Front Cover
 Front Matter
 Half Title
 Title Page
 Table of Contents
 The midnight adventure
 Baby Zach
 The three sisters
 The Hartz king
 The sister of Mercy; or, little...
 The fairies' ball
 The autumn primrose
 The guardian angel
 Parting words
 Back Cover

Title: Stories for darlings
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00056262/00001
 Material Information
Title: Stories for darlings
Physical Description: 148 p., 1 leaf of plates : ill. ; 19 cm.
Language: English
Creator: Egerton, Arthur
Murray, John, 1808-1892 ( Publisher )
E. Brain and Co ( Printer )
Cooper, James Davis, 1823-1904 ( Engraver )
Publisher: John Murray
Place of Publication: London
Manufacturer: E. Brain and Co.
Publication Date: 1870
Subject: Children -- Conduct of life -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Conduct of life -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Children's stories   ( lcsh )
Children's stories -- 1870   ( lcsh )
Prize books (Provenance) -- 1870   ( rbprov )
Bldn -- 1870
Genre: Children's stories   ( lcsh )
Prize books (Provenance)   ( rbprov )
novel   ( marcgt )
Spatial Coverage: England -- London
Statement of Responsibility: by The Sun.
General Note: Added title page, engraved.
General Note: Illustrations engraved by Cooper.
Funding: Preservation and Access for American and British Children's Literature, 1870-1889 (NEH PA-50860-00).
 Record Information
Bibliographic ID: UF00056262
Volume ID: VID00001
Source Institution: University of Florida
Holding Location: Baldwin Library of Historical Children's Literature in the Department of Special Collections and Area Studies, George A. Smathers Libraries, University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved, Board of Trustees of the University of Florida.
Resource Identifier: aleph - 002238177
notis - ALH8673
oclc - 31380508

Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Cover 1
        Cover 2
    Front Matter
        Page 1
    Half Title
        Page 2
        Page 3
    Title Page
        Page 4
        Page 5
        Page 6
        Page 7
        Page 8
    Table of Contents
        Page 9
        Page 10
        Page 11
        Page 12
        Page 13
        Page 14
        Page 15
    The midnight adventure
        Page 16
        Page 17
        Page 18
        Page 19
        Page 20
        Page 21
        Page 22
        Page 23
        Page 24
        Page 25
        Page 26
        Page 27
        Page 28
        Page 29
    Baby Zach
        Page 30
        Page 31
        Page 32
        Page 33
        Page 34
        Page 35
        Page 36
        Page 37
        Page 38
        Page 39
        Page 40
        Page 41
    The three sisters
        Page 42
        Page 43
        Page 44
        Page 45
        Page 46
        Page 47
        Page 48
        Page 49
        Page 50
        Page 51
        Page 52
        Page 53
    The Hartz king
        Page 54
        Page 55
        Page 56
        Page 57
        Page 58
        Page 59
        Page 60
        Page 61
        Page 62
        Page 63
        Page 64
        Page 65
        Page 66
        Page 67
        Page 68
        Page 69
        Page 70
        Page 71
    The sister of Mercy; or, little Marie
        Page 72
        Page 73
        Page 74
        Page 75
        Page 76
        Page 77
        Page 78
        Page 79
        Page 80
        Page 81
        Page 82
        Page 83
        Page 84
        Page 85
        Page 86
        Page 87
        Page 88
        Page 89
        Page 90
        Chapter I
            Page 91
            Page 92
            Page 93
            Page 94
        Chapter II
            Page 95
            Page 96
            Page 97
            Page 98
            Page 99
        Chapter III
            Page 100
            Page 101
            Page 102
            Page 103
            Page 104
        Chapter IV
            Page 105
            Page 106
            Page 107
            Page 108
            Page 109
            Page 110
            Page 111
    The fairies' ball
        Page 112
        Chapter I
            Page 113
            Page 114
            Page 115
            Page 116
            Page 117
        Chapter II
            Page 118
            Page 119
            Page 120
            Page 121
            Page 122
            Page 123
            Page 124
            Page 125
            Page 126
            Page 127
            Page 128
            Page 129
    The autumn primrose
        Page 130
        Page 131
        Page 132
        Page 133
        Page 134
        Page 135
        Page 136
        Page 137
        Page 138
        Page 139
    The guardian angel
        Page 140
        Page 141
        Page 142
        Page 143
        Page 144
        Page 145
    Parting words
        Page 146
        Page 147
        Page 148
    Back Cover
        Cover 1
        Cover 2
Full Text


ew "t

sa ;- A


,2t Ij

The Baldwin Library
tn Usirsy
KAJTL m' do

~j ~1C7CL7~ i~~k/lc-I-
I.--- 4Y(

nB~~~ -~5 n~C~~a~1~/L2.?

LCkUJ ~a L~

t~A~ ig O7~



il l
'II :,'II'Ii IiI I' ,, ,q ,

S 1 1' I' I iI 1 ,, :

F 1, II
---"i 4 ,;, , i'

N il-
'I .e*I ,, '

l ,,, ,,
-' -.. ,1,,
_" 3 :1 '" ''

I--i :se o~~!:
-- I" . l
_i-_ !'

'" ' I .. ... ""- "-~


L. 0 N D 0 N

I 70
























9 ---_ .- -.- --' -_


- I_. t ... ir i.. : iii.:,i i.. r iii ,.,.1 I-ii

". ,ii,.f ,il 1,1, ,, lI. ., *,,

I ..
:.I I-

-. .. I


Some were laughing and playing, and not a few little eyes
were getting rather red and sleepy, when the Sun put his
large smiling face in at the window. It was a bay window,
with nice seats in it, where you could sit and have a beautiful
and commanding view of the sea, and watch the noble ships
and little boats sailing about, and hear the tiny waves singing
pretty songs.
The Sun was just going down, and painting them all a deep
red colour, when be bethought himself that it was getting time
for the Darlings to be in bed. So he looked in close at the
window again, and said-
Time for bed, bed, bed."
And his voice sounded so sweet and low, that one tiny head
dropped on the table, and was fast asleep in a minute. But
the others only laughed, and cried out-
Oho! Mr. Sun, you are there, are you ? Time for stories,
stories, stories."
"Time for stories," echoed all the little voices.
"No, no," said the Sun; "I cannot wait for stories to-night.
I have got a long journey before me, and a great many people
are waiting at the other side of the world, where I am going;


old faces, young faces, and baby faces-all longing to be up
and see the Sun."
Never mind that," said a boy Darling-rather a rough and
boisterous one; but when he looked again at the Sun, and saw
that his face was very'grave, I think he began to feel sorry
to have been in such a hurry.
All this time the Sun was getting redder and redder every
minute; but he still kept looking in on the children, and
sending loving glances all round. At last, when they were all
sitting hushed and quiet, and looking at his now fast-fading
light, he kissed them all tenderly-one on his bright golden
hair, another on his cheek, a third on her soft little hands; and
so on, all in turn: but I think if his glance rested longer on
one face than another, it was on the rough, boisterous, warm-
hearted boy, thereal Darling of his heart.
Then he spoke once more; and this time his voice sounded
very low, for he feared to wake the little sleeping one.
GCood-night, good-night, my Darlings; I leave you, but only
for a little time; and while I am away, the moon and the
twinkling stars will watch over and take care of you; and to-
morrow, when I come again from the strange, golden land,


whither I go to-night, I will bring you stories, beautiful stories,
for all-

And these are the stories that the Sun brought the next
day for the Darlings.

'4-. U-,---;^^-
-UZ --

% I
.- -

__ 2 - _ + -


ANY years ago, in a land called Australia,
lying just underneath your feet, there lived
an old man and his daughter. He was a
Frenchman, and had left France at the
time of the great gold discovery, that I dare
say you have read of, though you were none
of you alive at the time it happened.
Well, in those days, Australia was not the same
flourishing land that it is now. People had only just
begun to settle there a few years before ; and what is
now the large town of Melbourne, was then only a little village.
I think the old Frenchman had much better have stayed in his
own land, and by his own fireside, though. it was a poor one:
but the temptation to better his fortunes was too great;
and when he saw so many of his friends and neighbours all


going in search of these unknown riches, he determined to go
too. Of course, his only child and daughter could not be left
behind alone, so it was finally settled that they should both
go; for the poor old man said, they could not be worse off
there than they were at home, and they might be better. In
fact, he was like the rest of the world, old or young, who
all think that what they cannot see, and cannot have, is far
nicer than what they possess. We shall see whether these poor
French folk had their anticipations realized or not.
On their way to this golden land, the ship touched at several
places to get provisions and water, and the poor emigrants
suffered terribly in many ways. There were several hundred
people on board, men and women, all crowded together; and
they often had not enough to eat or drink. At last, one day
their weary eyes were gladdened by the sight of distant land,
after a voyage of many months; and before the week was out,
they all found themselves huddled together on the quay of a
strange town, and feeling as miserable and forlorn as it was
possible to be.
I dare say you have seen pictures of Melbourne as it is now,
with its fine wide streets and good houses; but then it had
quite a different appearance. Thirty years 'ago, when poor
old Jacques Michaud and his daughter landed, there were
nothing but wooden houses; and the people who lived there
were mostly poor themselves, and could give little or no help to
any new-comers.


