Front Cover
 Half Title
 Title Page
 Back Cover

Group Title: Adventures of two children
Title: The adventures of two children
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00053162/00001
 Material Information
Title: The adventures of two children
Alternate Title: Two children
Physical Description: 54, 2 p. : ill. (some col.) ; 15 cm.
Language: English
Creator: Weatherly, Frederic Edward, 1848-1929
Edwards, Mary Ellen, 1839-ca. 1910 ( Illustrator )
Staples, John C ( Illustrator )
Hildesheimer and Faulkner ( Publisher )
Publisher: Hildesheimer and Faulkner
Place of Publication: London
Publication Date: 1884
Subject: Friendship -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Runaway children -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Love -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Kindness -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Children -- Conduct of life -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Conduct of life -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Bldn -- 1884
Genre: novel   ( marcgt )
Spatial Coverage: England -- London
Statement of Responsibility: told by Frederick E. Weatherly ; illustrations by M. Ellen Staples ; vignettes by John C. Staples.
General Note: Some illustrations are printed in full colors, and others and text are in tones of brown.
Funding: Preservation and Access for American and British Children's Literature, 1870-1889 (NEH PA-50860-00).
 Record Information
Bibliographic ID: UF00053162
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 - 002239530
notis - ALJ0060
oclc - 61059153

Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Cover 1
        Cover 2
        Cover 3
    Half Title
        Page 1
        Title 2
        Page 2
        Frontispiece 2
        Page 3
        Page 4
    Title Page
        Page 5
        Page 6
        Page 7
        Page 8
        Page 9
        Unnumbered ( 15 )
        Page 10
        Unnumbered ( 17 )
        Page 11
        Page 12
        Page 13
        Page 14
        Page 15
        Page 16
        Page 17
        Page 18
        Page 19
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        Page 24
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        Page 28
        Page 29
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        Page 31
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        Page 33
        Page 34
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        Page 37
        Page 38
        Page 39
        Page 40
        Page 41
        Page 42
        Page 43
        Page 44
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        Page 50
        Page 51
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        Page 53
        Page 54
        Page 55
        Page 56
    Back Cover
        Cover 1
        Cover 2
Full Text


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They lived in neighboring houses. A long wall ran down between
the gardens.

But he climbed the garden-wall one day; for he was in great trouble.
He was go'ng to school to-morrow.

And it comforted him to bark his shins, and rub holes in his knicker-
bockers. He was six, you see. And one's ideas of comfort are not the

same at six, sixteen, and sixty.
.-- ------

Having climbed the wall, he looked into the neighboring garden.
And there he saw a little girl. She, too, appeared to be in trouble.

But she found a different sort of comfort. And this consisted in banging
her doll's head against the garden-roller.

When he saw her, he at once fell-not over the wall, though he very
nearly did that-no; he fell in love with her. It must have been so,
because the moment he saw her he called out, "Hi !"
He was only six, you see; and one's ideas of making
love are not the same at six, and at sixteen.
-.-.,- ~ -

There can also be very little doubt that she loved him; for when she
saw him, she said Go away, do !" which is what every lady says, whether
she is four, fourteen, or forty.
They don't mean it; but it is a way they have.
However, he did not go away; which was just what she wanted. And
what is more, he crawled along the wall, till he found the bough of a
convenient apple-tree; by the help of which he descended into the garden,
which was also what she wanted. You might not have thought it, from
her words,
Oh, you naughty boy! Go away, do "
But he did not ouby her ; which showed great discrimination, considering
he was only six. And when she saw he was determined to stay, she liked
him a thousand times better than before.
"I say," said he, looking down and observing for the first time that his
knickerbockers were not as free from dirt and skags as they might have
been, =

"I say!"
Well," she answered, taking hold of his sleeve.

