Front Cover
 Title Page
 An old soldier's story
 Joan of Arc
 A little heroine
 Drusilla Dickinson's sampler
 Grandma's story
 One little witness
 Aunt Hepsy's invitation: Part...
 Aunt Hepsy's invitation: Part...
 "You should find out first"
 Mrs. Elizabeth Frey
 Back Cover

Group Title: Old soldier's story and other stories from the Pansy
Title: An old soldier's story and other stories from the Pansy
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00055056/00001
 Material Information
Title: An old soldier's story and other stories from the Pansy
Physical Description: 1 v. (unpaged) : ill. ; 17 cm.
Language: English
Creator: Pansy, 1841-1930
Lothrop Publishing Company ( Publisher )
Publisher: Lothrop Publishing Company
Place of Publication: Boston
Publication Date: c1887
Copyright Date: 1887
Subject: Children's stories, American   ( lcsh )
Children -- Conduct of life -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Conduct of life -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Children's stories   ( lcsh )
Children's stories -- 1887   ( lcsh )
Bldn -- 1887
Genre: Children's stories   ( lcsh )
novel   ( marcgt )
Spatial Coverage: United States -- Massachusetts -- Boston
Funding: Preservation and Access for American and British Children's Literature, 1870-1889 (NEH PA-50860-00).
 Record Information
Bibliographic ID: UF00055056
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 - 002235405
notis - ALH5850
oclc - 50089106

Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Cover 1
        Cover 2
        Page i
    Title Page
        Page ii
        Page iii
    An old soldier's story
        Page 1
        Page 2
        Page 3
        Page 4
        Page 5
        Page 6
        Page 7
        Page 8
        Page 9
        Page 10
        Page 11
        Page 12
    Joan of Arc
        Page 13
        Page 14
    A little heroine
        Page 15
        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
        Page 30
    Drusilla Dickinson's sampler
        Page 31
        Page 32
        Page 33
        Page 34
        Page 35
    Grandma's story
        Page 36
        Page 37
        Page 38
        Page 39
        Page 40
        Page 41
        Page 42
        Page 43
        Page 44
        Page 45
    One little witness
        Page 46
        Page 47
        Page 48
        Page 49
        Page 50
        Page 51
        Page 52
        Page 53
        Page 54
        Page 55
        Page 56
        Page 57
        Page 58
    Aunt Hepsy's invitation: Part one
        Page 59
        Page 60
        Page 61
        Page 62
        Page 63
        Page 64
        Page 65
        Page 66
    Aunt Hepsy's invitation: Part two
        Page 67
        Page 68
        Page 69
        Page 70
        Page 71
        Page 72
        Page 73
        Page 74
    "You should find out first"
        Page 75
        Page 76
        Page 77
        Page 78
        Page 79
        Page 80
        Page 81
        Page 82
    Mrs. Elizabeth Frey
        Page 83
        Page 84
    Back Cover
        Cover 1
        Cover 2
Full Text

The Baldwin Library

m'B mO

Ii! I ~







Copyright, 1887,



M Y regiment was stationed at Newbern.
There hadn't been much fighting to
speak of, only occasional little pitched battles,
when some of the rebs attacked us unawares.
Then we made things lively for a time. But
the most of the days were dull enough, for I
tell you, boys, it's a great deal harder to wait
patiently and do your duty faithfully every
day, than 'tis to have a rousing old battle that
puts you on your mettle, to the tune of whistl-
ing bullets, and the cannon's roar.
Well, I don't know whether it was because
of the dullness of things generally, or because
chills and fever had broken out in camp, sending
a good many fellows on to the sick list; never
mind which 'twas, one or the other had made us
dreadfully cross, and ready to break out of the
discipline of army life, which ought to keep
men self-controlled and even-tempered- into


fits of ill-feeling and bitter spells. That wasn't
any excuse for us; I'm not trying to do that,
I'm' only telling you the facts of the case just
as they were, and you can judge for your
Any way, we were sorry enough, I can tell you,
that we gave up to the evil temptation that
made us forget we were soldiers sworn to do
our duty by our country at whatever cost.
Well, I'm making a long story of it, I know,
but you must let me tell it in my own way, if
you want it at all. I'm old and slow now;
there ain't anything fast in me exceptt these
rheumatic twinges that I brought home when
the war ended, eighteen years ago; these fly
like lightning up and down my bones, and
make me glad to sit on this old sunny porch and
talk to little fellows like you, who will come
along and hear my stories.
"Well, I was on the sick list down with chills
and fever; had a hard time of it, and when I
got able to crawl around a bit, I used to sit in
the quartermaster's office, which instead of being
in a tent, was part of the barracks that ran
down to the river. I helped him in many little
jobs, and made myself useful in every way I


could think of, yet still the time hung heavy on
my hands, spite of all I could do.
One evening Pete Henderson, one of my com-
pany, he was on the sick list too, he says to me,
as we sat around the fire telling stories and
singing army songs, Jake, there's a job for you
if you will do it." He spoke rather low, as if
he were ashamed of himself, and beside didn't
dare have any one else hear. I says, What ?"
rather careless as to the answer; still, I was
that tired, and out of patience lying around
there waiting to get well, that it seemed as if I
was ready for anything. Sh! keep dark he
Now you may know, boys, that when anybody
tells you to keep dark, it generally is a black
matter on hand; and if you take my advice,
you'll throw up the business that can't let the
light of day into it. But I was out of sorts
as I said, and ready for anything that brought
excitement, so I spoke up quickly without stop-
ping to think much about it, "Fire away, if
you've got any thing to tell, or else keep still."
It's the best of sport," he said, under cover
of his hand, and one eye on the other fellows.
"You know Widow Green's pig?"


Now, Widow Green," as everybody called
her, was a decent body who lived on "an
estate," as they call those places South that we
should call farms and homesteads up here in
Vermont, that have been handed down from
father to son, for nobody knows how many
years, an old rambling North Carolina house,
yet all through its forlorn, gone-to-seed appear-
ance, bearing a look of gentility that made
folks respect it, if they didn't want to.
She was of course, a "Secesh woman," as the
boys called her, but never had done us any harm
either with her tongue, or by any deed, so far
as we could hear; and we had always kept
aloof from her poor place, respecting her chick-
ens and her one pig that often tempted us by
its squeals, when we would have liked a bit of
fresh bacon to eat with our beans.
"The Widow Green's pig!" said Pete sol-
emnly, giving me a wink, then grinning.
Now when he said that, was my time for
turning my back on him and the suggestions
that I knew would follow. But I was particu-
larly low down in my mind that night, thinking
of home, and my two boys, Jem and Bill, and
it set me 'most crazy, the longing to have one


glimpse of their faces. So I welcomed anything
that would make me forget how I was sepa-
rated from them perhaps forever, and all the
hard circumstances of my lot, and I says, "The
Widow Green's pig! well, what of her?"
- "What do you say to confiscating her to-
night? he says with another wink. That was
a word, boys, we used to have in the army, con-
sidering it lawful game to appropriate the
belongings of the enemy if necessary for our
support. I laughed, and said quite carelessly,
" Too much trouble; get some other plan for
"No better," he said; I'll join you."
Well, my evil genius must have inspired me,
as I've noticed people always say when they do
anything they like to indulge themselves in that
they're ashamed of. They always clap the
blame on to their "evil genius," and think they
have mended matters. Well, I consented, and
at dead of night, without telling you how,
nor going into the long story, Pete and I did
slip out, and over to the "Widow Green's,"
where we made short work of the pig, confisca-
ting all the bacon we could use and trying to
imagine we were having great fun over it.


But I didn't sleep well that night. I seemed
to hear that plaguy old pig squeal every third
minute, and to see the face of the Widow,"
pale and sorry, looking down at me in a way
that went to my heart. And worst of all,
my two boys, Jem and Will, seemed to be
there, and they wouldn't look at me, their
father, whom they were usually so proud of.
Just think! as true as you live, it actually
seemed to me they turned away their faces,
ashamed and scornful, and a queer look in their
eyes. Well, I couldn't stand that, and I rose
right up in my bed, and cried out.
Halloa, Bunce!" sang out the fellow in
the next bed. "Got a twinge ? You see I'd
had rheumatism pretty badly, and he thought
the pain woke me up.
"I believe I have," I said, and that was
the truth, for if I didn't suffer at that moment
the worst twinge a man can, then my name ain't
Jacob Bunce. "Sorry for you," says he, "but
I guess you'll have to grin and bear it."
"Well, in the morning, I crawled out of bed
weak like, and ashamed of myself in every bone
in my body. I'd been sitting around for many
a long day, pale and desponding, and trying to


drag myself up and down the road outside of
the barracks, but to-day I felt meaner than ever,
and after a few turns I came in and sat down
on a barrel. Just then one of the fellows called
out, Jake, here's some friends."
I thought they were poking fun, so I didn't
look up, until I heard a boy's voice, and it
sounded so much like my Jem's, that my head
went up like lightning. There stood two little
fellows, just about as big as mine at home,
sturdy, smart little chaps, and neat as a pin.
They're the Widow Green's' boys," said
one of the men.
The name went through me like a knife,
and I put my hands on my knees to keep
me from shaking like an aspen leaf.
"What do you want, boys?" asked one of
the guard.
The little fellows looked at me, then started
forward. The biggest one had a box in his
hand, and the little chap had a small parcel
of something, I couldn't see what, holding on
to it for dear life.
"My mother sent me over to you with this
salve for your rheumatism; she's seen you out
days and she made it for you" -


