A PAIR OF HORSES.—From Rosa Bonheur’s painting, “The Horse Fair.”
CHILDREN OF CHARLES I.—From the sketch by Verspronck, in the Louvre.THREE ROYAL CHILDREN.Here is a picture of a little prince and two little princesses who lived about two hundred years ago. They were the children of Charles the First, king of England. I suppose they were very much like the boys and girls of nowadays. They played and studied and had their pets, just as children play and study now.
CHILDREN OF CHARLES I.—From the sketch by Verspronck, in the Louvre.
Here is a picture of a little prince and two little princesses who lived about two hundred years ago. They were the children of Charles the First, king of England. I suppose they were very much like the boys and girls of nowadays. They played and studied and had their pets, just as children play and study now.
A boy watches over a flock of turkeys
READY FOR THANKSGIVING.
AN OSTRICH PLUME.Matty Ellis had a new hat. It was a pretty white hat with a long, curly white plume, and it was very becoming to her.“Yes, I like it,” she said to aunt Sarah. “But Nanny Rich has a hat with two plumes.”“And I can tell you somebody who wears half a dozen or more,” replied aunt Sarah, “and that somebody is the ostrich himself.”OSTRICH EGGS.Aunt Sarah tells Matty a great many interesting things, and she told her about ostriches. She told how they live in hot sandy countries like Africa.They are so tall and have such long legs they can run as fast as, or faster than, a horse.A PAIR OF OSTRICHES AT HOME.They have their nests in a hollow on the ground. The Hottentot likes ostrich eggs to eat. One ostrich egg is as big as sixteen hen’s eggs. So it makes a breakfast for a number of people. The Hottentot breaks a hole in the small end of the egg, stirs up the contents with a stick, and then sets it over the fire to cook.The shell is very thick and hard, and the heat of the fire will not break it.There is somebody else who likes ostrich eggs too, and that somebody is a kind of fox. He comes when the ostrich is away and helps himself. Sometimes the ostrich comes home and finds him at it.Many other people like to wear ostrich plumes as well as Matty. So there is a large trade in them. The wild ostrich does not supply feathers enough for the market, so ostriches are now raised like turkeys and hens. This business is called “ostrich farming.” The ostriches are kept in large yards, and the plumes are taken out every year.Aunt Sarah told all this to Matty. “And so,” said Matty, stroking the long white plume, “this feather has ridden on the back of an ostrich in Africa; I wish it could tell me what it has seen.”Two foxes try to take an ostrich eggSOMEBODY ELSE WHO LIKES EGGS.
Matty Ellis had a new hat. It was a pretty white hat with a long, curly white plume, and it was very becoming to her.
“Yes, I like it,” she said to aunt Sarah. “But Nanny Rich has a hat with two plumes.”
“And I can tell you somebody who wears half a dozen or more,” replied aunt Sarah, “and that somebody is the ostrich himself.”
OSTRICH EGGS.
Aunt Sarah tells Matty a great many interesting things, and she told her about ostriches. She told how they live in hot sandy countries like Africa.
They are so tall and have such long legs they can run as fast as, or faster than, a horse.
A PAIR OF OSTRICHES AT HOME.
They have their nests in a hollow on the ground. The Hottentot likes ostrich eggs to eat. One ostrich egg is as big as sixteen hen’s eggs. So it makes a breakfast for a number of people. The Hottentot breaks a hole in the small end of the egg, stirs up the contents with a stick, and then sets it over the fire to cook.The shell is very thick and hard, and the heat of the fire will not break it.
There is somebody else who likes ostrich eggs too, and that somebody is a kind of fox. He comes when the ostrich is away and helps himself. Sometimes the ostrich comes home and finds him at it.
Many other people like to wear ostrich plumes as well as Matty. So there is a large trade in them. The wild ostrich does not supply feathers enough for the market, so ostriches are now raised like turkeys and hens. This business is called “ostrich farming.” The ostriches are kept in large yards, and the plumes are taken out every year.
Aunt Sarah told all this to Matty. “And so,” said Matty, stroking the long white plume, “this feather has ridden on the back of an ostrich in Africa; I wish it could tell me what it has seen.”
Two foxes try to take an ostrich egg
SOMEBODY ELSE WHO LIKES EGGS.