The girl's name was Christine, and I was very fond of her:
she was such a good, unselfish girl; and I think she was very
fond of me too; for on board the ship, she would always rise
before I did, and look out at her little cabin window to welcome
me, when I took my first peep over the horizon. Christine was
about fifteen years old, and able to do a great deal towards
helping her father. She could cook and wash, and mend
clothes, and keep things clean. They could not find any
lodging in Melbourne that they could afford to pay for; so
at last they settled themselves in a small, lonely cottage,
about three miles from the town. No one lived within a mile
of the house; and poor Christine did not like it at all, it was
so far away from every one. I heard it was for this reason that
others, who were better off, would not live there: but it was
a great object to old Jacques and Christine to pay very little
rent for their house, and they therefore made up their minds to
live there, and not to think about its being solitary.
Twice a week the old man would trudge into the town, to
sell the baskets that he and Christine made together; and as it
was too far for him to come back again the same night, after
walking about all day, he generally slept in some outhouse, or
wherever he could get a handful of straw to lie down on, and
a roof to cover him. So it happened that Christine was left
alone for many hours; and at night, she used to get quite
terrified by the solitude and loneliness of the spot: indeed,
those nights that her father stayed away, she never went to bed


at all. Sometimes, if she dropped into an uneasy slumber
over the kitchen fire, she would be awoke suddenly by loud
voices, and a clattering of hoofs, which would again as
suddenly die away in the distance. These were generally
some parties of men, either going to or coming from the
At these times Christine would start and shiver, fearing
that some one was going to attack the house. And now I
must tell you what happened one night.
It appears that Christine, though she led this solitary life,
did occasionally see a few people; and, in particular, one old
couple, who lived about a mile off, on a small farm, where she
was able, every now and then, to procure a little milk, and
sometimes the luxury of a few eggs.
Well, to this old woman she had told her tale, and how she
lived in terror of some one coming to the lone house at night,
and how terrified she was at being alone. In an evil moment
the woman repeated this to some one else, without a thought
of doing harm to Christine, but merely as a piece of gossip : at
the same time, she warned her neighbour not to repeat it; who
paid no heed to this injunction, but went and told somebody
else. The story of Christine's loneliness and terror became
known, and even reached Melbourne. I need hardly tell you,
in a place like that, there were many who thought it would be
capital fun to amuse themselves at the poor girl's expense; and'
some young men determined to watch their opportunity, when


Jacques had left the house, and surprise and frighten his
They did not mean to hurt her, I dare say; but I don't think
they thought much about it: they were wild, selfish boys, bent
on amusing themselves in any way they could, whether good
or bad. So, one evening, when they had seen old Jacques
selling his baskets in Melbourne, they started off with some
sticks and a lantern, and arrived at the lonely house.
It happened that the night was a stormy one; the wind
whistled round the corners, with occasional showers of heavy
rain; and Christine sat in the chimney corner, trembling at
every strange noise she heard. Once she fancied there were
voices speaking outside the window; then the door creaked,
and she thought to herself some one was trying to lift the
latch; then she tried to take some comfort by remembering
how many times she had been deceived in the same way before ;
and finally she went round to see that every door and window
was carefully barred and bolted. "Now," she said to herself,
" I am safe this stormy night, at all events." So she sat down
again in her corner. But stay-surely she did hear something,
a slight grating noise; and then a flicker passed suddenly across
the room. Christine jumped up-this time there could be no
doubt somebody was trying to get into the house.
But where could the light have come from? Ah from a
quarter where she least expected it. I don't think any of
you will guess. It came from the chimney.


I must tell you that it was one of those wide, old-fashioned
chimneys that are only to be found in cottages built many
years ago. This one was so large, that two men could easily go
up or down it at the same time. Well, these young lads had
got a rope, had tied it round their waists, and were letting
themselves down the chimney.
You may imagine the poor girl's horror when she heard
them slowly descending, and, as she thought, for the purpose
of robbing, and then murdering her. Her first impulse
naturally was to scream; but she luckily remembered that
it would be useless, as there was no one who could either
hear her, or come to her assistance. Her next thought was
to hide, so that the robbers might imagine she was not there.
This was the work of a moment: she knew of a hiding-place
in the roof, and she had just gained this at the peril of her
life, owing to the difficulty of finding her way in the dark up
a narrow ladder, and over the beams and rafters of wood, when
she heard the men yelling with rage, and she knew by that,
that they had reached the kitchen, and not found her. Soon she
trembled again with dismay when she heard them begin their
search through the house, swearing strange oaths, and ran-
sacking every corner and cupboard, in the hopes of finding
Poor Christine she is getting on in years now, and has bad
many troubles, and many sorrows; but she has often told me
that nothing could ever surpass the horrors of that night. It


does not seem so terrible to you, as you know that they did
not mean to hurt her seriously; but poor Christine, shivering
and shaking in her dark corner in the roof, thought that her
last hour was come. I am sure my Darlings' kind little hearts
will pity her, when they think of her sitting there, with the
cold wind howling round the house, and the rain beating in
between the rafters.
At last, when things seemed to be a little quieter, and she
was beginning to think that now she was safe, she heard one
of the men ascending the steep wooden ladder that led up to
the roof. Now, indeed, she was lost. She could not stir; her
lips only moved as she inwardly implored the protection of
all the Saints. They have saved her, she thinks; all is well
again. The man came to the top of the ladder, held up his
lantern, cast one glance around, and hurried down again, glad
to escape, from the wind and cold, to the comfortable kitchen
below, where his companions had lighted a small fire, and
were smoking their pipes, in the firm belief that the house had
been left untenanted for the night.
In this way several weary hours passed; the men below
smoking and playing at cards, till, just as the dawn was break-
ing, a low tap was heard at the door, and some one called gently,
"Christine." The three young men jumped up in a great
fright, forgetting all about old Jacques, and proceeded to make
their escape as quickly as possible. Two, by means of the
rope, quickly hauled themselves up the chimney again, while the


third and youngest jumped up the steep ladder, thinking he was
sure to find some means of escape by the roof; but, missing his


"_' -: --2 7 -- --- - --

e ,,i i

S,1- i -t a ,
he r,-t, ,-, t0,,- t,,i, hb,
fell b il: t.:. th, .- u -
againi. :wr l i- Lea'i 4I
agaiu-t tl, i.- I. ip c rui:r ,l
of tLb, kit:Ienu ti-r -i c,.,:-
CiI;.l;!- i i, L.r J..,tk ':q
corner, r I,:l hI l l thi i--
tur .:ii: h ll -:Ape 4 t -
mei. l.ut '', l'l not un lj ,


stand the reason of their hurried departure, as she could
not hear the tapping at the door; and besides, she never ex-
pected her father home at that hour. She waited a little while,
and when it was getting light, she ventured slowly, and with
much fear, to creep gently down the ladder; but what was
her horror and astonishment when, on reaching the bottom,
she saw one of the supposed robbers stretched on the ground,
and bleeding from a deep wound at the side of his head.
Christine's first impulse was to fly back again to her hiding-
place; but. pity induced her to kneel down by his side, and
ascertain if he was really hurt. She found that he was only
stunned; and that the wound in his head appeared more serious
than it really was. Besides, on closer examination, he did not
look so formidable : he was young like herself, about seventeen,
with soft brown hair, and regular features.
Christine thought to herself, as she sprinkled some water
over his head and face, that such as he could not be a robber
and murderer. But then, why had they come there? In a
few minutes the boy opened his eyes, and looked around, spell-
bound, to find a pretty girl bathing his face. Suddenly, as
he and Christine were gazing at each other, there came the
low tap at the door again, and the boy remembered the cruel
purpose that had brought him there, and that it was that
very knocking at the door that had so startled him and his
companions. In hurried accents he told his tale, and ended
by imploring Christine to hide him anywhere for the time, till


he felt well enough to make his escape. He told her that he,
too, was French, and that she could not refuse to help her own
For one moment the girl hesitated. She thought to herself
of all that had happened in the night; but one long, pleading
look from Francois gained the day. You must remember that
Christine did not know who was tapping at the door. She
had never known her father come home so early before, and
thought it might be some one from the farm where her friends
lived. All this time the tapping at the door was getting
louder, and the summons more vehement.
Christine hesitated no longer; together, they gained the top
of the ladder, a few sacks were thrown down for him to lie on,
and Frangois was installed in poor. Christine's place. When
there, he had many hours of weariness to pass, during which
he dared not stir, and which he occupied by thinking over the
unmanly part he had acted, and in making resolutions for the
future. I will only say, that when he was set at liberty the
next evening, he inwardly vowed that, on some future day, he
would repay Christine for all the suffering he had caused her.
As for her, the lonely house had become more than ever dis-
tasteful and solitary ; and she, at last, persuaded her old father
to return to Melbourne, and live there, on the plea that he was
getting too infirm to walk so far.
Eit years have eased and the Sun is once more smiling
Eight years have elapsed, and the Sun is once more smiling


in the horizon, when Christine stands on the pier at Melbourne,
looking out at the ships, the harbour, and the busy, bustling
scene. Her father is dead; and she feels strangely alone amidst
all this crowd. Her thoughts wander back to the old days,
when she was poor, and had few friends. She is well-off now,
and has many friends; but they cannot shut out the remem-
brance of a fair, boyish face, and two pleading eyes-" Chris-
tine"-" Franpois"-and the two eyes are there, gazing at her
with their old look of love.

-I -'-ll -
,' i ;'r i '- _.
.. -A-A


SChristine," a voice said, I have come to you to heal me
of a wound. You did so once before; but this time it is a far


deeper one. I have been to other countries, and seen many
things; but wherever I went, I carried my heart-wound with
me. Will you heal it ?"
Need I tell you what Christine's answer was ? It was only a
little word-" Yes." But happy tears stood in her blue eyes,
and the world seemed all of a sudden changed; no longer a
hard-working, lonely world, but a bright and glorious land,
with happiness and truth at every turn.
Together they watched the setting Sun, spreading a golden
halo on all around. He was looking at them, though they
knew it not; blessing them, and praying that some day they
should walk hand in hand, in a far brighter and more glorious
land-a heavenly one.

T f- -"

L7- -'~

w'o---l: .. ^'"?

"-" -i

... - '- -,

"' --=R .A S I .L C V, '""'" Ai' G `W ,-S W T
T- 1N 'O L F ,l',il" T.

