SHORT STORY

THE POT OF GOLD

AND OTHER STORIES

BY

MARY E. WILKINS

Author of "A New England Nun, " "A Humble Romance, " etc. 

_ILLUSTRATED_

BOSTON D LOTHROP COMPANY 1893

COPYRIGHT, 1892, BY D. LOTHROP COMPANY. 

SHORT STORY

CONTENTS. 

THE POT OF GOLDTHE COW WITH GOLDEN HORNSPRINCESS ROSETTA AND THE POP-CORN MAN. I. THE PRINCESS ROSETTA II. THE POP-CORN MANTHE CHRISTMAS MONKSTHE PUMPKIN GIANTTHE CHRISTMAS MASQUERADEDILLTHE SILVER HENTOBYTHE PATCHWORK SCHOOLTHE SQUIRE'S SIXPENCEA PLAIN CASEA STRANGER IN THE VILLAGETHE BOUND GIRLDEACON THOMAS WALES'S WILLTHE ADOPTED DAUGHTER

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 

Flax looks into the Pot of Gold _Frontis. _The settle and the kettleDrusilla and her gold-horned cowA Knight of the Golden BeeThe princess was not in the basket!The bee guards patrolled the city"You!" cried the baron scornfullyBoth the king and queen were obliged to popGoing into the chapelThe boys read the noticeThe prince and Peter are examined by the monksThe boys at work in the convent gardenThe prince runs awayHe picked up an enormous young Plantagenet and threw it at himThey were all over the fieldThen the king knighted him on the spotThere never was anything like the fun at the mayor's Christmas ballTheir parents stared in great distress"I will go and tend my geese!"She sang it beautifullyA strange sad state of thingsNan returns with the umbrellasSuch frantic efforts to get awayDame Elizabeth stared with astonishmentThe count thinks himself insultedThe snow was quite deepTwo by twoThe snow man's housePuss-in-the-cornerTo the rescue"I'll put this right in your face and--melt you!"Letitia stood before uncle JackSchool children in PokonoketPokonoket in stormy weatherToby and the crazy loonToby ran till he was out of breathThe patchwork womanThe patchwork girlJulia was arrested on Christmas DayJulia entertains the ambassador through the keyholeThe grandmothers enjoy the Chinese toys"Six"--she began feebly"What!" said Squire Bean suddenlyLittle Patience obeys the squire's summonsWatching for the coach"Just look here!" said Willy's sweet voiceThe little strangerShe almost fainted from cold and exhaustionA conveyance is found

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THE POT OF GOLD. 

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THE POT OF GOLD. 

The Flower family lived in a little house in a broad grassy meadow, which sloped a few rods from their front door down to a gentle, silvery river. Right across the river rose a lovely dark greenmountain, and when there was a rainbow, as there frequently was, nothing could have looked more enchanting than it did rising fromthe opposite bank of the stream with the wet, shadowy mountain for abackground. All the Flower family would invariably run to their frontwindows and their door to see it. 

The Flower family numbered nine: Father and Mother Flower and sevenchildren. Father Flower was an unappreciated poet, Mother Flower wasvery much like all mothers, and the seven children were very sweet andinteresting. Their first names all matched beautifully with their lastname, and with their personal appearance. For instance, the oldestgirl, who had soft blue eyes and flaxen curls, was called Flax Flower;the little boy, who came next, and had very red cheeks and loved tosleep late in the morning, was called Poppy Flower, and so on. Thischarming suitableness of their names was owing to Father Flower. Hehad a theory that a great deal of the misery and discord in the worldcomes from things not matching properly as they should; and he thoughtthere ought to be a certain correspondence between all things thatwere in juxtaposition to each other, just as there ought to be betweenthe last two words of a couplet of poetry. But he found, very often, there was no correspondence at all, just as words in poetry do notalways rhyme when they should. However, he did his best to remedyit. He saw that every one of his children's names were suitableand accorded with their personal characteristics; and in hisflower-garden--for he raised flowers for the market--only those ofcomplementary colors were allowed to grow in adjoining beds, and, asoften as possible, they rhymed in their names. But that was a moredifficult matter to manage, and very few flowers were rhymed, or, ifthey were, none rhymed correctly. He had a bed of box next to one ofphlox, and a trellis of woodbine grew next to one of eglantine, and athicket of elder-blows was next to one of rose; but he was forcedto let his violets and honeysuckles and many others go entirelyunrhymed--this disturbed him considerably, but he reflected that itwas not his fault, but that of the man who made the language and namedthe different flowers--he should have looked to it that those ofcomplementary colors had names to rhyme with each other, then allwould have been harmonious and as it should have been. 

Father Flower had chosen this way of earning his livelihood when herealized that he was doomed to be an unappreciated poet, because itsuited so well with his name; and if the flowers had only rhymed alittle better he would have been very well contented. As it was, henever grumbled. He also saw to it that the furniture in his littlehouse and the cooking utensils rhymed as nearly as possible, thoughthat too was oftentimes a difficult matter to bring about, andrequired a vast deal of thought and hard study. The table always stoodunder the gable end of the roof, the foot-stool always stood where itwas cool, and the big rocking-chair in a glare of sunlight; the lamp, too, he kept down cellar where it was damp. But all these were ratherfar-fetched, and sometimes quite inconvenient. Occasionally therewould be an article that he could not rhyme until he had spent yearsof thought over it, and when he did it would disturb the comfortof the family greatly. There was the spider. He puzzled over thatexceedingly, and when he rhymed it at last, Mother Flower or one ofthe little girls had always to take the spider beside her, when shesat down, which was of course quite troublesome. The kettle he rhymedfirst with nettle, and hung a bunch of nettle over it, till all thechildren got dreadfully stung. Then he tried settle, and hung thekettle over the settle. But that was no place for it; they had to gowithout their tea, and everybody who sat on the settle bumped his headagainst the kettle. At last it occurred to Father Flower that if heshould make a slight change in the language the kettle could rhymewith the skillet, and sit beside it on the stove, as it ought, leavingharmony out of the question, to do. Accordingly all the children wereinstructed to call the skillet a skettle, and the kettle stood by itsside on the stove ever afterward. 

[Illustration: The Settle]

The house was a very pretty one, although it was quite rude and verysimple. It was built of logs and had a thatched roof, which projectedfar out over the walls. But it was all overrun with the loveliestflowering vines imaginable, and, inside, nothing could have been moreexquisitely neat and homelike; although there was only one room and alittle garret over it. All around the house were the flower-beds andthe vine-trellises and the blooming shrubs, and they were always inthe most beautiful order. Now, although all this was very pretty tosee, and seemingly very simple to bring to pass, yet there was a vastdeal of labor in it for some one; for flowers do not look so trim andthriving without tending, and houses do not look so spotlessly cleanwithout constant care. All the Flower family worked hard; even thelittlest children had their daily tasks set them. The oldest girl, especially, little Flax Flower, was kept busy from morning till nighttaking care of her younger brothers and sisters, and weeding flowers. But for all that she was a very happy little girl, as indeed werethe whole family, as they did not mind working, and loved each otherdearly. 

Father Flower, to be sure, felt a little sad sometimes; for, althoughhis lot in life was a pleasant one, it was not exactly what he wouldhave chosen. Once in a while he had a great longing for somethingdifferent. He confided a great many of his feelings to Flax Flower;she was more like him than any of the other children, and couldunderstand him even better than his wife, he thought. 

One day, when there had been a heavy shower and a beautiful rainbow, he and Flax were out in the garden tying up some rose-bushes, whichthe rain had beaten down, and he said to her how he wished he couldfind the Pot of Gold at the end of the rainbow. Flax, if you willbelieve me, had never heard of it; so he had to tell her all about it, and also say a little poem he had made about it to her. 

The poem ran something in this way:

 O what is it shineth so golden-clear At the rainbow's foot on the dark green hill? 'Tis the Pot of Gold, that for many a year Has shone, and is shining and dazzling still. And whom is it for, O Pilgrim, pray? For thee, Sweetheart, should'st thou go that way. 

Flax listened with her soft blue eyes very wide open. "I suppose if weshould find that pot of gold it would make us very rich, wouldn't it, father?" said she. 

"Yes, " replied her father; "we could then have a grand house, and keepa gardener, and a maid to take care of the children, and we should nolonger have to work so hard. " He sighed as he spoke, and tears stoodin his gentle blue eyes, which were very much like Flax's. "However, we shall never find it, " he added. 

"Why couldn't we run ever so fast when we saw the rainbow, " inquiredFlax, "and get the Pot of Gold?"

"Don't be foolish, child!" said her father; "you could not possiblyreach it before the rainbow was quite faded away!"

"True, " said Flax, but she fell to thinking as she tied up thedripping roses. 

The next rainbow they had she eyed very closely, standing out on thefront door-step in the rain, and she saw that one end of it seemedto touch the ground at the foot of a pine-tree on the side of themountain, which was quite conspicuous amongst its fellows, it was sotall. The other end had nothing especial to mark it. 

"I will try the end where the tall pine-tree is first, " said Flax toherself, "because that will be the easiest to find--if the Pot of Goldisn't there I will try to find the other end. "

A few days after that it was very hot and sultry, and at noon thethunder heads were piled high all around the horizon. 

"I don't doubt but we shall have showers this afternoon, " said FatherFlower, when he came in from the garden for his dinner. 

After the dinner-dishes were washed up, and the baby rocked to sleep, Flax came to her mother with a petition. 

"Mother, " said she, "won't you give me a holiday this afternoon?"

"Why, where do you want to go, Flax?" said her mother. 

"I want to go over on the mountain and hunt for wild flowers, " repliedFlax. 

"But I think it is going to rain, child, and you will get wet. "

"That won't hurt me any, mother, " said Flax, laughing. 

"Well, I don't know as I care, " said her mother, hesitatingly. "Youhave been a very good industrious girl, and deserve a little holiday. Only don't go so far that you cannot soon run home if a shower shouldcome up. "

So Flax curled her flaxen hair and tied it up with a blue ribbon, andput on her blue and white checked dress. By the time she was ready togo the clouds over in the northwest were piled up very high and black, and it was quite late in the afternoon. Very likely her mother wouldnot have let her gone if she had been at home, but she had taken thebaby, who had waked from his nap, and gone to call on her nearestneighbor, half a mile away. As for her father, he was busy in thegarden, and all the other children were with him, and they did notnotice Flax when she stole out of the front door. She crossed theriver on a pretty arched stone bridge nearly opposite the house, andwent directly into the woods on the side of the mountain. 

Everything was very still and dark and solemn in the woods. They knewabout the storm that was coming. Now and then Flax heard the leavestalking in queer little rustling voices. She inherited the ability tounderstand what they said from her father. They were talking to eachother now in the words of her father's song. Very likely he had heardthem saying it sometime, and that was how he happened to know it, "O what is it shineth so golden-clear At the rainbow's foot on the dark green hill?"

Flax heard the maple leaves inquire. And the pine-leaves answeredback:

 "'Tis the Pot of Gold, that for many a year Has shone, and is shining and dazzling still. "

Then the maple-leaves asked:

 "And whom is it for, O Pilgrim, pray?"

And the pine-leaves answered:

 "For thee, Sweetheart, should'st thou go that way. "

Flax did not exactly understand the sense of the last question andanswer between maple and pine-leaves. But they kept on saying itover and over as she ran along. She was going straight to the tallpine-tree. She knew just where it was, for she had often been there. Now the rain-drops began to splash through the green boughs, and thethunder rolled along the sky. The leaves all tossed about in a strongwind and their soft rustles grew into a roar, and the branches and thewhole tree caught it up and called out so loud as they writhed andtwisted about that Flax was almost deafened, the words of the song:

 "O what is it shineth so golden-clear?"

Flax sped along through the wind and the rain and the thunder. She wasvery much afraid that she should not reach the tall pine which wasquite a way distant before the sun shone out, and the rainbow came. 

The sun was already breaking through the clouds when she came in sightof it, way up above her on a rock. The rain-drops on the trees beganto shine like diamonds, and the words of the song rushed out fromtheir midst, louder and sweeter:

 "O what is it shineth so golden-clear?"

Flax climbed for dear life. Red and green and golden rays were alreadyfalling thick around her, and at the foot of the pine-tree somethingwas shining wonderfully clear and bright. 

At last she reached it, and just at that instant the rainbow became aperfect one, and there at the foot of the wonderful arch of glory wasthe Pot of Gold. Flax could see it brighter than all the brightness ofthe rainbow. She sank down beside it and put her hand on it, then sheclosed her eyes and sat still, bathed in red and green and violetlight--that, and the golden light from the Pot, made her blind anddizzy. As she sat there with her hand on the Pot of Gold at the footof the rainbow, she could hear the leaves over her singing louder andlouder, till the tones fairly rushed like a wind through her ears. Butthis time they only sang the last words of the song:

 "And whom is it for, O Pilgrim, pray? For thee, Sweetheart, should'st thou go that way. "

At last she ventured to open her eyes. The rainbow had faded almostentirely away, only a few tender rose and green shades were archingover her; but the Pot of Gold under her hand was still there, andshining brighter than ever. All the pine needles with which the groundaround it was thickly spread, were turned to needles of gold, and somestray couplets of leaves which were springing up through them were allgilded. 

Flax bent over it trembling and lifted the lid off the pot. Sheexpected, of course, to find it full of gold pieces that would buy thegrand house and the gardener and the maid that her father had spokenabout. But to her astonishment, when she had lifted the lid off andbent over the Pot to look into it, the first thing she saw was theface of her mother looking out of it at her. It was smaller of course, but just the same loving, kindly face she had left at home. Then, asshe looked longer, she saw her father smiling gently up at her, thencame Poppy and the baby and all the rest of her dear little brothersand sisters smiling up at her out of the golden gloom inside the Pot. At last she actually saw the garden and her father in it tying up theroses, and the pretty little vine-covered house, and, finally, shecould see right into the dear little room where her mother sat withthe baby in her lap, and all the others around her. 

Flax jumped up. "I will run home, " said she, "it is late, and I dowant to see them all dreadfully. "

So she left the Golden Pot shining all alone under the pine-tree, andran home as fast as she could. 

When she reached the house it was almost twilight, but her father wasstill in the garden. Every rose and lily had to be tied up after theshower, and he was but just finishing. He had the tin milk pan hungon him like a shield, because it rhymed with man. It certainly was abeautiful rhyme, but it was very inconvenient. Poor Mother Flowerwas at her wits' end to know what to do without it, and it was veryawkward for Father Flower to work with it fastened to him. 

Flax ran breathlessly into the garden, and threw her arms around herfather's neck and kissed him. She bumped her nose against the milkpan, but she did not mind that; she was so glad to see him again. Somehow, she never remembered being so glad to see him as she was nowsince she had seen his face in the Pot of Gold. 

"Dear father, " cried she, "how glad I am to see you! I found the Potof Gold at the end of the rainbow!"

Her father stared at her in amazement. 

"Yes, I did, truly, father, " said she. "But it was not full of gold, after all. You was in it, and mother and the children and the houseand garden and--everything. "

"You were mistaken, dear, " said her father, looking at her with hisgentle, sorrowful eyes. "You could not have found the true end of therainbow, nor the true Pot of Gold--that is surely full of the mostbeautiful gold pieces, with an angel stamped on every one. "

"But I did, father, " persisted Flax. 

"You had better go into your mother, Flax, " said her father; "she willbe anxious to see you. I know better than you about the Pot of Gold atthe end of the rainbow. "

So Flax went sorrowfully into the house. There was the tea-kettlesinging beside the "skettle, " which had some nice smelling soup in it, the table was laid for supper, and there sat her mother with the babyin her lap and the others all around her--just as they had looked inthe Pot of Gold. 

Flax had never been so glad to see them before--and if she didn't hugand kiss them all!

"I found the Pot of Gold at the end of the rainbow, mother, " criedshe, "and it was not full of gold, at all; but you and father and thechildren looked out of it at me, and I saw the house and garden andeverything in it. "

Her mother looked at her lovingly. "Yes, Flax dear, " said she. 

"But father said I was mistaken, " said Flax, "and did not find it. "

"Well, dear, " said her mother, "your father is a poet, and very wise;we will say no more about it. You can sit down here and hold the babynow, while I make the tea. "

Flax was perfectly ready to do that; and, as she sat there with herdarling little baby brother crowing in her lap, and watched her prettylittle brothers and sisters and her dear mother, she felt so happythat she did not care any longer whether she had found the true Pot ofGold at the end of the rainbow or not. 

But, after all, do you know, I think her father was mistaken, and thatshe had. 

THE COW WITH GOLDEN HORNS. 

Once there was a farmer who had a very rare and valuable cow. Therewas not another like her in the whole kingdom. She was as white asthe whitest lily you ever saw, and her horns, which curved verygracefully, were of gold. 

She had a charming green meadow, with a silvery pool in the middle, tofeed in. Almost all the grass was blue-eyed grass, too, and there wereyellow lilies all over the pool. 

The farmer's daughter, who was a milkmaid, used to tend thegold-horned cow. She was a very pretty girl. Her name was Drusilla. She had long flaxen hair, which hung down to her ankles in two smoothbraids, tied with blue ribbons. She had blue eyes and pink cheeks, andshe wore a blue petticoat, with garlands of rose-buds all over it, anda white dimity short gown, looped up with bunches of roses. Her hatwas a straw flat, with a wreath of rose-buds around it, and she alwayscarried a green willow branch in her hand to drive the cow with. 

She used to sit on a bank near the silvery pool, and watch thegold-horned cow, and sing to herself all day from the time the dew wassparkling over the meadow in the morning, till it fell again at night. Then she would drive the cow gently home, with her green willow stick, milk her, and feed her, and put her into her stable, herself, for thenight. 

The farmer was feeble and old, so his daughter had to do all this. Thegold-horned cow's stable was a sort of a "lean-to, " built into theside of the cottage where Drusilla and her father lived. Its roof, aswell as that of the cottage, was thatched and overgrown with moss, outof which had grown, in its turn, a little starry white flower, untilthe whole roof looked like a flower-bed. There were roses climbingover the walls of the cottage and stable, also, pink and white ones. 

Drusilla used to keep the gold-horned cow's stable in exquisite order. Her trough to eat out of, was polished as clean as a lady's chinatea-cup. She always had fresh straw, and her beautiful long tail wastied by a blue ribbon to a ring in the ceiling, in order to keep itnice. 

The gold-horned cow's milk was better than any other's, as one wouldreasonably suppose it to have been. The cream used to be at least aninch thick, and so yellow; and the milk itself had a peculiar andexquisite flavor--perhaps the best way to describe it, is to say ittasted as lilies smell. The gentry all about were eager to buy it, and willing to pay a good price for it. Drusilla used to go around tosupply her customers, nights and mornings, a bright, shining milk-pailin each hand, and one on her head. She had learned to carry herself sosteadily in consequence that she walked like a queen. 

[Illustration: DRUSILLA AND HER GOLD-HORNED COW. ]

Everybody admired Drusilla, and all the young shepherds and farmersmade love to her, but she did not seem to care for any of them, but toprefer tending her gold-horned cow, and devoting herself to her oldfather--she was a very dutiful daughter. 

Everything went prosperously with them for a long time; the cowthrived, and gave a great deal of milk, customers were plenty, theypaid the rent for their cottage regularly, and Drusilla who was abeautiful spinner, had her linen chest filled to the brim with thefinest linen. 

At length, however, a great misfortune befell them. One morning--itwas the day after a holiday--Drusilla, who had been up very late thenight before dancing on the village green, felt very sleepy, as shesat watching the cow in the green meadow. So she just laid her flaxenhead down amongst the blue-eyed grasses, and soon fell fast asleep. 

When she woke up, the dew was all dried off, and the sun almostdirectly overhead. She rubbed her eyes, and looked about for thegold-horned cow. To her great alarm, she was nowhere to be seen. Shejumped up, distractedly, and ran over the meadow, but the gold-hornedcow was certainly not there. The bars were up, just as she had leftthem, and there was not a gap in the stonewall which extended aroundthe meadow. How could she have gotten out? It was very mysterious!

Drusilla, when she found, certainly, that the gold-horned cow wasgone, lost no time in wonderment and conjecture; she started forth tofind her. "I will not tell father till I have searched a long time, "said she to herself. 

So, down the road she went, looking anxiously on either side. "Ifonly I could come in sight of her, browsing in the clover, beside thewall, " sighed she; but she did not. 

After a while, she saw a great cloud of dust in the distance. Itrolled nearer and nearer, and finally she saw the King on horseback, with a large party of nobles galloping after him. The King, who wasquite an old man, had a very long, curling, white beard, and had hisbreast completely covered with orders and decorations. No convenientboard fence on a circus day was ever more thoroughly covered withelephants and horses, and trapeze performers, than the breast of theKing's black velvet coat with jeweled stars and ribbons. But eventhen, there was not room for all his store, so he had hit upon theingenious expedient of covering a black silk umbrella with theremainder. He held it in a stately manner over his head now, and itpresented a dazzling sight; for it was literally blazing with gems, and glittering ribbons fluttered from it on all sides. 

When the King saw Drusilla courtesying by the side of the road, hedrew rein so suddenly, that his horse reared back on its haunches, andall his nobles, who always made it a point to do exactly as the Kingdid--it was court etiquette--also drew rein suddenly, and all theirhorses reared back on their haunches. 

"What will you, pretty maiden?" asked the King graciously. 

"Please, your Majesty, " said Drusilla courtesying and blushing andlooking prettier than ever, "have you seen my gold-horned cow?"

"Pardy, " said the King, for that was the proper thing for a King tosay, you know, "I never saw a gold-horned cow in my life!"

Then Drusilla told him about her loss, and the King gazed at her whileshe was talking, and admired her more and more. 

You must know that it had always been a great cross to the King andhis wife, the Queen, that they had never had any daughter. They hadoften thought of adopting one, but had never seen any one who exactlysuited them. They wanted a full-grown Princess, because they had analliance with the Prince of Egypt in view. 

The King looked at Drusilla now, and thought her the most beautifuland stately maiden he had ever seen. 

"What an appropriate Princess she would make!" thought he. 

"Suppose I should find the gold-horned cow for you, " said he toDrusilla, when she had finished her pitiful story, "would you consentto be adopted by the Queen and myself, and be a princess?"

Drusilla hesitated a moment. She thought of her dear old fatherand how desolate he would be without her. But then she thought howterribly distressed he would be at the loss of the gold-horned cow, and that if he had her back, she would be company for him, even if hisdaughter was away, and she finally gave her consent. 

The King always had his Lord Chamberlain lead a white palfrey, withrich housings, by the bridle, in case they came across a suitablefull-grown Princess in any of their journeys; and now he ordered himto be brought forward, and commanded a page to assist Drusilla to thesaddle. 

But she began to weep. "I want to go back to my father, until you havefound the cow, your Majesty, " said she. 

"You may go and bid your father good-by, " replied the King, peremptorily, "but then you must go immediately to the boardingschool, where all the young ladies of the Court are educated. If youare going to be a Princess, it is high time you began to prepare. Youwill have to learn feather stitching, and rick-rack and Kensingtonstitch, and tatting, and point lace, and Japanese patchwork, and painting on china, and how to play variations on the piano, and--everything a Princess ought to know. "

"But, " said Drusilla timidly, "suppose--your Majesty shouldn't--findthe cow"--

"Oh! I shall find the cow fast enough, " replied the King carelessly. "Why, I shall have the whole Kingdom searched. I can't fail to findher. " So the page assisted the milkmaid to the saddle, kneelinggracefully, and presenting his hand for her to place her foot in, andthey galloped off toward the farmer's cottage. 

The old man was greatly astonished to see his daughter come ridinghome in such splendid company, and when she explained matters to him, his distress, at first, knew no bounds. To lose both his dear daughterand his precious gold-horned cow, at one blow, seemed too much tobear. But the King promised to provide liberally for him during hisdaughter's absence, and spoke very confidently of his being able tofind the cow. He also promised that Drusilla should return to him ifthe cow was not found in one year's time, and after a while the oldman was pacified. 

Drusilla put her arms around her father's neck and kissed himtenderly; then the page assisted her gracefully into the saddle, andshe rode, sobbing, away. 

After they had ridden about an hour, they came to a large, whitebuilding. 

"O dear!" said the King, "the seminary is asleep! I was afraid of it!"

Then Drusilla saw that the building was like a great solid mass, withnot a door or window visible. 

"It is asleep, " explained the King. "It is not a common house; a greatprofessor designed it. It goes to sleep, and you can't see any doorsor windows, and such work as it is to wake it up! But we may as wellbegin. "

Then he gave a signal, and all the nobles shouted as loud as theypossibly could, but the seminary still remained asleep. 

"It's asleep most of the time!" growled the King. "They don't want theyoung ladies disturbed at their feather stitching and rick-rack, byanything going on outside. I wish I could shake it. "

Then he gave the signal again, and all the nobles shouted together, as loud as they could possibly scream. Suddenly, doors and windowsappeared all over the seminary, like so many opening eyes. 

"There, " cried the King, "the seminary has woke up, and I am glad ofit!"

Then he ushered Drusilla in, and introduced her to the lady principaland the young ladies, and she was at once set to making daisies inKensington stitch, for the King was very anxious for her education tobegin at once. 

So now, the milkmaid, instead of sitting, singing, in a green meadow, watching her beautiful gold-horned cow, had to sit all day in ahigh-backed chair, her feet on a little foot-stool with an embroideredpussy cat on it, and do fancy work. The young ladies worked byelectric light; for the seminary was asleep nearly all the time, andno sunlight could get in at the windows, for boards clapped down overthem like so many eye-lids when the seminary began to doze. 

Drusilla had left off her pretty blue petticoat and white short gownnow, and was dressed in gold-flowered satin, with an immense train, which two pages bore for her when she walked. Her pretty hair wascombed high and powdered, and she wore a comb of gold and pearls init. She looked very lovely, but she also looked very sad. She couldnot help thinking, even in the midst of all this splendor, of her dearfather, and her own home, and wishing to see them. 

She was a very apt pupil. Her tatting collars were the admiration ofthe whole seminary, and she made herself a whole dress of rick-rack. She painted a charming umbrella stand for the King, and actuallyworked the gold-horned cow in Kensington stitch, on a blue satin tidy, for the Queen. It was so natural that she wept over it, herself, whenit was finished; but the Queen was delighted, and put it on her beststuffed rocking-chair in her parlor, and would run and throw it backevery time the King sat down there, for fear he would lean his headagainst it and soil it. 

Drusilla also worked an elegant banner of old gold satin, withhollyhocks, for the King to carry at the head of his troops when hewent to battle; also a hat-band for the Prince of Egypt. This last wassent by a special courier with a large escort, and the Prince sent anexquisite shopping-bag of real alligator's skin to Drusilla in return. She was the envy of the whole seminary when it came. 

The young ladies fared very delicately. Their one article of diet waspeaches and cream. It was thought to improve their complexions. Oncein a while, they went out to drive by moonlight; they were afraidof sunburn by day, and they wore white gauze veils, even in themoonlight, and they all had embroidered afghans of their ownhandiwork. 

They used to sit around a large table over which hung a chandelier ofthe electric light, to work, and some young lady either played "Home, sweet Home, and variations, " or else "The Maiden's Prayer, " on thepiano for their entertainment. 

It seemed as if Drusilla ought to have been happy in a place likethis; but although she was diligent and dutiful, she grieved all thetime for her father. 

Meantime, the King was keeping up an energetic search for thegold-horned cow. Every stable and pasture in the Kingdom was searched, spies were posted everywhere, but the King could not find her. She haddisappeared as completely as if she had vanished altogether from theface of the earth. It at last began to be whispered about that therenever had been any gold-horned cow, but that the whole had been aclever trick of Drusilla's, that she might become a Princess. Anenvious schoolmate, who had been very desirous of becoming Princessand marrying the Prince of Egypt herself, started the report; and itsoon spread over the whole Kingdom. The King heard it and began tobelieve it; for he could not see why he failed to find the cow. Italways exasperated the King dreadfully to fail in anything, and henever allowed that it was his own fault, if he could possibly help it. 

At last the end of the year came, and still no signs of thegold-horned cow. Then the King became convinced that Drusilla hadcheated him, that there never had been any such wonderful cow, andthat she had used this trick in order to become a Princess. Of course, the King felt more comfortable to believe this, for it accountedsatisfactorily for his own failure to find her, and it is extremelymortifying for a King to be unable to do anything he sets out to. 

So Drusilla was dismissed from the seminary in disgrace, and senthome. Her jewels and fine clothes were all taken away from her, evenher rick-rack dress, and she put on her blue petticoat and short gown, and straw flat again. Still, she was so happy at the prospect ofseeing her dear old father again, that she did not mind the loss ofall her fine things much. She did not ride the white palfrey now, butwent home on foot, in the dewy morning, as fast as she could trip. 

When she came in sight of the cottage, there was her father sitting inhis old place at the window. When he saw his beloved daughter coming, he ran out to meet her as fast as he could hobble, and they tenderlyembraced each other. 

The King had provided liberally for the old man while Drusilla was inthe seminary, but now that he was so angry at her alleged deception, his support would probably cease, and, since the gold-horned cow waslost, it was a question how they would live. The father and daughtersat talking it over after they had entered the cottage. It was apuzzling question, and Drusilla was weeping a little, when her fathergave a joyful cry:

"Look, look, Drusilla!"

Drusilla looked up quickly, and there was the milk-white face andgolden horns of the cow peering through the vines in the window. Shewas eating some of the pink and white roses. 

Drusilla and her father hastened out with joyful exclamations, andthere was the cow, sure enough. A couple of huge wicker baskets wereslung across her broad back, and one was filled to the brim with goldcoins, and the other with jewels, diamonds, pearls and rubies. 

When Drusilla and her father saw them, they both threw their armsaround the gold-horned cow's neck, and cried for joy. She turned herhead and gazed at them a moment with her calm, gentle eyes; then shewent on eating roses. 

When the King heard of all this, he came with the Queen in a goldencoach, to see Drusilla and her father. "I am convinced now of yourtruthfulness, " he said majestically, when the Court Jeweler hadexamined the cow's horns to see if they were true gold, and not merelygilded, and he had seen with his own eyes the two baskets full ofcoins and jewels. "And, if you would like to be Princess, you can be, and also marry the Prince of Egypt. "

But Drusilla threw her arms around her father's neck. "No; yourMajesty, " she said timidly, "I had rather stay with my father, if youplease, than be a Princess, and I rather live here and tend my dearcow, than marry the Prince of Egypt. "

The King sighed, and so did the Queen; they knew they never shouldfind another such beautiful Princess. But, then, the King had not kepthis part of the contract and found the gold-horned cow, and he couldnot compel her to be a Princess without breaking the royal word. 

So the cow was again led out to pasture in the little meadow ofblue-eyed grasses, and Drusilla, though she was very rich now, used tofind no greater happiness than to sit on the banks of the silvery poolwhere the yellow lilies grew, and watch her. 

They had their poor little cottage torn down and a grand castle builtinstead: but the roof of that was thatched and over-grown with moss, and pink and white roses clustered thickly around the walls. It wasjust as much like their old home as a castle can be like a cottage. The gold-horned cow had, also, a magnificent new stable. Hereating-trough was the finest moss rose-bud china, she had dried roseleaves instead of hay to eat, and there were real lace curtains at allthe stable windows, and a lace _portière_ over her stall. 

The King and Queen used to visit Drusilla often; they gave her backher rick-rack dress, and grew very fond of her, though she would notbe a Princess. Finally, however, they prevailed upon her to be madea countess. So she was called "Lady Drusilla, " and she had a coat ofarms, with the gold-horned cow rampant on it, put up over the greatgate of the castle. 

PRINCESS ROSETTA AND THE POP-CORN MAN. 

I. 

THE PRINCESS ROSETTA. 

The Bee Festival was held on the sixteenth day of May; all the courtwent. The court-ladies wore green silk scarfs, long green floatingplumes in their bonnets, and green satin petticoats embroidered withapple-blossoms. The court-gentlemen wore green velvet tunics withnose-gays in their buttonholes, and green silk hose. Their littlepointed shoes were adorned with knots of flowers instead of buckles. 

As for the King himself, he wore a thick wreath of cherry andpeach-blossoms instead of his crown, and carried a white thorn-branchinstead of his scepter. His green velvet robe was trimmed with aborder of blue and white violets instead of ermine. The Queen wore agarland of violets around her golden head, and the hem of her gown wasthickly sown with primroses. 

But the little Princess Rosetta surpassed all the rest. Her littlegown was completely woven of violets and other fine flowers. There wasa very skillful seamstress in the court who knew how to do this kindof work, although no one except the Princess Rosetta was allowed towear a flower-cloth gown to the Bee Festival. She wore also a littlewhite violet cap, and two of her nurses carried her between them in alittle basket lined with rose and apple-leaves. 

All the company, as they danced along, sang, or played on flutes, orrang little glass and silver bells. Nobody except the King and Queenrode. They rode cream-colored ponies, with silken ropes wound withflowers for bridle-reins. 

The Bee Festival was held in a beautiful park a mile distant from thecity. The young grass there was green and velvety, and spangledall over with fallen apple and cherry and peach and plum and pearblossoms; for the park was set with fruit-trees in even rows. The bluesky showed between the pink and white branches, and the air was verysweet and loud with the humming of bees. The trees were all full ofbees. There was something peculiar about the bees of this country;none of them had stings. 

When the court reached the park, they all tinkled their bells in time, whistled on their flutes, and sang a song which they always sang onthese occasions. Then they played games and enjoyed themselves. Theyplayed hide-and-seek among the trees, and formed rings and danced. Thebees flew around them, and seemed to know them. The little Princess, lying in her basket, crowed and laughed, and caught at them when theycame humming over her face. Her nurses stood around her, and wavedgreat fans of peacock-feathers, but that did not frighten the bees atall. 

The court's lunch was spread on a damask-cloth, in an open spacebetween the trees. There were biscuits of wheaten flour, plates ofhoney-comb, and cream in tall glass ewers. That was the regulationlunch at the Bee Festival. The Bee Festival was nearly as old as thekingdom, and there was an ancient legend about it, which the PoetLaureate had put into an epic poem. The King had it in his royallibrary, printed in golden letters and bound in old gold plush. 

Centuries ago, so the legend ran, in the days of the very firstmonarch of the royal family of which this king was a member, therewere no bees at all in the kingdom. Not a child in the whole country, not even the little princes and princesses in the palace, had evertasted a bit of bread and honey. 

But, while there were no bees in this kingdom, one just across theriver was swarming with them. That kingdom was governed by a king whowas the tenth cousin of the first, and not very well disposed towardhim. He had stationed lines of sentinels with ostrich-feather broomson his bank of the river to keep the bees from flying over, and hewould not export a single bee, nor one ounce of honey, although he hadbeen offered immense sums. 

However, the inhabitants of this second country were so cruel andtormenting in their dispositions, and the children so teased thebees, which were stingless and could not defend themselves, that theyrebelled. They stopped making honey, and one day they swarmed, andflew in a body across the river in spite of the frantic waving of theostrich-feather brooms. 

