it is all books or parties, and few of them know\na skimmer from a gridiron.\"\n\n\"Well, I 'm sure the poor things are much happier than if they were\nmessing about in kitchens as girls used to do in your day.  It is much\nbetter for them to be dancing, skating, and studying than wasting their\nyoung lives darning and preserving, and sitting by their mammas as prim\nas dishes.  _I_ prefer the present way of doing things, though the girls\nin this family _do_ sit up too late, and wear too high heels to their\nboots.\"\n\nThe mustard-spoon spoke in a pert tone, and the pickle-fork answered\nsharply,--\n\n\"I agree with you, cousin.  The boys also sit up too late.  I 'm tired\nof being waked to fish out olives or pickles for those fellows when they\ncome in from the theatre or some dance; and as for that Tony, he is a\nreal pig,--eats everything he can lay hands on, and is the torment of\nthe maid's life.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" cried one little salt-spoon, \"we saw him steal cake out of the\nsideboard, and he never told when his mother scolded Norah.\"\n\n\"So mean!\" added the other; and both the round faces were so full of\ndisgust that Tony fell flat and shut his eyes as if asleep to hide his\nconfusion.  Some one laughed; but he dared not look, and lay blushing\nand listening to remarks which plainly proved how careful we should be\nof our acts and words even when alone, for who knows what apparently\ndumb thing may be watching us.\n\n\"I have observed that Mr. Murry reads the paper at table instead of\ntalking to his family; that Mrs. Murry worries about the servants; the\ngirls gossip and giggle; the boys eat, and plague one another; and that\nsmall child Nelly teases for all she sees, and is never quiet till she\ngets the sugar-bowl,\" said Grandpa Ladle, in a tone of regret.  \"Now,\nuseful and pleasant chat at table would make meals delightful, instead\nof being scenes of confusion and discomfort.\"\n\n\"I bite their tongues when I get a chance, hoping to make them witty or\nto check unkind words; but they only sputter, and get a lecture from\nAunt Maria, who is a sour old spinster, always criticising her\nneighbors.\"'\n\nAs the mustard-spoon spoke, the teaspoons laughed as if they thought\n_her_ rather like Aunt Maria in that respect.\n\n\"I gave the baby a fit of colic to teach her to let pickles alone, but\nno one thanked me,\" said the pickle-fork.\n\n\"Perhaps if we keep ourselves so bright that those who use us can see\ntheir faces in us, we shall be able to help them a little; for no one\nlikes to see an ugly face or a dull spoon.  The art of changing frowns\nto smiles is never old-fashioned; and lovely manners smooth away the\nlittle worries of life beautifully.\"  A silvery voice spoke, and all\nlooked respectfully at Madam Gravy Ladle, who was a very fine old spoon,\nwith a coat of arms on it, and a polish that all envied.\n\n\"People can't always be remembering how old and valuable and bright they\nare.  Here in America we just go ahead and make manners and money for\nourselves.  _I_ don't stop to ask what dish I 'm going to help to; I\njust pitch in and take all I can hold, and don't care a bit whether I\nshine or not.  My grandfather was a kitchen spoon; but I'm smarter than\nhe was, thanks to my plating, and look and feel as good as any one,\nthough I have n't got stags' heads and big letters on my handle.\"\n\nNo one answered these impertinent remarks of the sauce-spoon, for all\nknew that she was not pure silver, and was only used on occasions when\nmany spoons were needed.  Tony was ashamed to hear her talk in that rude\nway to the fine old silver he was so proud of, and resolved he 'd give\nthe saucy spoon a good rap when he helped himself to the cranberry.\n\nAn impressive silence lasted till a lively fork exclaimed, as the clock\nstruck, \"Every one is coasting out-of-doors.  Why not have our share of\nthe fun inside?  It is very fashionable this winter, and ladies and\ngentlemen of the best families do it, I assure you.\"\n\n\"We will!\" cried the other forks; and as the dowagers did not object,\nall fell to work to arrange the table for this agreeable sport.  Tony\nsat up to see how they would manage, and was astonished at the ingenuity\nof the silver people. With a great clinking and rattling they ran to and\nfro, dragging the stiff white mats about; the largest they leaned up\nagainst the tall caster, and laid the rest in a long slope to the edge\nof the table, where a pile of napkins made a nice snowdrift to tumble\ninto.\n\n\"What _will_ they do for sleds?\" thought Tony; and the next minute\nchuckled when he saw them take the slices of bread laid at each place,\npile on, and spin away, with a great scattering of crumbs like\nsnowflakes, and much laughter as they landed in the white pile at the\nend of the coast.\n\n\"Won't John give it to 'em if he comes in and catches 'em turning his\nnice table topsy-turvy!\" said the boy to himself, hoping nothing would\nhappen to end this jolly frolic.  So he kept very still, and watched the\ngay forks and spoons climb up and whiz down till they were tired.  The\nlittle salts got Baby Nell's own small slice, and had lovely times on a\nshort coast of their own made of one mat held up by grandpa, who smiled\nbenevolently at the fun, being too old and heavy to join in it.\n\nThey kept it up until the slices were worn thin, and one or two upsets\nalarmed the ladies; then they rested and conversed again.  The mammas\ntalked about their children, how sadly the silver basket needed a new\nlining, and what there was to be for dinner.  The teaspoons whispered\nsweetly together, as young ladies do,--one declaring that rouge powder\nwas not as good as it used to be, another lamenting the sad effect of\neggs upon her complexion, and all smiled amiably upon the forks, who\nstood about discussing wines and cigars, for both lived in the\nsideboard, and were brought out after dinner, so the forks knew a great\ndeal about such matters, and found them very interesting, as all\ngentlemen seem to do.\n\nPresently some one mentioned bicycles, and what fine rides the boys of\nthe family told about. The other fellows proposed a race; and before\nTony could grasp the possibility of such a thing, it was done.  Nothing\neasier, for there stood a pile of plates, and just turning them on their\nedges, the forks got astride, and the big wheels spun away as if a whole\nbicycle club had suddenly arrived.\n\nOld Pickle took the baby's plate, as better suited to his size.  The\nlittle salts made a tricycle of napkin-rings, and rode gayly off, with\nthe dogs barking after them.  Even the carving-fork, though not invited,\ncould not resist the exciting sport, and tipping up the wooden\nbread-platter, went whizzing off at a great pace, for his two prongs\nwere better than four, and his wheel was lighter than the china ones.\nGrand-papa Ladle cheered them on, like a fine old gentleman as he was,\nfor though the new craze rather astonished him, he liked manly sports,\nand would have taken a turn if his dignity and age had allowed.  The\nladies chimed their applause, for it really was immensely exciting to\nsee fourteen plates with forks astride racing round the large table with\ncries of, \"Go it, Pickle!  Now, then, Prongs!  Steady, Silver-top!\nHurrah for the twins!\"\n\nThe fun was at its height when young Prongs ran against Pickle, who did\nnot steer well, and both went off the table with a crash.  All stopped\nat once, and crowded to the edge to see who was killed.  The plates lay\nin pieces, old Pickle had a bend in his back that made him groan\ndismally, and Prongs had fallen down the register.\n\nWails of despair arose at that awful sight, for he was a favorite with\nevery one, and such a tragic death was too much for some of the\ntender-hearted spoons, who fainted at the idea of that gallant fork's\ndestruction in what to them was a fiery volcano.\n\n\"Serves Pickle right!  He ought to know he was too old for such wild\ngames,\" scolded Miss Mustard, peering anxiously over at her friend, for\nthey were fond of one another in spite of their tiffs.\n\n\"Now let us see what these fine folks will do when they get off the\ndamask and come to grief. A helpless lot, I fancy, and those fellows\ndeserve what they 've got,\" said the sauce-spoon, nearly upsetting the\ntwins as she elbowed her way to the front to jeer over the fallen.\n\n\"I think you will see that gentle people are as brave as those who make\na noise,\" answered Madam Gravy, and leaning over the edge of the table\nshe added in her sweet voice, \"Dear Mr. Pickle, we will let down a\nnapkin and pull you up if you have strength to take hold.\"\n\n\"Pull away, ma'am,\" groaned Pickle, who well deserved his name just\nthen, and soon, thanks to Madam's presence of mind, he was safely laid\non a pile of mats, while Miss Mustard put a plaster on his injured back.\n\nMeanwhile brave Grandpapa Ladle had slipped from the table to a chair,\nand so to the floor without too great a jar to his aged frame; then\nsliding along the carpet, he reached the register. Peering down that\ndark, hot abyss he cried, while all listened breathlessly for a reply,\n\"Prongs, my boy, are you there?\"\n\n\"Ay, ay, sir; I 'm caught in the wire screen. Ask some of the fellows to\nlend a hand and get me out before I 'm melted,\" answered the fork, with\na gasp of agony.\n\nInstantly the long handle of the patriarchal Ladle was put down to his\nrescue, and after a moment of suspense, while Prongs caught firmly hold,\nup he came, hot and dusty, but otherwise unharmed by that dreadful fall.\nCheers greeted them, and every one lent a hand at the napkin as they\nwere hoisted to the table to be embraced by their joyful relatives and\nfriends.\n\n\"What did you think about down in that horrid place?\" asked one of the\ntwins.\n\n\"I thought of a story I once heard master tell, about a child who was\nfound one cold day sitting with his feet on a newspaper, and when asked\nwhat he was doing, answered, 'Warming my feet on the \"Christian\nRegister.\"'  I hoped my register would be Christian enough not to melt\nme before help came.  Ha! ha!  See the joke, my dears?\" and Prongs\nlaughed as gayly as if he never had taken a header into a volcano.\n\n\"What did you see down there?\" asked the other twin, curious, as all\nsmall people are.\n\n\"Lots of dust and pins, a doll's head baby put there, Norah's thimble,\nand the big red marble that boy Tony was raging about the other day.\nIt's a regular catch-all, and shows how the work is shirked in this\nhouse,\" answered Prongs, stretching his legs, which were a little\ndamaged by the fall.\n\n\"What shall we do about the plates?\" asked Pickle, from his bed.\n\n\"Let them lie, for we can't mend them. John will think the boy broke\nthem, and he'll get punished, as he deserves, for he broke a tumbler\nyesterday, and put it slyly in the ash-barrel,\" said Miss Mustard,\nspitefully.\n\n\"Oh!  I say, that's mean,\" began Tony; but no one listened, and in a\nminute Prongs answered bravely,--\n\n\"I 'm a gentleman, and I don't let other people take the blame of my\nscrapes.  Tony has enough of his own to answer for.\"\n\n\"I'll have that bent fork for mine, and make John keep it as bright as a\nnew dollar to pay for this.  Prongs is a trump, and I wish I could tell\nhim so,\" thought Tony, much gratified at this handsome behavior.\n\n\"Right, grandson.  I am pleased with you; but allow me to suggest that\nthe Chinese Mandarin on the chimney-piece be politely requested to mend\nthe plates.  He can  do that sort of thing nicely, and will be charmed\nto oblige us, I am sure.\"\n\nGrandpapa's suggestion was a good one; and Yam Ki Lo consented at once,\nskipped to the floor, tapped the bits of china with his fan, and in the\ntwinkling of an eye was back on his perch, leaving two whole plates\nbehind him, for he was a wizard, and knew all about blue china.\n\nJust as the silver people were rejoicing over this fine escape from\ndiscovery, the clock struck, a bell rang, voices were heard upstairs,\nand it was very evident that the family had arrived. At these sounds a\ngreat flurry arose in the dining-room, as every spoon, fork, plate, and\nnapkin flew back to its place.  Pickle rushed to the jar, and plunged in\nhead first, regardless of his back; Miss Mustard retired to the caster;\nthe twins scrambled into the salt-cellar; and the silver dogs lay down\nby the carving knife and fork as quietly as if they had never stirred a\nleg; Grandpapa slowly reposed in his usual place; Madam followed his\nexample with dignity; the teaspoons climbed into the holder, uttering\nlittle cries of alarm; and Prongs stayed to help them till he had barely\ntime to drop down at Tony's place, and lie there with his bent leg in\nthe air, the only sign of the great fall, about which he talked for a\nlong time afterward.  All was in order but the sauce-spoon, who had\nstopped to laugh at the Mandarin till it was too late to get to her\ncorner; and before she could find any place of concealment, John came in\nand caught her lying in the middle of the table, looking very common and\nshabby among all the bright silver.\n\n\"What in the world is that old plated thing here for?  Missis told Norah\nto put it in the kitchen, as she had a new one for a present\nto-day--real silver--so out you go;\" and as he spoke, John threw the\nspoon through the slide,--an exile forevermore from the good society\nwhich she did not value as she should.\n\nTony saw the glimmer of a smile in Grand-papa Ladle's face, but it was\ngone like a flash, and by the time the boy reached the table nothing was\nto be seen in the silver bowl but his own round rosy countenance, full\nof wonder.\n\n\"I don't think any one will believe what I 've seen, but I mean to tell,\nit was so _very_ curious,\" he said, as he surveyed the scene of the late\nfrolic, now so neat and quiet that not a wrinkle or a crumb betrayed\nwhat larks had been going on.\n\nHastily fishing up his long-lost marble, the doll's head, and Norah's\nthimble, he went thoughtfully upstairs to welcome his cousins, still\nmuch absorbed by this very singular affair.\n\nDinner was soon announced; and while it lasted every one was too busy\neating the good things before them to observe how quiet the usually\nriotous Tony was.  His appetite for turkey and cranberries seemed to\nhave lost its sharp edge, and the mince-pie must have felt itself sadly\nslighted by his lack of appreciation of its substance and flavor.  He\nseemed in a brown-study, and kept staring about as if he saw more than\nother people did.  He examined Nelly's plate as if looking for a crack,\nsmiled at the little spoon when he took salt, refused pickles and\nmustard with a frown, kept a certain bent fork by him as long as\npossible, and tried to make music with a wet finger on the rim of his\nbowl at dessert.\n\nBut in the evening, when the young people sat around the fire, he amused\nthem by telling the queer story of the silver party; but he very wisely\nleft out the remarks made upon himself and family, remembering how\ndisagreeable the sauce-spoon had seemed, and he privately resolved to\nfollow Madam Gravy Ladle's advice to keep his own face bright, manners\npolite, and speech kindly, that he might prove himself to be pure\nsilver, and be stamped a gentleman.\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: \"Presently she sat down and let them tap her\ncheeks.\"--PAGE 82.]\n\n\n\n                                  IV.\n\n                            THE BLIND LARK.\n\n\nHigh up in an old house, full of poor people, lived Lizzie, with her\nmother and Baby Billy.  The street was a narrow, noisy place, where\ncarts rumbled and dirty children played; where the sun seldom shone, the\nfresh wind seldom blew, and the white snow of winter was turned at once\nto black mud.  One bare room was Lizzie's home, and out of it she seldom\nwent, for she was a prisoner.  We all pity the poor princesses who were\nshut up in towers by bad fairies, the men and women in jails, and the\nlittle birds in cages, but Lizzie was a sadder prisoner than any of\nthese.\n\nThe prince always comes to the captive princess, the jail doors open in\ntime, and the birds find some kind hand to set them free; but there\nseemed no hope of escape for this poor child. Only nine years old, and\ncondemned to life-long helplessness, loneliness, and darkness,--for she\nwas blind.\n\nShe could dimly remember the blue sky, green earth, and beautiful sun;\nfor the light went out when she was six, and the cruel fever left her a\npale little shadow to haunt that room ever since.  The father was dead;\nthe mother worked hard for daily bread; they had no friends; and the\ngood fairies seemed to have forgotten them.  Still, like the larks one\nsees in Brittany, whose eyes cruel boys put out that they may sing the\nsweeter, Lizzie made music in her cage, singing to baby; and when he\nslept, she sat by the window listening to the noise below for company,\ncrooning to herself till she too fell asleep and forgot the long, long\ndays that had no play, no school, no change for her such as other\nchildren know.\n\nEvery morning mother gave them their porridge, locked the door, and went\naway to work, leaving something for the children's dinner, and Lizzie to\ntake care of herself and Billy till night.  There was no other way, for\nboth were too helpless to be trusted elsewhere, and there was no one to\nlook after them.  But Lizzie knew her way about the room, and could find\nthe bed, the window, and the table where the bread and milk stood.\nThere was seldom any fire in the stove, and the window was barred, so\nthe little prisoners were safe; and day after day they lived together a\nsad, solitary, unchildlike life that makes one's heart ache to think of.\n\nLizzie watched over Billy like a faithful little mother, and Billy did\nhis best to bear his trials and comfort sister like a man.  He was not a\nrosy, rollicking fellow, like most year-old boys, but pale and thin and\nquiet, with a pathetic look in his big blue eyes, as if he said,\n\"Something is wrong; will some one kindly put it right for us?\"  But he\nseldom complained unless in pain, and would lie for hours on the old\nbed, watching the flies, which were his only other playmates, stretching\nout his little hands to the few rays of sunshine that crept in now and\nthen, as if longing for them, like a flower in a cellar.  When Lizzie\nsang, he hummed softly; and when he was hungry, cold, or tired, he\ncalled, \"Lib!  Lib!\" meaning \"Lizzie,\" and nestled up to her, forgetting\nall his baby woes in her tender arms.\n\nSeeing her so fond and faithful, the poor neighbors loved as well as\npitied her, and did what they could for the afflicted child.  The busy\nwomen would pause at the locked door to ask if all was right; the dirty\nchildren brought her dandelions from the park; and the rough workmen of\nthe factory opposite, with a kind word, would toss an apple or a cake\nthrough the open window.  They had learned to look for the little\nwistful face behind the bars, and loved to listen to the childish voice\nwhich caught and imitated the songs they sang and whistled, like a sweet\necho.  They called her \"the blind lark;\" and though she never knew it,\nmany were the better for the pity they gave her.\n\nBaby slept a great deal, for life offered him few pleasures, and like a\nsmall philosopher, he wisely tried to forget the troubles which he could\nnot cure; so Lizzie had nothing to do but sing, and try to imagine how\nthe world looked.  She had no one to tell her, and the few memories grew\ndimmer and dimmer each year.  She did not know how to work or to play,\nnever having been taught, and mother was too tired at night to do\nanything but get supper and go to bed.\n\n\"The child will be an idiot soon, if she does not die,\" people said; and\nit seemed as if this would be the fate of the poor little girl, since no\none came to save her during those three weary years.  She often said,\n\"I'm of _some_ use.  I take care of Billy, and I could n't live without\nhim.\"\n\nBut even this duty and delight was taken from her, for that cold spring\nnipped the poor little flower, and one day Billy shut his blue eyes with\na patient sigh and left her all alone.\n\nThen Lizzie's heart seemed broken; and people thought she would soon\nfollow him, now that her one care and comfort was gone.  All day she lay\nwith her cheek on Billy's pillow, holding the battered tin cup and a\nlittle worn-out shoe, and it was pitiful to hear her sing the old\nlullabies as if baby still could hear them.\n\n\"It will be a mercy if the poor thing does n't live; blind folks are no\nuse and a sight of trouble,\" said one woman to another as they gossiped\nin the hall after calling on the child during her mother's absence, for\nthe door was left unlocked since she was ill.\n\n\"Yes, Mrs. Davis would get on nicely if she had n't such a burden.\nThank Heaven, my children are n't blind,\" answered the other, hugging\nher baby closer as she went away.\n\nLizzie heard them, and hoped with all her sad little soul that death\nwould set her free, since she was of no use in the world.  To go and be\nwith Billy was all her desire now, and she was on her way to him,\ngrowing daily weaker and more content to be dreaming of dear baby well\nand happy, waiting for her somewhere in a lovely place called heaven.\n\nThe summer vacation came; and hundreds of eager children were hurrying\naway to the mountains and seashore for two months of healthful pleasure.\nEven the dirty children in the lane felt the approach of berry-time, and\nrejoiced in their freedom from cold as they swarmed like flies about the\ncorner grocery where over-ripe fruit was thrown out for them to scramble\nover.\n\nLizzie heard about good times when some of these young neighbors were\nchosen to go on the poor children's picnics, and came back with big\nsandwiches buttoned up in their jackets, pickles, peanuts, and buns in\ntheir pockets, hands full of faded flowers, and hearts brimming over\nwith childish delight at a day in the woods.  She listened with a faint\nsmile, enjoyed the \"woodsy\" smell of the green things, and wondered if\nthey had nice picnics in heaven, being sorry that Billy had missed them\nhere.  But she did not seem to care much, or hope for any pleasure for\nherself except to see baby again.\n\nI think there were few sadder sights in that great city than this\ninnocent prisoner waiting so patiently to be set free.  Would it be by\nthe gentle angel of death, or one of the human angels who keep these\nlittle sparrows from falling to the ground?\n\nOne hot August day, when not a breath came into the room, and the dust\nand noise and evil smells were almost unendurable, poor Lizzie lay on\nher bed singing feebly to herself about \"the beautiful blue sea.\"  She\nwas trying to get to sleep that she might dream of a cool place, and her\nvoice was growing fainter and fainter, when suddenly it seemed as if the\ndream had come, for a sweet odor was near, something damp and fresh\ntouched her feverish cheek, and a kind voice said in her ear,--\n\n\"Here is the little bird I 've been following. Will you have some\nflowers, dear?\"\n\n\"Is it heaven?  Where's Billy?\" murmured Lizzie, groping about her, half\nawake.\n\n\"Not yet.  I'm not Billy, but a friend who carries flowers to little\nchildren who cannot go and get them.  Don't be afraid, but let me sit\nand tell you about it,\" answered the voice, as a gentle hand took hers.\n\n\"I thought maybe I 'd died, and I was glad, for I do want to see Billy\nso much.  He's baby, you know.\"  And the clinging hands held the kind\none fast till it filled them with a great bunch of roses that seemed to\nbring all summer into the close, hot room with their sweetness.\n\n\"Oh, how nice! how nice!  I never had such a lot.  They 're bigger 'n'\nbetter 'n dandelions, are n't they?  What a good lady you must be to go\n'round giving folks posies like these!\" cried Lizzie, trying to realize\nthe astonishing fact.\n\nThen, while the new friend fanned her, she lay luxuriating in her roses,\nand listening to the sweet story of the Flower Mission which, like many\nother pleasant things, she knew nothing of in her prison.  Presently she\ntold her own little tale, never guessing how pathetic it was, till\nlifting her hand to touch the new face, she found it wet with tears.\n\n\"Are you sorry for me?\" she asked.  \"Folks are very kind, but I 'm a\nburden, you know, and I 'd better die and go to Billy; I was some use to\nhim, but I never can be to any one else. I heard 'em say so, and poor\nmother would do better if I was n't here.\"\n\n\"My child, I know a little blind girl who is no burden but a great help\nto her mother, and a happy, useful creature, as you might be if you were\ntaught and helped as she was,\" went on the voice, sounding more than\never like a good fairy's as it told fresh wonders till Lizzie was sure\nit _must_ be all a dream.\n\n\"Who taught her?  Could I do it?  Where's the place?\" she asked, sitting\nerect in her eagerness, like a bird that hears a hand at the door of its\ncage.\n\nThen, with the comfortable arm around her, the roses stirring with the\nflutter of her heart, and the sightless eyes looking up as if they could\nsee the face of the deliverer, Lizzie heard the wonderful story of the\nHouse Beautiful standing white and spacious on the hill, with the blue\nsea before it, the fresh wind always blowing, the green gardens and\nparks all about, and inside, music, happy voices, shining faces, busy\nhands, and year after year the patient teaching by those who dedicate\nthemselves to this noble and tender task.\n\n\"It must be better'n heaven!\" cried Lizzie, as she heard of work and\nplay, health and happiness, love and companionship, usefulness and\nindependence,--all the dear rights and simple joys young creatures\nhunger for, and perish, soul and body, without.\n\nIt was too much for her little mind to grasp at once, and she lay as if\nin a blissful dream long after the kind visitor had gone, promising to\ncome again and to find some way for Lizzie to enter into that lovely\nplace where darkness is changed to light.\n\nThat visit was like magic medicine, and the child grew better at once,\nfor hope was born in her heart.  The heavy gloom seemed to lift;\ndiscomforts were easier to bear; and solitude was peopled now with\ntroops of happy children living in that wonderful place where blindness\nwas not a burden.  She told it all to her mother, and the poor woman\ntried to believe it, but said sadly,--\n\n\"Don't set your heart on it, child.  It's easy to promise and to forget.\nRich folks don't trouble themselves about poor folks if they can help\nit.\"\n\nBut Lizzie's faith never wavered, though the roses faded as day after\nday went by and no one came.  The mere thought that it was possible to\nteach blind people to work and study and play seemed to give her\nstrength and courage.  She got up and sat at the window again, singing\nto herself as she watched and waited, with the dead flowers carefully\narranged in Billy's mug, and a hopeful smile on the little white face\nbehind the bars.\n\nEvery one was glad she was better, and nodded to one another as they\nheard the soft crooning, like a dove's coo, in the pauses of the harsher\nnoises that filled the street.  The workmen tossed her sweeties and\nwhistled their gayest airs; the children brought their dilapidated toys\nto amuse her; and one woman came every day to put her baby in Lizzie's\nlap, it was such a pleasure to her to feel the soft little body in the\nloving arms that longed for Billy.\n\nPoor mother went to her work in better spirits, and the long hot days\nwere less oppressive as she thought, while she scrubbed, of Lizzie up\nagain; for she loved her helpless burden, heavy though she found it.\n\nWhen Saturday came around, it rained hard, and no one expected \"the\nflower lady.