"THE 'FLAIL OF THE DESERT.'""THE 'FLAIL OF THE DESERT.'"
At this moment he was discovered by Basil, who charged him with a joyous shout. "Oh, here is Uncle John! Oh, Uncle John, don't you want to be Saladin, please? Here's Merton has hurt his leg and gone off in a sulk, and I'll get you ascimitarin a minute—it's the old sickle, and Willis says it's so rusty you can't really do much mischiefwith it; and here's the Hermit of Engedi, you know, and he can shout—"
But, alas, for the Lion-hearted! When he turned to summon his hermit, he saw no flying figure, brandishing a walking-stick and crying aloud, but a demure young lady, smoothing her hair hurriedly and shaking out the folds of her dress, as she hastened to meet her uncle.
"Bravo!" said Uncle John. "But why did you stop, Meg? It wouldn't have been the first time I had played Saladin, I assure you!"
"Oh, uncle! I am really too much out of breath to play any more. And besides, it is near tea-time, and the children must go and get ready. I will come in a moment, Susan dear, and do your hair. Are there any letters, Uncle John? Oh, two, from the girls; how perfectly delightful! Oh, I must run up, but we'll read them after tea, shall we, Uncle John?"
"With all my heart, my dear; and I have a letter, too, about which I shall want to consult you. Go now, or Susan D. will be tryingto braid her own hair, a thing to be avoided, I have observed."
Tea over, and Mr. Montfort seated at ease with his cigar, the children engaged in an enchanting game of Bat (played with worn-out umbrellas, from which the sticks had been taken: this game is to be highly recommended where there is space for flapping and swooping), Margaret opened her letters; reopened them, rather, for it must be confessed that she had peeped into both while she was braiding her own hair and changing her dress for the pretty evening gown her uncle always liked to see.
"Peggy is actually off for school, Uncle John. It does not seem possible that we are in September, and the summer really gone. She seems in high spirits over it, dear child. Listen!
"Darling Dearest Margaret:"I am going to-morrow; I waited till the last minute, so that I could tell you the last of me. My trunk is almost all packed, and I really think I have done it pretty well. Thank you, ever and ever and ever so much, for the nice things to tie up my shoesin. They are just lovely, and so is the shoe-bag to hang against the wall. I mean to put away every shoe just the very minute I take it off, and not have them kicking about the closet floor at all, ever. And the combing-sack! Oh, Margaret, it is a perfect beauty! Ever so much too pretty to do my hair in, and mother says so, too, but I shall, because you made it for me to, and think of you all the time I am, and—"I got a little mixed there, but you will know what I mean, dearest Margaret. Tell Uncle John I am so perfectly delighted with the lovely ring, I don't knowwhattodo. Oh, Margaret, you know how I always wanted a ring, and how I used to admire that sapphire of Rita's; and to think of having a sapphire ring myself—why, I can hardly believe it even now! I couldn't go to sleep for ever so long last night, just watching it in the moonlight. Of course I shall write to Uncle John and thank him myself, but I couldn't wait just to let him know how happy I was. (Margaret, if you think he would like it, or at least wouldn't mind it, you might give him a hug just now and say I sent it, but don't unless you areperfectly surehe wouldn't mind, because you know how IloveUncle John, even if I am just the least bit afraid of him, and I'm sure that is natural when you think what a goose I am.)"
"I am going to-morrow; I waited till the last minute, so that I could tell you the last of me. My trunk is almost all packed, and I really think I have done it pretty well. Thank you, ever and ever and ever so much, for the nice things to tie up my shoesin. They are just lovely, and so is the shoe-bag to hang against the wall. I mean to put away every shoe just the very minute I take it off, and not have them kicking about the closet floor at all, ever. And the combing-sack! Oh, Margaret, it is a perfect beauty! Ever so much too pretty to do my hair in, and mother says so, too, but I shall, because you made it for me to, and think of you all the time I am, and—
"I got a little mixed there, but you will know what I mean, dearest Margaret. Tell Uncle John I am so perfectly delighted with the lovely ring, I don't knowwhattodo. Oh, Margaret, you know how I always wanted a ring, and how I used to admire that sapphire of Rita's; and to think of having a sapphire ring myself—why, I can hardly believe it even now! I couldn't go to sleep for ever so long last night, just watching it in the moonlight. Of course I shall write to Uncle John and thank him myself, but I couldn't wait just to let him know how happy I was. (Margaret, if you think he would like it, or at least wouldn't mind it, you might give him a hug just now and say I sent it, but don't unless you areperfectly surehe wouldn't mind, because you know how IloveUncle John, even if I am just the least bit afraid of him, and I'm sure that is natural when you think what a goose I am.)"