;.CE upon a time-that is a very old way of
S '-- \ beginning a story, but it has a never-
Sending, pleasant sound to little Darlings;
and I can see one tiny lady settle herself
in her chair, with a thrill of delight, as
she hears the well-known words-" Once upon
a time," there was a family of children, four of
them, two boys and two girls. The eldest was
a boy, then came the two girls, and the
youngest was a dear, baby-boy of two years old.
They were all nearly the same age, as the eldest,
Louis, was only seven; so they were capital
companions for one another.
Their parents were good people, who took great care to bring
them up to be loving and kind to each other; and they did
dearly love each other, though they loved their parents best.
These children lived in a charming place, on the sea-shore, in
a beautiful land called Italy. The Sun is so fond of this land,


that he is loth to leave it when evening comes. So glorious
are the sunsets there, that it seems as if he could not tear
himself away from the vineyards, and orange groves, and palm
trees. There were plenty of these here to tempt him to linger
yet a little while; and besides, the children loved, in the even-
ing, to wander down the garden slopes of their lovely home,
and watch his rays, and talk to him. Then he would fain
stop a few moments longer, and look at them : the Sun loves
all Darlings.
Sometimes they would see a little boat sailing away, with
its sail spread to catch the evening breeze, and it would
seem gradually to disappear in a flood of gold and crimson;
then little Louis and Catherine would clap their hands, and
weave stories in their minds of lands to which the boat had
gone, and where everything was rose-colour and delicious;
large apples, big sweetmeats, and pleasure all the livelong day.
Then when they had said good-night to the dear Sun, and
bid him shine in at their windows the next morning, they
would pray God to bless father and mother; and all dropped
fast asleep.
Not all: the dear baby was sometimes very ill, and could
not sleep at night. They were all very loving and fond of
him; and when he was well, his mother would take him out
to play on the beach; and Louis would be so proud when
she allowed him to go just a little way off, and take care
of baby, and pick up shells for him; and baby, in his own


little way, worshipped Louis, and would follow wherever
he went.
I forgot to tell you, that, dear as he was, he had a very ugly
name. I don't remember why he was called Zachary; but we
all agreed that we should have chosen something prettier. To
make the best of it, we always called him Zach, or more often
Baby Zach. Well, little master Zach was as pleased to go on
the beach as the others, and they would all clamber about
the rocks, and each try to do more than the others-jumping
over this pool, and climbing up that difficult place; and if
Zach could not manage it, then Louis used to haul him up by
his arm, and the little fellow would scream with delight.
There was a small cave, too, among the rocks, with tiny pools
of water in it : when the sea was rough, then the pools became
much larger, and the great waves washed quite into the cave.
At those times their mother would never let the children go
there; they could only watch the waves from the garden
terrace. On fine, hot summer days, how they did love to sit in
the cool cave, making little rush-boats to swim in the pools,
with rushes they had picked the day before, and digging great
boles in the beach to find pebbles !
Not very far from their pretty garden was a wood, with tall
fir-trees and shady nooks; it was a spot where the children
loved to wander, and sit by the side of a running stream, that
flowed gently down to the sea, watching the birds and insects;
and sometimes, if they were very quick, they would see a little


fish swimming down the stream, on his way to have a look at
the world in the great salt ocean.
One day in autumn, the weather was no longer so hot and
sultry; there was a delicious cool breeze coming up from the
sea, and Louis said-
Oh, Katie, would it not be nice to go and spend the evening
in the wood? Let us go and ask mother." The others were
delighted at the idea; and Louis, followed by Catherine and
Lily, rushed into the house to get their mother's leave.
Mother was just then reading to Baby Zach, and showing
him pictures. Well, directly Zach heard of the expedition,
he could not bear being left behind, but wanted to go too.
Mother said she would not hear of such a thing-no, she could
not trust her Darling to go so far, and alone with the children.
But Louis begged so hard, and Zach begged so hard, that she
did not know how to refuse them; it was so difficult to say
"No" to little Zach, when he looked at her with those
beseeching eyes.
Oh, mother," said Louis, "if you will only trust me, and
let him come, I will take such care of him He shall never be
out of my sight: only this once."
"But Louis, I have so often tried to trust you, and you know
how often you have failed. You do not mean to forget; but
you are thoughtless, my boy, and Zach is very precious."
"Me will be very dood, me will; me won't ply," said Zach,
in his baby way.


"Mother, now you will trust me, just once more; it is such
a beautiful evening, and we will come home early, won't we
Katie? We will come home in an hour, if you like; only
trust me once more."
At last, very reluctantly, the mother gave her consent, and
said they might take Zach with them to the wood, but they
were to be home in an hour. They started off with shouts
of joy, Louis walking carefully along, leading baby by the hand,
while Katie and Lily danced along in front. They soon got
to the wood, and found their favourite spot-a nice bit of soft
green turf, with a few rocks to lean against, close to the little
running brook. At first they picked flowers and rushes, and
ran about, and were as merry as larks; then they got tired, and
sat down, and began to talk.
"I," said Louis, "shall be a great man when I grow up. I
don't want to stay here all my life; I mean to be a soldier,
and win great battles."
There was a murmuring among the trees; and if the little
children had listened, they would have heard the Fir-tree say,
"Ambitious, selfish," and shake its tall head.
"It is a grand thing to be a soldier, and fight battles,"
continued Louis; and, in his excitement, he began striking an
imaginary foe with his stick. "Think of riding home after
the victory, and every one praising you, and the bells ringing,
and people bowing down to you as a conqueror!"
"Proud," murmured the Elm-tree, and its leaves trembled.


" Ah, but Louis," said Katie, "think of the poor wounded
men, and suppose you got a wound; I could not bear that:"
and the tears stood in her soft eyes at the very idea.

S ei rt t,-, ;,": ui', '

Sirr l .r

.. ** ... .. / l

"I suppose I should bear it like other people, Katie; but
let us suppose that I shall not get a wound. That will be
much pleasanter."
Selfish and cruel," spoke the Fir-tree, and there was quite
a rustling of indignation among the others; but the kind-
hearted, gentle Willow could not bear to hear her Darling con-
demned, and she whispered softly, Not so, only thoughtless."
.. .. , ... r -"

demned, and she whispered softly, "Not so, only thouglatless."


Then the conscientious Fir-tree lifted up its lofty head, and
"He has no feeling heart for the woes of others; he will
trample down everything to satisfy his ambition." And the
Willow wept bitter tears, for she loved the brave boy, with all
his faults.
Ha, ha, Katie, what will you say when you see me march
into the town, victorious, at the head of my army, and the
King come out to meet me, and all"--Ah what was that ?
There was a splash and a scream-Baby Zach had fallen into
the brook.
I cannot describe to you what Louis felt, poor boy, and
after all his boasting to his mother about taking care of
Zach. How could she ever trust him again ?
Ah, me! I am afraid the trees were right; and when they
saw what had happened, they whispered it to the breeze, and
the breeze carried it to the waves, and the waves sang a song,
and the words of the song were-

No trust, no trust."

Louis heard them all this time; and he thought to himself,
"If the trees and the waves say this, what will mother say
when I tell her ?"
They took little Zach home; he did not seem much hurt-
only frightened, and very wet. Mother looked at Louis when
they came in; she did not speak to him; her look was sufficient.


Poor Louis turned away heart-broken. This, then, was the end
of all his dreams, that he should, perhaps, have lost his own
Darling brother, his pet. He lay down, and wished that he
could die too. Later on, when his mother came out of Zach's
room, she found him lying at the door, waiting for tidings.
' Say, mother, he won't die! Oh! say it; I could not bear it,"
he cried.
"No, Darling, he will not die, but he has had a great shock,
and we must all be very quiet. You must help me to nurse
him, by taking care of your sisters while I am busy. I have
heard all about it from Zach, and he says it was his own
Oh, I am sure it was all mine," said Louis ; "I was think-
ing of something else."
But his mother thought to herself it was her fault, for
putting so much care and responsibility on a little boy; for,
after all, he was only a little boy, and she felt very tender
towards him when she saw his grief.
The end of it all was, that next spring the dear baby died.
Louis would not be consoled at first; and he would often
wander into the wood, to the place where they had sat and
played that lovely autumn evening, and think how happy
they had been; and in his sorrow he would accuse himself
of Zach's death. But his mother took great pains to tell
him that the fall had nothing to do with it; and that
clever men had said, that Baby Zach could never have


grown up to be a man, and that he was far happier than
they were.


After a little while, Louis tried hard to eliee it.. and he-

would go to Zach's grave, with Katie and Lily, and watch
the Crocuses and Snow-drops coming up that their mother had
And the Snow-drops would bow their beads together, and
"* l t J -- .' :' _-

say, Kind and unselfish;" and the Golden Crocus would
answer, Zach is looking at you, and loving you;" and the
Lilac Crocus would echo, Thoughtful for others." Then Louis

would feel proud when he heard the flowers whispering together,
and giving him courage; and he would answer-
"And so, please God, I will try to be thoughtful for others,
for Zach's sake."
When the trees heard him say this, they whispered it to the
breeze, and the breeze carried it to the waves, and the waves
murmured a new song, and the words of the new song were-
Hope for the future-hope for the future."

J^<^ -~^ -' --.U^,
-',-- --l
-'"'-- :A -." i

/- ../:.: -. t ''.

!i/i/, ,I ,'i : ... '~
.. '.i-'' I,'i! "' t.- ,i ''
II 'IPI I / i~
I ,, ,-' I l,lil

t ilI

f;l; K. "'-

N- _- ,l""_.
'I~i:',i -" :
t t t'' ,, o l

Ii[ 4,1 'i I ', 1 1


t .. X

"']---= -
.. T-! K.IN_ ., G,:',. SO'.