WHO KILLED THE GOOSE?A dog wrapped in a quiltIt was the very nicest, whitest goose of the whole flock, and there it was—dead! Who had killed it? was the question. Everybody said it must have been Bose; and why? Because Bose liked to tease the geese. Sometimes he jumped from behind a bushand frightened them. Sometimes when they were standing at their trough eating, he ran at them, just for the fun of seeing them run.A dog in a basket“I don’t think he meant to kill it,” said the grandpa.“Very likely not,” said the father, “but I must teach him not to run at the geese. Come here, sir,” he said to Bose.A dog with a blanket wrapped around himBose felt very badly. He crawled slowly along. He couldn’t say, “I didn’t do it; please don’t whip me,” as a little boy or girl can. He could only look up to his master with soft, begging eyes. But little Patsy was looking in at the door. Little Patsy loves Bose dearly; and of all the family Bose best loves Patsy. They are always playing together.A dog sitting“Oh, please don’t whip Bose,” cried Patsy. “I don’t believe he did it. Nobody saw him do it,” and she begged so hard her father said he would only tie Bose up. He would not whip him till he was sure he had killed the goose. That night Patsy cried herself to sleep. It almost broke her heart to think that on the morrow Bose might have to be whipped. Suddenly in the night she heard a queer, soft voice say, “I don’t believe he did it. I wouldn’t kill a goose.” Patsy opened her eyes and found herself in a room full of dogs. The voice came from a wee doggie wrapped in an eider down quilt.“Very good reason why; you couldn’t,” barked another little fellow. He had a head that looked as if it were bald, and large soft ears, and he was peeping out of a basket.Bose crawls towards FatherPROSPECTIVE PUNISHMENT.A fluffy dog“Raw goose, faugh!” said a dainty doggie, who had a blanket pinned carefully around him. “I like my poultry well picked and cooked.”“That’s so. So do I,” rejoined a fierce scrap of a dog. He wore a collar and little silver locket, and cocked his ears.“People are always saying dogs do things,” said a tousled terrier, whose hair had tumbled over his eyes, so he couldn’t see a thing. “The cat ate the cream the other day and cook said I did it. I hate cooks.”A dog lying downA grave-looking dog opened his mouth and spoke. He must have been a lawyer among dogs. Patsy thought he looked like Judge Drake. He spoke slowly. “If Bose had never chased the geese even in play, his master would never have suspected him. A great deal depends on a dog’s character. But I don’t think he killed the goose.”“Iknowhe didn’t,” spoke up a big splendid dog. “Bose is a good fellow!” Then all the dogs barked out, “Hear! hear!” so loudly that Patsy awoke. The dogs had vanished; the morning sun was shining. She heard her father call, “Patsy, come and see the fox! We’ve trapped the rogue. It was he that killed the goose!”A dog lying down
A dog wrapped in a quilt
It was the very nicest, whitest goose of the whole flock, and there it was—dead! Who had killed it? was the question. Everybody said it must have been Bose; and why? Because Bose liked to tease the geese. Sometimes he jumped from behind a bushand frightened them. Sometimes when they were standing at their trough eating, he ran at them, just for the fun of seeing them run.
A dog in a basket
“I don’t think he meant to kill it,” said the grandpa.
“Very likely not,” said the father, “but I must teach him not to run at the geese. Come here, sir,” he said to Bose.
A dog with a blanket wrapped around him
Bose felt very badly. He crawled slowly along. He couldn’t say, “I didn’t do it; please don’t whip me,” as a little boy or girl can. He could only look up to his master with soft, begging eyes. But little Patsy was looking in at the door. Little Patsy loves Bose dearly; and of all the family Bose best loves Patsy. They are always playing together.
A dog sitting
“Oh, please don’t whip Bose,” cried Patsy. “I don’t believe he did it. Nobody saw him do it,” and she begged so hard her father said he would only tie Bose up. He would not whip him till he was sure he had killed the goose. That night Patsy cried herself to sleep. It almost broke her heart to think that on the morrow Bose might have to be whipped. Suddenly in the night she heard a queer, soft voice say, “I don’t believe he did it. I wouldn’t kill a goose.” Patsy opened her eyes and found herself in a room full of dogs. The voice came from a wee doggie wrapped in an eider down quilt.
“Very good reason why; you couldn’t,” barked another little fellow. He had a head that looked as if it were bald, and large soft ears, and he was peeping out of a basket.
Bose crawls towards Father
PROSPECTIVE PUNISHMENT.
A fluffy dog
“Raw goose, faugh!” said a dainty doggie, who had a blanket pinned carefully around him. “I like my poultry well picked and cooked.”
“That’s so. So do I,” rejoined a fierce scrap of a dog. He wore a collar and little silver locket, and cocked his ears.
“People are always saying dogs do things,” said a tousled terrier, whose hair had tumbled over his eyes, so he couldn’t see a thing. “The cat ate the cream the other day and cook said I did it. I hate cooks.”
A dog lying down
A grave-looking dog opened his mouth and spoke. He must have been a lawyer among dogs. Patsy thought he looked like Judge Drake. He spoke slowly. “If Bose had never chased the geese even in play, his master would never have suspected him. A great deal depends on a dog’s character. But I don’t think he killed the goose.”
