Front Cover
 Half Title
 Title Page
 Table of Contents
 Mr. Brown and the Brownies
 The wounded picture
 Found through a picture
 The doctor's Laulie
 Little Joe, the orphan
 The rosebuds of Rosemead
 Back Cover

Title: By the light of the nursery lamp
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00079890/00001
 Material Information
Title: By the light of the nursery lamp
Alternate Title: To storyland
Physical Description: 63, 1 p. : ill. (some col.) ; 25 cm.
Language: English
Creator: Jackson, Helen, fl. 1897 ( Illustrator )
Welby, Ellen ( Illustrator )
Shute, E. L ( Illustrator )
Hodgson, Walker ( Illustrator )
Lucas, Katheleen M ( Illustrator )
Raphael Tuck & Sons ( Publisher )
Publisher: Raphael Tuck & Sons
Place of Publication: London ;
Paris ;
New York
Publication Date: [1890?]
Subject: Children -- Conduct of life -- Juvenile literature   ( lcsh )
Conduct of life -- Juvenile literature   ( lcsh )
Children's stories   ( lcsh )
Children's poetry   ( lcsh )
Children's stories -- 1890   ( lcsh )
Children's poetry -- 1890   ( lcsh )
Bldn -- 1890
Genre: Children's stories
Children's poetry
Spatial Coverage: England -- London
France -- Paris
United States -- New York -- New York
General Note: Date of publication from inscription.
General Note: Contains prose and verse.
General Note: Some illustrations in colors.
General Note: Illustrations by Helen Jackson, Ellen Welby, E.L. Shute, Walker Hodgson, Katheleen M. Lucas.
 Record Information
Bibliographic ID: UF00079890
Volume ID: VID00001
Source Institution: University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved by the source institution and holding location.
Resource Identifier: aleph - 002223066
notis - ALG3314
oclc - 181645702

Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Front Cover 1
        Front Cover 2
    Half Title
        Page 1
        Page 1a
    Title Page
        Page 2
    Table of Contents
        Page 3
        Page 4
    Mr. Brown and the Brownies
        Page 5
        Page 6
        Page 7
        Page 8
        Page 9
        Page 10
        Page 11
        Page 12
        Page 12a
        Page 13
        Page 14
        Page 15
        Page 16
        Page 17
        Page 18
        Page 19
        Page 20
    The wounded picture
        Page 21
        Page 21a
        Page 22
        Page 23
        Page 24
        Page 25
        Page 26
        Page 27
    Found through a picture
        Page 28
        Page 28a
        Page 29
        Page 30
        Page 31
        Page 32
        Page 33
        Page 34
        Page 35
    The doctor's Laulie
        Page 36
        Page 36a
        Page 37
        Page 38
        Page 39
        Page 40
        Page 41
        Page 42
        Page 43
        Page 44
    Little Joe, the orphan
        Page 45
        Page 45a
        Page 46
        Page 47
        Page 48
        Page 49
        Page 50
        Page 51
        Page 52
        Page 53
        Page 53a
        Page 54
        Page 55
        Page 56
        Page 57
        Page 58
        Page 59
    The rosebuds of Rosemead
        Page 60
        Page 60a
        Page 61
        Page 62
        Page 63
        Page 64
    Back Cover
        Back Cover 1
        Back Cover 2
Full Text


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\ IDr. Brown anb the Browntes.
\ M. Cpawleq Boeveg.
Emma MaPszall.
Ube Toloun eb ictture.
Mapv Benson.
jounb 'brougb a picture.
Eli3aBdel Daq.
'be Doctor's Xaulie.
Jeszsie M. E. Sany,
\ little 3oe.
F[. R. lawpenee.
lluuiratiol ic.aco.
BY T, Meaae.
Ielen Jackson. be 1Rosebubs of 1RosemeaO.
Ellen Wdel. M. B. Manwell.

E. a., Sgate.

Walked Nioagson.

KatLeleen M. Lmeas.


lIIr. Brown anb the brownies.

W HENN folks have for the most
,, / part taken their daily journey
i to the land of "Nod," when curtains
are drawn, windows shut, and lights
S -out, all sorts of funny things some-
Stimes happen; at least, so my grand-
,".' mother told me, and she ought to
S/ know, as she lived such a long time
before I was born. Among these funny
.'"v "things are the doings of the Brownies,
tiny people who dress all alike in tight-
fitting dark suits, jaunty caps, and elastic boots
That never wear out. That they should never
wear out is strange, because the owners creep
through keyholes, squeeze under doors, climb water-
) v pipes, push through chinks; in short, they go everywhere
to find entrance to houses while their rightful inmates
are asleep.
Now, in a certain cottage, that stood by itself in a garden
S plot, lived Mr. Brown, and Betty, his housekeeper. Mr.
Brown was elderly, stout, fretful, and subject to gout in his
big toe. Besides all this, he had grown so selfish from much
S living alone, that few cared to have anything to do with him,
because nobody likes selfish people, however they may pretend
to do so. Among the few was a married sister who lived close
by with her two children, Jack and May; and such pity did
she feel for Mr. Brown's gouty toe, not to mention his lonely
life, that she often sent the little ones across to enquire how he
was, when she could not go herself.
By the time Thomas Brown's fifty-fifth birthday came, Jack and
May would not willingly venture within his garden gate, because
his temper had grown so peppery that they felt safer in the
meadows outside. But their mother sent them with a message,
and worked on their tender feelings by telling of all the pains
Uncle Tom had to bear.
"Poor old man," said May, "I'll take him a present, for he must like
that, and say thank you. He shall have my tabby kitten. Make haste,
Jack, and come, that we may get the visit over."
Mother smiled as the child, with her cotton sun-bonnet on, all ready to
start, ran away to the kitchen to fetch her present; while Jack, after the
manner of boys who are told to do something they dislike, loitered about
whistling, as if he cared for nothing and nobody. Hugging her kitten
tightly, for fear it should escape, May trotted through the open door, and
into the meadow; for she fancied her brother had gone on, and in her


innocence she thought how pleased the uncle would be to have his birthday
remembered with such a valuable present.
Alas! for little May's hopes. Mr. Brown must have got out of bed
the wrong side that morning, thought Betty, with a sigh, as she rolled out
some paste to make a pie; for he really was as cross as two sticks. In
vain had the good soul swathed his foot in flannel, and settled it tenderly
on a cushioned stool; in vain she buttered his toast with care, hurried to
answer his bell, and did her best to please. Everything was wrong, to
the very set of Betty's cap, which was certainly awry from the haste
she made to attend to her master. When, therefore, May walked into
her uncle's sitting-room, followed in reluctant fashion by Jack, they found
a scant welcome; in-
deed, a ducking from
the pump in the back-
yard could not have
cooled and disgusted
them quicker than the

"Happy returns of
the day," growled he,
"pack of nonsense!
SWhat does Betty mean
by letting in those
brats?" he added to
himself. "I've nothing
Sfor you," he went on
ungraciously ; you'd
better go." Here he
waved his hand towards
the door. "And what's
that beast here for? We've no mice ere, and no rats either."
"No, I shouldn't think they'd find enough to eat," muttered Jack,
getting very red. Come away, May. She brought the kitten for you, and
you might say, thank you, Uncle Tom, if you were n't so cross and disagreeable."
Mr. Brown's only rejoinder was to tug at the bell-rope, with a face
sour enough to turn the cream; and May tucked a plump fist into her
eyes because of the tears in them, which could hardly be wondered at.
To make a long story short, the brother and sister ran home much faster
than they left it, arriving breathless and indignant, to tell mother how they
had been received at Woodbine Cottage. But retribution was at hand;
and since you may not like that long word, it will perhaps be as well to
explain its meaning in shorter ones. Mr. Brown was at last to get tit for
tat, and you shall hear how this came about.
When all was dark and quiet that night, down the chimney, through
chinks or keyholes, swarmed the Brownies with noiseless footsteps. One
would think their joints had been oiled, so smoothly did they work; and
on reaching the empty kitchen, they crowded on to the table, to hold
council; some sitting on a plate rim, some clambering on to the handle
of a jug, while others subsided cross-legged on to the table, just where
they happened to alight.


"Listen," cried a smart little fellow, evidently the captain, from the
feather in his cap, an ornament worn by none of the others, we've watched
that selfish old crabstick upstairs till patience is at an end, and it's high time
he should be taken to task for his misdeeds. He thinks of nothing but
his own toe if it's bad, or his stomach if it is'nt, and he never troubles his
head about other folks' comfort from morning till night. Now, how can
we best punish him? "
Spoil his appetite, stick pins in his chair, send away good Betty;
do to him as he's done to others; thwart him and teaze him, for life's
too easy."
Some suggested one thing, and some another, while their captain
listened with a twinkle in his eye. When silence was restored, he laid a
forefinger along his nose, and spoke
again. Very good; I agree with
you that Mr. Tom Brown has had
his way too much and too long, so
he's got selfish, as folks are apt to
be when things go too smoothly.
We'll make to-morrow a red-letter
day for him, a day he'll remember

for a long time; and if not exactly pleasant, it will, at all events, be whole-
some. Set to work, friends, at once, for the nights are short."
Hardly were these words said, when the kitchen became alive with
these sprites, no taller than your thumb, who capered, whispered, chuckled,
laughed and ran, each with the gleeful expression of face to be seen on
a school let loose for a whole holiday. Some dragged in dust and gravel,
more filled a saucepan with water, others explored the cupboard, and the
captain himself was by no means idle.
"There's an apple-pie ready for eating," said he, presently, "we'll
have that when we've finished our work, and put a little garden produce
under the crust instead."
What kind, sir? enquired a gasping labourer, touching his cap.
"Snail-shells, to be sure, groundsel, a scrap of gravel instead of cloves,
and plenty of soil from the old rhubarb bed."


"Very good," was the prompt reply; and away whisked a willing band
to collect the new ingredients for a pie.
"Crosspatch's fire mustn't light too early to-morrow," remarked the
captain, tipping the contents of the saucepan over a bundle of sticks that
lay ready for use on the top of a well-filled coal-box. "Now what more
can we do?"
"Turn the milk sour, put salt into the sugar basin, and sugar into the
salt-cellar, shake pepper into the muffineer, put out the kitchen fire."
Work away, then," cried the captain. "Remember, there's plenty to
be done elsewhere, and we must be off before cock-crow."
After these things were done, the
f' Brownies were hungry enough, you may be
Assure, to enjoy the pie, of which they made
short work, while Betty's black cat watched
-~ them with arched back, uncertain whether to
Sspit or spring. Pussy was puzzled, displeased,
and conscious that these little people invaded
the kitchen with no good intent. Yet
Brownies had a reputation time out of mind
S for good deeds, for helping the housemaids
S with their work, and setting things in order,
.. oW tiny as the visitors were, no taller indeed
than the length of a mouse, not counting its
S tail. When the pastry, cautiously raised to
-*.,: scoop out the apple, had been smoothed
S^ down again to hide all traces of the theft,
the pigmies ran helter-skelter to the sitting-
room, where they made merry over thoughts of to-morrow. There was not
much to be done in that sitting-room, only a few needles to be stuck into
the cushion of an easy-chair much sat in by Mr. Brown; and then the
Brownies waited for further orders. They had not long to wait, for the
captain wrinkled his brows, scratched his head, shook it slowly, and next
minute gave a nod of triumph.
Let's go up and see how our namesake is sleeping," said he. I need
not impress on you the need of caution, quiet, and speed; for night is
slipping away faster than water through a sieve, and in less than an hour
we must be gone."
Softer than pussy's footfall on the oilcloth were the fairies' steps as
they went upstairs; some swarming like monkeys up the bannisters, some
climbing up the drugget, and hauling their friends behind, till all reached
the landing, and made their way, in single file, through the keyhole into
sleeping Tom's room. Mr. Brown lay snoring on his back, with his mouth
open, and a tasselled nightcap on his nearly bald head, little dreaming of
all that was in store for him. The visitors found plenty to occupy them here,
and they went to work with a will.
The razors, set ready on the dressing-table for shaving, had their edges
blunted, and the clothes, heaped on a chair, were one by one turned inside out,
besides having a button removed here and there. A drop of cold water and a
scrap of soap were put into the toes of the slippers by the bedside, the matches
were damped, and, lastly, the clock was put on a whole hour. Now, if there


