holidays and happy days h. hendry and e. f. mason the larger dumpy books for children ii. holidays and happy days holidays & happy-days by hamish hendry with illustrations by e. florence mason london grant richards 1901 contents. 1. new year's day 2. twelfth day 3. st. valentine's day 4. pancake tuesday 5. st. david's day 6. st. patrick's day 7. all fools' day 8. palm sunday 9. maundy thursday 10. good friday 11. easter sunday 12. st. george's day 13. may day 14. royal oak day 15. midsummer's eve 16. st. swithin's day 17. michaelmas day 18. all hallow's eve 19. guy fawkes' day 20. lord mayor's day 21. st. andrew's day 22. christmas eve 23. christmas day 24. boxing day london engraved & printed at the _racquet court press_ _by_ _edmund evans_. new year's day. little children are usually snug in bed when the first holiday of the year arrives. it comes at midnight when all is dark out of doors. sometimes the weather is very cold, here in england, with snow upon the ground; and as it nears midnight on the 31st december there is a great silence beneath the stars. the children are in bed; but in most homes there are grown-up people--fathers, mothers, uncles or aunts--who sit late and watch the clock. they watch; and when the clock strikes twelve they know that the first day of the new year has arrived. then it is no longer silent out of doors. the bells are ringing loudly, and ringing merrily; they are ringing a welcome to the stranger. so the grown-up people, who have been watching the clock, rise up smiling and wish each other a happy new year. the father says to the mother: "i wish you a happy new year, my dear," and in saying this they shake hands, and kiss each other. then the mother, if she has children in bed, goes upstairs. they are all asleep; so she does not waken them. she simply kisses them, each one, and smiles as she whispers: "a happy new year to all of you, my dears." that is how the new year arrives in england. in scotland there is more ceremony. there it used to be the custom for the whole household to sit up till twelve o'clock and bring in the new year with singing and frolic. but that custom is dying out. you children, i hope, get to know about the new year in the morning. you find that everybody is looking happy, and wishing happiness to other people. even although the sun is not shining there is brightness in the house and in the street. people when they meet shake hands and joke and laugh. your aunt will give you a good hug, and more than likely your uncle will put his hand into his pocket and give you something; something round and bright; something that will make you smile. then you learn that the new year brings gifts as well as gladness. but nowadays the giving of presents is not so common as it used to be. far back in english history the grown-up people gave each other gifts on new year's day, and some of these gifts were very beautiful and very costly. diamond necklaces, gold caskets, jewelled swords, embroidered mantles--these were the kind of gifts which rich people gave to each other at the feast of the new year. our english kings and queens, in the old days, received many such precious gifts. queen elizabeth got so many valuable presents in this way that a list of them was kept upon parchment, and in the history books it may still be read. this custom of giving rich presents to rich people on new year's day exists no longer in england; and that is well. for in many cases these costly gifts were given not from kindness but from selfishness; the gift-givers wanted some favour in return. now, it is an ill thing to begin a new year with a spirit of greediness. none of you children, i am sure, will do so. be thankful that you have got the gift of another new year's day. it is the first clean page of a fine new book in which you can write just what you please. write something cheerful; and see to it that there are no blots. twelfth day. the sixth day in each year is called twelfth day. that is a little odd is it not? well, the reason is this: in very ancient times there was a great christian festival which began upon christmas day and lasted for twelve days. it was called the feast of the nativity, because it was held in honour of the coming of christ to earth, and both the first day of the feast and the last day were held very sacred. on the last, or twelfth day, special honour was given to the three kings who are spoken of in the new testament as the three wise men who came from the east to jerusalem, led by a star. the star guided these three kings to bethlehem where they saw the young child jesus and offered gifts to him of gold, frankincense and myrrh. at first this feast, which we call epiphany, was of a very solemn nature, but in the middle ages it lost a great deal of its sacred character. the festival of the three kings became noisy and frolicsome, and sometimes it was arranged in the form of a little play. in this play three friars or monks were dressed up like kings, with crowns upon their heads, and a golden star was carried before them. within the church, near the altar, a manger would be arranged with an ox and an ass, in imitation of the manger at bethlehem. here, also, was the child christ and his mother. to them would enter the three kings, accompanied by a merry crowd, and gifts were offered to the babe--gold, frankincense and myrrh. it was a pretty sight, perhaps, but not at all devout. in later times still, twelfth day was almost wholly given up to frolic and feasting. special plays were written to amuse the people, and it is probably for that reason we have shakspere's play called "twelfth night." the chief custom of this merry day was the election of a king of the bean; sometimes there was also a queen. no doubt this making of a king had its connection with the honour done to the three kings in the early festival; it may also be connected with an old roman custom. here is how the king was elected on twelfth day. a large cake, called twelfth cake, was baked for the day, and inside the cake a bean was placed. when all the company were gathered to the feast the cake was cut up, and the fortunate person who got the piece of cake with the bean in it was made king of the bean, and had charge of the revels. sometimes the names of the company were put in a bowl, and each one received a piece of the cake as his or her name was drawn by lot. there was much fun and laughter, you may be sure, as the names were being drawn, the cake cut up, and the bean discovered. it is the kind of fun which you children would have enjoyed. for the twelfth cake, in the old days, was usually very large, baked into very queer shapes, and always very nice to eat. nowadays, the cakes upon twelfth day have become much smaller, and in some households this merry day is forgotten altogether. you will agree with me, children, that this is a mistake. it is a mistake to forget the good old customs; and it is doubly a mistake when the custom is made cheerful with laughter and cake. st. valentine's day. not very much is known about st. valentine. indeed, there were several saints of that name who were set down in the calendar for loving remembrance on the fourteenth day of february. one of them was a martyr, and died for the christian faith at rome. but these saints have no connection with the ceremonies of st. valentine's day except that the priests of the early christian church set that particular day apart for a special feast. this feast was meant to take the place of certain ceremonies practised by the common people of the old world in their worship of the roman gods. but the people did not easily forget their old customs, and some of these were, until recent times, practised on st. valentine's day in a new form. one of these customs was for young men and maidens to cast lots in the choice of partners. upon the eve of st. valentine's day, in england, it was usual for young people to meet together, each one writing his or her name upon a piece of paper. when this was done the papers were rolled up tightly and put into two bowls. then each young man drew the name of a girl and she was his _valentine_, and each girl drew the name of a young man and he was her _valentine_. it was little more than a merry mode of choosing partners for the festival of st. valentine; but sometimes the young folks took this choice by lot quite seriously, and the partnership ended in marriage. with the english poets st. valentine's day has always been a favourite. you will find it mentioned by chaucer, shakspere, and many another of lesser note. at one time it was not uncommon for a young man to send a set of verses to his _valentine_ on the morning of the 14th of february. most of these were very poor verses, but sometimes a true poet sent a greeting to his valentine. as when drayton sent these happy lines: muse, bid the morn awake, sad winter now declines, each bird doth choose a mate; this day's st. valentines for that good bishop's sake get up and let us see what beauty it shall be that fortune us assigns. nowadays st. valentine's day has lost nearly all its popularity; certainly, it has lost all its merry charm. the time is not so distant--your fathers and mothers may remember it--when the postman's bag was laden with valentines upon st. valentine's day. some of them were in large embossed envelopes and the valentines themselves were glittering things. there was nearly always a little gilt cupid with his bow and arrows, and the mottoes and verses were always very very sentimental. some of the valentines, also, were strange and ugly as they came from the postman's bag. these were what is called "mock" valentines, and the people who received them were sometimes very angry. now the sending of valentines has fallen into disfavour, especially the pretty ones. as for the others, the ugly mock valentines, they are very ill-natured and foolish. have nothing to do with them; they are not worthy of happy st. valentine's day. pancake tuesday pancake tuesday is quite a nice name is it not? but it is not the only name for this holiday. it is also called shrove tuesday, shrovetide, fasting-tide, and fasten-e'en or fastern's-e'en. i shall try to explain to you why it has all these names. there is, as you must know, a great festival of the christian church called easter. it is the festival of the resurrection of christ, and to prepare for this solemn festival the ancient church set apart a period of fasting which we call lent. this fasting-time begins upon ash wednesday, and on the morning of the previous day, in the old times, people went to the priests to confess their sins and get shriven. hence it was called shrove or shriven tuesday; hence, also, it was called fasten-e'en, because it was upon the eve of the great fast. after attending church in the morning the people were permitted to enjoy themselves to their heart's desire all the rest of shrove tuesday, and before the rigorous fasting-time of lent began. during the middle ages, indeed, this merry-tide lasted for several days, and some idea of the jollity of shrovetide can be gathered from the way in which the carnival is held upon the continent, even now. in england, during the old times before the reformation, there were great feasts during shrovetide, and all the old english games and pastimes went right merrily. some of these pastimes were very rough and cruel--such as cock-fighting and bull-baiting--and would not be permitted to-day. but there were also such games as football and hand-ball; and in certain towns in scotland the game of hand-ball is still played, sometimes very roughly, upon fastern's-e'en. of all the jollity and junketting of that festive time very little remains to us; almost nothing except the practice of baking and eating pancakes upon shrove tuesday. but nowadays the ceremonies connected with pancake tuesday are not so important and picturesque as they used to be. in the old days--the days when shakspere lived--a bell was rung in the morning called the pancake bell. at the sound of the bell the preparation of the pancakes began. wheaten flour mixed with water, spices, eggs and other nice things were dropped into the frying-pan as it sizzled over the fire. then followed the tossing of the pancakes. this was a time of great fun, because it required a good deal of skill to toss the pancakes and catch them in the pan. in giving them a quick twirl round the pancakes sometimes dropped into the fire. but that did not greatly matter, because there were always plenty of pancakes for everybody; and also plenty of fun in the eating of them. there was only one person in the company who did not enjoy the fun. for the first pancake tossed in the pan was given to that member of the party who was considered the most lazy. it was seldom eaten, you may be sure, as the lazy one found it the best plan to run away and hide. but it was a merry day, especially for young people at school and college. at westminster school, for instance, the cook used to bring his frying-pan with a pancake in it right into the schoolroom and toss it among the boys. in the scramble that followed the boy who captured the pancake unbroken and carried it to the dean received a guinea for his cleverness. that was a jolly game and it is only one of many that used to be popular on pancake tuesday. 'tis a pity that much of this merry-making has disappeared. st. david's day. there is a little corner of wales which is very dear to all true welsh folk. it is very close to the sea, near st. david's head, and its interest gathers round an ancient cathedral of red stone and the holy man who is buried in this cathedral. this old building, with others, stands beside a little stream called the alan, and here also is the city of st. david's, now a small village. it is all very lonely nowadays, this peaceful shrine near the restless sea, but in the middle ages it was a busy place. there were the comings and goings of great kings and queens with their followers, and many pilgrims of lesser name visited this shrine to do homage to the memory of the welsh saint. there are still many people who visit st. david's, the ancient menevia, and the cathedral founded by the patron saint of wales. a great number of legends--stories of marvel and miracle--have been told about st. david. an angel is said to have been his constant attendant in his youth, and to have ministered to all his wants. in later years he began to preach, making long journeys through wales and england, and visiting jerusalem. when he preached to the people, so the old legends tell us, a snow-white dove sat upon the shoulder of the saint. the power to work miracles also was ascribed to st. david; he is said to have healed all diseases, and even raised up the dead. many other strange and marvellous things are set down in the old chronicles as having been accomplished by the saint. it is impossible to believe all these tales, and what we actually know to be true regarding st. david can be told in a few words. what is certain is that he was a great preacher and organiser in the early church, and his powers were so much approved that he was made archbishop of wales, taking up his residence at st. david's. we have also been told by the old chroniclers that he was a very good man, and this we can well believe. one of his biographers says of him that he was a guide to the religious, a life to the poor, a support to orphans, a protection to widows, a father to the fatherless. he is said to have died in a.d. 601. having been such a noble and good man the welsh people have chosen to make st. david their patron saint. on the first day of march, in every year, they hold in remembrance the old preacher and teacher who lived so long ago beside the little stream in menevia. they also keep in remembrance, by so doing, all that is good and noble in the history of the welsh race. that is surely a right thing to do. for although wales is now a part of great britain it has a history of its own, a language of its own, and a literature of its own. it is well that these things should be held in remembrance, both by the welsh folk at home and those who have travelled into far lands, and they set apart st. david's day as a special day for doing honour to all that is best in the ancient history of their country. it is a happy custom, alike for old and young. st. patrick's day. the national emblem of ireland is a plant, the leaf of which has three small leaflets. this is called the shamrock. it is beloved by irish folks at all times, but most of them wear it conspicuously upon the 17th day of march. st. patrick is the patron saint of ireland, and that is st. patrick's day. there are very good reasons why the saint should be honoured by irishmen, yet it is a curious fact that he was not born in ireland. indeed, there is some doubt regarding both the time and place of his birth. some people think that the saint was born in france, while others hold that his birthplace was at kilpatrick, near dunbarton, in scotland. but this we know for certain that st. patrick, when he was a lad of sixteen years of age, was captured by pirates on his father's farm and carried by them to ireland, where he was sold into slavery. the irish chief who bought the lad lived in county antrim, near sleamish mountain, and he employed patrick in herding swine. all the people who lived in that part of ireland at this time--about the end of the 4th century--were heathen. now, young patrick had been trained by his father and grandfather in the christian religion, and it made him very unhappy to think that his master, and the people of ireland, were ignorant of the true faith; he was also unhappy when he thought of his home and his friends. but after six years he escaped from slavery, and sailed away from ireland. he went to another country, either scotland or france, and there became a priest and a preacher of the christian religion. patrick was very successful, and after many years he was made a bishop. but all this time he kept in remembrance the people of ireland who had never heard the gospel, and at last he determined to go and preach the good news in the country where he had been a slave and a swineherd. he was sixty years of age when he landed in wicklow as the apostle of christianity to ireland, but patrick was a strong old man and he had great faith in his message. up and down the country he travelled converting the heathen chiefs and their followers. as many as 12,000 people were baptised with his own hands, and by his efforts the christian religion was firmly planted in ireland. a great many marvellous stories are told about the saint. it is said, for instance, that on one occasion he made a heap of snow-balls blaze up into a fire by simply breathing upon them; and there is also the well-known legend that he drove all the snakes from ireland by the beating of a drum. the year of his death is uncertain, but we know that he must have been a very old man, and that he was buried at downpatrick. this is the man who is held in honour by irishmen in all parts of the world. on st. patrick's day they give themselves a holiday, and make merry,--those of them, at least, who still remain in the old catholic church. surely that is well. for in honouring st. patrick the irish people do honour to themselves, and to all that is noble and brave in their long sad history. all fools' day. he must have been a merry person who invented all fools' day, but no one can tell when he lived, where he lived, or what was his name. all we know about the matter is that the custom of fool-making upon the first of april is very old, and that it prevails over nearly the whole of europe. some people have tried to guess how this odd custom began, and they have found its origin in one of the old miracle plays that used to be played by the monks in the middle ages at the easter festival. in this play christ was represented as being sent hither and thither from one judge to another, from annas to caiaphas, and then from pilate to herod. this explanation is doubtful; it is more likely that the custom of fool-making had its origin in heathen times. in any case, it is a merry custom; and as the joker and the fool have many sons and daughters it is a custom that shall endure yet a while. the great thing on the first of april is to have a good memory. most people know about april fooling, but many people forget about it when the special day arrives. some of you children, no doubt, have forgotten; with the result that the joker with a good memory has made of you an april fool. in coming down to breakfast you have been asked quite solemnly, let us say, why your hair is brushed to the wrong side. if you have gone and peeped into a looking-glass there was an instant burst of laughter, and then you have become aware that all fools' day has come round again. some boys and girls get angry when they have been thus fooled; but that only adds to their foolishness. a good plan is to laugh with those who are laughing; and you can better this plan by catching the joker off his guard. by so doing you may, if you are clever at keeping a solemn face, make a fool of the joker in his turn. then the laugh is with you, and you can feel quite pleased with yourself until the next all fools' day. this is the great festival of the practical joker, and all is well when his jokes are simple and amusing. to pin a piece of paper on someone's back, or to send the school dunce into a bookseller's shop for a "history of adam's grandfather," is quite good fun. but there are some jokes which are carefully prepared in order to give pain to the persons upon whom they are played; they are not amusing, but merely cruel. it is not a good joke, for instance, to balance a bowl of water upon the top of a door, so that the first person to enter the room gets drenched. neither is it nice fun to send an innocent boy upon an errand with a letter containing the instruction: "send the fool another mile." this used to be a common form of april joke in scotland, and it was not unusual to keep the poor boy trudging long distances for the greater part of the day. this is not fun, but a stupid form of cruelty; and of much the same character as the hoax that is played upon tradesmen who are asked to send goods to a particular house upon a particular morning. it is only when the vans choke up the street from end to end that someone remembers it is the first of april, and that the practical joker--a stupid and heartless person in this case--has again been exhibiting his foolishness. palm sunday. in the new testament you have it written that jesus entered jerusalem for the last time riding on a colt, the foal of an ass. two of his disciples, acting upon the instructions of their master, had entered a village near the mount of olives, and there they found the colt by the door without, in a place where two ways met. they unloosed the animal, telling those that stood by and questioned them, that the master had need of him. then they brought the colt to jesus, who mounted upon its back, after some of the disciples had spread their garments thereon. it was thus that jesus rode into jerusalem to his death. and when the great multitude of people who were gathered to the passover saw him coming they cut branches from the palm trees by the side of the way, and spread them on the ground before jesus, while they cried with joyful voices: "hosanna; blessed be the king that cometh in the name of the lord." in this incident you have the origin of palm sunday. it is the first day of holy week, the week which is dedicated by the catholic church to the commemoration of the sufferings and death of jesus. with the early church throughout europe it was the custom to lay the branches of a tree upon the altar on this day, and as the palm tree does not grow in europe, the box, the yew, and especially the willow tree, were used instead. the branches were blessed by the priest, sprinkled with holy water, and then carried in procession through the town. as part of this procession it was sometimes arranged to have a figure representing jesus sitting upon an ass--either a living figure or one made of wood, sitting upon a wooden animal. this wooden effigy was drawn along upon wheels, and the people in the street scattered the consecrated branches before it. flowers were sometimes used as well as the branches of trees. it is a beautiful ceremony, this blessing of flowers and tree-branches upon palm sunday in memory of christ's entry into jerusalem, and it is one to interest all you children. but in the middle ages a great many unworthy things, such as the selling of palm-branches in order to avert diseases, became associated with palm sunday. indeed, that whole week, the week that should have been so solemn and sacred, was turned into an occasion of feasting and frivolity. at the reformation many of these unworthy things were abolished, and the ceremonies in connection with palm sunday were considerably modified here in england. yet in some parts of the country it is still a custom to go a-palming--that is to say, to gather willow-branches--on the day before palm sunday. with the roman catholic church, however, and especially in the ceremonies at rome during holy week, an important place is given to palm sunday. the officiating priest blesses the branches, which are then distributed. in the solemn mass that follows, the people in the congregation hold the branches in their hands to the end of the service. in most cases these consecrated branches are taken home and preserved during the year; then they are burned and the ashes used upon ash wednesday. maundy thursday. there is another day in holy week that has old and interesting ceremonies connected with it. this is maundy thursday, which always falls, of course, on the day before good friday. it is the day which is set apart to commemorate the humility and tender loving-kindness of jesus during that week of his suffering and death. you remember that, after the master with his disciples, had partaken of supper in that upper room in jerusalem, he rose up and laid aside his garments. then he took a towel and girded himself. after that he poured water into a basin, and began to wash the disciples' feet, and to wipe them with the towel wherewith he was girded. in this beautiful act of humility you have the origin of maundy thursday; and its odd name is derived from the circumstance that, in the ancient church, the anthem _maudatum novum_ was sung at the ceremony. for the early church consecrated this day to acts of lowliness in imitation of christ. the washing in public of the feet of the poor became the outward sign of humility in the whole church. in later times this washing was accompanied by gifts, and the ceremony was performed by kings and queens. thus we find, here in england, that queen elizabeth performed the ceremony at her palace of greenwich. the age of her majesty being thirty-nine, there were thirty-nine poor people chosen to assemble in her presence on maundy thursday. then the yeomen of the laundry, the sub-almoner, and finally the queen herself, washed each foot of the poor people in water mixed with sweet herbs, marked the sign of the cross above the toes, and then kissed it. afterwards various gifts were distributed to these poor people in clothes, food, and money. since james ii. no english monarch has performed this ceremony, but in spain and austria the yearly foot-washing upon holy thursday is still performed by the head of the state. in england the giving of gifts on maundy thursday has taken the place of foot-washing. during the reign of george ii. the old men and women who gathered in the banqueting house, at whitehall, received half-quartern loaves, boiled beef and mutton, herrings red and white, with small bowls of ale. they were also given shoes and stockings, cloth to make dresses, and a leathern bag filled with money. the money was in silver-pieces, of the value of a penny and upwards; and these coins being made at the mint for this special purpose were called maundy money. during the reign of queen victoria the giving of meat and clothes was discontinued, but the poor people still received their dole or maund. it is to be hoped that king edward vii. will continue this practice for--unlike some of the old customs--it is well worthy of being continued. most people are inclined to be proud, and when people are proud they are usually greedy and selfish. therefore, it is a good thing to have at least one day in the year set apart to help us to remember that true greatness, the greatness which jesus christ expects from his disciples, is only to be attained by lowliness and unselfishness. good friday. good friday is the friday before easter, and by the christian church it is regarded as one of the most sacred days in the whole year. from a very early time it was regarded, in a special degree, as a day of fasting and mourning, because upon this holy friday the crucifixion of jesus is commemorated. in the church of england before the reformation, and in the roman catholic church still, the church service upon good friday is peculiar. everything is made to appear mournful. the priests are dressed in black, at the elevation of the host a wooden clapper is used instead of a bell, all the glittering ornaments are removed from the altar, and the music is more than usually sad. but even more strange than that is the chief ceremony. in old times, it used to be that the priests had a figure of christ fixed to a crucifix which they carried round the church, treated with great reverence, and ultimately buried solemnly by torchlight. nowadays, this ceremony has been somewhat changed. on good friday the crucifix, in the roman catholic church, is placed before the altar. then the priests, followed by the whole congregation, approach the figure upon the crucifix creeping upon their knees, and reverently kiss its feet. this ceremony, and the chanting of the _miserere_, have a very solemnizing effect upon all who are present. long ago, here in england, there was an odd ceremony performed by the king upon good friday. this was called blessing the cramp-rings. the ceremony is said to have originated in a wonderful ring, presented by a pilgrim to edward the confessor, and long used in westminster abbey as a cure for falling-sickness and cramp. on good friday the king of england used to go in state to his private chapel, and creep humbly upon his knees towards the crucifix. following him came the king's almoner with a silver basin in which were a number of gold or silver rings, and these rings the king blessed. thereafter, they were given away to be used as an unfailing cure for cramp and epilepsy. in those days everybody believed that cramp-rings had the power to cure cramp, and in england to-day there are still a few people who so believe. you children, however, do not think of rings upon good friday; it is much better to think of hot cross buns. if you ask how it is that buns came to be eaten on this day i cannot answer. all that can be said is that bread, in one or another form, has always formed part of religious observances; and it may be that the spicy buns which you eat on good friday are connected with a religion that is older than christianity. all things change, you know, and even the desire for hot cross buns is not so great as it used to be when people struggled in crowds at the doors of the famous chelsea bun-houses. on good friday we do not so often hear the cry: one a penny, buns, two a penny, buns, one a penny, two a penny, hot cross buns! easter sunday. on good friday the death of jesus is commemorated, and that being so it is a day of gloom and sadness. on easter sunday the rising of jesus from the dead is commemorated, and that being so it is regarded by the christian church as a day of great joy. in the old times, indeed, it was called the sunday of joy, and in the eastern world it is still called the bright day. when friends met each other upon easter sunday the favourite salutation used to be: "he is risen," and to this was given the reply: "verily he is risen." everywhere there was happiness, and this happiness was shown in many ways. at easter slaves used to receive their freedom, while at the present day, in russia, birds that have been shut up in a cage have their cage-doors opened, and are permitted to fly away. that is a beautiful custom; an emblem of the freedom that jesus brought to the world when he broke the power of death in rising from the grave. in england this happiness is expressed in a practical manner by many marriages at eastertide. easter sunday is what is called a movable feast; it is not held each year upon the same day of the month. the rule is, that easter sunday is always the first sunday after the full moon that happens upon, or next after, the 21st of march; and if the full moon happens upon a sunday, easter day is the sunday after. as regards the name "easter," it is very likely derived from an old saxon deity called eastre; for when the christian religion was first preached to the heathen the missionaries often took an old heathen festival and turned it into a new christian festival. now, in the ancient heathen world there was always great joy and feasting in the spring-time when the sun began to rise higher and higher in the heavens, and there is little doubt that the early missionaries, when they converted the heathen, gave a new meaning to the old joy. jesus, the sun of righteousness, had risen from the dead; that was the new gladness. but christianity did not quite remove all the rites and ceremonies of the heathen worship; some of them, indeed, linger to this day. the ceremonies connected with fire, for instance, were very prominent in the heathen ritual, and in some parts of europe bonfires are lit at easter, while in the roman catholic church great importance is given to the lighting of candles and tapers. then again, there are the pasch or easter eggs--boiled hard and dyed in various colours--which are so interesting to children. this name of pasch is derived from the jewish festival of the passover, and the egg we now regard as an emblem of the resurrection; but all the old peoples of the world looked upon the egg as a symbol of new life coming forth with blessing. it was, in some respects, a sacred thing in the old heathen world of the egyptians and persians; while here in this country the easter eggs used to be blessed by the priests at the altar, and kept all the year as a charm against various ailments. is it not curious to think, children, how races and religions have come to be linked together by small things? these coloured eggs which please you so much at easter link you with strange old peoples and their strange old customs. st. george's day. on the back of some old english coins you will find the figure of a warrior on horseback, and in his hand a long spear with which he is slaying a dragon. that figure with the helmet and spear is st. george, the patron saint of england, and the patron saint of all that is chivalrous in christianity. regarding this hero and martyr we know very little; and indeed there are two men who have claims to be regarded as st. george. the most noble of these, and probably the true saint, was born of christian parents in cappadocia, became a warrior prince, and having testified for the christian faith, was put to death at nicomedia on april 23rd, 303 a.d., by the roman emperor diocletian. from this time, and for that reason, he was venerated by all the christian churches, until about the year 494 a.d. george of cappadocia was formally made a saint by pope gelasius. a great many legends have gathered round the name of st. george. the most famous of these, of course, is the story of how this christian warrior slew a dragon that was about to kill and devour a young girl. with heavy labour, and at great risk to himself st. george is said to have rescued the maiden and destroyed the dragon. it is a very interesting adventure, but unfortunately it cannot be accepted as literally true. in these old days it was quite common to attribute to brave men the slaying of a dragon, and that st. george was the bravest of the brave we need not doubt. there is also no doubt that, as a christian warrior, he fought against all that was sly, cruel and ravenous--these being the evil characteristics of a dragon. several nations adopted st. george as their patron saint, for his bravery was known all over christendom, and he was specially honoured during the crusades. it was in england, however, that the saint was held in highest esteem. in 1222 a.d. the 23rd april became a great national festival by order of the council of oxford; while in the reign of edward iii. the famous order of st. george, or the blue garter, was instituted. this is an order of knighthood, and when it was formed there was a great tournament in which forty of the stoutest and bravest of england's knights held the field against all the foreign knights who had been summoned to enter the contest. this order of st. george, better known as the order of the garter, still exists, and its motto is still the same: _honi soit qui mal y pense_. in recent times st. george's day has not been generously honoured by the english people. this is, indeed, a very great pity, because the saint is closely linked with english history; because his emblem--the red cross on a white ground--is to be seen wherever the british flag flies; and because he represents all that is best and bravest in the english character. "god and st. george"; "saint george and merrie england"--these were the stout battle cries which led on to victory when the foundations of the british empire were laid. he is a good patriot, therefore, who remembers st. george's day. may day. if there is one month in the year that is more joyful than another it is the month of may--the merry month of may. and it is not difficult to understand why it should be so. in europe it is the month when nature out-of-doors awakens into life; when leaves appear upon the trees; when flowers in profusion peep from among the grass; when the little birds in lane and woodland sing their sweetest. nature is joyously astir; and in the sunshine of the open sky all people, especially young people, find it good to be alive. that is the reason why may is the merry month. it is nature's holiday time; the time when she calls upon all folk who are weary of winter and rough weather, to come out of their stuffy houses and enjoy themselves for a little in green places, under the blue tent of the sky. it is the sun that brings all this new life and gladness as it goes higher in the heavens and shines brighter. so it happened that the ancient inhabitants of these islands, not knowing any better, held a great festival on the first of may to the praise and glory of the sun-god. a relic of this worship lingered until recently in the beltane fires that were lit on the high hills of scotland and ireland. it was the same with the old romans. they had a goddess of flowers called flora, and about the beginning of may they held a festival in her honour. the houses were decked with garlands, there was much feasting and dancing out-of-doors, and at these feasts the goddess herself was represented by a beautiful maiden crowned with flowers. there is reason to think that some of our may day customs were derived from these ancient peoples. in any case, it has always been a joyful day in england, especially in the ancient times before the puritans abolished may-poles and merry-making. not only the citizens of london, but also the lords and ladies of the court, used to go out to the woods around the city--it was a very much smaller city then--and gather hawthorn blossom. this they called going a-maying, and the flower of the hawthorn came to be called may-blossom. it was brought into hamlet, town, and city with great rejoicing, and to the sound of music. then the whole day thereafter was spent in merry-making. in every town and village there was a tall pole fixed, called a may-pole; and on may day this pole, the centre of all the frolic, was made gay with great garlands of flowers. every town and village, also, had a queen of the may, a maiden who was chosen for her beauty, and who sat apart crowned with flowers, an object of envy and admiration. the lads and lassies sang carols, played at such games as kiss-in-the-ring, and danced the morris dance. not many of these customs now remain; the may-poles have disappeared; and very few of you children, i suppose, go a-maying. do you not think that is a mistake? i do; the work-a-day world is not such a mirthful place that we can afford to forget the cheery old customs, and there are surely many worse ways of spending a day than in dancing round a may-pole. i am sure that you children would like to have the merry-making of may day brought back again. royal oak day. in your english history-book you will find some account of oliver cromwell and the many battles he fought against the royal house of stuart and the cavaliers. one of the most famous of these was the battle of worcester, fought near the town of that name on the 3rd september, 1651, in which the army of king charles ii. was utterly defeated. as the result of this defeat by cromwell, all the followers of the king were placed in danger, and the king's life was in great jeopardy. the only thing he could do was to flee out of england, but that was no easy matter because his enemies were numerous, and they searched for him with great diligence. his first plan was to try to reach london before the news of his defeat, and by proceeding from there in disguise he hoped to get a ship on the south coast that would carry him to france. this plan was in part successful, but before he embarked at shoreham, near brighton, the fugitive king had many strange adventures and hair-breadth escapes. one of the most notable of these was connected with a large country house called boscobel, situated in shropshire, and about thirty-seven miles from worcester, where the great battle was fought. in fleeing northward after the fight charles was accompanied by many of his followers, but in order to give him a better chance to escape the king was advised to leave all the others and make his way to boscobel where the folk were all friendly. this he did, with trusty richard penderel for his guide; and as the house was a lonely place set among woods, the king hoped that he would not be disturbed. but the pursuit after him was very hot, and the soldiers of cromwell arrived in the neighbourhood. so the king had to seek a hiding-place somewhere out of doors, and one of his friends, colonel william careless, suggested that they should conceal themselves among the branches of a large bushy oak-tree that stood near the house. there the two remained for a whole day, with little to eat except bread and cheese, and with the constant fear of being discovered. from where they sat among the branches they could peep through the leaves and see the soldiers searching the woods around. but they were not discovered, and at length the king escaped from that neighbourhood dressed like a countryman in leathern doublet and green jerkin. after many years, as you all know, the man who hid in the oak-tree was invited to return to england, where he reigned as charles ii. it was on the 29th may, 1660, and the king's thirtieth birthday, that he entered london in triumph. the story of his adventure in the oak-tree having become known, garlands of oak-branches, and the royal oak used as a symbol, were prominent in the coronation ceremonies; while from thenceforth the 29th may was established as royal oak day, or oak-apple day. during the restoration period, and for long afterwards, it was the custom to go forth into the woods on the morning of that day and gather branches of oak. in town and village the houses were decorated with the woodland spoil, and thus did the people of england exhibit their loyalty to the house of stuart. even now the old custom lingers in out-of-the-way hamlets, and the sign of the royal oak may still be seen on many an old inn, but the oak-leaf and the acorn have lost all their significance in the world of politics. oak-apple day, i fear, will never again become a general holiday. midsummer's eve. midsummer day is the 24th june; this is also the day upon which the birth of st. john the baptist is celebrated by the christian church. during the middle ages it was a joyous time of feast and merry-making, for in these old times, as you must have gathered from this little book, people did not work and worry so much as they do nowadays. but here is a curious thing: nearly all the ceremonies connected with this holiday were performed the night previous--variously called midsummer's eve, or st. john's eve. these customs and ceremonies were observed in various forms throughout christendom, and some of them were very strange. i have often had to tell you that many of our holiday practices and usages were founded upon ancient heathen rites and ceremonies; this is perhaps more observable in connection with midsummer eve than upon any other holiday occasion. flowers and fire were two things that became of great importance on midsummer's eve. nearly every town and village had its bonfire lit in the market-place, and at one time these fires were formally blessed by the priests of the church. one practice connected with these fires, a practice that carries us far back into heathen times, was the way in which the boys and girls leaped through and over the flames. it was also customary to fling flowers and garlands into the fires, while the people, young and old, circled round the blaze with merry antics and gleeful songs. great processions were also formed to visit the woods and bring back green boughs wherewith to decorate the houses on st. john's eve. the boughs were hung round doors and windows with joyful shoutings, in recognition of the prophecy that many would rejoice at the birth of john the baptist. midsummer's eve was regarded as a time when the strangest things might easily happen. that is probably the reason why shakspere called his play "a midsummer day's dream," and make puck and the other fairies play such pranks with the mortals that they found wandering out-of-doors. it used to be a common belief in ireland, and the superstition still lingers, that on this night the souls of all sleeping people left their bodies, and went wandering into strange places, sometimes never to return. to avoid this dangerous possibility it was usual to keep awake during that night. but to keep watch did not always prevent the watcher from having gruesome experiences. in england it was quite a prevalent opinion that if you sat in the church porch all st. john's eve you would see the spirits of those who were soon to die in the parish come and knock at the church door. there were various other superstitious practices and beliefs associated with midsummer's eve--most of them weird and heathenish--which you will read about when you grow older. they belong to a time when people were very ignorant, and therefore very credulous. happily, we are forgetting all these foolish beliefs; and for my part i find midsummer's eve interesting and beautiful because the light is slow to fade from the sky, because the wild roses make a pleasant scent in the lanes, and because the nightingale from the copsewood brims the darkness with melodious joy. st. swithin's day. in europe there are various saints who are supposed to have had some influence upon the weather; france has its st. mã©dard, and england has its st. swithin. our actual knowledge of this old english saint is very scanty, and the grounds upon which he has been associated with dry and wet weather are of dubious origin. we are told that st. swithin was a monk in the old abbey of winchester, and that because of his zeal he became prior and then bishop of that see. we are told, also, that he erected numerous churches, while his piety and learning were such that egbert, king of wessex, gave him his son and successor to educate. as was usual with good men in those days, many miraculous deeds were attributed to st. swithin, and finally he died in the year 862 a.d. he was buried in the churchyard at winchester, in a humble spot of his own selection. more than a hundred years afterwards the clergy of the diocese of winchester thought that the saint deserved more honour than a grave under the dripping eaves of the cathedral. accordingly, they arranged to remove the body inside with great ceremony, and the date selected for this event was the 15th july. thereafter this day was regarded as st. swithin's day because, if we are to believe popular legend, he objected to have his body removed from the humble place in the graveyard chosen by himself. in order to give outward and visible sign of his displeasure violent rains descended on that 15th of july, and the torrent continued for forty days, so that the ceremony of removing the saint's body was delayed, while the clergy of the diocese were thus rebuked for their presumption. hence there grew up the popular belief which finds expression in the old rhyme: st. swithin's day, if thou dost rain, for forty days it will remain: st. swithin's day, if thou be fair, for forty days 'twill rain nae mair. there is, of course, no truth in this old adage, although there are some people who still profess to believe in it. the men whose business it is to watch the weather day by day and write down all they observe, will tell you that it does not matter in the least, as far as the rain of the following forty days is concerned, whether it is wet or dry on the 15th july. it is even very doubtful whether the ceremony of removing the saint's body was marked by any special downpour of rain; the fact is not mentioned by the chroniclers of that time. like many other things connected with holidays and holy days this legend regarding st. swithin has its origin, probably in the heathen times that preceded christianity. that would account, at least, for the curious fact that there are several rainy saints in europe. michaelmas day. the 29th september is dedicated as a feast day in the christian church to st. michael and all angels. in the bible the angel michael is mentioned several times, and always as a fighter, especially against satan. thus you find it stated in the epistle of jude that michael the archangel contended with the devil regarding the body of moses. in the book of the revelation of st. john, again, you will find it written that there was war in heaven. michael and his angels fought against the dragon; and the dragon fought and his angels, and prevailed not; neither was their place found any more in heaven. and the great dragon was cast out, that old serpent, called the devil. he was cast out into the earth, and his angels were cast out with him. you will gather from this that st. michael always appears in the character of a warrior; and as the christian church accomplished a great deal of fighting, especially during the time of the crusades, it can easily be understood that the warlike archangel was popular. in old pictures he is usually represented in a coat of mail, and with a short spear in his hand, hurling satan downwards to the earth. john milton, in his "paradise lost," makes full use of this conception of the archangel, only that he puts a great and marvellous sword into his hand: "the sword of michael from the armoury of god was given him tempered so, that neither keen nor solid might resist that edge; it met the sword of satan, with steep force to smite descending, and in half cut sheer; nor stayed, but, with swift wheel reverse, deep entering shared all his right side: then satan first knew pain." in old times it was usual to have a saint or an angel for one's guardian, and as michael, according to the church, was both of these he was popular as a heavenly protector. but an earthly protector was also required, and thus it came about--whether by accident or intentionally i cannot tell--that magistrates were chosen upon michaelmas day. thus you find that the lord mayor of london is elected on the 29th of september. this day is also one of the four quarterly terms; the day upon which many people pay their rent; and not always, therefore, a day of joy. in old times when the farmer took his rent to the lord of the manor it was usual for him to carry a fat goose in his hand as a present. from this practice it has established itself as a custom to have a goose for dinner on michaelmas day; another good reason is that geese, when fed upon the chance grain of autumn's stubbled fields, are always at their fattest and best. it is curious to note, how that, although a holy day or a holiday may have begun with the adoration of saint or angel, it usually survives for us in some form of eating. but you children, i am sure, do not object. all hallow's eve. the night of the 31st october has a character peculiar to itself, and to you children it has some ceremonies that possess special interest. in england it is known as all hallow's eve; while in scotland, where its customs are most varied and remarkable, it is known as halloween. it is the eve of all saints' day, but there is little or nothing connected with the popular practices of that night that suggest christianity. on the contrary, they suggest some old pagan worship and a mysterious impish world that holds high carnival for that one night. many of the customs and rites connected with this revel--described vividly and amusingly by robert burns in "halloween"--are not known to the scots people of the present day; but some few of them are still practised, even in england. nuts and apples become of great importance upon all hallow's eve. the nuts are not for eating--although that were probably a wise use to which to put them--but to play a mysterious part in deciding the fate of lovers. for this purpose two nuts are dropped into a bright red fire, side by side, and the name of the lad and lass, whose fates are to be decided, is given to each nut. the nuts themselves give the decision. if they burn quietly together then all is well; but on the other hand, if the nuts (or one of them) jump out of the fire, then things will go ill with the two lovers. here is how burns describes the practice: "the auld guidwife's weel-hoordet nits are round and round devided, and mony lads and lasses fates are there that night decided: some kindle, couthie, side by side, and burn together trimly; some start awa, with saucy pride, and jump out ower the chimlie full high that night." apples have a quite different use. on halloween they are placed in large quantities in a big tub nearly full of water. the apples are then stirred round vigorously, while the boys and girls, each in turn, try to snatch an apple from the water, not using their hands, but their teeth alone. sometimes one has to dip one's head right down to the bottom of the tub in chase of a big apple, and that is rather a chilly experience, as i am able to testify. the modern plan of dropping a fork into the tub, over the back of a chair, may spoil, just a little, the apples that are impaled, but it is a good preventitive of a cold in the head--the usual result of ducking for apples. there are many other customs connected with halloween, some of them mysterious and uncanny, which you will learn by and bye. but these two, the burning of nuts and the hunting of apples will do you no possible harm. on the contrary, where there is a lot of you children present, they will give much innocent fun and laughter. guy fawkes' day. there is another name for this day; it is sometimes called gunpowder plot day, and that name informs us how it happened that the 5th november became famous in english history. that was the day upon which a few catholic gentlemen, over-zealous for their religion, determined to destroy king james i., and the houses of lords and commons, by means of gunpowder. it was a gentleman named catesby who conceived this murderous plot, and he was joined by several other conspirators. the most famous of these, although he can scarcely be regarded as the most guilty, was a gentleman called guy fawkes who had fought bravely with the spanish army in flanders. he was brought over to england in order to carry out the plot, and like all the other conspirators he took a vow of secrecy. in itself the plot was very simple. the conspirators hired a house near to the building where parliament met, and their intention was to dig an underground passage-way between the two buildings, and to prepare under parliament house a large mine charged with gunpowder. they found difficulties, however, in carrying out this scheme, chief of these being the thickness of the wall through which they had to pierce. eventually, the digging of this underground passage-way was abandoned, because the conspirators found that they could hire a cellar right under the house of lords. this would be far more convenient, they thought; so they hired it from a coal-dealer, and put thirty-six barrels of gunpowder into it. the barrels were carefully covered with faggots, and in the month of may, 1605, all was ready to blow the king and his parliament into the air. but parliament did not meet until the 5th november, and by that time the secret had leaked out. there have been great differences of opinion regarding the manner in which the plot was revealed. it appears, however, that a mysterious letter was sent by mr. francis tresham, one of the conspirators, to his brother-in-law lord monteagle, warning him regarding the coming disaster. this letter is said to have led to a search in the cellars under parliament house, but it is quite probable that the plot was revealed in a more direct manner. in any case, the gunpowder was discovered in the cellar, and beside it was guy fawkes. he was arrested on the early morning of the 5th november by a westminster magistrate and a party of soldiers. when the other conspirators heard that the plot had failed they fled into the country, but the most of them were captured, tried for high treason along with guy fawkes, and with him were hanged as traitors in st. paul's churchyard. for many years after this plot was discovered the 5th day of november was kept as a national holiday, and the people expressed their patriotism and their protestantism in huge bonfires, with shoutings and the ringing of bells. also, it was regarded as the proper thing on this day to parade a scarecrow effigy of guy fawkes, which was finally burned as a warning to traitors. now the day is only remembered by boys who are bent upon a frolic, for this old rhyme has lost much of its significance: remember, remember! the fifth of november, the gunpowder treason and plot; there is no reason why the gunpowder treason should ever be forgot! lord mayor's day. in london the 9th of november has been regarded, for many centuries, as a day of special importance. it is lord mayor's day. that is to say, the new lord mayor of the city of london, who was elected by the freemen of the city guilds on michaelmas day, goes in his state coach to the law courts to be "sworn into" office by his majesty's judges. until recent times the law courts were situated at westminster, and in old westminster hall some of the greatest trials in english history took place,--such as the trials of lord cobham, strafford, and warren hastings. now the law courts are situated in the strand, near to the spot where stood temple bar. the lord mayor of london has still a certain amount of authority within the city bounds, but nothing like what he used to possess. at one time, indeed, in his capacity of head of all the great trade guilds, he was more powerful than any of the king's nobles, and in london he exercised almost as much authority as the king himself. from this you will understand that when he, in the old times, journeyed from the city of london to the city of westminster it was a great occasion, because the lord mayor was in truth a great man. the stately pageants wended to westminster on lord mayor's day both by coach and water-barge; glittering pageants that had a real significance. in many cases they were devised by clever play-wrights, and their glories recorded in the verses of the poet laureates. in the year 1616 sir john leman, of the fishmongers' company, was lord mayor, and part of his pageant was a fishing-boat with fishermen drawing up their nets laden with living fish which they distributed among the people. this boat, set upon a wheeled stage, was followed by a dolphin with a youth on its back; then the king of the moors, with six tributary kings on horseback; then a lemon-tree (the mayor's name was leman) laden with fruit and flowers; then a bower adorned with the names and arms of all members of the fishmongers' company; then an armed officer, with a representation of the head of wat tyler; lastly there was a great car drawn by mermen and mermaids, and on the top of it was a victorious angel, with a representation of king richard surrounded by figures that symbolized all the royal virtues. some of the lord mayor's pageants were even more splendid than this one. gilded chariots, giants, bowers wreathed with flowers, men in armour, full-rigged ships, satyrs, bannermen--these things, and many other fanciful contrivances, found a place in the lord mayor's procession. and this procession still forms a part of london life, but it has lost all its significance; and a great deal of its interest, even as a show. on the 9th day of each november the lord mayor's gilded coach, with a few mounted soldiers, the heralds, the aldermen in coaches, the city firemen, and a few symbolical cars block the traffic of london from east to west. it is not an occasion of great historical interest, yet it still draws great crowds, for your true londoner loves a procession that goes to the sound of brazen music. the lord mayor's show is also--just like a circus procession--beloved of all boys and girls. st. andrew's day. in this little book you have already been presented to three patron saints. there was st. david, the patron saint of wales; st. patrick, the patron saint of ireland; and st. george, the patron saint of england. now we come to st. andrew, the patron saint of scotland, who is honoured by scotsmen on the 30th november in each year. the first mention of this saint is in the new testament where he, with his brother simon peter, became a disciple of christ, after having been a disciple of john the baptist. after the death of christ this first disciple of his became a missionary in many lands. from tradition we learn that st. andrew travelled and preached the gospel in scythia, thrace and asia minor. finally, we are told that he suffered martyrdom for the christian faith at patrã¦, in achaia. the cross on which he died was in the form of an x, and that is now known as the st. andrew's cross. but how did this saint come to be connected with scotland? well, the story told is this: there was once a monk who lived in the fourth century called regulus, or rule, who brought the bones of st. andrew from constantinople--where they had been deposited in a church by the emperor constantine--and buried them near the sea on the east coast of scotland. there he built a church, and round the church there gradually gathered a little hamlet. in course of time, the hamlet became a city with a cathedral and a university, and in your geography books you will find it called st andrews. i am not sure that i can ask you to believe all this story, for it is only a monkish legend. but at least part of it is true. if there was no such monk as regulus, there is certainly a very pleasant city called st. andrews, in which there is a building called st. rule's tower. here is another sure thing that i can tell you. there is an order of knighthood called the order of st. andrew, although it is more often called the order of the thistle. it was created by james ii. in 1687, and it includes the king and sixteen knights. the insignia of the order consists of a gold collar composed of thistles interlaced with red; the jewel is a figure of st. andrew in the middle of a star of eight pointed rays; and the motto of the order is _nemo me impune lacessit_. this is a motto which scotsmen carry with them all over the world. all over the world, also, scotsmen keep in remembrance two days; and on these days they meet together to express love of the old home. one of these days is the 30th november--st. andrew's day. curiously enough, it is not a holiday in scotland, nor do the people there hold it much in remembrance. but when a scotsman goes into a strange country--though it be no further than london--he begins to think a very great deal of his homeland, and all the ill things he said of it when he lived there are quickly forgotten. bleak and barren it may have been to them once, but when scotsmen meet on st. andrew's day, or on the birthday of robert burns, they discover that scotland is the most lovely country in the world. this is just as it should be. i hope that all you children, wherever you may travel, will keep a great love for the land where you were born. christmas eve. of all nights of the year there is not one that is more anxiously awaited by young people than the night that precedes christmas. then begins the great festival of the year; the festival in honour of the birth of christ; the festival that reminds us of the child born in a manger, of the shepherds near bethlehem watching their flocks by night, and of the angels that sang of peace and goodwill to men. it is the most joyous of all holiday seasons; prepared for long before, and remembered pleasantly long afterwards. this is true of england to-day, and it was even more true of the england of the olden times--as you will find if you read sir walter scott's poem of _marmion_: "england was merry england, when old christmas brought his sports again. 'twas christmas broached the mightiest ale; 'twas christmas told the merriest tale; a christmas gambol oft would cheer the poor man's heart through half the year." at midnight on christmas eve the bells are rung, and in roman catholic churches the first of the three masses is celebrated,--christ's masses. but although this is a christian festival there are curious customs observed which take us back into the old heathen world. there is the miseltoe bough, for instance, which you hang up in the hall; and there is the yule log. the old druids had a feast at this season--the time of the winter solstice--when the chief druid cut the miseltoe from the oak-tree, where it grew, and divided it among the people, who hung it up over their doorways as a charm to bring good-fortune. then, again, the yule log is a relic of the ceremony in which the norsemen lighted great bonfires in honour of their gods. to bring home the yule log on christmas eve is not so common as it used to be, but it deserves to be remembered as one of the most joyous of old english customs. so, also, are the carols, the waits, the mummers, and the games of christmas time. some of these games and mummeries were a little too boisterous for our modern taste, probably because they had their origin in the heathen saturnalia of old rome. but we still love to hear the waits tuning up on a clear frosty night, the game of snap-dragon is still a noisy joy, and the carol-singers are still welcome. i am sure you like that old carol which begins: "god rest you merry, gentlemen, let nothing you dismay for jesus christ our saviour was born upon this day to save us all from satan's power when we were gone astray." but probably the best thing you children like about christmas eve is the ceremony of hanging up your stockings in expectation of all the things that are to come to you from the wallet of santa claus. that is the great event. some of you, i believe, try to lie awake until santa claus comes with the fruit and the toys. but that is never a success. all the best gifts come to us when we do not peep and watch. christmas day. on christmas day, in most households, the children are the first to make themselves heard. there are shouts of wonder and glee from the nursery bedrooms when it is discovered that santa claus has actually paid his long-talked-about visit, and that he has brought in his wallet just the things that were desired. the shouts of one awakens all the others, and the chatter is great as the children rush about displaying their new-found treasures to one another. this morning the nursery rules are disregarded, because christmas comes but once a year. children are permitted to run upstairs and downstairs in their night garments; to skip about and laugh and chatter; and even to appear late at the breakfast table. it is more than likely, indeed, that the breakfast itself will be late, for the grown-ups in most households are usually as excited as the children. but it is christmas day, a day of joy for everybody. all the old stiff rules are relaxed for this happiest day of all the year. yet the church must not be neglected, nor must it be forgotten that christmas is a sacred festival. to do honour to the babe jesus that was born in a manger at bethlehem--that is the real meaning of the gladness of christmas day. so all you children should love to go to the church in the forenoon. it will be pleasant for you in many ways, especially if the air is clear, with a touch of frost in it, and the winter sun shining brightly. in any case you will find that the service in church, like the church itself, is brighter on christmas day than at ordinary times. you will like to see the old church trimmed up with holly and holly-berries; you will join in the cheerful christmas hymns with more than your usual heartiness. it will be pleasant for you to think that all over the world, men and women of every nation are doing honour to one who was once a child like yourselves. then it is home to dinner, a real christmas dinner. i do not suppose that you will dine with a boar's head on the table, or that you will be permitted to taste a peacock stuffed with spices and sweet herbs. these were two of the dishes that figured in the good old times, but they have long been discarded. yet the christmas goose is still popular, and in almost equal favour is the roast beef of old england. with you children, however, the plum-pudding and the mince pies and the fruit will be in most demand. how many helpings? i dare not say how many, for christmas day brings its own appetite, but you must try--just a very little--not to be greedy when the pudding comes in ablaze. because greediness is ugly, and also because christmas does not end with dinner-time. there is the evening with its romps, its games, its dances and its christmas tree. it is the christmas tree, probably, that will give you most pleasure, with all its glittering ornaments, its coloured flags, and its lighted candles. this is a pleasure which english children, in the old times, did not share, because the christmas tree for children was only introduced to this country in the reign of queen victoria. indeed, the whole tendency nowadays is to make of christmas a children's holiday. this is well; because by so doing--by making the lives of all children, and especially all poor children, brighter at this season--we shall give most honour and praise to the babe that was born in lowly bethlehem. boxing day. when people are in a good humour--and everybody is supposed to be in a good humour at christmas--they find it easy to give little gifts to their relations, friends, children and servants. on christmas day these gifts are given to friends and the children of the household, but on the day after christmas the servants and dependents obtain their share of the gifts in what is called a christmas box. hence the 26th december has come to be recognized as boxing day. this is a very old custom, and probably it has its origin in certain customs that were observed by the romans during the saturnalia. at that season presents were distributed to all, and for one day, at least, the roman slaves received the gift of freedom. that was a good custom. it was wise for the early christian church to adopt this method of giving presents at christmastide, but the custom has lost some of its wisdom by use. the art of giving wisely is a very difficult art; almost as difficult as the art of receiving wisely. at christmas time this becomes very plain to us, and it is especially obvious to us on boxing day. many of the gifts bestowed on that day are bestowed with a grudge, and received as a matter of right. that is not as it should be, for all pleasure is lost when a gift is bestowed in a stingy spirit, and taken with a thankless hand. i feel sure that you children do not give or receive your christmas boxes in that manner. if you have any little gift to bestow upon the people who do you a service throughout the year, you will do it cheerfully. and if any one gives you a little gift, do not turn it over and over looking at all sides, but accept it with thankfulness and a cheerful countenance. by so doing you will find that boxing day is one of the most pleasant days in all the year. for a london child there is an interesting event that always happens on the 26th december. the pantomimes begin upon boxing day. your old friends the harlequin, the clown, the pantaloon bounce upon the stage with all their old antics and most of their old jokes. but the more ancient the jokes are, i think you like them the better. when i was a boy i liked to see the clown play tricks upon the policeman, and startle innocent people with a red-hot poker. i am sure that you feel just like that to-day, and that you laugh as heartily as i did. there is nothing better than laughter; and throughout england, in every playhouse, a great tide of laughter begins upon boxing day. and now we have reached almost the last day of the year, and quite the last page of this little book. since new year's day we have travelled together, and i have tried to explain to you the meaning of the various holy days and holidays. i have tried to make the explanations interesting, and not exactly like the dull books that grown-ups read. but i am not sure that i have succeeded; holidays are stupid things when they are set down in print. it is far better to take them just as they come along, and enjoy the good things they bring. holidays are like the pictures in a dry book. when i was a boy i sometimes skipped the reading and enjoyed the pictures. you can skip the reading in this book if you like. finis. =our holidays= historical stories retold from st. nicholas magazine in five volumes indian stories a mirror of indian ideas, customs, and adventures. colonial stories stirring tales of the rude frontier life of early times. revolutionary stories heroic deeds, and especially children's part in them. civil war stories thrilling stories of the great struggle, both on land and sea. our holidays something of their meaning and spirit. each about 200 pages. full cloth, 12mo. the century co. [illustration: ho, for the christmas tree!] our holidays their meaning and spirit retold from st. nicholas [illustration] published by the century co. new york mcmvi the de vinne press =contents= page our holidays 1 st. saturday _henry johnstone_ 3 hallowe'en 7 all-hallow-eve myths _david brown_ 9 election day 13 rights and duties of citizens _s.e. forman_ 15 thanksgiving day 21 a thanksgiving dinner that flew away _h. butterworth_ 23 whittier's birthday 35 the boyhood of john greenleaf whittier _william h. rideing_ 37 christmas 51 how uncle sam observes christmas _clifford howard_ 53 new year's day 79 extract from "social life in the colonies" _edward eggleston_ 81 a chinese new year's in california _h.h._ 82 lincoln's birthday 85 abraham lincoln _helen nicolay_ 87 the gettysburg address 99 o captain! my captain! _walt whitman_ 101 st. valentine's birthday 103 who began it? _olive thorne_ 105 washington's birthday 111 the boyhood of washington _horace e. scudder_ 113 longfellow's birthday 123 longfellow and the children _lucy larcom_ 125 inauguration day 139 how a president is inaugurated _clifford howard_ 141 easter day 153 a song of easter _celia thaxter_ 155 the general's easter box _temple bailey_ 159 arbor day 175 the planting of the apple tree _william cullen bryant_ 177 april fool's day 181 fourth-month dunce _h.m.m._ 183 memorial day 185 the boy in gray _mary bradley_ 187 flag day 193 the stars and stripes _henry russell wray_ 195 fourth of july 199 a story of the flag _victor mapes_ 201 =preface= to most young people, holidays mean simply freedom from lessons and a good time. all this they should mean--and something more. it is well to remember, for example, that we owe the pleasure of thanksgiving to those grateful pilgrims who gave a feast of thanks for the long-delayed rain that saved their withering crops--a feast of wild turkeys and pumpkin pies, which has been celebrated now for nearly three centuries. it is most fitting that the same honor paid to washington's birthday is now given to that of lincoln, who is as closely associated with the civil war as our first president is with the revolution. although the birthdays of the three american poets, whittier, lowell, and longfellow, are not holidays, stories relating to these days are included in this collection as signalizing days to be remembered. in this book are contained stories bearing on our holidays and annual celebrations, from hallowe'en to the fourth of july. =our holidays= if all the year were playing holidays, to sport would be as tedious as to work. shakspere. _king henry iv_, part i. =st. saturday= [illustration] by henry johnstone oh, friday night's the queen of nights, because it ushers in the feast of good st. saturday, when studying is a sin, when studying is a sin, boys, and we may go to play not only in the afternoon, but all the livelong day. st. saturday--so legends say--lived in the ages when the use of leisure still was known and current among men; full seldom and full slow he toiled, and even as he wrought he'd sit him down and rest awhile, immersed in pious thought. he loved to fold his good old arms, to cross his good old knees, and in a famous elbow-chair for hours he'd take his ease; he had a word for old and young, and when the village boys came out to play, he'd smile on them and never mind the noise. so when his time came, honest man, the neighbors all declared that one of keener intellect could better have been spared; by young and old his loss was mourned in cottage and in hall, for if he'd done them little good, he'd done no harm at all. in time they made a saint of him, and issued a decree- since he had loved his ease so well, and been so glad to see the children frolic round him and to smile upon their play- that school boys for his sake should have a weekly holiday. they gave his name unto the day, that as the years roll by his memory might still be green; and that's the reason why we speak his name with gratitude, and oftener by far than that of any other saint in all the calendar. then, lads and lassies, great and small, give ear to what i say- refrain from work on saturdays as strictly as you may; so shall the saint your patron be and prosper all you do- and when examinations come he'll see you safely through. [illustration: st. saturday] =hallowe'en= _october 31_ the eve of all saints' day this night is known in some places as nutcrack night, or snapapple night. supernatural influences are pretended to prevail and hence all kinds of superstitions were formerly connected with it. it is now usually celebrated by children's parties, when certain special games are played. =all-hallow-eve myths= by david brown as the world grows old and wise, it ceases to believe in many of its superstitions. but, although they are no longer believed in, the customs connected with them do not always die out; they often linger on through centuries, and, from having once been serious religious rites, or something real in the life of the people, they become at last mere children's plays or empty usages, often most zealously enjoyed by those who do not understand their meaning. all-hallow eve is now, in our country towns, a time of careless frolic, and of great bonfires, which, i hear, are still kindled on the hill-tops in some places. we also find these fires in england, scotland, and ireland, and from their history we learn the meaning of our celebration. some of you may know that the early inhabitants of great britain, ireland, and parts of france were known as celts, and that their religion was directed by strange priests called druids. three times in the year, on the first of may, for the sowing; at the solstice, june 21st, for the ripening and turn of the year; and on the eve of november 1st, for the harvesting, those mysterious priests of the celts, the druids, built fires on the hill-tops in france, britain, and ireland, in honor of the sun. at this last festival the druids of all the region gathered in their white robes around the stone altar or cairn on the hill-top. here stood an emblem of the sun, and on the cairn was a sacred fire, which had been kept burning through the year. the druids formed about the fire, and, at a signal, quenched it, while deep silence rested on the mountains and valleys. then the new fire gleamed on the cairn, the people in the valley raised a joyous shout, and from hill-top to hill-top other fires answered the sacred flame. on this night, all hearth-fires in the region had been put out, and they were kindled with brands from the sacred fire, which was believed to guard the households through the year. but the druids disappeared from their sacred places, the cairns on the hill-tops became the monuments of a dead religion, and christianity spread to the barbarous inhabitants of france and the british islands. yet the people still clung to their old customs, and felt much of the old awe for them. still they built their fires on the first of may,--at the solstice in june,--and on the eve of november 1st. the church found that it could not all at once separate the people from their old ways, so it gradually turned these ways to its own use, and the harvest festival of the druids became in the catholic calendar the eve of all saints, for that is the meaning of the name "all-hallow eve." in the seventh century, the pantheon, the ancient roman temple of all the gods, was consecrated anew to the worship of the virgin and of all holy martyrs. by its separation from the solemn character of the druid festival, all-hallow eve lost much of its ancient dignity, and became the carnival-night of the year for wild, grotesque rites. as century after century passed by, it came to be spoken of as the time when the magic powers, with which the peasantry, all the world over, filled the wastes and ruins, were supposed to swarm abroad to help or injure men. it was the time when those first dwellers in every land, the fairies, were said to come out from their grots and lurking-places; and in the darkness of the forests and the shadows of old ruins, witches and goblins gathered. in course of time, the hallowing fire came to be considered a protection against these malicious powers. it was a custom in the seventeenth century for the master of a family to carry a lighted torch of straw around his fields, to protect them from evil influence through the year, and as he went he chanted an invocation to the fire. the chief thing which we seek to impress upon your minds in connection with all-hallow eve is that its curious customs show how no generation of men is altogether separated from earlier generations. far as we think we are from our uncivilized ancestors, much of what they did and thought has come into our doing and thinking,--with many changes perhaps, under different religious forms, and sometimes in jest where they were in earnest. still, these customs and observances (of which all-hallow eve is only one) may be called the piers, upon which rests a bridge that spans the wide past between us and the generations that have gone before. =election day= the first tuesday after the first monday in november. this day is now a holiday so that every man may have an opportunity to cast his vote. unlike most other holidays, it does not commemorate an event, but it is a day which has a tremendous meaning if rightly looked upon and rightly used. its true spirit and significance are well set forth in the following pages. by act of congress the date for the choosing of presidential electors is set for the first tuesday after the first monday in november in the years when presidents are elected, and the different states have now nearly all chosen the same day for the election of state officers. =rights and duties of citizens= by s.e. forman read the bill of rights in the constitution of your state and you will find there, set down in plain black and white, the rights which you are to enjoy as an american citizen. this constitution tells you that you have the right to your life, to your liberty, and to the property that you may honestly acquire; that your body, your health and your reputation shall be protected from injury; that you may move freely from place to place unmolested; that you shall not be imprisoned or otherwise punished without a fair trial by an impartial jury; that you may worship god according to the promptings of your own conscience; that you may freely write and speak on any subject providing you do not abuse the privilege; that you may peaceably assemble and petition government for the redress of grievances. these are civil rights. they, together with many others equally dear, are guaranteed by the state and national constitutions, and they belong to all american citizens. these civil rights, like the air and the sunshine, come to us in these days as a matter of course, but they did not come to our ancestors as a matter of course. to our ancestors rights came as the result of hard-fought battles. the reading of the bill of rights would cause your heart to throb with gratitude did you but know the suffering and sacrifice each right has cost. now just as our rights have not been gained without a struggle, so they will not be maintained without a struggle. we may not have to fight with cannon and sword as did our forefathers in the revolution, but we may be sure that if our liberty is to be preserved there will be fighting of some kind to do. such precious things as human rights cannot be had for nothing. one of the hardest battles will be to fulfil the duties which accompany our rights, for every right is accompanied by a duty. if i can hold a man to his contract i ought (_i owe it_) to pay my debts; if i may worship as i please, i ought to refrain from persecuting another on account of his religion; if my property is held sacred, i ought to regard the property of another man as sacred; if the government deals fairly with me and does not oppress me, i ought to deal fairly with it and refuse to cheat it; if i am allowed freedom of speech, i ought not to abuse the privilege; if i have a right to a trial by jury, i ought to respond when i am summoned to serve as a juror; if i have a right to my good name and reputation, i ought not to slander my neighbor; if government shields me from injury, i ought to be ready to take up arms in its defense. foremost among the rights of american citizenship is that of going to the polls and casting a ballot. this right of voting is not a civil right; it is a political right which grew out of man's long struggle for his civil rights. while battling with kings and nobles for liberty the people learned to distrust a privileged ruling class. they saw that if their civil rights were to be respected, government must pass into their own hands or into the hands of their chosen agents. hence they demanded political rights, the right of holding office and of voting at elections. the suffrage, or the right of voting, is sometimes regarded as a natural right, one that belongs to a person simply because he is a person. people will say that a man has as much right to vote as he has to acquire property or to defend himself from attack. but this is not a correct view. the right to vote is a _franchise_ or privilege which the law gives to such citizens as are thought worthy of possessing it. it is easy to see that everybody cannot be permitted to vote. there must be certain qualifications, certain marks of fitness, required of a citizen before he can be entrusted with the right of suffrage. these qualifications differ in the different states. in most states every male citizen over twenty-one years of age may vote. in four states, women as well as men exercise the right of suffrage. but the right of voting, like every other right, has its corresponding duty. no day brings more responsibilities than election day. the american voter should regard himself as an officer of government. he is one of the members of the electorate, that vast governing body which consists of all the voters and which possesses supreme political power, controlling all the governments, federal and state and local. this electorate has in its keeping the welfare and the happiness of the american people. when, therefore, the voter takes his place in this governing body, that is, when he enters the polling-booth and presumes to participate in the business of government, he assumes serious responsibilities. in the polling-booth he is a public officer charged with certain duties, and if he fails to discharge these duties properly he may work great injury. what are the duties of a voter in a self-governing country? if an intelligent man will ask himself the question and refer it to his conscience as well as deliberate upon it in his mind, he will conclude that he ought to do the following things: 1. to vote whenever it is his privilege. 2. to try to understand the questions upon which he votes. 3. to learn something about the character and fitness of the men for whom he votes. 4. to vote only for honest men for office. 5. to support only honest measures. 6. to give no bribe, direct or indirect, and to receive no bribe, direct or indirect. 7. to place country above party. 8. to recognize the result of the election as the will of the people and therefore as the law. 9. to continue to vote for a righteous although defeated cause as long as there is a reasonable hope of victory. "the proudest now is but my peer, the highest not more high; to-day of all the weary year, a king of men am i. "to-day alike are great and small, the nameless and the known; my palace is the people's hall, the ballot-box my throne!" whittier. =thanksgiving day= appointed by the president--usually the last thursday in november. now observed as a holiday in all the states, but not a legal holiday in all. the president's proclamation recommends that it be set apart as a day of prayer and rejoicing. the day is of new england origin, the first one being set by governor bradford of the massachusetts colony on december, 1621. washington issued a thanksgiving proclamation for thursday, december 18, 1777, and again at valley forge for may 7, 1778. the thanksgiving of the present incorporates many of the genial features of christmas. the feast with the thanksgiving turkey and pumpkin-pie crowns the day. even the poorhouse has its turkey. the story of "an old-time thanksgiving," in "indian stories" of this series, well brings out the original spirit of the day. =a thanksgiving dinner that flew away= by h. butterworth "honk!" i spun around like a top, looking nervously in every direction. i was familiar with that sound; i had heard it before, during two summer vacations, at the old farm-house on the cape. it had been a terror to me. i always put a door, a fence, or a stone wall between me and that sound as speedily as possible. i had just come down from the city to the cape for my third summer vacation. i had left the cars with my arms full of bundles, and hurried toward aunt targood's. the cottage stood in from the road. there was a long meadow in front of it. in the meadow were two great oaks and some clusters of lilacs. an old, mossy stone wall protected the grounds from the road, and a long walk ran from the old wooden gate to the door. it was a sunny day, and my heart was light. the orioles were flaming in the old orchards; the bobolinks were tossing themselves about in the long meadows of timothy, daisies, and patches of clover. there was a scent of new-mown hay in the air. in the distance lay the bay, calm and resplendent, with white sails and specks of boats. beyond it rose martha's vineyard, green and cool and bowery, and at its wharf lay a steamer. i was, as i said, light-hearted. i was thinking of rides over the sandy roads at the close of the long, bright days; of excursions on the bay; of clam-bakes and picnics. i was hungry; and before me rose visions of aunt targood's fish dinners, roast chickens, berry pies. i was thirsty; but ahead was the old well-sweep, and, behind the cool lattice of the dairy window, were pans of milk in abundance. i tripped on toward the door with light feet, lugging my bundles and beaded with perspiration, but unmindful of all discomforts in the thought of the bright days and good things in store for me. "honk! honk!" my heart gave a bound! _where_ did that sound come from? out of a cool cluster of innocent-looking lilac bushes, i saw a dark object cautiously moving. it seemed to have no head. i knew, however, that it had a head. i had seen it; it had seized me once on the previous summer, and i had been in terror of it during all the rest of the season. i looked down into the irregular grass, and saw the head and a very long neck running along on the ground, propelled by the dark body, like a snake running away from a ball. it was coming toward me, and faster and faster as it approached. i dropped all my bundles. in a few flying leaps i returned to the road again, and armed myself with a stick from a pile of cord-wood. "honk! honk! honk!" it was a call of triumph. the head was high in the air now. my enemy moved grandly forward, as became the monarch of the great meadow farm-yard. i stood with beating heart, after my retreat. it was aunt targood's gander. how he enjoyed his triumph, and how small and cowardly he made me feel! "honk! honk! honk!" the geese came out of the lilac bushes, bowing their heads to him in admiration. then came the goslings--a long procession of awkward, half-feathered things: they appeared equally delighted. the gander seemed to be telling his admiring audience all about it: how a strange girl with many bundles had attempted to cross the yard; how he had driven her back, and had captured her bundles, and now was monarch of the field. he clapped his wings when he had finished his heroic story, and sent forth such a "honk!" as might have startled a major-general. then he, with an air of great dignity and coolness, began to examine my baggage. among my effects were several pounds of chocolate caramels, done up in brown paper. aunt targood liked caramels, and i had brought her a large supply. he tore off the wrappers quickly. bit one. it was good. he began to distribute the bon-bons among the geese, and they, with much liberality and good-will, among the goslings. this was too much. i ventured through the gate swinging my cord-wood stick. "shoo!" he dropped his head on the ground, and drove it down the walk in a lively waddle toward me. "_shoo_!" it was aunt targood's voice at the door. he stopped immediately. his head was in the air again. "_shoo_!" out came aunt targood with her broom. she always corrected the gander with her broom. if i were to be whipped i should choose a broom--not the stick. as soon as he beheld the broom he retired, although with much offended pride and dignity, to the lilac bushes; and the geese and goslings followed him. "hester, you dear child, come here. i was expecting you, and had been looking out for you, but missed sight of you. i had forgotten all about the gander." we gathered up the bundles and the caramels. i was light-hearted again. how cool was the sitting-room, with the woodbine falling about the open windows! aunt brought me a pitcher of milk and some strawberries; some bread and honey; and a fan. while i was resting and taking my lunch, i could hear the gander discussing the affairs of the farm-yard with the geese. i did not greatly enjoy the discussion. his tone of voice was very proud, and he did not seem to be speaking well of me. i was suspicious that he did not think me a very brave girl. a young person likes to be spoken well of, even by the gander. aunt targood's gander had been the terror of many well-meaning people, and of some evildoers, for many years. i have seen tramps and pack-peddlers enter the gate, and start on toward the door, when there would sound that ringing warning like a war-blast. "honk, honk!" and in a few minutes these unwelcome people would be gone. farm-house boarders from the city would sometimes enter the yard, thinking to draw water by the old well-sweep: in a few minutes it was customary to hear shrieks, and to see women and children flying over the walls, followed by air-rending "honks!" and jubilant cackles from the victorious gander and his admiring family. "aunt, what makes you keep that gander, year after year?" said i, one evening, as we were sitting on the lawn before the door. "is it because he is a kind of a watch-dog, and keeps troublesome people away?" "no, child, no; i do not wish to keep most people away, not well-behaved people, nor to distress nor annoy any one. the fact is, there is a story about that gander that i do not like to speak of to every one--something that makes me feel tender toward him; so that if he needs a whipping, i would rather do it. he knows something that no one else knows. i could not have him killed or sent away. you have heard me speak of nathaniel, my oldest boy?" "yes." "that is his picture in my room, you know. he was a good boy to me. he loved his mother. i loved nathaniel--you cannot think how much i loved nathaniel. it was on my account that he went away. "the farm did not produce enough for us all: nathaniel, john, and i. we worked hard and had a hard time. one year--that was ten years ago--we were sued for our taxes. "'nathaniel,' said i, 'i will go to taking boarders.' "then he looked up to me and said (oh, how noble and handsome he appeared to me!): "'mother, i will go to sea.' "'where?' asked i, in surprise. "'in a coaster.' "i turned white. how i felt! "'you and john can manage the place,' he continued. 'one of the vessels sails next week--uncle aaron's; he offers to take me.' "it seemed best, and he made preparations to go. "the spring before, skipper ben--you have met skipper ben--had given me some goose eggs; he had brought them from canada, and said that they were wild-goose eggs. "i set them under hens. in four weeks i had three goslings. i took them into the house at first, but afterward made a pen for them out in the yard. i brought them up myself, and one of those goslings is that gander. "skipper ben came over to see me, the day before nathaniel was to sail. aaron came with him. "i said to aaron: "'what can i give to nathaniel to carry to sea with him to make him think of home? cake, preserves, apples? i haven't got much; i have done all i can for him, poor boy.' "brother looked at me curiously, and said: "'give him one of those wild geese, and we will fatten it on shipboard and will have it for our thanksgiving dinner.' "what brother aaron said pleased me. the young gander was a noble bird, the handsomest of the lot; and i resolved to keep the geese to kill for my own use and to give _him_ to nathaniel. "the next morning--it was late in september--i took leave of nathaniel. i tried to be calm and cheerful and hopeful. i watched him as he went down the walk with the gander struggling under his arms. a stranger would have laughed, but i did not feel like laughing; it was true that the boys who went coasting were usually gone but a few months and came home hardy and happy. but when poverty compels a mother and son to part, after they have been true to each other, and shared their feelings in common, it seems hard, it seems hard--though i do not like to murmur or complain at anything allotted to me. "i saw him go over the hill. on the top he stopped and held up the gander. he disappeared; yes, my own nathaniel disappeared. i think of him now as one who disappeared. "november came--it was a terrible month on the coast that year. storm followed storm; the sea-faring people talked constantly of wrecks and losses. i could not sleep on the nights of those high winds. i used to lie awake thinking over all the happy hours i had lived with nathaniel. "thanksgiving week came. "it was full of an indian-summer brightness after the long storms. the nights were frosty, bright, and calm. "i could sleep on those calm nights. "one morning, i thought i heard a strange sound in the woodland pasture. it was like a wild goose. i listened; it was repeated. i was lying in bed. i started up--i thought i had been dreaming. "on the night before thanksgiving i went to bed early, being very tired. the moon was full; the air was calm and still. i was thinking of nathaniel, and i wondered if he would indeed have the gander for his thanksgiving dinner: if it would be cooked as well as i would have cooked it, and if he would think of me that day. "i was just going to sleep, when suddenly i heard a sound that made me start up and hold my breath. "'_honk_!' "i thought it was a dream followed by a nervous shock. "'_honk! honk_!' "there it was again, in the yard. i was surely awake and in my senses. "i heard the geese cackle. "'_honk! honk! honk_!' "i got out of bed and lifted the curtain. it was almost as light as day. instead of two geese there were three. had one of the neighbors' geese stolen away? "i should have thought so, and should not have felt disturbed, but for the reason that none of the neighbors' geese had that peculiar call--that hornlike tone that i had noticed in mine. "i went out of the door. "the third goose looked like the very gander i had given nathaniel. could it be? "i did not sleep. i rose early and went to the crib for some corn. "it was a gander--a 'wild' gander--that had come in the night. he seemed to know me. "i trembled all over as though i had seen a ghost. i was so faint that i sat down on the meal-chest. "as i was in that place, a bill pecked against the door. the door opened. the strange gander came hobbling over the crib-stone and went to the corn-bin. he stopped there, looked at me, and gave a sort of glad "honk," as though he knew me and was glad to see me. "i was certain that he was the gander i had raised, and that nathaniel had lifted into the air when he gave me his last recognition from the top of the hill. "it overcame me. it was thanksgiving. the church bell would soon be ringing as on sunday. and here was nathaniel's thanksgiving dinner; and brother aaron's--had it flown away? where was the vessel? "years have passed--ten. you know i waited and waited for my boy to come back. december grew dark with its rainy seas; the snows fell; may lighted up the hills, but the vessel never came back. nathaniel--my nathaniel--never returned. "that gander knows something he could tell me if he could talk. birds have memories. he remembered the corn-crib--he remembered something else. i wish he _could_ talk, poor bird! i wish he could talk. i will never sell him, nor kill him, nor have him abused. _he knows!_" =whittier's birthday= john greenleaf whittier born december 17, 1807 died september 7, 1892 whittier is known not only as a poet, but as a reformer and author. he was a member of the society of friends. he attended a new england academy; worked on a farm; taught school in order to afford further education, and at the age of twenty-two edited a paper at boston. he was a leading opponent of slavery and was several times attacked by mobs on account of his opinions. =the boyhood of john greenleaf whittier= by william h. rideing the life of whittier may be read in his poems, and, by putting a note here and a date there, a full autobiography might be compiled from them. his boyhood and youth are depicted in them with such detail that little need be added to make the story complete, and that little, reverently done as it may be, must seem poor in comparison with the poetic beauty of his own revelations. what more can we do to show his early home than to quote from his own beautiful poem, "snow-bound"? there the house is pictured for us, inside and out, with all its furnishings; and those who gather around its hearth, inmates and visitors, are set before us so clearly that long after the book has been put away they remain as distinct in the memory as portraits that are visible day after day on the walls of our own homes. he reproduces in his verse the landscapes he saw, the legends of witches and indians he listened to, the schoolfellows he played with, the voices of the woods and fields, and the round of toil and pleasure in a country boy's life; and in other poems his later life, with its impassioned devotion to freedom and lofty faith, is reflected as lucidly as his youth is in "snow-bound" and "the barefoot boy." he himself was "the barefoot boy," and what robert burns said of himself whittier might repeat: "the poetic genius of my country found me, as the prophetic bard elijah did elisha, at the plow, and threw her inspiring mantle over me." he was a farmer's son, born at a time when farm-life in new england was more frugal than it is now, and with no other heritage than the good name and example of parents and kinsmen, in whom simple virtues--thrift, industry, and piety--abounded. his birthplace still stands near haverhill, mass.,--a house in one of the hollows of the surrounding hills, little altered from what it was in 1807, the year he was born, when it was already at least a century and a half old. [illustration: whittier's birthplace, near haverhill, mass.] he had no such opportunities for culture as holmes and lowell had in their youth. his parents were intelligent and upright people of limited means, who lived in all the simplicity of the quaker faith, and there was nothing in his early surroundings to encourage and develop a literary taste. books were scarce, and the twenty volumes on his father's shelves were, with one exception, about quaker doctrines and quaker heroes. the exception was a novel, and that was hidden away from the children, for fiction was forbidden fruit. no library or scholarly companionship was within reach; and if his gift had been less than genius, it could never have triumphed over the many disadvantages with which it had to contend. instead of a poet he would have been a farmer like his forefathers. but literature was a spontaneous impulse with him, as natural as the song of a bird; and he was not wholly dependent on training and opportunity, as he would have been had he possessed mere talent. frugal from necessity, the life of the whittiers was not sordid nor cheerless to him, moreover; and he looks back to it as tenderly as if it had been full of luxuries. it was sweetened by strong affections, simple tastes, and an unflinching sense of duty; and in all the members of the household the love of nature was so genuine that meadow, wood, and river yielded them all the pleasure they needed, and they scarcely missed the refinements of art. surely there could not be a pleasanter or more homelike picture than that which the poet has given us of the family on the night of the great storm when the old house was snowbound: "shut in from all the world without, we sat the clean-winged hearth about, content to let the north wind roar in baffled rage at pane and door, while the red logs before us beat the frost-line back with tropic heat. and ever when a louder blast shook beam and rafter as it passed, the merrier up its roaring draught the great throat of the chimney laughed. the house-dog on his paws outspread, laid to the fire his drowsy head; the cat's dark silhouette on the wall a couchant tiger's seemed to fall, and for the winter fireside meet between the andiron's straddling feet the mug of cider simmered slow, the apples sputtered in a row, and close at hand the basket stood with nuts from brown october's wood." for a picture of the poet himself we must turn to the verses in "the barefoot boy," in which he says: "o for boyhood's time of june, crowding years in one brief moon, when all things i heard or saw, me, their master, waited for. i was rich in flowers and trees, humming-birds and honey-bees; for my sport the squirrel played, plied the snouted mole his spade; for my taste the blackberry cone purpled over hedge and stone; laughed the brook for my delight through the day and through the night, whispering at the garden-wall, talked with me from fall to fall; mine the sand-rimmed pickerel pond, mine the walnut slopes beyond, mine on bending orchard trees, apples of hesperides! still as my horizon grew, larger grew my riches, too; all the world i saw or knew seemed a complex chinese toy, fashioned for a barefoot boy!"[1] [illustration: the old school-house, haverhill, mass.] i doubt if any boy ever rose to intellectual eminence who had fewer opportunities for education than whittier. he had no such pasturage to browse on as is open to every reader who, by simply reaching them out, can lay his hands on the treasures of english literature. he had to borrow books wherever they could be found among the neighbors who were willing to lend, and he thought nothing of walking several miles for one volume. the only instruction he received was at the district school, which was open a few weeks in midwinter, and at the haverhill academy, which he attended two terms of six months each, paying tuition by work in spare hours, and by keeping a small school himself. a feeble spirit would have languished under such disadvantages. but whittier scarcely refers to them, and instead of begging for pity, he takes them as part of the common lot, and seems to remember only what was beautiful and good in his early life. occasionally a stranger knocked at the door of the old homestead in the valley; sometimes it was a distinguished quaker from abroad, but oftener it was a peddler or some vagabond begging for food, which was seldom refused. once a foreigner came and asked for lodgings for the night--a dark, repulsive man, whose appearance was so much against him that mrs. whittier was afraid to admit him. no sooner had she sent him away, however, than she repented. "what if a son of mine was in a strange land?" she thought. the young poet (who was not yet recognized as such) offered to go out in search of him, and presently returned with him, having found him standing in the roadway just as he had been turned away from another house. [illustration: john greenleaf whittier] "he took his seat with us at the supper-table," says whittier in one of his prose sketches, "and when we were all gathered around the hearth that cold autumnal evening, he told us, partly by words and partly by gestures, the story of his life and misfortunes, amused us with descriptions of the grape-gatherings and festivals of his sunny clime, edified my mother with a recipe for making bread of chestnuts, and in the morning, when, after breakfast, his dark sallow face lighted up, and his fierce eyes moistened with grateful emotion as in his own silvery tuscan accent he poured out his thanks, we marveled at the fears which had so nearly closed our doors against him, and as he departed we all felt that he had left with us the blessing of the poor." another guest came to the house one day. it was a vagrant old scotchman, who, when he had been treated to bread and cheese and cider, sang some of the songs of robert burns, which whittier then heard for the first time, and which he never forgot. coming to him thus as songs reached the people before printing was invented, through gleemen and minstrels, their sweetness lingered in his ears, and he soon found himself singing in the same strain. some of his earliest inspirations were drawn from burns, and he tells us of his joy when one day, after the visit of the old scotchman, his schoolmaster loaned him a copy of that poet's works. "i began to make rhymes myself, and to imagine stories and adventures," he says in his simple way. indeed, he began to rhyme very early and kept his gift a secret from all, except his oldest sister, fearing that his father, who was a prosaic man, would think that he was wasting time. he wrote under the fence, in the attic, in the barn--wherever he could escape observation; and as pen and ink were not always available, he sometimes used chalk, and even charcoal. great was the surprise of the family when some of his verses were unearthed, literally unearthed, from under a heap of rubbish in a garret; but his father frowned upon these evidences of the bent of his mind, not out of unkindness, but because he doubted the sufficiency of the boy's education for a literary life, and did not wish to inspire him with hopes which might never be fulfilled. his sister had faith in him, nevertheless, and, without his knowledge, she sent one of his poems to the editor of _the free press_, a newspaper published in newburyport. whittier was helping his father to repair a stone wall by the roadside when the carrier flung a copy of the paper to him, and, unconscious that anything of his was in it, he opened it and glanced up and down the columns. his eyes fell on some verses called "the exile's departure." "fond scenes, which delighted my youthful existence, with feelings of sorrow i bid ye adieu- a lasting adieu; for now, dim in the distance, the shores of hibernia recede from my view. farewell to the cliffs, tempest-beaten and gray, which guard the loved shores of my own native land; farewell to the village and sail-shadowed bay, the forest-crowned hill and the water-washed strand." his eyes swam; it was his own poem, the first he ever had in print. [illustration: whittier's study at amesbury, mass.] "what is the matter with thee?" his father demanded, seeing how dazed he was; but, though he resumed his work on the wall, he could not speak, and he had to steal a glance at the paper again and again, before he could convince himself that he was not dreaming. sure enough, the poem was there with his initial at the foot of it,--"w., haverhill, june 1st, 1826,"--and, better still, this editorial notice: "if 'w.,' at haverhill, will continue to favor us with pieces beautiful as the one inserted in our poetical department of to-day, we shall esteem it a favor." fame never passes true genius by, and when it came it brought with it the love and reverence of thousands, who recognize in whittier a nature abounding in patience, unselfishness, and all the sweetness of christian charity. [footnote 1: the selections from mr. whittier's poems contained in this article are included by kind permission of messrs. houghton, mifflin & co.] =christmas= _december 25_ a festival held every year in memory of the birth of christ. christmas is essentially a day of rejoicing and thanksgiving and of good will toward others. many customs older than christianity mark the festivities. in our country the observance of the day was discouraged in colonial times, and in england in 1643 parliament abolished the day. now its celebration is world-wide and by all classes and creeds. =how uncle sam observes christmas= by clifford howard of course uncle sam is best acquainted with the good old-fashioned christmas--the kind we have known all about since we were little bits of children. there are the christmas trees with their pretty decorations and candles, and the mistletoe and holly and all sorts of evergreens to make the house look bright, while outside the trees are bare, the ground is white with snow, and jack frost is prowling around, freezing up the ponds and pinching people's noses. and then there is dear old santa claus with his reindeer, galloping about on the night before christmas, and scrambling down chimneys to fill the stockings that hang in a row by the fireplace. it is the time of good cheer and happiness and presents for everybody; the time of chiming bells and joyful carols; of turkey and candy and plum-pudding and all the other good things that go to make up a truly merry christmas. and here and there throughout the country, some of the quaint old customs of our forefathers are still observed at this time, as, for instance, the pretty custom of "christmas waits"--boys and girls who go about from house to house on christmas eve, or early christmas morning, singing carols. but, aside from the christmas customs we all know so well, uncle sam has many strange and special ways of observing christmas; for in this big country of his there are many different kinds of people, and they all do not celebrate christmas in the same way, as you shall see. =in the south= siss! bang! boom! sky-rockets hissing, crackers snapping, cannons roaring, horns tooting, bells ringing, and youngsters shouting with wild delight. that is the way christmas begins down south. [illustration: christmas in the south] it starts at midnight, or even before; and all day long fire-crackers are going off in the streets of every city, town, and village of the south, from virginia to louisiana. a northern boy, waking up suddenly in new orleans or mobile or atlanta, would think he was in the midst of a rousing fourth-of-july celebration. in some of the towns the brass bands come out and add to the jollity of the day by marching around and playing "my maryland" and "dixie"; while the soldier companies parade up and down the streets to the strains of joyous music and fire salutes with cannons and rifles. to the girls and boys of the south, christmas is the noisiest and jolliest day of the year. the fourth of july doesn't compare with it. and as for the darkies, they look upon christmas as a holiday that was invented for their especial happiness. they take it for granted that all the "white folks" they know will give them presents; and with grinning faces they are up bright and early, asking for "christmus gif', mistah; christmus gif, missus." no one thinks of refusing them, and at the end of the day they are richer and happier than at any other time during the whole year. except for the jingle of sleigh-bells and the presence of jack frost, a christmas in the south is in other ways very much like that in the north. the houses are decorated with greens, mistletoe hangs above the doorways, santa claus comes down the chimneys and fills the waiting stockings, while christmas dinner is not complete without the familiar turkey and cranberry sauce, plum puddings and pies. =in new england= for a great many years there was no christmas in new england. the pilgrims and the puritans did not believe in such celebrations. in fact, they often made it a special point to do their hardest work on christmas day, just to show their contempt for what they considered a pagan festival. during colonial times there was a law in massachusetts forbidding any one to celebrate christmas; and if anybody was so rash in those days as to go about tooting a horn and shouting a "merry christmas!" he was promptly brought to his senses by being arrested and punished. [illustration: christmas sports in new england] of course things are very different in new england now, but in many country towns the people still make more of thanksgiving than they do of christmas; and there are hundreds of new england men and women still living who knew nothing of christmas as children--who never hung up their stockings; who never waited for santa claus; who never had a tree; who never even had a christmas present! nowadays, however, christmas in new england is like christmas anywhere else; but here and there, even now, the effects of the early puritan ideas may still be seen. in some of the smaller and out-of-the-way towns and villages you will find christmas trees and evergreens in only a very few of the houses, and in some places--particularly in new hampshire--one big christmas tree does for the whole town. this tree is set up in the town hall, and there the children go to get their gifts, which have been hung on the branches by the parents. sometimes the tree has no decorations--no candles, no popcorn strings, no shiny balls. after the presents are taken off and given to the children, the tree remains perfectly bare. there is usually a short entertainment of recitations and songs, and a speech or two perhaps, and then the little folks, carrying their presents with them, go back to their homes. =in new mexico= in certain parts of new mexico, among the old spanish settlements, the celebration of christmas begins more than a week before the day. in the evenings, a party of men and women go together to the house of some friend--a different house being visited each evening. when they arrive, they knock on the door and begin to sing, and when those in the house ask, "who is there?" they reply, "the virgin mary and st. joseph seek lodgings in your house." at first the inmates of the house refuse to let them in. this is done to carry out the bible story of joseph and mary being unable to find lodgings in bethlehem. but in a little while the door is opened and the visitors are heartily welcomed. as soon as they enter, they kneel and repeat a short prayer; and when the devotional exercises are concluded, the rest of the evening is spent in merrymaking. on christmas eve the people of the village gather together in some large room or hall and give a solemn little play, commemorating the birthday of the saviour. one end of the room is used as a stage, and this is fitted up to represent the stable and the manger; and the characters in the sacred story of bethlehem--mary and joseph, the shepherds, the wise men, and the angels--are represented in the tableaux, and with a genuine, reverential spirit. even the poorer people of the town take part in these christmas plays. =among the shakers= the shakers observe christmas by a dinner at which the men and women both sit down at the same table. this custom of theirs is the thing that serves to make christmas different from any other day among the shakers. during all the rest of the year the men and women eat their meals at separate tables. at sunset on christmas day, after a service in the church, they march to the community-house, where the dinner is waiting. the men sit on one side of the table and the women on the other. at the head sits an old man called the elder, who begins the meal by saying grace, after which each one in turn gets up and, lifting the right hand, says in a solemn voice, "god is love." the dinner is eaten in perfect silence. not a voice is heard until the meal comes to an end. then the men and women rise and sing, standing in their places at the table. as the singing proceeds they mark time with their hands and feet. then their bodies begin to sway from side to side in the peculiar manner that has given this sect its name of shakers. when the singing comes to an end, the elder chants a prayer, after which the men and women silently file out and leave the building. =among the pennsylvania germans= "you'd better look out, or pelznickel will catch you!" this is the dire threat held over naughty boys and girls at christmas-time in some of the country settlements of the pennsylvania germans, or pennsylvania dutch, as they are often called. pelznickel is another name for santa claus. but he is not altogether the same old santa that we welcome so gladly. on christmas eve some one in the neighborhood impersonates pelznickel by dressing up as an old man with a long white beard. arming himself with a switch and carrying a bag of toys over his shoulder, he goes from house to house, where the children are expecting him. [illustration: a visit from pelznickel] he asks the parents how the little ones have behaved themselves during the year. to each of those who have been good he gives a present from his bag. but--woe betide the naughty ones! these are not only supposed to get no presents, but pelznickel catches them by the collar and playfully taps them with his switch. =in porto rico= the porto rican boys and girls would be frightened out of their wits if santa claus should come to them in a sleigh drawn by reindeer and should try to enter the houses and fill their stockings. down there, santa claus does not need reindeer or any other kind of steeds, for the children say that he just comes flying through the air like a bird. neither does he bother himself looking for stockings, for such things are not so plentiful in porto rico as they are in cooler climates. instead of stockings, the children use little boxes, which they make themselves. these they place on the roofs and in the courtyards, and old santa claus drops the gifts into them as he flies around at night with his bag on his back. he is more generous in porto rico than he is anywhere else. he does not come on christmas eve only, but is likely to call around every night or two during the week. each morning, therefore, the little folks run out eagerly to see whether anything more has been left in their boxes during the night. christmas in porto rico is a church festival of much importance, and the celebration of it is made up chiefly of religious ceremonies intended to commemorate the principal events in the life of the saviour. beginning with the celebration of his birth, at christmas-time, the feast-days follow one another in rapid succession. indeed, it may justly be said that they do not really come to an end until easter. [illustration: bethlehem day in porto rico] one of the most popular of these festival-days is that known as bethlehem day. this is celebrated on the 12th of january, in memory of the coming of the magi. the celebration consists of a procession of children through the streets of the town. the foremost three, dressed in flowing robes to represent the wise men of the east, come riding along on ponies, holding in their hands the gifts for the infant king; following them come angels and shepherds and flute-players, all represented by children dressed in pretty costumes and carrying garlands of flowers. these processions are among the most picturesque of all christmas celebrations. =among the moravians= for many days before christmas the moravian housewives in bethlehem, pennsylvania, are busy in their kitchens making good things for the holidays--mint-cakes, pepper-nuts, _kã¼mmelbrod_, sugar-cake, mince-pies, and, most important of all, large quantities of "christmas cakes." these christmas cakes are a kind of ginger cooky, crisp and spicy, and are made according to a recipe known only to the moravians. they are made in all sorts of curious shapes--birds, horses, bears, lions, fishes, turtles, stars, leaves, and funny little men and women; so that they are not only good to eat, but are ornamental as well, and are often used by the good fathers and mothers as decorations for the "_putz_." every moravian family has its _putz_ at christmas-time. this consists of a christmas tree surrounded at its base by a miniature landscape made up of moss and greens and make-believe rocks, and adorned with toy houses and tiny fences and trees and all sorts of little animals and toy people. [illustration: a christmas "putz"] on christmas eve a love-feast is held in the church. the greater part of the service is devoted to music, for which the moravians have always been noted. while the choir is singing, cake and coffee are brought in and served to all the members of the congregation, each one receiving a good-sized bun and a large cup of coffee. shortly before the end of the meeting lighted wax candles carried on large trays are brought into the church, by men on one side and women on the other, and passed around to the little folks--one for each boy and girl. this is meant to represent the coming of the light into the world, and is but one of the many beautiful customs observed by the moravians. =in alaska= "going around with the star" is a popular christmas custom among some of the natives of alaska who belong to the greek church. a large figure of a star, covered with brightly colored paper, is carried about at night by a procession of men and women and children. they call at the homes of the well-to-do families of the village, marching about from house to house, headed by the star-bearer and two men or boys carrying lanterns on long poles. they are warmly welcomed at each place, and are invited to come in and have some refreshments. after enjoying the cakes and other good things, and singing one or two carols, they take up the star and move on to the next house. these processions take place each night during christmas week; but after the second night the star-bearers are followed by men and boys dressed in fantastic clothes, who try to catch the star-men and destroy their stars. this part of the game is supposed to be an imitation of the soldiers of herod trying to destroy the children of bethlehem; but these happy folks of alaska evidently don't think much about its meaning, for they make a great frolic of it. everybody is full of fun, and the frosty air of the dark winter nights is filled with laughter as men and boys and romping girls chase one another here and there in merry excitement. =in hawaii= the natives of hawaii say that santa claus comes over to the islands in a boat. perhaps he does; it would be a tedious journey for his reindeer to make without stopping from san francisco to honolulu. at all events, he gets there by some means or other, for he would not neglect the little folks of those islands away out in the pacific. they look for him as eagerly as do the boys and girls in the lands of snow and ice, and although it must almost melt him to get around in that warm climate with his furs on, he never misses a christmas. before the missionaries and the american settlers went to hawaii, the natives knew nothing about christmas, but now they all celebrate the day, and do it, of course, in the same way as the americans who live there. the main difference between christmas in honolulu and christmas in new york is that in honolulu in december the weather is like june in new york. birds are warbling in the leafy trees; gardens are overflowing with roses and carnations; fields and mountain slopes are ablaze with color; and a sunny sky smiles dreamily upon the glories of a summer day. in the morning people go to church, and during the day there are sports and games and merry-making of all sorts. the christmas dinner is eaten out of doors in the shade of the veranda, and everybody is happy and contented. =in the philippines= "buenas pasquas!" this is the hearty greeting that comes to the dweller in the philippines on christmas morning, and with it, perhaps, an offering of flowers. [illustration: christmas in the philippines] the filipino, like the porto rican and all others who have lived under spanish rule, look upon christmas as a great religious festival, and one that requires very special attention. on christmas eve the churches are open, and the coming of the great day is celebrated by a mass at midnight; and during all of christmas day mass is held every hour, so that every one may have an opportunity to attend. even the popular christmas customs among the people are nearly all of a religious character, for most of them consist of little plays or dramas founded upon the life of the saviour. these plays are called _pastures_, and are performed by bands of young men and women, and sometimes mere boys and girls, who go about from village to village and present their simple little plays to expectant audiences at every stopping-place. the visit of the wise men, the flight into egypt--these and many other incidents as related in the scriptures are acted in these _pastores_. =new year's day= _january 1_ the custom of celebrating the first day of the year is a very ancient one. the exchange of gifts, the paying of calls, the making of good resolutions for the new year and feasting often characterize the day. the custom of ringing the church bells is of the widest extent. the old-world custom of sitting up on new year's eve to see the old year out is still very common. =extract from "social life in the colonies"= _the century magazine, july 1885_ by edward eggleston new year's day was celebrated among the new york dutch by the calls of the gentlemen on their lady friends; it is perhaps the only distinctly dutch custom that afterward came into widespread use in the united states. new year's day, and the church festivals kept alike by the dutch and english, brought an intermission of labor to the new york slaves, who gathered in throngs to devote themselves to wild frolics. the brooklyn fields were crowded with them on new year's day, at easter, at whitsuntide, or "prixter," as the dutch called it, and on "san claus day"--the feast of st. nicholas. =a chinese new year's in california= by h.h. the chinese in california have a week of holiday at their new year's in february, just as we do between the twenty-fifth of december and the first of january. in the cities they make a fine display of fire-works. they use barrels full of fire-crackers, and the chinese boys do not fire them off, as the american boys do, a cracker at a time; they bring out a large box full, or a barrel full, and fire them off package after package, as fast as they can. in santa barbara, where i was during the chinese new year's of 1882, we heard the crackers long before we reached chinatown. after these stopped we went into the houses. every chinese family keeps open house on new year's day all day long. they set up a picture or an image of their god in some prominent place, and on a table in front of this they put a little feast of good things to eat. some are for an offering to the god and some are for their friends who call. everyone is expected to take something. there was no family so poor that it did not have something set out, and some sort of a shrine made for its idol; in some houses it was only a coarse wooden box turned up on one end like a cupboard, with two or three little teacups full of rice or tea, and one poor candle burning before a paper picture of the god pasted or tacked at the back of the box. it was amusing to watch the american boys darting about from shop to shop and house to house, coming out with their hands full of queer chinese things to eat, showing them to each other and comparing notes. "oh, let me taste that!" one boy would exclaim on seeing some new thing; and "where did you get it? which house gives that?" then the whole party would race off to make a descent on that house and get some more. i thought it wonderfully hospitable on the part of the chinese people to let all these american boys run in and out of their houses in that way, and help themselves from the new year's feast. some of the boys were very rude and ill-mannered--little better than street beggars; but the chinese were polite and generous to them all. the joss-house, where they held their religious services, was a chamber opening out upon an upper balcony. this balcony was hung with lanterns and decorated. the door at the foot of the stairs which led to this chamber stood open all day, and any one who wished could go up and say his prayers in the chinese fashion, which is a curious fashion indeed. they have slender reeds with tight rolls of brown paper fastened at one end. in front of the image or picture of their god they set a box or vase of ashes, on which a little sandalwood is kept burning. when they wish to make a prayer they stick one of the reeds down in these ashes and set the paper on fire. they think the smoke of the burning paper will carry the prayer up to heaven. i asked a chinese man who could speak a little english why they put teacups of wine and tea and rice before their god; if they believed that the god would eat and drink. "oh, no," he said, "that not what for. what you like self, you give god. he see. he like see." =lincoln's birthday= _february 12_ abraham lincoln born february 12, 1809 died april 15, 1865 lincoln was the sixteenth president of the united states. he was descended from a quaker family of english origin. he followed various occupations, including those of a farm laborer, a salesman, a merchant, and a surveyor; was admitted to the bar in 1836 and began the practice of law in this year. he was twice elected president, the second time receiving 212 out of 233 electoral votes. he was shot by john wilkes booth at ford's theater, washington, april 14, 1865, and died the following day. =abraham lincoln= by helen nicolay abraham lincoln was not an ordinary man. he was, in truth, in the language of the poet lowell, a "new birth of our new soil." his greatness did not consist in growing up on the frontier. an ordinary man would have found on the frontier exactly what he would have found elsewhere--a commonplace life, varying only with the changing ideas and customs of time and place. but for the man with extraordinary powers of mind and body, for one gifted by nature as abraham lincoln was gifted, the pioneer life, with its severe training in self-denial, patience, and industry, developed his character, and fitted him for the great duties of his after life as no other training could have done. [illustration: lincoln's home after his marriage] his advancement in the astonishing career that carried him from obscurity to world-wide fame--from postmaster of new salem village to president of the united states, from captain of a backwoods volunteer company to commander-in-chief of the army and navy--was neither sudden nor accidental nor easy. he was both ambitious and successful, but his ambition was moderate, and his success was slow. and, because his success was slow, it never outgrew either his judgment or his powers. between the day when he left his father's cabin and launched his canoe on the head waters of the sangamon river to begin life on his own account, and the day of his first inauguration, lay full thirty years of toil, self-denial, patience; often of effort baffled, of hope deferred; sometimes of bitter disappointment. even with the natural gift of great genius, it required an average lifetime and faithful, unrelaxing effort to transform the raw country stripling into a fit ruler for this great nation. almost every success was balanced--sometimes overbalanced--by a seeming failure. he went into the black hawk war a captain, and through no fault of his own came out a private. he rode to the hostile frontier on horseback, and trudged home on foot. his store "winked out." his surveyor's compass and chain, with which he was earning a scanty living, were sold for debt. he was defeated in his first attempts to be nominated for the legislature and for congress; defeated in his application to be appointed commissioner of the general land office; defeated for the senate, when he had forty-five votes to begin with, by a man who had only five votes to begin with; defeated again after his joint debates with douglas; defeated in the nomination for vice-president, when a favorable nod from half a dozen politicians would have brought him success. failures? not so. every seeming defeat was a slow success. his was the growth of the oak, and not of jonah's gourd. he could not become a master workman until he had served a tedious apprenticeship. it was the quarter of a century of reading, thinking, speech-making, and law-making which fitted him to be the chosen champion in the great lincoln-douglas debates of 1858. it was the great moral victory won in those debates (although the senatorship went to douglas), added to the title "honest old abe," won by truth and manhood among his neighbors during a whole lifetime, that led the people of the united states to trust him with the duties and powers of president. [illustration: house in which lincoln lived when he was elected president] and when, at last, after thirty years of endeavor, success had beaten down defeat, when lincoln had been nominated, elected, and inaugurated, came the crowning trial of his faith and constancy. when the people, by free and lawful choice, had placed honor and power in his hands, when his name could convene congress, approve laws, cause ships to sail and armies to move, there suddenly came upon the government and the nation a fatal paralysis. honor seemed to dwindle and power to vanish. was he then, after all, not to be president? was patriotism dead? was the constitution only a bit of waste paper? was the union gone? the outlook was indeed grave. there was treason in congress, treason in the supreme court, treason in the army and navy. confusion and discord were everywhere. to use mr. lincoln's forcible figure of speech, sinners were calling the righteous to repentance. finally the flag, insulted and fired upon, trailed in surrender at sumter; and then came the humiliation of the riot at baltimore, and the president for a few days practically a prisoner in the capital of the nation. [illustration: president lincoln and tad] but his apprenticeship had been served, and there was to be no more failure. with faith and justice and generosity he conducted for four long years a war whose frontiers stretched from the potomac to the rio grande; whose soldiers numbered a million men on each side. the labor, the thought, the responsibility, the strain of mind and anguish of soul that he gave to his great task, who can measure? "here was place for no holiday magistrate, no fair-weather sailor," as emerson justly said of him. "the new pilot was hurried to the helm in a tornado. in four years--four years of battle days--his endurance, his fertility of resources, his magnanimity, were sorely tried and never found wanting." "by his courage, his justice, his even temper, ... his humanity, he stood a heroic figure in a heroic epoch." [illustration: the lincoln monument at springfield] what but a lifetime's schooling in disappointment; what but the pioneer's self-reliance and freedom from prejudice; what but the clear mind quick to see natural right and unswerving in its purpose to follow it; what but the steady self-control, the unwarped sympathy, the unbounded charity of this man with spirit so humble and soul so great, could have carried him through the labors he wrought to the victory he attained? with truth it could be written, "his heart was as great as the world, but there was no room in it to hold the memory of a wrong." so, "with malice toward none, with charity for all, with firmness in the right as god gave him to see the right," he lived and died. we, who have never seen him, yet feel daily the influence of his kindly life, and cherish among our most precious possessions the heritage of his example. [illustration: statue of abraham lincoln. by augustus st. gaudens] =the gettysburg address= fourscore and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this continent a new nation, conceived in liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal. now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure. we are met on a great battle-field of that war. we have come to dedicate a portion of that field as a final resting-place for those who here gave their lives that that nation might live. it is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this. but, in a larger sense, we cannot dedicate--we cannot consecrate--we cannot hallow this ground. the brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it far above our poor power to add or detract. the world will little note, nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here. it is for us, the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced. it is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us--that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion; that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain; that this nation, under god, shall have a new birth of freedom; and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth. the above address was delivered by abraham lincoln, november 19, 1863, at the dedication of the gettysburg battle-field as a national cemetery for union soldiers. =o captain! my captain!= o captain. my captain. our fearful trip is done; the ship has weathered every rack, the prize we sought is won; the port is near, the bells i hear, the people all exulting, while follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring: but o heart! heart! heart! leave you not the little spot, where on the deck my captain lies, fallen cold and dead. o captain. my captain. rise up and hear the bells; rise up--for you the flag is flung--for you the bugle trills; for you bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths--for you the shores a-crowding; for you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning; o captain. dear father. this arm i push beneath you; it is some dream that on the deck, you've fallen cold and dead. my captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still; my father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will; but the ship, the ship is anchor'd safe, its voyage closed and done; from fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object won: exult o shores, and ring, o bells. but i with silent tread, walk the spot the captain lies, fallen cold and dead. walt whitman. =st. valentine's day= _february 14_ custom decrees that on this day the young shall exchange missives in which the love of the sender is told in verses, pictures, and sentiments. no reason beyond a guess can be given to connect st. valentine with these customs. he was a christian martyr, about 270 a.d., while the practice of sending valentines had its origin in the heathen worship of juno. it is cupid's day, and no boy or girl needs any encouragement to make the most of it. =who began it?= by olive thorne there's one thing we know positively, that st. valentine didn't begin this fourteenth of february excitement; but who _did_ is a question not so easy to answer. i don't think any one would have begun it if he could have known what the simple customs of his day would have grown into, or could even have imagined the frightful valentines that disgrace our shops to-day. it began, for us, with our english ancestors, who used to assemble on the eve of st. valentine's day, put the names of all the young maidens promiscuously in a box, and let each bachelor draw one out. the damsel whose name fell to his lot became his valentine for the year. he wore her name in his bosom or on his sleeve, and it was his duty to attend her and protect her. as late as the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries this custom was very popular, even among the upper classes. but the wiseacres have traced the custom farther back. some of them think it was begun by the ancient romans, who had on the fourteenth or fifteenth of february a festival in honor of lupercus, "the destroyer of wolves"--a wolf-destroyer being quite worthy of honor in those wild days, let me tell you. at this festival it was the custom, among other curious things, to pair off the young men and maidens in the same chance way, and with the same result of a year's attentions. even this is not wholly satisfactory. who began it among the romans? becomes the next interesting question. one old writer says it was brought to rome from arcadia sixty years before the trojan war (which homer wrote about, you know). i'm sure that's far enough back to satisfy anybody. the same writer also says that the pope tried to abolish it in the fifth century, but he succeeded only in sending it down to us in the name of st. valentine instead of lupercus. [illustration: for this was on saint valentine's day] our own ancestry in england and scotland have observed some very funny customs within the last three centuries. at one time valentines were fashionable among the nobility, and, while still selected by lot, it became the duty of a gentleman to give to the lady who fell to his lot a handsome present. pieces of jewelry costing thousands of dollars were not unusual, though smaller things, as gloves, were more common. there was a tradition among the country people that every bird chose its mate on valentine's day; and at one time it was the custom for young folks to go out before daylight on that morning and try to catch an owl and two sparrows in a net. if they succeeded, it was a good omen, and entitled them to gifts from the villagers. another fashion among them was to write the valentine, tie it to an apple or orange, and steal up to the house of the chosen one in the evening, open the door quietly, and throw it in. those were the days of charms, and of course the rural maidens had a sure and infallible charm foretelling the future husband. on the eve of st. valentine's day, the anxious damsel prepared for sleep by pinning to her pillow five bay leaves, one at each corner and one in the middle (which must have been delightful to sleep on, by the way). if she dreamed of her sweetheart, she was sure to marry him before the end of the year. but to make it a sure thing, the candidate for matrimony must boil an egg hard, take out the yolk, and fill its place with salt. just before going to bed, she must eat egg, salt, shell and all, and neither speak nor drink after it. if that wouldn't insure her a vivid dream, there surely could be no virtue in charms. modern valentines, aside from the valuable presents often contained in them, are very pretty things, and they are growing prettier every year, since large business houses spare neither skill nor money in getting them up. the most interesting thing about them, to "grown-ups," is the way they are made; and perhaps even you youngsters, who watch eagerly for the postman, "sinking beneath the load of delicate embarrassments not his own," would like to know how satin and lace and flowers and other dainty things grew into a valentine. it was no fairy's handiwork. it went through the hands of grimy-looking workmen before it reached your hands. to be sure, a dreamy artist may have designed it, but a lithographer, with inky fingers, printed the picture part of it; a die-cutter, with sleeves rolled up, made a pattern in steel of the lace-work on the edge; and a dingy-looking pressman, with a paper hat on, stamped the pattern around the picture. another hard-handed workman rubbed the back of the stamped lace with sand-paper till it came in holes and looked like lace, and not merely like stamped paper; and a row of girls at a common long table put on the colors with stencils, gummed on the hearts and darts and cupids and flowers, and otherwise finished the thing exactly like the pattern before them. you see, the sentiment about a valentine doesn't begin until tom, dick, or harry takes it from the stationer, and writes your name on it. [illustration: st. valentine's letter-carriers] =washington's birthday= _february 22_ george washington born february 22, 1732 died december 14, 1799 washington was the first president of the united states, and the son of a virginia planter. he attended school until about sixteen years of age, was engaged in surveying, 1748-51, became an officer in the continental army, and president in 1789. he was re-elected in 1793. he was preã«minent for his sound judgment and perfect self-control. it is said that no act of his public life can be traced to personal caprice, ambition, or resentment. =the boyhood of washington= by horace e. scudder it was near the shore of the potomac river, between pope's creek and bridge's creek, that augustine washington lived when his son george was born. the land had been in the family ever since augustine's grandfather, john washington, had bought it, when he came over from england in 1657. john washington was a soldier and a public-spirited man, and so the parish in which he lived--for virginia was divided into parishes as some other colonies into townships--was named washington. it is a quiet neighborhood; not a sign remains of the old house, and the only mark of the place is a stone slab, broken and overgrown with weeds and brambles, which lies on a bed of bricks taken from the remnants of the old chimney of the house. it bears the inscription: here the 11th of february, 1732 (old style) george washington was born [illustration: slab that marks the location of the house where washington was born] the english had lately agreed to use the calendar of pope gregory, which added eleven days to the reckoning, but people still used the old style as well as the new. by the new style, the birthday was february 22, and that is the day which is now observed. the family into which the child was born consisted of the father and mother, augustine and mary washington, and two boys, lawrence and augustine. these were sons of augustine washington and a former wife who had died four years before. george washington was the eldest of the children of augustine and mary washington; he had afterward three brothers and two sisters, but one of the sisters died in infancy. it was not long after george washington's birth that the house in which he was born was burned, and as his father was at the time especially interested in some iron-works at a distance, it was determined not to rebuild upon the lonely place. accordingly augustine washington removed his family to a place which he owned in stafford county, on the banks of the rappahannock river opposite fredericksburg. the house is not now standing, but a picture was made of it before it was destroyed. it was, like many virginia houses of the day, divided into four rooms on a floor, and had great outside chimneys at either end. here george washington spent his childhood. he learned to read, write, and cipher at a small school kept by hobby, the sexton of the parish church. among his playmates was richard henry lee, who was afterward a famous virginian. when the boys grew up, they wrote to each other of grave matters of war and state, but here is the beginning of their correspondence, written when they were nine years old. "richard henry lee to george washington: "pa brought me two pretty books full of pictures he got them in alexandria they have pictures of dogs and cats and tigers and elefants and ever so many pretty things cousin bids me send you one of them it has a picture of an elefant and a little indian boy on his back like uncle jo's sam pa says if i learn my tasks good he will let uncle jo bring me to see you will you ask your ma to let you come to see me. "richard henry lee." "george washington to richard henry lee: "dear dickey i thank you very much for the pretty picture book you gave me. sam asked me to show him the pictures and i showed him all the pictures in it; and i read to him how the tame elephant took care of the master's little boy, and put him on his back and would not let anybody touch his master's little son. i can read three or four pages sometimes without missing a word. ma says i may go to see you, and stay all day with you next week if it be not rainy. she says i may ride my pony hero if uncle ben will go with me and lead hero. i have a little piece of poetry about the picture book you gave me, but i mustn't tell you who wrote the poetry. "'g.w.'s compliments to r.h.l., and likes his book full well, henceforth will count him his friend, and hopes many happy days he may spend.' "your good friend, "george washington. "i am going to get a whip top soon, and you may see it and whip it."[1] it looks very much as if richard henry sent his letter off just as it was written. i suspect that his correspondent's letter was looked over, corrected, and copied before it was sent. very possibly augustine washington was absent at the time on one of his journeys; but at any rate the boy owed most of his training to his mother, for only two years after this, his father died, and he was left to his mother's care. [illustration: monument on the site of george washington's birthplace] she was a woman born to command, and since she was left alone with a family and an estate to care for, she took the reins into her own hands, and never gave them up to any one else. she used to drive about in an old-fashioned open chaise, visiting the various parts of her farm, just as a planter would do on horseback. the story is told that she had given an agent directions how to do a piece of work, and he had seen fit to do it differently, because he thought his way a better one. he showed her the improvement. "and pray," said the lady, "who gave you any exercise of judgment in the matter? i command you, sir; there is nothing left for you but to obey." in those days, more than now, a boy used very formal language when addressing his mother. he might love her warmly, but he was expected to treat her with a great show of respect. when washington wrote to his mother, even after he was of age, he began his letter, "honored madam," and signed it, "your dutiful son." this was a part of the manners of the time. it was like the stiff dress which men wore when they paid their respects to others; it was put on for the occasion, and one would have been thought very unmannerly who did not make a marked difference between his every-day dress and that which he wore when he went into the presence of his betters. so washington, when he wrote to his mother, would not say, "dear mother." such habits as this go deeper than mere forms of speech. i do not suppose that the sons of this lady feared her, but they stood in awe of her, which is quite a different thing. "we were all as mute as mice, when in her presence," says one of washington's companions; and common report makes her to have been very much such a woman as her son afterward was a man. i think that george washington owed two strong traits to his mother,--a governing spirit, and a spirit of order and method. she taught him many lessons and gave him many rules; but, after all, it was her character shaping his which was most powerful. she taught him to be truthful, but her lessons were not half so forcible as her own truthfulness. there is a story told of george washington's boyhood--unfortunately there are not many stories--which is to the point. his father had taken a great deal of pride in his blooded horses, and his mother afterward took great pains to keep the stock pure. she had several young horses that had not yet been broken, and one of them in particular, a sorrel, was extremely spirited. no one had been able to do anything with it, and it was pronounced thoroughly vicious, as people are apt to pronounce horses which they have not learned to master. george was determined to ride this colt, and told his companions that if they would help him catch it, he would ride and tame it. [illustration: old white chapel, lancaster county, virginia, where washington and his mother attended service] early in the morning they set out for the pasture, where the boys managed to surround the sorrel and then to put a bit into its mouth. washington sprang on its back, the boys dropped the bridle, and away flew the angry animal. its rider at once began to command; the horse resisted, backing about the field, rearing and plunging. the boys became thoroughly alarmed, but washington kept his seat, never once losing his self-control or his mastery of the colt. the struggle was a sharp one; when suddenly, as if determined to rid itself of its rider, the creature leaped into the air with a tremendous bound. it was its last. the violence burst a blood-vessel, and the noble horse fell dead. before the boys could sufficiently recover to consider how they should extricate themselves from the scrape, they were called to breakfast; and the mistress of the house, knowing that they had been in the fields, began to ask after her stock. "pray, young gentlemen," said she, "have you seen my blooded colts in your rambles? i hope they are well taken care of. my favorite, i am told, is as large as his sire." the boys looked at one another, and no one liked to speak. of course the mother repeated her question. "the sorrel is dead, madam," said her son. "i killed him!" and then he told the whole story. they say that his mother flushed with anger, as her son often used to, and then, like him, controlled herself, and presently said, quietly: "it is well; but while i regret the loss of my favorite, i rejoice in my son who always speaks the truth." the story of washington's killing the blooded colt is of a piece with other stories less particular, which show that he was a very athletic fellow. of course, when a boy becomes famous, every one likes to remember the wonderful things he did before he was famous, and washington's playmates, when they grew up, used to show the spot by the rappahannock near fredericksburg where he stood and threw a stone to the opposite bank; and at the celebrated natural bridge, the arch of which is two hundred feet above the ground, they always tell the visitor that george washington threw a stone in the air the whole height. he undoubtedly took part in all the sports which were the favorites of his country at that time--he pitched heavy bars, tossed quoits, ran, leaped, and wrestled; for he was a powerful, large-limbed young fellow, and he had a very large and strong hand. (from "life of george washington" by horace e. scudder, published by houghton, mifflin & co.) (the illustrations in this story are copied from the original pictures in mr. b.j. lossing's "mt. vernon and its associations," by permission of messrs. j.c. yorston & co., cincinnati, ohio.) [footnote 1: from b.j. lossing's "the home of washington."] =longfellow's birthday= _february 27_ henry wadsworth longfellow born february 27, 1807 died march 24, 1882 longfellow graduated at bowdoin college in 1825; traveled in europe in 1826; was professor at bowdoin in 1829-35; again visited europe 1835-36; and was professor at harvard college 1836-54. he continued to reside at cambridge. he is best known and loved for his poems, though he wrote three novels. =longfellow and the children= by lucy larcom the poets who love children are the poets whom children love. it is natural that they should care much for each other, because both children and poets look into things in the same way,--simply, with open eyes and hearts, seeing nature as it is, and finding whatever is lovable and pure in the people who surround them, as flowers may receive back from flowers sweet odors for those which they have given. the little child is born with a poet's heart in him, and the poet has been fitly called "the eternal child." not that all children or all poets are alike in this. but of longfellow we think as of one who has always been fresh and natural in his sympathy for children, one who has loved them as they have loved him. we wish he had given us more of the memories of his own childhood. one vivid picture of it comes to us in "my lost youth," a poem which shows us how everything he saw when a child must have left within him a life-long impression. that boyhood by the sea must have been full of dreams as well as of pictures. the beautiful bay with its green islands, widening out to the atlantic on the east, and the dim chain of mountains, the highest in new england, lying far away on the northwestern horizon, give his native city a roomy feeling not often experienced in the streets of a town; and the boy-poet must have felt his imagination taking wings there, for many a long flight. so he more than hints to us in his song: "i can see the shadowy lines of its trees, and catch, in sudden gleams, the sheen of the far-surrounding seas, and islands that were the hesperides of all my boyish dreams. and the burden of that old song, it murmurs and whispers still: 'a boy's will is the wind's will, and the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts.' "i remember the black wharves and the slips, and the sea-tides tossing free; and spanish sailors with bearded lips, and the beauty and mystery of the ships, and the magic of the sea. and the voice of that wayward song is singing and saying still: 'a boy's will is the wind's will, and the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts.'" longfellow's earliest volume, "the voices of the night," was one of the few books of american poetry that some of us who are now growing old ourselves can remember reading, just as we were emerging from childhood. "the reaper and the flowers" and the "psalm of life,"--i recall the delight with which i used to repeat those poems. the latter, so full of suggestions which a very young person could feel, but only half understand, was for that very reason the more fascinating. it seemed to give glimpses, through opening doors, of that wonderful new world of mankind, where children are always longing to wander freely as men and women. looking forward and aspiring are among the first occupations of an imaginative child; and the school-boy who declaimed the words: "lives of great men all remind us we can make our lives sublime," and the school-girl who read them quietly by herself, felt them, perhaps, no less keenly than the man of thought and experience. longfellow has said that- "sublimity always is simple both in sermon and song, a child can seize on its meaning," and the simplicity of his poetry is the reason why children and young people have always loved it; the reason, also, why it has been enjoyed by men and women and children all over the world. one of his poems which has been the delight of children and grown people alike is the "village blacksmith," the first half of which is a description that many a boy might feel as if he could have written himself--if he only had the poet's command of words and rhymes, and the poet's genius! is not this one of the proofs of a good poem, that it haunts us until it seems as if it had almost grown out of our own mind? how life-like the picture is!- "and children coming home from school look in at the open door; they love to see the flaming forge, and hear the bellows roar, and catch the burning sparks that fly like chaff from a threshing-floor." no wonder the cambridge children, when the old chestnut-tree that overhung the smithy was cut down, had a memento shaped into a chair from its boughs, to present to him who had made it an immortal tree in his verse! it bore flower and fruit for them a second time in his acknowledgment of the gift; for he told them how- "there, by the blacksmith's forge, beside the street its blossoms, white and sweet, enticed the bees, until it seemed alive, and murmured like a hive. "and when the wind of autumn, with a shout tossed its great arms about, the shining chestnuts, bursting from the sheath, dropped to the ground beneath." in its own wild, winsome way, the song of "hiawatha's childhood" is one of the prettiest fancies in poetry. it is a dream of babyhood in the "forest primeval," with nature for nurse and teacher; and it makes us feel as if--were the poet's idea only a possibility--it might have been very pleasant to be a savage baby, although we consider it so much better to be civilized. how longfellow loved the very little ones can be seen in such verses as the "hanging of the crane," and in those earlier lines "to a child," where the baby on his mother's knee gazes at the painted tiles, shakes his "coral rattle with the silver bells," or escapes through the open door into the old halls where once "the father of his country dwelt." those verses give us a charming glimpse of the home-life in the historic mansion which is now so rich with poetic, as well as patriotic associations. how beautiful it was to be let in to that twilight library scene described in the "children's hour": "a sudden rush from the stair-way, a sudden raid from the hall! by three doors left unguarded, they enter my castle wall! "they climb up into my turret, o'er the arms and back of my chair; if i try to escape, they surround me; they seem to be everywhere." afterward, when sorrow and loss had come to the happy home, in the sudden removal of the mother of those merry children, the father who loved them so had a sadder song for them, as he looked onward into their orphaned lives: "o little feet, that such long years must wander on, through hopes and fears, must ache and bleed beneath your load, i, nearer to the wayside inn, where toil shall cease, and rest begin, am weary, thinking of your road!" [illustration: longfellow's house--once washington's headquarters at cambridge] longfellow loved all children, and had a word for them whenever he met them. at a concert, going early with her father, a little girl espied mr. longfellow sitting alone, and begged that she might go and speak to him. her father, himself a stranger, took the liberty of introducing his little daughter edith to the poet. "edith?" said mr. longfellow, tenderly. "ah! i have an edith, too; but _my_ baby edith is twenty years old." and he seated the child beside him, taking her hand in his, and making her promise to come and see him at his house in cambridge. "what is the name of your sled, my boy?" he said to a small lad, who came tugging one up the road toward him, on a winter morning. "it's 'evange_line_.' mr. longfellow wrote 'evange_line_.' did you ever see mr. longfellow?" answered the little fellow, as he ran by, doubtless wondering at the smile on the face of the pleasant gray-haired gentleman. professor monti, who witnessed the pretty scene, tells the story of a little girl who one christmas inquired the way to the poet's house, and asked if she could just step inside the yard; and he relates how mr. longfellow, being told she was there, went to the door and called her in, and showed her the "old clock on the stairs," and many other interesting things about the house, leaving his little guest with beautiful memories of that christmas day to carry all through her life. this was characteristic of the poet's hospitality, delicate and courteous and thoughtful to all who crossed his threshold. many a trembling young girl, frightened at her own boldness in having ventured into his presence, was set at ease by her host in the most genial way; he would make her forget herself in the interesting mementos all about her, devoting himself to her entertainment as if it were the one pleasure of the hour for him to do so. [illustration: henry w. longfellow] it is often said, and with reason, that we americans do not think enough of manners--that politeness of behavior which comes from genuine sympathy and a delicate perception of others' feelings. certainly our young people might look to mr. longfellow as a model in this respect. he was a perfect gentleman, in the best sense of that term, always considerate, and quick to see where he might do a kindness, or say a pleasant word. the celebration of longfellow's seventy-fifth birthday by school-children all over the country is something that those children must be glad to think of now--glad to remember that the poet knew how much they cared for him and for what he had written. even the blind children, who have to read with their fingers, were enjoying his songs with the rest. how pleasant that must have been to him! certainly, as it seems to me, the best tribute that the young people of the country can pay to his memory is to become more familiar with his poems. we should not wait until a great and good man has left us before giving him honor, or trying to understand what he has done for us. a dreary world ours would be, if there were no poets' songs echoing through it; and we may be proud of our country that it has a poetry of its own, which it is for us to know and possess for ourselves. longfellow has said: "what the leaves are to the forest with light and air and food, ere their sweet and tender juices have been hardened into wood, that to the world, are children": and something like this we may say of his songs. there is in all true poetry a freshness of life which makes the writer of it immortal. the singer so much beloved has passed from sight, but the music of his voice is in the air, and, listening to it, we know that he can not die. [illustration] =inauguration day= _march 4_ the date was settled by the old congress of the confederation in 1788, when the procedure was established for the election of a president. it was decreed that the electoral college should meet on the first wednesday of january, the votes be counted by the house of representatives on the first wednesday of february, and the president be inaugurated on the first wednesday of march. this march date was the 4th. march 4 has been inauguration day ever since. =how a president is inaugurated= by clifford howard as you will remember, thomas jefferson was the first president of our country to be inaugurated at washington. this took place in the year 1801, when our national capital was not much more than a year old; and you may imagine that the city was a very different-looking place from what it is to-day. but now instead of a straggling town with a few muddy streets and about three thousand inhabitants, jefferson would find our national capital one of the most beautiful cities on the face of the earth, with a population of nearly three hundred thousand; and on march 4 he would behold a scene such as he never dreamed of. thousands of flags fly from the house-tops and windows, bright-colored bunting in beautiful designs adorns the great public buildings, all the stores and business houses are gaily decorated with flags and streamers, and everything presents the appearance of a great and glorious holiday, while the streets swarm with the hundreds of thousands of people who have come to the city from all parts of the country to take part in the grand celebration. everybody is moving toward pennsylvania avenue, where the parade is to march. no, not everybody: some fifty or sixty thousand make their way to the capitol, so as to get a glimpse of the inauguration exercises that take place on the east portico; and although the ceremonies will not begin until nearly one o'clock, the great space in front of the capitol is packed with people three hours before that time, some of them having come as early as eight o'clock in the morning to be sure of getting a good view. early in the morning pennsylvania avenue is cleared of all street-cars, carriages, and bicycles, and no one is allowed to step off the sidewalk. a strong wire rope is stretched along each side of the avenue, so as to prevent people from getting into the street. soon every window and balcony along the line is crowded with spectators. even the roofs are black with people, and small boys may be seen perched among the branches of the trees, or hanging on to the electric-light poles. for a distance of nearly three miles, on each side of the street, people are packed so closely together that it is almost impossible for them to move. in every park and open space along the line large wooden stands have been erected; and these, too, are filled with those who are willing to pay for seats. as the time for the morning parade draws near, the crowds become restless with eagerness and excitement. policemen on horseback dash up and down the avenue to see that the road is clear, and every now and then a trooper or messenger in bright uniform gallops past. suddenly the boom of a cannon is heard. the next moment there comes the distant roll of drums, and then, amid the inspiring music of brass bands and tremendous cheering, the procession appears moving slowly down the avenue on its way to the capitol. riding ahead is a squad of mounted police--big, brawny fellows, with glittering brass buttons. after them come the united states troops and naval forces, armed with their rifles and sabers that flash in the sunlight, and marching to the music of the famous marine band, while rumbling over the hard, smooth pavement of the avenue come the big cannons drawn by powerful horses. then appears the chief marshal of the parade on his spirited horse, heading the body-guard of soldiers that surround the open carriage containing the president and the president-elect, sitting side by side. as the carriage, which is drawn by four handsome horses, rolls slowly along with its distinguished occupants, men and boys shout and cheer at the top of their lungs, and throw their hats into the air when their voices give out, while the women and girls wave their handkerchiefs and hurrah with the rest of the crowd. with hat in hand, the president-elect smiles and bows to the right and the left; and with the bands playing and people cheering, handkerchiefs fluttering and flags flying, he arrives at the capitol a few minutes before noon. here he meets with another rousing reception from the great mass of people who have been waiting for him for two or three hours; and it requires all the efforts of a small army of police to open the way for him and his party to pass into the capitol. [illustration: general george washington on the way to his inauguration] the house of representatives is about to adjourn, and many of its members have already come over to the senate to witness the closing exercises there. extra chairs and seats have been brought in for them and the many other prominent officials who also have gathered there, including the officers of the army and the navy, the justices of the supreme court, the cabinet officers, and the foreign ambassadors and ministers, many of whom are dressed in their gorgeous state robes. according to law, congress must come to an end at noon; but if the presidential party has not made its appearance when the senate clock is about to point to twelve, the hands are moved back a few minutes so as to gain time. and before the hands are allowed to get around to twelve, everybody has arrived, everything is in readiness, and the president of the senate has administered the oath of office to his successor, the new vice-president of the united states, who at once calls an extra session of the senate, so that not a moment elapses between the death of one session and the birth of another. then, after a short prayer by the chaplain and a brief address by the vice-president, the distinguished people gathered in the senate form in line, and, headed by a company of newspaper reporters, they march in dignified procession to the rotunda, and thence to the platform on the east front of the capitol. the nine justices of the supreme court, clothed in their black robes, walk out on the platform first, followed by the president-elect. as soon as the crowd catches sight of him, a deafening shout breaks forth from fifty thousand throats, and, amid the enthusiastic uproar that lasts several minutes, hats and canes, umbrellas and handkerchiefs, are waved aloft or thrown wildly into the air by joyous and patriotic americans. removing his hat, the president-elect comes forward, and, turning to the chief justice of the united states, takes the oath of office as required by the constitution. then comes the inaugural address, which, of course, only those near the platform are able to hear. but the thirty or forty thousand who can't hear the speech are willing to agree with everything that is said, and every little while they shout and cheer and applaud. [illustration: the inauguration of president garfield] all this time the crowd on the avenue has been patiently waiting for the return of the president. the morning's procession was nothing more than a military escort; now is to come the great feature of the day--the grand inauguration parade. the ceremonies at the capitol are over at half-past one, and the new president goes at once to the white house, greeted with rousing cheers all along the way, and prepares to review the greatest parade ever seen in the city of washington. all the morning, companies of soldiers, political clubs, bands, and drum corps have been preparing for the afternoon's march. there are so many thousands who are going to take part in the parade that orders have been given requiring all companies to march in ranks reaching from curb to curb, a distance of one hundred and thirty feet, and to follow one another as closely as possible. the march is begun a little before two o'clock; and, although the people have been standing on the sidewalks since early morning, they have plenty of enthusiasm left, and they fill the air with their shouts and hurrahs as regiment after regiment of magnificently drilled soldiers and horses marches by. even after the electric lamps are lighted, men and horses are still tramping along the avenue, and people are still shouting and the bands playing and flags waving. and all this time the president stands in front of the white house, reviewing the marching thousands as they pass along. but although the big parade finally comes to an end, the festivities are not yet over. late into the night the city is brilliantly illuminated by magnificent and wonderful fireworks and powerful electric search-lights that shine from the tops of the tall buildings and light up the great dome of the capitol and the washington monument. then comes the grand inaugural ball. there are over ten thousand people present, and the scene is a glorious and wonderful sight. it is almost sunrise when the last carriage rolls away, and with the closing of the ball the inauguration festivities end. =easter day= easter is the sunday that follows the 14th day of the calendar moon, which falls upon or next after the 21st of march. this sunday, when christian churches celebrate the resurrection of christ, is one of solemn rejoicing. coming after the self-denials of lent and at the beginning of spring, it seems naturally a time of hope and new life. it is the feast of flowers, particularly of lilies, and the name had its origin in a festival in honor of the goddess of spring. the esteem in which it is held is indicated by its ancient title, "the great day." =a song of easter= by celia thaxter sing, children, sing! and the lily censers swing; sing that life and joy are waking and that death no more is king. sing the happy, happy tumult of the slowly brightening spring; sing, little children, sing! sing, children, sing! winter wild has taken wing. fill the air with the sweet tidings till the frosty echoes ring! along the eaves the icicles no longer glittering cling; and the crocus in the garden lifts its bright face to the sun, and in the meadows softly the brooks begin to run; and the golden catkins swing in the warm airs of the spring; sing, little children, sing! sing, children, sing! the lilies white you bring in the joyous easter morning for hope are blossoming; and as the earth her shroud of snow from off her breast doth fling, so may we cast our fetters off in god's eternal spring. so may we find release at last from sorrow and from pain, so may we find our childhood's calm, delicious dawn again. sweet are your eyes, o little ones, that look with smiling grace, without a shade of doubt or fear into the future's face! sing, sing in happy chorus, with joyful voices tell that death is life, and god is good, and all things shall be well; that bitter days shall cease in warmth and light and peace,- that winter yields to spring,- sing, little children, sing! [illustration: "he sat down on the step, breathless with surprise and joy"] =the general's easter box= by temple bailey the general did not look at all as one would expect a general to look. he was short and thick-set and had a red face and a white mustache, and he usually dressed in a gray tweed suit, with a funny norfolk jacket with a belt, and wore a soft cap pulled down almost to his eye-glasses. and he always did his own marketing. that is how he came to know jimmy. jimmy stood at a corner of old market and sold little bundles of dried sage and sweet marjoram, and sassafras and cinnamon, and soup-bunches made of bits of vegetables tied together--a bit of parsley and a bit of celery and a bit of carrot and a sprig of summer savory, all for one cent. then at christmas-time he displayed wreaths, which he and his little mother made at home, and as the spring came on he brought wild flowers that he picked in the woods. and that was how he came to know the general. for one morning, just before easter, the general came puffing down the outside aisle of old market, with his colored man behind him with an enormous basket. the general's carriage was drawn up to the curbstone, and the gray horses were dancing little fancy dances over the asphalt street, when all at once jimmy thrust a bunch of arbutus under the general's very nose. "go away, go away," said the general, and trotted down to the carriage door, which a footman held open for him. but a whiff of fragrance had reached him, and he stopped. "how much?" he asked. "three cents," said jimmy, in a hoarse voice. the general looked at the little fellow through his eye-glasses. "got a cold?" he inquired gruffly. "yes, sir," croaked jimmy. "why don't you stay in the house, then?" growled the general. "can't, sir," said jimmy, cheerfully; "business is business." the general looked at the little stand where "business" was transacted--at the little rows of dried stuffs, at the small basket of flowers, and at the soup-bunches. "humph," he said. then his hand went down into his pocket, and he pulled out a lot of change. after that he chose two bunches of sweet, pinky blossoms. "two for five, sir," said jimmy. "hum," said the general. "you might give me some parsley and a soup-bunch." jimmy wrapped up the green stuff carefully and dropped it into the basket carried by the colored man. "nine cents, sir," he said; and the general handed him a dime and then moved to the next stall, holding the flowers close to his nose. "you forgot your change," cried jimmy, and rushed after him with the one cent. "keep--" but one look at the honest little face and he changed his sentence. "thank you, young man," he said, and away he drove. after that jimmy looked for the general, and the general for jimmy. their transactions were always carried on in a strictly business manner, although, to be sure, the general's modest family of two did not require the unlimited sage and sweet marjoram that were ordered from time to time. on the saturday before easter the little stand was gay with new wares. in little nests of dried grasses lay eggs--easter eggs, bright pink and blue and purple and mottled. jimmy had invested in a dozen at forty cents the dozen, and he had hopes of doubling the money, for work surely counted for something, and he and the little mother had dyed them. but somehow people passed them by. inside of the market there were finer nests, and eggs gilded and lettered, and jimmy began to feel that his own precious eggs were very dull indeed. but when the general appeared around the corner, the boy's spirits rose. here, at any rate, was a good customer. the general, however, was in a temper. there had been an argument with the fish-man which had left him red in the face and very touchy. so he bought two bunches of arbutus and nothing else. "any eggs, sir?" asked jimmy. "eggs?" said the general, looking over the little stand. "easter eggs," explained jimmy. "i've no use for such things," said the general. "oh!" said jimmy, and in spite of himself his voice trembled. when one is the man of the family, and the little mother is sewing for dear life, and her work and the little stand in the market are all that pay the rent and buy food, it is sometimes hard to be brave. but the general did not notice the tremble. jimmy tried again: "any children, sir? children always like easter eggs, you know." "no," said the general; "no one but a son in the philippines--a son some six feet two in his stockings." "any grandchildren, sir?" hopefully. "bless my soul," said the general, testily, "what a lot of questions!" and he hurried off to his carriage. jimmy felt very forlorn. the general had been his last hope. the eggs were a dead loss. at last it came time to close up, and he piled all of his wares in a basket. then he took out a little broom and began to sweep in an orderly way around his little stall. he had a battered old dustpan, and as he carried it out to the street to empty it, he saw a stiff greenish-gray paper sticking out of the dirt. nothing in the world ever looks exactly like that but an american greenback, and, sure enough, when jimmy pulled it out it proved to be a ten-dollar bill. jimmy sat down on the curb suddenly. his money always came in pennies and nickels and dimes and quarters. the little mother sometimes earned a dollar at a time, but never in his whole life had jimmy possessed a ten-dollar bill. think of the possibilities to a little, poor, cold, worried boy. there was two months' rent in that ten-dollar bill--two months in which he would not have to worry over whether there would be a roof over their heads. then there was a basket stall in that ten-dollar bill. that had always been his ambition. some one had told him that baskets sold well in other cities, and not a single person had opened a basket stall in old market, and that was jimmy's chance. once established, he knew he could earn a good living. as for ten dollars' worth of groceries and provisions, jimmy's mind could not grasp such a thing; fifty cents had always been the top limit for a grocery bill. but--it wasn't jimmy's ten dollars. like a flash his dreams tumbled to the ground. there had been many people coming and going through old market, but jimmy knew that the bill was the general's. for the old gentleman had pulled out a roll when he reached for the five cents. yes, it was the general's; but how to find the general? inside the market he found the general's butcher. yes, the butcher knew the general's address, for he was one of his best customers, and would keep jimmy's basket while the boy went to the house. it was a long distance. jimmy passed rows of great stone mansions, and went through parks, where crocuses and hyacinths were just peeping out. at last he came to the general's. a colored man answered the ring of the bell. "who shall i say?" he inquired loftily. "the general is very busy, y'know." "say jimmy, from the market, please"; and jimmy sat down on the great hall seat, feeling very much awed with all the magnificence. "well, well," said the general, as he came puffing down the stairs. "well, well, and what do you want?" "please, sir, did you drop this?" and jimmy held out the tightly rolled bill. "did i? well, now, i'm sure i don't know. perhaps i did, perhaps i did." "i found it in front of my stall," said jimmy. what a strange thing it seemed that the general should not know! jimmy would have known if he had lost a penny. he began to feel that the general could not have a true idea of _business_. the general took out a roll of bills. "let me see," he said. "here's my market list. yes, i guess that's mine, sure enough." "i'm glad i noticed it," said jimmy, simply. "i came near sweeping it into the street." "and what can i pay you for your trouble?" asked the general, looking at the boy keenly. "well," said jimmy, stoutly, "you see, business is business, and i had to take my time, and i'd like to get back as soon as i can." the general frowned. he was afraid he was going to be disappointed in this boy. "and so," went on jimmy, "if you would give me a nickel for car-fare, i think we might call it square." [illustration: "then the general, with knife upraised, stopped in his carving of the cold roast chicken, and turned to jimmy"] the general fumbled around for his eye-glasses, put them on, and looked at jimmy in astonishment. "a nickel?" he asked. "yes, sir"; jimmy blushed. "you know i ought to get back." "well, well," said the general. the boy had certainly the instincts of a gentleman. not a single plea of poverty, and yet one could see that he was poor, very poor. just then a gong struck softly somewhere. "i'm not going to let you go until you have a bit of lunch with us," said the general. "i have told my wife of jimmy of the market, and now i want you to meet her." so jimmy went down into a wonderful dining-room, where the silver and the cut glass shone, and where at the farther side of the table was the sweetest little old lady, who came and shook hands with him. jimmy had never before eaten lunch where the soup was served in little cups, but the general's wife put him at his ease when she told him that his very own soup-bunches were in that soup, and if he didn't eat plenty of it he wouldn't be advertising his wares. then the general, with knife upraised, stopped in his carving of the cold roast chicken, and turned to jimmy with a smile of approval in his genial face, and said that it was his sage, too, that was in the chicken dressing. they made jimmy talk, and finally he told them of his ambition for a basket stall. "and when do you expect to get it?" asked the general, with a smile. "when i get the goose that lays the golden egg, i am afraid, sir," said jimmy, a little sadly. then the general's wife asked questions, and jimmy told her about the little mother, and of their life together; but not one word did he tell of their urgent need, for jimmy had not learned to beg. at last the wonderful lunch was over, somewhat to jimmy's relief, it must be confessed. "i shall come and see your mother, jimmy," said the general's wife, as jimmy left her. out in the hall the general handed the boy a nickel. "business is business, young man," he said, with a twinkle in his eye. * * * * * that night jimmy and his mother sat up very late, for the boy had so much to tell. "do you think i was wrong to ask for the nickel, mother?" he asked anxiously, when he had finished. "no," said his mother; "but i am glad you didn't ask for more." then, after jimmy had gone to bed, the mother sat up for a long time, wondering how the rent was to be paid. on easter monday morning jimmy and the little mother started out to pick the arbutus and the early violets which jimmy was to sell tuesday at his little stall. it was a sunshiny morning. the broad road was hard and white after the april showers, the sky was blue, and the air was sweet with the breath of bursting buds. and, in spite of cares, jimmy and his mother had a very happy time as they filled their baskets. at last they sat down to tie up the bunches. carriage after carriage passed them. as the last bunch of flowers was laid in jimmy's basket, a victoria drawn by a pair of grays stopped in front of the flower-gatherers. "well, well," said a hearty voice, and there were the general and his wife! they had called for jimmy and his mother, they said, and had been directed to the wooded hill. "get in, get in," commanded the general; and, in spite of the little mother's hesitancy and timid protests, she was helped up beside the general's wife by the footman, while jimmy hopped in beside the general, and away they went over the hard white road. the general was in a gay mood. "well, my boy, have you found your golden egg?" he asked jimmy. "no, sir," said jimmy, gravely; "not yet." "too bad, too bad," said the old gentleman, while he shifted a white box that was on the seat between himself and jimmy to the other side. "you're quite sure, are you, that you could only get it from a goose?" he asked later. "get what, sir?" said jimmy, whose eyes were on the gay crowds that thronged the sidewalks. "the egg," said the general. "oh--yes, sir," replied jimmy, with a smile. the general leaned back and laughed and laughed until he was red in the face; but jimmy could see nothing to laugh at, so he merely smiled politely, and wondered what the joke was. at last they reached jimmy's home, and the general helped the little mother out. as he did so he handed her a white box. jimmy was busy watching the gray horses, and saw nothing else. "for the boy," whispered the general. the little mother shook her head doubtfully. "bless you, madam," cried the general, testily, "i have a boy of my own--if he _is_ six feet two in his stockings." then, in a softer tone, "i beg of you to take it, madam; it will please an old man and give the boy a start." so when good-by had been said, and jimmy stood looking after the carriage and the prancing grays, the little mother put the white box in his hand. jimmy opened it, and there on a nest of white cotton was an egg. but it was different from any of the eggs that jimmy had sold on saturday. it was large and gilded, and around the middle was a yellow ribbon. jimmy lifted it out, and found it very heavy. "what do you think it is?" he said. "untie the ribbon," advised his mother, whose quick eyes saw a faint line which showed an opening. jimmy pulled the yellow ribbon, the upper half of the egg opened on a hinge, and there were glistening gold coins--five-dollar gold pieces. "oh!" said jimmy, and he sat down on the step, breathless with surprise and joy. a slip of white paper lay between two of the coins. jimmy snatched it out, and this is what he read: please accept the contents of the golden egg, with the best wishes of the goose. =arbor day= no uniform date in the different states arbor day is a designated day upon which the people and especially the school children plant trees and shrubs along the highways and other suitable places. it was first observed in nebraska. the state board of agriculture offered prizes for the counties and persons planting the largest number of trees, and it is said that more than a million trees were planted the first year, while within sixteen years over 350,000,000 trees and vines were planted in the state. this custom, so beautiful and useful, spread rapidly, and now is recognized by the statutes of many of the states. the exact date naturally varies with the climate. =the planting of the apple-tree= by william cullen bryant come, let us plant the apple-tree, cleave the tough greensward with the spade; wide let its hollow bed be made; there gently lay the roots, and there sift the dark mold with kindly care, and press it o'er them tenderly; as 'round the sleeping infant's feet we softly fold the cradle-sheet, so plant we the apple-tree. what plant we in this apple-tree? buds, which the breath of summer days shall lengthen into leafy sprays; boughs, where the thrush, with crimson breast, shall hunt and sing, and hide her nest; we plant upon the sunny lea a shadow for the noontide hour, a shelter from the summer shower, when we plant the apple-tree. what plant we in this apple-tree? sweets for a hundred flowery springs to load the may-wind's restless wings, when, from the orchard-row, he pours its fragrance through our open doors; a world of blossoms for the bee, flowers for the sick girl's silent room, for the glad infant sprigs of bloom, we plant with the apple-tree. what plant we in this apple-tree? fruits that shall swell in sunny june, and redden in the august noon, and drop, when gentle airs come by, that fan the blue september sky; while children come, with cries of glee, and seek them where the fragrant grass betrays their bed to those who pass, at the foot of the apple-tree. and when, above this apple-tree, the winter stars are glittering bright, and winds go howling through the night, girls whose young eyes o'erflow with mirth shall peel its fruit by cottage-hearth, and guests in prouder homes shall see, heaped with the grape of cintra's vine, and golden orange of the line, the fruit of the apple-tree. the fruitage of this apple-tree, winds and our flag of stripe and star shall bear to coasts that lie afar, where men shall wonder at the view, and ask in what fair groves they grew; and sojourners beyond the sea shall think of childhood's careless day, and long, long hours of summer play, in the shade of the apple-tree. [illustration] each year shall give this apple-tree a broader flush of roseate bloom, a deeper maze of verdurous gloom, and loosen, when the frost-clouds lower, the crisp brown leaves in thicker shower. the years shall come and pass, but we shall hear no longer, where we lie, the summer's songs, the autumn's sigh, in the boughs of the apple-tree. and time shall waste this apple-tree. oh, when its aged branches throw thin shadows on the ground below, shall fraud and force and iron will oppress the weak and helpless still? what shall the tasks of mercy be, amid the toils, the strifes, the tears of those who live when length of years is wasting this little apple-tree? "who planted this old apple-tree?" the children of that distant day thus to some aged man shall say; and, gazing on its mossy stem, the gray-haired man shall answer them: "a poet of the land was he, born in the rude but good old times; 'tis said he made some quaint old rhymes on planting the apple-tree." [illustration] =april fools' day= _april 1_ so old is the custom of playing amiable and harmless tricks upon the first of april that its origin is not definitely known. it is not a holiday and not worthy to be one, but it should be good for our sense of humor and that is one of the best things we can have. an april fool is sometimes called a "fourth-month dunce." =fourth-month dunce= by h.m.m. the curious custom of joking on the first of april, sending the ignorant or the unwary on fruitless errands, for the sake of making them feel foolish and having a laugh at them, prevails very widely in the world. and whether you call the victim a "fourth-month dunce," an "april fool," an "april fish" (as in france), or an "april gowk" (as in scotland), the object, to deceive him and laugh at him, is everywhere the same. the custom has been traced back for ages; all through europe, as far back as the records go. the "feast of fools" is mentioned as celebrated by the ancient romans. in asia the hindoos have a festival, ending on the 31st of march, called the "huli festival," in which they play the same sort of first of april pranks--translated into hindoo,--laughing at the victim, and making him a "huli fool." it goes back to persia, where it is supposed to have had a beginning, in very ancient times, in the celebration of spring, when their new year begins. how it came to be what we everywhere find it, the wise men cannot agree. the many authorities are so divided, that i see no way but for us to accept the custom as we find it, wherever we may happen to be, and be careful not to abuse it. some jokes are peculiar to some places. in england, where it is called "all fools' day," one favorite joke is to send the greenhorn to a bookseller to buy the "life and adventures of eve's grandmother," or to a cobbler to buy a few cents' worth of "strap oil,"--strap oil being, in the language of the shoe-making brotherhood, a personal application of the leather. but this custom, with others, common in coarser and rougher times, is fast dying out. even now it is left almost entirely to playful children. this sentiment, quoted from an english almanac of a hundred years ago, will, i'm sure, meet the approval of "grown-ups" of this century: "but 't is a thing to be disputed, which is the greatest fool reputed, the one that innocently went, or he that him designedly sent." =memorial day= _may 30_ it is said that the observance of this day grew originally out of the custom of the widows, mothers, and children of the confederate dead in the south strewing the soldiers' graves with flowers, including the unmarked graves of the union soldiers. there was no settled date for this in the north until 1868, when general john a. logan, as commander-in-chief of the grand army of the republic, designated may 30. it is now generally observed, and is a legal holiday in most of the states. =the boy in gray= _a ballad for memorial day_ by mary bradley fredericksburg had had her fray, and the armies stood at bay; back of wall, and top of hill, union men and men in gray glowered at each other still. in the space between the two many a hapless boy in blue lay face upward to the skies; many another, just as true, filled the air with frantic cries. "love of god!" with pity stirred, cried a rebel lad who heard. "this is more than i can bear! general, only say the word, they shall have some water there." "what's the use?" his general, frowning, asked. "a yankee ball drops you dead, or worse, half way, once you go beyond the wall." "may be!" said the boy in gray. "still i'll risk it, if you please." and the senior, ill at ease, nodded, growling under breath, "for his mortal enemies i have sent the lad to death." then a hotter fire began as across the field he ran,- yankee shooters marked a prey,- but beside each wounded man heedless knelt the boy in gray. parched lips hailed him as he came; throats with fever all aflame, while the balls were spinning by, drained the cup he offered them, blessed him with their dying cry. suddenly, through rain of those pattering shots, a shout uprose; din of voices filled his ears; firing ceased, and eager foes made the welkin ring with cheers. [illustration: "but beside each wounded man heedless knelt the boy in gray"] foes they were, of bitter need, still to every noble deed hearts of men, thank god, must thrill; and we thrill, too, as we read of those cheers on marye's hill. days of battle long since done, days of peace and blessing won, better is it to forget cruel work of sword and gun: but some deeds are treasures yet. while a grateful nation showers graves of heroes with her flowers, here's a wreath for one to-day: north or south, we claim him ours- honor to the boy in gray! [illustration: the evolution of our flag] =flag day= _june 14_ the first recognition of flag day by the new york schools was in 1889, but it is now generally observed by appropriate exercises. june 14 is the anniversary of the adoption of the stars and stripes by the continental congress in the year 1777. this was the flag which, first raised over an american vessel by john paul jones, became the emblem of the new republic. in some places another day is set apart instead. =the stars and stripes= by henry russell wray while every lad and lassie in the land knows and has read all about the famous old liberty bell, too little is known of the origin and growth of america's dearest emblem--her flag. william penn's city--philadelphia--is gemmed with many historical landmarks, but none should be more dear to us than that little old building still standing on arch street, over whose doorway is the number--239. for in a small back room in this primitive dwelling, during the uncertain struggle for independence by the american colonies, was designed and made the first american flag, known as the "stars and stripes," now respected and honored in every quarter of the world, and loved and patriotically worshiped at home. the early history of our great flag is very interesting. it is a matter of record that during the early days of the revolution the colonists made use of flags of various devices. it is nowadays generally accepted as a fact that the final idea of the stars and stripes as a national flag was borrowed from or suggested by the coat of arms of general george washington's family. the first definite action taken by the colonies toward creating a flag, was a resolution passed by congress in 1775, appointing a committee of three gentlemen--benjamin franklin and messrs. harrison and lynch--to consider and devise a national flag. the result of the work of this committee was the adoption of the "king's colors" as a union (or corner square), combined with thirteen stripes, alternate red and white, showing "that although the colonies united for defense against england's tyranny, they still acknowledged her sovereignty." [illustration: number 239 arch street, philadelphia--the house in which the first "stars and stripes" was made] the first public acceptance, recognition, and salute of this flag occurred january 2, 1776, at washington's headquarters, cambridge, massachusetts. the name given to this flag was "the flag of the union," and sometimes it was called the "cambridge flag." the design of this flag was a combination of the crosses of st. george and st. andrew in a blue field in the upper left-hand corner, bordered by thirteen stripes for the thirteen colonies. but in the spring of 1777 congress appointed another committee "authorized to design a suitable flag for the nation." this committee seems to have consisted of general george washington and robert morris. they called upon mrs. elizabeth ross, of philadelphia, and from a pencil-drawing by general washington engaged her to make a flag. this flag, the first of a number she made, was cut out and completed in the back parlor of her little arch street home. it was the first legally established emblem, and was adopted by congress june 14, 1777, under the act which provided for stripes alternately red and white, with a union of thirteen white stars in a field of blue. this act read as follows: "resolved, that the flag of the united states be thirteen stripes, alternate red and white: that the union be thirteen stars, white in a blue field, representing a new constellation." =fourth of july= this is the greatest secular holiday of our country, its observance being sanctioned by the laws of every state. the birthday of our liberty would be a hard one to fix, but by common consent the anniversary of the signing of the declaration of independence is the one observed. the use of powder to celebrate the day is gradually going out on account of the large number of lives annually lost through accidents. it is known officially as independence day. =a story of the flag= by victor mapes when the fourth of july came, we had been abroad nearly two months, and during that time i think we had not seen a single american flag. on the morning of the fourth, however, we walked out on the paris boulevards, and a number of flags were hanging out from the different american shops, which are quite frequent there. they looked strange to us; and the idea occurred to frank, for the first time, that the united states was one of a great many nations living next to one another in this world--that it was his own nation, a kind of big family he belonged to. the fourth of july was a sort of big, family birthday, and the flags were out so as to tell the frenchmen and everybody else not to forget the fact. a feeling of this nature came over frank that morning, and he called out, "there's another!" every time a new flag came in view. he stopped two or three times to count the number of them in sight, and showed in various ways that he, america, and the american flag had come to a new understanding with one another. during the morning, frank's cousin george, a boy two or three years older than frank, who had been in paris the preceding winter, came to our hotel; and, as i had some matters to attend to in the afternoon, they went off together to see sights and to have a good time. when frank returned about dinner-time, and came up to the room where i was writing letters, i noticed a small american-flag pin stuck in the lapel of his coat. "george had two," he said in answer to my question; "and he gave me this one. he's been in paris a year now, and he says we ought to wear them or maybe people won't know we're americans. but say, uncle jack, where do you think i got that?" he opened a paper bundle he had under his arm and unrolled a weather-beaten american flag. "where?" asked i, naturally supposing it came from george's house. "we took it off of lafayette's tomb." i opened my eyes in astonishment; while he went on: "george says the american consul, or the american consul-general, or somebody, put it on the tomb last fourth of july, for our government, because lafayette, don't you know, helped us in the revolution." "they ought to put a new flag on every year, george says," explained frank, seeing my amazement, "on fourth of july morning. but the american consul, or whoever he is that's here now, is a new man, george thinks; anyhow, he forgot to do it. so we bought a new flag and we did it. "there were a lot of people at the tomb when we went there, and we guessed they were all waiting to see the new flag put on. we waited, too, but no soldiers or anybody came; and after a while the people all went away. then george said: "'somebody ought to put on a new flag--let's do it!' "we went to a store on the boulevard, and for twenty francs bought a new flag just like this old one. george and i each paid half. there were two women and a little girl at the tomb when we got back, and we waited till they went away. then we unrolled the new flag and took the old one off the tomb. "we thought we ought to say something when we put the new flag on, but we didn't know what to say. george said they always made a regular speech thanking lafayette for helping us in the revolution, but we thought it didn't matter much. so we just took off our hats when we spread out the new flag on the grave, and then we rolled up the old flag and came away. "we drew lots for it afterward, and i'm going to take it back home with me. "somebody ought to have done it, and as we were both american boys, it was all right, wasn't it?" right or wrong, the flag that travelers see on lafayette's tomb this year, as a mark of the american nation's sentiment toward the great frenchman, is the one put there by two small, self-appointed representatives. and the flag put there the year before, with fitting ceremony by the authorized official, frank preserves carefully hung up on the wall of his little room in america. note: project gutenberg also has an html version of this file which includes the original illustrations. see 14315-h.htm or 14315-h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/1/4/3/1/14315/14315-h/14315-h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/1/4/3/1/14315/14315-h.zip) old english sports pastimes and customs by p. h. ditchfield, m.a. fellow of the royal historical society; rector of barkham, berks hon. sec. of berks archæological society, etc. first published by methuen & co., 1891 to lady russel this book is dedicated with the author's kindest regards. preface. encouraged by the kind reception which his former book, _our english villages_, met with at the hands of both critics and the public, the author has ventured to reproduce in book-form another series of articles which have appeared during the past year in the pages of _the parish magazine_. he desires to express his thanks to canon erskine clarke for kindly permitting him to reprint the articles, which have been expanded and in part rewritten. the sports and pastimes of england have had many chroniclers, both ancient and modern, amongst whom may be mentioned strutt, brand, hone, stow, and several others, to whose works the writer is indebted for much valuable information. the object of this book is to describe, in simple language, the holiday festivals as they occurred in each month of the year; and the sports, games, pastimes, and customs associated with these rural feasts. it is hoped that such a description may not be without interest to our english villagers, and perhaps to others who love the study of the past. possibly it may help forward the revival of the best features of old village life, and the restoration of some of those pleasing customs which time has deprived us of. the writer is much indebted to mr. e.r.r. bindon for his very careful revision of the proof-sheets. barkham rectory, 1891. contents. chapter i. january. dedication festivals--new year's day--"wassail"--twelfth night--"king of the bean"--st. distaffs day--plough monday--winter games--skating--sword-dancing chapter ii. february. hunting--candlemas day--st. blaize's day--shrove-tide-football--battledore and shuttlecock--cock-throwing chapter iii. march. archery--lent--"mothering" sunday--palm sunday-"shere" thursday--watching the sepulchre chapter iv. april. easter customs--pace eggs--handball in churches--sports confined to special localities--stoolball and barley-brake--water tournament:--quintain--chester sports--hock-tide chapter v. may. may-day festivities--may-pole--morris-dancers--the book of sports--bowling--beating the bounds--george herbert's description of a country parson chapter vi. june. whitsuntide sports--church-ales--church-house--quarter-staff-whistling and jingling matches--st. john's eve--wrestling chapter vii. july. cricket--club-ball--trap-ball--golf--pall-mall--tennis--rush-bearing chapter viii. august. lammas day--st. roch's day--harvest home--"ten-pounding" --sheep-shearing--"wakes"--fairs chapter ix. september. hawking--michaelmas--bull and bear-baiting chapter x. october. tournaments--"mysteries"--"moralities"--pageants chapter xi. november. all-hallow eve--"soul cakes"--diving for apples--the fifth of november--martinmas--"demands joyous "--indoor games chapter xii. december. st. nicholas' day--the boy bishop--christmas eve--christmas customs--mummers--"lord of misrule"--conclusion index chapter i. january. "come then, come then, and let us bring unto our pretty twelfth-tide king, each one his several offering." herrick's _star song_. dedication festivals--new year's day--"wassail"--twelfth night--"king of the bean"--st. distaff's day--plough monday--winter games--skating--sword-dancing. in the old life of rural england few things are more interesting than the ancient sports and pastimes, the strange superstitions, and curious customs which existed in the times of our forefathers. we remember that our land once rejoiced in the name of "merry england," and perhaps feel some regret that many of the outward signs of happiness have passed away from us, and that in striving to become a great and prosperous nation, we have ceased to be a genial, contented, and happy one. in these days new manners are ever pushing out the old. the restlessness of modern life has invaded the peaceful retirement of our villages, and railway trains and cheap excursions have killed the old games and simple amusements which delighted our ancestors in days of yore. the old traditions of the country-side are forgotten, and poor imitations of town manners have taken their place. old social customs which added such diversity to the lives of the rustics two centuries ago have died out. very few of the old village games and sports have survived. the village green, the source of so much innocent happiness, is no more; and with it has disappeared much of that innocent and light-hearted cheerfulness which brightened the hours of labour, and refreshed the spirit of the toiling rustic, when his daily task was done. times have changed, and we have changed with them. we could not now revive many of the customs and diversions in which our fathers took delight. serious and grave men no longer take pleasure in the playthings which pleased them when they were children; and our nation has become grave and serious, and likes not the simple joys which diversified the lives of our forefathers, and made england "merry." is it possible that we cannot restore some of these time-honoured customs? the sun shines as brightly now as ever it did on a may-day festival; the christmas fire glows as in olden days. let us try to revive the spirit which animated their festivals. let us endeavour to realize how our village forefathers used to enjoy themselves, how they used to spend their holidays, and to picture to ourselves the scenes of social intercourse which once took place in our own hamlets. every season of the year had its holiday customs and quaint manner of observance, some of them confined to particular counties, but many of them universally observed. in the volume, recently published, which treated of the story and the antiquities of "our english villages," i pointed out that the church was the centre of the life of the old village--not only of its religious life, but also of its secular every-day life. this is true also with regard to the amusements of the people. the festival of the saint, to whom the parish church was dedicated, was celebrated with much rejoicing. the annual fair was held on that day, when, after their business was ended, friends and neighbours met together and took part in some of the sports and pastimes which i shall try to describe. the other holidays of the year were generally regulated by the church's calendar, the great festivals--christmas, easter, ascension day, whit sunday---being all duly observed. i propose to record in these pages the principal sports, pastimes, and customs which our forefathers delighted in during each month of the year, the accounts of which are not only amusing, but add to our historical knowledge, and help us to realize something of the old village life of rural england. we will begin with new year's day[1]. it was an ancient saxon custom to begin the year by sending presents to each other. on new year's eve the wassail bowl of spiced ale was carried round from house to