Citation
Grace Harvey and other tales

Material Information

Title:
Grace Harvey and other tales
Creator:
Nimmo, William Philip, 1831-1883 ( Publisher )
Murray and Gibb ( Printer )
Place of Publication:
Edinburgh
Publisher:
William P. Nimmo
Manufacturer:
Murray and Gibb
Publication Date:
Language:
English
Physical Description:
152, 4 p., [5] leaves of plates : ill. (some col.) ; [1870?]

Subjects

Subjects / Keywords:
Children -- Conduct of life -- Juvenile fiction ( lcsh )
Conduct of life -- Juvenile fiction ( lcsh )
Christian life -- Juvenile fiction ( lcsh )
Children's stories ( lcsh )
Children's stories -- 1870 ( lcsh )
Prize books (Provenance) -- 1870 ( rbprov )
Publishers' advertisements -- 1870 ( rbgenr )
Bldn -- 1870
Genre:
Children's stories ( lcsh )
Prize books (Provenance) ( rbprov )
Publishers' advertisements ( rbgenr )
novel ( marcgt )
Spatial Coverage:
Scotland -- Edinburgh
Target Audience:
juvenile ( marctarget )

Notes

General Note:
Date of publication from inscription.
General Note:
Publisher's advertisements follow text.
General Note:
Frontispiece printed in colors.
Funding:
Preservation and Access for American and British Children's Literature, 1870-1889 (NEH PA-50860-00).

Record Information

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:
This item is presumed to be in the public domain. The University of Florida George A. Smathers Libraries respect the intellectual property rights of others and do not claim any copyright interest in this item. Users of this work have responsibility for determining copyright status prior to reusing, publishing or reproducing this item for purposes other than what is allowed by fair use or other copyright exemptions. Any reuse of this item in excess of fair use or other copyright exemptions may require permission of the copyright holder. The Smathers Libraries would like to learn more about this item and invite individuals or organizations to contact The Department of Special and Area Studies Collections (special@uflib.ufl.edu) with any additional information they can provide.
Resource Identifier:
026701090 ( ALEPH )
ALG6943 ( NOTIS )
70924264 ( OCLC )

Downloads

This item has the following downloads:


Full Text






« Those ‘that seek me early toll “find me.’
Prov. wie 17:

(St... Mark’s ‘Sonooks,
BIRMINGHAM,
Awarded 10

a Z Se YL yyy ie

j FOR Goop LONDUCT AND DILIGENT -
APPLICATION —

DURING THE YHAR 1870.

2 G. THWAITES, Vicar.

Z 2a

«The soul of the sluggard desireth and hath *
nothing; but the soul of the diligent shall* be
made fat.”— Prov. xiii, 4. ’





The Baldwin Library

University
RmB we
Florida











GRACE HARVEY,



GRACE HARVEY,

Aud Other Gales,



EDINBURGH:

WILLIAM P,. NIMMO.,






CONTENTS.



—_—+—_—.
PAGE
GRACE HARVEY, . . ; . . . 7
GREENLAND’S ICY MOUNTAINS, : ° . 47
THE YOUNG SOLDIER, . ° ° ° . 105
FRANK LUDLOW, . ° ° : ; . 119

GRANDFATHER’S TALE, . 7 . ° . 137






Grace Harve.







GRACE HARVEY,

CHAPTER IL

ZOW, Gracie, remember you promised me that
you would not cry.’

‘IT know it, papa. I don’t intend to ery.
Good-bye.’

The little quivering face was uplifted for a last kiss,
and Mr, Harvey clasped the little black-robed figure
tightly for a moment. Then he set her down within the
doorway, and sprang hastily into the carriage that stood
in waiting for him,—Grace looking after him with a
longing, sorrowful gaze, till the last echo of the horses’
hoofs had faded in the distance.

She turned back into the hall then, where her aunt,
Mrs. Lyon, stood, surrounded by a group of her cousins.
The oldest of these, a frank, good-natured-looking girl
of twelve, came forward as Grace turned towards them. -

‘Come, Gracie,’ she said cheerfully; ‘come with
Annie and me, and let's feed the guinea-pigs. Did you
‘ever see any? They're so cunning!’

; 9






10 GRACE HARVEY.

Grace made no answer. The sudden sense of her
loneliness in this crowd of strange faces overpowered her.
Her lips quivered, the tears sprang to her eyes, and she
hid her face in her hands to hide the grief which she
could not any longer control.

Lizzie Lyon glanced at her sister Annie with a look of
annoyance, and the word ‘baby’ shaped itself on her
lips, though she did not suffer it to be heard, Annie, a
gentler child, said soothingly—

‘I wouldn’t cry, Gracie, if I were you. Don't!
Your father will come and see you before long; he said
he would, you know.’

‘And you know you promised him not to ery,’ put in
Barbara, the youngest of the three.

‘She did not promise him never to cry, Barbara,’ said

‘Mrs. Lyon quickly. ‘And she can't help it just now,
when everything is strange to her. Run away, all of
you, for a little while, and leave her to me.’

The children obeyed readily enough, for it was very
uncomfortable to see Grace’s tears; and they were not
sorry of an opportunity to talk about the new cousin
amongst themselves. Barbara was the first to speak
when they got to a safe distance.

‘I wish she hadn’t come,’ she said fretfully. ‘If she’s
going to be crying after her father all the time, she'll
spoil every bit of our fun.’

‘You haven’t much to boast of about crying, Bab,’
said Lizzie. ‘You do it often yourself.’

‘I don’t care! I don’t want to have anybody beside
me that’s always looking miserable.’

‘Because you want to make all the misery yourself—
is that it, Barbie?’ laughed Annie. ‘I hope Grace
isn’t going to be stupid and unhappy, though. What do
you think about it, Liz?’

‘I don’t know,’ responded Lizzie, dubiously. ‘She



GRACE HARVEY. 11

doesn’t look as if she had much fun in her. I’m afraid
she’s going to be dull.’

‘She’s very pretty, at any rate,’ said Annie. ‘Did
you observe what little white hands she had ??

‘Yes, I saw them,’ answered her sister in a discon-
tented way. ‘I don’t think much of little white hands,
though. They'll be too fine for use, you'll see.’

That statement could never have been made about
Lizzie’s hands; for though they were small enough and
well-shaped, she had made them as coarse as a boy’s by
her constant rough play. She prided herself upon being
able to run and row, to swim and skate, to ride a horse, .
and climb a tree, as well as her brothers. No sport was
too daring for her, for she was afraid of nothing; and
this, in fact, was the characteristic of all the Lyon
children. They were a strong, hearty, fearless race, all
born and brought up in the country, and accustomed,
all their lives, to constant out-door exercise. This had
made them sturdy in limb and nerve, and they had no
respect for any sort of weakness,

The older children of the family were boys; and this,

_ perhaps, helped to make the girls more rough and ready
than they might have been. For, living upon a large
farm, at a distance from neighbours, Ned and Jack were
obliged to make companions and playmates of their
sisters. So they had all grown up together in a merry,
noisy, boyish sort of way; all fond of each other, all
good-natured and cheerful,—except little Barbara, who
was given to ‘sulking’ occasionally; all honest, and
kind-hearted, and brave, but not apt to show much
tenderness on any occasion, and, indeed, rather ashamed
of ever being what they called ‘sentimental.’

There could not have been a greater contrast, possibly,
than between these hardy young Lyons and their delicate
little cousin, Grace Harvey. She was the only child of





12 GRACE HARVEY.

Mrs. Lyon’s youngest sister, who had gone to live in
another part of the country at her marriage, and had
died there. She had been an invalid for many years;
and Grace, being the only child, was constantly at her
‘mother’s side,—not even going to school, but learning
her simple lessons at home. She was naturally shy and
reserved ; and living always in a sick-room, with no com-
panion of her own age, she had grown nervous and
silent, and any sudden noise or strange sight was apt to
frighten her.

Her mother’s death had increased this tendency. She
had known nothing about death before; and all the stran ge,
sorrowful circumstances connected with it, haunted her
imagination for months afterwards. Many a night in her
dreams she saw again the long, black coffin, and the silent
figure—so terrible in its whiteness’ and stillness—that
lay within. Many atime in the twilight, when all was
still and shadowy, she fancied that she heard the dread-
ful sound of the falling earth wpon the coffin-lid. And
more than once she awoke from sleep sobbing wildly, as
she had done on that wretched night when she was
brought to her mother’s bedside to kiss her for the last
time.

She grew so morbid and miserable at last,—*‘ afraid of
her own shadow,’—that her father concluded to send her
away from home. He thought if she was out of the
house that was so full of memories of her mother, and
amongst younger companions, who would divert her
from her grief, that.she would grow healthier in body
and mind.

So he sent her first to a boarding-school in the town,
which was near enough for him to visit her frequently
and see how she got on. But the ‘ getting on’ was not
very satisfactory. Grace had been too tenderly brought
up for boarding-school discipline. Her dainty appetite,



GRACE HARVEY. 13

accustomed to the soups and jellies of an invalid, was not
equal to the plain, substantial food that other children
enjoyed. Her sensitive disposition made her shrink from
contact with strangers, and so they called her ‘cross’
and ‘stupid.’ At the end of six months he saw that the
experiment was a failure. Grace was thin, and pale, and
drooping; her wistful little. face more wistful and sad
each time that he went to see her. She did not com-
plain; but he saw that the boarding-school was no place
for her. So he took her away.

Then came the thought of his sister-in-law, Mrs. Lyon.
She had asked him to send the child to her, when her
mother. first died; but he hated to send her to sucha
distance from him, and Grace equally dreaded to go.
However, there was nothing else to be done. Neither
home nor school was fit for her; and so, at last, the
little motherless girl found her way to Hollybrook
Farm, the home of the aunt and cousins whose names
she had heard so often, though till now she had never
seen them.

It was only for a visit that she went at first, until it
was seen how Grace and her cousins agreed together.
At the end of six months she was to come home if she
was not happy at Hollybrook. And meanwhile, Mr
Harvey would come and see her as often as he could.
So everything was. arranged as comfortably as possible
for her, and Grace meant to be very brave, and cheerful,
and patient, and try to improve, that she might please
and comfort her father.’

She never fretted nor complained throughout the
journey, long and tiresome as it was, and she bore the
final parting without a single tear. But the breaking-
down afterwards was so natural—it was so impossible
to help it after the forced composure of the last two or
three days—that no one should have blamed her for it.



14 GRACE HARVEY.

Mrs. Lyon certainly did not; and while her own little
girls, who had never known any trouble in their lives,
were rather inclined to call their cousin ‘ baby,’ she took
the little tired traveller into her motherly arms, and
soothed and pitied her, till Grace almost felt, as if she had
her own mother back again,







GRACE HARVEY. 15

CHAPTER IL

LL, girls, what sort of a creature is she?
She’s pretty enough; but is there any fun
in her ?”

The young Lyons—a round half-dozen of
them—were grouped together in front of the large open
fire in the schoolroom. ‘There were plenty of comfort-
able seats around, but these children preferred to sit, in
independent fashion, upon the floor, and in attitudes
more picturesque than graceful.

Little Charlie—a five year old boy—was curled up
like a kitten in one corner, with his head in Barbara’s
lap. Ned was stretched at full length, basking jm the
glow of the coals, and reading The Far North by their
light; Annie and Lizzie sat cross-legged, Turk fashion ;
and Jack sat hugging his knees in the opposite corner.

But careless and lazy as the attitudes were, the fire-
light shone upon no sleepy faces there. Ruddy cheeks,
and wide-awake eyes, sparkling with ‘fuy,’ caught the
rosy glow; and of all the merry, mischievous crew,
perhaps Master Jack was the merriest and most mis~-
chievous. No lack of the quality in question in Ais com-
position—that was evident !

An answer sprung from the lips of all three sisters
before his question was fairly asked.

‘Fun! nota bit of it, Jack. She's afraid of her own
shadow.’





16 GRACE HARVEY.

‘Bah! we'll have to cure her of that,’ said Jack, with
a disgusted expression.

‘We'll have our hands full, then,’ exclaimed Lizzie,
with a laugh. ‘Tits really ridiculous, the way she

behaves. You'd think she had been kept in a bandbox
ever since she was born.’

‘Well, let’s hear all about it. -What did she do?’

‘Why, in the first place, she cried just as soon as
. Uncle Harvey went away. She watched the carriage

until it was out of sight; then she came back into the
hall, where we all stood, and I thought I would ask her
to go and see the guinea-pigs. But instead of answering
me, missy burst into tears, and cried for an hour,—so
‘silly, when her father is coming again in a month !’

‘Ah, but, Liz, you wouldn’t like to be left all alone,
among strangers, yourself, put in Annie.

O be still, Annie! I wouldn’t mind it a bit; I'd like
to go about and see the world. Besides, and are we
not her cousins? and mother coaxed her as loving as
could be.’

‘She doesn’t coax me so, when I ery!’ said Barbara,
with a sort of whine.

‘No; because you cry too often, Bab. She might
always be coaxing !’ Lizzie retorted, and, without heed-
ing the child’s pout, went on with her story.

‘Well, we were sent out of the way—Annie, and Bab,
and I—until little Tenderheart got her feelings com-
forted. By and by mother called us, and told us to
take her up here, and show her our books, and games,
and things. So we did, and brought out all our trea-
sures from the closet; and she looked at them, and after
a while she felt better, and began to talk a little.’

‘Did you show her my box of beetles ?’ asked Jack.

‘Yes; and you ought to have seen her jump. ‘Oh,
how can you keep such horrid things!” with a shudder



GRACE HARVEY. 17

and a shiver as if they were rattlesnakes. “ Why, they
won't hurt you,” says little Charlie; “they’re not alive.”
“Oh, but they are so disagreeable ; they make my flesh
creep!” And then such a look of disgust! She actually
turned pale.’

‘Come, Liz, don’t draw on your imagination too
lively,’ said Jack, incredulously. ‘That’s a little too
much, you know; the idea of anybody’s turning pale
over a few dead lizards and beetles !’

‘She did, though, she did!’ interposed little Charlie,
sturdily. ‘It’s just as Liz says, I tell you, Jack.’

‘Good for you, Charlie!’ they all cried, gaily ; and
Lizzie laughingly continued—

‘T haven’t told you half yet, Jack ; just wait and see.
Dinner-time came pretty soon, and after dinner, don’t
you think, she said she would like to go up-stairs and
lie down! Imagine anybody but a baby having to take
a nap in the day-time !’

‘ Anybody but a fiddlestick!’ exclaimed Ned, who
had not taken part in the conversation before. ‘After
a journey of five hundred miles without stopping, and
half of it in the night-time, anybody might want a nap.
I wonder mother didn’t put her to bed as soon as she
got here.’

‘Well, never mind about that; I suppose she was
tired,’ Lizzie assented. ‘But she had a good sleep, and
came down again quite refreshed, she said. So then I
asked her if she wouldn’t like to take a walk. We
hadn’t been out of doors all day, and I was dying for a
run myself.’

‘Oh, Dll be sure you were!’ muttered Ned, under his
breath ; but Lizzie took no notice of him.

‘You should have seen how amazed she looked!’ she
went on, ‘“Take a walk! why, where would you go?
It’s so cold on the lawn, with the trees all bare.” Oh, we

B



oe

18 GRACE HARVEY.

said, not on the lawn,—there was no fun walking there,—
out in the fields somewhere; down the meadow-lane, or
up into the woods. And at that she looked as if she
thought we were insane. Why, we would certainly
freeze, she said, or be blown off our feet! We told
her that we went out every day the year round, and
rode, and skated, and sailed, and all that sort of thing.

« And then she looked at us as though we were wild

animals.’
‘Draw it mild, Liz,’ put in Jack again, shakine with

laughter ; and Mise rattled on.

‘It is all so, I tell you; you can ark Charlie. We
got her out at last, however, after a great deal of ccax-
ing, and promising to take her in the woods, where
the wind couldn’t touch her. Youd have thought,
when we started, that she was going to Greenland, she
was muffled up so. Well, we took a short cut across
the old corn-field to the woods, and the broken ground
hurt her feet so, you can’t think!’

‘Pretty dear! we'll have it carpeted for her, ag soon
as possible,’ said Jack, and they all laughed at his comical
tone; while Ned added—

# That's tr ee than you think: its to be sown in grass
in thie spring.’

‘But when she got fairly into the woods, it was
amusing to watch her. She had never seen anything
bigger ian a town garden, she said; and the great
splendid old trees seemed like monsters to her, like the
ogres in the fairy tales—’

‘Or Jack on the bean-stalk,’ whispered Jack to him-
self.

‘And it took her breath away to look up to their
tops! continued Lizzie, disregarding the interpolation.
‘The wind in the boughs, she said, sounded just like the
organ in their church at home; and then she laid her



GRACE HARVEY. 19

head down on the bank, and turned her face away,
and I do believe she cried.’

‘Yes, she did,’ said Annie; ‘and I asked her what
made her cry, and she wouldn’t tell me for ever so long;
and I kissed her by. and by, and then she said it was
like the music they played the day her mother was
buried P|

‘Poor little thing ! exclaimed Ned, his quick feelings
touched to pity. ‘I say, Liz, I hope you haven't been
up to any of your tricks with that child?’

‘No, no,’ said Lizzie, ‘of course not. Though it’s
time she left off moping so. Aunt’s been dead nearly
a year, and Grace has been at boarding-school,—she
ought to have got over it. But she zs such a little
coward! It was getting towards dark, you know, and
the frogs began to croak. It sounded very loud in the
woods, and Grace got so frightened! I made her come .
to the edge of the pond, and look at them, to see that
they wouldn’t hurt her. But she shook so all over, and
every bit of pink went out of her cheeks, and she begged
so hard to come home, that we had to start off. I had
a mind to bring her through the cow-pasture, but I was
afraid she’d have a fit, or something; soI didn’t. But
now, what are we ever going to do with such a Miss
Nancy ?’

‘Let her alone; she'll get over it. Nobody wants her
to be such a rough specimen as you are, Liz,’ said Ned,
gruffly ; and his sister retorted—

‘Oh, you be still! yowll be as ready as anybody to
help to cure her of her nonsense. Afraid of frogs,
indeed! Jack, see here! I’ve got something to tell
you.” And then the two brown heads went down to-
gether, and it was plain to see that some mischief was
brewing, from the whispering and tittering that followed.

‘That’s not fair,’ exclaimed Annie, presently, not



20 GRACE HARVEY.

liking to be kept out of the fun, whatever it was.
‘You've no right to whisper before other people.’

‘No,’ said Ned ; ‘let’s have no whispering and secrets.
Speak it out and be done with it. It’s some mischief, I
know.’

‘Well, if you'll promise not to meddle,’ Lizzie began.

‘I’m not in the habit of meddling,’ Ned replied, with
dignity.

‘No; but you seem inclined to make excuses for this
foolish ‘Tittle Grace, said Jack; ‘and if-we tell you that
we mean to take her in hand, and cure her of her-non-
sense, youl be having some obj jections to make, I
suppose.’

‘Not if you go the right way to work,’ Ned answered.
‘ Of course I don’t want her to be silly, and a spoil-sport,
any more than youdo. But then I don’t want you to
be rough with her ; the little thing looks too delicate for
you and Liz to train.’

‘Oh, don’t you be afraid ! was Lizzie’s retort. ‘ We're
not going to hurt her. You can come in and take her
part when we do,’

‘Well, I’d like to hear your plans,’ said Ned. ‘Let
me hear ‘them.’

But just at this juncture the door opened, aad Mrs.
Lyon appeared. She had been up-stairs to see that the
little stranger was comfortably in bed, and, pitying her
loneliness, had stayed with her until she dropped to sleep.
Now she looked into the schoolroom on her way down,
to say that it was quite time little Charlie was in bed
too, and that the others got out their books for to-
morrow’s lessons.

So, after a good deal of chattering and scrambling
about, the table was drawn up before the fire, the lamp
lighted, and books and slates brought out from the long |
desk which stretched across the room at its farther end.



GRACE HARVEY. 21

Mrs. Lyon went back to the parlour, after seeing cach
one settled at his proper place at the table. Charlie was
carried off to bed ; ‘and soon all were quiet, except when
Jack and Lizzie exchanged a glance of mischief, and
broke into a smothered laugh, or little Bab whined over
some difficulty in her lesson,





22 GRACE HARVEY,

CHAPTER IIl.

CRIB had been put up for Grace in the room
which Lizzie and Annie occupied. Barbara
slept on the second storey, in a little room
that opened out of her mother’s; and little
Charlie, who was ‘baby’ still, had his crib in Mrs. Lyon’s
own chamber. It was not thought best to. put Grace

in 2 room alone; in fact, her father had requested that
she might have a sleeping companion; and so her aunt

had had the little bed put up in the girls’ room, which
was the largest and airiest on that floor.

When Lizzie and Annie went up to bed, they found
Grace fast asleep, her cheek leaning on one of the little
white hands that Annie admired so much, and her pretty
brown ringlets peeping out from the ruffled border of
her nightcap.

‘She ds pretty,’ Lizzie whispered, as they stopped for
a minute to look at her.

‘As pretty as a picture, Annie returned. ‘But do
you know, Liz, I believe she has been crying in her
sleep !’

True enough, there was the tear-drop trembling still
on wet eyelashes. Mr. Harvey had seen the same
thing many a time when he looked at his little daughter
in her sleep—a sleep that was so often broken and dis-
tressed with her sorrowful dreams. But it was some-
thing new to these healthy, happy children, who hardly





GRACE HARVEY. 23

knew the meaning of sorrow, and whose slumbers were
rarely light enough for dreams. It touched them to a
sense of pity, and they moved softly about in their un-
dressing, and spoke in whispers, that they might not dis-
turb her.

‘I suppose if mother were to die, we'd feel just so,’
Annie said, after they were in bed.

‘Mother isn’t going to die; don’t talk about such
things, Annie,’ her sister answered, hastily. For Lizzie

mever wanted to think of any trouble. So Annie said
no more; and the two were soon deep in slumber, from
which they did not wake until the grey light of day-
break was creeping through the windows. They did
not wake of their own will then. A startled cry from
Grace’s crib roused them up; and there she was, sitting
upright in bed, staring all round the room with such
wild, frightened eyes, that the sisters called out in
alarm— ,

‘What is the matier, Grace? Say! what do you
see ?’

‘Oh, that horrid noise!’ was all Grace could utter.

‘ What noise? I don’t héar anything. What are
you talking about, Grace?’

‘There it goes again!’ cried the frightened child,
cowering down into the bed, and drawing the quilt over
her head that she might not hear. But Lizzie exclaimed,
with a look of disgust—

‘Upon my word, Grace, I wouldn’t have thought
anybody could be so silly. It’s nothing but the cocks
crowing for day. For pity’s sake, did you never see a
chicken ?*

Annie went off into fits of laughter, and poor Grace
was thoroughly mortified.

‘Of course I have,’ she said, ‘and heard them too ;
but I was dreaming, and it sounded so strange. I don’t



24 GRACE HARVEY.

think it’s kind of you to laugh at me so.’? And then they
heard her sobbing to herself under the bedclothes.

Annie tried very hard to smother the merriment she
could not suppress; but Lizzie was uapatient of what
she thought ‘such ridiculous affectation.’

‘Ti’s Eapsigile she can be such a goose,’ she whispere ed
under the bedclothes to her sister. ‘She's putting on
airs, and I'll cure her of them—or frighten her in
earnest.’

‘What will you do?’ asked Annie, in the same under-
tone. ;

‘Oh, I know! I’ve thought of something—if you
won't tell.’

‘OF course not, Liz. As if I ever told!’

‘Well, put your head under the sheet; don’t let her
hear us. You know Murphy’s old white barn-cock ?’

‘Dick Redtop? Yes.’

‘Mind now, you don’t breathe it; you don’t let any-
body guess!’ And then followed a long, whispered
communication, interspersed with many a smothered
giggle from Annie, whose laughter was always ready to
bubble up and boil over on the slightest provocation.
What the plan was that caused so much amusement, I
must not explain, since it was so strictly private and
confidential. It was revealed only to Jack, of all the
children, his co-operation being necessary for the suc-
cess of the joke. Besides, Jack was a good one for
keeping his own counsel. No danger of any indiscretion
on his part, when there was any mischief to be accom-
plished, and any fun to come out of it.

Lessons had been omitted the day before, in honour
of Grace’s arrival ; but they were to begin again to-day,
and at nine o'clock, accordingly, the chiles gathered to-
gether in the schoolroom. There was no school anywhere
within miles of Hollybrook Farm, and so the young



GRACE HARVEY. "95

Lyons had always been taught at home, by a governess
when they were little, and now by Mr.. Lyon himself,
who was a fine classical scholar, and preferred to prepare
his boys for college after his own system. Ned and
Jack were reading Horace very cleverly, and going
through a course of Greek grammar besides. Lizzie
and Annie, too, had begun to study Latin; and even
Grace knew something about it, her father having
taught her a few verbs and declensions by way of
amusement in winter evenings.

He had asked that she might continue the study with
her cousins. So Grace had a Latin grammer given
her, and Annie and Lizzie were turned back to the begin-
ning, that they might all go on together. There was at
first a little grumbling about this, on Lizzie’s part; but
Grace said so pleasantly, ‘If you only won't mind it,
Lizzie, I shall get on so much faster for being with you
and Annie,—and I do want to learn!’ that her cousin
was propitiated ; and the morning lessons went on very.
nicely.

There was no particular order enforced in this school-
room. The children scattered about pretty much as they
pleased, some sitting in one place, and some in another,
while they worked their examples, or looked out their
Latin words. Ned and Jack had the first recitation, in
Greek grammar ; then came a geography lesson, in which
the two girls recited with their brothers, and Grace was
to join them; then Barbara had some little lessons in
geography and spelling, and after that was a recess for
half an hour.

This was the signal for a romp; and Grace was rather
surprised to see that no one was sent in to stop the noise.
A servant came to the door with a plate of cakes and a
dish of apples, which were immediately seized upon .by
Jack and Annie, and distributed in the most uncere-



26 | GRACE HARVEY.

monious manner. Nobody seemed to think of sitting
down to eat the lunch. They climbed up on the long
desk, and chased each other from one end of it to the
other; they jumped over the chairs; they played puss-
in-the-corner,—all the while eating, and all the while
laughing and shouting as loudly as they pleased.

Grace did not take much share in thé frolic. She did
not know how to jump over chair-backs and benches, and
her childish education in puss-in-the-corner had been
neglected. She was very much amused, however, with
the agility of her cousins, and laughed heartily at some
of their performances in the monkey-line. So that, see-
ing that she did not ‘put on any airs,’ as they expressed
it, they allowed her to sit still, an unmolested spectator,
until Mr. Lyon returned, and the game of romps ended.

Lessons went on, after the recess, till the clock struck
two, Then the children all ran up-stairs, to brush their
hair and wash their faces for dinner, which they had just
time to do before the bell rang. After this there was no
more school for the day. The children had the after-
noon to themselves, to spend as they. chose, in any kind
' of work or play that suited them best. And they had
always a great variety of pursuits; time never hung
heavy on the hands of this active little crew. Out-of-
door occupation pleased them best generally, and cold
weather never hindered them, as we have seen. But
when the weather was wet,—an actual rain falling, or a
more than usually heavy snow-storm,—there was a rule
that they must confine their energies to the limits of
the house.

To-day was one that came under the rule. Grey
clouds had been hanging low all the morning; at dinner-
time they descended in the shape of a north-east storm,
which gave promise of tarrying long enough td keep the _
children in-doors for more days than one. The young





GRACE HARVEY. 27

Lyons grumbled openly—little Grace Harvey rejoiced
secretly—at the prospect.

‘They can’t torment me to go out to walk while it
rains, she thought; and she was rather selfishly glad to
see the stormy gusts dash up against the window. She
had never had playmates, and was therefore not accus-
tomed to consider anybody’s pleasure but her own. It
pleased her to sit at the schoolroom window and watch
the drifts of rain as the wild wind swept them across the
lawn, to see the tall poplars bending in the blast, and to
hear the naked boughs of. the elms creaking, as they
tossed to and fro; and she did not care at all whether
any one else liked it or not. It did not occur to her that
she had anything to do in the way of giving up her own
inclination for the sake of pleasing others. She had been
sent to Hollybrook that she might grow healthy and
happy, and she thought her cousins ought to pity her,
and be very kind to her. But she did not also remem-
ber that it was her duty to be ‘kind’ to them, by trying
to make herself a cheerful companion for them, and not
annoying them with her melancholy and unsociable ways.

She did not mean to be selfish ; but it really was selfish-
ness that made her refuse to join Annie. and Lizzie,
when they asked her to go up into the garret and play
with them. They had a swing up there, and a see-saw,
and a great pile of bricks and timber to build houses
and barns with, together with various other sources of
amusement for a rainy day. These were all set in tempt-
ing array before her; but Grace shrugged her little
shoulders with a half-scornful air, and declined the enter-
tainment.

She would rather stay in the schoolroom,—she liked
to watch the rain,—she didn’t want to play.

So her cousins were obliged to leave her to herself,
and go to their play without her. But Lizzie was more



28 GRACH HARVEY.

than ever provoked with her ‘airs,’ and more than ever
determined to punish her for them whenever she had
opportunity.

She and Jack had a long whispered consultation after
tea that evening, and then Jack had another with
Murphy in the barn. The end of it was that a queerly
tied up basket was smuggled into the house under cover
of the darkness, and hidden away in a closet in the girls’
bedroom. This closet had two doors, one of which
opened into the hall, and had a window at the top; and
the door of the room in which Ned and Jack slept was
exactly opposite to it.

That night, after everybody in the house had gone to
bed, and nearly everybody was sound asleep, Jack stole
softly from the side of his sleeping brother, and crept
across the hall to the closet we have described. A candle,
provided beforehand, stood upon the outside ledge of
the little window; and this Jack lighted cautiously.
Then he went into the closet and untied the basket,
which had been set upon an upper shelf; and immedi-
ately there was a fluttering and flapping of wings, followed
quickly by a long, sharp, shrill ery, which rang through
the silent house with a most unearthly echo.

It had not ceased before it was answered by a wild
shriek from the adjoining room. Grace’s crib was close
to the closet, and the child’s light slumber had been
instantly broken. Shriek after shrick of mortal terror
rang from her lips, awakening the sleepers in every
direction. Mr. and Mrs. Lyon sprang out of bed, threw
on. dressing-gowns in haste, and rushed up-stairs; the
servants hurried down from the attic rooms; Ned ran
out into the hall; the younger children began to scream ;
and the whole household was in commotion.

Meanwhile the guilty three—Lizzie, and Annie, and
Jack — preserved a cautious silence, and endeavoured to



‘

GRACE HARVEY. 29

look as bewildered as the rest. But they could not
refrain from a burst of laughter when Mrs. Lyon, who
had opened door after door in a vain effort to discover
the cause of the disturbance, turned at last the lock of
the closet; and forth stalked, with comb bristling and
ruffled feathers, a tall white Shanghai, instantly recog-
nised as ‘Dick Redtop,’ the patriarch of the poultry-
yard, and special pet and property of Murphy, the
gardener.

The creature stalked into the middle of the room,
looking about as though marvelling much to find himself
in such strange quarters; and then stopping suddenly,
he flapped. his wings, opened his beak, and uttered again
his shrill, brazen cock-a-doodle-do-o-o! The little
Lyons, one and all, shrieked with laughter; but poor
Grace hid her head under the bedclothes, and sobbed





~ hysterically.

Ag for the father and mother of this reckless little
crew, they stood confounded for a minute, and did not
know what to say or do. The whole thing was so ridicu-
lous, the mischief was so harmless, the plan so bold, that
Mr. Lyon could hardly help laughing as loudly as the
children ; for he remembered the tricks he was fond of
playing when just such another wild lad as Jack. But
he knew very well that this sort of thing must not be
allowed; so he managed at length to assume a severe
expression, and read the mischievous children a sound
lecture.

He condemned Jack to catch Dick Redtop,—march-
ing, just now, in a bewildered manner up and down the
hall,—and carry him back, through the rain and the
darkness, to his proper parol on ‘the hen-roost. Then
he commanded silence and order for the rest of the
night, and returned at length to his own room. But
Mrs. Lyon stayed up-stairs a long time, at first soothing



30 GRACE HARVEY.

the poor, nervous child, who was almost hysterical with
the fright and excitement, and afterwards rebuking very
severely the thoughtless love of fun, which made those
who indulged it so careless of the pain they gave, and
the trouble and annoyance they caused.

Lizzie and Aniie felt rather ashamed as they listened
to their mother’s reproof, and were not unwilling to
promise that they would never do such a thing again.
But when she was gone, and Grace’s grieving sobs were
hushed at last in slumber, they were ready to make
many excuses for themselves.

‘Grace is such a ridiculous baby !’. Annie exclaimed.
‘The idea of her screaming so, and rousing the whole
‘house! Inever dreamed of such a fuss coming out of it.’

‘Nor I,’ said Lizzie. ‘The only thing is, we’ll have to
be more careful another time.’

‘Oh, but we promised we wouldn’t frighten her any
more!’

‘Indeed, we didn’t do any such thing. We promised
we'd never hide Dick Redtop in the closet again; and
so we won't. But there’s lots of other things to do; and
I don’t intend to let her alone till she’s cured of her
nonsense and affectations.’

‘Well, it will really be doing her good to cure her,’
said Annie, virtuously.

‘Of course,’ responded the equally virtuous Lizzie.
‘One of these days shell be very much obliged to us.
At least she ought to.’

With which conclusion the two sisters cuddled down
into bed, and prepared to go to sleep. But I am bound
to state that they did not enjoy a very refreshing slum-
ber; for Grace had been made so nervous that she
waked up continually, with a start and a cry, and roused
the others from many a nice little nap; which was a
punishment that, you will agree, they certainly deserved.



GRACE HARVEY, 51

CHAPTER IV.

‘OR a week or so after the ‘ Shanghai Conspiracy,’
as Ned called it, Grace was suffered to live in
peace. Mrs. Lyon kept her with herself as
much as possible, and took care that no tricks
should be played upon her. And Grace gradually be-
came accustomed to the ways of the family, and began
to like her cousins more, as she grew better acquainted
with them. Ned and Annie she liked especially, for
they were always more gentle than the others with her.
But Jack and Lizzie were kind to her too, after their
own fashion; and as nothing occurred to excite her
foolish fears, and Lizzie’s disoust in consequence, things
went on most harmoniously for a time.

The only cause of disagreement was Grace’s persistent
_ refusal to go out of doors. Mrs. Lyon at first humoured
her in this, sent the others off without her, and took
pains to devise amusement for the little girl in-doors.
But one mild Saturday morning, when all the children
were preparing for an excursion in the woods, and
Grace, as usual, hung back, her aunt desired her to go
with them. The air was soft, the sun shining warmly,
no show on the ground to wet her feet, and no cold
wind to pierce through her dress; so that there was
certainly no excuse for staying in; and Mrs. Lyon
thought the exercise would do her good.

Grace got ready, accordingly, and went out with her






32 GRACE HARVEY,

cousins ; and the weather being so pleasant, she found
that she could really enjoy belne out. In the woods it
was almost warm, the sunshine streamed so brightly
through the paths, and all the wind was in the tops of
the trees. Grace sat down at first upon a log of wood,
only caring to listen to the sweet solemn music of the
swaying boughs. But Annie and Barbara began their
usual game of romps. Presently they called Grace to
come and play; and though she went rather unwillingly,
she soon got into the spirit of the frolic, and enjoyed it
as much as the rest. When they were tired of this, they
gathered bunches of holly,*and picked off the shining
red berries to string into necklaces. Grace, who had
been brought up with very orderly habits, had a little
housewife in her pocket, from which she produced, to
Barbara's great delight, a store of needles and thread, so
that they could string the necklaces on the spot. All
three sat down upon a heap of dry leaves, and set to
work diligently at once—little Charlie looking on with
great interest.

But Lizzie came up presently, and broke up the quiet
party. :

‘What nonsense! she exclaimed. ‘The idea of sitting
down in the woods to string holly-berries, when you
could just as well do it in the house! Do come and
play, and leave such stupid fun till you go home.’

‘Play what ?’ asked Barbara, ‘What are you playing ”

‘Tm down at the pond of course; so’s Jack. Come
on, and see what we're doing.’

‘Very well, said Annie, always ready for anything
new ; ‘let’s go.’

So the holly-berries were gathered up hastily, and
stuffed into their pockets, and the little girls followed
Lizzie to the pond. Grace went rather reluctantly,
* remembering the frogs; but there was no sound of their



GRACE HARVEY. 83

croaking; so she concluded that the ‘horrid things’
were not to be seen in the day-time, and ventured with
the rest down to the water’s edge. There she found, to
her dismay, that Jack and Lizzie were shooting frogs
with a bow and arrows; and this was the fun that Lizzie
had called them to share in.

Jack had already killed a dozen or more of the un-
fortunate creatures, and impaled them upon a long stick;
and when Grace came near, he offered to lend her his
bow and arrows, that she might try her hand at the
same sport. But the sensitive little girl shrank back
with horror.

‘How can you do such a cruel, cruel thing? she
‘exclaimed. ‘They are horrid, hideous objects, I know;
but how can you be so hard-hearted as to kill them ?’

‘Oh, they like it,’ said Jack, dryly. ‘Come and see
how they poke up their heads, and wait for a chance to
be shot! - There’s a jolly old chap now ; let’s have a shy
at him, Crack !—there he goes!’

The arrow sped swift and sure, Froggy croaked his
last ‘ yaup !’ and Grace covered her eyes with her hands,
vowing she would not look again at such wicked sport.

‘Pll go home! I won't stay any longer! I don’t like’
such play!’ she cried, excitedly. And she ran away,
shrieking with terror, when Jack came towards her,
brandishing aloft his long stick garnished with dead
frogs.

‘Never mind, Jack; let her alone,’ Lizzie whispered.
‘Don't run after her; I want to tell you something.’

And then followed a brief colloquy, which, Annie was
perfectly sure, meant mischief, though she did not hear
a word of it. Grace had retreated into the woods as fast
as possible, and Annie ran after her, for she did mot like
the frog-killing play any better than Grace, to tell the
truth. They walked together, with their arms twined

c



34 GRACH HARVEY,

about each other, until Jack had got all the bait he
wanted for his fishing, and the rest came up from the
pond. Then they all went home pleasantly together,—
only Grace took care to keep at a safe distance from
Jack and his long stickful of frogs.

In the afternoon the girls gathered round the sitting-
room fire to finish the holly-berry necklaces. They were
all. chattering merrily over them,—even Grace, whose
morning in the woods had brightened her cheeks, and
made her much more talkative than usual,—when Jack
walked soberly in, carrying a neat brown paper parcel.

-‘Here’s something that was left at the door for you,
Grace,’ he said, demurely.

‘For me ?—are you sure?’ Grace sprang up, scatter-
ing all her berries in her eagerness, as she reached for
the parcel. ‘It must be something papa has sent me.
Oh, ’'m so much obliged to you, Jack!’ and her whole
face was radiant with pleasure.

‘Open it, then,’ said Jack, ‘and let’s see what's inside.’

‘ « Something nice for Betsy Price,” I suppose,’ laughed
Annie, who suspected mischief.

Lizzie said nothing; but her face quivered with sup-
pressed laughter as she watched Grace trying eagerly to
undo the package. The poor child’s fingers trembled
with her excitement; and, too impatient to untie the
strings, she tore off a part of the wrapping, whereupon
a ereat bull-frog, with his emerald-green back, and little
wicked-looking black beads of eyes, leaped out into her
lap.

-Every particle of colour fled from Grace’s cheeks, and
she shrieked wildly, as it was always her first impulse to
do in her terror. The other children shouted with
laughter, and scrambled up into their chairs to get out
of the way of the bewildered creature, which was leaping

-about the floor, frantic with fright itself. And Mrs,



GRACE HARVEY. 35

Lyon, hearing the commotion, came hurrying in to see
what had happened,—if the chimney had caught fire, or
the house fallen down.

Grace did not wait to tell her; she was too much
ashamed at having caused another scene by her cowardice;
and before her aunt could speak to her, she had flown out
of the room, away up to the top of the house, where, in
the farthest corner of the old garret, she sobbed out her
fright and mortification and disappointment all alone.

Lizzie took it upon herself to explain the matter.

‘It was only a frog, mother. Jack-has been shooting
some for bait, you know, and Grace is such a goose.
She screams for nothing,’ she replied to Mrs. Lyon’s
annoyed inquiries.

She knew she was not telling the exact truth; and she
was terribly afraid lest the green monster, which she
had hastily kicked under her chair, should spring out
and betray the real state of the case. But Mrs. Lyon
was in a hurry, and only stopped to say that Grace must
really try to overcome such silly fears, and that her
cousins must not tease her. So the matter passed over;
and the mischievous children laughed heartily, when they
were alone, at the success of their trick.

As for Grace, she cried herself to sleep up in the old
garret, and dreamed that she was a bull-frog in the
pond, and that Barbara and little Charlie were shooting
holly-berries at her out of a pop-gun!

It was not a particularly pleasant dream, to be sure;
but still it was not so dreadful as some of the old dreams
that used to haunt her sleep. And the waking up was
not so disagreeable as it might have been, considering
the cireumstances. She had gone to sleep crouched
upon the floor, with her little tired head resting upon a
hard wooden stool. When she woke up it was pillowed
softly upon Annie’s lap, and Annie’s eyes met hers with



36 GRACE HARVEY.

a little shy glance of love as she stooped down to kiss
her.

‘It was not I that did it, Gracie,’ she whispered.
‘Indeed, I wouldn’t have let them frighten you so if I
had known about it. It was too wicked of Jack.’

‘I don’t know why they want to tease me so,’ said
Grace, in an injured tone. ‘I’m sure I never do any-
thing to them.’

§ Yes, you do, sometimes,’ said Annie. ‘ You tease us
by keeping away from us, and staying by yourself, and
moping, when we want you to play. And Liz and Jack
say that it’s half affectation, all this being afraid of
things. They say you want to be a fine lady, and you
think it’s pretty to put on such airs. So they tease you,
to cure you of it.’

‘It is very unkind of them to say such things!’ ex-
claimed Grace, with a quivering lip. ‘I can’t help
being afraid; and if they were to come to my father’s
house I wouldn’t treat them as they treat me. I wish I
was at home now—I wish I had never left papa, He
did not think it was affectation !’

‘And I don’t, either,’ Annie answered, quickly. ‘TI
know you can’t help it, Gracie; and T’ll tell you what:
TPve made up my mind that I never will help anybody
to play tricks upon you again. There now!’

