Front Cover
 Front Matter
 Half Title
 Title Page
 List of Illustrations
 Table of Contents
 Viola, the little Marchioness
 The other-wise man
 About Miss Dorothy Bell
 The old man's holy house
 Christmas at the home
 The little pink cake
 The old man's story
 Madonna Beatricia
 Back Cover

Group Title: Dear little Marchioness : the story of a child's faith and love
Title: Dear little Marchioness
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00082877/00001
 Material Information
Title: Dear little Marchioness the story of a child's faith and love
Physical Description: 60 p., 3 leaves of plates : ill. ; 22 cm.
Language: English
Creator: Tracy, A
Gailor, Thomas Frank, 1856-1935 ( Author of introduction )
Taylor, W. L ( Illustrator )
Thomas Y. Crowell & Co ( Publisher )
C.J. Peters & Son ( Typographer )
Publisher: Thomas Y. Crowell & Company
Place of Publication: New York
Manufacturer: Typography by C.J. Peters & Son
Publication Date: c1895
Subject: Christian life -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Children and death -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Yellow fever -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
African Americans -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Loyalty -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Inheritance and succession -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Abduction -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Discrimination -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Bldn -- 1895
Genre: novel   ( marcgt )
Spatial Coverage: United States -- New York -- New York
United States -- Massachusetts -- Boston
Statement of Responsibility: with an introduction by Bishop Gailor ; illustrated by W.L. Taylor.
 Record Information
Bibliographic ID: UF00082877
Volume ID: VID00001
Source Institution: University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved by the source institution and holding location.
Resource Identifier: aleph - 002225334
notis - ALG5606
oclc - 226871134

Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Front Cover 1
        Front Cover 2
    Front Matter
        Front Matter 1
        Front Matter 2
    Half Title
        Half Title 1
        Half Title 2
    Title Page
        Title Page 1
        Title Page 2
    List of Illustrations
        List of Illustrations 1
        List of Illustrations 2
        Preface 1
        Preface 2
    Table of Contents
        Table of Contents 1
        Table of Contents 2
    Viola, the little Marchioness
        Page 1
        Page 2
        Page 2a
        Page 3
        Page 4
        Page 5
        Page 6
    The other-wise man
        Page 7
        Page 8
        Page 9
        Page 10
        Page 11
        Page 12
        Page 13
        Page 14
        Page 15
        Page 16
    About Miss Dorothy Bell
        Page 17
        Page 18
        Page 19
        Page 20
        Page 21
    The old man's holy house
        Page 22
        Page 23
        Page 24
        Page 25
        Page 26
        Page 27
    Christmas at the home
        Page 28
        Page 29
        Page 30
        Page 31
        Page 32
        Page 33
    The little pink cake
        Page 34
        Page 35
        Page 36
        Page 37
        Page 38
        Page 39
        Page 40
        Page 41
        Page 42
        Page 42a
    The old man's story
        Page 43
        Page 44
        Page 45
        Page 46
        Page 47
        Page 48
        Page 49
        Page 50
        Page 51
        Page 52
        Page 53
    Madonna Beatricia
        Page 54
        Page 55
        Page 56
        Page 57
        Page 58
        Page 59
        Page 60
    Back Cover
        Back Cover 1
        Back Cover 2
Full Text

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THE TREES". .... . ... 3



THIS simple story was written by one who
ministered in person to the sick and dying
during the epidemic of yellow fever in the
city of Memphis in 1878.
It is the story of a child's faith and love;
and it will appeal to those who, in passing
through dark waters, have found their help and
blessing in the unquestioning trust of child-
For all of us, men and women, the experi-
ence of suffering is the opportunity of faith;
and the wise of this world are still return-
ing, and shall return, to find the star of their
peace standing over.the place where the Young
Child is.
MEMPHIS, TENN., All Saints, 1894.













IT was seven by her watch, as Miss Dorothy
came out from the church porch and hastened
up the street in the direction of the open
country. It was a clear morning in October,
in the epidemic of yellow-fever in Bluff City,
in eighteen hundred and seventy-eight.
Miss Dorothy's mind was turning over the
days of the week. Was it Sunday? All days
were the Lord's days in this terrible time,
when his hand lay heavy upon the people.
She had arrived at the conclusion that it was
Sunday, when her attention was attracted by
a hearse passing rapidly along the road before
her. There was nothing unusual in this sight
at any hour of the day; but what did seem


unusual to Miss Dorothy was to see a little
girl dressed in white, seated up by the side
of the hearse-driver. There was no time for
inquiry, for the hearse hurried on to the right
and Miss Dorothy to the left, till she came in
sight of a cottage standing by itself in a garden
of roses.
She was very tired. She had sat up all
night with a poor woman who had died at
daybreak. Since then she had performed
home duties, and had spent a half-hour in the
quiet church, interceding for the staying of
the plague, and praying for strength to bear
another day's burden of work and sorrow.
Now she was hastening to a home where the
gentle flower of the family had lain ill for
four days.
As she neared the cottage she saw a small
white hearse standing at the gate. It told all.
Before she could reach the door, two young
girls had run to meet her,- their arms were
about her neck, they were sobbing out their
grief. "Oh, she is gone! What shall we do
without her, our little sister! She asked for
you, Miss Dorothy; she held the flowers you


Page 3.


brought her in her -little hand at the last."
" You will go with us, Miss Dorothy, to the
cemetery, oh, you will! There is no priest to
go; and you will say the prayers, will you
Miss Dorothy went.
An hour later, coming out of the cemetery,
she saw a little girl running wildly around
among the trees, frightened and crying aloud,
evidently lost.
Miss Dorothy recognized her at once as the
same child she had seen seated on the hearse.
She was dressed in a simple white silk frock,
with a black scarf folded about her head like
a hood, with the long ends crossed over her
shoulders, one end now dragging on the ground
as she ran wildly about.
Miss Dorothy soon had her arm around the
frightened little thing. Are you lost, dear
child? "
"Yes, yes !" she screamed.
"Who lost you, dear?"
"Oh, the man who drove, he forgot me. He
has gone."
How long ago?"


"Oh, after they put grandpa under the
ground I was afraid, though I know he will
come up as a flower, and I hid behind the
trees, and when I ran back they were gone.
Oh, you take me back now to Uncle Wise "
"Where do you live ?"
"I can't think of where, now. We have
been there five days, grandpa, Uncle Wise, and
I. We were going up to some beautiful place,
but grandpa took the fever and has gone. I
don't think he has gone to the same beautiful
place where we were going; but I will ask
Uncle Wise, he can tell me, he knows every-
thing, he is wise, you know."
"What is your name, dear? "
"I was papa's 'little Marchioness,' but I am
grandpapa's 'Viola Lea' now," she said looking
up into Miss Dorothy's face. Oh, but he is
dead," she added with a little shudder. Then,
I suppose, I am just Uncle Wise's 'little mis-
tress,' I belong now just to him. But that
can't be either," she added, perplexed, "for he
says he belongs to me."
"Why did he not come here with you,


"Oh, yesterday he took the fever too !" she
said plaintively, then added suddenly, "and I
ought to go back to him now, poor old Uncle
Wise. But may I have some water first, I am
so thirsty ?" Miss Dorothy took the little hands
in hers. They were burning hot. She lifted
the child into the carriage and drove to her
own home.