I-. WONDER if any of my Darlings have
heard of the Three Sisters, and their
journey to the promised land. They lived
on a great round ball, which is called the
Earth, and they were not very happy
'.'...,,'- ":'. there: sometimes they were, but not very
'" ",- ';-, often. Whenever these happy days did
Come, they marked them down on white
tablets, that each sister carried by her side.
The names of these Three Sisters were Faith, Hope, and
Charity; and they were so fond of each other, that one could
not live without the other. At times, Charity would fall sick;
this was after one of her wanderings about the earth to help.
the sick and needy, when she would sometimes come home with
hardly a rag to cover her, and in sore need of food and comfort.
But Hope and Faith would be waiting at the door to welcome
her home again; and then, when she was getting better, they
would each start off on a journey of their own.
They never all three left home at the same time, for fear some


one should want them. For they were so much loved, that
people from all parts of the earth would come to them for help
and sympathy. Old and young, middle-aged and babies, they
all came, numbers and numbers of them, crowding round the
door of the sisters' house; and little children would climb in
at the windows, and cry for Charity. Every one had their
favourite sister. Faith was most sought after by the old-
those who had been toiling a long time in the heat of the
Sun, and were very weary: the promised land seemed to them
so far distant, and the King of Kings still delayed his coming.
Then, in their weariness, they came to Faith; and she, with
her fine noble countenance lifted up, would show them her
cross, and speak to them of the King's Son, and of the reward
promised to all those who had faith in him; and how every
day that was well spent, brought them nearer and nearer to
the long-looked-for end.
Then would they wipe away their tears, and go home again,
with their burdens lightened.
The young would come to Hope. Those, who were at the
beginning of their journey through life, would tell her bright
stories of what they were going to do, and of the victories they
should win; and Hope would smile, and cheer them on their
way; though with her far-seeing eyes she would look forward,
and could see that the "race is not always for the swift, nor the
battle for the strong."
Then, also, would come to Hope those who were sore disap-


pointed, and who- were suffering from sharp thorns; and she
would whisper words of comfort in their ear, and tell them that
the pangs of sorrow are short and sharp, and would speak of
better days to come, when the Sun would again shine brightly,
and their tears would be tears of joy.
But it was to Charity that the little children would mostly
come: they would crowd round her, hanging on to her white
skirts, her hands, her knees-anything they could reach. Some
would bring flowers and presents for her, and happy loving
smiles that did her heart good; while others would often show
little tear-stained faces, and heavy aches and pains. To these,
she did what she best could to comfort and relieve them; and
even if their pain felt no better, still their hearts felt lighter;
for had not Charity kissed them ?
Shall I tell you what made the children all cling to her so
dearly? It was, because there was an unseen angel hovering
about her: that angel's name was "Love," the most beautiful
angel that the Almighty ever sent-into human hearts to lessen
the evils of sin.
The Three Sisters, as I told you before, lived in one home;
and though they could not be really happy on the earth, on
account of all the suffering they saw, still they knew that their
presence lightened the woes of men, and they were therefore
content to remain as long as their King saw fit. Charity
generally went alone, and in the dark, on her errands of mercy;
but Faith and Hope worked together. When a father was


about to lose his son, who lay sick, or a wife the husband of
her youth, then Hope, who had entered unbidden the sick
chamber, would remain there till the loved eyelids were closed.
Her work accomplished, she would draw her mantle across her
face, and steal away quietly; then, meeting Faith at the door,
would bid her go in. At first, Faith would meet with many a
repulse; she was not so kindly welcomed as her sisters; but when
once she had gained admittance, she was loved even more than
they; and those, who clung to her, found they had anchored
on a rock.
One day, early in the morning, the summons came to the
Three Sisters, to leave their earthly home, and go to the
promised land. They were very glad of this, though they knew
they had a toilsome journey before them, ere they could reach
the golden city. They rose up directly, and began to prepare
themselves. Faith took nothing in her hand but her cross, and
was ready in a few minutes. Hope was the next; she put on a
bright robe of blue, wishing to appear radiant in the eyes
of the King; and with sandals on her feet, and a white
banner on her shoulder, she felt certain that she would be the
first to reach the gates. Charity was the last to be ready: she
was quite as eager for the journey as her sisters, but her kind
heart prompted her to arrange so much for the good of the earthly
friends they left behind, and to take so much for those they
might meet on the way, that Faith and Hope had many times
to call her before she was ready to start.


However, at last they set out. The first day's journey lay
in smooth paths, and at night Faith lighted a torch to guide
their steps. The next day's journey was not quite so easy:
Hope began to flag, and her blue robe to look soiled; and
Charity often lagged behind to say a word to those they met on
the way; but Faith held on without wavering, her eyes straining
forward for the first glimpse of the heavenly gates.
Soon they came to a large city; and directly the people
there caught sight of the Three Sisters, numbers came out to
meet them: a few clung to Faith, and entreated to be allowed
to follow her, as they also were on their way to the great goal,
and were only resting on the way. Many were taken by Hope's
ready smile and winning way, and enlisted under the white
floating banner; but it would be impossible for me to tell you
the numbers that crowded round Charity. They kissed her feet
and her hands, and showered blessings on her, while she poured
out her gifts and smiles on all, without choosing; for Charity is
blind to the faults of her neighbours. So, after resting a short
time, they all started afresh; but this time they were a goodly
company. There were the old, blind, and lame, and little chil-
dren, all following and clinging to Charity. Soon she was left far
behind her sisters; for the little ones could not walk fast, and
Charity would not leave them behind. So it fell out that Hope
and Faith walked on together, and the next day Charity was no-
where to be seen: nevertheless they continued their way with-
out her, knowing that some day they would meet again.


The journey was a perilous one in many places, rough and
thorny to the feet; and many of those who had followed Hope,
turned round again, and endeavoured to find a smoother path.
The beautiful white banner trailed in the dust, and the blue

I .,

1-- -- i- .
_- -b -' '. -- --- -' :-- .

--= 2 -'J

robe was torn and stained; but faith cheered her sister on, and
together they reached the bottom of the hill on which the
golden city stands.
When Hope lifted up her weary eyes, and saw the light shin-
ing, she girded up her strength again; the soiled banner was
lifted up once more; and then, followed by those few who still
clung to. her, she pressed forward up the hill. Onward they go,


the light getting brighter and brighter, and dazzling their
earthly eyes; but no obstacle can stop them now. The end is
at hand-close by-they are even at the gate!
Faith is left far behind !
With an eager hand, Hope knocks at the golden gate-there
is no answer. She knocks again and again-
She hears the rustling of angels' wings, and sees the glory
shining from their crowns; but the heavenly gate still remains
shut. She cannot tell the meaning of this; and, with uplifted
hand, she waits until Faith and her followers have toiled slowly
and steadily up the hill.
Faith wondered at seeing her sister still there; but, in her
loving-kindness, asked no questions, thinking they would all go
in together. She raises her cross on high to strike; but before
she can do so, the portals open wide, and they hear a burst of
heavenly music, such as they have never heard before. Faith
enters with her glowing face, and those who had followed her
enter too, sadly conscious of their sins, and how unfit they are to
live in such a city till they have been purified and blessed by
the King's Son.
After Faith has passed in, the gates still remain open, waiting
for Charity. Hope would fain enter now; but an angel, with a
stern yet loving face, bars the way, and casting down her eyes,
whispered to her-
"None can enter here through Hope alone."
And a voice coming from afar off, repeats in her wearied ears-


You trusted too much to your own merits."
Poor Hope-it was indeed a sad fall for her; she had been so
confident, so sure of winning her crown: she had arrived first of
all at the great gate, and now she was denied admission, and
could only sit at the entrance, and look upon the glories she
might not share.
The banner, no longer white and glorious, but torn and
stained, lay on the ground, and Hope crouched down beside it,
obedient to the angel's mandate; but, in her deep humility,
craving leave to gaze upon the lovely sight.
And she saw a beautiful city-the New Jerusalem, with a wall
round it; and in the wall there were twelve gates, and at the
twelve gates stood twelve angels, with their names written on
their foreheads. And the city was of pure gold, and was
garnished with all manner of precious stones; and in the midst
of it ran the River of Life, clear as crystal. Oh how Hope
longed to drink of that river !-how she would have knelt down,
and bathed her brow in its cool waters, and drunk her salvation!
But this was not for her: and as she thought of all she had
lost, her head sank still lower, and she felt that she was, indeed,
unworthy to be there.
The angels at the gate, when they saw this, lifted up their
voices, and sang for joy; for they knew, though Hope did not,
that she was nearer to Heaven now, in her heart-felt repentance,
than when she first arrived at the gate.
She saw Faith and her followers walk up to one of the twelve


gates, amidst the throngs of angels, and watched them, while
they were clothed in white robes, and signed with the King's
seal, and sent on their way rejoicing.
As she was pondering on all these things, Hope suddenly
heard a greater burst of music than before, and saw a number
of angels spreading their white wings, and coming down
towards her. Her poor heart fluttered-it surely could not be
for her that they were coming? No, they were looking down
the hill. She turned, and saw her sister Charity approaching,
with a vast multitude following behind her. The angels were
coming down to welcome their best-beloved!
Charity was so surrounded by little ones, that at first she did
not perceive her sister, and was just going in, when she caught
a glimpse of her blue robe. Charity instantly fell upon her neck,
and kissed her, and would have taken her in with her; but the
angels covered their faces, and said, "Not so, not so."
Charity fell on her knees, ayd prayed, and wept bitterly; but
it was of no avail. So she rose up again, and passed in, saying
to Hope-
"I will go to the King's Son, and cast myself at his feet, and
supplicate him, ar.l he will not refuse me."
The gates closed behind her, and left one sorrowing. But
soon her sorrow was turned into joy; for, with a burst of
trumpets and song, they were opened again, and Hope raised
her eyes, andSsaw Charity coming down to meet her, with a
crown of gold upon her head, and a palm-leaf in her hand.


Hope rose up, and fell into her arms; and as they passed
together through the heavenly gates, the voice from afar off
sounded as before; only this time it said-
"For Charity's sake, inasmuch as she did it unto the least of
these, she did it unto Me."

