Citation
Told by the sunbeams and me

Material Information

Title:
Told by the sunbeams and me
Series Title:
Raphael Tuck & Sons' "prize" series
Creator:
Burnside, Helen Marion ( Author )
Hoyer, M. A ( Maria A ) ( Author )
Dickens, Mamie, 1838-1896 ( Author )
Nisbet, E ( Author )
Jackson, Helen, fl. 1897 ( Illustrator )
Grey, J. Willis ( Illustrator )
Bowers, Fanny ( Illustrator )
Vredenburg, Edric, b. 1860 ( Editor )
Raphael Tuck & Sons ( Publisher )
Place of Publication:
London ;
Paris ;
New York
Publisher:
Raphael Tuck & Sons
Publication Date:
Language:
English
Physical Description:
86 p. : ill. (some col.) ; 26 cm.

Subjects

Subjects / Keywords:
Children -- Conduct of life -- Juvenile literature ( lcsh )
Conduct of life -- Juvenile literature ( lcsh )
Children's stories ( lcsh )
Children's poetry ( lcsh )
Children's stories -- 1893 ( lcsh )
Children's poetry -- 1893 ( lcsh )
Bldn -- 1893
Genre:
Children's stories
Children's poetry
novel ( marcgt )
Spatial Coverage:
England -- London
France -- Paris
United States -- New York -- New York
Target Audience:
juvenile ( marctarget )

Notes

Statement of Responsibility:
stories written by Helen Marion Burnside, E. Nesbit, Mary Dickens, M.A. Hoyer and others ; illustrated by Helen Jackson, Jane Willis Grey, Fanny Bowers, &c. &c. ; edited by Edric Vredenburg.

Record Information

Source Institution:
University of Florida
Holding Location:
University of Florida
Rights Management:
This item is presumed to be in the public domain. The University of Florida George A. Smathers Libraries respect the intellectual property rights of others and do not claim any copyright interest in this item. Users of this work have responsibility for determining copyright status prior to reusing, publishing or reproducing this item for purposes other than what is allowed by fair use or other copyright exemptions. Any reuse of this item in excess of fair use or other copyright exemptions may require permission of the copyright holder. The Smathers Libraries would like to learn more about this item and invite individuals or organizations to contact The Department of Special and Area Studies Collections (special@uflib.ufl.edu) with any additional information they can provide.
Resource Identifier:
026662173 ( ALEPH )
ALG5352 ( NOTIS )
214285112 ( OCLC )

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Full Text
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RAPHAEL TUCK & SONS.
London: Paris: New York.













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The Knitting hesson,





‘bow the Stories were Written.

OU have seen the sunbeams stealing in at the window in the quite
early morning, when the golden sun gets up, have you not?
And in the evening when the rosy sun and you go to bed? Even
though the blinds be pulled down, one little gleam of light manages to
creep in. It rests sometimes on the floor, sometimes on the wall, some-
times on the ceiling, while sometimes it will sit beside you on your
pillow. This is because the sun has such insinuating manners, is so
loving and friendly, so good-natured and warm-hearted, and he feels that
in most places where he shines he must do some good.
. Now, just think for a moment, what a number of wonderful things
the sun must see, peeping here, and peeping there, shining first in one
place, and then in another. Just think what famous tales he could tell
if he only chose.

Well, it happened one morning, and not so very long ago, either,
that while we were sitting at our desks, nibbling the tops of our pens,
gazing stupidly at the paper, fidgetting about, and worrying ourselves
ust terribly, because we had stories to write for the children, and



oo HOW THE STORIES WERE WRITTEN.

nothing whatever to write about, some little sunbeams, who had been
playing hide-and-seek behind a cloud for the last hour, came dancing in
at the window, and rested upon our hands, and upon our papers and
pens, and no sooner did this happen than we began to write, so hard
that we thought we should never stop; and we wrote the following
lovely stories. Not that they are our stories, you must understand, for
we only put them down as they were told to us by the Sunbeams.
We owe a lot to those Sunbeams.
* % 3 * *

Owing them so much we began to think that we ought to repay them
in some way for their great kindness. But to do a good turn to a
Sunbeam is rather a difficult matter, one that requires a great deal of
consideration. Indeed, we worried our heads so much that we took to
nibbling pens again, and that is really such a horrid habit that it had
to be put a stop to.

So at last we hit on the brilliant idea of asking the Sunbeams
what they would wish us to do for them.

“One good turn deserves another,” they replied immediately (there
was no nibbling of the pens with them). ‘We have told the children stories;
now let them tell us some.” Then the kind-hearted Sunbeams continued
as they danced about, turning all the colours of the rainbow as they
peeped into, and shone through glasses. “To those children who tell us
the best Stories, we will give, through our good friends, Mr Raphael Tuck
and his Sons, handsome money prizes. We have already delivered to
these old and long-loved friends of the children a number of bags of
golden sunshine, which they will turn into golden money (they have
promised not to tell the secret of how this is done), and they will pay, on
our behalf, to the successful girls and boys these golden money prizes.”

We could find no words good enough to express our thanks to these
dear Sunbeams, and all that you have now to do is to write your story,
and get your prize.

EDRIC VREDENBURG.

EN







* # bree little Kittens werd born in the cellar, ~
» Ihey've just been discovered: to a great glee,
of. When Pussy comes in thinks “Miss Kitty, I'll tell her,
What care | will take of her little ones three.



per many a day Puss had hidden the wee things,

In a dark corner just under a shelf.)
for till the dear Kitties were able to see things,
She'd trust them fo no one you see but herself!

A
abr old enough now to begin education _
eS G reel as you know is a cats G.B.C.—

Gnd if they are good by express invitation,
I’m thinking they'll join Mistress Kitty at tea!
f. M Burnside.











Dorothy's Birthday.




[)OROTHY'S eldest sister was a
Fairy Princess. No one seemed

to know this but Dorothy, but she was

quite sure of it for many reasons.

First, her sister had golden hair, like
the Fairy Princesses in stories, and her
eyes were just their kind of blue, and then she always looked very
much prettier than anyone else, which is another thing you can always
tell a Princess by. And she was very clever, and could play and
sing most beautifully, and knew all the hard things that there are in
books, and sums, even vulgar fractions, and could tell you the dates of
things in history without so much as looking at the book, and she could
play all the scales with the common chords, which is a thing Dorothy
can’t do to this day.

Besides she never lost her temper, so it was quite plain to
Dorothy that she was a Fairy Princess, and she hadn't the least doubt
that some day the king’s son in a green riding cloak broidered with gold
would wind his horn at the gate, and ride up to the front door and carry
sweet Bertha off on his great roan charger.



8 DOROTHY’S BIRTHDAY.

In the meantime, there was somebody else who would have been
very glad to carry sister Bertha off. His name was Dr Burton, and
Dorothy often noticed that he looked at the Fairy Princess exactly as the
Fairy Princes do in the books, but then he wasn’t handsome, and he
wore a check suit and a bowler hat, which it isn’t likely a Fairy Prince
would ever condescend to do.

The Fairy Princess was the most delightful sister in the world. She
was always having the most beautiful, new, and original ideas. It was
she who suggested that Dorothy’s birthday party should be different from
any she had ever had before.

“Suppose, Dot,” she said, “‘ we make the most lovely party for some
poor little children who hardly ever see anything pretty, or have any-
thing nice.”

“Oh! yes,” said Dot, directly ; “but what about presents?” she
went on, the corners of her mouth drooping a little bit.

And the Fairy Princess was quite frightened, for Dorothy was not
generally one to think about pre-
sents for herself.

“ Won't it be rather difficult,”
Dorothy went on, “if they are
so very, very poor, for them to.
bring presents to a_ birthday
party? You know you always
have to bring something when
you go to anyone’s birthday
party. I think we might put.
on the cards, ‘no presents ad-
mitted.’ ”

“T think we might do better
than that,” said Bertha; “ sup-
pose we turned it all round and
gave them presents instead ! ”

Dorothy was so pleased, that
she had to get up and hug the
Fairy Princess three times before
she could go on with the subject.







inst

ae “You might make some of them,”

Spire y= || ho — sald the Raine Princess ;_ “ scrap-books

: ieee _ you know how to make, and you can

dress dolls, too, and I will teach you

how to knit, so that you can make some nice things that will keep the
little children warm when the winter comes.”

“What a splendid sister you are!” said Dorothy, clapping her
hands, ‘“‘ let us begin now, this very minute.”

So the fairy got a ball of worsted and some needles, and they went
out on the lawn for a knitting lesson.

From the very beginning Dorothy had made up her mind that, as
it was to be her birthday party, she would make all the presents, if she
possibly could, and she worked early and late.

You have no idea how much little girls can do, if they really
give their minds to it. By the fifteenth of August, which was
Dorothy’s birthday, as well as the Emperor Napoleon’s, there were twenty
pretty presents, dolls or scrap-books, and twenty warm things for the
twenty poor little children who were to be Dorothy’s birthday guests.

They were to come down by train from London. The poor little
things had been thinking for weeks and weeks of this lovely treat.
Dorothy had got all their names from Dr Burton, who lived in London
and spent all his time among poor people, trying to make their lives a
little happier for them.

Dorothy had written out all the invitations herself on little pink
cards with a silver tea-pot in the corner and “ Come early” underneath



ORY. DOROTHY’S BIRTHDAY.

it, although of course the children
were to come for the whole day.
Z But she couldn’t get any cards
Z with “Beef and pudding” on
. them as well as tea. These cards
, were the chief ornaments on the
Z mantel- piece in the miserable
homes where these poor, little,
ragged children lived.

Dorothy was always pleased
that her birthday came in August,
because July and August were the
two months in the year that her father and Bertha and she spent in
the country.

“It would have been so tiresome,” she said to the F airy Princess,
“especially this year, if we had had to have our birthday party in
Berkeley Square. That would have been no treat’ and no change for
the poor little children.”

The morning of the birthday was as blue and bright as the F alry
Princess eye. Dorothy was up very early, getting everything ready for
the party. She had no presents herself, because the F airy Princess
thought they would spoil her pure pleasure in her party. But the
presents for the twenty little guests were all arranged on a long table
on the lawn, a table made pretty with pale pink and green art muslin
and tinselly stuff, and all dressed with the prettiest flowers that Dorothy
could find in the old-fashioned garden.

Dorothy put on a very plain pink cotton frock,

“T don’t want,” she said to herself, “to seem to be dressing up
smartly if the other little girls are so very poor.”

But when the other little girls arrived at the lodge gates, it seemed
to them that a fairy from a pantomime came skipping down the drive
and kissed them, one after another, a twenty-fold, breathless kiss, and
said to them—

“Oh you dear, little girls, I’m so glad you have come. This is my
birthday, and we shall all enjoy ourselves so much.”

And they all walked up the drive together. But by the time they











DOROTHY’S BIRTHDAY. 11

had come up to the lawn, Dorothy had noticed how dreadfully shabby
the little frocks were, and how thin and pinched most of the little faces,
and a sort of lump came into her throat and the tears into her eyes,
and the longing came into her heart to be big enough and clever
enough to get all the poor little children in the world together, and
make them all happy, for always, instead of only twenty for one
short day.

The twenty little girls had thought of nothing else and talked of
nothing else ever since they had known that they were to come into
the country for the day, and now they were really there, they were so
pleased that they all became perfectly dumb, and stood, most of them
with their thumbs in their mouths, staring about them, and Dorothy
didn’t know how to begin to amuse them.

Ags they stood on the lawn, she noticed that one little girl was
standing apart from the rest and was turning her head away, and
Dorothy, going up to her to ask if she wanted anything, found that she
was sobbing bitterly.

“Whatever is the matter?” said Dorothy, stealing a soft, warm
arm round the thin neck of the London child.

‘“Nothing’s the matter,” sobbed the child, the tears running down
her face; ““Oh! nothine’s the matter, only it’s all so beautiful; I didn’t
believe there was anything like it, not anything real.”

Dorothy pulled out her little handkerchief and wiped the child’s
eyes first, and then her own.

‘Never mind,” she said, “come along and see my guinea-pigs.”

And with that they all trooped round to the stable-yard.

Then the Fairy Princess came out, looking Oh! so charming, in a
blue cotton gown—robe, I mean—and the gold crown of her bright hair.
In three minutes she had made all the children feel quite at home and
happy. She sat down on the lawn with them on the very spot where
Dorothy had first learnt to knit, and told them fairy stories so that they
might rest a little after the walk up from the station; and then she
arranged games for them—mulberry bush, which is the first and, alas!
sometimes the last game that the little London child learns, and tag,
and the delightful cat and mouse game, and blind man’s buff, but that
came after dinner. Such a dinner! nothing hot and greasy, but every-



12 DOROTHY’S BIRTHDAY.

thing cold and dainty and pretty to look at—crisp salads, dressed with
nasturtium flowers, beautiful pies all yellow and gold, like ripe corn in the
fields, and cold hams, and tongues, and beef joints, that it did your heart
good to look at. And such tarts, and sweets, and fruit.

And after dinner, as I said, more games and more fairy stories.
Who should tell fairy stories to perfection, if not a Fairy Princess ?
And the children crowded round her on the grass, trying to get

near enough to touch her hand or the soft folds
of her blue gown.

Dorothy could not understand herself
on that day. She had never been so
happy and at the same time so sad. She
gave the children their presents, and
their words and looks of thanks paid
her royally for all the trouble that
had been spent in making
these gifts.

Then in the cool of the
evening, Dorothy’s father and
the coachman drove the little
guests to the station in the
: waggonette and
the dog-cart, and
Dorothy went
too.

Whenshe came
back, she went
out rather slowly
on to the lawn
where the Fairy
_ Princess, Bertha,
was still sitting
beside the table
where the pre-
sents had been,
now all fin dis-

















DOROTHY’S BIRTHDAY. 13

order with the flowers half faded. She flung her arms round her
sister.

“O Bertha,” she said, “I never had a birthday like this before.
But somehow it makes everything look different.”

“Everything looks different to me too,” said Bertha, gently, putting
her arms round her little sister. “Shall I tell you why ?”

“Yes,” said Dorothy, hugging her tight.

“The Fairy Prince has come,” said Bertha, laughing a little very
softly, and Dorothy looked up and there stood Dr Burton.

“You know, Dorothy,” he said, picking her up in his arms and
kissing her, “the Fairy Prince wasn’t always handsome at first, even in
stories, but perhaps you will get to think him so some day. And the
Fairy Prince and Princess are going to be married and live happy ever
after.”

And with that, still holding Dorothy, he knelt beside the Fairy
Princess, and laid her soft hand against his cheek,

“ And where are they going to live?” said Dorothy, practically.

“We are going to live,” said Bertha, softly, “in the Land of Poor
Children, such little children as you have seen here to-day.”

“Then, of course,” said Dot, “you will be their king and queen,
and they will not be poor or sad any more, but live happy ever after-
wards, because that must be the end of the story.”

“I wish it may be,” said the Fairy Princess, and she sighed.

“At least, we can work for that, if we may not live to see it,”
returned the Fairy Prince.

And with that, they all kissed each other, and went into the house,
because the dew was beginning to fall.

EL. NESBIT.







abel F. Taylor

“Elsie and the Seven Sheep.

e ae prettiest lambs you ever saw!” said the queer little man.

“So they are,” said the farmer. “Yes, I’ll buy them. Put them
in the home-field, and send golden-haired Elsie to watch them!” Then
the queer little man went away.

But the queer little man had not been gone an hour, before, up
among the hills, a horn blew clearly. The lambs left off nibbling the
grass and listened. Then the horn blew again once, twice, thrice—and
then the lambs gave a loud ba-a—, and off they went, leaping over the
fence, and flying down the valley, and up the hill, and were out of sight
before Elsie had time more than to run out and scream and call for help.

Oh! wasn’t the farmer angry! Seven golden euineas*had he given
for those lambs, and now they were gone. And he told Elsie she was



ELSIE AND THE SEVEN SHEEP. 15

an idle, careless, wicked girl, and she was never to come near him and
the farm again. So Elsie went away weeping.

But presently there was trouble at the farm. The porridge was all
burnt, because Elsie always made the porridge, and nobody else knew
how. The chickens hadn’t been fed. Oh! Elsie always fed the chickens,
and everyone had forgotten them. There was no water brought from the
well. Oh, no! Elsie always fetched the water.

“Tt seems to me,” growled the farmer, “that I have sent away the
only person that did any work !”

“Yes,” said his wife, “that is true. And it wasn’t
her fault about the lambs, for I was looking out of a
window, and they were all gone like a
flash of lightning! You had better go
and find poor Elsie, and bring her back.”

But when the farmer took
his wife’s advice, Elsie was no-
where to be found.

Poor Elsie! she was very
sad, for she was a lonely little
soul, and the farmer was her only
friend. She had neither father
or mother, nor brother or sister,
nor uncle or aunt, nor a home
to shelter her. A pale, little,
insignificant body, with
only one bit of beauty,
and that was her golden
hair, which, to keep out
of her way, she was wont
to plait into a lone tail,
which reached from her
little head almost to her
httle heels, and that was
why she was called golden-
haired Elsie.

And now Elsie had ve ages


















16 ELSIE AND THE SEVEN SHEEP.

gone weeping away to look for those naughty lambs; she could see the
print of their little hoofs on the soft turf, and she followed, followed,
followed where the track led. Up the valley, and over the hill, and across
the mountain brook, and through the great pine wood, and when she
couldn't see the print of their little feet, lo! there were tiny tufts of
white, silky wool, here and there, as if to mark the way, and at last, oh,
joy! there were the seven white lambs in a tiny green field behind a quaint,
brown, wooden house; and when they saw her they all ran towards her.
‘*Ba-a, ba-a, ba-a,” they said.

“Oh! you dear, naughty sheep,” she cried. “Oh! please come
back with me at once,” and she opened the little gate, and tried to drive
them out of the field. But the lambs wouldn’t move.

“Hallo!” cried another voice, and there was the queer little man.
“What are you doing with my sheep ?”

“But they are not yours,” said Elsie, crossly ; “you sold them to
the farmer, you know you did!”

‘Well, he had them,” said the little man.
“But they all ran away quite
directly,” said Elsie.
“Ah! It is a way they have,”
said the little man. “But tell me,
what are you doing here? Has
he turned you off?”
“Yes,” said Elsie, wiping
away a tear with her
pinafore, “and if you
won't let the lambs come
back with me, I must
find a new place.”
“Ah!” said the little
man, “that is lucky, for
I want a new servant.
Now can you make rice
puddings ?”
‘Oh, Idearm! i wesses
said Elsie.










Ny eee MK
‘“Andalways sweep the ie

stairs down ona Saturday ?”
“T do that every
ee

day,” remarked Elsie, Sas
S st Cee J















severely. (

ya i = Seas
“And canyou 9” ASTI aN SAN! x
. eee S P Sah. >\ aa ait
sew and spin, and ag RENIN Wd g =
A)\=— wh

take care of my
sheep ?”

“T can sew and
I can spin, but I can’t
promise to take care
of the sheep,” cried
Elsie.

“But the sheep
is most particular!”
said the little man,
with his head on one
side,




————

“Then I must go farther on,” said Elsie, “for your sheep run too
fast for me.”

The little man looked at Elsie very hard. “Oh, well!” he said at
last, ‘‘ suppose you come and trys

So Elsie, as she had nowhere else to go, agreed she would.

Now Elsie soon found that she had plenty to do in her new place.
Tt certainly was an odd place. For, first of all, those seven sheep quite
declined to eat grass like other sheep, but required their meals regularly.
First of all, Elsie had to make seven basins of bread and milk for their
breakfast, and seven basins of potato soup for their dinner, and seven
cakes of barley bread for tea, and seven rice puddings for supper. As to
the queer little man, he was a perfect slave to those lambs. _ For even if
he was sitting down to a meal, and he heard the faintest “ba-a—” he
was out in a moment, and he was so nervous about them at night that he
hever went to bed at all, but used to walk round and round the fold till
he was perfectly worn out. And Elsie was so sorry for him that she got
to like him very much, and, indeed, he was a kind little man, though he

B





18 ELSIE AND THE SEVEN SHEEP.

was so twisted and odd, and looked as if he were made of shabby
leather.

“Can’t you put them into the stable, and lock them up?” she asked
one day.

But he shook his head sadly. “They would be out of the window
in no time, if I were not there!” he answered.

But Elsie wasn’t satisfied, and she thought and thought what she
could do to keep those tiresome sheep safe, till she really couldn’t sleep
for worrying. And lying awake at night showed her another thing, and
that was, that there were often queer voices to be heard of a night, and
twangings of harps, and singing. Sometimes she would get up and look
out of the window, but she never saw anything but the seven sheep, and
their master walking round and round. But one night, she heard some-
one singing so plainly that she sat up in bed and listened, and then, for
once, she could hear the words quite plainly :—

“ Oh! who in the meadow safe will keep

The seven white sheep,

Must go to the mere and rushes. bring
Seven times seven to plait a ring,
And knot it fair at intervals
With golden nodding daffodils,

With primrose pale,

And galingale.

And daisies white all crimson tipped,

And orchis spires, honey lipped,

And vilets sweet as summer dreams.

Then ere the earliest sunlight beams,

Go! bind the garland round the fold,

And fasten with a rope of gold.
That is the way those seven white sheep,
Safe in the meadow green to keep.”

Elsie was out of bed and into her clothes in a moment. It was a
lovely moonlight night, and she would be gone at once and make the
garland before sunrise. Out through the still silent woods she flew, down
to the mere and gathered her reeds, and then here and there till her
pinafore was full of flowers, and, oh! how hard she worked, till she had
plaited her garland, and knotted it with flowers, and then she flew down
to the fold, where the little man was pacing round and round.





g
YY

Karly Spring Flowers. : -





“ Quick, quick,” she cried, ‘“‘help me to bind it round, ere the sun
gets up.”

But just as it was put round, she remembered she had forgotten the
last thing, :

“Oh!” she cried, bursting out crying. “I forgot about the rope;
and it said a rope of gold. Oh! have you any gold, master ?”

‘No, not a bit,” said the little man.

“But perhaps something else will do. You see it goes just round,
the garland does, but there is nothing left to tie. Haven’t you got
anything ?”

“No,” said the queer little man, in a squeaky voice, “there is nothing,
there isn’t a bit of rope or string in the place—unless—unless——”

“Unless what?” cried Elsie; but he didn’t answer.

“Oh! I know,” cried Elsie again, for all the sheep were trying to





20 ' ELSIE AND THE SEVEN SHEEP.

press through the garland, and there was a grey light gleaming up the
mountain—‘‘run in quick and get the scissors, and cut off my hair,
perhaps that will do! and it is yellow!”

“Your hair,” croaked the little man, ‘‘oh! not your beautiful hair!”

“What does it matter?” she cried impatiently ; “oh! make haste,
do—else the sun will be up.”

“But are you quite sure you don’t mind?” said the little man.

“Mind! not a bit,” said Elsie, ‘only make haste!”

Snip, snap, snip—and Elsie bound the end of her garland, with her
golden hair. “Good gracious!” cried Elsie in astonishment.

For lo! instead of seven white sheep, her garland held seven lovely
little girls, and instead of a queer little wizened old man, there was a
beautiful young prince, on his knees, kissing her hand, and thanking her
for giving her beautiful hair, and so breaking the cruel spell that bound
him and his seven little sisters. And the little brown hut was a fair
palace, and the little green meadow a stately garden. And the next time
the farmer saw golden-haired Elsie, she and the seven little sisters came
riding down the valley on white steeds, in silken robes, and paid him
back the money he had given for those seven run-away lambs.

: M. A. HOVER.










i was a hot day in summer-time,
©) Ee sun shone brightly, and the blue sky
was without a cloud. Hardly a breeze
Ce ~ stirred the leaves of the trees, as the cows wandered
through the green meadows to the sparkling stream which ran between
the fields, and admired themselves in the clear mirror at their feet, while
they drank refreshing draughts of the cool water. But their appearance
was causing great consternation on the other side of the hedge, where
a little ginl oF eleven or twelve years old was hiding from oe alarming
creatures, in utter despair as to how she could venture past them to go
home to her tea. Hot, tired, and thirsty as she was, the child was
seriously thinking of walking all the way back to the road, to try and
find another path, when, to her great joy, she saw her cousin gol
coming towards her.
fs On Dorothy, there you are at last, don’t you want your tea 2 We
are all waiting for you. Where have you been 2?”
“eal re been to gather some flowers,” answered Dorothy, “and I
didn’t know how to get past these bulls.”
" Bulls!” fauened Phyllis, “ they are our dear old cows, they won’t
hurt you.”
“Oh, I daresay it’s all right if you know them, but I have a red
bow in my hat, and I thought it might enrage them perhaps.”
Phyllis laughed more heartily ee ever, as they walked on together.
Dorothy felt nb with Phyllis between her and the cows, who peed at



the



22 THE COUNTRY COUSINS.

them with such soft gentle eyes, that even she began to feel brave.
They did not look very fierce, certainly.

“You see,” said Dorothy, “I’ve never been accustomed to cows,
living so quietly with grandmamma in London, and when we went to the
sea-side we were always on the beach, so I never had any country life.”

“T wonder if you will like being at the farm. I love it,” said
Phyllis. “I’m so glad father has bought this place to live in always.”

“T think most likely we shall,” answered Dorothy, who had a funny
little grown-up manner, and a small, delicate pale face, that looked as if
she had rather too much of the school-room, and not enough fresh country
air. Her cousin Phyllis, a brown, healthy, rosy little maid, a year younger
and a head taller, held her rustic straw hat by one of its ribbons, and let
the light breeze play with her curly locks, while Dorothy carefully opened
her sunshade, and shielded her eyes from the glare. They went on
through the meadow till they reached a delightful looking farm-house,
with a pretty, quaint garden, full of old-fashioned sweet-smelling flowers,
stocks, mignonette, pinks, tall hollyhocks, lupins, Canterbury bells, snap-
dragon, and sweet peas. The door into the hall stood open, and they
went into a long low room on one side, panelled in oak, and furnished
with old mahogany chairs covered with gay chintz. A long table was
spread with a substantial tea, and the schoolroom party was impatiently
waiting for the two laggards.

“Now, Phyllis and Dorothy, be quick, and get ready, for we are all
very hungry,’ said the bright-looking young governess, who sat at the
head of the table, ready to pour out the tea.

“Yes, do be quick,” echoed the three other children who were
sitting round.

Phyllis and Dorothy ran upstairs to the pretty little bedroom they
shared, and soon returned to the school-room, fresh and neat, and took
their places. Certainly the country air had improved the appetite of the
little Londoners, for Dorothy and her younger brother and sister did
ample justice to the home-baked bread, the piles of hot scones, the new-
laid eggs, golden butter and honey, and fresh milk and cream.