house by the village maidens, who sang songs and wished every one "a happy new year." "wassail" is an old saxon word, meaning "be in health." rowena, the daughter of the saxon king hengist, offered a flowing bowl to the british king vortigern, welcoming him with the words, "lloured king wassheil." in devonshire and sussex it was the custom to wassail the orchards; a troop of boys visited the orchards, and, encircling the apple-trees, they sang the words- "stand fast, bear well top, pray god send us a howling crop; every twig, apples big; every bough, apples enow; hats full, caps full, full quarter-sacks full." then the boys shouted in chorus, and rapped the trees with their sticks. the custom of giving presents on new year's day is as old as the time of the romans, who attached superstitious importance to it, and thought the gifts brought them a lucky year. our christian forefathers retained the pleasant custom when its superstitious origin was long forgotten. fathers and mothers used to delight each other and their little ones by their mutual gifts; the masters gave presents to their servants, and with "march-paynes, tarts, and custards great," they celebrated the advent of the new year. oranges stuck with cloves, or a fat capon, were some of the usual forms of new year's gifts. the "bringing-in" of the new year is a time-honoured custom; which duty is performed by the first person who enters the house after the old year has expired. in the north of england this important person must be a dark man, otherwise superstitious folk believe that ill-luck would befall the household. in other parts of england a light-complexioned man is considered a more favourable harbinger of good fortune. the christmas holidays extended over twelve days, which bring us to january 6th, the feast of the epiphany. it is stated that "in the days of king alfred a law was made with regard to holidays, by virtue of which the twelve days after the nativity of our saviour were made festivals." twelfth day eve was a great occasion among the rustics of england, and many curious customs are connected with it. in herefordshire the farmers and servants used to meet together in the evening and walk to a field of wheat. there they lighted twelve small fires and one large one[2], and forming a circle round the huge bonfire, they raised a shout, which was answered from all the neighbouring fields and villages. at home the busy housewife was preparing a hearty supper for the men. after supper they adjourned to the ox-stalls, and the master stood in front of the finest of the oxen and pledged him in a curious toast; the company followed his example with all the other oxen, and then they returned to the house and found all the doors locked, and admittance sternly refused until they had sung some joyous songs. in the south of devonshire, on the eve of the epiphany, the best-bearing trees in the orchard were encircled by the farmer and his labourers, who sang the following refrain- "here's to thee, old apple-tree, whence thou may'st bud, and whence thou may'st blow, and whence thou may'st bear apples enow! hats full! caps full! bushel-bushel-sacks full, and my pockets full too! huzza!" the returning company were not allowed to enter the house until some one guessed what was on the spit, which savoury tit-bit was awarded to the man who first named it. the youths of the village during the holidays had plenty of sport, outdoor and indoor, which kept out the cold by wholesome exercise and recreative games. many a hard battle was fought with snowballs, or with bat-and-ball on the ice; the barns were the scenes of many a wrestling match or exciting game at skittles; and in the evenings they played such romping games as blind-man's-buff, hunt the slipper, and others of a similar character. while the company sat round the yule-log blazing on the hearth, eating mince-pies, or plum porridge, and quaffing a bowl of well-spiced elder wine, the mummers would enter, decked out in ribands and strange dresses, execute their strange antics, and perform their curious play. so the wintry days passed until twelfth night, with its pleasing associations and mirthful customs. twelfth night was a very popular festival, when honour was done to the memory of the three wise men from the east, who were called the three kings. the election of kings and queens by beans was a very ancient custom. the farmer invited his friends and labourers to supper, and a huge plumcake was brought in, containing a bean and a pea. the man who received the piece of cake containing the bean was called the king of the bean, and received the honour of the company; and the pea conferred a like privilege on the lady who drew the favoured lot. the rest of the visitors assumed the rank of ministers of state or maids of honour. the festival was generally held in a large barn decorated with evergreens, and a large bough of mistletoe was not forgotten, which was often the source of much merriment. when the ceremony began, some one repeated the lines- "now, now the mirth comes with the cake full of plums, when bean is king of the sport here. beside, you must know, the pea also must revel as queen of the court here." then the cake was cut and distributed amid much laughter and merry shouts. the holders of the bean and pea were hailed as king and queen for the night, the band struck up some time-honoured melody, and a country dance followed which was ever carried on with much spirit. the king exercised his royal prerogative by choosing partners for the women, and the queen performed a like office for the men; and so they merrily played their parts till the hours grew late. but the holidays were nearly over, and the time for resuming work had arrived. however, neither the women nor the men seemed to be in any hurry to begin. the day after twelfth day was humorously called st. distaft's[3] day, which was devoted to "partly work and partly play." herrick, the recorder of many social customs, tells us that the ploughmen used to set on fire the flax which the maids used for spinning, and received pails of water on their heads for their mischief. the following monday was called plough monday, when the labourers used to draw a plough decked with ribbons round the parish, and receive presents of money, favouring the spectators with sword-dancing and mumming. the rude procession of men, clad in clean smock-frocks, headed by the renowned "bessy," who sang and rattled the money-box, accompanied by a strangely-dressed character called the fool, attired in skins of various animals and having a long tail, threw life into the dreary scenery of winter, as the gaily-decked plough was drawn along the quiet country lanes from one village to another. the origin of plough monday dates back to pre-reformation times, when societies of ploughmen called guilds used to keep lights burning upon the shrine of some saint, to invoke a blessing on their labour. the reformation put out the lights, but it could not extinguish the festival. in the long winter evenings the country folk amused themselves around their winter's fireside by telling old romantic stories of errant knights and fairies, goblins, witches, and the rest; or by reciting "some merry fit of mayde marran, or els of robin hood." in the tudor times there were plenty of winter games for those who could play them, amongst which we may mention chess, cards, dice, shovel-board, and many others. and when the ponds and rivers were frozen, as early as the twelfth century the merry skaters used to glide over the smooth ice. their skates were of a very primitive construction, and consisted of the leg-bones of animals tied under their feet by means of thongs. neither were the skaters quite equal to cutting "threes" and "eights" upon the ice; they could only push themselves along by means of a pole with an iron spike at the end. but they used to charge each other after the manner of knights in a tournament, and use their poles for spears. an old writer says that "they pushed themselves along with such speed that they seemed to fly like a bird in the air, or as darts shot out from the engines of war." some of the less adventurous youths were content with sliding, or driving each other forward on great pieces of ice. "dancing with swords" was a favourite form of amusement among the young men of northern nations, and in those parts of england where the norsemen and danes settled, this graceful gymnastic custom long lingered. [illustration: dancing on the village green.] the old country dances which used to delight our fathers seem to be vanishing. i have not seen for many years the village rustics "crossing hands" and going "down the middle," and tripping merrily to the tune of a fiddle; but perhaps they do so still. in olden days the city maidens of london were often "dancing and tripping till moonlight" in the open air; and later on we read that on holidays, after evening prayer, while the youths exercised their wasters and bucklers, the maidens, "one of them playing on a timbrel, in sight of their masters and dames, used to dance for garlands hanged athwart the streets." stow, the recorder of this custom, wisely adds, "which open pastimes in my youth, being now suppressed, worser practices within doors are to be feared." in some parts of england they still trip it gaily in the moonlight. a clergyman in gloucestershire tried to establish a cricket club in his parish, but his efforts were all in vain; the young men preferred to dance together on the village green, and the more manly diversion had no charms for them. dancing was never absent from our ancestors' festivities, and round the merry may-pole "where the jocund swains dance with the maidens to the bagpipe strains;" or in the festal hall, adorned with evergreens and mistletoe, with tripping feet they passed the hours "till envious night commands them to be gone." chapter ii. february. "down with rosemary and bayes, down with the mistleto, instead of holly, now up-raise the greener box, for show." "the holly hitherto did sway; let box now domineere, untill the dancing easter-day, or easter's eve appeare." hunting--candlemas day--st. blaize's day--shrove-tide- football--battledore and shuttlecock--cock-throwing. the fox-hounds often meet in our village during this cheerless month, and i am reminded by the red coats of the huntsmen, and by the sound of the cheerful horn, of the sportsmen of ancient days, who chased the wolf, hart, wild boar, and buck among these same woods and dales of england. all hearts love to hear the merry sound of the huntsman's horn, except perhaps that of the hunted fox or stag. the love of hunting seems ingrained in every englishman, and whenever the horsemen appear in sight, or the "music" of the hounds is heard in the distance, the spade is laid aside, the ploughman leaves his team, the coachman his stables, the gardener his greenhouses, books are closed, and every one rushes away to see the sport. the squire, the farmers, and every one who by hook or by crook can procure a mount, join in the merry chase, for as an old poet sings- "the hunt is up, the hunt is up, sing merrily we, the hunt is up; the birds they sing, the deer they fling: hey, nony, nony-no: the hounds they cry, the hunters they fly, hey trolilo, trolilo, the hunt is up." we english folks come of a very sporting family. the ancient britons were expert hunters, and lived chiefly on the prey which they killed. our saxon forefathers loved the chase, and in some very old saxon pictures illustrating the occupations of each month we see the lord, attended by his huntsmen, chasing the wild boars in the woods and forests. the saxon king, edgar, imposed a tribute of wolves' heads, and athelstan ordered the payment of fines in hawks and strong-scented dogs. edward the confessor, too, who scorned worldly amusements, used to take "delight in following a pack of swift dogs, and in cheering them with his voice." the illustration is taken from an old illumination which adorned an ancient ms., and represents some saxons engaged in unearthing a fox. [illustration: hunting in saxon times (from an ancient ms.).] when the normans came to england great changes were made, and hunting--the favourite sport of the conqueror--was promoted with a total disregard of the welfare of the people. whole villages and churches were pulled down in order to enlarge the royal forests, and any one who was rash enough to kill the king's deer would lose his life or his eyesight. it was not until the reign of henry iii. that this law was altered. william the conqueror, who forbade the killing of deer and of boars, and who "loved the tall stags as though he were their father," greatly enlarged the new forest, in hampshire. henry i. built a huge stone wall, seven miles in circumference, round his favourite park of woodstock, near oxford; and if any one wanted a favour from king john, a grant of privileges, or a new charter, he would have to pay for it in horses, hawks, or hounds. the norman lords were as tyrannical in preserving their game as their king, and the people suffered greatly through the selfishness of their rulers. there is a curious ms. in the british museum, called _the craft of hunting_, written by two followers of edward ii., which gives instructions with regard to the game to be hunted, the rules for blowing the horn, the dogs to be used in the chase, and so on. it is too long to quote, but i may mention that the animals to be hunted included the hare, hart, wolf, wild boar, buck, doe, fox ("which oft hath hard grace"), the martin-cat, roebuck, badger, polecat, and otter. many of these animals have long since disappeared through the clearing of the old forests, or been exterminated on account of the mischief which they did. our modern hunters do not enjoy quite such a variety of sport. otter-hunting, now very rare, was once a favourite sport among villagers who dwelt near a river. isaac walton, in his book called _the complete angler_, thus describes the animated scene: "look! down at the bottom of the hill there, in the meadow, checkered with water-lilies and lady-smocks; there you may see what work they make; look! look! you may see all busy--men and dogs--dogs and men--all busy." at last the otter is found. then barked the dogs, and shouted the men! boatmen pursue the poor animal in the water. horsemen dash into the river. the otter dives, and strives to escape; but all in vain her efforts, and she perishes by the teeth of the dogs or the huntsmen's spears. foreigners are always astonished at our love of sport and hunting, and our disregard of all danger in the pursuit of our favourite amusement, and one of our visitors tells the following story: "when the armies of henry viii. and francis, king of france, were drawn up against each other, a fox got up, which was immediately pursued by the english. the 'varmint' ran straight for the french lines, but the englishmen would not cease from the chase; the frenchmen opposed them, and killed many of these adventurous gentlemen who for the moment forgot their warfare in the charms of the chase." but i must proceed to mention other february customs and sports. great importance was attached to the feast of the purification, commonly called candlemas day (february 2nd), when consecrated candles were distributed and carried about in procession. at the reformation this custom did not entirely disappear, for we find a proclamation of henry viii., in 1539 a.d., which orders that "on candlemas day it shall be declared that the bearing of candles is done in memory of christ the spiritual light, whom simeon did prophesy, as it is read in the church on that day." christmas decorations were removed from the houses; the holly, rosemary, bay, and mistletoe disappeared, to make room for sprigs of box, which remained until easter brought in the yew. our ancestors were very fond of bonfires, and on the 3rd of this month, st. blaize's day,[4] the red flames might be seen darting up from every hilltop. but why they should do this on that day is not evident, except that the good bishop's name sounded something like _blaze_, and perhaps that was quite a sufficient reason! and why the day of st. valentine should have been selected for the drawing lots for sweethearts, and for the sending affectionate greetings, is another mystery. st. valentine was a priest and martyr in italy in the third century, and had nothing to do with the popular commemoration of the day. now we come to the diversions of shrove-tide,[5] which immediately precedes the lenten fast. the monday before ash wednesday was called collop monday in the north, because slices of bacon (or collops) were the recognized dish for dinner. but on tuesday the chief amusements began; the bells were rung, pancakes tossed with great solemnity, and devoured with great satisfaction, as an old writer, who did not approve of so much feasting, tells us- "in every house are shouts and cries, and mirth and revel rout, and dainty tables spread, and all beset with guests about." he further describes this old english carnival, which must have rivalled any that we read of on the continent- "some run about the streets attired like monks, and some like kings, accompanied with pomp, and guard, and other stately things. some like wild beasts do run abroad in skins that divers be arrayed, and eke with loathsome shapes, that dreadful are to see, they counterfeit both bears and wolves, and lions fierce in sight, and raging bulls; some play the cranes, with wings and stilts upright." but the great game for shrove tuesday was our time-honoured football, which has survived so many of the ancient pastimes of our land, and may be considered the oldest of all our english national sports. the play might not be quite so scientific as that played by our modern athletes, but, from the descriptions that have come down to us, it was no less vigorous. "after dinner" (says an old writer) "all the youths go into the fields to play at the ball. the ancient and worthy men of the city come forth on horseback to see the sport of the young men, and to take part of the pleasure in beholding their agility." there are some exciting descriptions of old football matches; and we read of some very fierce contests at derby, which was renowned for the game. in the seventeenth century it was played in the streets of london, much to the annoyance of the inhabitants, who had to protect their windows with hurdles and bushes. at bromfield, in cumberland, the annual contest on shrove tuesday was keenly fought. sides having been chosen, the football was thrown down in the churchyard, and the house of the captain of each side was the goal. sometimes the distance was two or three miles, and each step was keenly disputed. he was a proud man at bromfield who succeeded in reaching the goal with the ball, which he received as his guerdon. how the villagers used to talk over the exploits of the day, and recount their triumphs of former years with quite as much satisfaction as their ancestors enjoyed in relating their feats in the border wars! the scots were famous formerly, as they now are, for prowess in the game, and the account of the shrove tuesday match between the married and single men at scone, in perthshire, reads very like a description of a modern rugby contest. at inverness the women also played, the married against the unmarried, when the former were always victorious. king james i., who was a great patron of sports, did not approve of his son henry being a football player. he wrote that a young man ought to have a "moderate practice of running, leaping, wrestling, fencing, dancing, and playing at the caitch, or tennis, bowls, archery, pall-mall, and riding; and in foul or stormy weather, cards and backgammon, dice, chess, and billiards," but football was too rough a game for his majesty, and "meeter for laming than making able." stubbs also speaks of it as a "bloody and murthering practice, rather than a fellowly sport or pastime." from the descriptions of the old games, it seems to have been very painful work for the shins, and there were no rules to prevent hacking and tripping in those days. football has never been the spoilt child of english pastimes, but has lived on in spite of royal proclamations and the protests of peace-loving citizens who objected to the noise, rough play, and other vagaries of the early votaries of the game. edward ii. and succeeding monarchs regarded it as a "useless and idle sport," which interfered with the practice of archery, and therefore ought to be shunned by all loyal subjects. the violence displayed at the matches is evident from the records which have come down to us, and from the opinions of several writers who condemn it severely. free fights, broken limbs, and deaths often resulted from old football encounters; and when the games took place in the streets, lines of broken windows marked the progress of the players. "a bloody and murdering practice," "a devilish pastime," involving "beastly fury and extreme violence," the breaking of necks, arms, legs and backs--these were some of the descriptions of the football of olden times. the puritans set their faces against it, and the sport languished for a long period as a general pastime. in some places it was still practised with unwonted vigour, but it was not until the second half of the present century that any revival took place. but football players have quickly made up for lost time; few villages do not possess their club, and our young men are ready to "try it out at football by the shins," with quite as much readiness as the players in the good old days, although the play is generally less violent, and more scientific. hurling, too, was a fast and furious game, very similar to our game of hockey, and played with sticks and a ball. two neighbouring parishes used to compete, and the object was to drive the ball from some central spot to one, or other, village. the contest was keen and exciting; a ball was driven backwards and forwards, over hills, dales, hedges, and ditches, through bushes, briars, mires, plashes, and rivers, until at length the wished-for goal was gained. battledore and shuttlecock were favourite games for the girls, which they played singing quaint rhymes- "great a, little a; this is pancake day!" and the men also indulged in tip-cat, or billet. there is one other custom, of a most barbarous and cruel description, which was practised on shrove tuesday by our forefathers, and which happily has perished,[6] and that was throwing at cocks or hens with sticks. the poor bird was tied by the leg, and its tormentors stood twenty-two yards distant and had three throws each for twopence, winning the bird if they could knock it down. the cock was trained beforehand to avoid the sticks, so as to win more money for its brutal master. well might a learned foreigner remark, "the english eat a certain cake on shrove tuesday, upon which they immediately run mad, and kill their poor cocks." cock-fighting was a favourite amusement on shrove tuesday, as well as at other times. this shameful and barbarous practice was continued until the eighteenth century; some of our kings took delight in it, and in the old grammar schools in the north of england it was sanctioned by the masters, who received from their scholars a small tax called "cock-fight dues." happily, with bull-baiting, bear-baiting, dog-fighting, and the like, this cruel and brutal pastime has ceased to exist. if we have lost some of the simple joys and cheerful light-heartedness of our forefathers, we have also happily lost some of their cruel disregard for the sufferings of animals, and abandoned such barbarous amusements as i have tried to describe. but the old sports of england were not all like these; the archery, running, leaping, wrestling, football, and other games in which our ancestors delighted, made the young men of england a manly and a sturdy race, and our nation mainly owes its greatness to the courage, manliness, and daring of her sons. but ash wednesday has dawned, and all is still in town and village. the shrove-tide feast is ended, and the days of fasting and of prayer have hushed the sounds of merriment and song. chapter iii. march. "and now a solemn fast we keep, when earth wakes from her winter sleep." "and he was clad in cote and hode of grene; a shefe of pecocke arrowes bryght and shene under his belt he bare ful thriftely, well could he dresse his tackle yomanly; his arrowes drouped not with fethers lowe, and in hande he bare a myghty bowe." archery--lent--"mothering" sunday--palm sunday- "shere" thursday--watching the sepulchre. of all the sports and pastimes of old england, archery was the most renowned, and many a hard-fought victory has been gained through the skill which our english archers acquired in the use of their famous bows. "alas, alas for scotland when english arrows fly!" was the sad lament of many a highland clan, and frenchmen often learnt to their cost the force of our bowmen's arms. the accounts of the fights of creçy and poitiers tell of the prowess of our archers; and the skill which they acquired by practising at the butts at home has gained many a victory. archery was so useful in war that several royal proclamations were issued to encourage the sport, and in many parishes there were fields set apart for the men to practise. although the sport has died out as a popular pastime, the old name, the butts, remains in many a town and village, recording the spot where our forefathers acquired their famous skill. the name is still retained in the neighbouring town of reading, and in some old records i find that in 1549 a certain "will'm watlynton received xxxvi_s_. for making of the butts;" and there are several items of charges in other years for repairing and renewing the same. [illustration: two archers wearing armor.] edward iii. ordered "that every one strong in body, at leisure on holidays, should use in their recreation bows and arrows, and learn and exercise the art of shooting, forsaking such vain plays as throwing stones, handball, football, bandyball, or cock-fighting, which have no profit in them." edward iv. ordered every englishman, of whatever rank, to have a bow his own height always ready for use, and to instruct his children in the art. in every township the butts were ordered to be set up, and the people were required to shoot "up and down" every sunday and feast-day, under penalty of one halfpenny. the sport began to decline in the sixteenth century, in spite of royal proclamations and occasional revivals. henry viii. forbade the use of the cross-bow, lest it should interfere with the practice of the more ancient weapon, and many old writers lament over the decay of this famous pastime of old england, which, as bishop latimer stated in one of his sermons, "is a goodly art, a wholesome kind of exercise, and much commended as physic." the finsbury archers had, in 1594, no less than one hundred and sixty-four targets in finsbury fields, set up on pillars with curious devices over them; but four years later stow laments that "by reason of closing in of common grounds, our archers, for want of room to shoot abroad, creep into ordinary dicing-houses and bowling-alleys near home." the famous robin hood, who lived in the reign of richard i., was the king of archers. the exploits of this renowned outlaw and his merry men form the subject of many old ballads and romances, and the old oaks in sherwood forest could tell the tale of many an exciting chase after the king's deer, and of many a luckless traveller who had to pay dearly for the hospitality of robin hood and little john. the ballads narrate that they could shoot an arrow a measured mile, but this is a flight of imagination which we can hardly follow! "but he was an archer true and good, and people called him robin hood; such archers as he and his men will england never see again." another ballad relates the prowess of william of cloudslee, who scorned to shoot at an ordinary target, and cutting a hazel rod from a tree, he shot at it from twenty score paces, cleaving the rod in two. [illustration: cross-bow shooting at the butts (from ms. dated 1496).] [illustration: an archer.] like william tell of great renown, our english archer could split an apple placed on his son's head at the distance of six score paces. in time of war the archers were armed with a body-armour, the arms being left free. they had a long bow made of yew, a sheaf of arrows winged with gray goose-feathers, a sword, and small shield. such was the appearance of the men who struck such terror among the knights and chivalry of france, and won many victories for england before the days of muskets and rifles. we are now in the season of lent, and our towns and villages were very still and quiet during these weeks. but there was an old custom on refreshment[7] or mid-lent sunday for people to visit their mother-church and make offerings on the altar. hence probably arose the practice of "mothering," or going to visit parents on that day, and taking presents to them. herrick alludes to this pleasant custom in the following lines- "i'll to thee a simnell bring, 'gainst thou go'st a mothering; so that when she blesseth thee, half that blessing thou'lt give me." many a mother's heart would rejoice to welcome to the old village home once again some fond youth or maiden who had gone to seek their fortunes in the town, and many happy recollections would long linger of "mothering" sunday. the cakes alluded to in the above verse, which children presented to their parents on these occasions, were called simnells. in some parts of england--in lancashire, shropshire, and herefordshire--these cakes are still eaten on mid-lent sunday. possibly they had some religious signification, for the saxons were in habit of eating consecrated cakes at their festivals. the name simnell is derived from a latin word signifying fine flour, and not from the mythical persons, simon and nell, who are popularly supposed to have invented the cake. hot cross buns are a relic of an ancient rite of the saxons, who ate cakes in honour of the goddess of spring, and the early christian missionaries strove to banish the heathen ideas associated with the cakes (which latter the people would not abandon) by putting a cross upon them. in memory of our lord's triumphal entry into jerusalem, when the people took branches of palm-trees and scattered them in the way, on palm sunday our ancestors went in procession through the town or village, bearing branches of willow, yew, or box (as there were no palms growing in this country), which were subsequently carried to the church and offered at the altar. this custom lingered on after the reformation, and until recent times the practice of going a-palming, or gathering branches of willow, on the saturday before palm sunday, has continued. sometimes in mediæval times a wooden figure representing our saviour riding upon an ass was drawn along by the crowds in the procession, and the people scattered their willow branches before the figure as it passed. thursday before easter day was called shere, or maundy, thursday. the first name is derived from the ancient custom of _shering_ the head and clipping the beard on that day; and maundy is a corruption of the latin word _mandatum_, which means "a command," and refers to the command of our lord to imitate his example in the humility which he showed in washing the feet of his disciples. in memory of his lowly act the kings and queens of england used to wash the feet of a large number of poor men and women, and bestowed upon them gifts and money. this practice was continued until the reign of james ii., and in our own day the queen presents to a certain number of poor people bags of silver pennies, called maundy money, which is coined for that special purpose. many of my readers are familiar with the rhyme concerning "hot cross buns," but perhaps they are not acquainted with the superstition which our forefathers attached to them. a writer on cornish customs says: "in some of our farmhouses the good friday cake may be seen hanging to the bacon-rack, slowly but surely diminishing, until the return of the season replaces it by a fresh one. it is of sovereign good in all manner of diseases that may afflict the family, or flocks and herds. i have seen a little of this cake grated into a warm mash for a sick cow." hot cross buns were supposed to have great power in preserving friendship. if two friends broke a bun in half exactly at the cross, while standing within the church-doors on good friday morning before service, and saying the words- "half for you, and half for me, between us two good-will shall be. amen," then, so long as they kept their halves, no quarrel would arise between them. in the west of england it was considered very sinful to work on good friday, and woe betide the luckless housewife who did her washing on that day, for one of the family, it was believed, would surely die before the end of the year. there are many other superstitions attached to the day, such as the preserving of eggs laid on good friday, which were supposed to have power to extinguish fire; the making of cramp-rings out of the handles of coffins, which rings were blessed by the king of england as he crept on his knees to the cross, and were supposed to be preservatives against cramp. in old churchwardens' account-books we find such entries as the following- "to the sextin for watching the sepulture two nyghts viii_d_." "paide to roger brock for watching of the sepulchre 8_d_." and as the nights were cold we find an additional item- "paid more to said roger brock for syses and colles, 3_d._" these entries allude to the ancient custom of erecting on good friday a small building to represent the holy sepulchre, and setting a person to watch for two nights in remembrance of the soldiers watching the grave in which our lord's body was laid. at the dawning of the easter morn the bells rang joyously, and all was life and animation. the sun itself was popularly supposed to dance with joy on the feast of the resurrection. but the manners and customs, sports and pastimes, which were associated with easter, i will reserve for my next chapter. chapter iv. april. "the spring clad all in gladness doth laugh at winter's sadness; and to the bagpipe's sound the nymphs tread out their ground. "fie then, why sit we musing, youth's sweet delight refusing; say dainty nymphs, and speak: shall we play barley-breake?" _old ballad_ (a.d. 1603). easter customs--pace eggs--handball in churches--sports confined to special localities--stoolball and barley-brake --water tournament--quintain--chester sports--hock-tide. from the earliest days of christianity easter has always been celebrated with the greatest joy, and accounted the queen of festivals. many curious customs are associated with this feast, some of which represented in a rude, primitive way the resurrection of our lord. there was an old miracle play which was performed at easter; for we find in the churchwardens' books at kingston-upon-thames, in the reign of henry viii., certain expenses for "a skin of parchment and gunpowder for the play on easter day," for a player's coat, stage, and "other things belonging to the play." then there was the custom in the north of england of "lifting" or "heaving," which was originally designed to represent our saviour's resurrection. on easter monday the men used to lift the women, whom they met, thrice above their heads into the air, and the women responded on easter tuesday, and lifted the men. this custom prevailed also in north wales, warwickshire, and shropshire. the pace eggs, or _pasche_, or _paschal_ eggs, were originally intended to show forth the same truth, as the egg retaining the elements of future life was used as an emblem of the resurrection. these pace eggs were dyed, decorated with pretty devices, and presented by friends to each other. in the north of england, the home of so many of our old customs, the practice of giving pace eggs still lingers on; and we find amongst the household expenses of king edward i. an item of "four hundred and a half of eggs--eighteenpence," which were purchased on easter day. the prices current in the thirteenth century for eggs would scarcely be deemed sufficient by our modern poultry-keepers! the decoration of churches and houses with flowers just risen from their winter sleep, the practice of always wearing some part of the dress new on easter day, all seem to have had their origin in the holy lessons which cluster round the festival of the resurrection. an old writer tells us that it was the custom in some churches for the clergy to play at handball at this season; even bishops and archbishops took part in the pastime; but why they should profane god's house in this way we are at a loss to discover. the reward of the victors was a tansy-cake, so called from the bitter herb tansy, which was supposed to be beneficial after eating so much fish during lent. of the various kinds of games with balls i propose to treat in another chapter. at easter there were numerous sports in vogue in different parts of the country. in olden times almost every county had its peculiar sport, which was regarded as a monopoly of that district. people did not work so hard in those days, and seem to have had more time and energy for ancient pastimes. many of these old games have entirely vanished; others have left their old neighbourhoods, and received a hearty welcome all over the country. berkshire and somersetshire were the ancestral homes of cudgel-play, quarter-staff, and single-stick. skating and pole-leaping were the characteristic sports of the fen country. kent and sussex were famous for their cricket; the northern counties for their football. scotland rejoiced in golf, curling, and tossing the caber; while cumberland and westmoreland, cornwall and devon, were noted for their vigorous and active wrestlers. curling, tossing the caber[8], and wrestling have clung to their old homes; but the other sports have wandered far and wide, and are no longer confined to their native counties. at easter the local favourite sport was renewed with zest and eagerness, and almost everywhere foot-races were run, the prize of the conqueror being a tansy-cake. stoolball and barley-brake were also favourite games in this month, as poor robin says in his _almanack_ for 1677. barley-brake seems to have been a very merry game, in which the ladies took part, and of which we find some very bright descriptions in the writings of some old english poets. the only science of the pastime consisted in one couple trying with "waiting foot and watchful eye" to catch the others and bear them off as captives. an old writer thus describes a water tournament, which seems to have been a popular pastime among the youths of london at easter--"they fight battels on the water. a shield is hanged upon a pole (this is a kind of quintain) fixed in the midst of the stream. a boat is prepared without oars, to be carried by the violence of the water, and in the fore-part thereof standeth a young man ready to give charge upon the shield with his lance. if so be he break his lance against the shield, and do not fall, he is thought to have performed a worthy deed. if so be that, without breaking his lance, he runneth strongly against the shield, down he falleth into the water, for the boat is violently tossed with the tide; but on each side of the shield ride two boats furnished with young men, which recover him that falleth as soon as they may. upon the bridge, wharves, and houses by the river-side, stand great numbers to see and laugh thereat." stow thus describes the water tournament--"i have seen also in the summer season, upon the river thames, some rowed in wherries, with staves in their hands, flat at the fore-end, running one against the other; and for the most part, one or both of them were overthrown and well ducked." this sport on the water was a variety of the famous quintain, which was itself derived from the jousts or tournaments, only, instead of a human adversary, the knight or squire, riding on a horse, charged a shield or wooden figure attached to a piece of wood, which easily turned round upon the top of a post. at the other end of the wood was a heavy bag of sand, which, when the rider struck the shield with his lance, swung round and struck him with great force on the back if he did not ride fast and so escape his ponderous foe. there were other forms of this sport, which is so ancient that its origin has been lost in antiquity. queen elizabeth was very much amused at kenilworth castle by the hard knocks which the inexpert riders received from the rotating sand-bag when they charged "a comely quintane" in her royal presence in the year 1575. a handsome quintain still stands on offham village green, in kent, although it is no longer used for the skilful practice of former days. it is the custom to hoist married men, who are not blest with children, on the quintain, which is made to revolve rapidly. sometimes discontented and disobedient wives share the same fate. chester was famous for its easter sports, when the mayor with his mace, the corporation with twenty guilds, marched to the rood-eye, to play at football. but "inasmuch as great strife did arise among the young persons of the same city" on account of the game, a change was made in the reign of henry viii., and foot-races and horse-races were substituted for the time-honoured football, and an arrow of silver was given to the best archer. but easter sports are almost finished: however, we have not long to wait for another popular anniversary; for the famous hock-tide sports always took place a fortnight after easter, and much amusement, and profit also, were derived from the quaint observances of hock monday and tuesday. the meaning of the word and the origin of the custom have been the subjects of much conjecture; but the festival is supposed to be held in remembrance of the victory of our saxon forefathers over the danes in the time of ethelred. the custom was that on hock monday the men should go out into the streets and roads with cords, and stop and bind all the women they met, releasing them on payment of a small ransom. on the following day the women bound the men, and the proceeds were devoted to charitable purposes. it is to be noted that the women always extracted the most money, and in the old churchwardens' accounts we find frequent records of this strange method of collecting subscriptions--_e.g._, st. lawrence's, reading, a.d. 1499:--"item, received of hoc money gaderyd" (gathered) "of women xx_s_. item, received of hoc money gaderyd of men iiij_s_." we also find that the women had a supper given to them as a reward for their exertions, for there is the "item for wives' supper at hock-tide xxiij_d_." the observance of hock-tide seems to have been particularly popular in the ancient town of reading. at coventry there was an "old coventry play of hock tuesday," which was performed with great delight before queen elizabeth at kenilworth: the players divided themselves into two companies to represent the saxons and the danes: a great battle ensued, and by the help of the saxon women the former were victorious, and led the danes captive. the queen laughed much at the pageant, and gave the performers two bucks and five marks in money. so ends the month of sunshine and of shower; but the rustic youths are making ready for the morris-dance, and the merry milk-maids are preparing their ribbons to adorn themselves for the revels of may day. the may-pole is being erected on the village green, and all is in readiness for the rejoicings of to-morrow. chapter v. may. "colin met sylvia on the green once on the charming first of may, and shepherds ne'er tell false, i ween, yet 'twas by chance, the shepherds say. "colin he bow'd and blush'd, then said, 'will you, sweet maid, this first of may, begin the dance by colin led, to make this quite his holiday?' "sylvia replied, 'i ne'er from home yet ventur'd, till this first of may; it is not fit for maids to roam, and make a shepherd's holiday.' "'it is most fit,' replied the youth, 'that sylvia should this first of may by me be taught that love and truth can make of life a holiday.'"--lady craven. may day festivities--may-pole--morris-dancers--the book of sports--bowling--beating the bounds--george herbert's description of a country parson. the spring has dawned with all its brightness and beauty; the nightingale's song is heard, and all nature seems to rejoice in the sweet spring-time. our forefathers delighted, too, in the advent of the bright month of may, which the old poets used to compare to a maiden clothed in sunshine dancing to the music of birds and brooks; and may day was the great rural festival of the year. long before the break of day, men and women, old and young, of all classes, used to assemble and hurry away to the woods and groves to gather the blooming hawthorn and spring flowers, and laden with their spoils returned when the sun rose, with merry shouts and horn-blowings, and adorned every door and window in the village. the poet herrick sings of this pleasant beginning to the day's festivities. addressing a maiden named corinna, he says- "come, my corinna, come, and coming mark how each field turns a street, and each street a park, made green and trimmed with trees; see how devotion gives each house a bough or branch; each porch, each door, ere this an ark, a tabernacle is made up of white-thorn neatly interwove." the men blew cow-horns to usher in the spring, and the maids carried garlands to hang them in the churches; while at oxford the choristers of magdalen college assemble at the top of the tower at early dawn, and sing hymns of thankfulness because spring has come again. this pleasing custom is still observed every year on the first of may. but let us away to the village green, where the may-pole is being adorned with a few finishing touches, and is covered with flowers and ribbons. it has been carried here by twenty or thirty yoke of oxen, their horns decorated with sweet flowers, and then, with shouts and laughter, and with song, the young men raise the massive pole with handkerchiefs and flags streaming on the top, and the rustic feast and dance begin. "the may-pole is up, now give me the cup, i'll drink to the garlands around it; but first unto those whose hands did compose the glory of flowers that crown'd it."[9] a company of morris-dancers approach, and a circle is made round the may-pole in which they can perform. first comes a man dressed in a green tunic, with a bow, arrows, and bugle-horn, who represents robin hood, and by his side, attended by some maidens, walks maid marian, the may queen.[10] will stukeley, little john, and other companions of the famous outlaw, are represented; and last, but not least, comes the hobby-horse--a man with a light wooden framework representing a horse about him, covered with trappings reaching to the ground, so as to prevent the man's feet from being seen. the hobby-horse careered about, pranced and curveted, to the great amusement of the company. the morris-dancers are adorned with bells, which jingle merrily as they dance. but a formidable-looking dragon approaches, which hisses and flaps his wings, and looks very fierce, making the hobby-horse kick and rear frantically. when the animals have wearied themselves, the maidens dance again, and the archers set up their targets on the lower end of the green, where a close contest ensues, and after many shots the victor is crowned with a laurel wreath. such were some of the sights and sounds of may day in olden times. but the puritans, who slew their king, charles i., were very much opposed to all joyousness and mirth, and one of their first acts when they came into power was to put down the may-pole. they ordered that all may-poles (which they called "a heathenish vanity, generally abused to superstition and wickedness") shall be taken down by the constables and churchwardens, and that the said officers be fined five shillings till the said may-poles be taken down. so the merry may songs were hushed for many a long year, until charles ii. was restored to his throne, and then the stately pole was reared once more, and robin hood and his merry crew began their sports again. but times change, and we change with them: customs pass away, and with them have long vanished the may-pole and its bright group of light-hearted rustics. an american writer who visited this country thus describes his feeling when he saw an old may-pole still standing at chester--"i shall never forget my delight. my fancy adorned it with wreaths of flowers, and peopled the green bank with all the dancing revelry of may day. i value every custom that tends to infuse poetical feeling into the common people, and to sweeten and soften the rudeness of rustic manners without destroying their simplicity. indeed, it is to the decline of this happy simplicity that the decline of this custom may be traced, and the rural dance on the green, and the homely may-day pageant, have gradually disappeared in proportion as the peasantry have become expensive and artificial in their pleasures, and too knowing for simple enjoyment. some attempts, indeed, have been made by men of both taste and learning to rally back the popular feeling to their standards of primitive simplicity; but the time has gone by, the feeling has become chilled by habits of gain and traffic, the country apes the manners and amusements of the town, and little is heard of may day at present, except from the lamentations of authors, who sigh after it from among the brick walls of the city." the name of the parish of st. andrew _undershaft_ records the place where the city may-pole, or _shaft,_ was erected, and _shaft alley_ the place where it lay when it was not required for use. the proclamation of james i., called the "book of sports," which was renewed by king charles i., throws some light upon the sports in vogue during his reign. it was enacted "for his good people's lawful recreation, after the end of divine service, that his good people be not disturbed, or discouraged, from any lawful recreation, such as dancing for men and women, archery for men, leaping, vaulting, or any such harmless recreations; nor from having may games, whitsun ales, and morris dances, and the setting up of may-poles, and other sports therewith used, so as the same be had in due and convenient time, without impediment or neglect of divine service. and that women shall have leave to carry rushes to the church for the decorating of it, according to their old custom. but withal his majesty doth hereby account still as prohibited all unlawful games to be used on sundays only, as bear and bull-baiting, interludes, and at all times in the meaner sort of people by law prohibited, bowling." why his majesty should have been so very severe on the game of bowls, which is a very ancient pastime, and innocent enough, is not at first quite clear; but it appears that the numerous bowling-alleys in london were, in the sixteenth century, the resorts of very bad company, and the nests of gambling and vice. hence the severity of king james' strictures on bowling. the people of lancashire in the time of james i. were as devoted to sports and amusement as they are now; and when the king was making a progress through lancashire, "he received a petition from some servants, labourers, mechanics, and other vulgar persons, complaining that they were debarred from dancing, playing, church-ales--in a word, from all recreations on sundays after divine service." king james hated puritanism and loved recreation; so he readily granted the petition of the lancashire folk, and issued a proclamation encouraging sunday pastimes, which is known as the famous "book of sports." in ireland on may day bale-fires are lighted, and to this day young men jump through the flames, and children are passed across the embers, in order to secure them good luck during the coming year. on this day, too, the irish kings are supposed to rise from their graves and gather together a ghostly army of rude warriors to fight for their country. the wild cries of the shadowy host, the clashing of shields, and the sound of drums are said to have been heard during the period of the last rebellion in ireland. on one of the rogation days, or on ascension day, it was the custom to go in procession round the boundaries of the parish to ask god's blessing on the fruits of the earth, and as there were few maps and divisions of land, to call to mind and pass on to the next generation the boundaries of the township or village. the choir sang hymns, and under certain trees, which were called gospel trees, the clergyman read the gospel for the day, with a litany and prayers. sometimes boys were whipped, or bumped against trees, or thrown into a river, in order to impress upon them where the boundaries were. but they received a substantial recompense afterwards, and the whole company, when the procession was over, sat down to the perambulation dinner, and talked about their recollections of former days. the advantages of this practice are set forth in george herbert's description of a country parson. he says, "the country parson is a lover of old customs, if they be good and harmless. particularly he loves procession, and maintains it, because there are contained in it four manifest advantages, 1. a blessing of god for the fruits of the earth. 2. justice in the preservation of bounds. 3. charity, in loving, walking, and neighbourly accompanying one another, with reconciling of differences at that time, if there be any. 4. mercy, in relieving the poor by a liberal distribution and largess, which at that time is, or ought to be, used. wherefore he exacts of all to be present at the perambulation, and those that withdraw and sever themselves from it he mislikes, and rebukes as uncharitable and unneighbourly; and if they will not reform, presents them" (_i.e._ to the bishop for censure). this custom is still preserved, or has been revived, in many parishes, and at oxford the boys may be seen on ascension day bearing white willow-wands, and beating the bounds of some of the old city parishes. chapter vi. june. "the woods, or some near town that is a neighbour to the bordering down, hath drawn them thither, 'bout some lusty sport, or spiced wassel-bowl, to which resort all the young men and maids of many a cote, whilst the trim minstrell strikes his merry note." fletcher, _the faithful shepherdess_. whitsuntide sports--church-ales--church-house--quarter-staff --whistling and jingling matches--st. john's eve--wrestling. after may day our villagers had not long to wait until the whitsuntide holiday came round. this holiday was notorious for the "church-ales," which were held at this season. these feasts were a means of raising money for charitable purposes. if the church needed a new roof, or some poor people were in sad straits, the villagers would decide to have a "church-ale"; generally four times a year the feast was given, and always at whitsuntide. the churchwardens bought, and received presents of, a large quantity of malt, which they brewed into beer, and sold to the company, and any inhabitant of the parish who did not attend had to pay a fine. every one who was able contributed something to the entertainment. the feast was held in the church-house, a building which stood near the church. this was the scene of many social gatherings, and is thus described by an old writer- "in every parish was a church-house, to which belonged spits, crocks, and other utensils for dressing provisions. here the housekeepers met. the young people were there, too, and had dancing, bowling, shooting at butts, &c., the ancients (_i.e._ the old folk) sitting gravely by and looking on. all things were civil, and without scandal. the church-ale is, doubtless, derived from the agapai or love feasts, mentioned in the new testament." whether the learned writer was right in his conjecture we cannot be quite certain, but church-ales subsequently degenerated into something quite different from new testament injunctions, and were altogether prohibited on account of the excess to which they gave rise. let us hope that all these feasts were not so bad as they were represented, and indeed in early times great reverence was attached to them, which prevented excess. the neighbours, too, would come in from the adjoining parishes and share the feast. an arbour of boughs was erected in the churchyard, called robin hood's bower, where the maidens collected money for the "ales" in the same way which they employed at hock-tide, and which was called "hocking." the old books of st. lawrence's church, reading (to which i have before referred), contain a record of this custom--"1505 a.d. item. received of the maidens' gathering at whitsuntide by the tree at the church door, ij^s. vi^d." the morris-dancers and minstrels, the ballad-singers and players, were in great force on these occasions, and were entertained at the cost of the parish. in the churchwardens' account of st. mary's, reading, we find in the year 1557- "item--paid to morris-dancers and the minstrels, meat and drink at whitsuntide--iii^s. iiii^d." when the feasting had ended, archery, running races in sacks, grinning through a horse-collar (each competitor trying to make the most ludicrous grimaces), afforded amusement to the light-hearted spectators. the game of quarter-staff is an old pastime which was a great favourite among the rustics of berkshire. the quarter-staff is a tough piece of wood about eight feet long, which the player grasped in the middle with one hand, while with the other he kept a loose hold midway between the middle and one end. the object of the game was, to use the forcible language of the time, to "break the head" of the opponent. on the white horse hill, where alfred fought against the danes, and carved out on the hill-side the white horse as a memorial of his victory, many a rural sport has been played, and at the periodical "scourings of the horse" many a berkshire head broken to see who was the noted champion of the game. an old parishioner of mine, james of sandhurst, was once the hero of quarter-staff in the early part of the century. the whistling match was not so dangerous a contest; the prize was conferred upon the whistler who could whistle clearest, and go through his tune while a clown, or merry-andrew, made laughable grimaces before him. [illustration: quarter-staff.] another diversion common at these country gatherings was the jingling match. a large circle was inclosed with ropes, in which the players took their place. all were blindfolded with the exception of one, who was the jingler, and who carried a bell in each hand, which he was obliged to keep ringing. his object was to elude the pursuit of his blinded companions, and he won the prize if he was still free when the play ceased. it was an amusing sight to see the men trying to catch the active jingler, running into each other's arms, and catching every one but the right one. when the jingling match was over, a pig with a short, well-soaped tail was turned out for the people to run after, and he who could hold it by the tail without touching any other part obtained it for his pains. there was also a game called pigeon-holes, which appears to have been somewhat similar to our present game of bagatelle. and so with laughter and with song the feast ended, the evening shadows fell around, and the happy rustics retired to their humble thatched-roofed homes. the proceeds of these church-ales were often considerable. "there were no rates for the poor in my grandfather's time," says one writer, "the church-ale of whitsuntide did the business"; and whether the parishioners had to pay a tax for the support of the king's army, or to repair the church, or to maintain some orphan children, it was generally found "that something still remained to cover the bottom of the purse." of the "mysteries," or miracle plays, as they were called, which were performed in towns on corpus christi day and at other times, i propose to write in another chapter; and we will now proceed to the hillsides near our villages on the eve of st. john's day, when we should witness the lighting of large bonfires, and some curious customs connected with that ceremony. both the old and the young people used to sally forth from the village to some neighbouring height, and there, amidst much laughter and with many a shout, they lighted the large bonfire. then they danced round the blazing logs, and afterwards leaped through the flames, and at the close of the ceremony each person brought away with him a burning branch. this rite appears to have been a relic of paganism. probably the fire was originally lighted in honour of the sun, which our forefathers worshipped before they became christians. the leaping through the flames had also a superstitious meaning, and the simple people thought that in this way they could ward off evil spirits and prevent sickness. the roman shepherds used to leap through the midsummer blaze in honour of pales. the scandinavians lit their bonfires in honour of their gods odin and thor, and the leaping through the flames reminds us of the worshippers of baal and moloch, who, as we read in the bible, used to "pass their children through the fire" in awe of their cruel god. st. john's day, or midsummer day (june 24th), was chosen because on that day the sun reaches its highest point in the zodiac. there is, however, another interpretation of the meaning of the fires on st. john's day, as illustrating the verse which speaks of him "as a burning and a shining light" (st. john v. 35); but this interpretation was probably invented by some pious divine who endeavoured to attach a christian meaning to an ancient heathen custom. the connection of the ceremony with the old worship of the sun is indisputable. its practice was very general in nearly all european nations, and in not very remote times from norway to the shores of the mediterranean the glow of st. john's fires might have been seen. the emperor charlemagne in the ninth century forbade the custom as a heathen rite, but the church endeavoured to win over the custom from its pagan associations and to attach to it a christian signification. in the island of jersey the older inhabitants used to light fires under large iron pots full of water, in which they placed silver articles--as spoons, mugs, &c., and then knocked the silver against the iron with the idea of scaring away all evil spirits.[11] sometimes bones were burnt in the fire, for we are told in a quaint homily on the feast of st. john baptist, that bones scared away the evil spirits in the air, since "wise clerks know well that dragons hate nothing more than the stink of burning bones, and therefore the country folk gather as many as they might find, and burned them; and so with the stench thereof they drove away the dragons, and so they were brought out of great disease." in some most remote northern parts of england the farmer lights a wisp of straw, which he carries round his fields to protect them from the tare and darnel, the devil and witches. in some places they used to cover a wheel with straw, set it on fire, and roll it down a hill. a learned writer on antiquities tells us that the people imagined that all their ill-luck rolled away from them together with this burning wheel. all these customs are relics of the old fire and sun worship, to which our forefathers were addicted. wrestling, running races, and dancing were afterwards practised by the villagers. wrestling is a very ancient sport, and the men of cornwall and devon, of westmoreland and cumberland, were famous for their skill. a "cornish hug" is by no means a tender embrace. sometimes the people bore back to their homes boughs of trees, with which they adorned their doors and windows. at oxford the quadrangle of magdalen college was decorated with boughs on st. john's day, and a sermon preached from the stone pulpit in the corner of the quadrangle; this was meant to represent the preaching of st. john the baptist in the wilderness. at length the villagers, wearied with their exertions, retire to their cottage homes, marching in procession from the scene of their observances; and silence reigns o'er the village for a few short hours, till the sunlight summons them to their daily toil. chapter vii. july. "swift o'er the mead with lightning speed the bounding ball flies on; and hark! the cries of victory rise for the gallant team that's won." cricket--club-ball--trap-ball--golf--pall-mall--tennis- rush-bearing. at this time of the year all the cricket-clubs in town and village are very busy, and matches are being played everywhere. it may not therefore be inappropriate if i tell you in this chapter of the history of that game which has become so universally popular wherever our countrymen live. on the plains of india, in australia (as some of our english cricketers have learnt to their cost), in egypt, wherever englishmen go, there cricket finds a home and a hearty welcome. but it is not nearly so ancient a game as others which i have already mentioned, although it had some fairly old parents, simple and humble-minded folk, who would have been greatly astonished to see the extraordinary development of their precocious offspring. kent and sussex were the ancestral homes of cricket, which is thus described by an old writer--"a game most usual in kent, with a cricket-ball bowled and struck with two cricket-bats between two wickets. the name is derived from the saxon word _cryc_, baculus, a bat or staff; which also signifies fulcimentum, a support or prop, whence a cricket or little stool to sit upon. cricket play among the saxons was also called _stef-plege_ (staff-play)." i fear that our old writer must have made a great mistake if he imagined that the saxons ever played cricket, and i believe that the word was not known before the sixteenth century. in the records of guildford we find that a dispute arose about the enclosure of a piece of land in the time of elizabeth; and in the suit that arose one john derrick stated in his evidence that he knew the place well "for fifty years or more, and that when he was a scholar in the free school at guildford he and several of his companions did run and play there at cricket and other plays." also in cotgrave's french dictionary, published in 1611, the word _crosse_ is translated "a cricket-staff, or the crooked-staff wherewith boys play at cricket." in the eighteenth century allusions to the game become more frequent, although it was still a boy's game. it had its poet, who sang- "hail, cricket, glorious, manly, british game, first of all sports, be first alike in fame." it had its calumniators, who said that it "propagated a spirit of idleness" in bad times, when people ought to work and not play, and that it encouraged gambling. but the game began to prosper, and several noted men, poets and illustrious statesmen, recall the pleasurable memories of their prowess with the bat and ball. in a book of songs called _pills to purge melancholy_, published in 1719, we find the verse- "he was the prettiest fellow at football or at cricket: at hunting chase or nimble race how featly he could prick it." in the early part of the eighteenth century the game was in a very rudimentary condition, very different from the scientific pastime it has since become. there were only two wickets, a foot high and two feet apart, with one long bail at the top. between the wickets there was a hole large enough to contain the ball, and when the batsman made a run, he had to place the end of his bat in this hole before the wicket-keeper could place the ball there, otherwise he would be "run out." the bat, too, was a curved, crooked arrangement very different from our present weapon. the hambledon club, in hampshire, which has produced some famous players, seems to have been mainly instrumental in reforming and improving the game. its members introduced a limit to the width of the bat, viz., four and a quarter inches--the standard still in force--in order to prevent players, such as a hero from reigate, bringing bats as wide as the wicket. in 1775 they wisely introduced a middle stump, as they found the best balls harmlessly flying between the wide wickets. it was feared lest this alteration would shorten the game too much, but it does not seem to have had that effect, as in an all england match against the hambledon club, two years later, one aylward scored 167 runs, and stayed in two whole days. england owes much to the old club at hambledon for the improvements which it wrought in the game, which has become our great national pastime. miss mitford, in her charming book, _our village_, describes the rivalry which existed between the village elevens at the beginning of the nineteenth century, and gives a sketch of a match between two berkshire village teams, which brought about some very happy results of a romantic nature. she tells us, too, of the comments of the rustics on the "new-fashioned" style of bowling which one of the team had introduced from london, which did not at all commend itself to them, but effectually took their wickets. when that celebrated company of cricketers, dressed in frock-coats and tall hats, whose portraits adorn many a pavilion, competed for the honour of all england, they were quite ignorant of "round-arm" bowling, which is, of course, an invention of modern times. only "lobs," or "under-hands," were the order of the day. it has been stated that we are indebted to the ladies for the important discovery of the modern style of delivering the ball. the story may be legendary, but i have read somewhere that the elder lillywhite used to practise cricket all through the winter, and that his daughters used to bowl to him. during the bitter cold of a winter's day they wore their shawls, and found it more convenient to bowl with extended arms than in the old method. their balls so delivered used to puzzle their father, and often take his wicket; so he began to imitate them, and introduced his new method into matches, and thus the age of round-arm bowling was inaugurated. i cannot vouch for the truth of the story, and only tell it as it was told to me.[12] at any rate lillywhite was the father of modern bowling, which would have startled and considerably puzzled the veteran cricketers in the early part of the present century. the proper parent of cricket seems to have been club-ball, which is a very old game, and of which there is a picture in the bodleian library at oxford, dated 1344 a.d. it represents a female throwing a ball to a man who is in the act of raising his bat to strike it. behind the woman, at a little distance, appear several other figures of men and women waiting attentively to catch or stop the ball when hit by the batsman. there is a still more ancient picture of two club-ball players, representing the batsman holding the ball also and preparing to hit it, while the other player holds his hands in readiness to catch the ball. he has the appearance of a very careful fielder. here we have the rudimentary idea of cricket; but how they scored their game, what rules they had, we cannot determine. stool-ball claims also to be an ancestor of cricket, and consists in one player defending a stool with his hand from being hit by a ball bowled by another player. here is a simple form of the modern game, the stool being used as a wicket, and the hand for a bat. trap-ball is a much older game than cricket, and can be traced to the beginning of the fourteenth century. the modern game differs little from that which the old pictures describe, except in the shape of the trap which holds the ball. but the most ancient of all games of this nature is golf, or goff (as it used to be spelt), which was played with a crooked club or staff, sometimes called a bandy. scotsmen are very fond of this game, which has lately migrated into england and found many admirers. it was probably introduced into scotland from holland, and was a popular pastime as early as 1457. in spite of proclamations encouraging archery, and forbidding golf, it continued to flourish; it has a long list of royal patrons; and the stuart monarchs seem to have been as enthusiastic over the game as all true golfers ought to be. poets have sung the praises of golf, and the glory of the heroes who drove their balls along st. andrew's links, or those of east neuk. the object of the game is to drive the ball into certain holes in the fewest number of strokes. james ii. was an expert golfer, and had only one rival, an edinburgh shoemaker, named paterson. [illustration: pall-mall.] if you have visited london you will probably have walked along the street called pall mall, which name is derived from an old game fashionable in the reign of charles ii. the merry monarch and his courtiers frequently amused themselves with this game, which somewhat resembled golf, and consisted in driving a ball by means of a mallet through an iron hoop suspended from the ground in the fewest blows. the game was played in st. james's park, where the street which bears its name now runs. tennis also has a history. it commenced its career as hand-ball, the ball being driven backwards and forwards with the palm of the hand. then the players used gloves, and afterwards bound cords round their hands to make the ball rebound more forcibly. here we have the primitive idea of a racket. france seems to have been the original home of tennis, which in the thirteenth century was played in unenclosed spaces; but in the fourteenth it migrated to the towns, and walls enclosed the motions of the ball. in paris alone there were said to be eighteen hundred tennis-courts. in the sixteenth century there were several covered tennis-courts in england, and some of our english monarchs were very devoted to the game. henry vii. used to play tennis, and there is a record of his having lost twelvepence at tennis, and threepence for the loss of balls. henry viii. was also very fond of the game, and lost much money at wagers with certain frenchmen; but, like a sensible man, "when he perceived their craft he eschewed their company, and let them go." he built the famous court at hampton, which still remains. charles ii. also played tennis. the old game is very different from the modern lawn-tennis which is now so popular: it was always the game of the select few, and not of the many, like its precocious offspring; and there are only thirty-one tennis-courts in england at the present day. the court attached to the palace of the french king louis xvi. at versailles was the scene of some very exciting meetings in the early days of the french revolution in 1789. [illustration: pall-mall.] [illustration: tennis.] there were some other forms of ball-play, such as balloon-ball, stow-ball, &c.; but of these it is hardly needful for me to speak, as they are only varieties of those games which i have already described. the history of football has been narrated in a preceding chapter. you will be able to trace from the descriptions of these old sports the ancestors of our noble game of cricket, and wonder at the extraordinary development of so scientific a game from such rude and simple beginnings. the floors of the houses and churches of old england consisted simply of the hard, dry earth, which the people covered with rushes; and once a year there was a great ceremony called "rush-bearing," when the inhabitants of each village or town went in procession to the church to strew the floor with newly-cut rushes. the company went to a neighbouring marsh and cut the rushes, binding them in long bundles, and decorating them with ribands and flowers. then a procession was formed, every one bearing a bundle of rushes; and with music, drums, and ringing of bells they marched to the church, and strewed the floor with their honoured burdens. long after the rushes ceased to be used in churches the ceremony was continued, and i have witnessed a rush-bearing procession such as i have described. there was a rush-cart with a large pile of decorated rush-sheaves, and some characters from the may-day games were introduced. a queen sat under a canopy of rushes, a few morris-dancers performed their antics, and a jester amused the spectators with his quaint sayings. a village feast, followed by dancing round a may-pole, generally formed the conclusion of the day's festivities. in 1884 this pleasant custom was revived at grasmere in the lake district, when the children of the village carried out a "rush-bearing" after the manner of their forefathers, and the village green again resounded with songs of joy. i fear that our ancestors were not always very cleanly people; they seldom washed their floors, and therefore they were obliged to adopt some device to hide their uncleanliness. the old rushes were not taken away before the new ones were brought in; hence the lowest layer became filthy, and one writer attributes the frequent pestilences which often broke out to the dirtiness of their floors and the masses of filthy rushes lying upon them. perhaps some of the wise folks in lancashire discovered this, for we find the following entry in the account books of kirkham church, 1631--"paid for carrying the rushes out of the church in the sickness time, 5._s_. 0_d_." straw was used in winter: it would seem very strange to us to have our floors covered with straw, like a stable! in this matter of cleanliness we have certainly improved upon the habits of our forefathers: dirty cottages are the exception, and not the rule, as they were in the days of "good queen bess"; and the absence of those terrible plagues which used to devastate our land in former times is due in a great measure to the improved cleanliness and more careful regard for sanitation by the people of england. chapter viii. august. "crowned with the ears of corn, now come, and to the pipe sing harvest home. come forth, my lord, and see the cart dressed up with all the country art: the horses, mares, and frisking fillies clad all in linen white as lilies. the harvest swains and wenches bound for joy, to see the hock-cart crowned." herrick's _hesperides_. lammas day--st. roch's day--harvest-home--"ten-pounding"- sheep-shearing--"wakes"--fairs. the harvest fields have begun to ripen, and the corn will soon be ready for the sickle; of this fact our forefathers were reminded by the lammas festival, which was celebrated on the first of this month. _lammas_ is a shortened form of the word loaf-mass, or feast of the loaf. a loaf of bread was made of the first-ripe corn, and used in holy communion on this day; so this feast was a preliminary harvest thanksgiving festival--a feast of "first-fruits," such as the jews were commanded in the old mosaic law to observe. when the harvest was gathered in there were great festivities, and it has been thought that august 16th, st. roch's day, was generally observed as the harvest-home. st. roch, or roque, was a frenchman, who lived in the early part of the fourteenth century, and was supposed to have performed miraculous cures, but august 16th seems to have been rather early in the year for a harvest-home. however, when the feast of ingathering did take place, there were great rejoicings in our english villages, and the mode of its celebration helped to knit together the masters and labourers, and to promote good feeling between them. when the fields were almost cleared of the golden grain, the last few sheaves were decorated with flowers and ribbons, and brought home in a waggon, called the "hock-cart," while the labourers, their wives and children, carrying green boughs, sheaves of wheat and rude flags, formed a glad procession. all the pipes and tabors in the village sounded, and shouts of laughter and of song were raised as the glad procession marched along. they sang- "harvest-home, harvest-home, we have ploughed, we have sowed, we have reaped, we have mowed, we have brought home every load. hip, hip, hip, harvest-home!" or, as they say in berkshire- "whoop, whoop, whoop, harvest whoam!" sometimes the most comely maiden in the village was chosen as harvest queen, and placed upon her throne at the top of the sheaves in the hock-cart as it was drawn homewards to the farm. [illustration: harvest-home.] the rustics receive a hearty welcome at their master's house, where they find the fuelled chimney blazing wide, and the strong table groaning beneath the smoking sirloin- "mutton, veal, and bacon, which makes full the meal, with several dishes standing by, as here a custard, there a pie, and here all-tempting frumenty." frumenty, which is made of wheat boiled in milk was a standing dish at every harvest supper. and then around the festive board old tales are told, well-known jests abound, and thanks given to the good farmer and his wife for their hospitality in some such homely rhymes as these- "here's a health to our master, the lord of the feast; god bless his endeavours, and send him increase. "may everything prosper that he takes in hand, for we be his servants, and do his command." the youths and maidens dance their country dances, as an old writer, who lived in the reign of charles ii., tells us:--"the lad and the lass will have no lead on their heels. o, 'tis the merry time wherein honest neighbours make good cheer, and god is glorified in his blessings on the earth." when the feast is over, the company retire to some near hillock, and make the welkin ring with their shouts, "holla, holla, holla, largess!"--largess being the presents of money and good things which the farmer had bestowed. such was the harvest-home in the good old days--joy and delight to both old and young. the toils of the labourers did not seem so hard and wearisome when they knew that the farmers had such a grateful sense of their good services; and if any one felt aggrieved or discontented, the mutual intercourse at the harvest-home, when all were equal, when all sat at the same table and conversed freely together, soon banished all ill-feeling, and promoted a sense of mutual trust, which is essential to the happiness and well-being of any community. shorn of much of its merriment and quaint customs, the harvest-home still lingers on in some places; but modern habits and notions have deprived it of much of its old spirit and light-heartedness. we have our harvest thanksgiving services, which (thank god!) are observed in almost every village and hamlet. it is, of course, our first duty to thank god for the fruits of his bounty and love; but the harvest-home should not be forgotten. when labourers simply regard harvest-time as a season when they can earn a few shillings more than usual, and take no further interest in their work, or in the welfare of their master, all brightness vanishes from their industry: their minds become sordid and mercenary; and mutual trust, good-feeling, and fellowship cease to exist. neither did the harvest-men allow drunkenness, laziness, swearing, quarrelling, nor lying, to go unpunished. the labourers in suffolk, if they found one of their number guilty, would hold a court-martial among themselves, lay the culprit down on his face, and an executioner would administer several hard blows with a shoe studded with hob-nails. this was called "ten-pounding," and must have been very effectual in checking any of the above delinquencies. besides the harvest-home there was also observed another feast of a similar character in the spring, when the sheep were shorn. a plentiful dinner was given by the farmer to the shearers and their friends, and a table was often set in the open village for the young people and children. tusser, who wrote a book upon _five hundred points of husbandry_, did not forget the treats which ought to be given to the labourers, and alludes to the sheep-shearing festival in the following lines- "wife, make us a dinner; spare flesh, neither corn, make wafers and cakes, for our sheep must be shorn; at sheep-shearing, neighbours none other things crave, but good cheer and welcome like neighbours to have." we have in many villages and towns a feast called "the wakes," which is one of the oldest of our english festivals. the day of "the wakes" is the festival of the saint to whom the parish church is dedicated, and it is so called because, on the previous night, or vigil, the people used to watch, or "wake," in the church till the morning dawned. it was the custom for the inhabitants of the parish to keep open house on that day, and to entertain all their relations and friends who came to them from a distance. in early times the people used to make booths and tents with the boughs of trees near to the church, and were directed to celebrate the feast in them with thanksgiving and prayer. by degrees they began to forget their prayers, and remembered only the feasting, and other abuses crept in, so at last the "waking" on the eve of the festival was suppressed. but these primitive feasts were the origin of most of our fairs, which are generally held on the dedication festival of the parish church.[13] the neighbours from the adjoining villages used to attend the wakes, so the peddlers and hawkers came to find a market for their wares. their stalls began to multiply, until at last an immense fair sprang into existence, which owed its origin entirely to the religious festival of "the wakes." fairs have degenerated like many other good things, and we can hardly realize their vastness in the middle ages. the circuit of a fair sometimes was very great, and it would have been impossible in those days to carry on the trade of the country without them. the great stourbridge fair, near cambridge, i have described in my former book on _english villages_. the booths were planted in a cornfield, and the circuit of the fair, which was one of the largest in europe, was over three miles. all kinds of sports were held on these occasions: plays, comedies, tragedies, bull-baiting, &c., and king james was very wroth with the undergraduates of cambridge who would insist upon frequenting stourbridge fair rather than attend to their studies. the "wakes," or village feast, was a great day for all sports and pastimes. a writer in the _spectator_ describes the "country wake" which he witnessed at bath. the green was covered with a crowd of all ages and both sexes, decked out in holiday attire, and divided into several parties, "all of them endeavouring to show themselves in those exercises wherein they excelled." in one place there was a ring of cudgel-players, in another a football match, in another a ring of wrestlers. the prize for the men was a hat, and for the women, who had their own contests, a smock. running and leaping also found a place in the programme. in berkshire back-sword play and wrestling were the favourite amusements for vigorous youths, and men strove hard to win the honour of being champion and the prizes which were offered on the occasion. there were "cheap jacks," and endless booths containing all kinds of fairings, ribands, gingerbread cakes, and shows, with huge pictures hung outside of giants and wild indians, pink-eyed ladies, live lions, and deformities of all kinds. there were minor sports, such as climbing the pole, jumping in sacks, rolling wheelbarrows blindfolded, donkey races, muzzling in a flour-tub, &c.; but the back-sword play was the chief and most serious part of the programme. a good sound ash-stick with a large basket handle was the weapon used, very similar to, but heavier and shorter than an ordinary single-stick. the object is to "break the head" of the opponent-_i.e._ to cause blood to flow anywhere above the eyebrow. a slight blow will often accomplish this, so the game is not so savage as it appears to be. the play took place on a stage of rough planks about four feet high. each player was armed with a stick, looping the fingers of his left hand in a handkerchief or strap, which he fastened round his left leg, measuring the length, so that when he drew it tight with his left elbow up he had a perfect guard for the left side of his head.[14] guarding his head with the stick in his right hand, he advanced, and then the fight began; fast and furious came the blows, until at last a red streak on the temple of one of the combatants declared his defeat. the _reading mercury_ of may 24, 1819, advertised the rural sports at peppard, when the not very magnificent prize of eighteenpence was offered to every man who broke a head at cudgel-play, and a shilling to every one who had his head broken. such was the sport which our old berkshire rustics delighted in. back-sword play, wrestling, and other pastimes made them a hardy race, full of courage, and developed qualities which it is hoped their descendants have not altogether lost. the gallant berkshire regiment, which fought so bravely at maiwand, is composed of the sons of those who used to wield the back-sword on the berkshire downs, and showed themselves not unworthy of their ancestry, although the quarter-staff and ashen-swords are forgotten. the old village feasts are forgotten too--more's the pity. then old quarrels were healed, old bitternesses removed: aged friends met, and became young again in heart, as they revived old memories and sweet recollections of youthful days. rich and poor, the squire and the farmer, the farmer and his labourers, all mingled together, class with class; and good-fellowship, harmony, and mutual confidence were promoted by these annual gatherings. it is true that these village feasts degenerated, because the well-to-do folk abstained from them; but would it not be possible to revive them, to preserve the good which they certainly did, and to eliminate the evil which is so often mingled with the good? such a consideration is worthy of the attention of all who have the welfare of the people at heart. chapter ix. september. "nor is there hawk which mantleth her on pearch, whether high tow'ring or accoasting low, but i the measure of her flight do search, and all her prey, and all her diet know."--spenser. hawking--michaelmas--bull and bear-baiting. of all old english sports hawking is one of the most ancient and the most fashionable. it has almost died out now, but there are one or two hawking enthusiasts who have endeavoured to revive this old english pastime, and on the berkshire downs a hawking party was seen a few years ago. hawking consists in the training and flying of hawks for the purpose of catching other birds. kings and noblemen, barons and ladies of feudal times, used to delight in following the sport on horseback, and to watch their favourite birds towering high to gain the upward flights in order to swoop down upon some heron, crane, or wild duck, and bear it to the ground. persons of high rank always carried their hawks with them wherever they went, and in old paintings the hawk upon the wrist of a portrait was the sign of noble birth. the sport was practised by our saxon forefathers before the normans came, and the first trained hawk in england is said to have been sent by st. boniface, the "apostle of the germans," as a present to ethelbert, king of kent, in the eighth century. the history of the sport of the kings who loved to take part in it, and of their adventures, would require a volume, and my space only allows me to give you a brief account of the manner in which the sport was conducted. i may mention that before the reign of king john only kings and noblemen were allowed to take part in hawking; but in the forest charter, which that monarch was compelled to sign, every freeman was permitted to have his own hawks and falcons. the falconer, who took care of the hawks, was a very important person. the chief falconer of the king of france received four thousand florins a year, besides a tax upon every hawk sold in the kingdom. the welsh princes assigned the fourth place of honour in their courts to this officer; but this proud distinction had its responsibilities, and this high official was only allowed to take three draughts from his horn, lest his brain should not be as clear as it ought to be, and the precious birds might be neglected. sometimes the hawking party went on foot, carrying long poles to enable them to jump the ditches and to follow the course. henry viii. nearly lost his life on one occasion through falling (his pole having broken) into a bog, from which he was rescued by one john moody, who happened to see the accident. but mounted on gallant steeds the lords and ladies were accustomed to follow their favourite pastime, and amid the blowing of horns and laughter and shoutings they rode along, galloping up-hill and down-hill, with their eyes fixed upon the birds, which were battling or chasing each other high overhead. the hawk did not always win the fight: sometimes a crafty heron would turn his long bill upwards just as the hawk was descending upon him, and pierce his antagonist through the body. great skill and perseverance were required in training these birds. when they were not flying after their prey, they were hoodwinked, _i.e._ their heads were covered with caps, which were often finely embroidered. on their legs they had strings of leather, called _jesses_, with rings attached. when a hawk was being trained, a long thread was fastened to these rings to draw the bird back again, but when it was well educated, it would obey the voice of the falconer and return when it had performed its flight. it was necessary for the bird to know its master very intimately, so a devoted follower of the sport would always carry his hawk about with him, and the two were as inseparable as a highland shepherd and his dog. the sportsman would feed his bird and train it daily, and in an old book of directions he is advised "at night to go to the mews, and take it from its perch, and set it on his fist, and bear it all the night," in order to be ready for the morrow's sport. [illustration: a falconer.] the mews were the buildings where the hawks were kept when moulting, the word "mew" being a term used by falconers to signify to moult, or cast feathers; and the king's mews, near charing cross, was the place where the royal hawks were kept. this place was afterwards enlarged, and converted into stables for horses; but the old name remained, and now most stables in london are called mews, although the word is derived from falconry, and the hawks have long since flown away. the sport declined at the end of the seventeenth century, when shooting with guns became general, but our language has preserved some traces of this ancient pastime. when a person is blinded by deceit, he is said to be "hoodwinked," and this word is derived from the custom of placing a hood over the hawk's eyes before it was released from restraint. on the feast of st. michael, or michaelmas, the tenants were in the habit of bringing presents of a fat goose to their landlord, in order to make him kind and lenient in the matters of rent, repairs, and the renewal of leases, and the noble landlords used to entertain their tenants right royally in the great halls of their ancestral mansions, roast goose forming a standing dish of the repast. this is probably the origin of the custom which prevails at the present time of eating geese at michaelmas. when the harvest was over, and the farmers were not so busy, they often amused themselves by the cruel sport of baiting a bull. an old gentleman who lived at wokingham was so fond of this savage pastime that he left in his will a sum of money for the purpose of providing every year two bulls to be baited for the amusement of the people of his native town. the bulls are still bought, but they are put to death in a more merciful manner, and the meat given to the poor. amongst the hills in yorkshire there is a small village, through which a brook runs, crossed by two bridges, and having a stone wall on each side. thus, when the bridges were stopped up, there was formed a wall-encircled space, into which, once a year, at least, a poor bull was placed, to be worried to death by dogs, and within the memory of men now living this cruel sport has been carried on. nor was this only a sport for ignorant rustics; kings and noble courtiers, and even ladies, used to frequent the bear-gardens of the metropolis, and witness with delight the slaughter of bulls, and bears, and dogs. erasmus tells us that in the reign of henry viii. "many herds of bears were maintained in this country for the purpose of baiting." queen elizabeth commanded bears, bulls, and the ape to be baited in her presence, and james i. was not averse to the sight. the following is a description of this barbarous entertainment--"there is a place built in the form of a theatre, which serves for baiting of bulls and bears. they are fastened behind, and then worried by great english bull-dogs; but not without risk to the dogs from the horns of the one and the teeth of the other." even horses were sometimes baited, and sometimes asses. evelyn, in his _diary_, thus describes the strange sight--"june 16th, 1670. i went with some friends to the bear-garden, where was cock-fighting, dog-fighting, bear and bull-baiting, it being a famous day for all these butcherly sports, or rather barbarous cruelties. the bulls did exceedingly well, but the irish wolf-dog exceeded, which was a tall greyhound, a stately creature indeed, who beat a cruel mastiff. one of the bulls tossed a dog full into a lady's lap, as she sat in one of the boxes at a considerable height from the arena. two poor dogs were killed, and so all ended with the ape on horseback, and i most heartily weary of the rude and dirty pastime, which i had not seen, i think, in twenty years before." foreigners, who have visited england in by-gone times, often allude scornfully to our forefathers' barbarous diversions; but on the whole they seem rather to have enjoyed the sport. a spanish nobleman was taken to see a poor pony baited with an ape fastened on its back; and he wrote--"to see the animal kicking amongst the dogs, with the screams of the ape, beholding the curs hanging from the ears and neck of the pony, is very laughable!" but enough has been said of these terrible and monstrous cruelties. happily for us they no longer exist, and together with cock-fighting, throwing at cocks and hens, and other barbarous amusements, cannot now be reckoned among our sports and pastimes. it was a happy thing for us when the conscience of the nation was aroused, and the law stepped in to put an end to such disgraceful scenes which were witnessed in the paris garden at southwark, or in the rude bull-run of a yorkshire village. the society for the prevention of cruelty to animals was not known in the days of bear-baiting and cock-throwing. chapter x. october. "rivet well each coat of mail; blows shall fall like showers of hail; merrily the harness rings, of tilting lists and tournay sings, honour to the valiant brings. clink, clink, clink!"--_armourers' chorus_. tournaments--_mysteries_--_moralities_--_pageants_. in the days of chivalry, when gallant knights used to ride about in search of adventures; and when there were many wars, battles, and crusades, martial exercises were the chief amusements of the people of england. we have already mentioned some of these sports in which the humbler folk used to show their strength and dexterity, and now i propose to tell you of those wonderful trials of military skill called tournaments, which were the favourite pastimes of the noblemen and gentry of england in the middle ages, and afforded much amusement to their poorer neighbours who flocked to see these gallant feats of arms. tournaments were fights in miniature, in which the combatants fought simply to exhibit their strength and prowess. there was a great deal of pomp and ceremony attached to them. the lists, as the barriers were called which inclosed the scene of combat, were superbly decorated, and surrounded by pavilions belonging to the champions, ornamented with their arms and banners. the seats reserved for the noble ladies and gentlemen who came to see the fight were hung with tapestry embroidered with gold and silver. everyone was dressed in the most sumptuous manner: the minstrels and heralds were clothed in the costliest garments; the knights who were engaged in the sports and their horses were most gorgeously arrayed. the whole scene was one of great splendour and magnificence, and, when the fight began, the shouts of the heralds who directed the tournament, the clashing of arms, the clang of trumpets, the charging of the combatants, and the shouts of the spectators, must have produced a wonderfully impressive and exciting effect upon all who witnessed the strange spectacle. the regulations and laws of the tournament were very minute. when many preliminary arrangements had been made with regard to the examination of arms and helmets and the exhibition of banners, &c., at ten o'clock on the morning of the appointed day the champions and their adherents were required to be in their places. two cords divided the combatants, who were each armed with a pointless sword and a truncheon hanging from their saddles. when the word was given by the lord of the tournament, the cords were removed, and the champions charged and fought until the heralds sounded the signal to retire. it was considered the greatest disgrace to be unhorsed. a french earl once tried to unhorse our king edward i. when he was returning from palestine, wearied by the journey. the earl threw away his sword, cast his arms around the king's neck, and tried to pull him from his horse. but edward put spurs to his horse and drew the earl from the saddle, and then shaking him violently, threw him to the ground. the joust (or just) differed from tournament, because in the former only lances were used, and only two knights could fight at once. it was not considered quite so important as the grand feat of arms which i have just described, but was often practised when the more serious encounter had finished. lances or spears without heads of iron were commonly used, and the object of the sport was to ride hard against one's adversary and strike him with the spear upon the front of the helmet, so as to beat him backwards from his horse, or break the spear. you will gather from these descriptions that this kind of sport was somewhat dangerous, and that men sometimes lost their lives at these encounters. in order to lessen the risk and danger of the two horses running into each other when the knights charged, a boarded railing was erected in the midst of the lists, about four or five feet high. the combatants rode on separate sides of this barrier, and therefore could not encounter each other except with their lances. [illustration: a tournament.] in the days of chivalry ladies were held in high honour and respect. it was their privilege to assign the prizes to those who had distinguished themselves most in the tournament. they were the arbiters of the sport; and, indeed, the jousts were usually held in honour of the ladies, who received as their right the respect and devotion of all true knights. this respect for women had a softening and ennobling influence, which was of great value in times when such influences were rare. it was probably derived (according to a french writer) from our ancestors, the germans, "who attributed somewhat of divinity to the fair sex." it is the sign of a corrupt age and degraded manners when this respect ceases to be paid. only men of noble family, and who owned land, were allowed to take part in the jousts or tournament; but the yeomen and young farmers used to practise similar kinds of sport, such as tilting at a ring, quintain, and boat jousts, which have already been mentioned in a preceding chapter. richard i., the lion-hearted king, was a great promoter of these martial sports, and appointed five places for the holding of tournaments in england, namely, at some place between salisbury and wilton, between warwick and kenilworth, between stamford and wallingford, between brackley and mixbury, and between blie and tykehill. but in almost every part of england tournaments or jousts have been held, and scenes enacted such as i have described. sometimes two knights would fight in mortal combat. if one knight accused the other of crime or dishonour, the latter might challenge him to fight with swords or lances, and, according to the superstition of the times, the victor was considered to be the one who spoke the truth. but this ordeal combat was far removed from the domain of sport. when jousts and tournaments were abandoned, tilting on horseback at a ring became a favourite courtly amusement. a ring was suspended on a level with the eye of the rider; and the sport consisted in riding towards the ring, and sending the point of a lance through it, and so bearing it away. great skill was required to accomplish this surely and gracefully. ascham, a writer in the sixteenth century, tells us what accomplishments were required from the complete english gentleman of the period. "to ride comely, to run fair at the tilt or ring, to play at all weapons, to shoot fair in bow, or surely in gun; to vault lustily, to run, to leap, to wrestle, to swim, to dance comely, to sing, and play of instruments cunningly; to hawk, to hunt, to play at tennis, and all pastimes generally which be joined to labour, containing either some fit exercises for war, or some pleasant pastime for peace--these be not only comely and decent, but also very necessary for a courtly gentleman to use." the courtly gentleman must have been very industrious to acquire all these numerous accomplishments! there was another form of spectacle which gave great pleasure to our ancestors; and often in the market-places of old towns, or in open fields, at the bottom of natural amphitheatres near some of the ancient monasteries, were scriptural plays performed, which were called _miracles_, or _mysteries_, because they treated of scenes taken from the old or new testament, or from the lives of saints and martyrs. the performances were very simple and often grotesque, but the plays were regarded by the monks, who assisted in these representations, as a means of teaching the people sacred truths. the miracle play of norman and mediæval times was a long, disconnected performance, which often lasted many days. in the reign of henry iv. there was a play which lasted eight days, and, beginning with the creation of the world, contained the greater part of the history of the old and the new testament. the words of the play seem to us strange, and sometimes profane; but they were not thought to be so by those who listened to them. the _mystery_ play only lasted one day, and consisted of one subject, such as _the conversion of st. paul_. _noah and the flood_ was a very popular piece. his wife is represented as being much opposed to the perilous voyage in the ark, and abuses noah very severely for compelling her to go. sometimes the authors thought it necessary to introduce a comic character to enliven the dullness of the performance. but, in spite of humorous demons, these mysteries ceased to attract, and plays called _moralities_ were introduced, in which the actors assumed the parts of personified virtues, &c., and you might have heard "faith" preaching to "prudence," or "death" lecturing "beauty" and "pride." the first miracle play performed in england was that of _st. catherine_, which was acted at dunstable, 1110 a.d.; and another early piece was the play called _the image of st. nicholas_. these were of a religious nature and were performed in church during divine service. the following is an outline of the plot of the latter: instead of the image of st. nicholas, which adorned his shrine, a man stood in the garb of the saint whom he represented. the service is divided into two portions, and the play is produced during the interval. a stranger appears at the west door, who is evidently a rich heathen, and lays down his treasures before the image of the saint and beseeches him to take care of them. a band of thieves enter and steal the treasures, and when the heathen returns, he is so enraged that he proceeds to chastise the image of the saint; when lo! the figure descends, marches out of the church, and convinces the thieves of their wickedness. struck with fear on account of the miracle, they restore the treasures, the pagan sings a song of joy, and st. nicholas tells him to worship god, and to praise christ. then, after an act of adoration to the almighty, the service is resumed.[15] there were also strolling companies of minstrels, jugglers, and jesters, who went about the country, and acted secular pieces composed of comic stories, jokes, and dialogues, interspersed with dancing and tumbling. the whole performance was very absurd and often indecent, and the clergy did their utmost to suppress these strolling companies. the stage upon which the _mysteries_ were played was built on wheels, in order that it might be drawn to different parts of the town. sometimes religious plays were acted in churches before the reformation; but in cornwall the people formed an earthen amphitheatre in some open field, and as the players did not learn their parts very well, a prompter used to follow them about with a book and tell them what to say. coventry, york, wakefield, reading, hull, and leicester were famous for their plays, and in the churchwardens' accounts we find many entries referring to the performances. 1469.--_e.g._ item paid to noah and his wife ... ... xxi^d. " " for a rope to hang the ship in the church ... ii^d. these performances would probably seem very foolish and childish to a modern audience, but they helped to enliven and diversify the lives of our more simple-minded forefathers. the people, too, loved pageants which were performed on great occasions, during a royal progress for instance, or to welcome the advent of some mighty personage. great preparations were made for these exhibitions of rustic talent; long verses were committed to memory; rehearsals were endless, and the stories of greek and roman mythology were ransacked to provide scenes and subjects for the rural pageant. all this must have afforded immense amusement and interest to the country-folk in the neighbourhood of some lord's castle, when the king or queen was expected to sojourn there. shepherds and shepherdesses, gods and goddesses, clowns and mummers, all took part in the play, and it may interest my readers to give an account of one of these pageants, which was performed before queen elizabeth when she visited the ancient and historic castle of sudeley.[16] the play is founded on the old classical story of apollo and daphne. the sun-god, apollo, was charmed by the beauty of the fair daphne, the daughter of a river-god, and pursued her with base intent. just as she was about to be overtaken she prayed for aid, and was immediately changed into a laurel-tree, which became the favourite tree of the disappointed lover. the pageant founded on this old classical legend commenced with a man, who acted the part of apollo, chasing a woman, who represented daphne, followed by a young shepherd bewailing his hard fate. he, too, loved the fair and beautiful daphne, but apollo wooed her with fair words, and threatened him with diverse penalties, saying he would change him into a wolf, or a cockatrice, or blind his eyes. the shepherd in a long speech tells how daphne was changed into a tree, and then apollo is seen at the foot of a laurel-tree weeping, accompanied by two minstrels. the repentant god repeats the verse- "sing you, play you; but sing and play my truth; this tree my lute, these sighs my note of ruth: the laurel leaf for ever shall be green, and chastity shall be apollo's queen. if gods may die, here shall my tomb be placed, and this engraven, 'fond phoebus, daphne chaste.'" a song follows, and then, wonderful to relate, the tree opens, and daphne comes forth. apollo resigns her to the humble shepherd, and then she runs to her majesty the queen, and with a great deal of flattery wishes her a long and prosperous reign. such was the simple play which delighted the minds of our forefathers, and helped to raise them from sordid cares and the dull monotony of continual toil. in our popular amusements the village folk do not take part, except as spectators, and therefore lose half the pleasure; whereas in the time of the virgin queen the rehearsals, the learning the speeches by heart, the dresses, the excitement, all contributed to give them fresh ideas and new thoughts. the acting may not have been very good; indeed queen elizabeth did not always think very highly of the performances of her subjects at coventry, and was heard to exclaim, "what fools ye coventry folk are!" but i think her majesty must have been pleased at the concluding address of the players at sudeley. after the shepherds had acted a piece in which the election of the king and queen of the bean formed a part, they knelt before the real queen, and said, "pardon, dread sovereign, poor shepherds' pastimes, and bold shepherds' presumptions. we call ourselves kings and queens to make mirth; but when we see a king or queen, we stand amazed. at chess there are kings and queens, and they of wood. shepherds are no more, nor no less, wooden. in theatres workmen have played emperors; yet the next day forgotten neither their duties nor occupation. for our boldness in borrowing their names, and in not seeing your majesty for our blindness, we offer these shepherds' weeds: which, if your majesty vouchsafe at any time to wear, it shall bring to our hearts comfort, and happiness to our labours." when the queen visited kenilworth castle, splendid pageants were performed in her honour. as she entered the castle the gigantic porter recited verses to greet her majesty, gods and goddesses offered gifts and compliments on bended knee, and the lady of the lake, surrounded by tritons and nereids, came on a floating island to do homage to the peerless elizabeth, and to welcome her to all the sport the castle could afford. for an account of the strange conduct of orion and his dolphin upon this occasion, we refer our readers to sir walter scott's _kenilworth_, and the lover of pageants will find much to interest him in gascoigne's _princely progress_. in many of the chief towns of england the members of the guilds were obliged by their ordinances to have a pageant once every year, which was of a religious nature. the guild of st. mary at beverley made a yearly representation of the presentation of christ in the temple, one of their number being dressed as a queen to represent the virgin, "having what may seem a son in her arms," two others representing joseph and simeon, and two others going as angels carrying lights. the people of england seem always to have had a great fondness for shows and pageants. chapter xi. november. "the ploughman, though he labour hard, yet on the holiday heigh trolollie, lollie loe. no emperor so merrily doth pass his time away; then care away, and wend along with me."--_complete angler_. "the curious preciseness, and all pretended gravity of those that seek to banish hence these harmless sports, have thrust away much ancient honesty."--irving's _sketch book_. all-hallow eve--"soul cakes"--diving for apples--the fifth of november--martinmas--_demands joyous_--indoor games. the first of november is all saints' day, and the eve of that day, called all-hallow even, was the occasion of some very ancient and curious customs. it seems to have been observed more by the descendants of the celts than by the saxons; and wales, scotland, and ireland were the homes of many of the popular superstitions connected with this festival. in scotland the bonfires were set up in every village, and each member of a family would throw in a white stone marked with his name; and if that stone could not be found next morning, it was supposed that that person would die before the following all saints' day. this foolish superstition may be classed with the other well-known superstition with regard to the sitting of thirteen people at one table, in which some are still foolish enough to believe. all-hallow even was supposed to be a great night for witches: possibly it was with the intention of guarding against their spells that the farmers used to carry blazing straw around their cornfields and stacks. it was the custom for the farmer to regale his men with seed cake on this night; and there were cakes called "soul mass cakes," or "soul cakes," which were given to the poor. these were of triangular shape, and poor people in staffordshire used to go _a-souling_, i.e. collecting these soul cakes, or anything else they could get. on this night the fishermen of scotland signed their boats, that is put a cross of tar upon them, in order that their fishing might prosper. the church bells were rung all night long for all christian souls, and we find from some old account books that the good folk were very careful to have all their bell-ropes and bells in good order for all-hallow even. this ringing was supposed to benefit the souls of the dead in purgatory, and was suppressed after the reformation. there were some very homely pastimes for all-hallow even for the young folk in the north of england. apples were placed in a vessel of water and "dived for"; or they were suspended from the roof and caught at by several expectant mouths. sometimes a rod was suspended with an apple at one end, and at the other a lighted candle. the youths had their hands tied behind their backs, and caught at the apple, often causing the candle to swing round and burn their hair. the cracking of nuts was an important ceremony among the young men and maidens, who threw nuts into the fire, and from the way in which they cracked, or burned, foretold all kinds of happiness or misery for themselves. the nuts that burned brightly prophesied prosperity to their owners, but those that crackled or burned black denoted misfortune. in olden times, when people were more superstitious than they are now, they attached great importance to these omens and customs, but happily the young people of our times have ceased to believe in magic and foolish customs, and country girls strive to attract their swains by other charms than those of nut-cracking on all-hallow even. we have still our bonfires on november 5th, but the event which happened on that day is very recent as compared with many of the old customs of which i have been writing. however, it is nearly three hundred years ago since guy fawkes and his companions attempted to blow up the houses of parliament with gunpowder; and yet we still light our bonfires and burn guy fawkes' effigy, with much accompaniment of squibs and crackers, just as if the event which we commemorate only occurred last year. probably very few of our rustics think much of the origin of the customs observed on november the fifth, or remember that it was instituted by the house of commons as "a holiday for ever in thankfulness to god for our deliverance, and detestation of the papists;" but this ignorance does not prevent them from keeping up the custom and enjoying the excitement of the bonfire and fireworks. if you are not acquainted with the history of the conspiracy, i would advise you to read it in some good history book, and- "pray to remember the fifth of november gunpowder treason and plot, when the king and his train had nearly been slain, therefore it shall not be forgot." the berkshire boys, as they carried their guy and collected wood for their bonfires, used to add the words- "our king's a valiant soldier, with his blunderbuss on his shoulder, cocks his pistol, draws his rapier; pray give us something for his sake here. a stick and a stake, for our good king's sake: if ye won't give one, i'll take two, the better for me, and the worse for you. chorus- "hollow, boys, hollow, boys, make the bells ring, hollow, boys, hollow, boys, god save the king." some of the rhymes tell us about the nefarious deeds of wicked guy fawkes, who "... with his companions did contrive to blow the house of parliament up alive, with three score barrels of powder down below, to prove old england's wicked overthrow; but by god's mercy all of them got catched, with their dark lantern, and their lighted match. ladies and gentlemen sitting by the fire, please put hands in pockets and give us our desire: while you can drink one glass, we can drink two, the better for we, and none the worse for you." this rhyme was concluded with the following strange jingle- "rumour, rumour, pump a derry, prick his heart and burn his body, and send his soul to purgatory."[17] the streets of oxford used to be the scenes of great encounters between the townsmen and gownsmen (or college students) on this night, who, on any other night in the year, never thought of fighting. happily in recent years these fights have ceased, but even now the gownsmen are "gated" on the night of the fifth of november, _i.e._ are confined to their colleges, lest there should be a renewal of these encounters. so severe were the battles in ancient times, that the tower of carfax church was lowered because the townsfolk used to ascend thither and shoot their arrows at the undergraduates; and the butchers were obliged to ply their trade beyond the city walls, because they had used their knives and cleavers in their annual fight. at martinmas, or the feast of st. martin, it was the custom to lay in a stock of winter provisions, and many cows, oxen, and swine were killed at this time, their flesh being salted and hung up for the winter, when fresh provisions were seldom to be had. and now the long evenings have set in, and our ancestors in hall or cottage assemble round the blazing hearth, and listen to the minstrel's lays, and recite their oft-told tales of adventure and romance. sometimes they indulge in asking each other riddles, and there exists at the present time an old collection of these early efforts of wit and humour which are not of a very high order. the book is called _demands joyous,_ and was printed in a.d. 1511. i may extract the following riddles:--"what is it that never was and never will be? answer: a mouse's nest in a cat's ear. why does a cow lie down? because it cannot sit. how many straws go to a goose's nest? not one, for straws, not having feet, cannot go anywhere." with such feeble efforts of wit did the country folk try to beguile the long evenings. in those days there were no newspapers, very few books, even if they could be read, and the only means of gathering information from other parts of the country were the peddlers or wandering minstrels, who told them the news as they passed from place to place. consequently, the above humble efforts of wit were not to be despised, and served to beguile the tediousness of the long winter's night. besides, the villagers had the carols to practise for christmas, many of which were handed down from father to son for many generations, and probably both words and music received many variations in their course. old collections of these carols still exist, such as the one entitled, "good and true, fresh and new, christmas carols," which was made in the middle of the seventeenth century. as an instance of the way in which the words became changed as they were passed on by illiterate singers, i may mention a carol of which the refrain is now printed "now well, now well"; originally this must have been "noel, noel." some of the carols degenerated into songs about the wassail bowl, and the virtues of strong ale, and our forefathers were not unlike some of their children, who forget the saviour in the enjoyment of his gifts. and besides the carols the villagers had the ordinary hymns to practise, with grand accompaniment of violins, flutes, clarionets, etc., for each village had its own musicians, who took great pride and interest in their playing, and used to practise together in the evenings. the old instruments have vanished: we have our organs and harmoniums: our choirs sing better and more reverently; but there are no reunions of the village orchestra, which used to afford so much pleasure to the rustics of former days. in the lord's hall there were plenty of sedentary games, and amongst these pre-eminently stands the noble pastime of chess. it is very ancient, and is supposed to have been invented by xerxes, a philosopher in the court of evil-merodach, king of babylon. it was well known in england before the conquest, and canute was very fond of the chessboard. king john was so engrossed in this game that when some messengers came to tell him that the french king had besieged one of his cities, he would not listen to them until he had finished his chess. the complicated movements of the various men seem to show that the game was developed and improved, and not the invention of one man, but few changes have been made during several centuries. players are checkmated now in very much the same way as they were five hundred years ago. besides chess they had backgammon, or tables, as the game was called, merelles, or nine men's morris (which also found its way to the shepherds' cottages), dice, and card games, some of which i have described before. gambling was often carried on to a great extent, but evidently our modern people are not wiser than their ancestors in this matter; and instead of playing games for recreation, are not satisfied until they lose fortunes on the hazard of a dice or a card. let us hope that men will at length become wiser as the world grows older. [illustration: two individuals playing chess as two others look on.] erasmus, the learned dutchman, in his _colloquies_ suggests some curious awards for victors. he represents two youths, adolphus and bernard, who begin to play a game at bowls. adolphus says, "what shall he that beats get, or he that is beaten lose?" bernard replies, "what if he that beats shall have a piece of his ear cut off? it is a mean thing to play for money: you are a german, and i a frenchman: we will both play for the honour of his country. if i shall beat you, you shall cry out thrice, 'let france flourish!' if i shall be beat (which i hope i shall not), i will in the same words celebrate your germany." they bowl away: a stone represents the jack: a mischievous bit of brickbat rather interferes with the german's accuracy, of aim, but in the end he wins, and the french cock has to crow thrice, "let germany flourish." in another game between two students who are contending in the play of striking a ball through an iron ring, it is arranged that he that is beat shall make and repeat extempore some verses in praise of him that beat him. this certainly would make many a youth keen to win the contest! chapter xii. december. "the darling of the world is come, and fit it is we find a room to welcome him. the nobler part of all the house here is the heart, "which we will give him; and bequeath this holly and this ivy wreath to do him honour, who's our king, and lord of all this revelling." herrick, _a christmas carol_. st. nicholas day--the boy bishop--christmas eve--christmas customs--mummers--"lord of misrule"--conclusion. now dark and chill december has arrived; and very dark and chill it must have seemed to our ancestors. no gaslights illuminated the streets, here and there a feeble oil lamp helped to make the darkness visible, when the oil was not frozen: the roads were deep with mud, and everything outside was cold and cheerless. but within the farmer's kitchen the huge logs burned brightly, and the christmas holidays were at hand with the accustomed merrymakings, to cheer the hearts of all in the depths of the dreary winter. but before christmas day arrived, the children enjoyed a great treat on st. nicholas' day, december 6th, when it was the custom for parents to convey secretly presents of various kinds to their little sons and daughters, who were taught to believe that they owed them to the kindness of st. nicholas, who, going up and down among the towns and villages, came in at the windows and distributed the gifts. st. nicholas, who died a.d. 343, threw a purse filled with money into the bedroom of a poor man for the benefit of his three daughters, who were in sore trouble; and this story seems to have originated the custom which has been observed in many countries, and brought much enjoyment to the young folk who received st. nicholas' bounty. before the reformation there was another very strange custom associated with this day; namely, the election of a boy bishop, who was dressed in episcopal robes, with a mitre on his head, and who actually was allowed to preach in the church. this was done regularly at many of our cathedrals and collegiate churches, and we find records of the custom amongst the archives of salisbury and many other places; even the service which they used is in existence. the youthful bishop was elected by the choir-boys, and exercised his functions until holy innocents' day. on that day in great state he entered the cathedral surrounded by the other boys, who played the part of prebendaries, and attended by the dean and canons, who on this occasion yielded up their dignity to the youthful prelate and his followers. the collect for holy innocents' day in our prayer-book formed part of the service. it was a strange ceremony, not unmixed with irreverence, and happily has long been discontinued, being forbidden by royal proclamation in 1542, and finally abolished by elizabeth. in the archives of the ancient town of bristol there is a book of directions for the mayor and his brethren, and on st. nicholas' day they are ordered to go to the church of st. nicholas and join in the festival of the boy bishop, to hear his sermon and receive his blessing. then they dined together, and waited for the young bishop to come to them, playing the meanwhile at dice, the town clerk being ordered to find the dice, and to receive a penny for every raffle. the bishop was regaled with bread and wine, and preached again to the mayor and corporation in the evening. i am informed that a curious memorial of this custom existed until recent years in one village at least. an old lady recollected that when she was a child she was allowed to play with her companions in church on st. nicholas' day. but christmas is approaching, and we must hasten to describe that bright and happy festival. the holiday began on christmas eve, and perhaps you have wondered why we hang up mistletoe, and decorate our churches and houses with holly, why our ancestors brought in the yule-log, and performed many other customs which do not seem to be very closely connected with the celebration of the birthday of our lord. but we must remember that our forefathers were originally heathen, and at this period of the year they practised several strange customs connected with their druidical worship, and held great feasts in honour of their gods. when christian missionaries converted these heathen, they strove to put down some of the old idolatrous practices; but their efforts were in vain, for the people were warmly attached to these old rights and usages. so a compromise was effected: the old pagan customs were shorn of their idolatry and transferred to our christian festivals. cutting the mistletoe was distinctly a rite practised by the druids, who cut the sacred plant with a golden knife, and sacrificed two white bulls to the sylvan deities whom they thus sought to propitiate. we hang up our bunches of mistletoe now, but we do not attach any superstitious importance to it, nor imagine that any gods of the woods will be influenced by our procedure. the bringing in of the yule-log was a norse custom observed in honour of thor, from whose name we derive our word thursday or thor's-day. the mighty log was drawn into the baronial hall with great pomp, while the bards sang their songs of praise and chanted "welcome yule." "welcome be thou, heavenly king, welcome, born on this morning; welcome for whom we shall sing welcome, yule." herrick, who delighted so much in singing of "maypoles, hock-carts, wassails, wakes--" then bursts out in joyous strains: "come, bring with a noise, my merry, merry boys, the christmas log to the firing; while my good dame, she bids ye all be free and drink to your heart's desiring. with the last year's brand light the new block, and for good success in his spending, on your psaltries play, that sweet luck may come while the log is a-teending." we can fancy that we see the ceremony, the glad procession of retainers and servants, the lights flaring in all directions: we can hear the shouts and chorus of many voices, the drums beating and flutes and trumpets sounding. the huge hearth receives the mighty log, and the flames and sparks shoot up the gaping chimney. at court in olden times christmas was kept right royally, if we may judge from the extensive _menu_ of the repasts of king henry iii. and his courtiers in the year 1247. he kept his christmas at winchester castle, and the neighbourhood must have been ransacked to furnish supplies for the royal table. the choice dainties were as follows: boars, with heads entire, well cooked and very succulent, 48; fowls, 1900; partridges, mostly "put in paste," 500; swans, 41; peacocks, 48; hares, 260; eggs, 24,000; 300 gallons of oysters; 300 rabbits, and more if possible; birds of various sorts, as many as could be had; of whitings, "particularly good and heavy," and conger eels the same; a hundred mullets, "fat and very heavy." for bread the king paid £27 10s., at the price of four loaves to the penny. when the king kept his christmas at york in 1250, the royal treasury must have been very full, for he ordered for the royal banquets 7000 fowls, 1750 partridges, besides immense numbers of boars, swans, pheasants, &c. of course the king had a very large retinue of vassals and feudal lords to provide for; but the store seems sufficiently vast to supply the wants of an army of faithful, but hungry, subjects. sometimes, when the king was short of money, there was a considerable reduction in the amount of good things consumed at christmas. our ancestors were very careful to attend the services of the church, which their loving hands had adorned with holly, bay, rosemary, and laurel. they considered it a day of special thanksgiving and rejoicing, as an old poet observed- "at christmas be merry and thankful with all, and feast thy poor neighbours, the great and the small." the solemn service of holy communion was celebrated on christmas eve, in mediæval times--the only night in all the year when an evening celebration was allowed. the halls of the knights and barons of ancient days were thrown open to all comers, and open house was kept for a fortnight. rejoicing at christmas time seems to have been universal, and it is not for us to judge whether in their mirth they sometimes forgot the reason of true christmas joy, and thought more of their feasting than of him who was born on christmas day. but by their hearty manner of keeping this annual festival, by the hospitality which the farmers and rich men showed to their labourers and poorer neighbours, they promoted, at any rate, "goodwill amongst men"--old animosities, quarrels, and bitternesses were forgotten, and the hearts of the poor cheered. in the north of england every farmer gave two feasts, one called "the old folks' night," and the other "the young folks' night." the old squire used to receive his tenants and neighbours at daybreak, when the black-jacks were passed round, and woe betide the luckless cook who had overslept herself, and had not boiled the hackin, or large sausage, ere the day dawned, for then she was seized by the arms and made to run round the market-place, or courtyard, until she was ashamed of her laziness. and now let us enter the hall of some great baron and see how our ancestors kept a merry christmas. the panelled walls, and stags' horns, and gallery at one end of the great room were hung with holly and mistletoe. the yule-log blazed upon the hearth, and then entered the vassals, tenants, and servants of the lord to share in the christmas banquet. rank and ceremony were laid aside: all were deemed equal, whether lords or barons, serfs or peasants--a custom which arose, doubtless, from the remembrance of him who on the first christmas day, "although he was rich, yet for our sakes became poor." and now on the huge oaken table were placed the various dishes of the feast--a mighty boar's head, decorated with laurel and rosemary, whose approach was often heralded with trumpets as the king of the feast; then came a peacock, stuffed with spices and sweet herbs, and adorned with its gay feathers, and then followed a goodly company of geese, capons, sirloins of beef, pheasants, mince-pies, and plum-porridge. a carol was often sung when the boar's head was brought in; here is one from the collection of wynkyn de worde: caput apri defero reddens laudes domino, the boar's head in hand bring i with garlands gay and rosemary; i pray you all sing merrily qui estis in convivio. the boar's head, i understand, is the chief service in this land; look wherever it be fande: servile cum cantico. be glad, lords, both more and lasse, for this hath ordained our stewárd to cheer you all this christmasse, the boar's head with mustárd.[18] neither were the ale and wassail-bowl forgotten, and they circulated sometimes too often, i fear, and laid the seeds of gout and other evils, from which other generations suffer. but when the prodigious appetites of the company had been appeased, the maskers and mummers entered the hall and performed strange antics and a curious play, fragments of which have come down to our own time. the youths of the villages of england still come round at christmas-time and act their mumming-drama, in which "st. george" kills a "turkish knight," who is raised to life by "medicine man," and performs a very important part of the play--passing round the money-box. this is a remnant of the mumming of ancient days, and perhaps of some "mystery" play, of which i told you in a previous chapter. in berkshire the characters are represented by "molly," a stalwart man dressed in a woman's gown, shawl, and bonnet, with a besom in his hand, who strives in his dialogue to imitate a woman's voice; king george, a big burly man dressed as a knight, with a wooden sword and a home-made helmet; a french officer, with a cocked hat and sword; a doctor, who wears a pig-tail; jack vinny, a jester; happy jack, a humorous character dressed in tattered garments, and old beelzebub, who appears as father christmas. in some parts of the royal county the part of king george is taken by an "africky king," and a turkish knight instead of the french officer. very curious are the words of the old play, and very ludicrous the representation when the parts are acted by competent players. there was also in the baron's hall a great person dressed in a very fantastic garb, who was here, there, and everywhere, directing the mummers, making jokes to amuse the company, and looking after everybody. he was called the "lord of misrule." sometimes his rule was harmless enough, and did good service in directing the revels; but often he was more worthy of his name, and was guilty of all kinds of absurd and mischievous pranks, which did great harm, and were very profane. but these were not part of the christmas feast, where all was happiness and mirth. sir walter scott says, in his description of the festival- "england was merry england when old christmas brought his sports again; a christmas gambol oft would cheer a poor man's heart through all the year." all the old poets sing in praise of the great day which, as herrick says, "sees december turned to may," and which makes the "chilling winter's morn smile like a field beset with corn." old carols chant in reverent strains their homage to the infant saviour: some reflect time-honoured customs and social joys when old age casts aside its solemnity and mingles once more in the light-hearted gaiety of youth, and all unite in chanting the praises of this happy festival. the poet withers sings- "lo! now is come our joyful'st feast! let every man be jolly; each room with ivy leaves is drest, and every post with holly. "now all our neighbours' chimneys smoke, and christmas blocks are burning; their ovens they with baked meats choke, and all their spits are turning. "without the door let sorrow lie, and if, for cold, it has to die, we'll bury it in christmas pie, and evermore be merry." thus the happy night was spent; and if, like grave elders, we look down upon these frolics of a younger age, and think ourselves so much wiser and better than our forefathers, we should not forget the benefits which come from open-handed hospitality, goodwill, and simple manners, nor scornfully regard honest merriment and light-hearted gaiety. a light heart is generally not far removed from a holy heart. yes, england was merry england then; and although there were plenty of troubles in those days, when plagues decimated whole villages, when wars were frequent, food scarce, and oppression common, yet the christmas festivities, the varieties of sports and pastimes which each season provided, the homely customs and bonds of union between class and class which these observances strengthened, added brightness to the lives of our simple forefathers, who might otherwise have sunk beneath the burdens of their daily toil. we have seen how many customs and sports, which were at first simple and harmless, degenerated and were abused: we have noticed some of the bad features of these ancient pastimes, such as cruelty to animals and intemperance; and are thankful that there is some improvement manifest in these respects. but it is interesting to witness again in imagination the scenes that once took place in our market-places and on our village greens; and, if it be impossible to restore again the glories of may day and the brightness of the christmas feast, we may still find plenty of harmless and innocent recreation, and learn to be merry, and at the same time wise. * * * * * footnotes: [footnote 1: although the 1st of january was popularly regarded as the beginning of the year from early times, it was not until 1752 a.d. that the legal commencement of the year was changed from march 25th to the former date.] [footnote 2: these fires signified our saviour and the twelve apostles. one of the fires, which represented judas, the traitor, was extinguished soon after it was lighted, and the materials of the fire kicked about.] [footnote 3: the distaff was the staff which held the flax or wool in spinning. all maidens were engaged in this occupation, and a "spinster" (_i.e._ one who spins) is still the legal term for an unmarried woman.] [footnote 4: st. blaize (or blasius) was bishop of sebaste in armenia, and was martyred 316 a.d. his flesh was torn with iron combs, so the wool-staplers have adopted him as their patron saint.] [footnote 5: _shrove-tide_ and _shrove tuesday_ derive their names from the ancient practice of confessing one's sins on that day. _to be shriven,_ or _shrove_, means to obtain absolution from one's sin.] [footnote 6: it was practised as late as the end of the last century.] [footnote 7: so called from the gospel of the day, which treats of the feeding of the five thousand.--_cf_. wheatley on prayer-book.] [footnote 8: the caber is a small tree, or beam, heavier at one end than the other. the performer holds this perpendicularly, with the smaller end downwards, and his object is to toss it so as to make it fall on the other end.] [footnote 9: _a pleasant grove of new fancies_, 1637.] [footnote 10: sometimes the may queen did not consort with morris-dancers, but sat in solitary state under a canopy of boughs.] [footnote 11: a correspondence in _athenæum_, sept. 20, 1890.] [footnote 12: the same story is told of willes, who is supposed by some cricketers to be the inventor of the modern style of delivery.] [footnote 13: the word _fair_ is derived from the ecclesiastical term, _feria_, a holiday.] [footnote 14: _cf._ govett's _king's book of sports_, and _tom brown's schooldays,_ to which i am indebted for the above accurate description of back-sword play.] [footnote 15: i am indebted for this description to mr. w. andrews' interesting book on the _curiosities of the church_.] [footnote 16: cf. _annals of winchcombe and sudeley_, by mrs. dent.] [footnote 17: cf. _glossary of berkshire words and phrases_, by major b. lowsley, r.e.] [footnote 18: the custom of bringing in the boar's head is still preserved at queen's college, oxford. the story is told of a student of the college who was attacked by a wild boar while he was diligently studying aristotle during a walk near shotover hill. his book was his only means of defence, so he thrust the volume down the animal's throat, exclaiming, "it is greek!" the boar found greek very difficult to digest, and died on the spot, and the head was brought home in triumph by the student. ever since that date, for five hundred years, a boar's head has graced the college table at christmas.] index. agape, suggested origin of "church ales," 53 ales, church, 52, 53, 57 alfred, laws relating to holidays, 5 all-hallow eve, 105 animals to be hunted, 16 april, 36 archery, 25--31 ascension day, 50 ascham's accomplishments of english gentleman, 97 back-sword play, 81 baiting bears, bulls, &c., 89 bale-fires, 50 ball games, 20, 21, 61--71 barley-brake, 39 bath, wakes at, 81 battledore, 23 bean, king of, 7 berks--old sports, 81 "bessy," 9 blaize st., 18 boar's head at christmas, 123 bonfires, 6, 57, 106, 108 book of sports, 48, 50 bounds, beating, 50 bowl, 49 boy bishop, 116 bull-baiting, 89 burning wheel, 59 butts, 27 caber-tossing, 38 candlemas, 18 carols, 111 _catherine, st._, miracle play, 99 charlemagne, 58 chess, 112 chester, 41, 48 choirs, old, 111 christmas holidays, 5 customs, 118-126 at court, 120 church decoration, 37, 49, 121 churchwardens' accounts, 34, 36, 42, 54, 72, 100 church ale, 52, 53, 57 church house, 53 cloudslee, william of, 28 club-ball, 65, 66 cock-fighting, 23, 24 cock-throwing, 23 collop monday, 19 _colloquies_ of erasmus, 113 _conversion of st. paul_, mystery play, 98 country parson, 51 coventry, 42, 103 _crafte of hunting_, 16 cricket, 38, 61-65 cross-bow, 27 cudgel-play, 38 curling, 39 customs, local, 4, 5, 6, 12, 20, 24, 33, 34, 37, 38, 39, 40, 41, 50, 54, 60, 62, 78, 81, 106, 108, 109, 117 dances, country, on village green, 11 dancing with swords, 10 december, 115 dedication festivals, 3 _demands joyous_, 110 devonshire custom, 4 distaff, st., 9 dragons, 59 dues, cock-fight, 24 early sport, 14, 16 easter, 36--41 eighteenth century cricket, 63 election of king of bean, 7 england "merry," 1, 125, 126 _english villages, our_, 3, 80 epiphany, 5 erasmus, _colloquies_ of, 113 evelyn's _diary_, 90 fairs, 3, 80 falconer, 87 february, 13 festivals, 3, 36, 50, 118 finsbury, 28 football, 20, 21, 41 foot-races, 22, 38 fox-hunting extraordinary, 17 france, home of tennis, 39 gambling, 112 games, minor ball, 71 " ball, 20, 21, 64, 71 " indoor, 21, 112 george herbert, 51 golf, 66, 68 good friday cake, 33 gospel trees, 50 grasmere, 72 guildford, cricket at, 62 gunpowder plot, 108 guy fawkes, 107 hambledon cricket club, 63, 64 handball, 27 handball in church, 38 harvest home, 75, 79 hawking, 84 heaving, 37 herbert, george, 51 herefordshire custom, 6 herrick, 9, 31, 74, 115, 119, 125 hobby-horse, 26 hock-cart, 75 hocking, 54 hock-tide, 41, 42 holland, golf introduced from, 66 horse-collar, grinning through a, 54 hot cross buns, 33, 34 hunting, 13, 17 hurling, 22, 23 indoor games, 21 ireland, 50 isaak walton, 17 january, 1 jersey, 59 jingling match, 56 john's, st., eve, 57 jousts, 94 july, 61 june, 52 kenilworth castle, pageants at 103 kent and sussex, first homes of cricket, 62 king of the bean, 7 lammas, 74 lancashire, 49 lawn-tennis, 70 lifting, 37 lillywhite, 65 local customs, 4, 5, 6, 12, 19, 20, 24, 33, 34, 37, 38, 39, 40, 41, 50, 54, 60, 62, 78, 81, 107, 108, 109, 117, 123 "lord of misrule," 125 magdalen hymn, 45 magdalen pulpit, 60 march, 25 martinmas, 110 maundy thursday--money, 33 may--may day, 44 may-pole, 45, 46, 48 may queen, 46 "merry england," 1, 125, 126 mews, origin of word, 88 michaelmas, 88 midsummer eve, 58 minor ball-games, 71 miracle plays, 36, 57, 98 misrule," "lord of, 125 mitford, miss, _our village_, 64 _moralities_, 99 mothering-sunday, 31 mummers, 124 _mysteries_, 57, 98, 100 new year's day, 45 _nicholas, st., the image of_, mystery play, 99 nicholas, day, st., 116 _noah and the flood_, mystery play, 98 november, 105 october, 92 old songs, 4, 6, 8, 13, 14, 23, 28, 36, 46, 63, 75, 76, 77, 109 orchards, wassailing of, 4, 6 otter-hunting, 17 _our english villages_, reference, 3, 80 _our village_, reference, 64 outdoor winter sports, 7 oxford customs, 109, 123 pace, _pasche, paschal_, eggs, 37 pageants, 101 pall mall, 68 palm sunday, 32 park, st. james's, 68 parson, country, 50 pea, queen of, 8 pig-catching, 56 pigeon-holes, 56 plagues, 72 plough monday, 9 pole-leaping, 38 purification, 18 puritans, 47 quarter-staff, 38, 54, 56 queen of the pea, 8 queen of the play, 46 quintain, 41 reading town, 27, 42, 54 reformation, 9, 18, 22 refreshment sunday, 31 relics of sun-worship, 51, 59 revival of bounds-beating, 51 robin hood, 28 roch's, st., day, 75 rogation days, 50 royal golfers, 66 " tennis players, 69, 70 rush-bearing, rushes in churches, 49, 71, 72 salisbury, boy bishop, 116 september, 84 sepulchres, 35 sheep-shearing, 79 shere thursday, 33 shrovetide, 19, 24 simnell-cakes, 32 single-stick, 35 skating, 10, 38 "spinster," derivation of, 9 sports, book of, 48, 49, 50 sports, early, 14, 16 songs, old, 4, 6, 8, 13, 14, 23, 28, 36, 46, 63, 75, 76, 77, 109 soul-cakes, 106 stool-ball, 66 stuarts, 21, 48, 50, 66, 68, 80 sudeley castle, pageants at, 101 sun-worship, relics of, 57, 59 superstitions, 5, 33, 39, 50, 59, 106, 107 sussex custom, 4 sussex and kent, first homes of cricket, 62 tansy-cake, 38 tennis, 68, 71 tilting at a ring, 97 tipcat called billet, 23 tournaments, 92 trap-ball, 66 tusser, _five hundred points of husbandry_, 79 twelfth day eve, 5, 6 twelfth night, 7 _undershaft_, st. andrew, 48 uncleanliness, 72 valentine, st., 18 wakes, 79, 80, 81 walton, isaak, 17 "wassail," 4 water tournament, 39, 40 whistling match, 56 white horse hill, 54 whitsuntide, 52 willes, 65 winter games, indoor, 10 wise men from east, 7 withers, christmas song, 125 wrestling, 59 year, new, festivities, 4, 5 yule-log, 118 * * * * * richard clay & sons, limited, london & bungay [illustration: the girls made candies and cookies for everybody _page 73_] -----------------------------------------------------------------------juvenile library girls series ethel morton's holidays by mabell s. c. smith the world syndicate publishing co. cleveland--new york made in u. s. a. -----------------------------------------------------------------------copyright, 1915 press of the commercial bookbinding co. cleveland -----------------------------------------------------------------------ethel morton's holidays chapter i preparations the big brown automobile gave three honks as it swung around the corner from church street. roger morton, raking leaves in the yard beside his house, threw down his rake and vaulted over the gate. "good afternoon, sir," he called to his grandfather, saluting, soldier fashion. "good afternoon, son. i stopped to tell you that those pumpkins are ready for you. if you'll hop in now we can go out and get them and i'll bring you back again." "good enough!" exclaimed roger. "i'll tell mother i'm going. she may have some message for grandmother," and he vaulted back over the gate and dashed up the steps. in a minute he was out again and climbing into the car. "where are the girls this afternoon?" inquired mr. emerson, as he threw in the clutch and started toward the outskirts of rosemont where he had land enough to allow him to do a little farming. "helen and ethel brown have gone to the west woods," replied roger, accounting for his sisters. "somebody told them that there was a wild grapevine there that still had yellow leaves bright enough for them to use for decorating tomorrow evening." "i should be afraid last night's frost would have shriveled them. what are ethel blue and dorothy up to?" asked mr. emerson. ethel blue was roger's cousin who had lived with the mortons since her babyhood. dorothy smith was also his cousin. she and her mother lived in a cottage on church street. "they must be over at dorothy's working up schemes for tomorrow," roger answered his grandfather's question. "i haven't seen them since luncheon." "how many do you expect at your party?" "just two or three more besides the united service club. james hancock won't be able to come, though. his leg isn't well enough yet." "pretty bad break?" "he says it's bad enough to make him remember not to cut corners when he's driving a car. any break is too bad in my humble opinion." "in mine, too. how many in the club? ten?" "ten; yes, sir. there'll be nine of us tomorrow evening--helen and the ethels and dorothy and dicky and the two watkinses and margaret hancock. she's going to spend the night with dorothy." "anybody from school?" "george foster, the fellow who danced the minuet so well in our show; and dr. edward watkins is coming out with tom and della." "isn't he rather old to come to a kids' party?" "of course he's loads older than we are--he's twenty-five--but he said he hadn't been to a hallowe'en party for so long that he wanted to come, and tom and della said he put up such a plaintive wail that they asked if they might bring him." "i suspect he hasn't forgotten how to play," chuckled grandfather emerson, speeding up as they entered the long, open stretch of road that ended almost at his own door. "any idea what you're going to do?" "not much. helen and ethel brown are the decoration committee and i'm the jack-o'-lantern committee, as you know, and ethel blue and dorothy are thinking up things to do and we're all going to add suggestions. i think the girls had a note from della this morning with an idea of some sort in it." "you ought to get burns's poem." "on hallowe'en?" "we'll look it up when we get to the house. you may find some 'doings' you haven't heard of that you can revive for the occasion." "we decided that whatever we did do, there were certain stunts we wouldn't do." "namely?" "swap signs and take off gates and brilliant jokes of that sort." "as a service club you couldn't very well crack jokes whose point lies in some one's discomfort, could you?" "those things have looked like dog mean tricks to me and not jokes at all ever since i saw an old woman at the upper end of main street trying to hang her gate last year the day after hallowe'en." "too heavy for her?" "i should say so. she couldn't do anything with it. i offered to help her, and she said, 'you might as well, for i suppose you had the fun of unhanging it last night'." "a false accusation, i suppose." "it happened to be that time, but i had done it before," confessed roger, flushing. "you never happened to see the result of it before." "that's it. i just thought of the people's surprise when they waked up in the morning and found their gates gone. i never thought at all of the real pain and discomfort that it may have given a lot of them." "your club may be doing a good service to all rosemont if it proves that young people can have a good time without making the 'innocent bystander' pay for it." "we're going to prove it; to ourselves, anyway," insisted roger stoutly, as he leaped out of the car and took his grandfather's parcels into the house. "the pumpkins are in the barn," mr. emerson called after him. "go down there and pick them out when you've given those bundles to your grandmother." the big yellow globes were loaded into the car--half a dozen of them--and mr. emerson drove back to the house. as he stopped at the side porch for a last word with his wife he gave a cry of recognition. "look who comes here!" he exclaimed. "helen and ethel brown," guessed roger. "don't they look like those soldiers we read about in 'macbeth'--the fellows who marched along holding boughs in their hands so that it looked as if birnamwood had come to dunsinane." "roger is quoting shakespeare about your personal appearance," laughed mr. emerson as he and his grandson relieved the girls of their burdens. they sank down on the steps of the porch and panted. "you're tired out," exclaimed their grandmother. "roger, bring out that pitcher of lemonade you'll find in the dining-room. how far have you walked?" "about a thousand miles, i should say," declared helen. "we were bound we'd get out-of-door decorations if they were to be had, and they weren't to be had except by hunting." "you're like me--i like to use out-of-door things as late as i can; there are so many months when you have to go to the greenhouse or to draw on your house plants." "ethel blue and dorothy have been educating the club artistically. they've been pointing out how much color there is in the fields and the woods even after the bright autumn colors have gone by." "that's quite true. look at that meadow." mrs. emerson waved her hand at the field across the road. on it sedges were waving, softly brown; tufts of mouse-gray goldenrod nodded before the breeze; chestnut-hued cat-tails stood guard in thick ranks, and a delicate indian summer haze blended all into a harmony of warm, dull shades. "you found your grapevine," said roger, pouring the lemonade for his weary sisters, and nodding toward a trail of handsome leaves, splendidly yellow. "it took a hunt, though. what are you doing over here?" "getting the pumpkins grandfather promised us." "you're just in time to have a ride home," said mr. emerson. "you're in no hurry, father; let the girls rest a while," urged mrs. emerson. "can't you make a jack-o'-lantern while you're waiting, roger?" "yes, _ma'am_, i can turn you out a truly superior article in a wonderfully short time," bragged roger. "he really does make them very well," confirmed helen, "but it's because he always has the benefit of our valuable advice." "here you are to give it if i need it," said roger good naturedly. "we'll show grandmother what our united efforts can do." so the girls leaned back comfortably against the pillars at the sides of the steps and mrs. emerson sat in an arm chair at the top of the flight and mr. emerson sat in the car at the foot of the steps and roger began his work. "it'll be a wonder if i make anything but a failure with so many bosses," he complained. "keep your hand steady, old man," teased his grandfather. "don't let your knife go through the side or you'll let out a crack of light where you don't mean to." "be sure your knife doesn't slip and cut your fingers," advised mrs. emerson. "save me the inside," begged ethel brown. "i'm going to try to make a pumpkin pie." "save the top for a hat," laughed helen. "i'll trim it with brown ribbon and set a new style at school." roger dug away industriously under the spur of these remarks. "is this the first year you've had a hallowe'en party?" mrs. emerson asked. "we used to do a few little things when we were children," helen answered; "but for the last few years we've been asked somewhere." "and with all due respect to our hosts we did a lot of the stupidest and meanest things we ever got let in for," declared roger. "i was telling grandfather about some of them coming over." "so we made up our minds that we'd celebrate as a club this year, and do whatever we wanted to. there's a lot more to a party than just the party," said ethel brown wisely. her grandmother nodded. "you're right. the preparation is half the fun," she agreed. "and it's fun to have every part of it perfect--the decorations and the refreshments as well as whatever it is you do for your main amusement." "that's what i think," said helen. "i like to think that the house is going to be appropriately dressed for our hallowe'en party just as much as we ourselves." "why doesn't your club give a series of holiday parties?" suggested grandfather. "make each one of them a really appropriate celebration and not just an ordinary party hung on the holiday as an excuse peg. i believe you could have some interesting times and do some good, too, so that it could honestly be brought within the scope of your club's activities." "we seem to have made a start at it without thinking much about it," said roger. "the club had a float, you know, in the labor day procession." "i didn't know that!" exclaimed mrs. emerson. "you were in new york for a day or two. grandfather supplied the float! why, we had just come back from chautauqua a day or two before labor day, you know, and the first thing that happened was that a collector called to get a contribution from mother to help out the labor day procession. i was there and i said i didn't believe in taxation without representation. he laughed and said, 'all right, come on. we'd be glad to have you in the procession'." "you were rather disconcerted at that, i suspect," laughed mrs. emerson. "yes, i was, but i hated to take back water, so i said that i belonged to a club and that i supposed he was going to have all the clubs in rosemont represented in some way. he said that was just what they wanted. they wanted every activity in the town to be shown in some shape or other." "there wasn't time to call a meeting of the club," helen took up the story, "so roger and i came over and talked with grandfather, and he lent us a hay rack and we dressed it up with boughs and got the carpenters to make some very large cut out letters--u. s. c.--two sets of them, so they could be read on both sides. they were painted white and stood up high among the green stuff and really looked very pretty. everybody asked what it meant." "i think it helped a lot when i went about asking for gifts for the christmas ship," said roger. "lots of people said, 'oh, it's your club that had a float in the labor day parade'." "if we should work up grandfather's idea we might have a parade of our own another year," said helen. "always co-operate with what already exists, if it's worthy," advised mr. emerson. "don't get up opposition affairs unless there's a good reason for doing it." "as there is for our hallowe'en party," insisted roger. "i believe you're right there. there's no reason why you should enter into 'fool stunts' that are just 'fool stunts,' not worth while in any way and not even funny." "we'd better move on now if grandfather is to take us over and get back in time for his own dinner," said roger. "come, girls, can you pile in all that shrubbery without breaking it? put the pumpkins on the bottom of the car, roger, and the jacks on top of them. now be careful where you put your feet. back in half an hour, mother," and he started off with his laughing car load. chapter ii hallowe'en "you're as good as gold to come out and help these youngsters enjoy themselves," was mrs. morton's greeting to edward watkins when he appeared in the evening with tom and della. "it's they who are as good as gold to let me come," he returned, smiling pleasantly. he was a handsome young man of about twenty-five, a doctor whose profession, as yet, did not make serious inroads on his time. "what are these people going to make us do first," he wondered as roger began a distribution of colored bands. "these are to tie your eyes with," he explained: "yellow, you see; hallowe'en color. the girls insist on my explaining all their fine points for fear they won't be appreciated," he said to the doctor. "quite right. i never should have thought about the color." "mother, this is george foster," said helen, welcoming a tall boy who was not a member of the u. s. c. but who had helped at the club entertainment by taking part in the minuet. he shook hands with mrs. morton and mrs. smith and then submitted to having his eyes bandaged. he was followed by gregory patton, another high school lad, and to the great joy of everybody, james, after all, came on his crutches with margaret. "now, then, my blindfolded friends," said roger, "grandfather tells me that it is the custom in scotland where fairies and witches are very abundant, for the ceremony that we are about to perform to open every hallowe'en party. he has it direct from bobby burns." "then it's right," came a smothered voice from beneath james' bandage. "james is of scottish descent and he confirms this statement, so we can go ahead and be perfectly sure that we're doing the correct thing. of course, we all want to know the future and particularly whatever we can about the person we're going to marry, so that's what we're going to try to find out at the very start off." "take off my bandage," cried dicky. "i know the perthon i'm going to marry." a shout of laughter greeted this assertion from the six-year-old. "who is it, dicky?" asked helen, her arm around his shoulders. "i'm going to marry mary," he asserted stoutly. there was a renewed peal at this, and roger went on with his instructions. "i'll lead you two by two to the kitchen door and then you'll go down the flight of steps and straight ahead for anywhere from ten to twenty steps. that will land you right in the middle of what the frost has left of the morton garden. when you get there you'll 'pull kale'." "meaning?" inquired george foster. "meaning that you'll feel about until you find a stalk of cabbage and pull it up." "i don't like cabbage," complained tom watkins. "you'll like this because it will give you a lot of information. if it's long or short or fat or thin your future husband or wife will correspond to it." "that's the most unromantic thing i ever heard," exclaimed margaret hancock. "i certainly hope my future husband won't be as fat as a cabbage!" "you can tell how great a fortune he's going to have--or she--by the amount of earth that clings to the stem." "watch me pull mine so g-e-n-t-l-y that not a grain of sand slips off," said tom. "if you've got courage enough to bite the stem you can find out with perfect accuracy whether your beloved will have a sweet disposition or the opposite." "in any case he'd have a disposition like a cabbage," insisted margaret, who did not like cabbage any more than tom did. "ready?" roger marshalled his little army. "two by two. doctor and ethel blue, tom and dorothy, james and helen, george and ethel brown, gregory and margaret. come on, della," and he led the way through the kitchen where mary and the cook were hugely entertained by the procession. with cries and stumbling they went forth into the cabbage patch, where they all possessed themselves of stalks which they straightway brought in to the light of the jack-o'-lanterns to interpret. "my lady love will be tall and slender--not to say thin," began dr. watkins. "i see no information here as to the color of her hair and eyes. fate cruelly witholds these important facts. i regret to say that i wooed her so vigorously that i shook off any gold-pieces she may have had clinging about her so i can only be sure of the golden quality of her character which i have just discovered by biting it." amid general laughter they all began to read their fortunes. tom announced that his beloved was so thin that she was really a candidate for the attentions of the society for the prevention of cruelty to animals, and that he couldn't find out anything about her character because there wasn't enough of her to bite. margaret had pulled a stalk that fulfilled all her expectations as to size, for it was so short and fat that she could see no relation between it and anything human and threw it out of the window in disgust. the rest found themselves fitted out with a variety of possibilities. "there doesn't seem to be a real tearing beauty among them all," sighed roger. "that's what i'd set my heart on." "what do you expect from a cabbage?" demanded margaret scornfully. "i want to know whether i'm going to marry a bachelor or a widower or not marry at all," cried helen. "let's try the 'three luggies' next." "first cabbages, then 'luggies'," said della "what are 'luggies'?" "'luggies' are saucers," explained helen, while james brought a small table and ethel brown arranged three saucers upon it. "in one of them i put clear water, in another one, sandy water, and nothing at all in the third. anybody ready to try? come, della." della came forward briskly, but hesitated when she found that she must be blindfolded. "there isn't any trick about it?" she asked suspiciously. "i shouldn't like to have anything happen to that saucer of sandy water." "it won't touch anything but your finger tips, and perhaps not those," helen reassured her. "what you are to do is to dip the fingers of your left hand into one of these saucers. if it proves to be the one with the clear water you'll marry a bachelor; if it's the sandy one he'll be a widower, and if it's the empty one you'll be a spinster to your dying day." "you have three tries," cried ethel blue, "and the saucers are changed after each trial, so you have to touch the same one twice to be sure you really know your fate. are you ready?" "i'm ready," and della bravely though cautiously dipped the finger tips of her left hand into the bowl of sandy water. a cheer greeted this result. "a widower, a widower," they all cried. helen changed the position of the saucers and della made another trial. this time the fates booked her as a spinster. "that's the least trouble of anything," decided roly poly della who took life carelessly. a third attempt proved that a widower was to be her future helpmate, for her fingers went into the sandy saucer for a second time. "i only hope he won't be an oldy old widower," said della thoughtfully. "i couldn't bear to think of marrying any one as old as edward." "i'll thank you to take notice that i haven't got a foot in the grave just yet, young woman," retorted her brother. while some of the others tried their fate by the saucer method, the rest endeavored to learn their future occupations by means of pouring melted lead through the handle of a key. roger brought in a tiny kettle of lead from the kitchen where mary had heated it for them and set it down on a small table on a tea pot stand, so that the heat should not injure the wood. taking a large key in his left hand he dipped a spoon into the lead with his right and poured the contents slowly through the ring at the end of the handle of the key into a bowl of cold water. the sudden chill stiffened the lead into curious shapes and from them those who were clever at translating were to discover what the future held for them in the way of occupation. "mine looks more like a spinning wheel than anything else," said roger who had done it first so that the rest might see how it was accomplished. "perhaps that means that you'll be a manufacturer of cloth," suggested margaret. "mine looks more like a cabbage than anything else. you don't think it can mean that i shall have to devote myself to that husband i pulled out of the cabbage patch?" "it may. or it might mean that you'll be a gardener. lots of women are going in for gardening now. by the time you're ready to start that may be a favored occupation for girls," said dr. watkins. "here are several things that we can do one at a time while the rest of us are doing something else," said helen. "they have to be done alone or the spell won't work." "let's hear them," begged gregory, while he and the others grouped themselves about the open fire in the living room and prepared to burn nuts. "the first one, according to burns, is to go alone to the kiln and put a clew of yarn in the kiln pot." "what does that mean translated into rosemont language?" demanded james. "james the scotsman asks for information! however, there's some excuse for him. translated into rosemont language it means that you go to the laundry and put a ball of yarn into the wash boiler." "easy so far." "take an end of the ball and begin to wind the yarn into a new ball. when you come near the end you'll find that something or some one will be holding it--" "roger, i'll bet!" "you demand to know the name of your future wife and a hollow voice from out the wash boiler will tell you her name." "i shan't try that one. there's too good a chance for roger to put in some of his tricks. what's the next?" "take a candle and go to the witches' cave--that's the dining room--and stand in front of the looking glass that's on a little table in the corner, and eat an apple. the face of your future wife or husband will appear over your shoulder." "i'll try that. i could stand a face that kept still, but to have an unknown creature pulling my yarn and bawling my wife's name would upset my nerves!" "here's the last one. go into the garden just as we did to pull the kale. over at the right hand side there's a stack of barley. it's really corn, but we've re-christened it for tonight. you measure it three times round with your arms and at the end of the third round your beloved will rush into them." "if he proves to be my cabbage spouse you'll hear loud shrieks from little margaret!" declared that young woman. "here are my nuts to burn," said ethel blue, putting two chestnuts side by side on the hearth. "one is della and the other is ethel blue," and she tapped them in turn as she gave them their names. "what's this for?" asked della, hearing her name used. "this is to see if you and i will always be friends. that right hand nut is you and the left hand is me--no, i." conscientious ethel blue interrupted herself to correct her grammar. "if we burn cosily side by side we'll stay friends a long time, but if one of us jumps or burns up before the other, she'll be the one to break the friendship." "i hope i shan't be the one," and both girls sat down on the rug to watch their namesakes closely. "here are margaret and her cabbage man," laughed tom. "this delicate, slender chestnut is margaret and this big round one is mr. stalk of the cabbage patch. now we'll see how that match is going to turn out." margaret laughed good naturedly with the rest and they watched this pair as well as the others. "roger and i had a squabble yesterday," admitted ethel brown. "here is roger and here is ethel brown. let's see how we are going to get on in the future." "where is roger really?" some one asked, but at that instant ethel blue's nut and della's caught fire and burned steadily side by side without any demonstrations, and every one looking on was so absorbed in translating the meaning of the blaze that no one pursued the question. that is, not until a shriek from the witches' cave rang through the house and sent them all flying to see who was in trouble. dorothy was found coming out of the dining room, mirror in hand, and a strange tale on her lips. "if there's any truth in this hallowe'en prophecy," she said with trembling voice, "my future husband will be worse than margaret's cabbage man. the face that looked over my shoulder was exactly like a jack-o'-lantern's." "it was? where's roger?" dr. watkins demanded instantly, while james hobbled to the front door and announced that the jack had disappeared from the front porch. "did any one ask for roger?" demanded a cool voice, and roger was seen coming down stairs. "yes, sir, numerous people asked for roger. how did you do it?" "do what? has anything happened in my absence?" "not a thing has happened in your _absence_. just tell us how you managed it." "i know," guessed helen. "he went outside and took the jack from the porch and carried it through the kitchen, into the dining room where it smiled over dorothy's shoulder, and then he went into the kitchen again and up the back stairs. wasn't that it, roger?" "young woman, you are wiser than your years," was all that roger would say. while they were teasing him a shouting in the garden sent them all to the back windows and doors. in the dim light of the young moon two figures were seen wrestling. it was evidently a good natured struggle, for peals of laughter fell on the ears of the listeners. when one of them dragged the other toward the house the figures proved to be tom watkins and george foster. "i was measuring the barley stack," explained tom breathlessly, "and just as i made the third round and was eagerly expecting my future bride to rush into my arms, something did rush into my arms, but i'll leave it to the opinion of the meeting whether _this_ can be my future bride!" and he held at arm's length by the coat collar the laughing, squirming figure of george foster. it was unanimously agreed that george did not have the appearance of a bride, and then they went back to the hall to bob for apples. roger spread a rubber blanket on the floor and drew the tub from its hiding place in the corner where it had been waiting its turn in the games. while the boys were making these arrangements dorothy and helen were busily trying to dispose of the two ends of the same string which stretched from one mouth to the other with a tempting raisin tied in the middle to encourage them to effort. it was forbidden to use the hands and tongues proved not always reliable. now dorothy seemed ahead, now helen. finally the victory seemed about to be helen's, when she laughed and lost several inches of string and dorothy triumphantly devoured the prize. when the girls turned to see what the boys were doing, gregory and james were already bobbing for apples. one knelt at one side of the tub and the other at the other, and each had his eye, when it was not full of water, fixed on one of the apples that were bouncing busily about on the waves caused by their own motions. "i speak for the red one," gasped gregory. "all right! i'll go for the greening," agreed james, and they puffed and sputtered, and were quite unable to fix their teeth in the sides of the slippery fruit until james drove his head right down to the bottom of the tub where he fastened upon the apple and came up dripping, but triumphant. stimulated by the applause that greeted james, tom and roger tossed in two apples and began a new contest. "this isn't a girls' game is it?" murmured helen as tom won his apple by the same means that james had used. "not unless you're willing to forget your hair," replied dr. watkins. "you can't forget it when it takes so long to dry it," helen answered. "i'm content to let the boys have this entirely to themselves." while the half drowned boys went up to roger's room to dry their faces the girls prepared nut boats to set sail upon the same ocean that had floated the apples. they had cracked english walnuts carefully so that the two halves fell apart neatly, and in place of the meats they had packed a candle end tightly into each. "we have the comfort of the apple even when we're defeated," said gregory, coming down stairs, eating the fruit that he had not been able to capture without the use of his hands. "what have you got there?" "here's a boat apiece," explained helen. "we must each put a tiny flag of some sort on it so that we can tell which is which." "this way?" george asked. "i've put a pin through a scrap of corn husk and stuck it on to the end of this craft." "that's right. we must find something different for each one. mine is a black-alder berry. see how red and bright it is?" it was not hard for each to find an emblem. "watch me hoist the admiral's flag at the mainmast," said roger, but the match that he set up for a mast caught fire almost as soon as the candles were lighted in the miniature fleet. his flag fell overboard, however, and was not injured. "see that?" he commented. "that just proves that the flag of the u. s. a. can never perish," and the others greeted his words with cheers. it was a pretty sight--the whole fleet afloat, each bit of candle burning clearly and each little craft tossing on the waves that dr. watkins produced by gently tipping the tub. "this is also an attempt to gain some knowledge of the future," said helen. "we must watch these boats and see which ones stay close together and which go far apart, and whether any of them are shipwrecked, and which ones seem to have the smoothest voyage." "della's and mine are sticking together just the way our nuts did," cried ethel blue, and she slipped her hand into della's and gave it a little squeeze. after the loss of its mainmast at the very beginning roger's craft had no more mishaps. it slid alongside of james's and together they bobbed gently across life's stormy seas. "it looks as if you and i were going into partnership, old man," james interpreted their behavior. the other boats seemed to need no especial companionship but floated on independently, only gregory's coming to an untimely end from a heavy wave that washed over it and capsized it. "i seem to hear a summons from the witches' cave," murmured helen in an awed whisper as a sound like the wind whistling through pine trees fell on their ears, resolving itself as they listened into the words, "come! come! come!" quietly they arose and tiptoed their way toward the dining room. they could only enter it by penetrating the thicket of boughs that barred the door. as they came nearer the voice retreated--"almost as if it were going into the kitchen," whispered margaret to tom who happened to be next to her. the only light in the room came from a pan of alcohol and salt burning greenly in a corner and casting an unnatural hue over their faces. the black cats, their eyes touched with phosphorus, glared down from the plate rail. again the voice was heard:--"gather, gather about the festal board." "we must obey the witches," urged helen, and they sat down in the chairs which they found placed at the table in just the right number. into the dim room from the kitchen came two figures dressed in long black capes and pointed red hats and bearing each a dish heaped high with cakes of some sort. "i just have to tell you what these are," said ethel brown in her natural voice as she and ethel blue marched around the table and placed one dish before roger at one end and another before helen at the other. "it's sowens." "sowens? what in the world are sowens?" everybody questioned. "grandfather told us that burns says that sowens eaten with butter always make the hallowe'en supper, so we looked up in the century dictionary how to make them and this is the result." "do you think they're safe?" inquired della. "there's a doctor here to take care of us if anything happens," laughed james. "i'm game. give me a chance at them." roger and helen began a distribution of the cakes. "sowens is--or are--good," decided dr. watkins, tasting his cake slowly, and pronouncing judgment on it after due deliberation. "we tried them yesterday to make sure they were eatable by americans, and we thought they were pretty good, smoking hot, with butter on them, just as burns directed." "right. they are," agreed all the boys promptly, and the girls agreed with them, though they were not quite so enthusiastic in their expression of appreciation as the boys. baked apples, nuts and raisins, countless cookies of various lands and hot gingerbread made an appetizing meal. as it was coming to an end helen rapped on the table. "please let me pretend this is a club meeting for a minute or two instead of a party. i want to tell the people here who aren't members of the u. s. c. what it is we are trying to do." "we know," responded george. "you're working for the christmas ship. didn't i dance in your minuet?" "we are working for the christmas ship, but that is only one thing that the club does." "what do the initials mean?" asked gregory. "united service club. you see father is in the navy and uncle richard is in the army so we have the united service in the family. but that is just a family pun. the real purpose of the club is to do some service for somebody whenever we can." "something on the boy scout idea of doing a kindness every day," nodded dr. watkins. "just now it's the christmas ship and after that sails we'll hunt up something else. why i told you about it now is because we planned to go out in a few minutes and go up and down some of the streets, and--" "lift gates?" asked gregory. "no, not lift gates. that's the point. we couldn't very well be a service club and do mean things to people just for the fun of it." "oh, lifting gates isn't mean." "isn't it! i don't believe you'd find it enormously entertaining to hunt up your gate the next day and re-hang it, would you?" gregory admitted that perhaps it would not. "so we're going out to play good fairies instead of bad ones, and if any of you knows anybody we can do a good turn to, please speak up." "that's the best scheme i've heard in some time," said edward watkins admiringly. "let's start. i'm all impatience to be a good fairy." so they said "good-night" to dicky, bundled into their coats and each one of the boys took a jack-o'-lantern to light the way. roger also carried a kit that bulged with queer shapes, and the girls each had a parcel whose contents was not explained by the president. "lead the way, roger," she commanded as they left the house. "church street first," he answered. "church street? i wonder if he's going to do mother and me a good turn," giggled dorothy. it proved that he was not, for he passed the smith cottage and went on until he came to the house in which lived the misses clark. roger was taking care of their furnace, together with his mother's and his aunt louise's, in order to earn money for the expenses of the club, and he had discovered that these old ladies were not very happy in spite of living in a comfortable house and apparently having everything they needed. "these misses clark are lonely," he whispered as they gathered before the door. "they think nobody cares for them--and nobody does much, to tell the honest truth. so here's where we sing two songs for them," and without waiting for any possible objections he broke into "the christmas ship" which they all knew, and followed it with "sister susie's sewing shirts for soldiers." "not very appropriate, but they'll do," whispered roger to dr. watkins, whose clear tenor supported him. dorothy's sweet voice soared high, tom's croak made a heavy background, and the more or less tuneful voices of the others added a hearty body of sound. there was no response from the house except that a corner of an upstairs curtain was drawn aside for an instant. "they probably think they won't find anything left on their front porch when they come down in the morning. they've had hallowe'en visits before, poor ladies," said gregory as they tramped away. the next visit was to a different part of the town. here the girls left two of their bundles which proved to contain apples and cookies. "i don't believe these people ever have a cent they can afford to spend on foolishness like this," helen explained to dr. watkins, "but they aren't the sort of people you can give things to openly, so we thought we'd take this opportunity," and she smiled happily and went on behind roger's leadership. this time the visit was to the atwoods, the old couple down by the bridge. roger had been interested in them for a long time. they were not suffering, for a son supported them, but both were almost crippled with rheumatism and sometimes the old man found the little daily chores about the house hard to do, and often the old woman longed for a little amusement of which she was deprived because she could not go to visit her friends. it was here that roger's kit came into play. he took from it several hatchets and distributed them to the boys. "we're going to chop the gentleman's kindling and stack up the wood that's lying round here while the girls sing to the old people," he announced. so the plan was carried out. the girls gathered about the doorstep, and, led by dorothy, sang cradle songs and folk songs and a hymn or two, while the boys toiled away behind the house. again there was no response. "probably they've gone to bed," guessed ethel brown. "i imagine they're lying awake, though," said ethel blue softly. it is an old adage that "many hands make light work," and it is equally true that they turn off a lot of it, so at the end of half an hour the old peoples' wood pile was in apple pie order and the yard was in a spick and span condition. there were two more calls before the procession turned home and at both houses bundles of goodies were left for children who would not be apt to have them. on the way back to the house the u. s. c.'s came across the trail of a hallowe'en party of the usual kind, and they pleased themselves mightily by hanging two gates which they found unhung, and by restoring to their proper places several signs which some village wit--"or witling," suggested dr. watkins--had misplaced. the evening ended with the cutting of a cake in which was baked a ring. "the one who gets the ring in his slice will be married first," announced mrs. morton, who had prepared the cake as a surprise for those who had been surprising others. they cut it with the greatest care and slowly, one after the other. to the delight of all dr. watkins's slice proved to contain the ring. "i rather imagine that's the most suitable arrangement the ring could have made," laughed mrs. smith. "if one of these youngsters had found it, it would have meant that i'd have to wait a long time for my turn," he laughed back. "wish me luck." chapter iii miss merriam the first fortnight of november rushed by with the final preparations for the sailing of the christmas ship filling every moment of the time of the members of the united service club. when at last their three packing cases of gifts were expressed to brooklyn, they drew a sigh of relief, but when the _jason_ actually left the pier they felt as if all purpose had been taken out of their lives. this feeling did not linger with them long, however, for it was not many days later that there appeared at the morton's a red cross nurse, invalided home from belgium, bringing with her the belgian baby which they had begged their teacher, mademoiselle millerand, who had joined the french red cross, to send them. truth to tell, the arrival of the baby was entirely unexpected. it had come about in this way. when the club went to bid farewell to mademoiselle millerand on the steamer they learned that she hoped to be sent to some hospital in belgium. ethel blue, who had been reading a great deal about the suffering of the women and children in belgium, cried, "belgium! oh, do send us a belgian baby!" the rest had taken up the cry and james had had the discomfiture of being kissed by an enthusiastic french woman on the pier who was delighted with their warmheartedness. at intervals they mentioned the belgian baby, but quite as a joke and not at all as a possibility. so when the red cross nurse came with her tiny charge and told them how mademoiselle millerand had not been able to resist taking their offer seriously since it meant help and perhaps life itself for this little warworn child, they were thoroughly surprised. their surprise, however, did not prevent them from rising to meet the situation. indeed, it would have been hard for any one to resist the appeal made by the pale little creature whose hands were too weak to do more than clutch faintly at a finger and whose eyes were too weary to smile. mrs. morton took her to her arms and heart at once. so did all the members of the club and it was when they gave a cheer for "elisabeth of belgium," that she made her first attempt at laughter. mademoiselle had written that her name was elisabeth and the nurse said that she called herself that, but, so far as her new friends could find out, that was the extent of her vocabulary. "ayleesabet," she certainly was, but the remainder of her remarks were not only few but so uncertain that they could not tell whether she was trying to speak flemish or french or a language of her own. the nurse was obliged to return at once to new york, and the mortons found themselves at nightfall in the position of having an unexpected guest for whom there was no provision. even the wardrobe of the new member of the family was almost nothing, consisting of the garments she was wearing and an extra gingham dress which a woman in the steerage of the ship had taken from her own much larger child to give to the waif. "ayleesabet" ate her supper daintily, like one who has been so near the borderland of starvation that he cannot understand the uses of plenty, and then she went heavily to sleep in ethel blue's lap before the fire in the living room. aunt louise and dorothy came over from their cottage to join the conference. "it is really a considerable problem," said mrs. morton thoughtfully. "these children here say they are going to attend to her clothing, and it's right they should, for she is the club baby; but there are other questions that are serious. where, for instance, is she going to sleep?" a laugh rippled over the room as she asked the question, for the sleeping accommodations of the morton house were regarded as a joke since the family was so large and the house was so small that a guest always meant a considerable process of rearrangement. "it isn't any laughing matter, girls. she can have dicky's old crib, of course, but where shall we put it?" "it's perfectly clear to me," said mrs. smith, responding to an appealing glance from dorothy, "that the baby must come to us. dorothy and i have plenty of room in the cottage, and it would be a very great happiness to both of us--the greatest happiness that has come to me since--since--" she hesitated and dorothy knew that she was thinking about the baby brother who had died years ago. "it does seem the best way," replied mrs. morton, "but--" "'but me no buts'," quoted mrs. smith, smiling. "the baby's coming is equally sudden to all of us, only i happen to be a bit better prepared for an unexpected guest, because i have more space. then dorothy has been just as crazy as the other girls to have a 'belgian baby,' and she shouted just as loudly as anybody at the pier--i heard her." "always excepting james," ethel brown reminded them and they all laughed, remembering james and his gallic salute. "don't take her tonight, aunt louise," begged ethel blue. "let us have her just one night. we can put dicky's crib into our room between ethel brown's bed and mine." it was finally decided that elisabeth should not be taken to dorothy's until the next day, but mrs. morton insisted on keeping her in her own room for the night. "she has such a slight hold on life that she ought to have an experienced eye watching her for some time to come," she said. all the girls assisted at the baby's going to bed ceremonies, and tall helen felt a catch in her throat no less than ethel blue at sight of the wasted legs and arms and hollow chest. "i wonder, now," said aunt louise when they had gone down stairs again, leaving ethel blue and ethel brown to sit in the next room until their own bedtime, so that the faintest whimper might not go unheard. "i wonder where we are going to find some one competent to take care of this baby. a child in such a condition needs more than ordinary care; she needs skilled care." "mary might have some relatives," dorothy began, when helen made a rushing suggestion. "why not go to the school of mothercraft? you remember, it was at chautauqua for the summer? and it's back in new york now. i've been meaning to ask you or grandmother or aunt louise to take me there some saturday, only we've been so busy with the ship we didn't have time for anything else. you remember it?" she asked anxiously, for she had especial reasons for wanting her mother to remember the school of mothercraft. "certainly i remember it, and i believe it will give us just what we want now. it's a new sort of school," she explained to mrs. smith. "the students are young women who are studying the science and art of home-making. they are working out home problems in a real home in which there are real children." "babies and all?" "babies and children of other sizes. i'm going to study there when i leave college. mother says i may," cried helen, delighted that her favorite school was on the point of proving its usefulness in her own family. "can you get mother helpers from there?" "you can, and they're scientifically trained young women. many of them are college graduates who are taking this as graduate work." "then i should say that the thing for us to do," said mrs. smith, "was to leave the baby in mary's care tomorrow and go in to new york and see what we can find at the school of mothercraft. will the students be willing to break in on their course?" "perhaps not, but the director of the school is sure to know of some of her former pupils who will be available. that was a brilliant idea of yours, helen," and helen sank back into her chair pleased at the gentle stroke of approval that went from her mother's hand to hers. dorothy and mrs. smith were just preparing to go home when the bell rang and dr. hancock was announced. "james and margaret came home with a wonderful tale of a foundling with big eyes," he said when, he had greeted everybody, "and i thought i'd better come over and have a look at her. i should judge she'd need pretty close watching for a long time." "she will," assented mrs. morton, and told him of their plan to secure a helper from the school of mothercraft. "the very best thing you can do," the doctor agreed heartily. "i'm on the advisory board of the school with several other physicians and i don't know any institution i approve of more heartily." "ayleesabet" was found to be sleeping deeply, but her breathing was even and her skin properly moist and the physician was satisfied. "i'll run over every day for a week or two," he promised. "we must make the little creature believe american air is the best tonic in the world." if the u. s. c. had had its way every member would have gone with mrs. morton and mrs. smith when they made their trip of inquiry on the next day. as it was, they decided that it was of some importance that helen should go with them, and so they went at a later hour than they had at first intended, so that she might join them. "there's no recitation at the last period," she explained, "and i can make up the study hour in the evening." when the news of the baby's arrival was telephoned to mrs. emerson she suggested a farther change of plan. "let me go, too," she said; "i'll call in the car for you and louise and we'll pick up helen at the schoolhouse and we shall travel so fast that it will make up for the later start." everybody thought that a capital suggestion, and mrs. emerson arrived half an hour early so that she might make the acquaintance of elisabeth. the waif was not demonstrative but she was entirely friendly. "she seems to have forgotten how to play, if she ever knew," said mrs. morton, "but we hope she'll learn soon." "she sees so many new faces it's a wonder she doesn't howl continually," said mary to whose kindly finger elisabeth was clinging steadfastly as she gazed seriously into mrs. emerson's smiling face. then for the second time since her arrival she smiled. it was a smile that brought tears to their eyes, so faint and sad was it, but it was a smile after all, and they all stood about, happy in her approval. "you two have your own children and father and i are all alone now," said grandmother, wiping her eyes. "let us have elisabeth. we need her--and we should love her so." "oh!" cried both of the younger women in tones of such disappointment that mrs. emerson saw at once that if she wanted a nursling she must look for another, not elisabeth of belgium. "after all, perhaps it is better for her," she admitted. "here she will have the children and will grow up among young people. are you ready?" when they picked up helen she had a request to make of her grandmother. "i telephoned about the baby to margaret at recess, just to tell her elisabeth was well this morning, and she was awfully interested in the idea of the helper from the school of mothercraft. she gets out of school earlier than we do--she'd be just home. i'm sure she wouldn't keep you waiting. and the house is only a step from the main street--can't we take her?" so margaret was added to the party that sped on to the ferry. to everybody's surprise, when they reached the new york end of the ferry edward watkins signalled the chauffeur to stop. "roger telephoned tom and della about the baby," he explained, "and about your coming in today and i thought perhaps i might do something to help. i don't want to intrude--" "we're going to the school of mothercraft," said mrs. morton, "and we'd be glad to have you go with us. i don't know that we shall need to call on your professional advice but if you can spare the time we'd like to have you." "unfortunately, time is the commodity i'm richest in," smiled the young doctor, taking the seat beside the chauffeur. the ride up town was a pleasure to the girls who did not often come to the city, and then seldom had an opportunity to ride in any automobile but a taxi-cab. as soon as possible they swung in to fifth avenue, whose brilliant shop windows and swiftly moving traffic excited them. they were quite thrilled when they drew up before a pretty house, no different in appearance from any of its neighbors, except that an unobtrusive sign notified seekers that they had found the right place. "it's a school to learn home-making in," helen explained to margaret in a low tone as they followed the elders up the steps, "so it ought to be in a real house and not a schoolhouse-y place." margaret nodded, for they were being ushered into a cheerful reception room, simply but attractively furnished. in a minute they were being greeted by the director who remembered meeting at chautauqua all of them except edward, and she recalled other members of his family and especially the watkins bull-dog, cupid, who was a prominent figure in chautauqua life. mrs. morton explained their errand, and also the reasons that had brought so large a number of them to the school. "we're a deputation representing several families and a club, all of which are interested in the baby, but i should like to have the young woman you select for us understand that we are going to rely on her knowledge and skill, and that she won't be called to account by a council of war every time she washes the baby's face." the director smiled. "i quite understand," she said. "i think i know just the young woman you want. she finished her course here last may, and then she went with me to chautauqua for the summer and helped me there with the work we did in measurements and in making out food schedules and so on for children whose mothers brought them to us for our advice. miss merriam--gertrude merriam is her name--is taking just one course here now, and i think she'll be willing to give it up and glad to undertake the care of a baby that needs such special attention as your little waif." the whole party followed the director upstairs and looked over with interest the scientifically appointed rooms. there was a kindergarten where those of the children in the house who were old enough, together with a few from outside, were taught in the morning hours. the nursery with its spotless white beds and furniture and its simple and appropriate pictures was as good to look at as a hospital ward, "and a lot pleasanter," said dr. watkins. out of it opened a wee roof garden and there a few of the children dressed in thick coats and warm hoods were playing, while a sweet-faced young woman sitting on the floor seemed quite at home with them. she tried to rise as the director's party came out unexpectedly on her. her foot caught in her skirt and dr. watkins sprang forward to give her a helping hand. "this is miss merriam of whom i was speaking," said the director, introducing her. "will you ask miss morgan to come out here with the children and will you join us in the study?" she asked. miss merriam assented and when her successor arrived the flock went in again to see the children's dining-room and the arrangements made for doing special cooking for such of them as needed it. "we try not to have elaborate equipment," explained the director. "i want my young women to be able to work with what any mother provides for her home and not to be dependent on machines and utensils that are seldom found outside of hospitals. they are learning thoroughly the scientific side. miss merriam, who, i hope, will go to you, is a college graduate, and in college she studied biology and food values and ventilation and sanitation and such matters. since she has been here she has reviewed all that work under the physicians who lecture here, and she has practised first aid and made a special study of infant requirements. you couldn't have any one better trained for what you need." dr. watkins gave his chair to miss merriam when she came to join the conference, and asked mrs. morton by a motion of the eyebrows if he should withdraw. when her reply was negative he sat down again. miss merriam blushed as she faced the group but she was entirely at her ease. mrs. morton explained their need. "a belgian baby!" she cried. "and you want me to take care of her! why, mrs. morton, there's nothing in the world i should like better. the poor little dud! when shall i go to you?" "just as soon as you can," replied mrs. morton. "we've left her today in charge of my little boy's old nurse, but as soon as you come we shall move her to my sister-in-law's." miss merriam turned inquiringly to mrs. smith, who smiled in return. "mrs. smith has only her daughter and herself in her family so she has more space in her house than i have." "but it's just round the corner from us so we can see the baby every day," cried helen. "i can go to rosemont early tomorrow morning," said miss merriam. "tell me, please, how to reach there." she glanced at mrs. morton, but dr. watkins answered her. "if you'll allow me," he said; "i have an errand in rosemont tomorrow and i'd be very glad to show you the way." miss merriam's blue eyes rested on him questioningly. "i'm an 'in-law' of the club," he explained. "my brother and sister, tom and della, are devoted members of the u. s. c. and sometimes they let me join them." "the doctor's bull-dog is an 'in-law,' too," laughed mrs. smith. "don't you remember him at chautauqua?" "the dog with the perfectly _extraordinary_ face? i do indeed remember him," and the inquiring blue eyes twinkled. "he appeared in an entertainment that the club gave a few weeks ago for the christmas ship and i think he received more applause than any other performer." "i'm not surprised," exclaimed miss merriam. "thank you, dr. watkins, i shall be glad of your help," and edward had a comfortable feeling that he was accepted as a friend, though he was not quite sure whether it was on his own merits or because he had a share in the ownership of a dog with an _extraordinary_ face. he did not care which it was, however, when he called the next morning and found miss merriam waiting for him. she was well tailored and her handbag was all that it should be. "i hate messy girls with messy handbags," he thought to himself after a sweeping glance had assured him that there was nothing "messy" about this mothercraft girl. the blue eyes were serious this morning, but they had a laugh in them, too, when he told her of the way the belgian baby was first called for, upon a young girl's impulse, and the reward james hancock had received for his cordial joining in the cry. "i'm going to like them all, every one of them," miss merriam said in the soft voice that was at the same time clear and firm. "i'm sure they'll like you," responded edward. "i hope they will. i shall try to make them. but the baby will be a delight, any way." at rosemont, to dr. watkins's disappointment, they found grandmother emerson and the automobile waiting at the station. edward bowed his farewell and went off upon his errand, and mrs. emerson and miss merriam drove to mrs. smith's where they found elisabeth already installed in a sunny room out of which opened another for miss merriam. the arrangement had been made by dorothy's moving into a smaller chamber over the front door. "i don't mind it a bit," she declared to her mother, "and please don't say a word about it to miss merriam--she might feel badly." so gertrude merriam accepted her room all unconsciously, and rejoiced in its brightness. the baby was lying before the window of her own room when gertrude entered. it moved a listless hand as she knelt beside it. "you little darling creature!" she exclaimed and elisabeth gave her infrequent smile as if she knew that woman's love and science were going to work together for her. chapter iv elisabeth makes friends under miss merriam's skilful care elisabeth of belgium slowly climbed the hill of health. she had grown so weak that she required to be treated like a child much younger than she really was. miss merriam gave her extremely nourishing food in small amounts and often; she made her rest hours as long as those of a baby of a year and her naps were always taken in the open air, where she lay warmly curled up in soft rugs like a little eskimo. at night she and her care-taker slept on an upper porch where she drew deep draughts of fresh air far down into the depths of her tiny relaxed body. "ayleesabet"--everybody adopted her own pronunciation--was napping in dicky's old perambulator on the porch of dorothy's cottage one saturday morning early in december. the ethels, their coat collars turned up and rugs wrapping their knees, were keeping guard beside her. both of them were alternately knitting and warming their fingers. "when she wakes up we can roll her down the street a little way," said ethel blue. "did miss merriam say so?" "yes, she said we might keep her out until twelve." "are the hancocks and watkinses coming early to the club meeting?" "about half past two. the afternoons are so short now that they thought they'd better come early so it wouldn't be pitch black night when they got home." "we ought to do some planning for christmas this afternoon. there's a lot to think about." "there's one christmas gift i wish aunt marian would give us." "what's that?" asked ethel brown expectantly for she had great faith in the ideas that ethel blue brought forth now and then. "don't you think it would be nice if she would let us have a visit from katharine jackson for one of our presents?" katharine jackson was the daughter of an army officer stationed at fort edward in buffalo. her father and ethel blue's father had been in the same class at west point and her mother had known ethel blue's mother who had died when she was a tiny baby. the two ethels had had a week-end with katharine the previous summer, going to buffalo from chautauqua for the purpose of spending a glorious saturday at niagara falls. "o-oh!" cried ethel brown, "that's one of the finest things you ever thought of! let's speak to mother as soon as we go home and write to mrs. jackson and katharine this afternoon if she says 'yes'." "i'm almost sure she will say 'yes'." "so am i. if katharine comes we can save all our christmas festivities for the time she's here so there'll be plenty to entertain her." "ayleesabet is waking. hullo, sweet lamb," and both girls leaned over the carriage, happy because their nursling condescended to smile on them when she opened her eyes. miss merriam brought out a cup of warm food when it was reported to her that her charge had finished her nap, and when the luncheon was consumed with evidences of satisfaction the ethels took the carriage out on to the sidewalk. elisabeth sat up, still sleepy-eyed and rosy from her nap, and gazed about her seriously at the road that was already becoming familiar. "oh, dear," sighed ethel blue under her breath, "there are the misses clark coming out of their house." "i hope they aren't going to complain of roger," ethel brown said, for roger acted as furnace man for these elderly ladies who had gained for themselves a reputation of being ill-natured. "it's too late to cross the street. they look as if they were coming expressly to speak to us. see, they haven't got their hats on." it did indeed look as if the little procession was being waylaid, for the misses clark stood inside their gate waiting for the ethels to come up. "we saw you coming," they said when the carriage came near enough, "and we came out to see the baby. this is the belgian baby?" "yes; this is ayleesabet." "ayleesabet? elisabeth, i suppose. why do you call her that?" "that's what she calls herself, and it seems to be the only word she remembers so we thought we'd let her hear it instead of giving her a new name." "ayleesabet," repeated the elder miss clark, coming through the gate. "will you shake hands with me, ayleesabet?" she held out her hand to the solemn child who sat staring at her with unmoved expression. ethel blue hesitatingly began to explain that the baby did not yet know how to shake hands, when to their amazement elisabeth extended a tiny mittened paw and laid it in miss clark's hand. "the dear child!" exclaimed both women, and the elder flushed warmly as if the delicate contact had touched an intimate chord. she gave the mitten a pressure and held it, elisabeth making no objection. "won't you bring her in to see us once in a while?" begged the younger miss clark. "we should like so much to have you. we've watched her go by with that charming looking young woman who takes care of her." "miss merriam. she's from the school of mothercraft," and ethel brown explained the work of the school. "how fortunate you were to know about the school. it would have been anxious work for mrs. morton and mrs. smith if they had had full responsibility for such a feeble baby." "we all love miss merriam," said ethel blue. "say 'gertrude,' elisabeth," and elisabeth obediently repeated "gertrude" in her soft pipe, and looked about for the owner of the name. "we'll bring her in to call on you," promised the ethels, saying "good-bye," and they went on feeling far more gently disposed toward their cross-patch neighbors than they ever had before. as for the "cross-patches," they looked after the carriage as long as it was in sight. when the girls returned to dorothy's they found edward watkins there. "it's very nice of you to come out to see how the baby is getting along," said ethel brown, going in to the living room, while ethel blue helped miss merriam take elisabeth out of the carriage. "i mean to keep an eye on her," replied edward gravely. "you don't really have to do it if it isn't convenient, you know," returned ethel. "of course we appreciate it tremendously, but dr. hancock is nearer and he's been coming over quite regularly." "i shan't try to compete with dr. hancock," promised dr. watkins; "but elisabeth is the club baby, you know, and tom and della are members so as their brother i feel almost a personal interest." "it's lovely of you to feel so. i just didn't want you to be bothered," explained ethel conscientiously. when miss merriam brought the baby in he examined her carefully as one tiny hand after another was released from its mitten and one slender leg after the other emerged from the knitted trousers. "she isn't what you'd call really fat yet, is she?" he commented. "she's a porpoise compared with what she was at the beginning," insisted ethel blue stoutly. "miss merriam can tell you how many ounces she has gained." "she's gained in happiness, any way," smiled the young physician as the baby murmured "gertrude" and patted gertrude's flushing cheek. there was a full meeting of the united service club when helen called it to order at a quarter of three and informed the members that it was high time for them to discuss what they were going to do as a club for christmas. "to tell the truth, i was awfully ashamed about our forgetting to do anything for anybody on thanksgiving. it all came out right, because our 'show' for the home went off well and the old ladies were pleased, but we didn't originate the idea and i feel as if we ought to make up for our forgetfulness by doing something extra at christmas. now who has any suggestions?" "i'd like to know first," asked james, the treasurer, "just how we stand with regard to elisabeth. i know we can't afford to pay miss merriam's salary; i am afraid we've got to call on the grownups for that--but we can do something and we must, and we ought to find out about it exactly." "mrs. emerson is paying half miss merriam's salary," explained dorothy. "and aunt louise the other half," added ethel brown. "i wrote to father about elisabeth," said ethel blue, "and he said he'd send us a hundred dollars a year for her. we could put it in the bank for her, he said, if we didn't need to use it for doctors' bills or anything else." "here's my pay from the misses clark; they forked over this morning," said roger elegantly, as he in turn "forked over" a bill to james. "madam president, may the treasurer report, please?" "the treasurer will kindly tell us what there is at the club's disposal," directed helen. "the treasurer is obliged to confess that there isn't very much," admitted james. "the christmas ship just about cleaned us out, and the cost of some of the material for costumes for 'miles standish' nearly used up what was left. this greenback of roger's is the best looking thing i've seen for some days." "i haven't paid my dues for december," confessed ethel blue. "here they are." it proved that one or two of the others were also delinquent, but even after all had paid there was a very small sum in hand compared with what they needed. "there isn't any use getting gloomy over the situation," urged helen. "if we haven't got the money, we haven't, that's all, and we must do the best we can without it. mother and aunt louise will wait to be paid. it isn't as if we had been extravagant and run into debt. the baby came unexpectedly and had to be made comfortable right off. we can assume that responsibility and pay up when we are able. i don't think that we ought to let that interrupt any plans we have to make christmas pleasant for anybody." "i believe you're right," agreed tom, "but i think we must limit ourselves somewhat." "you'll be limited by the low state of the treasury, young man," growled james. "wait and hear me. i imagine that what the president has in mind for our christmas work is doing something for the children in the glen point orphanage." helen and margaret nodded. "what do you say, then, if we decide to limit our christmas work as a club to doing something for the orphanage and for elisabeth? and i should like to suggest that no one of us gives a personal present that costs more than ten cents to any relative or friend. then we can place in the club treasury whatever we had intended to spend more than that, and do the best we can with whatever amount that puts into james's hands for the glen point orphans and elisabeth. am i clear?" and he sank back in his chair in seeming exhaustion. "you're very long-winded, thomas," pronounced roger, patting his friend on the shoulder, "but we get your idea. i second the motion, madam president. we'll give ten cent presents to our relatives and friends and put all the rest of our stupendous fortunes into giving the orphans a good time and getting some duds for ayleesabet or paying for what she has already." the motion was carried unanimously, and each one of them handed to james a calculation of how much he would be able to contribute to the christmas fund. "it will come pretty near being ten cent presents for the orphans," james pronounced after some work with pencil and paper. "we can't give them anything that the wildest imagination could call handsome." "there are plenty of people interested in the orphanage who give the children clothes and all their necessities, you know," margaret reminded her brother. "don't you remember when we talked this over before we said that what we'd do for them would be to give them some foolishnesses--just silly things that all children enjoy and that no one ever seems to think it worth while to give to youngsters in an institution." "will they have a tree?" "our church always sends a tree over there, but i must say it's a pretty lean tree," commented james. "it has pretty lights and a bag of candy apiece for the kids, and they stand around and sing carols before they're allowed to take a suck of the candy, and that's all there is to it." "the young ladies' guild has an awfully good time dressing it," testified margaret. "so