-I i'2

'-- i /'

i I-
: '_ ---

-- '/

I ,, h i

.. liT'I
I," i i. in 'I- :'-(
"' ~ ~ ~ ~ 1. ",,, ,, ,, I ., ,i'ni
1 .- ,,',
" H KN.. ... 1EA T I ?


". I, ., '
.- '-'ir ,

.~~ -,::-:i. .I .. }',.,,--_ ,

.': I ..j " ,; --- :-'iij ~l.~~~\ ,

L --' ji.-tA.



A ha," said the Sun one morning to
the Darlings, "how you would have
liked to have seen the dinner and
the fun that I heard of one day."
J' 3 It was a long time ago, in the Year
'' .- 1 1I: you see I was then 100 years old,
'.in.ng been born in the Year 1; quite a
:hi:-l_-uen of a Sun then, considering I am now
S\' many thousands of years old: but though I
',< am an old fellow, I make use of my eyes and
S ears as much as ever. No fear of my getting
blind and deaf, as some little Darlings would
like their schoolmasters to be; so mind what you are all
about, and be good children, or some day the Sun will not get
up at all; he will stay in bed the whole twenty-four hours,
and then the Darlings will all have to do the same.
Well, there were Darlings in the Year 101, just as there are
now in 1870. Indeed, I am not at all sure that they were


not greater ones; but perhaps it was that then I had not seen
so many of them. Now, one day, the King of the Hartz
Mountains determined to ask them all to dinner and tea, and
astonish their little minds; and you shall hear all about it.
First of all, I must tell you that he lived under a great
mountain; and though it was very easy for him, who was a
Genii, and a King Genii, to wish himself in his arm-chair on
the left-hand side of his fire-place, it would have been of no
use for mortal Darlings to wish themselves there: they might
have wished and wished, till they wished themselves into
whipping-posts. So he went, first of all, to the Lion, as being
a King like himself, and asked his opinion. But the Lion was
a wise beast, and only shook his mane, and said his opinion
was precisely similar to the King's.
This put the King in a terrible rage; and he swore so loud,
that it caused a great earthquake above ground, and two large
towns and ten small villages were swallowed up by it. After
this, he went on a little further, and paid a visit to the Bear,
and asked him what he thought about it. The Bear was a
great white fellow, and had just made his dinner off ten sheep,
ten oxen, and ten pigs; and, in consequence, felt very sleepy,
and not at all inclined to talk; so he only opened one eye
when the King came in, and said, "Yes."
This made the King more angry still, and he gave the White
Bear a great kick; upon which the Bear called out, in a still
louder voice, No," which was just as bad.


At last, he went round to all the animals, in turn, that he
could think of, and asked each his opinion about making a way

-- ,


for the Darlings to come and dine in his underground palace.
Some said very silly things, and some said such wise ones, that


nobody could understand them; but at last, somebody else said
that an Ambassador from the Mice country would like-to speak
to the King.
Show him in," said the King, "and make haste about it, as
I want to sneeze."
So the Ambassador was ushered in. He was a little, old, grey
Mouse, in a scarlet coat and hat; and he proceeded to tell them,
that the Mice in his land would undertake to bore a hole from
the inside of the mountain to the outside, provided all the Cats
in the neighboring countries were destroyed every year for
the next hundred years. Of course, the King said Yes" im-
mediately, for he really could think of no better way of making
a road; but he thought to himself, "As to the Cats, I'll see
about that afterwards."
So that matter settled, and the Mice having begun to work,
he set about fixing a day for the entertainment; and being
rather stupid, he fixed upon a Sunday: but then, you know,
living inside a mountain as he did, he could not be expected to
know much about the days of the week, or what went on outside.
Naturally, all the earth Darlings, said they could not come
on Sunday; and then, what did he do, but he fixed on a
Saturday That was nearly as bad, on account of next Sunday
morning, and the children getting to bed late, and giving their
mothers extra trouble. So he really did not know what to do.
At last, one of the children who were invited, said to him-
Why not Monday, Mr. King ?-because you see we are


always good at the beginning of the week, and then we get
tired of it at the end. Now, if we come on Monday, we shall
all be good."
So it was settled that Monday was to be the day; and the
Hartz King sent out his invitations on a fine big card, printed
red, blue, and yellow: it was written also in a fine big hand,
so that every one could read it, and said that dinner would be
ready at two o'clock, and that all Darlings who wished to come
were not to be later at the door of the mountain than half-
past one; also, they were not to be more than nine years old,
and no nurses were to be admitted. The King wished to have
the little ducks all to himself.
Monday came; and it was a very fine gathering indeed As
I was very anxious to see them well, I determined that it
should be a brilliant day; so I came out quite early in the
morning, about seven o'clock, and watched till they arrived.
Not that I was idle all that time; for I was peeping in at
one house, then into another; drying some clothes in the
gardens; helping a few flowers to grow that were not very
strong; cheering the hearts of every one I could see: in short,
I was very busy. The birds and flowers all seemed pleased to
see me, and so, I think, were the Darlings; for I looked in at
several windows, and saw them preparing for the feast; some
in red sashes, some in blue, some in green, but all looking
clean and good; and when they saw me-dear dear how they
did clap their little hands for joy!


Well, half-past one o'clock came, and there I was at the
entrance, putting on my best appearance, too, when they began
to arrive-crowds of them, boys and girls; I don't know how
many. I only know that I thought they would never stop
coming; and that if all these toddles, big and small, were to
grow up to be men and women, poor Mr. Sun had a good
many years' work before him, if he was to shine upon them
all. When the last child had passed through the door, it was
shut, and I saw no more; I looked down the passage for
a few moments, and saw that it was rather dark; and the rest
of the story I heard from the Darlings themselves the next day.
Oh how they did chatter, chatter, chatter; and of course I
listened to every word.
When once they had gone in, and the door was shut, I
knew that there was no use in my waiting, for they would
not come out again till long past my bed-time; and you know,
whatever anybody else does, Mr. Sun has to be very punctual,
and cannot play any tricks with time.
Now for what I heard afterwards. When the Darlings first
went in, they were conducted down the passage by two blacka-
moors, dressed in black, as far as a door which was guarded
by two great fierce-looking lions. The little ones were rather
Frightened at these, as you may imagine; but the bigger ones
told them not to cry, as they were only china. So they went
on through the door, where they were met by two red men,
dressed all in red, who conducted them through a bright red


room to another door, where they saw lying on each side two
snakes! Just as they were passing these very carefully, for fear
of touching them, one little boy cried out that they were made

,i i ,
IN, i,, I i

I ,,b O
1' "I,' u ,I,, little

were met by two blue men; and
so, on and on they went, till they came at last to a large
white room,
white room.


The King of the Hartz Mountains was sitting in this room,
on a magnificent glass throne, dressed in white, and covered
with jewels; and on his right hand sat the great White Bear,
who had woke up from his sleep.
The King was delighted to see his earth Darlings, and shook
Lands with them all, and then told them not to be afraid of
his friend, the White Bear. Mr. Bear, His Majesty said, was
very fond of good Monday children, and never wished to eat
them; but if any of them misbehaved, they would run the
chance of getting a good hug.
The children had never seen so much splendour before-such
gold and jewels, and such bright lights; but what most as-
tonished them was, to see a number of animals all walking
about, and talking just as they did themselves. Up above, on
the earth, they were accustomed to see dogs and monkeys, and
sheep and goats; but they never talked; and here were a
number of them all walking about arm-in-arm, and making
such a jabber. In fact, the Darlings were so bewildered by
all they saw and heard, that they forgot all about dinner;
and it was only when they heard a great flourish of trumpets,
and bells ringing out, Come to dinner !" Come to dinner !"
that each thought to himself, Well, I shan't be sorry; I
am very hungry."
The King and the White Bear went in first, and then the
children all crowded in after them. The dinner was laid in a
large hall, with the ceiling reaching up to an enormous height-


so far, that many of the little ones could not see the top; and
it was lighted with great suns of fire. The tables were laid on
each side of this hall, with room for the servants to walk down
the middle, and wait upon the guests.
The walls of the hall were hung with skins of wild beasts,
bordered with silver, and diamond eyes, that glittered : then the
carpet was gold; the table-cloth was gold; and all the plates,
dishes, and cups to drink out of, were all made of gold; and
whispers went down the table, and round the table, and up
the table, and all down and round, and up and about,
saying, "Is it not grand?" "Did you ever see anything
like this ?"
Well, in a short time, the children were all seated, and
beginning to eat: there was everything there that could be
eaten, in season and out of season; and I have no doubt, if
the naughty little boy in the story-book, who cried for the
oyster patties, had been present at this dinner, he would have
found them there, all hot.
There were plenty of footmen to wait and hand the things;
but the curious part about these footmen was, that they had
such funny faces. They were quite black; their eyes were two
diamonds; the nose was a great white pearl; and two rubies
for the lips. Some of the children did nothing but stare at
them ; and I must say, that I think it sounds very extra-
ordinary; and I cannot think from what part of the world they
could have come.


