Citation
Short stories for short people

Material Information

Title:
Short stories for short people
Creator:
Aspinwall, Mrs. Alicia Stuart
Danforth, Marie L ( Illustrator )
E.P. Dutton (Firm) ( Publisher )
Place of Publication:
New York
Publisher:
E. P. Dutton & Co.
Publication Date:
Copyright Date:
1896
Language:
English
Physical Description:
x, 254 p. : ill. ; 22 cm.

Subjects

Subjects / Keywords:
Children -- Conduct of life -- Juvenile fiction ( lcsh )
Conduct of life -- Juvenile fiction ( lcsh )
Children's stories ( lcsh )
Children's stories -- 1920 ( lcsh )
Bldn -- 1920
Genre:
Children's stories
novel ( marcgt )
Spatial Coverage:
United States -- New York -- New York
Target Audience:
juvenile ( marctarget )

Notes

General Note:
"Thirteenth printing Feb., 1920" -- t.p. verso.
Statement of Responsibility:
by Alicia Aspinwall ; with illustrations by Marie L. Danforth.

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:
022025549 ( ALEPH )
ALK3949 ( NOTIS )
01422101 ( OCLC )
04018928 ( LCCN )

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Full Text


WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY
MARIE L. DANFORTH



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PAGE 6.

G SQUASH.

A QUICK-RUNNIN



SAO SCI S
SHOR BE ORE

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY

MARIE L. DANFORTH

&

NEW YORK
E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY

681 Firth AVE. |



CoPpygiGuT
E. P. DUTTON & COQ.
1896



First printing, July, 1905

Second sf Aug., 1907
Third ce July, 1909
Fourth “ Dec., 1910
Fifth yy May, 1912
Sixth os Feb., 1914
Seventh wy July, 1915
Eighth sf May, 1917
Ninth © July, 1918
Tenth oy Feb., z919
Eleventh ff Mar., 1919
Twelfth
Thirteenth ‘ Feb,, 1920

Printed in the United States of Ameria



TO GARDNER
“THE YOUNGEST MEMBER OF THE HOUSE”
THIS BOOK
IS LOVINGLY DEDICATED
BY HIS MOTHER









PREFATORY NOTE.

tion of which the best types are to be

found in Grimm’s Collection of German
Household Tales, and of which the line was so well
continued by Hans Andersen. Many have tried to
follow in the same path ; but none, it seems to me,
have done it so well as Mrs. Aspinwall. Her stories
have that pure impossibility in which children de-
light, that fresh vigor which carries attention along,
and that suggestion which even children vaguely
feel of deeper meanings. ‘The Quickly-Growing
Squash,” for instance, is to the child who hears it,
as it doubtless was to the author, only a bit of
frolic extravaganza ; but if it had been written—as
it well might have been—by Tieck or Hoffmann
or Musaus, it would have had ere now a dozen

vu

c ‘HESE stories are bits of that pure imagina-



Vill Prefatory Note.

theories and elucidations advanced by wise com-
mentators. It would have been held to express
systematically the growth of a sin or of a suspicion
or of a superstition, or of any one of half a dozen
other things of which the author never dreamed.
That is the test of a fantasy-piece, that it has
something for all; it rouses a whole swarm of
analogies and suggestions, yielding a moral when
the author sought only innocent fun and the
delights of narration. The lover of childhood and
the lover of creative imagination may alike find
pleasure in this book, and it should have ten
thousand readers.

THOMAS WENTWORTH HIGGINSON.
C4mBRIDGE, MASS,







CONTENTS.

A Quick-RUNNING SQUASH

BosH-BosH OIL . :
Tue Toap . i 3
TuLA OOLAH ‘ :
Tue N. S. BICYCLE

Tue TIGER ON THE HUDSON

Lucia, THE ORGAN-MAIDEN

THE SHADOW

WuHaT THE SQUIRREL DID FOR RICHARD .

THE Runaway WaTCH

A GRASSHOPPER’S TRIP TO THE CITY
Tue Licut-House Lamp
Monkey TRICKS IN THE JUNGLE

THE UPpSIDEDOWNIANS
THE Iron Doc .

PAGE

32
39

65
77
88

99
112
119
133
138
146
160



oe Contents.

PAGE

My FLANNEL ROOSTER .. : : P71
THE STATUE AND THE BIRDS . : 2 LS
THE Toap-Boy . : : : : SOS
THE SAD EXPERIENCE OF Poor PoMposiTy . 194
RED Boots : : : ’ : Zoi
SAVED : : : : : ; 20s
THE DISOBEDIENT ISLAND. : : 5 AZ
THE Botp Bap BICYCLE . : : E222
THE Lapy oF SNow . : E : Lee?
How THE ANDIRONS TOOK A WALK. 7 eon
‘‘ACHUSETT’S RIDE TO PHILADELPHIA” . 242
THE Mouse’s REVENGE . : : 248

THE Tait oF A MOUSE . : :




SHORT STORIES FOR SHORT PEOPLE





A QUICK-RUNNING SQUASH.

HARLES owned a garden. One morning
his father called him and pointing to four
stakes driven in the ground which certainly

had not been there the night before, said:

“All the land within those four stakes is yours,
your very own.”

Charles was delighted, and thanking his dear
father ran off to get his little cart, for he wished
at once to build a stone wall about his property.
He did not fear it would run away, but he knew



2 A. Quick-Running Squash.

that land-owners always walled in their posses-
sions.

“After the wall is built,” said his father, “you
may plant in your garden anything you like, and
James will give you what you ask for.”

In two days the wall was built, and a good
one it was too, being strong and even.

The next day James set out some plants
for him, and gave the boy some seeds which
he planted himself, James telling him how to
do it.

He then got his watering-pot and gently
sprinkled the newly planted ground with warm
water. Running across the lawn he looked down
the road to see if his father had not yet come
from the village. His father was nowhere to be
seen, but coming down the road was a most
remarkable looking man. He was tall and thin
and had bright red hair which had evidently not
been cut for a very long time. He wore a blue
coat, green trousers, red hat, and on his hands,
which were large, two very dirty, ragged, white
kid gloves. This wonderful man came up to



A Quick-Running Squash. 3

Charles and asked for a drink of water, which he,
being a polite boy, at once brought. The man
thanked him, and then said:

“What have you been doing this morning,
little man?”

Charles told him about his new garden, and
the man listened with much interest.

“Tittle boy,” said he, ‘there is one seed that
you have not got.”

“And what is that?”

“The seed of the quick-running squash.”

Charles’s face fell.

“T don’t believe James has that, and I don’t
know where to get one,” he faltered.

‘“Now, as it happens,” said the man, “I
have one of those very seeds in my pocket. It
is not, however, that of the common, every-
day quick-running squash. This one came from
India, and is marvellous for its quick-running
qualities. You have been kind to me, little boy,
and I will give it to you,’ and with a peculiar
smile, this strange man produced from his pocket,
instead of the ordinary squash seed, an odd,



4 A Quick-Running Squash.

round, red seed which he gave to Charles, who
thanked him heartily, and who ran to plant it at
once. Having done so, he went back to ask
when the quick-running squash would begin to
grow. But the man had disappeared, and _ al-
though Charles looked up and down the dusty
road, he could see nothing of him.

As he stood there, he heard behind him a little
rustling noise, and turning, saw coming toward
him a green vine. He had, of course, seen vines
before, but never, never had he seen such a queer
one as this. It was running swiftly toward him,
and on the very front was a round yellow ball,
about as big as an orange! Charles looking back
to see where it came from, found that it started
in the corner of his garden. And what had he
planted in that corner? Why, to be sure, the
seed of the quick-running squash which the
strange man had just given him.

“Well, well, well,” he shouted, in great ex-
citement, “what an aw/fu//y quick-running squash
it is. I suppose that little yellow thing in front is
the squash itself. But indeed it must not run



A Quick-Running Squash. 5

away from me, I must stop it,” and he darted
swiftly down the street after it.

But, alas, no boy could run as fast as that
squash, and Charles saw far ahead the bright
yellow ball now grown to be about the size of
an ordinary squash, running and capering merrily
over stones big and little, never turning out for
anything, but bobbing up and down, up and
down, and waving its long green vine like a tail
behind it. The boy ran swiftly on. “It shall wot
get away,” he panted. “It belongs to me.”

But that the squash did not seem to realize
at all. He did not feel that he belonged to any-
body, and he ad feel that he was a quick-running
squash, and so on he scampered.

Suddenly he came to a very large rock, and
stopped for a moment to take breath, and in
that moment Charles caught up with him and
simply sat down on him.

“Now, squash,” said he, slapping him on the
side, “your journey is ended.”

The words were scarcely spoken when he
suddenly felt himself lifted up in the air, and



6 A Quick-Running Squash.

bumpity, bump, over the stone flew the squash,
carrying with him his very much astonished little
master! The squash had been growing all the
time, and was now about three times as big as
an ordinary one. Charles, who had a pony of
his own, knew how to ride, but never had he
ridden anything so extraordinary as this. On
they flew, ‘roll, waddle, bump, Jdzmp, roll,
waddle, dang,” the boy digging his knees hard
into the sides of the squash to avoid being
thrown. He had a dreadfully hard time. Mount
the next quick-running squash you meet, and
you will see for yourself how it is.

To Charles’s great delight he now saw his
father coming toward him, riding his big black
horse Nero, who was very much frightened when
he saw the boy on such a strange yellow steed.
But Nero soon calmed down at his master’s
voice, and turning, rode along beside the big
squash, although he had to go at full speed to do
so. ‘Gallopty-gallop” went Nero and ‘‘bumpity-
bump” went the squash. Papa lost his hat
(Charles had parted with his long before).



A Quick-Running Squash. 7

“What are you doing, my son, and what,
what is it you are riding?” asked his father.

“A quick-running squash, Papa,” gasped
Charles, who, although bruised and aching, re-
fused to give up the squash, and was still
pluckily keeping his seat. ‘Stop it, oh, do stop
it, Papa.”

His father knew that this could be no ordinary
squash, and saw that it evidently did not intend
to stop.

“JT will try to 4wrz it and make it go back,” he
said, so riding Nero nearer and nearer the squash,
he forced it up against a stone wall. But, instead
of going back, this extraordinary squash jumped
with scarcely a moment's hesitation over the
high wall, and went bobbing along into the rough
field beyond. But alas, before them was a broad
lake, and as he could not swim, back he was
forced to turn. Over the wall and back again
over the same road and toward the garden
whence he came, Charles still on his back and
Charles’s papa galloping at full speed behind.

The squash, however, must have had a good



8 A Quick-Running Squash.

heart, for when he reached the house again, he
of his own accord turned in at the gate and
ran up to the wall of Charles’s garden. There
he stopped, for he was now so big that he could
not climb walls, and indeed had he been able to
get in he would have filled the little garden
to overflowing, for he was really enormous.
Charles’s father had actually to get a ladder for
the poor little fellow to climb down, and he was
so tired that he had to be carried to the
house. But the squash was tired, too, dreadfully
tired. J suppose it is a very bad thing for a
growing squash to take much exercise. This
certainly was a growing squash, and there is also
no doubt that he had taken a great deal of exercise
that morning. Be that as it may, when the family
were at luncheon, they were alarmed by hearing
a violent explosion near the house. Rushing out to
see what could have happened, they found that the
marvellous quick-running squash had durs¢// It
lay spread all over the lawn in a thousand pieces.

The family, and all the neighbors’ families for
miles around, had squash pie for a week.





BOSH-BOSH OIL.

A Farry STORY.

ARDNER had started off by himself for a
(3 long tramp through the woods. He had
walked quite a distance when he suddenly

came to a small brown hut, which he was about to
pass when he heard cries of pain coming from it.
Running quickly to its one window, he looked in,
and saw a most extraordinary sight. An old man
was alone in the one room, standing near the wall
and with his face pressed hard against it. The
tears were running down his cheeks, and he was

moaning piteously.



IO Bosh-Bosh Oil.

‘“What is the matter?” said Gardner, “and
why do you stand there with your face pressed to
the wall?”

“Come in, little boy, and I will tell you,” was
the answer.

Gardner ran in, and seated himself on a three-
legged stool, which stood in the middle of the
floor.

‘Day before yesterday,” began the old fellow,
‘I was standing at my door, and a small man,
with a tall pointed cap and a long beard, passed,
dressed entirely in brown. He tripped and fell,
and I laughed, which made him very angry. ‘I
will teach you to laugh at me,’ he scolded. ‘I am
a Brownie, and no one may laugh or even look at
a Brownie.’ Then he told me that in punishment
I must stand here with my nose glued to the wall
till some kind boy got for me the ‘ Bosh-Bosh
Oil.” If I rub some of that on my nose I shall
then be free. Vou have a kind face, and I wonder
if you would be willing to help me?”

“Indeed I will get this wonderful oil for you if
Tcan,” said Gardner. ‘Where is it to be found?”



Bosh-Bosh Oil. II

“There,” and the old man pointed to the top
of a mountain near the house. ‘But the path
is a very steep one, little boy, and the Brownie
said there were many dangers to be braved
before one could reach the top. When fairly
there, however, you will find the oil in a golden
box, in a golden house, and guarded by the
famous Gold-Bird. Many boys have been here,
but no one would venture, and I suppose I shall
have to stay here till I die,” and he began to
weep again.

Now Gardner was a brave as well as kind
yoy, and he was greatly touched by the old
man’s sad position.

“T will go,” he said, “and don’t lose your
courage, for I will come back soon, and if it isa
possible thing, bring the oil.”

The old man was delighted, and thanked the
boy heartily, as he started on his mission.

He found the path up the mountain with no
difficulty, and a pleasant path it was, being
shaded and with flowers on either side. He
walked on for a hundred yards or so, when he



12 Bosh-Bosh Oil.

was stopped by a very strong wire, which was
stretched directly across the path. He got down
on his knees and tried to crawl under it, but
lo and behold, down came the wire and he could
not pass it! “I will then jump over it,’’ he
said. But when he got up, up it flew, for it
was a magic wire, and was there to prevent
people going any farther. Gardner looked to the
tight and left, but found that it stretched way
off in the distance, on either side, which made
it impossible for him to go round it. He sat
down for a moment, discouraged, but not for
long. That very morning he had exchanged with
a boy friend a fine three-bladed knife for a big red
marble and a wonderfully powerful magnet. This
magnet he now took from his pocket, and held
toward the wire.

‘““Ah, ha!’ he shouted, for the wire, though
evidently with the utmost reluctance, bent to
meet it. Magic though it was, it had to obey
the magnet. Gardner held the magnet lower
and lower, finally laying it on the ground, and,
sadly obeying it, down, down, down came the



Bosh-Bosh Oil. 13

wire also. Then the boy stepped over it, and it
rattled angrily as he did so. Looking back and
laughing merrily, he found to his amazement that
the wire had disappeared! And not only that,
but his magnet as well, had vanished! Gardner
was, of course, greatly surprised, but he expected
to see strange things, and so, in a moment,
continued his journey.

He had not gone far when he saw before him,
sitting in the middle of the path, a small but very
pretty Italian greyhound, who was looking at him
intently, her little head cocked on one side, and
her two ears, which were enormous, raised in the
greatest astonishment. *

“Where did you come from, boy?” she
asked.

“T came from below,’’ he answered, ‘‘and my
name is not Boy, but ‘Gardner,’ doggie.”’

“And my name is not Doggie, but ‘Little
Pitcher,’’’ was the answer while the large ears
were held proudly upright.

“Well, ‘Little Pitcher,’ you seem to be a nice

*This picture is taken from a living ‘Little Pitcher.”



14 Bosh-Bosh Oil.

dog, but I cannot waste time talking to you, I
must hurry on.”

“I am sorry,” said the dog, politely but very
firmly, “but this place you shall not pass.”

Gardner smiled.

“You funny little thing,” he said; “and how
are you going to prevent my doing so?”

“In this way,” and the boy suddenly found
himself seated in the path tripped by the nim-
ble little hound!

Three times was this repeated, till Gardner at
last sat down by the side of the path and glared
angrily at his small tormentor. Then he remem-
bered that he had a cracker in his pocket. Taking
it out he offered it to the little animal.

‘Thank you, I have already dined,” was the
dignified answer.

“Then don’t you want to come for a walk
with me?” and Gardner smiled persuasively at
the dog, who wagged her tail but said she had
just returned from a long walk.

The boy’s heart sank. There remained but
one more thing to try.



Bosh-Bosh Oil. 15

“On my way up here,” he began (and truth-
fully too), “I saw a cat.”






Hira
eu

At this Pitcher’s eyes glistened, and she was visi-
bly affected, although she was silent for a moment.
Then coming nearer the boy, she whispered :



16 Bosh-Bosh Oil.

“What kind of a cat? Big and strong and
a fighter, I daresay?’’

“No, rather a gentle, frightened looking cat.”
The small dog’s body grew suddenly rigid. Her
eyes rolled. She smacked her lips and_ said:

‘“‘Ah, well, she was very near her home, I
suppose?”’

“No, in a field.”’

“Z’hounds! You don’t say so? Of course she
was near shelter of some sort? Near a _ tree?”’

“No, in an open field.”’

“You don’t say so?”

Pitcher was now trembling and her voice was
hoarse with excitement.

“This cat—this cat,’ she panted, ‘‘was facing
the road, I suppose?”

“On the contrary,” said Gardner, ‘her back
was toward the road, and she was sound asleep.”

“Back toward the road—and asleep! Great
Sirius! This is too much!! I cannot let this
chance go,’ and with a howl of delirious excite-
ment, Pitcher vanished down the path! Gardner,
laughing heartily, went on.



Bosh-Bosh Oil. 17

But only for a few steps, for his way was again
blocked. This time by a bush, a cruel looking
bush, covered with long, sharp thorns which grew
directly in the middle of the path. The boy tried
to pass on the right side, when to his amazement,
the thorn-bush gave a funny little hop and placed
itself directly in front of him. He then ran quickly
to the left, but the bush ran too, and stood firmly
before him, again barring the way.

While wondering what to do, he saw lying on
the ground near, a small box. Full of curiosity
he opened it and found it contained a large fat |
yeast cake. But it was not a common everyday
yeast cake, for it smelt like delicious candy.
Gardner tasted it carefully, and finding it was as
good as it smelt, ate it all, and then what do
you think happened? He suddenly felt himself
vise. Up, up, up he was lifted, high over the
thorn bush, and then down, down, down he
slowly came on the other side. For the yeast
he had eaten was made in fairyland, and, working
much quicker than ours can, had made Gardner
rise af once. Four times he bounded up into

&



18 Bosh-Bosh Oil.

the air, each time being carried not quite so high,
and the last time he was dropped right in front
of a boy who was seated in the middle of the



path, and who looked at him in surprise. This
boy was older than Gardner, and he was big and
fat, and, to Gardner's horror, he had a bright blue
face.



Bosh-Bosh Oil. 19

«What are you bounding along in that absurd
way for?’’ he asked, and Gardner told him about
the yeast cake and begged him to let him go on
his way.

“No,” said Blue-Face, with much firmness,
“that I shall not do. JI have sat here for five
years, and shall do so for the next five. Come
again in five years, and then perhaps I will let
you pass.”

“Oh,” said Gardner, “that will be much too
late. I am in a great hurry, for I wish to get
some of the Bosh-Bosh Oil for the poor old man
at the foot of the hill. He is suffering.”

“Well,” said Blue-Face, indifferently, ‘that,
of course, is nothing to me. I cannot let you
pass.”

Gardner put his hand into his pocket and drew
forth the big red marble.

“Oh, what a beauty,” said Blue-Face ad-
miringly.

“Tt shall be yours, if you will let me pass.”

INO:

“Then it shall be yours if you can catch it.”



20 Bosh-Bosh Oil.

“Take your offer and thanks for it,” said Blue
Face.

Gardner then threw up the marble, and in
such a way that when it fell it must roll down
the path. This it did, and Blue-Face, seeing
what was now his own property rolling rapidly
down the hill away from him, forgot everything
and dashed after it, while Gardner, seizing his
chance, flew in the other direction.

‘Good-bye, Blue-Face,” he shouted, but re-
ceiving no answer, looked back, to find no boy,
and, alas, no marble.

‘What a strange path this is,” he said, “and
how caz things disappear so quickly.”

The air was now suddenly filled with deafen-
ing barks. ‘“ Bow-wow-wow”’ in a very high key,
“bow-wow-wow” in a middle-sized key, and

’

“bow-wow-wow’” in a very low key. Gardner
stopped and looked about him, but saw no dogs.
‘oihose jane, dogs, lL know,ws ie, saidemeand
wherever they are, I am sure I hope they are
muzzled,” for he could not help feeling a bit

nervous.



Bosh-Bosh Oil. 21

A sharp turn, and a strange sight was before
him. In the very middle of the path stood an
enormous brown jug, and in this jug, and appar-
ently fastened by their tails, were about twenty



snakes! At least Gardner thought they were
snakes, till on examination he found that each
had the head of a dog. One the small head of
a black and tan, another of the impertinent pug,



22 Bosh-Bosh Oil.

one of the big, shaggy St. Bernard, another of
the Newfoundland, and so on; and each dog-head
was barking its loudest, while the snake-bodies
were writhing wildly from side to side. The
boy’s heart sank.

‘Never, never, can I pass those—those—
things—whatever they are,’ he said. Then he
remembered the poor old man waiting for him.

‘Good dogs, good doggies,” he said, in a
wheedling tone, though his teeth were chattering
with fear.

His answer was louder barking from the dog-
snakes, and wilder writhing from the snake-dogs.
Suddenly he thought of the cracker in his pocket.
Breaking off a piece, he threw it down near the
jug. “Snap,” and one of the dog-snakes had
eaten it, and with apparent relish. Then he broke
up all the crackers into small pieces, and going as
near the big jug as he dared, threw them on the
ground at one side. All the dog-snakes bent at
once to eat them, which for a second left the other
side free, and in that second, but with his heart
beating hard, Gardner darted by. The dogs, find-



Bosh-Bosh Oil. 23

ing that he had escaped them, gave one tremen-
dous bark, and then—when the boy looked back,
nothing was to be seen except the dusty, brown
path stretching off behind him.

On he trudged and suddenly stepped into
something horrid, very black and fearfully sticky.
He drew back his foot quickly, but in doing so,
the boot was actually torn from him. He then
tried to go round the sticky mass, but, alas, it
seemed to extend on either side as far as the eye
could reach. Then he tried to pull out his boot,
but it was as firmly imbedded as if it had grown
there.

“This,” he said, “is the very worst place I
have reached yet. What shall I do?”

A bunch of brilliant yellow flowers now at-
tracted his attentions.

‘“Buttercups,’ he said, ‘and what monstrous
ones they are, and oh, what in the world does
this mean? They are real buttercups.’’ For, on
stooping to examine them, he found that each
little yellow flower was filled to overflowing with
something that certainly looked like very good



24 Bosh-Bosh Oil.

butter. Gardner was amazed, and then a funny
thought came to him. ‘Why not butter my feet,
and then perhaps I shall be able to cross this pitch
pond.” So laughing at the thought, he carefully
covered the sole of his boot and the sole of his
stocking (and very nasty that felt, too) with the
butter. Then he cautiously tried one foot on the
pitch, and found that he could now walk over it
with the utmost ease! He had soon crossed it,
and turned to give one last look at his lost boot,
when—and Gardner rubbed his eyes to make sure,
for he thought he must be mistaken—he found
that the black, sticky mass had disappeared, and
with it his boot !

He had scarcely recovered from his astonish-
ment, when he was startled by hearing a tre-
mendous ‘“ guaaaack.’ Looking up, he saw, a
little way up the path, a monster duck—never
had he imagined such an enormous bird. Its
mouth was wide open, and was fully as large as a
window! This alarming creature was coming
down upon Gardner as fast as she could waddle,
and her eyes were snapping angrily. He had,



Bosh-Bosh Oil. Die

poor boy, but a moment in which to make up his
mind, and what do you think he did? Seizing a
handful of buttercups (and how fortunate it was
for him that they happened to grow right there) he
covered his entire head with butter. Then gather-



ing himself together, he ran toward the duck with
a tremendous rush. He was the very best runner
at school, which was, of course, of the greatest
assistance to him in doing this wonderful thing.
Can you credit me, when I tell you that Gardner
jumped directly into the widely opened mouth of
the monster duck, and that he went with such /ve-
mendous force that he shot right through her, land-
ing a foot beyond her, face down, on the ground!



26 Bosh-Bosh Oil.

Of course, his slippery, buttered head was a great,
great help to him, but it was in any case a most
marvellous thing for a boy to have done, was
it not? He lay there for five minutes, without
moving, for he felt, naturally, quite weak. Then,
remembering the poor old man, he slowly
picked himself up, and went on, first turning to
see what had become of the duck, whose dead
body he expected to see. But no duck, either
dead or alive, was there. He was, however, be-
yond being astonished at anything now.

“I don't at all like the feeling of this butter on
my head,” he said, as he continued his journey,
“and I wish I could find some water, so that I
could wash it off.”

His wish was gratified, for there, right before
him, was a well. And not only a well, but a
bucket, too. This Gardner filled, and succeeded in
washing most of the butter from his head. Then
he saw that to continue on his road, he must either
go round the well, or step over it. To go round
was impossible, as the ground on either side was
too steep. To step over was equally impossible,



Bosh-Bosh Oil. 27

for the well was very large. ‘‘ Butter won't help
me here,” he thought, sadly. Looking down into
the well he called out,

“Won't you please go off, Well, and let me
get the Bosh-Bosh Oil for the poor old man?”

And then, he almost fell into the hole, for a
voice far, far below answered, saying,

“Who is speaking to me?”

Gardner was much frightened, for he thought
this must be some other boy who had fallen into
the well.

“Who are you?” he called out.

“Truth,” came the answer, and then Gardner
remembered to have heard that ‘truth lies at the
bottom of a well.”

“T wish you would come up here, Truth,” he
said (for an idea had suddenly come to him).

“Very well,” said Truth, “wait a moment and I
will be there.”

Gardner promised, for, indeed, what else could
he do but wait? Soon a scrambling and scratching
was heard, and Truth slowly crept up till he reached
a big stone which jutted out at one side, about



28 Bosh-Bosh Oil.

two feet from the top. And on this he sat, while
Gardner looked at him in astonishment, for he was
truly a most remarkable fellow. He looked
young, he looked old. He was very big and
round, and he had the kindest, frankest, sweetest
face you can imagine. Gardner thought at first
he must be made of glass, for he was so wonder-
fully transparent—you could see right through him.

)

‘“Now, boy,” said he, ‘what do you want te
ask me?”

‘“Why you don’t tell the truth at all times >”

retisthetmuthrat all times, aivomelarmyelriatn
itself,” was the indignant answer.

‘But every one says that ‘truth Zes at the bot-
tom of a well.’”’

At this Truth laughed heartily, so heartily that
he almost fell from his slippery seat, and then he
explained that it was a different kind of a “lie.”

“But I don’t see,’ continued Gardner, “why
you live at the do¢fom of a well, anyway. I should
think you would prefer the top. But perhaps,
Truth, you can’t lie down as easily at the top of a
well.”



Bosh-Bosh Oil. 29

“Oh, yes, Truth can go anywhere,” was the
proud answer. “I will show you,” and crawling up,
he lay down over the well, completely covering it.

This was the little boy’s chance, for which he
had been waiting. With one bound he was over,
using poor Truth for a bridge, but stepping very
lightly, not to hurt him. He heard a great splash,
a loud cry from Truth, and looked back to see—
nothing, nothing but the dusty path. The well
and fat, pleasant Truth had vanished !

Now as the boy went on, the path changed.
It became very beautiful. On either side most
gorgeous flowers filled the air with delicious
perfume, while lovely birds, which Gardner had
never seen before, sang loudly. Suddenly, he felt
a light touch on his arm, and turning, saw beside
him a wee maid



a fairy.

“Gardner,” said she, “you have been a very
brave boy. You have passed in safety all the
dangers of the path, and I will now lead you to
the Golden Temple, containing the Bosh-Bosh Oil,
which is guarded by the famous Gold-Bird.” .

So Gardner walked on with her, trembling with



30 Bosh-Bosh Oil.

excitement. Sweet music was heard—a soft ycl-
low light shone on him, and then, looking up, he
saw before him—the TYemfle. It was a round
house made of solid, shining, yellow gold. Slen-
der gold pillars supported the roof, which was
made of diamonds, and was too dazzlingly beauti-
ful to look at. They entered and sat down on
the wonderful chairs, which were made of precious
Stones, one being of sapphire, one of rubies, one
of emeralds, and so on. A small gold table stood
in the middle of the room. On it was a golden
box containing the wonderful oil, and guarded by
the Gold-Bird. His head was a huge diamond,
his eyes two brilliant emeralds, and his body and
wings were of gold. When he saw Gardner, he
opened the box-lid with his bill, and there lay
seven tiny bottles of the wonderful oil, which to tell
the truth, looked just like Aerosene. The fairy
gave one bottle to Gardner, who thanked her and
the bird, and with his prize clasped in his hands,
ran swiftly down the path, delighted to think that
even if he had lost his boot and his marble and
magnet, he could now help the poor old man.



Bosh-Bosh Oil. Be

He had reached the foot of the path, when he
saw a small black object, lying directly in the mid-
dle of it. When he came up to it, he found, to
his delight, that it was his boot. Sitting down, he
tried to put it on, but something hard in the heel
prevented his doing so. Putting in his hand, he
drew out his magnet. Again he tried, and this
time something round and hard in the toe pre-
vented him. This proved to be his lost marble—
and now the little boy was quite, quite happy.

Running to the hut, he found that the old man
was crying as if his heart would break, for he
thought that the boy, who had been gone a long
time, was never coming with the magic oil, and
that he would have to remain there, his face pressed
to the wall, till death came. Gardner ran to him
and showed his treasure, and they at once rubbed
some of the oil on the poor old sufferer’s nose,
which, as the Brownie had said, immediately be-
came free /

And then Gardner, followed by the old man’s
thanks and blessings, went home.





THE TOAD.

NE day Reginald’s mamma asked him if he
() would n’t like to get some mushrooms. He
said he would, and taking his pail in his
hand, offhe went. First toa place where he thought
he had seen some growing, but they proved to be
toad-stools, which, although pretty, are very dan-
gerous to eat. Reginald knew this, so he did not
touch them, but went on farther. Soon he found
a beautiful mushroom, and was about to pick it,
when a voice quite near, said:

‘“Boy, how do you do?”

Reginald turned, but seeing no one thought he
must have been mistaken, and again stooped to
pick the mushroom, when he saw, sitting beside
it, an enormous toad. Just then he again heard

the same voice, and this time louder:
32



The Toad. 33

“JT said, boy, how do you do?” And if you
can believe me, the voice was the toad’s voice,
and it was he who had spoken! Reginald, who
had never heard a toad speak before, and in fact
did n't know that they could, was so much
astonished that he fairly gasped.

“That mushroom,” continued the toad, calmly,
“is mine, and you cannot have it. Go and pick
those toad-stools.”

“ But,’ said Reginald, who had somewhat
recovered from his astonishment, “I don’t want
any toad-stools.”’

“Well, then,” said the toad, ‘of course, that is
not my fault, now is it?” .

“No,” said Reginald, somewhat timidly.

“Then the best thing for you to do, boy, is to
go home.”

“But, I came to pick mushrooms for my
mamma, and I certainly shall not go home because
a toad tells me to do so. Jam not ready to go.”

“Qh,” said the toad, “I beg your pardon; I
thought perhaps, you were ready. If you are not,
then why don’t you stay here? And if you stay,

3 ~ :



34 The Toad.

perhaps you would like to go fishing with me? It
will really give me much pleasure to show you
how I catch fish.”

Reginald, who was very, very fond of fishing,
could not resist this, and said:

“Yes, thank you, I should like that very
much.”

Then the toad stood on his hind legs, slipped
his cold, slimy hand in the boy’s, and on they
walked toward the brook.

‘You are really the most remarkable toad I ever
saw,” said Reginald. ‘ What is your name ?”

“Wait,” was the answer, “and perhaps you
may guess it before our walk is over.”

As soon as they reached the brook, the toad
seated himself on the very edge, in the mud.

“Sit down beside me,” said he to Reginald,
who did not at all like to do this, for he did n't
want to get wet. But he had often been told by
his father that whenever he went fishing with
any one, he must do just as he was told to do,
so when the toad said again, “Sit down here,”
this time very sternly, why Reginald—sat down.











PAGE 34.

REGINALD AND THE TOAD,



36 The Toad.

‘‘Now,” said the toad, “I think I may truly say,
that you will be surprised.” So they waited and
waited and waited and waited, and no fish came.

At last Reginald lost all patience, and said, “]
will wait no longer, I have not seen a single fish.”’

“Then,” said the toad, “if they don’t come,
I can’t catch them, canI? But there is one thing
I can do, and I do it well, too, and that is to catch
butterflies. Would you like to see me do it?”

‘Toads can’t catch butterflies,” said Reginald,
contemptuously.

“I ask you again, rude boy, will you come
and see me catch butterflies ? ”

“I should like to very much.”

“Then come, and you are to look up in the
sky all the time, and when you see a butterfly,
tell me,” directed the toad.

So on they went, the toad holding Reginald’s
hand, and Reginald looking up into the sky. But
although they walked for more than an hour, and
the poor boy’s neck ached cruelly, of one butterfly
did they see.

At last, Reginald, as before. lost patience, and



The Toad. eo

sitting down, said angrily: “T shall go no farther.
I have not seen any butterflies at all.”

“Well,” said the toad, ‘then of course you
don’t blame me for not catching them. You seem
tired, and you are hungry too, I am sure. Are
you fond of wild honey?”

“T never tasted any.”

“Vou don’t say so,” said the toad; ‘then
come,’ and Reginald, much delighted, followed
him. They walked on and on and on, till the
poor boy was ready to drop with fatigue. At last
they returned to the very spot where they had
first started from. And now, what do you sup-
pose that horrid, disagreeable toad did? He
walked to the mushroom, and sitting down upon
it, said, “Well, Boy, have you had a pleasant
walk ?”’

Reginald was, of course, very angry. |
think you are a horrid, wicked toad!” said he,
“a perfect fraud.”

“ Ah, ha,” said the toad, “I thought perhaps
you would guess my name, and you have done
so. My name is—‘Fraud. And, little boy, there



38 The Toad.

are no fish in that brook; and there are never any
butterflies in these woods, nor is there any wild
honey, for there are no bees. Also, there is but
one mushroom here, and as I am sitting on that,
there is, as you see, not ‘mush room’ for you.
So, as I remarked to you about three hours ago,
go home.”

Those were the toad’s last words, and poor
Reginald, grieved and angry, did go home,
with an aching neck and an empty pail; and
told his dear mamma all about it.