\"  Even Lizzie said with a patient sigh and a hopeful\nsmile,--\n\n\"I don't believe she 'll come; but maybe it will clear up, and then I\nguess she will.\"\n\nIt did not clear up, but the flower lady came; and as the child sat\nlistening to the welcome sound of her steps, her quick ear caught the\ntread of two pairs of feet, the whisper of two voices, and presently two\npersons came in to fill her hands with midsummer flowers.\n\n\"This is Minna, the little girl I told you of. She wanted to see you\nvery much, so we paddled away like a pair of ducks, and here we are,\"\nsaid Miss Grace, gayly; and as she spoke, Lizzie felt soft fingers glide\nover her face, and a pair of childish lips find and kiss her own. The\ngroping touch, the hearty kiss, made the blind children friends at once,\nand dropping her flowers, Lizzie hugged the new-comer, trembling with\nexcitement and delight.  Then they talked; and how the tongues went as\none asked questions and the other answered them, while Miss Grace sat by\nenjoying the happiness of those who do _not_ forget the poor, but seek\nthem out to save and bless.\n\nMinna had been for a year a pupil in the happy school, where she was\ntaught to see with her hands, as one might say; and the tales she told\nof the good times there made Lizzie cry eagerly,--\n\n\"Can I go?  Oh, _can_ go?\"\n\n\"Alas, no, not yet,\" answered Miss Grace, sadly.  \"I find that children\nunder ten cannot be taken, and there is no place for the little ones\nunless kind people care for them.\"\n\nLizzie gave a wail, and hid her face in the pillow, feeling as if she\ncould not bear the dreadful disappointment.\n\nMinna comforted her, and Miss Grace went on to say that generous people\nwere trying to get another school for the small children; that all the\nblind children were working hard to help on the plan; that money was\ncoming in; and soon they hoped to have a pleasant place for every child\nwho needed help.\n\nLizzie's tears stopped falling as she listened, for hope was not quite\ngone.\n\n\"I 'll not be ten till next June, and I don't see how I _can_ wait 'most\na year.  Will the little school be ready 'fore then?\" she asked.\n\n\"I fear not, dear, but I will see that the long waiting is made as easy\nas possible, and perhaps you can help us in some way,\" answered Miss\nGrace, anxious to atone for her mistake in speaking about the school\nbefore she had made sure that Lizzie could go.\n\n\"Oh, I 'd love to help; only I can't do anything,\" sighed the child.\n\n\"You can sing, and that is a lovely way to help.  I heard of 'the blind\nlark,' as they call you, and when I came to find her, your little voice\nled me straight to the door of the cage. That door I mean to open, and\nlet you hop out into the sunshine; then, when you are well and strong, I\nhope you will help us get the home for other little children who else\nmust wait years before _they_ find the light.  Will you?\"\n\nAs Miss Grace spoke, it was beautiful to see the clouds lift from\nLizzie's wondering face, till it shone with the sweetest beauty any face\ncan wear,--the happiness of helping others.  She forgot her own\ndisappointment in the new hope that came, and held on to the bedpost as\nif the splendid plan were almost too much for her.\n\n\"Could I help that way?\" she cried. \"Would anybody care to hear me sing?\nOh, how I 'd love to do anything for the poor little ones who will have\nto wait.\"\n\n\"You shall.  I 'm sure the hardest heart would be touched by your\nsinging, if you look as you do now.  We need something new for our fair\nand concert, and by that time you will be ready,\" said Miss Grace,\nalmost afraid she had said too much; for the child looked so frail, it\nseemed as if even joy would hurt her.\n\nFortunately her mother came in just then; and while the lady talked to\nher, Minna's childish chatter soothed Lizzie so well that when they left\nshe stood at the window smiling down at them and singing like the\nhappiest bobolink that ever tilted on a willow branch in spring-time.\n\nAll the promises were kept, and soon a new life began for Lizzie.  A\nbetter room and well-paid work were found for Mrs. Davis.  Minna came as\noften as she could to cheer up her little friend, and best of all, Miss\nGrace taught her to sing, that by and by the little voice might plead\nwith its pathetic music for others less blest than she.  So the winter\nmonths went by, and Lizzie grew like mayflowers underneath the snow,\ngetting ready to look up, sweet and rosy, when spring set her free and\ncalled her to be glad.  She counted the months and weeks, and when the\ntime dwindled to days, she could hardly sleep or eat for thinking of the\nhappy hour when she could go to be a pupil in the school where miracles\nwere worked.\n\nHer birthday was in June, and thanks to Miss Grace, her coming was\ncelebrated by one of the pretty festivals of the school, called Daisy\nDay. Lizzie knew nothing of this surprise, and when her friends led her\nup the long flight of steps she looked like a happy little soul climbing\nto the gates of heaven.\n\nMr. Constantine, the ruler of this small kingdom, was a man whose\nfatherly heart had room for every suffering child in the world, and it\nrejoiced over every one who came, though the great house was\noverflowing, and many waited as Lizzie had done.\n\nHe welcomed her so kindly that the strange place seemed like home at\nonce, and Minna led her away to the little mates who proudly showed her\ntheir small possessions and filled her hands with the treasures children\nlove, while pouring into her ears delightful tales of the study, work,\nand play that made their lives so happy.\n\nLizzie was bewildered, and held fast to Minna, whose motherly care of\nher was sweet to see. Kind teachers explained rules and duties with the\npatience that soothes fear and wins love; and soon Lizzie began to feel\nthat she was a \"truly pupil\" in this wonderful school where the blind\ncould read, sew, study, sing, run, and play.  Boys raced along the\ngalleries and up and down the stairs as boldly as if all had eyes; girls\nswept and dusted like tidy housewives; little fellows hammered and sawed\nin the workshop and never hurt themselves; small girls sewed on pretty\nwork as busy as bees; and in the schoolroom lessons went on as if both\nteachers and pupils were blessed with eyes.\n\nLizzie could not understand it, and was content to sit and listen\nwherever she was placed, while her little fingers fumbled at the new\nobjects near her, and her hungry mind opened like a flower to the sun.\nShe had no tasks that day, and in the afternoon was led away with a\nflock of children, all chattering like magpies, on the grand expedition.\nEvery year, when the fields were white with daisies, these poor little\nsouls were let loose among them to enjoy the holy day of this child's\nflower.  Ah, but was n't it a pretty sight to see the meeting between\nthem, when the meadows were reached, and the children scattered far and\nwide with cries of joy as they ran and rolled in the white sea, or\nfilled their eager hands, or softly felt for the dear daisies and kissed\nthem like old friends? The flowers seemed to enjoy it too, as they\ndanced and nodded, while the wind rippled the long grass like waves of a\ngreen sea, and the sun smiled as if he said,--\n\n\"Here's the sort of thing I like to see.  Why don't I find more of it?\"\n\nLizzie's face looked like a daisy, it was so full of light as she stood\nlooking up, with the wide brim of her new hat like the white petals all\nround it.  She did not run nor shout, but went slowly wading through the\ngrass, feeling the flowers touch her hands, yet picking none, for it was\nhappiness enough to know that they were there.  Presently she sat down\nand let them tap her cheeks and rustle about her ears as though telling\nsecrets that made her smile. Then, as if weary with so much happiness,\nshe lay back and let the daisies hide her with their pretty coverlet.\n\nMiss Grace was watching over her, but left her alone, and by and by,\nlike a lark from its nest in the grass, the blind girl sent up her\nlittle voice, singing so sweetly that the children gathered around to\nhear, while they made chains and tied up their nosegays.\n\nThis was Lizzie's first concert, and no little prima donna was ever more\npelted with flowers than she; for when she had sung all her songs, new\nand old, a daisy crown was put upon her head, a tall flower for a\nsceptre in her hand, and all the boys and girls danced around her as if\nshe had been Queen of the May.\n\nA little feast came out of the baskets, that they might be empty for the\nharvest to be carried home, and while they ate, stories were told and\nshouts of laughter filled the air, for all were as merry as if there was\nno darkness, pain, or want in the world.  Then they had games; and\nLizzie was taught to play,--for till now she never knew what a good romp\nmeant.  Her cheeks grew rosy, her sad little face waked up, she ran and\ntumbled with the rest, and actually screamed, to Minna's great delight.\n\nTwo or three of the children could see a little, and these were very\nhelpful in taking care of the little ones.  Miss Grace found them\nplaying some game with Lizzie, and observed that all but she were\nblindfolded.  When she asked why, one whispered, \"We thought we should\nplay fairer if we were all alike.\"  And another added, \"It seems somehow\nas if we were proud if we see better than the rest.\"\n\nLizzie was much touched by this sweet spirit, and a little later showed\nthat she had already learned one lesson in the school, when she gathered\nabout her some who had never seen, and told them what she could remember\nof green fields and daisy-balls before the light went out forever.\n\n\"Surely my little lark was worth saving, if only for this one happy\nday,\" thought Miss Grace, as she watched the awakened look in the blind\nfaces, all leaning toward the speaker, whose childish story pleased them\nwell.\n\nIn all her long and useful life, Lizzie never forgot that Daisy Day, for\nit seemed as if she were born anew, and like a butterfly had left the\ndark chrysalis all behind her then.  It was the first page of the\nbeautiful book just opening before the eyes of her little mind,--a\nlovely page, illustrated with flowers, kind faces, sunshine, and happy\nhopes.  The new life was so full, so free, she soon fell into her place\nand enjoyed it all.  People worked there so heartily, so helpfully, it\nwas no wonder things went as if by magic, and the poor little creatures\nwho came in so afflicted went out in some years independent people,\nready to help themselves and often to benefit others.\n\nThere is no need to tell all Lizzie learned and enjoyed that summer, nor\nhow proud her mother was when she heard her read in the curious books,\nmaking eyes of the little fingers that felt their way along so fast;\nwhen she saw the neat stitches she set, the pretty clay things she\nmodelled, the tidy way she washed dishes, swept, and dusted, and helped\nkeep her room in order. But the poor woman's heart was too full for\nwords when she heard the child sing,--not as before, in the dreary room,\nsad, soft lullabies to Billy, but beautiful, gay songs, with flutes and\nviolins to lift and carry the little voice along on waves of music.\n\nLizzie really had a great gift; but she was never happier than when they\nall sang together, or when she sat quietly listening to the band as they\npractised for the autumn concert.  She was to have a part in it; and the\nthought that she could help to earn money for the Kindergarten made the\nshy child bold and glad to do her part.  Many people knew her now, for\nshe was very pretty, with the healthful roses in her cheeks, curly\nyellow hair, and great blue eyes that seemed to see.  Her mates and\nteachers were proud of her, for though she was not as quick as some of\nthe pupils, her sweet temper, grateful heart, and friendly little ways\nmade her very dear to all, aside from the musical talent she possessed.\n\nEvery one was busy over the fair and the concert; and fingers flew,\ntongues chattered, feet trotted, and hearts beat fast with hope and fear\nas the time drew near, for all were eager to secure a home for the poor\nchildren still waiting in darkness.  It was a charity which appealed to\nall hearts when it was known; but in this busy world of ours, people\nhave so many cares of their own that they are apt to forget the wants of\nothers unless something brings these needs very clearly before their\neyes.  Much money was needed, and many ways had been tried to add to the\ngrowing fund, that all might be well done.\n\n\"We wish to interest children in this charity for children, so that they\nmay gladly give a part of their abundance to these poor little souls who\nhave nothing.  I think Lizzie will sing some of the pennies out of their\npockets, which would otherwise go for bonbons.  Let us try; so make her\nneat and pretty, and we 'll have a special song for her.\"\n\nMr. Constantine said this; and Miss Grace carried out his wish so well\nthat when the time came, the little prima donna did her part better even\nthan they had hoped.\n\nThe sun shone splendidly on the opening day of the fair, and cars and\ncarriages came rolling out from the city, full of friendly people with\nplump purses and the sympathetic interest we all take in such things\nwhen we take time to see, admire, and reproach ourselves that we do so\nlittle for them.\n\nThere were many children; and when they had bought the pretty handiwork\nof the blind needle-women, eaten cake and ices, wondered at the strange\nmaps and books, twirled the big globe in the hall, and tried to\nunderstand how so many blind people could be so busy and so happy, they\nall were seated at last to hear the music, full of expectation, for \"the\npretty little girl was going to sing.\"\n\nIt was a charming concert, and every one enjoyed it, though many eyes\ngrew dim as they wandered from the tall youths blowing the horns so\nsweetly to the small ones chirping away like so many sparrows, for the\nblind faces made the sight pathetic, and such music touched the hearts\nas no other music can.\n\n\"Now she's coming!\" whispered the eager children, as a little girl\nclimbed up the steps and stood before them, waiting to begin.\n\nA slender little creature in a blue gown, with sunshine falling on her\npretty hair, a pleading look in the soft eyes that had no sign of\nblindness but their steadfastness, and a smile on the lips that trembled\nat first, for Lizzie's heart beat fast, and only the thought, \"I 'm\nhelping the poor little ones,\" gave her courage for her task.\n\nBut when the flutes and violins began to play like a whispering wind,\nshe forgot the crowd before her, and lifting up her face, sang in clear\nsweet tones.\n\n    THE BLIND LARK'S SONG.\n\n    We are sitting in the shadow\n      Of a long and lonely night,\n    Waiting till some gentle angel\n      Comes to lead us to the light;\n    For we know there is a magic\n      That can give eyes to the blind.\n    Oh, well-filled hands, be generous!\n      Oh, pitying hearts, be kind!\n\n    Help stumbling feet that wander\n      To find the upward way;\n    Teach hands that now lie idle\n      The joys of work and play.\n    Let pity, love, and patience\n      Our tender teachers be,\n    That though the eyes be blinded,\n      The little souls may see.\n\n    Your world is large and beautiful,\n      Our prison dim and small;\n    We stand and wait, imploring,\n      \"Is there not room for all?\n    Give us our children's garden,\n      Where we may safely bloom,\n    Forgetting in God's sunshine\n      Our lot of grief and gloom.\"\n\n    A little voice comes singing;\n      Oh, listen to its song!\n    A little child is pleading\n      For those who suffer wrong.\n    Grant them the patient magic\n      That gives eyes to the blind!\n    Oh, well-filled hands, be generous!\n      Oh, pitying hearts, be kind!\n\n\nIt was a very simple little song, but it proved wonderfully effective,\nfor Lizzie was so carried away by her own feeling that as she sang the\nlast lines she stretched out her hands imploringly, and two great tears\nrolled down her cheeks.  For a minute many hands were too busy fumbling\nfor handkerchiefs to clap, but the children were quick to answer that\ngesture and those tears; and one impetuous little lad tossed a small\npurse containing his last ten cents at Lizzie's feet, the first\ncontribution won by her innocent appeal.  Then there was great applause,\nand many of the flowers just bought were thrown to the little lark, who\nwas obliged to come back and sing again and again, smiling brightly as\nshe dropped pretty courtesies, and sang song after song with all the\nadded sweetness of a grateful heart.\n\nHidden behind the organ, Miss Grace and Mr. Constantine shook hands\njoyfully, for this was the sort of interest they wanted, and they knew\nthat while the children clapped and threw flowers, the wet-eyed mothers\nwere thinking self-reproachfully, \"I must help this lovely charity,\" and\nthe stout old gentlemen who pounded with their canes were resolving to\ngo home and write some generous checks, which would be money invested in\nGod's savings-bank.\n\nIt was a very happy time for all, and made strangers friends in the\nsweet way which teaches heart to speak to heart.  When the concert was\nover, Lizzie felt many hands press hers and leave something there, many\nchildish lips kiss her own, with promises to \"help about the\nKindergarten,\" and her ears were full of kind voices thanking and\npraising her for doing her part so well.  Still later, when all were\ngone, she proudly put the rolls of bills into Mr. Constantine's hand,\nand throwing her arms about Miss Grace's neck, said, trembling with\nearnestness, \"I 'm not a burden any more, and I can truly help!  How can\nI ever thank you both for making me so happy?\"\n\nOne can fancy what their answer was and how Lizzie helped; for long\nafter the Kindergarten was filled with pale little flowers blooming\nslowly as she had done, the Blind Lark went on singing pennies out of\npockets, and sweetly reminding people not to forget this noble charity.\n\n\n\n[Illustration: Chapter IV tailpiece]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: Tino runs away from home.--PAGE 105.]\n\n\n\n                                   V.\n\n                          MUSIC AND MACARONI.\n\n\nAmong the pretty villages that lie along the wonderful Cornice road\nwhich runs from Nice to Genoa, none was more beautiful than Valrose.  It\ndeserved its name, for it was indeed a \"valley of roses.\"  The little\ntown with its old church nestled among the olive and orange trees that\nclothed the hillside, sloping up to purple mountains towering behind.\nLower down stretched the vineyards; and the valley was a bed of flowers\nall the year round.  There were acres of violets, verbenas, mignonette,\nand every sweet-scented blossom that grows, while hedges of roses, and\nalleys of lemon-trees with their white stars made the air heavy with\nperfume. Across the plain, one saw the blue sea rolling to meet the\nbluer sky, sending fresh airs and soft rains to keep Valrose green and\nbeautiful even through the summer heat.  Only one ugly thing marred the\nlovely landscape, and that was the factory, with its tall chimneys, its\nred walls, and ceaseless bustle.  But old ilex-trees tried to conceal\nits ugliness; the smoke curled gracefully from its chimney-tops; and the\nbrown men talked in their musical language as they ran about the busy\ncourtyard, or did strange things below in the still-room.  Handsome\nblack-eyed girls sang at the open windows at their pretty work, and\ndelicious odors filled the place; for here the flowers that bloomed\noutside were changed to all kinds of delicate perfumes to scent the hair\nof great ladies and the handkerchiefs of dainty gentlemen all the world\nover.\n\nThe poor roses, violets, mignonette, orange-flowers, and their sisters,\nwere brought here in great baskets to yield up their sweet souls in hot\nrooms where, fires burned and great vats boiled; then they were sent up\nto be imprisoned in pretty flasks of all imaginable shapes and colors by\nthe girls, who put gilded labels on them, packed them in delicate boxes,\nand sent them away to comfort the sick, please the rich, and put money\nin the pockets of the merchants.\n\nMany children were employed in the light work of weeding beds, gathering\nflowers, and running errands; among these none were busier, happier, or\nmore beloved than Florentino and his sister Stella.  They were orphans,\nbut they lived with old Mariuccia in her little stone house near the\nchurch, contented with the small wages they earned, though their clothes\nwere poor, their food salad, macaroni, rye bread, and thin wine, with\nnow and then a taste of meat when Stella's lover or some richer friend\ngave them a treat on gala days.\n\nThey worked hard, and had their dreams of what they would do when they\nhad saved up a little store; Stella would marry her Beppo and settle in\na home of her own; but Tino was more ambitious, for he possessed a sweet\nboyish voice and sang so well in the choir, at the merrymakings, and\nabout his work, that he was called the \"little nightingale,\" and much\npraised and petted, not only by his mates, but by the good priest who\ntaught him music, and the travellers who often came to the factory and\nwere not allowed to go till Tino had sung to them.\n\nAll this made the lad vain; and he hoped one day to go away as Baptista\nhad gone, who now sang in a fine church at Genoa and sent home gold\nnapoleons to his old parents.  How this was to come about Tino had not\nthe least idea, but he cheered his work with all manner of wild plans,\nand sang his best at Mass, hoping some stranger would hear, and take him\naway as Signor Pulci had taken big Tista, whose voice was not half so\nwonderful as his own, all had said.  No one came, however, and Tino at\nthirteen was still at work in the valley,--a happy little lad, singing\nall day long as he carried his fragrant loads to and fro, ate his dinner\nof bread and beans fried in oil, with a crust, under the ilex-trees, and\nslept like a dormouse at night on his clean straw in the loft at\nMariuccia's, with the moon for his candle and the summer warmth for his\ncoverlet.\n\nOne day in September, as he stood winnowing mignonette seed in a quiet\ncorner of the vast garden, he was thinking deeply over his hopes and\nplans, and practising the last chant Father Angelo had taught him, while\nhe shook and held the sieve high, to let the wind blow away the dead\nhusks, leaving the brown seeds behind.\n\nSuddenly, as he ended his lesson with a clear high note that seemed to\nrise and die softly away like the voice of an angel in the air, the\nsound of applause startled him; and turning, he saw a gentleman sitting\non the rude bench behind him,--a well-dressed, handsome, smiling\ngentleman, who clapped his white hands and nodded and said gayly,\n\"Bravo, my boy, that was well done!  You have a wonderful voice; sing\nagain.\"\n\nBut Tino was too abashed for the moment, and could only stand and stare\nat the stranger, a pretty picture of boyish confusion, pleasure, and\nshyness.\n\n\"Come, tell me all about it, my friend.  Who taught you so well?  Why\nare you here, and not where you should be, learning to use this fine\npipe of yours, and make fame and money by it?\" said the gentleman, still\nsmiling as he leaned easily in his seat and swung his gloves.\n\nTino's heart began to beat fast as he thought, \"Perhaps my chance has\ncome at last!  I must make the most of it.\"  So taking courage, he told\nhis little story; and when he ended, the stranger gave a nod, saying,--\n\n\"Yes, you are the 'little nightingale' they spoke of up at the inn.  I\ncame to find you. Now sing me something gay, some of your folk-songs.\nThat sort will suit you best.\"\n\nAnxious to make the most of his chance, Tino took courage and sang away\nas easily as a bird on a bough, pouring out one after another the\nbarcaroles, serenades, ballads, and drinking-songs he had learned from\nthe people about him.\n\nThe gentleman listened, laughed, and applauded as if well pleased, and\nwhen Tino stopped to take breath, he gave another nod more decided than\nthe first, and said with his engaging smile,--\n\n\"You are indeed a wonder, and quite wasted here.  If _I_ had you I\nshould make a man of you, and put money in your pocket as fast as you\nopened your mouth.\"\n\nTino's eyes sparkled at the word \"money,\" for sweet as was the praise,\nthe idea of having full pockets bewitched him, and he asked eagerly,\n\"How, signor?\"\n\n\"Well,\" answered the gentleman, idly tapping his nose with a rose-bud\nwhich he had pulled as he came along, \"I should take you to my hotel at\nNice; wash, brush, and trim you up a little; put you into a velvet suit\nwith a lace collar, silk stockings, and buckled shoes; teach you music,\nfeed you well, and when I thought you fit carry you with me to the\n_salons_ of the great people, where I give concerts.  There you would\nsing these gay songs of yours, and be petted, praised, and pelted with\nbonbons, francs, and kisses perhaps,--for you are a pretty lad and these\nfine ladies and idle gentlemen are always ready to welcome a new\nfavorite.  Would you fancy that sort of life better than this? You can\nhave it if you like.\"\n\nTino's black eyes shone; the color deepened in his brown cheeks; and he\nshowed all his white teeth as he laughed and exclaimed with a gesture of\ndelight,--\n\n\"Mio Dio! but I _would_, signor!  I 'm tired of this work; I long to\nsing, to see the world, to be my own master, and let Stella and the old\nwoman know that I am big enough to have my own way.  Do you really mean\nit?  When can I go?  I'm ready now, only I had better run and put on my\nholiday suit and get my guitar.\"\n\n\"Good! there 's a lad of spirit.  I like that well.  A guitar too?\nBravo, my little troubadour, we shall make a sensation in the\ndrawing-rooms, and fill our pockets shortly.  But there is no haste, and\nit would be well to ask these friends of yours, or there might be\ntrouble.  I don't _steal_ nightingales, I buy them; and I will give the\nold woman, whoever she may be, more than you would earn in a month.\nSee, I too am a singer, and this I made at Genoa in a week.\"  As he\nspoke, Signor Mario pulled a well-filled purse from one pocket, a\nhandful of gold and silver coin from the other, and chinked them before\nthe boy's admiring eyes.\n\n\"Let us go!\" cried Tino, flinging down the sieve as if done with work\nforever.  \"Stella is at home to-day; come at once to Mariuccia,--it is\nnot far; and when they hear these fine plans, they will be glad to let\nme go, I am sure.\"\n\nAway he went across the field of flowers, through the courtyard, up the\nsteep street, straight into the kitchen where his pretty sister sat\neating artichokes and bread while the old woman twirled her distaff in\nthe sun.  Both were used to strangers, for the cottage was a picturesque\nplace, half hidden like a bird's nest in vines and fig-trees, with a gay\nlittle plot of flowers before it; travellers often came to taste\nMariuccia's honey, for her bees fared well, and their combs were running\nover with the sweetness of violets and roses, put up in dainty little\nwaxen boxes made by better workmen than any found at the factory.\n\nThe two women listened respectfully while Signor Mario told his plan in\nhis delightfully gracious way; and Stella was much impressed by the\nsplendor of the prospect before her brother.  But the wise old woman\nshook her head, and declared decidedly that the boy was too young to\nleave home yet.  Father Angelo was teaching him well; he was safe and\nhappy where he was; and there he should remain, for she had sworn by all\nthe saints to his dying mother that she would guard him as the apple of\nher eye till he was old enough to take care of himself.