did i winding up dicky's mechanical toys last christmas," said roger rather shamefacedly. "i'm afraid the poor kid didn't get much of a look-in until i got tired of them." "in view of these revelations, madam president," began tom, "i move that whatever we do for the orphans shall be something that they can join in themselves, and not just look at. anybody got an idea?" "our minds have been so full of the christmas ship that it has squeezed everything else out, i'm afraid," admitted della, with a delicate frown drawing her eyebrows. "why can't we continue to make the christmas ship useful somehow?" inquired dorothy. "meaning?" "i hardly know. perhaps we could have our presents for the children in a christmas ship instead of on a tree." "that's good. they'll have one tree anyway; this will be a novelty, and it can be made pretty." "can we get enough stuff to fill a ship?" "depends on the size of the ship." "it wouldn't have to be full; just the deck could be heaped with parcels." "and the rigging could be lighted." "how can we ring in the children so they can have more of a part than singing carols?" "why not make them do the work themselves--the work of distributing the gifts?" "i know," cried helen. "why not tell them about the real christmas ship and then tell them that they are to play that they all went over with it on its christmas errand. we can dress up some of the boys as sailors--" "child, you don't realize what you're suggesting," exclaimed margaret. "do you know there are twenty or twenty-five boys there? we couldn't make all those costumes!" "that's true," agreed helen, dismayed. her dismay soon turned to cheerfulness, however. "why couldn't they wear an arm band marked sailor? they can use their imaginations to supply the rest of the costume." "that would do well enough. and have another group of them marked longshoreman." "we can pick out the tallest boy to represent commander courtney and some of the others to be officers." "you're giving all the work to the boys; what can the girls do?" "don't let's have any of them play orphan. that would come too near home. they won't follow the story too far. they'll be contented to distribute the gifts to each other." "here's where the girls can come in. the officers can bring the good ship into port, and the sailors can make a handsome showing along the side as she comes up to the pier, and the longshoremen can stagger ashore laden with big bundles. on the shore there can be groups of girls who will undo the large bundles and take out the small ones that they contain. other groups of girls can go about giving out the presents." "i'll bet they'll have such a good time playing the game they won't notice whether the presents are ten centers or fifties," shouted roger. "i believe we've got the right notion." "we must do everything up nicely so they'll have fun opening the parcels," insisted helen. "here's where james begins pasting again. where's my pastepot, dorothy?" inquired james who had done wonders in making boxes to contain the gifts that went in the real ship. "here are all your arrangements in the corner, and i'll make you some paste right off," said dorothy, pointing out the corner of the attic where a table held cardboard and flowered paper and scissors. unless there was some especial reason for a meeting elsewhere the club always met in dorothy's attic, where the afternoon sun streamed in cheerfully through the low windows. there the members could leave their unfinished work and it would not be disturbed, and the place had proved to be so great a comfort during the autumn months, that mrs. smith had had a radiator put in so that it was warm and snug for winter use. electric lights had made it possible for them to work there occasionally during the evening and it was as cheerful an apartment as one would care to see, even though its furniture was made largely of boxes converted into useful articles by dorothy's inventive genius. "some time during christmas week we ought to cheer up the old couple by the bridge," urged roger. "the same people we chopped wood for?" asked tom. "the atwoods--yes. it gets on my nerves to see them sitting there so dully, every day when i pass by on my way to school." "we certainly won't forget them. we can do something that won't make any demand on our treasury, so tom won't mind our adding them to our christmas list." "i dare say we'll think of others before we go much farther. what we need to do now is to decide on things to make for the glen pointers," and the talk went off into a discussion which proved to be merely a selection from what they had learned to do while they were making up their parcels for the real christmas ship. now, with but a short time before christmas, they chose articles that could be made quickly. the girls also decided on the candies that each should make to fill the boxes, and they made requisition on the treasury for the materials so that they could go to work at once upon the lasting kinds. before the afternoon was over the attic resumed once more the busy look it had worn for so many weeks before the sailing of the _jason_. "ethel blue!" came a call up the attic stairs. ethel blue ran down to see what her aunt wanted, and came back beaming, two letters in her hand. "here's a letter from mrs. jackson to aunt marian saying that katharine may come to us for a fortnight, and another one from katharine to me telling how crazy she is to come. isn't it fine!" ethel threw her arm over ethel brown's shoulder and pulled her into the march that was the mortons' expression of great pleasure: "one, two, three, back; one, two, three, back," around the attic. "when is she coming?" asked roger, who had never seen katharine and so was able to endure calmly the prospect of her visit. "two days before christmas--that's wednesday in the afternoon." "we'll ask grandmother to let us have the car to go and get her; it's so much more fun than the train," proposed ethel brown. "um, glorious." the attic rang with the ethels' delight--at which they looked back afterwards with some wonder. chapter v the good ship "jason" the rosemont schools closed for the holidays at noon of the wednesday before christmas, so all the mortons and dorothy were free to avail themselves of mrs. emerson's offer of her car to bring katharine from hoboken. it was a pleasant custom of the family to regard any guests as belonging not to one or another member in particular but to all of them. all felt a responsibility for the guest's happiness and all shared in any amusement that he or she might give. according to this custom, not the ethels alone went to meet katharine, but helen and roger and dorothy, too. mrs. morton chaperoned them and dicky was added for good measure. it was a sharp day and the rosemont group were rosy with cold when they reached the station and lined themselves up on the platform just before the buffalo train drew in. katharine and the jacksons' german maid, gretchen, were among the first to get off. "gretchen is going to make a holiday visit, too," katharine explained when she had greeted the ethels, whom she knew, and had been introduced to the other members of the party. mrs. morton and roger instructed gretchen how to reach staten island where her friends lived and then they got into the car and sped toward home. katharine did not seem so much at ease as she had done when she played hostess to the ethels at fort edward. she was accustomed to meeting many people, but she was an only child and being plunged into a big family, all chattering at once, it seemed to her, caused her some embarrassment. in an effort not to show it she was not always happy in her remarks. "is this your car?" she asked. "it's grandmother emerson's," replied ethel brown. "she lets us have it very often." "i don't care for a touring car in cold weather. my grandmother has a limousine." "we're glad to have a ride in any kind of car," responded ethel blue happily. "roger, get out that other rug for katharine," directed mrs. morton, "she's chilly." "oh, no," demurred katharine, now ashamed at having made a remark that seemed to reflect upon the comfort of her friends' automobile. "i'm used to a ford, any way." "i'm afraid you don't know much about cars if you do come from an automobile city," commented roger dryly. "this car would make about three fords--though i don't sneeze at a ford myself. i'd be mighty glad if we had one, wouldn't you, mother?" mrs. morton shook her head at him, and he subsided, humming merrily, he took four spools and an old tin can and called it a ford and the strange thing ran. the ethels had not paid much attention to the conversation but nevertheless it had struck the wrong note and no one felt entirely at ease. they found themselves wondering whether their guest would find her room to her liking and they remembered uneasily that they had said "i guess she won't mind" this and that when they had left some of their belongings in the closet. the morton's house was not large and in order to accommodate a guest the ethels moved upstairs into a tiny room in the attic, where they were to camp for the fortnight of katharine's stay. they had thought it great fun, and were more than willing to endure the discomfort of crowded quarters for the sake of having the long-desired visit. now, however, ethel brown murmured to ethel blue as they went into the house, "i'm glad we had one of the beds taken upstairs; it will give her more space," and ethel blue replied, "i believe we can hang our dancing school dresses in the east corner of the attic if we put a sheet around them." indeed, ethel blue made a point of running upstairs while katharine was speaking to dorothy in the living room and removing the dresses from the closet. she looked around the room with new sight. it had seemed pleasant and bright to her in the morning when she and ethel brown had added some last touches to the fresh muslin equipment of the bureau, but now she wished that they had had a perfectly new bureau cover, and she was sorry she had not asked mary to give the window another cleaning although it had been washed only a few days before. "perhaps she won't notice," she murmured hopefully, but in her heart of hearts she was pretty sure she would. katharine made no comment, however, beyond lifted eyebrows when she noticed anything different from what she had been accustomed to in a house where there was a small family, and, in consequence, plenty of space. she unpacked her trunk and hung up her clothes with care and neatness which the ethels admired. ordinarily they would have praised her frankly for doing well what they sometimes failed to do well, but they had not yet recovered from the constraint that her remarks on the way home had thrown over them. it was not lessened when she mentioned that usually gretchen did her unpacking for her. "mary would love to unpack for us," said ethel brown, "but if she did that we'd have to do some of her work, so we'd rather hang up our duds ourselves." katharine was greatly interested in the club plans for the glen point orphans. she had lived in garrisons in the remote west and in or near large cities, but her experience never had placed her in a comparatively small town like rosemont or glen point where people took a friendly interest in each other and in community institutions. she entered heartily into the final preparations for the imitation christmas ship and she and the girls forgot their mutual embarrassment in their work for some one else. roger went to glen point in the morning of the day before christmas to meet the other club boys and build the ship in the hall of the orphanage. they worked there for several hours and lunched with james and margaret at the hancocks'. the rest of the mortons and katharine took over the parcels in the early afternoon in the car and arranged them on the deck as had been planned, and then all the young people came back together, for they were to have a part in the lighting of the rosemont christmas tree. the tree was a huge norway spruce and it was set up in front of the high school which had a lawn before it large enough to hold a goodly crowd of observers. the choirs of all the churches had volunteered their services for the occasion. they were placed on a stand elevated above the crowd so that they could lead the singing and be heard at a distance. except for murmurs of admiration and a long-drawn breath of delight there was no sound from the throng. it was too beautiful for speech; the meaning was too laden with brotherly love and cheer for it to be mistaken. a sad-eyed girl smiled to herself and gazed with new hope in her face; a pickpocket took his hand out of his neighbor's bag that had opened like magic under his practised touch. babies stretched out their arms to the glitter; grown men stared silently with unaccustomed tears wetting their eyes. the school children sang on and on, "oh, come all ye faithful, joyful and triumphant;" then "hark, the herald angels sing, glory to the new-born king;" and "it came upon the midnight clear." the fresh young voices rang gloriously, strengthened by the more mature voices of the choirs. the stars were coming out before the first person turned away, and all through the night watchers of the tree's resplendent glory were found by the patrolling policeman gazing, gazing, with thoughts of peace reflected on faces that had long been unknown to peace. it was after six when the emerson car whirled the u. s. c. back to the mortons' for a dinner that had to be eaten hastily, for they were due at the glen point orphanage soon after seven so that all might be in order for the doors to be opened to the children at half past. helen was always urging punctuality as tom was commanding promptness. "if we were small youngsters and had had to wait all day for our christmas party we'd be wild at having it delayed a minute longer than necessary," the president insisted, and tom added his usual exhortation, "run the thing along briskly; don't let it drag. you can 'put over' lots of stupid stuff by rushing it on gayly, and a good 'stunt' may be good for nothing if it goes slowly." "helen and tom can't say that they 'never sing the old, old songs,' can they?" laughed ethel brown. "the club has never done anything yet that we haven't heard these same sweet strains from both of them." "you're very likely to hear them again--my chant, any way," declared her sister firmly. "it won't do us any harm," ethel brown yielded good-naturedly. the boys had made the good ship _jason_ with some ingenuity. the matron had let them have a table, long and so old that the marks of boots upon it would do no harm. this was important for it was to be used as the forward deck. because in the days of its youth it had been used in the dining room of the smaller children it was lower than an ordinary table. this made it just the right height, for the ship's rail was to rise above it, and if it had been higher the people on the floor could not have seen the deck comfortably. at the end of the table was tied the mast--a broom stick with electric light wires strung with tiny bulbs going from its top to the deck. this electrical display was a contribution from roger who had asked his grandfather to give it to him for his christmas gift and had requested that he might have it in time for him to lend it to the _jason_. it was run by a storage battery hidden in a box that was safely bestowed under the deck. aft of the mainmast were two kitchen chairs placed side by side to give the craft the needed length. the outside of the boat was made by stretching a double length of war-gray cambric from the bow--two hammock stretchers fastened to the end of the table--along the deck, past the chairs and across their end. the cloth was raised a trifle above the deck by laths nailed on to the edge of the table. the name, "jason," in black letters, was pinned along the bow. "it isn't a striking likeness of a boat," confessed roger, "but any intelligent person would be able to guess what it was meant to be." when the children and a few other people who had begged to be allowed to come entered the hall they found the ship lighted and with its deck piled high with wooden boxes and parcels of good size. the members of the u. s. c. were gathered beside the ship. when all had entered helen, as president of the club, mounted one of the chairs which represented the after part of the boat and told the story of the real ship _jason_. "children from all over the united states sent christmas gifts to the european children who otherwise would not have any because of the war. tonight we are going to pretend that we are all sailing on the _jason_ to carry the gifts to europe. we've all got to help--every one of us. first of all we want a captain. i think that boy over there near the door will be the captain, because he's the tallest boy i see here." embarrassed but pleased the tall boy came forward and della fastened on his arm a band marked captain. following instructions he mounted the chair from which helen descended. two under officers were chosen in the same way, and the ethels raised them to the ranks of first and second lieutenants by the simple method of fastening on suitable arm bands. "now we want some sailors," cried roger, and he selected ten other boys, who were all rapidly adorned with sailor bands by the u. s. c. gifts. the ship was about as full as she could be now, with her officers standing, one on the deck and the others on the two chairs, and the sailors manning the rail. everybody was beginning to enjoy the game by this time, and the faces that looked out over the gray cambric sides of the _jason_ were beaming with eagerness to find out what was coming next, while the children who had not yet been assigned to any task were equally curious to find out how they were to help. "now we're on the pier at the bush terminal at brooklyn," explained tom. "look out there; don't get in the way of the ropes," and he pushed the crowd back from the imaginary ropes, and whistled a shrill call on his fingers. "see, she's moving! she's starting!" cried ethel blue. "wave your handkerchief! wave it!" she directed the children near her, who fell into the spirit of the pretense and gave the christmas ship a noisy send-off. "now we'll all turn our backs while the ship is crossing the atlantic," directed james. it required only a minute for the boat to make the crossing, and when the onlookers turned about after this trip of unparalleled swiftness they were told that now they were not americans any longer; they were english people at devonport gathered to watch the arrival of the _jason_ and to help unload the presents sent to the children of england and belgium. "i want some longshoremen to help unload these boxes," said helen, "and a set of sorters and a set of distributors. who'll volunteer as longshoremen?" there was a quick response, and this group exhausted all the boys. they were designated by arm bands each marked longshoreman. then she called for girls for the other two detachments and divided them into two sections, one marked sorters and the other distributors. under roger's direction a chair, turned over on its face, made a sloping gangplank down which the bundles could be slid. "have your lieutenants place their men around the deck and on each side of this plank," he instructed the captain. "then order a few longshoremen to go aboard and hand the bundles from one to another and slide them down the plank to the men on the pier who will take them over to the sorters. you," he called to the girls, "you stay at that side of the room and open these large parcels when they are brought to you, and you read what it says on the packages and make two piles, one of those marked 'boy' and the other of those marked 'girl'. then there are bundles marked with the children's names. give them out. see that everybody has one package marked with his name and one package just marked 'boy' or 'girl'." the ethels had proposed this arrangement so that all the children should feel that the distribution of gifts had been made by chance. the parcels bearing the children's names were filled with candy and goodies and were all alike. "didn't i tell you they'd like foolishnesses!" she said to helen in an undertone. "look at those boys with jumping jacks. they love them!" "see those youngsters with those silly twirling things tom made," said della. "he's right about the charm of those little flat objects. they'll twirl them by the hour i really believe." all the gifts were of the simplest sort. there were the danish twins that ethel blue had made for the real ship--little worsted elves fastened together by a cord; and rubber balls covered with crocheting to make them softer; dolls, small and inexpensive, but each with an outfit of clothes that would take off; a stuffed kitten or two; several baskets, each with a roll of ribbon in it. "they can fit them up for work baskets afterwards, if they want to," said margaret, "but i'm not going to suggest sewing to these youngsters who have to do it every day of their lives whether they want to or not." there were various kinds of candy in boxes covered with bright colored and flowered paper, for james had outdone himself in developing new pasting ideas. there were cookies, too, and tiny fruit cakes. the faces of the club members were as joyous as the faces of the children as they looked about them and saw evidences of the success of their plan. if they needed confirmation it was given them by the matron. "i've never seen them so happy," she said. "i can't thank you enough for giving them this pleasure." "it was lovely," approved katharine. "i'm so glad you let me help." it was still early when the merry party reached home, but mrs. morton bundled them off to bed promptly. "you've all made a sacrifice to dicky's christmas habits," she explained. "he's been in bed for hours and he's preparing to get up long before dawn, so we all might as well go to bed ourselves or we'll be exhausted by this time tomorrow night." "hang your stocking on your outside door knob, katharine," cried the ethels. "we have santa claus trained to look there for it in this house." chapter vi christmas day mrs. morton's prophecy was fulfilled. it was still black night when dicky roused from his bed and sent a "merry christmas" ringing through the house. there was no response to his first cry, but, undaunted, he uttered a second. to this there came a faint "merry christmas" from the top story where the ethels were snuggled under the roof, and another from helen's room beside his own. katharine said nothing and not a word came from roger, though there was a sound of heavy, regular breathing through his door. "let's put on our wrappers and go down stairs into katharine's room," suggested ethel brown. "it's lots too early. let's wait a while," replied ethel blue, so they lay still for another hour in spite of increasing sounds of ecstasy from dicky. after all they decided to follow the usual family custom and take their stockings into the living room before breakfast instead of going to katharine's room. as they passed her door they knocked on it and begged her to hurry so that they could all begin the opening at once. she said that she was up and would soon join them, but it proved to be fully three quarters of an hour before she appeared. all the mortons except dicky had waited for her before opening their bundles. "we thought you would excuse dicky for not waiting; it's rather hard on a small boy to have such tantalizing parcels right before him and not attack them," apologized mrs. morton. katharine looked somewhat embarrassed to find that she had been the cause of so long a delay but she offered no excuse. "let's all look at our stockings first," said ethel brown, and every hand dived in and brought out candy, nuts, raisins, an apple, an orange, dates and figs and candy animals. there were gifts among the goodies, or instructions where to find them. roger discovered a pocket book that had been his desire for a long time, and a card that advised him to look under the desk in the library and see what was waiting for him. he dashed off in a high state of curiosity and came back whooping, with a typewriter in his arms. "aren't grandfather and grandmother the best ever!" he exclaimed rapturously, and he paid no further attention to his other gifts or to those of the rest of the family while he hunted out a small table and arranged the machine for immediate action. helen's chief presents were a ring with a small pearl, from her grandmother and a set of stevenson from her grandfather. the ethels had each a tennis racquet and each a desk of a size suitable for their bedroom. "they'll go one on each side of the window," exclaimed ethel brown, while ethel blue at once began to store away in hers the supply of stationery that came with it. katharine's gifts were quite as numerous as the mortons', for her mother had forwarded to mrs. morton's care all those of suitable size that came to buffalo for her. she opened one after another: books, hair ribbons, a pair of silk stockings for dancing school, a tiny silver watch on a long chain. mr. and mrs. emerson had added to her store a racquet like the ethels'. more numerous than those of any of the others were dicky's presents, and they were varied, indeed. a velocipede was his grandfather's offering and was received with shouts of delight. blocks of a new sort occupied him when his mother stopped his travels on three wheels. a train of cars made its way under katharine's feet and nearly threw her down, to her intense disgust, and a pair of roller skates brought dicky himself in her way so often that she spoke to him more sharply than he had ever been spoken to in his life. he drew away and stared at her solemnly. "you're a cross girl," he announced after a disconcerting pause, and katharine flushed deeply at the accusation, realizing that it was not polite to rebuke your hostess's brother and regretting her hasty speech. "are you good for a long walk?" roger asked katharine after breakfast. katharine said she was. "then help me do up these things for grandfather and grandmother and we'll be off," and he threw down a handful of red paper and green ribbon and ran to get the shears. roger and helen together had given grandfather emerson a whole desk set, roger hammering the metal and helen providing and making up the pad and roller blotter and ink bottle. it was a handsome set. the blotter was green and the ethels had made a string basket out of which came the end of a ball of green twine, and a set of filing envelopes, neatly arranged in a portfolio of heavy green cardboard. all of the family had helped make the chautauqua scrapbook that was mrs. emerson's principal gift from her grandchildren. helen had written the story of their summer at chautauqua, roger had typed it on a typewriter at school, and the others had chosen and pasted the pictures that illustrated it. ethel blue had added an occasional drawing of her own when their kodaks gave out or they were unable to find anything in old magazines that would answer their purpose, and the effect was excellent. katharine looked it over with the greatest interest. "here you are, all of you, going over from westfield to chautauqua in the trolley," she exclaimed, for she had made the same trip herself. "and here are the chief officers of chautauqua institution--bishop vincent and some of the others." "and here's the spelling match--my, that amphitheatre is an enormous place!" "this is the hydro-aeroplane that we flew in, ethel brown and i." "these are different buildings on the grounds--i recognize them. this is a splendid present," complimented katharine. "it was heaps of fun making it. did you notice this picture of mother's and grandfather's class on recognition day? see, there's mother herself. she happened to be in the right spot when the photographer snapped." "how lucky for you! it's perfect. i know mrs. emerson will be awfully pleased." "we hope she will. are you infants ready?" and roger swung the parcels on to his back and opened the door for the girls. "we're going to stop at dorothy's, aren't we?" asked ethel blue. "certainly we are. we want to see her presents and to give elisabeth hers and to say 'merry christmas' to aunt louise and miss merriam." "you seem very fond of miss merriam," said katharine to ethel brown as they turned the corner into church street. "we are. she's splendid. she knows just what to do for elisabeth and she's lovely any way." "you act as if she belonged to the family." "why shouldn't we?" asked ethel in amazement. "don't you pay her for taking care of the baby?" "certainly we pay her. we'd pay a doctor for taking care of her, too, only we happen to have two doctors related to the club so they give us their services free. why shouldn't we pay her?" ethel brown was quite breathless. she could not entirely understand katharine's point of view, but she seemed to be hinting that miss merriam was serving in a menial capacity. the idea made loyal ethel brown, who had not a snobbish bone in her body, extremely angry. service she understood--her father and her uncle and katharine's father, too, for that matter, were serving their country and were under orders. one kind of service might be less responsible than another kind, but that any service that was honest and useful could be unworthy was not in her creed. "no reason, of course," replied katharine, who saw that she had offended ethel. "any way, her work is more than a nursemaid's work." "i should say it was," answered ethel warmly; "she's taken several years' training to fit her for it. but even if she were just a nursemaid i should love her. i love mary. she was dicky's nurse and mother says she saved him from becoming a sick, nervous child by her wisdom and calmness. mary's skilful, too." katharine did not pursue the discussion, and ethel brown, when miss merriam came into the room to wish them a "merry christmas," threw her arms around her neck and kissed her. "you're a perfectly splendid person," she exclaimed. elisabeth was at her very best this morning. never before had they seen her so beaming. she had a special smile for every one of them, so that each felt that he had been singled out for favors. she shook hands with roger, walked a few steps, clinging to the ethels' fingers, patted helen's cheek, rippled all over when dicky danced before her, and even permitted katharine to take her on her lap. this was a concession on katharine's part as well as on elisabeth's, for katharine was not much interested in a stray baby. she saw, however, that the mortons all were in love with the little creature so she did her best to be amiable toward her. "you're all so good to me," she cried. "i love all these things that you've made for me with your own fingers." "we'd do more than that if we could," answered ethel blue as they all, including dorothy, swept out of the front door to take up their journey to the emersons'. at the emersons' there was a renewal of greetings and "thank yous" and laughter, and a rehearsing of all the gifts that had been received. mrs. smith had sent mrs. emerson an unusual pair of richly decorated wax candles which she had found at an italian candlemaker's in new york, and miss merriam had sent her and mrs. morton each a tiny brass censer and a supply of charcoal and japanese incense to make fragrant the house. "mother gave us handkerchiefs all around," said roger, "and mary baked us each a cake and the cook made candy enough for an army." "you're dining at your aunt louise's, dear?" "we're going right from here to carry some bundles for mother and then to church, and then to aunt louise's for an early dinner. after dinner we are to call on the old ladies at the home for a half hour and then we go back to a tree for dicky--just a little shiny one; we've had all our presents. after supper the thing we're going to do is a secret." "that sounds like a program that will keep you busy while it lasts. they're not tiring you out, i hope?" mr. emerson asked katharine, who listened to roger's list without displaying much enthusiasm. "i'm enjoying it all very much," responded katharine politely, but not in a tone that carried conviction. "how would it please you if the car took you back and helped you carry those parcels for your mother?" there was a general whoop of satisfaction. "your grandmother and i are going to church, but we won't mind starting earlier than we usually do." "which means right now, i should say," said roger, looking at his watch. at the mortons' the car added mrs. morton and dicky to its occupants and several large baskets containing christmas dinners for people in whom the mortons had an interest. the young mortons all had had a hand in packing these baskets and in adding a touch of holly and red ribbon at the top to give them a holiday appearance. "this first one is for old mrs. jameson," mrs. morton explained to her mother. "everything in it is already cooked because she is almost blind and cooking is harder for her than it is for most people. there is a roast chicken and the vegetables are all done and put in covered bowls packed around with excelsior so that their heat won't be lost." "like a fireless cooker." "the ethels and dorothy made enough individual fruit cakes for all our baskets, and we've put in hard pudding sauce so that they can be eaten as puddings instead of cakes." "the girls have made candies and cookies for everybody. that basket for the flynns has enough cookies for eight children besides the father and mother." "if their appetites are like roger's there must be a good many dozen cookies stowed away there." "you can see it's the largest of all," laughed mrs. morton. roger played santa claus at each house and his merry face and pleasant jokes brought smiles to faces that did not look happy when their owners opened their doors. the flynns' was the last stop and everybody in the car laughed when all the flynns who could walk, and that meant nine of them, fairly boiled out of the door to receive the visitor. roger jumped the small fry and joked with the larger ones, and left them all in a high state of excitement. it was a very merry party that gathered around the smiths' table, the largest dinner party that dorothy and her mother had given since they came to rosemont to live after they had met their unknown morton relatives at chautauqua the summer before. to mrs. smith it gave the greatest happiness to see the children of her brothers sitting at her table and to know that her sister-in-law was her very dear friend as well as her relative by marriage. after dinner they all snapped costume crackers and adorned themselves with the caps that they discovered inside them, and they set the new victrola going and danced the butterfly dance that they had learned at chautauqua and had given at their entertainment for the christmas ship. dusk was coming on when the ethels said that they must go to the old ladies' home or they would have to run all the way. grandfather emerson offered to whirl all of them over in the car, and they were glad to accept the offer. they stopped at home to get the boxes of candy which they had prepared. it was while they were running up stairs to gather them together that katharine asked ethel blue if mary might press a dress for her. "i want to wear it this evening," she said. ethel blue gasped. mary had not yet come back from mrs. smith's where she had served dinner for the large party and was still occupied in clearing up after it. supper at home was yet to come. mrs. morton had always urged upon the girls to be very careful about asking to have extra services rendered at inconvenient hours, and a more inconvenient time than this hardly could have been selected. "why, i don't know," ethel blue hesitated. "oh, if you don't care to have her--" replied katharine stiffly. "it isn't that," returned ethel miserably. "mary's always willing to do things for us, but you see she's had a hard day and it isn't over yet and she won't have any holiday at all if she has to do this." "very well," returned katharine in a tone that made ethel feel that her friend considered that she was being discourteous to her guest. "i can find something else to wear this evening, i suppose." she looked so like a martyr that ethel was most unhappy. "if you'll let me try it, i can use the stove in our own little kitchen," she offered, referring to the small room where mrs. morton allowed the girls to cook so that they should not be in the way of the servants. "no, indeed, i could not think of letting you," responded katharine. "i don't know that i could do it. i never have pressed anything nice--but i'd like to try if you'll trust me." "no, indeed," repeated katharine, and the girls entered the automobile each in a state of mental discomfort, katharine because she felt that she was not being treated with proper consideration, and ethel blue because she had been obliged to refuse the request of a friend and guest. the ride to the home was uncomfortably silent. on roger's part the cause was turkey, but the girls were quiet for other reasons. the visit to the old ladies was not long. they distributed their packages and wished everybody a "merry christmas" and shook hands with their especial favorites and ran back to the car. the supper was not really a party meal. it merely served as a gathering place for the u. s. c. before they went to the christmas tree at the church. it also served as a background for dick's little shining tree. this small tree had been a part of dick's christmas ever since he had had a christmas, and to him it was quite as important as his dinner, although there never were any presents on it. it stood now on a small table at the side of the dining room. it was lighted by means of the storage battery and the strings of tiny electric lights that had been used for the christmas ship at the glen point orphanage. there were all sorts of balls and tinsel wreaths and tiny, glistening cords. it glowed merrily while the supper went on, dicky, at intervals of five minutes, calling everybody's attention to its beauties. there were favors at each plate, each a joke of some sort on the person who received it. every one held up his toy for the rest to see and each provoked a peal of laughter. chapter vii new year's eve "where is katharine?" asked mrs. morton of the ethels as mary announced luncheon on the day before new year's. "she went over to dorothy's. shall i call her?" "give her a minute or two. she knows the luncheon hour," replied katharine's hostess. but a minute or two and more passed and no katharine appeared. "she must be lunching with dorothy," suggested ethel blue. "i'm sure dorothy would have telephoned to ask if we had any plans that would interfere." "it's twenty minutes past the hour; you'd better call and see if she's still there," said mrs. morton, "and we may as well sit down." helen was still at the telephone and the family was seated when katharine came in. "you didn't wait for me," she remarked with apparent surprise. "of course you didn't realize that the luncheon hour had struck," mrs. morton apologized for her. "helen is calling dorothy now to inquire about you." katharine made no reply and sat down with the injured air that she was in the habit of wearing when she thought that not sufficient deference had been paid her. she offered no apology or explanation and seemed to think, if any conclusion could be drawn from her manner, that she had a grievance instead of mrs. morton, whose family arrangements were continually being upset by her guest's dilatoriness and lack of consideration. the visit which had been looked forward to with such delight was not proving successful. for themselves the ethels did not mind occasional delays, but they knew that all such matters interfered with the smooth running of the house, and they could not help wondering that katharine should seem to think that her hostess should rearrange the daily routine to suit her. the evening meal was to be supper and not dinner and it was to be especially early because it was to be cooked entirely by the young people. the hancocks and the watkinses were at the mortons' by five o'clock. dr. watkins came out, too, by special invitation, but he asked if he might be permitted to pay a visit to elisabeth while the rest were preparing the meal, in view of the fact that he was not skilled as a cook, and felt himself to be too old to learn in one lesson. he was allowed to go with strict injunctions to be back at half past six and to bring miss merriam with him. the ethels had planned beforehand what they were going to have for supper and the part that each was to take in the preparations. when the aprons had been taken off and the guests were all seated at the table the supper went swimmingly. the oysters were delicious, the salad sufficiently "chunky" to please roger, the biscuits as light as a feather and the fruit mã©lange as good to look at as if it was to eat. the table decorations hinted at the new year that was upon them. high in a belfry made of small sticks piled on each other criss-cross hung a small bell. silver cords ran from it to each place so that every guest might in turn "ring out the old, ring in the new." beside the tower on one side stood the old year bending with the weight of his twelve-month of experience; on the other side was the fresh new year, too young to know experience. both were dolls dressed by dorothy and ethel blue. "i move you, madam president," said tom when the meal was nearly over, "that we extend a vote of thanks to the cooks for this delicious nourishment." "i was just on the point of making that motion," laughed edward watkins. "and i of seconding it," cried miss merriam. "it would come more appropriately from us." "you were far too slow," retorted tom. "i couldn't wait for you." "as the president was one of the cooks she ought to place some one else in the chair to put a motion complimentary in part to herself, but as the maker of the motion and the seconder were also cooks we're all in the same box and i don't believe it's necessary. all in favor say 'aye'." a shout of "ayes" followed. "contrary minded." silence. "madam president." "mrs. morton has the floor." "i don't want to seem inhospitable, but if you're going to reach the atwoods' on time you'd better be starting." there was a general scattering and a donning of outer garments. the boys picked up the bags and the club started for the bridge, dr. watkins and miss merriam going with them. when the ethels had called on mrs. atwood and had asked her if the club might visit her on new year's eve the old lady had been not only surprised but somewhat alarmed. she grew more cordial, however, when ethel brown explained it to her. "would you mind our asking some of our friends?" "not at all. we'd be glad to do the few small things that we've planned for just as many people as you can get in here." "that isn't many," replied mrs. atwood, looking about her sitting room. "but there's one of my neighbors hardly ever gets to the stores or to a movie show, and i'd love to ask her in; and there's another one is just getting up from a sickness." so the room was quite filled with guests when the club members arrived. "that's the boy that hung my gate for me last year the day after hallowe'en," whispered one old woman as roger made his way through the room, and several of them said, "those are the young folks that went round after the regular hallowe'en party this year and put back the signs and things the other people had pulled down." the audience was so much larger than the club had expected that helen, as president, felt called upon to make a short explanation. "we're very glad to see you here," she said, "but we don't want you to expect anything elaborate from us. we've just come to entertain our friends for a short time in a simple way. so please be kind to us." helen was wearing a pale pink dress that was extremely becoming, and her cheeks were flushed when she realized that these people had seen or heard of their more pretentious undertakings and might be expecting something similar from them now. there was a reassuring nodding all over the room, and then the young people began their performance. edward watkins first played on the violin, giving some familiar airs with such spirit that toes went tapping as he drew his bow back and forth. dorothy followed him with kipling's "i keep six honest serving men." the music was edward german's, and helen played the accompaniment on mrs. atwood's little organ. the introduction was spirited and then dorothy sang softly. dicky's turn came next on the program. he was introduced as the honorary member of the united service club, and the name of the poem that he was to recite was given as "russian and turk." "we don't know who wrote these verses," helen explained. dicky was helped to the top of a box which served as a stage and bobbed his bobbed hair at the audience by way of a bow. every s he pronounced th, which added to the pleasure of the hearers of the following lines: there was a russian came over the sea, just when the war was growing hot; and his name it was tjalikavakaree- karindobrolikanahudarot- shibkadirova- ivarditztova sanilik danevik varagobhot. dicky rattled off these names and two other similar stanzas with astonishing glibness to the amazement of his hearers. his first public appearance with the club was undeniably a success. the next number on the program necessitated the disappearance behind a sheet drawn across the end of the room of almost all the members of the club. helen, who was making the announcements, stayed outside. a light came into view behind the curtain and the lights in the room were put out. "this is the last day of the year," began helen when a muffled whisper had told her that all was ready, "and everybody is eager to know what is going to happen next year. we all would like to know, how the war is going to turn out, and what is going to be the result of the troubles in mexico, and whether rosemont will get its new park--" she was interrupted by laughter, for rosemont's new park was still a live subject although it never seemed to approach settlement one way or the other. "what you are going to see now on the screen we call 'prophecies.' the poet campbell said that 'coming events cast their shadows before,' and we might take that line for our motto. the first prophecy is one of trouble. it comes to almost every person at one time or another of his life." silence fell on the darkened room. on the sheet came the figure of dicky. it was recognized by all and greeted with a round of applause. he looked around him as if hunting for something; then seized what was unmistakably a jam pot and began to eat from it with a spoon. his figure grew larger and larger and faded away as he walked back toward the light and disappeared beyond it. in his place came the figure of edward watkins, and those who knew that he was a doctor and those who guessed it from his physician's bag understood that his appearance was prophetic of dicky's deliverance from the suffering caused by jam. the light behind the sheet was moved close to the curtain while the table and chairs were set in place. when it went back to its proper spot there were seen the silhouettes of a group of men sitting around the table arguing earnestly. "this," said helen, "is the rosemont board of aldermen talking about the park." the argument grew excited. one man sprang to his feet and another thumped the table with his fist. suddenly they all threw back their heads and laughed, rose and left the stage arm in arm. "they're wondering why they never agreed before," helen decided. "it's the spring getting into their bones; and here are some of the people who are benefited by the park." the table and chairs disappeared and a bench took their place. there followed a procession of folk apparently passing through the park. a workman, shovel and pick over his shoulder, stopped to look up at the trees. that was james. a young man and his sweetheart--roger and ethel brown--strolled slowly along. dicky rolled a hoop. margaret, carrying a baby borrowed from the audience, sat down on a bench and put it to sleep. the onlookers approved highly of this prophecy which was of a state of affairs which they all wanted. "the other day," went on helen in her gentle voice, "i found a prophecy that was not written for this war but for another, yet it is just as true for the great war that is devastating the homes and hearts of men today. it was written by miss bates who wrote 'america the beautiful,' which we all sing in school, and it is called 'the great twin brethren.' you remember that the great twin brethren were castor and pollux. they were regarded as gods by the romans. they fought for the romans in the battle of lake regillus, and the high priest said about it, according to macaulay: back comes the chief in triumph who, in the hour of fight, hath seen the great twin brethren in harness on his right. these are the divine helpers to whom miss bates refers in her poem." on the screen there came into view the shadows of castor and pollux dressed like roman knights--with a corselet over a loose shirt, a short plaited skirt, greaves to protect their legs, a helmet on the head and a spear in the hand. while ethel brown, who had stepped forward, read the poem, the two figures--really roger and tom, who were nearly of a height--stood motionless. as it ended they glided backward and faded from view. the great twin brethren the battle will not cease till once again on those white steeds ye ride o heaven-descended twins, before humanity's bewildered host. our javelins fly wide, and idle is our cannon's boast. lead us, triumphant brethren, love and peace. a fairer golden fleece our more adventurous argo fain would seek, but save, o sons of jove, your blended light go with us, vain employ it were to rove this bleak blind waste. to unimagined joy guide us, immortal brethren, love and peace. these beautiful lines were read with great seriousness and their profound meaning went to the hearts of the hearers. its gravity was counterbalanced by the next prophecy which gave hope of immediate fulfilment. across the screen passed a procession of club members, the first carrying a plate full of something that proved to be doughnuts when one was held up so that its hole was visible. the second person in the row bore a basket heaped high with apples, the third a dish of cookies. then came more doughnuts, nuts and raisins, corn balls, and oranges. the lights were turned on, and the silhouettes, changed by simple magic into laughing boys and girls, passed among the people distributing their eatables. every one had a word of praise for them. the atwoods, for whom the effort had been made, said little, but shook hands almost tearfully with each performer. at home they found a rousing fire and something to eat awaiting them, with mrs. morton smiling a cheerful welcome. they sat before the fire and cracked nuts and ate apples until the chimes rang their notice that 1927 was vanishing into the past and giving way to the new year of hope and promise. clasping hands they stood quite still until the chimes stopped and the slow strokes of the town clock fell on their ears. with the last they broke into the hymn: now a new year opens, now we newly turn to the holy saviour, lessons fresh to learn. chapter viii katharine leaves katharine ended her visit a few days later and returned to buffalo under the care of gretchen. she was escorted to the train, but the farewells of the morton's were not intermixed with expressions of regret at her departure. she had not been a considerate guest and she had not seemed appreciative of efforts that had been made especially to give her pleasure. it was on the way to the atwoods' on new year's eve. katharine and della were walking together. "it must be rather awful," said katharine, "to have a family scandal such as the morton's have." "a family scandal!" repeated della. "what do you mean?" "about dorothy. her father was shot, you know." "i know. but it wasn't a scandal. it was awful for mrs. smith and dorothy but there was nothing scandalous about it--nothing at all. dorothy has spoken to me about it quite frankly." "she has?" returned katharine skeptically. "i shouldn't think she would want to." "i could see that it was very painful for her; but i think she and the mortons, too, would be much more pained now if they knew that a guest was discussing their affairs." katharine dropped della's arm and the two girls hardly spoke during the remainder of katharine's stay. when weeks passed and no "bread and butter letter" came from katharine to thank mrs. morton and the family, the rudeness set the capstone to her sins against hospitality. "any letter from katharine?" became a daily question from roger when he came in from school and when he received a negative he sometimes opened his lips as if to say something in condemnation. "take care," his mother warned him when this happened; "because a guest makes mistakes is no reason that her host should copy them." with the coming of the new year the younger people all settled down to serious work. not only roger but james and tom also were to graduate in june, and all of them wanted to do themselves credit. james was going to harvard and later to the harvard medical school. tom was booked for yale and then for business. chapter ix valentine's day it was the day after lincoln's birthday, and saturday. edward watkins had come out for his weekly visit to elisabeth and was sitting in mrs. smith's living room surveying her and talking to miss merriam. elisabeth was walking with a fair degree of steadiness now, and made her way about all the rooms of the house without assistance. she still preferred to crawl upstairs and she could do that so fast that the person who was supposed to watch her had to be faithful or she would disappear while an eye lingered too long on the page of an interesting book or on the face of a friend. downstairs edward leaned forward from his chair in front of gertrude and picked up the ball from which she was knitting a soldier's scarf. he paid out the yarn to her as she needed it. "you're happy here, aren't you?" he asked softly. "happy! i should say so! next to having your very own home i can't imagine anything lovelier than this, with dear people and a pretty house and a darling baby. it's beautiful." "you'd hate to leave it, wouldn't you?" "leave it? why should i leave it? i think they like me. i think they want me to stay." she looked at him piercingly, evidently disturbed at the suggestion. "want you to stay! i should think they would!" ejaculated the young physician. "i was just wondering what inducement would make you leave these dear people and this pretty house and this darling baby. if any one should--" "hullo," cried ethel brown, entering at this instant. "do you know where aunt louise is?" "she went out," replied miss merriam, somewhat nervously. "dorothy has gone to della's this afternoon to help her get ready for tonight," ethel said. "she arrived before i left," admitted edward--a confession that drew a long look from gertrude. "where's ayleesabet?" "playing under the table," answered gertrude in cheerful ignorance that ayleesabet had departed to more stimulating regions over the stairs. ethel lifted the table cover to investigate. "she isn't here." gertrude jumped up and the doctor followed her into the hall. ethel brown ran into the dining room and then upstairs, with miss merriam in pursuit. it was a moment of relief for everybody when ethel gave a shout of discovery. "here she is!" she called, "and o, what will dorothy say when she comes back and sees her room!" "what's the modern way of dealing with that situation?" edward asked when miss merriam re-appeared with elisabeth under one arm. "do you mean ought she to be punished? why should she? she was only following out her instinct to learn. how could she know that that was a time and place where it would inconvenience somebody else if she did? i'm the one to be punished for letting her have the opportunity." "i suppose that's true. she'd never learn much if she didn't investigate, would she? and, as you say, she isn't yet conscious that she has any especial duty toward any one else's comfort." "the misses clark are always saying 'no, no,' to her. i should think she'd think of their house as 'no, no castle'." "they love her, though," defended ethel brown. "that's why i let her go there. a baby knows when she's loved and those two old ladies make her feel it even above the 'no, nos'." "i went in there yesterday when i saw elisabeth's carriage outside their door," said ethel, "and i found the older miss clark sitting on the floor clapping her hands and the baby trying to dance and sitting down, bang, every four or five steps." elisabeth was in a coquettish mood and played like a kitten with edward. "she is the very sweetest thing i ever saw!" exclaimed ethel brown. "i do wish i could take her to washington." "take her to washington! what on earth do you mean?" asked miss merriam. "nothing, only i hate to go away from her for even a few days. i came over to tell dorothy that grandfather emerson is going to send us all to washington with mr. wheeler's party for washington's birthday. do you think aunt louise will let her go?" "i think it will depend on who are going." "there'll be lots of older people and teachers from our church and both the other churches, too." "any of your mother's particular friends?" "i shouldn't be a bit surprised if grandmother and grandfather went themselves." "then your mother won't have any objection." "that would settle the question for dorothy, too, i should think," said edward. "are you taking outsiders along?" "outsiders?" "new yorkers. della and tom, for instance?" "oh, is there any chance of mrs. watkins's letting them go?" "i'll suggest it if you think they'd be welcome." "i don't see why they wouldn't be. mr. wheeler wants to have as many as possible because the more there are the better rates he can make with the railroad and at the hotel." "why don't you stir up the hancock's?" "the whole u. s. c.? why not? it would be just too glorious," and ethel proceeded to dance her butterfly dance around the room. "talk it over this evening," advised edward, taking up his hat. "going?" inquired ethel. "i might as well--i mean, i must go, thank you," responded the doctor automatically, for she had said nothing to be thanked for. it was a charming table around which the club seated itself at the watkinses'. mr. and mrs. watkins sat at the head and foot and della and tom in the center of the sides. "i ran in to see the baby a minute before i left," ethel blue explained to mrs. watkins, "and dr. watkins was there and he asked me to tell you that aunt louise had invited him to stay to dinner." "edward is becoming a very uncertain character, like all doctors," said edward's mother. "i think he is," remarked ethel brown to ethel blue who sat beside her. "he was just saying 'good-bye' to miss gertrude when i left, and he must have stayed on after all." everybody had contributed something to the table decorations, but no one had seen them all assembled and they all paid themselves and each other compliments on the prettiness of the various parts and della and dorothy on the effectiveness of the whole. in the center was a glowing centerpiece made of three scarlet paper hearts, each about eight inches high placed with the pointed ends up and the lower corners touching so that they made a three-sided cage over the electric light. from the top a tiny cupid aimed his arrow at the guests before him. della and tom had designed this warm-hearted lantern. half way between the centerpiece and the plates a line of dancing figures ran around the table linked to each other by chains made of wee golden hearts. ethel blue had drawn and painted these paper dolls, so that each represented one of the club members and they served as place cards as well as ornaments. "i seem to see myself in miles standish's armor," said james. "does that mean that i'm to sit here where i can admire my warlike appearance?" "it does," said della, "and i've put priscilla next you so that for once you can cut out john alden. here's john alden--that's you, roger, and here's a little russian for you to take home to dicky." "where am i?" "and i?" "and i?" cried one after the other. "can't you guess? this is the muse of history," pointing to a white-robed figure holding a scroll. "helen, of course," they all shouted. "and isn't this hallowe'en witch ethel brown?" "it really looks like her!" "and what do you guess about this songstress?" "dorothy, and the young lady knitting is della." "right." "i hate to think that that's my face looking out of that cabbage," protested margaret, "but ethel blue has a wonderful ability to catch likenesses." "that's you, mrs. stalk of the cabbage patch, just as clearly as if it were your photograph." "one of these two is mine and the other is for edward," guessed tom. "am i one of the great twin brethren and is edward's the pied piper?" "right again. and this is ayleesabet herself, and the guardian angel is miss merriam." "she _is_ an angel, isn't she!" exclaimed della. "look at these dozens of tiny hearts. ethel brown cut out those and james made them into the chains." "paste, paste," groaned james melodramatically. "my future calling is that of bill-poster." everything that could be was pink at the dinner. the soup was tomato bisque, the fish was salmon, the roast was beef, rare, the salad, tomato jelly, the dessert, strawberry ice cream, and with it small cakes heart-shaped and covered with pink icing. in the drawing room a cupid whirling on a card pointed with his arrow to a number, and the person who took from mrs. watkins's hand the envelope marked with the number indicated was instructed where to look for his valentine. helen found hers inside of the piano. the ethels turned up diagonal corners of the rug in the northwest corner of the library and discovered two flat packages. margaret sought out a small bundle tied to the electrolier on the right hand side of the hall. so it went. each of them had prepared a valentine for every other member of the club, so each had nine, for dicky had sent his in to be distributed with the rest. each had made all his nine of the same sort though not all alike. james, for instance, had made prettily decorated boxes and filled them with candy. tom, who had a knack at cutting paper, had cut lacy designs out of lily white barred paper which he mounted on colored cardboard, and out of thin colored sheets whose patterns were thrown into relief by a background of white. ethel blue had drawn comical cupids, each performing an acrobatic act. ethel brown had baked heart-shaped cookies and tied them into pretty boxes with pink ribbon. dorothy's knowledge of basket making led her to experiment with some little heart-shaped trays, useful for countless purposes. she made them of different materials and they proved successful. della stencilled hearts on to handkerchiefs, decorating some with a border of hearts touching, some with a corner wreath of interlaced hearts, the boys' with a single corner heart large enough for an initial. each one was different. roger's contributions were heart-shaped watch charms of copper, each with a raised initial and mounted on a stray of colored leather and furnished with a bar and snapper of gun metal. margaret's little heart-shaped pincushions were suitable for boys and girls alike. some of them were small, for the pocket or the handbag; others were larger and were meant to be placed on the bureau. they were of varied colors, the girls' being of silk to match the colors of their rooms and the boys of darker hues. dicky's offerings were woven paper book marks made like roger's blotter corners and intended to keep the place in a book by slipping over the corner of the leaf. helen, who had been learning from dorothy how to model in clay, had attempted paper weights. the family cat had served as a model, and each was a cat in a different position. some were more successful than others, but, as roger said, "you'd recognize them as cats." when the search was over and every one had admired his own and his neighbor's valentines, ethel brown recited hood's sonnet, "for the 14th of february," and ethel blue read part of lamb's essay, "valentine's day," and they all felt that saint valentine's star was setting and that of the father of his country was rising resplendent. chapter x st. patrick's day and the first of april the misses clark had borrowed elisabeth for the afternoon. it was becoming a custom with them, and as miss merriam insisted that her little charge should have her naps out of doors with unbroken regularity, the old ladies found themselves almost every day sitting, rug-enwrapped, on mrs. smith's veranda or their own while the baby dozed luxuriously in her carriage. elisabeth grew pink in the fresh air and if her self-appointed attendants did not do likewise they at least found themselves benefiting by the unaccustomed treatment. in early march a brother came to visit them. he was a dignified elderly man, "just like the sisters before elisabeth made them human," roger declared, "except that he has whiskers a foot long." at first he paid no attention to the child, though the story of its escape from belgium interested him. but no one resisted elisabeth long and it was not many days before mr. clark was holding his book with one hand and playing ball with the other. on this particular day mrs. smith and miss merriam had both needed to go to new york, and the misses clark had seized the opportunity to have an unusually long call from ayleesabet. they had sat on their veranda with her while she napped; but when she came in, fresh and wide awake, their older eyes were growing sleepy from the cold and they went upstairs for forty winks, leaving their nursling in charge of their brother. ayleesabet was goodness itself. she sat on the floor and rolled a ball to her elderly playmate, chuckling when it struck the edge of a rug and went out of its course so that he had to plunge after it. she walked around the edge of the same rug, evidently regarding it as an island to be explored, crusoe fashion. her explorations were thorough. if she had been old enough to know what mines were one would have thought that she was playing miner, for she lay on her back, pushed up the rug and rolled under it. "upon my word," ejaculated mr. clark, adjusting his spectacles and examining the hump made by the baby's round little belgian body. "upon my word, that doesn't seem the thing for her to do." but elisabeth seemed entirely contented and made no response to the old gentleman's cluckings and other blandishments. "come out," he whispered in beguiling tones. "come out and play." no answer. "come and play horsey. don't you want to climb up? that's it. up she goes! steady now. hold tight." as he started on a slow tour of the room on all fours his rider lurched unsteadily. "take hold of my collar," cried the aged war-horse. ayleesabet fell forward, her arms went around his neck and her hands buried themselves in his whiskers. with a chirrup of delight she righted herself, a bridle-rein of hair in each hand. on went the charger, his speed increasing from a walk to an amble. louder and louder laughed elisabeth. steed and rider were in that perfect accord wherein man seems akin to the centaur. at the height of the race the drawing room door opened and in walked ethel blue and ethel brown morton. the horse stopped suddenly and wiped his forehead with one of his forefeet, but maintained his horizontal position in order not to throw his rider. elisabeth's equilibrium was somewhat disturbed by the abrupt cessation of her charger's advance but she kept a firm hold on her bridle and restored herself. "go, go," she chortled, thumping the prostrate form of mr. clark with her slippered feet and smiling with excusable vanity at the new arrivals. the ethels stood side by side so stricken with amazement and amusement that for an instant it seemed that apoplexy would overtake them. thanks to their natural politeness they did not laugh, though they agreed later that it had been the hardest struggle of their lives not to do so. "we've come to take ayleesabet home," they said. "it's awfully good of you to entertain her so long." they lifted the protesting equestrian to the floor and put on her outer garments while the late steed resumed an upright position and dusted his knees. "a very good child," he observed. "a very intelligent child. she does miss merriam great credit." "she's growing splendidly," replied ethel brown. "too bad she can't continue under her care. too bad." "can't continue under her care!" repeated the ethels in unison. "why can't she? what do you mean?" "why, on account of miss merriam's leaving. of course you know. i hope i haven't betrayed any confidence." "miss merriam's leaving!" exclaimed the ethels as one girl. "we don't know anything about it!" "where is she going?" "when is she going?" the questions poured thick and fast and mr. clark seemed distinctly taken aback by the excitement he had created. "why, dr. watkins said that he thought she wasn't going to stay with elisabeth much longer. that's what i understood him to say. i don't think i'm mistaken," and the old gentleman passed his hand nervously over the top of his head. "that's perfectly terrible if it's really so," declared ethel blue, who was an especial admirer of gertrude merriam's and a devout believer in her ability to turn elisabeth from a skeleton into a robust little maiden. "we must find out at once," and ethel brown put elisabeth into her coat with a speed that so disregarded all orderly procedure as to bring a frown to the young belgian's brow. the two girls talked about the news in low, horrified tones on the way back to dorothy's, and down they sat, prepared not only to amuse elisabeth but to amuse her until the return of miss merriam, no matter how late that proved to be. it seemed an eternity but it was only half past five when she and mrs. smith came back. the ethels sat before the fire in the sitting room like judges on the bench. they made their accusation promptly. gertrude sat down as if her knees were unable to support her. her blue eyes stared amazedly from one to the other. "mr. clark says i am going away? that dr. watkins said he thought i was going away?" her complete wonderment proved her not guilty. "but i'm not going away! i haven't any idea of going away--unless you want me to," and she turned appealingly to mrs. smith. "my dear child, of course we don't want you to," and mrs. smith bent and kissed her. "we love you dearly and we like your work. i can't think what mr. clark could have meant--or dr. watkins--" "it was edward watkins who told mr. clark," repeated ethel brown. gertrude sat stupefied. "unless the wish were father to the thought," ended mrs. smith softly. "unless he wanted it to be true?" translated gertrude inquiringly. "unless--oh!" a blush burned its way from her chin to her brow and lost itself in the soft hair that swept back from her temples. "he wanted it to be true, and he said he thought it was going to happen. well, he's altogether too sure! it's humiliating," and she threw up her chin and walked firmly out of the room, for the first time forgetting elisabeth. "what does she mean?" ethel blue asked her aunt. "why is she humiliated?" asked ethel brown. "what is she going to do?" was dorothy's question. "i don't know," mrs. smith replied to dorothy. "we'd better not bother her. don't tease her with questions." the girls obeyed, but they talked the matter over a great deal among themselves and they would have asked edward watkins about it the first time they saw him except that their aunt louise guessed their plan and forestalled it by telling them that any mention of the matter would be an intrusion upon other people's affairs which would be wholly unwarranted. the first time they saw edward was the next day, when the rosemont charitable society gave a bazaar for the benefit of its treasury, depleted by the demands upon it of an uncommonly hard winter. the seats were all taken out of the high school hall and the big room became the scene of a donnybrook fair on st. patrick's day. of course the u. s. c. had been called on to help; it had made a name for itself and outsiders looked to it for ideas and assistance. in fact, the idea of the fair was ethel brown's. she heard her mother talking with one of the directors of the r. c. s. one afternoon about the unending need for money and suggested the irish program as a possible means of making some. "the child is right," fat mrs. anderson promptly agreed. "rosemont never had anything of the sort." "it wouldn't be harder to get up than any other kind of fair," said mrs. morton. "and st. patrick's day will be here so soon that it's a good excuse for hurrying it." so it had been hurried, and the day after the strange encounter with mr. clark and the disturbing conversation with miss merriam the scholastic american precincts of the high school were converted into an irish fair ground. every one who had anything to do with the tables or the conduct of the bazaar was dressed in an irish peasant costume, the girls with short, full skirts with plain white shirt waists showing beneath a sleeveless jacket of dark cloth. heavy low shoes and thick stockings would have been the appropriate wear for the feet, but all the girls rebelled. "this footgear was meant for the earth floor of a cabin and not for a steam-heated room," declared helen. "i'll wear green stockings, but thin ones, and my own slippers, even if they aren't suitable." the boys were less inconvenienced by their garb, which included, to be sure, heavy shoes and long stockings, but also tight knee breeches and, instead of jackets, waistcoats with sleeves. every one in rosemont who had any green furnishings lent them for the occasion. mrs. anderson robbed her library of a huge green rug to place before the stationery booth over whose writing paper and green place-cards and novelties, all in green boxes, she presided robustly. mrs. morton, with helen and margaret to assist her, ruled over a table shaped like a shamrock and laden with articles carved from bog oak, and with china animals and photographs of ireland and of irish colleens. dorothy told fortunes in the lower part of blarney castle, built of canvas but sufficiently realistic, in a corner of the hall. on top tom was ready to hold over the battlements by the heels any one who was "game" for the adventure of kissing the blarney stone. in the restaurant, which was a corner of the hall shut off by screens covered with green paper, mrs. anderson superintended the serving of supper by her assistants--ethel blue and della and some of their friends. they offered a hearty meal of irish stew, or of cold ham and potato salad, followed by pistachio ice cream and small cakes covered with frosting of a delicate green. at one side ethel brown controlled the "murphy table" and sold huge hot baked irish potatoes and paper plates of potato salad and crisp potato "chips" ready to be taken home. before the evening was many minutes old she had so many orders set aside on the shelves that held books in the hall's ordinary state that she had to replenish her stock. james acted as cashier for the whole room. roger, armed with a shillelagh, ran around for every one until the time came for him to mount the stage and show what he knew about an irish jig. under the coaching of george foster's sister, he and his sisters had learned it in such an incredibly short time that they were none too sure of their steps, but they managed to get through it without discredit to themselves or their teacher. then mrs. smith played the accompaniments for a set of familiar irish songs--"the harp that once through tara's halls," "erin go bragh," "kathleen mavourneen," "the wearing of the green." dorothy led the choruses, the whole u. s. c., including dicky, sang their best, and edward watkins's tenor rose so pleadingly in "kathleen mavourneen" that mrs. smith was touched. "i'm going home now," she said to him, "to stay with the baby so that gertrude can come to the bazaar. you may go with me if you like." edward did like. he glowed with eagerness. he hardly could carry on an intelligent conversation with mrs. smith, so eager was he to test the possibilities of the walk back when he should be escorting miss merriam. when they entered the house and he saw her reading before the fire his heart came into his throat, so demure she looked and so lovely. "i've come home, dear, so that you can go," explained mrs. smith. "dr. watkins will take you back." gertrude had given mrs. smith's escort one startled glance as they entered. "thank you very much indeed," she answered. "you are always so thoughtful. but i'm not going out again tonight. it's quite out of the question; please don't urge me," and she left the room without a look at the disappointed face of the young doctor. "now, what does that mean?" he inquired in amazement. "you ought to know." "i don't know. do you?" "i think i do." "won't you tell me?" "if you think over any conversations you have had recently about miss merriam perhaps it will come to you." "and you won't tell me?" "i may be a wrong interpreter. at any rate i'm not an interferer. your affairs are your own." "that's a very slender hint you've given me, but i'll do my best with it." his best was of small avail. miss merriam would not see him when he called, did not go anywhere where she would be likely to meet him, bowed to him so coldly when she passed him one day going into the house, that he actually did not have the courage to stop her, but rang the bell and asked for mrs. smith. the ethels and dorothy felt that the part of courtesy was to preserve a civil silence, but they were consumed with curiosity to know just what was going on. certainly miss gertrude was not happy, for she often looked as if she had been weeping, and certainly dr. watkins was wretched, for tom and della quite immediately reported him as being "so solemn you can't do anything with him." indeed, at the april fool party which the hancocks gave to the u. s. c., he indulged in an outburst that startled them all. margaret and james had asked him because the club had formed the habit of doing so when they were undertaking anything special. the ethels were quite right when they guessed that he accepted the invitation because he hoped to see miss merriam there. she did not go, offering as an excuse that ayleesabet needed her. the april fool party might have been named the party of surprises. there were no practical jokes;--"a joke of the hand is a joke of the vulgar" had been trained into all of them from their earliest days;--but there were countless surprises. the opening of a candy box disclosed a toy puppy; a toy cat was filled not with the desired candy but with popcorn. the candy was handed about in the brass coal scuttle, beautifully polished and lined with paraffin paper. each guest received a present. a string of jet beads proved to be small black seeds, and a necklace of green jade resolved itself on inspection into a collar of green string beans strung by one end so that they lay at length like a verdant fringe. the early evening was spent in the dining-room--no one knew why. when supper was served in the library it became evident that it was just a part of the program to have everything topsy turvy. it was evident, too, that a raid had been made on dr. hancock's supplies, for the lemonade was served in test tubes and the charlotte russe in pill boxes. it was after supper when edward watkins had grown sure that miss merriam surely was not coming that he indulged in a burst of sarcasm. after a consultation with margaret he drew the curtains across the door leading into the hall. "are you ready?" he called to margaret. "yes," came in reply. "then here, my friends, you see the portrait of the original april fool." he swept back the portiã¨re and the laughing group, silenced by the energy of his announcement, saw edward himself reflected in a mirror that margaret had set up on a chair. they all laughed, but it was uneasy laughter, and tom tried to reassure his brother by clapping him on the shoulder and exclaiming, "you do yourself an injustice, old man, you really do," with a touch of earnestness in it. chapter xi april 19 and 23 ethel blue took no part in the historical program that helen put on the stage of the glen point orphanage on april 19th, "patriots' day," when massachusetts folk celebrated the revolutionary battle of concord and lexington. the reason was that she was just getting over a cold that had come upon her at the very time when the others were making ready for the performance, and had made her feel so wretched that she could do nothing outside of her school work. this was how it happened that she was sitting at the rear of the room when edward watkins came in, looked searchingly over the audience and then slipped into a chair beside her. "miss merriam not here?" he murmured under cover of a duet that dorothy and della were playing on the piano. "no." "do you know why she won't speak to me?" ethel blue fairly trembled. what was she to say? she had been warned not to interfere in other people's affairs. yet she did not know how to answer without telling the truth. so she said: "i know how it began--her getting mad with you. i don't understand why." "how did it begin?" ethel blue looked about wildly. dorothy and della were thumping away vigorously. there was no possibility for escape. "mr. clark told us--ethel brown and me--that you said you thought miss merriam was going away soon. we were wild, because we love her so--" there was a strange mumble from the doctor. --"and she's so splendid with ayleesabet. we asked her the minute we saw her if she was going away. she said she hadn't any idea of it and she asked us how we came to think so, and we told her what mr. clark had said." "great scott! what did she say then?" "oh, miss gertrude and aunt louise said, 'why should edward have said such a thing?' and aunt louise said, 'unless he wanted it to be true'." "ah, your aunt louise is a woman of intelligence!" edward smiled, though somewhat miserably. ethel blue was warming to her subject. "miss gertrude said you were too sure and it was humiliating, and she went up stairs and she's never been the same since then. i don't know why it was humiliating, but she was angry right through." "i've noticed that," said edward reminiscently. "now let me see just what she meant. she was told that i said i thought she was going away soon. 'thought' or 'hoped'?" "'thought.' did you say it?" "and your aunt louise said that i must have wanted it to be true," went on edward slowly, unheeding ethel blue's question. "and gertrude--miss merriam said i was too sure and that it was humiliating. is that straight?" "yes. did you say it?" ethel blue was beginning to think that if she was giving so much information she ought to be given a little in return. "do you know what i think about it?" asked edward, again ignoring ethel's question. "i don't wonder a bit that she was as mad as hops. any girl would have been." "why?" "do you really want me to tell you? well," continued edward in her ear, "i dare say you've guessed that i'm in love with miss merriam." ethel drew a deep breath and stared open-mouthed at dr. watkins, who nodded at her gravely. "i love her very much, and one day she was especially kind to me and i went walking down the street like a peacock and plumped right on to mr. clark. we walked along together and he said something about miss merriam, and i was jackass enough to say that i hoped--not _thought_, ethel blue, but _hoped_; do you see the difference?" ethel blue nodded. "i _hoped_ that before long she would leave rosemont. don't you see, ethel blue? i said it out of the fullness of my heart because i hoped that before long she would marry me and go away." ethel gasped again. "i was riding such a high horse that i hardly knew what i said, but i can see that when that was repeated to her with 'thought' instead of 'hoped' it looked as if i was mighty sure she was going to have me, and i hadn't even asked her. yes, any girl would be indignant, wouldn't she?" edward scanned ethel's face, hoping to find some comfort there, but there was none. ethel's discomfiture and bewilderment had passed and she was putting an unusually acute mind on the situation. she understood perfectly that it looked to miss gertrude as if dr. watkins had made so sure that she returned his affection that he had gone about talking of it to strangers even before he had told her of his own love. "i don't wonder that she felt humiliated," was ethel's verdict. the program on the stage was going on swiftly. helen had made the historical introduction, telling the circumstances that led to the affair of april 19th. tom had recited "paul revere's ride." it was while the whole club was singing some quaint revolutionary songs and winding up with "yankee doodle" that dr. watkins made his appeal to ethel blue. "she won't listen to a word from me," he said. "she won't let me speak to her. do you think you could find a chance to tell her how it was? it was bad enough but it wasn't as bad as she thinks. will you tell her i'd like to apologize before i go to oklahoma?" "oklahoma!" "a friend of dr. hancock's is settled in a flourishing town there. he has a bigger practice than he can attend to, and he sent east for dr. hancock to find him an assistant. he has offered the chance to me." "but it's so far away!" "i hesitated a long while on that account. you see i didn't know whether miss merriam would care for the west." "weren't you taking a good deal for granted?" "you're finding me guilty just as she has. but of course a man has to think about what he has to offer a wife. i suppose you think i'm queer to talk about this with you," he broke off his story to say, "but i haven't said a word about it to any one and it has been driving me wild so it's a great relief if you'll let me talk." ethel nodded. "you see, my practice in new york is so small it's ridiculous. you can't ask a girl to marry you when you aren't making enough money to support even yourself. but suppose i should go to oklahoma where i shall soon make a good living, and then come back and ask her, and find out that she hates the west. don't you see that i'm not all to blame?" "perhaps she wouldn't like you enough to marry you no matter where you lived," suggested ethel. edward heaved a sigh that seemed to come from his very boots and leaned back weakly in his chair. "there's a certain brutal frankness about you, ethel blue, that i never suspected." "i thought you were thinking about all sides of the question," ethel defended herself. "um, yes. i suppose i must admit that there is that possibility. any way if you'll try to get her to let me talk to her i'll be grateful to you evermore," and edward got up and strolled away to compliment the participants in the program, leaving ethel blue more excited than she had ever been in her life, even just before she went up in an aeroplane, because she was touching the edges of an adventure in real life. it was embarrassing to broach the subject to miss merriam. she was sweetness itself, but she was dignified to a degree that forbade any encroachment upon her private affairs, and twice when ethel blue's lips were actually parted to plead in edward's behalf her courage failed her. "mr. clark is deaf," said ethel blue abruptly. "edward watkins didn't say he 'thought' you were going away; he said he 'hoped' you were going away." "oh!" exclaimed miss gertrude, turning a startled face toward ethel. "he hoped so because he loves you and he wants to ask you to marry him but he can't until he has a good practice, and he doesn't know whether you would like oklahoma." "whether i'd like oklahoma!" repeated gertrude slowly. "he wants to explain it all to you but you won't let him speak to you. he's had a good practice offered him in oklahoma, but he won't go if you don't like oklahoma; he'll try to work up a practice here, but it will take such a long time." "ethel blue, do you really know what you're talking about?" "yes, miss gertrude," replied ethel, blushing uncomfortably, but keeping on with determination. "please don't think i'm awful, 'butting in' like this. dr. watkins asked me to ask you to let him see you. he tried a long time without telling any one; he told me when he couldn't think of anything else to do. he didn't really know why you were mad until i told him; he just knew you wouldn't see him when he called." miss gertrude's eyes were on her fragile pink work as ethel blue blundered on. "what shall i tell him?" she said, breaking the silence. "you may tell him," said gertrude slowly, "that i have a school friend in oklahoma who tells me that oklahoma is a very good place to live." ethel blue clapped her hands noiselessly. "but tell him, also," gertrude went on, her blue eyes stern, "that i shall be too busy to see him before he goes." "oh, miss gertrude!" ejaculated ethel, disappointed. "i don't quite know whether you care or not." "neither do i," replied gertrude, and she leaned over and kissed ethel blue with lips that smiled sadly. chapter xii west point ethel blue gave gertrude merriam's message to edward watkins who was as much puzzled by it as she had been. "what does she mean?" he asked. "does she care for me or doesn't she?" "she doesn't know herself. i asked her." edward whistled a long, soft whistle. "aren't girls the queerest things ever made!" he ejaculated in wonder. "i don't think it's queer," defended ethel. "first, it was all guesswork with her because you never had told her that you cared. and then she was angry at your having talked _about_ her when you hadn't talked _to_ her. her feelings were hurt badly. and now she doesn't know what she does feel." "she isn't strong against oklahoma, anyway. i guess i'll accept that offer." ethel blue nodded. "i want to tell you one thing more before you go," she said. "i haven't told any one a word about this, even ethel brown. it's the first thing in all my life i haven't told ethel brown." "i suspect it's been pretty hard for you not to. you know i appreciate it. if things work out as i hope, it will be you who have helped me most," and he shook hands with her very seriously. "there's one thing more i wish you'd do for me," he pleaded. ethel blue nodded assent. "if i can." "i know you club people will be hanging may baskets on may day morning. will you hang this one on miss gertrude's door--the door of her room, so that there won't be any mistake about her getting it?" "certainly i will." "it's just a little note to say 'good-bye.' see, you can read it." "i don't want to," responded ethel blue stoutly, though it was hard to let good manners prevail over a desire to see the inside of the very first letter she had ever seen the outside of to know as the writing of a lover to his lass. "you'd better tell your aunt marian that i've told you all this," he went on. "i shouldn't want her to think that i was asking you to do something underhand." "she wouldn't think it of you. she likes you." "tell her about it all, nevertheless. i insist." ethel felt relieved. it had seemed queer to be doing something that no one knew about. "thank you," she said. the may basket was duly hung, and miss gertrude's eyes wore the traces of tears all the rest of the day, but ethel blue was not to learn for a long time what was in the note. may passed swiftly. all the boys were so busy studying that they could give but little time to club meetings and there was nothing done beyond the making of some plans for the summer and the taking of a few long walks. the ethels and dorothy and della were doing their best to make a superlative record, also. with helen and margaret life went more easily, for graduation days were yet two years off with them. chapter xiii graduation and fourth of july with the coming of june thoughts of graduation filled the minds of all the prospective graduates. the boys were able to get through their examinations quite early in the month, and as they all did better than they expected the last days of the month were days of joy to them. the girls had to wait longer to have the weight removed from their minds, but they, too, passed their examinations well enough to earn special congratulation from the principals of their respective schools. the graduation exercises of the rosemont graded schools were held in the hall of the high school and all the schools were represented there. the ethels and dorothy all sang in the choruses, and each one of them had a part in the program. ethel brown described the character of northern france and belgium, the land in which the war was being carried on. although no mention of the war was allowed every one listened to this unusual geography lesson with extreme interest. ethel blue recited a poem on "peace" and dorothy sang a group of folk songs of different countries. it was all very simple and unpretentious, and they were only three out of a dozen or more who tried to give pleasure to the assembled parents and guardians. roger's graduation was more formal. a speaker came out from new york, a man of affairs who had an interest in education and who liked to say a word of encouragement to young people about to step from one stage of their education into another. "of course education never ends as long as you live," roger said thoughtfully to ethel brown, "but there is a big feeling of jump when you go from one school to another, and you can't deny it." "i don't want to deny it," retorted ethel brown. "i'm all full of excitement at the idea of going into the high school next autumn." the graduating class of the high school was going to inaugurate a plan for the decoration of the high school hall. they were to have a banner which was to be used at all the functions, connected with graduation and in after years was to be carried by any of the alumni who came back for the occasion of the graduation and alumni dinner. during the year this banner and those which should follow it were to be stacked in the hall, their handsome faces encouraging the scholars who should see them every day by the thought that their school was a place in which every one who had passed through was interested. the power of a body of interested alumni is a force worth having by any school. the graduating class found the idea of the banner most attractive, but when it came to the making they were aghast at the expense. a committee examined the prices at places in new york where such decorations were made and returned horrified. it was then that the ethels offered to do their best to help out the class of 1915. "we'll do what we can, and i know helen and margaret and della will help us," they said and fell to work. ethel blue drew the design and submitted it to the class and to the principal of the school. with a few alterations they approved it. the girls had seen many banners at chautauqua and they had talked with the ladies who had made the banner of their mother's class, so that they were not entirely ignorant of the work they were laying out for themselves. nevertheless, they profited by the experience of others and did not have to try too many experiments themselves. they had learned, for instance, that they must secure their silk from a professional banner-making firm, for the silk of the department store was neither wide enough nor of a quality to endure the hard wear that a banner must endure. from this same banner house they bought linen canvas to serve as interlining for both the front and the back of the banner. several tricks that were of great help to them they had jotted down when they discussed banner making at chautauqua and now they were more than ever glad that they had the notebook habit. the front of their banner was to be white and to bear the letters "r. h. s." for rosemont high school, and below it "1915." they remembered that in padding the lettering they must make it stand high in order to look effective, but they must never work it tight or it would draw. another point worth recalling was that while the banner was still in the embroidery frame and was held taut they should put flour paste on the back of the embroidery to replace the pressing which was not possible with letters raised so high. when it came to putting the banner together they found that their work was not easy or near its end. they cut the canvas interlining just like the outside, and then turned back the edge of the canvas. this was to prevent the roughness cutting through the silk when that should be turned over the canvas. back and front were stitched and the edges pressed separately, and then they were laid back to back and were stitched together. the row of machine stitching was covered by gimp. a heavy curtain pole tipped with a gilt ball served as a standard and was much cheaper than the pole offered by the professionals. the cross bar, tipped at each end by gilt balls, was fastened to the pole by a brass clamp. the banner itself was held evenly by being laced on to the crossbar. the cord had been hard to find in the correct shade and the girls had been forced to buy white and have it dyed. a handsome though worn pair of curtain tassels which they found in grandmother emerson's attic had been re-covered with finer cord of the same color. the entire effect was harmonious and the work was so shipshape as to call forth the admiration of mr. wheeler and all the teachers who had a private view on the day when it was finished. the girls were mightily proud of their achievement. "it has been one of the toughest jobs i ever undertook," declared ethel brown, "but i'm glad to do it for roger and for the school." with the graduation past all rosemont, young and old, gave their attention to preparing for a safe and sane fourth of july. of course the u. s. c. were as eager as any not only to share in the fun but to help in the work. one piece of information was prominently advertised; it was a method of rendering children's garments fire-proof. "if garments are dipped in a solution of ammonium phosphate in the proportion of one pound to a gallon of cold water, they are made fire-proof," read a leaflet that was handed in at every house in the town. "ammonium phosphate costs but 25 cents a pound," it went on. "a family wash can be rendered fire-proof at an expense of 15 cents a week." the u. s. c. boys handed out hundreds of these folders when they went about among the business men and arranged for contributions for the celebration. the girls took charge of the patriotic tableaux that were to be given on the steps of the high school, with the onlookers gathered on the green where the christmas tree and the maypole had stood. "we must have large groups," said helen. "in the first place the rosemonters must be getting tired of seeing us time after time, and in the next place this is a community affair and the more people there are in it the more interested the townspeople will be." the selection of the people who would be suitable and the inviting of them to take part required many visits and much explanation, but the u. s. c. had learned to be thorough and there was no neglect, no leaving of matters until the last minute in the hope that "it will come out right." "it seems funny not to be waked up at an unearthly hour by a fierce racket," commented roger on the morning of the fourth. "i'm not quite sure that i like it." "that's because you've always helped make the racket. as you grow older you'll be more and more glad every year that there isn't anything to rouse you to an earlier breakfast on fourth of july morning." the family ate the morning meal in peace and then prepared for the procession that was to gather in the square. this procession was to be different from the labor day procession, which was one advertising the trades and occupations of rosemont. today was a day for history, and the floats were to represent episodes in the town's history. roger was to be an indian, george foster one of the early swedish settlers, and gregory patton a revolutionary soldier. none of the girls were to be on the floats. the procession was to be given over to the men and boys. it was long and as each float had been carefully arranged and the figures strikingly posed the whole effect was one that gave great pleasure to all who saw it. a community luncheon followed on the green. tables were set on the grass, and the girls from every part of town unpacked baskets and laid cloths and waited on the guests who came to this new form of picnic quite as if they never had ceased to do these agreeable neighborly acts. the girls had tired feet after all their running around, but they rested for an hour and were fresh again when it was time for the tableaux as the sun was sinking. the high school was approached by a wide flight of steps and on these helen posed her scenes. the people below sat on the grass in the front rows and stood at the back. the floats of the morning had been scenes of local history. these were scenes from the life of washington. washington, the young surveyor, strode into the woods with his companions and his indian attendants. washington became commander-in-chief of the continental army. washington crossed the delaware--and the u. s. c. boys were glad that they had built the _jason_ at the glen point orphanage and did not have to study out the entire construction anew. washington and lafayette and steuben shook hands in token of eternal friendship. washington reviewed his troops under an elm at cambridge. washington suffered with his ragged men at valley forge. then cornwallis surrendered, and last of all, the great general bade farewell to his officers and retired to the private life from which he was soon to be summoned to take the presidential chair. there were a hundred people in the various pictures, but the winter's experiences had taught the club so much that they found no trouble in managing the whole affair. each person had been made responsible for furnishing his costumes, a sketch of which had been made for him by ethel blue, and every one was appropriately dressed. "this is another success for you young people," exclaimed mr. wheeler, shaking hands with them all. "i always know where to go when i want help." ethel blue walked home with miss merriam, who was wheeling elisabeth. she seemed much gayer than she had been for a long time. ethel kissed her as well as her sleepy little charge as she went into the house to put on a warmer dress before she should go out in the evening to see the community fireworks. "you and elisabeth are my helpers," she whispered gratefully. "you make everybody happy--except, perhaps--" ethel hesitated, for gertrude had never mentioned edward to her since he left for oklahoma. "do you want to know what was in my may basket?" ethel clasped her hands. "oh, yes!" gertrude took out of her cardcase a tattered bit of paper. it read: "when you know that you really like oklahoma and all the people there, please telegraph me. good-bye." "i telegraphed this morning," she said, almost shyly. "i said 'oklahoma interests me'." "here comes the telegraph boy down the street now," cried ethel. gertrude took the yellow envelope from him, and, before she opened it, signed the book painstakingly. when she had read the message she handed it to ethel blue. "i start for rosemont on the tenth to investigate the truth of the rumor." gertrude bubbled joyously. "oh!" exclaimed ethel blue softly. "that means you're engaged!" [transcriber's note: italic sections are surrounded by underscores (_).] the cricket on the hearth by charles dickens illustrated by george alfred williams new york the platt & peck co. copyright, 1905, by the baker & taylor company introduction the combined qualities of the realist and the idealist which dickens possessed to a remarkable degree, together with his naturally jovial attitude toward life in general, seem to have given him a remarkably happy feeling toward christmas, though the privations and hardships of his boyhood could have allowed him but little real experience with this day of days. dickens gave his first formal expression to his christmas thoughts in his series of small books, the first of which was the famous "christmas carol," the one perfect chrysolite. the success of the book was immediate. thackeray wrote of it: "who can listen to objections regarding such a book as this? it seems to me a national benefit, and to every man or woman who reads it, a personal kindness." this volume was put forth in a very attractive manner, with illustrations by john leech, who was the first artist to make these characters live, and his drawings were varied and spirited. there followed upon this four others: "the chimes," "the cricket on the hearth," "the battle of life," and "the haunted man," with illustrations on their first appearance by doyle, maclise, and others. the five are known to-day as the "christmas books." of them all the "carol" is the best known and loved, and "the cricket on the hearth," although third in the series, is perhaps next in point of popularity, and is especially familiar to americans through joseph jefferson's characterisation of caleb plummer. dickens seems to have put his whole self into these glowing little stories. whoever sees but a clever ghost story in the "christmas carol" misses its chief charm and lesson, for there is a different meaning in the movements of scrooge and his attendant spirits. a new life is brought to scrooge when he, "running to his window, opened it and put out his head. no fog, no mist; clear, bright, jovial, stirring cold; cold, piping for the blood to dance to; golden sun-light; heavenly sky; sweet fresh air; merry bells. oh, glorious! glorious!" all this brightness has its attendant shadow, and deep from the childish heart comes that true note of pathos, the ever memorable toast of tiny tim, "god bless us, every one!" "the cricket on the hearth" strikes a different note. charmingly, poetically, the sweet chirping of the little cricket is associated with human feelings and actions, and at the crisis of the story decides the fate and fortune of the carrier and his wife. dickens's greatest gift was characterization, and no english writer, save shakespeare, has drawn so many and so varied characters. it would be as absurd to interpret all of these as caricatures as to deny dickens his great and varied powers of creation. dickens exaggerated many of his comic and satirical characters, as was his right, for caricature and satire are very closely related, while exaggeration is the very essence of comedy. but there remains a host of characters marked by humour and pathos. yet the pictorial presentation of dickens's characters has ever tended toward the grotesque. the interpretations in this volume aim to eliminate the grosser phases of the caricature in favour of the more human. if the interpretations seem novel, if scrooge be not as he has been pictured, it is because a more human scrooge was desired--a scrooge not wholly bad, a scrooge of a better heart, a scrooge to whom the resurrection described in this story was possible. it has been the illustrator's whole aim to make these people live in some form more fully consistent with their types. george alfred williams. _chatham, n.j._ the cricket on the hearth table of contents _chirp the first_ 103 _chirp the second_ 132 _chirp the third_ 165 list of illustrations _"father, i am lonely in the dark. i want my eyes, my patient, willing eyes."_ 103 _"a dot and--" here he glanced at the baby--"a dot and carry--i won't say it, for fear i should spoil it; but i was very near a joke."_ 108 _tilly slowboy_ 112 _"that's the way i found him, sitting by the roadside! upright as a milestone."_ 118 _when suddenly, the struggling fire illuminated the whole chimney with a glow of light; and the cricket on the hearth began to chirp!_ 166 [illustration] the cricket on the hearth a fairy tale of home chirp the first the kettle began it! don't tell me what mrs. peerybingle said. i know better. mrs. peerybingle may leave it on record to the end of time that she couldn't say which of them began it; but i say the kettle did. i ought to know, i hope? the kettle began it, full five minutes by the little waxy-faced dutch clock in the corner, before the cricket uttered a chirp. as if the clock hadn't finished striking, and the convulsive little hay-maker at the top of it, jerking away right and left with a scythe in front of a moorish palace, hadn't mowed down half an acre of imaginary grass before the cricket joined in at all! why, i am not naturally positive. every one knows that i wouldn't set my own opinion against the opinion of mrs. peerybingle, unless i were quite sure, on any account whatever. nothing should induce me. but, this is a question of fact. and the fact is, that the kettle began it at least five minutes before the cricket gave any sign of being in existence. contradict me, and i'll say ten. let me narrate exactly how it happened. i should have proceeded to do so, in my very first word, but for this plain consideration--if i am to tell a story i must begin at the beginning; and how is it possible to begin at the beginning without beginning at the kettle? it appeared as if there were a sort of match, or trial of skill, you must understand, between the kettle and the cricket. and this is what led to it, and how it came about. mrs. peerybingle, going out into the raw twilight, and clicking over the wet stones in a pair of pattens that worked innumerable rough impressions of the first proposition in euclid all about the yard--mrs. peerybingle filled the kettle at the water-butt. presently returning, less the pattens (and a good deal less, for they were tall, and mrs. peerybingle was but short), she set the kettle on the fire. in doing which she lost her temper, or mislaid it for an instant; for, the water being uncomfortably cold, and in that slippy, slushy, sleety sort of state wherein it seems to penetrate through every kind of substance, patten rings included--had laid hold of mrs. peerybingle's toes, and even splashed her legs. and when we rather plume ourselves (with reason too) upon our legs, and keep ourselves particularly neat in point of stockings, we find this, for the moment, hard to bear. besides, the kettle was aggravating and obstinate. it wouldn't allow itself to be adjusted on the top bar; it wouldn't hear of accommodating itself kindly to the knobs of coal; it _would_ lean forward with a drunken air, and dribble, a very idiot of a kettle, on the hearth. it was quarrelsome, and hissed and spluttered morosely at the fire. to sum up all, the lid, resisting mrs. peerybingle's fingers, first of all turned topsy-turvy, and then, with an ingenious pertinacity deserving of a better cause, dived sideways in--down to the very bottom of the kettle. and the hull of the royal george has never made half the monstrous resistance to coming out of the water which the lid of that kettle employed against mrs. peerybingle before she got it up again. it looked sullen and pig-headed enough, even then; carrying its handle with an air of defiance, and cocking its spout pertly and mockingly at mrs. peerybingle, as if it said, "i won't boil. nothing shall induce me!" but, mrs. peerybingle, with restored good-humour, dusted her chubby little hands against each other, and sat down before the kettle laughing. meantime, the jolly blaze uprose and fell, flashing and gleaming on the little hay-maker at the top of the dutch clock, until one might have thought he stood stock-still before the moorish palace, and nothing was in motion but the flame. he was on the move, however; and had his spasms, two to the second, all right and regular. but his sufferings when the clock was going to strike were frightful to behold; and when a cuckoo looked out of a trap-door in the palace, and gave note six times, it shook him, each time, like a spectral voice--or like a something wiry plucking at his legs. it was not until a violent commotion and a whirring noise among the weights and ropes below him had quite subsided that this terrified hay-maker became himself again. nor was he startled without reason; for these rattling, bony skeletons of clocks are very disconcerting in their operation, and i wonder very much how any set of men, but most of all how dutchmen, can have had a liking to invent them. there is a popular belief that dutchmen love broad cases and much clothing for their own lower selves; and they might know better than to leave their clocks so very lank and unprotected, surely. now it was, you observe, that the kettle began to spend the evening. now it was that the kettle, growing mellow and musical, began to have irrepressible gurglings in its throat, and to indulge in short vocal snorts, which it checked in the bud, as if it hadn't quite made up its mind yet to be good company. now it was that after two or three such vain attempts to stifle its convivial sentiments, it threw off all moroseness, all reserve, and burst into a stream of song so cosy and hilarious as never maudlin nightingale yet formed the least idea of. so plain, too! bless you, you might have understood it like a book--better than some books you and i could name, perhaps. with its warm breath gushing forth in a light cloud which merrily and gracefully ascended a few feet, then hung about the chimney-corner as its own domestic heaven, it trolled its song with that strong energy of cheerfulness, that its iron body hummed and stirred upon the fire; and the lid itself, the recently rebellious lid--such is the influence of a bright example--performed a sort of jig, and clattered like a deaf and dumb young cymbal that had never known the use of its twin brother. that this song of the kettle's was a song of invitation and welcome to somebody out of doors: to somebody at that moment coming on towards the snug small home and the crisp fire: there is no doubt whatever. mrs. peerybingle knew it perfectly, as she sat musing before the hearth. it's a dark night, sang the kettle, and the rotten leaves are lying by the way; and, above, all is mist and darkness, and, below, all is mire and clay; and there's only one relief in all the sad and murky air; and i don't know that it is one, for it's nothing but a glare; of deep and angry crimson, where the sun and wind together; set a brand upon the clouds for being guilty of such weather; and the widest open country is a long dull streak of black; and there's hoar frost on the finger-post, and thaw upon the track; and the ice it isn't water, and the water isn't free; and you couldn't say that anything is what it ought to be; but he's coming, coming, coming!-and here, if you like, the cricket did chime in! with a chirrup, chirrup, chirrup of such magnitude, by way of chorus; with a voice so astoundingly disproportionate to its size, as compared with the kettle; (size! you couldn't see it!) that, if it had then and there burst itself like an overcharged gun, if it had fallen a victim on the spot, and chirruped its little body into fifty pieces, it would have seemed a natural and inevitable consequence, for which it had expressly laboured. the kettle had had the last of its solo performance. it persevered with undiminished ardour; but the cricket took first fiddle, and kept it. good heaven, how it chirped! its shrill, sharp, piercing voice resounded through the house, and seemed to twinkle in the outer darkness like a star. there was an indescribable little trill and tremble in it at its loudest, which suggested its being carried off its legs, and made to leap again, by its own intense enthusiasm. yet they went very well together, the cricket and the kettle. the burden of the song was still the same; and louder, louder, louder still, they sang it in their emulation. the fair little listener--for fair she was, and young; though something of what is called the dumpling shape; but i don't myself object to that--lighted a candle, glanced at the hay-maker on the top of the clock, who was getting in a pretty average crop of minutes; and looked out of the window, where she saw nothing, owing to the darkness, but her own face imaged in the glass. and my opinion is (and so would yours have been) that she might have looked a long way and seen nothing half so agreeable. when she came back, and sat down in her former seat, the cricket and the kettle were still keeping it up, with a perfect fury of competition. the kettle's weak side clearly being that he didn't know when he was beat. there was all the excitement of a race about it. chirp, chirp, chirp! cricket a mile ahead. hum, hum, hum--m--m! kettle making play in the distance, like a great top. chirp, chirp, chirp! cricket round the corner. hum, hum, hum--m--m! kettle sticking to him in his own way; no idea of giving in. chirp, chirp, chirp! cricket fresher than ever. hum, hum, hum--m--m! kettle slow and steady. chirp, chirp, chirp! cricket going in to finish him. hum, hum, hum--m--m! kettle not to be finished. until at last they got so jumbled together, in the hurry-skurry, helter-skelter, of the match, that whether the kettle chirped and the cricket hummed, or the cricket chirped and the kettle hummed, or they both chirped and both hummed, it would have taken a clearer head than yours or mine to have decided with anything like certainty. but of this there is no doubt: that, the kettle and the cricket, at one and the same moment, and by some power of amalgamation best known to themselves, sent, each, his fireside song of comfort streaming into a ray of the candle that shone out through the window, and a long way down the lane. and this light, bursting on a certain person who, on the instant, approached towards it through the gloom, expressed the whole thing to him, literally in a twinkling, and cried, "welcome home, old fellow! welcome home, my boy!" this end attained, the kettle, being dead beat, boiled over, and was taken off the fire. mrs. peerybingle then went running to the door, where, what with the wheels of a cart, the tramp of a horse, the voice of a man, the tearing in and out of an excited dog, and the surprising and mysterious appearance of a baby, there was soon the very what's-his-name to play. where the baby came from, or how mrs. peerybingle got hold of it in that flash of time, _i_ don't know. but a live baby there was in mrs. peerybingle's arms; and a pretty tolerable amount of pride she seemed to have in it, when she was drawn gently to the fire, by a sturdy figure of a man, much taller and much older than herself, who had to stoop a long way down to kiss her. but she was worth the trouble. six foot six, with the lumbago, might have done it. "oh goodness, john!" said mrs. p. "what a state you're in with the weather!" [illustration: _"a dot and"--here he glanced at the baby--"a dot and carry--i won't say it, for fear i should spoil it; but i was very near a joke."_] he was something the worse for it undeniably. the thick mist hung in clots upon his eyelashes like candied thaw; and, between the fog and fire together, there were rainbows in his very whiskers. "why, you see, dot," john made answer slowly, as he unrolled a shawl from about his throat, and warmed his hands; "it--it an't exactly summer weather. so no wonder." "i wish you wouldn't call me dot, john. i don't like it," said mrs. peerybingle: pouting in a way that clearly showed she _did_ like it very much. "why, what else are you?" returned john, looking down upon her with a smile, and giving her waist as light a squeeze as his huge hand and arm could give. "a dot and"--here he glanced at the baby--"a dot and carry--i won't say it, for fear i should spoil it; but i was very near a joke. i don't know as ever i was nearer." he was often near to something or other very clever, by his own account: this lumbering, slow, honest john; this john so heavy, but so light of spirit; so rough upon the surface, but so gentle at the core; so dull without, so quick within; so stolid, but so good! oh, mother nature, give thy children the true poetry of heart that hid itself in this poor carrier's breast--he was but a carrier, by the way--and we can bear to have them talking prose, and leading lives of prose; and bear to bless thee for their company! it was pleasant to see dot, with her little figure and her baby in her arms: a very doll of a baby: glancing with a coquettish thoughtfulness at the fire, and inclining her delicate little head just enough on one side to let it rest in an odd, half-natural, half-affected, wholly nestling and agreeable manner, on the great rugged figure of the carrier. it was pleasant to see him, with his tender awkwardness, endeavouring to adapt his rude support to her slight need, and make his burly middle age a leaning-staff not inappropriate to her blooming youth. it was pleasant to observe how tilly slowboy, waiting in the background for the baby, took special cognizance (though in her earliest teens) of this grouping; and stood with her mouth and eyes wide open, and her head thrust forward, taking it in as if it were air. nor was it less agreeable to observe how john the carrier, reference being made by dot to the aforesaid baby, checked his hand when on the point of touching the infant, as if he thought he might crack it; and, bending down, surveyed it from a safe distance, with a kind of puzzled pride, such as an amiable mastiff might be supposed to show if he found himself, one day, the father of a young canary. "an't he beautiful, john? don't he look precious in his sleep?" "very precious," said john. "very much so. he generally _is_ asleep, an't he?" "lor, john! good gracious, no!" "oh!" said john, pondering. "i thought his eyes was generally shut. halloa!" "goodness, john, how you startle one!" "it an't right for him to turn 'em up in that way," said the astonished carrier, "is it? see how he's winking with both of 'em at once! and look at his mouth! why, he's gasping like a gold and silver fish!" "you don't deserve to be a father, you don't," said dot, with all the dignity of an experienced matron. "but how should you know what little complaints children are troubled with, john? you wouldn't so much as know their names, you stupid fellow." and when she had turned the baby over on her left arm, and had slapped its back as a restorative, she pinched her husband's ear, laughing. "no," said john, pulling off his outer coat. "it's very true, dot. i don't know much about it. i only know that i've been fighting pretty stiffly with the wind to-night. it's been blowing north-east, straight into the cart, the whole way home." "poor old man, so it has!" cried mrs. peerybingle, instantly becoming very active. "here, take the precious darling, tilly, while i make myself of some use. bless it, i could smother it with kissing it, i could! hie then, good dog! hie, boxer, boy! only let me make the tea first, john; and then i'll help you with the parcels, like a busy bee. 'how doth the little'--and all the rest of it, you know, john. did you ever learn 'how doth the little,' when you went to school, john?" "not to quite know it," john returned. "i was very near it once. but i should only have spoilt it, i dare say." "ha, ha!" laughed dot. she had the blithest little laugh you ever heard. "what a dear old darling of a dunce you are, john, to be sure!" not at all disputing this position, john went out to see that the boy with the lantern, which had been dancing to and fro before the door and window, like a will of the wisp, took due care of the horse; who was fatter than you would quite believe, if i gave you his measure, and so old that his birthday was lost in the mists of antiquity. boxer, feeling that his attentions were due to the family in general, and must be impartially distributed, dashed in and out with bewildering inconstancy; now describing a circle of short barks round the horse, where he was being rubbed down at the stable door; now feigning to make savage rushes at his mistress, and facetiously bringing himself to sudden stops; now eliciting a shriek from tilly slowboy, in the low nursing-chair near the fire, by the unexpected application of his moist nose to her countenance; now exhibiting an obtrusive interest in the baby; now going round and round upon the hearth, and lying down as if he had established himself for the night; now getting up again, and taking that nothing of a fag-end of a tail of his out into the weather, as if he had just remembered an appointment, and was off at a round trot, to keep it. "there! there's the teapot, ready on the hob!" said dot; as briskly busy as a child at play at keeping house. "and there's the cold knuckle of ham; and there's the butter; and there's the crusty loaf, and all! here's a clothes basket for the small parcels, john, if you've got any there. where are you, john? don't let the dear child fall under the grate, tilly, whatever you do!" it may be noted of miss slowboy, in spite of her rejecting the caution with some vivacity, that she had a rare and surprising talent for getting this baby into difficulties: and had several times imperilled its short life in a quiet way peculiarly her own. she was of a spare and straight shape, this young lady, insomuch that her garments appeared to be in constant danger of sliding off those sharp pegs, her shoulders, on which they were loosely hung. her costume was remarkable for the partial development, on all possible occasions, of some flannel vestment of a singular structure; also for affording glimpses, in the region of the back, of a corset, or a pair of stays, in colour a dead green. being always in a state of gaping admiration at everything, and absorbed, besides, in the perpetual contemplation of her mistress's perfections and the baby's, miss slowboy, in her little errors of judgment, may be said to have done equal honour to her head and to her heart; and though these did less honour to the baby's head, which they were the occasional means of bringing into contact with deal doors, dressers, stair-rails, bed-posts, and other foreign substances, still they were the honest results of tilly slowboy's constant astonishment at finding herself so kindly treated, and installed in such a comfortable home. for the maternal and paternal slowboy were alike unknown to fame, and tilly had been bred by public charity, a foundling; which word, though only differing from fondling by one vowel's length, is very different in meaning, and expresses quite another thing. to have seen little mrs. peerybingle come back with her husband, tugging at the clothes basket, and making the most strenuous exertions to do nothing at all (for he carried it), would have amused you almost as much as it amused him. it may have entertained the cricket, too, for anything i know; but, certainly, it now began to chirp again vehemently. [illustration: _tilly slowboy._] "heyday!" said john in his slow way. "it's merrier than ever to-night, i think." "and it's sure to bring us good fortune, john! it always has done so. to have a cricket on the hearth is the luckiest thing in all the world!" john looked at her as if he had very nearly got the thought into his head that she was his cricket in chief, and he quite agreed with her. but it was probably one of his narrow escapes, for he said nothing. "the first time i heard its cheerful little note, john, was on that night when you brought me home--when you brought me to my new home here; its little mistress. nearly a year ago. you recollect, john?" oh, yes! john remembered. i should think so! "its chirp was such a welcome to me! it seemed so full of promise and encouragement. it seemed to say, you would be kind and gentle with me, and would not expect (i had a fear of that, john, then) to find an old head on the shoulders of your foolish little wife." john thoughtfully patted one of the shoulders, and then the head, as though he would have said no, no; he had had no such expectation; he had been quite content to take them as they were. and really he had reason. they were very comely. "it spoke the truth, john, when it seemed to say so: for you have ever been, i am sure, the best, the most considerate, the most affectionate of husbands to me. this has been a happy home, john; and i love the cricket for its sake!" "why, so do i, then," said the carrier. "so do i, dot." "i love it for the many times i have heard it, and the many thoughts its harmless music has given me. sometimes, in the twilight, when i have felt a little solitary and down-hearted, john--before baby was here, to keep me company and make the house gay--when i have thought how lonely you would be if i should die; how lonely i should be, if i could know that you had lost me, dear; its chirp, chirp, chirp upon the hearth has seemed to tell me of another little voice, so sweet, so very dear to me, before whose coming sound my trouble vanished like a dream. and when i used to fear--i did fear once, john; i was very young, you know--that ours might prove to be an ill-assorted marriage, i being such a child, and you more like my guardian than my husband; and that you might not, however hard you tried, be able to learn to love me, as you hoped and prayed you might; its chirp, chirp, chirp has cheered me up again, and filled me with new trust and confidence. i was thinking of these things to-night, dear, when i sat expecting you; and i love the cricket for their sake!" "and so do i," repeated john. "but, dot! _i_ hope and pray that i might learn to love you? how you talk! i had learnt that long before i brought you here, to be the cricket's little mistress, dot!" she laid her hand, an instant, on his arm, and looked up at him with an agitated face, as if she would have told him something. next moment, she was down upon her knees before the basket; speaking in a sprightly voice, and busy with the parcels. "there are not many of them to-night, john, but i saw some goods behind the cart just now; and though they give more trouble, perhaps, still they pay as well; so we have no reason to grumble, have we? besides, you have been delivering, i dare say, as you came along?" "oh, yes!" john said. "a good many." "why, what's this round box? heart alive, john, it's a wedding-cake!" "leave a woman alone to find out that," said john admiringly. "now, a man would never have thought of it! whereas, it's my belief that if you was to pack a wedding-cake up in a tea-chest, or a turn-up bedstead, or a pickled-salmon keg, or any unlikely thing, a woman would be sure to find it out directly. yes; i called for it at the pastrycook's." "and it weighs i don't know what--whole hundredweights!" cried dot, making a great demonstration of trying to lift it. "whose is it, john? where is it going?" "read the writing on the other side," said john. "why, john! my goodness, john!" "ah! who'd have thought it?" john returned. "you never mean to say," pursued dot, sitting on the floor and shaking her head at him, "that it's gruff and tackleton the toymaker!" john nodded. mrs. peerybingle nodded also, fifty times at least. not in assent--in dumb and pitying amazement; screwing up her lips, the while, with all their little force (they were never made for screwing up; i am clear of that), and looking the good carrier through and through, in her abstraction. miss slowboy, in the meantime, who had a mechanical power of reproducing scraps of current conversation for the delectation of the baby, with all the sense struck out of them, and all the nouns changed into the plural number, inquired aloud of that young creature, was it gruffs and tackletons the toymakers then, and would it call at pastrycooks for wedding-cakes, and did its mothers know the boxes when its fathers brought them home; and so on. "and that is really to come about!" said dot. "why, she and i were girls at school together, john." he might have been thinking of her, or nearly thinking of her, perhaps, as she was in that same school-time. he looked upon her with a thoughtful pleasure, but he made no answer. "and he's as old! as unlike her!--why, how many years older than you is gruff and tackleton, john?" "how many more cups of tea shall i drink to-night, at one sitting, than gruff and tackleton ever took in four, i wonder?" replied john good-humouredly, as he drew a chair to the round table, and began at the cold ham. "as to eating, i eat but little; but that little i enjoy, dot." even this, his usual sentiment at meal-times, one of his innocent delusions (for his appetite was always obstinate, and flatly contradicted him), awoke no smile in the face of his little wife, who stood among the parcels, pushing the cake-box slowly from her with her foot, and never once looked, though her eyes were cast down too, upon the dainty shoe she generally was so mindful of. absorbed in thought, she stood there, heedless alike of the tea and john (although he called to her and rapped the table with his knife to startle her), until he rose and touched her on the arm; when she looked at him for a moment, and hurried to her place behind the tea-board, laughing at her negligence. but not as she had laughed before. the manner and the music were quite changed. the cricket, too, had stopped. somehow, the room was not so cheerful as it had been. nothing like it. "so, these are all the parcels, are they, john?" she said, breaking a long silence, which the honest carrier had devoted to the practical illustration of one part of his favourite sentiment--certainly enjoying what he ate, if it couldn't be admitted that he ate but little. "so these are all the parcels, are they, john?" "that's all," said john. "why--no--i"--laying down his knife and fork, and taking a long breath--"i declare--i've clean forgotten the old gentleman!" "the old gentleman?" "in the cart," said john. "he was asleep among the straw, the last time i saw him. i've very nearly remembered him, twice, since i came in; but he went out of my head again. halloa! yahip there! rouse up! that's my hearty!" john said these latter words outside the door, whither he had hurried with the candle in his hand. miss slowboy, conscious of some mysterious reference to the old gentleman, and connecting, in her mystified imagination, certain associations of a religious nature with the phrase, was so disturbed, that hastily rising from the low chair by the fire to seek protection near the skirt of her mistress, and coming into contact, as she crossed the doorway, with an ancient stranger, she instinctively made a charge or butt at him with the only offensive instrument within her reach. this instrument happening to be the baby, great commotion and alarm ensued, which the sagacity of boxer rather tended to increase; for that good dog, more thoughtful than his master, had, it seemed, been watching the old gentleman in his sleep, lest he should walk off with a few young poplar-trees that were tied up behind the cart; and he still attended on him very closely, worrying his gaiters, in fact, and making dead sets at the buttons. "you're such an undeniably good sleeper, sir," said john, when tranquillity was restored (in the meantime the old gentleman had stood, bareheaded and motionless, in the centre of the room), "that i have half a mind to ask you where the other six are--only that would be a joke, and i know i should spoil it. very near, though," murmured the carrier with a chuckle; "very near!" the stranger, who had long white hair, good features, singularly bold and well defined for an old man, and dark, bright, penetrating eyes, looked round with a smile, and saluted the carrier's wife by gravely inclining his head. his garb was very quaint and odd--a long, long way behind the time. its hue was brown, all over. in his hand he held a great brown club or walking-stick; and, striking this upon the floor, it fell asunder, and became a chair. on which he sat down quite composedly. "there!" said the carrier, turning to his wife. "that's the way i found him, sitting by the roadside! upright as a milestone. and almost as deaf." "sitting in the open air, john?" "in the open air," replied the carrier, "just at dusk. 'carriage paid,' he said; and gave me eighteen-pence. then he got in. and there he is." "he's going, john, i think!" not at all. he was only going to speak. "if you please, i was to be left till called for," said the stranger mildly. "don't mind me." with that he took a pair of spectacles from one of his large pockets, and a book from another, and leisurely began to read. making no more of boxer than if he had been a house lamb! the carrier and his wife exchanged a look of perplexity. the stranger raised his head; and, glancing from the latter to the former, said: "your daughter, my good friend?" "wife," returned john. "niece?" said the stranger. "wife!" roared john. "indeed?" observed the stranger. "surely? very young!" he quietly turned over, and resumed his reading. but, before he could have read two lines, he again interrupted himself to say: "baby yours?" john gave him a gigantic nod: equivalent to an answer in the affirmative, delivered through a speaking trumpet. "girl?" "bo-o-oy!" roared john. "also very young, eh?" mrs. peerybingle instantly struck in. "two months and three da-ays. vaccinated just six weeks ago-o! took very fine-ly! considered, by the doctor, a remarkably beautiful chi-ild! equal to the general run of children at five months o-ld! takes notice in a way quite wonder-ful! may seem impossible to you, but feels his legs al-ready!" [illustration: _"that's the way i found him, sitting by the roadside! upright as a milestone."_] here, the breathless little mother, who had been shrieking these short sentences into the old man's ear, until her pretty face was crimsoned, held up the baby before him as a stubborn and triumphant fact; while tilly slowboy, with a melodious cry of "ketcher, ketcher"--which sounded like some unknown words, adapted to a popular sneeze--performed some cow-like gambols around that all unconscious innocent. "hark! he's called for, sure enough," said john. "there's somebody at the door. open it, tilly." before she could reach it, however, it was opened from without; being a primitive sort of door, with a latch that any one could lift if he chose--and a good many people did choose, for all kinds of neighbours liked to have a cheerful word or two with the carrier, though he was no great talker himself. being opened, it gave admission to a little, meagre, thoughtful, dingy-faced man, who seemed to have made himself a great-coat from the sackcloth covering of some old box; for, when he turned to shut the door and keep the weather out, he disclosed upon the back of that garment the inscription g & t in large black capitals. also the word glass in bold characters. "good evening, john!" said the little man. "good evening, mum! good evening, tilly! good evening, unbeknown! how's baby, mum? boxer's pretty well i hope?" "all thriving, caleb," replied dot. "i am sure you need only look at the dear child, for one, to know that." "and i'm sure i need only look at you for another," said caleb. he didn't look at her, though; he had a wandering and thoughtful eye, which seemed to be always projecting itself into some other time and place, no matter what he said; a description which will equally apply to his voice. "or at john for another," said caleb. "or at tilly, as far as that goes. or certainly at boxer." "busy just now, caleb?" asked the carrier. "why, pretty well, john," he returned, with the distraught air of a man who was casting about for the philosopher's stone, at least. "pretty much so. there's rather a run on noah's arks at present. i could have wished to improve on the family, but i don't see how it's to be done at the price. it would be a satisfaction to one's mind to make it clearer which was shems and hams, and which was wives. flies an't on that scale, neither, as compared with elephants, you know! ah, well! have you got anything in the parcel line for me, john?" the carrier put his hand into a pocket of the coat he had taken off; and brought out, carefully preserved in moss and paper, a tiny flower-pot. "there it is!" he said, adjusting it with great care. "not so much as a leaf damaged. full of buds!" caleb's dull eye brightened as he took it, and thanked him. "dear, caleb," said the carrier. "very dear at this season." "never mind that. it would be cheap to me, what ever it cost," returned the little man. "anything else, john?" "a small box," replied the carrier. "here you are!" "'for caleb plummer,'" said the little man, spelling out the direction. "'with cash.' with cash, john? i don't think it's for me." "with care," returned the carrier, looking over his shoulder. "where do you make out cash?" "oh! to be sure!" said caleb. "it's all right. with care! yes, yes; that's mine. it might have been with cash, indeed, if my dear boy in the golden south americas had lived, john. you loved him like a son; didn't you? you needn't say you did. _i_ know, of course. 'caleb plummer. with care.' yes, yes, it's all right. it's a box of dolls' eyes for my daughters' work. i wish it was her own sight in a box, john." "i wish it was, or could be!" cried the carrier. "thankee," said the little man. "you speak very hearty. to think that she should never see the dolls--and them a staring at her, so bold, all day long! that's where it cuts. what's the damage, john?" "i'll damage you," said john, "if you inquire. dot! very near?" "well! it's like you to say so," observed the little man. "it's your kind way. let me see. i think that's all." "i think not," said the carrier. "try again." "something for our governor, eh?" said caleb after pondering a little while. "to be sure. that's what i came for; but my head's so running on them arks and things! he hasn't been here, has he?" "not he," returned the carrier. "he's too busy, courting." "he's coming round, though," said caleb; "for he told me to keep on the near side of the road going home, and it was ten to one he'd take me up. i had better go, by-the-bye.--you couldn't have the goodness to let me pinch boxer's tail, mum, for half a moment, could you?" "why, caleb, what a question!" "oh, never mind, mum!" said the little man. "he mightn't like it, perhaps. there's a small order just come in for barking dogs; and i should wish to go as close to natur' as i could for sixpence. that's all. never mind, mum." it happened opportunely that boxer, without receiving the proposed stimulus, began to bark with great zeal. but, as this implied the approach of some new visitor, caleb, postponing his study from the life to a more convenient season, shouldered the round box, and took a hurried leave. he might have spared himself the trouble, for he met the visitor upon the threshold. "oh! you are here, are you? wait a bit. i'll take you home. john peerybingle, my service to you. more of my service to your pretty wife. handsomer every day! better too, if possible! and younger," mused the speaker in a low voice, "that's the devil of it!" "i should be astonished at your paying compliments, mr. tackleton," said dot, not with the best grace in the world, "but for your condition." "you know all about it, then?" "i have got myself to believe it somehow," said dot. "after a hard struggle, i suppose?" "very." tackleton the toy merchant, pretty generally known as gruff and tackleton--for that was the firm, though gruff had been bought out long ago; only leaving his name, and, as some said, his nature, according to its dictionary meaning, in the business--tackleton the toy merchant was a man whose vocation had been quite misunderstood by his parents and guardians. if they had made him a money lender, or a sharp attorney, or a sheriff's officer, or a broker, he might have sown his discontented oats in his youth, and, after having had the full run of himself in ill-natured transactions, might have turned out amiable, at last, for the sake of a little freshness and novelty. but, cramped and chafing in the peaceable pursuit of toymaking, he was a domestic ogre, who had been living on children all his life, and was their implacable enemy. he despised all toys; wouldn't have bought one for the world; delighted, in his malice, to insinuate grim expressions into the faces of brown-paper farmers who drove pigs to market, bellmen who advertised lost lawyers' consciences, movable old ladies who darned stockings or carved pies; and other like samples of his stock-in-trade. in appalling masks; hideous, hairy, red-eyed jacks in boxes; vampire kites; demoniacal tumblers who wouldn't lie down, and were perpetually flying forward, to stare infants out of countenance; his soul perfectly revelled. they were his only relief, and safety-valve. he was great in such inventions. anything suggestive of a pony nightmare was delicious to him. he had even lost money (and he took to that toy very kindly) by getting up goblin slides for magic lanterns, whereon the powers of darkness were depicted as a sort of supernatural shell-fish, with human faces. in intensifying the portraiture of giants, he had sunk quite a little capital; and, though no painter himself, he could indicate, for the instruction of his artists, with a piece of chalk, a certain furtive leer for the countenances of those monsters, which was safe to destroy the peace of mind of any young gentleman between the ages of six and eleven, for the whole christmas or midsummer vacation. what he was in toys, he was (as most men are) in other things. you may easily suppose, therefore, that within the great green cape, which reached down to the calves of his legs, there was buttoned up to the chin an uncommonly pleasant fellow; and that he was about as choice a spirit, and as agreeable a companion, as ever stood in a pair of bull-headed-looking boots with mahogany-coloured tops. still, tackleton, the toy merchant, was going to be married. in spite of all this, he was going to be married. and to a young wife too, a beautiful young wife. he didn't look much like a bridegroom, as he stood in the carrier's kitchen, with a twist in his dry face, and a screw in his body, and his hat jerked over the bridge of his nose, and his hands tucked down into the bottoms of his pockets, and his whole sarcastic, ill-conditioned self peering out of one little corner of one little eye, like the concentrated essence of any number of ravens. but a bridegroom he designed to be. "in three days' time. next thursday. the last day of the first month in the year. that's my wedding-day," said tackleton. did i mention that he had always one eye wide open, and one eye nearly shut; and that the one eye nearly shut was always the expressive eye? i don't think i did. "that's my wedding-day!" said tackleton, rattling his money. "why, it's our wedding-day too," exclaimed the carrier. "ha, ha!" laughed tackleton. "odd! you're just such another couple. just!" the indignation of dot at this presumptuous assertion is not to be described. what next? his imagination would compass the possibility of just such another baby, perhaps. the man was mad. "i say! a word with you," murmured tackleton, nudging the carrier with his elbow, and taking him a little apart. "you'll come to the wedding? we're in the same boat, you know." "how in the same boat?" inquired the carrier. "a little disparity, you know," said tackleton with another nudge. "come and spend an evening with us beforehand." "why?" demanded john, astonished at this pressing hospitality. "why?" returned the other. "that's a new way of receiving an invitation. why, for pleasure--sociability, you know, and all that." "i thought you were never sociable," said john in his plain way. "tchah! it's of no use to be anything but free with you, i see," said tackleton. "why, then, the truth is, you have a--what tea-drinking people call a sort of a comfortable appearance together, you and your wife. we know better, you know, but----" "no, we don't know better," interposed john. "what are you talking about?" "well! we _don't_ know better, then," said tackleton. "we'll agree that we don't. as you like; what does it matter? i was going to say, as you have that sort of appearance, your company will produce a favourable effect on mrs. tackleton that will be. and, though i don't think your good lady's very friendly to me in this matter, still she can't help herself from falling into my views, for there's a compactness and cosiness of appearance about her that always tells, even in an indifferent case. you'll say you'll come?" "we have arranged to keep our wedding-day (as far as that goes) at home," said john. "we have made the promise to ourselves these six months. we think, you see, that home--" "bah! what's home?" cried tackleton. "four walls and a ceiling! (why don't you kill that cricket? _i_ would! i always do. i hate their noise.) there are four walls and a ceiling at my house. come to me!" "you kill your crickets, eh?" said john. "scrunch 'em, sir," returned the other, setting his heel heavily on the floor. "you'll say you'll come? it's as much your interest as mine, you know, that the women should persuade each other that they're quiet and contented, and couldn't be better off. i know their way. whatever one woman says, another woman is determined to clinch always. there's that spirit of emulation among 'em, sir, that if your wife says to my wife, 'i'm the happiest woman in the world, and mine's the best husband in the world, and i dote on him,' my wife will say the same to yours, or more, and half believe it." "do you mean to say she don't, then?" asked the carrier. "don't!" cried tackleton with a short, sharp laugh. "don't what?" the carrier had some faint idea of adding, "dote upon you." but, happening to meet the half-closed eye, as it twinkled upon him over the turned-up collar of the cape, which was within an ace of poking it out, he felt it such an unlikely part and parcel of anything to be doted on, that he substituted, "that she don't believe it?" "ah, you dog! you're joking," said tackleton. but the carrier, though slow to understand the full drift of his meaning, eyed him in such a serious manner, that he was obliged to be a little more explanatory. "i have the humour," said tackleton: holding up the fingers of his left hand, and tapping the forefinger, to imply, "there i am, tackleton to wit": "i have the humour, sir, to marry a young wife, and a pretty wife": here he rapped his little finger, to express the bride; not sparingly, but sharply; with a sense of power. "i'm able to gratify that humour, and i do. it's my whim. but--now look there!" he pointed to where dot was sitting, thoughtfully before the fire: leaning her dimpled chin upon her hand, and watching the bright blaze. the carrier looked at her, and then at him, and then at her, and then at him again. "she honours and obeys, no doubt, you know," said tackleton; "and that, as i am not a man of sentiment, is quite enough for _me_. but do you think there's anything more in it?" "i think," observed the carrier, "that i should chuck any man out of window who said there wasn't." "exactly so," returned the other with an unusual alacrity of assent. "to be sure! doubtless you would. of course. i'm certain of it. good night. pleasant dreams!" the carrier was puzzled, and made uncomfortable and uncertain, in spite of himself. he couldn't help showing it in his manner. "good night, my dear friend!" said tackleton compassionately. "i'm off. we're exactly alike in reality, i see. you won't give us to-morrow evening? well! next day you go out visiting, i know. i'll meet you there, and bring my wife that is to be. it'll do her good. you're agreeable? thankee. what's that?" it was a loud cry from the carrier's wife: a loud, sharp, sudden cry, that made the room ring like a glass vessel. she had risen from her seat, and stood like one transfixed by terror and surprise. the stranger had advanced towards the fire to warm himself, and stood within a short stride of her chair. but quite still. "dot!" cried the carrier. "mary! darling! what's the matter?" they were all about her in a moment. caleb, who had been dozing on the cake-box, in the first imperfect recovery of his suspended presence of mind, seized miss slowboy by the hair of her head, but immediately apologised. "mary!" exclaimed the carrier, supporting her in his arms. "are you ill? what is it? tell me dear!" she only answered by beating her hands together, and falling into a wild fit of laughter. then, sinking from his grasp upon the ground, she covered her face with her apron, and wept bitterly. and then, she laughed again, and then she cried again, and then she said how cold she was, and suffered him to lead her to the fire, where she sat down as before. the old man standing, as before, quite still. "i'm better, john," she said. "i'm quite well now--i----" "john!" but john was on the other side of her. why turn her face towards the strange old gentleman, as if addressing him. was her brain wandering? "only a fancy, john dear--a kind of shock--a something coming suddenly before my eyes--i don't know what it was. it's quite gone, quite gone." "i'm glad it's gone," muttered tackleton, turning the expressive eye all round the room. "i wonder where it's gone, and what it was. humph! caleb, come here! who's that with the grey hair?" "i don't know, sir," returned caleb in a whisper. "never see him before in all my life. a beautiful figure for a nut-cracker; quite a new model. with a screw-jaw opening down into his waistcoat, he'd be lovely." "not ugly enough," said tackleton. "or for a fire-box either," observed caleb in deep contemplation, "what a model! unscrew his head to put the matches in; turn him heels up'ards for the light; and what a fire-box for a gentleman's mantel-shelf, just as he stands!" "not half ugly enough," said tackleton. "nothing in him at all. come! bring that box! all right now, i hope?" "oh, quite gone! quite gone!" said the little woman, waving him hurriedly away. "good night!" "good night!" said tackleton. "good night, john peerybingle! take care how you carry that box, caleb. let it fall, and i'll murder you! dark as pitch, and weather worse than ever, eh? good night!" so, with another sharp look round the room, he went out at the door; followed by caleb with the wedding-cake on his head. the carrier had been so much astounded by his little wife, and so busily engaged in soothing and tending her, that he had scarcely been conscious of the stranger's presence until now, when he again stood there, their only guest. "he don't belong to them, you see," said john. "i must give him a hint to go." "i beg your pardon, friend," said the old gentleman, advancing to him; "the more so as i fear your wife has not been well; but the attendant whom my infirmity," he touched his ears, and shook his head, "renders almost indispensable, not having arrived, i fear there must be some mistake. the bad night which made the shelter of your comfortable cart (may i never have a worse!) so acceptable, is still as bad as ever. would you, in your kindness, suffer me to rent a bed here?" "yes, yes," cried dot. "yes! certainly!" "oh!" said the carrier, surprised by the rapidity of this consent. "well! i don't object; but still i'm not quite sure that----" "hush!" she interrupted. "dear john!" "why, he's stone deaf," urged john. "i know he is, but----yes, sir, certainly. yes, certainly! i'll make him up a bed directly, john." as she hurried off to do it, the flutter of her spirits, and the agitation of her manner, were so strange, that the carrier stood looking after her, quite confounded. "did its mothers make it up a beds, then!" cried miss slowboy to the baby; "and did its hair grow brown and curly when its caps was lifted off, and frighten it, a precious pets, a sitting by the fires!" with that unaccountable attraction of the mind to trifles, which is often incidental to a state of doubt and confusion, the carrier, as he walked slowly to and fro, found himself mentally repeating even these absurd words, many times. so many times, that he got them by heart, and was still conning them over and over, like a lesson, when tilly, after administering as much friction to the little bald head with her hand as she thought wholesome (according to the practice of nurses), had once more tied the baby's cap on. "and frighten it, a precious pets, a sitting by the fires. what frightened dot, i wonder?" mused the carrier, pacing to and fro. he scouted, from his heart, the insinuations of the toy merchant, and yet they filled him with a vague, indefinite uneasiness. for tackleton was quick and sly; and he had that painful sense, himself, of being a man of slow perception, that a broken hint was always worrying to him. he certainly had no intention in his mind of linking anything that tackleton had said with the unusual conduct of his wife, but the two subjects of reflection came into his mind together, and he could not keep them asunder. the bed was soon made ready; and the visitor, declining all refreshment but a cup of tea, retired. then, dot--quite well again, she said, quite well again--arranged the great chair in the chimney-corner for her husband; filled his pipe and gave it him; and took her usual little stool beside him on the hearth. she always _would_ sit on that little stool. i think she must have had a kind of notion that it was a coaxing, wheedling little stool. she was, out and out, the very best filler of a pipe, i should say, in the four quarters of the globe. to see her put that chubby little finger in the bowl, and then blow down the pipe to clear the tube, and, when she had done so, affect to think that there was really something in the tube, and blow a dozen times, and hold it to her eye like a telescope, with a most provoking twist in her capital little face, as she looked down it, was quite a brilliant thing. as to the tobacco, she was perfect mistress of the subject; and her lighting of the pipe, with a wisp of paper, when the carrier had it in his mouth--going so very near his nose, and yet not scorching it--was art, high art. and the cricket and the kettle, turning up again, acknowledged it! the bright fire, blazing up again, acknowledged it! the little mower on the clock, in his unheeded work, acknowledged it! the carrier, in his smoothing forehead and expanding face, acknowledged it, the readiest of all. and as he soberly and thoughtfully puffed at his old pipe, and as the dutch clock ticked, and as the red fire gleamed, and as the cricket chirped, that genius of his hearth and home (for such the cricket was) came out, in fairy shape, into the room, and summoned many forms of home about him. dots of all ages and all sizes filled the chamber. dots who were merry children, running on before him, gathering flowers in the fields; coy dots, half shrinking from, half yielding to, the pleading of his own rough image; newly-married dots, alighting at the door, and taking wondering possession of the household keys; motherly little dots, attended by fictitious slowboys, bearing babies to be christened; matronly dots, still young and blooming, watching dots of daughters, as they danced at rustic balls; fat dots, encircled and beset by troops of rosy grandchildren; withered dots, who leaned on sticks, and tottered as they crept along. old carriers, too, appeared with blind old boxers lying at their feet; and newer carts with younger drivers ("peerybingle brothers" on the tilt); and sick old carriers, tended by the gentlest hands; and graves of dead and gone old carriers, green in the churchyard. and as the cricket showed him all these things--he saw them plainly, though his eyes were fixed upon the fire--the carrier's heart grew light and happy, and he thanked his household gods with all his might, and cared no more for gruff and tackleton than you do. * * * * * but what was that young figure of a man, which the same fairy cricket set so near her stool, and which remained there, singly and alone? why did it linger still, so near her, with its arm upon the chimney-piece, ever repeating "married! and not to me!" oh, dot! oh, failing dot! there is no place for it in all your husband's visions. why has its shadow fallen on his hearth? chirp the second caleb plummer and his blind daughter lived all alone by themselves, as the story books say--and my blessing, with yours, to back it i hope, on the story books, for saying anything in this work-a-day world!--caleb plummer and his blind daughter lived all alone by themselves, in a little cracked nutshell of a wooden house, which was, in truth, no better than a pimple on the prominent red-brick nose of gruff and tackleton. the premises of gruff and tackleton were the great feature of the street; but you might have knocked down caleb plummer's dwelling with a hammer or two, and carried off the pieces in a cart. if any one had done the dwelling-house of caleb plummer the honour to miss it after such an inroad, it would have been, no doubt, to commend its demolition as a vast improvement. it stuck to the premises of gruff and tackleton like a barnacle to a ship's keel, or a snail to a door, or a little bunch of toadstools to the stem of a tree. but it was the germ from which the full-grown trunk of gruff and tackleton had sprung; and, under its crazy roof, the gruff before last had, in a small way, made toys for a generation of old boys and girls, who had played with them, and found them out, and broken them, and gone to sleep. i have said that caleb and his poor blind daughter lived here. i should have said that caleb lived here, and his poor blind daughter somewhere else--in an enchanted home of caleb's furnishing, where scarcity and shabbiness were not, and trouble never entered. caleb was no sorcerer; but in the only magic art that still remains to us, the magic of devoted, deathless love, nature had been the mistress of his study; and, from her teaching, all the wonder came. the blind girl never knew that ceilings were discoloured, walls blotched and bare of plaster here and there, high crevices unstopped and widening every day, beams mouldering and tending downward. the blind girl never knew that iron was rusting, wood rotting, paper peeling off; the size, and shape, and true proportion of the dwelling, withering away. the blind girl never knew that ugly shapes of delf and earthenware were on the board; that sorrow and faint-heartedness were in the house; that caleb's scanty hairs were turning greyer and more grey before her sightless face. the blind girl never knew they had a master, cold, exacting, and uninterested--never knew that tackleton was tackleton, in short; but lived in the belief of an eccentric humorist, who loved to have his jest with them, and who, while he was the guardian angel of their lives, disdained to hear one word of thankfulness. and all was caleb's doing; all the doing of her simple father! but he, too, had a cricket on his hearth; and listening sadly to its music when the motherless blind child was very young that spirit had inspired him with the thought that even her great deprivation might be almost changed into a blessing, and the girl made happy by these little means. for all the cricket tribe are potent spirits, even though the people who hold converse with them do not know it (which is frequently the case), and there are not in the unseen world voices more gentle and more true, that may be so implicitly relied on, or that are so certain to give none but tenderest counsel, as the voices in which the spirits of the fireside and the hearth address themselves to humankind. caleb and his daughter were at work together in their usual working-room, which served them for their ordinary living-room as well; and a strange place it was. there were houses in it, finished and unfinished, for dolls of all stations in life. suburban tenements for dolls of moderate means; kitchens and single apartments for dolls of the lower classes; capital town residences for dolls of high estate. some of these establishments were already furnished according to estimate, with a view to the convenience of dolls of limited income; others could be fitted on the most expensive scale, at a moment's notice, from whole shelves of chairs and tables, sofas, bedsteads, and upholstery. the nobility and gentry and public in general, for whose accommodation these tenements were designed, lay here and there, in baskets, staring straight up at the ceiling; but in denoting their degrees in society, and confining them to their respective stations (which experience shows to be lamentably difficult in real life), the makers of these dolls had far improved on nature, who is often froward and perverse; for they, not resting on such arbitrary marks as satin, cotton print, and bits of rag, had superadded striking personal differences which allowed of no mistake. thus, the doll-lady of distinction had wax limbs of perfect symmetry; but only she and her compeers. the next grade in the social scale being made of leather, and the next of coarse linen stuff. as to the common people, they had just so many matches out of tinder-boxes for their arms and legs, and there they were--established in their sphere at once, beyond the possibility of getting out of it. there were various other samples of his handicraft besides dolls in caleb plummer's room. there were noah's arks, in which the birds and beasts were an uncommonly tight fit, i assure you; though they could be crammed in, anyhow, at the roof, and rattled and shaken into the smallest compass. by a bold poetical licence, most of these noah's arks had knockers on the doors; inconsistent appendages, perhaps, as suggestive of morning callers and a postman, yet a pleasant finish to the outside of the building. there were scores of melancholy little carts, which, when the wheels went round, performed most doleful music. many small fiddles, drums, and other instruments of torture; no end of cannon, shields, swords, spears, and guns. there were little tumblers in red breeches, incessantly swarming up high obstacles of red tape, and coming down, head first, on the other side; and there were innumerable old gentlemen of respectable, not to say venerable appearance, insanely flying over horizontal pegs, inserted, for the purpose, in their own street-doors. there were beasts of all sorts; horses, in particular, of every breed, from the spotted barrel on four pegs with a small tippet for a mane, to the thorough-bred rocker on his highest mettle. as it would have been hard to count the dozens upon dozens of grotesque figures that were ever ready to commit all sorts of absurdities on the turning of a handle, so it would have been no easy task to mention any human folly, vice, or weakness that had not its type, immediate or remote, in caleb plummer's room. and not in an exaggerated form, for very little handles will move men and women to as strange performances as any toy was ever made to undertake. in the midst of all these objects, caleb and his daughter sat at work. the blind girl busy as a doll's dressmaker; caleb painting and glazing the four-pair front of a desirable family mansion. the care imprinted in the lines of caleb's face, and his absorbed and dreamy manner, which would have sat well on some alchemist or abstruse student, were at first sight an odd contrast to his occupation and the trivialities about him. but trivial things, invented and pursued for bread, become very serious matters of fact: and, apart from this consideration, i am not at all prepared to say, myself, that if caleb had been a lord chamberlain, or a member of parliament, or a lawyer, or even a great speculator, he would have dealt in toys one whit less whimsical, while i have a very great doubt whether they would have been as harmless. "so you were out in the rain last night, father, in your beautiful new great-coat," said caleb's daughter. "in my beautiful new great-coat," answered caleb, glancing towards a clothes-line in the room, on which the sackcloth garment previously described was carefully hung up to dry. "how glad i am you bought it, father!" "and of such a tailor too," said caleb. "quite a fashionable tailor. it's too good for me." the blind girl rested from her work, and laughed with delight. "too good, father! what can be too good for you?" "i'm half ashamed to wear it, though," said caleb, watching the effect of what he said upon her brightening face, "upon my word! when i hear the boys and people say behind me, 'halloa! here's a swell!' i don't know which way to look. and when the beggar wouldn't go away last night; and, when i said i was a very common man, said, 'no, your honour! bless your honour, don't say that!' i was quite ashamed. i really felt as if i hadn't a right to wear it." happy blind girl! how merry she was in her exultation! "i see you, father," she said, clasping her hands, "as plainly as if i had the eyes i never want when you are with me. a blue coat----" "bright blue," said caleb. "yes, yes! bright blue!" exclaimed the girl, turning up her radiant face; "the colour i can just remember in the blessed sky! you told me it was blue before! a bright blue coat----" "made loose to the figure," suggested caleb. "yes! loose to the figure!" cried the blind girl, laughing heartily; "and in it, you, dear father, with your merry eye, your smiling face, your free step, and your dark hair--looking so young and handsome!" "halloa! halloa!" said caleb. "i shall be vain presently!" "_i_ think you are already," cried the blind girl, pointing at him in her glee. "i know you, father! ha, ha, ha! i've found you out, you see!" how different the picture in her mind, from caleb, as he sat observing her! she had spoken of his free step. she was right in that. for years and years he had never once crossed that threshold at his own slow pace, but with a footfall counterfeited for her ear; and never had he, when his heart was heaviest, forgotten the light tread that was to render hers so cheerful and courageous! heaven knows! but i think caleb's vague bewilderment of manner may have half originated in his having confused himself about himself and everything around him, for the love of his blind daughter. how could the little man be otherwise than bewildered, after labouring for so many years to destroy his own identity, and that of all the objects that had any bearing on it? "there we are," said caleb, falling back a pace or two to form the better judgment of his work; "as near the real thing as sixpenn'orth of halfpence is to sixpence. what a pity that the whole front of the house opens at once! if there was only a staircase in it now, and regular doors to the rooms to go in at! but that's the worst of my calling, i'm always deluding myself, and swindling myself." "you are speaking quite softly. you are not tired, father?" "tired!" echoed caleb with a great burst of animation. "what should tire me, bertha? _i_ was never tired. what does it mean?" to give the greater force to his words, he checked himself in an involuntary imitation of two half-length stretching and yawning figures on the mantel-shelf, who were represented as in one eternal state of weariness from the waist upwards; and hummed a fragment of a song. it was a bacchanalian song, something about a sparkling bowl. he sang it with an assumption of a devil-may-care voice, that made his face a thousand times more meagre and more thoughtful than ever. "what! you're singing, are you?" said tackleton, putting his head in at the door. "go it! _i_ can't sing." nobody would have suspected him of it. he hadn't what is generally termed a singing face, by any means. "i can't afford to sing," said tackleton. "i'm glad _you_ can. i hope you can afford to work too. hardly time for both, i should think?" "if you could only see him, bertha, how he's winking at me!" whispered caleb. "such a man to joke! you'd think, if you didn't know him, he was in earnest--wouldn't you now?" the blind girl smiled and nodded. "the bird that can sing and won't sing must be made to sing, they say," grumbled tackleton. "what about the owl that can't sing, and oughtn't to sing, and will sing; is there anything that _he_ should be made to do?" "the extent to which he's winking at this moment!" whispered caleb to his daughter. "oh, my gracious!" "always merry and light-hearted with us!" cried the smiling bertha. "oh! you're there, are you?" answered tackleton. "poor idiot!" he really did believe she was an idiot; and he founded the belief, i can't say whether consciously or not, upon her being fond of him. "well! and being there,--how are you?" said tackleton in his grudging way. "oh! well; quite well! and as happy as even you can wish me to be. as happy as you would make the whole world, if you could!" "poor idiot!" muttered tackleton. "no gleam of reason. not a gleam!" the blind girl took his hand and kissed it; held it for a moment in her own two hands; and laid her cheek against it tenderly before releasing it. there was such unspeakable affection and such fervent gratitude in the act, that tackleton himself was moved to say, in a milder growl than usual: "what's the matter now?" "i stood it close beside my pillow when i went to sleep last night, and remembered it in my dreams. and when the day broke, and the glorious red sun--the _red_ sun, father?" "red in the mornings and the evenings, bertha," said poor caleb with a woeful glance at his employer. "when it rose, and the bright light i almost fear to strike myself against in walking, came into the room, i turned the little tree towards it, and blessed heaven for making things so precious, and blessed you for sending them to cheer me!" "bedlam broke loose!" said tackleton under his breath. "we shall arrive at the strait-waistcoat and mufflers soon. we're getting on!" caleb, with his hands hooked loosely in each other, stared vacantly before him while his daughter spoke, as if he really were uncertain (i believe he was) whether tackleton had done anything to deserve her thanks or not. if he could have been a perfectly free agent at that moment, required, on pain of death, to kick the toy merchant, or fall at his feet, according to his merits, i believe it would have been an even chance which course he would have taken. yet caleb knew that with his own hands he had brought the little rose-tree home for her so carefully, and that with his own lips he had forged the innocent deception which should help to keep her from suspecting how much, how very much, he every day denied himself, that she might be happier. "bertha!" said tackleton, assuming, for the nonce, a little cordiality. "come here." "oh, i can come straight to you! you needn't guide me!" she rejoined. "shall i tell you a secret, bertha?" "if you will!" she answered eagerly. how bright the darkened face! how adorned with light the listening head! "this is the day on which little what's-her-name, the spoilt child, peerybingle's wife, pays her regular visit to you--makes her fantastic picnic here, an't it?" said tackleton with a strong expression of distaste for the whole concern. "yes," replied bertha. "this is the day." "i thought so," said tackleton. "i should like to join the party." "do you hear that, father?" cried the blind girl in an ecstasy. "yes, yes, i hear it," murmured caleb with the fixed look of a sleep-walker; "but i don't believe it. it's one of my lies, i've no doubt." "you see i--i want to bring the peerybingles a little more into company with may fielding," said tackleton. "i'm going to be married to may." "married!" cried the blind girl, starting from him. "she's such a con-founded idiot," muttered tackleton, "that i was afraid she'd never comprehend me. ah, bertha! married! church, parson, clerk, beadle, glass coach, bells, breakfast, bridecake, favours, marrow-bones, cleavers, and all the rest of the tomfoolery. a wedding, you know; a wedding. don't you know what a wedding is?" "i know," replied the blind girl in a gentle tone. "i understand!" "do you?" muttered tackleton. "it's more than i expected. well! on that account i want to join the party, and to bring may and her mother. i'll send in a little something or other, before the afternoon. a cold leg of mutton, or some comfortable trifle of that sort. you'll expect me?" "yes," she answered. she had drooped her head, and turned away; and so stood, with her hands crossed, musing. "i don't think you will," muttered tackleton, looking at her; "for you seem to have forgotten all about it already. caleb!" "i may venture to say i'm here, i suppose," thought caleb. "sir!" "take care she don't forget what i've been saying to her." "_she_ never forgets," returned caleb. "it's one of the few things she an't clever in." "every man thinks his own geese swans," observed the toy merchant with a shrug. "poor devil!" having delivered himself of which remark with infinite contempt, old gruff and tackleton withdrew. bertha remained where he had left her, lost in meditation. the gaiety had vanished from her downcast face, and it was very sad. three or four times she shook her head, as if bewailing some remembrance or some loss; but her sorrowful reflections found no vent in words. it was not until caleb had been occupied some time in yoking a team of horses to a waggon by the summary process of nailing the harness to the vital parts of their bodies, that she drew near to his working-stool, and, sitting down beside him, said: "father, i am lonely in the dark. i want my eyes, my patient, willing eyes." "here they are," said caleb. "always ready. they are more yours than mine, bertha, any hour in the four-and-twenty. what shall your eyes do for you, dear?" "look round the room, father." "all right," said caleb. "no sooner said than done, bertha." "tell me about it." "it's much the same as usual," said caleb. "homely, but very snug. the gay colours on the walls; the bright flowers on the plates and dishes; the shining wood, where there are beams or panels; the general cheerfulness and neatness of the building,--make it very pretty." cheerful and neat it was, wherever bertha's hands could busy themselves. but nowhere else were cheerfulness and neatness possible in the old crazy shed which caleb's fancy so transformed. "you have your working dress on, and are not so gallant as when you wear the handsome coat?" said bertha, touching him. "not quite so gallant," answered caleb. "pretty brisk, though." "father," said the blind girl, drawing close to his side, and stealing one arm round his neck, "tell me something about may. she is very fair?" "she is indeed," said caleb. and she was indeed. it was quite a rare thing to caleb not to have to draw on his invention. "her hair is dark," said bertha pensively, "darker than mine. her voice is sweet and musical, i know. i have often loved to hear it. her shape----" "there's not a doll's in all the room to equal it," said caleb. "and her eyes!----" he stopped; for bertha had drawn closer round his neck, and, from the arm that clung about him, came a warning pressure which he understood too well. he coughed a moment, hammered for a moment, and then fell back upon the song about the sparkling bowl, his infallible resource in all such difficulties. "our friend, father, our benefactor. i am never tired, you know, of hearing about him.--now, was i ever?" she said hastily. "of course not," answered caleb, "and with reason." "ah! with how much reason!" cried the blind girl. with such fervency, that caleb, though his motives were so pure, could not endure to meet her face; but dropped his eyes, as if she could have read in them his innocent deceit. "then tell me again about him, dear father," said bertha. "many times again! his face is benevolent, kind, and tender. honest and true, i am sure it is. the manly heart that tries to cloak all favours with a show of roughness and unwillingness, beats in its every look and glance." "and makes it noble," added caleb in his quiet desperation. "and makes it noble," cried the blind girl. "he is older than may, father." "ye-es," said caleb reluctantly. "he's a little older than may. but that don't signify." "oh, father, yes! to be his patient companion in infirmity and age; to be his gentle nurse in sickness, and his constant friend in suffering and sorrow; to know no weariness in working for his sake; to watch him, tend him, sit beside his bed and talk to him awake, and pray for him asleep; what privileges these would be! what opportunities for proving all her truth and her devotion to him! would she do all this, dear father?" "no doubt of it," said caleb. "i love her, father; i can love her from my soul!" exclaimed the blind girl. and, saying so, she laid her poor blind face on caleb's shoulder, and so wept and wept, that he was almost sorry to have brought that tearful happiness upon her. in the meantime there had been a pretty sharp commotion at john peerybingle's, for little mrs. peerybingle naturally couldn't think of going anywhere without the baby; and to get the baby under way took time. not that there was much of the baby, speaking of it as a thing of weight and measure, but there was a vast deal to do about and about it, and it all had to be done by easy stages. for instance, when the baby was got, by hook and by crook, to a certain point of dressing, and you might have rationally supposed that another touch or two would finish him off, and turn him out a tiptop baby challenging the world, he was unexpectedly extinguished in a flannel cap, and hustled off to bed; where he simmered (so to speak) between two blankets for the best part of an hour. from this state of inaction he was then recalled, shining very much and roaring violently, to partake of--well? i would rather say, if you'll permit me to speak generally--of a slight repast. after which he went to sleep again. mrs. peerybingle took advantage of this interval, to make herself as smart in a small way as ever you saw anybody in all your life; and, during the same short truce, miss slowboy insinuated herself into a spencer of a fashion so surprising and ingenious, that it had no connection with herself, or anything else in the universe, but was a shrunken, dog's-eared, independent fact, pursuing its lonely course without the least regard to anybody. by this time, the baby, being all alive again, was invested, by the united efforts of mrs. peerybingle and miss slowboy, with a cream-coloured mantle for its body, and a sort of nankeen raised pie for its head; and so, in course of time, they all three got down to the door, where the old horse had already taken more than the full value of his day's toll out of the turnpike trust, by tearing up the road with his impatient autographs; and whence boxer might be dimly seen in the remote perspective, standing looking back, and tempting him to come on without orders. as to a chair, or anything of that kind for helping mrs. peerybingle into the cart, you know very little of john, if you think _that_ was necessary. before you could have seen him lift her from the ground, there she was in her place, fresh and rosy, saying, "john! how _can_ you? think of tilly!" if i might be allowed to mention a young lady's legs on any terms, i would observe of miss slowboy's that there was a fatality about them which rendered them singularly liable to be grazed; and that she never effected the smallest ascent or descent without recording the circumstance upon them with a notch, as robinson crusoe marked the days upon his wooden calendar. but, as this might be considered ungenteel, i'll think of it. "john! you've got the basket with the veal and ham pie and things, and the bottles of beer?" said dot. "if you haven't you must turn round again this very minute." "you're a nice little article," returned the carrier, "to be talking about turning round, after keeping me a full quarter of an hour behind my time." "i am sorry for it, john," said dot in a great bustle, "but i really could not think of going to bertha's--i would not do it, john, on any account--without the veal and ham pie and things, and the bottles of beer. way!" this monosyllable was addressed to the horse, who didn't mind it at all. "oh, _do_ way, john!" said mrs. peerybingle. "please!" "it'll be time enough to do that," returned john, "when i begin to leave things behind me. the basket's safe enough." "what a hard-hearted monster you must be, john, not to have said so at once, and save me such a turn! i declare i wouldn't go to bertha's without the veal and ham pie and things, and the bottles of beer, for any money. regularly once a fortnight ever since we have been married, john, have we made our little picnic there. if anything was to go wrong with it, i should almost think we were never to be lucky again." "it was a kind thought in the first instance," said the carrier; "and i honour you for it, little woman." "my dear john!" replied dot, turning very red. "don't talk about honouring _me_. good gracious!" "by-the-bye"--observed the carrier--"that old gentleman----" again so visibly and instantly embarrassed! "he's an odd fish," said the carrier, looking straight along the road before them. "i can't make him out. i don't believe there's any harm in him." "none at all. i'm--i'm sure there's none at all." "yes," said the carrier, with his eyes attracted to her face by the great earnestness of her manner. "i am glad you feel so certain of it, because it's a confirmation to me. it's curious that he should have taken it into his head to ask leave to go on lodging with us; an't it? things come about so strangely." "so very strangely," she rejoined in a low voice, scarcely audible. "however, he's a good-natured old gentleman," said john, "and pays as a gentleman, and i think his word is to be relied upon, like a gentleman's. i had quite a long talk with him this morning: he can hear me better already, he says, as he gets more used to my voice. he told me a great deal about himself, and i told him a good deal about myself, and a rare lot of questions he asked me. i gave him information about my having two beats, you know, in my business; one day to the right from our house and back again; another day to the left from our house and back again (for he's a stranger, and don't know the names of places about here); and he seemed quite pleased. 'why, then i shall be returning home to-night your way,' he says, 'when i thought you'd be coming in an exactly opposite direction. that's capital! i may trouble you for another lift, perhaps, but i'll engage not to fall so sound asleep again.' he _was_ sound asleep, sure-ly!--dot! what are you thinking of?" "thinking of, john? i--i was listening to you." "oh! that's all right!" said the honest carrier. "i was afraid, from the look of your face, that i had gone rambling on so long as to set you thinking about something else. i was very near it, i'll be bound." dot making no reply, they jogged on, for some little time, in silence. but, it was not easy to remain silent very long in john peerybingle's cart, for everybody on the road had something to say. though it might only be "how are you?" and, indeed, it was very often nothing else, still, to give that back again in the right spirit of cordiality, required, not merely a nod and a smile, but as wholesome an action of the lungs withal as a long-winded parliamentary speech. sometimes, passengers on foot, or horseback, plodded on a little way beside the cart, for the express purpose of having a chat; and then there was a great deal to be said on both sides. then, boxer gave occasion to more good-natured recognitions of, and by, the carrier, than half-a-dozen christians could have done! everybody knew him all along the road--especially the fowls and pigs, who, when they saw him approaching, with his body all on one side, and his ears pricked up inquisitively, and that knob of a tail making the most of itself in the air, immediately withdrew into remote back-settlements, without waiting for the honour of a nearer acquaintance. he had business elsewhere; going down all the turnings, looking into all the wells, bolting in and out of all the cottages, dashing into the midst of all the dame schools, fluttering all the pigeons, magnifying the tails of all the cats, and trotting into the public-houses like a regular customer. wherever he went, somebody or other might have been heard to cry, "halloa! here's boxer!" and out came that somebody forthwith, accompanied by at least two or three other somebodies, to give john peerybingle and his pretty wife good day. the packages and parcels for the errand cart were numerous; and there were many stoppages to take them in and give them out, which were not by any means the worst parts of the journey. some people were so full of expectation about their parcels, and other people were so full of wonder about their parcels, and other people were so full of inexhaustible directions about their parcels, and john had such a lively interest in all the parcels, that it was as good as a play. likewise, there were articles to carry, which required to be considered and discussed, and in reference to the adjustment and disposition of which councils had to be holden by the carrier and the senders: at which boxer usually assisted, in short fits of the closest attention, and long fits of tearing round and round the assembled sages, and barking himself hoarse. of all these little incidents, dot was the amused and open-eyed spectatress from her chair in the cart; and as she sat there, looking on--a charming little portrait framed to admiration by the tilt--there was no lack of nudgings and glancings and whisperings and envyings among the younger men. and this delighted john the carrier beyond measure; for he was proud to have his little wife admired, knowing that she didn't mind it--that, if anything, she rather liked it perhaps. the trip was a little foggy, to be sure, in the january weather; and was raw and cold. but who cared for such trifles? not dot, decidedly. not tilly slowboy, for she deemed sitting in a cart, on any terms, to be the highest point of human joys; the crowning circumstance of earthly hope. not the baby, i'll be sworn; for it's not in baby nature to be warmer or more sound asleep, though its capacity is great in both respects, than that blessed young peerybingle was, all the way. you couldn't see very far in the fog, of course; but you could see a great deal! it's astonishing how much you may see in a thicker fog than that, if you will only take the trouble to look for it. why, even to sit watching for the fairyrings in the fields, and for the patches of hoar frost still lingering in the shade, near hedges and by trees, was a pleasant occupation, to make no mention of the unexpected shapes in which the trees themselves came starting out of the mist, and glided into it again. the hedges were tangled and bare, and waved a multitude of blighted garlands in the wind; but there was no discouragement in this. it was agreeable to contemplate; for it made the fireside warmer in possession, and the summer greener in expectancy. the river looked chilly; but it was in motion, and moving at a good pace--which was a great point. the canal was rather slow and torpid; that must be admitted. never mind. it would freeze the sooner when the frost set fairly in, and then there would be skating and sliding; and the heavy old barges, frozen up somewhere near a wharf, would smoke their rusty iron chimney-pipes all day, and have a lazy time of it. in one place there was a great mound of weeds or stubble burning; and they watched the fire, so white in the daytime, flaring through the fog, with only here and there a dash of red in it, until, in consequence, as she observed, of the smoke "getting up her nose," miss slowboy choked--she could do anything of that sort, on the smallest provocation--and woke the baby, who wouldn't go to sleep again. but boxer, who was in advance some quarter of a mile or so, had already passed the outposts of the town, and gained the corner of the street where caleb and his daughter lived; and, long before they had reached the door, he and the blind girl were on the pavement waiting to receive them. boxer, by the way, made certain delicate distinctions of his own, in his communication with bertha, which persuade me fully that he knew her to be blind. he never sought to attract her attention by looking at her, as he often did with other people, but touched her invariably. what experience he could ever have had of blind people or blind dogs i don't know. he had never lived with a blind master; nor had mr. boxer the elder, nor mrs. boxer, nor any of his respectable family on either side, ever been visited with blindness, that i am aware of. he may have found it out for himself, perhaps, but he had got hold of it somehow; and therefore he had hold of bertha too, by the skirt, and kept hold, until mrs. peerybingle and the baby, and miss slowboy and the basket, were all got safely within doors. may fielding was already come; and so was her mother--a little querulous chip of an old lady with a peevish face, who, in right of having preserved a waist like a bedpost, was supposed to be a most transcendent figure; and who, in consequence of having once been better off, or of labouring under an impression that she might have been, if something had happened which never did happen, and seemed to have never been particularly likely to come to pass--but it's all the same--was very genteel and patronising indeed. gruff and tackleton was also there, doing the agreeable, with the evident sensation of being as perfectly at home, and as unquestionably in his own element, as a fresh young salmon on the top of the great pyramid. "may! my dear old friend!" cried dot, running up to meet her. "what a happiness to see you!" her old friend was, to the full, as hearty and as glad as she; and it really was, if you'll believe me, quite a pleasant sight to see them embrace. tackleton was a man of taste, beyond all question. may was very pretty. you know sometimes, when you are used to a pretty face, how, when it comes into contact and comparison with another pretty face, it seems for the moment to be homely and faded, and hardly to deserve the high opinion you have had of it. now, this was not at all the case, either with dot or may; for may's face set off dot's, and dot's face set off may's, so naturally and agreeably, that, as john peerybingle was very near saying when he came into the room, they ought to have been born sisters--which was the only improvement you could have suggested. tackleton had brought his leg of mutton, and, wonderful to relate, a tart besides--but we don't mind a little dissipation when our brides are in the case; we don't get married every day--and, in addition to these dainties, there were the veal and ham pie, and "things," as mrs. peerybingle called them; which were chiefly nuts and oranges, and cakes, and such small deer. when the repast was set forth on the board, flanked by caleb's contribution, which was a great wooden bowl of smoking potatoes (he was prohibited, by solemn compact, from producing any other viands), tackleton led his intended mother-in-law to the post of honour. for the better gracing of this place at the high festival, the majestic old soul had adorned herself with a cap, calculated to inspire the thoughtless with sentiments of awe. she also wore her gloves. but let us be genteel, or die! caleb sat next his daughter; dot and her old schoolfellow were side by side; the good carrier took care of the bottom of the table. miss slowboy was isolated, for the time being, from every article of furniture but the chair she sat on, that she might have nothing else to knock the baby's head against. as tilly stared about her at the dolls and toys, they stared at her and at the company. the venerable old gentlemen at the street-doors (who were all in full action) showed especial interest in the party, pausing occasionally before leaping, as if they were listening to the conversation, and then plunging wildly over and over, a great many times, without halting for breath--as in a frantic state of delight with the whole proceedings. certainly, if these old gentlemen were inclined to have a fiendish joy in the contemplation of tackleton's discomfiture, they had good reason to be satisfied. tackleton couldn't get on at all; and the more cheerful his intended bride became in dot's society, the less he liked it, though he had brought them together for that purpose. for he was a regular dog in the manger, was tackleton; and, when they laughed and he couldn't, he took it into his head, immediately, that they must be laughing at him. "ah, may!" said dot. "dear, dear, what changes! to talk of those merry school days makes one young again." "why, you an't particularly old at any time, are you?" said tackleton. "look at my sober, plodding husband there," returned dot. "he adds twenty years to my age at least. don't you, john?" "forty," john replied. "how many _you_'ll add to mary's, i am sure i don't know," said dot, laughing. "but she can't be much less than a hundred years of age on her next birthday." "ha, ha!" laughed tackleton. hollow as a drum that laugh, though. and he looked as if he could have twisted dot's neck comfortably. "dear, dear!" said dot. "only to remember how we used to talk, at school, about the husbands we would choose. i don't know how young, and how handsome, and how gay, and how lively mine was not to be! and as to may's!--ah dear! i don't know whether to laugh or cry, when i think what silly girls we were." may seemed to know which to do; for the colour flashed into her face, and tears stood in her eyes. "even the very persons themselves--real live young men--we fixed on sometimes," said dot. "we little thought how things would come about. i never fixed on john, i'm sure; i never so much as thought of him. and, if i had told you you were ever to be married to mr. tackleton, why, you'd have slapped me. wouldn't you, may?" though may didn't say yes, she certainly didn't say no, or express no, by any means. tackleton laughed--quite shouted, he laughed so loud. john peerybingle laughed too, in his ordinary good-natured and contented manner; but his was a mere whisper of a laugh to tackleton's. "you couldn't help yourselves, for all that. you couldn't resist us, you see," said tackleton. "here we are! here we are! where are your gay young bridegrooms now?" "some of them are dead," said dot; "and some of them forgotten. some of them, if they could stand among us at this moment, would not believe we were the same creatures; would not believe that what they saw and heard was real, and we _could_ forget them so. no! they would not believe one word of it!" "why, dot!" exclaimed the carrier. "little woman!" she had spoken with such earnestness and fire, that she stood in need of some recalling to herself, without doubt. her husband's check was very gentle, for he merely interfered, as he supposed, to shield old tackleton; but it proved effectual, for she stopped, and said no more. there was an uncommon agitation, even in her silence, which the wary tackleton, who had brought his half-shut eye to bear upon her, noted closely, and remembered to some purpose too. may uttered no word, good or bad, but sat quite still, with her eyes cast down, and made no sign of interest in what had passed. the good lady her mother now interposed, observing, in the first instance, that girls were girls, and bygones bygones, and that, so long as young people were young and thoughtless, they would probably conduct themselves like young and thoughtless persons: with two or three other positions of a no less sound and incontrovertible character. she then remarked, in a devout spirit, that she thanked heaven she had always found in her daughter may a dutiful and obedient child: for which she took no credit to herself, though she had every reason to believe it was entirely owing to herself. with regard to mr. tackleton, she said, that he was in a moral point of view an undeniable individual, and that he was in an eligible point of view a son-in-law to be desired, no one in their senses could doubt. (she was very emphatic here.) with regard to the family into which he was so soon about, after some solicitation, to be admitted, she believed mr. tackleton knew that, although reduced in purse, it had some pretensions to gentility; and that if certain circumstances, not wholly unconnected, she would go so far as to say, with the indigo trade, but to which she would not more particularly refer, had happened differently, it might perhaps have been in possession of wealth. she then remarked that she would not allude to the past, and would not mention that her daughter had for some time rejected the suit of mr. tackleton; and that she would not say a great many other things which she did say at great length. finally, she delivered it as the general result of her observation and experience, that those marriages in which there was least of what was romantically and sillily called love, were always the happiest; and that she anticipated the greatest possible amount of bliss--not rapturous bliss; but the solid, steady-going article--from the approaching nuptials. she concluded by informing the company that to-morrow was the day she had lived for expressly; and that, when it was over, she would desire nothing better than to be packed up and disposed of in any genteel place of burial. as these remarks were quite unanswerable--which is the happy property of all remarks that are sufficiently wide of the purpose--they changed the current of the conversation, and diverted the general attention to the veal and ham pie, the cold mutton, the potatoes, and the tart. in order that the bottled beer might not be slighted, john peerybingle proposed to-morrow: the wedding-day; and called upon them to drink a bumper to it, before he proceeded on his journey. for you ought to know that he only rested there, and gave the old horse a bait. he had to go some four or five miles farther on; and, when he returned in the evening, he called for dot, and took another rest on his way home. this was the order of the day on all the picnic occasions, and had been ever since their institution. there were two persons present, besides the bride and bridegroom elect, who did but indifferent honour to the toast. one of these was dot, too flushed and discomposed to adapt herself to any small occurrence of the moment; the other, bertha, who rose up hurriedly before the rest, and left the table. "good-bye!" said stout john peerybingle, pulling on his dreadnought coat. "i shall be back at the old time. good-bye all!" "good-bye, john," returned caleb. he seemed to say it by rote, and to wave his hand in the same unconscious manner; for he stood observing bertha with an anxious wondering face, that never altered its expression. "good-bye, young shaver!" said the jolly carrier, bending down to kiss the child; which tilly slowboy, now intent upon her knife and fork, had deposited asleep (and, strange to say, without damage) in a little cot of bertha's furnishing; "good-bye! time will come, i suppose, when _you_'ll turn out into the cold, my little friend, and leave your old father to enjoy his pipe and his rheumatics in the chimney-corner; eh? where's dot?" "i'm here, john!" she said, starting. "come, come!" returned the carrier, clapping his sounding hands. "where's the pipe?" "i quite forgot the pipe, john." forgot the pipe! was such a wonder ever heard of? she! forgot the pipe! "i'll--i'll fill it directly. it's soon done." but it was not so soon done, either. it lay in the usual place--the carrier's dreadnought pocket--with the little pouch, her own work, from which she was used to fill it; but her hand shook so, that she entangled it (and yet her hand was small enough to have come out easily, i am sure), and bungled terribly. the filling of the pipe and lighting it, those little offices in which i have commended her discretion, were vilely done from first to last. during the whole process, tackleton stood looking on maliciously with the half-closed eye; which, whenever it met hers--or caught it, for it can hardly be said to have ever met another eye: rather being a kind of trap to snatch it up--augmented her confusion in a most remarkable degree. "why, what a clumsy dot you are this afternoon!" said john. "i could have done it better myself, i verily believe!" with these good-natured words, he strode away, and presently was heard, in company with boxer, and the old horse, and the cart, making lively music down the road. what time the dreamy caleb still stood, watching his blind daughter, with the same expression on his face. "bertha!" said caleb, softly. "what has happened? how changed you are, my darling, in a few hours--since this morning! _you_ silent and dull all day! what is it? tell me!" "oh, father, father!" cried the blind girl, bursting into tears. "oh, my hard, hard fate!" caleb drew his hand across his eyes before he answered her. "but think how cheerful and how happy you have been, bertha! how good, and how much loved, by many people." "that strikes me to the heart, dear father! always so mindful of me! always so kind to me!" caleb was very much perplexed to understand her. "to be--to be blind, bertha, my poor dear," he faltered, "is a great affliction; but----" "i have never felt it!" cried the blind girl. "i have never felt it in its fulness. never! i have sometimes wished that i could see you, or could see him--only once, dear father, only for one little minute--that i might know what it is i treasure up," she laid her hands upon her breast, "and hold here! that i might be sure i have it right! and sometimes (but then i was a child) i have wept in my prayers at night, to think that, when your images ascended from my heart to heaven, they might not be the true resemblance of yourselves. but i have never had these feelings long. they have passed away, and left me tranquil and contented." "and they will again," said caleb. "but, father! oh, my good gentle father, bear with me, if i am wicked!" said the blind girl. "this is not the sorrow that so weighs me down!" her father could not choose but let his moist eyes overflow; she was so earnest and pathetic. but he did not understand her yet. "bring her to me," said bertha. "i cannot hold it closed and shut within myself. bring her to me, father!" she knew he hesitated, and said, "may. bring may!" may heard the mention of her name, and, coming quietly towards her, touched her on the arm. the blind girl turned immediately, and held her by both hands. "look into my face, dear heart, sweet heart!" said bertha. "read it with your beautiful eyes, and tell me if the truth is written on it." "dear bertha, yes!" the blind girl, still upturning the blank sightless face, down which the tears were coursing fast, addressed her in these words: "there is not, in my soul, a wish or thought that is not for your good, bright may! there is not, in my soul, a grateful recollection stronger than the deep remembrance which is stored there of the many many times when, in the full pride of sight and beauty, you have had consideration for blind bertha, even when we two were children, or when bertha was as much a child as ever blindness can be! every blessing on your head! light upon your happy course! not the less, my dear may,"--and she drew towards her in a closer grasp,--"not the less, my bird, because, to-day, the knowledge that you are to be his wife has wrung my heart almost to breaking! father, may, mary! oh, forgive me that it is so, for the sake of all he has done to relieve the weariness of my dark life: and for the sake of the belief you have in me, when i call heaven to witness that i could not wish him married to a wife more worthy of his goodness!" while speaking, she had released may fielding's hands, and clasped her garments in an attitude of mingled supplication and love. sinking lower and lower down, as she proceeded in her strange confession, she dropped at last at the feet of her friend, and hid her blind face in the folds of her dress. "great power!" exclaimed her father, smitten at one blow with the truth, "have i deceived her from her cradle, but to break her heart at last?" it was well for all of them that dot, that beaming, useful, busy little dot--for such she was, whatever faults she had, and however you may learn to hate her, in good time--it was well for all of them, i say, that she was there, or where this would have ended, it were hard to tell. but dot, recovering her self-possession, interposed, before may could reply, or caleb say another word. "come, come, dear bertha! come away with me! give her your arm, may! so. how composed she is, you see, already; and how good it is of her to mind us," said the cheery little woman, kissing her upon the forehead. "come away, dear bertha! come! and here's her good father will come with her, won't you, caleb? to--be--sure!" well, well! she was a noble little dot in such things, and it must have been an obdurate nature that could have withstood her influence. when she had got poor caleb and his bertha away, that they might comfort and console each other, as she knew they only could, she presently came bouncing back,--the saying is, as fresh as any daisy; _i_ say fresher--to mount guard over that bridling little piece of consequence in the cap and gloves, and prevent the dear old creature from making discoveries. "so bring me the precious baby, tilly," said she, drawing a chair to the fire; "and while i have it in my lap, here's mrs. fielding, tilly, will tell me all about the management of babies, and put me right in twenty points where i'm as wrong as can be. won't you, mrs. fielding?" not even the welsh giant, who, according to the popular expression, was so "slow" as to perform a fatal surgical operation upon himself, in emulation of a juggling trick achieved by his arch enemy at breakfast-time; not even he fell half so readily into the snare prepared for him as the old lady into this artful pitfall. the fact of tackleton having walked out; and furthermore, of two or three people having been talking together at a distance, for two minutes, leaving her to her own resources; was quite enough to have put her on her dignity, and the bewailment of that mysterious convulsion in the indigo trade, for four-and-twenty hours. but this becoming deference to her experience, on the part of the young mother, was so irresistible, that after a short affectation of humility, she began to enlighten her with the best grace in the world; and, sitting bolt upright before the wicked dot, she did, in half an hour, deliver more infallible domestic recipes and precepts than would (if acted on) have utterly destroyed and done up that young peerybingle, though he had been an infant samson. to change the theme, dot did a little needlework--she carried the contents of a whole workbox in her pocket; however she contrived it, _i_ don't know--then did a little nursing; then a little more needlework; then had a little whispering chat with may, while the old lady dozed; and so in little bits of bustle, which was quite her manner always, found it a very short afternoon. then, as it grew dark, and as it was a solemn part of this institution of the picnic that she should perform all bertha's household tasks, she trimmed the fire, and swept the hearth, and set the tea-board out, and drew the curtain, and lighted a candle. then she played an air or two on a rude kind of harp, which caleb had contrived for bertha, and played them very well; for nature had made her delicate little ear as choice a one for music as it would have been for jewels, if she had had any to wear. by this time it was the established hour for having tea; and tackleton came back again to share the meal, and spend the evening. caleb and bertha had returned some time before, and caleb had sat down to his afternoon's work. but he couldn't settle to it, poor fellow, being anxious and remorseful for his daughter. it was touching to see him sitting idle on his working stool, regarding her so wistfully, and always saying in his face, "have i deceived her from her cradle, but to break her heart?" when it was night, and tea was done, and dot had nothing more to do in washing up the cups and saucers; in a word--for i must come to it, and there is no use in putting it off--when the time drew nigh for expecting the carrier's return in every sound of distant wheels, her manner changed again, her colour came and went, and she was very restless. not as good wives are when listening for their husbands. no, no, no. it was another sort of restlessness from that. wheels heard. a horse's feet. the barking of a dog. the gradual approach of all the sounds. the scratching paw of boxer at the door! "whose step is that?" cried bertha, starting up. "whose step?" returned the carrier, standing in the portal, with his brown face ruddy as a winter berry from the keen night air. "why, mine." "the other step," said bertha. "the man's tread behind you!" "she is not to be deceived," observed the carrier, laughing. "come along, sir. you'll be welcome, never fear!" he spoke in a loud tone; and, as he spoke, the deaf old gentleman entered. "he's not so much a stranger that you haven't seen him once, caleb," said the carrier. "you'll give him house room till we go?" "oh, surely, john, and take it as an honour!" "he's the best company on earth to talk secrets in," said john. "i have reasonable good lungs, but he tries 'em i can tell you. sit down, sir. all friends here, and glad to see you!" when he had imparted this assurance, in a voice that amply corroborated what he had said about his lungs, he added in his natural tone, "a chair in the chimney-corner, and leave to sit quite silent and look pleasantly about him, is all he cares for. he's easily pleased." bertha had been listening intently. she called caleb to her side, when he had set the chair, and asked him, in a low voice, to describe their visitor. when he had done so (truly now, with scrupulous fidelity), she moved, for the first time since he had come in, and sighed, and seemed to have no further interest concerning him. the carrier was in high spirits, good fellow that he was, and fonder of his little wife than ever. "a clumsy dot she was, this afternoon!" he said, encircling her with his rough arm, as she stood, removed from the rest; "and yet i like her somehow. see yonder, dot!" he pointed to the old man. she looked down. i think she trembled. "he's--ha, ha, ha!--he's full of admiration for you!" said the carrier. "talked of nothing else the whole way here. why, he's a brave old boy! i like him for it!" "i wish he had a better subject, john," she said with an uneasy glance about the room. at tackleton especially. "a better subject!" cried the jovial john. "there's no such thing. come! off with the great-coat, off with the thick shawl, off with the heavy wrappers! and a cosy half-hour by the fire. my humble service, mistress. a game at cribbage, you and i? that's hearty. the cards and board, dot. and a glass of beer here, if there's any left, small wife!" his challenge was addressed to the old lady, who, accepting it with gracious readiness, they were soon engaged upon the game. at first, the carrier looked about him sometimes with a smile, or now and then called dot to peep over his shoulder at his hand, and advise him on some knotty point. but his adversary being a rigid disciplinarian, and subject to an occasional weakness in respect of pegging more than she was entitled to, required such vigilance on his part, as left him neither eyes nor ears to spare. thus, his whole attention gradually became absorbed upon the cards; and he thought of nothing else, until a hand upon his shoulder restored him to a consciousness of tackleton. "i am sorry to disturb you--but a word directly." "i'm going to deal," returned the carrier. "it's a crisis." "it is," said tackleton. "come here, man!" there was that in his pale face which made the other rise immediately, and ask him, in a hurry, what the matter was. "hush! john peerybingle," said tackleton, "i am sorry for this. i am indeed. i have been afraid of it. i have suspected it from the first." "what is it?" asked the carrier with a frightened aspect. "hush! i'll show you, if you'll come with me." the carrier accompanied him without another word. they went across a yard, where the stars were shining, and by a little side-door, into tackleton's own counting-house, where there was a glass window, commanding the ware-room, which was closed for the night. there was no light in the counting-house itself, but there were lamps in the long narrow ware-room; and consequently the window was bright. "a moment!" said tackleton. "can you bear to look through that window, do you think?" "why not?" returned the carrier. "a moment more," said tackleton. "don't commit any violence. it's of no use. it's dangerous too. you're a strong-made man; and you might do murder before you know it." the carrier looked him in the face, and recoiled a step as if he had been struck. in one stride he was at the window, and he saw---oh, shadow on the hearth! oh, truthful cricket! oh, perfidious wife! he saw her with the old man--old no longer, but erect and gallant--bearing in his hand the false white hair that had won his way into their desolate and miserable home. he saw her listening to him, as he bent his head to whisper in her ear; and suffering him to clasp her round the waist, as they moved slowly down the dim wooden gallery towards the door by which they had entered it. he saw them stop, and saw her turn--to have the face, the face he loved so, so presented to his view!