Margaret paused, laughing, to throw herarms around her uncle, and tell him that this was "Peggy's hug;" then she went on:
"I was so glad to get your last letter, and to hear all about dear, darling Fernley, and Uncle John, and Elizabeth and Frances, and all the funny things those funny children have been doing. Margaret, they are almost exactly like us children when we were their age. I never began to think about growing up till I read about how they carry on, and then saw that we didn't act so any more, Jean, and Flora, and I. Jean is younger than me, of course, but she's more grown up, I really think. I think you must have a lovely time, now that—well, you said I mustn't call names, and so I won't, but I know just exactly what kind of a person she was, Margaret, andso do you, and you can't deny it, so now!"Margaret, of course I do feel rather scared about school, for I am still very ignorant, and I suppose all the girls will know about forty thousand times as much as I do, and they will call me stupid, and I know I am; but I mean to be brave, and remember all the things you have said, and mother has helped me, too, oh, a lot, and she says she just wishes she had had the chance when she was a girl, and I know now just how she feels. And then when I come home, you see, I can teach the little girls, and that will be great. But I never shall try to teach them spelling, or history, for you know I cannot; and Icannot remember to this day who Thomas à Bucket was, and why they called him that."Hugh came in just now, and I asked him that, and he laughed, and said Thomas à Bucket was certainly pale before they got through with him. I don't know what he means, but he says you will, so I write it down. Good-bye, dearest, darling Margaret. Give heaps and oceans and lots of love to Uncle John, and most of all to your own darling self, from"Peggy."
"I was so glad to get your last letter, and to hear all about dear, darling Fernley, and Uncle John, and Elizabeth and Frances, and all the funny things those funny children have been doing. Margaret, they are almost exactly like us children when we were their age. I never began to think about growing up till I read about how they carry on, and then saw that we didn't act so any more, Jean, and Flora, and I. Jean is younger than me, of course, but she's more grown up, I really think. I think you must have a lovely time, now that—well, you said I mustn't call names, and so I won't, but I know just exactly what kind of a person she was, Margaret, andso do you, and you can't deny it, so now!
"Margaret, of course I do feel rather scared about school, for I am still very ignorant, and I suppose all the girls will know about forty thousand times as much as I do, and they will call me stupid, and I know I am; but I mean to be brave, and remember all the things you have said, and mother has helped me, too, oh, a lot, and she says she just wishes she had had the chance when she was a girl, and I know now just how she feels. And then when I come home, you see, I can teach the little girls, and that will be great. But I never shall try to teach them spelling, or history, for you know I cannot; and Icannot remember to this day who Thomas à Bucket was, and why they called him that.
"Hugh came in just now, and I asked him that, and he laughed, and said Thomas à Bucket was certainly pale before they got through with him. I don't know what he means, but he says you will, so I write it down. Good-bye, dearest, darling Margaret. Give heaps and oceans and lots of love to Uncle John, and most of all to your own darling self, from
"Peggy."
"I wonder how Peggy will get on at school?" said Margaret. "Very well, I should think. Certainly no one can help liking her, dear girl; and she will learn a great deal, I am sure."
"She'll never learn English history," said Mr. Montfort; "but after all, there are other things, May Margaret, though you are loth to acknowledge it."
"And now for Rita. I'll just run through it again, Uncle John, to see—oh! oh, yes! The first part is all just that she wants to see me, and so on,—her wild way. She has had the most wonderful summer,—'the Pyrenees, Margaret! Never before have I seen great mountains, that scale the heavens, you understand.The Titans are explained to me. I have seen, and my soul has arisen to their height. I could dwell with thee, Marguerite, on snow-peaks tinged with morning rose, peaks that touch the stars, that veil themselves in clouds of evening;' perhaps I'll skip a little here, Uncle John. Interlaken,—the Jungfrau,—oh, sheishaving a glorious time. Oh! oh, dear me, uncle!"