The other King was overjoyed. He ordered beautiful hives to be builtfor them, and instituted a national festival in their honor, whichever since had been observed regularly on the sixteenth day of May. 

Up to this day there were no bees in the kingdom across the river. Notone would return to where its ancestors had been so hardly treated;here everybody was kind to them, and even paid them honor. The presentKing had established an order of the "Golden Bee. " The Knights of theGolden Bee wore ribbons studded with golden bees on their breasts, andtheir watchword was a sort of a "buzz-z-z, " like the humming of a bee. When they were in full regalia they wore also some curious wings madeof gold wire and lace. The Knights of the Golden Bee comprised thefinest nobles of the court. 

In addition to them were the "Bee Guards. " They were the King's ownbody-guards. Their uniform was white with green cuffs and collar andfacings. On the green were swarms of embroidered bees. They carried abanner of green silk worked with bees and roses. 

So the bee might fairly have been considered the national emblem ofRomalia, for that was the name of the country. The first word whichthe children learned to spell in school was "b-e-e, bee, " instead of"b-o-y, boy. " The poorest citizen had a bush of roses and a bee-hivein his yard, and the people were very forlorn who could not have a bitof honey-comb at least once a day. The court preferred it to any otherfood. Indeed it was this particular Queen who was in the kitcheneating bread and honey, in the song. 

[Illustration: A KNIGHT OF THE GOLDEN BEE. ]

But to return to the Bee Festival, on this especial sixteenth of May. At sunset when the bees flew back to their hives for the last timewith their loads of honey, the court also went home. They danced alongin a splendid merry procession. The cream-colored ponies the King andQueen rode pranced lightly in advance, their slender hoofs keepingtime to the flutes and the bells; and the gallants, leading the ladiesby the tips of their dainty fingers, came after them with gay waltzingsteps. The nurses who carried the Princess Rosetta held their headshigh, and danced along as bravely as the others, waving theirpeacock-feather fans in their unoccupied hands. They bore the littlePrincess in her basket between them as lightly as a feather. Up anddown she swung. When they first started she laughed and crowed; thenshe became very quiet. The nurses thought she was asleep. They hadlaid a little satin coverlet over her, and put a soft thick veil overher face, that the damp evening-air might not give her the croup. ThePrincess Rosetta was quite apt to have the croup. 

The nurses cast a glance down at the veil and satin coverlet whichwere so motionless. "Her Royal Highness is asleep, " they whispered toeach other with nods. The nurses were handsome young women, and theywore white lace caps, and beautiful long darned lace aprons. Theyswung the Princess's basket along so easily that finally one of themremarked upon it. 

"How very light her Royal Highness is, " said she. 

"She weighs absolutely nothing at all, " replied the other nurse whowas carrying the Princess, "absolutely nothing at all. "

"Well, that is apt to be the case with such high-born infants, " saidthe first nurse. And they all waved their fans again in time to themusic. 

When they reached the palace, the massive doors were thrown open, andthe court passed in. The nurses bore the Princess Rosetta's basket upthe grand marble stair, and carried it into the nursery. 

"We will lift her Royal Highness out very carefully, and possibly wecan put her to bed without waking her, " said the Head-nurse. 

But her Royal Highness's ladies-of-the-bed-chamber who were in waitingset up such screams of horror at her remark, that it was a wonder thatthe Princess did not awake directly. 

"O-h!" cried a lady-of-the-bed-chamber, "put her Royal Highness tobed, in defiance of all etiquette, before the Prima Donna of the courthas sung her lullaby! Preposterous! Lift her out without waking her, indeed! This nurse should be dismissed from the court!"

"O-h!" cried another lady, tossing her lovely head scornfully, andgiving her silken train an indignant swish; "the idea of putting herRoyal Highness to bed without the silver cup of posset, which I havehere for her!"

"And without taking her rose-water bath!" cried another, who wasdabbling her lily fingers in a little ivory bath filled withrose-water. 

"And without being anointed with this Cream of Lilies!" cried one witha little ivory jar in her hand. 

"And without having every single one of her golden ringlets dressedwith this pomade scented with violets and almonds!" cried one with around porcelain box. 

"Or even having her curls brushed!" cried a lady as if she werefainting, and she brandished an ivory hair-brush set with turquoises. 

"I suppose, " remarked a lady who was very tall and majestic in hercarriage, "that this nurse would not object to her Royal Highnessbeing put to bed without--her nightgown, even!"

And she held out the Princess's little embroidered nightgown, andgazed at the Head-nurse with an awful air. 

"I beg your pardon humbly, my Ladies, " responded the Head-nursemeekly. Then she bent over the basket to lift out the Princess. 

Every one stood listening for her Royal Highness's pitiful screamwhen she should awake. The lady with the cup of posset held it inreadiness, and the ladies with the Cream of Lilies, the violet andalmond pomade and the ivory hair-brush looked anxious to begin theirduties. The Prima Donna stood with her song in hand, and the firstcourt fiddler had his bow raised all ready to play the accompanimentfor her. Writing a fresh lullaby for the Princess every day, andsetting it to music, were among the regular duties of the PoetLaureate and the first musical composer of the court. 

The Head-nurse with her eyes full of tears because of the reproachesshe had received, reached down her arms and attempted to lift thePrincess Rosetta--suddenly she turned very white, and tossed aside theveil and the satin coverlet. Then she gave a loud scream, and felldown in a faint. 

The ladies stared at one another. 

"What is the matter with the Head-nurse?" they asked. Then the secondnurse stepped up to the basket and reached down to clasp the PrincessRosetta. Then she gave a loud scream, and fell down in a faint. 

The third nurse, trembling so she could scarcely stand, came next. After she had stooped over the basket, she also gave a loud scream andfainted. Then the fourth nurse stepped up, bent over the basket, andfainted. So all the Princess Rosetta's nurses lay fainting on thefloor beside her basket. 

It was contrary to the rules of etiquette for any one except thenurses to approach nearer than five yards to her Royal Highness beforeshe was taken from her basket. So they crowded together at thatdistance and craned their necks. 

"What can ail the nurses?" they whispered in terrified tones. Theycould not go near enough to the basket to see what the trouble was, and still it seemed very necessary that they should. 

"I wish I had a telescope, " said the lady with the hair-brush. 

But there was none in the room, and it was contrary to the rules ofetiquette for any person to leave it until the Princess was taken fromthe basket. 

There seemed to be no proper way out of the difficulty. Finally thefirst fiddler stood up with an air of resolution, and began unwindingthe green silk sash from his waist. It was eleven yards long. Hedoubled it, and launched it at the basket, like a lasso. 

[Illustration: THE PRINCESS WAS NOT IN THE BASKET!]

"There is nothing in the code of etiquette to prevent the Princessapproaching us before she is taken from her basket, " he said bravely. All the ladies applauded. 

He threw the lasso very successfully. It went quite around the basket. Then he drew it gently over the five yards. They all crowded around, and looked into it. 

_The Princess was not in the basket!_

II. 

THE POP-CORN MAN. 

That night the whole kingdom was in a turmoil. The Bee Guards werecalled out, and patrolled the city, alarm-bells rung, signal firesburned, and everybody was out with a lantern. They searched every inchof the road to the park where the Bee Festival had been held, for itdid seem at first as if the Princess had possibly been spilled out ofthe basket, although the nurses were confident that it was not so. Sothey searched carefully, and the nurses were in the meantime placed incustody. But nothing was found. The people held their lanterns low, and looked under every bush, and even poked aside the grasses, butthey could not find the Princess on the road to the park. 

Then a regular force of detectives was organized, and the searchcontinued day after day. Every house in the country was examined inevery nook and corner. The cupboards even were all ransacked, and thebureau drawers. The King had a favorite book of philosophy, and onemotto which he had learned in his youth recurred to him. It was this:

"When a-seeking, seek in the unlikely places, as well as the likely;for no man can tell the road that lost things may prefer. "

So he ordered search to be made in unlikely as well as likely places, for the Princess; and it was carried so far that the people had allto turn their pockets inside out, and shake their shawls andtable-cloths. But it was all of no use. Six months went by, andthe Princess Rosetta had not been found. The King and Queen werebroken-hearted. The Queen wept all day long, and her tears fell intoher honey, until it was no longer sweet, and she could not eat it. TheKing sat by himself and had no heart for anything. 

[Illustration: THE BEE GUARDS PATROLLED THE CITY. ]

But the four nurses were in nearly as much distress. Not only had theybeen very fond of the little Princess, and were grieving bitterly forher loss, but they had also a punishment to endure. They had beenreleased from custody, because there was really no evidence againstthem, but in view of their possible carelessness, and in perpetualreminder of the loss of the Princess, a sentence had been passed uponthem. They had been condemned to wear their bonnets the wrong wayaround, indoors and out, until the Princess should be found. So thepoor nurses wept into the crowns of their bonnets. They had littlepeep-holes in the straw that they might see to get about, and theylifted up the capes in order to eat; but it was very trying. Thenurses were all pretty young women too, and the Head-nurse who came ofquite a distinguished family was to have been married soon. But howcould she be a bride and wear a veil with her face in the crown of herbonnet?

The Head-nurse was quite clever, and she thought about the Princess'sdisappearance, until finally her thoughts took shape. One day she puton her shawl--her bonnet was always on--and set out to call on theBaron Greenleaf. The Baron was an old man who was said to be versedin white magic, and lived in a stone tower with his servants and hishouse-keeper. 

When the Head-nurse came into the tower-yard, the dog began to bark;he was not used to seeing a woman with her face in the crown of herbonnet. He thought that her head must be on the wrong way, and thatshe was a monster, and had designs upon his master's property. So hebarked and growled, and caught hold of her dress, and the Head-nursescreamed. The Baron himself came running downstairs, and opened thedoor. "Who is there?" cried he. 

But when he saw the woman with her bonnet on wrong he knew at oncethat she must be one of the Princess's nurses. So he ordered off thedog, and ushered the nurse into the tower. He led her into his study, and asked her to sit down. "Now, madam, what can I do for you?" heinquired quite politely. 

"Oh, my lord!" cried the Head-nurse in her muffled voice, "help me tofind the Princess. "

The Baron, who was a tall lean old man and wore a very large-figureddressing-gown trimmed with fur, frowned, and struck his fist down uponthe table. "Help you to find the Princess!" he exclaimed; "don't yousuppose I should find her on my own account if I could? I shouldhave found her long before this if the idiots had not broken all mybottles, and crystals, and retorts, and mirrors, and spilled all themagic fluids, so that I cannot practice any white magic at all. Theidea of looking for a princess in a bottle--that comes of pinningone's faith upon philosophy!"

"Then you cannot find the Princess by white magic?" the Head-nurseasked timidly. 

The Baron pounded the table again. "Of course I cannot, " he replied, "with all my magical utensils smashed in the search for her. "

The Head-nurse sighed pitifully. 

"I suppose that you do not like to go about with your face in thecrown of your bonnet?" the Baron remarked in a harsh voice. 

The Head-nurse replied sadly that she did not. 

"It doesn't seem to me that I should mind it much, " said the Baron. 

The Head-nurse looked at his grim old face through the peep-holes inher bonnet-crown, and thought to herself that if she were no prettierthan he, she should not mind much either, but she said nothing. 

Suddenly there was a knock at the tower-door. 

"Excuse me a moment, " said the Baron; "my housekeeper is deaf, and myother servants have gone out. " And he ran down the tower-stair, hisdressing-gown sweeping after him. 

Presently he returned, and there was a young man with him. This youngman was as pretty as a girl, and he looked very young. His blue eyeswere very sharp and bright, and he had rosy cheeks and fair curlyhair. He was dressed very poorly, and around his shoulders werefestooned strings of something that looked like fine white flowers, but it was in reality pop-corn. He carried a great basket of pop-corn, and bore a corn-popper over his shoulder. 

When he entered he bowed low to the Head-nurse; her bonnet did notseem to surprise him at all. "Would you like to buy some of my nicepop-corn, madam?" he asked. 

She curtesied. "Not to-day, " she replied. 

But in reality she did not know what pop-corn was. She had never seenany, and neither had the Baron. That indeed was the reason why he hadadmitted the man--he was curious to see what he was carrying. "Is itgood to eat?" he inquired. 

"Try it, my lord, " answered the man. So the Baron put a pop-corn inhis mouth and chewed it critically. "It is very good indeed, " hedeclared. 

The man passed the basket to the Head-nurse, and she lifted thecape of her bonnet and put a pop-corn in her mouth, and nibbled itdelicately. She also thought it very good. 

"But there is no use in discussing new articles of food when thekingdom is under the cloud that it is at present, and my retorts andcrystals all smashed, " said the Baron. 

"Why, what is the cloud, my lord?" inquired the Pop-corn man. Then theBaron told him the whole story. 

"Of course it is necromancy, " remarked the Pop-corn man thoughtfully, when the Baron had finished. 

The Baron pounded on the table until it danced. "Necromancy!" hecried, "of course it's necromancy! Who but a necromancer could havemade a child invisible, and stolen her away in the face and eyes ofthe whole court?"

"Have you any idea where she is?" ask the Pop-corn man. 

The Baron stared at him in amazement. 

"Idea where she is?" he repeated scornfully. "You are just of a piecewith the idiots who broke my mirrors to see if the Princess was notbehind them! How should we have any idea where she is if she is lost, pray?"

The Pop-corn man blushed, and looked frightened, but the Head-nursespoke up quite bravely, although her voice was so muffled, and saidthat she really did have some idea of the Princess's whereabouts. Shepropounded her views which were quite plausible. It was her opinionthat only an enemy of the King would have caused the Princess to bestolen, and as the King had only one enemy of whom anybody knew, andhe was the King across the river, she thought the Princess must bethere. 

"It seems very likely, " said the Baron after she had finished, "but ifshe is there it is hopeless. Our King could never conquer the otherone, who has a much stronger army. "

"Do you know, " asked the Pop-corn man, "if they have ever had anypop-corn on the other side of the river?"

"I don't think they have, " replied the Baron. 

"Then, " said the Pop-corn man, "I think I can free the Princess. "

"You!" cried the Baron scornfully. 

But the Pop-corn man said nothing more. He bowed low to the Baron andthe Head-nurse, and left the tower. 

"The idea of his talking as he did, " said the Baron. But the nurse waspinning her shawl, and she hurried out of the tower and overtook thePop-corn man. 

"How are you going to manage it?" whispered she, touching his sleeve. 

The Pop-corn man started. "Oh, it's you?" he said. "Well, you wait alittle, and you will see. Do you suppose you could find six littleboys who would be willing to go over the river with me to-morrow?"

"Would it be quite safe?"

"Quite safe. "

"I have six little brothers who would go, " said the Head-nurse. 

So it was arranged that the six little brothers should go across theriver with the Pop-corn man; and the next morning they set out. Theywere all decorated with strings of Pop-corn, they carried baskets ofpop-corn, and bore corn-poppers over their shoulders, and they crossedthe river in a row boat. 

Once over the river they went about peddling pop-corn. The man sentthe boys all over the city, but he himself went straight to thepalace. 

He knocked at the palace-door, and the maid-servant came. "Is the Kingat home?" asked the Pop-corn man. 

The maid said he was, and the Pop-corn man asked to see him. Just thena baby cried. 

"What baby is that crying?" asked he. 

"A baby that was brought here at sunset, several months ago, " repliedthe maid; and he knew at once that he had found the Princess. 

"Will you find out if I can see the King?" he said. 

"I'll see, " answered the maid. And she went in to find the King. Pretty soon she returned and asked the Pop-corn man to step into theparlor, which he did, and soon the King came downstairs. 

[Illustration: "YOU!" CRIED THE BARON SCORNFULLY. ]

The Pop-corn man displayed his wares, and the King tasted. He hadnever seen any pop-corn before, and he was both an epicure and a manof hobbies. "It is the nicest food that ever I tasted, " he declared, and he bought all the man's stock. 

"I can buy corn for you for seed, and I can order poppers enough tosupply the city, " suggested the Pop-corn man. 

"So do, " cried the King. And he gave orders for seven ships' cargoesof seed corn and fifty of poppers. "My people shall eat nothing else, "said the King, "and the whole kingdom shall be planted with it. I amsatisfied that it is the best national food. "

That day the court dined on pop-corn, and as it was very lightand unsatisfying, they had to eat a long time. They were all theafter-noon dining. Right after dinner the King wrote out his royaldecree that all the inhabitants should that year plant pop-corninstead of any other grain or any vegetable, and that as soon as theships arrived they should make it their only article of food. For theKing, when he had learned from the Pop-corn man that the corn neededto be not only ripe but well dried before it would pop, could notwait, but had ordered five hundred cargoes of pop-corn for immediateuse. 

So as soon as the ships arrived the people began at once to pop cornand eat it. There was a sound of popping corn all over the city, andthe people popped all day long. It was necessary that they should, because it took such a quantity to satisfy hunger, and when they werenot popping they had to eat. People shook the poppers until their armswere tired, then gave them to others, and sat down to eat. Men, womenand children popped. It was all that they could do, with the exceptionof planting the seed-corn, and then they were faint with hunger asthey worked. The stores and schools were closed. In the palace theKing and Queen themselves were obliged to pop in order to secureenough to eat, and the nobles and the court-ladies toiled and ate, day and night. But the little stolen Princess and the King's son, thelittle Prince, could not pop corn, for they were only babies. 

When the people across the river had been popping corn for about amonth, the Pop-corn man went to the King of Romalia's palace, andsought an audience. He told him how he had discovered his daughter inthe palace of the King across the river. 

The King of Romalia clasped his hands in despair. "I must make war, "said he, "but my army is nothing to his. "

However, he at once went about making war. He ordered the swords to becleaned with sand-paper until they shone, and new bullets to be cast. The Bee Guards were drilled every day, and the people could not sleepfor the drums and the fifes. 

[Illustration: BOTH THE KING AND QUEEN WERE OBLIGED TO POP. ]

When everything was ready the King of Romalia and his army crossedthe river and laid siege to the city. They had expected to have thepassage of the river opposed, but not a foeman was stationed on theopposite bank. All the spears they could see were the waving greenones of pop-corn fields. They marched straight up to the city wallsand laid siege. The inhabitants fought on the walls and in thegate-towers, but not very many could fight at a time, because theywould have to stop and pop corn and eat. 

The defenders grew fewer and fewer, some were killed, and all of themwere growing too tired and weak to fight. They could not eat enoughpop-corn to give them strength and have any time left to fight. Theyfilled their pockets and tried to eat pop-corn as they fought, butthey could not manage that very well. 

On the third day the city surrendered with very little loss of lifeon either side, and the little Princess Rosetta was restored to herparents. There was great rejoicing all through Romalia; in the eveningthere was an illumination and a torch-light procession. The nursesmarched with their bonnets on the right way, and the Knights of theGolden Bee were out in full regalia. 

The next day the Head-nurse was married, and the King gave her a farmand a dozen bee-hives for a wedding present, and the Queen a beautifulbridal bonnet trimmed with white plumes and hollyhocks. 

All the court, the Baron and the Pop-corn man went to the wedding, andwedding-cake and corn-balls were passed around. 

After the wedding the Pop-corn man went home. He lived in anothercountry on the other side of a mountain. The King pressed him to takesome reward. "I am puzzled, " he said to the Pop-corn man, "to knowwhat to offer you. The usual reward in such cases is the hand of thePrincess in marriage, but Rosetta is not a year old. If there isanything else you can think of"--

The Pop-corn man kissed the King's hand and replied that there wasnothing that he could think of except a little honey-comb. He shouldlike to carry some to his mother. So the King gave him a great pieceof honey-comb in a silver dish, and the Pop-corn man departed. 

He never came to Romalia again, but the Poet Laureate celebrated himin an epic poem, describing the loss of the Princess and the warfor her rescue. The Princess was never stolen again--indeed thenecromancer across the river who had kidnaped her was imprisoned forlife on a diet of pop-corn which he popped himself. 

The King across the river became tired of pop-corn, as it had causedhis defeat, and forbade his people to eat it. He paid tribute to theKing of Romalia as long as he lived; but after his death, when hisson, the young prince, came to reign, affairs were on a very pleasantfooting between the two kingdoms. The new King was very different fromhis father, being generous and amiable, and beloved by every one. Indeed Rosetta, when she had grown to be a beautiful maiden, marriedhim and went to live as a Queen where she had been a captive. 

And when Rosetta went across the river to live, the King, her father, gave her some bee-hives for a wedding present, and the bees thrivedequally in both countries. All the difference in the honey was this:in Romalia the bees fed more on clover, and the honey tasted ofclover: and in the country across the river on peppermint, and thathoney tasted of peppermint. They always had both kinds at their BeeFestivals. 

THE CHRISTMAS MONKS. 

All children have wondered unceasingly from their very first Christmasup to their very last Christmas, where the Christmas presents comefrom. It is very easy to say that Santa Claus brought them. All wellregulated people know that, of course; but the reindeer, and thesledge, and the pack crammed with toys, the chimney, and all the restof it--that is all true, of course, and everybody knows about it; butthat is not the question which puzzles. What children want to know is, where do these Christmas presents come from in the first place? Wheredoes Santa Claus get them? Well the answer to that is, _In the gardenof the Christmas Monks_. This has not been known until very lately;that is, it has not been known till very lately except in theimmediate vicinity of the Christmas Monks. There, of course, it hasbeen known for ages. It is rather an out-of-the-way place; and thataccounts for our never hearing of it before. 

The Convent of the Christmas Monks is a most charmingly picturesquepile of old buildings; there are towers and turrets, and peaked roofsand arches, and everything which could possibly be thought of in thearchitectural line, to make a convent picturesque. It is built ofgraystone; but it is only once in a while that you can see thegraystone, for the walls are almost completely covered with mistletoeand ivy and evergreen. There are the most delicious little archedwindows with diamond panes peeping out from the mistletoe andevergreen, and always at all times of the year, a little Christmaswreath of ivy and hollyberries is suspended in the center of everywindow. Over all the doors, which are likewise arched, are Christmasgarlands, and over the main entrance _Merry Christmas_ in evergreenletters. 

The Christmas Monks are a jolly brethren; the robes of their order arewhite, gilded with green garlands, and they never are seen out atany time of the year without Christmas wreaths on their heads. Everymorning they file in a long procession into the chapel, to sing aChristmas carol; and every evening they ring a Christmas chime on theconvent bells. They eat roast turkey and plum pudding and mince-piefor dinner all the year round; and always carry what is left inbaskets trimmed with evergreen, to the poor people. There are alwayswax candles lighted and set in every window of the convent atnightfall; and when the people in the country about get uncommonlyblue and down-hearted, they always go for a cure to look at theConvent of the Christmas Monks after the candles are lighted and thechimes are ringing. It brings to mind things which never fail to cheerthem. 

[Illustration: GOING INTO THE CHAPEL. ]

But the principal thing about the Convent of the Christmas Monks isthe garden; for that is where the Christmas presents grow. This gardenextends over a large number of acres, and is divided into differentdepartments, just as we divide our flower and vegetable gardens; onebed for onions, one for cabbages, and one for phlox, and one forverbenas, etc. 

Every spring the Christmas Monks go out to sow the Christmas-presentseeds after they have ploughed the ground and made it all ready. 

There is one enormous bed devoted to rocking-horses. The rocking-horseseed is curious enough; just little bits of rocking-horses so smallthat they can only be seen through a very, very powerful microscope. The Monks drop these at quite a distance from each other, so that theywill not interfere while growing; then they cover them up neatly withearth, and put up a sign-post with "Rocking-horses" on it in evergreenletters. Just so with the penny-trumpet seed, and the toy-furnitureseed, the skate-seed, the sled-seed, and all the others. 

Perhaps the prettiest and most interesting part of the garden, is thatdevoted to wax dolls. There are other beds for the commoner dolls--forthe rag dolls, and the china dolls, and the rubber dolls, but ofcourse wax dolls would look much handsomer growing. Wax dolls haveto be planted quite early in the season; for they need a good startbefore the sun is very high. The seeds are the loveliest bits ofmicroscopic dolls imaginable. The Monks sow them pretty closetogether, and they begin to come up by the middle of May. There isfirst just a little glimmer of gold, or flaxen, or black, or brown asthe case may be, above the soil. Then the snowy foreheads appear, andthe blue eyes, and black eyes, and, later on, all those enchantinglittle heads are out of the ground, and are nodding and winking andsmiling to each other the whole extent of the field; with their pinkycheeks and sparkling eyes and curly hair there is nothing so pretty asthese little wax doll heads peeping out of the earth. Gradually, moreand more of them come to light, and finally by Christmas they are allready to gather. There they stand, swaying to and fro, and dancinglightly on their slender feet which are connected with the ground, each by a tiny green stem; their dresses of pink, or blue, orwhite--for their dresses grow with them--flutter in the air. Justabout the prettiest sight in the world, is the bed of wax dolls in thegarden of the Christmas Monks at Christmas time. 

Of course ever since this convent and garden were established (andthat was so long ago that the wisest man can find no books about it)their glories have attracted a vast deal of admiration and curiosityfrom the young people in the surrounding country; but as the garden isenclosed on all sides by an immensely thick and high hedge, which noboy could climb, or peep over, they could only judge of the garden bythe fruits which were parcelled out to them on Christmas-day. 

You can judge, then, of the sensation among the young folks, and olderones, for that matter, when one evening there appeared hung upon aconspicuous place in the garden-hedge, a broad strip of white clothtrimmed with evergreen and printed with the following notice inevergreen letters:

 "WANTED:--By the Christmas Monks, two _good_ boys to assist in garden work. Applicants will be examined by Fathers Anselmus and Ambrose, in the convent refectory, on April 10th. "

This notice was hung out about five o'clock in the evening, some timein the early part of February. By noon, the street was so full of boysstaring at it with their mouths wide open, so as to see better, thatthe king was obliged to send his bodyguard before him to clear the waywith brooms, when he wanted to pass on his way from his chamber ofstate to his palace. 

There was not a boy in the country but looked upon this position asthe height of human felicity. To work all the year in that wonderfulgarden, and see those wonderful things growing! and without doubt anyboy who worked there could have all the toys he wanted, just as a boywho works in a candy-shop always has all the candy he wants!

But the great difficulty, of course, was about the degree of goodnessrequisite to pass the examination. The boys in this country were noworse than the boys in other countries, but there were not many ofthem that would not have done a little differently if he had onlyknown beforehand of the advertisement of the Christmas Monks. However, they made the most of the time remaining, and were so good all overthe kingdom that a very millennium seemed dawning. The school teachersused their ferrules for fire wood, and the King ordered all thebirch-trees cut down and exported, as he thought there would be nomore call For them in his own realm. 

When the time for the examination drew near, there were two boys whomevery one thought would obtain the situation, although some of theother boys had lingering hopes for themselves; if only the Monks wouldexamine them on the last six weeks, they thought they might pass. Still all the older people had decided in their minds that the Monkswould choose these two boys. One was the Prince, the King's oldestson; and the other was a poor boy named Peter. The Prince was nobetter than the other boys; indeed, to tell the truth, he was not sogood; in fact, was the biggest rogue in the whole country; but all thelords and the ladies, and all the people who admired the lords andladies, said it was their solemn belief that the Prince was the bestboy in the whole kingdom; and they were prepared to give in theirtestimony, one and all, to that effect to the Christmas Monks. 

[Illustration: The Boys Read the Notice]

Peter was really and truly such a good boy that there was no excusefor saying he was not. His father and mother were poor people; andPeter worked every minute out of school hours, to help them along. Then he had a sweet little crippled sister whom he was never tired ofcaring for. Then, too, he contrived to find time to do lots of littlekindnesses for other people. He always studied his lessons faithfully, and never ran away from school. Peter was such a good boy, and somodest and unsuspicious that he was good, that everybody loved him. Hehad not the least idea that he could get the place with the ChristmasMonks, but the Prince was sure of it. 

When the examination day came all the boys from far and near, withtheir hair neatly brushed and parted, and dressed in their bestclothes, flocked into the convent. Many of their relatives and friendswent with them to witness the examination. 

The refectory of the convent where they assembled, was a very largehall with a delicious smell of roast turkey and plum pudding in it. All the little boys sniffed, and their mouths watered. 

The two fathers who were to examine the boys were perched up in ahigh pulpit so profusely trimmed with evergreen that it looked like abird's nest; they were remarkably pleasant-looking men, and their eyestwinkled merrily under their Christmas wreaths. Father Anselmus wasa little the taller of the two, and Father Ambrose was a little thebroader; and that was about all the difference between them in looks. 

The little boys all stood up in a row, their friends stationedthemselves in good places, and the examination began. 

Then if one had been placed beside the entrance to the convent, hewould have seen one after another, a crestfallen little boy with hisarm lifted up and crooked, and his face hidden in it, come out andwalk forlornly away. He had failed to pass. 

The two fathers found out that this boy had robbed birds' nests, and this one stolen apples. And one after another they walkeddisconsolately away till there were only two boys left: the Prince andPeter. 

"Now, your Highness, " said Father Anselmus, who always took the leadin the questions, "are you a good boy?"

"O holy Father!" exclaimed all the people--there were a good many finefolks from the court present. "He is such a good boy! such a wonderfulboy! we never knew him to do a wrong thing. "

"I don't suppose he ever robbed a bird's nest?" said Father Ambrose alittle doubtfully. 

[Illustration: The Prince & Peter are examined by the monks. ]

"No, no!" chorused the people. 

"Nor tormented a kitten?"

"No, no, no!" cried they all. 

At last everybody being so confident that there could be no reasonablefault found with the Prince, he was pronounced competent to enter uponthe Monks' service. Peter they knew a great deal about before--indeeda glance at his face was enough to satisfy any one of his goodness;for he did look more like one of the boy angels in the altar-piecethan anything else. So after a few questions, they accepted him also;and the people went home and left the two boys with the ChristmasMonks. 

The next morning Peter was obliged to lay aside his homespun coat, and the Prince his velvet tunic, and both were dressed in some littlewhite robes with evergreen girdles like the Monks. Then the Prince wasset to sewing Noah's Ark seed, and Peter picture-book seed. Up anddown they went scattering the seed. Peter sang a little psalm tohimself, but the Prince grumbled because they had not given himgold-watch or gem seed to plant instead of the toy which he hadoutgrown long ago. By noon Peter had planted all his picture-books, and fastened up the card to mark them on the pole; but the Prince haddawdled so his work was not half done. 

"We are going to have a trial with this boy, " said the Monks to eachother; "we shall have to set him a penance at once, or we cannotmanage him at all. "

So the Prince had to go without his dinner, and kneel on dried peas inthe chapel all the afternoon. The next day he finished his Noah's Arksmeekly; but the next day he rebelled again and had to go the wholelength of the field where they planted jewsharps, on his knees. And soit was about every other day for the whole year. 

One of the brothers had to be set apart in a meditating cell to inventnew penances; for they had used up all on their list before the Princehad been with them three months. 

The Prince became dreadfully tired of his convent life, and if hecould have brought it about would have run away. Peter, on thecontrary, had never been so happy in his life. He worked like a bee, and the pleasure he took in seeing the lovely things he had plantedcome up, was unbounded, and the Christmas carols and chimes delightedhis soul. Then, too, he had never fared so well in his life. He couldnever remember the time before when he had been a whole week withoutbeing hungry. He sent his wages every month to his parents; and henever ceased to wonder at the discontent of the Prince. 

"They grow so slow, " the Prince would say, wrinkling up his handsomeforehead. "I expected to have a bushelful of new toys every month; andnot one have I had yet. And these stingy old Monks say I can only havemy usual Christmas share anyway, nor can I pick them out myself. Inever saw such a stupid place to stay in in my life. I want to have myvelvet tunic on and go home to the palace and ride on my white ponywith the silver tail, and hear them all tell me how charming I am. "Then the Prince would crook his arm and put his head on it and cry. 

Peter pitied him, and tried to comfort him, but it was not of muchuse, for the Prince got angry because he was not discontented as wellas himself. 

Two weeks before Christmas everything in the garden was nearly readyto be picked. Some few things needed a little more December sun, buteverything looked perfect. Some of the Jack-in-the-boxes would not popout quite quick enough, and some of the jumping-Jacks were hardlyas limber as they might be as yet; that was all. As it was so nearChristmas the Monks were engaged in their holy exercises in the chapelfor the greater part of the time, and only went over the garden once aday to see if everything was all right. 

The Prince and Peter were obliged to be there all the time. There wasplenty of work for them to do; for once in a while something wouldblow over, and then there were the penny-trumpets to keep in tune; andthat was a vast sight of work. 

One morning the Prince was at one end of the garden straightening upsome wooden soldiers which had toppled over, and Peter was in the waxdoll bed dusting the dolls. All of a sudden he heard a sweet littlevoice: "O, Peter!" He thought at first one of the dolls was talking, but they could not say anything but papa and mamma; and had the merestapologies for voices anyway. "Here I am, Peter!" and there was alittle pull at his sleeve. There was his little sister. She was notany taller than the dolls around her, and looked uncommonly like theprettiest, pinkest-cheeked, yellowest-haired ones; so it was no wonderthat Peter did not see her at first. She stood there poising herselfon her crutches, poor little thing, and smiling lovingly up at Peter. 

"Oh, you darling!" cried Peter, catching her up in his arms. "How didyou get in here?"

"I stole in behind one of the Monks, " said she. "I saw him going upthe street past our house, and I ran out and kept behind him all theway. When he opened the gate I whisked in too, and then I followed himinto the garden. I've been here with the dollies ever since. "

"Well, " said poor Peter, "I don't see what I am going to do with you, now you are here. I can't let you out again; and I don't know what theMonks will say. "

"Oh, I know!" cried the little girl gayly. "I'll stay out here in thegarden. I can sleep in one of those beautiful dolls' cradles overthere; and you can bring me something to eat. "

[Illustration: THE BOYS AT WORK IN THE CONVENT GARDEN. ]

"But the Monks come out every morning to look over the garden, andthey'll be sure to find you, " said her brother, anxiously. 

"No, I'll hide! O, Peter, here is a place where there isn't any doll!"

"Yes; that doll didn't come up. "

"Well, I'll tell you what I'll do! I'll just stand here in this placewhere the doll didn't come up, and nobody can tell the difference. "

"Well, I don't know but you can do that, " said Peter, although he wasstill ill at ease. He was so good a boy he was very much afraid ofdoing wrong, and offending his kind friends the Monks; at the sametime he could not help being glad to see his dear little sister. 

He smuggled some food out to her, and she played merrily about him allday; and at night he tucked her into one of the dolls' cradles withlace pillows and quilt of rose-colored silk. 

The next morning when the Monks were going the rounds, the fatherwho inspected the wax doll bed, was a bit nearsighted, and he nevernoticed the difference between the dolls and Peter's little sister, who swung herself on her crutches, and looked just as much like a waxdoll as she possibly could. So the two were delighted with the successof their plan. 