“I’m going to live always in the country when I’m grown up,”
observed Lilian, “‘and I shall have a cow of my own, so that we shall
always have plenty of new-laid eggs and cream.”





pe ey ,



“But cows don’t lay eggs,’ remarked Gerald, solemnly, .which
made Phyllis laugh again ; her little town cousins were a great amusement
to her. ‘What are you laughing at, Phyllis,” inquired Gerald, “it’s
quite true, isn’t it, Miss Grey ?” he went on, turning to the governess.

“Quite,” she answered, gravely. ‘‘I suppose the idea was new to
Phyllis.”

“Well, I shall have a hen, too,” continued Lilian, “and some chickens.”

‘Gerald made me think of the school board boy father told me
about,” said Phyllis.

“What was it—do tell us,” said Dorothy.

“He had to write an essay on cows, and he put, ‘A cow has four
feet and does not bark,’ and that was all he knew about them,” answered
Phyllis ; “it did make me laugh!”

“Tt doesn’t take much to do that,” said Miss Grey, smiling at
Phyllis’s rosy little face. ‘‘ But that was very amusing, certainly.”



Bowl.

“I wonder what you would say, Gerald,” said Miss Grey, “if you
had to write an essay on cows 2”

Gerald said: “I should say, they gave lots of milk.”

‘And they have horns,—and a tail,” added Lilian.

“Oh, how awfully learned we’re getting!” exclaimed Teddy,
Phyllis’s brother, who was home for his holidays, and whose voice had
not been heard before. ‘You would have to say what their tails were
made of—in London, you know, they are made of iron,” he went on.

“What nonsense, Teddie!” said Dorothy.

“It’s quite true, isn’t it, Miss Grey?” said Ted. “ Haven’t you
heard of the cow with the iron tail that’s well known in London ?”

“Tt is only a joke, Gerald,” explained Miss Grey. “The country
folk say that the milkmen in London mix water with the milk, and they
mean a pump when they say the cow with the iron tail.”





THE COUNTRY COUSINS. 25

“You might say they were ‘dear affectionate things, too,” said
Phyllis.

“Yes,” broke in Teddy, “you should see the way they wag their
tails and smile when they see me, and they would purr if they knew
how.”

“You ridiculous boy !” said Phyllis, “but I really mean it. Fancy,
Dorothy, father had a cow once, and when he had had her some time, she
did not give enough milk, he thought, so he sold her. The man who
bought her took her quite a long way off, but she managed to get away
in the night and found her way back, and father was astonished to see her
in the field two days after she had gone. She came running up to him as
if to say how pleased she was to get home.”

“Qh, I hope he didn’t send her back again !” cried Dorothy, eagerly.

‘No, indeed, he gave the man his money back and kept the dear old
thing. She’s that brown and white one we call Buttercup.”

“And she had her portrait painted by me,” said Ted. ‘‘ The picture
hangs there,” waving his hand towards the wall behind Gerald and Lilian,
where a very pretty sketch of some cows was hanging.

While Gerald and Lilian were trying to make out which was Butter-
cup in the group, Ted seized the opportunity to turn Gerald’s cup of milk
upside down in the saucer ; the little boy’s face of wonder and his puzzled
look were very entertaining to mischievous Ted, who pretended to be just
as surprised himself and wondered how Gerald could have managed to put
his cup down like that! But he soon gave in to Miss Grey’s entreaties
that he would turn it wp again without spilling any milk over the clean
tablecloth, and showed such cleverness in the way he did it that it was
evident he had had a good deal of practice in the trick.

In spite of his love of fun and teasing, Ted was an immense favourite
in the school-room, and Gerald ran after him all day and learned to play
cricket and climb trees, and soon lost his tired look and languid ways,
and began to look quite brown and healthy.

Then, when the hay-making began, what fun they had! Tossing the
hay over each other, sliding up and down the hay-cocks, and then riding
back on the top of the cart, Lilian imagining she was driving, as she was
allowed to hold the reins. She had become quite a “ country lass,” her
uncle said, and was never happier than when feeding the chickens in the



26 THE COUNTRY COUSINS.

poultry yard or the rabbits in their hutch, and had wild thoughts of
setting up a kind of poultry yard in the school-room at home, where the
doll’s house, she thought, could be turned into a home for two or three
small chickens, particularly two little bantams she had set her affections
on. But wise Dorothy explained that the chickens would grow up into
cocks and hens, and, besides, would be very unhappy without a field to
roam about in; poor little prisoners, in fact, and most likely the coe
would want to Pon them for dinner !

This prospect was too terrible for Lilian, and she made up her mind
to wait until she had saved up enough pocket-money to buy a cottage of
her own.

Her aunt and uncle said they would have them again to stay the
next summer, which was something to look forward to during the long
dark days of autumn and winter. In the meantime, they had picnics
in the wood, lovely long rambles in the fields, and at the end of their
three months’ visit to the country, the children hardly looked like the
same pale-faced, heavy-eyed little trio that had arrived that first bright
summer day from London. Such bright eyes, and rosy cheeks, and —
happy faces! Dorothy even laughed almost as heartily as Phyllis, when
she remembered her terror of the cows that afternoon. Phyllis was
very sorry to lose her little companions, and said lessons would be very
dull when Dorothy was not there to share them with her, but they
promised to write to each other every week, until they met again.

“Tread in a book once,” said Dorothy, “ that

““¢God made the country,
‘And man made the town,’

so I suppose that is why we all love the country so much.”

But a grand piece of news was waiting for Dorothy, Gerald, and
-Lilian when they reached home.

Grandmamma had received a letter from their father and mother in
India, and they were coming home for good, to stay always with their
children ; and not very long afterwards, Captain and Mrs Aldford arrived,
to the great joy of everybody ; and what delighted the children above
everything, was, to find that they intended to live in the country, and
were lucky enough to find a nice little house quite near their uncle’s, and







a



THE COUNTRY COUSINS. 27

where they had all their own pets, and Phyllis and Ted as companions,
and became a real set of country cousins. Dorothy had a garden of her
own, for she loved flowers, while Lilian devoted herself to the live stock,
and became quite learned in the different sort of foods for fowls and
chickens. She found even pigs very interesting, and was rather hurt in
her mind when her governess declined to allow her pet little black
pig to become an inmate of the schoolroom.

“He’s such a darling, I can’t understand anybody not loving him,”
she remarked. Still, she was not quite pleased to find him one day,
decorated with a big paper collar like Toby’s, and a sash made of scarlet
cotton, which Ted thought “ most becoming to his dark complexion,” and
remarked severely to that young gentleman, that she was afraid he would
never learn to be steady. She only forgave him when his grief at her
displeasure touched her tender little heart, and on his solemn promise

never to make a joke of Sambo again.
FLORENCE SCANNELL.







Eo Trial of Patience.

T is tiresome,” said Auntie, as little Queenie SOA holding the wool
to be wound. “What a tangle itisin! It makes me chine of the
Princess and the enchanted skein ! ”
‘Is that a ’tory, Auntie?” cried Queenie. “Oh! do tell it me!”

“Well, you have been such a good, patient little soul,” said Auntie,
‘that I will”—and so she begun

Once upon a time, she said, there was a king who had seven
sons, and when the youngest, who was named Septimus, was grown up,



A TRIAL OF PATIENCE. 29

his father told him that he really must go out and do something for him-
self, for he had nothing left to give him.

“T know it, Father,” said Sep, who was a dear, nice boy, “don’t you
worry about me, I will seek my fortune ; and when I’ve found it, I’ll come
back and tell you all my adventures.” So off he started, with a feather
in his cap, and a sword by his side, and his cloak over his shoulder, and
sang as he went to keep up his spirits.

Now one day he had been walking a long way, hoping to reach the
castle of a great Harl who lived about there, who, he heard, wanted some
gallant young soldiers to fight for him, but it was getting dark, and he
began to suspect that he had lost his way. It was a lonely, desolate place,
a wide moorland, stretching away on either side of the road, which was no
better than a rough foot track, and he couldn’t see a sign of house or
dwelling near. But as he strode on, he noticed at a little distance before
him, a dark figure moving along in the twilight, and when he overtook
it, he saw it was an old woman carrying a heavy bundle of sticks, so large
and so heavy that the poor thing was bent almost double with the weight,
Now the Prince was a good-natured fellow, and he didn’t like to see the
poor old thing toiling along like that, for she seemed very old and poor.
So, when he reached her, he offered to carry it a bit, and throwing it over
his shoulder he strode along by her side.

“You are out late, Mother,” he said. ‘ Have you far to go?”

“ No, not far,” she said, ‘‘for I live here on the moor. Thank you
kindly for carrying my faggots, for Iwas nigh tired out. But where go
you, young sir, on this lonesome road ?”

“Tam bound for the Earl Rostgoslynge’s,” answered Septimus. “Is
it much further, do you know, Mother ?”

“ih! tis many a mile from here,” she answered. ‘You must have
taken the wrong turn by the Moor Cross. You will scarce reach there to-
night. But if you can put up with a poor woman’s hut, come home with
me. At any rate, you shall have a fire to sit by and a bowl of porridge
for supper.”

Prince Sep thankfully accepted the offer, and before long the old
woman turned off across the moor, and led him over moss and stones and
by a tinkling rill, till they came to a hut niched into a cranny of the hills.
She bade him put down his bundle of faggots by the side of it, and then














30 A TRIAL OF PATIENCE.

led him in and soon they were sitting, one each side of a blazing fire,
with a bowl of famous porridge and a jug of milk and a pile of oatcakes
for supper. And the old woman chatted away and told him all sorts of
things that she had seen in her young days, and he thought she was one of
the nicest old women he had ever met, and had the brightest eyes he had
ever seen. But presently he got so sleepy that he couldn’t keep from
nodding, so she bade him lie down on a heap of fresh gathered heather
that was arranged on one side of the cottage, and she threw a rug over
him and told him to rest.

“But, you, Mother,” he said, ‘‘ where do you rest?”

“Oh, I cannot rest yet, 1 have some work,” she answered, as she
drew her spinning-wheel to her ; “ but never mind me, and the whirr of the
wheel will send you to sleep.”

So it did. But yet, every now and then, Sep half waked up, and
when he did so, he felt sleepily puzzled, for he was sure he heard voices
talking, sweet, shrill voices, and once when he half opened his eyes, there
were some queer little forms sitting round the fire, and they were singing
and talking and laughing, while the wheel went on whirr, whirr, whirr.
But he didn’t seem able to move or speak, but just lay looking at them
with half-open, drowsy eyes, and presently it all seemed to fade away and
he remembered nothing more till he woke up and found the sun shining

in through the open door.

TWh i “T wouldn't go to the
se | Earl Rostgoslynge,” said his
hostess, as he started off next
morning. ‘It is a hard ser-
vice, and I mistake me much
if better luck doesn’t wait
\J you over the moorland.
aN And see here, I have
MOA |G), little to give, but you
Wie \2 were good to the old
= woman last night. Take
“= this slip of wood and
keep it for my sake. It

is elder-wood, which has



















1enee.

| of Pat

ria





- A TRIAL OF PATIENCE. 31

many virtues, and don’t forget to try what it will do when all else
fails.” :

Prince Septimus put the little slip of elder-wood in his pocket. He
didn’t think much of it, but it would have been rude to refuse, or laugh
at the old woman’s gift. He took her advice, too, and started off over the
moor, and towards afternoon, he saw before him the towers and walls of a
city, and soon he entered the gates, and made his way through the streets
which were all very much thronged with people, but everyone, he noticed,
looked very sad and sorrowful.

“ What is the matter?” he asked at last. ‘Is anything wrong ?”

But the old man he spoke to only sighed deeply, while the tears ran
down his withered cheeks. “ It is our Princess,” he said. “ It gets tighter
and tighter, and they say she can’t last much longer.”

“ What gets tighter and tighter,” asked Prince Sep, but the old man
only shook his head and turned away.

‘“‘ Well, this is queer,” said Prince Sep, and he asked someone else,
but nobody gave him any answer that he could understand, and so he
pushed on with the crowd, who all seemed going one way, and soon found
himself in an open square in front of a grand palace. Just then a Herald
was blowing a trumpet to command silence, and then someone shouted
out—

“Oyez, oyez, oyez. This is to give notice. Anyone who can unwind
the skein and release the Princess shall receive a reward equal to half
the King’s Dominions.”

Then the crowd pushed on again, drawing Prince Sep with them,
till he was carried right into the great hall of the palace, and there he
saw the most wonderful sight his eyes had ever fallen on. For on the
dais of the hall, sitting in a chair of state, was the loveliest little Princess
in the world; but, alas, she was bound tight and firm, so that she could
neither move, nor speak, nor eat, nor hardly breathe, into the chair by
strand on strand of golden silk, twisted, turned, tangled, plaited and
knotted ; so that no skill of her ladies or her pages, or of anybody else, was
able to undo it. And there were the King and the Queen, with the
tears running down their faces, and making quite a little pond on the floor,
entreating someone to come and release their daughter or she would die,

“Why don’t they cut the silk?” asked Prince Sep.



32 A TRIAL OF PATIENCE.

“It would kill her,” whispered somebody. “It is enchanted, and it
was her godmother who did it! She came the other day, and something
offended her, so she took the skein and flung it at the Princess, and it
twisted and twined like a living snake till it tied her up in the chair.”

“Then why don’t they send and beg her to release her?”

“ Nobody knows where she is. She went off in a great huff, and
when they sent after her, they found her carriage stuck in a bog, but she
had disappeared, and has never been seen since.”

Now Prince Sep felt very sorry, for the Princess was very pretty, and
it was dreadful to be tied up there and die of starvation. ‘I wish I

could help her,” he
ee murmured to him-
oo self, “I wonder if I
could get the skein
loose,” and just then
he put his hand in
his pocket, and there
he felt under his
fingers the slip of
elder-wood the old
woman had given
him, and he remem-
bered what she said.
“Try it when all
else fails.” “I will
try,’ he cried, and
drawing it out he
stepped forth out of
the throng, which
the guards kept back
from pressing too
near, and bowing to
the King and the
(Queen, he asked if
he might be allowed
to try his luck at the
tangled skein.





A TRIAL OF PATIENCE. Se / 7D)

““Oh, do, if you can do
any good,” sobbed the Queen,
“ only take care, for the others
have made it worse and worse,
till they have nearly choked
her!”















Then Prince Sep went up on to the dais,
and he knelt down before the Princess, and taking _,
the little stick in his hand, he touched the nearest ¥
strand of silk, and lo! as he did it, an end of the
silk floated out towards his fingers, and he caught it
and gently began winding it round the magic stick.

“Oh, there’s the end,” whispered one of the
Queen’s ladies. “Oh, he’s got the end and we
couldn’t find that it had one!”

‘‘Oh! he is unwinding it,” gasped another. “See!
that big knot has come untied,” cried a third. “Oh!
that great tangle is undone.”

“ Hush, hush,” guregled the Queen, “ don’t speak,
~ or—or—move—or—oh ! the Saints be thanked, she will
soon be loosed !”

And so, while everybody held their breath with “@
excitement, Septimus went on gently winding, winding, winding the
golden silk on his magic stick—winding, winding, winding, till the
binding skein was all undone, and the Princess was free, and the first
thing she said, was, “Oh! I am so dreadfully hungry !”

Then all the people burst into shouts of joy, and the trumpets. blew,
and the soldiers huzzaed, and everybody ran about and shook hands with
everybody else, and great bonfires were lit in the streets, and a great
banquet was spread in honour of the occasion.

“ And now,” said the King to his daughter’s deliverer, “ will you
tell me your name ?”

“ Certainly,” he answered, “1 am Prince Septimus, and my father is
King Lakeelt II. of Steinegrundchen.”

“ Ah,” auswered the King, “1 am glad you are a prince, because you
know, you are now the ruler of half my kingdom.”

Cc





34 A TRIAL OF PATIENCE.

“That depends,” said the Prince, ‘“ that depends on one thing!”

“ And what is that ?” asked the King, a little surprised.

“Tt depends,” said Septimus, ‘‘ whether the Princess will deign to
share it with me, for I won’t have it without,” and he made a very low
bow to the Princess.

And she! ah, well she !—she stopped eating a sponge cake someone
had brought, and she dropped a shy, little curtsey, and then she began
nibbling at it again, but it was quite sufficient answer for Prince Septimus,
and he didn’t mind about the cake, because he knew she was so very,
very hungry.

“We will have the wedding to-morrow,” cried the King, full of
delight, for he had been rather regretting his generosity in giving away
so much of his power; ‘ yes, to-morrow, let the heralds give notice.”

Oh! wasn’t there a scurry to get ready! All the dressmakers in
the city sat wp all night to make the wedding dress, and all the cooks and
confectioners did the same to prepare the wedding breakfast, and, in fact,
nobody went to bed at all, there was so much to do! But they got it
done in time, and the next day everyone went to the Cathedral to see the
ceremony. And just as it was completed, and they had returned to the
Palace, there was a great sounding of trumpets, and lo! a great train of
knights and ladies appeared, and in the midst of them came the Queen of
the Fairies, and when Septimus looked at her, he seemed to know her face,
but yet he was so puzzled, because she reminded him of the old woman on
the moorland! And when the Queen saw him so puzzled, she laughed

merrily.

“ Yes,” she said, “‘ quite right. You helped me with my bundle of
sticks, and ‘ One good turn deserves another.’ ”

“ But,” said Queenie, eagerly, as her Auntie paused, “did they ever
find her cruel godmother ?”

“Oh yes, the fairies kept her in prison seven years, to try and make
her better, and fed her on sugar and honey, and she came out quite a nice
old lady at last—and there, Queenie, our skein is finished, like the Prince’s,

and there’s an end to your ‘ Trial of Patience.’ ”
M. A. HOYER.





Che Angel's Whisper.

OW I wish, thought little Eva,
As she sat and dreamed one day,

O’er a book of tales heroic,

Which before her open lay,
How I wish I could do something,

Great and noble, which should be
Written in a book by some one,

So that all the world could see.



36

THE ANGEL'S WHISPER.

There was Joan of Arc, whose story
I’ve been reading—she was grand !
And the lighthouse girl, Grace Darling,

Who rowed out and brought to land
All the drowning shipwrecked people ;
They were only girls like me,
If I could but rescue some one,

Oh! how splendid it would be! ,

How I love to read such stories—
Even long and long ago,
There were Greek and Roman heroes,
Who did wondrous deeds, I know,
If I try to be more patient,
And more brave, perhaps one day
I may be as really helpful

In another sort of way.

Little Eva went on dreaming,
As she rested on-her chair,
Doing noble deeds in fancy,
Building castles in the air ;
Till she seemed to hear a rustle
As of wings above her head,
And a voice like whispering music,
Somewhere close beside her, said—

“ Do not waste the time in dreaming
Of some great deed to be done

In the future, little Eva,
For the present is your own,

You must try and do the duties
That are lying in your way,

Then the future that you dream of
May be yours indeed one day.”







THE ANGEL'S WHISPER. 37



From that bright and happy day-dream,
Little Eva slowly woke,

Could it be, she thought in wonder,
That an angel really spoke ;

And our little maiden pondered,
Though she never said a word,

On the sweet angelic prompting,
Which she fancied she had heard.

But she tried to do her duty
In her safe and happy home,
And be patient under trials,

Which to every child must come,
Till one day when she was resting
"Neath a giant oak that stood
Just outside her father’s garden,
On the outskirts of a wood.







X=
Ay
\

Py
\
‘S
Jw
SN
a)
Ne
\!

wb







A tall gipsy woman started
From the underwood close by,
And before the child could utter
Frightened word, or warning cry,
Rough, strong arms had seized and borne her
Far into the leafy shade,
And in language fierce and cruel, As she hurried swiftly onward,
Told the trembling little maid, That in truth if she should dare
But to make one sound or struggle,
She would kill her then and there.
Eva lay in helpless silence,
In the gipsy’s stalwart arms,
Though her heart was wildly beating
With a thousand vague alarms.



THE ANGEL’S WHISPER. 39



“ Now I must be brave,” thought Eva,
“God will hear me if I pray,
‘And perhaps he’ll send an angel,
To take care of me to-day.”
So her little hands she folded,
Praying as the darkness grew,
“Pray God keep me brave and patient,
Pray God tell me what to do.”

Many an hour the woman travelled,
And at last set Eva down,
In a road, all unfamiliar,
On the borders of a town :
And towards a lonely ruin
Dragged her roughly by the hand,
Till they found themselves surrounded
By a noisy gipsy band.

By-and-by, not all unkindly,
Came_a brown and dark-eyed maid,
Who took Eva’s hand, and led her
From the band apart, and said,
“* Never fear us, little lady,
Though our ways are free and bold,
Be you sure we will not harm you,
If you do as you are told.”

Little Eva soundly slumbered
By the gipsy maiden’s side,

All that summer night, while o’er them
Bent the skies so blue and wide.

Till they wakened her at day-break,
And exchanged her pretty frock,

And her dainty shoes and stockings,
For a soiled and tattered smock.



40 THE ANGEL'S WHISPER.



Then her skin they stained all over,
With a liquid rank and brown,

And the tall rough gipsy led her
To the unfamiliar town.

It was then, felt little Eva,
That her trials true befell,

For a thief they would have made her.
Things untrue they bade her tell.

Day by day, as on they journeyed,
She refused to lie or steal,
Night by night they starved and beat her,
Till the child began to feel
That her strength at last must fail her,
But she prayed with all her might,
“Father, help me to be patient,
Give me courage to do right.”





THE ANGEL’S WHISPER. 4]



Often would the gipsy maiden,
As beneath the star-lit sky,
They lay couched upon the heather,
Ask her little comrade, “ Why
She was obstinate and silent,
Why she would not say or do
What the elder women told her
When they fierce and angry grew.”

And our Eva strove to tell her—
Strove to make her meaning plain—
When she said that Christian children
Must from evil deeds refrain.
But the rough and untaught gipsy
Right from wrong had never learnt,
Though she loved and pitied Eva,
And her heart within her burnt.

When she saw the child ill-treated,
And she’d often beg and pray—
To escape a cruel beating,
She would just for once give way.
“Do not tempt me, Bess,” said Eva,
“T have learnt right things from wrong,
And I know that if I ask Him,
God will keep me good and strong.”

Thus the months, for little Eva,
Sped in pain, and sorrow by.
All the day they roamed’the country,
Slept at night beneath the sky ;
Till one morning when her captors
The wide country road had left,
For the town, and fiercely urged her
To some deed of petty theft.







Walking down the pavement, Eva
Saw, despite her tearful eyes,

Her own father come towards them, -
And with cries of glad surprise,

Sprang across the street and called him,
And at last within his arm,

Felt that she was safely sheltered
From all future pain and harm.





Now what say you, little children,
Was not Eva, in her way,
As heroic as the maidens,
She had read about that day ?
Just as brave, and good, and patient,
As the heroes of old songe—
Though she did but do her duty,
In despite of pain and wrong ?

When you read those stirring stories
Of great deeds so simply done,
Or of hardships borne with patience,

Or of battles hardly won.
Yow ll remember, little children,
If you try with all your might,
You may make your lives heroic,
Just by always doing right.

HELEN MARION BURNSIDE.





Che Fairy Birds.

HVE and little Jack Brookfield had come down for their usual visit to

mother at her tea-time, and found two other visitors there which
they had never seen before. Two sweet little birds, with beautiful coloured
feathers, nestling close to each other in a cage,

“Oh, what dear little chickens!” cried Jacky. ‘““May I have one to
play with in the garden, mammie, dear?”

“Oh no, Jack, they always live in the cage, and would be lost if they
went into the garden; they are little foreigners, and the other birds
would peck them, perhaps, but you may offer them this piece of chick-
weed, and Evie can give them a lump of sugar.” t

The children were delighted when the tame little creatures came
fluttering towards the side of the cage to see what was being offered to
them.

“Let Jimmy see too,” said Jack, running back to fetch his favourite
old wooden horse that generally accompanied him in his trots up and
downstairs, and shared all his pleasures. He hadn’t any troubles to
speak of Jimmy was put in a good front place, Jack announcing that
he said he was very pleased, as he was very fond of birds and chickens,

“ They ’re not chickens, are they, mother,” said Evie, “they ’re little
tiny poll parrots.”



THE FAIRY BIRDS. 45

“No, they are called ‘ Love-Birds.’ Uncle George has brought them
for us, all the way from India, so we must keep them nice and warm,
poor mites.”

“Why do they call them Love-Birds? Do they love each other
very much ?”

“Yes, they are great friends. If you took one away, very likely the
other would pine away and die, it would be so lonely.”

“We won’t let any one take him away, will we?” said Evie.
“No, birdies, dears, you shall always be together. Aren’t they just like
fairy birds, mother ?”

“Well, I’ve never seen a fairy bird, but I dare say the wonderful
blue bird that helped the poor Princess was rather like one of these.
I should think he had wings, and a beak, and a tail.”

“Dear little blue bird!” murmured Evie, coming to sit on the floor,
and nestling against her mother’s dress, while Jack, more restless, went ’
round and round the room with Jimmie. The twittering of the birds
sounded soft and low, and the scent of the flowers in the garden was
wafted in at the open window, the bees were humming and buzzing as
they forced their way deep down into the cups of the flowers to get the
sweet honey, and Evie felt very happy as she listened dreamily to the
pretty slumber-song her mother was playing and singing softly. She
thought of the pretty love-birds, who were having a whispered con-
versation with each other. What could they be saying? Evie tried to
hear, and presently began to distinguish the
words they said. ates

“She seems a nice, kind child, and said we ~. i
should always be together,” said one. :

“Yes,” said the other, ‘shall we give her a
ride. I wonder where she would like to go?”

“Oh, most likely to Dollshouseland ; little girls
generally like that.”

“Yes, that’s a,good idea. Come along,” and to
Kvie’s great delight they hopped down out of the
cage door, which was open, and came hop, hop, over
the floor to Evie. When they were near she saw
they were harnessed into a wee carriage, like mother’s







46 THE FAIRY BIRDS.

victoria, only just the right size for them, and they drew up in front
of Evie, and nodding their pretty heads, said, “Get in, and we will take
you to Dollshouseland, if you like.”

“But I’m much too big and heavy for you!” cried Evie, laughing at
the idea.