. Then there were some ladies that seemed made of bread
and butter, with something red inside; and it was whispered
about that they came from the Sandwich Islands. Was not
that funny ?
Besides all these, there was a Donkey, that did nothing all
the evening but heave great sighs, and wish something or
other : he was perpetually saying, I do wish I could do that !"
But nobody seemed to take any notice of him; so he went on
wishing by himself, and I dare say he is wishing still. For my
part, I should like him to say, "I wish I was not such an ass!"
At last, after a very long time, the dinner was over. I
believe it was over because the children said they really could
not eat any more; not because there was no more to eat, for
the Hartz King's kitchen is like a great volcano, always
boiling, and always throwing up things to eat. When dessert
was put on the table, the King began to play funny tricks upon
some of those who sat nearest to him. There was one little
boy, about seven years old, who seemed rather greedy, so the
King asked him if he would not like to have some straw-
berries ?
0 yes," said the boy, "very much indeed;" and his eyes
quite sparkled at the idea.
The King put some on his plate, and Dick (that was the
boy's name) put one into his mouth. But when he tried to
b1ite and ,swallow it,,he found it was quite hard, like stone:
lie thought there must be some mistake, and he put another


into his mouth. This time, he'said 'to himself, it must be all
right, as he had tried it on his plate first,'anid it was quite
soft, and looked so tempting; but, to his horror, when he
began to bite it, he found it was the same as the first, quite
hard. Poor Dick, he could not understand it at all. There
they were lying on his plate, and looking so red and ripe and
delicious, and the moment he tried to eat them, they got quite
At last, Dick looked at the child sitting next to him-a dear
little girl. Yes, she was eating her's all right. What could it
all mean? Then he looked up at the King, who caught his
eye, and said to him, Well, Dick, why don't you eat your
strawberries-don't you like them ?"
At this, poor Dick got very red and confused, for he knew
he did like them very much, and was dying to eat them;
besides, he felt he was looking rather foolish. So he stam-
mered out that he thought there must be something the
matter with them. 0 dear, no," said the King: here, give
them to me." Dick handed his plate, and the King gave one
of the strawberries to the little girl Lucy, who said it was
quite delicious.
Seeing this, greedy Dick snatched his plate back very
quickly, and began to try again. But no, it was not possible :
there they were, just as hard as before. Then, I am afraid
there was a something came into his eyes like great rain-drops;
but just as they were going to fall, two monkeys came and


snatched them away, and said they would make capital balls
for them to roll about and play with.

.I I
C.. ". i '1 --- i i
'': '.' 'U '9. "


--. _- -.


The King saw all this; and as he did not wish to make
any one really unhappy at his feast, he told the strawberries on
Dick's plate to spell out the word Greedy." When Dick saw
this, he thought to himself-
Dear me, dear me I wonder how they could have found
that out? I am sure I never told them. Then the straw-
berries spelt out again these words-" We are very good to eat."


Yes, I know you are," thought Dick ; "and I should like to
eat you, but I can't, so I won't make any more fuss about it.'
And just then, one of the black footmen came by, and took
away his plate, so the poor boy was spared the pain of looking
at the delicious fruit that he could not eat.
Many more tricks like this did the Hartz King play his
little earth friends. One curly-headed girl could get nothing
to drink; but she was not greedy, and she laughed merrily, and
clapped her hands, at seeing the water-bottle run away, on two
little thin legs, every time she tried to touch it. While she
was still laughing, a great black Raven came, and perched itself
on the back of the King's chair, and began to make the most
dismal noises, and shake its head.
Well," said the King, and what do you want coming here
to croak ?-no one asked for your company."
Oh oh oh !" said the Raven; "it is very sad, sad, sad."
What is sad ?" asked the King, turning round to look at. the
Raven; "and pray don't shake your old head in that way:
why, it will come off, man; and if it does, no one shall put it
on again."
Oh, ah ah, oh !" croaked the bird; the stomach-aches
that you will all have, and the headaches that you will all
have; and, oh dear me, the leg-aches you will all have !" and
the poor Raven nearly fell off the back of the chair, with the
excess of his emotion.
Then the King got angry, and sent him away to his hole in


the roof; and told him, that if he came back out of it while the
feast lasted, his days should be shortened.
All this time the band was playing, and lights were gleam-
ing from thousands of icicles of diamonds and emeralds, hang-
ing from the ceiling : it was a real fairy scene indeed. As soon
as dinner was over, they went into another hall; and here they
saw quantities of horses and animals perform numbers of tricks,
and dance on their hind legs. When they got tired of this,
they all said they should like to run and play in the garden.
Perhaps you may not believe it, but I can assure you it is a
fact, that the Hartz King had as beautiful a garden down
there, inside the mountain, as you ever saw above on the earth;
for often and often, in the hot summer days, my rays have
penetrated the ground, as far as that famous garden, and I have
been delighted with all I saw. I think the children were
equally well pleased, and danced about merrily.
Before they went in, the King warned them that they were
not to touch the flowers, for fear something should hurt them.
As this is a true story, I am obliged to confess that some did
touch the flowers; but they got punished, as usual, for their
disobedience; or rather they punished themselves, as naughty
children generally do. One little boy (I rather believe it was
Dick again) got such a box on the ear from a great tall Sun-
flower, that he pulled rudely down to look at, that he wished
himself home again. But the good Darlings all ran about and
played, and were never so happy before; and they praised the


flowers, and looked so long at the Roses, that the beautiful
creatures blushed with delight. And the Roses also looked at
the Darlings, and wished that they could stay there for ever,
and never grow any bigger. One little fairy thing, called
" May," went so close to a red, red Rose, that the Rose called
out to her, Kiss me quick."


May had never heard a Rose speak before, and she ran away
in a great fright; but the voice of the Rose seemed to follow
her; and the next morning, when she awoke in her own little
bed, something whispered in her ear, "I am a red, red Rose;
kiss, kiss, kiss." And I am sadly afraid from that, that the


poor Rose down in the mountain garden was pining for love of
the earth Darling.
Well, it would be impossible for me to tell you all that
happened at this great entertainment. What I do know is,
that the fun grew fast and furious; that they played, danced,
sang, and, what is more, screamed to their hearts' delight. I
heard one urchin say to two or three others, Let us go into
that corner and scream;" just as if such a thing had never been
thought of before in their lives.
But all good things must come to an end; and after the
earth Darlings had all had tea, and drank it out of gold mugs,
and then had each kissed the King, and said good-bye, a great
trumpet was sounded, and all of a sudden the whole scene
vanished: and when the kind Sun opened their eyes the next
morning, they each found themselves in their little bed, and
each Darling was grasping a gold mug in his or her little hand;
and on the mugs were written the Darling's own name, and
these words:-

,1 i 'i '-.

scf't fron ti z

11 ,v, I ',, ''

U..', q ... ,.
;; h t ,t :' '

:I T
'I I-. '. / _-, ______,' ,,

'.J I i ''" I .' ,,i l' ,,'. ,. ., I ." ," ,

,, .,'11 ,. "" ,

.II -,.

_- _-- -,I,1o.,i
.. .. "
':z ' : ',

.-'.'. ::' ,
lu l~~ ,_,-__=-_: -__
, - --- --: -


T was summer-time in Italy, and very hot.
Such a blazing hot summer had not been
known for many years; and the peasants
were all thanking their lucky stars, and
thinking of the splendid crops of grapes
and olives that they would have this year.
SThe vines were, indeed, groaning under their
Heavy weight of superb bunches of fruit, and
the time for gathering them was close at hand;
indeed, in some parts, the vintage had already
Men, women, and the bigger children all
flocked out of the towns to help,.and thus many houses were
left unguarded, and many little ones got into trouble: some


were more often left under the charge of an elder child; but
many were left to shift for themselves while their parents were
It happened, one morning, that one of these little children
strayed further from the door than she intended, and lost her
way. She wandered about for many hours; but each hour,
as it went by, took her further from home; and at last, as

-I "- -- -
7 -j

._ -__: _..g., ... ,.. ... .

it got dusk, she lay down by the road-side, and cried herself
to sleep.
,, sl e.:, ,-"'.'''''' .. .., ,,,,. .


It was a fine, soft night, and the stars looked down wonder-
ingly at the little girl, and opened their round eyes with
astonishment to see her there; but though they whispered all
sorts of things to each other about her, she was too tired and
sleepy to hear them.
Next morning the dear child, somewhat refreshed, woke
up very happy, having forgotten all about her troubles, and
thinking she was going to have her breakfast; but when
she found herself sitting all alone, in a strange place, with
no one near her, then all her sorrows burst upon her afresh,
and the tears ran down her cheeks as if her heart would
Poor little thing !-was it not sad ? As the time wore
on she rose, and walked a little way, stopping from time to
time to pick a few l...a ; for though she was so unhappy,
she still loved the bright things too much to pass them by
At last she came to a few cottages, and there a kind-hearted
woman gave her some delicious cool milk to drink, and told
her to go straight on down the wide road, and she would soon
come to the gates of the town of Florence, where, no doubt,
she would find her mother waiting for her. Alas she was
only going further from home, every step that she took; but
the kind woman did not know that; and the little girl was only
five years old, and therefore could not explain clearly where
she had come from. So she went straight on, as she had been


told, and soon arrived at the gates, and passed through them
into the town.
There she got very much bewildered, as you may imagine,
and wandered away till she got to the river Arno, that flows
through the town; but the Sun was so hot there, and the
reflection on the water so dazzling, that she turned again into
the streets. She asked a few people whom she met, where her
mother was; but they, thinking she was only begging, passed
on without paying any heed to her.
In this manner the little wanderer, weary and foot-sore,
arrived at the large square, called the Piazza del Duomo," or
Cathedral Square; but she saw no beauty in the different
coloured marbles of which the Cathedral is built, or in the
graceful, lofty tower close by. She only saw, with grati-
tude, a little shade in one corner of the steps leading up
into the Cathedral; and, worn out, she lay down in this.
She did not know what she was about, or that, in her child-
ish ignorance, she had chosen one of the hottest places in
the whole city; for the Sun's rays fall on that Piazza with
tropical heat.
The morning grew, and the child fell fast asleep: one or
two persons, on their way out of the Cathedral, after morning
service, tried to rouse her; but, finding it useless, went on
their way.
At length, twelve o'clock came, and passed, and the Sun
cast down still fiercer rays on the city; and all those who


were able went home to shelter themselves from its great
heat-all but the little lost girl, who still lay on the steps
asleep; but by this time fast approaching that sleep which
has no waking.
Towards evening, the streets and Piazza begin to fill again;
and those who had seen the child in the morning, are
astonished to find her still there. She is lifted up: the
crowd gathers round, and it is found that she is insensible-
some say, dead.
Her little bonnet had fallen off, and, in one hand, she clasped
tightly the flowers she had picked in the morning. They
carried her gently to the hospital, and laid her on a clean,
white bed, and loving hands bathed her face, and placed wet
cloths on her burning head.
But I will not distress my Darlings' tender little hearts too
much. She was very ill for many weeks; but she did eventu-
ally recover: it was a sunstroke she was suffering from,
caused by lying out all day unsheltered from the burning
rays of the Sun.
That kind Sun, you see, that was shining so brilliantly,
and doing so much good to the grapes and olives, had been
too strong for the little child.
Well, she lay, as I told you before, for many weeks in the
hospital, not knowing where she was, or what had happened to
her. Sometimes she would talk about home, and father and
mother, and whether it was not time to milk the cows; and at


other times she would fancy she was by a cool, running stream,
with Annette, or Lisetta, or some other little friend, looking
for flowers, or bright pebbles; but, from the evening she was
brought into the hospital to the happy day when she was
pronounced out of danger, she never could be persuaded to
part with the wild flowers she had picked that morning. They
were firmly clasped in her little hand; and even when she got

that she might look at them.


l w ,

better, she would lay the poor withered stals by her bedside,
that she might look at them.


