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“Serwwnsersen en
 
 

GRAN’MA_ GRACIE.

T was Uncle George who called her ‘‘ Gran’ma” when she
was only six, and by the time she was seven everybody had
taken to the name, and she answered to it as a matter of
course.

Why did he call her so? Because she was such a prim,
staid, serious, little old-fashioned body, and consequently
her mother laughingly took to dressing her in an old-
fashioned way, so that at last, whether she was out in the
grounds, or round by the stables with Grant, in her figured
pink dress, red sash, long gloves, and sun-bonnet, looking after her pets, or
indoors of an evening, in her yellow brocade, muslin apron — with pockets, of

 

course, and quaint mob cap tied up with its ribbon — she always looked serious
and grandmotherly.

“It is her nature to,” Uncle George said, quoting from “Let dogs
delight ;” and when he laughed at her, Gran’ma used to look at him wonder-
ingly in the most quaint way, and then put her hand in his, and ask him to
take her for a walk.

Gran’ma lived in a roomy old house with a delightful garden, surrounded
by a very high red-brick wall that was covered in the spring with white blos-
soms, and in the autumn with peaches with red cheeks that laughed at her and
imitated hers; purple plums covered with bloom, and other plums that looked
like drops of gold among the green leaves; and these used to get so ripe and
juicy in the hot sun, that they would crack and peer out at her as if asking to
be eaten before they fell down and wasted their rich honey juice on the ground.
Then there were great lumbering looking pears which worried John, the gar-
GRAN’MA_ GRACIE.

dener, because they grew so heavy that they tore the nails out of the walls, and
had to be fastened up again— old John giving Gran’ma the shreds to hold
while he went up the ladder with his hammer, and a nail in his mouth.

That garden was Gran’ma’s world, it was so big; and on fine mornings she
could be seen seriously wandering about with Dinnywinkle, her little sister, up
this way, down that, under the apple-trees, along the gooseberry and currant
alleys, teaching her and Grant that it was not proper to go on the beds: when
there were plenty of paths, and somehow Dinnywinkle, who was always
bubbling over with fun, did as the serious little thing told her in the most obe-
dient of ways, and helped her to scold Grant, who was much harder to teach.

For Grant, whose papa was a setter, and mamma a very lady-like retriever,
always had ideas in his head that there were wild

 
   
     

beasts hiding in the big garden, and as soon as his
collar was unfastened, and he was taken down the
grounds for a run, he seemed to run
mad. His ears went up, his tail began

  
 

@.

to wave, and he dashed about: franti-

§

hor’

cally to hunt for those imaginary wild
beasts. He barked till he was hoarse

at

3

  

sometimes, when after a good deal of
rushing about he made a discovery, and
would then look up triumphantly at
Gran’ma, and point at his find with his
nose, till she came up to see what he
had discovered. One time it would be
a snail, at another a dead mouse killed
by the cat, and not eaten because it was
ashrew. Upon one occasion, when
the children ran up, it was to find the He
dog half wild as he barked to them to come and see what he was holding
down under his paw, — this proving to be an unfortunate frog which uttered
a dismal squeal from time to time till Gran’ma set it at liberty, so that it could
make long hops into a bed of ivy, where it lived happily long afterwards, to
sit there on soft wet nights under a big leaf like an umbrella, and softly whistle -
the frog song which ends every now and then in a croak.

Grant was always obedient when he was caught, and then he would walk

y
GRAN’MA G'RACIE.

steadily along between Gran’ma and Dinny, each holding one of his long silky
ears, with the prisoner making no effort to escape.

But the job was to catch him; and on these occasions Gran’ma used to run
and run fast, while Dinny ran in another direction to cut Grant off.

And a pretty chase he led them, letting them get close up, and then giving
a joyous bark and leaping sidewise, to dash off in quite a fresh direction.
Here he would perhaps hide. crouching down under one of the shrubs, ready
to pounce out on his pursuers, and then dash away again, showing his teeth as
if he were laughing, and in his frantic delight waltzing round and round after
his tail. Then away he would bound on to the closely shaven lawn, throw
himself down, roll over and over, and set Dinny laughing and clapping her
hands to see him play one of his favorite tricks, which was to lay his nose
down close to the grass, first on one side
and then on the other, pushing it along as
if it was a plough, till he sprang up and
stood barking and wagging his tail, as
much as to say, ‘‘ What do you think of
that fora game?” ending by running helter-
skelter after a blackbird which flew away,
crying ‘ Chink — chink — chink.”

That was a famous old wilderness of a’
place, with great stables and out-houses,
where there was bright golden straw, and
delicious sweet-scented hay, and in one
place a large bin with a lid, and half-full of
oats, with which Gran’ma used to fill a
little cross-handled basket. ee

‘Now, Grant,” she cried, as she shut« “a AS
down the lid, after refusing to let Dinny «-*:
stand in the bin and pour oats over her head and down her back — “ Now,
Grant!”

““Wuph!” said Grant, and he took hold of the basket in his teeth, and

trotted on with it before her round the carner, to stop before the hutches that
stood outside in the sun.

  

Here, if Dinny was what Gran’ma called “a good girl,” she had a treat.
For this was where the rabbits lived.
GRAN’MA_ GRACIE.

Old Brownsmith sent those rabbits, hutch ard all, as a present for Gran’ma,
one day when John went to the market garden with his barrow to fetch what
he called some “ plarnts ;” and when he came back with the barred hutch, and
set the barrow down in the walk, mamma went out with Gran’ma and Dinny,
to look at them, and Grant came up growling, sniffed all round the hutch before
giving a long loud bark, which, being put into plain English, meant, “ Open
the door, and I’ll kill all the lot.”

““T don’t know what to say, John,” said mamma, shaking her head. “It
is very kind of Mr. Brownsmith, but I don’t think your master will like the
children to keep them, for fear they should be neglected and die.”

“’Gleckted ?” said old John, rubbing one ear. ‘‘ What! little miss here
’gleck em? Not she. You'll feed them rabbuds reg’lar, miss, wontcher ?”

Gran’ma said she would, and the hutch was wheeled round by the stables,
Grant following and looking very much puzzled, for though he never hunted
the cats now, rabbits did seem the right things to kill.

But Gran’ma soon taught him better, and he became the best of friends
with Brown Downie and her two children, Bunny and White Paws.

In fact, one day there was a scene, for Cook rushed into the schoolroom
during lesson time, out of breath with excitement.

‘“Please’m, I went down the garden, ’m, to get some parsley, and that
horrid dog’s hunting the rabbits, and killing ’em.”

There was a cry from both children, and Gran’ma rushed out and round to
the stables, to find the hutch door unfastened, and the rabbits gone, while, as
she turned back to the house with the tears running down her cheeks, who
should come trotting up but Grant, with his ears cocked, and Bunny hanging
from his jaws as if dead.

Gran’ma uttered a cry; and as Mamma came up with Dinny, the dog set
the little rabbit down, looked up and barked, and Bunny began loping off to
nibble the flowers, not a bit the worse, while Grant ran and turned him back
with his nose, for Gran’ma to catch the little thing up in her arms.

Grant barked excitedly, and ran down the garden again, the whole party
following, and in five minutes he had caught White Paw.

Dinny had the carrying of this truant, and with another bark, Grant dashed
in among the gooseberry bushes, where there was a great deal of rustling,
a glimpse of something brown, and then of a white cottony tail. Then in
spite of poor Grant getting his nose pricked with the thorns, Brown Downie
GRAN’MA_ GRACIE.

was caught and held by her ears till mamma lifted her up, and she was
carried in triumph back, Grant trotting on before, and leading the way to the
stable-yard and the hutch, turning round every now and then to bark.

The rabbits did not get out again, and every morning and evening they were
fed as regularly as Gran’ma fed herself.

On reaching the hutch, Grant set the basket down, leaving the handle rather
wet, though he could easily have wiped it with his ears, and then he sat down
in a dreamy way, half closing his eyes and possibly thinking about wild rabbits
on heaths where he could hunt them through furze bushes, while Gran’ma in
the most serious way possible opened the hutch door.

There was no difficulty about catching White Paw, for he was ready enough
to thrust his nose into
his little mistress’s
hand, and be lifted
out by his ears, and
held for Dinny to
stroke.

“Now let me take
him,” she cried.
_ “No, my dear, you
are too young yet,”
said Gran’ma; and

Dinny had to be con-

 

tent with smoothing down White Paw’s soft brown fur, as it nestled up
against its mistress’s breast, till it was put back kicking, and evidently longing
to escape from its wooden-barred prison, even if it was to be hunted by Grant.

Then Bunny had his turn, and was duly lifted out and smoothed; after
which, Brown Downie, who was too heavy to lift, gave the floor of the hutch a
sharp rap with one foot, making Grant lift his ear and utter a deep sigh.

‘‘No,” he must have thought; ‘it’s very tempting, but I must not seize
her by the back and give her a shake.”

Then the trough was filled with oats, the door fastened, and the girls looked
on as three noses were twitched and screwed about, and a low munching sound
arose. §

Three rabbits and a dog! Enough pets for any girl, my reader; but
Gran’ma had another — Buzz, a round, soft-furred kitten with about as much
GRAN'MA_ GRACIE.

fun in it as could be squeezed into so small a body. But Buzz had a temper,
possibly soured by jealousy of Grant, whom he utterly detested.