“Take this,’ and each bird presented her with a seed out of his
beak. Evie did so, and found she had become quite like a tiny fairy.
Her shoes were the sweetest things you ever saw, just like her best party
shoes of pale blue satin—no doll ever had such lovely little things, and
her dress and everything was to match. Charmed at this transformation,
Evie sprang into the carriage and took the slender gold reins in her
hands. The birds spread their wings and were soon flying through the
air at a great pace—upstairs, down the passage, into the nursery where
the beautiful doll’s house Evie had had given her at Christmas was
standing on the box near the window. How delightful it felt to walk
into the little drawing-room (Evie had often longed to be able to do
it), and sit down on the blue satin sofa beside Lady Sophonisha,
who had been sitting there alone for so long, and who now smiled
at her instead of at nobody, and offered her a cup of tea from the
set that constantly stood before her. It was always afternoon tea-time
at Lady Sophonisha’s.
~ “I’m so glad you have come,” she said. “It’s very dull
here, and the children have been
in bed for weeks, ever since that

great giantess Evie put
them there, and she
eZ (. 7 has never taken them
yw _\ outagain. But now you
“al —> have come, dear little.
\, why fairy, we can move and
talk and do anything,
only we must not let
the giants know any-
thing about it.”
“Why not?” asked
Evie.






THE FAIRY BIRDS.

“Oh, we might all turn into
birds or mice, and I don’t know
that we should be any better off
then, though we dolls have a
good deal to put up with. Once
I was left standing on my head
for a week in this very room!
Can you imagine anything more
painful to my feelings!” But
just then the whole front of the
doll’s house was opened, and a
big hand, full of marbles, bricks,
tops, cups and saucers, and other
small toys, was thrust inside.
Evie saw it was nurse, looking
quite enormous, who was say-
ing—

“The way those children
leave their toys strewed all ~~
over the carpet, it’s no wonder
they ’re always losing some-
thing. I suppose it’s time for me to go and fetch them, now I’ve
tidied up.”

Kvie struggled out from*under the heap, and helped out Lady
Sophonisba, said good-bye, and got into the little carriage feeling it
might be inconvenient to be so tiny always!

The birds had flown out of nurse’s way, so were all right, and
said—

“ Now would you like to go to Fairyland ?”

‘Yes, very much indeed,” said Evie.

In a few moments she found herself being carried along a lovely
garden, full of roses and lilies, daffodils and bluebells, sunflowers, crysan-
themums, daisies, and marigolds, and out of each flower came a beautiful
fairy, just like those in that book mother was so fond of, called “ Flora’s
Feast.” Only these all moved, and the bluebells rang little -peals of
music, and those out of the daffodils blew their trumpets, and the heralds





THE FAIRY BIRDS.

announced in sweet voices: ‘‘ Here is our
little Queen Rosebud.” And two little
pages dressed in green, with snowdrops for
hats, came before Evie, holding out a blue
velvet cushion with a tiny gold crown on
it, which Evie took and put on her head,
feeling very much like a queen. She
looked down, to see that her frock was

made of petals of roses, and smelt
__ delicious. Then some funny looking
servants came, dressed in liveries of
striped yellow and black waistcoats and shining coats ; their eyes
were very near the tops of their heads, or else they held their heads
very high. They had long furry arms, and when they came near, Evie
saw they were bees walking upright. They were real “ busy bees,” and
in a few moments they had spread a long table with plates made of tiny
leaves, and cups of lilies of the valley. The dishes and plates were piled
up with delicious sparkling fruits and honey-cakes, and the little cups
filled with dew. It all tasted so very nice that Evie felt rather dis-
appointed when, just as she was about to sip the dew, all the flower
fairies jumped up, exclaiming, “ Here are the elves!” and a crowd of
little elves or sprites came dancing, with bright scarlet caps on their heads.
They played all sorts of lively pranks that made Evie laugh. They blew
the daffodil trumpets in the ears of the tall proud lilies, chased the bees
about, tripping them up when they were carrying the dishes in a
dignified way, and ran up and down the tall blades of grass, and made
swings of them. Then the one who seemed the chief ran up to
Hivie, saying—

“ Wouldn’t you like to see Fairytaleland ¢”

“Oh, yes, I should!” she cried. Then he seized her hand, and
another joined on, and then another, till they made a long string, and
they all set off running like a follow-my-léader game, which was great
fun, Evie was nearly out of breath when they suddenly stopped short
before a queer building made of pink and white sugar, with window panes
of clear toffee, and as Evie looked through, she saw all her old fairy tale
friends. There was Cinderella in her sparkling glass slippers, dancing









ercmennee





THE FAIRY BIRDS. 49

merrily away with the handsome young Prince, while the ugly sisters
looked on with their noses in the air.

“You had better take care, dear Cinderella,” said Evie; ‘it’s just
striking twelve, and your carriage will turn into a pumpkin again.”

“Yes, I know,” answered Cinderella, laughing, “but I'll manage to
drop my slipper, and it will be such fun to see their faces when they find
out I’m Cinderella !”



D



50 THE FAIRY BIRDS.

Puss-in-Boots was there too, rubbing his clever furry head against
his sad young Master’s shoulder to comfort him, and Evie stroked him
and said, “ You dear, kind, clever cat, I wish you were mine.”

Little Red Riding Hood was sitting making daisy chains in the
wood, the pretty little Princess lay fast teen in the Castle, and the
young Prince was making his way through the tangle of briar roses to
find her. He nodded to Evie, and said, “I shall soon be there now, and
wake them all.”

It was so nice to be able to talk to them all, but Evie was rather
afraid she might meet one of the ogres or ogresses that frightened poor
Hop-o’-my-thumb, or Jack who climbed the Beanstalk; but the little
elves only Iaughed and said; ‘‘ Why, you are the queen of all the fairies
and you could change them all into mice or beetles, or anything you
liked, nettles or prickly bushes.”

Evie thought this was an excellent idea, and was rather anxious to try
the effect of her little wand with the golden star at the top. But the
little birds, whom she had nearly forgotten, came hopping up just then,
with wee paper cocked hats on their heads, and each had a sword under
his arm, and they strutted along with such a comical air of dignity that
Evie laughed heartily. Just then a band of music struck up a march,
and Evie was suddenly aware that nurse was standing at the drawing-
room door, saying, “ Now Miss Evie and Master Jack, come along, it’s
past your bed-time.”

‘““T believe my music nearly sent you to sleep, Evie, dear,” said her
mother, kissing her. ‘‘ You look as if you had been in dreamland.”

“No, mother, I haven’t been there, but I’ve been to another land—
Fairytaleland and it was so nice.”

“Run away, you sleepy little puss,” said her mother, laughing.

evie kissed her good-night, and then went to the birdies’ cage and
whispered —

“Good-night, dear little fairy birds, thank you very much and
youll take me there again, won’t you ?”

And the birds looked at her and winked their bright eyes, and Evic
knew that they knew all about it and would keep the secret.

FLORENCE SCANNELL.





being Bandits.

T one time Farmer Burton used to say that Harry was the best boy in
all the country round. He never got into mischief, always kept his
clothes clean, and did his lessons at the village school to the admiration of
everybody. That was because he had no brothers, I think, but only gentle
little sisters—four or five of them—and he used to join in their plays and
make dollies’ tea parties with them, and play at shop with a few currants
and a little sugar and rice, and the penny pair of scales he bought at the
Fair with his own money ; and he never caused his mother the least
anxiety, nor his father either, though his uncle Tom, when he came down
from London, used to say that Harry was a bit of a milksop.
“ You should sce our Tom,” he used to say.



BEING BANDITS.

Ou
Lo

And Harry’s mother would answer with tears of pride, “I wouldn't
have Harry a bit different from what he is. He’s the best boy betwixt
here and Cranbrook.”

But all that was before his cousin Tom came down to stay with him.
Tom was really about the same age as Harry, but he seemed much older,
as London boys have a way of doing.

He thought he knew most things, and he really did know a great
many, for besides being of a very adventurous turn by nature, he had read a
oreat many books about dragons, and enchanters, and knights, and ladies,
and bandits, and pirates; and he remembered everything he read out of
school a great deal better than he was able to remember what was taught
him 7 school.

“T say, what a jolly old place you have here,” he said the first.
morning when Harry proudly led him round the farmyard, and showed
him where the hens laid, and the nine little white pigs lying with their
mother basking in the sun.

“T say, what a splendid castle that barn would make if we only had
some more boys, one party to defend, you know, and the other to attack ;
and the ladder as it stands would do splendidly for a scaling ladder, and
we could have rakes and forks for spears and things.”

Harry really didn’t know what his cousin meant, and was ashamed
to say so. So he said, “Come and see the horses.”

So they went into the stable where the horses were munching their
chaff out of the wooden mangers.

“ What magnificent chargers!” Tom said, putting his hands in his
pockets, and his little legs as far apart as they would go. “ Why with one
of those, and the clothes-prop for a lance, we could have a regular tourna-
ment.”

‘But I’m not allowed to ride the horses,” said Harry.

“Oh! well, that settles it,” says om; “ but I wish there weren't so.
many rules. Only when there’s a rule, there’s an end of it, if people have
told you so plainly. What a blessing it is they can’t make a rule about
everything. 1 daresay we shall find lots of interesting things to do, that
they haven't thought of saying we mustn’t.”

“The girls are going to have a dolls’ tea party this afternoon, because
you have come.”



BEING BANDITS. 58

The day before, Harry would have said, ‘‘ We are going to have a
dolls’ tea party,” but the extreme manliness and swagger of his little
cousin had already impressed him so much, that he rather doubted how
Tom would feel about dolls’ tea parties.

“Child’s play!” said Tom loftily, “child’s play! But we must
pretend to like it so as to please them. I know that; and then after-
wards we can have a nice game of our own. Ill fight you if you like,
after tea.”

Harry shuddered, and was quite pale when they went in to breakfast.

The dolls’ tea party went off very well. Tom added quite a new
excitement to it by pretending to be an ogre who had strayed in uninvited,
and had to be charmed by cups of tea, and at last, by the gift of a
lump of sugar, was transformed into a fairy Prince. This led to so
many explanations that the fight was quite forgotten, and for some
time after tea the children sat spell-bound, listening to Tom’s fairy stories,
which he told very well, because he more than half believed them.

“It’s no use calling the barn a fortress,” he said next day, “since
there are only two of us, and you can’t be an army all by yourself. But
I think if we went up in the loft, we could find something amusing.”

Up in the loft were great trusses of hay, and Harry and Tom piled
these up to make a fort.

“ Now,” Tom said, “I’m going to be a beleaguered garrison, and you
may attack me. You get in if you can.”

And Harry tried and tried, and for a novice in besieging didn’t do so
badly ; but again and again he was thrown over the ramparts and fell on
the loose hay on the floor. It didn’t hurt him in the least; but he got
very cross over it, and that made him, as it often does make people, more
energetic and determined.

He set his little wits to work and presently crept round the walls of
the fortress with a little bundle of hay in his arms. Of course, Tom
being inside, couldn’t see what he was doing, and all on a sudden, shout-
ing “Follow me, my men!” as Tom had told him to do, he jumped up
and flung his bundle of hay in Tom’s face, and before the defender had
time to get himself free from it, Harry had leapt over the fortifications
and taken possession of the fortress. There was a short scuffle within its
narrow walls, for Tom was but human; but he soon recovered his sense of





Macgs
TBR

justice, and threw up his cap, saying, ‘‘ You’ve won! You’re not such a
milksop after all.”

“Who said I was a milksop?” said Harry angrily.

“The Wizard of the North,” said Tom laughing. “Now you defend
and Il go out and attack.”

Harry had never had such an exciting game in his life, nor, he
owned to himself, in spite of a big bump on his forehead and a curious
kind of ache all over, such an enjoyable one.

Within a week the boys were fast friends and quite inseparable.

They made a pirates’ cave in the hen-house, fluttering its lawful occupants.
most woefully.



i

BEING BANDITS. 55

They were cattle lifters one day, and carried off the wooden horse,
and little Polly's donkey with the two panniers, to their fastness in the
apple tree.

The next day they had tournaments, mounted, not on the farm horses,
but on the kitchen chairs, with clothes-props for lances, and a couple of
old fencing masks for helmets.

But the most exciting timé was when they were Bandits. They
were coming home from school, and they had decided that the best way to
make the way seem short would be to be highwaymen, and cry “Stand
and deliver!” to everyone they met who wasn’t too big. And the first
person they met was little Bessie Atkins from the dairy farm. She had
her apron full of apples.

“Stand and deliver!” cried Tom, drawing his pistol, a three-penny
one with real caps. And Bessie would have been really frightened, if she
hadn’t seen that Harry was laughing.

“What do ee want?” she said with a little lisp, for she was quite
small and couldn’t speak plainly.

“You must give us all your
wealth,” said ‘Tom, ‘or else you can’t
pass.”

‘What be I to give ee?” said the
little one, smiling so pleasantly that
Tom was quite charmed with her.

“A kiss, my fair maid,” he said
loftily. “They often do that in the -
story books,” he said to Harry in ex-
planation.

Both boys kissed the little girl,
and Harry asked her which way she
was going.

“T’m going down to Uncle Bob’s »
to fetch my rabbit he promised me. «
Will ee come too? It’s such a pretty -
bunny !” Ml

So the bandits turned, and walked
down the road with the little girl, one








56 BEING BANDITS.

on each side of her. Uncle Bob had dozens and dozens of rabbits in
hutches on either side of his cottage. He gave Bessie hers in a basket.

The boys admired it so much that Uncle Bob, who was a generous
man, said—

‘Well, look here, youngsters, here’s a rabbit apiece for you, if you
have a place to keep it in.”

And the boys, after assuring him that the whole of Farmer Burton’s
barn and farmyard were at the service of the bunnies, went off, each with
a bunny in a brown canvas bag.

But before they went, Uncle Bob’s wife made them sit down and
have their tea with little Bessie Atkins, so it was quite late when they took
their way home again.

“We had best go by the short cut,” said Harry, “ mother will be
wondering where we are.”

So they turned out of the road into the wood.

“ Let’s take the rabbits out of the bags and carry them in our arms,”
said Tom ; “ we can pretend they are sheep we have ‘ lifted ’.”

So they threw the bags away, and carried the bunnies through the
wood. ‘They were pretending away as fast as they could, and talking
inffine bandit style of their success in robbing the fold, when a man
stepped out of the thicket, and said, ‘“ Hallo, youngsters, where are you
off to with them rabbits ?”

“We're going home,” said Tom, as bold as brass.

“Yes, I know you be,” said the man, who wasa stout keeper in brown
velveteen; “going home with Squire’s rabbits, you poaching young
varmints.”

The chief bandit (that was Tom) looked rather scared, especially
when the keeper added : 5

“Tt’s gaol you'll go to, not home, if you make so free with other
people’s property.” ;

“They re our own,” said Harry, quite bravely, for he was used to
keepers, which Tom was not. ‘‘You know me. I’m Farmer Burton’s
son; these are tame rabbits. ’

Unfortunately the light was so dim that the keeper couldn’t see that

what Harry said was true.

“Tame indeed! up to the Hall you come,” he said ; ‘‘ you see the







e Toll for Passin

@ this Way. :





BEING BANDITS. 57

Squire this very blessed minute.” He had a hand on the shoulder of each,
and so they had to go. :

The keeper and the boys were shown into the Library, to wait till the
Squire camein. The keeper stood looking out of the window, and whist-
ling ; and the boys were too frightened to make any further effort to get
their tale believed. After what seemed like a year, the Squire came in.

“These boys were a-stealing your rabbits, Squire,” said the keeper,
“and the rabbits they be upon them.”

The Squire gave one glance at the trembling children and their
bunnies. ‘“ Why, these are tame rabbits, Johnson. Where are your
eyes? And you head keeper too.”

And the Squire burst into a fit of jolly laughter. Johnson turned
very red, but he was man enough to own he was wrong.

“Well, I’m sorry,” he said, “you little chaps. But I heard you
say as you came along that you had stolen them from the fold.”

Then the boys both burst out laughing. “Why we were playing
at bandits,” they said, “and the rabbits, they were sheep we had ‘lifted.’
And it was Bessie’s Uncle Bob gave us the rabbits, and you can ask
him else.”

Well, the Squire was very kind and jolly. He gave each of the
boys five shillings for their very own, and no one to ask how |

gta

they spent it. And he took a great fancy to them, for he vA}
‘had no boys of his own, and ~ . __
later on he sent them to a =
better school than their fathers
could afford; and they say
that he means to make them
bailiffs on his estate when
they are old enough.

So that being a bandit
was useful for once in a way,
and no one has ever called
Harry a milksop since Tom
came to stay with him.



E. NESBIT.







Che Wnchanted Prince.

ae com along, Topsy, we'll go for a walk over the hills,” exclaimed

Milly. She put on her best hat with the pink feather, for though
she was not likely to meet a soul in those remote Highland regions,
Milly always liked to look smart.

Her uncle was always busy with his books and his sermons when he
was not at the “kirk,” which was several miles away. So Milly was
often left to her own devices and had plenty of opportunities of rambling
about the hill-sides and woods, an exercise that coloured her features
with a more glowing pink than even that of the heather itself.
Sometimes she caught a glimpse of the Highland deer as they came
down to drink at the stream which meandered through the next valley.
This was her great delight. But she could never get close to them.
Whenever she attempted to approach, they darted away like a flash of
light, so Milly had to hide herself as best she could, and be content with
admiring their high antlers and slender limbs from a distance. It
seemed strange that they should be afraid of her. She was a romantic
little girl, and she had certain theories about the deer which she
confided only to Topsy.

“Now, Topsy,” exclaimed Milly, as they clambered up the hillside,
“you can’t be tired yet, so we will go to the wood and have tea, and wait
for the deer, and then I will tell you all about them.”

Topsy had no objection—she never had—so they plodded along, and
by the time they reached the wood Milly was very warm and was glad
of a rest.

The tea was not of a kind that would have satisfied a thirsty pie-



Se
co

THE ENCHANTED PRINCE.

nicker of more mature years; but it sufficed for Milly and Topsy. Milly
carried the teapot, sugar-basin, cups, saucers, and spoons in her pocket.
The cups were about the size of ordinary lumps of sugar and the teapot
was not much larger. It contained no tea, but it was ornamented with
forget-me-nots, and Milly enjoyed arranging the things and “ pouring it
out,” and Topsy, being only a black doll, who smiled broadly and good-
naturedly on every possible occasion, was, of course, quite satisfied.

“T always feel better for a cup of tea,” said Milly; “don’t you,
Topsy? Have another lump of sugar.”

To this suggestion Topsy smiled a joyful assent and nearly over-
balanced with the teacup in her lap. a

“What are you doing, child?”
claimed Milly. “Dear! dear! :
You'll spill it over your new y”
frock !” i

Milly hastened to place her â„¢,
in a more secure position, Just .
in time to prevent the disaster.
Topsy smiled, for she evi-
dently thought it a good ~
joke, and Milly laughed out-
right, after which
the meal proceeded
very sociably.

‘Now I'll tell
you about the deer,”
said Milly. “ There
is a stag, oh! so
handsome, and he
is an enchanted
prince; he was
changed into a stag
beeause he would
not marry the
witch’s ugly daughter.”

Topsy smiled incredulously.

oO
A
\

4















60 THE ENCHANTED PRINCE.

“It’s quite true,” said Milly, decisively, “he can only be. dis-
enchanted by the touch of a lady’s hand, and Iam a little lady, Margaret
said so, and if I were to touch him he would turn into a beautiful prince
again, with a lovely feather in his hat, and silver buckles on his shoes,
and rings on his fingers, and pearls and diamonds on his clothes; and he
would give me a beautiful ring as a keepsake, and then he would ask
me to marry him, and I should be a princess, and live in a beautiful
castle, and have lovely dresses, and——”

Milly stopped, for Topsy had gradually
subsided and now lay stretched out in
slumber; so long a story, com-
bined with the heat of the day,
was evidently
too much for
her.

“Wake up,”
eried Milly,
placing her
on her perch
again; where-
upon Topsy
smiled, just as
if nothing had
happened.

“We will go
through the
wood,” gaid
Milly; “ Anous
says we can get
a good view of
the deer from the other
side.” Anous was an
occasional acquaintance
of Milly’s, a gilly by
profession, Milly
quickly cleared away the tea-













things, and they pro-
ceeded on their journey.
It seemed a long way
through the wood, further
than Milly had thought,
and she feared that
Topsy might be tired,
so, to cheer herself on
her way and to amuse
her companion, she sang
a little song in a sweet
treble voice, which
seemed to mingle
naturally with the — warbling of the =
birds, who put forth
their best efforts to

show that they were - eS

not to be outdone at - ea:

their own special ac-

complishment. At last they came to an opening, through which they
could see the stream winding through the valley but a short distance
below. Milly selected a hiding place that commanded a clear view of
the stream, and sat down to wait and to rest, for truth to tell she was

”

.

growing tired.

“ Keep quite quiet, Topsy,” she whispered, “we must not make the
slightest sound or we shall frighten them away.”

Long and patiently they sat and waited, while the sun, getting low
in the heavens, began to tinge the surrounding sky with golden gleams
which were reflected in the sparkling stream below. Then Milly thought
she saw something move upon the distant plain. She strained her eyes,
and there, sure enough, she saw aherd of deer coming towards the stream.
Her heart beat quickly, but she kept quite still, hardly breathing im her
excitement and anxiety not to attract attention. The beautiful creatures
came down to the water, some of them stepping into it till it half covered
their dainty legs; and a handsome stag, with noble antlers and soft dark
eyes, looked straight im her direction. Could he have seen her? Milly
almost trembled at the thought. But no, he leisurely stepped down



Ne THE ENCHANTED PRINCE.

«

| to the water and took a refreshing
ce draught, never suspecting that
\ he was being. watched by a
> pair of bright, steadfast
eyes. What a _ noble
creature! Who could
doubt that he was
“an enchanted
prince? As Milly
thought this, there
was a sudden
movement among
2 the herd. Some-
thing had startled
.them, she could
not tell what. In
a1 instant they
were away, and the projecting foliage hid them from her view.

Milly took a long breath ; she was satisfied, she had seen them « juite
close, so close that she had been able even to note the soft expression
of their eyes, and to admire the proud pose of their heads. Now she
must go home. She stepped out into the open to look for the path, when,
bang, bang, she heard two shots in rapid succession. There was a
rushing sound and the herd of deer dashed by her, she could hardly see
them, so quickly did they go; and the stag so close that her outstretched
hand brushed against him as he passed. He was going more slowly than
the rest, and limping as if wounded.

“Oh, Topsy, I touched him,” Milly exclaimed.

A moment afterwards he had disappeared round the bend. She
followed immediately, and now saw a xr vine, not very deep, but with no
apparent outlet, for there were steep rocks on the other side. “He
must be in there,” she thought, “and perhaps, poor thing, he has fallen
exhausted, and is now lying at the bottom.” Milly peered down among
the rocks and ferns, and certainly she thought she could perceive some
strange object lying among the dark shadows below. She clambered
down, never thinking what she should do even if she found the wounded










Nes

XN



THE ENCHANTED PRINCE. 68

animal; but she had an undefined feeling that the handsome creature was
suffering, and that it would be cowardly to desert him. Without much
difficulty she reached the bottom and there she saw—Not the stag, no;
but a young gentleman lying prone upon the earth! He did not move
as she approached. His eyes were half closed, and he was very pale,
but so handsome that Milly had never seen anyone to compare with him
before.

Milly stood spell-bound. She looked first at the prostrate form
before her, then she looked at Topsy.

Topsy smiled cheerfully. This gave Milly courage; she went quite
close and touched the stranger’s hand, noticing at the same time that a
diamond was sparkling on his finger. He was dressed in Highland
costume, and wore a kilt adorned with some rare stones. There was a
feather in his Scotch cap, and there were silver buckles on his shoes.
Milly felt a thrill of excitement. He slowly opened his eyes—-such soft,
dark eyes—and looked at her for a moment in a dazed, half unconscious
manner. Milly summoned up her courage to speak.

“You—you are wounded,” she said, sympathetically.

He tried to move and uttered a groan.

“Where is the place?” asked Milly, who was prepared to bind up
his wound with her little handkerchief.

“T fear my leg is broken,” he muttered; “I fell down here and |
must have fainted. I know not how long I have been here.”

“T am so glad I found you,” said Milly, “I will fetch some one to
carry you home.”

“No, first get me a little water, please,” he asked, feebly.

“Yes, the stream is close by, I will bring it in a minute, and I will
leave Topsy to take care of you.”

Milly hurried off as quickly as she could, scratching her hands and
knees as she scrambled up the bank and never stopped running till she
reached the stream. But how was she to carry the water back? Happy
thought! The teapot. This, however, did not hold much.

“Never mind, I can come back for some more,” she thought, as she
filled it, and having saturated her handkerchief, too, she hurried back
again.

The stranger smiled as he saw the tiny vessel; but the draught,



64 THE ENCHANTED PRINCE.

small as it was, moistened his parched lips, and in some degree refreshed
him. ne
“It is my teapot,” Milly explained, while cooling his forehead and
face with her wet handkerchief. “Ihave been having tea in the wood
with Topsy, and it is the only thing I had to bring the water in, except
the cups and the sugar-basin, and I could only carry one at the time:
but I will get you some more.”

“Thank you, my dear,” said the stranger, “you have saved my life.
But for you I should have lain here and died,”

“Tam so glad,” said Milly, “and Margaret will not be cross with
me for being late when I tell her.”

‘““Who are you, my dear?” he asked. ‘Tell me your name.”

“JT am Milly Markham,” she answered, “and I live with Margaret
and my uncle, the minister, and Topsy. This is Topsy,” she added,
pointing to her confidante.

- Topsy smiled, and so did the stranger.

“Tama good deal refreshed,” he said. “Give me a kiss, my dear,
for you are my little guardian angel.”

Milly could not refuse as he was so ill, so she blushingly complied.
He -took the diamond ring from his finger. “Here is a little keepsake
for you, Milly,” he said, “you must always keep it, and when you look
at it remember that I am your friend, and will never forget what you
have done for me.”

Milly took the keepsake, trembling at the possession of so valuable
a jewel. “Thank you, I will always keep it,” she said. “ But what is.
your name ?”

“Tam the Earl of Strathern,” he replied.

“Then you are the owner of the great castle by the lake?” said
Milly.

“Yes,” he answered. ‘You must come and see me there. I came
down only yesterday to see my native country, and went out early this
morning to fish. I lost my way in the mist, and fell into this hollow,
where I might have remained if you had not found me.”

Milly looked surprised at this—perhaps it was not quite what she
had expected. “You must not talk any more,” she said, in a maternal
tone. “I will get you some water, and then I'll go and look for Angus.”

She clambered up the hill again, and ran to the water, and as she





Plighland Deer.



