The Baldwin Library
- _^u- Urnnday
/ <'7p 7
_J CL i 6 ^/^C-A
IN THE COUNTRY.
'.~~; ',l '~c ." ,I ~ I':a: ,
I, i ,
.' I '
MRS. SALE BARKER
WITH ONE HUNDRED AND TWENTY PICTURES
LONDON AND NEW YORK
GEORGE ROUTLEDGE AND SONS
PRINTED BY J. OGDEN AND CO.,
172, ST. JOHN STREET, B.C.
The Old Church Tewer. ..... o
Lily's Papa .
Going to Church 12
The Yew Tree ... 13
The Church by Moonlight 14
The Rookery. 5
The River 16
The Wood 7
The Kingfisher .18
Grandpapa's Presents . 20
Grandpapa's Stories 21
Grandpapa's Snuff-Box .22
Being at the Play . 23
The Stepping-Stones 24
The Stile 25
Cousin Reginald . 27
Cousin Tommy 28
The Seashore 29
The Woodpecker .. 30
Tommy's Wonderful Stories . 31
Picking Flowers . 32
Tan, the Watch Dog 35
Tabbyskin and her Kittens 37
An Anxious Night. 39
Mopsy at Play 41
The Robin 43
Flopsy's Naughtiness 44
Carlo on Guard .* 46
Bessy as she used to be .49
The Two Friends ... 50
The Doves 52
Feeding Pigeons 53
Joey in his Cage . 54
Joey in the Garden 55
The Manor House. ... 56
The Peacock 57
Cruel Sport 59
The Victim 6o
A Helping Hand 6i
Billy Bates, the Gamekeeper 6. .
The Bird-Seller 64
Love Birds 65
Lily's Canary 66
A Squirrel 67
The Farmyard 68
A Ferocious Attack 69
The Dairy 72
The Rectory Garden
Lily's Roses .
The Swarm .
The Lame Girl
The Dove at the Window
The Sick Child
Watching for Lily
Mother and Children
A Mother's Anxiety
A Child's Prayer
The Village School
One by One .
An Impudent Boy.
A Rustic Dance
The Blind Boy
How he became Blind
The Blind Boy's Seat
A Happy Home
A Little Hand-Maiden
The Earliest Snowdrop .
Lambs in the Field
S . 104
The Corn-field 0og
The Glow-worm .. Io
A Gipsy Encampment. I
Field Flowers 113
Wheat Harvest .. 114
Helping to Glean 15
The Little Gleaners
Harvest Mice 117
A Hop-Garden 1. 18
Hop Pickers I19
Baby in the Hop-Garden 120
Snow upon the Ground 122
School Children in the Snow 123
Lily's Charity 124
The Farmer's Fireside 125
A Children's Christmas Party 126
Father Christmas 127
"The Old Church 128
LILY'S HOME IN THE COUNTRY.
WHAT shall I tell you about ? About Lily and
her home in the country, you say. Very well,
children, listen then. You must try to forget
that we live in a great town, and come with me
-in fancy, you know-to Lily's country home.
Lily's papa is a clergyman, as you know, and
she lives at a pretty Rectory, close to a very old
church. The rectory is as snug inside as it is
pretty outside: there are a number of beautiful
large trees about it, and a garden full of flowers,
and a farmyard, and a duck-pond, and a field
where the rector's cows pass their days in
10 The Old Church Tower.
The Church is very old-many hundreds of
years old, I should think-and has a square
tower with such thick walls that it looks as if it
had been built to last for ever. How peacefully
and happily the Sunday always seems to pass at
Lily's country home! In the morning the bells
from the old tower ring out a merry peal, which
echoes from hill to hill; and soon you see
groups of people approaching the church by
Lily's Papa. I
the roads and by the footpaths. The service
never sounds so beautiful and so solemn to me
in any other church. The light inside is softened
by the painted windows; and all the people are
so attentive as Lily's papa preaches to them
from the old carved pulpit.
I remember the first time Lily ever went to
church. She was about four years old, and be-
haved very well, though, of course, she could
not understand everything. But when she saw
her papa in his white surplice, what do you
think she whispered to me-? "Papa do look
grand in white petticoats!"
Now Lily goes to church regularly. She and
her two little cousins, who live about a mile off,
Going to Church.
generally walk into church together; all looking'
so demure and serious, with their prayer-books
in their hands, you would scarcely think they
could be so fond of romps, and so full of fun, as
they are at other times. The last of the three
you see in the picture is little Lily herself.
I must not forget to tell you that there is a
famous yew-tree in the churchyard; famous on
account of its great age and size. There are
also others, but they are smaller. This one
spreads out its long dark branches over the
graves. Do you know, children, why you find
J -" Jlf-I
The Yew Tree. -13
yew-trees in all old country churchyards ? No?
Then I will tell you. I daresay you have heard
that before gunpowder was invented, bows and
arrows were used in war instead of muskets.
Our English archers were very skilful, and some
of the great victories that we won over the
French in former days were chiefly owing to
our archers. Now, bows used to be made from
the yew-tree, this wood being remarkably elas-
tic. For this reason it was the custom to plant
yew-trees in every churchyard, as ground which
belonged to the parish, so that the supply of
wood for English bows might never be deficient.