“Iknowhe didn’t,” spoke up a big splendid dog. “Bose is a good fellow!” Then all the dogs barked out, “Hear! hear!” so loudly that Patsy awoke. The dogs had vanished; the morning sun was shining. She heard her father call, “Patsy, come and see the fox! We’ve trapped the rogue. It was he that killed the goose!”
A dog lying down
The baker and friends offer beer to the horse
He belongs to a baker. His master went into a restaurant to deliver some pies. I was sitting at a window opposite. He stayed so long in the place that I thought he had forgotten his faithful beast.
After a while he came out carrying a great mug full of foaming beer. There were two other men with him. All their faces were red, and they walked unsteadily, and they were laughing loud, and shouting. Then the baker went up to his beautiful horse, and offered him the beer to drink.
Do you suppose he took it? No, indeed! He gave it one sniff from his smooth, brown nostrils. Then he turned his head away with a jerk so sudden that he knocked the glass, beer and all, upon the pavement. He looked at his master as if to say, “Don’t insult me again in that way, sir!”
So his bad master had to pay for both the beer and the glass.
Wise old horse, he was not afraid to give his opinion of beer.
CLARA J. DENTON.
Decorative title - How The Wind Blows - with two children flying kites
High and lowThe spring winds blow!They take the kites that the boys have made,And carry them off high into the air;They snatch the little girls’ hats away,And toss and tangle their flowing hair.High and lowThe summer winds blow!They dance and play with the garden flowers,And bend the grasses and yellow grain;They rock the bird in her hanging nest,And dash the rain on the window-pane.
High and lowThe spring winds blow!They take the kites that the boys have made,And carry them off high into the air;They snatch the little girls’ hats away,And toss and tangle their flowing hair.
High and lowThe summer winds blow!They dance and play with the garden flowers,And bend the grasses and yellow grain;They rock the bird in her hanging nest,And dash the rain on the window-pane.
A garden with beehives
Haystacks in a field
High and lowThe autumn winds blow!They frighten the bees and blossoms away,And whirl the dry leaves over the ground;They shake the branches of all the trees,And scatter ripe nuts and apples around.High and lowThe winter winds blow!They fill the hollows with drifts of snow,And sweep on the hills a pathway clear;They hurry the children along to school,And whistle a song for the happy New Year.M. E. N. H.
High and lowThe autumn winds blow!They frighten the bees and blossoms away,And whirl the dry leaves over the ground;They shake the branches of all the trees,And scatter ripe nuts and apples around.
High and lowThe winter winds blow!They fill the hollows with drifts of snow,And sweep on the hills a pathway clear;They hurry the children along to school,And whistle a song for the happy New Year.
M. E. N. H.
Children in a snowy field
Bow-wow! Who are you? I am only a little dog. My name is Dime. I am not a cross dog. I have been a pet dog all my life. Shall I tell you what I can do? I can sit up and beg. I can shake hands. I can jump over a stick, O yes; and I can run very fast. I can run as fast as Pomp, the baker’s dog; and Pomp is a big dog.
Dime and Pomp racing each other
I like to run races with Pomp. He never bites a little dog. We like to run after birds. But we never catch any birds. They fly away when we come near. I wonder how the birds fly. Pomp and I cannot fly.
My master has a cow. Her name is Betty. She is a good cow. She gives nice, white milk. I do not care much for milk. I like a bone better. But old Tab, the cat, likes milk. I like to see Tab drink milk. She laps it up very fast.
I drive Betty to pasture every day. John goes with me to shut the gate. John is the boy who milks the cow. I wish I could open and shut that gate. Then John would not go to the pasture. I should like to go all alone. I think it would be fine.
Driving Betty to pasture
I take good care of Betty. When any one comes near her, I say, “Bow-wow” very sharply.
S. E. SPRAGUE.
Bobby and the ram
When Bobby Smart was six years old, he was left to the care of his Uncle James, who lived in the country. His aunt took him to his future home, and at the depot he saw his uncle for the first time.
Bobby was lonely and sad; his uncle often treated him with harshness and even cruelty. The cold winter had come on early. Bobby was the only boy about the farm, and he had to work very hard. His clothing was unfit for the winter weather, and he often suffered from the cold.
Among the duties which this poor boy had to perform was that of tending a flock of sheep. One afternoon, when there were signs of a snow-storm, he was sent to drive the flock to the barn. He started for the field, but his clothes were so thin that he was benumbed by the intense cold. He sat down on a large rock to rest himself. He felt strangely tired and cold. In a little while he began to feel drowsy. Then he thought it was so nice and comfortable that he would stay there awhile. In a very few moments he was asleep, and perhaps dreaming.