was one thing more than another on which Mr. Brown prided himself, it was
his excellent keeping of railway time. All the clocks in the house obeyed his
own watch in that matter, and he wound them himself once a week; so would
believe nobody who ventured to hint that his time was too fast or slow. Since
poor Tom's watch was the leader, so to speak, the mischievous Brownies put
it back for an hour, and then became more personal in their attentions, for
there was a suspicious lightening in the eastern sky, a melting of black into
grey, and all knew there were not many more minutes for work. A pin was
slipped through the nightcap's tassel to the pillow whereon it rested, and a
morsel of yellow soap was popped into the
open mouth, from which such snores re- .
sounded. Then, at a signal, the fairy folk filed i
out as they had come, and on their way through
the kitchen they stuffed up the bells with
some newspaper, carelessly left about by Betty
for lighting the fires.
Soon, very soon, Mr. Brown woke from a
.nightmare, in which some one had tightly
bound and was trying to suffocate him with
something that caused him to champ his jaws
a good deal in the effort to be free. He woke
to find his mouth full of lather that tasted
abominable, and half-choked him; so he
coughed and sputtered in rising wrath. As he -
did this, Mr. Brown suddenly raised his head,
when the nightcap slipped off it, and a back-
ward glance showed the astonished wearer that
it was pinned to the pillow.
Now, when people are angry, they do not
wait to reason about things, and as Betty was '
the only other person who slept at Woodbine
Cottage, her master jumped to the conclusion
she must have done these tricks by way of a
practical joke. Waxing more angry every
minute, Mr. Brown gave tug after tug to the
bell-rope till it came down in his hand, and just
then the door opened, showing Betty's scared
face within a wreath of frills.
Lor, sir! cried she, in awe-struck tones,
"the bell's bewitched! I heard the wire jerking outside, and went down,
to find out why there was no sound, and its tongue wrapped up in news-
paper. The doors and windows are secure, and I've slept all night. It
must be the work of Satan himself."
By this time Mr Brown was very red in the face, and, having taken the
pin from his cap, he flung the latter straight at the surprised servant, who
began to think he was going mad.
"Silence, woman! he roared. Someone's being putting soap in my
mouth, and it's not light enough to see anything properly. Get a candle, and
tell me what o'clock it is."
Betty held her tongue, groped about for the matches, and struck. In vain


though, for one after another they spit, sparkled, and went out, which fact, as
you may fancy, did not improve Uncle Tom's temper. At last the housekeeper
got her own matches, muttering something about the others being strangely
damp; and when a candle was held to the clock, that untrustworthy timepiece
announced that it was close on seven. Betty's jaw fell, and her face became
nearly as white as her frills, while she stared.
"Something must have happened to
it," she gasped, "for my watch and the
kitchen clock haven't got to six yet."
"Don't talk nonsense," snapped Mr.
Brown. "Look at my watch; that never
goes wrong."
Please, sir, that says not quite five,"
confessed the startled gazer, in slow, re-
luctant tones.
Mr. Brown here used such very bad
words that Betty stalked straight out of
the room; and before she was out of ear-
shot, her master shouted to her to bring
some hot water, that he might dress at .
once, and find out the true state of things.
It was easy to say dress at once, but not
so easy to do it in the present case, as
you and I know; what with clothes inside
out, razors blunted, and every obstacle
to speed.
When Mr. Brown had rolled out of
bed, with a groan, to begin his toilette,
he thrust his feet into his slippers; and no sooner was this done, than he kicked
them off into opposite corners with a cry of disgust. Meanwhile, long-suffering
Betty went down to her duties in the kitchen, where she was soon in a state of
despair that bordered on distraction. It might have been raining all night
straight on the sticks with which she tried to light the fire, and not till
she had fetched others from an outhouse, could the kettle be boiled, or
breakfast prepared.
Mr. Brown's feelings may be better imagined than described when he
sugared his egg, salted his tea, and peppered his toast. Secretly he began to
have doubts whether Betty's suggestion might not, after all, be right, and these
pranks were the work of the arch mischief-maker himself. At the same time,
it was a relief to have somebody on whom to vent his wrath, so the house-
keeper came badly off that day. When breakfast was over, the master shouted
for his newspaper, which just then Betty happened to be cutting and
smoothing out for him in the kitchen. Then poor Mr. Brown went to his
sitting-room, thinking that at last his troubles were over. But the worst
was to come.
Into his easy chair plunged the persecuted man; and no sooner had he done
so, than he bounded out with a scream of rage, and capered about the room,
rubbing himself like one distraught. At that unlucky moment Betty appeared,
paper in hand, and she stood on the threshold staring open-mouthed, "for
surely," thought she, "master's gone clean off his head."


"This is too much," said, or rather shrieked, Mr. Brown. "This is a
climax, and I won't endure it. I give you a month's notice from to-day.
You've been sticking needles into my chair. Ugh-Ah-h-h; Yah "
Bless us and save us gasped the woman, breathless with surprise. I
never thought o' such a thing. Is it likely, after living with you ever since you
was a boy ? and here she melted into tears.
Mr. Brown hated tears, and in course of time he calmed down a little,
when supplied with a fresh cushion, his newspaper, and profuse apologies from
Betty, who could not help thinking presently that this last ought to have
been just the other way.
"'Pon my word, he's a'most past bearing," said she, wiping her eyes with
a corner of her apron; and if he says no more, I've a good mind to take him
at his word, and go."
The contents of the apple-pie at lunch proved only another unpleasant
trifle in a most miserable day; indeed, Mr. Brown found no peace or comfort,
so he went early to bed, that he might forget his woes in sleep.
Then he dreamed a dream, never to be forgotten to his dying day; at last,
when he woke, the man felt puzzled, for he could not make up his mind if it
were after all a dream or a reality.
In the dead of night a number
of tiny men in brown suits climbed
noiselessly on to his bed, and one,
who seemed to be the leader,
pointed his finger at the sleeper
with a warning shake of the head,
while he spoke as follows:-
We have done all this; we
S- have punished you on purpose to
teach a lesson, which, if learnt, will
make you happier for the rest of
your life. Your ill-temper and
selfishness have grown unbearable,
so that your cottage is avoided by the neighbours, and
you have thus become your own enemy. By trying to
think less of your own comfort, and more of others,
you will find the world change for you to a better, as
.-. well as a pleasanter place. Remember my words, and
act upon them. Good night."
Now this was a fresh idea to Mr. Brown, who was by no means wanting
in common sense; so he lay pondering over matters that morning, and finally
made up his mind to turn over a new leaf, beginning that very day. The
first thing was to eat humble pie for Betty's benefit; and she, with tears in her
eyes, said at once-
Lor, master, talk no more about it. Of course I baint a-going to leave
you to find for yourself after all these years."
Thus peace once more reigned at Woodbine Cottage.

JS d6e


NCE upon a time-for the old city may have
changed its customs now but once upon a
gl time, when I was young, Norwich had one day in the
year when excitement and bustle and pleasure had
Their full sway, and the usual quiet routine was
llidlll Hi changed for the time!
s Yes, it was a great day, that Maundy Thursday
S Fair-day, called by Norwich folk Tombland Fair,
because it was held on the wide plain which was
entered from Queen Street from the city, and by
SS. Ethelbert's Gateway and the Erpingham Gateway
i" from the Upper and Lower Close.
S Now, there was scarcely a child in the old city of
H Norwich in those days who did not share the general
excitement which prevailed.
And Louie Morrison, who lived in Rose Lane,
ilQed- ? -,A was certainly not free from curiosity and longing
Hopes that by some means or other she might see
some of the wonders of the fair.
You must not imagine Rose Lane to be a bower of roses; it was simply
a bye street, which led from the Castle Meadows, and was a generally
frequented thoroughfare to the hamlet of Thorpe.
The house where Louie Morrison lived was reached by a flight of steps,
leading down from the road to the little square of garden before it, and two
similar cottages of like pretension and size.
There was something mysterious in the descent of these irregular stone
steps, about which if any stranger had been asked to give an opinion, he would
have said, must lead to the other end of nowhere," for there was a dead
wall facing the road, and an old door, loose on its hinges, which always stood
open, and showed the narrow flight of steps below it; thus, the surprise was
greater, not to say the pleasure, when anyone came unawares on this pretty
neat cottage, in summer covered with jasmine stars, which shaded the old-
fashioned lattice windows, and scented the air with fragrance.
It was in the first of these cottages that Mrs. Morrison lived with her two
little girls, Louie and Lettice. She was a plain worker and dressmaker, and
earned a living by incessant industry and honest toil.
Her two neighbours were childless people: one, an old lady, who had
what was considered handsome private means of twenty pounds a year, and
who was exceedingly irascible if she did not have the first chance of getting
water from the pump which supplied the three cottages. In the third
cottage was an old pensioner, who had lost one leg in a sea fight when
the century, now so near its close, was in its early years. He was called by
courtesy Captain Hickes; and he had a gruff voice and a rough manner.
But these were like the old pea-jacket he wore, and the old cloth cap,

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da~ dra


with a peak pulled down over his shaggy eyebrows, only on the outside;
for beneath this pea-jacket beat an honest and a tender heart, and beneath
the peaked cap would often shine out a benevolent smile on his little
neighbours, Louie and Lettice Morrison.
As to old Mrs. Crump, he would say fifty -
times a day, that she must have lived on crab- .
apples and vinegar when she was young, or she
would never have come to such a state of mind
or body; for Mrs. Crump was very thin, so t"
that one of Captain Hickes' similes for her was e
not so very inappropriate- ,f
Her face is like a parched pea," he would
say, "and her body like two deal i
boards clapped together. I believe 'rY
her heart has not room to beat;
and certain sure there is no room
for love in it."
You will see by the picture at ....
the beginning of my story, that
Mrs. Morrison's house was very neat '
and pretty, and that the children '
are neatly dressed by their mother's !
clever fingers. .I MI
It is very easy to be good-tem- -' -
pered when everything goes as we -
wish; and this was the morning of Tomb-
land Fair, and Louie was looking forward
to the treat of going round the fair in the
afternoon with her mother.
Mrs. Morrison had no time to be
idle, and she had gone to take home
some plain work to a lady who lived at ...
the Bank House in King Street, and she
had left the children at home, with many
injunctions to be good; and Louie was .
to keep Lettice amused, and to be sure
not to let her run across to Mrs. Crump's '
cottage, which was always an offence.
Louie was a trustworthy little maiden; and though her head was full of
the fair and all the wonders she should see there, she did not forget her
promise to her mother, and did her best to amuse Lettice.
Presently the sound of Captain Hickes' crutch was heard tap-tapping
on the flagstones round the little square, and a gruff voice sounded at the
"What are little girls about here, eh ?"
"Oh, Captain Hickey," said Louie, I am so glad you've come. Mother
is gone such a long time. She will never take us to the fair; and we do so
want to go."
"Well-well-let us see; when you do go to the fair, you'll want some
gingerbread, eh ? "


Oh, yes the children said, jumping with delight.
And to see the peep-shows, eh! and ride in the merry-go-round ? "
Yes, yes."
And the lions and tigers and wild beasts, all a-roaring and all ready
to eat up all the little girls as ever has been ? "
I don't think we want to see the wild beasts," said Louie; "they are
so fierce."
I should rather think they are," said Captain Hickes, solemnly; "and
I've seen a lion stalking about in Africa, with his tail stuck up, and his mane
a-flowing, and his great mouth open, ready to 'click.' "
And Captain Hickes made a sudden snap with his teeth, which made
Lettice laugh, but which made gentle little Louie say-
"I'd rather see waxworks; there's beautiful
waxworks," so Mrs. Cocks says, "just like real
kings and queens, with crowns on their heads,
and a lot of shining jewels on their frocks."
"Ah !" said Captain Hickes, "well, let us see
what I've got here; steady, now steady. One at
a time put your fingers in my pocket, and what
you find you may keep."
This was delightful.
"Pocket right side first; now then."
Louie, as the eldest, thrust her left hand
down quite to the bottom.
T "Why, Captain Hickes, there's nothing
\there! she said.
"Well, that's strange," Captain Hickes said,
shutting one eye, and looking up at the ceiling.
-- "Now then, little Miss Curly Wig, it is
S your turn."
Lettice now came, doubling both her fat fists,
and plunged them into the wide-gaping pocket of
Captain Hickes' blue-cloth jacket.
It's all make-believe," said Lettice; you are a very naughty old man
to make-believe."
Well, come, try the other pocket; left-hand side this time. Louie first."
Louie put in her hand and pulled out a penny; then Lettice, and out
came another.
Oh there's lots of coppers there; oh there's heaps-heaps and the
fun grew to its height when the last penny was produced by Louie, and each
little girl had what seemed to them a great heap of riches.
"Count them now-count them, to make sure it's no make-believe.
Come, Miss Curly, you begin."
Lettice had seated herself on the floor with her treasure, and Cherry came
forward, purring, thinking she was going to have a nice time with all those
round things, which she began to feel gingerly with her paw made into a ball,
and her nose bent towards it as an object of profound curiosity.
One-two-six-five," Lettice began.
Nonsense, Lettice, that's not the way to count," said Louie. It's one,
two, three, four; let's put them into little heaps of four. Why, I have twelve,