Grace acknowledged this promise with a grateful kiss ;
and Annie felt quite rewarded for the effort it had cost her
to make it. It really was an effort for such a mischief- —
loving little imp as she was; and she had had a struggle
with her propensity for fun before her principle of right
gained the victory. Grace did not know this; it was
no temptation to her to play tricks upon anybody, and she
could not understand the pleasure of a joke which gave
another person pain. Still she felt very much obliged to -
her cousin, and told her so; and the two little girls had



GRACE HARVEY. 37

a very pleasant little confidential talk together, all alone
in the old garret.

Grace felt much better acquainted with Annie after it;
and she also began to understand something that she
had never thought of before, namely, that it was selfish
and inconsiderate—and quite as vexatious to her cousins
as their tricks were to her—to refuse to join in their
pleasures, or take an interest in their occupations. She
had never thought before of pleasing anybody but her-
self in such matters; but she now began to see that
there was something else to be thought of She did
not like to be considered selfish,—she did not like to be
selfish ; and so she also made a resolution, as well as
Annie, which was, that hereafter she would try to be
more obliging, and not stay away with a book in a corner,
or tied to her aunt’s apron-string, when her cousins
wanted her to play.

They were two very good resolutions, indeed; but it
is one thing to make a resolution, and another thing te
keep it!





38 GRACH HARVEY.

CHAPTER V.

HE history of the next few weeks proved the
difference. Annie found that it was very hard
work to keep her promise, when Lizzie was for
ever starting some new mischief, and bringing
Annie into it whether she would or no. Grace, too, dis-
covered that’ it wag not so easy to overcome in a day
the self-indulgent habits of a lifetime. It was much ;
more natural to say, ‘Oh, I don’t want to, ’d rather
read,’ or, ‘I don’t care about playing,’ when Lizzie asked
anything of her, than to give up cheerfully her own
inclination, and do as her cousin wished.

So it happened that, partly out of pure mischief,
partly out of vexation because Grace really was so un-
sociable, and partly out of a self-righteous determination
“to eure her of her nonsense,’ these strong-minded young
people gave Grace very little peace in her life, They
had the best intentions in the world, of course, and ex-~
cused everything they did with the virtuous plea of
“doing her good.’ Nor did they consider that they were
using rather painful means to a rather doubtful end.

‘Tt will never do, you know, for a girl to be afraid
of cows. You might have to milk them some day,’
Jack would say; and before Grace suspected his inten-
tion, she would find herself suddenly caught up in his
strong arms and lifted over the fence into the field
where the cows were. Then all the rest would run






GRACE HARVEY. 39

away, shouting with laughter; and the frightened child
would be left: at the mercy of a herd of ‘cattle, all of
which she supposed to be furious animals, ever ready to
toss unfortunate children upon their Teens, though in
reality they were the gentlest of ‘milky mothers, with
not a ‘vicious’ one in the lot, as Jack, to do him justice,
knew perfectly well before he put her there.

Another time, when Grace had given an unwilling
consent to walk in the woods, they would tell her some
ridiculous story about panthers crouching on the limbs
of the trees, or bears prowling in the underwood. And
just at the exciting point of the story, Jack, hidden up in
the boughs of a tree, would throw down an unfortunate
cat, beguiled from home for that very purpose; or else
start up one of the pigs that roamed at large in a certain
part of the woods, where acorns were thick, so that Grace
might imagine its grunts were the growls of the bear.

At. home it was the same thing, with variations. There

was little peace for her except in school-hours, when
‘they were under Mr. Lyon’s eye, and busy with lessons ;
or when Grace sat with her little work-basket, and sewed
by her aunt’s side. Her cousins did not like to sew; and
they thought it very prim and stupid of ‘Grace to sit
there hemming handkerchiefs, or hooking at crochet
work, when they wanted her to romp in the garret, or
race in the fields.
- Mrs. Lyon used often to send her off with them, telling —
her that she must not sew so steadily, but take more
exercise; and she could not understand the child’s re-
luctance to go. She did not know the teasing process
that was so unmercifully kept up; for Grace never told
tales, or complained of her cousins, whatever they did
to her; and, on their part, they were careful to play
tricks out of Mrs. Lyon’s sight and hearing,

Annie, to be sure, took her part as much as possible,





40 GRACH HARVEY.

and came to her relief in more than one great terror.
It was she that climbed the fence, and stood between
Grace and the cows, until Grace could get back into safe
ground. She assured her that the panther was only a
cat, and the bear nothing but a peaceable pig, wher
Grace was nearly fainting with dread of these wild
beasts. But she could not do much, after all, when
Jack and Lizzie were leagued against her; and it was
quite. impossible not to laugh at their ingenious devices.

So the thing went on. Jack would bring in a box of
garden-seeds, so called, and ask Grace to help him to
sort them, and put them up in packages. But when she
came to do it, and the box was opened, instead of clean
little brown seeds, a mass of squirming earthworms
would appear; and Grace’s smothered cry, and shiver
of disgust, would be greeted with a roar of laughter that
sent her ashamed and mortified into a corner.

At night Lizzie would purposely strew crumbs of cake
about the floor of their bedroom, in order to attract the
mice. The little brown creatures would steal out of their
hiding-places, and glide across the floor, looking pretty,
and graceful, and harmless enough, certainly, to anybody
not foolishly sensitive. But to Grace they were objects
of mortal fear, and she would spring into the middle of
her bed, as white as the wall, at the sight of one; which
was all that Lizzie wanted, of course, and enough to send
the two sisters into fits of merriment, while poor morti-
fied Grace was left to hide her head under the sheets,
and sob herself to sleep.

The child’s life was made actually wretched in this
way. She grew more nervous and timid than ever, for
she was constantly expecting some shock or sudden
fright; and she became morbid and miserable with her
constant dread. She had a great disappointment, more-
over, in a letter that came from her father, saying he





GRACE HARVEY. 41

should not be able to come to Hollybrook for another
long month. She had counted the hours, almost, until
he should come, and it made her fairly sick when this
grievously-disappointing letter was sent instead.

Her aunt tried to comfort her, and her cousins really
pitied her, and for a whole day treated her very tenderly.
But Grace was not to be soothed. A desperate feeling
that she could not, could not bear it any longer, had come
into her heart. She must go home, she must see her
father, she could not live any longer with people who
tormented her so, she said to herself. So one day,
possessed with this wild longing to escape from it all,
she sat down and wrote a pitiful little letter to her
father, telling him that she was sick and miserable, and
she wanted to go home, and begging him not to wait a
whole month before he came for her.

She did not, even in this letter, make any complaints:
of her cousins.. She was too generous to tell tales of
them, even to her own father. And he could not under-
stand at all, when her sad letter came to him, why she
should be so miserable when there was so much at Holly-
brook to make her happy. He was almost tempted, at
first, to write her a reproving answer, and tell her that
she nist really try to overcome such a discontented and
ungrateful disposition, and learn to be thankful for the
blessings that were given her.

It was very inconvenient for him to leave his business
at that time, and take the long journey to Hollybrook
Farm. He thought at first that it was quite impossible,
and began a letter to Grace to tell her so. But then he
took up hers again; and the pitiful little sheet, blotted and
blistered with tears, was too much for the father’s love
to resist. So it ended in his making some arrangement
to leave his business; and two days after Grace’s letter
reached him, he was on his way to Hollybrook Farm.





42 GRACE HARVEY.

Meanwhile, the poor little timid girl was in a state
of nervous excitement and anxiety that made her more
than ever a subject for her cousins’ teasing. She was
frightened at herself for having written such a letter,
and after it was fairly sent, wished heartily that. she
could bring it back again. She imagined over and over
‘again what her father would think when he read it,—
whether he would be angry with her, and refuse to come,
or whether he really would come and take her away. And
if he did, what would they all say? What would her aunt
think, who had been so kind to her always? What would
Annie do? They would all be vexed with her,—that
she was sure of; they would never love her any more,
or let her come to Hollybrook again; and much as they
had teased her, Grace could not bear the idea of never
seeing any of these wild boys and girls again.

Altogether she was very wretched—poor, silly child!
and in her nervous, anxious state of mind, was a perfect
victim to her mischievous cousins.

‘ Grace gets sillier every day, I do believe,’ said Ned, ©
one afternoon. ‘I only came up behind her, a Little
while ago, and laid my hand on her shoulder, never
thinking or wanting to frighten her. I don’t believe
in that sort of thing, though you do, Jack. I just
touched her; and if you ever saw anybody jump and
scream! You'd have thought I was a ghost, or the
man with the Iron Mask at least, to see the white
face she showed._ I don’t know what to make of her,
for my part.’ :

‘Im afraid her early education has been neglected,’
said Jack, dryly. ‘Tl have to take her in hand seriously.’

‘Oh! I thought you and Liz had been training her
these two months,’ said Ned. ‘She doesn’t do your
system much credit.’

‘Give us time, my dear fellow. Rome wasn’t built in





YRACE HARVEY. 43

a day,’ Jack retorted; and he went cut of the room with
a wicked idea in his Boat, which he proceeded to exe«
cute at once, while it was warm.

Among his collection of odd treasures was an absurd-
looking negro mask, with the blackest possible com-
plexion, and the reddest of wide, grinning mouths.
Ned’s allusion to the Iron Mask had suggested it to his
mischievous imagination; and in a very few minutes he
had it on his face, and was stealing softly up behind
Grace, who sat in the schoolroom, bending over a book,
though it was already too dark for her to have tried to
read,

Annie and Lizz‘e were in the room also, and they saw
Jack before Grace did, which was very fortunate for
the poor little victim, whi, but for Annie’s interference,
might have been frightened into convulsions at the sight
‘of the ugly black face grinning over her shoulder. Jack
made a signal for the two girls to be silent, as he crept
up, and Lizzie squeezed her sister’s hand hard; but
Annie remembered her promise, and rebelled against the
plot.

‘You sha’n’t do it, Jack, you sha’n’t do it!’ she
cried out, springing up from her seat, and running to
Grace.

‘Don’t look behind you, Gracie, don’t!’ she exclaimed
eagerly, ‘Jack wants to frighten you; he has got
his horrid old black mask on. Jack, you ought to be
ashamed of yourself—that you ought!’

‘Who asked you to meddle?’ asked Jack, roughly.
‘Another time, you attend to your own affairs—will
you?’

And Lizzie turned upon her, too, crying reproach-
fully, ‘Telltale! telltale!’ But Annie did not care. She
had seen the fright which Ned had unconsciously caused,
and she could not bear to see another inflicted wantonly



44. GRACE HARVEY.

so soon. Besides, she had heard her mother say, only
that morning, that Grace looked so pale, and had so
little appetite, she was afraid she was going to be ill.

So she only kissed Grace affectionately, and did not
answer her brother and sister. And Jack and his black
mask walked out of the room, for once no merrier than
when they came in,





GRACE HARVEY, 45

CHAPTER Vi.

HE next day, as Grace was passing by the open
door of the kitchen, somebody. called -her
name; and going in, she saw Charlie and Bar-
bara examining with great enj joyment a lot of
what seemed to be ugly black shells.

‘Look here, Gracie; look!’ cried little Charlie, hold-
ing one of them up to her; and then she saw that the
black shell was alive. Four claws dangled out from
the sides, and a queer, gutta-percha-looking head thrust
itself out for a moment, and then was hastily withdrawn.

‘ Aren’t they funny?’ said Barbara, poking amongst
them with a stick as they lay on the floor, until the
whole mass began to wriggle and crawl. ‘Just set your
foot on this one, Grace, till I make him put his head
out.’ :

‘No!? cried Charlie. ‘Look at mine, Grace!’ And
he tossed the thing with the dangling claws up against
her. It dropped upon the floor, and Grace ran shivering
to the farthest end of the kitchen.

‘Don't! oh, don’t!’ she pleaded pitifully, as the
children pursued her, each with a shell in their hands.
‘They make me sick; I can’t look at them. Oh, please!’

‘La, Miss Grace, ye needn’t be afraid o’ the likes o’
thim,’ observed Kate, the cook. ‘They'll niver bite ye
while there’s frogs in Ireland.’ :

‘They make me sick,’ Grace repeated with a shudder. ©






46 GRACE HARVEY,

‘Av’ ye wouldn’t be after lindin’ me yer assistance to
cut aff the purty little heads uv ’em?’ asked Katy, laugh-
ing. ‘Cast yer eyes this way a minute, Miss Gracie, if
ye'd like to see the nate little job.’

But Grace sprang past the children, and - rushed
through the door-way, giving only one shuddering
glance at the sharp knife and long-pronged steel fork
which Katie was brandishing above the luckless terra-
pins. A shout of laughter rang after her, and Katy’s
Irish brogue,—

‘Jist look at the cut of her, now! Is it born in the
woods she was, that she can’t bear the smell o’ the say?’

But Grace flew up the stairs, and never rested till she
reached the old hiding-place in the garret. She was
firmly convinced that the children were pursuing her’
with one of the horrid crawling things; and she could not
bring herself to go down stairs until Annie, as usual, came
to look for her, and assured her that the terrapins were
all killed, and Katy was busy dressing them for supper.

‘For supper! Who could eat such creatures ?’
Grace asked in disgust.

‘Oh, lots of people eat’em,’ answered Annie, laughing,
‘Gentlemen, especially, are very fond of them; and papa
ordered these for a little supper-party that he has to-
night. We won't be bothered with them.’

‘T am glad of it,’ said Grace, as she crept out of her
corner. ‘I hope I shall never see one again. But how
did you know I was frightened about them, Annie?
Did Charlie and Bab tell you?’

‘Yes,’ said Annie, ‘they told, of course. They thought

- it was great fun.’
* And Lizzie knows,—and Jack, too, I suppose?’ ex-
claimed Grace. ‘And they will all be laughing at me
and teasing me when I go down? Oh, I wish I was at
home! -I wish my father would come for me!’



GRACE HARVEY. 47

And the poor child burst into a fit of nervous crying,
which Annie had hard work to soothe. She kissed her
-and coaxed her, and promised that no one should say a
word to her about it; she would tell her mother if they
did. And so at last Grace was persuaded to come down
stairs and join her cousins in the schoolroom. They
were all amusing themselves with a paper balloon that
‘Ned had just manufactured,—a brilliant affair in tissue-
paper, all covered with flowers and gaudy ornaments,
and having only one fault in its construction, which was,
that it obstinately declined to ascend.

All eyes and thoughts were engrossed by the paper
marvel; so Grace, for once, was not attacked. And to
her surprise no allusion was made to the matter, even

‘on the next day, though she nervously expected and
dreaded it. She felt greatly relieved as the time passed, -
and nobody mentioned the terrapins; and she finally
concluded that Annie had really persuaded them to
leave her in peace for once. She would not have been
so satisfied if she had‘guessed the real reason of their
silence.

That night Mr. and Mrs. Lyon were invited to a tea-
party in the neighbourhood ; so the children had supper
by themselves, and liberty to spend the evening as they
chose. They had a merry time, of course, as children
always do in the absence of their elders, and bed-time
was postponed indefinitely.

Lizzie was the first one to go up finally, and Jack
slipped out after her quietly, unnoticed by the rest. He
ran into the schoclroom on his way up, and brought
out, from one of his peculiar hiding-places, a large shell, —
which he gave to Lizzie, at the door of the girls’ room,
and stood watching her as she carefully hid it between
the sheets of Grace’s bed.

‘Look out for squalls presently,’ he said, laughing, as



48 GRACE HARVEY,

Lizzie smoothed the covers carefully down. ‘ Hadn’t
you better warm it first, Liz ?”

‘OF course she'll scream,’ was the answer. ‘But
there’s nobody to hear her, you know; and there’s one
thing good about her, Jack—she never tells tales.’

‘Yes, that’s true, Jack assented. ‘And if she wasn’t
such a ridiculous little goose, it would be asin to play
tricks on her. But she really ought to be cured—
oughtn’t she?’

‘Of course. And it is all nonsense, too, her having a
hot iron in her bed every night, to warm her feet. We
don’t have one to warm ours.’

‘She will be charmed with the one you have given
her to-night,’ said Jack, comically. And just then, an
opening door, and the sound of voices on the stairs,
announced that the others were coming up to bed. So
Jack slipped into his own room, and Lizzie pretended to
be very busy with her undressing, when Grace and
Annie came in together. Annie had not been taken
into counsel this time,—Jack and Lizzie remembering
the affair with the mask. So she and Grace chatted
together gaily, quite unconscious of any plot.

‘I shall be glad of my warm iron to-night,’ Grace said,
as she climbed into her crib, after saying her prayers,
‘Come, get in with me, Annie, and I'll give you a piece
of it.’

‘Better find out if you’ve got one, first,’ said Lizzie,
mischievously. ‘ Bridget forgets sometimes.’ :

So Grace stretched out her bare feet, expecting to
find the comfortable foot-warmer, as usual; but instead
she met the clammy touch of the cold sheet.

‘Oh!’ she exclaimed, with a little scream. ‘It’s as
cold as ice. Bridget has made up my bed, and left the
cold iron in it, I declare!’

She drew back the bedclothes, and put down her



GRACE HARVEY. 49

hand to draw it out, but grasped, instead, what she
supposed was one of those dreadful creatures, with horrid
head and claws, alive!

Lizzie waited, and Jack listened breathless outside
the door, for the wild shriek and spring which they
expected would follow instantly. But it did not come.
Grace’s trembling lips could not utter a cry. She stag-
gered out of bed, white, and deathly sick. ‘You will
kill me yet with your cruelty,’ she gasped; then she
tottered backward, the room seemed to swim and reel
before her eyes, and the poor little fragile form dropped,
fainting, to the floor.

Lizzie—all unprepared, as we may well believe, for
such an ending as this to her ‘harmless’ joke—sprang
towards her, to prevent the fall. But instead of saving
Grace, she only overthrew a table in the way, upon
which stood the lamp which had lighted them to bed.
This was shivered, of course, in the fall, and the oil
streamed in every direction, the burning witke igniting
it, and the greedy flame licking it up as it flowed.

It was now Lizzie’s turn to know the terror which she
had so often thoughtlessly inflicted upon her cousin.
She screamed aloud in the double fear that she had |
killed Grace and set the house on fire; and Annie join-
ing in the outcry, the room resounded with shrieks, which
soon brought the whole household to the spot.

Jack was the first to rush in, being so close at hand;
and he and Lizzie together dragged Grace out of the
reach of the flames, and lifted her, apparently lifeless, to
abed. The servants, who were still up, came hurrying
to the room, and pails of water were brought in all
haste, so that the fire was soon extinguished. No great
injury was done; only the carpet was drowned in water,
so that it was quite impossible for any one to sleep there
that night; and Lizzie’s hands were badly scorched by

D



50 GRACH HARVEY.

the frantic efforts she had made to draw her cousin out
of the way of the burning fluid.

But Grace—poor little Grace !—lay white and mo-
tionless still, in her death-like swoon. The children -
gathered round her, half wild with terror, making vain
attempts to rouse her, and longing for their parents’
return, even while they so much dreaded the displeasure
that would certainly follow. How many promises and
vows they made in their own hearts, never, never to play
tricks upon her again, if only she got over this, I could
not begin to tell! You may be sure that Annie congratu-
lated herself most heartily on having had nothing to do
' with this affair ; though she did not say a single reproach-
fal word to Lizzie, and pitied her, with all her might, for
the trouble she had brought upon herself.

In the midst of the excitement, and before Grace had
fairly recovered her consciousness, the sound of wheels
on the gravelled drive was heard. Ned ran down to
open the hall door, supposing that his father and mother
had returned, and wishing to prepare them for the com-
motion in the house, But it was not the familiar home-
carriage that had stopped at the entrance, nor the pretty,

long-tailed grey ponies, that Ned would have known in
the dark anywhere. The vehicle was a waggon, drawn

by a horse quite in keeping with it: and the gentleman
who sprang over the wheel on to the door-step, was not

Mr. Lyon certainly. Ned did not know him at all, and
stared at him in a bewildered way; but the gentleman
came in with a confident air, as if he knew he should be
welcome, in spite of the lateness of the hour.

“Is Mr. Lyon not at home? or has he retired?’ he
asked of Ned. ‘It is late, I know, for an arrival; but
I have travelled straight through from Rochester, with-
out stopping. Don’t you know me, my boy? I am
your Uncle Harvey—hitle Grace's fathes.’



GRACE HARVEY. 8l

If he had been a rocket, just dropped, with a very
long stick, or a comet recently alighted, and ready to
extinguish the world, as comets are always going to do
and never have done yet, he could hardly have been a
more unwelcome visitor to the young Lyons at this
particular crisis. Ned stared at him so long before he
found voice to speak, that Mr. Harvey began to have
rather a poor opinion of the boy’s breeding. He managed
to speak at last, however, and to say, with tolerable
politeness—

‘Oh, Uncle Harvey! I beg your pardon for not
knowing you at first, sir j but papa and mamma are
away from home this evening, and I thought—lI expected
when I came to the door—to see them. Won't you
please to walk into the parlour? There’s a fire there,
and papa will soon be at home now, I think.’

‘ And how is my little girl? I suppose she has gone
to bed long ago,’ asked Mr. Harvey.

‘Yes, sir,’ stammered Ned, ‘I believe she did, some
time ago. I'll go up and send somebody to tell Her,
though. I believe she isn’t very well to-night.’

And Ned was glad to escape, without waiting ve any
more questions.

‘Here's a pretty kettle of fish!’ he muttered to him-
self, as he went up-stairs. ‘Hasn’t Jack put his foot
into it now? Oh, I rather think he has!’

And Jack thought so too, and Lizzie agreed with him,

‘when Ned’s comical face, looking perplexed, amused, |
and frightened, all at once, was seen in the door-way

of the chamber where Grace had been carried. Katie,
and Bridget, and Maggie, and Nora—all the women-ser-
vants of the household—were there; and with their
burned vinegar, their cold water, their camphor, and I
don’t know what else, they had succeeded in breaking
the faimting-fit. Grace sat up in the midst of them,



52 GRACE HARVEY,

pale and languid, bewildered at the crowd around her,
and struggling to remember what had happened, when
Ned burst in with his startling news—

‘Haven't you been and done it now, amongst you?
Here’s her father, down stairs, and what are you ever:
going to say to-him, I’d like to know!’

He did not see, in his eagerness, that Grace was awake
and listening to him; but she had heard the magic name,
and it lent wings to the little feeble body. One spring
from the bed—from the many hands stretched out to
hold her back, a flying race around the hall, and down
two flights of stairs; and then a little white-robed figure,
with bare feet, with wild-looking curls tossed back from
a wild-looking face, breathless, panting, sobbing with
delight, rushed into the parlour, and sprung into her
father’s arms.

There was nothing in all the world that could frighten
Grace now.





GRACE HARVEY. 53

CHAPTER VII.

TH the party up-stairs the case was different.
Like the ‘ young bear’ you have heard of,
‘their troubles were all before them.’ And
the look of dismay on Lizzie’s face was almost

ludicrous, as she sat on the edge of the bed wringing

her burned hands, and listened to Ned’s description of

Uncle Harvey’s arrival.

‘What will he think of us? What will papa and
mamma say? Oh, what will any of us do?’ she asked,
at last, in a hopeless tone of voice.

‘If we weren’t so big, we might both of us get a good
flogging, and that would be the end of it,’ Zaid Jack,
comically. ‘I wish we might, with all my heart, and
get rid of the awful lecture. But, oh dear!’ ,

‘T hope it will be a lesson to you, at any rate,’ said
Ned. ‘It really is a shame, the way you and Liz have
tormented that child. I set my face against it from the
first, but you never would listen to me.’

‘I wish we had,’ groaned Lizzie. ‘1 wish we had let
her be a baby all the days of her life.’

‘T don’t see as you've helped her growth much,’ Ned
retorted, dryly; at which Annie was so much amused,
that, in spite of her pity for Lizzie, and her general per-
plexity, she could not help bursting into a laugh. And
then Jack laughed, and Ned laughed, and even Lizzie
joined in with a hysterical giggle.





54 GRACH HARVEY.

‘
_ ¢ Well, I'l tell you what,’ said Jack, finally, when the
merriment had subsided, ‘you may take my hat, Ned,
and all my old shoes to boot, if ever you find me in such’
a scrape again. I’m done with practical jokes from this
time forward.’

‘I’m glad to hear it,’ was Ned’s reply. ‘We've all of
us been too conceited and self-satisfied, thinking our way
was the only way; and it’s time we learned something
better. It won't hurt us to eat a little humble-pie;
and it’s my opinion that the sooner we go down stairs
and tell Uncle Harvey we're sorry, the better it will be
for us.’

‘T shouldn’t wonder,’ Jack assented, though with rather
awry face.’ ‘It’s good-natured of you though, Ned, to
say us and we, as if you had had anything to do with it.
You and Annie are out of this,—it’s only Liz and I.’

‘Oh, we're all in the same boat, when you come to
‘the root of the matter, Ned returned. ‘I’ve been just
as bad in other things; so let’s all pull together.’

‘Hadn’t we better wait till mother comes home?’
asked Annie, who rather dreaded this meeting with her
strange uncle in such unfavourable circumstances,

‘No, no!’ was the hasty reply from both Jack and
Ned. ‘Let's have it over at once. Come along, Liz.’ .

And Lizzie got up, without remonstrance, looking
more subdued than anybody had ever seen her before,
and followed her brothers out of the room.

It was a funny little procession that marched into the
parlour, and Mr. Harvey looked up at the grave, ashamed
faces in surprise and amusement, not at all understanding
the solemnity of the affair. Grace was wiser: she guessed
in a moment what they had come for, and sprang up
from her father’s knee with a deprecating ery.

‘Oh, Jack, you needn’t!. Lizzie, there’s nothing te
tell! Papa knows all about it, and it’s no matter,’



GRACE HARVEY. 55

But Mr. Harvey’s inquiring look did not show that
he knew all about it.

‘You told me there had been an accident,—a lamp
upset,—and that you were all very much frightened,’ he
said. ‘But there seems to be something more than this,
and I would like to hear what your cousins have to say.”

‘So you shall, sir,’ exclaimed Jack, before Ned or
Grace could speak. ‘It was very generous of Grace
only to tell you that, for we frightened her almost to
death. We meant it for a joke, and we didn’t think she
would mind it so much,—and we're very sorry,’ he said,
coming abruptly to the end of his speech. —

‘For what?’ asked Mr. Harvey, puzzled still. ‘Did
you break the lamp for a joke?’

‘Oh, no!’ exclaimed two or three voices in chorus ;
and Lizzie blurted out— :

‘I put the shell in her bed,—that was what frightened
her.’

‘And then she fainted, you know,’ exclaimed Annie,
‘and fell down, and struck the table where the lamp
was.

‘And the lamp was smashed,’ put in Ned, ‘and all
the stuff in it caught fire, and ran over the floor like
blazes. And the girls screamed, and the “ Biddies” all
came flying up-stairs, and went to slopping pails of
water over everybody; and poor little Grace came near
being burned, only Liz-dragged her out, and got her
own hands scorched instead. And just then we heard
the carriage at the door, and we thought it was papa;
and I ran down to speak to him, and it was you.’

‘And he came up and told, papa,’ exclaimed Grace in
her turn; ‘and I flew down stairs in my night-gown,

‘and here I am now,—and that’s all. It was only a
joke, as Jack says, and I was very silly to mind it. So
there; don’t say another word about it, anybody !



56 GRACE HARVEY.

She had seated herself again on her father’s knee, and,
with her head nestled close to his breast, she looked
‘ the picture of content and happiness. Her father had
wrapped her up in his large travelling-shawl, so that
the night-gown was not visible; but one little bare foot
- peeped out beneath its folds, and her ruffled cap hung
by its strings amidst a mass of tangled curls. At any
other time the well-bred and demure little maiden would
have-been sadly ashamed to be seen in such disorderly
costume; but she was too full of satisfaction to care
about it now. Her father was there; she was in his
arms, loved and caressed to her heart’s content; and all
her past wretchedness was forgotten in the present de-
light. In its fulness she was ready and anxious to for-
give everything and everybody, and unwilling that her
cousins should suffer even for this last persecution, whose
consequences had been so serious.

But her cousins were too honest and frank to let
themselves be shielded by her generosity, and the whole
story came out finally, one and all making full confession
of their misceeds towards Grace. She, on her part,
protested that she had been selfish and disagreeable, and
it was no wonder they teased her,—how could they help
it, when she was so dreadfully silly ?

It was, altogether, quite a touching scene of mutual .
confession, penitence, and forgiveness. The girls all
eried, and Mr. Harvey found it difficult to say a word
of reproof on either side, when all were so ready to
blame themselves. The return of Mr. and Mrs. Lyon in
the midst of it, made a diversion. The adventures of
the evening, of course, had to be repeated to them; and
the ‘lecture’ that Jack dreaded so came at last, with
sufficient sternness, from his father’s lips.

I need not repeat what he said, nor Jack’s: manly
acknowledgment that he deserved it all. It is only



GRACE HARVEY. 57

necessary to tell you that the children, one and all,
volunteered a solemn promise never again to. torment
Grace with their practical. jokes; and she promised, as
freely, that she would try very hard to overcome her
foolish fears. Then Mrs. Lyon declared that Grace
would catch her death of cold if she was not put to bed
immediately. So, upon this, the children all kissed
her, a general forgiveness was bestowed, and everybody
went to bed at. last, with light hearts and consciences
relieved.

Grace slept soundly all night—the sweetest sleep that
she had ever known at Hollybrook; and she waked up
in the morning with the feeling that something pleasant
had happened to her, though at first she could not quite
recollect what it was. It flashed over her quickly
enough, and she sprang out of bed with the joyful re-
membrance: ‘Papa is here!’

Tt was not quite so delightful a thought to the others.
Lizzie, in particular, felt exceedingly ashamed of herself
when she took her seat opposite her uncle at the break-
fast-table. Nothing was said, however, of last night’s
scenes, and Mr. Harvey talked so agreeably that every
one soon felt at ease.

After breakfast he went out to drive with Mr. Lyon.
Grace was allowed to squeeze herself. between them ;
but the rest saw no more of him till dinner-time. In
the afternoon, however, he proposed a walk in the
woods, and invited the whole flock to accompany him.
So they started off,—sturdy little Charlie trolling on one
side of Uncle Harvey, while Grace clung to his hand on
the other. And first they walked by the cow-pasture,
where Grace had been so often victimized; then down
the lane to the mill-pond, where the frogs had such a
queer taste for being shot; and so on up into the woods,
where they sat down at last in their favourite resting-



58 GRACE HARVEY.

place—a sloping bank, carpeted deeply with pine leaves, -
and shut in from the broad pathway by a semicircle of
stately trees.

A fallen tree-trunk, with a great variety of knobs and
lopped-off branches sticking out in all directions, made
a seat for the girls to perch upon. The boys threw
themselves at full length on the slippery brown carpet;
and Mr. Harvey took possession of a nice, old, lichen-
covered rock, that seemed to have grown there expressly
for a seat. The walk, and the familiar talk by the way,

. had removed all sense of constraint from the party; and
even Charlie and Barbara chattered on as freely as if
they had known Uncle Harvey all their lives.

It was just what he wanted,—to make them feel at
ease with him, so that he might see them as they were,
and understand the various characters of the children,
before he made up his mind to leave Grace once more
to their tender mercies. She did not know what was in
his mind, or think of anything just then but the hap-
piness of being with him; and they were all a little
startled when he said suddenly —

‘There’s a question to be decided amongst you young
people, and I think I will put it to the vote, in the
popular election style: Shall I leave Grace at Holly-
brook, or take her back to Rochester to-morrow ?’

There was no answer, for a moment, in the general
surprise. Lizzie glanced up quickly to see if her uncle
were smiling, but dropped her eyes as they met his,
looking quite serious and earnest, and grew very red. ©
Annie was the first to speak.

‘You don’t méan to take Grace away, Uncle Harvey?
We don’t want her to go,—we won't let her go!’ she |
exclaimed, warmly.

And Ned and Jack chimed in—

‘We vote for her to stay,—all of tis do, of course,





Grace Harvey —Page 58.



GRACE HARVEY. 59

You say so, Liz, I know; so do Charlie and Bab. Why,
we couldn’t do without her now,—could we, Gracie?’ —

‘Do you really care?’ asked Grace, blushing, partly
. with pleasure, partly with a sense of shame, as she re-
membered the letter she had written, begging to be
taken away.

‘You know I care!’ exclaimed Annie, reproachfully. -

‘But I don’t think Lizzie likes me much,’ Grace
returned.

‘Then you are a little goose,’ said Lizzie, bluntly. ‘I
always said you were, and now you've proved it. As if
I would have taken the trouble to tease you if I had not
liked you!’ ,

Grace laughed, and her father smiled: ‘Then the
teasing was a proof of your affection, was it, Lizzie?’

‘It was to cure her of being silly. I didn’t want her
to be a coward, and I thought—

‘That a hair of the dog was the best remedy for the
bite?’ interrupted Mr. Harvey, laughing. ‘1 did not
understand the object in view before, and I am glad to
know it was such a praiseworthy one. But let me ask
if the results produced, so far, have justified the means.
Is Grace cured of her cowardice, or not?’

‘Not yet,’ they were forced to eckucm ledge, And
Mr. Harvey went on—

' ‘T should advise you to pursue another system, then,
since this seems to have failed. Suppose, imstead of
putting. shells in her bed, or throwing frogs and worms
at her, you taught her something about them that would
‘interest her. I dare say, living in the country all your
lives, and spending so much time out of* doors, that you
know a great deal about animals, and insects, and birds.
You could tell how and where they build their nests or
burrow their holes, where they lay their eggs, what sort
of food ‘they like, what curious habits many of them _



60 GRACE HARVEY.

have,—with a great many more things that Grace would
like to hear, and that might overcome some of her foolish
prejudices,’ .

‘Jack could do that!’ exclaimed Annie, eagerly. ‘He
has boxes full of dead things,—worms, and beetles, and
butterflies; and he knows just where to find them.
Snakes, too: he has ever so many little snakes in bottles,’

‘Very good,’ said Mr. Harvey. ‘I leave the sugges-
tion for Jack, then ; since he, too, has been interested in
curing Grace’s faults. What*do you say, Jack ?—will
you give her lessons in natural history ?’

‘Til teach her all I know; that isn’t much,’ Jack an-
swered, modestly. ,

‘There is something else I would like to remind you
of,” said Mr. Harvey. ‘There is a text in the Bible
which says, “ We that are strong ought to bear the infirmities
of the weak, and not to please ourselves.” I don’t think any
of you have remembered this winter—by way of excuse
for her, I mean—how much weaker than yourselves your
cousin is.’

‘That's so,’ Jack assented, penitently; and Lizzie
nodded her head without speaking,

‘As for Grace,’.Mr. Harvey continued, ‘the text is a
rule for her, as well as for the rest of you. She is too
apt to please herself, in her own way, without thinking
of what would please others. Isn’t it so, Grace?’

‘Yes, papa, I know it,’ Grace answered, softly, ‘I am
afraid I have been very selfish all the time. But I
never meant to be; only it was so much trouble to walk,
and to play, and always be doing something, as Lizzie
and Annie were. I liked sitting still so much better
myself, and I didn’t think how often I hindered the
others, and spoiled their pleasure. I see now, though.
Thave been just as wrong in my way as they have in
theirs,’



GRACE HARVEY. 61

‘Seeing our faults is the first step towards mending
them,’ said her father, kindly. ‘I have hope of you all,
since you have shown that you can bear to be reproved.
And now the lecture is ended. We'll shut up the old
book, and begin a new one. Do you all agree?’

There was a hearty response, in full chorus, ‘Yes,
we do!’ and then the twilight shadows in the woods
warned them that it was time to go home. So they
shook off the dry leaves clinging to jackets and pelisses,
gathered up their treasures of cones and holly-berries,
and marched out of the woods, well satisfied with
Uncle Harvey's ‘lecture,’ and each with a good resolve
at heart.

The sun, looking like a ball of red fire, dropped below
the pine-trees as they came out into the lane; and the
frogs and toads began to croak and ‘yaup’ in their usual
vociferous fashion, as the winter twilight darkened softly
around. But Grace did not dislike their noisy chattering |
as she once did. Indeed, she never thought about it,
for her little hand was clinging to her father’s, and she
felt protected and sheltered from everything.

The only trouble was, he was going away to-morrow.
But even in that she was comforted, for he had promised
to come again, certainly, at Easter; and things were
so different, too, from what they were before he came!
Now her cousins knew him and liked him, and they
could all talk about him together, and-look forward to
his next visit. Now they all were good friends, too,—
she and her cousins,—and understood one another so
much better; and, altogether, they were going to be

_very happy for ever after.

So Grace thought in her hopeful musings as she
walked by her father's side. And the thoughts of
the other children were a good deal the same, only
softened with a sense of regret for past unkindness,



62 GRACE HARVEY.

never fully realized till now, and a determination to
‘bear with the infirmities of the weak’ moré patiently in
future, .

Certainly there was a better foundation for peace and
happiness among the little flock than there had ever been
before.





GRACE. HARVEY, 63

CHAPTER VIII.

T’ was quite dark when they reached home, and
the pretty parlour looked a picture of comfort
and cheerfulness as they came in. There were
no lamps lighted; but the firelight was glow-
ing on the walls, and the funniest shadows bobbing up
and down, as the children moved about the room.

‘I wish we could have a story!’ Annie said, by and
by, when they had all been sitting silent for a while.

‘So do I,’ said Barbara. ‘I wish mother would tell
as one.’ =

‘Not to-night,’ said Mrs. Lyon. ‘I must go down and
prepare your father’s tea. Ask your Uncle Harvey; I
’ dare say he knows a great many stories.’

She put up her knitting-work as she said this, and
went out of the room. So Barbara knew a story from
her was out of the question; and in her disappointment
the little lady showed symptoms of what the children
called ‘the sulks.’ Grace saw the pouting lips and
clouded brow by the light of the fire, and hastened to

_ do what she could to bring back the-smiles.

‘Papa will tell us a story, I dare say, Barbie,’ she said
quickly. ‘There’s a funny one he used to tell me, a
long time ago, about the Black Beetle,—you remember,
papa. Tell it to us now,—won’t you? It’s just the
time for stories, in Blind-man’s holiday.’

‘The Black Beetle was not a favourite of yours once,






64 GRACH HARVEY.

Gracie,’ her father answered, smiling. ‘I wonder at
your choosing that.’

‘Oh, I don’t care now; they may laugh at me if they
like,” Grace returned brightly. And the others all were
curious to know what they were to laugh at; so Mr.
Harvey began at once the story of

THE BIG BLACK BEETLE.

There was once a little girl who hada funny name;
not so queer by itself, because it was an old, classical
name, and belonged to a person that was celebrated in
ancient history; but very odd, indeed, when considered as
the title of this particular little girl.

Hero was the name; and anybody would imagine that
the person called by it should naturally be a very brave
aiid courageous person. On the contrary, this Hero was
the greatest little coward in the world: she was afraid
of her own shadow, as people say; and if she saw a cow
in the meadow, or a strange little dog in the yard, or
even a poor old pussy cat sunning herself on the garden
fence, she would rush into the house, and cling to her
mother, trembling and shuddering, as if she had seen
some awful wild beast.

All this, of course, mortified her mother dveadfelly:
She had a great contempt for people who gave way to
such silly fears, and she tried in many ways to cure her
little daughter of them. But her efforts were quite use-
less. In spite of coaxing and reasoning, reproof and
punishment, Hero still continued to shiver at the sight
of a little red ant, or a miserable cockroach; to run in
terror if a spider or a worm crossed her path, and to
scream till the whole house was aroused if she happened
to wake up at night and find herself alone in the dark.

You may be sure her mother was ashamed of having
called her ‘Hero.’ It sounded so ridiculous to be saying



GRACE HARVEY. 65

all the time, ‘Hero is such a coward!’ ‘There’s Hero~
running away from a mouse!’ ‘Hero’s screaming be-

cause there’s a caterpillar on her frock!’ ‘Hero's afraid

of her own shadow!’ People laughed outright when

they heard the comical name ; and her brother Leonard,

who was as bold as a lion, never called her anything but

‘ Shero,’ in his contempt for her cowardice.

One rainy day, when the little girl was about eight
years old, she was obliged to stay away from school.
The wind blew till all the windows in the house rattled
again, and the trees on the lawn were bent almost
double; the rain beat down like bullets on the gravel
walk, and out in the street there seemed to be a muddy
river rushing along. It was too stormy to think of going

_to school, and Hero was not at all sorry; for a holiday
’ now and then was as pleasant to her as it is to any other
little girl.

She stood by the nursery window and watched the
trees,—the willows with their long hair streaming wildly
about as the wind swept down upon them, the horse-
chestnuts, and the elms with their great branches, creaking
and tossing to and fro. She saw the tall dahlias beaten
down, and the yellow stream of water that went rushing
down the carriage-drive to meet that m the street beyond.
It was all pleasant to look at for a while, for there was
no thunder or lightning, and Hero was not afraid of wind
and rain when she stood inside of a warm nursery, with
her mother close by her. She grew tired of it, however,
by and by ; and then her mother said to her,—

‘Why don’t you go down stairs, Hero, and stay with
Leonard, in the dining-room? He is pasting pictures in .
his serapbook, and you can ask him to let you help him.’

‘Oh, so I will!’ Hero answered; and she started off
eagerly, for she liked to play with Leonard, and, in spite
of her being such a coward, he was very kind to her.

E



66 GRACE HARVEY,

Te lent her his dominoes and his solitaire-board whenever
she wanted them, and when he pasted in his scrapbook,
he often gave her pictures, and showed her how to put
them in properly.

Which was all right, you know. But a great many
brothers would have said, ‘Don’t bother,’ or ‘Get out of
my way,’ and sent the little sister off when they were
busy about their own affairs.

Hero knew Leonard would not, and she ran out into
the hall, thinking how nice it would be to cut out pictures,
and, may be, be allowed to paste some in the big book.
Her hand was on the balustrade, and one foot on the
stairs, when all at once something black caught her eye
at the foot of the staircase. The oilcloth in the hall was
very light, almost white indeed, for it was in imitation
of marble ; so anything dark showed upon it very plainly.
The thing that Hero saw looked extremely black by con-
trast; but what it was she could not very well see,
standing, as she did, at the top of a long flight of stairs,
while this lay at the bottom.

Anybody but such a little coward would have gone
closer, and found out if it was anything to be afraid of.
But one glance was enough for Hero; it was a black
thing, it looked like a beetle, and it lay Just in the way
where she would have to pass. She started back in
terror, and nothing would have induced her to go down
stairs while the object lay there. At the same time she
very much wished to go down, not only because of
Leonard and the scrapbook, but because she knew her
mother would inquire why she stayed wp-stairs, amd she
would be ashamed to tell the reason.