\n\nIn vain Mario shook his purse before her eyes, Stella pleaded, and Tino\nstormed; the faithful old soul would not give up, much as she needed\nmoney, loved Stella, and hated to cross the boy who was in truth \"the\napple of her eye\" and the darling of her heart.  There was a lively\nscene in the little room, for every one talked at once, gesticulated\nwildly, and grew much excited in the discussion; but nothing came of it,\nand Signor Mario departed wrathfully, leaving Mariuccia looking as stern\nas fate with her distaff, Stella in tears, and Tino in such a rage he\ncould only dash up to the loft and throw himself on his rude bed, there\nto kick and sob and tear his hair, and wish there might be ten thousand\nearthquakes to swallow that cruel old woman up in the twinkling of an\neye.\n\nStella came to beg him to be comforted and eat his supper, but he drew\nthe wooden bolt and would not let her in, saying sternly,--\n\n\"I _never_ will come down till Mariuccia says I may go; I will starve\nfirst.  I am not a child to be so treated.  Go away, and let me alone; I\nhate you both!\"\n\nPoor Stella retired, heart-broken, and when all her entreaties failed to\nchange their guardian's decision, she went to consult Father Angelo.  He\nagreed with the old woman that it was best to keep the boy safe at home,\nas they knew nothing of the strange gentleman nor what might befall Tino\nif he left the shelter of his own humble home and friends.\n\nMuch disappointed, Stella went to pray devoutly in the church, and then,\nmeeting her Beppo, soon forgot all about the poor little lad who had\nsobbed himself to sleep upon his straw.\n\nThe house was quiet when he awoke; no lights shone from any neighbor's\nwindows; and all was still except the nightingales singing in the\nvalley.  The moon was up; and her friendly face looked in at the little\nwindow so brightly that the boy felt comforted, and lay staring at the\nsoft light while his mind worked busily. Some evil spirit, some naughty\nPuck bent on mischief must have been abroad that night, for into Tino's\nhead there suddenly popped a splendid idea; at least _he_ thought it so,\nand in his rebellious state found it all the more tempting because\ndanger and disobedience and defiance all had a part in it.\n\nWhy not run away?  Signor Mario was not to leave till next morning.\nTino could easily slip out early and join the kind gentleman beyond the\ntown.  This would show the women that he, Tino, had a will of his own\nand was not to be treated like a child any more.  It would give them a\ngood fright, make a fine stir in the place, and add to his glory when he\nreturned with plenty of money to display himself in the velvet suit and\nsilk stockings,--a famous fellow who knew what he was about and did not\nmean to be insulted, or tied to an old woman's apron-string forever.\n\nThe longer he thought the more delightful the idea became, and he\nresolved to carry it out, for the fine tales he had heard made him more\ndiscontented than ever with his present simple, care-free life.  Up he\ngot, and by the light of the moon took from the old chest his best suit.\nMoving very softly, he put on the breeches and jacket of rough blue\ncloth, the coarse linen shirt, the red sash, and the sandals of russet\nleather that laced about his legs to the knee. A few clothes, with his\nrosary, he tied up in a handkerchief, and laid the little bundle ready\nwith his Sunday hat, a broad-brimmed, pointed-crowned affair with a red\nband and cock's feather to adorn it.\n\nThen he sat at the window waiting for dawn to come, fearing to sleep\nlest he be too late. It seemed an almost endless night, the first he had\never spent awake, but red streaks came in the east at last, and he stole\nto the door, meaning to creep noiselessly downstairs, take a good hunch\nof bread and a gourd full of wine and slip off while the women slept.\n\nTo his dismay he found the door barred on the outside.  His courage had\nebbed a little as the time for action came; but at this new insult he\ngot angry again, and every dutiful impulse flew away in a minute.\n\n\"Ah, they think to keep me, do they? Behold, then, how I cheat the silly\nthings! They have never seen me climb down the fig-tree, and thought me\nsafe.  Now I will vanish, and leave them to tear their hair and weep for\nme in vain.\"\n\nFlinging out his bundle, and carefully lowering his old guitar, Tino\nleaned from the little window, caught the nearest branch of the tree\nthat bent toward the wall, and swung himself down as nimbly as a\nsquirrel.  Pausing only to pick several bunches of ripe grapes from the\nvine about the door, he went softly through the garden and ran away\nalong the road toward Nice as fast as his legs could carry him.\n\nNot till he reached the top of the long hill a mile away, did he slacken\nhis lively pace; then climbing a bank, he lay down to rest under some\nolive-trees, and ate his grapes as he watched the sun rise.  Travellers\nalways left the Falcone Inn early to enjoy the morning freshness, so\nTino knew that Signor Mario would soon appear; and when the horses\npaused to rest on the hill-top, the \"little nightingale\" would present\nhimself as unexpectedly as if he had fallen from heaven.\n\nBut Signor Mario was a lazy man; and Tino had time to work himself into\na fever of expectation, doubt, and fear before the roll of wheels\ngreeted his longing ears.  Yes, it was the delightful stranger!--reading\npapers and smoking as he rode, quite blind to the beauty all around him,\nblind also to the sudden appearance of a picturesque little figure by\nthe roadside, as the carriage stopped.  Even when he looked, he did not\nrecognize shabby Tino in the well-dressed beggar, as he thought him, who\nstood bare-headed and smiling, with hat in one hand, bundle in the\nother, and guitar slung on his back.  He waved his hand as if to say, \"I\nhave nothing for you,\" and was about to bid the man drive on, but Tino\ncried out boldly,--\n\n\"Behold me, signor!  I am Tino, the singing boy of Valrose.  I have run\naway to join you if you will have me.  Ah, please do!  I wish so much to\ngo with you.\"\n\n\"Bravo!\" cried Mario, well pleased.  \"That is a lad of spirit; and I am\nglad to have you. I don't steal nightingales, as I told you down yonder;\nbut if they get out of their cages and perch on my finger, I keep them.\nIn with you, boy! there is no time to lose.\"\n\nIn scrambled happy Tino, and settling himself and his property on the\nseat opposite, amused his new master with a lively account of his\nescape.  Mario laughed and praised him; Luigi, the servant, grinned as\nhe listened from the coach-box; and the driver resolved to tell the tale\nat the Falcone, when he stopped there on his return to Genoa, so the\nlad's friends might know what had become of him.\n\nAfter a little chat Signor Mario returned to his newspapers, and Tino,\ntired with his long vigil and brisk run, curled himself up on the seat,\npillowed his head on his bundle and fell fast asleep, rocked by the\nmotion of the carriage as it rolled along the smooth road.\n\nWhen he waked, the sun was high, the carriage stood before a wayside\ninn, the man and horses were gone to their dinners, and the signor lay\nunder some mulberry-trees in the garden while Luigi set forth upon the\ngrass the contents of a well-filled hamper which they had brought with\nthem, his master being one who looked well after his own comfort.  The\nsight of food drew Tino toward it as straight as a honey-jar draws\nflies, and he presented himself with his most engaging air.  Being in a\ngood humor, the new master bade the hungry lad sit down and eat, which\nhe did so heartily that larded fowl, melon, wine, and bread vanished as\nif by magic. Never had food tasted so good to Tino; and rejoicing with\ntrue boyish delight in the prospect of plenty to eat, he went off to\nplay Morso with the driver, while the horses rested and Mario took a\nsiesta on the grass.\n\nWhen they set forth again, Tino received his first music lesson from the\nnew teacher, who was well pleased to find how quickly the boy caught the\nair of a Venetian boat-song, and how sweetly he sang it.  Then Tino\nstrummed on his guitar and amused his hearers with all the melodies he\nknew, from church chants to drinking-songs.  Mario taught him how to\nhandle his instrument gracefully, speak a few polite phrases, and sit\nproperly instead of sprawling awkwardly or lounging idly.\n\nSo the afternoon wore away; and at dusk they reached Nice.  To Tino it\nlooked like an enchanted city as they drove down to it from the soft\ngloom and stillness of the country.  The sea broke gently on the curving\nshore, sparkling with the lights of the Promenade des Anglais which\noverlooks it.  A half circle of brilliant hotels came next; behind these\nthe glimmer of villas scattered along the hillside shone like fireflies\namong gardens and orange groves; and higher still the stars burned in a\nviolet sky. Soon the moon would be up, to hang like a great lamp from\nthat splendid dome, turning sea and shore to a magic world by her light.\nTino clapped his hands and looked about him with all the pleasure of his\nbeauty-loving race as they rattled through the gay streets and stopped\nat one of the fine hotels.\n\nHere Mario put on his grand air, and was shown to the apartment he had\nordered from Genoa.  Tino meekly followed; and Luigi brought up the rear\nwith the luggage.  Tino felt as if he had got into a fairy tale when he\nfound himself in a fine parlor where he could only sit and stare about\nhim, while his master refreshed in the chamber beyond, and the man\nordered dinner.  A large closet was given the boy to sleep in, with a\nmattress and blanket, a basin and pitcher, and a few pegs to hang his\nclothes on.  But it seemed very nice after the loft; and when he had\nwashed his face, shaken the dust off, and smoothed his curly head as\nwell as he could, he returned to the parlor to gloat over such a dinner\nas he had never eaten before.\n\nMario was in a good humor and anxious to keep the lad so, therefore he\nplied him with good things to eat, fine promises, and the praise in\nwhich that vain little soul delighted.  Tino went to bed early, feeling\nthat his fortune was made, and his master went off to amuse himself at a\ngaming-table, for that was his favorite pastime.\n\nNext day the new life began.  After a late breakfast, a music lesson was\ngiven which both interested and dismayed Tino, for his master was far\nless patient than good old Father Angelo, and swore at him when he\nfailed to catch a new air as quickly as he expected.  Both were tired\nand rather cross when it ended, but Tino soon forgot the tweaking of his\near and the scolding, when he was sent away with Luigi to buy the velvet\nsuit and sundry necessary articles for the young troubadour.\n\nIt was a lovely day; and the gay city was all alive with the picturesque\nbustle which always fills it when the season begins.  Red-capped\nfishermen were launching their boats from the beach, flower-girls\nhastening from the gardens with their fragrant loads to sell on the\nPromenade, where invalids sunned themselves, nurses led their rosy\ntroops to play, fine ladies strolled, and men of all nations paced to\nand fro at certain hours.  In the older part of the city, work of all\nsorts went on,--coral-carvers filled their windows with pretty\nornaments; pastry-cooks tempted with dainty dishes; milliners showed\nhats fresh from Paris; and Turkish merchants hung out rich rugs and\ncarpets at their doors. Church-bells chimed; priests with incense and\nbanners went through the streets on holy errands; the Pifferoni piped\ngayly; orange-women and chestnut-sellers called their wares in musical\nvoices; even the little scullions who go about scouring saucepans at\nback doors made a song of their cry, \"Casserola!\"\n\nTino had a charming time, and could hardly believe his senses when one\nfine thing after another was bought for him and ordered home. Not only\nthe suit, but two ruffled shirts, a crimson tie for the lace collar, a\nbroad new ribbon for the guitar, handkerchiefs, hose, and delicate\nshoes, as if he was a gentleman's son.  When Luigi added a little mantle\nand a hat such as other well-dressed lads of his age wore, Tino\nexclaimed, \"This also!  Dio mio, never have I known so kind a man as\nSignor Mario.  I shall serve him well and love him even better than you\ndo.\"\n\nLuigi shrugged his shoulders and answered with a disagreeable laugh,\n\"Long may you think so, poverino; I serve for money, not love, and look\nto it that I get my wages, else it would go ill with both of us.  Keep\nall you can get, boy; our master is apt to forget his servants.\"\n\nTino did not like the look, half scornful, half pitiful, which Luigi\ngave him, and wondered why he did not love the good signor.  Later he\nfound out; but all was pleasant now, and lunch at a cafe completed the\ndelights of that long morning.\n\nThe rooms were empty when they returned; and bidding him keep out of\nmischief, Luigi left Tino alone for several hours.  But he found plenty\nof amusement in examining all the wonders the apartment contained,\nreceiving the precious parcels as they arrived, practising his new bow\nbefore the long mirror, and eating the nuts that he had bought of a\njolly old woman at a street corner.\n\nThen he went to lounge on the balcony that ran along the front of the\nhotel, and watched the lively scene below, till sunset sent the\npromenaders home to dress for dinner.  Feeling a sudden pang of\nhomesickness as he thought of Stella, Tino got his guitar and sang the\nold songs to comfort his loneliness.\n\nThe first was hardly ended before one after the other five little heads\npopped out of a window farther down the balcony; and presently a group\nof pretty children were listening and smiling as the nice boy played and\nsang to them.  A gentleman looked out; and a lady evidently listened,\nfor the end of a lace flounce lay on the threshold of the long window,\nand a pair of white hands clapped when he finished a gay air in his best\nstyle.\n\nThis was his first taste of applause, and he liked it, and twanged away\nmerrily till his master's voice called him in just as he was beginning\nto answer the questions the eager children asked him.\n\n\"Go and dress!  I shall take you down to dinner with me presently.  But\nmind this, _I_ will answer questions; do _you_ keep quiet, and leave me\nto tell what I think best.  Remember, or I pack you home at once.\"\n\nTino promised, and was soon absorbed in getting into his new clothes;\nLuigi came to help him, and when he was finished off, a very handsome\nlad emerged from the closet to make his best bow to his master, who,\nalso in fine array, surveyed him with entire approval.\n\n\"Very good!  I thought you would make a passable butterfly when you shed\nyour grub's skin.  Stand up and keep your hands out of your pockets.\nMind what I told you about supping soup noisily, and don't handle your\nfork like a shovel.  See what others do, smile, and hold your tongue.\nThere is the gong. Let us go.\"\n\nTino's heart beat as he followed Mario down the long hall to the great\n_salle a manger_ with its glittering _table d'hote_ and many guests.\nBut the consciousness of new clothes sustained him, so he held up his\nhead, turned out his toes, and took his place, trying to look as if\neverything was not very new and dazzling to him.\n\nTwo elderly ladies sat opposite, and he heard one say to the other in\nbad Italian, \"Behold the lovely boy, Maria; I should like to paint him.\"\n\nAnd the other answered, \"We will be amiable to him, and perhaps we may\nget him for a model.  Just what I want for a little Saint John.\"\n\nTino smiled at them till his black eyes sparkled and his white teeth\nshone, for he understood and enjoyed their praise.  The artistic ladies\nsmiled back, and watched him with interest long after he had forgotten\nthem, for that dinner was a serious affair to the boy, with a heavy\nsilver spoon and fork to manage, a napkin to unfold, and three glasses\nto steer clear of for fear of a general upset, so awkward did he feel.\n\nEvery one else was too busy to mind his mistakes; and the ladies set\nthem down to bashfulness, as he got red in the face, and dared not look\nup after spilling his soup and dropping a roll.\n\nPresently, while waiting for dessert, he forgot himself in something\nMario was saying to his neighbor on the other side:--\n\n\"A poor little fellow whom I found starving in the streets at Genoa.  He\nhas a voice; I have a heart, and I adore music.  I took him to myself,\nand shall do my best for him.  Ah, yes!  in this selfish world one must\nnot forget the helpless and the poor.\"\n\nTino stared, wondering what other boy the good signor had befriended,\nand was still more bewildered when Mario turned to him with a paternal\nair, to add in that pious tone so new to the boy,--\n\n\"This is my little friend, and he will gladly come and sing to your\nyoung ladies after dinner. Many thanks for the honor; I shall bring him\nout at my parlor concerts, and so fit him for his place by and by.  Bow\nand smile, quick!\"\n\nThe last words were in a sharp whisper; and Tino obeyed with a sudden\nbob of the head that sent his curls over his eyes, and then laughed such\na boyish laugh as he shook them back that the gentleman leaning forward\nto look at him joined in it, and the ladies smiled sympathetically as\nthey pushed a dish of bonbons nearer to him.  Mario gave him an\nindulgent look, and went on in the same benevolent tone telling all he\nmeant to do, till the kindly gentleman from Rome was much interested,\nhaving lads of his own and being fond of music.\n\nTino listened to the fine tales told of him and hoped no one would ask\nhim about Genoa, for he would surely betray that he had never been there\nand could not lie as glibly as Mario did. He felt rather like the little\nold woman who did not know whether she was herself or not, but consoled\nhimself by smiling at the ladies and eating a whole plateful of little\ncakes standing near him.\n\nWhen they rose, Tino made his bow, and Mario walked down the long hall\nwith his hand on the boy's shoulder and a friendly air very impressive\nto the spectators, who began at once to gossip about the pretty lad and\nhis kind protector, just as the cunning gentleman planned to have them.\n\nAs soon as they were out of sight, Mario's manner changed; and telling\nTino to sit down and digest his dinner or he would n't be able to sing a\nnote, he went to the balcony to smoke till the servant came to conduct\nthem to Conte Alborghetti's salon.\n\n\"Now mind, boy; do exactly as I tell you, or I 'll drop you like a hot\nchestnut and leave you to get home as you can,\" said Mario, in a sharp\nwhisper, as they paused on the threshold of the door.\n\n\"I will, signor, indeed I will!\" murmured Tino, scared by the flash of\nhis master's black eye and the grip of his hand, as he pulled the\nbashful boy forward.\n\nIn they went, and for a moment Tino only perceived a large light room\nfull of people, who all looked at him as he stood beside Mario with his\nguitar slung over his shoulder, red cheeks, and such a flutter at his\nheart that he felt sure he could never sing there.  The amiable host\ncame to meet and present them to a group of ladies, while a flock of\nchildren drew near to look at and listen to the \"nice singing boy from\nGenoa.\"\n\nMario, having paid his thanks and compliments in his best manner, opened\nthe little concert by a grand piece upon the piano, proving that he was\na fine musician, though Tino already began to fancy he was not quite so\ngood a man as he wished to appear.  Then he sang several airs from\noperas; and Tino forgot himself in listening delightedly to the mellow\nvoice of his master, for the lad loved music and had never heard any\nlike this before.\n\nWhen Tino's turn came, he had lost his first shyness, and though his\nlips were dry and breath short, and he gave the guitar an awkward bang\nagainst the piano as he pulled it round ready to play upon, the\ncuriosity in the faces of the children and the kindly interest of the\nladies gave him courage to start bravely off with \"Bella Monica,\"--the\neasiest as well as gayest of his songs.  It went well; and with each\nverse his voice grew clearer, his hand firmer, and his eyes fuller of\nboyish pleasure in his own power to please.\n\nFor please he did, and when he ended with a loud twang and kissed his\nhand to the audience as he always used to do to the girls at home, every\none clapped heartily, and the gentlemen cried, \"Bravo, piccolo!  He\nsings in truth like a little nightingale; encore, encore!\"\n\nThese were sweet sounds to Tino; and he needed no urging to sing \"Lucia\"\nin his softest tones, \"looking like one of Murillo's angels!\" as a young\nlady said, while he sang away with his eyes piously lifted in the manner\nMario had taught him.\n\nThen followed a grand march from the master while the boy rested; after\nwhich Tino gave more folk-songs, and ended with a national air in which\nall joined like patriotic and enthusiastic Italians, shouting the\nmusical chorus, \"Viva Italia!\" till the room rang.\n\nTino quite lost his head at that, and began to prance as if the music\nhad got into his heels. Before Mario could stop him, he was showing one\nof the little girls how to dance the Salterello as the peasants dance it\nduring Carnival; and all the children were capering gayly about the wide\npolished floor with Tino strumming and skipping like a young fawn from\nthe woods.\n\nThe elder people laughed and enjoyed the pretty sight till trays of ices\nand bonbons came in; and the little party ended in a general enjoyment\nof the good things children most delight in.  Tino heard his master\nreceiving the compliments of the company, and saw the host slip a paper\ninto his hand; but, boylike, he contented himself with a pocket full of\nsweetmeats, and the entreaties of his little patrons to come again soon,\nand so backed out of the room, after bowing till he was dizzy, and\nbumping against a marble table in a very painful manner.\n\n\"Well, how do you like the life I promised you?  Is it all I said?  Do\nwe begin to fill our pockets, and enjoy ourselves even sooner than I\nexpected?\" asked Mario, with a good-natured slap of the shoulder, as\nthey reached his apartment again.\n\n\"It is splendid!  I like it much, very much! and I thank you with all my\nheart,\" cried Tino, gratefully kissing the hand that could tweak\nsharply, as well as caress when things suited its owner.\n\n\"You did well, even better than I hoped; but in some things we must\nimprove.  Those legs must be taught to keep still; and you must not\nforget that you are a peasant when among your betters.  It passed very\nwell to-night with those little persons, but in some places it would\nhave put me in a fine scrape.  Capers! but I feared at one moment you\nwould have embraced the young contessa, when she danced with you.\"\n\nMario laughed as poor Tino blushed and stammered, \"But, signor, she was\nso little, only ten years old, and I thought no harm to hold her up on\nthat slippery floor.  See, she gave me all these, and bade me come\nagain.  I would gladly have kissed her, she was so like little Annina at\nhome.\"\n\n\"Well, well, no harm is done; but I see the pretty brown girls down\nyonder have spoiled you, and I shall have to keep an eye on my gallant\nyoung troubadour.  Now to bed, and don't make yourself ill with all\nthose confections.  Felice notte, Don Giovanni!\" and away went Mario to\nlose at play every franc of the money the generous count had given him\n\"for the poor lad.\"\n\nThat was the beginning of a new and charming life for Tino, and for two\nmonths he was a busy and a happy boy, with only a homesick fit now and\nthen when Mario was out of temper, or Luigi put more than his fair share\nof work upon his shoulders.  The parlor concerts went well, and the\nlittle nightingale was soon a favorite toy in many salons.  Night after\nnight Tino sang and played, was petted and praised, and then trotted\nhome to dream feverishly of new delights; for this exciting life was\nfast spoiling the simple lad who used to be so merry and busy at\nValrose.  The more he had, the more he wanted, and soon grew\ndiscontented, jealous, and peevish.  He had cause to complain of some\nthings; for none of the money earned ever came to him, and when he\nplucked up courage to ask for his promised share, Mario told him he only\nearned his food and clothes as yet.  Then Tino rebelled, and got a\nbeating, which made him outwardly as meek as a lamb, but inwardly a very\nresentful, unhappy boy, and spoiled all his pleasure in music and\nsuccess.\n\nHe was neglected all day and left to do what he liked till needed at\nnight, so he amused himself by lounging about the hotel or wandering on\nthe beach to watch the fishermen cast their nets.  Lazy Luigi kept him\ndoing errands when he could; but for hours the boy saw neither master\nnor man, and wondered where they were. At last he found out, and his\ndream of fame and fortune ended in smoke.\n\nChristmas week was a gay one for everybody, and Tino thought good times\nhad come again; for he sang at several childrens' fetes, received some\npretty gifts from the kind Alborghettis, and even Mario was amiable\nenough to give him a golden napoleon after a run of good luck at the\ncards.  Eager to show his people that he was getting on, Tino begged\nAntoine, the friendly waiter who had already written one letter to\nStella for him, to write another, and send by a friend going that way a\nlittle parcel containing the money for Mariuccia, a fine Roman sash for\nStella, and many affectionate messages to all his old friends.\n\nIt was well he had that little satisfaction, for it was his last chance\nto send good news or exult over his grand success.  Troubles came with\nthe new year; and in one week our poor little jay found himself stripped\nof all his borrowed plumes, and left a very forlorn bird indeed.\n\nTrotting about late at night in silk stockings, and getting wet more\nthan once in the winter rains, gave Tino a bad cold.  No one cared for\nit; and he was soon as hoarse as a crow.  His master forced him to sing\nseveral times in spite of the pain he suffered, and when at the last\nconcert he broke down completely, Mario swore at him for \"a useless\nbrat,\" and began to talk of going to Milan to find a new set of singers\nand patrons.  Had Tino been older, he would have discovered some time\nsooner that Signor Mario was losing favor in Nice, as he seldom paid a\nbill, and led a very gay, extravagant life.  But, boylike, Tino saw only\nhis own small troubles, and suspected nothing when Luigi one day packed\nup the velvet suit and took it away \"to be repaired,\" he said.  It _was_\nshabby, and Tino, lying on the sofa with a headache and sharp cough, was\nglad no one ordered him to go with it, for the Tramontana was blowing,\nand he longed for old Mariuccia's herb tea and Stella's cosseting, being\nquite ill by this time.\n\nThat night as he lay awake in his closet coughing, feverish and\nrestless, he heard his master and Luigi moving about till very late,\nevidently packing for Paris or Milan, and Tino wondered if he would like\neither place better than Nice, and wished they were not so far from\nValrose.  In the midst of his meditations he fell asleep, and when he\nwoke, it was morning.  He hurried up and went out to see what the order\nof the day was to be, rather pleased at the idea of travelling about the\nworld.\n\nTo his surprise no breakfast appeared; the room was in confusion, every\nsign of Mario had vanished but empty bottles and a long hotel bill lying\nunpaid upon the table.  