"And this," said the little chap, following
up the other, to drop his parcel into my lap.
You could have knocked me over with a
feather. I started right back and hollered out
some sort of a gasp. The men all stared, and
looked scared, thinking I'd gone clean crazy, but
the little chaps stood their ground as cool as you
"Boys," I said, as soon as I could get my
breath, for I felt I must speak or I should die,
"you tell your mother that I thank her;" then
I got up and stood straight and looked at the
"Fellows," I said, as soon as I heard the little
chaps' heels rattling down the road, "I took that
woman's pig last night. If I haven't got coals of
fire on my head, no man ever had them, that's all! "
Pete Henderson spoke up then. "I took it
too and set him on," he declared.
"No one sets me on to a thing I do of my own
free will," I said; now, says I, before this night
comes on, there shall be a new pig, or at least
the money for one, in that woman's keeping."
They cheered me; but I stopped them. How
that made me feel, applauding a man who'd been
guilty of doing a mean, cowardly thing, for the


sake of a little paltry fun. I've got my pay,
thank God," I said, and I'll get my leave to go
up there, and tell the mother of these boys, just
what I've done, and hand her the money."
Pete Henderson spoke up: "I ought to go
shares payin' up, Jake, but I can't; my money's
gone home to the old folks."
You can't spare it, Pete," I answered, for I
knew him, and how his old father and mother
lived from hand to mouth as it was, but I can,
thanks to the farm." And I felt instead of say-
ing, that the little wife would never take a
penny of that money if she knew about it.
Well, boys, I've been in many a battle since
then, and faced death in different ways, but I
never felt so knock-kneed and afraid as I did
when, with my leave, I went up to the Widow
Green's" and told her my story.
She was a little pale, thin woman, but she had
a wonderful eye, so full of fire and courage, yet
so calm like. She heard me through silently,
then said, and she put out her hand and smiled in
such a queenly way, "I shall never forget you."
That was years ago. There isn't any North
or South now as to feeling. Everybody is
brother to every other man, and fields smile,


and business prospers, and lots and lots of
money is made, where war devastated and wasted
and ruined. Well, the army was disbanded. I
came home with my honorable discharge in my
pocket, and not much else. My health was
about gone, and the little wife had a hard time
of it with me for many a year. I told her the
first thing, and the boys, what I'd done; I had
to. I couldn't have looked in their faces without
making a clean breast of it; and she'd forgiven
me. I'd written as much as I could about it,
but the story had to wait till I told it.
Well, about ten years ago-we'd been get-
ting poorer and poorer all the time I couldn't
work; the boys were trying with might and
main to get an education, and the little wife,
busy as a bee, raked and scraped and saved every
cent she could to keep the wolf from the door.
But when that animal makes up his mind to
poke his nose into your house, he does it, and
in he came finally to ours, in the shape of a
mortgage which had to be clapped on to our
little home. After that we began to go down.
Well, I sat on this porch one day, in this
very spot, my back up against the clapboards,
about as blue as an indigo bag, almost gone in


body and mind. Lorenzo Hine, our next
neighbor, drove along and pulled up.
"Halloo, Jake," he calls, sunning yourself?"
I only nodded; I couldn't talk. It seemed as
if the sunlight would kill me, and any words or
smiles would drive me crazy.
"Here's a letter." He tossed it to me, "Got
it at the post-office. G'long! and he rattled off.
"Probably the bill," I thought, for Jem and
'Bill's schooling, and I turned sick at heart as I
thought of the little woman's and the boys'
struggles to meet it. I let it lie in my lap, and
thrust my face against the side of the house,
and I believe I groaned.
The little wife came along, and put her hand
on my shoulder.
"Why, Jake she said gently, then looked
clown. "Have you got a letter ?'
"You open it," I said, "I can't."
She tore it open. I didn't dare to stir, fear-
ing it some bill she could not meet.
Oh, my husband !" she cried, and in another
moment was down on her knees hugging my
feet with her dear arms, and crying for joy, the
letter fluttering before me, on which I read
these words:


"I have never lost track of you--a man in
whom I am delighted to recognize truth, honor
and principle--that the struggle in the war
between the North and the South brought to
my notice. And I am glad to call you friend.
The fortune that was mine in earlier days has
returned fourfold; of which I devote a small
part to the happy use of rendering your home
free from debt. "ISABELLA SEDGWICK."

You see, boys, I can say it, word for word.
Why can't I, when a day hasn't passed since
then, that I haven't read it over and over, with
tears of joy, to put it back again in its old place
in our family Bible ?
We opened another paper in the envelope,
wife and I. It was a check. The mortgage
was paid, and we were free!


C(OING through the Industrial Exhibition
Sand Mechanics' Fair held in Boston,
we turned resolutely away from weaving
machine and canned fruits; from hydraulic
elevator and artesian-well-borer; from patent
hair-crimpers and Marine bicycles, and all
the thousand and one attractions and delights
that make one forget one's self to be the pos-
sessor of a pair of feet and a pair of eyes that
will rebel most dreadfully when bed-time comes,
and they can ache and have it all their own
way; well, we tore ourselves off from it all, and
wandered into one of the two charming picture
galleries. The soft electric light filled the whole
room with brilliance, bringing out every detail
of the numerous paintings with startling fidelity.
Nothing could escape it; woe be to the artist
who thought to elude criticism by shadowy im-
perfection. Everything stood out in clear-cut
outline, with pre-Raphaelite distinctness.


Every visitor had necessarily to see, first of
all, for it hung just opposite the entrance, the
large painting of Joan of Are. The face and
figure stood out on the canvas as if struck into
life. Joan in her brown peasant gown with
unkempt hair, her religious fervor expressed in
every line of face, figure and drapery, Joan see-
mg the vision of St. Catherine and St. Margaret,
and hearing the voice of St. Michael, "Joan,
thou art appointed by Heaven to go and help
the Dauphin." It was a picture to study, to
take away with one, to think over and recall
often, long after other pictures have faded
from memory.
Poor Joan! the solitary child, tending, long
weary days, the sheep and cattle; kneeling down
in the gloomy little chapel alone with her
fancies, or out in the fields seeing her visions.
Happy Joan! in glittering armor on her white
charger, waving the old sword from the Cathe-
dral of St. Catherine, and leading on to glory!
Wretched Joan! deserted by all, dying in the
market-place of Rouen, her ashes thrown into
the river Seine. I think it one of the saddest
bits of history this of the poor deluded peas-
ant girl of France. So brief is glory!



HE was an artist; and he was poor, as
so many artists are, who, having the
true spirit of art stirring within them, are wil-
ling to wait till merit wins for their purses
the golden coins that fame always brings.
And he was painting his way slowly up to
this fame, in a dingy little street in the famous,
inspiring old art-centre, Rome herself.
How did he come there? Never mind; that
is too long a story, this of my artist. Suffice it,
here he was, working and hoping on, like many
another, through the long, delicious days of the
Roman summer, and the unhealthful, malarious
days of the Roman winter.
One morning he flung down palette and brush
threw his arms up over his head, as if seeking
relief by some sudden outburst, and exclaimed:
"Enough of all this striving after the unreal


and fanciful. My head is as empty of artistic
ideas as a gourd. Out I go, and the first bit of
human nature I meet, I'll have it for a model, if
I give my watch in payment."
He tossed his well-worn cap on his head with
a scornful gesture for its poverty, and sauntered
down the narrow Via della Ripetta tillhe came to
an abrupt turn in its crooked length. Here he
paused a breathing-space, in indecision which
course to pursue, when voices striking upon his
ear made him turn sharply in the direction
whence they came.
"Do not give up, my father," said low, mu-
sical accents, half childish, half womanly; "pity
will come. The Holy Mother will send it."
No answer followed as my artist stepped
into view.
What are you doing here?" he interrogated
sharply, more for something to say than be-
cause he wished any reply.
The child for she was a child turned her
glorious dark eyes up into the blue ones gazing
into hers.
"He is blind," she said simply, pointing to
the old man by her side, who, with head bent
down, was leaning on his staff, silent and nerve-


less, while the rush of life went on around them
in the crooked little street.
My artist forgot for one brief moment his
artistic throb of delight in the pathetic picture,
while his heart smote him with very pity at its

"Are you hungry?" he asked awkwardly,
feeling in his pinched pockets for a stray coin.
With a short laugh at the presumption of the
hope, he quickly pulled it out again.
Not hungry," she said, not removing her
wonderful eyes from their steady gaze, only
the light of Heaven is shut out from my
"Come along with me." The artist, beck-
oning her to follow, strode off at such a pace
that the child could scarcely arouse her father
from his pitiful revery, and gather his hand in
hers, before the handsome stranger was quite
out of sight in the crowd.
"Alas !" she sighed; then crossed herself
and looked around patiently for a resting-place.
"See here!" The tall, intense man worked
his way back to them, as they stood there in
dejection. "I've forgotten to Romanize my
American speed. Now then, I'll wait for you."