So she stood on the top step for at least ten minutes,
peeping over the bannisters every now and then to see if
the beetle had moved out of sight. But no; there it lay
still on the white oilcloth, looking black and ugly, but



GRACE HARVEY, 67

never stirring from its place. And poor Hero at last
grew so cold, between her nervous terror and the damp,
chilly hall, that she was forced to creep back into the
nursery, notwithstanding her dread of her mother’s
questions. Her mother looked up from her work as she
came in, and said, with some surprise,—

‘I thought you were going down stairs, Hero, What
has happened to you?’ for she saw in the little girl’s face
that there was some trouble, :

But of course Hero did not want to tell, and she
answered, ‘Oh, nothing! -I don’t want to go down now.’

“Why not?’ asked her mother,

‘ Because I don’t,’ said Hero,

‘There is some reason for that,’ her mother said, ‘and I
want to know what the reason is. Tell me at once, Hero.’

Then Hero began to whine. ‘I can’t go down stairs,’
she said, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand,
and looking exceedingly miserable.

‘If I might ask, why?’ said her mother.

‘ Because—there’s a great big black beetle lying on
the oilcloth just where I have to pass,’ whined Hero.

‘Ab!’ said her mother. ‘I thought it would be
something like that. A great big black beetle! And I
suppose it is at least as large as an elephant, with a
mouth like a tiger,—is it not, Hero?’

. ‘No, it isn’t, retorted Hero, ready to ery; ‘but it zs
a big black beetle; and you needn't laugh at, me, either.
Anybody would be afraid of such an ugly thing !’

And she went pouting back to the window, to watch
the fain again, wishing, angrily, that all the beetles in
the world might be drowned in it. Her mother said no
more, but she sighed as she looked at the sullen face of
the child, made so unhappy by her own folly; and her
wish was, that she might only soon find some way to
cure her of her silly and cowardly fears.



68 GRACE HARVEY.

An hour passed by very slowly and drearily to Hero.
There was no one to talk to, for her mother sat quite
silent, stitching away with all her might, and Hero was
ashamed to speak to her. . The rain, that had looked
pleasant at first, only seemed dismal now; and there
was nothing to do, for she was tired of all the nursery
books and toys, and only wanted to be in the dining-
room with Leonard and the scrapbook. ;

‘I can’t stand this any longer,’ she thought at last.
‘Tl go and see if that beetle hasn’t crawled away.’

So she slipped out of the room, went to the head of
the stairs, and looked cautiously down,—only to start
back with a shiver the next minute. The ugly thing
was there still !

_*Oh dear! is it going to stay for ever?’ thought Hero.
‘Shall I never get down stairs again?’ and she went
Lack to the nursery more disconsolate than ever.

Her mother glanced up as she came in, but did not
speak to her; and another long time crept by in dreary
silence. A pleasant, fruity odour reached Hero’s nose
by and by—the smell of juicy apples roasting before the
fire. She knew that Leonard was doing it,—nobody
roasted apples so nicely as he; for he hada knack of
tying a string to their stems so that they never pulled
out, and fastening it up to the mantle-shelf so that they
never tumbled down, and giving it such a peculiar
twist that they always twirled round and round until all
sides of the apple were most beautifully browned, and
it was tender all the way through. She had very little
doubt that he was roasting one for her as well as for
himself, for he was always kind to her, and she longed
to go down and get it. But how could she? That
wretched beetle! she was sure it was in the way still.
However,—as the smell of the apples grew more sweet
and strong,—it would do no harm to go and-look again.



GRACE HARVEY. 69°

Accordingly Hero went, and found the black beetle
exactly in the same spot where she had first seen it,
Evidently it was in comfortable quarters, and had no
intention of moving out of them.

She leaned over the bannister in great anaes ‘auee
perplexity. ‘I think somebody might come and take the
thing away,’ she said to herself, with a fretful sigh; and
she had half a mind to call Leonard, and ask him to.do
it. But she remembered quickly how he always laughed
at and scolded her for such things, and she knew it
would-be useless to ask his help. The kitchen was too
far off for the servants to hear her; and, besides, her
mother would not allow them to assist her, even if they
heard. She could think of nothing in the world to do,
and was just on the point of bursting into tears, when
the dining-room door opened suddenly, and Leonard
came out.

‘Hullo, Hero-Shero! What are you doing up there?
Come down and get a roasted apple,’ he called out, as
he caught sight of her little forlorn face peeping over
the stair-rail.

‘T can’t,’ replied Hero, very dismally.

‘Why not? Have you been punished ?”

‘No-o,’ drawled Hero.

‘Why don’t you come down, then?’ asked Leonard,
impatiently.

‘I don’t want to,’ said Hard Which was a very
wrong story, as you all know, when she wanted nothing
else so much. But she inte he would laugh at her, so
that she did not dare to tell the truth; and oonsequently
she had the mortification of hearing him say, as he
walked back to the dining-room,—

- Oh, very well! If you don’t want to, it’s nothing to
me. Stay where you are, by all means. I can eat the
apples myself’



70 GRACE HARVEY.

Leonard was. proud, you see, like most boys, and
when he offered a favour didn’t like to have it refused.
As for poor little Hero, why, it served her right, of
course, for being such a coward, and telling a wrong
story; but she was very miserable nevertheless, and this
time she could not help showing it. Just as soon as she
heard the dining-room door slam to, she sat down on the
stair-step, hid her face in her ‘apron, and cried in good
earnest; For all that, the obstinate beetle never stirred;
and when she looked down into the hall again, after she
had cried till she was tired, it lay there still.

Never was there such a long morning. The nursery
seemed like a prison, and Hero thought she should die
of loneliness and fatigue. Twelve o'clock, one o’clock
came, and at last the lunch-bell rang. Her mother
folded up her work, and put it by.

‘Come, Hero,’ she said; ‘I am going down to
luncheon.’

‘But, mother, that beetle’s there still,’ said Hero,
miserably.

‘How absurd!’ exclaimed her mother. ‘ It’s time to
have done with this nonsense now, Hero. I insist upon
your coming down stairs immediately.’

She took the child by the hand, and drew her on in
spite of her reluctance. But at the head of the stairs
Hero paused, after one shuddering glance downward,
and declared she could not go a step farther.

‘Where is the beetle?’ asked her mother. ‘TI see
nothing.’

‘There,’ cried Hero, tremblingly, ‘down there!’

And looking again, her mother really saw the terrible
object. She did not stop to wonder what it was, but
ran lightly down the steps, stooped to the floor, and the
next moment Hero grew cold with horror, for she saw
her mother actually take the thing up, and lay it out



GRACE HARVEY. 71

upon her open bare hand. She laughed as she did so,
and said,—

‘Come down, Hero, and take a look at your “ big
black beetle.” I only want you to see what a wise child
you are,’

But Hero screamed at the mere idea. ‘I can't! I
dare not!’ she cried, wild with terror, and started back

as if to escape to the nursery. ,

‘Come down when I bid you,’ her mother commanded,
sternly. ‘Come this moment, I say, Hero.’

‘Oh, no, no, no! I-can’t! I can’t!’ screamed the
child again.

‘If you do not come instantly, you shall certainly be
punished,’ her mother insisted; for she felt now very
much provoked. ‘You really deserve a whipping, as it
is, and I shall give it to you, unless you obey at once.’ —

So Hero no longer dared to refuse. She crept down,
step by step, shivering in every limb, and her face as
white as the wall. Her mother held out the beetle as
she drew near.

‘Now look at it, and see what you have been afraid
of,’ she said.

And Hero, though she screamed at the first glance, -
was ready to sink with shame at the next, when she did
suffer herself to get a fair look at the thing. For, after
all, the fearful creature that had kept her a prisoner all
day, and caused her so many torments, was—-what do
you think ?—a small piece of black silk! That was the
big black beetle !

Hero swallowed her lunch in shame and silence that
day. She looked so miserably mortified, that even
Leonard, after his first great guffaw of laughing, re-
frained from teasing her. As for her mother, she saia
a few earnest words to her, that for once made an im-
pression.



72 GRACE HARVEY.

Hero determined, for the first time in her life, that
she would really try to conquer her foolish fears. More-
over, she said her prayers over it, and asked to be helped
in her efforts to do right, You ail know that when one
asks in that way, it is never in vain; and so you will
believe me, when I tell you that, in course of time, Hero
really ceased to be afraid of beetles and spiders, and
became a sensible child; so that her mother was no
longer ashamed of her name, and very often declared
that she had reason to be exceedingly thankful to Tae
Bie Buack BEerie.

There had been many comments and plenty of laughter
amongst the children during the progress of this story.
Thera. was just enough resemblance between Grace and
the silly little Hero to give them room for merry ridicule
of their cousin, and the bringing up of a great many
instances in which Grace had shown herself hardly more
heroic. She bore it all very amiably, however,—let
them laugh, and laughed with them; and her father
accepted this as a good sign for the future.

Careless and merry talk followed the story. Ned said
it put him in mind of one of the ‘ Original Poems for
Infant Minds,’ that used to impress him-deeply when he
was a little fellow. Grace was the first to guess that he
meant the story of ‘Benighted Henry,’ and ‘the tall white
guide-post;’ and then Ned repeated the verses with
such a tragic emphasis when he came to ‘the form of
horrid kind,’ that

‘Upward rose in deadly white,
Of cloak or mantle bare,
And stretched its naked arms across
To catch him by the haiz,’

that little Charlie grew frightened, and desired to have
the lamps lighted immediately,



GRACE HARVEY. ~ 73

His mother returned just at that crisis, and following
her came Nora, who speedily illuminated the room with
the soft radiance of an excellent lamp,—not so pic-
turesque, but more diffusive than the rosy lights and
shadows of the fire. Being satisfied on-this point,
Charlie’s next desire was one with which the party were
ready to. sympathize by this time.

‘Ym so hungry I don’t know what to do, I want my
supper, mother,’ was his outcry. And Barbara echoed
it with,— ;

‘So do I. And I hope Bridget made some cakes,
did she, mamma? And can’t we have preserved peaches -
to-night ?? A i

‘Come and see,’ said her mother; and a merry tinkle
across the hall just then announced that tea was waiting.
So they all obeyed the summons without delay, for the
walk had given everybody an appetite; and the nicely-
laid table, with its shining silver and snowy linen, was
enough to tempt one, even without the delicate viands
that the pretty dishes contained.

Mrs. Lyon had ordered her ‘company tea-set? in
honour of Uncle Harvey; and to Grace, who delighted
in pretty things, the delicate old china was more enjoy-
able even than the crisp cakes and delicious sweet-bread
which formed the substantial part of the meal. Bar-
bara’s favourite preserved peaches were there, however,
and Grace’s favourite raspberry-jam, in generous supply ;
while the cake-basket was heaped up high with half
a dozen varieties, and the old-fashioned japanned tea-

tray sent forth fragrant odours of coffee and chocolate
and tea commingled.

They laughed and jested with Grace about going away
with her father in the morning; for Mr. Harvey had
told her aunt about the letter. Mrs. Lyon wanted to
know if she should pack her trunks after tea; and Mr,



74 GRACE HARVEY,

Luyon advised her to put in a Latin Grammar and
Reader.

‘For it would never do, you know, Gracie, to forget
all your Latin,’ he said, gravely. ‘You don’t know
what a brilliant scholar she is turning out, Mr. Harvey.’

And at this the children began to laugh; for it must
be confessed that Grace’s Latin studies had not been
very profound, or very successful, so far. Grace joined
in the laugh against herself, and anciencdl merrily, —

‘For all that, you need not think you ‘will get rid of
your stupid gehalian Uncle Lyon ; I shall stay on purpose
to bother you. But I know I never shall decline jus-
jurandum as long as I live!

‘You are strong on irregular verbs, though, Gracie,’
said Ned, mischievously.

And then came out a ridiculous story of how Jack
had ‘crammed’ Grace with some nonsensical inventions
of his own, when they had been required to give
examples from memory of irregular conjugations ; and
how gravely she had repeated ‘ Lambano—sheepsomi—
baal’ and ‘ Henno, turkere, goosi, ductum,’—to the utter
confusion of Uncle Lyon, and the unbounded amusement
of her mischievous cousins.

Mr. Harvey could not help thinking that the poor
little timid stranger had had rather a trying time
amongst them all. But at the same time, he also
acknowledged inwardly that the results might have been
worse. Grace’s rosy face and laughing eyes had a child-
like, happy, healthful look, which: he had not seen them
wear before, since her mother died. Indeed, nobody
had seen Grace so gay and cheerful as she was now;
for the sense of restraint and dread under which she had
lived of late was at last removed, and with her mind at
ease, her naturally pleasant and affectionate disposition
had room to display itself.



GRACE HARVEY. 73

She sat down on a little low ottoman beside her aunt,
when they had all returned to the parlour, and took her
hand caressingly between both her own.

‘I -didn’t mean to be naughty when I wrote that letter
to papa,’ she whispered, softly; ‘and I loved you dearly
all the time, though I did ask him to take me away.’

‘IT don’t wonder at your writing it, Gracie,’ her aunt
answered, kindly ; ‘now I know how you were worried
and tormented here. I only blame you for not coming
to me with the whole trouble. I could have put a stop
to it so much sconer, if I-had known what was going
on. |

‘J didn’t like to tell tales, answered Grace; ‘and I
don’t care now about any of it. I shall never be so silly
or so miserable again, I know.’

‘Then you don’t want to leave us all just yet?’ asked
Mrs. Lyon, smiling.

‘Not if you will let me stay,’ was Grace’s shy reply.

‘And when papa goes away from you to-morrow,—
how will it be then?’

‘Oh, I will be good, till he comes again at Easter. It
will soon come, you know. And, aunty, I don’t mean
to be a baby tied to your apron-string, as Lizzie says,
any longer. I will go out when the others do, and run,
and play, and get strong as they are. I have promised
papa, and I want you to help me keep my promise.’

‘ Very well,’ said her aunt; and Grace went on in a
still lower tone,—for their little talk was all ‘aside’ from
the rest of the family,—

‘Because, you know, I have been very selfish all this
time, never wanting to do what the rest did, and hinder-
ing them so often. Papa made me see that, and I don’t
want to be so again. But I shall forget, unless some-
body puts me in mind, now and then.’

$1 will put you in mind,’ said her aunt, ‘if I think



7é GRACE TARVEY.

you need it, But you must not forget, Gracie, who will
“be a better help to you than I can.’

‘I know; I have asked Him already to help me,’
whispered Grace. ‘And it is because I think He will,
that I feel so happy to- “night. I cannes help feeling
happy, in spite of papa’s going away.’

‘ He will not object to that,’ said Mrs. Lyon, laughing.
_‘Tam sure he does not wish to see you aun, a long
face, and looking doleful on account of his going,’

‘No, I suppose he doesn’t,’ Grace laughed in return.
And then Lizzie and Annie came up, protesting against
the private conversation, and wanting Grace to join them
in guessing a puzzle which Ned had produced.

So here we will say Good-bye to our little heroine, for
Grace’s visit had now come to an end. It was home
after this, by her own choice, and the loving consent of
her cousins, who adopted the better plan of making her
happy in future, in place of teasing her.

‘That none of them ever forgot or neglected their good
resolutions, I am not prepared to say; for, as the Latin
Grammar tells us, ‘Errare est humanum,’—and the little
people at Helly brooks could not grow ‘perfect j in a day,
any more than ‘the rest of mankind.’ One thing I may
say, however,—that that particular shell never was put
between sheets again; for Grace took pains to get posses-
sion of it, and kept it secretly; and Lizzie got it as a
present, ‘ with Grace’s love,’ on her very next birthday !





— Greenland’s Jey Mountains,












GREENEAND'S ICY MOUNTAINS.

peoe aeel
CHAPTER £

IN the 80th of May 1858, the brig Advance set sail
from New York, bound for Baffin’s Bay. The
Advance was a strong vessel and a good sailer ;
but it was not on these accounts that many
hearts throbbed with warm interest, and many mouths
spoke good wishes at her departure. The Advance was
going on a message of mercy; she was going in search
of Sir John Franklin, an English explorer, who with his
party had been lost among the ice and snows of the north.
Evisua Kent Kane was in command of the Advance,
and he had seventeen men with him.
There were only three rules on board that vessel, but
they were to the point:
1. Absolute obedience to the commanding officer.
2. Abstinence from all intoxicating liquors, except:
when ordered for some wise purpose.
8. Entire freedom from the use of profane lan-
guage.
Dr. Kane was to pass up Baflin’s Bay as far north as
possible, and then press on towards the north pole in
, 13






30 CREENLANDS ICY MOUNTAINS.

boats or sledges, carefully examining the coasts for
traces of the lost party. /

There were on board the Advance some noble New-
foundland dogs, who were to drag the sledges of the ex-
plorers, whenever they should he on land. These dogs
often gave a great deal of trouble. Not a bear’s claw,
not a basket of mosses could be put down for a moment,
without their springing towards it, scrambling and yell-
ing, and swallowing the morsel at one mouthful. Dr.
Kane declares that he had even seen them attempt to
eat a whole feather-bed !

“Unruly, thieving, and ravenous’ as were these dogs,
they had to be tenderly cared for, for on them the safety
of the travellers might depend, when all around them
was ice,

Tt is said that there is no human character without
some gentler feelings that may be touched by constant
kindness, and this is true in some degree with regard
to brutes. Even these Newfoundland dogs, so like wild
beasts in their appetites, had yet a kind of affection
for their masters. At one time, although a comfortable
house had been provided for them at a distance from the
ice-bound brig, they could not be persuaded to sleep there.
‘They preferred the bare snow, within the sound of their
masters’ voices, to a warm kennel upon the rocks.’

The Advance, after a short stay at the Danish settle-
ments of South Greenland, passed northward up Baflin’s
Bay, until it was at last locked fast in fields of ice. The
very sea was frozen around the vessel; and there, in the
midst of cold and desolation, with no humane visitor to
cheer their solitude, the crew of the Advance prepared
to pass the long winter of the Arctic regions. The brig
had become the fixed home of the little party, and they
made it as comfortable as possible. From this strange
home they made excursions along the coast in sledges,



GREENLAND'S ICY MOUNTAINS. 81

and now they really began to understand the use and
value of the dogs that had before been so troublesome.

The small sledge, which seemed to be a particular
favourite with Dr. Kane, was valled ‘ Little Willie.’ It
was made of American hickory, and built with the
utmost care, so as to be at the same time Hght and
strong. The Newfoundland dogs were used for ordinary
labour; but the hardy Esquimaux dogs were the most
serviceable for long journeys over the dangerous ice,
which now covered sea and shore.

The dogs were not guided by bridles and bits, like
our horses ; neither did they move by the word of com-
mand, like our patient oxen. These strange animals,
more like wolves in appearance and nature than like
the dogs we are accustomed to see, were guided only by
the whip. This whip was of a most peculiar kind. Its

- handle was only sixteen inches long, while the seal-hide
lash was six yards long. You can think how hard it
must have been to throw out such a long lash, with such
ashort handle; yet by constant practice Dr. Kane and
his men learned to do it. What is there that cannot be
learned by perseverance? They were not really good
sledge-drivers till they could hit at will any one of the
twelve dogs in the team, and remind him by the lash
which way he must go. The mere labour of using this
whip is such, that the Esquimaux (the natives of these
regions) travel in couples, one sledge after the other.
The dogs of the hinder sledge follow the first sledge
without the whip, and the drivers change about, so as
to rest each other.

One great danger in travelling over the frozen sea
is the cracks through the ice, leading to the deep’ cold
water below. Over these the brave dogs leap at a single
bound, carrying the light sledge safely after them. How
would you like to take such aride? You would have

F



82 GREENLAND’S ICY MOUNTAINS.

to hold fast to the sledge when it went flying over the
ice-cracks, or you would be tossed out, and perhaps sink
into the dark waters.

Of what use would a horse, or an elephant, or a camel
be in these frozen regions ? How wonderful is the good-
ness of God, in providing beasts of burden suited to all
climates !

The same providential hand that has given the hardy,
patient, swift-footed dog to the Esquimaux, has provided
a kind of food suited to the people of these regions. Fat
they love, fat they need, and fat they have. Dr. Kane
and his party soon learned to eat solid lumps of blubber
with a relish, and to own that it was a necessary of life
in that cold climate.

The clumsy sea-creature the walrus, the curious seal,
and the awkward bear, yielded in turn their fat meat
to the crew of the Advance. The fox too, and the hare,
and the wild birds of the short summer appeared on the
table in their strange cramped dwelling-place.

When the real winter came, however, and the dark
night set in to last its dreary six months, the unfortu-
nate strangers had to rely chiefly on the stores of dried
and salted food they had brought with them for such an
hour of need. Such was the scarcity of fresh meat, that
Dr. Kane was at length able to eat rat’s flesh with a
relish, though few of the crew were willing to join him.

Many, many were the trials endured through that
weary time of darkness. The absence of light itself was
most distressing. First the sun disappeared, and day
was only a twilight; then all was darkness. December
15, 1858, Dr. Kane writes: ‘At mid-day we cannot see
print, and hardly paper; the fingers cannot be counted
a foot from the eyes. Noonday and midnight are alike!’
Ice was all around them in the darkness, and everything
on hoard seemed turning to ice. In the open air, what-



GREENLAND’S ICY MOUNTAINS. 83

ever was touched with the bare hand froze fast to it.
The beard of a sleeper froze to his blanket, the very
eyelids were chained together by the frost.

Occupation is a source of cheerfulness at all times ;
and so in the midst of the darkness it proved to the crew
of the Advance. Something was provided for every one
to do. Dr. Kane knew that a busy man was not likely to
be a discontented or an unhappy man.

Carpentering, shoe and sock making, sewing, writing,
map drawing, and even cooking, went on, though there
was, by the eleventh of March, not a pound of fresh
meat on board, and only one barrel of potatoes left.
Perhaps you fancy those same potatoes soft, mealy, and
tempting, like those that come burning-hot to our own
tables. By no means, Potatoes were served up at every
meal, truly; but they were medicine for the poor, sick,
scurvy-tormented men of the Advance. The frozen
potatoes were grated down, mixed with oil, and so made
into such an abominable dose, that the hardy fellows
made as much of a fuss about taking it as a spoiled child
at a dose of salts.

February had been found by other voyagers the
coldest month of the polar year; but March was to
Dr. Kane’s party equally if not more trying. Yet they
managed to bear it, and bear it cheerfully, considering
all that they suffered.

Strange-looking beings these Americans must have
been in their Greenland home! Think of a man ina
pair of seal-skin trowsers, a dog-skin cap, a reindeer
jumper (a fur coat with a hood of the same material),
and walrus boots! When such a traveller goes on a
journey, he stops at no hotels. He need not fear damp
sheets. He takes his bed and bedding with him. He
has a fur bag into which he can slip himself, feet first ;
and then he draws a kind of fur tippet over his head,



84 GREENLAND'S ICY MOUNTAINS.

leaving open just space enough for him to breathe
through, and he is fixed for the night, where the ther-
mometer is 40° below zero. Ifshe has but a junk of
frozen raw meat with him, he is provided with a break-
fast, and will be ready, when he has eaten it, to give the
dogs a fresh start, and go off with his companions on a
new tour of search for the lost Sir John Frarklin.

So Dr. Kane and his men learned to dress, eat, sleep,
and travel. Their necessities of life became few indeed.

Spring was coming at last; such a spring! It makes
one chill to think of it. Spring was coming, and the
men began to revive and talk of home. The poor dogs
too, those that were left of them, gave signs of returning
strength. Out of nine Newfoundland and thirty-five
Esquimaux dogs, only six were still living, and they
were unfit for present use. The long darkness and the
excessive cold had been too much for them. A singular
disease had seized upon them, a real disease of the brain,
ending at last in death. The poor creatures could eat
and sleep well enough, but they were actually crazy.
Sometimes they would sit for a long time in moody
silence, then suddenly start up, and run to and fro on
the deck for hours. No wonder that the poor brutes,
who were strangers in that dreary land, should have
been driven wild with ever waiting for the dawning of
day, with no one to tell them why the horrid night was
never cheered by a single ray of sunlight.

These valuable animals were ‘tended, fed, cleansed,
caressed, and doctored,’ but all to no purpose... One by
one they dropped away.

March had come. Don’t think of pleasant spring, and
crocuses peeping up from their winter quarters. It was
in this month that, in an excursion over the snow and
ice, Dr. Kane and his men endured the most awful suffer-
ings from cold and exhaustion. Gladly would they have



GREENLAND’S ICY MOUNTAINS. 85

laid down on the snow to sleep the sleep of death; but
blind with the dazzlingof the sun on the ice, and stag-
gering with weakness, sthey went on, the stronger dragging
the more helpless, ‘and at last they reached the brig,
wandering in mind, and utterly exhausted in body. One
of the par by: aitfened for some time from blindness, two
others had * ‘portions of the foot cut off, and two died in
conseqéhce of what they had undergone on that fearful
journey.

If April did not bring the soft showers, the budding
and renewing of life, which we welcome in our climate,
it brought to Dr. Kane’s party something as pleasant.
This was the visit of a number of Esquimaux. Yes, the
crew of the Advance once more saw other human faces
than those of their companions in misfortune.

A wild, lawless set were those Esquimaux. Their
leader was a tall, ‘ powerfully-built man, with swarthy
complexion, and piercing black eyes. His dress was a
jumper of mixed white and blue fox-skins, arranged with
something of fancy, and booted trowsers of white bear-
skin, which at the end of the foot were made to terminate
with the claws of the animal.’ Although this was the
first time he had ever seen a white man, he fearlessly
went with Dr. Kane on board the brig.

In due time the whole party followed. Then there
was confusion enough on the ice-bound vessel. The
Esquimaux spoke three or four at a time, laughed at the
ignorance of the crew in not understanding them, and
then talked away as before. ‘They were incessantly in
motion, going everywhere, trying doors, and squeezing
themselves through dark passages, round casks and
boxes, out into the light again, anxious to touch and
handle everything they saw, asking for or else endea-
vouring to steal everything they touched.’ At last, like
tired children, they went to sleep. They did not lie



86 . GREENLAND'S ICY MOUNTAINS.

down, but slept sitting, with the head dropped on the
breast, some of them snoring famously. Each one was
sure to have a piece of raw meat lying beside him; and
when he woke his first act was to eat, and then he was
ready for another nap. Every man ate when he felt
inclined ; they did not seem to have any idea of taking
regular meals as we do. At length their S4sit was over,
and away they went, men, dogs, and sledges, gliding over
the ice as swiftly as they came. ,

The Arctic summer began at last, to the great joy of
the crew of the Advance. Seal, walrus, bears, foxes,
rabbits, hares, eider duck, and wild birds of -various.
kinds, suddenly swarmed in that hitherto silent region
The Arctic plants sent forth their flowers, and hope made
glad the hearts of the men.

-The short Arctic summer was too soon over. The
stunted plants had borne their stunted fruit, and cast
their seed; and yet the ice lingered around the brig.
The Advance was still a prisoner. Sorrowfully her crew
prepared for another winter in their frozen home. A
‘number of them tried to escape in sledges, but they were
obliged to come back to the ice-bound brig, and share
the fate of their companions.

Through this second long winter they bore sickness
and cold and hunger, yet their brave commander never
despaired, never failed to set the example of patient,
cheerful, hopeful endurance.

Visits to the Esquimaux of these regions took place
through the winter and spring. The strangers learned
to crawl through the long narrow passage that leads from
the door to the interior of the small snow-covered huts.
There they could sleep among the heaps of naked natives:
there they could eat raw meat or soup of doubtful cookery
with almost as good an appetite as the greedy Esquimaux
themselves. The interior of these thronged huts is often



GREENLAND'S ICY MOUNTAINS. 87

excessively warm, and their filth is such as to shock a
civilised man. Yet the Esquimaux are kind to the
stranger, and cheerfully share with him their scanty
stores.

Once ‘murder, the burial of the living, the killing of
infants, were common among them. Once a vessel
could not with safety touch upon their coast, whole

crews having been murdered by the wild natives. ‘But
‘for the last hundred years Greenland has been safer
for the wrecked mariner than many parts of our own
coast.”

The virtues which have been taught by the Christian
missionaries to those who have received Jesus as their
Saviour, have spread even among the heathen natives.
Here, as ever, a blessing has followed the arrival of the
noble men who have left all to preach Jesus to the
ignorant and degraded.

We cannot trace Dr. Kane and his party through all
their trials and adventures. On the 18th of May 1855,
the brig was finally abandoned; and by sledges and
boats the remains of the once hopeful party made their
way to South Greenland. They had not found Sir John
Franklin, but they had passed two winters farther north
than any Europeans had ever made their homes, and
gathered much information important to science. They
had proved the existence of an open sea beyond the ice
of the polar regions, a fact of the utmost value, and for
which the name of Dr. Kane will be long remembered.

For eighty-four days after abandoning the brig the
erew of the Advance had lived in the open air, under-
going all manner of dangers, privations, and hardships,
when they at last reached a Danish settlement, and, in
the midst of a crowd of children, for the last time hauled
their boats on the rocks.

So accustomed were the wayworn men to life in the



88 GREENLAND'S ICY MOUNTAINS.

open air, that they could not at first remain within a
house without a distressing sense of suffocation. That
night they ‘drank coffee before many an hospitable
threshold, and listened again and again to the hymn of
welcome, which, sung by many voices, greeted their
deliverance.’

Truly it was a time for hymns of praise, a time for
thanksgiving to the God who had watched over and pre-
served ‘them through all their wanderings.

A loft was fitted up for their reception as soon as they
could bear in-door life, and the humble Danes freely
shared their scanty stores with the broken-down sailors
of the Advance. The Christian kindness of these poor
Danes cannot be too much commended. ,

From this hospitable region the wanderers set sail in
a Danish vessel, and touched for a short stay at a more
southern port of Greenland. They were on the eve of
again embarking, when a look-out man on a hill-top
announced a steamer in the distance...&It drew near
with a bark in tow,’ says Dr. Kane, ‘and we soon re-
cognised the stars and stripes of America. The Faith’—
the boat in which the poor sufferers had escaped— was
lowered for the last time into the water, and the little
flag which had floated so near the poles of both hemi-
spheres opened once more to the breeze. Followed by
all the boats of the settlement, we went out to meet the
steamer. Weneared the squadron, and the gallant men
that had come out to seek us; we could see the scars .
which their own ice-battles had impressed on their
vessels; we knew the gold lace of the officers’ cap-
bands, and discerned the groups who, glass in hand,
were evidently regarding us.

‘Presently we were alongside. An officer whom I
shall ever remember as a cherished friend, Captain Hart-
’ stene, hailed a little man in a ragged flannel shirt. “Is



GREENLAND'’S ICY MOUNTAINS. 89

that Dr. Kane 2?” and with the “Yes!” that followed, the
- Yigging was manned by our countrymen, and cheers
welcomed us back to the social world of love they re-
presented.’

Since the publication of his interesting account of his
expedition,’ Dr. Kane has died in consequence of the
privations and hardships he endured.

1Tun Far Norru: Explorations in the Arctic Regions. By
Elisha Kent Kane, M.D., commander, second ‘Grinnell’ expedition

in search of Sir John Franklin. Feap. 8vo, cloth extra, price 2s.
Edinburgh: William P. Nimmo.





90 GREENLAND S ICY MOUNTAINS.

CHAPTER IL

E cannot but admire the courage and patient
endurance of Dr. Kane and his men; yet even
greater courage and greater patience have
been shown on the shores of Greenland.

In the year 1710 there was a happy parsonage at
Vogen, in Norway, where lived a useful pastor and his
beloved family. ‘That pastor, the Rev. Hans Egede, had
won the affection of his people, and week by week he
was leading them towards the same heaven which was

-to be his everlasting home. Dear as was this devoted

pastor to'the people of his flock, he was not more prized
by them than was his gentle wife.

When a sick child among the people had wearied out
even the mother by its long illness, then it was that Ann
Egede was found by its bedside, soothing it by her sweet
voice, and nursing it with the tenderest care. When a
sorrowing widow sat alone in her desolate home, the
footstep of the minister's wife was heard on the threshold,
and soon sweet words of comfort and affectionate sym-
pathy were cheering the solitary mourner. Ann Egede
was the light of the parsonage. She had ever a welcome
of smiles for her husband, she had ever pure counsel
and kind judicious care; God had given hey also asweet
-young family.

This was a happy household, yet here a shadow fell.
The face of Hans Egede grew sad; a deep burden was





GREENLAND'S ICY MOUNTAINS. 91

on his heart. The joy which he had in the knowledge
of a Saviour made him feel but the deeper pity for the
heathen who were far from God. The peace that pre-
vailed in his Christian home but made him realize more
fully what must be the misery of the families where the
law of love was not taught, and where anger, envy, and
every evil passion raged. To Greenland his thoughts
particularly turned, and his soul yearned to bear the
message of Christ to the lost people of that frozen land.

To his dear wife the earnest minister at length told
his secret sorrow, the secret wish which had become so
strong within him.

Poor Ann Egede! Her joy seemed crushed in a
moment. At first she shrank from the sacrifice pro-
posed ; but she saw that the holy purpose had taken too
deep a hold upon her husband to be easily given up.
Should she leave her pleasant home and go with him to
that distant, dreary land? This question she asked her-
self, this question she asked of God in prayer.

Peace came again to the heart of Ann Egede. God
had sent her strength to give up all for the sake of
Christ. She would go with her husband, and labour
with him to bring the heathen to the knowledge of the
Lord. The pastor was full of joy when he heard her
decision. He felt as if all difficulties were removed from
his path, now that his true wife was to -be at his side.
With stich an example of a Christian woman to prove
the truth of his religion, and such a labourer to aid him
in his work, he felt sure of success.

For ten long years the Rev. Hans Egede besought the
king of Denmark, and the bishops and merchants of his
own land, to give him permission and means to go to
the far away country and preach Christ to the ignorant
natives.

Permission and means were at Jast obtained. Hans



92 GREENLANDS ICY MOUNTAINS.

Egede might take the Bible in his hand, and go with its
message to ‘Greenland’s icy mountains,’

Sorrow now seized upon the people of Vogen. They
clung round their beloved pastor like children round a
tender mother’s neck. They besought him not to leave
them, and, weeping, pleaded with him to give up his
_ long-cherished plan. In their strong attachment to their
faithful minister, they felt as if it would be almost im-
possible for them to reach heaven without his holy
teaching and pure example. The people of Vogen had
the Bible for their guide, and Hans Egede knew that
God could lead them heavenward when he was far over
the sea. Hans Egede knew this, yet the voice of
his weeping people overcame him; could he leave
them ?

Calm and cheerful was Ann Egede in that hour of
doubt. The fearless woman strengthened her husband's
resolution, and assisted him in keeping firm to his pur-
pose. He resolved to go.

Wild, foolish, and almost mad, the pastor and his
wife were considered by most of their friends. Little
was then known of Greenland, and that little was but a
tale of misery and desolation. Yet one solemn sentence
of Scripture was enough to sustain Hans Egede and his
wife in this time of trial and reproach. Jesus had said,
‘Go ye into all the world, and preach the gospel to
every creature.’ He could sustain his chosen messengers
among the snows of Greenland as well as amid the com-
forts of their dear parsonage at Vogen.

In the month of May 1721, Hans Egede, with his wife
and four children, set sail for Greenland. On the wide
ocean they learned to know too well all the terrors of
the sea, Storms beat them about, contrary winds drove
them back, and terrible icebergs threatened to crush
them. The ship rolled and tossed on the mighty waves,



GREENLAND'S ICY MOUNTAINS. 93

and was well nigh dashed in pieces. But in the cabin
of that lonely ship there was one face full of peace.
There Ann Egede gathered her terrified children about
her, and soothed their fears by reminding them of Him
who ruleth the sea. There Ann Egede was at her hus-
band’s side, like an angel, comforting him with her sweet
words of hope and trust.

On the 8d of July, Egede and his family reached the
country which was henceforward to be their home.

Dr. Kane and his party, when they set out on their

expedition, were going on a long and trying voyage |

truly ; yet they hoped, they expected to return. They
looked forward to the time when they should see again
the ‘dear familiar faces,’ and be welcomed at the fire-
sides where they were beloved. No such hope, no such
expectation, had Hans Egede and his wife to cheer them.
They had given up friends, home, and country to live
among the Greenlanders, and to know no other dwelling-
place.

A dreary prospect it must have seemed when they
first entered the miserable snow-covered huts, and saw
the poverty and filth within them. Yet there was no
look of discontent on the sweet face of Ann Egede. Her
smile and her cheerfulness were ready to make glad her
husband’s poor home in this far foreign land.

The miserable ignorant Greenland women she met
with kindness, and they must have soon seen that some
one quite unlike themselves had come to dwell among
them. How she must have longed to tell them at once
of that Saviour whose humble follower she was, and
whose religion she so adorned !

All was new and strange to the pastor and his family.
Even the language of the country had yet to be learned
by slow and toilsome efforts. As they heard the names
given by the Greenlanders to the objects about them,



94 GREENLAND S ICY MOUNTAINS.

they wrote them down, and rejoiced over each word that
they learned, for each word gained brought nearer the
time when they could preach Jesus to this benighted
people.

The impatient missionaries could not wait until they
could speak to the Greenlanders in their own language,
before they made known to them some of the facts of
Scripture. As we teach little children by Bible pictures,
before they can understand all the deep truths of the
word of God, so they taught the Greenlanders. By
sketches of some of the scenes described in Scripture,
Hans Egede and his wife tried to prepare these poor
people for the religion they had come to teach. We
cannot doubt that Jesus at Bethlehem, Jesus on the
cross, and Jesus ascending to heaven, were drawn, while
the earnest missionaries tried to give the ignorant by-
standers some idea of Him who came to seek and to save
them that were loat.

The Greenlanders were stupid and indifferent; Hans
Egede and his wife could only speak by signs, and these
first efforts at instruction seemed all in vain. When
this rude people understood that the strangers were to
live among them, they were by no means pleased.
People who had not come to tradé with the natives were
unwelcome in that land, where food must be laid up
with care, and used with economy. Even the sweet face
of Ann Egede for a while failed to soften the coarse,
ignorant beings around her. But sickness came to the
little children, and the missionary’s wife won the mothers
by her attention to their darlings. They saw that the pale-
faced woman from over the seas was wiser than themselves
when disease threatened death; they saw that she was
more gentle and patient with the sufferers than they had
ever been. The presents that Hans Egede had made
to the Greenlanders, and the kindness he and his wife



GREENLAND'S ICY MOUNTAINS. 98

had shown them, at last had some effect, and they were
willing that the missionaries should remain among them,

Hardly had the earnest strangers begun to hope that
success might yet be in store for them, when a new diffi-
culty arose. The ship that was to have brought provisions
from Norway was delayed in its coming. The miserable
food of the natives was fast diminishing, and famine
seemed near at hand. The Danes and Norwegians who
had come out with Egede, with the hope of making
money by trade with the natives, were disheartened.
They all resolved to return.

After anxious thought and sleepless nights, Hans
Egede decided that he had no right to expose his wife
and children to death from hunger and want. He would
return with his countrymen, a wretched, disappointed
man. This decision he announced to his wife. The
heart of Ann Egede was strengthened from above, in
that hour of trial. She would not accept the offer which
it had cost her husband such an effort to make. ‘No!
let us remain here, my husband,’ said the noble woman.
‘Hardships we expected, when we became missionaries.
Let us have patience!’ The strong, cheerful, hopeful,
trustful spirit of the wife upheld the soul of her husband.
The long-looked-for ship at length arrived ; food was once
more plenty, and good news from home made glad the
exiles,

Hans Egede sought in every way to win the confi-
dence and affection of the Greenlanders, but they seemed
to eare little to learn what he had to teach. Food and rest
for their poor bodies were more precious to them, than
any cultivation of their minds or any care for their souls.

The missionary and his wife had been tried by unkind-
ness, and threatened by famine, and yet they had re-
mained firm. They were now to suffer from a new

difficulty,



96 GREENLAND'S ICY MOUNTAINS.

The horrors of a Greenland winter gathered around
them. Shut within their narrow dwelling, they sought
to escape from the piercing cold that was changing all
nature into solid ice. Even there they could not escape
the searching blasts and the cruel frosts. ‘Cups of
heated water, or even brandy, if set upon the table, were
frozen in a few minutes. The linen was often frozen in
the drawers, and the soft eider-down bed and pillows
stiffened with frost, even while the sleepers rested there.’
Slowly the long dark night stole on, till at last there
was no light in their dwelling at mid-day, save that of
the ever-burning fire, and the precious lamp, which
was never suffered to go out.

Thus shut off from all the world, the heart of the wife
and mother did not sink in despondency. She had still
her dear ones around her, her God was still King in
heaven. To that God she prayed for strength to do her
duty in the strange position in which she found herself
placed; to those dear ones she devoted herself, and was
to them a comfort and a stay,

In the dark winter hours the children were taught
at their mother’s side, not only the learning ‘that makes

. the scholar wise, but that better wisdom which comes
from above. Time stole on, and their young minds,
subject to her sweet influence, unfolded, fair and truth-
loving, like that of their mother. The eldest daughter
resembled her in appearance as well as character. The
blue eyes, flaxen hair, and mild, earnest features of Ann
Figede were seen again in that daughter's face, who was
to be so like her in spirit and in purpose.

The wintry night brightened into twilight. Then
came the season of perpetual day, when no shadow
crept over the landscape at evening, no hour of darkness
called the weary to rest. The weeks went round un-
marked by dawn and sunset, till the eye was dim with



GREENLAND S ICY MOUNTAINS. 97

the continual brightness, and yearned to close itself in
the pleasant shade of night.

The seasons, so different from those to which they
had been accustomed, could not but be trying to the
strangers; yet they did not complain. They knew that
for wise reasons the short Arctic summer was all light.
They saw the plants springing as it were into life; they
saw the animals that had fled from the cold, suddenly
rejoicing around them; and they could not murmur,
but rather admired his wisdom who ‘doeth all things
well.’ :

Egede had left Norway full of hope. His hopes had
not been realized. The land was even more dreary than
it had been described, the people were far more stupid,
- far more difficult to be reached. They mocked at the
teacher of the new religion who had come to dwell
among them; they gave little heed to his instructions.