"I'm going to school," he continued, I'm--going- [
to-school-to-morrow," and the thought of to-morrow
made him sob a little.
"So 's me," she said, quite bravely; in
fact rather grandly than otherwise. Me's \
going 'cool, too. You 's baby to ky."
But they'll whip you and put you in the '
comer, and make you read lots of nasty books,
and you'll have no dolls, and no sugar candy, -
and no nothing" stopping for want of
breath rather than for lack of words ,
She was silent. School was different, then,'- -'"
from what she had been told. "-'- 7
His opportunity had come. "-" j
Let's run away," he said.
"Where to? Where run 'way?"'she asked.
She was only four, but of a practical turn, just because she was she.
"Oh, let's go into the world," he said, waving his arm grandly and
pointing vaguely in the direction of the village-common, on which a flock of
geese were busily engaged.

TIi world, as indicated by the common and the geese, seemed so attractive

to her, that she lifted up her face to be kissed, and said,

'Ess, me go, too." i

He kissed her condescendingly. He was six. Falling in love and
going forth into the world together were all very well. But kissing was
too absurd. However, he kissed her; and, to his surprise, liked it. So he
kissed her again, which was fortunate as well as wise; for at that moment a
voice called, "Baby, Baby, come in this minute !"

Goo'-bye," said Baby, and off she toddled, as though the plan of going
into the world was quite given up.

Not so her lover, however. He retired, somewhat precipitately, it is
true: but his heart was still intent on
I "the world;" for school, he felt con-
"., '- vinced, was but a sorry exchange for free-

S. 'I "' .' dom. The wall was more difficult to climb
S' than to descend. His knickerbockers re-
ceived a few more skags; his shins a few

-k i,. more bruises. But what did that na.Ilcr.
S* "'t' when the world lay before him?

"".. ..iher doll's head against the garden-roller." page 6.

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Hu lhii .liiling view of skagged knickerbocker, a, n.it harnrl In
his father, who had missed him in his garden, an. in m .. ,r.:il, hja
heard the scrambling on the other side of the gar.-r. all. x' ent
the knee of the knickerbockers; skag right acro-.' Bu he thl i.,:-I the
wall was gained.
Yes; and there was his father!
"Whether he scolded him only, or whipped him, ,r .... l-Il at..l Hhi|ne.I
him, need not here be told. This much at least r,.a clc.r 1 ih-, nregh.
bours, from whose windows a view of the garden s i ea:.. l thr Al-c
followed his father into the hous-, crying as he arn.

1.., --A ,

1i 2

But his spirit was undaunted; in fact, if he had meekly surrendered, as

of course he ought to have done, these adventures would never have been


He was sent to the nursery. But he did not care for that. He was

not allowed to come down stairs for early dinner. But he did not care for

that. He was not allowed to come down at five o'clock, when his mother

used to read stories He was much too occupied with his plans, even to care

for that. Bedtime came at last, and punishments and plans were alike


-- a~ *'

But in the. middle of the night, Alec had a most, wonderful dream of a
coach-and-four, with a couple of merry post-boys, who cracked their whips
and sang :

Jump in jump in;
The sparks shall flash and the wheels shall spin,
Down the hollow and over the lea;
"Faint heart ne'er won a fair ladye! '

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When he woke in the morning, he found his wheel-barrow at his side. So
it was perfectly clear that, as a coach-and-four was out of the question
he must carry off his bride in a wheel-barrow. Not very poetical, perhaps;
but, after all, a wheel-barrow has far less responsibility than a co9ch-and-
four. t%

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At nine o'clock Alec was to go to school. It was now just half-past seven,
and a bright summer morning. There was therefore no time to be lost.
Directly he was dressed he darted downstairs, lugging his barrow with him,
and out into the garden. And there at the window was his little sweetheart,
and she waved her hand to him.

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--i i 0a

Alec said nothing, but beckoned to her in a half-begging, half-commanding
way. A few minutes afterwards he heard a door open and shut in the next
house, and then the patter of some tiny feet down the pathway on the other
si.&l of the wall. Both gardens had gates opening into a lane, which ran at
the back, and led to a wide common. In the early morning the gates were
open, for the gardeners came in that way.