--and saw her, with her own hands, adjust the lie upon his head, laughing, as she did it, at his unsuspicious nature! he clenched his strong right hand at first, as if it would have beaten down a lion. but, opening it immediately again, he spread it out before the eyes of tackleton (for he was tender of her even then), and so, as they passed out, fell down upon a desk, and was as weak as any infant. he was wrapped up to the chin, and busy with his horse and parcels, when she came into the room, prepared for going home. "now, john dear! good night, may! good night, bertha!" could she kiss them? could she be blithe and cheerful in her parting? could she venture to reveal her face to them without a blush? yes. tackleton observed her closely, and she did all this. tilly was hushing the baby, and she crossed and recrossed tackleton a dozen times, repeating drowsily: "did the knowledge that it was to be its wives, then, wring its hearts almost to breaking; and did its fathers deceive it from its cradles but to break its hearts at last!" "now, tilly, give me the baby! good night, mr. tackleton. where's john, for goodness' sake?" "he's going to walk beside the horse's head," said tackleton; who helped her to her seat. "my dear john! walk? to-night?" the muffled figure of her husband made a hasty sign in the affirmative; and, the false stranger and the little nurse being in their places, the old horse moved off. boxer, the unconscious boxer, running on before, running back, running round and round the cart, and barking as triumphantly and merrily as ever. when tackleton had gone off likewise, escorting may and her mother home, poor caleb sat down by the fire beside his daughter; anxious and remorseful at the core; and still saying, in his wistful contemplation of her, "have i deceived her from her cradle, but to break her heart at last?" the toys that had been set in motion for the baby had all stopped and run down long ago. in the faint light and silence, the imperturbably calm dolls, the agitated rocking-horses with distended eyes and nostrils, the old gentlemen at the street-doors, standing half doubled up upon their failing knees and ankles, the wry-faced nut-crackers, the very beasts upon their way into the ark, in twos, like a boarding-school out walking, might have been imagined to be stricken motionless with fantastic wonder at dot being false, or tackleton beloved, under any combination of circumstances. chirp the third the dutch clock in the corner struck ten when the carrier sat down by his fireside. so troubled and grief-worn that he seemed to scare the cuckoo, who, having cut his ten melodious announcements as short as possible, plunged back into the moorish palace again, and clapped his little door behind him, as if the unwonted spectacle were too much for his feelings. if the little hay-maker had been armed with the sharpest of scythes, and had cut at every stroke into the carrier's heart, he never could have gashed and wounded it as dot had done. it was a heart so full of love for her; so bound up and held together by innumerable threads of winning remembrance, spun from the daily working of her many qualities of endearment; it was a heart in which she had enshrined herself so gently and so closely; a heart so single and so earnest in its truth, so strong in right, so weak in wrong,--that it could cherish neither passion nor revenge at first, and had only room to hold the broken image of its idol. but, slowly, slowly, as the carrier sat brooding on his hearth, now cold and dark, other and fiercer thoughts began to rise within him, as an angry wind comes rising in the night. the stranger was beneath his outraged roof. three steps would take him to his chamber door. one blow would beat it in. "you might do murder before you know it," tackleton had said. how could it be murder, if he gave the villain time to grapple with him hand to hand? he was the younger man. it was an ill-timed thought, bad for the dark mood of his mind. it was an angry thought, goading him to some avenging act, that should change the cheerful house into a haunted place which lonely travellers would dread to pass by night; and where the timid would see shadows struggling in the ruined windows when the moon was dim, and hear wild noises in the stormy weather. he was the younger man! yes, yes; some lover who had won the heart that _he_ had never touched. some lover of her early choice, of whom she had thought and dreamed, for whom she had pined and pined, when he had fancied her so happy by his side. oh, agony to think of it! she had been above-stairs with the baby; getting it to bed. as he sat brooding on the hearth, she came close beside him, without his knowledge--in the turning of the rack of his great misery, he lost all other sounds--and put her little stool at his feet. he only knew it when he felt her hand upon his own, and saw her looking up into his face. with wonder? no. it was his first impression, and he was fain to look at her again, to set it right. no, not with wonder. with an eager and inquiring look; but not with wonder. at first it was alarmed and serious; then, it changed into a strange, wild, dreadful smile of recognition of his thoughts; then, there was nothing but her clasped hands on her brow, and her bent head, and falling hair. though the power of omnipotence had been his to wield at that moment, he had too much of its diviner property of mercy in his breast, to have turned one feather's weight of it against her. but he could not bear to see her crouching down upon the little seat where he had often looked on her, with love and pride, so innocent and gay; and, when she rose and left him, sobbing as she went, he felt it a relief to have the vacant place beside him rather than her so long-cherished presence. this in itself was anguish keener than all, reminding him how desolate he was become, and how the great bond of his life was rent asunder. [illustration: _when suddenly, the struggling fire illuminated the whole chimney with a glow of light; and the cricket on the hearth began to chirp!_] the more he felt this, and the more he knew he could have better borne to see her lying prematurely dead before him with her little child upon her breast, the higher and the stronger rose his wrath against his enemy. he looked about him for a weapon. there was a gun hanging on the wall. he took it down, and moved a pace or two towards the door of the perfidious stranger's room. he knew the gun was loaded. some shadowy idea that it was just to shoot this man like a wild beast seized him, and dilated in his mind until it grew into a monstrous demon in complete possession of him, casting out all milder thoughts, and setting up its undivided empire. that phrase is wrong. not casting out his milder thoughts, but artfully transforming them. changing them into scourges to drive him on. turning water into blood, love into hate, gentleness into blind ferocity. her image, sorrowing, humbled, but still pleading to his tenderness and mercy with resistless power, never left his mind; but, staying there, it urged him to the door; raised the weapon to his shoulder; fitted and nerved his fingers to the trigger; and cried "kill him! in his bed!" he reversed the gun to beat the stock upon the door; he already held it lifted in the air; some indistinct design was in his thoughts of calling out to him to fly, for god's sake, by the window---when suddenly, the struggling fire illuminated the whole chimney with a glow of light; and the cricket on the hearth began to chirp! no sound he could have heard, no human voice, not even hers, could so have moved and softened him. the artless words in which she had told him of her love for this same cricket were once more freshly spoken; her trembling, earnest manner at the moment was again before him; her pleasant voice--oh, what a voice it was for making household music at the fireside of an honest man!--thrilled through and through his better nature, and awoke it into life and action. he recoiled from the door, like a man walking in his sleep, awakened from a frightful dream; and put the gun aside. clasping his hands before his face, he then sat down again beside the fire, and found relief in tears. the cricket on the hearth came out into the room, and stood in fairy shape before him. "'i love it,'" said the fairy voice, repeating what he well remembered, "'for the many times i have heard it, and the many thoughts its harmless music has given me.'" "she said so!" cried the carrier. "true!" "'this has been a happy home, john! and i love the cricket for its sake!'" "it has been, heaven knows," returned the carrier. "she made it happy, always,--until now." "so gracefully sweet-tempered; so domestic, joyful, busy, and light-hearted!" said the voice. "otherwise i never could have loved her as i did," returned the carrier. the voice, correcting him, said "do." the carrier repeated "as i did." but not firmly. his faltering tongue resisted his control, and would speak in its own way for itself and him. the figure, in an attitude of invocation, raised its hand and said: "upon your own hearth----" "the hearth she has blighted," interposed the carrier. "the hearth she has--how often!--blessed and brightened," said the cricket; "the hearth which, but for her, were only a few stones and bricks and rusty bars, but which has been, through her, the altar of your home; on which you have nightly sacrificed some petty passion, selfishness, or care, and offered up the homage of a tranquil mind, a trusting nature, and an overflowing heart; so that the smoke from this poor chimney has gone upward with a better fragrance than the richest incense that is burnt before the richest shrines in all the gaudy temples of this world!--upon your own hearth; in its quiet sanctuary; surrounded by its gentle influences and associations; hear her! hear me! hear everything that speaks the language of your hearth and home!" "and pleads for her?" inquired the carrier. "all things that speak the language of your hearth and home _must_ plead for her!" returned the cricket. "for they speak the truth." and while the carrier, with his head upon his hands, continued to sit meditating in his chair, the presence stood beside him, suggesting his reflections by its power, and presenting them before him, as in a glass or picture. it was not a solitary presence. from the hearth-stone, from the chimney, from the clock, the pipe, the kettle, and the cradle; from the floor, the walls, the ceiling, and the stairs; from the cart without, and the cupboard within, and the household implements; from everything and every place with which she had ever been familiar, and with which she had ever entwined one recollection of herself in her unhappy husband's mind,--fairies came trooping forth. not to stand beside him as the cricket did, but to busy and bestir themselves. to do all honour to her image. to pull him by the skirts, and point to it when it appeared. to cluster round it, and embrace it, and strew flowers for it to tread on. to try to crown its fair head with their tiny hands. to show that they were fond of it, and loved it; and that there was not one ugly, wicked, or accusatory creature to claim knowledge of it--none but their playful and approving selves. his thoughts were constant to her image. it was always there. she sat plying her needle, before the fire, and singing to herself. such a blithe, thriving, steady little dot! the fairy figures turned upon him all at once, by one consent, with one prodigious concentrated stare, and seemed to say, "is this the light wife you are mourning for?" there were sounds of gaiety outside, musical instruments, and noisy tongues, and laughter. a crowd of young merry-makers came pouring in, among whom were may fielding and a score of pretty girls. dot was the fairest of them all; as young as any of them too. they came to summon her to join their party. it was a dance. if ever little foot were made for dancing, hers was, surely. but she laughed, and shook her head, and pointed to her cookery on the fire, and her table ready spread; with an exulting defiance that rendered her more charming than she was before. and so she merrily dismissed them, nodding to her would-be partners, one by one, as they passed out, with a comical indifference, enough to make them go and drown themselves immediately if they were her admirers--and they must have been so, more or less; they couldn't help it. and yet indifference was not her character. oh no! for presently there came a certain carrier to the door; and, bless her, what a welcome she bestowed upon him! again the staring figures turned upon him all at once, and seemed to say, "is this the wife who has forsaken you?" a shadow fell upon the mirror or the picture: call it what you will. a great shadow of the stranger, as he first stood underneath their roof; covering its surface, and blotting out all other objects. but, the nimble fairies worked like bees to clear it off again. and dot again was there. still bright and beautiful. rocking her little baby in its cradle, singing to it softly, and resting her head upon a shoulder which had its counterpart in the musing figure by which the fairy cricket stood. the night--i mean the real night: not going by fairy clocks--was wearing now; and, in this stage of the carrier's thoughts, the moon burst out, and shone brightly in the sky. perhaps some calm and quiet light had risen also in his mind; and he could think more soberly of what had happened. although the shadow of the stranger fell at intervals upon the glass--always distinct, and big, and thoroughly defined--it never fell so darkly as at first. whenever it appeared, the fairies uttered a general cry of consternation, and plied their little arms and legs with inconceivable activity to rub it out. and whenever they got at dot again, and showed her to him once more, bright and beautiful, they cheered in the most inspiring manner. they never showed her otherwise than beautiful and bright, for they were household spirits to whom falsehood is an annihilation; and being so, what dot was there for them, but the one active, beaming, pleasant little creature who had been the light and sun of the carrier's home? the fairies were prodigiously excited when they showed her, with the baby, gossipping among a knot of sage old matrons, and affecting to be wondrous old and matronly herself, and leaning in a staid demure old way upon her husband's arm, attempting--she! such a bud of a little woman--to convey the idea of having abjured the vanities of the world in general, and of being the sort of person to whom it was no novelty at all to be a mother; yet, in the same breath, they showed her laughing at the carrier for being awkward, and pulling up his shirt collar to make him smart, and mincing merrily about that very room to teach him how to dance! they turned, and stared immensely at him when they showed her with the blind girl; for, though she carried cheerfulness and animation with her wheresoever she went, she bore those influences into caleb plummer's home, heaped up and running over. the blind girl's love for her, and trust in her, and gratitude to her; her own good busy way of setting bertha's thanks aside; her dexterous little arts for filling up each moment of the visit in doing something useful to the house, and really working hard while feigning to make holiday; her bountiful provision of those standing delicacies, the veal and ham pie and the bottles of beer; her radiant little face arriving at the door, and taking leave; the wonderful expression in her whole self, from her neat foot to the crown of her head, of being a part of the establishment--a something necessary to it, which it couldn't be without,--all this the fairies revelled in, and loved her for. and once again they looked upon him all at once, appealingly, and seemed to say, while some among them nestled in her dress and fondled her, "is this the wife who has betrayed your confidence?" more than once, or twice, or thrice, in the long thoughtful night, they showed her to him sitting on her favourite seat, with her bent head, her hands clasped on her brow, her falling hair. as he had seen her last. and when they found her thus, they neither turned nor looked upon him, but gathered close round her, and comforted and kissed her, and pressed on one another, to show sympathy and kindness to her, and forgot him altogether. thus the night passed. the moon went down; the stars grew pale; the cold day broke; the sun rose. the carrier still sat, musing, in the chimney-corner. he had sat there, with his head upon his hands, all night. all night the faithful cricket had been chirp, chirp, chirping on the hearth. all night he had listened to its voice. all night the household fairies had been busy with him. all night she had been amiable and blameless in the glass, except when that one shadow fell upon it. he rose up when it was broad day, and washed and dressed himself. he couldn't go about his customary cheerful avocations--he wanted spirit for them--but it mattered the less that it was tackleton's wedding-day, and he had arranged to make his rounds by proxy. he had thought to have gone merrily to church with dot. but such plans were at an end. it was their own wedding-day too. ah! how little he had looked for such a close to such a year! the carrier expected that tackleton would pay him an early visit; and he was right. he had not walked to and fro before his own door many minutes, when he saw the toy merchant coming in his chaise along the road. as the chaise drew nearer, he perceived that tackleton was dressed out sprucely for his marriage, and that he had decorated his horse's head with flowers and favours. the horse looked much more like a bridegroom than tackleton, whose half-closed eye was more disagreeably expressive than ever. but the carrier took little heed of this. his thoughts had other occupation. "john peerybingle!" said tackleton with an air of condolence. "my good fellow, how do you find yourself this morning?" "i have had but a poor night, master tackleton," returned the carrier, shaking his head: "for i have been a good deal disturbed in my mind. but it's over now! can you spare me half an hour or so, for some private talk?" "i came on purpose," returned tackleton, alighting. "never mind the horse. he'll stand quiet enough, with the reins over this post, if you'll give him a mouthful of hay." the carrier having brought it from his stable and set it before him, they turned into the house. "you are not married before noon," he said, "i think?" "no," answered tackleton. "plenty of time. plenty of time." when they entered the kitchen, tilly slowboy was rapping at the stranger's door; which was only removed from it by a few steps. one of her very red eyes (for tilly had been crying all night long, because her mistress cried) was at the keyhole; and she was knocking very loud, and seemed frightened. "if you please i can't make nobody hear," said tilly, looking round. "i hope nobody an't gone and been and died if you please!" this philanthropic wish miss slowboy emphasized with various new raps and kicks at the door, which led to no result whatever. "shall i go?" said tackleton. "it's curious." the carrier, who had turned his face from the door, signed him to go if he would. so tackleton went to tilly slowboy's relief; and he too kicked and knocked; and he too failed to get the least reply. but he thought of trying the handle of the door; and, as it opened easily, he peeped in, looked in, went in, and soon came running out again. "john peerybingle," said tackleton in his ear, "i hope there has been nothing--nothing rash in the night?" the carrier turned upon him quickly. "because he's gone!" said tackleton; "and the window's open. i don't see any marks--to be sure, it's almost on a level with the garden: but i was afraid there might have been some--some scuffle. eh?" he nearly shut up the expressive eye altogether; he looked at him so hard. and he gave his eye, and his face, and his whole person, a sharp twist. as if he would have screwed the truth out of him. "make yourself easy," said the carrier. "he went into that room last night, without harm in word or deed from me, and no one has entered it since. he is away of his own free-will. i'd go out gladly at that door, and beg my bread from house to house, for life, if i could so change the past that he had never come. but he has come and gone. and i have done with him!" "oh!--well, i think he has got off pretty easy," said tackleton, taking a chair. the sneer was lost upon the carrier, who sat down too, and shaded his face with his hand, for some little time, before proceeding. "you showed me last night," he said at length, "my wife--my wife that i love--secretly----" "and tenderly," insinuated tackleton. "--conniving at that man's disguise, and giving him opportunities of meeting her alone. i think there's no sight i wouldn't have rather seen than that. i think there's no man in the world i wouldn't have rather had to show it me." "i confess to having had my suspicions always," said tackleton. "and that has made me objectionable here, i know." "but, as you did show it me," pursued the carrier, not minding him; "and as you saw her, my wife, my wife that i love"--his voice, and eye, and hand grew steadier and firmer as he repeated these words: evidently in pursuance of a steadfast purpose--"as you saw her at this disadvantage, it is right and just that you should also see with my eyes, and look into my breast, and know what my mind is upon the subject. for it's settled," said the carrier, regarding him attentively. "and nothing can shake it now." tackleton muttered a few general words of assent about its being necessary to vindicate something or other; but he was overawed by the manner of his companion. plain and unpolished as it was, it had a something dignified and noble in it, which nothing but the soul of generous honour dwelling in the man could have imparted. "i am a plain, rough man," pursued the carrier "with very little to recommend me. i am not a clever man, as you very well know. i am not a young man. i loved my little dot, because i had seen her grow up, from a child, in her father's house; because i knew how precious she was; because she had been my life for years and years. there's many men i can't compare with, who never could have loved my little dot like me, i think!" he paused, and softly beat the ground a short time with his foot, before resuming: "i often thought that though i wasn't good enough for her, i should make her a kind husband, and perhaps know her value better than another; and in this way i reconciled it to myself, and came to think it might be possible that we should be married. and, in the end, it came about, and we _were_ married!" "hah!" said tackleton with a significant shake of his head. "i had studied myself; i had had experience of myself; i knew how much i loved her, and how happy i should be," pursued the carrier. "but i had not--i feel it now--sufficiently considered her." "to be sure," said tackleton. "giddiness, frivolity, fickleness, love of admiration! not considered! all left out of sight! hah!" "you had best not interrupt me," said the carrier with some sternness, "till you understand me; and you're wide of doing so. if, yesterday, i'd have struck that man down at a blow, who dared to breathe a word against her, to-day i'd set my foot upon his face, if he was my brother!" the toy merchant gazed at him in astonishment. he went on in a softer tone: "did i consider," said the carrier, "that i took her--at her age, and with her beauty--from her young companions, and the many scenes of which she was the ornament; in which she was the brightest little star that ever shone, to shut her up from day to day in my dull house, and keep my tedious company? did i consider how little suited i was to her sprightly humour, and how wearisome a plodding man like me must be to one of her quick spirit? did i consider that it was no merit in me, or claim in me, that i loved her, when everybody must who knew her? never. i took advantage of her hopeful nature and her cheerful disposition; and i married her. i wish i never had! for her sake; not for mine!" the toy merchant gazed at him without winking. even the half-shut eye was open now. "heaven bless her!" said the carrier, "for the cheerful constancy with which she has tried to keep the knowledge of this from me! and heaven help me, that, in my slow mind, i have not found it out before! poor child! poor dot! _i_ not to find it out, who have seen her eyes fill with tears when such a marriage as our own was spoken of! i, who have seen the secret trembling on her lips a hundred times, and never suspected it, till last night! poor girl! that i could ever hope she would be fond of me! that i could ever believe she was!" "she made a show of it," said tackleton. "she made such a show of it, that, to tell you the truth, it was the origin of my misgivings." and here he asserted the superiority of may fielding, who certainly made no sort of show of being fond of _him_. "she has tried," said the poor carrier with greater emotion than he had exhibited yet; "i only now begin to know how hard she has tried, to be my dutiful and zealous wife. how good she has been; how much she has done; how brave and strong a heart she has; let the happiness i have known under this roof bear witness! it will be some help and comfort to me when i am here alone." "here alone?" said tackleton. "oh! then you do mean to take some notice of this?" "i mean," returned the carrier, "to do her the greatest kindness, and make her the best reparation, in my power. i can release her from the daily pain of an unequal marriage, and the struggle to conceal it. she shall be as free as i can render her." "make _her_ reparation!" exclaimed tackleton, twisting and turning his great ears with his hands. "there must be something wrong here. you didn't say that, of course." the carrier set his grip upon the collar of the toy merchant, and shook him like a reed. "listen to me!" he said. "and take care that you hear me right. listen to me. do i speak plainly?" "very plainly indeed," answered tackleton. "as if i meant it?" "very much as if you meant it." "i sat upon that hearth, last night, all night," exclaimed the carrier. "on the spot where she has often sat beside me, with her sweet face looking into mine. i called up her whole life day by day. i had her dear self, in its every passage, in review before me. and, upon my soul, she is innocent, if there is one to judge the innocent and guilty!" staunch cricket on the hearth! loyal household fairies! "passion and distrust have left me!" said the carrier; "and nothing but my grief remains. in an unhappy moment some old lover, better suited to her tastes and years than i, forsaken, perhaps, for me, against her will, returned. in an unhappy moment, taken by surprise, and wanting time to think of what she did, she made herself a party to his treachery by concealing it. last night she saw him, in the interview we witnessed. it was wrong. but, otherwise than this, she is innocent, if there is truth on earth!" "if that is your opinion----" tackleton began. "so, let her go!" pursued the carrier. "go, with my blessing for the many happy hours she has given me, and my forgiveness for any pang she has caused me. let her go, and have the peace of mind i wish her! she'll never hate me. she'll learn to like me better when i'm not a drag upon her, and she wears the chain i have riveted more lightly. this is the day on which i took her, with so little thought for her enjoyment, from her home. to-day she shall return to it, and i will trouble her no more. her father and mother will be here to-day--we had made a little plan for keeping it together--and they shall take her home. i can trust her there, or anywhere. she leaves me without blame, and she will live so i am sure. if i should die--i may perhaps while she is still young; i have lost some courage in a few hours--she'll find that i remembered her, and loved her to the last! this is the end of what you showed me. now, it's over!" "oh no, john, not over! do not say it's over yet! not quite yet. i have heard your noble words. i could not steal away, pretending to be ignorant of what has affected me with such deep gratitude. do not say it's over till the clock has struck again!" she had entered shortly after tackleton, and had remained there. she never looked at tackleton, but fixed her eyes upon her husband. but she kept away from him, setting as wide a space as possible between them; and, though she spoke with most impassioned earnestness, she went no nearer to him even then. how different in this from her old self! "no hand can make the clock which will strike again for me the hours that are gone," replied the carrier with a faint smile. "but let it be so, if you will, my dear. it will strike soon. it's of little matter what we say. i'd try to please you in a harder case than that." "well!" muttered tackleton. "i must be off, for, when the clock strikes again, it'll be necessary for me to be upon my way to church. good morning, john peerybingle. i'm sorry to be deprived of the pleasure of your company. sorry for the loss, and the occasion of it too!" "i have spoken plainly?" said the carrier, accompanying him to the door. "oh, quite!" "and you'll remember what i have said?" "why, if you compel me to make the observation," said tackleton, previously taking the precaution of getting into his chaise, "i must say that it was so very unexpected, that i'm far from being likely to forget it." "the better for us both," returned the carrier. "good-bye. i give you joy!" "i wish i could give it to _you_," said tackleton. "as i can't, thankee. between ourselves (as i told you before, eh?) i don't much think i shall have the less joy in my married life because may hasn't been too officious about me, and too demonstrative. good-bye! take care of yourself." the carrier stood looking after him until he was smaller in the distance than his horse's flowers and favours near at hand; and then, with a deep sigh, went strolling like a restless, broken man, among some neighbouring elms; unwilling to return until the clock was on the eve of striking. his little wife, being left alone, sobbed piteously; but often dried her eyes and checked herself, to say how good he was, how excellent he was! and once or twice she laughed; so heartily, triumphantly, and incoherently (still crying all the time), that tilly was quite horrified. "ow, if you please, don't!" said tilly. "it's enough to dead and bury the baby, so it is if you please." "will you bring him sometimes to see his father, tilly," inquired her mistress, drying her eyes,--"when i can't live here, and have gone to my old home?" "ow, if you please, don't!" cried tilly, throwing back her head, and bursting out into a howl--she looked at the moment uncommonly like boxer. "ow, if you please, don't! ow, what has everybody gone and been and done with everybody, making everybody else so wretched? ow-w-w-w!" the soft-hearted slowboy tailed off at this juncture into such a deplorable howl, the more tremendous from its long suppression, that she must infallibly have awakened the baby, and frightened him into something serious (probably convulsions), if her eyes had not encountered caleb plummer leading in his daughter. this spectacle restoring her to a sense of the proprieties, she stood for some few moments silent, with her mouth wide open; and then, posting off to the bed on which the baby lay asleep, danced in a weird, st. vitus manner on the floor, and at the same time rummaged with her face and head among the bedclothes, apparently deriving much relief from those extraordinary operations. "mary!" said bertha. "not at the marriage!" "i told her you would not be there, mum," whispered caleb. "i heard as much last night. but bless you," said the little man, taking her tenderly by both hands, "_i_ don't care for what they say. _i_ don't believe them. there an't much of me, but that little should be torn to pieces sooner than i'd trust a word against you!" he put his arms about her neck and hugged her, as a child might have hugged one of his own dolls. "bertha couldn't stay at home this morning," said caleb. "she was afraid, i know, to hear the bells ring, and couldn't trust herself to be so near them on their wedding-day. so we started in good time, and came here. i have been thinking of what i have done," said caleb after a moment's pause; "i have been blaming myself till i hardly knew what to do, or where to turn, for the distress of mind i have caused her; and i've come to the conclusion that i'd better, if you'll stay with me, mum, the while, tell her the truth. you'll stay with me the while?" he inquired, trembling from head to foot. "i don't know what effect it may have upon her; i don't know what she'll think of me; i don't know that she'll ever care for her poor father afterwards. but it's best for her that she should be undeceived, and i must bear the consequences as i deserve!" "mary," said bertha, "where is your hand? ah! here it is; here it is!" pressing it to her lips with a smile, and drawing it through her arm. "i heard them speaking softly among themselves last night of some blame against you. they were wrong." the carrier's wife was silent. caleb answered for her. "they were wrong," he said. "i knew it!" cried bertha, proudly. "i told them so. i scorned to hear a word! blame _her_ with justice!" she pressed the hand between her own, and the soft cheek against her face. "no, i am not so blind as that." her father went on one side of her, while dot remained upon the other, holding her hand. "i know you all," said bertha, "better than you think. but none so well as her. not even you, father. there is nothing half so real and so true about me as she is. if i could be restored to sight this instant, and not a word were spoken, i could choose her from a crowd! my sister!" "bertha, my dear!" said caleb. "i have something on my mind i want to tell you while we three are alone. hear me kindly! i have a confession to make to you, my darling!" "a confession, father?" "i have wandered from the truth, and lost myself, my child," said caleb with a pitiable expression in his bewildered face. "i have wandered from the truth, intending to be kind to you; and have been cruel." she turned her wonder-stricken face towards him, and repeated "cruel!" "he accuses himself too strongly, bertha," said dot. "you'll say so presently. you'll be the first to tell him so." "he cruel to me!" cried bertha with a smile of incredulity. "not meaning it, my child," said caleb. "but i have been: though i never suspected it till yesterday. my dear blind daughter, hear me and forgive me. the world you live in, heart of mine, doesn't exist as i have represented it. the eyes you have trusted in have been false to you." she turned her wonder-stricken face towards him still; but drew back, and clung closer to her friend. "your road in life was rough, my poor one," said caleb, "and i meant to smooth it for you. i have altered objects, changed the characters of people, invented many things that never have been, to make you happier. i have had concealments from you, put deceptions on you, god forgive me! and surrounded you with fancies." "but living people are not fancies?" she said hurriedly, and turning very pale, and still retiring from him. "you can't change them." "i have done so, bertha," pleaded caleb. "there is one person that you know, my dove----" "oh, father! why do you say, i know?" she answered in a term of keen reproach. "what and whom do _i_ know? i who have no leader! i so miserably blind!" in the anguish of her heart, she stretched out her hands, as if she were groping her way; then spread them, in a manner most forlorn and sad, upon her face. "the marriage that takes place to-day," said caleb, "is with a stern, sordid, grinding man. a hard master to you and me, my dear, for many years. ugly in his looks, and in his nature. cold and callous always. unlike what i have painted him to you in everything, my child. in everything." "oh, why," cried the blind girl, tortured, as it seemed, almost beyond endurance, "why did you ever do this? why did you ever fill my heart so full, and then come in like death, and tear away the objects of my love? o heaven, how blind i am! how helpless and alone!" her afflicted father hung his head, and offered no reply but in his penitence and sorrow. she had been but a short time in this passion of regret when the cricket on the hearth, unheard by all but her, began to chirp. not merrily, but in a low, faint, sorrowing way. it was so mournful, that her tears began to flow; and, when the presence which had been beside the carrier all night, appeared behind her, pointing to her father, they fell down like rain. she heard the cricket-voice more plainly soon, and was conscious, through her blindness, of the presence hovering about her father. "mary," said the blind girl, "tell me what my home is. what it truly is." "it is a poor place, bertha; very poor and bare indeed. the house will scarcely keep out wind and rain another winter. it is as roughly shielded from the weather, bertha," dot continued in a low, clear voice, "as your poor father in his sackcloth coat." the blind girl, greatly agitated, rose, and led the carrier's little wife aside. "those presents that i took such care of; that came almost at my wish, and were so dearly welcome to me," she said, trembling; "where did they come from? did you send them?" "no." "who, then?" dot saw she knew already, and was silent. the blind girl spread her hands before her face again. but in quite another manner now. "dear mary, a moment. one moment. more this way. speak softly to me. you are true i know. you'd not deceive me now; would you?" "no, bertha, indeed!" "no, i am sure you would not. you have too much pity for me. mary, look across the room to where we were just now--to where my father is--my father, so compassionate and loving to me--and tell me what you see." "i see," said dot, who understood her well, "an old man sitting in a chair, and leaning sorrowfully on the back, with his face resting on his hand. as if his child should comfort him, bertha." "yes, yes. she will. go on." "he is an old man, worn with care and work. he is a spare, dejected, thoughtful, grey-haired man. i see him now, despondent and bowed down, and striving against nothing. but, bertha, i have seen him many times before, and striving hard in many ways, for one great sacred object. and i honour his grey head, and bless him!" the blind girl broke away from her; and, throwing herself upon her knees before him, took the grey head to her breast. "it is my sight restored. it is my sight!" she cried. "i have been blind, and now my eyes are open. i never knew him! to think i might have died, and never truly seen the father who has been so loving to me!" there were no words for caleb's emotion. "there is not a gallant figure on this earth," exclaimed the blind girl, holding him in her embrace, "that i would love so dearly, and would cherish so devotedly, as this! the greyer, and more worn, the dearer, father! never let them say i am blind again. there's not a furrow in his face, there's not a hair upon his head, that shall be forgotten in my prayers and thanks to heaven!" caleb managed to articulate, "my bertha!" "and in my blindness i believed him," said the girl, caressing him with tears of exquisite affection, "to be so different. and having him beside me day by day, so mindful of me always, never dreamed of this!" "the fresh smart father in the blue coat, bertha," said poor caleb. "he's gone!" "nothing is gone," she answered. "dearest father, no! everything is here--in you. the father that i loved so well; the father that i never loved enough, and never knew; the benefactor whom i first began to reverence and love, because he had such sympathy for me,--all are here in you. nothing is dead to me. the soul of all that was most dear to me is here--here, with the worn face, and the grey head. and i am not blind, father, any longer!" dot's whole attention had been concentrated, during this discourse, upon the father and daughter; but looking, now, towards the little hay-maker in the moorish meadow, she saw that the clock was within a few minutes of striking, and fell, immediately, into a nervous and excited state. "father!" said bertha, hesitating. "mary!" "yes, my dear," returned caleb. "here she is." "there is no change in _her_. you never told me anything of _her_ that was not true?" "i should have done it, my dear, i'm afraid," returned caleb, "if i could have made her better than she was. but i must have changed her for the worse, if i had changed her at all. nothing could improve her, bertha." confident as the blind girl had been when she asked the question, her delight and pride in the reply, and her renewed embrace of dot, were charming to behold. "more changes than you think for may happen, though, my dear," said dot. "changes for the better, i mean; changes for great joy to some of us. you mustn't let them startle you too much, if any such should ever happen, and affect you. are those wheels upon the road? you've a quick ear, bertha. are they wheels?" "yes. coming very fast." "i--i--i know you have a quick ear," said dot, placing her hand upon her heart, and evidently talking on as fast as she could, to hide its palpitating state, "because i have noticed it often, and because you were so quick to find out that strange step last night. though why you should have said, as i very well recollect you did say, bertha, 'whose step is that?' and why you should have taken any greater observation of it than of any other step, i don't know. though, as i said just now, there are great changes in the world: great changes: and we can't do better than prepare ourselves to be surprised at hardly anything." caleb wondered what this meant; perceiving that she spoke to him, no less than to his daughter. he saw her, with astonishment, so fluttered and distressed that she could scarcely breathe; and holding to a chair, to save herself from falling. "they are wheels indeed!" she panted. "coming nearer! nearer! very close! and now you hear them stopping at the garden-gate! and now you hear a step outside the door--the same step, bertha, is it not?--and now----!" she uttered a wild cry of uncontrollable delight; and running up to caleb, put her hands upon his eyes, as a young man rushed into the room, and, flinging away his hat into the air, came sweeping down upon them. "is it over?" cried dot. "yes!" "happily over?" "yes!" "do you recollect the voice, dear caleb? did you ever hear the like of it before?" cried dot. "if my boy in the golden south americas was alive----!" said caleb, trembling. "he is alive!" shrieked dot, removing her hands from his eyes, and clapping them in ecstasy. "look at him! see where he stands before you, healthy and strong! your own dear son. your own dear living, loving brother, bertha!" all honour to the little creature for her transports! all honour to her tears and laughter, when the three were locked in one another's arms! all honour to the heartiness with which she met the sunburnt sailor-fellow, with his dark streaming hair, half-way, and never turned her rosy little mouth aside, but suffered him to kiss it freely, and to press her to his bounding heart! and honour to the cuckoo too--why not?--for bursting out of the trap-door in the moorish palace like a housebreaker, and hiccoughing twelve times on the assembled company, as if he had got drunk for joy! the carrier, entering, started back. and well he might, to find himself in such good company. "look, john!" said caleb, exultingly, "look here! my own boy from the golden south americas! my own son! him that you fitted out, and sent away yourself! him that you were always such a friend to!" the carrier advanced to seize him by the hand; but, recoiling, as some feature in his face awakened a remembrance of the deaf man in the cart, said: "edward! was it you?" "now tell him all!" cried dot. "tell him all, edward; and don't spare me, for nothing shall make me spare myself in his eyes, ever again." "i was the man," said edward. "and could you steal, disguised, into the house of your old friend?" rejoined the carrier. "there was a frank boy once--how many years is it, caleb, since we heard that he was dead, and had it proved, we thought?--who never would have done that." "there was a generous friend of mine once; more a father to me than a friend," said edward; "who never would have judged me, or any other man, unheard. you were he. so i am certain you will hear me now." the carrier, with a troubled glance at dot, who still kept far away from him, replied, "well! that's but fair. i will." "you must know that when i left here a boy," said edward, "i was in love, and my love was returned. she was a very young girl, who perhaps (you may tell me) didn't know her own mind. but i knew mine, and i had a passion for her." "you had!" exclaimed the carrier. "you!" "indeed i had," returned the other. "and she returned it. i have ever since believed she did, and now i am sure she did." "heaven help me!" said the carrier. "this is worse than all." "constant to her," said edward, "and returning, full of hope, after many hardships and perils, to redeem my part of our old contract, i heard, twenty miles away, that she was false to me; that she had forgotten me; and had bestowed herself upon another and a richer man. i had no mind to reproach her; but i wished to see her, and to prove beyond dispute that this was true. i hoped she might have been forced into it against her own desire and recollection. it would be small comfort, but it would be some, i thought, and on i came. that i might have the truth, the real truth, observing freely for myself, and judging for myself, without obstruction on the one hand, or presenting my own influence (if i had any) before her, on the other, i dressed myself unlike myself--you know how; and waited on the road--you know where. you had no suspicion of me; neither had--had she," pointing to dot, "until i whispered in her ear at that fireside, and she so nearly betrayed me." "but when she knew that edward was alive, and had come back," sobbed dot, now speaking for herself, as she had burned to do, all through this narrative; "and when she knew his purpose, she advised him by all means to keep his secret close; for his old friend john peerybingle was much too open in his nature, and too clumsy in all artifice--being a clumsy man in general," said dot, half laughing and half crying--"to keep it for him. and when she--that's me, john," sobbed the little woman--"told him all, and how his sweetheart had believed him to be dead; and how she had at last been over-persuaded by her mother into a marriage which the silly, dear old thing called advantageous; and when she--that's me again, john--told him they were not yet married (though close upon it), and that it would be nothing but a sacrifice if it went on, for there was no love on her side; and when he went nearly mad with joy to hear it,--then she--that's me again--said she would go between them, as she had often done before in old times, john, and would sound his sweetheart, and be sure that what she--me again, john--said and thought was right. and it was right, john! and they were brought together, john! and they were married, john, an hour ago! and here's the bride! and gruff and tackleton may die a bachelor! and i'm a happy little woman, may, god bless you!" she was an irresistible little woman, if that be anything to the purpose; and never so completely irresistible as in her present transports. there never were congratulations so endearing and delicious as those she lavished on herself and on the bride. amid the tumult of emotions in his breast, the honest carrier had stood confounded. flying, now, towards her, dot stretched out her hand to stop him, and retreated as before. "no, john, no! hear all! don't love me any more, john, till you've heard every word i have to say. it was wrong to have a secret from you, john. i'm very sorry. i didn't think it any harm, till i came and sat down by you on the little stool last night. but when i knew, by what was written in your face, that you had seen me walking in the gallery with edward, and when i knew what you thought, i felt how giddy and how wrong it was. but oh, dear john, how could you, could you think so?" little woman, how she sobbed again! john peerybingle would have caught her in his arms. but no; she wouldn't let him. "don't love me yet, please, john! not for a long time yet! when i was sad about this intended marriage, dear, it was because i remembered may and edward such young lovers; and knew that her heart was far away from tackleton. you believe that, now, don't you, john?" john was going to make another rush at this appeal; but she stopped him again. "no; keep there, please, john! when i laugh at you, as i sometimes do, john, and call you clumsy and a dear old goose, and names of that sort, it's because i love you, john, so well, and take such pleasure in your ways, and wouldn't see you altered in the least respect to have you made a king to-morrow." "hooroar!" said caleb with unusual vigour. "my opinion!" "and when i speak of people being middle-aged and steady, john, and pretend that we are a humdrum couple, going on in a jog-trot sort of way, it's only because i'm such a silly little thing, john, that i like, sometimes, to act as a kind of play with baby, and all that: and make believe." she saw that he was coming; and stopped him again. but she was very nearly too late. "no, don't love me for another minute or two, if you please, john! what i want most to tell you, i have kept to the last. my dear, good, generous john, when we were talking the other night about the cricket, i had it on my lips to say, that at first i did not love you quite so dearly as i do now; when i first came home here, i was half afraid that i mightn't learn to love you every bit as well as i hoped and prayed i might--being so very young, john! but, dear john, every day and hour i loved you more and more. and if i could have loved you better than i do, the noble words i heard you say this morning would have made me. but i can't. all the affection that i had (it was a great deal, john) i gave you, as you well deserve, long, long ago, and i have no more left to give. now, my dear husband, take me to your heart again! that's my home, john; and never, never think of sending me to any other!" you never will derive so much delight from seeing a glorious little woman in the arms of a third party as you would have felt if you had seen dot run into the carrier's embrace. it was the most complete, unmitigated, soul-fraught little piece of earnestness that ever you beheld in all your days. you may be sure the carrier was in a state of perfect rapture; and you may be sure dot was likewise; and you may be sure they all were, inclusive of miss slowboy, who wept copiously for joy, and, wishing to include her young charge in the general interchange of congratulations, handed round the baby to everybody in succession, as if it were something to drink. but, now, the sound of wheels was heard again outside the door; and somebody exclaimed that gruff and tackleton was coming back. speedily that worthy gentleman appeared, looking warm and flustered. "why, what the devil's this, john peerybingle?" said tackleton. "there's some mistake. i appointed mrs. tackleton to meet me at the church, and i'll swear i passed her on the road, on her way here. oh! here she is! i beg your pardon, sir; i haven't the pleasure of knowing you; but, if you can do me the favour to spare this young lady, she has rather a particular engagement this morning." "but i can't spare her," returned edward. "i couldn't think of it." "what do you mean, you vagabond?" said tackleton. "i mean that, as i can make allowance for your being vexed," returned the other with a smile, "i am as deaf to harsh discourse this morning as i was to all discourse last night." the look that tackleton bestowed upon him, and the start he gave! "i am sorry, sir," said edward, holding out may's left hand, and especially the third finger, "that the young lady can't accompany you to church; but, as she has been there once this morning, perhaps you'll excuse her." tackleton looked hard at the third finger, and took a little piece of silver paper, apparently containing a ring, from his waistcoat pocket. "miss slowboy," said tackleton, "will you have the kindness to throw that in the fire? thankee." "it was a previous engagement, quite an old engagement, that prevented my wife from keeping her appointment with you, i assure you," said edward. "mr. tackleton will do me the justice to acknowledge that i revealed it to him faithfully; and that i told him, many times, i never could forget it," said may, blushing. "oh, certainly!" said tackleton. "oh, to be sure! oh, it's all right, it's quite correct! mrs. edward plummer, i infer?" "that's the name," returned the bridegroom. "ah! i shouldn't have known you, sir," said tackleton, scrutinising his face narrowly, and making a low bow. "i give you joy, sir!" "thankee." "mrs. peerybingle," said tackleton, turning suddenly to where she stood with her husband; "i'm sorry. you haven't done me a very great kindness, but, upon my life, i am sorry. you are better than i thought you. john peerybingle, i am sorry. you understand me; that's enough. it's quite correct, ladies and gentlemen all, and perfectly satisfactory. good morning!" with these words he carried it off, and carried himself off too: merely stopping at the door to take the flowers and favours from his horse's head, and to kick that animal once in the ribs, as a means of informing him that there was a screw loose in his arrangements. of course, it became a serious duty now to make such a day of it as should mark these events for a high feast and festival in the peerybingle calendar for evermore. accordingly, dot went to work to produce such an entertainment as should reflect undying honour on the house and on every one concerned; and, in a very short space of time, she was up to her dimpled elbows in flour, and whitening the carrier's coat, every time he came near her, by stopping him to give him a kiss. that good fellow washed the greens, and peeled the turnips, and broke the plates, and upset iron pots full of cold water on the fire, and made himself useful in all sorts of ways: while a couple of professional assistants, hastily called in from somewhere in the neighbourhood, as on a point of life or death, ran against each other in all the doorways and round all the corners, and everybody tumbled over tilly slowboy and the baby, everywhere. tilly never came out in such force before. her ubiquity was the theme of general admiration. she was a stumbling-block in the passage at five-and-twenty minutes past two; a man-trap in the kitchen at half-past two precisely; and a pitfall in the garret at five-and-twenty minutes to three. the baby's head was, as it were, a test and touchstone for every description of matter, animal, vegetable, and mineral. nothing was in use that day that didn't come, at some time or other, into close acquaintance with it. then there was a great expedition set on foot to go and find out mrs. fielding; and to be dismally penitent to that excellent gentlewoman; and to bring her back, by force, if needful, to be happy and forgiving. and when the expedition first discovered her, she would listen to no terms at all, but said, an unspeakable number of times, that ever she should have lived to see the day! and couldn't be got to say anything else, except "now carry me to the grave": which seemed absurd, on account of her not being dead, or anything at all like it. after a time she lapsed into a state of dreadful calmness, and observed that, when that unfortunate train of circumstances had occurred in the indigo trade, she had foreseen that she would be exposed, during her whole life, to every species of insult and contumely; and that she was glad to find it was the case; and begged they wouldn't trouble themselves about her,--for what was she?--oh dear! a nobody!--but would forget that such a being lived, and would take their course in life without her. from this bitterly sarcastic mood she passed into an angry one, in which she gave vent to the remarkable expression that the worm would turn if trodden on; and, after that, she yielded to a soft regret, and said, if they had only given her their confidence, what might she not have had it in her power to suggest! taking advantage of this crisis in her feelings, the expedition embraced her; and she very soon had her gloves on, and was on her way to john peerybingle's in a state of unimpeachable gentility; with a paper parcel at her side containing a cap of state, almost as tall, and quite as stiff, as a mitre. then, there were dot's father and mother to come in another little chaise; and they were behind their time; and fears were entertained; and there was much looking out for them down the road; and mrs. fielding always would look in the wrong and morally impossible direction; and, being apprised thereof, hoped she might take the liberty of looking where she pleased. at last they came; a chubby little couple, jogging along in a snug and comfortable little way that quite belonged to the dot family; and dot and her mother, side by side, were wonderful to see. they were so like each other. then dot's mother had to renew her acquaintance with may's mother; and may's mother always stood on her gentility; and dot's mother never stood on anything but her active little feet. and old dot--so to call dot's father, i forgot it wasn't his right name, but never mind--took liberties, and shook hands at first sight, and seemed to think a cap but so much starch and muslin, and didn't defer himself at all to the indigo trade, but said there was no help for it now; and, in mrs. fielding's summing up, was a good-natured kind of man--but coarse, my dear. i wouldn't have missed dot, doing the honours in her wedding-gown, my benison on her bright face! for any money. no! nor the good carrier, so jovial and so ruddy, at the bottom of the table. nor the brown, fresh sailor-fellow, and his handsome wife. nor any one among them. to have missed the dinner would have been to miss as jolly and as stout a meal as man need eat; and to have missed the overflowing cups in which they drank the wedding day would have been the greatest miss of all. after dinner caleb sang the song about the sparkling bowl. as i'm a living man, hoping to keep so for a year or two, he sang it through. and, by-the-bye, a most unlooked-for incident occurred, just as he finished the last verse. there was a tap at the door; and a man came staggering in, without saying with your leave, or by your leave, with something heavy on his head. setting this down in the middle of the table, symmetrically in the centre of the nuts and apples, he said: "mr. tackleton's compliments, and, as he hasn't got no use for the cake himself, p'raps you'll eat it." and, with those words, he walked off. there was some surprise among the company, as you may imagine. mrs. fielding, being a lady of infinite discernment, suggested that the cake was poisoned, and related a narrative of a cake which, within her knowledge, had turned a seminary for young ladies blue. but she was overruled by acclamation; and the cake was cut by may with much ceremony and rejoicing. i don't think any one had tasted it, when there came another tap at the door, and the same man appeared again, having under his arm a vast brown-paper parcel. "mr. tackleton's compliments, and he's sent a few toys for the babby. they ain't ugly." after the delivery of which expressions, he retired again. the whole party would have experienced great difficulty in finding words for their astonishment, even if they had had ample time to seek them. but they had none at all; for the messenger had scarcely shut the door behind him, when there came another tap, and tackleton himself walked in. "mrs. peerybingle!" said the toy merchant, hat in hand, "i'm sorry. i'm more sorry than i was this morning. i have had time to think of it. john peerybingle! i am sour by disposition; but i can't help being sweetened, more or less, by coming face to face with such a man as you. caleb! this unconscious little nurse gave me a broken hint last night, of which i have found the thread. i blush to think how easily i might have bound you and your daughter to me, and what a miserable idiot i was when i took her for one! friends, one and all, my house is very lonely to-night. i have not so much as a cricket on my hearth. i have scared them all away. be gracious to me: let me join this happy party!" he was at home in five minutes. you never saw such a fellow. what _had_ he been doing with himself all his life, never to have known before his great capacity of being jovial? or what had the fairies been doing with him, to have effected such a change? "john! you won't send me home this evening, will you?" whispered dot. he had been very near it, though. there wanted but one living creature to make the party complete; and, in the twinkling of an eye, there he was, very thirsty with hard running, and engaged in hopeless endeavours to squeeze his head into a narrow pitcher. he had gone with the cart to its journey's end, very much disgusted with the absence of his master, and stupendously rebellious to the deputy. after lingering about the stable for some little time, vainly attempting to incite the old horse to the mutinous act of returning on his own account, he had walked into the taproom, and laid himself down before the fire. but, suddenly yielding to the conviction that the deputy was a humbug, and must be abandoned, he had got up again, turned tail, and come home. there was a dance in the evening. with which general mention of that recreation, i should have left it alone, if i had not some reason to suppose that it was quite an original dance, and one of a most uncommon figure. it was formed in an odd way; in this way. edward, that sailor-fellow--a good free dashing sort of fellow he was--had been telling them various marvels concerning parrots, and mines, and mexicans, and gold dust, when all at once he took it in his head to jump up from his seat and propose a dance; for bertha's harp was there, and she such a hand upon it as you seldom hear. dot (sly little piece of affectation when she chose) said her dancing days were over; i think because the carrier was smoking his pipe, and she liked sitting by him best. mrs. fielding had no choice, of course, but to say _her_ dancing days were over, after that; and everybody said the same, except may; may was ready. so, may and edward get up, amid great applause, to dance alone; and bertha plays her liveliest tune. well! if you'll believe me, they had not been dancing five minutes, when suddenly the carrier flings his pipe away, takes dot round the waist, dashes out into the room, and starts off with her, toe and heel, quite wonderfully. tackleton no sooner sees this than he skims across to mrs. fielding, takes her round the waist, and follows suit. old dot no sooner sees this than up he is, all alive, whisks off mrs. dot into the middle of the dance, and is foremost there. caleb no sooner sees this than he clutches tilly slowboy by both hands, and goes off at score; miss slowboy, firm in the belief that diving hotly in among the other couples, and effecting any number of concussions with them, is your only principle of footing it. hark! how the cricket joins the music with its chirp, chirp, chirp; and how the kettle hums! * * * * * but what is this? even as i listen to them blithely, and turn towards dot, for one last glimpse of a little figure very pleasant to me, she and the rest have vanished into air, and i am left alone. a cricket sings upon the hearth; a broken child's toy lies upon the ground: and nothing else remains. the cricket on the hearth. [illustration] [illustration: the cricket on the hearth a fairy tale of home] london: bradbury & evans, 90, fleet street. & whitefriars. 1846. the cricket on the hearth. a fairy tale of home. * * * * * by charles dickens. =eleventh edition.= =london:= printed and published for the author, by bradbury and evans, 90, fleet street, and whitefriars. * * * * * mdcccxlvi. london: bradbury and evans, printers, whitefriars. to lord jeffrey this little story is inscribed, with the affection and attachment of his friend, the author. _december_, 1845. illustrations. _engraver._ _artist._ frontispiece _thompson._ d. maclise, r.a. title _g. dalziel._ d. maclise, r.a. chirp the first _g. dalziel._ r. doyle. the carrier's cart _t. williams._ c. stanfield, r.a. john's arrival _e. dalziel._ j. leech. john and dot _swain._ j. leech. chirp the second _e. dalziel._ r. doyle. caleb at work _g. dalziel._ j. leech. boxer _t. williams._ e. landseer, r.a. tilly slowboy _groves._ j. leech. mrs. fielding's lecture _e. dalziel._ j. leech. chirp the third _t. williams._ r. doyle. john's reverie _groves._ j. leech. the dance _swain._ j. leech. [illustration: chirp the first] the kettle began it! don't tell me what mrs. peerybingle said. i know better. mrs. peerybingle may leave it on record to the end of time that she couldn't say which of them began it; but i say the kettle did. i ought to know, i hope? the kettle began it, full five minutes by the little waxy-faced dutch clock in the corner before the cricket uttered a chirp. as if the clock hadn't finished striking, and the convulsive little haymaker at the top of it, jerking away right and left with a scythe in front of a moorish palace, hadn't mowed down half an acre of imaginary grass before the cricket joined in at all! why, i am not naturally positive. every one knows that. i wouldn't set my own opinion against the opinion of mrs. peerybingle, unless i were quite sure, on any account whatever. nothing should induce me. but this is a question of fact. and the fact is, that the kettle began it, at least five minutes before the cricket gave any sign of being in existence. contradict me: and i'll say ten. let me narrate exactly how it happened. i should have proceeded to do so, in my very first word, but for this plain consideration--if i am to tell a story i must begin at the beginning; and how is it possible to begin at the beginning, without beginning at the kettle? it appeared as if there were a sort of match, or trial of skill, you must understand, between the kettle and the cricket. and this is what led to it, and how it came about. mrs. peerybingle going out into the raw twilight, and clicking over the wet stones in a pair of pattens that worked innumerable rough impressions of the first proposition in euclid all about the yard--mrs. peerybingle filled the kettle at the water butt. presently returning, less the pattens: and a good deal less, for they were tall and mrs. peerybingle was but short: she set the kettle on the fire. in doing which she lost her temper, or mislaid it for an instant; for the water--being uncomfortably cold, and in that slippy, slushy, sleety sort of state wherein it seems to penetrate through every kind of substance, patten rings included--had laid hold of mrs. peerybingle's toes, and even splashed her legs. and when we rather plume ourselves (with reason too) upon our legs, and keep ourselves particularly neat in point of stockings, we find this, for the moment, hard to bear. besides, the kettle was aggravating and obstinate. it wouldn't allow itself to be adjusted on the top bar; it wouldn't hear of accommodating itself kindly to the knobs of coal; it would lean forward with a drunken air, and dribble, a very idiot of a kettle, on the hearth. it was quarrelsome; and hissed and spluttered morosely at the fire. to sum up all, the lid, resisting mrs. peerybingle's fingers, first of all turned topsy-turvy, and then, with an ingenious pertinacity deserving of a better cause, dived sideways in--down to the very bottom of the kettle. and the hull of the royal george has never made half the monstrous resistance to coming out of the water, which the lid of that kettle employed against mrs. peerybingle, before she got it up again. it looked sullen and pig-headed enough, even then; carrying its handle with an air of defiance, and cocking its spout pertly and mockingly at mrs. peerybingle, as if it said, "i won't boil. nothing shall induce me!" but mrs. peerybingle, with restored good humour, dusted her chubby little hands against each other, and sat down before the kettle: laughing. meantime, the jolly blaze uprose and fell, flashing and gleaming on the little haymaker at the top of the dutch clock, until one might have thought he stood stock still before the moorish palace, and nothing was in motion but the flame. he was on the move, however; and had his spasms, two to the second, all right and regular. but his sufferings when the clock was going to strike, were frightful to behold; and when a cuckoo looked out of a trap-door in the palace, and gave note six times, it shook him, each time, like a spectral voice--or like a something wiry, plucking at his legs. it was not until a violent commotion and a whirring noise among the weights and ropes below him had quite subsided, that this terrified haymaker became himself again. nor was he startled without reason; for these rattling, bony skeletons of clocks are very disconcerting in their operation, and i wonder very much how any set of men, but most of all how dutchmen, can have had a liking to invent them. for there is a popular belief that dutchmen love broad cases and much clothing for their own lower selves; and they might know better than to leave their clocks so very lank and unprotected, surely. now it was, you observe, that the kettle began to spend the evening. now it was, that the kettle, growing mellow and musical, began to have irrepressible gurglings in its throat, and to indulge in short vocal snorts, which it checked in the bud, as if it hadn't quite made up its mind yet, to be good company. now it was, that after two or three such vain attempts to stifle its convivial sentiments, it threw off all moroseness, all reserve, and burst into a stream of song so cosy and hilarious, as never maudlin nightingale yet formed the least idea of. so plain, too! bless you, you might have understood it like a book--better than some books you and i could name, perhaps. with its warm breath gushing forth in a light cloud which merrily and gracefully ascended a few feet, then hung about the chimney-corner as its own domestic heaven, it trolled its song with that strong energy of cheerfulness, that its iron body hummed and stirred upon the fire; and the lid itself, the recently rebellious lid--such is the influence of a bright example--performed a sort of jig, and clattered like a deaf and dumb young cymbal that had never known the use of its twin brother. that this song of the kettle's, was a song of invitation and welcome to somebody out of doors; to somebody at that moment coming on, towards the snug small home and the crisp fire; there is no doubt whatever. mrs. peerybingle knew it, perfectly, as she sat musing, before the hearth. it's a dark night, sang the kettle, and the rotten leaves are lying by the way; and above, all is mist and darkness, and below, all is mire and clay; and there's only one relief in all the sad and murky air; and i don't know that it is one, for it's nothing but a glare, of deep and angry crimson, where the sun and wind together, set a brand upon the clouds for being guilty of such weather; and the widest open country is a long dull streak of black; and there's hoar-frost on the finger-post, and thaw upon the track; and the ice it isn't water, and the water isn't free; and you couldn't say that anything is what it ought to be; but he's coming, coming, coming!---and here, if you like, the cricket did chime in! with a chirrup, chirrup, chirrup of such magnitude, by way of chorus; with a voice, so astoundingly disproportionate to its size, as compared with the kettle; (size! you couldn't see it!) that if it had then and there burst itself like an overcharged gun: if it had fallen a victim on the spot, and chirruped its little body into fifty pieces: it would have seemed a natural and inevitable consequence, for which it had expressly laboured. the kettle had had the last of its solo performance. it persevered with undiminished ardour; but the cricket took first fiddle and kept it. good heaven, how it chirped! its shrill, sharp, piercing voice resounded through the house, and seemed to twinkle in the outer darkness like a star. there was an indescribable little trill and tremble in it, at its loudest, which suggested its being carried off its legs, and made to leap again, by its own intense enthusiasm. yet they went very well together, the cricket and the kettle. the burden of the song was still the same; and louder, louder, louder still, they sang it in their emulation. the fair little listener; for fair she was, and young--though something of what is called the dumpling shape; but i don't myself object to that--lighted a candle; glanced at the haymaker on the top of the clock, who was getting in a pretty average crop of minutes; and looked out of the window, where she saw nothing, owing to the darkness, but her own face imaged in the glass. and my opinion is (and so would your's have been), that she might have looked a long way, and seen nothing half so agreeable. when she came back, and sat down in her former seat, the cricket and the kettle were still keeping it up, with a perfect fury of competition. the kettle's weak side clearly being that he didn't know when he was beat. there was all the excitement of a race about it. chirp, chirp, chirp! cricket a mile ahead. hum, hum, hum--m--m! kettle making play in the distance, like a great top. chirp, chirp, chirp! cricket round the corner. hum, hum, hum--m--m! kettle sticking to him in his own way; no idea of giving in. chirp, chirp, chirp! cricket fresher than ever. hum, hum, hum--m--m! kettle slow and steady. chirp, chirp, chirp! cricket going in to finish him. hum, hum, hum--m--m! kettle not to be finished. until at last, they got so jumbled together, in the hurry-skurry, helter-skelter, of the match, that whether the kettle chirped and the cricket hummed, or the cricket chirped and the kettle hummed, or they both chirped and both hummed, it would have taken a clearer head than your's or mine to have decided with anything like certainty. but of this, there is no doubt: that the kettle and the cricket, at one and the same moment, and by some power of amalgamation best known to themselves, sent, each, his fireside song of comfort streaming into a ray of the candle that shone out through the window; and a long way down the lane. and this light, bursting on a certain person who, on the instant, approached towards it through the gloom, expressed the whole thing to him, literally in a twinkling, and cried, "welcome home, old fellow! welcome home, my boy!" this end attained, the kettle, being dead beat, boiled over, and was taken off the fire. mrs. peerybingle then went running to the door, where, what with the wheels of a cart, the tramp of a horse, the voice of a man, the tearing in and out of an excited dog, and the surprising and mysterious appearance of a baby, there was soon the very what's-his-name to pay. [illustration] where the baby came from, or how mrs. peerybingle got hold of it in that flash of time, _i_ don't know. but a live baby there was, in mrs. peerybingle's arms; and a pretty tolerable amount of pride she seemed to have in it, when she was drawn gently to the fire, by a sturdy figure of a man, much taller and much older than herself; who had to stoop a long way down, to kiss her. but she was worth the trouble. six foot six, with the lumbago, might have done it. "oh goodness, john!" said mrs. p. "what a state you're in with the weather!" he was something the worse for it, undeniably. the thick mist hung in clots upon his eyelashes like candied thaw; and between the fog and fire together, there were rainbows in his very whiskers. "why, you see, dot," john made answer, slowly, as he unrolled a shawl from about his throat; and warmed his hands; "it--it an't exactly summer weather. so, no wonder." "i wish you wouldn't call me dot, john. i don't like it," said mrs. peerybingle: pouting in a way that clearly showed she _did_ like it, very much. "why what else are you?" returned john, looking down upon her with a smile, and giving her waist as light a squeeze as his huge hand and arm could give. "a dot and"--here he glanced at the baby--"a dot and carry--i won't say it, for fear i should spoil it; but i was very near a joke. i don't know as ever i was nearer." he was often near to something or other very clever, by his own account: this lumbering, slow, honest john; this john so heavy but so light of spirit; so rough upon the surface, but so gentle at the core; so dull without, so quick within; so stolid, but so good! oh mother nature, give thy children the true poetry of heart that hid itself in this poor carrier's breast--he was but a carrier by the way--and we can bear to have them talking prose, and leading lives of prose; and bear to bless thee for their company! it was pleasant to see dot, with her little figure and her baby in her arms: a very doll of a baby: glancing with a coquettish thoughtfulness at the fire, and inclining her delicate little head just enough on one side to let it rest in an odd, half-natural, half-affected, wholly nestling and agreeable manner, on the great rugged figure of the carrier. it was pleasant to see him, with his tender awkwardness, endeavouring to adapt his rude support to her slight need, and make his burly middle-age a leaning-staff not inappropriate to her blooming youth. it was pleasant to observe how tilly slowboy, waiting in the background for the baby, took special cognizance (though in her earliest teens) of this grouping; and stood with her mouth and eyes wide open, and her head thrust forward, taking it in as if it were air. nor was it less agreeable to observe how john the carrier, reference being made by dot to the aforesaid baby, checked his hand when on the point of touching the infant, as if he thought he might crack it; and bending down, surveyed it from a safe distance, with a kind of puzzled pride: such as an amiable mastiff might be supposed to show, if he found himself, one day, the father of a young canary. "an't he beautiful, john? don't he look precious in his sleep?" "very precious," said john. "very much so. he generally _is_ asleep, an't he?" "lor john! good gracious no!" "oh," said john, pondering. "i thought his eyes was generally shut. halloa!" "goodness john, how you startle one!" "it an't right for him to turn 'em up in that way!" said the astonished carrier, "is it? see how he's winking with both of 'em at once! and look at his mouth! why he's gasping like a gold and silver fish!" "you don't deserve to be a father, you don't," said dot, with all the dignity of an experienced matron. "but how should you know what little complaints children are troubled with, john! you wouldn't so much as know their names, you stupid fellow." and when she had turned the baby over on her left arm, and had slapped its back as a restorative, she pinched her husband's ear, laughing. "no," said john, pulling off his outer coat. "it's very true, dot. i don't know much about it. i only know that i've been fighting pretty stiffly with the wind to-night. it's been blowing north-east, straight into the cart, the whole way home." "poor old man, so it has!" cried mrs. peerybingle, instantly becoming very active. "here! take the precious darling, tilly, while i make myself of some use. bless it, i could smother it with kissing it; i could! hie then, good dog! hie boxer, boy! only let me make the tea first, john; and then i'll help you with the parcels, like a busy bee. 'how doth the little'--and all the rest of it, you know john. did you ever learn 'how doth the little,' when you went to school, john?" "not to quite know it," john returned. "i was very near it once. but i should only have spoilt it, i dare say." "ha ha!" laughed dot. she had the blithest little laugh you ever heard. "what a dear old darling of a dunce you are, john, to be sure!" [illustration] not at all disputing this position, john went out to see that the boy with the lantern, which had been dancing to and fro before the door and window, like a will of the wisp, took due care of the horse; who was fatter than you would quite believe, if i gave you his measure, and so old that his birthday was lost in the mists of antiquity. boxer, feeling that his attentions were due to the family in general, and must be impartially distributed, dashed in and out with bewildering inconstancy: now describing a circle of short barks round the horse, where he was being rubbed down at the stable-door; now feigning to make savage rushes at his mistress, and facetiously bringing himself to sudden stops; now eliciting a shriek from tilly slowboy, in the low nursing-chair near the fire, by the unexpected application of his moist nose to her countenance; now exhibiting an obtrusive interest in the baby; now going round and round upon the hearth, and lying down as if he had established himself for the night; now getting up again, and taking that nothing of a fag-end of a tail of his, out into the weather, as if he had just remembered an appointment, and was off, at a round trot, to keep it. "there! there's the teapot, ready on the hob!" said dot; as briskly busy as a child at play at keeping house. "and there's the cold knuckle of ham; and there's the butter; and there's the crusty loaf, and all! here's a clothes-basket for the small parcels, john, if you've got any there--where are you, john? don't let the dear child fall under the grate, tilly, whatever you do!" it may be noted of miss slowboy, in spite of her rejecting the caution with some vivacity, that she had a rare and surprising talent for getting this baby into difficulties: and had several times imperilled its short life, in a quiet way peculiarly her own. she was of a spare and straight shape, this young lady, insomuch that her garments appeared to be in constant danger of sliding off those sharp pegs, her shoulders, on which they were loosely hung. her costume was remarkable for the partial development on all possible occasions of some flannel vestment of a singular structure; also for affording glimpses, in the region of the back, of a corset, or pair of stays, in colour a dead-green. being always in a state of gaping admiration at everything, and absorbed, besides, in the perpetual contemplation of her mistress's perfections and the baby's, miss slowboy, in her little errors of judgment, may be said to have done equal honour to her head and to her heart; and though these did less honour to the baby's head, which they were the occasional means of bringing into contact with deal doors, dressers, stair-rails, bedposts, and other foreign substances, still they were the honest results of tilly slowboy's constant astonishment at finding herself so kindly treated, and installed in such a comfortable home. for the maternal and paternal slowboy were alike unknown to fame, and tilly had been bred by public charity, a foundling; which word, though only differing from fondling by one vowel's length, is very different in meaning, and expresses quite another thing. to have seen little mrs. peerybingle come back with her husband; tugging at the clothes-basket, and making the most strenuous exertions to do nothing at all (for he carried it); would have amused you, almost as much as it amused him. it may have entertained the cricket too, for anything i know; but, certainly, it now began to chirp again, vehemently. "heyday!" said john, in his slow way. "it's merrier than ever, to-night, i think." "and it's sure to bring us good fortune, john! it always has done so. to have a cricket on the hearth, is the luckiest thing in all the world!" john looked at her as if he had very nearly got the thought into his head, that she was his cricket in chief, and he quite agreed with her. but it was probably one of his narrow escapes, for he said nothing. "the first time i heard its cheerful little note, john, was on that night when you brought me home--when you brought me to my new home here; its little mistress. nearly a year ago. you recollect, john?" oh yes. john remembered. i should think so! "its chirp was such a welcome to me! it seemed so full of promise and encouragement. it seemed to say, you would be kind and gentle with me, and would not expect (i had a fear of that, john, then) to find an old head on the shoulders of your foolish little wife." john thoughtfully patted one of the shoulders, and then the head, as though he would have said no, no; he had had no such expectation; he had been quite content to take them as they were. and really he had reason. they were very comely. "it spoke the truth, john, when it seemed to say so: for you have ever been, i am sure, the best, the most considerate, the most affectionate of husbands to me. this has been a happy home, john; and i love the cricket for its sake!" "why so do i then," said the carrier. "so do i, dot." "i love it for the many times i have heard it, and the many thoughts its harmless music has given me. sometimes, in the twilight, when i have felt a little solitary and down-hearted, john--before baby was here, to keep me company and make the house gay; when i have thought how lonely you would be if i should die; how lonely i should be, if i could know that you had lost me, dear; its chirp, chirp, chirp upon the hearth, has seemed to tell me of another little voice, so sweet, so very dear to me, before whose coming sound, my trouble vanished like a dream. and when i used to fear--i did fear once, john; i was very young you know--that ours might prove to be an ill-assorted marriage: i being such a child, and you more like my guardian than my husband: and that you might not, however hard you tried, be able to learn to love me, as you hoped and prayed you might; its chirp, chirp, chirp, has cheered me up again, and filled me with new trust and confidence. i was thinking of these things to-night, dear, when i sat expecting you; and i love the cricket for their sake!" "and so do i," repeated john. "but dot? _i_ hope and pray that i might learn to love you? how you talk! i had learnt that, long before i brought you here, to be the cricket's little mistress, dot!" she laid her hand, an instant, on his arm, and looked up at him with an agitated face, as if she would have told him something. next moment, she was down upon her knees before the basket; speaking in a sprightly voice, and busy with the parcels. "there are not many of them to-night, john, but i saw some goods behind the cart, just now; and though they give more trouble, perhaps, still they pay as well; so we have no reason to grumble, have we? besides, you have been delivering, i dare say, as you came along?" oh yes, john said. a good many. "why what's this round box? heart alive, john, it's a wedding-cake!" "leave a woman alone, to find out that," said john admiringly. "now a man would never have thought of it! whereas, it's my belief that if you was to pack a wedding-cake up in a tea-chest, or a turn-up bedstead, or a pickled salmon keg, or any unlikely thing, a woman would be sure to find it out directly. yes; i called for it at the pastry-cook's." "and it weighs i don't know what--whole hundredweights!" cried dot, making a great demonstration of trying to lift it. "whose is it, john? where is it going?" "read the writing on the other side," said john. "why, john! my goodness, john!" "ah! who'd have thought it!" john returned. "you never mean to say," pursued dot, sitting on the floor and shaking her head at him, "that it's gruff and tackleton the toymaker!" john nodded. mrs. peerybingle nodded also, fifty times at least. not in assent: in dumb and pitying amazement; screwing up her lips, the while, with all their little force (they were never made for screwing up; i am clear of that), and looking the good carrier through and through, in her abstraction. miss slowboy, in the mean time, who had a mechanical power of reproducing scraps of current conversation for the delectation of the baby, with all the sense struck out of them, and all the nouns changed into the plural number, enquired aloud of that young creature, was it gruffs and tackletons the toymakers then, and would it call at pastry-cooks for wedding-cakes, and did its mothers know the boxes when its fathers brought them homes; and so on. "and that is really to come about!" said dot. "why, she and i were girls at school together, john." he might have been thinking of her: or nearly thinking of her, perhaps: as she was in that same school time. he looked upon her with a thoughtful pleasure, but he made no answer. "and he's as old! as unlike her!--why, how many years older than you, is gruff and tackleton john?" "how many more cups of tea shall i drink to-night at one sitting, than gruff and tackleton ever took in four, i wonder!" replied john, good-humouredly, as he drew a chair to the round table, and began at the cold ham. "as to eating, i eat but little; but that little i enjoy, dot." even this; his usual sentiment at meal times; one of his innocent delusions (for his appetite was always obstinate, and flatly contradicted him); awoke no smile in the face of his little wife, who stood among the parcels, pushing the cake-box slowly from her with her foot, and never once looked, though her eyes were cast down too, upon the dainty shoe she generally was so mindful of. absorbed in thought, she stood there, heedless alike of the tea and john (although he called to her, and rapped the table with his knife to startle her), until he rose and touched her on the arm; when she looked at him for a moment, and hurried to her place behind the teaboard, laughing at her negligence. but not as she had laughed before. the manner, and the music, were quite changed. the cricket, too, had stopped. somehow the room was not so cheerful as it had been. nothing like it. "so, these are all the parcels, are they, john?" she said: breaking a long silence, which the honest carrier had devoted to the practical illustration of one part of his favourite sentiment--certainly enjoying what he ate, if it couldn't be admitted that he ate but little. "so these are all the parcels; are they, john?" "that's all," said john. "why--no--i--" laying down his knife and fork, and taking a long breath. "i declare--i've clean forgotten the old gentleman!" "the old gentleman?" "in the cart," said john. "he was asleep, among the straw, the last time i saw him. i've very nearly remembered him, twice, since i came in; but he went out of my head again. halloa! yahip there! rouse up! that's my hearty!" john said these latter words, outside the door, whither he had hurried with the candle in his hand. miss slowboy, conscious of some mysterious reference to the old gentleman, and connecting in her mystified imagination certain associations of a religious nature with the phrase, was so disturbed, that hastily rising from the low chair by the fire to seek protection near the skirts of her mistress, and coming into contact as she crossed the doorway with an ancient stranger, she instinctively made a charge or butt at him with the only offensive instrument within her reach. this instrument happening to be the baby, great commotion and alarm ensued, which the sagacity of boxer rather tended to increase; for that good dog, more thoughtful than his master, had, it seemed, been watching the old gentleman in his sleep lest he should walk off with a few young poplar trees that were tied up behind the cart; and he still attended on him very closely; worrying his gaiters in fact, and making dead sets at the buttons. "you're such an undeniable good sleeper, sir," said john when tranquillity was restored; in the mean time the old gentleman had stood, bare-headed and motionless, in the centre of the room; "that i have half a mind to ask you where the other six are: only that would be a joke, and i know i should spoil it. very near though," murmured the carrier, with a chuckle; "very near!" the stranger, who had long white hair; good features, singularly bold and well defined for an old man; and dark, bright, penetrating eyes; looked round with a smile, and saluted the carrier's wife by gravely inclining his head. his garb was very quaint and odd--a long, long way behind the time. its hue was brown, all over. in his hand he held a great brown club or walking-stick; and striking this upon the floor, it fell asunder, and became a chair. on which he sat down, quite composedly. "there!" said the carrier, turning to his wife. "that's the way i found him, sitting by the roadside! upright as a milestone. and almost as deaf." "sitting in the open air, john!" "in the open air," replied the carrier, "just at dusk. 'carriage paid,' he said; and gave me eighteenpence. then he got in. and there he is." "he's going, john, i think!" not at all. he was only going to speak. "if you please, i was to be left till called for," said the stranger, mildly. "don't mind me." with that, he took a pair of spectacles from one of his large pockets, and a book from another; and leisurely began to read. making no more of boxer than if he had been a house lamb! the carrier and his wife exchanged a look of perplexity. the stranger raised his head; and glancing from the latter to the former, said: "your daughter, my good friend?" "wife," returned john. "niece?" said the stranger. "wife," roared john. "indeed?" observed the stranger. "surely? very young!" he quietly turned over, and resumed his reading. but, before he could have read two lines, he again interrupted himself, to say: "baby, yours?" john gave him a gigantic nod; equivalent to an answer in the affirmative, delivered through a speaking-trumpet. "girl?" "bo-o-oy!" roared john. "also very young, eh?" mrs. peerybingle instantly struck in. "two months and three da-ays! vaccinated just six weeks ago-o! took very fine-ly! considered, by the doctor, a remarkably beautiful chi-ild! equal to the general run of children at five months o-old! takes notice, in a way quite won-der-ful! may seem impossible to you, but feels his legs al-ready!" here the breathless little mother, who had been shrieking these short sentences into the old man's ear, until her pretty face was crimsoned, held up the baby before him as a stubborn and triumphant fact; while tilly slowboy, with a melodious cry of ketcher, ketcher--which sounded like some unknown words, adapted to a popular sneeze--performed some cow-like gambols round that all unconscious innocent. "hark! he's called for, sure enough," said john. "there's somebody at the door. open it, tilly." before she could reach it, however, it was opened from without; being a primitive sort of door, with a latch, that any one could lift if he chose--and a good many people did choose, i can tell you; for all kinds of neighbours liked to have a cheerful word or two with the carrier, though he was no great talker for the matter of that. being opened, it gave admission to a little, meagre, thoughtful, dingy-faced man, who seemed to have made himself a great-coat from the sack-cloth covering of some old box; for when he turned to shut the door, and keep the weather out, he disclosed upon the back of that garment, the inscription g & t in large black capitals. also the word glass in bold characters. "good evening john!" said the little man. "good evening mum. good evening tilly. good evening unbeknown! how's baby mum? boxer's pretty well i hope?" "all thriving, caleb," replied dot. "i am sure you need only look at the dear child, for one, to know that." "and i'm sure i need only look at you for another," said caleb. he didn't look at her though; for he had a wandering and thoughtful eye which seemed to be always projecting itself into some other time and place, no matter what he said; a description which will equally apply to his voice. "or at john for another," said caleb. "or at tilly, as far as that goes. or certainly at boxer." "busy just now, caleb?" asked the carrier. "why, pretty well john," he returned, with the distraught air of a man who was casting about for the philosopher's stone, at least. "pretty much so. there's rather a run on noah's arks at present. i could have wished to improve upon the family, but i don't see how it's to be done at the price. it would be a satisfaction to one's mind, to make it clearer which was shems and hams, and which was wives. flies an't on that scale neither, as compared with elephants you know! ah! well! have you got anything in the parcel line for me john?" the carrier put his hand into a pocket of the coat he had taken off; and brought out, carefully preserved in moss and paper, a tiny flower-pot. "there it is!" he said, adjusting it with great care. "not so much as a leaf damaged. full of buds!" caleb's dull eye brightened, as he took it, and thanked him. "dear, caleb," said the carrier. "very dear at this season." "never mind that. it would be cheap to me, whatever it cost," returned the little man. "anything else, john?" "a small box," replied the carrier. "here you are!" "'for caleb plummer,'" said the little man, spelling out the direction. "'with cash.' with cash john? i don't think it's for me." "with care," returned the carrier, looking over his shoulder. "where do you make out cash?" "oh! to be sure!" said caleb. "it's all right. with care! yes, yes; that's mine. it might have been with cash, indeed, if my dear boy in the golden south americas had lived, john. you loved him like a son; didn't you? you needn't say you did. _i_ know, of course. 'caleb plummer. with care.' yes, yes, it's all right. it's a box of dolls' eyes for my daughter's work. i wish it was her own sight in a box, john." "i wish it was, or could be!" cried the carrier. "thankee," said the little man. "you speak very hearty. to think that she should never see the dolls; and them a staring at her, so bold, all day long! that's where it cuts. what's the damage, john?" "i'll damage you," said john, "if you inquire. dot! very near?" "well! it's like you to say so," observed the little man. "it's your kind way. let me see. i think that's all." "i think not," said the carrier. "try again." "something for our governor, eh?" said caleb, after pondering a little while. "to be sure. that's what i came for; but my head's so running on them arks and things! he hasn't been here, has he?" "not he," returned the carrier. "he's too busy, courting." "he's coming round though," said caleb; "for he told me to keep on the near side of the road going home, and it was ten to one he'd take me up. i had better go, by the bye.--you couldn't have the goodness to let me pinch boxer's tail, mum, for half a moment, could you?" "why caleb! what a question!" "oh never mind, mum," said the little man. "he mightn't like it perhaps. there's a small order just come in, for barking dogs; and i should wish to go as close to natur' as i could, for sixpence. that's all. never mind mum." it happened opportunely, that boxer, without receiving the proposed stimulus, began to bark with great zeal. but as this implied the approach of some new visitor, caleb, postponing his study from the life to a more convenient season, shouldered the round box, and took a hurried leave. he might have spared himself the trouble, for he met the visitor upon the threshold. "oh! you are here, are you? wait a bit. i'll take you home. john peerybingle, my service to you. more of my service to your pretty wife. handsomer every day! better too, if possible! and younger," mused the speaker, in a low voice; "that's the devil of it." "i should be astonished at your paying compliments, mr. tackleton," said dot, not with the best grace in the world; "but for your condition." "you know all about it then?" "i have got myself to believe it, somehow," said dot. "after a hard struggle, i suppose?" "very." tackleton the toy merchant, pretty generally known as gruff and tackleton--for that was the firm, though gruff had been bought out long ago; only leaving his name, and as some said his nature, according to its dictionary meaning, in the business--tackleton the toy merchant, was a man whose vocation had been quite misunderstood by his parents and guardians. if they had made him a money-lender, or a sharp attorney, or a sheriff's officer, or a broker, he might have sown his discontented oats in his youth, and after having had the full-run of himself in ill-natured transactions, might have turned out amiable, at last, for the sake of a little freshness and novelty. but, cramped and chafing in the peaceable pursuit of toy-making, he was a domestic ogre, who had been living on children all his life, and was their implacable enemy. he despised all toys; wouldn't have bought one for the world; delighted, in his malice, to insinuate grim expressions into the faces of brown-paper farmers who drove pigs to market, bellmen who advertised lost lawyers' consciences, moveable old ladies who darned stockings or carved pies; and other like samples of his stock in trade. in appalling masks; hideous, hairy, red-eyed jacks in boxes; vampire kites; demoniacal tumblers who wouldn't lie down, and were perpetually flying forward, to stare infants out of countenance; his soul perfectly revelled. they were his only relief, and safety-valve. he was great in such inventions. anything suggestive of a pony-nightmare, was delicious to him. he had even lost money (and he took to that toy very kindly) by getting up goblin slides for magic lanterns, whereon the powers of darkness were depicted as a sort of supernatural shell-fish, with human faces. in intensifying the portraiture of giants, he had sunk quite a little capital; and, though no painter himself, he could indicate, for the instruction of his artists, with a piece of chalk, a certain furtive leer for the countenances of those monsters, that was safe to destroy the peace of mind of any young gentleman between the ages of six and eleven, for the whole christmas or midsummer vacation. what he was in toys, he was (as most men are) in all other things. you may easily suppose, therefore, that within the great green cape, which reached down to the calves of his legs, there was buttoned up to the chin an uncommonly pleasant fellow; and that he was about as choice a spirit and as agreeable a companion, as ever stood in a pair of bull-headed looking boots with mahogany-colored tops. still, tackleton, the toy merchant, was going to be married. in spite of all this, he was going to be married. and to a young wife too; a beautiful young wife. he didn't look much like a bridegroom, as he stood in the carrier's kitchen, with a twist in his dry face, and a screw in his body, and his hat jerked over the bridge of his nose, and his hands stuck down into the bottoms of his pockets, and his whole sarcastic ill-conditioned self peering out of one little corner of one little eye, like the concentrated essence of any number of ravens. but, a bridegroom he designed to be. "in three days' time. next thursday. the last day of the first month in the year. that's my wedding-day," said tackleton. did i mention that he had always one eye wide open, and one eye nearly shut; and that the one eye nearly shut, was always the expressive eye? i don't think i did. "that's my wedding-day!" said tackleton, rattling his money. "why, it's our wedding-day too," exclaimed the carrier. "ha ha!" laughed tackleton. "odd! you're just such another couple. just!" the indignation of dot at this presumptuous assertion is not to be described. what next? his imagination would compass the possibility of just such another baby, perhaps. the man was mad. "i say! a word with you," murmured tackleton, nudging the carrier with his elbow, and taking him a little apart. "you'll come to the wedding? we're in the same boat, you know." "how in the same boat?" inquired the carrier. "a little disparity, you know;" said tackleton, with another nudge. "come and spend an evening with us, beforehand." "why?" demanded john, astonished at this pressing hospitality. "why?" returned the other. "that's a new way of receiving an invitation. why, for pleasure; sociability, you know, and all that!" "i thought you were never sociable," said john, in his plain way. "tchah! it's of no use to be anything but free with you i see," said tackleton. "why, then, the truth is you have a--what tea-drinking people call a sort of a comfortable appearance together: you and your wife. we know better, you know, but--" "no, we don't know better," interposed john. "what are you talking about?" "well! we _don't_ know better then," said tackleton. "we'll agree that we don't. as you like; what does it matter? i was going to say, as you have that sort of appearance, your company will produce a favorable effect on mrs. tackleton that will be. and though i don't think your good lady's very friendly to me, in this matter, still she can't help herself from falling into my views, for there's a compactness and cosiness of appearance about her that always tells, even in an indifferent case. you'll say you'll come?" "we have arranged to keep our wedding-day (as far as that goes) at home," said john. "we have made the promise to ourselves these six months. we think, you see, that home--" "bah! what's home?" cried tackleton. "four walls and a ceiling! (why don't you kill that cricket; _i_ would! i always do. i hate their noise.) there are four walls and a ceiling at my house. come to me!" "you kill your crickets, eh?" said john. "scrunch 'em, sir," returned the other, setting his heel heavily on the floor. "you'll say you'll come? it's as much your interest as mine, you know, that the women should persuade each other that they're quiet and contented, and couldn't be better off. i know their way. whatever one woman says, another woman is determined to clinch, always. there's that spirit of emulation among 'em, sir, that if your wife says to my wife, 'i'm the happiest woman in the world, and mine's the best husband in the world, and i dote on him,' my wife will say the same to your's, or more, and half believe it." "do you mean to say she don't, then?" asked the carrier. "don't!" cried tackleton, with a short, sharp laugh. "don't what?" the carrier had had some faint idea of adding, "dote upon you." but happening to meet the half-closed eye, as it twinkled upon him over the turned-up collar of the cape, which was within an ace of poking it out, he felt it such an unlikely part and parcel of anything to be doted on, that he substituted, "that she don't believe it?" "ah you dog! you're joking," said tackleton. but the carrier, though slow to understand the full drift of his meaning, eyed him in such a serious manner, that he was obliged to be a little more explanatory. "i have the humour," said tackleton: holding up the fingers of his left hand, and tapping the forefinger, to imply 'there i am, tackleton to wit:' "i have the humour, sir, to marry a young wife and a pretty wife:" here he rapped his little finger, to express the bride; not sparingly, but sharply; with a sense of power. "i'm able to gratify that humour and i do. it's my whim. but--now look there." he pointed to where dot was sitting, thoughtfully, before the fire; leaning her dimpled chin upon her hand, and watching the bright blaze. the carrier looked at her, and then at him, and then at her, and then at him again. "she honors and obeys, no doubt, you know," said tackleton; "and that, as i am not a man of sentiment, is quite enough for _me_. but do you think there's anything more in it?" "i think," observed the carrier, "that i should chuck any man out of window, who said there wasn't." "exactly so," returned the other with an unusual alacrity of assent. "to be sure! doubtless you would. of course. i'm certain of it. good night. pleasant dreams!" the good carrier was puzzled, and made uncomfortable and uncertain, in spite of himself. he couldn't help showing it, in his manner. "good night, my dear friend!" said tackleton, compassionately. "i'm off. we're exactly alike, in reality, i see. you won't give us to-morrow evening? well! next day you go out visiting, i know. i'll meet you there, and bring my wife that is to be. it'll do her good. you're agreeable? thankee. what's that!" it was a loud cry from the carrier's wife; a loud, sharp, sudden cry, that made the room ring, like a glass vessel. she had risen from her seat, and stood like one transfixed by terror and surprise. the stranger had advanced towards the fire, to warm himself, and stood within a short stride of her chair. but quite still. "dot!" cried the carrier. "mary! darling! what's the matter?" they were all about her in a moment. caleb, who had been dozing on the cake-box, in the first imperfect recovery of his suspended presence of mind seized miss slowboy by the hair of her head; but immediately apologised. "mary!" exclaimed the carrier, supporting her in his arms. "are you ill! what is it? tell me dear!" she only answered by beating her hands together, and falling into a wild fit of laughter. then, sinking from his grasp upon the ground, she covered her face with her apron, and wept bitterly. and then, she laughed again; and then, she cried again; and then, she said how cold it was, and suffered him to lead her to the fire, where she sat down as before. the old man standing, as before; quite still. "i'm better, john," she said. "i'm quite well now--i--" john! but john was on the other side of her. why turn her face towards the strange old gentleman, as if addressing him! was her brain wandering? "only a fancy, john dear--a kind of shock--a something coming suddenly before my eyes--i don't know what it was. it's quite gone; quite gone." "i'm glad it's gone," muttered tackleton, turning the expressive eye all round the room. "i wonder where it's gone, and what it was. humph! caleb, come here! who's that with the grey hair?" "i don't know sir," returned caleb in a whisper. "never see him before, in all my life. a beautiful figure for a nut-cracker; quite a new model. with a screw-jaw opening down into his waistcoat, he'd be lovely." "not ugly enough," said tackleton. "or for a firebox, either," observed caleb, in deep contemplation, "what a model! unscrew his head to put the matches in; turn him heels up'ards for the light; and what a firebox for a gentleman's mantel-shelf, just as he stands!" "not half ugly enough," said tackleton. "nothing in him at all. come! bring that box! all right now, i hope?" "oh quite gone! quite gone!" said the little woman, waving him hurriedly away. "good night!" "good night," said tackleton. "good night, john peerybingle! take care how you carry that box, caleb. let it fall, and i'll murder you! dark as pitch, and weather worse than ever, eh? good night!" so, with another sharp look round the room, he went out at the door; followed by caleb with the wedding-cake on his head. the carrier had been so much astounded by his little wife, and so busily engaged in soothing and tending her, that he had scarcely been conscious of the stranger's presence, until now, when he again stood there, their only guest. "he don't belong to them, you see," said john. "i must give him a hint to go." "i beg your pardon, friend," said the old gentleman, advancing to him; "the more so, as i fear your wife has not been well; but the attendant whom my infirmity," he touched his ears and shook his head, "renders almost indispensable, not having arrived, i fear there must be some mistake. the bad night which made the shelter of your comfortable cart (may i never have a worse!) so acceptable, is still as bad as ever. would you, in your kindness, suffer me to rent a bed here?" "yes, yes," cried dot. "yes! certainly!" "oh!" said the carrier, surprised by the rapidity of this consent. "well! i don't object; but still i'm not quite sure that--" "hush!" she interrupted. "dear john!" "why, he's stone deaf," urged john. "i know he is, but--yes sir, certainly. yes! certainly! i'll make him up a bed, directly, john." as she hurried off to do it, the flutter of her spirits, and the agitation of her manner, were so strange, that the carrier stood looking after her, quite confounded. "did its mothers make it up a beds then!" cried miss slowboy to the baby; "and did its hair grow brown and curly, when its caps was lifted off, and frighten it, a precious pets, a sitting by the fires!" with that unaccountable attraction of the mind to trifles, which is often incidental to a state of doubt and confusion, the carrier, as he walked slowly to and fro, found himself mentally repeating even these absurd words, many times. so many times that he got them by heart, and was still conning them over, and over, like a lesson, when tilly, after administering as much friction to the little bald head with her hand as she thought wholesome (according to the practice of nurses), had once more tied the baby's cap on. "and frighten it a precious pets, a sitting by the fire. what frightened dot, i wonder!" mused the carrier, pacing to and fro. he scouted, from his heart, the insinuations of the toy merchant, and yet they filled him with a vague, indefinite uneasiness; for tackleton was quick and sly; and he had that painful sense, himself, of being a man of slow perception, that a broken hint was always worrying to him. he certainly had no intention in his mind of linking anything that tackleton had said, with the unusual conduct of his wife; but the two subjects of reflection came into his mind together, and he could not keep them asunder. the bed was soon made ready; and the visitor, declining all refreshment but a cup of tea, retired. then dot: quite well again, she said: quite well again: arranged the great chair in the chimney corner for her husband; filled his pipe and gave it him; and took her usual little stool beside him on the hearth. she always _would_ sit on that little stool; i think she must have had a kind of notion that it was a coaxing, wheedling, little stool. she was, out and out, the very best filler of a pipe, i should say, in the four quarters of the globe. to see her put that chubby little finger in the bowl, and then blow down the pipe to clear the tube; and when she had done so, affect to think that there was really something in the tube, and blow a dozen times, and hold it to her eye like a telescope, with a most provoking twist in her capital little face, as she looked down it; was quite a brilliant thing. as to the tobacco, she was perfect mistress of the subject; and her lighting of the pipe, with a wisp of paper, when the carrier had it in his mouth--going so very near his nose, and yet not scorching it--was art: high art, sir. and the cricket and the kettle, tuning up again, acknowledged it! the bright fire, blazing up again, acknowledged it! the little mower on the clock, in his unheeded work, acknowledged it! the carrier, in his smoothing forehead and expanding face, acknowledged it, the readiest of all. [illustration] and as he soberly and thoughtfully puffed at his old pipe; and as the dutch clock ticked; and as the red fire gleamed; and as the cricket chirped; that genius of his hearth and home (for such the cricket was) came out, in fairy shape, into the room, and summoned many forms of home about him. dots of all ages, and all sizes, filled the chamber. dots who were merry children, running on before him, gathering flowers, in the fields; coy dots, half shrinking from, half yielding to, the pleading of his own rough image; newly-married dots, alighting at the door, and taking wondering possession of the household keys; motherly little dots, attended by fictitious slowboys, bearing babies to be christened; matronly dots, still young and blooming, watching dots of daughters, as they danced at rustic balls; fat dots, encircled and beset by troops of rosy grand-children; withered dots, who leaned on sticks, and tottered as they crept along. old carriers too, appeared, with blind old boxers lying at their feet; and newer carts with younger drivers ("peerybingle brothers" on the tilt); and sick old carriers, tended by the gentlest hands; and graves of dead and gone old carriers, green in the churchyard. and as the cricket showed him all these things--he saw them plainly, though his eyes were fixed upon the fire--the carrier's heart grew light and happy, and he thanked his household gods with all his might, and cared no more for gruff and tackleton than you do. * * * * * but what was that young figure of a man, which the same fairy cricket set so near her stool, and which remained there, singly and alone? why did it linger still, so near her, with its arm upon the chimney-piece, ever repeating "married! and not to me!" oh dot! oh failing dot! there is no place for it in all your husband's visions; why has its shadow fallen on his hearth! [illustration: chirp the second] caleb plummer and his blind daughter lived all alone by themselves, as the story-books say--and my blessing, with yours to back it i hope, on the story-books, for saying anything in this workaday world!--caleb plummer and his blind daughter lived all alone by themselves, in a little cracked nutshell of a wooden house, which was, in truth, no better than a pimple on the prominent red-brick nose of gruff and tackleton. the premises of gruff and tackleton were the great feature of the street; but you might have knocked down caleb plummer's dwelling with a hammer or two, and carried off the pieces in a cart. if any one had done the dwelling-house of caleb plummer the honour to miss it after such an inroad, it would have been, no doubt, to commend its demolition as a vast improvement. it stuck to the premises of gruff and tackleton, like a barnacle to a ship's keel, or a snail to a door, or a little bunch of toadstools to the stem of a tree. but it was the germ from which the full-grown trunk of gruff and tackleton had sprung; and under its crazy roof, the gruff before last, had, in a small way, made toys for a generation of old boys and girls, who had played with them, and found them out, and broken them, and gone to sleep. i have said that caleb and his poor blind daughter lived here; but i should have said that caleb lived here, and his poor blind daughter somewhere else; in an enchanted home of caleb's furnishing, where scarcity and shabbiness were not, and trouble never entered. caleb was no sorcerer, but in the only magic art that still remains to us: the magic of devoted, deathless love: nature had been the mistress of his study; and from her teaching, all the wonder came. the blind girl never knew that ceilings were discoloured; walls blotched, and bare of plaster here and there; high crevices unstopped, and widening every day; beams mouldering and tending downward. the blind girl never knew that iron was rusting, wood rotting, paper peeling off; the very size, and shape, and true proportion of the dwelling, withering away. the blind girl never knew that ugly shapes of delf and earthenware were on the board; that sorrow and faint-heartedness were in the house; that caleb's scanty hairs were turning greyer and more grey before her sightless face. the blind girl never knew they had a master, cold, exacting and uninterested: never knew that tackleton was tackleton in short; but lived in the belief of an eccentric humourist who loved to have his jest with them; and while he was the guardian angel of their lives, disdained to hear one word of thankfulness. and all was caleb's doing; all the doing of her simple father! but he too had a cricket on his hearth; and listening sadly to its music when the motherless blind child was very young, that spirit had inspired him with the thought that even her great deprivation might be almost changed into a blessing, and the girl made happy by these little means. for all the cricket tribe are potent spirits, even though the people who hold converse with them do not know it (which is frequently the case); and there are not in the unseen world, voices more gentle and more true; that may be so implicitly relied on, or that are so certain to give none but tenderest counsel; as the voices in which the spirits of the fireside and the hearth, address themselves to human kind. caleb and his daughter were at work together in their usual working-room, which served them for their ordinary living room as well; and a strange place it was. there were houses in it, finished and unfinished, for dolls of all stations in life. suburban tenements for dolls of moderate means; kitchens and single apartments for dolls of the lower classes; capital town residences for dolls of high estate. some of these establishments were already furnished according to estimate, with a view to the convenience of dolls of limited income; others could be fitted on the most expensive scale, at a moment's notice, from whole shelves of chairs and tables, sofas, bedsteads, and upholstery. the nobility and gentry and public in general, for whose accommodation these tenements were designed, lay, here and there, in baskets, staring straight up at the ceiling; but in denoting their degrees in society, and confining them to their respective stations (which experience shows to be lamentably difficult in real life), the makers of these dolls had far improved on nature, who is often froward and perverse; for they, not resting on such arbitrary marks as satin, cotton-print, and bits of rag, had superadded striking personal differences which allowed of no mistake. thus, the doll-lady of distinction had wax limbs of perfect symmetry; but only she and her compeers; the next grade in the social scale being made of leather; and the next of coarse linen stuff. as to the common-people, they had just so many matches out of tinder-boxes for their arms and legs, and there they were--established in their sphere at once, beyond the possibility of getting out of it. there were various other samples of his handicraft besides dolls, in caleb plummer's room. there were noah's arks, in which the birds and beasts were an uncommonly tight fit, i assure you; though they could be crammed in, anyhow, at the roof, and rattled and shaken into the smallest compass. by a bold poetical license, most of these noah's arks had knockers on the doors; inconsistent appendages perhaps, as suggestive of morning callers and a postman, yet a pleasant finish to the outside of the building. there were scores of melancholy little carts which, when the wheels went round, performed most doleful music. many small fiddles, drums, and other instruments of torture; no end of cannon, shields, swords, spears, and guns. there were little tumblers in red breeches, incessantly swarming up high obstacles of red-tape, and coming down, head first, upon the other side; and there were innumerable old gentlemen of respectable, not to say venerable appearance, insanely flying over horizontal pegs, inserted, for the purpose, in their own street doors. there were beasts of all sorts; horses, in particular, of every breed; from the spotted barrel on four pegs, with a small tippet for a mane, to the thoroughbred rocker on his highest mettle. as it would have been hard to count the dozens upon dozens of grotesque figures that were ever ready to commit all sorts of absurdities, on the turning of a handle; so it would have been no easy task to mention any human folly, vice, or weakness, that had not its type, immediate or remote, in caleb plummer's room. and not in an exaggerated form; for very little handles will move men and women to as strange performances, as any toy was ever made to undertake. in the midst of all these objects, caleb and his daughter sat at work. the blind girl busy as a doll's dressmaker; and caleb painting and glazing the four-pair front of a desirable family mansion. [illustration] the care imprinted in the lines of caleb's face, and his absorbed and dreamy manner, which would have sat well on some alchemist or abstruse student, were at first sight an odd contrast to his occupation, and the trivialities about him. but trivial things, invented and pursued for bread, become very serious matters of fact; and, apart from this consideration, i am not at all prepared to say, myself, that if caleb had been a lord chamberlain, or a member of parliament, or a lawyer, or even a great speculator, he would have dealt in toys one whit less whimsical; while i have a very great doubt whether they would have been as harmless. "so you were out in the rain last night, father, in your beautiful, new, great-coat," said caleb's daughter. "in my beautiful new great-coat," answered caleb, glancing towards a clothes-line in the room, on which the sackcloth garment previously described, was carefully hung up to dry. "how glad i am you bought it, father!" "and of such a tailor, too," said caleb. "quite a fashionable tailor. it's too good for me." the blind girl rested from her work, and laughed with delight. "too good, father! what can be too good for you?" "i'm half-ashamed to wear it though," said caleb, watching the effect of what he said, upon her brightening face; "upon my word. when i hear the boys and people say behind me, 'hal-loa! here's a swell!' i don't know which way to look. and when the beggar wouldn't go away last night; and, when i said i was a very common man, said 'no, your honor! bless your honor don't say that!' i was quite ashamed. i really felt as if i hadn't a right to wear it." happy blind girl! how merry she was, in her exultation! "i see you, father," she said, clasping her hands, "as plainly, as if i had the eyes i never want when you are with me. a blue coat"-"bright blue," said caleb. "yes, yes! bright blue!" exclaimed the girl, turning up her radiant face; "the colour i can just remember in the blessed sky! you told me it was blue before! a bright blue coat"-"made loose to the figure," suggested caleb. "yes! loose to the figure!" cried the blind girl, laughing heartily; "and in it you, dear father, with your merry eye, your smiling face, your free step, and your dark hair: looking so young and handsome!" "halloa! halloa!" said caleb. "i shall be vain, presently." "_i_ think you are, already," cried the blind girl, pointing at him, in her glee. "i know you father! ha ha ha! i've found you out, you see!" how different the picture in her mind, from caleb, as he sat observing her! she had spoken of his free step. she was right in that. for years and years, he never once had crossed that threshold at his own slow pace, but with a footfall counterfeited for her ear; and never had he, when his heart was heaviest, forgotten the light tread that was to render hers so cheerful and courageous! heaven knows! but i think caleb's vague bewilderment of manner may have half originated in his having confused himself about himself and everything around him, for the love of his blind daughter. how could the little man be otherwise than bewildered, after labouring for so many years to destroy his own identity, and that of all the objects that had any bearing on it! "there we are," said caleb, falling back a pace or two to form the better judgment of his work; "as near the real thing as sixpenn'orth of halfpence is to sixpence. what a pity that the whole front of the house opens at once! if there was only a staircase in it now, and regular doors to the rooms to go in at! but that's the worst of my calling, i'm always deluding myself, and swindling myself." "you are speaking quite softly. you are not tired father?" "tired," echoed caleb, with a great burst of animation, "what should tire me, bertha? _i_ was never tired. what does it mean?" to give the greater force to his words, he checked himself in an involuntary imitation of two half length stretching and yawning figures on the mantel-shelf, who were represented as in one eternal state of weariness from the waist upwards; and hummed a fragment of a song. it was a bacchanalian song, something about a sparkling bowl; and he sang it with an assumption of a devil-may-care voice, that made his face a thousand times more meagre and more thoughtful than ever. "what! you're singing, are you?" said tackleton, putting his head in, at the door. "go it! _i_ can't sing." nobody would have suspected him of it. he hadn't what is generally termed a singing face, by any means. "i can't afford to sing," said tackleton. "i'm glad you can. i hope you can afford to work too. hardly time for both, i should think?" "if you could only see him, bertha, how he's winking at me!" whispered caleb. "such a man to joke! you'd think, if you didn't know him, he was in earnest--wouldn't you now?" the blind girl smiled, and nodded. "the bird that can sing and won't sing, must be made to sing, they say," grumbled tackleton. "what about the owl that can't sing, and oughtn't to sing, and will sing; is there anything that _he_ should be made to do?" "the extent to which he's winking at this moment!" whispered caleb to his daughter. "oh, my gracious!" "always merry and light-hearted with us!" cried the smiling bertha. "oh! you're there, are you?" answered tackleton. "poor idiot!" he really did believe she was an idiot; and he founded the belief, i can't say whether consciously or not, upon her being fond of him. "well! and being there,--how are you?" said tackleton; in his grudging way. "oh! well; quite well. and as happy as even you can wish me to be. as happy as you would make the whole world, if you could!" "poor idiot!" muttered tackleton. "no gleam of reason. not a gleam!" the blind girl took his hand and kissed it; held it for a moment in her own two hands; and laid her cheek against it tenderly, before releasing it. there was such unspeakable affection and such fervent gratitude in the act, that tackleton himself was moved to say, in a milder growl than usual: "what's the matter now?" "i stood it close beside my pillow when i went to sleep last night, and remembered it in my dreams. and when the day broke, and the glorious red sun--the _red_ sun, father?" "red in the mornings and the evenings, bertha," said poor caleb, with a woeful glance at his employer. "when it rose, and the bright light i almost fear to strike myself against in walking, came into the room, i turned the little tree towards it, and blessed heaven for making things so precious, and blessed you for sending them to cheer me!" "bedlam broke loose!" said tackleton under his breath. "we shall arrive at the strait-waistcoat and mufflers soon. we're getting on!" caleb, with his hands hooked loosely in each other, stared vacantly before him while his daughter spoke, as if he really were uncertain (i believe he was) whether tackleton had done anything to deserve her thanks, or not. if he could have been a perfectly free agent, at that moment, required, on pain of death, to kick the toy merchant, or fall at his feet, according to his merits, i believe it would have been an even chance which course he would have taken. yet caleb knew that with his own hands he had brought the little rose tree home for her, so carefully; and that with his own lips he had forged the innocent deception which should help to keep her from suspecting how much, how very much, he every day denied himself, that she might be the happier. "bertha!" said tackleton, assuming, for the nonce, a little cordiality. "come here." "oh! i can come straight to you! you needn't guide me!" she rejoined. "shall i tell you a secret, bertha?" "if you will!" she answered, eagerly. how bright the darkened face! how adorned with light, the listening head! "this is the day on which little what's-her-name; the spoilt child; peerybingle's wife; pays her regular visit to you--makes her fantastic pic-nic here; an't it?" said tackleton, with a strong expression of distaste for the whole concern. "yes," replied bertha. "this is the day." "i thought so!" said tackleton. "i should like to join the party." "do you hear that, father!" cried the blind girl in an ecstacy. "yes, yes, i hear it," murmured caleb, with the fixed look of a sleep-walker; "but i don't believe it. it's one of my lies, i've no doubt." "you see i--i want to bring the peerybingles a little more into company with may fielding," said tackleton. "i am going to be married to may." "married!" cried the blind girl, starting from him. "she's such a con-founded idiot," muttered tackleton, "that i was afraid she'd never comprehend me. ah, bertha! married! church, parson, clerk, beadle, glass-coach, bells, breakfast, bride-cake, favours, marrow-bones, cleavers, and all the rest of the tom-foolery. a wedding, you know; a wedding. don't you know what a wedding is?" "i know," replied the blind girl, in a gentle tone. "i understand!" "do you?" muttered tackleton. "it's more than i expected. well! on that account i want to join the party, and to bring may and her mother. i'll send in a little something or other, before the afternoon. a cold leg of mutton, or some comfortable trifle of that sort. you'll expect me?" "yes," she answered. she had drooped her head, and turned away; and so stood, with her hands crossed, musing. "i don't think you will," muttered tackleton, looking at her; "for you seem to have forgotten all about it, already. caleb!" "i may venture to say i'm here, i suppose," thought caleb. "sir!" "take care she don't forget what i've been saying to her." "_she_ never forgets," returned caleb. "it's one of the few things she an't clever in." "every man thinks his own geese, swans," observed the toy merchant, with a shrug. "poor devil!" having delivered himself of which remark, with infinite contempt, old gruff and tackleton withdrew. bertha remained where he had left her, lost in meditation. the gaiety had vanished from her downcast face, and it was very sad. three or four times, she shook her head, as if bewailing some remembrance or some loss; but her sorrowful reflections found no vent in words. it was not until caleb had been occupied, some time, in yoking a team of horses to a waggon by the summary process of nailing the harness to the vital parts of their bodies, that she drew near to his working-stool, and sitting down beside him, said: "father, i am lonely in the dark. i want my eyes: my patient, willing eyes." "here they are," said caleb. "always ready. they are more your's than mine, bertha, any hour in the four and twenty. what shall your eyes do for you, dear?" "look round the room, father." "all right," said caleb. "no sooner said than done, bertha." "tell me about it." "it's much the same as usual," said caleb. "homely, but very snug. the gay colors on the walls; the bright flowers on the plates and dishes; the shining wood, where there are beams or panels; the general cheerfulness and neatness of the building; make it very pretty." cheerful and neat it was, wherever bertha's hands could busy themselves. but nowhere else, were cheerfulness and neatness possible, in the old crazy shed which caleb's fancy so transformed. "you have your working dress on, and are not so gallant as when you wear the handsome coat?" said bertha, touching him. "not quite so gallant," answered caleb. "pretty brisk though." "father," said the blind girl, drawing close to his side, and stealing one arm round his neck "tell me something about may. she is very fair?" "she is indeed," said caleb. and she was indeed. it was quite a rare thing to caleb, not to have to draw on his invention. "her hair is dark," said bertha, pensively, "darker than mine. her voice is sweet and musical, i know. i have often loved to hear it. her shape--" "there's not a doll's in all the room to equal it," said caleb. "and her eyes!"-he stopped; for bertha had drawn closer round his neck; and, from the arm that clung about him, came a warning pressure which he understood too well. he coughed a moment, hammered for a moment, and then fell back upon the song about the sparkling bowl; his infallible resource in all such difficulties. "our friend, father; our benefactor. i am never tired you know of hearing about him.--now was i, ever?" she said, hastily. "of course not," answered caleb. "and with reason." "ah! with how much reason!" cried the blind girl. with such fervency, that caleb, though his motives were so pure, could not endure to meet her face; but dropped his eyes, as if she could have read in them his innocent deceit. "then, tell me again about him, dear father," said bertha. "many times again! his face is benevolent, kind, and tender. honest and true, i am sure it is. the manly heart that tries to cloak all favours with a show of roughness and unwillingness, beats in its every look and glance." "and makes it noble," added caleb in his quiet desperation. "and makes it noble!" cried the blind girl. "he is older than may, father." "ye-es," said caleb, reluctantly. "he's a little older than may. but that don't signify." "oh father, yes! to be his patient companion in infirmity and age; to be his gentle nurse in sickness, and his constant friend in suffering and sorrow; to know no weariness in working for his sake; to watch him, tend him; sit beside his bed, and talk to him, awake; and pray for him asleep; what privileges these would be! what opportunities for proving all her truth and her devotion to him! would she do all this, dear father?" "no doubt of it," said caleb. "i love her, father; i can love her from my soul!" exclaimed the blind girl. and saying so, she laid her poor blind face on caleb's shoulder, and so wept and wept, that he was almost sorry to have brought that tearful happiness upon her. in the mean time, there had been a pretty sharp commotion at john peerybingle's; for little mrs. peerybingle naturally couldn't think of going anywhere without the baby; and to get the baby under weigh, took time. not that there was much of the baby: speaking of it as a thing of weight and measure: but there was a vast deal to do about and about it, and it all had to be done by easy stages. for instance: when the baby was got, by hook and by crook, to a certain point of dressing, and you might have rationally supposed that another touch or two would finish him off, and turn him out a tip-top baby, challenging the world, he was unexpectedly extinguished in a flannel cap, and hustled off to bed; where he simmered (so to speak) between two blankets for the best part of an hour. from this state of inaction he was then recalled, shining very much and roaring violently, to partake of--well! i would rather say, if you'll permit me to speak generally--of a slight repast. after which, he went to sleep again. mrs. peerybingle took advantage of this interval, to make herself as smart in a small way as ever you saw anybody in all your life; and during the same short truce, miss slowboy insinuated herself into a spencer of a fashion so surprising and ingenious, that it had no connection with herself or anything else in the universe, but was a shrunken, dog's-eared, independent fact, pursuing its lonely course without the least regard to anybody. by this time, the baby, being all alive again, was invested, by the united efforts of mrs. peerybingle and miss slowboy, with a cream-coloured mantle for its body, and a sort of nankeen raised-pie for its head; and so in course of time they all three got down to the door, where the old horse had already taken more than the full value of his day's toll out of the turnpike trust, by tearing up the road with his impatient autographs--and whence boxer might be dimly seen in the remote perspective, standing looking back, and tempting him to come on without orders. as to a chair, or anything of that kind for helping mrs. peerybingle into the cart, you know very little of john, i flatter myself, if you think _that_ was necessary. before you could have seen him lift her from the ground, there she was in her place, fresh and rosy, saying, "john! how can you! think of tilly!" if i might be allowed to mention a young lady's legs, on any terms, i would observe of miss slowboy's that there was a fatality about them which rendered them singularly liable to be grazed; and that she never effected the smallest ascent or descent, without recording the circumstance upon them with a notch, as robinson crusoe marked the days upon his wooden calendar. but as this might be considered ungenteel, i'll think of it. "john? you've got the basket with the veal and ham-pie and things; and the bottles of beer?" said dot. "if you haven't, you must turn round again, this very minute." "you're a nice little article," returned the carrier, "to be talking about turning round, after keeping me a full quarter of an hour behind my time." "i am sorry for it, john," said dot in a great bustle, "but i really could not think of going to bertha's--i wouldn't do it, john, on any account--without the veal and ham-pie and things, and the bottles of beer. way!" this monosyllable was addressed to the horse, who didn't mind it at all. "oh _do_ way, john!" said mrs. peerybingle. "please!" "it'll be time enough to do that," returned john, "when i begin to leave things behind me. the basket's here, safe enough." "what a hard-hearted monster you must be, john, not to have said so, at once, and saved me such a turn! i declare i wouldn't go to bertha's without the veal and ham-pie and things, and the bottles of beer, for any money. regularly once a fortnight ever since we have been married, john, have we made our little pic-nic there. if anything was to go wrong with it, i should almost think we were never to be lucky again." "it was a kind thought in the first instance," said the carrier; "and i honour you for it, little woman." "my dear john," replied dot, turning very red. "don't talk about honouring _me_. good gracious!" "by the bye--" observed the carrier. "that old gentleman,"-again so visibly, and instantly embarrassed. "he's an odd fish," said the carrier, looking straight along the road before them. "i can't make him out. i don't believe there's any harm in him." "none at all. i'm--i'm sure there's none at all." "yes?" said the carrier, with his eyes attracted to her face by the great earnestness of her manner. "i am glad you feel so certain of it, because it's a confirmation to me. it's curious that he should have taken it into his head to ask leave to go on lodging with us; an't it? things come about so strangely." "so very strangely," she rejoined in a low voice: scarcely audible. "however, he's a good-natured old gentleman," said john, "and pays as a gentleman, and i think his word is to be relied upon, like a gentleman's. i had quite a long talk with him this morning: he can hear me better already, he says, as he gets more used to my voice. he told me a great deal about himself, and i told him a good deal about myself, and a rare lot of questions he asked me. i gave him information about my having two beats, you know, in my business; one day to the right from our house and back again; another day to the left from our house and back again (for he's a stranger and don't know the names of places about here); and he seemed quite pleased. 'why, then i shall be returning home to-night your way,' he says, 'when i thought you'd be coming in an exactly opposite direction. that's capital. i may trouble you for another lift perhaps, but i'll engage not to fall so sound asleep again.' he _was_ sound asleep, sure-ly!--dot! what are you thinking of?" "thinking of, john? i--i was listening to you." "oh! that's all right!" said the honest carrier. "i was afraid, from the look of your face, that i had gone rambling on so long, as to set you thinking about something else. i was very near it, i'll be bound." dot making no reply, they jogged on, for some little time, in silence. but it was not easy to remain silent very long in john peerybingle's cart, for everybody on the road had something to say; and though it might only be "how are you!" and indeed it was very often nothing else, still, to give that back again in the right spirit of cordiality, required, not merely a nod and a smile, but as wholesome an action of the lungs withal, as a long-winded parliamentary speech. sometimes, passengers on foot, or horseback, plodded on a little way beside the cart, for the express purpose of having a chat; and then there was a great deal to be said, on both sides. then, boxer gave occasion to more good-natured recognitions of and by the carrier, than half a dozen christians could have done! everybody knew him, all along the road, especially the fowls and pigs, who when they saw him approaching, with his body all on one side, and his ears pricked up inquisitively, and that knob of a tail making the most of itself in the air, immediately withdrew into remote back settlements, without waiting for the honor of a nearer acquaintance. he had business everywhere; going down all the turnings, looking into all the wells, bolting in and out of all the cottages, dashing into the midst of all the dame-schools, fluttering all the pigeons, magnifying the tails of all the cats, and trotting into the public houses like a regular customer. wherever he went, somebody or other might have been heard to cry, "halloa! here's boxer!" [illustration] and out came that somebody forthwith, accompanied by at least two or three other somebodies, to give john peerybingle and his pretty wife, good day. the packages and parcels for the errand cart, were numerous; and there were many stoppages to take them in and give them out; which were not by any means the worst parts of the journey. some people were so full of expectation about their parcels, and other people were so full of wonder about their parcels, and other people were so full of inexhaustible directions about their parcels, and john had such a lively interest in all the parcels, that it was as good as a play. likewise, there were articles to carry, which required to be considered and discussed, and in reference to the adjustment and disposition of which, councils had to be holden by the carrier and the senders: at which boxer usually assisted, in short fits of the closest attention, and long fits of tearing round and round the assembled sages and barking himself hoarse. of all these little incidents, dot was the amused and open-eyed spectatress from her chair in the cart; and as she sat there, looking on: a charming little portrait framed to admiration by the tilt: there was no lack of nudgings and glancings and whisperings and envyings among the younger men, i promise you. and this delighted john the carrier, beyond measure; for he was proud to have his little wife admired; knowing that she didn't mind it--that, if anything, she rather liked it perhaps. the trip was a little foggy, to be sure, in the january weather; and was raw and cold. but who cared for such trifles? not dot, decidedly. not tilly slowboy, for she deemed sitting in a cart, on any terms, to be the highest point of human joys; the crowning circumstance of earthly hopes. not the baby, i'll be sworn; for it's not in baby nature to be warmer or more sound asleep, though its capacity is great in both respects, than that blessed young peerybingle was, all the way. you couldn't see very far in the fog, of course; but you could see a great deal, oh a great deal! it's astonishing how much you may see, in a thicker fog than that, if you will only take the trouble to look for it. why, even to sit watching for the fairy-rings in the fields, and for the patches of hoar-frost still lingering in the shade, near hedges and by trees, was a pleasant occupation: to make no mention of the unexpected shapes in which the trees themselves came starting out of the mist, and glided into it again. the hedges were tangled and bare, and waved a multitude of blighted garlands in the wind; but there was no discouragement in this. it was agreeable to contemplate; for it made the fireside warmer in possession, and the summer greener in expectancy. the river looked chilly; but it was in motion, and moving at a good pace; which was a great point. the canal was rather slow and torpid; that must be admitted. never mind. it would freeze the sooner when the frost set fairly in, and then there would be skating, and sliding; and the heavy old barges, frozen up somewhere, near a wharf, would smoke their rusty iron chimney-pipes all day, and have a lazy time of it. in one place, there was a great mound of weeds or stubble burning; and they watched the fire, so white in the day time, flaring through the fog, with only here and there a dash of red in it, until, in consequence as she observed of the smoke "getting up her nose," miss slowboy choked--she could do anything of that sort, on the smallest provocation--and woke the baby, who wouldn't go to sleep again. but boxer, who was in advance some quarter of a mile or so, had already passed the outposts of the town, and gained the corner of the street where caleb and his daughter lived; and long before they reached the door, he and the blind girl were on the pavement waiting to receive them. boxer, by the way, made certain delicate distinctions of his own, in his communication with bertha, which persuade me fully that he knew her to be blind. he never sought to attract her attention by looking at her, as he often did with other people, but touched her, invariably. what experience he could ever have had of blind people or blind dogs, i don't know. he had never lived with a blind master; nor had mr. boxer the elder, nor mrs. boxer, nor any of his respectable family on either side, ever been visited with blindness, that i am aware of. he may have found it out for himself, perhaps, but he had got hold of it somehow; and therefore he had hold of bertha too, by the skirt, and kept hold, until mrs. peerybingle and the baby, and miss slowboy, and the basket, were all got safely within doors. may fielding was already come; and so was her mother--a little querulous chip of an old lady with a peevish face, who, in right of having preserved a waist like a bedpost, was supposed to be a most transcendant figure; and who, in consequence of having once been better off, or of labouring under an impression that she might have been, if something had happened which never did happen, and seemed to have never been particularly likely to come to pass--but it's all the same--was very genteel and patronising indeed. gruff and tackleton was also there, doing the agreeable; with the evident sensation of being as perfectly at home, and as unquestionably in his own element, as a fresh young salmon on the top of the great pyramid. "may! my dear old friend!" cried dot, running up to meet her. "what a happiness to see you!" her old friend was, to the full, as hearty and as glad as she; and it really was, if you'll believe me, quite a pleasant sight to see them embrace. tackleton was a man of taste, beyond all question. may was very pretty. you know sometimes, when you are used to a pretty face, how, when it comes into contact and comparison with another pretty face, it seems for the moment to be homely and faded, and hardly to deserve the high opinion you have had of it. now, this was not at all the case, either with dot or may; for may's face set off dot's, and dot's face set off may's, so naturally and agreeably, that, as john peerybingle was very near saying when he came into the room, they ought to have been born sisters: which was the only improvement you could have suggested. tackleton had brought his leg of mutton, and, wonderful to relate, a tart besides--but we don't mind a little dissipation when our brides are in the case; we don't get married every day--and in addition to these dainties, there were the veal and ham-pie, and "things," as mrs. peerybingle called them; which were chiefly nuts and oranges, and cakes, and such small deer. when the repast was set forth on the board, flanked by caleb's contribution, which was a great wooden bowl of smoking potatoes (he was prohibited, by solemn compact, from producing any other viands), tackleton led his intended mother-in-law to the post of honour. for the better gracing of this place at the high festival, the majestic old soul had adorned herself with a cap, calculated to inspire the thoughtless with sentiments of awe. she also wore her gloves. but let us be genteel, or die! caleb sat next his daughter; dot and her old schoolfellow were side by side; the good carrier took care of the bottom of the table. miss slowboy was isolated, for the time being, from every article of furniture but the chair she sat on, that she might have nothing else to knock the baby's head against. [illustration] as tilly stared about her at the dolls and toys, they stared at her and at the company. the venerable old gentlemen at the street doors (who were all in full action) showed especial interest in the party: pausing occasionally before leaping, as if they were listening to the conversation: and then plunging wildly over and over, a great many times, without halting for breath,--as in a frantic state of delight with the whole proceedings. certainly, if these old gentlemen were inclined to have a fiendish joy in the contemplation of tackleton's discomfiture, they had good reason to be satisfied. tackleton couldn't get on at all; and the more cheerful his intended bride became in dot's society, the less he liked it, though he had brought them together for that purpose. for he was a regular dog in the manger, was tackleton; and when they laughed, and he couldn't, he took it into his head, immediately, that they must be laughing at him. "ah may!" said dot. "dear dear, what changes! to talk of those merry school-days makes one young again." "why, you an't particularly old, at any time; are you?" said tackleton. "look at my sober, plodding husband there," returned dot. "he adds twenty years to my age at least. don't you john?" "forty," john replied. "how many _you_'ll add to may's, i am sure i don't know," said dot, laughing. "but she can't be much less than a hundred years of age on her next birthday." "ha ha!" laughed tackleton. hollow as a drum, that laugh though. and he looked as if he could have twisted dot's neck: comfortably. "dear dear!" said dot. "only to remember how we used to talk, at school, about the husbands we would choose. i don't know how young, and how handsome, and how gay, and how lively, mine was not to be! and as to may's!--ah dear! i don't know whether to laugh or cry, when i think what silly girls we were." may seemed to know which to do; for the color flashed into her face, and tears stood in her eyes. "even the very persons themselves--real live young men--we fixed on sometimes," said dot. "we little thought how things would come about. i never fixed on john i'm sure; i never so much as thought of him. and if i had told you, you were ever to be married to mr. tackleton, why you'd have slapped me. wouldn't you, may?" though may didn't say yes, she certainly didn't say no, or express no, by any means. tackleton laughed--quite shouted, he laughed so loud. john peerybingle laughed too, in his ordinary good-natured and contented manner; but his was a mere whisper of a laugh, to tackleton's. "you couldn't help yourselves, for all that. you couldn't resist us, you see," said tackleton. "here we are! here we are! where are your gay young bridegrooms now!" "some of them are dead," said dot; "and some of them forgotten. some of them, if they could stand among us at this moment, would not believe we were the same creatures; would not believe that what they saw and heard was real, and we _could_ forget them so. no! they would not believe one word of it!" "why, dot!" exclaimed the carrier. "little woman!" she had spoken with such earnestness and fire, that she stood in need of some recalling to herself, without doubt. her husband's check was very gentle, for he merely interfered, as he supposed, to shield old tackleton; but it proved effectual, for she stopped, and said no more. there was an uncommon agitation, even in her silence, which the wary tackleton, who had brought his half-shut eye to bear upon her, noted closely; and remembered to some purpose too, as you will see. may uttered no word, good or bad, but sat quite still, with her eyes cast down; and made no sign of interest in what had passed. the good lady her mother now interposed: observing, in the first instance, that girls were girls, and byegones byegones, and that so long as young people were young and thoughtless, they would probably conduct themselves like young and thoughtless persons: with two or three other positions of a no less sound and incontrovertible character. she then remarked, in a devout spirit, that she thanked heaven she had always found in her daughter may, a dutiful and obedient child; for which she took no credit to herself, though she had every reason to believe it was entirely owing to herself. with regard to mr. tackleton she said, that he was in a moral point of view an undeniable individual; and that he was in an eligible point of view a son-in-law to be desired, no one in their senses could doubt. (she was very emphatic here). with regard to the family into which he was so soon about, after some solicitation, to be admitted, she believed mr. tackleton knew that, although reduced in purse, it had some pretensions to gentility; and that if certain circumstances, not wholly unconnected, she would go so far as to say, with the indigo trade, but to which she would not more particularly refer, had happened differently, it might perhaps have been in possession of wealth. she then remarked that she would not allude to the past, and would not mention that her daughter had for some time rejected the suit of mr. tackleton; and that she would not say a great many other things which she did say, at great length. finally, she delivered it as the general result of her observation and experience, that those marriages in which there was least of what was romantically and sillily called love, were always the happiest; and that she anticipated the greatest possible amount of bliss--not rapturous bliss; but the solid, steady-going article--from the approaching nuptials. she concluded by informing the company that to-morrow was the day she had lived for, expressly; and that when it was over, she would desire nothing better than to be packed up and disposed of, in any genteel place of burial. as these remarks were quite unanswerable: which is the happy property of all remarks that are sufficiently wide of the purpose: they changed the current of the conversation, and diverted the general attention to the veal and ham-pie, the cold mutton, the potatoes, and the tart. in order that the bottled beer might not be slighted, john peerybingle proposed to-morrow: the wedding-day: and called upon them to drink a bumper to it, before he proceeded on his journey. for you ought to know that he only rested there, and gave the old horse a bait. he had to go some four or five miles farther on; and when he returned in the evening, he called for dot, and took another rest on his way home. this was the order of the day on all the pic-nic occasions, and had been ever since their institution. there were two persons present, besides the bride and bridegroom elect, who did but indifferent honour to the toast. one of these was dot, too flushed and discomposed to adapt herself to any small occurrence of the moment; the other bertha, who rose up hurriedly, before the rest, and left the table. "good bye!" said stout john peerybingle, pulling on his dreadnought coat. "i shall be back at the old time. good bye all!" "good bye john," returned caleb. he seemed to say it by rote, and to wave his hand in the same unconscious manner; for he stood observing bertha with an anxious wondering face, that never altered its expression. "good bye young shaver!" said the jolly carrier, bending down to kiss the child; which tilly slowboy, now intent upon her knife and fork, had deposited asleep (and strange to say, without damage) in a little cot of bertha's furnishing; "good bye! time will come, i suppose, when _you_'ll turn out into the cold, my little friend, and leave your old father to enjoy his pipe and his rheumatics in the chimney-corner; eh? where's dot?" "i'm here john!" she said, starting. "come, come!" returned the carrier, clapping his sounding hands. "where's the pipe?" "i quite forgot the pipe, john." forgot the pipe! was such a wonder ever heard of! she! forgot the pipe! "i'll--i'll fill it directly. it's soon done." but it was not so soon done, either. it lay in the usual place; the carrier's dreadnought pocket; with the little pouch, her own work; from which she was used to fill it; but her hand shook so, that she entangled it (and yet her hand was small enough to have come out easily, i am sure), and bungled terribly. the filling of the pipe and lighting it; those little offices in which i have commended her discretion, if you recollect; were vilely done, from first to last. during the whole process, tackleton stood looking on maliciously with the half-closed eye; which, whenever it met her's--or caught it, for it can hardly be said to have ever met another eye: rather being a kind of trap to snatch it up--augmented her confusion in a most remarkable degree. "why, what a clumsy dot you are, this afternoon!" said john. "i could have done it better myself, i verily believe!" with these good-natured words, he strode away; and presently was heard, in company with boxer, and the old horse, and the cart, making lively music down the road. what time the dreamy caleb still stood, watching his blind daughter, with the same expression on his face. "bertha!" said caleb, softly. "what has happened? how changed you are, my darling, in a few hours--since this morning. _you_ silent and dull all day! what is it? tell me! "oh father, father!" cried the blind girl, bursting into tears. "oh my hard, hard fate!" caleb drew his hand across his eyes before he answered her. "but think how cheerful and how happy you have been, bertha! how good, and how much loved, by many people." "that strikes me to the heart, dear father! always so mindful of me! always so kind to me!" caleb was very much perplexed to understand her. "to be--to be blind, bertha, my poor dear," he faltered, "is a great affliction; but----" "i have never felt it!" cried the blind girl. "i have never felt it, in its fulness. never! i have sometimes wished that i could see you, or could see him; only once, dear father; only for one little minute; that i might know what it is i treasure up," she laid her hands upon her breast, "and hold here! that i might be sure i have it right! and sometimes (but then i was a child) i have wept, in my prayers at night, to think that when your images ascended from my heart to heaven, they might not be the true resemblance of yourselves. but i have never had these feelings long. they have passed away, and left me tranquil and contented." "and they will again," said caleb. "but father! oh my good, gentle father, bear with me, if i am wicked!" said the blind girl. "this is not the sorrow that so weighs me down!" her father could not choose but let his moist eyes overflow; she was so earnest and pathetic. but he did not understand her, yet. "bring her to me," said bertha. "i cannot hold it closed and shut within myself. bring her to me, father!" she knew he hesitated, and said, "may. bring may!" may heard the mention of her name, and coming quietly towards her, touched her on the arm. the blind girl turned immediately, and held her by both hands. "look into my face, dear heart, sweet heart!" said bertha. "read it with your beautiful eyes, and tell me if the truth is written on it." "dear bertha, yes!" the blind girl still, upturning the blank sightless face, down which the tears were coursing fast, addressed her in these words: "there is not, in my soul, a wish or thought that is not for your good, bright may! there is not, in my soul, a grateful recollection stronger than the deep remembrance which is stored there, of the many many times when, in the full pride of sight and beauty, you have had consideration for blind bertha, even when we two were children, or when bertha was as much a child as ever blindness can be! every blessing on your head! light upon your happy course! not the less, my dear may;" and she drew towards her, in a closer grasp; "not the less, my bird, because, to-day, the knowledge that you are to be his wife has wrung my heart almost to breaking! father, may, mary! oh forgive me that it is so, for the sake of all he has done to relieve the weariness of my dark life: and for the sake of the belief you have in me, when i call heaven to witness that i could not wish him married to a wife more worthy of his goodness!" while speaking, she had released may fielding's hands, and clasped her garments in an attitude of mingled supplication and love. sinking lower and lower down, as she proceeded in her strange confession, she dropped at last at the feet of her friend, and hid her blind face in the folds of her dress. "great power!" exclaimed her father, smitten at one blow with the truth, "have i deceived her from her cradle, but to break her heart at last!" it was well for all of them that dot, that beaming, useful, busy little dot--for such she was, whatever faults she had; however you may learn to hate her, in good time--it was well for all of them, i say, that she was there: or where this would have ended, it were hard to tell. but dot, recovering her self-possession, interposed, before may could reply, or caleb say another word. "come come, dear bertha! come away with me! give her your arm, may. so! how composed she is, you see, already; and how good it is of her to mind us," said the cheery little woman, kissing her upon the forehead. "come away, dear bertha! come! and here's her good father will come with her; won't you, caleb? to--be--sure!" well, well! she was a noble little dot in such things, and it must have been an obdurate nature that could have withstood her influence. when she had got poor caleb and his bertha away, that they might comfort and console each other, as she knew they only could, she presently came bouncing back,--the saying is, as fresh as any daisy; _i_ say fresher--to mount guard over that bridling little piece of consequence in the cap and gloves, and prevent the dear old creature from making discoveries. "so bring me the precious baby, tilly," said she, drawing a chair to the fire; "and while i have it in my lap, here's mrs. fielding, tilly, will tell me all about the management of babies, and put me right in twenty points where i'm as wrong as can be. won't you, mrs. fielding?" [illustration] not even the welsh giant, who, according to the popular expression, was so "slow" as to perform a fatal surgical operation upon himself, in emulation of a juggling-trick achieved by his arch-enemy at breakfast-time; not even he fell half so readily into the snare prepared for him, as the old lady into this artful pitfall. the fact of tackleton having walked out; and furthermore, of two or three people having been talking together at a distance, for two minutes, leaving her to her own resources; was quite enough to have put her on her dignity, and the bewailment of that mysterious convulsion in the indigo trade, for four-and-twenty hours. but this becoming deference to her experience, on the part of the young mother, was so irresistible, that after a short affectation of humility, she began to enlighten her with the best grace in the world; and sitting bolt upright before the wicked dot, she did, in half an hour, deliver more infallible domestic recipes and precepts, than would (if acted on) have utterly destroyed and done up that young peerybingle, though he had been an infant samson. to change the theme, dot did a little needlework--she carried the contents of a whole workbox in her pocket; how ever she contrived it, _i_ don't know--then did a little nursing; then a little more needlework; then had a little whispering chat with may, while the old lady dozed; and so in little bits of bustle, which was quite her manner always, found it a very short afternoon. then, as it grew dark, and as it was a solemn part of this institution of the pic-nic that she should perform all bertha's household tasks, she trimmed the fire, and swept the hearth, and set the tea-board out, and drew the curtain, and lighted a candle. then, she played an air or two on a rude kind of harp, which caleb had contrived for bertha; and played them very well; for nature had made her delicate little ear as choice a one for music as it would have been for jewels, if she had had any to wear. by this time it was the established hour for having tea; and tackleton came back again, to share the meal, and spend the evening. caleb and bertha had returned some time before, and caleb had sat down to his afternoon's work. but he couldn't settle to it, poor fellow, being anxious and remorseful for his daughter. it was touching to see him sitting idle on his working-stool, regarding her so wistfully; and always saying in his face, "have i deceived her from her cradle, but to break her heart!" when it was night, and tea was done, and dot had nothing more to do in washing up the cups and saucers; in a word--for i must come to it, and there is no use in putting it off--when the time drew nigh for expecting the carrier's return in every sound of distant wheels; her manner changed again; her colour came and went; and she was very restless. not as good wives are, when listening for their husbands. no, no, no. it was another sort of restlessness from that. wheels heard. a horse's feet. the barking of a dog. the gradual approach of all the sounds. the scratching paw of boxer at the door! "whose step is that!" cried bertha, starting up. "whose step?" returned the carrier, standing in the portal, with his brown face ruddy as a winter berry from the keen night air. "why, mine." "the other step," said bertha. "the man's tread behind you!" "she is not to be deceived," observed the carrier, laughing. "come along sir. you'll be welcome, never fear!" he spoke in a loud tone; and as he spoke, the deaf old gentleman entered. "he's not so much a stranger, that you haven't seen him once, caleb," said the carrier. "you'll give him house-room till we go?" "oh surely john; and take it as an honour." "he's the best company on earth, to talk secrets in," said john. "i have reasonable good lungs, but he tries 'em, i can tell you. sit down sir. all friends here, and glad to see you!" when he had imparted this assurance, in a voice that amply corroborated what he had said about his lungs, he added in his natural tone, "a chair in the chimney-corner, and leave to sit quite silent and look pleasantly about him, is all he cares for. he's easily pleased." bertha had been listening intently. she called caleb to her side, when he had set the chair, and asked him, in a low voice, to describe their visitor. when he had done so (truly now; with scrupulous fidelity), she moved, for the first time since he had come in; and sighed; and seemed to have no further interest concerning him. the carrier was in high spirits, good fellow that he was; and fonder of his little wife than ever. "a clumsy dot she was, this afternoon!" he said, encircling her with his rough arm, as she stood, removed from the rest; "and yet i like her somehow. see yonder, dot!" he pointed to the old man. she looked down. i think she trembled. "he's--ha ha ha!--he's full of admiration for you!" said the carrier. "talked of nothing else, the whole way here. why, he's a brave old boy. i like him for it!" "i wish he had had a better subject, john;" she said, with an uneasy glance about the room; at tackleton especially. "a better subject!" cried the jovial john. "there's no such thing. come! off with the great-coat, off with the thick shawl, off with the heavy wrappers! and a cosy half-hour by the fire! my humble service, mistress. a game at cribbage, you and i? that's hearty. the cards and board, dot. and a glass of beer here, if there's any left, small wife!" his challenge was addressed to the old lady, who accepting it with gracious readiness, they were soon engaged upon the game. at first, the carrier looked about him sometimes, with a smile, or now and then called dot to peep over his shoulder at his hand, and advise him on some knotty point. but his adversary being a rigid disciplinarian, and subject to an occasional weakness in respect of pegging more than she was entitled to, required such vigilance on his part, as left him neither eyes nor ears to spare. thus, his whole attention gradually became absorbed upon the cards; and he thought of nothing else, until a hand upon his shoulder restored him to a consciousness of tackleton. "i am sorry to disturb you--but a word, directly." "i'm going to deal," returned the carrier. "it's a crisis." "it is," said tackleton. "come here, man!" there was that in his pale face which made the other rise immediately, and ask him, in a hurry, what the matter was. "hush! john peerybingle," said tackleton. "i am sorry for this. i am indeed. i have been afraid of it. i have suspected it from the first." "what is it?" asked the carrier, with a frightened aspect. "hush! i'll show you, if you'll come with me." the carrier accompanied him, without another word. they went across a yard, where the stars were shining; and by a little side door, into tackleton's own counting-house, where there was a glass window, commanding the ware-room: which was closed for the night. there was no light in the counting-house itself, but there were lamps in the long narrow ware-room; and consequently the window was bright. "a moment!" said tackleton. "can you bear to look through that window, do you think?" "why not?" returned the carrier. "a moment more," said tackleton. "don't commit any violence. it's of no use. it's dangerous too. you're a strong-made man; and you might do murder before you know it." the carrier looked him in the face, and recoiled a step as if he had been struck. in one stride he was at the window, and he saw-oh shadow on the hearth! oh truthful cricket! oh perfidious wife! he saw her, with the old man; old no longer, but erect and gallant: bearing in his hand the false white hair that had won his way into their desolate and miserable home. he saw her listening to him, as he bent his head to whisper in her ear; and suffering him to clasp her round the waist, as they moved slowly down the dim wooden gallery towards the door by which they had entered it. he saw them stop, and saw her turn----to have the face, the face he loved so, so presented to his view!----and saw her, with her own hands, adjust the lie upon his head, laughing, as she did it, at his unsuspicious nature! he clenched his strong right hand at first, as if it would have beaten down a lion. but opening it immediately again, he spread it out before the eyes of tackleton (for he was tender of her, even then), and so, as they passed out, fell down upon a desk, and was as weak as any infant. he was wrapped up to the chin, and busy with his horse and parcels, when she came into the room, prepared for going home. "now john, dear! good night may! good night bertha!" could she kiss them? could she be blithe and cheerful in her parting? could she venture to reveal her face to them without a blush? yes. tackleton observed her closely; and she did all this. tilly was hushing the baby; and she crossed and re-crossed tackleton, a dozen times, repeating drowsily: "did the knowledge that it was to be its wifes, then, wring its hearts almost to breaking; and did its fathers deceive it from its cradles but to break its hearts at last!" "now tilly, give me the baby. good night, mr. tackleton. where's john, for goodness' sake?" "he's going to walk, beside the horse's head," said tackleton; who helped her to her seat. "my dear john. walk? to-night?" the muffled figure of her husband made a hasty sign in the affirmative; and the false stranger and the little nurse being in their places, the old horse moved off. boxer, the unconscious boxer, running on before, running back, running round and round the cart, and barking as triumphantly and merrily as ever. when tackleton had gone off likewise, escorting may and her mother home, poor caleb sat down by the fire beside his daughter; anxious and remorseful at the core; and still saying in his wistful contemplation of her, "have i deceived her from her cradle, but to break her heart at last!" the toys that had been set in motion for the baby, had all stopped and run down, long ago. in the faint light and silence, the imperturbably calm dolls; the agitated rocking-horses with distended eyes and nostrils; the old gentlemen at the street doors, standing, half doubled up, upon their failing knees and ankles; the wry-faced nutcrackers; the very beasts upon their way into the ark, in twos, like a boarding-school out walking; might have been imagined to be stricken motionless with fantastic wonder, at dot being false, or tackleton beloved, under any combination of circumstances. [illustration: chirp the third] the dutch clock in the corner struck ten, when the carrier sat down by his fireside. so troubled and grief-worn, that he seemed to scare the cuckoo, who, having cut his ten melodious announcements as short as possible, plunged back into the moorish palace again, and clapped his little door behind him, as if the unwonted spectacle were too much for his feelings. if the little haymaker had been armed with the sharpest of scythes, and had cut at every stroke into the carrier's heart, he never could have gashed and wounded it, as dot had done. it was a heart so full of love for her; so bound up and held together by innumerable threads of winning remembrance, spun from the daily working of her many qualities of endearment; it was a heart in which she had enshrined herself so gently and so closely; a heart so single and so earnest in its truth: so strong in right, so weak in wrong: that it could cherish neither passion nor revenge at first, and had only room to hold the broken image of its idol. but slowly, slowly; as the carrier sat brooding on his hearth, now cold and dark; other and fiercer thoughts began to rise within him, as an angry wind comes rising in the night. the stranger was beneath his outraged roof. three steps would take him to his chamber door. one blow would beat it in. "you might do murder before you know it," tackleton had said. how could it be murder, if he gave the villain time to grapple with him hand to hand! he was the younger man. it was an ill-timed thought, bad for the dark mood of his mind. it was an angry thought, goading him to some avenging act, that should change the cheerful house into a haunted place which lonely travellers would dread to pass by night; and where the timid would see shadows struggling in the ruined windows when the moon was dim, and hear wild noises in the stormy weather. he was the younger man! yes, yes; some lover who had won the heart that _he_ had never touched. some lover of her early choice: of whom she had thought and dreamed: for whom she had pined and pined: when he had fancied her so happy by his side. oh agony to think of it! she had been above stairs with the baby, getting it to bed. as he sat brooding on the hearth, she came close beside him, without his knowledge--in the turning of the rack of his great misery, he lost all other sounds--and put her little stool at his feet. he only knew it, when he felt her hand upon his own, and saw her looking up into his face. with wonder? no. it was his first impression, and he was fain to look at her again, to set it right. no, not with wonder. with an eager and enquiring look; but not with wonder. at first it was alarmed and serious; then it changed into a strange, wild, dreadful smile of recognition of his thoughts; then there was nothing but her clasped hands on her brow, and her bent head, and falling hair. though the power of omnipotence had been his to wield at that moment, he had too much of its diviner property of mercy in his breast, to have turned one feather's weight of it against her. but he could not bear to see her crouching down upon the little seat where he had often looked on her, with love and pride, so innocent and gay; and when she rose and left him, sobbing as she went, he felt it a relief to have the vacant place beside him rather than her so long cherished presence. this in itself was anguish keener than all: reminding him how desolate he was become, and how the great bond of his life was rent asunder. the more he felt this, and the more he knew he could have better borne to see her lying prematurely dead before him with their little child upon her breast, the higher and the stronger rose his wrath against his enemy. he looked about him for a weapon. there was a gun, hanging on the wall. he took it down, and moved a pace or two towards the door of the perfidious stranger's room. he knew the gun was loaded. some shadowy idea that it was just to shoot this man like a wild beast, seized him; and dilated in his mind until it grew into a monstrous demon in complete possession of him, casting out all milder thoughts and setting up its undivided empire. that phrase is wrong. not casting out his milder thoughts, but artfully transforming them. changing them into scourges to drive him on. turning water into blood, love into hate, gentleness into blind ferocity. her image, sorrowing, humbled, but still pleading to his tenderness and mercy with resistless power, never left his mind; but staying there, it urged him to the door; raised the weapon to his shoulder; fitted and nerved his finger to the trigger; and cried "kill him! in his bed!" he reversed the gun to beat the stock upon the door; he already held it lifted in the air; some indistinct design was in his thoughts of calling out to him to fly, for god's sake, by the window-when, suddenly, the struggling fire illumined the whole chimney with a glow of light; and the cricket on the hearth began to chirp! no sound he could have heard; no human voice, not even her's; could so have moved and softened him. the artless words in which she had told him of her love for this same cricket, were once more freshly spoken; her trembling, earnest manner at the moment, was again before him; her pleasant voice--oh what a voice it was, for making household music at the fireside of an honest man!--thrilled through and through his better nature, and awoke it into life and action. he recoiled from the door, like a man walking in his sleep, awakened from a frightful dream; and put the gun aside. clasping his hands before his face, he then sat down again beside the fire, and found relief in tears. the cricket on the hearth came out into the room, and stood in fairy shape before him. [illustration] "'i love it,'" said the fairy voice, repeating what he well remembered, "'for the many times i have heard it, and the many thoughts its harmless music has given me.'" "she said so!" cried the carrier. "true!" "'this has been a happy home, john; and i love the cricket for its sake!'" "it has been, heaven knows," returned the carrier. "she made it happy, always,--until now." "so gracefully sweet-tempered; so domestic, joyful, busy, and light-hearted!" said the voice. "otherwise i never could have loved her as i did," returned the carrier. the voice, correcting him, said "do." the carrier repeated "as i did." but not firmly. his faltering tongue resisted his control, and would speak in its own way, for itself and him. the figure, in an attitude of invocation, raised its hand and said: "upon your own hearth"-"the hearth she has blighted," interposed the carrier. "the hearth she has--how often!--blessed and brightened," said the cricket: "the hearth which, but for her, were only a few stones and bricks and rusty bars, but which has been, through her, the altar of your home; on which you have nightly sacrificed some petty passion, selfishness, or care, and offered up the homage of a tranquil mind, a trusting nature, and an overflowing heart; so that the smoke from this poor chimney has gone upward with a better fragrance than the richest incense that is burnt before the richest shrines in all the gaudy temples of this world!--upon your own hearth; in its quiet sanctuary; surrounded by its gentle influences and associations; hear her! hear me! hear everything that speaks the language of your hearth and home!" "and pleads for her?" enquired the carrier. "all things that speak the language of your hearth and home, _must_ plead for her!" returned the cricket. "for they speak the truth." and while the carrier, with his head upon his hands, continued to sit meditating in his chair, the presence stood beside him; suggesting his reflections by its power, and presenting them before him, as in a glass or picture. it was not a solitary presence. from the hearthstone, from the chimney; from the clock, the pipe, the kettle, and the cradle; from the floor, the walls, the ceiling, and the stairs; from the cart without, and the cupboard within, and the household implements; from every thing and every place with which she had ever been familiar, and with which she had ever entwined one recollection of herself in her unhappy husband's mind; fairies came trooping forth. not to stand beside him as the cricket did, but to busy and bestir themselves. to do all honor to her image. to pull him by the skirts, and point to it when it appeared. to cluster round it, and embrace it, and strew flowers for it to tread on. to try to crown its fair head with their tiny hands. to show that they were fond of it and loved it; and that there was not one ugly, wicked, or accusatory creature to claim knowledge of it--none but their playful and approving selves. his thoughts were constant to her image. it was always there. she sat plying her needle, before the fire, and singing to herself. such a blithe, thriving, steady little dot! the fairy figures turned upon him all at once, by one consent, with one prodigious concentrated stare; and seemed to say "is this the light wife you are mourning for!" there were sounds of gaiety outside: musical instruments, and noisy tongues, and laughter. a crowd of young merry-makers came pouring in; among whom were may fielding and a score of pretty girls. dot was the fairest of them all; as young as any of them too. they came to summon her to join their party. it was a dance. if ever little foot were made for dancing, hers was, surely. but she laughed, and shook her head, and pointed to her cookery on the fire, and her table ready spread: with an exulting defiance that rendered her more charming than she was before. and so she merrily dismissed them: nodding to her would-be partners, one by one, as they passed out, with a comical indifference, enough to make them go and drown themselves immediately if they were her admirers--and they must have been so, more or less; they couldn't help it. and yet indifference was not her character. oh no! for presently, there came a certain carrier to the door; and bless her what a welcome she bestowed upon him! again the staring figures turned upon him all at once, and seemed to say "is this the wife who has forsaken you!" a shadow fell upon the mirror or the picture: call it what you will. a great shadow of the stranger, as he first stood underneath their roof; covering its surface, and blotting out all other objects. but the nimble fairies worked like bees to clear it off again; and dot again was there. still bright and beautiful. rocking her little baby in its cradle; singing to it softly; and resting her head upon a shoulder which had its counterpart in the musing figure by which the fairy cricket stood. the night--i mean the real night: not going by fairy clocks--was wearing now; and in this stage of the carrier's thoughts, the moon burst out, and shone brightly in the sky. perhaps some calm and quiet light had risen also, in his mind; and he could think more soberly of what had happened. although the shadow of the stranger fell at intervals upon the glass--always distinct, and big, and thoroughly defined--it never fell so darkly as at first. whenever it appeared, the fairies uttered a general cry of consternation, and plied their little arms and legs, with inconceivable activity, to rub it out. and whenever they got at dot again, and showed her to him once more, bright and beautiful, they cheered in the most inspiring manner. they never showed her, otherwise than beautiful and bright, for they were household spirits to whom falsehood is annihilation; and being so, what dot was there for them, but the one active, beaming, pleasant little creature who had been the light and sun of the carrier's home! the fairies were prodigiously excited when they showed her, with the baby, gossiping among a knot of sage old matrons, and affecting to be wondrous old and matronly herself, and leaning in a staid, demure old way upon her husband's arm, attempting--she! such a bud of a little woman--to convey the idea of having abjured the vanities of the world in general, and of being the sort of person to whom it was no novelty at all to be a mother; yet in the same breath, they showed her, laughing at the carrier for being awkward, and pulling up his shirt-collar to make him smart, and mincing merrily about that very room to teach him how to dance! they turned, and stared immensely at him when they showed her with the blind girl; for though she carried cheerfulness and animation with her, wheresoever she went, she bore those influences into caleb plummer's home, heaped up and running over. the blind girl's love for her, and trust in her, and gratitude to her; her own good busy way of setting bertha's thanks aside; her dexterous little arts for filling up each moment of the visit in doing something useful to the house, and really working hard while feigning to make holiday; her bountiful provision of those standing delicacies, the veal and ham-pie and the bottles of beer; her radiant little face arriving at the door, and taking leave; the wonderful expression in her whole self, from her neat foot to the crown of her head, of being a part of the establishment--a something necessary to it, which it couldn't be without; all this the fairies revelled in, and loved her for. and once again they looked upon him all at once, appealingly; and seemed to say, while some among them nestled in her dress and fondled her, "is this the wife who has betrayed your confidence!" more than once, or twice, or thrice, in the long thoughtful night, they showed her to him sitting on her favourite seat, with her bent head, her hands clasped on her brow, her falling hair. as he had seen her last. and when they found her thus, they neither turned nor looked upon him, but gathered close round her, and comforted and kissed her: and pressed on one another to show sympathy and kindness to her: and forgot him altogether. thus the night passed. the moon went down; the stars grew pale; the cold day broke; the sun rose. the carrier still sat, musing, in the chimney corner. he had sat there, with his head upon his hands, all night. all night the faithful cricket had been chirp, chirp, chirping on the hearth. all night he had listened to its voice. all night, the household fairies had been busy with him. all night, she had been amiable and blameless in the glass, except when that one shadow fell upon it. he rose up when it was broad day, and washed and dressed himself. he couldn't go about his customary cheerful avocations; he wanted spirit for them; but it mattered the less, that it was tackleton's wedding-day, and he had arranged to make his rounds by proxy. he had thought to have gone merrily to church with dot. but such plans were at an end. it was their own wedding-day too. ah! how little he had looked for such a close to such a year! the carrier expected that tackleton would pay him an early visit; and he was right. he had not walked to and fro before his own door, many minutes, when he saw the toy merchant coming in his chaise along the road. as the chaise drew nearer, he perceived that tackleton was dressed out sprucely, for his marriage: and had decorated his horse's head with flowers and favors. the horse looked much more like a bridegroom than tackleton: whose half-closed eye was more disagreeably expressive than ever. but the carrier took little heed of this. his thoughts had other occupation. "john peerybingle!" said tackleton, with an air of condolence. "my good fellow, how do you find yourself this morning?" "i have had but a poor night, master tackleton," returned the carrier shaking his head: "for i have been a good deal disturbed in my mind. but it's over now! can you spare me half an hour or so, for some private talk?" "i came on purpose," returned tackleton, alighting. "never mind the horse. he'll stand quiet enough, with the reins over this post, if you'll give him a mouthful of hay." the carrier having brought it from his stable and set it before him, they turned into the house. "you are not married before noon?" he said, "i think?" "no," answered tackleton. "plenty of time. plenty of time." when they entered the kitchen, tilly slowboy was rapping at the stranger's door; which was only removed from it by a few steps. one of her very red eyes (for tilly had been crying all night long, because her mistress cried) was at the keyhole; and she was knocking very loud; and seemed frightened. "if you please i can't make nobody hear," said tilly, looking round. "i hope nobody an't gone and been and died if you please!" this philanthropic wish, miss slowboy emphasised with various new raps and kicks at the door; which led to no result whatever. "shall i go?" said tackleton. "it's curious." the carrier who had turned his face from the door, signed to him to go if he would. so tackleton went to tilly slowboy's relief; and he too kicked and knocked; and he too failed to get the least reply. but he thought of trying the handle of the door; and as it opened easily, he peeped in, looked in, went in; and soon came running out again. "john peerybingle," said tackleton, in his ear. "i hope there has been nothing--nothing rash in the night." the carrier turned upon him quickly. "because he's gone!" said tackleton; "and the window's open. i don't see any marks--to be sure it's almost on a level with the garden: but i was afraid there might have been some--some scuffle. eh?" he nearly shut up the expressive eye, altogether; he looked at him so hard. and he gave his eye, and his face, and his whole person, a sharp twist. as if he would have screwed the truth out of him. "make yourself easy," said the carrier. "he went into that room last night, without harm in word or deed from me; and no one has entered it since. he is away of his own free will. i'd go out gladly at that door, and beg my bread from house to house, for life, if i could so change the past that he had never come. but he has come and gone. and i have done with him!" "oh!--well, i think he has got off pretty easily," said tackleton, taking a chair. the sneer was lost upon the carrier, who sat down too: and shaded his face with his hand, for some little time, before proceeding. "you showed me last night," he said at length, "my wife; my wife that i love; secretly--" "and tenderly," insinuated tackleton. "conniving at that man's disguise, and giving him opportunities of meeting her alone. i think there's no sight i wouldn't have rather seen than that. i think there's no man in the world i wouldn't have rather had to show it me." "i confess to having had my suspicions always," said tackleton. "and that has made me objectionable here, i know." "but as you did show it me," pursued the carrier, not minding him; "and as you saw her; my wife; my wife that i love"--his voice, and eye, and hand, grew steadier and firmer as he repeated these words: evidently in pursuance of a stedfast purpose--"as you saw her at this disadvantage, it is right and just that you should also see with my eyes, and look into my breast, and know what my mind is, upon the subject. for it's settled," said the carrier, regarding him attentively. "and nothing can shake it now." tackleton muttered a few general words of assent, about its being necessary to vindicate something or other; but he was overawed by the manner of his companion. plain and unpolished as it was, it had a something dignified and noble in it, which nothing but the soul of generous honor dwelling in the man, could have imparted. "i am a plain, rough man," pursued the carrier, "with very little to recommend me. i am not a clever man, as you very well know. i am not a young man. i loved my little dot, because i had seen her grow up, from a child, in her father's house; because i knew how precious she was; because she had been my life, for years and years. there's many men i can't compare with, who never could have loved my little dot like me, i think!" he paused, and softly beat the ground a short time with his foot, before resuming: "i often thought that though i wasn't good enough for her, i should make her a kind husband, and perhaps know her value better than another; and in this way i reconciled it to myself, and came to think it might be possible that we should be married. and in the end, it came about, and we _were_ married." "hah!" said tackleton, with a significant shake of his head. "i had studied myself; i had had experience of myself; i knew how much i loved her, and how happy i should be," pursued the carrier. "but i had not--i feel it now--sufficiently considered her." "to be sure," said tackleton. "giddiness, frivolity, fickleness, love of admiration! not considered! all left out of sight! hah!" "you had best not interrupt me," said the carrier, with some sternness, "till you understand me; and you're wide of doing so. if, yesterday, i'd have struck that man down at a blow, who dared to breathe a word against her; to-day i'd set my foot upon his face, if he was my brother!" the toy merchant gazed at him in astonishment. he went on in a softer tone: "did i consider," said the carrier, "that i took her; at her age, and with her beauty; from her young companions, and the many scenes of which she was the ornament; in which she was the brightest little star that ever shone; to shut her up from day to day in my dull house, and keep my tedious company? did i consider how little suited i was to her sprightly humour, and how wearisome a plodding man like me must be, to one of her quick spirit? did i consider that it was no merit in me, or claim in me, that i loved her, when everybody must who knew her? never. i took advantage of her hopeful nature and her cheerful disposition; and i married her. i wish i never had! for her sake; not for mine!" the toy merchant gazed at him, without winking. even the half-shut eye was open now. "heaven bless her!" said the carrier, "for the cheerful constancy with which she has tried to keep the knowledge of this from me! and heaven help me, that, in my slow mind, i have not found it out before! poor child! poor dot! _i_ not to find it out, who have seen her eyes fill with tears, when such a marriage as our own was spoken of! i, who have seen the secret trembling on her lips a hundred times, and never suspected it, till last night! poor girl! that i could ever hope she would be fond of me! that i could ever believe she was!" "she made a show of it," said tackleton. "she made such a show of it, that to tell you the truth it was the origin of my misgivings." and here he asserted the superiority of may fielding, who certainly made no sort of show of being fond of _him_. "she has tried," said the poor carrier, with greater emotion than he had exhibited yet; "i only now begin to know how hard she has tried; to be my dutiful and zealous wife. how good she has been; how much she has done; how brave and strong a heart she has; let the happiness i have known under this roof bear witness! it will be some help and comfort to me, when i am here alone." "here alone?" said tackleton. "oh! then you do mean to take some notice of this?" "i mean," returned the carrier, "to do her the greatest kindness, and make her the best reparation, in my power. i can release her from the daily pain of an unequal marriage, and the struggle to conceal it; she shall be as free as i can render her." "make _her_ reparation!" exclaimed tackleton, twisting and turning his great ears with his hands. "there must be something wrong here. you didn't say that, of course." the carrier set his grip upon the collar of the toy merchant, and shook him like a reed. "listen to me!" he said. "and take care that you hear me right. listen to me. do i speak plainly?" "very plainly indeed," answered tackleton. "as if i meant it?" "very much as if you meant it." "i sat upon that hearth, last night, all night," exclaimed the carrier. "on the spot where she has often sat beside me, with her sweet face looking into mine. i called up her whole life, day by day; i had her dear self, in its every passage, in review before me. and upon my soul she is innocent, if there is one to judge the innocent and guilty!" staunch cricket on the hearth! loyal household fairies! "passion and distrust have left me!" said the carrier; "and nothing but my grief remains. in an unhappy moment some old lover, better suited to her tastes and years than i; forsaken, perhaps, for me, against her will; returned. in an unhappy moment: taken by surprise, and wanting time to think of what she did: she made herself a party to his treachery, by concealing it. last night she saw him, in the interview we witnessed. it was wrong. but otherwise than this, she is innocent if there is truth on earth!" "if that is your opinion--" tackleton began. "so, let her go!" pursued the carrier. "go, with my blessing for the many happy hours she has given me, and my forgiveness for any pang she has caused me. let her go, and have the peace of mind i wish her! she'll never hate me. she'll learn to like me better, when i'm not a drag upon her, and she wears the chain i have rivetted, more lightly. this is the day on which i took her, with so little thought for her enjoyment, from her home. to-day she shall return to it; and i will trouble her no more. her father and mother will be here to-day--we had made a little plan for keeping it together--and they shall take her home. i can trust her, there, or anywhere. she leaves me without blame, and she will live so i am sure. if i should die--i may perhaps while she is still young; i have lost some courage in a few hours--she'll find that i remembered her, and loved her to the last! this is the end of what you showed me. now, it's over!" "oh no, john, not over. do not say it's over yet! not quite yet. i have heard your noble words. i could not steal away, pretending to be ignorant of what has affected me with such deep gratitude. do not say it's over, 'till the clock has struck again!" she had entered shortly after tackleton; and had remained there. she never looked at tackleton, but fixed her eyes upon her husband. but she kept away from him, setting as wide a space as possible between them; and though she spoke with most impassioned earnestness, she went no nearer to him even then. how different in this, from her old self! "no hand can make the clock which will strike again for me the hours that are gone," replied the carrier, with a faint smile. "but let it be so, if you will, my dear. it will strike soon. it's of little matter what we say. i'd try to please you in a harder case than that." "well!" muttered tackleton. "i must be off: for when the clock strikes again, it'll be necessary for me to be upon my way to church. good morning, john peerybingle. i'm sorry to be deprived of the pleasure of your company. sorry for the loss, and the occasion of it too!" "i have spoken plainly?" said the carrier, accompanying him to the door. "oh quite!" "and you'll remember what i have said?" "why, if you compel me to make the observation," said tackleton; previously taking the precaution of getting into his chaise; "i must say that it was so very unexpected, that i'm far from being likely to forget it." "the better for us both," returned the carrier. "good bye. i give you joy!" "i wish i could give it to _you_," said tackleton. "as i can't; thank'ee. between ourselves (as i told you before, eh?) i don't much think i shall have the less joy in my married life, because may hasn't been too officious about me, and too demonstrative. good bye! take care of yourself." the carrier stood looking after him until he was smaller in the distance than his horse's flowers and favours near at hand; and then, with a deep sigh, went strolling like a restless, broken man, among some neighbouring elms; unwilling to return until the clock was on the eve of striking. his little wife, being left alone, sobbed piteously; but often dried her eyes and checked herself, to say how good he was, how excellent he was! and once or twice she laughed; so heartily, triumphantly, and incoherently (still crying all the time), that tilly was quite horrified. "ow if you please don't!" said tilly. "it's enough to dead and bury the baby, so it is if you please." "will you bring him sometimes, to see his father, tilly," enquired her mistress; drying her eyes; "when i can't live here, and have gone to my old home?" "ow if you please don't!" cried tilly, throwing back her head, and bursting out into a howl; she looked at the moment uncommonly like boxer; "ow if you please don't! ow, what has everybody gone and been and done with everybody, making everybody else so wretched! ow-w-w-w!" the soft-hearted slowboy trailed off at this juncture, into such a deplorable howl: the more tremendous from its long suppression: that she must infallibly have awakened the baby, and frightened him into something serious (probably convulsions), if her eyes had not encountered caleb plummer, leading in his daughter. this spectacle restoring her to a sense of the proprieties, she stood for some few moments silent, with her mouth wide open: and then, posting off to the bed on which the baby lay asleep, danced in a weird, saint vitus manner on the floor, and at the same time rummaged with her face and head among the bedclothes: apparently deriving much relief from those extraordinary operations. "mary!" said bertha. "not at the marriage!" "i told her you would not be there mum," whispered caleb. "i heard as much last night. but bless you," said the little man, taking her tenderly by both hands, "_i_ don't care for what they say; _i_ don't believe them. there an't much of me, but that little should be torn to pieces sooner than i'd trust a word against you!" he put his arms about her neck and hugged her, as a child might have hugged one of his own dolls. "bertha couldn't stay at home this morning," said caleb. "she was afraid, i know, to hear the bells ring: and couldn't trust herself to be so near them on their wedding-day. so we started in good time, and came here. i have been thinking of what i have done," said caleb, after a moment's pause; "i have been blaming myself 'till i hardly knew what to do or where to turn, for the distress of mind i have caused her; and i've come to the conclusion that i'd better, if you'll stay with me, mum, the while, tell her the truth. you'll stay with me the while?" he enquired, trembling from head to foot. "i don't know what effect it may have upon her; i don't know what she'll think of me; i don't know that she'll ever care for her poor father afterwards. but it's best for her that she should be undeceived; and i must bear the consequences as i deserve!" "mary," said bertha, "where is your hand! ah! here it is; here it is!" pressing it to her lips, with a smile, and drawing it through her arm. "i heard them speaking softly among themselves, last night, of some blame against you. they were wrong." the carrier's wife was silent. caleb answered for her. "they were wrong," he said. "i knew it!" cried bertha, proudly. "i told them so. i scorned to hear a word! blame _her_ with justice!" she pressed the hand between her own, and the soft cheek against her face. "no! i am not so blind as that." her father went on one side of her, while dot remained upon the other: holding her hand. "i know you all," said bertha, "better than you think. but none so well as her. not even you, father. there is nothing half so real and so true about me, as she is. if i could be restored to sight this instant, and not a word were spoken, i could choose her from a crowd! my sister!" "bertha, my dear!" said caleb, "i have something on my mind i want to tell you, while we three are alone. hear me kindly! i have a confession to make to you, my darling." "a confession, father?" "i have wandered from the truth and lost myself, my child," said caleb, with a pitiable expression in his bewildered face. "i have wandered from the truth, intending to be kind to you; and have been cruel." she turned her wonder-stricken face towards him, and repeated "cruel!" "he accuses himself too strongly, bertha," said dot. "you'll say so, presently. you'll be the first to tell him so." "he cruel to me!" cried bertha, with a smile of incredulity. "not meaning it, my child," said caleb. "but i have been; though i never suspected it, 'till yesterday. my dear blind daughter, hear me and forgive me! the world you live in, heart of mine, doesn't exist as i have represented it. the eyes you have trusted in, have been false to you." she turned her wonder-stricken face towards him still; but drew back, and clung closer to her friend. "your road in life was rough, my poor one," said caleb, "and i meant to smooth it for you. i have altered objects, changed the characters of people, invented many things that never have been, to make you happier. i have had concealments from you, put deceptions on you, god forgive me! and surrounded you with fancies." "but living people are not fancies?" she said hurriedly, and turning very pale, and still retiring from him. "you can't change them." "i have done so, bertha," pleaded caleb. "there is one person that you know, my dove--" "oh father! why do you say, i know?" she answered, in a tone of keen reproach. "what and whom do _i_ know! i who have no leader! i so miserably blind!" in the anguish of her heart, she stretched out her hands, as if she were groping her way; then spread them, in a manner most forlorn and sad, upon her face. "the marriage that takes place to-day," said caleb, "is with a stern, sordid, grinding man. a hard master to you and me, my dear, for many years. ugly in his looks, and in his nature. cold and callous always. unlike what i have painted him to you in everything, my child. in everything." "oh why," cried the blind girl, tortured, as it seemed, almost beyond endurance, "why did you ever do this! why did you ever fill my heart so full, and then come in like death, and tear away the objects of my love! oh heaven, how blind i am! how helpless and alone!" her afflicted father hung his head, and offered no reply but in his penitence and sorrow. she had been but a short time in this passion of regret, when the cricket on the hearth, unheard by all but her, began to chirp. not merrily, but in a low, faint, sorrowing way. it was so mournful, that her tears began to flow; and when the presence which had been beside the carrier all night, appeared behind her, pointing to her father, they fell down like rain. she heard the cricket-voice more plainly soon; and was conscious, through her blindness, of the presence hovering about her father. "mary," said the blind girl, "tell me what my home is. what it truly is." "it is a poor place, bertha; very poor and bare indeed. the house will scarcely keep out wind and rain another winter. it is as roughly shielded from the weather, bertha," dot continued in a low, clear voice, "as your poor father in his sackcloth coat." the blind girl, greatly agitated, rose, and led the carrier's little wife aside. "those presents that i took such care of; that came almost at my wish, and were so dearly welcome to me," she said, trembling; "where did they come from? did you send them?" "no." "who then?" dot saw she knew, already; and was silent. the blind girl spread her hands before her face again. but in quite another manner now. "dear mary, a moment. one moment! more this way. speak softly to me. you are true, i know. you'd not deceive me now; would you?" "no, bertha, indeed!" "no, i am sure you would not. you have too much pity for me. mary, look across the room to where we were just now; to where my father is--my father, so compassionate and loving to me--and tell me what you see." "i see," said dot, who understood her well; "an old man sitting in a chair, and leaning sorrowfully on the back, with his face resting on his hand. as if his child should comfort him, bertha." "yes, yes. she will. go on." "he is an old man, worn with care and work. he is a spare, dejected, thoughtful, grey-haired man. i see him now, despondent and bowed down, and striving against nothing. but bertha, i have seen him many times before; and striving hard in many ways for one great sacred object. and i honor his grey head, and bless him!" the blind girl broke away from her; and throwing herself upon her knees before him, took the grey head to her breast. "it is my sight restored. it is my sight!" she cried. "i have been blind, and now my eyes are open. i never knew him! to think i might have died, and never truly seen the father, who has been so loving to me!" there were no words for caleb's emotion. "there is not a gallant figure on this earth," exclaimed the blind girl, holding him in her embrace, "that i would love so dearly, and would cherish so devotedly, as this! the greyer, and more worn, the dearer, father! never let them say i am blind again. there's not a furrow in his face, there's not a hair upon his head, that shall be forgotten in my prayers and thanks to heaven!" caleb managed to articulate "my bertha!" "and in my blindness, i believed him," said the girl, caressing him with tears of exquisite affection, "to be so different! and having him beside me, day by day, so mindful of me always, never dreamed of this!" "the fresh smart father in the blue coat, bertha," said poor caleb. "he's gone!" "nothing is gone," she answered. "dearest father, no! everything is here--in you. the father that i loved so well; the father that i never loved enough, and never knew; the benefactor whom i first began to reverence and love, because he had such sympathy for me; all are here in you. nothing is dead to me. the soul of all that was most dear to me is here--here, with the worn face, and the grey head. and i am not blind, father, any longer!" dot's whole attention had been concentrated, during this discourse, upon the father and daughter; but looking, now, towards the little haymaker in the moorish meadow, she saw that the clock was within a few minutes of striking; and fell, immediately, into a nervous and excited state. "father," said bertha, hesitating. "mary." "yes my dear," returned caleb. "here she is." "there is no change in _her_. you never told me anything of _her_ that was not true?" "i should have done it my dear, i am afraid," returned caleb, "if i could have made her better than she was. but i must have changed her for the worse, if i had changed her at all. nothing could improve her, bertha." confident as the blind girl had been when she asked the question, her delight and pride in the reply, and her renewed embrace of dot, were charming to behold. "more changes than you think for, may happen though, my dear," said dot. "changes for the better, i mean; changes for great joy to some of us. you mustn't let them startle you too much, if any such should ever happen, and affect you? are those wheels upon the road? you've a quick ear, bertha. are they wheels?" "yes. coming very fast." "i--i--i know you have a quick ear," said dot, placing her hand upon her heart, and evidently talking on, as fast as she could, to hide its palpitating state, "because i have noticed it often, and because you were so quick to find out that strange step last night. though why you should have said, as i very well recollect you did say, bertha, 'whose step is that!' and why you should have taken any greater observation of it than of any other step, i don't know. though as i said just now, there are great changes in the world: great changes: and we can't do better than prepare ourselves to be surprised at hardly anything." caleb wondered what this meant; perceiving that she spoke to him, no less than to his daughter. he saw her, with astonishment, so fluttered and distressed that she could scarcely breathe; and holding to a chair, to save herself from falling. "they are wheels indeed!" she panted, "coming nearer! nearer! very close! and now you hear them stopping at the garden gate! and now you hear a step outside the door--the same step bertha, is it not!--and now!"-she uttered a wild cry of uncontrollable delight; and running up to caleb put her hands upon his eyes, as a young man rushed into the room, and flinging away his hat into the air, came sweeping down upon them. "is it over?" cried dot. "yes!" "happily over?" "yes!" "do you recollect the voice, dear caleb? did you ever hear the like of it before?" cried dot. "if my boy in the golden south americas was alive"--said caleb, trembling. "he is alive!" shrieked dot, removing her hands from his eyes, and clapping them in ecstacy; "look at him! see where he stands before you, healthy and strong! your own dear son! your own dear living, loving brother, bertha!" all honor to the little creature for her transports! all honor to her tears and laughter, when the three were locked in one another's arms! all honor to the heartiness with which she met the sunburnt sailor-fellow, with his dark streaming hair, half way, and never turned her rosy little mouth aside, but suffered him to kiss it, freely, and to press her to his bounding heart! and honor to the cuckoo too--why not!--for bursting out of the trap-door in the moorish palace like a housebreaker, and hiccoughing twelve times on the assembled company, as if he had got drunk for joy! the carrier, entering, started back: and well he might: to find himself in such good company. "look, john!" said caleb, exultingly, "look here! my own boy from the golden south americas! my own son! him that you fitted out, and sent away yourself; him that you were always such a friend to!" the carrier advanced to seize him by the hand; but recoiling, as some feature in his face awakened a remembrance of the deaf man in the cart, said: "edward! was it you?" "now tell him all!" cried dot. "tell him all, edward; and don't spare me, for nothing shall make me spare myself in his eyes, ever again." "i was the man," said edward. "and could you steal, disguised, into the house of your old friend?" rejoined the carrier. "there was a frank boy once--how many years is it, caleb, since we heard that he was dead, and had it proved, we thought?