In the midst of his discouragements there was one
bright face ever ready to give him a welcome, one true
heart ever ready to yield its sympathy and comfort. Of
her own loneliness Ann Egede never spoke. She could
not, like her husband; vary her life by expeditions along
the coast, now on the swift sledge, now in the light boat.
At her fireside was her place of duty, and there she was
to be found, cheerful, placid, and useful, as in the plea-
sant parsonage at Vogen.

Such a wife was indeed a treasure; such a mother

could not but be blessed in her children. Without a
Christian visitor to look in on their solitude, with no
hope of change to cheer them, the family of Hans Egede
were not sorrowful. They were happy in themselves,
and happy in the love of their Maker. -

‘The little family group,’ says Mr. Carnes, ‘found
all their hopes and enjoyments in each other; and when
the father gave out the hymn, and they all joined their

G



98 GREENLAND’S ICY MOUNTAINS. .
voices or knelt down in prayer, it was as if one ‘soul and
one voice was offered to God.’

Seven years had passed since Hans Egede first set up
his family altar on the shores of Greenland. Ships froni
Norway had been hailed with joy as-they approached,
and watched as they receded from sight; yet the devoted
missionaries had seen them come and go, with firm hearts
and purposes unchanged. Now there was a promise of
brighter days. Several ships arrived from Denmark
containing colonists, who had come with the hope of
making a permanent and profitable settlement on the
shores of Greenland. Welcome as were the soldiers, the
mechanics, and the true wives who had followed their
fortunes, still more welcome to Egede were two Danish
clergymen, who had been sent by the king of Denmark to
aid him in his efforts for the poor heathen of Greenland.

The sufferings which Egede and his wife had borne
with such firmness were too much for the colonists,
Tried by the terrible climate, disappointed in their hopes
of gain, upon Egede they visited their wrath. They
fancied that his being there had occasioned their coming
to the dreary shore. They considered no violence too
great to be offered him; and but for the guard who
surrounded his dwelling, they might have slain him in
their anger. These new dangers could not shake the
spirit of Ann Egede. The wrath of man was as naught
to one who, like Elias, knew herself to be surrounded
by legions of angels; for the angels of the Lord encamp
poutid about them that fear Him, Calm, cheerful, and
fearless, she passed through that time of danger, a woman
indeed whose price was above rubies!

Cold, hunger, sickness, and disunion reduced the colo-
nists to a mere handful. The survivors had but one
thought, one wish—to see their native land again in
safety. Permission at length came to give up the



GREENLAND'S ICY MOUNTAINS. 99

proposed settlement. Then, from the least unto the
greatest, the emigrants escaped from the shores they
had learned to hate. Even the missionaries, upon whom
Egede had relied, deserted him. He too was called on
to flee as for his life. Provisions for but one year more
were promised him by the government; and after that
time no further aid was to be given him from his
fatherland, -

That fatherland was still dear to Egede and his wife,
still fresh in their memories. Its quiet homes, its
pleasant churches, its hillsides, and its lakes they had
described -to their children in the long winiey hours.
Should they not return to it once more ?

Egede was no longer the strong man who had first set
foot in Greenland: should he continue to labour until
his life was the sacrifice? Might he not die on that
dreary coast, and leave his wife and children among
savages in that far land? Every motive that could
influence Egede was brought forward, to persuade him
to give up his post. Eight years he had spent in that
frozen clime: should he now desert it in despair ?

Ann Egede knew and felt the terrors of her position,
but she spoke not to counsel return; now as ever the
husband and wife were one in purpose, one in heart.
‘Feed my lambs,’ was the risen Saviour’s charge to the
repentant Peter; and that message seemed now breathed
anew into the ears of Egede and his loving wife. One
hundred and fifty children of the Greenlanders claimed
their care, and were already under their instruction.
These ‘little ones’ they could endeavour to train for
Christ, and with them they resolved to remain. The
familiar faces, speaking the familiar language, turned
away from them. Every European departed in the
homeward bound ship, and Egede and his wife were
left alone in the land of their adoption. Not alone, for



Full Text



« Those ‘that seek me early toll “find me.’
Prov. wie 17:

(St... Mark’s ‘Sonooks,
BIRMINGHAM,
Awarded 10

a Z Se YL yyy ie

j FOR Goop LONDUCT AND DILIGENT -
APPLICATION —

DURING THE YHAR 1870.

2 G. THWAITES, Vicar.

Z 2a

«The soul of the sluggard desireth and hath *
nothing; but the soul of the diligent shall* be
made fat.”— Prov. xiii, 4. ’





The Baldwin Library

University
RmB we
Florida








GRACE HARVEY,
GRACE HARVEY,

Aud Other Gales,



EDINBURGH:

WILLIAM P,. NIMMO.,
CONTENTS.



—_—+—_—.
PAGE
GRACE HARVEY, . . ; . . . 7
GREENLAND’S ICY MOUNTAINS, : ° . 47
THE YOUNG SOLDIER, . ° ° ° . 105
FRANK LUDLOW, . ° ° : ; . 119

GRANDFATHER’S TALE, . 7 . ° . 137
Grace Harve.




GRACE HARVEY,

CHAPTER IL

ZOW, Gracie, remember you promised me that
you would not cry.’

‘IT know it, papa. I don’t intend to ery.
Good-bye.’

The little quivering face was uplifted for a last kiss,
and Mr, Harvey clasped the little black-robed figure
tightly for a moment. Then he set her down within the
doorway, and sprang hastily into the carriage that stood
in waiting for him,—Grace looking after him with a
longing, sorrowful gaze, till the last echo of the horses’
hoofs had faded in the distance.

She turned back into the hall then, where her aunt,
Mrs. Lyon, stood, surrounded by a group of her cousins.
The oldest of these, a frank, good-natured-looking girl
of twelve, came forward as Grace turned towards them. -

‘Come, Gracie,’ she said cheerfully; ‘come with
Annie and me, and let's feed the guinea-pigs. Did you
‘ever see any? They're so cunning!’

; 9



10 GRACE HARVEY.

Grace made no answer. The sudden sense of her
loneliness in this crowd of strange faces overpowered her.
Her lips quivered, the tears sprang to her eyes, and she
hid her face in her hands to hide the grief which she
could not any longer control.

Lizzie Lyon glanced at her sister Annie with a look of
annoyance, and the word ‘baby’ shaped itself on her
lips, though she did not suffer it to be heard, Annie, a
gentler child, said soothingly—

‘I wouldn’t cry, Gracie, if I were you. Don't!
Your father will come and see you before long; he said
he would, you know.’

‘And you know you promised him not to ery,’ put in
Barbara, the youngest of the three.

‘She did not promise him never to cry, Barbara,’ said

‘Mrs. Lyon quickly. ‘And she can't help it just now,
when everything is strange to her. Run away, all of
you, for a little while, and leave her to me.’

The children obeyed readily enough, for it was very
uncomfortable to see Grace’s tears; and they were not
sorry of an opportunity to talk about the new cousin
amongst themselves. Barbara was the first to speak
when they got to a safe distance.

‘I wish she hadn’t come,’ she said fretfully. ‘If she’s
going to be crying after her father all the time, she'll
spoil every bit of our fun.’

‘You haven’t much to boast of about crying, Bab,’
said Lizzie. ‘You do it often yourself.’

‘I don’t care! I don’t want to have anybody beside
me that’s always looking miserable.’

‘Because you want to make all the misery yourself—
is that it, Barbie?’ laughed Annie. ‘I hope Grace
isn’t going to be stupid and unhappy, though. What do
you think about it, Liz?’

‘I don’t know,’ responded Lizzie, dubiously. ‘She
GRACE HARVEY. 11

doesn’t look as if she had much fun in her. I’m afraid
she’s going to be dull.’

‘She’s very pretty, at any rate,’ said Annie. ‘Did
you observe what little white hands she had ??

‘Yes, I saw them,’ answered her sister in a discon-
tented way. ‘I don’t think much of little white hands,
though. They'll be too fine for use, you'll see.’

That statement could never have been made about
Lizzie’s hands; for though they were small enough and
well-shaped, she had made them as coarse as a boy’s by
her constant rough play. She prided herself upon being
able to run and row, to swim and skate, to ride a horse, .
and climb a tree, as well as her brothers. No sport was
too daring for her, for she was afraid of nothing; and
this, in fact, was the characteristic of all the Lyon
children. They were a strong, hearty, fearless race, all
born and brought up in the country, and accustomed,
all their lives, to constant out-door exercise. This had
made them sturdy in limb and nerve, and they had no
respect for any sort of weakness,

The older children of the family were boys; and this,

_ perhaps, helped to make the girls more rough and ready
than they might have been. For, living upon a large
farm, at a distance from neighbours, Ned and Jack were
obliged to make companions and playmates of their
sisters. So they had all grown up together in a merry,
noisy, boyish sort of way; all fond of each other, all
good-natured and cheerful,—except little Barbara, who
was given to ‘sulking’ occasionally; all honest, and
kind-hearted, and brave, but not apt to show much
tenderness on any occasion, and, indeed, rather ashamed
of ever being what they called ‘sentimental.’

There could not have been a greater contrast, possibly,
than between these hardy young Lyons and their delicate
little cousin, Grace Harvey. She was the only child of


12 GRACE HARVEY.

Mrs. Lyon’s youngest sister, who had gone to live in
another part of the country at her marriage, and had
died there. She had been an invalid for many years;
and Grace, being the only child, was constantly at her
‘mother’s side,—not even going to school, but learning
her simple lessons at home. She was naturally shy and
reserved ; and living always in a sick-room, with no com-
panion of her own age, she had grown nervous and
silent, and any sudden noise or strange sight was apt to
frighten her.

Her mother’s death had increased this tendency. She
had known nothing about death before; and all the stran ge,
sorrowful circumstances connected with it, haunted her
imagination for months afterwards. Many a night in her
dreams she saw again the long, black coffin, and the silent
figure—so terrible in its whiteness’ and stillness—that
lay within. Many atime in the twilight, when all was
still and shadowy, she fancied that she heard the dread-
ful sound of the falling earth wpon the coffin-lid. And
more than once she awoke from sleep sobbing wildly, as
she had done on that wretched night when she was
brought to her mother’s bedside to kiss her for the last
time.

She grew so morbid and miserable at last,—*‘ afraid of
her own shadow,’—that her father concluded to send her
away from home. He thought if she was out of the
house that was so full of memories of her mother, and
amongst younger companions, who would divert her
from her grief, that.she would grow healthier in body
and mind.

So he sent her first to a boarding-school in the town,
which was near enough for him to visit her frequently
and see how she got on. But the ‘ getting on’ was not
very satisfactory. Grace had been too tenderly brought
up for boarding-school discipline. Her dainty appetite,
GRACE HARVEY. 13

accustomed to the soups and jellies of an invalid, was not
equal to the plain, substantial food that other children
enjoyed. Her sensitive disposition made her shrink from
contact with strangers, and so they called her ‘cross’
and ‘stupid.’ At the end of six months he saw that the
experiment was a failure. Grace was thin, and pale, and
drooping; her wistful little. face more wistful and sad
each time that he went to see her. She did not com-
plain; but he saw that the boarding-school was no place
for her. So he took her away.

Then came the thought of his sister-in-law, Mrs. Lyon.
She had asked him to send the child to her, when her
mother. first died; but he hated to send her to sucha
distance from him, and Grace equally dreaded to go.
However, there was nothing else to be done. Neither
home nor school was fit for her; and so, at last, the
little motherless girl found her way to Hollybrook
Farm, the home of the aunt and cousins whose names
she had heard so often, though till now she had never
seen them.

It was only for a visit that she went at first, until it
was seen how Grace and her cousins agreed together.
At the end of six months she was to come home if she
was not happy at Hollybrook. And meanwhile, Mr
Harvey would come and see her as often as he could.
So everything was. arranged as comfortably as possible
for her, and Grace meant to be very brave, and cheerful,
and patient, and try to improve, that she might please
and comfort her father.’

She never fretted nor complained throughout the
journey, long and tiresome as it was, and she bore the
final parting without a single tear. But the breaking-
down afterwards was so natural—it was so impossible
to help it after the forced composure of the last two or
three days—that no one should have blamed her for it.
14 GRACE HARVEY.

Mrs. Lyon certainly did not; and while her own little
girls, who had never known any trouble in their lives,
were rather inclined to call their cousin ‘ baby,’ she took
the little tired traveller into her motherly arms, and
soothed and pitied her, till Grace almost felt, as if she had
her own mother back again,




GRACE HARVEY. 15

CHAPTER IL

LL, girls, what sort of a creature is she?
She’s pretty enough; but is there any fun
in her ?”

The young Lyons—a round half-dozen of
them—were grouped together in front of the large open
fire in the schoolroom. ‘There were plenty of comfort-
able seats around, but these children preferred to sit, in
independent fashion, upon the floor, and in attitudes
more picturesque than graceful.

Little Charlie—a five year old boy—was curled up
like a kitten in one corner, with his head in Barbara’s
lap. Ned was stretched at full length, basking jm the
glow of the coals, and reading The Far North by their
light; Annie and Lizzie sat cross-legged, Turk fashion ;
and Jack sat hugging his knees in the opposite corner.

But careless and lazy as the attitudes were, the fire-
light shone upon no sleepy faces there. Ruddy cheeks,
and wide-awake eyes, sparkling with ‘fuy,’ caught the
rosy glow; and of all the merry, mischievous crew,
perhaps Master Jack was the merriest and most mis~-
chievous. No lack of the quality in question in Ais com-
position—that was evident !

An answer sprung from the lips of all three sisters
before his question was fairly asked.

‘Fun! nota bit of it, Jack. She's afraid of her own
shadow.’


16 GRACE HARVEY.

‘Bah! we'll have to cure her of that,’ said Jack, with
a disgusted expression.

‘We'll have our hands full, then,’ exclaimed Lizzie,
with a laugh. ‘Tits really ridiculous, the way she

behaves. You'd think she had been kept in a bandbox
ever since she was born.’

‘Well, let’s hear all about it. -What did she do?’

‘Why, in the first place, she cried just as soon as
. Uncle Harvey went away. She watched the carriage

until it was out of sight; then she came back into the
hall, where we all stood, and I thought I would ask her
to go and see the guinea-pigs. But instead of answering
me, missy burst into tears, and cried for an hour,—so
‘silly, when her father is coming again in a month !’

‘Ah, but, Liz, you wouldn’t like to be left all alone,
among strangers, yourself, put in Annie.

O be still, Annie! I wouldn’t mind it a bit; I'd like
to go about and see the world. Besides, and are we
not her cousins? and mother coaxed her as loving as
could be.’

‘She doesn’t coax me so, when I ery!’ said Barbara,
with a sort of whine.

‘No; because you cry too often, Bab. She might
always be coaxing !’ Lizzie retorted, and, without heed-
ing the child’s pout, went on with her story.

‘Well, we were sent out of the way—Annie, and Bab,
and I—until little Tenderheart got her feelings com-
forted. By and by mother called us, and told us to
take her up here, and show her our books, and games,
and things. So we did, and brought out all our trea-
sures from the closet; and she looked at them, and after
a while she felt better, and began to talk a little.’

‘Did you show her my box of beetles ?’ asked Jack.

‘Yes; and you ought to have seen her jump. ‘Oh,
how can you keep such horrid things!” with a shudder
GRACE HARVEY. 17

and a shiver as if they were rattlesnakes. “ Why, they
won't hurt you,” says little Charlie; “they’re not alive.”
“Oh, but they are so disagreeable ; they make my flesh
creep!” And then such a look of disgust! She actually
turned pale.’

‘Come, Liz, don’t draw on your imagination too
lively,’ said Jack, incredulously. ‘That’s a little too
much, you know; the idea of anybody’s turning pale
over a few dead lizards and beetles !’

‘She did, though, she did!’ interposed little Charlie,
sturdily. ‘It’s just as Liz says, I tell you, Jack.’

‘Good for you, Charlie!’ they all cried, gaily ; and
Lizzie laughingly continued—

‘T haven’t told you half yet, Jack ; just wait and see.
Dinner-time came pretty soon, and after dinner, don’t
you think, she said she would like to go up-stairs and
lie down! Imagine anybody but a baby having to take
a nap in the day-time !’

‘ Anybody but a fiddlestick!’ exclaimed Ned, who
had not taken part in the conversation before. ‘After
a journey of five hundred miles without stopping, and
half of it in the night-time, anybody might want a nap.
I wonder mother didn’t put her to bed as soon as she
got here.’

‘Well, never mind about that; I suppose she was
tired,’ Lizzie assented. ‘But she had a good sleep, and
came down again quite refreshed, she said. So then I
asked her if she wouldn’t like to take a walk. We
hadn’t been out of doors all day, and I was dying for a
run myself.’

‘Oh, Dll be sure you were!’ muttered Ned, under his
breath ; but Lizzie took no notice of him.

‘You should have seen how amazed she looked!’ she
went on, ‘“Take a walk! why, where would you go?
It’s so cold on the lawn, with the trees all bare.” Oh, we

B
oe

18 GRACE HARVEY.

said, not on the lawn,—there was no fun walking there,—
out in the fields somewhere; down the meadow-lane, or
up into the woods. And at that she looked as if she
thought we were insane. Why, we would certainly
freeze, she said, or be blown off our feet! We told
her that we went out every day the year round, and
rode, and skated, and sailed, and all that sort of thing.

« And then she looked at us as though we were wild

animals.’
‘Draw it mild, Liz,’ put in Jack again, shakine with

laughter ; and Mise rattled on.

‘It is all so, I tell you; you can ark Charlie. We
got her out at last, however, after a great deal of ccax-
ing, and promising to take her in the woods, where
the wind couldn’t touch her. Youd have thought,
when we started, that she was going to Greenland, she
was muffled up so. Well, we took a short cut across
the old corn-field to the woods, and the broken ground
hurt her feet so, you can’t think!’

‘Pretty dear! we'll have it carpeted for her, ag soon
as possible,’ said Jack, and they all laughed at his comical
tone; while Ned added—

# That's tr ee than you think: its to be sown in grass
in thie spring.’

‘But when she got fairly into the woods, it was
amusing to watch her. She had never seen anything
bigger ian a town garden, she said; and the great
splendid old trees seemed like monsters to her, like the
ogres in the fairy tales—’

‘Or Jack on the bean-stalk,’ whispered Jack to him-
self.

‘And it took her breath away to look up to their
tops! continued Lizzie, disregarding the interpolation.
‘The wind in the boughs, she said, sounded just like the
organ in their church at home; and then she laid her
GRACE HARVEY. 19

head down on the bank, and turned her face away,
and I do believe she cried.’

‘Yes, she did,’ said Annie; ‘and I asked her what
made her cry, and she wouldn’t tell me for ever so long;
and I kissed her by. and by, and then she said it was
like the music they played the day her mother was
buried P|

‘Poor little thing ! exclaimed Ned, his quick feelings
touched to pity. ‘I say, Liz, I hope you haven't been
up to any of your tricks with that child?’

‘No, no,’ said Lizzie, ‘of course not. Though it’s
time she left off moping so. Aunt’s been dead nearly
a year, and Grace has been at boarding-school,—she
ought to have got over it. But she zs such a little
coward! It was getting towards dark, you know, and
the frogs began to croak. It sounded very loud in the
woods, and Grace got so frightened! I made her come .
to the edge of the pond, and look at them, to see that
they wouldn’t hurt her. But she shook so all over, and
every bit of pink went out of her cheeks, and she begged
so hard to come home, that we had to start off. I had
a mind to bring her through the cow-pasture, but I was
afraid she’d have a fit, or something; soI didn’t. But
now, what are we ever going to do with such a Miss
Nancy ?’

‘Let her alone; she'll get over it. Nobody wants her
to be such a rough specimen as you are, Liz,’ said Ned,
gruffly ; and his sister retorted—

‘Oh, you be still! yowll be as ready as anybody to
help to cure her of her nonsense. Afraid of frogs,
indeed! Jack, see here! I’ve got something to tell
you.” And then the two brown heads went down to-
gether, and it was plain to see that some mischief was
brewing, from the whispering and tittering that followed.

‘That’s not fair,’ exclaimed Annie, presently, not
20 GRACE HARVEY.

liking to be kept out of the fun, whatever it was.
‘You've no right to whisper before other people.’

‘No,’ said Ned ; ‘let’s have no whispering and secrets.
Speak it out and be done with it. It’s some mischief, I
know.’

‘Well, if you'll promise not to meddle,’ Lizzie began.

‘I’m not in the habit of meddling,’ Ned replied, with
dignity.

‘No; but you seem inclined to make excuses for this
foolish ‘Tittle Grace, said Jack; ‘and if-we tell you that
we mean to take her in hand, and cure her of her-non-
sense, youl be having some obj jections to make, I
suppose.’

‘Not if you go the right way to work,’ Ned answered.
‘ Of course I don’t want her to be silly, and a spoil-sport,
any more than youdo. But then I don’t want you to
be rough with her ; the little thing looks too delicate for
you and Liz to train.’

‘Oh, don’t you be afraid ! was Lizzie’s retort. ‘ We're
not going to hurt her. You can come in and take her
part when we do,’

‘Well, I’d like to hear your plans,’ said Ned. ‘Let
me hear ‘them.’

But just at this juncture the door opened, aad Mrs.
Lyon appeared. She had been up-stairs to see that the
little stranger was comfortably in bed, and, pitying her
loneliness, had stayed with her until she dropped to sleep.
Now she looked into the schoolroom on her way down,
to say that it was quite time little Charlie was in bed
too, and that the others got out their books for to-
morrow’s lessons.

So, after a good deal of chattering and scrambling
about, the table was drawn up before the fire, the lamp
lighted, and books and slates brought out from the long |
desk which stretched across the room at its farther end.
GRACE HARVEY. 21

Mrs. Lyon went back to the parlour, after seeing cach
one settled at his proper place at the table. Charlie was
carried off to bed ; ‘and soon all were quiet, except when
Jack and Lizzie exchanged a glance of mischief, and
broke into a smothered laugh, or little Bab whined over
some difficulty in her lesson,


22 GRACE HARVEY,

CHAPTER IIl.

CRIB had been put up for Grace in the room
which Lizzie and Annie occupied. Barbara
slept on the second storey, in a little room
that opened out of her mother’s; and little
Charlie, who was ‘baby’ still, had his crib in Mrs. Lyon’s
own chamber. It was not thought best to. put Grace

in 2 room alone; in fact, her father had requested that
she might have a sleeping companion; and so her aunt

had had the little bed put up in the girls’ room, which
was the largest and airiest on that floor.

When Lizzie and Annie went up to bed, they found
Grace fast asleep, her cheek leaning on one of the little
white hands that Annie admired so much, and her pretty
brown ringlets peeping out from the ruffled border of
her nightcap.

‘She ds pretty,’ Lizzie whispered, as they stopped for
a minute to look at her.

‘As pretty as a picture, Annie returned. ‘But do
you know, Liz, I believe she has been crying in her
sleep !’

True enough, there was the tear-drop trembling still
on wet eyelashes. Mr. Harvey had seen the same
thing many a time when he looked at his little daughter
in her sleep—a sleep that was so often broken and dis-
tressed with her sorrowful dreams. But it was some-
thing new to these healthy, happy children, who hardly


GRACE HARVEY. 23

knew the meaning of sorrow, and whose slumbers were
rarely light enough for dreams. It touched them to a
sense of pity, and they moved softly about in their un-
dressing, and spoke in whispers, that they might not dis-
turb her.

‘I suppose if mother were to die, we'd feel just so,’
Annie said, after they were in bed.

‘Mother isn’t going to die; don’t talk about such
things, Annie,’ her sister answered, hastily. For Lizzie

mever wanted to think of any trouble. So Annie said
no more; and the two were soon deep in slumber, from
which they did not wake until the grey light of day-
break was creeping through the windows. They did
not wake of their own will then. A startled cry from
Grace’s crib roused them up; and there she was, sitting
upright in bed, staring all round the room with such
wild, frightened eyes, that the sisters called out in
alarm— ,

‘What is the matier, Grace? Say! what do you
see ?’

‘Oh, that horrid noise!’ was all Grace could utter.

‘ What noise? I don’t héar anything. What are
you talking about, Grace?’

‘There it goes again!’ cried the frightened child,
cowering down into the bed, and drawing the quilt over
her head that she might not hear. But Lizzie exclaimed,
with a look of disgust—

‘Upon my word, Grace, I wouldn’t have thought
anybody could be so silly. It’s nothing but the cocks
crowing for day. For pity’s sake, did you never see a
chicken ?*

Annie went off into fits of laughter, and poor Grace
was thoroughly mortified.

‘Of course I have,’ she said, ‘and heard them too ;
but I was dreaming, and it sounded so strange. I don’t
24 GRACE HARVEY.

think it’s kind of you to laugh at me so.’? And then they
heard her sobbing to herself under the bedclothes.

Annie tried very hard to smother the merriment she
could not suppress; but Lizzie was uapatient of what
she thought ‘such ridiculous affectation.’

‘Ti’s Eapsigile she can be such a goose,’ she whispere ed
under the bedclothes to her sister. ‘She's putting on
airs, and I'll cure her of them—or frighten her in
earnest.’

‘What will you do?’ asked Annie, in the same under-
tone. ;

‘Oh, I know! I’ve thought of something—if you
won't tell.’

‘OF course not, Liz. As if I ever told!’

‘Well, put your head under the sheet; don’t let her
hear us. You know Murphy’s old white barn-cock ?’

‘Dick Redtop? Yes.’

‘Mind now, you don’t breathe it; you don’t let any-
body guess!’ And then followed a long, whispered
communication, interspersed with many a smothered
giggle from Annie, whose laughter was always ready to
bubble up and boil over on the slightest provocation.
What the plan was that caused so much amusement, I
must not explain, since it was so strictly private and
confidential. It was revealed only to Jack, of all the
children, his co-operation being necessary for the suc-
cess of the joke. Besides, Jack was a good one for
keeping his own counsel. No danger of any indiscretion
on his part, when there was any mischief to be accom-
plished, and any fun to come out of it.

Lessons had been omitted the day before, in honour
of Grace’s arrival ; but they were to begin again to-day,
and at nine o'clock, accordingly, the chiles gathered to-
gether in the schoolroom. There was no school anywhere
within miles of Hollybrook Farm, and so the young
GRACE HARVEY. "95

Lyons had always been taught at home, by a governess
when they were little, and now by Mr.. Lyon himself,
who was a fine classical scholar, and preferred to prepare
his boys for college after his own system. Ned and
Jack were reading Horace very cleverly, and going
through a course of Greek grammar besides. Lizzie
and Annie, too, had begun to study Latin; and even
Grace knew something about it, her father having
taught her a few verbs and declensions by way of
amusement in winter evenings.

He had asked that she might continue the study with
her cousins. So Grace had a Latin grammer given
her, and Annie and Lizzie were turned back to the begin-
ning, that they might all go on together. There was at
first a little grumbling about this, on Lizzie’s part; but
Grace said so pleasantly, ‘If you only won't mind it,
Lizzie, I shall get on so much faster for being with you
and Annie,—and I do want to learn!’ that her cousin
was propitiated ; and the morning lessons went on very.
nicely.

There was no particular order enforced in this school-
room. The children scattered about pretty much as they
pleased, some sitting in one place, and some in another,
while they worked their examples, or looked out their
Latin words. Ned and Jack had the first recitation, in
Greek grammar ; then came a geography lesson, in which
the two girls recited with their brothers, and Grace was
to join them; then Barbara had some little lessons in
geography and spelling, and after that was a recess for
half an hour.

This was the signal for a romp; and Grace was rather
surprised to see that no one was sent in to stop the noise.
A servant came to the door with a plate of cakes and a
dish of apples, which were immediately seized upon .by
Jack and Annie, and distributed in the most uncere-
26 | GRACE HARVEY.

monious manner. Nobody seemed to think of sitting
down to eat the lunch. They climbed up on the long
desk, and chased each other from one end of it to the
other; they jumped over the chairs; they played puss-
in-the-corner,—all the while eating, and all the while
laughing and shouting as loudly as they pleased.

Grace did not take much share in thé frolic. She did
not know how to jump over chair-backs and benches, and
her childish education in puss-in-the-corner had been
neglected. She was very much amused, however, with
the agility of her cousins, and laughed heartily at some
of their performances in the monkey-line. So that, see-
ing that she did not ‘put on any airs,’ as they expressed
it, they allowed her to sit still, an unmolested spectator,
until Mr. Lyon returned, and the game of romps ended.

Lessons went on, after the recess, till the clock struck
two, Then the children all ran up-stairs, to brush their
hair and wash their faces for dinner, which they had just
time to do before the bell rang. After this there was no
more school for the day. The children had the after-
noon to themselves, to spend as they. chose, in any kind
' of work or play that suited them best. And they had
always a great variety of pursuits; time never hung
heavy on the hands of this active little crew. Out-of-
door occupation pleased them best generally, and cold
weather never hindered them, as we have seen. But
when the weather was wet,—an actual rain falling, or a
more than usually heavy snow-storm,—there was a rule
that they must confine their energies to the limits of
the house.

To-day was one that came under the rule. Grey
clouds had been hanging low all the morning; at dinner-
time they descended in the shape of a north-east storm,
which gave promise of tarrying long enough td keep the _
children in-doors for more days than one. The young


GRACE HARVEY. 27

Lyons grumbled openly—little Grace Harvey rejoiced
secretly—at the prospect.

‘They can’t torment me to go out to walk while it
rains, she thought; and she was rather selfishly glad to
see the stormy gusts dash up against the window. She
had never had playmates, and was therefore not accus-
tomed to consider anybody’s pleasure but her own. It
pleased her to sit at the schoolroom window and watch
the drifts of rain as the wild wind swept them across the
lawn, to see the tall poplars bending in the blast, and to
hear the naked boughs of. the elms creaking, as they
tossed to and fro; and she did not care at all whether
any one else liked it or not. It did not occur to her that
she had anything to do in the way of giving up her own
inclination for the sake of pleasing others. She had been
sent to Hollybrook that she might grow healthy and
happy, and she thought her cousins ought to pity her,
and be very kind to her. But she did not also remem-
ber that it was her duty to be ‘kind’ to them, by trying
to make herself a cheerful companion for them, and not
annoying them with her melancholy and unsociable ways.

She did not mean to be selfish ; but it really was selfish-
ness that made her refuse to join Annie. and Lizzie,
when they asked her to go up into the garret and play
with them. They had a swing up there, and a see-saw,
and a great pile of bricks and timber to build houses
and barns with, together with various other sources of
amusement for a rainy day. These were all set in tempt-
ing array before her; but Grace shrugged her little
shoulders with a half-scornful air, and declined the enter-
tainment.

She would rather stay in the schoolroom,—she liked
to watch the rain,—she didn’t want to play.

So her cousins were obliged to leave her to herself,
and go to their play without her. But Lizzie was more
28 GRACH HARVEY.

than ever provoked with her ‘airs,’ and more than ever
determined to punish her for them whenever she had
opportunity.

She and Jack had a long whispered consultation after
tea that evening, and then Jack had another with
Murphy in the barn. The end of it was that a queerly
tied up basket was smuggled into the house under cover
of the darkness, and hidden away in a closet in the girls’
bedroom. This closet had two doors, one of which
opened into the hall, and had a window at the top; and
the door of the room in which Ned and Jack slept was
exactly opposite to it.

That night, after everybody in the house had gone to
bed, and nearly everybody was sound asleep, Jack stole
softly from the side of his sleeping brother, and crept
across the hall to the closet we have described. A candle,
provided beforehand, stood upon the outside ledge of
the little window; and this Jack lighted cautiously.
Then he went into the closet and untied the basket,
which had been set upon an upper shelf; and immedi-
ately there was a fluttering and flapping of wings, followed
quickly by a long, sharp, shrill ery, which rang through
the silent house with a most unearthly echo.

It had not ceased before it was answered by a wild
shriek from the adjoining room. Grace’s crib was close
to the closet, and the child’s light slumber had been
instantly broken. Shriek after shrick of mortal terror
rang from her lips, awakening the sleepers in every
direction. Mr. and Mrs. Lyon sprang out of bed, threw
on. dressing-gowns in haste, and rushed up-stairs; the
servants hurried down from the attic rooms; Ned ran
out into the hall; the younger children began to scream ;
and the whole household was in commotion.

Meanwhile the guilty three—Lizzie, and Annie, and
Jack — preserved a cautious silence, and endeavoured to
‘

GRACE HARVEY. 29

look as bewildered as the rest. But they could not
refrain from a burst of laughter when Mrs. Lyon, who
had opened door after door in a vain effort to discover
the cause of the disturbance, turned at last the lock of
the closet; and forth stalked, with comb bristling and
ruffled feathers, a tall white Shanghai, instantly recog-
nised as ‘Dick Redtop,’ the patriarch of the poultry-
yard, and special pet and property of Murphy, the
gardener.

The creature stalked into the middle of the room,
looking about as though marvelling much to find himself
in such strange quarters; and then stopping suddenly,
he flapped. his wings, opened his beak, and uttered again
his shrill, brazen cock-a-doodle-do-o-o! The little
Lyons, one and all, shrieked with laughter; but poor
Grace hid her head under the bedclothes, and sobbed





~ hysterically.

Ag for the father and mother of this reckless little
crew, they stood confounded for a minute, and did not
know what to say or do. The whole thing was so ridicu-
lous, the mischief was so harmless, the plan so bold, that
Mr. Lyon could hardly help laughing as loudly as the
children ; for he remembered the tricks he was fond of
playing when just such another wild lad as Jack. But
he knew very well that this sort of thing must not be
allowed; so he managed at length to assume a severe
expression, and read the mischievous children a sound
lecture.

He condemned Jack to catch Dick Redtop,—march-
ing, just now, in a bewildered manner up and down the
hall,—and carry him back, through the rain and the
darkness, to his proper parol on ‘the hen-roost. Then
he commanded silence and order for the rest of the
night, and returned at length to his own room. But
Mrs. Lyon stayed up-stairs a long time, at first soothing
30 GRACE HARVEY.

the poor, nervous child, who was almost hysterical with
the fright and excitement, and afterwards rebuking very
severely the thoughtless love of fun, which made those
who indulged it so careless of the pain they gave, and
the trouble and annoyance they caused.

Lizzie and Aniie felt rather ashamed as they listened
to their mother’s reproof, and were not unwilling to
promise that they would never do such a thing again.
But when she was gone, and Grace’s grieving sobs were
hushed at last in slumber, they were ready to make
many excuses for themselves.

‘Grace is such a ridiculous baby !’. Annie exclaimed.
‘The idea of her screaming so, and rousing the whole
‘house! Inever dreamed of such a fuss coming out of it.’

‘Nor I,’ said Lizzie. ‘The only thing is, we’ll have to
be more careful another time.’

‘Oh, but we promised we wouldn’t frighten her any
more!’

‘Indeed, we didn’t do any such thing. We promised
we'd never hide Dick Redtop in the closet again; and
so we won't. But there’s lots of other things to do; and
I don’t intend to let her alone till she’s cured of her
nonsense and affectations.’

‘Well, it will really be doing her good to cure her,’
said Annie, virtuously.

‘Of course,’ responded the equally virtuous Lizzie.
‘One of these days shell be very much obliged to us.
At least she ought to.’

With which conclusion the two sisters cuddled down
into bed, and prepared to go to sleep. But I am bound
to state that they did not enjoy a very refreshing slum-
ber; for Grace had been made so nervous that she
waked up continually, with a start and a cry, and roused
the others from many a nice little nap; which was a
punishment that, you will agree, they certainly deserved.
GRACE HARVEY, 51

CHAPTER IV.

‘OR a week or so after the ‘ Shanghai Conspiracy,’
as Ned called it, Grace was suffered to live in
peace. Mrs. Lyon kept her with herself as
much as possible, and took care that no tricks
should be played upon her. And Grace gradually be-
came accustomed to the ways of the family, and began
to like her cousins more, as she grew better acquainted
with them. Ned and Annie she liked especially, for
they were always more gentle than the others with her.
But Jack and Lizzie were kind to her too, after their
own fashion; and as nothing occurred to excite her
foolish fears, and Lizzie’s disoust in consequence, things
went on most harmoniously for a time.

The only cause of disagreement was Grace’s persistent
_ refusal to go out of doors. Mrs. Lyon at first humoured
her in this, sent the others off without her, and took
pains to devise amusement for the little girl in-doors.
But one mild Saturday morning, when all the children
were preparing for an excursion in the woods, and
Grace, as usual, hung back, her aunt desired her to go
with them. The air was soft, the sun shining warmly,
no show on the ground to wet her feet, and no cold
wind to pierce through her dress; so that there was
certainly no excuse for staying in; and Mrs. Lyon
thought the exercise would do her good.

Grace got ready, accordingly, and went out with her



32 GRACE HARVEY,

cousins ; and the weather being so pleasant, she found
that she could really enjoy belne out. In the woods it
was almost warm, the sunshine streamed so brightly
through the paths, and all the wind was in the tops of
the trees. Grace sat down at first upon a log of wood,
only caring to listen to the sweet solemn music of the
swaying boughs. But Annie and Barbara began their
usual game of romps. Presently they called Grace to
come and play; and though she went rather unwillingly,
she soon got into the spirit of the frolic, and enjoyed it
as much as the rest. When they were tired of this, they
gathered bunches of holly,*and picked off the shining
red berries to string into necklaces. Grace, who had
been brought up with very orderly habits, had a little
housewife in her pocket, from which she produced, to
Barbara's great delight, a store of needles and thread, so
that they could string the necklaces on the spot. All
three sat down upon a heap of dry leaves, and set to
work diligently at once—little Charlie looking on with
great interest.

But Lizzie came up presently, and broke up the quiet
party. :

‘What nonsense! she exclaimed. ‘The idea of sitting
down in the woods to string holly-berries, when you
could just as well do it in the house! Do come and
play, and leave such stupid fun till you go home.’

‘Play what ?’ asked Barbara, ‘What are you playing ”

‘Tm down at the pond of course; so’s Jack. Come
on, and see what we're doing.’

‘Very well, said Annie, always ready for anything
new ; ‘let’s go.’

So the holly-berries were gathered up hastily, and
stuffed into their pockets, and the little girls followed
Lizzie to the pond. Grace went rather reluctantly,
* remembering the frogs; but there was no sound of their
GRACE HARVEY. 83

croaking; so she concluded that the ‘horrid things’
were not to be seen in the day-time, and ventured with
the rest down to the water’s edge. There she found, to
her dismay, that Jack and Lizzie were shooting frogs
with a bow and arrows; and this was the fun that Lizzie
had called them to share in.

Jack had already killed a dozen or more of the un-
fortunate creatures, and impaled them upon a long stick;
and when Grace came near, he offered to lend her his
bow and arrows, that she might try her hand at the
same sport. But the sensitive little girl shrank back
with horror.

‘How can you do such a cruel, cruel thing? she
‘exclaimed. ‘They are horrid, hideous objects, I know;
but how can you be so hard-hearted as to kill them ?’

‘Oh, they like it,’ said Jack, dryly. ‘Come and see
how they poke up their heads, and wait for a chance to
be shot! - There’s a jolly old chap now ; let’s have a shy
at him, Crack !—there he goes!’

The arrow sped swift and sure, Froggy croaked his
last ‘ yaup !’ and Grace covered her eyes with her hands,
vowing she would not look again at such wicked sport.

‘Pll go home! I won't stay any longer! I don’t like’
such play!’ she cried, excitedly. And she ran away,
shrieking with terror, when Jack came towards her,
brandishing aloft his long stick garnished with dead
frogs.

‘Never mind, Jack; let her alone,’ Lizzie whispered.
‘Don't run after her; I want to tell you something.’

And then followed a brief colloquy, which, Annie was
perfectly sure, meant mischief, though she did not hear
a word of it. Grace had retreated into the woods as fast
as possible, and Annie ran after her, for she did mot like
the frog-killing play any better than Grace, to tell the
truth. They walked together, with their arms twined

c
34 GRACH HARVEY,

about each other, until Jack had got all the bait he
wanted for his fishing, and the rest came up from the
pond. Then they all went home pleasantly together,—
only Grace took care to keep at a safe distance from
Jack and his long stickful of frogs.

In the afternoon the girls gathered round the sitting-
room fire to finish the holly-berry necklaces. They were
all. chattering merrily over them,—even Grace, whose
morning in the woods had brightened her cheeks, and
made her much more talkative than usual,—when Jack
walked soberly in, carrying a neat brown paper parcel.

-‘Here’s something that was left at the door for you,
Grace,’ he said, demurely.

‘For me ?—are you sure?’ Grace sprang up, scatter-
ing all her berries in her eagerness, as she reached for
the parcel. ‘It must be something papa has sent me.
Oh, ’'m so much obliged to you, Jack!’ and her whole
face was radiant with pleasure.

‘Open it, then,’ said Jack, ‘and let’s see what's inside.’

‘ « Something nice for Betsy Price,” I suppose,’ laughed
Annie, who suspected mischief.

Lizzie said nothing; but her face quivered with sup-
pressed laughter as she watched Grace trying eagerly to
undo the package. The poor child’s fingers trembled
with her excitement; and, too impatient to untie the
strings, she tore off a part of the wrapping, whereupon
a ereat bull-frog, with his emerald-green back, and little
wicked-looking black beads of eyes, leaped out into her
lap.

-Every particle of colour fled from Grace’s cheeks, and
she shrieked wildly, as it was always her first impulse to
do in her terror. The other children shouted with
laughter, and scrambled up into their chairs to get out
of the way of the bewildered creature, which was leaping

-about the floor, frantic with fright itself. And Mrs,
GRACE HARVEY. 35

Lyon, hearing the commotion, came hurrying in to see
what had happened,—if the chimney had caught fire, or
the house fallen down.

Grace did not wait to tell her; she was too much
ashamed at having caused another scene by her cowardice;
and before her aunt could speak to her, she had flown out
of the room, away up to the top of the house, where, in
the farthest corner of the old garret, she sobbed out her
fright and mortification and disappointment all alone.

Lizzie took it upon herself to explain the matter.

‘It was only a frog, mother. Jack-has been shooting
some for bait, you know, and Grace is such a goose.
She screams for nothing,’ she replied to Mrs. Lyon’s
annoyed inquiries.

She knew she was not telling the exact truth; and she
was terribly afraid lest the green monster, which she
had hastily kicked under her chair, should spring out
and betray the real state of the case. But Mrs. Lyon
was in a hurry, and only stopped to say that Grace must
really try to overcome such silly fears, and that her
cousins must not tease her. So the matter passed over;
and the mischievous children laughed heartily, when they
were alone, at the success of their trick.

As for Grace, she cried herself to sleep up in the old
garret, and dreamed that she was a bull-frog in the
pond, and that Barbara and little Charlie were shooting
holly-berries at her out of a pop-gun!