Running back to the house for a piece of bread-and-butter which
cook gave him before she had time to wonder why he wanted it,
Alec called "Colonel," the N.ulioun.IlanI. who usually accompanied
hbi,' ar.t hi- nurse ; their *1,ili walLi :anr il h C...l:.n-l" trllting s;,mr.i hat
*uli.ii.uil\ at hia ,idc, he trundlle.l hi, \hecl.larro% ,lu.. in through the gardltn.
-*ui through the gate. and niia the anne. And there wa; hi little _Heethc.rt.
ai Irerh as a rise. ;ith her ltu, merr r c\ l.aughing au hin, frolll beneath her

big hat. She put her hand quickly into his; and he kissed her in quite a
grave and business-like way.

For was it not a serious matter, this journeying forth into the world ?

Into the great wide world together,
Into the strange and unknown land,
Lightly fall on them, changeful weather !
Two little travelers hand in hand.

Down the lane and on through the meadows,
Two little travellers bold and glad ;
.^ What do they know of clouds and shadows,
SThat days must darken and hearts be sad ?

Into the great wide world together, _
Into the strange and unknown land;
Meeting the stormy and changeful weather,
Loyally, lovingly, hand in hand.

Not very well prepared to face the rude world. Their whole possessions,
all told, were-a wheel-barrow, tolerably sound but for a spoke missing
from the wheel; a piece of bread-and-butter, about six inches long by
three broad; a pocket-knife with two blades, one broken and the other
rusty; three chestnuts on a string, used for some wonderful game best known
to Alec; twopence-halfpenny: and in May's pocket what she called. a

"Have you had your breakfast?" asked Alec. '- -'
Me had milk, bit no bed butty," answered his wife, for that she certainly
was by the fact that she had sacrificed home and all for him.
Oh,:I've had nothing," he went on, rather grandly, as though he despised
such commonplace matters as breakfast. But I've got a good piece .of
bread-and-butter, and we'll eat it presently; at least you shall. Besides,
he added, I've got twopence-halfpenny. What shall we buy with it?
Bull's-eyes," suggested the young housekeeper.
Bull's-eyes," laughed Alec, scornfully.
"Toffee," meekly suggested his wife. "Toffee, nice "
Ah well, we'll see," rejoined Alec, as the easiest way out of the difficulty
"of selection. Let's get along quick, or perhaps they'll be out to look for
us Father always goes in the garden at half-past eight."
Mammy, too," said May.
"Whose Mammy?" cried Alec.

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"My Mammy," panted May; for her husband had been lugging her
alii, r:,tlhcr faster than she liked.

Anr I a. he was holding her hand, and the handle of the wheel-barrow
Aith one ...I his own, May found her "start in life not quite as comfortable
as she had a right to expect, being a newly-married lady.

Before long they had emerged from the lane, and were out in the open
c',immn .n No one was in sight, so they slackened their pace.
W 'Ill sit *l., r, i'r'.en'l.," said Alec.

'Ess," answered May, me tired."

** W ell, .:.i are Iii.l., cri e'l .\k: I l.t .i h... t it l. Ie. W hy
did you c.-m. at all. ii' you >,erc g.,ing; ., i- t tire. ? \ ,. aru n.. half
there y. t. *

Hia soice w'a4 some hat har'h fror -o 'hort a .pell ol iarrac.l life.

Me tan't help ii," sighle.d the litle vsa-, sa.ily

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"Don't think about it," rejoined Alec. "That is what mother always
says to me."
At this moment a flock of geese appeared, cackling loudly, and. as the
children thought, making for them. "Colonel" barked. May gave a little
scream, and quite forgetting her fatigue ran on. Alec, seeing she was not
looking, ran also.
Their fear was unnecessary, for Colonel's" bark had proved quite enough
for the geese, who had bustled off in the opposite direction, very much-
flustered and annoyed.
On the strength of this, their first alarm, Alec proposed that they should
sit down, and have their bread-and-butter.
So he found her a nice flat stone.
Colonel" sat and watched with appealing gaze.