Buzz’s idea of life was to be always chasing something, — his tail, a shadow,
the corner of the table-cover, or his mistress’s dress. He liked to climb, too, on
to tables, up the legs, into the coal-scuttle, behind the sideboard, and above
all, up the curtains, so as to turn the looped-up part into a hammock, and sleep
there for hours. Anywhere forbidden to a respectable kitten was Buzz’s favo-
rite spot, and especially inside the fender, where the blue tiles at the back
reflected the warmth of the fire, and the brown tiles of the hearth were so bright
that he could see other kittens in them, and play with them, dabbing at them
with his velvet paw.

Buzz had been dragged out from that forbidden ground by his hind leg, and
by the loose skin at the back of his neck, and he had been punished again and
again, but still he would go, and strange to say; he took a fancy to rub himself
up against the upright brass dogs from the tip of his nose to the end of his
tail, and then repeat it on the other side.

But Gran’ma’s pet did not trespass without suffering for it. Both his
whiskers were singed off close, and there was a brown, rough, ill-smelling
bit at the end of his tail where, in turning round, he had swept it amongst the
glowing cinders, giving him so much pain that he uttered a loud ‘‘ Mee-yow!”
and bounded out of the room, looking up at Gran’ma the while as if he believed
that she had served him like that.

In Gran’ma’s very small old-fashioned way, one of her regular duties was
to get papa’s blue cloth fur-lined slippers, and put them
against the fender to warm every night, ready for him
when he came back tired from London ; and no sooner
: gs were those slippers set down to toast, than Buzz, who

  
 

watching all the time with one eye, and carefully packed
himself in a slipper, thrusting his nose well down, draw-
ing his legs right under him, and snoozling up so
compactly that he exactly fitted it, and seemed part of a fur cushion made in
the shape of a shoe.

But Buzz was not allowed to enjoy himself in that fashion for long. No
sooner did Gran’ma catch sight of what he had done than she got up, went to
 

“Near loittle Sunnie.
GRAN’&MA_ GRACIE.

the fireplace, gravely lifted the slipper, and poured Buzz out on to the hearth-
rug, replaced the slipper where it would warm, and went back, to find, five
minutes later, that the kitten had fitted himself into the other slipper, with
only his back visible, ready to be poured out again. Then, in a half-sulky,
cattish way, Buzz would go and seat himself on his square cushion, and watch,
while, to guard them from any more such intrusions, Gran’ma picked up the
slippers and held them to her breast until such time as her father came home.

Those were joyous times at the old house, till one day there was a report
spread in the village that little Gran’ma was ill. The doctor’s carriage was
seen every day at the gate, and then twice a day, and there were sorrow and
despair where all had been so happy. Dinny went alone with Grant to feed
the rabbits: and there were no more joyous rushes round the garden, for the
dog would lie down on the doorstep with his head between his paws, and watch
there all day, and listen for the quiet little footstep that never came. Every
day old John, the gardener, brought up a bunch of flowers for the little child
lying fevered and weak, with nothing that would cool her burning head, and
three anxious faces were constantly gazing for the change that they prayed
might come.

For the place seemed no longer the same without those pattering feet.
Cook had been found crying in a chair in the kitchen; and when asked why,
she said it was because Grant had howled in the night, and she knew now that
dear little Gran'ma would never be seen walking so sedately round the garden
again.

lt was of no use to tell her that Grant had howled because he was miserable
at not seeing his little mistress: she said she knew better.

“Don’t tell me,” she cried; “look at him.” And she pointed to where
the dog had just gone down to the gate, fora carriage had stopped, and the
dog, after meeting the doctor, walked up behind him to the house, waited till
he came out, and then walked down behind him to the gate, saw him go, and
came back to lie down in his old place on the step, with his head between his
paws.

They said that they could not get Grant to eat, and it was quite true, for the
little hands which fed him were not there ; and the house was very mournful and
still, even Dinny having ceased to shout and laugh, for they told her she
must be very quiet, because Gran’ma was so ill.

From that hour Dinny went about the place like a mouse, and her favorite
GRAN’MA GRACIE.

place was on the step by Grant, who, after a time, took to laying his head in
her lap, and gazing up at her with his great brown eyes.

And they said that Gran’ma knew no one now, but lay talking quickly
about losing the rabbits and about Dinny and Grant; and then there came a
day when she said nothing, but lay very still as if asleep.

That night as the doctor was going, he said softly that he could do no more,
but that those who loved the little quiet
child must pray to God to spare her to
them; and that night, too, while tears were
falling fast, and there seemed to be no
hope, Grant, in his loneliness and misery,
did utter a long, low, mournful howl.

But next morning, after a weary night,
those who watched saw the bright glow of
t -— returning day lighting up the eastern sky,
and the sun had not long risen before

     

pe
ct ees ee. looked up in her mother’s eyes:-as af she
RN. iy RT ie =>
peril was at an end.

All through the worst no hands but her mother’s had touched her; but
now a nurse was brought in to help

~ knew her once more, and the great time of

 

a quiet, motherly, North-country woman
who one day stood at the door, and held up her hands in astonishment, for
she had been busy down-stairs for an hour, and now that she had returned
there was a great reception on the bed: Buzz was seated on the pillow purr-
ing; the rabbits all three were playing at the bed being a warren, and loping
in and out from the valance; Grant was seated on a chair with his head close
up to his mistress’s breast; and Dinny was reading aloud from a picture story-
book like this, but the book was upside down, and she invented all she said.

“ Bless the bairn! what does this mean?” cried nurse.

It meant that Dinny had brought up all Gran’ma’s friends, and that the
poor child was rapidly getting well.
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Apown the garden path they came

With rosy cheeks and sparkling eyes, —
My little pets, with hearts intent

On “giving Auntie a surprise!”
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Six pretty brown birds, all in a row,
Hopping along on top of the snow;

Brave little fellows who ne’er flew away
When the winds became keen and the skies became gray.

Where do they hide, and where do they sleep,
That safe from Jack Frost they manage to keep?

For down to this spot as sure as the sun
They come every day when the chickens are done.

These never eat all of their meal up quite clean,
And many sweet morsels the little guests glean;

Till so smooth, and so round, and so plump they have grown,
They can laugh at the birds that have far away flown.

Now Katie the cook, who bakes and who brews,
Says little brown birds make very good stews.

Cruel old Katie! I’d starve — would n't you ?—
Before I would eat any one of the crew.
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

AT SEA.

8

ANTA CLAU

8
eA TREASURE FYROM THE SEA.

OST of us only know the sea in the beautiful summer weather, when
M the little waves roll one after another on the bright yellow sands ; when
we spend the days paddling, building sand-castles, and fishing for
shrimps and little crabs. That is the sea as we know it, but not as our brave
sailors and fishermen know it. They who have to live at sea all the year
round have to face and brave terrible storms,— storms that bring sorrow to
so many.

This is a story of a poor fisherman and a storm.at sea.

Seven years ago, one autumn day, the wind began to blow. I don’t
know whether the wind had a spite against one particular cottage, or whether
the windows in that cottage were particularly rickety; but I do know that they
rattled and rattled until Joe and Bessie, the fisherman and his wife who lived
there, began to think that the cottage, windows and all, would be blown
away.

Joe and Bessie sighed — the wind and the rain were enough to make any-
body sigh, but these two had more than that to make them unhappy. The
fact was they had no money, and the rent of the little cottage was over-
due, and the landlord said they must go. Poor Joe had lost his boat in
a storm a month before, the one pig had been taken ill and died, and the
two hens wouldn’t lay any eggs—so you see they had quite enough to be
miserable and sigh about.

Joe and Bessie sat hand in hand, and although they had often wished they
had had a little baby, they were pleased now to think that they had not,
because how terrible it would have been to have a little child to tell them
it was hungry, if they had nothing to give it to eat.

“To-morrow,” said Joe, looking through the window at the stormy sky,
‘‘we must leave here, and bid good-by to the village.”

OG.
_ we are better off than some others. Think of the poor sailors at sea to-day,

said his wife, ‘don’t be cast down: our lot is a very hard one, but

and their wives sitting at home listening to the winds howling. We have
each other to console, so that is something.” At that moment the cottage
door suddenly opened, and the weather-beaten face of one of Joe’s friends
appeared for an instant. _

“ Hulloa, there!” he cried, ‘‘There’s been a wreck, and the wood is
drifting in; come aad help us get it up the beach.”
(

eA TREASURE FROM THE SEA.

Joe and Bessie were out of the cottage and on the beach in a very few
minutes, and there the big waves were rolling in the masts and rigging from
some ship that had been wrecked near the coast.

“Ah!” cried Bessie, clasping her hands, “I hope the poor sailors have
got safely off in their boats.”

Every one’s eyes were turned to the sea, but not a boat was to be seen;
nothing was to be seen but a little black speck which might have been a cask
or a bit of wood, and which the great sea was bringing quickly to land. On
came the speck, till one wave bigger than the rest laid it gently, yes, quite
gently, at Bessie’s feet. The speck, which turned out to be an oaken chest,
was dragged up the beach and opened, when a cry of surprise arose from

the fishermen and their wives as they gazed in wonder at the contents of the

box. Indeed, it was enough to surprise anybody. You might have one
hundred guesses and never tell me what it was. It was not gold, or silver,
or precious stones, although it was a great, great treasure, for it was a tiny
little baby girl, with bright blue eyes and a smile on its little mouth.