You have no idea how pretty the old church
looks from the windows of the rectory, when
the sun shines upon the grey stone, with all
14 The Churcl by Moonlight.
these dark yew-trees rising up from behind it
and at the side. But it looks prettier still to
my thinking by moonlight. There is a little
pathway leading from the rectory garden into
the churchyard, and I have sometimes been
tempted on moonlight nights in summer to
wander into the churchyard, and sit or walk
among the graves. I daresay you wonder at
my taste, and think me very funny when I talk
of liking to walk in a churchyard by moonlight;
but you would scarcely wonder if you saw the
place. To me it always appears cheerful and
happy; it always brings to me a sense of rest
S But let us go back to the rectory. I told
you that there are some beautiful grand trees
close to it. Well, in the topmost branches of
the tallest of these is a rookery: that is, a
number of rooks' nests clustered together, like
the houses in a village. When the rooks come
home in the evening, they make such a noise;
such a caw, caw, caw, while they are settling
themselves for the night! They seem to be
saying to all the labourers in the fields, Now
then, it's time for you to go home and make
yourselves comfortable, as we are doing." I
always fancy, as soon as the rooks are quiet,
16 The River.
how cozy they must be in their warm nests;
just as we sit in the evening over the fire, or
lie snug in our nice comfortable beds.
Not far from the rectory, a little river winds
along between green meadows and through
quiet woods. The cattle in the meadows come
down to drink at the river; and sometimes, in
the hot weather, they remain there, standing in
the water, which is very shallow.' Near the
rectory, also, there is a wood, and this little
river runs through the middle of it, rippling
The Wood. 7
~--s fnpe-- ~4-
-- _-,- ---,: ( z'.,4 -I
over a stony bed, while the branches of the
trees meet above the water. Lily is very fond
of sitting in this wood and watching the rip-
pling water. Sometimes she has a companion,
Her grandpapa very often comes to stay at tho
rectory ; and then, in the hot days of summer,
Lily and grandpapa go and sit together undei
the shady trees, often for an hour at a time
He is as much amused as she is with watching
the changing light as it comes through the
trees, and the little fish as they play about in
the stream. Now and then they see a beau-
tiful kingfisher, with its bright green and gold
plumage, glance past them; and sometimes
they see the bird catch up in its beak some
tiny fish, that has ventured too near the surface
of the water.
Talking of grandpapa reminds me that, in
telling you about Lily's home in the country, I
have as yet only been describing the place, and
have said nothing about the people. Lily is an
only child, but she has plenty of companions,
plenty of friends and relations, to say nothing
of all her pet animals. We will take the people
before the animals, if you
please, and begin with the
Grandpapa is over eighty years of age. When
his last birthday came round he was staying at
the rectory; and Lily, with two of her little
cousins-who are his grandchildren also-went
to knock at his bedroom door, before he came
down in the morning, to wish him many happy
returns of the day. He came out to them in
his dressing-gown and slippers. Little boys
20 Grandpapa's Presents.
and girls usually receive presents on their birth-
days, but grandpapas give presents on theirs ;
so it happened that a large box had come down
to grandpapa from London the day before.
Now, out of this box appeared a toy-theatre, a
doll, a donkey, and I know not how many other
toys. After many kisses, the children ran oft
with their toys to Lily's nursery. She had a
great many toys already, and when they put
the old and new together on the floor, there was
such a stock in trade that they determined to
play at keeping a. toy shop.
It is difficult to say whether grandpapa loves
his grandchildren most, or whether they love
him most, but he and they always seem happy
together. They are most delighted when they
can get him to tell them stories: then all the chil-
dren collect round him at the fireside in winter,
or under a shady tree in summer. His stories are
generally founded on his own adventures, for he
22 Grandpafa's Snuff-Box.
has been a sailor, and has seen a great many
countries, and been in some famous battles, too,
when he was young.
'K -. -, '* " < ...
But Lily is certainly his favourite, .and he
plays with her as if he were a child too. She
is very fond of making him pretend to be Lily,
while she plays the part of grandpapa. Then
he has to nurse the doll, while she puts on his
spectacles; and one day, in order to play her
part the better, she took his snuff-box and gave
Being at the Play. 23
herself a pinch of snuff; but, poor child! she
never tried that again.
I remember finding grandpapa and Lily
seated together one day with a number of large
books, which she had brought out of the library,
placed upright on the ground in front of them.
I found that they were playing at being at the
S-, _c ^ ",
play." These books were intended to represent
the scenes and side-scenes; and hey had got a
pair of boots, a glove, and some other little
things, which were intended to stand for the
actors themselves. Grandpapa was explaining
to Lily all that the actors and actresses were
supposed to do, and he was repeating to her all
they said. He made up a very pretty little play.
I always like to see Lily and her grandpapa
out walking together, trotting along hand-in-
24 The Stepping-Slones.
hand, the steps of one tottering from age, the
other's little legs so weak and small from child-
'hood. In taking one of their favourite walks,
which is through the woods, they have to cross
r -' -"
the little river on some stepping-stones soon
after starting, and to return home over a stile.
It is pretty to see how they help each other
over these difficulties. At the stepping-stones
Lily is the guide, leads grandpapa by the hand,
and tries to steady his footsteps. At the stile
". -,! -- -_ ', :
grandpapa has the best of it, and lifts the little
child right over.
Now we must come to papa; but I have not
much to say about him. He is not so much of
a companion to Lily as grandpapa, for he has a
great deal to do. He has a large parish to
attend to, and besides he always writes his own
sermons. Papa loves his dear little girl very
much indeed, but he has not time to play with
her like grandpapa ; and as for teaching her, he
leaves that entirely to mamma.
Mamma always gives a couple of hours every
day to teaching Lily her lessons; and when
they are over, mamma* generally reads some
pretty story to her little girl or tells her one.
This is Lily's reward for doing her lessons well.
If she is not attentive to them, then she has no
Lily generally likes doing her lessons, and they
are happy hours which she passes in this way
with her mamma, whom she loves better than
anybody in the world.