TULA OOLAH.

ITTLE Celia Cameron lived with her
mother in a cottage by the sea. Her fa-
ther had been a fisherman, but was drowned

some years before, when Celia was quite a baby.
Since then her poor mother had to work very
hard to support herself and her child. She did
washing for the rich city-people who spent the
summer at the big hotel half a mile down the
beach. Good little Celia did all she could to help
her mother, by gathering driftwood for their
winter fire. There was much of this wood to be
found on the beach, for many a good ship was
wrecked on that dangerous coast. This occupa-
tion brought little Celia nearly every day to the
beach, where she was as much at home splashing

in the water, as any fish.
39



40 Tula Oolah.

There were many seals on that coast, who used
to come up in the early morning and sit round
sociably together, sunning themselves, and lazily
rubbing their sides against the rocks. Whether
it was because they had got used to seeing her, or
because they thought Celia must somehow belong
to them on account of her name, I don’t know,
but they certainly were not afraid of her, but would
come quite near, and sometimes even allow her
to stroke their wet glossy backs.

There was one seal in particular, with whom
she became quite intimate. She often brought
him bits of her breakfast, going without herself,
poor little thing, in order to do so. Of course
the seal did not know that, but he certainly
seemed to be very fond of her, and to appreci-
ate her kindness, looking at her with love and
gratitude, in his great soft eyes. After a while
he seemed to feel that it was not right for him
to be the one to receive presents, and to give
nothing in return, so after this, every time that
Celia appeared he would dive into the deep water,
and come to her proudly bearing a gift. And



Tula Oolah. Al

such odd gifts they were: fishes, sometimes liv-
ing, sometimes dead, bits of wood, a piece of an
old chain, and another time a piece of slimy sea-
weed, fully ten feet long. Once he brought her a
beautiful pink shell.

Celia was always very careful to thank the seal
(Soft-Eyes, she called him) for all the things he
brought her, whether she really liked them or
not, for she would not have hurt his feelings for
anything. But when she saw the beautiful pink
shell, she gave a shout of delight, and stooping,
kissed Soft-Eyes right on his wet head. He
gave a little contented grunt, and nestled up to
her, and there they both sat for a long time, sun-
ning themselves, Soft-Eyes munching the cracker
she had brought, and Celia examining the lovely
shell. It was afterward put on a shelf in the one
room of the tiny cottage, and every one admired
it, for it was not often that any one had so pretty a
shell, and particularly one brought up from the
ocean-bed and given by a soft-eyed, friendly seal.
One day Celia went to the rocks, and her dear
friend was not there.



42 Tula Oolah.

“« Soft-Eyes,” she called, and several seals bobbed
up their heads, but Soft-Eyes was not among them.

Seating herself she waited, thinking perhaps he
had gone farther, trying to get another pink
Shell for her. ‘He will be here,” she said, and
sure enough she soon heard a great puffing,
snorting noise, and on came Soft-Eyes swim-
ming slowly toward her, and carrying in his
mouth—something. What it was she could not
make out. Twice it slipped from him and he had
to dive for it. When he got nearer, Celia saw that
it was an iron box, he was carrying. Crawling up
on the rocks, he dropped this strange gift by her
side, and then looked triumphantly into her face
with eyes that said plainly, “There, what do you
think of that for a gift ?”’

Celia didn’t know what to say but looked at
the box with the greatest astonishment.

‘Where did you get it, Soft-Eyes?”’ she said,
but he only grunted, thinking, no doubt, that the
little girl was thanking him again for what he had
brought her. And indeed it had been no easy
matter for him to pick up that heavy iron box from



Tula Oolah. WAR

the bottom of the ocean, where it had lain almost
hidden by great pieces of iron, and a pile of rot-
ten timbers, which had crumbled as he pulled away
the box, and which was all that remained of a big
ship that had been wrecked there many, many years
before.

But of this the seal knew nothing, nor, of
course, did Celia. The box was about a foot
square, made of iron, and was locked, and there
was no name or inscription of any sort on it.

“Where is the key, Soft-Eyes?” said Celia,
but he made no answer.

Then she decided to break the lock, so running
home, she got a hammer, and a very heavy iron
spike. She thought it only right to open the box
on the beach, in the presence of the seal, for she
could not help feeling that he would be as much
interested as she to see what it contained.

And indeed he seemed to be, and sat there
breathing hard, with his big eyes fixed steadily on
the little girl who, with beating heart, at last suc-
ceeded in prying open the lock. Lifting the lid,
Celia and Soft-Eyes looked in, and saw, fitted



A4 Tula Oolah.

neatly into the box, another, exactly like the first,
Taking it out, they found that that too was locked.
Placing it on the rock between herself and Soft-
Eyes, Celia looked through the key-hole, but could
see nothing.

Suddenly both she and the seal started back,
and looked in terror at the box, for from it came
an awful sound, as of some one in distress! The
voice was soft and muffled, and sounded like a
child moaning. The seal was so much alarmed,
that he scuttled off, and was about to jump into
the water, when poor little Celia called piteously
to him.

‘Come back, Soft-Eyes,” she said, “don’t
leave me all alone with this thing, whatever it
is,’ and the seal, who, at heart, was ashamed of
his cowardice, came back, though with evident re-
luctance.

‘“Now,” said Celia, ‘whatever is in this, is
small, and I am sure can’t hurt us much, and I
am going to find out what it is.”’

So with some difficulty, she broke the lock and,
saw still another box! At this, both she and Soft-



Tula Oolah. AS

Eyes felt relieved. The seal came quite near, and
even bravely smelt of it, which, after all, was a
good deal for him to do, as he was frightened al-
most out of his wits.

Celia lifted the third box out, and now the cries
of the creature, or whatever it was, inside, grew
very loud. This box differed from the others, be-
ing made of brass, prettily ornamented with scroll-
work. It was quite dry, all the boxes being so
tightly fitted into each other, that the sea-water
had been unable to force its way in.

This, too, was locked, but its key hung on the
handle at the side. Unlocking it, Celia opened the
lid very cautiously. The seal, meanwhile, had gone
to the edge of the rock again, ready to at once
jump into the water, should an enemy spring out
upon them. But as nothing of the kind happened,
curiosity got the better of him, and joining Celia,
they both looked into the box together, and saw,
standing in the middle of it, an eephant about
eight inches long! !

He was exquisitely made and his wee trunk
was waving restlessly from side to side, while he



46 Tula Oolah.

moaned piteously, “Tula Oolah, Tula Oolah,”’
over and over again. Celia lifted him out of
the box on to her lap, and found to her aston-
ishment, that he was not alive, but was made of
some hard metal—brass, she thought, for the color
was yellow.

‘But, if he is not alive, then how can he wave
his trunk and talk? And what, Soft-Eyes, oh,
what is he saying?”

But of course the seal did n’t know, and he
evidently did not like the looks of the uncanny
little elephant at all, for as the small creature
raised his voice, and said louder and with still
more piteous sound, “Tula Oolah,” Soft-Eyes
gave a yell of terror, jumped into the water, and
for three days Celia saw nothing of him!

She put the poor little animal back into the
brass box, and locking it, carried it home and put
it on the table. Her mother was away for the
whole day, and Celia ran to the cupboard, and
took out the glass of milk, which had been left
there for her dinner. She poured a little into a
saucer,



Peavall teers

‘ fai \
Lea <



ss

Se \ WW



Ss





47

CELIA FINDS AN ELEPHANT. PAGE 46,



48 Tula Oolah.

‘‘He must be hungry,” she said, ‘and perhaps
‘Tula Oolah’ means ‘give me food’ in the ele-
phant language.”

But when she took the little creature out and
offered him the milk, he did not take it, and 't was
the same with the bread she then gave him.

“Oh, what can it be that you want?” said
tender hearted Celia, who was greatly distressed
by its evident grief.

“Tula Oolah,” was the answer.

At last she could bear it no longer, and lock-
ing the elephant in his box, she went off for drift-
wood, taking her lunch with her, for she meant to
wait till her mother came home before going into
the house, and listening again to that pitiful cry.
She gathered a great deal of wood, which she piled
neatly in the shed at the back of the cottage.

At last, when the sun began to go down, Celia
saw her mother coming, far down the beach, and
ran to meet her. Her mother was much as-
tonished, when she heard the story of the elephant,
and much more astonished when she saw the little
animal herself, and listened to his moaning cry.



Tula Oolah. 49

“Celia,” said she, ‘‘perhaps he is talking French.
Now, there is a French gentleman at the hotel,
and to-morrow I will ask him to come and see
the clephant, and perhaps he can understand
him.”

So the next morning at about ten Professor
Turier came to the cottage.

“Where ees de leedle elephante?” said he,
and when he saw him, he began:

“ Bonjour, vous parlez Francais ?”’

“Tula Oolah,” answered the elephant.

“Que voulez-vous?” continued the French
gentleman, and “Tula Oolah,’ moaned the ele-
phant.

At last the Frenchman went away, and told
all the people at the hotel what he had seen.
Among them was a German. —

«“ T vill minezelf haf von gonverzazhuns mit dot
leedle elephantchen,” said he, and followed by
the two hundred and thirty guests of the hotel,
he went to the cottage.

“Nun, elephantchen,” said he, when he and
each of the two hundred and thirty guests had



50 Tula Oolah.

satisfied their curiosity by looking at the mar-
vellous little animal. ‘Wie geht’s?”

“Tula Oolah,” was the answer.

“So? Kannst also kein Deutsch sprechen?
Don’t shpeak chermans, eh?” enquired the Ger-
man gentleman, sadly.

“Tula Oolah,” replied the elephant with equal
sadness, and so the interview ended.

Then one of the ladies advised Celia’s mother
to take him to the gang of Italians who were work-
ing on the bridge below the hotel.

‘“What he says sounds to me like Italian,” she
said. But when the Italians heard the “Tula
Oolah”’ they could make nothing of it, nor did
the elephant pay the slightest attention to them,
although they talked loudly and all together.

At last the landlord said, ‘‘Mrs. Cameron, to-
morrow a gentleman, a Mr. Newcombe, is coming
here, who understands elephants—I mean real
ones. He has lived in India for many years. He,
I think, will be able to help you.” |

When Mr. Newcombe arrived, he heard about
the little elephant, first from the clerk, and then



Tula Oolah. Ber

from each of the two hundred and thirty guests,
and the following day, the procession, he leading
it, came to the cottage, and he at last was able to
help them.

“Tula Oolah?” he said enquiringly to the
elephant, and “Tula Oolah,” answered the little
creature, no longer sadly but joyfully.

“J understand him,’ said Mr. Newcombe.
“He is speaking the language of a people who
live in the southeastern part of northwestern
Hindoostan. Now, it happens that I lived right
among those very people for several years, and
am glad you came to me, as | am probably the
only man in this country who can speak and
understand their language.”

“Then what, oh what, is he saying ?”” asked
Celia, and her mother, and the two hundred and
thirty guests.

“ He says ‘tula oolah,’ which means ‘ put me
in the water.”

“But what for?” said Celia and the two
hundred and thirty, but Mrs. Cameron ran at
once to fill her largest tub with water. When it



ce Tula Oolah,

was full, little Celia dropped the elephant, who
was now shrieking “Tula Oolah, Tula Oolah,” joy-
fully, and at the top of his voice, into the middle
of the tub! The minute his feet touched the
water, he raised his trunk, threw his head back
and gave vent to a most ear-piercing shriek /
How such a small creature could produce such
a sound, was hard to understand, and the
German gentleman and the French gentleman,
were so much alarmed, that they immediately ran
out of the cottage !

The two hundred and thirty guests who were
waiting outside, hearing the loud cry, and seeing
the two frightened gentlemen, who were evi-
dently bent on getting away as quickly as possible,
became alarmed too, and ran for their lives, and
the beach was soon quite deserted. In the cottage
itself, only Celia and her mother and the ex-
Indian gentleman were left, and they all stood
there, watching carefully the wee elephant, to see
what would happen next.

He swam lazily round the tub three times,
trumpeting loudly and apparently having a very



Tula Oolah. 53

fine time. The water in the tub, meanwhile, had
begun to change. It had grown quite thick—like
molasses, and was of a bright yellow color. After
the elephant had been round the three times, he
swam slowly to the middle. There he remained
for fully a minute, trumpeting occasionally, but
more softly, while the water grew constantly
thicker and yellower.

At last, raising his trunk once more, he said
softly and very sadly, “Oolah,” and then began
slowly to sink !

“Oh,” screamed Celia, ‘‘he is drowning,” and
she put out her hand to save him, but the gentle-
man prevented her, reminding her that the little
creature was not really alive.

“J think I know all about this, but wait,” he
said.

Down, down, down went the elephant, till
only the very top of his head could be seen.
Then that too disappeared, leaving only a little
depression. At this the three looked for a
moment, till even that vanished, and the tub stood
there filled with a solid yellow mass of something.



54 ‘Tula Oolah.

It was perfectly hard and smooth and looked like
burnished brass. They tried to lift it, but found —
it so heavy that it was utterly impossible for them
to move it. Mr. Newcombe then hurried away,
and soon returned with a chemist who examined
carefully what was in the tub, and pronounced it
to be pure gold /

They were all, of course, very, very much sur-
prised, except, indeed, Mr. Newcombe.

‘‘T suspected this might be gold,” he said, “and
I will tell you why. I have, as I told you, lived
among the people in the southeastern part of
northwestern Hindoostan, the country from which
this elephant probably originally came. It is a
mountainous region, and the people live isolated
lives. They have many interesting legends which
have been handed down from father to son, and
among them one that I think may apply to this
case.’ Then Mr. Newcombe translated the legend
for them :
“Tf you find an elephant, made of brass,
An elephant small and old—

Through ‘ Oolah ’—the water—allow him to pass
And the Oolah shall turn to gold /



Tula Oolah., Bas

“This little elephant is undoubtedly one of that
kind, and is probably many hundred years old.”

The gold was broken into small pieces, so that
it could be more easily carried away and sold.
Celia insisted on staying in the room, while this
was being done, for she could not help feeling
that somewhere in it she should find the elephant.
But they did not find him, although in breaking
the last bit of gold, which had been in the middle
at the very bottom of the mass, they came upon
two tiny tusks! And that was all that was left of
the Tula Oolah elephant.

The gold proved to be very pure and when
sold was worth a great many thousand dollars, so
that Celia and her mother became very rich
people. They gave a large lump of it to Mr.
Newcombe, for without his help they might never
have got the gold at all, and they were very
grateful to him. They built a beautiful house on
the beach so that Celia could always be near her
dear friend, Soft-Eyes, the seal, who had brought
all this good fortune to his dear little friend.





HE ON Ss BICYCEE:

ORDON RANDALL had had some money
e given him to buy a bicycle which he was to
choose himself.

“Now, Gordon,” said his mother, as he started
off for the shop, “if there is anything about the
bicycle that you do not understand, make them
explain it to you. Do not be afraid to ask ques-
tions.”

And Gordon promised to be very careful. In
about an hour back he came, radiant.

“JT have bought one, Mamma, and oh, such a
beauty you never saw. The man is to oil it and
send it up this afternoon, and oh, Mamma, I
am so happy.”

When the bicycle came, Mrs. Randall was
delighted with the machine, which seemed to

be a very fine one.
56



The N. S. Bicycle. 57

“You have evidently made a good choice. But,
Gordon,” said she, ‘what are those two letters
‘N.S.’ engraved on the handle? What do they
mean ?”’

“Why,” said Gordon, ‘I don’t know. Per-
haps they are the initials of the maker, but (hanging
his head shamefacedly) I really did not see them
before, or I should surely have asked, as you bade
me. But, Mamma, I will ride down at once to the
shop on my new machine and ask the man.”

“Very well,” said his mother, “but be quick,
dear, for your supper will be ready before long.”

So off went Gordon, his little heart swelling
with pride. He rode well, having ridden a good
deal before, but never on such a beautiful machine,
so light, yet so strong. “And it is mzne, my
very own,” he shouted in great delight. Soon
he came to the shop, and carefully guiding his
machine to the sidewalk, tried to go more slowly,
when to his Aorror he found he could not! The
wheels refused to stop. Round and round they
went, faster than ever, and poor Gordon was carried
by the shop in spite of himself! On and on he went,



58 The N. S. Bicycle.

and round and round went his poor, unwilling,
little legs, while his heart beat “thump, thump,”
in his terror. By the post-office, by the station he
shot, and on and on, far, far away from his home !
The town was left behind, and now he found him-
self on a quiet country road. He tried again and
again to make the bicycle go more slowly, but
no, it absolutely refused to obey him. Gordon,
who had only ridden the ordinary bicycles before,
did not know what to do to force this dreadful
treature to do his bidding. To his delight, he now
saw before him a very high, steep hill.

“Ha, ha, Mr. Bicycle,” said he, “your run will
tome to an end here, I fancy.”

But when they reached the hill, if you will be-
lieve me, the bicycle did not even seem to see that
there was a hill there, for he ran right up the steep
incline, as if it were the most level bicycle track in

the world.
. ‘Oh dear, oh dear,” said Gordon, ‘will nothing
stop it, and must I go on forever? Why, it may
run on for years, and till I am an old, old man, and
how strange it will look to see a white-haired man



The N. S. Bicycle. 59

riding on a small boy’s bicycle, and riding so
awfully fast, too. I wonder if kind people will
take pity on me and throw food to me as I pass oe





60 The N. S. Bicycle.

Poor Gordon’s supper time was now long past,
and he began to feel very hungry, you see. A
dreadful thought suddenly came to him—*“If I
go on at this pace I am sure that in a few days
the land will give out, and then I suppose I
shall have to ride right into the ocean.” At this
fearful idea, Gordon’s tears began to flow. He
was now approaching a large town and every one
he met looked at him in surprise, for to see a ten-
year-old boy on a bicycle riding so wonderfully
fast, and crying as if his heart would break, was a
strange sight truly.

‘Where are you going, little boy?” they
cried.

“T am sure, I don’t know,” said Gordon, and
before they could say any more he was gone. He
passed a big railway station and saw by its sign
that he was in the town of Boreborough, forty
miles from his home, and at this his tears again
gushed forth.

‘Wot yer cryin’ *bout ?” said a very small and
very dirty boy, who was playing in the street.
“Yer a great big cry-baby, an’ yer’d better turn



The N. S. Bicycle. 61

round an’ go home ter yer ma,” and the small boy
threw, I am sorry to say,.a handful of mud at
poor Gordon.

But Gordon did not mind that at all, for at
the boy’s words, an idea had come to him.
What was it he had said? ‘“ Zurn round and go
home.” Now was it not just possible that he
might do this? He knew that he could guide
the bicycle, even if he could not stop it, and why
could he not turn it entirely round? It was
certainly worth trying, and if you will believe me,
the idea of doing so had not once come to him till
the dirty little, mud-throwing boy had spoken.
He waited till he came to a wide, free space and
began to turn. ‘Hurrah,’ he shouted as he
found the machine obeyed him beautifully and
came about with no trouble. He was very much
ashamed to think that he had not thought before
of this simple way out of his difficulty.

He was now on his way back, going as fast
as ever, but no longer crying. He was now
fairly shouting in his delight. Passing the small
boy again, he called out, ‘Thank you, thank you,”



62 The N. S. Bicycle.

and to this day that boy does not know what it
was that Gordon thanked him for. Back over the
same road he flew, and ah, so willingly now. Past
many twinkling electric lights, then out of the big
town, and on to the quiet country road again
where the trees looked very tall and black in the
darkness. Gordon was not very old, and he was
afraid to be out on that lonely road alone, but
he kept saying to himself, “I shall soon be at
home.” He passed through many small towns,
then through the long, dark, wooden bridge that
spanned the river Nokowi, which he could hear
rushing and tumbling far beneath, hurrying on to
the sea. And then at last he saw the lights of his
own dear home, twinkling in the distance.

Down into the middle of the town he went, Be
the station, post-office, and shop where he had
bought this terrible machine, and at last he came
to his home. Turning in at the gate, and gather-
ing his little remaining strength, he made a tre-
mendous effort and jumped from the bicycle.

And the bicycle, what do you think it did? It
stopped short, and stood perfectly still, leaning



The N. S. Bicycle. 63

against the piazza, and looking as good and de-
mure as any ordinary machine could do. But
Gordon did not trust it, and running to the stable,
got a strong rope and tied it firmly to the piazza
post. Then he went in to his mother, whom he
found sobbing bitterly. Running to her and
throwing his arms about her, he told her the whole
wonderful story, and oh, how glad she was to
see him.

“And I thought,” she said, “that I had lost
my dear boy. Men are searching for you in every
direction, while you, poor little fellow, were in
Boreborough, forty miles away.”

She kissed him again and again and after he
had eaten something, for he was faint with hun-
ger, he went to bed and slept till eleven o'clock
the next day.

“Now, Gordon,” said his mother, ‘the first
thing to do is to make the shop-man take back
the bicycle. I will go with you and help you pull
it, for you must not get on it again,” and Gordon
was very willing to obey.

So they led the machine back, and it did not



64 The N.S. Bicycle.

seem at all ashamed, but held its bright nickel-
plated head up proudly, as if it were a very remark-
able machine, and truly I think it was, don’t you?

When they got to the shop and told their story
to the man, he said: “Why I supposed the boy
wanted one of the N. S. machines.”

«And what does ‘N.S.’ mean?” said Gordon.

“Mean?” said the man. ‘“‘N. S.’ means
Never Stop. They never stop, you see, till you
jump off.”

“Indeed they don’t,” said Gordon, ‘you are
quite right, and I think ‘Never Stop’ is a very
good name for them.”

“Well,” said Mrs. Randall, “I think that both
my son and I would prefer the ordinary bicycle.”

So the man exchanged the remarkable “N.S.”
bicycle for a common one, which is perfectly willing
to stop whenever its little master tells it to.

And do you know, the manufacturers found that
no one would buy the N. S. machines, so they gave
up making them some time ago, and now, no mat-
ter where you try, you will find it impossible to buy
an N. S. bicycle.





THE TIGER ON THE HUDSON.

ARRY was spending his Christmas vacation

H at Uncle Ned’s. Uncle Ned had a fine
place on the Hudson, a place dear to the

boy’s heart. There was always sure to be snow
there long after it had left other places. There
were horses, which meant sleigh-rides, unlimited
hills, which meant coasting, and lastly dear Uncle
Ned and Aunt Susie, who had no children of their
own, and who were very, very fond of their nephew.
In the house Harry’s favorite room was his uncle’s
“den,” which by the way was n’t a den at all, but
the biggest room in the house. The walls were
covered with guns, bows and arrows, odd-looking
swords, and pictures of strange places and animals,
for Uncle Ned had been a great traveller, and had

been at the places and seen the animals himself;
5 65



66 The Tiger on the Hudson.

and as he had a big stock of hair-bristling stories
to tell about his thrilling adventures and escapes,
he was a rare companion. There was a wide fire-
place in the room, a good fireplace, which knew its
duty, and performed it well, taking its smoke
decently up the chimney and not spitting it out into
the room, as so many spiteful fireplaces do. There
was no carpet on the floor, but across one end of
the room lay a magnificent rug, the skin of a
“Royal Bengal Tiger,’ which measured ten feet
from tip to tip. Uncle Ned had killed the tiger
himself, although Harry had never heard the story.

One time in the summer, when his uncle and he
were bathing, Harry had seen on his uncle’s arm a
long, cruel red scar, extending from shoulder to
wrist. ‘What is that?” said the boy.

“The Bengal tiger and I know all about that,”
was the answer, ‘and when you are ten years old,
I will tell you the story. You are too young
now.”

And Harry had not forgotten. He was ten
years old, on the twelfth of December, and his first
question to his uncle, when he came this time for



The Tiger on the Hudson. 67

his Christmas holidays was: “Will you tell me
the story of the tiger, Uncle, for I am now ten,
you know ?”’ |

Uncle Ned smiled, and said: “Come into my
den at five this afternoon, and I will tell you all
about it.”

So after luncheon, and after two hours spent
in coasting, Harry went to the den. His uncle
had not yet come in, and he found, on looking at
the funny little bronze clock on the mantelpiece,
that it was only quarter-past four.

Harry was tired, and threw himself into Uncle
Ned’s big leather chair to wait. It had already
grown quite dark outside, for the December days
were short. But the room was not dark, for there
was a glorious fire, blazing triumphantly up the
chimney, shining upon all the curious interesting
things in the room, and showing distinctly each
mark, spot, and stripe on the beautiful tiger-skin.

The tiger’s head had been stuffed, and two
fearfully life-like, green eyes had been placed in it.
Harry used to be quite afraid to look into them,
they were so awfully real. He was looking at



68 The Tiger on the Hudson.

them now when, suddenly, he sprang to his feet in
unutterable horror, for he saw that the eyes had
begun to move! Slowly, slowly they looked round
the room, and rested at last, upon em /

He met their gaze, and having once looked
into those cruel, green glaring eyes, he was en-
tirely unable to move. For fully a minute did
those two stare at each other silently, while the
small bronze clock ticked busily on, and the fire
snapped and crackled its way merrily up the wide
chimney. Then the Tiger opened his mouth, and
in a rough, hoarse voice spoke:

“T heard your uncle say that he would tell you
how I, the king of beasts, the Royal Bengal Tiger
came to lie here. I will tell you first my side of
the story. Sit still and listen” (and, indeed,
Harry was quite unable to do anything else).

“My home was on the banks of the river
Ganges. J had a beautiful wife and three beautiful
children.” (Here the Tiger’s voice became husky.)
“We had a happy home,” he continued, “near an
old deserted temple. Plenty of water we had, a
pleasant climate and enough to eat. There was a






5 tidy H
7S
2 1] Ie









69 HARRY WAITING FOR HIS UNCLE. PAGE 67.



70 The Tiger on the Hudson.

village not very far away and there were herds of
cattle, stray monkeys, and occasional children.
Ah, those happy days, long-gone, long-gone.”
(The Tiger seemed to be full of feeling.) ‘“ Each
morning we all went down to the river Ganges for
a drink, I leading the way, followed by my gentle
wife and my three beautiful children. Then back
again, and if game was at hand, and I kept the
larder well stocked, we ate our breakfast. My wife
was busy all the morning, teaching the little ones
to hunt, and they did well, the dear little things—
they were my children. They killed the smaller
creatures, and once, one of them, perhaps the
bravest of the three, brought in a small monkey,
which he himself had killed, unaided. You can
imagine what a proud day that was for his mother
and me. Oh, my tender wife, and innocent
children, where are you now?” (Here the Tiger
sobbed aloud.)

“Well,” he continued, when able to speak,
“one night I was crouching near the village,
watching for prey, when I overheard a conversation
between two natives. It seemed that a white



The Tiger on the Hudson. a

man had arrived at the village the night before,
and that he intended to make an end of me and
my family! Oh, how I roared in my rage, when
I heard that. How I lashed my tail from side
to side, as I hurried home to tell my wife.

“ «Shall we not all go farther into the thicker
denser forest,’ said she, ‘farther from the haunts
of man ?’

“But I turned fiercely upon her. ‘I will de-
fend you,’ I roared, ‘I will defend you.’

“Three days after this, I was taking a nap in
a clump of bushes, when I heard an odd crackling
noise. Keeping perfectly still, I crouched and
listened. The boughs directly over my head were
now parted, and there stood a man, not two feet
away! Never had I been so near a man before.
He was a native, and his eyes seemed to have a
strange effect on me, for when I looked into them,
I was powerless tomove. He grew very pale, and
his teeth chattered, but he kept his eyes steadily
fixed on me, while he slowly, slowly moved back-
wards. When I could no longer see those strange
eyes, I sprang, but alas, not upon him! He had



2 The Tiger on the Hudson.

just escaped me, and was running for his life.
I was after him like a flash, when suddenly, I
saw a white man standing directly in my way,
and who did not seem in the least afraid. At
this, my rage knew no bounds, for men always
fled from me in terror. I lashed my tail savagely,
growling all the time. I opened my mouth that the
white man might see my long pointed teeth, and I
put my gloriously sharp claws in and out, keeping
my eyes upon him all the time. He was a tall,
thin man, with brown fur covering the lower part
of his face. Why did he stand so fearlessly there?
How did he dare to brave me? In his hand he
held a common black stick, which he had raised to
his shoulder and held pointed at me. Roaring
louder in my rage, I crouched lower and lower,
and then gathering myself together, was just about
to spring upon him, when suddenly, without a
moment's warning, the common little black stick
in the man’s hand, durst// Out of the end
rushed fire and flame. Gaug/ Bang /—some-
thing hit me—a red cloud came before my eyes—
I knew no more. And that’s how I came to be



The Tiger on the Hudson. Vie

herve. The next thing I knew, I was lying in this
quiet room, with new eyes and ears (oh, why did
they take from me my beautiful ears?) and here
I have been ever since. I am not the tiger I was,
and yet I should n’t wonder if after all, there were
enough of me left to attack—say—a small boy!”

Harry began to feel exceedingly uncomforta-
ble at these words. The tiger's voice, which had
been soft, now grew louder.

“I am hungry—I have had nothing to eat for
ten long years. J am hungry,’ he repeated, and
this time his voice rose almost to a roar.

For a moment there was silence in the room
and then Harry, who was staring, fascinated, saw
that the creature was actually coming toward him!
Slowly he crept, his long white teeth gleaming in
the firelight, and his big green eyes snapping
angrily.

“Yes, lam HUNGRY,” he roared, for the
third time, and then poor Harry realized what the
tiger’s horrible intention was—to satisfy that hun-
ger, by eating Adm. The poor boy’s teeth chat-
tered, he trembled violently. In another minute



74 The Tiger on the Hudson.

the creature would be upon him. How could he
defend himself ?

The poker! Springing to his feet and seizing
the big iron poker, Harry advanced upon the
Tiger.

Meantime, the shovel and tongs, which stood
with the poker, followed the law of all fire-
irons and fell witha crash onthe hearth! Roused
by this noise, Harry became suddenly conscious
that he was standing quite alone in the room,
fiercely brandishing the poker at—wothing ! Rub-
bing his eyes he looked about him at the quiet
room, at the fire which had now burned low, and
lastly, and rather timidly, he looked at the tiger-
skin rug lying flatly and innocently upon the floor.
Just then the door opened, and he heard his
uncle’s cheery voice.

“Well boysie, are you ready for the grewsome
tiger-tale ?”

“Why Uncle,” said Harry, “I have just heard
ite

“Heard it?” said Uncle Ned, in astonishment.
“From whom ?”



The Tiger on the Hudson, 7

“From the tiger himself’? And then Uncle
Ned, looking more carefully at the boy’s flushed
face, and tousled hair, laughed long and loud.
“You were dreaming, little boy,” he said, at last.

“Oh, Uncle, it was too real to be a dream, I
will tell you about it,” and he told him all.

When he had finished, Uncle Ned was very
much astonished. ‘The story is true, just as it
really happened,” saidhe. “ My native guide came
running back to me with a white face, shouting ‘ the
tiger, the tiger!’ when out he sprang. I had just
time to put my gun to my shoulder and je.
Fortunately, my aim was true, for he fell at my
feet. I did not, however, know about Madam
Tiger or the three little Tigerses, and your friend
omitted to tell you that before we parted he gave
me this,” and Uncle Ned showed the cruel scar on
his arm.

“T went up to him as he lay stretched out at
full length on the ground, supposing, of course,
that he was quite dead, and he—well, I found that
he was wé But in the main, Harry, the story is
true, just as I would have told it myself, and it is



76 The Tiger on the Hudson.

certainly very odd that you should have dreamed
ite

The following year Harry visited his aunt and
uncle in September. One day when his uncle was
in his den, writing, the boy came in with three
tiger-lilies. Going to the tiger, he placed them
under his paw.

«And why, dear?” said his uncle.

“Well, Uncle, I know, of course, that he was a
very bad tiger to scratch you,” said Harry, “but
oh, it was n’t the fault of his three dear little baby
tigers—and he loved them dearly—he said so him-
self, you know, and so—I brought him these three
tiger-lilies, one for each.”







LUCIA, THE ORGAN-MAIDEN.

EVER had Pietro Pitti turned out such a
N wonderful hand-organ, and that is saying
a great deal. It had been made by a
new man, who had come from the cold North
country, and who had been with Pitti but a short
time. He begged to be allowed to make the
organ himself.
“JT have an idea,” he said, “which, if I can
but carry out, will make you famous, master.”
“T have fame already,” was the proud answer.
“Ah, but there is always one step higher,
master.”
“Make the organ then, as you will, North-
erner,” said Signor Pitti, and the young man had
‘done so.

This day it was finished and was to be tried
a7



78 Lucia, the Organ-Maiden.

for the first time. Signor and Signora Pitti and
the children, four small Pittises, were present,
while the workmen stood in the background ex-
pectant, and many pairs of black eyes were fixed
eagerly upon the hand-organ which was brought
in by the Northerner. The covering cloth was
removed. The organ was made of selected rose-~
wood, which Signor Pitti always used, and was
beautifully polished. But it differed from all the
other organs, for in front was a glass window,
through which you looked into a beautiful little
room hung with soft pink satin.

“A doll’s room, a salon,” cried the youngest
Signorina Pitti. At the back of this room at one
side was a door.

“Well, well,” said Signor Pitti, “but what—”’

“Patience, master, for a moment,” said the
Northerner, and began to turn the handle of the
organ. It played a march through well and
clearly, and in perfect time, but then all Signor
Pitti’s organs did ¢Aat. Next it played “ La Bella
Napoli.” Signor and Signora smiled, for they
loved their Naples and liked to hear its praises,















































PAGE 81,

PAOLO AND HIS ORGAN,

2



80 Lucia, the Organ-Maiden.

Then the door at the back of the small organ-
room opened slowly, and out came a most ex-
quisite doll about ten inches high. She was
dressed in pink and had long flowing hair, and it
was really hard to decide whether her cheeks were
pinker than her smile was broad, or her smile
broader than her cheeks were pink—they were
both unmistakable.

Coming forward she bowed very low to her
audience, and as they saw nothing of the spring in
her back, or the wire that made her do so, they
all bowed politely in return, for it really seemed as
if she must be alive. Then slowly, gracefully, the
little creature danced around her pink drawing-
room in perfect time to the music. When that was
finished she bowed once more, the door at the back
opened and she disappeared.

The Pitti family were delighted. ‘Bella,
Bella, Wonderful,” they cried, and the North-
erner’s fortune was made from that day.

The organ was sold to one Paolo Cello for
quite a large sum of money, and Lucia, the little
dancing-lady, danced every day in beautiful



Lucia, the Organ-Maiden. 81

Naples, before hundreds of people. And wherever
she appeared, crowds of admirers applauded her.