--who never would have done that." "there was a generous friend of mine, once: more a father to me than a friend:" said edward, "who never would have judged me, or any other man, unheard. you were he. so i am certain you will hear me now." the carrier, with a troubled glance at dot, who still kept far away from him, replied, "well! that's but fair. i will." "you must know that when i left here, a boy," said edward, "i was in love: and my love was returned. she was a very young girl, who perhaps (you may tell me) didn't know her own mind. but i knew mine; and i had a passion for her." "you had!" exclaimed the carrier. "you!" "indeed i had," returned the other. "and she returned it. i have ever since believed she did; and now i am sure she did." "heaven help me!" said the carrier. "this is worse than all." "constant to her," said edward, "and returning, full of hope, after many hardships and perils, to redeem my part of our old contract, i heard, twenty miles away, that she was false to me; that she had forgotten me; and had bestowed herself upon another and a richer man. i had no mind to reproach her; but i wished to see her, and to prove beyond dispute that this was true. i hoped she might have been forced into it, against her own desire and recollection. it would be small comfort, but it would be some, i thought: and on i came. that i might have the truth, the real truth; observing freely for myself, and judging for myself, without obstruction on the one hand, or presenting my own influence (if i had any) before her, on the other; i dressed myself unlike myself--you know how; and waited on the road--you know where. you had no suspicion of me; neither had--had she," pointing to dot, "until i whispered in her ear at that fireside, and she so nearly betrayed me." "but when she knew that edward was alive, and had come back," sobbed dot, now speaking for herself, as she had burned to do, all through this narrative; "and when she knew his purpose, she advised him by all means to keep his secret close; for his old friend john peerybingle was much too open in his nature, and too clumsy in all artifice--being a clumsy man in general," said dot, half laughing and half crying--"to keep it for him. and when she--that's me, john," sobbed the little woman--"told him all, and how his sweetheart had believed him to be dead; and how she had at last been over-persuaded by her mother into a marriage which the silly, dear old thing called advantageous; and when she--that's me again, john--told him they were not yet married (though close upon it), and that it would be nothing but a sacrifice if it went on, for there was no love on her side; and when he went nearly mad with joy to hear it; then she--that's me again--said she would go between them, as she had often done before in old times, john, and would sound his sweetheart and be sure that what she--me again, john--said and thought was right. and it was right, john! and they were brought together, john! and they were married, john, an hour ago! and here's the bride! and gruff and tackleton may die a bachelor! and i'm a happy little woman, may, god bless you!" she was an irresistible little woman, if that be anything to the purpose; and never so completely irresistible as in her present transports. there never were congratulations so endearing and delicious, as those she lavished on herself and on the bride. amid the tumult of emotions in his breast, the honest carrier had stood, confounded. flying, now, towards her, dot stretched out her hand to stop him, and retreated as before. "no john, no! hear all! don't love me any more john, 'till you've heard every word i have to say. it was wrong to have a secret from you, john. i'm very sorry. i didn't think it any harm, till i came and sat down by you on the little stool last night; but when i knew by what was written in your face, that you had seen me walking in the gallery with edward; and knew what you thought; i felt how giddy and how wrong it was. but oh, dear john, how could you, could you, think so!" little woman, how she sobbed again! john peerybingle would have caught her in his arms. but no; she wouldn't let him. "don't love me yet, please john! not for a long time yet! when i was sad about this intended marriage, dear, it was because i remembered may and edward such young lovers; and knew that her heart was far away from tackleton. you believe that, now. don't you john?" john was going to make another rush at this appeal; but she stopped him again. "no; keep there, please john! when i laugh at you, as i sometimes do, john; and call you clumsy, and a dear old goose, and names of that sort, it's because i love you john, so well; and take such pleasure in your ways; and wouldn't see you altered in the least respect to have you made a king to-morrow." "hooroar!" said caleb with unusual vigour. "my opinion!" "and when i speak of people being middle-aged, and steady, john, and pretend that we are a humdrum couple, going on in a jog-trot sort of way, it's only because i'm such a silly little thing, john, that i like, sometimes, to act a kind of play with baby, and all that: and make believe." she saw that he was coming; and stopped him again. but she was very nearly too late. "no, don't love me for another minute or two, if you please john! what i want most to tell you, i have kept to the last. my dear, good, generous john; when we were talking the other night about the cricket, i had it on my lips to say, that at first i did not love you quite so dearly as i do now; that when i first came home here, i was half afraid i mightn't learn to love you every bit as well as i hoped and prayed i might--being so very young, john. but, dear john, every day and hour, i loved you more and more. and if i could have loved you better than i do, the noble words i heard you say this morning, would have made me. but i can't. all the affection that i had (it was a great deal john) i gave you, as you well deserve, long, long, ago, and i have no more left to give. now, my dear husband, take me to your heart again! that's my home, john; and never, never think of sending me to any other!" you never will derive so much delight from seeing a glorious little woman in the arms of a third party, as you would have felt if you had seen dot run into the carrier's embrace. it was the most complete, unmitigated, soul-fraught little piece of earnestness that ever you beheld in all your days. you may be sure the carrier was in a state of perfect rapture; and you may be sure dot was likewise; and you may be sure they all were, inclusive of miss slowboy, who cried copiously for joy, and, wishing to include her young charge in the general interchange of congratulations, handed round the baby to everybody in succession, as if it were something to drink. but now the sound of wheels was heard again outside the door; and somebody exclaimed that gruff and tackleton was coming back. speedily that worthy gentleman appeared: looking warm and flustered. "why, what the devil's this, john peerybingle!" said tackleton. "there's some mistake. i appointed mrs. tackleton to meet me at the church; and i'll swear i passed her on the road, on her way here. oh! here she is! i beg your pardon sir; i haven't the pleasure of knowing you; but if you can do me the favour to spare this young lady, she has rather a particular engagement this morning." "but i can't spare her," returned edward. "i couldn't think of it." "what do you mean, you vagabond?" said tackleton. "i mean, that as i can make allowance for your being vexed," returned the other, with a smile, "i am as deaf to harsh discourse this morning, as i was to all discourse last night." the look that tackleton bestowed upon him, and the start he gave! "i am sorry sir," said edward, holding out may's left hand, and especially the third finger, "that the young lady can't accompany you to church; but as she has been there once, this morning, perhaps you'll excuse her." tackleton looked hard at the third finger; and took a little piece of silver-paper, apparently containing a ring, from his waistcoat pocket. "miss slowboy," said tackleton. "will you have the kindness to throw that in the fire? thank'ee." "it was a previous engagement: quite an old engagement: that prevented my wife from keeping her appointment with you, i assure you," said edward. "mr. tackleton will do me the justice to acknowledge that i revealed it to him faithfully; and that i told him, many times, i never could forget it," said may, blushing. "oh certainly!" said tackleton. "oh to be sure. oh it's all right. it's quite correct. mrs. edward plummer, i infer?" "that's the name," returned the bridegroom. "ah! i shouldn't have known you sir," said tackleton: scrutinizing his face narrowly, and making a low bow. "i give you joy sir!" "thank'ee." "mrs. peerybingle," said tackleton, turning suddenly to where she stood with her husband; "i am sorry. you haven't done me a very great kindness, but upon my life i am sorry. you are better than i thought you. john peerybingle, i am sorry. you understand me; that's enough. it's quite correct, ladies and gentlemen all, and perfectly satisfactory. good morning!" with these words he carried it off, and carried himself off too: merely stopping at the door, to take the flowers and favors from his horse's head, and to kick that animal once in the ribs, as a means of informing him that there was a screw loose in his arrangements. of course it became a serious duty now, to make such a day of it, as should mark these events for a high feast and festival in the peerybingle calendar for evermore. accordingly, dot went to work to produce such an entertainment, as should reflect undying honour on the house and every one concerned; and in a very short space of time, she was up to her dimpled elbows in flour, and whitening the carrier's coat, every time he came near her, by stopping him to give him a kiss. that good fellow washed the greens, and peeled the turnips, and broke the plates, and upset iron pots full of cold water on the fire, and made himself useful in all sorts of ways: while a couple of professional assistants, hastily called in from somewhere in the neighbourhood, as on a point of life or death, ran against each other in all the doorways and round all the corners; and everybody tumbled over tilly slowboy and the baby, everywhere. tilly never came out in such force before. her ubiquity was the theme of general admiration. she was a stumbling-block in the passage at five and twenty minutes past two; a man-trap in the kitchen at half-past two precisely; and a pitfall in the garret at five and twenty minutes to three. the baby's head was, as it were, a test and touchstone for every description of matter, animal, vegetable, and mineral. nothing was in use that day that didn't come, at some time or other, into close acquaintance with it. then, there was a great expedition set on foot to go and find out mrs. fielding; and to be dismally penitent to that excellent gentlewoman; and to bring her back, by force if needful, to be happy and forgiving. and when the expedition first discovered her, she would listen to no terms at all, but said, an unspeakable number of times, that ever she should have lived to see the day! and couldn't be got to say anything else, except "now carry me to the grave;" which seemed absurd, on account of her not being dead, or anything at all like it. after a time, she lapsed into a state of dreadful calmness, and observed, that when that unfortunate train of circumstances had occurred in the indigo trade, she had foreseen that she would be exposed, during her whole life, to every species of insult and contumely; and that she was glad to find it was the case; and begged they wouldn't trouble themselves about her,--for what was she? oh, dear! a nobody!--but would forget that such a being lived, and would take their course in life without her. from this bitterly sarcastic mood, she passed into an angry one, in which she gave vent to the remarkable expression that the worm would turn if trodden on; and after that, she yielded to a soft regret, and said, if they had only given her their confidence, what might she not have had it in her power to suggest! taking advantage of this crisis in her feelings, the expedition embraced her; and she very soon had her gloves on, and was on her way to john peerybingle's in a state of unimpeachable gentility; with a paper parcel at her side containing a cap of state, almost as tall, and quite as stiff, as a mitre. then, there were dot's father and mother to come, in another little chaise; and they were behind their time; and fears were entertained; and there was much looking out for them down the road; and mrs. fielding always would look in the wrong and morally impossible direction; and being apprised thereof, hoped she might take the liberty of looking where she pleased. at last they came: a chubby little couple, jogging along in a snug and comfortable little way that quite belonged to the dot family: and dot and her mother, side by side, were wonderful to see. they were so like each other. then, dot's mother had to renew her acquaintance with may's mother; and may's mother always stood on her gentility; and dot's mother never stood on anything but her active little feet. and old dot: so to call dot's father; i forgot it wasn't his right name, but never mind: took liberties, and shook hands at first sight, and seemed to think a cap but so much starch and muslin, and didn't defer himself at all to the indigo trade, but said there was no help for it now; and, in mrs. fielding's summing up, was a good-natured kind of man--but coarse, my dear. i wouldn't have missed dot, doing the honors in her wedding-gown: my benison on her bright face! for any money. no! nor the good carrier, so jovial and so ruddy, at the bottom of the table. nor the brown, fresh sailor-fellow, and his handsome wife. nor any one among them. to have missed the dinner would have been to miss as jolly and as stout a meal as man need eat; and to have missed the overflowing cups in which they drank the wedding day, would have been the greatest miss of all. after dinner, caleb sang the song about the sparkling bowl! as i'm a living man: hoping to keep so, for a year or two: he sang it through. and, by-the-by, a most unlooked-for incident occurred, just as he finished the last verse. there was a tap at the door; and a man came staggering in, without saying with your leave, or by your leave, with something heavy on his head. setting this down in the middle of the table, symmetrically in the centre of the nuts and apples, he said: "mr. tackleton's compliments, and as he hasn't got no use for the cake himself, p'raps you'll eat it." and with those words, he walked off. there was some surprise among the company, as you may imagine. mrs. fielding, being a lady of infinite discernment, suggested that the cake was poisoned; and related a narrative of a cake, which, within her knowledge, had turned a seminary for young ladies, blue. but she was overruled by acclamation; and the cake was cut by may, with much ceremony and rejoicing. i don't think any one had tasted it, when there came another tap at the door; and the same man appeared again, having under his arm a vast brown paper parcel. "mr. tackleton's compliments, and he's sent a few toys for the babby. they ain't ugly." after the delivery of which expressions, he retired again. the whole party would have experienced great difficulty in finding words for their astonishment, even if they had had ample time to seek them. but they had none at all; for the messenger had scarcely shut the door behind him, when there came another tap, and tackleton himself walked in. "mrs. peerybingle!" said the toy merchant, hat in hand. "i'm sorry. i'm more sorry than i was this morning. i have had time to think of it. john peerybingle! i'm sour by disposition; but i can't help being sweetened, more or less, by coming face to face with such a man as you. caleb! this unconscious little nurse gave me a broken hint last night, of which i have found the thread. i blush to think how easily i might have bound you and your daughter to me; and what a miserable idiot i was, when i took her for one! friends, one and all, my house is very lonely to-night. i have not so much as a cricket on my hearth. i have scared them all away. be gracious to me; let me join this happy party!" he was at home in five minutes. you never saw such a fellow. what _had_ he been doing with himself all his life, never to have known, before, his great capacity of being jovial! or what had the fairies been doing with him, to have effected such a change! "john! you won't send me home this evening; will you?" whispered dot. he had been very near it though! there wanted but one living creature to make the party complete; and, in the twinkling of an eye, there he was: very thirsty with hard running, and engaged in hopeless endeavours to squeeze his head into a narrow pitcher. he had gone with the cart to its journey's-end, very much disgusted with the absence of his master, and stupendously rebellious to the deputy. after lingering about the stable for some little time, vainly attempting to incite the old horse to the mutinous act of returning on his own account, he had walked into the tap-room and laid himself down before the fire. but suddenly yielding to the conviction that the deputy was a humbug, and must be abandoned, he had got up again, turned tail and come home. there was a dance in the evening. with which general mention of that recreation, i should have left it alone, if i had not some reason to suppose that it was quite an original dance, and one of a most uncommon figure. it was formed in an odd way; in this way. edward, that sailor-fellow--a good free dashing sort of fellow he was--had been telling them various marvels concerning parrots, and mines, and mexicans, and gold dust, when all at once he took it in his head to jump up from his seat and propose a dance; for bertha's harp was there, and she had such a hand upon it as you seldom hear. dot (sly little piece of affectation when she chose) said her dancing days were over; _i_ think because the carrier was smoking his pipe, and she liked sitting by him, best. mrs. fielding had no choice, of course, but to say her dancing days were over, after that; and everybody said the same, except may; may was ready. [illustration] so, may and edward get up, amid great applause, to dance alone; and bertha plays her liveliest tune. well! if you'll believe me, they have not been dancing five minutes, when suddenly the carrier flings his pipe away, takes dot round the waist, dashes out into the room, and starts off with her, toe and heel, quite wonderfully. tackleton no sooner sees this, than he skims across to mrs. fielding, takes her round the waist, and follows suit. old dot no sooner sees this, than up he is, all alive, whisks off mrs. dot into the middle of the dance, and is the foremost there. caleb no sooner sees this, than he clutches tilly slowboy by both hands and goes off at score; miss slowboy, firm in the belief that diving hotly in among the other couples, and effecting any number of concussions with them, is your only principle of footing it. hark! how the cricket joins the music with its chirp, chirp, chirp; and how the kettle hums! * * * * * but what is this! even as i listen to them, blithely, and turn towards dot, for one last glimpse of a little figure very pleasant to me, she and the rest have vanished into air, and i am left alone. a cricket sings upon the hearth; a broken child's-toy lies upon the ground; and nothing else remains. london: bradbury and evans printers, whitefriars. new edition of oliver twist. _on the first of january will be published, to be completed in ten monthly parts, price one shilling each, no. i. of_ oliver twist. a new edition, revised by the author, uniform with "the pickwick papers," with twenty-four illustrations by george cruikshank. * * * * * london: printed and published for the author, by bradbury and evans, 90, fleet street, and whitefriars. mr. dickens's works. martin chuzzlewit. with forty illustrations by "phiz." in one volume, price 21_s._ cloth boards. american notes. for general circulation. _fourth edition._ in two volumes, post 8vo, price 21_s._ cloth. barnaby rudge; a tale of the riots of eighty. with seventy eight illustrations by g. cattermole and h. k. browne. in one volume, price 13_s._ cloth. the old curiosity shop. with seventy five illustrations by g. cattermole and h. k. browne. in one volume, price 13_s._ cloth. sketches by "boz." _a new edition_, with forty illustrations by george cruikshank. in one volume, 8vo, price 21_s._ cloth. the pickwick papers. with forty three illustrations by "phiz." in one volume 8vo, price 21_s._ cloth. nicholas nickleby. with forty illustrations by "phiz." in one volume, 8vo, price 21_s._ cloth. the chimes. a goblin story of some bells that rang an old year out and a new year in. the illustrations by daniel maclise, r.a.; clarkson stanfield, r.a.; john leech; and richard doyle. _twelfth edition._ in foolscap 8vo, price 5_s._ a christmas carol. in prose. being a ghost story of christmas. with four coloured etchings, and woodcuts, by leech. _tenth edition._ in foolscap 8vo, price 5_s._ portrait of mr. dickens. engraved by finden, from a painting by daniel maclise, r.a. price--in quarto, plain paper, 1_s._; folio, india paper, 2_s._ * * * * * transcriber's notes: obvious punctuation errors repaired. varied hyphenation was retained such as teaboard and tea-board. text uses both hers and her's and yours and your's. page 33, "care" changed to "care" (care.' yes, yes, it's) page 121, "controul" changed to "control" (resisted his control) page 130, "emphasied" changed to "emphasised" (miss slowboy emphasised) (this file was made using scans of public domain works in the international children's digital library.) the story of the white-rock cove. with illustrations. london: t. nelson and sons, paternoster row; edinburgh; and new york. 1871. [illustration: willie and aleck at the foot of the white rock.] contents i. long ago at braycombe ii. aleck's welcome iii. a whole holiday iv. the ride to stavemoor v. ship-building vi. the schooner-yacht vii. the missing ship viii. another search ix. sorrowful days x. sunday evening xi. the white-rock cove again the story of the white-rock cove. chapter i. long ago at braycombe. the story of the white-rock cove--"_to be written down all from the very beginning_"--is urgently required by certain youthful petitioners, whose importunity is hard to resist; and the request is sealed by a rosy pair of lips from the little face nestling at my side, in a manner that admits of no denial. * * * * * "_from the beginning_;"--that very beginning carries me back to my own old school-room, in the dear home at braycombe, when, as a little boy between nine and ten years old, i sat there doing my lessons. it was on a thursday morning, and, consequently, i was my mother's pupil. for whereas my tutor, a certain mr. glengelly, from our nearest town of elmworth, used to come over on mondays, wednesdays, and fridays for the carrying forward of my education; my studies were, on the other days of the week, which i consequently liked much better, conducted under the gentle superintendence of my mother. on this particular morning i was working with energy at a rule-of-three sum, being engaged in a sort of exciting race with the clock, of which the result was still doubtful. when, however, the little click, which meant, as i well knew, five minutes to twelve, sounded, i had attained my quotient in plain figures; a few moments more, and the process of _fours into, twelves into, twenties into_, had been accomplished; and just as the clock struck twelve i was able to hand up my slate triumphantly with my task completed. "a drawn game, mamma!" i exclaimed, "between me and the clock;" and then with eager eyes i followed hers, as she rapidly ran over the figures which had cost me so much trouble, and from time to time relieved my mind by a quiet commentary: "quite right so far;--no mistakes yet;--you have worked it out well." frisk, the intelligent, the affectionate, the well-beloved companion of my sports, and the recipient of many of my confidences, woke up from his nap, stretched himself, came and placed his fore-paws upon my knees, and, looking up in my face, spoke as plainly as if endowed with the capacity of expressing himself in human language, to this effect:--"i'm very glad you have finished your lessons; and glad, too, that i was able to sleep on a mat in the window, where the warm sunshine has made me extremely comfortable. but now your lessons are done, i hope you'll lose no time, but come out to play at once. i'm ready when you are." and frisk's tail wagged faster and faster when my mother's inspection of my sum was concluded, so that i could not help thinking he must have understood her when she said,--"there are no mistakes, willie; you have been a good, industrious little boy this morning; you may go out to play with a light heart." i did not need twice telling, but very soon put away all my books and maps, and the slate, with its right side carefully turned down, that it might not get rubbed, wiped the pens, placed my copy-book in the drawer, and presented myself for that final kiss with which my mother was wont to terminate our proceedings, and which was on this occasion accompanied by the remonstrance that i was getting quite too big a boy for such nonsense. then at a bound i disappeared through the window, which opened on the lawn, and let off my pent-up steam in the circumnavigation of the garden, with frisk barking at my heels; clearing the geranium-bed with a flying leap, and taking the low wire-fence by the shrubbery twice over, to the humiliation of my canine companion, who had to dip under where i went over. the conclusion of these performances brought me once again in front of the school-room window, where my mother stood beckoning to me. she had my straw hat with its sailor's blue ribbons in one hand, and a slice of seed-cake in the other. "here, willie," she said, "put on your hat, for the sun is hot although there is a fresh breeze; and--but perhaps i may have been mistaken--i thought perhaps some people of my acquaintance were fond of seed-cake for luncheon." "no indeed, dear mamma," i made answer speedily, "you are not at all mistaken: some people--that is, frisk and i--do like it very much; don't we frisk, old fellow?" "and now," continued my mother,--who must certainly have forgotten at the moment her opinion expressed just five minutes before as to the propriety of kisses, for, smoothing back my hair, she stooped down to press her lips upon my forehead before putting my hat on,--"and now you are to take your troublesome self off for a long hour, indeed, almost an hour and a half: away with you to your play." "may i take my troublesome self to old george's, mamma?" i petitioned. "if you like," she answered; "only be careful in going down the zig-zag; i don't want to find you a little heap of broken bones at the bottom of the cliff." i confess myself to being entirely incapable of conveying on paper to my young readers the charms, the manifold delights, of that zig-zag walk, which was our shortest way down to the lodge. you started from the garden, then through the shrubbery, and from the shrubbery by a little wire gate you entered the natural wood which clothed the upper part of our hill-side. the path descended rapidly from this point, being very steep in parts, and emerging every here and there so as to command an uninterrupted view of the beautiful braycombe bay, which on this bright summer morning was all dancing and sparkling in the sunshine. lower down, the wood gave place to rock and turf, until you reached the top of the shingle which the path skirted for a little distance; and, finally, crossing an undulating meadow, you gained the lodge, the abode of my friend old george, mentioned above. it was not its picturesque beauty alone which endeared the zig-zag walk to me, although, child that i was, i feel sure the loveliness of the outer world had the effect, unconsciously to myself, of brightening my little inner world; but over and above all this must be ranked my keen enjoyment of a scramble, and of the sense of difficulty and danger attendant upon certain steep parts of the descent. it was one of my great amusements to be trusted occasionally to guide my parents' visitors down by this path, for the sake of the view, whilst their carriages would be sent the long way by the drive to meet them at the lodge. there were precipitous places, where even grave and stately grown-up people would give up walking and take to running; and then again little perilous points, where ladies especially would utter faint cries of fright, and would require gentle persuasion to induce them to step down from stone to stone; whilst i, fearless from long practice, would triumphantly perform the feat two or three times, to show that i was not in the least afraid, devising, moreover, short cuts for myself even steeper than those of the recognized path. i question whether the birth-day which conferred on me the privilege of going alone up and down the zig-zag was the greatest boon to myself or to my nurse; the exertion involved in scaling the hill-side being to the full as wearisome to her as it was enchanting to myself. the emancipation, however, came early in my career, since my friend, old george, by my father's consent, assumed a sort of out-of-door charge of me at a period when most little boys are exclusively under nursery discipline. for my father reposed the utmost confidence in the old man's principles, and did not hesitate to let me be for hours under his care, saying, often in my hearing, that he would rather have me out on the water learning from him how to manage the boats, or climbing the rocks and exploring the caves under his safe guardianship, than learning from a woman only how to keep _off_ the rocks and avoid tumbling into the water. he was an old seaman, united by strong ties of friendship and gratitude to our family. in earlier years he had served on board the same ship in which my father had been a young midshipman; and on one occasion, when my father fell overboard, at a time when the vessel was at full speed, had thrown himself into the water, and held my father's head up when he was too exhausted to swim, until the boat put out for the rescue had time to come up and save both lives, which the delay had placed in great peril. when, some years later, on my grandfather's death, my father came to live at braycombe, he insisted upon groves, who was just about to be pensioned off through some failure in health, coming to settle with his wife at the lodge, promising him the charge of our boats, so that he might have a taste of his old occupation. his daughter-in-law, widow of his only son, who had been drowned, obtained the situation of schoolmistress, and lived near to the old couple with ralph, _her_ only son, a lad some few years my senior, who was employed about the place under his grandfather's supervision, and helped in rowing when we went out upon the water. a friendship firm and tender had grown up between myself and the old seaman, i accepting him as a grown-up play-fellow, and revealing to him in detail all the many plans continually suggesting themselves to my fertile imagination, and finding in him an ever ready sympathy, and, when possible, active co-operation in my schemes. from which digression, explanatory of the relationship subsisting between old george--as he had taught me from infancy to call him, _mr. groves_, as he was more properly designated by the neighbourhood--and myself, i must return to the bright june morning upon which, after my usual fashion, i descended the zig-zag, running, scrambling, sliding, with frisk scampering and capering at my side, making wild snaps at pieces of cake which i broke off for him from time to time, and held up as high as i could reach, that he might have to jump for them. we were not long in gaining the lodge, which, by the carriage drive, was nearly three-quarters of a mile from the house. i produced a series of knocks upon the door, like those of a london postman, though, as old george was wont to remark,-"what's the use, master willie, of knocking like that; you never stop to hear me say 'come in,' but just burst open the door and drive in like a gust of wind promiscuous." but, in self-defence, i must explain that my defective manners in this particular were entirely due to my old friend himself, who, from earliest infancy, had trained me in all manner of impertinent familiarities. it was traditional that i cried to go to him whilst i was still in arms; that i made attacks of an aggravated character upon his brass buttons before i could walk alone; and i could just remember experiments upon his white beard, as trying doubtless to him as they were interesting to myself, conducted with philosophical determination on my part, in order to ascertain whether it came off by pulling or not! in all of which proceedings my friend greatly encouraged me, so that the blame of my failure in the laws of etiquette lay at his door. only mrs. groves was in the cottage when i rushed in eagerly upon the morning in question. she was busy in culinary mysteries, but assured me her master would be soon in, and, in the meantime, i was to make myself at home; which i did at once. "and your dear ma, how's she?" inquired the good lady presently, settling a cover on a saucepan in a decisive manner, and sitting down during a pause in her operations. "i saw her drive by yesterday; and susan told me she'd been at the school. a blessed time children have of it these days, going to school; it's very different to what it was in my time." "then you didn't go to school?" i asked, being privately of opinion that she was rather fortunate as a child. "oh yes, sir, i went to school, but not like the schooling children has now-a-days, with a high-born lady like your ma going herself to see them;--our old dame, she teached us all she knew--to read, and mark, and learn,--" "and inwardly digest?" i suggested, as mrs. groves hesitated in her enumeration of accomplishments. but there was not time to satisfy me concerning this branch of her education, for old george appearing at the moment, i flew to meet him, and we strolled down to the water's edge together. "i've been longing to see you," i exclaimed. "it's about aleck, my cousin aleck, i wanted to tell you. he's coming, and uncle and aunt gordon, on thursday week; that's only just a fortnight, you know." aleck was my only boy cousin, and ever since there had been a notion of his coming to braycombe, i had been thinking and dreaming of him incessantly. my aunt gordon had been in very delicate health, and the doctors ordered foreign air and constant change for the summer months, and a winter in some warm climate. there had been some hesitation as to how my cousin, their only child, should be disposed of. he was not very strong, and school life, it was feared, might be too great an ordeal for another year; so my parents had written, offering that he should spend that time at braycombe, and share my tutor's instructions. the decisive answer from my uncle had only just arrived, and i was in a tumult of joy and excitement that it was in favour of my cousin's coming to stay with us, and that the actual day of our visitors' arrival had been fixed. george listened with every appearance of interest to my communication. "i'm glad your cousin's coming, master willie, as you're pleased," he said. "but aren't you glad, too, for your own sake?" i asked. "it will be so nice having him to play with us." "oh, i'll be pleased to see him, never fear for that," responded george. "i knew his father when he was but a little fellow like yourself." "mamma calls me her _big_ boy," i threw in, disapprovingly. "but what do you think aleck will be like?" "well, sir, i should expect very much such another young craft as yourself; or, now i come to think of it, perhaps a year older or so." "not a year," i replied; "ten months and a half. i asked mamma his birth-day. do you think he'll be as tall as me? because papa and mamma say i'm tall for my age." "his father stood six feet one the day he came of age. i daresay his son will take after him," said george. "and be as tall as that?" i inquired, feeling rather anxious, until reassured, at the transformation of my cousin in prospect into a young giant. i suppose that few children had ever seen less of other children than i had up to this time. there were but three gentlemen's houses in our neighbourhood: the rectory, where lived the elderly clergyman and his wife, who had never had a family; the elms, a country seat, where sir john and lady cosington and two grown-up daughters resided; and willowbank, another country place, occupied by a young married couple, with one little baby. elmworth, our nearest town, was seven miles off; and this distance almost entirely precluded intercourse with any of the families there. in consequence of this, i had been completely without companions of my own age up to this time. in books i had read much of children's amusements with their companions; and although the perfect happiness of my own home left nothing really to be wished for, if ever a wish _did_ occur to me for anything i had not, it was for a play-fellow and companion somewhere about my own age; and now, when this wish of mine was really on the eve of being realized, i was filled with vague dreams and anticipations of all the delight which it was to bring to me. when george and i had mutually agreed that my cousin aleck--allowing for the difference of age--might be reasonably expected to be somewhat taller than myself, we sat down on the beach, and began to discuss certain plans of mine for giving him a suitable welcome. dim ideas, the result of "illustrated london news'" pictures, were floating in my mind--bouquets, triumphal arches, addresses, and so forth--even although i wound up by saying-"of course, not like that exactly; only something--something rather grand." [illustration: old george and willie.] old george, however, kindly and wisely pulled my schemes down, and laid them affectionately in the dust:-"you see, master willie, anything written, even in your best hand, wouldn't come up to what you will say in the first five minutes by word of mouth; and then the school banners, though very suitable for a feast--and i'm sure my susan would be right pleased to look them up for you--would be no ways suitable. '_a merry christmas and happy new year_,' or, '_braycombe schools, founded 1830_,' would look odd-like flying in the avenue at this time of year. and though i'd be glad to do anything to give you pleasure, i'd rather be opening the gate to your uncle and aunt and cousin, as they drive up, than firing off a gun, which might disturb their nerves, not to say frighten the horses." all of which was perfectly unanswerable. but as old george put on his spectacles in conclusion, i knew he meant to consider the subject with attention; and i therefore remained quietly at his side, sending flat stones skimming along the water, or throwing in a stick for frisk to fetch out again, until, as i expected, he signified to me that he had thought of what would do. he said that the light arch which supported the central lamp over the gate might be very easily decked with evergreens for the occasion, and the word _welcome_, traced in flowers, put up so as to appear very pretty with the green background; whilst the flag-staff at the top of the hill, just by the shrubbery, should display all the flags that our establishment could boast of. groves' scheme, though not quite so extensive as those which had floated through my childish imagination, was sufficiently attractive to be very welcome; and i eagerly insisted upon our immediately returning to the lodge, where george took certain measurements of the arch which impressed me wonderfully with a sense of his superiority, and wisdom. by which time mrs. groves looked out to say that her husband's dinner would be spoiled by waiting, or eaten by the dog, "which there was no driving off." and i, thus reminded of the time, settled the difficulty about frisk by taking him up bodily in my arms, and, hurrying off, reached home only just in time to get ready for dinner before the gong sounded. chapter ii. aleck's welcome. it is almost unnecessary to remark that the fortnight preceding my cousin's arrival was one of the longest i had ever spent--even longer than those preceding birth-days or christmas. however, the long looked-for thursday came at last. i pleaded hard for a whole holiday, but my mother would not be persuaded; so i had to do my morning lessons as usual, and confessed, after they were over, that the hours had passed much faster than i at all expected. in consideration of the travellers having, in all probability, had but little time for refreshment, dinner was to be rather earlier than usual; and aleck and i were to have it, for once, with the elders of the party. luncheon was also early; and not having the time to go down to the lodge before it, i went out into the garden with my mother to help in gathering a nosegay for my aunt's room. how fresh and beautiful everything looked that morning, as we stood there amongst the flowers, my mother selecting the materials for the nosegay, and i holding the basket, and handing her the scissors as she wanted them, or executing at intervals little by-plays with frisk. i remember feeling a kind of intense thrill of happiness, which to this day is vividly recalled by the scent of those particular roses and geraniums; and also a sort of dim wonder about the unhappiness which i had heard and read of as the fate of some--pondering in my own mind how it felt to be so very unhappy, and whether people couldn't help it if they would only go out into the fresh air and warm sunshine, and enjoy themselves as i did. from which speculations i was recalled by my mother saying,-"i think we have enough flowers, willie; perhaps just one creeper for the outside of the vase. there--we shall do now." then we went in by the school-room window, and i fetched the large vase from the east bed-room, and stood by my mother whilst tastefully and daintily she arranged the flowers as i thought none but she could arrange them. she had nearly completed her task when my father came into the school-room. "i am sending the carriage early, dear," he said to her; "for although i think they cannot arrive until the 4.50 train, there is just the chance of their catching the one before. have you any messages for rickson?" "none, dear," answered my mother. "but you must stay for a moment and look at my flowers. are they not sweet and pretty?" "very sweet and very pretty," replied my father. but i thought he looked at her more than at the flowers when he said so; and she laughed, although, after all, there was nothing to laugh at. "willie and i have been gathering them," she said; "and now we are going to put them in bessie's room." "i know who remembers everything that can give pleasure to others," observed my father, whose hand was on my shoulder by this time. "willie, i hope you will grow up like your mamma." not quite seeing the force of this observation, i replied that, being a boy, i thought i had better grow up like him. and both my parents laughed; but my mother said she quite agreed with me, it would be far better. then we carried the vase up, and placed it on the table in the window of the east bed-room; and my mother flitted about, putting little finishing touches here and there to complete the arrangements for the comfort of her visitors, whilst i received a commission to inspect portfolios, envelope-cases, and ink-bottles, and to see that all were freshly replenished. these matters being finally disposed of, i persuaded my mother to ascend to the more remote part of the house, where a room next to my own had, at my earnest request, been prepared for my cousin, and in the decoration of which i felt peculiar interest. there was a twin bedstead to my own, and various other pieces of furniture corresponding; moreover, in an impulse of generosity i had transferred certain of my own possessions into aleck's apartment, with a noble determination to be extremely liberal. my mother noticed these at once, but i was a little disappointed that she did not commend my liberality. "you see, mamma," i explained, "there's my own green boat with the union-jack, and the bat i liked best before papa gave me my last new one, and the dissected map of the queens of england." "yes, i see, willie," replied my mother; proceeding in the meantime to certain readjustments urgently called for, by the critical position of the bat standing on the drawers against the wall, and the boat nearly falling from the mantelpiece. "there, my child," she said; "the bat will do better in the comer, and the ship upon the drawers. and now the puzzle: why, willie, this is the very one of which i heard you say there were three pieces missing; and then mrs. barbauld you think childish for yourself!" my countenance fell, for i had been indulging in the cheap generosity of giving away second-bests, and i could see my mother did not admire such liberality. indeed, after a moment's consideration, i was ashamed of it myself, and hastened with alacrity to hide mrs. barbauld, and the queens of england, and one or two other trifles, in the obscurity of my own room; whilst my mother decided upon the best position for a couple of prettily-framed pictures which she had had brought up, and fastened an illuminated text, similar to one in my own room, opposite the bed--"_the things which are seen are temporal; the things which are unseen are eternal_"--and placed a little statuette of a guardian angel, with the scroll underneath, "_he shall give his angels charge over thee_," over the bed-head. "what a good thought, mamma," i said, when she had finished her arrangements; "that looks exactly like mine." "just what i want it to look, willie. you and aleck are to be as like brothers to each other as may be. you have never had brother or sister of your own, willie--not that you can remember [there _had_ been one infant sister, whose death, when about a month old, had been my parents' greatest sorrow]--but now that your cousin is likely to stay a long time with us, i hope that you and he will be as much as possible like brothers to each other." then my mother, who was sitting at the foot of the bed, drew me towards her, and quietly talked to me about some of the new duties as well as temptations which would come with new pleasures, bidding me remember that i was to try never to think first of myself, but to be willing to consider others before myself. we had been reading the 13th of first corinthians that morning together, and her observations seemed to me as if drawn straight from that source; indeed, before long she reminded me of it, bidding me remember it supplied the standard we ought to aim at, and telling me that strength would be always given, _if i sought it_, to help me to be what i wanted to be; it was only those who did not heartily strive who got beaten in the conflict. it is not to be supposed that this was all uttered in a set speech; i am giving the substance only of a few minutes' quiet talk which we had up there in the bed-room together that morning before luncheon, and which i confess to having felt at the time rather superfluous, my delight in the anticipation of my cousin's arrival convincing me that there would be no fear of my finding anything but happiness in my intercourse with him. my mother, on the contrary, as i afterwards had reason to know, was by no means without anxiety. she knew that hitherto i had been completely shielded from every possible trial. the darling of herself and my father, and, as the only child, a favourite amongst the attached members of our household, my wants had been all anticipated, and every pleasure suited to my age had been planned for me so ingeniously, that i had never had the chance of showing myself selfish or ill-tempered. she feared that when for the first time i found myself not _first_ considered in all arrangements, i might fail in those particular points of conduct in which she was most anxious i should triumph. my mother's gentle admonitions, to which i at the time paid little heed, were interrupted by the luncheon gong. "when will the wonderful preparations at the gate be ready?" asked my father whilst we were at table. "oh, there's nothing left to do but to fasten up the flowers. old george says it won't take an hour," i replied. "then if i come down at three o'clock the show will be ready?" "quite ready," i said. "and mamma will come too?" "of course mamma's coming too; unless, indeed, you mean to charge so high a price for the exhibition," said my father comically, "that i cannot afford it. but even then," he added, "mamma shall see it; i'll give it up for her." i was off from the luncheon-table as soon as possible, but found nurse lying in wait to capture me and enforce upon my mind the first duty of returning by four o'clock, to be dressed properly before the arrival of our visitors, whose impression of me, she conceived, would be most unfavourable were they to find me in what she was pleased to call "this trumpery," referring to a little sailor's suit of white and blue in which i was very generally attired, and which nurse chose to disapprove. she wound up her admonition by a sort of lament over my light-mindedness as to my best clothes; a spirit which, she remarked, was apt to cling to people to their graves--sometimes afterwards; which i scarcely thought possible. frisk and i darted down the zig-zag at our usual pace, so soon as i was released from nurse's kind offices, and joined old george, who was on the look-out for us. very pleased we were with the result of our exertions when the really pretty triumphal arch was completed; the letters of the word _welcome_ in conspicuously gay flowers forming a pretty contrast to the leafy background, and eliciting what we felt to be a well-merited admiration from my parents and a select committee of servants, who came severally to inspect our handiwork in the course of the afternoon. "it's fit for her majesty," said my father in his playful way, "and far too fine for a little stranger boy! in fact, it seems scarcely proper that a humble individual like myself should pass under it!" "you're not a humble individual, papa!" i exclaimed vehemently. "oh, dear! oh, dear!" sighed my father, "that it should come to such a pass as this; my only son tells me i am wanting in humility--not a humble person!" "an _individual_!" i said, feeling that made a great difference. "but now, papa, you're only in fun; you know i didn't mean that." "one thing i do mean very distinctly, willie, which is, that i must not stay chattering here with you any longer, or my letters will never be ready before post-time. you may stay a little longer with george if you like." i stayed accordingly, determining to be home by the zig-zag at the appointed hour. but my parents had scarcely had the time necessary for walking up to the house, when the sharp sound of horses' trot suddenly aroused my attention, and in another moment our carriage, with the travellers inside, was rounding the curve of the road, and had drawn up before the gate. my confusion and shyness at thus being surprised were indescribable; and a latent desire to take to immediate flight and get home the short way might probably have prevailed, had not my uncle's quick eye caught sight of me as i drew back under the shelter of old george. "why, surely there must be willie!" he exclaimed; and in another moment groves had hoisted my unwilling self on to the step of the carriage, and was introducing me to my relations, regardless of my shy desire to stand upon the ground, and make geological researches with my eyes under the wheels. "yes, sir, this is master willie; he's been uncommon taken up with the other young master coming, and it's his thought having a bit of something [to think of old george designating our beautiful arch as a bit of something!] put up at the gate to bid him welcome." "there's for you, aleck," said my uncle to a fair-haired boy sitting in the furthest corner of the carriage opposite to my aunt, whom i just mustered courage to look at. "you'll have to make your best bow and a very grand speech, to return thanks for such an honour." "master didn't expect you so soon, sir," proceeded george; "he thought you'd be coming by the next train; that's how it is that master willie was down here." "then i think the best thing we can do with master willie is to carry him up to the house with us," said my uncle. and accordingly i was lifted over from my step into the midst of the party in the carriage, and seated down between my uncle and aunt. the coachman was compelled to rein in the horses a minute longer, whilst they all looked at and admired the arch, and then we bowled off rapidly up the avenue. i sometimes think we remember our life in pictures: certainly the very frontispiece of my acquaintance with my cousin aleck always is, and will be, a distinct mind's eye picture of that party in the carriage, with myself in their midst. uncle gordon sitting in the right hand corner with his arm round me, keeping me very close to himself, so that i might not crowd my aunt, who was leaning back on the other side of me, as though weary with the long journey. opposite my uncle my aunt's maid, with a green bonnet decorated with a bow of red velvet of angular construction in the centre of the front, to which the parting of her hair seemed to lead up like a broad white road; she was grasping, as though her life depended upon her keeping them safely, a sort of family fagot of umbrellas in one hand, whilst with the other she kept a leather-covered dressing-case steady on her lap. in the fourth corner was my cousin, in full highland kilt, such as i had hitherto seen only in toy-books of the costumes of all nations or other pictures, and which inspired me with a wonderful amount of curiosity. lastly, myself in blue and white sailor's dress, looking, no doubt, as if i had been captured from a man-of-war; conscious of tumbled hair, and doubtful hands, and retribution in store for me in the shape of a talking-to from nurse, who had still unlimited jurisdiction over my wardrobe, for having been surprised in a state she would designate as "not fit to be seen." aleck and i found our eyes wandering to each other momentarily as we drove along. when they met, we took them off again, and pretended to look out at opposite sides of the carriage; but this happened so often, that at last we both laughed, and--the ice broke. i was quite on chatty terms before we reached the house. "there are papa and mamma!" i exclaimed, as we came in sight of the entrance. they had heard the carriage, and were at the door to welcome their guests. "see, i have brought you two boys instead of one," said my uncle, lifting me out first, and then proceeding to help out my aunt, as if she were a delicate piece of china, and "with care" labelled outside her. when the greetings were over, my mother declared a rest on the sofa in her room and a cup of tea indispensable for my aunt's refreshment. my uncle took my father's arm and disappeared into the study; and we two boys were left to take care of each other until dinner-time. i proposed going round the garden, and frisk being of the party, proceeded to show off his accomplishments. this led to an animated description of my cousin's dog, cã¦sar, and a comparison of the ways and habits of cã¦sar the big with those of frisk the little, on the strength of which we became very intimate. afterwards we returned to the house, and having shown aleck his room, i took him into mine, where we were found seated on the floor surrounded by "my things," which i had been exhibiting in detail to my cousin, when nurse came, a little before six o'clock, to see that we were ready for dinner. "aleck, tell me one thing," i had just said to my cousin; "are they really your knees or leather?" aleck stared, "leather! why, of course not; what made you think such an odd question?" "i didn't think they _could_ be leather after the first minute," i replied, doubtfully; "but i couldn't know--" chapter iii. a whole holiday. to what boy or girl does not the promise of a whole holiday convey a sort of fortunatus' purse of anticipated enjoyment! i used to wonder--i remember wondering that very day after aleck's arrival, when i had the most enjoyable whole holiday i ever spent--why grown-up people who always had them should seem so indifferent to their privileges, writing it down upon the secret tablets of my resolve, that when _i_ grew up things should be very different with me. my cousin and i sat side by side at the breakfast-table in a vehement impulse of boyish affection, so completely taken up with each other that i for one never remember noticing any one else during the progress of the meal, except when once i caught a wistful look from my aunt, and heard her saying, in a rather sorrowful low voice, to my mother,-"i am very thankful to see our boys take to each other; it is quite a load off my mind that aleck should be with you instead of being left at school." "won't aleck come too?" i asked my mother, when she summoned me to our usual bible-reading after breakfast. "not whilst his own mamma is here," was the answer; and i was obliged to rest content. but the moment i had put away my bible, i flew off in search of him, eagerly explaining that we were to do what we liked for the whole of the morning, and sketching out a plan for our amusement such as i thought would be pleasant to him:-"first, we must go over the whole house--you've only seen a little bit of it yet--and the kitchen-garden and the stables, and then down the zig-zag to old george's, and we'll get him to go out with us in the boat. it's smooth enough to sail the 'fair alice'--that's a little yacht of mine that old george gave me." aleck's face brightened. "may you go out in a boat when you like?" he asked, eagerly. "oh, how _de_-light-ful!" how we careered over the house that morning, visiting every nook and corner of it, from the "leads" on the roof; accessible only by a ladder and trap-door, to the most hidden repositories in the housekeeper's domain! the servants good naturedly remarked i had gone crazy. presently i bade aleck shut his eyes, and submit to my guidance blindfold, whilst i led him to the only room he had not been in. we passed through several passages, and then i went forward, tapped at a door, and finding i might come in, fetched aleck, still with eyes shut. "there now, you may look," i exclaimed, watching in a satisfied manner the astonishment with which he opened his eyes to find himself in the study, and his confusion on seeing my father seated at the library table near the window, surrounded by books and papers. "oh, uncle," he exclaimed, "i did not know i was in your room!" "and are very much startled at finding yourself there," said my father, finishing his sentence for him. "what shall we do with the culprit, willie? prosecute him according to the utmost rigour of the law, and sentence him to a year's imprisonment at braycombe, with hard labour, under mr. glengelly and old george!" "i think that would be a very good punishment," i answered, "only i should like it to be more than a year." "see what a cruel fellow your cousin is," said my father, getting up from his chair, and proceeding to take aleck round the room, showing him various curiosities with which i was familiar; then he sat down again, and keeping aleck at his side, told him that so long as he remained at braycombe he was to feel as much at home, and as welcome to the study as i was, and that he was to try and trust him as he could his own father, until we all had the joy of welcoming his parents home again. "famous chats we get here sometimes, eh, willie?" he concluded, appealing to me. "_rather!_" i answered emphatically, seating myself on the arm of his chair, and looking over his shoulder. "papa, shall you have time to play with us this afternoon. it's a whole holiday. i want you to very much." "i fear not, willie. i must be away all the morning. peter the great will be at the door to carry me off in another minute, and i must keep the afternoon for your uncle and aunt. to-morrow afternoon i will give you an hour, only i stipulate you must have mercy upon your old father, and not expect him to climb trees like a squirrel, or run like a hare." "you know you're not an _old_ father, papa," i said; "and, aleck, papa can run quite fast--faster than anybody else i ever saw, and he climbs better than anybody else. he's been up the tree i showed you in the avenue." "whatever papa's qualifications may be," my father observed, "the end of the matter just at present is, that rickson is coming round with the horses, and i cannot keep his imperial majesty waiting." "what does uncle do?" inquired my cousin after we had been to the door and had seen my father mount and ride away on peter the great. "papa! oh, he does quantities of things," i replied, somewhat vaguely. "what kind of things?" i proceeded to enumerate them promiscuously:-"why, he's a magistrate, and tries cases at elmworth, and sends people to prison; and he goes to a hospital twice every week at elmworth, and he goes to see poor people--we often have some from the hospital down here; and he always has quantities of letters; and he reads to mamma; and, do you know, he once wrote a book--" i paused, not so much because i had exhausted the list of my father's employments, as because i had named that achievement which of all others filled me with the deepest awe and reverence. i could remember how, when i was four years old, my mother had lifted me up to see a volume on the counter of the great bookseller's shop at elmworth, and had let me spell through the name "grant" on the title-page. i felt as if i had risen in life, and looked upon books in general with a feeling of personal friendship, as from one behind the scenes, from that day; whilst, personally, i was much elated by the thought of what a very wonderful and extraordinary man my father was. i was rather glad when aleck told me that he did not think his papa had ever written a book;--it made me feel a little bit superior to him. after going to the stables to see my pony, we proceeded to the zig-zag, chattering fast the whole way. i was full of plans and projects, and anxious at once to interest my cousin in every one of them. "you see," i explained, "there are quantities of things that we haven't been able to do, because there's been only george and me; and he's always had it to say that there were only us two, and that he was old and i young, but he can't say that now." "he doesn't seem so very old," remarked aleck. "i don't think he is," i answered, "but he's taught me to call him old george since i have been a baby; everybody else calls him groves or mr. groves. now there's one thing i want very much to begin, and that is digging a hole right through the earth to come out at the other side, where, you know, we should find ourselves standing on our heads! george has always kept putting off beginning. but haven't you heard of many people beginning to do something great when they were boys?" "yes," answered aleck, musingly; "i have a book about wonderful boys, and one of them cut out a lion in butter, and another drew a picture upon a stump of a tree; but i don't think we should be able to dig so very far down--we should have to stop at last." this unprejudiced opinion of my cousin's, adverse as it was to my favourite scheme, was rather disappointing, but we were now engaged in the excitement of descending the zig-zag, so i had not leisure to think much about it. "isn't it a jolly way down?" i exclaimed. "papa says it's two hundred feet to that piece of rock down below." "it's not steeper than our hills at home," said aleck; "only we have not the sea near us--oh, how i wish we had!" aleck was quite as good a scrambler as i was, so we were not long in reaching the lodge, where old george seemed to be on the watch for us, and welcomed us both with his wonted heartiness. "master told me you'd be coming down, young gentlemen, as he rode by, and that you were to go out as much as you liked in the boat; and so i've been telling my good wife she must keep the look-out for the gate. ralph's coming along presently, and will be down at the cove most as soon as we shall." george wanted aleck to go into the lodge and see certain objects of interest, which, to use his own words, he "set _great store by_." but i was too eager to allow of this, and insisted upon our setting out at once for the cove. "i want to show him the greatest treasure i have of all my treasures," i exclaimed. "is that the 'fair alice' you were telling me of?" asked aleck. "yes; you'll see her presently," i replied; "and you won't wonder that i like her better than all my other things." i led the way at once by a footpath from the lodge across the sloping green meadow, then through a little tangled copse, and finally a short rocky descent to what was at braycombe always styled _the_ cove. not but that there were many coves on our beautiful indented coast, but this one was the most accessible on our grounds. the boat-house and the bathing-box were both here; and here, too, as being within easy reach, i had from earliest years climbed and scrambled and explored, until every stone was almost as familiar as the letters of my alphabet; and i could tell at what state of the tide certain rocks would be uncovered, and knew at a glance whether it would be safe to cross from one part to another on stepping-stones, or whether, to reach a given spot, we must go round by the side of the hill. how i loved, and do love, every foot of the ground, every stone, every rock, every silvery ripple of that the most charming of all possible play-grounds! thither, then, i led the way, aleck following me closely, and george more slowly behind. "there now," i cried, drawing up breathlessly as we gained our destination, "see, that's my boat-house." it was an exact miniature of the real boat-house, and aleck stood transfixed with admiration looking at it; for of all things calculated for the amusement of children, nothing, i think, succeeds so well as real miniatures--imitations in proportion--of things which belong to the grown-up world. but the true kernel of the nut--the jewel of the case--was the elegant little model yacht, which i presently drew forth from her moorings within. "now that's the 'fair alice,'" i continued; "isn't she lovely?" "awfully jolly," aleck replied, after gazing for a moment in speechless admiration. "i never saw anything half so nice before! oh, if only we were small enough to get into it! just look how beautifully the deck is made--i can see all the little timbers; and the mast, it's nearly as high as i am; and those little pulleys--oh, how perfect they are!" "you must see her with all her sails set, a-scudding before the breeze, master gordon," said george, overtaking us. "i reckon there's not a craft of her size that would beat her for speed." "can you do the sails?" my cousin asked me, regardless of nautical phraseology. "master willie! he knows as much as a sailor born about reefing and unreefing the sails," said george, answering for me. "then please do let us sail her at once. i do long to see her on the water," begged aleck. and accordingly we two sat down, overlooked by george, who, from a delicate desire to show off my capacity to manage the sails alone, abstained from offering any help; and, drawing the boat up between us on the beach, set the sails, and then proceeded to launch her upon the clear deep water of the cove. "this way now," i said to my cousin, when we saw that the breeze was filling the sails, and the "fair alice" was making her way out towards the mouth of the cove. "come and see my harbour bar;" and springing quickly from rock to rock, and running where there was sand, i guided my cousin to the entrance of the cove, which was very narrow in proportion to the width and extent of the inlet. on each side of it there was a low stake strongly fastened into the rock, and from stake to stake a rope was stretched: it was long enough to lie along the bottom of the ground, and so offer no impediment to the boats; but when i was sailing my vessel in the cove, and the tide was in, it was always stretched more tightly, so as to prevent the possibility of my little ship escaping from me into the wide sea. "see," i said, "i have only to slip this ring over the stake, and then i can feel quite sure the 'fair alice' is safe. she can't get past my harbour bar." in the meantime the little yacht had kept her course nearly to the entrance of the cove, but a sudden shifting of the wind landed her on the opposite side, and i had to make my way all round to get her off again. aleck remained on his side of the cove, and we amused ourselves for some time in contriving to get the little boat to sail backwards and forwards, tacking gradually down to the boat-house. my cousin was so absorbed in the enjoyment of sailing the "fair alice," that he was less eager about getting into our own boat for a sail than at first. but by-and-by, when we were dancing over the waves outside the cove, he became quite wild with delight, and enjoyed himself, i verily believe, as much as is possible for a free, happy, eager boy; and that is saying a great deal. of course i caught the infection from him, finding a fresh delight in my ordinary amusements through having a companion to share them; and, truly, a merrier boat's crew than we made on that whole holiday morning could not have been found. [illustration: sailing the "fair alice."] aleck's love for the sea was an absorbing passion; and it quite amused me to hear all the questions he kept putting to old george--as, for instance, how old he was when he went to sea; how long before he went up the mast; how they reefed the top-sails in his vessel, and which of the ship's company did it in a gale; together with many other inquiries, showing a degree of technical knowledge that perfectly overwhelmed me, and which, he explained to us, was extracted from "the cadet's manual," and a big book on "the art of navigation" which they had at home. i almost wished my cousin did not know quite so much; it made me feel as though the ten months were a longer and more important period than i had admitted to myself. but it was a relief, when the oars were called into action on our way in, to find that he could not row, whereas i had handled an oar almost as soon as i gave up a rattle; and, as i showed off my best feathering, i felt we were equal again. "how is it you can't row, sir, when you know so much about it?" asked groves. "why, there are only streams and the river at my home in scotland," explained aleck. "we're up amongst the hills, you know. i have often fished, but i've scarcely ever been in a boat before, except when we've been travelling; and then it was going out to the steamer, and i mightn't do anything but sit still. it was famous, though, in the steamer," continued aleck, kindling with the recollection of his journey. "i went down, and saw how the engine worked; and helped the man at the wheel; and learned about the compass--at least, i knew the points before, but it was different seeing how to steer by it. only i liked the stoker the best. i had just gone down again with him to the engine-room, to see the engine stopped, and pulled off my jacket because it was so hot; and then the steam was let off, and made such a noise! just when there was all the noise of the steam, i heard somebody shouting my name, and calling so loudly to me that i ran up to the deck at once. i had quite forgotten about not having my jacket on, and i believe my face had got blacked--it was, i know, when we got on shore. everybody laughed at me; only mamma was poorly and frightened--she thought i had tumbled overboard. i suppose i oughtn't to have gone down just then, for that was the place where we were to go on shore," aleck added, somewhat thoughtfully, remembering how very white was the face to which his own blackened one had been pressed. by this time we were re-entering the cove. "you'll only be just in time for your dinner, young gentlemen," said george, as we drew in towards the landing-place; "i reckon it won't come a minute before you're ready for it." "you'll teach me to row, will you not, as soon as possible?" said my cousin, as we parted. "i should like to begin at once, please." "so soon as you like, sir. master willie, you mustn't be long in bringing down your cousin." thus saying, groves took his way to the lodge, and aleck and i clambered quickly up the zig-zag, reaching home in time to appear, with smooth hair, and rosy cheeks, and keen appetites, at the luncheon-table. aleck was in wild spirits, and confided to me that he didn't think he had ever enjoyed himself so much before. chapter iv. the ride to stavemoor. a month after aleck's arrival at braycombe, it seemed so perfectly natural to have him with us--he had fitted so completely into the position of companion, play-fellow, school-fellow, brother--that i could scarcely fancy how it felt before he came. my uncle and aunt had left us after a fortnight's visit, and were now on the continent. the parting was hard work--harder, i fancy, to them than to him, for boys soon get over trouble, whereas it was plain to see in my aunt's wistful eyes that it was a sore trial to her to leave her child behind. i believe that she did not anticipate, in as sanguine a spirit as did her husband, the happy meeting again that was talked of for the spring, after a winter in madeira. it was a subject of great thankfulness, to both my uncle and aunt, that aleck and i had formed such a friendship for each other. they had scarcely driven from the door, and aleck's eyes were still wet with tears, when he told me that he did not think he could be so happy anywhere away from his papa and mamma as at braycombe, with me for his companion; and i answered by assuring him i should never be happy again if he were to go away from me. we soon settled down into our school-room occupations together. mr. glengelly, who used to come three times in the week, now came daily, staying for the whole morning, and leaving us always lessons to prepare for the next day. aleck and i spent almost the whole of our play-time down at the cove; his passionate enjoyment of everything connected with the sea continuing in full force, whilst two or three times every week we had walks, rides, or drives with one or both of my parents. aleck could ride beautifully, having been accustomed to it at his own home, and i was delighted to lend him my pony from time to time--more ready at first, if the truth is to be told, than afterwards. he also learned to row, though not so quickly nor so easily as i should have expected; and feathering remained an impossible mystery to him, being, as he said, more than could be expected from his clumsy fingers. in this one point--that of being unskilful in the use of his hands--aleck was below the mark; in lessons he was far my superior, being, as i soon found, more than his year ahead of me. but, oddly enough, as it seemed to me, it was always in matters requiring skilled fingers that he was anxious to excel. he was never tired of playing at sailing the "fair alice," but would daily, before we launched her, examine afresh all the different parts of the little vessel, and sigh over the neatness of their workmanship, and ask himself and myself whether it were possible he should ever be able to make a ship like it. various abortive attempts were to be seen in our play-room--pieces of wood cut, and shaped, and thrown away in disgust; but as yet he made no progress towards anything like skill in carpentry. the old play-boat of mine which i had given, to him afforded very little pleasure: it was not like a real vessel. having seen the "fair alice," anything that fell short of it gave him no satisfaction. it added greatly to the pleasure which i had always felt in this possession, to see how ardently my cousin admired it, and how much he thought of the title of _captain_, which, as owner, had been playfully adjudged to me. i scarcely know when it was that the feeling first began to steal over me that i was not always quite so glad as i had been at first that my cousin was living with us. it was an unworthy feeling, and i felt ashamed to confess it to myself; but there it was, and i discovered it at last. perhaps it was because of his quickness at lessons; perhaps because, from time to time in his turn, enjoyments which could not be shared by both were permitted to him--i had only the half, where before i should have had the whole; perhaps it was all this together, combined with the secret evils i had not hitherto found out in my own heart and disposition; but the result was, that i had now and then such miserable moments of being angry, and provoked, and unhappy, not because my cousin had done anything unkind, but simply because he had, in some unintentional manner, interfered with my pleasure, that i was ready to wish i had never had a cousin, or that he had never come to braycombe. it is not to be supposed that this was my settled, constant state of mind. far from it. in general, we two boys were as frisky, and merry, and happy with each other, as boys could be; but these dark feelings came and went, and came and went, until i began to be less surprised at them than when i first found them out. for some time my mother had no idea of their existence. to all outward appearance we were just as we had been in the early days of our friendship; and if i did not so often enlarge upon the happiness of having aleck to live with me, i know now that she only put it down to the novelty of the companionship wearing off. i remember quite distinctly the first time that she noticed some little indication of the secret mischief that was going on. it was the time of afternoon preparation of lessons for the following morning, and i was sitting with my books before me at the school-room table, writing a latin exercise; or perhaps it would be more correct to say, _not_ writing my latin exercise, for my pen had stopped half-way to the ink-bottle, and my chin was resting on my left hand and my elbow on the table, and i was indulging uninterruptedly in my own reflections, when the door opened, and my mother entered the room. "where's aleck?" was her first inquiry, as she looked round and saw that i was alone. "he's been gone five minutes," i replied, without raising my eyes, and in a tone which i meant to convey--and, i am aware, did convey--that i was in no pleasant mood. "how's that?" rejoined my mother, taking no notice of my manner. "aleck was told not to leave the school-room until his lessons were finished. he knows my rule, and is not generally disobedient. i must go and see about him. where is he?" "in his room, i suppose"--still in my former sulky manner; and, without further words, my mother left the room, and went in search of my cousin. i presently heard her voice calling to him at the foot of the stair-case leading to our rooms, and aleck's voice more distantly replying to her. as, however, he did not immediately appear, i heard afterwards that she had gone up-stairs, and found him pulling down his sleeves and shaking off pieces of wood, and generally endeavouring to render his appearance respectable; which was made the more difficult as, in the course of his operations, he had dipped his elbow in the glue-pot, and was considerably embarrassed by the fringe of shavings which he was unable to detach. "i'm coming as fast as i can, auntie," he said, pulling at the shavings, and giving himself a rub with a duster in hopes that would make him right. "but, aleck, how is it you're not in the school-room?" said my mother. "i have just seen willie there alone. you know the rule about not leaving until lessons are finished. i fear that you have been tempted away too soon by your ship-building tastes." "did not willie tell you i had finished my lessons?" said aleck, quickly. "oh, auntie, i would not have left before." "really finished, aleck? take care to be quite honest with yourself, for indeed you've had but short time." "really and truly, auntie. i tried to be very quick to-day, because i do so want to get on with this last ship i've begun. it seems coming more like than the others. see, the stern is very like a real one." my mother carefully inspected the unshapely block upon which my cousin was at work, gave him a word or two of advice upon the subject, and came down-stairs again to me; having decided in her own mind, as she afterwards told me, to be present the next morning when mr. glengelly came, and notice whether aleck's work had been thoroughly prepared. "how soon shall you have finished, my child?" she said, laying her hand softly on my shoulder, and bending down to inspect my writing. "let me see what there is to be done." "this exercise, and the verb to be learned, and my sum"--very grumpily. "and how much have you done already?" "part of the exercise--not quite half; and i'm doing the verb now; and the sum is finished, all but the proving." my lip was quivering as i completed the list of what i had achieved, and i was as nearly bursting into tears as possible. my mother's loving, pleasant way staved off the sulky fit, however. "these lessons begun, and not one of them finished off!" she exclaimed. "let us see how long they will take you. first the exercise, we will allow a quarter of an hour for that; five minutes will prove your sum; and the verb, an old one you say and very nearly perfect, two minutes for that: less than twenty-five minutes, willie, and you will be so perfectly prepared that you will be longing for ten o'clock to-morrow, and mr. glengelly to come, all the rest of the evening." i could not help laughing at the notion of my pining for mr. glengelly's arrival, and a laugh is an excellent stepping-stone out of the sulks. my mother put her watch on the table, and stayed in the room, helping me by quiet sympathizing superintendence, and i set to work with such earnestness that i had completed my tasks in twenty minutes, and was off to the play-room without a trace of my wrong temper, as eager to join my cousin in the carpentry as if nothing had gone wrong between us, and only rejoicing that my lessons were over at last, without troubling myself to remember that the trial of aleck's being so much quicker than myself at his studies was sure to recur again and again, and that, unless my dislike to his superiority could be conquered and stamped out, i should soon find every-day trouble in my every-day work. and in truth the conquering and stamping out of such feelings as these is no easy task. it is unquestionably a real trial to find that work which takes you an hour's hard labour can be accomplished by your companion in not much more than half the time; that even though the lessons are apportioned so as to give him the heavier burden, he can always dispose of the heavier more readily than you can of the lighter. in my own case, aleck was often very good-natured, and would linger in _his_ work to give me a help in _mine_; or purposely keep pace with me, so that we might go out to play together. but this was not always the way; when he was very eagerly engaged in any play-time occupation, he would bend all his energies to getting his tasks finished off quickly, and then hurry away, without appearing in the least troubled that i could not accompany him. upon which occasions i thought him selfish and unfeeling, and was inclined not a little to regret that he had ever come to braycombe. the worst of it was, that though i knew i was wrong, i could not muster courage to speak to either of my parents about it; no, not even in that moment of deepest confidence when my mother looked in to wish me good-night before i went to sleep, and sat, as she was wont to do, upon my bed talking to me about the various things which had happened during the day. many a time, on such occasions, i thought of telling her my troubles, but was afraid lest she should think me very naughty; so i tried at last to persuade myself there was not much to tell after all. half an hour spent with us in the school-room the next morning convinced my mother that aleck's work had been well done. i fancy that she watched me a little closely for a few days, but i happened to be specially prosperous in my lessons, and nothing occurred to disturb my serenity, so that she dismissed after a time the anxiety which had begun to arise in her mind concerning me. as for aleck, he had no notion of the real state of things. i am sure he must have thought me selfish and cross very often, but almost as often he would win me into good temper again; and his own temperament was naturally so bright and sunshiny, that trouble never seemed to remain long with him. it was about a fortnight later that i was sitting, after breakfast, in my father's study doing my arithmetic. our school-room adjoined the study, and it was not an unfrequent arrangement, that whilst aleck did his construing with mr. glengelly, i should take in my slate to my father's room and do my sums. i fancy he liked to have me with him; for whenever he was at home he would look up with quite a pleased expression when, after knocking at the door, i appeared with my slate and made the usual inquiry whether i should disturb him if i came in just then; and would tell me that i never disturbed him, and bid me show him my sum before i returned to the school-room, when he had always some pleasant remark to make upon it. i then was sitting on my favourite seat in the window working at compound division, when my mother came into the room. "i've been thinking," she said to my father, "that it's a pity both the boys should not go with you to stavemoor: if you could manage without rickson, or let him ride one of the carriage horses, i think you might trust aleck on the gray." i listened to every word, my pencil going slowly and more slowly, whilst i put down three times nine, twenty-seven--two, carry seven; and was hopelessly wrong afterwards in consequence. this ride to stavemoor was a special pleasure in prospect. both aleck and i had wanted to go; but the pony being mine, i had taken it as a matter of course that i should be the one chosen, and my cousin had not thought of questioning my rights. but now to hear my mother quietly proposing, not only that aleck should go, but that he should ride the gray--it was a sore trial to my feelings: that gray had for months been the object of my ambition, but i had not been thought a good enough rider to be trusted, and now that my cousin should be thus promoted was hard to bear. the colour mounted to my face when i heard the proposition, and then my father's answer:-"i am not sure about it; and yet the boy is at home in the saddle, and has a firm seat. i'll speak to rickson. aleck's been looking pale of late, and i think more rides than he can get when there's only the pony between the two boys, would do him good." "papa," i said, with quivering lip and reproachful voice, "you've never let _me_ ride the gray. it's always aleck now--he gets everything, it doesn't seem to matter about me." my father gave one quick glance of surprise and consternation at my mother, and then turned to me:-"willie! my own little willie!" he said, pausing as if for an explanation, and putting out his hand in a manner that meant i was to come to his side, which i did rather slowly. "i've so often asked you to let me ride the gray, papa, and you've never allowed it, and now you're going to let aleck. i don't want to go to stavemoor--aleck may have the pony; i wish i had said so at first; i don't want to ride the pony, and have him on the gray." and thereupon, almost frightened by the evident distress my sentiments had occasioned, i burst into a passionate fit of crying, which permitted only a few more broken words to the effect that i wished aleck had never come to braycombe; i hated his being there; and that my parents were very unkind to care for him more than they did for me. my father held me there at his side whilst i sobbed and cried as if some tremendous calamity had overtaken me. i knew without looking up, which i was ashamed to do, that his eyes were resting upon me with an expression of sad surprise; and the silence became perfectly unbearable. he spoke at last:-"my poor little willie," he said, "what sad feelings you have allowed to creep into your heart! how unhappy they will make you! you have said very wrong words, my child, and i cannot tell you how much pain you have caused to me and your mamma. i hope that you will be very sorry by-and-by; but you know, willie, being sorry will not undo your fault, nor take away the envious feelings which you have allowed to spring up within you; and unless such feelings as these are conquered you will be an unhappy little boy, and grow up to be an unhappy man. willie," he added, after another pause only interrupted by my struggling sobs at longer intervals than at first, "you know, my child, whose strength you will need to help you in the battle: you are but a weak little boy, and cannot help yourself; you must pray for the help of god's holy spirit, or else you will never conquer these wrong feelings." i hung my head, and remained silent. "i trust aleck knows nothing of all this," resumed my father. "we have promised to care for him as though he belonged to us. i will not allow him to feel that he is disliked by the boy who promised to love him." "no, papa," i put in, for my temper had well-nigh expended itself; "i do like him still--rather--only not always. i like him very much sometimes: i think now i'm very glad he came--only i don't like his having things that i mayn't have." "that, willie," answered my father, "must be left to me to decide. i shall miss my little boy very much this afternoon; but i cannot allow you to come to stavemoor with me to-day, after all that has passed." there was just this ray of comfort in the announcement, that at least aleck would not on this particular occasion gain the object of my ambition. "is aleck to ride my pony, then?" i inquired, half ashamed of myself for asking. the quick, decided manner, in which my father withdrew the arm he held around me, and answered,-"certainly not, unless i find rickson thinks the gray would be unsafe," made me feel more unhappy than ever; and it was with a sorrowful heart that i obeyed a summons to the school-room brought in at that moment by my cousin, and showed up my incorrect and unfinished sum to mr. glengelly. i suppose that he saw something had gone wrong with me, by my appearance; he was certainly more merciful than usual over my shortcomings in arithmetic, and the lesson-time went by so pleasantly that i was quite in good humour by the time it ended, and went out in restored spirits for the half hour's exercise which preceded our dinner, determining that, the first moment i could see my father, i would tell him i was sorry, revoke what i had said about aleck, and ride my pony to stavemoor. in furtherance of these views, i ran round by the stables, and finding that only peter the great and the gray had been ordered, told rickson in confidence that i had said to my father in the morning i would rather not ride; but, having changed my mind since then, he was to be sure and be ready to send round the pony as well. aleck, in the meantime, heard of the treat in store for him, and was greatly elated, chattering briskly during dinner about the expedition, without any idea that i was likely to be left behind. my father was not a great luncheon eater, and when very busy, would often only have a glass of wine and a biscuit sent into the study, instead of joining us at table. finding this was to be the case on the present occasion, i asked leave to carry in the tray, and was permitted to do so after i had finished my own dinner. my father was at his writing, and looked up when he saw me, making a place amongst his papers at the same time for the tray. "papa," i said, when i had put it down, "i'm sorry for what i said this morning. i don't mind aleck's riding the gray; and please i should like to ride my own pony. i saw rickson before dinner, and told him i had changed my mind, and that very likely the pony would be wanted." my father answered, in a quiet, grave voice: "you might have spared yourself the trouble, willie, of speaking to rickson, for, though i'm sorry to leave you behind, i cannot allow you the pleasure of the ride to stavemoor this afternoon." "but, papa," i pleaded, "you always forgive me when i say i am sorry." "and i do not say now that i will not _forgive_ the wrong things you said this morning," he answered; "but i cannot let your conduct pass without punishment. you must remember, my child," he added, drawing me towards him, "that _forgiving_ and _not punishing_ are very different things. do you remember when god forgave david his sin, yet he punished him by the death of his son. and it would be contrary to his commands if christian parents were to allow their children's faults to be _unpunished_, although it is a christian duty to exercise a _forgiving spirit_." the practical result of this statement was what i thought of most; it was clear to my mind that the ride to stavemoor had to be given up, and my brow grew cloudy. "then, papa," i said, poutingly, "i mayn't go with you this afternoon?" "certainly not, willie," very decidedly; "you will spend one hour, from the time we start, in your own room; and i trust that you will remember during that time--_if you are_ really sorry--that mine is not the only forgiveness you have to seek." "aleck's, papa?" "no, not aleck's; i hope he will never have an idea of all the wrong feelings you have entertained towards him." "you mean god's forgiveness," i said, more seriously; for that was a name never to be pronounced without deep reverence. "yes, willie; don't forget, my child, that the youngest as well as the oldest of us has need to seek the fountain opened for all uncleanness. no repentance will wash us clean. you must ask, through the lord jesus, not only that your sins may be forgiven, but that you may also have strength to do better for the future. you may go now. remember what i said about the hour in your own room." i departed accordingly, passing aleck in the passage all ready and equipped for his ride. brushing past him, without giving an answer to his inquiry whether i was going to get ready, i ran quickly up-stairs to my own room, shut the door, and burst into tears. by-and-by i heard the horses coming round; then i wiped my eyes, and kneeling upon a chair at the window, where i could not be seen, watched all the proceedings. rickson, faithful to my interests, had, i perceived, brought up the pony ready saddled. i almost hoped that aleck would have had it after all. but no; i saw him in another moment mounted upon the gray, which, apparently conscious of a lighter weight than usual, began shaking its head, and showing off its mettle. rickson held it firmly. "so-ho! so-ho!" i heard him saying. "ease her a bit, master gordon; ease her mouth; there--there--so-ho!" aleck held the reins firmly, and his ringing voice came up cheerily through the air. "i'm not a bit afraid, thank you, uncle grant." my father in the meantime mounted peter the great; and before starting i saw the stable-boy give him a leading rein, which he put into his pocket, for future use i mentally decided, in case aleck should have difficulty in managing the gray. but no such difficulty occurred within the range of my observation. when rickson removed his hand from the bridle she bounded off rather friskily; but in another moment aleck had reined her in, and was displaying such ready ease in the management of his steed, that it was clear my father's confidence in his horsemanship was justified. as i turned round from the window i heard my mother's soft footstep in the passage, and in another moment she had entered my room. she had her walking things on, and a little basket in her hand, well known to me as invariably containing jellies, puddings, or packets of tea for some of the many invalids to whom my mother was as an angel of mercy. she stopped only for two or three minutes, to tell me how thankful she was to know i had felt sorry for my behaviour in the morning, and how grieved to have to leave me at home when she would have liked me to have been out riding with my father, or walking with her; and then, after some further words of monition, she left me to my solitary hour's watch, and i could see her taking her way down the drive, and turning off through the wood, until the last flutter of her blue ribbons was lost in the distance. then i bethought me of seeing how much longer i had to spend in my own room, and, looking at the clock-tower over the stables, found it was scarcely more than three o'clock. i could not feel free until a quarter to four, and the time began to feel very long and wearisome. in general, i was a boy of manifold resources, and every moment of my leisure time seemed too short for the many purposes to which i would willingly have applied it. but on this particular afternoon i seemed to weary of everything. even my last new book of fairy stories failed to interest me. i felt as if, instead of fancying myself the hero of the tale, i was perpetually being compared, by my own conscience, to the unamiable characters--cinderella's sisters, for instance, or the elder of the two princes who lived in a country long ago and nowhere in particular; elder brothers being in fairy tales, as all true connoisseurs are aware, jealous, cruel, and sure to come to a bad end; whilst the younger brothers are persecuted, forgiving, and finally triumphant, marrying disenchanted princesses, and living happy ever after. i threw aside my fairy book, and sought for some other means of amusement in a repository of odds and ends, established in a corner of the room by the housemaid, whose efforts to observe order in disorder were most praiseworthy. there i was glad to discover a piece of willow-bough stripped of its twigs, and in course of preparation for the manufacture of a bow. immediately i set myself to adjusting a piece of string to it, and completing its construction. this occupation was far more engrossing than the reading had proved; and almost sooner than i had expected, the three-quarters chime of the clock proclaimed my liberation. i seized my garden hat, ran down-stairs, and sped out upon the lawn, determined to feel very merry, and to enjoy trying my newly-made bow as much as possible. it was annoying that frisk had gone with the horses--it made me feel more lonely not to have him to play with; but still, my hour's imprisonment being over, i thought i could find plenty of amusement. so i began firing away certain home-made arrows, to which my mother's loving fingers had carefully fastened feathers; putting up a flower-pot on a stand as a mark, and trying to hit it. but the arrows did not go very far after all, and i leant down upon the bow and tightened the string, and then tightened it again, until there was a sudden snap, and a collapse--it had broken in two pieces! i threw the bow aside in disgust, and went off into the shrubbery, and then down the carriage drive, hoping to meet my mother; but she happened to be detained that afternoon at one of the cottages where she was visiting, and missed her usual time for returning. feeling very dreary and disconsolate, i finally wandered back again into the house, and hung about in the different rooms in a listless, dissatisfied mood, until, at about half past five, i could hear the rapid tread of horses' feet, and in another moment my father and aleck cantered up to the door. frisk was flourishing about in his usual style, and found me out in a moment, jumping up upon my shoulders, and licking my hands, and expressing in perfectly comprehensible language his regret that i had not been of the party, and his pleasure in seeing me again. aleck was in a high state of spirits, triumphant at having proved himself sufficient of a horseman to manage the gray, and delighted with all the incidents of the expedition. he did not know the reason of my having stayed at home; but told me how sorry he was i had not been with them, and tumultuously recounted the various pleasures he had enjoyed. "see, i've got lots of shells," he said, "and several beautiful madrepores. you must have some of them. they'd had a wedding, too, and we had to eat some of the bride-cake, and drink their health, and--" but aleck's enumeration did not proceed further, for i think my father perceived how keenly i was feeling the contrast between his joyous excitement and my own very dreary heaviness of heart, and called to me to come to the study with him, and put away his riding whip. so i gladly turned away from my cousin, and followed my father to his room. to some children, the study, library, or whatever other room is consecrated to the use of the head of the family, is a sort of dreadful and solemn place, generally closed to them, but opening from time to time as a court of justice, to which they are brought when their misdemeanours have exceeded usual bounds, and are considered to require severer measures than are within the province of the lesser authorities. very alarming, in consequence, is the summons when it comes. with me, however, the case was happily very different; the study was associated with countless hours of happy intercourse with a father whose very countenance was beaming with love. times of reproof and punishment there had been also, but the returning happiness of forgiveness, the loving words of advice, the kind and constant sympathy, i never failed to find from him, made me look upon an invitation to his room as the best thing that could happen to me, whether i was happy or in trouble. "my poor little willie," he said, sitting down almost immediately, and drawing me towards himself; "have you been very sorrowful?" i hid my face on his shoulder, and sobbed out that i was quite miserable. "have you thought what it is that has made your day so sad, willie?" he asked, kindly. "yes, papa," i answered between my sobs; "i wasn't allowed to go to stavemoor, and i was so unhappy in my own room all alone, and--and--i broke my bow just after i had finished making it--" "but the beginning of all this unhappiness, willie--quite the beginning?" "aleck's having the gray, papa," i said. "i think that was quite the beginning." "so do i think so, my child," rejoined my father; "or rather, the wrong feelings to which this gave rise. and now consider, willie, how wrong and ungrateful you have been, to let this grow up into such a trouble. just think of all to-day's mercies: your home, your loving papa and mamma, all the comforts that so many little boys are without; and then, besides all these, a pleasant excursion planned to give you special pleasure on your half holiday. and, in the midst of all these blessings, instead of being thankful and happy, you are suddenly overwhelmed, as though by a great misfortune; not because any of your enjoyments are to be diminished, but because another is to have a pleasure which you think greater." my father paused for a moment, and i could not help feeling that, according to his way of putting it, i certainly had been both naughty and foolish: still, it occurred to me that being happy was not in itself possible at all times; and that, similarly, if i were unhappy, i was unhappy, not by choice, but because it was not in my power to feel otherwise. i thought this, not indeed in words, or in any semblance of coherent argument, but in a sort of confused perplexity, which was only partly represented by my reply to my father:-"papa, i couldn't help feeling unhappy when i heard you talking about aleck's going. i couldn't make myself feel happy." "ah, willie, you've come to the root of the matter now," he answered;--"'_couldn't make myself_ feel happy!' that is just it, willie; a wrong feeling of envy came into your heart--you know it was a wrong feeling that feeling of dislike that another should be happy, so i need not waste time in proving it to you; and you could not chase the enemy from your own heart, so, without ever remembering that there is one who promises to help all who cry to him for help, and who is stronger than the strong man armed, you give in at once to the enemy; and as you couldn't help yourself, came out of the battle conquered and vanquished." i hung my head down, feeling i had been a coward. "i'm so sorry, papa," i whispered. "i thought you would be ere long, my child," he said. "i hope you used the time in your room partly as i intended." i knew i hadn't, and felt still more ashamed of myself, but said nothing; i was never required to mention whether i had followed my parents' advice on such occasions, they were so fearful of making me a hypocrite. "our heavenly father will have forgiven you all your fault, if you have sought forgiveness through jesus christ; and now your earthly father is quite ready to forgive also, as you seem really sorry." my father gave me a kiss, and i threw my arms around his neck, and felt the loneliness and sadness of the day all over. my mother came in a few moments later, and joined us in the study, and with her loving, gentle words, completed my happiness in being forgiven and received back again into my usual position. she did not forget all that had passed, however. i found that out at our bible readings; for almost the very next day she took for her subject with us boys, the sin of envy and its consequences, and the best means of conquering it. i can remember to this hour the different illustrations--cain, and saul, and the blood-thirsty pharisees on the one side; and moses, and david, and jonathan, and paul, on the other; and the verses we found out in proverbs and in the epistles: they perhaps did me some good at the time, but my heart was not really touched. i had not found out, in my own little personal experience, what my father meant by the _fountain opened for all uncleanness_, and there were bitter but necessary lessons still in store for me. chapter v. ship-building. my story would grow too long were i to tell of all the employments, amusements, and adventures, which made the months fly rapidly by with us boys that summer and autumn long ago at braycombe. my cousin's companionship made me more than usually diligent in my studies, and more than usually eager in my amusements; whilst the watchful care of my parents seemed to screen me from many of the minor trials and temptations which might otherwise have rendered me less happy than i had been in former days. i can remember now with admiration, how carefully they measured out even-handed justice to my cousin and myself. they never seemed to forget that they had promised aleck should be as my brother, therefore every arrangement took us equally into account. and although the meanness of envy was held by them to be not only sinful, but contemptible, they were quite alive to the keen sense of justice which is born with most children, and would never violate it by the exercise of a partiality too common amongst those who have the charge of the young, either with the object of giving me as their child some special pleasure, or aleck as our visitor some special indulgence. it was not long after the stavemoor expedition that i was allowed to try my horsemanship by mounting the gray. rickson was on the alert; but had it not been for his interposition, my equestrian pursuits would have come to a very disastrous ending. i was convinced against my will of the wisdom of my father's decision, that i should for the present be content with my pony; relying, for consolation, on his promise that, before very long, i should learn to manage the more spirited animal. in the meantime i no longer felt it a trouble that my cousin's superior skill in this respect should be recognized. aleck seemed to care less about the riding than i did. his passion for the sea--for boats, sea-weeds, stones, caves, and cliffs, everything directly and indirectly belonging to the sea--grew and strengthened upon him. his special ambition was to succeed in constructing a rival to the "fair alice;" but although honourable scars on his fingers bore witness to the industry with which he plied his tools, his attempts at ship-building had hitherto proved signal failures. i was more successful in my carpentry than he was, and it was quite a pleasure to me to give him all the help i could. between us we at last produced something more resembling a ship than all former attempts, and we rushed eagerly down to the cove one bright september afternoon, impatient for the launch. aleck and i had the cove all to ourselves: old george had not been with us so much as usual for weeks past; there were, indeed, few days we did not see him, but he did not stay with us all through our play-time; he would come and go, and come and go, until we boys would take to teasing him with questions as to what it could be that kept him so much occupied. i had my own private suspicions, and communicated them to aleck; but old george would throw no light upon the subject. i had good reason for remembering that the 20th of september, now drawing near, was my parents' wedding-day, my mother's birth-day, and almost the greatest festival in the year to us at braycombe. old george, who lay in wait for opportunities of giving me presents, always looked upon this anniversary as one that would admit of no questioning, and more than once the offering to me--by which he meant to show his love to my parents--had been the result of many a long hour's secret work. the "fair alice" had been my present on the preceding year, and i had dim suspicions--built upon a certain hasty glance into a little room called the work-shop at the back of the lodge--that something else was even now in course of construction, which i half suspected to be a schooner-yacht with two masts, such as i had more than once expressed a wish to possess. but george was impenetrable, and kept the work-shop closely bolted, so i had to nurse my curiosity until the 20th. it was the day before this great occasion that aleck and i ran down to launch our boat, as before-mentioned. alas! we had scarcely pushed it out upon the water, when, with a roll and lurch, it turned over upon its side, and floated like a wreck, in a helpless and melancholy manner. we drew it up on shore again and set to work; i cheerily and hopefully, feeling perfectly aware that everything that was at all good in the workmanship was mine; aleck mournfully, knowing that all the faults in its construction were his. "i wonder at groves not coming," he said, presently; "i can't help thinking he could tell me how to make it float straight." "i'll just go and make him come," i replied; "he's been so little with us the last few days, i'm sure he might find time." aleck agreed, and i set off to the lodge, leaving him to puzzle on by himself over the manifold difficulties of ship-building. to bring old george to the rescue, however, did not turn out the easy task that i had anticipated. he was in the work-shop, the door safely bolted, and not even the smallest aperture anywhere, through which i might discover the nature of his employment. my persuasions were all carried on at a disadvantage, and the conversation resolved itself into:-"please, george, _do_ come and help us; it's very important. aleck wants you particularly down at the cove." this from my side of the door. then from his side:--"i'm afraid, master willie, i can't possibly find the time; i'm very busy." from my side:--"but aleck's boat won't sail, and we've tried everything to make it, and unless you come we can't do anything more." from his side:--"i'll come to-morrow, master willie, and then see if we don't get master aleck's ship to sail as merrily as the 'fair alice' herself." "even _you_ will not be able to do so much as that," i rejoined; whereupon a low chuckle of merriment and satisfaction was clearly audible on the other side. i continued:--"it's very well to laugh, but if you could see aleck's boat all lying on one side, looking not so nice even as the tub-boat in the 'swiss family robinson,' you wouldn't think it so easily made all right." no answer; but click, click inside. "at least, do tell me what you're working at," i said, growing impatient, and battering at the door; "do tell me--there's a dear old george." "work that can't be hindered by playing with two young gentlemen all the afternoon. there, sir, now i've told you;" and another chuckle followed, and click, click went on as before. i had no excuse for lingering longer. george was like a besieged garrison within a secure fortress; there was no chance of enticing him out beyond the shelter of his walls. so i could only return discomfited to the cove. "there's no use trying," i said to aleck. "all that old george will promise is to come out to-morrow, and make your boat sail as well as the 'fair alice' herself: those are his words." "he's not very likely to be able to do that," responded aleck, dolefully surveying our workmanship. "i've been trying to trim it with a stone stuck securely on and tarred over; but look, even that has come off again, and it will do nothing but turn over in that wretched way. if i had been trying to construct a wreck now, i'm sure i couldn't have made anything more like." "and that's something, after all," i said, encouragingly. "it's not every one that could have made a wreck." but my cousin took little comfort from the suggestion; he stood looking and pondering, until, at last, after some minutes' pause, he drew a long breath and exclaimed, as if from depths of internal conviction, "i'll tell you what; i must pull it all to pieces, and put it together quite afresh--from the beginning." "a strong-minded decision, and spoken out most heroically, mr. shipbuilder!" said a voice from behind, and we started at finding my father had come upon us so quietly that we had not perceived him. "you two boys are just like a pair of doctors consulting over a bad case; only you've come to what is happily rather an unusual conclusion, namely, that the best plan is to kill the patient!" "i think the patient's dead already," answered aleck, tragically. "and you're only going to dissect him--is that it?" asked my father merrily, inspecting the boat, and listening with interest to the various measures which had already been tried and had failed. "well," he added, "if my opinion as a consulting physician is to be taken, i should recommend groves as the best surgeon; his advice to be followed in every particular, and all operations he may suggest to be duly performed." "we've asked him," we both exclaimed, "and he said he was too busy to come." "but," i added, "he promises that to-morrow he will make aleck's boat sail as well as mine." "his must be uncommonly clever fingers if they are equal to that task," said my father doubtingly; "but, as i said before, surgeon groves is the man for your bad case. and now i should like to know which of you means to stay at home to-morrow morning and learn the lessons which ought to be prepared this afternoon, and which will not be ready unless we are betaking ourselves home very soon? you, willie?" "no, papa," i said, "nor aleck either; we mean to have a very delightful, long, whole holiday, and to do no lessons at all, not the very smallest little bit of one." and so saying, we picked up the boat and various other belongings, and, one on each side of my father, took the way of the zig-zag up towards home. "we haven't quite settled all we are going to do to-morrow, papa," i proceeded; "but if we may, we want to have the boat in the morning, and sail the 'fair alice,' and go out to some place for madrepores; and george is going to see about aleck's boat too. and then, in the afternoon, we would play cricket with you, dear papa." "i am much obliged to you, willie," answered my father, playfully bowing to me, "and feel greatly honoured at your kind arrangement for my amusement. perhaps you have planned for your mamma also; is she to field-out when i take my innings? or possibly she will bowl!" "auntie couldn't soon put you out if she were to bowl," said aleck, laughing; "it would not do to trust auntie with the ball." "then, perhaps, the wicket?" suggested my father. "now, papa, you know," i interposed, "you will be all alone with dear mamma in the morning--you always are--but you always do play with me in the afternoon; and now that aleck is here to play also, it will be so jolly. please, dear papa, do say you will." "shall i say, like the poor people, _i'll consider of it?_" answered my father. "but allow me to state to you both that i am at present considering another thing, which is, that so long as i have you two boys clinging one at each side of me, i am reduced to the necessity of climbing this steep hill with a matter of twelve stone in tow, and that at my time of life i ought rather to be looking upon you young people as crutches to assist my failing steps." "do use me as a crutch, papa!" i exclaimed. "please, uncle, let me be another crutch," chimed in aleck, and we insinuated ourselves into what we thought a convenient position under his elbows. whereupon, suddenly bringing his weight down upon us, and contriving a dexterous movement towards the bank, my father landed us both on our backs amidst the grass and the ferns, and was off at such a pace that we were some time in catching him up again, out of breath as we were with the fall, and the laughing, and the running up the hill. "isn't papa great fun?" i asked my cousin, as we were in pursuit. "glorious!" was his only response; but i thought it quite sufficient. chapter vi. the schooner-yacht. there are some unfortunate children who seem fated to have their holidays and special occasions drowned in rain. i, on the contrary, belonged to the favoured class, accustomed always to expect, and almost always to enjoy, sunshine bright and glorious, whensoever birth-days, high days, and whole holidays made me specially prize and value it. so it was by no means with surprise that i opened my eyes the next morning to find the sun's golden rays streaming in at my window, and to observe, on jumping up and looking out, that there was not a cloud to be seen, save, indeed, the shadowy gray morning mist that was fast dispersing over the sea. i pattered hastily into aleck's room before proceeding to the business of the toilet, to awaken him, and to urge upon him the desirability of getting up as soon as possible, and coming down with me into the garden to gather a nosegay for my mother, an institution of three years' standing, and which i would not upon any account have dispensed with. aleck murmured such a very sleepy assent to my views, that i was constrained to resort to extreme measures, lest he should "go off" again, and accordingly took to the gentle persuasion of water sprinkled on his face, the counterpane delicately withdrawn from his bed, and similar little attentions, which i felt to have been completely successful, when a pillow, wielded with the vigour of self-defence, gave notice that hostilities were about to be returned, and i withdrew to my own room. it was not long before we were both out in the garden busily engaged in a careful inspection of the flower-beds, preparatory to the flower-gathering. any flowers i liked, i might gather on this particular morning, but as the nosegay must not be too large, choice was difficult. aleck made plenty of fun, but in reality gave little help. "what's the use of my advising you," he said, not without reason; "you never take my advice when you get it?" and, in truth, i had uniformly taken the opposite line to the one he suggested, choosing a scarlet geranium where he offered a light-coloured verbena, and a rose when he had suggested mignonnette. "you see," i explained, "mamma won't care for it unless i arrange it all myself. then nurse has a lace paper ready which i shall put round it to make it look better. if you like you can hold the flowers," i added, kindly. but this did not meet my cousin's views. "i think i'll make a nosegay for uncle," he said, presently; "i suppose i may--eh, willie?" i felt sure there could be no objection, and signified my opinion from the very centre of a geranium bed, in which i was making active researches, that would have turned the gardener's hair gray with consternation had he not been safely off the premises at the time, comfortably engaged in discussing his breakfast. and aleck set to work, and soon gathered a nosegay that almost, if not quite, equalled my own. which of our young readers who knows the delight of being let loose on some fine morning in a garden, with full permission to pluck flowers at their own sweet will, knows when to stop? we certainly did not, and should have produced bouquets, at all events, quite unrivalled for size, had it not been for the sounding of the first gong, and the appearance on the lawn of nurse herself, still so called, although i was no longer her subject, in virtue of her unlimited right of jurisdiction over our clothes. "a fine sight you're making of yourselves, young gentlemen," she said, beginning with general statements, and then descending into details. "i should like to know what you call that style of hair-dressing which means that every hair stands straight out in any direction but the right one, and no two of them the same. and, master willie, if you think you can go down into the dining-room with your tunic in its present condition, not to mention your boots, or master gordon's jacket, you're greatly mistaken. and then to look at your collars! no wonder that the bills are as they are, with respect to french polish and blue for clear starching; i know that boys, be they young gentlemen or others, cannot be expected to act like creatures endowed with reason, but still it passes me to understand their ways with respect to clothes well fitted too, and made in the most approved fashion." "i think _we_ should be black and blue if nurse were not really very good-natured, though she talks like that," i whispered to aleck; feeling too much the cause she had for strictures upon my personal appearance at the time, to take that opportunity of defending the general character of boyhood. so we surrendered at discretion, and went up-stairs to make ourselves tidy, receiving before the second gong visits of inspection from nurse, who had in the meantime tied up our nosegays for us, and placed the lace paper round the one i had gathered for my mother. very important i felt myself as i went down-stairs, for two little packets, folded in white paper, had been entrusted to my care by my parents respectively, containing, as i well knew, their presents for each other, which were to be delivered by me before breakfast. directly after prayers the presentation took place. first, the little parcel addressed to my mother, with the message, which i delivered demurely enough, that a gentleman who would not give his name, had left it for mrs. grant yesterday, and--but here i broke down, and my appeal, "oh, papa, i've forgotten what more it was i was to say," produced a peal of laughter, and put an end to our little pretence of mystery. "your packet is much the smallest, papa," i said; and watched to see what would come out of the white paper. my father's face lit up with pleasure as he opened a small case and discovered a beautifully executed miniature of my mother. "willie," he said, "i think the lady who left this for me yesterday must have been very like mamma." "yes, papa, she was _very_ like indeed," i answered; and then we proceeded to inspect the contents of my mother's parcel, and admired, as much as it is in boys to admire jewelry, a beautiful bracelet, with which she seemed quite as much pleased as my father was with his present, and which had attached to it a locket in the form of a heart, containing, as we presently discovered, my hair twined with his. then aleck and i had to present our nosegays, which were, of course, greatly praised. "an unusual honour for me!" said my father merrily, when he received his. "willie generally cuts me off with a sprig for my button-hole." "aleck gathered it for you quite out of his own head, papa." "indeed!" said my father; "that is really the most wonderful thing i ever heard! gathered the nosegay out of his own head! well, i have been told of flowers growing in many strange places before, but never in so strange a place as a person's head. aleck, my dear boy, you will be the wonder of the age, so prepare to be made a show of! a flower-garden in your head! we must let the gardener know! we ought to place you under his cultivation instead of mr. glengelly's!" what a merry breakfast-table we had that morning. my father declared that he felt just like a boy, so happy in having his holiday; and aleck and i thought him more amusing and pleasant than any boy, no one ever seemed to make us laugh as he did. "of course, however," he suggested, "as it is going to be a whole holiday, and no work, there need be no eating either." but that was by no means our view of the matter; we declared ourselves more hungry than usual, and made such inroads on the honey that my father asked at last whether he had not better send out for the hive. after breakfast we had our bible reading with my mother; that was a treat and not a lesson--we never missed it even on whole holidays--and then my father joined us and took part in consulting over the plans for the day. "we shall dispose of these young gentlemen at once," he said, "for i find groves is expecting them at the cove, so soon as they can go; and they may have the whole morning to employ as they like, in the boats, or on the rocks--anything short of being in the water, which i do _not_ recommend. and for ourselves, rickson is going to bring round the pony carriage at twelve, when mrs. grant will be driven out by her humble servant, the coachman, supposing always that she sees no just cause or impediment." and my father playfully touched his forehead, as if waiting for orders. it was clear to read in my mother's eyes that she saw no difficulty in the way of the drive with my father; and we boys were not less ready to avail ourselves of the permission to go out at once and for the whole morning. we flew off to the play-room, loaded our pockets with a miscellaneous store of nails, string, and implements of one kind or another, such as we were wont to use in our various undertakings, and, carrying the melancholy hulk which aleck had not had time to pull to pieces, we set off at express speed to the cove, with frisk barking at our heels. there was not much talking during the first part of the scramble, but aleck contrived to get the contents of one of his pockets scattered by a hasty jump, and we had to stop and pick up the things, which was the signal for our chatter to begin as usual. "i wonder what surprise old george has for us?" i observed confidentially to my cousin. "whatever it is, i think he must have been a long time at it," replied aleck; "he's been shut up in the work-shop so often of late." "yes," i said; "and since that one peep i told you of, i've never had a chance of looking in." "perhaps more ships," my cousin suggested, his thoughts running in that line. "ever since i can remember he's always made me something," i said; "once it was a pop-gun, and the next time it was a cart, and then, last time, the 'fair alice.'" aleck listened quietly to the catalogue of my presents, only remarking that, if they got better each time, he wondered what they'd come to be at last; thus suggesting such a pleasant subject for speculation that i did not immediately find any occasion for further talk, but ruminated as we pursued our way for a few moments in silence. "it must be very nice," my cousin resumed presently, "having another day for presents besides christmas-days and birth-days. i wonder where papa and mamma will be my next birth-day." "whatever it is that george has made for me," i said, "you shall play with it too, aleck. i like you to play with my things." "you're very good about the 'fair alice,' i'm sure," answered my cousin. "i wish i had anything to lend you that would give you half as much pleasure. i'm afraid this--referring to the boat he was carrying--will not come to much, in spite of george's promises." it certainly did not look encouraging, but by this time we were gaining the shingle, the fresh sea-breeze blowing in our faces seemed to quicken our steps, and the rest of our way was a race between us and frisk until we reached the lodge. we found old george on the watch for us, his kind cheery face all in a pleasant glow of welcome. he was ready to start directly for the cove, he told us, when the first salutations were over. but i did not feel quite so eager, as might have been expected, having a private desire to explore the work-shop, of which i perceived the door to be open. "may i go in now?" i asked, moving towards it. "ay, ay, sir," answered my old friend with a merry twinkle in his eye, which developed into a broad smile by the time we returned from our fruitless inspection of bare benches and tools; and he took to singing,- "when she came there, the cupboard was bare." "that master willie is a quotation from a celebrated poet. i reckon you're ready enough now to come on to the cove." we sallied forth accordingly, i convinced that there was some secret in store for me still; aleck full of thoughts about his ship, which he was exhibiting to george as he went along, narrating its many mis-adventures, and incorrigible tendency to sail bottom upwards, and gaining from the old man nothing but a series of chuckles, together with assurances which seemed to afford to george himself infinite amusement, that "master gordon's boat should sail in the cove as trim and tight as the 'fair alice' herself." it was a glorious morning. the sunshine was dancing and sparkling upon the water with a thousand gleaming flashes; the little waves came lapping playfully upon the sand and shingle to our feet, and made sweet music in the recesses of the rocks. we used to call these warm september days our indian summer, and were wont to fancy that they were never so bright and beautiful anywhere as at braycombe. groves took a quick comprehensive look towards the offing, and round again towards the rocks, and finally off towards the west, and then, as if satisfied with the result of his observations, said to us: "it would be a beautiful day for the white-rock cove, young gentlemen; the wind's shifted a bit since early morning, and ralph will be round in half an hour to give us a hand with the oars; if mrs. grant wouldn't mind your being a bit late for luncheon, as you're to dine in the evening, we could do it nicely." now if anything had been wanted to add to the zest of our enjoyment, this suggestion of groves's was just the thing. no expedition in the whole range of possibilities gave us so much pleasure as this one. first, it could only be accomplished in certain states of wind and tide; secondly, it occupied a longer time than could be usually available except on very propitious half holidays; and, finally, its attractions were of the most varied character. for what caverns were there in the whole neighbourhood that could compete with those at the white-rock cove?--with their deep clear pools, in which the pink seaweed and gorgeous anemones seemed to find a more congenial home than in any other place; with mysterious dark recesses and wonderful natural arches, and miniature gulf streams, that offered irresistible attractions to the spirit of enterprise, in the way of crossings on slippery stepping-stones; and with a soft white beach, spread out at the foot of the rocks, abounding with such a wonderful variety of shells, that our researches rarely ended without the discovery of some fresh specimen for our collections. nor must we omit to mention the only white rock of any size which was to be found in our red sandstone district, which gave its name to the cove, and as to which there were numerous traditions current in the neighbourhood. to the near side of the cove there was, indeed, a short way through the woods, but unless we had a boat we could not reach the caverns, or find our way to the most attractive spots for shell gathering. groves's suggestion was met, as might be expected, with rapturous applause, and by the time that we reached our own cove, it was decided that one of us boys should go up to the house to obtain the necessary permission, whilst, in the meantime, the boat should be got ready for the sail. the door of our boat-house was lying open as we came up, and something of unusual appearance was dimly visible inside. "the secret!" i exclaimed, running eagerly forward and drawing to light a beautiful large kite with a wondrous flying eagle depicted on it, and a tail of marvellous length, together with an apparently inexhaustible length of string. "oh, george, this is what you've been making--how beautiful it is!" "but maybe you don't guess for whom it's intended, sir; i don't deny the making of it," said the old man. "i think i do though," i answered, looking up at his kind, cheery face; "i think you've made it for me, george." "well, you're about right there, sir, and it's been a real pleasure to me the making of it, being, as it were, somewhat of a sailor's craft, it having to be driven of the wind, even though it might be said to be more for land than water." i heard aleck say that it belonged rather to the air than to earth or water in his opinion. then we took to a close inspection of the eagle, which we both agreed to be splendid, and became eager for an immediate trial of its flying powers. but here, to our surprise, old george did not at once agree. he wanted to see, he told us, whether he could not make master gordon's boat sail as well as mine. we could have a sailing match, and try which would go the best, if only we would get out the "fair alice;" and so saying he led the way to my own little boat-house, whilst we followed in speechless wonder at the absurdity of the proposition. "as if he could set my boat to rights in a few minutes!" said aleck to me incredulously. "here, master gordon," continued george, making pretended difficulties at the lock; "you had better open the door yourself, sir." aleck stooped down to do so. "why, george!" he exclaimed, "it's as easy as possible; what _did_ you make such a fuss about? but--oh--what a beauty! willie--willie--look!" and so saying, he drew forth a beautifully made little vessel, about the same size as my "fair alice," but even, as i thought, more perfectly finished, and with two masts. "a schooner-yacht," my cousin continued, triumphantly. "oh, willie, i like it a great deal better than even the 'fair alice.' is it yours, george?" he inquired. "no, sir," answered groves, quickly; "guess again." "i don't know any one else, unless it's willie." "near it, but not right; try again, sir; somebody else that's not very far off." my cousin coloured with a wild flush of delight; but though he stooped down to finger the new yacht in a sort of tender way, as if he loved it, he hesitated to make another guess, and i broke in impatiently,-"aleck, why are you so nonsensical as to pretend you don't see it's for you?" "that's it indeed, master gordon; you'll understand what i meant about the sailing match now;" and the old sailor's face lit up afresh with kind enjoyment, as he marked the absorbing pleasure which his present was giving. another moment, and aleck was almost hugging the old man: "oh, how very, very, very kind of you to make it for me; i like it better a great deal than anything i have ever seen, better than the 'fair alice' even, and i did think that nicer than anything else. may i have it out on the water to-day; and couldn't we sail them both together as you said." there was no time for answering him, as he ran on immediately into a minute individual examination of all the details of the little vessel, calling for attention and admiration in every case: "look at the bowsprit, and then the rudder; see how delicately it moves; the royal is beautiful, and there are three flags; do look, willie, mine will be the admiral's vessel, and i can signal to you." i looked, but said very little, though aleck was too much absorbed with his own enjoyment to notice this, and kept appealing to me for sympathetic interest during the whole operation of unreefing the sails and launching the yacht for a trial sail in the cove. nothing certainly could look more graceful and pretty than did the little vessel, as it bent to the breeze, and steadily kept its course out towards the mouth of the cove. aleck clapped his hands exultingly, and ran forward to slip the rope across, as the tide was already pretty high, and still rising. then slowly brought the treasure back again, and surveyed it at his leisure in one of the little creeks, where the shelter of the rocks prevented it from speeding off again on its journey. frisk, too, took a great interest in the new acquisition, seeming to recognize in it an addition to his circle of friends. and george rubbed his hands, and chuckled with satisfaction, as he repeated again that master gordon's boat should sail on the cove as tight and trim as the "fair alice" herself. and i--yes, i must confess it, found the old miserable feelings were all back again, and vainly tried to shake off the dead weight which had settled upon me from the moment that i had clearly understood that aleck, and not i, was to possess the new vessel. perhaps george detected something of what was passing in my mind, for, when the question arose which of us boys should go up to the house to ask permission for the expedition to the white-rock cove, he decided at once that it should be aleck, saying that he and i would have time for trying the kite meanwhile; and, looking back at it now, i fancy i can understand his wanting to take off my thoughts from aleck's present, and make me think about my own. so aleck started off by the zig-zag, and george and i would have set to flying the kite immediately, had not he discovered that one of the sails of our own boat had been taken up to the lodge, and that he must go and look for it first. "i'll be back in less than a quarter of an hour, sir," he said, however, as he left; "and you can have the kite and be on the meadow ready." i had taken up the kite in my hand, but i threw it aside again the moment george turned his back upon me, and sitting down upon the stones near the water's edge, with frisk's fore-paws stretched across my lap, looked gloomily at the water and at aleck's new boat. evil feelings grew stronger and stronger within me as i looked. though fascinated so that i could not take my eyes off it, i hated the very sight of the pretty little schooner, and wished heartily that george had never made it. and i thought about aleck, how happy he was this morning, and how miserable i was; and i thought it unfair of him to be happier in my own home than i was; and then i wondered why george should care for him so much as to take all that trouble for him, forgetting how i had begged old george to love my cousin who was to be like my brother, and forgetting, too, that aleck's pleasant ways had won upon the old man during the past few months, so that he had gained quite an established place in his affections. these and countless other, but similar thoughts, chased each other through my head in a far shorter time than they take to relate, whilst dreamily i kept watching the little vessel, and mechanically taking note of its different points. the sails at first were flapping listlessly, the rocks, as i mentioned before, affording shelter from the breeze. but presently the breeze shifted a little, and this change, together with that produced by the tide, now just at its full height, moved the schooner somewhat further from the rocks; then gradually the sails filled once again, and after stopping a minute at one point, and a minute at another, as, drifted by the motion of the waves, it finally escaped from the little creek and stood steadily out into the open channel of the cove. i sprung to my feet and followed in pursuit, running or jumping from rock to rock towards the mouth of the cove. but the little vessel got under the lee of a projecting rock, and was stopped in its course for a while, so i sat down once more, not caring to find my way round to the other side and release it, according to my usual fashion, but finding a moody satisfaction in staring straight before me, and paying no attention to frisk, who was flourishing about with barks, and waggings of his tail and prickings of his ears, as if he thought he ought to be sent in pursuit of the new boat, and considered me deficient in public spirit for not stirring in the matter. then, as i steadily refused to notice him, he took to playing with the end of the rope on which the rings were fastened, which slipped on to the iron stake, as before-mentioned, and constituted our "harbour-bar;" seeming as pleased as a kitten with a ball of worsted, when he found that he could push the ring up and move it with his paws. in fact, the stake was so very short, and the ring so light, that i could see five minutes more of such play, and probably the rope would be unfastened, and the channel clear to the open sea. another moment and i noticed that the little vessel was clearing out from its shelter under the rock, the wind coming down into the cove in gusts and draughts, so that it seemed to blow every way in succession, and was now standing straight towards the mouth of the harbour. there was a quick, sharp conflict between the strong whisper of temptation and the protesting voice of conscience, when i marked the position of the boat, and saw also, that in another moment frisk's antics would have unfastened the barrier between it and the wide waters beyond. a quick, sharp conflict, and i came off defeated. hastily turning my back upon the harbour-bar, i ran to the head of the cove without disturbing frisk, who was so taken up with his newly found amusement, that he did not miss me; took up the kite and sped off to the meadow, which lay between the cove and the lodge, where i was joined by the dog, two or three minutes after, panting and breathless at my having stolen a march upon him. george, too, came a minute later from the other side into the meadow, which, although out of sight of the cove, owing to the rise of the ground, was as good a place to wait in as any, since aleck would have to pass through it on his way from the house. ralph appeared also, and through our united efforts, and to our united satisfaction, my new kite was soon soaring higher than any kite ever seen before by any member of our little party; great was my excitement in holding the string and letting it out, or taking it in as i ran from one part to another, frisk the while dashing about wildly, and barking as though at some strange bird of which he entertained suspicions. old george looked as pleased as if he had been a boy of six, rather than a man of sixty, and ralph rushed recklessly here and there and everywhere, with his head thrown back and his eyes rivetted upon the soaring kite, until, like genius in the fable, he was suddenly prostrate through stumbling over an unnoticed stump. "see what comes of not looking where you're going," moralized george, as he picked him up and gave him a general shaking by way of seeing that nothing had come loose in his tumble; a sentiment from which it is possible the youngster might have derived more profit, had not his elderly relative experienced a similar mishap almost immediately afterwards. i was the only heavy-hearted one of the trio; and even i forgot my cares and anxieties in the glorious excitement of holding in the kite, which tugged and tugged at the string as if it would carry me up to the skies, rather than give in. "i wonder what's kept master aleck such a time?" said old george, after we had spent nearly three-quarters of an hour kite-flying. the load at my heart came back again in a moment as i answered hurriedly, that i did not mind aleck's being detained, for the pleasure of flying the kite was as good as anything. and george, who inferred that the cloud he had noticed before over me had passed away, rejoiced accordingly. it was more than an hour from the time of his leaving, when aleck reappeared, holding one side of a small hamper, whilst one of the men-servants held the other. "lots of good things for luncheon," he said, by way of explanation, as they deposited their burden on the grass. and then he proceeded to unfold how some one had been calling on his uncle and aunt, and he could not speak to them at first; and then how his uncle had told him the drive would have to be later, and more distant than they had intended; and, finally, that the game of cricket being given up, we might have our luncheon and picnic at the white-rock cove, returning any reasonable time in the afternoon. "won't it be splendid?" aleck continued, gleefully, whilst i drew in line, and my kite slowly descended; "we shall have time for the sailing match, and madrepore hunt, and the caverns--everything!" i assented with as much of pleasure in my tone as was at command, thinking after all how very pleasant it would be if--there came the _if_--and i scarcely dared admit to myself, how sorry i began to feel at the thought that my man[oe]uvre had probably succeeded, or how sorely the disappointment to george and my cousin would mar our happiness! if only i could know that what i had wished to happen an hour ago had not happened, then how wonderfully light my heart would feel. a sickening feeling of anxiety, such as i had not dreamt of in my little happy life before, came over me, and nervously i hurried on the winding up of my string. "what a noble kite it is," said my cousin, "i wish i could go up upon one!" "'if wishes were horses'--you know the old saying, master gordon," responded groves. "i think you'd be sorry enough after getting up five hundred feet into the air, to feel that a puff of wind might tumble you over, and make the coming down a trifle quicker, and less agreeable, than the going up." "it was the going up, and not the coming down that i meant," rejoined aleck, "though i have heard papa say that coming down from a great height does not hurt." "ugh!" i ejaculated, "you wouldn't have me believe that. just a little while before you came to us i had a bad fall off the table. i can tell you it hurt!" "i've fallen, too, off a tree," answered my cousin, not to be outdone, for boys are wont to brag of their honourable scars, "and it hurt a great deal, but i mean falling from higher still. one of the sailors i talked to on board ship had fallen from a mast, and he told me that he went over and over; the first time he went over seemed quite a long time, and between that and the second time he seemed to remember almost everything he had ever cared about much in all his life, but after the second going over he never knew anything until he found himself lying in the cabin, and the doctor setting his arm, which had been broken in the fall, though he never felt it." "i'll be bound he felt it enough when the doctor got to work upon him," remarked george. "yes; but he didn't feel it when it broke," returned aleck, who wished to establish his point. by this time the stately kite was lying on the grass. i lifted it up, and we started in procession for the cove, aleck acting train-bearer to the long tail, and winding it up as he went along; and groves and ralph carrying the hamper. another moment, and we were in sight of the cove. my heart was beating violently, and i felt the crimson flush mount suddenly to my face, and then leave it again; but no one else noticed it, and as yet i could not see to the harbour-bar, so as to know whether the ship were safe or not. the little creek in which it had been left was, however, full in view, and aleck instantly observed that his new treasure was not there. but there was an entire absence of uneasiness in his tone, as he quietly remarked,-"i suppose you put it into the boat-house lest it should be blown about whilst we were away;" and without waiting for an answer he placed the rolled-up tail of the kite in my hand, and ran forwards to look into the boat-house for it. it was in vain, however, that he searched first my miniature boat-house, and then every nook and corner of the real one. "it's not there," he said. "i thought you must have put it away." "i never said so," i answered; and then a bright thought coming to me, as to what would be an impregnable position to take up in all future inquiry, i boldly added, "i never touched it after you went away." "where can it be, then?" said aleck; and yet, though it was clearly a hopeless task, we once again looked carefully for the missing treasure in both boat-houses. there was the "fair alice," my own beautiful little vessel, that had seemed the most perfect thing of its kind, until the arrival of the new one; but the other was nowhere to be found. "tell you what, master gordon," said old george, "the wind's been uncommon shifting and fanciful this morning, and we left her with sails set; depend upon it, sir, that she's been drifting out with the tide a bit, and the wind so off shore, as it is now, she'd be up towards the mouth of the cove. we ought to have thought of the wind and the change of the tide; it will be well if she's not out to sea." "oh, no fear of that!" exclaimed aleck, joyfully, "because i myself put the harbour-bar across this morning when i sailed her first;" and so saying, he bounded off along the rocks towards the mouth of the cove, the rest of us following almost as fast. one hasty glance and i knew that what i had expected had taken place; the ring which tightened the rope across, so as to constitute a barrier, was now under water--the rope, it must be understood, being arranged to lie along the bottom when not specially adjusted--the channel out to sea was perfectly unimpeded, and there was no trace of the little vessel which, an hour and a half before, had been sailing so merrily upon the water. "o george!" exclaimed aleck, "see the rope is down; it must have gone out to sea; it _can't_ be gone!" but aleck's face of sad conviction belied his words. "it can't be gone!" he repeated; and yet the tears of disappointment were forcing themselves into his eyes, though he battled up bravely against his trouble, and tried to believe still that there was some mistake. then we betook ourselves to searching in every nook and corner of the cove, exploring impossible places amongst the rocks, and once again returning to look through the boat-house; i, hypocritically, as active as others, lest there should be any suspicion raised. "master willie," said groves at last, as if a bright thought had struck him, "i know what it must be, sir. you're up to a prank sometimes--in fact, rather often--and you've hidden away the yacht, for there's been no one else in the cove but you; though where you can have put it i'm puzzled to say, seeing there's not a place fit to hide a walnut-shell i haven't looked in, not to say a schooner yacht drawing half a foot of water." all faces looked relieved by the idea--the three other faces i mean. but as its tendency was to fasten a certain measure of responsibility upon myself, i thought it better to become indignant. "i don't know why you say i must have done it," i answered hastily. "i never touched the boat; what should i touch it for, it wasn't mine; you didn't make it for me. i told aleck i hadn't touched it." "master willie, master willie," expostulated groves, "don't be angry; i only thought you might have been up to a bit of fun, and i was mistaken." "then, george--o george!" exclaimed my cousin, grasping him by the arm, "she _must_ have gone out to sea;" and he tried hard to gulp down his feelings; "you know the harbour-bar is down." "and i should like to know how it came to be down," said george, severely. a new idea evidently passed all in a moment through my cousin's mind. with a fiery flashing in his eyes that i had never seen in him before, he turned suddenly upon me. "you naughty, wicked boy," he said. "you didn't touch the boat you say; but you didn't like my having it; you didn't like its being mine, because it was better than yours, and had two masts; and so you let down the bar, and--and she's got out to sea and is lost!" and so saying he burst into a passionate fit of tears. it is difficult to say which of us was the most surprised by this unlooked-for accusation of aleck's. i had never seen my cousin in such a temper before, but was far too conscious of the wrong part i had acted to be able at once to answer with a protest of innocence. so that in the very short space of time which was occupied by george telling aleck the case was not hopeless, and the vessel might be found yet, and that he'd be sorry for the wrong words he had said to me, a rapid controversy passed silently between me and my conscience somewhat in this wise:-_conscience._--"you know that what he said is true about your not liking his having the schooner, and you know you wanted it to get lost." _answer._--"but i can say with perfect truth that i did not touch it _or the rope_." _conscience._--"you know if you had called off frisk the schooner would not have been lost." _answer._--"but i never _saw_ frisk unloose the ring; and i can say, with truth, that until just now i did not _know_ that it was not safe." _conscience._--"that will be a lie all the same. you have often been told that what makes a lie is the intention to deceive, and not the words only." _answer._--"what's the use of telling now that i really am very sorry it has happened. it's not any good confessing to aleck that i might have prevented it. after all, it was frisk who did it, and i did not even see frisk do it. and aleck's in such a towering passion; i could never face him and have him know the whole." _conscience_, more feebly.--"that's bad reasoning; you ought simply to find out what is right, and do it." _answer._--"and now that i come to think of it, it's a great shame that aleck should fly out so at me, and i won't stand it." and at this point the voice of conscience became perfectly silenced, and, turning defiantly to my cousin, i exclaimed,-"i don't know what you mean, aleck, by accusing me of it; i never touched the rope, and i never touched the boat; i'm quite certain that i did not, and it's a lie of yours to say that i did." "o master willie, master aleck," gasped old george, in consternation. "young gentlemen, these words are not fit to come from such as you; what would your parents say?" but our brows lowered angrily, and we made no response; whilst george continued, abandoning in his dismay the usual form of address, and speaking as from age to youth, "my boys, children, have you not been taught of him 'who, when he was reviled, reviled not again; when he suffered, he threatened not.' christian boys should try to be like their master, and such words as passed between you should never be heard amongst them. you've forgotten yourselves, young gentlemen, and you'll be very sorry soon for what you have said to each other. master aleck, you're wrong, sir, to say that master willie did it when he denies it. i've known master willie since he was born, and he speaks the truth. he's told me with the greatest of honestness when he's done things which was wrong, and no one else knowed of; as, for instance, when he ate the cherries and swallowed the stones, and when he got the cat's tail all over pitch--i can remember a score of things he's told me of, quite frank and open, and i'm sure he's spoken the truth now." i felt somewhat self-condemned whilst george thus enumerated the instances of my candour in simple unconsciousness of the fact that confessions of scrapes were generally received by him with such indulgence that it required the smallest possible amount of moral courage to make them. "shake hands, young gentlemen," he added, after another pause, "and be friends, and let us all do what we can to find the schooner--she's cost me many an hour's work." and at this moment, for the first time, it flashed upon me painfully how great the disappointment was to george as well as to aleck, and i was sorry, more sorry than i had hitherto felt. the pair of small chubby hands that met in the old sailor's rugged palm were unused to so ceremonious a meeting, and their owners were somewhat solemnized at being treated like grown-up gentlemen. but a fierce look of suspicion still lingered in aleck's face, and i doubt not a glow of anger and excitement in mine, which showed that groves's peacemaking had not been thoroughly effectual--we _felt_ still as we had _spoken_ before. chapter vii. the missing ship. in the meantime ralph had been busy getting all the things ready for our sail; so we took our places in the boat, and stood out to sea. the wind being steadily off shore, our progress was rapid; we bounded lightly over the water, and had soon placed some distance between us and the cove. george sat at the helm, keeping a keen look out in every direction; whilst aleck, ralph, and i, strained our eyes in fruitless efforts to discover the tiny white sail we were longing to see. the glorious sunshine dancing and sparkling on the water seemed to mock the gloomy heavy-heartedness that was darkening the hours of our long anticipated holiday. aleck and i were almost entirely silent. when we spoke, it was to ralph, or george, as convenient third parties; not a word would we say to each other. old george did his best, with clumsy kindness, to make lively remarks from time to time; but the responsive laugh was wanting; and, after experiencing two or three signal failures, he struck his colours and yielded to the spell that had fallen upon us. the whole braycombe coast for many miles is deeply indented with creeks and coves, and diversified with outstanding rocks and promontories, about the most picturesque and the most dangerous part of our southern shores. old george decided that probably the object of our search had been driven in by the fitful wind amongst some of the near rocks and creeks, and might, perhaps, be recovered by a careful search. so, warily steered by our experienced sailor, we set ourselves to the work, having scanned, to the best of our ability, the open sea beyond with a pocket telescope. what with the tackings frequently necessary, and the taking down sail in one place, and then putting it up in another, the time passed on rapidly; and we were quite surprised, as we finished the exploration of one of the little inlets, to hear groves remark that it was "nigh upon two o'clock, and that we'd all be the better of a little food." for the first time in our lives we had forgotten to be hungry. it was decided that we should spread the luncheon on a broad flat stone, near which our boat was now curtseying listlessly on the water, and take our repast ashore. george and ralph lifted out the hamper, and spread the cloth, and arranged the various good things we found inside. "and don't let us forget," said old george, reverently, lifting his hat, "the thanks we owe to our father, which art in heaven, for his bounties provided for us." the train of thought thus started seemed to go on in his mind, after we had set to the serious business of luncheon. "you see, young gentlemen," he presently continued, "we're to remember that all the good things he sends us come from the same hand that sends us our disappointments too; and though we don't always see it, it's true that the troubles and trials are amongst the _good_ things. many a time i've kept a-thinking of that verse which says, 'he that spared not his only-begotten son, but delivered him up for us all, how shall he not, with him, also freely give us all things'--the _all things_ there meaning, you see, the troubles and losses as much as the gains, and successes, and pleasures. and i think it's the same with children as with grown people; _their_ trials, which are small to grown-up people, are great to _them_, and they don't come by chance. and, when we are able to feel this way, young gentlemen, it's easier to bear up when the wind seems dead against you, and to say, when things go wrong, and there's a deal of beating about, and a shipping of heavy seas, as you're taught to say in the lord's prayer, 'thy will be done.'" i forget what was said after george finished this homely, but practical and excellent children's sermon; but i can remember that aleck's face looked somewhat lighter; the words seemed to have touched some inner chord, and to have met _his_ troubles more than they did _mine_. _my_ load, on the contrary, lay all the more heavily on my conscience; as i realized that i was entirely shut out from such consolations as george tried to offer, so that i became _more_ rather than _less_ gloomy. the old man resumed the thread of conversation soon again. "it seems strange now," he said, "to think how we're grieving over this bit of a toy ship, and then to think of how one's felt seeing, as i did once, a good ship with her crew, men and boys, clinging to the rigging, and going down before your eyes, and you not able to help them, though they kept a-screeching out and a-calling to you all the while." "couldn't you do anything?" we both exclaimed, our interest now fully awakened; "did you try to help them?" "oh yes, sir," george answered, and i could see the tears standing in his eyes; "god be praised, we didn't see 'em go down without doing what we could for them; and i'm glad to think of it, though my life didn't seem worth the having for many a long day afterward." "oh, why?" asked aleck, eagerly; and i, in spite of our being upon terms of not speaking, caught myself whispering to him, "don't you know?--ralph's father was drowned." but george went on, with his eyes fixed on the water, as if the great sea which had swallowed up his dead were a book, and he were reading from it. "his father"--and with a turn of the head he indicated ralph--"was with me; he was but four-and-twenty, and as handsome as handsome; a young fellow such as there was not many to be seen like him; and he was a good son--a good son to his mother and to me--and a child of god, too, heaven be praised! 'father,' says he, 'we must try to save them;' and, with the sound of those poor creatures' cries ringing in my ears, i dared not say no, though the odds were fearful against us, and i was careful over _him_, though i'd not have minded for myself. well, sir, two others joined us, and we succeeded in getting off; but just before we reached the sinking vessel, a heavy sea struck us, and in a moment we were all struggling in the water. i thought i heard ralph--_he_ was ralph too--i thought i heard him just say, 'god have mercy on my poor betsey!'--she as you know, master willie--and then i knew nothing until i woke up in a room where some kind people were rubbing me with hot flannels, and offering me hot stuff to drink. so soon as i could speak, 'where's ralph?' i says, looking round for him; and then i saw in their faces how it was; and they came round me, treating me quite tenderly like a child, though they were rough sailors. and one of 'em, a god-fearing man, who had spoken a bit to us many a time when we'd no parson, was put forward by them, and he comes and whispers to me, 'you'll see him again, george, when the sea shall give up its dead. you'll meet before the throne of god and of the lamb.' well, sir, i was but a poor frail mortal, and my senses left me again, and i was long of coming round. but ever since then, as i look at the wide water, i seem to hear a voice saying, the sea shall give up its dead, and we'll meet some day before the throne of god and of the lamb. yes; i'm not afraid of the open book for him, poor boy, for long afore that day i knew he'd taken his sailing orders under the great captain. 'father,' he's said to me, 'i know jesus christ has _died_ for me; i must _live_ for him.' and when the poor body was washed ashore, there was his little testament in his pocket, all dripping with the sea water. i dried it, and found it could still be read, and even some of his marks; there's not another thing i prize so much." old george took the little unsightly-looking volume from his pocket, and gave it reverently to us to look at, and aleck and i bent over it together, and deciphered on the title-page, in crooked lines of round handwriting, the name, _ralph groves_--_his book_; and underneath was a verse of a hymn, evidently remembered and not copied, which must have been one of those sung amongst the methodists on that part of the coast where, as george told me, ralph used to attend their meetings. "lord jesus, be my constant guide, then when the word is given, bid death's dark stream its waves divide, and land me safe in heaven." "you see, young gentlemen," resumed george, when we had given him back the little book, "things which seem hard to bear--ay, and _are_ hard to bear now--are but little things after all, and will be as nothing in that day when all wrong words and tempers will seem great things, far greater than we sometimes think." aleck and i had listened with full hearts to groves's touching account of his son's death, and it was in a subdued quiet manner that we rose up from our meal and settled ourselves again in the boat. there was evidently an inward struggle going on in my cousin's mind, and i almost feared that he was going to ask my pardon, which i should have disliked, knowing myself to be so much the most in the wrong. it was quite a relief to find that in this i was mistaken; he only remained, as before, very silent; and i, too, was silent, and found myself, with eyes fixed on the water, thinking of george's son, and of the opened book, and wondering concerning the things written therein, and whether all that had happened this day would be found there; whilst old george's words seemed to repeat themselves over in my mind, and i kept saying to myself, "the loss of the ship will be a very little thing then, whilst all wrong words and tempers will seem greater than we think." we had not resumed our search very long, when aleck declared that he saw something white in the distance which he thought was the little vessel. we all eagerly turned our eyes in the direction indicated, and although no one felt very sure that we had at last discovered the object of our search, there was sufficient uncertainty to make us eager in pursuit. we had to tack frequently, but at last reached the little white thing which inspired our hopes, and, alas! discovered that it was only a whitened branch of a tree washed out from shore, on which the wet leaves glistened and shone in the afternoon sun. it was a fresh disappointment to us all, and the time our chase had occupied prevented the possibility of any further research. even as it was, we were quite late in reaching the cove, and found that my father had been on the watch for us with his telescope, and had been greatly perplexed by the erratic character of our movements. of course he was instantly told the tragical history of our day. aleck, whose sorrow had been renewed by our fruitless search, did not hesitate to lay emphasis upon the fact that i had been left alone at the cove; and i was quite startled by the quick abrupt manner in which my father turned round to me and said,-"willie, did you meddle with the ship or the rope whilst aleck was away?" but, thankful that the inquiry took this form, i was able to answer unhesitatingly,-"no, papa, i did not touch the boat once, or the rope either, this morning, and it's very, very wrong of aleck to say that i did." whilst aleck, the dark angry look flashing once again from his eyes, exclaimed,-"i know he hated my having the yacht; i'm sure he wanted me to lose it." mr. gordon, although as much shocked at this outburst as george had been, was not disposed to treat the matter quite as he had done. that both of us were guilty of wrong temper there could be no doubt, but he saw also that there was still something to be cleared up; and instead of quenching the subject by telling us we had both behaved badly, and deserved to be unhappy, as is the self-indulgent custom of many grown-up people in the matter of children's quarrels, he forbade any further recrimination, and after dinner was over, calmly and quietly inquired into every particular of our story, with as much care as if he had been on his magistrate's bench in court, and this were a case of great importance; first questioning aleck, and then myself. as my examination drew to a close, however, aleck once again burst in with the determined assertion that i knew more than i had said. my mother, who was present, was indignant at his persistency, saying that in all my life i had never told a lie, and it was unpardonable thus to speak of me; whilst my father simply said, "since you are not able to conduct yourself with propriety, aleck, you must go to bed." and my cousin left the room accordingly, whilst i was subjected to the moral torture of a further cross-examination; from which, however, strong in the distinct assertion that i had not touched either rope or boat, i came off clear. one step, indeed, my father gained, in the course of his inquiry, towards the truth. in answer to one of his questions, i used the pronoun _we_. "who's _we_?" asked my father, quickly. "frisk and i, papa." "then you had frisk with you, and i suppose as playful as usual?" "yes, papa." "did frisk get at the ship or the rope, do you think?" "i never saw him touch the ship; i don't think he could touch it; but then i went to the meadow to fly the kite." "did frisk get near the rope?" "yes, papa, just before i came away; but i didn't see him slip off the ring, though now i think he must have done so." "you think so because you saw him going near the rope?" "yes, papa; but i can't tell you any more. i went to fly my kite, and frisk came up quite panting soon after, having run hard because i had happened to leave him behind." "it was the dog did it," said my father quite decidedly, turning to my mother. "willie, you should have been more careful; you might have known it was not safe to leave frisk in the cove; but i quite believe your word, and that you had no hand in the matter." then the subject was dismissed: i played a game of chess with my mother, and finally went up to bed at the usual time, to receive, before going to sleep, the never-omitted visit, which was the peaceful closing to so many peaceful days. my mother stayed but for a moment on this evening, going on almost at once to my cousin's room. i heard all about that visit afterwards, so that i am able to tell what passed almost as well as if i had been present. my mother found aleck lying wearily and restlessly in bed, with tearful eyes and hot flushed face, that told of sleep being by no means near. she sat down beside him and said, "it was a sad disappointment for you, aleck, to lose your pretty new boat; and i daresay you feel it hard not to have your own dear mamma to tell all about it." aleck tried to answer, but failed, bursting into tears instead, and my mother talked on in her gentle loving way until the sobs grew less frequent, and my cousin became at last quite calm. she told him that i had always spoken the truth--she little knew--and that she could not doubt my word, and that my father had become quite convinced it was the mischievous work of the dog that had brought about all this trouble; and then she made him feel how wrong it was to have accused me, instead of believing my word; so that, before she left the room, he had told her he was very very sorry for what he had said, and he hoped she and his uncle would forgive him, and that he meant to ask my forgiveness also. i know that my mother told him of a higher forgiveness that must be obtained before he could feel at peace with his conscience, and spoke to him somewhat in the same manner that george had, about trials great or small being kindly and lovingly permitted by a heavenly father. i was almost asleep when my door opened, and the pattering of shoeless feet announced a visitor. aleck was groping in the dark, and, guided by my voice, reached the bottom of my bed, discovered the mound raised by my feet, felt his way along the ridge of my person, and having arrived at my head, flung his arms around my neck, and kissing me warmly--in my eye by mistake--said he could not sleep until he had told me how sorry he was for having behaved so badly, and suspected me, and called me bad names. he was quite sure now that frisk had done the mischief, and he hoped i would forgive him, adding that there was still just a chance of finding the vessel, and that he meant to be up very early, and out by six o'clock the next morning, to have a good look down in the white-rock cove. "i daresay i shall find it after all, willie, and if not--why, i must finish the old thing we've been working at so long. but i once found a knife of mine after i had lost it a week in a hay-field; so you see i'm lucky." he kissed me again and went back to his bed, whilst i lay tossing and wakeful, full of shame and self-reproach, and yet more than ever built up in my determination that i would not, and could not, confess the whole truth; it would be too great a shame and humiliation after having so fully committed myself, and when my parents had expressed such perfect confidence in my truthfulness. chapter viii. another search. half-past eight o'clock in the morning. the gong had sounded, and we had all assembled in the library for prayers. all but aleck, who, for the first time since he had been with us at braycombe, was not in his usual place. my father missed him, and turned to ask me where he was. "i expect he has gone out, papa," i replied; "he meant to go down to the shore to look for his boat." "if you please, sir," said bennet the footman, "i saw master gordon quite early this morning, maybe about six o'clock; he telled me he was going down to look after the ship." family prayer was concluded and breakfast began, and still aleck did not appear. as he had no watch, it was not surprising that he should mistake the time to a certain extent; but we all wondered he should be so very late, and at last my father began to feel uneasy. "he must have been a long way off not to have heard the eight o'clock bell," he said; "yet he's a careful boy; it seems unlikely he should come to any harm." "run out on the lawn, willie," suggested my mother, "and take a good look round; perhaps he may be in sight." but although i put a liberal interpretation upon the direction, and not only ran out upon the lawn, but also down the drive for a little way, and up the overhanging bank, from which we could got a sight far off towards the white-rock cove, i could see nothing of my cousin, and returned breathless to the dining-room without the tidings that my parents expected. the post had come in whilst i was out, and my father was engaged in the perusal of a letter from uncle gordon, reading little bits of it aloud to my mother as he went on. "just starting for the pyrenees ... need send no letters for a fortnight ... address poste restante, marseilles, after this; the constant change of air has done wonders," &c. &c. when the letter was finished, i saw there was one enclosed for aleck, which according to custom i laid upon his plate, repeating, at the same time, that i had looked in every direction, but could see nothing of my cousin. "he must have gone down to the lodge, and perhaps groves kept him, finding it was late, and gave him something to take," said my mother. whereupon my father rung the bell, and desired bennet to go down at once to the lodge and inquire whether master gordon had been there, whilst in the mean time i finished my breakfast, and was sent to the school-room to get my lessons ready for mr. glengelly. it was not long before my father came to me. "willie," he said, "i can't understand what has kept aleck, and i fear he may have hurt himself, and not be able to make his way home; so i am going out at once to look for him, and you must help me." there was something rather dignified in being thus spoken to by my father, and, had it not been for the secret load, of which i dared not tell him, but which already began to weigh with additional heaviness on my heart, i should have felt somewhat elated at finding myself of importance. my father continued in a quick, decided manner: "leave your lessons, and run off at once to the lodge. if you find ralph anywhere about, so much the better, he can go with you; in any case you and george could manage to get the little boat round to the white-rock cove, keeping in shore as nearly as george thinks safe, and keep a sharp look-out all the way along for your cousin.--stay; on second thoughts rickson shall run down to the cove too, in case ralph is not to be found; you will want another hand." i did not need twice telling, but was off in an instant, and, breathless with excitement, reached the lodge a few minutes after. my story was soon told, and george lost no time in getting out the smallest of our boats, and with ralph, who happened, as george said, to be fortunately "handy" on the occasion, we started upon our search. i could not help thinking of the morning before, and its search, but the excitement now kept up my spirits; it was something so new to be thus suddenly dismissed from lessons, and trusted to help in what was evidently considered a matter of some anxiety; _why_ they should be so anxious i did not trouble myself to reflect, having little idea but that aleck had wandered further than he intended, and perhaps experienced some difficulty on his way home. we glided along quickly and pleasantly enough, past the first inlet, and the second, from our own cove, scrutinizing all the banks, and rocks, and shady nooks, so familiar through many a wild exploring of ours; to reach the third we were obliged to stand out a considerable distance to sea, as the promontory bounding the white-rock cove on this side stretched far beyond the other rocky buttresses, making one of the most prominent land-marks in that part of the south coast. it was underneath its shelter that we had lunched the day before, and as we passed by the broad, flat stone in the little creek, the conversation we had had there repeated itself again and again in my mind. it was about half-past eleven o'clock when we had cleared this point, and george gave the order to haul down sail. "it's best to take to the oars now, master willie; we'd be a long while at it if we tacked--now, ralph, pull steady--you'll be about right if you keep her head straight for the white-rock, master willie"--i was at the helm--"ease her, ease her a bit; more to port, sir, more to port--now steady again--now ship oars--the tide's running in pretty fast, and will carry us in." george's commands, thus given at intervals as we doubled the promontory and made for the cove, alone broke silence, until, having shipped oars, there was nothing particular for him to do, and then all at once his tongue seemed unloosed. "poor boy," he said, "it would be a sad day to us all if aught has happened amiss to him, and his parents too off in foreign parts. how cut up he was about his bit ship yesterday, but it matters little if he is safe to-day. i mind now he told me just afore we parted yesterday, that he thought it was quite possible our little ship might have driven ashore here. but i hope he hasn't been rash in trying to climb where it's dangerous even for an active boy like him." "he told me last night," i said, "that he meant to look all along the shore as far as this. papa said we were to come here just in case--" we were getting close into shore now, and ralph, standing up in front of me, held his oar to push us off from the rocks until we reached our usual place for landing. george sat facing me, so that ralph was the only one who was able to see well ahead at the moment. there was something in his manner which startled me, as he bent down all at once and simply said, "grandfather!" george turned round in a moment, and his short ejaculation and smothered "oh!" confirmed me in a terrible fear they had made some discovery, and almost at the same instant, leaning forward, i could see my cousin lying prostrate on the beach just by the white rock, at the bottom of a steep part of the cliff, and scarcely a foot from the water's edge. i felt my knees shaking, as i tried to rise and could not; tried to speak, and the words died on my lips; then, for a moment, buried my face in my hands, and gasped out presently, "he's dead." i thought for a moment that i should die too, the sense of utter, hopeless, unbearable misery seemed so terrible. [illustration: the discovery.] george only answered, "please the lord, master willie, it may not be so bad as that;" and hastily drawing in the boat to the rocks, he leapt ashore, and made his way, in less time than it takes to relate, to where my cousin was lying. ralph and i got ashore also, but my knees trembled so that i could not stand, but sunk down upon the rock. ralph flung the rope to me. "keep her from drifting, master," he said, "and i'll run and help grandfather." it was a moment of terrible suspense. groves knelt at aleck's side, bent his cheek down to his lips, then listened for the beating of his heart--he might have heard mine at that minute--and then turning towards me he exclaimed, "he's still alive!" i had courage to move now, and fastening the rope, i came and stood by groves, as he knelt on the beach beside aleck. i could scarcely believe it was not death when i looked at the colourless face and closed eyes, and needed all groves' reassurance to convince me that he had not been mistaken when he said my cousin was still alive. "thank god, master willie, we came when we did!" he added reverently, and pointing to the waves as they washed up to our feet; "ten minutes more, and the tide will be up over this place where he's lying. we must move him at once--but he's deadly cold. off with your jacket, ralph and put it over him, and--oh! see here!" he pointed to the arm which hung down heavily as he gently raised the unconscious form,--"the arm's broken." the question now was how we were to get him home. by land it would not be more than an hour's climb; but then a _climb_ it must be, and this was almost impossible under the circumstances; whilst, on the other hand, with the wind no longer in our favour, it would be a good two hours getting back by water, and there was the anxiety of not being able to let my father know. whilst george was anxiously deliberating with himself--for neither of us boys were in a state to offer any suggestions--we looked up, and saw my father rapidly descending the hill-side. in another moment he stood in the midst of our little group, and had heard how it was with my cousin. "i feared so," he said, "when i saw you all standing together. thank god, the child is still alive!" there was no longer any questioning of what was best to be done. my father was always able to decide things in a moment. "it would be too great a risk to carry him without any stretcher. we must take him round in the boat. how's the wind, george?" "not favourable, sir; we must trust more to the oars." "then you and ralph must row. willie, i think i can trust you, but remember a great deal may depend upon your carrying your message correctly. run home as quickly as you can by the lower wood, it's quite safe that way; tell mamma that aleck is hurt, and that rickson must go off for dr. wilson in the dog-cart at once; if dr. wilson cannot be found, he must bring mr. bryant; and james must bring down the carriage to wait for us at the lodge. don't frighten your mamma; tell her as quietly and gently as you can. if you meet mr. glengelly, tell him first, and he will break it to mamma. do you quite understand?" "yes, papa," i replied, thankful to have something given me to do, and yet feeling as if i were in the midst of a terrible waking dream. after my father had taken the precaution of once again repeating his directions, i sped off up the steep hill-side, by way of the lower wood, towards home, whilst he gently lifted up my cousin and carried him to the boat. i shall never forget that walk home--_walk_ i call it, though, wherever running was possible, i _ran_. the feeling of misery and terror that was upon me, seemed to be mocked by the gay twittering of the birds, and the dancing of the sunbeams through the leaves, and the familiar appearance of the laden blackberry bushes, and copses famous for rich returns in the nutting season. everything in nature looking so undisturbed and unaffected by what was filling me with grief, appeared to add to my wretchedness. all the way along, i had the vision of my cousin's pale face before my eyes. true, he was not dead; but, child that i was, i had sufficient sense to know that often death followed an accident which was not immediately fatal, and _if_ he died it would be almost as though i had murdered him. i can remember trying hard to fancy it was a dreadful dream, and that i should wake up, as i had done on the preceding night, to find that my fears were all unreal; and as every step, bringing me nearer home, made this increasingly impossible to imagine, i changed the subject of my speculations, and took to remembering all the dreadful things i had ever read in history or story-books, of people dying of broken hearts, or living on and never smiling again, and fancying it was going to be the same with me; and i grew quite frightened, and trembled so much that i scarcely knew how to climb up the steep bits of the path. i was still about a quarter of a mile from the house when i met mr. glengelly, who was also on the search for aleck. it was a wonderful relief to have some one to speak to after the long silence of the past hour, and to be cheered up by his assurance that a broken arm was no very formidable accident after all, and that a little severe pain, and a few weeks invalidism, sounded very alarming, but would in reality pass quickly by. "then you think, perhaps aleck won't die," i faltered, struggling to get breath, for the haste in which i had come had made speaking difficult. "die!" echoed my tutor cheerily; "why, willie, people don't die of a broken arm! i broke my arm when i was a little boy of twelve, and you see i'm alive still." i smiled faintly; it was so much better than anything i had expected to hear. "it's true," added the tutor, "that there may be more than the broken arm, but we must hope for the best. in the meantime, willie, you have had enough running, you are quite out of breath, and had better come the rest of the way quietly; i will go on and carry out your father's directions." when i reached home every one seemed in a bustle, and too busy to take any notice of me. my mother indeed spared time to tell me i had been a good brave boy to come home so fast with the message, and that i had better go and sit quietly to rest in the school-room; but she hurried away immediately to finish her preparations, and i found she was getting the spare room next to her own ready for aleck, instead of the little room next to mine. i had a lingering hope that mr. glengelly might appear in the school-room, but he had gone down with bennet to the lodge to see if he could be of use when the boat came in, so that i was quite alone, and could only watch from the half-open door the doings of the servants as they passed to and fro, all seeming in a flutter, and as if it lay upon them as a duty to move about, and run hither and thither, without any particular object that i could discover. after about an hour, the sound of wheels on the drive announced the approach of the carriage. i sprang to my post of observation, and saw aleck, still deathly pale, and unconscious, carried carefully in by my father and mr. glengelly, and my mother on the first landing of the stairs, looking terribly anxious but perfectly composed, beckoning them up, as she said to my father,-"everything is ready, dear, in the room next to ours." then they all went up-stairs, and i saw nothing more until, a few moments later, mr. glengelly looked in and told me i was to go to dinner by myself, as he was going to drive to elmworth at once, and my parents could not come down-stairs. it seemed strange and forlorn to go into our large dining-room, and sit at the table all by myself, whilst james stood behind me and changed my plate, and handed me the dishes all in their proper order, as if i had been grown up. i was hungry, or rather, perhaps, stood in need of food, after the morning's exertions, but i felt quite surprised at my own utter indifference as to _what_ i had to eat, when i had the opportunity of an entirely free selection. i took my one help of tart, and a single peach, without the shadow of a desire such as is common to children, and which i should in happier times unquestionably have shared, to improve the occasion by a little extra allowance. i had scarcely finished when my mother came in for two or three minutes. "mamma," i said, running eagerly to her, "do tell me, will aleck die?" "my darling," she answered, "we cannot say how much he is hurt until the doctor comes;" and she stooped down to kiss away the tears that came to my eyes when i noticed the sad, quiet voice with which she spoke, so unlike mr. glengelly's cheerful, re-assuring manner. "you must pray to god, my child, that if it be his will he may recover, and try to cheer up, because there is still hope the injury may not prove very serious; we must hope for the best. i am going to bring papa up a glass of wine and a biscuit; will you carry up the plate for me?" just as we were going up-stairs, she added, to comfort me,-"willie, my child, how thankful i feel that you had nothing to do with the loss of the ship." at which, observation--from her point of view, consolatory; from mine, like a dagger-thrust--i became so convulsed with sobs, that my mother slipped into the room where aleck was, laid down the plate and the wine-glass, and returning again, took me down to the school-room, and simply devoted herself for some minutes to soothing me back into composure. she rose to go, but i clung to her dress; "mamma, mamma," i entreated, "don't leave me, please don't leave me." "i _must_ leave you, willie," she answered, "and you must try to bear up bravely for my sake, and for aleck's. you will do what you can to help in this sad time of trouble, and not add to my distress by giving way like this. you are over-tired, i think, and had better take a book, and stay here for the present, and lie down on the sofa and rest. afterwards, if you like, you can go in the garden." i preferred remaining in the school-room; i could see the hall-door, and up the first flight of stairs, and could hear the opening and shutting of doors up-stairs, and occasional remarks from passers through the hall, so that i felt less lonely than i knew i should feel in the garden. frisk came and sat with his fore-paws on my lap--he seemed aware that something had gone wrong--and wagged his tail, not merrily, but slowly and mournfully, as if to express, after his fashion, how truly he sympathized in our distress. at last, once again there was the sound of wheels; it was the dog-cart this time, and frisk threw back his head, pricked up his ears, and, with a quick bark, darted off to sanction the arrival of the doctor with his presence. my father, too, was at the hall-door in an instant. "i am thankful to see you," he said, as the doctor sprung from the dog-cart; "you have heard the circumstances?" "i have," answered dr. wilson, following my father quickly up-stairs. "is he still unconscious?" the answer was lost to me; but all at once, as i thought of dr. wilson, and how much depended upon his visit, the recollection of my mother's words came back to me, "we must pray god, willie, if it be his will aleck may get better;" and with a sudden impulse i jumped up, shut the door, and kneeling down, with my head pressed upon my hands, i prayed with a sort of intensity i had never known before: "o lord, make aleck well, do make aleck well, don't let him die,"--repeating the words over and over again, and getting up with some dim sense of comfort in my mind, as i thought that god had the power as much now as when in our human nature he walked upon this world, to heal all that were ill; and had he not said, "ask, and you shall receive?" why was it that the verse which i had repeated that morning to my mother, after breakfast, came back so often to my mind? "_if i regard iniquity in my heart, the lord will not hear me._" generally my mother explained my daily text, but this morning, owing to the anxiety about aleck's disappearance, there had not been the usual time, and she had simply heard the verse, and sent me off, as before-mentioned, to the school-room. now i took to explaining it for myself. what business had i to pray with that iniquity hidden in my heart, of which no one knew but god? how could i get forgiven? what was i to do? conscience took courage and put in the suggestion, "confess boldly to your parents the sin that is lying so heavily upon you." but then the thought that, if aleck never got better, they would think me his murderer, took possession of me, and i took pains to convince myself, against my own reason, that after all, i had not actually been guilty of falsehood, since the real manner in which the ship had been lost was actually guessed by my father; that it would do no good if i were to give them the pain of knowing that i had allowed it to happen, having it in my power to prevent it; that, after all, it would be enough to confess to god and get forgiven. but the reasoning, though for a time it silenced the promptings of conscience, did not give me peace of mind; and a sense that i could not pray--that, at least, my prayers would do no good--took from me the only comfort that was worth thinking of. i was so taken up with these reflections, that i never heard steps upon the stairs, and started with an exclamation almost of fright when the door opened rather quickly, and my father and dr. wilson came in. "why, willie, there's nothing to be frightened at," exclaimed my father. "here's dr. wilson come to cheer us up about aleck, who is to get quite well by-and-by, we hope." "yes, yes, little man," said dr. wilson, kindly chucking me under the chin, after a fashion which i have noticed prevails amongst grown-up tall people who are amiably disposed towards children; "we shall soon hope to bring him round again. with all your monkey-like ways of climbing about the rocks, my only wonder is i've not had you for a patient long ago!" something seemed to strike him in the face he was holding up by the chin, and releasing me from a quick glance of inspection, he asked presently whether i had seen aleck, and listened to the account i had to give of how ralph had first noticed him lying at the foot of the rock. then he and my father stepped out by the window, and walked up and down on the lawn; and i heard dr. wilson say to my father, "any one can see the boy has had a shock; take care he does not get frightened." from the fragments of conversation which reached me,--sitting as i did in the open window, whilst they passed by, walking up and down on the lawn outside,--i gathered that they were discussing the possibility of communication with uncle and aunt gordon; and as they came in again through the school-room, my father said, "you are sure that the crisis will be over by that time?" "quite sure. there is nothing for it now but perfect quiet, the administration of the medicines and cordials i have prescribed, when possible, and close watch of all the symptoms. i can assure you i am not without hope. you may look for me again by ten o'clock." and so saying, dr. wilson drove rapidly off, and my father went back again to aleck's room. i think it must have been his planning, that nurse soon afterwards came down to the school-room and bestowed her company upon me for quite a long time, entertaining me at first, or meaning to entertain me, by a wearisome narration about a little boy who lived nowhere in particular a long time ago; but she wakened up all my interest when at last, unable to keep off the subject as she had intended, she gave me a detailed account of my cousin having been put into the bed in the spare room; and how he had lain so still, she could scarcely believe her senses he was not dead; and how, when dr. wilson set his arm, the pain of the operation seemed to waken him up for a moment from the stupor, but he had gone back again almost immediately. "the doctor said," she added, "that it was the injury to the head that was of the greatest consequence--the arm was nothing to signify, a mere simple fracture; as if a broken arm were a mere nothing. i should like to know whether, _if his own_ were broken, he would call it a simple fracture, and say it didn't signify!" and nurse looked righteously indignant, and as if she would be rather glad than otherwise for dr. wilson to meet with an accident, and learn, by personal experience, the true measure of insignificance or importance attaching to a broken limb. remembering, however, at this point, the inconvenience which might result to ourselves from such a catastrophe, she retreated from the position, and took to speculating what the doctor's views were likely to be with reference to his night accommodation; whether he would go "between sheets," or merely lie down on the sofa, and what motives might be likely to influence him towards either decision; reasoning it all out to me as if i had been grown-up. in fact, one of the peculiar sensations which are stamped upon every recollection of that long sad day, was that of being treated as though i were a "person," and not a child, by almost every member of the community; a sensation bringing with it a dim sense of glory--that might have been--but which my guilty position kept me back from enjoying. both my parents came down to a sort of dinner-tea, which we had together at about seven o'clock, and my mother stayed a little while with me afterwards, and then sent me off, rather earlier than usual, to bed, upon the plea of my being weary with the long, anxious day. chapter ix. sorrowful days. to bed; but not to my usual peaceful sleep; for all the night through one terrible dream seemed to succeed the other, until, in the act of landing at the white-rock cove, and calling for help, i woke at last to find myself standing somewhere in the dark, i could not at first make out where, though it turned out to be in aleck's room, to which i had made my way in my sleep. i began to cry with fright, and my father came running up to see what was the matter. he was quite dressed, and brought a candle with him, and looked so natural and real that he chased away all spectral frights. after he had put me back to bed, and sat with me a little, i fell into a quieter sleep than i had had before; and slept on, indeed, quite late, for nobody called me the next morning, and i did not come down until prayers were over, and breakfast just about to commence. only my father and dr. wilson were in the room. my father looked very anxious; but dr. wilson spoke to me cheerily enough. "so this is the young gentleman," he said, drawing me towards him, "that is not content to walk by day, but must needs walk by night also!" and he looked straight at me, as if he could read me through and through; whilst i, knowing the dreadful story hidden in my heart, felt quite alarmed lest he might read _that_ there; and i could feel the beatings of my heart, as if a steam-engine were at work, as i tried not to meet the glance of those keen, piercing eyes. he released me after a moment, and presently afterwards said to my father,-"close your lesson-books for a while; the boat and the saddle will be the best lesson-books, or you may have more trouble than you think of." i felt sure what he said had something to do with me, and wondered what he meant,--finding the explanation in mr. glengelly's strange indisposition to give me anything but a drawing-lesson that morning, and taking me off for a long ride before dinner, contrary to all established customs. aleck grew no better all through the day, and the next night he was worse. on saturday morning, two other doctors came to consult with dr. wilson; and i could read in the grave faces around me that the worst was apprehended. but i saw scarcely anything of my father or mother, or even nurse, so that all tidings from the sick-room came through remote channels--servants who had taken something up to the room, or mr. glengelly, who had seen one of the doctors for a moment, and whom i suspected of keeping back the full gravity of the verdict. if i could only have seen my father or mother alone quietly, without their being in a hurry, i thought i should have told them everything; but no opportunity presented itself, and another weary day wore by without any unburdening of my conscience, or relief to my gloomy anticipations. sunday morning! such a happy day generally! for my parents contrived to make it really, and not nominally, the best of all the seven; but now, how dreary was the awakening to a sunday which i expected to be only the melancholy repetition of the preceding days, if not far sadder! the weather had turned chilly, and the servants, to make things look a little brighter, made this the excuse for a fire in the dining-room, by which i crouched down on the rug, after breakfast, with a sunday story-book in my hand, wondering whether i should go to church, or what would happen in a state of things so different from what was usual; and why it was i was told i need not prepare my repetition lesson from the bible, according to custom. by-and-by my father came in and told me to get ready to go with him to church; he thought he might safely leave aleck for a little while, and would like to have me walk with him. we had not far to go, for the church stood but a quarter of a mile from our house, and there was a direct pathway to it through the woods. i thought perhaps i should muster courage to open my heart to my father as we went along. but first we met one person and then another, anxious to know the last report from the sick-room, so that we had no time alone, and i had to reserve my confession until we should come home after church. aleck was to be prayed for in church, my father told me; and he added that i was to think of uncle and aunt gordon too, in the litany, for it would be a sore trouble to them to have been away from their only child in such a time as this. and then he spoke to me of childish fears about death, and said that, for those who were safe in jesus, death was a friend, and not an enemy; and that i must pray that, if it pleased god aleck should never get well, he might go to the beautiful home prepared for all the children of god: and the firm grasp of my father's hand, and his clear, unhesitating voice, conveyed to my timorous, troubled heart, a sort of belief in a calm, sheltered haven, that might succeed in time to the outside tossings on stormy waters, and i felt comforted, though i scarcely knew how. mr. morton, our clergyman, was away for a month's holidays, and it was a stranger who performed the service. when i heard the prayers of the congregation requested for "alexander ringwall gordon, who was dangerously ill," it seemed almost more than i could bear, the long formal enunciation of his name sounding so terribly like a death-warrant. if ever i tried to _pray_ the church prayers, and not merely say them, it was that morning; and it seemed to me quite wonderful how much of them agreed with my own feelings, how many things there were in the service that were exactly what i wanted. hitherto the singing had appeared the only attractive portion of divine worship; but now that, for the first time in my life, i knew what it was to have a really sin-burdened conscience, the sweetest music seemed as nothing in comparison with the assurance that a broken and contrite spirit would not be despised of god, or to the comfort of ranking myself unreservedly amongst the miserable sinners in the litany--concerning whom i had hitherto only wondered, were they so miserable after all?--and pleading alike with voice and heart for god's mercy, of which i felt myself to stand so sorely in need. the commandments were being read when the little door leading into our large family-pew was opened, and rickson softly came in and whispered to my father, who in his turn leant over and whispered to me. a message had come from the house, he said, and he must go back at once; he knew i could be trusted to stay by myself and walk home afterwards. he and rickson quietly slipped out, and i was left sole tenant of the large square pew, with its high partition, and ponderous chairs, and fire-place, and table, just like a small room, as is the custom in old-fashioned churches. very lonely indeed i felt, as i stood up by myself, and tried to join in the hymn, and wished that i were not so small or the pew not so lofty; it seemed so strange to be joining in singing with people of whom no single individual could be seen--it had never struck me before, with my own dear parents always at my side. presently the clerk appeared opening the door of the pulpit--that at all events i could see--to the strange clergyman, who seemed to me to look with a searching glance of inquiry straight down into my solitary domain, as if he meant to call me to account for being there all alone. having nobody to look at as an example, i sat myself timidly upon a corner of one of the chairs after the hymn was over, and then, suddenly remembering i had made a mistake, knelt down with the colour mounting to the very roots of my hair, and a terrible sense of the congregation all looking at me and taking notes of my behaviour. we smile at our childish embarrassments as we look back upon them, but they are very serious and real troubles whilst they last. when i rose from my knees, i was far too shy to place myself comfortably, but sat, as before, upon a little corner of a chair, and hoped the congregation wouldn't take any notice, whilst mentally i prepared myself for unrestrained meditation on the all-engrossing subject of my thoughts, in place of the many speculations with which i was wont to beguile sermon-time in general. for here i must pause to observe that mr. morton's sermons were usually entirely beyond my childish understanding, and attention to them on my part was practically in vain; so that after learning the text by heart, which i was always expected to repeat perfectly afterwards, i used to spend a great part of the time remaining to me in a minute survey of all objects falling within the limited range of my observation, including especially the monumental tablets, of which there were many on the church walls; those on the right being for the most part to the memory of the grants of braycombe; those on the left to the successive rectors of braycombe parish, who had lived and died after what seemed to me boundless periods of ministry amongst their attached flock. two of these tablets in particular had supplied much food for consideration in my early days.--i used to look back upon early days even at ten years old with a sort of affectionate patronage.--these tablets exactly corresponded with each other in size and position, and were both beyond the range of complete legibility, only words in capitals coming out distinctly. but these very words in capitals were the cause of my anxious meditations. for on the one hand i read the name of the "rev. joseph brocklehurst, rector," with, a line or two further down, "mary, wife of the _above_;" whilst on the other, which was to the memory of my grandfather, my own name at full length, "william preston grant," was underneath the only other word i could distinguish, and that word was "_below._" many a sunday did i ruminate upon the unpleasant contrast which, to my mind, was suggested by the two prepositions between the present condition of the rev. joseph brocklehurst and that of my grandfather; and it was not without some hesitation that i revealed my perplexity to my father at last, by the abrupt inquiry, one day on our way home from church, whether my grandfather had been a _very_ wicked man. greatly surprised were both my parents at this unlooked-for question, and i believe not a little amused at the train of reasoning which had led me to it; but they took an early opportunity of taking me into the church, not on a sunday, and permitting me to go near to the tablets, pointing out the connecting words which were not legible, and which supplied a full explanation of all that i wanted to know, and showing me that the _below_ referred to the position of the family vault under the church, and the _above_ to the relative position of the rev. j. brocklehurst's name to that of his wife. often after that explanation i thought, as i looked at the tablets, of the words my father said to me at the time: "willie, there are many things in god's dealings with his children that are hard to understand _here_; by-and-by, when we see things nearer, in the light of eternity, we shall find out that our difficulty has just been because here we see in part--as you did the inscriptions--but _then_ we shall see face to face, and know even as we are known." there was another monumental tablet about which i thought a great deal, which preached to me a silent sermon as often as i looked at it. under the name and date of birth and death of the person it commemorated were the words, "_prepare to meet thy god._" i spent a long time looking for them in my bible, and thought a great deal about the verse when i had found it; wondering whether the young midshipman, son of one of the rectors, upon whose monument it had been engraved, had thought about them too, or whether it was a sort of warning because he had _not_ prepared. it was upon this latter train of thought, with reflections concerning aleck and myself woven into it--_i_ clearly not prepared, and wondering whether aleck was prepared--that i found myself starting as i settled shyly upon my little corner of the chair, and looked timidly for my bible in order to find the text. what was my surprise when psalm lxvi. 18 was given out, and the well-known words, so often repeated to myself, were repeated slowly and impressively by the stranger clergyman from the pulpit--"if i regard iniquity in my heart, the lord will not hear me." it seemed to me so wonderful and so strange that he should have fixed upon the very passage that i had thought of so often within the previous two days, that at first i almost fancied i was dreaming. but i felt still more surprised when, after anxiously attending to what was said for a few minutes, i found the sermon was as easy to understand as my mother's conversation after a bible reading: all inattention was gone, and for the first time in my life i was listening with interest deep and anxious, whilst the clergyman, in simple language, explained the text so clearly that not one in the church need have gone away uninstructed. _the_ great question that i wanted to hear answered was, whether, in my circumstances, with an unconfessed sin lying heavily on my heart, it was of any use for me to pray to god for aleck?--what was the exact meaning of _regarding iniquity_ in my heart? the very first words of the sermon landed us in the midst of the question. "unforgiven sin," said the clergyman, "is a barrier between our souls and our god." and presently afterwards he referred us to isaiah lix. 2: "your iniquities have separated between you and your god, and your sins have hid his face from you that he will not hear;" and to a long passage in the 1st chapter of isaiah, finishing with the words, "when ye make many prayers, i will not hear: your hands are full of blood." then he spoke to the congregation of the many sundays during which they had come together to worship, whilst in the case of many of them their lives were unsanctified, their religion for one day in seven only, not for the whole week;--they loved their sins and would not give them up on any account, hoping to square their account with god by an outward attendance on divine worship. it was all put in very simple language; and we were told to look back into one week of our lives to find out whether we were _fighting against_ sin as an enemy, or _cherishing_ sin as a friend: and if living in sin, as servants of satan, we had the solemn truth to lay home to our consciences that our prayers never reached heaven; the promise, true for the children of god, that he would hear and answer prayer, was not true for those who were the servants or slaves of sin. then there was an appeal to those who felt conscious of sin and wished for forgiveness, and i felt i belonged to that class, and listened with increasing eagerness. was it for them to say, "i must then reform my ways and make myself better before i can go to christ for pardon?" oh, no! the prayer of the publican, "god be merciful to me a sinner," was heard and answered. christ's invitation was addressed to the weary and _heavy laden_, "come unto _me_." he died to take our punishment instead of us; and those who, instead of cherishing sin, felt it a burden too heavy for them to bear, were to bring it and lay it down at the foot of the cross, and find rest to their souls. there followed a few words about sins _forgiven_ being sins _forsaken_. any person who had been in the habit of dishonest dealing would adopt habits of rectitude, and would make restitution when possible. those who had uttered falsehoods would no longer persist in untruthfulness, but would speak the whole truth, even if to their own cost. and all this would be because christ _had_ forgiven them, and not in order to _obtain forgiveness_. i do not remember the rest of the sermon, but just at the end there was a beautiful piece about the happiness of finding the great barrier gone:--just as when a little child, conscious of some wrong action, feels ashamed to meet the eyes of its loving parents, and is conscious of a separation that casts a dark shadow over all the usual home happiness, at last, with repenting heart and quivering voice, whispers in the loving ears of father or mother the secret trouble that lies heavily upon the sin-burdened conscience, and in the tender embrace of forgiveness finds pardon and peace: so with the sinner who has found peace at the foot of the cross; the barrier of separation is no more; the way into the holiest is made manifest by the blood of the atonement; and the promise is written in letters of gold, "_if ye abide in me, and my words abide in you, ye shall ask what ye will and it shall be done unto you._" before i left the church, and took my solitary walk home through the wood, i had made up my mind to confess all to my parents at the very earliest opportunity; and with this determination there was already a sense of relief. but the opportunity did not occur so soon as i had expected; for i found a solitary dinner awaiting me, and the whole of that long afternoon, except for the servants, who brought a message once or twice from the sick-room to the effect that my parents dared not leave even for a minute, i was quite alone, either sitting on the hearth-rug by the fire, or standing at the door listening for any footstep on the passage up-stairs, or even the opening or shutting of doors. at last, at about five o'clock, i heard my father coming softly down-stairs, and sprang to meet him. "papa, papa, tell me, is aleck better?" "i fear not, my child," answered my father gently. "i think, willie, that god is going to take him to himself. but he is conscious just now, and wants to see you. he has asked that he may wish you good-bye. you must be very quiet indeed, and speak very gently." i felt the tears coming hot and fast, and there was a terrible choking in my throat; but it was impossible to hold out one moment longer, and, struggling through my sobs, i gasped out, "oh, papa, i have killed him!--it's all my fault!--oh! what shall i do?" and i clung, terror-stricken, to the hand which he had placed on my shoulder. my father sat down, and tried to soothe me, putting his arm around me, and saying kind, comforting words, evidently at a loss to understand the purport of my broken utterances, whilst i tried, and tried in vain, to control my sobs, and regain sufficient composure to explain. at last he said firmly,-"this agitation would do aleck grievous harm; i must not take you to him until you are quite calm, willie, and yet the moments are precious: keep what you have to say until another time, and try to stop crying; i shall have to go up-stairs without you, unless you can be ready soon." then he gave me a glass of water, and still telling me not to speak, waited until i had mastered my emotion and was tolerably calm, then led me by the hand up to aleck's room. "wish me good-bye," i said over and over to myself. such a long good-bye, how could i bear it! there was no one else in the room at the moment but my mother, who sat at the foot of the bed with something in her hand for aleck. it was not until i had advanced nearly to the bed that, with tear-blinded eyes, i could distinguish my cousin's face. it was so deadly pale that i started at the sight; but though pale and wan he was perfectly conscious, and as i drew near he whispered softly,-"i'm so glad you've come, willie--i wanted to see you, and wish you good-bye." there was a pause, and then more faintly he continued,--"i want to be quite sure you've forgiven me, willie;--jesus has; i've asked him." i bent forward and kissed the white face that lay so quiet and still, struggling to keep down my sobs, though i felt as if my heart would break, and longing to be able to say but one word, that aleck might know it was i who asked his forgiveness, but longing in vain. "you forgive me quite, willie," murmured aleck again. [illustration: willie at aleck's bed side.] but at the first attempt to speak, i broke down utterly, with such a burst of pent-up grief, that to control it was impossible, and i was hurried quickly out of the room, lest my emotion should be injurious to aleck; my mother herself almost carrying me down-stairs, and sorely divided between the desire to stay and comfort me, and at the same time to remain at her post up-stairs with my cousin. for a few minutes, however, she remained with her arm around me, and my head resting on her shoulder; and when, by degrees, i grew a little more calm, though it cost a fearful effort, i contrived to sob out my confession, and let her know how wicked i had been, and also how miserable. i could see it was a terrible shock to her when she grasped my meaning, and she did not attempt to disguise the pain it cost her. for the first time in my life i saw my mother shed tears. but the knowledge of my guilt seemed to add to her pity for me. "my poor little willie," she said; "you have indeed had a terrible load upon your heart; your punishment has come more quickly upon you and more heavily than sometimes happens: but remember there is one whose blood cleanses from all sin--the heavenly father's ear is open to you, willie, through jesus, and you must get forgiveness where those who really seek it are never turned away." "i wanted to tell aleck, mamma, too; but i couldn't." "there is no need to trouble aleck about that now," said my mother sorrowfully: "the ship seems a little thing to him now, willie; his thoughts are on the great things of eternity. it might agitate him, and it would not make him happier to know about it; but if you like i will tell him that you love him dearly, and are very sorry for everything you have ever done that may not have been kind." even this message, vague as it was, seemed better than none, and i thankfully endorsed it. "but oh, mamma," i added, "do tell me that you think it just possible he may get well again. i think it will kill me if he does not." "he is in god's hands, willie," answered my mother, "and with god all things are possible; but i fear there is little hope of his getting any better. dr. wilson does not say there is _no_ hope, but the other doctors quite gave him up. i do not hide it from you, my child, because it is easier to know the worst than to be in doubt and suspense; and god will help you--help us all--to bear it." there were tears in my mother's eyes and a tremble in her voice as she said this, and as it rushed upon me all at once how greatly it must add to her trouble to know that i was the cause of it, my own grief seemed rekindled. she gently unclasped my hands, which were tightly locked around her. "i must leave you now, my poor child," she said; "i cannot stay a minute longer away from aleck;" and stooping down, she kissed me in spite of my wickedness, and went away up-stairs; whilst i, throwing myself upon the sofa, buried my head in my hands, and wept until, from sheer exhaustion, i seemed to grow quiet at last, whilst the day-light faded away, and the faint flickering of the fire-light produced mysterious shadows on the ceiling, and made the things in the room assume to my fevered imagination weird and fanciful shapes. but there was a species of dim comfort in watching the fire; and a comfort, too, in spite of my misery, in the recollection that i had confessed my sin--that it was no longer a dread secret in my own sole keeping, but was shared by the strong, tender hearts, of my parents: and it seemed to come soothingly to my mind that now the barrier of sin might be taken away, and my heart rose once again in earnest prayer to god for forgiveness. then i began to think about the great things of eternity my mother had spoken of; and of the meeting-time for those who were parted on earth, of aleck, and of old george, and his son--ralph's father; and of what groves said about the open book; and then came the recollection of the sea-stained little testament, and the quaint verse at its beginning, and the young sailor's profession of faith, "father, he died for me, i must live for him." my mind travelled from one thought to another, whilst ever and anon a struggling sob for breath seemed like the subsiding of a tempest. shaping themselves into more or less definite plans, came thoughts, too, of the future before me in this world:--i should never be quite happy any more, i thought; but i would try to keep on, like ralph's father, living for christ in some way, and grow up to be very good--perhaps i should be a missionary--i was not quite sure on the whole what sphere of life would be the most trying or praiseworthy--and then at last aleck and i would meet in heaven. this i believe to have been the last point of conscious reflection, for more and more vague and desultory became my thoughts afterwards. nature would have her revenge for all the restlessness and anxiety of the past few days. i fell into a profound sleep. chapter x. sunday evening. where i was, why i was where i was, and what time of the day or night it might happen to be--were questions which presented themselves to my mind in hazy succession, as, roused from my slumbers by the hum of voices, i woke slowly to the consciousness that, though i had been asleep, i was not in bed. it was only by a very gradual process of recollection that the past came back upon me almost like a fresh story, and i was at least a minute rubbing my eyes, and collecting my thoughts, before i took in all the familiar objects in the room, from the sofa on which i found myself reposing, to the fire-place at which, with their backs turned to me, my father and dr. wilson were in close conversation. my father's voice was low and serious, and at the moment when, having finished the process of awakening, i was going to speak, his words came slowly and distinctly to my ears, and sank down into my heart:-"the thought of his parents' grief on hearing of the death--such a death, too!--of their only child, has been almost more than i could bear." aleck was dead!