THE ENCHANTED PRINCE. 65

was stooping to dip her teapot and her handkerchief in, she heard a voice
singing a Highland song. She looked up, and there to her joy, who
should she see coming down the opposite hill-side but Angus himself.
She called out as loudly as she could, “Come, Angus, quickly,” and
waved her handkerchief to attract his attention. The twilight was
coming on, and she feared he might not see her. But Aneus’s sharp
eyes had seen her a long way off, and in a very little while he
was stepping across the shallow stream towards her.

“Tt’s late for you to be sae far frae hame, my
bairn,” exclaimed Angus.

“Never mind that, Angus,” said Milly,
“come along quickly, a gentleman has
broken his leg, and you are to carry
him home.”

Angus was a big — broad-
shouldered Highlander with a red
beard, which, to tell the truth, was
Milly’s aversion, for she was
always afraid of having it
pressed against her cheek,
as it once had been, only
once, to her great in-
dignation.

“Show me where -
the laddie — lies,”
said Angus, in no /
way disconcerted
at the prospect of °.
his burden. i

Milly quickly *
brought him to the
place, and Angus
hfted the young
Earl in his arms
as tenderly asif he |
had been a baby,

E





















i







66 THE ENCHANTED PRINCE.

and strode away with him, while Milly followed, carrying Topsy in a
similar way.

It was necessarily a slow journey home, but at last they reached
her uncle’s house, and Margaret, on learning who the patient was, was
delighted to do all she could for him. Several weeks passed before he
was able to walk about again, and Milly helped to nurse him all the
time. She was delighted to see him getting well again; but when he
told her that he was going home she could not repress a tear. He, how-
ever, insisted that she should come with him to the castle and make the
acquaintance of his mother and sisters; and the end of it all was that
Milly’s uncle consented to her being adopted by the dowager-countess.

Years afterwards, when Milly was grown up, and had agreed to
become the wife of the Earl, she told him of her fanciful talk with Topsy
in the wood, and how she had at first thought that he was indeed a
prince who had been bewitched, and was disenchanted by her touch.

“There is nothing disenchanting about your touch,” said the Earl.
“Tt is the most enchanting thing I know.”

He kissed her, in proof of what he said; and Topsy—she had
always kept Topsy—Topsy smiled. :

' ANTHONY GUEST.











Dolly's Own Foea.

ll WISH I could show you the “ Gables,” which was the name of the

house where Dolly lived—with the pond with the gold fish chasing
one another round and round in the bright sparkling water, and last, but
not least, the “ Fairy Queen ” dancing lightly upon it! Iam quite sure
you children will want to know what kind of Fairy Queen this was that
could dance on the top of the water. Well, it was just a lovely little
white-sailed yacht, the very model of the real yacht that was taking
Dolly’s father and mother across the sea, ever and ever so far away from
their dear little girl. Not that Dolly minded so very much. How could
she, when nurse and everybody at the “Gables” petted and indulged her
from morning till night. Besides, if she had not been left at home, she
would never have had those beautiful letters from abroad, and so could
never have read, or pretended to read them to Dodo, and Dodo would
have missed hearing about the funny people and things mother saw on
her travels very very much—at least, that was what Dolly thought.

Dodo was a queer old Japanese doll, very hard, very wooden, and very
ugly! Dolly liked pretty things, of course ; but when father came home
from Japan, and gave Dodo to his little girl, he said, “‘ You’d better be
kind to her, Dolly, or else perhaps she'll cry, and want me to take her
home again.” So Dolly made up her mind she would love her better



68 DOLLY’S OWN IDEA.

than all the dolls in the nursery, better even than Lulu and Fifine, the
French ones: sometimes she would scold these two for being cross and.
jealous. =

“It’s no use,” she would say, “I must love her best! You two are
pretty, and have each other to talk to; Dody is ugly, and hasn’t any
friends.”

Not far from the “Gables” was a beautiful house called the “ Manor,”
which belonged to Dolly's Aunt Amy. Dolly loved to be invited to the
Manor to stay all day, because there were so many delightful things she:
and Dodo could do.

Sometimes, when Dodo was asleep under one of the big trees, auntie
would let Dolly help gather a bunch of roses for Johnny, the lame boy,.
and they would take them to him, and sit beside his bed. And auntie:
would tell poor little Johnny a story, just to cheer him up a bit, and
make him more happy and contented. One day she told him about a
lot of poor children who had never seen any of those beautiful things.
Johnny could see every day through the windows of his mother’s cottage:
—trees, and flowers, and buds, and butterflies. “Ah, poor little things !
they are much worse off than you, Johnny dear.”

“Oh, I know now what I shall do when I’m growed up,” cried Dolly ;.
“IT shaii ask those little girls and boys into my country, and give them
tea on my lawn.” On the way back to the Manor auntie said, “I love
you very much, Dolly dear ; and I think a lot of little children will love:
you too when they hear all about it.” “About what?” said Dolly.

“About your lovely idea. Now, Dolly, suppose I tell you that instead
of those poor children I told Johnny about, having to wait till you ’re:
‘growed up’ before they see the beautiful country, as you said.
Suppose they come to the park on my birthday, and have swings and
roundabouts, and a band of music just like we have at the flower show.”

“Will you ask them, really, really 2” cried Dolly, with glee.

“Yes, really, really,” echoed auntie, “and you too, Dolly.”

“And Dodo?” said Dolly ; “I must bring Dodo, those little children
will be sure to love her, won’t they ?”

The first thing Dolly did when that very wonderful day came was.
to pop out of bed and peep out of the window.

“Come, wake up, Dodo,” she cried, “it’s such a booful day !’”







DOLLY’S OWN IDEA. 69

and when she thought the old doll was wide awake, she began to dress
her up in the French doll’s clothes, because they were much smarter than
cher own.

“Look, nursie!” she said, when Dodo’s toilet was completed, “isn’t
she a lovely little girl! Youll kiss her now, won’t you?”

“Kiss her! Not I!” cried nurse, “ you won’t catch me kissing such
a little scarecrow as that!”

“Never mind,” said Dolly, just the least bit offended with nurse :
“never mind, Dodo, the little boys and girls will kiss you, darling.”

And up at the Manor what a bustle everybody was in, getting ready
for those little
boys and girls.
‘There were
men putting
up swings,
and tents, and
roundabouts,
and long tables
under the park
trees. As to
the bottles of
lemonade and
ginger - beer —
why, it would
have taken a
very clever
head to count
them !























70 DOLLY'S OWN IDEA.

As soon as the clock struck twelve, the park gates were opened and
in the children came. ‘Three vans full! although all that Dolly could see
was a crowd of hats and caps and pocket handkerchiefs waving like mad,
Almost before the vans stopped the children clambered down and began
tumbling, and racing, and tearing about the cool green grass.

Dolly thought she had never seen such strange children before. Some
of them came quite close up to her and touched her frock, or her curls, ~
as if they wanted to see whether she was a real live little girl or not.
You see they had never seen such a dainty little maid before. Of
course they did not stop admiring Dolly long, there were so many
other delightful things to enjoy. First of all there was lunch under the
big trees. Dolly never, never saw pies and tarts and sausage rolls and -
sandwiches disappear so fast before. After lunch there were games, and
races up and down the long avenues, romps in the hay field, swings,
and rides round the park in a pretty little donkey cart.

By tea-time Dolly had made a great many friends ; but the one she
liked best was a little girl who had no mother, and who told Dolly that
at home she had five dear little oyster shells to play “dinners” with, and
that when she found an old cabbage leaf, or a bit of orange peel, she had
a party, and asked the other children in the court to come, and they ate
the cabbage and the orange peel off the nice little oyster shells. When
the little girl told Dolly that sometimes she made a rag baby out of her
big sister’s coarse apron, but said, ‘‘ Not such a beauty as your’n though,”
Dolly was so delighted that she let.
the little girl nurse “Dodo” all the
rest of the time. “There!” she said,
“T told you somebody would love you
some day, Dodo.”

“Don’t nobody love her?” said the
little girl.

‘Tm ’fraid not,” said Dolly, “ only
me, and she’s such a good little
thing.”

“JT wish I had her in our
~ Court,” said the little girl,
hugging Dodo up in her arms,




















and kissing her almost as lovingly as Dolly. ‘‘ We’d treat her like a, little
princess, and we’d give her the best of our oyster shells to have her dinner
on. She should have sister’s old flower-baskets to sleep in—that’s nice,
that is, an’ smells of wiolets. Youd like to be my little gal, wouldn’t yer?”

“Do you think everybody would love her, everybody?” said Dolly,
and if I let her come and stay with you, may I come and see



“and
her sometimes ?”

“Yes, if the good lady will let you.”

“ And could we have a party and the oyster shells ?”

“Yes, that we would,” said the little girl smothering Dodo's face

with kisses, for she felt it was already her very own.

“ Auntie, darling,” said Dolly, when the lovely treat was at an end.
“Dodo is going away on a visit with this little girl, who loves her ever
and ever so much. She’s going to be a princess, and she’s going to have
dinner on a lovely shell—look, the little girl’s given me one. Kiss Dodo,

auntie, kiss her good-bye.”



72 DOLLY’S OWN IDEA.

Auntie kissed Dodo, and so did Dolly, over and over again, ‘“‘Good-
bye, good-bye,” she said, waving her little hands. Dozens and dozens of
other little hands waved good-bye too, as the vans full of tired, happy
children rolled out of the park.

“Dolly, darling,” said auntie, as she tucked her up in her own pretty
white bed, “ what’s that in your little hand ?”

“Just my dear little shell—it makes me think of Dodo. Do you
ae the little girl really loves her, auntie?”

“Yes, that I do.”

“And you'll take me to see her some day ?”

“Yes, that I will,” said auntie, kissing her.

“‘Good-night, auntie.”

Then Dolly fell fast asleep, and I think Dolly's angel must have
smiled very lovingly upon the little maid, as angels do one when little
children have been kind to one another.

L. HASKELL.

Poor Dolly is Tired.

Eo Dolly is tired, we’ve roamed all the day,
My darling old Dolly and I;
The lambs in the field looked so pretty at play,
All under the blue summer sky.

Then we met a big dog at the end of our street,
I think he was only in fun,

But he barked very loud, and he frightened my sweet,
So Dolly and I had to run.

And when we got home she was tired, you see,
I think she’d a pain in her head ;
She’s taken no food, but a spoonful of tea,
And so I have put her to bed.
Hf. M. BURNSIDE.





Poor Dolly's kired.,





Be Mountain boliday.

us OOK, Gerald,” cried Flossie, “‘isn’t this a pretty sketch of father’s ?”

“Oh, that one with the goats,” said Gerald. “Yes! shouldn’t
I like to be where that big one is standing. Fancy! by this day week
we shall be all amongst the mountains.”

“Tt seems too lovely to believe!” said Flossie. “I have always
longed to go, and to bring back the two white goats for my little cart.”

“That’s all you think of!” cried Gerald. eae
‘““T wish you were a boy, and cared for the
things I do; we’d have such fine times, going
about exploring, while father sketches. Girls
would be right enough if they weren't so
timid.”

“But I see no good,” said Flossie, “in
getting for ever into scrapes.”

“What’s that about
‘scrapes’ ?” said their
father. “You must
promise to keep clear of
them, at any rate whilst
we are away, for I shall
not be able to look after
you always.”

A week later the
travellers reached the
Swiss vil-
lage where
they were
to stay.

Next
morning
the — chil-




















74 A MOUNTAIN HOLIDAY.

dren. were up early and looking out of their sitting - room
window. 7

“So you are enjoying yourselves already !” said their father, coming
in. “T shall not begin work till to-morrow, so we will go and look up ~
Carl, the wood-carver, | am told he has two pretty white ‘nannies,’
and it might be as well to secure them,”

“Oh, how glad I am!” said Flossie. “Should we bring them here ?”

‘No, my dear; they are better where they are, with Marie to attend
to them.” “ Who’s Marie?” asked the children,

“She is Carl’s granddaughter. I remember her last year—a good,
useful, little maiden.”

“TI should like her to come and play with us!” said Flossie.

“So she shall, if Carl can spare her sometimes. But here’s break-
fast,” cried Mr Walters.

* * * * * * *

Marie was in her grandfather's work-room, setting out his prettiest
things, when suddenly she heard voices, and saw Mr Walters and his
little boy and girl in the doorway. She seemed pleased to see the children,
who began to ask her all sorts of questions, and told her they were going
to buy lots of her pretty things. The goats were brought out to be ad-
mired. Mr Walters agreed to purchase them, and then he and the children
left, after inviting Marie to come and sec them next day.

Gerald and Flossie did not forget that Marie was to pay them a
visit, and so on the following day, they raced along —
in high spirits to fetch her, lest she should be too
shy to come alone. Maric was ready, waiting for
them; and Carl,
after offering the
children a drink
of goat’s milk, of
which they were
very fond, watched
them all off, his
kind eyes full of
love for his little
granddaughter.



Mou nrain



ee to

Goats.





A MOUNTAIN HOLIDAY.

The children passed a long after-
noon together. They played at
different games, which were all new
to Marie, who was very happy, and
felt she already loved the English
boy and girl dearly.

And go the days went joyously
along, and the childven were behaving
well. Marie was often with them, or
rather she and Flossie were a great
deal together. One morning the
little Swiss girl asked, “ What for
terald no more play with us?”

“Oh, you must not mind him,”
said Flossie; ‘‘ he docs not mean to
be unkind; he never cares long for
‘games that girls can play at. He
Rie all sorts of dangers and adven-
tures; he’s going all over the world,
when he’s big, like Columbus, you
know, and J: Tact: and-the-Beanstalk.
Tf you like I'll tell you about
them.”

Flossie had nearly finished some
wonderful histories, and Marie was
listening with wide open eyes, when
Gerald came along.

“Here you are,” cried Flossie.
“Oh, your coat is torn. Where can
you have been?”

“Tt’s nothing,” said Gerald. “1 was trying to get to that piece of
grass where we saw the sheep yesterday, and it isn’t so easy. I say,
Maric ! there’ s «a better way to it through your garden; let us



all go!’
pat Marie firmly refused, as did Flossie, on which Gerald quite lost

his temper. “It’s just like a girl !” he eried. ‘I should have thought



76 A MOUNTAIN HOLIDAY.

you were used to climbing. You are two babies, and I shall go without

129

you!
* * * * * * Kei

That evening, Carl was listening for Marie, who. had gone to fetch
the sheep home. He was wondering why she stayed so long, when Mr
Walters and Flossie came in. ‘Have you seen my boy?” he asked.
“No, indeed!” cried Carl; “and I can’t think what keeps Marie,” and
he hastened with them back to the hotel,

“Father,” said Flossie, suddenly, “Marie cried to-day, because
Gerald was cross when she wouldn’t go with him along that sheep path
you showed us. Do you think they’ve gone after all?” me

“We will seek that way first,” he said. The good landlord scarcely
needed-a word; he and half a dozen others were soon ready to join in
the search for the children. No trace was found of them on the spot
Flossie had spoken of. Marie’s sheep were still grazing, and gave no
sign of her.

At last, as the landlord and two goat-herds descended by the way.
they had gone up, they heard a faint call, and looking below they caught
sight of the children, sitting on a grassy ledge.

It was not much of a task for one of the young fellows to swing
himself down, and by the help of ropes all three.were safely landed up
again,

Tt seems Marie had heard a ery of distress as she went to fetch the
sheep, and had discovered Gerald clinging to a narrow ledge below.
Without a thought of her own danger, she had got to him, and helped
him move to where the space was wider; and when they both recovered
breath, they had tried, though in vain, to find a round-about way of
returning. It was whilst they were thus out of sight for a time that the
search-party first passed, and so missed them,

The rest of the holiday passed quickly, and a warm farewell was
taken of these kind mountain friends. Each carried home a reminder of
the?visit. Mr Walters had his sketches, Flossie her white goats, and
Gerald, in addition to other things, certainly went away with a new idea
for him, namely, that a eirl could be brave.

ELLIS WALTON.



A Wew Friend.

T was the end of August. Amy
and Trot Merton had been play-
ing hide-and-seek, and .were now
resting under a tree in their lovely
garden, watching the boats passing
to and fro on the blue strip of
water, called the Loch, which was
not far off, when suddenly there
was the sound of a tune softly
whistled, and looking up they saw
a strange boy's head above the
wall of thg next door garden
He had a sunburnt face, and
dark laughing eyes. ‘‘ Hullo!” he
cried.
Amy and Trot stopped, in blank
surprise; then Trot asked shyly, “Is that all of you?”

‘No, there’s a little more,” said the boy ; and he flung up his feet,
and sat on the wall.

‘““Where’s your brothers and sisters?” went on Trot.

“Oh, that’s what you meant,” he said. ‘I haven’t any. Shall I
come and play with you ?”

“Yes,” cried Amy; “and you shall see the fowls and rabbits.”

“ And the guinea-pigs and gold fish!” added Trot.

At this, their new friend dropped down beside them. He told
them his name was Fred Summers, and that he was on a visit, next
door, to his grandmother, though his home was in London. — The children
spent a merry morning together, looking at the pets and playing all
sorts of games. At last the church clock struck one.

“T must go in, now,” said Fred. “Granny’s very punctual at





78 A NEW FRIEND.

meals, I’ll come again, when I can.” And away he went, over the
wall.

Amy and Trot looked in vain for Fred the next two mornings; he
had to go out with his grandmother. But on the third day they were
crossing the lawn, meaning to take a peep over the wall, when both
children gave a startled scream, as a terrible yell sounded from the
branches of their favourite tree, and down sprang Fred almost on to
them.

“T tell you what,” said Fred, “you two shall come into our place,
to-day. I’ve lots to show you.”

““T don’t think we may,” said Amy. “I should love to see it, but
we were told to keep in the garden.”

“Well,” cried Fred, “a garden’s a garden; why shouldn’t you come
into our part of it?” and he caught up Trot, and lifted her over the low
bit of the wall. Amy followed, saying to herself that perhaps there was
no harm in going for a little while. At the end of the lawn was a small
white gate. “Is that your ground, beyond it?” asked Amy.

s “Yes,” said Fred,
“T’m going to give you
asurprise.” He let them
through, and made them




















A NEW FRIEND. 79

race down a grassy slope. ‘This led to a path between two walls; they
passed down it, went out at another gate at the bottom, and then
turning sharp round, lo! and behold—the blue water of the loch was at
their feet. Amy and Trot gave a little shout of wonder.

“T’ll go in a boat!” cried Trot.

“No, no,” said Amy ; “not without father and mother; we must be
going home, now.” ‘What nonsense!” returned I'red. “ Why, it isn’t
twelve o'clock, yet, and I’ve thought of a rare spree. There’s the boat
just starting for the opposite shore and back ; let us take a run across.”

“No, indeed!” declared Amy. “Come along, Trot; we must go
and see how the rabbits are getting on.”

But Trot stood still, and began to cry loudly. ‘I will go im the
boat!” she said, stamping her tiny foot.

oh say,” coaxed Fred, “we ’re close to the landing stage; and I can
take care of you.” Trot looked up through her tears. “ You will go,
won't you, dear Amy?” she pleaded.

Poor Amy looked distressed, and partly yielding.

“There!” cried Fred. ‘I knew you would. I’ve plenty of money
for the fares. Come on—she’s just off!”

They reached the little steamer, and Fred hurried them over the
gangway.

Once on board, it was so delightful that Amy soon brightened up,
and presently they were off. Trot ran about the deck in great glee, her
long curls blowing in the breeze. After a time, a man came up to Fred,
who thought it was the collector wanting the fares. ‘“ Hullo!” cried
Fred ; “we’re not going straight across.”

‘““ Across, indeed! why, we’re bound for Eastport.”

“How far is it?” gasped Fred in dismay.

“Twelve miles, at least!”

“Oh!” cried Fred, “we are in the wrong boat!”

Amy and Trot, learning what had happened, began to cry bitterly.
The idea of their parents’ anger was as nothing compared to the thought
of the alarm they would feel when no children appeared at the usual hour.
They were now getting to the open sea, and the boat pitched a good
deal. The captain passed them on his way below. ‘‘ Well, well—cheer
up!” he cried, when he heard the case. ‘‘There’s nothing for it but to





0) A NEW FRIEND.

come on, now, I suppose. I shall land you at Eastport, and send you
home by train.”

He was a kind-hearted man, and gave them some dinner. By and
by they went on deck again, and they soon guessed why it was not pro-
posed for them to return by boat; the sea was really very rough for so
small a vessel; the day had grown cold and stormy, and the poor little
girls had only light summer dresses on. The captain made them as
comfortable as he could, in a corner, securing them by a rope to a seat,
and covering them with two thick coats.

“Tsay,” said Fred, “I’m real sorry. I’d have given a quarter’s
pocket money sooner than this should happen !”

Here a big lurch stopped any further talk for the moment; time
wore on, till at last a message was sent from the captain
that they would be on shore now directly.

Then came the landing, and the waiting for a
train; and how annoying were the constant stoppings
on that slow country line. It was quite dark when the
journey was over, and Amy and Fred looked anxiously
from the window. ‘Trot was fast asleep.

“T must try to carry her home!” Fred was just
saying, when the door was thrust open, and a cheery
voice said, ‘“‘ Come along—give her to me! I know all
about it!” and in a moment, Amy and Trot were in
their father’s arms.

That kind-hearted captain, after he had sent the
children to the station, had bethought him-
self that he would telegraph to their people
to say they were safe and on their way
back, so here were their parents in a carriage
to meet them. They, too, had had a terrible
time, as may be imagined; but the children
had suffered enough, and there was to
be no scolding, even for naughty

Fred.
ELLIS WALTON.





















A dbappy Day.

2 ORA, wake up. It is time for us to be going!” and as Tom spoke,
he gave his sister’s shoulder a little pinch. It was Tom’s birth-
day, and he and his sister had had permission to do as they liked for one
whole day, so they had decided to spend it in the woods. They were
soon creeping down-stairs.
“Tt’s very early,” said Tom, “ but we must get something to eat.”
In the pantry
they found a plum-
cake, a gooseberry
tart, and milk.
Having had per-
mission to eat
what they liked,
Tom and. Dora
helped themselves
to the plum-cake
and drank some
milk. The rest
of the milk they
put into a bottle,
and tied up a large
piece of gooseberry
tart in a handker-
chief. * Hulloa,
Dora,” cried Tom
suddenly, ‘‘ your
hair does look
funny. Just lke
our doe’s, it hangs
all over your eyes.”
EF





82 A HAPPY DAY.

“So it does,” said Dora, tossing back her yellow curls. “Oh, how I
wish I had short hair like yours!” “I'll cut your ringlets off for you, if
you like. They ’re always in the way, and very girlish.” “But may you
cut them off? would mother like it?” “We may do just as we like
to-day. etch the scissors.” In a minute Dora returned and gave the
scissors to Tom. ‘Bend down your head,” said he. “‘ Now, here goes!”
And one little curl after another fell on to the floor. “Look like a boy,
do I?” questioned Dora. “You aren’t pretty,” he answered. “I don’t
care, if I look like you.” Then they stole out of the house, through the
garden, and across the orchard. “Hist,” called Tom suddenly, when at
last they neared the woods. ‘There goes a squirrel. I’ll have that
fellow!” But the squirrel thought differently. He scudded from tree to
tree, leading Tom a fine dance. At last, settling on a high bough of an
oak, his bright eyes looked down as much as to say, “Catch me if you
can, Mr Boaster.”

“Tom, come here. I’ve found some lilies of the valley,” called Dora.
“All right, pick away. I’ve heaps of flowers here.” “But my hands are
full, where can I put them all?” Tom looked up. “I suppose we must
eat our dinner,” he said, ‘‘and then tie up the flowers in the handkerchief,

: Here, lendahand. Hold up
your frock, and I’ll empty
all the flowers into it. Now,
: to find a nice place where:

ee a we can have dinner.”
% e A >) \ ‘Look at that queer little
Z Ae WANN girl!” exclaimed Dora, “ by
ae Ly ~~ ~ that little black hut. See,
ae an old man is sitting there
smoking his pipe.” ‘“ What
. a rum looking place,” said
Wiebe Tom ; “and see, what’s the little girl
| doing to her doll?” She was beating it
| Hl ie with a piece of stick ; then the children

\\ lt saw her fling it with all her little

strength against a tree. Presently she
==. picked it up, and was bending over it.
















|







“Of faylor







Dora went up to the
little girl. “ What
are you doing to
your doll?” she
asked. ‘Polly hates
her doll,” said the
old man, “and that’s
her way of playing
with it. But I must
ask you to run away
now, little “uns, I’m
tired an’ wants my
smoke, an’ my mid-
day rest.” ‘“* What
have you been work-
ing at?” asked Tom.
“T’m a wood-cutter, ARV
an’ I minds sheep
meanwhile.” “We haven't seen any sheep,” said Dora. “ Go round the
corner youll see them. Now, off with you. Come, Poll.” The little
eirl went to him hugging her doll, and lying down on an old coat at the
man’s feet, curled herself round. ‘They ’re going to sleep, I do believe,”
said Tom. “We'll go and find the sheep.” ‘‘ Here are the sheep !” cried
Dora, “oh, pretty things!” “It’s a jolly nice place,” said Tom. ‘“ Well
sit just behind those trees, then we shan’t frighten them. Get out the
good things.” In a very short time the things were eaten up. “I’m
very warm,” said Tom, “shall we lie here under this tree?” ‘Yes, we
will,” agreed Dora, stretching out the tired little limbs that had wandered
so many miles. Tinkle, tinkle, went the sheep bell.



* * * * * * *
“Come, little uns, wake up. Look alive, it’s time you was in
your folds.” It was the woodeutter calling the children. Up they

jumped, and followed the woodcutter, till they reached their home.
There, sitting on their mother’s knee, they told their adventures. And,
if a tear or two fell from mother over the cropped little head of her
darling, she could not find it in her heart to scold.



Full Text


RAPHAEL TUCK &

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London, Faris



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RAPHAEL TUCK & SONS.
London: Paris: New York.







®
&

The Knitting hesson,


‘bow the Stories were Written.

OU have seen the sunbeams stealing in at the window in the quite
early morning, when the golden sun gets up, have you not?
And in the evening when the rosy sun and you go to bed? Even
though the blinds be pulled down, one little gleam of light manages to
creep in. It rests sometimes on the floor, sometimes on the wall, some-
times on the ceiling, while sometimes it will sit beside you on your
pillow. This is because the sun has such insinuating manners, is so
loving and friendly, so good-natured and warm-hearted, and he feels that
in most places where he shines he must do some good.
. Now, just think for a moment, what a number of wonderful things
the sun must see, peeping here, and peeping there, shining first in one
place, and then in another. Just think what famous tales he could tell
if he only chose.