So this time they started off comfortably,
and presently, led by their guide, were climbing
the steep, rickety stairs, at the top of which was
the studio door, bearing the modest sign,
"Philip Kent."
Would you mind sitting down just as you
were sitting on the street when I found you?"
The young man asked this just as deferen-
tially as if he had been addressing a titled lady.
The child without a word, led her blind
father to the platform the artist pointed out,
and while he took up his pencil and sketch-
book, arranged him and then herself in the atti-
tude desired.
"My daughter," murmured the old man,
raising his sightless eyes suddenly, and speaking
with great dignity, "you must tell him, I can-
not, whom we are. That I, with noble blood in
my veins, should be here!" he cried passion-
Hush, my father," cried the child with sub-
dued energy, and grasping his sleeve. But the
artist had caught the words, and throwing
down his pencil, came eagerly to them, demand-
ing their story.
"Tell me," he begged, his whole artistic


nature longing for the inspiration that the story
would give to the pencil. "Ah, if you only
will! "
The old man essayed to speak, but no words
The child, clasping her hands, looked up with
piteous face. "Kind sir," she said in musical
accents, "we have never been in the Roman
streets before this day, as beggars, and Italy's
blue sky has never seen us so."
The blood of noble Cesars flowing in our
veins, forbade it," cried the old man, passion-
ately throwing back his head. Time was
when the Tiber, not one tenth as powerful as
we, rolled past all our greatness; when these
very stones in our streets were no more plenti-
ful than our gold. Oh heaven have pity!"
The artist gazing on the face, seized his pencil,
forgetting the prospect of a story, in his eager-
ness to catch the expression while it remained.
while the old man sank into his accustomed sad-
ness, from which his passionate pride had only
served to give him a temporary forgetfulness.
"What is your name?" at last asked the
young man, pausing for a moment from his
work, and catching sight of a tired look on the


child's face, and he added kindly, "there, that
will do for to-day. To-morrow you may come
at the same hour, if you will-"
"Catarina," she said, and the dark cheek
glowed, .while the beautiful eyes sparkled,
" Thank you, signor. Come, my father."
The young man thrust his hand into his
pocket. Never did he want money so bitterly
as now. He looked over the small apartment
despairingly. There is nothing that would be
of the least value for them to turn into money,"
he said under his breath. "By to-morrow I will
have my watch exchanged, or something that
will pay them." Aloud he said, To-morrow,
child, I will pay you; here, take this it may
do you some good;" and going over to a little
corner closet, he brought back the remains of
his breakfast, a portion of bread and a bunch
of dark-purple grapes. .These he put into the
hand of the child with a smile.
"To-morrow, remember," he said, as a last

The morning sun rose bright and glorious.
The young artist hummed a scrap of a song as


he gathered sketching materials together, and
put now and then a touch to the outline of the two
figures while he waited. The clock on the wooden
shelf over his head ticked away the moments
that lengthened into hours, and still he waited.
At last he threw aside his sketch-book, and
went to the window impatiently.
Why didn't I keep them while I had them,"
he exclaimed in vexation. "Halloo! here they
are! No why--"
The door of his room opened suddenly, and
a woman entered; a woman with unkempt hair
over which a long black scarf was thrown
gracefully, as only a Roman woman could
throw it. She crossed herself, then said rap-
idly: The child cannot come more, sir."
"What!." cried the young man in astonish-
"The father went in the night," she replied;
"pined and pined away his life; it went out at
last, and Catarina found him so this' morning."
"Dead?" exclaimed the young man, quite
"Dead," she repeated stolidly.
"I will go with you," said the young man
quickly, and seizing his cap.


The woman said :*.!1I_., only crossed her-
self again. Seeing that he was already leading
the way out to the staircase, she silently fol-
lowed, went swiftly down the crooked flight,
and soon they were lost in a maze of narrow,
dirty streets.
Philip Kent saw only one thing when he stood
before the little child and her dead father, and
that was a passionate, loving sorrow such as lie
had never witnessed. Without a word he laid
before the woman who, now that she had con-
ducted him thither, considering her work done,
stood like a statue in the background, the price
of his watch dealt out by a grasping pawn-
broker, and left the room.


Philip Kent walked on rapidly, revolving
in his mind several troublesome thoughts that
kept returning unsettled as fast as he consid-
ered them to be finally disposed of.
"Pshaw Why do I mind the child? Other
children in Rome have soulful, glorious eyes. It
was only a week ago that picturesque group of beg-
gars on the steps of the Trinita de' Monti made


me half tempted to sell out all my little stock
in trade to set them up again. I'm getting too
soft-hearted for this world."
He pulled his hat down over his eyes, and
gave a snort of disdain at his own folly. Some
one touched his arm lightly and said, Pardon,
It was the woman whom he had left beside
the child and her dead father.
The artist stared into her face blankly.
The child will have nothing with it, signor,"
she said with rapid accent, crowding the money
he had thrown down in the chamber of death,
into his hand. "Look! she sends it back. And
she-oh, Heaven help her !- will have no wayto
pay the becchini and the frati, and the father
with noble blood in his veins must be tossed
out to be buried like a dog! "
Philip Kent looked down at the money in his
hand; then at the woman impatiently. She
has earned it, at least a portion of it. Take it,
I will hear no more of it," and putting it sud-
denly back into her palm he turned and lost
himself in the crowd.
An hour after there was a knock at his studio


"Come in!" he shouted, expecting to see a
brother artist.
The door opened slowly, just enough to dis-
close a white face whose very whiteness intensi-
fied the pathos of the dark, sad eyes.
"Beg pardon," said the artist, setting his
chair straight, that had been tipped back against
the wall, and instinctively pulling himself out
of his negligq attitude to an erect position.
The child came quickly and easily across the
small room with the grace of perfect uncon-
sciousness. Then she flushed up to the dark
waves of hair.
"I cannot, signor, take your money. I have
not earned it."
But you sat for me, you and your father,"
said the artist kindly, and that should be paid
"You can make no picture of that," said
the child sadly, all the rosy flush dying out
of the face that now became grave and preoc-
cupied; "alas, no! she added, looking at the
sketch where the disappointed hand of the
artist had thrown it, that must never be paid
for, signor. It would make us beggars. The
father would not like it."


Her voice trembled, as if with all her control,
sobs were imminent. She laid the money upon
the table and turned to go.
Stay," cried the artist. Then I will lend
it to you. The father could not certainly object
to that."
"I will take only part of it," she said simply.
"Thanks, signor."
It was no use to urge her further. That
the artist knew, and so he silently counted out
half the coins into her hand. For one moment
she raised her eyes to his, and her lips moved
as if in prayer, then, with a patient droop,
the little figurestole out of the room.
For his life the artist could not settle to any
work. The sad eyes haunted him like ghosts
and uneasy spectres not to be down at his
"I will go around there to-night," he said to
himself; "probably they will take away the
body, as they are not allowed to retain corpses
more than twelve hours in any house unless
sealed in lead or zinc, and this man is too poor
to have the priests trouble themselves much
over him. Then I'll see for myself how the
child fares."


Accordingly at nightfall he strolled into the
narrow street, meeting the four becchini (bier-
carriers) who, usually chosen from the lowest
classes of the people, were no cleaner than would
be supposed. Their dirty black cape covering
head and face as well as the body, with its two
black holes for the eyes, were girded around the
waist, scarcely concealing the miserable trousers
and shoes. They halted, giving a series of half-
inaudible grunts at the lateness of the frati
(candle bearers) who presently appeared, two
in number. The artist stepped across the dirty
street, where in the shadow of the doorway of a
shop, he stood and watched the proceedings.
While the becchini went up the rickety stair-
way for the corpse, the frati lighted their wax
candles and jabbered and laughed with the
crowd of men and boys who had drawn near
with big paper horns in their hands in which to
catch the wax that guttered down from the
burning candles. Presently the procession came
down the stairway, the four becchini bearing the
body which was in a rough deal box. Over this
was thrown a shabby old black cloth on which
a cross, Death's head; and bones were embroid-
ered in straggling stitches. The frati broke out


into a hoarse, gutteral chant, and the procession
passed on, followed by the crowd. Every by-
stander took off his hat and made the sign of
the cross as the procession passed him. And
with the candles flaming and sputtering, and
emitting a yellow, fitful gleam, and accompanied
by the mechanical croaking of the j .. 's psalms,
the funeral wound down the dirty streets, now
past deserted shops, now under the shadow of
Philip Kent drew a long breath, and shook
himself as from a disturbed dream.
"The miasm of Rome is nowhere felt so
much as in her burial services,'' he muttered,
striding back to his little room. Then popery
seems to gloat over her deluded victims in cruel
mockery. Heigho! The priests will probably
make merry over the remainder of my pittance,
which they will probably wrest from the poor
child. Idiot that I was not to know it "
The bright sunshine was flooding the small
studio with glory, when the morning found the
artist busily at work to make up for his last
expenditure, which went down in his account-
book under the head of Losses, when a knock
sounded on the old door.