--there was no hope left! i thought; and with a piteous exclamation of grief, i turned round and hid my face in my hands, leaning up against the sofa. in another moment my father was at my side. i felt his arm encircling me as he drew me towards him, and bending down, whispered softly,-"it is no time for grief now, willie; i was speaking of what _might_ have been; let us give god thanks, for the danger is over--aleck is spared to us." i slowly drew back my hands from my face. the relief was so great i could scarcely believe in it; and i must have appeared--as i certainly felt--utterly bewildered, whilst i tried to find words, and only at last succeeded in repeating my father's mechanically: "the danger is over--aleck is spared to us." "to be sure he is," said dr. wilson, in his cheeriest tones. he had got up from his chair, and was standing with his back to the fire looking at us. "yes, he'll be quite well again by-and-by; and all the more prudent, we'll hope, for the trouble he's been putting us in during these last few days. he's had a lesson that ought to last for some time to come; but boys never learn their lessons, do what one will to make them." there was a moment's pause after this discouraging general statement with reference to boys; and then the doctor added, as if thinking to himself, in quite a different tone: "poor boy! poor boy! it's been a very near thing. by the help of god, we've brought him through. may it be a life worth the saving--a life given back to god!" "amen!" ejaculated my father, earnestly; and then, at his suggestion, we knelt together, and, in a few heartfelt words, he offered thanks to the heavenly father for his goodness to us, and turned kind dr. wilson's aspiration into a prayer, that the life given back to my cousin might be by him given back to god. i knew, as i knelt there by my father's side, for the first time in my life, the feeling of a deep and speechless thankfulness, for which all words would be too poor. it was very late--past ten o'clock--but i was not allowed to go up to bed at once. supper was ready, my father said, and i should come into the dining-room, and have it with him and dr. wilson. accordingly, in spite of all remonstrances of nurse, who put in her appearance, and thought fit to reflect upon the utter impropriety of such late hours, i went to supper; and felt, moreover, greatly refreshed and strengthened by it, sitting there close by my father's side, and rejoicing every moment of the time in the feeling as of a great deliverance. so it came to pass that my second night did not begin until eleven o'clock. chapter xi. the white-rock cove again. aleck was a long time getting well. he had to be nursed and taken care of all through that winter, only gradually making little steps towards recovery. it was quite a festival when he was first carried down-stairs; and then again when he was taken out in the carriage for a drive, lying at full length upon a sort of couch which we erected for him, and to which he declared, in my anxiety to make him comfortable, i had contributed all the sofa cushions in the house. the subject of the lost ship was forbidden for a long while; and i grew to thinking of it as a sort of formidable undertaking, though one upon which i was firmly bent--the confession to aleck himself of my guilt in the matter. but when at last i was permitted to approach the subject, i could only feel surprised that i had been for so long afraid of it. aleck received my confession so quietly, instead of getting angry, and spoke so kindly and gently, that i could scarcely believe it was the same aleck whose look of fiery indignation on that eventful morning of the 20th of september had so startled me. in one way, indeed, he was _not_ the same; for the accident, and illness consequent on it, seemed in some peculiar manner to have rendered him far more lovable and thoughtful than he had been formerly; a trifle graver, perhaps--at least i thought so, until, when he grew quite strong again, his merry laugh would ring out as cheerily as ever--and more serious in his way of looking at things, but not less happy. that i was sure of; for all through the long weeks of confinement there was not a brighter place in the house than the place at the side of his couch--he was so uniformly cheerful, and seemed so thoroughly to enjoy every little plan that we were able to form for his amusement. i told him i was quite surprised that he received my confession so gently; it would have been so natural if he had got angry. i remember his answer very well:-"why, you see, willie, it seems quite a little thing to me now. i don't think i can exactly put what i mean into words; but you know when i thought i was dying, and eternity seemed quite near, everything else seemed so little--only, the wrong words i had used to you seemed much worse than i had thought they could. old george's words came back to me so often, about the loss of the ship being a very little thing; whilst wrong words and angry feelings would appear more terrible than we ever fancied possible. i was dreadfully frightened until i felt quite sure i was forgiven. you can't think how glad i was when i got your message." "i wanted to tell you," i said, "when i came into your room that time; but i couldn't speak, though i nearly choked in trying to stop crying." "well since then," resumed aleck, "the feeling doesn't seem to have gone off. i don't mean i don't care for things, because you know i like everything very much--our games, and the books, and madrepores; but i feel as if before my accident god and heaven and the bible were all being put by, and got ready, for the time when one was old and grown up, and i've felt so different since then. it was when i felt so frightened at the thought of what a naughty boy i was, and of all the bad things i had done, and began to tell jesus about it--in my heart, you know, for i couldn't speak--and remembered he was so good and kind he never turned any one away, and so felt sure he had heard me, that i began to think so differently." at this point of aleck's narration i broke in impetuously with-"oh, aleck! for _you_ to be feeling like that--you, who had only felt angry--what would you have done if you had been me?" and then i proceeded, with feelings of unconcealed horror, to tell him of my misery during the few days succeeding the loss of the boat; the terrible walk home that morning; the lonely terrors of the nights; and my feelings at church with that verse always sounding in my ears, "if i regard iniquity in my heart, the lord will not hear me." before i had finished my story aleck had got hold of one of my hands, and was stroking it as if he had been a girl. "you see," i said, "i was feeling rather like you, only i couldn't know i was forgiven, with that dreadful sin that no one knew of." "we had both done wrong," aleck replied; "it doesn't much signify which of us was worst. willie, do you know i want us always to do something together that we haven't done before." "what is it?" i inquired. "i should like us to read a little bit of the bible together every day, quite for our own selves; not like a lesson, you know, nor even having auntie to explain it to us, but just for our own selves, like when i have one of papa's or mamma's letters to read. i think it would help us to remember the really great things better, like auntie's text in my room." i need scarcely say that the habit--afterwards continued, whenever practicable, through our school-life--was at once begun. in fact, aleck's merest wish was a law to me; for all through the winter months every opportunity of rendering him any service was hailed with delight. i could never forget that his weakness and suffering were the result of my wicked behaviour, and could only comfort myself by doing all that in me lay to make his confinement as little wearisome as possible. knowing his active, restless nature, i could fully appreciate what the trial must be, even with every alleviation, and often wondered he was able to bear it so cheerfully. but when i ventured to express to my cousin these speculations of mine, he would laugh them off merrily. "why, willie, how can i help being thankful and happy? not to speak of uncle and aunt, who seem to be doing something for me every hour of the day; nor of old george, who toils up every morning to see me, though he used to tell me that it made his old bones ache--a fact he will never allow now; nor of frisk, who sits upon my feet for hours, on purpose to keep them warm; i should like to know how i could help being cheerful, with your own dear old self giving up the greater part of your play-time to chess, or carpentry, or madrepores, and spending every penny of your pocket-money--no; it's of no use your stopping me to deny it. i've counted up, and you've spent every penny of your pocket-money--just as i was saying--in buying books, or tools, or things for me; waiting upon me, too, as if i were a prince and you my slave. why, i'm perfectly afraid of admiring anything you have, lest i should find it done up in a parcel, and sent to me, like the illustrated copy of 'robinson crusoe' the other day!" in this sort of grateful spirit, making much of all my little trifling acts of kindness, aleck scarcely allowed us to feel that he was under-going any deprivation during the months that he lay on the sofa. once only i remember noticing a little cloud, that vanished again almost as soon as it appeared. one morning, after lessons were over, i came running into the study with my latin exercise. "papa, mr. glengelly was so pleased with my exercise, he has sent me in to show it to you." my father looked over it, reading little bits aloud, and finding with surprise that, difficult though it was, there were no mistakes. from my father's table i flew to the sofa on which aleck was lying, with frisk at his feet as usual, the open copy-book in my hand. but in an instant i could see there was some trouble in my cousin's face. "aleck, dear aleck," i whispered anxiously, "what is it? have i done anything?" "no--nothing at all," replied my cousin with a great effort, and hastily brushing away his tears. "let me have a look at it too. i'm ashamed of myself, willie. i believe i was making myself unhappy at thinking that i shall just have gone back as much as you've gone forward. i didn't know i cared so much for being first in my lessons." after that i avoided ever talking of my lessons when aleck was in the room; but he noticed this, and insisted on introducing the subject, speaking often to mr. glengelly about my progress, and looking over my exercises from time to time, whilst he would playfully remark that "we should be about equal when he was allowed to begin lessons again, and better companions than ever before." sometimes he wondered at my getting on so much faster than formerly, not knowing the spirit of resolve and determination that had grown out of all the sad time of trouble, when i had found out for the first time what a poor sinful child i was, and had learned to seek and find for myself the sure refuge and strength--not for times of trouble only, but for the whole of life's journey. from the circumstance of my play-time being in great part spent with my cousin, at least such part of it as was not taken up in rides or drives with my parents, it came to pass that my visits to the cove were far less frequent than they had been at any previous time. but though old george growled and grumbled at seeing so little of me, he always encouraged me not to desert my cousin. now and then, however, i found my way down the zig-zag to the lodge, and it was upon one of these occasions that i unburdened my mind to my old friend of a desire, which grew and strengthened upon me, in some way to provide for aleck a boat which should be quite equal to the one he had lost. i knew it was worth a great deal more than i should be able to save in pocket-money, and a vague idea of the possibility of bartering some of my possessions had been dismissed as impracticable. to part with the "fair alice" without old george's sanction would not be right, but if he would make no objection, it seemed to me that this would be on the whole the easiest mode of reparation, and i took him into consultation on the subject accordingly. "i know it's your present to me, george," i said, feeling sadly alive to the delicacy of the request; "but if you'll give me leave, i think it's the only thing i have that would do to give aleck. i can't think of any other way. i know it took you a tremendous time to make, and i care for it more than for anything. but i would rather give it to aleck." old george chuckled rather provokingly, and seemed to be taken up with some abstruse calculation. "well, i won't be against it, master aleck," he said, "unless--no--i'm not sure--" (the old man seemed to grow quite composed in his uncertainty), "i think--i may show you." and so saying he led the way into the work-shop. i started with surprise--another little schooner-yacht was in course of construction, precisely similar to the one that had been lost. "o george, how kind!" "no; it's not a bit kind," responded george, "for i'm being paid for it. i meant to have done it without, but your papa, sir, has insisted upon it being his order, and i've been obliged to cave in." it was to be a secret from aleck, however. how hard it was to keep that secret, when, every time there was a talk of aleck's being able to get down to the cove, i was on the point of letting out what he was to see there! i did contrive to keep it, however; and when at last february was ushered in with a burst of warm weather that tempted all the little buds to unfold themselves with a perfectly reckless disregard of the cold that was sure to follow, and primroses and violets to start into blossom as though they could not lay the bright carpet for spring's advance too soon, dr. wilson decreed that nothing would do his little patient more good than a couple of hours of the freshest sea breezes, caught and partaken of on the spot, a mile off from shore;--which meant that aleck had leave to go to the cove once more, and out upon the sea for a sail. of course i had a whole holiday for the occasion; and i had satisfaction in observing that i was not the only one unable to settle down into quiet occupation. the carriage was nearly ready to drive my parents and aleck down to the lodge, when i started off by way of the zig-zag, to the cove. there was the new yacht, already decked from bow to stern with the tiny flags which i had been collecting for weeks past. all the sails were set, but a little anchor--also my addition to the furniture of the new vessel--kept her safely moored; and as she curtsied upon the water, every sail and flag reflected as in a mirror, i thought i had never seen anything so pretty. perhaps aleck thought so too, for when he arrived a few minutes after, leaning on my father's arm, he seemed as if he could not speak, and had to sit down quite quietly in the boat whilst he drew the yacht close up to the side, and looked at it all over. then he turned to my father, and said something about not being able to thank--and at this point broke down in a manner that was so singularly infectious, that no one was found able to break the silence at first. my father said presently, however, "you must carry him off to sea, george; and i shall call you to account if those pale cheeks don't gather roses from the crests of the waves." then we drew up the anchor of the little yacht, and pushed off from the shore. a basket of provisions had been placed in the boat, and before we had been very long out at sea, george insisted upon its being unpacked, threatening aleck that he should be reported as insubordinate unless he consumed precisely the quantity of wine and the whole amount of cold chicken dealt out to him. "willie," whispered my cousin to me, after dutifully doing his best at the luncheon, "i want very much indeed to go to the white-rock cove--do you think george will let us?" certainly i did _not_ think so, but aleck wished it, and that was quite enough to make me join earnestly in his entreaties that we should turn the boat's head round in the direction he wished. groves consented at last, but not without many misgivings, the white-rock cove being, he said, about the last place he'd have thought of taking us to; and sentiments to the same effect were respectfully echoed by ralph, who, in my private belief, had held the place in superstitious horror ever since the 20th of september. all of us, however, yielded as a matter of course when it was found aleck had set his mind upon it; and the wind being favourable, we were not very long in rounding braycombe headland. once in the cove, my cousin asked me to land with him, requesting george and ralph to leave us ashore a little while. "it must have been almost exactly here, i think," said aleck, leading the way to the spot which i remembered only too vividly, and glancing round to assure himself that our companions were out of sight. "willie, i want us to thank god here, on the very spot--there's no one to see us--let us kneel down." we knelt together at the foot of the white rock; aleck, who was still very weak, leaning against me for support. they were only a few childish words he said, but they came from a full heart; and i never remember in later life any liturgical service in church or cathedral that stirred my feelings more deeply than that simple thanksgiving. nor even now, after the lapse of many a long year, can i visit that little retired nook in the dear braycombe coast, and hear the plash of the ripple, and the flap of the sea-gulls' wings, and the echoing murmurs of the sea in the caverns, without being carried back by a rush of tender recollection to that day when all nature's sweet voices seemed to be uniting in one hymn of praise, taking up and beautifying and repeating the utterance of two little thankful hearts-"we praise thee, o god." the end transcriber's note italic text is denoted by _underscores_ and bold text by =equal signs=. property of the state of new jersey not to be taken permanently from the schoolroom state of new jersey department of public instruction trenton special days and their observance september 1919 [illustration] approved by state board of education june 1919 [illustration: liberty bell the symbol of liberty, freedom, justice and order in the government of the united states of america] state of new jersey department of public instruction trenton special days and their observance september 1919 [illustration] approved by state board of education june 1919 contents page foreword 7 acknowledgments 9 opening exercises 11 morning exercises, jennie haver 13 morning exercises, florence l. farber 24 opening exercises, louis h. burch 27 columbus day, j. cayce morrison 33 thanksgiving day, roy l. shaffer 59 lincoln's birthday, charles a. philhower 69 washington's birthday, henry w. foster 89 arbor day 109 trees and forests, alfred gaskill 112 arbor day observed by planting hamilton grove, charles a. philhower 119 suggestions to teachers, k. c. davis 121 value of our forests, u. s. bureau of education 123 memorial day, george c. baker 125 flag day, hannah h. chew 141 bibliography, katharine b. rogers 159 illustrations page liberty bell frontispiece columbus, "admiral at the helm" 51 saint gaudens' lincoln 73 gutzon borglum's lincoln 85 stuart's washington 93 statue of washington at west point 103 foreword in the statutes of the state will be found the following: the day in each year known as arbor day shall be suitably observed in the public schools. the commissioner of education shall from time to time prepare and issue to schools such circulars of information, advice and instruction with reference to the day as he may deem necessary. for the purpose of encouraging the planting of shade and forest trees, the second friday of april in each year is hereby designated as a day for the general observance of such purpose, and to be known as arbor day. on said day appropriate exercises shall be introduced in all the schools of the state, and it shall be the duty of the several county and city superintendents to prepare a program of exercises for that day in all the schools under their respective jurisdiction. in all public schools there shall be held on the last school day preceding the following holidays, namely, lincoln's birthday, washington's birthday, decoration or memorial day and thanksgiving day, and on such other patriotic holidays as shall be established by law, appropriate exercises for the development of a higher spirit of patriotism. it shall be the duty of the principals and teachers in the public schools of this state to make suitable arrangements for the celebration, by appropriate exercises among the pupils in said schools, on the fourteenth day of june, in each year, as the day of the adoption of the american flag by the continental congress. the provisions of these statutes have been carried out in the schools of the state. they are believed in and supported heartily by the public opinion of the state. in order that greater assistance may be rendered to teachers and school officers in preparing for these special days, this pamphlet on _special days and their observance_ has been prepared by the department, chiefly through the efforts of mr. z. e. scott, assistant commissioner in charge of elementary education. the pamphlet also contains suggestions concerning the opening exercises of schools. mr. scott has been assisted in this work by the following persons, the school officers having in turn been aided by their teachers. to all these grateful acknowledgment is hereby made. george c. baker, supervising principal, moorestown louis h. burch, principal bangs avenue school, asbury park hannah chew, principal culver school, cumberland county k. c. davis, formerly of state agricultural college, new brunswick florence farber, helping teacher, sussex county henry w. foster, supervising principal, south orange alfred gaskill, state forester jennie haver, helping teacher, hunterdon county j. cayce morrison, supervising principal, leonia charles a. philhower, supervising principal, westfield katharine b. rogers, reference librarian, state library roy l. shaffer, supervisor of practice, newark state normal school it has been the aim of mr. scott and his associates to suggest exercises which would be appropriate for the observance of these several days, which would be of interest to pupils, and which at the same time would be of a character worthy of the dignity of the public schools of the state. calvin n. kendall _commissioner of education_ acknowledgments grateful acknowledgment is hereby made to the following publishers and authors for permission to use copyrighted selections: american book company, new york, for extract from green's "short history of the english people." d. appleton & company, new york, for bryant's "america" and extract from edward s. holden's "our country's flag." henry holcomb bennett for "the flag goes by." bobbs-merrill company, indianapolis, for "the name of old glory," by james whitcomb riley. boosey & company, new york, for "we'll keep old glory flying," by carleton s. montanye. dr. frank crane for "after the great companions." thomas y. crowell company, new york, for extract from "the book of holidays," by j. walker mcspadden. reprinted by permission of the publishers. copyright 1917 by thomas y. crowell company. joseph fulford folsom for "the unfinished work." harper & brothers, new york, for extract from "the americanism of washington," by henry van dyke. caroline hazard for "the western land." houghton mifflin company, boston, for bret harte's "the reveille" and extract from "our national ideals," by william backus gitteau. kindergarten magazine publishing company, manistee, michigan, for nine selections, including two by laura rountree smith and one by mary r. campbell. macmillan company, new york, for extract from "the making of an american," by jacob a. riis, and "on a portrait of columbus," by george edward woodberry, used by permission of and special arrangement with the publishers. moffat, yard & co., new york, for extract from "memorial day," by robert haven schauffler. new england publishing company, boston, for "columbus day" and walt whitman's "address to america." from "journal of education." new york evening post for "america's answer," by r. w. lillard. new york herald for mrs. josephine fabricant's "the service flag." new york state department of education, albany, for "the boy columbus" and an extract from speech of chauncey m. depew. theodore presser company, philadelphia, for "our country's flag," by mrs. florence l. dresser. g. p. putnam's sons, new york, for "in flanders fields," by john mccrae. saturday evening post, philadelphia, for "i have a son," by emory pottle. charles scribner's sons, new york, for extract from "with americans of past and present days," by j. j. jusserand, copyright 1916; used by permission of the publishers. c. w. thompson & company, boston, for "the unfurling of the flag," by clara endicott sears. copyright; used by permission. horace traubel, camden, for "o captain! my captain!" by walt whitman. p. f. volland company, chicago, for "your flag and my flag," by wilbur d. nesbit. copyrighted 1916 by publishers. harr wagner publishing company, san francisco, for "columbus," by joaquin miller. opening exercises this above all: to thine own self be true, and it must follow, as the night the day, thou canst not then be false to any man. _shakespeare_ opening exercises morning exercises jennie haver, helping teacher, hunterdon county the morning exercise is a common meeting ground; it is the family altar of the school to which each brings his offerings--the fruits of his observations and studies, or the music, literature, and art that delight him; a place where all cooperate for the pleasure and well-being of the whole; where all contribute to and share the intellectual and spiritual life of the whole; where all bring their best and choicest experiences in the most effective form at their command. this quotation from the second year book of the frances w. parker school may well be an inspiration, a guide, and finally, a goal for us to use in preparation for the morning exercises. the period given to the opening exercises may be made the most important period of the day. the pupils, whether they be in a one room rural school or a larger town school, need a more receptive attitude toward the work before them. a short time given to interesting, uplifting exercises will do much to control and lead the restless children, encourage the downhearted ones, inspire the indifferent, and give to teachers and pupils alike higher ideals for effective work and right living. a part of the time given to opening exercises should be of a devotional nature--consisting of the reading of short selections from the bible, without comment--and of prayer and singing. very careful plans must be made for the devotional exercises if they are to function as they should. too often the selection of song and bible reading is made after the pupils are in their seats. a message that is truly inspiring is usually the result of considerable time spent in preparation. the thoughtful teacher will plan her opening exercises as carefully as any other part of her regular school work. the morning exercise affords an opportunity to train pupils for leadership. recently an interesting morning program of musical appreciation was carried out in a two room country school. when the bell rang the twelve year old pupil leader went to the front of the room and placed a march record on the phonograph. after the pupils were seated she conducted the following program with a great deal of poise and self confidence: _america_, by the school psalm xxiii bacarolle from "tales of hoffman" (phonograph) traumerei--schumann (phonograph) spring song--mendelssohn (phonograph) flag salute, by the school following each record on the phonograph she asked for the name of the selection and the composer's name. it was surprising to see how familiar even the little ones were with the classical selections. some one has said that the only influence greater than that of a good book is personal contact with a great man or woman. once in a while an interesting talk may be given by a visitor, but the morning exercise period should not be regarded as a lecture period. occasionally it is well to have leaders of different occupations in the neighborhood give short, pertinent talks on their work. all too often children are blind to the beauty, deaf to the music, and almost insensible to the wonder and mystery of the great world of nature. one day a little country girl found a large, silky, brown cocoon and carried it to school. she didn't know what it was: neither did her teacher. the cocoon was taken home and kept as an object of curiosity to be shown to the neighbors when they called. one warm spring morning a beautiful cecropia moth, measuring six inches from tip to tip of wing, emerged from the cocoon. that girl will never forget her wonder and awe as she watched nature stage one of her most beautiful miracles. any teacher would find it an inspiration and a delight to bring such a charming bit of nature into her morning exercises. every day nature is unfolding just as wonderful stories. our eyes must be open to see them. the opening exercises, conducted as they should be, may be a source of inspiration and a means of training for moral and social behavior, for patriotism, for health, for vocational usefulness, for the right use of leisure--in other words, for useful, patriotic citizenship. there is an abundance of material on every hand that can be used in morning exercises. following are a few suggestions that may be of help. singing profiting by the experience of french and english troops, instructors taught our sailors and soldiers to sing in unison. it has been found that singing does much to improve the morale of the company. singing in the morning exercises does much to socialize the group and develop school spirit. there is such a wealth of suitable songs for morning exercises that it seems hardly necessary to suggest many. the hymns selected should be inspiring and uplifting; the patriotic songs should be thoroughly learned and sung in an enthusiastic manner. =patriotic songs= america battle hymn of the republic columbia, the gem of the ocean dixie flag of the free god speed the right marching through georgia marseillaise hymn jerseyland national hymn old glory the american hymn the battle cry of freedom the star spangled banner =folk songs= annie laurie auld lang syne flow gently, sweet afton home, sweet home juanita my old kentucky home oft in the stilly night old black joe old folks at home robin adair santa lucia the blue bells of scotland the miller of dee =lullabies= cradle song lullaby and good-night oh, hush thee, my baby sweet and low silent night =sacred= how gentle god's command holy, holy, holy in heavenly love abiding italian hymn love divine, all love excelling nearer, my god, to thee oh, worship the king the king of love there's a wideness in god's mercy vesper hymn musical appreciation the introduction of the phonograph into the public school and the multitude of records which reproduce the great masterpieces now make it possible for every child to have an opportunity to hear and to be taught to appreciate good music. frequently part of the morning exercise period should be devoted to an appreciation of good vocal and instrumental musical selections. in one rural school the pupils readily associate the name of the composition and composer with each of the following records, which they helped to purchase: anvil chorus from "il trovatore"--verdi barcarolle from "tales of hoffman"--offenbach hearts and flowers--tobain humoresque--dvorak intermezzo from "cavalleria rusticana"--mascagni lo, hear the gentle lark--bishop melody in f--rubinstein miserere from "il trovatore"--verdi pilgrim's chorus from "tannhauser"--wagner sextette from "lucia di lammermoor"--donizetti spring song--mendelssohn traumerei--schumann literature on musical appreciation will be mailed free to all teachers who request it from the educational departments of the phonograph manufacturers. teachers who are really interested in giving their pupils the best music will find that a number of their patrons are willing to lend records to the school for special exercises. following are suggestive musical programs: a morning with beethoven bible reading and lord's prayer minuet in g, no. 2 (phonograph) "the moonlight sonata," reading by pupil the moonlight sonata (phonograph) the flag salute, pupils a morning with mendelssohn hark! the herald angels sing, song by school bible reading and lord's prayer spring song (phonograph) oh, for the wings of a dove (phonograph) the flag salute, school indian songs bible reading and lord's prayer the story of the indians, pupil navajo indian song (phonograph) medicine song (phonograph) flag salute, school negro songs old black joe, school bible reading and prayer good news (phonograph) live a-humble (phonograph) the flag salute, school (the records given are by the tuskegee institute singers) irish songs wearin' of the green, school bible reading and prayer come back to erin (phonograph) macushla (phonograph) the flag salute, school scotch songs my laddie (phonograph) bible reading and prayer annie laurie, school my ain countrie (phonograph) flag salute, school literary exercises to instil in the hearts of boys and girls a love for good literature is to give them a never ending source of happiness throughout life. children can be interested in books by hearing stories read, by retelling them, and by reading them. the story of the author's life may add interest to the author's work. much can be done in morning exercises to start children on the road to good reading. the more work children do themselves the more interested they will be. following are suggestive literary programs: =robert louis stevenson= bible reading by pupils--philippians iv, 4-8 stevenson's prayer for a day's work, recitation by pupil short story of stevenson's life, pupil my shadow, pupil the land of story books, pupil god speed the right, sung by school the flag salute, school =hans christian andersen= psalm 100, pupil lord's prayer, school a poor boy who became famous, retold by pupil the steadfast tin soldier, retold by pupil the little tin soldier, song by school the flag salute, school =henry w. longfellow= the arrow and the song, song by school bible reading and lord's prayer scenes from hiawatha, dramatization by pupils the village blacksmith, recitation by pupil dramatic exercises when children are truly interested in reading, the natural outlet for the emotions aroused is dramatic action. let different classes be responsible for dramatizing stories from their history or reading lessons and present the results in the morning exercises. the educative and socializing value to the class presenting the exercise is almost invaluable. dramatizing the story makes an interesting incentive for a number of language lessons; rehearsing the play provides for much practice in oral expression; and producing the play before an audience gives valuable training in leadership, self confidence and poise. art appreciation we do not expect many of the school children to become artists, but all can learn to appreciate and tastefully select the beautiful in pictures, personal dress, home furnishing and decoration, and architecture. it has been truly said, "though we travel the world over to find the beautiful, we must carry it with us or we find it not." frequently a few minutes of the morning exercises may be very profitably, spent in the study of the beautiful. artistic material to use as illustrations for the talks is on every hand. inexpensive reproductions of the world's great pictures; illustrations in magazines; beautifully colored papers for color combinations in neckties, dress designing and hat trimming; magazine and catalog pictures of well designed furniture and home utensils can be easily obtained. a suggestive list of morning talks is given below: famous pictures the first step--millet landscape with windmill--ruysdael the horse fair--bonheur sistine madonna--raphael morning--corot how can we get good pictures for our schoolroom color harmony in dress good taste in furniture home decoration beautifying the school ground washington, the city beautiful references how to enjoy pictures--emery a child's guide to pictures--coffin the mentor the school arts magazine ladies' home journal the perry pictures national geographic magazine health talks for morning exercises truly, "a people's health's a nation's wealth," and every encouragement should be given in school to further the doctrine of healthful living. the medical examiner, the school nurse, the pupils and the teachers, all may do their part to make the health talks practical and of much value to the school. =suggestive health talks= why we should exercise care of the teeth care of the eyes prevention of colds how to prevent tuberculosis swat the fly how to destroy mosquitoes cleanliness safety first cigarette smoking self control and good manners emergencies school sanitation =references= teaching of hygiene and safety pamphlets of health, from the national department of health, washington, d. c. state department of health, trenton, n. j. russell sage foundation, new york city health-education league, boston, mass. farmer's bulletins from u. s. department of agriculture modern hygiene textbooks newspaper and magazine articles nature talks the study of the wonderful things of the world, their beautiful fitness for their existence and function, the remarkable progressive tendency of all organic life, and the unity that prevails in it create admiration in the beholder and tend to his spiritual uplifting. =suggestive topics for morning exercises= how can we attract the birds? how i built a bird house does it pay the farmer to protect the birds? the travel of birds the life history of a frog the life history of a butterfly how i made my home garden how i raised an acre of corn the trees on our school ground the local history of the community a series of morning exercises may be devoted to the local history of a community. the material may be planned by the pupils with the assistance of some of the older people in the neighborhood. this idea was carried out very successfully in a small town and did much to interest the parents in the school. many were willing to send family heirlooms to the classroom to use as illustrations for the talks. one charming old lady sent a written account of the history of her old home. following are some topics that might be developed: former location of indian tribes in the community evidences of indian occupation (old trails, implements, mounds, etc.) the first white settlers revolutionary landmarks colonial relics historic homes in the community famous people of the community a program for one morning might be conducted by the pupils as follows: proverbs 27:1-2, pupil italian hymn, school famous people of the community the grandfather who fought in the civil war, pupil the man who was governor of the state, pupil the woman who was a nurse in the world war, pupil the man who wrote a book, pupil the soldier boy in france, pupil america the use of pupil organization in the morning exercises much interesting and instructive material can be secured for opening exercises by making use of members of recognized organizations for boys and girls. there are members of the boy scouts of america in almost every community. the camp fire girls are getting to be almost as well known. let each group prepare occasional programs for morning exercises. =boy scouts= bible reading and lord's prayer the origin and growth of scouting the three classes of scouts the scout motto the scout law "america" and flag salute =camp fire girls= bible reading and lord's prayer the seven laws of the order the wood gatherer the fire maker the torch bearer song by school the flag salute patriotic exercises the patriotic note should be found in every morning exercise and some periods should be devoted entirely to patriotic selections. the national hymns should be learned from the first stanza to the last. it is hard to get the patriotic note in our singing when we do not know the words. =suggestive programs= america, school bible reading and lord's prayer patrick henry's speech (phonograph) lincoln's gettysburg address (phonograph) flag salute bible reading and prayer army bugle call no. 1 (phonograph) the junior red cross sewing for the red cross, a girl earning money for the red cross, a boy how the work of the junior red cross develops patriotism in a school, pupil come, thou almighty king, school "patriotism consists not in waving a flag but in striving that our country shall be righteous as well as strong."--_james bryce_ "one cannot always be a hero, but one can always be a man."--_goethe_ "go back to the simple life, be contented with simple food, simple pleasures, simple clothes. work hard, play hard, pray hard. work, eat, recreate and sleep. do it all courageously. we have a victory to win."--_hoover_ memory gems for life is the mirror of king and slave; 'tis just what we are and do. then give to the world the best you have and the best will come back to you. _madeline s. bridges_ somebody did a golden deed; somebody proved a friend in need; somebody sang a beautiful song; somebody served the whole day long. was that "somebody" you? courtesy is to do and say the kindest thing in the kindest way. truth is honest, truth is sure; truth is strong and must endure. _bailey_ hang on! cling on! no matter what they say. push on! sing on! things will come your way. sitting down and whining never helps a bit; best way to get there is by keeping up your grit. _louis e. thayer_ the day returns and brings us the petty round of irritating concerns and duties. help us to play the man, help us to perform them with laughter and kind faces, let cheerfulness abound with industry. give us to go blithely on our business all this day, bring us to our resting beds weary and content and undishonored, and grant us in the end the gift of sleep. _robert louis stevenson_ be strong! we are not here to play, to dream, to drift. we have hard work to do and loads to lift. shun not the struggle; face it; 'tis god's gift. be strong! it matters not how deep intrenched the wrong, how hard the battle goes, the day how long; faint not--fight on! tomorrow comes the song. _maltbie d. babcock_ smile a smile; while you smile, another smiles, and soon there's miles and miles of smiles. and life's worth while if you but smile. _jane thompson_ you cannot dream yourself into a character; you must hammer and forge yourself one.--_james anthony froude_ small service is true service while it lasts; of friends, however humble, scorn not one; the daisy, by the shadow that it casts, protects the lingering dewdrop from the sun. _wordsworth_ there's so much bad in the best of us and so much good in the worst of us, that it hardly behooves any of us to talk about the rest of us. a wise old owl lived in an oak. the more he saw the less he spoke; the less he spoke the more he heard. why can't we be like that old bird? kindness is catching, and if you go around with a thoroughly developed case your neighbor will be sure to get it. the thing to do is hope, not mope: the thing to do is work, not shirk. if you have faith, preach it; if you have doubts, bury them; if you have joy, share it; if you have sorrow, bear it. find the bright side of things and help others to get sight of it also. this is the only and surest way to be cheerful and happy. morning exercises florence l. farber, helping teacher, sussex county the short period known as the opening exercise period belongs to all the children of the school. this period should furnish especially favorable opportunities for the development of initiative on the part of pupils, group cooperation, development of the play spirit, interest in community life, interest in and love for our great men and women, and devotion to our republic. the first problem of the teacher, then, is to understand fully that she is to a great degree responsible for furnishing aims and purposes in this beginning period of the day, or rather in providing the situations through which these aims and purposes may develop. when she feels the importance of this period in the general scheme of the day's work she will plan for it as definitely and as carefully as she will any other part of her program. the working out of a detailed program is of secondary importance. the thing of first importance is that she become fully cognizant of the general aims and ideals which she hopes to achieve. with these firmly fixed in her mind she is ready then to cooperate with the pupils of her room in planning detailed programs. the following projects are in keeping with the principles presented and have been found stimulating in one and two room schools: =project 1.= the teacher divides her children into groups on the basis of age and ability. for example, in a one room school a teacher might have two groups. each group is to work out with the teacher a program which it is to give and for which it is responsible. this program may consist of a short story to be dramatized, the story to contain not more than two or three important scenes. the costuming, if any is needed, is to be done by pupils and teacher. rehearsing is to be directed by the teacher. when the program is presented it should be as a new production to all the school except those who are engaged in presenting it. it is to be given, therefore, as a real play to a real audience. each pupil should invite a member of the family or a friend. the value of such work will soon be noticed in a better social spirit among the children. the dramatizations given may furnish the material for both oral and written language lessons. dramatization itself will provide excellent practice in oral expression and also training in initiative, leadership and cooperation. the story presented may furnish many funny settings which the pupils may enjoy with abandon. and what children do not need real merriment in school! opportunity ought to be afforded all children of our public schools to enjoy a real laugh at least once each day. teachers need have no fear that the different groups will be over-critical or discourteous to one another. they will understand that they are being entertained and they will cooperate to make the play given worth while. the following stories lend themselves very readily to dramatization. =first and second grades= the three billy goats gruff spry mouse and mr. frog the three bears the camel and the jackal the tale of peter rabbit our first flag =third and fourth grades= the sleeping beauty snow white and rose red brother fox's tar baby how the cave man made fire scenes from hiawatha early settlers in new jersey =fifth and sixth grades= the pied piper of hamelin joseph and his brethren abou ben adhem paul revere's ride scenes from life of daniel boone franklin's arrival in philadelphia scenes from alfred the great the battle of hastings how cedric became a knight =seventh and eighth grades= the vision of sir launfal rip van winkle the king of the golden river scenes from evangeline landing of the pilgrims conquest of the northwest territory the man without a country =project 2.= a special problem in history or geography, for example, may be taken up, such as the life of the people in japan, or the life of the people on a cattle ranch. in either case the class that presents the work as an opening exercise should be given opportunity to work out certain scenes which it wants to give. these scenes should be presented either by sand-table, by charts, by posters, by pictures from magazines, or by dramatization on the part of the children. preparation of such work is decidedly worth while, and ought to be a regular part of the day's program. the important scenes should be rehearsed before the final presentation. =project 3. poster exhibit.= this project could be arranged for all the children of a given school, in which case the best work would be selected and the children presenting it would discuss each poster in one or two minute talks. a still better way to handle the project would be to have the best posters from different schools. in this case at least one pupil from each school should be invited to present the posters from his school. =project 4. war programs.= a war opening exercise program could be worked out by the children of a given school. this could be done by having children collect war posters and war pictures made during the recent world war and arrange them in such a way that they tell a connected story. a group should be held responsible for presenting each story or part of a story. a sand-table should be provided if necessary. an excellent war program could be provided by having the emphasis placed upon the various men who have led or are leading in our own national life. pictures of these men should be secured and children called upon to tell what important work each man has done or is doing. this same device could be carried a step further and a special program arranged, centering around the pictures of the different men who led the allied forces. the older pupils of any school ought to be able to do this work. an additional way by which our schools may help in the work of patriotism is to have an opening exercise by the children whose immediate relatives were at the front. such a program ought to have for its purpose the idea of service to one's country. another helpful device would be to have at an appropriate time former soldiers come to the school and talk to the children concerning the meaning of the war. the teacher who plans her opening exercise periods in keeping with the foregoing presentation will make these periods inspiring and helpful to herself and her children. she will be putting across the gospel of good cheer, and cooperation in the new kind of school which offers opportunities for participation in life's present day activities, not preparation for future activities. opening exercises louis h. burch, principal bangs avenue school, asbury park play is one of the first manifestations of the child in self expression. as the child grows older this play is made up in part of the imitation of the doings and sayings of the older persons and playmates with whom he is associated. the child reflects the life of his parents wherever it comes under his comprehension. the stick horse gives as much pleasure to the boy as the well trained saddle horse gives to the father. when the child enters school much of the play element of his life is left behind, and teachers have often failed to use to advantage the experience and knowledge the child has in "living over" the actions and sayings of others. the ordinary child has observed the animals and birds around him and can imitate them. he can personify the tree, the flower, or the brook, and gain a clearer knowledge of the purpose and function of the thing personified by so doing. under the proper direction of the teacher nearly all the common occurrences of life may be dramatized by the children in the ordinary schoolroom and with few so-called stage properties. older children are interested in the simple dramatizations of the little folks and should have opportunity to see them often, not alone to be entertained, but to be reminded of the simple and easy ways of "playing you are someone else." a grammar grade class may learn many things from watching a primary class dramatize "three bears," "little red hen," or "little red ridinghood." the simple dramatization in the schoolroom furnish excellent material for general assemblies or morning exercises. simple costumes and stage settings satisfy the children, and the setting of the stage or platform for the scene should, in most cases, be done before the children. children who see the table set, the chairs placed, and the beds prepared for the "three bears" know how to get ready for their play when they are called upon to contribute their part for the assembly. children will bring material for their costumes and stage furnishings from home and should be encouraged to do so. parents will come to see children take part in a program when nothing else would attract them to the school, and if the home is to be called upon to help the school there must be a closer relationship between parents and teacher. in preparing dramatizations for elementary school pupils but few scenes should be chosen, and in those selected the language and action should be simple and within the capabilities of the children. the following dramatizations were worked out by teachers and pupils of our building as class projects. they were presented in the opening exercises as worth-while classroom projects which would be entertaining and helpful to all pupils of the school, to teachers and to parents. in presenting these scenes the pupils secured excellent practice in oral english work, in dramatic action, and in community and group cooperation. the pupils and teachers who made up the audience enjoyed opening exercises in which there was purpose. all entered into the spirit of the play; all enjoyed the exercises without having to think why. the results have been better team work between teacher and pupils, better school spirit, more pupil participation in leadership activities. the history of cotton _prepared by bessie o'hagen, teacher of fourth grade, bangs avenue school, asbury park_ _characters_: spirit of cotton, little girl, maiden from india, maiden from egypt, maiden from america, spirit of eli whitney. _little girl_ (_coming into the room in bad humor_). i hate this old cotton dress. i wish i had a silk one. i don't see why we have to use cotton anyway. we have to have cotton dresses, cotton sheets, cotton stockings, cotton everything. i just hate cotton! i'm not going out to play or anything. (_finally sits down._) i am so tired. i wish i had a silk dress. i hate this cotton dress. (_falls asleep._) _spirit of cotton_ (_skipping into the room_). heigh ho! ho heigh! here am i, the spirit of cotton. i heard what you said, little girl. did you ever see cotton grow? _little girl_ (_frightened_). why, no. _spirit of cotton._ how do you know whether it is interesting or not? i will tell you the story of my life. in the early spring the planter gets the ground ready for me. as soon as the frost is out of the ground, he plants me. _little girl._ what happens then? _spirit of cotton._ the good earth gives me food. the sun and rain make me grow, and soon- heigh ho! ho heigh! there am i, a tall plant of cotton. _little girl._ how do you look? _spirit of cotton._ my leaves are green like the maple. i have lovely blossoms. they are white the first day and pink the next. _little girl._ i thought you said that you were a cotton plant. _spirit of cotton._ so i did. my blossoms fall off, and then- heigh ho! ho heigh! there am i, a nice bunch of cotton. _little girl._ is that all? _spirit of cotton._ no, i have some friends who will tell you more about my life. (_goes out and returns leading a little girl by the hand._) this is my friend from india. (_goes out again._) _little girl._ how did you get here? _maiden from india._ i heard the spirit of cotton calling and i obeyed. _little girl_ (_pointing to a map of asia which is pinned on maiden from india_). is this your country? _maiden from india._ yes, i have come to tell you something about cotton in my country. cotton was first raised in my country. that was long, long, long ago. _little girl._ a hundred years ago? _maiden from india._ we knew how to weave cotton thousands of years ago. _little girl._ did you know how to weave well? _maiden from india._ we made such fine dresses that you could draw a whole one through your ring. _little girl._ i don't believe i could draw my dress through my ring. _maiden from india._ i know you couldn't. _spirit of cotton_ (_outside_). heigh ho! ho heigh! _maiden from india._ i must return. the spirit of cotton is calling. (_goes out._) _spirit of cotton_ (_comes in, leading a little girl by the hand_). this is my friend from egypt. she has something to tell you too. (_goes out._) _little girl._ do you know about cotton? _maiden from egypt._ yes, we knew how to use cotton long before your country was even heard of. _little girl._ is this your country (_pointing to a map_)? _maiden from egypt._ yes. _little girl._ did your people like cotton dresses? _maiden from egypt._ yes; just think how warm those woolen ones were. _little girl._ i guess every one who ever lived must have liked cotton. _maiden from egypt._ all good children do now. _spirit of cotton_ (_outside_). heigh ho! ho heigh! _maiden from egypt._ i must go. i hear the spirit of cotton calling. _spirit of cotton_ (_bringing a little girl into the room_). this is my friend from america. (_goes out again._) _little girl._ i know you. we studied that map in school. you are from the united states. what did america have to do with cotton? _maiden from america._ when columbus first landed on the bahama islands the natives came out to his ships in canoes, bringing cotton thread and yarn to trade. _little girl._ that was in 1492, wasn't it? _maiden from america._ yes, it was 427 years ago. _little girl._ why did you put all this cotton here (_points to cotton pasted on different states_)? _maiden from america._ they are the cotton states. _little girl._ i know which ones they are--north carolina, south carolina, louisiana, arkansas and texas. did america do anything wonderful with cotton? _maiden from america._ yes; we raise more cotton than any other place in the world. it is the best cotton too. _little girl._ i am so glad of that. we won't let india and egypt get ahead of us, will we? _maiden from america._ of course not. all good little girls must help too. _little girl._ i shall always like cotton after this. _spirit of cotton_ (_outside_). heigh ho! ho heigh! _maiden from america._ i hear the spirit of cotton calling; i must go. (_goes out._) _spirit of cotton_ (_leading a boy into the room_). this is my friend eli whitney. (_goes out._) _eli whitney._ i am the spirit of eli whitney. i was born in massachusetts in 1765. one day when my father went to church, i took his watch to pieces and put it together again. then i thought i would go to yale college. when i finished yale college i went to georgia. i heard everyone there talking about cotton. they were trying to find out how to get the seeds out of it more easily. i invented the cotton gin. _little girl._ what happened then? _eli whitney._ one man could now clean fifty times as much cotton as he could before. _spirit of cotton_ (_outside_). heigh ho! ho heigh! _eli whitney._ i hear the spirit of cotton calling; i must go. (_goes out._) _little girl_ (_waking up_). where is the spirit of cotton? where is the maiden from india? where is the spirit of eli whitney? it must have been a dream! i guess i got up on the wrong side of the bed this morning. i will always like cotton after this. i am going out to play now. the cat and his servant _prepared by alice lewis, teacher of second grade, bangs school, asbury park_ _dramatized from story of same name_ _characters: farmer, cat, fox, wolf, bear, rabbit, cow, sheep._ _materials used_: small branches of tree, box for house, cards with printed names of animals. _scene:_ the forest. _enter the farmer and the cat_ _farmer._--i have a cat. he is very wild so i will take him to the forest. (_puts cat in bag and takes him to tree._) i will leave him here. (_takes off bag and leaves the cat._) _cat._ i will build a house for myself and be the owner of this forest. (_brings in box and nails boards._) now my house is done. _enter the fox_ _fox._ good morning. what fine fur you have! what long whiskers you have! who are you? _cat._ i am ivan, the owner of this forest. _fox._ may i be your servant? _cat._ yes; you may. come into my house. (_both go in house._) i am hungry. go out and get me something to eat. _fox._ i will go. (_goes into forest and meets wolf._) _wolf._ good morning. _fox._ good morning. _wolf._ i have not seen you for a long time. where are you living now? _fox._ i am living with ivan. i am his servant. _wolf._ who is ivan? _fox._ he is the owner of this forest. _wolf._ may i come with you and see ivan? _fox._ yes; if you will promise to bring a sheep with you. if you do not ivan will eat you. _wolf._ i will go and get one. (_leaves the fox and hunts for a sheep._) _enter the bear_ _bear._ good morning, mr. fox. _fox._ good morning, mr. bear. _bear._ i have not seen you for a long time. where are you living? _fox._ i am living with ivan. i am his servant. _bear._ who is ivan? _fox._ he is the owner of this forest. _bear._ may i go with you and see him? _fox._ yes, but you must promise to bring a cow with you or ivan will eat you. _bear._ i will go and get one. (_leaves the fox and hunts for a cow._) _the fox returns to the house and enters_ _cat._ did you bring me something to eat? _fox._ no; but i have sent for something and it will be here soon. _cat._ all right; we will wait. _enter wolf with a sheep and bear with a cow_ _bear._ good morning, mr. wolf. where are you going? _wolf._ good morning. i am going to see ivan, the owner of this forest. _bear._ so am i. let us go together. _bear and wolf walk to cat's house and place sheep and cow near door_ _wolf._ you knock on the door. _bear._ no; you knock on the door. i am afraid. _wolf._ so am i. shall we ask mr. rabbit to do it? _bear._ yes; you ask him. _wolf_ (_calling to a rabbit who is passing_). hello, mr. rabbit; will you knock at the cat's door for us? _rabbit._ yes, i will. _(knocks.)_ _bear and wolf hide behind the trees and bushes_ _cat_ (_coming out of his house with the fox and noticing the cow and sheep lying by the door_). look! here is what you got for my dinner. there is only enough for two bites. _bear_ (_to himself_). how hungry he is. a cow would be enough to eat for four bears and he says it is only enough for two bites. what a terrible animal he is. _cat_ (_seeing wolf behind the bushes_). look! there is a mouse. i must catch him and eat him. (_chases wolf away._) i think i hear another mouse. (_sees bear and tries to catch him but fails._) i am so tired that i cannot run at all. let us sit by the door and eat our dinner. (_cat and fox sit down and eat the sheep and cow._) bibliography see bibliography at end of monograph. columbus day october 12 columbus, seeking the back door of asia, found himself knocking at the front door of america. _james russell lowell_ columbus day j. cayce morrison, supervising principal, leonia october 12, 1492! what a date in the world's history--the linking of the new world with the old--the dreams of a dreamer come true--the opening of the gates to a newer and better home for man--the promise of--america! the story of columbus is a story of romance, of patient perseverance, of high endeavor, of noble resolve--a story that grips and thrills. every boy and every girl who feels the story wants to discover a new world; and out of that desire may well come the discovery of america--its aims, ideals, opportunities. the columbus day program is an opportunity to discover the new world into which we are emerging. even childhood in the school may come to glimpse that which lies beyond and feel the exultation of the sailor who cried, "land! land!" the materials of this program are largely suggestive. it is hoped that they may be of service in program making from kindergarten to high school. the school program of most value is that which results from the creative genius of the children themselves. let children live the life of columbus in imagination and they will create their own program and express it in costume, tableaux, music, composition, acting, and dialog. the merit of the columbus day program will lie in its leading children, through their own expression, to a better understanding of their country, to a broader conception of patriotism. subjects for composition or oral reports marco polo a flat world the new idea--sailing west to reach the east the dangers of the western sea the attempted mutiny (see irving's "life of columbus") the signs of land columbus in chains san salvador october 12, 1492 the columbian exposition, 1892 the discovery of america, 1919 what columbus would do today a little program for columbus day recitation (by three boys bearing the american flag, the spanish flag, and a drum) _1st_--we are jolly little sailors; join us as we come; we'll bear the flag of proud old spain, and we will beat a drum! _2d_--we are jolly little sailors, and we pause to say, we raise the bonny flag of spain upon columbus day. _3d_--we are jolly little sailors; raise the red, the white, the blue; though we honor brave columbus, to our own flag we are true. _all_--(beat drum and wave flag) salute the banners, one and all, o raise them once again; salute the red, the white, the blue, salute the flag of spain! for countries old and countries new, we will wave the red, the white, the blue! recitation (by eight girls carrying banners that bear letters spelling "columbus") c columbus sailed o'er waters blue, o on and on to countries new. l long the ships sailed day and night, u until at last land came in sight. m many hearts were filled with fear, b but the land was drawing near. u upon the ground they knelt at last s so their dangers all were past. _all_ wave the banners bright and gay, we meet to keep columbus day. crowning columbus (recitation by four children. picture of columbus on easel. children place on it evergreen and flower wreaths and flags) _1st_--crown him with a wreath of evergreen, the very fairest ever seen- our brave columbus. _2d_--crown him with flowers fresh and fair; we'll place them by his picture there- our brave columbus. _3d_--crown him with the flag of spain; columbus day has come again- our brave columbus. _4th_--crown him with red, and white, and blue; bring out the drum and banners too- our brave columbus. _all_--as we stand by his picture here, columbus' name we all revere- our brave columbus. what we can do (recitation by two small boys, carrying flag) 1. i wish i could do some great deed- just find a world or two, so that the flag might wave for me as for columbus true. it makes a small child very sad to think all great deeds done. what is then left for us to do? what's to be tried and won? 2. my father says--and he knows too, for he's a grown up man- that heroes leave some things for us to carry out their plan. he says that if we do our best, just where we are, you see, we too shall serve our country's flag; true patriots we shall be. _both._ we'll love our flag, we'll keep its pledge; we'll honor and obey; we'll love our fellow brothers all; and serve our land this way. recitation (by a very small child, carrying a flag) my beautiful flag, you are waving today, to honor a hero true; columbus who gave us our dear native land, our land of the red, white and blue. recitation (by a very small child, carrying a flag) i'll wave my flag for discovery day, and before i get frightened i'll scamper away. columbus game the children stand in a circle. they choose one to represent columbus. the children all sing the song (given below). as they sing the fifth line columbus points to three children, who become the nina (baby), the pinta, and the santa maria. these three children come inside the circle, and wave arms up and down as though sailing. the children now all repeat the song, marching round in the circle, waving arms up and down, and the children inside the circle skip round also. the song is then repeated, children standing in a circle, and the three chosen as nina, pinta and santa maria choose three children to take their places by pointing at any three children in the circle. game may continue as long as desired or until all have had a chance to go inside the circle.[a] [a] the story of columbus may be dramatized in connection with this game. song columbus was a sailor boy, many years ago. a great ship was the sailor's joy, many years ago. the nina, the pinta, the santa maria, little vessels three, the nina, the pinta, the santa maria, sailed out across the sea. _laura rountree smith_ my little ship once i made a little ship, down beside the sea; and i said, "come now, dear winds, and blow it back to me!" o little ship that sails the sea. o wind that blows it back to me! song _tune, lightly row_ wave the flags, wave the flags; we are sailor boys at play; wave the flags, wave the flags, on columbus day. o'er the waters we will go, singing, singing, as we row; wave the flags to and fro, on columbus day. (_children wave flags_) cross the flags, cross the flags, with their pretty colors gay; cross the flags, cross the flags, on columbus day. we would like to sail, 'tis true, o'er the waters bright and blue, so we cross the flags for you on columbus day. (_children cross flags_) _laura rountree smith_ recitation for very little boys _1st_--columbus was a sailor bold, at least that's what i have been told. _2d_--i would also like to sail the sea, if not too far from mother's knee. _3d_--he had three ships to sail the sea, one ship would be enough for me. _4th_--in the nina i would go; but what if stormy winds should blow? _5th_--in the pinta i'll set sail; that ship has weathered many a gale. _6th_--the santa maria waits for me; o how i love to sail the sea. _7th_--at night we'll glide across the foam, but wish ourselves quite safe at home. _8th_--kind friends, i hope you understand, we are really happier far on land. (_all join hands and run to seats_) then come, dear sailors, hand in hand, we'll run to seek the nearest land! play (_ferdinand and isabella on their thrones, chairs with a red drapery concealing them._) _enter columbus and followers, bowing low_ _columbus_ o most gracious majesties! _ferdinand_ my wise men say your scheme is vain, so your plan i must disdain; if as _you_ say this earth is round no one could stay upon the ground. (_bows his head and looks very wise. columbus looks sadly around and sighs. queen isabella stretches forth her hand._) _queen_ i have talked to the abbot kind, and he has made me change my mind. take these and these (_dropping her bracelets and necklaces into columbus' hat_) and may you be, successful in your quest at sea. _columbus and followers_ long live, long live isabella the queen! such generous faith has seldom been seen. long live, long live isabella the queen! _all_ (_except columbus, who bows as he listens_) here's to columbus, so brave and so true, who will soon sail west on the ocean blue to--find--the--land--of--india. _headed by king and queen all march around and off_ _one returns_ columbus safely made his voyage and now, though he never knew it, he discovered this land, the fair land of our birth, the greatest nation on all the earth. (_displays flag_) _all except columbus return and sing america_ _mary r. campbell_ recitation (_by three boys_) _1st_--columbus dared to cross the sea where none had gone before; and sailing west from palos, spain, he came to our front door. _2d_--his men were only prisoners queen isabel set free; for other men, they did not dare to cross the unknown sea. _3d_--he had no friend to share his hope; no one could understand; now all men honor his great name, who first saw our dear land. _all_--if we can only be as true to our best selves as he, speak truth, keep faith, be brave and pure, true heroes we shall be. discovery day i wonder what columbus would think of us today, just stepping out from '92, four centuries on, we'll say. with aeroplanes and warships, and submarine affairs, he'd surely think the mighty sea was putting on some airs. discovery day, we greet you; you're only just begun; industry, art, and science now, begin their race to run. but brighter than these wonders, more beautiful to see, democracy's fair smile begins to dawn o'er land and sea. discovery day! when freedom shall reign in every land, when nations know their brotherhood, and naught but good is grand. america, thy mission be this: discover now a _world_ safe for democracy. 'tis ours to teach it how. the flag of spain _tune--long, long ago_ there was a flag that waved all over spain long, long ago; long, long ago. and many sailors had gone forth in vain, long, long ago, long ago. then came the ships and columbus set sail; proudly the vessels withstood every gale. then came the cry, "blessed land, land we hail," long, long ago, long ago. columbus a dreamer they called him, and mocked him to scorn, but o, through this dreamer a new world was born. a new land whose watchword is ringing afar- "democracy! freedom!" that none shall dare mar. a nation whose vision is making it be humanity's champion on land and on sea. america, my land, a dream gave thee birth; through vision thou'st conquered in all realms of worth. thy spirit shall beckon till all nations heed, and follow in wisdom the path thou dost lead. class exercise for columbus day the foundation for these exercises should be laid in previous class recitations and specially prepared class compositions which relate developing incidents in the life of columbus. several periods used in the preparation of these oral and written exercises will be time well spent. select the composition which portrays the life pictures most clearly and effectively; and as the writer reads his story, let other members of the class give tableaux or act scenes apropos. the children should be encouraged to initiate their own ideas and execute their own mental pictures in costume, arrangement, facial expression, etc. the following are mentioned _suggestively_: acts portraying the life of columbus 1. columbus, the boy boy of nine to eleven years, seated, intently studying a geography, _or_ boy whittling a wooden toy ship. 2. columbus, the man larger boy, posing as a dreamer, gazing at and studying the stars, _or_ larger boy drawing maps, appearing wise and thoughtful. (let others stand aside, smiling and mockingly pointing.) 3. columbus' appearance before king ferdinand and queen isabella king and queen, dressed in royal style, on improvised throne; columbus kneeling before them; the queen offering him her jewels. 4. on shipboard boys representing mutinous sailors, their faces depicting fear, anger, dejection--dressed sailor fashion. columbus displaying confidence, courage and patience--dressed in short full trousers, cape over his shoulders thrown back on one side. let facial expressions and actions change to show land has been sighted. 5. the landing columbus planting the flag of spain in the new world. sailors (all with uncovered heads) kneeling. indians (let the boys wear indian suits) watching from the outskirts, one falling down in worship. 6. the return reception king ferdinand and queen isabella on throne, dressed as before, with guards on either side. ladies-in-waiting, noblemen, etc., dressed in 15th century style, grouped about. columbus enters (to music). all bow low except king and queen, who rise to meet him. columbus kneels before them, kisses the queen's hand and rises. indians enter (with bow and arrow) and gaze in wonder about. one indian plucks columbus by sleeve and gruntingly interrogates him concerning some wonder in the room--a picture of the king and queen, decorated with spanish flags. the king takes the hand of the indian, places it in columbus' hand and, covering them with his own left hand, raises the right to signify his blessing upon the newly found land. music gives the signal for the recessional. all fall into line and march out--guards, king, queen, columbus, ladies, and courtiers. the indians follow irregularly. the boy columbus "'tis a wonderful story," i hear you say, "how he struggled and worked and plead and prayed, and faced every danger undismayed, with a will that would neither break nor bend, and discovered a new world in the end- but what does it teach to a boy of today? all the worlds are discovered, you know, of course, all the rivers are traced to their utmost source; there is nothing left for a boy to find, if he had ever so much a mind to become a discoverer famous; and if we'd much rather read a book about some one else, and the risks he took, why nobody, surely, can blame us." so you think all the worlds are discovered now; all the lands have been charted and sailed about, their mountains climbed, their secrets found out; all the seas have been sailed and their currents known- to the uttermost isles the winds have blown they have carried a venturing prow? yet there lie all about us new worlds, everywhere, that await their discoverer's footfall; spread fair are electrical worlds that no eye has yet seen, and mechanical worlds that lie hidden serene and await their columbus securely. there are new worlds in science and new worlds in art, and the boy who will work with his head and his heart will discover his new world surely. columbus and the egg one day columbus was at a dinner which a spanish gentleman had given in his honor, and several persons were present who were jealous of the great admiral's success. they were proud, conceited fellows, and they very soon began to try to make columbus uncomfortable. "you have discovered strange lands beyond the seas," they said, "but what of that? we do not see why there should be so much said about it. anybody can sail across the ocean; and anybody can coast along the islands on the other side, just as you have done. it is the simplest thing in the world." columbus made no answer; but after a while he took an egg from a dish and said to the company: "who among you, gentlemen, can make this egg stand on end?" one by one those at the table tried the experiment. when the egg had gone entirely around and none had succeeded, all said that it could not be done. then columbus took the egg and struck its small end gently upon the table so as to break the shell a little. after that there was no trouble in making it stand upright. "gentlemen," said he, "what is easier than to do this which you said was impossible? it is the simplest thing in the world. anybody can do it--after he has been shown how!" columbus day (_fitchburg, massachusetts, normal school_) this entertainment is simply an attempt to give a few of the most dramatic incidents in the life of columbus as connected with his discovery of the new world. other scenes could be readily added, although it would require some care to avoid an anti-climax. a. in spain at the council of salamanca before this scene is presented give a brief explanation and description of the early life of columbus and his attempts to obtain aid. _characters_: churchmen and counselors at the court of spain (seven to ten) and columbus. _costumes_: the _churchmen_ are dressed in long black garments, except two, who have black capes with white underneath. columbus wears a long, black garment or coat, which plainly shows the poverty of its owner. _tableau i--columbus before the council at salamanca_ the characters are arranged somewhat as in a picture of this scene found in the perry pictures. a picture of this scene is also found in lossing's history of the united states, volume i. only the chief characters are shown in this tableau. three churchmen or counselors are in center near columbus; two at left, one pointing mockingly, or making fun of columbus; two stand haughtily in the back, and there may also be two or three at right. columbus has a partly open roll of parchment in one hand and is pointing with the other. one of the churchmen in the center has an open bible in his hand, and another has a book which he is holding out to columbus. b. on shipboard _characters_: columbus, the mate, other sailors. _costumes_: columbus, red cape; sailors, sweaters and sailor caps. _tableau ii--nearing land; columbus and the mate_ the conversation in joaquin miller's "columbus" takes place between columbus and mate. the sailors are in the background, one holding a lantern. between the different parts of his conversation with columbus, the mate goes to consult with the sailors. the last stanza of the poem is given by some one from the wings. when the reader reaches the line, "a light! a light!" columbus and the mate change their position. columbus points and the mate raises his arm, peering forward. (picture in "leading facts of american history," by montgomery, revised edition. also in "stepping stones of american history.") c. in the new world _characters_: columbus, three noblemen, eight sailors, six indians. _costumes_: columbus and the noblemen wear the spanish costume of the fifteenth century (described later). sailors wear sweaters and sailor caps made from blue, red or grey cambric. indians wear indian suits (nearly all boys have or may obtain them from any clothing store). they carry bows and arrows or tomahawks. the spears and swords for this and the following scene are made from wood, bronzed to look like silver. the tall cross is made of wood and stained with shellac. the banner of the expedition is white, with a green cross. over the initials f and y (ferdinand and ysabella) are two gilt crowns. _tableau iii--the landing of columbus_ the characters are posed from vanderlyn's painting of the scene in the capitol at washington. reproductions are found in many histories and among the perry pictures. columbus holds the banner of the expedition in one hand, and a drawn sword in the other. one of the men has a tall staff with the top in form of a cross; two others hold tall spears. the indians are peering out at the white men from the sides of the stage; one of them is down on the stage with his head bowed on his hands, worshipping the strangers; the others seem to be full of fear and curiosity. d. at barcelona in spain before this scene is presented a description of the reception of columbus by the king and queen upon his return to spain is given. this scene is more elaborate than any of the others. _characters and costumes_: queen, red robe, purple figured front; collar and trimmings of ermine. she wears a crown. ermine is made of cotton with little pieces of black cloth sewed on it, crown of cardboard covered with gilt paper. dress cheesecloth with a front of silkoline. king wears purple full, short trousers (trunks), purple doublet, purple cape and gilt crown. the trousers and cape are trimmed with ermine. the two guards have black trousers (trunks) and red capes, collars, and knee pieces made from silver paper; they wear storm hats covered with silver paper, and carry spears. the two ladies-in-waiting wear dresses fixed to resemble the dress of the period. they have high headpieces shaped like cornucopias, made from cardboard covered with gilt paper, and with long veils draped over them; this was one style of headpiece worn in the fifteenth century. the eight churchmen, eight sailors and six indians are dressed as in previous scenes. the little page of columbus is dressed in his own white suit. columbus wears grey and red clothing. the ten noblemen wear combinations of bright colors. the general plan in regard to the dress of the spanish nobility in the time of columbus is to have the full, short trousers (trunks) made of one color and slashed with another; the upper garment or doublet made of figured silkoline; the cape of one color lined with another, worn turned back over one shoulder; pointed collars and cuffs of white glazed or silver paper; and soft felt hats with plumes. each nobleman carries a sword. the gold brought by the sailors may be made by gilding stones. _tableau iv--reception of columbus by king and queen_ in center of stage is raised platform or throne with two or three steps leading up to it: this throne is covered with figured raw silk (yellow and brown). chairs are placed on throne for king and queen. the scene is an attempt to represent the reception of columbus on his return to spain after his first voyage. (see painting by ricardo balaca, the spanish artist, of columbus before ferdinand and isabella at barcelona.) a march may be played on the piano while the different characters in the tableau come on the stage and take their proper positions. first the two royal guards march to the throne, taking positions one on each side, so that the king and queen may pass between them in mounting the platform. they are followed by the king and queen, and then the ladies-in-waiting. the king and queen mount the platform and take seats; the ladies wait in front of the platform until the king and queen are seated, then they take positions on each side of the throne. the guards, after the king and queen are seated, take positions on the platform in the rear. all these come as one group in the procession, with only a little space between them. next come the churchmen. one of them carries the tall cross. they take their places at the right of the queen. the indians come, shuffling across the stage to the extreme left of the king and queen. of course they know nothing of keeping time to the music or paying homage to royalty. the sailors march upon the stage, each bringing something from the new world--gold, a stuffed bird, or some product. each in turn approaches the king and queen, kneels, and then places whatever he carries at the side of the platform, and takes his place on the left. the noblemen, one by one, come in with great dignity, go to the front of the throne, kneel and salute with their swords. then they go to the right of the stage. finally the music sounds a more triumphal note, announcing the approach of the hero of the occasion. columbus is preceded by his page, carrying the banner of the expedition. the page kneels to the king and queen, then goes to the left, where he is to stand just back of the place reserved for columbus. as columbus approaches the throne, the king and queen rise and come forward to do him honor. columbus kneels, kisses the queen's hand, then rises and points out to the king and queen the treasures which his sailors have brought. he also brings forward one of the indians. the king and queen regard everything with interest. after this, at a signal given on the piano, all kneel to give thanks for the discovery of the new world. the te deum laudamus is chanted or the doxology is sung. this is the end of the reception. * * * * * this scene may be simplified, if desired, and given in the form of two tableaux. columbus kneeling before the queen and king and columbus telling his story may be given separately. there need not be as many characters in the scene. see the picture, "reception of columbus" (adapted from the picture by ricardo balaca) in "america's story for american children," by mara l. pratt. it would be easy to give the substance of this entertainment in any schoolroom and without costumes. even with these limitations the story of columbus would become more real to the children in this way than it could be made by any description. a good description of the reception of columbus in spain after his first voyage is given in the "life of columbus," by washington irving. a description and picture of the banner of the expedition may be found in lossing's "history of the united states," volume i. music that may be used: "columbus song," taken from "1492"; the "new hail columbia." the discovery of america it was on the morning of friday, 12th of october, 1492, that columbus first beheld the new world.... no sooner did he land than he threw himself upon his knees, kissed the earth, and returned thanks to god with tears of joy. his example was followed by the rest, whose hearts indeed overflowed with the same feelings of gratitude. columbus then rising drew his sword, displayed the royal standard, and ... took solemn possession in the name of the castilian sovereigns, giving the island the name of san salvador. having complied with the requisite forms and ceremonies, he now called upon all present to take the oath of obedience to him, as admiral and viceroy, representing the persons of the sovereigns. the feelings of the crew now burst forth in the most extravagant transports.... they thronged around the admiral in their overflowing zeal. some embraced him, others kissed his hands. those who had been most mutinous and turbulent during the voyage, were now most devoted and enthusiastic. some begged favors of him, as of a man who had already wealth and honors in his gift. many abject spirits, who had outraged him by their insolence, now crouched as it were at his feet, begging pardon for all the trouble they had caused him, and offering for the future the blindest obedience to his commands. _washington irving_ immortal morn immortal morn, all hail! that saw columbus sail by faith alone! the skies before him bowed, back rolled the ocean proud, and every lifting cloud with glory shone. fair science then was born, on that celestial morn, faith dared the sea; triumphant over foes then truth immortal rose, new heavens to disclose, and earth to free. strong freedom then came forth, to liberate the earth and crown the right; so walked the pilot bold upon the sea of gold, and darkness backward rolled, and there was light. _hezekiah butterworth_ all hail, columbus, discoverer, dreamer, hero, and apostle! we here, of every race and country, recognize the horizon which bounded his vision, and the infinite scope of his genius. the voice of gratitude and praise for all the blessings which have been showered upon mankind by his adventure is limited to no language, but is uttered in every tongue. neither marble nor brass can fitly form his statue. continents are his monument, and unnumbered millions, past, present, and to come, who enjoy in their liberties and their happiness the fruits of his faith, will reverently guard and preserve, from century to century, his name and fame. _chauncey mitchell depew_ little wonder that the whole world takes from the life of columbus one of its best-beloved illustrations of the absolute power of faith. to a faithless world he made a proposal, and the world did not hear it. to that faithless world he made it again and again, and at last roused the world to ridicule it and to contradict it. to the same faithless world he still made it year after year; and at last the world said that, when it was ready, it would try if he were right; to which his only reply is that he is ready now, that the world must send him now on the expedition which shall show whether he is right or wrong. the world, tired of his importunity, consents, unwillingly enough, that he shall try the experiment. he tries it; he succeeds; and the world turns round and welcomes him with a welcome which it cannot give to a conqueror. in a moment the grandeur of his plans is admitted, their success is acknowledged, and his place is fixed as one of the great men of history. give me white paper! the sheet you use is black and rough with smears of sweat and grime and fraud and blood and tears, crossed with the story of men's sins and fears, of battle and of famine all those years when all god's children have forgot their birth and drudged and fought and died like beasts of earth. give me white paper! one storm-trained seaman listened to the word; what no man saw he saw, and heard what no man heard. for answer he compelled the sea to eager man to tell the secret she had kept so well; left blood and woe and tyranny behind, sailing still west that land newborn to find, for all mankind the unstained page unfurled, where god might write anew the story of the world. _edward everett hale_ [illustration: columbus "admiral at the helm"] the fame of columbus is not local or limited. it does not belong to any single country or people. it is the proud possession of the whole civilized world. in all the transactions of history there is no act which for vastness and performance can be compared with the discovery of the continent of america, "the like of which was never done by any man in ancient or in later times." _james grant wilson_ with boldness unmatched, with faith in the teachings of science and of revelation immovable, with patience and perseverance that knew no weariness, with superior skill as a navigator unquestioned, and with a lofty courage unrivaled in the history of the race, columbus sailed from palos on the 3d of august, with three vessels, the largest (his flagship) of only ninety feet keel, and provided with four masts, eight anchors, and sixty-six seamen. passing the canaries and the blazing peak of teneriffe, he pushed westward into the "sea of darkness," in defiance of the fierce dragons with which superstition had peopled it, and the prayers and threats of his mutinous seamen, and on the 12th of october landed on one of the bahama islands. _benson j. lossing_ columbus[b] [b] from complete works of joaquin miller, published by the harr wagner publishing company of san francisco. behind him lay the gray azores, behind the gates of hercules; before him not the ghost of shores, before him only shoreless seas. the good mate said: "now must we pray, for lo! the very stars are gone. brave admiral, speak; what shall i say?" "why, say 'sail on! sail on! and on!'" "my men grow mutinous day by day; my men grow ghastly wan and weak." the stout mate thought of home; a spray of salt wave washed his swarthy cheek. "what shall i say, brave admiral, say, if we sight naught but seas at dawn?" "why, you shall say at break of day, 'sail on! sail on! sail on! and on!'" they sailed and sailed, as winds might blow, until at last the blanched mate said: "why, now not even god would know should i and all my men fall dead. these very winds forget their way, for god from these dread seas is gone. now speak, brave admiral, speak and say--" he said: "sail on! sail on! and on!" they sailed. they sailed. then spake the mate: "this mad sea shows his teeth tonight. he curls his lip, he lies in wait, he lifts his teeth, as if to bite! brave admiral, say but one good word; what shall we do when hope is gone?" the words leapt like a leaping sword: "sail on! sail on! sail on! and on!" then pale and worn, he paced his deck, and peered through darkness. ah, that night, of all dark nights! and then a speck- a light! a light! at last a light! it grew, a starlit flag unfurled! it grew to be time's burst of dawn. he gained a world; he gave that world its grandest lesson: "oh! sail on!" _joaquin miller_ he failed. he reached to grasp hesperides, to track the foot-course of the sun, that flies toward some far western couch, and watch its rise- but fell on unknown sand-reefs, chains, disease. he won. with splendid daring, from the sea's hard, niggard fist he plucked the glittering prize, and gave a virgin world to europe's eyes, where gold dust choked the streams, and spice the breeze. he failed fulfillment of the task he planned, and drooped a weary head on empty hand, unconscious of the vaster deed he'd done; but royal legacy to ferdinand he left--a key to doorways gilt with sun- and proudest title of "world-father" won! _george w. w. houghton_ with all the visionary fervor of his imagination, its fondest dreams fell short of the reality. he died in ignorance of the real grandeur of his discovery. until his last breath, he entertained the idea that he had merely opened a new way to the old resorts of opulent commerce, and had discovered some of the wild regions of the east.... what visions of glory would have broke upon his mind, could he have known that he had indeed discovered a new continent, equal to the whole of the old world in magnitude, and separated by two vast oceans from all of the earth hitherto known by civilized man; and how would his magnanimous spirit have been consoled, amidst the chills of age and cares of penury, the neglect of a fickle public, and the injustice of an ungrateful king, could he have anticipated the splendid empires which were to spread over the beautiful world he had discovered, and the nations, and tongues, and languages, which were to fill its lands with his renown, and to revere and bless his name to the latest posterity! _washington irving_ on a portrait of columbus was this his face, and these the finding eyes that plucked a new world from the rolling seas? who, serving christ, whom most he sought to please, willed the great vision till he saw arise man's other home and earthly paradise- his early thought since first with stalwart knees he pushed the boat from his young olive trees, and sailed to wrest the secret of the skies. he on the waters dared to set his feet, and through believing planted earth's last race. what faith in man must in our new world beat, thinking how once he saw before his face the west and all the host of stars retreat into the silent infinite of space! _george edward woodberry_ of no use are the men who study to do exactly as was done before, who can never understand that today is a new day. there never was such a combination as this of ours, and the rules to meet it are not set down in any history. we want men of original perception and original action, who can open their eyes wider than to a nationality--namely, to considerations of benefit to the human race--can act in the interest of civilization; men of elastic, men of moral mind, who can live in the moment and take a step forward. columbus was no backward-creeping crab, nor was martin luther, nor john adams, nor patrick henry, nor thomas jefferson; and the genius or destiny of america is no log or sluggard, but a man incessantly advancing, as the shadow on the dial's face, or the heavenly body by whose light it is marked. _ralph waldo emerson_ address to america (_from a commencement poem, dartmouth college. 1872_) as a strong bird on pinions free, joyous, the amplest spaces heavenward cleaving, one song, america, before i go, i'd sing, o'er all the rest, with trumpet sound, for thee, the future. sail--sail thy best, ship of democracy! of value is thy freight--'tis not the present only, the past is also stored in thee! thou holdest not the venture of thyself alone- not of thy western continent alone; earth's rã©sumã© entire floats on thy keel, o ship- is steadied by thy spars. with thee time voyages in trust, the antecedent nations sink or swim with thee; with all their ancient struggles, martyrs, heroes, epics, wars, thou bears't the other continents; theirs, theirs as much as thine, the destination-port triumphant, steer, steer with good strong hand and wary eye- o helmsman--thou carryest great companions, venerable, priestly asia sails this day with thee, and royal, feudal europe sails with thee. _walt whitman_ america o mother of a mighty race, yet lovely in thy youthful grace! the elder dames, thy haughty peers, admire and hate thy blooming years; with words of shame and taunts of scorn they join thy name.... they know not, in their hate and pride, what virtues with thy children bide; how true, how good, thy graceful maids make bright, like flowers, the valley shades; what generous men spring, like thine oaks, by hill and glen. what cordial welcomes greet the guest by thy lone rivers of the west; how faith is kept, and truth revered, and man is loved and god is feared, in woodland homes, and where the ocean border foams. there's freedom at thy gates, and rest for earth's down-trodden and opprest; a shelter for the hunted head; for the starved laborer toil and bread. power, at thy bounds, stops, and calls back his baffled hounds. o fair young mother! on thy brow shall sit a nobler grace than now. deep in the brightness of thy skies the thronging years in glory rise, and, as they fleet, drop strength and riches at thy feet. thine eye, with every coming hour, shall brighten, and thy form shall tower; and when thy sisters, elder born, would brand thy name with words of scorn, before thy eye upon their lips the taunt shall die. _william cullen bryant_ the western land great western land, whose mighty breast between two oceans finds its rest, begirt by storms on either side, and washed by strong pacific tide. the knowledge of thy wondrous birth gave balance to the rounded earth; in sea of darkness thou didst stand, now first in light, great western land. in thee the olive and the vine unite with hemlock and with pine; in purest white the southern rose repeats the spotless northern snows. around thy zone a belt of maize rejoices in the sun's hot rays; and all that nature could command she heaped on thee, great western land. great western land, whose touch makes free, advance to perfect liberty, till right shall make thy sov'reign might, and every wrong be crushed from sight. behold thy day, thy time is here; thy people great, with naught to fear. god hold thee in his strong right hand, my well beloved western land. _caroline hazard_ our national ideals[c] [c] used by permission of, and by special arrangement with, houghton mifflin company, the authorized publishers. foremost among the ideals which have characterized our national life is the spirit of self-reliance. the very first chapter of our national history records the story of a man, who arose from among the toilers of his time, and whom eighteen years of disappointed hopes could not dismay. it tells how this man, holding out the promise of a new dominion, at last overcame the opposition of royal courtiers, and secured the tardy support of reluctant rulers. and when, at palos, columbus flung to the breeze the sails of his frail craft, and ventured upon that unknown ocean from which, according to the belief of his age, there was no hope of return, he displayed the chief characteristic of the american people--the spirit of self-reliance. what is this spirit? emerson has expressed it in a sentence: "we will walk on our own feet; we will work with our own hands; we will speak our own minds." this was the spirit which animated that little group of colonists who preferred the unknown hardships of the new world to the certain tyranny of the old; who chose to break old ties, to brave the sea, to face the loneliness and perils of life in a strange land--a land of difficulties and dangers, but a land of liberty and opportunity.... in order that our country may continue this proud record of self-reliance, each one of us has a special obligation. every citizen in his individual life should live up to the same ideal of self-reliance. the young citizen who relies on himself, who does honest work in school, never cheating or shirking, who is always, ready to do a little more than is actually required of him, who thinks for himself, acts rightly because he loves right actions--such a citizen is doing his part in helping to achieve our national ideal of self-reliance. _william backus guitteau_ i believe in my country. i believe in it because it is made up of my fellow-men--and myself. i can't go back on either of us and be true to my creed. if it isn't the best country in the world it is partly because i am not the kind of a man that i should be. _charles stelzle_ bibliography see bibliography at end of monograph. thanksgiving day last thursday in november for flowers that bloom about our feet; for tender grass, so fresh, so sweet; for song of bird, and hum of bee; for all things fair we hear or see, father in heaven, we thank thee! for blue of stream and blue of sky; for pleasant shade of branches high; for fragrant air and cooling breeze; for beauty of the blooming trees, father in heaven, we thank thee! _ralph waldo emerson_ thanksgiving day roy l. shaffer, state normal school, newark among our national holidays thanksgiving should be a red letter day. we need these days so that the modern tendency of reducing all days to the same mediocre level may be overcome. such days, when contrasted with common school days, show a wonderful stimulation. hence it is urged that the celebration of thanksgiving take on the aspect of the play-festival. the play-festival will have a potent effect on the audience and the actors. the audience will be composed for the most part of the school body and on this body the festival program will have a unifying effect. for this reason it is further urged that an entire grade, or perhaps a group of grades, be employed to render the program. such a rendition will be treated as a contribution from a part to the whole. the festival to be effective must bind the entire school into one social group. the response of the audience will be complementary and the spirit and the pride of the school will give forth inspiration to the actor and the audience. the performer must make others feel what he knows, and thus his learning becomes intensified. the result is that the play-festival has two high values, the social and the educational. the essential problem which arises, and which must be answered by every teacher, is, "what shall be done to provide a good program, and how shall it be done?" the answer will come from a careful survey of the needs, capacities, and make-up of each individual or group of pupils. the answer includes the utilization of the dramatic instinct, i. e., the play instinct, which finds expression through singing, speaking and dancing. the successful festival must be well organized, and this organization must be effected according to a suitable program. (1) the history of the day must be clearly brought to the attention of the pupils. (2) there should be a committee appointed to have supervision of the arranging of the festival. (3) a program full of content should-be arranged. (4) what constitutes the proper program for a thanksgiving festival should have the careful thought of those in charge. the children should be actual factors in planning the program, as well as in presenting it. in order that thanksgiving day may be celebrated in an appropriate manner it is necessary that its history be fully comprehended by the entire school. teachers of all grades should use the historic material that will meet the needs and capacities of their pupils. this material should be correlated with as much of the regular school work as may seem advisable. it is essential that the entire school fully appreciate the historic foundations of the day, so that they may comprehend the setting which has so much to do with this holiday. furthermore, a full comprehension of the history as a background for this festival will stimulate the school audience, so that they will receive from the program those things which we believe they ought to receive from the celebration. history the following extracts relative to the history of thanksgiving have been selected because they are exceptionally interesting; they show that traditionally the celebration of this holiday is truly american; they also give hints as to the wealth of material that may be woven into a program for the play-festival. the first year of the pilgrim settlement, in spite of that awful winter when nearly half of their number perished, had been comparatively successful. the pilgrims had planted themselves well, and it is easy to understand why this fact should have appealed to the mind of their governor, william bradford, as an especial reason for proclaiming a season of thanksgiving. the exact date is not certain, but from the records we learn that it was an open air feast. it is evident that it must have occurred in that lovely period of balmy, calm, cool air and soft sunshine which is called indian summer, and which may be considered to range between the latter week of october and the latter week of november. it came at the end of the year's harvest. in confirmation, let us quote from the writing of edward winslow, thrice governor of the pilgrims: "our corn did prove well; and, god be praised, we had a good increase of indian corn, and our barley indifferent good. our harvest being gotten in, our governor sent four men on fowling that so we might after a special manner rejoice together after we had gathered the fruit of our labors." we learn that as a result of this hunting expedition they had many wild turkeys, which the women probably stuffed with beechnuts, and they brought home wood pigeons and partridges in abundance. but, it seems, they must have lacked deer, since the indians, with their king, massasoit, volunteered to go out and bring in the venison. one noteworthy fact is the relations that existed between the pilgrims and the indians. at this first thanksgiving feast king massasoit and ninety of his warriors were present. they entered heartily into the preparations of thanksgiving. what a cheerful spectacle it must have been to see the indian guests appearing, carrying a many branched buck or a pretty doe, possibly hung across the stalwart shoulders of some giant red man? shall one doubt that the pilgrim gravity was for a moment dispelled, when the indians approached with their delicious contribution to the feast? can't we hear the welcoming cheer that arose from the throats of those englishmen, or the clapping of the hands of the younger women as those indian athletes entered the camp? it is also recorded that from their indian guests the pilgrims received clams, oysters, fish and vegetables. what a feast this must have been! the warriors remained with the pilgrims for several days, and contended with them in various games or feats of strength and agility. perhaps massasoit unbent from his kingly dignity to show how straight he could send an arrow at some improvised target. maybe some puritan maiden laughingly tried her hand on an indian bow. possibly, too, in the military drill which miles standish with his famous regiment of twenty gave, there was intention on the part of the stout little warrior to show the indian what a formidable foe the white man might be if provoked. at any rate, the friendship, hallowed by thanksgiving hospitality, continued unbroken for nearly half a century. what a noble, inspiring picture is the history of this first thanksgiving day--a picture of piety, of human brotherhood, and of poetry, for which the universal heart of man, when realizing its profound significance, must gladly and proudly give thanks. for many years this autumnal "feast of ingathering" was merely an occasional festival, as unexpected prosperity or hoped for aid in adversity moved our pilgrim fathers to a special act of praise. it was not until after the revolutionary war that this day took on a national significance. george washington issued the first proclamation in 1795. this will be read by many with deep interest, especially in view of the fact that some persons believe that a national thanksgiving proclamation is a recent invention in our country. after this date it was only occasionally observed until 1863. it was our civil war which awakened our national conscience, and since that time every president of the united states has issued a thanksgiving proclamation, which has in turn been issued to the different states by their respective governors. thanksgiving is a universal holiday; it is for all the people. as heretofore, each year brings new households, enlarged families, increased affections, comfortable homes, plentiful tables, abundant harvests, a beneficent government, free schools, and religious liberty. there is much to be grateful for in our national history. whatever may have been our sense of past duty, it is the privilege of all to thank god that he has given us the unexpected and unsought for opportunity to relieve much oppression and to extend the blessings of good government and fair freedom to many millions of people. it is a wonderful opportunity, and no people on the face of the globe have a stricter sense of duty than our great country. we may be far from perfect if tried by the highest standards, but where shall we find a nation which less desires to rule, and desires to rule more justly, giving liberty to all? we as a generation have lived to see what may be the greatest epoch in the world's history. truly the seeds of this harvest were sown years ago by our pilgrim fathers. for such mercies what soul will not raise its thanksgiving to god? let us as teachers of the state of new jersey teach our children these great truths, and enter with an open mind and a willing heart into each thanksgiving festival, and let us all try to inculcate in the hearts of our pupils this significant brotherhood. the festival committee let the history of this great thanksgiving feast be the background and setting for your play-festival. let it be the duty of teachers to see that the program for this celebration is inspired by patriotism, by a reverence for god, who has been most gracious to us as a people. for social reasons, it will be well to let some particular grade prepare the program for the festival. the other grades of the school will be in the audience, and thus the whole school will be united into one large social group. before it is decided which grade shall be selected to prepare the program the principal and teachers should meet and, after talking over the preliminary plans, appoint the festival committee. it is important that the proper kind of machinery for this festival work be constructed. it will be the duty of this special committee to keep in mind such objects of the play-festival as the promotion of a keener appreciation and a more reverent remembrance of great events and great men and women of our history; the promotion of a deep national patriotism; the promotion of a sense of deep gratitude that we live in such a bountiful and beautiful earth. the play-festival should be looked upon as a means of moral, social, cultural and esthetic education. keeping these things in mind, the play-festival should be invented almost entirely by the children, who will present the program. of course this will require the watchful guidance of teachers and committee. a play or program that has been already planned for the occasion may be taken, but even in such a program the scenes should be planned by the class. if this plan is followed almost any of the ready-made plays may be adapted for any grade from the kindergarten to the high school. the wealth of historic material which readily conforms to the thanksgiving program is abundant. there is no school that cannot act some scene, pantomime, tableau or the like, with but little thought and drill. the results obtained by bringing any class in touch with some of our masterpieces of history, literature, art, music, or sculpture, cannot be easily estimated. preparing the program a good method of preparing the program is to bring before the class who has been decided upon to render the festival the fact that this grade has been appointed to do this bit of patriotic service. tell them about the festival, its simple aims; about the historic material on which the day is founded. have the pupils write their ideas about developing the program. these may be discussed, and the best suggestions can be used about which to form an outline. this is admirable training for the pupils. not infrequently surprises occur; unsuspected talents are discovered; and often the children who have appeared as dullards in them regular school subjects will take an interest which will lead to salutary results. many times children will enjoy working on such plans and develop a new interest in their studies. the children should also be asked for suggestions as to developing the stage scenery, costumes, etc. frequently their suggestions, with slight modifications, have an effectiveness beyond the reach of the teacher. of course we as teachers must be satisfied with rather crude suggestions, and work up to a satisfactory result. the stage setting should always be simple, but suggestive. often a play-festival may be rendered with little or no scenery. in fact, most of our present school programs are given without even a semblance of scenery or decorations. some simple stage setting, scenery, or decorations will add wonderfully to the effect of your program, and this will be found easy to accomplish. this is particularly true of the thanksgiving day program. in the rural districts, especially, can be found the proper materials for this day. such things as cornstalks, pumpkins, apples, fruits, cereals, and vegetables of many kinds will meet your needs. whatever is good for a harvest home celebration may be used to celebrate thanksgiving. it is desirable, also, to have simple costumes. the teacher should not be burdened with the making of the costumes. arouse the interest of your class, and they will take home this interest. the result will be that the teacher will get more than he had hoped or suggested. the work of preparing the music should be done during the period of the day when singing is usually done. the music is very valuable. the whole school appreciates music and singing. it is the one unifying influence within the reach of the school. if all the various classes are used to promote the play-festival a practical correlation of the work of the school may be profitably accomplished. the program below is submitted a type program for the thanksgiving day festival. this is suitable for fifth and sixth grade pupils. this type of program may be easily changed so that it may be rendered by pupils of the first grade or by students of the high school. care should always be exercised that the plan of the program is easily understood by the class who renders it. scenes should be molded to meet the needs and capacities of the grade that is to perform. the dialog or monolog should also be adapted to the ages of the pupils who are to do the acting. below will be found a list of scenes which by thoughtful manipulation may be made to fall within the command of pupils from the kindergarten to the high school. the bibliography given will furnish much information. thanksgiving exercises _in charge of grade vi_ theme: the harvest =song=--"america," by the school =prayer= =reading=--"george washington's thanksgiving proclamation of 1795" =song=--"harvest home," by the school =act i.= getting ready for seed time _scene i._ indians showing the pilgrims how to plant corn _scene ii._ resting (a camp scene) song--"thanksgiving day," by the school recitation--"thanksgiving," by a pupil =act ii.= a corn husking bee (place, a new england barn) _scene i._ husking corn _scene ii._ the frolic _scene iii._ going home song--"star spangled banner," by the school the following scenes may be made appropriate for the different grades by changing the quality and quantity of the scenery. pantomimes are especially to be recommended for use in our school programs. many of these scenes will lend themselves to this purpose. hints for the preparation of these scenes may be gained from the great paintings or their reproductions. autumn memories the pilgrims an indian camp an indian village miles standish and his warriors the pilgrim's town meeting the pilgrims going to church the pilgrims hunting the pilgrims fishing the husking bee the dying year thanksgiving at home the harvest home (old english) the country dance the love scene of priscilla and john alden miles standish's home many indian scenes from hiawatha many harvest home scenes bibliography see bibliography at end of monograph. lincoln's birthday february 12 again thy birthday dawns, o man beloved, dawns on the land thy blood was shed to save, and hearts of millions, by one impulse moved, bow and fresh laurels lay upon thy grave. _ida vose woodbury_ lincoln's birthday charles a. philhower, supervising principal, westfield the observance of lincoln's birthday as a national holiday has grown steadily until twenty-four states have designated it by statute as a holiday. the great emancipator is today our foremost national hero. his most unusual career from the log cabin to the white house sets ambition and hope of attainment before the most lowly and the most favorably environed alike. there are many salient reasons why the boys and girls of our schools should study the life of this great hero. he established once and for all time the now inalienable right of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness to all mankind. early in life he was dubbed by his friends and neighbors with the enviable title of "honest abe." on the frontier we find him inuring himself to toil. he was thoroughly acquainted with that slogan always necessary to success, "hard work." his life was pure, untainted with the vices which spring from luxury, the lust for gain, the greed for fame. simple in living, steadfast in purpose, kindly in spirit, he towered among his fellows, exemplary of that manhood toward which all boys who would be of worth to mankind should aspire. at the present time it is especially opportune that lincoln's birthday be celebrated most impressively. the freedom for which we have just been fighting is a greater freedom than that of '61. that was for the freedom of the slave, this for a greater freedom of men already free; that was freedom for a part of mankind, this a freedom for all, for the democracy of the world. the principles for which he stood are the principles for which we must ever stand, but the application of those principles is limitless in its scope. it is for us to see that those who have sacrificed their lives in this great cause shall not have died in vain. it is for the boys and girls in our schools today to carry to a successful issue this great project of making the world safe for democracy and democracy safe for the world, and no small part of this work lies on our shoulders as teachers of boys and girls who will be citizens tomorrow. the law requires that on the last school day preceding lincoln's birthday appropriate exercises be held for the development of a high spirit of patriotism. the whole day should center around the life of lincoln. for the afternoon a special program should be prepared and the parents of the school children invited by special letters written by the pupils of the school. the pupils of each school should assist in working out the program. in some schools, in the upper grades the pupils should be held responsible for much of the work in program making. each teacher and principal should arrange the work of the day and the special program to one end, that of utilizing the great spirit and profound wisdom of a wonderful man to the establishment of a greater patriotism and the working out of the national problems before us. the following general suggestions indicate the important factors to be considered in making a lincoln program. point out the significance of the flag salute analyze the pledge sing patriotic songs the songs of today the songs of the past study lincoln's boyhood. his career from the log cabin to the white house is phenomenal lincoln the lawyer and politician emphasize the work and honesty in the life of abraham lincoln president of the united states and statesman. his great speeches read, study and memorize the gettysburg speech. each child should have a copy learn quotations, and know their meaning and application collect a number of pictures of lincoln call special attention to the best statuary gutzon borglum's lincoln before the court house in newark, new jersey, and the statue by saint gaudens in lincoln park, chicago, are the most worthy and should be particularly noted "o captain, my captain," by whitman, and "the perfect tribute," by mary shipman andrews, should be read by the teacher do not neglect the great humor in his life; children enjoy a joke pupils will enjoy writing acrostics on the name of lincoln the lincoln highway and the national lincoln memorial are recent monuments to the honor of this great man let the decorations of the room be in keeping with the celebration lincoln posters may be made in the drawing class the younger pupils will be interested in collecting the stamps with lincoln's picture civil war veterans, civil war pictures, civil war newspapers, civil war correspondence, will make vital contributions in vivifying the life of lincoln, incidents of the war, and this special observance. invite veterans to come in and make brief speeches. request pupils to bring old newspapers, old correspondence, war relics and the like with the assurance that they will be cared for and safely returned [illustration: saint gaudens' lincoln lincoln park, chicago copyright by underwood & underwood, n.y.] read letters from boys who were at the front. collect war pictures from the sunday newspapers. remember the boys from your community who went to war. contrast the present war situation and practices with those of the civil war. classroom activity of this kind may continue for the whole week. suggestions for use of the material which follows preparatory to the observance of lincoln's birthday teach carefully and thoroughly the gettysburg speech. each pupil from the fifth grade through the high school ought to know this great masterpiece. teach the occasion on which it was given, which brought forth this great production, the significance of the speech then and now, and finally have each child give it from memory. a contest in the delivery of lincoln's gettysburg speech would interest the school and the public. the winner should appear on the holiday program. the placing in schools of lincoln memorial bronze tablets containing the gettysburg speech will give special significance to the observance. this practice should be promoted. every new school should have its lincoln memorial tablet. the most interesting persons in the eyes of children are children. they are most concerned with what kind of a boy lincoln was. books such as "life of abraham lincoln for boys and girls," by c. w. moores, and "the boy's life of abraham lincoln," by j. g. nicolay, should be made available. pupils should be encouraged to tell to the class what they have found of interest in the accounts of his boyhood. incidents of his honesty, his desire for learning, and habit of hard work, will be brought forth and no effort should be spared to emphasize these most important characteristics. strive for enthusiastic admiration, and the imitation of these most desirable qualities will follow. stories from his life, incidents in his experience, and periods in his career, such as the twenty-two years on the farm, the twenty-seven years in intellectual pursuits, and the seven years in national service, will give profitable material for work in english. oral and written reproductions should be taught for some time before the holiday observance and the best of these used on this occasion. mr. judd stewart's suggestions (given on another page) respecting the study of lincoln's english are very valuable. give an exercise or two in acrostic writing with the aim of setting forth in a succinct way his admirable character and laudable accomplishments. a problem of this type appeals to children and has value in it. the humorous stories of lincoln should not be neglected. there is great need for high standards of humor, jokes and jests with boys and girls. every one should be able to tell a good story well. the humor in lincoln's life presents good material for such teaching. a study and memorizing of quotations may be begun early in the fall; in fact, such study should be pursued throughout the whole school course. if this is done many pupils will be able to give on february twelfth their choice from among lincoln's sayings with reasons for their selections and with statements respecting the source of their admiration. every pupil should have a stock of lincoln sayings at his command. these selected thoughts should be a part of the thinking of boys and girls. readings for the week preceding the holiday observance can be made from the following brief publications: "lincoln centenary ode," percy mackaye "commemorative ode," james russell lowell "abraham lincoln," carl schurz "abraham lincoln," george bancroft "the perfect tribute," mary shipman andrews the selections should be read in their entirety, in most cases by the teacher to the class. if there is a pupil who is a very good reader, such a pupil may do it effectively. each school library ought to have a good selection of lincolnia from which the pupils could draw books for outside reading. books such as these should be read by the class supplemental to the study of the civil war period. a good teacher is able to read well "o captain, my captain," and she reads it often to her pupils. ultimately the children will get the spirit of the poem and some will be able to read it well or give it from memory. the various poems herein mentioned are worthy of similar treatment. as the gettysburg speech is studied, so should the civil war songs be studied. the "battle hymn of the republic" should be sung with all the feeling which its meaning is capable of conveying. as much should be done with "tenting on the old camp ground." the allusion here is very impressive. the sentiment is the song, the tune is a mode of expression. each school in the state should have a picture of lincoln. it should be hung by the pupils where it can be seen by the youngest as well as the oldest. a child does well in having a definite acquaintance with the rugged, kindly face of lincoln. a look at this picture should give renewed emphasis to his standards of living and the great principles which he established. not long since a teacher said to me, "when i have a case of discipline where the pupil has difficulty in getting the right point of view i often say to the boy, especially if he be of the upper grades, 'go out into the hall and look for a few minutes at the fatherly face of the great lincoln and then come back to me and tell me what you think he would say in this case.'" such procedure is extremely effective, particularly when the pupil is acquainted with lincoln's sayings and the great principles for which he stood. marshall's "lincoln" is a fine portrait for schools. the decoration of the classroom will present demands for drawing and handwork activities such as picture frames, draperies, red, white and blue chains, and flag decorations. much can be done in the making of posters with water colors and crayons, in the artistic ornamentation of lincoln picture mounts on drawing paper, and in the lettering and decoration of lincoln acrostics. the use of lincoln picture cutouts; the drawing or painting of flags, the state seal and shields, the american eagle; perspective drawings of the log cabin, the white house and the capitol are suggested activities. postage stamps containing lincoln's picture may be used in connection with handwork and drawing activities. booklets for acrostics, anecdotes, quotations, brief biography or history incidents, with appropriate cover design, initial letters and simple illustrations will afford attractive and profitable projects. many other ways and means of presenting the life of lincoln will suggest themselves to the active, thinking teacher. the whole object is to help boys and girls to know lincoln as he lived, to make his life function in making their lives better and more worth while through his great thoughts, high ideals and indefatigable spirit of work. the following programs, selections, suggestions and bibliography are intended to make available some selected material which in many cases may not be accessible. assembly program =organization of school for exercises= 1. school orchestra 2. two color bearers at each entrance to auditorium 3. one color bearer with honorary guard of two at each side of platform 4. color bearer for flag salute--center of platform =program= salute flag draped over lincoln portrait song, "america" story of lincoln's life told by pupil[d] reading "gettysburg address" by teacher solo "when the boys come home" reading civil war letter solo, "star spangled banner," school joining in chorus talk by civil war veteran chorus sung by school, "keep the home fires burning" salute formal dismissal in keeping with assembly [d] it would be well to have several pupils take part in this, each presenting a period in lincoln's life. general program for classroom place in front of the room the picture of lincoln veiled with the american flag unveil picture pupils stand in saluting posture ten seconds quote in concert, verse from ida vose woodbury's "lincoln's birthday" song, "battle hymn of the republic" brief story of life of lincoln (compare autobiography). (told by an older pupil--not longer than five minutes) at least three incidents from lincoln's life given by intermediate pupils damage to borrowed book returning of right change lincoln and the pig long walk to school wood chopping for log house lincoln and his sums illustrate on sand table lincoln's log house and the clearing of forest land recitation, "gettysburg speech" "o captain, my captain" read by teacher song, "my country 'tis of thee" salute flag and give pledge: "i pledge allegiance to my flag, and to the republic for which it stands; one nation, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all" intermediate grade program reading of acrostics, using letters of lincoln's name make lincoln booklets conversational lesson in which each child contributes what he knows or was able to find about lincoln, the teacher adding interesting items lincoln's gettysburg speech recited by one child civil war newspaper articles read patriotic songs chosen by children sung pledge--"i pledge allegiance to my flag, and to the republic for which it stands; one nation, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all" primary program picture of lincoln in front of room salute and pledge song, "america" stories about lincoln selected and read by children from books brought from home or library recitation, "a prayer for our soldiers and sailors," by oriola johnson marching and military exercises with flags lincoln's early boyhood told by pupil. a few readings of sketches written by pupils. request that each child take his composition home and read it to his parents song kindergarten observance =1. morning circle= singing tone plays about flag, etc. hail to the flag (gaynor) =2. morning talk about lincoln= get from the children what they know about lincoln. add to this until they know something of his life, laying emphasis on his kindness, obedience, thoughtfulness, bravery. hint as to how these much admired qualities may be used by little children =3. table work= gift period make soldier hats from squares of newspaper. build lincoln log house =4. games= (a) "soldier boy, where are you going?" (b) parade for lincoln's birthday choice by children of best kindergarten soldiers to carry the flags in parade; use drum =5. table work= occupation period make crayoneine frame around picture of lincoln take picture home =6. sing "america," at least one verse= gettysburg speech four score and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this continent a new nation, conceived in liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal. now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure. we are met on a great battle-field of that war. we have come to dedicate a portion of it as the final resting-place of those who here gave their lives that that nation might live. it is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this. but, in a larger sense, we cannot dedicate--we cannot consecrate--we cannot hallow--this ground. the brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it far above our poor power to add or detract. the world will little note nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here. it is for us, the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced. it is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us--that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion; that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain; that this nation, under god, shall have a new birth of freedom; and that the government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth. _abraham lincoln_ second inaugural address [lincoln's ideas respecting the injustice of the principles of slavery and the honesty of purpose in waging the civil war are set forth in the second inaugural speech. this passage is probably the most beautiful, the most chaste, the most profound, the grandest, ever uttered by an american.] fellow-countrymen: at this second appearing to take the oath of the presidential office, there is less occasion for an extended address than there was at the first. then a statement somewhat in detail, of a course to be pursued, seemed fitting and proper. now, at the expiration of four years, during which public declarations have been constantly called forth on every point and phase of the great contest which still absorbs the attention and engrosses the energies of the nation, little that is new could be presented. the progress of our arms, upon which all else chiefly depends, is as well known to the public as to myself; and it is, i trust, reasonably satisfactory and encouraging to all. with high hope for the future, no prediction in regard to it is ventured. on the occasion corresponding to this, four years ago, all thoughts were anxiously directed to an impending civil war. all dreaded it; all sought to avert it. while the inaugural address was being delivered from this place, devoted altogether to saving the union without war, insurgent agents were in the city seeking to destroy it without war--seeking to dissolve the union, and divide effects, by negotiation. both parties deprecated war; but one of them would make war rather than let the nation survive, and the other would accept war rather than let it perish. and the war came. the prayer of both could not be answered--those of neither have been answered fully. the almighty has his own purposes. "woe unto the world because of offenses! for it must needs be that offenses come; but woe to that man by whom the offense cometh." if we shall suppose that american slavery is one of those offenses which, in the providence of god, must needs come, but which, having continued through his appointed time, he now wills to remove, and that he gives to north and south this terrible war as the woe due to those by whom the offense came, shall we discern therein any departure from those divine attributes which the believers in a living god always ascribe to him? fondly do we hope, fervently do we pray, that this mighty scourge of war may soon pass away. yet, if god wills that it continue until all the wealth piled by the bondsman's two hundred and fifty years of unrequited toil shall be sunk, and until every drop of blood drawn by the lash shall be paid by another drawn with the sword, as was said three thousand years ago, so still it must be said, "the judgments of the lord are true and righteous altogether." with malice toward none, with charity for all, with firmness in the right, as god gives us to see the right, let us strive on to finish the work we are in; to bind up the nation's wounds; to care for him who shall have borne the battle, and for his widow and for his orphan; to do all which may achieve and cherish a just and lasting peace among ourselves, and with all nations. _abraham lincoln_ abraham lincoln's autobiography the following autobiography was written by mr. lincoln's own hand at the request j. w. fell, of springfield, illinois, december 20, 1859. in the note which accompanied it the writer says: "herewith is a little sketch, as you requested. there is not much of it, for the reason, i suppose, that there is not much of me." i was born february 12, 1809, in hardin county, kentucky. my parents were both born in virginia, of undistinguished families--second families, perhaps i should say. my mother, who died in my tenth year, was of a family of the name of hanks, some of whom now reside in adams county, and others in mason county, illinois. my paternal grand-father, abraham lincoln, emigrated from rockingham county, virginia, to kentucky, about 1781 or 1782, where, a year or two later, he was killed by indians, not in battle, but by stealth, when he was laboring to open a farm in the forest. his ancestors, who were quakers, went to virginia from berks county, pennsylvania. an effort to identify them with the new england family of the same name ended in nothing more definite than a similarity of christian names in both families, such as enoch, levi, mordecai, solomon, abraham, and the like. my father, at the death of his father, was but six years of age, and grew up literally without any education. he removed from kentucky to what is now spencer county, indiana, in my eighth year. we reached our new home about the time the state came into the union. it was a wild region, with many bears and other wild animals still in the woods. there i grew up. there were some schools, so called, but no qualification was ever required of a teacher beyond readin', writin' and cipherin' to the rule of three. if a straggler, supposed to understand latin, happened to sojourn in the neighborhood, he was looked upon as a wizard. there was absolutely nothing to excite ambition for education. of course, when i came of age i did not know much. still, somehow, i could read, write, and cipher to the rule of three, but that was all. i have not been to school since. the little advance i now have upon this store of education i have picked up from time to time under the pressure of necessity. i was raised to farm work, at which i continued till i was twenty-two. at twenty-one i came to illinois, and passed the first year in macon county. then i got to new salem, at that time in sangamon, now menard county, where i remained a year as a sort of clerk in a store. then came the black hawk war, and i was elected a captain of volunteers--a success which gave me more pleasure than any i have had since. i went into the campaign, was elected, ran for the legislature the same year (1832), and was beaten--the only time i have ever been beaten by the people. the next and three succeeding biennial elections i was elected to the legislature. i was not a candidate afterward. during the legislative period i had studied law, and removed to springfield, to practice it. in 1846 i was elected to the lower house of congress. was not a candidate for reelection. from 1849 to 1854, both inclusive, practiced law more assiduously than ever before. always a whig in politics, and generally on the whig electoral ticket, making active canvasses. i was losing interest in politics when the repeal of the missouri compromise aroused me again. what i have done since then is pretty well known. if any personal description of me is thought desirable, it may be said i am in height six feet four inches, nearly; lean in flesh, weighing, on an average, one hundred and eighty pounds; dark complexion, with coarse black hair and gray eyes--no other marks or brands recollected. the bixby letter executive mansion, washington, november 21, 1864 dear madam: i have been shown in the files of the war department a statement of the adjutant-general of massachusetts, that you are the mother of five sons who have died gloriously on the field of battle. i feel how weak and fruitless must be any words of mine which should attempt to beguile you from the grief of a loss so overwhelming. but i cannot refrain from tendering to you the consolation that may be found in the thanks of the republic they have died to save. i pray that our heavenly father may assuage the anguish of your bereavement, and leave you only the cherished memory of the loved and lost, and the solemn pride that must be yours to have laid so costly a sacrifice upon the altar of freedom. yours, very sincerely and respectfully abraham lincoln to mrs. bixby boston, massachusetts sayings from lincoln's speeches let us have faith that right makes might; and in that faith let us, to the end, dare to do our duty as we understand it. i intend no modification of my oft-expressed wish that all men everywhere should be free. a house divided against itself cannot stand. i believe this government cannot endure permanently half slave and half free. i take the official oath today with no mental reservation and with no purpose to construe the constitution by any hypercritical rules. you can have no oath registered in heaven to destroy the government; while i shall have the most solemn one to "preserve, protect and defend" it. the mystic chords of memory stretching from every battle-field and patriot grave to every living heart and hearthstone all over this broad land, will yet swell the chorus of union, when again touched, as surely they will be, by the better angels of our nature. in giving freedom to the slaves we assure freedom to the free--honorable alike in what we give and what we preserve. do not swap horses in the middle of the stream. you can fool part of the people all of the time, and all of the people part of the time; but you cannot fool all of the people all of the time. i do not think much of a man who is not wiser today than he was yesterday. the leading rule for the man of every calling is diligence; never put off until tomorrow what you can do today. i never let an idea escape, but write it on a piece of paper and put it in a drawer. in this way i sometimes save my best thoughts on a subject. wealth is a superfluity of what we do not need. come what will, i will keep faith with friend and foe. faith in god is indispensable to successful statesmanship. god bless my mother; all i am or hope to be i owe to her. i will study and get ready and maybe my chance will come. be sure you put your feet in the right place and then stand firm. and having thus chosen our course, without guile and with pure purpose, let us renew our trust in god, and go forward without fear and with manly hearts. nothing valuable can be lost by taking time. it is all in that one word--thorough. let us strive on to finish the work we are in. when you can't remove an obstacle plow around it. the way for a young man to rise is to improve every way he can, never suspecting that anybody wishes to hinder him. to add brightness to the sun or glory to the name of washington is alike impossible. let none attempt it. in solemn awe pronounce the name and in its naked deathless splendor leave it shining on. o captain! my captain! o captain! my captain! our fearful trip is done; the ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought is won; the port is near, the bells i hear, the people all exulting, while follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring. but o heart! heart! heart! o the bleeding drops of red, where on the deck my captain lies, fallen cold and dead. o captain! my captain! rise up and hear the bells; rise up--for you the flag is flung--for you the bugle trills; for you bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths--for you the shores a-crowding; for you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning. here, captain! dear father! this arm beneath your head! it is some dream that on the deck, you've fallen cold and dead. my captain does not answer; his lips are pale and still; my father does not feel my arm; he has no pulse nor will. the ship is anchor'd safe and sound, its voyage closed and done; from fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won. exult, o shores, and ring, o bells! but i with mournful tread, walk the deck my captain lies, fallen cold and dead. _walt whitman_ the unfinished work the crowd was gone, and to the side of borglum's lincoln, deep in awe, i crept. it seemed a mighty tide within those aching eyes i saw. "great heart," i said, "why grieve alway? the battle's ended, and the shout shall ring forever and a day- why sorrow yet, or darkly doubt?" "freedom," i plead, "so nobly won for all mankind, and equal right, shall with the ages travel on till time shall cease, and day be night." no answer--then; but up the slope with broken gait, and hands in clench, a toiler came, bereft of hope, and sank beside him on the bench. _joseph fulford folsom_ acrostic (written by a fifth grade child) l is for lincoln, brave and true i is for the iron nerve which helped him through n is for nation whose tongue sings his praise c is for colors on his birthday we raise o is for oration or speech he gave l is for liberty given the slave n is his name which ever we'll save [illustration: statue of lincoln by gutzon borglum in front of court house, newark] the boy that hungered for knowledge in his eagerness to acquire knowledge, young lincoln had borrowed of mr. crawford, a neighboring farmer, a copy of weems' life of washington--the only one known to be in existence in that section of the country. before he had finished reading the book, it had been left, by a not unnatural oversight, in a window. meantime, a rain storm came on, and the book was so thoroughly wet as to make it nearly worthless. this mishap caused him much pain; but he went, in all honesty, to mr. crawford with the ruined book, explained the calamity that had happened through his neglect, and offered, not having sufficient money, to "work out" the value of the book. "well, abe," said mr. crawford, after due deliberation, "as it's you, i won't be hard on you. just come over and pull fodder for me for two days, and we will call our accounts even." the offer was readily accepted, and the engagement literally fulfilled. as a boy, no less than since, abraham lincoln had an honorable conscientiousness, integrity, industry, and an ardent love of knowledge. abe lincoln's honesty lincoln could not rest for an instant under the consciousness that he had, even unwittingly, defrauded anybody. on one occasion, while clerking in offutt's store, at new salem, illinois, he sold a woman a little bill of goods, amounting in value by the reckoning, to two dollars six and a quarter cents. he received the money, and the woman went away. on adding the items of the bill again, to make sure of its correctness, he found that, he had taken six and a quarter cents too much. it was night and closing and locking the store, he started out on foot, a distance of two or three miles, for the house of his defrauded customer, and, delivering over to her the sum whose possession had so much troubled him, went home satisfied. on another occasion, just as he was closing the store for the night, a woman entered, and asked for a half pound of tea. the tea was weighed out and paid for, and the store was left for the night. the next morning, lincoln entered to begin the duties of the day, when he discovered a four-ounce weight on the scales. he saw at once that he had made a mistake, and, shutting the store, he took a long walk before breakfast to deliver the remainder of the tea. these are very humble incidents, but they illustrate the man's perfect conscientiousness--his sensitive honesty--better perhaps than they would if they were of greater moment. young lincoln's kindness of heart an instance of young lincoln's practical humanity at an early period of his life is recorded, as follows: one evening, while returning from a "raising" in his wide neighborhood, with a number of companions, he discovered a straying horse, with saddle and bridle upon him. the horse was recognized as belonging to a man who was accustomed to excess in drink, and it was suspected at once that the owner was not far off. a short search only was necessary to confirm the suspicions of the young men. the poor drunkard was found in a perfectly helpless condition, upon the chilly ground. abraham's companions urged the cowardly policy of leaving him to his fate, but young lincoln would not hear to the proposition. at his request, the miserable sot was lifted to his shoulders, and he actually carried him eighty rods to the nearest house. sending word to his father that he should not be back that night, with the reason for his absence, he attended and nursed the man until the morning, and had the pleasure of believing that he had saved his life. a bit of humor from the busy life of lincoln two persons who had been arguing with each other how long a man's legs should be in proportion to his body, stepped into lincoln's office and asked him to settle the dispute. to them he replied: "after much thought and consideration, not to mention mental worry and anxiety, it is my opinion, all side issues being swept aside, that a man's lower limbs, in order to preserve harmony of proportion, should be at least long enough to reach from his body to the ground." how lincoln and judge b. ... swapped horses when abraham lincoln was a lawyer in illinois, he and a certain judge once got to bantering each other about trading horses, and it was agreed that the next morning at nine o'clock they should make a trade, the horses to be unseen up to that hour, and no backing out, under a forfeiture of $25. at the hour appointed the judge came up, leading the sorriest-looking specimen of a horse ever seen in those parts. in a few minutes mr. lincoln was seen approaching with a wooden sawhorse upon his shoulders. great were the shouts and the laughter of the crowd, and both were greatly increased when mr. lincoln, on surveying the judge's animal, set down his sawhorse, and exclaimed: "well, judge, this is the first time i ever got the worst of it in a horse trade." the following paragraphs are quoted from a small pamphlet of mr. judd stewart of plainfield, new jersey, entitled "suggestions for a text book for students of english." mr. stewart is a profound student of lincoln, and without doubt has the largest private collection of lincolnia in the united states. it was recently suggested to me by a lieutenant in the navy, a graduate of annapolis, that in teaching english the writings and speeches of lincoln would be a very proper text-book. this appeals to me most forcefully because all school children know who lincoln was, know something of his gettysburg address, know him as the emancipator of the slaves and probably a majority of them admire him. therefore, it seems to me that a text-book based upon, or rather made up from lincoln's speeches and letters would be of great interest to the majority of children, and by having such a text-book they would learn history and good expressive english at the same time and in a most interesting way. the suggested text-book would consist of: the house divided against itself speech, in 1858; the first debate with douglas speech in 1858; the cooper institute speech, 1860; the first inaugural, 1861; the first message to congress, 1861; the emancipation proclamation, 1863; the gettysburg address, 1863; the letter to mrs. bixby, 1864; the second inaugural, 1865. lincoln spent 49 years of his life in preparation, six years in the accomplishment of his work. the study of his life is commended and commends itself to all thinking people. why should we not teach his thoughts, his modes of speech, his simplicity of expression to those who with their children and descendants for ages will remember abraham lincoln, the emancipator, the martyr, the greatest american? attention should be given to the great statue of lincoln before the court house in newark, new jersey. it presents our most admired statesman seated on a bench absorbed in thought. the statue is a wonderful work of art. from every angle it is unique, beautiful, and a masterpiece. at all times of day passersby may see the children of the city sitting in his arm, lovingly admiring the fatherly face. on his knees and on the bench they gather, children of all races, rejoicing in the freedom which he gave to mankind. the statue was conceived and made by the sculptor gutzon borglum, for amos h. vanhorn, the donor. it was presented to the lincoln post on may 30, 1911, by chancellor mahlon pitney. colonel theodore roosevelt received it in behalf of the post, and mayor husaling made the speech of acceptance. pass on, thou that hast overcome. your sorrows, o people, are his peace. your bells and bands and muffled drums sound triumph in his ear. wail and weep here; god made it echo joy and triumph there. pass on. four years ago, o illinois, we took from your midst an untried man, and from amongst the people. we return him to you a mighty conqueror. not thine any more, but the nation's; not ours, but the world's. give him place, o ye prairies. in the midst of this great continent his dust shall rest, a sacred treasure to myriads who shall pilgrim to that shrine to kindle anew their zeal and patriotism. ye winds that move over the mighty places of the west, chant his requiem. ye people, behold a martyr whose blood as so many articulate words, pleads for fidelity, for law, for liberty. _henry ward beecher_ bibliography see bibliography at end of monograph. washington's birthday february 22 it was almost unconsciously that men learned to cling to washington with a trust and faith such as few other men have won, and to regard him with a reverence which still hushes us in presence of his memory. _green_ washington's birthday henry w. foster, supervising principal, south orange february is the greatest month for the teaching of patriotism. the national heroes, washington and lincoln, whose birthdays we celebrate, give distinction to two of its days. the time falls happily in midyear, when pupils and teachers alike need inspiration for a new period of sustained effort requiring determination and vigor. it has been shown very clearly that through its schools a nation can be trained in ideals which will govern national life and conduct. neither washington nor lincoln, however, owed his heroic quality to schools; but they did owe it to the very same ideals for which our schools stand. indeed, their greatest service to mankind is the fact that they incarnated those ideals. it is not so easy to venerate abstract principles and to submit one's life to them as it is to imitate great personalities whose deeds have embodied those principles. because we love our national heroes and venerate them personally, they still live and work through us. the principles of democracy are established eternally in their deeds and in ours. the child who writes an appreciation of washington, or recites from his addresses, or renders a poem commemorating him, or dramatizes something from his life, enters into his spirit, and in the child washington lives again. the declaration of independence asserts the lofty principle of equality in liberty. all men are created free, and equal in the right to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. it is a declaration of rights, not of duties. each person has a right to _his_ life, _his_ liberty, the pursuit of _his_ happiness. the deeds of washington embodied not only these principles, but emphasized the duty of service. in our time our country has fully justified a new statement of political faith, which washington lived. all men are born equal in the right to opportunity--each to make the best of himself--so that he may render the best service. think not of the reward! on the whole, service is requited according to its worth. too many want to do what they can't do, and won't do what they can do! it may be pride, or it may be looking for an undeserved reward. the school should train for service, and teach self-respect in doing the best that one can in the thing for which he is best fitted. washington sought no reward; but he commands the undying veneration, not only of his countrymen, but of all mankind. speaking of the retirement of washington, at a time when party spirit against the policy of the great founder and preserver of the republic was calculated to arouse bitterness in a less noble man, knight, in his "history of england," says: "had his nature been different, had his ambition been less under the control of his virtue, he might have taken up his sword and, sweeping away his enemy, have raised himself to supreme power upon the ruins of his country's liberty. he retired to his estate at mount vernon to pass the rest of his days as a private citizen.... washington's scheme of glory was realized. he had been a ruler of free men, ruling by the power of law. he laid down his authority when he had done the work to which he was called, most happy in this, that ambitions of a selfish order could never be justified by his example." washington's point of view as a ruler of men was unique at that period in the world's history. we need to teach from the life of washington that same respect for english ideals of government which he maintained and defended, even by revolting against the english king. too many of our people have grown up in hatred of england, through the story of the revolution and the war of 1812, and the unfortunate attitude of aristocratic england in our civil war. how does england, the heart and brain of england, regard us? if we know that she sympathizes with our ideals and her heart has been with us all the time, shall we not feel safe with her, and find in englishmen brothers with whom we may work for the good of the world? english historians have an appreciation of washington which we cannot surpass. writing english history for the instruction of english boys and girls, and men and women, they justify our revolution and laud our national hero as a world hero. no american orator has ever magnified washington in more laudatory terms than are to be found in green's "history of england." green says: "washington more than any of his fellow colonists represented the clinging of the virginia land owner to the mother country, and his acceptance of the command proved that even the most moderate of them had no hope now save in arms." [illustration: stuart's washington copyright by underwood & underwood, n. y.] for the future we shall need a better understanding of our english brothers. this cannot better be attained than by knowing well that our ideals are held in the same regard by them as by ourselves. there was one man who was the chief instrument in the hands of providence for conducting the war, by his energy, prudence, and constancy, to that triumphant assertion of independence which has built up the great north american republic. to washington the historian naturally turns, as to the grandest object of contemplation, when he laid aside his victorious sword--that sword which, with those he had worn in his earlier career, he bequeathed to his nephews with words characteristic of his nobleness: "these swords are accompanied with an injunction not to unsheathe them for the purpose of shedding blood, except it be for self-defence, or in defence of their country and its rights, and in the latter case to keep them unsheathed, and prefer falling with them in their hands to the relinquishment thereof." the united colonies in america had such a man as washington to control the destinies of our country in the making. the new nation had such a man for a leader during the early years of trial and promise. the nation today has the records, accomplishments and deeds of the national hero, washington, to ever honor, venerate and imitate. the school children of the great state of new jersey should be happy to learn from the life of this great man lessons of service, respect for law and order, truthfulness and patriotism. quotations according to captain mercer, the following describes washington when he took his seat in the house of burgesses in 1759: "he is as straight as an indian, measuring six feet two inches in his stockings, and weighing one hundred and seventy-five pounds. his head is well shaped, though not large, and is gracefully poised on a superb neck, with a large, and straight rather than prominent nose; blue-gray penetrating eyes, which are widely separated and overhung by heavy brows. a pleasing, benevolent, though commanding countenance, dark-brown hair, features regular and placid, with all the muscles under control, with a large mouth, generally firmly closed." houdon's bust accords with this description. * * * * * to the man of all men for whom his manly heart felt most tenderness, to lafayette, it is that he wrote the beautiful letter of february 1, 1784, unaware that his rest was only temporary, and that he was to become the first president of the country he had given life to: "at length, my dear marquis, i am become a private citizen on the banks of the potomac, and under the shadow of my own vine and my own fig-tree, free from the bustle of a camp and the busy scenes of public life, i am solacing myself with those tranquil enjoyments of which the soldier who is ever in pursuit of fame, the statesman whose watchful days and sleepless nights are spent in devising schemes to promote the welfare of his own, perhaps the ruin of other countries, as if the globe was insufficient for us all ... can have very little conception. i have not only retired from all public employments, but i am retiring within myself, and shall be able to view the solitary walk of private life with heart-felt satisfaction. envious of none, i am determined to be pleased with all; and this, my dear friend, being the order for my march, i will move gently down the stream of life until i sleep with my fathers." _j. j. jusserand_ among these men whose union in purpose and action made the strength and stability of the republic, washington was first, not only in the largeness of his nature, the loftiness of his desires, and the vigor of his will, but also in that representative quality which makes a man able to stand as the true hero of a great people. he had an instinctive power to divine, amid the confusions of rival interests and the cries of factional strife, the new aims and hopes, the vital needs and aspirations, which were the common inspiration of the people's cause and the creative forces of the american nation. the power to understand this, the faith to believe in it, and the unselfish courage to live for it, was the central factor of washington's life, the heart and fountain of his splendid americanism. _henry van dyke_ "how did george washington look?" asked nell; "what was he like? won't you please to tell?" thus i answered: "a courtly man, wearing his honors as heroes can. erect and tall, with his six feet two; knee-breeches, buckles, frills and queue; powdered brown hair; blue eyes, far apart; strong-limbed and fearless, with gentle heart; gracious in manner toward every one- such, my nellie, was washington." washington one day came across a small band of soldiers working very hard at raising some military works, under command of a pompous little officer, who was issuing his orders in a peremptory style indeed. washington, seeing the very arduous task of the men, dismounted from his horse, lent a helping hand, perspiring freely, till the weight at which they were working was raised. then, turning to the officer, he inquired why he, too, had not helped, and received the indignant reply: "don't you know i'm the corporal?" "ah, well," said washington, "next time your men are raising so heavy a weight, send for your commander-in-chief." and he strode off, leaving the corporal dumbfounded. an american sailor landing in england shortly after the close of the war of the revolution took a first-class seat in a stage coach, but was told to get out, as such seats were reserved for gentlemen. "i am a gentleman," said the sailor. "who made gentlemen out of fellows like you?" asked the coach guard. "george washington," said the sailor; and he kept his seat. * * * * * no nobler figure ever stood in the forefront of a nation's life. washington was grave and courteous in address; his manners were simple and unpretending, his silence and the serene calmness of his temper spoke of a perfect self-mastery; but there was little in his outer bearing to reveal the grandeur of soul which lifts his figure, with all the simple majesty of an ancient statue, out of the smaller passions, the meaner impulses of the world around him. what recommended him for command was simply his weight among his fellow landowners of virginia, and the experience of war which he had gained by service in border contests with the french and the indians, as well as in braddock's luckless expedition against fort duquesne. it was only as the weary fight went on that the colonists learned little by little the greatness of their leader, his clear judgment, his heroic endurance, his silence under difficulties, his calmness in the hour of danger or defeat, the patience with which he waited, the quickness and hardness with which he struck, the lofty and serene sense of duty that never swerved from its task through resentment or jealousy, that never through war or peace felt the touch of a meaner ambition, that knew no aim save that of guarding the freedom of his fellow countrymen, and no personal longing save that of returning to his own fireside when their freedom was secured. it was almost unconsciously that men learned to cling to washington with a trust and faith such as few other men have won, and to regard him with a reverence which still hushes us in presence of his memory. even america hardly recognized his real greatness till death set its seal on "the man first in war, first in peace, and first in the hearts of his fellow countrymen." _j. r. green_ washington is the mightiest name on earth, long since mightiest in the cause of civil liberty, still mightiest in moral reformation. on that name a eulogy is expected. it cannot be. to add brightness to the sun or glory to the name of washington is alike impossible. let none attempt it. in solemn awe pronounce the name, and in its naked, deathless splendor leave it shining on. _abraham lincoln_ life of washington[e] [e] reprinted by permission from "the book of holidays," by j. w. mcspadden. copyright 1917 by thomas y. crowell company. the story of george washington's life has been often told, but it is worth repeating. it was an active, busy life from his earliest days, beginning as it did away back in colonial times when the country was wild and unsettled. washington was born in westmoreland county, virginia, in 1732. there is no reliable record of his early education, but it has been supposed that the first school he ever attended was a little old field school kept by one of his father's tenants, named hobby, who was both sexton and schoolmaster. even at this early age george was fond of playing at war. he used to divide his playmates into parties and armies. one of them was called the french and the other american. a big boy named william bustle commanded the french, and george commanded the americans. every day, with cornstalks for muskets and gourds for drums, the two armies would turn out and march and fight. george was not remarkable as a scholar, but he had a liking for mathematics. he was of a more serious turn of mind than most boys of his age. his last two years at school were devoted to engineering, geometry, trigonometry, and surveying, and at sixteen years of age he was appointed a public surveyor. his new employment brought him a handsome salary, and well it might; for it took him into the perils and hardships of the wilderness, often meeting savage chieftains, or fording swollen streams, climbing rugged mountains, breasting furious storms, wading through snowdrifts, sleeping in the open air, and living upon the coarse food of hunters and of indians. but everywhere he gained the admiration of the backwoodsmen and the indians by his manly bearing and his wonderful endurance. in the year 1751 the frontiers of the colony of virginia were constantly being attacked by the french and the indians, so it was decided to divide the colony into military districts under a major; and when he was but nineteen, george washington received one of these appointments. two years later he was sent to the french, who were becoming threatening, to find out their intentions and to warn them against invading virginian territory. this important mission made it necessary for him to journey six hundred miles through the wilderness; but he carried out his instructions successfully, and traveled the whole distance without an escort.... in 1755 george washington served under the british officer, general braddock, showing great bravery under fire at the battle of monongahela, against the french and indians, which would probably not have been lost if the general had taken washington's advice. in 1759 washington married a widow named martha custis, with two children, john and martha parke custis. he was a great favorite with the two youngsters, and used to order toys, dolls, and gingerbreads for them from london. mrs. custis had a large estate and so had washington, and the management cf them took up all of his time. when the disputes between england and the american colonies were at their height, in 1774, he became a member of the first continental congress, and the following year was chosen by that body commander-in-chief of the continental army. for this position his training and his surveying experiences had thoroughly fitted him. he took command of the troops at cambridge, massachusetts, on july 3, 1775; but it was a poor army that he found under him. it was in want of arms, ammunition, and general equipment. washington, however, kept it together with patience and skill during the trying years of the revolution. the war lasted six years and ended with the surrender of the british commander, cornwallis, at yorktown, virginia, in 1781. during all this time washington had had to contend with the greatest difficulties. the troops were poorly paid or equipped; often there were disputes among the officers, and congress did not know the army's needs; but the general always kept the confidence of his men until victory was assured.... in 1783 washington bade farewell to his army, and for the next six years lived the simple life of a country gentleman on his estate at mount vernon, attending to the affairs of his homestead and property. in 1789 he was again called from private life, to become first president of the united states. congress was sitting at new york, for which city he started, in april. he disliked fuss and ceremony, but the people could not be restrained from showing their love and admiration. his progress through new jersey was amid constant cheering, ringing of bells, and the booming of cannon. at elizabethtown he embarked on a splendid barge, followed by other barges and boats, making a long water procession up the bay of new york, the ships in the harbor being decorated with colors, and firing salutes as it passed. the inauguration took place on april 30, 1789, at the old city hall, in wall street, broad street being crowded with thousands of people as far as the eye could reach. in 1793, he was re-elected for a second term of four years, after which he bade farewell to the people and retired into private life. on the 12th of december, 1799, he caught a severe cold in making the round of his plantations and died two days later, in his sixty-eighth year. in number of years he had not lived a long life, but how much was crowded into it! most of the portraits of washington show him as a serious-looking gentleman in a wig, and the earliest biographies of him would lead us to believe that he was always on his dignity. but our first president was, in fact, a very genial man, with a hearty laugh, who enjoyed going to the theater, was fond of fox-hunting and was a thorough sportsman, and, as he himself admitted, had a hot temper. towards young people and children he was always very gracious and kind.... like lincoln, washington was very athletic. both of our two great presidents were tall men: washington was six feet two inches; lincoln was six feet four. when he first visited the natural bridge, in virginia, washington threw a stone to the top, a distance of about two hundred feet, and, climbing the rocks, carved his name far above all others.... in all the positions which he was called upon to fill, in his remarkable life, whether as host at his home, as surveyor, as general, or as president, washington showed the same desire to give the best that was in him for his people, his country, and for humanity at large. he endeared himself to the lowly and he gained the admiration of the great. he was never influenced by mean motives, and those who were under him loved him. thus it was that among americans he came to be regarded as "first in war, first in peace, first in the hearts of his countrymen;" and when his death became known on the other side of the atlantic ocean, the armies of napoleon in france, and the fleet of great britain, his former enemy, did homage to his memory. washington's birthday was celebrated even during his lifetime, and he had the satisfaction of receiving the congratulations of his fellow-citizens many times upon the return of this day, frequently being a guest at banquets given in honor of the occasion. in fact, after the revolution, washington's birthday practically took the place of the birthday of the various crowned heads of great britain, which had always been celebrated with enthusiasm during colonial times. when independence was established, all these royal birthdays were cast aside, and the birthday of washington naturally became one of the most widely celebrated of american holidays.... let us not forget what we owe to washington, or make him merely a name--an excuse for a holiday. let us remember him as a real, flesh and blood man--one of the greatest known to history. he gave us a nation to make it immortal; he laid down for freedom the sword that he drew; and his faith leads us on through the uplifting portal of the glories of peace and our destinies new. _j. walker mcspadden_ selections from the rules of civility (_copied by washington at the age of fourteen from an old translation of a french book of 1595._) show not yourself glad at the misfortune of another, though he were your enemy. when you see a crime punished you may be inwardly pleased; but always show pity to the suffering offender. superfluous compliments and all affectation of ceremony are to be avoided; yet, where due, they are not to be neglected. when a man does all he can, though it succeed not well, blame not him that did it. be not hasty to believe flying reports to the disparagement of any. in your apparel be modest, and endeavor to accommodate nature, rather than to procure admiration; keep to the fashion of your equals. associate yourself with men of good quality, if you esteem your own reputation; for 'tis better to be alone than in bad company. speak not injurious words neither in jest nor in earnest; scoff at none, although they give occasion. gaze not at the marks or blemishes of others, and ask not how they came. what you may speak in secret to your friend, deliver not before others. nothing but harmony, honest industry, and frugality are necessary to make us a great people. first impressions are generally the most lasting. it is therefore absolutely necessary, if you mean to make any figure upon the stage, that you should take the first steps right. there is a destiny which has the control of our actions not to be resisted by the strongest efforts of human nature. let your heart feel for the afflictions and distresses of everyone, and let your hand give in proportion to your purse; remembering always the widow's mite, but that it is not everyone who asketh that deserveth charity; all, however, are worthy the inquiry, or the deserving may suffer. i consider storms and victory under the direction of a wise providence, who no doubt directs them for the best purposes, and to bring round the greatest degree of happiness to the greatest number. happiness depends more upon the internal frame of a person's mind, than on the externals in the world. to constitute a dispute there must be two parties. to understand it well, both parties and all the circumstances must be fully heard; and to accommodate differences, temper and mutual forbearance are requisite. idleness is disreputable under any circumstances; productive of no good, even when unaccompanied by vicious habits. it is not uncommon in prosperous gales to forget that adverse winds blow. economy in all things is as commendable in the manager, as it is beneficial and desirable to the employer. it is unfortunate when men cannot or will not see danger at a distance; or seeing it, are undetermined in the means which are necessary to avert or keep it afar off. every man who is in the vigor of life ought to serve his country in whatever line it requires, and he is fit for. rise early, that by habit it may become familiar, agreeable, healthy, and profitable. it may, for a while, be irksome to do this, but that will wear off; and the practice will produce a rich harvest forever thereafter, whether in public or in private walks of life. said by washington to be prepared for war is one of the most effectual means of preserving peace. there is a rank due to the united states among nations which will be withheld, if not absolutely lost, by the reputation of weakness. the propitious smiles of heaven can never be expected on a nation that disregards the eternal rules of order and right which heaven itself has ordained. the very idea of the power and right of the people to establish government presupposes the duty of every individual to obey the established government. if there was the same propensity in mankind for investigating the motives, as there is for censuring the conduct, of public characters, it would be found that the censure so freely bestowed is oftentimes unmerited and uncharitable. where is the man to be found who wishes to remain indebted for the defense of his own person and property to the exertions, the bravery, and the blood of others, without making one generous effort to repay the debt of honor and gratitude? there is no truth more thoroughly established than that there exists in the economy and course of nature an indissoluble union between virtue and happiness, between duty and advantage, between the genuine maxims of an honest and magnanimous policy and the solid rewards of public prosperity and felicity. against the insidious wiles of foreign influence the jealousy of a free people ought to be constantly awake. the name american must always exalt the just pride of patriotism. to the efficacy and permanency of your union a government for the whole is indispensable. every attempt to alienate any portion of our country from the rest should be indignantly frowned upon. let us impart all the blessings we possess, or ask for ourselves, to the whole family of mankind. let us erect a standard to which the wise and honest may repair. 'tis substantially true that virtue or morality is a necessary spring of popular government. it is incumbent upon every person of every description to contribute to his country's welfare. it would be repugnant to the vital principles of our government virtually to exclude from public trusts, talents and virtue, unless accompanied by wealth. give such encouragements to our own navigation as will render our commerce less dependent on foreign bottoms. i have never made an appointment from a desire to serve a friend or relative. labor to keep alive in your breast that little spark of celestial fire, conscience. washington's farewell to the army (_dated at rocky hill, near princeton, new jersey, november 2, 1783_) it is universally acknowledged that the enlarged prospects of happiness, opened by the confirmation of our independence and sovereignty, almost exceed the power of description. and shall not the brave men who have contributed so essentially to these inestimable acquisitions, retiring victorious from the field of war to the field of agriculture, participate in all the blessings which have been obtained? in such a republic, who will exclude them from the rights of citizens and the fruits of their labor? to those hardy soldiers who are actuated by the spirit of adventure, the fisheries will afford ample and profitable employment; and the extensive and fertile regions of the west will yield a most happy asylum to those who, fond of domestic enjoyment, are seeking personal independence. little is now wanting to enable the soldier to change the military character into that of a citizen but that steady and decent behavior which has distinguished not only the army under this immediate command, but the different detachments and separate armies through the course of the war. to the various branches of the army the general takes this last and solemn opportunity of professing his inviolable attachment and friendship. he can only again offer in their behalf his recommendations to their grateful country and his prayers to the god of armies. may ample justice be done them here, and may favors, both here and hereafter, attend those who, under the divine auspices, have secured innumerable blessings for others! with these wishes and this benediction the commander-in-chief is about to retire from service. the curtain of separation will soon be drawn, and the military scene to him will be closed forever! washington's farewell address (_to the people of the united states--september 17, 1796_) friends and fellow-citizens: the period for a new election of a citizen to administer the executive government of the united states being not far distant, and the time actually arrived when your thoughts must be employed in designating the person who is to be clothed with that important trust it appears to me proper, especially as it may conduce to a more distinct expression of the public voice, that i should now apprise you of the resolution i have formed, to decline being considered among the number of those out of whom a choice is to be made.... [illustration: statue of washington at west point presented to the united states military academy by a veteran of the civil war copyright by underwood & underwood, n. y.] in looking forward to the moment which is intended to terminate the career of my public life my feelings do not permit me to suspend the deep acknowledgment of that debt of gratitude which i owe to my beloved country for the many honors it has conferred upon me; still more for the steadfast confidence with which it has supported me, and for the opportunities i have thence enjoyed of manifesting my inviolable attachment, by services faithful and persevering, though in usefulness unequal to my zeal. if benefits have resulted to our country from these services, let it always be remembered to your praise, and as an instructive example in our annals, that under circumstances in which the passions, agitated in every direction, were liable to mislead, amidst appearances sometimes dubious, vicissitudes of fortune often discouraging, in situations in which not unfrequently want of success has countenanced the spirit of criticism, the constancy of your support was the essential prop of the efforts, and a guarantee of the plans by which they were effected. profoundly penetrated with this idea, i shall carry it with me to my grave, as a strong incitement to unceasing vows that heaven may continue to you the choicest tokens of its beneficence; that your union and brotherly affection may be perpetual; that the free constitution, which is the work of your hands, may be sacredly maintained; that its administration in every department may be stamped with wisdom and virtue; that, in fine, the happiness of the people of these states, under the auspices of liberty, may be made complete, by so careful a preservation and so prudent a use of this blessing, as will acquire for them the glory of recommending it to the applause, the affection and adoption of every nation which is yet a stranger to it. here, perhaps, i ought to stop. but a solicitude for your welfare, which cannot end but with my life, and the apprehension of danger, natural to that solicitude, urge me, on an occasion like the present, to offer to your solemn contemplation, and to recommend to your frequent review, some sentiments, which are the result of much reflection, of no inconsiderable observation, and which appear to me all important to the permanency of your felicity as a people. interwoven as is the love of liberty with every ligament of your hearts, no recommendation of mine is necessary to fortify or confirm the attachment. the unity of government, which constitutes you one people, is also now dear to you. it is justly so; for it is a main pillar in the edifice of your real independence, the support of your tranquility at home, your peace abroad; of your safety; of your prosperity; of that very liberty which you so highly prize. but as it is easy to foresee that from different causes and from different quarters much pains will be taken, many artifices employed, to weaken in your minds the conviction of this truth; as this is the point in your political fortress against which the batteries of internal and external enemies will be most constantly and actively (though often covertly and insidiously) directed, it is of infinite moment that you should properly estimate the immense value of your national union to your collective and individual happiness; that you should cherish a cordial, habitual, and immovable attachment to it, accustoming yourself to think and speak of it as of the palladium of your political safety and prosperity; watching for its preservation with jealous anxiety; discountenancing whatever may suggest even a suspicion that it can, in any event, be abandoned; and indignantly frowning upon the first dawning of every attempt to alienate any portion of our country from the rest, or to enfeeble the sacred ties which now link together the various parts. for this you have every inducement of sympathy and interest. citizens, by birth or choice, of a common country, that country has a right to concentrate your affections. the name 'american,' which belongs to you in your national capacity, must always exalt the just pride of patriotism more than any appellation derived from local discriminations. with slight shades of difference, you have the same religion, manners, habits, and political principles. you have in a common cause fought and triumphed together; the independence and liberty you possess are the work of joint counsels, and joint efforts, of common dangers, sufferings, and successes. but these considerations, however powerfully they address themselves to your sensibility, are greatly outweighed by those which apply more immediately to your interest. here every portion of our country finds the most commanding motives for carefully guarding and preserving the union of the whole.... to the efficacy and permanency of your union a government for the whole is indispensable. no alliances, however strict, between the parts can be an adequate substitute; they must inevitably experience the infractions and interruptions which all alliances in all times have experienced. sensible of this momentous truth, you have improved upon your first essay by the adoption of a constitution of government better calculated than your former for an intimate union and for the efficacious management of your common concerns. this government, the offspring of our own choice, uninfluenced and unawed, adopted upon full investigation and mature deliberation, completely free in its principles, in the distribution of its powers uniting security with energy and containing within itself a provision for its own amendment, has a just claim to your confidence and your support. respect for its authority, compliance with its laws, acquiescence in its measures, are duties enjoined by the fundamental maxims of true liberty. the basis of our political systems is the right of the people to make and to alter their constitutions of government. but the constitution which at any time exists, till changed by an explicit and authentic act of the whole people, is sacredly obligatory upon all. the very idea of the power and the right of the people to establish government presupposes the duty of every individual to obey the established government. all obstructions to the execution of the laws, all combinations and associations, under whatever plausible character, with the real design to direct, control, counteract, or awe the regular deliberation and action of the constituted authorities, are destructive of this fundamental principle and of fatal tendency. they serve to organize faction, to give an artificial and extraordinary force: to put in the place of the delegated will of the nation, the will of a party, often a small but artful and enterprising minority of the community; and, according to the alternate triumphs of different parties, to make the public administration the mirror of the ill-concerted and incongruous projects of faction, rather than the organ of consistent and wholesome plans digested by common counsels, and modified by mutual interests.... towards the preservation of your government, and the permanency of your present happy state, it is requisite, not only that you steadily discountenance irregular opposition to its acknowledged authority, but also that you resist with care the spirit of innovation upon its principles, however specious the pretext. one method of assault may be to effect, in the forms of the constitution, alterations which will impair the energy of the system, and thus to undermine what cannot be directly overthrown. in all the changes to which you may be invited, remember that time and habit are at least as necessary to fix the true character of government as of other human institutions; that experience is the surest standard by which to test the real tendency of the existing constitution of a country; that facility in changes, upon the credit of mere hypothesis and opinion, exposes to perpetual change, from the endless variety of hypothesis and opinion; and remember, especially, that, for the efficient management of your common interests, in a country so extensive as ours, a government of as much vigor as is consistent with the perfect security of liberty is indispensable. liberty itself will find in such a government, with powers properly distributed and adjusted, its surest guardian. it is, indeed, little else than a name, where the government is too feeble to withstand the enterprise of faction, to confine each member of the society within the limits prescribed by the laws, and to maintain all in the secure and tranquil enjoyment of the rights of person and property.... of all the dispositions and habits which lead to political prosperity, religion and morality are indispensable supports. in vain would that man claim the tribute of patriotism who should labor to subvert these great pillars of human happiness, these firmest props of the duties of men and citizens. the mere politician, equally with the pious man, ought to respect and to cherish them. a volume could not trace all their connections with private and public felicity. let it simply be asked, where is the security for property, for reputation, for life, if the sense of religious obligation desert the oaths which are the instruments of investigation in courts of justice? and let us with caution indulge the supposition that morality can be maintained without religion. whatever may be conceded to the influence of refined education on minds of peculiar structure, reason and experience both forbid us to expect that national morality can prevail in exclusion of religious principle.... promote, then, as an object of primary importance, institutions for the general diffusion of knowledge. in proportion as the structure of a government gives force to public opinion it is essential that public opinion should be enlightened. as a very important source of strength and security, cherish public credit. one method of preserving it is to use it as sparingly as possible, avoiding occasions of expense by cultivating peace, but remembering also that timely disbursements to prepare for danger frequently prevent much greater disbursements to repel it; avoiding likewise the accumulation of debt, not only by shunning occasions of expense, but by vigorous exertions in time of peace to discharge the debts which unavoidable wars may have occasioned, not ungenerously throwing upon posterity the burden which we ourselves ought to bear. the execution of these maxims belongs to your representatives, but it is necessary that the public opinion should cooperate.... observe good faith and justice towards all nations; cultivate peace and harmony with all. religion and morality enjoin this conduct; and can it be that good policy does not equally enjoin it? it will be worthy of a free, enlightened, and, at no distant period, a great nation, to give to mankind the magnanimous and too novel example of a people always guided by an exalted justice and benevolence. tributes the life of our washington cannot suffer by a comparison with those of other countries who have been most celebrated and exalted by fame. the attributes and decorations of royalty could have only served to eclipse the majesty of those virtues which made him, from being a modest citizen, a more resplendent luminary. malice could never blast his honor, and envy made him a single exception to her universal rule. for himself he had lived enough to life and to glory. for his fellow-citizens, if their prayers could have been answered, he would have been immortal. his example is complete, and it will teach wisdom and virtue to magistrates, citizens, and men, not only in the present age, but in future generations, as long as our history shall be read. _john adams_ washington stands alone and unapproachable like a snow peak rising above its fellows into the clear air of morning, with a dignity, constancy, and purity which have made him the ideal type of civic virtue to succeeding generations. _james bryce_ first in war, first in peace, first in the hearts of his countrymen, he was second to none in the humble and endearing scenes of private life, pious, just, humane, temperate, and sincere, uniform, dignified, and commanding, his example was as edifying to all around him, as were the effects of that example lasting. _henry lee_ others of our great men have been appreciated--many admired by all. but him we love. him we all love. about and around him we call up no dissentient and discordant and dissatisfied elements, no sectional prejudice nor bias, no party, no creed, no dogma of politics. none of these shall assail him. when the storm of battle blows darkest and rages highest, the memory of washington shall nerve every american arm and cheer every american heart. it shall relume that promethean fire, that sublime flame of patriotism, that devoted love of country, which his words have commended, which his example has consecrated. _rufus choate_ let a man fasten himself to some great idea, some large truth, some noble cause, even in the affairs of this world, and it will send him forward with energy, with steadfastness, with confidence. this is what emerson meant when he said: "hitch your wagon to a star." these are the potent, the commanding, the enduring men--in our own history, men like washington and lincoln. they may fail, they may be defeated, they may perish; but onward moves the cause, and their souls go marching on with it, for they are part of it, they have believed in it. _henry van dyke_ brave without temerity, laborious without ambition, generous without prodigality, noble without pride, virtuous without severity--washington seems always to have confined himself within those limits where the virtues, by clothing themselves in more lively but more changeable and doubtful colors, may be mistaken for faults. inspiring respect, he inspires confidence, and his smile is always the smile of benevolence. _marquis chastelleux_ great without pomp, without ambition brave, proud, not to conquer fellow-men, but save; friend to the weak, a foe to none but those who plan their greatness on their brethren's woes; aw'd by no titles--undefil'd by lust- free without faction--obstinately just; warm'd by religion's sacred, genuine ray, that points to future bliss the unerring way; yet ne'er control'd by superstition's laws, that worst of tyrants in the noblest cause. _from a london newspaper_ bibliography see bibliography at end of monograph. arbor day second friday in april trees i think that i shall never see a poem lovely as a tree; a tree whose hungry mouth is prest against the earth's sweet flowing breast; a tree that looks at god all day and lifts her leafy arms to pray; a tree that may in summer wear a nest of robins in her hair; upon whose bosom snow has lain, who intimately lives with rain. poems are made by fools like me, but only god can make a tree. _joyce kilmer_ arbor day foreword in pamphlet on arbor day issued in 1913 the following are the provisions of the statutes of the state concerning the observance of arbor day: the day in each year known as arbor day shall be suitably observed in the public schools. the commissioner of education shall from time to time prepare and issue to schools such circulars of information, advice and instruction with reference to the day as he may deem necessary. for the purpose of encouraging the planting of shade and forest trees, the second friday of april in each year is hereby designated as a day for the general observance of such purpose, and to be known as arbor day. on said day appropriate exercises shall be introduced in all the schools of the state, and it shall be the duty of the several county and city superintendents to prepare a program of exercises for that day in all the schools under their respective jurisdiction. you will notice that arbor day now occurs on the second friday of april, the legislature of 1912 having changed the date. it is believed that arbor day may not only be devoted to the consideration of the value of trees and forests, including, of course, the planting of trees and shrubs, but that it may also be used to direct attention to birds and their protection, to the importance of the school garden, and to other related matters. the conservation of some of our natural resources might well be considered as the broad theme of the day, the main emphasis, however, being placed on trees. much of the contents of this pamphlet will afford suggestive material for the use of teachers at any appropriate time. the general information given may be of help to many teachers throughout the spring months. the discussions of the various subjects presented may afford valuable reading material in the grammar schools. the main purpose of the pamphlet is to give an impetus to the movement for a greater interest in our natural resources, and the movement for a greater appreciation of the opportunities offered by rural or semi-rural life. it is hoped that the suggestions made are such as may appeal to the interests of children. it is hoped that arbor day may be a profitable one to the pupils in the schools. it is further hoped that the influence of the contents of the pamphlet may not be confined to any one day, but may be extended to many days of the school year. calvin n. kendall _commissioner of education_ letter issued to school officials in 1919 arbor day will occur this year on friday, april 11. an announcement concerning it may be found in the march number of the education bulletin. it has been happily suggested by secretary houston of the department of agriculture at washington that the day be observed in part this year by planting trees upon our roadways, in our yards, and in our pleasure places, each tree being named for a soldier who has fallen in the late war. such trees would be appropriate memorials to these soldiers. i suggest that this particular year there be wide-spread planting of trees dedicated to those whose lives have been sacrificed in the war. the planting of the trees should be marked with some appropriate exercises and these exercises should take on more than a school significance. the whole community should be invited by the school to take part. i trust there may be a generous response on the part of the schools of new jersey to this idea. calvin n. kendall _commissioner of education_ trees and forests alfred gaskill, state forester save what we have, let planting come after when the farmers of nebraska, led by j. sterling morton, established arbor day in 1872, they sought the threefold blessing that trees always give--shade from the summer sun, shelter from winter winds, and wood. these men found the broad prairies of the middle west practically treeless and they soon discovered that unless nature's fault was remedied the homes they hoped to make could be neither pleasant, nor secure, nor successful. in new jersey, as in all parts of the east, conditions were and are different. the whole state was originally unbroken forest, and the task of the pioneers was to make room for fields and settlements. nearly half our area (46 per cent) is still forest, though the greater part has been reduced to a woefully poor condition. thus if _our_ festival is to serve _our_ needs, we will celebrate arbor day in such, a way that we shall learn to improve the forests we have rather than seek to make more; to protect and care for the trees we have as well as to plant more; to get rid of false impressions and broaden our understanding of the relations between tree life and human society. new jersey cannot spare more land for forests. she now has upwards of two million acres, and if we apply the rule that a state with 30 per cent of her area in forests is well off, we shall reduce the total to about a million and a half acres. but this will adjust itself; our present concern is to stop the waste of our forest resources and bring them to serve one of the most highly organized communities in the nation. with respect to trees, as distinguished from forests, this intensive life and concentrated population make it imperative that cities and towns be provided with parks and as much street shade as possible. thus there are two ample fields for study and work, the one dealing with trees and their social bearings, the other with forests and their economic relations. the art of caring for _trees_ is called arboriculture, and one who devotes himself to it an arborist. the art of producing and developing tree communities, or _forests_, is silviculture or forestry. how trees live and grow the intimate study of trees is full of interest. the sap, consisting of raw food material gathered by the root hairs from the soil, courses upward, through the newer wood cells of trunk and branch, to the leaves; there, under the action of sunlight, it is assimilated with carbon dioxide, and, so prepared as tree food, passes downward through the newer bark. thus, the process never entirely suspended, even in winter, but varying in vigor with the seasons, the tree grows in stature by producing new shoots each year. no part of a tree that has concluded a season's growth is ever elongated, but remains fixed, and length is added to its terminal by the development of new buds. this is why a branch always remains at the height at which it started. on account of this fact the age of a tree or branch may be determined by counting back from the terminal one year for each section of development. on most deciduous trees this is hard to follow for more than a few years, but on the evergreens, which produce their branches in whorls, it is easy. on the other hand, diameter growth may continue indefinitely and is exhibited on any cross-section in a series of annual rings. a count of these rings will give the age of the tree at that point. other interesting things to know are the means by which trees support themselves upright, even in severe storms; how they support the weight of heavy branches; and how the various species differ in the form, color, texture of their bark. then the flowers and fruits. few people know that the early spring awakening of the silver maple is marked by the appearance of its flowers weeks before the leaves come out, or that pines and oaks have flowers at all. and so with the fruits: willows produce catkins; chestnuts, burs; elms, samaras; spruce, cones. knowing the trees and then one who is fond of trees will not be satisfied until he can recognize and name at least the commoner kinds. this is field work for many seasons, for the variations as well as the fixed characters must be observed, and there are at least a hundred species to be found in new jersey. the student will soon want a handbook like collins and preston's "key to trees," but without that he will distinguish the two great groups--evergreen and deciduous. the evergreens are also called conifers because the fruit of most of them is a cone. almost all are ornamental but none is suitable for the street. their wood is commonly called soft, though that of many species is quite hard, and forms the great bulk of coarse lumber used for building, etc. deciduous trees are so called because their leaves fall at the beginning of winter. there are many more kinds or species of these than of evergreens and their forms and characters are more varied. a few have recognized values as shade trees; many more are interesting or attractive in the park or on the lawn; others are never found outside the forest. by way of contrast with that of the conifers, the wood of deciduous trees is called hard, though many kinds are quite soft, and the trees themselves hardwoods. hardwood lumber is often very beautiful, and is used for many purposes besides furniture, but the world could better get along without it than without soft woods. shade trees one is attracted to a noble oak, a graceful hemlock, a beautifully colored maple, and wants to live with it and its kind. this desire deserves to be satisfied, and can be satisfied by encouraging the planting of trees where they will reduce the glare and heat of city streets; on lawns and in parks they are more at home and can be treated so that the beauty of individuals and the values of groups or masses can be brought out. especially should they find place upon every school ground so that the attention of the children may be constantly drawn to these hungry, thirsty, breakable, burnable, beautiful friends of man. the kinds of trees that may be planted upon a city street are few, for the life is so hard that only the hardiest can stand it. if we name norway maple, ginkgo, sycamore, white elm, red oak, the list of the best is exhausted. others may often be planted where conditions are favorable, and for lawns and parks the list of availables is almost endless, but in any case the wisest course is to avoid novelties and get some one who is experienced to do the planting. but more important than to plant a tree is to protect and develop one already in the right place. this applies especially to trees beside country roads. a newly planted tree has a precarious hold on life for several years, whereas an old one has survived many dangers. let, therefore, the care of the trees that are found in place be the first concern. guard them from all that may increase their infirmities, keep in check the insects that seek to destroy them, have their wounds attended to and their branches pruned where necessary. this is work for one who knows how, not for the butcher who "tops" a tree "to make it grow"; or for the "tree doctor" who uses cement without knowing whether it will do good or do harm. reputable men can be found to do any work of this kind. under wise direction there should be no hesitation about cutting down a tree that is in the way. in many places houses and streets are too much shaded. the fundamental idea to be grasped is that every tree is an organism; in one view an individual, in another a community. we must satisfy at least its strongest requirements or it cannot live. to the extent that all are satisfied is the tree healthy and vigorous. forests as with trees so with the tree communities called forests. our duty in new jersey is to improve the forests we have rather than to concern ourselves about getting more. of course, waste land may be redeemed by planting with trees, but where there is a remnant of the old forest, nature can be trusted to bring another if she is given a fair chance. the forest secured in this way may not yield so much lumber as one that was planted, and it will not satisfy a forester, but it will answer our most immediate needs, and can be secured more quickly than any other. and again, as with trees, let no one fear to have a forest cut off when its time comes. forest trees were made for use and if they are not used as they mature, nature will get rid of them by decay. that this must be so will appear when one observes that in any piece of native woods room is made for young trees by the fall of old ones that have lived their term. why forests are good nature clothed most of the habitable earth with forests of one kind or another and evidently meant that they should serve mankind. this they do by furnishing wood for shelter and for warmth (seven-eighths of the people of the world still use wood for fuel), by providing grateful shade in summer and protection from cold winds in winter, by preventing the soil on steep hillsides from being lost by erosion, by regulating the flow of streams. the contention that forests cause rainfall, or materially influence the climate of a country, is not established. the weight of evidence indicates that forests thrive in proportion to the rainfall rather than that the rain falls in proportion to the extent of forests. and in respect to stream flow we must distinguish between a mountainous or hilly country and a country that is flat; and whether the rain commonly falls in brief, heavy storms or in frequent gentle showers. for instance, we can say with assurance that in north jersey a forested watershed will discharge a purer, more regular stream than one that is unforested, while in south jersey the influence of the forest upon the streams is negligible. the forests of new jersey as the climate of new jersey is much the same in all parts, the character of our forests is determined chiefly by soil conditions. fortunately we have a great diversity, and between the northern and southern sections, strong contrasts. the line separating these sections is nowhere sharply defined but is commonly assumed to run more or less irregularly from long branch to salem. the forests of north jersey, supported by soils of considerable fertility, are almost universally of the mixed hardwood type common to the greater part of the central united states east of the mississippi river. that is, they are composed of a variety of deciduous trees in which are many oaks, chestnut, beech, several maples, ashes, hickories, elms, birches, etc. as exceptions or variants to the type are swampy areas in which black spruce and hemlock are dominant, and sterile mountain crests bearing the pitch pine and scrub oak of the poorest south jersey sands. this kind of forest, in which each species occupies the position to which it is best adapted, and from which therefore all competitors are excluded, is considered by ecologists the most highly developed vegetable society. and about and among these forests is the most fully developed human society--villages, towns and cities. practically all these forests have been several times cut over and many times burned. individual trees about settlements are often noble and imposing, and occasional groves of fine trees are found, but the forest is only a reminder of what it was--and a promise of what it may be. in south jersey the contrast with north jersey is emphasized in every way. instead of hills and valleys the land is level or gently rolling. near the delaware and at numerous points in the interior are fertile soils and thriving communities, but much of the territory is characterized by sand and forests of pine, with an undergrowth of scrub oak, often covering hundreds of thousands of acres. this condition justifies the common name of the region "the pines," though variations in soil frequently give rise to considerable areas of tree oaks, and swamps of white cedar border many of the streams. on the sandy land profitable agriculture is full of uncertainties; but forestry is not, for there the pitch pine, though burned almost to extinction by the fires that for years swept annually across the level reaches, persists and wherever given a few years' immunity from fire, sends up its arms of living green. here is the great forest area of the state; one of those tracts fitted by nature to maintain trees of a single kind, or single class. these "pure" forests, so called in contrast to the mixed forests of richer regions, are found in the southern states, in the far north and in the rocky mountains. they are easily developed, easily logged, and always will be, as they now are, the chief source of the world's lumber supply. fire the key to the forest problem in new jersey, as in every state, is the control of fire. a few years ago it was an undenied fact that more forest was destroyed by fire every year than by the ax. burning the forest to make plow-land was justifiable when trees were an encumbrance, but the practice got us into bad habits. from being a servant, fire became a master. without fires, we in new jersey can and will have all the forest we need; with fires, that which is bad becomes worse. the lesson for arbor day, and for every day, therefore, is to urge and require that no forest shall be burned. it is good fun to sit about a camp-fire, yet the danger that the fire will escape and do harm is great. even a surface-fire that apparently burns only dry leaves, and is often set for that purpose, will kill the young trees that are just starting on the struggle for life. fortunately new jersey is getting her fires under control. firewardens are located wherever there are forests; their duty is to prevent fires by every means possible, and if a fire is started they must summon men to put it out. the forests are already responding to this protection and proving their ability to take care of themselves when relieved of the frightful handicap that has been upon them for generations. practical forestry though fire control will make a forest where conditions are favorable as here, the skill of a forester is needed to make it a good and a productive forest. here is applied a knowledge that is more intimate than that which serves to recognize a tree or to provide for its physical well-being. the successful forester must be a practical scientist in many departments; must have executive ability and be a capable business man. all who cannot meet these requirements should be discouraged from seeking to make forestry their profession. parks every urban community needs parks where those who live in close quarters can find fresh air. and a state with many cities must make it possible for the people to get into the open--not for an hour only, but for days and weeks. new jersey can do this in the woodlands that are so near to most of the large cities. it is not always necessary that the state take title to the land; few owners object to reasonable use and almost all would gladly remove every restriction if they were assured that the privilege would not be abused. the timber forests of continental europe are universally used as great public parks. good roads make all parts accessible and the tourists are so accustomed to behave themselves that no serious harm is done. we can have ample parks of this kind at no more cost than assuring the owners' material interests. state aid the state of new jersey is prepared to help its citizens in any interest connected with the soil. the state forester, trenton, will advise individuals or communities regarding the care of shade trees and the planting or management of forests. the agricultural experiment station, new brunswick, and the department of agriculture, trenton, will afford similar assistance upon any subject connected with farms, orchards or gardens. anyone who wants to know about any of these subjects has the right to ask questions and to seek advice. arbor day may be observed by planting a hamilton grove charles a. philhower, supervising principal, westfield the following fitting observance of arbor day, commemorating an historic incident in the life of alexander hamilton, was conducted in mindowaskin park, westfield, april 12, 1918. the program took its origin from the following narrative: alexander hamilton, in the year 1801, planted a grove of thirteen trees at his home, "hamilton grange," 143d street, west of convent avenue, new york city. the trees were the liquidambar styraciflua, sweet or red gum, and were sent from the south. each one of the thirteen trees was named for one of the thirteen original colonies. the group of trees was later known as the "hamilton grove." martha washington became greatly interested both in its upkeep and in its preservation. the program was as follows. * * * * * the schools marched to the park with flags and assembled en masse. as the flag was raised, the star spangled banner was sung, a cornetist leading. address by honorable arthur n. pierson. song, "over there." planting of trees: each of the thirteen grades, from the kindergarten through the twelfth grade, planted a tree. as the trees for the states were planted the following passages were read. when the new jersey tree was planted the whole audience joined in the response. massachusetts this tree we plant as a memorial to the great state of massachusetts, noted for its patriots and its learning. as thy emblem, the pine tree, points to heaven, may thy ideals lead us on. new hampshire land of the great stone face, look over these united states of ours with a watchfulness that will keep us true and steadfast in the cause of democracy. rhode island grow, thou tree of life, as the spirit of religious liberty has grown in this broad land of ours. connecticut as the famous charter oak kept thy government free and unmolested, so may the branches of this tree perpetuate to the world the constitution under which we as a nation live. new york the towering buildings of thy metropolis cry as they mount heavenward "excelsior." may thy slogan be the slogan of our nation. new jersey proud are we of this the "garden state of the union." we love thee and the great union of which thou art a part. for thee and our country we live and serve. pennsylvania live to the memory of thy founder, william penn, father of peace and justice. this boon we would give to the world. maryland song--"maryland, my maryland." delaware long live the memory of this first state of the union. may we show to the world, "in union there is strength." virginia home of the father of our country, to thee we dedicate this tree. washington, give us that courage that held thee to the great cause of freedom. north carolina the cypress tall and majestic is the tree of this state. majestic may this country of ours stand among the nations of the world. south carolina like the palmetto which bends its branches over all who come to its shade, spread to all the benediction of life and liberty. georgia refuge of the oppressed. may the charity of thy founders characterize us as a nation. song, "america." a record of the plantings was filed in the school. on each succeeding arbor day each class which planted a tree will see whether its tree is growing. should the tree perchance have died, another will be planted in its place. other trees than the sweet gum may be used in some localities with greater certainty of thriving. suggestions to teachers k. c. davis, formerly of state agricultural college, new brunswick as the season of planting is upon us and all nature is preparing to show her most gorgeous dress, we should interest the pupil in ways of beautifying the school. there is not a school in the land that cannot be made better, and many of them may be improved very much. the pupils will take a great interest in the matter if they receive a little encouragement and leadership on the part of their teachers. beautify the school grounds. a woven wire trellis supporting a thrifty vine would be a splendid screen for unsightly outbuildings. shrubs about the foundations of the school building, in the angles of walks, and in natural clumps in the corners of the grounds would add beauty to the school surroundings. a few plots not used for play nor for garden may be grassed. never scatter the trees or shrubs openly about the lawn area. better mass the shrubs in natural clumps in angles or foundations, walks and borders. use the trees along boundary and division lines. native trees and shrubs are always preferable to imported or exotic kinds. planning for arbor day arbor day plans should be begun early and should include a number of lines of preparatory work. send for the bulletins first. draw plans of the grounds, measuring the lines and distances to make it somewhat accurate. if a class is assigned to this task the best map may be framed for the future use of the school. a passepartout binding, at least, may be used. this map may show the plan of planting for several years if there is more to be planted than can be done this year. the walks, buildings, clumps of shrubs, trees, school garden, playgrounds, etc., should all be shown. this work may be done by arithmetic or geography classes. the arithmetic class may also find suitable dimensions for the corn-contest plots. have the reading classes read about birds, gardening, trees, lawns, weeds, etc. use the newer words in spelling exercises. let boys and girls both make bird-houses at home. these may be ready to put up on arbor day. the corn testing and seed study should begin at once. trees, shrubs and seeds that are to be planted on arbor day, or soon after, should be ready in advance. the roots of trees and shrubs must be temporarily covered with soil to prevent drying out. some exercises in root grafting of apples may be carried out as described in two of the bulletins, 113 and 408. tools to be used in the planting of school grounds may be brought by pupils from their homes; the list available for the purpose should be made in advance. divide the students into suitable groups for the work, so that each will know his part. invite parents and home folks to the work of arbor day, and make it a community exercise. the men may come in the morning to work, and the women may come with lunch baskets at noon, both staying until the exercises are over. plan to have some one take pictures of the children and patrons while the improvement work is going on. do not forget to have some manure and good soil hauled in advance. suggestive programs i 1. remarks by the teacher or a member of the school board on the value of teaching the useful and beautiful as well as the classical and historical. 