I think now I will tell you something about
Lily's cousins, who are almost as much with her
as if they were her brothers and sisters, for they
as if they were her brothers and sisters, for they
"* See Frontispiece.
live at a great house not more than a mile from "
the rectory. There are four of them, and the
two oldest are boys. Reginald and Tommy are
both a good bit older than Lily-both school-
boys, in fact; but they are very fond of their
little cousin all the same. They do not refuse
to play with her, or despise her because she is a
girl, as some schoolboys would. Reginald, the
eldest, is very studious, and is considered a very
clever boy. You see him standing on the ter-
race of the house watching the stars. Would
you believe it ? He can tell you all about the
stars, and the moon, and the sun. At least, he
can tell you as much about them as is generally
known. And he has studied many other diffi-
cult subjects, such as few boys know anything
Tommy, on the contrary, is fond of little else
than play, and, when he can't get that, he pre-
fers to lie on the grass and do nothing, except
perhaps to kick up his heels, as you see him
doing in the picture.
But although Reginald is so studious, he is a
fine, strong, brave boy all the same. I will tell
you what he did once when they were all stay-
ing together at the seaside. Reginald, little
Lily, and one of his sisters, a good deal bigger
than Lily, were out on the seashore among the
rocks, picking up shells and looking at the star-
fish and crabs in the little pools of water. Sud-
denly they found that the tide had risen without
their noticing it, and that they were separated
from the dry part of the shore by water. Poor
little Lily had found it difficult enough toclam-
ber from rock to rock when there were patches
of dry sand between, but now, when the.rocks
looked like little islands in the midst of water,
how was she ever to get back ? The poor child
began to cry from fear. Then Reginald lifted
her up in his arms and took his sister by the
hand, and he walked steadily on among the
rocks, with the water up to his knees, and the
spray from the sea wetting them all over, till
they safely reached the dry sand. If he had
been frightened, or had hesitated, or waited
even a few minutes, perhaps they might have
been drowned, for the water came up very
Tommy, too, although he is so idle, is
very good-natured, and is always kind to Lily.
One day he and Lily were out walking together
in the wood, when they heard a little sound of /
tapping. They stood still to listen, and heard
tap, tap, tap, sounding quite near them. At
last they discovered a pretty woodpecker, with
green back and red head, pecking away at the
Tommy's Wonderfzil Stories.
bark of a tree. Evidently it did not know that
they were there watching it. Tommy's first
thought-just like a boy-was to step quietly
up and try to catch it, but Lily took hold of his
hand and stopped him, and they walked silently
away without disturbing the pretty bird. When
they had gone a little distance, Tommy said,
"I am very glad, Lily, that I didn't try to catch
the poor woodpecker."
But, though Tommy is so idle, he is not a dull
boy ; he is very fond of getting his sisters and
Lily together, and astonishing them by won-
derful stories of his school adventures. The
oldest of his sisters, who is nearly as old as he
is, often receives his stories with the simple
remark, "I don't believe that, Tommy." To
Lily, however, they appear very amusing and
But Lily and her two little girl-cousins can
amuse themselves very well without the boys;
and they often have to do so, as the boys are
generally away at school. In wet weather the
little girls sit and read to each other, or play in
the house; and when it is fine, they like nothing
better than picking flowers for nosegays, either
in the garden or the fields.
When her cousins are not with her, Lily has
her pet animals to play with. Her chief fa-
A Pet. 33
vourite used to be a lamb, which she led about
with a ribbon : it would nestle in her lap, and
lived almost always in the house. She had led
it into the field one day, when Farmer Beale
looked over the hedge, and said, "Why, missie,
your lamb don't look healthy, or happy either.
It don't lead a natural life; better let it come
and live with my lambs here." And so Lily let
,,X.;/w <\ .-- .
it go, for she had often thought it did not seem
so playful or sprightly as the lambs in the field.
She soon found, when it was among others, that
it frisked about as merrily as any of them.
Lily is glad now that she gave it freedom, and
whenever she goes into Farmer Beale's field,
her old pet always knows her again, and will
come running up to her.
Tan, the Watch Dog.
I remember once, when Lily and I were in
the garden together, she said to me, "Auntie,
dear" (she always calls me auntie, though I am
not related to her really), auntie, dear, come
,r T, 7 '
S"'' ''' .
and let me show you some of my pets." She
led me, first of all, to a kennel near the stable,
where dear old Tan, the watch dog, lived.
Good old fellow! there he lay in the sun, with
his great blunt nose resting between his fore-
paws. When he heard us coming, his tail went
thump, thump, thump upon the ground, as if
to say, "How do you do, my friends?" : But he
made no attempt to get up. He only blinked
and winked at us, till Lily scolded him for his
laziness : then he rose very slowly, with a great
yawn and a stretch.
We were still patting old Tan, when I heard
a rushing and scrambling on the gravel path,
and turning, I saw a queer-looking bull-terrier
scampering up to us, and sending the pebbles
flying in all directions as he came along.
Oh this is Boxer," cried Lily, dear, dear
Tabbyskzn and her Kittens.
Boxer! He is so fond of me, auntie, and does
just what I tell him. Look! Stand up, Boxer,
and walk like a gentleman." Whereupon Mr.
Boxer stood upon his hind legs, and walked the
whole way back to the house beside us-" like
a gentleman," as Lily said.
I expressed my admiration for Boxer's talent;
and then Lily took me into the conservatory,
where, in a corner, curled up upon some nice
clean straw, she showed me a dear old tabby
cat with three pretty kittens. "These," said
she, "are Topsy, Mopsy, and Flopsy, and the
mother's name is Tabbyskin."
Topsy, Mopsy, and Flopsy were certainly
very pretty kittens, and I saw them afterwards
grow up to be fine handsome cats. Indeed, I
thought them so handsome that I took a picture
of each of them in turn. This is Topsy's por-
trait. She is a very wise-looking pussy, I am
sure you will say; and very handsome too.