"I cannot imagine whose child she is," said
Miss Dorothy, a few days later, to young Dr.
Day, as they came out of the small nursery
where the little Marchioness now lay conva-
lescent, happy and hungry. "She might have
come to us from the moon for all I can find
"More likely," said the doctor, "she has
come to us from Italy. That lovely little face
is the finest type of Italian beauty, and the
voice agrees."
"How absurd, doctor! you simply imagine
that. For my part, I hope she is not. I dis-
like the Italians, they are so very"-
Well, there are Italians and Italians, Miss
Dorothy. Perhaps you have never had the


pleasure of knowing the choice people of that
sunny land. Good-by," and off the doctor
But the next day there came a note from
him, saying:-

"There is an old colored man going about from house
to house in the city, inquiring for a little girl named
'Viola Lea.' My father has sent him out to the Home
to you."




THE meeting between the old man and his
little mistress -was very affecting. Even Miss
Dorothy was obliged to wipe away some tears,
she who was not much given to crying, hav-
ing so many other more important things to
"Why, little mistis, honey, you has given
ole Uncle Wise a heap o' trouble. I's looked
fur you high an' low, all over dis big town.
Whut you go an' treat ole Uncle Wise daterway
fur? Why'd you go to yo' grandpa's funeral
when I wuz too sick to go with you? Who
tuk you thar, anyhow, little miss ?"
"Oh, of course I wanted to go to poor
grandpapa's funeral, Uncle Wise; I was not
going to stay away because you were sick.
I ran down to the front-door and told the
people to order me a carriage, but they did


not mind me; so I begged the man who drove
grandpa to take me up on the seat with him,
and he let me go. He was ever so good to
me, I think."
"But what made you, honey, want to go
out to dat graveyard an' git lost?"
"Oh, I wanted to see where they put dear
grandpapa. And I thought there would be a
church, and some flowers, and some singing;
but there was not."
"No, honey. I reckon it wuz a mighty po'
funeral fur a gran' gent'man like master. It
would er bin a po' one even fur me; nobody to
sing no hymns, nobody to weep, nobody to say
no prayer!"
"Yes, indeed there was, Uncle Wise," ex-
claimed the little child eagerly. "I wept, and
I sang a hymn, and said a prayer."
"Why hear de chile! Whut hymn did you
sing? An' whut prayer did you know how to
say, blessed heart?"
"Oh, I sang,

'I am Jesus' little lamb,'

and-well, Uncle Wise, I was troubled about


the prayer. I thought of the one grandpa
taught me,
Now I lay me down to sleep,'

and I thought, and I thought, and then I
changed it a little bit and said it."
How did you change it, sugar-plum ? whut
wuz de way you sez it?"
The little child sat up in bed, and clasping
her tiny white hands, said solemnly,

"Now I lay me down to sleep,
I pray thee, Lord, my soul to keep,
Grandpa has died, but he will wake,
I pray thee, Lord, his soul to take.

"Amen! echoed Uncle Wise, "dat wuz a
good prayer, dearie."
Miss Dorothy listened in amazement to the
child, who soon began to chatter away again.
"When I am a little stronger, Uncle Wise, I
will come and live with you."
"To be sho, little mistis, to be sho. I am in
a cur'us little house now, but a mighty good
one. It's in a gardin wid de fruit-trees aside


"How nice! I am so glad! And did you
build it? And did you take all grandpa's
things, and his trunk and -mine to the little
garden house ?"
"Now, honey," said the old man, "I hoped
you wouldn't ax yit 'bout de things. But bein'
as you hev axed, I'm bound to answer. They's
all gone. When I got up from de fever, they
wuzn't no whar. Some 'lowed as the officers of
health burned some of 'em, an' others 'lowed
they wuz all stole. I knows thar wuz too
many colored folks 'round in dat boardin'-house.
Yes, all's gone. Yo' grandpa's watch, an'
my big silver watch whut he give me on my
birthday. My heart's bin mighty troubled
'bout it all."
"Never mind, Uncle Wise; you shall wear
my little watch, that is saved. Dear Miss Dor-
othy is keeping it for me. But, Uncle Wise,
tell Miss Dorothy about me, and why I am a
marchioness, and all about grandpapa and
everything,-and how it is that you are the
wise man, the other-wise man, I mean."
"Well, little mistis, let me see," said the old
man, rubbing his white woolly head. "'Pears


like I can't tell 'bout master jes' now, an' the
titles an' so. I'm kinder hindered."
"Why, have you forgotten it all, Uncle
Wise ?"
No, I can't say as I has forgot, but he
Was your master an Italian gentleman ? "
asked Miss Dorothy.
No, marm, no, marm. He wuz a Tennessee
gent'man, ev'y inch of him, marm."
There was silence for a few minutes. The
little Marchioness lay back on her pillows look-
ing searchingly at the old man, who sat very
erect in the armchair at the foot of her bed,
passing his hand slowly over his dark brow.
Had he really forgotten, as she had forgotten?
And was he ashamed to confess it?
"Least-wise," said Uncle Wise, breaking the
silence, "I can tell de lady how I got de name
of Wise. It wuz in the war, marm. Young
master, whut wuz afterward ole master, had
gone up to he'p fight de battle of Murfreesburr.
An' ole mistis, his mother, an' Miss Viola, his
wife, whut wuz a sainted lady, wuz a breaking'
they hearts at home 'bout him; when here comes


de Yankee soldiers to our place an' sez to us
colored folks, You are free; now you come
an' jine our army, an' we'll give you twenty
dollars an' a new blue coat.' An' de rest of 'em
went. An' when master he come home an'
fine jes me protection' de place an' de ladies, he
sez with a kind er bitterness in his voice,' Well,
John, dat wuz a very good offer de Yankee
capt'in made you. Wuzn't it a little foolish
in you not to 'cept it?' An' I sez, 0 master,
I wuz too wise a man to gwine away from de
ole place an' mistis.' An' he kinder laugh an'
sez, 'Why, most folks will think you other-
wise.' Den they all laugh an' begin to call me
de wise man an' de other-wise man.' Mars-
ter he sez, So de capt'in sez you wuz free, did
he? Well, John, you've bin free fur seven
year. Dem wuz yo' freedom papers whut my
mother give you dat Christmas.' Den master
tuck out a twenty dollar Confederet note an'
sez, 'Teck this, John Wise; it is not ez good
ez de "green-back," but teck good keer of de
mistis an' yo' Miss Viola, an' if I be killed in
de war an' never come back agin, they'll shyly
reward you an' give you two blue coats with