They went on thus for a few days, and Peter could not help being happywith his darling little sister, although at the same time he could nothelp worrying for fear he was doing wrong. 

Something else happened now, which made him worry still more;the Prince ran away. He had been watching for a long time for anopportunity to possess himself of a certain long ladder made oftwisted evergreen ropes, which the Monks kept locked up in thetoolhouse. Lately, by some oversight, the toolhouse had been leftunlocked one day, and the Prince got the ladder. It was the latterpart of the afternoon, and the Christmas Monks were all in the chapelpracticing Christmas carols. The Prince found a very large hamper, andpicked as many Christmas presents for himself as he could stuff intoit; then he put the ladder against the high gate in front of theconvent, and climbed up, dragging the hamper after him. When hereached the top of the gate, which was quite broad, he sat down torest for a moment before pulling the ladder up so as to drop it on theother side. 

He gave his feet a little triumphant kick as he looked back at hisprison, and down slid the evergreen ladder! The Prince lost hisbalance, and would inevitably have broken his neck if he had not clungdesperately to the hamper which hung over on the convent side of thefence; and as it was just the same weight as the Prince, it kept himsuspended on the other. 

He screamed with all the force of his royal lungs; was heard by aparty of noblemen who were galloping up the street; was rescued, andcarried in state to the palace. But he was obliged to drop the hamperof presents, for with it all the ingenuity of the noblemen could notrescue him as speedily as it was necessary they should. 

When the good Monks discovered the escape of the Prince they weregreatly grieved, for they had tried their best to do well by him; andpoor Peter could with difficulty be comforted. He had been very fondof the Prince, although the latter had done little except torment himfor the whole year; but Peter had a way of being fond of folks. 

A few days after the Prince ran away, and the day before the one onwhich the Christmas presents were to be gathered, the nearsightedfather went out into the wax doll field again; but this time he hadhis spectacles on, and could see just as well as any one, and evena little better. Peter's little sister was swinging herself on hercrutches, in the place where the wax doll did not come up, tipping herlittle face up, and smiling just like the dolls around her. 

"Why, what is this!" said the father. "_Hoc credam!_ I thought thatwax doll did not come up. Can my eyes deceive me? _non verum est!_There is a doll there--and what a doll! on crutches, and in poor, homely gear!"

Then the nearsighted father put out his hand toward Peter's littlesister. She jumped--she could not help it, and the holy father jumpedtoo; the Christmas wreath actually tumbled off his head. 

"It is a miracle!" exclaimed he when he could speak: "the little girlis alive! _parra puella viva est. _ I will pick her and take her to thebrethren, and we will pay her the honors she is entitled to. "

Then the good father put on his Christmas wreath, for he dared notventure before his abbot without it, picked up Peter's little sister, who was trembling in all her little bones, and carried her into thechapel, where the Monks were just assembling to sing another carol. He went right up to the Christmas abbot, who was seated in a splendidchair, and looked like a king. 

"Most holy abbot, " said the nearsighted father, holding out Peter'slittle sister, "behold a miracle, _vide miraculum_! Thou wilt rememberthat there was one wax doll planted which did not come up. Behold, inher place I have found this doll on crutches, which is--alive!"

"Let me see her!" said the abbot; and all the other Monks crowdedaround, opening their mouths just like the little boys around thenotice, in order to see better. 

"_Verum est_, " said the abbot. "It is verily a miracle. "

"Rather a lame miracle, " said the brother who had charge of the funnypicture-books and the toy monkeys; they rather threw his mind offits level of sobriety, and he was apt to make frivolous speechesunbecoming a monk. 

[Illustration: THE PRINCE RUNS AWAY. ]

The abbot gave him a reproving glance, and the brother, who was theleach of the convent, came forward. "Let me look at the miracle, mostholy abbot, " said he. He took up Peter's sister, and looked carefullyat the small, twisted ankle. "I think I can cure this with my herbsand simples, " said he. 

"But I don't know, " said the abbot doubtfully. "I never heard ofcuring a miracle. "

"If it is not lawful, my humble power will not suffice to cure it, "said the father who was the leach. 

"True, " said the abbot; "take her, then, and exercise thy healing artupon her, and we will go on with our Christmas devotions, for which weshould now feel all the more zeal. " So the father took away Peter'slittle sister, who was still too frightened to speak. 

The Christmas Monk was a wonderful doctor, for by Christmas Eve thelittle girl was completely cured of her lameness. This may seemincredible, but it was owing in great part to the herbs and simples, which are of a species that our doctors have no knowledge of; and alsoto a wonderful lotion which has never been advertised on our fences. 

Peter of course heard the talk about the miracle, and knew at oncewhat it meant. He was almost heartbroken to think he was deceiving theMonks so, but at the same time he did not dare to confess the truthfor fear they would put a penance upon his sister, and he could notbear to think of her having to kneel upon dried peas. 

He worked hard picking Christmas presents, and hid his unhappiness asbest he could. On Christmas Eve he was called into the chapel. TheChristmas Monks were all assembled there. The walls were covered withgreen garlands and boughs and sprays of hollyberries, and branchesof wax lights were gleaming brightly amongst them. The altar and thepicture of the Blessed Child behind it were so bright as to almostdazzle one; and right up in the midst of it, in a lovely white dress, all wreaths and jewels, in a little chair with a canopy woven of greenbranches over it, sat Peter's little sister. 

And there were all the Christmas Monks in their white robes andwreaths, going up in a long procession, with their hands full of thevery showiest Christmas presents to offer them to her!

But when they reached her and held out the lovely presents--thefirst was an enchanting wax doll, the biggest beauty in the wholegarden--instead of reaching out her hands for them, she just drewback, and said in her little sweet, piping voice: "Please, I ain't amillacle, I'm only Peter's little sister. "

"Peter?" said the abbot; "the Peter who works in our garden?"

"Yes, " said the little sister. 

Now here was a fine opportunity for a whole convent full of monks tolook foolish--filing up in procession with their hands full of giftsto offer to a miracle, and finding there was no miracle, but onlyPeter's little sister. 

But the abbot of the Christmas Monks had always maintained that therewere two ways of looking at all things; if any object was not what youwanted it to be in one light, that there was another light in which itwould be sure to meet your views. 

So now he brought this philosophy to bear. 

"This little girl did not come up in the place of the wax doll, andshe is not a miracle in that light, " said he; "but look at her inanother light and she is a miracle--do you not see?"

They all looked at her, the darling little girl, the very meaning andsweetness of all Christmas in her loving, trusting, innocent face. 

"Yes, " said all the Christmas Monks, "she is a miracle. " And they alllaid their beautiful Christmas presents down before her. 

Peter was so delighted he hardly knew himself; and, oh! the joy therewas when he led his little sister home on Christmas-day, and showedall the wonderful presents. 

The Christmas Monks always retained Peter in their employ--in fact heis in their employ to this day. And his parents, and his littlesister who was entirely cured of her lameness, have never wanted foranything. 

As for the Prince, the courtiers were never tired of discussing andadmiring his wonderful knowledge of physics which led to his adjustingthe weight of the hamper of Christmas presents to his own so nicelythat he could not fall. The Prince liked the talk and the admirationwell enough, but he could not help, also, being a little glum: for hegot no Christmas presents that year. 

THE PUMPKIN GIANT. 

A very long time ago, before our grandmother's time, or ourgreat-grandmother's, or our grandmothers' with a very long string ofgreats prefixed, there were no pumpkins; people had never eaten apumpkin-pie, or even stewed pumpkin; and that was the time when thePumpkin Giant flourished. 

There have been a great many giants who have flourished since theworld begun, and although a select few of them have been good giants, the majority of them have been so bad that their crimes even more thantheir size have gone to make them notorious. But the Pumpkin Giant wasan uncommonly bad one, and his general appearance and his behaviorwere such as to make one shudder to an extent that you would hardlybelieve possible. The convulsive shivering caused by the mere mentionof his name, and, in some cases where the people were unusuallysensitive, by the mere thought of him even, more resembled the blueague than anything else; indeed was known by the name of "the Giant'sShakes. "

The Pumpkin Giant was very tall; he probably would have overtoppedmost of the giants you have ever heard of. I don't suppose the Giantwho lived on the Bean-stalk whom Jack visited, was anything to comparewith him; nor that it would have been a possible thing for the PumpkinGiant, had he received an invitation to spend an afternoon with theBean-stalk Giant, to accept, on account of his inability to enter theBean-stalk Giant's door, no matter how much he stooped. 

The Pumpkin Giant had a very large yellow head, which was also smoothand shiny. His eyes were big and round, and glowed like coals of fire;and you would almost have thought that his head was lit up inside withcandles. Indeed there was a rumor to that effect amongst the commonpeople, but that was all nonsense, of course; no one of the moreenlightened class credited it for an instant. His mouth, whichstretched half around his head, was furnished with rows of pointedteeth, and he was never known to hold it any other way than wide open. 

The Pumpkin Giant lived in a castle, as a matter of course; it is notfashionable for a giant to live in any other kind of a dwelling--why, nothing would be more tame and uninteresting than a giant in atwo-story white house with green blinds and a picket fence, or even abrown-stone front, if he could get into either of them, which he couldnot. 

The Giant's castle was situated on a mountain, as it ought to havebeen, and there was also the usual courtyard before it, and thecustomary moat, which was full of--_bones_! All I have got to sayabout these bones is, they were not mutton bones. A great many detailsof this story must be left to the imagination of the reader; they aretoo harrowing to relate. A much tenderer regard for the feelings ofthe audience will be shown in this than in most giant stories; we willeven go so far as to state in advance, that the story has a good end, thereby enabling readers to peruse it comfortably without unpleasantsuspense. 

The Pumpkin Giant was fonder of little boys and girls than anythingelse in the world; but he was somewhat fonder of little boys, and moreparticularly of _fat_ little boys. 

The fear and horror of this Giant extended over the whole country. Even the King on his throne was so severely afflicted with the Giant'sShakes that he had been obliged to have the throne propped, for fearit should topple over in some unusually violent fit. There was goodreason why the King shook: his only daughter, the Princess AriadneDiana, was probably the fattest princess in the whole world at thatdate. So fat was she that she had never walked a step in the dozenyears of her life, being totally unable to progress over the earth byany method except rolling. And a really beautiful sight it was, too, to see the Princess Ariadne Diana, in her cloth-of-gold rolling-suit, faced with green velvet and edged with ermine, with her glitteringcrown on her head, trundling along the avenues of the royal gardens, which had been furnished with strips of rich carpeting for her expressaccommodation. 

But gratifying as it would have been to the King, her sire, underother circumstances, to have had such an unusually interestingdaughter, it now only served to fill his heart with the greatestanxiety on her account. The Princess was never allowed to leave thepalace without a body-guard of fifty knights, the very flower ofthe King's troops, with lances in rest, but in spite of all thisprecaution, the King shook. 

Meanwhile amongst the ordinary people who could not procure an escortof fifty armed knights for the plump among their children, the ravagesof the Pumpkin Giant were frightful. It was apprehended at one timethat there would be very few fat little girls, and no fat little boysat all, left in the kingdom. And what made matters worse, at that timethe Giant commenced taking a tonic to increase his appetite. 

Finally the King, in desperation, issued a proclamation that he wouldknight any one, be he noble or common, who should cut off the head ofthe Pumpkin Giant. This was the King's usual method of rewardingany noble deed in his kingdom. It was a cheap method, and besideseverybody liked to be a knight. 

When the King issued his proclamation every man in the kingdom who wasnot already a knight, straightway tried to contrive ways and meansto kill the Pumpkin Giant. But there was one obstacle which seemedinsurmountable: they were afraid, and all of them had the Giant'sShakes so badly, that they could not possibly have held a knife steadyenough to cut off the Giant's head, even if they had dared to go nearenough for that purpose. 

There was one man who lived not far from the terrible Giant's castle, a poor man, his only worldly wealth consisting in a large potato-fieldand a cottage in front of it. But he had a boy of twelve, an only son, who rivaled the Princess Ariadne Diana in point of fatness. He wasunable to have a body-guard for his son; so the amount of terror whichthe inhabitants of that humble cottage suffered day and night washeart-rending. The poor mother had been unable to leave her bed fortwo years, on account of the Giant's Shakes; her husband barely got aliving from the potato-field; half the time he and his wife had hardlyenough to eat, as it naturally took the larger part of the potatoes tosatisfy the fat little boy, their son, and their situation was trulypitiable. 

The fat boy's name was Æneas, his father's name was Patroclus, andhis mother's Daphne. It was all the fashion in those days to haveclassical names. And as that was a fashion as easily adopted by thepoor as the rich, everybody had them. They were just like Jim andTommy and May in these days. Why, the Princess's name, Ariadne Diana, was nothing more nor less than Ann Eliza with us. 

One morning Patroclus and Æneas were out in the field diggingpotatoes, for new potatoes were just in the market. The Early Rosepotato had not been discovered in those days; but there was anotherpotato, perhaps equally good, which attained to a similar degree ofcelebrity. It was called the Young Plantagenet, and reached a verylarge size indeed, much larger than the Early Rose does in our time. 

Well, Patroclus and Æneas had just dug perhaps a bushel of YoungPlantagenet potatoes. It was slow work with them, for Patroclus hadthe Giant's Shakes badly that morning, and of course Æneas was notvery swift. He rolled about among the potato-hills after the mannerof the Princess Ariadne Diana; but he did not present as imposing anappearance as she, in his homespun farmer's frock. 

All at once the earth trembled violently. Patroclus and Æneas lookedup and saw the Pumpkin Giant coming with his mouth wide open. "Getbehind me, O, my darling son!" cried Patroclus. 

Æneas obeyed, but it was of no use; for you could see his cheeks eachside his father's waistcoat. 

Patroclus was not ordinarily a brave man, but he was brave in anemergency; and as that is the only time when there is the slightestneed of bravery, it was just as well. 

The Pumpkin Giant strode along faster and faster, opening his mouthwider and wider, until they could fairly hear it crack at the corners. 

Then Patroclus picked up an enormous Young Plantagenet and threw itplump into the Pumpkin Giant's mouth. The Giant choked and gasped, andchoked and gasped, and finally tumbled down and died. 

[Illustration: HE PICKED UP AN ENORMOUS YOUNG PLANTAGENET AND THREW ITAT HIM. ]

Patroclus and Æneas while the Giant was choking, had run to the houseand locked themselves in; then they looked out of the kitchen window;when they saw the Giant tumble down and lie quite still, they knew hemust be dead. Then Daphne was immediately cured of the Giant'sShakes, and got out of bed for the first time in two years. Patroclussharpened the carving-knife on the kitchen stove, and they all wentout into the potato-field. 

They cautiously approached the prostrate Giant, for fear he might beshamming, and might suddenly spring up at them and--Æneas. But no, hedid not move at all; he was quite dead. And, all taking turns, theyhacked off his head with the carving-knife. Then Æneas had it to playwith, which was quite appropriate, and a good instance of the sarcasmof destiny. 

The King was notified of the death of the Pumpkin Giant, and wasgreatly rejoiced thereby. His Giant's Shakes ceased, the props wereremoved from the throne, and the Princess Ariadne Diana was allowed togo out without her body-guard of fifty knights, much to her delight, for she found them a great hindrance to the enjoyment of her dailyoutings. 

It was a great cross, not to say an embarrassment, when she wasgleefully rolling in pursuit of a charming red and gold butterfly, tofind herself suddenly stopped short by an armed knight with his lancein rest. 

But the King, though his gratitude for the noble deed knew no bounds, omitted to give the promised reward and knight Patroclus. 

I hardly know how it happened--I don't think it was anythingintentional. Patroclus felt rather hurt about it, and Daphne wouldhave liked to be a lady, but Æneas did not care in the least. He hadthe Giant's head to play with and that was reward enough for him. There was not a boy in the neighborhood but envied him his possessionof such a unique plaything; and when they would stand looking over thewall of the potato-field with longing eyes, and he was flying over theground with the head, his happiness knew no bounds; and Æneas playedso much with the Giant's head that finally late in the fall it gotbroken and scattered all over the field. 

[Illustration: THEY WERE ALL OVER THE FIELD. ]

Next spring all over Patroclus's potato-field grew running vines, and in the fall Giant's heads. There they were all over the field, hundreds of them! Then there was consternation indeed! The naturalconclusion to be arrived at when the people saw the yellow Giant'sheads making their appearance above the ground was, that the rest ofthe Giants were coming. 

"There was one Pumpkin Giant before, " said they, "now there will bea whole army of them. If it was dreadful then what will it be in thefuture? If one Pumpkin Giant gave us the Shakes so badly, what will awhole army of them do?"

But when some time had elapsed and nothing more of the Giants appearedabove the surface of the potato-field, and as moreover the heads hadnot yet displayed any sign of opening their mouths, the people beganto feel a little easier, and the general excitement subsided somewhat, although the King had ordered out Ariadne Diana's body-guard again. 

Now Æneas had been born with a propensity for putting everything intohis mouth and tasting it; there was scarcely anything in his vicinitywhich could by any possibility be tasted, which he had not eaten abit of. This propensity was so alarming in his babyhood, that Daphnepurchased a book of antidotes; and if it had not been for heradmirable good judgment in doing so, this story would probably neverhave been told; for no human baby could possibly have survived theheterogeneous diet which Æneas had indulged in. There was scarcely oneof the antidotes which had not been resorted to from time to time. 

Æneas had become acquainted with the peculiar flavor of almosteverything in his immediate vicinity except the Giant's heads; and henaturally enough cast longing eyes at them. Night and day he wonderedwhat a Giant's head could taste like, till finally one day whenPatroclus was away he stole out into the potato-field, cut a bit outof one of the Giant's heads and ate it. He was almost afraid to, but he reflected that his mother could give him an antidote; so heventured. It tasted very sweet and nice; he liked it so much that hecut off another piece and ate that, then another and another, until hehad eaten two thirds of a Giant's head. Then he thought it was abouttime for him to go in and tell his mother and take an antidote, thoughhe did not feel ill at all yet. 

"Mother, " said he, rolling slowly into the cottage, "I have eatentwo thirds of a Giant's head, and I guess you had better give me anantidote. "

"O, my precious son!" cried Daphne, "how could you?" She looked in herbook of antidotes, but could not find one antidote for a Giant's head. 

"O Æneas, my dear, dear son!" groaned Daphne, "there is no antidotefor Giant's head! What shall we do?"

Then she sat down and wept, and Æneas wept too as loud as he possiblycould. And he apparently had excellent reason to; for it did not seempossible that a boy could eat two thirds of a Giant's head and surviveit without an antidote. Patroclus came home, and they told him, and hesat down and lamented with them. All day they sat weeping and watchingÆneas, expecting every moment to see him die. But he did not die; onthe contrary he had never felt so well in his life. 

Finally at sunset Æneas looked up and laughed. "I am not going todie, " said he; "I never felt so well; you had better stop crying. AndI am going out to get some more of that Giant's head; I am hungry. "

"Don't, don't!" cried his father and mother; but he went; for hegenerally took his own way, very like most only sons. He came backwith a whole Giant's head in his arms. 

"See here, father and mother, " cried he; "we'll all have some of this;it evidently is not poison, and it is good--a great deal better thanpotatoes!"

Patroclus and Daphne hesitated, but they were hungry too. Sincethe crop of Giant's heads had sprung up in their field instead ofpotatoes, they had been hungry most of the time; so they tasted. 

"It is good, " said Daphne; "but I think it would be better cooked. "So she put some in a kettle of water over the fire, and let it boilawhile; then she dished it up, and they all ate it. It was delicious. It tasted more like stewed pumpkin than anything else; in fact it wasstewed pumpkin. 

Daphne was inventive, and something of a genius; and next day sheconcocted another dish out of the Giant's heads. She boiled them, andsifted them, and mixed them with eggs and sugar and milk and spice;then she lined some plates with puff paste, filled them with themixture, and set them in the oven to bake. 

The result was unparalleled; nothing half so exquisite had ever beentasted. They were all in ecstasies, Æneas in particular. They gatheredall the Giant's heads and stored them in the cellar. Daphne baked piesof them every day, and nothing could surpass the felicity of the wholefamily. 

One morning the King had been out hunting, and happened to ride by thecottage of Patroclus with a train of his knights. Daphne was bakingpies as usual, and the kitchen door and window were both open, for theroom was so warm; so the delicious odor of the pies perfumed the wholeair about the cottage. 

"What is it smells so utterly lovely?" exclaimed the King, sniffing ina rapture. 

He sent his page in to see. 

"The housewife is baking Giant's head pies, " said the page returning. 

"What?" thundered the King. "Bring out one to me!"

So the page brought out a pie to him, and after all his knights hadtasted to be sure it was not poison, and the king had watched themsharply for a few moments to be sure they were not killed, he tastedtoo. 

[Illustration: THEN THE KING KNIGHTED HIM ON THE SPOT. ]

Then he beamed. It was a new sensation, and a new sensation is a greatboon to a king. 

"I never tasted anything so altogether superfine, so utterlymagnificent in my life, " cried the king; "stewed peacocks' tonguesfrom the Baltic, are not to be compared with it! Call out thehousewife immediately!"

So Daphne came out trembling, and Patroclus and Æneas also. 

"What a charming lad!" exclaimed the King as his glance fell uponÆneas. "Now tell me about these wonderful pies, and I will reward youas becomes a monarch!"

Then Patroclus fell on his knees and related the whole history of theGiant's head pies from the beginning. 

The King actually blushed. "And I forgot to knight you, oh noble andbrave man, and to make a lady of your admirable wife!"

Then the King leaned gracefully down from his saddle, and struckPatroclus with his jeweled sword and knighted him on the spot. 

The whole family went to live at the royal palace. The roses in theroyal gardens were uprooted, and Giant's heads (or pumpkins, as theycame to be called) were sown in their stead; all the royal parks alsowere turned into pumpkin-fields. 

Patroclus was in constant attendance on the King, and used tostand all day in his ante-chamber. Daphne had a position of greatresponsibility, for she superintended the baking of the pumpkin pies, and Æneas finally married the Princess Ariadne Diana. 

They were wedded in great state by fifty archbishops; and all thenewspapers united in stating that they were the most charming and wellmatched young couple that had ever been united in the kingdom. 

The stone entrance of the Pumpkin Giant's Castle was securelyfastened, and upon it was engraved an inscription composed by thefirst poet in the kingdom, for which the King made him laureate, andgave him the liberal pension of fifty pumpkin pies per year. 

The following is the inscription in full:

 "Here dwelt the Pumpkin Giant once, He's dead the nation doth rejoice, For, while he was alive, he lived By e----g dear, fat, little boys. "

The inscription is said to remain to this day; if you were to go thereyou would probably see it. 

THE CHRISTMAS MASQUERADE. 

On Christmas Eve the Mayor's stately mansion presented a beautifulappearance. There were rows of different-colored wax candles burningin every window, and beyond them one could see the chandeliers of goldand crystal blazing with light. The fiddles were squeaking merrily, and lovely little forms flew past the windows in time to the music. 

There were gorgeous carpets laid from the door to the street, andcarriages were constantly arriving, and fresh guests tripping overthem. They were all children. The Mayor was giving a ChristmasMasquerade to-night, to all the children in the city, the poor as wellas the rich. The preparation for this ball had been making an immensesensation for the last three months. Placards had been up in the mostconspicuous points in the city, and all the daily newspapers hadat least a column devoted to it, headed with THE MAYOR'S CHRISTMASMASQUERADE in very large letters. 

The Mayor had promised to defray the expenses of all the poor childrenwhose parents were unable to do so, and the bills for their costumeswere directed to be sent in to him. 

Of course there was a great deal of excitement among the regularcostumers of the city, and they all resolved to vie with one anotherin being the most popular, and the best patronized on this galaoccasion. But the placards and the notices had not been out a weekbefore a new Costumer appeared, who cast all the others into the shadedirectly. He set up his shop on the corner of one of the principalstreets, and hung up his beautiful costumes in the windows. He was alittle fellow, not much larger than a boy of ten. His cheeks were asred as roses, and he had on a long curling wig as white as snow. He wore a suit of crimson velvet knee-breeches, and a littleswallow-tailed coat with beautiful golden buttons. Deep lace rufflesfell over his slender white hands, and he wore elegant knee-bucklesof glittering stones. He sat on a high stool behind his counter andserved his customers himself; he kept no clerk. 

It did not take the children long to discover what beautiful things hehad, and how superior he was to the other costumers, and they begun toflock to his shop immediately, from the Mayor's daughter to the poorrag-picker's. The children were to select their own costumes; theMayor had stipulated that. It was to be a children's ball in everysense of the word. 

So they decided to be fairies, and shepherdesses, and princesses, according to their own fancies; and this new costumer had charmingcostumes to suit them. 

It was noticeable, that, for the most part, the children of the rich, who had always had everything they desired, would choose the parts ofgoose-girls and peasants and such like; and the poor children jumpedeagerly at the chance of being princesses or fairies for a few hoursin their miserable lives. 

When Christmas Eve came, and the children flocked into the Mayor'smansion, whether it was owing to the Costumer's art, or their ownadaptation to the characters they had chosen, it was wonderful howlifelike their representations were. Those little fairies in theirshort skirts of silken gauze, in which golden sparkles appeared asthey moved, with their little funny gossamer wings, like butterflies, looked like real fairies. It did not seem possible, when they floatedaround to the music, half supported on the tips of their dainty toes, half by their filmy, purple wings, their delicate bodies swaying intime, that they could be anything but fairies. It seemed absurd toimagine that they were Johnny Mullens, the washwoman's son, and PollyFlinders, the charwoman's little girl, and so on. 

The Mayor's daughter, who had chosen the character of a goose-girl, looked so like a true one that one could hardly dream she ever wasanything else. She was, ordinarily, a slender, dainty little lady, rather tall for her age. She now looked very short and stubbed andbrown, just as if she had been accustomed to tend geese in all sortsof weather. It was so with all the others--the Red Riding-hoods, theprincesses, the Bo Peeps, and with every one of the characters whocame to the Mayor's ball; Red Riding-hood looked round, with big, frightened eyes, all ready to spy the wolf, and carried her littlepat of butter and pot of honey gingerly in her basket; Bo Peep's eyeslooked red with weeping for the loss of her sheep; and the princessesswept about so grandly in their splendid brocaded trains, and heldtheir crowned heads so high that people half believed them to be trueprincesses. 

But there never was anything like the fun at the Mayor's Christmasball. The fiddlers fiddled and fiddled, and the children danced anddanced on the beautiful waxed floors. The Mayor, with his family and afew grand guests, sat on a dais covered with blue velvet at one end ofthe dancing hall, and watched the sport. They were all delighted. TheMayor's eldest daughter sat in front and clapped her little soft whitehands. She was a tall, beautiful young maiden, and wore a white dress, and a little cap woven of blue violets on her yellow hair. Her namewas Violetta. 

[Illustration: THERE NEVER WAS ANYTHING LIKE THE FUN AT THE MAYOR'SCHRISTMAS BALL. ]

The supper was served at midnight--and such a supper! The mountainsof pink and white ices, and the cakes with sugar castles andflower-gardens on the tops of them, and the charming shapes of goldand ruby-colored jellies! There were wonderful bonbons which even theMayor's daughter did not have every day; and all sorts of fruits, fresh and candied. They had cowslip wine in green glasses, andelderberry wine in red, and they drank each other's health. Theglasses held a thimbleful each; the Mayor's wife thought that was allthe wine they ought to have. Under each child's plate there was apretty present; and every one had a basket of bonbons and cake tocarry home. 

At four o'clock the fiddlers put up their fiddles and the childrenwent home; fairies and shepherdesses and pages and princesses alljabbering gleefully about the splendid time they had had. 

But in a short time what consternation there was throughout the city!When the proud and fond parents attempted to unbutton their children'sdresses, in order to prepare them for bed, not a single costume wouldcome off. The buttons buttoned again as fast as they were unbuttoned;even if they pulled out a pin, in it would slip again in a twinkling;and when a string was untied it tied itself up again into a bow-knot. The parents were dreadfully frightened. But the children were so tiredout they finally let them go to bed in their fancy costumes, andthought perhaps they would come off better in the morning. So RedRiding-hood went to bed in her little red cloak, holding fast to herbasket full of dainties for her grandmother, and Bo Peep slept withher crook in her hand. 

The children all went to bed readily enough, they were so verytired, even though they had to go in this strange array. All but thefairies--they danced and pirouetted and would not be still. 

[Illustration: THEIR PARENTS STARED IN GREAT DISTRESS]

"We want to swing on the blades of grass, " they kept saying, "and playhide-and-seek in the lily-cups, and take a nap between the leaves ofthe roses. "

The poor charwomen and coal-heavers, whose children the fairies werefor the most part, stared at them in great distress. They did not knowwhat to do with these radiant, frisky little creatures into whichtheir Johnnys and their Pollys and Betseys were so suddenlytransformed. But the fairies went to bed quietly enough when daylightcame, and were soon fast asleep. 

There was no further trouble till twelve o'clock, when all thechildren woke up. Then a great wave of alarm spread over the city. Notone of the costumes would come off then. The buttons buttoned as fastas they were unbuttoned; the pins quilted themselves in as fast asthey were pulled out; and the strings, flew round like lightning andtwisted themselves into bow-knots as fast as they were untied. 

And that was not the worst of it; every one of the children seemed tohave become, in reality, the character which he or she had assumed. 

The Mayor's daughter declared she was going to tend her geese out inthe pasture, and the shepherdesses sprang out of their little beds ofdown, throwing aside their silken quilts, and cried that they must goout and watch their sheep. The princesses jumped up from their strawpallets, and wanted to go to court; and all the rest of them likewise. Poor little Red Riding-hood sobbed and sobbed because she couldn't goand carry her basket to her grandmother, and as she didn't have anygrandmother she couldn't go, of course, and her parents were very muchtroubled. It was all so mysterious and dreadful. The news spread veryrapidly over the city, and soon a great crowd gathered around the newCostumer's shop, for every one thought he must be responsible for allthis mischief. 

The shop door was locked; but they soon battered it down with stones. When they rushed in the Costumer was not there; he had disappearedwith all his wares. Then they did not know what to do. But it wasevident that they must do something before long, for the state ofaffairs was growing worse and worse. 

The Mayor's little daughter braced her back up against the tapestriedwall and planted her two feet in their thick shoes firmly. "I willgo and tend my geese!" she kept crying. "I won't eat my breakfast! Iwon't go out in the park! I won't go to school. I'm going to tend mygeese--I will, I will, I will!"

And the princesses trailed their rich trains over the rough, unpaintedfloors in their parents' poor little huts, and held their crownedheads very high and demanded to be taken to court. The princesseswere, mostly, geese-girls when they were their proper selves, andtheir geese were suffering, and their poor parents did not know whatthey were going to do, and they wrung their hands and wept as theygazed on their gorgeously-appareled children. 

Finally, the Mayor called a meeting of the Aldermen, and they allassembled in the City Hall. Nearly every one of them had a son ora daughter who was a chimney-sweep, or a little watch-girl, or ashepherdess. They appointed a chairman and they took a great manyvotes, and contrary votes; but they did not agree on anything, untilsome one proposed that they consult the Wise Woman. Then they all heldup their hands, and voted to, unanimously. 

[Illustration: "I WILL GO AND TEND MY GEESE!"]

So the whole board of Aldermen set out, walking by twos, with theMayor at their head, to consult the Wise Woman. The Aldermen were allvery fleshy, and carried gold-headed canes which they swung very highat every step. They held their heads well back, and their chins stiff, and whenever they met common people they sniffed gently. They werevery imposing. 

The Wise Woman lived in a little hut on the out-skirts of the city. She kept a Black Cat; except for her, she was all alone. She was veryold, and had brought up a great many children, and she was consideredremarkably wise. 

But when the Aldermen reached her hut and found her seated by thefire, holding her Black Cat, a new difficulty presented itself. Shehad always been quite deaf, and people had been obliged to scream asloud as they could in order to make her hear; but, lately, she hadgrown much deafer, and when the Aldermen attempted to lay the casebefore her she could not hear a word. In fact, she was so very deafthat she could not distinguish a tone below G-sharp. The Aldermenscreamed till they were quite red in their faces, but all to nopurpose; none of them could get up to G-sharp, of course. 

So the Aldermen all went back, swinging their gold-headed canes, andthey had another meeting in the City Hall. Then they decided to sendthe highest Soprano Singer in the church choir to the Wise Woman; shecould sing up to G-sharp just as easy as not. So the high-SopranoSinger set out for the Wise Woman's in the Mayor's coach, and theAldermen marched behind, swinging their gold-headed canes. 

The high-Soprano Singer put her head down close to the Wise Woman'sear, and sang all about the Christmas Masquerade, and the dreadfuldilemma everybody was in, in G-sharp--she even went higher, sometimes--and the Wise Woman heard every word. She nodded threetimes, and every time she nodded she looked wiser. 

"Go home, and give 'em a spoonful of castor-oil, all 'round, " shepiped up; then she took a pinch of snuff, and wouldn't say any more. 

So the Aldermen went home, and each one took a district and marchedthrough it, with a servant carrying an immense bowl and spoon, andevery child had to take a dose of castor-oil. 

But it didn't do a bit of good. The children cried and struggled whenthey were forced to take the castor-oil; but, two minutes afterward, the chimney-sweeps were crying for their brooms, and the princessesscreaming because they couldn't go to court, and the Mayor's daughter, who had been given a double dose, cried louder and more sturdily: "Iwant to go and tend my geese! I will go and tend my geese!"

So the Aldermen took the high-Soprano Singer, and they consulted theWise Woman again. She was taking a nap this time, and the Singer hadto sing up to B-flat before she could wake her. Then she was verycross, and the Black Cat put up his back and spit at the Aldermen. 

"Give 'em a spanking all 'round, " she snapped out, "and if that don'twork put 'em to bed without their supper!"

Then the Aldermen marched back to try that; and all the children inthe city were spanked, and when that didn't do any good they were putto bed without any supper. But the next morning when they woke up theywere worse than ever. 

The Mayor and the Aldermen were very indignant, and considered thatthey had been imposed upon and insulted. So they set out for the WiseWoman's again, with the high-Soprano Singer. 

She sang in G-sharp how the Aldermen and the Mayor considered her animposter, and did not think she was wise at all, and they wished herto take her Black Cat and move beyond the limits of the city. She sangit beautifully; it sounded like the very finest Italian opera-music. 

"Deary me, " piped the Wise Woman, when she had finished, "how verygrand these gentlemen are. " Her Black Cat put up his back and spit. 

"Five times one Black Cat are five Black Cats, " said the Wise Woman. And, directly, there were five Black Cats, spitting and miauling. 

"Five times five Black Cats are twenty-five Black Cats. " And thenthere were twenty-five of the angry little beasts. 

"Five times twenty-five Black Cats are one hundred and twenty-fiveBlack Cats, " added the Wise Woman, with a chuckle. 