and you have twelve, and twelve pence make a shilling. Two shillings! Oh!
Captain Hickes, you don't really mean that we are to have all this great lot
of money! "
"Well, I expect I do mean it; and
now you can buy gingerbread and oranges,
and see the waxworks, and the great roar-
ing lions that go snap "; and again Captain
Hickes made that fearful noise with his teeth.
After this, he picked up the tangled
tussock of string, and with his skilful sailor
fingers got it all straight again; and then
he played cat's-cradle with Louie, while '
little Lettice, mounted on a stool by the
window, her riches held in her pinafore,
sat watching for mother.
"Would mother never come ?"
Captain Hickes himself began to wonder at Mrs. Morrison's long absence.
Where's mother gone, eh ?" he said, at last, when the cat's-cradle began
to lose its charm.
Only to the Bank House with her work," Louie said. She told me
she should be sure to be home in time to put on the potatoes for dinner, and
take us to the fair directly after."
And just as Louie had said this, little Lettice scrambled down from her
seat, saying-
"Here's mother, here's mother; and she is lame. She is- "
Captain Hickes was on the alert at once. He went to the door, and
there stood poor Mrs. Morrison, leaning heavily on the arm of a stout
policeman, who said-
"The missus was knocked down by one of those trumpery circus ponies
which are going the round of the town; and I picked her up, and brought
her home."
I am much obliged to you, sir, I am sure; I don't think I am hurt.
My darlings, don't look so scared. It is only my foot; I have sprained my
ankle. Why, Letty-Letty "
For little Lettice, unable to take any comfort from her mother's words,
opened her mouth and cried vehemently.
Come, come, little one, your mother won't be much the worse. I hauled
her up on the pavement, and I think, as she fell, she doubled her foot under
her. That's all-that's all; and now I'll wish you good morning, ma'am, for
I have other fish to fry. The streets are that crowded, one has to have eyes
behind, and four ears instead of two! "
And then the policeman walked away, the fall of his heavy footsteps
sounding hollow as he went up the stone steps to the room above.
Captain Hickes had not been a sailor for many years without knowing
what to do in an emergency. He took out his red and white spotted hand-
kerchief, and sent Louie with a pitcher to the pump.
While Captain Hickes very tenderly took off Mrs. Morrison's boot and
stocking, and put two chairs together, with a cushion from the arm-chair, to
make a nice rest for the poor swollen ankle. Then he folded his large
handkerchief into a bandage, and, dipping it into the cold water Louie brought


from the pump, he bound it round and round as tight as Mrs. Morrison could
bear it, and covered the whole with a blanket, which he sent Louie to fetch
from the bedroom above.
Poor little Louie got very hot and exhausted with her efforts, but she was
rewarded by her mother's smile.
The pain is less now, my handy little maid."
Now we must put on the kettle in the back place, and make you a cup
of tea. What were you to have for dinner ? "
/- It's all put ready, Captain Hickes, in the back kitchen,
Zj only I can't come and lay it out for the children."
I should think not; we'll see to it "; and then Captain
Hickes, puffing and blowing, set about his
preparations, with Louie's help, and showed
how handy a sailor could be.
When he had seen Mrs. Morrison
settled with a cup of tea and a
bit of toast, put on a little table
S by her side, and had seen the
.-. children seated in the back
--- kitchen, with their bacon and
fi i potatoes fried to a turn, he
Shuffled away to his own quarters,
,*,I saying, with a knowing wink of
Shis little twinkling eye, "I am
Coming back again soon, like a
bad penny."
In both children's hearts
there was a keen sense of dis-
S1 appointment. What use were
all the pennies now-the riches,
which would have brought them
,so many delights ? Mother could
not go to the fair. That was
very evident; and they couldn't
-go without her.
SAs the full force of this
terrible calamity fell upon little
Lettice, she bowed her curly head
in her hands, and cried bitterly.
"Don't, Letty, don't, you'll vex poor mother. We've got the pennies,
you know, and p'raps someone will come and take you to the fair. We can't
leave mother alone."
Letty, who had finished her dinner now, ran to the front room again,
crying as if her heart would break.
"Hush, Letty," said a well-known voice; what's all this about-red
eyes and blubbering on Tombland Fair Day ? Look how smart I am-my
best Sunday coat and cap; and what for, do you think ? I am going to the
fair, of course. And who is coming along with me? "
Letty could not contain her delight. She flung her arms round the old
sailor's neck, and still crying for joy, said-


I am I am Captain Hickey."
Now Lettice was a very little girl, and it was only like a little girl of four
years old to think of her own enjoyment and forget her mother, who was lying
back in the chair, her head resting on a pillow, which Louie had put between
her head and the wall, and her face very pale.
All right, all right, if mother will trust an old chap with a wooden leg
with her little girls in Tombland Fair."
Oh, yes, Captain Hickes. You are very kind; take them both, if you
will be so kind. Get ready, dears. Louie, take little Letty upstairs, and
wash her face; she has cried till it looks quite smothered with dirt."
Then Louie took her little sister's hand,
who capered and jumped for joy, as she
clattered upstairs; and Louie got out her
best hat and jacket, and washed her face, 'C"
and combed her pretty curly hair, and T"0 A
finally did up the twelve pennies in a large
piece of paper, screwing it up
very tight at both ends, and
then stuffing it into the pocket
of little Lettice's frock.
Louie, my dear,-
why are not you ready?
Captain Hickes will be
tired of waiting. Make
haste, dear."
"I am not going
to the fair, mother,"
Louie said; "I can't
leave you in pain-oh,
no." And she added,
quietly, Please go at
once, Captain Hickes; -
the longer you
wait, the -
worse--" -
The old man
looked hard at the
child, who was struggling to hide her tears. He hesitated for a moment, and
then those little twinkling eyes of his got rather dim, as he said-
All right, my dear, all right. No, ma'am," to Mrs. Morrison, who was
remonstrating and saying-
Go, dear Louie-go. I want nothing."
No, ma'am, the child is a good child, and you must let her stay with
you-bless her Now then, Miss Curly Wig, away we go "
When the sound of Captain Hickes' wooden leg, hopping up the stone
steps, had died away-with the sound, too, of little Letty's chattering tongue,
as she said, Good-bye, good-bye, mother; I'll bring you something back
from the fair "-Louie's courage almost failed her. She knelt up by the
window, and she could not see through the little bit of square glass to Mrs.
Crump's for blinding tears.


I do not wish to make light of the disappointment of a child of eight years
old, nor can I wonder at Louie's tears. But the brave little girl soon wiped
them away with her pinafore, and then said, in quite a cheerful voice:
It's a lovely fine afternoon, mother. Does your foot ache very badly ?"
It's rather bad, dear, but I must be patient. I am sad about you, Louie,
darling, that you should miss the fair; but I should like the bandage wetted
again, I think."
Yes, and I'll try to do it, mother," Louie said, with alacrity. I may
not do it as well as Captain Hickes, but I'll try."


"We must thank God, dear, I was not killed. If the policeman had not
got hold of me, I should have been trampled in the crowd. We won't forget
to thank our Heavenly Father for his care of me, darling."
"No, mother," said Louie, softly.
And then she really managed the bandage very nicely, and she helped her
mother to change her position a little, and shook up the pillow at her back;
and sitting down by her with a book, she felt-why she felt very happy. For
we are never too young to learn how sweet it is to give up any pleasure, or
anything small or great, for love's sake-for the love we bear another. And
as we grow old, we know that there is no happiness in the world greater than
the happiness of giving up our own will, and thinking of the good of others,
and not of our own.
After an hour's silence, while her mother dozed, and the cat purred at her
feet, and the canary chirped in his cage, Louie heard approaching footsteps,


and who should come in but her aunt, Mrs. Browne, who lived at Aylsham, and
who had come with her husband and her daughter, Rose, Louie's cousin, with
all the Norfolk world, to the fair.
Mrs. Browne was a fat, comfortable woman, who was the picture of a
farmer's wife, and her daughter was almost as old as Louie's mother-a big,
buxom young woman, who called out, Whatever's the matter here ? And
as soon as the facts of the case were known, Mrs. Browne laid down on the
table a basketful of spring treasures-a chicken and some butter and fresh
eggs, and a bunch of daffodils, and said to Mrs. Morrison-
"I must put you to bed, my dear. Bed is the place for you."
"Oh, thank you, Mary. I
was thinking how should I ever
get upstairs; and this dear child,
so handy as she is, has stayed
at home from the fair on pur-
pose to look after me, but she is
not strong enough to help me
I should think not, indeed.
Now, my dear, get your hat, and
Cousin Rose will take you to
the fair. I'll look after mother.^
It's not four o'clock yet, and we
sha'n't be starting home before j i
seven, so you'll have plenty of
time to see the fun."
"Yes; go, Louie, if Cousin
Rose is so kind, and I daresay
you'll meet Captain Hickes and
little Lettice in the fair. Go
my darling."
So Louie went to the fair
after all; and Cousin Rose took
her to the waxworks, and there,
sure enough, they met Captain
Hickes and little Letty. And _0 ,
then they went together to the .
wild beasts, and Lettice fed the
monkeys and the elephant with
And they went all through the fair, where the tempting stalls on either
side seemed full of treasures; and I cannot tell you how kind Cousin Rosie was,
nor how many things that store of pennies helped the children to buy. But I
will tell you that a poor little boy, with ragged jacket and a thin, wan face,
felt a hand laid on his arm, as he stood gazing wistfully at the ginger-
bread dogs and lions, with great pink comfits for eyes, and a little voice
said in his ear-
"Here, little boy, I have such a lot of pennies; take these, and buy
what you like." So Louie again tasted the pleasure of giving happiness
to another.


About six o'clock the party returned to Rose Lane. Mrs. Morrison was
comfortably in bed, and her foot did not pain her so much.
Mrs. Browne had laid out a tea with all her grand country produce,
home-made cakes, and butter and eggs, of which Captain Hickes was invited
to partake.
It was quite a merry tea-party, and when Mrs. Browne and Rosie had at
last to say good-bye, the children followed them to the
( top of the steps, kissing them, and thanking them many
As they danced back again to their own door, what did
it matter to them that Mrs. Crump's shrill voice was heard
-scolding, as usual, and telling Captain Hickes that an
old fellow like him ought to be ashamed of going to the
fair with a parcel of children; only he was, to be sure, more
like a child in his ways than an aged man.
S" Glad to hear it, ma'am, very glad," was the reply.
I'd sooner be like these children than like a cross-grained
old lady, who can't take any pleasure in life. You don't
offend me, ma'am, by saying I am like the children,
bless them "
Mrs. Crump's door shut with a bang, and Captain
Hickes, bidding the little ones good-night, retreated to his
own snug quarters.
"Like a child!" he said to himself; "like a child!
There's a word somewhere that suits that. Something
about being converted and made like children. A child-
heart to believe in God, and love and fear Him. That's
what I must look after. But I wish I hadn't been so cross
S to the old lady. I'll let her have the pump first to-
morrow, and p'raps I'll fill her bucket for her myself."
And with this good resolution the old sailor, who
had seen a hundred fights, lighted his pipe; and long
before the shows in the distant fair were closed, long before the Church of
S. Peter's Mancroft, had rung its final peal for the night, Captain Hickes and
the other inhabitants of the quiet little court in Rose Lane were wrapt in
profound and unbroken sleep.

5<-^---^j I9ljer^/C0tZ )

tbe Wounbeb Picture.

AINTS are nice things, some people think; and Gertie Nelson was one
of the number. Ever since she was a tiny child, she had loved to play
with this sort of delicious coloured mud-pie; and with her Japanese doll to
help her, as in the picture, she would sit on the floor smearing diligently, her
brush sometimes in her left hand, sometimes in her right; sometimes even she
worked away with a brush in each.
Her one idea of a nice play was to paint your picture." Whenever her
little friends came to see her, she would say," I want to paint your picture "; and
before they knew where they were,
she would have pounced on the
prettiest, set her down in a chair,
and would begin with a brush to
paint first one eye, then the other,
then her nose, then the mouth, then
the hair; she was great at hair.
It was so nice to take her biggest
brush, swimming with paint, to
begin at the top of the head, and
struggle down, down, down the
paper in a long wavy yellow streak.
It was very good fun for Gertie, but
not so funny for the friend, who got
tired of being perched on a chair,
and told to sit still and look at ,
nothing in particular without wink-
ing, for all the world like an aggra- I
vated photographic performance.
Long before Gertie had done half
as much as she wished, the friend
had hopped down and come to
see; then this sort of conversation
generally took place: Oh, Gertie,
I haven't got a nose like that!"
"Well, no, I have turned it up too much; if you'll go and sit again, I'll turn
it down." No, thank you, I've sat till I'm stiff. I don't believe you can
do a nose properly; and you've made me squint, too! It's a horrid picture!"
"Oh," poor Gertie would say, ready to cry, "it isn't a horrid picture It
would have been a very nice picture if you hadn't got up in the middle.
It's you that are a horrid girl!" And then they would play at something
else, and peace would be restored.
Gertie's father was an artist, and an R.A.; he used often to paint his little
daughter, and once, when she was about ten years old, did a picture of her
that was the means of saving her life.
Besides being an artist, Mr. Nelson was a great sportsman; he preserved
most strictly; but there were certain good-for-nothing young fellows in the


village, headed by a wheelwright, Black Phil," who found Mr. Nelson's
coverts most interesting, and showed their interest by frequently poaching
them, knocking the roosting birds off the trees on moonlight nights, or laying
snares and nets for them. Many a time had Mackie and the other keepers
watched through the night,
lying still as stones, lest
S the least crackle of dead
'- leaf or brittle twig should
~ -' betray their presence.
"Don't you feel very
frightened, Mackie? Gertie once
S" /'Z asked the keeper. "Isn't the wood
very creepy at night?" And she
looked at him with eyes that got
S' I bigger and bigger with terror at the
ar _% ery idea.