brass buttons on 'em, you dear ole other-wise
"But dat wuz not de way it wuz. Marster
he did come back, but ole mistis' an' Miss Viola
they had sickened an' died, they wuz dat
troubled with life.
Miss Viola lef' master one dorter, dat wuz
all de chile they had. I tuck her up to Nash-
ville to meet master 'fo' he come home, bein'
it wuz so lonesome like thar. Little mistis,
dat wuz Miss Edith, wuz a beautiful young
lady, twelve or fo'teen year ole after de war.
Marster he idolized her; she wuz all his worl'
to him, an' she sut'n'y wuz pretty. Dat wuz
yo' mama, honey," he said bending toward little
But now it suddenly flashed across the old
man's mind that he was going too far in his
story, so rising quickly, he said good-by and
that he would come again to-morrow.
In the hall below, Miss Dorothy stopped him
and demanded in an imperious tone, "What is
the child's name? and who are her family? "
Uncle Wise stood turning his hat slowly
around in his hand, then said, "Well, now,
marm, dat's whut I can't tell you."


"Why not? Do you not know? "
"Yes, marm, I knows, but I give master a
promise I wouldn't never tell."
"Why, man," cried Miss Dorothy waxing
very angry, "it is perfectly absurd; of course
you will have to give this information; the law
will require it."
"Lady, de law couldn't t'ar it out of me ef I
wuz a mine to keep it. John Wise's word is ez
good ez ernother man's oath. But de leastest
said de soonest mended. When, marm, does
you think de little lady will be well enoughh to
go away with me?"
"To go with you!" cried Miss Dorothy an-
grily. "Do you suppose that you, an old colored
man, are the proper person to have the care of
this child? She shall not leave my house until
I deliver her to her relations."
Uncle Wise's face expressed great sorrow.
The tears were running down his wrinkled
cheeks, his hands trembled violently as he
clasped them before him. Presently he said,
"Well, lady, the good Lord's will be done;
but de master, her grandfather, would have
trusted her with me to de ends of de earth.


But 'pears like you may be right. I'm very ole,
an' am gwine to de blissed home pretty soon, I
reckon. I'll come agin to see her, least-wise
ef I'm not intrudin'." Three low, scraping
bows took him backward out on to the porch,
and Miss Dorothy shut the hall-door in his face.
She felt yery angry with old Uncle Wise for
not telling her about the child; but she felt still
more annoyed with herself for having spoken
harshly to the poor, old, tender-hearted man.
She would have liked to call him back, but she
must go to other duties now; there were other
convalescent children in the Home besides the
little Marchioness. She would have liked to go
to her own room and have a good cry, for she
was nervous and very tired, having lost much
sleep; but she would not permit herself such an
The next day she told Dr. Day of her un-
successful endeavor to get the history of little
Violet Lea from the old family servant. "You
will have to do something about it, doctor; take
him before a lawyer and frighten him into
Suppose we wait a while, Miss Dorothy,"


answered the doctor. "She is a perfect little
darling, and we do not mind keeping her, you
know," he laughed.
"You make me so indignant, Ellett. How
can you talk such nonsense?" retorted Miss
Dorothy. "She is a charming child, but who
would keep her from her own relations? "
All right, we will advertise we will look
them up. Good-by!" He was in his buggy
and gone.




WAS Miss Dorothy's Home an orphan asylum?
and was she the matron? Pray, do not let her
hear you ask the question! No. It all hap-
pened in this way. When the widow Bell died
she left her estate equally to her two children.
Tom was then practising law in New York.
He had married Evelyn Fish (you know of the
New York Fishes! They are very fine folk-
but they were no finer than Tom). After their
mother's death Tom persuaded his sister to
leave the old homestead in Tennessee and come
and make her home with him and his pretty
Miss Dorothy remained their guest for four
weeks. It was the most unhappy month of her
life. She and Evelyn agreed on no subject
whatever. Not that they were disagreeable in


their disagreements; no; they were both true
But Miss Dorothy was thirty-five then; ten
years the senior of the pretty little wife, and
reasonably thought that those ten years might
count for something in an estimate of sensible
knowledge of things stored up. Miss Dorothy
had been pretty too, in her younger days, and
had graced a ball-room dance and given dash
and spirit to the autumn hunt, when a score
of guests had been entertained by the month
in the old Southern homestead before the
war. It was reasonable, then, that she should
express her opinion of how these things should
properly be conducted, notwithstanding the
mischievous smiles that played around the
pretty mouth of the hostess. Then, too, Miss
Dorothy had visited five courts of Europe
with her distinguished father, and had once
spoken French and German as fluently as
English. Was it, then, unreasonable that her
indignant feelings flushed her cheeks red at
the correction of her French by the saucy
Evelyn? All these things she stated to her
brother Tom, when she told him she would


go back to the old homestead and live by
"Tut, tut, Sis," said the loving brother,
"you shall do no such thing. Think how
lonely you would be without the dear mother."
Well, Tom, that I know," and Miss Doro-
thy brushed away a tear; "but I am out of place
here, all my ideas are at variance with Evelyn's.
I suppose I am too old-fashioned."
"Why, you don't want Eva to dress in the
fashion of seventeen years ago, do you, Dot?"
"No, what nonsense; it is not her dress. She
has lovely taste, though I must say I think it
very silly for her to put on those delicate pale
blue and rose silk gowns for breakfast, when
there is no one here to see her."
"Why, I am here," said Tom, laughing.
"But you are her husband! "
"Why, yes; but that's just it."
"Oh! said Miss Dorothy.
Well, you will not be surprised to learn that
Miss Dorothy went back to the old Southern
homestead, her brother giving her his share in
the family estate. So, to keep from being too
lonely, she took three orphan granddaughters


of their old rector to live with her. Soon after
this she took also the two little girls of a third
cousin who had died, leaving her children home-
less and penniless.
"It is no more trouble to take care of ten
children than five," said Miss Dorothy, when
she heard of the sad loss at sea of the good
artist Hiram Pride and his wife. So she added
these five gifted children to her household.
Since then, one by one, four others had come
to stay. It was a most happy household all in
all; for Miss Dorothy was very loving to chil-
dren, though sometimes severe. The homestead
was a grand old house, standing in a grove of
elms in the suburbs of the city. Everything
in and about the place was kept in beautiful
order. Miss Dorothy was a great lover of the
beautiful, and of order.
The lovely and graceful ways of the little
Marchioness made her a very acceptable com-
panion to the lady, and she kept her much with
her, until the righteous thought crossed her
mind that the charm of external graces did not
excuse partiality. That thought ended all un-
usual favors for the little Marchioness. But