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Presently a .little girl not much bigger -than Alec came in sight. At
least, they found it was a girl afterwards. For at first all they could see
was a huge basket piled with snowy linen, and a pair of feet below it.
She puffed and panted, judging from the lurches which the basket gave.
And at last, it was plumped down in front of the two children and the
two feet were seen to belong to a very odd little girl.
"Ahem," 'said Alec, not knowing how to begin a conversation, and
feeling it necessary to say something.
The new comer simply stared at them, till she had recovered her breath,
and then said-
"You do stare, to be sure."
"I think it is you who stare," rejoined Alec. "Who are you?"
"Who am I?" cried thegirl, starting up and laughing wildly. Don't
you know who I am? I'll tell you.

"My name is Penelope Place,
I get up fine linen and lace,
And all the folks own
That no one was known
To equal Penelope Place. n,


If you like to have holes in your things,
I'll skag them and tear them all o'er ;
And see them well moulded in rings:
And what can a laundress do more ?

If you like all your buttons to fly,
"I'll mangle them off by the score,
Or at least if I don't, I will try;
And what can a laundress do more ?

/ 1 For my name is Penelope Place,
"I. : I get up fine linen and lace,
And all the folks own "
' That no one was known ''
. To equal Penelope Place.

If you like your clothes sent home all wet' .
I'll wait till a regular pour,
I promise I will not forget;
And what can a laundress do more ?

If you want to see how I can jump, '
I'll fling them just down at your door,
And come on the top with a bump ;
And what can a laundress do more?

" I

taze 24.

For my name is Pehel-,pe Place.
I get up line linen and lase,
7.- And all the lo.lks own
That no one was kno.-n ,
To equal Penelope Place."

Ha ha c" cried Alec. Do it agqan, Penelope, jump again."
BLt Penelope had resumed her grase appearance.
And where are y..,u off. pra) V she gasped, itruggllrig I. lift he
"Into the world." said Alec, offering to help her.
"* Where', that ?
We're not there yet yo-u know," explained Alec Rut everyone's
got to go there s)nom day, Papp) a.Js. ,o we're going now," and he
waved his hand rather graindly in the lirecuon ul" May.
"This io my wife'"
"Well, I.i be sure," .' ai Penelope. slowly And you don't want a maid,
I suppose. Doi Voi thirk I shoulJ lto ?' "For my name.' "--she could
not resist the temptation : don went the baiset.
For mi name i. Penelope Place,
I gvt up fine linen and lace,
And all the lulks otn
That n:, one was known
To equal Penelope Place."
We haven't gol any lace,' suggested Alec, but ,ou'll do. so come along."
Off thry'ltarted. \lec as-siiting Penelope with her basket, and Colonel "
following with May, who thought it rather oaid that her husband should leave
her io the dog: but she supposed it was as it should be, and what is more
she said nothing, which showed her wisdom.

So they went over the common till they came to the high road. And
under one of the telegraph posts a little boy was standing in a disconsolate
attitude. With womanly sympathy May asked him what was the matter.
Alec, seeing his wife was stopping, dropped the basket, which brought
Penelope to a standstill also.
The little boy looked rather alarmed at the latter and her big basket, and
"Colonel," but addressed himself to May.
I wrote a letter to my love,
But as I had no stamp, miss,
I thought I'd take it her myself; .
S i So started on the tramp, miss. i
But when I came to where she dwelt
S~ I thought it wouldn't do, miss,
S To write a letter to your love .
And go and take it too, miss.
So when I saw the telegraph
1 clambered up the pole, miss,
But in my coat I got a skag,
And in my thumb a hole, miss.
I left the letter on the wires--
SYou hear how loud they buzz, miss; \ '\
I think it means they're taking it-
S In fact, I'm sure it does, miss. .
i h...'ll bring me back an answer soon;
I s'pose they'll not be late, miss.
"I ought to be at school at nii,.
But here I mean to wait, miss.