Suddenly he was aroused by a tremendous blow which sent him spinning from his perch on the rock to the ground. Looking about him, he saw an old ram near by. The creature looked as though he had been doing mischief, and Bobby was no longer at a loss toknow where the blow came from; but he thought the attack was an accident, and in a short time he was again in the land of Nod.
Again the ram very rudely tumbled him over into the snow. He was now wide awake, and provoked at the attack of the beast. He began to search for a stick to chastise his enemy. The ram understood his intention, for he turned upon Bobby as if to finish the poor boy. Bobby was forced to take to his heels, and ran towards home.
The ram chased him, while the rest of the flock followed after their leader. The inmates of the farm-house were surprised to see Bobby rushing towards the house as fast as his little legs would allow him. His hair was streaming in the wind, and he was very much terrified. Close upon him was the old ram, kicking up his heels in his anger. Behind him could be seen a straggling line of sheep doing their best to keep up.
The ram chases Bobby
Bobby won the race, however. His uncle came out in time to turn the flock into the barn. It was a long time before Bobby would venture near the ram again.
Bobby knows now that but for the efforts of that old ram in knocking him from his seat on that bitterly cold day he would have been among the angels in a very short time. The sleepy feeling which overcame him would have ended in death.
Bobby declares that the ram knew all the time what ailed him, and that he butted him from the rock on purpose. I cannot explain it, but do know that “God moves in a mysterious way his wonders to perform.”
MRS. F. GREENOUGH.
Decorative title - Lily's Garden - showing Lily and a vase of dandelions
There was only a little piece of garden belonging to Lily’s home in the city. In the bright spring days she went out there, and watched to see if any flowers came up. She felt happy when she found the first blades of grass.
The poet sings that “his heart dances with the daffodils.” Lily’s heart danced, one morning, when she found a dandelion among the grasses in her yard,—a real yellow dandelion, with all its golden petals spread out.
Just then, one of her playmates looked over the fence, and put out her hand.
“Do give it to me,” she said. “I sha’n’t like you a bit, if you don’t: I shall think you are just as stingy—”
“But it’s all I have,” said Lily; “I can’t give it away. I can’t. Wait till to-morrow, and there’ll be some more out. They’re growing. There’ll be some all round to-morrow or next week.”
“To-morrow! I want it now, to-day,” said her friend, “to-day’s better than to-morrow.”
Lily looked at the child and then at the dandelion. “I supposeit would be mean to keep it,” she said, “but it is so lovely—can’tyou wait?”
“Oh, well, keep it, you stingy girl!”
The little girl asks for the dandelion
“Come and pick it yourself, then,” said Lily, with tears in her eyes.
The next day, when Lily went into the yard, there were a dozen golden dandelions, like stars in the grass, and a little blue violet was blooming all alone by itself.
MARY N. PRESCOTT.
Where is the honey-bee?Where has the swallow flown?Only the chickadeeChirrups his song alone.Where is the bobolink,Bubbling with merriment?What was the road, think,The gadding fire-fly went?Whither flew the little wingsGrown in green forest aisles?Where are the pretty thingsThat blossomed miles on miles?MARY N. PRESCOTT.
Where is the honey-bee?Where has the swallow flown?Only the chickadeeChirrups his song alone.Where is the bobolink,Bubbling with merriment?What was the road, think,The gadding fire-fly went?Whither flew the little wingsGrown in green forest aisles?Where are the pretty thingsThat blossomed miles on miles?MARY N. PRESCOTT.
Where is the honey-bee?Where has the swallow flown?Only the chickadeeChirrups his song alone.
Where is the bobolink,Bubbling with merriment?What was the road, think,The gadding fire-fly went?
Whither flew the little wingsGrown in green forest aisles?Where are the pretty thingsThat blossomed miles on miles?
MARY N. PRESCOTT.
The goat on the railroad track
A few weeks ago, as I was crossing a railroad track just outside of the city, a little goat stepped before me. With a sad cry, she seemed to ask me to stop. I turned aside to pass on, but she kept brushing against me, until I finally decided to find out what she wanted.
The goat had wandered from her usual browsing place. In crossing the railroad track she had caught her chain on a rail, and could not get away. I stooped down and let her loose. Then she pressed against me as if to thank me, and bounded off quickly to her old pasture.
If we would always listen to the cries of animals in distress, we might do a great deal of good. Just after I had released the goat, a train of cars came rushing along, and she would certainly have been killed if I had not attended to her.