"Lots of things do creep about in the wood at. night, Miss Gertie,"
Mackie had answered, in a voice that hadn't much of a tremble in it; but I
can't say I feel particularly nervous myself."
Gertie contemplated the big man, with his jolly frank face, with respectful
admiration. "What a very brave man you are, Mackie! I wonder the
poachers dare to look over papa's hedges even."


The poachers were wary fellows, however, and seemed
instinctively to guess when the keepers were on the
watch; but one night fortune favoured the keepers.
The poachers were laying snares, when the keepers
leapt out upon them; three got away before
they could be recognized, but Black Phil's
foot caught in a root, and he fell full length
among the brushwood. Mackie was
after him in an instant the poacher
tried to rise and close with him,
but his ankle was badly twisted, "
and he fell back, grasping his -
loaded gun. I'll shoot you.
if you come a step ..
nearer," he shouted.
pointing the muzzle ..
at Mackie, who '-
hesitated for a
and the
two ..

remained glaring at
each other; another
second, and Black
Phil's arms were pin-
ioned from behind. Mr.
Nelson had followed
his servants, and had come round the tree, at the foot of which the poacher
was lying, just in the nick of time, and Phil was soon secured and handed
over to the police. His trial came on; he was convicted, and condemned



to a term of imprisonment, and was sent to Dartmoor, raging against Mr.
Nelson, and vowing to be revenged.
It was now spring-time, and Gertie was about ten years old. Her father
had just finished a full length portrait of her, standing in a loose white dress,
looking straight out of the frame, with her sunny eyes and golden hair. It
was to go to the Academy; and before it was sent away, the Nelsons asked
their friends and neighbours one afternoon to come and give their opinions
about it. Everybody agreed at first that it was very pretty; but after that
opinions began to differ. Isn't her frock too white ? said the clergyman's
wife. Isn't her frock too yellow ? said the colonel's wife. It is hardly
tall enough for Gertie," said another lady, looking at the picture, with her
head on one side. Now, I think it is too tall," said a fourth, putting her
head on one side, too, with a most searching expression on her face; but
then she had three daughters, and they were all dumpy, and she didn't like
anybody's daughter to be taller than they.
You see each guest felt they must say some-
thing, and something each one accordingly said, and
some took such a long time over saying it, that when
SLe at last they all took their leave, Gertie was quite
tired, and she dragged a big arm-chair into the
"I middle of the room, pushed her
S1.r father into it, and climbed on
his knee, laying her head on
his shoulder.
What are you going to call
4 the picture, Daddy? she said,
S after a pause. Are you going
to call it Me ? "
be" Call it 'Me.' That would
be a funny title; no, I shall
call it-call it-" He couldn't
S.... .p think of a name, nor could
al Gertie, nor could her mother.
S" Could Mackie find a title,
S F do you think?" said Gertie.
"He called the dogs Romp
and Rover, and gives names
to all the farm horses and
S cows. I'll go and ask him."
She slid off her father's knee
and ran out, as the hall door
bell rang, and a distant neigh-
bour and his wife were an-
They came in apologising for
being so late. "We couldn't
get here sooner," Mr. Bentley explained," for my mare cast a shoe, and
we had to have it put on in the village, and it was a long time before I
could get anyone to attend to me. Something was up. What is it ? What
is going on?"


I don't know at all," replied Mr. Nelson. Couldn't the man who
shoed your mare tell you. Didn't you ask him ?"
Yes, I did; but he wouldn't. But let's see the picture."
Charles," said Mrs. Nelson, from the other
side of the room, "the light has got so low it is
quite impossible to see the picture properly where
it is now. Do put it on the ground, facing the /
garden. There is a little more light there."
Mr. Nelson lifted the picture to the ground,
and propped it up against the back of a chair. \
The four looked at it for a moment in silence.
"It looks wonderfully
real," said Mrs. Bentley. In
this half light, anyone would
think it was Gertie herself C \
standing there."
After a little time, the '
Bentleys said it was time to
go, and they all stepped out '
through the window, and
walked round to where the
dog-cart was standing. -
"Where is Gertie?" asked
Mrs. Bentley. o
"She has gone off to her
friend, Mackie," replied her
host. "I am sorry you will
not have seen her. Good- I
bye !"
Good-bye and the
dog-cart trotted off, and the
Nelsons went into the garden..
The noise of the horse's
hoofs died gradually away; the t
light faded a little more, and
all became quiet. Very quiet,
until a rustling sound proceeded.
from the shrubbery near the house, and a man's head peered cautiously out.
It was Black Phil, whose return from prison had been the cause of the
excitement in the village, remarked by Mr. Bentley. He looked in the
direction in which the Nelsons had gone, and the scowl on his forehead grew
deep. "Ah he thought, "there they go, rich and happy. They've got
everything. But I'll have something, that I will"; and he grasped the stock
of the rook rifle he held. "See if I don't-my revenge!" Then he dashed
into the bushes again on hearing voices approaching. It was the father and
mother and little Gertie. And did you find Mackie ? the father was saying.
No," answered Gertie ; he had gone down to the village; but I saw
Mrs. Mackie, and begged her to send him up directly. I told her it was some-
thing very particularly particular about my picture." And they passed through
the hall door, close by the bushes where the poacher was crouching.



A little later he crept out, looked carefully up and down, listened, and then
made his way to the house. The window had remained open, as the
Nelsons had left it; and at the distance at which Black Phil stopped, he
could see Gertie's figure stand-
ing near it. The poacher raised
his gun. He took aim, fired.
The little white figure fell with-
out uttering a cry, and Black
Phil turned and ran.

At the Royal Academy that
year the great sensation of the
season was a portrait of a child
in a white dress, bearing a
round bullet mark in the fore-
head. I need not tell you
whose picture it was.
The sound of the shot had
startled the whole household, --
and brought everybody running -
into the studio. Gertie burst -
into tears at the sight of her 7
portrait face downwards on
the floor.
"Oh! who has upset me?'
she cried through her sobs.
" Who can have done it ? "
"This scoundrel," answer-
ed Mackie's voice, unexpectedly .
from the gravel outside; and
there, between Mackie and the footman, who each held him firmly gripped,
stood Black Phil.

Black Phil was sent back to'prison; and there he is, I hope, still.
Gertie's portrait hangs in the dining-room, and many and many a time has her
father had to tell the strange history of


J~ ~Si-w~1,

Jounb Ubrougb a jIicture.

" H Granny, Granny, what a funny little boy! exclaimed Charlie.
S "Why, Charlie, he's just like you, look at his curls; now, isn't he,
Granny ? cried Alice.
Very probably," I answered; and I think the little girl is very much
like you, Alice."
"So do I," said Charlie, with an air of great wisdom; I think she's
quite pretty."
So did your father, Charlie."
Father-did father know them ?
Who are they?" asked both the
"They were always known as
S S little He and She; and you'll think
/ it very strange that 'He' was the
little girl, and She' the boy."
"Granny, you know a story, I'm
w just sure you do; tell us, do tell us,"
.begged Charlie.
\ell, darlings, all I can tell you
to-night is that the girl's
name was Hebe, and
before the boy could
speak plainly he called
her' He '; and his name
was Sheepshank, and
that was far too difficult
for her little tongue, so
it was shortened to
S'She'; and all their
Friends were so amused,
that the children were
:. for many years known
Lt X.i ,. only by their nick-
"Why, Granny, your name and our name is Sheepshank," said Charlie,
with a gaze of evident bewilderment.
Yes, dear, and now it is too late for you to hear more to-night; but I
will write out my story, and then someone can read it to you another time."

The picture that had so attracted the attention of the children, was a
water colour drawing made by a friend of mine many years ago, and had
been of infinite service and comfort to me in days of sad trouble-trouble
that even now saddens me when recalled to mind. But I must remember my
promise, and so I sit down to write the story, and put on record the merciful
Providence that guarded the lives of those so dear to me.


My husband and I had been in India for some years before the outbreak
of the mutiny, he holding a lucrative post in the Civil Service; the one great
disadvantage of this post being the necessity it entailed of very frequent
changes of residence.
We had three
children: two girls,
who had been sent
to England, and an
only boy, who re-
mained in India with
us. The child's name
was Charlie, the T
same as his father's;
but when he lost the
distinctive title of
"baby," we always "
spoke of him, and
to him, as "Sheep-
shank," for his father
laughingly said, "his
legs were as long and
as thin as a mountain
mutton." Then Hebe l
dubbed him "She,"
and his name was
We were sta-
tioned at Delhi when
my husband received
orders to proceed to
Allahabad, to investi-
gate a serious charge
of peculation pre-
ferred against a
native official. I was
left behind with little
My most inti-
mate and dearest
friend was the wife of
Captain Anstruther,
an officer of one of
the native regiments;
she was a thorough
true-hearted simple
Scotch woman, very '
young, very charm-
ing, and the mother of little Hebe. With her I passed some hours each day
during my husband's absence, and often we talked of the possibilities of an
outbreak among the native troops. Rumours of troubles to come were rife


in all quarters; but their origin remained unknown, and their truth was
denied by every white man in office.
A long six weeks of loneliness had expired, when I received news of my
husband's illness, and an anxious request that I would join him as quickly as
possible. It was a bad time of year for travelling, and Charles particularly
wished me to come to him alone. There is no possible accommodation in this
wretched place for poor little She" (he was lying ill in a small village some
miles from Allahabad). "Leave him with the .ayah, or better still, ask
Mrs. Anstruther to take charge of both child and nurse."
Janet Anstruther was delighted; I was sad. I had a presentiment that
misfortunes were about to befall us, and that they would be beyond any of my
power to control.

-- --

I could not leave my husband in his sickness, and I must leave my boy;
but I hoped I was leaving him safe, and in strong hands to guard him. And
so I said farewell.
My husband's illness was so severe, and of such long duration, that before
he was able to return to his duties at Allahabad, the mutiny broke out in all
its horrors.
Private news from Delhi never reached us, and our anxiety was
unendurable; the strain was too great for the invalid, and my husband had a
relapse, and was unconscious for many days. Our native servants had been
with us for years, and were faithful during this time so fraught with treachery.
The rebel troops did not find us, perhaps did not search for us, as we were
strangers in the neighbourhood; but we had to keep close, and adopt the
costume of the natives, and dye our faces and hands.
Oh how we longed for news from Delhi, but none came; and when our
countrymen again became masters of the rebellious natives, we ventured to

return to our home. Alas! we found it looted and partially destroyed. Of
our boy we could learn nothing.
Captain Anstruther had been murdered by his soldiers, shot in cold blood
as he sat at the mess-table; his wife had nearly, if not quite, lost her reason,
and had been carried off, and Hebe also, by some of the fugitives to Calcutta.
This had taken place some weeks back.
We travelled slowly on to Calcutta; my husband's
strength was again nearly exhausted, so that our move-
ments could not be hurried. The horrors of delay
and uncertainty were terrible, and only the hope of
finding my boy in Calcutta kept me from breaking
down entirely.
When at length we
reached Calcutta, we found
our troubles no nearer an ,
end. Only a week before,
two steam-
ers had
been des-
patched to '
England, .
widows and
and other
relatives of
the mur-
dered men 1
In one of
them had
sailed Mrs.
and her
little girl;
poor She
had accom-
panied her
we could
not dis- 1' 'v-
cover. No-
body knew
him; and the excitement and sympathy that prevailed, appeared to have
weakened most people's perceptions of what really had taken place.
My husband resigned his appointment, and we decided to go home.
Our girls were in London, and possibly we might find that Janet had taken
our boy there; at all events, we had heard too much of the cruelty and ferocity
of the mutineers, to dare even hope our She was living, if he had been left in
Delhi without the protection of the Anstruthers.