Before Tino could collect his wits, Antoine came\nflying in to say with wild gesticulations and much French wrath that\n\"the rascal Mario had gone in the night, leaving immense debts behind\nhim, and the landlord in an apoplexy of rage.\"\n\nPoor Tino was so dismayed he could only sit and let the storm pelt about\nhis ears; for not only did the waiter appear, but the chambermaid, the\ncoachman, and at last the indignant host himself, all scolding at once\nas they rummaged the rooms, questioned the bewildered boy, and wrung\ntheir hands over the escape of these dishonest wretches.\n\n\"You also, little beast, have grown fat upon my good fare! and who is to\npay me for all you have eaten, not to mention the fine bed, the washing,\nthe candles, and the coaches you have had?  Ah, great heavens! what is\nto become of us when such things occur?\" and the poor landlord tore his\nhair with one hand while he shook his other fist at Tino.\n\n\"Dear sir, take all I have; it is only an old guitar, and a few clothes.\nNot a centime do I own; but I will work for you.  I can clean saucepans\nand run errands.  Speak for me, Antoine; you are my only friend now.\"\n\nThe lad looked so honest and ill and pathetic, as he spoke with his poor\nhoarse voice, and looked beseechingly about him, that Antoine's kind\nheart was melted, and he advised the boy to slip away home as soon as\npossible, and so escape all further violence and trouble.  He slipped\ntwo francs into Tino's empty pocket, and as soon as the room was\ncleared, helped him tie up the few old clothes that remained. The host\ncarried off the guitar as the only thing he could seize, so Tino had\nless to take away than he brought, when Antoine led him out by the back\nway, with a good sandwich of bread and meat for his breakfast, and bade\nhim go to the square and try to beg a ride to Valrose on some of the\ncarriages often going thither on the way to Genoa.\n\nWith many thanks Tino left the great hotel, feeling too miserable to\ncare much what became of him, for all his fine dreams were spoiled like\nthe basket of china the man kicked over in the \"Arabian Nights,\" while\ndreaming he was a king.  How could he go home, sick, poor, and forsaken,\nafter all the grand tales he had lately told in his letter?  How they\nwould laugh at him, the men and girls at the factory!  How Mariuccia\nwould wag her old head and say, \"Ecco! is it not as I foretold?\"  Even\nStella would weep over him and be sorry to see her dear boy in such a\nsad plight, yet what could he do?  His voice was gone and his guitar, or\nhe might sing about the streets, as Mario described his doing at Genoa,\nand so earn his daily bread till something turned up.  Now he was quite\nhelpless, and much against his will, he went to see if any chance of\ngetting home appeared.\n\nThe day was showery, and no party was setting off for the famous drive\nalong the Cornice road.  Tino was glad of it, and went to lie on a bench\nat the cafe where he had often been with Luigi.  His head ached, and his\ncough left him no peace, so he spent some of his money in syrup and\nwater to quell the trouble, and with the rest paid for a good dinner and\nsupper.\n\nHe told his sad tale to the cook, and was allowed to sleep in the\nkitchen after scrubbing saucepans to pay for it.  But no one wanted him;\nand in the morning, after a cup of coffee and a roll he found himself\ncast upon the world again.  He would not beg, and as dinner time\napproached, hunger reminded him of a humble friend whom he had forgotten\nin his own days of plenty.\n\nHe loved to stroll along the beach, and read the names on the boats\ndrawn up there, for all were the names of saints; and it was almost as\ngood as going to church to read the long list of Saint Brunos, Saint\nFrancises, and Saint Ursulas. Among the fishermen was one who had always\na kind word for the lad, who enjoyed a sail or a chat with Marco\nwhenever nothing better turned up to amuse his leisure hours.  Now in\nhis trouble he remembered him, and went to the beach to ask help, for he\nfelt ill as well as sad and hungry.\n\nYes, there sat the good fellow eating the bread and macaroni his little\ndaughter had brought for his dinner, and a smile welcomed poor Tino as\nhe sat down beside this only friend to tell his story.\n\nMarco growled in his black beard and shook his knife with an awful frown\nwhen he heard how the lad had been deserted.  Then he smiled, patted\nTino's back, thrust the copper basin of food into one hand and a big\nlump of the brown-bread into the other, inviting him to eat in such a\ncordial way that the poor meal tasted better than the dainty fare at the\nhotel.\n\nA draught of red wine from the gourd cheered Tino up, as did the good\nand kind words, and when Marco bade him go home with little Manuela to\nthe good wife, he gladly went, feeling that he must lie down somewhere,\nhis head was so giddy and the pain in the breast so sharp.\n\nBuxom Teresa received him kindly, put him straight to bed in her own\nboy's little room, laid a cool cloth on his hot head, a warm one on his\naching chest, and left him to sleep, much comforted by her motherly\ncare.  It was well the good soul befriended him, for he needed help\nsorely, and would have fared ill if those humble folk had not taken him\nin.\n\nFor a week or two he lay in Beppo's bed burning with fever, and when he\ncould sit up again was too feeble to do anything but smile gratefully\nand try to help Manuela mend nets. Marco would hear of no thanks,\nsaying, \"Good deeds bring good luck.  Behold my haul of fish each day\nthou hast been here, poverino! I am well paid, and Saint Peter will\nbless my boat for thy sake.\"\n\nTino was very happy in the little dark, shabby house that smelt of\nonions, fish, and tar, was full of brown children, and the constant\nclack of Teresa's lively tongue as she gossiped with her neighbors, or\nfried polenta for the hungry mouths that never seemed filled.\n\nBut the time came when Tino could go about, and then he begged for work,\nanxious to be independent and earn a little so that in the spring he\ncould go home without empty pockets.\n\n\"I have taken thought for thee, my son, and work warm and easy is ready\nif thou wilt do it. My friend Tommaso Neri, makes the good macaroni near\nby.  He needs a boy to mind the fire and see to the donkey who grinds\nbelow there.  Food, shelter, and such wages as thou art able to earn, he\nwill give thee.  Shall it be?\"\n\nTino gratefully accepted, and with hearty embraces all round went off\none day to see his new place.  It was in the old part of Nice, a narrow,\ndirty street, a little shop with one window full of the cheaper sorts of\nthis favorite food of all Italians, and behind the shop a room where an\nold woman sat spinning while two little boys played with pine cones and\npretty bits of marble at her feet.\n\nA fat jolly man, with a shining face and loud voice, greeted Marco and\nthe lad, saying he \"was worn to a thread with much work, since that bad\nimp of a donkey-boy had run away leaving the blessed macaroni to spoil,\nand poor Carmelita to perish for want of care. Come below at once, and\nbehold the desolation of the place.\"\n\nWith that he led the way to the cellar, where a small furnace-fire\nburned, and an old gray donkey went round and round, turning a wheel\nwhich set some unseen machinery in motion with a dismal creaking sound.\nDown through many holes in one part of the wooden floor overhead came\nlong pipes of macaroni, hardening as they hung quivering in the hot air\ntill stiff enough to be cut off in handfuls and laid to dry on wire\ntrays over the furnace.\n\nTino had never seen the good macaroni made before, and was much\ninterested in the process, though it was of the rudest kind.  In a room\nupstairs a great vat of flour and water was kept stirring round and\nround and forced down to the place below by the creaking wheel which\npatient Carmelita turned all day.  The cellar was dark but warm; and\nTino felt that it would be comfortable there with the old donkey for a\ncomrade, jolly Tommaso for a master, and enough to eat,--for it was\nevident the family lived well, so plump and shining were all the faces,\nso cheery the tempers of the old women and little lads.\n\nThere Marco left him, well satisfied that he had done his best for the\npoor boy; and there Tino lived for three months, busy, well fed, and\ncontented, till spring sunshine made him long for the sweet air, the\ngreen fields, and dear faces at Valrose.  Tommaso was lazy but kind, and\nif the day's work was done in time, let Tino out to see Marco's children\nor to run on the beach with little Jacopo and Seppi.  The grandmother\ngave him plenty of rye bread, thin wine, and macaroni fried in oil; old\nCarmelita learned to love him and to lean her gray head on his shoulder\nwith joyful waggings of her long ears as he caressed her, and each week\nincreased the little hoard in an old shoe hidden behind a beam.\n\nBut it was a dull life for a boy who loved music, flowers, light, and\nfreedom; and he soon grew tired of seeing only a procession of legs go\nby the low windows level with the street; the creak of the wheel was not\nhalf so welcome as the brisk rattle of the mill at home, and the fat\nlittle lads always climbing over him could not be so dear as sister\nStella and pretty Annina, the wine-maker's daughter, at Valrose. Even\nthe kind old woman who often saved an orange for him, and gave him a gay\nred cotton handkerchief on his birthday, was less to his taste than\nMariuccia, who adored him in spite of her scolding and stern ways.\n\nSo he looked about for travellers going to Genoa; and one happy day as\nhe returned from church, he saw, sitting under two red umbrellas before\ntwo easels beside the road, the two elderly ladies of the hotel.  Both\nwore brown hats like mushrooms; both had gray curls bobbing in the wind;\nand both were painting away for dear life, trying to get a good sketch\nof the ruined gateway, where passion-flowers climbed, and roses nodded\nthrough the bars.\n\nTino stopped to look, as many another passer-by had done; and glancing\nup to see if he admired their work, the good ladies recognized their\n\"Saint John,\" as they called the pretty boy who had vanished before they\ncould finish the pictures they had begun of him.\n\nThey were so glad to see him that he opened his heart to them, and found\nto his great joy that in a week they were to drive to Genoa, and would\ngladly take him along if he would sit to them meantime.  Of course he\nagreed, and ran home to tell his master that he must go. Tommaso\nbewailed his loss, but would not keep him; and as Marco's son Beppo was\nwilling to take his place till another lad could be found, Tino was free\nto sit in a sheepskin for the Misses Blair as often as they liked.\n\nIt was a very happy week; and when the long-desired day came at last,\nTino was so gay he danced and sang till the dingy cellar seemed to be\nfull of birds in high spirits.  Poor Carmelita gratefully ate the\ncabbage he gave her as a farewell offering; the old woman found her box\nfull of her favorite snuff; and each small boy grew more shiny than ever\nover a new toy presented by Tino.  Tommaso wept as he held him in his\nfat arms, and gave him a bundle of half-baked macaroni as a reward for\nhis faithful service, while Marco and all his family stood at the hotel\ndoor to see the carriage depart.\n\n\"Really quite like a wedding, with all those orange-flowers and roses,\"\nsaid Miss Priscilla, as Teresa and Manuela threw great bunches of\nflowers into their laps, and kissed their hands to the departing\ntravellers.\n\nSitting proudly aloft, Tino waved his old hat to these good friends till\nhe could see them no more, then having, with some difficulty, bestowed\nhis long bundle from Tommaso, his basket of fish from Marco, his small\nparcel of clothes, and the immense bouquet the children had made for\nhim, he gave himself up to the rapture of that lovely April day.\n\nThe kind ladies had given him a new suit of clothes like the old ones,\nand paid him well besides; so he felt quite content with the picturesque\npeasant garments he wore, having had enough of fine feathers, and gayly\njingled the money in his pocket, though it was not the fortune he had\nfoolishly hoped to make so easily.  He was a wiser boy than the one who\nwent over that road six months before, and decided that even if his\nvoice did come back in time, he would be in no hurry to leave home till\nhe was sure it was the wisest thing to do. He had some very serious\nthoughts and sensible plans in his young head, and for a time was silent\nand sober.  But soon the delicious air, the lovely scenery, and the many\nquestions of the ladies raised his spirits, and he chattered away till\nthey stopped for dinner.\n\nAll that long bright day they drove along the wonderful road, and as\nnight fell, saw Valrose lying green and peaceful in the valley as they\npaused on the hill-top to enjoy its beauty. Then they went slowly down\nto the Falcone, and the moment the luggage was taken in, rooms secured,\nand dinner ordered, Tino, who had been quivering with impatience, said\neagerly,--\n\n\"Dear signoras, now I go to my own people to embrace them; but in the\nmorning we come to thank you for your great kindness to me.\"\n\nMiss Priscilla opened her mouth to send some message; but Tino was off\nlike an arrow, and never stopped till he burst into the little kitchen\nwhere Mariuccia sat shelling dry beans, and Stella was packing\nmandarinas in dainty baskets for market.  Like an affectionate little\nbear did the boy fall upon and embrace the two astonished women; while\nStella laughed and cried, and Mariuccia called on all the saints to\nbehold how tall and fat and beautiful her angel had become, and to thank\nthem for restoring him to their arms.  The neighbors rushed in; and till\nlate that night there was the sound of many voices in the stone cottage\nunder the old fig-tree.\n\nTino's adventures were listened to with the deepest interest, and a very\nhearty welcome given him.  All were impressed with the splendors he had\nseen, afflicted by his trials, and grateful for his return.  No one\nlaughed or reproached, but regarded him as a very remarkable fellow, and\npredicted that whether his voice came back or not, he was born for good\nluck and would prosper.  So at last he got to bed in the old loft, and\nfell asleep with the same friendly moon looking in at him as it did\nbefore, only now it saw a quiet face, a very happy heart, and a\ncontented boy, glad to be safe again under the humble roof that was his\nhome.\n\nEarly next morning a little procession of three went to the Falcone\nbearing grateful offerings to the dear signoras who sat on the portico\nenjoying the balmy air that blew up from the acres of flowers below.\nFirst came Tino, bearing a great basket of the delicious little oranges\nwhich one never tastes in their perfection unless one eats them fresh\nfrom the tree; then Stella with two pretty boxes of perfume; and\nbringing up the rear, old Mariuccia with a blue jar of her best honey,\nwhich like all that of Valrose was famous.\n\nThe ladies were much delighted with these gifts, and promised to stop\nand see the givers of them on their return from Genoa, if they came that\nway.  Tino took a grateful farewell of the good souls; Stella kissed\ntheir hands, with her dark eyes full of tender thanks, and Mariuccia\nbegged the saints to have them in their special keeping by land and by\nsea, for their kindness to her boy.\n\nAn hour later, as the travellers drove down the steep road from the\nvillage, they were startled by a sudden shower of violets and roses\nwhich rained upon them from a high bank beside the path.  Looking up,\nthey saw Tino and his sister laughing, waving their hands, and tossing\nflowers as they called in their musical language,--\n\n\"A rivederla, signoras!  Grazia, grazia!\" till the carriage rolled round\nthe corner looking as if it were Carnival-time, so full was it of\nfragrant violets and lovely roses.\n\n\"Nice creatures! how prettily they do things! I hope we _shall_ see them\nagain; and I wonder if the boy will ever be famous.  Such a pity to lose\nthat sweet voice of his!\" said Miss Maria, the younger of the sisters,\nas they drove along in a nest of sweet and pretty gifts.\n\n\"I hope not, for he will be much safer and happier in this charming\nplace than wandering about the world and getting into trouble as these\nsingers always do.  _I_ hope he will be wise enough to be contented with\nthe place in which his lot is cast,\" answered Miss Priscilla, who knew\nthe world and had a good old-fashioned love for home and all it gives\nus.\n\nShe was right; Tino _was_ wise, and though his voice did come back in\ntime, it was no longer wonderful; and he was contented to live on at\nValrose, a busy, happy, humble gardener all his life, saying with a\nlaugh when asked about his runaway adventures,--\n\n\"Ah, I have had enough of music and macaroni; I prefer my flowers and my\nfreedom.\"\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: \"Fortunately aunty came down in time to see what was\ngoing on, and found Lu busily buttoning the waterproof.\"--PAGE 152.]\n\n\n\n                                  VI.\n\n                         THE LITTLE RED PURSE.\n\n\nAmong the presents which Lu found on her tenth birthday was a pretty red\nplush purse with a steel clasp and chain, just like mamma's, only much\nsmaller.  In it were ten bright new cents, that being the sum Lu\nreceived each week to spend as she liked.  She enjoyed all her gifts\nvery much; but this one seemed to please her even more than the French\ndoll in blue silk, the pearl ring, or \"Alice in Wonderland,\"--three\nthings which she had wanted for a long time.\n\n\"It is _so_ cunning, and the snap makes such a loud noise, and the chain\nis so nice on my arm, and the plush so red and soft, I can't help loving\nmy dear little purse.  I shall spend all the money for candy, and eat it\nevery bit myself, because it is my birthday, and I must celebrate it,\"\nsaid Lu, as she hovered like a bee round a honey-pot about the table\nwhere the gifts were spread.\n\nNow she was in a great hurry to go out shopping, with the new purse\nproudly carried in her small fat hand.  Aunty was soon ready, and away\nthey went across the pleasant Park, where the pretty babies were\nenjoying the last warm days of autumn as they played among the fallen\nleaves.\n\n\"You will be ill if you eat ten cents' worth of candy to-day,\" said\naunty.\n\n\"I 'll sprinkle it along through the day, and eat each kind seppyrut;\nthen they won't intersturb me, I am sure,\" answered Lu, who still used\nfunny words, and always got _interrupt_ and _disturb_ rather mixed.\n\nJust then a poor man who had lost his legs came creeping along with a\ntray of little flower-pots to sell.\n\n\"Only five cents, miss.  Help an unfortnit man, please, mum.\"\n\n\"Let me buy one for my baby-house.  It would be sweet.  Cora Pinky May\nwould love to have that darling little rose in her best parlor,\" cried\nLu, thinking of the fine new doll.\n\nAunty much preferred to help the poor man than to buy candy, so the\nflower-pot was soon bought, though the \"red, red rose\" was unlike any\never seen in a garden.\n\n\"Now I 'll have five cents for my treat, and no danger of being ill,\"\nsaid Lu, as they went on again.\n\nBut in a few moments a new beggar appeared, and Lu's tender heart would\nnot let her pass the old woman without dropping two of her bright cents\nin the tin cup.\n\n\"Do come to the candy-place at once, or I never shall get any,\" begged\nLu, as the red purse grew lighter and lighter every minute.\n\nThree sticks of candy were all she could buy, but she felt that she\ncould celebrate the birthday on that, and was ready to go home and begin\nat once.\n\nAs they went on to get some flowers to dress the cake at tea-time, Lu\nsuddenly stopped short, lifted both hands, and cried out in a tone of\ndespair,--\n\n\"My purse! my purse!  I 've lost it.  Oh, I 've lost it!\"\n\n\"Left it in the store probably.  Come and look for it,\" said aunty; and\nback they turned, just in time to meet a shabby little girl running\nafter them with the precious thing in her hand.\n\n\"Ain't this yours?  I thought you dropped it, and would hate to lose\nit,\" she said, smiling pleasantly.\n\n\"Oh, I should.  It's spandy new, and I love it dearly.  I 've got no\nmore money to pay you, only this candy; do take a stick,\" and Lu\npresented the red barley sugar.\n\nThe little girl took it gladly, and ran off.\n\n\"Well, two sticks will do.  I 'd rather lose every bit of it than my\ndarling purse,\" said Lu, putting it carefully in her pocket.\n\n\"I love to give things away and make people happy,\" began Lu, but\nstopped to watch a dog who came up to her, wagging his tail as if he\nknew what a kind little girl she was, and wanted to be made happy.  She\nput out her hand to pat him, quite forgetting the small parcel in it;\nbut the dog snapped it up before she could save it.\n\n\"Oh, my last stick!  I did n't mean to give it to him.  You naughty dog,\ndrop it this minute!\" cried poor Lu.\n\nBut the beautiful pink cream candy was forever lost, and the ungrateful\nthief ran off, after a vain attempt to eat the flower-pot also.  It was\nso funny that aunty laughed, and Lu joined her, after shaking her finger\nat the dog, who barked and frisked as if he felt that he had done a\nclever thing.\n\n\"Now _I_ am quite satisfied, and you will have a pleasanter birthday for\nhaving made four people and a dog happy, instead of yourself sick with\ntoo many goodies.  Charity is a nice sort of sweetie; and I hope you\nwill buy that kind with your pocket-money now and then, my dear,\" said\naunty, as they walked on again.\n\n\"Could I do much with ten cents a week?\" asked Lu.\n\n\"Yes, indeed; you could buy a little book for lame Sammy, who loves to\nread, or a few flowers for my sick girl at the hospital, or a loaf of\nbread for some hungry person, or milk for a poor baby, or you could save\nup your money till Christmas, and get presents for children who\notherwise would have none.\"\n\n\"Could I do all those things?  I'd like to get presents best, and I\nwill--I will!\" cried Lu, charmed with the idea of playing Santa Claus.\n\"I did n't think ten cents would be so useful.  How long to Christmas,\naunty?\"\n\n\"About ten weeks.  If you save all your pocket-money till then, you will\nhave a dollar to spend.\"\n\n\"A truly dollar!  How fine!  But all that time I should n't have any\ncandy.  I don't think I could get along without _some_.  Perhaps if I\nwas _very_ good some one would give me a bit now and then;\" and Lu\nlooked up with her most engaging smile and a twinkle in her eye.\n\n\"We will see about that.  Perhaps 'some one' will give extra cents for\nwork you may do, and leave you to decide which kind of sweeties you\nwould buy.\"\n\n\"What can I do to earn money?\" asked Lu.\n\n\"Well, you can dry and fold the paper every morning for grandpa.  I will\npay you a cent for that, because nurse is apt to forget it, and he likes\nto have it nicely ready for him after breakfast.  Then you might run up\nand down for mamma, and hem some towels for me, and take care of Jip and\nthe parrot.  You will earn a good deal if you do your work regularly and\nwell.\"\n\n\"I shall have dreadful trials going by the candy-shops and never buying\nany.  I do long so to go in that I have to look away when you say No.  I\nwant to be good and help poor people, but I 'm afraid it will be too\nhard for me,\" sighed Lu, foreseeing the temptations before her.\n\n\"We might begin to-day, and try the new plan for a while.  If it is too\nhard, you can give it up; but I think you will soon like my way best,\nand have the merriest Christmas you ever knew with the money you save.\"\n\nLu walked thoughtfully home, and put the empty purse away, resolved to\nsee how long she could hold out, and how much she could earn. Mamma\nsmiled when she heard the plan, but at once engaged the little girl to\ndo errands about the house at a cent a job, privately quite sure that\nher pretty express would soon stop running. Grandpapa was pleased to\nfind his paper ready, and nodded and patted Lu's curly head when she\ntold him about her Christmas plans.  Mary, the maid, was glad to get rid\nof combing Jip and feeding Polly, and aunty made towel hemming pleasant\nby telling stories as the little needle-woman did two hems a day.\n\nEvery cent went into the red purse, which Lu hung on one of the gilt\npegs of the easel in the parlor, for she thought it very ornamental, and\nhoped contributions might drop in occasionally. None did; but as every\none paid her in bright cents, there was soon a fine display, and the\nlittle bag grew heavy with delightful rapidity.\n\nOnly once did Lu yield to temptation, and that was when two weeks of\nself-denial made her trials so great that she felt as if she really must\nreward herself, as no one else seemed to remember how much little girls\nloved candy.\n\nOne day she looked pale, and did not want any dinner, saying she felt\nsick.  Mamma was away, so aunty put her on the bed and sat by her,\nfeeling very anxious, as scarlet-fever was about.  By and by Lu took her\nhandkerchief out, and there, sticking to it, was a large brown\ncough-drop.  Lu turned red, and hid her face, saying with a penitent\nsob, \"I don't deserve to be cuddled.  I 've been selfish and silly, and\nspent some of my money for candy.  I had a little cold, and I thought\ncough-drops would do me good.  I ate a good many, and they were bitter\nand made me sick, and I 'm glad of it.\"\n\nAunty wanted to laugh at the dear little sinner and her funny idea of\nchoosing bitter candy as a sort of self-denial; but she comforted her\nkindly, and soon the invalid was skipping about again, declaring that\nshe never would do so any more.\n\nNext day something happened which helped her very much, and made it\neasier to like the new kind of sweeties better than the old.  She was in\nthe dining-room getting an apple for her lunch, when she saw a little\ngirl come to the lower door to ask for cold food.  The cook was busy,\nand sent her away, telling her begging was forbidden.  Lu, peeping out,\nsaw the little girl sit down on the steps to eat a cold potato as if she\nwas very hungry, and while she ate she was trying to tie on a pair of\nvery old boots some one had given her.  It was a rainy day, and she had\nonly a shawl over her head; her hands were red with cold; her gown was a\nfaded cotton one; and her big basket seemed to have very few scraps in\nit.  So poor, so sad, and tired did she look, that Lu could not bear to\nsee it, and she called out in her pitiful child's voice,--\n\n\"Come in and get warm, little girl.  Don't mind old Sarah.  I 'll give\nyou something to eat, and lend you my rubber boots and waterproof to go\nhome in.\"\n\nThe poor child gladly went to sit by the comfortable fire, while Lu with\nhospitable haste got crackers and cheese and cake and apples, and her\nown silver mug of milk, for her guest, forgetting, in her zeal, to ask\nleave.  Fortunately aunty came down for her own lunch in time to see\nwhat was going on, and found Lu busily buttoning the waterproof, while\nthe little girl surveyed her rubber boots and small umbrella with pride.\n\n\"I 'm only _lending_ my things, and she will return them to-morrow,\naunty.  They are too small for me, and the umbrella is broken; and I 'd\nlove to _give_ them all to Lucy if I could. _She_ has to go out in the\nrain to get food for her family, like a bird, and I don't.\"\n\n\"Birds don't need waterproofs and umbrellas,\" began aunty; and both\nchildren laughed at the idea of sparrows with such things, but looked a\nlittle anxious till aunty went on to say that Lucy could have these\ncomforts, and to fill the basket with something better than cold\npotatoes, while she asked questions and heard the sad little story: how\nfather was dead, and the baby sick, so mother could not work, and the\nboys had to pick up chips and cinders to burn, and Lucy begged food to\neat.  