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Old Whackleback has got a cane;
He uses it with force, miss; I
But as I've written to my love, '
^ He'll have to wait, of course, miss.

S So tell her, if you see her, miss-
Remind her if you can, sir, '
i' You've seen me by the telegraph, .;
Waiting for her answer."

"All right," said Alec, hastily, for he had been getting rather impatient during
his long story; come along, May.'
But May stopped and looked at the little boy. I like oo," she said.
The little boy not being accustomed to such open confessions said nothing,
but looked up to the telegraph wires, as if to rove his faithfulness to his
absent sweetheart.
Kiss me," said May.
"Come on, do," shouted Alec, who by this time was some distance
ahead with Penelope.
The little boy blushed, looked at the telegraph wires again, and then

- -jB" Dood-bye," said May.
I wonder if either of them remembered that in the after years. Not
exactly, I expect: but I fancy things like that help to make up the vague
recollections which make the past so sweet.

On she trudged ; behind her, by the telegraph-post, stood the faithful little
lover. And the wind sang through the wvires softly, and the sun shone over
the common, as May followed her husband and Penelope's basket.

So they went a little further, and they came to a gate. But-

A Quaker he sat on the gate on high;
Verily ah quoth he.
If you please," said the children, we want to go by,"
But the Quaker he only winked his left eye.
Verily ah quoth he.

If you please, Mister Quaker, permit us to state'-
"Verily yea quoth he.
That as long as you sit on the top of the gate,
We cannot get through, and we shall be late."
Verily yea !" quoth he.

Did ever you sleep on a nettle-bed ? "-
Verily nay !" quoth he; .
Such a'notion has never come into my head."
Then why don't you try it ?' the children said.
Verily nay !" quoth he.

i' So they gave the gate a pull and a swing. .
"* r "Verily ah quoth he;

A gate is a terribly treacherous thing,
And as for these nettles-they certainly sting;
Verily yea quoth he.

So they left the Quaker in the ditch, and went on a little u And
they found a donkey grazing quietly. 'Me tired," said May.
"All right," answered Alec; "here's a donkey, you shall ride."
But that was easier said than done. The donkey submitted to be caught
by Penelope, who improvised a halter with Alec's belt; but to put the little
wife upon his back was another matter. In fact, it had to be abandoned.
"Oh, never mind," Alec said to comfort his weary little wife. '' We'll
take him with us, and I daresay we can borrow a saddle."
He believed in the easiness of life, you see. Saddles and bridles would,
of course, be forthcoming if donkeys came in their way, without the search-
ing. The donkey was too sleepy to resist, and suffered himself to be led
along by the children.



Presently they heard the sound of hammering and saw smoke rising from
among some trees. They turned the corner. It was a blacksmith's shop,
and there was the smith busily at work.
Good morning," said Alec, I think the donkey has lost a shoe, and
could you lend me a bridle and saddle, please. This little girl is very tired,
and she can't get on without a saddle."
Why, bless your little hearts exclaimed the blacksmith, I've got no
saddle nor bridle. But here-come, Neddy," and he took the donkey's feet
one after the other into his hand.

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"No, my master, the shoes are all right. And where are you off to, may
I make so bold as to ask?" for he saw the children were gentlefolks.
Into the world; Alec's usual answer.
And this is my wife, and that's our-our-
"Lady's maid," put in Penelope, seeing him in difficulties.

For my name is Penelope Place, '
I get up fine linen and lace, .
And all the folks own I. t
That no one was known
To equal Penelope Place."

Into the world !" said the blacksmith, when he had finished laughing
at Penelope's dance, "and what sort of a place do you find it, my little
missy ?" looking at May under her big hat.