Her colour is dark grey all over, except just a
little light grey near her mouth and the upper
part of her neck and chest. I took a great
fancy to her, and you will not be surprised at
my doing so when I tell you the reason. Dear
An Anxious Night. 39
little Lily was once taken seriously ill quite
suddenly. She had inflammation of the lungs,
and we were all in great distress about her.
Lily's mamma had gone to lie down, for she
had been up two or three nights, while I took
her place, and sat watching our darling. As I
. .... .. ._ .
sat there, dreadfully anxious, I heard the door
creak. It was already ajar, and I saw it open
a tiny bit more, when in came Topsy. She
came sidling up to the bed with a little gentle
miow, as if she knew her little mistress was not
well. Lily opened her eyes, and smiled at the
cat; then she said, quite solemnly, "I should
like to leave something to Topsy, if I die; I
love her so."
_ I Ir_
"But, my darling," I said, "you are not going
to die; you are better." Then she made me
lift Topsy on to the bed, and went to sleep
calmly with her hand resting on the purring cat.
Lily was much better in the morning after that
". .*- ... "l -. I ;
-3 I .
tranquil sleep, ard I always love Topsy when I
think of that anxious night.
Mopsy, whose picture you see on this page,
is a very different character; she is always in
some scrape, and is under the delusion that
everything in this world has been made, or
invented, for her to play with. One day I
found her on the drawing-room mantelpiece,
Mopsy at Play.
-playing with the pendulum of the clock. The
little creature was tapping away at it with her
paw all curled up and velvety. Luckily, before
she had done any harm, she caught a glimpse of
my figure in the looking-glass above the fire-
place. Down jumped Mopsy, and dashed out
of the room into the garden, for she was quite
conscious of doing wrong. Soon afterwards I
saw her in the garden, perched on the top of a,
low wall, catching at the dead leaves as they
were blown past her by the wind. It was
autumn; the leaves from the great trees were
falling like a shower; and there sat Mopsy,
looking so pretty as she watched the passing
leaves with her bright eager eyes, and now and
then gracefully stretched out her paw to catch
After all, Mopsy is a nice little cat, and if she
does mischief sometimes, it is only by way of
frolic and fun ; but I can make no such excuse
for her brother Flopsy, whose portrait you see
here. No! Flopsy is not a nice pet. If the
.. ;.. .
rectory were overrun with mice he would be
useful, but that is all the good I can say of him.
He is always on the look-out for any small live
creature that he can spring upon and kill. Many
a poor little field-mouse, and many a bird, has
he destroyed ; besides, he has the disagreeable
habit of bringing the little dead animal in his
mouth into the house to show what he has done.
One day he made us all very angry, and I will
tell you why.
Lily had a pet robin : I do not mean that she
kept one in a cage; but the robin I speak of
used to come every morning during a severe
winter to the dining-room window. He would
perch on the branch of a tree close by, and wait
and watch till Lily threw him out some bread
crumbs from the breakfast-table. He became
so tame that very often he perched on the
window-sill itself. One very cold morning we
had just left the dining-room, where the robin
had been fed as usual, and were all gathered
round the drawing-room fire, when Flopsy
trotted in and laid the poor little bird, all dead
and bleeding, on the rug before us. We knew
it at once, though its red breast was stained
with its own blood, and its feathers were
crumpled and broken. For this crime Flopsy
was banished: he was given away to a little
- I '
- ", '' ,IS
a. ./3~i,'.l,:' r.
girl who had a fancy for him; the daughter of
At his new home, Flopsy soon disgraced him-
self. He had not been there many days, when
mamma and Lily were driving past the farm in
a pony carriage. Seeing little Mary in the
garden with her hand bound up, they stopped
to ask what was the matter, and learnt that
Flopsy had scratched her savagely. He was
sent back again to the rectory, where he has
never been in favour since.
In going the round of Lily's pets, I must not
forget to tell you of Carlo,the large setter, which
belongs to one of Lily's uncles, who is now out in
India. On going away, he left his favourite dog
in the care of Lily's mamma, who made Carlo
welcome, as she does all who come to her,
whether on two legs or on four. Carlo is de-
voted to Lily, and makes both Tan and Boxer
quite jealous by his attention to the little girl;
he always obeys her, and seems to understand
everything she says. Lily had noticed a bird's-
Carlo on Guard.
nest on a low branch of an old oak tree, and
would often go, accompanied by Carlo, to have
a look at it, and to scatter bread at the foot of
the tree for the parent birds, so that they might
keep near the nest, and be able to feed their
little ones. Carlo evidently understood the
A -, _.-^."
, ;- '' -- .- -
interest his little kind-hearted mistress took in
these poor birds; perhaps he thought the nest
was her property; at all events, he considered it
his, duty to protect it. Either he had placed
himself purposely on guard, or he happened one
day to pass that way by chance, when he saw a
boy looking at the nest, and just preparing to
climb up and take it. Carlo remained quiet till
the boy had climbed up three or four feet from
the ground, then sprang upon him, and seized
him by the trousers. Down came the boy,
rolling over on the ground, nor did Carlo let
him go till he had given him a good shaking.