Sometimes Paolo and she would go to some of
the villas in the neighborhood, where she danced
tirelessly, under trees laden with big yellow
oranges, and with flowers of all colors and kinds
growing about her.

One day they went to Pompeii and there, out-
side its ruined walls, Lucia danced for some
foreigners, in full sight of a big mountain out of
which smoke was coming forever, forever. Lucia
danced and Vesuvius smoked, each attending to
its own business. But whenever Lucia danced,
whether before strangers or dark-skinned Italians,
the result was the same—admiration. And Paolo
came to love the little creature almost as if she
were alive, and took the best care of her.

The window of her dancing-room, and the room
itself were spotless, the machinery well oiled, and
Paolo was always very careful to play her music
in good time, neither too fast nor too slow—in
dancing so much depends upon the music, you
know.



82 Lucia, the Organ-Maiden.

Ah, those happy days, they were too good to
last, and they did n’t. One day Paolo was taken
ill.

“We can’t go out to-day, little Lucia,” he said.
He often talked to her as if she were truly alive,
and as she did n’t know she was n't, perhaps it
was just as well.

Worse and worse grew Paolo, as he lay upon
his narrow bed in his one small room. Gradually
the stock of money which he and Lucia had earned,
dwindled, disappeared. One by one the bits of
furniture had to be sold. Then came a dreadful
day when Paolo pulled up the little window and
spoke to Lucia.

“ It almost breaks my heart,” he said, “ but we
must part, you and I. I am penniless. A man
has offered me a big sum for you. But I have
parted with everything else first, Lucia mia,” and
the poor fellow, pointed round the room, which
was indeed quite empty, save for the bed and
organ. “ But, if I live, I shall work hard and try
to buy you back again. Remember that, Lucia.”
Then Paolo stooped and kissed her, and no one



Lucia, the Organ-Maiden. 83

but he and she knew of that big hot tear which
fell on her cheek.

Later, a man knocked at the door, gave money
to Paolo, and took the organ away. Then followed
unhappy years for poor Lucia. Not that her new
master, Antonio, was unkind—he was simply a
very careless, untidy man. He left the organ
standing in cold places, where the wind crept in
and chilled her. Once he left the organ for a
while in the street on a stormy day, and the rain
came in through a crack in the case and dripped
on her pretty pink cheeks. The color ran, and
poor Lucia was greatly mortified, and looked it,
too. Sometimes Antonio played much too fast,
and Lucia was, of course, obliged to dance fast,
which, as she was a person of much natural dignity,
was very repulsive to her. Sometimes the Master
forgot to even oil the machine, and once he put in
too much oil. So much that it oozed out over the
floor, and poor Lucia’s pretty pink slippers were
ruined, which, as she was an extremely dainty little
thing, hurt her feelings dreadfully.

But worse was to follow. Antonio, who was



84 Lucia, the Organ-Maiden.

quite old, gave up the business and sold the organ
to a man named Pietro Nolli, who took it to
America. For ten days poor Lucia was put ina
dark, dark place on the big steamer, where she
heard the most awful roaring noises, and was
tossed up and down, from side to side, till she
really longed to die. She thought of Paolo and
wondered if he had died, and if not, whether she
would ever see him again. It comforted her some-
what to remember that he had said he would try
and find her and buy her back again.

At last she reached America, and then fol-
lowed a year of wretched life to the poor dancer.
Nothing was done for her. The machinery was
broken and not mended. The organ was sadly
out of tune, but Pietro neither noticed nor cared.
The dust collected in the little drawing-room.
The window grew cloudy, but for that Lucia was
glad, for she was ashamed of the dirty room, and
also, alas, of her dancing. She was older, and had
rheumatism, for she was not used to the colder
climate of America, and so she danced in quite a
stiff jerky way, that would have been funny if it



Lucia, the Organ-Maiden. 85

had not been so sad. However, people still
seemed to like to see her dance, and crowded
about the organ whenever she began.

One bitterly cold day, Lucia, her bones aching,
was about to make her bow, when she felt some-
thing svzaf in her back, and instead of bowing for-
ward, she bowed backward! It was with the
greatest difficulty that she stood upright again,
and went on with the dance. But from that time
on, she always bowed the same way, backward
and not forward. She had no idea how very funny
she looked, and when she heard the shout from
the people who were watching her, she supposed,
of course, it was a shout of delight, such as she
had heard many times in her life, and her poor
little cold heart warmed at the sound.

One day, by accident, her window was broken,
and of course not mended. So poor Lucia had
to dance in her drawing-room with the dust and
bitter, biting cold blowing in through the hole.
It was a frightful experience for her, with her
rheumatism, and dressed in the thinnest of thin
tulles with no underclothes to speak of. Through



86 Lucia, the Organ-Maiden.

the cruel hole she could now hear the people talk-
ing about her, but instead of the words of praise
she had heard all her life, she found that they
were laughing at her, making fun of her. At this
poor Lucia was almost broken hearted. It seemed |
to her the very worst blow of all.

She now no longer tried to dance her best, or
even to keep up with the squeaky music, and one
day she felt very ill, and began to go slow-er and
s-l-o-w-e-r, and was about to stop altogether, and
never dance again, when she suddenly saw looking
at her, through the window a face that she knew /
A dear face with kind tender eyes, eyes that were
full of tears. She heard a voice, a long unheard
voice, saying, ‘‘ Lucia, cara mia, Lucia ‘tis I, your
Paolo, I have found you at last,’ and then the
little dancer heard no more for she fainted and
fell on the floor of the room.

Five dollars did Paolo give to Pietro for the
organ, and then the old happy days began once
more. The machinery was mended, the organ
thoroughly made over by Paolo, who understood
well his business. Lucia was beautifully and



Lucia, the Organ-Maiden. 87

warmly dressed in rich crimson velvet. Her dig-
nity, grace, and youth came back again, and she
danced as before for Paolo, and put her whole
heart into it. I saw her only yesterday. I advise
you to look carefully at every hand-organ you
meet, and perhaps you may see her, too.





Full Text




WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY
MARIE L. DANFORTH
Universi
of
Florida

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PAGE 6.

G SQUASH.

A QUICK-RUNNIN
SAO SCI S
SHOR BE ORE

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY

MARIE L. DANFORTH

&

NEW YORK
E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY

681 Firth AVE. |
CoPpygiGuT
E. P. DUTTON & COQ.
1896



First printing, July, 1905

Second sf Aug., 1907
Third ce July, 1909
Fourth “ Dec., 1910
Fifth yy May, 1912
Sixth os Feb., 1914
Seventh wy July, 1915
Eighth sf May, 1917
Ninth © July, 1918
Tenth oy Feb., z919
Eleventh ff Mar., 1919
Twelfth
Thirteenth ‘ Feb,, 1920

Printed in the United States of Ameria
TO GARDNER
“THE YOUNGEST MEMBER OF THE HOUSE”
THIS BOOK
IS LOVINGLY DEDICATED
BY HIS MOTHER



PREFATORY NOTE.

tion of which the best types are to be

found in Grimm’s Collection of German
Household Tales, and of which the line was so well
continued by Hans Andersen. Many have tried to
follow in the same path ; but none, it seems to me,
have done it so well as Mrs. Aspinwall. Her stories
have that pure impossibility in which children de-
light, that fresh vigor which carries attention along,
and that suggestion which even children vaguely
feel of deeper meanings. ‘The Quickly-Growing
Squash,” for instance, is to the child who hears it,
as it doubtless was to the author, only a bit of
frolic extravaganza ; but if it had been written—as
it well might have been—by Tieck or Hoffmann
or Musaus, it would have had ere now a dozen

vu

c ‘HESE stories are bits of that pure imagina-
Vill Prefatory Note.

theories and elucidations advanced by wise com-
mentators. It would have been held to express
systematically the growth of a sin or of a suspicion
or of a superstition, or of any one of half a dozen
other things of which the author never dreamed.
That is the test of a fantasy-piece, that it has
something for all; it rouses a whole swarm of
analogies and suggestions, yielding a moral when
the author sought only innocent fun and the
delights of narration. The lover of childhood and
the lover of creative imagination may alike find
pleasure in this book, and it should have ten
thousand readers.

THOMAS WENTWORTH HIGGINSON.
C4mBRIDGE, MASS,




CONTENTS.

A Quick-RUNNING SQUASH

BosH-BosH OIL . :
Tue Toap . i 3
TuLA OOLAH ‘ :
Tue N. S. BICYCLE

Tue TIGER ON THE HUDSON

Lucia, THE ORGAN-MAIDEN

THE SHADOW

WuHaT THE SQUIRREL DID FOR RICHARD .

THE Runaway WaTCH

A GRASSHOPPER’S TRIP TO THE CITY
Tue Licut-House Lamp
Monkey TRICKS IN THE JUNGLE

THE UPpSIDEDOWNIANS
THE Iron Doc .

PAGE

32
39

65
77
88

99
112
119
133
138
146
160
oe Contents.

PAGE

My FLANNEL ROOSTER .. : : P71
THE STATUE AND THE BIRDS . : 2 LS
THE Toap-Boy . : : : : SOS
THE SAD EXPERIENCE OF Poor PoMposiTy . 194
RED Boots : : : ’ : Zoi
SAVED : : : : : ; 20s
THE DISOBEDIENT ISLAND. : : 5 AZ
THE Botp Bap BICYCLE . : : E222
THE Lapy oF SNow . : E : Lee?
How THE ANDIRONS TOOK A WALK. 7 eon
‘‘ACHUSETT’S RIDE TO PHILADELPHIA” . 242
THE Mouse’s REVENGE . : : 248

THE Tait oF A MOUSE . : :

SHORT STORIES FOR SHORT PEOPLE


A QUICK-RUNNING SQUASH.

HARLES owned a garden. One morning
his father called him and pointing to four
stakes driven in the ground which certainly

had not been there the night before, said:

“All the land within those four stakes is yours,
your very own.”

Charles was delighted, and thanking his dear
father ran off to get his little cart, for he wished
at once to build a stone wall about his property.
He did not fear it would run away, but he knew
2 A. Quick-Running Squash.

that land-owners always walled in their posses-
sions.

“After the wall is built,” said his father, “you
may plant in your garden anything you like, and
James will give you what you ask for.”

In two days the wall was built, and a good
one it was too, being strong and even.

The next day James set out some plants
for him, and gave the boy some seeds which
he planted himself, James telling him how to
do it.

He then got his watering-pot and gently
sprinkled the newly planted ground with warm
water. Running across the lawn he looked down
the road to see if his father had not yet come
from the village. His father was nowhere to be
seen, but coming down the road was a most
remarkable looking man. He was tall and thin
and had bright red hair which had evidently not
been cut for a very long time. He wore a blue
coat, green trousers, red hat, and on his hands,
which were large, two very dirty, ragged, white
kid gloves. This wonderful man came up to
A Quick-Running Squash. 3

Charles and asked for a drink of water, which he,
being a polite boy, at once brought. The man
thanked him, and then said:

“What have you been doing this morning,
little man?”

Charles told him about his new garden, and
the man listened with much interest.

“Tittle boy,” said he, ‘there is one seed that
you have not got.”

“And what is that?”

“The seed of the quick-running squash.”

Charles’s face fell.

“T don’t believe James has that, and I don’t
know where to get one,” he faltered.

‘“Now, as it happens,” said the man, “I
have one of those very seeds in my pocket. It
is not, however, that of the common, every-
day quick-running squash. This one came from
India, and is marvellous for its quick-running
qualities. You have been kind to me, little boy,
and I will give it to you,’ and with a peculiar
smile, this strange man produced from his pocket,
instead of the ordinary squash seed, an odd,
4 A Quick-Running Squash.

round, red seed which he gave to Charles, who
thanked him heartily, and who ran to plant it at
once. Having done so, he went back to ask
when the quick-running squash would begin to
grow. But the man had disappeared, and _ al-
though Charles looked up and down the dusty
road, he could see nothing of him.

As he stood there, he heard behind him a little
rustling noise, and turning, saw coming toward
him a green vine. He had, of course, seen vines
before, but never, never had he seen such a queer
one as this. It was running swiftly toward him,
and on the very front was a round yellow ball,
about as big as an orange! Charles looking back
to see where it came from, found that it started
in the corner of his garden. And what had he
planted in that corner? Why, to be sure, the
seed of the quick-running squash which the
strange man had just given him.

“Well, well, well,” he shouted, in great ex-
citement, “what an aw/fu//y quick-running squash
it is. I suppose that little yellow thing in front is
the squash itself. But indeed it must not run
A Quick-Running Squash. 5

away from me, I must stop it,” and he darted
swiftly down the street after it.

But, alas, no boy could run as fast as that
squash, and Charles saw far ahead the bright
yellow ball now grown to be about the size of
an ordinary squash, running and capering merrily
over stones big and little, never turning out for
anything, but bobbing up and down, up and
down, and waving its long green vine like a tail
behind it. The boy ran swiftly on. “It shall wot
get away,” he panted. “It belongs to me.”

But that the squash did not seem to realize
at all. He did not feel that he belonged to any-
body, and he ad feel that he was a quick-running
squash, and so on he scampered.

Suddenly he came to a very large rock, and
stopped for a moment to take breath, and in
that moment Charles caught up with him and
simply sat down on him.

“Now, squash,” said he, slapping him on the
side, “your journey is ended.”

The words were scarcely spoken when he
suddenly felt himself lifted up in the air, and
6 A Quick-Running Squash.

bumpity, bump, over the stone flew the squash,
carrying with him his very much astonished little
master! The squash had been growing all the
time, and was now about three times as big as
an ordinary one. Charles, who had a pony of
his own, knew how to ride, but never had he
ridden anything so extraordinary as this. On
they flew, ‘roll, waddle, bump, Jdzmp, roll,
waddle, dang,” the boy digging his knees hard
into the sides of the squash to avoid being
thrown. He had a dreadfully hard time. Mount
the next quick-running squash you meet, and
you will see for yourself how it is.

To Charles’s great delight he now saw his
father coming toward him, riding his big black
horse Nero, who was very much frightened when
he saw the boy on such a strange yellow steed.
But Nero soon calmed down at his master’s
voice, and turning, rode along beside the big
squash, although he had to go at full speed to do
so. ‘Gallopty-gallop” went Nero and ‘‘bumpity-
bump” went the squash. Papa lost his hat
(Charles had parted with his long before).
A Quick-Running Squash. 7

“What are you doing, my son, and what,
what is it you are riding?” asked his father.

“A quick-running squash, Papa,” gasped
Charles, who, although bruised and aching, re-
fused to give up the squash, and was still
pluckily keeping his seat. ‘Stop it, oh, do stop
it, Papa.”

His father knew that this could be no ordinary
squash, and saw that it evidently did not intend
to stop.

“JT will try to 4wrz it and make it go back,” he
said, so riding Nero nearer and nearer the squash,
he forced it up against a stone wall. But, instead
of going back, this extraordinary squash jumped
with scarcely a moment's hesitation over the
high wall, and went bobbing along into the rough
field beyond. But alas, before them was a broad
lake, and as he could not swim, back he was
forced to turn. Over the wall and back again
over the same road and toward the garden
whence he came, Charles still on his back and
Charles’s papa galloping at full speed behind.

The squash, however, must have had a good
8 A Quick-Running Squash.

heart, for when he reached the house again, he
of his own accord turned in at the gate and
ran up to the wall of Charles’s garden. There
he stopped, for he was now so big that he could
not climb walls, and indeed had he been able to
get in he would have filled the little garden
to overflowing, for he was really enormous.
Charles’s father had actually to get a ladder for
the poor little fellow to climb down, and he was
so tired that he had to be carried to the
house. But the squash was tired, too, dreadfully
tired. J suppose it is a very bad thing for a
growing squash to take much exercise. This
certainly was a growing squash, and there is also
no doubt that he had taken a great deal of exercise
that morning. Be that as it may, when the family
were at luncheon, they were alarmed by hearing
a violent explosion near the house. Rushing out to
see what could have happened, they found that the
marvellous quick-running squash had durs¢// It
lay spread all over the lawn in a thousand pieces.

The family, and all the neighbors’ families for
miles around, had squash pie for a week.


BOSH-BOSH OIL.

A Farry STORY.

ARDNER had started off by himself for a
(3 long tramp through the woods. He had
walked quite a distance when he suddenly

came to a small brown hut, which he was about to
pass when he heard cries of pain coming from it.
Running quickly to its one window, he looked in,
and saw a most extraordinary sight. An old man
was alone in the one room, standing near the wall
and with his face pressed hard against it. The
tears were running down his cheeks, and he was

moaning piteously.
IO Bosh-Bosh Oil.

‘“What is the matter?” said Gardner, “and
why do you stand there with your face pressed to
the wall?”

“Come in, little boy, and I will tell you,” was
the answer.

Gardner ran in, and seated himself on a three-
legged stool, which stood in the middle of the
floor.

‘Day before yesterday,” began the old fellow,
‘I was standing at my door, and a small man,
with a tall pointed cap and a long beard, passed,
dressed entirely in brown. He tripped and fell,
and I laughed, which made him very angry. ‘I
will teach you to laugh at me,’ he scolded. ‘I am
a Brownie, and no one may laugh or even look at
a Brownie.’ Then he told me that in punishment
I must stand here with my nose glued to the wall
till some kind boy got for me the ‘ Bosh-Bosh
Oil.” If I rub some of that on my nose I shall
then be free. Vou have a kind face, and I wonder
if you would be willing to help me?”

“Indeed I will get this wonderful oil for you if
Tcan,” said Gardner. ‘Where is it to be found?”
Bosh-Bosh Oil. II

“There,” and the old man pointed to the top
of a mountain near the house. ‘But the path
is a very steep one, little boy, and the Brownie
said there were many dangers to be braved
before one could reach the top. When fairly
there, however, you will find the oil in a golden
box, in a golden house, and guarded by the
famous Gold-Bird. Many boys have been here,
but no one would venture, and I suppose I shall
have to stay here till I die,” and he began to
weep again.

Now Gardner was a brave as well as kind
yoy, and he was greatly touched by the old
man’s sad position.

“T will go,” he said, “and don’t lose your
courage, for I will come back soon, and if it isa
possible thing, bring the oil.”

The old man was delighted, and thanked the
boy heartily, as he started on his mission.

He found the path up the mountain with no
difficulty, and a pleasant path it was, being
shaded and with flowers on either side. He
walked on for a hundred yards or so, when he
12 Bosh-Bosh Oil.

was stopped by a very strong wire, which was
stretched directly across the path. He got down
on his knees and tried to crawl under it, but
lo and behold, down came the wire and he could
not pass it! “I will then jump over it,’’ he
said. But when he got up, up it flew, for it
was a magic wire, and was there to prevent
people going any farther. Gardner looked to the
tight and left, but found that it stretched way
off in the distance, on either side, which made
it impossible for him to go round it. He sat
down for a moment, discouraged, but not for
long. That very morning he had exchanged with
a boy friend a fine three-bladed knife for a big red
marble and a wonderfully powerful magnet. This
magnet he now took from his pocket, and held
toward the wire.

‘““Ah, ha!’ he shouted, for the wire, though
evidently with the utmost reluctance, bent to
meet it. Magic though it was, it had to obey
the magnet. Gardner held the magnet lower
and lower, finally laying it on the ground, and,
sadly obeying it, down, down, down came the
Bosh-Bosh Oil. 13

wire also. Then the boy stepped over it, and it
rattled angrily as he did so. Looking back and
laughing merrily, he found to his amazement that
the wire had disappeared! And not only that,
but his magnet as well, had vanished! Gardner
was, of course, greatly surprised, but he expected
to see strange things, and so, in a moment,
continued his journey.

He had not gone far when he saw before him,
sitting in the middle of the path, a small but very
pretty Italian greyhound, who was looking at him
intently, her little head cocked on one side, and
her two ears, which were enormous, raised in the
greatest astonishment. *

“Where did you come from, boy?” she
asked.

“T came from below,’’ he answered, ‘‘and my
name is not Boy, but ‘Gardner,’ doggie.”’

“And my name is not Doggie, but ‘Little
Pitcher,’’’ was the answer while the large ears
were held proudly upright.

“Well, ‘Little Pitcher,’ you seem to be a nice

*This picture is taken from a living ‘Little Pitcher.”
14 Bosh-Bosh Oil.

dog, but I cannot waste time talking to you, I
must hurry on.”

“I am sorry,” said the dog, politely but very
firmly, “but this place you shall not pass.”

Gardner smiled.

“You funny little thing,” he said; “and how
are you going to prevent my doing so?”

“In this way,” and the boy suddenly found
himself seated in the path tripped by the nim-
ble little hound!

Three times was this repeated, till Gardner at
last sat down by the side of the path and glared
angrily at his small tormentor. Then he remem-
bered that he had a cracker in his pocket. Taking
it out he offered it to the little animal.

‘Thank you, I have already dined,” was the
dignified answer.

“Then don’t you want to come for a walk
with me?” and Gardner smiled persuasively at
the dog, who wagged her tail but said she had
just returned from a long walk.

The boy’s heart sank. There remained but
one more thing to try.
Bosh-Bosh Oil. 15

“On my way up here,” he began (and truth-
fully too), “I saw a cat.”






Hira
eu

At this Pitcher’s eyes glistened, and she was visi-
bly affected, although she was silent for a moment.
Then coming nearer the boy, she whispered :
16 Bosh-Bosh Oil.

“What kind of a cat? Big and strong and
a fighter, I daresay?’’

“No, rather a gentle, frightened looking cat.”
The small dog’s body grew suddenly rigid. Her
eyes rolled. She smacked her lips and_ said:

‘“‘Ah, well, she was very near her home, I
suppose?”’

“No, in a field.”’

“Z’hounds! You don’t say so? Of course she
was near shelter of some sort? Near a _ tree?”’

“No, in an open field.”’

“You don’t say so?”

Pitcher was now trembling and her voice was
hoarse with excitement.

“This cat—this cat,’ she panted, ‘‘was facing
the road, I suppose?”

“On the contrary,” said Gardner, ‘her back
was toward the road, and she was sound asleep.”

“Back toward the road—and asleep! Great
Sirius! This is too much!! I cannot let this
chance go,’ and with a howl of delirious excite-
ment, Pitcher vanished down the path! Gardner,
laughing heartily, went on.
Bosh-Bosh Oil. 17

But only for a few steps, for his way was again
blocked. This time by a bush, a cruel looking
bush, covered with long, sharp thorns which grew
directly in the middle of the path. The boy tried
to pass on the right side, when to his amazement,
the thorn-bush gave a funny little hop and placed
itself directly in front of him. He then ran quickly
to the left, but the bush ran too, and stood firmly
before him, again barring the way.

While wondering what to do, he saw lying on
the ground near, a small box. Full of curiosity
he opened it and found it contained a large fat |
yeast cake. But it was not a common everyday
yeast cake, for it smelt like delicious candy.
Gardner tasted it carefully, and finding it was as
good as it smelt, ate it all, and then what do
you think happened? He suddenly felt himself
vise. Up, up, up he was lifted, high over the
thorn bush, and then down, down, down he
slowly came on the other side. For the yeast
he had eaten was made in fairyland, and, working
much quicker than ours can, had made Gardner
rise af once. Four times he bounded up into

&
18 Bosh-Bosh Oil.

the air, each time being carried not quite so high,
and the last time he was dropped right in front
of a boy who was seated in the middle of the



path, and who looked at him in surprise. This
boy was older than Gardner, and he was big and
fat, and, to Gardner's horror, he had a bright blue
face.
Bosh-Bosh Oil. 19

«What are you bounding along in that absurd
way for?’’ he asked, and Gardner told him about
the yeast cake and begged him to let him go on
his way.

“No,” said Blue-Face, with much firmness,
“that I shall not do. JI have sat here for five
years, and shall do so for the next five. Come
again in five years, and then perhaps I will let
you pass.”

“Oh,” said Gardner, “that will be much too
late. I am in a great hurry, for I wish to get
some of the Bosh-Bosh Oil for the poor old man
at the foot of the hill. He is suffering.”

“Well,” said Blue-Face, indifferently, ‘that,
of course, is nothing to me. I cannot let you
pass.”

Gardner put his hand into his pocket and drew
forth the big red marble.

“Oh, what a beauty,” said Blue-Face ad-
miringly.

“Tt shall be yours, if you will let me pass.”

INO:

“Then it shall be yours if you can catch it.”
20 Bosh-Bosh Oil.

“Take your offer and thanks for it,” said Blue
Face.

Gardner then threw up the marble, and in
such a way that when it fell it must roll down
the path. This it did, and Blue-Face, seeing
what was now his own property rolling rapidly
down the hill away from him, forgot everything
and dashed after it, while Gardner, seizing his
chance, flew in the other direction.

‘Good-bye, Blue-Face,” he shouted, but re-
ceiving no answer, looked back, to find no boy,
and, alas, no marble.

‘What a strange path this is,” he said, “and
how caz things disappear so quickly.”

The air was now suddenly filled with deafen-
ing barks. ‘“ Bow-wow-wow”’ in a very high key,
“bow-wow-wow” in a middle-sized key, and

’

“bow-wow-wow’” in a very low key. Gardner
stopped and looked about him, but saw no dogs.
‘oihose jane, dogs, lL know,ws ie, saidemeand
wherever they are, I am sure I hope they are
muzzled,” for he could not help feeling a bit

nervous.
Bosh-Bosh Oil. 21

A sharp turn, and a strange sight was before
him. In the very middle of the path stood an
enormous brown jug, and in this jug, and appar-
ently fastened by their tails, were about twenty



snakes! At least Gardner thought they were
snakes, till on examination he found that each
had the head of a dog. One the small head of
a black and tan, another of the impertinent pug,
22 Bosh-Bosh Oil.

one of the big, shaggy St. Bernard, another of
the Newfoundland, and so on; and each dog-head
was barking its loudest, while the snake-bodies
were writhing wildly from side to side. The
boy’s heart sank.

‘Never, never, can I pass those—those—
things—whatever they are,’ he said. Then he
remembered the poor old man waiting for him.

‘Good dogs, good doggies,” he said, in a
wheedling tone, though his teeth were chattering
with fear.

His answer was louder barking from the dog-
snakes, and wilder writhing from the snake-dogs.
Suddenly he thought of the cracker in his pocket.
Breaking off a piece, he threw it down near the
jug. “Snap,” and one of the dog-snakes had
eaten it, and with apparent relish. Then he broke
up all the crackers into small pieces, and going as
near the big jug as he dared, threw them on the
ground at one side. All the dog-snakes bent at
once to eat them, which for a second left the other
side free, and in that second, but with his heart
beating hard, Gardner darted by. The dogs, find-
Bosh-Bosh Oil. 23

ing that he had escaped them, gave one tremen-
dous bark, and then—when the boy looked back,
nothing was to be seen except the dusty, brown
path stretching off behind him.

On he trudged and suddenly stepped into
something horrid, very black and fearfully sticky.
He drew back his foot quickly, but in doing so,
the boot was actually torn from him. He then
tried to go round the sticky mass, but, alas, it
seemed to extend on either side as far as the eye
could reach. Then he tried to pull out his boot,
but it was as firmly imbedded as if it had grown
there.

“This,” he said, “is the very worst place I
have reached yet. What shall I do?”

A bunch of brilliant yellow flowers now at-
tracted his attentions.

‘“Buttercups,’ he said, ‘and what monstrous
ones they are, and oh, what in the world does
this mean? They are real buttercups.’’ For, on
stooping to examine them, he found that each
little yellow flower was filled to overflowing with
something that certainly looked like very good
24 Bosh-Bosh Oil.

butter. Gardner was amazed, and then a funny
thought came to him. ‘Why not butter my feet,
and then perhaps I shall be able to cross this pitch
pond.” So laughing at the thought, he carefully
covered the sole of his boot and the sole of his
stocking (and very nasty that felt, too) with the
butter. Then he cautiously tried one foot on the
pitch, and found that he could now walk over it
with the utmost ease! He had soon crossed it,
and turned to give one last look at his lost boot,
when—and Gardner rubbed his eyes to make sure,
for he thought he must be mistaken—he found
that the black, sticky mass had disappeared, and
with it his boot !

He had scarcely recovered from his astonish-
ment, when he was startled by hearing a tre-
mendous ‘“ guaaaack.’ Looking up, he saw, a
little way up the path, a monster duck—never
had he imagined such an enormous bird. Its
mouth was wide open, and was fully as large as a
window! This alarming creature was coming
down upon Gardner as fast as she could waddle,
and her eyes were snapping angrily. He had,
Bosh-Bosh Oil. Die

poor boy, but a moment in which to make up his
mind, and what do you think he did? Seizing a
handful of buttercups (and how fortunate it was
for him that they happened to grow right there) he
covered his entire head with butter. Then gather-



ing himself together, he ran toward the duck with
a tremendous rush. He was the very best runner
at school, which was, of course, of the greatest
assistance to him in doing this wonderful thing.
Can you credit me, when I tell you that Gardner
jumped directly into the widely opened mouth of
the monster duck, and that he went with such /ve-
mendous force that he shot right through her, land-
ing a foot beyond her, face down, on the ground!
26 Bosh-Bosh Oil.

Of course, his slippery, buttered head was a great,
great help to him, but it was in any case a most
marvellous thing for a boy to have done, was
it not? He lay there for five minutes, without
moving, for he felt, naturally, quite weak. Then,
remembering the poor old man, he slowly
picked himself up, and went on, first turning to
see what had become of the duck, whose dead
body he expected to see. But no duck, either
dead or alive, was there. He was, however, be-
yond being astonished at anything now.

“I don't at all like the feeling of this butter on
my head,” he said, as he continued his journey,
“and I wish I could find some water, so that I
could wash it off.”

His wish was gratified, for there, right before
him, was a well. And not only a well, but a
bucket, too. This Gardner filled, and succeeded in
washing most of the butter from his head. Then
he saw that to continue on his road, he must either
go round the well, or step over it. To go round
was impossible, as the ground on either side was
too steep. To step over was equally impossible,
Bosh-Bosh Oil. 27

for the well was very large. ‘‘ Butter won't help
me here,” he thought, sadly. Looking down into
the well he called out,

“Won't you please go off, Well, and let me
get the Bosh-Bosh Oil for the poor old man?”

And then, he almost fell into the hole, for a
voice far, far below answered, saying,

“Who is speaking to me?”

Gardner was much frightened, for he thought
this must be some other boy who had fallen into
the well.

“Who are you?” he called out.

“Truth,” came the answer, and then Gardner
remembered to have heard that ‘truth lies at the
bottom of a well.”

“T wish you would come up here, Truth,” he
said (for an idea had suddenly come to him).

“Very well,” said Truth, “wait a moment and I
will be there.”

Gardner promised, for, indeed, what else could
he do but wait? Soon a scrambling and scratching
was heard, and Truth slowly crept up till he reached
a big stone which jutted out at one side, about
28 Bosh-Bosh Oil.

two feet from the top. And on this he sat, while
Gardner looked at him in astonishment, for he was
truly a most remarkable fellow. He looked
young, he looked old. He was very big and
round, and he had the kindest, frankest, sweetest
face you can imagine. Gardner thought at first
he must be made of glass, for he was so wonder-
fully transparent—you could see right through him.

)

‘“Now, boy,” said he, ‘what do you want te
ask me?”

‘“Why you don’t tell the truth at all times >”

retisthetmuthrat all times, aivomelarmyelriatn
itself,” was the indignant answer.

‘But every one says that ‘truth Zes at the bot-
tom of a well.’”’

At this Truth laughed heartily, so heartily that
he almost fell from his slippery seat, and then he
explained that it was a different kind of a “lie.”

“But I don’t see,’ continued Gardner, “why
you live at the do¢fom of a well, anyway. I should
think you would prefer the top. But perhaps,
Truth, you can’t lie down as easily at the top of a
well.”
Bosh-Bosh Oil. 29

“Oh, yes, Truth can go anywhere,” was the
proud answer. “I will show you,” and crawling up,
he lay down over the well, completely covering it.

This was the little boy’s chance, for which he
had been waiting. With one bound he was over,
using poor Truth for a bridge, but stepping very
lightly, not to hurt him. He heard a great splash,
a loud cry from Truth, and looked back to see—
nothing, nothing but the dusty path. The well
and fat, pleasant Truth had vanished !

Now as the boy went on, the path changed.
It became very beautiful. On either side most
gorgeous flowers filled the air with delicious
perfume, while lovely birds, which Gardner had
never seen before, sang loudly. Suddenly, he felt
a light touch on his arm, and turning, saw beside
him a wee maid



a fairy.

“Gardner,” said she, “you have been a very
brave boy. You have passed in safety all the
dangers of the path, and I will now lead you to
the Golden Temple, containing the Bosh-Bosh Oil,
which is guarded by the famous Gold-Bird.” .

So Gardner walked on with her, trembling with
30 Bosh-Bosh Oil.

excitement. Sweet music was heard—a soft ycl-
low light shone on him, and then, looking up, he
saw before him—the TYemfle. It was a round
house made of solid, shining, yellow gold. Slen-
der gold pillars supported the roof, which was
made of diamonds, and was too dazzlingly beauti-
ful to look at. They entered and sat down on
the wonderful chairs, which were made of precious
Stones, one being of sapphire, one of rubies, one
of emeralds, and so on. A small gold table stood
in the middle of the room. On it was a golden
box containing the wonderful oil, and guarded by
the Gold-Bird. His head was a huge diamond,
his eyes two brilliant emeralds, and his body and
wings were of gold. When he saw Gardner, he
opened the box-lid with his bill, and there lay
seven tiny bottles of the wonderful oil, which to tell
the truth, looked just like Aerosene. The fairy
gave one bottle to Gardner, who thanked her and
the bird, and with his prize clasped in his hands,
ran swiftly down the path, delighted to think that
even if he had lost his boot and his marble and
magnet, he could now help the poor old man.
Bosh-Bosh Oil. Be

He had reached the foot of the path, when he
saw a small black object, lying directly in the mid-
dle of it. When he came up to it, he found, to
his delight, that it was his boot. Sitting down, he
tried to put it on, but something hard in the heel
prevented his doing so. Putting in his hand, he
drew out his magnet. Again he tried, and this
time something round and hard in the toe pre-
vented him. This proved to be his lost marble—
and now the little boy was quite, quite happy.

Running to the hut, he found that the old man
was crying as if his heart would break, for he
thought that the boy, who had been gone a long
time, was never coming with the magic oil, and
that he would have to remain there, his face pressed
to the wall, till death came. Gardner ran to him
and showed his treasure, and they at once rubbed
some of the oil on the poor old sufferer’s nose,
which, as the Brownie had said, immediately be-
came free /

And then Gardner, followed by the old man’s
thanks and blessings, went home.


THE TOAD.