[Illustration: SHE SANG IT BEAUTIFULLY. ]

Then the Mayor and the Aldermen and the high-Soprano Singer fledprecipitately out the door and back to the city. One hundred andtwenty-five Black Cats had seemed to fill the Wise Woman's hut full, and when they all spit and miauled together it was dreadful. Thevisitors could not wait for her to multiply Black Cats any longer. 

As winter wore on, and spring came, the condition of things grew moreintolerable. Physicians had been consulted, who advised that thechildren should be allowed to follow their own bents, for fear ofinjury to their constitutions. So the rich Aldermen's daughters wereactually out in the fields herding sheep, and their sons sweepingchimneys or carrying newspapers; while the poor charwomen's andcoal-heavers' children spent their time like princesses and fairies. Such a topsy-turvy state of society was shocking. Why, the Mayor'slittle daughter was tending geese out in the meadow like any commongoose-girl! Her pretty elder sister, Violetta, felt very sad about it, and used often to cast about in her mind for some way of relief. 

When cherries were ripe in spring, Violetta thought she would ask theCherry-man about it. She thought the Cherry-man quite wise. He was avery pretty young fellow, and he brought cherries to sell ingraceful little straw baskets lined with moss. So she stood in thekitchen-door, one morning, and told him all about the great troublethat had come upon the city. He listened in great astonishment; he hadnever heard of it before. He lived several miles out in the country. 

"How did the Costumer look?" he asked respectfully; he thoughtVioletta the most beautiful lady on earth. 

Then Violetta described the Costumer, and told him of the unavailingattempts that had been made to find him. There were a great manydetectives out, constantly at work. 

"I know where he is!" said the Cherry-man. "He's up in one of mycherry-trees. He's been living there ever since cherries were ripe, and he won't come down. "

Then Violetta ran and told her father in great excitement, and he atonce called a meeting of the Aldermen, and in a few hours half thecity was on the road to the Cherry-man's. 

He had a beautiful orchard of cherry-trees, all laden with fruit. And, sure enough, in one of the largest, way up amongst the topmostbranches, sat the Costumer in his red velvet short-clothes and hisdiamond knee-buckles. He looked down between the green boughs. "Good-morning, friends, " he shouted. 

The Aldermen shook their gold-headed canes at him, and the peopledanced round the tree in a rage. Then they began to climb. But theysoon found that to be impossible. As fast as they touched a hand orfoot to the tree, back it flew with a jerk exactly as if the treepushed it. They tried a ladder, but the ladder fell back the momentit touched the tree, and lay sprawling upon the ground. Finally, theybrought axes and thought they could chop the tree down, Costumer andall; but the wood resisted the axes as if it were iron, and onlydented them, receiving no impression itself. 

Meanwhile, the Costumer sat up in the tree, eating cherries, andthrowing the stones down. Finally, he stood up on a stout branch and, looking down, addressed the people. 

"It's of no use, your trying to accomplish anything in this way, " saidhe; "you'd better parley. I'm willing to come to terms with you, andmake everything right, on two conditions. "

The people grew quiet then, and the Mayor stepped forward asspokesman. "Name your two conditions, " said he, rather testily. "Youown, tacitly, that you are the cause of all this trouble. "

"Well, " said the Costumer, reaching out for a handful of cherries, "this Christmas Masquerade of yours was a beautiful idea; but youwouldn't do it every year, and your successors might not do it at all. I want those poor children to have a Christmas every year. My firstcondition is, that every poor child in the city hangs its stocking forgifts in the City Hall on every Christmas Eve, and gets it filled, too. I want the resolution filed and put away in the city archives. "

"We agree to the first condition!" cried the people with one voice, without waiting for the Mayor and Aldermen. 

"The second condition, " said the Costumer, "is that this good youngCherry-man here, has the Mayor's daughter, Violetta, for his wife. Hehas been kind to me, letting me live in his cherry-tree, and eat hischerries, and I want to reward him. "

"We consent!" cried all the people; but the Mayor, though he wasso generous, was a proud man. "I will not consent to the secondcondition, " he cried angrily. 

"Very well, " replied the Costumer, picking some more cherries, "thenyour youngest daughter tends geese the rest of her life, that's all!"

The Mayor was in great distress; but the thought of his youngestdaughter being a goose-girl all her life was too much for him. He gavein at last. 

"Now go home, and take the costumes off your children, " said theCostumer, "and leave me in peace to eat cherries!"

Then the people hastened back to the city and found, to their greatdelight, that the costumes would come off. The pins staid out, thebuttons staid unbuttoned, and the strings staid untied. The childrenwere dressed in their own proper clothes and were their own properselves once more. The shepherdesses and the chimney-sweeps camehome, and were washed and dressed in silks and velvets, and went toembroidering and playing lawn-tennis. And the princesses and thefairies put on their own suitable dresses, and went about their usefulemployments. There was great rejoicing in every home. Violetta thoughtshe had never been so happy, now that her dear little sister was nolonger a goose-girl, but her own dainty little lady-self. 

The resolution to provide every poor child in the city with a stockingfull of gifts on Christmas was solemnly filed, and deposited in thecity archives, and was never broken. 

Violetta was married to the Cherry-man, and all the children came tothe wedding, and strewed flowers in her path till her feet were quitehidden in them. The Costumer had mysteriously disappeared from thecherry-tree the night before, but he left, at the foot, some beautifulwedding presents for the bride--a silver service with a pattern ofcherries engraved on it, and a set of china with cherries on it, inhand-painting, and a white satin robe, embroidered with cherries downthe front. 

DILL. 

Dame Clementina was in her dairy, churning, and her little daughterNan was out in the flower-garden. The flower-garden was a little plotback of the cottage, full of all the sweet, old-fashioned herbs. Therewere sweet marjoram, sage, summersavory, lavender, and ever so manyothers. Up in one corner, there was a little green bed of dill. 

Nan was a dainty, slim little maiden, with yellow, flossy hair inshort curls all over her head. Her eyes were very sweet and round andblue, and she wore a quaint little snuff-colored gown. It had a shortfull waist, with low neck and puffed sleeves, and the skirt wasstraight and narrow and down to her little heels. 

She danced around the garden, picking a flower here and there. She wasmaking a nosegay for her mother. She picked lavender and sweet-williamand pinks, and bunched them up together. Finally she pulled a littlesprig of dill, and ran, with that and the nosegay, to her mother inthe dairy. 

"Mother dear, " said she, "here is a little nosegay for you; and whatwas it I overheard you telling Dame Elizabeth about dill last night?"

Dame Clementina stopped churning and took the nosegay. "Thank you, Sweetheart, it is lovely, " said she, "and, as for the dill--it is acharmed plant, you know, like four-leaved clover. "

"Do you put it over the door?" asked Nan. 

"Yes. Nobody who is envious or ill-disposed can enter into the houseif there is a sprig of dill over the door. Then I know another charmwhich makes it stronger. If one just writes this verse:

 "'Alva, aden, winira mir, Villawissen lingen; Sanchta, wanchta, attazir, Hor de mussen wingen, '

under the sprig of dill, every one envious, or evil-disposed, whoattempts to enter the house, will have to stop short, just where theyare, and stand there; they cannot move. "

"What does the verse mean?" asked Nan. 

"That, I do not know. It is written in a foreign language. But it is apowerful charm. "

"O, mother! will you write it off for me, if I will bring you a bit ofpaper and a pen?"

"Certainly, " replied her mother, and wrote it off when Nan brought penand paper. 

"Now, " said she, "you must run off and play again, and not hinder meany longer, or I shall not get my butter made to-day. "

So Nan danced away with the verse, and the sprig of dill, and hermother went on churning. 

She had a beautiful tall stone churn, with the sides all carved withfigures in relief. There were milkmaids and cows as natural as lifeall around the churn. The dairy was charming, too. The shelves werecarved stone; and the floor had a little silvery rill running rightthrough the middle of it, with green ferns at the sides. All along thestone shelves were set pans full of yellow cream, and the pans wereall of solid silver, with a chasing of buttercups and daisies aroundthe brims. 

It was not a common dairy, and Dame Clementina was not a commondairy-woman. She was very tall and stately, and wore her silver-whitehair braided around her head like a crown, with a high silver combat the top. She walked like a queen; indeed she was a noble count'sdaughter. In her early youth, she had married a pretty young dairyman, against her father's wishes; so she had been disinherited. Thedairyman had been so very poor and low down in the world, that thecount felt it his duty to cast off his daughter, lest she should dodiscredit to his noble line. There was a much pleasanter, easier wayout of the difficulty, which the count did not see. Indeed, it was apeculiarity of all his family, that they never could see a way out ofa difficulty, high and noble as they were. The count only needed tohave given the poor young dairyman a few acres of his own land, and afew bags of his own gold, and begged the king, with whom he had greatinfluence, to knight him, and all the obstacles would have beenremoved; the dairyman would have been quite rich and noble enough forhis son-in-law. But he never thought of that, and his daughter wasdisinherited. However, he made all the amends to her that he could, and fitted her out royally for her humble station in life. He causedthis beautiful dairy to be built for her, and gave her the silvermilk-pans, and the carved stone churn. 

"My daughter shall not churn in a common wooden churn, or skim thecream from wooden pans, " he had said. 

The dairyman had been dead a good many years now, and Dame Clementinamanaged the dairy alone. She never saw anything of her father, although he lived in his castle not far off, on a neighboring height. When the sky was clear, she could see its stone towers against it. Shehad four beautiful white cows, and Nan drove them to pasture; theywere very gentle. 

When Dame Clementina had finished churning, she went into the cottage. As she stepped through the little door with clumps of sweet peas oneach side, she looked up. There was the sprig of dill, and the magicverse she had written under it. 

Nan was sitting at the window inside, knitting her stent on a bluestocking. "Ah, Sweetheart, " said her mother, laughing, "you havelittle cause to pin the dill and the verse over our door. None islikely to envy us, or to be ill-disposed toward us. "

"O, mother!" said Nan, "I know it, but I thought it would be so niceto feel sure. Oh, there is Dame Golding coming after some milk. Do yousuppose she will have to stop?"

"What nonsense!" said her mother. They both of them watched DameGolding coming. All of a sudden, she stopped short, just outside. Shecould go no further. She tried to lift her feet, but could not. 

"O, mother!" cried Nan, "she has stopped!"

The poor woman began to scream. She was frightened almost to death. Nan and her mother were not much less frightened, but they did notknow what to do. They ran out, and tried to comfort her, and gave hersome cream to drink; but it did not amount to much. Dame Golding hadsecretly envied Dame Clementina for her silver milk-pans. Nan and hermother knew why their visitor was so suddenly rooted to the spot, ofcourse, but she did not. She thought her feet were paralyzed, and shekept begging them to send for her husband. 

"Perhaps he can pull her away, " said Nan, crying. How she wished shehad never pinned the dill and the verse over the door! So she set offfor Dame Golding's husband. He came running in a great hurry; but whenhe had nearly reached his wife, and had his arms reached out to graspher, he, too, stopped short. He had envied Dame Clementina for herbeautiful white cows, and there he was fast, also. 

He began to groan and scream too. Nan and her mother ran into thehouse and shut the door. They could not bear it. "What shall we do, if any one else comes?" sobbed Nan. "O, mother! there is Dame Dorothycoming. And--yes--Oh! she has stopped too. " Poor Dame Dorothy hadenvied Dame Clementina a little for her flower-garden, which was finerthan hers, so she had to join Dame Golding and her husband. 

Pretty soon another woman came, who had looked with envious eyes atDame Clementina, because she was a count's daughter; and another, whohad grudged her a fine damask petticoat, which she had had before shewas disinherited, and still wore on holidays; and they both had tostop. 

Then came three rough-looking men in velvet jackets and slouched hats, who brought up short at the gate with a great jerk that nearly tooktheir breath away. They were robbers who were prowling about with aview to stealing Dame Clementina's silver milk-pans some dark night. 

[Illustration: A STRANGE SAD STATE OF THINGS. ]

All through the day the people kept coming and stopping. It waswonderful how many things poor Dame Clementina had to be enviedby men and women, and even children. They envied Nan for her yellowcurls or her blue eyes, or her pretty snuff-colored gown. When thesun set, the yard in front of Dame Clementina's cottage was full ofpeople. Lastly, just before dark, the count himself came ambling upon a coal-black horse. The count was a majestic old man dressed invelvet, with stars on his breast. His white hair fell in long curlson his shoulders, and he had a pointed beard. As he came to the gate, he caught a glimpse of Nan in the door. 

"How I wish that little maiden was my child, " said he. And, straightway, he stopped. His horse pawed and trembled when he lashedhim with a jeweled whip to make him go on; but he could not stirforward one step. Neither could the count dismount from his saddle; hesat there fuming with rage. 

Meanwhile, poor Dame Clementina and little Nan were overcome withdistress. The sight of their yard full of all these weeping peoplewas dreadful. Neither of them had any idea how to do away with thetrouble, because of their family inability to see their way out of adifficulty. 

When supper time came, Nan went for the cows, and her mother milkedthem into her silver milk-pails, and strained off the milk into hersilver pans. Then they kindled up a fire and cooked some beautifulmilk porridge for the poor people in the yard. 

It was a beautiful warm moonlight night, and all the winds were sweetwith roses and pinks; so the people could not suffer out of doors; butthe next morning it rained. 

"O, mother!" said Nan, "it is raining, and what will the poor peopledo?"

Dame Clementina would never have seen her way out of this difficulty, had not Dame Golding cried out that her bonnet was getting wet, andshe wanted an umbrella. 

"Why, you must go around to their houses, of course, and get theirumbrellas for them, " said Dame Clementina; "but first, give ours tothat old man on horseback. " She did not know her father, so many yearshad passed since she had seen him, and he had altered so. 

So Nan carried out their great yellow umbrella to the count, and wentaround to the others' houses for their own umbrellas. It was pitifulenough to see them standing all alone behind the doors. She could notfind three extra ones for the three robbers, and she felt badly aboutthat. 

Somebody suggested, however, that milk-pans turned over their headswould keep the rain off their slouched hats, at least; so she gota silver milk-pan for an umbrella for each. They made such franticefforts to get away then, that they looked like jumping-jacks; but itwas of no use. 

[Illustration: NAN RETURNS WITH THE UMBRELLAS. ]

Poor Dame Clementina and Nan after they had given the milk porridge tothe people, and done all they could for their comfort, stood staringdisconsolately out of the window at them under their drippingumbrellas. The yard was fairly green and black and blue and yellowwith umbrellas. They wept at the sight, but they could not thinkof any way out of the difficulty. The people themselves might havesuggested one, had they known the real cause; but they did not dare totell them how they were responsible for all the trouble; they seemedso angry. 

About noon Nan spied their most particular friend, Dame Elizabeth, coming. She lived a little way out of the village. Nan saw herapproaching the gate through the rain and mist, with her great blueumbrella and her long blue double cape and her poke bonnet; and shecried out in the greatest dismay: "O, mother, mother! there is ourdear Dame Elizabeth coming; she will have to stop too!"

Then they watched her with beating hearts. Dame Elizabeth stared withastonishment at the people, and stopped to ask them questions. But shepassed quite through their midst, and entered the cottage under thesprig of dill, and the verse. She did not envy Dame Clementina or Nan, anything. 

"Tell me what this means, " said she. "Why are all these peoplestanding in your yard in the rain with umbrellas?"

[Illustration: SUCH FRANTIC EFFORTS TO GET AWAY. ]

Then Dame Clementina and Nan told her. "And oh! what shall we do?"said they. "Will these people have to stand in our yard forever andever?"

Dame Elizabeth stared at them. The way out of the difficulty was soplain to her, that she could not credit its not being plain to them. 

"Why, " said she, "don't you take down the sprig of dill and theverse?"

"Why, sure enough!" said they in amazement. "Why didn't we think ofthat before?"

So Dame Clementina ran out quickly, and pulled down the sprig of dilland the verse. 

Then the way the people hurried out of the yard! They fairly dancedand flourished their heels, old folks and all. They were so delightedto be able to move, and they wanted to be sure they could move. Therobbers tried to get away unseen with their silver milk-pans, but someof the people stopped them, and set the pans safely inside the dairy. All the people, except the count, were so eager to get away, that theydid not stop to inquire into the cause of the trouble then. 

Afterward, when they did, they were too much ashamed to say anythingabout it. 

It was a good lesson to them; they were not quite so envious afterthat. Always, on entering any cottage, they would glance at the door, to see if, perchance, there might be a sprig of dill over it. And ifthere was not, they were reminded to put away any envious feeling theymight have toward the inmates out of their hearts. 

[Illustration: DAME ELIZABETH STARED WITH ASTONISHMENT. ]

As for the count, he had not been so much alarmed as the others, sincehe had been to the wars and was braver. Moreover, he felt that hisdignity as a noble had been insulted. So he at once dismounted andfastened his horse to the gate, and strode up to the door with hissword clanking and the plumes on his hat nodding. 

"What, " he begun; then he stopped short. He had recognized hisdaughter in Dame Clementina. She recognized him at the same moment. "O, my dear daughter!" said he. "O, my dear father!" said she. 

"And this is my little grandchild?" said the count; and he took Nanupon his knee, and covered her with caresses. 

Then the story of the dill and the verse was told. "Yes, " said thecount, "I truly was envious of you, Clementina, when I saw Nan. "

After a little, he looked at his daughter sorrowfully. "I shoulddearly love to take you up to the castle with me, Clementina, " saidhe, "and let you live there always, and make you and the little childmy heirs. But how can I? You are disinherited, you know. "

"I don't see any way, " assented Dame Clementina, sadly. 

Dame Elizabeth was still there, and she spoke up to the count with acurtesy. 

"Noble sir, " said she, "why don't you make another will?"

"Why, sure enough, " cried the count with great delight, "why don't I?I'll have my lawyer up to the castle to-morrow. "

[Illustration: THE COUNT THINKS HIMSELF INSULTED. ]

He did immediately alter his will, and his daughter was no longerdisinherited. She and Nan went to live at the castle, and werevery rich and happy. Nan learned to play on the harp, and woresnuff-colored satin gowns. She was called Lady Nan, and she lived along time, and everybody loved her. But never, so long as she lived, did she pin the sprig of dill and the verse over the door again. Shekept them at the very bottom of a little satin-wood box--the fadedsprig of dill wrapped round with the bit of paper on which was writtenthe charm-verse:

 "Alva, aden, winira mir, Villawissen lingen; Sanchta, wanchta, attazir, Hor de mussen wingen. "

[Illustration: THEY FAIRLY DANCED AND FLOURISHED THEIR HEELS. ]

THE SILVER HEN. 

Dame Dorothea Penny kept a private school. It was quite a smallschool, on account of the small size of her house. She had only twelvescholars and they filled it quite full; indeed one very little boy hadto sit in the brick oven. On this account Dame Penny was obliged to doall her cooking on a Saturday when school did not keep; on that dayshe baked bread, and cakes, and pies enough to last a week. The ovenwas a very large one. 

It was on a Saturday that Dame Penny first missed her silver hen. Sheowned a wonderful silver hen, whose feathers looked exactly as if theyhad been dipped in liquid silver. When she was scratching for wormsout in the yard, and the sun shone on her, she was absolutelydazzling, and sent little bright reflections into the neighbors'windows, as if she were really solid silver. 

Dame Penny had a sunny little coop with a padlocked door for her, andshe always locked it very carefully every night. So it was doublyperplexing when the hen disappeared. Dame Penny remembered distinctlylocking the coop-door; several circumstances had served to fix it onher mind. She had started out without her overshoes, then had returnedfor them because the snow was quite deep and she was liable torheumatism. Then Dame Louisa who lived next door had rapped on herwindow, and she had run in there for a few moments with the hen-coopkey dangling on its blue ribbon from her wrist, and Dame Louisa hadremarked that she would lose that key if she were not more careful. Then when she returned home across the yard a doubt had seized her, and she had tried the coop-door to be sure that she had reallyfastened it. 

[Illustration: THE SNOW WAS QUITE DEEP. ]

The next morning when she fitted the key into the padlock and threwopen the door, and no silver hen came clucking out, it was verymysterious. Dame Louisa came running to the fence which divided heryard from Dame Penny's, and stood leaning on it with her apron overher head. 

"Are you sure that hen was in the coop when you locked the door?" saidshe. 

"Of course she was in the coop, " replied Dame Penny with dignity. "Shehas never failed to go in there at sundown for all the twenty-fiveyears that I've had her. "

Dame Penny carefully searched everywhere about the premises. When thescholars assembled she called the school to order, and told them ofher terrible loss. All the scholars crooked their arms over theirfaces and wept, for they were very fond of Dame Penny, and also of thesilver hen. Every one of them wore one of her silver tail-feathersin the best bonnet, or hat, as the case might be. The silver hen haddropped them about the yard, and Dame Penny had presented them fromtime to time as rewards for good behavior. 

After Dame Penny had told the school, she tried to proceed with theusual exercises. But in vain. She whipped one little boy because hesaid that four and three made seven, and she stood a little girl inthe corner because she spelled hen with one _n_. 

Finally she dismissed the scholars, and gave them permission to searchfor the silver hen. She offered the successful one the most beautifulChristmas present he had ever seen. It was about three weeks beforeChristmas. 

The children all put on their things, and went home and told theirparents what they were going to do; then they started upon the searchfor the silver hen. They searched with no success till the day beforeChristmas. Then they thought they would ask Dame Louisa, who had thereputation of being quite a wise woman, if she knew of any more likelyplaces in which they could hunt. 

The twelve scholars walked two by two up to Dame Louisa's front door, and knocked. They were very quiet and spoke only in whispers becausethey knew Dame Louisa was nervous, and did not like children verywell. Indeed it was a great cross to her that she lived so near theschool, for the scholars when out in their own yard never thoughtabout her nervousness, and made a deal of noise. Then too she couldhear every time they spelled or said the multiplication-table, orbounded the countries of Africa, and it was very trying. To-day inspite of their efforts to be quiet they awoke her from a nap, and shecame to the door, with her front-piece and cap on one side, and herspectacles over her eyebrows, very much out of humor. 

[Illustration: TWO BY TWO. ]

"I don't know where you'll find the hen, " said she peevishly, "unlessyou go to the White Woods for it. "

"Thank you, ma'am, " said the children with curtesies, and they allturned and went down the path between the dead Christmas-trees. 

Dame Louisa had no idea that they would go to the White Woods. She hadsaid it quite at random, although she was so vexed in being disturbedin her nap that she wished for a moment that they would. She stood inher front door and looked at her dead Christmas-trees, and thatalways made her feel crosser, and she had not at any time a pleasantdisposition. Indeed, it was rumored among the towns-people that thathad blasted her Christmas-trees, that Dame Louisa's scolding, frettingvoice had floated out to them, and smote their delicate twigs like abitter frost and made them turn yellow; for the real Christmas-tree isnot very hardy. 

No one else in the village, probably no one else in the county, ownedany such tree, alive or dead. Dame Louisa's husband, who had beena sea-captain, had brought them from foreign parts. They were merelittle twigs when they planted them on the first day of January, butthey were full-grown and loaded with fruit by the next Christmas-day. Every Christmas they were cut down and sold, but they always grewagain to their full height, in a year's time. They were not, it istrue, the regulation Christmas-tree. That is they were not loaded withdifferent and suitable gifts for every one in a family, as they stoodthere in Dame Louisa's yard. People always tied on those, after theyhad bought them, and had set them up in their own parlors. But thesetrees bore regular fruit like apple, or peach, or plum-trees, onlythere was a considerable variety in it. These trees when in fullfruitage were festooned with strings of pop-corn, and weighed downwith apples and oranges and figs and bags of candy, and it was reallyan amazing sight to see them out there in Dame Louisa's front yard. But now they were all yellow and dead, and not so much as one pop-cornwhitened the upper branches, neither was there one candle shiningout in the night. For the trees in their prime had borne also littletwinkling lights like wax candles. 

Dame Louisa looked out at her dead Christmas-trees, and scowled. Shecould see the children out in the road, and they were trudging alongin the direction of the White Woods. "Let 'em go, " she snapped toherself. "I guess they won't go far. I'll be rid of their noise, anyway. "

She could hear poor Dame Penny's distressed voice out in her yard, calling "Biddy, Biddy, Biddy;" and she scowled more fiercely thanever. "I'm glad she's lost her old silver hen, " she muttered toherself. She had always suspected the silver hen of pecking at theroots of the Christmas-trees and so causing them to blast; then, too, the silver hen had used to stand on the fence and crow; for, unlikeother hens, she could crow very beautifully, and that had disturbedher. 

Dame Louisa had a very wise book, which she had consulted to find thereason for the death of her Christmas-trees, but all she could find init was one short item, which did not satisfy her at all. The book wason the plan of an encyclopedia, and she, having turned to the "ch's, "found:

 "Christmas-trees--very delicate when transplanted, especially sensitive, and liable to blast at any change in the moral atmosphere. Remedy: discover and confess the cause. "

After reading this, Dame Louisa was always positive that Dame Penny'ssilver hen was at the root of the mischief, for she knew that sheherself had never done anything to hurt the trees. 

Dame Penny was so occupied in calling "Biddy, Biddy, Biddy, " andshaking a little pan of corn, that she never noticed the childrentaking the road toward the White Woods. If she had done so she wouldhave stopped them, for the White Woods was considered a very dangerousplace. It was called white because it was always white even inmidsummer. The trees and bushes, and all the undergrowth, every flowerand blade of grass, were white with snow and frost all the year round, and all the learned men of the country had studied into the reasonof it, and had come to the conclusion that the Woods lay in a directdraught from the North Pole and that produced the phenomenon. Nobody had penetrated very far into the White Woods, although manyexpeditions had been organized for that purpose. The cold was soterrible that it drove them back. 

The children had heard all about the terrors of the White Woods. Whenthey drew near it they took hold of one another's hands and snuggledas closely together as possible. 

When they struck into the path at the entrance the intense cold turnedtheir cheeks and noses blue in a moment, but they kept on, calling"Biddy, Biddy, Biddy!" in their shrill sweet trebles. Every twig onthe trees was glittering white with hoar-frost, and all the deadblackberry-vines wore white wreaths, the bushes brushed the ground, they were so heavy with ice, and the air was full of fine whitesparkles. The children's eyes were dazzled, but they kept on, stumbling through the icy vines and bushes, and calling "_Biddy, Biddy, Biddy_!"

It was quite late in the afternoon when they started, and pretty soonthe sun went down and the moon arose, and that made it seem colder. Itwas like traveling through a forest of solid silver then, and everyonce in a while a little frozen clump of flowers would shine so thatthey would think it was the silver hen and dart forward, to find itwas not. 

About two hours after the moon arose, as they were creeping along, calling "Biddy, Biddy, Biddy!" more and more faintly, a singular, hoarse voice replied suddenly. "We don't keep any hens, " said thevoice, and all the children jumped and screamed, and looked about forthe owner of it. He loomed up among some bushes at their right. He wasso dazzling white himself, and had such an indistinctness of outline, that they had taken him for an oak-tree. But it was the real Snow Man. They knew him in a moment, he looked so much like his effigies thatthey used to make in their yards. 

"We don't keep any hens, " repeated the Snow Man. "What are you callinghens for in this forest?"

The children huddled together as close as they could, and the oldestboy explained. When he broke down the oldest girl piped up and helpedhim. 

"Well, " said the Snow Man, "I haven't seen the silver hen. I never didsee any hens in these woods, but she may be around here for all that. You had better go home with me and spend the night. My wife will bedelighted to see you. We have never had any company in our lives, andshe is always scolding about it. "

The children looked at each other and shook harder than they had donewith cold. 

"I'm--afraid our mothers--wouldn't--like to have us, " stammered theoldest boy. 

"Nonsense, " cried the Snow Man. "Here I have been visiting you, timeand time again, and stood whole days out in your front yards, andyou've never been to see me. I think it is about time that I had somereturn. Come along. " With that the Snow Man seized the right ear ofthe oldest boy between a finger and thumb, and danced him along, andall the rest, trembling, and whimpering under their breaths, followed. 

It was not long before they reached the Snow Man's house, which wasreally quite magnificent: a castle built of blocks of ice fittedtogether like bricks, and with two splendid snow-lions keeping guardat the entrance. The Snow Man's wife stood in the door, and the SnowChildren stood behind her and peeped around her skirts; they weresmiling from ear to ear. They had never seen any company before, andthey were so delighted that they did not know what to do. 

[Illustration: THE SNOW MAN'S HOUSE. ]

"We have some company, wife, " shouted the Snow Man. 

"Bring them right in, " said his wife with a beaming face. She was veryhandsome, with beautiful pink cheeks and blue eyes, and she wore atrailing white robe, like a queen. She kissed the children all around, and shivers crept down their backs, for it was like being kissed by anicicle. "Kiss your company, my dears, " she said to the Snow Children, and they came bashfully forward and kissed Dame Penny's scholars withthese same chilly kisses. 

"Now, " said the Snow Man's wife, "come right in and sit down where itis cool--you look very hot. "

"Hot, " when the poor scholars were quite stiff with cold! They lookedat one another in dismay, but did not dare say anything. They followedthe Snow Man's wife into her grand parlor. 

"Come right over here by the north window where it is cooler, " saidshe, "and the children shall bring you some fans. "

The Snow Children floated up with fans--all the Snow Man's familyhad a lovely floating gait--and the scholars took them with feeblecurtesies, and began fanning. A stiff north wind blew in at thewindows. The forest was all creaking and snapping with the cold. Thepoor children, fanning themselves, on an ice divan, would certainlyhave frozen if the Snow Man's wife had not suggested that they allhave a little game of "puss-in-the-corner, " to while away the timebefore dinner. That warmed them up a little, for they had to run veryfast indeed to play with the Snow Children who seemed to fairly blowin the north wind from corner to corner. 

But the Snow Man's wife stopped the play a little before dinner wasannounced; she said the guests looked so warm that she was alarmed, and was afraid they might melt. 

[Illustration: PUSS-IN-THE-CORNER. ]

A whistle, that sounded just like the whistle of the north wind inthe chimney, blew for dinner, and Dame Penny's scholars thought withdelight that now they would have something warm. But every dish on theSnow Man's table was cold and frozen, and the Snow Man's wife kepturging them to eat this and that, because it was so nice and cooling, and they looked so warm. 

After dinner they were colder than ever, even. Another game of"puss-in-the-corner" did not warm them much; they were glad when theSnow Man's wife suggested that they go to bed, for they had visionsof warm blankets and comfortables. But when they were shown into thegreat north chamber, that was more like a hall than a chamber, withits walls of solid ice, its ice floor and its ice beds, their heartssank. Not a blanket nor comfortable was to be seen; there were greatsilk bags stuffed with snow flakes instead of feathers on the beds, and that was all. 

"If you are too warm in the night, and feel as if you were going tomelt, " said the Snow Man's wife, "you can open the south window andthat will make a draught--there are none but the north windows opennow. "

The scholars curtesied and bade her good-night, and she kissed themand hoped they would sleep well. Then she trailed her splendid robe, which was decorated with real frost embroidery, down the ice stairsand left her guests to themselves. They were frantic with cold andterror, and the little ones began to cry. They talked over thesituation and agreed that they had better wait until the house wasquiet and then run away. So they waited until they thought everybodymust be asleep, and then cautiously stole toward the door. It waslocked fast on the outside. The Snow Man's wife had slipped an iciclethrough the latch. Then they were in despair. It seemed as if theymust freeze to death before morning. But it occurred to some of theolder ones that they had heard their parents say that snow was reallywarm, and people had been kept warm and alive by burrowing undersnow-drifts. And as there were enough snow-flake beds to use forcoverlids also, they crept under them, having first shut the northwindows, and were soon quite comfortable. 

In the meantime there was a great panic in the village; the children'sparents were nearly wild. They came running to Dame Penny, but she wascalling "Biddy, Biddy, Biddy!" out in the moonlight, and knew nothingabout them. Then they called outside Dame Louisa's window, but shepretended to be asleep, although she was really awake, and in aterrible panic. 

She did not tell the parents how the children had gone to the WhiteWoods, because she knew that they could not extricate them from thedifficulty as well as she could herself. She knew all about the SnowMan and his wife, and how very anxious they were to have company. 

So just as soon as the parents were gone and she heard their voices inthe distance, she dressed herself, harnessed her old white horse intothe great box-sleigh, got out all the tubs and pails that she had inthe house, and went over to Dame Penny, who was still standing out inher front yard calling the silver hen and the children by turns. 

"Come, Dame Penny, " said Dame Louisa, "I want you to go with me to theWhite Woods and rescue the children. Bring out all the tubs and pailsyou have in the house, and we will pump them full of water. "

[Illustration: TO THE RESCUE. ]

"The pails--full of water--what for?" gasped Dame Penny. 

"To thaw them out, " replied Dame Louisa; "they will very likely bewholly or partly frozen, and I have always heard that cold water wasthe only remedy to use. "

Dame Penny said no more. She brought out all her tubs and pails, andthey pumped them and Dame Louisa's full of water, and packed them intothe sleigh--there were twelve of them. Then they climbed into theseat, slapped the reins over the back of the old white horse, andstarted off for the White Woods. 

On the way Dame Louisa wept, and confessed what she had done to DamePenny. "I have been a cross, selfish old woman, " said she, "and Ithink that is the reason why my Christmas-trees were blasted. I don'tbelieve your silver hen touched them. "

She and Dame Penny called "Biddy, Biddy, Biddy!" and the names of thechildren, all the way. Dame Louisa drove straight to the Snow Man'shouse. 

"They are more likely to be there than anywhere else, the Snow Man andhis wife are so crazy to have company, " said she. 

When they arrived at the house, Dame Louisa left Dame Penny to holdthe horse, and went in. The outer door was not locked and she wanderedquite at her will, through the great ice saloons, and wind-sweptcorridors. When she came to the door with the icicle through thelatch, she knew at once that the children were in that room, so shedrew out the icicle and entered. The children were asleep, but shearoused them, and bade them be very quiet and follow her. They got outof the house without disturbing any of the family; but, once out, anew difficulty beset them. The children had been so nearly warm undertheir snow-flake beds that they began to freeze the minute the icy airstruck them. 

But Dame Louisa promptly seized them, while Dame Penny held the horse, and put them into the tubs and pails of water. Then she took hold ofthe horse's head, and backed him and turned around carefully, and theystarted off at full speed. 

But it was not long before they discovered that they were pursued. They heard the hoarse voice of the Snow Man behind them calling tothem to stop. 

"What are you taking away my company for?" shouted the Snow Man. "Stop, stop!"

The wind was at the back of the Snow Man, and he came with tremendousvelocity. It was evident that he would soon overtake the old whitehorse who was stiff and somewhat lame. Dame Louisa whipped him up, butthe Snow Man gained on them. The icy breath of the Snow Man blew overthem. "Oh!" shrieked Dame Penny, "what shall we do, what shall we do?"

"Be quiet, " said Dame Louisa with dignity. She untied her largepoke-bonnet which was made of straw--she was unable to have a velvetone for winter, now her Christmas-trees were dead--and she hung it onthe whip. Then she drew a match from her pocket, and set fire to thebonnet. The light fabric blazed up directly, and the Snow Man stoppedshort. "If you come any nearer, " shrieked Dame Louisa, "I'll put thisright in your face and--melt you!"