The boy ran away, terribly frightened, but not
I think the next of Lily's pets that I must.
describe to you, are a dear old mother-donkey
and her little foal. They were standing to-
gether in the field when I first saw them, loving
each other, and seeming to talk affectionately
after their donkey fashion. When Lily called
to them, the old mother came gently up to her
kind little friend, and ate some bread and an,
apple out of her hand. The mother's name is
Bessy, and the little foal is called Jerry. While
Bessy was eating, and looking very happy, but
also very greedy, with the juice of the apple all
running out of her mouth, master Jerry stood
at a little distance, watching his mamma, with
his long ears pricked up, and his little rough
head on one side. I could not help thinking
how pretty he looked. Lily went up to him,
and held out a piece of bread; but after a
moment's hesitation, he suddenly took fright,
and gave such a loud bray that we both started;
then he began kicking up his little heels, till he
fairly kicked himself over, when he lay quiet on
the grass, waiting for his mother to come to
Do you think Bessy is quite happy?" asked
I do indeed," said I; "why do you ask ?"
Then Lily shook her wise little head, and
Donkeys are often unhappy because people
Bessy as she used to be.
are so unkind to them; and do you know, aunty,
I believe Bessy was not so happy before she
came to us." She said all this with a sad and
earnest face. Then she told me how Bessy for-
merly belonged to a man, who went about
selling vegetables and other things : she used to
carry two enormous panniers, or baskets, which
were filled so full that she staggered under the
weight, and her poor little body was completely
Bessy had been taught by her master some
clever tricks. If he said to her: How many
days in the week do you work ?" she would
strike the ground six times with one of her fore-
The Two Friends.
feet. When he asked, "How many do you
rest ? she touched it once. If he changed the
question and said, "How many would you like
to rest ?" she struck seven times. It was after
he had been showing off Bessy's accomplish-
ment one day to the family at the rectory, that
he informed Lily's papa that the donkey was for
sale as well as the vegetables. Bessy *as
bought at once for Lily to ride upon ; and the
poor little hard-worked beast was turned into a
nice green meadow, where she soon struck up a
great friendship with a cow. This cow was her
only companion in the field, till she had a little
foal of her own to take care of. Lily wound up
her story by saying, "And now, instead of
carrying such loads of carrots and onions and
things, she only carries me."
Besides poor old Bessy and little Jerry, Lily
includes a pony among her pets. His name is
Dandy. His chief work is to draw the pony-
chaise,. and he is not only very strong, but also a
great beauty, as you may see by his picture. As
she led me up to the stable, he began whinnying
and neighing at the sound of her voice. Dandy
begging for sugar!" said Lily. She took a
piece out of her pocket, which she had brought
on purpose, and as she opened the door of the
loose box where he was, he turned his pretty
head round, and came towards us, looking so
gentle with his large bright eyes.
.ssS'' r-. ".. ^s -.* -s^i.'
;J.:-2 y -
But Lily's pets do not consist of four-legged
animals alone. She has several birds, and I
think her chief favourites among these are two
beautiful white doves. I hardly know whether
they look prettiest when they are flying round
and round the house, or when they are sitting
side by side, perched on a branch of some tree
in the garden, their white plumage showing
against the dark green leaves.
There are a few pigeons also, but the two
white doves keep quite apart from the others,
except when Lily goes out to feed them, and
then they all come and scramble together for
54 7oey in his Cage.
Lily has also a beautiful jay, with blue wings
and black and white tail. He generally lives in
a wicker cage, but is often let out, and is so
tame that he will always come to Lily when she
'iz'-' -". _
calls him. The name she has given him is Joey.
She said to me, when she was showing him to
me-" Papa says he will learn to talk as well as
any parrot; and do you know," she added,
mysteriously, I think he is already beginning
to call me mamma." When she opened the
yoey3 in the Garden.
cage door, out he hopped, and flew through the
window on to a little tree in the garden. Then
E=-" ,l-- -'\ .~
he set up his little black crest, and turned round
to look at his mistress. "Joey, Joey!" she
called; and he flew back again and perched
upon her shoulder.
The Manor House.
Lily has some pets also at her uncle's house,
and she took me there to see them. I told you
that Lily's cousins live at a great house about a
mile from the rectory. It is called the Manor-
house, and has a beautiful garden, and a park
.,.,.,? ~ ~ *.. ._ :
, z ^ ",'1"'',, ,' ^ ^ ^ ^
with a large piece of water, but to my mind it is
not half so snug and comfortable to live in as
the rectory. In the garden we saw two beau-
tiful peacocks ; but there were visitors staying
at the house, and a lady and gentleman, we did
not know, were walking on the terrace. They
looked, as Lily said, as proud as the peacocks;"
so we turned to another part of the garden.
One of the peacocks flew after us, and perched
on a tree close by, his magnificent tail glistening
.:, s.' : t''. .;y '* ..*
in the sun. He is very beautiful," said Lily,
" but he is not a very great pet of mine, for do
you know, aunty dear, he beats his little chil-
dren: besides, he has such a disagreeable voice
But," she added, "if you will come down to the
lake, I'll show you some real pets."
So trotting on before me, she led the way
to the lake. Four beautiful swans were floating
near the shore, their reflections in the calm water
looking almost as real as they did themselves.
When they caught sight of the little girl, they
swam towards us, arching their necks and
spreading out their feathers. Pretty dears "
cried Lily, watching them as they came on so
gracefully, 1 have no bread for you now, but
I will bring some in the afternoon."
As we turned to go away, we saw at the fur-
thest end of the lake two boys standing on the
bank, and amusing themselves by throwing
stones at some ducks. One of them was Lily's
cousin Tommy; his companion I did not know.
As we began to walk towards them, they ran
away: perhaps Tommy was ashamed of being
caught by us amusing himself in such a way, or
perhaps the boys had some other fun in view.
However, we went on all the same just to have
a look at the ducks.
60 The Victim.
We had almost reached the spot where the
boys had been standing, when we heard a feeble
"quack, quack," just under the bank ; and going
closer, we saw, lying on the grass at the edge of
the water, a poor duck, who was evidently hurt
I l, '.