"Oh, we haven't got there quite yet," answered Alec for his wife. But
we're awfully hungry. you- know. I say, do you think you could gvev us
s4m "eiscom+-..t cake otld ,.d, %e alja% s have cake or biscuits in the
,,rnring vhrin %%e come ;n f'rim our %alk "
Mi,,' called he black th bl. g u hire agai hch had

gir.w'n dull .hile he ,as talking i.., he childr-n.
"The Mis. catre m--a l.dly ,,:.man ith a w*ried la:ce

She hx:ked at hcr husban..1, and then at the children. Then at him
It e e ko their es," he aid. hal hr hall to

"Oh, we haven't got there quite yet," answered Ale for his wife. But
we're awfully heard this. knorembled. I say, do you kee think you iend them
turning ahtn ne icome in lru-m "ur ualk
"N li'-.i?,, called ihe hlicksmilh. blh:'"ing u|' hi- lire again. \ahich had
gri:wn dull ahile he nas talking r,. the chil'lrn.
The "Mia'ii," care in--a imiiJly acnimn a ith a worried lare
Shhe lookre at her husband., and then at the children. Then at hint

maain. n
"It seems to me I knoa their races-," he salid, hall i' her, hall to

Alec. ahoj heard Ihis. Iremblel. Would they keep hiem andl send theni
Wrmc again:-
"" Well, get them ,oniethi g to eat aife," he said.


"ln the best parlour." page 37.

So she took them into her best parlour- a little low room, with a wide
window and a broad seat, from which you could see, under the branches
of an old elm, the road that 'ed to the village.
Leaving them for a few moments the blacksmith's wife returned with
three cups of milk and three hunches of bread-and-butter.
Outside the sun was shining. Some horses were waiting to be shod,
patiently flicking away the flies; Neddy had lain down in the dust, and
"Colonel" was wandering restlessly from the forge to the cottage door.
The forge was roaring merrily, and the hammer ringing on the anvil, as
the blacksmith sang-
Trankadillo, Trankadillo, ..
*feAY, .- Trankadillo-dill-dill-d.!- ; ..
...' .' The roaring of the bellows *m.. '
-- -._ Is under my pillow. ;.J '

Alec's fears now rose again. Nice as the rest was, it might lead to
difficulties. He told Penelope, who urged him to move on at once.

-, 37 -
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P U, r

.--- A- k Fs e r* ;a; 4 e s:*


,! c j.

"I'll carry the y:'ung ta.l," she added; "it's lucky I left that awkward
great basket behind by the Quaker."
"Let's iget along."
The blacksmith's wife had left them. It was only she whom they
feared. The smith himself was too busy. Alec fumbled in his pocket and
produced his knife.
MI.;,. where's your thimble?"
May produced her thimble, doubt..
fully. Alec took it, and while she
watched him sadly, wrapped it with "
his knife in a piece of paper which
Penelope produced from her pocket: ''
and with a pencil also from the samt
source, wrote on the corner of th> 'I
parcel in his best handwriting- _

--u--- -----B-'S a _.. j



"P- */". -f'- j e.tl/ie -ivar &'Piff%" ^ 1 44-

That relieved him. He felt now that he was not sneaking away from a
kind friend without showing his gratitude. Penelope's prudence enabled
them all to get out without attracting attention. The smithy was now too
full of horses for the smith to notice them, as they lugged Neddy with
some difficulty from the ground, and they were some way out of sight
before the smith noticed even the absence of the donkey.
It was now half-past eleven; and the little wife was getting sleepy.
The rest and the bread and milk had refreshed her: but the associations
were too much for her. At that hour, if she had been at home, Nanna
would have been preparing the nursery for her morning nap ; she would
have had her biscuits or her cake, and been tucked up in her little


"beddy house," resting her weary legs and eyes, after trotting about all
the morning.
Poor little May She began almost to cry. Here she was on this
hot, dusty road, far from home; her husband not over attentive; and
the world as yet (if, indeed, they were really come to it) rather a
troublesome, difficult place than otherwise.

1 .41

.. S '

Dear! dear I wonder how many other young ladies have thought
the same before their honeymoon was many days old. As for Alec, he
was by no means unmindful of his little wife. But the responsibility
overpowered him, and made him seem cold and distant. Had it not
been for Penelope, he would have given in, and begged for a seat in
the next carriage or cart they met. But he could not give in before
a maidservant. It was too ridiculous.