“Fetch it some milk,” cried one. In five minutes there were a dozen
jugs of milk ready for the baby, then the children came with sweets and
apples and cakes. There was never such a fuss made about any baby
before.

They found a little bag of gold in the oaken chest, but nothing whatever
to show who the baby was. So they agreed that Joe and Bessie should take
care of her; and they called the baby Dorothy, which means a gift from God.
They paid their rent, and bought a new boat, a new pig, and they got some
more hens that laid eggs every day, and half the money they made they put
by in a stocking for Dorothy.

And now they live in a very pretty cottage on the top of the cliff, where
the windows are not rickety, and where you can see the bright blue sea.
And Dorothy calls Bessie her dear Mammy, and Joe her dear Daddy.

They have never found out who the Baby really is. She may be a prin-
cess for all we know, but of this we are quite certain— she is the pet and
pride of the village, her adopted Mother's darling, and her adopted Father’s

- dearest little Maid.
 

  

Pathers Joittle laid.
THE LOST KITTEN.

ae I-A-OW! Mi-a-ow!” cried Fluff,

the tabby cat, as she ran about

the house in a state of great

excitement, with her fur on end and her
tail sticking straight up in the air.

‘Boo-hoo! Boo-hoo!” cried golden-

haired Poppy as she followed Fluff about,

 

rubbing her fat little knuckles into her
pretty blue eyes.

In fact, these two little creatures were just as miserable as it is possible for
two little creatures to be. And yet the day before had been all sunshine and
happiness, both for the little girl and the tabby cat. The day before had been
Poppy’s birthday, and she had got up very early in the morning so as to make
the most of it.

Happy Poppy! What lovely presents there were waiting for her when she
got downstairs! There was a doll from her mother, a doll’s-house from her
father, and a lovely picture-book had come from Auntie by post.

Cook had made her a beautiful cake with sugar on the top; and Nurse had
given her a pretty mug with the words, “A present for a good girl,” written
in golden letters upon it. Nobody had forgotten her.

“There is one more present for you, Poppy,” said her father; “look in
pussy’s basket, and you will see what she has got for you.”

Now, what do you think it was? It was a kitten, a tiny wee kitten that
didn’t know how to open its eyes, and was not even able to stand. Fluff was
exceedingly proud of her baby, and purred when the little girl took it in her
arms. Poppy christened the kitten Midge, and Fluff seemed to think ita very
good name indeed.

So what with tea-parties given in the new doll’s-house, and what with
changing the new doll’s dress every half-hour, the day was a very happy one,
and bedtime seemed to come hours and hours too soon.

The next morning Poppy was awakened by Fluff mewing and scratching
at the bedroom-door; and as soon as it was opened in she ran, evidently in a
great state of mind about something.

‘“ Mi-a-ow! Mi-a-ow!” she cried as she jumped on Poppy’s bed and began
searching amongst the clothes.
THE LOST KITTEN.

‘“Mi-a-ow! Mi-a-ow!” she cried again as she jumped back to the floor and
buried her head in the coal-scuttle. Then she ran under the bed, and then
under the chest-of-drawers, and then popped behind the curtains, and at last
ran back to the door and scratched to be let out.

“What can be the matter with the cat?” said Nurse, as she opened the
door and away ran Fluff, mewing all the time.

‘‘ Perhaps she is hungry, and wants her breakfast,” said Poppy.

= But it was more than breakfast that poor pussy
| wanted, as Poppy found out as soon as she got
down-stairs. It was enough to make any cat mew ;
enough to.make any mother weep.

Midge, the kitten, had disappeared !

Midge, the kitten, had gone, and nobody knew
where. Nobody could even guess what had become
of her. Fora kitten a day old that could neither
see nor walk to go off of her own accord was indeed
too wonderful.

‘We shall be having the month-old. babies

 

getting out of their cots next, and washing and
dressing themselves, and going out to walk to get an appetite before break-
fast,” said Cook. ;

This was a rather funny idea, but it didn’t make Poppy laugh: she was far
too miserable to think of anything else but crying for her kitten.

They hunted up-stairs and down-stairs. They looked into cupboards, boxes,
and baskets, but with no success, and at last they had to give up the search in
despair. Poppy had to console herself with her new doll, the doll’s-house, and
her picture-book, while poor Fluff, who didn’t care very much about toys,
continued to roam about the house, mewing piteously.

Now, I wonder, dear, if you could guess where that little kitten was. I
don’t think you would guess rightly if you tried a hundred times; and so to
save you so much trouble I will tell you.

Just as Poppy had finished her dinner, and thought that she would have
one more search for Midge, a rat-tat-tat came at the hall-door, and presently
in walked a little boy. Frank was his name; he lived next door, and was a
great friend of Poppy.

‘I say, Pop, something very wonderful happened at home this morning,”
said Master Frank, lookingly exceedingly mysterious. |
THE LOST KITTEN.

“Really! Do tell us, Frank,”
cried Poppy, who was a curious
little girl.

“Don’t you be impatient. It’s
a really and truly wonderful story,
so I must begin at the beginning.
Well, you know our dog Scamp,
don’t you; and you know that
Scamp had four little puppies the
other day, and that we gave three
of them away, so Scamp had only
one left — because three from four
leaves one. That’s subtraction.
Well, down I come this morning,
and went to look at the puppy, and
lo-and-behold there was something
else in the basket! What do you
think it was?”

‘“A bone, p’raps,” said Poppy.

“Stupid!” cried Frank. ‘“ 7zZat¢
wouldn’t have been anything wonderful. It was something alive.”

“A black-beetle, then,” suggested Poppy.

“Wrong again. It was a £2¢tex.”

“ A kitten!” cried Poppy, and her mother, and Nurse all together.

. “Ves, a tabby kitten. There

 

nestling up to Scamp,” said Frank,

les ours. . [ts our Midge!”
shrieked Poppy. And so it really
turned out to be when they all went
next door to see the kitten in

 

Scamp’s basket.

ee No doubt Scamp, when she went
out in the morning, went in search of her lost puppies, and finding the door
of the house where Poppy lived open, she thought she might just as well see
THE LOST KITTEN.

if the puppies were there, and not finding
them, ran off with the kitten as the next best
thing to be done. .

Of course Midge was given back to Fluff,
who spent the rest of the day washing its
face. And she never again left it alone in
_, the basket, but carried it about in her mouth
wherever she went until it was old enough to
walk beside her. This story is quite true,

and I think “ really and truly wonderful,” as Master Frank said.

 

 
 

GRANDMOTHER’S CLOCK.
   
 
    
    

“ i
AS
Roo. ty il ;
: i

vate Uy

OUT OF TOWN.

*S

it = ‘\
x OW very unfortunate,” exclaimed Mrs. Maynard, as she
LABS jx, opened and glanced over one of the letters on the break-
’ fast table.
“What is unfortunate?” asked her husband, looking
over the top of his newspaper.
“Why, Mrs. Fenton writes that there is a case of fever in
her house, and so she cannot take in Mary and the children.
It zs provoking, for it is the only place to which we could possibly
\ Vcend them without us, and yet this hot weather tries them so, they
seem to look more delicate every day.”

“Poor little mites. Yes, I see they do,” assented Mr. Maynard; ‘ but
what is to be done —we cannot leave town just yet.”

‘No, of course not: that is the trouble. Well, it cannot be helped. I
must go and tell Mary—she has begun to pack. How disappointed they
will be.”

Mrs. Maynard went up to the nursery, a pleasant airy room at the top of
the house : still it was but a small house in a close city street, and the summer
was an unusually hot one. The four children— Sybil, Lily, Hugh, and
OUT OF TOWN.

Dudley — did indeed look as if they wanted a sea-breeze to blow the roses
back into their pale cheeks.

Their mother’s news was received with outcries of disappointment; and
Lily, who had been packing her doll’s trunk, sat down on the floor and began
to cry.

‘““We must make the best of it for a little longer,” said Mrs. Maynard,
lifting the little girl into her lap. Mary, the fresh, countrified-looking nursery
maid, seemed almost as downcast as the children.

‘Tf ] may take the liberty of speaking, ma’am,” she said after a minutes’
silence, ‘‘ would the country do as well as the seaside ?”

‘““Why, yes, I suppose it would. Why do you ask?”

“Because, ma’am, there is a sort of cousin of mine, a well-to-do farmer,
who lives close to the friend of yours who recommended me to you, and is
well known to Mrs. Temple. He and his wife often take boarders in the
summer, for they have a large comfortable house, and no children — that is to
say, there is only our Jem, ma’am; but he’s grown up, and so does not count.
I'm sure Mrs. Holt would
make the children comfort-
able and happy, and we
- Should be quite safe there.” bl

“Well, really, it does not «,
wn] seem a bad idea. I will talk
to Mr. Maynard about it,” said Mrs. Maynard, as she left the room.