Lu listened with tears in her blue eyes, and a great deal of pity\nas well as admiration for poor little Lucy, who was only nine, yet had\nso many cares and troubles in her life.  While aunty went to get some\nflannel for baby, Lu flew to her red purse and counted out ten cents\nfrom her store, feeling so rich, so glad to have it instead of an empty\nbonbon box, and a headache after a candy feast.\n\n\"Buy some nice fresh milk for little Totty, and tell her I sent it--all\nmyself--with my love.  Come again to-morrow, and I will tell mamma all\nabout you, and you shall be my poor people, and I 'll help you if I\ncan,\" she said, full of interest and good-will, for the sight of this\nchild made her feel what poverty really was, and long to lighten it if\nshe could.\n\nLucy was smiling when she went away, snug and dry in her comfortable\nclothes, with the full basket on her arm; and all that day Lu talked and\nthought about her \"own poor people,\" and what she hoped to do for them.\nMamma inquired, and finding them worthy of help, let her little girl\nsend many comforts to the children, and learn how to be wisely\ncharitable.\n\n\"I shall give _all_ my money to my 'Lucy children' on Christmas,\"\nannounced Lu, as that pleasant time drew near.  \"I know what they want,\nand though I can't save money enough to give them half the things they\nneed, maybe I can help a good deal, and really have a nice bundle to\ns'prise them with.\"\n\nThis idea took possession of little Lu, and she worked like a beaver in\nall sorts of funny ways to fill her purse by Christmas-time.  One thing\nshe did which amused her family very much, though they were obliged to\nstop it.  Lu danced very prettily, and often had what she called ballets\nbefore she went to bed, when she tripped about the parlor like a fairy\nin the gay costumes aunty made for her.  As the purse did not fill as\nfast as she hoped, Lu took it into her head one fine day to go round the\nsquare where she lived, with her tambourine, and dance as some of the\ngirls with the hand-organ men did.  So she dressed herself in her red\nskirt and black velvet jacket, and with a fur cap on her head and a blue\ncloak over her shoulders, slipped out into the quiet square, and going\nto the farther corner, began to dance and beat her tambourine on the\nsidewalk before a house where some little children lived.\n\nAs she expected, they soon came running to the window, and were charmed\nto see the pretty dancer whirling to and fro, with her ribbons flying\nand her tambourine bells ringing, till her breath was gone.  Then she\nheld up the instrument and nodded smilingly at them; and they threw down\ncents wrapped in paper, thinking her music much better than any the\norgan men made.  Much encouraged, Lu went on from house to house, and\nwas doing finely, when one of the ladies who looked out recognized the\nchild, and asked her if her mother knew where she was.  Lu had to say\n\"No;\" and the lady sent a maid to take her home at once.\n\nThat spoiled all the fun; and poor Lu did not hear the last of her prank\nfor a long time.  But she had made forty-two cents, and felt comforted\nwhen she added that handsome sum to her store. As if to console her for\nthis disappointment, after that day several bright ten-cent pieces got\ninto the red purse in a most mysterious manner. Lu asked every one in\nthe house, and all declared that they did not do it.  Grandpa could not\nget out of his chair without help, and nurse said she never took the\npurse to him; so of course it could not be he who slipped in those\nwelcome bits of silver.  Lu asked him; but he was very deaf that day,\nand did not seem to understand her at all.\n\n\"It must be fairies,\" she said, pondering over the puzzle, as she\ncounted her treasure and packed it away, for now the little red purse\nwas full.  \"Aunty says there are no fairies; but I like to think so.\nPerhaps angels fly around at Christmas-time as they did long ago, and\nlove to help poor people, and put those beautiful bright things here to\nshow that they are pleased with me.\"  She liked that fancy, and aunty\nagreed that some good spirit must have done it, and was sure they would\nfind out the secret some time.\n\nLucy came regularly; and Lu always tried to see her, and so learned what\nshe and Totty and Joe and Jimmy wanted, but never dreamed of receiving\nChristmas morning.  It did both little girls much good, for poor Lucy\nwas comforted by the kindness of these friends, and Lu learned about far\nharder trials than the want of sugarplums.  The day before Christmas she\nwent on a grand shopping expedition with aunty, for the purse now held\nthree dollars and seven cents. She had spent some of it for trifles for\nher \"Lucy children,\" and had not earned as much as she once hoped,\nvarious fits of idleness and other more amusing but less profitable work\nhaving lessened her wages.  But she had enough, thanks to the good\nspirit, to get toys and books and candy for her family, and went\njoyfully away Christmas Eve to carry her little basket of gifts,\naccompanied by aunty with a larger store of comforts for the grateful\nmother.\n\nWhen they got back, Lu entertained her mother with an account of the\ndelight of the children, who never had such a Christmas before.\n\n\"They could n't wait till morning, and I could n't either, and we opened\nthe bundles right away; and they _screamed_, mamma, and jumped for joy\nand ate everything and hugged me.  And the mother cried, she was so\npleased; and the boys can go to school all neat now, and so could Lucy,\nonly she has to take care of Totty while her mother goes to work.  Oh,\nit was lovely!  I felt just like Santa Claus, only he does n't stay to\nsee people enjoy their things, and I did.\"\n\nHere Lu stopped for breath, and when she got it, had a fine ballet as\nthe only way to work off her excitement at the success of her \"s'prise.\"\nIt was a trial to go to bed, but she went at last, and dreamed that her\n\"Lucy children\" all had wings, and were flying round her bed with\ntambourines full of heavenly bonbons, which they showered down upon her;\nwhile aunty in an immense nightcap stood by clapping her hands and\nsaying, \"Eat all you like, dear; this sort won't hurt you.\"\n\nMorning came very soon; and she popped up her head to see a long knobby\nstocking hanging from the mantel-piece.  Out of bed skipped the little\nwhite figure, and back again, while cries of joy were heard as the\ntreasures appeared one by one.  There was a tableful beside the\nstocking, and Lu was so busy looking at them that she was late to\nbreakfast.  But aunty waited for her, and they went down together some\ntime after the bell rang.\n\n\"Let me peep and see if grandpa has found the silk handkerchief and\nspectacle-case I made for him,\" whispered Lu, as they passed the parlor\ndoor, which stood half open, leaving a wide crack for the blue eyes to\nspy through.\n\nThe old gentleman sat in his easy-chair as usual, waiting while nurse\ngot his breakfast; but what was he doing with his long staff?  Lu\nwatched eagerly, and to her great surprise saw him lean forward, and\nwith the hook at the end take the little red purse off the easel, open\nit, and slip in a small white parcel, then hang it on the gilt peg\nagain, put away the cane, and sit rubbing his hands and laughing to\nhimself at the success of his little trick, quite sure that this was a\nsafe time to play it.  Lu was about to cry out, and rush in, but aunty\nwhispered, \"Don't spoil his fun yet.  Go and see what is in the purse,\nthen thank him in the way he likes best.\"\n\nSo Lu skipped into the parlor, trying to look very innocent, and ran to\nopen the dear red purse, as she often did, eager to see if the good\nfairy had added to the charity fund.\n\n\"Why, here 's a great gold medal, and some queer, shaky writing on the\npaper.  Please see what it is,\" said Lu, very loud, hoping grandpa would\nhear her this time, for his face was hidden behind the newspaper he\npretended to read.\n\n\"For Lu's poor's purse, from Santa Claus,\" read aunty, glad that at last\nthe kind old fairy was discovered and ready for his reward.\n\nLu had never seen a twenty-dollar gold-piece before; but she could not\nstop to find out whether the shining medal was money or a locket, and\nran to grandpa, crying as she pulled away the paper and threw her arms\nabout his neck,--\n\n\"I 've found you out, I 've found you out, my dear old Santa Claus!\nMerry Christmas, grandpa, and lots of thanks and kisses!\"\n\nIt was pretty to see the rosy cheek against the wrinkled one, the golden\nand the silver heads close together, as the old man and the little girl\nkissed and laughed, and both talked at once for a few minutes.\n\n\"Tell me all about it, you sly grandpa. What made you think of doing it\nthat way, and not let any one know?\" cried Lu, as the old gentleman\nstopped to rest after a kindly \"cuddle,\" as Lu called these caresses.\n\n\"Well, dear, I liked to see you trying to do good with your little\npennies, and I wanted to help.  I 'm a feeble old man, tied to my chair\nand of no use now; but I like a bit of fun, and love to feel that it is\nnot quite too late to make some one happy.\"\n\n\"Why, grandpa, you do heaps of good, and make many, many people happy,\"\nsaid Lu, with another hug.  \"Mamma told me all about the hospital for\nlittle children you built, and the money you gave to the poor soldiers\nin the war, and ever so many more good things you 've done.  I won't\nhave you say you are of no use now.  We want you to love and take care\nof; and we could n't do without you, could we, aunty?\"\n\nAunty sat on the arm of the chair with her arm round the old man's\nshoulder, and her only answer was a kiss.  But it was enough, and\ngrandpa went on quite cheerfully, as he held two plump hands in his own,\nand watched the blooming face that looked up at him so eagerly:\n\n\"When I was younger, I loved money, and wanted a great deal.  I cared\nfor nothing else, and worked hard to get it, and did get it after years\nof worry.  But it cost me my health, and then I saw how foolish I had\nbeen, for all my money could not buy me any strength or pleasure and\nvery little comfort.  I could not take it with me when I died, and did\nnot know what to do with it, because there was so much.  So I tried to\nsee if giving it away would not amuse me, and make me feel better about\nhaving wasted my life instead of using it wisely.  The more I gave away\nthe better I felt; and now I'm quite jolly, though I'm only a helpless\nold baby just fit to play jokes and love little girls.  You have begun\nearly at this pretty game of give-away, my dear, and aunty will see that\nyou keep it up; so that when you are old you will have much treasure in\nthe other world where the blessings of the poor are more precious than\ngold and silver.\"\n\nNobody spoke for a minute as the feeble old voice stopped; and the\nsunshine fell on the white head like a blessing.  Then Lu said very\nsoberly, as she turned the great coin in her hand, and saw the letters\nthat told its worth,--\n\n\"What shall I do with all this money?  I never had so much, and I 'd\nlike to spend it in some very good and pleasant way.  Can you think of\nsomething, aunty, so I can begin at once to be like grandpa?\"\n\n\"How would you like to pay two dollars a month, so that Totty can go to\nthe Sunnyside Nursery, and be taken care of every day while Lucy goes to\nschool?  Then she will be safe and happy, and Lucy be learning, as she\nlongs to do, and the mother free to work,\" said aunty, glad to have this\ndear child early learn to help those less blessed than herself.\n\n\"Could I?  How splendid it would be to pay for a real live baby all\nmyself!  How long would my money do it?\" said Lu, charmed with the idea\nof a living dolly to care for.\n\n\"All winter, and provide clothes besides. You can make them yourself,\nand go and see Totty, and call her your baby.  This will be a sweet\ncharity for you; and to-day is a good day to begin it, for this is the\nbirthday of the Divine Child, who was born in a poorer place even than\nLucy's sister.  In His name pity and help this baby, and be sure He will\nbless you for it.\"\n\nLu looked up at the fine picture of the Good Shepherd hanging over the\nsofa with holly-leaves glistening round it, and felt as if she too in\nher humble way was about to take a helpless little lamb in her arms and\ncomfort it.  Her childish face was very sweet and sober as she said\nsoftly,--\n\n\"Yes, I will spend my Christmas money so; for, aunty, I do think your\nsort of sweetie is better than mine, and making people happy a much\nwiser way to spend my pennies than in buying the nicest candy in the\nworld.\"\n\nLittle Lu remembered that morning long after the dear old grandfather\nwas gone, and kept her Christmas promise so well that very soon a larger\npurse was needed for charity money, which she used so wisely and so\nhappily.  But all her life in one corner of her desk lay carefully\nfolded up, with the bit of paper inside, the little red purse.\n\n\n\n[Illustration: Chapter VI tailpiece]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: \"Sophie came and sat beside her while she dried her curly\nhair.\"  PAGE 178.]\n\n\n\n                                  VII.\n\n                            SOPHIE'S SECRET.\n\n\n,, class:: center medium\n\n    I.\n\n\nA party of young girls, in their gay bathing-dresses, were sitting on\nthe beach waiting for the tide to rise a little higher before they\nenjoyed the daily frolic which they called \"mermaiding.\"\n\n\"I wish we could have a clam-bake; but we have n't any clams, and don't\nknow how to cook them if we had.  It's such a pity all the boys have\ngone off on that stupid fishing excursion,\" said one girl, in a\nyellow-and-black striped suit which made her look like a wasp.\n\n\"What is a clam-bake?  I do not know that kind of fete,\" asked a pretty\nbrown-eyed girl, with an accent that betrayed the foreigner.\n\nThe girls laughed at such sad ignorance, and Sophie colored, wishing she\nhad not spoken.\n\n\"Poor thing! she has never tasted a clam. What _should_ we do if we went\nto Switzerland?\" said the wasp, who loved to tease.\n\n\"We should give you the best we had, and not laugh at your ignorance, if\nyou did not know all our dishes.  In _my_ country, we have politeness,\nthough not the clam-bake,\" answered Sophie, with a flash of the brown\neyes which warned naughty Di to desist.\n\n\"We might row to the light-house, and have a picnic supper.  Our mammas\nwill let us do that alone,\" suggested Dora from the roof of the\nbath-house, where she perched like a flamingo.\n\n\"That's a good idea,\" cried Fanny, a slender brown girl who sat dabbling\nher feet in the water, with her hair streaming in the wind. \"Sophie\nshould see that, and get some of the shells she likes so much.\"\n\n\"You are kind to think of me.  I shall be glad to have a necklace of the\npretty things, as a souvenir of this so charming place and my good\nfriend,\" answered Sophie, with a grateful look at Fanny, whose many\nattentions had won the stranger's heart.\n\n\"Those boys have n't left us a single boat, so we must dive off the\nrocks, and that is n't half so nice,\" said Di, to change the subject,\nbeing ashamed of her rudeness.\n\n\"A boat is just coming round the Point; perhaps we can hire that, and\nhave some fun,\" cried Dora, from her perch.  \"There is only a girl in\nit; I 'll hail her when she is near enough.\"\n\nSophie looked about her to see where the _hail_ was coming from; but the\nsky was clear, and she waited to see what new meaning this word might\nhave, not daring to ask for fear of another laugh.\n\nWhile the girls watched the boat float around the farther horn of the\ncrescent-shaped beach, we shall have time to say a few words about our\nlittle heroine.\n\nShe was a sixteen-year-old Swiss girl, on a visit to some American\nfriends, and had come to the seaside for a month with one of them who\nwas an invalid.  This left Sophie to the tender mercies of the young\npeople; and they gladly welcomed the pretty creature, with her fine\nmanners, foreign ways, and many accomplishments.  But she had a quick\ntemper, a funny little accent, and dressed so very plainly that the\ngirls could not resist criticising and teasing her in a way that seemed\nvery ill-bred and unkind to the new-comer.\n\nTheir free and easy ways astonished her, their curious language\nbewildered her; and their ignorance of many things she had been taught\nmade her wonder at the American education she had heard so much praised.\nAll had studied French and German; yet few read or spoke either tongue\ncorrectly, or understood her easily when she tried to talk to them.\nTheir music did not amount to much, and in the games they played, their\nwant of useful information amazed Sophie.  One did not know the signs of\nthe zodiac; another could only say of cotton that \"it was stuff that\ngrew down South;\" and a third was not sure whether a frog was an animal\nor a reptile, while the handwriting and spelling displayed on these\noccasions left much to be desired.  Yet all were fifteen or sixteen, and\nwould soon leave school \"finished,\" as they expressed it, but not\n_furnished_, as they should have been, with a solid, sensible education.\nDress was an all-absorbing topic, sweetmeats their delight; and in\nconfidential moments sweethearts were discussed with great freedom.\nFathers were conveniences, mothers comforters, brothers plagues, and\nsisters ornaments or playthings according to their ages.  They were not\nhard-hearted girls, only frivolous, idle, and fond of fun; and poor\nlittle Sophie amused them immensely till they learned to admire, love,\nand respect her.\n\nComing straight from Paris, they expected to find that her trunks\ncontained the latest fashions for demoiselles, and begged to see her\ndresses with girlish interest.  But when Sophie obligingly showed a few\nsimple, but pretty and appropriate gowns and hats, they exclaimed with\none voice,--\n\n\"Why, you dress like a little girl!  Don't you have ruffles and lace on\nyour dresses; and silks and high-heeled boots and long gloves and\nbustles and corsets, and things like ours?\"\n\n\"I _am_ a little girl,\" laughed Sophie, hardly understanding their\ndismay.  \"What should I do with fine toilets at school?  My sisters go\nto balls in silk and lace; but I--not yet.\"\n\n\"How queer!  Is your father poor?\" asked Di, with Yankee bluntness.\n\n\"We have enough,\" answered Sophie, slightly knitting her dark brows.\n\n\"How many servants do you keep?\"\n\n\"But five, now that the little ones are grown up.\"\n\n\"Have you a piano?\" continued undaunted Di, while the others affected to\nbe looking at the books and pictures strewn about by the hasty\nunpacking.\n\n\"We have two pianos, four violins, three flutes, and an organ.  We love\nmusic, and all play, from papa to little Franz.\"\n\n\"My gracious, how swell!  You must live in a big house to hold all that\nand eight brothers and sisters.\"\n\n\"We are not peasants; we do not live in a hut.  _Voila_, this is my\nhome.\"  And Sophie laid before them a fine photograph of a large and\nelegant house on lovely Lake Geneva.\n\nIt was droll to see the change in the faces of the girls as they looked,\nadmired, and slyly nudged one another, enjoying saucy Di's astonishment,\nfor she had stoutly insisted that the Swiss girl was a poor relation.\n\nSophie meanwhile was folding up her plain pique and muslin frocks, with\na glimmer of mirthful satisfaction in her eyes, and a tender pride in\nthe work of loving hands now far away.\n\nKind Fanny saw a little quiver of the lips as she smoothed the blue\ncorn-flowers in the best hat, and put her arm around Sophie,\nwhispering,--\n\n\"Never mind, dear, they don't mean to be rude; it's only our Yankee way\nof asking questions.  I like _all_ your things, and that hat is\nperfectly lovely.\"\n\n\"Indeed, yes!  Dear mamma arranged it for me.  I was thinking of her and\nlonging for my morning kiss.\"\n\n\"Do you do that every day?\" asked Fanny, forgetting herself in her\nsympathetic interest.\n\n\"Surely, yes.  Papa and mamma sit always on the sofa, and we all have\nthe hand-shake and the embrace each day before our morning coffee.  I do\nnot see that here,\" answered Sophie, who sorely missed the affectionate\nrespect foreign children give their parents.\n\n\"Have n't time,\" said Fanny, smiling too, at the idea of American\nparents sitting still for five minutes in the busiest part of the busy\nday to kiss their sons and daughters.\n\n\"It is what you call old-fashioned, but a sweet fashion to me; and since\nI have not the dear warm cheeks to kiss, I embrace my pictures often.\nSee, I have them all.\"  And Sophie unfolded a Russia-leather case,\ndisplaying with pride a long row of handsome brothers and sisters with\nthe parents in the midst.\n\nMore exclamations from the girls, and increased interest in \"Wilhelmina\nTell,\" as they christened the loyal Swiss maiden, who was now accepted\nas a companion, and soon became a favorite with old and young.\n\nThey could not resist teasing her, however,--her mistakes were so\namusing, her little flashes of temper so dramatic, and her tongue so\nquick to give a sharp or witty answer when the new language did not\nperplex her.  But Fanny always took her part, and helped her in many\nways.  Now they sat together on the rock, a pretty pair of mermaids with\nwind-tossed hair, wave-washed feet, and eyes fixed on the approaching\nboat.\n\nThe girl who sat in it was a great contrast to the gay creatures grouped\nso picturesquely on the shore, for the old straw hat shaded a very\nanxious face, the brown calico gown covered a heart full of hopes and\nfears, and the boat that drifted so slowly with the incoming tide\ncarried Tilly Reed like a young Columbus toward the new world she longed\nfor, believed in, and was resolved to discover.\n\nIt was a weather-beaten little boat, yet very pretty; for a pile of nets\nlay at one end, a creel of red lobsters at the other, and all between\nstood baskets of berries and water-lilies, purple marsh rosemary and\norange butterfly-weed, shells and great smooth stones such as artists\nlike to paint little sea-views on.  A tame gull perched on the prow; and\nthe morning sunshine glittered from the blue water to the bluer sky.\n\n\"Oh, how pretty!  Come on, please, and sell us some lilies,\" cried Dora,\nand roused Tilly from her waking dream.\n\nPushing back her hat, she saw the girls beckoning, felt that the\ncritical moment had come, and catching up her oars, rowed bravely on,\nthough her cheeks reddened and her heart beat, for this venture was her\nlast hope, and on its success depended the desire of her life.  As the\nboat approached, the watchers forgot its cargo to look with surprise and\npleasure at its rower, for she was not the rough country lass they\nexpected to see, but a really splendid girl of fifteen, tall,\nbroad-shouldered, bright-eyed, and blooming, with a certain shy dignity\nof her own and a very sweet smile, as she nodded and pulled in with\nstrong, steady strokes.  Before they could offer help, she had risen,\nplanted an oar in the water, and leaping to the shore, pulled her boat\nhigh up on the beach, offering her wares with wistful eyes and a very\nexpressive wave of both brown hands.\n\n\"Everything is for sale, if you 'll buy,\" said she.\n\nCharmed with the novelty of this little adventure, the girls, after\nscampering to the bathing-houses for purses and portemonnaies, crowded\naround the boat like butterflies about a thistle, all eager to buy, and\nto discover who this bonny fisher-maiden might be.\n\n\"Oh, see these beauties!\"  \"A dozen lilies for me!\"  \"All the yellow\nflowers for me, they'll be so becoming at the dance to-night!\" \"Ow! that\nlob bites awfully!\"  \"Where do you come from?\"  \"Why have we never seen\nyou before?\"\n\nThese were some of the exclamations and questions showered upon Tilly,\nas she filled little birch-bark panniers with berries, dealt out\nflowers, or dispensed handfuls of shells.  Her eyes shone, her cheeks\nglowed, and her heart danced in her bosom; for this was a better\nbeginning than she had dared to hope for, and as the dimes tinkled into\nthe tin pail she used for her till, it was the sweetest music she had\never heard.  This hearty welcome banished her shyness; and in these\neager, girlish customers she found it easy to confide.\n\n\"I 'm from the light-house.  You have never seen me because I never came\nbefore, except with fish for the hotel.  But I mean to come every day,\nif folks will buy my things, for I want to make some money, and this is\nthe only way in which I can do it.\"\n\nSophie glanced at the old hat and worn shoes of the speaker, and\ndropping a bright half-dollar into the pail, said in her pretty way:\n\n\"For me all these lovely shells.  I will make necklaces of them for my\npeople at home as souvenirs of this charming place.  If you will bring\nme more, I shall be much grateful to you.\"\n\n\"Oh, thank you!  I 'll bring heaps; I know where to find beauties in\nplaces where other folks can't go.  Please take these; you paid too much\nfor the shells;\" and quick to feel the kindness of the stranger, Tilly\nput into her hands a little bark canoe heaped with red raspberries.\n\nNot to be outdone by the foreigner, the other girls emptied their purses\nand Tilly's boat also of all but the lobsters, which were ordered for\nthe hotel.\n\n\"Is that jolly bird for sale?\" asked Di, as the last berry vanished,\npointing to the gull who was swimming near them while the chatter went\non.\n\n\"If you can catch him,\" laughed Tilly, whose spirits were now the gayest\nof the party.\n\nThe girls dashed into the water, and with shrieks of merriment swam away\nto capture the gull, who paddled off as if he enjoyed the fun as much as\nthey.\n\nLeaving them to splash vainly to and fro, Tilly swung the creel to her\nshoulder and went off to leave her lobsters, longing to dance and sing\nto the music of the silver clinking in her pocket.\n\nWhen she came back, the bird was far out of reach and the girls diving\nfrom her boat, which they had launched without leave.  Too happy to care\nwhat happened now, Tilly threw herself down on the warm sand to plan a\nnew and still finer cargo for next day.\n\nSophie came and sat beside her while she dried her curly hair, and in\nfive minutes her sympathetic face and sweet ways had won Tilly to tell\nall her hopes and cares and dreams.\n\n\"I want schooling, and I mean to have it. I 've got no folks of my own;\nand uncle has married again, so he does n't need me now. If I only had a\nlittle money, I could go to school somewhere, and take care of myself.\nLast summer I worked at the hotel, but I did n't make much, and had to\nhave good clothes, and that took my wages pretty much.  Sewing is slow\nwork, and baby-tending leaves me no time to study; so I 've kept on at\nhome picking berries and doing what I could to pick up enough to buy\nbooks.  Aunt thinks I 'm a fool; but uncle, he says, 'Go ahead, girl,\nand see what you can do.'  And I mean to show him!\"\n\nTilly's brown hand came down on the sand with a resolute thump; and her\nclear young eyes looked bravely out across the wide sea, as if far away\nin the blue distance she saw her hope happily fulfilled.\n\nSophie's eyes shone approval, for she understood this love of\nindependence, and had come to America because she longed for new scenes\nand greater freedom than her native land could give her.  Education is a\nlarge word, and both girls felt that desire for self-improvement that\ncomes to all energetic natures.  Sophie had laid a good foundation, but\nstill desired more; while Tilly was just climbing up the first steep\nslope which rises to the heights few attain, yet all may strive for.