Come in!" he shouted yet more furiously
than on the preceding day. Goodness, Brown
is becoming painfully polite, seems to me.
Come in, Brown," he added reassuringly.
But it wasn't Brown, but Catarina, who
stood before him.
Oh hey exclaimed the artist, knocking
over his color-case. Oh, it's you! "
Yes, signor," said the child. How old she
seemed in her dignity while the dark eyes had
merged their pathos into a stern resolve, that
made one wonder as he gazed into their depths,
if indeed they could be childish eyes at all.
Here is your money, signor," she said quietly,
drawing from the bosom of her old frock a little
bag of skin, and counting out the coins before
the astonished artist. "And, oh, thanks, kind
signor! May the good God give Heaven's
choicest blessings to you, for my father sleeps
in consecrated ground."
Where did you get this money?" asked
the artist sternly, "if you would not accept it
from any one. Tell me."
For answer, the child rapidly unwound the
rusty black scarf, that now for the first time the
artist observed had taken the place of the little


white cap she formerly wore, and disclosed a
head completely shorn of the long, black hair
that he had seen peeping here and there from
the folds of its headdress.
"I sold it this day in the Fiumara by the
river," she said joyfully; see, signor, and I owe
nothing. The father will not be made sorry by
"You are a brave, noble child," cried the
artist impulsively; a perfect little heroine."
Catarina looked up wonderingly, and wound
around her poor shaven head the old black scarf
again without a word.
And now," said the artist, turning away
from his easel and looking at her fixedly, what
are you going to do? Is there no relation that
you might stay with? You surely cannot live
"That is already arranged," said little Cata-
rina in a matter-of-fact way. I go at once to
take care of the child of the beautiful American
lady the lady who searched me out one day
and urged me to come. I couldn't leave the
father; but this morning I have told her I will
go now. Thanks, signor."
"American lady?" repeated the artist curl


ously; the name do you remember it ? I am
an American, you know," he said smilingly.
Brown, signor," she answered; and the
lady is beautiful, with golden hair and sunny
Brown, Brown," cried the artist eagerly,
"perhaps pshaw no; there are a thousand
Browns in Rome probably, still there is a chance.
Does he paint, child; is he an artist?"
Yes," she said, and the lady is beautiful;
oh, so sweet is her smile like heaven; and
they live over the cobbler's shop as you turn
from the Via della Ripetta."
"The same-oh, goodness gracious! Beg
your pardon, but it is my old friend. Brown!"
cried the artist in great excitement; "well, if
you are going there, my child, you are in luck,
for Mrs. Brown is as good as she is lovely, and
you will have a home indeed. "
"Yes," said Catarina simply, "and she has
sunny eyes like heaven's own blue, and golden
hair like the saints, and she is my lovely lady."


P ATTY tied on her best sunbonnet, and
came up to her mother. For every day
she must wear the pink-checked one, but this
occasion was something quite different and
required all the best in the way of dress that her
mother would allow.
"Am I nice now, mother ?" she asked, pre-
senting herself at the end of the ironing-board.
" Say, will grandmother take out the pink plates
and give me a slice of plum cake ? "
I guess so," said Mrs. Punderson, laughing.
"Yes, you look quite nice. I guess grandma'li
be real glad to see you." She stopped to give
two or three pulls at the sunbonnet rim, and a
small twitch to the waist of Patty's frock. Then
she said, "there, behavior's everything; if you
behave as well as you look, that's all I want."
Good-by," said Patty, putting up her small
red lips to be kissed.


Good-by," said her mother, taking up the flat-
iron again. "Be sure to come home at four."
Yes'm," said Patty.
"And when grandma takes her nap, you must
sit on a cricket and keep quiet." /
"Yes'm," said Patty again.
"Well, good-by, child."
"Good-by, mother."
The brown gate clicked, and Patty was off -
off with a whole long day before her, of the
delights that brooded in the big red cottage at
the end of the lane that turned off from the
broad highway.
And the pink plates did come out, and the
slices of cake were plummier and bigger than
ever before, and all life seemed a high holiday to
fill the small soul with satisfying content.
"Now," said grandma, in the hush of midday,
after they had pushed back the high, quaint
chairs from the dinner-table," what do you sup-
pose I'm going to show you ?"
Patty professed herself unable to guess.
Grandma nodded wisely, and went across the
room and opened the door of a small oaken
cabinet. After fumbling in its recesses for a
few moments she produced with great impor-


tance of manner, a dingy square of canvas,
across whose surface were various designs in
faded silks.
Now," she said, sitting down by the side of
the big fireplace to spread it over her lap, "how
do you like it, child ? "
"I don't like it," said Patty truthfully.
"What are they, grandma, all those queer
little things?"
"Tut, tut, child," said grandma quickly.
"That is a heart, and a very good heart, I
think it is, I'm sure. And that is a ni.,, i,., up
in the corner."
"And what is it, grandma, the whole of it?"
asked Patty wonderingly.
"My sampler, child. And I was eight years
old when I worked it," said grandma proudly.
" Just think, no older than you, Patty, and I
had worked the whole of this."
Alone ? asked Patty with sudden rever-
ence for the dingy thing; "every single bit
alone, grandma? "
Every single bit," declared grandma with
increased pride. I remember, because my
mother wouldn't help me so much as to thread
my needle."


"I'm going to make one !" cried Patty, fired
with sudden ambition. "May I, grandma, take
it home and ask mother if I may begin one ?"
"Oh no," cried grandma, holding to it
tightly, of course not, child. Why, I wouldn't
let it go out of the house for anything. But
I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll let you take it
every time you want to come over here. And
then you can pattern after it. That's the best
"I shall make it just exactly like this," said
Patty, dreadfully excited, all the butterflies and
hearts, and every single thing."
You can't make it just like it," said grandma.
Then she laid it in Patty's lap. There now,
you can sit on your cricket and look at it, and
I'll take my nap."
"Why not, grandma ?" cried Patty; why
can't I mak t like this ?"
"Because you'll have to make Patty Punder-
son where this says Drusilla Dickinson," said
"Were you ever Drusilla Dickinson ?" asked
Patty in astonishment.
Of course, child," said grandma, laughing.
Well, you can look at it now all you want to,


only you mustn't get off from your cricket
while you have it in your hand, and now I
must take my nap."
And so Patty bent her brown head in careful
study over the dingy old sampler with its queer
characters, spread in her lap, unconscious of
time, while grandma slept and slept.
That night when mother was tying the small
nightdress, Patty whirled around suddenly.
" Won't you be most dreadfully glad to see it,
mother," she cried, clasping her hands; Patty
Punderson is my name, America's my nation,
won't you, mother ? "



G RANDMA, grandma, tell about how
you and the British man had a fight,
and how the British man drew his sword and
cut off your nose, and "-
"For shame, Ethel, to mix things up. so,"
Reginald pushed in between the eager little
mouth and grandma's chair. I wouldn't tell
her a single thing, grandma dear."
The color fled from Ethel's cheek and she
burst into a loud roar of disappointment and
"I didn't mean that he cut off your
nose," she sobbed by way of explanation. I
meant you cut off the British man's. Do tell me
again, grandma."
Then she threw herself flat on the floor and
wailed steadily.
Give me that child as a relater of events,'"
laughed Reginald, in a burst. For the honor


of this family, grandma, who'll be reported as
harboring an untruthful or misguided chronicler
of history; do set her right for the hundredth
time. Hold on, Ethel; don't you see grandma
is going to tell you? What is the use of shout-
ing so? "
The dear old lady in the spacious arm-chair
smiled gently on the boy, but with her sweetest
smile, put out her soft white hand and patted
the sobbing child's head.
"Ethel dear," she said, can't you see grand-
ma's lap is waiting for you?"
Ethel allowed herself one look, then wiped up
in a flash, and deposited herself in her nest of
Tell," she said briefly.
I was just about as big as you," said grand-
ma, softly stroking the sunny hair. Ethel gave
an immense sigh of comfort, and snuggled down
further into her nest. Reginald flung himself
into a neighboring arm-chair, and listened atten-
tively. "And though I was so little, I loved
dearly to have my own way."
The small face under grandma's drooped a
little at that, but found encouragement in the
words that followed.


But my mother always said, Hetty will
learn better by and by,' and so I did, but it was
through much suffering as you will soon see. It
was a lovely day in April, the nineteenth.
Mother had tied on my little red hood and cloak,
1and put a basket of eggs in my hand. 'There,
Hetty, run, child, an' carry these, to Mrs. Stet-
son -
"Who was Mrs. Stetson, grandma?" de-
manded Ethel, although she knew perfectly
well, and awaiting the answer with the utmost
Be still, do, Ethel," cried Reginald, with an
uneasy twist in his chair.
A poor widow who lived at the end of the
lane that ran up to my father's back door," said
grandma just as patiently as ever. "And
mother was afraid she would have nothing for
breakfast. Well, I took the basket. I expect I
grumbled some over it. I used to often, I know,
on those errands, and started out of the door.
"' Don't you stop for anything,' called mother
after me, but hurry right home.'
Yes'm,' I said, and I meant to then; and
running along briskly, I soon reached Mrs.
Stetson's door, and delivered the eggs, and had


my basket handed back to me. So far all
"' D'ye know I've jest be'n a-hearin' a strange
noise,' said Mrs. Stetson, following me to the
door, and fastening her small eyes on me.
"I didn't generally like to talk with Mrs.
Stetson, not considering her pleasant company,
as she took snuff, and had a thin, whining voice
and sharp eyes. And so I cannot imagine why
I turned back to listen to her this morning. I
never could understand it, unless it was because
I was so over-curious to hear what the strange
noise might be that I forgot the disagreeable
person telling about it.
"'Was it a bear, do you suppose? I asked
her, full of excitement immediately. How I
should love to see a Lear, if only I might see it
from Mrs. Stetson's window.'
Humph! no,' she declared; worse than
"Worse than a bear! What could it be?
I was all on fire at once, and carefully set down
my basket, and ran to the fence to peer through.
"' Twas right down thar,' said Mrs. Stetson,
standing in the rickety porch, and pointing one
long forefinger to a piece of woods a short