"Well, my dear? She has not fallen off the Jungfrau?"
"No, not that; but she—she is—or she thinks she is—going to be married."
Mr. Montfort whistled. "To the Matterhorn, or to some promising young avalanche? Pray enlighten me, my dear."
"Oh! don't laugh, Uncle John, I am afraid it may be serious. A young Cuban, she says, a soldier, of course." Margaret ran her eyes down the page, but found nothing sober enough to read aloud. "He seems to be a very wonderful person," she said, timidly. "Handsome, and a miracle of courage,—and a military genius; if war should come, Rita thinks he will be commander-in-chief of theCuban army. You don't think it will really come to war, Uncle John?"
"I cannot tell, Margaret," said Mr. Montfort, gravely. "Things are looking rather serious, but no one can see just what is coming yet. And this seems to be a bona fide engagement? It isn't little Fernando, is it?"
"No! oh, no! She says—she is sorry for Fernando, but he will always be her brother. This one's name is—let me see. José Maria Salvador Santillo de Santayana. What a magnificent name! He had followed her from Cuba, and he has Uncle Richard's permission to pay his addresses to Rita, and she says—she says he is the dream of her life, embodied in the form of a Greek hero, with the soul of a poet, and the intellect of a Shakespeare. So I suppose it is all right, uncle; only, she is very young."
"Young! My dear child, she was grown up while you were still in the nursery," said Mr. Montfort. "According to Spanish ideas, it is high time for her to be married, and I am sure I wish the dear girl all happiness. We must look over the family trinkets,Margaret, and find something for our bird of Paradise. There are some pretty bits of jewelry; but that will keep. Now, if you can stop wondering and romancing for a moment, May Margaret, I, too, have a letter, about which I wish to consult you."
"Yes, uncle, oh, yes! I hope he is good as well as handsome, don't you? She says the Santillo nose is the marvel of all Cuba."
"The Santillo nose may be pickled in brine, my dear, for ought I care; I really want your attention, Margaret, and you must come down from the clouds. Here is Anthony Montfort writing for his children."
"What!" cried Margaret, waking suddenly from her dream. "What did you say about the children, Uncle John? Cousin Anthony writing for them? What can you mean?"
"Why, my love, I mean writing for them," said Mr. Montfort, calmly. "He is, you may remember, a relation of theirs, a father in point of fact. He has found an excellent opening in California, and means to stay there. He says—I'll read you his letter, or the part of it that relates to the children.Hum—'grateful to you'—ha! yes, here it is. 'Of course I must make some arrangement about the children. One of the boys can come to me, but I cannot take care of both, so Basil will have to go to boarding-school, and Susan D., too. If you would be so good as to look up a good school or two, I should be ever so much obliged. Basil can take care of himself, you'll only have to consign and ship him; perhaps you can get some one to go with the little girl, and see to her things and all that. It's a shame to call upon you,'—h'm! so forth! Well, Meg, what do you say?"
But Margaret said nothing. She was sitting with her hands fallen on her lap, gazing at her uncle with a face of such piteous consternation that he had much ado to keep his countenance.
"Take them away!" she faltered, presently. "Take away—my children? Oh, Uncle John!"
Mr. Montfort looked away, and smoked awhile in silence, giving the girl time to collect herself. Margaret struggled with thetears that wanted to rush to her eyes. She forced herself to take up the letters that lay in her lap and fold them methodically. When he saw that her hands trembled less, Mr. Montfort said, quietly, "The children have been a great deal of care to you, Margaret; but you have grown fond of them, I know, and so have I. I think a good deal of your judgment, my dear, young as you are. What would you like best to have done about the little people? Take time; take time! Anthony practically leaves the whole matter in my hands. In fact, I think he is puzzled, and feels perhaps that he has not done as well as he might for them always. Take time, my child."