Miss Dorothy could not rein up the doctor, who
had taken a "mighty fancy" to the little girl,
as speedily and sternly as she did herself. Her
protestations did not prevent his still bring-
ing flowers and other sweets to his little




NOVEMBER brought a "black frost," and away
fled the pestilence. All the Mississippi Valley
rejoiced and gave thanks. Miss Dorothy and
her Home were very much straitened by want
of money. She had been obliged to give freely
to the poor sick around her, and the two small
houses from which she received her income
were unrented. She would let no one know
of her need, not even that kind brother in
New York. She resolved, instead, to curtail
expenses and live more frugally.
Uncle Wise came around every evening about
sunset to see his little mistress, never without
some gift for her and "the lady," even though
it were but two apples or a few flowers. Poor
old Wise -he looked ill and worn. His fine
clothes were beginning to look shabby. "I
works hard," he told the Marchioness, as she


walked to the gate with him one day. "I'm
trying' to lay up a little fur you, my honey,
'ginst de time we can go to master's beau-
tiful home."
By and by there came a day when the old
man did not come to the Home, then another,
and another. Little Viola fretted and grew
"Dear Miss Dorothy, let me go to see poor
Uncle Wise; I know he is sick and alone."
"Where does he live, my child? "
"Only a little way! He told us. Up this
road, then to the right, and down a shady
lane to a large orchard at the corner. Eliza
Eliza, could you leave your work and go
with Viola? "
Oh, yes, marm, I have finished my work.
I will be glad to go."
When the Marchioness and Eliza came in
sight of the old man's house they were delight-
fully surprised. It was not the plain, common
little house they had expected to see, but some-
thing very curious. It had once been a little
country church, built before the war. A hurri-


cane had blown its roof off in years gone by,
and long ago it had ceased to be used by wor-
shippers. A Virginia creeper now covered one
side of it, and a wild passion-flower had, of its
own accord, flung itself over the cross above
the door. Under the cross, upon the steps,
sat Uncle Wise. He rose to meet them, smil-
ing gladly at his little mistress. It was the
rheumatic pains that had kept him at home
three days.
"But I is better to-day, my honey; I wuz
mindin' to crawl up to see you when lo an'
behole I see'd you a-comin' down de road, yo'
little face a-shinin' afo' me like a star."
"But what a pretty house you have, Uncle
Wise! It is just like a church. Did you build
"No, my sugar-plum, I rents it. You see,
nobody had lived in it fur a long time. One
time it wuz a church; well, fur de matter o' dat,
it's a church now. I don't harm it nor trouble
it. All de roof wuz gone, an' de winders wuz
gone (dem little pointed things) 'cept one, an'
dat wuz planked up by a coal-shed at de back.
So you see, missile, I pulled down de shed an'


tuck de planks, an' boarded me off a little room
in dat corner with de one little yaller winder in
it dat wurnt brokin. It is very cosey like now,
I think it is just beautiful," cried the child;
" I would not mind living in it myself, at all."
This was the first of many visits to the old
man's "holy house;" for as the children of the
Home walked now for two hours every fair day,
Eliza would often indulge little Viola by leav-
ing her at the old man's home, whilst the others
ran races on the green fields across the road.
Some days Uncle Wise seemed very tired
from his day's work. At such times he looked
ill and troubled; but, in answer to the little
girl's tender inquiries, he would reply that he
was "just a botherin' over something' in his
mine that kinder troubled him."
At other times he -was very bright, and they
two would have free and happy talks together.
He would be very merry with his little mis-
"Come, honey, an' sit by me an' I'll tell you
'bout when I wuz a boy. My ole master wuz
mighty particular about how I talked. He


'lowed he didn't want any one 'bout him, spe-
cially his body-servant, smashing up good
words, an' good English. An' I answered
back once, I ain't no smasher of good Eng-
lish, marser.' An' he came down on me hot.
' Whar's dat t," boy? whar's dat t" ?' An' I
tell you I put dat 't' in mastere' quick as
any ole lady ever put tea in a teapot."
The child laughed and said, I know a story
about a teapot. Once there was an old woman,
and she had a silver teapot; but she had no tea
to put in it, and so had to drink hot water.
And her little granddaughter said to her,
' Grand-dame, sell the teapot and buy some
tea, and let us drink it from the stone jug.'
And she did, for she was a wise woman. But
she was not as wise as my dear old wise man,"
laughed the little girl as she ended her story.
Whar did you hear dat story, chile ?" asked
Uncle Wise.
"Oh, I made it up."
"Miss Violet, see the fine grapes dat grow
over thar. They is a long time gathering' 'em;
they is over ripe now. It is hard to keep these
ban's off 'em. Last night in the moonlight I


could see 'em darkies jes a-haulin' 'em away in
baskets. I got after 'em, but they 'lowed dat
de owner was away an' didn't keer nothing'
fur 'em. I begun den to git me down a few
bunches, when, oh, dear! de-Marster's face come
up befo' me, an' I dropped 'em grapes quick."
"Grandpa's face?" asked Violet.
"No, chile; de blessed Marster's face. Dat's
de sin, you see, I have to fight against always,
always "
"Do you like grapes so much, Uncle Wise ?"
asked the child.
"No; I wanted 'em fur you, honey, but de
Lord kep' me frum a-stealin' 'em."
The two sat in silence for some minutes; and
then the little Marchioness said softly, "It must
have been very nice to see the face of Jesus; I
think it is- because you live in a holy house."




IT was Christmas morning. At the Home
the children, arrayed in white and crowned with
little wreaths of holly, were assembled in the
"beautiful room." This name had been given
by the children to a large and handsome apart-
ment which had once been the ballroom of the
Bell mansion. To-day it was charming in its
festive adornment. Long vines of glossy green
were twined in and out of the beautiful crystal
chandelier; great wreaths of holly surrounded
the portraits of Miss Dorothy's ancestors; while
the platform at the farther end of the room,
which had formerly been the musicians' stand,
was now converted into a green and airy throne.
"Children," said Miss Dorothy, to-day the
Holy Child Jesus was born. He was a King
above all the kings of the earth, but he was
God too. So he was full of goodness and love


and power. In his love by baptism he has
made us his children, and we belong to the
true Royal Family. The first duty of royalty
is to do good and give. We must be like our
Father and King. You have all been to church
to-day, and made your offering to God of what
you have been able yourselves to earn. Now
your hands are full of the little gifts you have
for each other. There is your throne; and each
one may ascend it in turn, and reign for a few
minutes, beginning with the eldest."
"But, dear Miss Dorothy, you are the eldest,"
cried the children; and you must ascend first
and give us all a kiss." They crowded around
her, kissing her, and clinging to her, some of
them saying, "Dear Miss Dorothy, we do love
you so much."
She had always bestowed upon her little girls
at Christmas an acceptable gift, a work-box, a
writing-desk, a Bible, whatever each desired;
but this Christmas there was no money for
gifts. On Christmnas Eve, sitting alone she had
thought of this with regret till her eye fell
upon her portfolio of water-color paintings. It
was a collection of little pictures which she