\n\n\"That is beautiful!  You will do it!  I am glad to help you if I may.\nSee, I have many books; will you take some of them?  Come to my room\nto-morrow and take what will best please you.  We will say nothing of\nit, and it will make me a truly great pleasure.\"\n\nAs Sophie spoke, her little white hand touched the strong, sunburned one\nthat turned to meet and grasp hers with grateful warmth, while Tilly's\nface betrayed the hunger that possessed her, for it looked as a starving\ngirl's would look when offered a generous meal.\n\n\"I _will_ come.  Thank you so much!  I don't know anything, but just\nblunder along and do the best I can.  I got so discouraged I was real\ndesperate, and thought I 'd have one try, and see if I could n't earn\nenough to get books to study this winter.  Folks buy berries at the\ncottages; so I just added flowers and shells, and I 'm going to bring my\nboxes of butterflies, birds' eggs, and seaweeds.  I 've got lots of such\nthings; and people seem to like spending money down here.  I often wish\nI had a little of what they throw away.\"\n\nTilly paused with a sigh, then laughed as an impatient movement caused a\nsilver clink; and slapping her pocket, she added gayly,--\n\n\"I won't blame 'em if they 'll only throw their money in here.\"\n\nSophie's hand went involuntarily toward her own pocket, where lay a\nplump purse, for papa was generous, and simple Sophie had few wants. But\nsomething in the intelligent face opposite made her hesitate to offer as\na gift what she felt sure Tilly would refuse, preferring to earn her\neducation if she could.\n\n\"Come often, then, and let me exchange these stupid bills for the lovely\nthings you bring.  We will come this afternoon to see you if we may, and\nI shall like the butterflies.  I try to catch them; but people tell me I\nam too old to run, so I have not many.\"\n\nProposed in this way, Tilly fell into the little trap, and presently\nrowed away with all her might to set her possessions in order, and put\nher precious earnings in a safe place.  The mermaids clung about the\nboat as long as they dared, making a pretty tableau for the artists on\nthe rocks, then swam to shore, more than ever eager for the picnic on\nLight-house Island.\n\nThey went, and had a merry time; while Tilly did the honors and showed\nthem a room full of treasures gathered from earth, air, and water, for\nshe led a lonely life, and found friends among the fishes, made\nplaymates of the birds, and studied rocks and flowers, clouds and waves,\nwhen books were wanting.\n\nThe girls bought gulls' wings for their hats, queer and lovely shells,\neggs and insects, seaweeds and carved wood, and for their small\nbrothers, birch baskets and toy ships, made by Uncle Hiram, who had been\na sailor.\n\nWhen Tilly had sold nearly everything she possessed (for Fanny and\nSophie bought whatever the others declined), she made a fire of\ndrift-wood on the rocks, cooked fish for supper, and kept them till\nmoonrise, telling sea stories or singing old songs, as if she could not\ndo enough for these good fairies who had come to her when life looked\nhardest and the future very dark.  Then she rowed them home, and\npromising to bring loads of fruit and flowers every day, went back along\na shining road, to find a great bundle of books in her dismantled room,\nand to fall asleep with wet eyelashes and a happy heart.\n\n\n\n,, class:: center medium\n\n    II.\n\n\nFor a month Tilly went daily to the Point with a cargo of pretty\nmerchandise, for her patrons increased; and soon the ladies engaged her\nberries, the boys ordered boats enough to supply a navy, the children\nclamored for shells, and the girls depended on her for bouquets and\ngarlands for the dances that ended every summer day.  Uncle Hiram's fish\nwas in demand when such a comely saleswoman offered it; so he let Tilly\nhave her way, glad to see the old tobacco-pouch in which she kept her\ncash fill fast with well-earned money.\n\nShe really began to feel that her dream was coming true, and she would\nbe able to go to the town and study in some great school, eking out her\nlittle fund with light work.  The other girls soon lost their interest\nin her, but Sophie never did; and many a book went to the island in the\nempty baskets, many a helpful word was said over the lilies or wild\nhoneysuckle Sophie loved to wear, and many a lesson was given in the\nbare room in the light-house tower which no one knew about but the gulls\nand the sea-winds sweeping by the little window where the two heads\nleaned together over one page.\n\n\"You will do it, Tilly, I am very sure.  Such a will and such a memory\nwill make a way for you; and one day I shall see you teaching as you\nwish.  Keep the brave heart, and all will be well with you,\" said\nSophie, when the grand breaking-up came in September, and the girls were\nparting down behind the deserted bathhouses.\n\n\"Oh, Miss Sophie, what should I have done without you?  Don't think I\nhave n't seen and known all the kind things you have said and done for\nme.  I 'll never forget 'em; and I do hope I 'll be able to thank you\nsome day,\" cried grateful Tilly, with tears in her clear eyes that\nseldom wept over her own troubles.\n\n\"I am thanked if you do well.  Adieu; write to me, and remember always\nthat I am your friend.\"\n\nThen they kissed with girlish warmth, and Tilly rowed away to the lonely\nisland; while Sophie lingered on the shore, her handkerchief fluttering\nin the wind, till the boat vanished and the waves had washed away their\nfootprints on the sand.\n\n\n\n,, class:: center medium\n\n    III.\n\n\nDecember snow was falling fast, and the wintry wind whistled through the\nstreets; but it was warm and cosey in the luxurious parlor where Di and\nDo were sitting making Christmas presents, and planning what they would\nwear at the party Fanny was to give on Christmas Eve.\n\n\"If I can get mamma to buy me a new dress, I shall have something\nyellow.  It is always becoming to brunettes, and I 'm so tired of red,\"\nsaid Di, giving a last touch to the lace that trimmed a blue satin\n_sachet_ for Fanny.\n\n\"That will be lovely.  I shall have pink, with roses of the same color.\nUnder muslin it is perfectly sweet.\"  And Dora eyed the sunflower she\nwas embroidering as if she already saw the new toilet before her.\n\n\"Fan always wears blue, so we shall make a nice contrast.  She is coming\nover to show me about finishing off my banner-screen; and I asked Sophie\nto come with her.  I want to know what _she_ is going to wear,\" said Di,\ntaking a little sniff at the violet-scented bag.\n\n\"That old white cashmere.  Just think!  I asked her why she did n't get\na new one, and she laughed and said she could n't afford it. Fan told me\nSophie's father sent her a hundred dollars not long ago, yet she has n't\ngot a thing that we know of.  I do think she 's mean.\"\n\n\"She bought a great bundle of books.  I was there when the parcel came,\nand I peeped while she was out of the room, because she put it away in a\ngreat hurry.  I 'm afraid she _is_ mean, for she never buys a bit of\ncandy, and she wears shabby boots and gloves, and she has made over her\nold hat instead of having that lovely one with the pheasant's breast in\nit.\"\n\n\"She's very queer; but I can't help liking her, she's so pretty and\nbright and obliging. I 'd give anything if I could speak three languages\nand play as she does.\"\n\n\"So would I.  It seems so elegant to be able to talk to foreigners.\nPapa had some Frenchmen to dinner the other day, and they were so\npleased to find they need n't speak English to Sophie.  I could n't get\non at all; and I was so mortified when papa said all the money he had\nspent on my languages was thrown away.\"\n\n\"I would n't mind.  It's so much easier to learn those things abroad,\nshe would be a goose if she did n't speak French better than we do.\nThere's Fan! she looks as if something had happened.  I hope no one is\nill and the party spoiled.\"\n\nAs Dora spoke, both girls looked out to see Fanny shaking the snow from\nher seal-skin sack on the doorstep; then Do hastened to meet her, while\nDi hid the _sachet_, and was hard at work on an old-gold sofa cushion\nwhen the new-comer entered.\n\n\"What's the matter?  Where's Sophie?\" exclaimed the girls together, as\nFan threw off her wraps and sat down with a tragic sigh.\n\n\"She will be along in a few minutes.  I 'm disappointed in her!  I would\nn't have believed it if I had n't seen them.  Promise not to breathe a\nword to a living soul, and I 'll tell you something dreadful,\" began\nFanny, in a tone that caused her friends to drop their work and draw\ntheir chairs nearer, as they solemnly vowed eternal silence.\n\n\"I 've seen Sophie's Christmas presents,--all but mine; and they are\njust nothing at all!  She has n't bought a thing, not even ribbons,\nlace, or silk, to make up prettily as we do.  Only a painted shell for\none, an acorn emery for another, her ivory fan with a new tassel for a\nthird, and I suspect one of those nice handkerchiefs embroidered by the\nnuns for me, or her silver filigree necklace.  I saw the box in the\ndrawer with the other things.  She's knit woollen cuffs and tippets for\nthe children, and got some eight-cent calico gowns for the servants.  I\ndon't know how people do things in Switzerland, but I do know that if\n_I_ had a hundred dollars in my pocket, I would be more generous than\nthat!\"\n\nAs Fanny paused, out of breath, Di and Do groaned in sympathy, for this\nwas indeed a sad state of things; because the girls had a code that\nChristmas being the season for gifts, extravagance would be forgiven\nthen as at no other time.\n\n\"I have a lovely smelling-bottle for her; but I 've a great mind not to\ngive it now,\" cried Di, feeling defrauded of the bracelet she had\nplainly hinted she would like.\n\n\"I shall heap coals of fire on her head by giving her _that_;\" and Dora\ndisplayed a very useless but very pretty apron of muslin, lace, and\ncarnation ribbon.\n\n\"It is n't the worth of the things.  I don't care for that so much as I\ndo for being disappointed in her; and I have been lately in more ways\nthan one,\" said Fanny, listlessly taking up the screen she was to\nfinish.  \"She used to tell me everything, and now she does n't.  I 'm\nsure she has some sort of a secret; and I do think _I_ ought to know it.\nI found her smiling over a letter one day; and she whisked it into her\npocket and never said a word about it.  I always stood by her, and I do\nfeel hurt.\"\n\n\"I should think you might!  It's real naughty of her, and I shall tell\nher so!  Perhaps she 'll confide in you then, and you can just give _me_\na hint; I always liked Sophie, and never thought of not giving _my_\npresent,\" said Dora, persuasively, for both girls were now dying with\ncuriosity to know the secret.\n\n\"I 'll have it out of her, without any dodging or bribing.  I 'm not\nafraid of any one, and I shall ask her straight out, no matter how much\nshe scowls at me,\" said dauntless Di, with a threatening nod.\n\n\"There she is!  Let us see you do it now!\" cried Fanny, as the bell\nrang, and a clear voice was heard a moment later asking if Mademoiselle\nwas in.\n\n\"You shall!\" and Di looked ready for any audacity.\n\n\"I 'll wager a box of candy that you don't find out a thing,\" whispered\nDo.\n\n\"Done!\" answered Di, and then turned to meet Sophie, who came in looking\nas fresh as an Alpine rose with the wintry wind.\n\n\"You dear thing! we were just talking of you. Sit here and get warm, and\nlet us show you our gifts.  We are almost done, but it seems as if it\ngot to be a harder job each Christmas.  Don't you find it so?\"\n\n\"But no; I think it the most charming work of all the year,\" answered\nSophie, greeting her friend, and putting her well-worn boots toward the\nfire to dry.\n\n\"Perhaps you don't make as much of Christmas as we do, or give such\nexpensive presents. That would make a great difference, you know,\" said\nDi, as she lifted a cloth from the table where her own generous store of\ngifts was set forth.\n\n\"I had a piano last year, a set of jewels, and many pretty trifles from\nall at home.  Here is one;\" and pulling the fine gold chain hidden under\nher frills, Sophie showed a locket set thick with pearls, containing a\npicture of her mother.\n\n\"It must be so nice to be rich, and able to make such fine presents.  I\n've got something for you; but I shall be ashamed of it after I see your\ngift to me, I 'm afraid.\"\n\nFan and Dora were working as if their bread depended on it, while Di,\nwith a naughty twinkle in her eye, affected to be rearranging her pretty\ntable as she talked.\n\n\"Do not fear that; my gifts this year are very simple ones.  I did not\nknow your custom, and now it is too late.  My comfort is that you need\nnothing, and having so much, you will not care for my--what you\ncall--coming short.\"\n\nWas it the fire that made Sophie's face look so hot, and a cold that\ngave a husky sort of tone to her usually clear voice?  A curious\nexpression came into her face as her eyes roved from the table to the\ngay trifles in her friend's hands; and she opened her lips as if to add\nsomething impulsively.  But nothing came, and for a moment she looked\nstraight out at the storm as if she had forgotten where she was.\n\n\"'Shortcoming' is the proper way to speak it But never mind that, and\ntell me why you say 'too late'?\" asked Di, bent on winning her wager.\n\n\"Christmas comes in three days, and I have no time,\" began Sophie.\n\n\"But with money one can buy plenty of lovely things in one day,\" said\nDi.\n\n\"No, it is better to put a little love and hard work into what we give\nto friends, I have done that with my trifles, and another year I shall\nbe more ready.\"\n\nThere was an uncomfortable pause, for Sophie did not speak with her\nusual frankness, but looked both proud and ashamed, and seemed anxious\nto change the subject, as she began to admire Dora's work, which had\nmade very little progress during the last fifteen minutes.\n\nFanny glanced at Di with a smile that made the other toss her head and\nreturn to the charge with renewed vigor.\n\n\"Sophie, will you do me a favor?\"\n\n\"With much pleasure.\"\n\n\"Do has promised me a whole box of French bonbons, and if you will\nanswer three questions, you shall have it.\"\n\n\"_Allons_,\" said Sophie, smiling.\n\n\"Haven't you a secret?\" asked Di, gravely.\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Will you tell us?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\nDi paused before she asked her last question, and Fan and Dora waited\nbreathlessly, while Sophie knit her brows and looked uneasy.\n\n\"Why not?\"\n\n\"Because I do not wish to tell it.\"\n\n\"Will you tell if we guess?\"\n\n\"Try.\"\n\n\"You are engaged.\"\n\nAt this absurd suggestion Sophie laughed gayly, and shook her curly\nhead.\n\n\"Do you think we are betrothed at sixteen in my country?\"\n\n\"I _know_ that is an engagement ring,--you made such a time about it\nwhen you lost it in the water, and cried for joy when Tilly dived and\nfound it.\"\n\n\"Ah, yes, I was truly glad.  Dear Tilly, never do I forget that\nkindness!\" and Sophie kissed the little pearl ring in her impulsive way,\nwhile her eyes sparkled and the frown vanished.\n\n\"I _know_ a sweetheart gave it,\" insisted Di, sure now she had found a\nclew to the secret.\n\n\"He did,\" and Sophie hung her head in a sentimental way that made the\nthree girls crowd nearer with faces full of interest.\n\n\"Do tell us all about it, dear.  It's so interesting to hear\nlove-stories.  What is his name?\" cried Dora.\n\n\"Hermann,\" simpered Sophie, drooping still more, while her lips trembled\nwith suppressed emotion of some sort.\n\n\"How lovely!\" sighed Fanny, who was very romantic.\n\n\"Tell on, do!  Is he handsome?\"\n\n\"To me the finest man in all the world,\" confessed Sophie, as she hid\nher face.\n\n\"And you love him?\"\n\n\"I adore him!\" and Sophie clasped her hands so dramatically that the\ngirls were a little startled, yet charmed at this discovery.\n\n\"Have you his picture?\" asked Di, feeling that she had won her wager\nnow.\n\n\"Yes,\" and pulling out the locket again, Sophie showed in the other side\nthe face of a fine old gentleman who looked very like herself.\n\n\"It's your father!\" exclaimed Fanny, rolling her blue eyes excitedly.\n\"You are a humbug!\" cried Dora.  \"Then you fibbed about the ring,\" said\nDi, crossly.\n\n\"Never!  It is mamma's betrothal ring; but her finger grew too plump,\nand when I left home she gave the ring to me as a charm to keep me safe.\nAh, ha!  I have my little joke as well as you, and the laugh is for me\nthis time.\"  And falling back among the sofa cushions, Sophie enjoyed it\nas only a gay girl could.  Do and Fanny joined her; but Di was much\ndisgusted, and vowed she _would_ discover the secret and keep all the\nbonbons to herself.\n\n\"You are most welcome; but I will not tell until I like, and then to\nFanny first.  She will not have ridicule for what I do, but say it is\nwell, and be glad with me.  Come now and work.  I will plait these\nribbons, or paint a wild rose on this pretty fan.  It is too plain now.\nWill you that I do it, dear Di?\"\n\nThe kind tone and the prospect of such an ornament to her gift appeased\nDi somewhat; but the mirthful malice in Sophie's eyes made the other\nmore than ever determined to be even with her by and by.\n\nChristmas Eve came, and found Di still in the dark, which fact nettled\nher sadly, for Sophie tormented her and amused the other girls by\npretended confidences and dark hints at the mystery which might never,\nnever be disclosed.\n\nFan had determined to have an unusually jolly party; so she invited only\nher chosen friends, and opened the festivities with a Christmas tree, as\nthe prettiest way of exchanging gifts and providing jokes for the\nevening in the shape of delusive bottles, animals full of candy, and\nevery sort of musical instrument to be used in an impromptu concert\nafterward.  The presents to one another were done up in secure parcels,\nso that they might burst upon the public eye in all their freshness.  Di\nwas very curious to know what Fan was going to give her,--for Fanny was\na generous creature and loved to give.  Di was a little jealous of her\nlove for Sophie, and could n't rest till she discovered which was to get\nthe finer gift.\n\nSo she went early and slipped into the room where the tree stood, to\npeep and pick a bit, as well as to hang up a few trifles of her own.\nShe guessed several things by feeling the parcels; but one excited her\ncuriosity intensely, and she could not resist turning it about and\npulling up one corner of the lid.  It was a flat box, prettily\nornamented with sea-weeds like red lace, and tied with scarlet ribbons.\nA tantalizing glimpse of jeweller's cotton, gold clasps, and something\nrose-colored conquered Di's last scruples; and she was just about to\nuntie the ribbons when she heard Fanny's voice, and had only time to\nreplace the box, pick up a paper that had fallen out of it, and fly up\nthe back stairs to the dressing-room, where she found Sophie and Dora\nsurveying each other as girls always do before they go down.\n\n\"You look like a daisy,\" cried Di, admiring Dora with great interest,\nbecause she felt ashamed of her prying, and the stolen note in her\npocket.\n\n\"And you like a dandelion,\" returned Do, falling back a step to get a\ngood view of Di's gold-colored dress and black velvet bows.\n\n\"Sophie is a lily of the valley, all in green and white,\" added Fanny,\ncoming in with her own blue skirts waving in the breeze.\n\n\"It does me very well.  Little girls do not need grand toilets, and I am\nfine enough for a 'peasant,'\" laughed Sophie, as she settled the fresh\nribbons on her simple white cashmere and the holly wreath in her brown\nhair, but secretly longing for the fine dress she might have had.\n\n\"Why didn't you wear your silver necklace? It would be lovely on your\npretty neck,\" said Di, longing to know if she had given the trinket\naway.\n\nBut Sophie was not to be caught, and said with a contented smile, \"I do\nnot care for ornaments unless some one I love gives me them. I had red\nroses for my _bouquet de corsage_; but the poor Madame Page was so\n_triste_, I left them on her table to remember her of me.  It seemed so\nheartless to go and dance while she had only pain; but she wished it.\"\n\n\"Dear little Sophie, how good you are!\" and warm-hearted Fan kissed the\nblooming face that needed no roses to make it sweet and gay.\n\nHalf an hour later, twenty girls and boys were dancing round the\nbrilliant tree.  Then its boughs were stripped.  Every one seemed\ncontented; even Sophie's little gifts gave pleasure, because with each\nwent a merry or affectionate verse, which made great fun on being read\naloud.  She was quite loaded with pretty things, and had no words to\nexpress her gratitude and pleasure.\n\n\"Ah, you are all so good to me! and I have nothing beautiful for you.  I\nreceive much and give little, but I cannot help it!  Wait a little and I\nwill redeem myself,\" she said to Fanny, with eyes full of tears, and a\nlap heaped with gay and useful things.\n\n\"Never mind that now; but look at this, for here's still another\noffering of friendship, and a very charming one, to judge by the\noutside,\" answered Fan, bringing the white box with the sea-weed\nornaments.\n\nSophie opened it, and cries of admiration followed, for lying on the\nsoft cotton was a lovely set of coral.  Rosy pink branches, highly\npolished and fastened with gold clasps, formed necklace, bracelets, and\na spray for the bosom. No note or card appeared, and the girls crowded\nround to admire and wonder who could have sent so valuable a gift.\n\n\"Can't you guess, Sophie?\" cried Dora, longing to own the pretty things.\n\n\"I should believe I knew, but it is too costly. How came the parcel,\nFan?  I think you must know all,\" and Sophie turned the box about,\nsearching vainly for a name.\n\n\"An expressman left it, and Jane took off the wet paper and put it on my\ntable with the other things.  Here's the wrapper; do you know that\nwriting?\" and Fan offered the brown paper which she had kept.\n\n\"No; and the label is all mud, so I cannot see the place.  Ah, well, I\nshall discover some day, but I should like to thank this generous friend\nat once.  See now, how fine I am!  I do myself the honor to wear them at\nonce.\"\n\nSmiling with girlish delight at her pretty ornaments, Sophie clasped the\nbracelets on her round arms, the necklace about her white throat, and\nset the rosy spray in the lace on her bosom. Then she took a little\ndance down the room and found herself before Di, who was looking at her\nwith an expression of naughty satisfaction on her face.\n\n\"Don't you wish you knew who sent them?\"\n\n\"Indeed, yes;\" and Sophie paused abruptly.\n\n\"Well, _I_ know, and _I_ won't tell till I like. It's my turn to have a\nsecret; and I mean to keep it.\"\n\n\"But it is not right,\" began Sophie, with indignation.\n\n\"Tell me yours, and I 'll tell mine,\" said Di, teasingly.\n\n\"I will not!  You have no right to touch my gifts, and I am sure you\nhave done it, else how know you who sends this fine _cadeau_?\" cried\nSophie, with the flash Di liked to see.\n\nHere Fanny interposed, \"If you have any note or card belonging to\nSophie, give it up at once.  She shall not be tormented.  Out with it,\nDi.  I see your hand in your pocket, and I 'm sure you have been in\nmischief.\"\n\n\"Take your old letter, then.  I know what's in it; and if I can't keep\nmy secret for fun, Sophie shall not have hers.  That Tilly sent the\ncoral, and Sophie spent her hundred dollars in books and clothes for\nthat queer girl, who'd better stay among her lobsters than try to be a\nlady,\" cried Di, bent on telling all she knew, while Sophie was reading\nher letter eagerly.\n\n\"Is it true?\" asked Dora, for the four girls were in a corner together,\nand the rest of the company busy pulling crackers.\n\n\"Just like her!  I thought it was that; but she would n't tell.  Tell us\nnow, Sophie, for _I_ think it was truly sweet and beautiful to help that\npoor girl, and let us say hard things of you,\" cried Fanny, as her\nfriend looked up with a face and a heart too full of happiness to help\noverflowing into words.\n\n\"Yes; I will tell you now.  It was foolish, perhaps; but I did not want\nto be praised, and I loved to help that good Tilly.  You know she worked\nall summer and made a little sum.  So glad, so proud she was, and\nplanned to study that she might go to school this winter.  Well, in\nOctober the uncle fell very ill, and Tilly gave all her money for the\ndoctors.  The uncle had been kind to her, she did not forget; she was\nglad to help, and told no one but me.  Then I said, 'What better can I\ndo with my father's gift than give it to the dear creature, and let her\nlose no time?'  I do it; she will not at first, but I write and say, 'It\nmust be,' and she submits. She is made neat with some little dresses,\nand she goes at last, to be so happy and do so well that I am proud of\nher.  Is not that better than fine toilets and rich gifts to those who\nneed nothing?  Truly, yes! yet I confess it cost me pain to give up my\nplans for Christmas, and to seem selfish or ungrateful.  Forgive me\nthat.\"\n\n\"Yes, indeed, you dear generous thing!\" cried Fan and Dora, touched by\nthe truth.\n\n\"But how came Tilly to send you such a splendid present?\" asked Di.\n\"Should n't think you 'd like her to spend your money in such things.\"\n\n\"She did not.  A sea-captain, a friend of the uncle, gave her these\nlovely ornaments, and she sends them to me with a letter that is more\nprecious than all the coral in the sea.  I cannot read it; but of all my\ngifts _this_ is the dearest and the best!\"\n\nSophie had spoken eagerly, and her face, her voice, her gestures, made\nthe little story eloquent; but with the last words she clasped the\nletter to her bosom as if it well repaid her for all the sacrifices she\nhad made.  They might seem small to others, but she was sensitive and\nproud, anxious to be loved in the strange country, and fond of giving,\nso it cost her many tears to seem mean and thoughtless, to go poorly\ndressed, and be thought hardly of by those she wished to please.  She\ndid not like to tell of her own generosity, because it seemed like\nboasting; and she was not sure that it had been wise to give so much.\nTherefore, she waited to see if Tilly was worthy of the trust reposed in\nher; and she now found a balm for many wounds in the loving letter that\ncame with the beautiful and unexpected gift.\n\nDi listened with hot cheeks, and when Sophie paused, she whispered\nregretfully,--\n\n\"Forgive me, I was wrong!  I 'll keep your gift all my life to remember\nyou by, for you are the best and dearest girl I know.\"\n\nThen with a hasty kiss she ran away, carrying with great care the white\nshell on which Sophie had painted a dainty little picture of the\nmermaids waiting for the pretty boat that brought good fortune to poor\nTilly, and this lesson to those who were hereafter her faithful friends.\n\n\n\n[Illustration: Chapter VII tailpiece]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: \"Everything is quite clean; I am sure of that, for I\nwashed the sheets and coverlet myself not long ago.\"--PAGE 207.]\n\n\n\n                                 VIII.\n\n                           DOLLY'S BEDSTEAD.\n\n\n\"Aunt Pen, where is Ariadne to sleep, please?  I wanted to bring her\ncradle, but mamma said it would take up so much room I could not.\"\n\nAnd Alice looked about her for a resting-place for her dolly as\nanxiously as if Ariadne had been a live baby.\n\n\"Can't she lie on the sofa?\" asked Aunt Pen, with that sad want of\ninterest in such important matters which grown-up people so often show.