L. B. P.
The bird singing
It has often been remarked that in the bird world the rule is for the males to have the brilliant plumage, with all the beautiful colors and for the females to be the dowdy ones—a rule which would entail a revolution in fashions, startling and ludicrous, if it were to be introduced for variety among our own kind. Again, gaily-dressed birds have the least pleasing song—the screaming jay bearing an unfavorable comparison with the thrush—and the modestly-attired nightingale having furnished, in all ages, a brilliant example of virtue unadorned. The nightingale, however, leaving before the climate has become objectionable, we must praise its musical accomplishments rather as being those of a distinguished guest, or foreignprima donna, than of an indigenous artist. But we have another bird whoisalways here, facing winter’s blasts in addition to summer’s bloom, who in voice stands unrivaled; no competitor approaching any where near him for fluency, richness, and liquid melody of song—to wit, the blackbird.
This negro melodist seldom spares his lungs at all until winter is far advanced into its New Year months; and even amid the bitter mornings of January, his rich, unfaltering notes can sometimes be heard. His coat is a glossy black, always cleanly brushed, and in the case of one family, sometimes called the “Red-wing,” with a gorgeous scarlet lapel on either side.
Two little rabbits out in the sun;One gathered food, the other had none.“Time enough yet,” his constant refrain;“Summer is still just on the wane.”Listen, my child, while I tell you his fate:He roused him at last, but he roused him too late.Down fell the snow from a pitiless cloud,And gave little rabbit a spotless white shroud.Two little boys in a school-room were placed;One always perfect, the other disgraced.“Time enough yet for my learning,” he said;“I will climb by-and-by, from the foot to the head.”Listen, my darling—their locks are turned gray;One, as a governor, sitteth to-day.The other, a pauper, looks out at the doorOf the alms-house, and idles his days as of yore.Two kinds of people we meet every day;One is at work, the other at play,Living uncared for, dying unknown.—The busiest hive hath ever a drone.Tell me, my child, if the rabbits have taught,The lesson I longed to impart in your thought.Answer me this, and my story is done,Which of the two will you be, little one?
Two little rabbits out in the sun;One gathered food, the other had none.“Time enough yet,” his constant refrain;“Summer is still just on the wane.”
Listen, my child, while I tell you his fate:He roused him at last, but he roused him too late.Down fell the snow from a pitiless cloud,And gave little rabbit a spotless white shroud.
Two little boys in a school-room were placed;One always perfect, the other disgraced.“Time enough yet for my learning,” he said;“I will climb by-and-by, from the foot to the head.”
Listen, my darling—their locks are turned gray;One, as a governor, sitteth to-day.The other, a pauper, looks out at the doorOf the alms-house, and idles his days as of yore.
Two kinds of people we meet every day;One is at work, the other at play,Living uncared for, dying unknown.—The busiest hive hath ever a drone.
Tell me, my child, if the rabbits have taught,The lesson I longed to impart in your thought.Answer me this, and my story is done,Which of the two will you be, little one?
Dick Sly was the smartest mouse in Mousetown. He knew any kind of a new trap that was set to catch him, and he always warned the rest. The houses in Mousetown are called “holes,” you know. Next to the hole where Dick lived with his parents was the hole where pretty Nan Spry lived. She could run faster than any mouse in Mousetown; even Dick could not catch her, if she tried to run away from him. At last it was told in Mousetown that Dick and Nan were to be married, and every body said, “What a grand pair they’ll make.” Judge Mouse, who married them, put on his best gold spectacles, and they were married on a big wedding cake, which some folks called a “cheese.” Every one in Mousetown had a bit of it, and declared it to be the best wedding cake they had ever eaten.
They took the little London girl, from out the city street,To where the grass was growing green, the birds were singing sweet;And every thing along the road, so filled her with surprise,The look of wonder fixed itself, within her violet eyes.The breezes ran to welcome her; they kissed her on each cheek,And tried in every way they could, their ecstacy to speak,Inviting her to romp with them, and tumbling up her curls,Expecting she would laugh or scold, like other little girls.But she didn’t—no she didn’t; for this crippled little childHad lived within a dingy court, where sunshine never smiled;And for weary, weary days and months, the little one had lainConfined within a narrow room, and on a couch of pain.The out-door world was strange to her—the broad expanse of sky,The soft, green grass, the pretty flowers, the stream that trickled by;But all at once she saw a sight, that made her hold her breath,And shake and tremble as if she were frightened near to death.Oh, like some horrid monster, of which the child had dreamed,With nodding head, and waving arms, the angry creature seemed;It threatened her, it mocked at her, with gestures and grimaceThat made her shrink with terror, from its serpent-like embrace.They kissed the trembling little one; they held her in their arms,And tried in every way they could to quiet her alarms,And said, “Oh, what a foolish little girl you are, to beSo nervous and so terrified, at nothing but a tree!”They made her go up close to it, and put her arms aroundThe trunk, and see how firmly it was fastened in the ground;They told her all about the roots, that clung down deeper yet,And spoke of other curious things, she never would forget.Oh, I have heard of many, very many girls and boysWho have to do without the sight, of pretty books and toys—Who have never seen the ocean; but the saddest thought to meIs that any where there lives a child, who never saw a tree.