"Give me back my company, " shouted the Snow Man in a doubtful voice. 

"You can't have your company, " said Dame Louisa, shaking the blazingbonnet defiantly at him. 

"To think of the days I've spent in their yards, slowly melting andsuffering everything, and my not having one visit back, " grumbled theSnow Man. But he stood still; he never took a step forward after DameLouisa had set her bonnet on fire. 

It was lucky Dame Louisa had worn a worsted scarf tied over herbonnet, and could now use it for a bonnet. 

The cold was intense, and had it not been that Dame Penny and DameLouisa both wore their Bay State shawls over their beaver sacques, andtheir stone-marten tippets and muffs, and blue worsted stockingsdrawn over their shoes, they would certainly have frozen. As for thechildren, they would never have reached home alive if it had not beenfor the pails and tubs of water. 

"Do you feel as if you were thawing?" Dame Louisa asked the childrenafter they had left the Snow Man behind. 

"Yes, ma'am, " said they. 

Dame Louisa drove as fast as she could, with thankful tears runningdown her cheeks. "I've been a wicked, cross old woman, " said she againand again, "and that is what blasted my Christmas-trees. "

It was the dawn of Christmas-day when they came in sight of DameLouisa's house. 

"Oh! what is that twinkling out in the yard?" cried the children. 

They could all see little fairy-like lights twinkling out in DameLouisa's yard. 

"It looks just as the Christmas-trees used to, " said Dame Penny. 

[ILLUSTRATION: "I'LL PUT THIS RIGHT IN YOUR FACE AND--MELT YOU!"]

"Oh! I can't believe it, " cried Dame Louisa, her heart beating wildly. 

But when they came opposite the yard, they saw that it was true. DameLouisa's Christmas-trees stood there all twinkling with lights, andcovered with trailing garlands of pop-corn, oranges, apples, and candy-bags; their yellow branches had turned green and theChristmas-trees were in full glory. 

"Oh! what is that shining so out in Dame Penny's yard?" cried thechildren, who were entirely thawed, and only needed to get home totheir parents and have some warm breakfast, and Christmas-presents, tobe quite themselves. "Biddy, Biddy, Biddy!" cried Dame Penny, and DameLouisa and the children chimed in, calling, "Biddy, Biddy, Biddy!"

It was indeed the silver hen, and following her were twelve littlesilver chickens. She had stolen a nest in Dame Louisa's barn andnobody had known it until she appeared on Christmas morning with herbrood of silver chickens. 

"Every scholar shall have one of the silver chickens for a Christmaspresent, " said Dame Penny. 

"And each shall have one of my Christmas-trees, " said Dame Louisa. 

Then all the scholars cried out with delight, the Christmas-bells inthe village began to ring, the silver hen flew up on the fence andcrowed, the sun shone broadly out, and it was a merry Christmas-day. 

TOBY. 

Aunt Malvina was sitting at the window watching for a horse-car whichshe wanted to take. Uncle Jack was near the register in a comfortableeasy chair, his feet on an embroidered foot-rest, and Letitia, just asclose to him as she could get her little rocking-chair, was sewing hersquare of patchwork "over and over. " Letitia had to sew a square ofpatchwork "over and over" every day. 

Aunt Malvina, who was not uncle Jack's wife, as one might suspect, buthis elder sister, was a very small, frisky little lady, with a thin, rosy face, and a little bobbing bunch of gray curls on each sideof it. She talked very fast, and she talked all the time, so sheaccomplished a vast deal of talking in the course of a day, and thepeople she happened to be with did a vast deal of listening. 

She was talking now, and uncle Jack was listening, with his headleaning comfortably against a pretty tidy all over daisies inKensington work, and so was Letitia, taking cautious little stitchesin her patchwork. 

"Mrs. Welcome, " aunt Malvina had just remarked, "has got a littlecolored boy as black as Toby to wait on table. "

Letitia opened her sober, light gray eyes very wide, and staredreflectively at aunt Malvina. 

"It was dark as Pokonoket when we came out of church last night, " saidaunt Malvina after a time, in the course of conversation. 

Letitia stared reflectively at her again. 

"There's my car coming around the corner!" cried aunt Malvina, and ranfriskily out of the room. Just outside the door she turned and thrusther face, with the little gray curls dancing around it, in again for alast word. "O, Jack!" cried she, "I hear that Edward Simonds' eldestson is as crazy as a loon!"

"Is?"

"Yes; isn't it dreadful? Good-by!" Aunt Malvina frisked airilydownstairs, and out on the street, barely in time to secure her car. 

When Letitia heard the front door close after her, she quilted herneedle carefully into her square, then she folded the patchwork upneatly, rose, and laid it together with her thimble, scissors, andcotton, in her little rocking-chair. Then she went and stood stillbefore uncle Jack, with her arms folded. It was a way she had when shewanted information. People rather smiled to see Letitia sometimes, butuncle Jack had always encouraged her in it; he said it was quaint. Letitia's face was very sober, and very innocent, and very round, andher hair was very long and light, and hung in two smooth braids, witha neat blue bow on the end of each, down her back. 

[Illustration: LETITIA STOOD BEFORE UNCLE JACK. ]

Uncle Jack gazed inquiringly at her through his half-closed eyes. "What is it, Letitia?"

"Aunt Malvina said 'as black as Toby, '" said Letitia with a look halfof inquiry, half of anxious abstraction. What Letitia could find outherself she never asked other people. 

"Yes; I know she did, " replied uncle Jack. 

"Then she said, 'Dark as Pokonoket. '"

"Yes; she said that too. "

"And then she said, 'Crazy as a loon. '"

"Yes; she did. "

"Uncle Jack, what is Toby, and what is Pokonoket, and what is a loon?"

"Toby, " said uncle Jack slowly and impressively, "lives in Pokonoket, and keeps a loon. "

"Oh!" said Letitia, in a tone which implied that she was both relievedand amazed at her own stupidity. 

"Yes; perhaps you would like to hear something more particular aboutToby--how he got married, for instance?"

"I should, very much indeed, " replied Letitia gravely and promptly. 

"Well, you had better sit down; it will take a few minutes to tellit. "

Letitia carefully took her patchwork, her thimble, her spool ofcotton, and her scissors out of her little rocking-chair and laid themon the table; then she sat down, and crossed her hands in her lap. 

"Now, if you are ready, " said uncle Jack, laughing a little to himselfas he looked down at her. Then he related as follows: "Toby is alittle black fellow, not much taller than you are, and he lives inPokonoket, and keeps a loon. Toby's hair is very short and kinky, andhis mouth is wide, and always curves up a little at the corners, asif he were laughing; his eyes are astonishingly bright; but all thepeople's eyes are bright in Pokonoket. 

"Pokonoket is a very dark country. It always was dark. The mostancient historians make no mention of its ever being light inPokonoket. 

"The cause of the darkness has never been exactly understood. Philosophers and men of science have worked very hard over it, but allthe conclusion they have been able to arrive at is, it must be due tofog, or smoke, or atmospheric phenomena. The most celebrated of themare in favor of atmospheric phenomena, and they are probably correct. 

"The houses are always furnished with lamps, of course, and everybodycarries a lantern. No one dreams of stirring out in Pokonoket withouta lantern. The men go to their work with lanterns, the ladies taketheirs when they go out shopping, and all the children have theirlittle lanterns to carry to school. 

[Illustration: SCHOOL CHILDREN IN POKONOKET. ]

"On account of the darkness, there are some very curious customs inPokonoket. One is, all the inhabitants are required by law to wearsqueaky shoes. Whenever anybody's shoes don't squeak according to theprescribed standard he is fined, and sometimes even imprisoned, if hepersists in his offense. A great many sad accidents are prevented bythis custom. People hear each other's shoes squeaking in the darknessat quite a distance, and don't run into each other. Pokonoketshoemakers make a specialty of squeaky shoes, and the squeakier theyare, the higher prices they bring; they can even put in new squeakswhen the old ones are worn out. It is a very common thing to see aPokonoket man with his little boy's shoes under his arm, carrying themto a shoemaker to get them re-squeaked. 

"Another funny custom is the wearing of phosphorescent buttons. Everybody, men, women and children, are required to wearphosphorescent buttons on their outside garments. They are quitelarge--about the size of an old-fashioned cent--and there are, generally, two rows of them down the front of a garment. It is rathera frightful sight to see a person with phosphorescent buttons on hiscoat advancing toward one in the dark, till you are accustomed to it;he looks as if he had two rows of enormous eyes. 

"Then, when the weather is stormy, everybody has to carry an umbrellawith his name on it in phosphorescent letters. In this way, nobody'seyes are put out, and no umbrellas are lost. Otherwise, umbrellaswould get so hopelessly mixed up in a dark country like Pokonoket thatit would require a special sitting of Parliament to sort them outagain. 

"It may seem rather odd that they should, but the inhabitants ofPokonoket are, as a general thing, very much attached to theircountry, and could not be hired to leave it for any other. It is avery peaceful place. There are no jails, and no criminals are executedin its bounds. If occasionally a person commits a crime that wouldmerit such extreme punishment, he puts out his lantern, and rips offhis phosphorescent buttons, and nobody can find him to punish. 

"But commonly, folks in Pokonoket do not commit great crimes, and area very peaceful, industrious and happy people. 

"They have never had any wars amongst themselves, and their countryhas never been invaded by a foreign foe; all that they ever have hadto seriously threaten their peace and safety was the Ogress. 

"A terrible ogress once lived in Pokonoket, and devoured everybody shecould catch. Nobody knew when his life was safe, and the worst of itwas, they did not know where she lived, or they would have gone ina body and disposed of her. She had a habitation somewhere in thedarkness, but nobody knew where--it might be right in their midst. There are a great many inconveniences about a dark country. 

[Illustration: POKONOKET IN STORMY WEATHER. ]

"Well, Toby who kept the loon, lived in a little hut on one ofthe principal streets. He was a widower, and lived with his sixgrandchildren who were all quite small and went to school. They werehis daughter's children. She had died a few years before of a diseasequite common in Pokonoket, and almost always fatal. It had a long namewhich the doctors had given it, which really meant, 'wanting light. '

"Toby was rather feeble and rheumatic, and it was about all he coulddo to knit stockings for his grandchildren, and make soup for theirdinner. Almost all day, except when he was stirring the soup, whichhe made in a great kettle set into a brick oven, he was sitting on alittle stool in his doorway, knitting, and the loon sat on a perch athis right hand. The loon who was a very large bird, was crazy, andthought he was a bobolink. _Link, link, bobolink!_' he sang all daylong, instead of crying in the way a loon usually does. His voice wasnot anywhere near the right pitch for a bobolink's song, but that madeno difference. _Link, link, bobolink!_ he kept on singing from morningtill night. 

"Toby did not mind knitting, but he did not like to make the soup. Ithad never seemed to him to be a man's work, and besides, it hurt hisold, rheumatic back to bend over the soup-kettle. That was what putit into his head to get married again. He thought if he could find apleasant, tidy woman, who would stir the soup while he sat in thedoor beside the loon, and knit the stockings, he could live much morecomfortably than he did. 

"Now Toby thought he knew of just the one he wanted. She was a widowwho lived a few squares from him. She was as sweet-tempered as a dove, and nobody could find a speck of dirt in her house if he was to searchall day with a lantern. 

[Illustration: TOBY AND THE CRAZY LOON. ]

"Toby thought about it for a long time. He did not wish to take anyrash step, but his back got lamer and stiffer, and when one day thesoup burned on to the kettle, and he dropped some stitches in hisstocking running to lift it off, he made up his mind. 

"The very next morning after his six grandchildren had gone to school, he put on his coat with phosphorescent buttons, lit his lantern, andstarted out. _Link, link, bobolink_! cried the crazy loon as he wentout the door. 

"'Yes; I am going to bring home a pleasant and neat mistress for you, and maybe you will recover your reason, ' said Toby. 

"_Link, link, bobolink_! cried the crazy loon. 

"Toby limped away through the darkness. The wind was blowing hard thatmorning, and as he turned the corner, puff! came a gust and blew outhis lantern. 

"He felt in every pocket, but he had not a match in one of them. Hehesitated whether to go back for one or not. Finally, he thought heknew the way pretty well and would risk it. His back was worse thanever that morning, and he did not want to take any unnecessary steps. So he fumbled along until he came to the street where the widow's homewas; there were five more just like hers, and they stood in a rowtogether. 

"Much to Toby's dismay, there was not a light in either. 

"'Well, ' he reflected, 'she is prudent, and is saving her oil, I daresay, and I can inquire. '

"So he felt his way along to the first house in the row--he could justsee them looming up in the darkness. He poked his head inside thedoor. 'Mrs. Clover-leaf!' cried he, 'are you in there? My lantern hasgone out, and I cannot tell which is your house. '

"There came a little grunt in reply. 

"'Mrs. Clover-leaf!' cried Toby again. 

"'I am here; what do you want?' answered a voice in the darkness. 

"It was so sharp that Toby felt for a moment as if his ears were beingsawed off, and he clapped his hands on them involuntarily. 'Bless me!I had forgotten that Mrs. Clover-leaf had such a voice, ' thought he. 

"'What do you want?' said the voice again. 

"It did not sound quite so sharp this time. He had become a littleused to it, and, after all, a sharp voice would not prevent her beingneat and pleasant and stirring the soup carefully. 

"So he said, as sweetly and coaxingly as he was able, 'I have come tosee if you would like to marry me, Mrs. Clover-leaf. '

"'I don't know, ' said the sharp voice, 'I had not thought of changingmy condition. '

"'All you would have to do, ' said Toby pleadingly, 'would be to stirthe soup for my grandchildren's dinner, while I knit the stockings. '

"There came a sound like the smacking of lips out of the darknesswithin the house. 'Oh! you have grandchildren; I forgot, ' said thevoice; 'how many?'

"'Six, ' replied Toby. 

"'I shall be pleased to marry you, ' cried the voice; and Toby heardthe squeaking of shoes, as if the widow were coming. 

"'When shall we be married?' said the sharp voice right in Toby's ear. 

"He jumped so that he could not answer for a minute. 'Well, ' said hefinally--'I don't want to hurry you, Mrs. Clover-leaf, but the soup isto be made for dinner, and if I don't finish the pair of stockings Iam on to-day, my eldest grandchild will have to go barefoot. A pair ofstockings only lasts one a week. ' And Toby sighed so pitifully that itought to have touched any widow's heart. 

"The widow laughed. Toby felt rather hurt that she should. He did notknow of any joke. It was a curious kind of a laugh, too; as bad in itsway as her voice. But what she said the next minute set matters right. 

"'Let us go and get married, then, ' said she, 'and I will go righthome and make the soup, and you can finish the stocking. '

"Toby was delighted. 'Thank you, my dear Mrs. Clover-leaf!' he cried, and offered her his arm gallantly, and they set off together to theminister's. 

"The widow took such enormous strides that Toby had to run to keep upwith her. She was much taller than he, and her bonnet was very large, and almost hid her face. Toby could hardly have seen her, if he hadhad his lantern; still he could not help wishing that one of them hadone, but the widow said her oil was out, so there was no help for it. 

"Once or twice when she turned her head toward him, Toby thought hereyes looked about twice as large and bright as phosphorescent buttons, and he felt a little startled, but he told himself that it was onlyhis imagination, of course. 

"When they reached the minister's, there was no light in his house, either, and it occurred to Toby that it was Fast Day. Once a week, Pokonoket ministers sit in total darkness all day, and eat nothing. 

"When Toby called, the minister poked his head out of the studywindow, and asked what he wanted. 

"Toby told him, and he and the widow stood in front of the studywindow, and were married in the dark, and Toby gave a phosphorescentbutton for the fee. 

"The widow took longer steps than ever on the way home, and Toby rantill he was all out of breath; she fairly lifted him off his feetsometimes, and carried him along on her arm. 

"_Link, link, bobolink_! sang the crazy loon when Toby and his brideentered the house. 

"'Now let's have a light, ' cried Toby's wife, and her voice wassharper than ever. It frightened the crazy loon so that he left thelink off the end of his song, and merely said bobo--

"'Yes, ' answered Toby, bustling about cheerfully after the matches, 'and then you will make the soup. '

[Illustration: TOBY RAN TILL HE WAS OUT OF BREATH. ]

"'I will make the soup, ' laughed his wife. 

"Toby felt frightened, he hardly knew why, but he found the matches, and lit the lamp. Then he turned to look at his new wife, and saw--theOgress! He had married the Ogress! Horrors!

"Toby sank down on his knees and shook with fear, his little kinkycurls bristling up all over his head. 

"'Pshaw!' said the Ogress contemptuously. 'You needn't shake! Doyou suppose I would eat such a little tough, bony fellow as you forsupper? No! When do your grandchildren come home from school?'

"'Oh, ' groaned Toby, 'take me, dear Mrs. Ogress, and spare mygrandchildren!'

"'I should smile, ' said the Ogress. That was all the reply she made. She talked popular slang along with her other bad habits. 

"Toby wept, and groaned, and pleaded, but he could not get anotherword out of her. She filled the great soup-kettle with water, set itover the fire (Toby shuddered to see her), then she sat down to waitfor the grandchildren to come home from school. She was uncommonlyhomely, even for an ogress, and she wore a brown calico dress that wasvery unbecoming. 

"Poor Toby gazed at her in fear and disgust. He looked out of thedoor, expecting every moment to see his grandchildren coming, onebehind the other, swinging their little lanterns. School childrenalways walked one behind the other in Pokonoket. It was against thelaw to walk two abreast. 

"Finally, when the Ogress was leaning over the soup-kettle, puttingher fingers in, to see if it was hot enough, Toby slipped out of thedoor, and ran straight to the minister's. 

"He stood outside the study window and groaned. 

"'What is the trouble?' asked the minister, poking his head out. 

"'Oh, ' cried Toby, 'you married me to the--Ogress!'

"'You don't say so!' cried the minister. 

"'Yes, I do! What shall I do? She is waiting for my grandchildren, andthe soup-kettle is on!'

"'Wait a minute, ' said the minister. 'In a matter of life and death, it is permitted to light a lamp on a Fast Day. This is a matter oflife and death; so I will light a lamp and look in my Encyclopædia ofUseful Knowledge. '

"So the minister lit his lamp, and took his Encyclopædia of UsefulKnowledge from the study shelf. 

"He turned over the leaves till he came to Ogre; then he found Ogress, and read all there was under that head. 

"'H'm!' he said; 'h'm, h'm! An Ogress is an inconceivably hideouscreature, yet, like all females, she is inordinately vain, and isextremely susceptible to any insinuations against her personalappearance! H'm!' said the minister; 'h'm, h'm! I know what I willdo. '

"Now it was one of the laws in Pokonoket that nobody should havea looking-glass but the minister. Once a year the ladies of hiscongregation were allowed to look at themselves in it; that was all. Ido not know the reason for this law, but it existed. 

"The minister took his looking-glass under his arm, and came out ofhis house. 'Now, Toby, ' said he, 'take me home with you. '

"'But I am afraid she will eat you, sir, ' said Toby doubtfully. 'Youare not as thin as I am. '

"'I am not in the least afraid, ' replied the minister cheerfully. 

"So Toby took heart a little, and hastened home with the minister. 

"_Link, link, bobolink_! cried the crazy loon as they went in thedoor. 

"The minister walked straight up to the Ogress, who was standingbeside the soup-kettle, and held the looking-glass before her. 

"When she saw her face in all its hideous ugliness, the shock was sogreat, for she had always thought herself very handsome, that she gaveone shriek and fell down quite dead. "

 * * * * *

Letitia gave a sigh of relief, and uncle Jack yawned. "Well, Letitia, that's all, " said he, "only Toby married the real widow, Mrs. Clover-leaf, the next day, and she made the soup to perfection, and hehad nothing to do all the rest of his life, but to sit in the doorwaybeside the crazy loon, and knit stockings for his grandchildren. "

"Thank you, uncle Jack, " said Letitia gravely. Then she got her squareof patchwork off the table and sat down and finished sewing it overand over. 

THE PATCHWORK SCHOOL. 

Once upon a time there was a city which possessed a very celebratedinstitution for the reformation of unruly children. It was, strictlyspeaking, a Reform School, but of a very peculiar kind. 

It had been established years before by a benevolent lady, who had agreat deal of money, and wished to do good with it. After thinking along time, she had hit upon this plan of founding a school for theimprovement of children who tried their parents and all their friendsby their ill behavior. More especially was it designed for ungratefuland discontented children; indeed it was mainly composed of this lastclass. 

There was a special set of police in the city, whose whole duty was tokeep a sharp lookout for ill-natured fretting children, who complainedof their parents' treatment, and thought other boys and girls weremuch better off than they, and to march them away to the school. Thesepolice all wore white top boots, tall peaked hats, and carried stickswith blue ribbon bows on them, and were very readily distinguished. Many a little boy on his way to school has dodged round a corner toavoid one, because he had just been telling his mother that anotherlittle boy's mother gave him twice as much pie for dinner as he had. He wouldn't breathe easy till he had left the white top boots out ofsight; and he would tremble all day at every knock on the door. 

There was not a child in the city but had a great horror of thisschool, though it may seem rather strange that they should; for thepunishment, at first thought, did not seem so very terrible. Eversince it was established, the school had been in charge of a verysingular little old woman. Nobody had ever known where she came from. The benevolent lady who founded the institution, had brought her tothe door one morning in her coach, and the neighbors had seen thelittle brown, wizened creature, with a most extraordinary gown on, alight and enter. This was all any one had ever known about her. Infact, the benevolent lady had come upon her in the course of hertravels in a little German town, sitting in a garret window, behind alittle box-garden of violets, sewing patchwork. After that, she becameacquainted with her, and finally hired her to superintend her school. You see, the benevolent lady had a very tender heart, and though shewanted to reform the naughty children of her native city, and havethem grow up to be good men and women, she did not want them to beshaken, nor have their ears cuffed; so the ideas advanced by thestrange little old woman just suited her. 

"Set 'em to sewing patchwork, " said this little old woman, sewingpatchwork vigorously herself as she spoke. She was dressed in agown of bright-colored patchwork, with a patchwork shawl over hershoulders. Her cap was made of tiny squares of patchwork, too. "Ifthey are sewing patchwork, " went on the little old woman, "they can'tbe in mischief. Just make 'em sit in little chairs and sew patchwork, boys and girls alike. Make 'em sit and sew patchwork, when the beesare flying over the clover, out in the bright sunlight, and the greatbluewinged butterflies stop with the roses just outside the windows, and the robins are singing in the cherry-trees, and they'll turn overa new leaf, you'll see!" sewing away with a will. 

[Illustration: THE PATCHWORK WOMAN. ]

So the school was founded, the strange little old woman placed overit, and it really worked admirably. It was the pride of the city. Strangers who visited it were always taken to visit the PatchworkSchool, for that was the name it went by. There sat the children, intheir little chairs, sewing patchwork. They were dressed in littlepatchwork uniforms; the girls wore blue and white patchwork frocksand pink and white patchwork pinafores, and the boys blue and whitepatchwork trousers, with pinafores like the girls. Their cheeks wereround and rosy, for they had plenty to eat--bread and milk three timesa day--but they looked sad, and tears were standing in the cornersof a good many eyes. How could they help it? It did seem as if theloveliest roses in the whole country were blossoming in the garden ofthe Patchwork School, and there were swarms of humming-birds flyingover them, and great red and blue-winged butterflies. And there weretall cherry-trees a little way from the window, and they used to beperfectly crimson with fruit; and the way the robins would sing inthem! Later in the season there were apple and peach-trees, too, theapples and great rosy peaches fairly dragging the branches to theground, and all in sight from the window of the schoolroom. 

No wonder the poor little culprits cooped up indoors sewing red andblue and green pieces of calico together, looked sad. Every day balesof calico were left at the door of the Patchwork School, and it allhad to be cut up in little bits and sewed together again. When thechildren heard the heavy tread of the porters bringing in the balesof new calico, the tears would leave the corners of their eyesand trickle down their poor little cheeks, at the prospect of theadditional work they would have to do. All the patchwork had to besewed over and over, and every crooked or too long stitch had to bepicked out; for the Patchwork Woman was very particular. They had tomake all their own clothes of patchwork, and after those were done, patchwork bed quilts, which were given to the city poor; so thebenevolent lady killed two birds with one stone, as you might say. 

[Illustration: THE PATCHWORK GIRL. ]

Of course, children staid in the Patchwork School different lengths oftime, according to their different offenses. But there were very fewchildren in the city who had not sat in a little chair and sewedpatchwork, at one time or another, for a greater or less period. Sooner or later, the best children were sure to think they wereill-treated by their parents, and had to go to bed earlier than theyought, or did not have as much candy as other children; and the policewould hear them grumbling, and drag them off to the Patchwork School. The Mayor's son, especially, who might be supposed to fare as wellas any little boy in the city, had been in the school any number oftimes. 

There was one little boy in the city, however, whom the white-bootedpolice had not yet found any occasion to arrest, though one might havethought he had more reason than a good many others to complain of hislot in life. In the first place, he had a girl's name, and any oneknows that would be a great cross to a boy. His name was Julia; hisparents had called him so on account of his having a maiden aunt whohad promised to leave her money to him if he was named for her. 

So there was no help for it, but it was a great trial to him, forthe other boys plagued him unmercifully, and called him "missy, " and"sissy, " and said "she" instead of "he" when they were speaking ofhim. Still he never complained to his parents, and told them he wishedthey had called him some other name. His parents were very poor, hard-working people, and Julia had much coarser clothes than the otherboys, and plainer food, but he was always cheerful about it, and neverseemed to think it at all hard that he could not have a velvet coatlike the Mayor's son, or carry cakes for lunch to school like thelawyer's little boy. 

But perhaps the greatest cross which Julia had to bear, and theone from which he stood in the greatest danger of getting into thePatchwork School, was his Grandmothers. I don't mean to say thatgrandmothers are to be considered usually as crosses. A dear old ladyseated with her knitting beside the fire, is a pleasant person tohave in the house. But Julia had four, and he had to hunt for theirspectacles, and pick up their balls of yarn so much that he got verylittle time to play. It was an unusual thing, but the families on bothsides were very long-lived, and there actually were four grandmothers;two great ones, and two common ones; two on each side of thefireplace, with their knitting work, in Julia's home. They werenice old ladies, and Julia loved them dearly, but they lost theirspectacles all the time, and were always dropping their balls of yarn, and it did make a deal of work for one boy to do. He could have huntedup spectacles for one Grandmother, but when it came to four, and onewas always losing hers while he was finding another's, and one ball ofyarn would drop and roll off, while he was picking up another--well, it was really bewildering at times. Then he had to hold the skeins ofyarn for them to wind, and his arms used to ache, and he could hearthe boys shouting at a game of ball outdoors, maybe. But he neverrefused to do anything his Grandmothers asked him to, and did itpleasantly, too; and it was not on that account he got into thePatchwork School. 

[Illustration: JULIA WAS ARRESTED ON CHRISTMAS DAY. ]

It was on Christmas day that Julia was arrested and led away to thePatchwork School. It happened in this way: As I said before, Julia'sparents were poor, and it was all they could do to procure the barecomforts of life for their family; there was very little to spend forknickknacks. But I don't think Julia would have complained at that; hewould have liked useful articles just as well for Christmas presents, and would not have been unhappy because he did not find some uselesstoy in his stocking, instead of some article of clothing, which heneeded to make him comfortable. But he had had the same things overand over, over and over, Christmas after Christmas. Every year each ofhis Grandmothers knit him two pairs of blue woollen yarn stockings, and hung them for him on Christmas Eve, for a Christmas present. Therethey would hang--eight pairs of stockings with nothing in them, in arow on the mantel shelf, every Christmas morning. 

Every year Julia thought about it for weeks before Christmas, andhoped and hoped he would have something different this time, but therethey always hung, and he had to go and kiss his Grandmothers, andpretend he liked the stockings the best of anything he could have had;for he would not have hurt their feelings for the world. 

His parents might have bettered matters a little, but they did notwish to cross the old ladies either, and they had to buy so much yarnthey could not afford to get anything else. 

The worst of it was, the stockings were knit so well, and of suchstout material, that they never wore out, so Julia never reallyneeded the new ones; if he had, that might have reconciled him to thesameness of his Christmas presents, for he was a very sensible boy. But his bureau drawers were full of the blue stockings rolled up inneat little hard balls--all the balls he ever had; the tears used tospring up in his eyes every time he looked at them. But he never saida word till the Christmas when he was twelve years old. Somehow thattime he was unusually cast down at the sight of the eight pairs ofstockings hanging in a row under the mantel shelf; but he kissed andthanked his Grandmothers just as he always had. 

When he was out on the street a little later, however, he sat down ina doorway and cried. He could not help it. Some of the other boys hadsuch lovely presents, and he had nothing but these same blue woollenstockings. 

"What's the matter, little boy?" asked a voice. 

Without looking up, Julia sobbed out his troubles; but what was hishorror when he felt himself seized by the arm and lifted up, andfound that he was in the grasp of a policeman in white top boots. Thepoliceman did not mind Julia's tears and entreaties in the least, butled him away to the Patchwork School, waving his stick with its blueribbon bow as majestically as a drum major. 

So Julia had to sit down in a little chair, and sew patchwork with therest. He did not mind the close work as much as some of the others, for he was used to being kept indoors, attending to his Grandmothers'wants; but he disliked to sew. His term of punishment was a long one. The Patchwork Woman, who fixed it, thought it looked very badly for alittle boy to be complaining because his kind grandparents had givenhim some warm stockings instead of foolish toys. 

The first thing the children had to do when they entered the school, was to make their patchwork clothes, as I have said. Julia had got hisfinished and was busily sewing on a red and green patchwork quilt, in a tea-chest pattern, when, one day, the Mayor came to visit theschool. Just then his son did not happen to be serving a term there;the Mayor never visited it with visitors of distinction when he was. 

To-day he had a Chinese Ambassador with him. The Patchwork Woman satbehind her desk on the platform and sewed patchwork, the Mayor in hisfine broadcloth sat one side of her, and the Chinese Ambassador, inhis yellow satin gown, on the other. 

The Ambassador's name was To-Chum. The children could not helpstealing glances occasionally at his high eyebrows and braided queue, but they cast their eyes on their sewing again directly. 

The Mayor and the Ambassador staid about an hour; then after they hadboth made some remarks--the Ambassador made his in Chinese; he couldspeak English, but his remarks in Chinese were wiser--they rose to go. 

Now, the door of the Patchwork School was of a very peculiarstructure. It was made of iron of a great thickness, and opened likeany safe door, only it had more magic about it than any safe door everhad. At a certain hour in the afternoon, it shut of its own accord, and opened at a certain hour in the morning, when the Patchwork Womanrepeated a formula before it. The formula did no good whatever at anyother time; the door was so constructed that not even its inventorcould open it after it shut at the certain hour of the afternoon, before the certain hour the next morning. 

Now the Mayor and the Chinese Ambassador had staid rather longer thanthey should have. They had been so interested in the school that theyhad not noticed how the time was going, and the Patchwork Woman hadbeen so taken up with a very intricate new pattern that she failed toremind them, as was her custom. 

So it happened that while the Mayor got through the iron door safely, just as the Chinese Ambassador was following it suddenly swung to, andshut in his braided queue at a very high point. 

[Illustration: JULIA ENTERTAINS THE AMBASSADOR THROUGH THE KEYHOLE. ]

Then there was the Ambassador on one side of the door, and his queueon the other, and the door could not possibly be opened beforemorning. Here was a terrible dilemma! What was to be done? There stoodthe children, their patchwork in their hands, staring, open-mouthed, at the queue dangling through the door, and the Patchwork Woman palewith dismay, in their midst, on one side of the door, and on the otherside was the terror-stricken Mayor, and the poor Chinese Ambassador. 

"Can't anything be done?" shouted the Mayor through the keyhole--therewas a very large keyhole. 

"No, " the Patchwork Woman said. "The door won't open till six o'clockto-morrow morning. "

"Oh, try!" groaned the Mayor. "Say the formula. "

She said the formula, to satisfy them, but the door staid firmly shut. Evidently the Chinese Ambassador would have to stay where he was untilmorning, unless he had the Mayor snip his queue off, which was not tobe thought of. 

So the Mayor, who was something of a philosopher, set aboutaccommodating himself, or rather his friend, to the situation. 

"It is inevitable, " said he to the Ambassador. "I am very sorry, buteverybody has to conform to the customs of the institutions of thecountries which they visit. I will go and get you some dinner, and anextra coat. I will keep you company through the night, and morningwill come before you know it. "

"Well, " sighed the Chinese Ambassador, standing on tiptoe so his queueshould not pull so hard. He was a patient man, but after he had eatenhis dinner the time seemed terrible long. 

"Why don't you talk?" said he to the Mayor, who was dozing beside himin an easy-chair. "Can't you tell me a story?"

"I never did such a thing in my life, " replied the Mayor, rousinghimself; "but I am very sorry for you, dear sir; perhaps the PatchworkWoman can. "

So he asked the Patchwork Woman through the keyhole. 

"I never told a story in my life, " said she; "but there's a boy herethat I heard telling a beautiful one the other day. Here, Julia, "called she, "come and tell a story to the Chinese Ambassador. "

Julia really knew a great many stories which his Grandmothers hadtaught him, and he sat on a little stool and told them through thekeyhole all night to the Chinese Ambassador. 

He and the Mayor were so interested that morning came and the doorswung open before they knew it. The poor Ambassador drew a longbreath, and put his hand around to his queue to see if it was safe. Then he wanted to thank and reward the boy who had made the long nighthours pass so pleasantly. 

"What is he in here for?" asked the Mayor, patting Julia, who couldhardly keep his eyes open. 

[Illustration: THE GRANDMOTHERS ENJOY THE CHINESE TOYS. ]

"He grumbled about his Christmas presents, " replied the PatchworkWoman. 

"What did you have?" inquired the Mayor. 

"Eight pairs of blue yarn stockings, " answered Julia, rubbing hiseyes. 

"And the year before?"

"Eight pairs of blue yarn stockings. "

"And the year before that?"

"Eight pairs of blue yarn stockings. "

"Didn't you ever have anything for Christmas presents but blue yarnstockings?" asked the astonished Mayor. 

"No, sir, " said Julia meekly. 

Then the whole story came out. Julia, by dint of questioning, toldsome, and the other children told the rest; and finally, in theafternoon, orders came to dress him in his own clothes, and send himhome. But when he got there, the Mayor and Chinese Ambassador hadbeen there before him, and there hung the eight pairs of blue yarnstockings under the mantel-shelf, crammed full of the most beautifulthings--knives, balls, candy--everything he had ever wanted, and themantel-shelf piled high also. 