\n\n\"No, indeed!  Some one would sit down on her, of course; and I won't\nhave my darling smashed.  You would n't like it yourself, aunty, and I\n'm surprised at your proposing such a thing!\" cried Alice, clasping her\nbabe with a face full of maternal indignation.\n\n\"I beg your pardon!  I really forgot that danger.  I 'm not so used to\ninfants as you are, and that accounts for it.  Now I think of it,\nthere's a little bedstead up garret, and you can have that.  You will\nfind it done up in a paper in the great blue chest where all our old\ntoys are kept.\"\n\nAppeased by Aunt Pen's apology, Alice trotted to the attic, found the\nbedstead, and came trotting back with a disappointed look on her face.\n\n\"It is such a funny, old-fashioned thing I don't know that Ariadne will\nconsent to lie in it.  Anyway, I must air the feather-bed and pillows\nfirst, or she will get cold.  I wish I could wash the sheets too, they\nare so yellow; but there is no time now,\" said the little girl, bustling\nround as she spoke, and laying the little bed-furniture out on the rug.\n\n\"Everything is quite clean, my dear; I am sure of that, for I washed the\nsheets and coverlet myself not long ago, because I found a nest of\nlittle mice there the last time I looked,\" answered Aunt Pen, with her\neyes fixed thoughtfully on the small bedstead.\n\n\"I guess you used to be fond of it when you were a little girl; and\nthat's why you keep it so nicely now, isn't it?\" asked Alice, as she\ndusted the carved posts and patted the canvas sacking.\n\n\"Yes, there's quite a little romance about that bed; and I love it so\nthat I never can give it away, but keep it mended up and in order for\nthe sake of old times and poor Val,\" said Aunt Pen, smiling and sighing\nin the same breath.\n\n\"Oh, tell about it!  I do like to hear stories, and so does Ariadne!\"\ncried Alice, hastily opening dolly's eyes, that she might express her\ninterest in the only way permitted her.\n\n\"Well, dear, I 'll tell you this true tale of long ago; and while you\nlisten you can be making a new blanket for the bed.  Mrs. Mouse nibbled\nholes in the other one, and her babies made a mess of it, so I burned it\nup.  Here is a nice little square of flannel, and there are blue, red,\nand green worsteds for you to work round the edges with.\"\n\n\"Now that is just splendid!  I love to work with crewels, and I 'll put\nlittle quirls and things in the corners.  I can do it all myself, so\ntell away, please, aunty.\"  And Alice settled herself with great\nsatisfaction, while Ariadne sat bolt upright in her own armchair and\nstared at Aunt Pen in a way that would have been very embarrassing if\nher round blue eyes had had a particle of expression in them.\n\n\"When I was about ten years old, it was the joy of my heart to go every\nSaturday afternoon to see my nurse, Betsey Brown.  She no longer lived\nout, but was married to a pilot, and had a home of her own down in what\nwe used to call 'the watery part' of the city.  A funny little house, so\nclose to the wharves that when one looked out there were masts going to\nand fro over the house-tops, and from the upper windows I could see the\nblue ocean.\n\n\"Betsey had a boy with club feet, and a brother who was deformed; but\nBobby was my pet playmate, and Valentine my best friend. My chief\npleasure was in seeing him work at his turning-lathe, for he was very\ningenious, and made all sorts of useful and pretty things.\n\n\"But the best thing he did was to cure the lame feet of his little\nnephew.  In those days there were few doctors who attended to such\ntroubles, and they were very expensive; so poor Bobby had gone hobbling\nabout ever since he was born with his little feet turned in.\n\n\"Uncle Val could sympathize with him; and though he knew there was no\ncure for his own crooked back, he did his best to help the boy. He made\na very simple apparatus for straightening the crippled feet (just two\nwooden splints, with wooden screws to loosen or tighten the pressure),\nand with patience, hope, and faith, he worked over the child till the\nfeet were right, and Bobby could run and play like other children.\"\n\n\"Oh, Aunt Pen, was n't that lovely?  And did he really do it all\nhimself?  How clever he must have been!\" cried Alice, puckering the new\nblanket in the pleasant interest of the moment.\n\n\"He was very clever for a lad of eighteen. But that was not all he did.\nBobby's cure was a long one, and I only saw the happy end of it; yet I\nremember how we all rejoiced, and how proud Betsey was of her brother.\nMy father wrote an account of it for some medical journal, and it was\nmuch talked about in our little circle; so much, indeed, that an aunt of\nours who had a lame boy came to see Val and talked it all over with him.\n\n\"Val was much pleased, and offered to try and cure her son if she would\nlet the boy come and live with him; for it needed great skill and\nconstant care to work the screws just right, and tend the poor little\nfeet gently.\n\n\"Aunt Dolly said no at once to that plan; for how could she let her\nprecious boy go and live in that little house down in the poor part of\nthe city?\n\n\"There was no other way, however, for Val would not leave his sister and\nhis beloved lathe, and was wise enough to see how impossible it would be\nto have his own way with the child in a house where every one obeyed his\nwhims and petted him, as such afflicted children usually are petted.\n\n\"So Val stood firm, and for a time nothing was done.\n\n\"I was much interested in the affair, and every time I saw my cousin Gus\nI told him what nice times I had down there; how strong and lively Bobby\nwas, and declared my firm belief that Val could cure every disease under\nthe sun.\n\n\"These glowing accounts made Gus want to go, and when he set his heart\non anything he always got it; so in the end Aunt Dolly consented, and\nGus went to board in the little house, much to the wonder of some folks.\n\n\"The plan succeeded capitally, however, and Gus thrived like a dandelion\nin springtime; for simple food, plenty of air, no foolish indulgence,\nand the most faithful care, built up the little lad in a way that\nastonished and delighted us all.\n\n\"The feet improved slowly; and Val was sure that in time they would be\nall right, for everything helped on the good work.\n\n\"Dear me, what happy days I used to spend at Betsey's!  Sometimes Isaac,\nthe jolly, bluff pilot, would take us out in his boat; and then what\nrosy cheeks and good appetites we got! Sometimes we played in Val's\nshop, and watched him make pretty things or helped him in some easy job,\nfor he liked to have us near him.  And, oh, my heart, what delicious\nsuppers Betsey used to get us in the front room, where all sorts of\nqueer sea treasures were collected,--shells, coral, and seaweed; odd\npictures of ships and fish, and old books full of sailor songs and\nthrilling tales of wrecks.\"\n\n\"I wish I had been there!\" interrupted Alice.  \"Is the house all gone,\naunty?\"\n\n\"All gone, dear, and every one of that merry party but myself,\" answered\nAunt Pen, with a sigh.\n\n\"Don't think about the sad part of it, but go on and tell about the bed,\nplease,\" said Alice, feeling that it was about time this interesting\npiece of furniture appeared in the story.\n\n\"Well, that was made to comfort me when Gus went home, as he did after\nstaying two years.  Yes, he went home with straight feet, the heartiest,\nhappiest little lad I ever saw.\n\n\"I was heart-broken at losing my playmate, and mourned for him as\nbitterly as a child could, till Val comforted me, not only by the\ncunning bedstead for my doll, but by a hundred kindly words and acts,\nfor which I never thanked him half enough.\n\n\"Aunt Dolly and my father were so grateful and pleased at Val's success\nwith Gus that they helped him in a plan he had some years later, when he\ntook a larger house in a better place, and with Betsey as nurse, opened\na small hospital for the cure of deformed feet.  It was an excellent\nplan; and all was going well, when poor Val wasted rapidly away, and\ndied just as his work began to bring him money and some honor.\"\n\n\"That was very bad!  But what became of Bobby and Gus?\" asked Alice, who\nwas not of an age to care much about the \"sad part\" of any story.\n\n\"Bob became a sea-captain, and was an excellent fellow till he went down\nwith his ship in a storm after rescuing all his crew, even to the\ncabin-boy.  I'm proud of Bob, and keep those two great pearly shells in\nmemory of him, for he brought them to me after his first voyage.\"\n\nAunt Pen's eyes lit up, and her voice rose as she spoke with real pride\nand affection of honest Captain Brown, who to her was always little Bob.\n\n\"I like that, it was so brave and good; but I do wish he had been saved,\nfor then I could have seen him.  And maybe he would have brought me a\nbig green parrot that could say funny things.  What became of Gus?\"\nasked Alice, after a moment spent in the delightful thought of owning a\ngreen parrot with a red tail.\n\n\"Ah, my dear, I wish I knew!\" exclaimed Aunt Pen, so earnestly that\nAlice dropped her work, astonished at the change in that usually quiet\nface.\n\n\"Don't tell any more if you 'd rather not,\" said the little girl,\nfeeling instinctively that she had touched some tender string.\n\nBut Aunt Pen only stroked her curly head and went on in a softer tone,\nwith her eyes fixed upon a faded picture that had hung over her\nwork-table ever since Alice could remember.\n\n\"I like to tell you, dear, because I want you to love the memory of this\nold friend of mine. Gus went to sea also, much against his mother's\nwill, for the years spent in the little house near the wharf had given\nthe boy a taste for salt water, and he could not overcome it, though he\ntried.\n\n\"He sailed with Captain Bob all round the world, and would have been\nwith him on that last voyage if a sudden whim had not kept him ashore.\nMore than this we don't know; and for seven years have had no tidings of\nhim. The others give him up, feeling sure that he was lost in the wild\nhill-country of India, whither he went in search of adventures.  I\nsuppose they are right; but _I_ cannot make it true, and still hope to\nsee the dear boy back, or at least to hear some news of him.\"\n\n\"Would n't he be rather an old boy now, Aunt Pen?\" asked Alice, softly;\nfor she wanted to chase away the load of pain with a smile if she could.\n\n\"Bless my heart, so he would!  Forty, at least.  Well, well, he never\nwill seem old to me, though his hair should be gray when he comes home.\"\nAnd Aunt Pen did smile as her eyes went back to the faded picture with a\ntender look that made Alice say timidly, while she laid her blooming\ncheek against her aunt's hand,--\n\n\"Would you mind if I asked if it was Gus who gave you this pretty ring,\nand was your sweetheart once?  Mamma told me you had one, and he was\ndead; so I must never ask why you did n't marry as she did.\"\n\n\"Yes, he gave me this, and was to come back in a year or two; but I have\nnever seen him since, and never shall, I fear, till we all meet over the\ngreat sea at last.\"\n\nThere Aunt Pen broke down, and spreading her hands before her face, sat\nso still that Alice feared to stir.\n\nEven her careless child's heart was full of pity now; and two great\ntears rolled down upon the little blanket, to lie sparkling like drops\nof dew in the heart of the very remarkable red rose she was working in\nthe middle.\n\nThen it was that Ariadne distinguished herself, and proved beyond a\ndoubt that her blue china eyes were worth something.  A large, brown,\nbreezy-looking man had been peeping in from the door for several\nmoments, and listening in the most improper manner.  No one saw him but\nAriadne, and how could she warn the others, poor thing, when she had n't\na tongue in her head?  Don't tell me that dolls have n't hearts\nsomewhere in their sawdust bosoms!  I know better; and I am firmly\nconvinced that Ariadne's was full of sympathy for Aunt Pen; else why\nshould she, a well-bred doll, suddenly and without the least apparent\ncause, slip out of her chair and fall upon her china nose with a loud\nwhack?\n\nAlice jumped up to catch her darling, and Aunt Pen lifted her head to\nsee what was the matter, and the big brown man, giving his hat a toss,\ncame into the room like a whirlwind!\n\nAlice, Ariadne, bedstead, and blanket, were suddenly swept into a corner\nby some mysterious means, and lay there in a heap, while the two grown\npeople fell into each other's arms, exclaiming,--\n\n\"Pen!\"\n\n\"Gus!\"\n\nI don't know which stared the hardest at this dreadful proceeding, Alice\nor Ariadne, but I do know that every one was very happy afterward, and\nthat the precious little bedstead was not smashed, for I have seen it\nwith my own eyes.\n\n\n\n[Illustration: Chapter VIII tailpiece]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: \"Well, dear, this is the story.\"--PAGE 220.]\n\n\n\n                                  IX.\n\n                            TRUDEL'S SIEGE.\n\n\n\"Grandmother, what is this curious picture about?\" said little Gertrude,\nor \"Trudel,\" as they called her, looking up from the red book that lay\non her knee, one Sunday morning, when she and the grandmother sat sadly\ntogether in the neat kitchen; for the father was very ill, and the poor\nmother seldom left him.\n\nThe old woman put on her round spectacles, which made her look as wise\nas an owl, and turned to answer the child, who had been as quiet as a\nmouse for a long time, looking at the strange pictures in the ancient\nbook.\n\n\"Ah, my dear, that tells about a very famous and glorious thing that\nhappened long ago at the siege of Leyden.  You can read it for yourself\nsome day.\"\n\n\"Please tell me now.  Why are the houses half under water, and ships\nsailing among them, and people leaning over the walls of the city? And\nwhy is that boy waving his hands on the tower, where the men are running\naway in a great smoke?\" asked Trudel, too curious to wait till she could\nread the long hard words on the yellow pages.\n\n\"Well, dear, this is the story: and you shall hear how brave men and\nwomen, and children too, were in those days.  The cruel Spaniards came\nand besieged the city for many months; but the faithful people would not\ngive up, though nearly starved to death.  When all the bread and meat\nwere gone and the gardens empty, they ate grass and herbs and horses,\nand even dogs and cats, trying to hold out till help came to them.\"\n\n\"Did little girls really eat their pussies?  Oh, I 'd die before I would\nkill my dear Jan,\" cried Trudel, hugging the pretty kitten that purred\nin her lap.\n\n\"Yes, the children ate their pets.  And so would you if it would save\nyour father or mother from starving.  _We_ know what hunger is; but we\nwon't eat Jan yet.\"\n\nThe old woman sighed as she glanced from the empty table to the hearth\nwhere no fire burned.\n\n\"_Did_ help come in the ships?\" asked the child, bending her face over\nthe book to hide the tears that filled her eyes, for she was very\nhungry, and had had only a crust for breakfast.\n\n\"Our good Prince of Orange was trying to help them; but the Spaniards\nwere all around the city and he had not men enough to fight them by\nland, so he sent carrier-doves with letters to tell the people that he\nwas going to cut through the great dikes that kept the sea out, and let\nthe water flow over the country so as to drive the enemy from his camp,\nfor the city stood upon high ground, and would be safe. Then the ships,\nwith food, could sail over the drowned land and save the brave people.\"\n\n\"Oh, I 'm glad!  I 'm glad!  These are the bad Spaniards running away,\nand these are poor people stretching out their hands for the bread.  But\nwhat is the boy doing, in the funny tower where the wall has tumbled\ndown?\" cried Trudel, much excited.\n\n\"The smoke of burning houses rose between the city and the port so the\npeople could not see that the Spaniards had run away; and they were\nafraid the ships could not get safely by.  But a boy who was scrambling\nabout as boys always are wherever there is danger, fire, and fighting,\nsaw the enemy go, and ran to the deserted tower to shout and beckon to\nthe ships to come on at once,--for the wind had changed and soon the\ntide would flow back and leave them stranded.\"\n\n\"Nice boy!  I wish I had been there to see him and help the poor\npeople,\" said Trudel, patting the funny little figure sticking out of\nthe pepper-pot tower like a jack-in-the-box.\n\n\"If children keep their wits about them and are brave, they can always\nhelp in some way, my dear.  We don't have such dreadful wars now; but\nthe dear God knows we have troubles enough, and need all our courage and\nfaith to be patient in times like these;\" and the grandmother folded her\nthin hands with another sigh, as she thought of her poor son dying for\nwant of a few comforts, after working long and faithfully for a hard\nmaster who never came to offer any help, though a very rich man.\n\n\"Did they eat the carrier-doves?\" asked Trudel, still intent on the\nstory.\n\n\"No, child; they fed and cared for them while they lived, and when they\ndied, stuffed and set them up in the Staat Haus, so grateful were the\nbrave burghers for the good news the dear birds brought.\"\n\n\"That is the best part of all.  I like that story very much!\"  And\nTrudel turned the pages to find another, little dreaming what a\ncarrier-dove she herself was soon to become.\n\nPoor Hans Dort and his family were nearly as distressed as the besieged\npeople of Leyden, for poverty stood at the door, hunger and sickness\nwere within, and no ship was anywhere seen coming to bring help.  The\nfather, who was a linen-weaver, could no longer work in the great\nfactory; the mother, who was a lace-maker, had to leave her work to\nnurse him; and the old woman could earn only a trifle by her knitting,\nbeing lame and feeble.  Little Trudel did what she could,--sold the\nstockings to get bread and medicine, picked up wood for the fire,\ngathered herbs for the poor soup, and ran errands for the market-women,\nwho paid her with unsalable fruit, withered vegetables, and now and then\na bit of meat.\n\nBut market-day came but once a week; and it was very hard to find food\nfor the hungry mouths meantime.  The Dorts were too proud to beg, so\nthey suffered in silence, praying that help would come before it was too\nlate to save the sick and old.\n\nNo other picture in the quaint book interested Trudel so much as that of\nthe siege of Leyden; and she went back to it, thinking over the story\ntill hunger made her look about for something to eat as eagerly as the\npoor starving burghers.\n\n\"Here, child, is a good crust.  It is too hard for me.  I kept it for\nyou; it's the last except that bit for your mother,\" said the old woman,\npulling a dry crust from her jacket with a smile; for though starving\nherself, the brave old soul thought only of her darling.\n\nTrudel's little white teeth gnawed savagely at the hard bread, and Jan\nate the crumbs as if he too needed food.  As she saw him purring about\nher feet, there came into the child's head a sudden idea, born of the\nbrave story and of the cares that made her old before her time.\n\n\"Poor Jan gets thinner and thinner every day. If we are to eat him, we\nmust do it soon, or he will not be worth cooking,\" she said with a\ncurious look on the face that used to be so round and rosy, and now was\nwhite, thin, and anxious.\n\n\"Bless the child! we won't eat the poor beast! but it would be kind to\ngive him away to some one who could feed him well.  Go now, dear, and\nget a jug of fresh water.  The father will need it, and so will you, for\nthat crust is a dry dinner for my darling.\"\n\nAs she spoke, the old woman held the little girl close for a minute; and\nTrudel clung to her silently, finding the help she needed for her\nsacrifice in the love and the example grandma gave her.\n\nThen she ran away, with the brown jug in one hand, the pretty kitten on\nher arm, and courage in her little heart.  It was a poor neighborhood\nwhere the weavers and lace-makers lived; but nearly every one had a good\ndinner on Sunday, and on her way to the fountain Trudel saw many\nwell-spread tables, smelled the good soup in many kettles, and looked\nenviously at the plump children sitting quietly on the doorsteps in\nround caps and wooden shoes, waiting to be called in to eat of the big\nloaves, the brown sausages, and the cabbage-soup smoking on the hearth.\n\nWhen she came to the baker's house, her heart began to beat; and she\nhugged Jan so close it was well he was thin, or he would have mewed\nunder the tender farewell squeezes his little mistress gave him.  With a\ntimid hand Trudel knocked, and then went in to find Vrow Hertz and her\nfive boys and girls at table, with good roast meat and bread and cheese\nand beer before them.\n\n\"Oh, the dear cat! the pretty cat!  Let me pat him!  Hear him mew, and\nsee his soft white coat,\" cried the children, before Trudel could speak,\nfor they admired the snow-white kitten very much, and had often begged\nfor it.\n\nTrudel had made up her mind to give up to them at last her one treasure;\nbut she wished to be paid for it, and was bound to tell her plan.  Jan\nhelped her, for smelling the meat, he leaped from her arms to the table\nand began to gnaw a bone on Dirck's plate, which so amused the young\npeople that they did not hear Trudel say to their mother in a low voice,\nwith red cheeks and beseeching eyes,--\n\n\"Dear Vrow Hertz, the father is very ill; the mother cannot work at her\nlace in the dark room; and grandma makes but little by knitting, though\nI help all I can.  We have no food; can you give me a loaf of bread in\nexchange for Jan? I have nothing else to sell, and the children want him\nmuch.\"\n\nTrudel's eyes were full and her lips trembled, as she ended with a look\nthat went straight to stout Mother Hertz's kind heart, and told the\nwhole sad story.\n\n\"Bless the dear child!  Indeed, yes; a loaf and welcome; and see here, a\ngood sausage also.  Brenda, go fill the jug with milk.  It is excellent\nfor the sick man.  As for the cat, let it stay a while and get fat, then\nwe will see.  It is a pretty beast and worth many loaves of bread; so\ncome again, Trudel, and do not suffer hunger while I have much bread.\"\n\nAs the kind woman spoke, she had bustled about, and before Trudel could\nget her breath, a big loaf, a long sausage, and a jug of fresh milk were\nin her apron and hands, and a motherly kiss made the gifts all the\neasier to take. Returning it heartily, and telling the children to be\nkind to Jan, she hastened home to burst into the quiet room, crying\njoyfully,--\n\n\"See, grandmother, here is food,--all mine. I bought it!  Come, come,\nand eat!\"\n\n\"Now, dear Heaven, what do I see?  Where did the blessed bread come\nfrom?\" asked the old woman, hugging the big loaf, and eying the sausage\nwith such hunger in her face that Trudel ran for the knife and cup, and\nheld a draught of fresh milk to her grandmother's lips before she could\nanswer a single question.\n\n\"Stay, child, let us give thanks before we eat. Never was food more\nwelcome or hearts more grateful;\" and folding her hands, the pious old\nwoman blessed the meal that seemed to fall from heaven on that bare\ntable.  Then Trudel cut the crusty slice for herself, a large soft one\nfor grandmother, with a good bit of sausage, and refilled the cup.\nAnother portion and cup went upstairs to mother, whom she found asleep,\nwith the father's hot hand in hers.  So leaving the surprise for her\nwaking, Trudel crept down to eat her own dinner, as hungry as a little\nwolf, amusing herself with making the old woman guess where and how she\ngot this fine feast.\n\n\"This is our siege, grandmother; and we are eating Jan,\" she said at\nlast, with the merriest laugh she had given for weeks.\n\n\"Eating Jan?\" cried the old woman, staring at the sausage, as if for a\nmoment she feared the kitten had been turned into that welcome shape by\nsome miracle.  Still laughing, Trudel told her story, and was well\nrewarded for her childish sacrifice by the look in grandmother's face as\nshe said with a tender kiss,--\n\n\"Thou art a carrier-dove, my darling, coming home with good news and\ncomfort under thy wing.  God bless thee, my brave little heart, and\ngrant that our siege be not a long one before help comes to us!\"\n\nSuch a happy feast! and for dessert more kisses and praises for Trudel\nwhen the mother came down to hear the story and to tell how eagerly\nfather had drank the fresh milk and gone to sleep again.  Trudel was\nvery well pleased with her bargain; but at night she missed Jan's soft\npurr for her lullaby, and cried herself to sleep, grieving for her lost\npet, being only a child, after all, though trying to be a brave little\nwoman for the sake of those she loved.\n\nThe big loaf and sausage took them nicely through the next day; but by\nTuesday only crusts remained, and sorrel-soup, slightly flavored with\nthe last scrap of sausage, was all they had to eat.\n\nOn Wednesday morning, Trudel had plaited her long yellow braids with\ncare, smoothed down her one blue skirt, and put on her little black silk\ncap, making ready for the day's work. She was weak and hungry, but\nshowed a bright face as she took her old basket and said,--\n\n\"Now I am off to market, grandmother, to sell the hose and get medicine\nand milk for father.  I shall try to pick up something for dinner.  The\ngood neighbors often let me run errands for them, and give me a kuchen,\na bit of cheese, or a taste of their nice coffee.  I will bring you\nsomething, and come as soon as I can.\"\n\nThe old woman nodded and smiled, as she scoured the empty kettle till it\nshone, and watched the little figure trudge away with the big empty\nbasket, and, she knew, with a still emptier little stomach.  \"Coffee!\"\nsighed the grandmother; \"one sip of the blessed drink would put life\ninto me.  When shall I ever taste it again?\" and the poor soul sat down\nto her knitting with hands that trembled from weakness.\n\nThe Platz was a busy and a noisy scene when Trudel arrived,--for the\nthrifty Dutchwomen were early afoot; and stalls, carts, baskets, and\ncans were already arranged to make the most attractive display of fruit,\nvegetables, fish, cheese, butter, eggs, milk, and poultry, and the small\nwares country people came to buy.\n\nNodding and smiling, Trudel made her way through the bustle to the booth\nwhere old Vrow Schmidt bought and sold the blue woollen hose that adorn\nthe stout legs of young and old.\n\n\"Good-morning, child!  I am glad to see thee and thy well-knit\nstockings, for I have orders for three pairs, and promised thy\ngrandmother's, they are always so excellent,\" said the rosy-faced woman,\nas Trudel approached.\n\n\"I have but one pair.  We had no money to buy more yarn.  Father is so\nill mother cannot work; and medicines cost a deal,\" said the child, with\nher large hungry eyes fixed on the breakfast the old woman was about to\neat, first having made ready for the business of the day.\n\n\"See, then, I shall give thee the yarn and wait for the hose; I can\ntrust thee, and shall ask a good price for the good work.  Thou too wilt\nhave the fever, I 'm afraid!--so pale and thin, poor child!  Here, drink\nfrom my cup, and take a bite of bread and cheese.  The morning air makes\none hungry.\"\n\nTrudel eagerly accepted the \"sup\" and the \"bite,\" and felt new strength\nflow into her as the warm draught and good brown bread went down her\nthroat.\n\n\"So many thanks!  I had no breakfast.  I came to see if I could get any\nerrands here to-day, for I want to earn a bit if I can,\" she said with a\nsigh of satisfaction, as she slipped half of her generous slice and a\ngood bit of cheese into her basket, regretting that the coffee could not\nbe shared also.