Well, it happened one morning, and not so very long ago, either,
that while we were sitting at our desks, nibbling the tops of our pens,
gazing stupidly at the paper, fidgetting about, and worrying ourselves
ust terribly, because we had stories to write for the children, and
oo HOW THE STORIES WERE WRITTEN.

nothing whatever to write about, some little sunbeams, who had been
playing hide-and-seek behind a cloud for the last hour, came dancing in
at the window, and rested upon our hands, and upon our papers and
pens, and no sooner did this happen than we began to write, so hard
that we thought we should never stop; and we wrote the following
lovely stories. Not that they are our stories, you must understand, for
we only put them down as they were told to us by the Sunbeams.
We owe a lot to those Sunbeams.
* % 3 * *

Owing them so much we began to think that we ought to repay them
in some way for their great kindness. But to do a good turn to a
Sunbeam is rather a difficult matter, one that requires a great deal of
consideration. Indeed, we worried our heads so much that we took to
nibbling pens again, and that is really such a horrid habit that it had
to be put a stop to.

So at last we hit on the brilliant idea of asking the Sunbeams
what they would wish us to do for them.

“One good turn deserves another,” they replied immediately (there
was no nibbling of the pens with them). ‘We have told the children stories;
now let them tell us some.” Then the kind-hearted Sunbeams continued
as they danced about, turning all the colours of the rainbow as they
peeped into, and shone through glasses. “To those children who tell us
the best Stories, we will give, through our good friends, Mr Raphael Tuck
and his Sons, handsome money prizes. We have already delivered to
these old and long-loved friends of the children a number of bags of
golden sunshine, which they will turn into golden money (they have
promised not to tell the secret of how this is done), and they will pay, on
our behalf, to the successful girls and boys these golden money prizes.”

We could find no words good enough to express our thanks to these
dear Sunbeams, and all that you have now to do is to write your story,
and get your prize.

EDRIC VREDENBURG.

EN




* # bree little Kittens werd born in the cellar, ~
» Ihey've just been discovered: to a great glee,
of. When Pussy comes in thinks “Miss Kitty, I'll tell her,
What care | will take of her little ones three.



per many a day Puss had hidden the wee things,

In a dark corner just under a shelf.)
for till the dear Kitties were able to see things,
She'd trust them fo no one you see but herself!

A
abr old enough now to begin education _
eS G reel as you know is a cats G.B.C.—

Gnd if they are good by express invitation,
I’m thinking they'll join Mistress Kitty at tea!
f. M Burnside.








Dorothy's Birthday.




[)OROTHY'S eldest sister was a
Fairy Princess. No one seemed

to know this but Dorothy, but she was

quite sure of it for many reasons.

First, her sister had golden hair, like
the Fairy Princesses in stories, and her
eyes were just their kind of blue, and then she always looked very
much prettier than anyone else, which is another thing you can always
tell a Princess by. And she was very clever, and could play and
sing most beautifully, and knew all the hard things that there are in
books, and sums, even vulgar fractions, and could tell you the dates of
things in history without so much as looking at the book, and she could
play all the scales with the common chords, which is a thing Dorothy
can’t do to this day.

Besides she never lost her temper, so it was quite plain to
Dorothy that she was a Fairy Princess, and she hadn't the least doubt
that some day the king’s son in a green riding cloak broidered with gold
would wind his horn at the gate, and ride up to the front door and carry
sweet Bertha off on his great roan charger.
8 DOROTHY’S BIRTHDAY.

In the meantime, there was somebody else who would have been
very glad to carry sister Bertha off. His name was Dr Burton, and
Dorothy often noticed that he looked at the Fairy Princess exactly as the
Fairy Princes do in the books, but then he wasn’t handsome, and he
wore a check suit and a bowler hat, which it isn’t likely a Fairy Prince
would ever condescend to do.

The Fairy Princess was the most delightful sister in the world. She
was always having the most beautiful, new, and original ideas. It was
she who suggested that Dorothy’s birthday party should be different from
any she had ever had before.

“Suppose, Dot,” she said, “‘ we make the most lovely party for some
poor little children who hardly ever see anything pretty, or have any-
thing nice.”

“Oh! yes,” said Dot, directly ; “but what about presents?” she
went on, the corners of her mouth drooping a little bit.

And the Fairy Princess was quite frightened, for Dorothy was not
generally one to think about pre-
sents for herself.

“ Won't it be rather difficult,”
Dorothy went on, “if they are
so very, very poor, for them to.
bring presents to a_ birthday
party? You know you always
have to bring something when
you go to anyone’s birthday
party. I think we might put.
on the cards, ‘no presents ad-
mitted.’ ”

“T think we might do better
than that,” said Bertha; “ sup-
pose we turned it all round and
gave them presents instead ! ”

Dorothy was so pleased, that
she had to get up and hug the
Fairy Princess three times before
she could go on with the subject.




inst

ae “You might make some of them,”

Spire y= || ho — sald the Raine Princess ;_ “ scrap-books

: ieee _ you know how to make, and you can

dress dolls, too, and I will teach you

how to knit, so that you can make some nice things that will keep the
little children warm when the winter comes.”

“What a splendid sister you are!” said Dorothy, clapping her
hands, ‘“‘ let us begin now, this very minute.”

So the fairy got a ball of worsted and some needles, and they went
out on the lawn for a knitting lesson.

From the very beginning Dorothy had made up her mind that, as
it was to be her birthday party, she would make all the presents, if she
possibly could, and she worked early and late.

You have no idea how much little girls can do, if they really
give their minds to it. By the fifteenth of August, which was
Dorothy’s birthday, as well as the Emperor Napoleon’s, there were twenty
pretty presents, dolls or scrap-books, and twenty warm things for the
twenty poor little children who were to be Dorothy’s birthday guests.

They were to come down by train from London. The poor little
things had been thinking for weeks and weeks of this lovely treat.
Dorothy had got all their names from Dr Burton, who lived in London
and spent all his time among poor people, trying to make their lives a
little happier for them.

Dorothy had written out all the invitations herself on little pink
cards with a silver tea-pot in the corner and “ Come early” underneath
ORY. DOROTHY’S BIRTHDAY.

it, although of course the children
were to come for the whole day.
Z But she couldn’t get any cards
Z with “Beef and pudding” on
. them as well as tea. These cards
, were the chief ornaments on the
Z mantel- piece in the miserable
homes where these poor, little,
ragged children lived.

Dorothy was always pleased
that her birthday came in August,
because July and August were the
two months in the year that her father and Bertha and she spent in
the country.

“It would have been so tiresome,” she said to the F airy Princess,
“especially this year, if we had had to have our birthday party in
Berkeley Square. That would have been no treat’ and no change for
the poor little children.”

The morning of the birthday was as blue and bright as the F alry
Princess eye. Dorothy was up very early, getting everything ready for
the party. She had no presents herself, because the F airy Princess
thought they would spoil her pure pleasure in her party. But the
presents for the twenty little guests were all arranged on a long table
on the lawn, a table made pretty with pale pink and green art muslin
and tinselly stuff, and all dressed with the prettiest flowers that Dorothy
could find in the old-fashioned garden.

Dorothy put on a very plain pink cotton frock,

“T don’t want,” she said to herself, “to seem to be dressing up
smartly if the other little girls are so very poor.”

But when the other little girls arrived at the lodge gates, it seemed
to them that a fairy from a pantomime came skipping down the drive
and kissed them, one after another, a twenty-fold, breathless kiss, and
said to them—

“Oh you dear, little girls, I’m so glad you have come. This is my
birthday, and we shall all enjoy ourselves so much.”

And they all walked up the drive together. But by the time they








DOROTHY’S BIRTHDAY. 11

had come up to the lawn, Dorothy had noticed how dreadfully shabby
the little frocks were, and how thin and pinched most of the little faces,
and a sort of lump came into her throat and the tears into her eyes,
and the longing came into her heart to be big enough and clever
enough to get all the poor little children in the world together, and
make them all happy, for always, instead of only twenty for one
short day.

The twenty little girls had thought of nothing else and talked of
nothing else ever since they had known that they were to come into
the country for the day, and now they were really there, they were so
pleased that they all became perfectly dumb, and stood, most of them
with their thumbs in their mouths, staring about them, and Dorothy
didn’t know how to begin to amuse them.

Ags they stood on the lawn, she noticed that one little girl was
standing apart from the rest and was turning her head away, and
Dorothy, going up to her to ask if she wanted anything, found that she
was sobbing bitterly.

“Whatever is the matter?” said Dorothy, stealing a soft, warm
arm round the thin neck of the London child.

‘“Nothing’s the matter,” sobbed the child, the tears running down
her face; ““Oh! nothine’s the matter, only it’s all so beautiful; I didn’t
believe there was anything like it, not anything real.”

Dorothy pulled out her little handkerchief and wiped the child’s
eyes first, and then her own.

‘Never mind,” she said, “come along and see my guinea-pigs.”

And with that they all trooped round to the stable-yard.

Then the Fairy Princess came out, looking Oh! so charming, in a
blue cotton gown—robe, I mean—and the gold crown of her bright hair.
In three minutes she had made all the children feel quite at home and
happy. She sat down on the lawn with them on the very spot where
Dorothy had first learnt to knit, and told them fairy stories so that they
might rest a little after the walk up from the station; and then she
arranged games for them—mulberry bush, which is the first and, alas!
sometimes the last game that the little London child learns, and tag,
and the delightful cat and mouse game, and blind man’s buff, but that
came after dinner. Such a dinner! nothing hot and greasy, but every-
12 DOROTHY’S BIRTHDAY.

thing cold and dainty and pretty to look at—crisp salads, dressed with
nasturtium flowers, beautiful pies all yellow and gold, like ripe corn in the
fields, and cold hams, and tongues, and beef joints, that it did your heart
good to look at. And such tarts, and sweets, and fruit.

And after dinner, as I said, more games and more fairy stories.
Who should tell fairy stories to perfection, if not a Fairy Princess ?
And the children crowded round her on the grass, trying to get

near enough to touch her hand or the soft folds
of her blue gown.

Dorothy could not understand herself
on that day. She had never been so
happy and at the same time so sad. She
gave the children their presents, and
their words and looks of thanks paid
her royally for all the trouble that
had been spent in making
these gifts.

Then in the cool of the
evening, Dorothy’s father and
the coachman drove the little
guests to the station in the
: waggonette and
the dog-cart, and
Dorothy went
too.

Whenshe came
back, she went
out rather slowly
on to the lawn
where the Fairy
_ Princess, Bertha,
was still sitting
beside the table
where the pre-
sents had been,
now all fin dis-














DOROTHY’S BIRTHDAY. 13

order with the flowers half faded. She flung her arms round her
sister.

“O Bertha,” she said, “I never had a birthday like this before.
But somehow it makes everything look different.”

“Everything looks different to me too,” said Bertha, gently, putting
her arms round her little sister. “Shall I tell you why ?”

“Yes,” said Dorothy, hugging her tight.

“The Fairy Prince has come,” said Bertha, laughing a little very
softly, and Dorothy looked up and there stood Dr Burton.

“You know, Dorothy,” he said, picking her up in his arms and
kissing her, “the Fairy Prince wasn’t always handsome at first, even in
stories, but perhaps you will get to think him so some day. And the
Fairy Prince and Princess are going to be married and live happy ever
after.”

And with that, still holding Dorothy, he knelt beside the Fairy
Princess, and laid her soft hand against his cheek,

“ And where are they going to live?” said Dorothy, practically.

“We are going to live,” said Bertha, softly, “in the Land of Poor
Children, such little children as you have seen here to-day.”

“Then, of course,” said Dot, “you will be their king and queen,
and they will not be poor or sad any more, but live happy ever after-
wards, because that must be the end of the story.”

“I wish it may be,” said the Fairy Princess, and she sighed.

“At least, we can work for that, if we may not live to see it,”
returned the Fairy Prince.

And with that, they all kissed each other, and went into the house,
because the dew was beginning to fall.

EL. NESBIT.




abel F. Taylor

“Elsie and the Seven Sheep.

e ae prettiest lambs you ever saw!” said the queer little man.

“So they are,” said the farmer. “Yes, I’ll buy them. Put them
in the home-field, and send golden-haired Elsie to watch them!” Then
the queer little man went away.

But the queer little man had not been gone an hour, before, up
among the hills, a horn blew clearly. The lambs left off nibbling the
grass and listened. Then the horn blew again once, twice, thrice—and
then the lambs gave a loud ba-a—, and off they went, leaping over the
fence, and flying down the valley, and up the hill, and were out of sight
before Elsie had time more than to run out and scream and call for help.

Oh! wasn’t the farmer angry! Seven golden euineas*had he given
for those lambs, and now they were gone. And he told Elsie she was
ELSIE AND THE SEVEN SHEEP. 15

an idle, careless, wicked girl, and she was never to come near him and
the farm again. So Elsie went away weeping.

But presently there was trouble at the farm. The porridge was all
burnt, because Elsie always made the porridge, and nobody else knew
how. The chickens hadn’t been fed. Oh! Elsie always fed the chickens,
and everyone had forgotten them. There was no water brought from the
well. Oh, no! Elsie always fetched the water.

“Tt seems to me,” growled the farmer, “that I have sent away the
only person that did any work !”

“Yes,” said his wife, “that is true. And it wasn’t
her fault about the lambs, for I was looking out of a
window, and they were all gone like a
flash of lightning! You had better go
and find poor Elsie, and bring her back.”

But when the farmer took
his wife’s advice, Elsie was no-
where to be found.

Poor Elsie! she was very
sad, for she was a lonely little
soul, and the farmer was her only
friend. She had neither father
or mother, nor brother or sister,
nor uncle or aunt, nor a home
to shelter her. A pale, little,
insignificant body, with
only one bit of beauty,
and that was her golden
hair, which, to keep out
of her way, she was wont
to plait into a lone tail,
which reached from her
little head almost to her
httle heels, and that was
why she was called golden-
haired Elsie.

And now Elsie had ve ages















16 ELSIE AND THE SEVEN SHEEP.

gone weeping away to look for those naughty lambs; she could see the
print of their little hoofs on the soft turf, and she followed, followed,
followed where the track led. Up the valley, and over the hill, and across
the mountain brook, and through the great pine wood, and when she
couldn't see the print of their little feet, lo! there were tiny tufts of
white, silky wool, here and there, as if to mark the way, and at last, oh,
joy! there were the seven white lambs in a tiny green field behind a quaint,
brown, wooden house; and when they saw her they all ran towards her.
‘*Ba-a, ba-a, ba-a,” they said.

“Oh! you dear, naughty sheep,” she cried. “Oh! please come
back with me at once,” and she opened the little gate, and tried to drive
them out of the field. But the lambs wouldn’t move.

“Hallo!” cried another voice, and there was the queer little man.
“What are you doing with my sheep ?”

“But they are not yours,” said Elsie, crossly ; “you sold them to
the farmer, you know you did!”

‘Well, he had them,” said the little man.
“But they all ran away quite
directly,” said Elsie.
“Ah! It is a way they have,”
said the little man. “But tell me,
what are you doing here? Has
he turned you off?”
“Yes,” said Elsie, wiping
away a tear with her
pinafore, “and if you
won't let the lambs come
back with me, I must
find a new place.”
“Ah!” said the little
man, “that is lucky, for
I want a new servant.
Now can you make rice
puddings ?”
‘Oh, Idearm! i wesses
said Elsie.







Ny eee MK
‘“Andalways sweep the ie

stairs down ona Saturday ?”
“T do that every
ee

day,” remarked Elsie, Sas
S st Cee J















severely. (

ya i = Seas
“And canyou 9” ASTI aN SAN! x
. eee S P Sah. >\ aa ait
sew and spin, and ag RENIN Wd g =
A)\=— wh

take care of my
sheep ?”

“T can sew and
I can spin, but I can’t
promise to take care
of the sheep,” cried
Elsie.

“But the sheep
is most particular!”
said the little man,
with his head on one
side,




————

“Then I must go farther on,” said Elsie, “for your sheep run too
fast for me.”

The little man looked at Elsie very hard. “Oh, well!” he said at
last, ‘‘ suppose you come and trys

So Elsie, as she had nowhere else to go, agreed she would.

Now Elsie soon found that she had plenty to do in her new place.
Tt certainly was an odd place. For, first of all, those seven sheep quite
declined to eat grass like other sheep, but required their meals regularly.
First of all, Elsie had to make seven basins of bread and milk for their
breakfast, and seven basins of potato soup for their dinner, and seven
cakes of barley bread for tea, and seven rice puddings for supper. As to
the queer little man, he was a perfect slave to those lambs. _ For even if
he was sitting down to a meal, and he heard the faintest “ba-a—” he
was out in a moment, and he was so nervous about them at night that he
hever went to bed at all, but used to walk round and round the fold till
he was perfectly worn out. And Elsie was so sorry for him that she got
to like him very much, and, indeed, he was a kind little man, though he

B


18 ELSIE AND THE SEVEN SHEEP.

was so twisted and odd, and looked as if he were made of shabby
leather.

“Can’t you put them into the stable, and lock them up?” she asked
one day.

But he shook his head sadly. “They would be out of the window
in no time, if I were not there!” he answered.

But Elsie wasn’t satisfied, and she thought and thought what she
could do to keep those tiresome sheep safe, till she really couldn’t sleep
for worrying. And lying awake at night showed her another thing, and
that was, that there were often queer voices to be heard of a night, and
twangings of harps, and singing. Sometimes she would get up and look
out of the window, but she never saw anything but the seven sheep, and
their master walking round and round. But one night, she heard some-
one singing so plainly that she sat up in bed and listened, and then, for
once, she could hear the words quite plainly :—

“ Oh! who in the meadow safe will keep

The seven white sheep,

Must go to the mere and rushes. bring
Seven times seven to plait a ring,
And knot it fair at intervals
With golden nodding daffodils,

With primrose pale,

And galingale.

And daisies white all crimson tipped,

And orchis spires, honey lipped,

And vilets sweet as summer dreams.

Then ere the earliest sunlight beams,

Go! bind the garland round the fold,

And fasten with a rope of gold.
That is the way those seven white sheep,
Safe in the meadow green to keep.”

Elsie was out of bed and into her clothes in a moment. It was a
lovely moonlight night, and she would be gone at once and make the
garland before sunrise. Out through the still silent woods she flew, down
to the mere and gathered her reeds, and then here and there till her
pinafore was full of flowers, and, oh! how hard she worked, till she had
plaited her garland, and knotted it with flowers, and then she flew down
to the fold, where the little man was pacing round and round.


g
YY

Karly Spring Flowers. : -


“ Quick, quick,” she cried, ‘“‘help me to bind it round, ere the sun
gets up.”

But just as it was put round, she remembered she had forgotten the
last thing, :

“Oh!” she cried, bursting out crying. “I forgot about the rope;
and it said a rope of gold. Oh! have you any gold, master ?”

‘No, not a bit,” said the little man.

“But perhaps something else will do. You see it goes just round,
the garland does, but there is nothing left to tie. Haven’t you got
anything ?”

“No,” said the queer little man, in a squeaky voice, “there is nothing,
there isn’t a bit of rope or string in the place—unless—unless——”

“Unless what?” cried Elsie; but he didn’t answer.

“Oh! I know,” cried Elsie again, for all the sheep were trying to


20 ' ELSIE AND THE SEVEN SHEEP.

press through the garland, and there was a grey light gleaming up the
mountain—‘‘run in quick and get the scissors, and cut off my hair,
perhaps that will do! and it is yellow!”

“Your hair,” croaked the little man, ‘‘oh! not your beautiful hair!”

“What does it matter?” she cried impatiently ; “oh! make haste,
do—else the sun will be up.”

“But are you quite sure you don’t mind?” said the little man.

“Mind! not a bit,” said Elsie, ‘only make haste!”

Snip, snap, snip—and Elsie bound the end of her garland, with her
golden hair. “Good gracious!” cried Elsie in astonishment.

For lo! instead of seven white sheep, her garland held seven lovely
little girls, and instead of a queer little wizened old man, there was a
beautiful young prince, on his knees, kissing her hand, and thanking her
for giving her beautiful hair, and so breaking the cruel spell that bound
him and his seven little sisters. And the little brown hut was a fair
palace, and the little green meadow a stately garden. And the next time
the farmer saw golden-haired Elsie, she and the seven little sisters came
riding down the valley on white steeds, in silken robes, and paid him
back the money he had given for those seven run-away lambs.

: M. A. HOVER.







i was a hot day in summer-time,
©) Ee sun shone brightly, and the blue sky
was without a cloud. Hardly a breeze
Ce ~ stirred the leaves of the trees, as the cows wandered
through the green meadows to the sparkling stream which ran between
the fields, and admired themselves in the clear mirror at their feet, while
they drank refreshing draughts of the cool water. But their appearance
was causing great consternation on the other side of the hedge, where
a little ginl oF eleven or twelve years old was hiding from oe alarming
creatures, in utter despair as to how she could venture past them to go
home to her tea. Hot, tired, and thirsty as she was, the child was
seriously thinking of walking all the way back to the road, to try and
find another path, when, to her great joy, she saw her cousin gol
coming towards her.
fs On Dorothy, there you are at last, don’t you want your tea 2 We
are all waiting for you. Where have you been 2?”
“eal re been to gather some flowers,” answered Dorothy, “and I
didn’t know how to get past these bulls.”
" Bulls!” fauened Phyllis, “ they are our dear old cows, they won’t
hurt you.”
“Oh, I daresay it’s all right if you know them, but I have a red
bow in my hat, and I thought it might enrage them perhaps.”
Phyllis laughed more heartily ee ever, as they walked on together.
Dorothy felt nb with Phyllis between her and the cows, who peed at



the
22 THE COUNTRY COUSINS.

them with such soft gentle eyes, that even she began to feel brave.
They did not look very fierce, certainly.

“You see,” said Dorothy, “I’ve never been accustomed to cows,
living so quietly with grandmamma in London, and when we went to the
sea-side we were always on the beach, so I never had any country life.”

“T wonder if you will like being at the farm. I love it,” said
Phyllis. “I’m so glad father has bought this place to live in always.”

“T think most likely we shall,” answered Dorothy, who had a funny
little grown-up manner, and a small, delicate pale face, that looked as if
she had rather too much of the school-room, and not enough fresh country
air. Her cousin Phyllis, a brown, healthy, rosy little maid, a year younger
and a head taller, held her rustic straw hat by one of its ribbons, and let
the light breeze play with her curly locks, while Dorothy carefully opened
her sunshade, and shielded her eyes from the glare. They went on
through the meadow till they reached a delightful looking farm-house,
with a pretty, quaint garden, full of old-fashioned sweet-smelling flowers,
stocks, mignonette, pinks, tall hollyhocks, lupins, Canterbury bells, snap-
dragon, and sweet peas. The door into the hall stood open, and they
went into a long low room on one side, panelled in oak, and furnished
with old mahogany chairs covered with gay chintz. A long table was
spread with a substantial tea, and the schoolroom party was impatiently
waiting for the two laggards.

“Now, Phyllis and Dorothy, be quick, and get ready, for we are all
very hungry,’ said the bright-looking young governess, who sat at the
head of the table, ready to pour out the tea.

“Yes, do be quick,” echoed the three other children who were
sitting round.

Phyllis and Dorothy ran upstairs to the pretty little bedroom they
shared, and soon returned to the school-room, fresh and neat, and took
their places. Certainly the country air had improved the appetite of the
little Londoners, for Dorothy and her younger brother and sister did
ample justice to the home-baked bread, the piles of hot scones, the new-
laid eggs, golden butter and honey, and fresh milk and cream.

“I’m going to live always in the country when I’m grown up,”
observed Lilian, “‘and I shall have a cow of my own, so that we shall
always have plenty of new-laid eggs and cream.”


pe ey ,



“But cows don’t lay eggs,’ remarked Gerald, solemnly, .which
made Phyllis laugh again ; her little town cousins were a great amusement
to her. ‘What are you laughing at, Phyllis,” inquired Gerald, “it’s
quite true, isn’t it, Miss Grey ?” he went on, turning to the governess.

“Quite,” she answered, gravely. ‘‘I suppose the idea was new to
Phyllis.”

“Well, I shall have a hen, too,” continued Lilian, “and some chickens.”

‘Gerald made me think of the school board boy father told me
about,” said Phyllis.

“What was it—do tell us,” said Dorothy.

“He had to write an essay on cows, and he put, ‘A cow has four
feet and does not bark,’ and that was all he knew about them,” answered
Phyllis ; “it did make me laugh!”

“Tt doesn’t take much to do that,” said Miss Grey, smiling at
Phyllis’s rosy little face. ‘‘ But that was very amusing, certainly.”
Bowl.

“I wonder what you would say, Gerald,” said Miss Grey, “if you
had to write an essay on cows 2”

Gerald said: “I should say, they gave lots of milk.”

‘And they have horns,—and a tail,” added Lilian.

“Oh, how awfully learned we’re getting!” exclaimed Teddy,
Phyllis’s brother, who was home for his holidays, and whose voice had
not been heard before. ‘You would have to say what their tails were
made of—in London, you know, they are made of iron,” he went on.

“What nonsense, Teddie!” said Dorothy.

“It’s quite true, isn’t it, Miss Grey?” said Ted. “ Haven’t you
heard of the cow with the iron tail that’s well known in London ?”

“Tt is only a joke, Gerald,” explained Miss Grey. “The country
folk say that the milkmen in London mix water with the milk, and they
mean a pump when they say the cow with the iron tail.”


THE COUNTRY COUSINS. 25

“You might say they were ‘dear affectionate things, too,” said
Phyllis.

“Yes,” broke in Teddy, “you should see the way they wag their
tails and smile when they see me, and they would purr if they knew
how.”

“You ridiculous boy !” said Phyllis, “but I really mean it. Fancy,
Dorothy, father had a cow once, and when he had had her some time, she
did not give enough milk, he thought, so he sold her. The man who
bought her took her quite a long way off, but she managed to get away
in the night and found her way back, and father was astonished to see her
in the field two days after she had gone. She came running up to him as
if to say how pleased she was to get home.”

“Qh, I hope he didn’t send her back again !” cried Dorothy, eagerly.

‘No, indeed, he gave the man his money back and kept the dear old
thing. She’s that brown and white one we call Buttercup.”

“And she had her portrait painted by me,” said Ted. ‘‘ The picture
hangs there,” waving his hand towards the wall behind Gerald and Lilian,
where a very pretty sketch of some cows was hanging.