The vessel we travelled by was bound for Southampton; and here we
hoped to hear of Mrs. Anstruther. Again were we bitterly disappointed. Mrs.
Anstruther had died on her voyage home-" broken-hearted," the ship's agent
told us-but what had become of her child he could not say; indeed, he did
not appear to know there was a child-" possibly that, too, had been buried at
sea; such things often occurred, and just now the confusion was so great that
he could give us no precise information."
Advertisements brought no reply; enquiries, though made through every
possible channel, were fruitless. No news of the missing children could
be gleaned anywhere, and we settled down in London, wretched in the
Had we known where to find our boy's grave, our trouble would gradually
have lost some of its bitterness; but the uncertainty of his fate kept the
recollection ever before us, and we could not forget.
Two years passed away, and
my husband and our eldest girl
both needed change of air, and
.., we went to Torquay. Why we
should have chosen that par-
ticular locality I have never been
able to determine, for we knew
S*.nothing of it, and our doctor had
recommended Scotland.
the While at Torquay we made
.. the acquaintance of a lady who
was a clever artist, and our two
girls became so fond of her that
They often took tea with her, and

examining a portfolio of water-
colour sketches. I bent over the drawings without any special interest
in their examination, talking meanwhile on indifferent subjects with Miss
Jackson. Mamma, look at this," said my eldest girl Alice, as she held
out a drawing towards me. I looked, and the sudden shock I received
made me quite faint. Surely I was gazing on a likeness of She.
How long I gazed-I could not speak-I know not. But Miss Jackson
thought I was ill, or that something was wrong, for she came to the table, and,
taking the drawing from the child, said very quietly, Mamma is tired now,
dear; you must bring her another day, if she will come."
A burst of tears came to my relief, though Miss Jackson seemed rather
startled when I exclaimed hysterically, "Tell me where you saw him; do
tell me."
Seen who? What do you mean, Mrs. Sheepshank ? said Miss Jackson,
bewildered, for she had not noticed the drawing at which I had been gazing.
"That boy-those children," I sobbed; and Alice quickly showed her
the sketch,


Oh, dear how strange; surely you can know nothing of little' He and
'She,' as I call them ; though which is which I really could not tell you."
My boy-my little 'She' I exclaimed eagerly. Where did you see
them-in India? "
I've never been out of England; it was at Cromer I made that sketch.
It's exactly like the children, and the umbrella too; only it's a bit too blue,
perhaps," said Miss Jackson, smiling.
"How long ago? I asked abruptly.
The summer before last; but why do you ask ? They were only cottagers'
They are my children." I spoke angrily, for her perfect unconcern
about a subject of such vital importance to me angered me beyond bearing.
"Yours? The utter incredulity of her tone broke down my newly-
awakened hope, and my tears flowed fast.
Alice came to my rescue. Creeping
to my side, she put her arms round my
neck, and, looking at Miss Jackson, said,
"Poor mamma! we've lost our little
brother, Miss Jackson; the wicked Sepoys
took him or killed him. Poor, poor
mamma! "
I suppose I became unconscious, for
the next thing I remember was that the .
young artist was bathing my face with eau-
de-Cologne, and was as eager to answer
my questions as I was to ask them.
She had seen the two children in the
street at Cromer, and had been so taken
with their quaintness of appearance, and
the chivalrous manner of the boy, as he
guarded his small companion, that she
talked to them and got them to stand for
her to make a sketch of their faces and
their umbrella, and had filled in the rest
of the picture afterwards. To whom they
belonged she had not an idea. She asked
their names, and was greatly amused and
somewhat puzzled because the boy said
the girl was He," and the girl said the .:
boy was "She," and both resented, in.
childish fashion, her attempt to teach
them that they were wrong. The girl
began to cry, and the boy said, contemptuously, Oh! oo don't know."
The very next day we all left Torquay for Cromer, taking Miss Jackson
with us.
I had not felt so happy and light-hearted since the day I had left Delhi
for Allahabad. My husband begged of me not to be too sanguine, for my
hopes might yet be disappointed; but nothing anyone could say could take
from me the delightful relief I felt at being sure my boy had not suffered
tortures at the hands of those wild, cruel, ferocious Hindoos.


Three days of careful enquiry at Cromer brought no result but a sickening
increase of anxiety. On the fourth day, as we wended our way along the cliff,
to make enquiry at a farmhouse where someone remembered some children
had been staying at the time of Miss Jackson's former visit, I felt as though
the easiest and quickest solution of my troubles would be to fling myself down
the precipice, and put an end to it all. The
touch of my husband's hand on my arm recalled
my better reason, and I breathed a fervent
prayer to my Heavenly Father for strength and
endurance. As I turned away from the edge of
the cliff I came face to face with a. coastguard
officer. I was impelled to speak to him, stranger
though he was. "We are looking for some
children who were at Cromer the summer "
before last-children like this," and I showed
him the drawing, which was never now out of
my possession.
"Oh! yes, little she He' and little he
'She'"; and he laughed heartily; "the merriest
and jolliest little couple I ever came across,
and great friends with Cap'en King, as they
called me."
Where can we find
them, sir ?" asked my
husband, for. I could not
speak a word.
"Ah now, that's
more than I can tell you.
The widow woman who
took care of them-and
was'nt she proud of the
mites! -got married to
one of our men, and he
was moved to another
I found my voice now. .
" The boy is our boy, our
own little She.' "
"Just so, madam; I I1 "
told you 'twas a he 'She"'; '
and the captain's merry
laugh rang out again.
Seeing my blank look of
utter disappointment, he continued more soberly, "I'll look back through
the register, and I may find the name of Turner's new station. Will you
come to the flagstaff with me? and I'll do my best. Did you lose the little
chap, or how was it? "
While the books were being examined, my husband told him how we had
lost our boy, and how hope had been dead until we saw Miss Jackson's


No record was found of the coastguardsman's new station; but Captain
King told us where to apply to in London, and there we found that Turner
was at the Sandhills, near Deal. To Deal we went, and found Mrs. Turner
and the children. He" was grown out of my knowledge, and of course did not
know me; but She looked at me steadily for a second or two, and then
fairly leaped up and seized me round the neck, burying his curly head on my
shoulder. Mummy, mummy, I'se so glad," he sighed. I took lots o' care o'
'He'; no' nasty black 'poys touch her-see"; and he pointed with evident pride
to the little girl.
There is no need to say anything about our feelings. We had found our
boy, and our thankfulness to God was beyond words.
Mrs. Turner had been the wife of one of the troopers killed at Delhi. She
had travelled down from that city to Calcutta with the refugees, and finding
Mrs. Anstruther utterly unable to care for the children or herself, had lightened
her own load of grief by helping one more heavily burdened than herself.
She was shipped home in the same transport as the lady and the children, and
when poor Janet Anstruther died, this kindly good soul had taken the children
to her heart, and tended them faithfully. All honour to her, for she had to
work hard to find them food and clothing such as they had been accustomed to.
No mother could have desired to see her darlings better cared for than were
these little waifs on the ocean of life.
We could not take the children from their foster-mother; she loved them
so dearly, and we knew too well how badly she would suffer, so we took her as
well as our darlings; and she is now, ahd ever has been, a valued friend. Her
husband is my husband's right hand on his estate, and Mrs. Turner calls herself
" Nurse to Charlie and Alice, for they are the children of little He and
" She," who have never been separated all their lives, Hebe Anstruther having
become Mrs. Charlie Sheepshank.




Ube Doctor's laulie.

ILL father come to-day, Mam
Osla? "
The doctor will come when Provi-
Sdence thinks best."
Dr. Yorstien's little daughter had
asked her nurse a question of that sort
many, many times, and the good woman
Shad always given evasive answers.
She would not compromise herself by a
Decided statement; and so she kept alive in
the child's heart a belief that God would re-
S store her father to her some time.
Laulie had a very sunny disposition, and
did not fret over his prolonged absence,
although she longed for his return with a very
unchildlike strength of love and purpose. She
( was always ready for a merry game on the sea-shore;
- but. no game could chain her interest if a sail appeared
in the offing, and she would instantly drop everything"
until she was reluctantly convinced that the passing
ship, or approaching boat, was not bringing the doctor
to his darling.
But he did not come.
FATHER. OUT The days, weeks, months became a year, and Laulie
Yorstien was happy in the home of her faithful nurse,
whose husband and children did everything in their power to make life bright
for the motherless little one committed to their care.
Magine, the-eldest son of the family, a fine lad of seventeen, absolutely
doted on the child. There was nothing he would not do for the little foster-
sister; and this he proved in a startling manner, as you shall learn by-and-by.
Fishermen's children usually live near the sea, and they do not often
possess toys such as you buy in shops. But they have a wonderful store of
playthings, notwithstanding-a supply which never fails, and is constantly
changing. I mean the shells, and pebbles, and queer creatures, and lovely
plants, which make a sea-shore the best play-place in the world.
One of Laulie's favourite amusements was to dig a hole in the wet sand
when the tide was out, and deposit therein a live crab. The water always
accumulated in sufficient quantity to keep the crab alive until the returning
tide covered the spot, or the captive contrived to crawl out, and so escape.
The child would sometimes stand for hours watching her captive, and
talking to it in a low, curiously earnest tone; and whenever it contrived to
escape, she gave expression to a great joy. She never tried to recapture it,
but would eagerly follow the crab scuttling along sideways, saying, That's


right, dear! run fast to the sea. Oh! I am so glad you got away. Now,
hurry up, and you will find your home away under the waves very soon;
I know you will."
The intense eagerness she displayed in capturing crabs, and the intense
delight she took in their escape, was a strange thing, which no one could
understand, until at last Laulie explained it herself.
She was sitting one day by a tiny pool
she had dug out, and was, as usual, watching \ 4
the restless movements of a captive, when
Magine came by. He and his father had just.
returned from the fishing, and he was carrying
a piece of coral which had come up on the
lines, and which he had preserved for Laulie.
"After crabs, as usual, Dawtie! "* he
cried, cheerily; "but see, I've got a bonnier
laulie t for our Laulie."
The little girl looked up, smiled, and took
the coral; then remarked, gravely, "My crabs
are not toys, Magine. I don't play with them."
"Well, you dinna eat them. What else
can you do wi' the like ? "
"Sit down, and I'll tell you," said the
imperious little lady; and Magine submissively
obeyed her, whereupon she perched herself/
on his knee, and, gazing solemnly in his
face, she said, "My crabs are all father;
just dear father."
Magine stared, as well he might, and
was tempted to laugh outright; but the _
wistful seriousness of Laulie's little visage -_
checked him, and he merely remarked,
" Ye're a funny bairn, that ye ere "
"I'll tell you-if I can, Magine, how
it is. You know father sailed away,
away to Greenland, when the sun shone, and
the sea was blue, and moving, every bit of it.
But the cold wind came, and the ice, and
closed the ship in somewhere. And there she
is, and there is father-somewhere; all closed
round with ice. But I just believe that one MAGINE CARRYING LAULIE HOM
day the ice will all melt, and the ship will float
home; or father will get out of the ship, and run over the ice, and come home
that way-just like my crabs "
O-o-o-h! ejaculated Magine; and then he whistled and stared into the
pool at his feet, where a large crab was making frantic efforts to escape.
Magine had no answer to give Laulie. He had- not "the heart to tell her,
what all save herself believed, that every soul who sailed in the Island Queen
must have died long ere then.
Dawtie "-darling, or any other term of endearment.
t Laulie is the Shetland word for plaything."



He shuffled with his feet among the sand, and, for sake of avoiding the
pathetic inquiring gaze which he knew to be fastened on his face, pretended to
be engrossed in marking a line with the toe of his boot in the soft sand. This
line he slowly deepened and widened until it became a small channel between
the pool and the level beach. Master Crab was not long in finding his way to
this passage, along which he soon
made his exit, and was speedily
shuffling towards the water-free!
Laulie clapped her hands de-
lightedly; then stopped suddenly,
and gave a long gasp, as some sur-
prising thought presented itself to
her. She was quite motionless for
SI a minute, but the flush on her brow,
and the excited light in her eyes,
told a tale. At last she cried out-
Oh, why did I never think of
someone making a way for father
to escape ? Magine, dear Magine! "
-and she flung her arms around
the lad's neck Why, Magine,
you shall make a way for father to
come home. You shall set him free.
-You shall do it all; you, Magine "
"I!-whatever do ye mean,
S Dawtie ? Magine exclaimed.
"I mean that you shall go
t away, away, and find father, and help him
S',' out of his ice-prison. I thought of it when
I 1 saw you make a way of escape for my
poor crab. Don't you see how it fits in?
Oh, it is just what I wanted!"
I believe the young fisherman thought
that Laulie was commissioned divinely to
lay this mighty quest upon him, for in
Serious soberness he answered- "Yes,
Laulie; I will do ye're biddin'."