and her father had made while travelling in
Europe. She dearly prized them; but now she
determined to give one to each of the girls,
only reserving the care of them to herself till
they were older. As she stood among the
children on Christmas Day, she opened the
portfolio, saying, "Children, I am going to give
each of you one of my water-colors. Each may
select the one she likes most."
She thought they would prefer the gayest
and brightest, but the children had listened too
often to her description of the merits of -the
paintings not to be ready to choose the best for
themselves. Therefore she had the surprise of
seeing the choicest of her pictures taken one by
one, until it came to the little Marchioness's turn
to chose.
"Miss Dorothy," said the little child, I
want you to choose for me, because I know you
will give me the prettiest and the best."
Alas for Miss Dorothy She had been hold-
ing one back which she valued too much, she
thought, to give away; but now she could not
resist that "I know you will give me the best."
She drew it out from the portfolio, and putting


it in little Viola's hands, said, My dear little
one, this is the prettiest and the best. It is
a copy of Fra Angelico's Madonna and Child,
made for me in Florence by a poor delicate
boy who had great talent. When my father
paid for the work a sum twice as much as he
had asked, he was overcome with gratitude, and
weeping in our presence, said, This gold will
save my poor brother from crime.' My father
and I looked up the boy's family, and we
always loved this picture for the good it had
done, and because it is really very beautiful."
When the other children had finished distrib-
uting their presents, little Viola sprang up on
the throne, crying, "Now it is my turn! Miss
Dorothy, you said I might wear my gold beads
to-day. I have strung them on some cords;
this one is for you, and this one for Margaret,
and this for Lena -
"But wait, my dear," interrupted Miss Dor-
othy. "These are too handsome, too costly, for
you to give away."
"No, no," cried the child, holding them up in
the sunlight, "they are so pretty! See, each
one has a little violet stone set in it. They are


amethysts. The beautiful lady gave them to me;
she put them round my neck. She used to call
me her little amethyst, and sometimes her Nea-
politan violet."
Was it your mother ? "
The little Marchioness shook her head and
looked very thoughtful. But just then, seeing
Uncle Wise enter the door, she called.to him
Come, come, dear Uncle Wise, and see your
little mistress a queen on her throne; and then
she continued, as the old man drew near,-
May I not give my gold beads away? "
Have you sot yer heart on givin' 'em away,
honey ? "
Yes, I have, Uncle Wise; I want to give
the pretty beads to them because I love them,
and because I want to give like a King's
"Well, lady, let her give 'em; her grandpa
would never let her be crossed when she had
sot her mine on a thing."
So the little Marchioness had the joy of dis-
pensing her favors.
The old darky had brought a violin with


him, and began to play many a merry tune to
which the children's little feet kept happy
time. Dear little Viola was the gayest of the
band; and in the old Virginia reel, as they went
merrily hands all 'round," she nodded gayly to
the old fiddler each time she passed, calling
out, "Merry Christmas, Uncle Wise! "




LONG before the winter was over Uncle Wise
had become too great a sufferer to venture out;
but once or twice a week he would send some
little gift to his little mistress a willow bas-
ket, a doll's chair, a carved nut-shell, or some
other trifle he had made for-her.
"How is Uncle Wise to-day?" asked the
little Marchioness of the colored boy, Joe, who
brought Uncle Wise's messages and offerings.
"He is mighty po'ly, miss," said Joe; "and
he axed ef you would sen' him something' to
eat" -
The Marchioness flew away to Miss Dorothy.
"0 Miss Dorothy!" she cried, bursting into
the parlor where the lady sat writing, "May I
have some jelly, and some wine, and some tea,
and sugar, and ever so many things, to send to
Uncle Wise?"


"No, Viola, you may not. It is as much as I
can do to feed you fifteen children; and you
must not come rushing into the room in that
way. You made me spill the ink, you gave me
such a start. Go away! "
Poor little Marchioness, she went off to the
garret to cry. Presently the tea-bell rang.
She did not want any supper; but she went
down, for obedience to bells was a rule of the
There was a little excitement at supper this
evening. Dr. Day's mother had sent out a
basket of little cakes to the children. In
taking them from the basket, Eliza announced
that one of them had pink icing on it only
"Who must have it?" she asked the children.
"Viola," "Little Viola," cried all of them.
A little thing will show who is most beloved in
a household. The little Marchioness took the
pink cake, and smiled her thanks.
It was not strange that all loved her. She
loved all, and was full of gentle sympathy, and
sweet, unselfish little ways toward every one.
The next day Miss Dorothy was interrupted


in her work by Polly, the cook, asking, "Miss
Dorothy, didn't you tell Viola Lea yesterday
that she was not to send things to that old
colored man ? Well, she did. I saw her give
a basket filled with things to that good-for-
nothing boy, Joe, this morning after breakfast."
"Tell Viola to come to me," said Miss
Dorothy in a worried tone, laying aside her
account books over which she had been frown-
ing. A few minutes later the child appeared.
"Viola, I told you last night that you might
not send anything to Uncle Wise. Did you
do so? "
"Yes, Miss Dorothy, but" -
Stop I do not want to hear any excuses
when you disobey me. I shall have to be more
particular about the store-room keys."
Oh, but, dear Miss Dorothy -
"Never mind now, I don't want to hear any
more. I am disappointed in you. Go to the
The Marchioness went to the schoolroom,
but only to bury her face in her hands and sob.
"Dear Miss Dorothy, she is so disappointed in
me, and I know she loved me, and I loved her !


0 poor Uncle Wise! My good old other-wise
man He had nothing to eat."
An hour passed away; the whole day, or life
itself, might have passed with it, for all little
Viola cared, she was so unhappy--when the
door opened and Miss Dorothy came in. There
was tenderness in her touch, in her voice, in
the very tread of her feet. A revelation had
come to Miss Dorothy.
As the schoolroom door had closed on little
Viola an hour ago, Miss Dorothy saw the boy,
Joe, coming up the front walk. He came to
ask if Miss Viola Lea might come over to see
Uncle Wise, as he was very ill. "I will go
myself," Miss Dorothy had replied. The
quaint little church house surprised her even
more than it had the little Marchioness.
In the one small room lay the old man on
his bed, very ill, but smiling and trying to tell
the lady how proud he was that she should
come, still looking beyond her for the sweet
face that was the light of his old eyes. Miss
Dorothy looked at the clean walls and floor,
the empty shelf, the photograph of a handsome
man, tacked to the wall by the bed, at the little


yellow gothic window with the outline of an
angel's figure on it; looked at a little willow
basket on the chair, tied to which was a card.
She bent over this and read: -

A breakfast and a pretty pink cake for my dear and
dearest other-wise man. M."