Neddy, at last, was kind enough to allow Penelope to place May on his
back, and Alec scrambled up behind her, and putting his arms all round
her, held her firmly. Penelope took the bridle, and "Colonel" bounded
on ahead.
May was happier.
Kiss me," she said, looking up in his face.
And Alec kissed her.
She was happier now than ever. She only wanted a little tenderness,
and she would not mind the dust and the sun. And he was quite con-
vinced that she was the brightest and sweetest little wife in the world.
Which was quite true


43 I ;/^


As it so often is if we only knew it.
Having no choice of roads, the children let Neddy follow his own
inclinations, and presently he brought them to a broad green lane over-
hung with trees, and leading apparently to "nowhere."
Just where it seemed to end, they saw a fire burning impudently in spite
of the hot sun, three or four horses grazing leisurely, and in the back-
ground, two caravans. Of course they could not call them anything but
painted houses, for they had never seen such things before.
Neddy seemed to be quite at home, for he quickened his pace. But
Penelope pulled him up, helped May down, while Alec tumbled off as
best he could. The children stared about them. No one to be seen.
Over the fire a kettle was boiling. That could not be for the horses.
There must be somebody else. Was this, then, perhaps the world they
had been journeying to find ? Alec walked round the horses at a respectful
distance, almost expecting them to speak. And then, having seen that they
were lean and poor, and not at all like those he had seen at the smithy, went
further up the lane on a voyage of di---c-'r'
May stood still, and watched the 1, I .
Truly domesticated already, you se i,

N -b

...: r

d I

" Sw c /it: /, lay a i/til/ ba/y,. paeC 46.

Penelope, more practical than Alec, as was natural, being a woman,
determined to seek nearer home, ran up the. steps of one of the vans and
peeped in. No one there. Down she came again, and up the steps of
the other. The door of this was fastened. But she was not abashed;
turned the handle, and actually went in. When she returned, it was
evident she bad made a discovery, for she beckoned to May, who with
some difficulty climbed up. i .-.: i gave her her hand, and led
her in.

There in the corner, snugly and sweetly asleep, lay a little baby With
oh such dark hair and skin, and long eyelashes, that drooped over its little

; .-

-, ; ',,"-- "' "_

Her world at last. page 48.

"" l's a baby," gasped Penelope,
\May putl out a lite singer and touched it on its cheek. Yes -it was soft
and warm like her own. A real live baby : Could it be possible ? What
i-re all lier dolls at home to a real baby ? And she knelt down and kissed it
lThe ihild stirred. So putting up her finger to Penelope she whimpered---
"" Huss : go 'way."
Then she began to sing.
The li!ii woman had found her world at last.
Blt before she had finished her song, her bead dropped, and her eyes
ciue.i, and she slept soundly, with one arm across the gipsy childd .
It had been troublesome getting to it. bhu the little wife had found her world
a- !:.sL.


I. _" .., _,-
j 48

i __-_-.------ _____ -_I--- ________________- _____________

When May woke the sun was high in the heaven. The caravan seemed full
of people, and the lane was busy with the harnessing of horses and stamping of
men. But May's astonishment and fright soon were gone, for 'M.. i'.. ..r
her was her father. Not a bit angry. No. He had been too anxious and
frightened'to be angry now he had found his lost little maid.
And how do you think that came about ?
Well, it was in this way. Alec, as you remember, left May and Penelope in
the caravan and started on a voyage of discovery. His voyage was not a long
one, for turning down a side path and pushing himself hr ,,i1. the trees
that overhung it, he suddenly came out in a road that was very familiar
to him. He looked up and down. Yes! there was no doubt about it.
It was the road that ran from the lii. ..*-..r past his home. In fact,
yonder in the distance, he could see the gates of the house. He had
not time to consider what to do next, for at that moment who should
come up but his father and May's.
I don't think we will stop to enquire what was said. If Alec was
scolded, no doubt it did himi good : one must expect to get blamed if
one persists in going into the world in a manner different from other

4 '9 \ "' "


ch' '* *

* 1 i ?