LALIE. s9 I OUGHT to explain how it happened that
Dr. Yorstien went away, and left his
daughter in the position I have indicated. She was his only child, and
passionately loved by him. During the first five years of Laulie's life there
was nothing but sunshine and happiness in her home, for her young parents
were devoted to each other, and she was the crowning joy of their lives.
They lived on a beautiful island of the Shetland group, and they had scarcely
any neighbours of their own rank; but they did not mind that. The peasantry
of those isles are very intelligent, as well as refined in their ways; they dearly


loved their doctor and his sweet wife, and the Yorsteins were perfectly content
to dwell among these fisher-folk.
Then-without warning, without the smallest presentiment of sorrow
coming-Mrs. Yorstien took ill, and died after a few days' suffering.
All the light seemed stricken out of the doctor's life with that blow. He
could take no comfort. In vain his darling child clung to his neck, and tried
to coax back a smile to his face. In vain her faithful nurse, Osla, appealed to
him, for sake of his little girl, to try and bear up against his affliction. He
had been smitten unawares, and smitten to the soul.
His wife had been a religious
woman, and had met her death /
as a Christian should, looking for- ,C
ward to reunion in a happier land;
but the doctor's religion had not I
been of such a deep living kind, '
and he was not ready to find
comfort in a divine resource, 7 I
though his terrible affliction
caused him to reflect as he
had never done before upon
the things pertaining to
eternal life.
For weary months
he brooded over his
sorrow, and had few
desires beyond the long-
ing to follow his wife.
At last, however, the.
piteous looks of his /
child found a way to the
man's stricken heart;
he awoke to the know-
ledge that Laulie was _| __
growing pale, and thin,
and sad diningg"
the Scotch folk call it.
He spoke to Osla about\\\
it, and the woman said, \\\
frankly-- bii
The dear bairn is
needing love, and she's in want o' happy wirds and looks; what she was
nursed upon, and never missed a day in her life. She'll flit after her sweet
mither if ye canno' be ta her what ye were afore the trouble cam. And, dear
sir, why no ? Why will ye no forgi'e the Lord for letting you be afflicted ?
Ye hae your bairn, and she's like to be her mither's image if she lives; but
she'll no' live if ye dinna take heed."
Mam Osla's plain speech did what nothing else could; it aroused the
doctor from his despondency in a great measure, but he could not resume his
old life; he could not take up the threads of daily duty which had been
held by her hands; so he decided to go away for a time, and try what


change of scene and active occupation would do to restore him. The Green-
land whaling fleet used to call at the Shetland Isles to make up" their
crews, for the men there are splendid sailors. Some of the vessels were
commanded by Shetlanders. Dr. Yorstien knew many of the captains,
as well as the crews, and it was not difficult for him to procure a berth as
doctor on board one of these whalers.
He felt sure that Laulie could not be left in better care than that of Mam
Osla and her family; so he made every arrangement for the child's comfort,
and promising her that he would come- back, looking like her own laughing
daddy" (as she had called him
-- in the old days), the doctor
sailed away to the far, far north.
-_ -- The whaling fleet came back
before the ice-king resumed his
reign; but the Island Queen did
-not return with her sister-ships.
Days and weeks passed, and
when the north seas were frozen
_-- up, folks said she must have be-
come blocked; that often hap-
pens, and the men winter among
the snows. Next spring, when
the whalers went north again,
they found the Island Queen
floating water-logged and aban-
doned among icebergs.
It was evident her crew
Sfi had left her, and it was hoped
( they would be heard of, or found,
/ among the Esquimaux. But
no authentic report could be
obtained; and so another year
went by, and everyone gave up
hope except Dr. Yorstien's little
S\ daughter. She was too young
to understand the story; more-
S over, no one had told her much
/ ^ about it, beyond the fact that
I i her father had been shut up
among the ice, and that his ship would float out safely when the spring
sunshine returned. He had sailed away with the spring sunshine; and it
returned twice, but he did not come.
It was just two years from the time of his going till that day when
Laulie called upon Magine Leask to accept the quest, and go like a young
knight of olden times to the rescue.
The lad was perfectly certain he ought to do Laulie's bidding; perhaps
some boyish dreams of his own gave impetus to the conviction. A great
many of the Shetland youths looked forward to a voyage to Greenland,
as the lady's page of long ago looked forward to mounting steed and
following his lord to war.


Magine carried Laulie on his shoulder to the cottage where his mother
was busily preparing a meal for her husband, who, as I said, had just returned
from the fishing with his son.
Mam Osla," said Magine, sitting down and lowering Laulie on to his
knee, "the bairn wants me ta go ta Greenland and find the doctor, and I'm
no' laith* ta do that same."
The lad's statement was made very abruptly. It was an astounding
announcement, never hinted at before, and his parents were naturally very
much amazed; they received it at first- with ejaculations of surprise, then with
decided negatives. But Laulie pleaded, and Magine argued, until Rassmie
Leask and Osla, his wife, began to give way and admit that Magine might do
worse than take a trip with a Greenland whaler. Though what way du t
is going ta find out what mony a man canno' discover, beats me ta tell,"
said Rassmie.
Osla looked at her stalwart son, with his face all aglow with determination
and enthusiasm, and she remarked, When Magine takes a thing in hand he
goes through wi' it; and maybe, my dears, it will be given ta our boy ta find
oot what happened. Even ill news wad be better than nae news."
I'll no' bring home ill news, mithur," said Magine, very decidedly,
whereat his parents smiled; and Laulie exclaimed, No! no! he will bring
father; Magine will make a way for father to come home. I know he will."
The couple smiled on her, and Magine took that to mean that parental
sanction had been given to his proposed quest.
By-and-bye the matter was discussed after a more practical fashion. It
was arranged that Magine should join the first whaler which touched at
Lerwick in need of men and boys; he would go as an ordinary sailor, doing
ordinary duty; but he would take every opportunity of prosecuting the search
for Dr. Yorstien and his lost comrades.
Secretly Magine resolved that if his position on board ship prevented
him from following his quest effectively, he would not hesitate to desert.
Mam Osla wept, but Laulie danced for joy, when the day came upon
which Rassmie's boat left the shore, carrying Magine away to join a ship then
in Bressay Sound.

IT would take more time and space than I have at my disposal to relate
Magine Leask's adventures after he sailed on his quest. I will merely tell you
that he lost no opportunity of questioning every person with whom he came
in contact, upon the subject of the lost man of the Island Queen.
His captain was a Shetlander, and many of the crew also, so that Magine
found numerous interested listeners. All whalers spoken were interrogated
on the subject, and all natives; but for some time nothing could be heard,
beyond what was already known. At last it happened that Magine and some
of his comrades, camping on the ice, were visited by a party of Esquimaux
from a very remote district. After cross-questioning these "Yaks," a won-
derful discovery was made. It was found that two Britons, a man and a lad
("like you and you," the "Yaks said, pointing to the captain and Magine)
*Loth. t You.


were residing with the tribe, had been with them for some time, and were
obliged to remain there.
The little squat men were secretive and suspicious, and they affected to be
unable to explain why the couple of strangers continued to reside in such
society. They described
their home as being very
far away, and most inacces-
sible. One of their party
scooped a hole in the snow,
S\ and piled loose fragments
of ice around it, to represent
hills; then pointing to the
hollow so enclosed, he let it
be understood that down in
--;- such a place dwelt his kin-
S-- -- -dred and the unknown man
Sand lad.
/ Magine's imagination,
filled with his quest and
".".". .. little Laulie's quaint fancies
) about her father, instantly
/ caught at the description of
S\ that hollow amid the snow-
hills, so curiously resembling
those pools wherein the
child imprisoned crabs, and
dreamed of her father in a
like predicament.
The lad had believed
that Laulie's hope and
S / dream were not the result of
_-_ iirrational and morbid imag-
inings, but were inspired
S- by some beautiful instinct
planted in her heart by a
Power divine. Believing so,
it was not wonderful that Magine saw a marvellous likeness between the ice-
bound valley and the sand-pool, and was convinced that he had at last come
on the track of Dr. Yorstien.
He could not explain his reasons for that conviction, but he pleaded
eagerly with his captain to allow him to go with the Esquimaux, and find out
who those strangers were.
After much careful reflection and exhaustive cross-questioning of the
natives-who knew very little English, of course-the captain explained to
them that he wished to send messengers to his countrymen; that he would
give great gifts if his men were kindly treated and helped; and bespoke the
goodwill of the "Yaks" by presenting them with a good many (to them)
valuable articles.
The gifts, and evident kind intentions, of the British sailors had the
desired effect, and the "Yaks" became friendly and communicative. They


promised to convey Magine and a comrade in safety to their home, and bring
them back also; and they admitted that the reasons why the two strangers
remained with the tribe were because the lad had lost his feet through
frost-bite, and the man was "a great medicine," and could drive away all
evil spirits !
"It's the doctor himself, I'll bet my head! Magine cried, when this
information was elicited; and his captain began to believe that the boy
was right.
Final arrangements were made. The Esquimaux were made to under-
stand clearly that generous rewards would be theirs if they carried out the
wishes of the captain;
but that dire vengeance
would assuredly be "t "-,.-___
meted to them if they \ --- '
proved treacherous, or .
in any way tried to pre- _
vent the messengers
and the strangers from _-
meeting and returning
to the ship. \
Those natives knew
the power which British
tars wield. They stood 4P
in wholesome dread of
guns and knives, and .,L J
even a rope's end. They
could be trusted to
obey; so Magine and
another of the crew "
were sent off with the
"Yaks," whose dog-
drawn sleighs were soon
flying over the ice fields -' "
in a northerly direction. ~ -i 'j
The home of the
tribe was not so far
distant as has been -
said; but the descrip-
tion of its position was
accurate enough. The
valley was-small and green, and very lovely, set in the heart of steep snow-
hills, with only one narrow gorge leading into it. This passage was winding,
and might easily be overlooked.
As the sleigh in which he sat, threaded its way along the gorge, and at last
emerged in the basin-like vale, Magine was irresistibly reminded of the
incidents which led little Laulie to send him to Greenland. If the lad had
ever had one doubt regarding the wisdom of his quest, that doubt died when
Dr. Yorstien, hale and hearty, dressed in the garb of a Yak," came striding
from a hut, and calling out, Sailors! British sailors at last Thank God "
" And from the old isle, doctor," Magine shouted. He was recognized at
once, and then the father, in faltering tones asked, "My Laulie ? "


"All right! She sent me to find you "
To be sure there was a great hand-shaking and questioning after that!
Magine told all about the way he had been
induced to leave home; and though the doctor
smiled over the story of the captive crabs, there
were tears in his eyes, and he said reverently, "I
think God put the fancy in my Laulie's mind."
Then he related how he became imprisoned
S- in that lonely northern valley. The Island Queen
.H^ met with a serious accident, and had to be aban-
doned. The crew divided: some
took to the boats, hoping to be
picked up by a passing vessel; the
Rest remained on the ice, which
one wild night broke up
and floated off here and
Various accidents re-
duced the number of
men on the floe, till at last only Dr. Yorstien and
the maimed cabin boy were left to be -rescued by
"Yaks," who took the poor castaways to their
home, and cared for them as we
have heard, valuing the doctor too
highly to permit him to leave or
communicate with the world outside
of their valley.
There is no more to tell that
you cannot guess. Of course, the f
Esquimaux kept their bargain, and .
the adventurers were conveyed to 1
the ship.
We can imagine how Laulie
felt one summer day, months after -
Magine had sailed away, and the
ships were coming home again. She
stood with Mam and Osla Rassmie
on the beach, watching the move- -.
ments of a noble barque in the-
offing. A signal had been made from
the ship when she lay-to, and a boat
had left her side, and was coming
straight to the shore.
"It will be oor Magine, nae doobt," said Rassmie.
"It is Magine," said Magine's mother, as the boat drew near. It's
Magine-and-and-anither. It's "
"Father! father! My laughing daddy! screamed Laulie, as the boat
grounded, and Dr. Yorstien, full of life and vigour, with the smile of old days,
and a great thankfulness to God filled his soul, leapt on shore and caught his
little daughter to his heart.

little 3oe, the Orpban.

HAT shall my story be ? A tale,
To turn my rosy readers pale ?
Of goblins, ghosts, and bogie men,"
And soil with themes untrue my pen?
With things unreal distort my rhyme-
Things only seen in pantomime?
Ah no; a homely tale I'll write,
That shall my little ones delight:
A tale like April sun and rain,
A moment sad, then bright again;
A little shower and greater shine,
Such simple story shall be mine!

How Pincher found' Little Joe and his mother in the snow!
'Twas winter, and the roads were white,
To age's grief, and youth's delight;
As Farmer Drew one ev'ning rode
Towards his snug and warm abode.
Old Pincher ran beside the wheels,
O trotted at the horse's heels,
Till suddenly, with whine and yelp,
He stopped as though he wanted help;
As though some accident had lamed him-
A hidden stone, perchance, had maimed him.
"Come, Pincher, come," cried Farmer Drew;
But Pincher only yelped anew!
The farmer clambered to the ground,
And soon the sadd'ning cause he found;
There, on the snow be-covered way,
A woman and her baby lay;
While Pincher stood and wagged his tail,
And licked the woman's face so pale.
"Great heav'n! what's this?" cried Farmer Drew,
"A woman, and a baby, too;
Exhausted, dying in the snow!"
While_ Pincher howled a wail of woe.
The farmer bore them to his cart,
And fast he drove, with beating heart,


To where Dame Joan stood at the door,
Wond'ring he'd not been home before.
"Quick, quick, good wife he trembling cried,
And bore the silent twain inside;
Where by the fire so warm and bright,
They strove to aid them in their plight.
And all was done by John and Dame,
To help them till the doctor came;
Alas! he sadly shook his head,
The babe was saved, the mother-dead!

How, failing to find out the child's name, they called him Little Joe.
Now no more clouds and chilling shade,
As erst my story must have made
Upon my little readers' faces,
And left in blue eyes tearful traces.
The winter of my tale is done,
The dark is o'er, and spring's begun;
For Farmer John and good Dame Joan,
Who had no children of their own,
Resolved to keep the pretty child
They rescued on that night so wild


They did not know his name, and so
They called him Little Orphan Joe.
No clue had they save one small thing-
Around his neck a wedding-ring
Was fastened by a bit of string-
A wedding-ring, engraved inside
With this inscription, "Mary Hyde."
Quickly he grew, that blue-eyed boy,
John's honest pride, and Joan's joy;
With curly locks like sunny rays,
While sunny, too, were all his ways.
John laughed till tears came in his eyes,
To see him chase the butterflies;
Or when on show'ry
days he'd send
Him off to find the rain-
bow's end.
Out in the fields he
loved to roam;
They scarce could keep
the rogue at home; .
He'd take his bread and
milk for tea
(As in the picture you
can see), ..
And sit and laugh .
among the flow'rs,
And be away from
home for hours;
While ne'er in all the
country round,
Could there a happier
child be found.
He knew each chick, and
duck, and drake,
And would with all acquaintance make;
He'd call the cows by name; and knew
Each horse that plough or waggon drew.
But of all pets that he could boast,
The one, as you will guess, loved most,
Was Pincher brave, to whom he owed
His life upon that snow-bound road.
Indeed, such friends the pair had grown,
That each was seldom seen alone;
And e'en when Joey was asleep,
Still watch and ward would Pincher keep.
Next, his small pony, Dot by name,
His playmate was in many a game;
O'er field and fence he'd often race,
On Dot's broad back at merry pace;


While Pincher barking led the way,
A joyous trio, half the day!
Oft, too, at John's and Joan's side,
To market or to church he'd ride;
Where everyone would smiles bestow,
With kindly words, on Orphan Joe!