The matter was quickly settled; and on the third day afterwards Mr. May-
nard himself put Mary and the children into the train at Waterloo, and early
in the afternoon they found themselves at tea in the parlor of the big rambling
farmhouse — a pleasant-looking young man, who was hailed by Mary as ‘“‘ Our
Jem,” having met them with a double wagon at the pretty little village station.
Such a tea as that was, — new-laid eggs, brown bread, yellow butter, golden

    

honey, and a huge seed-cake !

‘The poor dears do look peaky, as if they were half-starved, and kept in
the dark,” said cheery Mrs. Holt to Mary.

“It was the hotness,” remarked Lily: “ the ground was hot, and the sky
was hot, and we could not play, it made us feel langid, you see — father said

”

so.”
‘“Langid, indeed,” laughed Mrs. Holt; “bless their little hearts. Well,
ar
sagt,’ i
ae a Pa

 

Pon tbe Ficia.
OUT OF TOWN.

we'll soon cure all that. You won't feel languid long here, I'll be bound. Eat
some more cake, dearies, do—eat as much as ever you can, I made it
a-purpose.”

Mary put Sybil and Lily to bed in a great carved oak bedstead ; Hugh had
a crib in a corner of their room; and Dudley a stiil smaller one beside Mary's
bed in the next room, which opened into theirs. When they woke in the
morning the window was wide open, and honeysuckle and roses were nodding
at them from outside, and such sounds of lowing and crowing, cackling, cooing,
and squeaking came up from the yard below, as the children had never heard
before.

Hugh jumped up and ran to the window “It’s fairyland,” he exclaimed :
‘we've woked in fairyland. Mary, Mary, do come and get us up quick, we
want to go and see fairyland outside.”

Mary came in smiling, with Dudley in her arms, and then went and brought
in a large washing tub, which, she said, was to do instead of a bath. After
breakfast “Our Jem” was ready to do the honors of the farmyard, which
seemed indeed fairyland to the city children. There were cows and calves,
pigs, turkeys, and flocks of hens and pigeons which were so tame that they flew
down and settled on the children’s heads and shoulders. Just outside in a
field was a white goat with a pair of prancing, dancing kids. None of them
had ever seen a kid before, and Jem
said that as long as they remained a
the farm, Sybil and Lily should have
them for their special pets. He pro-
duced a round black ball of a puppy

kitten for Dudley. Never were chil-

 

dren so happy before, they thought.

In the afternoon Mary took them
into the meadows, and sat and worked under a tree, whilst they played with
their pets. Jem came presently, and sat down by Mary — they seemed great
friends, Sybil thought to herself; but after a few days she changed her mind,
for when Jem came to talk to her, Mary turned away and would not answer.

Sybil called her kid Jack, and Lily’s was Jill. They tried to make their
pets follow as the puppy and kitten did— first by coaxing, and then with a
string, but they jumped and butted and turned heels over head in such an
OUT OF TOWN.

extraordinary manner that Mary said they would be strangled with the string,
so the little girls led them by the horns, and they soon learned to go quietly
in this manner.

By-and-by a sad thing happened. Squire Temple, a friend of their father’s,

 

lived near, and Mrs. Temple came and invited them toa strawberry feast in her
meadow. ‘There was a great pond in the middle of the meadow, with a boat
on it, and water-lilies all round. The children had been forbidden to go near
the pond ; but, tempted by the lovely flowers, Lily climbed down the bank, and
reached over to pick one, when her foot slipped, and in a moment she was in
the water. Jem, who was not far off, heard her scream and had her out again,
all dripping in his arms before Mary could reach her; but the little girl was so
dazed by the sudden shock that she did not come quite to herself till she
awoke after a long sleep to find herself in the big oak bed at the farm with
Mary by her side; but next morning she was quite well again, and everybcdy
kissed and scolded her by turns all day.

When the end of the happy visit drew near, Mr. Maynard came down to
Squire Temple’s for a few days, and was then to take the children back to town
with him. They were out in the cornfield on the hillside playing at gleaning
when he arrived at the farm, and Mrs. Holt went out with him to find them.

“ Well,” said he, as he sat on the grass with all four in his arms, ‘‘ you have
gleaned something else besides barley, children; I don’t think the sea-breezes
could have produced brighter roses than these,” and he pinched the plump
sun-browned cheeks as he spoke.

Mrs. Holt laughed. ‘ Deary me, sir, Miss Lily there complained of feeling
OUT OF TOWN.

languid-like when she came, and no doubt she favored her name a deal too
much, but they do look hearty now, bless them. Your good lady will hardly
know them again.”

‘“] don’t think she will,” said theirMfather, laughing.

When they left “ Fairyland,” as Hugh persisted in calling it, a few days
afterwards, and said good-by to ‘Our Jem” at the station, Sybil thought that
he and Mary parted as if they were greater friends than ever.

‘‘T suppose she likes him again for pulling Lily out of the water,” she said
to herself.

 
   

Samp the sparrows to the snow-flakes,
“s “Where did you come from, pray ?

 

waa You make the trees all wet and cold;
We wish you’d go away.”

Said the snow-flakes to the sparrows,
“Don’t be so rude and bold;

Your feather coats are nice and warm,
You cannot feel the cold.”

Said the sparrows to the snow-flakes,
“You cover up the way ;

We'll starve, because we cannot find
A thing to eat to-day.”

Dear sparrows,” said the snow-flakes,
Now do not get so mad.

We come from yonder cloudland,
To make the children glad;
    

 
 
    
    
        
   

   
   

whe sy i ty
Lol eye 77

SY
SOC Yj \\
rE \

 

 
  
  
 

    

 
 

@ Ue Zi ye
2 & LY LAY: Spel TD
‘ vy r >} y) e@ im 7, z
te 66 IK’ ° NESS

aA CRAPLE SON ey)

   

 

     

Rock-a-by, birdies, upon the elim-tree,

Where the long limbs wave gently
and free ;

Tough as a bow-string, and drooping
and small,

Nothing can break them to give you
a fall:

Rock-a-by, birdies, along with the
breeze,

All the leaves over you humming
like bees ;

High away, low away, come again, go!

Go again, come again, rock-a-by-low !

Wonder how papa-bird braided that
nest,

Binding the twigs about close to his
breast ;

Wonder how many there are in your
bed,

Bonny swing-cradle hung far over-

j
head. é

Bi «

SS
x
‘(DAISY ’S: DOGS.

HEN Daisy was three years old her papa gave her for a playfellow a
little round fat puppy, and, what seemed very strange, her uncle on
the same day sent her another. They were funny little fellows, and

looked very much alike. Her papa said one would be almost black when he
grew up, and so they called him Dusky. The other one they called Silky,
because he had soft yellow hair.

Daisy fed them every day with warm sweet milk, and they grew very fast.
It made her laugh to see them lap
the milk with their bright red
tongues. When they were two
years old they had changed from
little, plump, roly-poly pups to
soft, shaggy spaniels with fluffy
tails and long silky ears.

Daisy grew as fast as her play-
fellows; and the three were very
happy together, and she taught
them to mind what she said, and .
to do many funny tricks. Her
mamma gave her a little silver
whistle, which she used to blow
when she wished to call them.
They learned the sound of it when
they were little, and it was fun to
see how quick they would obey the
call when they were grown large.

A funny thing happened one day when they were both shut inside the |
gate : —

Daisy was playing soldier. She had put on her brother's cap, and was
marching along blowing her whistle like the men in the band which she had
seen marching through the street.

The sound awoke the little dogs, which had been sleeping under the rose
bushes. They thought she was calling them, and rushed from their hiding-
place to find her. Dusky was larger than Silky, and could run much faster,

 
 

ONS elcome dome.
DAISY’S DOGS.

and he was the first to reach the gate; but he could not go between thie slats,
and could only peep through and cry, “ Bow! Bow! Bow wow wow!”
When Silky reached the gate he saw a hole under it, and thought he could

 

crawl through, but alas! it was too small, and he was held fast till the gardener
came and set him free.

It is wrong to laugh at those who have ill luck, but one could not help
laughing to see and hear these funny little dogs try to get through the gate.
DAISY’S DOGS.

When they grew older they became very spry, and could leap over any
common fence at one bound, and they never again tried to crawl through a
hole too small for them. The mistake they made at the garden gate taught
them a good lesson.

They became very wonderful dogs as they grew older. Daisy’s father kept a
store, and Dusky learned the value of money. If a coin was dropped upon the
floor he would pick it up and put it in the money drawer. He would also beg
money of the patrons of the store, and with it go out to the butcher or baker
and buy himself a piece of meat or a doughnut. He never forgot a kindness,
and when ever a man entered the store who had once given him a penny, he
would run to greet him, and express his affection by jumping and wagging his
tail.

Silky could be sent on errands to the market. He would carry a letter in
his mouth to the merchant, and bring home a basket of provisions. If other
dogs came out to play with him he would not stop to notice them till his
errands were done.

The following is one of the most interesting incidents in the lives of these
wonderful dogs. One day they were sent to the railroad station to give
a letter to the mail-agent. After this was done they went into an open freight-
car which was standing upon a side track. Here they laid down and went to
sleep. The brakeman, not knowing they were there, closed the door. Soon
the car was attached to the engine, and they were carried rapidly to the next
station, ten miles away.