"Oh, I don't need any time, Uncle John!" cried Margaret, trying to speak steadily. "I—I didn't realise, I suppose—it has all come about so gradually—I didn't realise all that they were to me. To lose Basil and Susan D.,—I don't see how I can let them go, uncle; I don't indeed. You won't think me ungrateful, will you, dear? I was, oh, so happy, before they came; but now—theyare so dear, so dear! and—and Susan D. is used to me, and to have her go to a stranger who might not understand the poor little shut-up nature—oh, how can I bear it? how can I bear it?"
"Well, my dear," said Mr. Montfort, comfortably. "How if you did not have to bear it?"
Then, as Margaret raised her startled eyes to his, he went on, in the kind, steady tone that always brought quiet and peace with it.
"How if we made the present arrangement—part of it, at least—permanent? Let Merton go to his father; I should not care to have the bringing up of Merton. But there is an excellent school near here, on the island, to which Basil could go, staying the week and coming home here for Sunday; and if little Susan would not be too much care for you,—she's a dear little girl, once you get through the prickles,—why, May Margaret, it seems to me—"
But Mr. Montfort got no further; for here was Margaret sobbing on his breast as ifshe were Rita herself, and calling him the best and dearest and kindest, and telling him that she was so happy, so happy; and that was why she was crying, only she could not stop; and so on and so on, till Uncle John really thought he should have to send for Frances. At his suggesting this, however, Margaret laughed through her tears, and presently struggled into something like composure.
"And, after all," said Mr. Montfort, "how do you know the children will want to stay with you, you conceited young woman?"
"Oh, Uncle John! I will teach Susan D. all I know, and a great deal more, I hope, for I shall be learning all the time now, if I have another coming after me. And we will keep house together, and it will be like the little sister, like little Penelope, Uncle John. And then to have Basil coming home every week, all full of school, and fun, and noise,—why, how perfectly delightful it will be! And I will not let them overrun you, dear uncle; they have been good lately, haven't they?"
"They have been extremely good, my dear. All the same, I think you would do well to interview them on the subject, before you prepare all your chickens for the market. See, there are your two coming up the walk this moment. You might go—"
But Margaret was already gone. Mr. Montfort watched her light figure flying down the walk, and thought she had grown almost back into a child again, since the children came. "And yet all a woman," he said; "all a sweet, wholesome, gentle woman. See her now with her arms around the child; the little creature clings to her as if she were the mother it never knew. Ah! she is telling them. No need to smother her, children. I never really meant to separate you; no, indeed. I only wanted you to find out for yourselves, as I have found out for myself. No more solitude at Fernley, please God; from now on, young faces and hearts, and sunshine, and a home; the future instead of the past."
The good man laid down his cigar, quietly and carefully, as he did everything, andopened his arms as the three, Margaret and her children, came flying towards him; and they ran into those kind strong arms and nestled there, and looked into his eyes and knew that they were at home.
THE"Queen Hildegarde" Series.By Laura E. Richards.——————HILDEGARDE'S HARVEST.Thefifth volumeof the Hildegarde Series. Illustrated with eight full-page cuts. Square 16mo, cloth, $1.25.A new volume in the "Hildegarde" series, some of the best and most deservedly popular books for girls issued in recent years. This new volume is fully equal to its predecessors in point of interest, and is sure to renew the popularity of the entire series.HILDEGARDE'S NEIGHBORS.Fourth volume. Illustrated from original designs. Illustrated by L. J. Bridgman. Square 16mo, cloth, $1.25.HILDEGARDE'S HOME.Third volume. Illustrated with original designs by Merrill. Square 16mo, cloth, $1.25.HILDEGARDE'S HOLIDAY.Second volume. Illustrated with full-page plates by Copeland. Square 16mo, cloth, $1.25.QUEEN HILDEGARDE.First volume. Illustrated from original designs by Garrett (292 pp.). Square 16mo, cloth, $1.25."We would like to see the sensible, heroine-loving girl in her early teens who would not like this book. Not to like it would simply argue a screw loose somewhere."—Boston Post.——————THE HILDEGARDE SERIES.as above. 5 vols., square 16mo, put up in a neat box, $6.25.AsterismNext to Miss Alcott's famous "Little Women" series they easily rank, and no books that have appeared in recent times may be more safely put into the hands of a bright, intelligent girl than these five "Queen Hildegarde" books.——————Estes & Lauriat, Publishers, Boston.