It was not a particularly pleasant dream, to be sure;
but still it was not so dreadful as some of the old dreams
that used to haunt her sleep. And the waking up was
not so disagreeable as it might have been, considering
the cireumstances. She had gone to sleep crouched
upon the floor, with her little tired head resting upon a
hard wooden stool. When she woke up it was pillowed
softly upon Annie’s lap, and Annie’s eyes met hers with
36 GRACE HARVEY.

a little shy glance of love as she stooped down to kiss
her.

‘It was not I that did it, Gracie,’ she whispered.
‘Indeed, I wouldn’t have let them frighten you so if I
had known about it. It was too wicked of Jack.’

‘I don’t know why they want to tease me so,’ said
Grace, in an injured tone. ‘I’m sure I never do any-
thing to them.’

§ Yes, you do, sometimes,’ said Annie. ‘ You tease us
by keeping away from us, and staying by yourself, and
moping, when we want you to play. And Liz and Jack
say that it’s half affectation, all this being afraid of
things. They say you want to be a fine lady, and you
think it’s pretty to put on such airs. So they tease you,
to cure you of it.’

‘It is very unkind of them to say such things!’ ex-
claimed Grace, with a quivering lip. ‘I can’t help
being afraid; and if they were to come to my father’s
house I wouldn’t treat them as they treat me. I wish I
was at home now—I wish I had never left papa, He
did not think it was affectation !’

‘And I don’t, either,’ Annie answered, quickly. ‘TI
know you can’t help it, Gracie; and T’ll tell you what:
TPve made up my mind that I never will help anybody
to play tricks upon you again. There now!’

Grace acknowledged this promise with a grateful kiss ;
and Annie felt quite rewarded for the effort it had cost her
to make it. It really was an effort for such a mischief- —
loving little imp as she was; and she had had a struggle
with her propensity for fun before her principle of right
gained the victory. Grace did not know this; it was
no temptation to her to play tricks upon anybody, and she
could not understand the pleasure of a joke which gave
another person pain. Still she felt very much obliged to -
her cousin, and told her so; and the two little girls had
GRACE HARVEY. 37

a very pleasant little confidential talk together, all alone
in the old garret.

Grace felt much better acquainted with Annie after it;
and she also began to understand something that she
had never thought of before, namely, that it was selfish
and inconsiderate—and quite as vexatious to her cousins
as their tricks were to her—to refuse to join in their
pleasures, or take an interest in their occupations. She
had never thought before of pleasing anybody but her-
self in such matters; but she now began to see that
there was something else to be thought of She did
not like to be considered selfish,—she did not like to be
selfish ; and so she also made a resolution, as well as
Annie, which was, that hereafter she would try to be
more obliging, and not stay away with a book in a corner,
or tied to her aunt’s apron-string, when her cousins
wanted her to play.

They were two very good resolutions, indeed; but it
is one thing to make a resolution, and another thing te
keep it!


38 GRACH HARVEY.

CHAPTER V.

HE history of the next few weeks proved the
difference. Annie found that it was very hard
work to keep her promise, when Lizzie was for
ever starting some new mischief, and bringing
Annie into it whether she would or no. Grace, too, dis-
covered that’ it wag not so easy to overcome in a day
the self-indulgent habits of a lifetime. It was much ;
more natural to say, ‘Oh, I don’t want to, ’d rather
read,’ or, ‘I don’t care about playing,’ when Lizzie asked
anything of her, than to give up cheerfully her own
inclination, and do as her cousin wished.

So it happened that, partly out of pure mischief,
partly out of vexation because Grace really was so un-
sociable, and partly out of a self-righteous determination
“to eure her of her nonsense,’ these strong-minded young
people gave Grace very little peace in her life, They
had the best intentions in the world, of course, and ex-~
cused everything they did with the virtuous plea of
“doing her good.’ Nor did they consider that they were
using rather painful means to a rather doubtful end.

‘Tt will never do, you know, for a girl to be afraid
of cows. You might have to milk them some day,’
Jack would say; and before Grace suspected his inten-
tion, she would find herself suddenly caught up in his
strong arms and lifted over the fence into the field
where the cows were. Then all the rest would run



GRACE HARVEY. 39

away, shouting with laughter; and the frightened child
would be left: at the mercy of a herd of ‘cattle, all of
which she supposed to be furious animals, ever ready to
toss unfortunate children upon their Teens, though in
reality they were the gentlest of ‘milky mothers, with
not a ‘vicious’ one in the lot, as Jack, to do him justice,
knew perfectly well before he put her there.

Another time, when Grace had given an unwilling
consent to walk in the woods, they would tell her some
ridiculous story about panthers crouching on the limbs
of the trees, or bears prowling in the underwood. And
just at the exciting point of the story, Jack, hidden up in
the boughs of a tree, would throw down an unfortunate
cat, beguiled from home for that very purpose; or else
start up one of the pigs that roamed at large in a certain
part of the woods, where acorns were thick, so that Grace
might imagine its grunts were the growls of the bear.

At. home it was the same thing, with variations. There

was little peace for her except in school-hours, when
‘they were under Mr. Lyon’s eye, and busy with lessons ;
or when Grace sat with her little work-basket, and sewed
by her aunt’s side. Her cousins did not like to sew; and
they thought it very prim and stupid of ‘Grace to sit
there hemming handkerchiefs, or hooking at crochet
work, when they wanted her to romp in the garret, or
race in the fields.
- Mrs. Lyon used often to send her off with them, telling —
her that she must not sew so steadily, but take more
exercise; and she could not understand the child’s re-
luctance to go. She did not know the teasing process
that was so unmercifully kept up; for Grace never told
tales, or complained of her cousins, whatever they did
to her; and, on their part, they were careful to play
tricks out of Mrs. Lyon’s sight and hearing,

Annie, to be sure, took her part as much as possible,


40 GRACH HARVEY.

and came to her relief in more than one great terror.
It was she that climbed the fence, and stood between
Grace and the cows, until Grace could get back into safe
ground. She assured her that the panther was only a
cat, and the bear nothing but a peaceable pig, wher
Grace was nearly fainting with dread of these wild
beasts. But she could not do much, after all, when
Jack and Lizzie were leagued against her; and it was
quite. impossible not to laugh at their ingenious devices.

So the thing went on. Jack would bring in a box of
garden-seeds, so called, and ask Grace to help him to
sort them, and put them up in packages. But when she
came to do it, and the box was opened, instead of clean
little brown seeds, a mass of squirming earthworms
would appear; and Grace’s smothered cry, and shiver
of disgust, would be greeted with a roar of laughter that
sent her ashamed and mortified into a corner.

At night Lizzie would purposely strew crumbs of cake
about the floor of their bedroom, in order to attract the
mice. The little brown creatures would steal out of their
hiding-places, and glide across the floor, looking pretty,
and graceful, and harmless enough, certainly, to anybody
not foolishly sensitive. But to Grace they were objects
of mortal fear, and she would spring into the middle of
her bed, as white as the wall, at the sight of one; which
was all that Lizzie wanted, of course, and enough to send
the two sisters into fits of merriment, while poor morti-
fied Grace was left to hide her head under the sheets,
and sob herself to sleep.

The child’s life was made actually wretched in this
way. She grew more nervous and timid than ever, for
she was constantly expecting some shock or sudden
fright; and she became morbid and miserable with her
constant dread. She had a great disappointment, more-
over, in a letter that came from her father, saying he


GRACE HARVEY. 41

should not be able to come to Hollybrook for another
long month. She had counted the hours, almost, until
he should come, and it made her fairly sick when this
grievously-disappointing letter was sent instead.

Her aunt tried to comfort her, and her cousins really
pitied her, and for a whole day treated her very tenderly.
But Grace was not to be soothed. A desperate feeling
that she could not, could not bear it any longer, had come
into her heart. She must go home, she must see her
father, she could not live any longer with people who
tormented her so, she said to herself. So one day,
possessed with this wild longing to escape from it all,
she sat down and wrote a pitiful little letter to her
father, telling him that she was sick and miserable, and
she wanted to go home, and begging him not to wait a
whole month before he came for her.

She did not, even in this letter, make any complaints:
of her cousins.. She was too generous to tell tales of
them, even to her own father. And he could not under-
stand at all, when her sad letter came to him, why she
should be so miserable when there was so much at Holly-
brook to make her happy. He was almost tempted, at
first, to write her a reproving answer, and tell her that
she nist really try to overcome such a discontented and
ungrateful disposition, and learn to be thankful for the
blessings that were given her.

It was very inconvenient for him to leave his business
at that time, and take the long journey to Hollybrook
Farm. He thought at first that it was quite impossible,
and began a letter to Grace to tell her so. But then he
took up hers again; and the pitiful little sheet, blotted and
blistered with tears, was too much for the father’s love
to resist. So it ended in his making some arrangement
to leave his business; and two days after Grace’s letter
reached him, he was on his way to Hollybrook Farm.


42 GRACE HARVEY.

Meanwhile, the poor little timid girl was in a state
of nervous excitement and anxiety that made her more
than ever a subject for her cousins’ teasing. She was
frightened at herself for having written such a letter,
and after it was fairly sent, wished heartily that. she
could bring it back again. She imagined over and over
‘again what her father would think when he read it,—
whether he would be angry with her, and refuse to come,
or whether he really would come and take her away. And
if he did, what would they all say? What would her aunt
think, who had been so kind to her always? What would
Annie do? They would all be vexed with her,—that
she was sure of; they would never love her any more,
or let her come to Hollybrook again; and much as they
had teased her, Grace could not bear the idea of never
seeing any of these wild boys and girls again.

Altogether she was very wretched—poor, silly child!
and in her nervous, anxious state of mind, was a perfect
victim to her mischievous cousins.

‘ Grace gets sillier every day, I do believe,’ said Ned, ©
one afternoon. ‘I only came up behind her, a Little
while ago, and laid my hand on her shoulder, never
thinking or wanting to frighten her. I don’t believe
in that sort of thing, though you do, Jack. I just
touched her; and if you ever saw anybody jump and
scream! You'd have thought I was a ghost, or the
man with the Iron Mask at least, to see the white
face she showed._ I don’t know what to make of her,
for my part.’ :

‘Im afraid her early education has been neglected,’
said Jack, dryly. ‘Tl have to take her in hand seriously.’

‘Oh! I thought you and Liz had been training her
these two months,’ said Ned. ‘She doesn’t do your
system much credit.’

‘Give us time, my dear fellow. Rome wasn’t built in


YRACE HARVEY. 43

a day,’ Jack retorted; and he went cut of the room with
a wicked idea in his Boat, which he proceeded to exe«
cute at once, while it was warm.

Among his collection of odd treasures was an absurd-
looking negro mask, with the blackest possible com-
plexion, and the reddest of wide, grinning mouths.
Ned’s allusion to the Iron Mask had suggested it to his
mischievous imagination; and in a very few minutes he
had it on his face, and was stealing softly up behind
Grace, who sat in the schoolroom, bending over a book,
though it was already too dark for her to have tried to
read,

Annie and Lizz‘e were in the room also, and they saw
Jack before Grace did, which was very fortunate for
the poor little victim, whi, but for Annie’s interference,
might have been frightened into convulsions at the sight
‘of the ugly black face grinning over her shoulder. Jack
made a signal for the two girls to be silent, as he crept
up, and Lizzie squeezed her sister’s hand hard; but
Annie remembered her promise, and rebelled against the
plot.

‘You sha’n’t do it, Jack, you sha’n’t do it!’ she
cried out, springing up from her seat, and running to
Grace.

‘Don’t look behind you, Gracie, don’t!’ she exclaimed
eagerly, ‘Jack wants to frighten you; he has got
his horrid old black mask on. Jack, you ought to be
ashamed of yourself—that you ought!’

‘Who asked you to meddle?’ asked Jack, roughly.
‘Another time, you attend to your own affairs—will
you?’

And Lizzie turned upon her, too, crying reproach-
fully, ‘Telltale! telltale!’ But Annie did not care. She
had seen the fright which Ned had unconsciously caused,
and she could not bear to see another inflicted wantonly
44. GRACE HARVEY.

so soon. Besides, she had heard her mother say, only
that morning, that Grace looked so pale, and had so
little appetite, she was afraid she was going to be ill.

So she only kissed Grace affectionately, and did not
answer her brother and sister. And Jack and his black
mask walked out of the room, for once no merrier than
when they came in,


GRACE HARVEY, 45

CHAPTER Vi.

HE next day, as Grace was passing by the open
door of the kitchen, somebody. called -her
name; and going in, she saw Charlie and Bar-
bara examining with great enj joyment a lot of
what seemed to be ugly black shells.

‘Look here, Gracie; look!’ cried little Charlie, hold-
ing one of them up to her; and then she saw that the
black shell was alive. Four claws dangled out from
the sides, and a queer, gutta-percha-looking head thrust
itself out for a moment, and then was hastily withdrawn.

‘ Aren’t they funny?’ said Barbara, poking amongst
them with a stick as they lay on the floor, until the
whole mass began to wriggle and crawl. ‘Just set your
foot on this one, Grace, till I make him put his head
out.’ :

‘No!? cried Charlie. ‘Look at mine, Grace!’ And
he tossed the thing with the dangling claws up against
her. It dropped upon the floor, and Grace ran shivering
to the farthest end of the kitchen.

‘Don't! oh, don’t!’ she pleaded pitifully, as the
children pursued her, each with a shell in their hands.
‘They make me sick; I can’t look at them. Oh, please!’

‘La, Miss Grace, ye needn’t be afraid o’ the likes o’
thim,’ observed Kate, the cook. ‘They'll niver bite ye
while there’s frogs in Ireland.’ :

‘They make me sick,’ Grace repeated with a shudder. ©



46 GRACE HARVEY,

‘Av’ ye wouldn’t be after lindin’ me yer assistance to
cut aff the purty little heads uv ’em?’ asked Katy, laugh-
ing. ‘Cast yer eyes this way a minute, Miss Gracie, if
ye'd like to see the nate little job.’

But Grace sprang past the children, and - rushed
through the door-way, giving only one shuddering
glance at the sharp knife and long-pronged steel fork
which Katie was brandishing above the luckless terra-
pins. A shout of laughter rang after her, and Katy’s
Irish brogue,—

‘Jist look at the cut of her, now! Is it born in the
woods she was, that she can’t bear the smell o’ the say?’

But Grace flew up the stairs, and never rested till she
reached the old hiding-place in the garret. She was
firmly convinced that the children were pursuing her’
with one of the horrid crawling things; and she could not
bring herself to go down stairs until Annie, as usual, came
to look for her, and assured her that the terrapins were
all killed, and Katy was busy dressing them for supper.

‘For supper! Who could eat such creatures ?’
Grace asked in disgust.

‘Oh, lots of people eat’em,’ answered Annie, laughing,
‘Gentlemen, especially, are very fond of them; and papa
ordered these for a little supper-party that he has to-
night. We won't be bothered with them.’

‘T am glad of it,’ said Grace, as she crept out of her
corner. ‘I hope I shall never see one again. But how
did you know I was frightened about them, Annie?
Did Charlie and Bab tell you?’

‘Yes,’ said Annie, ‘they told, of course. They thought

- it was great fun.’
* And Lizzie knows,—and Jack, too, I suppose?’ ex-
claimed Grace. ‘And they will all be laughing at me
and teasing me when I go down? Oh, I wish I was at
home! -I wish my father would come for me!’
GRACE HARVEY. 47

And the poor child burst into a fit of nervous crying,
which Annie had hard work to soothe. She kissed her
-and coaxed her, and promised that no one should say a
word to her about it; she would tell her mother if they
did. And so at last Grace was persuaded to come down
stairs and join her cousins in the schoolroom. They
were all amusing themselves with a paper balloon that
‘Ned had just manufactured,—a brilliant affair in tissue-
paper, all covered with flowers and gaudy ornaments,
and having only one fault in its construction, which was,
that it obstinately declined to ascend.

All eyes and thoughts were engrossed by the paper
marvel; so Grace, for once, was not attacked. And to
her surprise no allusion was made to the matter, even

‘on the next day, though she nervously expected and
dreaded it. She felt greatly relieved as the time passed, -
and nobody mentioned the terrapins; and she finally
concluded that Annie had really persuaded them to
leave her in peace for once. She would not have been
so satisfied if she had‘guessed the real reason of their
silence.

That night Mr. and Mrs. Lyon were invited to a tea-
party in the neighbourhood ; so the children had supper
by themselves, and liberty to spend the evening as they
chose. They had a merry time, of course, as children
always do in the absence of their elders, and bed-time
was postponed indefinitely.

Lizzie was the first one to go up finally, and Jack
slipped out after her quietly, unnoticed by the rest. He
ran into the schoclroom on his way up, and brought
out, from one of his peculiar hiding-places, a large shell, —
which he gave to Lizzie, at the door of the girls’ room,
and stood watching her as she carefully hid it between
the sheets of Grace’s bed.

‘Look out for squalls presently,’ he said, laughing, as
48 GRACE HARVEY,

Lizzie smoothed the covers carefully down. ‘ Hadn’t
you better warm it first, Liz ?”

‘OF course she'll scream,’ was the answer. ‘But
there’s nobody to hear her, you know; and there’s one
thing good about her, Jack—she never tells tales.’

‘Yes, that’s true, Jack assented. ‘And if she wasn’t
such a ridiculous little goose, it would be asin to play
tricks on her. But she really ought to be cured—
oughtn’t she?’

‘Of course. And it is all nonsense, too, her having a
hot iron in her bed every night, to warm her feet. We
don’t have one to warm ours.’

‘She will be charmed with the one you have given
her to-night,’ said Jack, comically. And just then, an
opening door, and the sound of voices on the stairs,
announced that the others were coming up to bed. So
Jack slipped into his own room, and Lizzie pretended to
be very busy with her undressing, when Grace and
Annie came in together. Annie had not been taken
into counsel this time,—Jack and Lizzie remembering
the affair with the mask. So she and Grace chatted
together gaily, quite unconscious of any plot.

‘I shall be glad of my warm iron to-night,’ Grace said,
as she climbed into her crib, after saying her prayers,
‘Come, get in with me, Annie, and I'll give you a piece
of it.’

‘Better find out if you’ve got one, first,’ said Lizzie,
mischievously. ‘ Bridget forgets sometimes.’ :

So Grace stretched out her bare feet, expecting to
find the comfortable foot-warmer, as usual; but instead
she met the clammy touch of the cold sheet.

‘Oh!’ she exclaimed, with a little scream. ‘It’s as
cold as ice. Bridget has made up my bed, and left the
cold iron in it, I declare!’

She drew back the bedclothes, and put down her
GRACE HARVEY. 49

hand to draw it out, but grasped, instead, what she
supposed was one of those dreadful creatures, with horrid
head and claws, alive!

Lizzie waited, and Jack listened breathless outside
the door, for the wild shriek and spring which they
expected would follow instantly. But it did not come.
Grace’s trembling lips could not utter a cry. She stag-
gered out of bed, white, and deathly sick. ‘You will
kill me yet with your cruelty,’ she gasped; then she
tottered backward, the room seemed to swim and reel
before her eyes, and the poor little fragile form dropped,
fainting, to the floor.

Lizzie—all unprepared, as we may well believe, for
such an ending as this to her ‘harmless’ joke—sprang
towards her, to prevent the fall. But instead of saving
Grace, she only overthrew a table in the way, upon
which stood the lamp which had lighted them to bed.
This was shivered, of course, in the fall, and the oil
streamed in every direction, the burning witke igniting
it, and the greedy flame licking it up as it flowed.

It was now Lizzie’s turn to know the terror which she
had so often thoughtlessly inflicted upon her cousin.
She screamed aloud in the double fear that she had |
killed Grace and set the house on fire; and Annie join-
ing in the outcry, the room resounded with shrieks, which
soon brought the whole household to the spot.

Jack was the first to rush in, being so close at hand;
and he and Lizzie together dragged Grace out of the
reach of the flames, and lifted her, apparently lifeless, to
abed. The servants, who were still up, came hurrying
to the room, and pails of water were brought in all
haste, so that the fire was soon extinguished. No great
injury was done; only the carpet was drowned in water,
so that it was quite impossible for any one to sleep there
that night; and Lizzie’s hands were badly scorched by

D
50 GRACH HARVEY.

the frantic efforts she had made to draw her cousin out
of the way of the burning fluid.

But Grace—poor little Grace !—lay white and mo-
tionless still, in her death-like swoon. The children -
gathered round her, half wild with terror, making vain
attempts to rouse her, and longing for their parents’
return, even while they so much dreaded the displeasure
that would certainly follow. How many promises and
vows they made in their own hearts, never, never to play
tricks upon her again, if only she got over this, I could
not begin to tell! You may be sure that Annie congratu-
lated herself most heartily on having had nothing to do
' with this affair ; though she did not say a single reproach-
fal word to Lizzie, and pitied her, with all her might, for
the trouble she had brought upon herself.

In the midst of the excitement, and before Grace had
fairly recovered her consciousness, the sound of wheels
on the gravelled drive was heard. Ned ran down to
open the hall door, supposing that his father and mother
had returned, and wishing to prepare them for the com-
motion in the house, But it was not the familiar home-
carriage that had stopped at the entrance, nor the pretty,

long-tailed grey ponies, that Ned would have known in
the dark anywhere. The vehicle was a waggon, drawn

by a horse quite in keeping with it: and the gentleman
who sprang over the wheel on to the door-step, was not

Mr. Lyon certainly. Ned did not know him at all, and
stared at him in a bewildered way; but the gentleman
came in with a confident air, as if he knew he should be
welcome, in spite of the lateness of the hour.

“Is Mr. Lyon not at home? or has he retired?’ he
asked of Ned. ‘It is late, I know, for an arrival; but
I have travelled straight through from Rochester, with-
out stopping. Don’t you know me, my boy? I am
your Uncle Harvey—hitle Grace's fathes.’
GRACE HARVEY. 8l

If he had been a rocket, just dropped, with a very
long stick, or a comet recently alighted, and ready to
extinguish the world, as comets are always going to do
and never have done yet, he could hardly have been a
more unwelcome visitor to the young Lyons at this
particular crisis. Ned stared at him so long before he
found voice to speak, that Mr. Harvey began to have
rather a poor opinion of the boy’s breeding. He managed
to speak at last, however, and to say, with tolerable
politeness—

‘Oh, Uncle Harvey! I beg your pardon for not
knowing you at first, sir j but papa and mamma are
away from home this evening, and I thought—lI expected
when I came to the door—to see them. Won't you
please to walk into the parlour? There’s a fire there,
and papa will soon be at home now, I think.’

‘ And how is my little girl? I suppose she has gone
to bed long ago,’ asked Mr. Harvey.

‘Yes, sir,’ stammered Ned, ‘I believe she did, some
time ago. I'll go up and send somebody to tell Her,
though. I believe she isn’t very well to-night.’

And Ned was glad to escape, without waiting ve any
more questions.

‘Here's a pretty kettle of fish!’ he muttered to him-
self, as he went up-stairs. ‘Hasn’t Jack put his foot
into it now? Oh, I rather think he has!’

And Jack thought so too, and Lizzie agreed with him,

‘when Ned’s comical face, looking perplexed, amused, |
and frightened, all at once, was seen in the door-way

of the chamber where Grace had been carried. Katie,
and Bridget, and Maggie, and Nora—all the women-ser-
vants of the household—were there; and with their
burned vinegar, their cold water, their camphor, and I
don’t know what else, they had succeeded in breaking
the faimting-fit. Grace sat up in the midst of them,
52 GRACE HARVEY,

pale and languid, bewildered at the crowd around her,
and struggling to remember what had happened, when
Ned burst in with his startling news—

‘Haven't you been and done it now, amongst you?
Here’s her father, down stairs, and what are you ever:
going to say to-him, I’d like to know!’

He did not see, in his eagerness, that Grace was awake
and listening to him; but she had heard the magic name,
and it lent wings to the little feeble body. One spring
from the bed—from the many hands stretched out to
hold her back, a flying race around the hall, and down
two flights of stairs; and then a little white-robed figure,
with bare feet, with wild-looking curls tossed back from
a wild-looking face, breathless, panting, sobbing with
delight, rushed into the parlour, and sprung into her
father’s arms.

There was nothing in all the world that could frighten
Grace now.


GRACE HARVEY. 53

CHAPTER VII.

TH the party up-stairs the case was different.
Like the ‘ young bear’ you have heard of,
‘their troubles were all before them.’ And
the look of dismay on Lizzie’s face was almost

ludicrous, as she sat on the edge of the bed wringing

her burned hands, and listened to Ned’s description of

Uncle Harvey’s arrival.

‘What will he think of us? What will papa and
mamma say? Oh, what will any of us do?’ she asked,
at last, in a hopeless tone of voice.

‘If we weren’t so big, we might both of us get a good
flogging, and that would be the end of it,’ Zaid Jack,
comically. ‘I wish we might, with all my heart, and
get rid of the awful lecture. But, oh dear!’ ,

‘T hope it will be a lesson to you, at any rate,’ said
Ned. ‘It really is a shame, the way you and Liz have
tormented that child. I set my face against it from the
first, but you never would listen to me.’

‘I wish we had,’ groaned Lizzie. ‘1 wish we had let
her be a baby all the days of her life.’

‘T don’t see as you've helped her growth much,’ Ned
retorted, dryly; at which Annie was so much amused,
that, in spite of her pity for Lizzie, and her general per-
plexity, she could not help bursting into a laugh. And
then Jack laughed, and Ned laughed, and even Lizzie
joined in with a hysterical giggle.


54 GRACH HARVEY.

‘
_ ¢ Well, I'l tell you what,’ said Jack, finally, when the
merriment had subsided, ‘you may take my hat, Ned,
and all my old shoes to boot, if ever you find me in such’
a scrape again. I’m done with practical jokes from this
time forward.’

‘I’m glad to hear it,’ was Ned’s reply. ‘We've all of
us been too conceited and self-satisfied, thinking our way
was the only way; and it’s time we learned something
better. It won't hurt us to eat a little humble-pie;
and it’s my opinion that the sooner we go down stairs
and tell Uncle Harvey we're sorry, the better it will be
for us.’

‘T shouldn’t wonder,’ Jack assented, though with rather
awry face.’ ‘It’s good-natured of you though, Ned, to
say us and we, as if you had had anything to do with it.
You and Annie are out of this,—it’s only Liz and I.’

‘Oh, we're all in the same boat, when you come to
‘the root of the matter, Ned returned. ‘I’ve been just
as bad in other things; so let’s all pull together.’

‘Hadn’t we better wait till mother comes home?’
asked Annie, who rather dreaded this meeting with her
strange uncle in such unfavourable circumstances,

‘No, no!’ was the hasty reply from both Jack and
Ned. ‘Let's have it over at once. Come along, Liz.’ .

And Lizzie got up, without remonstrance, looking
more subdued than anybody had ever seen her before,
and followed her brothers out of the room.

It was a funny little procession that marched into the
parlour, and Mr. Harvey looked up at the grave, ashamed
faces in surprise and amusement, not at all understanding
the solemnity of the affair. Grace was wiser: she guessed
in a moment what they had come for, and sprang up
from her father’s knee with a deprecating ery.

‘Oh, Jack, you needn’t!. Lizzie, there’s nothing te
tell! Papa knows all about it, and it’s no matter,’
GRACE HARVEY. 55

But Mr. Harvey’s inquiring look did not show that
he knew all about it.

‘You told me there had been an accident,—a lamp
upset,—and that you were all very much frightened,’ he
said. ‘But there seems to be something more than this,
and I would like to hear what your cousins have to say.”

‘So you shall, sir,’ exclaimed Jack, before Ned or
Grace could speak. ‘It was very generous of Grace
only to tell you that, for we frightened her almost to
death. We meant it for a joke, and we didn’t think she
would mind it so much,—and we're very sorry,’ he said,
coming abruptly to the end of his speech. —

‘For what?’ asked Mr. Harvey, puzzled still. ‘Did
you break the lamp for a joke?’

‘Oh, no!’ exclaimed two or three voices in chorus ;
and Lizzie blurted out— :

‘I put the shell in her bed,—that was what frightened
her.’

‘And then she fainted, you know,’ exclaimed Annie,
‘and fell down, and struck the table where the lamp
was.

‘And the lamp was smashed,’ put in Ned, ‘and all
the stuff in it caught fire, and ran over the floor like
blazes. And the girls screamed, and the “ Biddies” all
came flying up-stairs, and went to slopping pails of
water over everybody; and poor little Grace came near
being burned, only Liz-dragged her out, and got her
own hands scorched instead. And just then we heard
the carriage at the door, and we thought it was papa;
and I ran down to speak to him, and it was you.’

‘And he came up and told, papa,’ exclaimed Grace in
her turn; ‘and I flew down stairs in my night-gown,

‘and here I am now,—and that’s all. It was only a
joke, as Jack says, and I was very silly to mind it. So
there; don’t say another word about it, anybody !
56 GRACE HARVEY.

She had seated herself again on her father’s knee, and,
with her head nestled close to his breast, she looked
‘ the picture of content and happiness. Her father had
wrapped her up in his large travelling-shawl, so that
the night-gown was not visible; but one little bare foot
- peeped out beneath its folds, and her ruffled cap hung
by its strings amidst a mass of tangled curls. At any
other time the well-bred and demure little maiden would
have-been sadly ashamed to be seen in such disorderly
costume; but she was too full of satisfaction to care
about it now. Her father was there; she was in his
arms, loved and caressed to her heart’s content; and all
her past wretchedness was forgotten in the present de-
light. In its fulness she was ready and anxious to for-
give everything and everybody, and unwilling that her
cousins should suffer even for this last persecution, whose
consequences had been so serious.

But her cousins were too honest and frank to let
themselves be shielded by her generosity, and the whole
story came out finally, one and all making full confession
of their misceeds towards Grace. She, on her part,
protested that she had been selfish and disagreeable, and
it was no wonder they teased her,—how could they help
it, when she was so dreadfully silly ?

It was, altogether, quite a touching scene of mutual .
confession, penitence, and forgiveness. The girls all
eried, and Mr. Harvey found it difficult to say a word
of reproof on either side, when all were so ready to
blame themselves. The return of Mr. and Mrs. Lyon in
the midst of it, made a diversion. The adventures of
the evening, of course, had to be repeated to them; and
the ‘lecture’ that Jack dreaded so came at last, with
sufficient sternness, from his father’s lips.

I need not repeat what he said, nor Jack’s: manly
acknowledgment that he deserved it all. It is only
GRACE HARVEY. 57

necessary to tell you that the children, one and all,
volunteered a solemn promise never again to. torment
Grace with their practical. jokes; and she promised, as
freely, that she would try very hard to overcome her
foolish fears. Then Mrs. Lyon declared that Grace
would catch her death of cold if she was not put to bed
immediately. So, upon this, the children all kissed
her, a general forgiveness was bestowed, and everybody
went to bed at. last, with light hearts and consciences
relieved.

Grace slept soundly all night—the sweetest sleep that
she had ever known at Hollybrook; and she waked up
in the morning with the feeling that something pleasant
had happened to her, though at first she could not quite
recollect what it was. It flashed over her quickly
enough, and she sprang out of bed with the joyful re-
membrance: ‘Papa is here!’

Tt was not quite so delightful a thought to the others.
Lizzie, in particular, felt exceedingly ashamed of herself
when she took her seat opposite her uncle at the break-
fast-table. Nothing was said, however, of last night’s
scenes, and Mr. Harvey talked so agreeably that every
one soon felt at ease.

After breakfast he went out to drive with Mr. Lyon.
Grace was allowed to squeeze herself. between them ;
but the rest saw no more of him till dinner-time. In
the afternoon, however, he proposed a walk in the
woods, and invited the whole flock to accompany him.
So they started off,—sturdy little Charlie trolling on one
side of Uncle Harvey, while Grace clung to his hand on
the other. And first they walked by the cow-pasture,
where Grace had been so often victimized; then down
the lane to the mill-pond, where the frogs had such a
queer taste for being shot; and so on up into the woods,
where they sat down at last in their favourite resting-
58 GRACE HARVEY.

place—a sloping bank, carpeted deeply with pine leaves, -
and shut in from the broad pathway by a semicircle of
stately trees.

A fallen tree-trunk, with a great variety of knobs and
lopped-off branches sticking out in all directions, made
a seat for the girls to perch upon. The boys threw
themselves at full length on the slippery brown carpet;
and Mr. Harvey took possession of a nice, old, lichen-
covered rock, that seemed to have grown there expressly
for a seat. The walk, and the familiar talk by the way,

. had removed all sense of constraint from the party; and
even Charlie and Barbara chattered on as freely as if
they had known Uncle Harvey all their lives.

It was just what he wanted,—to make them feel at
ease with him, so that he might see them as they were,
and understand the various characters of the children,
before he made up his mind to leave Grace once more
to their tender mercies. She did not know what was in
his mind, or think of anything just then but the hap-
piness of being with him; and they were all a little
startled when he said suddenly —

‘There’s a question to be decided amongst you young
people, and I think I will put it to the vote, in the
popular election style: Shall I leave Grace at Holly-
brook, or take her back to Rochester to-morrow ?’

There was no answer, for a moment, in the general
surprise. Lizzie glanced up quickly to see if her uncle
were smiling, but dropped her eyes as they met his,
looking quite serious and earnest, and grew very red. ©
Annie was the first to speak.

‘You don’t méan to take Grace away, Uncle Harvey?
We don’t want her to go,—we won't let her go!’ she |
exclaimed, warmly.

And Ned and Jack chimed in—

‘We vote for her to stay,—all of tis do, of course,


Grace Harvey —Page 58.
GRACE HARVEY. 59

You say so, Liz, I know; so do Charlie and Bab. Why,
we couldn’t do without her now,—could we, Gracie?’ —

‘Do you really care?’ asked Grace, blushing, partly
. with pleasure, partly with a sense of shame, as she re-
membered the letter she had written, begging to be
taken away.

‘You know I care!’ exclaimed Annie, reproachfully. -

‘But I don’t think Lizzie likes me much,’ Grace
returned.

‘Then you are a little goose,’ said Lizzie, bluntly. ‘I
always said you were, and now you've proved it. As if
I would have taken the trouble to tease you if I had not
liked you!’ ,

Grace laughed, and her father smiled: ‘Then the
teasing was a proof of your affection, was it, Lizzie?’

‘It was to cure her of being silly. I didn’t want her
to be a coward, and I thought—

‘That a hair of the dog was the best remedy for the
bite?’ interrupted Mr. Harvey, laughing. ‘1 did not
understand the object in view before, and I am glad to
know it was such a praiseworthy one. But let me ask
if the results produced, so far, have justified the means.
Is Grace cured of her cowardice, or not?’

‘Not yet,’ they were forced to eckucm ledge, And
Mr. Harvey went on—

' ‘T should advise you to pursue another system, then,
since this seems to have failed. Suppose, imstead of
putting. shells in her bed, or throwing frogs and worms
at her, you taught her something about them that would
‘interest her. I dare say, living in the country all your
lives, and spending so much time out of* doors, that you
know a great deal about animals, and insects, and birds.
You could tell how and where they build their nests or
burrow their holes, where they lay their eggs, what sort
of food ‘they like, what curious habits many of them _
60 GRACE HARVEY.

have,—with a great many more things that Grace would
like to hear, and that might overcome some of her foolish
prejudices,’ .

‘Jack could do that!’ exclaimed Annie, eagerly. ‘He
has boxes full of dead things,—worms, and beetles, and
butterflies; and he knows just where to find them.
Snakes, too: he has ever so many little snakes in bottles,’

‘Very good,’ said Mr. Harvey. ‘I leave the sugges-
tion for Jack, then ; since he, too, has been interested in
curing Grace’s faults. What*do you say, Jack ?—will
you give her lessons in natural history ?’

‘Til teach her all I know; that isn’t much,’ Jack an-
swered, modestly. ,

‘There is something else I would like to remind you
of,” said Mr. Harvey. ‘There is a text in the Bible
which says, “ We that are strong ought to bear the infirmities
of the weak, and not to please ourselves.” I don’t think any
of you have remembered this winter—by way of excuse
for her, I mean—how much weaker than yourselves your
cousin is.’

‘That's so,’ Jack assented, penitently; and Lizzie
nodded her head without speaking,

‘As for Grace,’.Mr. Harvey continued, ‘the text is a
rule for her, as well as for the rest of you. She is too
apt to please herself, in her own way, without thinking
of what would please others. Isn’t it so, Grace?’

‘Yes, papa, I know it,’ Grace answered, softly, ‘I am
afraid I have been very selfish all the time. But I
never meant to be; only it was so much trouble to walk,
and to play, and always be doing something, as Lizzie
and Annie were. I liked sitting still so much better
myself, and I didn’t think how often I hindered the
others, and spoiled their pleasure. I see now, though.
Thave been just as wrong in my way as they have in
theirs,’
GRACE HARVEY. 61

‘Seeing our faults is the first step towards mending
them,’ said her father, kindly. ‘I have hope of you all,
since you have shown that you can bear to be reproved.
And now the lecture is ended. We'll shut up the old
book, and begin a new one. Do you all agree?’

There was a hearty response, in full chorus, ‘Yes,
we do!’ and then the twilight shadows in the woods
warned them that it was time to go home. So they
shook off the dry leaves clinging to jackets and pelisses,
gathered up their treasures of cones and holly-berries,
and marched out of the woods, well satisfied with
Uncle Harvey's ‘lecture,’ and each with a good resolve
at heart.

The sun, looking like a ball of red fire, dropped below
the pine-trees as they came out into the lane; and the
frogs and toads began to croak and ‘yaup’ in their usual
vociferous fashion, as the winter twilight darkened softly
around. But Grace did not dislike their noisy chattering |
as she once did. Indeed, she never thought about it,
for her little hand was clinging to her father’s, and she
felt protected and sheltered from everything.

The only trouble was, he was going away to-morrow.
But even in that she was comforted, for he had promised
to come again, certainly, at Easter; and things were
so different, too, from what they were before he came!
Now her cousins knew him and liked him, and they
could all talk about him together, and-look forward to
his next visit. Now they all were good friends, too,—
she and her cousins,—and understood one another so
much better; and, altogether, they were going to be

_very happy for ever after.

So Grace thought in her hopeful musings as she
walked by her father's side. And the thoughts of
the other children were a good deal the same, only
softened with a sense of regret for past unkindness,
62 GRACE HARVEY.

never fully realized till now, and a determination to
‘bear with the infirmities of the weak’ moré patiently in
future, .

Certainly there was a better foundation for peace and
happiness among the little flock than there had ever been
before.


GRACE. HARVEY, 63

CHAPTER VIII.

T’ was quite dark when they reached home, and
the pretty parlour looked a picture of comfort
and cheerfulness as they came in. There were
no lamps lighted; but the firelight was glow-
ing on the walls, and the funniest shadows bobbing up
and down, as the children moved about the room.

‘I wish we could have a story!’ Annie said, by and
by, when they had all been sitting silent for a while.

‘So do I,’ said Barbara. ‘I wish mother would tell
as one.’ =

‘Not to-night,’ said Mrs. Lyon. ‘I must go down and
prepare your father’s tea. Ask your Uncle Harvey; I
’ dare say he knows a great many stories.’

She put up her knitting-work as she said this, and
went out of the room. So Barbara knew a story from
her was out of the question; and in her disappointment
the little lady showed symptoms of what the children
called ‘the sulks.’ Grace saw the pouting lips and
clouded brow by the light of the fire, and hastened to

_ do what she could to bring back the-smiles.

‘Papa will tell us a story, I dare say, Barbie,’ she said
quickly. ‘There’s a funny one he used to tell me, a
long time ago, about the Black Beetle,—you remember,
papa. Tell it to us now,—won’t you? It’s just the
time for stories, in Blind-man’s holiday.’

‘The Black Beetle was not a favourite of yours once,



64 GRACH HARVEY.

Gracie,’ her father answered, smiling. ‘I wonder at
your choosing that.’

‘Oh, I don’t care now; they may laugh at me if they
like,” Grace returned brightly. And the others all were
curious to know what they were to laugh at; so Mr.
Harvey began at once the story of

THE BIG BLACK BEETLE.

There was once a little girl who hada funny name;
not so queer by itself, because it was an old, classical
name, and belonged to a person that was celebrated in
ancient history; but very odd, indeed, when considered as
the title of this particular little girl.

Hero was the name; and anybody would imagine that
the person called by it should naturally be a very brave
aiid courageous person. On the contrary, this Hero was
the greatest little coward in the world: she was afraid
of her own shadow, as people say; and if she saw a cow
in the meadow, or a strange little dog in the yard, or
even a poor old pussy cat sunning herself on the garden
fence, she would rush into the house, and cling to her
mother, trembling and shuddering, as if she had seen
some awful wild beast.

All this, of course, mortified her mother dveadfelly:
She had a great contempt for people who gave way to
such silly fears, and she tried in many ways to cure her
little daughter of them. But her efforts were quite use-
less. In spite of coaxing and reasoning, reproof and
punishment, Hero still continued to shiver at the sight
of a little red ant, or a miserable cockroach; to run in
terror if a spider or a worm crossed her path, and to
scream till the whole house was aroused if she happened
to wake up at night and find herself alone in the dark.

You may be sure her mother was ashamed of having
called her ‘Hero.’ It sounded so ridiculous to be saying
GRACE HARVEY. 65

all the time, ‘Hero is such a coward!’ ‘There’s Hero~
running away from a mouse!’ ‘Hero’s screaming be-

cause there’s a caterpillar on her frock!’ ‘Hero's afraid

of her own shadow!’ People laughed outright when

they heard the comical name ; and her brother Leonard,

who was as bold as a lion, never called her anything but

‘ Shero,’ in his contempt for her cowardice.

One rainy day, when the little girl was about eight
years old, she was obliged to stay away from school.
The wind blew till all the windows in the house rattled
again, and the trees on the lawn were bent almost
double; the rain beat down like bullets on the gravel
walk, and out in the street there seemed to be a muddy
river rushing along. It was too stormy to think of going

_to school, and Hero was not at all sorry; for a holiday
’ now and then was as pleasant to her as it is to any other
little girl.

She stood by the nursery window and watched the
trees,—the willows with their long hair streaming wildly
about as the wind swept down upon them, the horse-
chestnuts, and the elms with their great branches, creaking
and tossing to and fro. She saw the tall dahlias beaten
down, and the yellow stream of water that went rushing
down the carriage-drive to meet that m the street beyond.
It was all pleasant to look at for a while, for there was
no thunder or lightning, and Hero was not afraid of wind
and rain when she stood inside of a warm nursery, with
her mother close by her. She grew tired of it, however,
by and by ; and then her mother said to her,—

‘Why don’t you go down stairs, Hero, and stay with
Leonard, in the dining-room? He is pasting pictures in .
his serapbook, and you can ask him to let you help him.’