A handsome drake was standing by her side, to
whom she was complaining, while he appeared
extremely sorry for her. He waddled off into
the water on our approach. The poor duck-
a pretty white one-was lying on her side:
evidently her leg was damaged or broken, and
her wing seemed hurt also. It struck me at
once she must have-been hit by a stone.
._- ._ -. .
-._-z --._ ; .'-.-'<.. '* *. ^ 2.. ...g* =,
A IHelping Hand. 61
I picked her up, intending to carry her
home, and see if anything could be done for
her. Crossing the fields on our way, we saw
Reginald fishing in a stream which runs into
the lake. He called out to know what we were
carrying so carefully; and when we had told
him, he came up, and offered to take the poor
invalid to the gamekeeper, who knew better, he
said, how to doctor all kinds of animals than
any one in that neighbourhood. The game-
keeper's cottage was close by, so we all three
went there together.
62 Bill Bales, the Gamekeeper.
Bill Bates-that is the name of the game-
keeper-is an old man: he taught Lily's uncle
and father to shoot and fish when they were
boys, just as he is now beginning to teach Regi-
nald and Tommy. You see his portrait there:
S he always wears that fur cap, except, perhaps,
when he is in bed. Doesn't he look as if he
thought himself very wise and knowing? Bill
is the greatest authority on all matters of sport
in that part of the county, and is respected and
looked up to accordingly. He took the duck,
and examined it. "Better eat it, missie," said
he ; "nice fat duck: take it oame to cook." But
seeing that Lily was shocked at the idea, he pro-
mised to do his best for it; and I am happy to
say, in a few days, the pretty white duck was
swimming about with her companions in the
lake once more.
That same afternoon, Lily ran into the draw-
ing-room, where her mamma and I were sitting
working. "Oh, mamma dear," she cried,
"here's a man with birds to sell. Do, do let
me have one 1" And Lily kissed her mamma,
and caressed and begged till mamma got up,
and we all went to see them. They are not
wild birds, you know, mamma dear," Lily
added, so it's not cruel to keep them in cages."
In the hall we found a man with some cages
of foreign birds. He had been let in by the
servants, who were busy admiring the birds
when Lily first found them there. He had two
or three parrots, some love-birds, and several
canaries. Lily was particularly delighted to see
the love-birds nestling close together as if they
were so fond of each other. As she said, "just
like my doves," and mamma bought a pair of
them for her.
Love-birds are scarcely larger tha n sparrows;
in colour they are green and blue and gold, and
they take their name from the affection they
show for each other. If a love-bird is kept by
itself, it will generally droop and die.
But though the love-birds are beautiful to look
at, and their affection is a beautiful thing to see,
they cannot sing. When Lily heard this, she
was sadly disappointed; half her delight at
having such sweet little pets to take care of
-' 5; Im ,.t _-.,-, 4, i' o.
,.'. ld.' ,55-Z""1
.' -.%'7 I ,!-
was gone. To console the little girl I bought
one of the canaries for her : so Lily's collection
of pets was considerably increased that day.
This canary generally hangs at her bedroom
window, It sings beautifully, and Lily will lay
down her book or toys to listen to the little
A Squirrel. 67
Lily never likes to keep a bird, or any other
animal that can enjoy its liberty in a wild state,
imprisoned in a cage. She is very good for
that; and though fond of squirrels, she never
would have one to keep. In the field which
yard, there is an enormous walnut tree. It is a
favourite resort of squirrels, and Lily knows one
squirrel quite well by sight. The body is light-
coloured with a white breast, while the tail is
quite a dark brown. She often watches it as it
sits on a branch, crackinrv the walnuts.
But besides those animals that Lily counts
among her pets, there are plenty of others
about. Indeed, there is a sort of farm-yard
attached to the rectory, with barn and cow-shed,
and pigsty; and a duck-pond where there are
both ducks and geese. There are plenty of
chickens, too, with several broods of young ones
-little yellow fluffy things. Lily pointed out
to me a very large old gander, which, she said,
once frightened her nearly out of her wits. She
added, But it was a year ago, aunty dear, and
I was smaller than I am now."
A Ferocious Attack.
It seemed from Lily's account of the adven-
ture that the gander had driven her up into a
s~ ^\^y y^
t,/ : ..I^- "^
corner of the farm-yard, where he kept her a
prisoner, running at her, and hissing ferociously,
whenever she tried to come out. At last she
was so frightened that she began to scream
. 7 :- --. .
'. ___-." ,". ... A"
._ -. ,_
Luckily, in the field on the other side the
paling, haymakers were at work, and a woman
ran up, put her rake over the paling, and soon
drove the terrible creature away.
The only animals, I think, that Lily really
does not love are pigs. They are such greedy,
lazy creatures," said Lily, "and I don't like
their way of eating, grunting all the time. Why
don't they eat nicely, like horses or cows ? "
I felt inclined at first to defend the poor pigs,
by explaining that it is their nature to eat
greedily; and that, although this habit would
be very bad in little boys or girls, we ought to
-- -- -- d
excuse it in pigs. But when Lily led me up to
the pigsty, and I looked at the creatures wallow-
ing in dirt, and eating while they wallowed, and
grunting while they ate, I could not make up
my mind to take their part at all. At last I
agreed with all that Lily said against them
But if the pigs are ugly, uninteresting animals,
the cows at least are pretty, with their large, soft
gentle eyes. There are four of them at the
rectory ; they cost a good deal of money, and
are considered great beauties by people who are
judges of cows. They look very pretty from
the rectory windows, as they graze or lie down
in\the field beyond the garden. Lily and I met
the milkmaid one day coming in with two pails
full of milk from the field, and this reminded
my little friend that she had never shown me
Off we went then at once to have a look at
the dairy. We found Polly, the dairymaid,
churning away as hard as she could. There
were large flat pans of milk standing on a
~ i l_ ij ,',
t, V--,i' '
table, from which she was going to skim the
beautiful thick rich cream. Do let me taste
the cream," said Lily. But Polly shook her
head: No, no,miss Lily, not just before your
tea-time." So Lily had to content herself with
looking on as I did; and a very pleasant sight
it was to see how clean, and cool, and fresh the
dairy was, with the delicious pans of cream and
pats of golden butter.