2. have five pupils stand together. the first pupil will read from this pamphlet or tell in his own way why we should all know more about trees; the second about insects; the third about weeds; the fourth about birds; and the fifth about corn. 3. have five girls stand and each tell a few things about some useful bird. 4. have a boy who has made a bird box tell how bird boxes are a protection to young birds, and how he made his. 5. have a boy tell of some ways of destroying english sparrows, learned from u. s. farmers' bulletin 383. 6. another boy should tell how to distinguish english sparrows from other sparrows and common birds. 7. have some of the best tree planters tell how to plant a tree--preparation of soil, roots, pruning and actual planting. _note._ in any or all of these exercises pupils may get the subject matter from this pamphlet and from bulletins referred to in it. they may make note on paper of what they wish to say and speak from these notes. if the time for preparation be very short the points may be copied and read directly. let each exercise be very short. ii 1. announcement of outlines of contests in school or home gardening, corn growing, or other work the school may be planning, and the premiums offered for the contests and exhibits next fall. 2. some pupils may tell of several benefits of trees and forests, or five pupils may stand together and each tell of one important benefit. 3. have a pupil describe how to test seed corn by the individual ear method. 4. have two pupils tell of the two types of insect moths, each telling how to control such insects. 5. have a boy tell of three or four things necessary to improve the home lawn. (see u. s. bulletin 248) 6. have three pupils stand and each take one part (_a_) use of vines to beautify the grounds at school or home, naming some vines to use in certain places (_b_) use of trees in same way (_c_) use of shrubs in same way the value of our forests few people ever think of a forest as a place to store water. who would think that "the woods" hold water as well as a mill pond or a reservoir! but they do, although we cannot see the water they hold, except, perhaps, as a pool here and there; and yet this is one of the most important functions that a forest can perform. all of us have noticed in walking through the woods how soft and springy the ground is. a thick carpet of leaves, twigs, and decayed wood covers the earth, sometimes to a depth of several feet. it is very porous, and it absorbs water like a sponge. when storms come and rain falls in torrents, it does not beat directly upon the ground under the trees because the raindrops first strike the leaves and branches above. the water then trickles gently down and soaks into the leafy carpet. if the forest is extensive a very large quantity of water is absorbed--enough to prevent floods except in extraordinarily long periods of rain. gradually through the weeks and months that follow the absorbed water oozes out of low places as "springs," and it dashes merrily away in little brooks that continue to form creeks and rivers which flow peacefully and steadily out to sea. if there are no trees, no leaves to break the beating rain, no spongy mold to hold the water when it falls, no matted roots to prevent washing, the big raindrops spatter upon the earth and quickly form rushing streams that wash the ground into gulleys. the bare earth absorbs some water, to be sure, but far less than the humus of the forest. if the rains are continued the rivers are soon filled beyond the capacity of their banks and they spread over the neighboring valleys, carrying devastation with them. after the heavy rains cease, the flood waters subside as suddenly as they had arisen and the streams dwindle to insignificance, sometimes completely drying up in a long, hot summer. thus it is that forests act as great reservoirs and aid in preventing disastrous floods and in maintaining the flow of streams at a rate that is nearly uniform all the year round. now let us see what use is made of the trees. the greatest of all is for firewood; but this is largely the decaying or faulty trees from the farmer's woodlot, the waste product of a lumber region, or from land that is cleared for cultivation. it is said that about 100,000,000 cords are used annually. the greater part of the salable timber, however, is sawed into lumber, which is used in a variety of ways. the first and greatest use of lumber is for building houses, barns, sheds, outbuildings and fences. next comes furniture of all kinds--chairs, tables, beds, and all other house, office, and school furniture; musical instruments; vehicles of all kinds--wagons, carriages, buggies, and parts of automobiles; agricultural implements--plows, harrows, harvesters, thrashing machines, and other farm implements. car building is another great use for lumber--freight cars, passenger cars, and trolley cars. other important uses for timber are as cross-ties, poles for telegraph and telephone lines, and "shoring" or supports in mines. even more trees are used in the manufacture of paper than for these purposes. then there are various small articles used in the home, such as spools, butter dishes, fruit crates, baskets, boxes, all kinds of tools, toys, picture frames, matches, pencils, clothes pins, toothpicks, etc. these are little things, but so many of them are used that they consume a great deal of wood. next we derive tannic acid for tanning leather, turpentine and rosin, maple sugar, and many extracts used in making medicines. so valuable are the forests that the whole nation is interested in preserving them. no one is benefited more by them than the farmer, and no one should be more interested in them.--_u. s. bureau of education bulletin, "agriculture and rural life day"_ birds "the study of birds and bird life in the schools of new jersey," by dr. robert g. leavitt, of the trenton state normal school, published by this department, should be consulted. bibliography see bibliography at end of monograph. memorial day may 30 the sleep of the brave how sleep the brave, who sink to rest by all their country's wishes blessed! when spring, with dewy fingers cold, returns to deck their hallowed mold, she there shall dress a sweeter sod than fancy's feet have ever trod. by fairy hands their knell is rung; by forms unseen their dirge is sung; there honor comes, a pilgrim gray, to bless the turf that wraps their clay; and freedom shall awhile repair, to dwell a weeping hermit there! _william collins_ memorial day george c. baker, supervising principal, moorestown suggestive program flag salute song--"battle hymn of the republic" story of memorial day stories from the battle-fields of 1861 and 1918, told by larger pupils, adult members of the community, or soldiers "the blue and the gray" song--"keep the home fires burning" "the gettysburg address" "in flanders fields" song--"america" or "the star spangled banner" preparatory to the making and carrying out of a memorial day program, the teacher, a group of pupils or some wide-awake member of the community should talk about the sacrifices made by the soldiers of our country during the different wars in which we have been engaged; what great principles they have fought for, and why we should honor their memory in the public schools of our land. throughout the preparation and the execution of the program there should be a consciousness of the debt we owe to those who have fought and died for freedom's cause. the simplest program prepared in this spirit will be of lasting value to the children of the school and to the members of the community in which the exercises are held. pupils and teachers should talk over fully the kind of program to be given. much responsibility should be placed upon the pupils for the making of the program. they should make all "projects" necessary for the carrying out of the program, and should invite all patrons and friends in the community. the exercises should be a service truly commemorating the honored dead of our land. origin of memorial day the observance of may 30 as memorial day had its official origin in an order issued in 1868 by general john a. logan, then commander-in-chief of the grand army of the republic. general logan often said afterward that the issuing of that order was the proudest act of his life. the strewing of flowers upon graves is old in some countries. it is said that the first decoration of graves of soldiers of the civil war was done on april 13, 1862, by two little girls, daughters of a michigan chaplain. they had been out gathering wild flowers, and, returning, came across a rough, unmarked mound which covered some northern boy. one of the girls said: "oh, let's put our flowers on this grave! he was a soldier boy." they knelt down and made garlands of flowers on that grave. this grave was in virginia, not far from mount vernon. the next day they interested their family and friends in a plan to decorate all the graves, and the plan was carried out. each year afterward, in may, they did the same wherever they happened to be. others saw them and followed their example. the later date of may 30 was chosen by general logan so that flowers could be had in all the northern states. from decorating the graves of soldiers the custom has extended to the graves of all who have relatives or friends to remember them. in time the soldiers will be forgotten, but the custom of decorating graves with flowers will doubtless continue for many generations to come. the spirit which prompts it is a noble one, which should ever be cherished. two years after the close of the civil war the _new york tribune_ printed a paragraph simply stating that "the women of columbus, mississippi, have shown themselves impartial in their offerings made to the memory of the dead. they strewed flowers alike on the graves of the confederate and of the national soldiers." whereupon the north thrilled with tenderness and francis miles finch was inspired to write his moving lyric "the blue and the gray," which has become the credo of the festival. in a famous address, chauncey m. depew related the occurrence with felicity: "when the war was over in the south, where under warmer skies and with more poetic temperaments symbols and emblems are better understood than in the practical north, the widows, mothers, and the children of the confederate dead went out and strewed their graves with flowers; at many places the women scattered them impartially also over the unknown and unmarked resting-places of the union soldiers. as the news of this touching tribute flashed over the north it roused, as nothing else could have done, national amity and love and allayed sectional animosity and passion. thus out of sorrows common alike to north and south comes this beautiful custom." the incident, however, produced no practical results until in may, 1868, adjutant-general n. p. chipman suggested to national commander john a. logan, of the grand army of the republic, that their organization inaugurate the custom of spreading flowers on the graves of the union soldiers at some uniform time. general logan immediately issued an order naming the 30th day of may, 1868, "for the purpose of strewing with flowers or otherwise decorating the graves of comrades who died in defense of their country during the late rebellion, and whose bodies now lie in almost every city, village, or hamlet churchyard in the land.... it is the purpose of the commander-in-chief to inaugurate this observance with the hope that it will be kept up from year to year while a survivor of the war remains to honor the memory of the departed." the idea spread rapidly. legislature after legislature enacted it into law until the holiday has become a legal one in all states. in some of the southern states an earlier date is usually chosen. the reveille[f] [f] used by permission of, and by special arrangement with, houghton mifflin company, the authorized publishers. hark! i hear the tramp of thousands and of armed men the hum; lo! a nation's hosts have gathered round the quick alarming drum- saying "come, freeman, come! ere your heritage be wasted," said the quick alarming drum. "let me of my heart take counsel: war is not of life the sum; who shall stay and reap the harvest when the autumn days shall come?" but the drum echoed "come! death shall reap the braver harvest," said the solemn-sounding drum. "but when won the coming battle, what of profit springs therefrom? what if conquest, subjugation, even greater ills become?" but the drum answered, "come! you must do the sum to prove it," said the yankee answering drum. "what if, 'mid the cannon's thunder, whistling shot and bursting bomb, when my brothers fall around me, should my heart grow cold and numb?" but the drum answered "come! better there in death united than in life a recreant--come!" thus they answered--hoping, fearing, some in faith and doubting some, till a trumpet-voice, proclaiming, said, "my chosen people, come!" then the drum, lo! was dumb, for the great heart of the nation, throbbing, answered, "lord, we come!" _bret harte_ the blue and the gray by the flow of the inland river, whence the fleets of iron have fled, where the blades of the grave-grass quiver, asleep are the ranks of the dead: under the sod and the dew, waiting the judgment-day; under the one, the blue, under the other, the gray. these in the robings of glory, those in the gloom of defeat, all with the battle-blood gory, in the dusk of eternity meet: under the sod and the dew, waiting the judgment-day; under the laurel, the blue, under the willow, the gray. from the silence of sorrowful hours the desolate mourners go, lovingly laden with flowers alike for the friend and the foe: under the sod and the dew, waiting the judgment-day; under the roses, the blue, under the lilies, the gray. so with an equal splendor, the morning sun-rays fall, with a touch impartially tender, on the blossoms blooming for all: under the sod and the dew, waiting the judgment-day; broidered with gold, the blue, mellowed with gold, the gray. so, when the summer calleth, on forest and field of grain, with an equal murmur falleth the cooling drip of the rain: under the sod and the dew, waiting the judgment-day; wet with the rain, the blue, wet with the rain, the gray. sadly, but not with upbraiding, the generous deed was done; in the storm of the years that are fading no braver battle was won: under the sod and the dew, waiting the judgment-day; under the blossoms, the blue, under the garlands, the gray. no more shall the war cry sever, or the winding rivers be red; they banish our anger forever when they laurel the graves of our dead! under the sod and the dew, waiting the judgment-day; love and tears for the blue, tears and love for the gray. _francis miles finch_ recessional god of our fathers, known of old- lord of our far-flung battle line- beneath whose awful hand we hold dominion over palm and pine- lord god of hosts, be with us yet, lest we forget--lest we forget! the tumult and the shouting dies, the captains and the kings depart; still stands thine ancient sacrifice- an humble and a contrite heart. lord god of hosts, be with us yet, lest we forget--lest we forget! far-called, our navies melt away; on dune and headland sinks the fire. lo! all our pomp of yesterday is one with nineveh and tyre! judge of the nations, spare us yet, lest we forget--lest we forget! if, drunk with sight of power, we loose wild tongues that have not thee in awe, such boasting as the gentiles use or lesser breeds without the law- lord god of hosts, be with us yet, lest we forget--lest we forget! for heathen heart that puts her trust in reeking tube and iron shard, all valiant dust that builds on dust, and guarding calls not thee to guard, for frantic boasts and foolish word, thy mercy on thy people, lord! amen. _rudyard kipling_ battle hymn of the republic mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the lord; he is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored; he hath loosed the fateful lightning of his terrible swift sword; his truth is marching on. glory! glory! hallelujah! glory! glory! hallelujah! glory! glory! hallelujah! his truth is marching on. i have seen him in the watch-fires of a hundred circling camps; they have builded him an altar in the evening dews and damps; i can read his righteous sentence by the dim and flaring lamps. his day is marching on. he has sounded forth the trumpet that shall never call retreat; he is sifting out the hearts of men before his judgment seat; oh, be swift, my soul, to answer him! be jubilant, my feet! our god is marching on. in the beauty of the lilies christ was born across the sea, with a glory in his bosom that transfigures you and me; as he died to make men holy, let us die to make men free, while god is marching on. _julia ward howe_ we have scattered our floral tributes today over the graves of the patriotic dead. these frail mementos of affection will soon wither, but let not the memory of these martyrs fail to inspire in us a purer, holier life! the roll-call brings to mind their faces and their deeds. they were faithful to the end. the weary march, the bivouac, the battle are still remembered by the survivors. but your line, comrades, is growing slenderer every year. one by one you will drop out of the ranks, and other hands may ere long strew your grave with flowers as you have done today in yonder cemetery. when mustered in the last grand review, with all the veterans and heroes of earth, may each receive with jubilant heart the great commander's admiring tribute "well done!" and become with him partaker of a felicity that is enduring and triumphant! _e. p. thwing_ of all the martial virtues, the one which is perhaps most characteristic of the truly brave is the virtue of magnanimity. that sentiment, immortalized by scott in his musical and martial verse, will associate for all time the name of scotland's king with those of the great spirits of the past. how grand the exhibitions of the same generous impulses that characterize this memorable battle-field! my fellow-countrymen of the north, if i may be permitted to speak for those whom i represent, let me assure you that in the profoundest depths of their nature, they reciprocate that generosity with all the manliness and sincerity of which they are capable. in token of that sincerity they join in consecrating, for annual patriotic pilgrimage, these historic heights, which drank such copious draughts of american blood, poured so freely in discharge of duty, as each conceived it--a mecca for the north, which so grandly defended, a mecca for the south, which so bravely and persistently stormed it. we join you in setting apart this land as an enduring monument of peace, brotherhood, and perpetual union. i repeat the thought with emphasis, with singleness of heart and of purpose, in the name of a common country, and of universal liberty; and by the blood of our fallen brothers, we unite in the solemn consecration of these hallowed hills, as a holy, eternal pledge of fidelity to the life, freedom, and unity of this cherished republic. _john b. gordon_ from "gettysburg: a mecca for the blue and the gray" our fathers ordained that in this republic there should be no distinctions; but human nature is stronger than laws and nothing can prevent this people from showing honor to all who have deserved well of the country. every man who has borne arms with credit has earned and is sure to receive a special measure of regard. and it is our peculiar privilege to remember that our armies and navies, regular and volunteer, have always been worthy of esteem ... the grand army of the republic--soldiers and citizens whom the republic delights to honor. _john hay_ let no vandalism of avarice or neglect, no ravages of time, testify to the present or to the coming generations, that we have forgotten, as a people, the cost of a free and undivided republic. _john a. logan_ we honor our heroic and patriotic dead by being true men, as true men by faithfully fighting the battles of our day as they fought the battles of their day. _david gregg_ after the great companions! the race has not run out. we are still men, and worthy of our fathers. that is what memorial day 1919 says to us. not in pride nor vain boasting but in fearful and solemn humility we speak, for it is our dead that prompt us. they, our kin and blood, were not afraid to die. when the destroyer came, the obscene dragon, with breath of poison gas, eyes of hell fire, and teeth of steel, they did not shrink, our brothers, but played the man, and struck, and dying struck again, and flung their shredded bodies into the breach, and "filled the gap up with our english dead." we are of such. we put our arms around our dead, and hold them proudly up to god, and glory before all men that this is our breed. the lies of the accuser are disproved. his slanders fall from us. we are not slaves of greed, money grubbers, soft and lily-livered. we know how to suffer and to die. we, too, can follow the gleam. o greeks of marathon, room for us! through chateau thierry and the wood of argonne we have come up to stand by your side, and dare to call you brothers. you five hundred of balaklava, meet these boys from kansas and new york, who also rode blithely into the valley of death. they are your kind. you men of bunker hill, of gettysburg and of san juan, place! place for these, our neighbors' sons, our friends and playmates! for them also the laurel, and the royal requiem! for them the cross of honor, and the divine halo! they are ours! ours! dear god, we will be worthy of them. thus cries the poet of america: "allons! after the great companions, and to belong to them! "allons! through struggles and wars! "have the past struggles succeeded? "what has succeeded? yourself? your nation? nature? "now understand me well--it is provided in the essence of things that from any fruition of success, no matter what, shall come forth something to make a greater struggle necessary. "allons! the road is before us!" _dr. frank crane_ the service flag the service flag is not an official flag of the united states government. the idea was, so far as we are advised, an entirely novel one, the credit for the conception of which appears to be due to r. l. queisser, of cleveland, ohio, who designed and patented the present flag. it has, however, taken such firm root in popular sentiment and has been of such beneficial influence that it is officially recognized, and everyone who is entitled to fly it is encouraged and urged to do so. mr. queisser was formerly captain of the machine gun company, 5th ohio infantry (now 145th united states infantry), from which he was retired because of an accident. he thus states the origin of the flag: "shortly after april 6, 1917, when war with germany was declared, the thought came to me that both of my sons, who were still officers in the guard, would again be called out, and i wondered if i could not evolve some sign or symbol by which it might be known that they were away in their country's service, and one which would be to their mother a visible sign of the sacrifice her sons were making. the inspiration of the service flag came to me in that manner." _official u. s. bulletin_ the service flag a field of gleaming white, a border ruby red, and a blazing star that is seen afar as it flutters overhead. from the window of a cot, from the mansion on the hill, sends that banner fair, beyond compare, its loyal message still. "a man beloved and dear, o land, i've given to you. he has gone to fight on the side of right; to old glory he'll be true!" it floats from learning's halls, and within the busy mart, where its crowded stars form growing bars to rejoice the drooping heart. each star stands for a life, to the nation gladly given, for an answered prayer to those "over there," though a mother's heart be riven. we pass with kindling eye beneath your colors true; a nation's love, a nation's hope are bound in the heart of you! _josephine m. fabricant_ i have a son[g] [g] reprinted from the saturday evening post, philadelphia. copyrighted 1917 by the curtis publishing company, philadelphia. i have a son who goes to france tomorrow. i have clasped his hand- most men will understand- and wished him, smiling, lucky chance in france. my son! at last the house is still- just the dog and i in the garden--dark- stars and my pipe's red spark- the house his young heart used to fill is still. he said one day, "i've got to go to france--dad, you know how i feel!" i knew. like sun and steel and morning. "yes," i said, "i know you'll go." i'd waited just to hear him speak like that. god, what if i had had another sort of lad, something too soft and meek and weak to speak! and yet! he could not guess the blow he'd struck. why, he's my only son! and we had just begun to be dear friends. but i dared not show the blow. but now--tonight- no, no; it's right; i never had a righter thing to bear. and men must fling themselves away in the grieving sight of right. a handsome boy--but i, who knew his spirit--well, they cannot mar the cleanness of a star that'll shine to me, always and true, who knew. i've given him. yes; and had i more, i'd give them too--for there's a love that asking, asks above the human measure of our store- and more. yes; it hurts! here in the dark, alone- no one to see my wet old eyes- i'll watch the morning rise- and only god shall hear my groan alone. i have a son who goes to france tomorrow. i have clasped his hand- most men will understand- and wished him, smiling, lucky chance in france. _emory pottle_ in flanders fields[h] [h] from "in flanders fields," by lieutenant-colonel john mccrae, courtesy of g. p. putnam's sons, publishers. in flanders fields the poppies blow between the crosses, row on row, that mark our place; and in the sky the larks, still bravely singing, fly, scarce heard amidst the guns below. we are the dead. short days ago we lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow, loved and were loved; and now we lie in flanders fields. take up our quarrel with the foe! to you from failing hands we throw the torch. be yours to hold it high! if ye break faith with us who die we shall not sleep, though poppies grow in flanders fields. _john mccrae_ america's answer rest ye in peace, ye flanders dead. the fight that ye so bravely led we've taken up. and we will keep true faith with you who lie asleep, with each a cross to mark his bed, and poppies blowing overhead, where once his own life blood ran red. so let your rest be sweet and deep in flanders fields. fear not that ye have died for naught. the torch ye threw to us we caught. ten million hands will hold it high, and freedom's light shall never die! we've learned the lesson that ye taught in flanders fields. _r. w. lillard_ american sentiments it is a fearful thing to lead this great, peaceful people into war, into the most terrible and disastrous of all wars, civilization itself seeming to be in the balance. but the right is more precious than peace, and we shall fight for the things which we have always carried nearest our hearts--for democracy, for the right of those who submit to authority to have a voice in their own governments, for the rights and liberties of small nations, for a universal dominion of right by such a concert of free peoples as shall bring peace and safety to all nations and make the world itself at last free. to such a task we can dedicate our lives and our fortunes, everything that we are and everything that we have, with the pride of those who know that the day has come when america is privileged to spend her blood and her might for the principles that gave her birth and happiness and the peace which she has treasured. god helping her, she can do no other. _woodrow wilson_ we came into this war for ourselves. it is a war to save america, to preserve self-respect, to justify our right to live as we have lived, not as some one else wishes us to live. it is more precious that this america shall live than that we americans should live. _franklin k. lane_ no nation has a right to its freedom if it is unwilling to fight for the freedom of others, and for its own. the cost of war is not to be measured in money. it is in the slow paid price of the human heart--in the blood drops, one by one. _charles c. gordon_ bibliography see bibliography at end of monograph. flag day june 14 the stars and stripes it is not a painted rag. it is a whole national history. it is the constitution. it is the government. it is the free people that stand in the government, on the constitution. _henry ward beecher_ flag day hannah h. chew, principal culver school, millville the great war has brought more forcibly to us a realization of the necessity for training the youth of our land to a greater respect for, and a fuller knowledge of our national emblem. wherever the flag floats, children must be taught to love it and to respect its significance. new jersey long ago required that the flag be displayed on school buildings, and the flag salute be given daily, but no statute can make certain that the spirit of the law is emphasized. the teachers of the children of the state bear the responsibility of training for patriotism, and the future of democracy depends upon the patriotic ideals nurtured in the public schools. we shall have more patriotic observances than formerly and one of those which we shall celebrate with more interest will be flag day. the date authorized to be observed as flag day comes so near the close of the school year that it may well be used as a special occasion on which pupil and parent join in paying tribute to our national emblem. flag day can be made the occasion of raising a new flag, or of taking a collection to provide silk flags or a patriotic picture for the classrooms, thus giving parents an opportunity to contribute to the patriotism of the school. if a new flag is to be presented to the school, flag day will be a most appropriate time to receive it, and exercises can be conducted partly or altogether out-of-doors. on the playground all pupils can take part in marches and drills suitable to their grades. in order to have the best effects, some uniformity of costume is best. any movements uniformly done in mass are pleasing, and teachers can adapt marching figures to their own playground with good effect. the purpose of the teacher of the primary grades should be to awaken love and reverence for the flag and to instill loyalty into the minds and hearts of the children. in the higher grades children should not only be trained to show love and respect for the flag, but should understand their duty toward their country. they should study the flag, its history, its significance, its various forms and uses, the correct ways of displaying it, and the proper manner of raising and lowering it. the flag of our state should also be taught, together with its history. it is a part of our school law that the flag salute shall be a part of the daily program. it is the duty of the teacher to interpret the meaning and the spirit of the salute to the pupils, not neglecting the correct pronunciation of the words. the salute should never be carelessly repeated, but should be given in a serious manner, and only after children have been called to standing position. in the making of a program, attention should be given to current events. the best of the popular songs may be sung. (be sure they are the best.) current literature will furnish some prose and poetry suitable for the occasion. a real, present-day note should always be sounded. the same program should not be used year after year, but the material should be selected anew each time, though some repetition in the use of standard recitations and national songs is to be expected. a scrap-book kept for suitable material will be a valuable aid to the teacher. such a scrap-book can be made by using large envelops, fastening them at the bottom within a cardboard cover, and labelling each envelop according to its contents. as additions are made to the songs, poems, programs, etc., a catalog of the contents can be kept on the outside of the envelop. it will be best to mount recitations on heavy paper in order to preserve them longer. suggestive programs primary grades opening remarks by teacher in charge singing by school, "america" recitation, "our flag" (by may howlister), first grade pupil recitation, "your flag and my flag" (by wilbur d. nesbit), fourth grade pupil song, "our country's flag" (by florence l. dresser) flag drill, all pupils presentation of new flag, member of parent-teacher association flag salute, entire audience: "i pledge allegiance to my flag, and to the republic for which it stands; one nation, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all" song, "the star spangled banner" grammar grades remarks by teacher or pupil in charge song, "the star spangled banner," school, led by school orchestra oration, "flag day address" (by president wilson), eighth grade boy recitation, "the name of old glory" (by james whitcomb riley) song, "the unfurling of the flag" (by clara endicott sears) "why we should love the flag" (best original speech by grade pupil) recitation, "old flag" (by hubbard parker) song, "we'll keep old glory flying" (by carleton s. montanye) flag drill and grand march, all pupils of grades 5, 6, 7, 8 presentation of new flag by father of pupil flag raising flag salute: "i pledge allegiance to my flag and to the republic for which it stands; one nation, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all" song, "america" brief history of the american flag on the 2d of july, 1776, the american congress resolved "that these united colonies are, and of right ought to be, free and independent states; and that all political connection between us and the states of great britain is, and ought to be, totally dissolved." on the 4th of july a declaration of independence was adopted by the congress, and sent out under its authority, to announce to all other nations that the united states of america claimed a place among them. on this 4th of july the nation was born. its flag, the visible symbol of its power, was not adopted till 1777. on the 14th of june, 1777, congress resolved "that the flag of the thirteen united states be thirteen stripes, alternate red and white; that the union be thirteen stars, white in a blue field, representing a new constellation." the national flag--_our_ national flag--grew in the most direct way out of the banners that had waved over the colonists. the flag of the united colonies had thirteen stripes, one for each colony, and the stripes were alternate red and white. this part of the old flag remained unchanged in the new one. each colony retained its stripe. the flag of the colonies, in its union, had displayed the king's colors. there was now no longer a king in america, but a new union had arisen--a union of thirteen states--no longer a union of kingdoms. the union of the old flag had been the crosses of st. george and st. andrew conjoined on a blue field. the new union was a circle of silver stars in a blue sky--"a new constellation." the flag of the united states was derived from the flag of the united colonies in the simplest and most natural manner. the old flag had expressed the hopes and aspirations of thirteen colonies which had united in order to secure justice from their king and fellow-countrymen in england. the new flag expressed the determined resolve of the same thirteen colonies--now become sovereign states--to form a permanent union, and to take their place among the nations of the world. they were no longer englishmen; they were americans. many suggestions have been made to account for the appearance of stars or of stripes in the new flag. it seems unnecessary to seek for any explanation other than the one that has just been given. the old flag of the united colonies expressed the feelings and aspirations of the revolted english colonists. they were willing to remain as subjects of the english king, but they had united to secure justice. the new flag expressed their firm resolve to throw off the yoke of england and to become a new nation. the symbols of each flag exactly expressed the feeling of the men who bore it. there is a resemblance between the colors and symbols of the new flag and the symbols borne on the coat of arms of general washington that is worthy of remark. general washington was a descendant of an english family, and his ancestors bore a coat of arms that he himself used as a seal, and for a book-plate. it has been supposed that the stars of the american flag were suggested by the three stars of this coat of arms, and this is not impossible. general washington was in philadelphia in june, 1777, and he is said to have engaged mrs. john ross, at that time, to make the first flag, though this is not absolutely certain. however this may be, it is known that the american flag of thirteen stars and of thirteen stripes was displayed at the siege of fort stanwix in august, 1777; at the battle of brandywine on september 11; at germantown on the 4th of october; at the surrender of the british under general burgoyne on october 17. the flag had been adopted in june of the same year. the vessels of the american navy flew this flag on the high seas, and their victories made it respected everywhere.... the treaty of peace between england and the united states was signed (at paris, france) on september 3, 1783. this was the acknowledgment of great britain of the independence of her former colonies; and the other nations of europe stood by consenting. our flag was admitted, at that time, on equal terms with the standards of ancient kingdoms and states, to the company of the banners of the world.... in april, 1818, the congress passed "an act to establish the flag of the united states": "section i. _be it enacted, etc._, that from and after the fourth day of july next, the flag of the united states be thirteen horizontal stripes, alternate red and white; that the union have twenty stars, white in a blue field. "section ii. _and be it further enacted_, that on the admission of every new state into the union, one star be added to the union of the flag; and that such addition shall take effect on the fourth of july next succeeding such admission. _approved_, april 4, 1818." no changes (other than the addition of new stars) have been made in the national flag since 1818. the stars have been added, one by one, until in 1898 there are forty-five in all. every state has its star; each of the original thirteen states has its stripe. so long as the united states exists the flag will remain in its present form, except that new stars will be displayed as the new states come in. it will forever exhibit the origin of the nation from the thirteen colonies, and its growth into a union of sovereign states. _edward s. holden_ makers of the flag this morning, as i passed into the land office, the flag dropped me a most cordial salutation, and from its rippling folds i heard it say: "good-morning, mr. flag-maker." "i beg your pardon, old glory," i said, "aren't you mistaken? i am not the president of the united states, nor a member of congress, nor even a general in the army. i am only a government clerk." "i greet you again, mr. flag-maker," replied the gay voice. "i know you well. you are the man who worked in the swelter of yesterday straightening out the tangle of that farmer's homestead in idaho, or perhaps you found the mistake in that indian contract in oklahoma, or helped to clear that patent for the hopeful inventor in new york, or pushed the opening of that new ditch in colorado, or made that mine in illinois more safe, or brought relief to the old soldier in wyoming. no matter; whichever one of these beneficent individuals you may happen to be, i give you greeting, mr. flag-maker." i was about to pass on, when the flag stopped me with these words: "yesterday the president spoke a word that made happier the future of ten million peons in mexico; but that act looms no larger on the flag than the struggle which the boy in georgia is making to win the corn club prize this summer. "yesterday the congress spoke a word which will open the door of alaska; but a mother in michigan worked from sunrise until far into the night, to give her boy an education. she, too, is making the flag. "yesterday we made a new law to prevent financial panics, and yesterday, maybe, a school teacher in ohio taught his first letters to a boy who will one day write a song that will give cheer to the millions of our race. we are all making the flag." "but," i said impatiently, "these people were only working!" then came a great shout from the flag: "the work that we do is the making of the flag. "i am not the flag; not at all. i am but its shadow. "i am whatever you make me, nothing more. "i am your belief in yourself, your dream of what a people may become. "i live a changing life, a life of moods and passions, of heartbreaks and tired muscles. "sometimes i am strong with pride, when men do an honest work, fitting the rails together truly. "sometimes i droop, for then purpose has gone from me, and cynically i play the coward. "sometimes i am loud, garish, and full of that ego that blasts judgment. "but always i am all that you hope to be, and have the courage to try for. "i am song and fear, struggle and panic, and ennobling hope. "i am the day's work of the weakest man, and the largest dream of the most daring. "i am the constitution and the courts, statutes and the statute makers, soldier and dreadnaught, drayman and street sweep, cook, counselor, and clerk. "i am the battle of yesterday, and the mistake of tomorrow. "i am the mystery of the men who do without knowing why. "i am the clutch of an idea, and the reasoned purpose of resolution. "i am no more than what you believe me to be and i am all that you believe i can be. "i am what you make me, nothing more. "i swing before your eyes as a bright gleam of color, a symbol of yourself, the pictured suggestion of that big thing which makes this nation. my stars and my stripes are your dream and your labors. they are bright with cheer, brilliant with courage, firm with faith, because you have made them so out of your hearts. for you are the makers of the flag and it is well that you glory in the making." _franklin k. lane_ the name of old glory[i] [i] from the biographical edition of the complete works of james whitcomb riley, copyright 1913. used by special permission of the publishers, the bobbs-merrill company. old glory! say, who, by the ships and the crew, and the long, blended ranks of the gray and the blue- who gave you, old glory, the name that you bear with such pride everywhere as you cast yourself free to the rapturous air and leap out full-length, as we're wanting you to?- who gave you that name, with the ring of the same, and the honor and fame so becoming to you?- your stripes stroked in ripples of white and of red, with your stars at their glittering best overhead- by day or by night their delightfulest light laughing down from their little square heaven of blue!- who gave you the name of old glory?--say, who- who gave you the name of old glory? the old banner lifted, and faltering then in vague lisps and whispers fell silent again. old glory--speak out!--we are asking about how you happened to "favor" a name, so to say, that sounds so familiar and careless and gay as we cheer it and shout in our wild breezy way- we--the crowd, every man of us, calling you that- we--tom, dick and harry--each swinging his hat and hurrahing "old glory!" like you were our kin, when--lord!--we all know we're as common as sin! and yet it just seems like you humor us all and waft us your thanks, as we hail you and fall into line, with you over us, waving us on where our glorified, sanctified betters have gone- and this is the reason we're wanting to know- (and we're wanting it so- where our own fathers went we are willing to go)- who gave you the name of old glory--o-ho!- who gave you the name of old glory? the old flag unfurled with a billowy thrill for an instant, then wistfully sighed and was still. old glory: the story we're wanting to hear is what the plain facts of your christening were- for your name--just to hear it, repeat it, and cheer it, 's tang to the spirit as salt as a tear;- and seeing you fly, and the boys marching by, there's a shout in the throat and a blur in the eye and an aching to live for you always--or die, if dying, we still keep you waving on high. and so, by our love for you, floating above, and the scars of all wars and the sorrows thereof, who gave you the name of old glory, and why are we thrilled at the name of old glory? then the old banner leaped, like a sail in the blast, and fluttered an audible answer at last. and it spake, with a shake of the voice, and it said: by the driven snow-white and the living blood-red of my bars, and their heaven of stars overhead- by the symbol conjoined of them all, skyward cast, as i float from the steeple, or flap at the mast, or droop o'er the sod where the long grasses nod- my name is as old as the glory of god. ... so i came by the name of old glory. _james whitcomb riley_ we'll keep old glory flying _song_ we'll keep old glory flying fair, no matter where we are; we'll let the breeze caress each stripe and proudly kiss each star. 'twill never know the despot's heel, this banner of the free. we'll keep old glory flying high, for home and liberty! no matter where we go, or when, no matter where we go, our starry flag in grandeur proud, to us the way will show. on foreign shores, afar from home, we'll carry it on high, and let the foeman know its might- to honor it or die. _carleton s. montanye_ our country's flag _song_ beneath our country's flag today, we stand a children's band, and to it now in loyalty we pledge each heart and hand. we love its colors as they wave beneath these summer skies, the flag our fathers fought to save is sacred in our eyes. our country's flag, the dear old flag, to it, ev'ry heart beats true! we will follow far each gleaming star, our own red, white and blue. 'neath each clust'ring fold, as in days of old, it will gather those oppressed, and secure from harm and from all alarm, it will bid them safely rest. to its slightest call, we will rally all; ev'ry pledge it makes to keep; and it leads us forth over lands afar, o'er the ocean's blue so deep. _florence l. dresser_ old flag what shall i say to you, old flag? you are so grand in every fold, so linked with mighty deeds of old, so steeped in blood where heroes fell, so torn and pierced by shot and shell, so calm, so still, so firm, so true, my throat swells at the sight of you, old flag. what of the men who lifted you, old flag, upon the top of bunker hill? 'mid shock and roar and crash and scream, who crossed the delaware's frozen stream, who starved, who fought, who bled, who died, that you might float in glorious pride, old flag? what of the women brave and true, old flag, who, while the cannon thundered wild, sent forth a husband, lover, child, who labored in the field by day, who, all the night long, knelt to pray, and thought that god great mercy gave, if only freely you might wave, old flag? what is your mission now, old flag? what but to set all people free, to rid the world of misery, to guard the right, avenge the wrong, and gather in one joyful throng beneath your folds in close embrace all burdened ones of every race, old flag. right nobly do you lead the way, old flag. your stars shine out for liberty, your white stripes stand for purity, your crimson claims that courage high for honor's sake to fight and die. lead on against the alien shore! we'll follow you e'en to death's door, old flag! _hubbard parker_ the unfurling of the flag _song_ there's a streak across the skyline that is gleaming in the sun, watchers from the lighthouse towers signalled it to foreign powers just as daylight had begun, message thrilling, hopes fulfilling to those fighting o'er the seas. "it's the flag we've named old glory that's unfurling to the breeze." can you see the flashing emblem of our country's high ideal? keep your lifted eyes upon it and draw joy and courage from it, for it stands for what is real, freedom's calling to the falling from oppression's hard decrees. it's the flag we've named old glory you see floating in the breeze. glorious flag we raise so proudly, stars and stripes, red, white and blue, you have been the inspiration of an ever growing nation such as this world never knew. peace and justice, freedom, progress, are the blessings we can seize when the flag we call old glory is unfurling to the breeze. when the cry of battling nations reaches us across the space of the wild tumultuous ocean, hearts are stirred with deep emotion for the saving of the race! peace foregoing, aid bestowing, first we drop on bended knees, then with shouts our grand old glory we set flaunting to the breeze! _clara endicott sears_ your flag and my flag your flag and my flag, and how it flies today in your land and my land and half a world away! rose-red and blood-red the stripes forever gleam; snow-white and soul-white- the good forefathers' dream; sky-blue and true blue, with stars to gleam aright- the gloried guidon of the day; a shelter through the night. your flag and my flag! and, oh, how much it holds- your land and my land- secure within its folds! your heart and my heart beat quicker at the sight; sun-kissed and wind-tossed- red and blue and white. the one flag--the great flag--the flag for me and you- glorified all else beside--the red and white and blue! your flag and my flag! to every star and stripe the drums beat as hearts beat and fifers shrilly pipe! your flag and my flag- a blessing in the sky; your hope and my hope- it never hid a lie! home land and far land and half the world around, old glory hears our glad salute and ripples to the sound! _wilbur d. nesbit_ our flag there are many flags in many lands, there are flags of every hue, but there is no flag in any land like our own red, white, and blue. then "hurrah for the flag!" our country's flag, its stripes and white stars, too; there is no flag in any land like our own red, white, and blue. _mary howlister_ this flag, which we honor and under which we serve, is the emblem of our unity, our power, our thought and purpose as a nation. it has no other character than that which we give it from generation to generation. the choices are ours. it floats in majestic silence above the hosts that execute those choices, whether in peace or in war. and yet, though silent, it speaks to us--speaks to us of the past, of the men and women who went before us, and of the records they wrote upon it. we celebrate the day of its birth; and from its birth until now it has witnessed a great history, has floated on high the symbol of great events, of a great plan of life worked out by a great people. we are about to carry it into battle, to lift it where it will draw the fire of our enemies. we are about to bid thousands, hundreds of thousands, it may be millions, of our men--the young, the strong, the capable men of the nation--to go forth and die beneath it on fields of blood far away.... woe be to the man, or group of men, that seeks to stand in our way in this day of high resolution, when every principle we hold dearest is to be vindicated and made secure for the salvation of the nations. we are ready to plead at the bar of history, and our flag shall wear a new luster. once more we shall make good with our lives and fortunes the great faith to which we were born, and a new glory shall shine in the face of our people. _woodrow wilson_ from flag day address, june 14, 1917 story of the "star spangled banner" in the war of 1812, when an attack was being made upon fort mchenry, mr. key and his friend were on board an american vessel just in sight of the enemy's fleet and the flag of fort mchenry. they remained on board all through the night, holding their breath at every shell that went careering over among their countrymen in the fort, and every moment expecting an explosion. suddenly the firing ceased, and as they had no connection with the enemy's ships they could not find out whether the fort had been abandoned, or the siege given up. for the remainder of the night they paced to and fro upon the deck in terrible anxiety, longing for the return of the day, and looking every few moments at their watches to see how long they must wait for it. light came at last, and they could see that our flag was still there. at length they were told that the attack had failed and that the british were re-embarking. the words of the "star spangled banner" were written by mr. key, as he walked the deck in the darkness and suspense. in less than an hour after it went into the printer's hands it was all over town, was hailed with joy, and at once took its place among our national pieces. ferdinand durag, an actor, saw it, and catching up a volume of flute music, he whistled tune after tune; at length, he chanced upon one called "anacreon in heaven," and as note after note fell from his lips, he cried, "boys, i've hit it!" then, taking up the words, there rang out for the first time the "song of the star spangled banner." how the men shouted and clapped! the actor sang it in public. it was caught up in camps, sung around bivouac fires, and whistled in the streets. when peace was declared and the people scattered to their homes, it was sung around thousands of firesides. the star-spangled banner oh, say, can you see, by the dawn's early light, what so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming, whose broad stripes and bright stars, through the perilous fight, o'er the ramparts we watched were so gallantly streaming? and the rockets' red glare, the bombs bursting in air, gave proof through the night that our flag was still there. oh, say, does that star-spangled banner yet wave o'er the land of the free and the home of the brave? on the shore dimly seen through the mists of the deep, where the foe's haughty host in dread silence reposes, what is that which the breeze, o'er the towering steep, as it fitfully blows, half conceals, half discloses? now it catches the gleam of the morning's first beam, in full glory reflected, now shines on the stream; 'tis the star-spangled banner; oh, long may it wave o'er the land of the free and the home of the brave. oh, thus be it ever, when freemen shall stand between their loved homes and the war's desolation, blest with victory and peace, may the heav'n-rescued land praise the power that hath made and preserved us a nation. then conquer we must, when our cause it is just, and this be our motto: "in god is our trust!" and the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave o'er the land of the free and the home of the brave. _francis scott key_ * * * * * a man came from europe to this country, and went to cuba in 1867. he was arrested as a spy, court-martialed and condemned to be shot. he sent for the american and english consuls, and proved to them that he was not a spy. they went to one of the spanish officers and said, "this man you have condemned to be shot is an innocent man." the spanish officer said, "the man has been legally tried by our laws and condemned, and the law must take its course and the man must die." the next morning the man was led out; the grave was already dug for him, the black cap was put on him, the soldiers were there ready to receive the order "fire," and in a few moments the man would be shot and put in that grave. then the american consul took the american flag and wrapped it around the prisoner, and the english consul took the english flag and wrapped it around him, and they said to those soldiers, "fire on those flags if you dare!" not a man dared. why? _there were two great governments behind those flags._ let us love our flag, because behind it is "the greatest of the best and the best of the great of all governments." * * * * * i have told the story of the making of an american. there remains to tell how i found out that he was made and finished at last. it was when i went back to see my mother once more and, wandering about the country of my childhood's memories, had come to the city of elsinore there i fell ill of a fever and lay many weeks in the house of a friend upon the shore of the beautiful oeresund. one day when the fever had left me they rolled my bed into a room overlooking the sea. the sunlight danced upon the waves, and the distant mountains of sweden were blue against the horizon. ships passed under full sail up and down the great waterway of the nations. but the sunshine and the peaceful day bore no message to me. i lay moodily picking at the coverlet, sick and discouraged and sore--i hardly knew why myself. until all at once there sailed past, close in shore, a ship flying at the top the flag of freedom, blown out on the breeze till every star in it shone bright and clear. that moment i knew. gone were illness, discouragement and gloom! forgotten weakness and suffering, the cautions of doctor and nurse. i sat up in bed and shouted, laughed and cried by turns, waving my handkerchief to the flag out there. they thought i had lost my head, but i told them no, thank god! i had found it, and my heart, too, at last. i knew then it was my flag; that my children's home was mine, indeed; that i also had become an american in truth. and i thanked god, and, like unto the man sick of the palsy, arose from my bed and went home, healed. _jacob a. riis_ from "the making of an american" the flag goes by hats off! along the street there comes a blare of bugles, a ruffle of drums, a flash of color beneath the sky: hats off! the flag is passing by! blue and crimson and white it shines, over the steel-tipped, ordered lines. hats off! the colors before us fly; but more than the flag is passing by. sea-fights and land-fights, grim and great, fought to make and to save the state: weary marches and sinking ships; cheers of victory on dying lips; days of plenty and years of peace; march of a strong land's swift increase; equal justice, right and law, stately honor and reverend awe; sign of a nation, great and strong to ward her people from foreign wrong; pride and glory and honor--all live in the colors to stand or fall. hats off! along the street there comes a blare of bugles, a ruffle of drums; and loyal hearts are beating high: hats off! the flag is passing by! _henry holcomb bennett_ rules for flag etiquette in no case should the flag be permitted to touch the ground, nor should it be marred by advertisements, nor desecrated on the stage. for indoor decorations the flag should only be used as a drapery; it should not be used to cover a bench or table, or where anything can be placed upon the flag. no words, figures, pictures or marks of any kind should be placed upon the flag. when our national flag and state or other flags fly together, or are used in decoration, our national flag should be on the right. whenever possible the flag should always be allowed to fly in the breeze from a staff or mast, but if it should be necessary to fasten it to the side of a building or platform, it should hang with the blue field at the upper left hand corner. if hung where it can be seen from both sides, the blue field should be toward the east or north. the correct salute to the flag as required by the regulations of the united states army is: standing at attention, raise the right hand to the forehead over the right eye, palm downward, fingers extended and close together, arm at an angle of forty-five degrees. move hand outward about a foot, with a quick motion, then drop it to the side. the oath of allegiance to the flag, adopted by the n. s. d. a. r., and by our military schools, the boy scouts and other organizations, and which should be taught in all our public schools is: "i pledge allegiance to my flag, and to the republic for which it stands: one nation indivisible, with liberty and justice for all." when the colors are passing on parade or in review, the spectator should, if a man or boy, stand at attention and uncover. when the "star spangled banner" is played, all present should rise and stand at attention until the ending. when the flag is displayed at half mast, for mourning, it is lowered to that position from the top of the staff. it is afterward hoisted to the top before it is finally lowered. when the flag is flown at half staff as a sign of mourning it should be hoisted to full staff at the conclusion of the funeral. when used on a bier or casket at a funeral, the stars should be placed at the head. our most important holidays (when the flag should be displayed at full staff) are: lincoln's birthday, february 12; washington's birthday, february 22; arbor day; memorial day, may 30; flag day, june 14; independence day, july 4; columbus day, october 12; thanksgiving day, and state day. the flag should not be hoisted before sunrise or allowed to remain up after sunset. at "retreat," sunset, civilian spectators should stand at "attention" and the men should remove their hats during the playing of the "star spangled banner." military spectators are required by regulation to stand at "attention" and give the military salute. when the national colors are passing on parade, or in review, spectators should, if walking, halt, and if sitting, rise and stand at attention, the men removing their hats. bibliography see bibliography at end of monograph. bibliography bibliography katharine b. rogers, reference librarian, state library holidays and festivals in general =armstrong, w. c.= patriotic poems of new jersey. new jersey society sons of the american revolution =bacon, corinne=, _comp._ one thousand good books for children. wilson[j] [j] this bibliography contains references to books and parts of books for the different holidays. =bates, e. w. & orr, w.= pageants and pageantry. ginn =bemis, k. i., holtz, m. s. & smith, h. l.= patriotic reader. houghton =broadhurst, jean & rhodes, clara l.= verse for patriots. lippincott =chambers, r.= book of days. lippincott =chubb, percival.= festivals and plays. harper =craig, mrs. a. a.= the dramatic festival. putnam =davis, h. c.= _ed._ three minute declamations for college men. hinds =davis, h. c.= _ed._ three minute readings for college girls. hinds =deems, e. m.= holy-days and holidays. funk =dynes, s. a.= socializing the child. silver burdette (chapters vii and viii for teachers' reading) =horsford, i. m.= stories of our holidays. silver burdette =mackay, c. d.= how to produce children's plays. holt =mackay, c. d.= patriotic plays and pageants. holt =mackay, c. d.= plays of the pioneers. harper =mcspadden, j. w.= book of holidays. crowell =needham, m. m.= folk festivals. huebsch =olcott, f. j.= _ed._ good stories for great holidays. moffat =one= hundred and one famous poems. cable =patten, h. p.= the year's festivals. estes =paulsson, emilie.= holidays songs and everyday songs and games. milton bradley co. =rice, s. s.= holiday selections. penn =schauffler, r. h.= _ed._ our american holiday series. moffat separate volumes on arbor day, flag day, lincoln's birthday, memorial day, thanksgiving, washington's birthday =stevenson, b. e.= days and deeds. baker & taylor =stevenson, b. e.= home book of verse. holt =thorp, j. & kimball, r.= patriotic pageants of today. holt =watkins, d. e. & williams, r. e.= the forum of democracy. allyn opening exercises =mcnaught, m. s.= training in courtesy. (u. s. bureau of education bulletin no. 59, 1917) columbus day =brooks, e. s.= the true story of christopher columbus. lothrop =colombo, fernando.= the discovery of america; from the life of columbus by his son. (old south leaflets, vol. 2, no. 29) =fiske, john.= the discovery of america. 2 vols. houghton =irving, washington.= columbus; his life and voyages. (heroes of the nation series) =mackie, c. p.= with the admiral of the ocean sea; a narrative of the first voyage to the western world, drawn mainly from the diary of columbus. mcclurg =moores, c. w.= life of christopher columbus for boys and girls. houghton =seelye, mrs. e. e.= the story of columbus. appleton =trenton state normal school--junior class.= columbus day; a dramatic festival. (manuscript at trenton state normal school library) =winsor, justin.= christopher columbus, and how he received and imparted the spirit of discovery. houghton thanksgiving day =kellogg, a. m.= how to celebrate thanksgiving and christmas. penn =schauffler, r. h.= _ed._ thanksgiving. moffat =schell, s.= thanksgiving celebrations. werner. =sindelar, j. c.= thanksgiving entertainments. flanagan. =trenton state normal school.= thanksgiving day. crowell publishing co. (woman's home companion) lincoln's birthday =andrews, mary r. s.= the perfect tribute. scribner =arnold, i. n.= life of abraham lincoln. mcclurg =baldwin, james.= four great americans, washington, franklin, webster, lincoln. american book co. =brooks, e. s.= the true story of abraham lincoln. lothrop =brooks, noah.= abraham lincoln, and the downfall of american slavery. putnam =coffin, c. c.= abraham lincoln. harper =gordy, w. f.= abraham lincoln. scribner =hill, f. t.= lincoln, the lawyer. houghton =mackaye, percy.= lincoln centenary ode. macmillan =moores, c. w.= life of abraham lincoln for boys and girls. houghton =morgan, james.= abraham lincoln, the boy and the man. macmillan =morse, j. t.= abraham lincoln. 2 vols. houghton =nicolay, j. g.= boy's life of abraham lincoln. century =nicolay, j. g.= short life of abraham lincoln. century =nicolay, j. g. & hay, john.= abraham lincoln. 10 vols. century =nicolay, j. g. & hay, john.= complete works of abraham lincoln. 2 vols. century =putnam, m. l.= children's life of abraham lincoln. mcclurg =robinson, l. e.= abraham lincoln as a man of letters. reilly =rothschild, alonzo.= lincoln, master of men. lane =schauffler, r. h.= _ed._ lincoln's birthday. moffat =schurz, carl.= abraham lincoln. houghton =selby, paul.= anecdotal lincoln. thompson =tarbell, i. m.= life of abraham lincoln. 2 vols. doubleday =whipple, wayne.= the story-life of lincoln. winston washington's birthday =brooks, e. s.= the true story of george washington. lothrop =carrington, h. b.= washington, the soldier. scribner =ford, p. l.= the true george washington. lippincott =ford, w. c.= george washington. small =hapgood, norman.= george washington. macmillan =haworth, p. l.= george washington: farmer. bobbs-merrill =headley, j. t.= washington and his generals. scribner =hill, f. t.= on the trail of washington. appleton =irving, washington.= life of george washington. 8 vols. putnam =irving, washington.= washington and his country. ("life" abridged for schools) ginn =kellogg, a. m.= how to celebrate washington's birthday. penn =lodge, h. c.= george washington. 2 vols. houghton =mackaye, percy.= washington, the man who made us. knopf =schauffler, r. h.= _ed._ washington's birthday. moffat =scudder, h. e.= george washington. houghton =seawell, m. e.= virginia cavalier. harper =seelye, mrs. e. e.= story of washington. appleton =sindelar, j. c.= washington day entertainments. flanagan. =trent, w. p.= southern statesmen of the old rã©gime. crowell =van dyke, henry.= americanism of washington. harper =whipple, wayne.= story-life of washington. 2 vols. winston arbor day =revell, e. i.= arbor day exercises for the schoolroom. educational publishing co. =schauffler, r. h.= _ed._ arbor day. moffat =skinner, c. r.= arbor day manual. bardeen memorial day =andrews, m. p.= the american's creed and its meaning. doubleday =hale, e. e.= the man without a country =revell, e. i.= memorial day exercises for the schoolroom. educational publishing co. =schauffler, r. h.= _ed._ memorial day. moffat =united states committee on public information.= battle line of democracy flag day =canby, george & balderston, lloyd.= evolution of the american flag. ferris & leach =harrison, p. d.= the stars and stripes and other american flags. little, brown & co. =holden, e. s.= our country's flag and the flags of foreign countries. appleton =ide, e. k.= history and significance of the american flag. (published by the author) =national geographic magazine.= flag number, october 1917 =preble, g. h.= history of the flag of the united states of america, and other national flags. williams =schauffler, r. h.= _ed._ flag day. moffat =schell, stanley.= flag day program. werner =stewart, c. w.= the stars and stripes. boylston publishing co. =tappan, e. m.= little book of the flag. houghton =u. s. navy department.= flags of the maritime nations index adams, john, 107 address to america, walt whitman, 54 after the great companions, frank crane, 134 america, william cullen bryant, 55 america's answer, r. w. lillard, 138 arbor day, 109-24 babcock, maltbie d., 23 bailey, 22 baker, george c., 125 battle hymn of the republic, julia ward howe, 132 beecher, henry ward, 88, 142 bennett, henry holcomb, 156 bibliography, katharine b. rogers, 159-64 bixby letter, abraham lincoln, 82 blue and the gray, the, francis miles finch, 130 boy columbus, the, 44 boy that hungered for knowledge, the, 86 bridges, madeline s., 22 bryant, william cullen, 55 bryce, james, 107 butterworth, hezekiah, 49 campbell, mary r., 40 cat and his servant, the, alice lewis, 31 chastelleux, marquis, 108 chew, hannah h., 141-58 choate, rufus, 107 civility, selections from rules of, 99 collins, william, 126 columbus, christopher, a dreamer they called him, 42 columbus and the egg, 45 columbus dared to cross the sea, 41 columbus sailed over waters blue, 36 columbus was a sailor bold, 39 crowning columbus, 37 discovery day, 41 i'll wave my flag for discovery day, 38 my beautiful flag, 38 my little ship, 38 we are jolly little sailors, 36 what we can do, 37 columbus, joaquin miller, 52 columbus day, fitchburg (massachusetts) normal school, 45; j. cayce morrison, 33-57 columbus game, 38 columbus play, mary r. campbell, 40 cotton, history of, bessie o'hagen, 28 courtesy is to do and say, 22 crane, frank, 134 davis, k. c., 121 depew, chauncey mitchell, 50 discovery day, 41 discovery of america, washington irving, 49 dresser, florence l., 150 emerson, ralph waldo, 54, 60 fabricant, josephine m., 135 farber, florence l., 24 finch, francis miles, 130 fitchburg (massachusetts) normal school, 45 flag, american, brief history of, edward s. holden, 145 flag, story about, 155 flag day, hannah h. chew, 141-58 flag etiquette, rules for, 157 flag goes by, henry holcomb bennett, 156 flag of spain, 42 folsom, joseph fulford, 84 forests, value of, u. s. bureau of education, 123 foster, henry w., 89 froude, james anthony, 23 gaskill, alfred, 112 gettysburg speech, abraham lincoln, 79 gordon, charles c., 139 gordon, john b., 133 green, j. r., 90, 96 gregg, david, 134 guitteau, william backus, 56 hale, edward everett, 50 hamilton grove, planting of, charles a. philhower, 119 harte, bret, 129 haver, jennie, 13 hay, john, 134 hazard, caroline, 56 holden, edward s., 145 houghton, george w. w., 53 howe, julia ward, 132 howlister, mary, 153 i have a son, emory pottle, 136 if you have faith, 23 immortal morn, hezekiah butterworth, 49 in flanders fields, john mccrae, 138 irving, washington, 49, 53 jusserand, j. j., 94 kendall, c. n., 7, 9, 111, 112 key, francis scott, 155 kilmer, joyce, 110 kindness is catching, 23 kipling, rudyard, 131 lane, franklin k., 139, 147 lee, henry, 107 lewis, alice, 31 lillard, r. w., 138 lincoln, abraham, 79, 82, 96 lincoln, acrostic, 84 lincoln and judge b. ... swap horses, 87 lincoln's autobiography, 81 lincoln's birthday, charles a. philhower, 69-88 lincoln's honesty, 86 lincoln's humor, 87 lincoln's kindness of heart, 86 lincoln's speeches, sayings from, 82 logan, john a., 134 london newspaper, 108 lossing, benson j., 52 lowell, james russell, 34 mccrae, john, 138 mcspadden, j. walker, 97 makers of the flag, franklin k. lane, 147 memorial day, george c. baker, 125-39 miller, joaquin, 52 montanye, carleton s., 150 morning exercises, florence l. farber, 24; jennie haver, 13 morrison, j. cayce, 33 name of old glory, james whitcomb riley, 148 nesbit, wilbur d., 153 o captain, my captain, walt whitman, 83 o'hagen, bessie, 28 old flag, hubbard parker, 151 on a portrait of columbus, george edward woodberry, 54 opening exercises, 11-32; ---louis h. burch, 13 our country's flag, florence l. dresser, 150 our flag, mary howlister, 153 our national ideals, william backus gitteau, 56 parker, hubbard, 151 philhower, charles a., 69, 119 pottle, emory, 136 recessional, rudyard kipling, 131 reveille, the, bret harte, 129 riis, jacob a., 156 riley, james whitcomb, 148 rogers, katharine b., 159 sailor, story of, 96 sears, clara endicott, 152 second inaugural address, abraham lincoln, 79 service flag, the, josephine m. fabricant, 135 service flag, the, u. s. bulletin, 135 shaffer, roy l., 59-67 shakespeare, william, 12 sleep of the brave, the, william collins, 126 smith, laura rountree, 38, 39 somebody did a golden deed, 22 star spangled banner, francis scott key, 155 "star spangled banner," story of, 154 stars and stripes, henry ward beecher, 142 stelzle, charles, 57 stevenson, robert louis, 23 stewart, judd, 87 suggestions to teachers, k. c. davis, 121 thanksgiving day, roy l. shaffer, 59-67 thayer, louis e., 22 there's so much bad, 23 thing to do is hope, the, 23 thompson, james, 23 thwing, e. p., 133 trees, joyce kilmer, 110 trees and forests, alfred gaskill, 112 truth is honest, 22 u. s. bureau of education, 123 unfinished work, joseph fulford folsom, 84 unfurling of the flag, the, clara endicott sears, 152 van dyke, henry, 95, 108 washington, abraham lincoln, 96 washington, george, life of, j. walker mcspadden, 97 how did george washington look, 95 lend a hand, 95 washington as he looked, 94 washington's birthday, henry w. foster, 89-108 washington's farewell address, 102 washington's farewell to the army, 102 washington's sayings, 101 we thank thee, ralph waldo emerson, 60 we'll keep old glory flying, carleton s. montanye, 150 western land, the, caroline hazard, 56 whitman, walt, 54, 83 wilson, james grant, 52 wilson, woodrow, 139, 154 wise old owl, a, 23 woodberry, george edward, 54 woodbury, ida vose, 70 wordsworth, william, 23 your flag and my flag, wilbur d. nesbit, 153 * * * * * holiday stories for young people. [illustration] compiled and edited by margaret e. sangster. published by the christian herald louis klopsch, proprietor, bible house, new york. copyright, 1896, by louis klopsch. dedication. to john and jane, to fred and frank, to theodore and mary, to willie and to reginald, to louis, sue and gary; to sturdy boys and merry girls, and all the dear young people who live in towns, or live on farms, or dwell near spire or steeple; to boys who work, and boys who play, eager, alert and ready, to girls who meet each happy day with faces sweet and steady; to dearest comrades, one and all, to harry, florrie, kate, to children small, and children tall, this book i dedicate. preface. boys and girls, i am proud to call a host of you my personal friends, and i dearly love you all. it has been a great pleasure to me to arrange this gift book for you, and i hope you will like the stories and ballads, and spend many happy hours over them. one story, "the middle daughter," was originally published in harper's "round table," and is inserted here by consent of messrs. harper and brothers. two of the ballads, "horatius," and "the pied piper," belong to literature, and you cannot afford not to know them, and some of the fairy stories are like bits of golden coin, worth treasuring up and reading often. miss mary joanna porter deserves the thanks of the boys for the aid she has given in the making of this volume, and the bright stories she has contributed to its pages. a merry time to you, boys and girls, and a heart full of love from your steadfast friend, m.e.s. contents. page 1. the clover leaf club of bloomdale. by m.e. sangster 9 2. the lighthouse lamp. by m.e. sangster. 71 3. the family mail-bag. by mary joanna porter 73 4. a day's fishing. by mary joanna porter 79 5. why charlie didn't go. by mary joanna porter 85 6. uncle giles' paint brush. by mary joanna porter 91 7. the pied piper of hamelin. by robert browning 95 8. a girl graduate. by cynthia barnard 104 9. a christmas frolic. by m.e. sangster 116 10. archie's vacation. by mary joanna porter 119 11. a birthday story. by m.e. sangster 124 12. a coquette. by amy pierce 130 13. horatius. ballad. by t.b. macaulay 131 14. a bit of brightness. by mary joanna porter 151 15. how sammy earned the prize. by m.e. sangster 157 16. the glorious fourth 162 17. the middle daughter. by m.e. sangster 163 18. the golden bird. by the brothers grimm. 226 19. harry pemberton's text. by elizabeth armstrong 239 20. our cats 246 21. outovplace 252 22. the boy who dared to be a daniel. by s. jennie smith 254 23. little red cap. by the brothers grimm. 259 24. new zealand children 266 25. the breeze from the peak 271 26. the bremen town musicians. by the brothers grimm 276 27. a very queer steed and some strange adventures. told after ariosto, by elizabeth armstrong 282 28. freedom's silent host. by m.e. sangster 292 29. presence of mind. by m.e. sangster 294 30. the boy who went from the sheepfold to the throne. by m.e. sangster 312 holiday stories for young people the clover leaf club of bloomdale by margaret e. sangster. chapter i. the heroine presents herself. my name is milly van doren, and i am an only child. i won't begin by telling you how tall i am, how much i weigh, and the color of my eyes and hair, for you would not know very much more about my looks after such an inventory than you do without it, and mother says that in her opinion it is pleasantest to form one's own idea of a girl in a story book. mother says, too, that a good rule in stories is to leave out introductions, and so i will follow her advice and plunge into the middle of my first morning. it was early summer and very lovely, and i was feeling half-sad and half-glad, with the gladness surpassing the sadness, because i had never before been half so proud and important. father and mother, after talking and planning and hesitating over it a long while, were actually going on a journey just by themselves and without me; and i, being now considered old enough and steady enough, was to stay at home, keep house, and take care of dear grandmamma. with aunt hetty at the helm, the good old servant, whose black face had beamed over my cradle fifteen years ago, and whose strong arms had come between mother and every roughness during her twenty years of housekeeping, it really looked as if i might be trusted, and as if mother need not give me so many anxious directions. did mother think me a baby? i wondered resentfully. father always reads my face like an open page. "thee may leave something to milly's discretion, dear," he said, in his slow, stately way. "thee forgets her inexperience, love," said my gentle mother. father and mother are always courtly and tender with one another, never hasty of speech, never impatient. they have been lovers, and then they are gentlefolk. father waited, and mother kept on telling me about grandmamma and the cat, the birds and the best china, the fire on the hearth in cool evenings, and the last year's canned fruit, which might as well be used up while she was away, particularly the cherries and plums. "may the girls come over often?" i asked. "whenever you like," said mother. "invite whom you please, of course." here father held up his watch warningly. it was time to go, if they were to catch the train. arm in arm they walked down the long avenue to the gate, after bidding me good-bye. grandmamma watched them, waving her handkerchief from the window of her room over the porch, and at the last moment i rushed after them for a final kiss and hug. "be good, dear child, and let who will be clever," said father, with a twinkle in his eye. "don't forget to count the silver every morning," said mother. and so my term of office began. bloomdale never wore a brighter face than during that long vacation--a vacation which extended from june till october. we girls had studied very diligently all winter. in spring there had been scarlet fever in the village, and our little housekeepers, for one cause or another, had seldom held meetings; and some of the mothers and older sisters declared that it was just what they had expected, our ardor had cooled, and nothing was coming of our club after all that had been said when we organized. as president of the bloomdale clover leaf club i determined that the club should now make up for lost time, and having _carte-blanche_ from mother, as i supposed, i thought i would set about work at once. cooking was our most important work, and there's no fun in cooking unless eating is to follow; so the club should be social, and give luncheons, teas and picnics, at which we might have perfectly lovely times. i saw no reason for delay, and with my usual impulsiveness, consulted nobody about my first step. and thus i made mistake number one. cooking and housekeeping always look perfectly easy on paper. when you come to taking hold of them in real earnest with your own hands you find them very different and much harder. soon after i heard the train whistle, and knew that father and mother were fairly gone, i harnessed old fan to the phaeton, and set out to visit every one of the girls with an invitation to tea the very next evening. i did put my head into grandmamma's chamber to tell her what i thought of doing, but the dear old lady was asleep in her easy-chair, her knitting lying in her lap, and i knew she did not wish to be disturbed. i closed the door softly and flew down stairs. just as i was ready to start, aunt hetty came to the kitchen door, calling me, persuasively: "miss milly, honey, what yo' done mean to hab for dinner?" "oh, anything you please, aunty," i called back, gathering up the reins, chirping to fan, and taking the road to the curtis girls' house. certainly i had no time to spend consulting with aunt hetty. mother knew me better than father did. i found out later that this wasn't at all a proper way to keep house, giving no orders, and leaving things to the discretion, of the cook. but i hadn't really begun yet, and i was wild to get the girls together. bloomdale is a sort of scattered up-hill and down-dale place, with one long and broad street running through the centre of the village, and houses standing far apart from each other, and well back from the pavement in the middle of the green lawns, swept into shadow by grand old trees. the bloomdale people are proud of the town, and keep the gardens beautiful with flowers and free from weeds. life in bloomdale would be perfectly delightful, all the grown-up people say, if it were not for the everlasting trouble about servants, who are forever changing their places and going away, and complaining that the town is dull, and their church too distant, and life inconvenient; and so every one envies my mother, who has kept hetty all these years, and never had any trouble at all. at least i fancied that to be so, till i was a housekeeper myself, and found out that aunt hetty had spells of temper and must be humored, and was not perfect, any more than other people vastly above her in station and beyond her in advantages. i stopped for linda curtis, and she jumped into the phaeton and went with me. we asked jeanie cartwright, veva fay, lois partridge, amy pierce and marjorie downing to tea the next day, and every girl of them promised to come bright and early. when i reached home i ran to grandmamma to ask her if i had done right, and to get her advice about what i would better have for my bill of fare. "thee is too precipitate, dear child," said grandmamma. "why not have waited two or three days before having a company tea? i fear much that hetty will be contrary, and not help as she ought. and i have one of my headaches coming." "oh, grandmamma!" i exclaimed. "have you taken your pills?" i was aghast. "thee needn't worry, dear," replied grandmamma, quite unruffled. "i have taken them, and if the headache does not vanish before dark, i'll sleep in the south chamber to-night, and be out of the way of the stir to-morrow. i wish, though, aunt hetty were not in a cross fit." "it is shameful," i said. "aunt hetty has been here so long that she does not know her place. i shall not be disturbed by her moods." so, holding my head high, i put on my most dignified manner and went to the kitchen. aunt hetty, in a blue gingham gown, with a gay kerchief tied on her head, was slowly and pensively rocking herself back and forth in her low chair. she took no notice of me whatever. "aunt hetty!" no answer. "aunt hetty!" this time i spoke louder. still she rocked back and forth, apparently as deaf as a post. i grew desperate, and, going up to her, put my hand on her shoulder, saying: "_aunt hetty_, aren't we to have our dinner? the fire seems to be out." she shook off my hand and slowly rose, looking glum and preoccupied. "didn't hear no orders for dinner, miss alice." "now, aunt hetty," i remonstrated, "why will you be so horrid? you know i am the housekeeper when mother is away, and you're going to spoil everything, and make her wish she hadn't gone. _how_ can i manage if you won't help? come, be good," i pleaded. but nothing moved her from her stony indifference, and i went back to grandmamma in despair. i was about to pour all my woes in her ear, but a glance at her pale face restrained me. she was going to have a regular van doren headache. "we never have headaches like other people." how many times i have heard my aunts and uncles say this in just these words! they do not think me half a van doren because, owing to my mother's way of bringing me up, i have escaped the family infliction. in fact, i am half a neilson, and the neilsons are a healthy everyday set, who do not have aches and pains, and are seldom troubled with nerves. plebeian, perhaps, but very comfortable. i rushed back to the den of aunt hetty, as i now styled the kitchen. she was pacing back and forth like a lioness in a cage at a show, singing an old plantation melody. that was a sign that her fit of temper was worse than ever. little i cared. "hetty van doren," i said, "stop sulking and singing! there isn't time for either. poor grandmamma has a fearful headache, and you and i will have to take care of her. put some water on to boil, and then come up to her room and help me. and don't sing 'go down, moses,' another minute." i had used two arguments which were powerful with aunt hetty. one was calling her hetty van doren. she liked to be considered as belonging to the family, and no compliment could have pleased her more. she often said she belonged to the kentucky _noblesse_, and held herself far above common trash. the other was my saying you and i. she was vexed that mother had left me--a baby, in her opinion--to look after the house, and rather resented my assuming to be the mistress. by my happy form of speech i pleased the droll old woman, who was much like a child herself. then, too, she was as well aware as i was that grandmamma's pain would grow worse and worse every hour until it was relieved. it was surprising how quickly aunty moved when she chose. she had a fire made and the kettle on to boil in five minutes; and, almost before i knew it, she had set cold chicken, and nice bread and butter and a great goblet of creamy milk on the table for me. "there, honey," she said, "don't mind dis hateful ole woman. eat your luncheon, while i go up and help ole miss to bed." a hot-water bag for her feet, warm bandages laid on her head, some soothing medicine which she always took, and hetty and i at last left grandmamma more comfortable than we found her. it was funny, as i thought of it afterward. in one of her worst paroxysms the dear lady gasped, a word at a time: "aunt--hetty,--miss--milly--has--asked--friends--to--tea--to-morrow. put--some--ham--and--tongue--on--to--boil--directly!" aunt hetty looked as if she thought grandmamma must be raving. i nodded that it was all right, and up went the two black hands in expostulation and amazement. but a while later a savory smell of boiling ham came appetizingly wafted up the stairs. i drew a free breath. i knew the girls would at least have something to eat, and my hospitality would not be shamed. so toward evening i made grandmamma a cup of tea. it is not every one who knows how to make tea. the water must boil and bubble up. it isn't fully boiling when the steam begins to rise from the spout, but if you will wait five minutes after that it will be just right for use. pour a very little into the teapot, rinse it, and pour the water out, and then put in your tea. no rule is better than the old one of a teaspoonful for every cup, and an extra one for the pot. let this stand five minutes where it will not boil, and it will be done. good tea must be steeped not boiled. mother's way is to make hers on the table. i have been drilled over and over in tea making, and am skillful. i made some dainty slices of toast in this way: i cut off the crust and put it aside for a pudding, and as the oven was hot, i placed the bread in a pan, and let it lean against the edge in a slanting position. when it was a pale golden brown i took it out, and carried it to grandmamma. the object of toasting bread is to get the moisture out of it. this is more evenly done in the oven than over the fire. toast should not be burned on one side and raw on the other; it should be crisp and delicate all through. my tea and toast were delicious, and tasted all the better for being arranged in the prettiest china we had and on our daintiest salver. the next morning grandmamma was better, and i had my hands full. chapter ii. company to tea, and some receipts. you remember that grandmamma in the very middle of her headache gave orders about boiling the ham and the tongue. we made a rule after that, and veva, who was secretary, wrote it in the club's book: "always begin getting ready for company the day before." i had not noticed it then, but it is mother's way, and it saves a great deal of confusion. if everything is left for the day on which the company is expected, the girl who is hostess will be much too tired to enjoy her friends. she ought to have nothing on her mind which can worry her or keep her from entering into their pleasure. a hurried, worried hostess makes her guests feel somehow in a false position. our house was, fortunately, in excellent order, so i had nothing to do except, in the morning, to set the table prettily, to dust the parlors, to put fresh flowers in the vases, and give a dainty finishing touch here and there to the rooms. there were plenty of pleasant things to do. i meant to have tea over early, and then some of the club's brothers would be sure to come in, and we could play tennis on our ground, and perhaps have a game of croquet. then, when it was too dark for that sort of amusement, we could gather on the veranda or in the library, and have games there--dumb crambo and proverbs, until the time came for the girls to go home. first, however, the eating part of the entertainment had to be thought of. aunt hetty was in a wonderful good humor, and helped with all her might, so that my preparations went on very successfully. grandmamma felt so much better that i asked her advice, and this was the bill of fare which she proposed: ham sandwiches. cold sliced tongue. quick biscuits. apple-sauce. strawberries and cream. tapioca blanc-mange. cup-cake. cookies. cocoa. the ham, having been boiled till tender the afternoon before, was chopped very fine, a tiny dash of mustard added to it, and then it was spread smoothly between two pieces of the thinnest possible bread-and-butter. around each of the sandwiches, when finished, i tied a very narrow blue ribbon. the effect was pretty. the tongue was sliced evenly, and arranged on a plate with tender leaves of lettuce around its edge. the biscuits i made myself. mother taught me how. first i took a quart of flour, and dropped into it two teaspoonfuls of our favorite baking-powder. this i sifted twice, so that the powder and flour were thoroughly blended. mother says that cakes and biscuits and all kinds of pastry are nicer and lighter if the flour is sifted twice, or even three times. i added now a tablespoonful of lard and a half teaspoonful of salt, and mixed the biscuit with milk. the rule is to handle as little as possible, and have the dough very soft. roll into a mass an inch thick, and cut the little cakes apart with a tin biscuit-cutter. they must be baked in a very hot oven. no little housekeeper need expect to have perfect biscuits the first time she makes them. it is very much like playing the piano. one needs practice. but after she has followed this receipt a half dozen times, she will know exactly how much milk she will require for her dough, and she will have no difficulty in handling the soft mass. a dust of flour over the hands will prevent it from sticking to them. mother always insists that a good cook should get all her materials together before she begins her work. the way is to think in the first place of every ingredient and utensil needed, then to set the sugar, flour, spice, salt, lard, butter, milk, eggs, cream, molasses, flavoring, sieves, spoons, egg-beaters, cups, strainers, rolling-pins, and pans, in a convenient spot, so that you do not have to stop at some important step in the process, while you go to hunt for a necessary thing which has disappeared or been forgotten. mother has often told me of a funny time she had when she was quite a young housekeeper, afflicted with a borrowing neighbor. this lady seldom had anything of her own at hand when it was wanted, so she depended upon the obliging disposition of her friends. one day my mother put on her large housekeeping apron and stepped across the yard to her outdoor kitchen. the kitchens in kentucky were never a part of the house, but always at a little distance from it, in a separate building. "aunt phyllis," said my mother to the cook, who was browning coffee grains in a skillet over the fire, "i thought i told you that i was coming here to make pound cake and cream pies this morning. why is nothing ready?" "la, me, miss emmeline!" replied aunt phyllis. "miss 'tilda jenkins done carried off every pie pan and rolling-pin and pastry-board, and borrowed all de eggs and cream fo' herself. her bakin' isn't mo'n begun." this was a high-handed proceeding, but nothing could be done in the case. it was mrs. jenkins' habit, and mother had always been so amiable about it that the servants, who were easygoing, never troubled themselves to ask the mistress, but lent the inconvenient borrower whatever she desired. sometimes just as we were going to church, i was too little at the time to remember, mother said that a small black boy with very white teeth and a very woolly head, would pop up at her chamber door, exclaiming, "howdy, miss emmeline. miss 'tilda done sent me to borrow yo' prayer-book. she goin' to church to-day herself." or, of a summer evening, her maid would appear with a modest request for miss emmeline's lace shawl and red satin fan; miss 'tilda wanted to make a call and had nothing to wear. all this, i think, made mother perfectly _set_ against our ever borrowing so much as a slatepencil or a pin. we were always to use our own things or go without. i never had a sister, but cousins often spent months at the house, and were in and out of my room in the freest way, forever bringing me their gloves to mend or their ties to clean, as cousins will. "never borrow," said my mother. "buy, or give away, or do without, but be beholden to nobody for a loan." another rule for little housekeepers is to wash their hands and faces and have their hair in the nicest order before they begin to cook. the nails should be cleaned and the toilet attended to as carefully as if the girl were going to a party, before she begins any work in the kitchen. i suppose you think my bill of fare for a company tea very plain, but i hadn't time for anything elaborate. besides, if what you have is very good, and set on the table prettily, most people will be satisfied even if the fare is simple. "apple-sauce," said amy one day, "is a dish i never touch. we used to have it so often at school that i grew tired at the sight of it." but amy did eat apple-sauce at our house. aunt hetty taught me how to make it, and i think it very good. we always cook it in an earthenware crock over a very quick fire. this is our receipt: pare and slice the apples, eight large ones are sufficient for a generous dish, and put them on with a very little water. as soon as they are soft and pulpy stir in enough granulated sugar to make them as sweet as your father and brothers like them. take them off and strain them through a fine sieve into a glass dish. cook the apple-sauce about two hours before it is wanted on the table. put beside it a bowl of whipped cream, and when you help to the sauce add a heaping spoonful of the cream to every dish. people spoil apple-sauce by making it carelessly, so that it is lumpy and coarse, or has seeds or bits of the core sticking in it, and mother says that both apple-pies and apple-sauce should be used the day they are made. they lose their _bouquet_, the fine delicate flavor is all gone if you keep them long before using. a great divine used to say that "the natural life of an apple pie is just twelve hours." _tapioca blanc-mange._--this is the receipt: one pint of fresh milk, three-quarters of a cupful of sugar, half a pound of tapioca soaked in cold water four hours, a small teaspoonful of vanilla, a pinch of salt. heat the milk and stir in the tapioca previously soaked. mix well and add the sugar. boil it slowly fifteen minutes, then take it off and beat until nearly cold. pour into moulds, and stand upon the ice. this is very nice served with a teaspoonful of currant or raspberry jelly to each helping, and if cream is added it makes a beautiful dessert. this ought to be made the day before it is needed. i made mine before noon and it was quite ready, but you see it tired me to have it on my mind, and it _might_ have been a failure. _cup-cake._--three teacups of sifted sugar and one cup and a half of butter beaten to a cream, three eggs well beaten (white and yolks separately), three teacupfuls of sifted flour. flavor with essence of lemon or rose water. a half teaspoonful is enough. dissolve a teaspoonful of cream of tartar and a half teaspoonful of baking soda in a very little milk. when they foam, stir them quickly into the cake. beat well until the mixture is perfectly smooth, and has tiny bubbles here and there on the surface. bake in a very quick oven. _cookies._--these were in the house. we always keep a good supply. one cup of butter, one of sugar, one of sour milk, half a nutmeg grated, one teaspoonful of saleratus dissolved in a little boiling water, flour enough to roll out the cookies. cut into small round cakes and bake. keep these in a close tin. they will last a long time unless the house is supplied with hungry school-boys. _cocoa._--two ounces of cocoa and one quart of boiling water. boil together for a half hour on the back of the stove, then add a quart of milk and two tablespoonfuls of sugar. boil for ten minutes and serve. everything on the table was enjoyed, and we girls had a very merry time. after tea and before the brothers came, we arranged a plan for learning to make bread. i forgot to speak of the strawberries, but good strawberries and rich cream need no directions. a pretty way of serving them for breakfast, or for people who prefer them without cream, is simply to arrange the beautiful fruit unhulled on a cut glass dish, and dip each berry by its dainty stem into a little sparkling mound of powdered sugar. as for our games, our talk, our royally good time, girls will understand this without my describing it. as veva said, you can't put the soul of a good time down on the club's record book, and i find i can't put it down here in black and white. but when we said good-night, each girl felt perfectly satisfied with the day, and the brothers pleaded for many more such evenings. chapter iii. a fair white loaf. "it's very well," said miss clem downing, marjorie's sister, "for you little housekeepers to make cakes and creams; anybody can do that; but you'll never be housekeepers in earnest, little or big, my dears, till you can make good eatable bread." "bread," said mr. pierce to amy, "is the crowning test of housewifery. a lady is a loaf-giver, don't you know?" "when jeanie shall present me with a perfect loaf of bread, i'll present her with a five-dollar gold piece," said jeanie's father. "i don't want veva meddling in the kitchen," observed mrs. fay, with emphasis. "the maids are vexatious enough, and the cook cross enough as it is. if ever veva learns breadmaking, it must be outside of this house." "don't bother me, daughter," said mrs. partridge, looking up from the cup she was painting. "it will be time for you to learn breadmaking when the bakers shut their shops." as for the writer of this story, her mother's way had been to teach her breadmaking when she was just tall enough to have a tiny moulding-board on a chair, but milly did not feel qualified to take hold of a regular cooking class. it was the same with linda curtis. grandmamma suggested our having a teacher, and paying her for her trouble. "miss muffet?" said veva. "miss muffet," we all exclaimed. "and then," said jeanie, "our money will enable her to buy the winter cloak she is so much in need of, and she will not feel as if she were accepting charity, because she will earn the money if she teaches us." "indeed, she will," exclaimed veva. "i know beforehand that she will have one fearfully stupid pupil, and that is veva fay." breakfast was no sooner over next morning, and grandmamma dressed and settled in comfort, than away we flew to our friend. "we," means linda and myself. she is my nearest neighbor, and we often act for the club. miss muffet lived by herself in a bit of a house, her only companions being a very deaf sister and a very noisy parrot. "passel o' girls! passel o' girls!" screamed the parrot, as we lifted the latch and walked up the little bricked pathway, bordered with lady-slippers and prince's feather, to the porch, which was half hidden by clematis. miss muffet was known to every man, woman and child in bloomdale. she was sent for on every extra occasion, and at weddings, christenings and funerals, when there was more work than usual to be done, the little brisk woman, so quiet and so capable, was always on hand. she could do a little of everything, from seating tommy's trousers to setting patches in ellen's sleeves; from making lambrequins and table scarfs to laundrying lace curtains and upholstering furniture. as for cooking, preserving and canning, she was celebrated for miles around and beyond our township. "would miss muffet undertake to show a few girls how to make bread and rolls and biscuit and sally-lunn, and have patience with them till they were perfect little housekeepers, so far as bread was concerned." it was some little time before we could make miss muffet understand our plan, and persuade her to let us pay for our lessons; but when she did understand, she entered into the plan with enthusiasm. "la me! what a clever notion to be sure! sister jane, poor dear, would approve of it highly, if she weren't so deaf. begin to-day? well, well! you don't want the grass to grow under your feet, do you? all right! i'll be at your house, milly, at six o'clock this evening to give the first lesson. have the girls there, if you can. it's as easy to teach a dozen as one." "milly," said linda, "the club ought to have a uniform and badges. i don't think a club is complete that hasn't a badge." "we all have white aprons," i said. "yes; ordinary aprons, but not great kitchen aprons to cover us up from head to foot." "well, if the club adopts the plan it will not be hard to make such aprons. we must certainly have caps, and those should be thought of at once." grandmamma was always my resort when i was at my wits' end, and so i went to her with a question: "had she anything which would do for our caps?" "there must be something in my lower left-hand wardrobe drawer," said grandmamma, considering. "thee may bring me a green bag, which thee will see in the far corner, and then we will talk about those caps in earnest." that wonderful green bag proved a sort of fairy find. there were remnants of mull, swiss, jaconet and other fabrics--white, plain and barred. grandmamma cut us a pattern. at four the seven girls were assembled in her room. jeanie on a hassock at her feet, the remainder grouped as they chose. how our fingers flew! it was just a quarter to six when every cap was finished, and each girl had decided upon her special color. we hadn't the ribbon to make our bows, and were obliged to wait till somebody should go to the city to procure it; but each girl knew her favorite color, and that was a comfort. linda curtis chose blue, and i would wear rose-tints (my parents did not insist on my wearing quaker gray, and i dressed like "the world's people"), veva chose old gold, and each of the others had a preference. "you will look like a field of daisies and clover, dearies," said grandmamma. "there!" cried jeanie. "why not have a four-leaved clover as our badge? there isn't anything prettier." the four-leaved clover carried the day, though one or two did speak for the daisy, the maiden-hair fern and the pussy willow. all this was before the subject of the national flower had been agitated. "where are my pupils?" miss muffet appeared promptly at the hour, and wore a most business-like air as she began her instructions. "compressed yeast has found its way to bloomdale, my dears," she said, "so that i shall not have to begin by telling you how to make yeast. that useful lesson may wait till another day. before we do anything, i will give you some rules for good family bread, and you may write them down, if you please. "1. always sift your flour thoroughly." seven pencils wrote that rule in seven notebooks. "2. mix the dough as soft as it can be handled. you must never have it too stiff. "3. set it to rise in a moderately warm place. "4. you cannot knead bread too much. the more it is kneaded the firmer, sweeter and lighter it will be." when we had written this down miss muffet remarked: "mrs. deacon ead's bread always takes the prize at the county fair. it looks like pound-cake. i don't want you girls to make flabby, porous bread, full of air-holes. i want you to learn how to knead it till it is just like an india-rubber cushion." "if the dough is soft won't it stick to our fingers?" said marjorie, with a dainty little shiver. "powder your hands very lightly with flour. that will keep the dough from sticking," said miss muffet, "and you will gain a knack after a while. "5. the oven must be steadily hot, but not too quick, for bread. hold your hand in it while you count thirty, and it will be right for putting in your bread. "6. grease your pans. "7. when taking bread from the oven loosen the loaves from the pans, stand them upright, and let them lean against something to keep them in that position. cover them lightly with a cloth. "8. do not put them away until they are cold." we all gathered about the table, but were disappointed that there was nothing for us to do except look on. she took two quarts of flour and sifted it thoroughly into a large wooden bowl. in one pint of tepid water she dissolved a half-tablespoonful of salt and half a yeast cake. pouring this into a hollow in the middle of the flour she gradually drew the flour into it from all sides, working it with swift, light touches until it was a compact mass. she pounced and pulled and beat this till it was as smooth and round as a ball, dusted a little flour over it, covered it with a thick cloth and set it aside. "that is all that can be done to-night, girls," she said. "be here every one of you at six in the morning, if milly can be up so early. the bread will be ready then for another kneading. you must not overlook the fact, girls, that bread is not accommodating. it has to be attended to when the proper time comes, whether it is convenient for the maker or not. if neglected, it will be too light, or else heavy. bread which is too light has a sour taste, and is just as unpalatable as that which is heavy, _i.e._, not raised enough, i mean." in the morning our bread had risen to the top of the bowl, and had cracks running in a criss-cross manner over its surface. miss muffet was the first one to appear on the scene. she gave us a lesson in kneading. such patting and pounding, throwing over, tossing back and forth, as she gave that poor dough. but the dough must have enjoyed it, for it seemed to grow lighter every minute. after a full twenty minutes of this process the bread was set near the fire for a second rising. a half-hour passed. miss muffet took it in hand again, and again she pounced and patted, beat and pounded the helpless mass, this time dividing it into three small loaves, which she set near the fire for the final rising. "bread is nicer made in little loaves," she told us. "more convenient for use on the table, easier to bake, and less likely to become dry." and now let me give you a receipt for ingleside waffles. mother considers these very good, and so do we girls who have tried them. "make one pint of indian meal into mush the usual way, which is by stirring the meal into boiling water and letting it boil until it is thick. while hot put in a small lump of butter and a dessertspoonful of salt. set the mush aside to cool. beat separately the whites and yolks of four eggs until very light; add the eggs to the mush, and cream in by degrees one quart of wheat flour; add half a pint of buttermilk or sour cream, in which you have dissolved a half-teaspoonful of bicarbonate of soda; add sweet milk enough to make a thin batter. "have the waffle-irons hot. they should be heated in advance, not to keep the batter waiting. butter them thoroughly and half fill them with the batter. bake over a quick fire." i never eat waffles without thinking of a pleasant home where two girls and a boy who read this paper have good times every summer. they often go out on the bay for an afternoon sail, and come home in the rosy sunset in time for waffles. waffles, with sugar and cream, are a very nice addition to a supper table. another receipt of miss muffet's: _delicious corn muffins._--one pint of corn meal sifted, one egg, one pint of sweet milk, a teaspoonful of butter, and half a teaspoonful of salt. pour this mixture into muffin-rings and bake in a very quick oven. this receipt is one that mother sometimes uses on a cold winter evening when she has nothing else hot for supper. they are great favorites in our household. chapter iv. how to sweep. in the first chapter of this story i spoke of the trouble housekeepers in bloomdale had to get and keep good servants. we clover leaf girls made up our minds that we would learn to be independent. we resolved to know how to do every sort of housework, so that we might assist our mothers whenever they needed us, and be ready for any emergency as it came along. aunt hetty's daughter-in-law in boston sent the poor old soul a letter which made her rather uneasy, and grandmamma thought that i might better let her go and pay sally a visit while mother was away than to wait till her return. "the fall dressmaking and cleaning will be coming on then," said grandmother, "and thee will be busy with school again. so if hetty takes her vacation now, she will be here to help the dear mother then." i agreed to this, for the chance of having the kitchen to myself was very tempting. the club was charmed; they said they would just live at our house and help me with all their might. "then you won't have hetty's moods to worry you," said veva, consolingly. we had a good time. nevertheless it was a happy day for me when aunt hetty, bag and baggage, came home a week sooner than she was expected. nobody was looking for her; but the good old soul, having seen her relations, felt restless, and wanted to get home. "somefin done tole me, honey," she said, "that aunt hetty am wanted hyar, and sure enuf it's so. yo' pa an' ma off on dey trabbles, and nobody but one pore lamb lef' to take car' ob de house an' de ole madam. i wouldn't hab gone only for dat no-account sal anyhow." i felt like a bird set free from a cage when aunt hetty appeared, and she came in the very nick of time, too, for that same day up rolled the stage, and out popped my great-aunt jessamine (grandmamma's sister) from philadelphia. the two old ladies had so much to tell one another that they had no need of me. so i went to the downings', where the club was to hold a meeting, armed with brushes and brooms, taking a practical lesson in sweeping and dusting. the downings were without a maid, and we all turned in to help them. alice, nell, and clem, the older sisters, accepted our offer joyfully, though i think their mother had doubts of the wisdom of setting so many of us loose in her house at once. but linda curtis and jeanie cartwright found that they were not needed and went home; veva had a music lesson and was excused; linda's mamma had taken her off on a jaunt for the day; and amy could not be spared from home. only lois and i were left to help marjorie, and, on the principle that many hands make light work, we distributed ourselves about the house under the direction of the elder downing sisters. now, girls all, let me give you a hint which may save you lots of time and trouble. if sweeping and dusting are thoroughly done, they do not need to be done so very often. a room once put in perfect order, especially in a country village, where the houses stand like little islands in a sea of green grass, ought to stay clean a long time. it is very different in a city, where the dust flies in clouds an hour after a shower, and where the carts and wagons are constantly stirring it up. give me the sweet, clean country. mother's way is to carefully dust and wipe first with a damp and then with a dry cloth all the little articles of bric-a-brac, vases, small pictures, and curios, which we prize because they are pretty, after which she sets them in a closet or drawer quite out of the way. then, with a soft cloth fastened over the broom, she has the walls wiped down, and with a hair brush which comes for the purpose she removes every speck of dust and cobweb from the cornices and corners. a knitted cover of soft lampwick over a broom is excellent for wiping a dusty or a papered wall. next, all curtains which cannot be conveniently taken down are shaken well and pinned up out of the way. shades are rolled to the top. every chair and table is dusted, and carried out of the room which is about to be swept. if there are books, they are dusted and removed, or if they are arranged on open shelves, they are first dusted and then carefully covered. mother's way is to keep a number of covers of old calico, for the purpose of saving large pieces of furniture, shelves and such things, which cannot be removed from their places on sweeping days. it is easier, she says, to protect these articles than to remove the dust when it has once lodged in carvings and mouldings. we girls made a frolic of our dusting, but we did it beautifully too. i suppose you have all noticed what a difference it makes in work whether you go at it cheerfully or go at it as a task that you hate. if you keep thinking how hard it is, and wishing you had somebody else to do it for you, and fretting and fuming, and pitying yourself, you are sure to have a horrid time. but if you take hold of a thing in earnest and call it fun, you don't get half so tired. in sweeping take long light strokes, and do not use too heavy a broom. "milly," said lois, "do you honestly think sweeping is harder exercise than playing tennis or golf?" i hesitated. "i really don't know. one never thinks of hard or easy in any games out of doors; the air is so invigorating, they have a great advantage over house work in that way." "well, for my part," said marjorie, "i like doing work that tells. there is so much satisfaction in seeing the figures in the carpet come out brightly under my broom. alice, what did you do to make your reception-room so perfectly splendiferous? girls, look here! you'd think this carpet had just come out of the warehouse." "mother often tells aunt hetty," said i, "to dip the end of the broom in a pail of water in which she has poured a little ammonia--a teaspoonful to a gallon. the ammonia takes off the dust, and refreshes the colors wonderfully. we couldn't keep house without it," i finished, rather proudly. "did you bring some from home?" asked marjorie, looking hurt. "why, of course not! i asked your mother, and she gave me the bottle, and told me to take what i wanted." "a little coarse salt or some damp tea-leaves strewed over a carpet before sweeping adds ease to the cleansing process," said mrs. downing, appearing on the scene and praising us for our thoroughness. "the reason is that both the salt and the tea-leaves being moist keep down the light floating dust, which gives more trouble than the heavier dirt. but now you will all be better for a short rest; so come into my snuggery, and have a gossip and a lunch, and then you may attack the enemy again." "mrs. downing, you are a darling," exclaimed lois, as we saw a platter of delicate sandwiches, and another of crisp ginger cookies, with a great pitcher of milk. "we didn't know that we were hungry; but now that i think about it, i, for one, am certain that i could not have lived much longer without something to supply the waste of my failing cellular tissue." "i think," replied mrs. downing, "that we would often feel much better for stopping in our day's work to take a little rest. i often pause in the middle of my morning's work and lie down for a half-hour, or i send to the kitchen and have a glass of hot milk brought me, with a crust or a cracker. you girls would not wish to lie down, but you would often find that you felt much fresher if you just stopped and rested, or put on your jackets and hats and ran away for a breath of out-door air. you would come back to your work like new beings." "just as we did in school after recess," said marjorie. "precisely. change of employment is the best tonic." our luncheon over, and our rooms swept, rugs shaken, stairs and passages thoroughly brushed and wiped, we polished the windows with cloths dipped in ammonia water and wrung out, and followed them by a dry rubbing with soft linen cloths. then it was time to restore the furniture to its place, and bring out the ornaments again from their seclusion. now we saw what an advantage we had gained in having prepared these before we began the campaign. in a very little while the work was done and the house settled, and so spotless and speckless we felt sure it would keep clean for weeks. mother's way is to use a patent sweeper daily in rooms which are occupied for sewing and other work, and she says that she does not find it necessary to give her rooms more than a light sweeping oftener than once in six weeks. of course it would be different if we had a large family. paint should be wiped, door-knobs polished, and a touch of the duster given to everything on these sweeping days. the clover leaves voted that feather-dusters, as a rule, were a delusion. one often sees a girl, who looks very complacent as she flirts a feather-duster over a parlor, displacing the dust so that it may settle somewhere else. all dusted articles should be wiped off, and the dust itself gotten rid of, by taking it out of the house, and leaving it no chance to get back on that day at least. when i reached home in time for our one o'clock dinner, i found great-aunt jessamine and grandmamma both waiting for me, and the former, who was a jolly little old lady, was quite delighted over the bloomdale girls and their housekeeping. "all is," she said, "will those downings do as well when there are no other girls to make them think the work is play?" "oh!" answered grandmamma, "i never trouble my head about what folks will do in the future. i have enough to do looking after what they do in the present. alice here gets along very well all by herself a great part of the time. by-the-way, child, did aunt hetty give thee mother's letter?" i rushed off to get my treasure. it would soon be the blessed day when i might expect a letter telling me when my father and mother would be at home again. chapter v. a little of everything. just as i began to be a wee little bit tired of housework, and to feel that i would like nothing so much as a day with my birds, my fancy-work, and a charming story-book, what should happen but that grandmamma's headache and aunt hetty's "misery in her bones" should both come at once. tap, tap, tap on the floor above my head in the early dawn came grandmamma's ebony stick. veva fay and marjorie downing were both spending the night with me. veva had slept on the wide, old-fashioned lounge in the corner, and marjorie in the broad couch with me, and we had all talked till it was very late, as girls always do when they sleep in one room, unless, of course, they are sisters, or at school, and used to it. i had a beautiful room. it ran half across the front of the house, and had four great windows, a big fire-place, filled in summer with branches of cedar, or bunches of ferns, growing in a low box, and filling the great space with cool green shade, and in winter the delight of the girls, because of the famous hickory fires which blazed there, always ready to light at a touch. in one corner stood my mahogany desk, above it a lovely picture of the madonna and child. easy-chairs were standing around, and there were hassocks and ottomans in corners and beside the windows. my favorite engraving--a picture representing two children straying near a precipice, fearing no danger, and just ready to fall, when behind them, sweeping softly down, comes their guardian angel--hung over the mantel. how much pleasure i took in that room, in the book shelves always full, in the pretty rugs and the cool matting and the dainty drapery, all girls can imagine. it was my own snuggery, and i kept it in the loveliest good order, as mother liked me to. tap, tap, tap. "goodness!" cried veva, only half awake. "what is that? mice?" said marjorie, timidly. "burglars!" exclaimed veva. "hush, girls!" i said, shaking off my drowsiness. "it's poor grandmamma, and she has one of her fearfulest headaches. it's two weeks since she had the last, so one may be expected about now. the tap means, 'come to me, quickly.'" i ran to the door, and said, "coming, grandmamma!" slipped my feet into my soft knitted shoes, and hurried my gray flannel wrapper on, then hastened to her bedside. i found that grandmamma was not so very ill, only felt unable to get up to breakfast with us, and wanted some gruel made as soon as possible. "i've been waiting to hear some stir in the house," she said, "but nobody seemed to be awake. isn't it later than usual, girlie?" i tiptoed over to grandmamma's mantel, and looked at her little french clock. it _was_ late! eight, and past, and hetty had not called us. what could be the matter? down i flew to find out what ailed aunt hetty. she was usually an early riser. before i reached her room, which was on the same floor with the kitchen, i heard groans issuing from it, and hetty's voice saying: "dear me! oh, dear me!" in the most despairing, agonizing tones. hetty always makes the most of a "misery in her bones." "what is it, aunty?" i asked, peering into the room, which she _would_ keep as dark as a pocket. "de misery in my bones, child! de ole king chills! sometimes i'm up! sometimes i'm down!" the bed shook under the poor thing, and i ran out to ask patrick to go for the doctor, while i made the fire, and called the girls to help prepare breakfast. first in order after lighting the fire, which being of wood blazed up directly that the match was applied to the kindlings, came the making of the corn-meal gruel. a tablespoonful of corn meal wet with six tablespoonfuls of milk, added one by one, gradually, so that the meal is quite free from lumps. one pint of boiling water, and a little salt. you must stir the smooth mixture of the meal and milk into the boiling water. it will cool it a little, and you must stir it until it comes to a boil, then stand it back, and let it simmer fifteen minutes. the doctor was caught by patrick just leaving his house to go to a patient ten miles off. he prescribed for aunt hetty, looked in upon grandmamma, and told me to keep up my courage, i was a capital little nurse, and he would rather have me to take care of him than anybody else he knew, if he were ill, which he never was. he drove off in his old buggy, leaving three little maids watching him with admiring eyes. we all loved doctor chester. "now, girls," i said, "we must get our breakfast. we cannot live on air." marjorie brought the eggs and milk. veva cut the bread and picked the blackberries. i put the pan on to heat for the omelette, and this is the way we made it: three eggs, broken separately and beaten hard- "in making an omelette, children, you see, the longer you beat it, the lighter 'twill be," hummed marjorie, add a teaspoonful of milk, and beat up with the eggs; beat until the very last moment when you pour into the pan, in which you have dropped a bit of butter, over the hot fire. as soon as it sets, move the pan to a cooler part of the stove, and slip a knife under the edge to prevent its sticking to the pan; when it is almost firm in the middle, slant the pan a little, slip your knife all the way round the edge to get it free, then tip it over in such a way that it will fold as it falls on the plate. you should serve an omelette on a hot plate, and it requires a little dexterity to learn how to take it out neatly. veva exclaimed, "oh, milly, you forgot the salt!" "no," i explained; "french cooks declare that salt should never be mixed with eggs when they are prepared for omelette. it makes the omelette tough and leathery. a little salt, however, may be sprinkled upon it just before it is turned out upon the dish." here is another receipt, which jeanie copied out of her mother's book: "six eggs beaten separately, a cup of milk, a teaspoonful of corn-starch mixed smoothly in a little of the milk, a tablespoonful of melted butter, a dash of pepper, and a sprinkle of salt. beat well together, the yolks of the eggs only being used in this mixture. when thoroughly beaten add the foaming whites and set in a very quick oven." it will rise up as light as a golden puff ball, but it must not be used in a family who have a habit of coming late to breakfast, because, if allowed to stand, this particular omelette grows presently as flat as a flounder. after breakfast came the task of washing the dishes. is there anything which girls detest as they do this everyday work? every day? three times a day, at least, it must be done in most houses, and somebody must do it. veva said: "i'd like to throw the dishes away after every meal. if a fairy would offer _me_ three wishes the first one i'd make would be never to touch a dishcloth again so long as i lived." "oh, veva!" exclaimed marjorie. "think of the lovely china the enderbys have, and the glass which came to mrs. curtis from her great-grandmother. would you like a piece of that to be broken if it were yours?" "no-o-o!" acknowledged veva. "but our dishes are not so sacred, and our bridgets break them regularly. we are always having to buy new ones as it is. mamma groans, and sister constance sighs, and aunt ernie scolds, but the dishes go." "mother thinks that the old-fashioned gentlewomen, who used to wash the breakfast things themselves, were very sensible and womanly." eva shrugged her plump shoulders, but took a towel to wipe the silver. i had gathered up the dishes, and taken my own way of going about this piece of work. first i took a pan of hot water in which i had dissolved a bit of soap, and i attacked the disagreeable things--the saucepans and broilers and pots and pans. they are very useful, but they are not ornamental. all nice housekeepers are very particular to cleanse them thoroughly, removing every speck of grease from both the outside and the inside, and drying them until they shine. it isn't worth while to ruin your hands or make them coarse and rough when washing pots and pans. i use a mop, and do not put my hands into the hot, greasy water. mother says one may do housework and look like a lady if she has common sense. i finished the pots and pans and set my cups and saucers in a row, my plates scraped and piled together, my silver in the large china bowl, and my glasses were all ready for the next step. i had two pans, one half-filled with soapy, the other with clear water, and having given my dainty dishes a bath in the first i treated them to a dip in the second, afterward letting them drain for a moment on the tray at my right hand. veva and marjorie wiped the silver and glass with the soft linen towels which are kept for these only; next i took my plates, then the platters, and finally the knives. just as we finished the last dish i heard grandmother's tap, tap on the floor over my head. there's an art in everything, even in washing dishes. i fancy one might grow fond of it, if only one took an interest in always doing it well. perhaps it is because my parents are friends, and i have been taught that it is foolish to be flurried and flustered and to hurry over any work, but i do think that one gets along much faster when one does not make too much haste. i do hope i may always act just as mother does, she is so sweet and peaceful, never cross, never worried. now, dear grandmamma is much more easily vexed. but then she is older and she has the van doren headaches. tap, tap came the call of the ebony stick. i ran up to grandmamma's room. chapter vi. a candy pull. of all things in the world, what should grandmamma propose but my sending for miss muffet! great-aunt jessamine had gone away long before. "i believe it was to-day that the girls meant to have the candy pull at jeanie's, wasn't it?" grandmamma asked. "yes, darling grandmamma," i said, "they may have it; but i am not going to desert you." "thee is very kind, dearie," replied grandmamma; "but i need only quiet, and hetty will come out of her attack just as well without thee as with thee. i particularly wish that thee would go. how is thee to have the fair unless thee has the candy pull? the time is passing, too. it will soon be school and lessons again." so, at grandmamma's urging, i went for miss muffet. the little woman came without much delay, and took hold, as she expressed it, looking after both our invalids; and in the meantime telling me how to broil a steak for my grandmamma's and our own dinner, and how to fry potatoes so that they should not be soaked with grease. a girl i know gained a set of dickens' works by broiling a steak so as to please her father, who was a fastidious gentleman, and said he wanted it neither overdone nor underdone, but just right. for broiling you need a thick steak, a clear fire, and a clean gridiron. never try to broil meat over a blaze. you must have a bed of coals, with a steady heat. the steak must not be salted until you have turned each side to the fire; and it must be turned a good many times and cooked evenly. it will take from five to seven minutes to broil it properly, and it will then have all the juices in, and be fit for a king. i don't know that kings have any better food than other gentlemen, but one always supposes that they will have the very best. a steak may be cooked very appetizingly in the frying pan; but the pan must be very hot, and have no grease in it. enough of that will ooze from the fat of the steak to keep it from sticking fast. a good steak cooked in a cold frying-pan and simmering in grease is an abomination. so declares miss muffet, and all epicures with her. to fry potatoes or croquettes or any other thing well, one must have plenty of lard or butter or beef drippings, as she prefers, and let it boil. it should bubble up in the saucepan, and there should be enough of it to cover the wire basket in which the delicately sliced potatoes are laid--a few at time--to cook. they will not absorb fat, because the heat, when the first touch of it is given, will form a tight skin over them, and the grease cannot pierce this. they will be daintily brown, firm and dry. but this isn't telling of our candy pull. we had set our hearts on having fun and doing good--killing two birds with one stone, as al fay said. but i do not approve of that proverb, for certainly no _girl_ ever wishes to kill a bird; no more does a decent boy think of such a thing. we resolved to have a fair and to sell candy at it, making every bit ourselves. therefore we had sent out some invitations to girls not of the club, and to some of the nicest boys. they were as follows: the clover leaf club of bloomdale requests the pleasure of your company at the house of miss jeanie cartwright, on friday evening, september 8, at eight o'clock. candy pull. milly van doren, _president._ lois partridge, _secretary._ i had my doubts all day as to whether it would be right for me to go; but about four o'clock aunt hetty, looking as well as ever, came out of her room in a stiffly starched gingham gown, and proceeded to cook for herself a rasher of bacon and some eggs. grandmamma was up and reading one of her favorite books; and miss muffett, who had stepped over to her house to attend to her sister and the parrot, came back declaring her intention to stay all night. "so, my darling child, you may go, and welcome." away went my doubts and fears, and i tripped merrily down the street to jeanie's, feeling the happier for a letter from mother, which i found at the post office. our candy was to be sold for a cent a stick, but the sticks were not scanty little snips by any means. mrs. cartwright made us a present of the molasses, lois brought the sugar from home, al fay brought the saleratus, patty remembered about the vinegar, and marjorie produced the butter. these were the ingredients: a half-gallon of new orleans molasses, a cup of vinegar, a piece of butter as large as two eggs, a good teaspoonful of saleratus dissolved in hot water. we melted the sugar in the vinegar, stirred it into the molasses, and let it come to the boil, stirring steadily. the boys took turns at this work. when the syrup began to thicken we dropped in the saleratus, which makes it clear; then flouring our hands, each took a position, and pulled it till it was white. the longer we pulled, the whiter it grew. we ate some of it, but we girls were quite firm in saving half for our sale. then we made maple-sugar caramels. have you ever tried them? they are splendid. you must have maple sugar to begin with; real sugar from the trees in vermont if you can get it. you will need a deep saucepan. then into a quart of fresh sweet milk break two pounds of sugar. set it over the fire. as the sugar melts, it will expand. boil, boil, boil, stir, stir, stir. never mind if your face grows hot. one cannot make candy sitting in a rocking-chair with a fan. one doesn't calculate to, as great-aunt jessamine always says. the way to test it when you _think_ it is done is to drop a portion in cold water. if brittle enough to break, it is done. pour into square buttered pans, and mark off while soft into little squares with a knife. some people like cream candy. it is made in this way: three large cupfuls of loaf-sugar, six tablespoonfuls of water. boil, without stirring, in a bright tin pan until it will crisp in water like molasses candy. flavor it with essence of lemon or vanilla; just before it is done, add one teaspoonful of cream of tartar. powder your hands with flour, and pull it until it is perfectly white. _plain caramels_.--one pound of brown sugar, a quarter of a pound of chocolate, one pint of cream, one teaspoonful of butter, two tablespoonfuls of molasses. boil for thirty minutes, stirring all the time; test by dropping into cold water. flavor with vanilla, and mark off as you do the maple caramels. home-made candy is sure to be of good materials, and will seldom be harmful unless the eater takes a great quantity. then the pleasure of making it counts for something. our little fair was held the day after the candy pull, and the boys put up a tent for us in colonel fay's grounds. admission to the tent was five cents. we sold candy, cake, ice-cream, and--home-made bread, and our gains were nineteen dollars and ten cents. there were an apron table, and a table where we sold pin-cushions and pen-wipers; but our real profits came from the bread, which the girls' fathers were so proud of that they bought it at a dollar a loaf. with the money which came from the fair, we sent two little girls, dot and dimpsie, our poorest children in bloomdale, where most people were quite comfortably off, to the seaside for three whole weeks. i do not know what we would have done in bloomdale if dot and dimpsie had not had a father who would rather go off fishing, or lounge in the sun telling stories, than support his family. everybody disapproved of jack roper, but everybody liked his patient little wife and his two dear little girls, and we all helped them on. there was no excuse for jack. he was a tall, strong man, a good hunter, fisher and climber, a sailor whenever he could get the chance to go off on a cruise; but he would not work steadily. he did not drink, or swear, or abuse his wife; but he did not support her, and if people called him shiftless jack, he only laughed. as he was the only person in bloomdale who behaved in this way, we did what mother calls condoning his offences--we called on him for odd jobs of repairing and for errands and extra work, such as lighting fires and carrying coals in winter, shoveling snow and breaking paths, weeding gardens in summer, and gathering apples in the fall. we girls determined to take care of dot and dimpsie, and help mrs. roper along. they were two dear little things, and mrs. roper was very glad of our assistance. * * * * * chapter vii. keeping accounts. mother's way in one particular is different from that of some other people. veva fay and lois partridge never have any money of their own. they always ask their parents for what they want. if lois' papa is in a happy frame of mind, he will give her a five-dollar gold piece, and say: "there, go along, little girl, and buy as many bonbons as you please. when that's gone, you know where to come for more." if he happens to be tired, or if something in the city has gone wrong that day, he will very likely meet her modest request with a "don't bother me, child! i won't encourage your growing up in foolish extravagance." veva's father and mother make such a pet of her that they cannot bear to deny her anything, and she will often order pretty things when she goes to town, and is out walking with her cousins, just because they are pretty, and not because she has any real use for them. if there were any beggars here, veva would empty that little silken purse of hers every time she saw them, but the club has forbidden her to spoil dot and dimpsie in that way. and she is too much of a lady to outshine the rest of us. mother and father both believe in keeping an exact account of expenses. money is a great trust, and we must use it with care. economy, which some people suppose to be another name for saving, is a beautiful picture word which signifies to guide the house. mother thinks economy cannot be learned in a day. so when i was little she began by giving me ten cents every saturday morning. at the same time she put in my hand a little book and a pencil. "see, daughter," she said, "thee is to set thy ten cents down on one page, and that will show how much thee has to spend. on the other thee is to put down the penny given in church, the penny for taffy, for fines." for fines? what could she mean? well, perhaps you will laugh; but my mother's way is never to let a child in her care use slang, or slam doors, or leave things lying about in wrong places, or speak unkindly of the absent. half a cent had to be paid every time i did any of these things, and i kept my own account of them, and punished myself. i always knew when i had violated one of mother's golden rules by her grieved look, or father's surprised one, or by a little prick from my conscience. "and what was done with the fines?" asked jeanie, when i told her of this plan. "oh, they went into our hospital fund, and twice a year--at midsummer and christmas--they were sent away to help some good sisters who spent their lives in looking after poor little cripples, or blind children, or who went about in tenements to care for the old and sick." at every week's end i had to bring my book to mother, add up what i had spent, and subtract the amount from my original sum. if both were the same, it was all right. if i had spent less than i received last saturday, then there was a balance in my favor, and something was there all ready to add to my new ten cents. but if i had gone into debt, or fallen short, or borrowed from anybody, mother was much displeased. as i grew older my allowance was increased, until now i buy my gowns and hats, give presents out of my own money, and have a little sum in the savings-bank. my housekeeping account while mother was absent was quite separate from any other of my own. mother handed me the housekeeping books and the housekeeping money, with the keys, and left me responsible. "thee knows, milly love," she said, "that i never have bills. i pay everybody each week. thee must do the same. and always put down the day's expenses at the end of the day. then nothing will be forgotten." at the close of the year mother knows where every penny of hers has gone. even to the value of a postage-stamp or a postal-card. as the clover leaf club girls were not all so fortunate as i in having an allowance, they took less interest in learning how to shop. there are two ways of shopping. one is to set out without a very definite idea of what you wish to buy, and to buy what you do not want, if the shopman persuades you to do so, or it pleases your fancy. the other is to make a list of articles before you leave home, something like this: nine yards of merino for gown; three yards of silesia; two spools of cotton, nos. 30 and 50; one spool of twist; one dozen crochet buttons; a dozen fine napkins and a lunch cloth; five yards of blue ribbon one inch wide; a paper of pins; a bottle of perfumery; five-eighths of a yard of ruching for the neck. provided with such a memorandum, the person who has her shopping to do will save time by dividing her articles into classes. the linen goods will probably be near together in the shop, and she will buy them first; then going to the counters where dress goods are kept, she will choose her gown and whatever belongs to it; the thread, pins, twist and other little articles will come next; and last, her ruching and ribbon. she will have accomplished without any trouble, fuss, or loss of temper what would have wearied an unsystematic girl who has never learned how to shop. then, before she set out, she would have known very nearly how much she could afford to spend--that is, she would have known if _my_ mother's way had been her mother's--and on no account would she have spent more than she had allowed herself in thinking it over at home. when the club undertook charge of all dot's and dimpsie's expenses, it was rather a puzzle to some of us to know how we were to pay our share. i set apart something from my allowance. lois watched for her papa's pleasant moods. veva danced up to her father, put her arms around his neck, and lifted her mouth for a kiss, coaxed him for some money to give away, which she always received directly. others of the girls were at a loss what to do. jeanie and linda had a happy thought, which they carried out. they said: "we have learned how to make bread and biscuits and cake and candy, and we all know how often our friends cannot persuade cooks to stay in their houses. we will make bread or cake on saturday mornings for anybody who is good enough to pay for it." they could not see why it was not just as sensible a thing to make and sell good bread as to paint scarfs or embroider tidies, and mother, after she heard of their proposal, quite agreed with them. through our efforts, combined as they were, we sent our little girls to kindergarten, kept warm shoes and stockings on their feet, and brought them up respectably, though jack roper was as odd and indolent as ever, and never showed by so much as a look that he imagined anybody took an interest in his children. chapter viii. we give a reception. everything pleasant comes to an end, even pleasant vacations, and when the golden-rods were bowing to the asters, like gallant knights to their ladyloves, and the red sumachs were hanging out the first flags of autumn, we girls had to think of school once more. the books which had been closed for almost three months beckoned us again, and delightful as the clover leaf meetings had grown, we knew that for the next nine months we should hold them only on saturdays, perhaps not always then. "girls," said linda curtis, "what shall we do for a wind-up to the summer? something which has never been done in bloomdale. something which will be remembered when we are grown up and have forgotten our girlish pranks?" linda's suggestion was approved unanimously, but nobody could propose anything which everybody liked. finally jeanie and amy, who had been putting their heads together, and whispering until the chair had to call them to order, showed by their smiling faces that they had a bright idea. "miss president," said jeanie, "if i may, i should like to make a motion." "miss cartwright has the floor," said the president, gravely. "i move that the bloomdale clover leaf club give a reception in the academy to all the bloomdale neighbors and friends, _with a programme_, and refreshments afterward." "is the motion seconded?" inquired the president. "i second the motion," exclaimed miss amy pierce, rapturously. "it is moved and seconded that we give a reception at the academy, with a programme and refreshments. are there any remarks?" i should think there were. why, they flew about like snow-flakes in a hurricane. "why in the academy?" "why not in somebody's parlor?" "what sort of a programme?" "tableaux would be splendid!" "not tableaux! charades?" "why not have a little play? that would be best, and we could all act." "what sort of refreshments? a regular supper, or lemonade and cake, or cake and ice-cream?" at last it was resolved to carry out the reception idea, and to have a little play in which dot and dimpsie could be brought in, also a very magnificent maltese cat belonging to patty curtis, and miss muffet's parrot. the cat, arrayed in a lace ruff, with a red ribbon, would be an imposing figure, and the parrot would look well as one of the properties. miss muffet herself, in some character, probably as a yankee school-mistress, must be persuaded to appear. well, you may imagine what a flutter we were in! we trimmed the old academy with ferns and running pine and great wreaths of golden-rod, while feathery clematis was looped and festooned over the windows and around the portraits of former teachers, which adorned the walls. our play was written for us by mr. robert pierce, amy's brother, who goes to harvard, and he brought in both our pets, and the cat and parrot, and had in ever so many hits which bloomdale folks could enjoy, knowing all about them. the only thing which interfered with my pleasure was that mother was not here, and i had expected her home. i nearly cried into the lemonade, and almost blistered the icing of the pound-cake with tears; but seeing grandmamma gaze at me with a whole exclamation point in her eyes, i gave myself a mental shake, and said, not aloud, but in my mind: "don't be a baby, milly van doren! a big girl like you! be good! there, now!" but i was not the most unhappy girl when, just after my part in the play was over, i heard a little movement in the audience, and saw a stirring as of surprise at the other end of the room. who was that? a sweet face in a quaker bonnet, a white kerchief folded primly over a gown of dove-colored satin, a pure plain dress, looking very distinguished, for all its simplicity, among the gay toilet of the "world's people." surely, no--yes, it was, it could be no one but mother! i threaded my way through the crowded aisles, gentlemen and ladies opening a path for me, and before everybody i was clasped in her dear arms. and there was father smiling down at me, and saying, as mother told me, to be composed, for i was half crying, half laughing: "of course she'll be composed. i have always said thee could trust our little lass." i squeezed myself into a seat between the two darlings, forgetful that i was the president of the clover leaf club; and there i sat till the play was over, when something happened that was not on the programme. a tall shabby form advanced to the front of the room, and mounted the stage. it was jack roper! we held our breath. what did this mean? "i want, fellow-townsmen and ladies," said jack, with the utmost coolness, "to return thanks to the clover leaf young ladies for the good example they've been a settin' our wives and darters. them girls is trumps!" down sat jack in a storm of applause. this speech, if not elegant, was at least sincere. he was followed by a very different personage. no less a man than judge curtis arose and gave us a little address, after which amy pierce and lois partridge played a duet on the piano. then the refreshments were distributed. there was a merry time talking and laughing over the feast, and we all went home. miss muffet looked radiant, she had so many compliments, and aunt hetty, who appeared in her stiffest calico, was not backward in accepting some for herself. though what she had done, except try my patience, it was puzzling to us to tell. my precious mother had the very prettiest surprise of all for us when her trunks were opened. it is her way to make people happy, and she goes through the world like an angel. for every girl in the club she had brought home a silver pin in the shape of a four-leaved clover. "whether you keep up the club or not," she said, "it will be a pretty souvenir of a very happy summer." i don't know whether i have made mother's way plain to all my readers, but i hope they see it is a way of taking pains, of being kind, of being honest and diligent, and never doing with one hand what ought to be done with both. if i learn to keep house in mother's way i shall be perfectly satisfied. father says: "thee certainly may, dear child! for my part, i trust my little lass." the lighthouse lamp. by margaret e. sangster. the winds came howling down from the north, like a hungry wolf for prey, and the bitter sleet went hurtling forth, in the pallid face of the day. and the snowflakes drifted near and far, till the land was whitely fleeced, and the light-house lamp, a golden star, flamed over the waves' white yeast. in the room at the foot of the light-house lay mother and babe asleep, and little maid gretchen was by them there, a resolute watch to keep. there were only the three on the light-house isle, but father had trimmed the lamp, and set it burning a weary while in the morning's dusk and damp. "long before night i'll be back," he said, and his white sail slipped away; away and away to the mainland sped, but it came not home that day. the mother stirred on her pillow's space, and moaned in pain and fear, then looked in her little daughter's face through the blur of a starting tear. "darling," she whispered, "it's piercing cold, and the tempest is rough and wild; and you are no laddie strong and bold, my poor little maiden child. "but up aloft there's the lamp to feed, or its flame will die in the dark, and the sailor lose in his utmost need the light of our islet's ark." "i'll go," said gretchen, "a step at a time; why, mother, i'm twelve years old, and steady, and never afraid to climb, and i've learned to do as i'm told." then gretchen up to the top of the tower, up the icy, smooth-worn stair, went slowly and surely that very hour, the sleet in her eyes and hair. she fed the lamp, and she trimmed it well, and its clear light glowed afar, to warn of reefs, and of rocks to tell, this mariner's guiding star. and once again when the world awoke in the dawn of a bright new day, there was joy in the hearts of the fisher folks along the stormy bay. when the little boats came sailing in all safe and sound to the land, _to the haven the light had helped them win, by the aid of a child's brave hand._ the family mail-bag. by mary joanna porter. the family mail-bag was made of black and white straw arranged in checks. it was flat and nearly square, was lined with gray linen and fastened at the top with narrow black ribbon. it had two long handles, finely made of straw, and these handles luella and francis were accustomed to grasp when, twice a day regularly, at half-past eight in the morning and at half-past three in the afternoon, they went for the family mail. their instructions were always to go back and forth to the post-office without stopping, always to tie the bag securely after putting the mail inside, and never to open it after it was thus fastened. they were to take turns in carrying the bag, and upon returning to their home were always to take it at once to the study of their father, rev. mr. robinson. so important a personage as a public mail-carrier had never been seen in the small village in which they lived. in his absence the two children performed their service well. at least they always did excepting on one unfortunate day, and that is the day of which our story is to tell. the children went to the office as usual, and were quite delighted at finding there a registered letter addressed to "luella and francis robinson." luella felt very proud when the postmaster asked her, as the elder, to sign the registered receipt. "what's that for?" asked francis. "it's for proof that you've received the letter. you see that a registered letter usually contains something valuable." "i wonder what it can be? it's from aunt maria. see, her address is written on the side of the envelope?" "yes," said the postmaster, who was a very good friend of the children. "it's certainly from your aunt, and it probably contains something for you both, but, you'd better put it in your bag now and tie it up, according to your father's wish." the children obediently acted upon this suggestion and started for home. on their way they talked constantly of their letter, trying vainly to guess what it might contain. "it's something small, anyway," said luella, "for it doesn't seem to take any room." "maybe 'tisn't anything, after all," said francis. "oh, yes, it is; for the letter is registered, you know." so they went on talking and wondering until they had gone about half the distance toward home. then they reached a spreading apple tree which grew by a fence near the sidewalk, and beneath which was a large stone, often used as a resting-place for pedestrians. "let's sit down a while," said francis. "i feel tired; don't you?" "yes, but father wouldn't like us to stop." "oh, yes, he would, if he knew how tired we are. i'm going to rest a moment, anyway. that can't be any harm." luella allowed herself to follow her brother's example. so they took the first step in disobedience. next luella said: "i wonder if we couldn't just unfasten the bag and look at that letter again. it's our letter, you know." "of course, it is. give me the bag. i'll open it." then, without more ado, francis deliberately opened the bag. thus the second step in wrong-doing was taken. they examined the letter closely and leisurely, not one minute, but many minutes, passing while they were thus engaged. then luella said: "i'm going to read the letter. it's all the same whether we read it here or at home." it proved to be a very kind letter from aunt maria, who had lately made them a visit. she concluded by saying: "while i was with you i took pleasure in noticing your constant obedience. as a sort of reward, i enclose for you each a five-dollar gold piece. please accept the gift with my love." "where are the gold pieces?" asked francis, taking the envelope from luella, "oh! here's one in the corner of this thing. i'll take this; but where's the other?" where was the other? it was easier to ask the question than to reply. the two children folded and unfolded the letter. they turned the envelope inside out. they searched through their clothing. they inspected the grass and the path. if it had been possible, they would have lifted the stone upon which they had been sitting; but that would have been an herculean task. at length they reluctantly gave up the search and sadly went on their way homeward. "i wish we hadn't opened the letter," said luella. "what are we going to tell mother and father anyhow?" "well, i think we'd better tell them the whole story. perhaps they'll help us look for the other gold piece." francis, with the one coin in his hand, naturally took a more hopeful view of the situation than his sister did. "perhaps aunt maria only put one in the letter," he suggested. "oh, no; she's too careful for that. she never makes mistakes," said luella, positively. "i only wish we'd minded. that's all." francis echoed the wish in his heart, though he did not repeat it aloud. thus, a repentant couple, they entered the house and the study. mother was upstairs attending to baby, and father was evidently out. the brother and sister awaited his return in silence, luella meanwhile grasping the letter, and francis the single coin. "what's that you have?" asked mr. robinson; "a letter? how did it get out of the bag?" "it's ours," answered luella, trembling while she spoke. "we--we--we--" then she burst into tears. "let me have it," commanded mr. robinson. luella obeyed, and went on weeping while her father read. francis wanted to cry, too, but he thought it was unmanly, and choked back the tears. "i need ask you no more questions," said their father. "the truth is that i was calling on old mrs. brown when you stopped under the apple tree, and i saw the whole thing from her window. you don't know how sorry i felt when i found that my boy and girl couldn't be trusted. i saw that you had lost something, and after you had left i examined the grass about the stone and found the other gold piece. but i shall have to punish you by putting the money away for a whole month. at the end of that time i will return it to you, if i find that you are obedient meanwhile. i do not intend to be severe, but i think that ordinarily you are good children, and i understand how strong the temptation was. are you not sorry that you yielded to it?" "yes, sir, we are," exclaimed both children, emphatically. "and now, what am i going to do about the mail-bag? can i let you have it after this?" "yes, father, you can," they both replied once more; and after that they were always worthy of their trust. when aunt maria made her next visit they told her the story of their misdoing. her only comment was: "you see, children, that it is necessary always to pray, 'deliver us from evil,' for even when we want to do right, without help from above, we shall fail." a day's fishing. by mary joanna porter. six lively boys had been spending their vacation at clovernook farm, and, as any one may imagine, they had been having the liveliest sort of a time. there were mr. hobart's two nephews, james and fred; and mrs. hobart's two nephews, john and albert, and two others, milton and peter, who, though only distant cousins, were considered as part of the family. to tell of all the things that these six had been doing during the eight weeks of their stay would be to write a history in several volumes. they had had innumerable games of tennis and croquet; had fished along the banks of streams; helped in the harvest field; taken straw-rides by moonlight; traveled many scores of miles on bicycles; taken photographs good and bad; gone out with picnic parties; learned to churn and to work butter; picked apples and eaten them, and they had plenty of energy left still. the climax of their enjoyment was reached on the very last day of their visit. mr. hobart had promised to take them for a day's fishing on a lake about ten miles distant from his house. on this fair september day he redeemed his promise. a jolly load set out in the gray of the early morning, equipped with poles, lines, bait, and provisions enough for the day. having no other way to give vent to their spirits, they sang college songs all along the road. of course, they surprised many an early riser by their vigorous rendering of familiar airs. even cows and chickens and horses and pigs gazed at them with wondering eyes, as if to say, "who are these noisy fellows, disturbing our morning meditations?" as the boys approached the lake they saw a strange-looking object on the water. what it might be they could not for a while decide. certainly it was not a boat, and what else could be floating so calmly several feet out from the land? at length their strained eyes solved the mystery. it was a rudely built raft with a stool upon it, and upon the stool sat a ragged urchin ten or twelve years of age. "ha, ha, ha! ha, ha, ha!" shouted the six boys in unison. "fine rig you have there!" called one. "what will you take for your ship?" shouted another. for all response the stranger simply stared. "don't hurt his feelings, boys," said mr. hobart kindly, "he's getting enjoyment in his own way, and i suspect that it's the best way he knows of." conscious of impoliteness, the boys subsided, and nothing more was thought of the stranger for several hours. about noon, however, as they were resting on the shore, he appeared before them with an old cigar box in his hand. "want some crickets and grasshoppers?" he asked timidly. "i've been catching them for you, if you want them." "yes, they are exactly the things we need," replied mr. hobart. "how much do you want for the lot?" "oh, you're welcome to them. i hadn't nothin' else to do." "well, that's what i call returning good for evil. didn't you hear these chaps laugh at you this morning?" "yes, but that's nothin'. i'm used to that sort of thing. folks has laughed at me allus." "well, we won't laugh at you now. have some dinner, if you won't have any pay." the boy had refused money, but he could not refuse the tempting sandwiches and cakes which were offered to him. his hungry look appealed to the hearts of the other boys quite as forcibly as his comical attitude had before appealed to their sense of the ludicrous. now they shared their dinner with him in most hospitable manner. fortunately mrs. hobart was of a generous disposition, and had provided an abundance of food. otherwise the picnic baskets might have given out with this new demand upon their contents. "what shall we call you?" said mr. hobart to the unexpected guest. "sam smith's my name. i am generally called sam for short." "well, sam, i think you're right down hungry, and i'm glad you happened along our way. where do you live, my boy?" "i've been a-workin' over there in the farmhouse yonder, but they've got through with me, and i'm just a-makin' up my mind where to go next." "seems to me you're rather young to earn your own living. have you no father or mother?" "yes, in the city. but they have seven other boys and it's pretty hard work to get along. i'm the oldest, i am, so i try to turn a penny for myself. a gentleman got me this place, and paid my way out here, but he's gone back to town now. i s'pose he hoped the folks would keep me, but they don't need me no longer." mr. hobart was a man of kindly deeds. more than that, he was a christian. as he stood talking with the stranger lad the words of the master ran through his mind: "the poor ye have with ye always, and whensoever ye will ye may do them good." certainly here was an opportunity to help a friendless boy. it should not be thrown away. "how would you like to engage yourself to me for the fall and winter? these boys are all going off to-morrow, and i need a boy about your size to run errands and help me with the chores." "really? honest?" "yes, really i do. i want a good boy who will obey me and my wife, and i have an idea that you may suit." "i'll try to, sir." "then jump into that boat and help us fish and i'll take you home with me to-night." sam cast a farewell glance at his raft, just then floating out of sight. he had nothing else to take leave of, and no further arrangements to make; no packing to do and no baggage to carry. he had simply himself and the few clothes he wore. at evening he went home with mr. hobart in the most matter-of-course way. when the load of fishermen drew up at the barn-door he jumped out and began to unhitch as though that had been his lifelong work. mrs. hobart, coming out to give a welcome to the chattering group, appeared rather puzzled as she counted heads in the twilight. mr. hobart enjoyed the surprise which he had been expecting. "yes, wife," said he aside, answering her thoughts, "i took out six this morning and i've brought back seven to-night. we've been for a day's fishing, you know, and i rather guess i've caught something more valuable than bass or perch, though they're good enough in their way." "where did you find him?" asked mrs. hobart. "sitting on a raft out on the lake." "he's a poor, homeless fellow, and i reckon that there's room in our house for one of christ's little ones. isn't that so, wife?" "yes, reuben, it is." "then we'll do the best we can for this young chap. i mean to write to his parents, for he has given me their address. i think there will be no trouble in arranging to have him stay with us. we'll see what we can make out of him." "reuben, i believe you're always looking out for a chance to do some good!" "that's the way it ought to be, wife." this conversation took place behind the carryall. none of the boys heard it. the six visitors, however, all caught the spirit of benevolence from their host. before departing next day each one had contributed from his wardrobe some article of clothing for sam, and they all showered him with good wishes as they left. "hope to find you here next summer," they shouted in driving off. "hope so," responded sam. why charlie didn't go. by mary joanna porter. "dear me! there come uncle josh and aunt jane, and not a bed in the house is made!" mrs. upton glanced nervously at the clock--then about to strike eleven--surveyed with dismay the disordered kitchen, looked through the open door into the dining-room, where the unwashed breakfast dishes were yet standing, took her hands out of the dough and ran to wash them at the faucet. "maria, maria, stir around. see what you can pick up while they're getting out of the cab. isn't it always just so?" maria, the daughter of fifteen, hastily laid aside her novel and did her best to remove the cups and saucers from the breakfast table, not omitting to break one in her hurry. meanwhile her mother closed the kitchen door, caught up from the dining-room sofa a promiscuous pile of hats, coats, rubbers and shawls, threw them into a convenient closet, placed the colored cloth on the table and hastened to open the front door to admit her guests. "come in! come in! i'm ever so glad to see you, but you must take us just as we are. did you come on the train?" "yes, and got jenkins to bring us up from the station. he's to take us back at three o'clock this afternoon. we can't make a long visit, but we're going to take dinner with you, if it's perfectly convenient." "oh, yes! of course. it's always convenient to have you. we don't make strangers of you at all." while mrs. upton spoke these hospitable words her heart sank within her at the remembrance of her unbaked bread and her neglect to order meat for dinner. "here, maria, just help aunt jane to take off her wraps, i'll be right back." mrs. upton darted up-stairs, carrying with her a pair of trousers which she had been over an hour in mending. for want of them charlie had been unable to go to school that morning. he was reading in his room. "here, charlie! put these on and run down to the butcher's and get some steak, and stop at the baker's and get some rolls and a pie, and tell them i'll pay them to-morrow. i don't know where my pocketbook is now." "ma," drawled charlie in reply, "i haven't my shoes up here, only my slippers and rubbers." "well, wear them then and keep out of the mud. i don't want you sick to-night. be sure to come in the back way so that uncle josh won't see you. he'll think we're always behindhand." if uncle josh had thought so he would have been near the truth. mrs. upton was one of those unfortunate persons who seem to be always hard at work and always in the drag. she had the undesirable faculty of taking hold of things wrong end first. as water does not rise higher than its level, so children are not apt to have better habits than their parents. charlie and maria and the rest of the family lived in a state of constant confusion. at noon mr. upton came to dinner. it was not unusual for him to be forced to wait, and he had learned to be resigned; so he sat down patiently to talk with the visitors. soon three children came in from school, all eager to eat and return. what with their clamorous demands, and the necessity for preparing extra vegetables and side-dishes, and anxiety to please all around, and to prevent her bread from growing sour, mrs. upton was nearly distracted. yet maria tried to help, and aunt jane invariably looked upon matters with the kindly eye of charity. things were not so bad as they might have been, and dinner was ready at last. after the meal was over the two visitors found a corner in which to hold a conference. "wife," said uncle josh, "charlie's too bright a young fellow to be left to grow up in this way. suppose we take him home with us for a while?" "there's nothing i would like better," responded aunt jane, whose motherly heart was yet sore with grief for her own little charlie, who had been laid in the church-yard years before. when mrs. upton again emerged from the depths of the kitchen they repeated the proposal to her, and gained her assent at once. charlie was next to be informed, but that was not an easy matter. the boy could nowhere be found. "perhaps he's gone to school," suggested aunt jane. "no, i told him that since he had to be absent this morning he might as well be absent all day. he's somewhere about." a prolonged search ended in the barn, where charlie at last was found, trying to whittle a ruler out of a piece of kindling-wood. he wished to draw maps and had mislaid or lost most of the articles necessary for the work. "charlie!" exclaimed his mother, "uncle josh and aunt jane want to take you home with them for a long visit. we've been looking all over for you. i've been putting your best clothes in a bag, but you'll have to be careful about holding it shut, because i can't find the key. now hurry and dress yourself if you want to go." charlie gave a loud whistle of delight and hastened to the house to arrange his toilet. he washed his face and hands, brushed his hair, put on a clean collar, and then went to the kitchen to blacken his shoes. he expected to find them on his feet, but lo! there were only the slippers and rubbers, donned in the forenoon and forgotten until now. "ma! where are my shoes?" he called in stentorian tones. mrs. upton replied from above stairs, where she was putting a stitch in her son's cap: "i don't know--haven't seen them." "well, i left them in the kitchen last night. here, maria, help a fellow, won't you? i can't find my shoes and it's nearly train time. there's jenkins at the door now." the united efforts of all present resulted in finding the shoes entangled in an afghan which mrs. upton had unintentionally placed in the heap in the closet when she relieved the sofa of its burden. "here they are at last. bravo!" shouted charlie. yet his joy was short lived. one shoe wouldn't go on. he had slipped it off on the previous night without unfastening. there were several knots in the string, and all were unmanageable. he struggled breathlessly while uncle josh and aunt jane were getting into the cab, then broke the string in desperation just as jenkins, hearing the car-whistle, drove off to reach the train. "very sorry! can't wait another instant!" called out uncle josh. charlie, having repaired damages as best he could, reached the front door in time to see the back of the carriage away down the street. "time and tide wait for no man," observed his mother exasperatingly. perhaps her quotation of the proverb carried with it the weight of her experience. perhaps she thought it her duty to give moral lessons to her son, regardless of illustrations. charlie's disappointment was rendered bitterer still, when the following week there came a letter from uncle josh saying that he and aunt jane were about taking a trip to the west. "tell charlie," said the letter, "that if we only had him with us we should certainly take him along." "isn't it too bad," said charlie, "to think i've missed so much, and all through the want of a shoe-string?" uncle giles' paint brush. by mary joanna porter. it was a rainy day in summer. a chilly wind swept about the house and bent the branches of the trees, and reminded every one who encountered it that autumn, with its gales, would return as promptly as ever. a bright fire was blazing in the sitting-room, and near it were mrs. strong with her two little girls, and also aunt martha bates, whom they were visiting. rufus strong, aged fourteen, stood by a closed window, listlessly drumming on a pane. he was tired of reading, and tired of watching the ladies sew, and tired of building toy houses for his sisters. "i guess i'll go out to the barn and find uncle giles," said he at length. mrs. strong, who had found the music on the window pane rather monotonous, quickly responded in favor of the plan. "just the one i want to see!" exclaimed uncle giles, as rufus made his appearance at the barn door. "i'm getting my tools in order, and now you can turn the grind-stone while i sharpen this scythe." rufus cheerfully agreed to this proposal, and performed his part with a hearty good will. "do you always put your tools in order on rainy days?" he asked. "well, yes; i always look over them and see if they need attention. then when i want them they are ready for use. now, since this job is done, suppose you undertake another. wouldn't this be a good time to paint those boxes for aunt martha's flowers? you know you promised to paint them for her, and if you do it now, they'll be good and dry when she wants to pot her plants in september?" "i think you believe in preparing for work beforehand, don't you, uncle giles?" "yes, indeed, that i do. it saves ever so much time when you have any work to do to have things all ready. what's the matter, can't you find the paint brush?" "no, uncle, and i'm sure that i saw it in its place not very long ago." this reminded uncle giles that neighbor jones had borrowed the brush a few days previous and had not yet returned it. "he promised to bring it home that day," said mr. bates, "but he's not apt to do things promptly. i guess you'll have to step over to his house and ask him if he's through with it." rufus started off on the errand and soon, returned carrying the brush in a small tin pail, half-full of water. "mr. jones is much obliged to you for the use of it," he said to his uncle, "and he's sorry that he hasn't had time to wash out the brush." mr. bates looked rather annoyed. accustomed to perfect order himself, he was often irritated by the slovenly ways of his neighbor. "then there's nothing for you to do but repair damages as well as you can. what color of paint is in the brush?" "red, sir." "and you want to use green. you'll have to go to the house and get some warm soap-suds and give the brush a thorough washing." rufus found that he had plenty of occupation for some time after that. the brush was soaked up to the handle in the bright red paint, and it was a work of patience to give it the necessary cleaning. indeed, dinner time found him just ready to begin the task which might have been easily accomplished in the morning had it not been for that long delay. after dinner he and uncle giles again repaired to the barn, where the elder cleaned harness while the younger painted. "i think i begin to realize," said rufus, "that your plan of having tools ready is a good one." "yes, it's good, no matter what sort of work you're going to do. i believe you wish to be a minister one of these days, don't you, rufus?" "yes, i think so now, uncle." "then you are getting some of your tools ready when you are studying latin and history and other things in school. and you are getting others ready when you read the bible, and when you study your sunday-school lesson, and when you listen to the preaching of your minister. you need to take pains to remember what you learn in these ways, for the good things in your memory will be the tools that you will have constant use for. "i know a young man who is now studying for the ministry. i think he will succeed, for he is very much in earnest and he has natural ability, too. yet he finds his task rather difficult, because he had no opportunity to study when he was younger. he has not been trained to think or to remember, and the work he is doing now is something like your washing the paint brush this morning. it must all be done before he can go on to anything better, and he regrets that it was not done at the proper time." "i suppose that the moral for me is to improve my privileges." "yes, that's just it. improve your privileges by getting ready beforehand for the work of life. if the paint brush teaches you this lesson, you may be glad that you had to stop to get it clean." the pied piper of hamelin. (_a child's story._) by robert browning. i. hamelin town's in brunswick, by famous hanover city; the river weser, deep and wide, washes its wall on the southern side; a pleasanter spot you never spied; but, when begins my ditty, almost five hundred years ago, to see the townsfolk suffer so from vermin, was a pity. ii. rats! they fought the dogs and killed the cats, and bit the babies in their cradles, and ate the cheeses out of the vats, and licked the soup from the cooks' own ladles, split open the kegs of salted sprats, made nests inside men's sunday hats, and even spoiled the women's chats by drowning their speaking with shrieking and squeaking in fifty different sharps and flats. iii. at last the people in a body to the town hall came flocking: "'tis clear," cried they, "our mayor's a noddy: and as for our corporation--shocking to think we buy gowns lined with ermine for dolts that can't or won't determine what's best to rid us of our vermin! you hope, because you're old and obese, to find in the furry civic robe ease! rouse up, sirs! give your brains a racking to find the remedy we're lacking, or, sure as fate, we'll send you packing!" at this the mayor and corporation quaked with a mighty consternation. iv. an hour they sat in council, at length the mayor broke silence: "for a guilder i'd my ermine gown sell, i wish i were a mile hence! it's easy to bid one rack one's brain- i'm sure my poor head aches again, i've scratched it so, and all in vain. oh for a trap, a trap, a trap!" just as he said this, what should hap at the chamber door, but a gentle tap! "bless us," cried the mayor, "what's that?" (with the corporation as he sat looking little though wondrous fat; nor brighter was his eye, nor moister than a too-long-opened oyster, save when at noon his paunch grew mutinous for a plate of turtle green and glutinous). "only a scraping of shoes on the mat anything like the sound of a rat makes my heart go pit-a-pat!" v. "come in!" the mayor cried, looking bigger: and in did come the strangest figure! his queer long coat from heel to head was half of yellow and half of red, and he himself was tall and thin, with sharp blue eyes, each like a pin, and light loose hair, yet swarthy skin no tuft on cheek, nor beard on chin, but lips where smiles went out and in; there was no guessing his kith and kin! and nobody could enough admire the tall man and his quaint attire. quoth one: "it's as if my great-grandsire, starting up at the trump of doom's tone, had walked this way from his painted tombstone!" vi. he advanced to the council-table: and "please your honors," said he, "i'm able, by means of a secret charm, to draw all creatures living beneath the sun, that creep, or swim, or fly, or run after me so as you never saw! and i chiefly use my charm on creatures that do people harm, the mole and toad and newt and viper; and people call me the pied piper." (and here they noticed round his neck a scarf of red and yellow stripe, to match with his coat of the self-same cheque; and at the scarf's end hung a pipe; and his fingers, they noticed, were ever straying as if impatient to be playing upon his pipe, as low it dangled over his vesture so old-fangled.) "yet," said he, "poor piper as i am, in tartary i freed the cham, last june, from his huge swarms of gnats; i eased in asia the nizam of a monstrous brood of vampire-bats: and as for what your brain bewilders, if i can rid your town of rats will you give me a thousand guilders?" "one? fifty thousand!" was the exclamation of the astonished mayor and corporation. vii. into the street the piper stept, smiling first a little smile, as if he knew what magic slept in his quiet pipe the while; then, like a musical adept, to blow the pipe his lips he wrinkled, and green and blue his sharp eyes twinkled, like a candle-flame where salt is sprinkled; and ere three shrill notes the pipe had uttered, you heard as if an army muttered; and the muttering grew to a grumbling; and the grumbling grew to a mighty rumbling; and out of the houses the rats came tumbling- great rats, small rats, lean rats, brawny rats, brown rats, black rats, grey rats, tawny rats, grave old plodders, gay young friskers, fathers, mothers, uncles, cousins, cocking tails and pricking whiskers, families by tens and dozens, brothers, sisters, husbands, wives- followed the piper for their lives. from street to street he piped, advancing, and step for step they followed dancing, until they came to the river weser wherein all plunged and perished, save one who, stout as julius cã¦sar, swam across and lived to carry (as _he_, the manuscript he cherished) to rat-land home his commentary: which was, "at the first shrill notes of the pipe, i heard a sound as of scraping tripe, and putting apples, wondrous ripe, into a cider-press's gripe: and a moving away of pickle-tub boards, and a leaving ajar of conserve cupboards and a drawing the corks of train-oil-flasks, and a breaking the hoops of butter casks: and it seemed as if a voice (sweeter far than by harp or by psaltery is breathed) called out, 'oh, rats, rejoice! the world is grown to one vast drysaltery! so munch on, crunch on, take your nuncheon, breakfast, supper, dinner, luncheon!' and just as a bulky sugar-puncheon, all ready staved, like a great sun shone glorious scarce an inch before me, just as methought it said, 'come bore me!'- i found the weser rolling o'er me." viii. you should have heard the hamelin people ringing the bells till they rocked the steeple. "go," cried the mayor, "and get long poles, poke out the nests and block up the holes! consult with carpenters and builders, and leave in our town not even a trace of the rats!"--when suddenly, up the face of the piper perked in the market-place, with a--"first, if you please, my thousand guilders!" ix. a thousand guilders! the mayor looked blue; so did the corporation too. for council dinners made rare havoc with claret, moselle, vin-de-grave, hock; and half the money would replenish their cellar's biggest butt with rhenish. to pay this sum to a wandering fellow with a gypsy coat of red and yellow! "beside," quoth the mayor, with a knowing wink, "our business was done at the river's brink; we saw with our eyes the vermin sink, and what's dead can't come to life, i think. so, friend, we're not the folks to shrink from the duty of giving you something for drink, and a matter of money to put into your poke; but as for the guilders, what we spoke of them, as you very well know, was in joke. beside, our losses have made us thrifty: a thousand guilders! come, take fifty!" x. the piper's face fell, and he cried, "no trifling! i can't wait, beside! i've promised to visit by dinner-time bagdad, and accept the prime of the head-cook's pottage, all he's rich in, for having left, in the caliph's kitchen, of a nest of scorpions, no survivor: with him i proved no bargain-driver, with you, don't think i'll bate a stiver! and folks who put me in a passion may find me pipe to another fashion." xi. "how?" cried the mayor, "d'ye think i'll brook being worse treated than a cook? insulted by a lazy ribald with idle pipe and vesture piebald? you threaten us, fellow? do your worst, blow your pipe there till you burst!" xii. once more he stept into the street, and to his lips again laid his long pipe of smooth straight cane; and ere he blew three notes (such sweet soft notes as yet musician's cunning never gave the enraptured air) there was a rustling that seemed like a bustling of merry crowds justling at pitching and hustling, small feet were pattering, wooden shoes clattering, little hands clapping and little tongues chattering, and, like fowls in a farmyard when barley is scattering, out came the children running. all the little boys and girls, with rosy cheeks and flaxen curls, and sparkling eyes and teeth like pearls, tripping and skipping ran merrily after the wonderful music with shouting and laughter. xiii. the mayor was dumb, and the council stood as if they were changed into blocks of wood, unable to move a step, or cry to the children merrily skipping by- --could only follow with the eye that joyous crowd at the piper's back. and now the mayor was on the rack, and the wretched council's bosoms beat, as the piper turned from the high street to where the weser rolled its waters right in the way of their sons and daughters! however he turned from south to west, and to koppelberg hill his steps addressed and after him the children pressed; great was the joy in every breast. "he never can cross that mighty top! he's forced to let the piping drop, and we shall see our children stop!" when, lo, as they reached the mountain-side, a wondrous portal opened wide, as if a cavern was suddenly hollowed; and the piper advanced and the children followed, and when all were in to the very last, the door in the mountain-side shut fast. did i say, all? no! one was lame, and could not dance the whole of the way; and in after years, if you would blame his sadness, he was used to say,- "it's dull in our town since my playmates left! i can't forget that i'm bereft of all the pleasant sights they see, which the piper also promised me. for he led us, he said, to a joyous land, joining the town and just at hand, where waters gushed and fruit-trees grew, and flowers put forth a fairer hue, and everything was strange and new; the sparrows were brighter than peacocks here, and their dogs outran our fallow deer, and honey-bees had lost their stings, and horses were born with eagles' wings: and just as i became assured my lame foot would be speedily cured, the music stopped and i stood still, and found myself outside the hill, left alone against my will, to go now limping as before; and never hear of that country more!" xiv. alas, alas for hamelin! there came into many a burgher's pate a text which says that heaven's gate opes to the rich at as easy rate as the needle's eye takes a camel in! the mayor sent east, west, north and south, to offer the piper, by word of mouth, wherever it was man's lot to find him, silver and gold to his heart's content, if he'd only return the way he went, and bring the children behind him. but when they saw 'twas a lost endeavor, and piper and dancers were gone forever, they made a decree that lawyers never should think their records dated duly if, after the day of the month and year, these words did not as well appear: "and so long after what happened here on the twenty-second of july, thirteen hundred and seventy-six:" and the better in memory to fix the place of the children's last retreat, they called it the pied piper's street- where any one playing on pipe or tabor was sure for the future to lose his labor. nor suffered they hostelry or tavern to shock with mirth a street so solemn; but opposite the place of the cavern they wrote the story on a column, and on the great church-window painted the same, to make the world acquainted how their children were stolen away, and there it stands to this very day. and i must not omit to say that in transylvania there's a tribe of alien people that ascribe the outlandish ways and dress on which their neighbors lay such stress, to their fathers and mothers having risen out of some subterraneous prison into which they were trepanned long time ago in a mighty band out of hamelin town in brunswick land, but how or why, they don't understand. xv. so, willy, let me and you be wipers of scores out with all men--especially pipers! and, whether they pipe us free from rats or from mice, if we've promised them aught, let us keep our promise! a girl graduate. by cynthia barnard. i. it was examination week at mount seward college, but most of the work was over, and the students were waiting in the usual fever of anxiety to learn the verdict on their papers, representing so much toil and pains. some of the girls were nearly as much concerned about their graduating gowns as about their diplomas, but as independence was in the air at mount seward, these rather frivolous girls were in the minority. during term time most of the students wore the regulation cap and gown, and partly owing to the fact that mount seward was a college with traditions of plain living and high thinking behind it, and partly because the youngest and best-loved professor was a woman of rare and noble characteristics, a woman who had set her own stamp on her pupils, and furnished them an ideal, dress and fashion were secondary considerations here. there were no low emulations at mount seward. a group of girls in a bay-window over-looking the campus were discussing the coming commencement. from various rooms came the steady, patient sound of pianos played for practice. on the green lawn in front of the president's cottage two or three intellectual looking professors and tutors walked up and down, evidently discussing an affair that interested them. the postman strolled over the campus wearily, as who should say, "this is my last round, and the bag is abominably heavy." he disappeared within a side door, and presently there was a hurrying and scurrying of fresh-faced young women, bright-eyed and blooming under the mortar-caps, jauntily perched over their braids and ringlets, rushing toward that objective point, the college post-office. one would have fancied that letters came very seldom, to see their excitement. margaret lee received two letters. she did not open either in the presence of her friends, but went with a swift step and a heightened color to her own suite of rooms. two small alcoves, curtained off from a pleasant little central sitting-room, composed the apartment margaret shared with her four years' chum alice raynor. alice was not there, yet margaret did not seat herself in the room common to both, but entered her own alcove, drew the portiere, and sat down on the edge of the iron bed, not larger than a soldier's camp cot. it was an austere little cell, simple as a nun's, with the light falling from one narrow window on the pale face and brown hair of the young girl, to whom the unopened letters in her hand signified so much. which should she read first? one, in a large square envelope, addressed in a bold, business-like hand, bore a western postmark, and had the printed order to return, if not delivered in ten days, to hilox university, colorado. the other, in a cramped, old-fashioned hand, bore the postmark of a hamlet in west virginia. it was a thin letter, evidently belonging to the genus domestic correspondence, a letter from margaret's home. which should she open first? there was an evident struggle, and a perceptible hesitation. then she laid the home letter resolutely down on the pillow of her bed, and, with a hair-pin, that woman's tool which suits so many uses, delicately and dexterously cut the envelope of the letter from hilox. it began formally, and was very brief: "my dear miss lee:--the trustees and faculty of hilox university have been looking for a woman, a recent graduate of distinction from some well-established eastern college, to take the chair of greek in our new institution. you have been recommended as thoroughly qualified for the position. the salary is not at present large, but our university is growing, and we offer a tempting field to an energetic and ambitious woman. may we write you more fully on the subject, if you are inclined to take our vacancy into your favorable consideration? "very respectfully yours." then followed the signature of the president of hilox, a man whose name and fame were familiar to margaret lee. the girl's cheek glowed; her dark eyes deepened; a look of power and purpose settled upon the sweet full lips. for this she had studied relentlessly; to this end she had looked; with this in view her four years' course had been pursued with pluck and determination. the picture of joanna baker, as young as herself, climbing easily to the topmost round of the ladder, had fired and stimulated _her_, and she had allowed it to be known that her life was dedicated to learning, and by-and-by to teaching. all the faculty at mount seward knew her aspirations, and several of the professors had promised their aid in securing her a position, but she had not expected anything of this kind so soon. why, her diploma would not be hers until next week! surely there must be some benignant angel at work in her behalf. but--hilox? had she ever met any one from hilox? suddenly the light went out of the ardent face, and a frown crinkled the smooth fairness of her brow. this, then, _he_ had dared to do! memory recalled an episode two years back, and half-forgotten. margaret had been spending her vacation at home in the west virginia mountains, and a man had fallen in love with her. there was nothing remarkable in this, for a beautiful girl of seventeen, graceful, dignified, accomplished, and enthusiastic, is a very lovable creature. a visiting stranger in the village, the minister's cousin, had been much at her father's house, had walked and boated with her, and shared her rides over the hills, both on sure-footed mountain ponies. as a friend margaret had liked dr. angus, as a comrade had found him delightful, but her heart had not been touched. what had she, with her greek professorate looming up like a star in mid-heaven before her--what had she to do with love and a lover? she had managed to make dr. angus know this before he had quite committed himself by a proposal; but she had understood what was in his thought, and she knew that he knew that she knew all about it. and dr. angus had remained and settled down as a practitioner in the little mountain town. the town had a future before it, for two railroads were already projected to cross it, and there were coal mines in the neighborhood, and, altogether, a man might do worse than drive his roots into this soil. she had heard now and then of dr. angus since that summer--her last vacation had been passed with cousins in new england--and he was said to be courting a mrs. murray, a rich and charming neighbor of her father's. dr. angus had friends in colorado. now she remembered he had a relative who had helped to found hilox, and had endowed a chair of languages or literature; she was not certain which. so it must be to _him_ she was indebted, and, oddly, she was more indignant than grateful. the natural intervention of a friendly hand in the matter took all the satisfaction out of her surprise. not that she loved dr. angus! but she did not choose to be under an obligation to him. what girl would in the circumstances? ii. all this time the letter from home lay overlooked on the pillow. if it could have spoken it would have reproached the daughter for her absorption in its companion, but it bided its time. presently margaret turned with a start, saw it, felt a remorseful stab, and tore it open, without the aid of a hair-pin. this is what the home letter had to say. it was from margaret's father, and as he seldom wrote to her, leaving, as many men do, the bulk of correspondence with absent members of the family to be the care of his wife and children, she felt a premonitory thrill. the lees were a very affectionate and devoted household, clannish to a degree, and undemonstrative, as mountaineers often are. the deep well of their love did not foam and ripple like a brook, but the water was always there, to draw upon at will. "the shallows murmur, but the deeps are dumb." it was so in the house of duncan lee. "my dear daughter margaret" (the letter began),--"i hope these lines will find you well, and your examination crowned with success. we have thought and talked of you much lately, and wished we could be with you to see you when you are graduated. mother would have been so glad to go, but it is my sad duty to inform you that she is not well. do not be anxious, margaret. there is no immediate danger, but your dear mother has been more or less ailing ever since last march, and she does not get better. we fear there will have to be a surgical operation--perhaps more than one. she may have to live, as people sometimes do, for years with a knife always over her head. we want you to come home, margaret, as soon as you can. i enclose a check for all expenses, and i will see that you are met at the railway terminus, so you need not take the long stage-ride all by yourself. but i am afraid i have not broken it to you gently, my dear, as mother said i must. forgive me; i am just breaking my heart in these days, and i need you as much almost as your mother does. "your loving father, "duncan lee." a vision rose before margaret, as with tear-blurred eyes she folded her father's letter and replaced it in its cover. she brushed the tears away and looked at the date. four days ago the letter had been posted. her home, an old homestead in a valley that nestled deep and sweet in the heart of the grand mountain range, guarding it on every side, rose before her. she saw her father, grizzled, stooping-shouldered, care-worn, old-fashioned in dress, precise in manner, a gentleman of the old school, a man who had never had much money, but who had sent his five sons and his one daughter to college, giving them, what the lees prized most in life, a liberal education. she saw her mother, thin, fair, tall, with the golden hair that would fade but would never turn gray, the blue child-like eyes, the wistful mouth. "mother!" she gasped, "mother!" the horror of the malady that had seized on the beautiful, dainty, lovely woman, so like a princess in her bearing, so notable in her housewifery, so neighborly, so maternal, swept over her in a hot tide, retreated, leaving her shivering. "i must go home," she said, "and at once!" with feet that seemed to her weighted with lead she went straight to the room of the dean, knowing that in that gracious woman's spirit there would be instant comprehension, and that she would receive wise advice. "my dear!" said the dean, "you have heard from hilox, haven't you? we are so proud of you; we want you to represent our college and our culture there. it is a magnificent opportunity, margaret." the dean was very short-sighted, and she did not catch at first the look on margaret's face. "yes," she answered, in a voice that sounded muffled and lifeless, "i have heard from hilox; i had almost forgotten, but i must answer the letter. dear mrs. wade, i have heard from home, too. my mother is very ill, and she needs me. i must go at once--to-morrow morning. i cannot wait for commencement." the dean asked for further information. then she urged that margaret should wait over the annual great occasion; so much was due the college, she thought, and she pointed out the fact that mr. lee had not asked her to leave until the exercises were over. but margaret had only one reply: "my mother needs me; i must go!" a week later, at sunset, the old lumbering stage, rolling over the steep hills and the smooth dales drew up at margaret's home. tired, but with a steadfast light in her eyes, the girl stepped down, received her father's kiss, and went straight to her mother, waiting in the doorway. "i am glad--glad you have come, my darling!" said the mother. "while you are here i can give everything up. but, my love, this is not what we planned!" "no, my dearest," said the girl, "but that is of no consequence. i wish i had known sooner how much, how very much, i was wanted at home!" "but you will not be a professor of greek!" said the mother that night. it was all arranged for the operation, which was to take place in a week's time, the surgeons to come from the nearest town. the mother was brave, gay, heroic. margaret looked at her, wondering that one under the shadow of death could laugh and talk so brightly. "no. i will be something better," she said, tenderly. "i will be your nurse, your comfort if i can. if i had only known, there are many things better than greek that i might have learned!" hilox did not get its greek professor, but the culture of mount seward was not wasted. mrs. lee lived years, often in anguish unspeakable, relieved by intervals of peace and freedom from pain. the daughter became almost the mother in their intercourse as time passed, and the bloom on her cheek paled sooner than on her mother's in the depth of her sympathy. but the end came at last, and the suffering life went out with a soft sigh, as a child falls asleep. on a little shelf in margaret's room her old text-books, seldom opened, are souvenirs of her busy life at college. her hand has learned the cunning which concocts dainty dishes and lucent jellies; her housekeeping and her hospitality are famous. she is a bright talker, witty, charming, with the soft inflections which make the vibrant tunefulness of the virginian woman's voice so tender and sweet a thing in the ear. mount seward is to her the mecca of memory. if ever she has a daughter she will send her there, and--who knows?--that girl may be professor at hilox. for though margaret is not absent from her own household, she is not long to be margaret lee. the wedding-cake is made, and is growing rich and firm as it awaits the day when the bride will cut it. the wedding-gown is ordered. dr. angus has proposed at last; he had never thought of wooing or winning any one except the fair girl who caught his fancy and his heart ten years ago, and when margaret next visits her new england relations it will be to present her husband. the professor, who had been her most dearly beloved friend during those happy college days, her confidante and model, said to one who recalled margaret lee and spoke of her as "a great disappointment, my dear:" "yes, we expected her to make a reputation for herself and mount seward. she has done better. she has been enabled to do her duty in the station to which it has pleased god to call her--a good thing for any girl graduate, it seems to me." a christmas frolic. by mrs. m.e. sangster. we had gone to the forest for holly and pine, and gathered our arms full of cedar, and home we came skipping, our garlands to twine, with marcus, the bold, for our leader. the dear mother said we might fix up the place, and ask all the friends to a party; so joy, you may fancy, illumined each face and our manners were cordial and hearty. but whom should we have? there were sally and fred, and martha and luke and leander; there was jack, a small boy with a frowsy red head, and the look of an old salamander. there was dickie, who went to a college up town, and archie, who worked for the neighbors; there were timothy parsons and anthony brown, old fellows, of street-cleaning labors. and then sister had friends like the lilies so fair, sweet girls with white hands and soft glances; at a frolic of ours these girls must be there, dear mildred and gladys and frances. at christmas, my darlings, leave nobody out, 'tis the feast of the dear elder brother, who came to this world to bring freedom about, and whose motto is "love one another." when the angels proclaimed him in judea's sky they sang out his wonderful story, and peace and good will did they bring from on high, and the keystone of all laid with glory. a frolic at christmas must needs know not change of fortune, or richer or poorer; if any one comes who is lonesome and strange, why, just make his welcome the surer. we invited our friends and we dressed up the room till it looked like a wonderful bower, with starry bright tapers, and flowers in bloom, and a tree with white popcorn a-shower. and presents and presents, for every one there, in stockings, and bags full of candy, and old santa claus (uncle william) was fair, and--i tell you, our tree was a dandy. then, when nine o'clock struck, and the frolic and fun had risen almost to their highest, and pleasure was beaming, and every one was happy, from bravest to shyest. our dear mother went to the organ and played a carol so sweet and so tender; we prayed while we sang, and we sang as we prayed, to jesus, our prince and defender. oh! jesus, who came as a babe to the earth, who slept 'mid the kine, in a manger; oh! jesus, our lord, in whose heavenly birth is pledge of our ransom from danger. strong son of the father, divine from of old, and son of the race, child of woman; increasing in might as the ages unfold, redeemer, our god, and yet human. we sang to his name, and we stood in a band, each pledged for the master wholly, to work heart to heart, and to work hand to hand, in behalf of the outcast and lowly. then we said "merry christmas" once more and we went away from the holly and cedar, and home we all scattered, quite glad and content, and henceforward our lord is our leader. archie's vacation. by mary joanna porter. "papa has come," shouted archie conwood, as he rushed down stairs two steps at a time, with his sisters minnie and katy following close behind, and mamma bringing up the rear. papa had been to cousin faraton's to see if he could engage summer board for the family. cousin faraton lived in a pleasant village about a hundred miles distant from the city in which mr. and mrs. conwood were living. they had agreed that to board with him would insure a pleasant vacation for all. papa brought a good report. everything had been favorably arranged. "and what do you think!" he asked, in concluding his narrative. "cousin faraton has persuaded me to buy a bicycle for you, archie. he thought it would be quite delightful for you and your cousin samuel to ride about on their fine roads together. so i stopped and ordered one on my way home." "oh, you dear, good papa?" exclaimed archie, "do let me give you a hug." "are you sure it's healthful exercise?" asked mrs. conwood, rather timidly. after the way of mothers, she was anxious for the health of her son. "nothing could be better, if taken in moderation," mr. conwood positively replied, thus setting his wife's fears at rest. the order for the bicycle was promptly filled, and archie had some opportunity of using it before going to the country. when the day for leaving town arrived, he was naturally more interested in the safe carrying of what he called his "machine" than in anything else connected with the journey. he succeeded in taking it to cousin faraton's uninjured, and was much pleased to find that it met with the entire approbation of samuel, whose opinion, as he was two years older than himself, was considered most important. the two boys immediately planned a short excursion for the following day, and obtained the consent of their parents. breakfast next morning was scarcely over when they made their start. the sunshine was bright, the sky was cloudless; they were well and strong. everything promised the pleasantest sort of a day. yet, alas! for all human hopes. who can tell what sudden disappointment a moment may bring? the cousins had just disappeared from view of the group assembled on the piazza to see them start, when samuel came back in breathless haste, exclaiming: "archie has fallen, and i think he's hurt." the two fathers ran at full speed to the spot where archie was, and found him pale and almost fainting by the roadside. they picked him up and carried him tenderly back to the house, while samuel hurried off for the village doctor. fortunately he found him in his carriage about setting forth on his morning round and quite ready to drive at a rapid rate to the scene of the accident. the first thing to be done was to administer a restorative, for archie had had a severe shock. the next thing was an examination, which resulted in the announcement of a broken leg. surely there was an end to all plans for a pleasant vacation. the doctor might be kind, sympathetic and skillful, as indeed he was. the other children might unite in trying to entertain their injured playfellow. they might bring him flowers without number, and relate to him their various adventures, and read him their most interesting story-books--all this they did. mother might be tireless in her devotion, trying day and night to make him forget the pain--what mother would not have done all in her power? still there was no escape from the actual suffering, no relief from the long six weeks' imprisonment; while outside the birds were singing and the summer breezes playing in ever so many delightful places that might have been visited had it not been for that broken leg. archie tried to be brave and cheerful, and to conceal from every one the tears which would sometimes force their way to his eyes. he endeavored to interest himself in the amusements which were within his reach, and he succeeded admirably. yet the fact remained that he was having a sadly tedious vacation. the kind-hearted doctor often entertained him by telling of his experiences while surgeon in a hospital during the war. "do you know," he said one day in the midst of a story, "that the men who had been bravest on the field of battle were most patient in bearing suffering? they showed what we call fortitude, and bravery and fortitude go hand in hand." this was an encouraging thought to archie, for he resolved to show that he could endure suffering as well as any soldier. another thing that helped him very much was the fact, of which his mother reminded him, that by trying to be patient he was doing what he could, to please the lord jesus. "it was he," she said, "who allowed this trial to come to you, because he saw that through it you might grow to be a better and a nobler boy. and you will be growing better every day by simply trying to be patient, as i see you do." "i want to be, mamma," archie answered; "and there's another thing about this broken leg, i think it will teach me to care more when other people are sick." "no doubt it will, archie, and if you learn to exercise patience and sympathy, your vacation will not be lost, after all." a birthday story. by mrs. m.e. sangster. jack hillyard turned over in his hand the few bits of silver which he had taken from his little tin savings-bank. there were not very many of them, a ten cent piece, a quarter, half a dollar and an old silver six-pence. and he had been saving them up a long, long time. "well," said jack to himself, soberly, "there aren't enough to buy mother a silk dress, but i think i'll ask cousin susy, if she won't spend my money and get up a birthday party for the darling little mother. a birthday cake, with, let me see, thirty-six candles, that'll be a lot, three rows deep, and a big bunch of flowers, and a book. mother's never had a birthday party that i remember. she's always been so awfully busy working hard for us, and so awfully tired when night came, but i mean her to have one now, or my name's not jack." away went jack to consult cousin susy. he found her very much occupied with her dressmaking, for she made new gowns and capes for all the ladies in town, and she was finishing up miss kitty hardy's wedding outfit. with her mouth full of pins, cousin susy could not talk, but her brown eyes beamed on jack as she listened to his plan. at last she took all the pins out of her mouth, and said: "leave it all to me, jack. we'll give her a surprise party; i'll see about everything, dear. whom shall we ask?" "when thou makest a dinner or a supper," said jack, repeating his golden text of the last sunday's lesson, "call not thy friends, nor thy kinsmen, nor thy rich neighbors, lest they also bid thee again and a recompense be made thee. but when thou makest a feast, call the poor, the maimed, the lame, the blind, and thou shalt be blessed, for they cannot recompense thee." "jack! jack! jack!" exclaimed cousin susy. "i was only repeating my last golden text," answered jack. "we don't often have to give a feast, and as it was so extraordinary," said jack, saying the big word impressively, "i thought of my verse. i suppose we'd better ask the people mother likes, and they are the poor, the halt, the blind, and the deaf; for we haven't any rich neighbors, nor any kinsmen, except you, dear cousin susy." "well, i'm a kinswoman and a neighbor, dear, but i'm not rich. now, let me see," said miss susy, smoothing out the shining white folds of kitty hardy's train. "we will send notes, and you must write them. there is old ralph, the peddler, who is too deaf to hear if you shout at him ever and ever so much, but he'll enjoy seeing a good time; and we'll have florrie maynard, with her crutches and her banjo, and she'll have a happy time and sing for us; and mrs. maloney, the laundress, with her blind patsy. i don't see jackie, but you'll have a scripture party after all. run along and write your letters, and to-night we'll trot around and deliver them." this was the letter jack wrote: "dear friend:--my mother's going to have a birthday next saturday night, and she'll be thirty-six years old. that's pretty old. so i'm going to give her a surprise birthday party, and cousin susy's helping me with the surprise. please come and help too, at eight o'clock sharp. "yours truly, "jack." when this note was received everybody decided to go, and, which jack did not expect, everybody decided to take a present along. "you'll spend all my money, won't you?" said jack. "certainly, my boy, i will, every penny. except, perhaps, the old silver sixpence. suppose we give that to the mother as a keepsake?" "very well, you know best. all i want is that she shall have a good time, a very good time. she's such a good mother." "jack," said susy, "you make me think of some verses i saw in a book the other day. let me read them to you." and cousin susy, who had a way of copying favorite poems and keeping them, fished out this one from her basket: little hans. little hans was helping mother carry home the lady's basket; chubby hands of course were lifting one great handle--can you ask it? as he tugged away beside her, feeling oh! so brave and strong, little hans was softly singing to himself a little song: "some time i'll be tall as father, though i think it's very funny, and i'll work and build big houses, and give mother all the money, for," and little hans stopped singing, feeling oh! so strong and grand, "i have got the sweetest mother you can find in all the land." now, some people couldn't do very much with the funds at cousin susy's disposal, but she could, and when jack's money was spent for refreshments what do you think they had? why, a great big pan of gingerbread, all marked out in squares with the knife, and raisins in it; and a round loaf of cup cake, frosted over with sugar, with thirty-six tiny tapers all ready to light, and a pitcher of lemonade, a plate of apples, and a big platter of popped corn. jack danced for joy, but softly, for mother had come home from her day's work and was tired, and the party was to be a surprise, and she was not to be allowed to step into the little square parlor. that parlor was the pride of jack and his mother. it had a bright rag carpet, a table with a marble top, six chairs, and a stool called an ottoman. on the wall between the windows hung a framed picture of jack's dear father, who was in heaven, and over the mantelpiece there was a framed bouquet of flowers, embroidered by jack's mother on white satin, when she had been a girl at school. "seems to me, jack," said mrs. hillyard as she sat down in the kitchen to her cup of tea, "there is a smell of fresh gingerbread; i wonder who's having company." jack almost bit his tongue trying not to laugh. "oh!" said he grandly, "gingerbread isn't anything, mamma. when i'm a man you shall have pound-cake every day for breakfast." by and by mrs. maloney and patsy dropped in. "i thought," said mrs. maloney, "it was kind o'lonesome-like at home, and i'd step in and see you and jack to-night, ma'am." "that was very kind," replied mrs. hillyard. "why, here comes mr. ralph," she added. "well the more the merrier!" tap, tap, tap. the neighbors kept coming, and coming, and jack grew more and more excited, till at last when all were present, cousin susy, opening the parlor door, displayed the marble-top of the table covered with a white cloth, and there were the refreshments. "a happy birthday, mother." "many returns." "may you live a hundred years." one and another had some kind word to say, and each gave a present, a card, or a flower, or a trifle of some sort, but with so much good will and love that mrs. hillyard's face beamed. all day she stood behind a counter in a great big shop, and worked hard for her bread and jack's, but when evening came she was a queen at home with her boy and her friends to pay her honor. "and were you surprised, and did you like the cake and the thirty-six candles, dearest, darling mamma?" said jack, when everybody had gone home. "yes, my own manly little laddie, i liked everything, and i was never so surprised in my life." so the birthday party was a great success. a coquette. by amy pierce. i am never in doubt of her goodness, i am always afraid of her mood, i am never quite sure of her temper, for wilfulness runs in her blood. she is sweet with the sweetness of springtime- a tear and a smile in an hour- yet i ask not release from her slightest caprice, my love with the face of a flower. my love with the grace of the lily that sways on its slender fair stem, my love with the bloom of the rosebud, white pearl in my life's diadem! you may call her coquette if it please you, enchanting, if shy or if bold, is my darling, my winsome wee lassie, whose birthdays are three, when all told. horatius.