distance off. 'You better not go nigh it,
"I am afraid this piece of advice precipitated
me into my trouble. To be told not to do any-
thing filled it immediately with a particular
fascination. Beside, what right had this snuffy
old woman to be telling me to do and not to do
things. Without a thought of what my mother
had commanded me, I ducked under the fence,
and ran like lightning down a small grass-grown
trail, leading into the wood" -
What is grass-grown trail?" asked Ethel,
who desired to lengthen as much as possible all
details, and twisting her fingers in absorbed en-
Hush! exclaimed Reginald, turning on her
from the depths of the chair. "You know as
well as I do. A little path that has been worn
by the feet. Please go on, grandma."
Well, without a thought of fear now, I ran
swiftly on, hesitated a bit as I reached the
entrance to the wood and listened, but hearing
nothing, I marched boldly in."
Ethel gave a shiver of delight, and clasped
her small hands in bliss.
"But after I had taken ia few steps into the


dark gloom of early morning, I was seized with
an uncontrollable fright, that began in a flash of
consciousness of my own naughtiness. My
mother's command struck to my very heart, and
it seemed as if I would give my life if I had
never disobeyed her. I turned to run, but right
before me in the path, as if he had sprung out
of the earth, was a big soldier a red coat and
he had a gun levelled at me, a little girl, frozen
with terror."
Ethel forgot to breathe here, and kept her
great eyes fastened on grandma's face. Reg-
inald sat very erect in his chair, and his fist
involuntarily clenched.
Stand and deliver," said the soldier in a
fierce muffled voice, as if he took great care not
to be overheard; and then I saw, worst of all,
that he was just enough intoxicated to be ugly.
My heart sank down to the ground, my knees
clung together, my eyes were riveted in awful
fascination on the face and figure before me;
but over all certainty of my being killed, was
my remorse at my own naughtiness. That
seemed to weigh me down, and take away every
hope of saving my life.
"' Give me that string of gold beads,' cried


the soldier, pointing to my throat, 'or'- and
he swore an awful oath.
"I put my shaking hand to my throat, forget-
ting that I had begged my mother to allow me
to wear her gold beads that were her mother's
before her, on this errand, as I was very fond
of inventing new plays, one of which was
imagining when going on a walk, that I was a
princess in disguise, and attired in royal splen-
dor. 'I am afraid you will lose them, Hetty,'
mother had said, but I had teased until she
relented, and tied them on my neck. Should I
ever tease her again ?
The drunken soldier now approached so near
that his breath swept my cheek, and by the
time that my trembling fingers untied the stout
string, he was ready to receive them. He took
them and dropped them in his pocket with a
snort of delight, and a gleam of satisfaction in
his eyes, then levelled his gun and aimed it at me.
"'You little rebel, you!' then he swore
again do you know I must kill you ?'
I could not answer, only I tried to say' Now
I lay me,' in my heart, hoping God would for-
give me, and was sorry that I had ever hated the
catechism. There was one long breathing space

-~ ; ,r 'I, ,' ; -" '


~--~S ~ ~ ~, .i i. ,

5 ~ :' i

ti .


in which we looked into each other's eyes, then
a click, and smoke, and when it cleared I saw
Jason Hine, the neighbor's boy, in his homespun
suit, struggling with the soldier. It was a short
combat. I remember wringing my hands and
crying, knowing that it was my fault; that I had
brought this death upon my good friend, for we
all loved Jason, and the village people held him
in high esteem, and oh! how I prayed God to
save him. The ground was plowed up and
down by their mortal wrestling, their clenched
teeth and hard breathing telling of a fearful
struggle, but it was soon over. The soldier lay
on the ground gasping and dying, while Jason
staggered a few steps, then fell.
"' Run, Hetty,' he said faintly; some water-
bring some one.'
I sped on the wings of the wind home, and
dashed into the quiet kitchen, then stood spell-
bound, too frightened to speak my deadly
errand. I remember father was putting some-
thing into a pot hanging on the crane, while
mother sat by her little table in the corner, and
brother Seth on a stool by the fireplace.
Seth screamed out, Look at Hetty's eyes !'
"Indeed I must have been a sight; such


absolute terror was in my face. I just
had time to gasp out faintly, 'Jason I-ine
is killed down in Mrs. Stetson's wood,' and then
I fell to the floor and I knew no more, not
even that the drunken soldier was one who
strayed away from his company on that memor-
able nineteenth of April, and that our Concord
village at the close of that day, saw many gal-
lant sons die like Jason Hine. I knew nothing
of all this, for I was taken with brain fever, and
when I recovered, the story was kept from me
for many a week."
"And did you get your pretty gold beads,
grandma?" asked Ethel, who knew perfectly
the tradition of the loss of the precious relic.
"Alas, no sighed grandma, no one knew
the story locked up in my sick brain, of my lost
beads, and they were buried with or stolen from
him, I know not the man who took them from
me. God have mercy on his soul!"
"Why do you always say that, grandma?"
asked Ethel; "the British man is dead and
dead years ago."
But grandma did not answer.


THERE can't nobody wear boots like
those," said Jed. And then he looked
down at his feet with one long gaze.
"They ain't boots," said Nathan, hovering
near, and raising his little pinched face in scorn.
" Nothin' but two big holes that's all those
are !"
They're holes that are goin' fast, anyway,"
said Jed, finishing his look and getting up. I
can't stamp any more in 'em; even that's wore
"I can always tell when you're a-comin'
though, Jed," observed little Nathan reflec-
tively, "'cos you flap like now on the stairs,
more'n the Joneses."
The Joneses never did have boots worth any-
thin'," exclaimed Jed in greater scorn than his
brother. "An' Idid, till the father died."
"And now," said Nathan, in a shrill, high key,
very near to tears, you never do, Jed."


"No, I never do now," said Jed soberly, "an'
I earn less and less. I don't see what the
reason is, Nathan, I'm getting' bigger an' bigger
all the time -an' I want twice as much to
eat to keep me, an' yet nobody wants me to do
anything ; I don't know what we'll do, I don't! "
"There's lots wants you," exclaimed Nathan,
coming down immediately from tears to intense
indignation -" the cigar man would take you,
an' there's Higgins -
0 Nathan! interrupted Jed, his brown
face expressive of as much horror and detesta-
tion as he could well get into a pair of very
black eyes, a chubby nose, and a big square
mouth. "You don't think I'd go to them an'
help those things to be sold ? You don't now,
"I didn't say you would," said Nathan, com-
mencing now in good earnest on the cry, "I
only said they wanted you."
"I'd starve," said Jed, standing quite still by
the door, "'fore I'd do it!"
"Oh, dear!" said Nathan, flinging himself
down at full length on the old floor, and burst-
ing into a torrent of tears- don't starve, Jed,
don't go and do it! Don't!"


"Dear me! said Jed, shuffling up to him, and
trying to get a good hold of the little ragged
jacket to raise him up, "what you about, Nathan
- do stop, the mother'll catch you at it, if you
have red eyes- now you must stop," and Jed
began to shake his sleeve so very violently, that
it parted company at the elbow and left a big
rent to yawn up into the eyes of the two dis-
mayed boys.
There, now," cried Nathan, stopping sud-
denly, in dismay at the sound of the rending
cloth, and wiping the tears away with the
back of his grimy little hand, "now see what
you done, Jed. Oh dear, everything's tore!"
"Oh, dear! echoed Jed forlornly, his round
face lengthening at a fearful rate. Whatever
can we do now?"
I don't know," said the little fellow between
his tears, "maybe you could sew it up, Jed."
I can try," said Jed with an anxious look out
of the little dingy window, as he went by for a
bit of thread and a needle, leastwayss mother
ain't home, an' that's a comfort."
The two heads bent in absorbed intentness
over the torn sleeve, as with much hard breath-
ing, and great snarling of thread, Jed drew the


old crooked needle slowly back and forth around
the hole. A heavy rustling noise sounded on
the steep staircase, just without their door.
"Oh, dear," said Jed, and little Nathan looked
up apprehensively, as the door opened and a
woman, tall and gaunt, came in, with a big bas-
ket on her arm, and half under the old shawl
which was hanging loosely across her square
"Now I do believe," broke out little Nathan
joyfully, "that you've got"-
The woman set down her basket by the table.
-"I've got through," she said, that was all.
"What is it, mother?" Jed's heart stood still
for a moment, then he said briskly, dropping
needle and all, to spring towards her and take
the basket, "you're tired now; to-morrow it'll
be all right."
There isn't any to-morrows coming, said the
woman, as will make this right."
"Is he goin' to do it? asked Jed, with pale
face, and standing quite still by her side. 0,
mammy, he ain't goin' to do say he ain't! "
"He is," said his mother, lifting her lack-
lustre eyes, "to-night is our last night here, to-
morrow he turns us out, an' I say there ain't


anything too bad for him to suffer an' I hope
the Lord"-
Stop, mother," cried Jed in perfect horror,
and in a sharp voice, as he caught her hand
which, in her despair, she had raised high above
her head," don't say those words oh, mammy
-the Lord'll be sorry to hear 'em, don't!"
"The Lord don't mind fo'r such as we," said
his mother, in the accents of despair, "or he'd
a looked after us afore."
A cloud of darkness, unlighted by a single
ray of hope, settled down on the hearts of
the children at these words, and Nathan, with
the needle still sticking in the torn jacket, slunk
away into a corner of the already darkening
room, where he cried to his heart's content.
With a heavy heart Jed set about preparing
the supper-which consisted in putting on the
old brown table a plate of cold potatoes and
another of dry crusts of bread, while his mother,
dropping the shawl on the chair, sat nursing her
thoughts. Suddenly she looked up:
"Where's Amy ? "
"I don't know," said Jed, nearly letting
Nathan's httle cracked cup fall in his surprise,
"I thought she stopped for you."