A great many of the presents were of Chinese manufacture; for theAmbassador considered them, of course, superior, and he wished toexpress his gratitude to Julia as forcibly as he could. There was onestocking entirely filled with curious Chinese tops. A little roundhead, so much like the Ambassador's that it actually startled Julia, peeped out of the stocking. But it was only a top in the shape ofa little man in a yellow silk gown, who could spin around verysuccessfully on one foot, for an astonishing length of time. There wasa Chinese lady-top too, who fanned herself coquettishly as she spun;and a mandarin who nodded wisely. The tops were enough to turn a boy'shead. 

There were equally curious things in the other stockings. Some of themJulia had no use for, such as silk for dresses, China crape shawls andfans, but they were just the things for his Grandmothers, who, afterthis, sat beside the fireplace, very prim and fine, in stiff silkgowns, with China crape shawls over their shoulders, and Chinese fansin their hands, and queer shoes on their feet. Julia liked theirpresents just as well as he did his own, and probably the Ambassadorknew that he would. 

The Mayor had filled one stocking himself with bonbons, and Juliapicked out all the peppermints amongst them for his Grandmothers. Theywere very fond of peppermints. Then he went to work to find theirspectacles, which had been lost ever since he had been away. 

THE SQUIRE'S SIXPENCE. 

Patience Mather was saying the seven-multiplication table, when sheheard a heavy step in the entry. 

"That is Squire Bean, " whispered her friend, Martha Joy, who stood ather elbow. 

Patience stopped short in horror. Her especial bugbear in mathematicswas eight-times-seven; she was coming toward it fast--could sheremember it, with old Squire Bean looking at her?

"Go on, " said the teacher severely. She was quite young, and alsostood in some awe of Squire Bean, but she did not wish her pupils todiscover it, so she pretended to ignore that step in the entry. SquireBean walked with a heavy gilt-headed cane which always went clump, clump, at every step; beside he shuffled--one could always tell whowas coming. 

"Seven times seven, " begun Patience trembling--then the dooropened--there stood Squire Bean. 

The teacher rose promptly. She tried to be very easy and natural, buther pretty round cheeks turned red and white by turns. 

"Good-morning, Squire Bean, " said she. Then she placed a chair on theplatform for him. 

"_Good_-morning, " said he, and seated himself in a lumbering way--hewas rather stiff with rheumatism. He was a large old man in a greencamlet cloak with brass buttons. 

"You may go on with the exercises, " said he to the teacher, after hehad adjusted himself and wiped his face solemnly with a great redhandkerchief. 

"Go on, Patience, " said the teacher. 

So Patience piped up in her little weak soprano: "Seven times sevenare forty-nine. Eight times seven are"--She stopped short. Then shebegun over again--"Eight times seven"--

The class with toes on the crack all swayed forward to look ather, the pupils at the foot stepped off till they swung it into ahalf-circle. Hands came up and gyrated wildly. 

"Back on the line!" said the teacher sternly. Then they stepped back, but the hands indicative of superior knowledge still waved, the coarsejacket-sleeves and the gingham apron-sleeves slipping back from thethin childish wrists. 

"Eight times seven are eighty-nine, " declared Patience desperately. The hands shook frantically, some of the owners stepped off the lineagain in their eagerness. 

Patience's cheeks were red as poppies, her eyes were full of tears. 

"You may try once more, Patience, " said the teacher, who wasdistressed herself. She feared lest Squire Bean might think that itwas her fault, and that she was not a competent teacher, becausePatience Mather did not know eight-times-seven. 

So Patience started again--"Eight times seven"--She paused for amighty mental effort--she must get it right this time. "Six"--shebegan feebly. 

"What!" said Squire Bean suddenly, in a deep voice which sounded likea growl. 

Then all at once poor little Patience heard a whisper sweet as anangel's in her ear: "Fifty-six. "

"Eight times seven are fifty-six, " said she convulsively. 

[Illustration: "SIX"--SHE BEGAN FEEBLY. ]

"Right, " said the teacher with a relieved look. The hands went down. Patience stood with her neat little shoes toeing out on the crack. Itwas over. She had not failed before Squire Bean. For a few minutes, she could think of nothing but that. 

The rest of the class had their weak points, moreover their strongpoints, overlooked in the presence of the company. The first thingPatience knew, ever so many had missed in the nine-table, and she hadgone up to the head. 

Standing there, all at once a terrible misgiving seized her. "Iwouldn't have gone to the head if I hadn't been told, " she thoughtto herself. Martha was next below her; she knew that question in thenines, her hand had been up, so had John Allen's and Phoebe Adams'. 

This was the last class before recess. Patience went soberly out inthe yard with the other girls. There was a little restraint over allthe scholars. They looked with awe at the Squire's horse and chaise. The horse was tied after a novel fashion, an invention of the Squire'sown. He had driven a gimlet into the schoolhouse wall, and tied hishorse to it with a stout rope. Whenever the Squire drove he carriedwith him his gimlet, in case there should be no hitching-post. Occasionally house-owners rebelled, but it made no difference; thenext time the Squire had occasion to stop at their premises there wasanother gimlet-hole in the wall. Few people could make their way goodagainst Squire Bean's. 

There were a great many holes in the schoolhouse walls, for the Squiremade frequent visits; he was one of the committee and consideredhimself very necessary for the well-being of the school. Indeed if hehad frankly spoken his mind, he would probably have admitted that inhis estimation the school could not be properly kept one day withouthis assistance. 

[Illustration: "WHAT!" SAID SQUIRE BEAN SUDDENLY. ]

Patience stood with her back against the school fence, and watchedthe others soberly. The girls wanted her to play "Little Sally Waterssitting in the sun, " but she said no, she didn't want to play. 

Martha took hold of her arm and tried to pull her into the ring, butshe held back. 

"What is the matter?" said Martha. 

"Nothing, " Patience said, but her face was full of trouble. There wasa little wrinkle between her reflective brown eyes, and she drew inher under lip after a way she had when disturbed. 

When the bell rang, the scholars filed in with the greatest order anddecorum. Even the most frisky boys did no more than roll their eyesrespectfully in the Squire's direction as they passed him, and theytiptoed on their bare feet in the most cautious manner. 

The Squire sat through the remaining exercises, until it was time toclose the school. 

"You may put up your books, " said the teacher. There was a rustle andclatter, then a solemn hush. They all sat with their arms folded, looking expectantly at Squire Bean. The teacher turned to him. Hercheeks were very red, and she was very dignified, but her voice shooka little. 

"Won't you make some remarks to the pupils?" said she. 

Then the Squire rose and cleared his throat. The scholars did not paymuch attention to what he said, although they sat still, with theireyes riveted on his face. But when, toward the close of his remarks, he put his hand in his pocket, and a faint jingling was heard, athrill ran over the school. 

The Squire pulled out two silver sixpences, and held them upimpressively before the children. Through a hole in each of themdangled a palm-leaf strand; and the Squire's own initial was stampedon both. 

"Thomas Arnold may step this way, " said the Squire. 

Thomas Arnold had acquitted himself well in geography, and to him theSquire duly presented one of the sixpences. 

Thomas bobbed, and pattered back to his seat with all his matesstaring and grinning at him. 

Then Patience Mather's heart jumped--Squire Bean was bidding her stepthat way, on account of her going to the head of the arithmetic class. She sat still. There was a roaring in her ears. Squire Bean spokeagain. Then the teacher interposed. "Patience, " said she, "did you nothear what Squire Bean said? Step this way. "

Then Patience rose and dragged slowly down the aisle. She hung herhead, she dimly heard Squire Bean speaking; then the sixpence touchedher hand. Suddenly Patience looked up. There was a vein of heroism inthe little girl. Not far back, some of her kin had been brave fightersin the Revolution. Now their little descendant went marching up to herown enemy in her own way. She spoke right up before Squire Bean. 

"I'd rather you'd give it to some one else, " said she with a curtesy. "It doesn't belong to me. I wouldn't have gone to the head if I hadn'tcheated. "

Patience's cheeks were white, but her eyes flashed. Squire Beangasped, and turned it into a cough. Then he began asking herquestions. Patience answered unflinchingly. She kept holding thesixpence toward him. 

Finally he reached out and gave it a little push back. 

"Keep it, " said he; "keep it, keep it. I don't give it to you forgoing to the head, but because you are an honest and truthful child. "

Patience blushed pink to her little neck. She curtesied deeply andreturned to her seat, the silver sixpence dangling from her agitatedlittle hand. She put her head down on her desk, and cried, now it wasall over, and did not look up till school was dismissed, and MarthaJoy came and put her arm around her and comforted her. 

The two little girls were very close friends, and were together allthe time which they could snatch out of school hours. Not long afterthe presentation of the sixpence, one night after school, Patience'smother wanted her to go on an errand to Nancy Gookin's hut. 

Nancy Gookin was an Indian woman, who did a good many odd jobs for theneighbors. Mrs. Mather was expecting company, and she wanted her tocome the next day and assist her about some cleaning. 

Patience was usually willing enough, but to-night she demurred. Infact, she was a little afraid of the Indian woman, who lived all alonein a little hut on the edge of some woods. Her mother knew it, but itwas a foolish fear, and she did not encourage her in it. 

"There is no sense in your being afraid of Nancy, " she said with someseverity. "She's a good woman, if she is an Injun, and she is alwaysto be seen in the meeting-house of a Sabbath day. "

As her mother spoke, Patience could see Nancy's dark harsh old facepeering over the pew, where she and some of her nation sat together, Sabbath days, and the image made her shudder in spite of itsenvironments. However, she finally put on her little sunbonnet and setforth. It was a lovely summer twilight; she had only about a quarterof a mile to go, but her courage failed her more and more at everystep. Martha Joy lived on the way. When she reached her house, shestopped and begged her to go with her. Martha was obliging; underordinary circumstances she would have gone with alacrity, but to-nightshe had a hard toothache. She came to the door with her face all tiedup in a hop-poultice. "I'm 'fraid I can't go, " she said dolefully. 

But Patience begged and begged. "I'll spend my sixpence that uncleJoseph gave me, and I'll buy you a whole card of peppermints, " saidshe finally, by way of inducement. 

That won the day. Martha got few sweets, and if there was anythingshe craved, it was the peppermints, which came, in those days, in bigbeautiful cards, to be broken off at will. And to have a whole card!

So poor Martha tied her little napping sunbonnet over her swollencheeks, and went with Patience to see Nancy Gookin, who received themessage thankfully, and did not do them the least harm in the world. 

Martha had really a very hard toothache. She did not sleep much thatnight for all the hop-poultice, and she went to school the next dayfeeling tired and cross. She was a nervous little girl, and never boreillness very well. But to-day she had one pleasant anticipation. Shethought often of that card of peppermints. It had cheered her somewhatin her uneasy night. She thought that Patience would surely bring themto school. She came early herself and watched for her. She enteredquite late, just before the bell rang. Martha ran up to her. "Ihaven't got the peppermints, " said Patience. She had been crying. 

Martha straightened up: "Why not?"

The tears welled out of Patience's eyes. "I can't find that sixpenceanywhere. "

The tears came into Martha's eyes too. She looked as dignified as herpoulticed face would allow. "I never knew you told fibs, PatienceMather, " said she. "I don't believe my mother will want me to go withyou any more. "

Just then the bell rang. Martha went crying to her seat, and theothers thought it was on account of her toothache. Patience kept backher tears. She was forming a desperate resolution. When recess came, she got permission to go to the store which was quite near, and shebought a card of peppermints with the Squire's sixpence. She hadpulled out the palm-leaf strand on her way, thrusting it into herpocket guiltily. She felt as if she were committing sacrilege. Thesesixpences, which Squire Bean bestowed upon worthy scholars from timeto time, were ostensibly for the purpose of book-marks. That was thereason for the palm-leaf strand. The Squire took the sixpences to theblacksmith who stamped them with B's, and then, with his own hands, headjusted the palm-leaf. 

The man who kept the store looked at the sixpence curiously, whenPatience offered it. 

"One of the Squire's sixpences!" said he. 

"Yes; it's mine. " That was the argument which Patience had set forthto her own conscience. It was certainly her own sixpence; the Squirehad given it to her--had she not a right to do as she chose with it?

The man laughed; his name was Ezra Tomkins, and he enjoyed a joke. Hewas privately resolving to give that sixpence in change to theold Squire and see what he would say. If Patience had guessed histhoughts--

But she took the card of peppermints, and carried them to the appeasedand repentant and curious Martha, and waited further developments intrepidation. She had a presentiment deep within her childish soul thatsome day she would have a reckoning with Squire Bean concerning hissixpence. 

If by chance she had to pass his house, she would hurry by at herutmost speed lest she be intercepted. She got out of his way as fastas she could if she spied his old horse and chaise in the distance. Still she knew the day would come; and it did. 

It was one Saturday afternoon; school did not keep, and she was allalone in the house with Martha. Her mother had gone visiting. The twolittle girls were playing "Holly Gull, Passed how many, " with beans inthe kitchen, when the door opened, and in walked Susan Elder. Shewas a woman who lived at Squire Bean's and helped his wife with thehousework. 

The minute Patience saw her, she knew what her errand was. She gave agreat start. Then she looked at Susan Elder with her big frightenedeyes. 

Susan Elder was a stout old woman. She sat down on the settle, andwheezed before she spoke. "Squire Bean wants you to come up to hishouse right away, " said she at last. 

Patience trembled all over. "My mother is gone away. I don't know asshe would want me to go, " she ventured despairingly. 

"He wants you to come right away, " said Susan. 

"I don't believe mother'd want me to leave the house alone. "

"I'll stay an' rest till you git back; I'd jest as soon. I'm alltuckered out comin' up the hill. "

Patience was very pale. She cast an agonized glance at Martha. "Ispent the Squire's sixpence for those peppermints, " she whispered. Shehad not told her before. 

Martha looked at her in horror--then she begun to cry. "Oh! I made youdo it, " she sobbed. 

"Won't you go with me?" groaned Patience. 

"One little gal is enough, " spoke up Susan Elder. "He won't like it iftwo goes. "

That settled it. Poor little Patience Mather crept meekly out ofthe house and down the hill to Squire Bean's, without even Martha'sforeboding sympathy for consolation. 

She looked ahead wistfully all the way. If she could only see hermother coming--but she did not, and there was Squire Bean's house, square and white and massive, with great sprawling clumps of whitepeonies in the front yard. 

She went around to the back door, and raised a feeble clatter with theknocker. Mrs. Squire Bean, who was tall and thin and mild-looking, answered her knock. "The--Squire--sent--for--me"--choked Patience. 

"Oh!" said the old lady, "you air the little Mather-gal, I guess. "

Patience shook so she could hardly reply. 

"You'd better go right into his room, " said Mrs. Squire Bean, andPatience followed her. She gave her a little pat when she opened adoor on the right. "Don't you be afeard, " said she; "he won't saynothin' to you. I'll give you a piece of sweet-cake when you comeout. "

Thus admonished, Patience entered. "Here's the little Mather-gal, "Mrs. Bean remarked; then the door closed again on her mild old face. 

[Illustration: LITTLE PATIENCE OBEYS THE SQUIRE'S SUMMONS. ]

When Patience first looked at that room, she had a wild impulse toturn and run. A conviction flashed through her mind that she couldoutrun Squire Bean and his wife easily. In fact, the queer aspectof the room was not calculated to dispel her nervous terror. SquireBean's peculiarities showed forth in the arrangement of his room, aswell as in other ways. His floor was painted drab, and in the centerwere the sun and solar system depicted in yellow. But that six-rayedyellow sun, the size of a large dinner plate, with its group of lessersix-rayed orbs as large as saucers, did not startle Patience asmuch as the rug beside the Squire's bed. That was made of a brindlecow-skin with--the horns on. The little girl's fascinated gaze restedon these bristling horns and could not tear itself away. Across thefoot of the Squire's bed lay a great iron bar; that was a housewifelyscheme of his own to keep the clothes well down at the foot. ButPatience's fertile imagination construed it into a dire weapon ofpunishment. 

The Squire was sitting at his old cherry desk. He turned around andlooked at Patience sharply from under his shaggy, overhanging brows. 

Then he fumbled in his pocket and brought something out--it was thesixpence. Then he began talking. Patience could not have told what hesaid. Her mind was entirely full of what she had to say. Somehowshe stammered out the story: how she had been afraid to go to NancyGookin's, and how she had lost the sixpence her uncle had given her, and how Martha had said she told a fib. Patience trembled and gaspedout the words, and curtesied, once in a while, when the Squire saidsomething. 

"Come here, " said he, when he had sat for a minute or two, taking inthe facts of the case. 

To Patience's utter astonishment, Squire Bean was laughing, andholding out the sixpence. 

"Have you got the palm-leaf string?"

"Yes, sir, " replied Patience, curtesying. 

"Well, you may take this home, and put in the palm-leaf string, anduse it for a marker in your book--but don't you spend it again. "

"No, sir. " Patience curtesied again. 

"You did very wrong to spend it, very wrong. Those sixpences are notgiven to you to spend. But I will overlook it this once. "

The Squire extended the sixpence. Patience took it, with another dipof her little skirt. Then he turned around to his desk. 

Patience waited a few minutes. She did not know whether she wasdismissed or not. Finally the Squire begun to add aloud: "Five andfive are ten, " he said, "ought, and carry the one. "

He was adding a bill. Then Patience stole out softly. Mrs. Squire Beanwas waiting in the kitchen. She gave her a great piece of plum-cakeand kissed her. 

"He didn't hurt you any, did he?" said she. 

"No, ma'am, " said Patience, looking with a bewildered smile at thesixpence. 

That night she tied in the palm-leaf strand again, and she put thesixpence in her Geography-book, and she kept it so safely all her lifethat her great-grandchildren have seen it. 

A PLAIN CASE. 

Willy had his own little bag packed--indeed it had been packed forthree whole days--and now he stood gripping it tightly in one hand, and a small yellow cane which was the pride of his heart in the other. Willy had a little harmless, childish dandyism about him which hismother rather encouraged. "I'd rather he'd be this way than theother, " she said when people were inclined to smile at his littlefussy habits. "It won't hurt him any to be nice and particular, if hedoesn't get conceited. "

Willy looked very dainty and sweet and gentle as he stood in the doorthis morning. His straight fair hair was brushed very smooth, hiswhite straw hat with its blue ribbon was set on exactly, there was nota speck on his best blue suit. 

"Willy looks as if he had just come out of the band-box, " Grandma hadsaid. But she did not have time to admire him long; she was not nearlyready herself. Grandma was always in a hurry at the last moment. Nowshe had to pack her big valise, brush Grandpa's hair, put on his"dicky" and cravat, and adjust her own bonnet and shawl. 

Willy was privately afraid she would not be ready when the villagecoach came, and so they would miss the train, but he said nothing. He stood patiently in the door and looked down the street whence thecoach would come, and listened to the bustle in Grandma's room. Therewas not an impatient line in his face although he had really a gooddeal at stake. He was going to Exeter with his Grandpa and Grandma, tovisit his aunt Annie, and his new uncle Frank. Grandpa and Grandma hadcome from Maine to visit their daughter Ellen who was Willy's mother, and now they were going to see Annie. When Willy found out that he wasgoing too, he was delighted. He had always been very fond of his auntAnnie, and had not seen her for a long time. He had never seen his newuncle Frank who had been married to Annie six months before, and helooked forward to that. Uncles and aunts seemed a very desirableacquisition to this little Willy, who had always been a great petamong his relatives. 

"He won't make you a bit of trouble, if you don't mind taking him. Henever teases nor frets, and he won't be homesick, " his mother had toldhis grandmother. 

"I know all about that, " Grandma Stockton had replied. "I'd just assoon take him as a doll-baby. "

[Illustration: WATCHING FOR THE COACH. ]

Willy Norton really was a very sweet boy. He proved it this morningby standing there so patiently and never singing out, "Ain't you mostready, Grandma?" although it did seem to him she never would be. 

His mother was helping her pack too; he could hear them talking. "Iguess I sha'n't put in father's best coat, " Grandma Stockton remarked, among other things. "He won't be in Exeter over Sunday, and won't wantit to go to meetin', and it musses it up so to put it in a valise. "

"Well, I don't know as I would as long as you're coming back here, "said his mother. 

After a while she remarked further, "If father should want that coat, you can send for it, and I can put in Willy's other shoes with it. "

Willy noticed that, because he himself had rather regretted not takinghis other shoes. He had only his best ones, and he thought he mightwant to go berrying in Exeter and would spoil them tramping throughthe bushes and briers, and he did not like to wear shabby shoes. 

"Well, I can; but I guess he won't want it, " said Grandma. 

At last the coach came in sight, and Grandma was all ready exceptingher bonnet and gloves, and Grandpa had only to brush his hat verycarefully and put it on; so they did not miss the train. 

Willy's mother hugged him tight and kissed him. There were tears inher eyes. This was the first time he had ever been away from homewithout her. "Be a good boy, " said she. 

"There isn't any need of tellin' him that, " chuckled Grandpa, gettinginto the coach. He thought Willy was the most wonderful child in theworld. 

It was quite a long ride to Exeter. They did not get there untiltea-time, but that made it seem all the pleasanter. Willy never forgothow peaceful and beautiful that little, elm-shaded village looked withthe red light of the setting sun over it. There was aunt Annie, too, in the prettiest blue-sprigged, white cambric, standing in her doorwatching for them; and she was so surprised and delighted to seeWilly, and they had tea right away, and there were berries and cream, and cream-tartar biscuits and frosted cake. 

Uncle Frank, Willy thought, was going to be the nicest uncle he had. There was something about the tall, curly-headed, pleasant-eyed youngman which won his boyish heart at once. 

"Glad to see you, sir, " uncle Frank said in his loud, merry voice;then he gave Willy's little slim hand a big shake, as if it were aman's. 

He was further prepossessed in his favor when, after tea, he begged totake him over to the store and show him around before he went tobed. Grandma had suggested his going directly to bed, as he mustbe fatigued with the journey, but uncle Frank pleaded for fifteenminutes' grace, so Willy went to view the store. 

It was almost directly opposite uncle Frank's house, and uncle Frankand his father kept it. It was in a large old building, half of whichwas a dwelling-house where uncle Frank's parents lived, and where hehad lived himself before he was married. The store was a large countryone, and there was a post-office and an express office connected withit. Uncle Frank and his father were store-keepers and postmasters andexpress-agents. 

The jolly new uncle gave Willy some sticks of peppermint andwinter-green candy out of the glass jars, in the store-window, andshowed him all around. He introduced him to his father, and took himinto the house to see his mother. They made much of him, as strangersalways did. 

"They said I must call them Grandpa and Grandma Perry, " he told hisown grandmother when he got home. 

He told her, furthermore, privately, when she came upstairs after hewas in bed to see if everything was all right, that he thought Anniehad shown very good taste in marrying uncle Frank. She told of it, downstairs, and there was a great laugh. "I don't know when I havetaken such a fancy to a boy, " uncle Frank said warmly. "He is so good, and yet he's smart enough, too. "

"Everybody takes to him, " his grandmother said proudly. 

In a day or two Willy wrote a letter to his mother, and told her hewas having the best time that he ever had in his life. 

Willy was only seven years old and had never written many letters, butthis was a very good one. His mother away down in Ashbury thought so. She shed a few tears over it. "It does seem as if I couldn't get alonganother day without seeing him, " she told Willy's father; "but I'mglad if it is doing the dear child good, and he is enjoying it. "

One reason why Willy had been taken upon the trip was his health. Hehad always been considered rather delicate. It did seem as if he hadevery chance to grow stronger in Exeter. The air was cool and bracingfrom the mountains; aunt Annie had the best things in the world toeat, and as he had said, he was really having a splendid time. Herode about with uncle Frank in the grocery wagon, he tended store, he fished, and went berrying. There were only two drawbacks to hisperfect comfort. One came from his shoes. Grandpa Perry had found anold pair in the store, and he wore them on his fishing and berryingjaunts; but they were much too large and they slipped and hurt hisheels. However he said nothing; he stumped along in them manfully, andtried to ignore such a minor grievance. Willy had really a stanch veinin him, in spite of his gentleness and mildness. The other drawbacklay in the fact that the visit was to be of such short duration. Itbegan Monday and was expected to end Saturday. Willy counted thehours; every night before he went to sleep he heaved a regretful sighover the day which had just gone. It had been decided before leavinghome that they were to return on Saturday, and he had had nointimation of any change of plan. 

Friday morning he awoke with the thought, "this is the last day. "However, Willy was a child, and, in the morning, a day still lookedinterminable to him, especially when there were good times looming upin it. To-day he expected to take a very long ride with uncle Frank, who was going to Keene to buy a new horse. 

"I want Willy to go with me, to help pick him out, " he told GrandmaStockton, and Willy took it in serious earnest. They were going tocarry lunch and be gone all day. This promised pleasure looked so bigto the boy, as he became wider awake, that he could see nothing at allbeyond it, not even the sad departure and end of this delightful visiton the morrow. So he went down to breakfast as happy as ever. 

"That boy certainly looks better, " Grandpa Stockton remarked, as thecoffee was being poured. 

"We must have him weighed before he goes home, " Grandma said, beamingat him. 

"That's one thing I thought of, 'bout stayin' a week longer, " Grandpawent on. "It seems to be doin' Sonny, here, so much good. " Grandpa hada very slow, deliberate way of speaking. 

Willy laid down his spoon and stared at him, but he said nothing. 

"I don't see what you were thinking of not to plan to stay longer inthe first place, " said aunt Annie. "I don't like it much. " She madebelieve to pout her pretty lips. 

"Well, " said uncle Frank, "I'll send for that coat right away thismorning, so you'll be sure to get it to-morrow night. "

"Yes, " said Grandpa, "I'd like to hev it to wear to meetin'. Motherthinks my old one ain't just fit. "

"No, it ain't, " spoke up Grandma. "It does well enough when you're athome, where folks know you, but it's different among strangers. An'you've got to have it next week, anyhow. "

Willy looked up at his grandmother. "Grandma, " said he tremblingly, "ain't we going home to-morrow?"

"Why, bless the child!" said she. "I forgot he didn't know. We talkedabout it last night after he'd gone to bed. "

Then she explained. They were going to stay another week. Next weekWednesday, Grandpa and Grandma Perry had been married twenty-fiveyears, and they were going to have a silver wedding. So they weregoing to remain and be present at it, and Grandpa was going to sendfor his best coat to wear. 

Willy looked so radiant that they all laughed, and uncle Frank said hewas going to keep him always, and let him help him in the store. 

Before they started off to buy the horse, uncle Frank telegraphed toAshbury about the coat; he also mentioned Willy's shoes. 

The two had a beautiful ride, and bought a handsome black horse. UncleFrank consulted Willy a great deal about the purchase, and expatiatedon his good judgment in the matter after they got home. One of Willy'schief charms was that he stood so much flattery of this kind, withoutbeing disagreeably elated by it. His frank, childish delight wasalways pretty to see. 

The next afternoon he went berrying with a little boy who lived nextdoor. At five o'clock aunt Annie ran over to the store to see if thecoat had come. 

"It has, " she told her mother when she returned; "it came at oneo'clock, and Mother Perry gave it to Willy to bring home. "

"To Willy? Why, what did the child do with it?" Grandma saidwonderingly. "He didn't bring it home. "

"Maybe he carried it over to Josie Allen's and left it there. " JosieAllen was the boy with whom Willy had gone berrying. His house stoodvery near uncle Frank's, and both were nearly across the road from thestore. 

"Well, maybe he did, he was in such a hurry to go berrying, " saidGrandma assentingly. 

About six o'clock, when the family were all at the tea-table, Willycame clumping painfully in his big shoes into the yard. There wereblisters on his small, delicate heels, but nobody knew it. His littlefair face was red and tired, but radiant. His pail was heaped androunded up with the most magnificent berries of the season. 

"Just look here, " said he, with his sweet voice all quivering withdelight. 

He stood outside on the piazza, and lifted the pail on to thewindow-sill. He could not wait until he came in to show these berries. He would have to walk way around through the kitchen in thoseirritating shoes. 

They all exclaimed and admired them as much as he could wish, thenGrandma said suddenly: "But what did you do with the coat, Willy?"

"The coat?" repeated Willy in a bewildered way. 

"Yes; the coat. Did you take it over to Josie's an' leave it? If youdid, you must go right back and get it. Did you?"

"No. "

"Why, what did you do with it?"

"I didn't do anything with it. "

"William Dexter Norton! what do you mean?"

[Illustration: "JUST LOOK HERE!" SAID WILLY'S SWEET VOICE. ]

Everybody had stopped eating, and was staring out at Willy, who wasstaring in. His happy little red face had suddenly turned sober. 

"Come in, Sonny, an' we'll see what all the trouble's about, an'straighten it out in a jiffy, " spoke up Grandpa. The contrast betweenGrandpa's slow tones and the "jiffy" was very funny. 

Willy crept slowly down the long piazza, through the big kitchen intothe dining-room. 

"Now, Sonny, come right here, " said his grandfather, "an' we'll haveit all fixed up nice. "

The boy kept looking from one face to another in a wonderingfrightened way. He went hesitatingly up to his grandfather, and stoodstill, his poor little smarting feet toeing in, after a fashion theyhad, when tired, the pail full of berries dangling heavily on hisslight arm. 

"Now, Sonny, look up here, an' tell us all about it. What did you dowith Grandpa's coat, boy?"

"I--didn't do anything with it. "

"William, " began his grandmother, but Grandpa interrupted her. "Justwait a minute, mother, " said he. "Sonny an' I air goin' to settlethis. Now, Sonny, don't you get scared. You jest think a minute. Think real hard, don't hurry--now, can't you tell what you did withGrandpa's coat?"

"I--didn't--do anything with it, " said Willy. 

"My sakes!" said his grandmother. "What has come to the child?" Shewas very pale. Aunt Annie and uncle Frank looked as if they did notknow what to think. Grandpa himself settled back in his chair, andstared helplessly at Willy. 

Finally aunt Annie tried her hand. "See here, Willy dear, " said she, "you are tired and hungry and want your supper; just tell us what youdid with the coat after Grandma Perry gave it to you"--

"She didn't, " said Willy. 

That was dreadful. They all looked aghast at one another. Was Willylying--Willy!

"Didn't--give--it--to you--Sonny!" said Grandpa, feebly, and moreslowly than ever. 

"No, sir. "

Grandma Stockton had been called quick-tempered when she was a girl, and she gave proof of it sometimes, even now in her gentle old age. She spoke very sternly and quickly: "Willy, we have had all of thisnonsense that we want. Now you just speak right up an' tell the truth. What did you do with your grandfather's coat?"

"I didn't do anything with it, " faltered Willy again. His lip wasquivering. 

"What?"

"I--didn't"--began the child again, then his sobs checked him. Hecrooked his little free arm, hid his face in the welcome curve, andcried in good earnest. 

"Stop crying and tell me the truth, " said Grandma pitilessly. 

Willy again gasped out his one reply; he shook so that he couldscarcely hold his berry pail. Aunt Annie took it out of his hand andset it on the table. Uncle Frank rose with a jerk. "I'll run over andget mother, " said he, with an air that implied, "I'll soon settle thismatter. "

But the matter was very far from settled by Mrs. Perry's testimony. She only repeated what she had already told her daughter-in-law. 

"The bundle came on the noon express, " said she, "and I told Mr. Perryto set it down in the kitchen, and I would see that it got over toyou. He didn't know how to stop just then. It laid there on one of thekitchen-chairs while I was clearing away the dinner-dishes. Then abouttwo o'clock I was changing my dress, when I heard Willy whistling outin the yard, and I ran into the kitchen and got the bundle, and calledhim to take it. I opened the south door and gave it to him, and toldhim to take it right home to his grandpa. He said he guessed he'd openit and see if his shoes had come, and I told him 'no, ' he must gostraight home with it. "

That was Mrs. Perry's testimony. Willy heard in the presence of allthe family; then when the question as to the whereabouts of the coatwas put to him, he made the same answer. He also repeated that GrandmaPerry had not given it to him. 

"Don't you let me hear you tell that wicked lie again, " said hisGrandma Stockton. She was nearly as much agitated as the boy. She didnot know what to do, and nobody else did. 

Grandpa Perry came over with three sticks of twisted red and whitepeppermint candy, and three of barley. He caught hold of Willy andswung him on to his knee. He was a fleshy, jolly man. 

"Now, sir, " said he, "let's strike a bargain--I'll give you these sixwhole sticks of candy for your supper, and you tell me what you didwith Grandpa's coat. "

"I--didn't do--any"--Willy commenced between his painful sobs, but hisgrandmother interrupted--"Hush! don't you ever say that again, " saidshe. "You did do something with it. "

"I'll throw in a handful of raisins, " said Mr. Perry. But it was of nouse. 

"Well, if the little chap was mine, " said Mrs. Perry finally, "Ishould give him his supper and put him to bed, and see how he wouldlook at it in the morning. "

"I think that would be the best way, " chimed in aunt Annie eagerly. "He's all tired out and hungry, and doesn't know what he does know--doyou, dear?"

So she poured out some milk, and cut off a big slice of cake, butWilly did not want any supper. It was hard work to induce him toswallow a little milk before he went upstairs. His grandmother heaveda desperate sigh after he was gone. 

"If it was in the days of the Salem witches, " said she, "I'd know justwhat to think; as 'tis, I don't. "

"That boy was never known to tell a lie before in his whole life--hismother said so. He never pestered her the way some children do, lyin';an' as for stealin'--why, I'd trusted him with every cent I've got inthe world. " That was Grandpa Stockton. 

During the next two or three days every inducement was brought to bearupon Willy. He was scolded and coaxed, he was promised a reward if hewould tell the truth, he was assured that he should not be punished. Monday he was kept in his room all day, and was given nothing butbread and milk to eat. Severer measures were hinted at, but GrandpaStockton put his foot down peremptorily. "That boy has never beenwhipped in his whole life, " said he, "an' his own folks have got tobegin it, if anybody does. "

All the premises were searched for the missing coat, but no trace ofit was found. The mystery thickened and deepened. How could a boy losea coat going across a road in broad daylight? Why would he not confessthat he had lost it?

Finally it was decided to take him home. He was becoming all worn outwith excitement and distress. He was too delicate a child to longendure such a strain. They thought that once at home his mother mightbe able to do what none of the rest had. 

All the others were getting worn out also. A good many tears had beenshed by the older members of the company. Poor Mrs. Perry took muchblame to herself for giving the coat to the boy, and so opening theway for the difficulty. 

"Mr. Perry says he thinks I ought not to have given the coat to him, he's nothing but a child, any way, " she said tearfully once. 

It was Monday afternoon when Willy was shut up in his room, and allthe others were talking the matter over downstairs. 

Tears stood in aunt Annie's blue eyes. "He's nothing but a baby, "said she, "and if I had my way I'd call him downstairs and give him acookie and never speak of the old coat again. "

"You talk very silly, Annie, " said Grandmother Stockton. "I hope youdon't want to have the child to grow up a wicked, deceitful man. "

Willy's grandparents gave up going to the silver wedding. Grandpa hadno good coat to wear, and indeed neither of them had any heart to go. 