While Gerald and Lilian were trying to make out which was Butter-
cup in the group, Ted seized the opportunity to turn Gerald’s cup of milk
upside down in the saucer ; the little boy’s face of wonder and his puzzled
look were very entertaining to mischievous Ted, who pretended to be just
as surprised himself and wondered how Gerald could have managed to put
his cup down like that! But he soon gave in to Miss Grey’s entreaties
that he would turn it wp again without spilling any milk over the clean
tablecloth, and showed such cleverness in the way he did it that it was
evident he had had a good deal of practice in the trick.

In spite of his love of fun and teasing, Ted was an immense favourite
in the school-room, and Gerald ran after him all day and learned to play
cricket and climb trees, and soon lost his tired look and languid ways,
and began to look quite brown and healthy.

Then, when the hay-making began, what fun they had! Tossing the
hay over each other, sliding up and down the hay-cocks, and then riding
back on the top of the cart, Lilian imagining she was driving, as she was
allowed to hold the reins. She had become quite a “ country lass,” her
uncle said, and was never happier than when feeding the chickens in the
26 THE COUNTRY COUSINS.

poultry yard or the rabbits in their hutch, and had wild thoughts of
setting up a kind of poultry yard in the school-room at home, where the
doll’s house, she thought, could be turned into a home for two or three
small chickens, particularly two little bantams she had set her affections
on. But wise Dorothy explained that the chickens would grow up into
cocks and hens, and, besides, would be very unhappy without a field to
roam about in; poor little prisoners, in fact, and most likely the coe
would want to Pon them for dinner !

This prospect was too terrible for Lilian, and she made up her mind
to wait until she had saved up enough pocket-money to buy a cottage of
her own.

Her aunt and uncle said they would have them again to stay the
next summer, which was something to look forward to during the long
dark days of autumn and winter. In the meantime, they had picnics
in the wood, lovely long rambles in the fields, and at the end of their
three months’ visit to the country, the children hardly looked like the
same pale-faced, heavy-eyed little trio that had arrived that first bright
summer day from London. Such bright eyes, and rosy cheeks, and —
happy faces! Dorothy even laughed almost as heartily as Phyllis, when
she remembered her terror of the cows that afternoon. Phyllis was
very sorry to lose her little companions, and said lessons would be very
dull when Dorothy was not there to share them with her, but they
promised to write to each other every week, until they met again.

“Tread in a book once,” said Dorothy, “ that

““¢God made the country,
‘And man made the town,’

so I suppose that is why we all love the country so much.”

But a grand piece of news was waiting for Dorothy, Gerald, and
-Lilian when they reached home.

Grandmamma had received a letter from their father and mother in
India, and they were coming home for good, to stay always with their
children ; and not very long afterwards, Captain and Mrs Aldford arrived,
to the great joy of everybody ; and what delighted the children above
everything, was, to find that they intended to live in the country, and
were lucky enough to find a nice little house quite near their uncle’s, and




a
THE COUNTRY COUSINS. 27

where they had all their own pets, and Phyllis and Ted as companions,
and became a real set of country cousins. Dorothy had a garden of her
own, for she loved flowers, while Lilian devoted herself to the live stock,
and became quite learned in the different sort of foods for fowls and
chickens. She found even pigs very interesting, and was rather hurt in
her mind when her governess declined to allow her pet little black
pig to become an inmate of the schoolroom.

“He’s such a darling, I can’t understand anybody not loving him,”
she remarked. Still, she was not quite pleased to find him one day,
decorated with a big paper collar like Toby’s, and a sash made of scarlet
cotton, which Ted thought “ most becoming to his dark complexion,” and
remarked severely to that young gentleman, that she was afraid he would
never learn to be steady. She only forgave him when his grief at her
displeasure touched her tender little heart, and on his solemn promise

never to make a joke of Sambo again.
FLORENCE SCANNELL.




Eo Trial of Patience.

T is tiresome,” said Auntie, as little Queenie SOA holding the wool
to be wound. “What a tangle itisin! It makes me chine of the
Princess and the enchanted skein ! ”
‘Is that a ’tory, Auntie?” cried Queenie. “Oh! do tell it me!”

“Well, you have been such a good, patient little soul,” said Auntie,
‘that I will”—and so she begun

Once upon a time, she said, there was a king who had seven
sons, and when the youngest, who was named Septimus, was grown up,
A TRIAL OF PATIENCE. 29

his father told him that he really must go out and do something for him-
self, for he had nothing left to give him.

“T know it, Father,” said Sep, who was a dear, nice boy, “don’t you
worry about me, I will seek my fortune ; and when I’ve found it, I’ll come
back and tell you all my adventures.” So off he started, with a feather
in his cap, and a sword by his side, and his cloak over his shoulder, and
sang as he went to keep up his spirits.

Now one day he had been walking a long way, hoping to reach the
castle of a great Harl who lived about there, who, he heard, wanted some
gallant young soldiers to fight for him, but it was getting dark, and he
began to suspect that he had lost his way. It was a lonely, desolate place,
a wide moorland, stretching away on either side of the road, which was no
better than a rough foot track, and he couldn’t see a sign of house or
dwelling near. But as he strode on, he noticed at a little distance before
him, a dark figure moving along in the twilight, and when he overtook
it, he saw it was an old woman carrying a heavy bundle of sticks, so large
and so heavy that the poor thing was bent almost double with the weight,
Now the Prince was a good-natured fellow, and he didn’t like to see the
poor old thing toiling along like that, for she seemed very old and poor.
So, when he reached her, he offered to carry it a bit, and throwing it over
his shoulder he strode along by her side.

“You are out late, Mother,” he said. ‘ Have you far to go?”

“ No, not far,” she said, ‘‘for I live here on the moor. Thank you
kindly for carrying my faggots, for Iwas nigh tired out. But where go
you, young sir, on this lonesome road ?”

“Tam bound for the Earl Rostgoslynge’s,” answered Septimus. “Is
it much further, do you know, Mother ?”

“ih! tis many a mile from here,” she answered. ‘You must have
taken the wrong turn by the Moor Cross. You will scarce reach there to-
night. But if you can put up with a poor woman’s hut, come home with
me. At any rate, you shall have a fire to sit by and a bowl of porridge
for supper.”

Prince Sep thankfully accepted the offer, and before long the old
woman turned off across the moor, and led him over moss and stones and
by a tinkling rill, till they came to a hut niched into a cranny of the hills.
She bade him put down his bundle of faggots by the side of it, and then











30 A TRIAL OF PATIENCE.

led him in and soon they were sitting, one each side of a blazing fire,
with a bowl of famous porridge and a jug of milk and a pile of oatcakes
for supper. And the old woman chatted away and told him all sorts of
things that she had seen in her young days, and he thought she was one of
the nicest old women he had ever met, and had the brightest eyes he had
ever seen. But presently he got so sleepy that he couldn’t keep from
nodding, so she bade him lie down on a heap of fresh gathered heather
that was arranged on one side of the cottage, and she threw a rug over
him and told him to rest.

“But, you, Mother,” he said, ‘‘ where do you rest?”

“Oh, I cannot rest yet, 1 have some work,” she answered, as she
drew her spinning-wheel to her ; “ but never mind me, and the whirr of the
wheel will send you to sleep.”

So it did. But yet, every now and then, Sep half waked up, and
when he did so, he felt sleepily puzzled, for he was sure he heard voices
talking, sweet, shrill voices, and once when he half opened his eyes, there
were some queer little forms sitting round the fire, and they were singing
and talking and laughing, while the wheel went on whirr, whirr, whirr.
But he didn’t seem able to move or speak, but just lay looking at them
with half-open, drowsy eyes, and presently it all seemed to fade away and
he remembered nothing more till he woke up and found the sun shining

in through the open door.

TWh i “T wouldn't go to the
se | Earl Rostgoslynge,” said his
hostess, as he started off next
morning. ‘It is a hard ser-
vice, and I mistake me much
if better luck doesn’t wait
\J you over the moorland.
aN And see here, I have
MOA |G), little to give, but you
Wie \2 were good to the old
= woman last night. Take
“= this slip of wood and
keep it for my sake. It

is elder-wood, which has
















1enee.

| of Pat

ria


- A TRIAL OF PATIENCE. 31

many virtues, and don’t forget to try what it will do when all else
fails.” :

Prince Septimus put the little slip of elder-wood in his pocket. He
didn’t think much of it, but it would have been rude to refuse, or laugh
at the old woman’s gift. He took her advice, too, and started off over the
moor, and towards afternoon, he saw before him the towers and walls of a
city, and soon he entered the gates, and made his way through the streets
which were all very much thronged with people, but everyone, he noticed,
looked very sad and sorrowful.

“ What is the matter?” he asked at last. ‘Is anything wrong ?”

But the old man he spoke to only sighed deeply, while the tears ran
down his withered cheeks. “ It is our Princess,” he said. “ It gets tighter
and tighter, and they say she can’t last much longer.”

“ What gets tighter and tighter,” asked Prince Sep, but the old man
only shook his head and turned away.

‘“‘ Well, this is queer,” said Prince Sep, and he asked someone else,
but nobody gave him any answer that he could understand, and so he
pushed on with the crowd, who all seemed going one way, and soon found
himself in an open square in front of a grand palace. Just then a Herald
was blowing a trumpet to command silence, and then someone shouted
out—

“Oyez, oyez, oyez. This is to give notice. Anyone who can unwind
the skein and release the Princess shall receive a reward equal to half
the King’s Dominions.”

Then the crowd pushed on again, drawing Prince Sep with them,
till he was carried right into the great hall of the palace, and there he
saw the most wonderful sight his eyes had ever fallen on. For on the
dais of the hall, sitting in a chair of state, was the loveliest little Princess
in the world; but, alas, she was bound tight and firm, so that she could
neither move, nor speak, nor eat, nor hardly breathe, into the chair by
strand on strand of golden silk, twisted, turned, tangled, plaited and
knotted ; so that no skill of her ladies or her pages, or of anybody else, was
able to undo it. And there were the King and the Queen, with the
tears running down their faces, and making quite a little pond on the floor,
entreating someone to come and release their daughter or she would die,

“Why don’t they cut the silk?” asked Prince Sep.
32 A TRIAL OF PATIENCE.

“It would kill her,” whispered somebody. “It is enchanted, and it
was her godmother who did it! She came the other day, and something
offended her, so she took the skein and flung it at the Princess, and it
twisted and twined like a living snake till it tied her up in the chair.”

“Then why don’t they send and beg her to release her?”

“ Nobody knows where she is. She went off in a great huff, and
when they sent after her, they found her carriage stuck in a bog, but she
had disappeared, and has never been seen since.”

Now Prince Sep felt very sorry, for the Princess was very pretty, and
it was dreadful to be tied up there and die of starvation. ‘I wish I

could help her,” he
ee murmured to him-
oo self, “I wonder if I
could get the skein
loose,” and just then
he put his hand in
his pocket, and there
he felt under his
fingers the slip of
elder-wood the old
woman had given
him, and he remem-
bered what she said.
“Try it when all
else fails.” “I will
try,’ he cried, and
drawing it out he
stepped forth out of
the throng, which
the guards kept back
from pressing too
near, and bowing to
the King and the
(Queen, he asked if
he might be allowed
to try his luck at the
tangled skein.


A TRIAL OF PATIENCE. Se / 7D)

““Oh, do, if you can do
any good,” sobbed the Queen,
“ only take care, for the others
have made it worse and worse,
till they have nearly choked
her!”















Then Prince Sep went up on to the dais,
and he knelt down before the Princess, and taking _,
the little stick in his hand, he touched the nearest ¥
strand of silk, and lo! as he did it, an end of the
silk floated out towards his fingers, and he caught it
and gently began winding it round the magic stick.

“Oh, there’s the end,” whispered one of the
Queen’s ladies. “Oh, he’s got the end and we
couldn’t find that it had one!”

‘‘Oh! he is unwinding it,” gasped another. “See!
that big knot has come untied,” cried a third. “Oh!
that great tangle is undone.”

“ Hush, hush,” guregled the Queen, “ don’t speak,
~ or—or—move—or—oh ! the Saints be thanked, she will
soon be loosed !”

And so, while everybody held their breath with “@
excitement, Septimus went on gently winding, winding, winding the
golden silk on his magic stick—winding, winding, winding, till the
binding skein was all undone, and the Princess was free, and the first
thing she said, was, “Oh! I am so dreadfully hungry !”

Then all the people burst into shouts of joy, and the trumpets. blew,
and the soldiers huzzaed, and everybody ran about and shook hands with
everybody else, and great bonfires were lit in the streets, and a great
banquet was spread in honour of the occasion.

“ And now,” said the King to his daughter’s deliverer, “ will you
tell me your name ?”

“ Certainly,” he answered, “1 am Prince Septimus, and my father is
King Lakeelt II. of Steinegrundchen.”

“ Ah,” auswered the King, “1 am glad you are a prince, because you
know, you are now the ruler of half my kingdom.”

Cc


34 A TRIAL OF PATIENCE.

“That depends,” said the Prince, ‘“ that depends on one thing!”

“ And what is that ?” asked the King, a little surprised.

“Tt depends,” said Septimus, ‘‘ whether the Princess will deign to
share it with me, for I won’t have it without,” and he made a very low
bow to the Princess.

And she! ah, well she !—she stopped eating a sponge cake someone
had brought, and she dropped a shy, little curtsey, and then she began
nibbling at it again, but it was quite sufficient answer for Prince Septimus,
and he didn’t mind about the cake, because he knew she was so very,
very hungry.

“We will have the wedding to-morrow,” cried the King, full of
delight, for he had been rather regretting his generosity in giving away
so much of his power; ‘ yes, to-morrow, let the heralds give notice.”

Oh! wasn’t there a scurry to get ready! All the dressmakers in
the city sat wp all night to make the wedding dress, and all the cooks and
confectioners did the same to prepare the wedding breakfast, and, in fact,
nobody went to bed at all, there was so much to do! But they got it
done in time, and the next day everyone went to the Cathedral to see the
ceremony. And just as it was completed, and they had returned to the
Palace, there was a great sounding of trumpets, and lo! a great train of
knights and ladies appeared, and in the midst of them came the Queen of
the Fairies, and when Septimus looked at her, he seemed to know her face,
but yet he was so puzzled, because she reminded him of the old woman on
the moorland! And when the Queen saw him so puzzled, she laughed

merrily.

“ Yes,” she said, “‘ quite right. You helped me with my bundle of
sticks, and ‘ One good turn deserves another.’ ”

“ But,” said Queenie, eagerly, as her Auntie paused, “did they ever
find her cruel godmother ?”

“Oh yes, the fairies kept her in prison seven years, to try and make
her better, and fed her on sugar and honey, and she came out quite a nice
old lady at last—and there, Queenie, our skein is finished, like the Prince’s,

and there’s an end to your ‘ Trial of Patience.’ ”
M. A. HOYER.


Che Angel's Whisper.

OW I wish, thought little Eva,
As she sat and dreamed one day,

O’er a book of tales heroic,

Which before her open lay,
How I wish I could do something,

Great and noble, which should be
Written in a book by some one,

So that all the world could see.
36

THE ANGEL'S WHISPER.

There was Joan of Arc, whose story
I’ve been reading—she was grand !
And the lighthouse girl, Grace Darling,

Who rowed out and brought to land
All the drowning shipwrecked people ;
They were only girls like me,
If I could but rescue some one,

Oh! how splendid it would be! ,

How I love to read such stories—
Even long and long ago,
There were Greek and Roman heroes,
Who did wondrous deeds, I know,
If I try to be more patient,
And more brave, perhaps one day
I may be as really helpful

In another sort of way.

Little Eva went on dreaming,
As she rested on-her chair,
Doing noble deeds in fancy,
Building castles in the air ;
Till she seemed to hear a rustle
As of wings above her head,
And a voice like whispering music,
Somewhere close beside her, said—

“ Do not waste the time in dreaming
Of some great deed to be done

In the future, little Eva,
For the present is your own,

You must try and do the duties
That are lying in your way,

Then the future that you dream of
May be yours indeed one day.”

THE ANGEL'S WHISPER. 37



From that bright and happy day-dream,
Little Eva slowly woke,

Could it be, she thought in wonder,
That an angel really spoke ;

And our little maiden pondered,
Though she never said a word,

On the sweet angelic prompting,
Which she fancied she had heard.

But she tried to do her duty
In her safe and happy home,
And be patient under trials,

Which to every child must come,
Till one day when she was resting
"Neath a giant oak that stood
Just outside her father’s garden,
On the outskirts of a wood.







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A tall gipsy woman started
From the underwood close by,
And before the child could utter
Frightened word, or warning cry,
Rough, strong arms had seized and borne her
Far into the leafy shade,
And in language fierce and cruel, As she hurried swiftly onward,
Told the trembling little maid, That in truth if she should dare
But to make one sound or struggle,
She would kill her then and there.
Eva lay in helpless silence,
In the gipsy’s stalwart arms,
Though her heart was wildly beating
With a thousand vague alarms.
THE ANGEL’S WHISPER. 39



“ Now I must be brave,” thought Eva,
“God will hear me if I pray,
‘And perhaps he’ll send an angel,
To take care of me to-day.”
So her little hands she folded,
Praying as the darkness grew,
“Pray God keep me brave and patient,
Pray God tell me what to do.”

Many an hour the woman travelled,
And at last set Eva down,
In a road, all unfamiliar,
On the borders of a town :
And towards a lonely ruin
Dragged her roughly by the hand,
Till they found themselves surrounded
By a noisy gipsy band.

By-and-by, not all unkindly,
Came_a brown and dark-eyed maid,
Who took Eva’s hand, and led her
From the band apart, and said,
“* Never fear us, little lady,
Though our ways are free and bold,
Be you sure we will not harm you,
If you do as you are told.”

Little Eva soundly slumbered
By the gipsy maiden’s side,

All that summer night, while o’er them
Bent the skies so blue and wide.

Till they wakened her at day-break,
And exchanged her pretty frock,

And her dainty shoes and stockings,
For a soiled and tattered smock.
40 THE ANGEL'S WHISPER.



Then her skin they stained all over,
With a liquid rank and brown,

And the tall rough gipsy led her
To the unfamiliar town.

It was then, felt little Eva,
That her trials true befell,

For a thief they would have made her.
Things untrue they bade her tell.

Day by day, as on they journeyed,
She refused to lie or steal,
Night by night they starved and beat her,
Till the child began to feel
That her strength at last must fail her,
But she prayed with all her might,
“Father, help me to be patient,
Give me courage to do right.”


THE ANGEL’S WHISPER. 4]



Often would the gipsy maiden,
As beneath the star-lit sky,
They lay couched upon the heather,
Ask her little comrade, “ Why
She was obstinate and silent,
Why she would not say or do
What the elder women told her
When they fierce and angry grew.”

And our Eva strove to tell her—
Strove to make her meaning plain—
When she said that Christian children
Must from evil deeds refrain.
But the rough and untaught gipsy
Right from wrong had never learnt,
Though she loved and pitied Eva,
And her heart within her burnt.

When she saw the child ill-treated,
And she’d often beg and pray—
To escape a cruel beating,
She would just for once give way.
“Do not tempt me, Bess,” said Eva,
“T have learnt right things from wrong,
And I know that if I ask Him,
God will keep me good and strong.”

Thus the months, for little Eva,
Sped in pain, and sorrow by.
All the day they roamed’the country,
Slept at night beneath the sky ;
Till one morning when her captors
The wide country road had left,
For the town, and fiercely urged her
To some deed of petty theft.




Walking down the pavement, Eva
Saw, despite her tearful eyes,

Her own father come towards them, -
And with cries of glad surprise,

Sprang across the street and called him,
And at last within his arm,

Felt that she was safely sheltered
From all future pain and harm.


Now what say you, little children,
Was not Eva, in her way,
As heroic as the maidens,
She had read about that day ?
Just as brave, and good, and patient,
As the heroes of old songe—
Though she did but do her duty,
In despite of pain and wrong ?

When you read those stirring stories
Of great deeds so simply done,
Or of hardships borne with patience,

Or of battles hardly won.
Yow ll remember, little children,
If you try with all your might,
You may make your lives heroic,
Just by always doing right.

HELEN MARION BURNSIDE.


Che Fairy Birds.

HVE and little Jack Brookfield had come down for their usual visit to

mother at her tea-time, and found two other visitors there which
they had never seen before. Two sweet little birds, with beautiful coloured
feathers, nestling close to each other in a cage,

“Oh, what dear little chickens!” cried Jacky. ‘““May I have one to
play with in the garden, mammie, dear?”

“Oh no, Jack, they always live in the cage, and would be lost if they
went into the garden; they are little foreigners, and the other birds
would peck them, perhaps, but you may offer them this piece of chick-
weed, and Evie can give them a lump of sugar.” t

The children were delighted when the tame little creatures came
fluttering towards the side of the cage to see what was being offered to
them.

“Let Jimmy see too,” said Jack, running back to fetch his favourite
old wooden horse that generally accompanied him in his trots up and
downstairs, and shared all his pleasures. He hadn’t any troubles to
speak of Jimmy was put in a good front place, Jack announcing that
he said he was very pleased, as he was very fond of birds and chickens,

“ They ’re not chickens, are they, mother,” said Evie, “they ’re little
tiny poll parrots.”
THE FAIRY BIRDS. 45

“No, they are called ‘ Love-Birds.’ Uncle George has brought them
for us, all the way from India, so we must keep them nice and warm,
poor mites.”

“Why do they call them Love-Birds? Do they love each other
very much ?”

“Yes, they are great friends. If you took one away, very likely the
other would pine away and die, it would be so lonely.”

“We won’t let any one take him away, will we?” said Evie.
“No, birdies, dears, you shall always be together. Aren’t they just like
fairy birds, mother ?”

“Well, I’ve never seen a fairy bird, but I dare say the wonderful
blue bird that helped the poor Princess was rather like one of these.
I should think he had wings, and a beak, and a tail.”

“Dear little blue bird!” murmured Evie, coming to sit on the floor,
and nestling against her mother’s dress, while Jack, more restless, went ’
round and round the room with Jimmie. The twittering of the birds
sounded soft and low, and the scent of the flowers in the garden was
wafted in at the open window, the bees were humming and buzzing as
they forced their way deep down into the cups of the flowers to get the
sweet honey, and Evie felt very happy as she listened dreamily to the
pretty slumber-song her mother was playing and singing softly. She
thought of the pretty love-birds, who were having a whispered con-
versation with each other. What could they be saying? Evie tried to
hear, and presently began to distinguish the
words they said. ates

“She seems a nice, kind child, and said we ~. i
should always be together,” said one. :

“Yes,” said the other, ‘shall we give her a
ride. I wonder where she would like to go?”

“Oh, most likely to Dollshouseland ; little girls
generally like that.”

“Yes, that’s a,good idea. Come along,” and to
Kvie’s great delight they hopped down out of the
cage door, which was open, and came hop, hop, over
the floor to Evie. When they were near she saw
they were harnessed into a wee carriage, like mother’s




46 THE FAIRY BIRDS.

victoria, only just the right size for them, and they drew up in front
of Evie, and nodding their pretty heads, said, “Get in, and we will take
you to Dollshouseland, if you like.”

“But I’m much too big and heavy for you!” cried Evie, laughing at
the idea.

“Take this,’ and each bird presented her with a seed out of his
beak. Evie did so, and found she had become quite like a tiny fairy.
Her shoes were the sweetest things you ever saw, just like her best party
shoes of pale blue satin—no doll ever had such lovely little things, and
her dress and everything was to match. Charmed at this transformation,
Evie sprang into the carriage and took the slender gold reins in her
hands. The birds spread their wings and were soon flying through the
air at a great pace—upstairs, down the passage, into the nursery where
the beautiful doll’s house Evie had had given her at Christmas was
standing on the box near the window. How delightful it felt to walk
into the little drawing-room (Evie had often longed to be able to do
it), and sit down on the blue satin sofa beside Lady Sophonisha,
who had been sitting there alone for so long, and who now smiled
at her instead of at nobody, and offered her a cup of tea from the
set that constantly stood before her. It was always afternoon tea-time
at Lady Sophonisha’s.
~ “I’m so glad you have come,” she said. “It’s very dull
here, and the children have been
in bed for weeks, ever since that

great giantess Evie put
them there, and she
eZ (. 7 has never taken them
yw _\ outagain. But now you
“al —> have come, dear little.
\, why fairy, we can move and
talk and do anything,
only we must not let
the giants know any-
thing about it.”
“Why not?” asked
Evie.



THE FAIRY BIRDS.

“Oh, we might all turn into
birds or mice, and I don’t know
that we should be any better off
then, though we dolls have a
good deal to put up with. Once
I was left standing on my head
for a week in this very room!
Can you imagine anything more
painful to my feelings!” But
just then the whole front of the
doll’s house was opened, and a
big hand, full of marbles, bricks,
tops, cups and saucers, and other
small toys, was thrust inside.
Evie saw it was nurse, looking
quite enormous, who was say-
ing—

“The way those children
leave their toys strewed all ~~
over the carpet, it’s no wonder
they ’re always losing some-
thing. I suppose it’s time for me to go and fetch them, now I’ve
tidied up.”

Kvie struggled out from*under the heap, and helped out Lady
Sophonisba, said good-bye, and got into the little carriage feeling it
might be inconvenient to be so tiny always!

The birds had flown out of nurse’s way, so were all right, and
said—

“ Now would you like to go to Fairyland ?”

‘Yes, very much indeed,” said Evie.

In a few moments she found herself being carried along a lovely
garden, full of roses and lilies, daffodils and bluebells, sunflowers, crysan-
themums, daisies, and marigolds, and out of each flower came a beautiful
fairy, just like those in that book mother was so fond of, called “ Flora’s
Feast.” Only these all moved, and the bluebells rang little -peals of
music, and those out of the daffodils blew their trumpets, and the heralds


THE FAIRY BIRDS.

announced in sweet voices: ‘‘ Here is our
little Queen Rosebud.” And two little
pages dressed in green, with snowdrops for
hats, came before Evie, holding out a blue
velvet cushion with a tiny gold crown on
it, which Evie took and put on her head,
feeling very much like a queen. She
looked down, to see that her frock was

made of petals of roses, and smelt
__ delicious. Then some funny looking
servants came, dressed in liveries of
striped yellow and black waistcoats and shining coats ; their eyes
were very near the tops of their heads, or else they held their heads
very high. They had long furry arms, and when they came near, Evie
saw they were bees walking upright. They were real “ busy bees,” and
in a few moments they had spread a long table with plates made of tiny
leaves, and cups of lilies of the valley. The dishes and plates were piled
up with delicious sparkling fruits and honey-cakes, and the little cups
filled with dew. It all tasted so very nice that Evie felt rather dis-
appointed when, just as she was about to sip the dew, all the flower
fairies jumped up, exclaiming, “ Here are the elves!” and a crowd of
little elves or sprites came dancing, with bright scarlet caps on their heads.
They played all sorts of lively pranks that made Evie laugh. They blew
the daffodil trumpets in the ears of the tall proud lilies, chased the bees
about, tripping them up when they were carrying the dishes in a
dignified way, and ran up and down the tall blades of grass, and made
swings of them. Then the one who seemed the chief ran up to
Hivie, saying—

“ Wouldn’t you like to see Fairytaleland ¢”

“Oh, yes, I should!” she cried. Then he seized her hand, and
another joined on, and then another, till they made a long string, and
they all set off running like a follow-my-léader game, which was great
fun, Evie was nearly out of breath when they suddenly stopped short
before a queer building made of pink and white sugar, with window panes
of clear toffee, and as Evie looked through, she saw all her old fairy tale
friends. There was Cinderella in her sparkling glass slippers, dancing






ercmennee


THE FAIRY BIRDS. 49

merrily away with the handsome young Prince, while the ugly sisters
looked on with their noses in the air.