"I haven't seen her, said his mother, and then
finished sharply, "you didn't let her come
alone, Jed?"
"I went to Turner's Block with her," said
Jed, turning very pale, while Nathan jumped
out of his corner with a scream.
Oh, don't let Amy get hurt! "
"Then she's lost," said his mother, sinking
back, and covering her face, an' we never'll
see her again!"
With one bound Jed tore out of the room,
and cleared the rickety stairs, then down another
flight, till he came to the street-door of the old
tenement house. Here, as usual, were motley
groups of all the children of the neighborhood
quarrelling, and otherwise enjoying themselves
as they best could. Glancing quickly around, he
saw that his little sister was not among them, as
indeed he had no reason to hope she would be,
for the Kennedys were quiet, peaceable folks
and kept to themselves as much as possible.
"See him! Ain't his boots stunners though!"
cried a big boy in the crowd, catching sight of
Jed's anxious face, and knowing something had
happened, "Now, boys," he whispered, "look
alive for some fun I'll start it."


"Have you seen Amy?" asked Jed, moving
off through the gateless enclosure.
"Amy ?" repeated the big boy, shoving back
his brimless hat. "Yes, I did, an' you better be
a-lookin' her up; or maybe she's gone by this
time shouldn't wonder."
Where was she? cried Jed, turning round
sharply on him.
"Gimme your boots if I tell?" asked the
other boy, winking to the rest. "Never see sich
a swell as you cut say, your toes have a chance
to grow, don't they?"
"Where was she?" repeated Jed, not moving
in the least.
"Well, 'tain't much use to go for her, after
all," cried the big boy carelessly, "I guess she's
done for now, for certain sure."
"If you don't tell me," said Jed, coming up
very close, and raising his hand I'll" -
"Hear him! hear cried the other, dodging
so suddenly he nearly upset a small boy in his
wake. Kennedy ain't too good to fight; look
at him now."
Will you tell ? said Jed, through white lips
and with blazing eyes.
"No," said the other with a leer.


The arm came down, but harmlessly; a bit
from an old book, that had been running in his
head all day, flashed through his mind, "Be
patient." With a cry of pretended suffering,
the other boy set up a shout of distress, that
presently brought several men who were loung-
ing in the neighborhood, and among them, the
father of the boy, running to the spot, but not
before the boy had shouted out, She's down
at the railroad cut, a-playing on the track! "
With one bound, Jed was off on the wings of
the wind.
"Not so fast, not so fast," said the boy's
father, following with two long strides and
putting one muscular hand on his shoulder,
"I ain't a-going to stand by and see my boy
beat by you, youngster."
Let me off," said Jed, trying to bound on his
"Not a bit of it, my hearty," replied the man,
getting a good grip on his collar; "you've got to
pay damages afore you gets off."
Jed twisted and wriggled, but all to no pur-
pose. His little sister playing on the railroad
track on the deep cut between two high banks
that he knew so well- and the eight o'clock


express due in five minutes! But the man had
him fast, with no hope of release, and was
marching him back with quick footsteps to the
old dirty court.
"What's the matter?" asked another man,
leaning against a door leading into a cellar, where
a good deal of noise arose and loud laughter
and talking. Hey! why, it's the Kennedy boy,
as sure as shot! "
"It is the Kennedy boy," said the other,
tightening his grip, an' he's a-goin' to the per-
lice this night."
Don't you wish you'd a-come to me ?" said
Mr. Higgins, stooping down to give a triumph-
ant leer into Jed's face, who by this time had
ceased struggling, wouldud be a little more re-
spectable to sell rum an' fixings, than to be took
up for fighting "
"I haven't been fighting," cried Jed, vehe-
mently; Oh, let me go; Amy'll be killed! "
"When you git away from me," said his
captor, "you'll know it. I'm tired of havin' my
boy hurt Oh there's a perlice."
With one wild cry, Jed broke clear away, and
plunged out of the court, amid the jeers of the
crowd who urged on his captor to hot pursuit.


If he had been properly shod or barefoot, he
could easily have eluded his pursuer, whose
heavy body was tiring in the race. But the
remnants of his old shoes fell to flapping around
his heels most dismally; until finally one gave
out entirely, and tripping him up, flung him
headlong under the hoofs of a horse that was
drawing a heavily loaded dray down the narrow
"He's done for, I guess," said a man standing
near, while the driver pulled up the horse, and
jumped down to add himself to the crowd fast
collecting around the unconscious boy. What's
he been a-doin' ?"
But there was no accuser; Jed's persecutor,
seeing the turn affairs had taken, had sneaked
away, and was soon lost in the crowd. Oh,
where's his home, I wonder?" said an old
woman pityingly, who was going home late with
her market basket on her arm.
At this the boy opened his eyes and gazed
wildly around. Amy," was all he said.
He's a-wanderin'," said one of the men;
"'taint any use to ask him. Fetch him in here."
It was a little old carpenter who spoke, and he
led the way to his small shop, into which they



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carried their burden. And then somebody went
for the doctor. But before the doctor got there
a woman followed by a pale, thin little boy of
seven, and a girl some two years younger,
rushed into the crowd, with white, set faces, on
which were no tears; only settled calm despair.
"Oh! cried Nathan, flinging himself down
on Jed, "'twas the old shoes, Jed. Oh, dear,
dear, I know 'twas !"
That's so," said one of the men, they flung
him right under an' I guess he won't never
wear any more shoes," he added in an undertone.
Again Jed opened his eyes. This time they
rested on Amy. "Did the cars come?" he
asked breathlessly.
I haven't -seen any- cars," said Amy, sob-
bing piteously and throwing her little arms
around his neck. I went after mother."
Jed's eyes closed quickly, and a sudden faint-
ness fell over him. It's all right now," he
said. "Take me home."
His mother motioned the way, and two of the
strongest of the men took him up tenderly and
walked as softly as they could, down back into
the dingy little court again, where a hush had
fallen upon every living thing.


How did it happen?" asked the men curi-
jusly; somebody was a-chasin him ? "
"I dunno," said another, who had followed
the sad procession; "but there's mischief to
pay here, an' somebody's been a-misusing this
boy, an, whoever 'tis, they shall suffer, if my
name's John Brown."
Jed closed his eyes with weary comfort. I'm
so glad I haven't told," he said within himself.
"It wouldn't do no good now, an' everybody
hates Jones' boy,' anyway, but Jesus knows."
"Jones' boy was in an angle of the hall, as
the men with their burden passed. Jed turned
his head and smiled at him; and then they went
up the crooked stairs, and he was at home once
If the landlord comes to-morrow," said Jed,
once when his mother was bathing his cold fore-
head, he won't turn you out as long as I'm
here; an' when I am gone, mother, why, you
must all look out to be at home by'm by."
It was all he said. By'm by"- they were the
last words on his lips; and Jed had gone to a
home from which there is no turning out" for-
ever more!



RICKET leaned over the railing of the
Long back stairs. "I think, Theodore,"
she said slowly, "that we ought to be
invited over to aunt Hepsy's for Thanks-
giving. I really do!" Theodore burst into a
loud laugh, and shook the bright mop of hair
that adorned his head in a very determined way
at his sister.
"How are you going to make folks invite you
if it don't strike them as a lovely idea, I should
like to know?" he demanded, boy-fashion, with
a grin.
"I wouldn't make them," said Cricket with
intense scorn, and sitting down on the nearest
stair, as the thought overcame her. Oh, you
don't really think.I'd care one single bit to go
unless they really wanted us; no, indeed! But
they ought to want us, Theodore."