They took the little London girl, from out the city street,To where the grass was growing green, the birds were singing sweet;And every thing along the road, so filled her with surprise,The look of wonder fixed itself, within her violet eyes.
The breezes ran to welcome her; they kissed her on each cheek,And tried in every way they could, their ecstacy to speak,Inviting her to romp with them, and tumbling up her curls,Expecting she would laugh or scold, like other little girls.
But she didn’t—no she didn’t; for this crippled little childHad lived within a dingy court, where sunshine never smiled;And for weary, weary days and months, the little one had lainConfined within a narrow room, and on a couch of pain.
The out-door world was strange to her—the broad expanse of sky,The soft, green grass, the pretty flowers, the stream that trickled by;But all at once she saw a sight, that made her hold her breath,And shake and tremble as if she were frightened near to death.
Oh, like some horrid monster, of which the child had dreamed,With nodding head, and waving arms, the angry creature seemed;It threatened her, it mocked at her, with gestures and grimaceThat made her shrink with terror, from its serpent-like embrace.
They kissed the trembling little one; they held her in their arms,And tried in every way they could to quiet her alarms,And said, “Oh, what a foolish little girl you are, to beSo nervous and so terrified, at nothing but a tree!”
They made her go up close to it, and put her arms aroundThe trunk, and see how firmly it was fastened in the ground;They told her all about the roots, that clung down deeper yet,And spoke of other curious things, she never would forget.
Oh, I have heard of many, very many girls and boysWho have to do without the sight, of pretty books and toys—Who have never seen the ocean; but the saddest thought to meIs that any where there lives a child, who never saw a tree.
Knock! Knock! Knock! I’ve been before this blockMore than half an hour, I should say;I am standing in the sun, while Miss Lucy lingers on,Talking of the fashions of the day.It is a trick you know, she taught me long ago,But now I am in earnest, not in play;And the world is very wide, to a horse that isn’t tied,I’ve a mind to go and ask the price of hay.There’s a nail in my shoe that needs fixing too,And I want a drink more than I can say;How I could run, with my dandy harness on!But it’s such a mean thing to run away.Rap! Tap! Tap! That’s enough to break a nap—There she comes, and is laughing at the wayI brought her to the door, when she wouldn’t come before,That’s a trick worth playing any day.
Knock! Knock! Knock! I’ve been before this blockMore than half an hour, I should say;I am standing in the sun, while Miss Lucy lingers on,Talking of the fashions of the day.
It is a trick you know, she taught me long ago,But now I am in earnest, not in play;And the world is very wide, to a horse that isn’t tied,I’ve a mind to go and ask the price of hay.
There’s a nail in my shoe that needs fixing too,And I want a drink more than I can say;How I could run, with my dandy harness on!But it’s such a mean thing to run away.
Rap! Tap! Tap! That’s enough to break a nap—There she comes, and is laughing at the wayI brought her to the door, when she wouldn’t come before,That’s a trick worth playing any day.
It was recess at the school-house at the cross roads, and three country girls gathered round a companion, whose unhappy face showed that something had gone wrong.
“Is this your last day at school, Lucindy?” asked Carrie Hess, a girl of fifteen, and the eldest of the three sisters.
“Yes, this is my last day, thanks to the summer boarders. I can’t bear to think of them. I hate them!”
“Will you have to work harder than you do now?” asked Freda, who was next younger to Carrie.
“I don’t mind the work so much as I do their impudent airs, and their stuck-up ways. I wont be ordered around, and if Auntie thinks I’m going to be a black slave, she’ll find she’s mistaken.”
Lucindy’s face flushed, and she appeared to be greatly in earnest.
“I’d be glad to have them come to our house, they have such nice clothes,” said Lena, the youngest and most mischievous.
“Yes, it’s very nice, I must say, to go around in old duds, and have a girl that’s not a whit better in any way than you, only she’s been to a city school and has a rich father, turn up her nose at you, and perhaps make fun of you, with her white dresses and her silk dresses, and her gaiter boots.”
“Can’t we come to your house any more? Can’t we come to play?” asked Carrie.
“Oh, can’t we come?” said the other two, almost in a breath.
“No, Auntie told me this morning, that I must tell you and the rest of the girls, that it wouldn’t be convenient to have you come, as you have done; you are not stylish enough for Miss Hattie Randolph to associate with, I suppose.”