There was one kind woman in the hospital who grew to
be very fond of the child: she nursed her, and fondled
her, and talked to her, and tried to induce her to say who
she was; but, strange to say, she could not remember a single
thing that had happened to her before she came there. She
could not even say her name: they told her of a great many,
and asked her if it was one of them; but she only shook
her head, and said, "Non so;" which means, "I do not
know." So, after some consideration, they agreed to call
her Marie; and by that name she was afterwards known to
every one.
Little Marie's nurse was one of those kind-hearted women
who live but for one purpose in life-that of doing good, and
tending the sick. She was a Sister of Mercy; and, at first,
Marie used to stare with affright at her strange dress and
hood; but she grew so fond of her, that, when the Sister
went home in the evening, Marie would cry as bitterly as if
she were lost again.
So the time went on, and Marie had been many weary
months in the hospital: she was now quite recovered; and
her dark and flowing curls, that had all been cut short, were
growing long again.
Every one loved the bright little thing, dancing here and
there; and she grew to be called Sunbeam" by many. But
Sister G-eneviBve was her great love; no kisses or presents
from others could shake her allegiance to her: the parting


at night was one great misery, and the morning meeting
was one great joy.
At last, finding, that notwithstanding the efforts made by
the authorities to obtain some clue to the parents of the child,
no one appeared to claim her, Sister Genevieve applied for,
and had the pleasure of receiving, leave to adopt the little
Marie; and, to the child's infinite delight, one evening took
her home with her.
Henceforward her life was a quiet and happy one: she
always accompanied the Sister in her daily visits to the
hospital; and, while she was attending to the poor sufferers,
Marie would sit quietly in a corner learning her tasks; or, if
these were ready, she would go and talk to some of the
patients whom she knew best, and who were always cheered
by a sight of the Sunbeam."
One of Marie's great friends in the hospital was an old
soldier, a Belgian, called Pierre. You will think, perhaps, he
was an odd friend for a tiny girl like Marie to have; but some-
how there was a bond of sympathy between the two; and poor
old Pierre would look forward with delight to seeing the little
figure trip down the long rows of beds, and stop by the side
of his, with a smile or a laugh.
This disabled, but communicative, veteran had been at
the battle of Waterloo, and many others since that; and
bitterly did he rail at his ill-luck now to be lying in an
hospital, in a strange land, with a broken leg; not gained


gloriously in battle, but from tumbling down-stairs in his
old age.

i ---

When he was able to creep about slowly with a crutch, Marie
would go and sit with him in the window of the great corridor,
where the patients were allowed to walk up and down; and
then the old man would tell her long stories of this great
general, or that brave soldier; or talk about the heroic deeds
of his own regiment. But Marie always led the subject back
to Waterloo, and the events of that day; she was never tired


of hearing the story of Hougoumont, or the final charge of
Napoleon's Guard. However, Pierre's memory was not always
very good, and sometimes he would make most astonishing
variations in his story; and one day, when they were sitting
together on the window-seat, Pierre's memory was worse
than ever.
Marie said to him, "Now I should like to hear something
about the farm-house at Hougoumont, and how the brave
English defended it."
Ah," he replied, that was a fine story, and a fine hot fire
too. I was there" (it was quite curious how Pierre had managed
to be in all parts of the battle-field at once); and did not we
pelt them, that's all! Why, I saw seven men standing with
their heads just above the wall, and I killed 'em all at one shot,
like birds in a row."
Oh, grandfather, how could you be so cruel!" said
"My pretty one, it can't be helped in war," answered the
old man, with a self-satisfied smile, as if he really had done
such a thing, and felt quite proud of it.
Why our King came riding by at the time; and when he
saw what I had done, he cried out, Bravo, mon brave !' Only
just then, and while I was cheering lustily, a brute of a great
English fellow came behind, and deliberately ran his sword
right through my body, and the point came out here"-point-
ing to his chest.


But Pierre," said Marie, how was that; the English were
your friends ?"
"Oh, well, I can only say, if it was not an Englishman, it
was some other great hulking fellow; but, turning sharply
round, I soon laid him low: I cut his head clean off,
so . ;" and Pierre made a great flourish with his
crutch round Marie's head.
"Ah, it was a hot day indeed," he continued: "it was hot
all round, and the Sun was burning overhead too; but the
hottest and most trying thing of all was when we charged up
the hill. I was standing close to the Emperor, and he looked
encouragingly at me, then waved his hat, and cried, 'Up,
Guards, and at 'em !' "
Marie did not answer this. She could not quite reconcile
this last statement with what she had heard before; and to
tell you the truth, I think all the different armies of French,
English, Belgians, and Prussians were beginning to be as
much jumbled together in her mind as they were in poor
old Pierre's. So she thought it would be better to change
the subject, and said-
"And about the great monument, grandfather; did they
not raise one to the memory of the poor soldiers who were
killed ?"
Yes," said Pierre; they built up a great mound of earth,
I can't tell you how many miles high, and with steps up to
the top, all cut in stone, and a sort of pillar at the top. I


went up one day, thinking perhaps my name might be written
there on the pillar; but when I got half-way up, I remembered
as how I wasn't dead, so it was no use looking. However, I
went on to the top, and after a hasty view of the surrounding
country, I had a rest and a smoke up there, and gave three
cheers for our King that is now."
So the days and weeks went on; and Marie's life was a very
happy and peaceful one. The summer came and went again
many times, and she was no longer a child, but growing up
to be a tall girl, with dark, bright eyes. Her smile was really
beautiful: though no longer called the "Sunbeam," she
could still act and speak like one; and the poor sufferers at
the hospital would look forward to her visits now as much as
they did to Sister Genevieve's.
As the years rolled on many changes took place. Her old
Waterloo friend, Pierre, was taken ill one morning, and was
soon at rest; some few others recovered, and bade adieu, to
come back there no more; while fresh patients took their
places. It was constant and fatiguing work; but Genevieve
and her fellow-workers never complained; they were always
bright and willing.
At last Marie came to be eighteen; and one night when they
returned home, after their long day's work, she said to the
"Mother, I have a boon to ask: and I shall be greatly
pleased if you will grant it before I ask."


No, no," said Genevieve, laughing, impossible; it cannot
be granted if it is not asked."
Yes; but it is a great secret," persisted Marie; one that
has been thought about for a long time, and has been slept
over a great many nights, and has not been settled the least
bit in a hurry."
Oh, it is settled, is it ?" said Genevieve; "then I need not
trouble about granting it."
Well no, not exactly; you see it can't be settled till you
say 'Yes.' But oh, mother," burst out the young girl, "you
will say Yes,' won't you? I wish to be like you-a Sister
of Mercy."
Sister Genevieve did not know how to answer this at first, so
she sat quite quiet, looking straight before her. Marie tried
to find out from her face what her answer would be; but she
could read nothing there. At last Genevieve got up; and
telling Marie that it was bed-time, and that she would think
the matter over, sent her to her own room.
After this, many were the conversations that the two had
together; and many times did Marie try hard to persuade her
dear mother, as she called her, to give her consent. But the
Sister had made up her mind, and nothing would induce her
to change it. No, it was not for her to doom this bright,
young girl to a life of toil and work; and besides,.who could
say, with any certainty, that even now her parents might not
some day be found ?


Marie listened attentively to the words of her benevolent
benefactress, but felt greatly disappointed, and said she was
determined to follow in her mother's footsteps.
Oh, my Darling," said Genevivve, that is just the word
that prevents me from saying Yes' to your plan. I am not your
real mother, as you know, though I feel so, in love, towards
you. Suppose some day we had the great happiness to find
your real, true mother; what would she say to me, if I had
deprived her of her child ?"
So it was settled that Marie was not to be permitted to
become a Sister of Mercy; and you will see that the good
Sister Genevieve was quite right.
It was two years after this, on a keen winter's day, that a
peasant's cart drove up to the hospital; the wheels were
covered with snow, and the roads were so slippery, that
it was with difficulty it had arrived there. There were two
women and an old man in the cart: it was he who was
hurt. That morning, on going out of his cottage, he had
slipped on the door-step, and hurt himself seriously.
As soon as they had seen him comfortably settled in the
hospital, the two women went away to get lodgings in the
town; and each day they returned to see how he was going
on; so it happened, that though Genevieve and Marie
were there every day, yet they did not happen to meet


As the old man got better, only one of the women came;
and she used to sit much oftener, and for a longer time, by
his bedside.
One day Marie came with a basket of fruit for him-they
were grapes; and she sat down on the other side of the bed
to help him to eat them. I know not what it was, whether it
was seeing the grapes that brought back the remembrance
of her long-lost child, or that she did really recognize her ;
but the woman suddenly started up, flew round the bed
to Marie, and, bursting into tears, threw her arms round
her neck.
Whose arms do you think they were? Ah, I see you
have already guessed; they were her mother's. Yes, poor
Marie had at last found both father and mother. Sister
Genevieve was asked to tell the tale, over and over again,
of how she was seen lying on the Cathedral steps, and of how
ill she had been; and then the poor mother brought out of
her pocket a little old book, which she had never parted
from since, and in which she had written these words:-
"Anna Maria. August 2nd; six o'clock:" which was the
day and hour when she arrived home, and found her only
child gone.
I will now finish this long story by telling you, that, as
soon as the old man recovered, Marie (for we will still call her
so; and, after all, you see it was her second name) went home
with her parents.