NE day Reginald’s mamma asked him if he
() would n’t like to get some mushrooms. He
said he would, and taking his pail in his
hand, offhe went. First toa place where he thought
he had seen some growing, but they proved to be
toad-stools, which, although pretty, are very dan-
gerous to eat. Reginald knew this, so he did not
touch them, but went on farther. Soon he found
a beautiful mushroom, and was about to pick it,
when a voice quite near, said:

‘“Boy, how do you do?”

Reginald turned, but seeing no one thought he
must have been mistaken, and again stooped to
pick the mushroom, when he saw, sitting beside
it, an enormous toad. Just then he again heard

the same voice, and this time louder:
32
The Toad. 33

“JT said, boy, how do you do?” And if you
can believe me, the voice was the toad’s voice,
and it was he who had spoken! Reginald, who
had never heard a toad speak before, and in fact
did n't know that they could, was so much
astonished that he fairly gasped.

“That mushroom,” continued the toad, calmly,
“is mine, and you cannot have it. Go and pick
those toad-stools.”

“ But,’ said Reginald, who had somewhat
recovered from his astonishment, “I don’t want
any toad-stools.”’

“Well, then,” said the toad, ‘of course, that is
not my fault, now is it?” .

“No,” said Reginald, somewhat timidly.

“Then the best thing for you to do, boy, is to
go home.”

“But, I came to pick mushrooms for my
mamma, and I certainly shall not go home because
a toad tells me to do so. Jam not ready to go.”

“Qh,” said the toad, “I beg your pardon; I
thought perhaps, you were ready. If you are not,
then why don’t you stay here? And if you stay,

3 ~ :
34 The Toad.

perhaps you would like to go fishing with me? It
will really give me much pleasure to show you
how I catch fish.”

Reginald, who was very, very fond of fishing,
could not resist this, and said:

“Yes, thank you, I should like that very
much.”

Then the toad stood on his hind legs, slipped
his cold, slimy hand in the boy’s, and on they
walked toward the brook.

‘You are really the most remarkable toad I ever
saw,” said Reginald. ‘ What is your name ?”

“Wait,” was the answer, “and perhaps you
may guess it before our walk is over.”

As soon as they reached the brook, the toad
seated himself on the very edge, in the mud.

“Sit down beside me,” said he to Reginald,
who did not at all like to do this, for he did n't
want to get wet. But he had often been told by
his father that whenever he went fishing with
any one, he must do just as he was told to do,
so when the toad said again, “Sit down here,”
this time very sternly, why Reginald—sat down.








PAGE 34.

REGINALD AND THE TOAD,
36 The Toad.

‘‘Now,” said the toad, “I think I may truly say,
that you will be surprised.” So they waited and
waited and waited and waited, and no fish came.

At last Reginald lost all patience, and said, “]
will wait no longer, I have not seen a single fish.”’

“Then,” said the toad, “if they don’t come,
I can’t catch them, canI? But there is one thing
I can do, and I do it well, too, and that is to catch
butterflies. Would you like to see me do it?”

‘Toads can’t catch butterflies,” said Reginald,
contemptuously.

“I ask you again, rude boy, will you come
and see me catch butterflies ? ”

“I should like to very much.”

“Then come, and you are to look up in the
sky all the time, and when you see a butterfly,
tell me,” directed the toad.

So on they went, the toad holding Reginald’s
hand, and Reginald looking up into the sky. But
although they walked for more than an hour, and
the poor boy’s neck ached cruelly, of one butterfly
did they see.

At last, Reginald, as before. lost patience, and
The Toad. eo

sitting down, said angrily: “T shall go no farther.
I have not seen any butterflies at all.”

“Well,” said the toad, ‘then of course you
don’t blame me for not catching them. You seem
tired, and you are hungry too, I am sure. Are
you fond of wild honey?”

“T never tasted any.”

“Vou don’t say so,” said the toad; ‘then
come,’ and Reginald, much delighted, followed
him. They walked on and on and on, till the
poor boy was ready to drop with fatigue. At last
they returned to the very spot where they had
first started from. And now, what do you sup-
pose that horrid, disagreeable toad did? He
walked to the mushroom, and sitting down upon
it, said, “Well, Boy, have you had a pleasant
walk ?”’

Reginald was, of course, very angry. |
think you are a horrid, wicked toad!” said he,
“a perfect fraud.”

“ Ah, ha,” said the toad, “I thought perhaps
you would guess my name, and you have done
so. My name is—‘Fraud. And, little boy, there
38 The Toad.

are no fish in that brook; and there are never any
butterflies in these woods, nor is there any wild
honey, for there are no bees. Also, there is but
one mushroom here, and as I am sitting on that,
there is, as you see, not ‘mush room’ for you.
So, as I remarked to you about three hours ago,
go home.”

Those were the toad’s last words, and poor
Reginald, grieved and angry, did go home,
with an aching neck and an empty pail; and
told his dear mamma all about it.




TULA OOLAH.

ITTLE Celia Cameron lived with her
mother in a cottage by the sea. Her fa-
ther had been a fisherman, but was drowned

some years before, when Celia was quite a baby.
Since then her poor mother had to work very
hard to support herself and her child. She did
washing for the rich city-people who spent the
summer at the big hotel half a mile down the
beach. Good little Celia did all she could to help
her mother, by gathering driftwood for their
winter fire. There was much of this wood to be
found on the beach, for many a good ship was
wrecked on that dangerous coast. This occupa-
tion brought little Celia nearly every day to the
beach, where she was as much at home splashing

in the water, as any fish.
39
40 Tula Oolah.

There were many seals on that coast, who used
to come up in the early morning and sit round
sociably together, sunning themselves, and lazily
rubbing their sides against the rocks. Whether
it was because they had got used to seeing her, or
because they thought Celia must somehow belong
to them on account of her name, I don’t know,
but they certainly were not afraid of her, but would
come quite near, and sometimes even allow her
to stroke their wet glossy backs.

There was one seal in particular, with whom
she became quite intimate. She often brought
him bits of her breakfast, going without herself,
poor little thing, in order to do so. Of course
the seal did not know that, but he certainly
seemed to be very fond of her, and to appreci-
ate her kindness, looking at her with love and
gratitude, in his great soft eyes. After a while
he seemed to feel that it was not right for him
to be the one to receive presents, and to give
nothing in return, so after this, every time that
Celia appeared he would dive into the deep water,
and come to her proudly bearing a gift. And
Tula Oolah. Al

such odd gifts they were: fishes, sometimes liv-
ing, sometimes dead, bits of wood, a piece of an
old chain, and another time a piece of slimy sea-
weed, fully ten feet long. Once he brought her a
beautiful pink shell.

Celia was always very careful to thank the seal
(Soft-Eyes, she called him) for all the things he
brought her, whether she really liked them or
not, for she would not have hurt his feelings for
anything. But when she saw the beautiful pink
shell, she gave a shout of delight, and stooping,
kissed Soft-Eyes right on his wet head. He
gave a little contented grunt, and nestled up to
her, and there they both sat for a long time, sun-
ning themselves, Soft-Eyes munching the cracker
she had brought, and Celia examining the lovely
shell. It was afterward put on a shelf in the one
room of the tiny cottage, and every one admired
it, for it was not often that any one had so pretty a
shell, and particularly one brought up from the
ocean-bed and given by a soft-eyed, friendly seal.
One day Celia went to the rocks, and her dear
friend was not there.
42 Tula Oolah.

“« Soft-Eyes,” she called, and several seals bobbed
up their heads, but Soft-Eyes was not among them.

Seating herself she waited, thinking perhaps he
had gone farther, trying to get another pink
Shell for her. ‘He will be here,” she said, and
sure enough she soon heard a great puffing,
snorting noise, and on came Soft-Eyes swim-
ming slowly toward her, and carrying in his
mouth—something. What it was she could not
make out. Twice it slipped from him and he had
to dive for it. When he got nearer, Celia saw that
it was an iron box, he was carrying. Crawling up
on the rocks, he dropped this strange gift by her
side, and then looked triumphantly into her face
with eyes that said plainly, “There, what do you
think of that for a gift ?”’

Celia didn’t know what to say but looked at
the box with the greatest astonishment.

‘Where did you get it, Soft-Eyes?”’ she said,
but he only grunted, thinking, no doubt, that the
little girl was thanking him again for what he had
brought her. And indeed it had been no easy
matter for him to pick up that heavy iron box from
Tula Oolah. WAR

the bottom of the ocean, where it had lain almost
hidden by great pieces of iron, and a pile of rot-
ten timbers, which had crumbled as he pulled away
the box, and which was all that remained of a big
ship that had been wrecked there many, many years
before.

But of this the seal knew nothing, nor, of
course, did Celia. The box was about a foot
square, made of iron, and was locked, and there
was no name or inscription of any sort on it.

“Where is the key, Soft-Eyes?” said Celia,
but he made no answer.

Then she decided to break the lock, so running
home, she got a hammer, and a very heavy iron
spike. She thought it only right to open the box
on the beach, in the presence of the seal, for she
could not help feeling that he would be as much
interested as she to see what it contained.

And indeed he seemed to be, and sat there
breathing hard, with his big eyes fixed steadily on
the little girl who, with beating heart, at last suc-
ceeded in prying open the lock. Lifting the lid,
Celia and Soft-Eyes looked in, and saw, fitted
A4 Tula Oolah.

neatly into the box, another, exactly like the first,
Taking it out, they found that that too was locked.
Placing it on the rock between herself and Soft-
Eyes, Celia looked through the key-hole, but could
see nothing.

Suddenly both she and the seal started back,
and looked in terror at the box, for from it came
an awful sound, as of some one in distress! The
voice was soft and muffled, and sounded like a
child moaning. The seal was so much alarmed,
that he scuttled off, and was about to jump into
the water, when poor little Celia called piteously
to him.

‘Come back, Soft-Eyes,” she said, “don’t
leave me all alone with this thing, whatever it
is,’ and the seal, who, at heart, was ashamed of
his cowardice, came back, though with evident re-
luctance.

‘“Now,” said Celia, ‘whatever is in this, is
small, and I am sure can’t hurt us much, and I
am going to find out what it is.”’

So with some difficulty, she broke the lock and,
saw still another box! At this, both she and Soft-
Tula Oolah. AS

Eyes felt relieved. The seal came quite near, and
even bravely smelt of it, which, after all, was a
good deal for him to do, as he was frightened al-
most out of his wits.

Celia lifted the third box out, and now the cries
of the creature, or whatever it was, inside, grew
very loud. This box differed from the others, be-
ing made of brass, prettily ornamented with scroll-
work. It was quite dry, all the boxes being so
tightly fitted into each other, that the sea-water
had been unable to force its way in.

This, too, was locked, but its key hung on the
handle at the side. Unlocking it, Celia opened the
lid very cautiously. The seal, meanwhile, had gone
to the edge of the rock again, ready to at once
jump into the water, should an enemy spring out
upon them. But as nothing of the kind happened,
curiosity got the better of him, and joining Celia,
they both looked into the box together, and saw,
standing in the middle of it, an eephant about
eight inches long! !

He was exquisitely made and his wee trunk
was waving restlessly from side to side, while he
46 Tula Oolah.

moaned piteously, “Tula Oolah, Tula Oolah,”’
over and over again. Celia lifted him out of
the box on to her lap, and found to her aston-
ishment, that he was not alive, but was made of
some hard metal—brass, she thought, for the color
was yellow.

‘But, if he is not alive, then how can he wave
his trunk and talk? And what, Soft-Eyes, oh,
what is he saying?”

But of course the seal did n’t know, and he
evidently did not like the looks of the uncanny
little elephant at all, for as the small creature
raised his voice, and said louder and with still
more piteous sound, “Tula Oolah,” Soft-Eyes
gave a yell of terror, jumped into the water, and
for three days Celia saw nothing of him!

She put the poor little animal back into the
brass box, and locking it, carried it home and put
it on the table. Her mother was away for the
whole day, and Celia ran to the cupboard, and
took out the glass of milk, which had been left
there for her dinner. She poured a little into a
saucer,
Peavall teers

‘ fai \
Lea <



ss

Se \ WW



Ss





47

CELIA FINDS AN ELEPHANT. PAGE 46,
48 Tula Oolah.

‘‘He must be hungry,” she said, ‘and perhaps
‘Tula Oolah’ means ‘give me food’ in the ele-
phant language.”

But when she took the little creature out and
offered him the milk, he did not take it, and 't was
the same with the bread she then gave him.

“Oh, what can it be that you want?” said
tender hearted Celia, who was greatly distressed
by its evident grief.

“Tula Oolah,” was the answer.

At last she could bear it no longer, and lock-
ing the elephant in his box, she went off for drift-
wood, taking her lunch with her, for she meant to
wait till her mother came home before going into
the house, and listening again to that pitiful cry.
She gathered a great deal of wood, which she piled
neatly in the shed at the back of the cottage.

At last, when the sun began to go down, Celia
saw her mother coming, far down the beach, and
ran to meet her. Her mother was much as-
tonished, when she heard the story of the elephant,
and much more astonished when she saw the little
animal herself, and listened to his moaning cry.
Tula Oolah. 49

“Celia,” said she, ‘‘perhaps he is talking French.
Now, there is a French gentleman at the hotel,
and to-morrow I will ask him to come and see
the clephant, and perhaps he can understand
him.”

So the next morning at about ten Professor
Turier came to the cottage.

“Where ees de leedle elephante?” said he,
and when he saw him, he began:

“ Bonjour, vous parlez Francais ?”’

“Tula Oolah,” answered the elephant.

“Que voulez-vous?” continued the French
gentleman, and “Tula Oolah,’ moaned the ele-
phant.

At last the Frenchman went away, and told
all the people at the hotel what he had seen.
Among them was a German. —

«“ T vill minezelf haf von gonverzazhuns mit dot
leedle elephantchen,” said he, and followed by
the two hundred and thirty guests of the hotel,
he went to the cottage.

“Nun, elephantchen,” said he, when he and
each of the two hundred and thirty guests had
50 Tula Oolah.

satisfied their curiosity by looking at the mar-
vellous little animal. ‘Wie geht’s?”

“Tula Oolah,” was the answer.

“So? Kannst also kein Deutsch sprechen?
Don’t shpeak chermans, eh?” enquired the Ger-
man gentleman, sadly.

“Tula Oolah,” replied the elephant with equal
sadness, and so the interview ended.

Then one of the ladies advised Celia’s mother
to take him to the gang of Italians who were work-
ing on the bridge below the hotel.

‘“What he says sounds to me like Italian,” she
said. But when the Italians heard the “Tula
Oolah”’ they could make nothing of it, nor did
the elephant pay the slightest attention to them,
although they talked loudly and all together.

At last the landlord said, ‘‘Mrs. Cameron, to-
morrow a gentleman, a Mr. Newcombe, is coming
here, who understands elephants—I mean real
ones. He has lived in India for many years. He,
I think, will be able to help you.” |

When Mr. Newcombe arrived, he heard about
the little elephant, first from the clerk, and then
Tula Oolah. Ber

from each of the two hundred and thirty guests,
and the following day, the procession, he leading
it, came to the cottage, and he at last was able to
help them.

“Tula Oolah?” he said enquiringly to the
elephant, and “Tula Oolah,” answered the little
creature, no longer sadly but joyfully.

“J understand him,’ said Mr. Newcombe.
“He is speaking the language of a people who
live in the southeastern part of northwestern
Hindoostan. Now, it happens that I lived right
among those very people for several years, and
am glad you came to me, as | am probably the
only man in this country who can speak and
understand their language.”

“Then what, oh what, is he saying ?”” asked
Celia, and her mother, and the two hundred and
thirty guests.

“ He says ‘tula oolah,’ which means ‘ put me
in the water.”

“But what for?” said Celia and the two
hundred and thirty, but Mrs. Cameron ran at
once to fill her largest tub with water. When it
ce Tula Oolah,

was full, little Celia dropped the elephant, who
was now shrieking “Tula Oolah, Tula Oolah,” joy-
fully, and at the top of his voice, into the middle
of the tub! The minute his feet touched the
water, he raised his trunk, threw his head back
and gave vent to a most ear-piercing shriek /
How such a small creature could produce such
a sound, was hard to understand, and the
German gentleman and the French gentleman,
were so much alarmed, that they immediately ran
out of the cottage !

The two hundred and thirty guests who were
waiting outside, hearing the loud cry, and seeing
the two frightened gentlemen, who were evi-
dently bent on getting away as quickly as possible,
became alarmed too, and ran for their lives, and
the beach was soon quite deserted. In the cottage
itself, only Celia and her mother and the ex-
Indian gentleman were left, and they all stood
there, watching carefully the wee elephant, to see
what would happen next.

He swam lazily round the tub three times,
trumpeting loudly and apparently having a very
Tula Oolah. 53

fine time. The water in the tub, meanwhile, had
begun to change. It had grown quite thick—like
molasses, and was of a bright yellow color. After
the elephant had been round the three times, he
swam slowly to the middle. There he remained
for fully a minute, trumpeting occasionally, but
more softly, while the water grew constantly
thicker and yellower.

At last, raising his trunk once more, he said
softly and very sadly, “Oolah,” and then began
slowly to sink !

“Oh,” screamed Celia, ‘‘he is drowning,” and
she put out her hand to save him, but the gentle-
man prevented her, reminding her that the little
creature was not really alive.

“J think I know all about this, but wait,” he
said.

Down, down, down went the elephant, till
only the very top of his head could be seen.
Then that too disappeared, leaving only a little
depression. At this the three looked for a
moment, till even that vanished, and the tub stood
there filled with a solid yellow mass of something.
54 ‘Tula Oolah.

It was perfectly hard and smooth and looked like
burnished brass. They tried to lift it, but found —
it so heavy that it was utterly impossible for them
to move it. Mr. Newcombe then hurried away,
and soon returned with a chemist who examined
carefully what was in the tub, and pronounced it
to be pure gold /

They were all, of course, very, very much sur-
prised, except, indeed, Mr. Newcombe.

‘‘T suspected this might be gold,” he said, “and
I will tell you why. I have, as I told you, lived
among the people in the southeastern part of
northwestern Hindoostan, the country from which
this elephant probably originally came. It is a
mountainous region, and the people live isolated
lives. They have many interesting legends which
have been handed down from father to son, and
among them one that I think may apply to this
case.’ Then Mr. Newcombe translated the legend
for them :
“Tf you find an elephant, made of brass,
An elephant small and old—

Through ‘ Oolah ’—the water—allow him to pass
And the Oolah shall turn to gold /
Tula Oolah., Bas

“This little elephant is undoubtedly one of that
kind, and is probably many hundred years old.”

The gold was broken into small pieces, so that
it could be more easily carried away and sold.
Celia insisted on staying in the room, while this
was being done, for she could not help feeling
that somewhere in it she should find the elephant.
But they did not find him, although in breaking
the last bit of gold, which had been in the middle
at the very bottom of the mass, they came upon
two tiny tusks! And that was all that was left of
the Tula Oolah elephant.

The gold proved to be very pure and when
sold was worth a great many thousand dollars, so
that Celia and her mother became very rich
people. They gave a large lump of it to Mr.
Newcombe, for without his help they might never
have got the gold at all, and they were very
grateful to him. They built a beautiful house on
the beach so that Celia could always be near her
dear friend, Soft-Eyes, the seal, who had brought
all this good fortune to his dear little friend.


HE ON Ss BICYCEE:

ORDON RANDALL had had some money
e given him to buy a bicycle which he was to
choose himself.

“Now, Gordon,” said his mother, as he started
off for the shop, “if there is anything about the
bicycle that you do not understand, make them
explain it to you. Do not be afraid to ask ques-
tions.”

And Gordon promised to be very careful. In
about an hour back he came, radiant.

“JT have bought one, Mamma, and oh, such a
beauty you never saw. The man is to oil it and
send it up this afternoon, and oh, Mamma, I
am so happy.”

When the bicycle came, Mrs. Randall was
delighted with the machine, which seemed to

be a very fine one.
56
The N. S. Bicycle. 57

“You have evidently made a good choice. But,
Gordon,” said she, ‘what are those two letters
‘N.S.’ engraved on the handle? What do they
mean ?”’

“Why,” said Gordon, ‘I don’t know. Per-
haps they are the initials of the maker, but (hanging
his head shamefacedly) I really did not see them
before, or I should surely have asked, as you bade
me. But, Mamma, I will ride down at once to the
shop on my new machine and ask the man.”

“Very well,” said his mother, “but be quick,
dear, for your supper will be ready before long.”

So off went Gordon, his little heart swelling
with pride. He rode well, having ridden a good
deal before, but never on such a beautiful machine,
so light, yet so strong. “And it is mzne, my
very own,” he shouted in great delight. Soon
he came to the shop, and carefully guiding his
machine to the sidewalk, tried to go more slowly,
when to his Aorror he found he could not! The
wheels refused to stop. Round and round they
went, faster than ever, and poor Gordon was carried
by the shop in spite of himself! On and on he went,
58 The N. S. Bicycle.

and round and round went his poor, unwilling,
little legs, while his heart beat “thump, thump,”
in his terror. By the post-office, by the station he
shot, and on and on, far, far away from his home !
The town was left behind, and now he found him-
self on a quiet country road. He tried again and
again to make the bicycle go more slowly, but
no, it absolutely refused to obey him. Gordon,
who had only ridden the ordinary bicycles before,
did not know what to do to force this dreadful
treature to do his bidding. To his delight, he now
saw before him a very high, steep hill.

“Ha, ha, Mr. Bicycle,” said he, “your run will
tome to an end here, I fancy.”

But when they reached the hill, if you will be-
lieve me, the bicycle did not even seem to see that
there was a hill there, for he ran right up the steep
incline, as if it were the most level bicycle track in

the world.
. ‘Oh dear, oh dear,” said Gordon, ‘will nothing
stop it, and must I go on forever? Why, it may
run on for years, and till I am an old, old man, and
how strange it will look to see a white-haired man
The N. S. Bicycle. 59

riding on a small boy’s bicycle, and riding so
awfully fast, too. I wonder if kind people will
take pity on me and throw food to me as I pass oe


60 The N. S. Bicycle.

Poor Gordon’s supper time was now long past,
and he began to feel very hungry, you see. A
dreadful thought suddenly came to him—*“If I
go on at this pace I am sure that in a few days
the land will give out, and then I suppose I
shall have to ride right into the ocean.” At this
fearful idea, Gordon’s tears began to flow. He
was now approaching a large town and every one
he met looked at him in surprise, for to see a ten-
year-old boy on a bicycle riding so wonderfully
fast, and crying as if his heart would break, was a
strange sight truly.

‘Where are you going, little boy?” they
cried.

“T am sure, I don’t know,” said Gordon, and
before they could say any more he was gone. He
passed a big railway station and saw by its sign
that he was in the town of Boreborough, forty
miles from his home, and at this his tears again
gushed forth.

‘Wot yer cryin’ *bout ?” said a very small and
very dirty boy, who was playing in the street.
“Yer a great big cry-baby, an’ yer’d better turn
The N. S. Bicycle. 61

round an’ go home ter yer ma,” and the small boy
threw, I am sorry to say,.a handful of mud at
poor Gordon.

But Gordon did not mind that at all, for at
the boy’s words, an idea had come to him.
What was it he had said? ‘“ Zurn round and go
home.” Now was it not just possible that he
might do this? He knew that he could guide
the bicycle, even if he could not stop it, and why
could he not turn it entirely round? It was
certainly worth trying, and if you will believe me,
the idea of doing so had not once come to him till
the dirty little, mud-throwing boy had spoken.
He waited till he came to a wide, free space and
began to turn. ‘Hurrah,’ he shouted as he
found the machine obeyed him beautifully and
came about with no trouble. He was very much
ashamed to think that he had not thought before
of this simple way out of his difficulty.

He was now on his way back, going as fast
as ever, but no longer crying. He was now
fairly shouting in his delight. Passing the small
boy again, he called out, ‘Thank you, thank you,”
62 The N. S. Bicycle.

and to this day that boy does not know what it
was that Gordon thanked him for. Back over the
same road he flew, and ah, so willingly now. Past
many twinkling electric lights, then out of the big
town, and on to the quiet country road again
where the trees looked very tall and black in the
darkness. Gordon was not very old, and he was
afraid to be out on that lonely road alone, but
he kept saying to himself, “I shall soon be at
home.” He passed through many small towns,
then through the long, dark, wooden bridge that
spanned the river Nokowi, which he could hear
rushing and tumbling far beneath, hurrying on to
the sea. And then at last he saw the lights of his
own dear home, twinkling in the distance.

Down into the middle of the town he went, Be
the station, post-office, and shop where he had
bought this terrible machine, and at last he came
to his home. Turning in at the gate, and gather-
ing his little remaining strength, he made a tre-
mendous effort and jumped from the bicycle.

And the bicycle, what do you think it did? It
stopped short, and stood perfectly still, leaning
The N. S. Bicycle. 63

against the piazza, and looking as good and de-
mure as any ordinary machine could do. But
Gordon did not trust it, and running to the stable,
got a strong rope and tied it firmly to the piazza
post. Then he went in to his mother, whom he
found sobbing bitterly. Running to her and
throwing his arms about her, he told her the whole
wonderful story, and oh, how glad she was to
see him.

“And I thought,” she said, “that I had lost
my dear boy. Men are searching for you in every
direction, while you, poor little fellow, were in
Boreborough, forty miles away.”

She kissed him again and again and after he
had eaten something, for he was faint with hun-
ger, he went to bed and slept till eleven o'clock
the next day.

“Now, Gordon,” said his mother, ‘the first
thing to do is to make the shop-man take back
the bicycle. I will go with you and help you pull
it, for you must not get on it again,” and Gordon
was very willing to obey.

So they led the machine back, and it did not
64 The N.S. Bicycle.

seem at all ashamed, but held its bright nickel-
plated head up proudly, as if it were a very remark-
able machine, and truly I think it was, don’t you?

When they got to the shop and told their story
to the man, he said: “Why I supposed the boy
wanted one of the N. S. machines.”

«And what does ‘N.S.’ mean?” said Gordon.

“Mean?” said the man. ‘“‘N. S.’ means
Never Stop. They never stop, you see, till you
jump off.”

“Indeed they don’t,” said Gordon, ‘you are
quite right, and I think ‘Never Stop’ is a very
good name for them.”

“Well,” said Mrs. Randall, “I think that both
my son and I would prefer the ordinary bicycle.”

So the man exchanged the remarkable “N.S.”
bicycle for a common one, which is perfectly willing
to stop whenever its little master tells it to.

And do you know, the manufacturers found that
no one would buy the N. S. machines, so they gave
up making them some time ago, and now, no mat-
ter where you try, you will find it impossible to buy
an N. S. bicycle.


THE TIGER ON THE HUDSON.

ARRY was spending his Christmas vacation

H at Uncle Ned’s. Uncle Ned had a fine
place on the Hudson, a place dear to the

boy’s heart. There was always sure to be snow
there long after it had left other places. There
were horses, which meant sleigh-rides, unlimited
hills, which meant coasting, and lastly dear Uncle
Ned and Aunt Susie, who had no children of their
own, and who were very, very fond of their nephew.
In the house Harry’s favorite room was his uncle’s
“den,” which by the way was n’t a den at all, but
the biggest room in the house. The walls were
covered with guns, bows and arrows, odd-looking
swords, and pictures of strange places and animals,
for Uncle Ned had been a great traveller, and had

been at the places and seen the animals himself;
5 65
66 The Tiger on the Hudson.

and as he had a big stock of hair-bristling stories
to tell about his thrilling adventures and escapes,
he was a rare companion. There was a wide fire-
place in the room, a good fireplace, which knew its
duty, and performed it well, taking its smoke
decently up the chimney and not spitting it out into
the room, as so many spiteful fireplaces do. There
was no carpet on the floor, but across one end of
the room lay a magnificent rug, the skin of a
“Royal Bengal Tiger,’ which measured ten feet
from tip to tip. Uncle Ned had killed the tiger
himself, although Harry had never heard the story.

One time in the summer, when his uncle and he
were bathing, Harry had seen on his uncle’s arm a
long, cruel red scar, extending from shoulder to
wrist. ‘What is that?” said the boy.

“The Bengal tiger and I know all about that,”
was the answer, ‘and when you are ten years old,
I will tell you the story. You are too young
now.”

And Harry had not forgotten. He was ten
years old, on the twelfth of December, and his first
question to his uncle, when he came this time for
The Tiger on the Hudson. 67

his Christmas holidays was: “Will you tell me
the story of the tiger, Uncle, for I am now ten,
you know ?”’ |

Uncle Ned smiled, and said: “Come into my
den at five this afternoon, and I will tell you all
about it.”

So after luncheon, and after two hours spent
in coasting, Harry went to the den. His uncle
had not yet come in, and he found, on looking at
the funny little bronze clock on the mantelpiece,
that it was only quarter-past four.

Harry was tired, and threw himself into Uncle
Ned’s big leather chair to wait. It had already
grown quite dark outside, for the December days
were short. But the room was not dark, for there
was a glorious fire, blazing triumphantly up the
chimney, shining upon all the curious interesting
things in the room, and showing distinctly each
mark, spot, and stripe on the beautiful tiger-skin.

The tiger’s head had been stuffed, and two
fearfully life-like, green eyes had been placed in it.
Harry used to be quite afraid to look into them,
they were so awfully real. He was looking at
68 The Tiger on the Hudson.

them now when, suddenly, he sprang to his feet in
unutterable horror, for he saw that the eyes had
begun to move! Slowly, slowly they looked round
the room, and rested at last, upon em /

He met their gaze, and having once looked
into those cruel, green glaring eyes, he was en-
tirely unable to move. For fully a minute did
those two stare at each other silently, while the
small bronze clock ticked busily on, and the fire
snapped and crackled its way merrily up the wide
chimney. Then the Tiger opened his mouth, and
in a rough, hoarse voice spoke:

“T heard your uncle say that he would tell you
how I, the king of beasts, the Royal Bengal Tiger
came to lie here. I will tell you first my side of
the story. Sit still and listen” (and, indeed,
Harry was quite unable to do anything else).

“My home was on the banks of the river
Ganges. J had a beautiful wife and three beautiful
children.” (Here the Tiger’s voice became husky.)
“We had a happy home,” he continued, “near an
old deserted temple. Plenty of water we had, a
pleasant climate and enough to eat. There was a



5 tidy H
7S
2 1] Ie









69 HARRY WAITING FOR HIS UNCLE. PAGE 67.
70 The Tiger on the Hudson.

village not very far away and there were herds of
cattle, stray monkeys, and occasional children.
Ah, those happy days, long-gone, long-gone.”
(The Tiger seemed to be full of feeling.) ‘“ Each
morning we all went down to the river Ganges for
a drink, I leading the way, followed by my gentle
wife and my three beautiful children. Then back
again, and if game was at hand, and I kept the
larder well stocked, we ate our breakfast. My wife
was busy all the morning, teaching the little ones
to hunt, and they did well, the dear little things—
they were my children. They killed the smaller
creatures, and once, one of them, perhaps the
bravest of the three, brought in a small monkey,
which he himself had killed, unaided. You can
imagine what a proud day that was for his mother
and me. Oh, my tender wife, and innocent
children, where are you now?” (Here the Tiger
sobbed aloud.)

“Well,” he continued, when able to speak,
“one night I was crouching near the village,
watching for prey, when I overheard a conversation
between two natives. It seemed that a white
The Tiger on the Hudson. a

man had arrived at the village the night before,
and that he intended to make an end of me and
my family! Oh, how I roared in my rage, when
I heard that. How I lashed my tail from side
to side, as I hurried home to tell my wife.

“ «Shall we not all go farther into the thicker
denser forest,’ said she, ‘farther from the haunts
of man ?’

“But I turned fiercely upon her. ‘I will de-
fend you,’ I roared, ‘I will defend you.’

“Three days after this, I was taking a nap in
a clump of bushes, when I heard an odd crackling
noise. Keeping perfectly still, I crouched and
listened. The boughs directly over my head were
now parted, and there stood a man, not two feet
away! Never had I been so near a man before.
He was a native, and his eyes seemed to have a
strange effect on me, for when I looked into them,
I was powerless tomove. He grew very pale, and
his teeth chattered, but he kept his eyes steadily
fixed on me, while he slowly, slowly moved back-
wards. When I could no longer see those strange
eyes, I sprang, but alas, not upon him! He had
2 The Tiger on the Hudson.

just escaped me, and was running for his life.
I was after him like a flash, when suddenly, I
saw a white man standing directly in my way,
and who did not seem in the least afraid. At
this, my rage knew no bounds, for men always
fled from me in terror. I lashed my tail savagely,
growling all the time. I opened my mouth that the
white man might see my long pointed teeth, and I
put my gloriously sharp claws in and out, keeping
my eyes upon him all the time. He was a tall,
thin man, with brown fur covering the lower part
of his face. Why did he stand so fearlessly there?
How did he dare to brave me? In his hand he
held a common black stick, which he had raised to
his shoulder and held pointed at me. Roaring
louder in my rage, I crouched lower and lower,
and then gathering myself together, was just about
to spring upon him, when suddenly, without a
moment's warning, the common little black stick
in the man’s hand, durst// Out of the end
rushed fire and flame. Gaug/ Bang /—some-
thing hit me—a red cloud came before my eyes—
I knew no more. And that’s how I came to be
The Tiger on the Hudson. Vie

herve. The next thing I knew, I was lying in this
quiet room, with new eyes and ears (oh, why did
they take from me my beautiful ears?) and here
I have been ever since. I am not the tiger I was,
and yet I should n’t wonder if after all, there were
enough of me left to attack—say—a small boy!”

Harry began to feel exceedingly uncomforta-
ble at these words. The tiger's voice, which had
been soft, now grew louder.

“I am hungry—I have had nothing to eat for
ten long years. J am hungry,’ he repeated, and
this time his voice rose almost to a roar.

For a moment there was silence in the room
and then Harry, who was staring, fascinated, saw
that the creature was actually coming toward him!
Slowly he crept, his long white teeth gleaming in
the firelight, and his big green eyes snapping
angrily.

“Yes, lam HUNGRY,” he roared, for the
third time, and then poor Harry realized what the
tiger’s horrible intention was—to satisfy that hun-
ger, by eating Adm. The poor boy’s teeth chat-
tered, he trembled violently. In another minute
74 The Tiger on the Hudson.

the creature would be upon him. How could he
defend himself ?

The poker! Springing to his feet and seizing
the big iron poker, Harry advanced upon the
Tiger.

Meantime, the shovel and tongs, which stood
with the poker, followed the law of all fire-
irons and fell witha crash onthe hearth! Roused
by this noise, Harry became suddenly conscious
that he was standing quite alone in the room,
fiercely brandishing the poker at—wothing ! Rub-
bing his eyes he looked about him at the quiet
room, at the fire which had now burned low, and
lastly, and rather timidly, he looked at the tiger-
skin rug lying flatly and innocently upon the floor.
Just then the door opened, and he heard his
uncle’s cheery voice.