The girls looked really disappointed. Lucindy was a great favorite, and aleader, fearless and successful in all escapades that required originality and coolness, and her company would be sorely missed. Her aunt had indulged her in all the dress and amusement she could afford, and her companions had always been welcome to visit at the house, but now there was a necessity for her services, and play could not be indulged in so often for the rest of the summer, as the household needed the avails, if not the presence of summer boarders.
“Is she older than we?” asked Carrie.
“No, but she’s lived all her life in the city, and feels above everybody. She and her brother and her mother will just take possession of our piazza and door-yard, and our swing; and I can wash dishes, and sit on the back door-step, and never see a girl from one month’s end to another.” Here Lucindy burst out crying.
“It’s too bad,” said Carrie.
The little Lena, ever fertile in invention, crept near, and putting her arms around Lucindy’s neck, whispered:
“We’ll come to see you on the sly, and we can go down in the fields and have fun, when your Auntie goes out for an afternoon.”
“I wish you would,” said Lucindy. “And I’ll bring down some cake and pickles, and some honey, and we’ll have a pic-nic in spite of Mrs. Randolph!”
This was a solution of the unhappy problem, and it seemed to throw a ray of sunlight slantwise into the gloomy picture of the coming summer.
The progress of the afternoon at the school-house was not marked by any unusual occurrence, and at the close, the little company of schoolmates proceeded together, until they came to the road leading to Lucindy’s home. Here they parted, with many professions of everlasting friendship; Lucindy, walking backwards, watched her companions until the turn in the road hid them from view.
Then she sat down upon a bank by the roadside under an old tree. Throwing her slate and books down on the grass, she snatched a few daisies that grew near, and thought of many things of a disquieting nature, pulling the flowers to pieces.
“I feel mad enough to run away!” she thought. “I could earn my living easy enough in the city, and not have to work so hard either. Miss Hunter can’t teach me any thing more. I’ve learned all she knows. It’s just too bad not to be able to get more education. I’ll just take my own way, if Auntie crowds me too much. I don’t care if she don’t like it. If my father and mother were alive, she wouldn’t be my boss. I can get on in another place with what I know about a good many things.
“But oh, that girl that’s coming has so much better times than I. Those lovely city schools! no one can help learning there, they take such pains with you.”
She looked down the road upon which the slanting red light of the declining sun was shining, and there she saw a cloud of dust. This road was not a great thoroughfare, and she knew that was the stage, and it probably would bring the undesired summer guests.
She shrank visibly back into the shadow of the tree as it came on, and smoothed out her faded calico dress and pulled her sun-bonnet farther over her face.
The coach came rolling past, and a girl in the back seat directed the attention of a fashionably-dressed lady to herself, she thought, and laughed as though immensely pleased, at the same time pointing at her. A little boy, who sat in the front seat with the driver, and who was playing upon a harmonica, stopped, and looking in her direction, laughed too.
“It’s my outlandish sun-bonnet they’re making fun of,” she thought. “I suppose this is the beginning of it.”
SHE SAT DOWN ON A BANK BY THE ROADSIDE UNDER AN OLD TREE.
Now this ungentle girl was mistaken in her surmise, as she was about many things that caused her unhappiness. What the people in the stage were really interested and amused with were a couple of lambs in the field back of Lucindy, and their playful gyrations were a novel sight to them, and they had come for the very purpose of being pleased with country sights and experiences. Lucindy felt sure these were the summer boarders, and, taking a short cut across the fields, arrived at her aunt’s just as the guests were alighting.
Lucindy stood at the back corner of the house, and heard the sprightly talk of Mrs. Randolph and the merry laugh of the daughter, as her aunt bade them welcome, and she knew they were being conducted to the upper rooms that had been prepared with such thoughtful reference to their comfort.
Her aunt came down very soon, and seeing Lucindy, bade her wash her hands and smooth her hair, and put on a white apron, and prepare to get ready the tea. This duty Lucindy had always done, and a little curiosity, mingled with her other feelings, came to her, as to how the boarders would like her aunt’s puffy biscuit, and if the cold custard and raspberry jam wouldn’t be to their taste. If coffee and fricasseed chicken would not be just the thing after an all-day ride, and remarked to herself: “If they don’t like such fare, let them go where they’ll get better.”
The tea passed off with great good feeling; the new people making a most favorable impression upon her aunt, and impressing Lucindy with the discovery that polite manners were a recommend to strangers, for her aunt made gratified remarks from time to time as she came into the kitchen. Lucindy would not wait upon the table the first evening, a convenient head-ache being the excuse.
Mrs. Gimson was a most kindly disposed person, and endeavored, in every way, to make the time pass pleasantly to her guests; but all she could say in their favor did nothing toward disposing the mind of her niece to regard them with any toleration. She performed the household duties that fell to her with a stolid indifference, or with an openly expressed reluctance, and her aunt bore all kindly, explaining and smoothing away what she could, promising Lucindy that she should have a nice present of money when the guests departed.