In the basket lay two biscuits, an egg, and
a little pink cake.
"I see, marm, you are looking' at de little
mistis' basket. She sent it dis morning an' I
have bin a-layin' here jes a-lookin' at it. I
couldn't eat it to-day. I mighter eat it yester-
day, but she didn't have nothing' to send den;
but de sweet little heart couldn't he'p that,
I reckon." Miss Dorothy listened, and the
words smote upon her.
Then this was the quantity of food the child
had sent. Only her own breakfast and her
little cake.
Miss Dorothy's heart swelled very large, and
felt as though it would burst. She knelt on
the floor, and taking the old man's long thin
hands between hers, said tenderly, Uncle Wise,
it was not your little mistress's fault that you


had nothing sent you last night. It was I who
was hard and unkind. The dear little girl has
done her best to supply your want." She rose
to her feet, and added hastily, "I will go and
bring her to you now. Shall I?"
Oh, yes, blessed lady; I would like mightily
to set my eyes on her sweet face."
When Miss Dorothy reached the little March-
ioness, she did not waste time in explanations,
but said with unusual tenderness, Come, my
darling child, with me. Uncle Wise is very
ill, and wants us."
A large basket was soon filled with two soft
pillows, a blanket, a candlestick and candles,
sweet soap and fine towels, a bottle of wine and
one of milk, while a smaller basket, which little
Viola was allowed to carry, contained many
needful little things.
Miss Dorothy had despatched a messenger
for Dr. Day; and when she and the child ar-
rived at the old man's house at sunset, they
found the doctor already there, seated by the
bedside, smiling and looking quite at home.
Miss Dorothy hastened to give the old man
some nourishment, and to make him more com-
fortable in his hard bed.


The little Marchioness went immediately up
to Dr. Day, and laying her head fondly on his
shoulder, said, "You will make dear Uncle
Wise well, like you did me, will you not, my
own doctor?"
"All right," said the young doctor, stroking
the tiny hand that lay confidingly in his, to
hear is to obey your majesty."
"Not majesty, Marchioness," said the old
man, lifting his head and gazing at the child.
Miss Dorothy slipped behind the doctor's
chair, and whispered, "Doctor, do get him to
tell us everything about the child now, or we
may never know."
Dr.. Day drew his chair nearer to the old
man's side, and with his kindly blue eyes smil-
ing on him, said, "Do you hear, John Wise,
what the lady asks? She wishes you to tell us
of the relations of the little lady here."
"Yes, yes, seh, dat is whut I'm minded to
do. Marster tuck back his orders, seh, las'
night. While I wviz a-layin' here, feeling'
mighty weak an' troubled in my mine 'bout
the chile, an' watching' the moon shine on dat
yaller winder, de angel Gabriel stood thar on


de winder sill with de light a-shinin' behine
him, an' sez, 'John Wise, is dat you?' An'
I sez, 'Yes, Marse Gabriel.' An' he sez, 'Yo'
Marse Henry Lea sent me to say to you he
teks back de orders not to tell 'bout de
chile.' An' I cried out. 'Is Marse Henry
forgiv', an' is he with de Lord?' An' he
sez, 'Yes.' An' I lay here quiet an' happy,
but mighty weak. I don't mine to say it
wuz de mighty Gabriel his self, it might er
bin a guardeen angel as you hears of, or it
might er bin my mine wuz a-wanderin' as I
looked at de bigger on de winder thar. But
de Lord sent it; least-wise I humbly thinks
He paused, and then said, "It's a ruther
long story."
The doctor gave him a glass of wine, Miss
Dorothy put another pillow under his head,
the little Marchioness cuddled down in the
doctor's arms, and then the old man said
again: -
"It's a putty long story, an' some how it
goes against me to see de lady a-settin' thar
on de ash box so uncomfortable."


0 Uncle Wise, don't you mind me," said
Miss Dorothy, "I am just as comfortable here
as can be, with my back resting against the
"A thousand pardons, Miss Dorothy," said
the doctor standing up. "But," he added in
a lower voice, "this chair, which the Marchion-
ess and I occupy, has but three legs, and I
thought you safer where you are. All right,
Uncle Wise; we are quite comfortable now.
There, I have thrown another log on the fire,
and Miss Dorothy has lighted another candle
to illuminate your story. Come, give up the
history of this young Marchioness."
This he said, no more believing the beauti-
ful child in his arms to be a marchioness than
himself a prince.

I-f I






"I wuz a-thinkin'," said Uncle Wise, "that
I might begin when Marse Henry an' me wuz
boys. I like to think of dat good time."
"No, no," interrupted Miss Dorothy, "you
told us all up to the end of the war. Go on
from there, Uncle Wise; your voice is weak."
"Well, now, let me see. Did I tell you
'bout when Marse Henry an' Miss Edith an'
me went to Europe ? "
Well, we did go to Europe, dat's de point,
dat's whar de trouble wuz. Marster, he wuz
so 'pressed, totin' his head so low after his
mother an' Miss Viola, his wife, died, dat he
'lowed he couldn't go back to de old place
an' see they empty cheers. So we went to
Europe. Miss Edith wuz 'bout fo'teen years
ole den. She sut'n'y wuz mighty pretty, but


with a sot will of her own like her pa. We
travelled 'bout in Europe fur a year, from
place to place. But Miss Edith she liked
Paris de mos', an' so her pa leaved her thar
with some friends to study fur a year, an' he
an' me tuck a trip up to de ice regions.
Marster said he had a mine to leave me be-
hine with Miss Edith, but I jes laughed. He
couldn't er got along without me, he knowed
it too. We went 'bout from place to place
fur some months, mos' time in a country called
'Norway,' 'cause it is nor way dark thar fur
six months, they say. Well, one day master
got a letter from Miss Edith whut flustered
him mighterly. Miss Edith 'lowed as she had
made up her mine to marry a gent'man whut
wuz visiting' his cousin, whut wuz de lady
Miss Edith wuz a-stayin' with. She wrote dat
dis gent'man wuz de han'somest man a-livin',
an' de intellectualest, an' de best. She didn't
mek no 'ception of her pa. So master wuz
kinder mad; an' he sez, 'We'll have to go
back to France, Wise, an' look after yo' young
mistis, de saucy chile.' An' we went back,
but we didn't git thar right soon. Thar wuz


a war goin' on in them countries den,- not
dat we minded dat much, we wuz used to
fighting's an' wars at home, but they hindered
us a heap in gittin' 'long. But when we got
to Paris, little miss had gone. She'd done
married de han'somest gent'man in de world'
an' run off with him to his home in Italy.
Marster, he stormed an' raged, an' when he
hurd she married a po' 'Talian Marquis he
stormed mo' an' mo', an' raged red-hot. I
thought he'd jes bu'n up. He 'lowed as he
wuz jes a po' 'Talian scoundrel dat had mar-
ried his dorter fur her money. But thar's
no use in station' now, in de hearing' of dis
blessed chile, whut master sed.
"Well, she wrote him a letter an' say she
knowed -she wuz displeasin' him, but she
knowed he'd forgive her. An' he jes tele-
graph back one word, 'Never.' Well, mars-
ter tuck on so, an' wuz dat broke up, dat I
thought I'd lose my mine trying' to he'p him.
An' one day he sez,' Wise, I think I'll jes drown
my sorrows in wine.' An' I up an' sez, Now
dat you don't, Marse Henry, while I lives.
Drown yo' sorrer, indeed,' I sez; 'why, yo' sor-