So the morning of the wedding-day they started sadly to return toAshbury. Willy's face looked thin and tear-stained. Somebody hadpacked his little bag for him, but he forgot his little cane. 

When he was seated in the cars beside his grandmother, he began tocry. She looked at him a moment, then she put her arm around him, anddrew his head down on her black cashmere shoulder. 

"Tell Grandma, can't you, " she whispered, "what you did withGrandpa's coat?"

"I didn't--do--any"--

"Hush, " said she, "don't you say that again, Willy!" But she kept herarm around him. 

Willy's mother came running to the door to meet them when theyarrived. She had heard nothing of the trouble. She had only had ahurried message that they were coming to-day. 

She threw her arms around Willy, then she held him back and looked athim. "Why, what is the matter with my precious boy!" she cried. 

"O, mamma, mamma, I didn't, I didn't do anything with it!" he sobbed, and clung to her so frantically that she was alarmed. 

"What does he mean, mother?" she asked. 

Her mother motioned her to be quiet. "Oh! it isn't anything, " saidshe. "You'd better give him his supper, and get him to bed; he's alltired out. I'll tell you by and by, " she motioned with her lips. 

So Willy's mother soothed him all she could. "Of course you didn't, dear, " said she. "Mamma knows you didn't. Don't you worry any moreabout it. "

It was early, but she got some supper for him, and put him to bed, andsat beside him until he went to sleep. She told him over and over thatshe knew he "didn't, " in reply to his piteous assertions, and all thetime she had not the least idea what it was all about. 

After he had fallen asleep she went downstairs, and Grandma Stocktontold her. Willy's father had come, and he also heard the story. 

"There's some mistake about it, " said he. "I'll make Willy tell meabout it, to-morrow. Nothing is going to make me believe that he ispersisting in a deliberate lie in this way. "

Willy's mother was crying herself, now. "He never--told me a lie inhis whole dear little life, " she sobbed, "and I don't believe he hasnow. Nothing will ever--make me believe so. "

"Don't cry, Ellen, " said her husband. "There's something about thisthat we don't understand. "

It was all talked over and over that night, but they were no nearerunderstanding the case. 

"I'll see what I can do with Willy in the morning, " his father saidagain, when the discussion was ended for the night. 

Willy was not awake at the breakfast hour next morning, so the familysat down without him. They were not half through the meal when therewere some quick steps on the path outside; the door was jerked open, and there was aunt Annie and uncle Frank. 

She had Willy's little yellow cane in her hand, and she looked as ifshe did not know whether to laugh or cry. 

"It's found!" she cried out, "it's found! Oh! where is he? He left hiscane, poor little boy!"

Then she really sank into a chair and began to cry. There wereexclamations and questions and finally they arrived at the solution ofthe mystery. 

Poor little Willy had not done anything with Grandpa's coat. Mrs. Perry had not given it to him. She had--given it to another boy. 

"Last night about seven o'clock, " said uncle Frank. "Mr. GilbertHammond brought it into the store. It seems he sent his boy, who isjust about Willy's age, and really looks some like him, for a bundlehe expected to come by express. The boy was to have some shoes in it. 

"I suppose mother caught a glimpse of him, and very likely she didn'thave on her glasses, and can't see very well without them, and shethought he was Willy. She was changing her dress, too, and I daresay only opened the door a little way. Then the Hammond boy's got agrandfather, and the shoes and the whole thing hung together. 

"Mr. Hammond said he meant to have brought the bundle back before, butthey had company come the next day, and it was overlooked. 

"Father and mother both came running over the minute they heard ofit, and nothing would suit Annie but we should start right off on thenight train, and come down here and explain. And, to tell the truth, I wanted to come myself--I felt as if we owed it to the poor littlechappie. "

Uncle Frank's own voice sounded husky. The thought of all thesuffering that poor little innocent boy had borne was not a pleasantone. 

Everything that could be done to atone to Willy was done. He was lovedand praised and petted, as he had never been before; in a little whilehe seemed as well and happy as ever. 

The next Christmas Grandpa Perry sent a beautiful little gold watch tohim, and he was so delighted with it that his father said, "He doesn'tworry a bit now about the trouble he had in Exeter. That watch doesn'tseem to bring it to mind at all. How quickly children get over things. He has forgotten all about it. "

But Willy Norton had not forgotten all about it. He was just as happyas ever. He had entirely forgiven Grandma Perry for her mistake. Nextsummer he was going to Exeter again and have a beautiful time; but agood many years would pass, and whenever he looked at that little goldwatch, he would see double. It would have for him a background of hisgrandfather's best coat. 

Innocence and truth can feel the shadow of unjust suspicion whenothers can no longer see it. 

THE STRANGER IN THE VILLAGE. 

"Margary, " said her mother, "take the pitcher now, and fetch me somefresh, cool water from the well, and I will cook the porridge forsupper. "

"Yes, mother, " said Margary. Then she put on her little white dimityhood, and got the pitcher, which was charmingly shaped, from thecupboard shelf. The cupboard was a three-cornered one beside thechimney. The cottage which Margary and her mother lived in, was veryhumble, to be sure, but it was very pretty. Vines grew all over it, and flowering bushes crowded close to the diamond-paned windows. Therewas a little garden at one side, with beds of pinks and violets in it, and a straw-covered beehive, and some raspberry bushes all yellow withfruit. 

Inside the cottage, the floor was sanded with the whitest sand; lovelyold straight-backed chairs stood about; there was an oaken table, and a spinning-wheel. A wicker cage, with a lark in it, hung in thewindow. 

Margary with her pitcher, tripped along to the village well. On theway she met two of her little mates--Rosamond and Barbara. They wereflying along, their cheeks very rosy and their eyes shining. 

"O, Margary, " they cried, "come up to the tavern, quick, and see! Themost beautiful coach-and-four is drawn up there. There are lackeys ingreen and gold, with cocked hats, and the coach hath a crest on theside--O, Margary!"

Margary's eyes grew large too, and she turned about with her emptypitcher and followed her friends. They had almost reached the tavern, and were in full sight of the coach-and-four, when some one comingtoward them caused them to draw up on one side of the way and starewith new wonder. It was a most beautiful little boy. His golden curlshung to his shoulders, his sweet face had an expression at once gentleand noble, and his dress was of the richest material. He led a littleflossy white dog by a ribbon. 

After he had passed by, the three little girls looked at each other. 

"Oh!" cried Rosamond, "did you see his hat and feather?"

"And his lace Vandyke, and the fluffy white dog!" cried Barbara. ButMargary said nothing. In her heart, she thought she had never seen anyone so lovely. 

Then she went on to the well with her pitcher, and Rosamond andBarbara went home, telling every one they met about the beautifullittle stranger. 

[Illustration: THE LITTLE STRANGER. ]

Margary, after she had filled her pitcher, went home also; and wasbeginning to talk about the stranger to her mother, when a shadow fellacross the floor from the doorway. Margary looked up. "There he isnow!" cried she in a joyful whisper. 

The pretty boy stood there indeed, looking in modestly and wishfully. Margary's mother arose at once from her spinning-wheel, and cameforward; she was a very courteous woman. "Wilt thou enter, and restthyself, " said she, "and have a cup of our porridge, and a slice ofour wheaten bread, and a bit of honeycomb?"

The little boy sniffed hungrily at the porridge which was justbeginning to boil; he hesitated a moment, but finally thanked the goodwoman very softly and sweetly and entered. 

Then Margary and her mother set a bottle of cowslip wine on the table, slices of wheaten bread, and a plate of honeycomb, a bowl of riperaspberries, and a little jug of yellow cream, and another little bowlwith a garland of roses around the rim, for the porridge. Just as soonas that was cooked, the stranger sat down, and ate a supper fit for aprince. Margary and her mother half supposed he was one; he had such acourtly, yet modest air. 

When he had eaten his fill, and his little dog had been fed too, heoffered his entertainers some gold out of a little silk purse, butthey would not take it. 

So he took hold of his dog's ribbon, and went away with many thanks. "We shall never see him again, " said Margary sorrowfully. 

"The memory of a stranger one has fed, is a pleasant one, " said hermother. 

"I am glad the lark sang so beautifully all the while he was eating, "said Margary. 

While they were eating their own supper, the oldest woman in thevillage came in. She was one hundred and twenty years old, and, byreason of her great age, was considered very wise. 

"Have you seen the stranger?" asked she in her piping voice, seatingherself stiffly. 

"Yes, " replied Margary's mother. "He hath supped with us. "

The oldest woman twinkled her eyes behind her iron-bowed spectacles. "Lawks!" said she. But she did not wish to appear surprised, so shewent on to say she had met him on the way, and knew who he was. 

"He's a Lindsay, " said the oldest woman, with a nod of herwhite-capped head. "I tried him wi' a buttercup. I held it under hischin, and he loves butter. So he's a Lindsay; all the Lindsays lovebutter. I know, for I was nurse in the family a hundred years ago. "

This, of course, was conclusive evidence. Margary and her motherhad faith in the oldest woman's opinion; and so did all the othervillagers. She told a good many people how the little stranger wasa Lindsay, before she went to bed that night. And he really was aLindsay, too; though it was singular how the oldest woman divined itwith a buttercup. 

The pretty child had straightway driven off in his coach-and-four assoon as he had left Margary's mother's cottage; he had only stoppedto have some defect in the wheels remedied. But there had been timeenough for a great excitement to be stirred up in the village. 

All any one talked about the next day, was the stranger. Every one whohad seen him, had some new and more marvelous item; till charming asthe child really was, he became, in the popular estimation, a realfairy prince. 

When Margary and the other children went to school, with theirhorn-books hanging at their sides, they found the schoolmaster greatlyexcited over it. He was a verse-maker, and though he had not seen thestranger himself, his imagination more than made amends for that. So the scholars were not under a very strict rule that day, for themaster was busy composing a poem about the stranger. Every now andthen a line of the poem got mixed in with the lessons. 

The schoolmaster told in beautiful meters about the stranger's richattire, and his flowing locks of real gold wire, his lips like rubies, and his eyes like diamonds. He furnished the little dog with hair ofreal floss silk, and called his ribbon a silver chain. Then the coach, as it rolled along, presented such a dazzling appearance, that severalpersons who inadvertently looked at it had been blinded. It was theschoolmaster's opinion, set forth in his poem, that this really was aprince. One could scarcely doubt it, on reading the poem. It is a pityit has not been preserved, but it was destroyed--how, will transpirefurther on. 

Well, two days after this dainty stranger with his coach-and-fourcame to the village, a little wretched beggar-boy, leading by a dirtystring a forlorn muddy little dog, appeared on the street. He went tothe tavern first, but the host pushed him out of the door, throwing apewter porringer after him, which hit the poor little dog and made ityelp. Then he spoke pitifully to the people he met, and knocked at thecottage doors; but every one drove him away. He met the oldest woman, but she gathered her skirts closely around her and hobbled by, herpointed nose up in the air, and her cap-strings flying straight outbehind. 

"I prithee, granny, " he called after her, "try me with the buttercupagain, and see if I be not a Lindsay. "

"Thou a Lindsay, " quoth the oldest woman contemptuously; but she wasvery curious, so she turned around and held a buttercup underneath theboy's dirty chin. 

"Bah, " said the oldest woman, "a Lindsay indeed! Butter hath no charmfor thee, and the Lindsays, all loved it. I know, for I was nurse inthe family a hundred year ago. "

Then she hobbled away faster than ever, and the poor boy kept on. Thenhe met the schoolmaster, who had his new poem in a great roll in hishand. "What little vagabond is this?" muttered he, gazing at him withdisgust. "He hath driven a fine metaphor out of my head. "

When the boy reached the cottage where Margary and her mother lived, the dame was sitting in the door spinning, and the little girl waspicking roses from a bush under the window, to fill a tall china mugwhich they kept on a shelf. 

When Margary heard the gate click, and turning, saw the boy, shestarted so that she let her pinafore full of roses slip, and theflowers all fell out on the ground. Then she dropped an humblecurtesy; and her mother rose and curtesied also, though she had notrecognized her guest as soon as Margary. 

The poor little stranger fairly wept for joy. "Ah, you remember me, "he said betwixt smiles and tears. 

Then he entered the cottage, and while Margary and her mother got somerefreshment ready for him, he told his pitiful story. 

His father was a Lindsay, and a very rich and noble gentleman. Somelittle time before, he and his little son had journeyed to London, with their coach-and-four. Business having detained him longer than hehad anticipated, and fearing his lady might be uneasy, he had sent hisson home in advance, in the coach, with his lackeys and attendants. Everything had gone safely till after leaving this village. Some milesbeyond, they had been attacked by highwaymen and robbed. The servantshad either been taken prisoners or fled. The thieves had driven offwith the coach-and-four, and the poor little boy had crawled back tothe village. 

Margary and her mother did all they could to comfort him. Theyprepared some hot broth for him, and opened a bottle of cowslip wine. Margary's mother gave him some clean clothes, which had belonged toher son who had died. The little gentleman looked funny in the littlerustic's blue smock, but he was very comfortable. They fed the forlornlittle dog too, and washed him till his white hair looked fluffy andsilky again. 

When the London mail stopped in the village, the next day, they sent amessage to Lord Lindsay, and in a week's time, he came after his son. He was a very grand gentleman; his dress was all velvet and satin, andblazing with jewels. How the villagers stared. They had flatly refusedto believe that this last little stranger was the first one, and hadmade great fun of Margary and her mother for being so credulous. But they had not minded. They had given their guest a little palletstuffed with down, and a pillow stuffed with rose-leaves to sleep on, and fed him with the best they had. His father, in his gratitude, offered Margary's mother rich rewards; but she would take nothing. Thelittle boy cried on parting with his kind friends, and Margary criedtoo. 

"I prithee, pretty Margary, do not forget me, " said he. 

And she promised she never would, and gave him a sprig of rosemary outof her garden to wear for a breastknot. 

The villagers were greatly mortified when they discovered the mistakethey had made. However, the oldest woman always maintained that hernot having her spectacles on, when she met the stranger the secondtime, was the reason of her not seeing that he loved butter; and theschoolmaster gave his poetical abstraction for an excuse. Mine hostof the "Boar's Head" fairly tore his hair, and flung the pewterporringer, which he had thrown after the stranger and his dog, intothe well. After that he was very careful how he turned away strangersbecause of their appearance. Generally he sent for the oldest woman toput her spectacles on, and try the buttercup test. Then, if shesaid they loved butter and were Lindsays, they were taken in andentertained royally. She generally did say they loved butter--shewas so afraid of making a mistake the second time, herself; so thevillage-inn got to be a regular refuge for beggars, and they called itamongst themselves the "Beggars' Rest, " instead of the "Boar's Head. "

As for Margary, she grew up to be the pride of the village; and intime, Lord Lindsay's son, who had always kept the sprig of rosemary, came and married her. They had a beautiful wedding; all of thevillagers were invited; the bridegroom did not cherish any resentment. They danced on the green, and the Lindsay pipers played for them. Thebride wore a white damask petticoat worked with pink roses, her pinksatin shortgown was looped up with garlands of them, and she wore awreath of roses on her head. 

The oldest woman came to the wedding, and hobbled up to the bridegroomwith a buttercup. "Thou beest a Lindsay, " said she. "Thou lovestbutter, and the Lindsays all did. I know, for I was nurse in thefamily a hundred year ago. "

As for the schoolmaster, he was distressed. His wife had taken hispoem on the stranger for papers to curl her hair on for the wedding, and he had just discovered it. He had calculated on making a presentof it to the young couple. 

However, he wrote another on the wedding, of which one verse is stillextant, and we will give it:

 "When Lindsay wedded Margary, Merrily piped the pipers all. The bride, the village-pride was she, The groom, a gay gallant was he. Merrily piped the pipers all. When Lindsay wedded Margary. "

THE BOUND GIRL. 

 This Indenture Wittnesseth, That I Margaret Burjust of Boston, in the County of Suffolk and Province of the Massachusetts Bay in New England. Have placed, and by these presents do place and bind out my only Daughter whose name is Ann Ginnins to be an Apprentice unto Samuel Wales and his wife of Braintree in the County afores:^d, Blacksmith. To them and their Heirs and with them the s:^d Samuel Wales, his wife and their Heirs, after the manner of an apprentice to dwell and Serve from the day of the date hereof for and during the full and Just Term of Sixteen years, three months and twenty-three day's next ensueing and fully to be Compleat, during all which term the s:^d apprentice her s:^d Master and Mistress faithfully Shall Serve, Their Secrets keep close, and Lawful and reasonable Command everywhere gladly do and perform. 

 Damage to her s:^d Master and Mistress she shall not willingly do. Her s:^d Master's goods she shall not waste, Embezel, purloin or lend unto Others nor suffer the same to be wasted or purloined. But to her power Shall discover the Same to her s:^d Master. Taverns or Ailhouss she Shall not frequent, at any unlawful game She Shall not play, Matrimony she Shall not Contract with any persons during s:^d Term. From her master's Service She Shall not at any time unlawfully absent herself. But in all things as a good honest and faithful Servant and apprentice Shall bear and behave herself, During the full term afores:^d Commencing from the third day of November Anno Dom: One Thousand, Seven Hundred fifty and three. And the s:^d Master for himself, wife, and Heir's, Doth Covenant Promise Grant and Agree unto and with the s:^d apprentice and the s:^d Margaret Burjust, in manner and form following. That is to say, That they will teach the s:^d apprentice or Cause her to be taught in the Art of good housewifery, and also to read and write well. And will find and provide for and give unto s:^d apprentice good and sufficient Meat Drink washing and lodging both in Sickness and in health, and at the Expiration of said term to Dismiss s:^d apprentice with two Good Suits of Apparrel both of woolen and linnin for all parts of her body (viz) One for Lord-days and one for working days Suitable to her Quality. In Testimony whereof I Samuel Wales and Margaret Burjust Have Interchangably Sett their hands and Seals this Third day November Anno Dom: 1753, and in the twenty-Seventh year of the Reign of our Soveraig'n Lord George the Second of great Britain the King. 

 Signed Sealed & Delivered. In presence of SAM VAUGHAN Margaret Burgis MARY VAUGHAN her X mark. 

This quaint document was carefully locked up, with some old deeds andother valuable papers, in his desk, by the "s:^d Samuel Wales, " onehundred and thirty years ago. The desk was a rude, unpainted pineaffair, and it reared itself on its four stilt-like legs in a cornerof his kitchen, in his house in the South Precinct of Braintree. Thesharp eyes of the little "s:^d apprentice" had noted it oftener andmore enviously than any other article of furniture in the house. Onthe night of her arrival, after her journey of fourteen miles fromBoston, over a rough bridle-road, on a jolting horse, clingingtremblingly to her new "Master, " she peered through her little redfingers at the desk swallowing up those precious papers which SamuelWales drew from his pocket with an important air. She was hardly fiveyears old, but she was an acute child; and she watched her master drawforth the papers, show them to his wife, Polly, and lock them up inthe desk, with the full understanding that they had something to dowith her coming to this strange place; and, already, a shadowy purposebegan to form itself in her mind. 

She sat on a cunning little wooden stool, close to the fireplace, and kept her small chapped hands persistently over her face; she wasscared, and grieved, and, withal, a trifle sulky. Mrs. Polly Walescooked some Indian meal mush for supper in an iron pot swinging fromits trammel over the blazing logs, and cast scrutinizing glances atthe little stranger. She had welcomed her kindly, taken off her outergarments, and established her on the little stool in the warmestcorner, but the child had given a very ungracious response. She wouldnot answer a word to Mrs. Wales' coaxing questions, but twitchedherself away with all her small might, and kept her hands tightly overher eyes, only peering between her fingers when she thought no one wasnoticing. 

She had behaved after the same fashion all the way from Boston, as Mr. Wales told his wife in a whisper. The two were a little dismayed atthe whole appearance of the small apprentice; to tell the truth, shewas not in the least what they had expected. They had been revolvingthis scheme of taking "a bound girl" for some time in their minds; andSamuel Wales' gossip in Boston, Sam Vaughan, had been requested tokeep a lookout for a suitable person. 

So, when word came that one had been found, Mr. Wales had started atonce for the city. When he saw the child, he was dismayed. He hadexpected to see a girl of ten; this one was hardly five, and shehad anything but the demure and decorous air which his Puritan mindesteemed becoming and appropriate in a little maiden. Her hair wasblack and curled tightly, instead of being brown and straight partedin the middle, and combed smoothly over her ears as his tasteregulated; her eyes were black and flashing, instead of being blue, and downcast. The minute he saw the child, he felt a disapproval ofher rise in his heart, and also something akin to terror. He dreadedto take this odd-looking child home to his wife Polly; he foresawcontention and mischief in their quiet household. But he felt as ifhis word was rather pledged to his gossip, and there was the mother, waiting and expectant. She was a red-cheeked English girl, who hadbeen in Sam Vaughan's employ; she had recently married one Burjust, and he was unwilling to support the first husband's child, so thischance to bind her out and secure a good home for her had been eagerlycaught at. 

The small Ann seemed rather at Samuel Wales' mercy, and he had notthe courage to disappoint his friend or her mother; so the necessarypapers were made out, Sam Vaughan's and wife's signatures affixed, andMargaret Burjust's mark, and he set out on his homeward journey withthe child. 

The mother was coarse and illiterate, but she had some naturalaffection; she "took on" sadly when the little girl was about to leaveher, and Ann clung to her frantically. It was a pitiful scene, andSamuel Wales, who was a very tender-hearted man, was glad when it wasover, and he jogging along the bridle-path. 

But he had had other troubles to encounter. All at once, as he rodethrough Boston streets, with his little charge behind him, afterleaving his friend's house, he felt a vicious little twitch at hishair, which he wore in a queue tied with a black ribbon after thefashion of the period. Twitch, twitch, twitch! The water came intoSamuel Wales' eyes, and the blood to his cheeks, while the passers-bybegan to hoot and laugh. His horse became alarmed at the hubbub, andstarted up. For a few minutes the poor man could do nothing to freehimself. It was wonderful what strength the little creature had: sheclinched her tiny fingers in the braid, and pulled, and pulled. Then, all at once, her grasp slackened, and off flew her master'ssteeple-crowned hat into the dust, and the neat black ribbon on theend of the queue followed it. Samuel Wales reined up his horse with ajerk then, and turned round, and administered a sounding box on eachof his apprentice's ears. Then he dismounted, amid shouts of laughterfrom the spectators, and got a man to hold the horse while he wentback and picked up his hat and ribbon. 

He had no further trouble. The boxes seemed to have subdued Anneffectually. But he pondered uneasily all the way home on the smallvessel of wrath which was perched up behind him, and there was atingling sensation at the roots of his queue. He wondered what Pollywould say. The first glance at her face, when he lifted Ann off thehorse at his own door, confirmed his fears. She expressed her mind, in a womanly way, by whispering in his ear at the first opportunity, "She's as black as an Injun. "

After Ann had eaten her supper, and had been tucked away between sometow sheets and homespun blankets in a trundle-bed, she heard the wholestory, and lifted up her hands with horror. Then the good couple reada chapter, and prayed, solemnly vowing to do their duty by thischild which they had taken under their roof, and imploring Divineassistance. 

As time wore on, it became evident that they stood in sore need of it. They had never had any children of their own, and Ann Ginnins was thefirst child who had ever lived with them. But she seemed to have thefreaks of a dozen or more in herself, and they bade fair to have theexperience of bringing up a whole troop with this one. They triedfaithfully to do their duty by her, but they were not used tochildren, and she was a very hard child to manage. A whole legion ofmischievous spirits seemed to dwell in her at times, and she becamein a small and comparatively innocent way, the scandal of the staidPuritan neighborhood in which she lived. Yet, withal, she was soaffectionate, and seemed to be actuated by so little real malice inany of her pranks, that people could not help having a sort of likingfor the child, in spite of them. 

She was quick to learn, and smart to work, too, when she chose. Sometimes she flew about with such alacrity that it seemed as ifher little limbs were hung on wires, and no little girl in theneighborhood could do her daily tasks in the time she could, and theywere no inconsiderable tasks, either. 

Very soon after her arrival she was set to "winding quills, " so manyevery day. Seated at Mrs. Polly's side, in her little homespun gown, winding quills through sunny forenoons--how she hated it. She likedfeeding the hens and pigs better, and when she got promoted to drivingthe cows, a couple of years later, she was in her element. There werecharming possibilities of nuts and checkerberries and sassafras andsweet flag all the way between the house and the pasture, and thechance to loiter, and have a romp. 

She rarely showed any unwillingness to go for the cows; but once, whenthere was a quilting at her mistress's house, she demurred. It wasright in the midst of the festivities; they were just preparing forsupper, in fact. Ann knew all about the good things in the pantry, shewas wild with delight at the unwonted stir, and anxious not to losea minute of it. She thought some one else might go for the cows thatnight. She cried and sulked, but there was no help for it. Go she hadto. So she tucked up her gown--it was her best Sunday one--took herstick, and trudged along. When she came to the pasture, there were hermaster's cows waiting at the bars. So were Neighbor Belcher's cowsalso, in the adjoining pasture. Ann had her hand on the topmost of herown bars, when she happened to glance over at Neighbor Belcher's, anda thought struck her. She burst into a peal of laughter, and took astep towards the other bars. Then she went back to her own. Finally, she let down the Belcher bars, and the Belcher cows crowded out, tothe great astonishment of the Wales cows, who stared over their highrails and mooed uneasily. 

Ann drove the Belcher cows home and ushered them into Samuel Wales'barnyard with speed. Then she went demurely into the house. The tablelooked beautiful. Ann was beginning to quake inwardly, though shestill was hugging herself, so to speak, in secret enjoyment of herown mischief. She had one hope--that supper would be eaten before hermaster milked. But the hope was vain. When she saw Mr. Wales come in, glance her way, and then call his wife out, she knew at once what hadhappened, and begun to tremble--she knew perfectly what Mr. Wales wassaying out there. It was this: "That little limb has driven home allNeighbor Belcher's cows instead of ours; what's going to be done withher?"

She knew what the answer would be, too. Mrs. Polly was a peremptorywoman. 

Back Ann had to go with the Belcher cows, fasten them safely in theirpasture again, and drive her master's home. She was hustled off tobed, then, without any of that beautiful supper. But she had justcrept into her bed in the small unfinished room upstairs where sheslept, and was lying there sobbing, when she heard a slow, fumblingstep on the stairs. Then the door opened, and Mrs. Deacon ThomasWales, Samuel Wales' mother, came in. She was a good old lady, and hadalways taken a great fancy to her son's bound girl; and Ann, on herpart, minded her better than any one else. She hid her face in the towsheet, when she saw grandma. The old lady had on a long black silkapron. She held something concealed under it, when she came in. Presently she displayed it. 

"There--child, " said she, "here's a piece of sweet cake and a coupleof simballs, that I managed to save out for you. Jest set right up andeat 'em, and don't ever be so dretful naughty again, or I don't knowwhat will become of you. "

This reproof, tempered with sweetness, had a salutary effect on Ann. She sat up, and ate her sweet cake and simballs, and sobbed out hercontrition to grandma, and there was a marked improvement in herconduct for some days. 

Mrs. Polly was a born driver. She worked hard herself, and sheexpected everybody about her to. The tasks which Ann had set her didnot seem as much out of proportion, then, as they would now. Still, her mistress, even then, allowed her less time for play than wasusual, though it was all done in good faith, and not from anyintentional severity. As time went on, she grew really quite fond ofthe child, and she was honestly desirous of doing her whole duty byher. If she had had a daughter of her own, it is doubtful if hertreatment of her would have been much different. 

Still, Ann was too young to understand all this, and, sometimes, though she was strong and healthy, and not naturally averse to work, she would rebel, when her mistress set her stints so long, and kepther at work when other children were playing. 

Once in a while she would confide in grandma, when Mrs. Polly sent herover there on an errand and she had felt unusually aggrieved becauseshe had had to wind quills, or hetchel, instead of going berrying, orsome like pleasant amusement. 

"Poor little cosset, " grandma would say, pityingly. 

Then she would give her a simball, and tell her she must "be a goodgirl, and not mind if she couldn't play jest like the others, forshe'd got to airn her own livin', when she grew up, and she must learnto work. "

Ann would go away comforted, but grandma would be privately indignant. She was, as is apt to be the case, rather critical with her sons'wives, and she thought "Sam'l's kept that poor little gal too stiddyat work, " and wished and wished she could shelter her under her owngrandmotherly wing, and feed her with simballs to her heart's content. She was too wise to say anything to influence the child against hermistress, however. She was always cautious about that, even whilepitying her. Once in a while she would speak her mind to her son, buthe was easy enough--Ann would not have found him a hard task-master. 

Still, Ann did not have to work hard enough to hurt her. The worstconsequences were that such a rigid rein on such a frisky little coltperhaps had more to do with her "cutting up, " as her mistress phrasedit, than she dreamed of. Moreover the thought of the indentures, securely locked up in Mr. Wales' tall wooden desk, was forever inAnn's mind. Half by dint of questioning various people, half by herown natural logic she had settled it within herself, that at any timethe possession of these papers would set her free, and she couldgo back to her own mother, whom she dimly remembered as beingloud-voiced, but merry, and very indulgent. However, Ann nevermeditated in earnest, taking the indentures; indeed, the desk wasalways locked--it held other documents more valuable than hers--andSamuel Wales carried the key in his waistcoat-pocket. 

She went to a dame's school three months every year. Samuel Walescarted half a cord of wood to pay for her schooling, and she learnedto write and read in the New England Primer. Next to her, on the splitlog bench, sat a little girl named Hannah French. The two became fastfriends. Hannah was an only child, pretty and delicate, and very muchpetted by her parents. No long hard tasks were set those soft littlefingers, even in those old days when children worked as well as theirelders. Ann admired and loved Hannah, because she had what she, herself, had not; and Hannah loved and pitied Ann because she had notwhat she had. It was a sweet little friendship, and would not havebeen, if Ann had not been free from envy and Hannah humble andpitying. 

When Ann told her what a long stint she had to do before school, Hannah would shed sympathizing tears. 

Ann, after a solemn promise of secrecy, told her about the indenturesone day. Hannah listened with round, serious eyes; her brown hair wascombed smoothly down over her ears. She was a veritable little Puritandamsel herself. 

"If I could only get the papers, I wouldn't have to mind her, and workso hard, " said Ann. 

Hannah's eyes grew rounder. "Why, it would be sinful to take them!"said she. 

Ann's cheeks blazed under her wondering gaze, and she said no more. 

When she was about eleven years old, one icy January day, Hannahwanted her to go out and play on the ice after school. They had noskates, but it was rare fun to slide. Ann went home and asked Mrs. Polly's permission with a beating heart; she promised to do a doublestint next day, if she would let her go. But her mistress wasinexorable--work before play, she said, always; and Ann must notforget that she was to be brought up to work; it was different withher from what it was with Hannah French. Even this she meant kindlyenough, but Ann saw Hannah go away, and sat down to her spinning withmore fierce defiance in her heart than had ever been there before. Shehad been unusually good, too, lately. She always was, during the threemonths' schooling, with sober, gentle little Hannah French. 

She had been spinning sulkily a while, and it was almost dark, whena messenger came for her master and mistress to go to Deacon ThomasWales', who had been suddenly taken very ill. 

Ann would have felt sorry if she had not been so angry. Deacon Waleswas almost as much of a favorite of hers as his wife. As it was, theprincipal thing she thought of, after Mr. Wales and his wife had gone, was that the key was in the desk. However it had happened, there itwas. She hesitated a moment. She was all alone in the kitchen, and herheart was in a tumult of anger, but she had learned her lessons fromthe Bible and the New England Primer, and she was afraid of the sin. But at last she opened the desk, found the indentures, and hid themin the little pocket which she wore tied about her waist, under herpetticoat. 

Then Ann threw her blanket over her head, and got her poppet out ofthe chest. The poppet was a little doll manufactured from a corn-cob, dressed in an indigo-colored gown. Grandma had made it for her, andit was her chief treasure. She clasped it tight to her bosom, and ranacross lots to Hannah French's. 

Hannah saw her coming, and met her at the door. 

"I've brought you my poppet, " whispered Ann, all breathless, "and youmust keep her always, and not let her work too hard. I'm going away!"

Hannah's eyes looked like two solemn moons. "Where are you going, Ann?"

"I'm going to Boston to find my own mother. " She said nothing aboutthe indentures to Hannah--somehow she could not. 

Hannah could not say much, she was so astonished, but as soon as Annhad gone, scudding across the fields, she went in with the poppet andtold her mother. 

Deacon Thomas Wales was very sick. Mr. And Mrs. Samuel remained athis house all night, but Ann was not left alone, for Mr. Wales had anapprentice who slept in the house. 

Ann did not sleep any that night. She got up very early, before anyone was stirring, and dressed herself in her Sunday clothes. Then shetied up her working clothes in a bundle, crept softly downstairs, andout doors. 

It was bright moonlight and quite cold. She ran along as fast as shecould on the Boston road. Deacon Thomas Wales's house was on the way. The windows were lit up. She thought of grandma and poor grandpa, witha sob in her heart, but she sped along. Past the schoolhouse, andmeeting-house, too, she had to go, with big qualms of grief andremorse. But she kept on. She was a fast traveler. 

She had reached the North Precinct of Braintree by daylight. So far, she had not encountered a single person. Now she heard horse's hoofsbehind her. She began to run faster, but it was of no use. SoonCaptain Abraham French loomed up on his big gray horse, a few pacesfrom her. He was Hannah's father, but he was a tithing-man, and lookedquite stern, and Ann had always stood in great fear of him. 

She ran on as fast as her little heels could fly, with a thumpingheart. But it was not long before she felt herself seized by a strongarm and swung up behind Captain French on the gray horse. She was in apanic of terror, and would have cried and begged for mercy if shehad not been in so much awe of her captor. She thought with awfulapprehension of these stolen indentures in her little pocket. What ifhe should find that out!

Captain French whipped up his horse, however, and hastened alongwithout saying a word. His silence, if anything, caused more dread inAnn than words would have. But his mind was occupied. Deacon ThomasWales was dead; he was one of his most beloved and honored friends, and it was a great shock to him. Hannah had told him about Ann'spremeditated escape, and he had set out on her track as soon as he hadfound that she was really gone, that morning. But the news which hehad heard on his way, had driven all thoughts of reprimand which hemight have entertained, out of his head. He only cared to get thechild safely back. 

So not a word spoke Captain French, but rode on in grim and sorrowfulsilence, with Ann clinging to him, till he reached her master's door. Then he set her down with a stern and solemn injunction never totransgress again, and rode away. 

Ann went into the kitchen with a quaking heart. It was empty andstill. Its very emptiness and stillness seemed to reproach her. Therestood the desk--she ran across to it, pulled the indentures from herpocket, put them in their old place, and shut the lid down. There theystaid till the full and just time of her servitude had expired. Shenever disturbed them again. 