Hattie Randolph had not taken any notice of her, never really having seen her, for Lucindy had positively refused to wait upon the table; and had kept herself in the back-ground, thus making her life at home more of a discipline than was necessary. She envied Hattie’s graceful ways and refined conversation; and her apparel was a revelation, not of beauty, but of another source of jealous envy to the country girl, for in putting the guests’ rooms in order, she examined, critically, the pretty things in the wardrobe.
The city people found so much to interest them in the beauties of the surrounding neighborhood, that they were out nearly all the time, and when the evening came, Mrs. Randolph, with her son and daughter, made a pleasant addition to Mrs. Gimson’s parlors, with their graceful talk, and numberless resources of entertainment.
Lucindy, observant and sullen, kept herself informed of all their movements, and was continually having the blush brought to her cheek and the bitterness of comparison to her heart, as she noted the wide difference there was between herself and them. It never once occurred to this foolish girl, that this difference was growing more and more every day, by the fostering of pride and an ignorant stubbornness, which prevented her, utterly, from ever cultivating their envied characteristics.
It was a long time since she had seen any of her playmates from the school, but by an ingenious contrivance, that had been thought out by Lucindy, a tin box had been inserted into an old tree in a fence corner, about midwaybetween her home and the school-house, and in this they deposited their notes to each other.
MISS HATTIE RANDOLPH.
This was a solace to Lucindy, as all the happenings at the school could be reported, and many a mis-spelled, soiled missive found its way to the eager hands of the absent one. Not less interesting was the news as to the doings of the boarders. Nothing, however trivial, that happened not to accord with Lucindy’s notions was overlooked in her setting forth of grievances, and she found ready sympathizers in the Hess girls. Carrie Hess stood under the old tree, one lovely morning, overstaying her time in doing so, as the warning bell had rung at the school-house, reading a note she had taken from the tree post-office. Among other things, it communicated the welcome news, that herself and sisters might come to the pretty knoll behind the house that afternoon, and that Lucindy would take the occasion to make a holiday for herself, as her aunt was going, after dinner, to look up fresh butter and eggs, and would be gone until near tea time.
Mrs. Randolph had hired a team, and with her family would be gone the same length of time, for a ride.
Carrie took a race to school, very much elated at the prospect of enjoying Lucindy’s company once more. Recess came, and after eating their very generous lunch, they prepared to quietly put a considerable distance between themselves and the precincts over which Miss Hunter’s authority extended. They were “skipping,” as they termed it, and as their parents would not know of it, they reveled in the forbidden freedom. They proceeded over fences and across stubble fields, and soon reached the coveted meeting-place. A wide-spreading tree, with a wreath of apples upon it, just turning to a ruddy hue, was almost completely surrounded at its trunk with hazel bushes, but on one side they did not grow; this was away from the house, and toward the wheat field. It was a natural bower, and into this they crept to await the coming of Lucindy.
They were not kept long in suspense, and when she appeared what a hugging and kissing were gone through with!
“Have your boarders gone for their ride?” asked Carrie.
“Yes, and I thought they’d never get off. Old Mrs. Randolph fusses so, you’d think she was going to a party every time she goes to ride. I wonder who she expects to see on a country road?”
“Sure enough. How was the girl dressed, Lu?”
“Oh, she had on a light check silk, and a lovely brown jockey, trimmed with pink satin ribbon rosettes and long ends at the back, and a lovely, wide collar.”
“Don’t you like her better than her mother?” asked Lena.
“Well, she doesn’t put on as many airs as her mother, and she’s acted, two or three times, as if she were going to speak to me, but I managed not to let her. I don’t want her acquaintance. I don’t want any of her coming down to me!”
“I suppose they have nice things, that they’ve brought with them, in their rooms,” said Carrie.
“Yes, Mrs. Randolph has an elegant blue satin pin-cushion, with morning-glories and apple-blossoms painted on it, and a dressing-case with white ivory combs and brushes, and they do your hair up lovely, for I fixed mine in her room yesterday with them.” This caused much merriment.
Lucindy proceeded to take from her pocket a pack of children’s cards, illuminated with gaily-dressed ladies and gentlemen, and queer-looking figures of all kinds. These caused a sensation; they looked incredulously at Lucindy, as she said:
“These are the things that make them laugh evenings. If we knew how to play them, we could have some of their kind of fun.”
They passed them to one another and examined them. They threw them aside presently, and returned to the subject of never-failing interest—the wardrobe of the boarders.
Carrie and Lena intimated more than once, that if they could only see something that city people really considered elegant, they would be satisfied, and forever indebted to Lucindy for the sight.