[1] _a lay made about the year of the city ccclx._ by t.b. macaulay. i. lars porsena of clusium by the nine gods he swore that the great house of tarquin should suffer wrong no more. by the nine gods he swore it, and named a trysting-day, and bade his messengers ride forth, east and west, and south and north, to summon his array. ii. east and west, and south and north, the messengers ride fast, and tower and town and cottage have heard the trumpet's blast. shame on the false etruscan who lingers in his home, when porsena of clusium is on the march for rome! iii. the horsemen and the footmen are pouring in amain, from many a stately market-place, from many a fruitful plain; from many a lonely hamlet, which, hid by beech and pine, like an eagle's nest, hangs on the crest of purple apennine; iv. from lordly volaterrã¦, where scowls the far-famed hold piled by the hands of giants for godlike kings of old; from sea-girt populonia, whose sentinels descry sardinia's snowy mountain-tops fringing the southern sky; v. from the proud mart of pisã¦, queen of the western waves, where ride massilia's triremes heavy with fair-haired slaves; from where sweet clanis wanders through corn and vines and flowers; from where cortona lifts to heaven her diadem of towers. vi. tall are the oaks whose acorns drop in dark auser's rill; fat are the stags that champ the boughs of the ciminian hill; beyond all streams clitumnus is to the herdsman dear; best of all pools the fowler loves the great volsinian mere. vii. but now no stroke of woodman is heard by auser's rill; no hunter tracks the stag's green path up the ciminian hill; unwatched along clitumnus grazes the milk-white steer; unharmed the water-fowl may dip in the volsinian mere. viii. the harvests of arretium this year old men shall reap; this year young boys in umbro shall plunge the struggling sheep; and in the vats of luna this year the must shall foam round the white feet of laughing girls whose sires have marched to rome. ix. there be thirty chosen prophets, the wisest of the land, who always by lars porsena both morn and evening stand; evening and morn the thirty have turned the verses o'er, traced from the right on linen white by mighty seers of yore. x. and with one voice the thirty have their glad answer given: "go forth, go forth, lars porsena; go forth, beloved of heaven: go, and return in glory to clusium's royal dome, and hang round nurscia's altars the golden shields of rome." xi. and now hath every city sent up her tale of men; the foot are fourscore thousand, the horse are thousands ten. before the gates of sutrium is met the great array. a proud man was lars porsena upon the trysting-day. xii. for all the etruscan armies were ranged beneath his eye, and many a banished roman, and many a stout ally; and with a mighty following to join the muster came the tusculan mamilius, prince of the latian name. xiii. but by the yellow tiber was tumult and affright: from all the spacious champaign to rome men took their flight. a mile around the city the throng stopped up the ways; a fearful sight it was to see through two long nights and days. xiv. for aged folk on crutches, and women great with child, and mothers sobbing over babes that clung to them and smiled; and sick men borne in litters high on the necks of slaves, and troops of sunburnt husbandmen with reaping-hooks and staves; xv. and droves of mules and asses laden with skins of wine, and endless flocks of goats and sheep, and endless herds of kine, and endless trains of wagons that creaked beneath the weight of corn-sacks and of household goods, choked every roaring gate. xvi. now, from the rock tarpeian, could the wan burghers spy the line of blazing villages red in the midnight sky, the fathers of the city, they sat all night and day, for every hour some horseman came with tidings of dismay. xvii. to eastward and to westward have spread the tuscan bands; nor house nor fence nor dovecot in crustumerium stands. verbenna down to ostia hath wasted all the plain; astur hath stormed janiculum, and the stout guards are slain. xviii. i wis, in all the senate, there was no heart so bold but sore it ached and fast it beat when that ill news was told. forthwith up rose the consul, up rose the fathers all; in haste they girded up their gowns and hied them to the wall. xix. they held a council standing before the river gate; short time was there, ye well may guess, for musing or debate. out spake the consul roundly, "the bridge must straight go down, for, since janiculum is lost, naught else can save the town." xx. just then a scout came flying, all wild with haste and fear: "to arms! to arms! sir consul; lars porsena is here!" on the low hills to westward the consul fixed his eye, and saw the swarthy storm of dust rise fast along the sky. xxi. and nearer fast, and nearer, doth the red whirlwind come; and louder still, and still more loud, from underneath that rolling cloud, is heard the trumpet's war-note proud, the trampling and the hum. and plainly and more plainly now through the gloom appears, far to left and far to right, in broken gleams of dark-blue light, the long array of helmets bright, the long array of spears. xxii. and plainly and more plainly, above that glimmering line, now might ye see the banners of twelve fair cities shine; but the banner of proud clusium was highest of them all, the terror of the umbrian, the terror of the gaul. xxiii. and plainly and more plainly. now might the burghers know, by port and vest, by horse and crest, each warlike lucumo. there cilnius of arretium on his fleet roan was seen; and astur of the fourfold shield, girt with the brand none else may wield, tolumnius with the belt of gold, and dark verbenna from the hold by reedy thrasymene. xxiv. fast by the royal standard, o'erlooking all the war, lars porsena of clusium sat in his ivory car. by the right wheel rode mamilius, prince of the latian name; and by the left false sextus, that wrought the deed of shame. xxv. but when the face of sextus was seen among the foes, a yell that rent the firmament from all the town arose. on the house-tops was no woman but spat toward him and hissed, no child but screamed out curses and shook its little fist. xxvi. but the consul's brow was sad, and the consul's speech was low, and darkly looked he at the wall, and darkly at the foe. "their van will be upon us before the bridge goes down; and if they once may win the bridge what hope to save the town?" xxvii. then out spake brave horatius, the captain of the gate: "to every man upon this earth death cometh soon or late. and how can man die better than facing fearful odds, for the ashes of his fathers and the temples of his gods. xxviii. "and for the tender mother who dandled him to rest, and for the wife who nurses his baby at her breast, and for the holy maidens who feed the eternal flame, to save them from false sextus that wrought the deed of shame? xxix. "hew down the bridge, sir consul, with all the speed ye may; i, with two more to help me, will hold the foe in play. in yon strait path a thousand may well be stopped by three. now who will stand on either hand, and keep the bridge with me?" xxx. then out spake spurius lartius, a ramnian proud was he: "lo, i will stand at thy right hand and keep the bridge with thee." and out spake strong herminius, of titian blood was he: "i will abide on thy left side, and keep the bridge with thee." xxxi. "horatius," quoth the consul, "as thou sayest, so let it be." and straight against that great array forth went the dauntless three. for romans in rome's quarrel spared neither land nor gold, nor son nor wife, nor limb nor life, in the brave days of old. xxxii. then none was for a party; then all were for the state; then the great man helped the poor, and the poor man loved the great; then lands were fairly portioned; then spoils were fairly sold; the romans were like brothers in the brave days of old. xxxiii. now roman is to roman more hateful than a foe; and the tribunes beard the high, and the fathers grind the low. as we wax hot in faction, in battle we wax cold; wherefore men fight not as they fought in the brave days of old. xxxiv. now while the three were tightening their harness on their backs, the consul was the foremost man to take in hand an axe; and fathers mixed with commons seized hatchet, bar, and crow, and smote upon the planks above, and loosed the props below. xxxv. meanwhile the tuscan army, right glorious to behold, came flashing back the noonday light, rank behind rank, like surges bright of a broad sea of gold. four hundred trumpets sounded a peal of warlike glee, as that great host, with measured tread, and spears advanced, and ensigns spread, rolled slowly toward the bridge's head, where stood the dauntless three. xxxvi. the three stood calm and silent and looked upon the foes, and a great shout of laughter from all the vanguard rose; and forth three chiefs came spurring before that deep array: to earth they sprang, their swords they drew, and lifted high their shields, and flew to win the narrow way. xxxvii. aunus from green tifernum, lord of the hill of vines; and seius, whose eight hundred slaves sicken in ilva's mines; and picus, long to clusium vassal in peace and war, who led to fight his umbrian powers from that gray crag where, girt with towers, the fortress of nequinum lowers o'er the pale waves of nar. xxxviii. stout lartius hurled down aunus into the stream beneath; herminius struck at seius, and clove him to the teeth; at picus brave horatius darted one fiery thrust, and the proud umbrian's gilded arms clashed in the bloody dust. xxxix. then ocnus of falerii rushed on the roman three; and lausulus of urgo, the rover of the sea; and aruns of volsinium, who slew the great wild boar, the great wild boar that had his den amidst the reeds of cosa's fen, and wasted fields and slaughtered men along albinia's shore. xl. herminius smote down aruns; lartius laid ocnus low; right to the heart of lausulus horatius sent a blow. "lie there," he cried, "fell pirate! no more, aghast and pale, from ostia's walls the crowd shall mark the track of thy destroying bark. no more campania's hinds shall fly to woods and caverns when they spy thy thrice accursed sail." xli. but now no sound of laughter was heard among the foes; a wild and wrathful clamor from all the vanguard rose. six spears' length from the entrance halted that deep array, and for a space no man came forth to win the narrow way. xlii. but hark! the cry is astur; and lo! the ranks divide, and the great lord of luna comes with his stately stride. upon his ample shoulders clangs loud the fourfold shield, and in his hand he shakes the brand which none but he can wield. xliii. he smiled on those bold romans a smile serene and high; he eyed the flinching tuscans, and scorn was in his eye. quoth he, "the she-wolf's litter stand savagely at bay; but will ye dare to follow, if astur clears the way?" xliv. then, whirling up his broadsword with both hands to the height, he rushed against horatius, and smote with all his might. with shield and blade horatius right deftly turned the blow. the blow, though turned, came yet too nigh; it missed his helm, but gashed his thigh; the tuscans raised a joyful cry to see the red blood flow. xlv. he reeled and on herminius he leaned one breathing-space, then, like a wild cat mad with wounds, sprang right at astur's face. through teeth and skull and helmet so fierce a thrust he sped, the good sword stood a hand-breadth out behind the tuscan's head. xlvi. and the great lord of luna fell at that deadly stroke, as falls on mount alvernus a thunder-smitten oak. far o'er the crashing forest the giant arms lie spread; and the pale augurs, muttering low, gaze on the blasted head. xlvii. on astur's throat horatius right firmly pressed his heel, and thrice and four times tugged amain ere he wrenched out the steel. "and see," he cried, "the welcome, fair guests that wait you here! what noble lucumo comes next to taste our roman cheer?" xlviii. but at his haughty challenge a sullen murmur ran, mingled of wrath and shame and dread, along that glittering van. there lacked not men of prowess, nor men of lordly race; for all etruria's noblest were round the fatal place. xlix. but all etruria's noblest felt their hearts sink to see on the earth the bloody corpses, in the path of the dauntless three; and, from the ghastly entrance where those bold romans stood, all shrank, like boys who, unaware, ranging the woods to start a hare, come to the mouth of the dark lair where, growling low, a fierce old bear lies amidst bones and blood. l. was none who would be foremost to lead such dire attack; but those behind cried "forward!" and those before cried "back!" and backward now and forward wavers the deep array; and on the tossing sea of steel to and fro the standards reel, and the victorious trumpet-peal dies fitfully away. li. yet one man for one moment strode out before the crowd; well known was he to all the three, and they gave him greeting loud. "now welcome, welcome, sextus! now welcome to thy home! why dost thou stay and turn away? here lies the road to rome." lii. thrice looked he at the city, thrice looked he at the dead; and thrice came on in fury, and thrice turned back in dread; and, white with fear and hatred, scowled at the narrow way where, wallowing in a pool of blood, the bravest tuscans lay. liii. but meanwhile axe and lever have manfully been plied, and now the bridge hangs tottering above the boiling tide. "come back, come back, horatius!" loud cried the fathers all. "back, lartius! back, herminius! back, ere the ruin fall!" liv. back darted spurius lartius, herminius darted back; and, as they passed, beneath their feet they felt the timbers crack. but when they turned their faces, and on the farther shore saw brave horatius stand alone, they would have crossed once more. lv. but with a crash like thunder fell every loosened beam, and, like a dam, the mighty wreck lay right athwart the stream; and a long shout of triumph rose from the walls of rome, as to the highest turret tops was splashed the yellow foam. lvi. and, like a horse unbroken when first he feels the rein, the furious river struggled hard, and tossed his tawny mane, and burst the curb and bounded, rejoicing to be free, and, whirling down in fierce career battlement and plank and pier, rushed headlong to the sea. lvii. alone stood brave horatius, but constant still in mind, thrice thirty thousand foes before and the broad flood behind. "down with him!" cried false sextus, with a smile on his pale face. "now yield thee," cried lars porsena, "now yield thee to our grace." lviii. round turned he, as not deigning those craven ranks to see; naught spake he to lars porsena, to sextus naught spake he; but he saw on palatinus the white porch of his home, and he spake to the noble river that rolls by the towers of rome: lix. "o tiber! father tiber! to whom the romans pray, a roman's life, a roman's arms, take thou in charge this day!" so he spake, and speaking sheathed the good sword by his side, and with his harness on his back plunged headlong in the tide. lx. no sound of joy or sorrow was heard from either bank, but friends and foes in dumb surprise, with parted lips and straining eyes, stood gazing where he sank; and when above the surges they saw his crest appear, all rome sent forth a rapturous cry, and even the ranks of tuscany could scarce forbear to cheer. lxi. but fiercely ran the current, swollen high by months of rain; and fast his blood was flowing, and he was sore in pain, and heavy with his armor, and spent with changing blows; and oft they thought him sinking, but still again he rose. lxii. never, i ween, did swimmer, in such an evil case, struggle through such a raging flood safe to the landing-place; but his limbs were borne up bravely by the brave heart within, and our good father tiber bore bravely up his chin. lxiii. "curse on him!" quoth false sextus; "will not the villain drown? but for this stay, ere close of day, we should have sacked the town!" "heaven help him!" quoth lars porsena, "and bring him safe to shore; for such a gallant feat of arms was never seen before." lxiv. and now he feels the bottom; now on dry earth he stands; now round him throng the fathers to press his gory hands; and now, with shouts and clapping and noise of weeping loud, he enters through the river gate, borne by the joyous crowd. lxv. they gave him of the corn-land, that was of public right, as much as two strong oxen could plow from morn till night; and they made a molten image and set it up on high, and there it stands unto this day to witness if i lie. lxvi. it stands in the comitium, plain for all folk to see, horatius in his harness halting upon one knee; and underneath is written, in letters all of gold, how valiantly he kept the bridge in the brave days of old. lxvii. and still his name sounds stirring unto the men of rome, as the trumpet-blast that cries to them to charge the volscian home; and wives still pray to juno for boys with hearts as bold as his who kept the bridge so well in the brave days of old. lxviii. and in the nights of winter, when the cold north winds blow, and the long howling of the wolves is heard amidst the snow; when round the lonely cottage roars loud the tempest's din, and the good logs of algidus roar louder yet within; lxix. when the oldest cask is opened, and the largest lamp is lit; when the chestnuts glow in the embers, and the kid turns on the spit; when young and old in circle around the firebrands close; when the girls are weaving baskets, and the lads are shaping bows; lxx. when the goodman mends his armor, and trims his helmet's plume; when the goodwife's shuttle merrily goes flashing through the loom; with weeping and with laughter still is the story told, how well horatius kept the bridge in the brave days of old. footnotes: [footnote 1: lord macaulay's ballad should be known by heart by every schoolboy. it is the finest of the famous "lays of ancient rome."] a bit of brightness. by mary joanna porter. it not only rained, but it poured; so the brightness was certainly not in the sky. it was sunday, too, and that fact, so phoebe thought, added to the gloominess of the storm. for phoebe had left behind her the years in which she had been young and strong, and in which she had no need to regard the weather. now if she went out in the rain she was sure to suffer afterward with rheumatism, so, of course, a day like this made her a prisoner within doors. there she had not very much to occupy her. she and her husband, gardener jim, lived so simply that it was a small matter to prepare and clear away their meals, and, that being attended to, what was there for her to do? phoebe had never been much of a scholar, and reading even the coarse-print bible, seemed to try her eyes. knitting on sunday was not to be thought of, and there was nobody passing by to be watched and criticised. altogether phoebe considered it a very dreary day. as for gardener jim, he had his pipe to comfort him. all the same he heaved a sigh now and then, as if to say, "o dear! i wish things were not quite so dull." in the big house near by lived jim's employer, mr. stevens. there matters were livelier, for there were living five healthy, happy children, whose mother scarcely knew the meaning of the word quiet. when it drew near two o'clock in the afternoon they were all begging to be allowed to go to sunday-school. "you'll let me go, won't you, ma?" cried jessie, the oldest, and tommy and nellie and johnny and even baby clara echoed the petition. mrs. stevens thought the thing over and decided that jessie and tommy might go. for the others, she would have sunday-school at home. "be sure to put on your high rubbers and your water-proofs and take umbrellas." these were the mother's instructions as the two left the family sitting-room. a few moments after, jessie looked in again. "well, you are wrapped up!" exclaimed mrs. stevens, "i don't think the storm can hurt you." "neither do i, ma, and oh! i forgot to ask you before, may we stop at gardener jim's on the way home?" "yes, if you'll be careful not to make any trouble for him and phoebe, and will come home before supper-time." tommy, who was standing behind jessie in the doorway, suppressed the hurrah that rose to his lips. he remembered that it was sunday and that his mother would not approve of his making a great noise on the holy day. he and jessie had quite a hard tramp to the little chapel in which the school was held. the graveled sidewalks were covered with that uncomfortable mixture of snow and water known as slush, which beside being wet was cold and slippery, so that walking was no easy thing. yet what did that matter after they had reached the school? their teachers were there, and so was the superintendent, and so were nearly half of the scholars. theirs was a wide-awake school, you see, and it did not close on account of weather. each of the girls in jessie's class was asked to recite a verse that she had chosen through the week. jessie's was this: "to do good and to communicate forget not, for with such sacrifices god is well pleased." the teacher talked a little about it and jessie thought it over on her way to gardener jim's. the result was that she said to her brother: "tommy, you know mother said we must not trouble jim and phoebe." "yes, i know it, but i don't think we will, do you?" "no, i'm sure they'll be glad to see us, but i was thinking we might do something to make them very glad. suppose that while we're in there, i read to them from the bible, and then we sing to them two or three of our hymns." "what a queer girl you are, jess! anybody would think that you were a minister going to hold church in the cottage. but i'm agreed, if you want to; i like singing anyway. it seems to let off a little of the 'go' in a fellow." by this time they had reached the cottage, and if they had been a prince and princess--supposing that such titled personages were living in these united states--they could not have had a warmer welcome. gardener jim opened the door in such haste that he scattered the ashes from his pipe over the rag-carpet on the floor. phoebe, too, contrived to drop her spectacles while she was saying "how do you do," and it took at least three minutes to find them again. at length, however, the surprise being over, the children removed their wraps, jim refilled his pipe, and phoebe settled herself in her chair. she was slowly revolving in her mind the question whether it would be best to offer her visitors a lunch of cookies or one of apples, when jessie said: "phoebe, wouldn't you like to have me read you a chapter or two?" "'deed and i would, miss, and i'd be that grateful that i couldn't express myself. my eyes, you see, are getting old, and jim's not much better, and neither of us was ever a scholard." so jessie read in her sweet, clear voice the chapters beloved in palace and in cottage, about the holy city new jerusalem, and about the pure river of water of life, clear as crystal; about the tree whose leaves are for the healing of the nations; about the place where they need no candle, neither light of the sun; for the lord god giveth them light; and they shall reign for ever and ever. "dear me, dear me!" exclaimed phoebe, "it seems almost like being there, doesn't it? now i'll have something to think of to-night if i lie awake with the rheumatism." "we're going to sing to you, too," was tommy's rejoinder. then he and jessie sang "it's coming, coming nearer, that lovely land unseen," and "o, think of the home over there" and phoebe's favorite: "in the far better land of glory and light the ransomed are singing in garments of white, the harpers are harping and all the bright train sing the song of redemption, the lamb that was slain." jim wiped his eyes as they finished. he and phoebe had once had a little boy and girl, but both had long, long been in the "better land." yet though he wept it was in gladness, for the reading and singing had seemed to open a window through which he might look into the streets of the heavenly city. thus tommy and jessie had brought sunshine to the cottage on that rainy sunday afternoon. they had given the cup of cold water--surely they had their reward. how sammy earned the prize. by mrs. m.e. sangster. "and now," said the principal, looking keenly and pleasantly through his spectacles, "i have another prize offer to announce. besides the prizes for the best scholarship, and the best drawing and painting, and for punctuality, i am authorized by the trustees of this academy to offer a prize for valor. fifty dollars in gold will be given the student who shows the most courage and bravery during the next six months." fifty dollars in gold! the sum sounded immense in the ears of the boys, not one of whom had ever had five dollars for his very own at one time, that is in one lump sum. as they went home one and another wondered where the chance to show true courage was to come in their prosaic lives. "it isn't the time when knights go round to rescue forlorn ladies and do brave deeds," said johnny smith, ruefully. "no, and there never are any fires in scott-town, or mad dogs, or anything," added billy thorne. "but sammy slocum said nothing at all," billy told his mother. "old sammy's a bit of a coward. he faints when he sees blood. of course he knows he can't get the prize for valor, or any prize for that matter. his mother has to take in washing." "william," said billy's father, who had just entered, "that is a very un-american way of speaking. if i were dead and buried your mother might have to take in washing, and it would do her no discredit. honest work is honest work. sammy is a very straight sort of boy. he's been helping at the store saturday mornings, and i like the boy. he's got pluck." "six months give a fellow time to turn round, any way," said billy, as the family sat down to supper. it was september when this conversation took place, and it was december before the teachers, who were watching the boys' daily records very carefully, had the least idea who would get the prize for valor. "perhaps we cannot award it this year," said the principal. "fifty dollars should not be thrown away, nor a prize really bestowed on anybody who has not merited it." "there are chances for heroism in the simplest and most humble life," answered little miss riggs, the composition teacher. that december was awfully cold. storm and wind and snow. blizzard and gale and hurricane. you never saw anything like it. in the middle of december the sexton was taken down with rheumatic fever, and there wasn't a soul to ring the bell, or clear away the snow, or keep fires going in the church, and not a man in the parish was willing to take the extra work upon him. the old sexton was a good deal worried, for he needed the little salary so much that he couldn't bear to give it up, and in that village church there was no money to spare. sammy's mother sent bowls and pitchers of gruel and other things of the sort to the sick man, and when sammy took them he heard the talk of the sexton and his wife. one night he came home, saying: "mother, i've made a bargain with mr. anderson, i'm going to be the sexton of the church for the next three months." "you, my boy, you're not strong enough. it's hard work shoveling snow and breaking paths, and ringing the bell, and having the church warm on sunday, and the lamps filled and lighted. and you have your chores to do at home." "yes, dear mammy, i'll manage; i'll go round and get the clothes for you, and carry them home and do every single thing, just the same as ever, and i'll try to keep mr. anderson's place for him too." "i don't know that i ought to let you," said his mother. but she did consent. then began sammy's trial. he never had a moment to play. other boys could go skating on saturday, but he had to stay around the church, and dust and sweep, and put the cushions down in the pews, and see that the old stoves were all right, as to dampers and draughts, bring coal up from the cellar, have wood split, lamps filled, wicks cut, chimneys polished. the big bell was hard to ring, hard for a fourteen-year-old boy. at first, for the fun of it, some of the other boys helped him pull the rope, but their enthusiasm soon cooled. day in, day out, the stocky, sturdy form of samuel might be seen, manfully plodding through all varieties of weather, and he had a good-morning or a good-evening ready for all he met. when he learned his lessons was a puzzle, but learn them he did, and nobody could complain that in anything he fell off, though his face did sometimes wear a preoccupied look, and his mother said that at night he slept like the dead and she just hated to have to call him in the morning. through december and january and february and march, sammy made as good a sexton as the church had ever had, and by april, mr. anderson was well again. the queer thing about it all was that sammy had forgotten the prize for valor altogether. nothing was said about it in school, and most of the boys were so busy looking out for brave deeds to come their way, that if one had appeared, they would not have recognized it. in fact, everybody thought the prize for valor was going by the board. till july came. and then, when the visitors were there, and the prizes were all given out, the president looked keenly through his spectacles and said: "will master samuel slocum step forward to the platform?" modestly blushing, up rose sammy, and somewhat awkwardly he made his way to the front. "last winter," said the president, "there was a boy who not only did his whole duty in our midst, but denied himself for another, undertook hard work for many weeks, without pay and without shirking. we all know his name. here he stands. to samuel slocum the committee award the prize for valor." he put five shining ten-dollar pieces into sammy's hard brown hand. the glorious fourth. hurrah for the fourth, the glorious fourth, the day we all love best, when east and west and south and north, no boy takes breath or rest. when the banners float and the bugles blow, and drums are on the street, throbbing and thrilling, and fifes are shrilling, and there's tread of marching feet. hurrah for the nation's proudest day, the day that made us free! let our cheers ring out in a jubilant shout far over land and sea. hurrah for the flag on the school-house roof, hurrah for the white church spire! for the homes we love, and the tools we wield, and the light of the household fire. hurrah, hurrah for the fourth of july, the day we love and prize, when there's wonderful light on this fair green earth, and beautiful light in the skies. the middle daughter. by margaret e. sangster. chapter i. at the manse. "i am troubled and low in my mind," said our mother, looking pensively out of the window. "i am really extremely anxious about the wainwrights." it was a dull and very chilly day in the late autumn. fog hid the hills; wet leaves soaked into the soft ground; the trees dripped with moisture; every little while down came the rain, now a pour, then a drizzle--a depressing sort of day. our village of highland, in the ramapo, is perfectly enchanting in clear brilliant weather, and turn where you will, you catch a fine view of mountain, or valley, or brown stream, or tumbling cascade. on a snowy winter day it is divine; but in the fall, when there is mist hanging its gray pall over the landscape, or there are dark low-hanging clouds with steady pouring rain, the weather, it must be owned, is depressing in highland. that is, if one cares about weather. some people always rise above it, which is the better way. i must explain mamma's interest in the wainwrights. they are our dear friends, but not our neighbors, as they were before dr. wainwright went to live at wishing-brae, which was a family place left him by his brother; rather a tumble-down old place, but big, and with fields and meadows around it, and a great rambling garden. the wainwrights were expecting their middle daughter, grace, home from abroad. few people in highland have ever been abroad; new york, or chicago, or omaha, or denver is far enough away for most of us. but grace wainwright, when she was ten, had been borrowed by a childless uncle and aunt, who wanted to adopt her, and begged dr. wainwright, who had seven children and hardly any money, to give them one child on whom they could spend their heaps of money. but no, the doctor and mrs. wainwright wouldn't hear of anything except a loan, and so grace had been lent, in all, eight years; seven she had spent at school, and one in paris, berlin, florence, venice, rome, the alps. think of it, how splendid and charming! uncle ralph and aunt hattie did not like to give her up now, but grace, we heard, would come. she wanted to see her mother and her own kin; maybe she felt she ought. at the manse we had just finished prayers. papa was going to his study. he wore his friday-morning face--a sort of preoccupied pucker between his eyebrows, and a far-away look in his eyes. friday is the day he finishes up his sermons for sunday, and, as a matter of course, we never expect him to be delayed or bothered by our little concerns till he has them off his mind. sermons in our house have the right of way. prayers had been shorter than usual this morning, and we had sung only two stanzas of the hymn, instead of four or five. usually if mamma is anxious about anybody or anything, papa is all sympathy and attention. but not on a friday. he paid no heed either to her tone or her words, but only said impressively: "my love, please do not allow me to be disturbed in any way you can avoid between this and the luncheon hour; and keep the house as quiet as you can. i dislike being troublesome, but i've had so many interruptions this week; what with illness in the congregation, and funerals, and meetings every night, my work for sunday is not advanced very far. children, i rely on you all to help me," and with a patient smile, and a little wave of the hand quite characteristic, papa withdrew. we heard him moving about in his study, which was over the sitting-room, and then there came a scrape of his chair upon the floor, and a creaking sound as he settled into it by the table. papa was safely out of the way for the next four or five hours. i would have to be a watchdog to keep knocks from his door. "i should think," said amy, pertly, tossing her curls, "that when papa has so much to do he'd just go and do it, not stand here talking and wasting time. it's the same thing week after week. such a martyr." "amy," said mamma, severely, "don't speak of your father in that flippant manner. why are _you_ lounging here so idly? gather up the books, put this room in order, and then, with laura's assistance, i would like you this morning to clean the china closet. every cup and saucer and plate must be taken down and wiped separately, after being dipped into hot soap-suds and rinsed in hot water; the shelves all washed and dried, and the corners carefully gone over. see how thorough you can be, my dears," said mamma in her sweetest tones. i wondered whether she had known that amy had planned to spend the rainy morning finishing the hand-screen she is painting for grandmother's birthday. from her looks nothing could be gathered. mamma's blue eyes can look as unconscious of intention as a child's when she chooses to reprove, and yet does not wish to seem censorious. amy is fifteen, and very headstrong, as indeed we all are, but even amy never dreams of hinting that she would like to do something else than what mamma prefers when mamma arranges things in her quiet yet masterful fashion. dear little mamma. all her daughters except jessie are taller than herself; but mother is queen of the manse, nevertheless. amy went off, having with a few deft touches set the library in order, piling the bibles and hymn books on the little stand in the corner, and giving a pat here and a pull there to the cushions, rugs, and curtains, went pleasantly to begin her hated task of going over the china closet. laura followed her. elbert, our seventeen-year-old brother, politely held open the door for the girls to pass through. "you see, amy dear," he said, compassionately, "what comes on reflecting upon papa. it takes some people a long while to learn wisdom." amy made a little _moue_ at him. "i don't mind particularly," she said. "come, lole, when a thing's to be done, the best way is to do it and not fuss nor fret. i ought not to have said that; i knew it would vex dear mamma; but papa provokes me so with his solemn directions, as if the whole house did not always hold its breath when he is in the study. come, lole, let's do this work as well as we can." amy's sunshiny disposition matches her quick temper. she may say a quick word on the impulse of the moment, but she makes up for it afterward by her loving ways. "it isn't the week for doing this closet, amy," said laura. "why didn't you tell mamma so? you wanted to paint in your roses and clematis before noon, didn't you? i think it mean. things are so contrary," and laura sighed. "oh, never mind, dear! this won't be to do next week. i think mamma was displeased and spoke hastily. mamma and i are so much alike that we understand one another. i suppose i am just the kind of girl she used to be, and i hope i'll be the kind of woman she is when i grow up. i'm imitating mother all i can." laura laughed. "well, amy, you'd never be so popular in your husband's congregation as mamma is--never. you haven't so much tact; i don't believe you'll ever have it, either." "i haven't yet, of course; but i'd have more tact if i were a grown-up lady and married to a clergyman. i don't think, though, i'll ever marry a minister," said amy, with grave determination, handing down a beautiful salad-bowl, which laura received in both hands with the reverence due to a treasured possession. "it's the prettiest thing we own," said amy, feeling the smooth satiny surface lovingly, and holding it up against her pink cheek. "isn't it scrumptious, laura?" "well," said laura, "it's nice, but not so pretty as the tea-things which belonged to great-aunt judith. they are my pride. this does not compare." "well, perhaps not in one way, for they are family pieces, and prove we came out of the ark. but the salad-bowl is a beauty. i don't object to the care of china myself. it is ladies' work. it surprises me that people ever are willing to trust their delicate china to clumsy maids. i wouldn't if i had gems and gold like a princess, instead of being only the daughter of a poor country clergyman. i'd always wash my own nice dishes with my own fair hands." "that shows your southern breeding," said laura. "southern women always look after their china and do a good deal of the dainty part of the housekeeping. mamma learned that when she was a little girl living in richmond." "'tisn't only southern breeding," said amy. "our holland-dutch ancestors had the same elegant ways of taking care of their property. i'm writing a paper on 'dutch housewifery' for the next meeting of the granddaughters of the revolution, and you'll find out a good many interesting points if you listen to it." "amy raeburn!" exclaimed laura, admiringly, "i expect you'll write a book one of these days." "i certainly intend to," replied amy, with dignity, handing down a fat dutch cream-jug, and at the moment incautiously jarring the step-ladder, so that, cream-jug and all, she fell to the floor. fortunately the precious pitcher escaped injury; but amy's sleeve caught on a nail, and as she jerked it away in her fall it loosened a shelf and down crashed a whole pile of the second-best dinner plates, making a terrific noise, which startled the whole house. papa, in his study, groaned, and probably tore in two a closely written sheet of notes. mamma and the girls came flying in. amy picked herself up from the floor; there was a great red bruise and a scratch on her arm. "oh, you poor child!" said mother, gauging the extent of the accident with a rapid glance. "never mind," she said, relieved; "there isn't much harm done. those are the plates the ladies' aid society in archertown gave me the year frances was born. i never admired them. when some things go they carry a little piece of my heart with them, but i don't mind losing donation china. are you hurt, amy?" "a bruise and a scratch--nothing to signify. here comes lole with the arnica. i don't care in the least since i haven't wrecked any of our colonial heirlooms. isn't it fortunate, mother, that we haven't broken or lost anything _this_ congregation has bestowed?" "yes, indeed," said mamma, gravely. "there, gather up the pieces, and get them out of the way before we have a caller." in the manse callers may be looked for at every possible time and season, and some of them have eyes in the backs of their heads. for instance, miss florence frick or mrs. elbridge geary seems to be able to see through closed doors. and there is mrs. cyril bannington barnes, who thinks us all so extravagant, and does not hesitate to notice how often we wear our best gowns, and wonders to our faces where mamma's last winter's new furs came from, and is very much astonished and quite angry that papa should insist on sending all his boys to college. but, there, this story isn't going to be a talk about papa's people. mamma wouldn't approve of that, i am sure. everybody sat down comfortably in the dining-room, while frances and mildred took hold and helped amy and laura finish the closet. everybody meant mamma, mildred, frances, elbert, lawrence, sammy and jessie. somehow, a downright rainy day in autumn, with a bit of a blaze on the hearth, makes you feel like dropping into talk and staying in one place, and discussing eventful things, such as grace wainwright's return, and what her effect would be on her family, and what effect they would have on her. "i really do not think grace is in the very least bit prepared for the life she is coming to," said frances. "no," said mamma, "i fear not. but she is coming to her duty, and one can always do that." "for my part," said elbert, "i see nothing so much amiss at the wainwrights. they're a jolly set, and go when you will, you find them having good times. of course they are in straitened circumstances." "and grace has been accustomed to lavish expenditure," said mildred. "if she had remained in paris, with her uncle ralph and aunt gertrude she would have escaped a good deal of hardship," said lawrence. "oh," mamma broke in, impatiently, "how short-sighted you young people are! you look at everything from your own point of view. it is not of grace i am thinking so much. i am considering her mother and the girls and her poor, worn-out father. i couldn't sleep last night, thinking of the wainwrights. mildred, you might send over a nut-cake and some soft custard and a glass of jelly, when it stops raining, and the last number of the "christian herald" and of "harper's monthly" might be slipped into the basket, too--that is, if you have all done with it. papa and i have finished reading the serial and we will not want it again. there's so much to read in this house." "i'll attend to it, mamma," said mildred. "now what can i do to help you before i go to my french lesson." "nothing, you sweetest of dears," said mother, tenderly. mildred was her great favorite, and nobody was jealous, for we all adored our tall, fair sister. so we scattered to our different occupations and did not meet again till luncheon was announced. does somebody ask which of the minister's eight children is telling this story? if you must know, i am frances, and what i did not myself see was all told to me at the time it happened and put down in my journal. chapter ii. at wishing-brae. grace wainwright, a slender girl, in a trim tailor-made gown, stepped off the train at highland station. she was pretty and distinguished looking. nobody would have passed her without observing that. her four trunks and a hat-box had been swung down to the platform by the baggage-master, and the few passengers who, so late in the fall, stopped at this little out-of-the-way station in the hills had all tramped homeward through the rain, or been picked up by waiting conveyances. there was no one to meet grace, and it made her feel homesick and lonely. as she stood alone on the rough unpainted boardwalk in front of the passenger-room a sense of desolation crept into the very marrow of her bones. she couldn't understand it, this indifference on the part of her family. the ticket agent came out and was about to lock the door. he was going home to his mid-day dinner. "i am grace wainwright," she said, appealing to him. "do you not suppose some one is coming to meet me?" "oh, you be dr. wainwright's darter that's been to foreign parts, be you? waal, miss, the doctor he can't come because he's been sent for to set mr. stone's brother's child's arm that he broke jumping over a fence, running away from a snake. but i guess somebody'll be along soon. like enough your folks depended on mr. burden; he drives a stage, and reckons to meet passengers, and take up trunks, but he's sort o' half-baked, and he's afraid to bring his old horse out when it rains--'fraid it'll catch the rheumatiz. you better step over to my house 'long o' me; somebody'll be here in the course of an hour." grace's face flushed. it took all her pride to keep back a rush of angry, hurt tears. to give up paris, and uncle ralph and aunt hattie, and her winter of music and art, and come to the woods and be treated in this way! she was amazed and indignant. but her native good sense showed her there was, there must be, some reason for what looked like neglect. then came a tender thought of mamma. she wouldn't treat her thus. "did a telegram from me reach dr. wainwright last evening?" grace inquired, presently. the agent fidgeted and looked confused. then he said coolly: "that explains the whole situation now. a dispatch did come, and i calc'lated to send it up to wishin'-brae by somebody passing, but nobody came along goin' in that direction, and i clean forgot it. its too bad; but you step right over to my house and take a bite. there'll be a chance to get you home some time to-day." at this instant, "is this grace wainwright?" exclaimed a sweet, clear voice, and two arms were thrown lovingly around the tired girl. "i am mildred raeburn, and this is lawrence, my brother. we were going over to your house, and may we take you? i was on an errand there for mamma. your people didn't know just when to look for you, dear, not hearing definitely, but we all supposed you would come on the five o'clock train. mr. slocum, please see that miss wainwright's trunks are put under cover till burden's express can be sent for them." mildred stepped into the carryall after grace, giving her another loving hug. "mildred, how dear of you to happen here at just the right moment, like an angel of light! you always did that. i remember when we were little things at school. it is ages since i was here, but nothing has changed." "nothing ever changes in highland, grace. i am sorry you see it again for the first on this wet and dismal day. but to-morrow will be beautiful, i am sure." "lawrence, you have grown out of my recollection," said grace. "but we'll soon renew our acquaintance. i met your chum at harvard, edward gerald at geneva, and he drove with our party to paris." then, turning to mildred, "my mother is no better, is she? dear, patient mother! i've been away too long." "she is no better," replied mildred, gently, "but then she is no worse. mrs. wainwright will be so happy when she has her middle girl by her side again. she's never gloomy, though. it's wonderful." they drove on silently. mildred took keen notice of every detail of grace's dress--the blue cloth gown and jacket, simple but modish, with an air no highland dressmaker could achieve, for who on earth out of paris can make anything so perfect as a paris gown, in which a pretty girl is sure to look like a dream? the little toque on the small head was perched over braids of smooth brown hair, the gloves and boots were well-fitting, and grace wainwright carried herself finely. this was a girl who could walk ten miles on a stretch, ride a wheel or a horse at pleasure, drive, play tennis or golf, or do whatever else a girl of the period can. she was both strong and lovely, one saw that. what could she do besides? mildred, with the reins lying loosely over old whitefoot's back, thought and wondered. there was opportunity for much at the brae. lawrence and grace chatted eagerly as the old pony climbed hills and descended valleys, till at last he paused at a rise in the path, then went on, and there, the ground dipping down like the sides of a cup, in the hollow at the bottom lay the straggling village. "yes," said grace, "i remember it all. there is the post-office, and doremus' store, and the little inn, the church with the white spire, the school-house, and the manse. drive faster, please, mildred. i want to see my mother. just around that fir grove should be the old home of wishing-brae." tears filled grace's eyes. her heart beat fast. the wainwrights' house stood at the end of a long willow-bordered lane. as the manse carryall turned into this from the road a shout was heard from the house. presently a rush of children tearing toward the carriage, and a chorus of "hurrah, here is grace!" announced the delight of the younger ones at meeting their sister. mildred drew up at the doorstep, lawrence helped grace out, and a fair-haired older sister kissed her and led her to the mother sitting by the window in a great wheeled chair. the raeburns hurried away. as they turned out of the lane they met mr. burden with his cart piled high with grace's trunks. "where shall my boxes be carried, sister?" said grace, a few minutes later. she was sitting softly stroking her mother's thin white hand, the mother gazing with pride and joy into the beautiful blooming face of her stranger girl, who had left her a child. "my middle girl, my precious middle daughter," she said, her eyes filling with tears. "miriam, grace, and eva, now i have you all about me, my three girls. i am a happy woman, gracie." "hallo!" came up the stairs; "burden's waiting to be paid. he says it's a dollar and a quarter. who's got the money? there never is any money in this house." "hush, robbie!" cried miriam, looking over the railing. "the trunks will have to be brought right up here, of course. set them into our room, and after they are unpacked we'll put them into the garret. mother, is there any change in your pocketbook?" "don't trouble mamma," said grace, waking up to the fact that there was embarrassment in meeting this trifling charge. "i have money;" and she opened her dainty purse for the purpose--a silvery alligator thing with golden clasps and her monogram on it in jewels, and took out the money needed. her sisters and brother had a glimpse of bills and silver in that well-filled purse. "jiminy!" said robbie to james. "did you see the money she's got? why, father never had as much as that at once." which was very true. how should a hard-working country doctor have money to carry about when his bills were hard to collect, when anyway he never kept books, and when his family, what with feeding and clothing and schooling expenses, cost more every year than he could possibly earn? poor doctor wainwright! he was growing old and bent under the load of care and expense he had to carry. while he couldn't collect his own bills, because it is unprofessional for a doctor to dun, people did not hesitate to dun him. all this day, as he drove from house to house, over the weary miles, up hill and down, there was a song in his heart. he was a sanguine man. a little bit of hope went a long way in encouraging this good doctor, and he felt sure that better days would dawn for him now that grace had come home. a less hopeful temperament would have been apt to see rocks in the way, the girl having been so differently educated from the others, and accustomed to luxuries which they had never known. not so her father. he saw everything in rose-color. as doctor wainwright toward evening turned his horse's head homeward he was rudely stopped on a street corner by a red-faced, red-bearded man, who presented him with a bill. the man grumbled out sullenly, with a scowl on his face: "doctor wainwright, i'm sorry to bother you, but this bill has been standing a long time. it will accommodate me very much if you can let me have something on account next monday. i've got engagements to meet--pressing engagements, sir." "i'll do my best, potter," said the doctor. where he was to get any money by monday he did not know, but, as potter said, the money was due. he thrust the bill into his coat pocket and drove on, half his pleasure in again seeing his child clouded by this encounter. pulling his gray mustache, the world growing dark as the sun went down, the father's spirits sank to zero. he had peeped at the bill. it was larger than he had supposed, as bills are apt to be. two hundred dollars! and he couldn't borrow, and there was nothing more to mortgage. and grace's coming back had led him to sanction the purchase of a new piano, to be paid for by instalments. the piano had been seen going home a few days before, and every creditor the doctor had, seeing its progress, had been quick to put in his claim, reasoning very naturally that if doctor wainwright could afford to buy a new piano, he could equally afford to settle his old debts, and must be urged to do so. the old mare quickened her pace as she saw her stable door ahead of her. the lines hung limp and loose in her master's hands. under the pressure of distress about this dreadful two hundred dollars he had forgotten to be glad that grace was again with them. doctor wainwright was an easy-going as well as a hopeful sort of man, but he was an honest person, and he knew that creditors have a right to be insistent. it distressed him to drag around a load of debt. for days together the poor doctor had driven a long way round rather than to pass potter's store on the main street, the dread of some such encounter and the shame of his position weighing heavily on his soul. it was the harder for him that he had made it a rule never to appear anxious before his wife. mrs. wainwright had enough to bear in being ill and in pain. the doctor braced himself and threw back his shoulders as if casting off a load, as the mare, of her own accord, stopped at the door. the house was full of light. merry voices overflowed in rippling speech and laughter. out swarmed the children to meet papa, and one sweet girl kissed him over and over. "here i am," she said, "your middle daughter, dearest. here i am." chapter iii. grace takes a hand. "mother, darling, may i have a good long talk with you to-day, a confidential talk, we two by ourselves?" "yes, grace, i shall be delighted." "and when can it be? you always have so many around you, dear; and no wonder, this is the centre of the house, this chair, which is your throne." "well, let me see," said mrs. wainwright, considering. "after dinner the children go to sunday-school, and papa has always a few sunday patients whom he must visit. between two and four i am always alone on sunday and we can have a chat then. mildred and frances will probably walk home with miriam and want to carry you off to the manse to tea." "not on my first home sunday, mamma," said grace. "i must have every littlest bit of that here, though i do expect to have good times with the manse girls. is mrs. raeburn as sweet as ever? i remember her standing at the station and waving me good-bye when i went away with auntie, and amy, the dearest wee fairy, was by her side." "amy is full of plans," said mrs. wainwright. "she is going to the league to study art if her mother can spare her. mildred and frances want to go on with their french, and one of the little boys, i forget which, has musical talent; but there is no one in highland who can teach the piano. the raeburn children are all clever and bright." "they could hardly help being that, mamma, with such a father and mother, and the atmosphere of such a home." all this time there was the hurry and bustle of sunday morning in a large family where every one goes to church, and the time between breakfast and half-past ten is a scramble. grace kept quietly on with the work she had that morning assumed, straightening the quilts on the invalid's chair, bringing her a new book, and setting a little vase with a few late flowers on the table by her side. out of grace's trunks there had been produced gifts for the whole household, and many pretty things, pictures and curios, which lent attractiveness to the parlor, grown shabby and faded with use and poverty, but still a pretty and homelike parlor, as a room which is lived in by well-bred people must always be. "well, when the rest have gone to sunday-school, and papa has started on his afternoon rounds, i'll come here and take my seat, where i used to when i was a wee tot, and we'll have an old-fashioned confab. now, if the girls have finished dressing, i'll run and get ready for church. i'm so glad all through that i can again hear one of dr. raeburn's helpful sermons." mrs. wainwright smiled. "to hear frances' and amy's chatter, one would not think that so great a privilege, grace." "oh, that amounts to nothing, mamma! let somebody else criticise their father and you'd hear another story. ministers' families are apt to be a little less appreciative than outsiders, they are so used to the minister in all his moods. but dr. raeburn's "every morning" has been my companion book to the bible ever since i was old enough to like and need such books, and though i was so small when i went that i remember only the music of his voice, i want to hear him preach again." "grace," came a call from the floor above, "you can have your turn at the basin and the looking-glass if you'll come this minute. hurry, dear, i'm keeping eva off by strategy. you have your hair to do and i want you to hook my collar. you must have finished in mother's room, and it's my belief you two are just chattering. hurry, please, dear!" "yes, miriam, i'm coming. but let eva go on. it takes only a second for me to slip into my jacket. i never dress for church," she explained to her mother. "this little black gown is what i always wear on sundays." "i wish you could have a room of your own, daughter. it's hard after you've had independence so long to be sandwiched in between miriam and eva. but we could not manage another room just now." the mother looked wistful. "i'm doing very well, mamma. never give it a thought. why, it's fun being with my sisters as i always used to be. miriam is the one entitled to a separate room, if anybody could have it." yet she stifled a sigh as she ran up to the large, ill-appointed chamber which the three sisters used in common. when you have had your own separate, individual room for years, with every dainty belonging that is possible for a luxurious taste to provide, it is a bit of a trial to give it up and be satisfied with a cot at one end of a long, barnlike place, with no chance for solitude, and only one mirror and one pitcher and basin to serve the needs of three persons. it can be borne, however, as every small trial in this world may, if there is a cheerful spirit and a strong, loving heart to fall back on. besides, most things may be improved if you know how to go about the task. the chief thing is first to accept the situation, and then bravely to undertake the changing it for the better. "doctor," said the mother, as her husband brushed his thin gray hair in front of his chiffonier, while the merry sound of their children's voices came floating down to them through open doors, "thank the dear lord for me in my stead when you sit in the pew to-day. i'll be with you in my thoughts. it's such a blessed thing that our little middle girl is at home with us." the doctor sighed. that bill in his pocket was burning like fire in his soul. he was not a cent nearer meeting it than he had been on friday, and to-morrow was but twenty-four hours off. yesterday he had tried to borrow from a cousin, but in vain. "i fail to see a blessing anywhere, charlotte," he said. "things couldn't well be worse. this is a dark bit of the road." he checked himself. why had he saddened her? it was not his custom. "when things are at the very worst, jack, i've always noticed that they take a turn for the better. 'it may not be my way; it may not be thy way; but yet in his own way the lord will provide.'" mrs. wainwright spoke steadily and cheerfully. her thin cheeks flushed with feeling. her tones were strong. her smile was like a sunbeam. doctor wainwright's courage rose. "anyway, darling wife, you are the best blessing a man ever had." he stooped and kissed her like a lover. presently the whole family, grace walking proudly at her father's side, took their way across the fields to church. perhaps you may have seen lovely sunday mornings, but i don't think there is a place in the whole world where sunday sunshine is as clear, sunday stillness as full of rest, sunday flowers as fragrant, as in our hamlet among the hills, our own dear highland. far and near the roads wind past farms and fields, with simple, happy homes nestling under the shadow of the mountains. you hear the church bells, and their sound is soft and clear as they break the golden silence. groups of people, rosy-cheeked children, and sturdy boys and pleasant looking men and women pass you walking to church, exchanging greetings. carriage loads of old and young drive on, all going the same way. it makes me think of a verse in the psalm which my old scottish mother loved: "i joyed when to the house of god 'go up,' they said to me, 'jerusalem, within thy gates our feet shall standing be.'" "oh, paradise! oh, paradise!" hummed amy raeburn that same sunday morning as, the last to leave the manse, she ran after her mother and sisters. the storm of the two previous days had newly brightened the landscape. every twig and branch shone, and the red and yellow maple leaves, the wine-color of the oak, the burnished copper of the beech, were like jewels in the sun. "if it were not sunday i would dance," said amy, subduing her steps to a sober walk as she saw approaching the majestic figure of mrs. cyril bannington barnes. "you are late, amy raeburn," said this lady. "your father went to church a half-hour ago, and the bell is tolling. young people should cultivate a habit of being punctual. this being a few minutes behind time is very reprehensible--very rep-re-hen-sible indeed, my love." "yes, ma'am," replied amy, meekly, walking slowly beside the also tardy mrs. barnes. "i dare say," continued mrs. barnes, "that you are thinking to yourself that i also am late. but, amy, i have no duty to the parish. i am an independent woman. you are a girl, and the minister's daughter at that. you are in a very different position. i do hope, amy raeburn, that you will not be late another sunday morning. your mother is not so good a disciplinarian as i could wish." "no, mrs. barnes?" said amy, with a gentle questioning manner, which would have irritated the matron still more had their progress not now ceased on the church steps. amy, both resentful and amused, fluttered, like an alarmed chick to the brooding mother-wing, straight to the minister's pew. mrs. barnes, smoothing ruffled plumes, proceeded with stately and impressive tread to her place in front of the pulpit. doctor raeburn was rising to pronounce the invocation. the church was full. amy glanced over to the wainwright pew, and saw grace, and smiled. into amy's mind stole a text she was fond of, quite as if an angel had spoken it, and she forgot that she had been ruffled the wrong way by mrs. cyril bannington barnes. this was the text: "be not overcome of evil, but overcome evil with good." "you are a hateful, wicked girl, amy," said amy to herself. "why, when you have so much to make you happy, are you so easily upset by a fretful old lady, who is, after all, your friend, and would stand by you if there were need?" amy did not know it, but it was grace's sweet and tranquil look that had brought the text to her mind. one of the dearest things in life is that we may do good and not know that we are doing it. when the sunday hush fell on the house of which mrs. wainwright had spoken grace came softly tapping at the door. "yes, dear," called her mother; "come right in." "mamma," said grace, after a few minutes, "will you tell me plainly, if you don't mind, what is worrying papa? i don't mean generally, but what special trouble is on his mind to-day?" "potter's bill, i have no doubt," said the mother, quietly. "other troubles come and go, but there is always potter's bill in the background. and every little while it crops up and gets into the front." "what is potter's bill, dear mamma, and how do we come to owe it?" "i can't fully explain to you, my child, how it comes to be so large. when mr. potter's father was living and carrying on the business, he used to say to your father: 'just get all you want here, doctor; never give yourself a thought; pay when you can and what you can. we come to you for medical advice and remedies, and we'll strike a balance somehow.' the potters have during years had very little occasion for a doctor's services, and we, with this great family, have had to have groceries, shoes, and every other thing, and potter's bill has kept rolling up like a great snowball, bit by bit. we pay something now and then. i sold my old sideboard that came to me from my grandparents, and paid a hundred dollars on it six months ago. old mr. potter died. rufus reigns in his stead, as the bible says, and he wants to collect his money. i do not blame him, grace, but he torments poor papa. there are two hundred dollars due now, and papa has been trying to get money due him, and to pay rufus fifty dollars, but he's afraid he can't raise the money." grace reflected. then she asked a question. "dear mamma, don't think me prying, but is potter's the only pressing obligation on papa just now?" mrs. wainwright hesitated. then she answered, a little slowly, "no, grace, there are other accounts; but potter's is the largest." "i ask, because i can help my father," said grace, modestly. "uncle ralph deposited five hundred dollars to my credit in a new york bank on my birthday. the money is mine, to do with absolutely as i please. i have nearly fifty dollars in my trunk. uncle and auntie have always given me money lavishly. papa can settle potter's account to-morrow. i'm only too thankful i have the money. to think that money can do so much toward making people happy or making them miserable! then, mother dear, we'll go into papa's accounts and see how near i can come to relieving the present state of affairs; and if papa will consent, we'll collect his bills, and then later, i've another scheme--that is a fine, sweet-toned piano in the parlor. i mean to give lessons." "grace, it was an extravagance in our circumstances to get that piano, but the girls were so tired of the old one; it was worn out, a tin pan, and this is to be paid for on easy terms, so much a month." grace hated to have her mother to apologize in this way. she hastened to say, "i'm glad it's here, and don't think me conceited, but i've had the best instruction uncle could secure for me here, and a short course in berlin, and now i mean to make it of some use. i believe i can get pupils." "not many in highland, i fear, grace." "if not in highland, in new york. leave that to me." mrs. wainwright felt as if she had been taking a tonic. to the lady living her days out in her own chamber, and unaccustomed to excitement, there was something very surprising and very stimulating too in the swift way of settling things and the fearlessness of this young girl. though she had yielded very reluctantly to her brother's wish to keep grace apart from her family and wholly his own for so many years, she now saw there was good in it. her little girl had developed into a resolute, capable and strong sort of young woman, who could make use of whatever tools her education had put into her hands. "this hasn't been quite the right kind of sunday talk, mother," said grace, "but i haven't been here three days without seeing there's a cloud, and i don't like to give up to clouds. i'm like the old woman who must take her broom and sweep the cobwebs out of the sky." "god helping you, my dear, you will succeed. you have swept some cobwebs out of my sky already." "god helping me, yes, dear. thank you for saying that. now don't you want me to sing to you? i'll darken your room and set the door ajar, and then i'll go to the parlor and play soft, rippling, silvery things, and sing to you, and you will fall asleep while i'm singing, and have a lovely nap before they all come home." as grace went down the stairs, she paused a moment at the door of the big dining-room, "large as a town hall," her father sometimes said. everything at wishing-brae was of ample size--great rooms, lofty ceilings, big fire-places, broad windows. "i missed the sideboard, the splendid old mahogany piece with its deep winy lustre, and the curious carved work. mother must have grieved to part with it. surely uncle and aunt couldn't have known of these straits. well, i'm at home now, and they need somebody to manage for them. uncle always said i had a business head. god helping me, i'll pull my people out of the slough of despond." the young girl went into the parlor, where the amber light from the west was beginning to fall upon the old wainwright portraits, the candelabra with their prisms pendent, and the faded cushions and rugs. playing softly, as she had said, singing sweetly "abide with me" and "sun of my soul," the mother was soothed into a peaceful little half-hour of sleep, in which she dreamed that god had sent her an angel guest, whose name was grace. chapter iv. two little schoolmarms. "and so you are your papa's good fairy? how happy you must be! how proud!" amy's eyes shone as she talked to grace, and smoothed down a fold of the pretty white alpaca gown which set off her friend's dainty beauty. the girls were in my mother's room at the manse, and mrs. raeburn had left them together to talk over plans, while she went to the parlor to entertain a visitor who was engaged in getting up an autumn _fãªte_ for a charitable purpose. nothing of this kind was ever done without mother's aid. there were few secrets between wishing-brae and the manse, and mrs. wainwright had told our mother how opportunely grace had been able to assist her father in his straits. great was our joy. "you must remember, dear," said mamma, when she returned from seeing miss gardner off, "that your purse is not exhaustless, though it is a long one for a girl. debts have a way of eating up bank accounts; and what will you do when your money is gone if you still find that the wolf menaces the door at wishing-brae?" "that is what i want to consult you about, aunt dorothy." (i ought to have said that our mother was aunt dorothy to the children at the brae, and more beloved than many a real auntie, though one only by courtesy.) "frances knows my ambitions," grace went on. "i mean to be a money-maker as well as a money-spender; and i have two strings to my bow. first, i'd like to give interpretations." the mother looked puzzled. "interpretations?" she said. "of what, pray?--sanscrit or egyptian or greek? are you a seeress or a witch, dear child?" "neither. in plain english i want to read stories and poems to my friends and to audiences--miss wilkins' and mrs. stuart's beautiful stories, and the poems of holmes and longfellow and others who speak to the heart. not mere elocutionary reading, but simple reading, bringing out the author's meaning and giving people pleasure. i would charge an admission fee, and our dining-room would hold a good many; but i ought to have read somewhere else first, and to have a little background of city fame before i ask highland neighbors to come and hear me. this is my initial plan. i could branch out." to the mother the new idea did not at once commend itself. she knew better than we girls did how many twenty-five-cent tickets must be sold to make a good round sum in dollars. she knew the thrifty people of highland looked long at a quarter before they parted with it for mere amusement, and still further, she doubted whether dr. wainwright would like the thing. but amy clapped her hands gleefully. she thought it fine. "you must give a studio reading," she said. "i can manage that, mother; if miss antoinette drury will lend her studio, and we send out invitations for 'music and reading, and tea at five,' the prestige part will be taken care of. the only difficulty that i can see is that grace would have to go to a lot of places and travel about uncomfortably; and then she'd need a manager. wouldn't she, frances?" "i see no trouble," said i, "in her being her own manager. she would go to a new town with a letter to the pastor of the leading church, or his wife, call in at the newspaper office and get a puff; puffs are always easily secured by enterprising young women, and they help to fill up the paper besides. then she would hire a hall and pay for it out of her profits, and the business could be easily carried forward." "is this the new woman breaking her shell?" said mother. "i don't think i quite like the interpretation scheme either as amy or as you outline it, though i am open to persuasion. here is the doctor. let us hear what he says." it was not dr. wainwright, but my father, dr. raeburn, except on a friday, the most genial of men. amy perched herself on his knee and ran her slim fingers through his thick dark hair. to him our plans were explained, and he at once gave them his approval. "as i understand you, gracie," dr. raeburn said, "you wish this reading business as a stepping-stone. you would form classes, would you not? and your music could also be utilized. you had good instruction, i fancy, both here and over the water." "indeed, yes, dr. raeburn; and i could give lessons in music, but they wouldn't bring me in much, here at least." "come to my study," said the doctor, rising. "amy, you have ruffled up my hair till i look like a cherub before the flood. come, all of you, dorothy and the kids." "you don't call us kids, do you, papa?" "young ladies, then, at your service," said the doctor, with a low bow. "i've a letter from my old friend, vernon hastings. i'll read it to you when i can find it," said the good man, rummaging among the books, papers, and correspondence with which his great table was littered. "judge hastings," the doctor went on, "lost his wife in venice a year ago. he has three little girls in need, of special advantages; he cannot bear to send them away to school, and his mother, who lives with him and orders the house, won't listen to having a resident governess. ah, this is the letter!" the doctor read: "i wish you could help me, charley, in the dilemma in which i find myself. lucy and helen and my little madge are to be educated, and the question is how, when, and where? they are delicate, and i cannot yet make up my mind to the desolate house i would have should they go to school. grandmamma has pronounced against a governess, and i don't like the day-schools of the town. now is not one of your daughters musical, and perhaps another sufficiently mistress of the elementary branches to teach these babies? i will pay liberally the right person or persons for three hours' work a day. but i must have well-bred girls, ladies, to be with my trio of bairns." "i couldn't teach arithmetic or drawing," said grace. "i would be glad to try my hand at music, and geography and german and french. i might be weak on spelling." "i don't think that of you, grace," said mother. "i am ashamed to say it's true," said grace. amy interrupted. "how far away is judge hastings' home, papa?" "an hour's ride, amy dear. no, forty minutes' ride by rail. i'll go and see him. i've no doubt he will pay you generously, grace, for your services, if you feel that you can take up this work seriously." "i do; i will," said grace, "and only too thankful will i be to undertake it; but what about the multiplication table, and the straight and the curved lines, and webster's speller?" "papa," said amy, gravely, "please mention me to the judge. i will teach those midgets the arithmetic and drawing and other fundamental studies which my gifted friend fears to touch." "you?" said papa, in surprise. "why not, dear?" interposed mamma. "amy's youth is against her, but the fact is she can count and she can draw, and i am not afraid to recommend her, though she is only a chit of fifteen, as to her spelling." "going on sixteen, mamma, if you please, and nearly there," amy remarked, drawing herself up to her fullest height, at which we all laughed merrily. "i taught school myself at sixteen," our mother went on, "and though it made me feel like twenty-six, i had no trouble with thirty boys and girls of all ages from four to eighteen. you must remember me, my love, in the old district school at elmwood." "yes," said papa, "and your overpowering dignity was a sight for gods and men. all the same you were a darling." "so she is still." and we pounced upon her in a body and devoured her with kisses, the sweet little mother. "papa," amy proceeded, when order had been restored, "why not take us when you go to interview the judge? then he can behold his future schoolma'ams, arrange terms, and settle the thing at once. i presume grace is anxious as i am to begin her career, now that it looms up before her. i am in the mood of the youth who bore through snow and ice the banner with the strange device, 'excelsior.'" "in the mean time, good people," said frances, appearing in the doorway, "luncheon is served." we had a pretty new dish--new to us--for luncheon, and as everybody may not know how nice it is, i'll just mention it in passing. take large ripe tomatoes, scoop out the pulp and mix it with finely minced canned salmon, adding a tiny pinch of salt. fill the tomatoes with this mixture, set them in a nest of crisp green lettuce leaves, and pour a mayonnaise into each ruby cup. the dish is extremely dainty and inviting, and tastes as good as it looks. it must be very cold. "but," doctor raeburn said, in reply to a remark of mother's that she was pleased the girls had decided on teaching, it was so womanly and proper an employment for girls of good family, "i must insist that the 'interpretations' be not entirely dropped. i'll introduce you, my dear," he said, "when you give your first recital, and that will make it all right in the eyes of highland." "thank you, doctor," said grace. "i would rather have your sanction than anything else in the world, except papa's approval." "why don't your king's daughters give grace a boom? you are always getting up private theatricals, and this is just the right time." "lawrence raeburn you are a trump!" said amy, flying round to her brother and giving him a hug. "we'll propose it at the first meeting of the ten, and it'll be carried by acclamation." "now," said grace, rising and saying good-afternoon to my mother, with a courtesy to the rest of us, "i'm going straight home to break ground there and prepare my mother for great events." walking over the fields in great haste, for when one has news to communicate, one's feet are wings, grace was arrested by a groan as of somebody in great pain. she looked about cautiously, but it was several minutes before she found, lying under the hedge, a boy with a broken pitcher at his side. he was deadly pale, and great drops of sweat rolled down his face. "oh, you poor boy! what is the matter?" she cried, bending over him in great concern. "i've broke mother's best china pitcher," said the lad, in a despairing voice. "poof!" replied grace. "pitchers can be mended or replaced. what else is wrong? you're not groaning over a broken pitcher, surely!" "you would, if it came over in the _mayflower_, and was all of your ancestors' you had left to show that you could be a colonial dame. ug-gh!" the boy tried to sit up, gasped and fell back in a dead faint. "goodness!" said grace; "he's broken his leg as well as his pitcher. colonial dames! what nonsense! well, i can't leave him here." she had her smelling salts in her satchel, but before she could find them, grace's satchel being an _omnium gatherum_ of a remarkably miscellaneous character, the lad came to. a fainting person will usually regain consciousness soon if laid out flat, with the head a little lower than the body. i've seen people persist in keeping a fainting friend in a sitting position, which is very stupid and quite cruel. "i am doctor wainwright's daughter," said grace, "and i see my father's gig turning the corner of the road. you shall have help directly. papa will know what to do, so lie still where you are." the lad obeyed, there plainly being nothing else to be done. in a second doctor wainwright, at grace's flag of distress, a white handkerchief waving from the top of her parasol, came toward her at the mare's fastest pace. "hello!" he said. "here's archie vanderhoven in a pickle." "as usual, doctor," said archie, faintly. "i've broken mother's last pitcher." "and your leg, i see," observed the doctor, with professional directness. "well, my boy, you must be taken home. grace, drive home for me, and tell the boys to bring a cot here as soon as possible. meanwhile i'll set archie's leg. it's only a simple fracture." and the doctor from his black bag, brought out bandages and instruments. no army surgeon on the field of battle was quicker and gentler than doctor wainwright, whose skill was renowned all over our country-side. "what is there about the vanderhovens?" inquired grace that night as they sat by the blaze of hickory logs in the cheery parlor of wishing-brae. "the vanderhovens are a decayed family," her father answered. "they were once very well off and lived in state, and from far and near gay parties were drawn at easter and christmas to dance under their roof. now they are run out. this boy and his mother are the last of the line. archie's father was drowned in the ford when we had the freshet last spring. the ramapo, that looks so peaceful now, overflowed its banks then, and ran like a mill-race. i don't know how they manage, but archie is kept at school, and his mother does everything from ironing white frocks for summer boarders to making jellies and preserves for people in town, who send her orders." "is she an educated woman?" inquired grace. "that she is. mrs. vanderhoven is not only highly educated, but very elegant and accomplished. none of her attainments, except those in the domestic line, are available, unhappily, when earning a living is in question, and she can win her bread only by these housekeeping efforts." "might i go and see her?" "why yes, dear, you and the others not only might, but should. she will need help. i'll call and consult mrs. raeburn about her to-morrow. she isn't a woman one can treat like a pauper--as well born as any one in the land, and prouder than lucifer. it's too bad archie had to meet with this accident; but boys are fragile creatures." and the doctor, shaking the ashes from his pipe, went off to sit with his wife before going to bed. "i do wonder," said grace to eva, "what the boy was doing with the old puritan pitcher, and why a vanderhoven should have boasted of coming over in the _mayflower_?" eva said: "they're dutch and english, grace. the vanderhovens are from holland, but archie's mother was a standish, or something of that sort, and her kinsfolk, of course, belonged to the _mayflower_ crowd. i believe archie meant to sell that pitcher, and if so, no wonder he broke his leg. by-the-way, what became of the pieces?" "i picked them up," said grace. chapter v. cements and rivets. "how did we ever consent to let our middle daughter stay away all these years, mother?" said dr. wainwright, addressing his wife. "i cannot tell how it happened, father," she said, musingly. "i think we drifted into the arrangement, and you know each year brother was expected to bring her back harriet would plan a jaunt or a journey which kept her away, and then, jack, we've generally been rather out at the elbows, and i have been so helpless, that, with our large family, it was for grace's good to let her remain where she was so well provided for." "she's clear grit, isn't she?" said the doctor, admiringly, stalking to and fro in his wife's chamber. "i didn't half like the notion of her giving readings; but charley raeburn says the world moves and we must move with it, and now that her object is not purely a selfish one, i withdraw my opposition. i confess, though, darling, i don't enjoy the thought that my girls must earn money. i feel differently about the boys." "jack, dear," said his wife, tenderly, always careful not to wound the feelings of this unsuccessful man who was still so loving and so full of chivalry, "you needn't mind that in the very least. the girl who doesn't want to earn money for herself in these days is in the minority. girls feel it in the air. they all fret and worry, or most of them do, until they are allowed to measure their strength and test the commercial worth of what they have acquired. you are a dear old fossil, jack. just look at it in this way: suppose mrs. vanderhoven, brought up in the purple, taught to play a little, to embroider a little, to speak a little french--to do a little of many things and nothing well--had been given the sort of education that in her day was the right of every gentleman's son, though denied the gentleman's daughter, would her life be so hard and narrow and distressful now? would she be reduced to taking in fine washing and hemstitching, and canning fruit?" "canning fruit, mother dear," said miriam, who had just come in to procure fresh towels for the bedrooms, "is a fine occupation. several women in the united states are making their fortunes at that. eva and i, who haven't grace's talents, are thinking of taking it up in earnest. i can make preserves, i rejoice to say." "when you are ready to begin, you shall have my blessing," said her father. "i yield to the new order of things." then as the pretty elder daughter disappeared, a sheaf of white lavender-perfumed towels over her arm, he said: "now, dear, i perceive your point. archie vanderhoven's accident has, however, occurred in the very best possible time for grace. the king's daughters--you know what a breezy ten they are, with our eva and the raeburns' amy among them--are going to give a lift to archie, not to his mother, who might take offence. all the local talent of our young people is already enlisted. our big dining-room is to be the hall of ceremonies, and i believe they are to have tableaux, music, readings and refreshments. this will come off on the first moonlight night, and the proceeds will all go to archie, to be kept, probably, as a nest-egg for his college expenses. that mother of his means him to go through college, you know, if she has to pay the fees by hard work, washing, ironing, scrubbing, what not." "i hope the boy's worth it," said mrs. wainwright, doubtfully. "few boys are." "the right boy is," said the doctor, firmly. "in our medical association there's one fellow who is on the way to be a famous surgeon. he's fine, jane, the most plucky, persistent man, with the eye, and the nerve, and the hand, and the delicacy and steadiness of the surgeon born in him, and confirmed by training. some of his operations are perfectly beautiful, beautiful! he'll be famous over the whole world yet. his mother was an irish charwoman, and she and he had a terrible tug to carry him through his studies." "is he good to her? is he grateful?" asked mrs. wainwright, much impressed. "good! grateful! i should say so," said the doctor. "she lives like queen victoria, rides in her carriage, dresses in black silk, has four maids to wait on her. she lives like the first lady in the land, in her son's house, and he treats her like a lover. he's a man. he was worth all she did. they say," added the doctor, presently, "that sometimes the old lady tires of her splendor, sends the maids away to visit their cousins, and turns in and works for a day or two like all possessed. she's been seen hanging out blankets on a windy day in the back yard, with a face as happy as that of a child playing truant." "poor, dear old thing," said mrs. wainwright. "well, to go back to our girlie, she's to be allowed to take her own way, isn't she, and to be as energetic and work as steadily as she likes?" "yes, dearest, she shall, for all i'll do or say to the contrary. and when my ship comes in i'll pay her back with interest for the loans she's made me lately." the doctor went off to visit his patients. his step had grown light, his face had lost its look of alert yet furtive dread. he looked twenty years younger. and no wonder. he no longer had to dodge potter at every turn, and a big package of receipted bills, endorsed and dated, lay snugly in his desk, the fear of duns exorcised thereby. a man whose path has been impeded by the thick underbrush of debts he cannot settle, and who finds his obligations cancelled, may well walk gaily along the cleared and brightened roadway, hearing birds sing and seeing blue sky beaming above his head. the ten took hold of the first reading with enthusiasm. flags were borrowed, and blazing boughs of maple and oak, with festoons of crimson blackberry vine and armfuls of golden rod transformed the long room into a bower. seats were begged and borrowed, and all the cooks in town made cake with fury and pride for the great affair. the tickets were sold without much trouble, and the girls had no end of fun in rehearsing the tableaux which were decided on as preferable in an entertainment given by the king's daughters, because in tableaux everybody has something to do. grace was to read from "young lucretia" and a poem by hetta lord hayes ward, a lovely poem about a certain st. bridget who trudges up to heaven's gate, after her toiling years, and finds st. peter waiting to set it wide open. the poor, modest thing was an example of keble's lovely stanza: "meek souls there are who little dream their daily life an angel's theme, nor that the rod they bear so calm in heaven may prove a martyr's palm." very much astonished at her reception, she is escorted up to the serene heights by tall seraphs, who treat her with the greatest reverence. by and by along comes a grand lady, one of bridget's former employers. she just squeezes through the gate, and then, "down heaven's hill a radiant saint comes flying with a palm, 'are you here, bridget o'flaherty?' st. bridget cries, 'yes ma'am.' "'oh, teach me, bridget, the manners, please, of the royal court above.' 'sure, honey dear, you'll aisy learn humility and love.'" i haven't time to tell you all about the entertainment, and there is no need. you, of course, belong to tens or to needlework guilds or to orders of some kind, and if you are a member of the order of the round table why, of course, you are doing good in some way or other, and good which enables one to combine social enjoyment and a grand frolic; and the making of a purseful of gold and silver for a crippled boy, or an aged widow, or a sunday-school in dakota, or a good will farm in maine, is a splendid kind of good. this chapter is about cements and rivets. it is also about the two little schoolmarms. "let us take mrs. vanderhoven's pitcher to town when we go to call on the judge with father," said amy. "perhaps it can be mended." "it may be mended, but i do not think it will hold water again." "there is a place," said amy, "where a patient old german frau, with the tiniest little bits of rivets that you can hardly see, and the stickiest cement you ever did see, repairs broken china. archie was going to sell the pitcher. his mother had said he might. a lady at the hotel had promised him five dollars for it as a specimen of some old pottery or other. then he leaped that hedge, caught his foot, fell, and that was the end of that five dollars, which was to have gone for a new lexicon and i don't know what else." "it was a fortunate break for archie. his leg will be as strong as ever, and we'll make fifty dollars by our show. i call such a disaster an angel in disguise." "mrs. vanderhoven cried over the pitcher, though. she said it had almost broken her heart to let archie take it out of the house, and she felt it was a judgment on her for being willing to part with it." "every one has some superstition, i think," said amy. judge hastings, a tall, soldierly gentleman, with the bearing of a courtier, was delighted with the girls, and brought his three little women in their black frocks to see their new teachers. "i warn you, young ladies," he said, "these are spoiled babies. but they will do anything for those they love, and they will surely love you. i wish them to be thoroughly taught, especially music and calisthenics. can you teach them the latter?" he fixed his keen, blue eyes on grace, who colored under the glance, but answered bravely: "yes, judge, i can teach them physical culture and music, too, but i won't undertake teaching them to count or to spell." "i'll take charge of that part," said amy, fearlessly. grace's salary was fixed at one thousand dollars, amy's at five hundred, a year, and grace was to come to her pupils three hours a day for five days every week, amy one hour a day for five days. "we'll travel together," said amy, "for i'll be at the league while you are pegging away at the teaching of these tots after my hour is over." if any girl fancies that grace and amy had made an easy bargain i recommend her to try the same tasks day in and day out for the weeks of a winter. she will discover that she earns her salary. lucy, helen and madge taxed their young teachers' utmost powers, but they did them credit, and each month, as grace was able to add comforts to her home, to lighten her father's burdens, to remove anxiety from her mother, she felt that she would willingly have worked harder. the little pitcher was repaired so that you never would have known it had been broken. mrs. vanderhoven set it in the place of honor on top of her mantel shelf, and archie, now able to hobble about, declared that he would treasure it for his children's children. one morning a letter came for grace. it was from the principal of a girls' school in a lovely village up the hudson, a school attended by the daughters of statesmen and millionaires, but one, too, which had scholarships for bright girls who desired culture, but whose parents had very little money. to attend miss l----'s school some girls would have given more than they could put into words; it was a certificate of good standing in society to have been graduated there, while mothers prized and girls envied those who were students at miss l----'s for the splendid times they were sure to have. "your dear mother," miss l---wrote, "will easily recall her old schoolmate and friend. i have heard of you, grace, through my friend, madame necker, who was your instructress in paris, and i have two objects in writing. one is to secure you as a teacher in reading for an advanced class of mine. the class would meet but once a week; your office would be to read to them, interpreting the best authors, and to influence them in the choice of books adapted for young girls." grace held her breath. "mother!" she exclaimed, "is miss l---in her right mind?" "a very level-headed person, grace. read on." "i have also a vacant scholarship, and i will let you name a friend of yours to fill it. i would like a minister's daughter. is there any dear little twelve-year-old girl who would like to come to my school, and whose parents would like to send her, but cannot afford so much expense? because, if there is such a child among your friends, i will give her a warm welcome. jane wainwright your honored mother, knows that i will be too happy thus to add a happiness to her lot in life." mother and daughter looked into each other's eyes. one thought was in both. "laura raeburn!" they exclaimed together. laura raeburn it was who entered miss l----'s, her heart overflowing with satisfaction, and so the never-shaken friendship between wishing-brae and the manse was made stronger still, as by cements and rivets. chapter vi. the tower room. as time went on, grace surely did not have to share a third part of her sisters' room, did she? for nothing is so much prized by most girls as a room of their very own, and a middle daughter, particularly such a middle daughter as grace wainwright, has a claim to a foothold--a wee bit place, as the scotch say--where she can shut herself in, and read her bible, and say her prayers, and write her letters, and dream her dreams, with nobody by to see. mrs. wainwright had been a good deal disturbed about there being no room for grace when she came back to highland, and one would have been fitted up had there been an extra cent in the family exchequer. grace didn't mind, or if she did, she made light of her sacrifice; but her sisters felt that they ought to help her to privacy. eva and miriam came over to the manse to consult us in the early days. i suggested screens. "you can do almost anything with screens and portieres," i said. "one of the loveliest rooms i ever saw in my life is in a cottage in the catskills, where one large room is separated into drawing-room, library, and dining-room, and sometimes into a spare chamber, as well, by the judicious use of screens." "could we buy them at any price we could pay?" said miriam. "buy them, child? what are you talking about? you can make them. you need only two or three clothes-horses for frames, some chintz, or even wall-paper or calico, a few small tacks, a little braid, a hammer and patience." after grace was fairly launched on her career as teacher, mother suggested one day that the tower-room at wishing-brae could be transformed into a maiden's bower without the spending of much money, and that it would make an ideal girl's room, "just the nest for grace, to fold her wings in and sing her songs--a nest with an outlook over the tree-tops and a field of stars above it." "mother dear, you are too poetical and romantic for anything, but i believe," said amy, "that it could be done, and if it could it ought." the tower at wishing-brae was then a large, light garret-room, used for trunks and boxes. many a day have i spent there writing stories when i was a child, and oh! what a prospect there was and is from those windows--prospect of moors and mountains, of ribbons of rivers and white roads leading out to the great world. you could see all highland from the tower windows. in sunny days and in storms it was a delight beyond common just to climb the steep stairs and hide one's self there. we put our heads together, all of us. we resolved at last that the tower-room should be our birthday gift to grace. it was quite easy to contrive and work when she was absent, but not so easy to keep from talking about the thing in her presence. once or twice we almost let it out, but she suspected nothing, and we glided over the danger as over ice, and hugged ourselves that we had escaped. we meant it for a surprise. first of all, of course, the place had to be thoroughly cleaned, then whitewashed as to the ceiling, and scoured over and over as to the unpainted wood. archie vanderhoven and all the brothers of both families helped manfully with this, and the two dear old doctors both climbed up stairs every day, and gave us their criticism. when the cleanness and the sweetness were like the world after the deluge, we began to furnish. the floor was stained a deep dark cherry red; mrs. raeburn presented the room with a large rug, called an art-square; mrs. vanderhoven made lovely ã©cru curtains of cheese-cloth, full and flowing, for the windows and these were caught back by cherry ribbons. we had a regular controversy over the bed, half of us declaring for a folding bed, that could be shut up by day and be an armoire or a book-case, the others wanting a white enameled bed with brass knobs and bars. the last party carried the day. the boys hung some shelves, and on these we arranged grace's favorite books. under the books in the window were her writing-table and her chair and foot-stool. the vanderhovens sent a pair of brass andirons for the fireplace, and the little hastings children, who were taken into the secret, contributed a pair of solid silver candlesticks. never was there a prettier room than that which we stood and surveyed one soft april morning when it was pronounced finished. our one regret was that dear mrs. wainwright could not see it. but the oldest of the raeburn boys brought over his camera and took a picture of the room, and this was afterwards enlarged and framed for one of mrs. wainwright's own birthdays. "mother dear," said grace one evening, as they sat together for a twilight talk, "do you believe god always answers prayers?" "always, my child." "do you think we can always see the answers, feel sure he has heard us?" "the answers do not always come at once, grace, nor are they always what we expect, but god sends us what is best for us, and he gives us strength to help answer the prayers we make. sometimes prayers are answered before they leave our lips. don't you know that in every 'oh, my father,' is the answer, 'here, my child?'" "i used to long, years ago," said grace, "when i was as happy as i could be with dear uncle and auntie, just to fly to you and my father. it seemed sometimes as if i would die just to get home to highland again, and be one of the children. uncle and auntie want me to go abroad with them this summer, just for a visit, and they are so good they will take one of my sisters and one of the raeburns; but i hate to think of the ocean between you and me again even for a few weeks." "you must go, dearie," said mrs. wainwright. "the dear uncle is part owner of you, darling, and he's very generous; but he can never have you back to keep." "no, indeed." "which of the raeburns do you suppose they can best spare?" "i don't know which they would choose to spare, but amy will be the one to go. she was born under a fortunate star, and the rest will help to send her." "i'd like frances myself." "frances is the stay-at-home daughter. she cannot be spared. it will be amy, and i will let miriam go with you, and eva, who is the youngest, can wait for her turn some other day." "is that burden's cart going down the lane?" inquired grace, looking out of the window. "it's queer how many errands mr. burden's had here lately. i believe he's been investing in another cart, or else he has painted the old one. business must be brisk. there come papa, and dr. raeburn with him. why, mother, all the raeburns are coming! if there is to be company, i might have been told." "so might i," said mrs. wainwright, with spirit. "hurry, grace, bring me some cologne and water to wash my face and hands, and give me my rose-pink wrapper. turn the key in the door, dearie. an invalid should never be seen except looking her best. you can slip away and get into a tea gown before you meet them, if they are coming to supper. whose birthday is it? this seems to be a surprise party." "why, mamma--it's my birthday; but you don't think there's anything on foot that i don't know of--do you, dearest?" "i wouldn't like to say what i think, my pet. there, the coast is clear. run away and change your gown. whoever wished to see me now may do so. the queen is ready to give audience. just wheel my chair a little to the left, so that i can catch the last of that soft pink after-glow." "and were you really entirely unprepared, grace," said the girls later, "and didn't you ever for a single moment notice anything whatsoever we were doing?" "never for one instant. i missed my tennyson and my french bible, but thought eva had borrowed them, and in my wildest imagination i never dreamed you would furnish a lovely big room at the top of the house all for me, my own lone self. it doesn't seem right for me to accept it." "ah, but it is quite right!" said her father, tenderly, "and here is something else--a little birthday check from me to my daughter. since you came home and set me on my feet i've prospered as never before. eva has collected ever so many of my bills, and i've sold a corner of the meadow for a good round sum, a corner that never seemed to me to be worth anything. i need not stay always in your debt, financially, dear little woman." "but, papa." "but, grace." "your father is right, grace," said the sweet low tones of mrs. wainwright, even and firm. "through god's goodness you have had the means and disposition to help him, but neither of us ever intended to rest our weight always on your shoulders. you needn't work so hard hereafter, unless you wish, to." "thank you, dear papa," said grace. "i shall work just as hard, because i love to work, and because i am thus returning to the world some part of what i owe it; and next year, who knows, i may be able to pay eva's bills at miss l----'s." eva jumped up and down with delight. then came supper, served in mrs. wainwright's room, and after that music and a long merry talk, and at last, lest mrs. wainwright should be weary, the raeburns took their way homeward over the lane and across the fields to the manse. grace from the tower window watched them going, the light of the moon falling in golden clearness over the fields and farms just waiting for spring, "to serve the present age my calling to fulfill, she whispered to herself. "good-night, dear ones all, good-night," she said a little later climbing up the tower stair to her new room. "god bless you, middle daughter," said her father's deep tones. soft, hushed footsteps pattered after the girl, step by step. she thought herself all alone as she shut the door, but presently a cold nose was thrust against her hand, a furry head rubbed her knee. fido, the pet fox-terrier, had determined for his part to share the tower-room. the golden bird.[2] by the brothers grimm. in times gone by there was a king who had at the back of his castle a beautiful pleasure garden, in which stood a tree that bore golden apples. as the apples ripened they were counted, but one morning one was missing. then the king was angry, and he ordered that a watch should be kept about the tree every night. now the king had three sons, and he sent the eldest to spend the whole night in the garden; so he watched till midnight, and then he could keep off sleep no longer, and in the morning another apple was missing. the second son had to watch the following night; but it fared no better, for when twelve o'clock had struck he went to sleep, and in the morning another apple was missing. now came the turn of the third son to watch, and he was ready to do so; but the king had less trust in him, and believed he would acquit himself still worse than his brothers, but in the end he consented to let him try. so the young man lay down under the tree to watch, and resolved that sleep should not be master. when it struck twelve something came rushing through the air, and he saw in the moonlight a bird flying towards him, whose feathers glittered like gold. the bird perched upon the tree, and had already pecked off an apple, when the young man let fly an arrow at it. the bird flew away, but the arrow had struck its plumage, and one of its golden feathers fell to the ground; the young man picked it up, and taking it next morning to the king, told him what had happened in the night. the king called his council together, and all declared that such a feather was worth more than the whole kingdom. "since the feather is so valuable," said the king, "one is not enough for me; i must and will have the whole bird." so the eldest son set off, and, relying on his own cleverness, he thought he should soon find the golden bird. when he had gone some distance he saw a fox sitting at the edge of a wood and he pointed his gun at him. the fox cried out: "do not shoot me and i will give you good counsel. you are on your way to find the golden bird, and this evening you will come to a village in which two taverns stand facing each other. one will be brightly lighted up, and there will be plenty of merriment going on inside; do not mind about that, but go into the other one, although it will look to you very uninviting." "how can a silly beast give anyone rational advice?" thought the king's son, and let fly at the fox, but he missed him, and he stretched out his tail and ran quick into the wood. then the young man went on his way, and toward evening he came to the village and there stood the two taverns; in one singing and revelry were going on, the other looked quite dull and wretched. "i should be a fool," said he, "to go into that dismal place while there is anything so good close by." so he went into the merry inn and there lived in clover, quite forgetting the bird and his father and all good counsel. as time went on, and the eldest son never came home, the second son set out to seek the golden bird. he met with the fox, just as the eldest did, and received good advice from him without attending to it. and when he came to the two taverns his brother was standing and calling to him at the window of one of them, out of which came sounds of merriment; so he could not resist, but went and reveled to his heart's content. and then, as time went on, the youngest son wished to go forth and to try his luck, but his father would not consent. "it would be useless," said he; "he is much less likely to find the bird than his brothers, and if any misfortune were to happen to him he would not know how to help himself, his wits are none of the best." but at last, as there was no peace to be had, he let him go. by the side of the wood sat the fox, begged him to spare his life and gave him good counsel. the young man was kind and said: "be easy, little fox, i will do you no harm." "you shall not repent of it," answered the fox, "and that you may get there all the sooner get up and sit on my tail." and no sooner had he done so than the fox began to run, and off they went over stock and stone, so that the wind whistled in their hair. when they reached the village the young man got down and, following the fox's advice, went into the mean looking tavern without hesitating, and there he passed a quiet night. the next morning, when he went out into the field, the fox, who was sitting there already, said: "i will tell you further what you have to do. go straight on until you come to a castle, before which a great band of soldiers lie, but do not trouble yourself about them, for they will be all asleep and snoring; pass through them and forward into the castle, and go through all the rooms until you come to one where there is a golden bird hanging in a wooden cage. near at hand will stand empty a golden cage of state, but you must beware of taking the bird out of his ugly cage and putting him into the fine one; if you do so you will come to harm." after he had finished saying this the fox stretched out his tail again, and the king's son sat him down upon it; then away they went over stock and stone, so that the wind whistled through their hair. and when the king's son reached the castle he found everything as the fox had said; and he at last entered the room where the golden bird was hanging in a wooden cage, while a golden one was standing by; the three golden apples, too, were in the room. then, thinking it foolish to let the beautiful bird stay in that mean and ugly cage, he opened the door of it, took hold of it and put it in the golden one. in the same moment the bird uttered a piercing cry. the soldiers awaked, rushed in, seized the king's son and put him in prison. the next morning he was brought before a judge, and, as he confessed everything, condemned to death. but the king said that he would spare his life on one condition, that he should bring him the golden horse whose paces were swifter than the wind, and that then he should also receive the golden bird as a reward. so the king's son set off to find the golden horse, but he sighed and was very sad, for how should it be accomplished? and then he saw his old friend, the fox, sitting by the roadside. "now, you see," said the fox, "all this has happened because you would not listen to me. but be of good courage, i will bring you through, and will tell you how to get the golden horse. you must go straight on until you come to a castle, where the horse stands in his stable; before the stable-door the grooms will be lying, but they will all be asleep and snoring, and you can go and quietly lead out the horse. but one thing you must mind--take care to put upon him the plain saddle of wood and leather, and not the golden one, which will hang close by, otherwise it will go badly with you." then the fox stretched out his tail and the king's son seated himself upon it, and away they went over stock and stone until the wind whistled through their hair. and everything happened just as the fox had said, and he came to the stall where the golden horse was, and as he was about to put on him the plain saddle he thought to himself: "such a beautiful animal would be disgraced were i not to put on him the good saddle, which becomes him so well." however, no sooner did the horse feel the golden saddle touch him than he began to neigh. and the grooms all awoke, seized the king's son and threw him into prison. the next morning he was delivered up to justice and condemned to death, but the king promised him his life, and also to bestow upon him the golden horse if he could convey thither the beautiful princess of the golden castle. with a heavy heart the king's son set out, but by great good luck he soon met with the faithful fox. "i ought now to leave you to your own fate," said the fox, "but i am sorry for you, and will once more help you in your need. your way lies straight up to the golden castle. you will arrive there in the evening, and at night, when all is quiet, the beautiful princess goes to the bath. and as she is entering the bathing-house go up to her and give her a kiss, then she will follow you and you can lead her away; but do not suffer her first to go and take leave of her parents, or it will go ill with you." then the fox stretched out his tail, the king's son seated himself upon it, and away they went over stock and stone, so that the wind whistled through their hair. and when he came to the golden castle all was as the fox had said. he waited until midnight, when all lay in deep sleep, and then as the beautiful princess went to the bathing-house he went up to her and gave her a kiss, and she willingly promised to go with him, but she begged him earnestly, and with tears, that he would let her first go and take leave of her parents. at first he denied her prayer, but as she wept so much the more, and fell at his feet, he gave in at last. and no sooner had the princess reached her father's bedside than he, and all who were in the castle, waked up and the young man was seized and thrown into prison. the next morning the king said to him: "thy life is forfeit, but thou shalt find grace if thou canst level that mountain that lies before my windows, and over which i am not able to see; and if this is done within eight days thou shalt have my daughter for a reward." so the king's son set to work and dug and shoveled away without ceasing, but when, on the seventh day, he saw how little he had accomplished, and that all his work was as nothing, he fell into great sadness and gave up all hope. but on the evening of the seventh day the fox appeared and said: "you do not deserve that i should help you, but go now and lie down to sleep and i will do the work for you." the next morning when he awoke and looked out of the window the mountain had disappeared. the young man hastened full of joy to the king and told him that his behest was fulfilled, and, whether the king liked it or not, he had to keep his word and let his daughter go. so they both went away together, and it was not long before the faithful fox came up to them. "well, you have got the best first," said he, "but you must know that the golden horse belongs to the princess of the golden castle." "but how shall i get it?" asked the young man. "i am going to tell you," answered the fox. "first, go to the king who sent you to the golden castle and take to him the beautiful princess. there will then be very great rejoicing. he will willingly give you the golden horse, and they will lead him out to you; then mount him without delay and stretch out your hand to each of them to take leave, and last of all to the princess, and when you have her by the hand swing her upon the horse behind you and off you go! nobody will be able to overtake you, for that horse goes swifter than the wind." and so it was all happily done, and the king's son carried off the beautiful princess on the golden horse. the fox did not stay behind, and he said to the young man: "now, i will help you to get the golden bird. when you draw near the castle where the bird is let the lady alight, and i will take her under my care; then you must ride the golden horse into the castle yard, and there will be great rejoicing to see it, and they will bring out to you the golden bird; as soon as you have the cage in your hand you must start off back to us, and then you shall carry the lady away." the plan was successfully carried out, and when the young man returned with the treasure the fox said: "now, what will you give me for my reward?" "what would you like?" asked the young man. "when we are passing through the wood i desire that you should slay me, and cut my head and feet off." "that were a strange sign of gratitude," said the king's son, "and i could not possibly do such a thing." then said the fox: "if you will not do it, i must leave you; but before i go let me give you some good advice. beware of two things; buy no gallows-meat, and sit at no brookside." with that the fox ran off into the wood. the young man thought to himself, "that is a wonderful animal, with most singular ideas. how should any one buy gallows-meat? and i am sure i have no particular fancy for sitting by a brookside." so he rode on with the beautiful princess, and their way led them through the village where his two brothers had stayed. there they heard great outcry and noise, and when he asked what it was all about, they told him that two people were going to be hanged. and when he drew near he saw that it was his two brothers, who had done all sorts of evil tricks, and had wasted all their goods. he asked if there were no means of setting them free. "oh, yes! if you will buy them off," answered the people; "but why should you spend your money in redeeming such worthless men?" but he persisted in doing so; and when they were let go they all went on their journey together. after a while they came to the wood where the fox had met them first, and there it seemed so cool and sheltered from the sun's burning rays that the two brothers said: "let us rest here for a little by the brook, and eat and drink to refresh ourselves." the young man consented, quite forgetting the fox's warning, and he seated himself by the brookside, suspecting no evil. but the two brothers thrust him backwards into the brook, seized the princess, the horse, and the bird, and went home to their father. "is not this the golden bird that we bring?" said they; "and we have also the golden horse, and the princess of the golden castle." then there was great rejoicing in the royal castle, but the horse did not feed, the bird did not chirp, and the princess sat still and wept. the youngest brother, however, had not perished. the brook was by good fortune dry, and he fell on the soft moss without receiving any hurt, but he could not get up again. but in his need the faithful fox was not lacking; he came up running and reproached him for having forgotten his advice. "but i cannot forsake you all the same," said he. "i will help you back again into daylight." so he told the young man to grasp his tail and hold on to it fast, and so he drew him up again. "still you are not quite out of all danger," said the fox; "your brothers, not being certain of your death, have surrounded the woods with sentinels, who are to put you to death if you let yourself be seen." a poor beggar-man was sitting by the path and the young man changed clothes with him, and went clad in that wise into the king's courtyard. nobody knew him, but the bird began to chirp, and the horse began to feed, and the beautiful princess ceased weeping. "what does this mean?" said the king, astonished. the princess answered: "i cannot tell, except that i was sad and now i am joyful; it is to me as if my rightful bridegroom had returned." then she told him all that happened, although the two brothers had threatened to put her to death if she betrayed any of their secrets. the king then ordered every person who was in the castle to be brought before him, and with the rest came the young man like a beggar in his wretched garments; but the princess knew him and greeted him lovingly, falling on his neck and kissing him. the wicked brothers were seized and put to death, and the youngest brother was married to the princess and succeeded to the inheritance of his father. but what became of the poor fox? long afterward the king's son was going through the wood and the fox met him and said: "now, you have everything that you can wish for, but my misfortunes never come to an end, and it lies in your power to free me from them." and once more he prayed the king's son earnestly to slay him and cut off his head and feet. so at last he consented, and no sooner was it done than the fox was changed into a man, and was no other than the brother of the beautiful princess; and thus he was set free from a spell that had bound him for a long, long time. and now, indeed, there lacked nothing to their happiness as long as they lived. footnotes: [footnote 2: this is a fairy tale, pure and simple, but we must have a little nonsense now and then, and it does us no harm, but on the contrary much good.] harry pemberton's text. by elizabeth armstrong. "he that hath clean hands and a pure heart." harry pemberton went down the street whistling a merry tune. it was one i like very much, and you all know it, for it has been played by street bands and organs, and heard on every street corner for as many years as you boys have been living on the earth. "wait till the clouds roll by, jenny, wait till the clouds roll by." the lads i am writing this story for are between ten and fourteen years old, and they know that the clouds do once in a while roll around a person's path, and block the way, because fogs and mists _can_ block the way just as well as a big black stone wall. at the corner of the street a red-headed, blue-eyed lad, a head taller than harry, joined the latter. he put his hand on harry's shoulder and walked beside him. "well," said this last comer, whose name was frank fletcher, "will your mother let you go, harry, boy? i hope she doesn't object." "but she does," said harry, quickly "mother doesn't think it right for us to start on such an expedition and she says all parents will say the same." "of all things, where can the harm be? only none of the rest of us have to ask leave, as you do." "mother," said harry, disregarding this speech, "is of the opinion that to enter a man's garden by the back gate, when the family are all away, is breaking into his premises and going where you haven't a right, and is burglary, and if you take flowers or anything, then it's stealing. mere vulgar stealing, she says." "why, harry pemberton, how dare you say _stealing_ to me?" and frank's red hair stood up like a fiery flame. "i'm only quoting mother. don't get mad, frank." "does your mother know it's to decorate the soldiers' graves that we want the flowers, and that squire eliot won't be home till next year, and there are hundreds 'n hundreds of flowers fading and wasting and dying on his lawn and garden, and furthermore that he'd _like_ the fellows to decorate the cemetery with his flowers? does she know that, i say?" and the blue-eyed lad gesticulated fiercely. "all is," replied harry, firmly, "that you boys can go ahead if you like, but mother won't let me, and you must count me out." "all is," said frank, mimicking harry's tone, "you're a mother-boy, and we fellows won't have anything more to do with you." so they sent him to coventry, which means that they let him alone severely. they had begun to do it already, which was why he whistled so merrily to show he did not mind. i never for my part could see that there was any disgrace in being a mother-boy. but i suppose a boy thinks he is called babyish, if the name is fastened on him. as harry went on his errand, he no longer whistled, at least he didn't whistle much. and as he went to school next day, and next day, and next day, and found himself left out in the cold, he would have been more than the usual twelve-year-old laddie if he had not felt his courage fail. but he had his motto text to bolster him up. "clean hands, harry, and a pure heart," said mrs. pemberton, cheerfully. "it cannot be right to steal flowers or anything else even to decorate the graves of our brave soldiers." and so the time passed--kite time, top time, hoop time, marble time. it was the evening before memorial day, at last. there was a good deal of stirring in the village. it was splendid moonlight. you could see to read large print. a whole crowd of boys met at the store and took their way across lots to the beautiful old eliot place. the big house, with its broad porch and white columns, stood out in the glory of the moon. the gardens were sweet in the dew. violets, lilies, roses, lilacs, snow-drops, whole beds of them. every boy, and there were ten of them, had a basket and a pair of shears. they meant to get all the flowers they could carry and despoil the eliot place, if necessary, to make the cemetery a grand looking spot to-morrow, when the veterans and the militia should be out with bands of music and flying flags, and the governor, no less, coming in person to review the troops and make a speech in the very place where his own father was buried. in went the boys. over the stile, up the paths, clear on toward the front portico. they separated into little groups and began to cut their flowers, the eliots' flowers, all the eliots in europe, and not a soul on hand to save their property. suddenly the boys were arrested and paralyzed with fright. an immense form leaped from behind the house and a deep-throated, baying bark resounded in a threatening roar. juno, squire eliot's famous mastiff, the one that had taken a prize at the dog show, bounded out toward the marauders. they turned to fly, when a stern voice bade them stop. "you young rapscallions! you trespassers! you rascals! stop this instant or i'll thrash every one of you! humph!" said squire eliot, brandishing his cane, as the boys stopped and tremblingly came forward. "this is how my neighbors' sons treat my property when i'm away. line up there against the fence, every one of you. _charge_, juno! _charge_, good dog!" squire eliot looked keenly at the boys, every one of whom he knew. "solomon's methods are out of fashion," he said, "and if i send you boys home the chances are that your fathers won't whip you as you deserve to be whipped, so i'll do the job myself. fortunate thing i happened to change my plans and come home for the summer, instead of going away as i expected. i heard there was a plan of this sort on foot, but i didn't believe it till i overheard the whole thing talked of in the village this afternoon. well, boys, i'll settle with you once for all, and then i'll forgive you, but you've got to pay the penalty first. frank, hold out your hand." but just then there was an interruption. lights appeared in the windows and a dainty little lady came upon the scene. the boys knew grandmother eliot, who wore her seventy years with right queenly grace, and never failed to have a kind word for man, woman and child in the old home. "eugene," she called to the squire, imperatively, "i can't allow this, my son. the boys have been punished enough. their fault was in not seeing that you cannot do evil that good may come. let every one of these young gentlemen come here to me. i want to talk with them." now it is probable that most of the boys would have preferred a sharp blow or two from the squire's cane to a reproof from his gentle old mother, whose creed led her to heap coals of fire on the heads of those who did wrong. but they had no choice. there was no help for it. they had to go up, shears, baskets and all, and let old lady eliot talk to them; and then, as they were going away, who should come out but a white-capped maid, with cake and lemonade, to treat the young depredators to refreshments. "there's only one fellow in our class who deserves cake and lemonade," exclaimed frank, "and he isn't here. we've all treated him meaner than dirt. we've been horrid to him, because he wouldn't join us in this. now he's out of this scrape and we're in." "harry pemberton," said squire eliot, who had locked up his cane, and was quite calm, "harry pemberton, that's lida scott's boy, mother. lida would bring him up well, i'm sure. well, he shall have a lot of roses to-morrow to lay on colonel pemberton's grave. isn't that fair, boys?" "yes, yes," assented they all, with eagerness. "and as you have by your own admission treated harry rather badly, suppose you make it up to him by coming here in the morning, carrying the roses to his house, and owning that you regret your behavior." it was rather a bitter pill, but the boys swallowed it bravely. next day, as harry and his mother, laden with dog-wood boughs and branches of lilac, set out for the little spot most sacred to them on earth, they met a procession which was headed by frank fletcher. the procession had a drum and a flag, and it had roses galore. "honest roses, harry," said frank. "the squire is at home and he gave them to us for you. let me tell you about it." the story was told from beginning to end. then mrs. pemberton said, "now, boys, take for your everlasting motto from this time forth, 'clean hands and a pure heart.'" our cats. the first cat of our recollection was a large, sleek, black and white animal, the pet and plaything of our very early childhood. tom, as we called him, seemed much attached to us all, but when we moved from the house of his kittendom and attempted to keep him with us, we found that we had reckoned without our host; all our efforts were in vain; the cat returned to its former home and we gave it up as lost to us. the months sped along and we children had almost forgotten our late favorite, when one day he came mewing into the yard, and in so pitiable a condition that all our hearts were moved for him. he was in an emaciated state distressing to behold, and then one of his hind legs was broken so that the bone protruded through the skin. the dear old cat was at once fed, but it was soon seen that his injury was incurable, and our truly humane father said the only thing to do with tom was to put him out of his misery. this was done, but we have ever kept in mind the cat that would not go from its first home, even with those it loved, and yet remembered those friends and came to them in trouble. i should have stated above, that the two homes were less than a mile apart. morris was another black and white cat, named morris from our minister, who gave him to brother. he was a fine fellow, and would jump a bar four feet from the floor. but brother obtained a pair of tiny squirrels, the striped squirrels, and feared that morris would catch them, for he was all alert when he spied them, and so the cat was sent to the house of a friend, as this friend wished to possess him. morris was let out of the basket in which he was carried into our friend's kitchen, and giving one frightened look at his surroundings he sprang up the chimney and was never seen by any of his early friends again. poor morris, we never knew his fate! one cat we named snowball, just because he was so black. this cat was an unprincipled thief, and all unknown to us a person who disliked cats in general, and thieving cats in particular, killed snowball. we once owned an old cat and her daughter, and when the mother had several kittens and the daughter had but one, the grandmother stole the daughter's kitten, and though the young mother cried piteously she never regained possession of her child. again, once when our brother was ploughing he overturned a rabbit's nest, and taking the young rabbits therefrom he gave them to the cat, who had just been robbed of her kittens. pussy was at once devoted to these babies, and cared for them tenderly, never for a moment neglecting them. nevertheless, they died, one by one; their foster mother's care was not the kind they needed. of all our cats we speak most tenderly of friskie. she was brought when a kitten to our farm home, and if ever cat deserved eulogy it was she. a small cat with black coat and white breast and legs, not particularly handsome, but thoroughly good and very intelligent. the children played with her as they would; she was never known to scratch them, but would show her disapproval of any rough handling by a tap with her tiny velvet paw. she was too kind to scratch them. friskie grew up with trip, our little black and tan dog, and though trip was selfish with her, friskie loved him and showed her affection in various ways. if the dog came into the house wet with dew or rain the dear little cat would carefully dry him all off with her tongue, and though he growled at her for her officiousness she would persevere till the task was accomplished, and then the two would curl up behind the stove and together take a nap. when we became the owner of a canary, friskie at once showed feline propensities; she wanted that bird, and saw no reason why she should be denied it. but when, from various tokens, friskie learned that we valued it, she never again evinced any desire for the canary. and when, afterward, we raised a nest of birdlings, the little cat never attempted to touch them; no, not even when one flew out of doors and alighted almost at her feet. instead of seizing it, friskie watched us as we captured and returned it to the cage. the writer of this story became ill with extreme prostration, and now friskie showed her affection in a surprising manner. each morning she came into our room with a tidbit, such as she was sure was toothsome: mice, rats, at one time a half-grown rabbit, and, at length, a bird. it was warm weather, the room windows were open, and being upon the first floor, when friskie brought in her offerings they were seized and thrown from the window to the ground. at this she would spring after the delicacy and bring it back in a hurry, determined that it should be eaten, mewing and coaxing just as she might with her kittens. that the food was not accepted evidently distressed her. when she came with the little bird, she uttered her usual coaxing sound, and then, when it was unheeded, she sprung upon the bed and was about to give it to the invalid, who uttered a scream of fright. at this dear friskie fled from the room and, we think, she never brought another treat. it was useless to try to treat a person so unappreciative. at one time, when friskie was the proud mother of four pretty kittens, she was greatly troubled with the liberties that young herbert, aged three, took with her family. the little boy didn't want to hurt the tiny creatures, but he would hold them and play with them. mother cat bore this for a time, and then carried the kittens away to the barn, and hid them where no one but herself could find them. while these babies were yet young herbert was taken away for a visit. strange to say, that upon the morning of the child's departure friskie came leading the little ones down to the house. they could walk now, and at first she came part of the distance with three of them, stopped, surveyed her group and went back for the remaining kitten. all we have told is strictly true; it was evident that the cat knew when the disturber of her peace was gone, and also evident that she knew how many were her children. friskie died at the age of twelve, the most lovable and intelligent cat we have ever known. of late we have had two maltese cats in our kitchen, one old, the other young. the old cat has been jealous and cross with the young one, while the young cat has been kind and pleasant with her companion. one day the young cat, friskie's namesake, sat and meowed piteously. we were present, and for a time did not notice her, for she is very demonstrative. what was our surprise to see her go to a low closet in the room and lie down, stretch her paws over her head, and by an effort pull open the door to release the old cat, who had accidentally been shut up in this closet. the old cat is always very reticent, and would not ask to be let out. her usual way of asking to have a door open is to tap upon it with her paw. she scarcely ever meows. we might have enlarged upon these incidents, but have simply told facts. outovplace. there's a very strange country called outovplace, (i've been there quite often, have you?) where the people can't find the things they want, and hardly know what to do. if a boy's in a hurry, and wants his cap, or a basin to wash his face, he never can find that on its nail, or this in its proper place. his shoe hides far away under the lounge; his handkerchief's gone astray; oh! how can a boy get off to school, if he's always bothered this way? oh! a very queer country is outovplace- (did you say you had been there?) then you've seen, like me, a slate on the floor and a book upon the stair. you think they are easy to find, at least! o, yes! if they would but stay just there till they're wanted; but then they don't; alas! that isn't the way. when a boy wants his hat, he sees his ball, as plain as ever can be; but when he has time for a game, not a sign of bat or a ball finds he. sometimes a good man is just off to the train, (that is, it is time to go); and he can't put his hand on his sunday hat! it surely must vex him, i know. if somebody wants to drive a nail, it's "where is the hammer, my dear?" and so it goes, week in, week out, and truly all the year. how 'twould gladden the women of outovplace, if the boys and girls themselves should wake up some morning determined quite to use hooks, closets and shelves. the boy who dared to be a daniel. by s. jennie smith. sunday-school was dismissed and the children were going, some in one direction, some in another, to their homes. the majority of them were chatting merrily of the proposed strawberry festival, but one little fellow seemed to be engrossed with more serious thoughts. he was alone and apparently unconscious of the nearness of his companions until a lad about his own age joined him and inquired, "say, ralph, what are you thinking of? you look as wise as an owl." "i should hope i was a little bit wiser than a bird," answered ralph, with a smile. "but i was just awondering, ned, if i could be brave enough to go into the lion's den like daniel did. i wouldn't like to stop praying to god, but it would be pretty hard to make up your mind to face a lot of lions." "yes, indeed; but then father says that we don't need grace to do those hard things until we are called upon to do them, and then if we ask god, he will give us the strength we require. all we've got to do is to attend to the duty nearest us, and seek for strength for that." ned was the minister's son and had enjoyed many an instructive talk with his kind father. "he says, too, that we are often called upon to face other kinds of lions in this life, if we persist as we ought in doing the right. but here we part, ralph, good-bye," and the boy turned off into a side road, leaving ralph again alone. ralph's way led through a quiet country lane, for his home was beyond the village where nearly all of his companions lived. "well, i won't have to go into the lion's den to-day," he said to himself, as he sauntered along; "and when i do i guess god will give me the strength," and with this thought a gayer frame of mind came to him. "but it must be grand to be a daniel." just then two large boys crept stealthily from the bushes that lined one side of the road and looked anxiously around. "say, john, there's ralph," one of them muttered. "he'll tell we didn't go to sunday-school. let's frighten him into promising not to." "hello!" cried john, in a loud voice. ralph turned and was surprised to see his brothers approaching him. "going home?" one of them asked. "why, yes, tom, ain't you?" "no, not yet; and if any one inquires where we are, just mention that we've been to sunday-school and will be home soon." ralph's eyes opened wide in astonishment. "but you didn't go to sunday-school," he replied, "because your teacher came and asked me where you were, and i told her i didn't know; i thought you were coming." "well, it isn't any of your business whether we went or not," growled john. "all you've got to do is to say we were there if you're asked." "i can't tell a lie about it, can i?" "yes, you can, if you just make up your mind to do it." "but i won't tell a lie about it," said ralph, sturdily. "no, i suppose you'd rather get your brothers in a scrape. you know what will happen if we're found out." ralph hesitated. he was an affectionate child and disliked to see anybody in trouble, especially his own brothers, but he had a very decided opinion that he was in the right, and therefore concluded to speak the truth at all hazards. "i'm just as sorry as i can be," he returned, sadly, "and i'll beg papa to forgive you and say i know you won't ever do it again, but if they ask me i can't tell a lie about it." "you won't, eh, little saint?" cried john, angrily, grabbing his brother's arm. "now just promise to do as we say, or we'll pitch you into that deep pond over there." ralph was too young to realize that this was only an idle threat, and he was very much frightened, yet in that moment of terror the thought of daniel in the lion's den flashed through his mind and gave him the strength that he had not dared to hope for. he saw in an instant that he had come to his temptation and his den of lions, and he felt that as god had protected daniel in that far-away time, he would now protect him. ralph had never learned to swim, and he was in fear of the big frogs and other creatures that inhabit ponds, but he did not flinch. with a boldness that surprised even himself, he looked steadily at his brother and replied, "you cannot frighten me into doing that wrong thing. i will not pray to the image of falsehood that you have set up." it was now his brothers' turn to be astonished. they had never thought of ralph as anything but a timid, little boy who could be overcome by the slightest threat, and for a moment they were at a loss what to say. of course, ralph was merely repeating some of his teacher's words, but they were not aware of that fact, and consequently wondered at his remarks. finally john managed to stammer, "do--do you want to go in that pond?" "no manner of hurt was found upon him because he believed in his god," continued ralph, with his mind still on his sunday-school; "god delivers his faithful ones in time of trouble." turning away, john was about to walk off, but tom detained him. "wait a moment, john," he said, and then the others noticed that there were tears in his eyes. "i want to tell my brave little brother that i honor him for sticking to the truth. as for me, i shall confess to father, and promise not to repeat the offence." "i am with you," john replied. "come ralph, we'll go together now and hereafter. we need never be afraid to go where a daniel leads." little redcap.[3] by the brothers grimm. there was once a sweet little maid, much beloved by everybody, but most of all by her grandmother, who never knew how to make enough of her. once she sent her a little cap of red velvet, and as it was very becoming to her, and she never wore anything else, people called her little redcap. one day her mother said to her: "come, little redcap, here are some cakes and a flask of milk for you to take to your grandmother; she is weak and ill, and they will do her good. make haste and start before it grows hot, and walk properly and nicely, and don't run, or you might fall and break the flask of milk and there would be none left for grandmother. and when you go into her room, don't forget to say, 'good morning' instead of staring about you." "i will be sure to take care," said little redcap to her mother, and gave her hand upon it. now the grandmother lived away in the wood, half an hour's walk from the village, and when little redcap had reached the wood, she met the wolf; but as she did not know what a bad sort of animal he was, she did not feel frightened. "good day, little redcap," said he. "thank you kindly, wolf," answered she. "where are you going so early, little redcap?" "to my grandmother's." "what are you carrying under your apron?" "cakes and milk; we baked yesterday; and my grandmother is very weak and ill, so they will do her good, and strengthen her." "where does your grandmother live, little redcap?" "a quarter of an hour's walk from here; her house stands beneath the three oak trees, and you may know it by the hazel bushes," said little redcap. the wolf thought to himself: "that tender young thing would be a delicious morsel, and would taste better than the old one; i must manage somehow to get both of them." then he walked beside little redcap for a little while, and said to her softly and sweetly: "little redcap, just look at the pretty flowers that are growing all round you, and i don't think you are listening to the song of the birds; you are posting along just as if you were going to school, and it is so delightful out here in the wood." little redcap glanced round her, and when she saw the sunbeams darting here and there through the trees, and lovely flowers everywhere, she thought to herself: "if i were to take a fresh nosegay to my grandmother, she would be very pleased, and it is so early in the day that i shall reach her in plenty of time;" and so she ran about in the wood, looking for flowers. and as she picked one she saw a still prettier one a little farther off, and so she went farther and farther into the wood. but the wolf went straight to the grandmother's house and knocked at the door. "who is there?" cried the grandmother. "little redcap," he answered, "and i have brought you some cake and some new milk. please open the door." "lift the latch," cried the poor old grandmother, feebly; "i am too weak to get up." so the wolf lifted the latch, and the door flew open, and he fell on the grandmother and ate her up without saying one word. then he drew on her clothes, put on her cap, lay down in her bed and drew the curtains, the old wretch that he was. little redcap was all this time running about among the flowers, and when she had gathered as many as she could hold; she remembered her grandmother, and set off to go to her. she was surprised to find the door standing wide open, and when she came inside she felt very strange and thought to herself: "oh, dear, how uncomfortable i feel, and i was so glad this morning to go to my grandmother!" and when she said "good morning!" there was no answer. then she went up to the bed and drew back the curtains; there lay the grandmother with her cap pulled over her eyes, so that she looked very odd. "oh, grandmother, what large ears you have got!" "the better to hear you with." "oh, grandmother, what great eyes you have got!" "the better to see you with." "oh, grandmother, what large hands you have got!" "the better to take hold of you with, my dear." "but, grandmother, what a terrible large mouth you have got!" "the better to devour you!" and no sooner had the wolf said this than he made one bound from the bed and swallowed up poor little redcap. then the wolf, having satisfied his hunger, lay down again in the bed, went to sleep and began to snore loudly. the huntsman heard him as he was passing by the house and thought: "how the old lady snores--i would better see if there is anything the matter with her." then he went into the room and walked up to the bed, and saw the wolf lying there. "at last i find you, you old sinner!" said he; "i have been looking for you for a long time." and he made up his mind that the wolf had swallowed the grandmother whole, and that she might yet be saved. so he did not fire, but took a pair of shears and began to slit up the wolf's body. when he made a few snips little redcap appeared, and after a few more snips she jumped out and cried, "oh, dear, how frightened i have been, it is so dark inside the wolf!" and then out came the old grandmother, still living and breathing. but little redcap went and quickly fetched some large stones, with which she filled the wolf's body, so that when he waked up, and was going to rush away, the stones were so heavy that he sank down and fell dead. they were all three very much pleased. the huntsman took off the wolf's skin and carried it home to make a fur rug. the grandmother ate the cakes and drank the milk and held up her head again, and little redcap said to herself that she would never again stray about in the wood alone, but would mind what her mother told her, nor talk to strangers. it must also be related how a few days afterward, when little redcap was again taking cakes to her grandmother, another wolf spoke to her, and wanted to tempt her to leave the path; but she was on her guard, and went straight on her way, and told her grandmother how that the wolf had met her and wished her good-day, but had looked so wicked about the eyes that she thought if it had not been on the high road he would have devoured her. "come," said the grandmother, "we will shut the door, so that he may not get in." soon after came the wolf knocking at the door, and calling out, "open the door, grandmother, i am little redcap, bringing you cakes." but they remained still and did not open the door. after that the wolf slunk by the house, and got at last upon the roof to wait until little redcap should return home in the evening; then he meant to spring down upon her and devour her in the darkness. but the grandmother discovered his plot. now, there stood before the house a great stone trough, and the grandmother said to the child: "little redcap, i was boiling sausages yesterday, so take the bucket and carry away the water they were boiled in and pour it into the trough." and little redcap did so until the great trough was quite full. when the smell of the sausages reached the nose of the wolf he snuffed it up and looked around, and stretched out his neck so far that he lost his balance and began to slip, and he slipped down off the roof straight in the great trough and was drowned. then little redcap went cheerfully home and came to no harm. footnotes: [footnote 3: every boy and girl should read this pretty fairy story.] new zealand children. new zealand children are pretty, dark-eyed, smooth-cheeked little creatures, with clear skins of burnt umber color, and the reddest mouths in the world, until the girl grows up and her mother tattooes her lips blue, for gentility's sake. all day they live in the open air, unless during a violent storm. but they are perfectly healthy and very clean, for the first thing they do is to plunge into the sea water. besides this, they take baths in warm springs that abound everywhere, and which keep their skins in good order. as to their breakfast, i am afraid that often they have some very unpleasant things to eat--stale shark, for instance, and sour corn bread--so sour that you could not swallow it, and boiled fern root, or the pulp of fern stems, or crawfish. even if their father had happened to cut down a tall palm the day before, in order to take what white people call the "palm cabbage" out of it's very top, i'm afraid he would not share this dainty with the children. i am not sure he would offer even their mother a bite. it would be literally a bite if he did, for when people get together to eat in new zealand, one takes a piece of something from the basket in which food is served, bites out a mouthful and hands it to the next, who does the same, and passes it to his neighbor, and so on until it is all gone, and some other morsel is begun upon. sixty or seventy years ago new zealanders had never seen a pig or any animal larger than a cat. but about that time, one captain king, feeling that a nation without pork and beans and succotash could never come to any good, brought them some indian corn and some beans, and taught them how to plant and cultivate them, and shortly sent them some fine pigs, not doubting but that they would understand what to do with them without instruction. however, the new zealanders had no idea what the pigs were sent for, and everybody asked everybody else about it, until one--the smart fellow who knows it all--said that he had heard all about them from a sailor, and that they were horses! oh, certainly they were horses! the sailor had described them perfectly--long heads, pointed ears, broad backs, four legs, and a tail. they were to ride upon. great chiefs always rode them where the sailors lived. so the new zealand chiefs mounted the pigs, and when captain king came to see how everything was going on, they had ridden them to death--all but a few obstinate ones, who had eaten up the maize as soon as it grew green, and finished up the beans by way of dessert before the vines were halfway up the poles. captain king did not despair, however. he took two natives home with him, taught them all about the cultivation of maize, and the rearing of pigs; and pork is now as popular in new zealand as it is in cincinnati. you can hardly take a walk without meeting a mother-pig and a lot of squealing piglets; and people pet them more than they ever did or ever will in their native lands. here, you know, when baby wants something to play with, some one finds him a kitten, a ball of white floss, or a little maltese, or a black morsel with green eyes and a red mouth; but in new zealand they give him a very, very young pig, smooth as a kid glove, with little slits of eyes, and his curly tail twisted up into a little tight knot; and the brown baby hauls it about and pulls its ears and goes to sleep hugging it fast; and there they lie together, the piglet grunting comfortably, the baby snoring softly, for hours at a time. it is pleasanter to think of a piggy as a pet than as pork, and pleasanter still to know that the little new zealanders have something really nice to eat--the finest sweet potatoes that grow anywhere. they say that sweet potatoes, which they call _kumere_, is the food good spirits eat, and they sing a song about them, and so do the mothers, which is very pretty. the song tells how, long ago, ezi-ki and his wife, ko paui, sailing on the water in a boat, were wrecked, and would have been drowned but for good new zealanders, who rescued them. and ko paui saw that the children had very little that was wholesome for them to eat, and showed her gratitude by returning, all by herself, to tawai, to bring them seeds of the _kumere_. and how storms arose and she was in danger, but at last arrived in new zealand safely and taught them how to plant and raise this excellent food. and every verse of the song ends with: "praise the memory of beautiful ko paui, wife of ezi-ki, forever." little new zealanders run about with very little on, as a general thing, but they all have cloaks--they call them "mats." their mother sits on the ground with a little weaving frame about two feet high before her, and makes them of what is called new zealand flax. the long threads hang down in rows of fringes, one over the other, and shine like silk. they have also water-proofs, or "rain-mats," made of long polished leaves that shed the water. when a little new zealand girl pulls this over her head she does not mind any shower. you may see a circle of these funny objects sitting in the pelting rain, talking to each other and looking just like tiny haystacks. new zealand children have, strange to say, many toys. they swim like ducks, and, as i have said, revel in the natural hot baths, where they will sit and talk by the hour. in fact, the life of a new zealand child is full of occupation, and both girls and boys are bright, light-hearted, and intelligent. the breeze from the peak. a stiff sea breeze was having the wildest, merriest time, rocking the sailboats and fluttering the sails, chasing the breakers far up the beach, sending the fleecy cloudsails scudding across the blue ocean above, making old ocean roar with delight at its mad pranks, while all the little wavelets dimpled with laughter; the cedar family on the shore, old and rheumatic as they were, laughed till their sides ached, and the children shouted and cheered upon the beach. how fresh and strong and life-giving it was. the children wondered why it was so jolly, but never guessed the reason; and its song was so wonderfully sweet, but only the waves understood the words of the wild, strange melody. "i have come," it sang, "from a land far across the water. my home was on the mountain top, high up among the clouds. such a white, white world as it was! the mountain peak hooded in snow-ermine, and the gray-white clouds floating all around me; and it was so very still; my voice, the only sound to be heard, and that was strange and muffled. but though the fluffy clouds were so silent, they were gay companions and full of fun; let them find me napping once, and, puff! down they would send the feathery snow, choking and blinding me, then would come a wild chase; once in a mad frolic my breath parted the clouds and i saw down the mountain side! never shall i forget the picture i saw that day, framed by the silvery clouds. i, who had known nothing but that pale stillness and bitter cold, for the first time saw life and color, and a shimmering, golden light, resting on tree and river and valley farm; do you wonder i forgot the mountain peak, the clouds--_everything_ that was behind, and, without even a last farewell, spread my wings and flew swiftly down the mountain side? very soon i was far below that snowy cloud world, with a bright blue sky above me, and patches of red gravel and green moss and gray lichens beneath. once i stopped to rest upon a great rock, moss-covered, and with curling ferns at its base; from its side flowed a crystal spring, so clear and cool that i caught up all i could carry to refresh me on my journey; but it assured me i need not take that trouble, for it was also on its way down the mountain side. "'but you have no wings,' i said. 'are you sure of that?' answered the spring, and i thought she looked up in an odd way at some of my cloud friends, who had followed in my track; then she added: 'and, even if you are right, there is more than one way to reach the foot of the mountain; i am sure you will find me there before you.' "i could not but doubt this, for i am swifter than any bird of the air, but she only laughed at me as i flew on, and once, looking back, i saw she had started on her journey, and was creeping slowly along a tiny thread of water, almost hidden in the grass. i next floated upon some dark green trees, that sent out a spicy odor as i touched their boughs, and when i moved they sang a low, tuneful melody; their song was of the snowy mountain peak, the clouds, the bubbling spring, the sunshine and the green grass; yes, and there was something else, a deep undertone that i did not then understand, and the melody was a loom that wove them all into a living harmony; some of my breezes are there still, listening to the pine trees' song; but i hurried on, the grass grew green and luscious along my way, and the sheep, with their baby lambs, were pastured upon it; rills and brooks joined hands, and went racing faster and faster down between the rocks; one of the brooks had grown quite wide and deep, and as it leaped and sparkled and sang its way into the valley, where it flowed into a wide, foaming stream, it looked back with a gay laugh, and i saw in its depths the face of the little spring i had left far up the mountain side. "it was summer in the valley, and the air was scented with roses and ripening fruits. it was very warm and sultry, and i fanned the children's faces until they laughed and clapped their hands, crying out: 'it's the breeze from the mountain peak! how fresh and sweet and cool it is.' "i rocked the baby-birds to sleep in their leafy cradles. i entered the houses, making the curtains flutter, and filling the rooms with my mountain perfume. i longed to stay forever in that beautiful summer land, but now the mountain stream beckoned me on. swiftly i flew along its banks, turning the windmills met on the way, and swelling out the sails of the boats until the sailors sang for joy. on and on we journeyed; my mountain friend, joined by a hundred meadow-brooks, grew deeper and wider as it flowed along, and its breath began to have a queer, salty odor. one day i heard a throbbing music far off that sounded like the undertone in the pine trees' melody; then very soon we reached this great body of water, and, looking across, could see no sign of land anywhere; but still we journeyed on. i feared at first that my friend was lost to me, but often she laughed from the crest of the wave, or glistened in a white cap, cheering my way to this sunny shore; and now, at last, we are here, laden with treasure for each one of you. take it, and be glad!" but the children did not understand the song of the sea breeze, nor did they know what made its breath so wonderfully sweet. but all day long they breathed in its fragrance, and gathered up the treasures brought to their feet by the tiny spring born up in the clouds. "it's a beautiful world," they cried. and at night, when the sea breeze was wakeful, and sang to the waves of the mountain peak, the children would lift their heads from the white pillows to listen, whispering softly to one another: "hear the sea breeze and the ocean moaning on the shore. are they lonely without us, i wonder?" the bremen town musicians. by the brothers grimm. [when i was a child i used to love the story which is coming next. it is very funny and i like it still.] there was once an ass whose master had made him carry sacks to the mill for many a long year, but whose strength began at last to fail, so that each day as it came found him less capable of work. then his master began to think of turning him out, but the ass, guessing that something was in the wind that boded him no good, ran away, taking the road to bremen; for there he thought he might get an engagement as town musician. when he had gone a little way he found a hound lying by the side of the road panting, as if he had run a long way. "now, holdfast, what are you so out of breath about!" said the ass. "oh, dear!" said the dog, "now i am old, i get weaker every day, and can do no good in the hunt, so, as my master was going to have me killed, i have made my escape; but now, how am i to gain my living?" "i will tell you what," said the ass, "i am going to bremen to become town musician. you may as well go with me, and take up music too. i can play the lute, and you can beat the drum." the dog consented, and they walked on together. it was not long before they came to a cat sitting in the road, looking as dismal as three wet days. "now, then, what is the matter with you, old friend?" said the ass. "i should like to know who would be cheerful when his neck is in danger?" answered the cat. "now that i am old, my teeth are getting blunt, and i would rather sit by the oven and purr than run about after mice, and my mistress wants to drown me; so i took myself off; but good advice is scarce, and i do not know what is to become of me." "go with us to bremen," said the ass, "and become town musician. you understand serenading." the cat thought well of the idea, and went with them accordingly. after that the three travelers passed by a yard, and a cock was perched on the gate crowing with all his might. "your cries are enough to pierce bone and marrow," said the ass; "what is the matter?" "i have foretold good weather for lady-day, so that all the shirts may be washed and dried; and now on sunday morning company is coming, and the mistress has told the cook that i must be made into soup, and this evening my neck is to be wrung, so that i am crowing with all my might while i can." "you had better go with us, chanticleer," said the ass. "we are going to bremen. at any rate that will be better than dying. you have a powerful voice, and when we are all performing together it will have a very good effect." so the cock consented, and they went on, all four together. but bremen was too far off to be reached in one day, and toward evening they came to a wood, where they determined to pass the night. the ass and the dog lay down under a large tree; the cat got up among the branches, and the cock flew up to the top, as that was the safest place for him. before he went to sleep he looked all around him to the four points of the compass, and perceived in the distance a little light shining, and he called out to his companions that there must be a house not far off, as he could see a light, so the ass said: "we had better get up and go there, for these are uncomfortable quarters." the dog began to fancy a few bones, not quite bare, would do him good. and they all set off in the direction of the light, and it grew larger and brighter until at last it led them to a robber's house, all lighted up. the ass, being the biggest, went up to the window and looked in. "well, what do you see?" asked the dog. "what do i see?" answered the ass; "here is a table set out with splendid eatables and drinkables, and robbers sitting at it and making themselves very comfortable." "that would just suit us," said the cock. "yes, indeed, i wish we were there," said the ass. then they consulted together how it should be managed so as to get the robbers out of the house, and at last they hit on a plan. the ass was to place his forefeet on the window-sill, the dog was to get on the ass' back, the cat on the top of the dog, and lastly the cock was to fly up and perch on the cat's head. when that was done, at a given signal, they all began to perform their music. the ass brayed, the dog barked, the cat mewed, and the cock crowed; then they burst through into the room, breaking all the panes of glass. the robbers fled at the dreadful sound; they thought it was some goblin, and fled to the wood in the utmost terror. then the four companions sat down to the table, and made free with the remains of the meal, and feasted as if they had been hungry for a month. and when they had finished they put out the lights, and each sought out a sleeping-place to suit his nature and habits. the ass laid himself down outside on the dunghill, the dog behind the door, the cat on the hearth by the warm ashes, and the cock settled himself in the cockloft, and as they were all tired with their long journey they soon fell fast asleep. when midnight drew near, and the robbers from afar saw that no light was burning, and that everything appeared quiet, their captain said to them that he thought that they had run away without reason, telling one of them to go and reconnoitre. so one of them went and found everything quite quiet; he went into the kitchen to strike a light, and taking the glowing fiery eyes of the cat for burning coals, he held a match to them in order to kindle it. but the cat, not seeing the joke, flew into his face, spitting and scratching. then he cried out in terror, and ran to get out at the back door, but the dog, who was lying there, ran at him and bit his leg; and as he was rushing through the yard by the dunghill the ass struck out and gave him a great kick with his hindfoot; and the cock, who had been awakened with the noise, and felt quite brisk, cried out, "cock-a-doodle-doo!" then the robber got back as well as he could to his captain, and said, "oh dear! in that house there is a gruesome witch, and i felt her breath and her long nails in my face; and by the door there stands a man who stabbed me in the leg with a knife, and in the yard there lies a black spectre, who beat me with his wooden club; and above, upon the roof, there sits the justice, who cried, 'bring that rogue here!' and so i ran away from the place as fast as i could." from that time forward the robbers never returned to that house, and the four bremen town musicians found themselves so well off where they were, that there they stayed. and the person who last related this tale is still living, as you see. a very queer steed, and some strange adventures. told after ariosto by elizabeth armstrong. an italian poet named ariosto, who lived before our grandfathers were born, has told some very funny stories, one of which i will tell you. not contented with mounting his heroes on ordinary horses, he gave one of them a splendid winged creature to ride; a fiery steed with eyes of flame, and the great pinions of an eagle. this creature's name was hippogrif. let me tell you how prince roger caught the hippogrif, and then you will want to know something about his queer journey. i may as well tell you that prince roger belonged to the saracens, and that he loved a lady of france named bradamante, also that an old enchanter had captured both the prince and the lady and gotten them into his power. they of course were planning a way of escape, and hoped to go off together, and be married, and live happily ever after, but this was not the intention of their captor. the two prisoners, who were allowed a good deal of liberty, were standing together one day, when bradamante said to roger: "look! there is the old man's hippogrif still standing quietly by us. i have a mind to catch him and take a ride on him, for he is mine by right of conquest since i have overcome his master." so she went toward the winged steed and stretched out her hand to take him by the bridle; but the hippogrif darted up into the air, and flew a hundred yards or so away before he settled again upon the ground. again and again she tried to catch him, but he always flew off before she could touch him, and then came down to earth a little distance away, where he waited for her to get near him again, just as you may see a butterfly flit from one cabbage-row to another, and always manage to keep a yard or two ahead of the boy who chases it. at last, however, he alighted close by the side of roger, whereupon the prince cried to his lady: "i will catch him and give him a ride to break him in for you;" and, seizing hold of the bridle in his left hand, he vaulted on to the back of the hippogrif, who stood still without attempting to escape, as if to acknowledge that here he had found his proper master. but the prince was no sooner fairly in the saddle than his strange steed shot up fifty feet straight into the air, and, taking the bit between his teeth, with a dozen flaps of his mighty wings carried his unwilling rider far away over the mountains and out of sight of the unfortunate bradamante. you must know that though roger was quite unable to hold his hippogrif, and soon gave up the attempt in despair, the winged monster was really guided by something stronger than bit or bridle, and every motion of his headlong flight was controlled by the will of an invisible master. the whole affair, in fact, was the work of the wonderful enchanter atlas, who was still persuaded that great dangers awaited his beloved prince in the land of france, and determined to use all his cunning to remove him to a place of safety. with this design he had watched the noble lovers from his hiding place, and guided every movement of the hippogrif by the mere muttering of spells; and by the same means he still steered the creature's course through the air, for he was so powerful an enchanter that he could make his purpose take effect from one end of the earth to the other. in the old days of fairy lore, enchanters were very numerous, and always found plenty to do. roger had a firm seat and a heart that knew no fear, and at any other time would have enjoyed nothing better than such an exciting adventure; but now he was terribly vexed at being separated again from his beloved bradamante, and at being carried away from the land where agramant his king and the emperor charlemagne were mustering all their forces for the great struggle. however, there was no help for it, for the hippogrif flew through the air at such a pace that he soon left the realms of europe far behind him, and after a flight of a few hours he had carried the prince half round the globe. roger in fact found himself hovering over the fortunate islands, which lie in the far eastern seas beyond the shores of india. here he checked his course, and descended in wide circles to the earth, and at length alighted on the largest and most beautiful island of all the group. green meadows and rich fields were here watered by clear streams; and lovely groves of palm and myrtle, cedar and banyan, spread their thick shade over the gentle slopes of hill, and offered a refuge from the heat of the mid-day sun. birds of paradise flashed like jewels in the blazing light, and modest brown nightingales sang their sweet refrain to the conceited parrots, who sat admiring themselves among the branches; while under the trees hares and rabbits frisked merrily about, and stately stags led their graceful does to drink at the river banks. upon this fertile tract, which stretched down to the very brink of the sea, the hippogrif descended; and his feet no sooner touched the ground than prince roger leaped from his back, and made fast his bridle to the stem of a spreading myrtle-bush. then he took off his helmet and cuirass, and went to bathe his face and hands in the cool waters of the brook; for his pulses were throbbing from his swift ride, and he wanted nothing so much as an hour or two of repose. such rapid flying through the air is very wearying. could he have retained his wonderful horse, there is no knowing what splendid adventures might have befallen him, but at a critical moment, the hippogrif vanished, and prince roger had to fare as best he could on foot. after a time he met bradamante again, he left the saracen religion and became a christian, and he and bradamante were united in wedlock. he had formerly been a heathen. bradamante had a cousin named astulf, who finally by a series of events became the owner of the winged steed, and on this animal he made the queerest trip ever heard of, a journey to the mountains of the moon. the hippogrif soared up and up, and up, till tall palms looked like bunches of fern beneath him, and he penetrated belts of thick white clouds, and finally drew his bridle rein on summits laid out in lovely gardens, where flowers and fruit abounded, and the climate was soft and balmy as that of june. the traveler walked through a fine grove, in the centre of which rose a stately palace of the purest ivory, large enough to shelter a nation of kings within its walls, and ornamented throughout with carving more exquisite than that of an indian casket. while astulf was gazing on this scene of splendor he was approached by a man of noble and courteous aspect, dressed in the toga of an ancient roman, and bound about the brows with a laurel chaplet, who gave him grave and kindly salutation, saying: "hail, noble sir duke, and marvel not that i know who you are, or that i expected you to-day in these gardens. for this is the earthly paradise, where poets have their dwelling after death; and i am the mantuan virgil, who sang the deeds of ã�neas, and was the friend of the wise emperor augustus. but if you wish to know the reason of your coming hither, it is appointed for you to get back the lost wits of the peerless count roland, whose senses have been put away in the moon among the rest of the earth's missing rubbish. now the mountains on the top of which we stand are called the mountains of the moon, because they are the only place from which an ascent to the moon is possible; and this very night i intend to guide you thither on your errand. but first, i pray you, take your dinner with us in our palace, for you have need of refreshment to prepare you for so strange a journey." i need hardly tell you that astulf was delighted at being chosen to go to the moon on so worthy a mission, and thanked the noble poet a thousand times for his courtesy and kindness. but virgil answered: "it is a pleasure to be of any service to such valiant warriors as count roland and yourself;" and thereupon he took the duke through the shady alleys to the ivory palace which stood in the midst of the garden. here was astulf conducted with much ceremony to a refectory where a banquet was spread. the great doors were thrown open, and the company of poets ranged themselves in two rows, while their king passed down between their ranks. he was a majestic old man with curly beard and hair, and his broad forehead was furrowed with lines that betokened a life of noble thought; but alas! he was totally blind, and leaned upon the shoulder of a beautiful greek youth who guided him. every head was bowed reverently as he passed, and virgil whispered to his guest: "that is homer, the father and king of poets." at the end of the refectory was a dais with a table at which homer took his seat, while another long table stretched down the middle of the hall; but astulf saw with surprise that three places were laid on the upper board, though the king was apparently to sit there alone. but virgil explained the reason, and said: "you must understand, sir duke, that it is our custom to lay a place for every poet who will ever ascend to this earthly paradise; and as yet there is none here worthy to sit beside our father homer. but after some five hundred and fifty years the seat at his left hand will be taken by the florentine dante, who will find here the rest and happiness denied to him in his lifetime. the place on the right of the king, however, will remain vacant three hundred years more; but then it will be filled by a countryman of your own, and shakespeare will receive the honor due to him as the third great poet of the world." with these words virgil took his seat at the head of the lower table, and motioned astulf to an empty place at his right hand, saying: "this seat also will remain a long while vacant, being kept for another of your countrymen, who will come hither after more than a thousand years. he will be reviled and slandered in his lifetime; but after his death the very fools who abused him will pretend to admire and understand him, while here among his brethren he will be welcomed with joy and high honor." so astulf sat in the seat of this poet to be honored in the future, and made a hearty dinner off nectar and ambrosia, "which are mighty fine viands," as he afterward told his friends at home; "but a hungry man, on the whole, would prefer good roast beef and a slice of plum pudding for a steady diet." dinner being over, the pilgrim was led by the obliging poet to a pathway past the silent and lonesome river of oblivion, where most mortal names and fames are forever lost, only a few being rescued from its waves and set on golden scrolls in the temple of immortality. now when they had looked on for a while at this notable sight they left the river oblivion and proceeded to the valley of lost lumber. it was a long though narrow valley shut in between two lofty mountain ridges, and in it were stored away all the things which men lose or waste on earth. here they found an infinite number of lovers' sighs, beyond which lay the useless moments lost in folly and crime, and the long wasted leisure of ignorant and idle men. next came the vain desires and foolish wishes that can never take effect, and these were heaped together in such quantities that they blocked up the greater part of the valley. here, too, were mountains of gold and silver which foolish politicians throw away in bribing voters to return them to congress; a little farther on was an enormous pile of garlands with steel gins concealed among their flowers, which virgil explained to be flatteries; while a heap of grasshoppers which had burst themselves in keeping up their shrill, monotonous chirp, represented, he said, the dedications and addresses which servile authors used to write in praise of unworthy patrons. in the middle of the valley lay a great pool of spilt broth, and this signified the alms which rich men are too selfish to give away in their lifetime but bequeath to charities in their wills, to be paid out of money they can no longer use. next astulf came upon numbers of beautiful dolls from paris, which little girls throw aside because they prefer their dear old bundles of rags with beads for eyes; and one of the biggest hillocks in all the place was formed of a pile of knives lost out of careless schoolboys' pockets. now, when astulf grew old and had boys and girls of his own, they used to clamber on his knee in the twilight and ask for a story, and oh! how they wished for the hippogrif. sometimes the old knight said that the hippogrif was dead, but i have known people to shut their eyes and climb on his back, and cling to his mane, and go flying over the ocean and the hills clear through to the other end of the world. for hippogrif is only a name for fancy, and the valley of lost lumber and the river of oblivion and the temple of immortality exist for every one of us. freedom's silent host. by margaret e. sangster. there are many silent sleepers in our country here and there, heeding not our restless clamor, bugle's peal nor trumpet's blare. soft they slumber, past forever earthly care. o'er their beds the grasses creeping weave a robe of royal fold, and the daisies add their homage, flinging down a cloth of gold. soft they slumber, once the gallant and the bold. oft as spring, with dewy fingers, brings a waft of violet, sweet arbutus, dainty primrose, on their lowly graves we set. soft they slumber, we their lives do not forget. childish hands with rose and lily showering the furrows green, childish songs that lift and warble where the sleepers lie serene (soft they slumber) tell how true our hearts have been. wave the dear old flag above them, play the sweet old bugle call, and because they died in honor o'er them let the flowerets fall. soft they slumber, dreaming, stirring not at all. freedom's host of silent sleepers, where they lie is holy ground, heeding not our restless clamor, musket's rattle, trumpet's sound. soft they slumber, ever wrapped in peace profound. presence of mind. by margaret e. sangster. such a forlorn little sunbonnet bobbing here and there among the bean poles in the garden back of mr. mason's house! it seemed as if the blue gingham ruffles and the deep cape must know something about the troubled little face they hid away, for they hung in a limp fashion that was enough to tell anybody who saw them just how badly the wearer of the sunbonnet was feeling. she had, as she thought, more than her share of toil and trouble in this busy world, and to-day she had a specially good reason to carry a heavy heart in her little breast. all morningside was in a perfect flutter of anticipation and excitement. there had never been a lawn party in the little village before, and effie dean, twelve years old to-day, was to have a lawn party, to which every child for miles, to say nothing of a gay troop of cousins and friends from the city, had been invited. everybody was going, of course. the deans had taken for the season a beautiful old homestead, the owners of which were in europe. they were having gala times there, and they managed to draw all the young folks of the village in to share them. all, indeed, except one little girl. cynthia mason did not expect to go to many festivities, but with her whole heart she longed to see what a lawn party might be. the very name sounded beautiful to her, and she said it over and over wistfully as she went slowly down the door-yard between the tigerlilies and the hollyhocks, through the rough gate which hung so clumsily on its leathern hinges, and, with her basket by her side, began her daily task of picking beans. cynthia mason had no mother. her father loved his little daughter and was kind to her, but he was a silent man, who was not very successful, and who had lost hope when his wife had died. people said he had never been the same man since then. his sister, cynthia's aunt kate, was an active, stirring woman, who liked to be busy herself and to hurry other people. she kept the house as clean as a new pin, had the meals ready to the moment, and saw that everybody's clothing was washed and mended; but she never felt as if she had time for the kissing and petting which is to some of us as needful as our daily food. in her way she was fond of cynthia, and would have taken good care of the child if she had been ill or crippled. but as her niece was perfectly well, and not in want of salts or senna, aunt kate was often rather tried with her fondness for dreaming in the daytime, or dropping down to read a bit from the newspaper in the midst of the sweeping and dusting. there were, in truth, a good many worries in the little weather-beaten house, and miss mason had her own trouble in making both ends meet. she was taking summer boarders now to help along, and when cynthia had asked her if she might go to effie's party, the busy woman had been planning how to crowd another family from new york into the already well-filled abode, so she had curtly replied: "go to a lawn party! what nonsense! why, no child. you cannot be spared." and she had thought no more about it. "step around quickly this morning, cynthy," she called from the buttery window. "beans take for ever and ever to cook, you know. i can't imagine what's got into the child," she said to herself. "she walks as if her feet were shod with lead." the blue gingham sunbonnet kept on bobbing up and down among the bean poles, when suddenly there was a rush and a rustle, two arms were thrown around cynthia's waist, and a merry voice said: "you never heard me, did you, till i was close by? you're going to the party, of course, cynthy?" "no, lulu," was the sad answer. "there are new boarders coming, and aunt kate cannot do without me." "i never heard of such a thing!" cried eleven-year old lulu. "not going! cannot do without you! why, cynthy, it will be just splendid: tennis and croquet and games, and supper in a _tent_! ice cream and everything nice, and a birthday cake with a ring, and twelve candles on it. and there are to be musicians out of doors, and fireworks in the evening. why, there are men hanging the lanterns in the trees now--to see where they ought to be hung, i suppose," said practical lulu. "not let you go? i'm sure she will, if i ask her." lulu started bravely for the house, intent on pleading for her friend. but cynthia called her back. "don't go, lulu, dear. aunt kate is very busy this morning. she does not think i care so much, and she won't like it either, if she thinks i'm spending my time talking with you, when the beans ought to be on the fire. a bean dinner," observed cynthia, wisely, "takes so long to get ready." "does it?" said lulu, beginning to pick with all her might. she was a sweet little thing, and she hated to have her friend left out of the good time. as for cynthia, the sunbonnet fell back on her neck, showing a pair of soft eyes swimming with tears, and a sorrowful little mouth quivering in its determination not to cry. "i won't be a baby!" she said to herself, resolutely. presently there came a sharp call from the house. "cynthia elizabeth! are you never coming with those beans? make haste, child, do?" aunt kate said "cynthia elizabeth" only when her patience was almost gone; so, with a quick answer, "yes, aunt kate, i'm coming," cynthia left lulu and ran back to the buttery, sitting down, as soon as she reached it, to the weary task of stringing the beans. lulu, meanwhile, who was an idle little puss--her mother's pet--sauntered up the road and met effie dean's mother, who was driving by herself, and had stopped to gather some late wild roses. "if there isn't lulu pease!" she said. "lulu dear, won't you get those flowers for me? thank you so much. and you're coming this afternoon?" "yes, 'm," said lulu, with a dimple showing itself in each plump cheek; "but i'm so very sorry, mrs. dean, that my dearest friend, cynthy mason, has to stay at home. her aunt kate can't spare her. cynthy _never_ can go anywhere nor do anything like the rest of us." "cynthia mason? that's the pretty child with the pale face and dark eyes who sits in the pew near the minister's, isn't it?" said mrs. dean. "why, she must not stay at home to-day." and acting on a sudden impulse, the lady said good morning to lulu, took a brisk turn along the road and back, and presently drew rein at mr. mason's door. she came straight into the buttery, having rapped to give notice of her presence, and with a compliment to miss mason on the excellence of her butter, she asked whether that lady could supply her with a few more pounds next week; then her eyes falling on the little figure on the doorstep, she said: "by-the-way, miss mason, your niece is to be one of effie's guests to-day, is she not? can you, as a great favor, let her come home with me now? i have to drive to the centre on some errands, and cynthia, who is a helpful little woman, i can see, can be of so much use if you will part with her for the day. it will be very neighborly of you to say yes. i know it's a good deal to ask, but my own girls are very busy, and i wish you would let me keep cynthia until to-morrow. i'll take good care of her, and she shall be at home early. lend her to me, please?" mrs. dean, with much gentleness of manner, had the air of a person to whom nobody ever says no, and cynthia could hardly believe she heard aright when her aunt said, pleasantly: "cynthia's a good girl, but she's like all children--she needs to be kept at her work. she can go if you really wish it, mrs. dean, and i'll send for my cousin jenny to stay here to-day. there are new boarders coming," she said, to explain her need of outside assistance. miss mason prided herself on getting through her work alone; hired help she couldn't afford, but she would not have had any one "under-foot," as she expressed it, had money been plenty with her. "you are a wonderful woman," said mrs. dean, surveying the spotless tables and walls. "you are always so brisk, and such a perfect housekeeper! i wish, dear miss mason, you could look in on us yourself in the evening. it will be a pretty sight." miss mason was gratified. "run away, cynthia; put on your best frock, and don't keep mrs. dean waiting," she said. in spite of her independence, she was rather pleased that her boarders should see the low phaeton at her door, the brown horse with the silver-mounted harness, and the dainty lady, in her delicate gray gown and driving gloves, chatting affably while waiting for cynthia to dress. she offered mrs. dean a glass of her creamy milk, and it was gratefully accepted. cynthia came back directly. her preparations had not taken her long. her "best frock" was of green delaine with yellow spots--"a perfect horror" the lady thought; it had been purchased at a bargain by mr. mason, who knew nothing about what was suitable for a child. some lace was basted in the neck, and her one article of ornament, an old-fashioned coral necklace with a gold clasp, was fastened just under the lace. the stout country-made shoes were not becoming to the child's feet, nor was the rim of white stocking visible above them at all according to the present styles. she was pretty as a picture, but not in the least arrayed as the other girls would be, whether from elegant city homes or the ample farm houses round about. how her eyes sparkled and her color came and went when mrs. dean told her to step in and seat herself, then, following, took the reins, while bonny bess, the sagacious pony, who knew every tone of his mistress' voice, trotted merrily off! having secured her little guest, mrs. dean thought she would give her as much pleasure as she could. so they took a charming drive before pony's head was turned to the village. the phaeton glided swiftly over smooth, hard roads, between rich fields of corn, over a long bridge, and at last rolled into main street, where mrs. dean made so many purchases that the vehicle was soon quite crowded with packages and bundles. "now for home, my little one," said the lady, turning; and away they flew over hill and hollow till they reached the broad, wide open gates of the place known to everybody as fernbrake, and skimming gaily down the long flower-bordered avenue, they stopped at the door of the beautiful house. the verandas looked inviting with their easy chairs and rockers, but no one was sitting there, so cynthia followed her hostess shyly up the wide stairway, into a cool, airy room with white drapery at the windows, an upright piano standing open, and books everywhere, showing the taste of its occupants. oh, those books! cynthia's few story-books had been read until she knew them by heart. though in these days it was seldom she was allowed to sit with a book in her hand, a book-loving child always manages somehow to secure a little space for the coveted pleasure. and here were shelves just overflowing with dainty, gaily covered volumes, and low cases crowded, and books lying about on window-seats and lounges. mrs. dean observed the hungry, eager gaze, and taking off the wide-brimmed hat with its white ribbon bow and ends, she seated the little girl comfortably, and put a story into her hands, telling her to amuse herself until effie and florence should come. a half-hour sped by, and then, answering the summons of a bell in the distance, the two daughters of the house appeared, and cynthia was asked to go with them to luncheon. mrs. dean was a little worried about cynthia's dress, and was revolving in her mind whether she might not make her look more like the other children by lending her for the occasion a white dress of florrie's, when, to her regret, she observed that florrie's eyes were resting very scornfully on the faded green delaine and the stout coarse shoes. now if there is anything vulgar and unpardonable, it is this, children--that, being a hostess, you are ashamed of anything belonging to a guest. from the moment a guest enters your door he or she is sacred, and no true lady or gentlemen ever criticises, much less apologizes for, the dress of a visitor. mrs. dean was sorry to observe the sneer on florrie's usually sweet face, and glancing from it to cynthia's, she was struck with the contrast. never had cynthia in her life been seated at a table so beautiful. the tumblers of ruby and amber glass, the plates with their delicate fruit and flower decoration, every plate a picture, the bouquet in the centre reflected in a beautiful little round mirror, the pretty silver tubs filled with broken ice, the shining knives and forks, and the dainty tea equipage, were so charming that she felt like a princess in an enchanted castle. but she expressed no surprise. she behaved quietly, made no mistakes, used her knife and fork like a little lady, and was as unconscious of herself and her looks as the carnation pink is of its color and shape. mrs. dean meditated. she did not quite like to ask this child to wear a borrowed dress, and she felt that florrie needed to take a lesson in politeness. drawing the latter aside, she said, "my darling, i am sorry you should treat my little friend rudely; you have hardly spoken to her." "i can't help it, mamma. she isn't one of the set we go with. a little common thing like that! see what shoes she has on. and her hands are so red and coarse! they look as if she washed dishes for a living." "something very like it is the case, i'm afraid, florrie dear. i fear she has a very dull time at home. but the child is a little lady. i shall feel very much ashamed if she is more a lady than my own daughters. see, effie has made friends with her." "and so will i," said florrie. "forgive me, mamma, for being so silly." and the three girls had a pleasant chat before the visitors came, and grew so confidential that cynthia told effie and florrie about the one great shadow of her life--the mortgage which made her papa so unhappy, and was such a worry to poor aunt kate. she didn't know what it was; it seemed to her like some dreadful ogre always in the background ready to pounce on the little home. neither effie nor florrie knew, but they agreed with her that it must be something horrid, and effie promised to ask her own papa, who knew everything, all about it. "depend upon it, cynthia," said effie, "if papa can do anything to help you, he will. there's nobody like papa in the whole world." by and by the company began to arrive, and the wide grounds were gay with children in dainty summer costumes and bright silken sashes. musicians were stationed in an arbor, and their instruments sent forth tripping waltzes and polkas, and the children danced, looking like fairies as they floated over the velvet grass. when the beautiful old virginia reel was announced, even cynthia was led out, mr. dean himself, a grand gentleman with stately manners and a long brown beard, showing her the steps. cynthia felt as if she had been dancing with the president. cinderella at the ball was not less delighted, and this little cinderella, too, had a misgiving now and then about to-morrow, when she must go home to the housework and the boarders and the gathering of beans for dinner. yet that should not spoil the present pleasure. cynthia had never studied philosophy, but she knew enough not to fret foolishly about a trouble in the future when something agreeable was going on now. in her mother's little well-worn bible--one of her few treasures--cynthia had seen this verse heavily underscored: "take therefore no thought for the morrow: for the morrow shall take thought for the things of itself." she did not know what it meant. she would know some day. i cannot tell you about the supper, so delicious with its flavor of all that was sweet and fine, and the open-air appetite the children brought to it. after supper came the fireworks. they were simply bewildering. lulu, the staunch little friend who had gone to cynthia's in the morning, speedily found her out, and was in a whirl of joy that she was there. "how did you get away?" she whispered. "oh, mrs. dean came after me herself," returned cynthia, "and aunt kate couldn't say no to _her_." lulu gave cynthia's hand a squeeze of sympathy. "what made you bring your mamma's shawl?" asked cynthia, as she noticed that lulu was encumbered with a plaid shawl of the heaviest woolen, which she kept on her arm. "malaria," returned the child. "mamma's _so_ afraid of it and she said if i felt the teentiest bit of a chill i must wrap myself up. horrid old thing! i hate to lug it around with me. s'pose we sit on it, cynthy." they arranged it on the settee, and complacently seated themselves to enjoy the rockets, which soared in red and violet and silvery stars to the sky, then fell suddenly down and went out like lamps in a puff of wind. suddenly there was a stir, a shriek, a chorus of screams following it, from the group just around the fireworks. a pinwheel had exploded, sending a shower of sparks in every direction. all in a second, florrie dean flew past the girls, her white fluffy dress on fire. and quick as the fire itself, cynthia tore after her. well was it that the shabby green delaine was a woolen dress, that the stout shoes did not encumber the nimble feet, that the child's faculties were so alert. in a second she had seized the great shawl, and almost before any of the grown people had realized the child's peril, had smothered the flames by winding the thick folds over and over, round and round, the fleecy dress and the frightened child. florrie was only slightly burned, but cynthia's little hands were so blistered that they would neither wash dishes nor pick beans for many a day. mrs. dean bathed them in sweet oil and bandaged them from the air, then put cynthia to bed on a couch in a chamber opening out of her own room. from time to time in the night she went to see if the dear child was sleeping quietly, and mr. dean, standing and looking at her, said, "we owe this little one a great debt; her presence of mind saved florrie's life." early the next morning bonny bess trotted up to mr. mason's door without cynthia. aunt kate was feeling impatient for her return. she missed the willing little helper more than she had supposed possible. she had arranged half a dozen tasks for the day, in everyone of which she expected to employ cynthia, and she felt quite disappointed when she saw that mr. dean was alone. "another picnic for to-day, i suppose," she said to herself. "cynthia may just as well learn first as last that we cannot afford to let her go to such junketings often." but mr. dean broke in upon her thoughts by saying, blandly: "good morning, madam. will you kindly tell me where to find mr. mason?" "he's in the south meadow," she answered, civilly, pointing in that direction. "i see you've not brought cynthia home, mr. dean. i need her badly. mrs. dean promised to send her home early." "mrs. dean will call on you herself in the course of the day; and it is about cynthia that i wish to consult her father, my good lady," said mr. dean, lifting his hat, as if to a queen, as he drove toward the meadow. "well! well! well!" said aunt kate, feeling rather resentful, but on the whole rather pleased with the "good lady" and the courteously lifted hat. a charming manner is a wonderful magician in the way of scattering sunshine. the boarders, observing the little scene from the side porch, hoped that cynthia's outing was to be prolonged. one and all liked the handy, obliging little maiden who had so much womanly work to do and so scanty a time for childish play. when, however, at noon, mr. mason came home, holding his head up proudly and looking five years younger, and told how brave cynthia had been; when neighbor after neighbor, as the news flew over the place, stopped to congratulate the masons on the possession of such a little heroine--miss mason was at first puzzled, then triumphant. "you see what there is in bringing up," she averred. "i've never spoiled cynthy: i've trained her to be thoughtful and quick, and this is the result." when mrs. dean first proposed that cynthia should spend the rest of the summer at fernbrake, sharing the lessons and play with her own girls, aunt kate opposed the idea. she did not know how one pair of hands and feet was to do all that was to be done in that house. was she to send the boarders away, or how did her brother think she could get along. mr. mason said he could afford to hire help for his sister if she wished it, and in any event he meant that cynthia after this should go to school and study; for "thanks to her and to god"--he spoke reverently--"the mortgage was paid." mr. dean had taken that burden away because of florrie's life which cynthia had saved. under the new conditions cynthia grew very lovely in face as well as in disposition. it came to pass that she spent fully half her time with the deans; had all the books to read that she wanted, and saw her father and aunt kate so happy that she forgot the old days of worry and care, when she had sometimes felt lonely, and thought that they were cross. half the crossness in the world comes from sorrow and anxiety, and so children should bear with tired grown people patiently. as for lulu, she never ceased to be glad that her mamma's terror of malaria had obliged her to carry a great shawl to effie's lawn party. privately, too, she was glad that the shawl was so scorched that she never was asked to wear it anywhere again. the boy who went from the sheepfold to the throne. by margaret e. sangster. a great many years ago in the morning of the world there was a boy who began by taking care of flocks, and ended by ruling a nation. he was the youngest of a large family and his older brothers did not respect him very much nor think much of his opinion, though they were no doubt fond of the ruddy, round-faced little fellow, and proud of his great courage and of his remarkable skill in music. for the boy did not know what fear was, and once when he was alone in the high hill pasture taking care of the ewes and the lambs, there came prowling along a lion of the desert, with his soft padding steps, intent on carrying off a sheep for madam lioness and her cubs. the boy did not run, not he; but took the lamb out of the lion's mouth, seized the creature by the beard and slew him, and thus defended the huddling, frightened flock from that peril. he served the next enemy a big, blundering old bear, in the same way. when there were no wild beasts creeping up to the rim of the fire he made near his little tent, the lad would amuse himself by playing on the flute, or the jewsharp he carried; and at home, when the father and sons were gathered around in silence, he used to play upon his larger harp so sweetly that all bad thoughts fled, and everybody was glad and at peace with the world. one day an aged man with snowy hair and a look of great dignity and presence came to the boy's father's house. he proved to be a great prophet named samuel, and he was received with much honor. in the course of his visit he asked to see the entire family, and one by one the tall and beautiful sons were presented to him until he had seen seven young men. "is this all your household? have you not another son?" he inquired. "yes," said jesse the bethlehemite, who by the way was a grandson of that beautiful maiden, ruth, who came out of moab with naomi, "yes, i have still a son, but he is only a youth, out in the fields; you would not wish to see _him_." but this was a mistake. "pray, send for him," answered the prophet. then david, for this was his name, came in, modest yet eager, with his pleasant face and his dark kindling eyes. and the prophet said, "this is the lord's anointed," and then in a ceremony which the simple family seem not to have quite understood, he set the boy apart by prayer and blessing, poured the fragrant oil of consecration on his head, and said in effect that in days to come he would be the king of israel. david went back to his fields and his sheep and for a long while nothing happened. but there arose against israel in due time a nation of warlike people, called "the philistines." nearly all the strong young men of the country went out to fight against these invaders, and among them went the sons of old jesse. nobody stayed at home except the old men, the women and the younger boys and little ones. the whole country was turned into a moving camp, and there arrived a time before long when israel and the philistines each on a rolling hill, with a valley between them, set their battle in array. i once supposed that battles were fought on open plains, with soldiers confronting one another in plain sight, as we set out toy regiments of wooden warriors to fight for children's amusement. but since then, in my later years, i have seen the old battlefields of our civil war and i know better. soldiers fight behind trees and barns and fences, and in the shelter of hedges and ditches, and a timbered mountain side makes a fine place for a battle ground. now i will quote a passage or two from a certain old book, which tells this part of the story in much finer style than i can. the old book is a familiar one, and is full of splendid stories for all the year round. i wish the young people who read this holiday book would make a point hereafter of looking every day in that treasure-house, the bible. and there went out a champion out of the camp of the philistines, named goliath, of gath, whose height was six cubits and a span. and he had a helmet of brass upon his head, and he was armed with a coat of mail; and the weight of the coat was five thousand shekels of brass. and he had greaves of brass upon his legs, and a target of brass between his shoulders. and the staff of his spear was like a weaver's beam; and his spear's head weighed six hundred shekels of iron: and one bearing a shield went before him. and he stood and cried unto the armies of israel, and said unto them, why are ye come out to set your battle in array? am not i a philistine, and ye servants to saul? choose you a man for you, and let him come down to me. if he be able to fight with me, and to kill me, then will we be your servants: but if i prevail against him, and kill him, then shall ye be our servants, and serve us. and the philistine said, i defy the armies of israel this day; give me a man, that we may fight together. when saul and all israel heard those words of the philistine, they were dismayed, and greatly afraid. now david was the son of that ephrathite of bethlehem-judah, whose name was jesse; and he had eight sons: and the man went among men for an old man in the days of saul. and the three eldest sons of jesse went and followed saul to the battle: and the names of his three sons that went to the battle were eliab the first-born, and next unto him abinadab, and the third shammah. and david was the youngest: and the three eldest followed saul. but david went and returned from saul to feed his father's sheep at beth-lehem. and the philistine drew near morning and evening, and presented himself forty days. and jesse said unto david his son, take now for thy brethren an ephah of this parched corn, and these ten loaves, and run to the camp to thy brethren; and carry these ten cheeses unto the captain of their thousand, and look how thy brethren fare, and take their pledge. now saul, and they, and all the men of israel, were in the valley of elah, fighting with the philistines. and david rose up early in the morning, and left the sheep with a keeper, and took, and went, as jesse had commanded him; and he came to the trench, as the host was going forth to the fight, and shouted for the battle. for israel and the philistines had put the battle in array, army against army. and david left his carriage in the hand of the keeper of the carriage, and ran into the army, and came and saluted his brethren. and as he talked with them, behold, there came up the champion, the philistine of gath, goliath by name, out of the armies of the philistines, and spake according to the same words: and david heard them. and all the men of israel, when they saw the man, fled from him, and were sore afraid. and the men of israel said, have ye seen this man that is come up? surely to defy israel is he come up: and it shall be, that the man who killeth him, the king will enrich him with great riches, and will give him his daughter, and make his father's house free in israel. and david spake to the men that stood by him saying, what shall be done to the man that killeth this philistine, and taketh away the reproach from israel? for who is this uncircumcised philistine, that he should defy the armies of the living god? by "carriage" is meant luggage, the things david had brought for his brothers, not a conveyance as in our modern sense. the brothers were angry when they found david putting himself forward, in a way which they thought absurd, but their taunts did not deter him from presenting himself to king saul, who was pleased with the gallant boy, and proposed to arm him with his own armor, a coat of mail, greaves of brass and the like. but "no," said david, "i would feel clumsy and awkward in your accoutrements, i will meet the giant with my shepherd's sling and stone, in the name of the lord god of israel whom he has defied." the giant came blustering out with a tread that shook the ground. when he saw his little antagonist he was vexed, for this seemed to him no foeman worthy of his spear. but when the conflict was really on, lo! the unerring eye and hand of david sent his pebble from the brook straight into the giant's head, and the victory was with israel. and after that, david went to the palace and played sweetly on the harp to charm and soothe the madness of king saul, on whom there came by spells a fierce and terrible malady. he formed a close friendship with jonathan, the king's son, a friendship which has passed into a proverb, so tender it was and so true. after a while he married the king's daughter. he had a great many wonderful adventures and strange experiences, and in time he became king himself, as the lord by his prophet samuel had foretold and chosen him to be. but better than all, david's deeds of valor and the great fame he had among the nations, which abides to this day, was, in my mind, the fact that he wrote many of the psalms which we use in our public worship, this, the twenty-third, is one of the very sweetest of them all: the lord is my shepherd; i shall not want. he maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters. he restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake. yea, though i walk through the valley of the shadow of death, i will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me. thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over. surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and i will dwell in the house of the lord for ever. you must not think that david's life was ever an easy one. he always had hard battles to fight. once, for quite a long period, he was an outlaw, much like robin hood of a later day, and with a band of brave young men he lived in the woods and the mountains, defending the property of his friends from other outlaws, and sometimes perhaps making forays against his foes, sweeping off their cattle and burning their tents and houses. those were wild and exciting days, when the battle was for the strongest to win, and when many things were done of which in our modern times we cannot wholly approve. the thing about david which pleases me most is that he had a rare quality called magnanimity; he did not take a mean advantage of an enemy, and when, as occasionally it must be owned, he did commit a great sin, his repentance was deep and sincere. he lived in so much communion with god, that god spoke of him always as his servant, and he has been called, to distinguish him from other heroes in the bible gallery, "the man after god's own heart." whatever duties or trials came to david, they were met in a spirit of simple trust in the lord, and with a child-like dependence on god's will. david had many children, some very good and some very bad. his son absalom was renowned for his beauty and for his wickedness, while solomon became famous, and so continues to this day as the wisest among men, a man rich, far-sighted and exalted, who reigned long in jerusalem after the death of david, his father, who passed away in a good old age. wonderful lives are these to read and to think of, full of meaning for every one of us. and many, many years after both these men and their successors were gone there came to our earth, one born of a virgin, who traced his mortal lineage back to david of bethlehem, and who brought goodwill and peace to men. even christ our blessed lord. 