On account of the grief and confusion incident on Deacon Wales'sdeath, she escaped with very little censure. She never made an attemptto run away again. Indeed, she had no wish to, for after DeaconWales's death, grandma was lonely and wanted her, and she lived mostof the time with her. And, whether she was in reality treated any morekindly or not, she was certainly happier. 

DEACON THOMAS WALES'S WILL. 

 In the Name of God Amen! the Thirteenth Day of September One Thousand Seven Hundred Fifty & eight, I, Thomas Wales of Braintree, in the County of Suffolk & Province of the Massachusetts Bay in New England, Gent--being in good health of Body and of Sound Disproving mind and Memory, Thanks be given to God--Calling to mind my mortality, Do therefore in my health make and ordain this my Last Will and Testament. And First I Recommend my Soul into the hand of God who gave it--Hoping through grace to obtain Salvation thro' the merits and Mediation of Jesus Christ my only Lord and Dear Redeemer, and my body to be Decently inter^d, at the Discretion of my Executor, believing at the General Resurection to receive the Same again by the mighty Power of God--And such worldly estate as God in his goodness hath graciously given me after Debts, funeral Expenses &c, are Paid I give & Dispose of the Same as Followeth--

 _Imprimis_--I Give to my beloved Wife Sarah a good Sute of mourning apparrel Such as she may Choose--also if she acquit my estate of Dower and third-therin (as we have agreed) Then that my Executor return all of Household movables she bought at our marriage & since that are remaining, also to Pay to her or Her Heirs That Note of Forty Pound I gave to her, when she acquited my estate and I hers. Before Division to be made as herein exprest, also the Southwest fire-Room in my House, a right in my Cellar, Halfe the Garden, also the Privilege of water at the well & yard room and to bake in the oven what she hath need of to improve her Life-time by her. 

After this, followed a division of his property amongst his children, five sons and two daughters. 

The "Homeplace" was given to his sons Ephraim and Atherton. Ephraimhad a good house of his own, so he took his share of the property inland, and Atherton went to live in the old homestead. His quarters hadbeen poor enough; he had not been so successful as his brothers, andhad been unable to live as well. It had been a great cross to hiswife, Dorcas, who was very high-spirited. She had compared, bitterly, the poverty of her household arrangements, with the abundant comfortof her sisters-in-law. 

Now, she seized eagerly at the opportunity of improving her style ofliving. The old Wales house was quite a pretentious edifice for thosetimes. All the drawback to her delight was, that Grandma shouldhave the southwest fire-room. She wanted to set up her high-postedbedstead, with its enormous feather-bed in that, and have it for herfore-room. Properly, it was the fore-room, being right across theentry from the family sitting-room. There was a tall chest of drawersthat would fit in so nicely between the windows, too. Take italtogether, she was chagrined at having to give up the southwest room;but there was no help for it--there it was in Deacon Wales's will. 

Mrs. Dorcas was the youngest of all the sons' wives, as her husbandwas the latest born. She was quite a girl to some of them. Grandmahad never more than half approved of her. Dorcas was high-strung andflighty, she said. She had her doubts about living happily with her. But Atherton was anxious for this division of the property, and he washer youngest darling, so she gave in. She felt lonely, and out ofher element, when everything was arranged, she established in thesouthwest fire-room, and Atherton's family keeping house in theothers, though things started pleasantly and peaceably enough. 

It occurred to her that her son Samuel might have her own "help, " astout woman, who had worked in her kitchen for many years, and shetake in exchange his little bound girl, Ann Ginnins. She had alwaystaken a great fancy to the child. There was a large closet out of thesouthwest room, where she could sleep, and she could be made veryuseful, taking steps, and running "arrants" for her. 

Mr. Samuel and his wife hesitated a little when this plan wasproposed. In spite of the trouble she gave them, they were attachedto Ann, and did not like to part with her, and Mrs. Polly was justgetting her "larnt" her own ways, as she put it. Privately, she fearedGrandma would undo all the good she had done, in teaching Ann to besmart and capable. Finally they gave in, with the understanding thatit was not to be considered necessarily a permanent arrangement, andAnn went to live with the old lady. 

Mrs. Dorcas did not relish this any more than she did theappropriation of the southwest fire-room. She had never liked Ann verywell. Besides she had two little girls of her own, and she fanciedAnn rivaled them in Grandma's affection. So, soon after the girl wasestablished in the house, she began to show out in various littleways. 

Thirsey, her youngest child, was a mere baby, a round fat dumpling ofa thing. She was sweet, and good-natured, and the pet of the wholefamily. Ann was very fond of playing with her, and tending her, andMrs. Dorcas began to take advantage of it. The minute Ann was atliberty she was called upon to take care of Thirsey. The constantcarrying about such a heavy child soon began to make her shouldersstoop and ache. Then Grandma took up the cudgels. She was smart andhigh-spirited, but she was a very peaceable old lady on her ownaccount, and fully resolved "to put up with everything from Dorcas, rather than have strife in the family. " She was not going to see thishelpless little girl imposed on, however. "The little gal ain'tgoin' to get bent all over, tendin' that heavy baby, Dorcas, " sheproclaimed. "You can jist make up your mind to it. She didn't comehere to do sech work. "

So Dorcas had to make up her mind to it. 

Ann's principal duties were "scouring the brasses" in Grandma's room, taking steps for her, and spinning her stint every day. Grandma setsmaller stints than Mrs. Polly. As time went on, she helped about thecooking. She and Grandma cooked their own victuals, and ate from alittle separate table in the common kitchen. It was a very large room, and might have accommodated several families, if they could haveagreed. There was a big oven and a roomy fire-place. Good Deacon Waleshad probably seen no reason at all why his "beloved wife" should nothave her right therein with the greatest peace and concord. 

But it soon came to pass that Mrs. Dorcas's pots and kettles were allprepared to hang on the trammels when Grandma's were, and an army ofcakes and pies marshaled to go in the oven when Grandma had proposedto do some baking. Grandma bore it patiently for a long time; but Annwas with difficulty restrained from freeing her small mind, and herblack eyes snapped more dangerously at every new offense. 

One morning, Grandma had two loaves of "riz bread, " and some electioncakes, rising, and was intending to bake them in about an hour, whenthey should be sufficiently light. What should Mrs. Dorcas do, but mixup sour milk bread, and some pies with the greatest speed, and fill upthe oven, before Grandma's cookery was ready!

Grandma sent Ann out into the kitchen to put the loaves-in the ovenand lo and behold! the oven was full. Ann stood staring for a minute, with a loaf of election cake in her hands; that and the bread would beruined if they were not baked immediately, as they were raised enough. Mrs. Dorcas had taken Thirsey and stepped out somewhere, and there wasno one in the kitchen. Ann set the election cake back on the table. Then, with the aid of the tongs, she reached into the brick oven andtook out every one of Mrs. Dorcas's pies and loaves. Then she arrangedthem deliberately in a pitiful semicircle on the hearth, and putGrandma's cookery in the oven. 

She went back to the southwest room then, and sat quietly down to herspinning. Grandma asked if she had put the things in, and she said"Yes, ma'am, " meekly. There was a bright red spot on each of her darkcheeks. 

When Mrs. Dorcas entered the kitchen, carrying Thirsey wrapped up inan old homespun blanket, she nearly dropped as her gaze fell on thefire-place and the hearth. There sat her bread and pies, in the mostlamentable half-baked, sticky, doughy condition imaginable. She openedthe oven, and peered in. There were Grandma's loaves, all a lovelybrown. Out they came, with a twitch. Luckily, they were done. Her ownwent in, but they were irretrievable failures. 

Of course, quite a commotion came from this. Dorcas raised her shrillvoice pretty high, and Grandma, though she had been innocent of thewhole transaction, was so blamed that she gave Dorcas a piece of hermind at last. Ann surveyed the nice brown loaves, and listened to thetalk in secret satisfaction; but she had to suffer for it afterward. Grandma punished her for the first time, and she discovered that thatkind old hand was pretty firm and strong. "No matter what you think orwhether you air in the rights on't, or not, a little gal mustn't eversass her elders, " said Grandma. 

But if Ann's interference was blamable, it was productive of one goodresult--the matter came to Mr. Atherton's ears, and he had a sternsense of justice when roused, and a great veneration for his mother. His father's will should be carried out to the letter, he declared;and it was. Grandma baked and boiled in peace, outwardly, at least, after that. 

Ann was a great comfort to her; she was outgrowing her wild, mischievous ways, and she was so bright and quick. She promised tobe pretty, too. Grandma compared her favorably with her owngrandchildren, especially Mrs. Dorcas's eldest daughter Martha, whowas nearly Ann's age. "Marthy's a pretty little gal enough, " she usedto say, "but she ain't got the snap to her that Ann has, though Iwouldn't tell Atherton's wife so, for the world. "

She promised Ann her gold beads, when she should be done with them, under strict injunctions not to say anything about it till the timecame; for the others might feel hard as she wasn't her own flesh andblood. The gold beads were Ann's ideals of beauty and richness, thoughshe did not like to hear Grandma talk about being "done with them. "Grandma always wore them around her fair, plump old neck; she hadnever seen her without her string of beads. 

As before said, Ann was now very seldom mischievous enough tomake herself serious trouble; but, once in a while, her naturalpropensities would crop out. When they did, Mrs. Dorcas wasexceedingly bitter. Indeed, her dislike of Ann was, at all times, smouldering, and needed only a slight fanning to break out. 

One stormy winter day Mrs. Dorcas had been working till dark, makingcandle-wicks. When she came to get tea, she tied the white fleecyrolls together, a great bundle of them, and hung them up in thecellar-way, over the stair, to be out of the way. They were extra finewicks, being made of flax for the company candles. "I've got a goodjob done, " said Mrs. Dorcas, surveying them complacently. Her husbandhad gone to Boston, and was not coming home till the next day, so shehad had a nice chance to work at them, without as much interruption asusual. 

Ann, going down the cellar stairs, with a lighted candle, after somebutter for tea, spied the beautiful rolls swinging overhead. Whatpossessed her to, she could not herself have told--she certainly hadno wish to injure Mrs. Dorcas's wicks--but she pinched up a little endof the fluffy flax and touched her candle to it. She thought she wouldsee how that little bit would burn off. She soon found out. The flamecaught, and ran like lightning through the whole bundle. There was agreat puff of fire and smoke, and poor Mrs. Dorcas's fine candle-wickswere gone. Ann screamed, and sprang downstairs. She barely escaped thewhole blaze coming in her face. 

"What's that!" shrieked Mrs. Dorcas, rushing to the cellar door. Wordscannot describe her feeling when she saw that her nice candle-wicks, the fruit of her day's toil, were burnt up. 

If ever there was a wretched culprit that night, Ann was. She had notmeant to do wrong, but that, may be, made it worse for her in one way. She had not even gratified malice to sustain her. Grandma blamed her, almost as severely as Mrs. Dorcas. She said she didn't know what would"become of a little gal, that was so keerless, " and decreed that shemust stay at home from school and work on candle-wicks till Mrs. Dorcas's loss was made good to her. Ann listened ruefully. She wasscared and sorry, but that did not seem to help matters any. She didnot want any supper, and she went to bed early and cried herself tosleep. 

Somewhere about midnight, a strange sound woke her up. She called outto Grandma in alarm. The same sound had awakened her. "Get up, an'light a candle, child, " said she; "I'm afeard the baby's sick. "

Ann scarcely had the candle lighted, before the door opened, and Mrs. Dorcas appeared in her nightdress. She was very pale, and tremblingall over. "Oh!" she gasped, "it's the baby. Thirsey's got the croup, an' Atherton's away, and there ain't anybody to go for the doctor. Oh, what shall I do, what shall I do!" She fairly wrung her hands. 

"Hev you tried the skunk's oil?" asked Grandma eagerly, preparing toget up. 

"Yes, I have, I have! It's a good hour since she woke up, an' I'vetried everything. It hasn't done any good. I thought I wouldn'tcall you, if I could help it, but she's worse--only hear her! An'Atherton's away! Oh! what shall I do, what shall I do?"

"Don't take on so, Dorcas, " said Grandma, tremulously, but cheeringly. "I'll come right along, an'--why, child, what air you goin' to do?"

Ann had finished dressing herself, and now she was pinning a heavyhomespun blanket over her head, as if she were preparing to go outdoors. 

"I'm going after the doctor for Thirsey, " said Ann, her black eyesflashing with determination. 

"Oh, will you, will you!" cried Mrs. Dorcas, catching at this newhelp. 

"Hush, Dorcas, " said Grandma, sternly. "It's an awful storm out--jisthear the wind blow! It ain't fit fur her to go. Her life's jist asprecious as Thirsey's. "

Ann said nothing more, but she went into her own little room with thesame determined look in her eyes. There was a door leading from thisroom into the kitchen. Ann slipped through it hastily, lit a lanternwhich was hanging beside the kitchen chimney, and was out doors in aminute. 

The storm was one of sharp, driving sleet, which struck her face likeso many needles. The first blast, as she stepped outside the door, seemed to almost force her back, but her heart did not fail her. Thesnow was not so very deep, but it was hard walking. There was nopretense of a path. The doctor lived half a mile away, and therewas not a house in the whole distance, save the meeting house andschoolhouse. It was very dark. Lucky it was that she had taken thelantern; she could not have found her way without it. 

On kept the little slender, erect figure, with the fiercedetermination in its heart, through the snow and sleet, holding theblanket close over its head, and swinging the feeble lantern bravely. 

When she reached the doctor's house, he was gone. He had started forthe North Precinct early in the evening, his good wife said; he wascalled down to Captain Isaac Lovejoy's, the house next the NorthPrecinct Meeting House. She'd been sitting up waiting for him, it wassuch an awful storm, and such a lonely road. She was worried, but shedidn't think he'd start for home that night; she guessed he'd stay atCaptain Lovejoy's till morning. 

[Illustration: SHE ALMOST FAINTED FROM COLD AND EXHAUSTION. ]

The doctor's wife, holding her door open, as best she could, inthe violent wind, had hardly given this information to the littlesnow-bedraggled object standing out there in the inky darkness, through which the lantern made a faint circle of light, before she haddisappeared. 

"She went like a speerit, " said the good woman, staring out into theblackness in amazement. She never dreamed of such a thing as Ann'sgoing to the North Precinct after the doctor, but that was what thedaring girl had determined to do. She had listened to the doctor'swife in dismay, but with never one doubt as to her own course ofproceeding. 

Straight along the road to the North Precinct she kept. It wouldhave been an awful journey that night for a strong man. It seemedincredible that a little girl could have the strength or courage toaccomplish it. There were four miles to traverse in a black, howlingstorm, over a pathless road, through forests, with hardly a house bythe way. 

When she reached Captain Isaac Lovejoy's house, next to the meetinghouse in the North Precinct of Braintree, stumbling blindly into thewarm, lighted kitchen, the captain and the doctor could hardly believetheir senses. She told the doctor about Thirsey; then she almostfainted from cold and exhaustion. 

Good-wife Lovejoy laid her on the settee, and brewed her some hot herbtea. She almost forgot her own sick little girl, for a few minutes, in trying to restore this brave child who had come from the SouthPrecinct in this dreadful storm to save little Thirsey Wales's life. 

When Ann came to herself a little, her first question was, if thedoctor were ready to go. 

"He's gone, " said Mrs. Lovejoy, cheeringly. 

Ann felt disappointed. She had thought she was going back with him. But that would have been impossible. She could not have stood thejourney for the second time that night, even on horseback behind thedoctor, as she had planned. 

She drank a second bowlful of herb tea, and went to bed with a hotstone at her feet, and a great many blankets and coverlids over her. 

The next morning, Captain Lovejoy carried her home. He had a roughwood sled, and she rode on that, on an old quilt; it was easier thanhorseback, and she was pretty lame and tired. 

Mrs. Dorcas saw her coming and opened the door. When Ann came up onthe stoop, she just threw her arms around her and kissed her. 

"You needn't make the candle-wicks, " said she. "It's no matter aboutthem at all. Thirsey's better this morning, an' I guess you saved herlife. "

Grandma was fairly bursting with pride and delight in her little gal'sbrave feat, now that she saw her safe. She untied the gold beads onher neck, and fastened them around Ann's. "There, " said she, "you maywear them to school to-day, if you'll be keerful. "

That day, with the gold beads by way of celebration, began a new erain Ann's life. There was no more secret animosity between her andMrs. Dorcas. The doctor had come that night in the very nick of time. Thirsey was almost dying. Her mother was fully convinced that Ann hadsaved her life, and she never forgot it. She was a woman of strongfeelings, who never did things by halves, and she not only treated Annwith kindness, but she seemed to smother her grudge against Grandmafor robbing her of the southwest fire-room. 

THE ADOPTED DAUGHTER

The Inventory of the Estate of Samuel Wales Late of Braintree, Takenby the Subscribers, March the 14th, 1761. 

His Purse in Cash £11-15-01His apparrel 10-11-00His watch 2-13-04The Best Bed with two Coverlids, three sheets, two underbeds, two Bolsters, two pillows, Bedstead rope £6One mill Blanket, two Phlanel sheets, 12 toe Sheets £3-4-8Eleven Towels & table Cloth 0-15-0a pair of mittens & pr. Of Gloves 0-2-0a neck Handkerchief & neckband 0-4-0an ovel Tabel--Two other Tabels 1-12-0A Chist with Draws 2-8-0Another Low Chist with Draws & three other Chists 1-10-0Six best Chears and a great chear 1-6-0a warming pan--Two Brass Kittles 1-5-0a Small Looking Glass, five Pewter Basons 0-7-8fifteen other Chears 0-15-0fire arms, Sword & bayonet 1-4-0Six Porringers, four platters, Two Pewter Pots £1-0-4auger Chisel, Gimlet, a Bible & other Books 0-15-4A chese press, great spinning-wheel, & spindle 0-9-0a smith's anvil £3-12-0the Pillion 0-8-0a Bleu Jacket 0-0-3

 AARON WHITCOMB. SILAS WHITE. 

The foregoing is only a small portion of the original inventory ofSamuel Wales's estate. He was an exceedingly well-to-do man for thesetimes. He had a good many acres of rich pasture and woodland, andconsiderable live stock. Then his home was larger and more comfortablethan was usual then; and his stock of household utensils plentiful. 

He died three years after Ann Ginnins went to live with Grandma, whenshe was about thirteen years old. Grandma spared her to Mrs. Polly fora few weeks after the funeral; there was a great deal to be done, andshe needed some extra help. And, after all, Ann was legally bound toher, and her lawful servant. 

So the day after good Samuel Wales was laid away in the littleBraintree burying-ground, Ann returned to her old quarters for alittle while. She did not really want to go; but she did not objectto the plan at all. She was sincerely sorry for poor Mrs. Polly, and wanted to help her, if she could. She mourned, herself, for Mr. Samuel. He had always been very kind to her. 

Mrs. Polly had for company, besides Ann, Nabby Porter, Grandma's oldhired woman whom she had made over to her, and a young man who hadbeen serving as apprentice to Mr. Samuel. His name was Phineas Adams. He was very shy and silent, but a good workman. 

Samuel Wales left a will bequeathing everything to his widow; that wassolemnly read in the fore-room one afternoon; then the inventory hadto be taken. That, on account of the amount of property, was quite anundertaking; but it was carried out with the greatest formality andprecision. 

For several days, Mr. Aaron Whitcomb and Mr. Silas White were stalkingmajestically about the premises, with note-books and pens. AaronWhitcomb was a grave, portly old man, with a large head of white hair. Silas White was little and wiry and fussy. He monopolized the greaterpart of the business, although he was not half as well fitted for itas his companion. 

They pried into everything with religious exactitude. Mrs. Pollywatched them with beseeming awe and deference, but it was a greattrial to her, and she grew very nervous over it. It seemed dreadful tohave all her husband's little personal effects, down to his neckbandand mittens, handled over, and their worth in shillings and pencecalculated. She had a price fixed on them already in higher currency. 

Ann found her crying one afternoon sitting on the kitchen settle, withher apron over her head. When she saw the little girl's pitying look, she poured out her trouble to her. 

"They've just been valuing his mittens and gloves, " said she, sobbing, "at two-and-sixpence. I shall be thankful when they are through. "

"Are there any more of his things?" asked Ann, her black eyesflashing, with the tears in them. 

"I think they've seen about all. There's his blue jacket he used tomilk in, a-hanging behind the shed door--I guess they haven't valuedthat yet. "

"I think it's a shame!" quoth Ann. "I don't believe there's any needof so much law. "

"Hush, child! You mustn't set yourself up against the judgment of yourelders. Such things have to be done. "

Ann said no more, but the indignant sparkle did not fade out of hereyes at all. She watched her opportunity, and took down Mr. Wales'sold blue jacket from its peg behind the shed door, ran with itupstairs, and hid it in her own room behind the bed. "There, " saidshe, "Mrs. Wales sha'n't cry over that!"

That night, at tea time, the work of taking the inventory wascomplete. Mr. Whitcomb and Mr. White walked away with their longlists, satisfied that they had done their duty according to the law. Every article of Samuel Wales's property, from a warming-pan to achest of drawers, was set down, with the sole exception of that oldblue jacket, which Ann had hidden. 

She felt complacent over it at first; then she began to be uneasy. 

"Nabby, " said she confidentially to the old servant woman, when theywere washing the pewter plates together after supper, "what would theydo if anybody shouldn't let them set down all the things--if they hidsome of 'em away, I mean?"

"They'd make a dretful time on't, " said Nabby impressively. She wasa large, stern-looking old woman. "They air dretful perticklar 'boutthese things. They hev to be. "

Ann was scared when she heard that. When the dishes were done, she satdown on the settle and thought it over, and made up her mind what todo. 

The next morning, in the frosty dawning, before the rest of the familywere up, a slim, erect little figure could have been seen speedingacross lots toward Mr. Silas White's. She had the old blue jackettucked under her arm. When she reached the house, she spied Mr. Whitejust coming out of the back door with a milking pail. He carried alantern, too, for it was hardly light. 

He stopped and stared when Ann ran up to him. 

"Mr. White, " said she, all breathless, "here's--something--I guess yerdidn't see yesterday. "

Mr. White set down the milk pail, took the blue jacket which shehanded him, and scrutinized it sharply by the light of the lantern. 

"I guess we didn't see it, " said he finally. "I will put it down--it'sworth about three pence, I judge. Where"--

"Silas, Silas!" called a shrill voice from the house. Silas Whitedropped the jacket and trotted briskly in, his lantern bobbingagitatedly. He never delayed a moment when his wife called; importantand tyrannical as the little man was abroad, he had his own tyrant athome. 

Ann did not wait for him to return; she snatched up the blue jacketand fled home, leaping like a little deer over the hoary fields. Shehung up the precious old jacket behind the shed door again, and no oneever knew the whole story of its entrance in the inventory. If she hadbeen questioned, she would have told the truth boldly, though. ButSamuel Wales's Inventory had for its last item that blue jacket, spelled after Silas White's own individual method, as was many anotherword in the long list. Silas White consulted his own taste withrespect to capital letters too. 

After a few weeks, Grandma said she must have Ann again; and back shewent. Grandma was very feeble lately, and everybody humored her. Mrs. Polly was sorry to have the little girl leave her. She said it waswonderful how much she had improved. But she would not have admittedthat the improvement was owing to the different influence she had beenunder; she said Ann had outgrown her mischievous ways. 

Grandma did not live very long after this, however. Mrs. Polly hadher bound girl at her own disposal in a year's time. Poor Ann wassorrowful enough for a long while after Grandma's death. She wore thebeloved gold beads round her neck, and a sad ache in her heart. Thedear old woman had taken the beads off her neck with her own handsand given them to Ann before she died, that there might be no mistakeabout it. 

Mrs. Polly said she was glad Ann had them. "You might jist as wellhave 'em as Dorcas's girl, " said she; "she set enough sight more byyou. "

Ann could not help growing cheerful again, after a while. Affairs inMrs. Polly's house were much brighter for her, in some ways, than theyhad ever been before. 

Either the hot iron of affliction had smoothed some of the puckers outof her mistress's disposition, or she was growing, naturally, lesssharp and dictatorial. Any way, she was becoming as gentle and lovingwith Ann as it was in her nature to be, and Ann, following herimpulsive temper, returned all the affection with vigor, and neverbestowed a thought on past unpleasantness. 

For the next two years, Ann's position in the family grew to be moreand more that of a daughter. If it had not been for the indentures, lying serenely in that tall wooden desk, she would almost haveforgotten, herself, that she was a bound girl. 

One spring afternoon, when Ann was about sixteen years old, hermistress called her solemnly into the fore-room. "Ann, " said she, "come here, I want to speak to you. "

Nabby stared wonderingly; and Ann, as she obeyed, felt awed. There wassomething unusual in her mistress's tone. 

Standing there in the fore-room, in the august company of the bestbed, with its high posts and flowered-chintz curtains, the best chestof drawers, and the best chairs, Ann listened to what Mrs. Polly hadto tell her. It was a plan which almost took her breath away; for itwas this: Mrs. Polly proposed to adopt her, and change her name toWales. She would be no longer Ann Ginnins, and a bound girl: but AnnWales, and a daughter in her mother's home. 

Ann dropped into one of the best chairs, and sat there, her littledark face very pale. "Should I have the--papers?" she gasped atlength. 

"Your papers? Yes, child, you can have them. "

"I don't want them, " cried Ann, "never! I want them to stay just wherethey are, till my time is out. If I am adopted, I don't want thepapers!"

Mrs. Polly stared. She had never known how Ann had taken theindentures with her on her run-away trip years ago; but now Anntold her the whole story. In her gratitude to her mistress, and hercontrition, she had to. 

It was so long ago in Ann's childhood, it did not seem so verydreadful to Mrs. Polly, probably. But Ann insisted on the indenturesremaining in the desk, even after the papers of adoption were madeout, and she had become "Ann Wales. " It seemed to go a little waytoward satisfying her conscience. This adoption meant a good deal toAnn; for besides a legal home, and a mother, it secured to her aright in a comfortable property in the future. Mrs. Polly Wales wasconsidered very well off. She was a smart business-woman, and knew howto take care of her property too. She still hired Phineas Adams tocarry on the blacksmith's business, and kept her farm-work runningjust as her husband had. Neither she nor Ann were afraid of work, andAnn Wales used to milk the cows, and escort them to and from pasture, as faithfully as Ann Ginnins. 

It was along in springtime when Ann was adopted, and Mrs. Pollyfulfilled her part of the contract in the indentures by getting theSunday suit therein spoken of. 

They often rode on horseback to meeting, but they usually walked onthe fine Sundays in spring. Ann had probably never been so happy inher life as she was walking by Mrs. Polly's side to meeting that firstSunday after her adoption. Most of the way was through the woods;the tender light green boughs met over their heads; the violets andanemones were springing beside their path. There were green buds andwhite blossoms all around; the sky showed blue between the wavingbranches, and the birds were singing. 

Ann in her pretty petticoat of rose-colored stuff, stepping daintilyover the young grass and the flowers, looked and felt like a part ofit all. Her dark cheeks had a beautiful red glow on them; her blackeyes shone. She was as straight and graceful and stately as an Indian. 

"She's as handsome as a picture, " thought Mrs. Polly in her secretheart. A good many people said that Ann resembled Mrs. Polly in heryouth, and that may have added force to her admiration. 

Her new gown was very fine for those days; but fine as she was, andadopted daughter though she was, Ann did not omit her thrifty ways foronce. This identical morning Mrs. Polly and she carried their bestshoes under their arms, and wore their old ones, till within a shortdistance from the meeting-house. Then the old shoes were tucked awayunder a stone wall for safety, and the best ones put on. Stone walls, very likely, sheltered a good many well-worn little shoes, of aPuritan Sabbath, that their prudent owners might appear in the Houseof God trimly shod. Ah! these beautiful, new, peaked-toed, high-heeledshoes of Ann's--what would she have said to walking in them all theway to meeting!

If that Sunday was an eventful one to Ann Wales, so was the weekfollowing. The next Tuesday, right after dinner, she was up in alittle unfinished chamber over the kitchen, where they did such workwhen the weather permitted, carding wool. All at once, she heardvoices down below. They had a strange inflection, which gave herwarning at once. She dropped her work and listened. "What is thematter?" thought she. 

Then there was a heavy tramp on the stairs, and Captain Abraham Frenchstood in the door, his stern weather-beaten face white and set. Mrs. Polly followed him, looking very pale and excited. 

"When did you see anything of our Hannah?" asked Captain French, controlling as best he could the tremor in his resolute voice. 

Ann rose, gathering up her big blue apron, cards, wool and all. "Oh, "she cried, "not since last Sabbath, at meeting! What is it?"

"She's lost, " answered Captain French. "She started to go up to herAunt Sarah's Monday forenoon; and Enos has just been down, and theyhaven't seen anything of her. " Poor Captain French gave a deep groan. 

Then they all went down into the kitchen together, talking andlamenting. And then, Captain French was galloping away on his grayhorse to call assistance, and Ann was flying away over the fields, blue apron, cards, wool and all. 

"O, Ann!" Mrs. Polly cried after, "where are you going?"

"I'm going--to find--Hannah!" Ann shouted back, in a shrill, desperatevoice, and kept on. 

She had no definite notion as to where she was going; she had only onethought--Hannah French, her darling, tender, little Hannah French, herfriend whom she loved better than a sister, was lost. 

A good three miles from the Wales home was a large tract of roughland, half-swamp, known as "Bear Swamp. " There was an opinion, more orless correct, that bears might be found there. Some had been shot inthat vicinity. Why Ann turned her footsteps in that direction, she could not have told herself. Possibly the vague impression ofconversations she and Hannah had had, lingering in her mind, hadsomething to do with it. Many a time the two little girls had remarkedto each other with a shudder, "How awful it would be to get lost inBear Swamp. "

Any way, Ann went straight there, through pasture and woodland, overditches and stone walls. She knew every step of the way for a longdistance. When she gradually got into the unfamiliar wilderness of theswamp, a thought struck her--suppose she got lost too! It wouldbe easy enough--the unbroken forest stretched for miles in somedirections. She would not find a living thing but Indians, and, maybe, wild beasts, the whole distance. 

If she should get lost she would not find Hannah, and the people wouldhave to hunt for her too. But Ann had quick wits for an emergency. Shehad actually carried those cards, with a big wad of wool between themall the time, in her gathered-up apron. Now she began picking offlittle bits of wool and marking her way with them, sticking them onthe trees and bushes. Every few feet a fluffy scrap of wool showed theroad Ann had gone. 

But poor Ann went on, farther and farther--and no sign of Hannah. Shekept calling her from time to time, hallooing at the top of her shrillsweet voice: "Hannah! Hannah! Hannah Fre-nch!"

But never a response got the dauntless little girl, slipping almost upto her knees sometimes, in black swamp-mud; and sometimes stumblingpainfully over tree-stumps, and through tangled undergrowth. 

"I'll go till my wool gives out, " said Ann Wales; then she used itmore sparingly. 

But it was almost gone before she thought she heard in the distance afaint little cry in response to her call: "Hannah! Hannah Fre-nch!"She called again and listened. Yes; she certainly did hear a littlecry off toward the west. Calling from time to time, she went as nearlyas she could in that direction. The pitiful answering cry grew louderand nearer; finally Ann could distinguish Hannah's voice. 

Wild with joy, she came, at last, upon her sitting on a fallenhemlock-tree, her pretty face pale, and her sweet blue eyes strainedwith terror. 

"O, Hannah!" "O, Ann!"

"How did you ever get here, Hannah?"

"I--started for aunt Sarah's--that morning, " explained Hannah, betweensobs. "And--I got frightened in the woods, about a mile from father's. I saw something ahead I thought was a bear. A great black thing! ThenI ran--and, somehow, the first thing I knew, I was lost. I walked andwalked, and it seems to me I kept coming right back to the same place. Finally I sat down here, and staid; I thought it was all the way forme to be found. "

"O, Hannah! what did you do last night?"

"I staid somewhere, under some pine-trees, " replied Hannah, with ashudder; "and I kept hearing things--O, Ann!"

Ann hugged her sympathizingly. "I guess I wouldn't have slept much ifI had known, " said she. "O, Hannah, you haven't had anything to eat!ain't you starved?"

Hannah laughed faintly. "I ate up two whole pumpkin pies I wascarrying to aunt Sarah, " said she. "Oh! how lucky it was you hadthem. " "Yes; mother called me back to get them, after I started. Theywere some new ones, made with cream, and she thought aunt Sarah wouldlike them. "

Pretty soon they started. It was hard work, for the way was veryrough, and poor Hannah weak. But Ann had a good deal of strength inher lithe young frame, and she half-carried Hannah over the worstplaces. Still both of the girls were pretty well spent when they cameto the last of the bits of wool on the border of Bear Swamp. However, they kept on a little farther; then they had to stop and rest. "I knowwhere I am now, " said Hannah, with a sigh of delight; "but I don'tthink I can walk another step. " She was, in fact, almost exhausted. 

Ann looked at her thoughtfully. She hardly knew what to do. She couldnot carry Hannah herself--indeed, her own strength began to fail; andshe did not want to leave her to go for assistance. 

All of a sudden, she jumped up. "You stay just where you are a fewminutes, Hannah, " said she. "I'm going somewhere. I'll be back soon. "Ann was laughing. 

Hannah looked up at her pitifully: "O Ann, don't go!"

"I'm coming right back, and it is the only way. You must get home. Only think how your father and mother are worrying!"

Hannah said no more after that mention of her parents, and Annstarted. 

[Illustration: "A CONVEYANCE IS FOUND. "]

She was not gone long. When she came in sight she was laughing, andHannah, weak as she was, laughed, too. Ann had torn her blue aproninto strips, and tied it together for a rope, and by it she wasleading a red cow. 

Hannah knew the cow, and knew at once what the plan was. "O, Ann! youmean for me to ride Betty?"

"Of course I do. I just happened to think our cows were in thepasture, down below here. And we've ridden Betty, lots of times, whenwe were children, and she's just as gentle now. Whoa, Betty, goodcow. "

It was very hard work to get Hannah on to the broad back of her novelsteed, but it was finally accomplished. Betty had been a perfect petfrom a calf, and was exceedingly gentle. She started off soberlyacross the fields, with Hannah sitting on her back, and Ann leadingher by her blue rope. 

It was a funny cavalcade for Captain Abraham French and a score ofanxious men to meet, when they were nearly in sight of home; but theywere too overjoyed to see much fun in it. 

Hannah rode the rest of the way with her father, on his gray horse;and Ann walked joyfully by her side, leading the cow. 

Captain French and his friends had, in fact, just started to searchBear Swamp, well armed with lanterns, for night was coming on. 

It was dark when they got home. Mrs. French was not much moredelighted to see her beloved daughter Hannah safe again, than Mrs. Polly was to see Ann. 

She listened admiringly to the story Ann told. 

"Nobody but you would have thought of the wool or of the cow, " saidshe. 

"I do declare, " cried Ann, at the mention of the wool, "I have lostthe cards!"

"Never mind the cards!" said Mrs. Polly. 

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