How misfortune overcame the Farmer, and how Joey wished he were rich.
Joe grew apace, and soon became
A lad of stout and stalwart frame;

First in all games; the village pride,
And champion of the country side!
At cricket, football, all he'd beat,
Yet never did he stoop to cheat!



So that the boys would gladly go
To have a game with Orphan Joe.
Then when he went a-fishing, too,
Dear me, what wonders he would do,
Till all his friends-of course to tease him-
Declared the fish got caught to please him
Yet 'mid his sports he ne'er forsook-
As good boys never do-his book;

'"T''~ ^ '
And 'many a prize he
gained at school,
And never knew the
dunce's stool.
Now he could help
the Farmer, too,
And guide the plough
the horses drew;
He'd reap and sow,
and many a day
He'd turn and toss
the scented hay;
And oft upon a summer
He'd drive the crows from out the corn;
And ever singing, ever gay,
And joyous as the birds all day!
But now the clouds come once again,
With sorrows in their darksome train;
For Farmer Drew grew weak and ill,
Despite the village doctor's skill.
And week by week in sickness lay,
To Joey's grief, and Joan's dismay.
A tender nurse was Joey, too,
And all that could be done he'd do;
While Joan with tearful eyes would sit,
And seldom John's bedside would quit.
What wonder, then, the farm went wrong,
That crops grew short, and weeds grew strong?


Without John's hand and watchful eye,
That fields would fail, and stock would die ?
'Twas winter, too, and bitter cold,
And all the scanty crops were sold.
The money, too, had nigh been spent,
And John had failed to pay his rent!
"Oh! father, mother!" Joey cried,
In tears by Farmer Drew's bedside-
Oh! father, mother, both so dear,
Who've cherished me for many a year;
It makes my heart with sorrow burn,
That I can make you no return;
If I were rich, oh if I were,
You both should be my constant care!"
The farmer turned, and faintly smiled,
And Joan kissed her darling child;
"I know it, dear!" she wept; "but God
Alone can ward this chast'ning rod!"

How Joey had a visitor, and the Farmer and his wife were made happy,
and how Pincher had a silver collar.
'Tis spring again, and John, still weak,
With shrunken form and pallid cheek,
He's left his bed; the worst is past,
And health's again in sight at last!
But still a cloud rests o'er his brow,
For idle stands the useless plough;
And all have heard with dire alarm,
They'll have to leave the dear old farm!
But now the sun bursts forth again,
And lifts the dreary clouds of pain;
As on a morning bright and gay,
That breathed the balmy breath of May,
A gentleman, with coach and four,
Drives briskly to the farmer's door!
"I hear," said he, "some years ago
You found a woman in the snow,
Upon a night all drear and wild-
A dying woman and her child!
Say, is it true ? in mercy say;
I've sought the boy for many a day! "
John told his story, everything,
E'en to the finding of the ring;
The wedding-ring engraved inside
With the inscription, "Mary Hyde."


"Thank heaven! cried the gentleman,
While tear-drops down his visage ran,
"My poor boy's child it is you found,
And rescued from the -frozen ground!
He was my only son, and dear
As life to me-would he were here!-
He crossed me, and in anger sore,
I drove my dear one from my door!
Oh! bitter years of grief to me,
He left me, and was lost at sea!
His famished wife-(Oh! had I known,
But God help me, my heart was stone !)
Was seeking me to tell her woe,
When death o'ertook her in the snow!
But where is he? my grandson dear,
My lost son's boy? Say, is he here?
From whom I've been so long apart-
I long to clasp him to my heart! "
Speechless with joy, poor Joan flew
To find her Joe, and Pincher, too;
And soon the lad was closely pressed
Unto his aged grandsire's breast.
" Now, heaven be thanked !" he cried, "my friends,
For past misdeeds I'll make amends.

My heir is he, my joy, my pride,
The heir of Sir Adolphus Hyde!"
Tears choked his utterance, tears of joy,
While John and Joan caressed the boy,
Who stood surprised, without a word,
Dumbfounded at the things he heard !


" Grandfather, dear," at length he said,
And with misgiving hung his head,
"You will not part us, say, oh say-
My parents e'er with us shall stay;
For parents they have been, and dear,
And I would always have them near."
"Part you ? cried he; Nay, what I owe
These honest folks but heav'n can know;
And they shall live with me and you,
Ay! and that dear old Pincher, too!
Whate'er I have is yours and theirs,
S And they from hence shall know no
And that good dog, so kind and brave,
A silver collar he shall have! "

My story's done; at Castle Hyde,
John, Joan, and Joe, his grandsire's pride,
Now live; and all that wealth can bring
Is his and theirs. The wedding-ring,
a Now set with diamonds, Joey wears
In mem'ry of his mother's cares!
While Pincher's collar, proudly worn,
Makes him regard all dogs with scorn.
SSo all is sunshine now and bright,
With not a cloud of woe in sight;
And so I'll end while all is joy,
The tale of Joe, the Orphan Boy!


Cic= ac= oo.

IC-TAC-TOO wasa little boy; he was exactly three years old, and the
youngest in the family; so, of course, he was the king. His real name
was Alec; but he was always known in the household, and among his
wide circle of friends, generally as Tic-tac-too. There was a little story to
account for this, and it is that story which I am now going to tell.
There are very few children who do not know the funny old nursery
rhyme of "Tic-tac-too "; it is an old-fashioned rhyme, and in great vogue
amongst nurses. Of course Alec enjoyed it, and liked to have his toes pulled,
and the queer words said to him. But that is not the story, for it is one thing
to like a nursery rhyme very much, and another to be called by the name of
that rhyme, and nothing else.
Now, please, listen to the story.
^< There was no nicer house to live in than
-- |Daisy Farm, it was old-fashioned and roomy;
/ there were heaps of small bed-rooms with low
ceilings, and heaps of long passages, and un-
expected turnings, and dear little cosy corners;
,j o and there was a large nursery made out of two
or three of the small rooms thrown together, and
this nursery had casement windows, and from the
windows the daisies, which gave
S their name to the farm, could be
S ,-,,' & 7 seen. They came up in thousands
..,.1 -upon thousands, and no power of
... man and scythe combined could
Keep them down. The mowing
machine only suppressed them for
s 1 a day or two; up they started anew
in their snowy dresses, with their
Modest pink frills and bright yellow
Mr. Rogers, who owned Daisy
(Farm, objected to the flowers, but
I; his children delighted in them, and
-" picked them in baskets full, and
made daisy-chains to their heart's
content. There were several children
who lived in this pleasant farmhouse, for Tic-tac-too had many brothers and
sisters. The old-fashioned nursery was all that a modern nursery should
be; it had deep cupboards for toys, and each child had his or her wide
shelf to keep special treasures on; and the window-ledges were cosy places
to curl up in on wet days, when the rain beat outside, and the wind sighed,
and even the daisies looked as if they did not like to be washed so much.


Some of the children at Daisy Farm were old enough to have
governesses and masters, to have a schoolroom for themselves, and, in short,
to have very little to say to the nursery; but still there were four nursery
little ones; and one day mother electrified the children by telling them that
another little boy was coming to pay them a visit.
"He is coming to-morrow," said mother; "he is a
year younger than Alec here, but his mother has asked us
to take care of him. You must all be kind to the little
baby stranger, children, and try your very best to make
.him feel at home. Poor little man, I trust he will be happy
with us."
SMother sighed as she spoke; and when she did this,
Rosie, the eldest nursery child, looked up at her quickly.
Rosie had dark grey eyes, and a very sympathetic face;
she was the kind of child who felt everybody's troubles,
and nurse said she did this far more than was good for her.
The moment her mother left the room, Rosie ran up
to her nurse, and spoke eagerly-
"Why did mother sigh when she said a new little
boy was coming here, nursie ? "
Oh, my love, how can I tell ? People sigh most likely
from habit, and from no reason whatever. There's nothing
to fret anybody in a sigh, Miss Rosie."
"But mother doesn't sigh from habit," answered Rosie ; I expect there's
going to be something sad about the new little boy, and I wonder what it is.
Harry, shall we collect some of our very nicest toys to have ready for the
poor little new boy ? "
Harry was six; he had a determined face, and was not so generous
as Rosie.
I'll not give away my skin-horse," he said, so
you needn't think it, nor my white dog with the joints;
there are some broken things down in that corner that
he can have. But I don't see why a new baby should
have my best toys. Gee-up, Alec you're a horse, you
know, and I'm going to race you from one end of the -iIll
nursery to the other-now trot! "
Fat little curly-headed Alec started off good- A
humouredly, and Rosie surveyed her own shelf to 7
see which toys would most distract the attention of
the little stranger. '
She, was standing on a hassock, and counting her '
treasures over carefully, when she was startled by a
loud exclamation from nurse.
"Mercy me! If that ain't the telegraph boy '
coming up the drive !"
Nurse was old-fashioned enough still to regard telegrams with appre-
hension. She often said she could never look at one of those awful yellow
envelopes, without her heart jumping into her mouth; and these fears she
had, to a certain extent, infected the children with.
Harry dropped Alec's reins, and rushed to the window; Rosie forgot


her toys, and did likewise; Jack and Alec both pressed for a view from
Me, me, me, me want to see screamed baby Alec from the back.
Nurse lifted him into her arms; as she did so, she murmured under
her breath-
"God preserve us! I hope that awful boy isn't bringing us any-
thing bad."
Rosie heard the words, and felt a sudden sense of chill and anxiety; she
pressed her little hand into nurse's, and longed more than ever to give all the
nicest toys to the new little boy.
Just then the nursery door was opened, and Kate, the housemaid,
appeared, carrying the yellow envelope daintily between her finger and thumb.
"There, nurse," she said, "it's for you; and I hope, I'm sure, it's no ill-
luck I'm bringing you."
"Oh, sake's alive!" said nurse. Children, dears, let me sit down.
That awful boy to bring it to me! Well, the will of the Lord must be done;
whatever's inside this ugly thing? Miss Rosie, my dear, could you hunt round
somewhere for my spectacles ? "
It always took a long time to find nurse's
spectacles, and Rosie, after a frantic search, in
which she was joined by all the other nursery
L children, discovered them at last at the bottom
S of Alec's cot. She rushed with them to the old
Woman, who put them on her nose, and began
deliberately to read the contents of her telegram.
SThe children stood round her as she did so.
i- They were all breathless and excited; and Rosie
N looked absolutely white from anxiety.
S\ Well, my dears," said nurse at last, when she had spelt
through the words, it ain't exactly a trouble; far from me
to say that; but all the same, it's mighty contrary, and a new
child coming here, and all."
"What is it, nurse?" said Harry. "Do tell us what
it's all about."
"It's my daughter, dears," said nurse; "she'll be in
London to-morrow, on her way back to America."
"Oh, nurse," said Rosie, not your daughter Ann ?"
"The same, my love; she that has eight children, and four of them with
carrotty hair. She wants me to go up to London, to see her to-morrow;
that's the news the telegraph boy has brought, Miss Rosie. My daughter
Ann says, 'Mother, meet me to-morrow at aunt's, at two o'clock.' Well,
well, it's mighty contrary; and that new child coming, and all!"
But you'll have to go, nurse. It would be dreadful for your daughter
Ann not to see you again."
Yes, dear, that's all very fine; but what's to become of all you children ?
How is this blessed baby to get on without his old Nan ? "
"Oh, nurse, you must go! It would be so cruel, if you didn't,"
exclaimed Rosie.
Nurse sat thinking hard for a minute or two; then saying she would go
and consult her mistress, she left the room.