‘Oh, so I will!’ Hero answered; and she started off
eagerly, for she liked to play with Leonard, and, in spite
of her being such a coward, he was very kind to her.

E
66 GRACE HARVEY,

Te lent her his dominoes and his solitaire-board whenever
she wanted them, and when he pasted in his scrapbook,
he often gave her pictures, and showed her how to put
them in properly.

Which was all right, you know. But a great many
brothers would have said, ‘Don’t bother,’ or ‘Get out of
my way,’ and sent the little sister off when they were
busy about their own affairs.

Hero knew Leonard would not, and she ran out into
the hall, thinking how nice it would be to cut out pictures,
and, may be, be allowed to paste some in the big book.
Her hand was on the balustrade, and one foot on the
stairs, when all at once something black caught her eye
at the foot of the staircase. The oilcloth in the hall was
very light, almost white indeed, for it was in imitation
of marble ; so anything dark showed upon it very plainly.
The thing that Hero saw looked extremely black by con-
trast; but what it was she could not very well see,
standing, as she did, at the top of a long flight of stairs,
while this lay at the bottom.

Anybody but such a little coward would have gone
closer, and found out if it was anything to be afraid of.
But one glance was enough for Hero; it was a black
thing, it looked like a beetle, and it lay Just in the way
where she would have to pass. She started back in
terror, and nothing would have induced her to go down
stairs while the object lay there. At the same time she
very much wished to go down, not only because of
Leonard and the scrapbook, but because she knew her
mother would inquire why she stayed wp-stairs, amd she
would be ashamed to tell the reason.

So she stood on the top step for at least ten minutes,
peeping over the bannisters every now and then to see if
the beetle had moved out of sight. But no; there it lay
still on the white oilcloth, looking black and ugly, but
GRACE HARVEY, 67

never stirring from its place. And poor Hero at last
grew so cold, between her nervous terror and the damp,
chilly hall, that she was forced to creep back into the
nursery, notwithstanding her dread of her mother’s
questions. Her mother looked up from her work as she
came in, and said, with some surprise,—

‘I thought you were going down stairs, Hero, What
has happened to you?’ for she saw in the little girl’s face
that there was some trouble, :

But of course Hero did not want to tell, and she
answered, ‘Oh, nothing! -I don’t want to go down now.’

“Why not?’ asked her mother,

‘ Because I don’t,’ said Hero,

‘There is some reason for that,’ her mother said, ‘and I
want to know what the reason is. Tell me at once, Hero.’

Then Hero began to whine. ‘I can’t go down stairs,’
she said, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand,
and looking exceedingly miserable.

‘If I might ask, why?’ said her mother.

‘ Because—there’s a great big black beetle lying on
the oilcloth just where I have to pass,’ whined Hero.

‘Ab!’ said her mother. ‘I thought it would be
something like that. A great big black beetle! And I
suppose it is at least as large as an elephant, with a
mouth like a tiger,—is it not, Hero?’

. ‘No, it isn’t, retorted Hero, ready to ery; ‘but it zs
a big black beetle; and you needn't laugh at, me, either.
Anybody would be afraid of such an ugly thing !’

And she went pouting back to the window, to watch
the fain again, wishing, angrily, that all the beetles in
the world might be drowned in it. Her mother said no
more, but she sighed as she looked at the sullen face of
the child, made so unhappy by her own folly; and her
wish was, that she might only soon find some way to
cure her of her silly and cowardly fears.
68 GRACE HARVEY.

An hour passed by very slowly and drearily to Hero.
There was no one to talk to, for her mother sat quite
silent, stitching away with all her might, and Hero was
ashamed to speak to her. . The rain, that had looked
pleasant at first, only seemed dismal now; and there
was nothing to do, for she was tired of all the nursery
books and toys, and only wanted to be in the dining-
room with Leonard and the scrapbook. ;

‘I can’t stand this any longer,’ she thought at last.
‘Tl go and see if that beetle hasn’t crawled away.’

So she slipped out of the room, went to the head of
the stairs, and looked cautiously down,—only to start
back with a shiver the next minute. The ugly thing
was there still !

_*Oh dear! is it going to stay for ever?’ thought Hero.
‘Shall I never get down stairs again?’ and she went
Lack to the nursery more disconsolate than ever.

Her mother glanced up as she came in, but did not
speak to her; and another long time crept by in dreary
silence. A pleasant, fruity odour reached Hero’s nose
by and by—the smell of juicy apples roasting before the
fire. She knew that Leonard was doing it,—nobody
roasted apples so nicely as he; for he hada knack of
tying a string to their stems so that they never pulled
out, and fastening it up to the mantle-shelf so that they
never tumbled down, and giving it such a peculiar
twist that they always twirled round and round until all
sides of the apple were most beautifully browned, and
it was tender all the way through. She had very little
doubt that he was roasting one for her as well as for
himself, for he was always kind to her, and she longed
to go down and get it. But how could she? That
wretched beetle! she was sure it was in the way still.
However,—as the smell of the apples grew more sweet
and strong,—it would do no harm to go and-look again.
GRACE HARVEY. 69°

Accordingly Hero went, and found the black beetle
exactly in the same spot where she had first seen it,
Evidently it was in comfortable quarters, and had no
intention of moving out of them.

She leaned over the bannister in great anaes ‘auee
perplexity. ‘I think somebody might come and take the
thing away,’ she said to herself, with a fretful sigh; and
she had half a mind to call Leonard, and ask him to.do
it. But she remembered quickly how he always laughed
at and scolded her for such things, and she knew it
would-be useless to ask his help. The kitchen was too
far off for the servants to hear her; and, besides, her
mother would not allow them to assist her, even if they
heard. She could think of nothing in the world to do,
and was just on the point of bursting into tears, when
the dining-room door opened suddenly, and Leonard
came out.

‘Hullo, Hero-Shero! What are you doing up there?
Come down and get a roasted apple,’ he called out, as
he caught sight of her little forlorn face peeping over
the stair-rail.

‘T can’t,’ replied Hero, very dismally.

‘Why not? Have you been punished ?”

‘No-o,’ drawled Hero.

‘Why don’t you come down, then?’ asked Leonard,
impatiently.

‘I don’t want to,’ said Hard Which was a very
wrong story, as you all know, when she wanted nothing
else so much. But she inte he would laugh at her, so
that she did not dare to tell the truth; and oonsequently
she had the mortification of hearing him say, as he
walked back to the dining-room,—

- Oh, very well! If you don’t want to, it’s nothing to
me. Stay where you are, by all means. I can eat the
apples myself’
70 GRACE HARVEY.

Leonard was. proud, you see, like most boys, and
when he offered a favour didn’t like to have it refused.
As for poor little Hero, why, it served her right, of
course, for being such a coward, and telling a wrong
story; but she was very miserable nevertheless, and this
time she could not help showing it. Just as soon as she
heard the dining-room door slam to, she sat down on the
stair-step, hid her face in her ‘apron, and cried in good
earnest; For all that, the obstinate beetle never stirred;
and when she looked down into the hall again, after she
had cried till she was tired, it lay there still.

Never was there such a long morning. The nursery
seemed like a prison, and Hero thought she should die
of loneliness and fatigue. Twelve o'clock, one o’clock
came, and at last the lunch-bell rang. Her mother
folded up her work, and put it by.

‘Come, Hero,’ she said; ‘I am going down to
luncheon.’

‘But, mother, that beetle’s there still,’ said Hero,
miserably.

‘How absurd!’ exclaimed her mother. ‘ It’s time to
have done with this nonsense now, Hero. I insist upon
your coming down stairs immediately.’

She took the child by the hand, and drew her on in
spite of her reluctance. But at the head of the stairs
Hero paused, after one shuddering glance downward,
and declared she could not go a step farther.

‘Where is the beetle?’ asked her mother. ‘TI see
nothing.’

‘There,’ cried Hero, tremblingly, ‘down there!’

And looking again, her mother really saw the terrible
object. She did not stop to wonder what it was, but
ran lightly down the steps, stooped to the floor, and the
next moment Hero grew cold with horror, for she saw
her mother actually take the thing up, and lay it out
GRACE HARVEY. 71

upon her open bare hand. She laughed as she did so,
and said,—

‘Come down, Hero, and take a look at your “ big
black beetle.” I only want you to see what a wise child
you are,’

But Hero screamed at the mere idea. ‘I can't! I
dare not!’ she cried, wild with terror, and started back

as if to escape to the nursery. ,

‘Come down when I bid you,’ her mother commanded,
sternly. ‘Come this moment, I say, Hero.’

‘Oh, no, no, no! I-can’t! I can’t!’ screamed the
child again.

‘If you do not come instantly, you shall certainly be
punished,’ her mother insisted; for she felt now very
much provoked. ‘You really deserve a whipping, as it
is, and I shall give it to you, unless you obey at once.’ —

So Hero no longer dared to refuse. She crept down,
step by step, shivering in every limb, and her face as
white as the wall. Her mother held out the beetle as
she drew near.

‘Now look at it, and see what you have been afraid
of,’ she said.

And Hero, though she screamed at the first glance, -
was ready to sink with shame at the next, when she did
suffer herself to get a fair look at the thing. For, after
all, the fearful creature that had kept her a prisoner all
day, and caused her so many torments, was—-what do
you think ?—a small piece of black silk! That was the
big black beetle !

Hero swallowed her lunch in shame and silence that
day. She looked so miserably mortified, that even
Leonard, after his first great guffaw of laughing, re-
frained from teasing her. As for her mother, she saia
a few earnest words to her, that for once made an im-
pression.
72 GRACE HARVEY.

Hero determined, for the first time in her life, that
she would really try to conquer her foolish fears. More-
over, she said her prayers over it, and asked to be helped
in her efforts to do right, You ail know that when one
asks in that way, it is never in vain; and so you will
believe me, when I tell you that, in course of time, Hero
really ceased to be afraid of beetles and spiders, and
became a sensible child; so that her mother was no
longer ashamed of her name, and very often declared
that she had reason to be exceedingly thankful to Tae
Bie Buack BEerie.

There had been many comments and plenty of laughter
amongst the children during the progress of this story.
Thera. was just enough resemblance between Grace and
the silly little Hero to give them room for merry ridicule
of their cousin, and the bringing up of a great many
instances in which Grace had shown herself hardly more
heroic. She bore it all very amiably, however,—let
them laugh, and laughed with them; and her father
accepted this as a good sign for the future.

Careless and merry talk followed the story. Ned said
it put him in mind of one of the ‘ Original Poems for
Infant Minds,’ that used to impress him-deeply when he
was a little fellow. Grace was the first to guess that he
meant the story of ‘Benighted Henry,’ and ‘the tall white
guide-post;’ and then Ned repeated the verses with
such a tragic emphasis when he came to ‘the form of
horrid kind,’ that

‘Upward rose in deadly white,
Of cloak or mantle bare,
And stretched its naked arms across
To catch him by the haiz,’

that little Charlie grew frightened, and desired to have
the lamps lighted immediately,
GRACE HARVEY. ~ 73

His mother returned just at that crisis, and following
her came Nora, who speedily illuminated the room with
the soft radiance of an excellent lamp,—not so pic-
turesque, but more diffusive than the rosy lights and
shadows of the fire. Being satisfied on-this point,
Charlie’s next desire was one with which the party were
ready to. sympathize by this time.

‘Ym so hungry I don’t know what to do, I want my
supper, mother,’ was his outcry. And Barbara echoed
it with,— ;

‘So do I. And I hope Bridget made some cakes,
did she, mamma? And can’t we have preserved peaches -
to-night ?? A i

‘Come and see,’ said her mother; and a merry tinkle
across the hall just then announced that tea was waiting.
So they all obeyed the summons without delay, for the
walk had given everybody an appetite; and the nicely-
laid table, with its shining silver and snowy linen, was
enough to tempt one, even without the delicate viands
that the pretty dishes contained.

Mrs. Lyon had ordered her ‘company tea-set? in
honour of Uncle Harvey; and to Grace, who delighted
in pretty things, the delicate old china was more enjoy-
able even than the crisp cakes and delicious sweet-bread
which formed the substantial part of the meal. Bar-
bara’s favourite preserved peaches were there, however,
and Grace’s favourite raspberry-jam, in generous supply ;
while the cake-basket was heaped up high with half
a dozen varieties, and the old-fashioned japanned tea-

tray sent forth fragrant odours of coffee and chocolate
and tea commingled.

They laughed and jested with Grace about going away
with her father in the morning; for Mr. Harvey had
told her aunt about the letter. Mrs. Lyon wanted to
know if she should pack her trunks after tea; and Mr,
74 GRACE HARVEY,

Luyon advised her to put in a Latin Grammar and
Reader.

‘For it would never do, you know, Gracie, to forget
all your Latin,’ he said, gravely. ‘You don’t know
what a brilliant scholar she is turning out, Mr. Harvey.’

And at this the children began to laugh; for it must
be confessed that Grace’s Latin studies had not been
very profound, or very successful, so far. Grace joined
in the laugh against herself, and anciencdl merrily, —

‘For all that, you need not think you ‘will get rid of
your stupid gehalian Uncle Lyon ; I shall stay on purpose
to bother you. But I know I never shall decline jus-
jurandum as long as I live!

‘You are strong on irregular verbs, though, Gracie,’
said Ned, mischievously.

And then came out a ridiculous story of how Jack
had ‘crammed’ Grace with some nonsensical inventions
of his own, when they had been required to give
examples from memory of irregular conjugations ; and
how gravely she had repeated ‘ Lambano—sheepsomi—
baal’ and ‘ Henno, turkere, goosi, ductum,’—to the utter
confusion of Uncle Lyon, and the unbounded amusement
of her mischievous cousins.

Mr. Harvey could not help thinking that the poor
little timid stranger had had rather a trying time
amongst them all. But at the same time, he also
acknowledged inwardly that the results might have been
worse. Grace’s rosy face and laughing eyes had a child-
like, happy, healthful look, which: he had not seen them
wear before, since her mother died. Indeed, nobody
had seen Grace so gay and cheerful as she was now;
for the sense of restraint and dread under which she had
lived of late was at last removed, and with her mind at
ease, her naturally pleasant and affectionate disposition
had room to display itself.
GRACE HARVEY. 73

She sat down on a little low ottoman beside her aunt,
when they had all returned to the parlour, and took her
hand caressingly between both her own.

‘I -didn’t mean to be naughty when I wrote that letter
to papa,’ she whispered, softly; ‘and I loved you dearly
all the time, though I did ask him to take me away.’

‘IT don’t wonder at your writing it, Gracie,’ her aunt
answered, kindly ; ‘now I know how you were worried
and tormented here. I only blame you for not coming
to me with the whole trouble. I could have put a stop
to it so much sconer, if I-had known what was going
on. |

‘J didn’t like to tell tales, answered Grace; ‘and I
don’t care now about any of it. I shall never be so silly
or so miserable again, I know.’

‘Then you don’t want to leave us all just yet?’ asked
Mrs. Lyon, smiling.

‘Not if you will let me stay,’ was Grace’s shy reply.

‘And when papa goes away from you to-morrow,—
how will it be then?’

‘Oh, I will be good, till he comes again at Easter. It
will soon come, you know. And, aunty, I don’t mean
to be a baby tied to your apron-string, as Lizzie says,
any longer. I will go out when the others do, and run,
and play, and get strong as they are. I have promised
papa, and I want you to help me keep my promise.’

‘ Very well,’ said her aunt; and Grace went on in a
still lower tone,—for their little talk was all ‘aside’ from
the rest of the family,—

‘Because, you know, I have been very selfish all this
time, never wanting to do what the rest did, and hinder-
ing them so often. Papa made me see that, and I don’t
want to be so again. But I shall forget, unless some-
body puts me in mind, now and then.’

$1 will put you in mind,’ said her aunt, ‘if I think
7é GRACE TARVEY.

you need it, But you must not forget, Gracie, who will
“be a better help to you than I can.’

‘I know; I have asked Him already to help me,’
whispered Grace. ‘And it is because I think He will,
that I feel so happy to- “night. I cannes help feeling
happy, in spite of papa’s going away.’

‘ He will not object to that,’ said Mrs. Lyon, laughing.
_‘Tam sure he does not wish to see you aun, a long
face, and looking doleful on account of his going,’

‘No, I suppose he doesn’t,’ Grace laughed in return.
And then Lizzie and Annie came up, protesting against
the private conversation, and wanting Grace to join them
in guessing a puzzle which Ned had produced.

So here we will say Good-bye to our little heroine, for
Grace’s visit had now come to an end. It was home
after this, by her own choice, and the loving consent of
her cousins, who adopted the better plan of making her
happy in future, in place of teasing her.

‘That none of them ever forgot or neglected their good
resolutions, I am not prepared to say; for, as the Latin
Grammar tells us, ‘Errare est humanum,’—and the little
people at Helly brooks could not grow ‘perfect j in a day,
any more than ‘the rest of mankind.’ One thing I may
say, however,—that that particular shell never was put
between sheets again; for Grace took pains to get posses-
sion of it, and kept it secretly; and Lizzie got it as a
present, ‘ with Grace’s love,’ on her very next birthday !


— Greenland’s Jey Mountains,






GREENEAND'S ICY MOUNTAINS.

peoe aeel
CHAPTER £

IN the 80th of May 1858, the brig Advance set sail
from New York, bound for Baffin’s Bay. The
Advance was a strong vessel and a good sailer ;
but it was not on these accounts that many
hearts throbbed with warm interest, and many mouths
spoke good wishes at her departure. The Advance was
going on a message of mercy; she was going in search
of Sir John Franklin, an English explorer, who with his
party had been lost among the ice and snows of the north.
Evisua Kent Kane was in command of the Advance,
and he had seventeen men with him.
There were only three rules on board that vessel, but
they were to the point:
1. Absolute obedience to the commanding officer.
2. Abstinence from all intoxicating liquors, except:
when ordered for some wise purpose.
8. Entire freedom from the use of profane lan-
guage.
Dr. Kane was to pass up Baflin’s Bay as far north as
possible, and then press on towards the north pole in
, 13



30 CREENLANDS ICY MOUNTAINS.

boats or sledges, carefully examining the coasts for
traces of the lost party. /

There were on board the Advance some noble New-
foundland dogs, who were to drag the sledges of the ex-
plorers, whenever they should he on land. These dogs
often gave a great deal of trouble. Not a bear’s claw,
not a basket of mosses could be put down for a moment,
without their springing towards it, scrambling and yell-
ing, and swallowing the morsel at one mouthful. Dr.
Kane declares that he had even seen them attempt to
eat a whole feather-bed !

“Unruly, thieving, and ravenous’ as were these dogs,
they had to be tenderly cared for, for on them the safety
of the travellers might depend, when all around them
was ice,

Tt is said that there is no human character without
some gentler feelings that may be touched by constant
kindness, and this is true in some degree with regard
to brutes. Even these Newfoundland dogs, so like wild
beasts in their appetites, had yet a kind of affection
for their masters. At one time, although a comfortable
house had been provided for them at a distance from the
ice-bound brig, they could not be persuaded to sleep there.
‘They preferred the bare snow, within the sound of their
masters’ voices, to a warm kennel upon the rocks.’

The Advance, after a short stay at the Danish settle-
ments of South Greenland, passed northward up Baflin’s
Bay, until it was at last locked fast in fields of ice. The
very sea was frozen around the vessel; and there, in the
midst of cold and desolation, with no humane visitor to
cheer their solitude, the crew of the Advance prepared
to pass the long winter of the Arctic regions. The brig
had become the fixed home of the little party, and they
made it as comfortable as possible. From this strange
home they made excursions along the coast in sledges,
GREENLAND'S ICY MOUNTAINS. 81

and now they really began to understand the use and
value of the dogs that had before been so troublesome.

The small sledge, which seemed to be a particular
favourite with Dr. Kane, was valled ‘ Little Willie.’ It
was made of American hickory, and built with the
utmost care, so as to be at the same time Hght and
strong. The Newfoundland dogs were used for ordinary
labour; but the hardy Esquimaux dogs were the most
serviceable for long journeys over the dangerous ice,
which now covered sea and shore.

The dogs were not guided by bridles and bits, like
our horses ; neither did they move by the word of com-
mand, like our patient oxen. These strange animals,
more like wolves in appearance and nature than like
the dogs we are accustomed to see, were guided only by
the whip. This whip was of a most peculiar kind. Its

- handle was only sixteen inches long, while the seal-hide
lash was six yards long. You can think how hard it
must have been to throw out such a long lash, with such
ashort handle; yet by constant practice Dr. Kane and
his men learned to do it. What is there that cannot be
learned by perseverance? They were not really good
sledge-drivers till they could hit at will any one of the
twelve dogs in the team, and remind him by the lash
which way he must go. The mere labour of using this
whip is such, that the Esquimaux (the natives of these
regions) travel in couples, one sledge after the other.
The dogs of the hinder sledge follow the first sledge
without the whip, and the drivers change about, so as
to rest each other.

One great danger in travelling over the frozen sea
is the cracks through the ice, leading to the deep’ cold
water below. Over these the brave dogs leap at a single
bound, carrying the light sledge safely after them. How
would you like to take such aride? You would have

F
82 GREENLAND’S ICY MOUNTAINS.

to hold fast to the sledge when it went flying over the
ice-cracks, or you would be tossed out, and perhaps sink
into the dark waters.

Of what use would a horse, or an elephant, or a camel
be in these frozen regions ? How wonderful is the good-
ness of God, in providing beasts of burden suited to all
climates !

The same providential hand that has given the hardy,
patient, swift-footed dog to the Esquimaux, has provided
a kind of food suited to the people of these regions. Fat
they love, fat they need, and fat they have. Dr. Kane
and his party soon learned to eat solid lumps of blubber
with a relish, and to own that it was a necessary of life
in that cold climate.

The clumsy sea-creature the walrus, the curious seal,
and the awkward bear, yielded in turn their fat meat
to the crew of the Advance. The fox too, and the hare,
and the wild birds of the short summer appeared on the
table in their strange cramped dwelling-place.

When the real winter came, however, and the dark
night set in to last its dreary six months, the unfortu-
nate strangers had to rely chiefly on the stores of dried
and salted food they had brought with them for such an
hour of need. Such was the scarcity of fresh meat, that
Dr. Kane was at length able to eat rat’s flesh with a
relish, though few of the crew were willing to join him.

Many, many were the trials endured through that
weary time of darkness. The absence of light itself was
most distressing. First the sun disappeared, and day
was only a twilight; then all was darkness. December
15, 1858, Dr. Kane writes: ‘At mid-day we cannot see
print, and hardly paper; the fingers cannot be counted
a foot from the eyes. Noonday and midnight are alike!’
Ice was all around them in the darkness, and everything
on hoard seemed turning to ice. In the open air, what-
GREENLAND’S ICY MOUNTAINS. 83

ever was touched with the bare hand froze fast to it.
The beard of a sleeper froze to his blanket, the very
eyelids were chained together by the frost.

Occupation is a source of cheerfulness at all times ;
and so in the midst of the darkness it proved to the crew
of the Advance. Something was provided for every one
to do. Dr. Kane knew that a busy man was not likely to
be a discontented or an unhappy man.

Carpentering, shoe and sock making, sewing, writing,
map drawing, and even cooking, went on, though there
was, by the eleventh of March, not a pound of fresh
meat on board, and only one barrel of potatoes left.
Perhaps you fancy those same potatoes soft, mealy, and
tempting, like those that come burning-hot to our own
tables. By no means, Potatoes were served up at every
meal, truly; but they were medicine for the poor, sick,
scurvy-tormented men of the Advance. The frozen
potatoes were grated down, mixed with oil, and so made
into such an abominable dose, that the hardy fellows
made as much of a fuss about taking it as a spoiled child
at a dose of salts.

February had been found by other voyagers the
coldest month of the polar year; but March was to
Dr. Kane’s party equally if not more trying. Yet they
managed to bear it, and bear it cheerfully, considering
all that they suffered.

Strange-looking beings these Americans must have
been in their Greenland home! Think of a man ina
pair of seal-skin trowsers, a dog-skin cap, a reindeer
jumper (a fur coat with a hood of the same material),
and walrus boots! When such a traveller goes on a
journey, he stops at no hotels. He need not fear damp
sheets. He takes his bed and bedding with him. He
has a fur bag into which he can slip himself, feet first ;
and then he draws a kind of fur tippet over his head,
84 GREENLAND'S ICY MOUNTAINS.

leaving open just space enough for him to breathe
through, and he is fixed for the night, where the ther-
mometer is 40° below zero. Ifshe has but a junk of
frozen raw meat with him, he is provided with a break-
fast, and will be ready, when he has eaten it, to give the
dogs a fresh start, and go off with his companions on a
new tour of search for the lost Sir John Frarklin.

So Dr. Kane and his men learned to dress, eat, sleep,
and travel. Their necessities of life became few indeed.

Spring was coming at last; such a spring! It makes
one chill to think of it. Spring was coming, and the
men began to revive and talk of home. The poor dogs
too, those that were left of them, gave signs of returning
strength. Out of nine Newfoundland and thirty-five
Esquimaux dogs, only six were still living, and they
were unfit for present use. The long darkness and the
excessive cold had been too much for them. A singular
disease had seized upon them, a real disease of the brain,
ending at last in death. The poor creatures could eat
and sleep well enough, but they were actually crazy.
Sometimes they would sit for a long time in moody
silence, then suddenly start up, and run to and fro on
the deck for hours. No wonder that the poor brutes,
who were strangers in that dreary land, should have
been driven wild with ever waiting for the dawning of
day, with no one to tell them why the horrid night was
never cheered by a single ray of sunlight.

These valuable animals were ‘tended, fed, cleansed,
caressed, and doctored,’ but all to no purpose... One by
one they dropped away.

March had come. Don’t think of pleasant spring, and
crocuses peeping up from their winter quarters. It was
in this month that, in an excursion over the snow and
ice, Dr. Kane and his men endured the most awful suffer-
ings from cold and exhaustion. Gladly would they have
GREENLAND’S ICY MOUNTAINS. 85

laid down on the snow to sleep the sleep of death; but
blind with the dazzlingof the sun on the ice, and stag-
gering with weakness, sthey went on, the stronger dragging
the more helpless, ‘and at last they reached the brig,
wandering in mind, and utterly exhausted in body. One
of the par by: aitfened for some time from blindness, two
others had * ‘portions of the foot cut off, and two died in
conseqéhce of what they had undergone on that fearful
journey.

If April did not bring the soft showers, the budding
and renewing of life, which we welcome in our climate,
it brought to Dr. Kane’s party something as pleasant.
This was the visit of a number of Esquimaux. Yes, the
crew of the Advance once more saw other human faces
than those of their companions in misfortune.

A wild, lawless set were those Esquimaux. Their
leader was a tall, ‘ powerfully-built man, with swarthy
complexion, and piercing black eyes. His dress was a
jumper of mixed white and blue fox-skins, arranged with
something of fancy, and booted trowsers of white bear-
skin, which at the end of the foot were made to terminate
with the claws of the animal.’ Although this was the
first time he had ever seen a white man, he fearlessly
went with Dr. Kane on board the brig.

In due time the whole party followed. Then there
was confusion enough on the ice-bound vessel. The
Esquimaux spoke three or four at a time, laughed at the
ignorance of the crew in not understanding them, and
then talked away as before. ‘They were incessantly in
motion, going everywhere, trying doors, and squeezing
themselves through dark passages, round casks and
boxes, out into the light again, anxious to touch and
handle everything they saw, asking for or else endea-
vouring to steal everything they touched.’ At last, like
tired children, they went to sleep. They did not lie
86 . GREENLAND'S ICY MOUNTAINS.

down, but slept sitting, with the head dropped on the
breast, some of them snoring famously. Each one was
sure to have a piece of raw meat lying beside him; and
when he woke his first act was to eat, and then he was
ready for another nap. Every man ate when he felt
inclined ; they did not seem to have any idea of taking
regular meals as we do. At length their S4sit was over,
and away they went, men, dogs, and sledges, gliding over
the ice as swiftly as they came. ,

The Arctic summer began at last, to the great joy of
the crew of the Advance. Seal, walrus, bears, foxes,
rabbits, hares, eider duck, and wild birds of -various.
kinds, suddenly swarmed in that hitherto silent region
The Arctic plants sent forth their flowers, and hope made
glad the hearts of the men.

-The short Arctic summer was too soon over. The
stunted plants had borne their stunted fruit, and cast
their seed; and yet the ice lingered around the brig.
The Advance was still a prisoner. Sorrowfully her crew
prepared for another winter in their frozen home. A
‘number of them tried to escape in sledges, but they were
obliged to come back to the ice-bound brig, and share
the fate of their companions.

Through this second long winter they bore sickness
and cold and hunger, yet their brave commander never
despaired, never failed to set the example of patient,
cheerful, hopeful endurance.

Visits to the Esquimaux of these regions took place
through the winter and spring. The strangers learned
to crawl through the long narrow passage that leads from
the door to the interior of the small snow-covered huts.
There they could sleep among the heaps of naked natives:
there they could eat raw meat or soup of doubtful cookery
with almost as good an appetite as the greedy Esquimaux
themselves. The interior of these thronged huts is often
GREENLAND'S ICY MOUNTAINS. 87

excessively warm, and their filth is such as to shock a
civilised man. Yet the Esquimaux are kind to the
stranger, and cheerfully share with him their scanty
stores.

Once ‘murder, the burial of the living, the killing of
infants, were common among them. Once a vessel
could not with safety touch upon their coast, whole

crews having been murdered by the wild natives. ‘But
‘for the last hundred years Greenland has been safer
for the wrecked mariner than many parts of our own
coast.”

The virtues which have been taught by the Christian
missionaries to those who have received Jesus as their
Saviour, have spread even among the heathen natives.
Here, as ever, a blessing has followed the arrival of the
noble men who have left all to preach Jesus to the
ignorant and degraded.

We cannot trace Dr. Kane and his party through all
their trials and adventures. On the 18th of May 1855,
the brig was finally abandoned; and by sledges and
boats the remains of the once hopeful party made their
way to South Greenland. They had not found Sir John
Franklin, but they had passed two winters farther north
than any Europeans had ever made their homes, and
gathered much information important to science. They
had proved the existence of an open sea beyond the ice
of the polar regions, a fact of the utmost value, and for
which the name of Dr. Kane will be long remembered.

For eighty-four days after abandoning the brig the
erew of the Advance had lived in the open air, under-
going all manner of dangers, privations, and hardships,
when they at last reached a Danish settlement, and, in
the midst of a crowd of children, for the last time hauled
their boats on the rocks.

So accustomed were the wayworn men to life in the
88 GREENLAND'S ICY MOUNTAINS.

open air, that they could not at first remain within a
house without a distressing sense of suffocation. That
night they ‘drank coffee before many an hospitable
threshold, and listened again and again to the hymn of
welcome, which, sung by many voices, greeted their
deliverance.’

Truly it was a time for hymns of praise, a time for
thanksgiving to the God who had watched over and pre-
served ‘them through all their wanderings.

A loft was fitted up for their reception as soon as they
could bear in-door life, and the humble Danes freely
shared their scanty stores with the broken-down sailors
of the Advance. The Christian kindness of these poor
Danes cannot be too much commended. ,

From this hospitable region the wanderers set sail in
a Danish vessel, and touched for a short stay at a more
southern port of Greenland. They were on the eve of
again embarking, when a look-out man on a hill-top
announced a steamer in the distance...&It drew near
with a bark in tow,’ says Dr. Kane, ‘and we soon re-
cognised the stars and stripes of America. The Faith’—
the boat in which the poor sufferers had escaped— was
lowered for the last time into the water, and the little
flag which had floated so near the poles of both hemi-
spheres opened once more to the breeze. Followed by
all the boats of the settlement, we went out to meet the
steamer. Weneared the squadron, and the gallant men
that had come out to seek us; we could see the scars .
which their own ice-battles had impressed on their
vessels; we knew the gold lace of the officers’ cap-
bands, and discerned the groups who, glass in hand,
were evidently regarding us.

‘Presently we were alongside. An officer whom I
shall ever remember as a cherished friend, Captain Hart-
’ stene, hailed a little man in a ragged flannel shirt. “Is
GREENLAND'’S ICY MOUNTAINS. 89

that Dr. Kane 2?” and with the “Yes!” that followed, the
- Yigging was manned by our countrymen, and cheers
welcomed us back to the social world of love they re-
presented.’

Since the publication of his interesting account of his
expedition,’ Dr. Kane has died in consequence of the
privations and hardships he endured.

1Tun Far Norru: Explorations in the Arctic Regions. By
Elisha Kent Kane, M.D., commander, second ‘Grinnell’ expedition

in search of Sir John Franklin. Feap. 8vo, cloth extra, price 2s.
Edinburgh: William P. Nimmo.


90 GREENLAND S ICY MOUNTAINS.

CHAPTER IL

E cannot but admire the courage and patient
endurance of Dr. Kane and his men; yet even
greater courage and greater patience have
been shown on the shores of Greenland.

In the year 1710 there was a happy parsonage at
Vogen, in Norway, where lived a useful pastor and his
beloved family. ‘That pastor, the Rev. Hans Egede, had
won the affection of his people, and week by week he
was leading them towards the same heaven which was

-to be his everlasting home. Dear as was this devoted

pastor to'the people of his flock, he was not more prized
by them than was his gentle wife.

When a sick child among the people had wearied out
even the mother by its long illness, then it was that Ann
Egede was found by its bedside, soothing it by her sweet
voice, and nursing it with the tenderest care. When a
sorrowing widow sat alone in her desolate home, the
footstep of the minister's wife was heard on the threshold,
and soon sweet words of comfort and affectionate sym-
pathy were cheering the solitary mourner. Ann Egede
was the light of the parsonage. She had ever a welcome
of smiles for her husband, she had ever pure counsel
and kind judicious care; God had given hey also asweet
-young family.

This was a happy household, yet here a shadow fell.
The face of Hans Egede grew sad; a deep burden was


GREENLAND'S ICY MOUNTAINS. 91

on his heart. The joy which he had in the knowledge
of a Saviour made him feel but the deeper pity for the
heathen who were far from God. The peace that pre-
vailed in his Christian home but made him realize more
fully what must be the misery of the families where the
law of love was not taught, and where anger, envy, and
every evil passion raged. To Greenland his thoughts
particularly turned, and his soul yearned to bear the
message of Christ to the lost people of that frozen land.

To his dear wife the earnest minister at length told
his secret sorrow, the secret wish which had become so
strong within him.

Poor Ann Egede! Her joy seemed crushed in a
moment. At first she shrank from the sacrifice pro-
posed ; but she saw that the holy purpose had taken too
deep a hold upon her husband to be easily given up.
Should she leave her pleasant home and go with him to
that distant, dreary land? This question she asked her-
self, this question she asked of God in prayer.

Peace came again to the heart of Ann Egede. God
had sent her strength to give up all for the sake of
Christ. She would go with her husband, and labour
with him to bring the heathen to the knowledge of the
Lord. The pastor was full of joy when he heard her
decision. He felt as if all difficulties were removed from
his path, now that his true wife was to -be at his side.
With stich an example of a Christian woman to prove
the truth of his religion, and such a labourer to aid him
in his work, he felt sure of success.

For ten long years the Rev. Hans Egede besought the
king of Denmark, and the bishops and merchants of his
own land, to give him permission and means to go to
the far away country and preach Christ to the ignorant
natives.

Permission and means were at Jast obtained. Hans
92 GREENLANDS ICY MOUNTAINS.

Egede might take the Bible in his hand, and go with its
message to ‘Greenland’s icy mountains,’

Sorrow now seized upon the people of Vogen. They
clung round their beloved pastor like children round a
tender mother’s neck. They besought him not to leave
them, and, weeping, pleaded with him to give up his
_ long-cherished plan. In their strong attachment to their
faithful minister, they felt as if it would be almost im-
possible for them to reach heaven without his holy
teaching and pure example. The people of Vogen had
the Bible for their guide, and Hans Egede knew that
God could lead them heavenward when he was far over
the sea. Hans Egede knew this, yet the voice of
his weeping people overcame him; could he leave
them ?

Calm and cheerful was Ann Egede in that hour of
doubt. The fearless woman strengthened her husband's
resolution, and assisted him in keeping firm to his pur-
pose. He resolved to go.

Wild, foolish, and almost mad, the pastor and his
wife were considered by most of their friends. Little
was then known of Greenland, and that little was but a
tale of misery and desolation. Yet one solemn sentence
of Scripture was enough to sustain Hans Egede and his
wife in this time of trial and reproach. Jesus had said,
‘Go ye into all the world, and preach the gospel to
every creature.’ He could sustain his chosen messengers
among the snows of Greenland as well as amid the com-
forts of their dear parsonage at Vogen.

In the month of May 1721, Hans Egede, with his wife
and four children, set sail for Greenland. On the wide
ocean they learned to know too well all the terrors of
the sea, Storms beat them about, contrary winds drove
them back, and terrible icebergs threatened to crush
them. The ship rolled and tossed on the mighty waves,
GREENLAND'S ICY MOUNTAINS. 93

and was well nigh dashed in pieces. But in the cabin
of that lonely ship there was one face full of peace.
There Ann Egede gathered her terrified children about
her, and soothed their fears by reminding them of Him
who ruleth the sea. There Ann Egede was at her hus-
band’s side, like an angel, comforting him with her sweet
words of hope and trust.

On the 8d of July, Egede and his family reached the
country which was henceforward to be their home.

Dr. Kane and his party, when they set out on their

expedition, were going on a long and trying voyage |

truly ; yet they hoped, they expected to return. They
looked forward to the time when they should see again
the ‘dear familiar faces,’ and be welcomed at the fire-
sides where they were beloved. No such hope, no such
expectation, had Hans Egede and his wife to cheer them.
They had given up friends, home, and country to live
among the Greenlanders, and to know no other dwelling-
place.

A dreary prospect it must have seemed when they
first entered the miserable snow-covered huts, and saw
the poverty and filth within them. Yet there was no
look of discontent on the sweet face of Ann Egede. Her
smile and her cheerfulness were ready to make glad her
husband’s poor home in this far foreign land.

The miserable ignorant Greenland women she met
with kindness, and they must have soon seen that some
one quite unlike themselves had come to dwell among
them. How she must have longed to tell them at once
of that Saviour whose humble follower she was, and
whose religion she so adorned !

All was new and strange to the pastor and his family.
Even the language of the country had yet to be learned
by slow and toilsome efforts. As they heard the names
given by the Greenlanders to the objects about them,
94 GREENLAND S ICY MOUNTAINS.

they wrote them down, and rejoiced over each word that
they learned, for each word gained brought nearer the
time when they could preach Jesus to this benighted
people.

The impatient missionaries could not wait until they
could speak to the Greenlanders in their own language,
before they made known to them some of the facts of
Scripture. As we teach little children by Bible pictures,
before they can understand all the deep truths of the
word of God, so they taught the Greenlanders. By
sketches of some of the scenes described in Scripture,
Hans Egede and his wife tried to prepare these poor
people for the religion they had come to teach. We
cannot doubt that Jesus at Bethlehem, Jesus on the
cross, and Jesus ascending to heaven, were drawn, while
the earnest missionaries tried to give the ignorant by-
standers some idea of Him who came to seek and to save
them that were loat.

The Greenlanders were stupid and indifferent; Hans
Egede and his wife could only speak by signs, and these
first efforts at instruction seemed all in vain. When
this rude people understood that the strangers were to
live among them, they were by no means pleased.
People who had not come to tradé with the natives were
unwelcome in that land, where food must be laid up
with care, and used with economy. Even the sweet face
of Ann Egede for a while failed to soften the coarse,
ignorant beings around her. But sickness came to the
little children, and the missionary’s wife won the mothers
by her attention to their darlings. They saw that the pale-
faced woman from over the seas was wiser than themselves
when disease threatened death; they saw that she was
more gentle and patient with the sufferers than they had
ever been. The presents that Hans Egede had made
to the Greenlanders, and the kindness he and his wife
GREENLAND'S ICY MOUNTAINS. 98

had shown them, at last had some effect, and they were
willing that the missionaries should remain among them,

Hardly had the earnest strangers begun to hope that
success might yet be in store for them, when a new diffi-
culty arose. The ship that was to have brought provisions
from Norway was delayed in its coming. The miserable
food of the natives was fast diminishing, and famine
seemed near at hand. The Danes and Norwegians who
had come out with Egede, with the hope of making
money by trade with the natives, were disheartened.
They all resolved to return.

After anxious thought and sleepless nights, Hans
Egede decided that he had no right to expose his wife
and children to death from hunger and want. He would
return with his countrymen, a wretched, disappointed
man. This decision he announced to his wife. The
heart of Ann Egede was strengthened from above, in
that hour of trial. She would not accept the offer which
it had cost her husband such an effort to make. ‘No!
let us remain here, my husband,’ said the noble woman.
‘Hardships we expected, when we became missionaries.
Let us have patience!’ The strong, cheerful, hopeful,
trustful spirit of the wife upheld the soul of her husband.
The long-looked-for ship at length arrived ; food was once
more plenty, and good news from home made glad the
exiles,

Hans Egede sought in every way to win the confi-
dence and affection of the Greenlanders, but they seemed
to eare little to learn what he had to teach. Food and rest
for their poor bodies were more precious to them, than
any cultivation of their minds or any care for their souls.

The missionary and his wife had been tried by unkind-
ness, and threatened by famine, and yet they had re-
mained firm. They were now to suffer from a new

difficulty,
96 GREENLAND'S ICY MOUNTAINS.

The horrors of a Greenland winter gathered around
them. Shut within their narrow dwelling, they sought
to escape from the piercing cold that was changing all
nature into solid ice. Even there they could not escape
the searching blasts and the cruel frosts. ‘Cups of
heated water, or even brandy, if set upon the table, were
frozen in a few minutes. The linen was often frozen in
the drawers, and the soft eider-down bed and pillows
stiffened with frost, even while the sleepers rested there.’
Slowly the long dark night stole on, till at last there
was no light in their dwelling at mid-day, save that of
the ever-burning fire, and the precious lamp, which
was never suffered to go out.