The Rectory Garden.
Lily likes flowers, and has a little garden all
to herself. She has her own little spade, and
rake, and hoe, and watering-pot: she works in
her garden herself, and takes great care of it
It forms just a corner of the rectory garden,
which is always well kept, and full of beautiful
flowers, for the gardener is very clever. Lily
fancies she does everything herself in her garden,
74 Lily's Roses.
but I suspect the gardener gives a look to it now
and then on the sly, and helps a little.
Lily appears quite proud as she walks down
the little path in the middle of her garden,
turning to the right and left to choose what
flower she shall pick for her mamma and me-
Roses are Lily's favourite flowers; she likes them
The Bee-hives. 75
better than the flower that her name is taken
from; and she has some that are really beautiful.
Talking of flowers reminds me that I have
not told you anything about the bee-hives at
Lily's home. Lily often says: "No wonder
honey is so nice and sweet when it is made from
beautiful sweet-smelling flowers." She likes to
watch the busy little bees buzzing about among
the flowers, collecting the sweet honey, which
their instinct teaches them to store up for the
winter. Perhaps my young readers who live in
London would like to be told something about
bees. Each hive is governed by a queen-bee,
who is rather larger than the others. When a
hive becomes crowded, a number of the bees
start off to form a colony, always having one
queen-bee among them to reign over them.
This is called swarming. Those who have the
care of bees can judge by a great many signs
when they are going to swarm, and manage to
have an empty hive ready. After flocking out
of the old hive, the bees generally settle on some
tree not far away, all in a cluster, or heap, one
k- -^k'^ S
upon another. It is usual for people to make a
horrible noise by knocking upon tin-kettles or
saucepans, under the idea that this kind of noise
prevents the bees from flying far away; but I
don't know if it really has any effect. How-
ever, when they are settled, the empty hive is
put over them, and they are swept off the tree
into it all in a lump. They soon feel quite at
home in their new house.
The Lame Girl. 77'
But you must not think that Lily spends all
her time in playing with her pet animals, or
taking care of her garden, or watching the bees
No she very often goes about with her mamma
to visit the sick people in the parish, and those
who are very poor or very old. Many a poor
cottager smiles at the sight of her bright face
who seldom smiles at other times; and now I
will tell you a little about some of the poor
people she is accustomed to see.
There was one poor girl-I say was, for she
is lately dead-whom Lily used to visit nearly
every day. She had very bad health; besides,
she was lame and could only move about upon
crutches. She lived alone with her father, who
was a farmer; and. although she was three or
78 The Dove at the Wizndow.
four years older than Lily, the two used to play
together with toys, or read, or talk together.
She was always very grateful to the rector's
daughter, and would watch for her coming.
!7v,1in MIM 11-
.-:.. :! '--~ ~ ~tl'; ... ,..,, I' .il
----- -- r m ,i
One day Lily sent her a box full of books, and
other things to amuse her. While she was sitting
on the ground taking the things out, she heard
a rustling at the open window, and looking up,
saw one of Lily's white doves perched upon the
window-sill. When she afterwards told Lily
about this she added that the dove appeared to
her like a messenger from Heaven come to tell
her she was soon to die. From that day the
poor girl became worse, and really did die in
a few weeks. Lily was very unhappy, and the
father of the girl is inconsolable. The grave is
in a quiet corner of the churchyard; he has had
a cross erected on it, and flowers planted. He
visits it every day, and there he sits, with tears
in his eyes, sometimes for hours together.
So The Sick Child.
This is a very sad story; is it not ? But
there is another little girl, of about Lily's own
,' . ;i;, ,,,llP:i,'t',n..I !!'.nll ';n!nlri ;
age, who was very, very sick for a long time,
and Lily used to go and sit with her too. This
little girl is now quite well and strong again,
Watching for Lily. 61
and you may suppose how glad Lily is. She is
only a labourer's daughter, and Lily used to take
her nice nourishing things to eat, and flowers to
make her room look gay, and would tell her
pretty stories to amuse her.
It always seems to me, though, that the very
old people are those who love Lily most.
Look at that poor old woman in the picture
above. She is looking out at window, watching
for Lily and her mamma, whom she expects to
come to see her to-day. She does not watch
merely for the sake of the jug of nice nourishing
beef-tea which she knows they will bring, but
she longs to see Lily's pretty face, and to hear
her cheerful little voice.
There is a very curious old man in the village,
who, though he is nearly ninety years of age,
insists upon living all by himself. He has seve-
ral children, who are out in the world, and settled
elsewhere, and they supply him with means
enough to keep out of the workhouse. He has
lived in the same cottage all his life, and will
neither change into another, nor take anyone in
to share his own. Well, I believe the greatest
enjoyment this poor old man has in life consists
in a few minutes' chat now and then with Lily.
Whenever she sees him she stops to say a few
words, or rather to let him say them; for he is
fond of talking, though it is always about his
own youth: his middle age he seems to have
There was a gay wedding one day at the
church ; the daughter of one of our richest farm-
ers was married. Lily and I went to see it,
and as we came away, we found the old man
sitting among the tombstones, watching the
people coming out of church. When we asked
him if he did not think it all very gay and
pretty, he only said, I wor married in that
there church more nor sixty year agone." And
he went on repeating this information till we
84 Two Extremes.
left him. His thoughts were fixed upon his
own young days. The usual companions of the
poor old man are the children of the village.