The upshot of all this was, that at an early hour the following morning
nurse started for London, and a girl, of the name of Patience, from the
village, came up to take her place in the nursery.
Mrs. Rogers was particularly busy during these days. She had some
friends staying with her, and in addition to this her eldest daughter, Ethel,
was ill, and took up a good deal of her mother's time; in consequence of
these things the nursery children were left entirely to the tender mercies
of Patience.
Not that that mattered much, for they were independent children, and
always found their own amusements. The first day of nurse's absence, too,
was fine, and they spent the greater part of it in the open air; but the
second day was wet-a hopeless wet
,<~, day-a dull day with a drizzling fog,
and no prospect whatever of clear-
"* ^ ing up.
-g u '- The morning's post brought a
S 'i i" letter from nurse to ask for further
leave of absence; and this, in itself,
-' would have depressed the spirits of
i I- the nursery children, for they were
_-i looking forward to a gay supper
.._ with her, and a long talk about her
.....- ^daughter Ann, and all her London
., But this was not the real trouble
which pressed so heavily on Rosie's
motherly heart; the real anxiety
which made her little face look so
careworn was caused by the new
4j I baby, the little boy of two years old,
"- .f, who had arrived late the night before,
S. and now sat with a shadow on his
71 face, absolutely refusing to make
friends with anyone.
He must have been a petted
little boy at home, for he was
beautifully dressed, and his curly
hair was nicely cared for, and his
fair face had a delicate peach bloom
about it; but if he was petted, he was also, perhaps, spoilt, for he
certainly would not make advances to any of his new comrades, nor exert
himself to be agreeable, nor to overcome the strangeness which was filling his
baby mind. Had nurse been at home, she would have known how to manage;
she would have coaxed smiles from little Fred, and taken him up in her arms,
and "mothered" him a good bit. Babies of two require a great lot of
" mothering," and it is surprising what desolation fills their little souls when
it is denied them.
Fred cried while Patience was dressing him; he got almost into a passion
when she washed his face, and he sulked over his breakfast. Patience was
not at all the sort of girl to manage a child like Fred.; she was rough in every


sense of the word; and when rough petting failed, she tried the effect of
rough scolding.
"Come, baby, come, you must eat your bread and milk. No nonsense
now, open your mouth, and gobble it down. Come, come, I'll slap you if
you don't."
But baby Fred, though sorrowful, was not a coward; he pushed the bowl
of bread and milk away, upset its contents over the clean tablecloth, and
raised two sorrowful big eyes to the new nurse's face.
"Naughty dirl, 'do away," he said; "Fred don't 'ove 'oo. Fred won't
eat bekfus'."
Oh, Miss Rosie,
what a handful he is "
said Patience.
"Let me try him?" -,
said Rosie; I'll make
him eat something. 4
Come Freddy darling,
you love Rosie, don't
you ? "
No, I don't," said
Fred. .1
"Well, you'll eat
some breakfast; come, -- i 1,

I won't eat none bekfus'-do away." I
Rosie turned round and looked in a despairing way
at her own three brothers.
If only nurse were at home she said.
Master Fred," said Patience, if you won't eat, you //
must get down from the breakfast-table. I have got to
clear up, you know."
She popped the little boy on the floor. He looked round in a bewildered
Let's have a very exciting kind of play, and perhaps he'll join in," said
Rosie, in a whisper. Let's play at kittens-that's the loveliest of all our
Kittens was by no means a quiet pastime. It consisted, indeed, in
wild romps on all-fours, each child assuming for the time the character of a
kitten, and jumping after balls of paper, which they caught in their mouths.
It's the happiest of all our games, and perhaps he'll like it," said Rosie.
But the little stranger did not like the game of kittens. He marched in a
fat, solid sort of way across the nursery, and sat down in a corner, with his
back to the company. Here he really looked a most dismal little figure. The
view of his back was heart-rending; his curly head drooped slightly,
forlornness was written all over his little person.
What a little muff he is said Harry; I'm glad I didn't give my skin
horse to him."
"Oh, don't," said Rosie, "can't you see he's unhappy ? I must go and
speak to him. Fred," she said, going up to the child, come and play with
Alec and me."



"No," said Fred, I'se too little to p'ay."
"But we'll have such an easy play, Fred. Do come; I wish you would."
I'se too little," answered Fred, shaking his head again.
At that moment Rosie and her two elder brothers were called out of the
room to their morning lessons. Rosie's heart ached as she went away.
Something must be done," she said to herself. That new little boy-
baby will get quite ill if we can't think of something to please him soon."
She did not know that a very unexpected little deliverer was at hand.
The two babies were now alone in the nursery, and Patience, having finished
her tidying up, sat down to her sewing.

Patie," said Alec, going up to the new nurse, "does 'oo know Tic-
tac-too? "
Of course I do, master Baby-a silly game that."
I 'ike it," said little Alec.
He tripped across the nursery to the younger baby, and sat down by
his side.
Take off 'oo shoe," he said.
Fred was very tired of being cross and miserable. He could not say he
was too little to Alec, for Alec was scarcely bigger than himself. Besides, he
understood about taking off his shoe. It was a performance he particularly
liked. He looked at Baby Alec, and obeyed him.


"Take off 'oo other shoe," said Alec.
Fred did so.
Pull off 'oo 'tocks," ordered the eldest baby.
Fred absolutely chuckled as he tugged away at his white socks, and
revealed his pink toes.
"Now, come to Patie."
Fred scrambled to his feet, and holding Alec's hand, trotted down the
long nursery.
Patie," said Alec, "take F'ed on 'our lap, and play Tic-tac-too for him ?'
Patience was busy sewing; she raised her eyes. Two smiling little baby-
boys were standing by her knee.
Could this child, whose blue eyes I
were full of sunshine, be the miser-
able little Fred ?
"Well, master Alec," she said,
kissing the older baby, "you're a
perfect little darling. Well, I never !
to think of you finding out a way '-
to please that poor child."
"Tic-tac-too !" said Alec, in a '
loud and vigorous voice. He was
fast getting over his shyness, and
Alec's game suited him to per-
Patience lifted him on her lap,
popped him down with a bounce,
kissed him, and began-
"Tic, tac, too,
The little horse has lost his shoe,
Here a nail, and there a nail,
Here a nail, and there a nail,
Tic, tac, too!" '
When the other children returned to the nursery, they heard peals of
merry baby laughter; and this was the fashion in which a little boy won
his name.


Cbe 1osebubs of 1Rosemeab.

HERE could not be a prettier home than Rosemead anywhere; Bee and
Trot Rose, the little girls who belonged to it, were quite sure of that.
The first thing that struck one about the place was the quantity of roses
growing all over it; there seemed to be no room for any other flowers.
Through the long summer days these roses had it all their own way, and grew
careering about everywhere; their heads peered inquisitively into each open
window, and their scented petals floated through the rooms.
"And we're the rosebuds of Rosemead," the two sisters would say
innocently to strangers. Mr. Rose, their father, had told his little daughters
that they would one day grow up to be full-blown Roses; meantime, said he,
they were but tiny buds; and quite content were Bee and Trot so to be.
Their world was so full of beautiful delights, that they had nothing, to look
forward to; everything seemed to be already in their grasp.
"We may do everything we like-if we're good," said Bee, the old-
fashioned little eldest.
Ess chimed in Trot, who had not quite mastered the pronunciation
of all her words yet.
Everything but one thing," went on Bee, sedately; we may go to the
stables, and John will let us peep into the dark place where Emperor, father's
horse, sleeps; we can go to the poultry yard, and see the chicks and the wee
yellow ducklings, and the old farm cat sleeping in the sun; we may go into
the green-house, if we don't pick anything; but, Trot, we must never, never
go to the pond "
Ess 1" said chubby Trot, placidly.
No, no! you must'n't say 'yes,' Trot; you must say
'no.' Do you understand ? and Bee spoke as loudly and
slowly as she could.
Ess was Trot's smiling answer.
"Oh, well," said Bee, in despair, "I 'spose you mean
you won't go near the pond."
It was a beautiful morning in June-a sunny, windy
morning-and it was nurse Jane's washing-day. The little
Rosebuds were, therefore, taking care of each other in the
garden, for mother had her Indian letters to write.
"Trot," said Bee, presently, "we'll go and see the new chicks under the
coop. I'll fetch your bonnet."


"And bring Ju-Ju !" cried Trot, as Bee ran into the house.
Ju-Ju was a dear doll, the beloved of Trot's little heart; and Bee presently
appeared carrying the young lady.
"Now, you'll wait for me," said Bee, as she carefully tied on Trot's
granny bonnet; I must get my hat, and bring
my dolly, too."
Ess," of course was Trot's answer; but
no sooner was Bee out of sight, than the little
maid, with a mischievous laugh, trotted away
to hide from her sister.
Helter-skelter she went through the shrub-
bery, across the smooth lawn, into the narrow
plantation; out of it again; and then, to her /"
surprise and fright, Trot found herself within '.
sight of the pond, shining in the sunlight. i #
It had all come to pass as if by magic.
Trot knew she was specially forbidden to go .'
near the pond, and never had done so; but
here she was, without meaning it, quite close
to it.
"I want to see Niddy," whispered the
child to herself; I'll just peep round that tree,
to see if Niddy's there."
Niddy was a water-hen that the children had seen and christened, on the
few occasions when their father had taken them to look at the pond. Stealing
on tiptoe, and holding Ju-Ju tightly to her, Trot came close up to the edge of
the sparkling water, and gazed with awe upon its lovely green wonders. She
forgot all about Niddy when she saw the great pinky-white cups of the water-
lilies, and their huge broad green leaves

stirred waters. Never had Trot seen
Anything so bewilderingly fair as the
"'* dumfleet of white lilies; and she halted in
dumb amaze.
Cuckoo! cuckoo!
i 1 High overhead, in the tree under
which the little girl stood, rang out,
clear and strong, the sudden cry.
STrot's heart was in her mouth, but
Before she could understand what had
frightened her, the beloved Ju-Ju had
i/' slipped from her arms, with a plash,
into the water.
S "Oh, mine Ju-Ju!" screamed Trot,
forgetting instantly the cuckoos still
calling loudly overhead; for there, her
poor heels sticking up out of the pond, her head buried in the tangle of the
roots of the lilies, was the hapless doll, drowning.
Without a moment's hesitation, Trot stepped off the mossy bank
confidently, on* to what she thought was a firm, flat, green stone; but the


broad lily leaf gave way, slipping and sliding beneath her. Swish! There
was a loud splashing, a terrified shriek; all the water in the pond seemed to
be running into poor Trot's mouth, and then everything got quite dark.
"Whoa 1 Wot be that there ?"
Dick, the boy who kept the rooks from the
young corn, came breaking his way hastily
through the brushwood. He had been creeping
up, with a stone, to have what he called a
"throw" at the unconscious cuckoo up aloft,
when he heard Trot's scream and the splash.
Dick was no fool, and when he saw a white
muslin granny bonnet floating on the water, and
a wisp of a child's
'r frock wedged among
the lily cups, the boy,
,' knocking off his cap,
jumped into the pond.

In Rosemead there Z-
was wild confusion
Sand wringing of hands.
Dick, and the drip-
"'. ping, silent burden he
so tenderly carried
I \home, had blotted out the sunshine of the
summer day.
Why was
/ WhTrot so
still and
white, as
she lay on her little bed? Bee,
wide-eyed and trembling, seemed to
stumble into everybody's way, as
she wandered about, asking the
question. To the others it ap-
peared as if help would never
come, though gallant Dick, wet
through and through, had torn off, steam-
engine fashion, to fetch good old Doctor
Merry from the county town. At last
the well-known gig swept in at the gates; the
old gentleman was upstairs, two at a time, and
in the nursery. Then the door was shut fast, and
poor Bee, in anguish, hid her little self under -
father's overcoat hanging in the hall. It seemed a
comfort to feel something of father's round her-to
wait for she knew not what. And Sweep, the black
terrier, guessing there was trouble in the air, crept up
close to push his cold nose into her burning hand.



It seemed hours to miserable Bee, and certainly it was a long time
before Doctor Merry's boots creaked on the staircase as he came down;
father was behind him, and they were talking, but Bee's heart beat too
loudly for her to hear distinctly their words.
Hilloa! cried Dr. Merry, as he took his hat off the
hall table, "whom have we got here ? Playing at hide-and-
seek, eh ? Well, well, you'll soon have the little sister to
join you."
"Yes, Bee, she's safe now, we hope," put in father;
and with a spring, Bee was in his arms sobbing her heart
out for joy. Poor little Bee had blamed herself for leaving
Trot to get into trouble; but nobody else took her to task,
there being no doubt that Miss Trot brought the disaster
upon herself.
It was many weeks before the little invalid could sit up in her cot, and
feebly play with her toys, for Trot had come through a severe illness.
Where's mine Ju-Ju ? suddenly she asked.
"Oh, Trot, I'm so sorry," said Bee, solemnly, who was perched on the
rail of the cot, "but Ju-Ju's drowned She was drowned down at the bottom
of the pond, and Dick found her when the men were filling up the pond, and
we buried her under the rose-bushes; me and Dick; for Dick's the garden boy
now, and he's got a new suit, and his mother's got
a new cottage-and I'll show you the place where
we buried Ju-Ju Then Bee stopped for breath,
and somebody entered the nursery.
P It was mother, with a long package, which
S' proved, when opened, to be a new doll for Trot
to love.
I'd rather have mine Ju-Ju," faltered Trot,
"But, Trot, dearest," gravely said mother,
"you are not too young to understand that it was
naughty of you to go to the edge of the pond, and
you must also learn that nobody ever does wrong
without somebody suffering for it; so it is poor
SJu-Ju who is dead and buried," ended mother,
with a tremble in her voice, as she thought that
Trot-but for God's goodness-might have been
in Ju-Ju's place.
By and bye the Rosebuds were running about, happy once more, and
Trot went to see where old Ju-Ju slept; but never, never-even when she grew
a tall girl-could Trot find the pond again; for, you see, father had caused it
to be filled up; and over it more roses nodded their gay heads to the winds
of summer.

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