When the car was opened they seemed to understand their unlucky situa-
tion. They rushed out, and for a while looked around as if wishing to find
some friend to guide them. At length: they turned to the track, and, setting
their faces homeward, started back at full speed, leaping from sleeper to
sleeper. They did not slacken their speed till they reached home.

Daisy had missed them, and in her winter hat and fur-trimmed cloak had
gone out to look for them. When they saw her they were so full of joy that
they sprang upon her with such force that it nearly threw her down. She was
as glad as they; and casting aside her muff and mittens, she threw her arms
around them and actually cried for joy. :

They were both very tired and hungry, and after they had taken their supper
they both went to sleep at the foot of Daisy’s bed.
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
eA MESSAGE
FROM
THE SEA.

HE tide was low, leav-
ing.a great stretch of

    
 

golden sand between
the towering cliffs and the sea.
. Delicate sprays of seaweed floated
» in the crevices of the brown rocks

where pale pink and green ane-

i

mones gleamed like fairy flowers.

Dot and Jack Ferris had built
a sand castle quite close to the water’s edge; but an enterprising wavelet had
run into the moat and washed it away in a moment. Jack was for beginning
again. He did not like to be frustrated in his plans, and already his active
brain had devised a more substantial fortress, when his eyes fell upon a beau-
tiful shell. It was all crinkled and streaked with faint rings of various colors.

“ This comes from over the sea, Dot,” he cried. ‘We haven't anything
like it. I wonder how it got here, and if it brings a message? Molly says
one lives in the heart of every shell.” He put it to his ear gravely. “I often
think I hear something,” he said, nodding his curly head and looking very
wise. ‘ Dot, you listen.”

Dot took off her pink sun-bonnet, and tried her best to hear the message ;
but there was only a faint murmur as of distant water, and she could make
nothing of it.

“Let's take it to Molly,” said she: ‘“ Molly knows everything. She'll tell
us all about it!”

“Tell us the message, Molly,” cried Jack, running over the sand and break-
ing in upon his sister’s reverie.

Molly turned towards him with a far-away look in her blue eyes. She was
quite accustomed to these demands.

“T was just dreaming,” she said, ‘about the meaning of the song of the
A MESSAGE FROM THE SEA.

sea; perhaps we shall learn something. Give me the shell, Jack.” She put
it close to her ear, and smiled brightly.

“T hear a little mermaid softly singing, that far away under the deep blue
sea is a land filled with strange and lovely flowers, not like ours here on earth,
but living flowers, the beautiful many-colored sea anemones. Tangled sea-
weeds hang in gay festoons from the pink and white coral reefs, where the
tiny merman musicians breathe out strange, weird music from the conch shells,
and the mermaids float in the shallow pools, lit by silver moonbeams. Some-
times the mermen and mermaids rise through the waves hand in hand, sing-
ing sweet songs to the sailors; but human eyes cannot see them: they mis-
take their flowing hair for white sea foam. Our little mermaid says she came
from the other side of the world, but lingering on the sands near the spot
where you were playing, she

   

ne aaa eg

lost her companions, who all ae
floated back on the crests
of the waves. So, feeling
frightened and lonely she
crept into this pretty shell.”

“Have we really caught -—
amermaid?” interrupted .
Dot, with wide-open eyes. She implicitly believed
all Molly’s stories, and was constantly finding traces
of fairy rings on the lawn, or seeing some tiny-

 

winged creature rocking in the lily bells.
“T shall paste the shell up. She sha’n’t get out

 

again,” said Jack.

“Then you will never hear her voice,” said Molly: “she must have breath-
ing space.”

“Why can’t I hear the mermaid singing all that as well as you?” asked
Jack.

‘Perhaps because the mermaids tell me their secrets,” laughed Molly.

‘Ah! but when the waves ripple against the cliff at high tide, they sing
the same song as the shell, —

‘Come away, Jack,
Come away.’

Molly, I shall go some day.”
A MESSAGE FROM THE SEA.

When Jack was eight, Dick Harper came to spend the summer holidays
with him. He was two years older than Jack, filled like him with a desire for
adventure, and before long had stirred up all the dormant * Xi
restlessness in the boy’s nature. Numerous were the

  

scrapes into which he led Jack;
many the pangs suffered by pa-
tient Molly on his behalf; while
Dot stood aloof, feeling herself
for the first time shut out from
Jack and his confidence.

One day a grand idea came to
Dick. Why not go down to the
harbor, and get engaged as cabin-

 

 

 

boys! They would work, they
would do anything, if only they
could get away on board ship.
Jack was too young for much reflection, so that the idea of causing anxiety
at home did not for a mo-
ment occur to him; while
Dick’s stern injunctions to
keep their secret, filled him
with a delightful sense of im-
portance.
Breakfast seemed unusu-
ally long that morning. At
last it was over, and the boys,
burning with impatience, set

4

off on their quest, the only
provision for their intended
voyage being the precious
shell, to which Jack listened
from time to time on the way
down to the harbor, as though
its message would strengthen
his resolve. He looked back
once or twice in the direction

 
A MESSAGE FROM THE SEA.

of home, and at the last bend in the white road surreptitiously stifled a sigh,
lest Dick should reprove him for the weakness. Molly would be lying in front
of the window, and no little brother would run back to greet her to-day.

“T say, Jack, isn’t this jolly?” said Dick, who was perfectly callous as to
the feelings of others. ‘‘1 wonder how long it will be before we see this old
harbor again?”

Jack could not find quite a ready answer. His mother and Molly and Dot
were very dear just then: had he. forgotten
them during the last few hours? But of

 
 
 
  
  
 

course the new life upon which they were
entering must be jolly since Dick found
it so.
- The first man to whom they applied was
the owner of a
fishing-smack. He
' was seated on an
upturned _ barrel,
smoking, when the
boys approached,
and eyed them
suspiciously as
they proffered
their strange re-
quest.

“Run away
from_ school, —

eh?” he grunted.
“Speak up, now,
don’t shilly-shally

eRe a LED T RTI

with me.”

“No,” said both
the boys, feeling uncomfortable, and glancing over their shoulders to see they
had not been followed. “Well, clear out of this. I don’t like the looks OF
you,” said the man.

Jack felt cruelly rebuffed, but to argue the point with so surly an indi-
vidual was impossible. They moved slowly away.
 

‘Obe Sea's eMessage.
A MESSAGE FROM THE SEA.

The smack-owner was not wholly wrong in his judgment, but neither
of the boys would have confessed so much even to themselves.
A man with a sunburnt face was mopping the deck of a steamer as they

turned.
“Do you want any cabin-boys?” asked Dick bravely.‘ We aren't afraid

of work.” The sailor winked at one of his mates.

‘Well, lend a hand,” he said, making over the mop to Dick.

The color rushed into Dick's face. To work in theory was one thing, in
practice another. He could not manage the long handle, his legs insisted on
getting in the way; he had never imagined a mop was such a stupid, clumsy
thing. He floundered about hopelessly for a few minutes, splashing the
water all around him, and finally slipping, fell full length on the wet planking
of the deck.

Jack, carried away by the novel sight, had quite forgotten his assumed
character of cabin-boy, and with a merry shout clapped his hands at Dick’s
discomfiture, while the good-natured sailors could not resist a laugh at his

expense.
“You young idiot!” cried Dick angrily, as he approached Jack, and
anxious to throw any blame upon him. ‘“ Of course we sha’n't get any work

if you are so foolish. Any fellow may have an accident. I shall go off on
my own hook if you don’t take care.”

Jack's spirits sank. Adventures in company were fun. Desertion could
not bear contemplation.

Again the boys
from ship to ship,
of encouragement in
around them.
cried a broad-shoul-
boys gazed intently
close to the landing
you hanging about
watching you during

“We want work,”
checking a yawn.
what we do,” chimed
up. ‘And we won't

 

wandered aimlessly
discerning no signs
the busy faces
“Come here,”
dered man, as the
at a large vessel
stage. ‘What are
for? I have been
an hour or more.”
said Jack faintly, and
“We don’t mind
in Dick, backing him
eat much.”
A MESSAGE FROM THE SEA.

Jack could not honestly second this last remark. It was nearly dinner-
time, and he was growing tremendously hungry.

‘Where do you want to go?” asked the captain, making a shrewd guess
at their position.

‘“Where the mermaids swim in and out of the coral reefs,” said Jack in all
good faith, ‘and sing to the sailors about the lands under the sea.”

‘“My lad,” said the captain kindly, laying his hand on Jack’s shoulder, “I
once had a little son about your age, who sailed with me to the other side of
the world. He, too, wanted to hear the mermaids sing, and to catch them in
the sea-foam. Alas! the angels took the child into their keeping long ago.
Somehow I fancy you have a look of him, and I'll tell you what I'll do. Let
me know who you are, where you live, and if by-and-by your mother will let
you sail with me, I'll take you as my own for the sake of my boy, who had
eyes blue as yours.”

Jack listened eagerly to each word that fell from the captain’s lips; but as
he grasped his full meaning, something within him smote him for his conduct,
and he felt he did not really deserve such unexpected kindness.