“You had better take care, dear Cinderella,” said Evie; ‘it’s just
striking twelve, and your carriage will turn into a pumpkin again.”

“Yes, I know,” answered Cinderella, laughing, “but I'll manage to
drop my slipper, and it will be such fun to see their faces when they find
out I’m Cinderella !”



D
50 THE FAIRY BIRDS.

Puss-in-Boots was there too, rubbing his clever furry head against
his sad young Master’s shoulder to comfort him, and Evie stroked him
and said, “ You dear, kind, clever cat, I wish you were mine.”

Little Red Riding Hood was sitting making daisy chains in the
wood, the pretty little Princess lay fast teen in the Castle, and the
young Prince was making his way through the tangle of briar roses to
find her. He nodded to Evie, and said, “I shall soon be there now, and
wake them all.”

It was so nice to be able to talk to them all, but Evie was rather
afraid she might meet one of the ogres or ogresses that frightened poor
Hop-o’-my-thumb, or Jack who climbed the Beanstalk; but the little
elves only Iaughed and said; ‘‘ Why, you are the queen of all the fairies
and you could change them all into mice or beetles, or anything you
liked, nettles or prickly bushes.”

Evie thought this was an excellent idea, and was rather anxious to try
the effect of her little wand with the golden star at the top. But the
little birds, whom she had nearly forgotten, came hopping up just then,
with wee paper cocked hats on their heads, and each had a sword under
his arm, and they strutted along with such a comical air of dignity that
Evie laughed heartily. Just then a band of music struck up a march,
and Evie was suddenly aware that nurse was standing at the drawing-
room door, saying, “ Now Miss Evie and Master Jack, come along, it’s
past your bed-time.”

‘““T believe my music nearly sent you to sleep, Evie, dear,” said her
mother, kissing her. ‘‘ You look as if you had been in dreamland.”

“No, mother, I haven’t been there, but I’ve been to another land—
Fairytaleland and it was so nice.”

“Run away, you sleepy little puss,” said her mother, laughing.

evie kissed her good-night, and then went to the birdies’ cage and
whispered —

“Good-night, dear little fairy birds, thank you very much and
youll take me there again, won’t you ?”

And the birds looked at her and winked their bright eyes, and Evic
knew that they knew all about it and would keep the secret.

FLORENCE SCANNELL.


being Bandits.

T one time Farmer Burton used to say that Harry was the best boy in
all the country round. He never got into mischief, always kept his
clothes clean, and did his lessons at the village school to the admiration of
everybody. That was because he had no brothers, I think, but only gentle
little sisters—four or five of them—and he used to join in their plays and
make dollies’ tea parties with them, and play at shop with a few currants
and a little sugar and rice, and the penny pair of scales he bought at the
Fair with his own money ; and he never caused his mother the least
anxiety, nor his father either, though his uncle Tom, when he came down
from London, used to say that Harry was a bit of a milksop.
“ You should sce our Tom,” he used to say.
BEING BANDITS.

Ou
Lo

And Harry’s mother would answer with tears of pride, “I wouldn't
have Harry a bit different from what he is. He’s the best boy betwixt
here and Cranbrook.”

But all that was before his cousin Tom came down to stay with him.
Tom was really about the same age as Harry, but he seemed much older,
as London boys have a way of doing.

He thought he knew most things, and he really did know a great
many, for besides being of a very adventurous turn by nature, he had read a
oreat many books about dragons, and enchanters, and knights, and ladies,
and bandits, and pirates; and he remembered everything he read out of
school a great deal better than he was able to remember what was taught
him 7 school.

“T say, what a jolly old place you have here,” he said the first.
morning when Harry proudly led him round the farmyard, and showed
him where the hens laid, and the nine little white pigs lying with their
mother basking in the sun.

“T say, what a splendid castle that barn would make if we only had
some more boys, one party to defend, you know, and the other to attack ;
and the ladder as it stands would do splendidly for a scaling ladder, and
we could have rakes and forks for spears and things.”

Harry really didn’t know what his cousin meant, and was ashamed
to say so. So he said, “Come and see the horses.”

So they went into the stable where the horses were munching their
chaff out of the wooden mangers.

“ What magnificent chargers!” Tom said, putting his hands in his
pockets, and his little legs as far apart as they would go. “ Why with one
of those, and the clothes-prop for a lance, we could have a regular tourna-
ment.”

‘But I’m not allowed to ride the horses,” said Harry.

“Oh! well, that settles it,” says om; “ but I wish there weren't so.
many rules. Only when there’s a rule, there’s an end of it, if people have
told you so plainly. What a blessing it is they can’t make a rule about
everything. 1 daresay we shall find lots of interesting things to do, that
they haven't thought of saying we mustn’t.”

“The girls are going to have a dolls’ tea party this afternoon, because
you have come.”
BEING BANDITS. 58

The day before, Harry would have said, ‘‘ We are going to have a
dolls’ tea party,” but the extreme manliness and swagger of his little
cousin had already impressed him so much, that he rather doubted how
Tom would feel about dolls’ tea parties.

“Child’s play!” said Tom loftily, “child’s play! But we must
pretend to like it so as to please them. I know that; and then after-
wards we can have a nice game of our own. Ill fight you if you like,
after tea.”

Harry shuddered, and was quite pale when they went in to breakfast.

The dolls’ tea party went off very well. Tom added quite a new
excitement to it by pretending to be an ogre who had strayed in uninvited,
and had to be charmed by cups of tea, and at last, by the gift of a
lump of sugar, was transformed into a fairy Prince. This led to so
many explanations that the fight was quite forgotten, and for some
time after tea the children sat spell-bound, listening to Tom’s fairy stories,
which he told very well, because he more than half believed them.

“It’s no use calling the barn a fortress,” he said next day, “since
there are only two of us, and you can’t be an army all by yourself. But
I think if we went up in the loft, we could find something amusing.”

Up in the loft were great trusses of hay, and Harry and Tom piled
these up to make a fort.

“ Now,” Tom said, “I’m going to be a beleaguered garrison, and you
may attack me. You get in if you can.”

And Harry tried and tried, and for a novice in besieging didn’t do so
badly ; but again and again he was thrown over the ramparts and fell on
the loose hay on the floor. It didn’t hurt him in the least; but he got
very cross over it, and that made him, as it often does make people, more
energetic and determined.

He set his little wits to work and presently crept round the walls of
the fortress with a little bundle of hay in his arms. Of course, Tom
being inside, couldn’t see what he was doing, and all on a sudden, shout-
ing “Follow me, my men!” as Tom had told him to do, he jumped up
and flung his bundle of hay in Tom’s face, and before the defender had
time to get himself free from it, Harry had leapt over the fortifications
and taken possession of the fortress. There was a short scuffle within its
narrow walls, for Tom was but human; but he soon recovered his sense of


Macgs
TBR

justice, and threw up his cap, saying, ‘‘ You’ve won! You’re not such a
milksop after all.”

“Who said I was a milksop?” said Harry angrily.

“The Wizard of the North,” said Tom laughing. “Now you defend
and Il go out and attack.”

Harry had never had such an exciting game in his life, nor, he
owned to himself, in spite of a big bump on his forehead and a curious
kind of ache all over, such an enjoyable one.

Within a week the boys were fast friends and quite inseparable.

They made a pirates’ cave in the hen-house, fluttering its lawful occupants.
most woefully.
i

BEING BANDITS. 55

They were cattle lifters one day, and carried off the wooden horse,
and little Polly's donkey with the two panniers, to their fastness in the
apple tree.

The next day they had tournaments, mounted, not on the farm horses,
but on the kitchen chairs, with clothes-props for lances, and a couple of
old fencing masks for helmets.

But the most exciting timé was when they were Bandits. They
were coming home from school, and they had decided that the best way to
make the way seem short would be to be highwaymen, and cry “Stand
and deliver!” to everyone they met who wasn’t too big. And the first
person they met was little Bessie Atkins from the dairy farm. She had
her apron full of apples.

“Stand and deliver!” cried Tom, drawing his pistol, a three-penny
one with real caps. And Bessie would have been really frightened, if she
hadn’t seen that Harry was laughing.

“What do ee want?” she said with a little lisp, for she was quite
small and couldn’t speak plainly.

“You must give us all your
wealth,” said ‘Tom, ‘or else you can’t
pass.”

‘What be I to give ee?” said the
little one, smiling so pleasantly that
Tom was quite charmed with her.

“A kiss, my fair maid,” he said
loftily. “They often do that in the -
story books,” he said to Harry in ex-
planation.

Both boys kissed the little girl,
and Harry asked her which way she
was going.

“T’m going down to Uncle Bob’s »
to fetch my rabbit he promised me. «
Will ee come too? It’s such a pretty -
bunny !” Ml

So the bandits turned, and walked
down the road with the little girl, one





56 BEING BANDITS.

on each side of her. Uncle Bob had dozens and dozens of rabbits in
hutches on either side of his cottage. He gave Bessie hers in a basket.

The boys admired it so much that Uncle Bob, who was a generous
man, said—

‘Well, look here, youngsters, here’s a rabbit apiece for you, if you
have a place to keep it in.”

And the boys, after assuring him that the whole of Farmer Burton’s
barn and farmyard were at the service of the bunnies, went off, each with
a bunny in a brown canvas bag.

But before they went, Uncle Bob’s wife made them sit down and
have their tea with little Bessie Atkins, so it was quite late when they took
their way home again.

“We had best go by the short cut,” said Harry, “ mother will be
wondering where we are.”

So they turned out of the road into the wood.

“ Let’s take the rabbits out of the bags and carry them in our arms,”
said Tom ; “ we can pretend they are sheep we have ‘ lifted ’.”

So they threw the bags away, and carried the bunnies through the
wood. ‘They were pretending away as fast as they could, and talking
inffine bandit style of their success in robbing the fold, when a man
stepped out of the thicket, and said, ‘“ Hallo, youngsters, where are you
off to with them rabbits ?”

“We're going home,” said Tom, as bold as brass.

“Yes, I know you be,” said the man, who wasa stout keeper in brown
velveteen; “going home with Squire’s rabbits, you poaching young
varmints.”

The chief bandit (that was Tom) looked rather scared, especially
when the keeper added : 5

“Tt’s gaol you'll go to, not home, if you make so free with other
people’s property.” ;

“They re our own,” said Harry, quite bravely, for he was used to
keepers, which Tom was not. ‘‘You know me. I’m Farmer Burton’s
son; these are tame rabbits. ’

Unfortunately the light was so dim that the keeper couldn’t see that

what Harry said was true.

“Tame indeed! up to the Hall you come,” he said ; ‘‘ you see the




e Toll for Passin

@ this Way. :


BEING BANDITS. 57

Squire this very blessed minute.” He had a hand on the shoulder of each,
and so they had to go. :

The keeper and the boys were shown into the Library, to wait till the
Squire camein. The keeper stood looking out of the window, and whist-
ling ; and the boys were too frightened to make any further effort to get
their tale believed. After what seemed like a year, the Squire came in.

“These boys were a-stealing your rabbits, Squire,” said the keeper,
“and the rabbits they be upon them.”

The Squire gave one glance at the trembling children and their
bunnies. ‘“ Why, these are tame rabbits, Johnson. Where are your
eyes? And you head keeper too.”

And the Squire burst into a fit of jolly laughter. Johnson turned
very red, but he was man enough to own he was wrong.

“Well, I’m sorry,” he said, “you little chaps. But I heard you
say as you came along that you had stolen them from the fold.”

Then the boys both burst out laughing. “Why we were playing
at bandits,” they said, “and the rabbits, they were sheep we had ‘lifted.’
And it was Bessie’s Uncle Bob gave us the rabbits, and you can ask
him else.”

Well, the Squire was very kind and jolly. He gave each of the
boys five shillings for their very own, and no one to ask how |

gta

they spent it. And he took a great fancy to them, for he vA}
‘had no boys of his own, and ~ . __
later on he sent them to a =
better school than their fathers
could afford; and they say
that he means to make them
bailiffs on his estate when
they are old enough.

So that being a bandit
was useful for once in a way,
and no one has ever called
Harry a milksop since Tom
came to stay with him.



E. NESBIT.




Che Wnchanted Prince.

ae com along, Topsy, we'll go for a walk over the hills,” exclaimed

Milly. She put on her best hat with the pink feather, for though
she was not likely to meet a soul in those remote Highland regions,
Milly always liked to look smart.

Her uncle was always busy with his books and his sermons when he
was not at the “kirk,” which was several miles away. So Milly was
often left to her own devices and had plenty of opportunities of rambling
about the hill-sides and woods, an exercise that coloured her features
with a more glowing pink than even that of the heather itself.
Sometimes she caught a glimpse of the Highland deer as they came
down to drink at the stream which meandered through the next valley.
This was her great delight. But she could never get close to them.
Whenever she attempted to approach, they darted away like a flash of
light, so Milly had to hide herself as best she could, and be content with
admiring their high antlers and slender limbs from a distance. It
seemed strange that they should be afraid of her. She was a romantic
little girl, and she had certain theories about the deer which she
confided only to Topsy.

“Now, Topsy,” exclaimed Milly, as they clambered up the hillside,
“you can’t be tired yet, so we will go to the wood and have tea, and wait
for the deer, and then I will tell you all about them.”

Topsy had no objection—she never had—so they plodded along, and
by the time they reached the wood Milly was very warm and was glad
of a rest.

The tea was not of a kind that would have satisfied a thirsty pie-
Se
co

THE ENCHANTED PRINCE.

nicker of more mature years; but it sufficed for Milly and Topsy. Milly
carried the teapot, sugar-basin, cups, saucers, and spoons in her pocket.
The cups were about the size of ordinary lumps of sugar and the teapot
was not much larger. It contained no tea, but it was ornamented with
forget-me-nots, and Milly enjoyed arranging the things and “ pouring it
out,” and Topsy, being only a black doll, who smiled broadly and good-
naturedly on every possible occasion, was, of course, quite satisfied.

“T always feel better for a cup of tea,” said Milly; “don’t you,
Topsy? Have another lump of sugar.”

To this suggestion Topsy smiled a joyful assent and nearly over-
balanced with the teacup in her lap. a

“What are you doing, child?”
claimed Milly. “Dear! dear! :
You'll spill it over your new y”
frock !” i

Milly hastened to place her â„¢,
in a more secure position, Just .
in time to prevent the disaster.
Topsy smiled, for she evi-
dently thought it a good ~
joke, and Milly laughed out-
right, after which
the meal proceeded
very sociably.

‘Now I'll tell
you about the deer,”
said Milly. “ There
is a stag, oh! so
handsome, and he
is an enchanted
prince; he was
changed into a stag
beeause he would
not marry the
witch’s ugly daughter.”

Topsy smiled incredulously.

oO
A
\

4












60 THE ENCHANTED PRINCE.

“It’s quite true,” said Milly, decisively, “he can only be. dis-
enchanted by the touch of a lady’s hand, and Iam a little lady, Margaret
said so, and if I were to touch him he would turn into a beautiful prince
again, with a lovely feather in his hat, and silver buckles on his shoes,
and rings on his fingers, and pearls and diamonds on his clothes; and he
would give me a beautiful ring as a keepsake, and then he would ask
me to marry him, and I should be a princess, and live in a beautiful
castle, and have lovely dresses, and——”

Milly stopped, for Topsy had gradually
subsided and now lay stretched out in
slumber; so long a story, com-
bined with the heat of the day,
was evidently
too much for
her.

“Wake up,”
eried Milly,
placing her
on her perch
again; where-
upon Topsy
smiled, just as
if nothing had
happened.

“We will go
through the
wood,” gaid
Milly; “ Anous
says we can get
a good view of
the deer from the other
side.” Anous was an
occasional acquaintance
of Milly’s, a gilly by
profession, Milly
quickly cleared away the tea-










things, and they pro-
ceeded on their journey.
It seemed a long way
through the wood, further
than Milly had thought,
and she feared that
Topsy might be tired,
so, to cheer herself on
her way and to amuse
her companion, she sang
a little song in a sweet
treble voice, which
seemed to mingle
naturally with the — warbling of the =
birds, who put forth
their best efforts to

show that they were - eS

not to be outdone at - ea:

their own special ac-

complishment. At last they came to an opening, through which they
could see the stream winding through the valley but a short distance
below. Milly selected a hiding place that commanded a clear view of
the stream, and sat down to wait and to rest, for truth to tell she was

”

.

growing tired.

“ Keep quite quiet, Topsy,” she whispered, “we must not make the
slightest sound or we shall frighten them away.”

Long and patiently they sat and waited, while the sun, getting low
in the heavens, began to tinge the surrounding sky with golden gleams
which were reflected in the sparkling stream below. Then Milly thought
she saw something move upon the distant plain. She strained her eyes,
and there, sure enough, she saw aherd of deer coming towards the stream.
Her heart beat quickly, but she kept quite still, hardly breathing im her
excitement and anxiety not to attract attention. The beautiful creatures
came down to the water, some of them stepping into it till it half covered
their dainty legs; and a handsome stag, with noble antlers and soft dark
eyes, looked straight im her direction. Could he have seen her? Milly
almost trembled at the thought. But no, he leisurely stepped down
Ne THE ENCHANTED PRINCE.

«

| to the water and took a refreshing
ce draught, never suspecting that
\ he was being. watched by a
> pair of bright, steadfast
eyes. What a _ noble
creature! Who could
doubt that he was
“an enchanted
prince? As Milly
thought this, there
was a sudden
movement among
2 the herd. Some-
thing had startled
.them, she could
not tell what. In
a1 instant they
were away, and the projecting foliage hid them from her view.

Milly took a long breath ; she was satisfied, she had seen them « juite
close, so close that she had been able even to note the soft expression
of their eyes, and to admire the proud pose of their heads. Now she
must go home. She stepped out into the open to look for the path, when,
bang, bang, she heard two shots in rapid succession. There was a
rushing sound and the herd of deer dashed by her, she could hardly see
them, so quickly did they go; and the stag so close that her outstretched
hand brushed against him as he passed. He was going more slowly than
the rest, and limping as if wounded.

“Oh, Topsy, I touched him,” Milly exclaimed.

A moment afterwards he had disappeared round the bend. She
followed immediately, and now saw a xr vine, not very deep, but with no
apparent outlet, for there were steep rocks on the other side. “He
must be in there,” she thought, “and perhaps, poor thing, he has fallen
exhausted, and is now lying at the bottom.” Milly peered down among
the rocks and ferns, and certainly she thought she could perceive some
strange object lying among the dark shadows below. She clambered
down, never thinking what she should do even if she found the wounded










Nes

XN
THE ENCHANTED PRINCE. 68

animal; but she had an undefined feeling that the handsome creature was
suffering, and that it would be cowardly to desert him. Without much
difficulty she reached the bottom and there she saw—Not the stag, no;
but a young gentleman lying prone upon the earth! He did not move
as she approached. His eyes were half closed, and he was very pale,
but so handsome that Milly had never seen anyone to compare with him
before.

Milly stood spell-bound. She looked first at the prostrate form
before her, then she looked at Topsy.

Topsy smiled cheerfully. This gave Milly courage; she went quite
close and touched the stranger’s hand, noticing at the same time that a
diamond was sparkling on his finger. He was dressed in Highland
costume, and wore a kilt adorned with some rare stones. There was a
feather in his Scotch cap, and there were silver buckles on his shoes.
Milly felt a thrill of excitement. He slowly opened his eyes—-such soft,
dark eyes—and looked at her for a moment in a dazed, half unconscious
manner. Milly summoned up her courage to speak.

“You—you are wounded,” she said, sympathetically.

He tried to move and uttered a groan.

“Where is the place?” asked Milly, who was prepared to bind up
his wound with her little handkerchief.

“T fear my leg is broken,” he muttered; “I fell down here and |
must have fainted. I know not how long I have been here.”

“T am so glad I found you,” said Milly, “I will fetch some one to
carry you home.”

“No, first get me a little water, please,” he asked, feebly.

“Yes, the stream is close by, I will bring it in a minute, and I will
leave Topsy to take care of you.”

Milly hurried off as quickly as she could, scratching her hands and
knees as she scrambled up the bank and never stopped running till she
reached the stream. But how was she to carry the water back? Happy
thought! The teapot. This, however, did not hold much.

“Never mind, I can come back for some more,” she thought, as she
filled it, and having saturated her handkerchief, too, she hurried back
again.

The stranger smiled as he saw the tiny vessel; but the draught,
64 THE ENCHANTED PRINCE.

small as it was, moistened his parched lips, and in some degree refreshed
him. ne
“It is my teapot,” Milly explained, while cooling his forehead and
face with her wet handkerchief. “Ihave been having tea in the wood
with Topsy, and it is the only thing I had to bring the water in, except
the cups and the sugar-basin, and I could only carry one at the time:
but I will get you some more.”

“Thank you, my dear,” said the stranger, “you have saved my life.
But for you I should have lain here and died,”

“Tam so glad,” said Milly, “and Margaret will not be cross with
me for being late when I tell her.”

‘““Who are you, my dear?” he asked. ‘Tell me your name.”

“JT am Milly Markham,” she answered, “and I live with Margaret
and my uncle, the minister, and Topsy. This is Topsy,” she added,
pointing to her confidante.

- Topsy smiled, and so did the stranger.

“Tama good deal refreshed,” he said. “Give me a kiss, my dear,
for you are my little guardian angel.”

Milly could not refuse as he was so ill, so she blushingly complied.
He -took the diamond ring from his finger. “Here is a little keepsake
for you, Milly,” he said, “you must always keep it, and when you look
at it remember that I am your friend, and will never forget what you
have done for me.”

Milly took the keepsake, trembling at the possession of so valuable
a jewel. “Thank you, I will always keep it,” she said. “ But what is.
your name ?”

“Tam the Earl of Strathern,” he replied.

“Then you are the owner of the great castle by the lake?” said
Milly.

“Yes,” he answered. ‘You must come and see me there. I came
down only yesterday to see my native country, and went out early this
morning to fish. I lost my way in the mist, and fell into this hollow,
where I might have remained if you had not found me.”

Milly looked surprised at this—perhaps it was not quite what she
had expected. “You must not talk any more,” she said, in a maternal
tone. “I will get you some water, and then I'll go and look for Angus.”

She clambered up the hill again, and ran to the water, and as she


Plighland Deer.
THE ENCHANTED PRINCE. 65

was stooping to dip her teapot and her handkerchief in, she heard a voice
singing a Highland song. She looked up, and there to her joy, who
should she see coming down the opposite hill-side but Angus himself.
She called out as loudly as she could, “Come, Angus, quickly,” and
waved her handkerchief to attract his attention. The twilight was
coming on, and she feared he might not see her. But Aneus’s sharp
eyes had seen her a long way off, and in a very little while he
was stepping across the shallow stream towards her.

“Tt’s late for you to be sae far frae hame, my
bairn,” exclaimed Angus.

“Never mind that, Angus,” said Milly,
“come along quickly, a gentleman has
broken his leg, and you are to carry
him home.”

Angus was a big — broad-
shouldered Highlander with a red
beard, which, to tell the truth, was
Milly’s aversion, for she was
always afraid of having it
pressed against her cheek,
as it once had been, only
once, to her great in-
dignation.

“Show me where -
the laddie — lies,”
said Angus, in no /
way disconcerted
at the prospect of °.
his burden. i

Milly quickly *
brought him to the
place, and Angus
hfted the young
Earl in his arms
as tenderly asif he |
had been a baby,

E





















i




66 THE ENCHANTED PRINCE.

and strode away with him, while Milly followed, carrying Topsy in a
similar way.

It was necessarily a slow journey home, but at last they reached
her uncle’s house, and Margaret, on learning who the patient was, was
delighted to do all she could for him. Several weeks passed before he
was able to walk about again, and Milly helped to nurse him all the
time. She was delighted to see him getting well again; but when he
told her that he was going home she could not repress a tear. He, how-
ever, insisted that she should come with him to the castle and make the
acquaintance of his mother and sisters; and the end of it all was that
Milly’s uncle consented to her being adopted by the dowager-countess.

Years afterwards, when Milly was grown up, and had agreed to
become the wife of the Earl, she told him of her fanciful talk with Topsy
in the wood, and how she had at first thought that he was indeed a
prince who had been bewitched, and was disenchanted by her touch.

“There is nothing disenchanting about your touch,” said the Earl.
“Tt is the most enchanting thing I know.”

He kissed her, in proof of what he said; and Topsy—she had
always kept Topsy—Topsy smiled. :

' ANTHONY GUEST.








Dolly's Own Foea.

ll WISH I could show you the “ Gables,” which was the name of the

house where Dolly lived—with the pond with the gold fish chasing
one another round and round in the bright sparkling water, and last, but
not least, the “ Fairy Queen ” dancing lightly upon it! Iam quite sure
you children will want to know what kind of Fairy Queen this was that
could dance on the top of the water. Well, it was just a lovely little
white-sailed yacht, the very model of the real yacht that was taking
Dolly’s father and mother across the sea, ever and ever so far away from
their dear little girl. Not that Dolly minded so very much. How could
she, when nurse and everybody at the “Gables” petted and indulged her
from morning till night. Besides, if she had not been left at home, she
would never have had those beautiful letters from abroad, and so could
never have read, or pretended to read them to Dodo, and Dodo would
have missed hearing about the funny people and things mother saw on
her travels very very much—at least, that was what Dolly thought.