rer'll jes float on de top of any whole sea
of wine. It's yo' soul you'll drown, an'
den how 'bout Miss Viola, seh?' Dat was
enough .
"'Bout a year after dis we hurd how Miss
Edith had a fine dorter, an' dat they had chris-
tened her 'Viola Lea.' I thought master would
er bin pleased, but no, seh, I mistuck. He
didn't want no 'Talian Marquis' chile named
fur his wife. An' things wuz wus then 'fore;
till one day thar come a telegraph from Naples,
sayin', -
''Edith est moree'

Dat meant, seh, 'Edith is dead.' Marster went
'bout sayin', Edith est morte,' a hundred times
an hour.
"I think it was 'bout a year after dat, dat
Marse Henry sez one day, Wise, we er goin' to
Naples to live. I have rented a house thar.'
"So we went. I never counted de years dat
passed thar. Ev'y day master went to de park
an' sot under a tree, an' watched a lady with a
nus, an' a little girl, ez always come ev'y day to
walk in dat park. The lady an' the nus talked
'Talian. Marster an' me could talk French ez


well ez anybody, but we wurn't gwine to learn
any of dat 'Talian gibberish. Sometimes de
lady had a ole lady with he;, an' den they
talked English. So, soon I made out whut
master knowed all 'long, dat dis here pretty
little girl wuz Miss Edith's baby, an' dis young
lady, whut they call Madonna Beatricia, wuz a
sister of dat thar marquis. But they never
knowed who we wuz, I's sho! "
Here the doctor suddenly arose and walked
to the door, opened it, and looked out on the
starlit night. Soon he came back, saying,
" Your voice is getting weak, Uncle Wise, take
a little more wine."
My voice is all right, master, but I don't
mine if I do teck a few sips. Oh, dat's good!
Now I'm coming' to a painful thing, an' I'm
goin' to tell it quick.
One day while de young lady talked to a
officer in de park, master an' me tuck de little
girl an' escapedd with her to France, an' den to
England. This little girl," he said falteringly,
laying his trembling hands on the child's frock.
"What," cried Miss Dorothy, "stole the


"No; not zackly," faltered Uncle Wise.
"We jes tuck her; she belonged one-ha'f to
Marse Henry, bein' ez she wuz a Lea, Miss
Edith's chile."
"Why, I don't see how you can call it
anything else but stealing," persisted Miss
Dorothy, getting up from her seat and walking
The little Viola slipped down from her place
on the doctor's knee, and drawing close to the
old man's side, tenderly stroked his bony hand,
saying, My dear old wise man would not steal
"Well, honey, 'pears like I don't know. The
lady has more scripshul learning' than po' Uncle
Wise. But de good Lord forgive me if I stole
you, I dat wouldn't steal even a mushmelon.
Lord, how low I's come in thy sight." He
wiped his tears away, and continued, "I'm sho
sut'n Marse Henry didn't count dat it wuz
"He hurd dat de little lady's father didn't
keer nothing' fur her an' hadn't been home to see
her fur a year. An' he sez many times to me
on de way, Well, Wise, we'll take her to de


beautiful ole home an' make it bright agin, an'
I'll write to her father an' tell him whar she is,
an' if he'll come fur her he can have her, an'
when he comes I'll say, "If you'll give her to
me fur my lifetime I'll settle on her all I have,
a ha'f er million. But if you tek her away
from me now, she'll not git a penny," an' he'll
give her up.' "
While Uncle Wise had been faltering out
these last words, the little Marchioness had
sprung to her feet, and now exclaimed excit-
edly, -
"No, my papa would not have given me up !
I remember my beautiful papa, I remember the
garden and the fountain. Papa loved me more
than all the golden stars in heaven; he told
me so, and he would not have given me up for
half a million pounds; I was his own little
"But what is her father's name? demanded
Miss Dorothy.
The old man stumbled over some hard Italian
names, then looked bewildered.
"Never mind," said the doctor, "I know."
Uncle Wise went on, her father ain't a-livin'


now, you know. When we got to Paris, mars-
ter had a letter from de frien' he lef' in Naples,
sayin' de marquis wuz mighty ill. An' when
we got to England thar come de news dat he
wuz dead, an' that in his will he had lef' his
little dorter to the keer of her Italian kinfolks.
But master 'lowed they could keer fur her
when they could git her; an' we sailed fur
There was a long pause. A change had
come over the old negro's face, which none but
the doctor had noticed.
Come, Miss Dorothy, come, little Viola,
we have worn our old friend out. Say to him
They each took his hand in turn while he
stammered out "Good-night." The little Mar-
chioness said with beaming, tender look, Good-
by, dearest Uncle Wise, I'll see you in the
Miss Dorothy needed no escort home, and the
doctor stayed with the old man.
He slept heavily; and when he awakened
about midnight, the doctor gave him a little
nourishment and then asked, "Uncle Wise,


have you been baptized? Are you prepared to
meet your Saviour?"
"Law, Marse Doctor, I is s'prised you ax me
dat! Ev'y darky on my ole mistis' place wuz
baptized, an' brung up in de Lord. An' I tuck
de Blessed Sacrament when'er her an' her chil-
lens did. How, seh, do you s'pose I kep' frum
takin' dat captain's pus, what he laid on de hall
table dat day, but fur dat ? "
He slept again, the shadow of death stealing
over his dusky face. Ellett thought that he
would not speak again; but, as the morning sun-
light came in through the little golden window,
he smiled, and said, God forgive me if I stole
de chile! Bless her little heart an' soul! She
said she'd see me agin in de morning yes,
blessed Lord, in de morning' of de eberlastin'
After a little while he said pathetically, "I
is 'shamed to die so po, I, as wuz raised in
de lap er lux'ry; but de good lady will, I
knows, give me a fine funeral."
Another long pause, and then he said, "Marse
Henry, dat you? De Lord's mighty good; he
knowed you couldn't git 'long without me."