‘““My name is Jack Ferris,” he said; ‘‘ but .I—I don’t know if you'll help

”

 

me when I tell you

A lump was rising in his throat. It required a mighty effort on his part
to hazard the loss of such a wonderful offer, but still he could not bring him-
self to accept it under false pretences.

‘““T meant to run away from home to-day, Dick and I together, but now —
I say, Dick, let's go back and tell mother and Molly. And please what is
your name, sir? And do come home with me now: you might forget what
you have said, though I shall remember it every day of my life.”

The captain waited to give a few directions, then taking Jack’s hand in
his, left the harbor and went down the sandy road.

What dreams and hopes awoke in Jack’s heart! What unfulfilled desires
and world-worn thoughts stirred within the captain’s during that walk !

Once more the child’s voice, so like that of his son’s, fell upon his ear,
laden with dim possibilities of renewed happiness. :

“It was Molly who told me about the message,” he said: ‘“ the mermaid
whispered it to her the day I found this shell on the shore.”

Mrs. Ferris listened silently while the captain explained his plans; — lis-
tened, divided between joy and pain. It was a great thing to know her father-
eA MESSAGE FROM THE SEA.

less Jack would be provided for. His future career had already caused her
some anxiety ; but this new tie would mean separation. She could not decide

at once.
“You will have plenty of time to think over my proposal, my dear madam,”
said the captain, at the close of his interview. ‘I shall return to England in

six months, if all is well, and then we can come to some definite arrangement.
Meanwhile, I will put you in communication with my solicitors, so that you
may find out all you wish about me. Good-by, Jack: please God we'll take
many a trip together.”

Years passed, when the news of a terrible disaster at sea reached the
waiting hearts at home. Yet amid the panic and confusion, precious lives
had been saved, noble deeds of daring done; and the bravest hero of that
dreadful day was Captain Jack Ferris.

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

HAT image is that so large and so white,

~ Standing alone out there in the yard ?

He seems to be holding a gun in his hand,
Like a soldier stationed the gateway to guard.

 
 

"Tis a man of snow that the boys have made;

They have shaped and smoothed him with many a pat;
They have armed him well with a clumsy stick,

And covered his head with a battered old hat.

And there he will stay through the days and nights,
While skies are cloudy and winds are cold;
Bravely he ’ll meet the charge of the storms, —
This ice-clad warrior faithful and bold.

But when the sun shines brightly again,
Then what will become of the gallant snow man ?
Oh, he'll look very sorry, and drop ‘his gun,

And away he will run as fast as he can.
M. E. N. HATHEWAY.
A GREAT DISCOVERY.

NE day, I’m not quite sure how long ago, but that doesn’t matter very
much, the postman in a very big city gave a very bio’ rattat” ata
street-door, and dropping a letter in the letter-box, walked off as if he

were used toit. The letter
was so very important that I
think the postman might
have looked a little more
important than he did, but,
as he didn’t know anything
about what was inside of
it, we must forgive him
this once.

Well, the letter was
addressed to little Miss
Sybil, and was from Cousin
Fanny, who lived in a coun-
try-house by the seaside,
and the important thing
about it was that it asked
Sybil to go and stay in
the country-house for one
whole month.

 

Now Cousin Fanny was
a grown-up cousin, and was
married and had little chil-
dren just about the same
age as Sybil, and a month in her house meant a month of romps, picking
apples in the orchard, swinging in the swing, playing with Toby on the
sands, and with the kittens in the play-room, and battledoor and shuttlecock,
hide-and-seek, blind-man’s-buff, and a hundred of other delightful games
such as children love.

Sybil was so delighted with her letter, and at her Mother telling her she
might go, that she hardly knew what to do with her little self till the day of
her departure arrived. She spent most of her time in packing, and when at

5
last the morning came, she got up hours before anybody else, and having
‘A GREAT DISCOVERY.

dressed herself, sat down upon her little box, and waited impatiently for the
hands on the clock to get round to the time when the cab was to call to fetch
her to the station, and when the cab did come it found her waiting on the
doorstep.

When, how-
ever, the moment
came for starting,
Sybil didn’t at all
like saying good-
by to Mother and

Nurse, who saw

  
 
 
 
     

Out in the orchard
we searching go;
For finding is

her off from-the 4 heeping,
station, and gave with apples, vou
know.

her in charge of
the guard of the
train; but after
about a hundred
kisses and hugs
and squeezes,
the doors were
banged, the en-
gine whistled, and
then came the
shaking of hands
and handker-
chiefs, and little
Miss Sybil, before
she was aware of
it, had started on
her way to Cousin
Fanny and the
lovely country-house.

Cousin Fanny and her two children (young Master Bob and Bonny Miss
Ethel) and Toby, the terrier, met Sybil when she arrived, and then com-
menced all the fun that the little girl had been looking forward to, and it
lasted till the Great Discovery was made.
eA GREAT DISCOVERY.

And it was a discovery, 1 can tell you. A very great discovery indeed,
for three little children and one small dog to make, without anybody to help
them. It not only astonished the children who made it, not only their fathers
and mothers, but everybody else in the village, and people have not finished
talking about it to this day.

It happened just like this. Bob and Ethel and Sybil and Toby were
having a picnic on the sands. They were sitting down resting for a little
while, and from where they sat the children threw pebbles in the sea.

‘“ Bob,” said Sybil suddenly, ‘‘ what would you like to be?”

Bob, after thinking a little, said he thought it would be jolly fun being a
pirate with a fine ship, and a cave full of barrels of gold and silver and pre-
cious stones.

‘\ [ don't: think J should’ care: to: be a~ pirate,”
said Ethel, ‘ because you have to rob other people,
and then you might get shot.”

“Of course you might, that’s half the fun,”
replied Bob, and added rather scornfully: ‘“ But
who ever heard of a girl-pirate, I should

 
 
  
  
 
 
 
  

like to know.”

“Sybil and I,” continued
Ethel, ‘‘ think we should like to
be mermaids.”

 

“That wouldn’t be bad,” said Bob, “only you see there are no such
things: we might just as well wish to be giants, or fairies, or goblins, or
anything.”

‘Yes, Bob,” argued his sister, “but while we are wishing things, why
shouldn’t we wish for lovely things, even if we can’t get them?”

‘“Come on, and let’s look for shrimps,” cried Bob, getting up, and not
being able to answer the last question to his satisfaction.
eA GREAT “DISCOVERY.

‘“We won't be long, Nurse,” cried the children, as away they ran, skipping
over the rocks, laughing and shouting, as merry as merry can be, with Toby
after them, while Nurse sat
at her work and waited for
them to come back.

They filled a basket with
small crabs and all sorts of
seaweed, and enjoyed them-
selves so much that they
quite forgot the time, and
that poor Nurse was wait-

ing for them quite a long
way off; for, in their thought-
-lessness, they had wandered
far along the coast.
“Hulloa! Hurrah!”
suddenly shouted Bob, who
was some distance ahead
of the other two: “Hur-
rah! here’s a cave; such a
beauty! Come on, I say,
and let’s play at pirates,
and I'll be the Pirate King.”
So they played at pirates
in the beautiful cave, and
made a throne for their
king out of the silver sand,
until they suddenly remem-
bered that it was time for
them to be returning. So
they scampered back to the
mouth of the cave, and there
stopped. Stopped, because
it was impossible to go any
further. Stopped, because
the tide had come in, and there wasn’t an inch of sand for them to walk upon,

 
eA GREAT DISCOVERY.

What were they to do? Sybil looked at Ethel, and Ethel looked at Bob,
and Bob looked at Toby, and they all looked as if they were going to cry —
and really and truly it was quite enough to cry about.

Up came the tide, driving the poor children farther back into the cave.
Bob began to think it wasn’t much use being a Pirate King with a cave, unless
one hada ship to get away in; and they all thought how anxious everybody
would be about them.

On the tide came, creeping right up to the Pirate King’s throne, and Ethel
and Sybil couldn’t stop from crying any longer, and Bob couldn't do much

else than say, ‘“ Oh, dear ! 4
oh, dear! oh, dear!” as \
he walked up and down bo 4

the cave with his hands
thrust deep into his pock-
ets.

Now, all this time, Mas-
ter Toby, the terrier, had
been sniffing around on
his own account, and all
of a sudden he startled
the children by a loud
«“ Bow-wow-wow ! — bow-

wow-wow! bow-wow-

 

wow!” he continued, in ee eS oe os

an excited manner; and

when they hurried to see what was the matter, they found their little dog
standing at the foot of some stone steps that he had discovered.

Up, and up, and up, came the tide, and the stone steps proved a blessing.
Up climbed Bob, Ethel, and Sybil, up a winding staircase cut in the rock,
until they found themselves in a room, or rather another cave, which was over
the one they had first entered, and which also looked out to sea, but was far
out of its reach, however far the tide might come in.

And this was the grand discovery. In the first place, because the children
would have been drowned if they had not made it; and, in the second place,
because the cave the stone steps led to was found to be a room that had
evidently once been used by smugglers, or even, perhaps, by one of Bob's
eA GREAT ‘DISCOVERY.

pirates. The children found, besides, a deal table and some forms, an old
telescope, and a lantern; also some barrels, but, unfortunately, they were
not full of gold and silver and precious stones, but chokefull of emptiness.