“Well boysie, are you ready for the grewsome
tiger-tale ?”

“Why Uncle,” said Harry, “I have just heard
ite

“Heard it?” said Uncle Ned, in astonishment.
“From whom ?”
The Tiger on the Hudson, 7

“From the tiger himself’? And then Uncle
Ned, looking more carefully at the boy’s flushed
face, and tousled hair, laughed long and loud.
“You were dreaming, little boy,” he said, at last.

“Oh, Uncle, it was too real to be a dream, I
will tell you about it,” and he told him all.

When he had finished, Uncle Ned was very
much astonished. ‘The story is true, just as it
really happened,” saidhe. “ My native guide came
running back to me with a white face, shouting ‘ the
tiger, the tiger!’ when out he sprang. I had just
time to put my gun to my shoulder and je.
Fortunately, my aim was true, for he fell at my
feet. I did not, however, know about Madam
Tiger or the three little Tigerses, and your friend
omitted to tell you that before we parted he gave
me this,” and Uncle Ned showed the cruel scar on
his arm.

“T went up to him as he lay stretched out at
full length on the ground, supposing, of course,
that he was quite dead, and he—well, I found that
he was wé But in the main, Harry, the story is
true, just as I would have told it myself, and it is
76 The Tiger on the Hudson.

certainly very odd that you should have dreamed
ite

The following year Harry visited his aunt and
uncle in September. One day when his uncle was
in his den, writing, the boy came in with three
tiger-lilies. Going to the tiger, he placed them
under his paw.

«And why, dear?” said his uncle.

“Well, Uncle, I know, of course, that he was a
very bad tiger to scratch you,” said Harry, “but
oh, it was n’t the fault of his three dear little baby
tigers—and he loved them dearly—he said so him-
self, you know, and so—I brought him these three
tiger-lilies, one for each.”




LUCIA, THE ORGAN-MAIDEN.

EVER had Pietro Pitti turned out such a
N wonderful hand-organ, and that is saying
a great deal. It had been made by a
new man, who had come from the cold North
country, and who had been with Pitti but a short
time. He begged to be allowed to make the
organ himself.
“JT have an idea,” he said, “which, if I can
but carry out, will make you famous, master.”
“T have fame already,” was the proud answer.
“Ah, but there is always one step higher,
master.”
“Make the organ then, as you will, North-
erner,” said Signor Pitti, and the young man had
‘done so.

This day it was finished and was to be tried
a7
78 Lucia, the Organ-Maiden.

for the first time. Signor and Signora Pitti and
the children, four small Pittises, were present,
while the workmen stood in the background ex-
pectant, and many pairs of black eyes were fixed
eagerly upon the hand-organ which was brought
in by the Northerner. The covering cloth was
removed. The organ was made of selected rose-~
wood, which Signor Pitti always used, and was
beautifully polished. But it differed from all the
other organs, for in front was a glass window,
through which you looked into a beautiful little
room hung with soft pink satin.

“A doll’s room, a salon,” cried the youngest
Signorina Pitti. At the back of this room at one
side was a door.

“Well, well,” said Signor Pitti, “but what—”’

“Patience, master, for a moment,” said the
Northerner, and began to turn the handle of the
organ. It played a march through well and
clearly, and in perfect time, but then all Signor
Pitti’s organs did ¢Aat. Next it played “ La Bella
Napoli.” Signor and Signora smiled, for they
loved their Naples and liked to hear its praises,












































PAGE 81,

PAOLO AND HIS ORGAN,

2
80 Lucia, the Organ-Maiden.

Then the door at the back of the small organ-
room opened slowly, and out came a most ex-
quisite doll about ten inches high. She was
dressed in pink and had long flowing hair, and it
was really hard to decide whether her cheeks were
pinker than her smile was broad, or her smile
broader than her cheeks were pink—they were
both unmistakable.

Coming forward she bowed very low to her
audience, and as they saw nothing of the spring in
her back, or the wire that made her do so, they
all bowed politely in return, for it really seemed as
if she must be alive. Then slowly, gracefully, the
little creature danced around her pink drawing-
room in perfect time to the music. When that was
finished she bowed once more, the door at the back
opened and she disappeared.

The Pitti family were delighted. ‘Bella,
Bella, Wonderful,” they cried, and the North-
erner’s fortune was made from that day.

The organ was sold to one Paolo Cello for
quite a large sum of money, and Lucia, the little
dancing-lady, danced every day in beautiful
Lucia, the Organ-Maiden. 81

Naples, before hundreds of people. And wherever
she appeared, crowds of admirers applauded her.

Sometimes Paolo and she would go to some of
the villas in the neighborhood, where she danced
tirelessly, under trees laden with big yellow
oranges, and with flowers of all colors and kinds
growing about her.

One day they went to Pompeii and there, out-
side its ruined walls, Lucia danced for some
foreigners, in full sight of a big mountain out of
which smoke was coming forever, forever. Lucia
danced and Vesuvius smoked, each attending to
its own business. But whenever Lucia danced,
whether before strangers or dark-skinned Italians,
the result was the same—admiration. And Paolo
came to love the little creature almost as if she
were alive, and took the best care of her.

The window of her dancing-room, and the room
itself were spotless, the machinery well oiled, and
Paolo was always very careful to play her music
in good time, neither too fast nor too slow—in
dancing so much depends upon the music, you
know.
82 Lucia, the Organ-Maiden.

Ah, those happy days, they were too good to
last, and they did n’t. One day Paolo was taken
ill.

“We can’t go out to-day, little Lucia,” he said.
He often talked to her as if she were truly alive,
and as she did n’t know she was n't, perhaps it
was just as well.

Worse and worse grew Paolo, as he lay upon
his narrow bed in his one small room. Gradually
the stock of money which he and Lucia had earned,
dwindled, disappeared. One by one the bits of
furniture had to be sold. Then came a dreadful
day when Paolo pulled up the little window and
spoke to Lucia.

“ It almost breaks my heart,” he said, “ but we
must part, you and I. I am penniless. A man
has offered me a big sum for you. But I have
parted with everything else first, Lucia mia,” and
the poor fellow, pointed round the room, which
was indeed quite empty, save for the bed and
organ. “ But, if I live, I shall work hard and try
to buy you back again. Remember that, Lucia.”
Then Paolo stooped and kissed her, and no one
Lucia, the Organ-Maiden. 83

but he and she knew of that big hot tear which
fell on her cheek.

Later, a man knocked at the door, gave money
to Paolo, and took the organ away. Then followed
unhappy years for poor Lucia. Not that her new
master, Antonio, was unkind—he was simply a
very careless, untidy man. He left the organ
standing in cold places, where the wind crept in
and chilled her. Once he left the organ for a
while in the street on a stormy day, and the rain
came in through a crack in the case and dripped
on her pretty pink cheeks. The color ran, and
poor Lucia was greatly mortified, and looked it,
too. Sometimes Antonio played much too fast,
and Lucia was, of course, obliged to dance fast,
which, as she was a person of much natural dignity,
was very repulsive to her. Sometimes the Master
forgot to even oil the machine, and once he put in
too much oil. So much that it oozed out over the
floor, and poor Lucia’s pretty pink slippers were
ruined, which, as she was an extremely dainty little
thing, hurt her feelings dreadfully.

But worse was to follow. Antonio, who was
84 Lucia, the Organ-Maiden.

quite old, gave up the business and sold the organ
to a man named Pietro Nolli, who took it to
America. For ten days poor Lucia was put ina
dark, dark place on the big steamer, where she
heard the most awful roaring noises, and was
tossed up and down, from side to side, till she
really longed to die. She thought of Paolo and
wondered if he had died, and if not, whether she
would ever see him again. It comforted her some-
what to remember that he had said he would try
and find her and buy her back again.

At last she reached America, and then fol-
lowed a year of wretched life to the poor dancer.
Nothing was done for her. The machinery was
broken and not mended. The organ was sadly
out of tune, but Pietro neither noticed nor cared.
The dust collected in the little drawing-room.
The window grew cloudy, but for that Lucia was
glad, for she was ashamed of the dirty room, and
also, alas, of her dancing. She was older, and had
rheumatism, for she was not used to the colder
climate of America, and so she danced in quite a
stiff jerky way, that would have been funny if it
Lucia, the Organ-Maiden. 85

had not been so sad. However, people still
seemed to like to see her dance, and crowded
about the organ whenever she began.

One bitterly cold day, Lucia, her bones aching,
was about to make her bow, when she felt some-
thing svzaf in her back, and instead of bowing for-
ward, she bowed backward! It was with the
greatest difficulty that she stood upright again,
and went on with the dance. But from that time
on, she always bowed the same way, backward
and not forward. She had no idea how very funny
she looked, and when she heard the shout from
the people who were watching her, she supposed,
of course, it was a shout of delight, such as she
had heard many times in her life, and her poor
little cold heart warmed at the sound.

One day, by accident, her window was broken,
and of course not mended. So poor Lucia had
to dance in her drawing-room with the dust and
bitter, biting cold blowing in through the hole.
It was a frightful experience for her, with her
rheumatism, and dressed in the thinnest of thin
tulles with no underclothes to speak of. Through
86 Lucia, the Organ-Maiden.

the cruel hole she could now hear the people talk-
ing about her, but instead of the words of praise
she had heard all her life, she found that they
were laughing at her, making fun of her. At this
poor Lucia was almost broken hearted. It seemed |
to her the very worst blow of all.

She now no longer tried to dance her best, or
even to keep up with the squeaky music, and one
day she felt very ill, and began to go slow-er and
s-l-o-w-e-r, and was about to stop altogether, and
never dance again, when she suddenly saw looking
at her, through the window a face that she knew /
A dear face with kind tender eyes, eyes that were
full of tears. She heard a voice, a long unheard
voice, saying, ‘‘ Lucia, cara mia, Lucia ‘tis I, your
Paolo, I have found you at last,’ and then the
little dancer heard no more for she fainted and
fell on the floor of the room.

Five dollars did Paolo give to Pietro for the
organ, and then the old happy days began once
more. The machinery was mended, the organ
thoroughly made over by Paolo, who understood
well his business. Lucia was beautifully and
Lucia, the Organ-Maiden. 87

warmly dressed in rich crimson velvet. Her dig-
nity, grace, and youth came back again, and she
danced as before for Paolo, and put her whole
heart into it. I saw her only yesterday. I advise
you to look carefully at every hand-organ you
meet, and perhaps you may see her, too.




THE SHADOW.

HERE was once a Shadow, who lived with
[ his six-year-old master, George, in a house
by the sea. At least they were there dur-
ing the long, warm summer, but in winter they
lived in the city. George was a dear little fel-
low, and the Shadow loved him very much, and
everywhere that he went, the Shadow went too.
That is, when the weather was pleasant, for the
Shadow disliked the rain very much and nothing
could induce him to go anywhere with his master
on a rainy, or even a cloudy day. He would then
hide himself, and when the sun shone again, out
he would come and run to his master’s side.
They were a busy pair, these two. They ate
their breakfast very early in the morning—that is,
George did, but the Shadow, although well and

88
The Shadow. 89

a

strong, never ate anything. After breakfast, they
would both put on their play-suits of gray flannel,
roll their sleeves up to their elbows, their trousers
above their knees, and would go forth bare-legged
to the beach, which was about ten minutes’ walk
from the house. They always wore large, rough

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90 The Shadow.

straw hats to shield them from the sun, and carried
pails and shovels, and oh, what fine times they
had! George’s big black dog always went with
them. This dog had a very sad, solemn face, and
George's papa had named him “Woe.” He was
not really sad, however, but was kind and merry,
liking nothing better than to play and romp
with his young master. Sometimes he would lie
down on the beach, and George and the Shadow
would fill their pails with the warm sand and pour
it all over him, till nothing but his black head, and
his sad, sad face could be seen. He enjoyed it,
and never knew how very funny he looked. One
day they had a terrible time, or it might have been
if Woe had not been there. But he was, and you
shall hear about it.

George and the Shadow were building a sand-
house, and needing more wet sand, the boy, quite
forgetting that the tide was coming in, ventured
too far out. His back was toward the ocean,
and suddenly, without a moment's warning, up
came a monstrous wave, and striking poor little
Seorge, rolled him over and over, and drew him
‘The Shadow. gI

out to sea. At least it would have done so, had
not Woe, with a loud bark, jumped into the water,
and seizing him, drew him back to the shore and
safety. The wave, meanwhile, hurried back to the
sea. He may have been frightened at Woe’s loud
bark, which was really quite dreadful, or he may
have felt that he had done a cowardly thing in
striking one so much smaller than he, and more-
over one whose back was turned towards him.
The poor Shadow, meanwhile, had been standing
on the very edge of the ocean, shivering with
terror and crying bitterly, and oh, how delighted
he was to see his master again.

A few days after this, they made another trip
to the beach, and again something happened, which
I must tell you about from the very beginning.
George, you see, had built a castle of sand and
round beach stones (of which there were a great
many at hand), and at one end was a tower.

The Shadow, up to this time, had been a very
gentle little fellow, willing and eager to do just
what his master wanted to do, but he was not very
big, you must remember, and this time he very
92 The Shadow.

much wanted a second tower. ‘Two towers are
so much prettier than one,” he said to George, who
paid no attention, but simply went on building his
one tower still higher. At the top he placed a
small flag which his mamma had given him that
very morning. When the castle was finished, he
clapped his hands with delight, and of course the
Shadow had to clap his hands too, but oh, how un-
willingly he did it. It certainly was hard for him,
for not only did George refuse to build the castle
as he wanted it, but the poor Shadow had to help
George carry the stones and build the castle the
way he did zof want it. Still, he ought not to
have got so vexed about it. When his master
walked home that afternoon, it was a very cross,
sulky little Shadow that followed him.

George, after supper, went to bed and sup-
posed, of course, his shadow had done the same.
But he was wide-awake, and had decided to do
something very naughty. As soon as all the
people in the house were asleep, out crept that
little Shadow through the window and across
the lighted lawn (for the moon was now shining
The Shadow. 93

brightly), and soon arrived at the beach.
Shadows when they are with their masters
have to do just as they do, but once let them
get away and they sometimes act very strangely.
If you ever meet one without his master, watch
him and see if he does not act oddly. This one
had never been away alone before in his short life,
and he felt very free and happy. He ran first
from one end of the beach to the other, then
danced and hopped about, and finally lay down
on the sand and rolled over and over. He was
dressed as he had been in the afternoon, pail,
shovel, and all.

At last, he said to himself, ‘‘ Now to my busi-
ness.” And what do you suppose his ‘business ”’
was? To put another tower on the castle! He
knew just how to do it, as he had helped George
build the other one that afternoon, you know.

But the poor little fellow had forgotten that al-
though Shadows can work very well with their
masters, without them they can do nothing, and
when you are older, children, you will find that
shadow-people are not the only ones who work
94. The Shadow.

well when the master is present, and not at all
when he is absent. Although the Shadow worked
hard, he could not carry the sand, he could not
drag the stones, and he could not build the tower,
for his pail was a shadow-pail, his shovel a shadow-
shovel, and he himself the biggest shadow of all.
Then he sat down and cried bitterly. A kind-
hearted moonbeam, of which there had been mil-
lions playing all about, came to him, saying:

“What is the matter ?”’

He told her, and shining kindly on him, she
said:

‘‘Go home, and I promise that the next time
you come to the beach, you shall find two towers
on the castle.”’

‘Flow can you do that?” he asked, but as the
moonbeam had already gone, of course she could
not answer this.

The Shadow, comforted, in spite of himself, by
her promise, thought he would go home, but before
he had gone half the distance, he was so tired:
that he lay down for a nap by the roadside. He
meant to take only a very short nap, but he slept
The Shadow. 95

and slept and slept. The sun came up and dried
the dew from the flowers and grass, and still he
slept! Suddenly he was awakened by hearing
voices. He sat up and rubbed his eyes, for there
coming toward him, were George’s papa and
mamma. With them was George, and behind
him, if you will believe me, walked a strange,
new Shadow! Our Shadow ran up to him, and
said angrily :

“Go away, this is my master.”

‘ No,” said the strange one, smiling saucily,
“look again at George.”

The Shadow did, and saw that the boy was
dressed in his best serge suit, his brown shoes and
stockings, and his round brown hat, and then he
remembered that this was Sunday and that George
was on his way to church.

“Now,” said the strange Shadow, proudly,
‘look at me.”

Our Shadow did, and found that he was dressed
exactly like George. Then, knowing that it was
the first duty of a good Shadow to dress like his
master in every particular, he realized that George
96 The Shadow.

did not want him, dressed as he was. Had the
boy turned and found him following, dressed
in his play-suit, large hat, shovel, pail, and
all, I am sure he would have been very much
frightened, although he was not a boy to be
“afraid of his own shadow.’ So the Shadow
stood sadly back, and when they were gone, he
began to cry.

“What is the matter?” said a tiny gray bird,
who was sitting on a twig by his side, and he told
her the whole story.

“Stop crying, and I will help you,” said the
bird. ‘Go first and put on your brown clothes,
just like George’s. I, meanwhile, will fly up to
the sky and tell a friend of mine, a dear cloud, to
send down some rain. Then, of course, the
Shadow, who is now with George at church, will
have to run home. When he gets there, the rain
will stop, and then will be your chance. Run as
fast as your little shadow-legs will carry you to
your master, and even if the wrong Shadow runs
too, 1am sure you can go faster, as he will be tired
from his former run.”
The Shadow. 97

“Thank you, thank you, dear bird,” said the -
Shadow.

He hurried then to change his clothes, and sure
enough, very soon, down came the rain as the bird
had promised, and in rushed the wrong Shadow,
breathless. Then the rain ceased and our Shadow
fairly flew to the church. But the wrong one, real-
izing what had happened, flew too, and oh, what a
mad race they had. But as the bird had foretold,
the right one reached the church first, and when
the services were over, back walked George, fol
lowed closely by his own Shadow. He was very
glad to be near his master again, and began to
feel badly for his naughtiness. The next day, off
they went to the beach, the Shadow walking very,
very slowly and hanging his guilty little head.

“T wonder if the moonbeam will have really
built the other tower, and will George be very
angry?” he thought.

Now when they got to the beach, they went di-
rectly to the castle, and what do you think they
found? The moonbeam had kept her word. There

were, to be sure, two towers, one at one end and
a
98 The Shadow.

one at the other, but one was 2 “really, truly”
tower, while the other—was only a “shkadow-
tower”! So George was not at all angry, and the
Shadow was happy. But do you know he has
never left his master again, and the next pleasant
day you meet George, watch and see if his Shadow
is not close at his heels.




WHAT THE SQUIRREL DID FOR
RICHARD.

chestnut in the woods, and was about to eat
it, when he heard a ‘chit, chit, chit,” over-
head, and looking up saw, perched on the swaying

aes, had found a big and tempting

branch of a tree, ared squirrel, whose bright eyes
were fixed wistfully on the
chestnut ; so wistfully that
Richard knew at once what
the little creature wanted.
It was late for chestnuts,
there were not many to
be found, and this one
was large and mealy. But
Richard was a kind-hearted —
boy, and so he said: ‘You shall have the nut,

squirrel,” and placing it on a stone under the
99 ;


100 What the Squirrel Did for Richard.

tree, he walked off a few feet. Down scampered
the squirrel, seized the nut, and was up again
on the branch in a twinkling, where he sat crack-
ing and nibbling it, with the greatest enjoyment.
Richard stood under the tree watching him.

“Is n't it good?” he said. “I amawfully glad
I gave it to you.”

“Chit, chit,” said the squirrel; and then, to
Richard’s astonishment, he uttered these words in
very good English: “You have been kind to me,
little boy. You have not only given away what is
yours, but, more than that, something which you
yourself wanted very much. To do that, is the
greatest kindness one can show to another. Now,
as it happens, I am a powerful squirrel, and in re-
turn for your kindness, I am going to give you a
gift, which some time will be of the greatest use to
you. Now, mark my words: Whenever you rub
the little finger of your right hand across your
chin, you will at once become a squirrel.”” Then
he ceased speaking, and vanished !

Richard stood there, staring in astonishment,
rubbing his eyes, and wondering if the squirrel had
What the Squirrel Did for Richard: 101

really spoken to him. ‘Of course I know,” he
said, “that I can’t turn into a squirrel, even if I
rubbed the little finger of my right hand over my
chin, all day long.”

But, just to convince himself, he drew his right
hand little finger across his chin, and before you
could count two, he found he had actually become
a dear little red squirrel, and was running quickly
up a tree! (Perhaps to get away from the small
boy, who had stood there, only a moment before.)

‘What fun this is,” he thought, ‘to stay in
these beautiful woods all day long—to have to do
no lessons, and not to go to bed till I want to.
Oh, how happy I am.”

The next two hours he spent in taking flying
leaps from tree to tree, startling all the other
squirrels and wood-creatures, who scolded him
roundly for disturbing their afternoon naps. Then
he felt tired, and sat down upon a soft mossy stone
to rest. It had begun to grow dark, and the boy-
squirrel for the first time thought of his dear
mother and his comfortable home. And then—
then—he remembered that his mother would not
102 What the Squirrel Did for Richard.

know him as he was now, and that his friend, the
squirrel, had neglected to tell him how he was to
turn himself back into a boy again. -

“Then I must always be a squirrel,” he said,
‘and never, never go home to dear Papa and
Mamma any more.”

At this dreadful thought his tears began to flow,
and, forgetting that he was no longer a boy, he
tried to put his little paw into his pocket, to get a
handkerchief to wipe those tears. Suddenly he
caught sight of his bushy tail. ‘The very thing
for a handkerchief,’ he thought, and was about to
use it, when he noticed on the extreme end of the
tail, and almost hidden by the soft fur, a small
knob that looked very much like an electric-bell
button. On this was printed, in letters so small
that, had not his eyes been very small too, I am
sure he never could have read it, ‘‘ Press the but-
ton.’ Curling his tail over his head, he pressed
the knob hard against his little sharp brown nose,
and immediately he became—Richard—the boy,
again.

Running home as fast as he could, for he felt
What the Squirrel Did for Richard. 103

a bit dazed by these quick changes, he rushed into
the house. His mother was sitting before the fire,
sewing, while the big pet cat, “‘ Tabby,” lay curled
upon the rug at her feet. Richard was in a state
of great excitement, and when Mrs. Burton heard
the story of the squirrel, which he told her, she
smiled and said :

“My little boy must not lie down in the woods
and take his naps again.”

“Oh, Mamma, you think I was dreaming, but
this was no dream. I can really turn myself into
a squirrel, whenever I like—I will show you.”
And Richard rubbed the little finger of his right
hand over his chin, and then, how it happened
Mrs. Burton could never tell, but the first thing
she knew, her boy had vanished, and running
across the room she saw a little red squirrel |

But alas! the cat had seen it, too, and like a
flash was after it, giving it no time to press the
knob, and change itself back into a boy. Poor
Mrs. Burton screamed in her fright, while round
the room, over chairs and tables, flew the two!
Then the boy-squirrel ran to his mother’s arms for
104. What the Squirrel Did for Richard.

protection. She held him high in one hand, beat-
ing down the cat with the other, till the squirrel
got a chance to press the button, and Mrs. Burton
found that she was holding her own dear boy in
her arms. Poor woman, she was so weak that
she was unable to speak for some time, and in-
deed it is not strange that this was so, for to see
one’s only child pursued and almost eaten up by
a pet cat, was an unusual and extremely trying
experience for any mother.

When she had recovered herself, she said to
Richard, with tears in her eyes: ‘Promise me
that you will never turn yourself into a squirrel
again, unless, indeed, you can save your life by so
doing.”’ Richard promised, and for two years he
remained just a plain, common boy, like other
boys.

Then one day, in summer, he went bathing in
the river with some friends. Forgetting the strong
current in mid-stream, he ventured out too far
from the shore, and, to his horror found that he
was being carried away in spite of himself. His
friends shouted to him, but did not venture to go
What the Squirrel Did for Richard. 105

to his help. Suddenly, floating on the water near,
he saw a piece of wood, about a foot long. This
he seized, and clung desperately to it. His
strength was fast leaving him, and he could no
longer swim. But alas! the board was not big
enough to bear his weight, and the poor boy felt
himself sinking! Just then, fortunately, he remem-
bered that he could save himself by turning
himself into a squirrel, and quickly rubbing his
finger over his chin, in a twinkling a very wet
little red squirrel, crawled up on the board and
leisurely floated down-stream !

The boys on the shore, seeing Richard no
more, thought he had sunk, and shouting “ He is
drowned,” ran to tell his mother. Half a mile
down-stream, the board with the squirrel was
washed ashore, and the little creature ran through
the woods, till he came to the place on the river-
bank where he had left his clothes, when, pressing
the knob, ‘Richard was himself again.”

Dressing himself, he ran home to his mother,
who was crying bitterly, having heard from the
boys that he was drowned. She could scarcely
106 What the Squirrel Did for Richard.

believe her eyes, when she saw him standing there
alive before her. He told her what had saved his
life, and then, indeed, she felt grateful to the
squirrel.

Just a week from this time, Richard went from
his father’s house to the village on an errand.
Instead of going by the regular road, he made a
“short-cut,” going through Farmer Newbone’s
pasture, entirely forgetting the dangerous bull,
who was in it. He was half-way across when he
heard a loud bellowing, a snorting and puffing,
and turning, saw, to his horror, the bull! The
animal’s eyes were glaring angrily, and tossing his
head in fury, he was coming with tremendous
speed toward the little boy, who stood there,
trembling with fear! He knew that the bull
would be upon him, before he could possibly
reach the wall, and feared his last moment had
come, when, fortunately, he happened to remem-
ber that he could turn himself into a squirrel, and
so escape. Then he sat down on the ground, and
calmly waited for the bull to come on! He held
his finger all ready within an inch of his chin, and
What the Squirrel Did for Richard. 107

smiled at the thought of the bull’s astonishment
when he should disappear before his eyes.

And now the animal was very near, was almost
upon him. Richard waited till he could feel the
hot breath upon his face, when he quickly rubbed
his finger on his chin, and—then—a red squirrel
ran right up the animal’s nose, over his head,




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along his back, down his tail, across the field, and
over the high wall, before the astonished bull had
finished staring at the place where there had cer-
tainly been a boy only a moment before !
108 What the Squirrel Did for Richard.

Years after, when Richard grew to be twelve
years old, he went one time with his father to a
city fifty miles from his home, to spend a week.
They had a room on the fifth floor of a big, noisy
hotel. The boy had a fine time, for his father was
very kind to him, showing him everything, and
taking him about constantly. One night Richard,
being tired, went to bed at eight o'clock. His
father had gone for the evening, to see a gentle-
man on business. The boy had been asleep for
about an hour, when suddenly he woke up, feeling
choked, and found that the room was full of
smoke! Springing from his bed, he put on his
clothes and ran to the door, only to be met by still
thicker smoke, while below he could hear a roar-
ing noise, and the cries of frightened people!

Running then to the window, he looked out
into the street, five stories below. He knew that
if he jumped, it would kill him instantly, and he
also realized, poor boy, that if he stayed where he
was, he would surely be burned to death, for he
could see the angry flames bursting out from the
lower windows of the hotel.
What the Squirrel Did for Richard. 109

A narrow coping, about six inches wide, ran
under his window, to the corner of the big build-
ing, and from there a water-spout led to the
ground; but even supposing that he could walk on
this narrow ledge, he certainly could never, never
slide down to the ground on a water-spout. A
cat might do it, but certainly not a boy. And
thinking of a cat, reminded him of the power
which the squirrel had given him so long before.
Why could he not become a squirrel, and so
escape this dreadful death? It was now five years,
however, since he had been a squirrel, the last
time being when he had raced over the bull’s back,
you know.

With a beating heart, poor Richard rubbed the
little finger of his right hand on his chin, and zw-
mediately a red squirrel was running quickly along
the narrow ledge (which seemed a broad safe way
to him) toward the water-spout! Reaching this,
he ran easily, swiftly down.

“There ’s a kitten,” said a man in the
crowd.

“No, it’s a rat,’ said another, for no one
110 What the Squirrel Did for Richard.

thought of a country squirrel coming out of a city
hotel.

When the little creature was almost down, he
met with a painful accident. He caught one of the
claws of his right front paw on a rusty nail, and
in his haste to get down, it was broken off!
When he reached the ground, he managed to
change himself into Richard again, without anyone
noticing it, in the noise and confusion. Then,
looking about him in the crowd, he saw at a little
distance, his poor father, who stood there with the
tears running down his cheeks, and who was offer-
ing a great deal of money to anyone who would
go into the burning hotel, and save his boy, but
no one would go. Twice he had tried to go him-
self, but the people held him back, and would not
let him. Richard ran to him, and the father
and son, and indeed all the people about, cried,
but it was for joy. Then Richard noticed that his
right hand was bleeding, and remembered the
rusty nail that had torn his paw a moment before,
when he was a squirrel. Looking at his hand, he
found, to his horror, that the little finger was gone /
What the Squirrel Did for Richard. 111

‘“@hdear oh, deat, he cred, “then ) fear 1
shall never be able to turn myself into a squirrel
again.”

And so it proved, for from that time on, al-
though he rubbed each finger across his chin,
taking one at a time, and giving each a fair trial,
it was in vain. A boy he was, and a boy he had
to remain.




THE RUNAWAY WATCH.

UCY had come to spend a few weeks with
|. her aunt at the seashore. She had ar-
rived the night before, and as the train
was late, she had to go to bed directly she got to
the house. After breakfast the next day, she
went to the beach, and was very much excited—
for, do you know she had never, never seen the
ocean before. Her own home was in a city, far
in the west and this was the first time she had
ever been away from it. When she came in sight
of the water, you cannot imagine how surprised
and delighted the little city child was. She gazed
and gazed at the ocean, lying so calmly, quietly
before her.
“And this is the great Atlantic,” she said, then

turning, she saw the beach. ‘Oh, what a beauti-
112
The Runaway Watch. Tale

o

ful beach,” she exclaimed, and indeed it was,
being very long, and with hard, firm sand, which
was almost as white as snow. The waves were
rolling up very gently,—ah, it was all unlike any-
thing that Lucy had ever seen before, and very,
very beautiful. She took out her watch and look-
ing at it, found that she had two hours before
luncheon to remain in this enchanting place.

And now, while she is holding the watch in
her hand I must describe it to you, for this story
is really not about Lucy at all, but about her
watch. In the first place, one glance at his fine
open face, would show anyone what a thoroughly
good watch he was. He was always “up to
time,’ and was therefore very successful as a
business watch. He employed several hands, but
as he always kept them steadily at work, he never
had a strike. He was a repeater, but zo¢ a gossip,
and, in fact, required considerable pressing before
he would consent to speak at all.

When Lucy took her watch out, and it heard
the roar of the ocean, it was so astonished that it
actually stopped short. Like Lucy, this was its

8
114 The Runaway Watch.

first visit to the seashore. The hands knocked
off work, and rushing to the small glass window,
looked forth at the astounding scene. Then back
they scurried and said to the master of the works:

“Our mistress is having a fine time in this
sand. We, too, demand a holiday. We have
kept steadily at work all these years, and please,
please let us is0:%

The master himself was very much excited at
what he had seen from the watch window, and to
tell the truth, was just as eager as they to investigate
for himself, so he gave his consent, and out rattled
the hands, the small cog-wheels, big wheels, main-
spring, and everything that is in a watch, till the
case was quite, quite empty.

Then being careful to keep out of Lucy’s sight,
these strange little things, went rolling, rattling,
clattering down the beach. The cog-wheels got
clogged with sand once in a while, and one of
the hands had to go and put him right again.
The main-spring was broken, in one of his
mad rushes, but that did not give anyone the
slightest uneasiness, for he was in the habit of
The Runaway Watch. 115

breaking often, anyway, and always without the
slightest provocation. They threw sand at each



other, shouted, laughed, and behaved just as
children do. At last one of the wheels caught

sight of Lucy in the act of rising to go back.
“Hurry, hurry,” he screamed, “or she will go
116 The Runaway Watch.

without us !” and then how the works flew! They
had never, when in the case, been known to hurry
in the least, but now they fairly jostled each other
in their eagerness. The hands kept themselves
well in hand, the main-spring, broken as he was,
aid spring, and the cog-wheels cogged, and they
finally did get there, just in time to fly breathless
into the case, but not in time to brush off the sand.
Lucy fortunately did not take out her watch. If
she had happened to do so, I am sure she would
have been much astonished at its condition.

The works, meanwhile, had somewhat recov-
ered themselves. The wheels took their places,
the hands theirs, and the head master gave the
order, standing before them :

“ Tick-tick, tick-tick, go/” And they all bent
to their work, only to find that they were unable to
get on atall. “Scratch, squeak-i-ty, scratch,’ was
the only sound they could make. Then the hands
quarrelled, each accusing the other of not doing his
work, and so stopping all the machinery. Then
the wheels took it up, one saying to the other:

“Tt is your fault.”
The Runaway Watch. 7

“Tt ’s not,’ was the indignant answer, ‘it’s
yours.”

“ Hush, hush,” said the case, ‘‘I will settle this
matter for you,” and as he naturally knew more
about the case than anyone could, they listened
respectfully.

“You don’t get on,” said he, “simply because
you are clogged with sand.”

“ He is right,” said the master, and we can do
no more till we go to the watchmaker’s.”

That night, when Lucy tried to wind her watch,
it would n’t wind. She listened, and there was no
friendly “ tick-tick ’’ to be heard. So the next day
she took it to the maker, who was very much sur-
prised when he examined the works.

“Well, well, little girl,” said he, “what have you
been doing to this watch ? It looks as if you had
rolled it in sand, thrown sand at it, and poured
sand into it.”

Lucy was very much ashamed, but as she really
had no idea how it came about, she could say
nothing.

y

“Tt must have happened yesterday,” said her
118 The Runaway Watch. |

aunt, “and the next time you go to the beach the
watch had better remain at home.”

And so the works were punished for their
naughtiness, for they never got even a glimpse
of the beautiful ocean again, and had to remain
quietly in their case ever after, saying “ Tick-tick,
tick-tick.’” And sometimes if you listen very
closely, you may hear them say, softly and re-
eretfully, ‘ Atlan-“c, Atlan-“c, Atlan-“c.”’




A GRASSHOPPER’S TRIP TO THE
CITY.