Thus shut off from all the world, the heart of the wife
and mother did not sink in despondency. She had still
her dear ones around her, her God was still King in
heaven. To that God she prayed for strength to do her
duty in the strange position in which she found herself
placed; to those dear ones she devoted herself, and was
to them a comfort and a stay,

In the dark winter hours the children were taught
at their mother’s side, not only the learning ‘that makes

. the scholar wise, but that better wisdom which comes
from above. Time stole on, and their young minds,
subject to her sweet influence, unfolded, fair and truth-
loving, like that of their mother. The eldest daughter
resembled her in appearance as well as character. The
blue eyes, flaxen hair, and mild, earnest features of Ann
Figede were seen again in that daughter's face, who was
to be so like her in spirit and in purpose.

The wintry night brightened into twilight. Then
came the season of perpetual day, when no shadow
crept over the landscape at evening, no hour of darkness
called the weary to rest. The weeks went round un-
marked by dawn and sunset, till the eye was dim with
GREENLAND S ICY MOUNTAINS. 97

the continual brightness, and yearned to close itself in
the pleasant shade of night.

The seasons, so different from those to which they
had been accustomed, could not but be trying to the
strangers; yet they did not complain. They knew that
for wise reasons the short Arctic summer was all light.
They saw the plants springing as it were into life; they
saw the animals that had fled from the cold, suddenly
rejoicing around them; and they could not murmur,
but rather admired his wisdom who ‘doeth all things
well.’ :

Egede had left Norway full of hope. His hopes had
not been realized. The land was even more dreary than
it had been described, the people were far more stupid,
- far more difficult to be reached. They mocked at the
teacher of the new religion who had come to dwell
among them; they gave little heed to his instructions.

In the midst of his discouragements there was one
bright face ever ready to give him a welcome, one true
heart ever ready to yield its sympathy and comfort. Of
her own loneliness Ann Egede never spoke. She could
not, like her husband; vary her life by expeditions along
the coast, now on the swift sledge, now in the light boat.
At her fireside was her place of duty, and there she was
to be found, cheerful, placid, and useful, as in the plea-
sant parsonage at Vogen.

Such a wife was indeed a treasure; such a mother

could not but be blessed in her children. Without a
Christian visitor to look in on their solitude, with no
hope of change to cheer them, the family of Hans Egede
were not sorrowful. They were happy in themselves,
and happy in the love of their Maker. -

‘The little family group,’ says Mr. Carnes, ‘found
all their hopes and enjoyments in each other; and when
the father gave out the hymn, and they all joined their

G
98 GREENLAND’S ICY MOUNTAINS. .
voices or knelt down in prayer, it was as if one ‘soul and
one voice was offered to God.’

Seven years had passed since Hans Egede first set up
his family altar on the shores of Greenland. Ships froni
Norway had been hailed with joy as-they approached,
and watched as they receded from sight; yet the devoted
missionaries had seen them come and go, with firm hearts
and purposes unchanged. Now there was a promise of
brighter days. Several ships arrived from Denmark
containing colonists, who had come with the hope of
making a permanent and profitable settlement on the
shores of Greenland. Welcome as were the soldiers, the
mechanics, and the true wives who had followed their
fortunes, still more welcome to Egede were two Danish
clergymen, who had been sent by the king of Denmark to
aid him in his efforts for the poor heathen of Greenland.

The sufferings which Egede and his wife had borne
with such firmness were too much for the colonists,
Tried by the terrible climate, disappointed in their hopes
of gain, upon Egede they visited their wrath. They
fancied that his being there had occasioned their coming
to the dreary shore. They considered no violence too
great to be offered him; and but for the guard who
surrounded his dwelling, they might have slain him in
their anger. These new dangers could not shake the
spirit of Ann Egede. The wrath of man was as naught
to one who, like Elias, knew herself to be surrounded
by legions of angels; for the angels of the Lord encamp
poutid about them that fear Him, Calm, cheerful, and
fearless, she passed through that time of danger, a woman
indeed whose price was above rubies!

Cold, hunger, sickness, and disunion reduced the colo-
nists to a mere handful. The survivors had but one
thought, one wish—to see their native land again in
safety. Permission at length came to give up the
GREENLAND'S ICY MOUNTAINS. 99

proposed settlement. Then, from the least unto the
greatest, the emigrants escaped from the shores they
had learned to hate. Even the missionaries, upon whom
Egede had relied, deserted him. He too was called on
to flee as for his life. Provisions for but one year more
were promised him by the government; and after that
time no further aid was to be given him from his
fatherland, -

That fatherland was still dear to Egede and his wife,
still fresh in their memories. Its quiet homes, its
pleasant churches, its hillsides, and its lakes they had
described -to their children in the long winiey hours.
Should they not return to it once more ?

Egede was no longer the strong man who had first set
foot in Greenland: should he continue to labour until
his life was the sacrifice? Might he not die on that
dreary coast, and leave his wife and children among
savages in that far land? Every motive that could
influence Egede was brought forward, to persuade him
to give up his post. Eight years he had spent in that
frozen clime: should he now desert it in despair ?

Ann Egede knew and felt the terrors of her position,
but she spoke not to counsel return; now as ever the
husband and wife were one in purpose, one in heart.
‘Feed my lambs,’ was the risen Saviour’s charge to the
repentant Peter; and that message seemed now breathed
anew into the ears of Egede and his loving wife. One
hundred and fifty children of the Greenlanders claimed
their care, and were already under their instruction.
These ‘little ones’ they could endeavour to train for
Christ, and with them they resolved to remain. The
familiar faces, speaking the familiar language, turned
away from them. Every European departed in the
homeward bound ship, and Egede and his wife were
left alone in the land of their adoption. Not alone, for
100 GREENIAND'S ICY MOUNTAINS.

there was One with them ‘like unto the Son of man’—
one mighty to sustain, and strong in every hour of need.

Four more years the faithful missionaries had been
sowing the gospel seeds in faith, when three true Chris-
tian brothers came to cheer their hearts, and aid their
efforts.

Hardly had the detest thanksgivings of Bgede been
lifted up to heaven for this unexpected mercy, when a
new calamity overtook his poople. That fearful disease,
the’ small-pox, suddenly seized upon the natives, and
swept, a devouring pestilence, over the land. In the
midst of the dead and dying stood Egede, his sons, and
‘the Moravian missionaries who had come up to his aid.
Whole villages were left desolate by this awful scourge.
The rude natives who -had peopled the*desolated huts
were buried by the careful hands of the strangers.
Buried, we say; though in that land of ice the hard
earth does not receive the dead, but the cold body is laid
upon the cold ground, and there covered with stones,
that the wild beasts may not prey upon what was once
the frail habitation of a human soul.

We will not dwell wpon the scenes of distress that
Egede and his companions were called upon to witness.
They tried to lift the eyes of the dying to Jesus on the
cross. They comforted the orphans, and gave them into
the maternal care of Ann Egede. Her home became
an hospital, whither the dee were carried, till there
was no room for more. At the bedside of shese sufferers
Ann Egede was not only a tender, careful, untiring
nurse, but she had another office to perform for the
people of her husband’s charge. In health she had
spoken to them of the love of Jesus, and now, when
life was fading from their sight, she strove to lead
them to the only hope that can make glad the dark
valley of the shadow of death.
GREENLAND'S ICY MOUNTAINS. 101

Many and many a sickhed had been left vacant, as
the lifeless body had been borne to its last home, before
the pestilence seemed passing away. At length, after
raging for eight months, its ravages ceased. Then the
poor weak survivors began to rally, and to speak their
thanks to the strangers who had wasted their strength
and perilled their lives in their service.

The hearts of the Greenlanders were touched at last.
Now, for the first time, they had been made to feel the
power and beauty of the character of those who truly
follow Jesus. Those who had been enemies to Egede
were overcome by the kindness they received. One of
them said, with trembling lips, as he began to recover,
‘You have done for us what our own people would not
do. When we hungered, you have fed us. You have
buried our dead. You have told us of a better life.’
How such words must have gladdened the heart of the
missionary, who had so long laboured with no signs of
success |

‘Love your enemies; do good to them that hate you;
pray for them that despitefully use you.’ The heathen
had seen these commands fulfilled, and they owned the
power and truth of a religion which could lead to such
forgiveness and self-denial, though as yet they did not
embrace it. Egede would have given his own life’s
blood to have brought one heathen to the knowledge of
Christ, but he had a dearer price to pay for this his
first mere sliadow of success in the path he had chosen.
While exerting herself incessantly for others, Ann Egede
had not noted her own failing strength and feeble foot-
steps; but when those whom she had nursed were re-
joicing in returning health, it was plain that her vigour
had departed, and her end was near.

The tender nursing of her children, the silent anguish
of her husband, could not keep her spirit here. _Calmly
102 GREENLAND’S ICY MOUNTAINS.

she spoke of her approaching change to the weeping
circle around her. Her husband was as one crushed by
the power of an overwhelming, unexpected announce-
ment, While she was bright with the joy of one who is
almost in sight of the eternal city, his heart was wrung
with agony. - He could not believe that his once strong,
beautiful, devoted, matchless wife, was to leave him
alone labourer in the land where she had upheld his
spirit, and made glad his humble home.

Peacefully she awaited the slow approach of death,
peacefully she bowed to the destroyer. Her blessing on
the husband she had so loved was on her dying lips, as
those lips grew stiff and still for ever. Ann Egede had
ceased to live on earth, but her soul had entered upon
the gracious eternal reward in store for such as ‘through
faith and patience inherit the promises.’

A feeble woman by nature, Ann Egede had been
enabled to bear sufferings, and to face dangers from
which strong men shrank in fear, A true wife, a loving
mother, a devoted Christian, she has left a memory
which makes the shores of Greenland sacred.

For a few years, the blighted, crushed Hans Egede
lingered in the home where he had once been a happy
husband. His children sought to comfort him. His
eldest daughter devoted herself to him, and tried to fill
her mother’s place. Vain for a while were their tender
efforts; the wound was too deep for earthly hands to
cure.

The son who had been absent in Denmark at the time
of his mother’s death, returned to his Greenland home,
to ac} as-a missionary in a new colony. On him the
father looked with-sacred pleasure. The boy who had
been taught the love of Jesus from his mother’s lips, was
to preach in that holy name on the soil where she was
laid in death, He had a successor who would lift up
GREENLAND'S ICY MOUNTAINS. 108

the banner of Christ in this far land, when he should be
no more able to serve his Master on earth.

In 1786, Egede was called by the king of Denmark to
leave his adopted country, and return to his friends. A
broken, sorrowful man, Egede was welcomed back to
the land he had left when so full of hope and zeal, with
his priceless wife at his side.

At the head of a seminary for orphans, Egede found
a sphere of usefulness suited to his stricken spirit and
impaired health.

The daughter, who had personally so resembled her
mother, proved like that mother in her unselfish affection
for Hans Egede. To him she devoted her life; and
when, at the age of seventy-three, he died in the calm
peace of a Christian, her ear caught his last words, and
her hand closed his eyes when his freed spirit had fled
to its eternal home.

Greenland! that dreary land! at its name let us ever
remember the faithful ones who went thither to bear all
things for Christ’s sake, and let us be moved to labour
like them to spread wide the blessings of the gospel.


Ghe Poung Soldrer.




THE YOUNG SOLDIER.

——_—__

ORMAN had been looking from the window at
a company of soldiers who had just passed the
house, dressed in their gay uniform, and making
a fine appearance as they marched in time
with the music.

‘Mother,’ said he, after they were out of sight, ‘I
think I shall be a soldier; they look so grand and
beautiful.’

‘You do belong to an army, my son,’ said his mother.

‘Why, mother,’ said Norman, in astonishment, ‘ what
army ?? é

‘If you will sit quietly beside me,’ said his mother,
‘T will tell you a story which, I think, will explain to
you what I mean:

‘There was once a very great and good king, who had
a large country to govern. Tis laws were so wise that
those who obeyed them could not help being very happy.
He loved the people who lived there very much, and
employed workmen to make the land as beautiful and
fertile as possible. The most delicious fruit grew there,
and flowers of every colour; everywhere might be seen
107



108 THE YOUNG SOLDIER.

beautiful things which the king had placed there to
delight the inhabitants.

‘His palace was very far from the country which he —
governed, so that few of the people had seen him. But
he had means of knowing whether they obeyed his laws
or not, and he appointed many persons to teach them
and explain them, and the king said, those who loved
him and wished him to be their king, would try to obey
them,

‘But there was a very large number of his subjects
who, although they were very willing to enjoy the land
which he had made so beautiful, did not like him to be
their king. They thought that his laws were too strict,
and so they often disobeyed them, and loughed at the
obedient subjects, calling them gloomy.

‘Others did not take the trouble to learn what the
laws were, so they could not obey them, These were
all the king’s enemies, and he regarded them as such,
though he let them live in his country, hoping that some
time “they would learn better, and become his loving
subjects.

‘He had another enemy who lived in an adjoining
country. This enemy had fought the king and been
defeated, so that he was careful not to come in open
battle with him again ; but he would often go in disguise
into the king’s land, and try to persuade some of his
subjects to come and be his soldiers, or to make them
discontented with their own king. He was always very
glad when any one found fault with the strict laws.

‘Yet, whenever he talked to the faithful subjects,
they always seemed to know who he was, and drove him
away, They had to fight very hard indeed, and some-
times were wounded severely; but if they used the

word and shield’ with which the king had provided
' Eph. vi. 16, 17.
THE YOUNG SOLDIER. 109

them, they were always successful. Because these faith-
ful subjects had to fight for their king, he called them
his soldiers.

Though this enemy ‘received often very severe wounds,
he was never entirely destroyed, and made his appear-
ance again and again. He liked to come to the children
living in the king’s country, because they could not find
him out as easily as those who were older. He told
them there would be time enough for them to learn
about the king’s laws when they grew to be men and
women ; while they were young they should enjoy them-
selves. Sometimes he persuaded them that the laws
were only for old and sober people, and they could not
be happy if they obeyed them. Those children who
listened: to him almost always became enemies to their
king, and joined those who said they would not ies
him to reign over them.

‘But those parents who were good soldiers wanted
their children to fight for their king too ; so, before they
were old enough to listen to the enemy, often while they
were yet infants, their parents brought them to some
one of the king’s messengers, whom he had sent to teach
his laws, and promised that their little ones should be
soldiers. Then the messenger puta seal on their fore-
heads, for a sign that they would fight bravely; and
after that these children belonged to the king’s army.

‘A great many of them, when they were old enough
to understand what their parents had promised, and had
been taught about the great king, were glad to be his
soldiers and fight for him. The seal in their foreheads
shone brilliantly, and made their faces so beautiful, that
even those who would not cbey their king, admired
them.

‘True-heart was the name of one of the children who
had been marked with the king’s seal. One of the
110 | THE YOUNG SOLDIER.

king’s messengers spent a great deal of time in telling
‘him of the goodness of the king to him, and teaching
him his laws. He was taught, too, how to use the
sword, so that he could fight the enemy with it; and he
was told how ungrateful those people were who, while
they enjoyed the king’s beautiful country, would not
obey his laws. When True-heart was quite a little boy,
he said, “I will keep my father’s promise, and Be a
soldier.”

‘When the king heard of this youthful soldier, he
loved him, and sent him a shield? and helmet,? with the
message that he must always keep them bright, and then
he would fight successfully. True-heart spent a great
deal of time in polishing the shield and helmet, and the
enemy hardly dared to approach him; for, however he
was disguised, True-heart always knew him, and gave
him such hard blows with his sword that he would be
obliged to retreat. :

‘If all the children who were sealed had been like
True-heart, the king would have had a large and brave
army, But many of them listened to the enemy, and
did not try to learn the king’s laws, or how to use their
sword; so, although they wore the seal in their fore-
heads, it only dishgured them, for it was tarnished and
discoloured ; and though they were members ofthe army,
they were no soldiers, but idle and worthless to the king.

‘Light-mind was such a boy; he did not care for his
father’s promise, and liked best to spend his time in play
and idleness.

‘One day he went to visit True-heart. He found the
faithful young soldier in his garden, polishing his shield,
surrounded by lovely flowers and noble trees. The seal
on his forehead shone brightly, and he looked, as he felt,

very happy.
1 Eph, vi. 16. #1 Thess. v. 8
THE YOUNG SOLDIER. 111

‘As Light-mind saw him, he envied him, and thought,
“J wish I could make True-heart’s seal dull as. mine
is.”

‘What are you so busy about?” asked he as he
approached True-heart.

‘“T am polishing my shield, which the king sent to
me when I promised to be a soldier,” was his reply. “I
must keep it bright, or it will be of no use. Haven't
you one?”

¢*¢ Not I,” said Light-mind; “I wouldn’t be troubled
with keeping it bright. I like to enjoy myself too well;
and then I could not carry such a great thing about with
me. I used to have a sword, but I lost it long ago. I
was glad to get rid of it, too, for it was only in my way.”

‘“But don’t you mean to be a soldier?” said True-
heart. “You know you belong to the army.”

“Oh! yes,” said Light-mind; “I suppose after a
while I will; but I am too young to fight yet; besides, I
have not seen any enemy. I should like very much to
have such a helmet as yours; so I believe when I have
time I will find my sword, and learn how to use it. But
don’t you get very tired working so hard?” :

6 Oh! the work does not seem hard to me; but I often
stop and eat some of this good fruit, which the king’s
servants have planted here, and that always refreshes
me. I will get some now.” Then True-heart shook one
of the trees, which was loaded with fruit, and brought
some of it to Light-mind, who tasted it, but did not
seem to relish it as True-heart did.

‘“T know where there is much better fruit than this,”
said he; “and if you will go with me, I will get some for
you.”

‘«& Where is it?” said True-heart.

‘Only a short distance down this lane, which you
see at the side of the garden,” was the reply.
112 THE YOUNG SOLDIER.

‘“ Oh! I cannot go there,” said True-heart, “it leads
to the enemy’s country.”

‘* Nonsense,” replied Light-mind, “I don’t believe
it. Ihave been there a thousand times, and never was
harmed; besides, there’s a thick hedge everywhere else
separating this country from the enemy’s, but here you
can hardly see any hedge at all; deed, I have heard
many persons say that what there is has been planted by
some austere person, who did not want us to have any
‘enjoyment at all, You had better come,” he continued,
seeing True-heart hesitate; “ you can take your shield
and sword, and-then you will be safe.”

‘True-heart looked towards the lane, and wondered
that he had never noticed how beautiful it was; so gay
with bright flowers, while the trees were full of the most
delicious-looking fruit. He followed Light-mind slowly
at first; but.as he came near to that which he had always
supposed was the boundary line, he quickened his steps,
until he was fairly in the lane.

¢« There,” said Light-mind, “TI told you that this did
not lead to the enemy’s country; there is no hedge, only
a few beautiful flowers.”

‘Tf True-heart had used his sword to put aside the
flowers, he would have seen the hedge planted by the
king, trampled down, it is true, but still there. But
they went on, sometimes plucking the beautiful flowers
springing up in their path, and sometimes stopping to
eat of the fruit which grew in abundance. But True-
heart noticed that these flowers, unlike any he had picked
before, had thorns concealed, which wounded his fingers ;
and the fruit, though it tasted pleasantly at first, did not
refresh him, as that which he had eaten before always
did, but left an unpleasant, bitter taste. He mentioned
this to Light-mind, who told him the fruit of the next
tree would overcome it. But he tried in vain; each kind
THE YOUNG SOLDIER: 118

of fruit he took left a more unpleasant taste than before.
His sword, which had never seemed heavy before, was
now so much’ in his way that Light-mind urged him to
lay it aside until their return; but True-heart would not
do that, for fear he should lose it, as Light-mind lost his,

‘At last, weary and sick, he sat down upon a bank
to rest; then he hearda whisper in his ear: “ You are
in the enemy’s country, True-heart; you had better go
- home.” It came from one of the messenger birds, which
the king sent to warn his soldiers when they did wrong.
At first True-heart did not notice it much, but the
whisper sounded louder: “You are in the enemy’s
country ; return to your father’s house.” He sprang up,
exclaiming in a voice of fear, ‘“ Where have you led me,
Light-mind? we are in the enemy’s country. Let us
hasten home.”

‘“ No, indeed,” said Light-mind ; “this is a very good
country, and I am going on still further before I return,
You must not listen to those messenger birds; Inever do;
and then they go away and don’t trouble me any more.”

‘But the voice sounded again: “You are wrong; go
home.” And True-heart hesitated no longer. “If you
will not go with me,” said he, “I must go alone, for my
father says these birds come from the king, and I must
always do as they say.” ;

‘« Your seal is tarnished,” said Light-mind, “and no
one will know you. I don’t believe the king will own
you for his soldier if you do return, so you had better
stay here and enjoy yourself.”

‘When he said this, True-heart felt very sad, for he
had not thought of his seal before, but still he said, “I
am determined to go home.”

‘As he said this, Light-mind noticed that his seal
began to brighten, so he was more earnest than ever in
trying to persuade True-heart to stay ; but the resolute

H
114 THE YOUNG SOLDIER.

soldier turned his ngeks upon him, saying, “ You had
better return with me.” But Light-mind only laughed
at him, calling him a fool for leaving so much enjoyment.
True-heart did not mind this, but kept steadily on his
way home, though the path was very indistinct, and he
was in danger of losing his way. Soon night came on,
and it was so dark that he could sce but one step before
him; then he found his bright shield a sure euide;
ee seemed a light to proceed from it, showing him the
path distinctly.

‘The enemy did not permit "Bue cheast to leave his
ground without some effort to detain him there. He
placed some of his own servants behind the trees and
bushes, to shoot fiery darts at him, to kill him, if possible,
before he could leave the lane. The young soldier made
good use of his shield, and most of the darts struck
harmlessly against its polished surface. They were
principally aimed at his helmet. The enemy thought
if he could only throw that off, True-heart would be
certainly killed. But it was fastened too securely, and
though sometimes it would shake, he never lost it.

‘For the most part, these cunning servants of the enemy
kept out of True-heart’s sight, which they could easily
do, because of the darkness; but when some of the
bolder ones came near enough for him to see them, he
- used his sword to such good purpose that they were
compelled to retreat, covered with wounds.

‘Thus True-heart fought until he came again to the
king’s country, weary and sorely wounded, yet a con-
queror. Then he was troubled lest the king would
never again regard him with favour; but the faithful
messenger who had taught him so much about his duty,
advised: him to send an account of his wandering to the
king, and implore his forgiveness. His words reached
the palace with the speed of lightning, and soon a pardon




Grace Harvey — Page 114,
THE YOUNG SOLDIZN. 115

came, granted because the king’s only son had begged
his father to forgive True-heart.

The young soldier now loved his king more than ever,
and many were the battles he fought for him, not only
against the enemy, who lived in an adjoining country, but
against those ungrateful ones who, though they enjoyed
the good land, would not acknowledge their king.

‘There were other enemies who often attacked him.
One, whose name was Jll-temper, tried to make him
unkind to others, or to quarrel with them, instead of
employing his time in keeping his shield and helmet
bright. Another, called Pride, tried to make him think
himself very good, and deserving of the favour of the
king, because he had fought his way so bravely out of
the enemy’s country. These evil ones sometimes wounded
True-heart, and might have overcome him if he had not
cried to his king for help to drive them away. This
help was always given, until, finding themselves so often
conquered, they troubled him less and less.

‘‘True-heart never ceased to warn all young soldiers
against the lane which had so nearly proved his ruin.
Many heeded him, but others, because it looked so bright
and blooming, would venture in. He even tried to build
up a hedge, but heedless ones would break it down, and
the enemy would cover it with flowers.

‘He often thought of Light-mind with sorrow and tears,
and wished that he had urged him to remain with him
in his father’s garden, and told him more about his
shield and helmet, instead of following his guidance
down the deceitful’path. But True-heart never heard
of him again, and he feared that he had gone to live in
the enemy’s country, and would never return.

‘True-heart continued a faithful soldier until he was an

‘old man. Then a servant came from the king’s palace
to take him to live there. He went with joy, for he ~
“316 THE YOUNG SOLDIER.

longed “to see the king in his beauty,” and look upon
the face of his son, for whose sake he had been pardoned.
When he came to the palace, and the king saw the seal
upon his forehead, a crown was put upon his head,! be-
cause he had been faithful, and had overcome the king’s
enemies. He rested from his warfare, for there were
none in the palace who did not love and honour the
king ; and he had joy and peace for ever.’

Norman seemed to be thinking deeply for a few
minutes after his mother ceased. At last he said: ‘Do
you mean, mother, that because you and my father
promised at my baptism that I should serve God, that I
ought to be one of Christ’s soldiers now? I never
thought I had anything to do with that until I should be
a man.’

‘Oh, yes, my son, you are bound by the most solemn
promises of your parents to begin to live for God as
soon as you can understand what He wishes you to do
Youthful soldiers must fight as well as those who are
older.’

‘But, mother, there are some things about the story
which I do not quite understand.’

‘ First tell me what you do understand, and I will ex-
plain the rest,’ said his mother.

‘I suppose,’ Norman began, ‘that the king is God;
He rules over the world, and has told us to obey his
commandments. Those who do not obey them are the
ungrateful ones.’

‘Very well,’ said his mother, ‘and who is the enemy?’

‘I think it is the devil,’ said Norman, ‘because you
told me when I learned that verse, “ Be sober, be vigi-
lant, because your adversary, the devil, goeth about asa
roaring lion, seeking whom he may devour”—that he

1 Rev. ii, 4.
THE. YOUNG SOLDIER. 117

tries to keep us from loving and serving God. And
then I learned that verse about “The sword of the
Spirit,” which is the word of God; so I suppose the
sword which the King gave means the Bible. But I
don’t understand about the shield and helmet.’

‘Soldiers in ancient times,’ said his mother, ‘carried
on their left arms a shield to keep off the arrows of their
enemies; it was made of brass, and if highly polished,
the arrows or darts would slip off from its smooth surface.
They also wore a cap of brass upon their heads, called a
helmet. Our King gives to his soldiers the shield of
faith. It is a trust in Christ, believing that He can and
will save you. Satan cannot harm you while you have
that. You must keep this faith bright by prayer, and
learning in the Bible about the Saviour’s great love to
you—how He left his bright home in heaven and came
to this world to die for sinners. The hope of being
saved by Him is the helmet which God provides for all
who wish to be his soldiers. Gentle tempers and kind
actions are the signs which should distinguish Christ’s
soldiers, making them like the beautiful ornament on
True-heart’s forehead, lovely in the sight of all. Evil
passions, unconquered, will be like Light-mind’s dull
and tarnished seal, disgraceful to the wearer, marking
him an unfaithful soldier.’

.‘Then, mother, do you mean that going into the enemy’s
‘country was sin, and that tarnished True-heart’s seal ?’

‘Yes, my son, all neglect of duty, or engaging in
amusements which seem delightful, but lead the youth-
ful soldier away from his service to Christ, is sin. When
once the young soldier is led by a light mind into for-
bidden pleasures, the enemy will try his utmost to keep
him engaged in them. Happy is he whose bright shield
of faith will show him the path to his Father’s house,
-and defend him from the attacks of the wicked one.’
118 THE YOUNG SOLDIER.

‘Was not the bird who spoke to True-heart, Con-
science ?’ said Norman.

‘Yes; and it will always warn you when you are
wrong. May you listen to it as he did, and ask the
pardon of your King through Jesus Christ, his Son.
Then when his servant, Death, comes for you, you will
be taken to that glorious abode which the King has pro-
vided for all his faithful ones, where sin can never
enter.’


frank Pudlow.


FRANK LUDLOW.

wa)?

NVA bs
Oo

Vay

fa is time Frank and Edward were at home,’
said Mrs. Ludlow. So she stirred and re-
plenished the fire, for it was a cold winter’s
evening.

‘Mother, you gave them liberty to stay and play after
school,’ said little Eliza.

‘Yes, my daughter; but the time is expired. I wish
my children to come home at the appointed time, as
well as to obey me in all other things. The stars are
already shining, and they are not allowed to stay out so
late.’

‘Dear mother, I think I hear their voices now.’ Little
Eliza climbed into a chair, and drawing aside the win-
dow-curtain, said joyfully, ‘Oh yes! they are just coming
in at the gate.’

Mrs. Ludlow told her to go to the kitchen, and see
that the bread was toasted nice and warm, for their
bowls of milk, which had been some time ready.

Frank and Edward Ludlow were fine boys, of eleven
and nine years old. They returned in high spirits, from
their sport on the frozen pond. They hung up their
121



hs
123 : FRANK LUDLOW.

skates in the proper place, and then hastened to kiss
their mother.

‘We have stayed longer at pie than we ought, my
dear mother,’ said Edward.

‘You are neatly an hour beyond the time,’ said Mrs.
Ludlow.

‘Edward reminded me twice,’ said Frank, ‘that we
ought to go home. But oh, it was such excellent skating,
that I could not help going round the pond again and
again. We left all the boys there when we came away.
The next time, we will try to beas true as the town-
clock. And it is not Edward’s fault now, mother.’

‘Boys, I always expect you to leave your sports at
the time that I appoint. I know that you do not intend
to disobey, or to give me anxiety. But you must take
pains to be punctual. When you become men, it will
be of great importance that you observe your engage-
ments. Unless you perform what is expected of you, at
the proper time, people will cease to have confidence in
you.’

The boys promised to be punctual and obedient, and
their mother assured them that they were not often for-
getful of these important duties.

Eliza came in with the bread nicely toasted for their
supper. ,
‘What a good little one, to be thinking of her
brothers, when they are away! Come, Eliza, sit between

us.’

Eliza felt very happy when her brothers each gave
her a kiss, and she looked up in their faces with a sweet
stnile.

The evening meal was a pleasant one. The mother
and her children talked cheerfully together. Each had
some little agreeable circumstance to relate; and they,
felt how happy it is for a family to live in love.
FRANK LUDLOW. .. 123

After supper, books and maps were laid on the table,
and Mrs. Ludlow said—

‘Come, boys, you go to school every day, and your
sister does not. It is but fair that you should teach her
something. First examine her in the lessons she has
learned with me, and then you may add some knowledge
from your own store.’

So Frank overlooked her geography, and asked her a
few questions on the map ; and Edward explained to her
a little arithmetic, and told a story from the history of
England, with which she was much pleased. Soon she
grew sleepy, and kissing her brothers, wished them an
affectionate Good night. Her mother went with her, to
see her laid comfortably in bed, and to hear her repeat
her evening hymns, and thank her Father in heaven for
his care of her through the day.

When Mrs. Dadlew returned to the parlour, she found
her sons busily employed in studying their lessons for
the following day. She sat down beside them with her
work, and when they now and then looked up from
their books, they saw that their diligence was rewarded
by her approving eye.

When they had completed their studies, they replaced
the books which they had used in the book-case, and
drew their chairs nearer to the fire. The kind mother

- joined them, with a basket of fruit; and while they par-
took of it, they had the following conversation :—

Mrs. Iudlow.—'T should like to hear, my dear boys,
more of what you have learned to-day.’ ;

Frank.—‘T have been much pleased with a book that
I borrowed of one of the boys. Indeed, I have hardly
thought of anything else. J put it inside of my geo-
graphy, and read it while the master thought I was

» studying.’
Mrs. Ludlow.—‘T am truly sorry, Frank, that you
124 FRANK LUDLOW.

should be willing to deceive. What are called boys
tricks, too often lead to falsehood, and end in disgrace.
On this occasion you cheated yourself also. You lost
the knowledge which you might have gained, for the
sake of what, I suppose, was only some book of amuse-
ment.’

Frank.— Mother, it was the life of Charles the x11. of
Sweden, You know that he was the bravest soldier. of
his times. He beat the King of Denmark, when he was
only eighteen years old. Then he defeated the Russians
at the battle of Narva, though they had 80,000 soldiers,
and he had not a quarter of that number.’

Mrs. Ludlow.—‘ How did he die ??

Frank,—‘ He went to make war in Norway. It was
a terribly severe winter ; but he feared no hardship. The
cold was so great that his sentinels were often found
frozen to death at their posts. He was besieging a
town called Frederickshall. It was about the middle of
December. He gave orders that they should continue
to work on the trenches, though the feet of the soldiers
were benumbed, and their hands froze to the tools. He
got up very early one morning to see if they were at
their work. The stars shone clear and bright on the
snow that covered everything. Sometimes a firing was
heard from the enemy; but he was too courageous to
mind that. Suddenly a cannon-shot struck him, and he
fell. When they took him up, his forehead was beat in,
but his right hand still strongly grasped the sword.
Mother, was not that dying like a brave man?’

Mrs. Iudlow.—‘I should think there was more of
rashness than bravery in thus exposing himself for no
better reason. Do you not feel that it was cruel to
force his soldiers to such labours in that dreadful climate,
and to make war when it was not necessary? The his-
torians say that he undertook it only to fill up an interval
FRANK LUDLOW. 125

of time, until he could be prepared for his great cam-
paign in Poland. §o, to amuse his restless mind, he was
willing to destroy his own, soldiers, willing to see even
his most faithful friends frozen every morning into
statues. Edward, tell me what you remember ?’

Edward.— My lesson in the history of Rome was
the character of Antoninus Pius. He was one of the
best of the Roman emperors. While he was young, he
paid great respect to the aged; and when he grew rick,
he gave liberally to the poor. He greatly disliked war.

He said he had “ rather save the life of one subject than
destroy a thousand enemies.” Rome was prosperous and
happy under his government. He reigned twenty-two
years, and died with many friends surrounding his bed,
at the age of seventy-four.’

Mrs. Ludlow.—' Was he not beloved by the people
whom he ruled? I have read that they all mourned at
his death, as if they had lost a father. Was it not
better to be thus lamented, than to be remembered
only by the numbers he had slain, and the miseries he
had caused ?”

Frank.— But, mother, the glory of Charles the xm.
of Sweden was certainly greater than that of a quiet
old man, who, I dare say, was afraid to fight. Anto-
ninus Pius was clever enough; but you .cannot deny
that Alexander, and Cesar, and Bonaparte, had far
greater talents. They will be called heroes and praised
as long as the world stands.’

Mrs. Ludlow.—‘My dear children, those talents
should be most admired which produce the greatest
good. That fame is the highest which best agrees with
our duty to God and man. Do not be dazzled by the
false glory that surrounds the hero. Consider it your
glory to live in peace, and to make others happy. Be-
lieve me, when you come to your deathbeds—and oh,
126 FRANK LUDLOW. |

how soon will that be, for the longest life is short !—
it will give you more comfort to reflect that you have
healed one broken heart, given one poor child the means
of education, or sent to one heathen the book of salva-
tion, than that you lifted your hand to destroy your
fellow-creatures, and wrung forth the tears of widows
and of orphans.’

The hour of rest had come, and the mother opened
the large family Bible, that they might together remem-
ber and thank Him who had preserved them through
the day. When Frank and Edward took leave of her
for the night, they were grieved to see that there were
tears in her eyes. They lingered by her side, hoping
she would tell them if anything had troubled her. But
she only said, ‘My sons, my dear sons, before you sleep,
pray-to God for a heart to love peace.’

After they had retired, Frank said to his brother,

‘I cannot feel that it is wrong to be a soldier. Was
not our father one? “I shall never forget the fine stories
he used to tell me about battles, when I was almost a
baby. I remember that I used to climb up on his knee,
and put my face close to his. Then I used to dream of
prancing horses, and glittering swords, and sounding
trumpets, and wake up and wish I was a soldier. In-
deed, Edward, I wish sonow. But I cannot tell dear
mother what is in my heart, for it would grieve her.’

‘No, no, don’t tell her so, dear Frank, and pray,
never be a soldier. I have heard her say that father’s
ill-health, and most of his troubles, came from the life
that he led in camps. He said on his deathbed, that if
he could live his youth over again, he would be a meek
follower of the Saviour, and not a man of blood,’

‘Edward, our father was engaged in the war of the
Revolution, without which we should all have been slaves,
Do you pretend to say that it was not a holy war?
FRANK LUDLOW. 127

‘IT pretend to say nothing, brother, only what the
Bible says, Render to no man evil for evil; but follow
after the things that make for peace.’

The boys had frequent conversations on the subject
of war and peace. Their opinions still continued to
differ. Their love for their mother prevented their
holding these discourses often in her presence, for they
perceived that Frank’s admiration of martial renown
gave her increased pain. She devoted her life to the
education and happiness of her children. She secured
for them every opportunity in her power for the acqui-
sition of useful knowledge, and both by precept and
example urged them to add to their ‘knowledge, tem-
perance ; and to temperance, brotherly kindness; and to
brotherly kindness, charity.’

This little family were models of kindness and affec-
tion among themselves. Each strove to make the others
happy. Their fireside was always cheerful, and the sum-
mer evening walks which the mother took with her chil-
dren were sources both of delight and improvement.

Thus years passed away. The young saplings which
they had cherished grew up to be trees, and the boys
became men. The health of the kind and faithful
mother became feeble. At'length she visibly declined.
But she wore on her brow the same sweet smile which
had cheered their childhood.

liza watched over her night and day, with the
tenderest care. She was not willing that any other
hand should give the medicine or smooth the pillow
of the sufferer. She remembered the love that had
nurtured her own childhood, and wished to perform
every office that grateful affection could dictate.

Edward had completed his collegiate course, and was
studying at a distant seminary, to prepare himself for
the ministry. He had sustained a high character as a
128 FRANK LUDLOW.

scholar, and had early chosen his place among the
followers of the Redeemer. As often as was in his
power, he visited his beloved parent during her long
sickness, and his letters, full of fond regard and pious
confidence, continually dheered her.

Erank resided at home. He had chosen to pursue the
business of agriculture, and superintended their small
family estate. He had an affectionate heart, and hig
attentions to his declining mother were unceasing. In
her last moments he stood by her side. His spirit was
deeply smitten, as he supported his weeping sister at
the bed of the dying. Pain had departed, and the meek
Christian patiently awaited the coming of her Lord.
She had given much counsel to her children, and sent
tender messages to the absent one. She seemed to have
done speaking. But while they were uncertain whether
she yet breathed, she raised her eyes once more to her
first-born, and said faintly, ‘My son, follow peace with
all men.’

These were her last words. They listened attentively,
but her voice was heard no more.

Edward Ludlow was summoned to the funeral of his
beloved mother. After she was committed to the dust,
he remained afew days to mingle his sympathies with
his brother and sister. He knew how to comfort them
out of the Scriptures, for therein was his hope in all
time of his tribulation.

Frank listened to all his admonitions with a serious
countenance and a sorrowful heart. He loved his brother
with great ardour, and to the mother for whom they
mourned he had always been dutiful. Yet she had felt
painfully anxious for him to the last, because he had
not made choice of religion for his guide, and secretly
coveted the glory of the warrior.

After he became the head of the household, he continued
FRANK LUDLOW. 129

to take the kindest care of his sister, who prudently
managed all his affairs, until his marriage. The com-
panion whom he chose was a most amiable young
woman, whose society and friendship greatly cheered
the heart of Eliza. There seemed to be not a shadow
over the happiness of that small and loving family.

But in little more than a year after Frank’s marriage,
the second war between this country and Great Britain
commenced, Eliza trembled as she saw him possessing
himself of all its details, and neglecting his business to
gather and relate every rumour of war. She still relied
on his affection for his wife, to retain him at home. She
could not understand the depth and force of the passion
that prompted him to be a soldier.

At length he rashly enlisted. It was a sad night for
that affectionate family, when he informed them that he
must leave them and join the army. His young wife
felt it the more deeply, because she had but recently
buried a new-born babe. He comforted her as well as
he could. He assured her that his regiment would not
probably be stationed at any great distance, that he
would come home as often as possible, and that she
should constantly receive letters from him. He told her
that she could not imagine how restless and miserable he
had been in his mind, ever since war was declared. He
could not bear to have his country insulted, and take no
part in her defence. Now, he said, he should again feel
a quiet conscience, because he had done his duty; that
the war would undoubtedly soon be terminated, and
then he should return home, and they would all be happy
together. He hinted at the promotion which courage
might win; but such ambition had no part in his wife’s
gentle nature. He begged her not to distress him by
her lamentations, but to let him go away with a strong
heart, like a hero.

I
130 FRANK LUDLOW.

When his wife and sister found that there was no
alternative, they endeavoured to comply with his re-
quest, and to part with him as calmly as possible. So
Frank Ludlow went to be a soldier. He was twenty-five
years old, a tall, handsome, and healthful young man.
At the regimental trainings in his native town, he had
often been told how well he looked in a military dress.
This had flattered his vanity. He loved martial music, and
thought he should never be tired of serving his country.

But a life in camps has many evils, of which those who
dwell at home are entirely ignorant. Frank Ludlow
scorned to complain of hardships, and bore fatigue and
privation as well as the best. He was undoubtedly a
brave man, and never seemed in higher spirits than
when preparing for battle.

When a few months had passed, the novelty of his
situation wore off. There were many times in which
he thought of his quiet home, and his dear wife and
sister, until his heart was heavy in his bosom. He longed
to see them ; but leave of absence could not be obtained.
He felt so unhappy, that he thought he could not endure
it, and, always moved more by impulse than principle,
absconded to visit them.

When he returned to the regiment, it was to be dis-
graced for disobedience. Thus humbled before his com-
rades, he felt indignant and disgusted. He knew it was
according to the rules of war, but he hoped that he might
have been excused.

Some time after, a letter from home-informed him of
the birth of an infant. His feelings as a father were
strong, and he yearned to see it. He attempted to obtain
a furlough, but in vain. He was determined to go, and
so departed without leave. So the second day of his
journey, when at no great distance from the house, he
was taken, and brought back as a deserter,
FRANK LUDLOW. 13]

The punishment that followed, made him loathe war
in all its forms. He had seen it at a distance, in its
garb of glory, and worshipped the splendour that en-
circles the hero. But he had not taken into view the
miseries of the private soldier, nor believed that the
cup of glory was for others, and the dregs of bitterness
for him. The patriotism of which he had boasted,
vanished like a shadow in the hour of trial; for ambi-
tion, and not principle, had induced him to become a
soldier.

His state of mind rendered him an object of com-
passion. The strains of martial music, which he once
admired, were discordant to his ear. His daily duties
became irksome to him. He shunned conversation, and
thought continually of his sweet, forsaken home, of the
admonitions of his departed mother, and the disappoint-
ment of all his gilded hopes.

The regiment to which he was attached was ordered
to a distant part of the country. It was an additional
affliction to be so widely separated from the objects of his
love. In utter desperation he again deserted.

He was greatly fatigued, when he came in sight of his
home. Its green trees, and the fair fields which he so
oft had tilled, smiled as an Eden upon him. But he
entered as a lost spirit. His wife and sister wept with
joy, as they embraced him, and put his infant son into
his arms. Its smiles and caresses woke him to agony,
for he knew he must soon take his leave of it, perhaps
for ever.