‘““ Bow-wow-wow! bow-wow-wow!” barked Master Toby again, and this
time it was because he saw half-a-dozen boats being rowed hastily towards
the cliff.

«“ Hurrah!” shouted Bob, ‘‘ here comes Nurse, and Mother, too! ”

And, indeed, it was— Cousin Fanny in one boat, and Nurse in another,
and Bob’s Father in another, all three of them with faces as white as the
chalk-cliffs.

I can’t tell you how many hugs and kisses and scoldings there were, but
I am sure the children deserved a good many scoldings for having strayed
away and frightened everybody so much.

The one person who neither got kissed nor scolded was Toby, and, as a
matter of fact, he ought to have been praised for his part in the proceedings.

When Sybil got home she told her Mother about the great discovery; and
to this day, if you went down to that seaside place, you would be sure to be
shown by some one to the cliff, which everybody knows now as the “ Pirates’

Cave.”

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

=

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  
 
  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

     
    
 
 

 

 

SSS: = =

 

 

MOTHER’S KISSES.
   
  

LINKS.

“T WISH I were grown up!” said little
Ruth Hill, as she sat in the window.

“ Why do you wish to be grown
up, Ruth?” asked Miss Trevor.
‘At least, ] mean, why do you par-
ticularly wish it just now,” she

. added, as if the wish itself was
only what might be expected from
any little girl.

‘Because then I would go out
to be a missionary to the blacks, or
else I would be a nurse in a hos-

pital, like Aunt Mary is,” answered Ruth.

‘“And why do you wish to be a missionary to the blacks, or a nurse in a
hospital ?” asked Miss Trevor.

‘“ Because I want to be of use in the world,” said Ruth grandly.

“Dear child,” said Miss Trevor, “for each of us, the world is only the
place we are in, and the utmost we can do is to make ourselves useful where
weiare.”’

“What can I do?” asked Ruth rather discontentedly; and answered her
own question by remarking, ‘‘ There is nothing to do here.”

‘“What could you do if you were a missionary to the blacks?” inquired
Miss Trevor.

“ Well,” said Ruth, “I could teach them to read, and could tell.them Bible
stories, and show them how to be clean and neat and civilized.”

“Yes,” answered Miss Trevor, ‘ and that would be all very good work, and
very nice for you and for them. Only I wonder you don’t begin to do the
same sort of work now.”

Ruth opened her eyes widely. ‘“ Why, where is there any of that sort of
work?” she asked. ‘‘ Who can I teach, or help in any way?”

‘“Oh yes!” said Miss Trevor in her quiet cheerful way. ‘‘ There is your
little brother Bob. As yet he is as ignorant of Bible stories as any black in
LINKS.

the heart of Africa. And he has not begun to learn his letters; and as for
being clean and neat and civilized, I think I heard a certain little girl fretting
because her mother wished her to keep little brother Bob from tumbling about
in the dust, and asked her to comb his hair and tie his shoe-strings!”

Ruth hung her head fora moment and toyed with the apple-blossom leaves
which the spring breeze was wafting through the open casement. Presently
she looked up and said, —

“ But if I don’t do these things somebody else will, so it doesn’t make any
difference whether I do them or not.”

“ Dear child,” said Miss Trevor again, “the day will come when you will
thank God that you may rest assured that He can find means to carry on any
bit of His work without you, and though all your efforts and powers may fail
and come to an end. God does not need our work. He only wants us, for
His sake, to be good in the place where He puts us. The being good is.our
business. The rest is in His will. And now, Ruth, I think I hear Bobby
calling in the garden: run down-stairs and keep him out of mischief.”

“I'd rather stay and do something for you, Miss Trevor,” said Ruth, who
was really a useful little nurse. ‘ Can’t I read to you? Would you not like
your pillows shaken up?”

“You can certainly do something for me, Ruthie,” answered the sick lady.
‘“ You can leave me to rest.” Her tone was of the kindest, and she smiled
sweetly on the girl. But Ruth quite understood.

Miss Trevor never returned to the subject of their talk. She left her words
to sink into Ruth’s mind. Ruth was one of those quiet, sincere people, who
do not always see their way to accept a truth when it is first shown them, but
who think it over, and presently yield obedience. Do you remember the
parable of the sower? Ruth was not like the ‘stony ground,” — but like the
‘“ good soil” which presently yields plenty of fruit.

Doubtless her mother still had sometimes to remind her of her little duties
towards Bobby. But now Ruth felt that they were her duties, just as much as
missionary teaching or hospital nursing could ever be. So she was glad to be
reminded of them whenever she failed. Whatever we try to do soon grows
into a habit, and soon there was not a trimmer child in the whole village than
little Bobby. And he knew all about Joseph and his brethren, and the infant
Samuel, and the manger at Bethlehem, and could sing, ‘ Gentle Jesus, meek

and mild,” and “There is a Happy Land.”
 

e

 
LINKS.

“ That little fellow might be a real lesson to our Master Herbert,” said Mrs.
Snow, the head nurse at the great house, as she saw Bobby trotting away to
-school, in his sister's loving charge. Mrs. Snow knew all about Ruth and
Bobby, because she frequently called on Miss Trevor, who had taught the
eldest members of the squire’s family — young ladies who were now at school
onthe continent. ‘‘ But there!” she went on, ‘‘ Mistress doesn’t think Master
Herbert is old enough for regular schoolroom lessons, and so he is just left
running wild. It is not every little boy’s sister who will take the pains with
him that Ruth Hill does with Bobby,” added nurse pointedly.

«“ You won't let me even wash Herbert’s face or comb his hair, nurse,” said
little Miss Lydia, who had
occasionally coveted those

  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

 

functions.

“Bless you, no, child,”
answered nurse: ‘that’s not
work for you, that’s my
place.”

“ Well, what else does
Ruth Hill do?” asked Miss
Lydia.

“Why, she taught Bobby
a whole hymn, line by line,
and took him up to Miss
Trevor, when he could say
it all, to give her a pleasant
surprise; and Bobby will
never forget that hymn, I'll
engage, though he live to

 

be a hundred years old,”
said Nurse Snow, who understood children.

Little Miss Lydia pondered. She did not know a hymn herself, so how
could she teach one to her brother; she might do it from the book, of course,
but somehow, though she could not have explained it, it seemed to her a mean
and unworthy thing to think of imparting to another what one had not fully
mastered one’s self. Besides, she did not know what hymn would be suitable,
nor even what mamma would like; for mamma used one hymn-book, and
nurse used another.
LINKS.

And yet it would be so nice to give mamma a pleasant surprise, such as
Ruth Hill had prepared for Miss Trevor!

At last Lydia had a happy thought. She would teach Herbert the
alphabet !

At first he was quite delighted with the idea. He got on famously with
a, b,c, andd. Perhaps he began to get tired of his new task then. Perhaps
his little teacher tried to force him on too quickly. Perhaps h’s and k’s are
very much alike when we first make their acquaintance! Anyhow, there were
days when Herbert was very tiresome, and when Lydia’s little cheeks would
grow red and hot. There were even some tears and a little chiding and fret-
ting. I wonder whether Nurse Snow had any idea what was in Lydia’s mind
when one day the little girl asked wistfully, “Does Ruth Hill teach her
brother every day? Doesn’t she ever get tired and leave off?”

‘Bless you, no, child!” nurse answered quite confidently, far more confi-
dently than Ruth would have answered for herself! ‘‘ The proof of a pudding
is in the eating,” said nurse; ‘‘and if there was any getting tired and leaving
off, there would be no real getting on. It’s steady that does it. Races are
not won with a hop, skip, and jump.”

Lydia gave a little sigh, and coaxed Herbert back to his book, and caught
him for his task every day, just at the time when he was most in the mood for
it. Lydia herself was learning far more than she was teaching Herbert, as we
are always the greatest gainers whenever we give. Her own governess found
her much more attentive and painstaking than she had ever been before,
because she had learned what negligence in the pupil means to the teacher.
Then, too, she discovered that when we wish to get anything accomplished, we
have to think of other people as well as ourselves, and to study their wishes
and ways, at least as much as our own wills. For she found that Herbert got
on far better if she took him when he was inclined to learn, than he did if she
caught him when she was inclined to teach, but when he wanted rather to spin
his top or to play with the kitten.

Lydia never got that reward in hope of which she had started on her sis-
terly endeavor. For long before Herbert was perfect in his alphabet, papa and
mamma had gone away on a visit to the Continent, and were not likely to
return within the year; and before that time Herbert was to be given over
to the governess, and Lydia’s little effort would be swamped in the result of
her trained skill.
 

Oil to Schock
LINKS.

But Lydia had another sort of reward in the fun she and Herbert got out
of the alphabet, when he was grown familiar with it, and found no more task
in the matter, but was quite delighted to discover that c-a-t spelled cat, and
d-o-l-1 doll, and that he could leave a message which nurse could understand,
by laying “I-n” or “ O-u-t” on the hall table.