THE
——————
HILDEGARDE'S HARVEST.
Thefifth volumeof the Hildegarde Series. Illustrated with eight full-page cuts. Square 16mo, cloth, $1.25.
A new volume in the "Hildegarde" series, some of the best and most deservedly popular books for girls issued in recent years. This new volume is fully equal to its predecessors in point of interest, and is sure to renew the popularity of the entire series.
HILDEGARDE'S NEIGHBORS.
Fourth volume. Illustrated from original designs. Illustrated by L. J. Bridgman. Square 16mo, cloth, $1.25.
HILDEGARDE'S HOME.
Third volume. Illustrated with original designs by Merrill. Square 16mo, cloth, $1.25.
HILDEGARDE'S HOLIDAY.
Second volume. Illustrated with full-page plates by Copeland. Square 16mo, cloth, $1.25.
QUEEN HILDEGARDE.
First volume. Illustrated from original designs by Garrett (292 pp.). Square 16mo, cloth, $1.25.
"We would like to see the sensible, heroine-loving girl in her early teens who would not like this book. Not to like it would simply argue a screw loose somewhere."—Boston Post.
——————
THE HILDEGARDE SERIES.
as above. 5 vols., square 16mo, put up in a neat box, $6.25.
AsterismNext to Miss Alcott's famous "Little Women" series they easily rank, and no books that have appeared in recent times may be more safely put into the hands of a bright, intelligent girl than these five "Queen Hildegarde" books.
——————Estes & Lauriat, Publishers, Boston.
Other Books by Laura E. Richards.——————LOVE AND ROCKS.Tall 16mo, handsome cover design, etching frontispiece, $1.00.A charming story of one of the pleasant islands on the rugged Maine coast, told in the author's most graceful manner.WHEN I WAS YOUR AGE.Quarto, cloth, gilt top. Illustrated, $1.25.A series of papers which has already delighted the many readers of St. Nicholas, now revised and published in book form, with many additions. The title most happily introduces the reader to the charming home life of Dr. Howe and Mrs. Julia Ward Howe during the childhood of the author, and one is young again in reading the delightful sketches of happy child life in this most interesting family.GLIMPSES OF THE FRENCH COURT.Sketches from French History. Handsomely illustrated with a series of portraits in etching and photogravure. Square 12mo, cloth, neat cover design, gilt top, $1.50.SAME.Handsomely bound in celluloid, boxed, $2.00.The History of France, during the eighteenth century, is a treasure-house of romantic interest, from which the author has drawn a series of papers which will appeal to all who care for the picturesque in history. With true literary touch, she gives us the story of some of the salient figures of this remarkable period.——————Estes & Lauriat, Publishers, Boston.
——————
LOVE AND ROCKS.
Tall 16mo, handsome cover design, etching frontispiece, $1.00.
A charming story of one of the pleasant islands on the rugged Maine coast, told in the author's most graceful manner.
WHEN I WAS YOUR AGE.
Quarto, cloth, gilt top. Illustrated, $1.25.
A series of papers which has already delighted the many readers of St. Nicholas, now revised and published in book form, with many additions. The title most happily introduces the reader to the charming home life of Dr. Howe and Mrs. Julia Ward Howe during the childhood of the author, and one is young again in reading the delightful sketches of happy child life in this most interesting family.
GLIMPSES OF THE FRENCH COURT.
Sketches from French History. Handsomely illustrated with a series of portraits in etching and photogravure. Square 12mo, cloth, neat cover design, gilt top, $1.50.
SAME.
Handsomely bound in celluloid, boxed, $2.00.
The History of France, during the eighteenth century, is a treasure-house of romantic interest, from which the author has drawn a series of papers which will appeal to all who care for the picturesque in history. With true literary touch, she gives us the story of some of the salient figures of this remarkable period.
——————Estes & Lauriat, Publishers, Boston.