NCE upona time there was a green Grass-
() hopper, who lived with his papa and
mamma, his brother and sisters, under a

daisy in a green field. Near them was a big red
house, and in the house lived a boy whose name
was Southworth. This boy owned a beautiful cat
called Propriety, which was a very long name, but
then she was a very long cat. She was gray, and
had the greenest eyes you ever saw, but she had
one serious fault—she was very fond of eating
grasshoppers. She would crouch in the long
grass, and when one appeared, out would come
her paw, and that grasshopper would never, never
hop any more. She knew no better, but that did

not make it any happier for the grasshopper.
11g
120 A Grasshopper’s Trip to the City.

Southworth thought that Propriety’s eyes were
green because she ate so many grasshoppers. I
can scarcely believe it was so, however, because
some cats drink only milk, and I never saw any
cat with white eyes, did you?

Now the Grasshopper who lived under the
daisy, asked his mother one day if he might take
a “hop.” He didn’t say walk as you do, as he
did n’t know how to walk. His mother said yes,
but told him to be very careful to keep away
from Propriety. He said he would, and off he
hopped.

He had a lovely time, looking at all the pretty
flowers in the field. He saw a great, ripe rasp-
berry hanging temptingly just where he could
reach it. Now, a few days before, he had seen
Southworth eating a raspberry, and had heard him
say, “How delicious!” so he thought he too
would taste this berry. But he did not like it at
all, so popped it out as quickly as he could, and
looked sadly down at his pretty green coat that
was all stained with the red juice. He was a
neat grasshopper, and he wiped his little mouth
A Grasshopper’s Trip to the City. 121

and coat and legs as well as he could with a clean
leaf that grew near.

He had hopped quite a distance from his home
by this time, and feeling tired, looked about for a
nap-place. He soon found it—a flat stone on
which the sun had been shining all the morning,
making it warm and comfortable. He lay down
in the very middle of it, and was soon fast asleep.

Now under this stone there was a hole, and in
it lived a black snake. He, too, was fond of
sleeping and had his own favorite nap-place—on
the very same warm flat stone on which the Grass-
hopper was lying.

The Snake came from his hole, looked about,
and said: “I think I will take a nap.” So he
crawled up on the stone (not noticing the Grass-
hopper) and curled himself round and round and
round and went to sleep. Not a very comfortable
position for a nap, but then he was only a snake,
and, I daresay, had no kind mother to tell him to
“lie straight.”

Pretty soon the Grasshopper woke up, and you
never saw such a surprised Grasshopper as this
122 A Grasshopper’s Trip to the City.

one. At first he thought there was a black moun-
tain before him. Then he found that the “black
mountain’ went entirely round him.

“T must jump,” said he, and he did. But he
was sleepy, and he was frightened, and where do
you think he jumped? Directly on the Snake's
head !

This woke up the Snake, who lifted his head
and said, ‘“‘hssssssss.”” But, of course, he could
not see the Grasshopper,
nor could he touch him.
The Grasshopper didn’t
© know what ‘“hssssssss ”’
meant, but it sounded



very dreadful, and being
now thoroughly awake, he made a tremendous
jump, high in the air, and came down—on some-
thing warm, soft, gray! At first he thought ’t was
a new kind of grass, and then his heart stood still,
for he found that he was on the head and right
between the ears of his greatest enemy—Propriety,
who was crouching in the grass, watching for grass-
hoppers! He gave one agonized jump for his life !
A Grasshopper’s Trip to the City. 123

‘T was a high jump, ’t was a long jump, and his
next landing place was not land at all, but water,
for the poor little fellow found himself in a pond.
It seemed like the ocean to him, and he called

loudly for ‘help, help!”



















Just then he saw, floating on the water, some-
thing green. He made a great effort and suc-
ceeding in reaching it, scrambled up on a large
leaf. It was a lily-pad, and beside it grew a most
beautiful pink water-lily.

‘Poor little fellow,” said the Leaf, “rest on
124 A Grasshopper’s Trip. to the City.

me. I will rock you very gently and you will
soon be better.”

And the Lily bent her beautiful head and said :
“Yes, rest, come nearer me, for I carry a perfume
that must surely make you better.”

The Grasshopper, who was very polite, thanked
them both, and sure enough was soon well again.

‘You are beautiful,” he said to the Lily, who
blushed, growing pinker thanever. ‘I am sorry,”
continued the Grasshopper, ‘“‘ that you cannot hop
about. Iam sure it would give every one in our
field the greatest pleasure to see you. Oh, if you
could only hop about and shed your delicious per-
fume.” The Water-Lily smiled (I suppose you
have never seen a water-lily smile, and did n't
know they could do so, but this was a very ve-
markable lily).

“Little Grasshopper,” said she, ‘‘I should feel
sad indeed if I thought I should remain here for-
ever, and do no good in the world; but my brothers
and sisters have always been taken to the hot,
dusty city, and given to poor people, many of
whom have never seen the beautiful country, and
A Grasshoppers Trip to the City. 125

the green growing things. They have been happy
in seeing the lilies, and the lilies themselves have
been happy in the knowledge that they were giving
pleasure, and so doing good.”

She had scarcely finished speaking, when
voices were heard, and two boys appeared, one
holding a large bunch of beautiful water-lilies.

“Oh,” said he, pointing to our lily, ‘‘ here is a
fine pink one. I must pick that.”

Meanwhile, the Grasshopper had been thinking
over what the Lily had said, and he, too, longed
to do good. He knew he was a fine jumper, for
his father had often told him so, and he also knew
that he was a pretty little fellow, being very green
and having long slender legs. He thought:
‘‘Now perhaps those poor city people would like
to see a grasshopper fresh from the country.” In
a twinkling his mind was made up. He, too,
would go to the city; so he jumped right into
the very heart of the Lily. She was surprised, but
pleased.

The boy, meanwhile, waded into the shallow
water, picked the Lily, and walked with it a long
126 A Grasshopper’s Trip to the City.

way down a wooded road till he came to a railway
station. Soon a train came “ puff, puff, puffing”
along. The Grasshopper was very much fright-
ened, and clung closely to the Lily. She herself
was trembling with fear, but said kindly, “ Do not
be afraid, I will protect you, dear.” The train
stopped, and the boy with the flowers clasped
tightly in his hand, stepped on board and walked
through the car, calling :

“Lilies, lilies for sale, ten cents a bunch!”

A lady bought them, and on they went toward
the dusty city. Before very long the train, the
lady, the lilies, and the Grasshopper arrived. Then
they took a horse-car, and on they went again, till
they came to a big red building, which they en-
tered. Over its door was the name, “ Children’s
Hospital,” but the Lily and the Grasshopper did
not know that, for they had never been taught to
read. Another lady, dressed in black and wearing
a tall white cap, now appeared, and taking the
flowers placed them in a green vase filled with
water. And oh, how glad they were to taste water
again, for they were very thirsty.
A Grasshopper’s Trip to the City. 127

“T brought these,” said the first lady, ‘ thinking
that perhaps the poor children at the hospital, who
are ill and suffering, might enjoy them.”

“Indeed they will,” said the other lady.

Then the lilies were taken into a large room,
where there were many small white beds, side by
side, and on each bed lay a little child. They were
good children, and although they were all ill, they
knew they were there to be made better by the kind
doctors and nurses, so they were very patient and
uncomplaining.

When the lilies were brought in, many heads
were raised to look at them, while many voices
said, ‘How beautiful,’ and one boy asked, ‘‘ What
are those pretty things? Flowers?” Poor fellow
he had never seen any water-lilies before. The
nurse let each child smell them, and the pink Lily
whispered to the Grasshopper, “ Now I am happy,
for 1 am doing good.” The flowers were placed
on a small table between two beds.

“Lily dear,” said the Grasshopper, “don’t you
think this is a good time for me to appear? Iam
sure these children will be glad to see me. 1 will
128 A Grasshopper’s Trip to the City.

hop from bed to bed, so that each child may have
a good look at me. Then I, too, shall be doing
good.”

“Well,” said the Lily, “ go.”

So out hopped the little fellow, first on the
bed nearest. But the girl who lay there, did n't
see him, so he jumped directly on her hand. But
the child, who had never seen a grasshopper
before, was so frightened that she screamed
loudly.

“’T was a bug, a horrid green bug,’ she
said to the nurse, who hurried to her bedside.
The Grasshopper, much frightened, jumped to the
next bed, and then to the next, but alas, alas,
only to be met with shrieks of fear. The nurses
ran from bed to bed trying to catch him, scream-
ing too, and I am sure he would have screamed
louder than any of them only he did n't know
how to do it. At last he managed to hop back
unseen to his friend, the Lily, and curled down
in his old place, crying bitterly. She comforted
him, folding her petals closely about him, and he
lay there hidden and at rest. There he remained
A Grasshopper’s Trip to the City. 129

for several days, till at last the Lily told him she
was dying.

‘We must all die, you know, and I have done
my work, so am ready to go.”

The next morning, when the Grasshopper said,
“Good morning, dear Lily,” she did not answer.
Her beautiful head was drooping. She was dead.

Soon the nurse came, and taking the flowers,
away, threw them into an ash-barrel. The Grass-
hopper hopped out, and kissing his Lily for the
last time, sat near her, on the top of the rubbish.
He felt very badly, for his only friend had gone
from him. A man soon appeared, who emptied
the contents of the barrel into a big wagon, but
the Grasshopper jumped just in time, and landed
on the very top of the load—a little speck
of bright green, in the midst of the ashes and
rubbish. The cart rattled noisily over the city
streets, and soon came in sight of the sea. Its
contents were emptied into a big boat, which
was waiting at the wharf. Again the Grasshopper
jumped, and once more found himself on the
very top of everything. He looked about and

9
130 A Grasshopper’s Trip to the City.

saw rubbish, rubbish, rubbish, everywhere. ‘“ Tchu,
tchu, tchu,”’ and on went the steamboat down the
harbor.

An old tin Can that was lying near, said,
‘Good morning. Baaaa.”

‘Good morning,’ answered the Grasshopper,
‘but why ‘baaaa’ ?”

‘Because,’ said the Can, proudly, “I am a
Mutton-can, so of course I say ‘ baaaa.’”’

‘“Oh, of course,” assented the Grasshopper,
adding politely, ‘‘ Iam sure it sounded very pretty,
only I did n’t know quite what it meant, Sir.”

‘Quite excusable,” said the Can.

‘Where are we going?”

‘To be emptied into the sea,’’ answered the
Can. Then noticing the terrified look on the
Grasshopper’s face, he added: ‘“ You must not
give yourself the slightest uneasiness, however,
for I can float.”

After this abominably selfish speech, the Can
settled himself back very comfortably, and smiled.

“But / can’t float,” said the poor Grasshopper,
‘‘and what will become of me?”
A Grasshopper’s Trip to the City. 131

‘“‘Get off,’ was the laconic answer.

“Where ?”

‘We stop at another wharf farther down the
harbor, and there will be your chance. Baaaa!”

“Thank you, kind Can. I will,” said the
Grasshopper, and when they reached the next
wharf, off he jumped.

He hopped and hopped till he came to a stone
wall, and over this he skipped, finding himself in a
beautiful field, in which grew a wilderness of
daisies.

‘How do you do ?”’ said they.

‘And how are you?” answered he. ‘ What
is the name of this place ?”

“Quincy.”

“What!” cried the Grasshopper, “then this
is where I live.” Just then he saw, not far away,
a large red house, which he at once recognized as
the home of Southworth and Propriety.

I am sure no grasshopper ever hopped his little
way to his home more quickly than this one. Soon
he came to his own field, and there under the
home-daisy sat his mamma crying bitterly for her
132 A Grasshopper’s Trip to the City.

son. As he came near he heard her say: ‘Oh, I
shall never, never see him again.” Then up he
went and gave her one big kiss on her cheek.
When she saw who it was, she cried again, but
this time it was from joy, and the Grasshopper
cried with her. Soon his papa, and all his brothers
and sisters came up, and he told them about his
travels. When he had finished, he said to his
mother: ‘I shall never go away from you again,
but always live here in this field.’ And they say
that he lived to a “green old age,” but then, to
be sure, he was very green, to begin with.




THE LIGHT-HOUSE LAMP.

AM now going to tell you about a lamp. Not

| the kind that you are used to, but one much
bigger. She lived in the very top of a light-
house, which stood upon a small island far out at
sea. The island was good and gentle herself, but
all about her were dangerous, cruel rocks. Some
of them lifted their dark, sullen heads far above
the water, and in the daytime could be plainly
seen, when of course, the sailors kept away from
them, but at night, the boats might have sailed
directly upon them, had it not been for our good
Lamp. In the light-house lived a man and his
wife. The man loved his Lamp, and it was well
worthy his affection, for in spite of two very large
wicks, it was itself anything but wicked, and had

really no vice, although once in a great while, it
133
134 The Light-House Lamp.

did smoke. The man gave much time to it, keep-
ing it always bright and shining, and in return for



this kind care, the Lamp burned with a clear,
strong blaze that could be seen for miles, shining
The Light-House Lamp. 15

through the light-house windows, which sur-
rounded it on all sides.

One night after the Lamp had been lighted, a
dreadful storm arose. The wind roared. The
waves dashed higher and higher, but the Lamp
burned on. The light-house keeper came up to
see that all was right, and spoke to it as he often
did.

“Burn brightly, my good Lamp, and you and I
between us may save many a life this night.”

‘‘T will, I will, master,” said the Lamp.

Still louder roared the dreadful wind, and
higher and higher dashed the waves. One lifted
his head so high that he looked through the light-
house window, directly into the Lamp’s face, but
she did not flinch.

“Go out,” said the waves.

“Yes, go out,’ roared the wind. ‘There isa
big steamer coming, and heading directly for these
rocks. I will blow her on them, and my friends,
the waves, will dash her over and over against
them, and destroy her.”

“Cruel, cruel,’ cried the Lamp, “ but I will pre-
136 The Light-House Lamp.

vent your doing this wicked thing. I will save
these people, in spite of you,’ and the brave
Lamp burned brighter than ever. And the poor,
exhausted sailors in the storm-tossed boat saw at
last the light.

teOhe tsaidatheysy (sthenermust be rocks near,
for see, that is a light-house,” and they turned the
boat quickly from the danger, and went safely on
their way, blessing the little Lamp who had done
so much for them. Then the wind and the waves
were very, very angry.

“We will put out this saucy Lamp, who dares
to put her puny strength against our might.”

So they made still greater efforts, and the dash-
ing of the waves and the roaring of the wind were
horrible to hear. “Such a storm as this was surely
never known,” said the keeper to his wife, ‘ but do
not fear, the light-house is firm.” And above them
the Lamp burned calmly on, happy in the knowl-
edge that she had done right. Then the wind
and the waves, tired out at last, rested for a mo-
ment, and in the silence the Lamp spoke to them,
telling them how wickedly they had acted.
The Light-House Lamp. Tay

“Don’t you know why you, with all your
power, were unable to do anything against me?”

“No,” said they.

‘ Because,” said she, ‘‘ on my side is right, and
on yours wrong, and wrong cannot stand against
right. How much better it would be if you would
use your great power to help me in doing good.”

And at last, do you know, the wind and the
waves, listening to these words, began to feel very
badly for their wickedness. The waves shed tears
(at least, I suppose they were tears, as they were
very salt) and all through the night, the wind
sighed and moaned piteously round the light-
house, while the waves sobbed and kissed the
island below, in their sorrow. In the morning
they said:

“We will help you, dear little Lamp, and we
will try hard to be good, if you will show us how.”

This the Lamp gladly promised to do. And
the wind and the waves have kept their word, for
if a ship comes near those rocks in a storm, the
wind simply blows it by the dangerous place, and
I am happy to say there has never, never been a
wreck there.


MONKEY TRICKS IN THE JUNGLE.

HIS is the story of a little gray Elephant.
He was not a circus Elephant, but lived
at his home, which was far, far away in
Africa. If you or I had been there, we should
have found many strange, interesting things to
see, but the Elephant cared not for them. He
only knew that this was home, and the place where
his big gray mamma and he lived happily to-
gether. His mother was very kind and allowed
him to go wherever he liked, and his ‘‘likes”’ took
kim sometimes far from his home, for, he was a
great walker. His trunk, he always kept with him,
in readiness for his journeys.
One day, he bade his mother good-bye, and
started out on a long, long tramp. He passed

many gorgeous flowers that you or I should
138
Monkey Tricks in the Jungle. 139

have picked, had we been there. The air was
alive with the cries of strange creatures, and
beautiful birds were constantly flying by him, their
brilliant green, crimson, and orange plumage al-
most too dazzling to look at. But the Elephant
paid not the slightest attention to them. We
never notice sparrows, and to him these gorgeous
birds were simply sparrows, and he had seen them
all his life.

On and on he went. Once he heard a low,
threatening growl, a rustling in the bushes, and
he turned quickly back, choosing another path.
He was much frightened, for well he knew that
that low sound meant that a lion was near. His
face grew fairly gray with fright—at least it would
have done so, had it not already been so very
gray. But he heard no more from the lion.
Soon he began to feel tired and hungry.

‘“T will lunch,” said he, and choosing a cool,
comfortable place under the shade of a big palm
tree, he began. He had chicken-sandwiches, pic-
kles, French-fried potatoes, custard pie, caramels,
—no, I fear I have made a mistake. That was not
140 Monkey Tricks in the Jungle.

exactly the luncheon that this little African Ele-
phant had, after all. He had—well, to tell the
truth, I am not quite sure what he did have, but
I know that it was good. He finished with a
long draught of the delicious jungle-ade (please
don’t ask me how to make this, as it can only
be made correctly in Africa).

Just as he was finishing, he heard a ‘chat,

’

chat, chattering,” and looking up saw a mischiev-
ous little monkey sitting overhead, and swinging
himself lazily back and forth on a branch. He
had bent a very thirsty eye upon what remained
of the jungle-ade, and the Elephant, seeing this,
said cordially :

“Have some?”

He was a generous soul, and then also he
had really had as much jungle-ade as it was
possible for one young elephant to drink. The
Monkey seized the cup, and there was soon no
jungle-ade.

“Elephant, that was delicious, and I am sure I
thank you very much,” said he, ‘“‘and now, can I
not in return do something for you?”’
Monkey Tricks in the Jungle. 141

“Yes, you can. A gnat has just bitten me,”
said the Elephant, sadly.

“Really?” said the Monkey. ‘Well, you
are not the first one who has been bitten by a
gnat.”’

“But he bit me on my back,” said the Ele-
phant, ‘“‘where it is impossible for me to scratch.
I have tried and tried, but alas, it is just out of
reach of my trunk. Now, Monkey, if you will
scratch it for me, I shall be greatly obliged.” And
the Monkey did. But alas, the naughty little fel-
low did it too well, for he scratched and scratched
and scratched and scratched.

“Stop, stop, stop,’ yelled the Elephant.

“Oh no,” said the Monkey, ‘“‘I am sharpening
my nails beautifully and I dont want to stop.”

“JT will punish you,” said the Elephant.

But the Monkey only laughed at this threat.
“You told me yourself that you could not reach
this spot,’ and on he scratched, for I am sorry to
say that he was far from being a good monkey.

“That may be so, but I know what I can do,”
said the Elephant. ‘I can take you home to my
142 Monkey Tricks in the Jungle.

mamma who can and will reach you, for you shall
be punished for your naughtiness,”’ and without
more ado, he started.

I wish, children, we could have been there to
see that Elephant run—for he fairly flew. He
kept to no path, but dashed on, crushing the
flowers, breaking the branches of the trees, in his
headlong flight. ‘Scurry, scurry,” went the ani-
mals out of his path, and all the birds and insects
fairly bumped against each other in their eagerness
to get away from. this mad, rushing creature—they
scarcely knew what he was, so fast he flew. And
the Monkey clung closely to him, his teeth chat-
tering with fear.

“Tf I fall, I may be killed, and if I manage to
stick on, I know I shall be, when we get to his
home. Oh, what shall I do, what shall I do?” he
wailed. It was truly not a pleasant outlook for
any monkey, now was it? —

But deliverance was at hand, for there right
before him was a low hanging branch. ‘Can I
but reach that, I am safe,” he thought. They are
near it, are at it,—one spring gives the monkey,




143
144. Monkey Tricks in the Jungle.

and, hurrah! reaches it, and grasping it firmly
swings himself up to safety. Climbing to the top-
most branch, he yells derisively to the fast disap-
pearing Elephant :

“ Stupid little Elephant,
Big-eared Elephant,
Waddling Elephant,
Wrinkles on yer skin,

Silly little Elephant.
Bob-tailed Elephant,

You can’t catch a Monkey,
You ‘no count’ thing’—

which was, on the Monkey’s part, most reprehen-
sible, and which I am happy to say was unheard
by the Elephant, who, meanwhile, quite uncon-
scious of what had happened, flew on.

“Wait,” he said, ‘““we are almost there, and
your punishment is coming, bad Monkey.”

Soon the home was reached, and there stood
his mother. ‘Mamma, Mamma,” he shouted,
“take him off, quickly, and punish him, for he has
been very naughty.”

“What do you mean, child?’ said she.
“ Punish whom ?”
Monkey Tricks in the Jungle. 145

“Why, the Monkey who is sitting on my
back.”

«There is no monkey on your back.”

‘‘What, no monkey ?” screamed the Elephant.

His mother, meanwhile, came nearer, and
looking him closely in the face, said sternly : “ My
son, did you have jungle-ade with your lunch-
comin

“Ves,” he faltered (for he knew his mother
had forbidden him to touch it).

“Then,” said she, “I am not surprised that
you talk of moneys Go to bed at once, and
without your supper.’

So it was the poor little Elephant who had the
punishment. And to this day, he cannot imagine
what could have become of that Monkey.

to




THE UPSIDEDOWNIANS.

T was a lovely summer afternoon when Molly
and Sam went for a sail with their Uncle Jack.
They had taken a basket with plenty of sup-

per, for they were going for such a long sail that
they could not get home before nine o'clock. It
would be a bright moonlight night, however, and
the boat was a safe one. Off they went, and
waving their hands to Mamma, as long as they
could see her, they sailed away and away.

«Now, children,” said their uncle, ‘let us go
straight out to the open ocean. We will sail as
fast as we can, till five o'clock, and then we will
turn about and come home.”

With the children’s help, and they were a great
help, he spread all sail, and away flew the Dragon-
jy over the water. At first they saw a great

.146
The Upsidedownians. 147

many boats like their own, and even smaller, then
fewer and fewer, until, at last, only one or two
stately ships were to be seen. Then they met a
big ocean steamer ploughing the water, throwing
the white waves to right and left. When the peo-
ple on board saw the little sail-boat bobbing up
and down on the water, they waved their handker-
chiefs at Uncle Jack and the two children, who
took off their hats in return.
When it was five o’clock, and time to turn
about for home, the wind suddenly died out, and
the unfilled sail flapped uselessly at the mast. It
began to grow dark, too, while just over their
heads they saw a big black cloud, which looked
most threatening. Fearing that a thunder storm
was coming, and realizing their danger, Uncle Jack
sprang to take in sail. But he was already too
late, for the storm was upon them! The cloud
above suddenly burst, a torrent of rain de-
scended, and the wind blew furiously. Bidding
the two children lie down in the bottom of the
boat, and keep perfectly quiet, Uncle Jack worked
frantically with the big sail, and at last succeeded
148 The Upsidedownians.

in taking it in. As soon as the sail was down, the
boat, which had been rolling frightfully, righted
itself somewhat, and poor Uncle Jack and the two
trembling children knew that their present danger
was over.

And now the Dragonfly raced madly on,
blown by the furious gale, Uncle Jack keeping her
as steady as possible, and aiming for—he knew
not where. The sky was as black as night, and
the howling of the wind in the rigging was dread-
ful. For fifteen minutes this storm continued,
then the sky began to lighten a bit, the wind died
gradually out, and the sun shone on them again,
for it had been only a summer storm, and though
violent, did not last long. And now, to their utter
amazement, they saw directly before them an isl-
and which was quite unknown, even to Uncle Jack
who had sailed in these waters for years. Between
them and the island, however, and standing like
sentinels on guard, was a reef of angry looking
rocks, against which the breakers were dashing
with tremendous force. ‘We must keep away
from them,” said Uncle Jack, when to his horror,
The Upsidedownians. 149

he found that a very strong current was carrying
the boat directly upon them |

In vain did he try to turn it, while the children
sat silently with white faces, clasping each others
hands, and expecting every moment to be dashed
to pieces. ‘If we can but reach the quiet water
beyond,” thought Uncle Jack, ‘we shall be all
right,” and to his unutterable relief, the waves, in-
stead of dashing them against the cruel rocks,
carried them right between two tall ones, into the
still water. But when the boat got there, it im-
mediately turned upside down, breaking the mast,
and throwing them and everything else out. For-
tunately, being near the shore, the water was not
more than two feet deep, so the spill did not in-
jure them in any way, except to give them a
ducking. Taking the rope which was on the bow
of the Dragon-/ly, they all waded ashore, and Uncle
Jack fastened the rope to the stump of a tree.

“Now come, children,’ said he, ‘let us
look about; there may be people on this island,
who will help us. We must dry our clothes, and
mend our boat before we can go home.”
150 The Upsidedownians.

“Uncle,” said Sam, ‘what shall we do if there
are no people here ?”’

“Well, in that case, we will make a fire our.
selves. I have matches in my pocket, and there
seems to be plenty of wood. But first, let us
make sure that we are on a desert island.”

So they turned from the water, and walked on,
when to their amazement, they saw coming toward
them, three most astonishing figures! A very old
man, and two children, a boy and a girl about the
age of Sam and Molly. There was nothing very
remarkable about this, but can you believe me,
when [I tell you that all three were walking on
their Aands, while their feet stuck straight up in
the air! Each had a pair of brushes, like blacking
brushes, their hands being thrust through the
straps at the back, and on these they walked, to
protect their hands from the rough stones. But
when they came near, each jumped quickly on his
feet, and taking off one brush, shook hands heart-
ily with the strangers, bidding them welcome to
the Upsidedown Island.

“You were very fortunate not to get drowned,”
The Upsidedownians. 151

said the old man. ‘ People who are bold enough
to try to come to this island, are dashed first
against those rocks, and then turned upside down.”

“But we did not try to come,” said Molly,
‘the waves brought us.”



“Ah,” said the old man, ‘that is probably
why you escaped. The rocks guard us, and do
not let inquisitive people land. However, as the
waves have brought you, in spite of yourselves,
G2 The Upsidedownians.

you are heartily welcome. But you are wet, come
to my house, dry your clothes and have dinner.”
So saying, the three thrust their hands into their’
brush-straps, and walking as before, led the way
to the village. .

Of course, there could be no conversation,
while these strange people were in this ridiculous
. position, so that Uncle Jack and the two children
had ample time to look about them. And many
strange things they saw. Fields carefully culti-
vated, and trees that looked like our trees, but
which bore the strangest fruit youcan imagine. In
a field, at a little distance, they saw what looked
like bean-poles, which, however, were waving back
and forth. When they got nearer, they found they
were not poles at all, but the legs of a herd of
cows, the cows themselves lying flat on their
backs, with their legs straight up in the air, and
turning their heads over occasionally to get a nib-
ble at the rich, green grass.

When Uncle Jack and the children reached the
village, they found that everyone there was walk-
ing in the same absurd way, as the three who had
The Upsidedownians. iG?

met them. They could not help asking why this
was done.

“Dry your clothes first,” said the old man,
“and have your dinner with us, and then I will
tell you all about us Upsidedownians. Dinner
will be ready before long. See, there are my two
grandsons picking the potatoes and digging the
apples,’ and Uncle Jack and the two children
actually did see them, doing this very thing. One
of the boys was picking potatoes from a tree, while
the other was digging rosy cheeked apples from
the brown earth!! They could scarcely wait to
be told the meaning of all this.

After their clothes had been thoroughly dried,
they were called to dinner, and were relieved to
find that the Upsidedownians sat at the table as
they themselves did, keeping their feet down on
the ground. The dinner itself was a queer affair,
although the food was excellent, and well-cooked.
First they were given candied fruit, and a dish of
the ripe red apples they saw dug from the ground.
Then they had fish and some of the potatoes
which they had seen picked from the trees, and
154 The Upsidedownians.

lastly, some soup made from the roots of a plant
which grew on the island.

“You are surprised,” said the old man, ‘that
We serve our soup last, but the reason is simple.
You see, standing as we Upsidedownians do, so
much of the time, with our heads down, our stom-
achs get, after a while, turned topsy-turvy, so that
we are obliged to begin with the dessert, and end
with the soup, in order that our dinner may be
properly digested.”

And Uncle Jack said, “I see,” for he really
was not quite sure, whether he himself was stand-
ing on his head or his heels. “But why,” he
asked, “do you walk on your hands at all?”

“YT will tell you,” said the old man. “ This
then is the history of our people. Our great-great-
great grandparents were people who lived in a
country far from here. They were not satisfied
there. They thought everything was wrong, and
longed to go to some far-away land, where they
could make a new world, with everything their
own way. They went off in a big ship and sailed
and sailed for a year and a day, but every land
The Upsidedownians. 155

they came to, had people on it, all doing just as
in the land which they had left. At last, one day
our island was reached, and sailing around and
around it, they could see.no house, no man, wo-
man, nor child, and they said : ‘Here we will land,
here we will live, where we can have everything
our own way. But when they tried to land, the
rocks seized their boats and turned them upside-
down, spilling them all out into the water! For-
tunately, it happened to be a calm day, when the
water was like glass, and, though with much diffi-
culty, they all managed to get safely to land.
Here they lived, and here their children, and
great-great-great grandchildren have lived ever
since. We try hard to do everything quite dif-
ferently from the way they do in the land our
grandparents came from.”

“T think you have succeeded admirably,” said
Uncle Jack, heartily.

“Vou do? Ah, well we do our best, we do
our best,” and the old man rubbed his hands to-
gether, delightedly.

“Of course, it was hard for us to learn to walk
156 The Upsidedownians.

on our hands, and hard, too, to make potatoes
grow on trees, and apples in the earth, but we
succeeded at last,” he said, triumphantly.

“Yes, you have indeed succeeded,” said Uncle
Jack, “but will you tell me, why is your way
better than the old?”

‘Because it zs our way,’ said the old man,
and to this Uncle Jack could find no_ possible
answer. ‘‘Our power and influence are great.
Our will here is law, and all who approach our
island must obey that law. Look up, stranger.
Watch that gull.”

“Looking up, Uncle Jack and the children saw
a huge gull flying lazily toward the island, his
white wings spread and glistening in the bright
sunlight. He went in the ordinary way till he was
directly over them when he immediately turned
and flew upside-down till he found himself once
more beyond the island and over the water, when
he again turned, and flew like a common, every-
day gull.

“Astonishing,” said Uncle Jack and the chil-
dren.

‘«Same with the fishes, whose home is near the
The Upsidedownians. mS

island,” said Smith Mr. (for that, they found was
the old gentleman’s name), “and speaking of
fishes, reminds me of your boat. I suppose you
will want to have us help you mend and put it in
proper condition again, for your homeward voyage.
We will do so to-morrow, and you will, I hope,
spend to-night with us? There will be plenty of
room for you all on my roof.”

“On thestoot cued) Uncle: Jack, Sameand
Molly together. ‘Is it possible that you Upside-
downians sleep on the roofs of your houses ?””

“Certainly we do,” said Smith Mr. “We
would not sleep as they do in the land where our
great-great-great grandfathers and also our great- |
great-great grandmothers came from.”

“TY think we will not spend the night with
you,” said Uncle Jack, hastily. “But we will be
greatly obliged to you Smith Mr. if you will give
us help in mending our boat.”

“Gladly,” said the old man, and followed by
all the village-people clattering over the rocks on
their brushes, and with feet held high and straight
in air, they walked to the shore.

Pulling in the boat by the rope, they all worked
158 The Upsidedownians.

hard to get it in condition, and were so kind and
helpful, that everything was done in less than half
an hour. Then, when they were about to start, a
boy came from the village, balancing on his feet
a basket of the tree-potatoes, and earth-apples,
which he gave to them. A glass of milk also was
given to each of the children. They were aston-
ished to see all the cream settled at the bottom of
the glass.

‘When cows feed, lying on their backs,” said
Smith Mr., “the cream always falls to the bottom
of the milk.”

As they got into their boat, he said: “You
may tell your friends about us, that they may
wonder, but zever let them know where this island
is. Promise me,” and Uncle Jack, Molly, and Sam
promised, and thanking them all for their kind-
ness, the boat was pushed off. They had great
difficulty in keeping it upright, although the water
was perfectly calm. Twice before reaching the
rocks, it was almost upset, and the third time
would have been, had not the kind-hearted Up-
sidedownians jumped into the water, and held it.
The Upsidedownians. 159

This was, of course, difficult for them to do, as
they had, while in the water, to stand on their
tender feet. But they at last reached the rocks,
and then, all pushing together, out between the
two high ones—shot the Dragon-/fly, and the dan-
ger was OVEr. |

Shouting good-bye and waving their hats to
the crowd of Upsidedownians, who stood on the
shore, with heads down, clapping their feet fran-
tically together, the Dragon-fly sailed home, and.
reached there at just nine o'clock.




THE IRON DOG.

RNOLD’S father and mother had taken for
A the summer a big, gray house, near the
big gray sea, and they had just come

down. Behind the house there was a beautiful
garden, a wild tangled garden, with more flowers
than you can imagine, climbing and growing
everywhere. In front, the green, smooth-shaven
lawn sloped down to the very sea, and standing
directly in the middle was a large iron Dog. He
was big, he was fierce, his tail stuck straight up in
the air, and no dog had ever been known to ap-
proach him. Arnold’s father, strange to say, did
not appreciate his beauties, and asked the owner
of the place to remove him, but as the man
thought it would be a difficult matter, and as
Arnold, who was delighted with the Dog, begged
The Iron Dog. 161

hard to have him remain, his father at last, con-
sented.

“7 think that iron Dog is the most beautiful
thing here,” said Arnold.

“Then enjoy him to your heart’s content,”
said Papa, smiling and kissing his little boy.

And Arnold did enjoy him.. He got on his
back and rode him, whacking him hard with
a stout stick, He brought him make-believe
dinners, and decorated him with beautiful daisy
chains. In fact, the Dog was in every way a most
satisfactory companion, and they never quarrelled.

One night, Arnold’s father and mother went to
a dinner-party. The house was several miles
away, and they were not to return till twelve
o'clock. ‘Bread and milk and one cookie for
supper,’ said Mamma, as she kissed Arnold good-
bye. Supper-time came, and with it the large
bowl of rich milk and white bread, while on
a small plate lay the tempting cookie. After
supper, Arnold spent an hour playing with the
white cat and her three kittens, and then he
went to bed. But after Mary left him, he could
162 The Iron Dog.

not seem to sleep, but tossed and turned, tossed
and turned, fell asleep for a second, and then
woke up again.