While papa and mamma were away, a brother of papa’s came and stayed
awhile in the great house. He was a little younger than papa, but he looked
older, because he had lived much in India, and his face had grown bronzed and
lined and his hair grizzled. The children stood in awe of him at first, because
they knew that he had seen and done many wonderful things, and had been in
terrible dangers, and could speak with strange tongues. But they soon learned
to understand the grave warrior’s rare tenderness and consideration, — qualities
which seldom come to perfection except in those strong characters which have
stood firmly, and perhaps even sternly, in great storms and stresses. So, by-
and-by, the children carried on all their little sports and pursuits under his
very eyes, assured that he looked upon them kindly and was ready to take
favorable interest in everything. .

“What! does Herbert know the alphabet?” asked the General one day as
he strolled through the drawing-room, where Lydia was perched on a settee,
with the open book on her knee, and her little brother leaning over her.
‘TI thought such early lessons were not the fashion in this house,” said the
General.

“Tt has not been a lesson,” answered Lydia, ‘‘ for I taught him.”

“Oh! and I suppose it is the governess only who can teach lessons,”
observed the General, amused. ‘ Well, did not you find this teaching a great
trouble?”

Lydia raised her clear, true eyes. It would not be true to say it had not
been a trouble. It would not be the whole truth to say it had been.

“ T liked doing it,” she answered simply.

“What made you think of doing this?” asked the General.

It was not likely that Lydia could remember that Nurse Snow’s casual
praise of a little village girl had first put the idea into her head. But she
could well remember the wish which had inspired her earliest efforts.

‘‘T thought it would please papa and mamma,” she said.

The General stood silently looking down on the two children. It came
into his head that he could not remember how or when he himself had learned
LINKS.

his letters. Could some such little sisterly act of loving service lie buried in
his own past? For there was his own sister Emily, who had died when she
was fourteen, and he was ten. He could remember she had tried to teach him
the musical scales, — and how reluctant and unruly he had been! There was
a suspicious moisture in the keen eyes beneath the overhanging silvered
brows. He turned away and left the children sitting where they were.

“Of such is the Kingdom of Heaven,” he said to himself softly. ‘“ And
if we would enter in, we must win and keep the heart and the ways of child-
hood amid all the wisdom and weariness of later years. So Lydia did this to

 

please her parents! Do we old folk always consider what we may do to
please our Father who is in Heaven?”

Something came into the General’s mind at that moment. His thoughts
turned to the great, quiet house in London, which the lonely man called his
“home.” He thought of his good, faithful housekeeper, the widow of an
orderly, who had lived and died devoted to his service, and he remembered
how whenever he looked into the little parlor where she sat over the house-
keeping book or the stocking basket, there he found also her only son, a lad
LINKS.

of fourteen, intently studying wise and deep books which had certainly never
troubled the General’s own head when he was a merry lad at Eton! He knew
he had heard his housekeeper say that the schoolmaster reported that the boy
had learned all he could teach him, and she had added with a little sigh,
that he would soon need to give up his books and do something for himself in
life. The General had’ heard heedlessly, with a cursory reflection that it
seemed a world of pity that a lad with such inclinations and such a brain
should have no chance to find a fit sphere for them — “while thousands of
pounds and the best teaching power in the land are wasted on brainless
young puppies who don’t care a straw for anything beyond their sports.”

Now, since clearly it was
God who had bestowed great
mental powers on this father-
less boy, surely it would be
‘pleasing to God that they
should have justice done to
them !

The grave old General
smiled. Might not he, too,
“become as a little child,”
and, taking a leaf from his
niece Lydia’s book, seek to

   

please his Father by helping
one of his Father’s younger children
to learn the lessons which the Father
had made him fit to learn ?

That is how it came about that
the housekeeper’s son was sent first
to study with a young clergyman in
the country, and then to a great
public school, and then to college. The General managed everything very
wisely, advancing no step which the boy’s growing merits did not justify. But
at no point did the lad fail the General’s expectations. And by the time he
was twenty-five he had gained such an academic standing, that everybody
felt sure he would be a great man, and do some valuable work. It seemed
quite impossible then to believe that he had so nearly missed the chance !
    
 
 
   

“Dear little Flyaway, may I

inquire
Whither so fast you are going?
See not before you the creek and the
> mire?
What if the wind should stop blowing?

You cannot curb in the wind-steeds; and
though

Firm on their necks you’re now lying,

If they should pause once, away you would
20

Into the mud, and lie dying.”

“Wee, winsome Troubleheart, can you not

see,
Home, on these wind-steeds I’m going,

There to sleep sweetly till
Spring calls to me?
Then, a fair flower I shall
be growing.
Though but a weak little
waif I appear,
Purposes wise I’m fulfill-
ing ;
Nothing that God makes is helpless, my dear:
Speed, winds! go if you are willing.”

JENNIE JOY.

 

~
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

STAY, LITTLE BROOK.
THE NEW KITTEN.

SAY, you know, this sort of thing won't do. I’m the cat in this
house. Have you dropped in to pay a visit, or do you think you're
going to stop?”

“ I should like to stop, please.”

“I dare say you would. But allow me to remark that one cat's enough for
a small family like ours; besides, we have a dog, and a duck, and a bowl of
gold-fish, and three children, to say nothing of the ‘ grown-ups.’

“Why don’t you go back to your own people?”

“Because my people have gone, and have forgotten to take me with them.”

The above conversation took place between two kittens: they were both
tabbies, but there the resemblance between them ceased. One was fat and
sleek, and had a red collar, and was evidently well cared for; while the other
was a poor, thin, half-starved looking little creature. The thin kitten had just
walked into the kitchen, where the fat kitten, whose name was Fluff, was
warming herself by the fire.

At that moment the children came running in from their morning's play
in the garden, where Maud and
Lily had been skipping and behav-
ing quite properly, as good little
girls should, while Tom had been
mischievous as usual, chasing the
fowls, and holding the ducks under
the pump, in fact, behaving as a
good little boy shouldn’t.

‘‘Halloa, here’s a poor kitten!”
cried Lily, “I wonder where it
came from?”

‘“‘Let’s go and ask mother if we
can keep it,” said Maud, “ the poor
little thing looks so miserable.”

 

Away ran the children, and returned to the kitchen in a few minutes with
the news that the New Kitten could stop as long as it liked.

“Well,” said Fluff to herself, “if this isn’t disgusting, I don’t know
what is. Here am I, who am an educated cat, who have been taught never
to look at the canary and the gold-fish, who have had half-a-dozen lessons
THE NEW KITTEN.

on the piano, and am admitted to be a perfect mouser, have now to asso-
ciate with a thing like that. It’s past all bearing, and I'll — I'll leave the
house.”

“ Perhaps you will kindly keep to the corner of the fireplace,” continued
Fluff, addressing the New Kitten, ‘and not come near me.”

Whether the New Kitten did so far misbehave itself remains to be seen.

About a week after the New Kitten had arrived, and during which time it
had been thoroughly snubbed and scolded by the other little cat, Fluff disap-
peared in a most
mysterious man-
ner. She had been
playing hide-and-
seek at the top of
the house with the
children, it being a
wet day and they
couldn’t go out,
and the New Kit-
ten was sitting be-
fore the fire, not
daring to join in
the play, for Fluff
had told her that
if ever she dared
to do such a thing
she would give ita
good scratching ;
and when tea-time
came, Fluff was

 

not there to take
her milk as usual.
The children hunted high and low, but Fluff was nowhere to be found. They
called and cried, but Fluff did not answer, and finally they had to go to bed,
all very miserable at having lost their pussy.

‘“‘T hope,” said the New Kitten to herself, “that Miss Fluff hasn’t gone off
because I’m here. She has threatened to more than once, and I would sooner
THE NEW KITTEN.

go myself than turn her out, although she is so unkind to me. She may be
in the house, after all, and locked up in some room, I'll go round and have
a look.”

Everybody was ae noe nae

   
  
  
  

asleep when the
kitten went to look
for Fluff. And she
had not been
searching long
when she heard a
faint mew proceed
from the top story,
and running up-
stairs found Fluff
had been shut up

 

in a big box.

‘““Miou, Miou,
how did you get in
there, Miss Fluff?”
asked the New Kit-
ten.

“Oh, dear, oh,
dear, what shall Ido?” cried Fluff,
‘“T found the box open, and thought
I would look for a mouse, and
Tom shut the lid down, not know-
ing I was inside. Do let me out,
New Kitten, and TH never be
cross to you again.”

“I’m not strong enough
to open the box,” replied the
little cat.

‘I know what you mean,
you wish me to die of hunger and thirst. You can have half of my milk for
the rest of your life if you will only go and let the children know I’m

here.” — “ Everybody’s asleep,” replied the Kitten.
THE NEW KITTEN.

‘“Can’t you make noise enough to wake them up?” :

“No, but Vl tell you what I'll do, if you like; Pll sit here and tell you
stories, and in the morning I'll let them know you are here.”

Fluff could do nothing else but agree, so the New Kitten told stories
till the morning, wonderful stories about fairy cats; and in the morning the
New Kitten mewed loudly outside the nursery door, and when Tom came
out, she trotted on in front of him till she brought him to the box, where
Fluff was mewing piteously to be let free.

You may be quite sure this little experience taught Fluff a great lesson.
She made friends with the New Kitten, (who, by-the-by, never even looked
at the canary and gold-fish), and the two cats are now as great friends as
two cats can possibly be. Both their lives were much happier; so, dear, you
can understand how right it always is to return good for evil.

 
 
 
Sarno sion
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