I, ,' r, .l ,, I .
--- --. i,' i ^ ... -
As he sits under the porch of his cottage in fine
weather, some of them are sure to gather round
hinim Old age and childhood seem to under-
stand each other.
Mother and Children.
Lily always likes to go with her mamma'to
visit the poor people who are sick, but we have
often been anxious lest she should catch some
infectious illness. There is a family of nice
good little children living in the village: they
live at the village shop, where all kinds of dif-
ferent things are sold. It is kept by an old
man, whose daughter, a widow, lives with him
as his housekeeper, and these children are hers.
Well, the oldest of them, a boy six or seven
years of age, was ill; though generally very
good, he did not like taking physic, and his
mother could only persuade him to swallow it
by saying she would tell Miss Lily. Lily went
to see him two or three times: then another of
the children was taken ill, and, last of all, the
baby. The next time Lily went to call there,
the old grandfather met her at the door, and
2, %6 "
Bad News. 87
begged her to go away, as the doctor had just
declared that the children had typhus fever.
She came home at once to tell this sad news to
her mamma and me. We felt very uneasy lest
Lily should have caught the fever, and I went
A Mother's Anxiety.
soon afterwards to inquire if the children were
very bad. I found the poor mother crying bit-
terly, standing by the cot of her youngest child,
who seemed very ill indeed.
A Child's Prayer.
Little Lily was very unhappy when she
heard how bad Mrs. Cole's youngest child was.
That night I was with her when she went to
bed, and as soon as she was undressed, she
knelt down to say her prayers with her hands
clasped in my lap. After she had repeated her
usual prayers, she still remained upon her knees,
and I was just going to ask why she didn't get
up, when I heard her begin a little prayer of her
own invention, praying to God for the poor sick
children, and asking that they might not die. I
kissed her, and left her falling off to sleep, much
happier than she had been before. I am glad
to say that neither of the children died, nor did
Lily catch the fever.
The Village School.
I think I must tell you now something about
the village school. The parish is large, though
the village is small, and a great many boys and
girls go to the school. I have not much to say
about the girls, except that they are generally
good; but there are some funny ones among
Peter Dyer has a genius for mimicry, and has
dared sometimesto practise it even at the expense
of-the parish clerk. Old Baker has a singularly
high-pitched voice (I think clerks in country
churches generally have curious voices), and he
delights in collecting a few of the villagers round
him, when he lays down the law upon politics, or
any other subject, in a most authoritative way.
One by One.
One evening, Peter was doing old Baker, with his
very voice, action, and language, to a delighted
audience of half-a-dozen schoolfellows; and
-,. *-" ..i T ' 7 ^
"- I -. ,- .
-' rJ i I<- !
without thinking of it, he had stopped just out-
side the railing of the old man's garden, who hap-
pened to be watering his flowers at that moment.
Peeping over the railing, the clerk heheld, with
92 An Impudent Boy.
disgust, this caricature of himself, and he at
once poured the contents of the watering-pot
upon little Peter Dyer's head.
But the funny boy of the village is Johnny
Gower. Look at his merry face in the picture
above; there he sits with the schoolmaster's cap
on his head, and his spectacles on his nose. The
.-- ! :-- .-
on his head, and his spectacles on his nose. The
A Rustic Dance.
master had gone out of the school-room for a
minute, leaving his spectacles, and a woollen cap
that he sometimes wore to keep his bald head
warm, upon his desk. Returning suddenly, he
caught master Johnny, wearing both cap and
spectacles, and with a grin of delight upon his
countenance. Johnny had a good caning, but
."- ..^ --
five minutes afterwards he was just as merry as
One of our rich farmers keeps up what he
calls "the good old customs of merry England."
Every year, at harvest-home, he gives a great
dinner to all his labourers, and they dance after-
wards in a field. Johnny Gower had been present
at this merry-making, and as he passed the gate
of the rectory garden on his way home in the
evening, Lily and I called him in to tell us about
it. We were sitting on a garden seat, and the
boy stood before us while he described very
funnily all that had been going on. He is not
shy, and he wound up by showing us how he
had danced. Lily. laughed heartily, and there
is no knowing when he would have stopped
had I not risen, saying it was getting late and
Lily showed me another boy belonging to the
school, whom she said she liked, and for an odd
reason-because he was so stupid. The others
laugh at him because he cannot learn his lessons,
and you may see in the picture how puzzled the
The Blind Boy.
poor boy looks. I think Lily sees he does his
best, and pities him.
But the boy whom Lily takes most interest
.in of all the poor boys of the parish does not go
to the school: it is little Jack Smithers, the
blind boy. The first time I noticed him he was
feeling his way by the side of a low wall, which
bounded a field, where there were a number ot
happy boys, who had just come out of school.
They were running, shouting, and playing, in
the enjoyment of all their senses. It was a sad
and touching sight to see poor little Jack there
listening to the noise they made. He is a pretty
boy, and from the appearance of the eyes you
would scarcely notice at first that he is blind.
How he became Blinid.
Lily told me how it happened. About two or
three years before I saw him, he had been caught
in a terrible storm as he was crossing an open
heath. The little fellow did not know that any
tall object attracts lightning, and he took shelter
under a tree. Both the tree and Jack were
struck by the lightning; the poor boy was thrown
insensible on the ground. As he did not come
home, one of his sisters, who knew the way he
had gone, went out to look for him. When she
found him he was just recovering his senses, but
he thought the night had come on, for it was
all, all dark to him. His sister led him home,
and he has been blind ever since.