It was a bitter grief to leave her dear Genevi6ve; but the
good Sister showed her that it was her duty now to be of
use to her parents in their old age, and to make up for the
many years that she had been lost to them. So they said
good-bye, promising often to come and visit the kind Gene-
vieve; and she, in her heart, thanked God that he had led
her to do what was right, and to refuse Marie's petition to
allow her to become



i ,, -'.: _;--;l l, ',i
I i II
ii E P I ''
S ,i ,,

,- '-_ ,i -,', ', .,., _ .,I i
. .. : -''" .' l ; ,

"- -E E ,,

-]: ;~ ~~ ,i,,
,;. --
' -=- ', ,l [ -",


'1- {'' OW I am going to tell you a story of
*' ..: ,iI .' six little girls: a large number in one
'; -i-,.~ family, was it not? Some people say
f 4 I that tlere are many more little girls
ii i n the world than boys. We cannot stop
",,.."i' ". Iow to find out whether that is true or
,1' ,"'.I,;- inot; but at all events, there were more
S,'-- \ti'.: girls than boys in this family; for you
'" tlere were no boys at all.
Well, my little friends were very nice children.
/ The eldest was about nine, and looked upon herself as a
very great, a very old lady, and quite fit to take care of her
younger sisters.
Their parents were in India, and they had been sent home
to live with an Aunt, their father's sister. This lady had a
nice house and garden in the country, and the six little girls


thought they should never be tired of asking about all the
new things they saw.
First of all, I must tell you their names, or rather their
nicknames; for they were such funny ones, I am sure the
pretty Darlings never could have been christened by them;
and yet I never heard them called by any others. The eldest
was Lottie, and the five little ones were Tottie, Ml:.t.t ., Cottie,
Dottie and Hottie.
Did you ever hear such curious, funny names before? And
they were funny little ladies too-full of pranks and tricks of
all sorts; and at first, their poor Aunt, who had never been
accustomed to children before, thought that they would worry
her life out. So she made up her mind to engage a governess
for them; and one day she arrived, looking very stern-at
least so Dottie said.
No! cross," said Mottie, making little signs to express this
with her finger in the air.
"Hush, children!" exclaimed Lottie, "Miss Graves will hear
you: besides, you know it is rude."
The others were silent; but Mottie made a face at Dottie, as
much as to say, Never mind, we will have some fun by-and-by."
I must tell you, that when this conversation took place, the
children were all leaning out of a window over the porch. It
was a pretty little cottage, with ivy and creepers growing up the
walls; and the children's bedroom looked out over the porch,
and commanded a view of the entrance gate: so at least an hour


before Miss Graves was to arrive, they stationed themselves at
this window to look. There were five little heads there for a
long time, watching; and as soon as the carriage arrived in
sight, the baby of two years old, Hottie, was hoisted up to the
window-sill to have her share of the fun. But I do not think
she cared much about it, as she soon screamed to be put down
The next day, they all went and sat down underneath the
table that stood in the middle of their bedroom: this was their
favourite place; and they used to hang shawls and cloaks all
round it, so as to make it feel quite snug and warm, only
leaving one little hole for the light to come in. Then they
proceeded very gravely to settle by what name they should call
their new governess.
Mottie at once suggested "Gravy;" and Cottie and Dottie
screamed with delight at the idea.
Then Tottie, with a very serious face, said "Saucy;" upon
which they all laughed again so loud, that I wonder somebody
did not come to see what was the matter.
But Lottie said, "No, it must not be anything about eating
or drinking."
"Oh, I know," burst in Mottie again, "it shall be Diggy, or
"0 dear, dear," said Lottie, when shall I teach you not
to be so extremely foolish? Now, hush! I have an idea; I
want to talk."


But it was no good trying to talk: Tottie and Mottie had
got some joke between themselves; and they kept laughing
in such an absurd way, that anyone else looking on would
have thought they were going to burst; their faces were quite
At last, Lottie got a little cross, and told them that if they
would be so silly, and not say what they were laughing about,
she should go away, and break up the consultation.
This was too dreadful a prospect to think about for one mo-
ment; so they both began speaking at once: and when order
was a little restored, Mottie began to tell the joke, laughing all
the time. It was, that Tottie and she had made up their minds
to call her "Wiggy:" for the mischievous Tottie having sus-
pected she wore false hair, had slipped into the new governess's
room early that morning, with the maid, who was taking in the
hot water, and had seen, with her own two eyes, Miss Graves
sitting up in bed with a strange-looking nightcap on, and
her fashionable wig calmly resting on the stand, on the top
of the chest of drawers.
When Lottie heard this, she laughed just ,as much as the
others had done; but when that was over, she thought within
herself that they could not be so rude or unkind as to
call her "Wiggy:" so she said-
"Now, children, we must really be serious. You know Aunty
said we were to try and look on Miss Graves as our friend. Of
course she cannot be our very best friend if she gives us long


lessons to learn, and exercises to write out; but still she may
be a sort of a friend; so I think, the least we can do is, to
call her "Friendy." It is a nice name, and I am sure Aunty
would like it.
How much longer the five little tongues would have gone on
talking together, I don't know. Little Hottie could not speak
plain yet, and was too young to be asked her opinion: so she
sat and listened only. Just then the tea-bell rang: so they
settled very hastily, that the new governess was to be called
"Friendy;" and off they ran to get ready for tea.


Two or three days after this, when the children were begin-
ning to know Miss Graves a little better, Lottie determined to
summon all her courage for the purpose of telling her the new
name they had given her, and by which they meant to call
her, if she had no objection.
So with very red cheeks she went quietly up to Miss Graves'
chair, put her arms round her neck, and asked leave for them
to call her "Friendy." Miss Graves was very much touched:
she had already taken a great fancy to Lottie, who was a


sweet, gentle child; and she kissed her most tenderly, and
told her how pleased she was to think that the little girls
wished to look upon her as a friend; and that they might
call her by any name they liked.
Then Lottie ran off delighted, to tell her sisters; and Miss
Graves sat quietly in her chair, thinking to herself what a sweet
nature it was that could have suggested such a name. With
Tottie and Mottie she felt sure she should have a little trouble ;
their spirits were so wild: and as for Tottie, she was con-
tinually in some mischief or other, either by herself, or leading
Mottie into it. The two little girls were also continually
quarrelling. You must not imagine that they did not fight
and quarrel like other children; but they always made up
their little differences before they went to bed. They had
the deepest affection for each other; and neither Tottie or
Mottie could close their eyes before they had said in French
to each other-
"Bon soir, nous sommes bonnes amies."
It was almost the only little bit of French they knew; but
they had been taught it by their dear mother before they left
India; and they never forgot it. When these few words had
been said, they felt at peace with all the world, and were asleep
in a few minutes.
But now I must get on with my story.
The summer days flew quickly by, and the trees were begin-
ning to be tinged with yellow and brown. The children had


passed a very happy summer: "Friendy" had been very kind
to them; and, together with their Aunt, had planned all sorts
of treats for them. They had enjoyed picnics in the wood,
and tea in the garden, and rides on the old pony, and games
in the hay-field. Besides this, they had six little gardens; one
each, all to themselves. Lottie, Tottie, and Mottie kept theirs
very nice: Lottie's was a large square bed, and the other two
were round-one on each side of her's; they were planted with
red and pink geraniums, heliotrope, and, what I like better
than anything else, those large double garden daisies, pink
and white, with yellow eyes,
Of course, the three younger children were too little to know
how to take care of their gardens, but still it was a great
amusement for them to have their own garden; and they
would do, what I think a great many other little folk have
done in their day : they would plant some flowers in the morn-
ing, and thought it great fun to dig them up again in the
One day, Cottie and Dottie were observed to be very busy in
their gardens; first digging a hole in one place, and then in
another, and another: in short, they never seemed tired of
digging holes and filling them up again. When Tottie found
this out with her quick little eyes, she ran to Dottie's garden to
see what it was all about; and what do you think the little
girls were doing ?
They had found a poor wee robin redbreast, that had fallen


out of its mother's nest, and been killed by the cold nights;
and they were digging holes to bury it in; but it was so
amusing, that as soon as Dottie had buried it in one hole,
Cottie dug it up again, and put it into another.
Directly Tottie found that her two sisters were thus occupied,
she thought she would have a share in.the fun; so she called
Mottie, and away they both ran, and soon commenced digging
little holes all along the garden beds, and under each rose-
tree; leaving both Dottie and Cottie crying bitterly at the
loss of their dear wee robin.
When Miss Graves heard the children crying, she called them
to come and tell her what was the matter; and as soon as she
made out a tolerably distinct account, she went to look for
Tottie and Mottie. She was some time before she could find
them; for having deposited the robin, for the space of half a
minute, under each rose-tree, they were off into the shrubbery,
to begin the same process under each bush.
No one could help laughing to see them, so eager were they
about it; but "Friendy" thought they had played at this game
long enough; and she tried to explain to them, that though the
poor robin could not feel what they were doing, still, it did not
seem kind to be knocking its poor little body about in that
way; and then she showed them how all its feathers had got
crumpled and dirty.
Tottie said they were very sorry-they did not mean to hurt
the robin: and she promised "Friendy" not to touch the bird

University of Florida Home Page
© 2004 - 2010 University of Florida George A. Smathers Libraries.
All rights reserved.

Acceptable Use, Copyright, and Disclaimer Statement
Last updated October 10, 2010 - - mvs