She looked so distressed as she sat there, her
hands clasped in her lap and a little troubled
pucker on her forehead, that the boy stopped
his prancing in the long hall beneath and cast
about in his mind for some means of comfort.
Well, that's another thing," he said reflect-
ively, the smile disappearing, and he stood quite
still. It must be something in our own beauti-
ful selves, Cricky," at last he said honestly.
" You know we've been there once."
"I know," said Cricket quickly. And then
she added: "But that was five years ago, Theo-
dore Carrol!"
Some folks' memories last five years and
twice five years," said Theodore concisely.
Well, they oughtn't to remember," said
Cricket, with an uneasy twist. "We were so
little then. I'm sure I don't think of everything
that people did to me ages ago. 'Tisn't right,"
she added, with a most moral air.
I wonder if that cat's living yet," said Theo-
dore, falling into reminiscence that old yellow
and black creature. You know I did fling her
into the soft-soap barrel. Old black Jinny
will never forget that."
Well, you fished her out again," cried Cricket,


springing to her feet. "And you got all plas-
tered with soap, and she scratched you awfully,
Theodore, you know she did!"
I guess I'm aware of it," said Theodore,
looking at his two strong brown hands, as if the
marks of the ten claws were still to be seen.
"My! seems 's if I could feel them yet!"
The scratch on your nose was the funniest,"
laughed Cricket over the remembrance. "How
you did look, Theo! "
It cost me the Masons' garden party," said
her brother ruefully. I can't laugh over that."
Nor I either," exclaimed Cricket, sobering
down at once. "Oh dear, it took away half of
my fun because you weren't there."
And then, don't you know the china cup
and saucer we knocked down? cried Theodore,
going on with the painful recollections. 'Twas a
horrid homely old thing; but then we broke it,
so it counts."
Horrid homely old thing! repeated Cricket
impulsively, "why, you foolish boy, you! Aunt
Hepsy gave a perfect lot of money for that in
Boston! She said 'twas something that sounded
like brick-bat, and it must have been fine, it cost
so much."


Brick-break, more like," muttered Theo-
dore. Then he reiterated aloud with a defi-
ant air: I don't care; 'twas horrid, anyway "
I forgot all about the cup and saucer," said
Cricket in a despairing voice, and sinking down
again on her stair. "Oh, no, there's not the
smallest use in hoping for an invitation now,
Theo; not the smallest in the world."
"Children, here!" The housekeeper's hand
held out from the dining-room door a letter
which she put on the table in the hall. Then
she disappeared, jingling her keys, back to her
morning work, and left them to their own
What do you suppose it is?" exclaimed
Cricket, scampering down close to Theodore's
heels. Can papa be coming back, Theo,
You're always thinking he's coming," panted
Theodore, reaching the table first, when we
had a letter just last week saying he wasn't.
My, Cricket Carrol! "
He held up before his sister's eyes an envelope
of the largest dimensions, which appeared huger
yet in contrast .to the little pinched characters
with which it was covered.


"Aunt Hepsy/" exclaimed Cricket with big
eyes. Do you s'pose "-
But Theodore was tearing it open, and already
had the first few words of the letter in his pos-
"She wants us! oh, she wants us he
screamed in the greatest delight. And flapping
up the letter, unable to read another bit, he
grasped Cricket's two hands, and the two spun
round and round in the middle of the floor, like
two little wild Fejee Islanders.
What what is it ? gasped Cricket, when
she could get her breath.
Thanksgiving !" cried Theodore, giving
another spin. This time his partner entered
into it with zest enough to satisfy even him.
When they had hopped their satisfaction
enough to relieve their overcharged feelings they
both curled up in a corner of the old horse-hair
sofa in the wide hall, to cool off and read their
letter in quiet.
The result was beyond their fondest expecta-
tions. Aunt Hepsy having evidently put cup
and saucer resolutely out of remembrance, and
used her tact and influence over "Black Jinny,"
the powerful head of the kitchen department, to


make her forgive and forget the cat episode, had
outshone herself, and laid a royal invitation at
the children's feet.
"It sounds just as if she really wanted us, Theo-
dore!" exclaimed Cricket, perfectly delighted.
" So we ought to go."
"Hurrah for aunt Hepsy! cried Theodore
heartily. She does do a thing tiptop, now I
tell you! "
"And I shall behave splendidly," said Cricket,
smoothing down her apron with due propriety,
" to pay her for it. And I hope you will, Theo-
dore," she added with a motherly air, and looking
him all over anxiously.
I can't tell till I get there," said Theodore,
careful to evade a direct promise. "We
don't know what may come up. Now, says I,
the first thing we must tell Miss Ricketts, and
let her hustle our things together, for aunt
Hepsy says 'come on Wednesday,' and that's
day after to-morrow."
But Miss Ricketts, the housekeeper, already
knew; for she had a private letter of her own.
And so the children's luggage was packed; and
with many charges as to good behavior while
at their aunt's, with countless repetitions and


additions, they were at last allowed to depart,
under the care of the conductor, for Mayport,
the little old-fashioned town that ran out into
the sea.
But it wasn't lonely; oh, no, not in the least.
And after the children had been warmly wel-
comed by their aunt and old "Black Jinny,"
who with tears of joy in their eyes both bustled
around, unable to do enough for their little
visitors, they felt quite at home and as if they
had lived in the quaint weather-beaten structure
for years and years.
"It seems 's ef de ole house couldn't skurcely
wait fer ye ter come," said the old servant,
divesting Cricket of all her warm wrappings.
"Laws! ain't it lonesome, Mis' Hepsy, a Tanks-
gibbin' widout chillern ? "
We wanted to come dreadfully," exclaimed
Cricket honestly, giving her cold toes a happy
little wriggle before the bright fire.
An' ye orter see de pies I baked, hadn't dey,
Mis' Hepsy?" Old black Jinny threw back
her head and indulged in a hearty laugh that
would have showed all her teeth if she'd had
"Have you?" cried Theodore, crowding up


to her side. "Oh, can we have as much as we've
a mind to? "
Laws!" said the old woman, coming out of
her laugh enough to bring her expansive mouth
into proper conversational requirements, and
poking Theodore in the side with one long black
forefinger, "go 'long dar, honey. I guess yer
can't eat ole Jinny's pies up dis time. Dar's
mos' two hundred."
Two hundredpies!" cried Theodore, aghast
at such richness, while Cricket turned around
in her chair and crowed her amazement. "What
does she mean, aunt Hepsy?"
She means," said aunt Hepsy with a placid
smile on the bright face under the immaculate
cap, that for once she has beaten a boy. You
can't get ahead of those pies!"
"Ef dar ain't two hundred dar's nuff," ejacu-
lated old Jinny with a satisfied chuckle. Dat's
wot I mean. An' pies stan' fer eberyting else
too. Oh, Mis' Hepsy's ready fer ye!"
With that she ducked out into the kitchen to
her work.



B UT Theodore stood and twisted his hands
in front of the cosey fire.
"Aunt Hepsy," he said nervously, "why is
it a boy eats so much?"
"Goodness me! cried aunt Hepsy, trying to
push a smouldering log into place in the bright
blaze, "I don't know. Why, they're made
to, I suppose."
"They eat twice as much as a girl," said
Cricket complacently, and bestowing a reproach-
ful look on her brother; just exactly."
I don't know about that," said aunt Hepsy,
turning her keen gray eyes on the small figure
m the big rocking-chair. Not more than some
girls, perhaps."
"Well, they oughtn't to," said Theodore
stoutly, and shaking his bright yellow head
decidedly. '" Not unless they work terribly
hard." He squinted up his eyes, while a dread-
ful pucker took possession of his whole face.


"Did boys use to eat so much, years and
years ago ?"
"They didn't have so much to eat," said aunt
Hepsy,expending all her energies on the refrac-
tory log that brought a pink color in the thin,
pale face. "Years and years ago it was as
much as the fathers and mothers could do to
have any Thanksgiving."
When was the first Thanksgiving, aunt
Hepsy ? The very, very first in all the world?"
cried Cricket in great excitement.
"It was after the first harvest of the New
England colonies," said aunt Hepsy, "so many
years ago, children, in 1621, that good Governor
Bradford appointed a day for prayer and praise.
That, I suppose, was the first time that the chil-
dren had their Thanksgiving pumpkin pies."
Could the boys have just as much pie as
they wanted, aunt Hepsy ?" asked Theo anx-
iously drawing closer to her.
No, indeed, I don't suppose they did,"
exclaimed aunt Hepsy, with a last little push to
the burning log; everybody had to work then,
my boy, and be satisfied with a little to eat."
Well, then, they oughtn't to now," said
Theodore uneasily. "There's lots and lots of


poor folks who do work; and there's all of
Jinny's pies. Oh dear "
Well, Theodore," said aunt Hepsy, getting
up from the hearth-rug and shaking her dress,
while her keen gray eyes were fastened on him
earnestly, "what of it ?"
Nothing only nothing," began Theo-
dore, twisting this way and that, as he realized
that there still was time for him to retreat from
any premeditated self-denial. Then he struck
out boldly, while the color flew all over his
chubby face and up to the roots of his hair.
"Tisn't right, and I won't eat near so much,
I won't, if you'll only have some poor children
in to dinner, aunt Hepsy. Oh, will you, will
The boy was on the other side of the rug now,
his eyes kindling as he eagerly besieged her, all
the while trying to pull down the tall figure to
get his arms around her neck.
Oh, I don't know," cried Cricket in alarm;
and jumping out of her chair she added herself
to the animated group of two, "as I want to say
so. We want Thanksgiving, aunt Hepsy," she
exclaimed anxiously; "and Jinny's made the
pies for us. You're too bad, Theodore! ex-


claimed Cricket, turning vindictively on him.
Aunt Hepsy still continued to gaze at Theo-
dore; then she quietly took her seat in the
quaint, high-backed chair by the fire.
Say we may, say we may! cried Theodore,
whose spirits now rose at the warmth down in
his heart. Yes, you do too, Cricket; you know
you do," he added, whirling around on the indig-
nant little face; "poor folks, I mean, who have
never seen a pie. You know you want 'em to
eat some of ours."
"Well," said Cricket reluctantly. How she
wished she did want them thoroughly But she
must be honest with herself ; so she stood there
still saying Well," while a flush of shame
slowly mounted over the pretty cheeks.
You'll want 'em anyway when you see 'em
eating," said Theodore kindly, dreadfully dis-
appointed in her, but yet staunchly defending.
" Now if aunt Hepsy only will say yes."
"You came to have a nice time," said that
good lady quietly, still not removing her eyes
from him, "so you must have it in your own
way, for I'd made up my mind you should enjoy
the day. But understand, children," then she
included Cricket's flushed little face in her