Dodo was a queer old Japanese doll, very hard, very wooden, and very
ugly! Dolly liked pretty things, of course ; but when father came home
from Japan, and gave Dodo to his little girl, he said, “‘ You’d better be
kind to her, Dolly, or else perhaps she'll cry, and want me to take her
home again.” So Dolly made up her mind she would love her better
68 DOLLY’S OWN IDEA.

than all the dolls in the nursery, better even than Lulu and Fifine, the
French ones: sometimes she would scold these two for being cross and.
jealous. =

“It’s no use,” she would say, “I must love her best! You two are
pretty, and have each other to talk to; Dody is ugly, and hasn’t any
friends.”

Not far from the “Gables” was a beautiful house called the “ Manor,”
which belonged to Dolly's Aunt Amy. Dolly loved to be invited to the
Manor to stay all day, because there were so many delightful things she:
and Dodo could do.

Sometimes, when Dodo was asleep under one of the big trees, auntie
would let Dolly help gather a bunch of roses for Johnny, the lame boy,.
and they would take them to him, and sit beside his bed. And auntie:
would tell poor little Johnny a story, just to cheer him up a bit, and
make him more happy and contented. One day she told him about a
lot of poor children who had never seen any of those beautiful things.
Johnny could see every day through the windows of his mother’s cottage:
—trees, and flowers, and buds, and butterflies. “Ah, poor little things !
they are much worse off than you, Johnny dear.”

“Oh, I know now what I shall do when I’m growed up,” cried Dolly ;.
“IT shaii ask those little girls and boys into my country, and give them
tea on my lawn.” On the way back to the Manor auntie said, “I love
you very much, Dolly dear ; and I think a lot of little children will love:
you too when they hear all about it.” “About what?” said Dolly.

“About your lovely idea. Now, Dolly, suppose I tell you that instead
of those poor children I told Johnny about, having to wait till you ’re:
‘growed up’ before they see the beautiful country, as you said.
Suppose they come to the park on my birthday, and have swings and
roundabouts, and a band of music just like we have at the flower show.”

“Will you ask them, really, really 2” cried Dolly, with glee.

“Yes, really, really,” echoed auntie, “and you too, Dolly.”

“And Dodo?” said Dolly ; “I must bring Dodo, those little children
will be sure to love her, won’t they ?”

The first thing Dolly did when that very wonderful day came was.
to pop out of bed and peep out of the window.

“Come, wake up, Dodo,” she cried, “it’s such a booful day !’”

DOLLY’S OWN IDEA. 69

and when she thought the old doll was wide awake, she began to dress
her up in the French doll’s clothes, because they were much smarter than
cher own.

“Look, nursie!” she said, when Dodo’s toilet was completed, “isn’t
she a lovely little girl! Youll kiss her now, won’t you?”

“Kiss her! Not I!” cried nurse, “ you won’t catch me kissing such
a little scarecrow as that!”

“Never mind,” said Dolly, just the least bit offended with nurse :
“never mind, Dodo, the little boys and girls will kiss you, darling.”

And up at the Manor what a bustle everybody was in, getting ready
for those little
boys and girls.
‘There were
men putting
up swings,
and tents, and
roundabouts,
and long tables
under the park
trees. As to
the bottles of
lemonade and
ginger - beer —
why, it would
have taken a
very clever
head to count
them !




















70 DOLLY'S OWN IDEA.

As soon as the clock struck twelve, the park gates were opened and
in the children came. ‘Three vans full! although all that Dolly could see
was a crowd of hats and caps and pocket handkerchiefs waving like mad,
Almost before the vans stopped the children clambered down and began
tumbling, and racing, and tearing about the cool green grass.

Dolly thought she had never seen such strange children before. Some
of them came quite close up to her and touched her frock, or her curls, ~
as if they wanted to see whether she was a real live little girl or not.
You see they had never seen such a dainty little maid before. Of
course they did not stop admiring Dolly long, there were so many
other delightful things to enjoy. First of all there was lunch under the
big trees. Dolly never, never saw pies and tarts and sausage rolls and -
sandwiches disappear so fast before. After lunch there were games, and
races up and down the long avenues, romps in the hay field, swings,
and rides round the park in a pretty little donkey cart.

By tea-time Dolly had made a great many friends ; but the one she
liked best was a little girl who had no mother, and who told Dolly that
at home she had five dear little oyster shells to play “dinners” with, and
that when she found an old cabbage leaf, or a bit of orange peel, she had
a party, and asked the other children in the court to come, and they ate
the cabbage and the orange peel off the nice little oyster shells. When
the little girl told Dolly that sometimes she made a rag baby out of her
big sister’s coarse apron, but said, ‘‘ Not such a beauty as your’n though,”
Dolly was so delighted that she let.
the little girl nurse “Dodo” all the
rest of the time. “There!” she said,
“T told you somebody would love you
some day, Dodo.”

“Don’t nobody love her?” said the
little girl.

‘Tm ’fraid not,” said Dolly, “ only
me, and she’s such a good little
thing.”

“JT wish I had her in our
~ Court,” said the little girl,
hugging Dodo up in her arms,

















and kissing her almost as lovingly as Dolly. ‘‘ We’d treat her like a, little
princess, and we’d give her the best of our oyster shells to have her dinner
on. She should have sister’s old flower-baskets to sleep in—that’s nice,
that is, an’ smells of wiolets. Youd like to be my little gal, wouldn’t yer?”

“Do you think everybody would love her, everybody?” said Dolly,
and if I let her come and stay with you, may I come and see



“and
her sometimes ?”

“Yes, if the good lady will let you.”

“ And could we have a party and the oyster shells ?”

“Yes, that we would,” said the little girl smothering Dodo's face

with kisses, for she felt it was already her very own.

“ Auntie, darling,” said Dolly, when the lovely treat was at an end.
“Dodo is going away on a visit with this little girl, who loves her ever
and ever so much. She’s going to be a princess, and she’s going to have
dinner on a lovely shell—look, the little girl’s given me one. Kiss Dodo,

auntie, kiss her good-bye.”
72 DOLLY’S OWN IDEA.

Auntie kissed Dodo, and so did Dolly, over and over again, ‘“‘Good-
bye, good-bye,” she said, waving her little hands. Dozens and dozens of
other little hands waved good-bye too, as the vans full of tired, happy
children rolled out of the park.

“Dolly, darling,” said auntie, as she tucked her up in her own pretty
white bed, “ what’s that in your little hand ?”

“Just my dear little shell—it makes me think of Dodo. Do you
ae the little girl really loves her, auntie?”

“Yes, that I do.”

“And you'll take me to see her some day ?”

“Yes, that I will,” said auntie, kissing her.

“‘Good-night, auntie.”

Then Dolly fell fast asleep, and I think Dolly's angel must have
smiled very lovingly upon the little maid, as angels do one when little
children have been kind to one another.

L. HASKELL.

Poor Dolly is Tired.

Eo Dolly is tired, we’ve roamed all the day,
My darling old Dolly and I;
The lambs in the field looked so pretty at play,
All under the blue summer sky.

Then we met a big dog at the end of our street,
I think he was only in fun,

But he barked very loud, and he frightened my sweet,
So Dolly and I had to run.

And when we got home she was tired, you see,
I think she’d a pain in her head ;
She’s taken no food, but a spoonful of tea,
And so I have put her to bed.
Hf. M. BURNSIDE.


Poor Dolly's kired.,


Be Mountain boliday.

us OOK, Gerald,” cried Flossie, “‘isn’t this a pretty sketch of father’s ?”

“Oh, that one with the goats,” said Gerald. “Yes! shouldn’t
I like to be where that big one is standing. Fancy! by this day week
we shall be all amongst the mountains.”

“Tt seems too lovely to believe!” said Flossie. “I have always
longed to go, and to bring back the two white goats for my little cart.”

“That’s all you think of!” cried Gerald. eae
‘““T wish you were a boy, and cared for the
things I do; we’d have such fine times, going
about exploring, while father sketches. Girls
would be right enough if they weren't so
timid.”

“But I see no good,” said Flossie, “in
getting for ever into scrapes.”

“What’s that about
‘scrapes’ ?” said their
father. “You must
promise to keep clear of
them, at any rate whilst
we are away, for I shall
not be able to look after
you always.”

A week later the
travellers reached the
Swiss vil-
lage where
they were
to stay.

Next
morning
the — chil-

















74 A MOUNTAIN HOLIDAY.

dren. were up early and looking out of their sitting - room
window. 7

“So you are enjoying yourselves already !” said their father, coming
in. “T shall not begin work till to-morrow, so we will go and look up ~
Carl, the wood-carver, | am told he has two pretty white ‘nannies,’
and it might be as well to secure them,”

“Oh, how glad I am!” said Flossie. “Should we bring them here ?”

‘No, my dear; they are better where they are, with Marie to attend
to them.” “ Who’s Marie?” asked the children,

“She is Carl’s granddaughter. I remember her last year—a good,
useful, little maiden.”

“TI should like her to come and play with us!” said Flossie.

“So she shall, if Carl can spare her sometimes. But here’s break-
fast,” cried Mr Walters.

* * * * * * *

Marie was in her grandfather's work-room, setting out his prettiest
things, when suddenly she heard voices, and saw Mr Walters and his
little boy and girl in the doorway. She seemed pleased to see the children,
who began to ask her all sorts of questions, and told her they were going
to buy lots of her pretty things. The goats were brought out to be ad-
mired. Mr Walters agreed to purchase them, and then he and the children
left, after inviting Marie to come and sec them next day.

Gerald and Flossie did not forget that Marie was to pay them a
visit, and so on the following day, they raced along —
in high spirits to fetch her, lest she should be too
shy to come alone. Maric was ready, waiting for
them; and Carl,
after offering the
children a drink
of goat’s milk, of
which they were
very fond, watched
them all off, his
kind eyes full of
love for his little
granddaughter.
Mou nrain



ee to

Goats.


A MOUNTAIN HOLIDAY.

The children passed a long after-
noon together. They played at
different games, which were all new
to Marie, who was very happy, and
felt she already loved the English
boy and girl dearly.

And go the days went joyously
along, and the childven were behaving
well. Marie was often with them, or
rather she and Flossie were a great
deal together. One morning the
little Swiss girl asked, “ What for
terald no more play with us?”

“Oh, you must not mind him,”
said Flossie; ‘‘ he docs not mean to
be unkind; he never cares long for
‘games that girls can play at. He
Rie all sorts of dangers and adven-
tures; he’s going all over the world,
when he’s big, like Columbus, you
know, and J: Tact: and-the-Beanstalk.
Tf you like I'll tell you about
them.”

Flossie had nearly finished some
wonderful histories, and Marie was
listening with wide open eyes, when
Gerald came along.

“Here you are,” cried Flossie.
“Oh, your coat is torn. Where can
you have been?”

“Tt’s nothing,” said Gerald. “1 was trying to get to that piece of
grass where we saw the sheep yesterday, and it isn’t so easy. I say,
Maric ! there’ s «a better way to it through your garden; let us



all go!’
pat Marie firmly refused, as did Flossie, on which Gerald quite lost

his temper. “It’s just like a girl !” he eried. ‘I should have thought
76 A MOUNTAIN HOLIDAY.

you were used to climbing. You are two babies, and I shall go without

129

you!
* * * * * * Kei

That evening, Carl was listening for Marie, who. had gone to fetch
the sheep home. He was wondering why she stayed so long, when Mr
Walters and Flossie came in. ‘Have you seen my boy?” he asked.
“No, indeed!” cried Carl; “and I can’t think what keeps Marie,” and
he hastened with them back to the hotel,

“Father,” said Flossie, suddenly, “Marie cried to-day, because
Gerald was cross when she wouldn’t go with him along that sheep path
you showed us. Do you think they’ve gone after all?” me

“We will seek that way first,” he said. The good landlord scarcely
needed-a word; he and half a dozen others were soon ready to join in
the search for the children. No trace was found of them on the spot
Flossie had spoken of. Marie’s sheep were still grazing, and gave no
sign of her.

At last, as the landlord and two goat-herds descended by the way.
they had gone up, they heard a faint call, and looking below they caught
sight of the children, sitting on a grassy ledge.

It was not much of a task for one of the young fellows to swing
himself down, and by the help of ropes all three.were safely landed up
again,

Tt seems Marie had heard a ery of distress as she went to fetch the
sheep, and had discovered Gerald clinging to a narrow ledge below.
Without a thought of her own danger, she had got to him, and helped
him move to where the space was wider; and when they both recovered
breath, they had tried, though in vain, to find a round-about way of
returning. It was whilst they were thus out of sight for a time that the
search-party first passed, and so missed them,

The rest of the holiday passed quickly, and a warm farewell was
taken of these kind mountain friends. Each carried home a reminder of
the?visit. Mr Walters had his sketches, Flossie her white goats, and
Gerald, in addition to other things, certainly went away with a new idea
for him, namely, that a eirl could be brave.

ELLIS WALTON.
A Wew Friend.

T was the end of August. Amy
and Trot Merton had been play-
ing hide-and-seek, and .were now
resting under a tree in their lovely
garden, watching the boats passing
to and fro on the blue strip of
water, called the Loch, which was
not far off, when suddenly there
was the sound of a tune softly
whistled, and looking up they saw
a strange boy's head above the
wall of thg next door garden
He had a sunburnt face, and
dark laughing eyes. ‘‘ Hullo!” he
cried.
Amy and Trot stopped, in blank
surprise; then Trot asked shyly, “Is that all of you?”

‘No, there’s a little more,” said the boy ; and he flung up his feet,
and sat on the wall.

‘““Where’s your brothers and sisters?” went on Trot.

“Oh, that’s what you meant,” he said. ‘I haven’t any. Shall I
come and play with you ?”

“Yes,” cried Amy; “and you shall see the fowls and rabbits.”

“ And the guinea-pigs and gold fish!” added Trot.

At this, their new friend dropped down beside them. He told
them his name was Fred Summers, and that he was on a visit, next
door, to his grandmother, though his home was in London. — The children
spent a merry morning together, looking at the pets and playing all
sorts of games. At last the church clock struck one.

“T must go in, now,” said Fred. “Granny’s very punctual at


78 A NEW FRIEND.

meals, I’ll come again, when I can.” And away he went, over the
wall.

Amy and Trot looked in vain for Fred the next two mornings; he
had to go out with his grandmother. But on the third day they were
crossing the lawn, meaning to take a peep over the wall, when both
children gave a startled scream, as a terrible yell sounded from the
branches of their favourite tree, and down sprang Fred almost on to
them.

“T tell you what,” said Fred, “you two shall come into our place,
to-day. I’ve lots to show you.”

““T don’t think we may,” said Amy. “I should love to see it, but
we were told to keep in the garden.”

“Well,” cried Fred, “a garden’s a garden; why shouldn’t you come
into our part of it?” and he caught up Trot, and lifted her over the low
bit of the wall. Amy followed, saying to herself that perhaps there was
no harm in going for a little while. At the end of the lawn was a small
white gate. “Is that your ground, beyond it?” asked Amy.

s “Yes,” said Fred,
“T’m going to give you
asurprise.” He let them
through, and made them














A NEW FRIEND. 79

race down a grassy slope. ‘This led to a path between two walls; they
passed down it, went out at another gate at the bottom, and then
turning sharp round, lo! and behold—the blue water of the loch was at
their feet. Amy and Trot gave a little shout of wonder.

“T’ll go in a boat!” cried Trot.

“No, no,” said Amy ; “not without father and mother; we must be
going home, now.” ‘What nonsense!” returned I'red. “ Why, it isn’t
twelve o'clock, yet, and I’ve thought of a rare spree. There’s the boat
just starting for the opposite shore and back ; let us take a run across.”

“No, indeed!” declared Amy. “Come along, Trot; we must go
and see how the rabbits are getting on.”

But Trot stood still, and began to cry loudly. ‘I will go im the
boat!” she said, stamping her tiny foot.

oh say,” coaxed Fred, “we ’re close to the landing stage; and I can
take care of you.” Trot looked up through her tears. “ You will go,
won't you, dear Amy?” she pleaded.

Poor Amy looked distressed, and partly yielding.

“There!” cried Fred. ‘I knew you would. I’ve plenty of money
for the fares. Come on—she’s just off!”

They reached the little steamer, and Fred hurried them over the
gangway.

Once on board, it was so delightful that Amy soon brightened up,
and presently they were off. Trot ran about the deck in great glee, her
long curls blowing in the breeze. After a time, a man came up to Fred,
who thought it was the collector wanting the fares. ‘“ Hullo!” cried
Fred ; “we’re not going straight across.”

‘““ Across, indeed! why, we’re bound for Eastport.”

“How far is it?” gasped Fred in dismay.

“Twelve miles, at least!”

“Oh!” cried Fred, “we are in the wrong boat!”

Amy and Trot, learning what had happened, began to cry bitterly.
The idea of their parents’ anger was as nothing compared to the thought
of the alarm they would feel when no children appeared at the usual hour.
They were now getting to the open sea, and the boat pitched a good
deal. The captain passed them on his way below. ‘‘ Well, well—cheer
up!” he cried, when he heard the case. ‘‘There’s nothing for it but to


0) A NEW FRIEND.

come on, now, I suppose. I shall land you at Eastport, and send you
home by train.”

He was a kind-hearted man, and gave them some dinner. By and
by they went on deck again, and they soon guessed why it was not pro-
posed for them to return by boat; the sea was really very rough for so
small a vessel; the day had grown cold and stormy, and the poor little
girls had only light summer dresses on. The captain made them as
comfortable as he could, in a corner, securing them by a rope to a seat,
and covering them with two thick coats.

“Tsay,” said Fred, “I’m real sorry. I’d have given a quarter’s
pocket money sooner than this should happen !”

Here a big lurch stopped any further talk for the moment; time
wore on, till at last a message was sent from the captain
that they would be on shore now directly.

Then came the landing, and the waiting for a
train; and how annoying were the constant stoppings
on that slow country line. It was quite dark when the
journey was over, and Amy and Fred looked anxiously
from the window. ‘Trot was fast asleep.

“T must try to carry her home!” Fred was just
saying, when the door was thrust open, and a cheery
voice said, ‘“‘ Come along—give her to me! I know all
about it!” and in a moment, Amy and Trot were in
their father’s arms.

That kind-hearted captain, after he had sent the
children to the station, had bethought him-
self that he would telegraph to their people
to say they were safe and on their way
back, so here were their parents in a carriage
to meet them. They, too, had had a terrible
time, as may be imagined; but the children
had suffered enough, and there was to
be no scolding, even for naughty

Fred.
ELLIS WALTON.


















A dbappy Day.

2 ORA, wake up. It is time for us to be going!” and as Tom spoke,
he gave his sister’s shoulder a little pinch. It was Tom’s birth-
day, and he and his sister had had permission to do as they liked for one
whole day, so they had decided to spend it in the woods. They were
soon creeping down-stairs.
“Tt’s very early,” said Tom, “ but we must get something to eat.”
In the pantry
they found a plum-
cake, a gooseberry
tart, and milk.
Having had per-
mission to eat
what they liked,
Tom and. Dora
helped themselves
to the plum-cake
and drank some
milk. The rest
of the milk they
put into a bottle,
and tied up a large
piece of gooseberry
tart in a handker-
chief. * Hulloa,
Dora,” cried Tom
suddenly, ‘‘ your
hair does look
funny. Just lke
our doe’s, it hangs
all over your eyes.”
EF


82 A HAPPY DAY.

“So it does,” said Dora, tossing back her yellow curls. “Oh, how I
wish I had short hair like yours!” “I'll cut your ringlets off for you, if
you like. They ’re always in the way, and very girlish.” “But may you
cut them off? would mother like it?” “We may do just as we like
to-day. etch the scissors.” In a minute Dora returned and gave the
scissors to Tom. ‘Bend down your head,” said he. “‘ Now, here goes!”
And one little curl after another fell on to the floor. “Look like a boy,
do I?” questioned Dora. “You aren’t pretty,” he answered. “I don’t
care, if I look like you.” Then they stole out of the house, through the
garden, and across the orchard. “Hist,” called Tom suddenly, when at
last they neared the woods. ‘There goes a squirrel. I’ll have that
fellow!” But the squirrel thought differently. He scudded from tree to
tree, leading Tom a fine dance. At last, settling on a high bough of an
oak, his bright eyes looked down as much as to say, “Catch me if you
can, Mr Boaster.”

“Tom, come here. I’ve found some lilies of the valley,” called Dora.
“All right, pick away. I’ve heaps of flowers here.” “But my hands are
full, where can I put them all?” Tom looked up. “I suppose we must
eat our dinner,” he said, ‘‘and then tie up the flowers in the handkerchief,

: Here, lendahand. Hold up
your frock, and I’ll empty
all the flowers into it. Now,
: to find a nice place where:

ee a we can have dinner.”
% e A >) \ ‘Look at that queer little
Z Ae WANN girl!” exclaimed Dora, “ by
ae Ly ~~ ~ that little black hut. See,
ae an old man is sitting there
smoking his pipe.” ‘“ What
. a rum looking place,” said
Wiebe Tom ; “and see, what’s the little girl
| doing to her doll?” She was beating it
| Hl ie with a piece of stick ; then the children

\\ lt saw her fling it with all her little

strength against a tree. Presently she
==. picked it up, and was bending over it.
















|







“Of faylor

Dora went up to the
little girl. “ What
are you doing to
your doll?” she
asked. ‘Polly hates
her doll,” said the
old man, “and that’s
her way of playing
with it. But I must
ask you to run away
now, little “uns, I’m
tired an’ wants my
smoke, an’ my mid-
day rest.” ‘“* What
have you been work-
ing at?” asked Tom.
“T’m a wood-cutter, ARV
an’ I minds sheep
meanwhile.” “We haven't seen any sheep,” said Dora. “ Go round the
corner youll see them. Now, off with you. Come, Poll.” The little
eirl went to him hugging her doll, and lying down on an old coat at the
man’s feet, curled herself round. ‘They ’re going to sleep, I do believe,”
said Tom. “We'll go and find the sheep.” ‘‘ Here are the sheep !” cried
Dora, “oh, pretty things!” “It’s a jolly nice place,” said Tom. ‘“ Well
sit just behind those trees, then we shan’t frighten them. Get out the
good things.” In a very short time the things were eaten up. “I’m
very warm,” said Tom, “shall we lie here under this tree?” ‘Yes, we
will,” agreed Dora, stretching out the tired little limbs that had wandered
so many miles. Tinkle, tinkle, went the sheep bell.



* * * * * * *
“Come, little uns, wake up. Look alive, it’s time you was in
your folds.” It was the woodeutter calling the children. Up they

jumped, and followed the woodcutter, till they reached their home.
There, sitting on their mother’s knee, they told their adventures. And,
if a tear or two fell from mother over the cropped little head of her
darling, she could not find it in her heart to scold.
El
adsay
ff airy.

T was a_ lovely
place, that little
wood. At Ellie’s feet,
as she ran down the
path, there was a soft
carpet of the greenest
moss which crept all
about the great roots
of the old trees. There
were wild hyacinths
growing so thickly that they looked like a piece of the sky, Hllie thought ;
ad ee were cowslips. lle quite forgot that she was to go heen
quickly to her little invalid sister, Winnie; she forgot everything but
the sun and the flowers and the sweet spring air. Among the hawthorn
trees on the edge of the wood there was a stile. She climbed up to the
top rail and sat there with the beautiful pink and white blossoms all
about her. A lark was singing over a distant field, and a little brook
was trickling busily along close by. Ellie had thought, ever since the
May came out, that surely fairies must live in that little wood. She
looked up into the hawthorn boughs and thought about it seriously.
Perhaps, after all, they did not come to the wood because it was too near
houses. If so, they must certainly live, Ellie thought, in the water-
meadows, and she was going for a pic-nic there on the very next day.
If she stole away all by herself and waited very patiently, she would
be sure to see them then. It was such an exciting thought, and Hllie’s
head was so full of it, that she never thought how the afternoon was


A MAY FAIRY. 85

slipping away, until she heard the church clock strike five. And then
she ran back to the house. ‘‘ Ellie,” called Winnie, when she went in to
the nursery. ‘Ellie, I’m to go out to-morrow! Into the garden! And
-mother says we may have tea out there together—you and me! Oh!”
Winnie's little white face grew suddenly clouded; “It’s the picnic, you
won't be here.” ‘ Yes,” said Ellie, “it’s the picnic!” ‘She did not see the
tears in Winnie's
eyes. She was
thinking of no-
thing but the
fairies. And she
was thinking of
them still when
bed-time came.
She had been ly-
ing awake in her
little white bed
for quite a long
time, it seemed to
her, when gradu-
ally she became
aware of a sound
in the room. It
was the sound of
a lark singing.
“It’s a pity Ellie
doesn’t know!
It’s a pity Ellie
doesn’t know!”
It was not the
lark’s voice that
said these words ;
they seemed to
form themselves
out of the trick-
ling sound made


86 A MAY FAIRY.

by a little brook. But the lark answered them, ‘‘ What a pity! What
a pity!” And then there came another voice which was faint and sweet
and murmuring, like the sound made by the movements of the trees and
the wind as it stole through them. ‘She will look for us in the lonely
water-meadows, but she will not find us there. We are close to her at
home when she is kind to Winnie, and if she stopped at home to-morrow
she might see us.” It seemed only a moment more before Ellie opened
her eyes, to find the sun streaming in at the windows. She got out of
bed quite slowly, thinking of the fairy voices she had heard, and after
breakfast she said: ‘“‘ Mother, dear, may I stay at home, and have tea
with Winnie?” Perhaps Ellie felt a little bit as though she did not quite
deserve the loving kiss with which her mother told her that she might stay.
She knew that she was thinking more of the fairies than of Winnie. But
Ellie had soon quite forgotten why she had stayed at home, and was
wondering how she could have left her sister alone so
much. They played all day long, and when they parted
with a good-night kiss, Ellie fell asleep as soon as her
head touched the pillow. But she had not been asleep
long when she felt herself gradually waked up by a
sweet, fresh scent, and Ellie recognised dreamily that it
was the smell of May. ‘“Hillie!” On the foot of her
bed or hovering just above it, there was a figure
with beautiful gauzy wings. It was
clothed in delicate pink and white, and
its lovely little head was crowned with
os tiny May flowers. It had beau-

F x tiful deep blue eyes, and as Ellie
\ \ lay and gazed at it, she seemed
\\\
J










to see all about it a host of

other fairy figures. “ At home,
7 Hllie, at home!” Ellie stretched
out her hands. ‘Take me to
fairyland, dear May fairy!” she
cried, softly. Again the fairy
voices came. ‘Fairyland is
everywhere, is everywhere, Ellie.”
And then the voices died away again, and the fairies vanished.
MARY ANGELA DICKENS.

LARS

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