As Dr. Day and Miss Dorothy stood together
on the old ivy-twined porch of the Bell home-
stead next day, Miss Dorothy said, "Doctor, do
you think the old man died for want of food ? "
"No, I should not think so, most surely not."
"Ah me that is a great relief to my mind.
You say you will see to the funeral, Ellett.
Here is a check for fifty dollars."
"Why, Miss Dorothy, you do not mean,
these hard times, to "-
"Yes, I do," she interrupted. "It is my
usual birthday gift from my brother, and I am
determined that Uncle Wise shall have a good
funeral. It is the one thing he asked of me.
Let the service be at the Bishop's Church,
Ellett, with music, a drum and fife.
"And now about little Viola being told. I
think she ought to know the truth. What is
the good of deceiving a child?"
"All right," replied the doctor. "Here the
children come from their walk. I will call her.
O Viola!"
As the little Marchioness came up on the
porch, the doctor lifted her and stood her on
the porch-railing, so that her arm slipped easily


around his neck; then he said, "My darling,
you did not know that our dear old Uncle
Wise has gone home."
"To the beautiful home'? Which?" she
"To the one above. You understand, dar-
Oh, yes, I understand." She clasped her
little hands and looked far off at the sky, and
said sweetly, -
"Ah, God certainly is thoughtful. You see,
grandpapa never could have got along with-
out Uncle Wise." Then she began to cry, sob-
bing out, "I want my Uncle Wise back again!"




IN a lovely Southern garden Beatricia walked
in the sweet hush of an early morning. The
crimson glow from the rising sun made her pale
face as pink as the roses which filled her hands.
A bird was singing in a magnolia-tree close by.
She raised her head and listened. How clearly
he took the notes! One, higher; two, still
higher; three, and yet still another. He ceased
his song. She took the same note, and let her
sweet, clear voice ring out on the morning.
One, higher; two, still higher; three,-no, she
could not quite attain that, and her voice
broke into a happy laugh as sweet as the song.
A footstep on the gravelled walk, a voice
calling her, "Beatricia! "
She answered back, "Ellett!" Her hand is
in his as she asks, "Oh, why did you come


And he replies, "Again to tell you that
I love you, again to urge my claim upon
"O Ellett, how could you do so? I thought
you were a hundred miles away. Must I tell
you again how vain it is for you to hold out
to me the happiness I will not, may not take?
I promised my brother on his death-bed that
I would take to myself no joy, no peace, till I
had found our darling child, and I fear more
and more that this will never be. Three
months' search in Europe, three months in these
Americas! But it was by my fault that she
was from us taken, my fault! You know it
all, Ellett. It is only just that I should keep
my promise."
My love, is your uncle now here with you
and madame at Pass Christian? "
No," she said; but will be here in a few
Beatricia, I come to bring you the best of
news. All that I wrote as a possible thing has
proved to be a true and certain thing. The
beautiful child under Miss Bell's care is
without doubt your brother's child. Will you


and madame return with me and see for.your-
self ? "
Oh, yes, they would go!

In the parlor in the old Bell mansion sits
Miss Dorothy in her best silk gown. By the
window stands the little Marchioness in snowy
white dress, toying with a large bunch of roses.
I think he might hurry and come, don't you,
Miss Dorothy? He has been so long away."
"I heard a carriage stop at the east door, and
now I hear a step. I think it is he, my dar-
The little girl turned from the window as the
door opened. It was he. She flew into his
arms, exclaiming, 0 doctor, my own dear,
dearest doctor, I am so glad you have come
back! To-day is Easter, and I am all in white
for you and for Easter, and these white roses
are for you !"
He held her in his arms for a moment, then
putting her down held her back from him at
arm's-length, not looking at her glowing face,
but back over his shoulder into the face of the
beautiful Beatricia.


"Well, well, what do you think, Bea-
tricia?" he asked eagerly.
She sank down to the floor by his side, and
held her hands out to the lovely child, saying,
"Do you know me, Viola? Do you know
Aunt Be?"
The little Marchioness gazed at her steadily,
saying dreamily, -
"Great-grandmamma, and grandma Viola, the
sainted lady, and Edith, that's my mamma, and
Aunt Be! "
"Do you remember? the lady hastily asked.
"No, I do not remember," the child said
slowly and hesitatingly, stepping toward her
aunt. But I think I would like to remember
you," she added, as she drew quite close to her,
and, leaning forward, reached out both her little
hands and pinched the lady's cheeks, at the
same time kissing her quickly on the lips with
a merry laugh.
Madonna Beatricia clasped the little one in
her arms, and, looking in our young doctor's
face, said, 0 Ellett, it is the same little kiss I
taught her when she was but three years old -
our baby's French kiss.' "


It is just one year from the day when our
story began, and we find Miss Dorothy again
coming out of the little porch of the old
She is dressed in white to-day, for she has a
fancy that she should wear nothing else to so
joyful a service as the young doctor's wedding.
She has had her look at the bride and the
bridegroom; and her eyes have lingered long
and lovingly on the one bridesmaid, our little
But they have all rolled away in their
carriages now, and Miss Dorothy gets into her
carriage, and is driven from the church. She is
thinking of our young doctor, of how dear he
has been to her from his boyhood, and of his
young wife, Beatricia. But most of all she is
thinking of her beloved little Marchioness,
whom in this life she will probably see no
It is pleasant to think," says Miss Dorothy
to herself, that she really is not exactly an
Italian. child after all; for her father's mother
was EtIglhli, and her children were born in
England, and never saw Italy till after their


confirmation. It is better so for Ellett's sake
too, though I can see now why the Italians
were so peerless in his sight." The carriage
turns from the street into the country road, and
Miss Dorothy's thoughts turn with it to her
home, her orphans, and her many duties.
The Home is now in sight, and she sees the
brass knocker on the hall-door, shining in the
sunlight. It makes her think of old Uncle
Wise, and the day she shut the door in his face
- then of the little pink cake. She heaves a
long sigh. What was it the young doctor had
said one day that she ought to be more like
a dove, less like a hawk; and she had replied
that she would prefer to choose her own bird,
and be like an eagle. She smiles as she remem-
bers it now. Then she sighs again. Is she
really like a hawk? "Thou, Lord, knowest
all things she says softly, Thou knowest
my tears and contrition Oh, for less anxious
care Oh, for more patient sweetness! "
The carriage stops at the front-door. There
is a sound of merriment in the house, laughing
and merry screaming.
A joyful surprise awaits Miss Dorothy. A


little figure in white runs out to meet her; it
is the little bridesmaid. Loving arms are
around her neck, clasping her tightly, and the
sweetest voice in the world is saying, 0 Miss
Dorothy dear, I am not going away from you
after all! Aunt Be and our doctor have gone
away for a month. But I am not going to
Italy with our great-uncle; for he says that all
the million dollars' worth of property which
grandpapa Lea left me will not be mine at all
unless I live in America. He is going back to
Italy because he does not like America at all;
and I am to live with Aunt Be and uncle
doctor, close by you. Aren't you happy for
Yes, Miss Dorothy is very, very happy, and
sends for ice-cream and cakes, and gives the
children all a feast. Then they dance and
play games and sing songs, until, the day flown
away on golden wings, it is time for all to kiss
the little Marchioness good-night.

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