‘‘Mary, Mary,” he shouted, but Mary had gone
out walking with one of her friends, and the lonely
little boy called in vain. At last he got up, put
on his slippers, and running to the window, which
was wide open, looked out. The warm summer
air blew softly in, and the moon which was full,
was flooding the whole world with a silvery light.
Arnold could hear the sea at the foot of the lawn
softly “lap-lapping”’ the shore. Then he saw his
friend, the Dog, standing on guard, on the lawn,
looking bigger and more threatening than ever,
his shadow reaching far off at one side.

“T will go out into the silver world and see my
Dog,” said he, ‘for Mary will not come to me, and
I am dreadfully lonesome.”

So putting on his little red dressing gown,
down stairs he ran, into the library, through the
tall glass door to the piazza and across the lawn.
Ah, how delicious it was! To his iron friend he
ran, and mounting him, put his two warm arms
The Iron Dog. 163

about his neck, and stooping, kissed him gently
between his ears. Just then, the bell in the church
at Marlscombe, a mile away, began to strike ten,
sounding very loud indeed in the stillness of the



MN «yy

/
é qi
art eam

night. While it was yet striking, Arnold became
aware of something which frightened him so much
that he almost fell off. For the iron Dog’s body
beneath him had suddenly began to grow warn /
164 The Iron Dog.

Then—in a minute —his tail began to move—
s-l-o-w-l-y, s-l-o-w-l-y wagging from side to side.
Next he gave himself a tremendous shake, and
then—then—he jumped from the pedestal—a “v-
wg Dog!! And just then the bell stopped ringing.
Arnold screamed in his astonishment and fright,
but the Dog looking back at him with friendly
eyes, said:

‘Don’t be afraid, I won’t hurt you. I suppose
you thought I was a common, every-day iron
dog?”

“T always thought you a very beautiful dog,”
said Arnold. At this the animal looked pleased.

‘Tam very glad, Arnold,” he said, “that you
happened to come out to-night. On every other
night, I am as other iron dogs, but on the first
night of every month from ten to twelve, I am
alive, and ¢/zs is my night.”

“Oh, Iam so glad then,” said the little boy,
‘that I came, for I should otherwise have known
nothing about it.”

“T will take you about with me,” said the Dog,
“Dut first I must have some words with you.
The Iron Dog. 165

Never again whack me so cruelly with that horrid
stick.”

“Dear Doggie, I will not,” faltered Arnold,
‘“T did n't know you could feel, you see.”

“Do I then look like one who has no feel-
ing ?” said the Dog, angrily.

“No,” said Arnold, “you don’t and I will
never beat you again.”

“Then,” continued the Dog, “don’t mortify
me by putting those silly daisy chains about my
neck. J am ashamed of them. Make me, instead,
a collar of the beautiful dog-wood.”

‘Oh no, that would poison us,” said Arnold.

‘What would poison us ?”

“ Dog-wood.”

“T would like to see the dog who would poi-
son me,” and he growled fiercely.

‘“‘T mean,’ Arnold hastened to assure him,
“the plant would poison us.”

“Oh,” said the Dog, mollified. ‘But come,
we are wasting time, and I have a skunk to kill
to-night. First, I must have a drink of water.”

“Are you thirsty ?”’ said Arnold.
166 The Iron Dog.

“Indeed, I am. Wouldn't you be thirsty, if
you had had no water for four long weeks ?”” And
Arnold admitted that he would. So the Dog gal-
loped to a watering trough, stopping on the way
to bark at the moon, and a metallic bark it was
too. Then the drink began. ‘Gurgle, gurgle”’
went the water through the hollow body. First
the legs were filled, then the body, the head, and
then the beautiful upright tail.

“There,” said he, ‘‘that ought to last for some
time. And now for my skunk, for there is that
clock actually striking eleven already.”

‘“Oh, must you kill the skunk to-night?” said
Arnold, who did not at all like the idea.

“Certainly, I must. Do I look like one, who
having once seen a skunk, would let him live?”
said the Dog, who really seemed a boastful fellow.

“Indeed you don't,” said Arnold, heartily.

“T was almost upon him last month,” contin-
ued his friend, ‘‘when he suddenly disappeared
in a hole and I had not time to catch him.
Come.” So, swiftly galloped the Dog over
stones and bushes, Arnold with his two arms
The Iron Dog. 167

about his neck and wishing heartily that he was in
his own little bed. But he was ashamed to ask to
get off.

“We are getting near him,” panted the Dog,
and Arnold was in a minute fully Deena that
this was so.

‘“Oh, do go back,” he begged, but his friend
refused. Soon they beheld a small black and
white animal flying across the field.

‘“ Hurrah, we’re in luck, Arnold. There he
1S

But the iron Dog had forgotten that the jour-
ney to the field was long, and that time had flown.
Before he could even begin the chase, to the boy’s
great relief the big bell began to toll the hour of
twelve.

‘Arnold, Arnold,’ cried the poor animal,
skunk and everything forgotten, “’tis the hour.
I must reach my pedestal before twelve has fully
struck, or I shall turn into iron, wherever I may
bem

‘‘ One,” said the bell.

“Hurry then,” screamed Arnold, and the Dog
168 The Iron Dog.

began his flight. He galloped, he flew, over
stones, walls, and bushes.

Two f

On, on, over the shallow brook that was hurry-
ing to the sea, he flew with one bound.

“ Three!”

It was for his life he ran.

“You'll do it, but faster, faséer,” screamed
Arnold, who was as much excited as he.

“Four! Five!”

“On, on, dear Dog.”

Sta, Seven 1

Alas, there is still one field more to cross.

ETO

“Oh,” he panted, “I should so hate to be
found ‘ off my base.’ ”’

ie eres

“Shall I get off?” said Arnold.

‘No, your weight is nothing. Don’t leave

ECT a

“See,” shrieked Arnold, ‘‘ there is your ped-
estal—you ’Il reach it!”
The Iron Dog. 169

But the Dog’s iron joints were already stiffen-
ing, and creaked as he ran. He began to grow
cold, too, poor fellow, and his eyes, losing their
bright alert look, grew hard and dead.

« Eleven!” and the pedestal was reached.

“Here we are,’ and Arnold jumping down,
pushed the Dog toward it! One bound now, and
he was on!!

“ Twelve !”’ said the clock.

“Dear, dear Doggie, I am so glad, so very,
very glad,” said Arnold, hugging him and dancing
about him in great delight.

But the poor creature could make no answer,
for he was again a stiff, cold, iron Dog. Arnold
tried, but in vain, to push back one poor leg
that had not quite had time to get on, but stuck
straight out behind. Then, tired out with exer-
tion and excitement, and with one arm about the
cold neck of his friend, the little boy fell fast
asleep. But I am glad to say that his nap lasted
only for a moment, for fortunately his father and
mother were just coming home as the clock struck
twelve, and looking across the lawn recognized,
17@ The Iron Dog.

in the bright moonlight, the small figure in the red
gown.

“"T is Arnold,” they cried, and stopping the
coachman, ran across the lawn.

“Little boy, what does this mean?” they asked,
and Arnold waking up, told them the whole won-
derful story.




MY FLANNEL ROOSTER.

AM a little girl and my name is Margaret. I
| have a papa and a mamma, and I have also

a great many toys, but the toy I love best is
my own dear Rooster. He is really a beautiful
Rooster. He is made of red flannel, and is
very fat and has black worsted eyes, and two very
strong, stiff legs on which he can stand alone. It
really seems as if he could do everything except
crow, and as he can’t do that, I do it for him.
The other day I caught a bad cold, and had to
stay in the house. I was playing with my Roos-
ter and forgot my cold, and tried to crow, but I
made such a funny, hoarse sound that it made me
laugh. The Rooster stood on the table before me,
and I began again, when what do you think he
did? He turned his head slowly, and looking

sternly at me, said :
171
172 My Flannel Rooster.

“Do you call that a crow, young person?
Because / call it ridiculous, and must beg you to
be silent, if that is the best you can do.”

I was so surprised that for a minute I just
looked at him and couldn’t say one word, then I
began:

“But, Rooster, I did n’t know before that
roosters could talk.”

“Well,” said he, they can’t usually; in fact, I
suppose I am the first one who ever did talk, but
I positively could not keep still while you were
making such an absurd noise. It is enough to
make any rooster talk to hear you.” Here he
yawned. “TI beg your pardon, Margaret, but Iam
veiy tired. I had to get upso early this morning—
you know we roosters are obliged to be up by day-
break. I often try to make you get up too,” and
here he looked so sternly at me that I really felt
frightened, ‘“‘but”’ continued he, “it is of no use
and I always have to comb my own feathers and
get myself ready.”

‘But, Rooster,” said I, “how can you comb
your feathers ?”
My Flannel Rooster. pe

“Vou are a silly girl,” said he. ‘Of course I
comb them with my comb. But after all, one
must not expect too much,” he added. ‘It isn't
your fault, Margaret, that you are only a girl—we
can’t all be roosters. But now listen and I will
teach you how to crow.”

Then he began, and except that it sounded
somewhat soft and flannelly, he really did crow
very well. When he
had finished, he looked
at me, and actually
winked one of his
worsted eyes!

“Now listen again,” f
said he, “and prepare |
this time to hear
something really fine.
“‘Cock—a—doooo— ”
he began at the top of
his voice, when sud-



denly something hap-
pened. I think the people who made him must
have put too much stuffing in his little throat, but
174 My Flannel Rooster.

anyway “crrrrrrrack”’ went a thread and out came
the stuffing all along his neck, beginning at his
poor mouth! I suppose those people thought he
was a common toy rooster, and did not suspect
what a wonderful little fellow he really was. Not
expecting him to crow, they left no room for it,
you see, and then when the crow came, why out
the stuffing had to pop !

Well, I mended him, and oh, so carefully, but
not one word has the dear little fellow ever spoken
to me since !




THE STATUE AND THE BIRDS.

HERE was once a little Bird. Such a dear
ae little creature. I wish you could have
known her, but as you didn’t I suppose I
shall have to tell you about her and what hap-
pened to her. She had been spending the winter
in the South and now that the warm summer was
coming, had come back to her Northern home.
She had a mate, and the two were now looking
for a nice, sheltered spot. What for? Guess.
Yes, you are right, it was for their nest.

“Let us build here in this fine, large Oak-
tree,’ said he.

But his little wife said, ‘No, I want a vew
place. Birds always build their nests in trees.
Let us choose a place where no bird has ever built
before.”

Near them was a large white Statue of a man,
175
176 The Statue and the Birds.

seated in a big arm-chair. One hand was slightly
raised and held a manuscript.

‘‘ Here, here,” chirped the Bird, “here we will
build,” and to the Statue she flew, alighting on its
shoulder. Then hop, hop, down she went and
darted in under the manuscript. And indeed
‘twas a cozy spot for a house, for the manuscript
made a most beautiful roof. The big Oak-tree
spoke to the Bird, begging her to come to him and
build her nest.

“T will shelter you; I will rock you gently up
and down, back and forth, for I love birds.
Come, come to me.” And the husband-bird
agreed with him and would gladly have gone to
him, but seeing that his wife had made up her
mind against it, he said nothing at all, being an
exceedingly wise little bird.

Then they began to build their nest, and oh,
how they worked, and oh, of, how they chattered.
But in the end they made a beautiful nest, lining
and interlining it, till really I should have liked to
live there myself. And one night, the little wife
said to her husband: “ The nest is done.”


179
178 The Statue and the Birds.

lt iss: said: he:

“ And it is wef done,” said she.

Clie is” Sauicl le,

“Tt is very well done,” said she.

“Tt is,” said he, and then they went to bed.
Now on the next day, and for them, poor little
things, ‘t was to be a sad day indeed, two men
came and stood before the Statue. You can
imagine their feelings when one said:

“Yes, Patrick, get your ladder, and give the
Statue a good washing, for it really does look very
dirty,’ and the other man answered :

“Vis, sorr,” and then they both went away.

“Oh,” screamed the birds, ‘ how dreadful, for
if he washes the Statue, we shall be discovered,
and our home torn down and thrown away.”

Then the little wife-bird hopped on to one
knee of the big Statue and begged piteously for
help, while the little husband-bird rushed to the
other knee and did the same.

“Don't let them tear down our beautiful
home,” said one.
The Statue and the Birds. 179

“Protect us, for we came to you and trusted
you,” said the other.

‘“ Our dear home, that we worked so hard to
build,” said he.

“And that we had just finished,” added she,
her voice breaking.

Then they both listened for the Statue’s answer.
But he made no answer, and his cold eyes looked
at them and did not soften. ‘Then they sobbed
aloud.

“T think your heart must be of stone, like the
rest of you,” said the husband at last. But the
wife said :

“Perhaps, he is not really as cold as he seems.
He has a kind face, and may help us, after all,”
and running to him, she whispered in his ear:
“Dear Statue, when the man comes, strike him
down. He is going to wash and scrub you, and
I am sure you will not like that at all, will you?

No one does. So for your own sake, as well
as ours, strike, and strike hard.’ But the Statue
gave no sign that he had heard.
180 The Statue and the Birds.

The little Bird did not quite lose hope, how-
ever. ‘When the time comes, I am sure he will
not fail us,” she said.

Soon the man came, and placing his ladder
against the Statue, began his work.

‘Strike, strike, now is your time,” screamed
the Bird. But, alas, the Statue remained as before,
and no blow was struck to defend the little home.
His head was thoroughly cleaned, and I really
think he must have been, at heart, a pretty poor
sort of Statue, for he did not even resent this,
but sat there calmly, while the man soaped and
scrubbed his eyes, ears, nose, and mouth. And
the nest was at last discovered.

“Well, well,” said the man, “a quare shpot
indade for to build a nist,” and he threw it away.

The poor birds were broken-hearted. But
their friend, the big Oak-tree, comforted them,
saying:

“To-night you, with the help of your friends,
can bring your nest up here and spend the summer
with me, after all.”

So when the darkness came, the birds called
The Statue and the Birds. 181

upon all their friends, who gladly helped them,
having pitied them, and they really succeeded in
lifting the nest and fastening it securely on a
branch of the Tree. But alas, the very next day
a man came and looking up at the Tree, said:

“That dead branch is dangerous ; it may fall at
any time and I will send Patrick to cut it off this
morning,’ and if you can believe me, the branch
he pointed at, was the very one on which the birds
had for the second time built their nest.

“Oh, Tree,” they cried, “again our home is to”
be taken from us. Save us.”

And he answered: “Never fear, little Birds, I
will save your home, for did I not promise to pro-
tect you from all harm?” Then the Tree called
loudly to his friend the Wind, who had been play-
ing quietly near, and said:

“Blow, Wind.” And the Wind blew softly,
sweetly through the trees, and all the leaves
rustled and the branches rocked gently. Then
Patrick, the destroyer, appeared, carrying a ladder,
which he placed against the branch. Again the
Tree spoke :
182 The Statue and the Birds.

“Wind, Wind, do you not hear me? Blow
hard, blow quick, as you love me, d/ow/” The
last was fairly a shriek, which was, however, al-
most drowned in the sudden rush of the on-com-
ing Wind, which had sprung up to answer the
Tree’s loud call. Whooooo00/! he roared, and the
Tree rocked back and forth! Patrick, who was not
a very brave man, was frightened at the sudden
fierce wind.

“Well, well,” said he, ‘av Oi don’t be look-
in’ out, Oi’ll be blowed away intoirely,”—and off
he ran, leaving the ladder still resting against the
branch. This was just what the Tree wished.

‘Blow harder, Wind,” he shouted ; so louder
yet roared the Wind, and back and forth swayed
the Tree, and up and down, up and down went
the branch on which the ladder rested, till, at last,
no decent ladder could stand it any longer, so back
he fell with a great crvash. And on what do you
suppose he fell? On the Statue. And the Tree
aimed well, for not only did he hit the Statue, but
broke off his nose (and every one knows that a
statue with a broken nose can never be the same


The Statue and the Birds. 183

again). Not only the nose was broken, but the
arm as well, and the very arm too that had re-
fused to strike a blow in defence of a poor little
bird’s home.

‘Now, Birds,” said the Tree, much pleased at
what had been done, ‘call your friends and move
your nest up here,” and he pointed to a safe place
higher; so once more the home was moved.
Later Patrick removed the dead branch and stared
in astonishment at the Statue.

“Av Oi’d a shtayed, Oi’d a looked loike
thot,” said he.

The Statue was mended but was never the same
man again. And the Birds stayed with their kind
friend, the Tree, all through the summer, and sang
loudly to him, for joy, content, and gratitude were
in their hearts, and later when some little bird-
children came, they told them of the Tree’s kind-
ness, and the wee birdies, too, sang to him all
through the long warm summer, and the Tree was
happy. And this was the song they sang:

Vou never should build on a statue of stone
For his heart is as cold as he!
184 The Statue and the Birds.

The loveliest place is, I am sure you will own,
Near the heart of a big oak-tree !

Cheep, cheep, cheep, cheep !
The loveliest place that can be
Is—cheep, cheep, cheep, cheep !
Near the heart of a big oak-tree.




THE TOAD-BOY.

HERE was once a Toad who lived near a
‘TT big flat stone in the forest. As he sat by
his hole one day, a Boy passed. The

Toad looked at him, and said :

“Oh, how I wish I were a boy.”

“Then why don’t you be one?” said a Snake
who was near.

«J don’t know how.”

“Tf you really want to become a boy, I will
tell you how to do it,” and the Snake winked
his wicked eyes at the Toad. “ All you have to do
is to hop ten times round that flat stone, and then
without waiting a moment, hop quickly on the
stone itself. Then you will become a boy.”

“Thank you, kind Snake,” said the Toad,
and he at once began. “ Hop-i-ty, hop-i-ty,

185
186 The Toad-Boy.

hop,” round and round the stone. When he had
been round ten times and was just ready for the
final jump, the wicked Snake, who had been
watching, suddenly seized him by the leg, and
held him fast. The poor Toad cried with pain
and disappointment; but the next day he came
again, having made up his mind to try once more.
So he began, “‘hop-i-ty, hop-i-ty, hop,” till he had
been round ten times. It took longer this time,
as his poor little leg was lame. Just as he was
about to make the final jump on the stone, out
sprang the Snake again and seized him by the
other leg.

“You are very unkind,” said the poor Toad,
but the Snake only laughed and wriggled away.
The Toad sat there, crying bitterly.

‘“What is the matter?” said a friend who lived
near, and he listened ere to the
story.

‘‘Make one more trial,” he advised, “and I
will help you.”

So on the following morning the Toad com-
ing to the flat stone, began, for the third time, his
The Toad-Boy. 187

journey. But he was obliged to go very, very
slowly, ‘“‘hop-i-ty, hop-i-ty, hop,” for his poor lit-
tle legs pained him dreadfully.

At last, he was ready for his final jump, when
as before, out popped the Snake. But this time
out popped somebody else at the same time—
‘t was the friendly Toad. And
what do you think he did? He
gave one tremendous jump, and
came down directly on the Snake’s
head, and as he was very fat and
* heavy, the Snake was unable to
move. Our Toad, meanwhile, had
succeeded in reaching the stone,
and at once began to feel very












strangely. First, his toad-skin
began to ‘“c-r-r-r-rack, c-r-r-r-
; rack,” and finally fell from
{4 ~ him altogether; then he
= grew taller and taller, and
then before you could count five, a dey stood
where a toad had been before! He stepped from
the stone and tried to walk, which at first was a
188 The Toad-Boy.

very difficult matter, as his legs were weak, but as
he went on they became stronger.

He walked on and on through the woods,
picking, with his new little hands, the beautiful
flowers, which he had never even noticed before,
when he was a Toad, but which he now thought
very lovely. Soon he began to feel hungry, for
he did not seem to care to eat the fat flies, which
were flying lazily about, and which when he was a
Toad, used to seem so delicious to him. And not
only did he long for something to eat, but he was
tired as well, ah, so tired; the night, too, was com-
ing on and he wanted a soft bed. And more
than all, his poor little heart began to ache—
ache for a kind, loving mamma. He had now
reached a high-road, and made up his mind that
he would walk down it, in search of the things he
needed. He soon came to a house, and walking
timidly to the door, asked the lady there if she
would like to have a little boy. She said:

‘No, I have already one little boy.”” Then as
the light fell full on his face, the lady screamed
and said: ‘Oh, what is the matter with you?
The Toad-Boy. 189

Go away.” And he walked to the next house.
There, too, he asked the lady if ske did not want
a little boy.

‘‘ No,” said she, “T have already two little boys
of my own.” Then as he turned to leave, she
too saw his face, screamed, and shut the door
quickly.

To the third house he went, and there the lady
had ¢hree boys. But she gave him some bread
and butter and spoke kindly to him. At this
house the lamps were not yet lighted, so that she
could not see his face. He walked away eating
his bread and butter, but with a very heavy heart.
Sitting down by the road-side, he cried bitterly.

‘‘No one wants me,” he sobbed, ‘I have no dear,
kind mamma to love and pet me, and I am afraid
I shall have to become a toad again.” Just then
he heard the sound of an approaching carriage, and
looking up, saw its lamps, shining like two great
eyes in the darkness. In the carriage sat a lady,
who, hearing the child’s cries, stopped and said :

‘What is the matter, little boy? Why don’t
you go home to your mamma ?”’
190 The Toad-Boy.

“JT have no home and I have no mamma,” he
said, sadly, ‘‘Oh, dear Lady, don’t you want a little
boy, and won’t you be my mamma ?”’

“Yes,” said the lady, “I will take you gladly,
for I have no bey of my own. Come here, dear.”

The poor little fellow walked to the side of the
carriage, his beautiful golden curls shining in the
light of the lamps. But alas, the light showed
something else, for when he was near enough for
the lady to see him distinctly, she too, like the
others, shrank away.

‘Poor, poor child,” she said.

“What is the matter with me; Lady, why do
you look so sadly at me?” said the Boy, his lip
quivering.

“Look,” said she, giving him a small mirror
which hung at the side of the carriage. In this he
looked, and saw—a boy’s head with beautiful
golden curls, but the face, was the horrid green
face of a toad! He screamed in his fright, and
then he told his story to the lady, who was very
much interested.

“T advise you,” said she, ‘to go back and find
The Toad-Boy. 19!

that Snake and make him tell you how to get rid
of the toad-face and how to get a boy-face. If you
are successful, come to my house,” and she
pointed to a big house near, “(and be my own
dear boy.”

He thanked her very much and back he went
to the woods. The night was hot and he slept
comfortably under a big tree on a soft pile of
leaves. In the early morning, he began his search
for the Snake, but, although he spent hours in
looking for him, he could not find him, and when
night came he was much discouraged.

“The Snake is gone, no one wants me, and it
will be much better for me to become a Toad
again,” said he. So the poor little fellow found
the flat stone and counting carefully, walked round
it backward, the tears streaming from his eyes.
After he had gone round ten times, and was
about to take the final jump on the stone, out
popped that same horrid Snake, and tried to
catch him by the heel, when the Boy, who although
he had the face of a toad, had the brains and
hands of a boy, quickly seized the creature, and
192 The Toad-Boy.

holding him so that he could not possibly bite,
began to squeeze him.

“Now, you bad fellow,” said he, “I shall
squeeze you till you tell me what I want to
know.”

The Snake, who was much frightened, said:
“Twill.”

“ Then,” said the Boy, “when I was a Toad,
you told me how to become a Boy—but what
kind, you bad, bad Snake? A boy with the horrid,
green spotted face of a toad. Now, you must tell
me how to change this.”

“Go then,” gasped the Snake, “to the milk-
weed—break a piece—rub the white juice over
your face—and you will at once—have the face
of a real boy.”

So running quickly to the weed, first putting
down the Snake, and telling him to “crawl off,”
which he did, hissing angrily as he went, the Boy
broke off a piece of the milkweed, and rubbed it
well into his green face. Running now to a pond
near, he looked down and saw reflected in it, the
face of a dear little boy, and oh, how happy the
The Toad-Boy. 193

sight made him. Then fast as his legs could
carry him, he ran to the lady’s house. She was
delighted to see him and kissed him on his new
little face, saying :

“You are now to be my own son, dear, and I
shall expect you to be a very good Boy.”

“J will try hard, Mamma,” said he, “and I
don’t think I shall fail, for I know I was a very




THE SAD EXPERIENCE OF POOR
POMPOSITY.

Cee Gurrrvy! Gurrrrry! What am I
growling at? Do you see the small white
dog in that picture opposite—'tis at him I growl,
and I will tell you why. My Master is an
artist. One day he decided to paint me. Of
course you have noticed what a fine dog I am?
Have I not the brightest eyes, the silkiest hair,
the waggiest tail you ever saw? And can’t you
almost see the blue blood through my delicate
skin? My Master and Mistress admire me very
much, and he wished naturally to paint a picture
of me. Somewhere in the background he also
put my mistress, an excellent foil to me. A few
weeks ago Master put the finishing touches to the
picture, completing the very tip of one of my

beautiful ears. <‘‘ There,” said he to Mistress, in
194
Pomposity. 195

whose lap I was sitting, “that is Pomp himself
with his own air of conscious superiority and dig-
nity.” (My real name, by the way, is not Pomp,
but Pomposity, and to tell you the honest truth, I
am. not quite sure what it means. I wish I did
know, although of course, it is something very
nice.) Well, Mistress agreed with Master in
thinking that the picture could not be better, and
I was allowed to jump down.

Now in the studio, there is the very softest,
nicest chair you can imagine, but for some strange
reason my Master does not let me lie in it. He
told me himself that it was covered with old tap-
estry, and when I knew it was after all, nothing
nice and zew, I sat upon it whenever he was—
well, whenever I felt like doing it. This night
after supper, I found, to my delight, the studio
door a little open, and creeping in, I went to my
dear chair, and was soon happily dozing. I heard
them calling and calling for me, but as I never
came at their call at any time, that did not
trouble me and I dozed on. At last they went
to bed and the house was still. The moon rose
196 Pomposity.

and looked in the window. Curious old thing she
is. She stared at me till I growled, and at last I
actually had to turn my back toward her. Then
she looked at everything in the room, going into
all the dark corners and examining everything
carefully. At last she shone full on the picture,
and there she stayed and I could not blame her
for doing so, for it really looked very lovely.

While we were both gazing at it, you can im-
agine my feelings, when the dog in the picture,
the picture I, began to move/ He turned about
and faced me. I was of course beside myself, and
running to the picture said:

‘What are you going to do?”

“Coming out to see you,’ was the saucy
answer.

“Never,” said I angrily. ‘Master has often
said that there was no dog like me, and do you
think Iam going to have a rival who looks exactly
like me, trotting about? Go back. Don’t you
know that you are only a painted dog? You are
not real.”

But the miserable little wretch only looked at
Pomposity. 197

me defiantly. Still glaring at him and growling,
I backed slowly to my chair, but had not reached
it when the picture-dog, all wet with paint as he
was, jumped from his mistress’s lap, and out into



the room! And then the chase began. Round
he ran and round I ran after him. Over chairs
and tables we flew! “ Crash,” and a beautiful
vase lay broken on the floor. ‘“ 7sss/," and a
198 Pomposity.

piece of Persian embroidery was torn as we passed
through it. ‘Crash,’ and another vase was
broken, and then—then, I caught him and gave
him a terrific bite on his hind-leg. But that one
bite was enough for me. Ugh! Think of a dog
guilty of such dad éaste as that, pretending to be
a dog of breeding.

He had now jumped upon me and gave mea
slight bite on the nose, but just at that moment
my picture-mistress called him. He ran at once,
and putting his two wet paws on the beautiful
gold frame pulled himself up and into the picture
and jumped on his mistress’s lap. I was of course
very indignant with her for interfering, and run-
ning to the picture, said: .

‘“Madame, did you ever hear of ‘Woman's
Sphere’? That frame is yours. Remain in it.”
At these words, she was of course very much
ashamed of herself, and could not say one word
in answer.

And now comes the sad, sad part of my story.
When Master came in the next morning, I went
up to him like an honest dog, and explained mat-
Pomposity. 199

ters. But he only gazed about the room, which,
indeed, did look dreadful in the bright light of day.

“Pomp, Pomp,” he said, in a low blood-cur-
dling tone, and pointing first at the broken vases
and then at the wet paint which that miserable
little cur had scattered everywhere, ‘“ naughty
dog,” he continued, and then—then—he slapped
me!

I ran wildly to the picture, barking. I thought,
of course, that as soon as he saw those telltale
marks on the frame, Master would know who the
real culprit was. But alas, what do you think he
said ?

“Yes, I see, Pomp, you were barking at your
picture, thinking it was another dog, and for that
opinion I am much obliged, I am sure. But why,
why did you walk over my palette before you
stepped on the frame? No, Pomp, you need not
shake your head. I know you did it, for see, here
are the marks of your two guilty little paws!”

I was powerless, after this, to make him under-
stand the true facts of the case, although I never
would have believed that a man as intelligent as
200 Pomposity.

Master, could be so stupid. Well, I was pun-
ished. No walk did I get that day, and for many,
many days I was forbidden to enter my dear stu-
dio. Master has now varnished the picture, I am
glad to say, so there is no chance of the dog’s
ever getting out again. But do you wonder that
I growl at him, horrid beast? Grrr! Grrrr!
Grrrvvvv ltt




RED-BOOTS.

()": morning not long ago, a pair of little

red boots were placed in the window
of a large shoe-shop in Boston. They
were very pretty and they knew it, being, if the
truth must be told, somewhat vain, although at
bottom, they were good little soles. They were
placed in the middle of the window on a glass
shelf, and the shoe-man very thoughtfully put
them between two mirrors, so they could con-
stantly see themselves. After looking all about
them, they said (for being laced boots, they had
tongues) :
“We are surely far more beautiful than any
shoes here.”
“That may be, but it is better to be of some
use in the world than to be merely beautiful,” said

201
202 Red- Boots.

a pair of stout commonsense walking boots from
the lower shelf. ‘But,’ he added heartily, ‘‘we
are very glad to welcome you here in our midst,
little Red-Boots,” and all the other shoes squeaked
their approval. ‘Yes,’ continued he, “and not
only do we bid you welcome, but I propose that
to-night we give a ball in your honor, for ’t is
seldom that such a beautiful pair of boots comes
to this window.”

At this the boots grew redder than ever with
delight, and all in the window expressed pleasure,
particularly the dancing shoes, of which there were
many.

‘And where will you get your music?” said
the red boots. All laughed at this.

“Look,” said one, pointing to a broad band
of brass, which went directly across the window,
bearing the name of the owner of the shop, “ what
is that?”

« A brass band,” said Red-Boots.

«“ And what better music could one want than
that?” said the other.

After it grew dark, and the shop was closed,
Red- Boots. 203

and all was quiet in the streets, the shoe ball
began. The brass band played, the shoe-horns
blew, and all the shoes squeaked. They were
very graceful, making but few mistakes, for the
commonsense pair led them. And so they mer-
rily danced till morning. And in the morning, a
lady and her little son entered the shop.

“JT want some red laced boots for my boy,”
said she. And the man tried on those in the win-
dow, which proved a perfect fit.

“Now if they match these stockings, I will take
them,” said the lady, opening a parcel she carried
and displaying a pair of lovely red silk stockings.
The boots were a little lighter than the stockings,
but the lady, being much pleased with them, took
them in spite of this, they first saying good-bye to
all their friends in the window.

Two days after, the red boots and stockings
were worn for the first time, and their four-year-
old master Robert was very proud of them. The
stockings were not very polite to the boots, saying:

“You are not nearly as pretty a color as we,
for you are too light.”
204 Red-Boots.

Now the boots had been taught never to
answer rudely so they said simply :

“Yes, Stockings, you are a prettier color than
we.’ This answer was so kind and polite, that
the stockings were ashamed, and ever after, were
very friendly. In a few days the stockings were
washed, and when they were sent upstairs again,
they were so changed, that the boots scarcely
knew them. They were now much lighter, and
they were streaked too, a light and dark red.

‘Oh, dear,” they sighed, ‘“‘ we were carelessly
washed, and the color ran.”

‘Where ?”’ said the boots.

““ Away.”

‘And why didn’t you run after it?”

“We could n't.”

NVI? ©

‘Boots, you ask too many questions.”

‘Perhaps I do, but you must remember that I
have ¢wo tongues.”

“That is true, I had forgotten,” said the stock-
ings.

Several weeks passed, and the boots and stock-
Red- Boots. 205

ings grew old together. Their master Robert was
a good little fellow, and the shoes were fond of
him, and went everywhere with him, and hear now
what they did for him.

Robert was playing in the yard before his
house one day, when a hand-organ man appeared.
He looked first at the child, and then at all the
windows in the house, but no one was in sight.

‘‘Has oo dot a monkey wif oo?” said Robert.

“No,” said the man, ‘but I have three at
home, and if you will come with me, I will show
them to you.” And Robert, quite forgetting that
his mamma had told him never, never to go away
with any stranger, followed the man.

“« Stop, stop,” said the boots, but the little boy,
not understanding the shoe-language only heard
“squeak, squeak-i-ty squeak.”

On and on they went, till poor Robert began
to cry, but the man seizing him by the hand, hur-
ried him on till they came to his home—such a
wretched home. He gave Robert a crust of bread,
and taking off his coat and hat and boots told him
to lie down, and go to sleep, and the poor child,
206 Red-Boots.

tired and homesick, did so, crying for his papa and
mamma. Meanwhile, his father and mother, find-
ing that he was lost, went at once to the police-
station.

“We have lost our little boy,” said they.
“He had long yellow curls; and he wore a black
hat and coat, and red boots and stockings.”

“T am glad he did,” said the policeman, “for
as most boys wear black ones, somebody will be
sure to have noticed his red ones, and we can
more easily trace him.”

And soit proved. For many people had seen
a hand-organ man, and with him a crying boy,
and they had all noticed the ved doors. At last
they traced him to the very house, and knocked at
the door. But the hand-organ man suspected who
it was, and taking up the sleeping child, put him
in another room and locked the door. Then
opening his house-door, he asked the policeman
and the lady and gentleman what they wanted.

“The child you stole,” ‘said the policeman,
sternly, and the wicked man said he knew nothing
about “any stolen child.” Just then Robert's
Red- Boots. 207

mamma, who had been looking all about the
room hoping to find her darling, suddenly gave a
cry of delight. In the corner she had seen—what!
Two little ved boots. And of course she knew
then that her boy was not far away. The police-
man now made the bad man unlock the other
door, and Robert was soon in his mother’s arms.

‘Good little Red-Boots, dear little Red-Boots,”’
said she, ‘‘but for you, I might never have found
my darling boy. I shall not throw you away, but
will keep you forever.”

And although many years have passed since
then, and Robert is now a very big boy, there is
upstairs a small box and in it are two tiny worn
red boots. Ask Robert to show them to you
when you see him.














































































SAVED.