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scrutiny, no more things are to be baked. If
you give up a part of your Thanksgiving dinner
-why, you give it up; that's all! "
That wouldn't be giving," said Theodore
with sparkling eyes, if we ate all we could and
then stuffed. I'd rather see them eat half."
Cricket turned abruptly away, and went over
to the other side of the long room, and after
two or three moments, just as abruptly turned
back again.
"Aunt Hepsy," she said very soberly, and
lifting up the brown eyes to the good face, "I
do want them to come now, oh, so much! And
I'm sorry I didn't want them at first."
She always gives people a great deal more
than I do ten thousand times more cried
Theodore in a transport, turning to bestow on
his small sister a generous hug. "You can't
think how good she is to folks at home," he ex-
claimed vehemently.
Miss Hepsibah got up from her chair and went
with firm, even steps to the kitchen.
Aunt Jinny," she said, going up to the old
black woman who was stirring gingerbread in
a cake-bowl of the hugest dimensions; and she
put both hands on the two shoulders before her,


"we're entertaining angels unawares! Those
children in there" -she pointed back toward
the library door have proposed, remember,
aunt Jinny, proposed to give up part of their
Thanksgiving dinner to some poor people who
would have none "
De Lor bress us!" ejaculated aunt Jinny,
tumbling back with the cake spoon in hand, to the
imminent danger of her mistress' pretty dress.
"Dey. is bof well, ain't dey?" she asked anx-
iously. "Yer don't' spose dey is gwine ter die ?"
The old woman's big black eyes stuck out
with the greatest alarm at this thought, as she
waited for her answer.
I think," said aunt Hepsy with a quiet
smile, "that if your gingerbread were to be put
before them you would be satisfied on that point.
" No, aunt Jinny, I think they will not only live,
but grow. Now, then, if you and I only do our
part, we'll have the best Thanksgiving that our
old eyes have ever seen!" Aunt Jinny gave an
energetic thrust or two with her spoon into the
cake mixture, then turned and bobbed her turban
solemnly at her mistress. "An' bress de Lor',
Mis' Hepsy," she said, "for privilegin' you ter
inwite 'em, and me ter cook fer 'em. Dat's all


I say! Now den, I'll spry round as peart as
a cricket, an' do my harnsomest to make dis de
toppest Thanksgibbin', I tell ye!"


T ILDY PRICHARD declared that noth-
ing should induce her to let her little
sister play with her new doll, and she backed
up against a big pine-tree to emphasize her
views on the matter.
Priscilla backed up the other side, placed her
fat thumb in her mouth, and thought how hard
was life.
This was the way it began :
Til-dy called a voice from the house.
Tildy gave a start, to clasp her precious doll
tighter to her breast, and ran like lightning to
answer the summons.
Mrs. Prichard had stepped back into her bed-
room door that led out from the keeping-room,
and she now stood engaged in brushing out the
two rows of curls on either side of her face.
Tildy," she said, I want you to ran down to
the Parson's with a pat of butter. There 'tis,

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child, done up on the table in a cloth. Lay
down your doll and run along."
"0 mother! began Tildy in utter dismay.
Then she began to cry. I thought you called
me 'cause Jane Ann had come," she whim-
Jane Ann was a cousin who lived over the
hill, and who two or three times in a summer,
came over with her mother to spend a long,
sweet afternoon.
"Tildy," said Mrs. Prichard severely, "you
won't enjoy Jane Ann when she does come, if
you don't do your duty now. Obey me, and
take that butter to Parson Ford's."
So Tildy carefully depositing the doll on the
best table, under the square looking-glass, took up
the little pat of butter tied securely in its blue
cloth, and started cross lots" for the minister's
house. Priscilla ran away from her tree to
climb up on the bars to see her go.
"Don't you touch my doll," called Tildy.
The sunlight fell on Priscilla's brown hair and
rosy face, and she laughed mischievously, but
didn't speak.
Do-on-t you," called Tildy, as she walked
backward across the field.


"Do-on-t you," echoed the trees, and flowers,
and bii-ds.
Tildy, swinging her empty blle cloth,
and her head full of the thanks and messages
of the minister's wife, ran gayly home. She
rushed into the keeping-room and up to the
best table, under the square looking-glass.
"Why- where =" she began.
No one was in sight to ask, so out she ran on
the wings of the wind, her small soul full of a
a nameless dread. The first thing she stepped
on as her foot cleared the sill, was her precious,
precious doll-her sweet Belinda. But how
changed Her little plump body was wasted and
thin, and one arm thrown up over her head in
distress, was worn to a thread. A painful stream
of sawdust trickling down the flat doorstone,
revealed the cause of Belinda's sudden falling
away of flesh.
Oh, you naughty, bad, wicked Priscilla!"
cried Tildy, launching herself into a torrent of
invectives, from which she couldn't recover her-
self, and she started down under a small slope
there she felt quite sure she should frid the
delinquent in her play-house.
She was right. There sat Mistress Priscilla,


IL- ^ \\^ ^


pouring tea from an acorn cup, into acorn saucers,
for an innumerable company of corn-cob dolls.
How could you!" cried Tildy, pouncing on
her, and knocking over the tea-cup and saucer
in her hand. "Now I'll break your dolls!"
Ow ow !" exclaimed Mistress Priscilla in
an agony. And she jumped up with a ferocious
little air to protect her guests.
You've smashed my doll, and let out her
blood and bones," cried Tildy, her eyes begin-
ning to be full of tears.
"I didn't," said little Priscilla soutly, ever
touch your doll since you went."
Down fell Tildy's arm. She had never known
the little sister to tell other than the most
whole-souled truth in all her small life.
Til-dy!" again the mother's voice. Tildy went
slowly up the slope and over the flat doorstone.
I am in great trouble, and I want you to
help me," said Mrs. Prichard, and her face
was quite pale, and she had tears in her eyes
too. "I was sitting sewing by the window in
my room, when I heard a queer noise, and look-
ing into the keeping-room, I saw a strange dog.
He had your doll, Tildy. He had dragged it
down from the table. I ran out and tried to


save it, but lie had already chewed it up.
Hie dropped it by the doorstep and ran, and I
was just going to pick it up, when my eyes fell
on this. Only look! take care -my old blue
china cup that stood on the corner of the table!
I don't know what your grandfather will say,
for it was his mother's before him, and "-
But Tildy cared nothing for ancestral china
at this moment, and whether one cup more or
less was whole and safe. Had she not blamed
that dear little sister unjustly, and said ugly
words to her? She sped again over the door-
stone, and Belinda bleeding her life away,
and scarcely breathed till she cried, her arms
around Priscilla, Can you forgive me, Prissy?
'Twas an awful dog chewed Belinda."
"I can," condescended Priscilla. "But you
should have found out first." Then she put up
her little lips, dewey and sweet. I'm sorry for
you," she said, with a loving pat of her brown
hand. "Have some tea?"
That was fifty years ago. Now Tildy and Pris-
cilla's grandchildren have six or eight French dolls
apiece, and go to parties every week. But they
don't know half the fun that these little maidens
had under the tree by the big red farmhouse.

-II S'41 I



AT the time of my visit to England, there
were few persons better known than Mrs.
Frey. She was a splendid-looking woman, with
a countenance indicative of great vigor of mind,
and a bearing more dignified and impressive
than I have often seen. Her face expressed
great benevolence, and it seemed to me that she
looked just as a person of her character should
look. Her great mission was reading the Bible
to the wretched inmates of Newgate. I was
desirous of attending one of those readings and
as soon as she knew it she assured me that I should
be gratified. Accordingly I met her at the
prison, and witnessed one of the most impressive
services at which I have ever been present.
There were forty poor prisoners, nearly all
having a Bible in hand. Mrs. Frey read the
twelfth chapter of Romans and the thirteenth
Psalm, commenting with much feeling. Noth-
ing could have been more beautiful than her


manner of reading. And it had its effect upon
other minds than mine, for I saw some who
looked like veterans in crime burying their
faces in their hands, overwhelmed with com-
punction, if not with penitence. There was a
young gentleman who came in to see Mrs. Frey
who looked very modest-- it was a noble lord
who took the deepest interest in her work.
She gave me a thrilling account of her labors
and assured me that she had reason to believe
that the Bible as read by her had been the
power of God to the salvation of many prison-
ers. Her manner to them was winning, and
their treatment of her most deferential and
grateful. The Emperor Alexander pronounced
her one of the wonders of the age. She talked
with Quaker precision and the style of her con-
versation was worthy of the Court. She wished
me to visit her at her home, but I could not.
It is several years since she passed away, but
her good deeds will pass away -never!

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