^ T7 ~~'*-^^

"/n th old ane.' ". y

Thbr,- was a 1.1 ,r deal of excitement in the two houses when the two
little folks returned. At the ar i, lo, ,l-- they parted. Poor ii;tl'-
husband! Poor lilrh- wife! Fate was against them. May was despatched
with her nurse the next day to the seaside, and Alec was sent to school,
as had been duly arranged. It was not, however, il.-I.ltI n-.... r. to
take rn, i... ii, r..." steps to part the little lovers.
Penelope received half-a-crown on clearly establishing her innocence,
arid I i ....n, her services. How she spent ii, is not recorded: but as
The did not become the successful and well-to-do laundress, of being
i h;, ., she had '. .r so i I, I ...... she pir., l.i Im ..i ) I I.r.-Int
in the Post '1 r... .',i; Bank, and lived in ii i .:i. I. ,: ,Ii. r -

The I*.1..I .iii -, l. I, I,. Irria il, history ,l I,.r hI l. Itors,
r t-liiii.c. th ir ki l. .. il i, r- I I I h,, .:.. L.. ; i, thI 1,1 I L l h as
,i .:',., :.1 *t ,* l ^ .,*I .. p .n .,,l ,,l i! ] ,i r f.i Ih l n i ..i :i-

ST r .i. ll.. I.i rl ,, i ll.1.,
Trankadill- dill-dillo,
The roaring of the bagpipes
Is under my pillow!

1. '--

", ,' 1,' i. .

Various ch Y. n- kept Alec and May apart for some years; and it was
not till he .,. I. rr,,ql, to decline "Amo," and she "Aimer," at their
respective schools, that thlc) nii again.
It was in Ihe hll iI---th. Christmas holidays. \r,.I I think, if the
truth be ll1.1, the 1I...l- irurned to school with a keener iti-ll, h .i..
the tenses of those verbs TI ni any grammars had been able to instil.
Thtc were but children -t*il, of course.
But once they met ii the old lane where the caravan had stood that
"ii..rIr..L, long ago ; and there, though they were not thinking of school
or grammars, they found out the beauty of the present tense, I love,"
and the happy confidence of the future, I will love."'
Now, indeed, l, i. will be able to go into the world together:
Into the great wide world ..C. T,. r.
Into the strange and unknown land.
Meeting the stormy and changeful weather.
I ..' ni. 1. I. ,u hand in hand.

Will you that have followed thus far the "TALE OF TWO CHILDRN "
care to lift the veil that hangs before us now ?
It hides a picture of peace and happiness, the peace and happiness
which can only be known by hearts that have loved truly. The veil is
the veil of years-the misty, l.iiri, years. See how they part, like a
cloud upon a summer morning. And now you can see the picture.

'* -.- ... -


.Dirl .i.l r. we are old and grey, J ,
tI nar, ir.. our wedding day,
Shadow and sun for every one [ -c
As the years roll on

Darby dear, when the world went r. '
Hard and sorrowful then was I; '--;

Ah'! lad, how you cheered me then,
Ti n.- will be better,, sweet wife, again."
1.. i.. i,. saiim l'irl.y no own,
-4 Always the same to your old wife I..

Hand in h.oli when our life was May,
lln.I in l-..r.I when our hair is gray,
,haI..,. and sun for every one
As [tL \ar roll on.
Il1a--I in hand till the 6.-;, i. h 1i.i;.1

"(';,:mIl, .:....cr ,,. side by side.
Ah. la I lth ..,.l we know n.i r.hi:n -
L aill I.. nh ii. f..r .- cr ihl-,n '
\I>.> itl.. ..rm .. I ilI ny own,

Always the i.. ..,r old wife Joan.


ii, '


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