\n\nAs if to answer her wish, a loud cry from fat Mother Kinkle, the\nfish-wife, rose at that moment, for a thievish cur had run off with a\nfish from her stall, while she gossiped with a neighbor.\n\nDown went Trudel's basket, and away went Trudel's wooden shoes\nclattering over the stones while she raced after the dog, dodging in and\nout among the stalls till she cornered the thief under Gretchen Horn's\nmilk-cart; for at sight of the big dog who drew the four copper-cans,\nthe cur lost heart and dropped the fish and ran away.\n\n\"Well done!\" said buxom Gretchen, when Trudel caught up the rescued\ntreasure a good deal the worse for the dog's teeth and the dust it had\nbeen dragged through.\n\nAll the market-women laughed as the little girl came back proudly\nbearing the fish, for the race had amused them.  But Mother Kinkle said\nwith a sigh, when she saw the damage done her property,--\n\n\"It is spoiled; no one will buy that torn, dirty thing.  Throw it on the\nmuck-pile, child; your trouble was in vain, though I thank you for it.\"\n\n\"Give it to me, please, if you don't want it. We can eat it, and would\nbe glad of it at home,\" cried Trudel, hugging the slippery fish with\njoy, for she saw a dinner in it, and felt that her run was well paid.\n\n\"Take it, then, and be off; I see Vrow von Decken's cook coming, and you\nare in the way,\" answered the old woman, who was not a very amiable\nperson, as every one knew.\n\n\"That's a fine reward to make a child for running the breath out of her\nbody for you,\" said Dame Troost, the handsome farm-wife who sat close by\namong her fruit and vegetables, as fresh as her cabbages, and as rosy as\nher cherries.\n\n\"Better it, then, and give her a feast fit for a burgomaster.  _You_ can\nafford it,\" growled Mother Kinkle, turning her back on the other woman\nin a huff.\n\n\"That I will, for very shame at such meanness! Here, child, take these\nfor thy fish-stew, and these for thy little self,\" said the kind soul,\nthrowing half a dozen potatoes and onions into the basket, and handing\nTrudel a cabbage-leaf full of cherries.\n\nA happy girl was our little house-wife on her way home, when the milk\nand medicine and loaf of bread were bought; and a comfortable dinner was\nquickly cooked and gratefully eaten in Dort's poor house that day.\n\n\"Surely the saints must help you, child, and open people's hearts to our\nneed; for you come back each day with food for us,--like the ravens to\nthe people in the wilderness,\" said the grandmother when they sat at\ntable.\n\n\"If they do, it is because you pray to them so heartily, mother.  But I\nthink the sweet ways and thin face of my Trudel do much to win kindness,\nand the good God makes her our little house-mother, while I must sit\nidle,\" answered Vrow Dort; and she filled the child's platter again that\nshe, at least, might have enough.\n\n\"I like it!\" cried Trudel, munching an onion with her bread, while her\neyes shone and a pretty color came into her cheeks.  \"I feel so old and\nbrave now, so glad to help; and things happen, and I keep thinking what\nI will do next to get food.  It's like the birds out yonder in the\nhedge, trying to feed their little ones. I fly up and down, pick and\nscratch, get a bit here and a bit there, and then my dear _old_ birds\nhave food to eat.\"\n\nIt really was very much as Trudel said, for her small wits were getting\nvery sharp with these new cares; she lay awake that night trying to plan\nhow she should provide the next day's food for her family.\n\n\"Where now, thou dear little mother-bird?\" asked the \"Grossmutter\" next\nmorning, when the child had washed the last dish, and was setting away\nthe remains of the loaf.\n\n\"To Gretti Jansen's, to see if she wants me to water her linen, as I\nused to do for play.  She is lame, and it tires her to go to the spring\nso often.  She will like me to help her, I hope; and I shall ask her for\nsome food to pay me. Oh, I am very bold now!  Soon will I beg if no\nother way offers.\"  And Trudel shook her yellow head resolutely, and\nwent to settle the stool at grandmother's feet, and to draw the curtain\nso that it would shield the old eyes from the summer sun.\n\n\"Heaven grant it never comes to that!  It would be very hard to bear,\nyet perhaps we must if no help arrives.  The doctor's bill, the rent,\nthe good food thy father will soon need, will take far more than we can\nearn; and what will become of us, the saints only know!\" answered the\nold woman, knitting briskly in spite of her sad forebodings.\n\n\"_I_ will do it all!  I don't know how, but I shall try; and, as you\noften say, 'Have faith and hold up thy hands; God will fill them.'\"\n\nThen Trudel went away to her work, with a stout heart under her little\nblue bodice; and all that summer day she trudged to and fro along the\nwebs of linen spread in the green meadow, watering them as fast as they\ndried, knitting busily under a tree during the intervals.\n\nOld Gretti was glad to have her, and at noon called her in to share the\nmilk-soup, with cherries and herrings in it, and a pot of coffee,--as\nwell as Dutch cheese, and bread full of coriander-seed. Though this was\na feast to Trudel, one bowl of soup and a bit of bread was all she ate;\nthen, with a face that was not half as \"bold\" as she tried to make it,\nshe asked if she might run home and take the coffee to grandmother, who\nlonged for and needed it so much.\n\n\"Yes, indeed; there, let me fill that pewter jug with a good hot mess\nfor the old lady, and take this also.  I have little to give, but I\nremember how good she was to me in the winter, when my poor legs were so\nbad, and no one else thought of me,\" said grateful Gretti, mixing more\ncoffee, and tucking a bit of fresh butter into half a loaf of bread with\na crusty end to cover the hole.\n\nAway ran Trudel; and when grandmother saw the \"blessed coffee,\" as she\ncalled it, she could only sip and sigh for comfort and content, so glad\nwas the poor old soul to taste her favorite drink again.  The mother\nsmelled it, and came down to take her share, while Trudel skipped away\nto go on watering the linen till sunset with a happy heart, saying to\nherself while she trotted and splashed,--\n\n\"This day is well over, and I have kept my word.  Now what _can_ I do\nto-morrow?  Gretti does n't want me; there is no market; I must not beg\nyet, and I cannot finish the hose so soon.\n\n\"I know!  I 'll get water-cresses, and sell them from door to door.\nThey are fresh now, and people like them.  Ah, thou dear duck, thank\nthee for reminding me of them,\" she cried, as she watched a mother-duck\nlead her brood along the brook's edge, picking and dabbling among the\nweeds to show them where to feed.\n\nEarly next morning Trudel took her basket and went away to the meadows\nthat lay just out of the town, where the rich folk had their summer\nhouses, and fish-ponds, and gardens.  These gardens were gay now with\ntulips, the delight of Dutch people; for they know best how to cultivate\nthem, and often make fortunes out of the splendid and costly flowers.\n\nWhen Trudel had looked long and carefully for cresses, and found very\nfew, she sat down to rest, weary and disappointed, on a green bank from\nwhich she could overlook a fine garden all ablaze with tulips.  She\nadmired them heartily, longed to have a bed of them her own, and feasted\nher childish eyes on the brilliant colors till they were dazzled, for\nthe long beds of purple and yellow, red and white blossoms were splendid\nto see, and in the midst of all a mound of dragon-tulips rose like a\nqueen's throne, scarlet, green, and gold all mingled on the ruffled\nleaves that waved in the wind.\n\nSuddenly it seemed as if one of the great flowers had blown over the\nwall and was hopping along the path in a very curious way!  In a minute,\nhowever, she saw that it was a gay parrot that had escaped, and would\nhave flown away if its clipped wings and a broken chain on one leg had\nnot kept it down.\n\nTrudel laughed to see the bird scuttle along, jabbering to itself, and\nlooking very mischievous and naughty as it ran away.  She was just\nthinking she ought to stop it, when the garden-gate opened, and a pretty\nlittle boy came out, calling anxiously,--\n\n\"Prince!  Prince!  Come back, you bad bird! I never will let you off\nyour perch again, sly rascal!\"\n\n\"I will get him;\" and Trudel ran down the bank after the runaway, for\nthe lad was small and leaned upon a little crutch.\n\n\"Be careful!  He will bite!\" called the boy.\n\n\"I 'm not afraid,\" answered Trudel; and she stepped on the chain, which\nbrought the \"Prince of Orange\" to a very undignified and sudden halt.\nBut when she tried to catch him up by his legs, the sharp black beak\ngave a nip and held tightly to her arm.  It hurt her much, but she did\nnot let go, and carried her captive back to its master, who thanked her,\nand begged her to come in and chain up the bad bird, for he was\nevidently rather afraid of it.\n\nGlad to see more of the splendid garden, Trudel did what he asked, and\nwith a good deal of fluttering, scolding, and pecking, the Prince was\nagain settled on his perch.\n\n\"Your arm is bleeding!  Let me tie it up for you; and here is my cake to\npay you for helping me.  Mamma would have been very angry if Prince had\nbeen lost,\" said the boy, as he wet his little handkerchief in a tank of\nwater near by, and tied up Trudel's arm.\n\nThe tank was surrounded by pots of tulips; and on a rustic seat lay the\nlad's hat and a delicious large kuchen, covered with comfits and sugar.\nThe hungry girl accepted it gladly, but only nibbled at it, remembering\nthose at home. The boy thought she did not like it, and being a generous\nlittle fellow and very grateful for her help, he looked about for\nsomething else to give her.  Seeing her eyes fixed admiringly on a\npretty red jar that held a dragon-tulip just ready to bloom, he said\npleasantly,--\n\n\"Would you like this also?  All these are mine, and I can do as I like\nwith them.  Will you have it?\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, with thanks!  It is _so_ beautiful! I longed for one, but\nnever thought to get it,\" cried Trudel, receiving the pot with delight.\n\nThen she hastened toward home to show her prize, only stopping to sell\nher little bunches of cresses for a few groschen, with which she bought\na loaf and three herrings to eat with it.  The cake and the flower gave\nquite the air of a feast to the poor meal, but Trudel and the two women\nenjoyed it all, for the doctor said that the father was better, and now\nneeded only good meat and wine to grow strong and well again.\n\nHow to get these costly things no one knew, but trusted they would come,\nand all fell to work with lighter hearts.  The mother sat again at her\nlace-work, for now a ray of light could be allowed to fall on her pillow\nand bobbins by the window of the sick-room.  The old woman's fingers\nflew as she knit at one long blue stocking; and Trudel's little hands\ntugged away at the other, while she cheered her dull task by looking\nfondly at her dear tulip unfolding in the sun.\n\nShe began to knit next day as soon as the breakfast of dry bread and\nwater was done; but she took her work to the doorstep and thought busily\nas the needles clicked, for where _could_ she get money enough for meat\nand wine?  The pretty pot stood beside her, and the tulip showed its gay\nleaves now, just ready to bloom.  She was very proud of it, and smiled\nand nodded gayly when a neighbor said in passing, \"A fine flower you\nhave there.\"\n\nSoon she forgot it, however, so hard was her little brain at work, and\nfor a long time she sat with her eyes fixed on her busy hands so\nintently that she neither heard steps approaching, nor saw a maid and a\nlittle girl looking over the low fence at her.  Suddenly some words in a\nstrange language made her look up.  The child was pointing at the tulip\nand talking fast in English to the maid, who shook her head and tried to\nlead her on.\n\nShe was a pretty little creature, all in white with a gay hat, curly\nlocks, and a great doll in one arm, while the other held a box of\nbonbons. Trudel smiled when she saw the doll; and as if the friendly\nlook decided her, the little girl ran up to the door, pointed to the\nflower, and asked a question in the queer tongue which Trudel could not\nunderstand.  The maid followed, and said in Dutch, \"Fraeulein Maud\nwishes the flower.  Will you give it to her, child?\"\n\n\"Oh, no, no!  I love it.  I will keep it, for now Jan is gone, it is all\nI have!\" answered Trudel, taking the pot in her lap to guard her one\ntreasure.\n\nThe child frowned, chattered eagerly, and offered the box of sweets, as\nif used to having her wishes gratified at once.  But Trudel shook her\nhead, for much as she loved \"sugar-drops,\" she loved the splendid flower\nbetter, like a true little Dutchwoman.\n\nThen Miss Maud offered the doll, bent on having her own way.  Trudel\nhesitated a moment, for the fine lady doll in pink silk, with a feather\nin her hat, and tiny shoes on her feet, was very tempting to her\nchildish soul.  But she felt that so dainty a thing was not for her, and\nher old wooden darling, with the staring eyes and broken nose, was\ndearer to her than the delicate stranger could ever be.  So she smiled\nto soothe the disappointed child, but shook her head again.\n\nAt that, the English lassie lost her temper, stamped her foot, scolded,\nand began to cry, ordering the maid to take the flower and come away at\nonce.\n\n\"She _will_ have it; and she must not cry. Here, child, will you sell it\nfor this?\" said the maid, pulling a handful of groschen out of her deep\npocket, sure that Trudel would yield now.\n\nBut the little house-mother's quick eye saw that the whole handful would\nnot buy the meat and wine, much as it looked, and for the third time she\nshook her yellow head.  There was a longing look in her face, however;\nand the shrewd maid saw it, guessed that money would win the day, and\ndiving again into her apron-pocket, brought out a silver gulden and held\nit up.\n\n\"For this, then, little miser?  It is more than the silly flower is\nworth; but the young fraeulein must have all she wants, so take it and\nlet us be done with the crying.\"\n\nA struggle went on in Trudel's mind; and for a moment she did not speak.\nShe longed to keep her dear tulip, her one joy, and it seemed so hard to\nlet it go before she had even seen it blossom once; but then the money\nwould do much, and her loving little heart yearned to give poor father\nall he needed. Just then her mother's voice came down from the open\nwindow, softly singing an old hymn to lull the sick man to sleep.  That\nsettled the matter for the dutiful daughter; tears rose to her eyes, and\nshe found it very hard to say with a farewell caress of the blue and\nyellow pot as she gave it up,--\n\n\"You may have it; but it _is_ worth more than a gulden, for it is a\ndragon-tulip, the finest we have.  Could you give a little more? my\nfather is very sick, and we are very poor.\"\n\nThe stout maid had a kind heart under her white muslin neckerchief; and\nwhile Miss Maud seized the flower, good Marta put another gulden into\nTrudel's hand before she hastened after her charge, who made off with\nher booty, as if fearing to lose it.\n\nTrudel watched the child with the half-opened tulip nodding over her\nshoulder, as though it sadly said \"good-by\" to its former mistress, till\nher dim eyes could see no longer.  Then she covered her face with her\napron and sobbed very quietly, lest grandmother should hear and be\ntroubled.  But Trudel was a brave child, and soon the tears stopped, the\nblue eyes looked gladly at the money in her hand, and presently, when\nthe fresh wind had cooled her cheeks, she went in to show her treasure\nand cheer up the anxious hearts with her good news.\n\nShe made light of the loss of her flower, and still knitting, went\nbriskly off to get the meat and wine for father, and if the money held\nout, some coffee for grandmother, some eggs and white rolls for mother,\nwho was weak and worn with her long nursing.\n\n\"Surely, the dear God does help me,\" thought the pious little maid,\nwhile she trudged back with her parcels, quite cheery again, though no\npretty kitten ran to meet her, and no gay tulip stood full-blown in the\nnoonday sun.\n\nStill more happy was she over her small sacrifices when she saw her\nfather sip a little of the good broth grandmother made with such care,\nand saw the color come into the pale cheeks of the dear mother after she\nhad taken the eggs and fine bread, with a cup of coffee to strengthen\nand refresh her.\n\n\"We have enough for to-day, and for father to-morrow; but on Sunday we\nmust fast as well as pray, unless the hose be done and paid for in\ntime,\" said the old woman next morning, surveying their small store of\nfood with an anxious eye.\n\n\"I will work hard, and go to Vrow Schmidt's the minute we are done.  But\nnow I must run and get wood, else the broth will not be ready,\" answered\nTrudel, clattering on her wooden shoes in a great hurry.\n\n\"If all else fails, I too shall make my sacrifice as well as you, my\nheart's darling.  I cannot knit as I once did, and if we are not done,\nor Vrow Schmidt be away, I will sell my ring and so feed the flock till\nMonday,\" said the grandmother, lifting up one thin old hand, where shone\nthe wedding-ring she had worn so many years.\n\n\"Ah, no,--not that!  It was so sad to see your gold beads go, and\nmother's ear-rings and father's coat and Jan and my lovely flower! We\nwill not sell the dear old ring.  I will find a way.  Something will\nhappen, as before; so wait a little, and trust to me,\" cried Trudel,\nwith her arms about the grandmother, and such a resolute nod that the\nrusty little black cap fell over her nose and extinguished her.\n\nShe laughed as she righted it, and went singing away, as if not a care\nlay heavy on her young heart.  But when she came to the long dike which\nkept the waters of the lake from overflowing the fields below, she\nwalked slowly to rest her tired legs, and to refresh her eyes with the\nblue sheet of water on one side and the still bluer flax-fields on the\nother,--for they were in full bloom, and the delicate flowers danced\nlike fairies in the wind.\n\nIt was a lonely place, but Trudel liked it, and went on toward the wood,\nturning the heel of her stocking while she walked,--pausing now and then\nto look over at the sluice-gates which stood here and there ready to let\noff the water when autumn rains made the lake rise, or in the spring\nwhen the flax-fields were overflowed before the seed was sown.  At the\nlast of these she paused to gather a bunch of yellow stone-crop growing\nfrom a niche in the strong wall which, with earth and beams, made the\ndike. As she stooped, the sound of voices in the arch below came up to\nher distinctly.  Few people came that way except little girls, like\nherself, to gather fagots in the wood, or truant lads to fish in the\npond.  Thinking the hidden speakers must be some of these boys, she\nknelt down behind the shrubs that grew along the banks, and listened\nwith a smile on her lips to hear what mischief the naughty fellows were\nplanning.  But the smile soon changed to a look of terror; and she\ncrouched low behind the bushes to catch all that was said in the echoing\narch below.\n\n\"How did I think of the thing?  Why, that is the best part of the joke!\nMein Herr von Vost put it into my head himself,\" said a man's gruff\nvoice, in answer to some question.  \"This is the way it was: I sat at\nthe window of the beer-house, and Von Vost met the burgomaster close by\nand said, 'My friend, I hear that the lower sluice-gate needs looking\nto.  Please see to it speedily, for an overflow now would ruin my\nflax-fields, and cause many of my looms to stand still next winter.'\n'So!  It shall be looked to next week.  Such a misfortune shall not\nbefall you, my good neighbor,' said the burgomaster; and they parted.\n'Ah, ha!' thinks I to myself, 'here we have a fine way to revenge\nourselves on Master von Vost, who turned us off and leaves us to starve.\nWe have but to see that the old gate gives way _between_ now and\n_Monday_, and that hard man will suffer in the only place where he _can_\nfeel,--his pocket.'\"\n\nHere the gruff voice broke into a low laugh, and another man said\nslowly,--\n\n\"A good plan; but is there no danger of being found out, Peit Stensen?\"\n\n\"Not a chance of it!  See here, Deitrich, a quiet blow or two, at night\nwhen none can hear it, will break away these rotten boards and let the\nwater in.  The rest--it will do itself; and by morning those great\nfields will be many feet under water, and Von Vost's crop ruined.  Yes,\nwe _will_ stop his looms for him, and other men besides you and I and\nNiklas Haas will stand idle with starving children round them.  Come,\nwill you lend a hand?  Niklas is away looking for work, and Hans Dort is\nsick, or they might be glad to help us.\"\n\n\"Hans would never do it.  He is sober, and so good a weaver he will\nnever want work when he is well.  I _will_ be with you, Peit; but swear\nnot to tell it, whatever happens, for you and I have bad names now, and\nit would go hard with us.\"\n\n\"I 'll swear anything; but have no fear.  We will not only be revenged\non the master, but get the job of repairing; since men are scarce and\nthe need will be great when the flood is discovered.  See, then, how\nfine a plan it is! and meet me here at twelve to-night with a shovel and\npick.  Mine are already hidden in the wood yonder.  Now, come and see\nwhere we must strike, and then slip home the other way; we must not be\nseen here by any one.\"\n\nThere the voices stopped, and steps were heard going deeper into the\narch.  Trudel, pale with fear, rose to her feet, slipped off her sabots,\nand ran away along the dike like a startled rabbit, never pausing till\nshe was safely round the corner and out of sight.  Then she took breath,\nand tried to think what to do first.  It was of no use to go home and\ntell the story there.  Father was too ill to hear it or to help; and if\nshe told the neighbors, the secret would soon be known everywhere and\nmight bring danger on them all.  No, she must go at once to Mein Herr\nvon Vost and tell him alone, begging him to let no one know what she had\nheard, but to prevent the mischief the men threatened, as if by\naccident.  Then all would be safe, and the pretty flax-fields kept from\ndrowning.  It was a long way to the \"master's,\" as he was called,\nbecause he owned the linen factories, where all day many looms jangled,\nand many men and women worked busily to fill his warehouses and ships\nwith piles of the fine white cloth, famous all the world over.\n\nBut forgetting the wood, father's broth, granny's coffee, and even the\nknitting which she still held, Trudel went as fast as she could toward\nthe country-house, where Mein Herr von Vost would probably be at his\nbreakfast.\n\nShe was faint now with hunger and heat, for the day grew hot, and the\nanxiety she felt made her heart flutter while she hurried along the\ndusty road till she came to the pretty house in its gay garden, where\nsome children were playing.  Anxious not to be seen, Trudel slipped up\nthe steps, and in at the open window of a room where she saw the master\nand his wife sitting at table.  Both looked surprised to see a shabby,\nbreathless little girl enter in that curious fashion; but something in\nher face told them that she came on an important errand, and putting\ndown his cup, the gentleman said quickly,--\n\n\"Well, girl, what is it?\"\n\nIn a few words Trudel told her story, adding with a beseeching gesture,\n\"Dear sir, please do not tell that I betrayed bad Peit and Deitrich.\nThey know father, and may do him some harm if they discover that I told\nyou this.  We are so poor, so unhappy now, we cannot bear any more;\" and\nquite overcome with the troubles that filled her little heart, and the\nfatigue and the hunger that weakened her little body, Trudel dropped\ndown at Von Vost's feet as if she were dead.\n\nWhen she came to herself, she was lying on a velvet sofa and the\nsweet-faced lady was holding wine to her lips, while Mein Herr von Vost\nmarched up and down the room with his flowered dressing-gown waving\nbehind him, and a frown on his brow.  Trudel sat up and said she was\nquite well; but the little white face and the hungry eyes that wandered\nto the breakfast-table, told the truth, and the good frau had a plate of\nfood and a cup of warm milk before her in a moment.\n\n\"Eat, my poor child, and rest a little, while the master considers what\nis best to be done, and how to reward the brave little messenger who\ncame so far to save his property,\" said the motherly lady, fanning\nTrudel, who ate heartily, hardly knowing what she ate, except that it\nwas very delicious after so much bread and water.\n\nIn a few moments Herr von Vost paused before the sofa and said kindly,\nthough his eyes were stern and his face looked hard,--\n\n\"See, then, thus shall I arrange the affair, and all will be well.  I\nwill myself go to see the old gate, as if made anxious lest the\nburgomaster should forget his promise.  I find it in a dangerous state,\nand at once set my men at work. The rascals are disappointed of both\nrevenge and wages, and I can soon take care of them in other ways, for\nthey are drunken fellows, and are easily clapped into prison and kept\nsafely there till ready to work and to stop plotting mischief.  No one\nshall know your part in it, my girl; but I do not forget it.  Tell your\nfather his loom waits for him.  Meanwhile, here is something to help\nwhile he must be idle.\"\n\nTrudel's plate nearly fell out of her hands as a great gold-piece\ndropped into her lap; and she could only stammer her thanks with tears\nof joy, and a mouth full of bread and butter.\n\n\"He is a kind man, but a busy one, and people call him 'hard.'  You will\nnot find him so hereafter, for he never forgets a favor, nor do I.  Eat\nwell, dear child, and wait till you are rested.  I will get a basket of\ncomforts for the sick man.  Who else needs help at home?\"\n\nSo kindly did Frau von Vost look and speak that Trudel told all her sad\ntale freely, for the master had gone at once to see to the dike, after a\nnod and a pat on the child's head, which made her quite sure that he was\nnot as hard as people said.\n\nWhen she had opened her heart to the friendly lady, Trudel was left to\nrest a few moments, and lay luxuriously on the yellow sofa staring at\nthe handsome things about her, and eating pretzels till Frau von Vost\nreturned with the promised basket, out of which peeped the neck of a\nwine-bottle, the legs of a chicken, glimpses of grapes, and many neat\nparcels of good things.\n\n\"My servant goes to market and will carry this for you till you are near\nhome.  Go, little Trudel; and God bless you for saving us from a great\nmisfortune!\" said the lady; and she kissed the happy child and led her\nto the back door, where stood the little cart with an old man to drive\nthe fat horse, and many baskets to be filled in town.\n\nSuch a lovely drive our Trudel had that day! no queen in a splendid\nchariot ever felt prouder, for all her cares were gone, gold was in her\npocket, food at her feet, and friends secured to make times easier for\nall.  No need to tell how joyfully she was welcomed at home, nor what\npraises she received when her secret was confided to mother and\ngrandmother, nor what a feast was spread in the poor house that\nday,--for patience, courage, and trust in God had won the battle, the\nenemy had fled, and Trudel's hard siege was over.\n\n\n\n[Illustration: Chapter IX tailpiece]","title":"Lulu's Library, Volume 3 (of 3)","tradition":"folklore-oral-tradition","translated_text":null,"word_count":49080}