He mentioned that his furlough would expire in a few
days, and that he had some hopes when winter came of
obtaining a substitute, and then they would be parted
no more. He strove to appear cheerful; but his wife
and sister saw that there was a weight upon his spirit,
and a cloud on his brow, which they had never perceived
132 FRANK LUDLOW.

before. He started at every sudden sound, for he feared
that he should be sought for in his own house, and taken
back to the army.

When he dared no longer remain, he tore himself
away}; but not, as his family supposed, to return to his
duty. Disguising himself, he travelled rapidly in a
different. direction, resolving to conceal himself in the
far west, or if necessary, to fly his country, rather than
rejoin the army.

But in spite of every precaution, he was recognised
by a party of soldiers, who carried him back to his regi-
ment, having been three times a deserter. He was
bound, and taken to the guard-house, where a court-
martial convened to try his offence.

Tt was now the summer of 1814. The morning sun
shone forth brightly upon rock and hill and stream.
But the quiet beauty of the rural landscape was vexed
by the bustle and glare of a military encampment. Tent
and barrack rose up among the verdure, and the shrill,
spirit-stirring bugle echoed through the deep valley.

On the day of which we speak, the music seemed
strangely subdued and solemn. Muffled drums, and
wind instruments mournfully playing, announced the
slow march of a procession. A pinioned prisoner came
forth from his confinement. A coffin of rough boards
was borne before him. By his side walked the chaplain,
who had laboured to prepare his soul for its extremity,
and went with him as a pitying and sustaining spirit, to
the last verge of life.

The sentenced man wore a long white mantle, like a
winding-sheet. On his head was a cap of the same
colour, bordered with black. Behind him several
prisoners walked, two and two. They had been confined .
for various offences, and a part of their punishment was
to stand by and witness the fate of their comrade. A
FRANK LUDLOW, 133

strong guard of soldiers marched in order, with loaded
muskets and fixed bayonets.

Such was the sad spectacle on that cloudless morning:
a man in full strength and beauty, clad in burial gar-
ments, and walking onward to his grave. The procession —
halted at a broad open field. A mound of earth freshly
thrown up in its centre marked the yawning and un-
timely grave. Beyond it many hundred men, drawn up
in the form of a hollow square, stood in solemn silence.

The voice of the officer of the day, now and then
heard giving brief orders, or marshalling the soldiers, was
low, and varied by feeling, In the- Tine, but not yet
called forth, were eight men, drawn by lot as executioners.
They stood motionless, revolting from their office, but
not daring to disobey.

Between the coffin and the pit he whose moments
were numbered was directed to stand. His noble fore-
head and quivering lips were alike pale. Yet in his
deportment there was a struggle for fortitude, like one
who had resolved to meet death unmoved.

‘May I speak to the soldiers?’ he said. It was the
voice of Frank Ludlow. Permission was given, and he
spoke something of warning against desertion, and some-
thing, in deep bitterness, against the spirit of war. But
his tones were so hurried and agitated that their import
could scarcely be gathered.

The eye of the commanding officer was fixed on the
watch which he held in his hand. ‘The time has come,’
he said; ‘kneel upon your coffin.’

The cap was drawn over the eyes of the miserable
man. He murmured, with a stifled sob, ‘God, I thank .
Thee that my dear ones cannot see this.’ Then from the
bottom of his soul burst forth a ery—

‘Oh mother! mother! had I but believed —’

Ere the sentence was finished, a sword glittered in the
134 FRANK LUDLOW.

sunbeam. It was the death signal. Eight soldiers ad-
vanced from the ranks. There was a sharp report of
arms; a shriek of piercing anguish ; one convulsive leap ;
and then a dead man lay between his coffin and his
grave.

There wasa shuddering silence. Afterwards the whole
line was directed to march by the lifeless body, that
every one might for himself see the punishment of a
deserter.

Suddenly there was some confusion; and all eyes
turned towards a horseman, approaching at breathless
speed. Alighting, he attempted to raise the dead man,
who had fallen with his face downward. Gazing
earnestly upon the rigid features, he clasped the mangled
and bleeding bosom to his own. Even the sternest
veteran was moved at the heartrending ery of ‘ Brother !
Oh my brother !?

No one disturbed the bitter grief which the living
poured forth in broken sentences over the dead.

‘Gone to thine account! Gone to thine everlasting
account! Js it indeed thy heart’s blood that trickles
warmly upon me? My brother, would that I might
have been with thee in thy dreary prison! Would
that we might have breathed together one more prayer,
that I might have seen thee look unto Jesus of
Nazareth !?

Rising up from the corpse, and turning to the com-
manding officer, he spoke through his tears with a
tremulous yet sweet-toned voice :

‘ And what was the crime for which my brother was
condemned to this death? There beats no more loyal
heart in the bosom of any of these men who do the
bidding of their country. His greatest fault, the source
of all his misery, was the love of war. In the bright
days of his boyhood he said he would be content to die
FRANK LUDLOW. 185

on the field of battle. See, you have taken away his life
in cold blood among his .own people, and no eye hath
pitied him.’ :

- The commandant stated briefly and calmly that deser-
tion thrice repeated was death, that the trial of his
brother had been impartial, and the sentence just.
Something, too, he added, about the necessity of en-
forcing military discipline, and the exceeding danger of
remissness in a point like this.

‘If he must die, why was it hidden from those whose
life was bound up in his? Why were they left to learn
from the idle voice of rumour this death-blow to their
happiness? If they might not have gained his pardon
from an earthly tribunal, they would have been com-
forted by knowing that he sought that mercy from above
which hath no limit. Fearful power have ye, indeed, to
kill the body, but why need you put the never-dying
soul in jeopardy? There are those to whom the moving
of the lips that you have silenced would have been most
dear, though their only word had been to say farewell.
There are those to whom the glance of that eye which
you have sealed in blood was like the clear shining of
the sun after rain. The wife of his bosom would have
thanked you, might she but have sat with him on the
floor of his prison, and his infant son would have played
with his fettered hands, and lighted up his dark soul
with one more smile of innocence. The sister, to whom
he has been as a father, would have soothed his despair-
ing spirit with the hymn which in infancy she sang
nightly with him at their blessed mother’s knee. Nor
would his only brother thus have mourned, might he but
have poured the consolations of the gospel once more
upon that stricken wanderer, and treasured up one tear
of penitence.’

A burst of grief overpowered him. The officer, with
136 FRANK LUDLOW.

kindness, assured him that it was no fault of theirs that
the family of his brother was not apprised of his situa-
tion; that he strenuously desired no tidings might be
conveyed to them, saying that the sight of their sorrow ,
would be more dreadful to him than his doom. During
the brief interval between his sentence and execution, he
had the devoted services of a holy man to prepare him
for the final hour.

Edward Ludlow composed himself-to listen to every
word. The shock of surprise, with its tempest of tears,
had passed. As he stood with uncovered brow, the bright
locks clustering around his noble forehead, it was seen
how strongly he resembled his fallen brother ere care
and sorrow had clouded his manly beauty. For a mo-
ment his eyes were raised upward, and his lips moved.
Pious hearts felt that he was asking strength from above
to rule his emotions, and to attain that submission which,
as a teacher of religion, he enforced on others.

Turning meekly towards the commanding officer, he
asked for the body of the dead, that it might be borne
once more to the desolate home of his birth, and buried
by the side of his father and his mother. The request
was granted with sympathy.

He addressed himself to the services connected with
_the removal of the body as one who bows himself down
to bear the will of the Almighty. And as he raised the
bleeding corpse of his beloved brother in his arms, he
said, ‘O war! war! whose tender mercies are cruel,
what enmity is so fearful to the soul as friendship with
thee!"
Grandfather's Cale.




GRANDFATHER'S TALE.

INCE, on a cold wintry evening, somewhat more
than a century since, a bright light was seen
streaming irom the casement of a pleasant
abode in the country, casting cheerful radiance
upon the snow-covered pavement. Within, by a blaz-
ing hearth, a group of children gathered around their
mother and the white-haired grandsire, singing with
sweet voices their evening hymn. Then, as the mother
led away the little ones to their rest, the eldest, a boy of
about twelve years old, drew his seat near the arm-chair
of the aged man, and gazing affectionately on his mild,
venerable countenance, said—

‘Please, dear grandfather, tell me another of your
good stories about our ancestors.’

‘So,’ said the old man, ‘I asked, in my boyhood, of
our blessed grandmother, tales of olden times, sitting
close at her feet, when the lamps were just lighted. ~
Even now, I think I see her beforé me, with her silver
‘locks, her brow but slightly wrinkled, and her eye
beaming with a brilliance like youth, as she granted my
request. My brothers and sisters loved and respected
139





140 GRANDFATHER'S TALE.

her, as a being of a superior order.. Her memory of
early scenes was clear and vivid, even in extreme age,
when passing events made but a slight impression. I
perceive that my own memory is assuming somewhat of
the same character, and dwells with peculiar delight
among the people and events of ancient times.’

‘Those are exactly what I delight to hear. I love
the conversation of those who can tell what happened
long before I was born. I will listen most attentively
to whatever you shall be pleased to relate.’

‘T shall tell you of my grandfather’s first visit to Paris,
He was then about two years older than yourself, and
was taken thither by his father, who held a military
command under Lord. Teligny, who, you remember to
have seen in history, was son-in-law to the great Admiral
Coligny. They were summoned to attend and take part
in the public demonstrations of joy which marked the
nuptials of young Henry of Navarre and the princess
Margaret. This was in the spring of 1572. The Queen

of Navarre, with her son and suite, had just arrived, and

were received with great pomp and festivity. Charles rx,
was at that time king of France. He was a treacherous,
vacillating character, and ruled by his mother, Catherine
de Medicis, who was far more wicked than himself. To
farther her own plots, she induced him to treat the
Protestant noblemen with marked attention. He com-
plemented the manly beauty of De Teligny, the dignified
deportment of the Baron de Rosny, and the philosophy
of the Count de la Rochefaucault. He was fond of
being seen walking arm in arm with the great Admiral
Coligny, whom he often addressed by the title of “ Mon
Pere.” Among the gallant high-spirited Huguenots of
rank, who dared and did so much for conscience sake,
Coligny was at that period the most distinguished.

‘His whole life was marked by decided and habitual
GRANDFATHERS TALE. 141

piety. Prayers, and the chanted praise of psalms, arose
up twice a day from his household. The officers both
of France and Germany, who often surrounded his
hospitable table, were the witnesses of his humble devo-
tion. For as soon as the cloth was removed, he rose up,
with all who were present, and if there was no minister
there, rendered himself earnest thanks to Almighty God.
The sacred worship which he enjoyed in the quiet of his
family, he endeavoured as far as possible to establish in
the camp and in the army.

‘Many of the French nobles followed under their own
roofs the religious example of Coligny. For he was
ever exhorting and impréssing on them the importance
of daily, practical piety, saying that it was not enough
that the father of a family should himself lead a holy
life, unless he led and induced his household to follow
his footsteps and imitate his example.’

‘Was Jane, Queen of Navarre, a Protestant ?’

‘Yes, and distinguished by the most devoted piety.
She had not been long in Paris, ere she was seized with
mortal sickness. Some suspected it to be the effect of
poison, administered by Catherine, that this formidable
‘protector of the Protestants might be out of the way,
ere her plot to destroy them was hazarded. When the
Queen of Navarre saw that her end drew nigh, she
called her son to her bedside, and charged him solemnly
to maintain the true religion, to take a tender care of
the education of his sister, to avoid the society of vicious
persons, and not to suffer his-soul to be diverted from
duty by the empty pleasures of the world. With
patience, and even cheerful serenity of countenance,
she endured the pains of her disease, and to her mourn-
ing friends said, ‘I pray you not to weep forme. God
by this sickness calleth me to the enjoyment of a better
life.” It was on the 9th of June, 1572, that she
142 GRANDFATHERS TALE.

departed, with the prayer of faith on her lips, and the
benignity of an angel.’

‘Was your grandfather in Paris at the time of the
marriage of Henry and Margaret ??

‘He was, and attentively observed the splendid scene.
The 18th of August was appointed for the nuptial cere-
mony. An ample pavilion was erected opposite to the
great church of Notre Dame. It was magnificently
covered with cloth of gold. The concourse of spectators
was immense, and their shouts seemed to rend the sky,
as the youthful pair appeared in their royal garments.
When Henry, bowing almost to the feet of his beautiful
bride, took from his brow the coronet of Navarre, the
ladies admired his gracefulness, and the freshness of his
auburn hair, which, inclining to red, curled richly around
his noble forehead. The princess had a highly brilliant
complexion, and was decorated with a profusion of
splendid jewels.

“The Cardinal of Bourbon received their vows. There
seemed some degree of displeasure to curl his haughty
lip. Probably he was dissatisfied that all the ceremonies
of the Romish Church were not observed. For as the
prince was a Protestant, and the princess a Catholic, the
solemnities were of a mixed nature, accommodated to
both. It had been settled in the marriage contract, that
neither party should interfere with the other in the
exercise of their different religions. To give public
proof of this, as scon as the nuptial ceremony was
performed, the bride left the pavilion to attend mass,
and the bridegroom to hear the sermon of a Protestant
divine. Acclamations and music from countless instru-
ments loudly resounded when the royal couple again
appeared, and proceeded together to the magnificent
bridal banquet. Charles presented his sister with
100,000 crowns for her dower, and in the festivities
GRANDFATHER'S TALE. 143

which succeeded the marriage, who could have foreseen
the dreadful massacre of St. Bartholomew ?”

‘I have read in my history of that frightful scene.
Dear grandfather, how soon did it follow the nuptials
which you have described ?’

‘Less than a week intervened. The ringing of the
bells for morning prayers, at three o’clock, on Sunday,
August 24th, was the signal for the Catholics to rush
forth and murder the Protestants. The holy Sabbath
dawned in peace. The matin-bell, calling the devout
to worship a God of mercy, was heard. Man came forth
to shed the blood of his unsuspecting brother. The work
of destruction began in many parts of the city at the same
moment. Tumult and shrieks and uproar increased, until
they deepened into a terrible and universal groan. The
streets were filled with infuriated soldiers, and almost
every habitation of the Huguenots became a slaughter-
house. Infants were transfixed on pikes, and women
precipitated themselves from high windows and battle-
ments, that they might die without outrage. Thirty
thousand fell victims in this horrible massacre, which,
extending itself from Paris to the provinces, was not
satiated until more than twice that number had been
sacrificed.’

‘What became of your grandfather during this scene
of horror ?’

‘At the commencement of the tumult, his father
hastily armed himself, and supposing it some temporary
disturbance, went forth to aid in quelling it, commanding
him to remain in the house. He obeyed until he was no
longer able to endure the tortures of suspense, and then
rushed out in search of a father whom he was never
more to behold. Hasting to the quarters of Lord Teligny,
his friend and benefactor, he found him mortally wounded,
and faintly repeating the names of his wife and children.
144 _ GRANDFATHERS TALE,

He then flew to the Hotel de St. Pierre, where Admiral
Coligny lodged. But his headless trunk was precipitated
from the window, and dragged onward by blood-smeared
men, with faces scarcely nee

‘He had been wounded previous to the massacre. On
Friday, the 22d, he was coming from the Louvre, with
a group of noblemen. He walked slowly, reading a
petition which had been presented him. As he passed
the cloister of St. Germain, he was shot by an arquebus
loaded with three balls. His left arm was deeply wounded,
and the forefinger of his right hand carried away. No
trace of the assassin, who had been employed by the Duke
of Guise, could be found, though the friends of the
Admiral made persevering search.

‘As the surgeon on examination feared that the copper
balls were poisoned, this illustrious man supposed that
his hour had come, and turning to his lamenting friends,
said—

‘“Why do you weep? For myself, J am honoured
to receive these wounds, for the holy cause of my God.
Pray Him to strengthen me.”

‘The massacre commenced while it was yet dark on
Sunday morning, and the Duke of Guise, dreading lest
Coligny, notwithstanding his injuries, should escape, and
by his courage and influence reanimate the Protestants,
hastened to his lodgings with three hundred soldiers.
Knocking at the outer gate, they demanded admission in
the name of the king. The gentleman who opened it
fell, stabbed to the heart.

‘The wounded Admiral in his apartment was engaged
in prayer with a minister who attended him. A terrified
servant rushed in, exclaiming—

‘« My lord, the inner gate is forced. We have no
means of resisting.”

6“ Tt is long since,’ ’ replied Coligny, calmly, “that I
GRANDFATHER'S TALE. 145

prepared myself to die. Save yourselves all who can.
Me you cannot defend. I commend my soul to the
mercy of God.”

‘He arose from his bed, and being unable to stand
upright, on account of his wounds, supported himself
with his back against the wall. The first who burst into
his chamber was a grim German, servant to the Duke of
Guise.

‘« Are you the Admiral ?”

‘Yes, I am he.”

‘And the illustrious man, fixing his eyes without
emotion on the naked sword of his murderer, said, with
the dignity of a Christian—

‘Young man, you ought to respect my age and in-
firmities.”

‘The answer of the assassin was to plunge his weapon
deep in that noble bosom. The Duke of Guise traversed
the court below, with breathless impatience. To his
fierce spirit every moment seemed an age.

““Ts the work done ?” he asked.

‘“Tt is finished, my lord!” |

‘He demanded to see it with his own eyes. They
raised the body of the Admiral to cast it down to him.
Still faintly respiring, it seemed to cling to the casement.

‘ At length, the ruthless murderers precipitated it into
the court-yard. Guise wiped with his handkerchief the
face suffused with blood, and gazing intensely upon it by
the flaring lamps, exclaimed—

‘Tt is the man !”

‘Rushing into the street, he bade, with hoarse cries,
the work of death to proceed, in the name of the king.

‘ While our ancestor was hurrying in amazement and
terror from place to place, he met a boy of nearly his
own age, whose placid countenance and unmoved deport-
ment strongly contrasted with the surrounding horrors.

K
146 GRANDFATHERS TALE.

Two soldiers apparently had him in charge, shouting,
“To mass! to mass!” while he, neither in compliance
nor opposition, calmly continued his course, until they
found some more conspicuous object of barbarity, and
released him from their grasp. This proved to be Maxi-
milian Bethune, afterwards the great Duke of Sully,
prime minister of Henry i1v., who, by a wonderful mixture
of prudence and firmness, preserved a life which was to
be of such value to the realm. He was at this time
making his way through the infuriated mob to the
College of Burgundy, where in the friendship of its
principle, La Faye, he found protection and safety.’

‘Please not to forget what befell our relative.’

‘It was in vain that he attempted to imitate this
example of self-command. Distracted with fear for his
father, he searched for him in scenes of the utmost
danger, wildly repeating his name. A soldier raised
over his head a sword dripping with blood. Ere it fell,
aman ina black habit took his arm through his, and
with some exertion of strength led him onward. They
entered less populous streets, where carnage seemed not

. to have extended, before he perfectly recovered his re-
collection. Then he would have disengaged himself ; but
his arm was detained as strongly as if ib were pinioned.
“Let me seek my father!” he exclaimed. “Be silent!”
said his conductor, with a voice of power that made him
tremble. At length he knocked at the massive gate of a
monastery. The porter admitted them, and they passed
to an inner cell. Affected by his passionate bursts of
grief, and exclamations of “Father, dear father!” his
protector said, ‘Thank God, my son, that thy own life _
is saved. I ventured forth amid scenes of horror, hoping
to bring to this refuge a brother, whom I loved as my
own soul. I found him lifeless and mangled. Thou
wert near, and methought thou didst resemble him. Thy
GRANDFATHERS TALE. 147

voice had his very tone, as it cried, “Father, father!”
My heart yearned to be as a father to thee. And I have
led thee hither through blood and death. Poor child, ©
be comforted, and lift up thy soul to God.”’

‘Was it not very strange that a Catholic should be so
good ??

‘There are good men among every sect of Christians,
my child. We should never condemn those who differ
from us in opinion, if their lives are according to the
gospel. This ecclesiastic was a man of true benevolence.
Nothing could execed his kindness to him whose life he
had saved. It was ascertained that he was not only
fatherless, but an orphan; for the work of destruction,
extending itself into many parts of the kingdom, involved
his family in its wreck. The greatest attention was paid
to his education, and his patron instructed him in the
sciences, and particularly from the study of history he
taught him the emptiness of glory without virtue, and
the changeful nature of earthly good, He made him the
companion of his walks, and by the innocent and beauti-
ful things of nature, sought to win him from that melan-
choly which is so corrosive to intellect, and so fatal to
peace. He permitted him to take part in his works of
charity, and to stand with him by the beds of the sick
and dying, that he might witness the power of that piety
which upholds when flesh and heart fainteth.

‘During his residence here the death of Charles rx.
took place. He was a king in whom his people and even
his nearest friends had no confidence. After the savage
massacre of St. Bartholomew, which was conducted under
his auspices, he had neither satisfaction nor repose. He
had always a flush and fierceness upon his countenance,
which it had never before worn. Conscience haunted
him with a sense of guilt, and he could obtain no quiet
sleep. He seemed to be surrounded by vague and name-
148 GRANDFATHER'S TALE.

less terrors. He fancied that he heard groans in the air,
and suffered a strange sickness, which forced blood from
all the pores of his body.

‘He was attended in his illness by a faithful old nurse,
to whom, notwithstanding she was a Huguenot, he
affectionately trusted. One who has described the close
of his life says, that two nights before his death, she
‘was sitting near him on a chest, almost overcome with
the drowsiness of fatigue. She was aroused by hearing
the king bitterly moan and weep. As she softly ap-
proached his bed, he exclaimed, through sighs and sobs
so interrupting his voice that it was difficult to under-
stand him—

‘“ Ah! my nurse, my dear nurse, what blood! what
murders! “Alas! what evil counsels have I followed!
Oh my God! pardon me, and have mercy on me, if
Thou canst. WhatshallI do? Iam lost! I see it but
too well.”

‘The pitying nurse answered with tears—

‘“ Sire! let the guilt rest on those who counselled you
to it. For if you consented not in your heart to those
murders, and are repentant, trust that God will not
charge them to you, but will cover them with the mantle
of his Son’s great love, to whom alone you should turn.”

‘He listened mournfully to her words, and taking from
her hand a handkerchief, his own being saturated with
tears, gave a sign that she should retire and takea littlerest,

‘His attachment to this pious nurse was strongly con-
trasted with his shrinking aversion whenever his mother
approached him. He viewed her as the instigator to that
horrible massacre which troubled his conscience, and her
presence greatly distressed him. This miserable monarch
died on the 80th of May, 1574, at the age of 28, having
sinned much and suffered much, though his years were
few.
GRANDFATHER'S TALE. 149

‘He was succeeded by his brother Henry m1, against
whom, and Catherine, the Queen-mother, three power-
ful armies were opposed, one led by the King of Navarre,
one by the Prince of Condé, and the other by the Duke
of Anjou. The tidings of these civil wars penetrated
into the seclusion of the religious house where my grand-
father had already passed three years in quiet study.
They kept alive the martial spirit which he inherited,
and quickened his desire to partake in their tumultuous
scenes. At length he communicated to his patron his
discontentment with a life of inaction, and his irrepres-
sible wish to mingle again with the world. Unusual
paleness settled on the brow of the venerable man, as he
replied—

‘J have long seen that thy heart was not in these quiet
shades, and I have lamented it. Yet thus it is with the
young; they will not be wise from the experience of
others. They must feel with their own feet the thorns
in the path of pleasure. They must grasp with their
own hand the sharp briers that cling around the objects
of their ambition. They must come trusting to the
world’s broken cisterns, find the dregs from her eup
cleaving in bitterness to their lip, and feel her in their
bosom, ere they will believe.”

‘The youth enlarged with emotion on his gratitude to
his benefactor. He mentioned the efforts he had made
to comply with his desires, and lead a life of contempla-
tive piety; but that these efforts were overpowered by
an impulse to mingle in more active pursuits, and to
visit the home of his ancestors.

‘Go, then, my son, and still the wild throbbings of
thy heart over the silent beds of those who wake no
more till the resurrection morn. Think not that I have
read thy nature slightly, or with a careless glance. The
spirit of a warrior slumbers there. Thou dost long to
150 GRANDFATHERS TALE.

mix in the battle. I have marked, in thy musings, the
lightning of thine eye shoot forth, as if thou hadst for-
gotten Him who said, ‘Vengeance is mine.” Would
that thou hadst loved peace. Go}; yet remember, that
‘he that taketh the sword shall perish by the sword.
As for me, my path on earth is short, or I should more
deeply mourn thy departure. Thou hast been but too
dear to me; and when thou art gone, my spirit shall cast
from its wings the last cumbrance of earthly love.”

‘He gave him his benediction with great tenderness
and solemnity, ard the parting was tearful and affectionate.
But the young traveller soon dismissed his sorrow, for
the cheering influence of the charms of nature, and the
gladness of liberty.

‘The genial season of spring diffused universal beauty.
The vales spread out their green mantles to catch the
showers of blossoms, with which every breeze covered
them. Luxuriant vines lifted up their fragrant coronets.
Young lambs playfully cropped the tender leaves.
Quiet kids stood ruminating by the clear ‘streams.
Music was in all the branches. The father-bird cheered
his companion, who, patient on her nest, brooded their
future hopes. :

‘“ Surely,” thought he, “ the peasant is the most happy
of men, dwelling in the midst of the innocence and
beauty of creation.”

‘Then, with the inconsistency natural to youth, he
would extol the life of the soldier, its energy, “hardihood,
and contempt of danger; forgetting that, in this pre-
ference of war, he was applauding the science of all
others the most hostile to nature and to man. _

‘In the midst of such reflections he reached the spot
of his nativity. The home of his ancestors was in the
possession of others, a new and lordly race. Strange
eyes looked upon him, where the voice of his parents




















































































race Harvey—Page 150.

G
GRANDFATHER'S TALE, 151

was wont to welcome his returning steps with delight.
He could not endure the grief in which none partici-
pated, and this solitude among scenes which his child-
hood loved. He sought to shake off at once his sorrow
and his loneliness, and enlisted as a volunteer in the
Protestant army. He flattered himself that religion
dictated the measure; yet, sometimes, in a sleepless
hour, the monition of his distant benefactor would come
mournfully: “ He that taketh the sword shall perish by
the sword.” His first exploit in arms was at the siege
of Ville-Franche, in Perigord, in the year 1576. He
continued to follow the fortunes of the King of Navarre,
and to endure without shrinking the dangers and priva-
tions of a soldier, with scarcely any intervals of peaceful
life, until the battle of Coutras, where he fell, covered
with wounds. This severe combat took place on the
morning of October 20th, 1587. There, the King of
Navarre, who, you remember, was afterwards Henry the
Great of France, distinguished himself by. a daring
courage. He first forced the ranks of the enemy. He
seized several prisoners with his own hand. Conspicuous
by the plume of white feathers in his lofty helmet, he
was continually singled out as a mark, and yet escaped
uninjured. Perceiving the Prince of Condé and the
Count de Soissons, in the most exposed parts of the field,
he exclaimed, “ All that I shall say to you is, that you
are of the house of Bourbon, and please God, I will show
you that Iam your elder brother.” The victory of the
Protestants was complete. The contest lasted scarcely
an hour, yet 5000 of their opponents were left dead
upon the field. They were led on by the Duke de
Joyeuse, who, with his haughty brother, St. Sauveur,
were drawn lifeless from among heaps of slain, their
brows still fierce and frowning, as if they hated that
death which could thus level all distinctions. Ihave men--
152 GRANDFATHER'S TALE.

tioned that our ancestor fell in this engagement. He
was not thirty years old, and left a wife and infant son
to mourn his untimely departure.’

‘Is it then from our grandmother that you learned
all the circumstances of his story ?”

‘All these and many more. She was never weary
of relating the changes of his life, and the sorrows of
her early widowhood. Deeply did she impress on the
mind of her son, and of his offspring, the evils of war,
and the blessings of peaceful Christianity. Under his
roof she dwelt, cherished and venerated, till the children
of the third generation rose up to call her blessed.
Never shall I forget with what emotions of grief and
reverence he laid his hand upon her dying eyes, and
wept at her tomb. The piety and love of peace which
she had early instilled into his heart, rendered his home
the abode of tranquillity and domestic happiness. His
industry and correct judgment restored competence to a
family, which the desolations of war had impoverished,

-and almost annihilated. Our paternal residence, even
now, seems to rise up before me, visible and distinct, as
ina picture. Uniting simplicity with comfort, it stood
ona gentle slope of ground. In front, a row of chestnuts
reared a canopy of lofty shade. Here the traveller
sometimes rested, refreshing himself with the water of a
little fountain, which, clear as crystal, oozed into a rustic
limestone reservoir. In the rear of our residence rose
a hill where our goats found herbage. There they might
sometimes be seen, maintaining so slight a footing on
projecting cliffs, that they seemed to hang suspended by
the mouth from the slight branch they were cropping.
The tall poplars, which were interspersed among the
foliage, conveyed to us the pensive murmur of approach-
ing storms, and around their trunks mossy seats were
constructed, where we sometimes sat, watching the
GRANDFATHER'S TALE. 152

chequered rays of the moon, and singing our simple pro-
vincial melodies. Stretching at the foot of this hill was
the small domain where we drew our subsistence. Dili-
gence and economy made it fully equal to our wants,
and to the claims of charity. Over the roots of the
filbert, fig, and mulberry, crept the prolific lemon. The
gourd, supporting itself by their trunks, lifted its yellow
globes into the air like orbs of gold, while still higher
rose the aspiring vine, filling its glowing cluster for
the wine-press. Our fields of wheat gave us bread,
and the bearded oat rewarded the faithful animal. that
gathered in our harvest. Bees hastening with busy hum
to their sheltered cells, provided the luxury of our even-
ing repast. The olive yielded us its treasures, and fur-
nished an emblem of the peace that pervaded our abode.
A genial soil made our labours light, and correct prin-
ciples converted those labours into happiness. Our
parents early taught their large family of twelve children
that indolence was but another name for vice and dis-
grace; that he who, for his subsistence, rendered no
return of usefulness, was unjust to society, and disobe-
dient to God. So our industry commenced in infancy.
In our hive there were no drones. We early began to
look with pity on those whose parents neglected to teach
them that well-directed industry was bliss. Among us
there were no servants. With the first beams of morn-*
ing, the band of brothers were seen cheerfully entering
on their allotted employments.. Some broke the surface
of the earth, others strewed seeds or kernels of fruits,
others removed the weeds which threatened to impede
the harvest. By the same hands was our vintage tended,
and our grain gathered into the garner. Our sisters
wrought the flax which we cultivated, and changed the
fleece of our flocks into a wardrobe for winter. They
refreshed us after our toil with cakes flavoured with
154 GRANDFATHER'S TALE.

honey, and with cheeses rivalling in delicacy those of
Parma. They arranged, in tasteful baskets of their own
construction, fresh fruits or aromatic herbs, or rich
flowers for the market. They delighted sometimes to
mingle in our severer labours; and when we saw the
anwonted exertion heightening the bloom of their cheeks,
or placed in their hair the half blown wild rose, to us,
who had seen nothing more fair, they were perfect in
grace and beauty. Sometimes at twilight, or beneath
the soft evening air of summer, we mingled in the dance,
to the music of our flute and viol. Our parents and our
grandmother seated near, enjoyed the pastime, and spoke
of their own youth, and of the goodness of the Almighty
Sire. Often, assembled in our pleasant parlour, each
read in turn to the listening auditory, histories of what
man has been, or fictitious representations of what he
might be, from the pages of the moral painter or the
poet. The younger ones received regular lessons in the
rudiments of education, and the elder ones, in succession,
devoted a stated portion of each day to the pursuit of
higher studies, under the direction of their parents.
When the family circle convened in the evening, he was
the happiest who could bring the greatest amount of
useful and interesting information to the general stock.
The acquisition of knowledge, which to indolent minds is
so irksome, was to us a delightful recreation from severer
labours. The exercise which gave us physical vigour,
seemed also to impart intellectual energy. The applica-
tion to which we were inured gave us the more entire
control of our mental powers, while the almost unvaried
health that we enjoyed preserved elasticity of spirits, and
made all our pleasures more sweet. Such was our mode
of life, that we were almost insensible to inconvenience
from the slight changes of the seasons. In any tem-
porary indisposition or casualty, our mother was our
GRANDFATHER'S TALE. 155

ministering angel. Her acquaintance with the powers of
the medicinal plants that filled her favourite part of the
garden, and still more, her intimate knowledge of the
little diversities in our constitutions, usually produced a
favourable result. She also perfectly understood the
slight shades in our disposition and character, and by
thus tracing the springs of action to their minuter
sources, advanced with more certainty to the good ends
of education, Mingled with her love was a dignity,
a decision that commanded our respect. Without this,
the parental relation loses its influence, and sacrifices
that attribute of authority with which it was invested by
the Eternal. Piety was taught us by the example of our
parents. We were early led to consider the morning
and evening orison and the Sabbath as periods in which
we were invited to mingle our thoughts with angels; and
that he who was negligent or indifferent to them, for-
feited one of the highest privileges of his nature.

‘Thus happy was our domestic government. It
mingled the pastoral and patriarchal features. I have
never seen any system more favourable to individual
improvement, and the order, harmony, and prosperity of
the whole.

‘But Iam forgetting, dear child, that you must be
wearied with my wandering tale and numerous reflec-
tions. It is so pleasant to recall the days of childhood,
and the images of my parents, and brothers, and sisters,
that I may have taken an old man’s privilege too freely,
and talked beyond your patience.’

‘How much I am indebted to you, my dear grand-
father, for your kind evening’s entertainment! I hope
I shall profit from the moral of your story, as well as
from the pleasure of listening to it. I trust I shall
learn to love peace, and industry, and piety.’

‘Strive to do so, my dear boy, and ask God’s help,
156 GRANDFATHERS TALE.

and you will be sure to be happy. Obey your parents,
and respect all who are wiser and better than yourself,
whether rich or poor. This will lay the foundation of
that virtue and subordination to the laws of the land,
which make a good citizen.
‘Should you live to be old, like me, you will view
objects differently from what you do now. You will
-stand upon an isthmus, between the things that have
deen, and the things that are. On one hand, will come
up the waves of memory, bold and strong; on the other,
the little billows of hope, like such bubbles as children
play with, Experience will be there, gathering riches
even from rocks and quicksands. Then, when you look
back, like me, and find your dear parents gone, you
will wish that you might for one moment recall them
from the grave, to render them your undying offering
of gratitude, not for that indulgence which blinded their
eye to your faults, and gave you the weak gratification
of an hour, perhaps, at the expense of an eternity, but
for that salutary discipline which wprooted error, esta-
plished good habits, and taughé that “ fear of God, which
maketh wise unto salvation.”’



MURRAY AND GIEB, PRINTERS, EDINBURGIZ,
Books published by Lillia 9). Gimme. . I





NIMMO’S PRESENTATION SERIES OF
STANDARD WORKS,

In small Crown 8vo, printed on toned paper, bound in cloth extra, gilt
edges, bevelled boards, with Portrait engraved on Steel,
price 3s. 6d. each.

Y,

WISDOM, WIT, AND ALLEGORY.

Selected from ‘The Spectator.’
il

BENJAMIN FRANKLIN:

A BioGRaPHy.

It,

THE WORLD’S WAY:
Lays or Lire And LAsour.
Iv.

> TRA VELS IN AFRICA.
Tar LIFE anp TRAVELS or
MUNGO PARK.

With a Supplementary Chapter,
detailing the results of recent
Discovery in Africa.

Â¥.

WALLAGE,
THE HERO OF SCOTLAND:

A BloGRaPHY.
By James Paterson.

vi.
EPOCH MEN,

AnD THE ReEsuLTS OF THEIR
LIvEs.

By Samuel Neil.





VIL

THE MIRROR OF GHARACTER.

SELECTED FROM THE WRITINGS OF

OVERBURY, EARLE, AND BUTLER.

Viil.
MEN OF HISTORY.
By Eminent Writers.
TX.

OLD WORLD WORTHIES ;
Or, CLASSICAL BIOGRAPHY,
SELECTED FROM

PLUTARCH’S LIVES.

x:
THE MAN OF BUSINESS
Considered in Six Aspects.
A Book ror Youne Mun.
XI,

WOMEN OF HISTORY.
By Eminent Writers.

XI

THe IMPROVEMENT oF THE MIND.
By Isaac Watts.

XIL
TALES OF OLD ENGLISH LIFE;
Or, Picrunus or rum Periops.
By W. F. Collier, LL.D.





4,* This elegant and useful Series of Books has been specially
prepared for School and College Prizes: they are, however, equally
suitable for General Presentation. In selecting the works for this
Series, the aim of the publisher has been to produce books of a perms-
nent value, interesting in manner and instructive in matter—booke that
youth will read eagerly and with profit, and which will be found equally
attractive in after life. ;






2 Books published by William y. Ammo,



NIMMO’S HALF-GROWN REWARD BOOKS.

Extra Foolscap 8vo, cloth elegant, gilt edges, Illustrated,
price 2s. 6d. each.

I.
Memorable Wars of Scotland,

BY
- Patrick FRASER TYTLER, F.R.S.E.,
Author of ‘History of Scotland,’ ete.

i.
Seeing the World:
A Poung Sailor's Ofon Story.

By Cuaries NorpHorr,

: UL
The Martyr Missionary :
five Pours in Chinn.
By Rey. Cuarues P. Buss, M.A.

Ty.
My New Home:
A tilomun’s Miury.



Vv. .
Home Heroines :
Wales for Girls.
By T. 8S. ARrHuR.

VI.
Lessons from Women’s Lives.
By Saran J. HALE,

vi.

The Roseville Family:
An Historical Cale of the
Gighteenth Century.

By Mrs. A. 8. Orr.
vu,

Leah:
A Gale of Ancient Palestine.
By Mrs. A. 8. Orr.

Ix.
Champions ofthe Reformation.
Che Stories of thetr Lives.



NIMMO’S TWO SHILLING REWARD BOOKS.

Foolscap 8vo, Illustrated, elegantly bound in cloth extra, bevelled
boards, gilt back and side, gilt edges, price 2s. each.

I.
The Far North:

Explorations in the Arctic
Regions. .
By Evisoa Kent Kane, M.D.

: I
The Young Men of the Bible:

By Rey. Josnrn A. Cotymr.

TL.
The Blade and the Ear:
A Book for Young Men.

IV.
Monarchs of Ocean:

Narratives of Maritime Discovery
and Progress.



Vv.
Life’s Ozosses, and How to

Meet them.
By T. S. Arrnur.

VI.
A Father’s Legacy to his
Daughters; etc.
A Book for Young Women.
By Dr. Greeory.
VIt.

Great MenofEuropean History,
By Davip Prypg, M.A.
VIIL.

Mountain Patriots :

A Tale of the Reformation in

Savoy.
By Mrs. A. 8. Onr,








Boshs publishedehy William Y. Himmo.

3

NIMMO’S EIGHTEENPENNY REWARD BOOKS.

Demy 18mo, Illustrated, cloth extra, gilt edges, price 1s. 6d. each.

: L :
The Vicar of Wakefield,
Poems and Essays.
By OLIVER GoLpsmITH.

n.
isop’s Fables,
With Instructive Applications.
By Dr. Croxau.

TI.
Bunyan’s Pilgrim’s Progress,

Iv.
The Young Man-of- War's

Man,
A Boy’s Voyage round the World.

: Vv.
The Treasury of Anecdote:

Moral and Religious.



——0

Vi.
The Boy’s Own Workshop.

By Jacos ABBOTT.

Vit.
The Life and Adventures of
Robinson Orusoe,

Vit.
-The History of Sandford
and Merton,

Ix.
Evenings at Home.
-Or, The Juvenile Budget Opened.

x.
Unexpected Pleasures.
By Mrs. Grorcr Cuppuss, Author
of ‘The Little Captain,’ etc.



*,* The above Series of elegant and useful books are specially pre-
pared for the entertainment and instruction of young persons.



NIMMO’S SUNDAY SCHOOL REWARD BOOKS.

Feap. 8vo, cloth extra, gilt edges, Illustrated, price 1s. 6d. each.

I.
Bible Blessings.

By Rey. Ricuarp Nrewron.

H
One Hour a Week:
Silty-thoo Bible Lessons fox the
Pourng.
Til.
The Best Things,

By Rey. Ricaarp NEWwToN.

Iv.
Grace Harvey and her
Cousins.



v. 7
‘Lessons from Rose Hill;
AND

Little Nannette.

VI.
Great and Good Women:
Biographies for Girls.
By Lyp1a H. SigouRNEY.

Vi,
At Home and Abroad; or,
Uncle Willtem’s Adventures.

VIII.

The Kind Governess; or,
Bolo to Hake Hone Buppy.






4 © Books published by William BY. Pimme.



NIMMO’S ONE SHILLING JUVENILE BOOKS,

Foolscap 8vo, Coloured Frontispiece, handsomely bound in cloth,
Illuminated, price 1s. each.

I
Four Little People and their
Friends,

II.
Elizabeth;
@r, The Exiles of Siberia.
Tit.
Paul and Virginia,

Iv.
Little Threads.
. Vv.
Benjamin Franklin,

VI.
Barton Todd.



VII.
The Perils of Greatness,

VII.
Little Crowns, and How to
Win Them,

Ix.
Great Riches,

xX.
The Right Way, and
the Contrast,

XI.
The Daisy’s First Winter.
XIi.

The Man of the Mountain.



NIMMO’S SIXPENNY JUVENILE BOOKS.

Demy 18mo, Illustrated, handsomely bound in cloth, gilt side,
gilt edges, price 6d. each.

Pearls for Little People.

Great essen for
Little People.

Reason in Rhyme.
Ty.
Hisop’s Little Fable Book.

Grapes from the Great Vine.

VIL
The Pot of Gold.

Story Pictures from the Bible.

The Tables of Stone.

Ways of Doing Good.
Stories about our Dogs.
The Red-Winged Goose.
The Hermit of the Hills,





NIMMO’S FOURPENNY JUVENILE BOOKS.

The above Series of Books are also done up in elegant Enamelled Paper
Covers, beautifully printed in Colours, price 4d, each.



*,* The distinctive features of the New Series of Sixpenny and One Shilling
Juvenile Books are: The Subjects of each Volume have been selected with a due
regard to Instruction and Entertainment; they are well printed on fine paper, in
a superior manner; the Shilling Series is Illustrated with Frontispieces printed in
Colours; the Sixpenny Series has beautiful Engravings; and they are elegantly
bound.



ee