ONALD was sitting in the big chintz-covered
I) chair in the drawing-room, staring at his
favorite picture—and indeed it was well

worth looking at. It was a sea-scene, a picture of

a dreadful storm. In fact, it was wonderful that
308
Saved. 209

the slender gilt frame could hold so great a storm
as was evidently going on there. The waves were
fearfully and wonderfully high, while the sky above
them was black and angry. At the left of the
picture stood a group of tall jagged rocks, while
very near, and aiming directly for them, was a poor
battered, storm-tossed ship. Its mast was broken,
and the torn sail dragged over the side. The rud-
der, too, must have been useless, for the boat
seemed to pay no attention to it, but obeyed only
the fierce wind, which was blowing it directly
toward the rocks and destruction !

While Donald was looking at the boat, he sud-
denly sprang to his feet in amazement. It seemed
incredible—he could scarcely believe his ears, but
from that boat had come the unmistakable sound,
faint but yet distinct, of someone shouting. (Don-
ald told me this himself, so I am sure there could
have been no mistake.) Going nearer the picture
he could see that the waves were moving, actually
moving, while from the boat, and quite distinctly
now, came the cry, ‘Boy ahoy.” Putting both
hands to his mouth, as his father had taught him
210 Saved.

to do when at sea, he answered: “Ship ahoy!
What is the matter?”

“Help us!” was the answer. “Our captain
is dead. Our boat is drifting on these rocks, and
we don't know what to do.”

“ Have you an anchor?” shouted Donald.

“Ves, two.”

“Then, throw them both out,” roared the boy.
This was evidently done. The rattling of the
anchor-chains could be distinctly heard in the
quiet room, even above the roaring of the storm.
Then Donald waited in breathless suspense, for
although he knew, of course, that anchors in real
seas did hold real ships, he could not know how
they might act in a picture-sea, and holding a
picture-boat. But anchors are anchors, after all,
wherever they be found. These held, and to Don-
ald’s great delight and relief the boat was saved /

When Mamma heard the story later, she
smiled, and in fact, so did I, when he told me
about it in the afternoon. (I am Donald's aunt,
and we are great chums.) I thought, at first, as
his mother did, that he must have been dreaming,
Saved. 211

but when he took me into the drawing-room, and
showed me the boat, and I found that in spite of
the dreadful wind which ought to have dashed it
on the rocks long before, it had not moved one
inch since morning, why then I thought to myself,
something must have held that boat, and if it
wasn’t an anchor, then what was it? What do
you think?








THE DISOBEDIENT ISLAND.

Island, lying not far from the mainland.

On him there were trees and rocks, but no
houses. He had a son—the dearest wee Island
you ever saw. This little fellow was nestled up
very close by his father’s side, in the water, but,
although he did not wear rubber shoes, he did not
mind being wet at all, nor did he ever catch cold.
On this small Island grew a beautiful oak-tree,
which spread its branches protectingly, completely
shading him from the hot sun. There were also
many lovely flowers there, and altogether it was
avery pretty place. Just opposite the Island, on

ai2

‘ ‘HERE was once upon a time a long, gray
The Disobedient Island. 213

the mainland, was a large red house, and in it
lived a papa, a mamma, and three children, Sam,
Bob, and their young sister Geraldine. They
owned a boat which was very broad and safe, and
they had all been taught to row and swim. A
pleasant day seldom came, that the children did
not go over to ‘their island” as they called it.

One day Sam said to his father: “I wish there
were a bridge leading from the big Island to the
little one, and then we could eat our luncheon
under the shade of that big tree.”

“Sam, that is a very good idea,” said his
father, “I must build one for you,” and the chil-
dren all shouted in their delight.

“How lovely it will be.”

“Yes,” said the big Island, “I, too, shall like
that very much, for I shall be glad to be connected
with my little son.”

But although he spoke in a loud voice, no one
paid the slightest attention to him. The next time
Mr. Arnold came to the Island he brought with
him on the boat, boards and nails, and before long,
with the boy’s help, a bridge was built. There
214 The Disobedient Island.

was a railing on one side, and it was strong, safe,
and very pretty.

“To-morrow, we will paint it,” said Mr. Ar-
nold, so the next day they brought some bright
red paint, and when the bridge was painted with
this, it was really lovely. The children danced
with delight, and their big, black dog, ‘ Diso-
bedience,” was so much pleased, that he walked
directly on the wet red bridge, barking loudly all
the time; then lay down, and rolled over and over!
They called him again and again to ‘‘ Come back,
come back,’’ but he would not come, and really,
with such a name, I don’t think he was very much
to blame. ‘Give a dog a bad name, and,” as
everyone knows, ‘it will stick to him.” But it did
not stick to him, nearly as hard as the paint did.
You never saw such an extraordinary sight as
that red-black dog. He was very red, and he
knew it, and tried to hide under a bush, but there
was no hope for him, so running to the boat he
curled himself down in the bottom and soon fell
fast asleep. When they returned later, to the
mainland, poor Disobedience was washed again
The Disobedient Island. 215

and again, but in vain, for from each bath he
emerged a bright red dog. The man was at
last obliged to shave him, and to this he submit-
ted far less willingly than most young men of
his age.

And now, the children took their luncheon on
the small Island almost every day. They called
it “their dining-room,” and a very good one it
made. They brought from the big Island a flat
stone for a table, and used the boat-cushions to
sit on.

One day, Bob brought with him a very inter-
esting book, called 4 Boy's Adventures on Sea
and Land, which he read aloud to the others. He
thought he had only two listeners, Sam and Ger-
aldine, but there was a third, who was the most
interested of all—it was the little Island. Nota
word did he lose, and after the children went
home, he still kept thinking and thinking about
the wonderful adventures of that boy in the book.
Later in the evening he said to his father :

“ Papa, may I not take a walk? I should so
much like to see what is on your other side.”
216 The Disobedient Island.

“There is nothing there,’ said his father,
“but water, water, water. You must remain
where you are, it is not safe for you to move, my
son.”

Nothing more was said, and the Papa-Island
was soon asleep. But the little Island was not
asleep but very wide awake. When he found
that his father slept, he began very cautiously to
move. First he stretched himself, then raised
himself slowly, s-l-o-w-l-y, when suddenly, ‘ c-r-
r-r-r-rack” went the bridge, broken right in the
middle! This bridge the Island had quite forgot-
ten, and he was so frightened, that he sat down
again, sf/ash, into the water. Then he listened
to see if he had waked up his father, but no, the
old fellow was sleeping soundly. Islands, when
once they get aleep, are very sound sleepers.
After a few moments the naughty little son got up
again very, very quietly, and this time made no
noise but stepped farther and farther away from
his home. At first he was much pleased, as the
Moon was shining brightly, and the water was not
deep. But the Moon, as it happened, was a great
The Disobedient Island. 237

friend of the Papa-Island, on whom she had shone
for many years.

“Go back,” she said to the naughty Island.

“Qh, no,” said he, “I am going to see the
world.”

The Moon, much grieved, hid her face in her
handkerchief And what do you think her hand-
kerchief was? A soft white cloud. Of course,
when she was crying she could not shine, and so
the small Island found himself in darkness. But
on he went, pretending that he liked it.

Suddenly—ah, it is so sad, I scarcely like to
tell you about it—he stepped into a very deep
hole, and went down, down, down out of sight,
till only the top of the beautiful tree could be seen
above the water! He called loudly, piteously to
the Moon, who was now again looking at him.
But she was powerless to help. ‘ Oh, Papa,
Papa,” he screamed, and this time the big Island,
hearing the splash and the cry, did wake up, and
finding his son gone, knew in a moment what had
happened. And over at the big house, on the
mainland, someone else must have heard the cry,
218 The Disobedient Island.

perhaps in her dreams, for little Geraldine sud-
denly started up, and rushing to the window,
looked out into the moonlit night. She saw first
the big Island, then looking at the place where
the small Island ought to have been, found it was
gone! Being only a very little girl, she was so
much frightened that she ran quickly back to bed
again, and fell fast asleep.

Meantime, the poor Papa-Island was in great
distress, for of course, he could not go himself to
pull out his son, and whom could he send?

“Will no one help me?” he said, and sud-
denly a small voice answered :

cal ecyalllens

Now, a family of birds lived at the end of
the Island and he had given them a pleasant
home, and had been kind to them in many ways,
and they were fond of him. It was one of these
who had spoken.

“Tam afraid you cannot help me, little bird,”
he said, sadly. ‘I need someone who is very
strong, and who can pull my naughty son out of
the water, and put him back by my side. He has
The Disobedient Island. 219

run away from me, and there you see all that is
ieft of him.” The bird looked, and saw only the
very top of the oak-tree, waving mournfully to
and fro.

“Well,” he said, ‘that is, of course, a difficult
task, but I think, nevertheless, that I can help you,
for I am a Kimg-bird, and one is not a king for
nothing. You have been kind to me and my
family, and in return, I am glad to do this for
you.”

“But how?”

“Have patience, and you will see,” was the
answer.

The King-bird now flew to the highest point
on the Island, and gave a very loud piercing
whistle, which was immediately answered from
the mainland, and repeated over and over again,
from the right, from the left, and then sounding
fainter and fainter as it came from a distance.

“Now,” said the King-bird, “my subjects all
know that I desire their presence here, at once.”

He had scarcely finished speaking when over-
head a faint “whirring” noise was heard, which
220 The Disobedient Island.

grew louder and louder till it sounded like the
‘roar of many waters,’ and soon tens, hundreds,
thousands of birds of all kinds appeared, and bow-
ing low to the King-bird, said :

‘What does your Majesty wish us to do?”

“Something that will be very difficult, I fear,”
said he, ‘‘but something which I feel sure, will be
done by you, my loyal subjects, if anyone on earth
or in air can do it.”

At this the birds all cheered, and I wish you
could have heard that liquid, musical cheer, for the
lark led it.

‘“Now,” continued his Majesty, “go at once,
and lift that small Island, which you see out there,
and put it back here,” and he pointed to the place
where it had been.

“We will, we will,’ shouted all the birds,
courageously, and off they flew. Can you believe
me when I tell you that they actually did do this
wonderful thing? They pulled that small Island
up by means of the oak tree (which you remember
was partly above water) each one taking a twig,
and all pulling together, and as there were
The Disobedient Island. 221

many wonderfully strong birds, eagles and others,
among them, they succeeded in doing it, and
placed the wet, shivering little Island by his
father’s side, once more!

“Thank you, my subjects, I am indeed proud
of you,” said the King-bird, while the big and
little Island thanked the birds over and over again,
till they were hoarse. And the sun, raising his
big round, red face above the water, shone upon
them all with warm approval.

When Geraldine got up the next morning, she
ran to the window, and there was the wee Island,
just where he had always been. So she said
nothing about what she had seen the night before,
because she thought she must have been dreaming.
After breakfast, the children said to their father. :

“May we not go to the Island to-day, and
take luncheon in our “ dining-room”’ ?

“Yes,” said Mr. Arnold, ‘and Mamma and I
will go, too.” So off they all went, Disobedience
with them.

When they got there, their father said: “I will
take the lunch-basket to the dining-room.” When
222 The Disobedient Island.

he came to the bridge, he found only half a
bridge, the other half being broken off, and having
fallen partly into the water. The small Island,
too, was wet, very wet, all the leaves of the oak
tree fairly dripping with water.

“Well,” said Mr. Arnold, “how did this hap-
pen? A big wave must have washed completely
over the little Island, breaking the bridge on its
way, and yet I really don’t see how it could have
done so.”

The poor wee Island hung his head in shame.
The children felt badly to think that their pretty
bridge was broken, although there was oe who
was much delighted at the accident, and that was
Disobedience. He laughed till his fat sides ached,
and I really don’t think he was very much to
blame, for the bridge had certainly not treated him
well. Geraldine was the only one who suspected
what had really happened, and she told her father,
what she had seen in the night. He laughed
heartily and said: “ That was only a dream, dear
little girl.”

But the two Islands, Geraldine, you and I
know that it was ot a dream.


THE BOLD BAD BICYCLE.

HERE was once a Bicycle, who lived in a

‘| city, in a big shop with hundreds of other
bicycles. He was a happy-hearted little

fellow, although, if the truth must be told, somewhat
vain of his fine appearance. He had gorgeous
silver mountings, the best of rubber tires, and a
sweet-toned bell, to warn people that he was com-
ing. He was just finished at the time I write, and
had been sent to the shop from the manufactory
only the night before. The workmen knew when
they made him, that he was a very fine machine,
light, strong, and perfectly made in every re-
spect, and as he stood there finished before them,
bright and shining, they were proud of him. But
just how bright he really was, they never sus-

pected, for he had not only a strong will of his
+923
224 The Bold Bad Bicycle.

own, but could also reason and think, all of which
was quite unusual in a bicycle.

When he arrived at the big shop, he was
delighted, for the others seemed so glad to see
him, and welcomed him cordially. They told
him about the different machines, and that, in all
probability he would soon be sold, and taken
by his master to see the big world. They gave
him much good advice, telling him to always
obey and try to be good, although they confessed
that they, take them as a whole, were rather a
‘“fast”’ lot.

Well, that very morning, our Bicycle was
taken out to be looked at by a gentleman, who
wanted to buy one for his son. The proprietor
pointed out all his good points, till the little fellow
was so delighted with himself that he could not
stand alone, but leaned against the wall for sup-
port. The gentleman finally said :

“I am much pleased with this bicycle. My
son shall come next week and look at it, and if he
likes it, I will buy it.”

Now all this day, and through the night, the
The Bold Bad Bicycle. 225

Bicycle was thinking, ‘I shall see the world ; but,
oh, how can I wait till next week? That man said
I was beautiful,—well, he is quite right, ] am. I
heard him say, too, that the lighter the machine,
the greater the speed. Dear me, if that is so, how
awfully fast I could go if I had xo vider.’ Sud-
denly a magnificent thought came to him, a
thought that made his nickel-plated heart, cold
though it was, beat fast. He knew that at five
o’clock every morning the janitor opened the big
door, while he swept out the place.

Now, what do you suppose this audacious
bicycle planned to do? Simply this. When the
man went to the back part of the shop to get his
broom, he would slip off quietly, and see the
world, af alone. ‘No one shall pull my ears and
tell me to ‘go this way, and go that way.’ No, I
shall go whichever way pleases me.” You can
imagine, that once having made up his mind to do
this thing, he slept but little. He heard the big
clock at the corner strike ‘“‘¢hvee,” then ‘ four,”
then ‘“ five.” The hour had come, and soon foot-
steps were heard, the big door was unlocked, and

15
226 The Bold Bad Bicycle.

hooked back as usual, and the man went off for
his broom. Now was the Bicycle’s chance, and
silently, swiftly, he glided away.

Out of the door, across the sidewalk and with
a big dump down into the street, for being a bright
little fellow, he knew, although no one had told
him, that the sidewalk was not the proper place for
a bicycle. Oh, how happy he was, how free he felt.
The street was quite deserted at this early hour,
and so no one was astonished at seeing a bicycle
whizzing along faster than any bicycle had ever
been known to go before, turning to the right or
left, as the fancy struck him, and with no rider!
Soon he met a dog, a large St. Bernard, stout
and dignified, who had lived a long life, and knew
much more than he ever told. He glanced at the
Bicycle, and then—then—his two eyes grew as big
as saucers and with one agonized howl of terror,
he was off. The Bicycle laughed and hurried on.
His next encounter was with a sad-looking horse
drawing a milk-wagon, who gave one look at him,
and then like the dog, ran away, scattering the
milk-cans over the road as he went. His master,
The Bold Bad Bicycle. 227

when he came out of the house, stared in aston-
ishment to find him gone.

“T really did n't know the fellow could run,”
he said, but then Ze had n’t seen the riderless
bicycle.

On and on sped the machine. He now kept
meeting people, and they acted very much as the
horse and dog had done, being greatly alarmed
at the strange sight. The Bicycle finding that no
one could possibly catch him, had a fine time. He
would go up slowly till he was quite near some-
body, and then, just as he put out his hand to
catch him, wHigz, he was a block away, leaving
the man behind gasping with surprise. People
shouted, horses shied, dogs barked, and the police
were at their wit’s end. Accidents were reported
in all parts of the city, from runaway horses who
had caught sight of our friend.

“Arrest that bicycle,’ demanded the people ;
“it is dangerous.”

“ Willingly,” said the police, “but how? No
train, horse, nor bicycle can catch it.”

But fortunately for the city, the Bicycle, after
228 The Bold Bad Bicycle.

a few hours. of sport, grew tired of the noise
and confusion, and went out into the country.
As he went at the rate of five miles a minute, he
found himself in about five minutes twenty-five
miles away on a lovely wooded country road.
There he stopped to rest, for he was tired, ‘“rub-
ber tires,” you know. Oh, what a glorious morn-
ing he had spent. He had laughed so much to
see everybody flying from him, and then, when
they had tried to catch him, that surely was fun-
nier than all.

While he was laughing again at the remem-
brance, two boys came up to him.

“T wonder who that stunning machine belongs
to, said one.

“To somebody who is very careless to leave it
here,” said the other.

“Let ’s try it, just for a few feet,” and the first
speaker raised one leg to mount, when, wAzzz, all
they saw of the Bicycle was a small black speck
on a hill about two miles off! The boys were
badly frightened, I assure you.

At last, the Bicycle felt that it was time for
The Bold Bad Bicycle. 229

him to go home. Every bicycle, like every dog,
must have his day, and he felt that he had had
his; but now, he longed to tell them all at home
about his travels. ‘“I must wait till darkness



comes,” he said, ‘so that I may get into the shop
without being seen.’’ So when night came, back
he crept, meeting scarcely anyone on the way.
When he reached the shop, he found, alas, that it
was closed for the night. This possibility he had
quite forgotten. Creeping up in the doorway, he
200 The Bold Bad Bicycle.

leaned sadly against the wall, when suddenly he
caught sight of a notice nailed against the door,
and looking at it more closely read: ‘ Stolen
from this shop,” and then followed a description
of kim. He laughed so heartily at this, that he
almost fell down. Then he waited and waited,
till at last the big clock at the corner struck
“« five,’ when he crept silently round in the half
darkness and hid himself in the side doorway till
he heard the man unlocking the door. Then,
when he went for his broom, back crept the
Bicycle and took his old place among the others,
who welcomed him with shouts of glee. He told
them of his adventures, and oh, how they laughed.

“The proprietor was very angry when he found
that you were gone,” they said. ‘He thought,
of course, someone must have stolen you, and oh,
how surprised he will be when he comes in this
morning, and finds you here.”

And indeed he was. He came in soon after
with a friend, and the bicycles heard him say:

“Ves, ’t was a very bold thing to do. The
thief must have walked in through the door and
The Bold Bad Bicycle. 231

taken the bicycle. There was where it stood
[pointing], and what? Do my eyes deceive me?
There ts the bicycle, now!! Look, look,’ he
said, very much excited, ‘the thief has actually
brought back the machine. It is covered with
dust, and whoever stole it must have ridden a
long distance.”’

‘Indeed he did,” shouted all the bicycles,
laughing heartily, but the proprietor did not notice
them.

“JT will find the thief who took that bicycle,”
caiduhe itt takes Mie mavicats = tO. GOmitm -iplt
although he made every effort, he never did find
him, for beside the bicycles, you and I are the
only ones who know who the real thief was, and
we will never tell, will we ?




THE LADY OF SNOW.

NE day, the poor bare, brown earth awoke
() and looked sadly up into the sky. The
green grass, the pretty, bright flowers,
and tender leaves had left him long ago, and he
knew he was no longer beautiful. The sky saw
this, and moved by pity, threw over him a soft,
white mantle. First she sent down a few feathery
stars. Then, well pleased at the effect, more and
more, and faster and faster they came, till the
trees, the bare fields, and houses were hidden by
the pure, white covering, till surely no one could
have suspected the hard ugliness beneath. At
last, when all was done, the clouds rested, and
the big sun shone out, glad that he had something
so beautiful to look upon.
In one of the houses, a little girl stood at the

232
The Lady of Snow. 233

window. “Mamma, Mamma,” she called, ‘may
I not go out into the beautiful new world?” and
Mamma consenting, out she went, first putting on
her thick coat and hood and big rubber boots.
“Now,” said Eleanor, ‘I will make a snow-
man. No, I don’t think I will make a snow-man.
Every one does that. I will make a swow-woman.”



So the little maid rolled up the soft, damp
snow into a huge ball, gently sloping it at the
back for the graceful sweep of the long train. On
this another ball was placed for the body, and on
this again a third, smaller one, for the well shaped
234 The Lady of Snow.

head. Then Eleanor running to the house, re-
turned with a handful of cranberries. Two were
pressed firmly into the head for eyes. A third she
squeezed hard, rubbing the red juice on the firm
white cheeks, which blushed astonishingly beneath
her touch. Four cranberries placed side by side
made the soft red mouth of this wonderful snow-
lady, and then I wish you could have seen
her. Eleanor again ran to the house, and got a
summer gardening hat, and an old red shawl,
which shawl had long been regarded as the cat's
undisputed property—but the poor lady's need
was great. The straw hat was placed on her
head, and the faded green strings tied under her
chin, and the little girl smiled, well pleased at the
fiery, blushing face before her. Perhaps the lady
had reason to blush, for as yet, poor thing, she was
entirely unclothed. But Eleanor quickly remedied
that by folding the warm shawl tenderly about the
slender figure, crossing and pinning it in front.
Just as she did this, a gentle voice said:

“Thank you, dear.” She turned but saw no
one,
The Lady of Snow. 2215

Again the voice said: ‘Thank you for the
shawl,” and then the child started back in astonish-
ment, for the words had come from the cranberry
lips of the Snow-Lady.

“Why, Lady, Lady,” she stammered when
she was able to speak at all, “I never knew before
that snow-people could speak.”

‘““Snow-men can’t,” said the Lady, ‘and ’t is
snow-men that children usually make, but you,
little girl, have made a snow-woman, and women
always talk more than men.”

“Why, yes,” said Eleanor, “I have often
heard my Papa say that.”

She was delighted with her new friend and
spent the entire day with her. It had grown
warmer, and the heat seemed to affect the Snow-
Lady, for as the day wore on, she became greatly
depressed. When at last night came, and Mamma
called her to come in, Eleanor put her arms about
the Lady and kissed her affectionately on her red lips.

‘“Good-night, I will come to you to-morrow,”
she whispered, but the Lady gave her a tender,
melting look, and said sadly:
236 The Lady of Snow.

“You have been very kind to me, dear little
girl. Good-bye, good-bye, good-bye.”

Eleanor running back, gave her one more kiss,
and turning at the door, saw the Snow-Lady’s face,
now so sad, still looking at her.

‘‘No wonder she feels badly to be left alone
through the long night,” thought Eleanor, “but I
will go to her the very first thing to-morrow.”
With this thought she fell asleep. And as she
slept, a gentle “ pat—pat—pattering”’ was heard out-
side, which continued all through the night, and
in the morning when Eleanor looked from her
little window, there was the bare brown earth
again,—the beautiful snow was gone.

‘“My Lady, my dear Snow-Lady,” she cried,
and dressing quickly she hurried out to her. But
alas, when she reached the spot there lay in a sad
little heap only the old red shawl, and on it the
green trimmed straw bonnet. And Eleanor felt as
if the whole beautiful, white world of yesterday
and the lovely Lady of Snow, who had looked so
sadly at her, had been but a dream.


HOW THE ANDIRONS TOOK A WALK.

N a big open fireplace, polished and clean,
| A glorious, rollicking fire was seen,
But its Andirons, standing erect, tall and
stiff,
Were wondering—wondering—wondering if——

“T were better to stay there, supporting that wood,
For that’s what they did, as good andirons should,
Or go into the garden, and jump all about,

And canter and gallop, and caper and shout?

And one said, “/, now, am for running away,
I think it outrageous, that we two must stay
Standing perfectly quiet, as if on the rack,

While this merciless fire is burning our back,”
937
238 How the Andirons Took a Walk.

“That’s so,” said the other, “it does not seem
right

That we with our polish, I know we are bright,

Are never invited to houses about,

While even the fire’s allowed to go out!”

“Then let us go, now,” said these bold brassy
brothers,

“We will take for ourselves, what is given to
others,

We'll go for a holiday, hip, hip, hurrah !

Good-bye, Mr. Bellows, we ’re not going far.”

“We 'll go by the big chair,” said one, “to the
hall,

And keep close together, so neither can fall.”

“Of course,” said the other, “together we ’ll stay,

But I'll be the leader, and show you the way.

“ First over the fender, and round by that stool—”
Interrupted the other; “I think you’re a fool


239
240 How the Andirons Took a Walk.

To suppose for one moment that I’m such a
tender,

As to try with three legs to jump over that fen-
der.”

“Of the sense in your brass knob I’ve long been
~ in doubt,
If we don’t jump that fender, how shall we get
out?”
«Why, Zeck it down, addlepate, that is the way.”
«« Addlepate, addlepate,’ what ’s that you say?”

“Vou can kick it yourself then, I’m not such an
ass,

As to wear out my poor legs, a-kickin’ of brass.”

“You're a stupid, cantankerous, obstinate chump

If you won’t kick that fender, and I'll xever
jump.”

‘‘Hush, hush,” said the Bellows and Shovel and
Tongs,
“Just stay in the fireplace, and settle your wrongs,
How the Andirons Took a Walk. 241

Stand under the embers, and finish your talk,
You ‘re both much too heated to go for a walk.”

“Oh, yes,” said the Poker, ‘“’tis much better taste

For each of us brethren to stay where he’s
placed.”

“Very well,” said the Andirons, and each hung his
head,

And in the hot ashes, they both went to bed.




‘“ACHUSETTS’S RIDE TO PHILA-
DELPHIA.”’

directed to—
Miss Margaret Van Duff,
Salem,
Massachusetts.

It was sent by a little girl to her cousin, and
contained a pretty Christmas card. Unfortu-
nately, in directing it, Gladys put the achusetts
so very near the edge of the envelope, that when

the letter was dropped into the box “ Achusetts”’
242

©). time a letter was put into the box,
« Achusetts’s Ride to Philadelphia.” 243

fell off He wasn’t hurt in the least, for he fell
on around soft newspaper. Stopping a moment
to hear the news, he hopped nimbly down on to a
thin foreign-looking letter.

“Where are you going?” said Achusetts.

“To Germany,” was the answer, proudly
given.

“Then, upon my word, I think I will join you,”
said Achusetts, ‘and I am very glad that I hap-
pened to meet you.”

“The pleasure is mutual,” said the German
letter, politely, “but as to taking you with me to
Germany, that I cannot do. I am sorry, but you
see, it costs a great deal of money to go there.
My poor master had to give five cents to pay my
passage over, and it would be a great imposition,
if you were to join me.”

Achusetts, although disappointed, saw the force
of this reasoning, and wishing the traveller a pleas-
ant voyage, left him. Achusetts had never been
in a letter-box before, and found much to interest
him. New letters kept dropping in, through the
one door, and as they all talked at once, it soon
244 ‘“ Achusetts’s Ride to Philadelphia.”

seemed very much like an afternoon tea. One
letter was crying bitterly.

‘What is the matter with her?” asked little
Achusetts, of a very dirty letter, who was sitting
near.

‘Going to the dead-letter office ; they forgot
to put on the stamp,” was the answer.

“Oh,” said Achusetts pityingly, for among
letters it is considered a terrible disgrace to be
sent to the dead-letter office.

Just then, someone said: “It is time for the
postman to come.”

“Oh,” said Achusetts frightened, “then I
must hurry back to my own letter.”

But do you know, although he searched every-
where, the poor little fellow could not find his
letter. The box was very dark, and filled almost
to the top. The postman now appeared, and took
out all the letters, leaving poor Achusetts behind,
in spite of his piteous cries to be allowed to
go with the others. The box was then locked,
and he was alone. His sobs and cries echoed
through the lonely iron house. Suddenly,
‘“ Achusetts’s Ride to Philadelphia.” 245

‘click,’ a New York letter was dropped in.
She was very kind and sympathetic with Achu-
setts, when she heard his story, but was powerless
to help.

“But don’t cry,” she said, ‘many letters are
dropped in here with only ‘ Mass’ on them, and
there will be your chance.”

“Click,” and at that very moment another
letter was dropped in. She was a gorgeous
creature, dressed:in pale violet, and with a beau-
tiful violet wax buckle at her back. She was
addressed to—

Miss Violet Blueblood,
2000 Beacon St.,
Boston, Mass.

But alas, this address took up so much of the en-
velope, that there proved to be no room for poor
little Achusetts. And letter after letter was
dropped in, and still there seemed to be no chance
for him. Again the time came for the postman,
they heard his key in the lock, when suddenly
Achusetts caught sight of a letter lying near ad-
246 ‘* Achusetts’s Ride to Philadelphia.”

dressed to “Philadelphia, Penn.” It was very
dark in the letter-box, and poor Achusetts’s eyes
were swollen with crying, so he mistook the Peuu
for Mass.

“That is where I belong,” he thought, “right
up near the Mass, and there is plenty of room for
me, too. But I am not going to ask this letter
to let me get on, because I have been refused so
many times.

So just as the postman slid the letters out,
Achusetts scrambled quickly on the envelope, and
threw his arms tightly about Penn till he was
firmly stuck. Penn struggled wildly to escape,
but in vain. When they got out into the light,
what was Achusetts’s horror to find that he had
fastened himself on to a Fenn instead of a Mass,
But the mischief was done; they could not sepa-
rate, although they were very much afraid that
Achusetts’s unfortunate blunder would send them
to the dead-letter office. But the letter did, after
all, reach its destination, although little Robert
Richardson was very much surprised, and laughed
heartily to get a letter addressed to him at—
“ Achusetts’s Ride to Philadelphia.” 247

2001 Chestnut Street,
Philadelphia,

Pennachusetts.

As for the other letter on which Achusetts
belonged, and from which he fell, that, too,
reached in safety Margaret Van Duff at

Salem, |
Mass

Still, you can see how important it is, chil-



dren, to direct your envelopes very carefully, or
part, or possibly the whole, of the address may
tumble off and the letters never reach the people
for whom they are intended.




THE MOUSE’S REVENGE.

A TRAGEDY.

the tall steeple of a church. It was really

a pleasant place to live in for many rea-
sons. It was quiet, the air was good, the view
very beautiful, and there were no cats there. In
fact, only one thing troubled the Mouse, and as
he grew older, it troubled him more and more.
And that was the Bell, a big, sullen-looking iron
Bell, which hung in the tower. It was rung every
night at nine, and the noise it made was dread-
ful. The Mouse talked to the Bell again and
again, and told him rudely to ‘hold his tongue,”
but it was of no use. Each night, just as he had
sunk into his first doze, ‘clang, clang’”’ would go

the Bell. ‘Nine o'clock, nine o'clock,” it seemed
248

f ‘HERE was once a Mouse, who lived up in
The Mouse’s Revenge. 249

to say, and the poor Mouse would wake up,
shivering with terror.

“Suppose it is nine o'clock,” he would sob;
“you can’t prevent its being nine o'clock, and
what are you going to do about it?” But it had
a heart of iron and was not touched.

One evening, the Mouse climbed directly on
the Bell itself, and sat there admiring the sunset.
He became drowsy, and quite forgetting where he
was, fell fast asleep. He was awakened by a
most horrible noise. He felt the ground, as he
thought, rock beneath him. Suddenly he remem-
bered where he was, that it was nine o'clock, and
that the Bell was beginning its nightly duty !

“Clang, clang,” it said.

The poor Mouse jumped frantically from one
side to the other, and screamed :

“Stop, stop, let me get off!’ but it did not
stop, and, at last, becoming dizzy, he staggered—
lost his footing—and /el//

Down, down, down he went, striking on the
stone floor of the tower, many feet below. He
was not killed, but he was much bruised. All
250 The Mouse's Revenge.

through the long night he lay there, and got up
the next morning, feeling stiff and miserable, and
very, very angry. |

‘T will punish that wicked bell,” he said. ‘I
can’t bite him, that I know, for I tried to once and
could n’t. His skin is fearfuly tough. I wish he
would fall, just as I did, the heartless monster,”
he sobbed.

But suddenly his sobs ceased, and his eyes
brightened, for an idea had come to him. The







KEY Bell, of course, he could
maecatell oo YZ not bite, but how about

that rope adove it and on
which it hung? “If I
gnaw through that, the
Bell will fall hurrah,”
he squealed, and at once
began his work. ‘Gnaw,
gnaw, gnaw,’ went the
sharp little teeth, and be-
fore long, a tiny strand
snapped. He stopped for





a moment and laughed.
The Mouse's Revenge. 251

“Stop gnawing, you small wretch,” roared the
Bell. ‘I will punish you.”

“Oh, no, you can’t hurt me,” said the Mouse,
and the Bell, feeling that this was so, trembled with
rage, knowing that he was powerless, although
big and strong, and with a tongue mightier than
any pen.

“You can’t even speak till nine o'clock to-
night,” said the Mouse, ‘and it shall be my pleas-
ing duty to see that even then you remain silent,”
and he chuckled in great glee. Then he began
again, ‘gnaw, gnaw, gnaw.” Snap, went another
strand, and before very long the rope gave way
entirely, and down went the big Bell witha tre-
mendous crash that seemed to shake the very
building !

But, oh, little Mouse, poor little Mouse, how
did it happen? With it, Ze fell too! He had
been sitting on the Bell, you know, and had
gnawed the rope above his head. When that
broke, down came the Bell, and he being on it,
had to come too. When some men, hearing the
crash, rushed up the stairs, to see what had hap-
52 The Mouse’s Revenge.

pened, they found the Bell on the stone floor,
broken in many pieces, while under it lay the poor
Mouse, quite, quite dead.

You see, we can never injure others without

danger of injuring ourselves.




THE TAIL OF A MOUSE.

NCE upon a time a wee Mouse crept from
() his hole, and, crossing the room, suddenly
appeared upon my writing table. I like
mice, and he may have known it. Anyway, there
he sat, winking his beady little eyes roguishly at
me. I knew that mice often have very thrilling
experiences, forcing their way without invitation or
encouragement into the houses of the rich and
poor alike, and going from attic to cellar, from
boudoir to butler’s pantry, and I thought, “ Now,
perhaps this little fellow will tell me the story of
his life, that I may again tell it to my children.”
So I said, very politely :

“Most beautiful Mouse, will you not kindly tell

me the tale of your life?”

“Well,” said the Mouse, very indignantly, “ if
353
254 The Tail of a Mouse.

you cannot see my tail, my beautiful tail, yourself,
from the beginning to the end, I think you must be
stupid, and I really cannot waste my valuable time
in talking with you.”

So away he went, and as he took his tail with
him, I am very sorry to say that I am unable to
tell it to you.